[P. 150 
 
 PICKED UP SOME OF THE SIIPvEDS " 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 BEING 
 
 INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF A PLAIN MAN 
 WHO TRIED TO DO HIS DUTY 
 
 OCTAVE THANET 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 A, B. FROST AND CLIFFORD CARLETON 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 1897 
 
Copyright, 1897, by HARPER & BROTHKRS. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF J 
 
 THE CABINET ORGAN 51 
 
 HIS DUTY 97 
 
 THE HYPNOTIST 131 
 
 THE NEXT ROOM 157 
 
 THE DEFEAT OF AMOS WICKLIFF .... 217 
 
 822588 
 

 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "PICKED UP SOME OF THE SHREDS" .... Frontispiece 
 
 TORE THE LETTER INTO PIECES" . . . Facing p. 20 
 THE THANKSGIVING BOX .... 30 
 SHE PAUSED BEFORE MRS. SMITH S SEC 
 TION " 46 
 
 "SHE LEANED HER SHABBY ELBOWS ON 
 
 THE GATE " , 56 
 
 " SOMEBODY THREW THESE THINGS AT 
 
 OUR WINDOW " 70 
 
 " NOW, BOYS, LET S COME AND PLAY ON 
 
 THE ORGAN " ?4 
 
 " THEY HAVE ENGAGED ME . . 94 
 
 HARNED HID HIS FACE" 116 
 
 " IT WON T BE SUCH A BIG ONE IF THE 
 
 DOOR HOLDS "..., 126 
 
 " SHE MUST LOOK AT IT " 146 
 
 " HE S SCARED NOW, THE COWARD " 158 
 
 " I LL ACT AS HIS VALET ". ..... 162 
 
 " PLL GIVE THE KITTY SOMETHING TO 
 
 EAT " . ..." 180 
 
 THE FAREWELL 
 
 232 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 SHERIFF WICKLIFF leaned out of his 
 office window, the better to watch the boy 
 soldiers march down the street. The 
 huge pile of stone that is the presumed home of 
 Justice for the county stands in the same yard 
 with the old yellow stone jail. The court-house 
 is ornate and imposing, although a hundred ac 
 tive chimneys daub its eaves and carvings, but 
 the jail is as plain as a sledge-hammer. Yet 
 during Sheriff Wickliff s administration, while 
 Joe Raker kept jail and Mrs. Raker was matron, 
 window -gardens brightened the grim walls all 
 summer, and chrysanthemums and roses bla 
 zoned the black bars in winter. 
 
 Above the jail the street is a pretty street, 
 with trim cottages and lawns and gardens ; be 
 low, the sky-lines dwindle ignobly into shabby 
 one and two story wooden shops devoted to the 
 humbler handicrafts. It is not a street favored 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 * "* 
 
 - by processions 1 ;* only the little soldiers of the 
 Orphans Home Company would choose to tramp 
 over its unkempt macadam. Good reason they 
 had, too, since thus they passed the sheriff s office, 
 and it was the sheriff who had given most of the 
 money for their uniforms, and their drums and 
 fifes outright. 
 
 A voice at the sheriff s elbow caused him to 
 turn. 
 
 "Well, Amos/ said his deputy, with West 
 ern familiarity, "getting the interest on your 
 money ?" 
 
 Wickliff smiled as he unbent his great frame ; 
 he was six feet two inches in height, with bones 
 and thews to match his stature. A stiff black 
 mustache, curving about his mouth and lifting 
 as he smiled, made his white teeth look the 
 whiter. One of the upper teeth was crooked. 
 That angle had come in an ugly fight (when he 
 was a special officer and detective) in the Chicago 
 stock -yards, he having to hold a mob at bay, 
 single-handed, to save the life of a wounded 
 policeman. The scar seaming his jaw and neck 
 belonged to the time that he captured a notori 
 ous gang of train-robbers. He brought the rob 
 bers in that is, he brought their bodies; and 
 " That scar was worth three thousand dollars to 
 me," he was wont to say. In point of fact it was 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 5 
 
 worth more, because he had invested the money 
 so advantageously that, thanks to it and the sav 
 ings which he had been able to add, in spite of 
 his free hand he was now become a man of prop 
 erty. The sheriffs high cheek-bones, straight 
 hair (black as a dead coal), and narrow black 
 eyes were the arguments for a general belief that 
 an Indian ancestor lurked somewhere in the fo 
 liage of his genealogical tree. All that people 
 really knew about him was that his mother died 
 when he was a baby, and his father, about the 
 same time, was killed in battle, leaving their only 
 child to drift from one reluctant protector to 
 another, until he brought up in the Soldiers 
 Orphans 7 Home of the State. If the sheriff s 
 eyes were Indian, Indians may have very gentle 
 eyes. He turned them now on the deputy with 
 a smile. 
 
 "Well, Joe, what s up ?" said he. 
 
 " The lightning-rod feller wants to see you, as 
 soon as you come back to the jail, he says. And 
 here s something he dropped as he was going to 
 his room. Don t look much like it could be his 
 mother. Must have prigged it." 
 
 The sheriff examined the photograph, an or 
 dinary cabinet card. The portrait was that of a 
 woman, pictured with the relentless frankness of 
 a rural photographer s camera. Every sad line 
 
6 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 in the plain elderly face, every wrinkle in the 
 ill-fitting silk gown, showed with a brutal dis 
 tinctness, and somehow made the picture more 
 pathetic. The woman s hair was gray and thin ; 
 her eyes, which were dark, looked straight for 
 ward, and seemed to meet the sheriffs gaze. 
 They had no especial beauty of form, but they, 
 as well as the mouth, had an expression of wist 
 ful kindliness that fixed his eyes on them for a 
 full minute. He sighed as he dropped his hand. 
 Then he observed that there was writing on the 
 reverse side of the carte, and lifted it again to 
 read. 
 
 In a neat cramped hand was written : 
 
 "To Eddy, from Mother. Feb. 21, 1889. 
 
 "The Lord bless thee and keep thee. The Lord make 
 His face to shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee ; 
 the Lord lift up His countenance upon thee, and give thee 
 peace." 
 
 Wickliff put the carte in his pocket. 
 
 "That s just the kind of mother I d like to 
 have," said he; "awful nice and good, and not 
 so fine she d be ashamed of me. And to think 
 Othiml" 
 
 " He s an awful slick one," assented the deputy, 
 cordially. "Two years we ve been ayfter him. 
 New games all the time ; but the lightning-rods 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 ain t in it with this last scheme working hisself 
 off as a Methodist parson on the road to a job, 
 and stopping all night, and then the runaway 
 couple happening in, and that poor farmer and 
 his wife so excited and interested, and of course 
 they d witness and sign the certificate ; wisht I d 
 seen them when they found out I" 
 
 " They gave em cake and some currant wine, 
 too." 
 
 " That s just like women. Say, I didn t think 
 the girl was much to brag on for looks " 
 
 " Got a kinder way with her, though," "\Vick- 
 liff struck in. "Depend on it, Joseph, the most 
 dangerous of them all are the homely girls with 
 a way to them. A man s off his guard with 
 them ; he s sorry for them not being pretty, and 
 being so nice and humble ; and before he knows 
 it they re winding him round their finger." 
 
 " I didn t know you was so much of a philoso 
 pher, Amos," said the deputy, admiring him. 
 
 " It ain t me, Joe ; it s the business. Being a 
 philosopher, I take it, ain t much more than see 
 ing things with the paint oif ; and there s noth 
 ing like being a detective to get the paint off. 
 It s a great business for keeping a man straight, 
 too, seeing the consequences of wickedness so 
 constantly, especially fool wickedness that gets 
 found out. Well, Joe, if this lady" touching 
 
8 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 his breast pocket "is that guy s mother,, I m 
 awful sorry for her, for I know she tried to 
 train him right. I ll go over and find out, I 
 guess." 
 
 So saying, and quite unconscious of the ap 
 proving looks of his subordinate (for he was a 
 simple-minded, modest man, who only spoke out 
 of the fulness of his heart), the sheriff walked 
 over to the jail. 
 
 The corridor into which the cells of the un- 
 convicted prisoners opened was rather full to 
 day. As the sheriff entered, every one greeted 
 him, even the sullen-browed man talking with a 
 sobbing woman through the bars, and every one 
 smiled. He nodded to all, but only spoke to the 
 visitor. He said, " I guess he didn t do it this 
 time, Lizzie ; he won t be in long." 
 
 " That s what I bin tellin her," growled the 
 man, "and she won t believe me; I told her I 
 promised you " 
 
 "And God A mighty bless you, sheriff, for 
 what you done !" the woman wailed. The sheriff 
 had some ado to escape from her benedictions 
 politely; but he got away, and knocked at the 
 door of the last cell on the tier. The inmate 
 opened the door himself. 
 
 He was a small man, who still was wearing the 
 clerical habit of his last criminal masquerade ; 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 9 
 
 and his face carried out the suggestion of his 
 costume, being an actor s face, not only in the 
 clean-shaven cheeks and lips, but in the flexibil 
 ity of the features and the unconscious alertness 
 of gaze. He was fair of skin, and his light- 
 brown hair was worn off his head at the temples. 
 His eyes were fine, well shaped, of a beautiful 
 violet color, and an extremely pleasant expres 
 sion. He looked like a mere boy across the room 
 in the shadow, but as he advanced, certain deep 
 lines about his mouth displayed themselves and 
 raised his age. The sunlight showed that he was 
 thin ; he was haggard the instant he ceased to 
 smile. With a very good manner he greeted the 
 sheriff, to whom he proffered the sole chair of 
 the apartment. 
 
 " Guess the bed will hold me," said the sheriff, 
 testing his words by sitting down on the white- 
 covered iron bedstead. i( Well, I hear you want 
 ed to see me." 
 
 " Yes, sir. I want to get my money that you 
 took away from me." 
 
 " Well, I guess you can t have it." The sheriff 
 spoke with a smile, but his black eyes narrowed 
 a little. I guess the court will have to decide 
 first if that ain t old man Goodrich s money that 
 you got from the note he supposed was a mar 
 riage certificate. I guess you better not put any 
 
10 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 hopes on that money, Mr. Paisley. Wasn t that 
 the name you gave me ?" 
 
 " Paisley 11 do/ 7 said the other man, indiffer 
 ently. " What became of my friend ?" 
 
 "The sheriff of Hardin County wanted the 
 man, and the lady well, the lady is here board 
 ing with me." 
 
 " Going to squeal ?" 
 
 " Going to tell all she knows." 
 
 Paisley s hand went up to his mouth ; he 
 changed color. "It s like her," he muttered 
 " oh, it s just like her !" And he added a vil- 
 lanous epithet. 
 
 "None of that talk," said Wickliff. 
 
 The man had jumped up and was pacing his 
 narrow space, fighting against a climbing rage. 
 "You see," he cried, unable to contain himself 
 "you see, what makes me so mad is now I ve 
 got to get my mother to help me and I d rather 
 take a licking !" . 
 
 "I should think you would," said Wickliff, 
 dryly. "Say, this your mother?" He handed 
 him the photograph, the written side upward. 
 
 "It came in a Bible," explained Paisley, with 
 an embarrassed air. 
 
 " Your mother rich ?" 
 
 "She can raise the money." 
 
 "Meaning, I expect, that she can mortgage 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 11 
 
 her house and lot. Look here, Smith,, this ain t 
 the first time your ma has sent you money, but 
 if I was you I d have the last time stay the last. 
 She don t look equal to much more hard work." 
 
 "My name s Paisley, if you please/ returned 
 the prisoner, stolidly, "and I can take care of 
 my own mother. If she s lent me money I have 
 paid it back. This is only for bail, to deposit 
 
 " There is the chance," interrupted Wickliff, 
 " of your skipping. Now, I tell you, I like the 
 looks of your mother, and I don t mean she shall 
 run any risks. So, if you do get money from her, 
 I shall personally look out you don t forfeit your 
 bail. Besides, court is in session now, so the 
 chances are you wouldn t more than get the 
 money before it would be your turn. See ?" 
 
 "Anyhow I ve got to have a lawyer." 
 
 " Can t see why, young feller. I ll give you a 
 straight tip. There ain t enough law in Iowa to 
 get you out of this scrape. We ve got the cinch 
 on you, and there ain t any possible squirming 
 out." 
 
 " So you say ;" the sneer was a little forced ; 
 "Fve heard of your game before. Nice, kind 
 officers, ready to advise a man and pump him 
 dry, and witness against him afterwards. I ain t 
 that kind of a sucker, Mr. Sheriff." 
 
 " Nor I ain t that kind of an officer, Mr. Smith. 
 
12 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 You d ought to know about my reputation by 
 this time." 
 
 "They say you re square/ the prisoner ad 
 mitted ; " but you ain t so stuck on me as to 
 care a damn whether I go over the road ; expect 
 you d want to send me for the trouble I ve given 
 you/ and he grinned. "Well, what are you 
 after ?" 
 
 "Helping your mother, young feller. I had 
 a mother myself." 
 
 "It ain t uncommon." 
 
 "Maybe a mother like mine and yours is, 
 though." 
 
 The prisoner s eyes travelled down to the face 
 on the carte. "That s right," he said, with an 
 other ring in his voice. "I wouldn t mind half 
 so much if I could keep my going to the pen from 
 her. She s never found out about me." 
 
 "How much family you got?" said Wickliff, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " Just a mother. I ain t married. There was 
 a girl, my sister good sort too, nuff better n 
 me. She used to be a clerk in the store, type 
 writer, bookkeeper, general utility, you know. 
 My position in the first place ; and when I well, 
 resigned, they gave it to her. She helped moth 
 er buy the place. Two years ago she died. You 
 may believe me or not, but I would have gone 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 13 
 
 back home then and run straight if it hadn t 
 
 been for Mame. I would, by ! I had five 
 
 hundred dollars then, and I was going back to 
 give every damned cent of it to ma, tell her to 
 put it into the bakery" 
 
 " That how she makes a living ?" 
 
 Yes little two-by-four bakery oh, Fm giv 
 ing you straight goods makes pies and cakes 
 and bread good, too, you bet makes it herself. 
 Ruth Graves, who lives round the corner, comes 
 in and helps keeps the books, and tends shop 
 busy times ; tends the oven too, I guess. She 
 was a great friend of Ellie s and mine. She s 
 a real good girl. Well, I didn t get mother s 
 letters till it was too late, and I felt bad ; I had 
 a mind to go right down to Fairport and go in 
 with ma. That she stopped it. Got me off on 
 a tear somehow, and by the time I was sober 
 again the money was most all gone. I sent what 
 was left off to ma, and I went on the road again 
 myself. But she s the devil." 
 
 " That the time you hit her ?" 
 
 The prisoner nodded. " Oughtn t to, of course. 
 Wasn t brought up that way. My father was a 
 Methodist preacher, and a good one. But I tell 
 you the coons that say you never must hit a 
 woman don t know anything about that sort of 
 women ; there ain t nothing on earth so infernal- 
 
14 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 ly exasperating as a woman. They can mad you 
 worse than forty men." 
 
 It was the sheriff s turn to nod, which he did 
 gravely, with even a glimmer of sympathy in his 
 mien. 
 
 "Well, she never forgave you," said he; "she s 
 had it in for you since." 
 
 "And she knows I won t squeal, cause I d 
 have to give poor Ben away," said the prisoner ; 
 " but I tell you, sheriff, she was at the bottom 
 of the deviltry every time, and she managed to 
 bag the best part of the swag, too." 
 
 "I dare say. Well, to come back to business, 
 the question with you is how to keep these here 
 misfortunes of yours from your mother, ain t it ?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 " Well, the best plan for you is to plead guilty, 
 showing you don t mean to give the court any 
 more trouble. Tell the judge you are sick of 
 your life, and going to quit. You are, ain t 
 you ?" the sheriff concluded, simply ; and the 
 swindler, after an instant s hesitation, answered : 
 
 " Damned if I won t, if I can get a job !" 
 
 " Well, that admitted "the sheriff smoothed 
 his big knees gently as he talked, his mild atten 
 tive eyes fixed on the prisoner s nervous pres 
 ence "that admitted, best plan is for you to 
 plead guilty, and maybe we can fix it so s you 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 15 
 
 will be sentenced to jail instead of the pen. Then 
 we can keep it from your mother easy. Write 
 her 3 r ou ve got a job here in this town, and have 
 your letters sent to my care. I ll get you some 
 thing to do. She ll never suspect that you are 
 the notorious Ned Paisley. And it ain t likely 
 you go home often enough to make not going 
 awkward." 
 
 " I haven t been home in four years. But see 
 here : how long am I likely to get ?" 
 
 The sheriff looked at him, at the hollow cheeks 
 and sunken eyes and narrow chest all so cruelly 
 declared in the sunshine ; and unconsciously he 
 modulated his voice when he spoke. 
 
 " I wouldn t worry about that, if I was you. 
 You need a rest. You are run down pretty low. 
 You ain t rugged enough for the life you ve been 
 leading." 
 
 The prisoner s eyes strayed past the grating 
 to the green hills and the pleasant gardens, where 
 some children were playing. The sheriff did not 
 move. There was as little sensibility in his impas 
 sive mask as in a wooden Indian s ; but behind 
 the trained apathy was a real compassion. He 
 was thinking. " The boy don t look like he had 
 a year s life in him. I bet he knows it himself. 
 And when he stares that way out of the win 
 dow he s thinking he ain t never going to be 
 
16 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 foot-loose in the sun again. Kinder tough, I 
 call it." 
 
 The young man s eyes suddenly met his. 
 " Well, it s no great matter, I guess," said he. 
 "I ll do it. But I can t for the life of me make 
 out why you are taking so much trouble." 
 
 He was surprised at Wickliff s reply. It was, 
 "Come on down stairs with me, and I ll show 
 you." 
 
 "You mean it?" 
 
 " Yes ; go ahead." 
 
 " You want my parole not to cut and run ?" 
 
 "Just as you like about that. Better not try 
 any fooling." 
 
 The prisoner uttered a short laugh, glancing 
 from his own puny limbs to the magnificent 
 muscles of the officer. 
 
 ( Straight ahead, after you re out of the cor 
 ridor, down -stairs, and turn to the right," said 
 Wickliff. 
 
 Silently the prisoner followed his directions, 
 and when they had descended the stairs and 
 turned to the right, the sheriff s hand pushed 
 beneath his elbow and opened the door before 
 them. "My rooms," said Wickliif. "Being a 
 single man, it s handier for me living in the 
 jail." The rooms were furnished with the un- 
 chastened gorgeousness of a Pullman sleeper, the 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 17 
 
 brilliant hues of a Brussels carpet on the floor, 
 blue plush at the windows and 011 the chairs. 
 The walls were hung with the most expensive 
 gilt paper that the town could furnish (after all, 
 it was a modest price per roll), and against the 
 gold, photographs of the district judges assumed 
 a sinister dignity. There was also a photograph 
 of the court-house, and one of the jail, and a 
 model in bas-relief of the Capitol at Des Moines ; 
 but more prominent than any of these were two 
 portraits opposite the windows. They were oil- 
 paintings, elaborately framed, and they had cost 
 so much that the sheriff rested happily content 
 that they must be well painted. Certainly the 
 artist had not recorded impressions ; rather he 
 seemed to have worked with a microscope, not 
 slighting an eyelash. One of the portraits was 
 that of a stiff and stern young man in a soldier s 
 uniform. He was dark, and had eyes and feat 
 ures like the sheriff. The other was the portrait 
 of a young girl. In the original daguerreotype 
 from which the artist worked the face was come 
 ly, if not pretty, and the innocence in the eyes 
 and the timid smile made it winning. The ar 
 tist had enlarged the eyes and made the mouth 
 smaller, and bestowed (with the most amiable in 
 tentions) a complexion of hectic brilliancy ; but 
 there still remained, in spite of paint, a flicker of 
 
18 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 the old touching expression. Between the two 
 canvases hung a framed letter. It was labelled 
 in bold Roman script, Letter of Capt. K. T. 
 Manley," and a glance showed the reader that it 
 was the description of a battle to a friend. One 
 sentence was underlined. " We also lost Private 
 A. T. Wickliff, killed in the charge a good man 
 who could always be depended on to do his duty." 
 The sheriff guided his bewildered visitor oppo 
 site these portraits and lifted his hand above the 
 other s shoulder. "You see them?" said he. 
 " They re my father and mother. You see that 
 letter ? It was wrote by my father s old captain 
 and sent to me. What he says about my father 
 is everything that I know. But it s enough. 
 He was a good man who could always be de 
 pended on to do his duty. You can t say no more 
 of the President of the United States. I ve had 
 a pretty tough time of it in my own life, as a 
 man s got to have who takes up my line ; but 
 I ve tried to live so my father needn t be ashamed 
 of me. That other picture is my mother. I 
 don t know nothing about her, nothing at all; 
 and I don t need to except those eyes of hers. 
 There s a look someway about your mother s eyes 
 like mine. Maybe it s only the look one good 
 woman has like another ; but whatever it is, your 
 mother made me think of mine. She s the kind 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 19 
 
 of mother I d like to have ; and if I can help it, 
 she shaVt know her son s in the penitentiary. 
 Now come on back." 
 
 As silently as he had gone, the prisoner fol 
 lowed the sheriff back to his cell. " Good-bye, 
 Paisley," said the sheriff, at the door. 
 
 " Good-bye, sir; I m much obliged," said the 
 prisoner. Not another word was said. 
 
 That evening, however, good Mrs. Kaker told 
 the sheriff that, to her mind, if ever a man was 
 struck with death, that new young fellow was ; 
 and he had been crying, too ; his eyes were all red. 
 
 "He needs to cry," was all the comfort that 
 the kind soul received from the sheriff, the cold 
 remark being accompanied by what his familiars 
 called his Indian scowl. 
 
 Nevertheless, he did his utmost for the prisoner 
 as a quiet intercessor, and his merciful prophecy 
 was accomplished Edgar S. Paisley was per 
 mitted to serve out his sentence in the jail in 
 stead of the State prison. His state of health 
 had something to do with the judge s clemency, 
 and the sheriff could not but suspect that, in his 
 own phrase, " Paisley played his cough and his 
 hollow cheeks for all they were worth." 
 
 "But that s natural," he observed to Raker, 
 "and he s doing it partially for the old lady. 
 Well, I ll try to give her a quiet spell." 
 
20 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 / Raker responds, dubiously, "but he ll 
 be at his old games the minute he gits out." 
 
 "You don t suppose" the sheriff speaks with 
 a certain embarrassment "you don t suppose 
 there d be any chance of really reforming him, so 
 as he d stick ? he ain t likely to live long." 
 
 "Nah/ says the unbelieving deputy ; "he s a 
 deal too slick to be reformed." 
 
 The sheriff s pucker of his black brows and 
 his slow nod might have meant anything. Really 
 he was saying to himself (Amos was a dogged 
 fellow) : " Don t care ; I m going to try. I am 
 sure ma would want me to. I ain t a very hefty 
 missionary, but if there is such a thing as club 
 bing a man half-way decent, and I think there is, 
 I ll get him that way. Poor old lady, she looked 
 so unhappy !" 
 
 During the trial Paisley was too excited and 
 dejected to write to his mother. But the day 
 after he received his sentence the sheriff found 
 him finishing a large sheet of foolscap. 
 
 It contained a detailed and vivid description of 
 the reasons why he had left a mythical grocery 
 firm, and described with considerable humor the 
 mythical boarding-house where he was waiting 
 for something to turn up. It was very well done, 
 and he expected a smile from the sheriff. The 
 red mottled his pale cheeks when Wickliff, with 
 
"TORE THE LETTER INTO PIECES" 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 21 
 
 his blackest frown, tore the letter into pieces, 
 which he stuffed into his pocket. 
 
 "Yon take a damned ungentlemanly advantage 
 of your position/ 7 fumed Paisley. 
 
 "I shall take more advantage of it if you give 
 me any sass," returned Wickliff, calmly. " Now 
 set down and listen." Paisley, after one helpless 
 glare, did sit down. " I believe you fairly revel 
 in lying. I don t. That s where we differ. I 
 think lies are always liable to come home to 
 roost, and I like to have the flock as small as 
 possible. Now you write that you are here, and 
 you re helping me. You ain t getting much 
 wages, but they will be enough to keep you 
 these hard times any job is better than none. 
 And you can add that you don t want any money 
 .from her. Your other letter sorter squints like 
 you did. You can say you are boarding with a 
 very nice lady that s Mrs. Eaker everything 
 very clean, and the table plain but abundant. 
 Address you in care of Sheriff Amos T. Wickliff. 
 How s that ?" 
 
 Paisley s anger had ebbed away. Either from 
 policy or some other motive he was laughing 
 now. " It s not nearly so interesting in a liter 
 ary point of view, you know," said he, "but I 
 guess it will be easier not to have so many 
 things to remember. And you re right ; I 
 
22 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 didn t mean to hint for money, but it did look 
 like it." 
 
 " He did mean to hint/ thought the sheriff, 
 "but he s got some sense." The letter finally 
 submitted was a masterpiece in its way. This 
 time the sheriff smiled, though grimly. He also 
 gave Paisley a cigar. 
 
 Eegularly the letters to Mrs. Smith were sub 
 mitted to Wickliff. Eaker never thought of 
 reading them. The replies came with a pathetic 
 promptness. " That s from your ma," said Wick 
 liff, when the first letter came Paisley was at 
 the jail ledgers in the sheriff s room, as it hap 
 pened, directly beneath the portraits "you 
 better read it first." 
 
 Paisley read it twice ; then he turned and 
 handed it to the sheriff, with a half apology. 
 " My mother talks a good deal better than she 
 writes. Women are naturally interested in petty 
 things, you know. Besides, I used to be fond 
 of the old dog ; that s why she writes so much 
 about him." 
 
 " I have a dog myself," growled the sheriff. 
 "Your mother writes a beautiful letter." His 
 eyes were already travelling down the cheap thin 
 note-paper, folded at the top. "I know," Mrs. 
 Smith wrote, in her stiff, careful hand "I know 
 you will feel bad, Eddy, to hear that dear old 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 23 
 
 Rowdy is gone. Your letter came the night be 
 fore he died. Ruth was over, and I read it out 
 loud to her ; and when I came to that part where 
 you sent your love to him, it seemed like he 
 understood, he wagged his tail so knowing. You 
 know how fond of you he always was. All that 
 evening he played round more than usual and 
 I m so glad we both petted him, for in the morn 
 ing we found him stiff and cold on the landing 
 of the stairs, in his favorite place. I don t think 
 he could have suffered any, he looked so peace 
 ful. Ruth and I made a grave for him in the 
 garden, under the white rose tree. Ruth digged 
 the grave, and she painted a Kennedy s cracker- 
 box, and we wrapped him up in white cotton 
 cloth. I cried, and Ruth cried too, when we 
 laid him away. Somehow it made me long so 
 much more to see you. If I sent you the money, 
 don t you think you could come home for Christ 
 mas ? Wouldn t your employer let you if he 
 knew your mother had not seen you for four 
 years, and you are all the child she has got ? 
 But I don t want you to neglect your business." 
 The few words of affection that followed were 
 not written so firmly as the rest. The sheriff 
 would not read them ; he handed the letter back 
 to Paisley, and turned his Indian scowl on the 
 back of the latter s shapely head. 
 
24 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 Paisley was staring at the columns of the page 
 before him. " Rowdy was my dog when I was 
 courting Ruth/ he said. " I was engaged to her 
 once. I suppose mother thinks of that. Poor 
 Rowdy ! the night I ran away he followed me, 
 and I had to whip him back." 
 
 " Oh, you ran away ?" 
 
 "Oh yes; the old story. Trusted clerk. 
 Meant to return the money. It wasn t very 
 much. But it about cleaned mother out. Then 
 she started the bakery/ 
 
 " You pay your ma back ?" 
 
 "Yes, I did." 
 
 "That s a lie." 
 
 " What do you ask a man such questions for, 
 then ? Do you think it s pleasant admitting 
 what a dirty dog you ve been ? Oh, damn you !" 
 
 "You do see it, then," said the sheriff, in a 
 very pleasant, gentle tone ; " that s one good 
 thing. For you have got to reform, Ned ; I m 
 going to give your mother a decent boy. Well, 
 what happened then ? Girl throw you over ?" 
 
 " Why, I ran straight for a while," said Paisley, 
 furtively wiping first one eye and then the other 
 with a finger; "there wasn t any scandal. Ruth 
 stuck by me, and a married sister of hers (who 
 didn t know) got her husband to give me a place. 
 I was doing all right, and and sending home 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 25 
 
 money to ma, and I would have been all right 
 now, if if I hadn t met Mame, and she made 
 a crazy fool of me. Then Ruth shook me. Oh, 
 I ain t blaming her ! It was hearing about 
 Mame. But after that I just went a-flying to 
 the devil. Now you know why I wanted to see 
 Mame." 
 
 "You wanted to kill her," said the sheriff, 
 "or you think you did. But you couldn t; 
 she d have talked you over. Still, I thought I 
 wouldn t risk it. You know she s gone now ?" 
 
 "I supposed she d be, now the trial s over." 
 In a minute he added: "I m glad I didn t 
 touch her ; mother would have had to know 
 that. Look here ; how am I going to get over 
 that invitation ?" 
 
 "Pll trust you for that lie," said Wickliff, 
 sauntering off. 
 
 Paisley wrote that he would not take his 
 mother s money. When he could come home 
 on his own money he would gladly. He wrote 
 a long affectionate letter, which the sheriff read, 
 and handed back with the dry comment, " That 
 will do, I guess." 
 
 But he gave Paisley a brier-wood pipe and a 
 pound of Yale Mixture that afternoon. 
 
 The correspondence threw some side-lights on 
 Paisley s past. 
 
26 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 "YouVe got to write your ma every week/ 
 announced Wickliff, when the day came round. 
 
 " Why, I haven t written once a month." 
 
 " Probably not, but you have got to write once 
 a week now. Your mother 11 get used to it. I 
 should think you d be glad to do the only thing 
 you can for the mother that s worked her fingers 
 off for you." 
 
 "I am glad," said Paisley, sullenly. 
 
 He never made any further demur. He wrote 
 very good letters ; and more and more, as the 
 time passed, he grew interested in the cor 
 respondence. Meanwhile he began to acquire 
 (quite unsuspected by the sheriff) a queer re 
 spect for that personage. The sheriff was pop 
 ular among the prisoners ; perhaps the general 
 sentiment was voiced by one of them, who ex 
 claimed, one day, after his visit, " Well, I never 
 did see a man as had killed so many men put on 
 so little airs I" 
 
 Paisley began his acquaintance with a con 
 tempt for the slow -moving intellect that he 
 attributed to his sluggish-looking captor. He 
 felt the superiority of his own better education. 
 It was grateful to his vanity to sneer in secret 
 at Wickliff s slips in grammar or information. 
 And presently he had opportunity to indulge his 
 humor in this respect, for Wickliff began lend- 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 27 
 
 ing him books. The jail library, as a rule, was 
 managed by Mrs. Raker. She was, she used to 
 say, "a great reader," and dearly loved "a nice 
 story that made you cry all the way through and 
 ended right." Her taste was catholic in fiction 
 (she never read anything else), and her favorites 
 were Mrs. Southworth, Charles Dickens, and 
 Walter Scott. The sheriff s own reading seldom 
 strayed beyond the daily papers, but with the 
 aid of a legal friend he had selected some stand 
 ard biographies and histories to add to the sin 
 gular conglomeration of fiction and religion sent 
 to the jail by a charitable public. On Paisley s 
 request for reading, the sheriff went to Mrs. 
 Raker. She promptly pulled Islimael Worth, or 
 Out of the Depths, from the shelf. " It s beauti 
 ful," says she, "and when he gits through with 
 that he can have the Pickwick Papers to cheer 
 him up. Only I kinder hate to lend that book 
 to the prisoners ; there s so much about good 
 eatin in it, it makes em dissatisfied with the 
 table." 
 
 " He s got to have something improving, too," 
 says the sheriff. "I guess the history of the 
 United States will do ; you ve read the others, 
 and know they re all right. Fll run through 
 this." 
 
 He told Paisley the next morning that he had 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 sat np almost all night reading, he was so afraid 
 that enough of the thirteen States wouldn t ratify 
 the Constitution. This was only one of the art 
 less comments that tickled Paisley. Yet he soon 
 began to notice the sheriff s keenness of observa 
 tion, and a kind of work-a-day sense that served 
 him well. He fell to wondering, during those 
 long nights when his cough kept him awake, 
 whether his own brilliant and subtle ingenuity 
 had done as much for him. He could hardly 
 tell the moment of its beginning, but he began 
 to value the approval of this big, ignorant, 
 clumsy, strong man. 
 
 Insensibly he grew to thinking of conduct 
 more in the sheriff s fashion ; and his letters not 
 only reflected the change in his moral point of 
 view, they began to have more and more to say 
 of the sheriff. Very soon the mother began to 
 be pathetically thankful to this good friend of 
 her boy, whose habits were so correct, whose in 
 fluence so admirable. In her grateful happiness 
 over the frequent letters and their affection were 
 revealed the unexpressed fears that had tortured 
 her for years. She asked for Wickliff s picture. 
 Paisley did not know that the sheriff had a 
 photograph taken on purpose. Mrs. Smith pro 
 nounced him " a handsome man." To be sure, 
 the unscarred side of his face was taken. " He 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 29 
 
 looks firm, too/ 7 wrote the poor mother, whose 
 own boy had never known how to be firm; "I 
 think he must be a Daniel." 
 
 " A which ?" exclaimed the puzzled Daniel. 
 
 " Didn t you ever go to Sunday-school ? Don t 
 you know the verses, 
 
 " Dare to be a Daniel ; 
 Dare to make a stand ?" 
 
 The sheriff s reply was enigmatical. It was : 
 " Well, to think of you having such a mother as 
 that !" 
 
 " I don t deserve her, that s a fact," said Pais 
 ley, with his flippant air. "And yet, would you 
 believe it, I used to be the model boy of the 
 Sunday-school. Won all the prizes. Ma s got 
 them in a drawer." 
 
 "Dare say. They thought you were a awful 
 good boy, because you always kept your face 
 clean and brushed your hair without being told 
 to, and learned your lessons quick, and always 
 said Yes, m/ and No, m, and when you got 
 into a scrape lied out of it, and picked up bad 
 habits as easy and quiet as a long-haired dog 
 catches fleas. Oh, I know your sort of model 
 boy ! We had em at the Orphans Home ; I ve 
 taken their lickings, too." 
 
 Paisley s thin face was scarlet before the speech 
 
30 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 was finished. "Some of that is true," said he ; 
 "but at least I never hit a fellow when he was 
 down." 
 
 The sheriff narrowed his eyes in a way that he 
 had when thinking ; he put both hands in his 
 pockets and contemplated Paisley s irritation. 
 " "Well, young feller, you have some reason to 
 talk that way to me," said he. "The fact is, I 
 was mad at you, thinking about your mother. I 
 I respect that lady very highly." 
 
 Paisley forced a feeble smile over his "So do 
 I." 
 
 But after this episode the sheriff s manner 
 visibly softened to the young man. He told 
 Raker that there were good spots in Paisley. 
 
 " Yes, he s mighty slick," said Raker. 
 
 Thanksgiving - time, a box from his mother 
 came to the prisoner, and among the pies and 
 cakes was an especial pie for Mr. Wickliff, 
 "From his affectionate old friend, Rebecca 
 Smith." 
 
 The sheriff spent fully two hours communing 
 with a large new Manual of Etiquette and Cor 
 respondence ; then he submitted a letter to Pais 
 ley. Paisley read : 
 
 "DEAR MADAM, Your favor (of the pie) of the 24th 
 inst. is received and I beg you to accept my sincere and 
 warm thanks. Ned is an efficient clerk and his habits 
 
H| 
 
 THE THANKSGIVING BOX 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 31 
 
 are very correct. We are reading history, in our leisure 
 hours. We have read Fisk s Constitutional History of 
 the United States and two volumes of Macaulay s History 
 of England. Both very interesting books. I think that 
 Judge Jeffreys was the meanest and worst judge I ever 
 heard of. My early education was not as extensive as I 
 could wish, and I am very glad of the valuable assistance 
 which I receive from j our son. He is doing well and 
 sends his love. Hoping, my dear Madam, to be able to see 
 you and thank you personally for your very kind and wel 
 come gift, I am, with respect, 
 
 "Very Truly Yours, 
 
 "AMOS T. WlCKLIFF." 
 
 Paisley read the letter soberly. In fact, an 
 other feeling destroyed any inclination to smile 
 over the unusual pomp of Wickliff s style. 
 " That s out of sight !" he declared. " It will 
 please the old lady to the ground. Say, I take 
 it very kindly of you, Mr. Wickliff, to write 
 about me that way." 
 
 " I had a book to help me," confessed the nat 
 tered sheriff. " And say, Paisley, when you 
 are writing about me to your ma, you better say 
 Wickliff, or Arnos. Mr. Wickliff sounds kinder 
 stiff. I ll understand." 
 
 The letter that the sheriff received in return 
 he did not show to Paisley. He read it with a 
 knitted brow, and more than once he brushed 
 his hand across his eyes. When he finished it 
 
32 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 he drew a long sigh, and walked up to his moth 
 er s portrait. " She says she prays for me every 
 night, ma" he spoke under his breath, and 
 reverently. " Ma, I simply have got to save that 
 boy for her, haven t I ?" 
 
 That evening Paisley rather timidly approached 
 a subject which he had tried twice before to 
 broach, but his courage had failed him. "You 
 said something, Mr. Wickliff, of paying me a lit 
 tle extra for what I do, keeping the books, etc. 
 Would you mind telling me what it will be ? I 
 I d like to send a Christmas present to my 
 mother." 
 
 " That s right," said the sheriff, heartily. " I 
 was thinking what would suit her. How s a nice 
 black dress, and a bill pinned to it to pay for 
 making it up ?" 
 
 " But I never 
 
 " You can pay me when you get out." 
 
 " Do you think I ll ever get out ?" Paisley s 
 fine eyes were fixed on Wickliif as he spoke, with 
 a sudden wistful eagerness. He had never al 
 luded to his health before, yet it had steadily 
 failed. Now he would not let Amos answer; he 
 may have flinched from any confirmation of his 
 own fears ; he took the word hastily. " Any 
 how, you ll risk my turning out a bad in 
 vestment. But you ll do a damned kind ac- 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 33 
 
 tion to my mother; and if I m a rip, she s a 
 saint." 
 
 " Sure," said the sheriff. " Say, do you think 
 she d mind my sending her a hymn-book and a 
 few flowers ?" 
 
 Thus it came to pass that the tiny bakery win 
 dow, one Christmas-day, showed such a crimson 
 glory of roses as the village had never seen ; and 
 the widow Smith, bowing her shabby black bon 
 net on the pew rail, gave thanks and tears for a 
 happy Christmas, and prayed for her son s friend. 
 She prayed for her son also, that he might "be 
 kept good." She felt that her prayer would be 
 answered. God knows, perhaps it was. 
 
 That night before she went to bed she wrote 
 to Edgar and to Amos. " I am writing to both 
 my boys," she said to Amos, " for I feel like yon 
 were my dear son too." 
 
 When Amos answered this letter he did not 
 consult the Manual. It was one day in January, 
 early in the month, that he received the first bit 
 of encouragement for his missionary work pal 
 pable enough to display to the scoffer Raker. 
 Yet it was not a great thing either ; only this : 
 Paisley (already half an hour at work in the 
 sheriff s room) stopped, fished from his sleeve a 
 piece of note-paper folded into the measure of a 
 knife-blade, and offered it to the sheriff. 
 
34 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 "See what Mame sent me," said he; "just 
 read it." 
 
 There was a page of it, the purport being that 
 the writer had done what she had through jeal 
 ousy, which she knew now was unfounded ; she 
 was suffering indescribable agonies from remorse; 
 and, to prove she meant what she said, if her 
 darling Ned would forgive her she would get 
 him out before a week was over. If he agreed 
 he was to be at his window at six o clock Wednes 
 day night. The day was Thursday. 
 
 "How did you get this ?" asked Amos. "Do 
 you mind telling ?" 
 
 "Not the least. It came in a coat. From 
 Barber & G-lasson s. The one Mrs. Raker 
 picked out for me, and it was sent up from the 
 store. She got at it somehow, I suppose." 
 
 " But how did you get word where to look ?" 
 
 Paisley grinned. " Mame was here, visiting 
 that fellow who was taken up for smashing a 
 window, and pretended he was so hungry he had 
 to have a meal in jail. Mame put him up to it, 
 so she could come. She gave me the tip where 
 to look then." 
 
 "I see. I got on to some of those signals 
 once. Well, did you show yourself Wednes 
 day ?" 
 
 "Not much !" He hesitated, and did not look 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 35 
 
 at the sheriff, scrawling initials on the blotting- 
 pad with his pen. " Did you really think, Mr. 
 Wickliff, after all you ve done for me and my 
 mother I would go back on you and get you 
 into trouble for that " 
 
 " S-sh ! Don t call names !" Wickliff looked 
 apprehensively at the picture of his mother. 
 " Why didn t you give me this before ?" 
 
 "Because you weren t here till this morning. 
 I wasn t going to give it to Kaker." 
 
 " What do you suppose she s after ?" 
 
 " Oh, she s got some big scheme on foot, and 
 she needs me to work it. I m sick of her. I m 
 sick of the whole thing. I want to run straight. 
 I want to be the man my poor mother thinks I 
 am." 
 
 "And I want to help you, Ned," cried the 
 sheriff. For the first time he caught the other s 
 hand and wrung it. 
 
 " I guess the Lord wants to help me too," said 
 Paisley, in a queer dry tone. 
 
 " Why yes of course he wants to help all of 
 us," said the sheriff, embarrassed. Then he 
 frowned, and his voice roughened as he asked, 
 " What do you mean by that ?" 
 
 " Oh, you know what I mean," said Paisley, 
 smiling ; " you ve always known it. It s been 
 getting worse lately. I guess I caught cold. 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 Some mornings I have to stop two or three times 
 when I dress myself, I have such fits of cough 
 ing/ 
 
 " Why didn t you tell, and go to the hospital?" 
 "I wanted to come down here. It s so pleas 
 ant down here." 
 
 " Good " The sheriff reined his tongue in 
 time, and only said, "Look here, you ve got to 
 see a doctor !" 
 
 Therefore the encouragement to the mission 
 ary work was embittered by divers conflicting 
 feelings. Even Raker was disturbed when the 
 doctor announced that Paisley had pneumonia. 
 
 " Double pneumonia and a slim chance, of 
 course," gloomed Raker. "Always so. Can t 
 have a man git useful and be a little decent, but 
 he s got to die ! Why couldn t it a been that 
 tramp tried to set the jail afire ?" 
 
 " What I m a-thinking of is his poor ma, who 
 used to write him such beautiful letters," said 
 Mrs. Raker, wiping her kind eyes. " They was 
 so attached. Never a week he didn t write her." 
 "It s his mother I m thinking of, too," said 
 the sheriff, with a groan ; "she ll be wanting to 
 come and see him, and how in " He swallowed 
 an agitated oath, and paced the floor, his hands 
 clasped behind him, his lip under his teeth, and 
 his blackest Indian scowl on his brow plain 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 37 
 
 signs to all who knew him that he was fighting 
 his way through some mental thicket. 
 
 But he had never looked gentler than he 
 looked an hour later, as he stepped softly into 
 Paisley s cell. Mrs. Raker was holding a foam 
 ing glass to the sick man s lips. " There ; take 
 another sup of the good nog," she said, coaxing- 
 ly, as one talks to a child. 
 
 "No, thank you, ma am," said Paisley. 
 "Queer how I ve thought so often how I d like 
 the taste of whiskey again on my tongue, and 
 now I can have all I want, I don t care a hooter!" 
 
 His voice was rasped in the chords, and he 
 caught his breath between his sentences. Forty- 
 eight hours had made an ugly alteration in his 
 face ; the eyes were glassy, the features had 
 shrunken in an indescribable, ghastly way, and 
 the fair skin was of a yellowish pallor, with livid 
 circles about the eyes and the open mouth. 
 
 Wickliff greeted him, assuming his ordinary 
 manner. They shook hands. 
 
 "There s one thing, Mr. Wickliff," said Pais 
 ley : " you ll keep this from my mother. She d 
 worry like blazes, and want to come here." 
 
 There was a photograph on the table, propped 
 up by books ; the sheriff s hand was on it, and 
 he moved it, unconsciously : " To Eddy, from 
 Mother. The Lord bless and keep thee. The 
 
38 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 Lord make his face to shine upon thee, and be 
 gracious unto thee " Wickliff cleared his 
 throat. "Well, I don t know, Ned," he said, 
 cheerfully ; "maybe that would be a good thing 
 kind of brace you up and make you get well 
 quicker/ 
 
 Mrs. Kaker noticed nothing in his voice ; but 
 Paisley rolled his eyes on the impassive face in 
 a strange, quivering, searching look ; then he 
 closed them and feebly turned his head. 
 
 " Don t you want me to telegraph ? Don t 
 you want to see her ?" 
 
 Some throb of excitement gave Paisley the 
 strength to lift himself up on the pillows. 
 " What do you want to rile me all up for ?" 
 His voice was almost a scream. "Want to see 
 her ? It s the only thing in this damned fool 
 world I do want ! But I can t have her know ; 
 it would kill her to know. You must make up 
 some lie about it s being diphtheria and awful 
 sudden, and no time for her to come, and have 
 me all out of the way before she gets here. 
 You ve been awful good to me, and you can do 
 anything you like ; it s the last I ll bother you 
 don t let her find out !" 
 
 "For the land s sake !" sniffed Mrs. Raker, in 
 tears "don t she know ?" 
 
 " No, ma am, she don t ; and she never will. 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 39 
 
 either/ said the sheriff. " There, Ned, boy, you 
 lay right down. I ll fix it. And you shall see 
 her, too. I ll fix it." 
 
 " Yes, he ll fix it. Amos will fix it. Don t 
 you worry," sobbed Mrs. Raker, who had not the 
 least idea how the sheriff could arrange matters, 
 but was just as confident that he would as if the 
 future were unrolled before her gaze. 
 
 The prisoner breathed a long deep sigh of re- 
 lief, and patted the strong hand at his shoulder. 
 And Amos gently laid him back on the pillows. 
 
 Before nightfall Paisley was lying in Amos 
 Wickliff s own bed, while Amos, at his side, was 
 critically surveying both chamber and parlor 
 under half-closed eyelids. He was trying to see 
 them with the eyes of the elderly widow of a 
 Methodist minister. 
 
 "Hum yes !" The result of the survey was, 
 on the whole, satisfactory. "All nice, high- 
 toned, first-class pictures. Nothing to shock a 
 lady. Liquors all put away, cept what s needed 
 for him. Pops all put away, so she won t be 
 finding one and be killing herself, thinking it s 
 not loaded. My bed moved in here comfortable 
 for him, because he thought it was such a pleas 
 ant room, poor boy. Another bed in my room 
 for her. Bath-room next door, hot and cold 
 water. Little gas stove. Trained nurse who 
 
40 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 doesn t know anything, and so can t tell. Thinks 
 it s my friend Smith. Is there anything else ?" 
 
 At this moment the white counterpane on the 
 bed stirred. 
 
 "Well, Ned ?" said Wickliff. 
 
 "It s nice !" said Paisley. 
 
 "That s right. Now yon get a firm grip on 
 what I m going to say such a grip you won t 
 lose it, even if you get out of your head a little." 
 
 "I won t," said Paisley. 
 
 "All right. You re not Paisley any more. 
 Y r oii re Ned Smith. I ve had you moved here 
 into my rooms because your boarding - place 
 wasn t so good. Everybody here understands, 
 and has got their story ready. The nurse thinks 
 you re my friend Smith. You are, too, and you 
 are to call me Amos. The telegram s gone. 
 .>S-sh ! what a way to do !" for Paisley was 
 crying. " Ain t I her boy too ?" 
 
 One weak place remained in the fortress that 
 Amos had builded against prying eyes and chat 
 tering tongues. He had searched in vain for 
 " Mame." There was no especial reason, except 
 pure hatred and malice, to dread her going to 
 Paisley s mother, but the sheriff had enough 
 knowledge of Maine s kind to take these qualities 
 into account. 
 
 From the time that Wickliff promised him 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 41 
 
 that he should have his mother, Paisley seemed 
 to be freed from every misgiving. He was too 
 ill to talk much, and much of the time he was 
 miserably occupied with his own suffering ; yet 
 often during the night and day before she came 
 he would lift his still beautiful eyes to Mrs. Ra 
 ker s and say, " It s to-morrow night ma comes, 
 isn t it ?" To which the soft - hearted woman 
 would sometimes answer, " Yes, son," and some 
 times only work her chin and put her handker 
 chief to her eyes. Once she so far forgot the 
 presence of the gifted professional nurse that 
 she sniffed aloud, whereupon that personage ad 
 ministered a scorching tonic, in the guise of a 
 glance, and poor Mrs. Raker went out of the 
 room and cried. 
 
 He must have kept some reckoning of the 
 time, for the next day he varied his question. 
 He said, "It s to-day she s coming, isn t it?" 
 As the day wore on, the customary change of his 
 disease came : he was relieved of his worst pain ; 
 he thought that he was better. So thought Mrs. 
 Raker and the sheriff. The doctor and the nurse 
 maintained their inscrutable professional calm. 
 At ten o clock the sheriff (who had been gone 
 for a half -hour) softly opened the door. The sick 
 man instantly roused. lie half sat up. "I 
 know," he exclaimed ; " it s ma. Ma s come !" 
 
42 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 The nurse rose, ready to protect her patient. 
 
 There entered a little, black- robed, gray-haired 
 woman, who glided swift as a thought to the 
 bedside, and gathered the worn young head to 
 her breast. " My boy, my dear, good boy !" she 
 said, under her breath, so low the nurse did not 
 hear her ; she only heard her say, " Now you 
 must get well/ 
 
 " Oh, I am glad, ma I" said the sick man. 
 
 After that the nurse was well content with 
 them all. They obeyed her implicitly. It was 
 she rather than Mrs. Raker who observed that 
 Mr. Smith s mother was not alone, but accom 
 panied by a slim, fair, brown-eyed young woman, 
 who lingered in the background, and would fain 
 have not spoken to the invalid at all had she not 
 been gently pushed forward by the mother, with 
 the words, " And Ruth came too, Eddy !" 
 
 " Thank you, Ruth ; I knew that you wouldn t 
 let ma come alone," said Ned, feebly. 
 
 The young woman had opened her lips. Now 
 they closed. She looked at him compassionate 
 ly. " Surely not, Ned," she said. 
 
 But why, wondered the nurse, who was ob 
 servant it was her trade to observe why did 
 she look at him so intently, and with such a 
 shocked pity ? 
 
 Ned did not express much the sick, especial- 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 43 
 
 ly the very sick, cannot ; but whenever he waked 
 in the night and saw his mother bending over 
 him he smiled happily, and she would answer his 
 thought. "Yes, my boy; my dear, good boy/ 
 she would say. 
 
 And the sheriff in his dim corner thought sad 
 ly that the ruined life would always be saved for 
 her now, and her son would be her good boy for 
 ever. Yet he muttered to himself, "I suppose 
 the Lord is helping me out, and I ought to feel 
 obliged, but I m hanged if I wouldn t rather take 
 the chances and have the boy get well !" 
 
 But he knew all the time that there was no 
 hope for Ned s life. He lived three days after his 
 mother came. The day before his death he was 
 alone for a short time with the sheriff, and asked 
 him to be good to his mother. " Euth will be 
 good to her too," he said; "but last night I 
 dreamed Mame was chasing mother, and it scared 
 me. You won t let her get at mother, will 
 you ?" 
 
 "Of course I won t," said the sheriff ; "we re 
 watching your mother every minnit ; and if that 
 woman comes here, Eaker has orders to clap her 
 in jail. And I will always look out for your ma, 
 Ned, and she never shall know." 
 
 "That s good," said Ned, in his feeble voice. 
 " I ll tell you something : I always wanted to be 
 
44 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 good, but I was always bad ; but I believe I 
 would have been decent if Fd lived, because I d 
 have kept close to you. You ll be good to ma 
 and to Ruth ?" 
 
 The sheriff thought that he had drifted away 
 and did not hear the answer, but in a few mo 
 ments he opened his eyes and said, brightly, 
 " Thank you, Amos." It was the first time that 
 lie had used the other man s Christian name. 
 
 " Yes, Ned," said the sheriff. 
 
 Next morning at daybreak he died. His moth 
 er was with him. Just before he went to sleep 
 his mind wandered a little. He fancied that he 
 was a little boy, and that he was sick, and wanted 
 to say his prayers to his mother. "But I m so 
 sick I can t get out of bed," said he. " God 
 won t mind my saying them in bed, will He ?" 
 Then he folded his hands, and reverently re 
 peated the childish rhyme, and so fell into a 
 peaceful sleep, which deepened into peace. In 
 this wise, perhaps, were answered many prayers. 
 
 Amos made all the arrangements the next day. 
 He said that they were going home from Fairport 
 on the day following, but he managed to con 
 clude all the necessary legal formalities in time 
 to take the evening train. Once on the train, 
 and his companions in their sections, lie drew a, 
 long breath. 
 
THK MISSIONARY SHERIFF 45 
 
 " It may not have been Mame that I saw," he 
 said, taking out his cigar-case on the way to the 
 smoking-room; "it was merely a glimpse she 
 in a buggy, me on foot ; and it may be she 
 wouldn t do a thing or think the game worth 
 blackmail ; but I don t propose to run any 
 chances in this deal. Hullo excuse me, 
 miss !" 
 
 The last words were uttered aloud to Ruth 
 Graves, who had touched him 011 the arm. He 
 had a distinct admiration for this young wom 
 an, founded on the grounds that she cried very 
 quietly, that she never was underfoot, and that 
 she was so unobtrusively kind to Mrs. Smith. 
 
 " Anything I can do ?" he began, with genuine 
 willingness. 
 
 She motioned him to take a seat. " Mrs. 
 Smith is safe in her section," she said ; "it isn t 
 that. I wanted to speak to you. Mr. Wickliff, 
 Ned told me how it was. He said he couldn t 
 die lying to everybody, and he wanted me to 
 know how good you were.- I am perfectly safe, 
 Mr. Wickliff," as a look of annoyance puckered 
 the sheriff s brow. "He told me there was a 
 woman who might some time try to make money 
 out of his mother if she could find her, and I was 
 to watch. Mr. Wickliff, was she rather tall and 
 slim, with a fine figure ?" 
 
46 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 ft Yes dark-complected rather, and has a thin 
 face and a largish nose." 
 
 "And one of her eyes is a little droopy, and 
 she has a gold filling in her front tooth ? Mr. 
 Wickliff, that woman got on this train." 
 
 " She did, did she ?" said the sheriff, showing 
 no surprise. "Well, my dear young lady, Fm 
 very much obliged to you. I will attend to the 
 matter. Mrs. Smith shaVt be disturbed." 
 
 " Thank you," said the young woman ; " that s 
 all. Good-night !" 
 
 " You might know that girl had had a business 
 education," the sheriff mused "says what she s 
 got to say, and moves on. Poor Ned ! poor 
 Ned !" 
 
 Euth went to her section, but she did not un 
 dress. She sat behind the curtains, peering 
 through the opening at Mrs. Smith s section op 
 posite, or at the lower berth next hers, which 
 was occupied by the sheriff. The curtains were 
 drawn there also, and presently she saw him 
 disappear by sections into their shelter. Then 
 his shoes were pushed partially into the aisle. 
 Empty shoes. She waited ; it could not be that 
 he was really going to sleep. But the minutes 
 crept by ; a half-hour passed ; no sign of life 
 behind his curtains. An hour passed. At the 
 farther end of the car curtains parted, and a 
 
vu 
 
 "SHE PAUSED BEFORE MRS. SMITH S 
 SECTION " 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 47 
 
 young woman slipped out ot her berth. She 
 was dark and not handsome, but an elegant 
 shape and a modish gown made her attrac 
 tive-looking. One of her eyelids drooped a 
 little. 
 
 She walked down the aisle and paused before 
 Mrs. Smith s section, Kuth holding her breath. 
 She looked at the big shoes on the floor, her lip 
 curling. Then she took the curtains of Mrs. 
 Smith s section in both hands and put her head 
 in. 
 
 " I must stop her !" thought Ruth. But she 
 did not spring out. The sheriff, fully dressed, 
 was beside the woman, and an arm of iron de 
 liberately turned her round. 
 
 "The game s up, Mamie," said Wickliff. 
 
 She made no noise, only looked at him. 
 
 " What are you going to do ?" said she, with 
 perfect composure. 
 
 "Arrest you if you make a racket, talk to you 
 if you don t. Go into that seat." He indicated 
 a seat in the rear, and she took it without a 
 word. He sat near the aisle ; she was by the 
 window. 
 
 " I suppose you mean to sit here all night," 
 she remarked, scornfully. 
 
 " Not at all," said he ; "just to the next place. 
 Then you ll get out." 
 
48 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 "Oh, will I?" 
 
 "You will. Either you will get out and go 
 about your business, or you will get out and be 
 taken to jail." 
 
 " We re smart. What for ?" 
 
 " For inciting prisoners to escape." 
 
 " Ned s dead/ with a sneer. 
 
 " Yes, he s dead, and" he watched her nar 
 rowly, although he seemed absorbed in button 
 ing his coat "they say he haunts his old cell, 
 as if he d lost something. Maybe it s the letter 
 you folded up small enough to go in the seam 
 of a coat. I ve got that." He saw that she was 
 watching him in turn, and that she was ner 
 vous. " Ned s dead, poor fellow r , true enough ; 
 but the girl at Barber & Glasson s ain t 
 dead." 
 
 She began to fumble with her gloves, peeling 
 them off and rolling them into balls. He thought 
 to himself that the chances were that she was 
 superstitious. 
 
 " Look here," he said, sharply, "have an end 
 of this nonsense ; you get off at the next place, 
 and never bother that old lady again, or I will 
 have you arrested, and you can try for yourself 
 whether Ned s cell is haunted." 
 
 For a brief space they eyed each other, she 
 in an access of impotent rage, he stolid as the 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 49 
 
 carving of the seat. The car shivered ; the great 
 wheels moved more slowly. " Decide/ said he ; 
 not imperatively dryly, without emotion of any 
 sort. He kept his mild eyes 011 her. 
 
 " It wasn t his mother I meant to tell ; it 
 was that girl that nice girl he wanted to 
 marry 
 
 "You make me tired/ said the sheriff. "Are 
 you going, or am I to make a scene and take 
 you ? I don t care much." 
 
 She slipped her hancl behind her into her 
 pocket. 
 
 The sheriff laughed, and grasped one wrist. 
 
 "/don t want to talk to the country fools/ 
 she snapped. 
 
 " This way," said the sheriff, guiding her. 
 The train had stopped. She laughed as he 
 politely handed her off the platform ; the next 
 moment the wheels were turning again and she 
 was gone. He never saw her again. 
 
 The porter came out to stand by his side in 
 the vestibule, watching the lights of the station 
 race away and the darkling winter fields fly past. 
 The sheriff was well known to him ; he nodded 
 an eager acquiescence to the officer s request: 
 " If those ladies in 8 and 9 ask you any questions, 
 just tell them it was a crazy woman getting the 
 wrong section, and I took care of her." 
 
50 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 Within the car a desolate mother wept the 
 long night through, yet thanked God amid her 
 tears for her son s last good days, and did not 
 dream of the blacker sorrow that had menaced 
 her and had been hurled aside. 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN 
 
 IT was a June day. Not one of those per- 
 fervid June days that simulate the heat of 
 July, and try to show the corn what June can 
 do, but one of Shakespeare s lovely and temperate 
 days, just warm enough to unfurl the rose petals 
 of the Armstrong rose-trees and ripen the grass 
 flowers in the Beaumonts 7 unmowed yard. 
 
 The Beaumonts lived in the north end of town, 
 at the terminus of the street-car line. They did 
 not live in the suburbs because they liked space 
 and country air, nor in order to have flowers and 
 a kitchen -garden of their own, like the Arm 
 strongs opposite, but because the rent was lower. 
 The Beaumonts were very poor and very proud. 
 The Armstrongs were neither poor nor proud. 
 Joel Armstrong, the head of the family, owned 
 the comfortable house, with its piazzas and bay- 
 windows, the small stable and the big yard. 
 There was a yard enclosed in poultry - netting, 
 
54: THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 and a pasture for the cow, and the elderly family 
 horse that had picked up so amazingly under the 
 influence of good living and kindness that no 
 one would suspect how cheaply the car company 
 had sold him. 
 
 Armstrong was the foreman of a machine- 
 shop. Every morning at half-past six Pauline 
 Beaumont, who rose early, used to see him board 
 the street car in his foreman s clothes, which 
 differs from working-men s clothes, though only 
 in a way visible to the practised observer. He 
 always was smoking a short pipe, and he usually 
 was smiling. Mrs. Armstrong was a comely wom 
 an, who had a great reputation in the neighbor 
 hood as a cook and a nurse. In the family were 
 three boys if one can call the oldest a boy, who 
 was a young carpenter, just this very day setting 
 up for master-builder. The second boy was fif 
 teen, and in the high - school, and the youngest 
 was ten. There were no daughters; but for helper 
 Mrs. Armstrong had a stout young Swede, who 
 was occasionally seen by the Beaumonts hiding 
 broken pieces of glass or china in a convenient 
 ravine. The Beaumont house was much smaller 
 than the Armstrongs , nor was it in such admi 
 rable repair and paint; but then, as Henriette 
 Beaumont was used to say, " They had not a 
 carpenter in the family." 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN 55 
 
 It will be seen that the Beaumonts held them 
 selves very high above the Armstrongs. They 
 could not forget that twenty-five years ago their 
 father had been Lieutenant-Governor, and they 
 had been accounted rich people in the little 
 Western city. Father and fortune had been lost 
 long since. They were poor, obscure, working 
 hard for a livelihood ; but they still kept their 
 pride, which only increased as their visible con 
 sequence diminished. Nevertheless, Pauline of 
 ten looked wistfully across at the Armstrongs 
 little feasts and fun, and always walked home 
 on their side of the street. Pauline was the 
 youngest and least proud of the Beaumonts. 
 
 To-day, as usual, she came down the street, past 
 the neat low fence of the Armstrongs ; but in 
 stead of passing, merely glancing in at the lawn 
 and the house, she stopped ; she leaned her shab 
 by elbows on the gate, where she could easily see 
 the dining-room and sniff the savory odors float 
 ing from the kitchen. " Oh, doesn t it smell 
 good ?" she murmured. " Chickens fried, and 
 new potatoes, and a strawberry short-cake. They 
 have such a nice garden." She caught her breath 
 in a mirthless laugh. "How absurd I am! I 
 feel like staying here and smelling the whole 
 supper! Yesterday they had waffles, and the day 
 before beefsteak such lovely, hearty things!" 
 
56 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 She was a tall girl, too thin for her height, 
 with a pretty carriage and a delicate irregular 
 face, too colorless and tired for beauty, but not 
 for charm. Her skin was fine and clear, and her 
 brown hair very soft. Her gray eyes were alight 
 with interest as she watched the finishing touches 
 given the table, which was spread with a glossy 
 white cloth, and had a bowl of June roses in the 
 centre. Mrs. Armstrong, in a new dimity gown 
 and white apron, was placing a great platter of 
 golden sponge - cake on the board. She looked 
 up and saw Pauline. The girl could invent no 
 better excuse for her scrutiny (which had such 
 an air of prying) than to drop her head as if in 
 faintness an excuse, indeed, suggested by her 
 own feelings. In a minute Mrs. Armstrong had 
 stepped through the bay-window and was on the 
 other side of the fence, listening with vivid sym 
 pathy to Pauline s shamefaced murmur: "Ex 
 cuse me, but I feel so ill!" 
 
 "It s a rush of blood to the head," cried Mrs. 
 Armstrong, all the instincts of a nurse aroused. 
 " Come right in ; you mustn t think of going 
 home. Land ! you ll like as not faint before I 
 can get over to you. Hold on to the fence if you 
 feel things swimming !" 
 
 Pauline, in her confusion, grew red and red 
 der, while, despite inarticulate protestations, she 
 
s 
 
 SHE LEANED JIER SHABBY ELBOWS ON THE GATE 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN 57 
 
 was propelled into the house and on to a large 
 lounge. 
 
 " Lay your head back," commanded the nurse, 
 appearing with an ammonia-bottle in one hand 
 and a fan in the other. 
 
 " It s nothing nothing at all," gasped Pau 
 line, between shame and the fumes of ammonia. 
 "The day was a little warm, and I walked home, 
 and I was so busy I ate no lunch" as if that 
 were a change from her habits "and all at 
 once I felt faint. But I m all right now." 
 
 "Well, I don t wonder you re faint," cried 
 Mrs. Armstrong; "you oughtn t to do that way. 
 Now you just got to lie still Oh, that s only 
 Ikey. Ikey, you get a glass of wine for this 
 lady; it s Miss Beaumont." 
 
 The tall young man in the gray suit and 
 the blue flannel shirt blushed a little under 
 his sunburn as he bowed. " Pleased to meet 
 you, miss," said he, promptly, before he disap 
 peared. 
 
 "This is a great day for us," continued the 
 mother, releasing the ammonia from duty, and 
 beginning to fan vigorously. "Ike has set up 
 as master-builder only two men, and he does 
 most of the work ; but he s got a house all to 
 himself, and the chance of some bigger ones. 
 We re having a little celebration. You must 
 
58 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 excuse the paper on the lounge ; I put it down 
 when we unpacked the organ." 
 
 " Oh, did the organ come ?" said the son. 
 
 "It surely did, and we ve played on it al 
 ready." 
 
 "Why, did you get the music ? Was it in 
 the box, too ?" 
 
 "Oli, we ain t played tunes; we just have 
 been trying it like to see how it goes. It s got 
 an awful sweet sound." 
 
 "And you ought to hear me play a tune on 
 it, ma." 
 
 " You ! For the land s sake !" 
 
 "Yes, me that never did play a tune in my 
 life. Anybody can play on that organ." He 
 turned politely to Pauline, as to include her in 
 the conversation. "You see, Miss Beaumont, 
 we re a musical family that can t sing. We 
 can t, as they say, carry a tune to save our im 
 mortal souls. The trouble isn t with the voice ; 
 it s with our ears. We can hear well enough, 
 too, but we haven t an ear for music. I took 
 lessons once, trying to learn to sing, but the 
 teacher finally braced up to tell me that he 
 hadn t the conscience to take my money. 
 What s the matter ? says I. You ve lots of 
 voice, says he, but you haven t a mite of ear. 
 Can t anybody teach me to sing ? says I. 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN 59 
 
 unless they hypnotize you, like Trilby/ says he. 
 So I gave it up. But next I thought I would 
 learn to play ; for if there s one thing ma and 
 the boys and I all love, it s music. And just 
 then, as luck would have it, this teacher wanted 
 to sell his cabinet organ, which is in perfect 
 shape and a fine instrument. And I was crav 
 ing to buy it, but I knew it was ridiculous, 
 when none of us can play. But I kept think 
 ing. Finally it came to me. I had seen those 
 zither things with numbers on them ; why 
 couldn t he paint numbers on the keys of the 
 organ just that way, and make music to corre 
 spond ? And that s just the way we ve done. 
 You re very musical. I I ve often listened to 
 your playing. What do you think of it ?" He 
 looked at her wistfully. 
 
 " I think it very ingenious very/ said Pau 
 line. She had risen now, and she thanked Mrs. 
 Armstrong, and said she must go home. In 
 truth, she was in a panic at the thought of what 
 she had done. Henriette never would under 
 stand. Her heart beat guiltily all the way 
 home. 
 
 There were three Beaumonts Henriette, My- 
 silla, and Pauline. Henriette and Mysilla were 
 twins, who had dressed alike from childhood s 
 hour, although Mysilla was very plain, a color- 
 
(J() THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 less blonde, of small stature and painfully thin, 
 while Henriette was tall, with a stately figure 
 and a handsome dark face that would have 
 looked well on a Roman coin. Yet Henriette 
 was a woman of good taste, and she spent many 
 a night trying to decide on a gown which would 
 suit equally well Mysie s fair head and her glos 
 sy black one. Both the black and the brown 
 head were gray now, but they still wore frocks 
 and hats alike. Henriette held that it was the 
 hall-mark of a good family to clothe twins 
 alike, and Henriette did not have her Roman 
 features for nothing. Mysilla had always adored 
 and obeyed Henriette. She gloried in Henri- 
 ette s haughty beauty and grace, and she was as 
 proud of both now that Henriette was a shabby 
 elderly woman, who had to wear dyed gowns 
 and darned gloves, as in the days when she was 
 the belle of the Iowa capital, and poor Jim 
 Perley fought a duel with Captain Sayre over a 
 misplaced dance on her ball -card. Henriette 
 promised to marry Jim after the duel, but Jim 
 died of pneumonia that very week. For Jim s 
 sake, John Perley, his brother, was good to the 
 girls. Pauline was a baby when her father died. 
 She never remembered the days of pomp, only 
 the lean days of adversity. John Perley ob 
 tained a clerkship for her in a music -store. 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN 61 
 
 Ilenriette gave music lessons. She was a brill 
 iant musician, but she criticised her pupils pre 
 cisely as she would have done any other equally 
 stupid performers, and her pupils parents did 
 not always love the truth. Mysilla took in plain 
 sewing, as the phrase goes. She sometimes 
 (since John Perley had given them a sewing- 
 machine) made as much as four dollars a week. 
 They invariably paid their rent in advance, and 
 when they had not money to buy enough to eat 
 they went hungry. They never cared to know 
 their neighbors, and Pauline cringed as she im 
 aged Henriettas sarcasms had she seen her sis 
 ter drinking the Armstrongs California port. 
 Henriette had stood in the hall corner and 
 waved Pauline fiercely and silently away while 
 the unconscious Mrs. Armstrong thumped at 
 the broken bell outside, and at last departed, 
 remarking, " Well, they must be gone, or 
 dead !" 
 
 Therefore rather timidly Pauline opened the 
 door of the little room that was both parlor and 
 dining-room. Any one could see that the room 
 belonged to people who loved music. The old- 
 fashioned grand-piano was under protection of 
 busts of Bach, Beethoven., and Wagner ; and 
 Mysie s violin stood in the corner, near a book 
 case full of musical biographies. An air of ex- 
 
62 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 quisite neatness was like an aroma of lavender 
 in the room, and with it was fused a prim good 
 taste, such as might properly belong to gentle 
 women who had learned the household arts 
 when the rule of three was sacred, and every 
 large ornament must be attended by a smaller 
 one on either side. And an observer of a gentle 
 mind, futhermore, might have found a kind of 
 pathos in the shabbiness of it all ; for every 
 thing fine was worn and faded, and everything 
 new was coarse. The portrait of the Lieuten- 
 ant-Governor faced the door. For company it 
 had on either side small engravings of Webster 
 and Clay. Beneath it was placed the tea-table, 
 ready spread. The cloth was of good quality., 
 but thin with long service. On the table a 
 large plate of bread held the place of impor 
 tance, with two small plates on either corner, 
 the one containing a tiny slice of suspiciously 
 yellow butter, and the other a cone of solid 
 jelly. Such jelly they sell at the groceries out 
 of firkins. A glass jug of tea stood by a plated 
 ice-water jug of a pattern highly esteemed be 
 fore the war. Henriette was stirring a small 
 lump of ice about the sides of the tea-jug. She 
 greeted Pauline pleasantly. 
 
 " Iced tea ?" said Pauline. " I thought we 
 were to have hot tea and sausages and toast. I 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN 63 
 
 gave Mysie twenty-five cents for them this morn 
 ing." She did not say that it was the money 
 for more than one day s luncheon. 
 
 "Yes, Mysie said something about it/ said 
 Henriette, " but it didn t seem worth while to 
 burn up so much wood merely to heat the water 
 for tea ; and toast uses up so much butter." 
 
 " But I gave Mysie a dollar to buy a little oil- 
 stove that we could use in summer ; and there 
 was the sausage; I don t mean to find fault, 
 sister Etty, but I m ravenously hungry." 
 
 "Of course, child," Henriette agreed, benign 
 ly ; " you are always hungry. But I think you ll 
 agree I was lucky not to have bought that stove 
 and those sausages this morning. Who do 
 you think is coming to this town next week ? 
 Theodore Thomas, with his own orchestra ! 
 And just as I was going into that store to buy 
 your stove though I didn t feel at all sure it 
 wouldn t explode and burn the house down- 
 John Perley came up and gave me a ticket, an 
 orchestra seat; and I said at once, "The girls 
 must go too ; but I hadn t but twenty-five cents, 
 and no more coming in for a week. Then it 
 occurred to me like a flash, there was this money 
 you had given me ; and, Paula, I made such a 
 bargain ! The man at Farrell s, where they are 
 selling the tickets, will get us three seats, not 
 
f,4 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 very far back in the gallery, for my orchestra 
 seat and the money, and we shall have enough 
 money left to take us home in the street cars. 
 Now do you understand ?" concluded Henriette, 
 triumphantly. 
 
 "Yes, sister Etty ; it will be splendid/ re 
 sponded Pauline, but with less enthusiasm than 
 Henriette had expected. 
 
 "Aren t you glad ?" she demanded. 
 
 " Oh yes, I m glad ; but I m so dead tired I can 
 hardly talk," said Pauline, as she left the room. 
 She felt every stair as she climbed it ; but her 
 face cleared at the sight of Mysie coming through 
 the hall. 
 
 "It s a lovely surprise, Mysie, isn t it ?" she 
 cried, cheerfully. She always called Mysie by 
 her Christian name, without prefix. Henriette, 
 although of the same age, was so much more 
 important a person that she would have felt the 
 unadorned name a liberty. But nobody was 
 afraid of Mysie. Pauline wound one of her long- 
 arms about her waist and kissed her. 
 
 Mysie gave a little gasp of mingled pleasure 
 and relief, and the burden of her thoughts 
 slipped off in the words, "I knew you lotted 
 on that oil-stove, Paula, but Etty said you would 
 want me to go " 
 
 "I wouldn t go without you," Pauline burst 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN 65 
 
 in, vehemently, "and I d live on bread and jelly 
 for a week to give you that pleasure." 
 
 "There was the sausage, too; I did feel bad 
 about that ; you ought to have good hot meals 
 after working all day." 
 
 "No more than you, Mysie." 
 
 " I m not on my feet all day. And I did think 
 of taking some of that seventy-five cents we have 
 saved for the curtains, but I didn t like to spend 
 any without consulting you." 
 
 "It s your own money, Mysie ; but anyhow I 
 suppose we need the curtains. Go on down ; 
 Henriette s calling. I ll be down directly." 
 But after she heard her sister s uncertain foot 
 step on the stair she stood frowning out of the 
 window at the Armstrong house. " It s hideous 
 to think it," she murmured, "but I don t care 
 we have so much music and so little sausage ! 
 I wish I had the money for my ticket to the 
 concert to spend on meat !" 
 
 Then, remorsefully, she went down-stairs, and 
 after supper she played all the evening on the 
 piano ; but the airs that she chose were in a 
 simple strain minstrel songs of a generation 
 ago, like "Nelly was a lady" and "Hard times 
 come again no more," from a battered old book 
 of her mother s. 
 
 "Wouldn t you like to try a few Moody and 
 
66 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 Sankeys ?" Henriette jeered after a while. 
 "Foster seems to me only one degree less maud 
 lin and commonplace. He makes me think of 
 tuberoses !" Pauline laughed and went to the 
 window. The white porcupine of electric light 
 at the corner threw out long spikes of radiance 
 athwart the narrow sidewalk, and a man s shadow 
 dipped into the lighted space. The man was 
 leaning his arms on the fence. "Foolish fel 
 low !" Pauline laughed softly to herself. That 
 night, shortly after she had dropped asleep, 
 she was awakened out of a dream of staying to 
 supper with the Armstrongs, and beholding the 
 board loaded with broiled chickens and pi inn - 
 pudding, by a clutch on her shoulder. "It was 
 quite accidental/ she pleaded ; "it really was. 
 sister Etty !" For her dream seemed to project 
 itself into real life, and there was Henriette, a 
 stern figure in flowing white, bending over her. 
 
 "Wake up!" she cried. "Listen! There s 
 something awful happening at the Armstrongs . 
 
 Pauline sat up in bed as suddenly as a jack-in- 
 the-box. Then she gave a little gasp of laughter. 
 " They are all right," said she ; " they are play 
 ing on their organ. That s the way they play/ 
 
 The organ ceased to moan, and Henriette re 
 turned to her couch. In ten minutes she was 
 back again, shaking Pauline. "Wake up !" she 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN 67 
 
 cried. " How can you sleep in such a racket ? 
 He has been murdering popular tunes by inches, 
 and now what he is doing I don t know, but it 
 is awful. You know them best. Get up and 
 call to them that we can t sleep for the noise 
 they make." * 
 
 " I suppose they have a right to play on their 
 own organ." 
 
 "They haven t a right to make such a pan 
 demonium anywhere. If you won t do some 
 thing, I m going to pretend I think it s cats, 
 and call Scat ! and throw something at them." 
 "You wouldn t hit anything," Pauline re 
 turned, in that sleepy tone which always rouses 
 a wakeful sufferer s wrath. "Better shut your 
 window. You can t hear nearly so well then. 
 
 "Yes, sister. Til shut the window," Mysie called 
 from the chamber, as usual eager for peace. 
 
 "You let that window alone," commanded 
 Henriette, sternly. A long pause Henriette 
 seated in rigid agony at the foot of the bed ; the 
 Armstrongs experimenting with the Vox Humana 
 stop. " Pauline, do you mean to say that you 
 can sleep? Pauline! Pauline!" 
 
 " What s the matter now ?" asked Pauline. 
 "I am going to take my brush no, I shall 
 take your brush, Pauline Beaumont and hurl 
 it at them !" 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 " Oh, sister, please don t/ begged Mysie from 
 within, like the voices on a stage. 
 
 Henriette spoke not again ; she strode out of 
 the room, and did even as she had threatened. 
 She flung Pauline s brush straight at the organist. 
 sitting before the window. Whether she really 
 meant to injure young Armstrong s candid brow 
 is an open question ; and, judging from the 
 result, I infer that she did not mean to do more 
 than scare her sister ; therefore she aimed afar. 
 By consequence the missile sped straight into 
 the centre of the window. But not through it ; 
 the window was raised, and a wire screen rattled 
 the brush back with a shivering jar. 
 
 " What s that? A bat?" said Armstrong, 
 happily playing on. His father and. mother 
 were beaming upon him in deep content his 
 father a trifle sleepy, but resolved, the morrow 
 being Sunday, to enjoy this musical hour to the 
 full, his mother seated beside him and reading 
 the numbers aloud. 
 
 "You see, Ikey,"she had explained, "that s 
 what makes you slow. While you re reading 
 the numbers, you lose em on the organ ; and 
 while you re finding the numbers on the keys, 
 you loose em on the paper. I ll read them 
 awful low, so no one would suspect, and you 
 keep your whole mind on those keys. Now be- 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN 
 
 gin again ; I ve got a pin to prick them 2 
 
 1_3 no, 1-8, 1-8 it s only one 1-8 : guess we 
 
 better begin again." 
 
 So Mrs. Armstrong droned forth the numbers 
 and Ikey hammered them on the organ, pump 
 ing with his feet, whenever he did not forget. 
 The two boys slept peacefully through the weird 
 clamor. The neighbors, with one exception, 
 were apparently undisturbed. That exception, 
 named Henrietta Beaumont, heard with swelling 
 wrath . 
 
 I ve thrown the brush/ said she. No re 
 sponse from the pillow. "Now Fni going to 
 throw the broken - handled mug, continued 
 Henriette, in a tone of deadly resolve; "it s 
 heavy, and it may kill some one, but I can t help 
 it!" Still a dead silence. Crash! smash! The 
 mug with the broken handle had sped against 
 the weather-boarding. 
 
 "Now what was that? cried Ike, jumping 
 up. Before he was on his feet a broken soap- 
 dish had followed the mug. Up new the sash, 
 and Ike was out of the window. "What are 
 you doing that for ? What do you mean by 
 that?" he yelled, to which the dark and silent 
 house opposite naturally made no reply. Ike 
 was out in the road now, and botl his parents 
 were after him. The elder Armstrong had been 
 
70 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 so suddenly wakened from ;i doze that he was 
 under the impression of a fire somewhere, and 
 let out a noble shout to that effect. Mrs. Arm 
 strong, convinced that a dynamite bomb had 
 missed fire, gathered her skirts tightly around 
 her ankles as if bombs could run under them 
 like mice and helped by screaming alternately 
 "Police !" and "Murder !" 
 
 Henrietta gloated silently over the confusion. 
 It did her soul good to see Ike Armstrong run 
 ning along the sidewalk after supposititious boys. 
 
 The Armstrongs did not return to the organ. 
 Henriette heard their footsteps on the gravel, 
 she heard the muffled sound of voices ; but not 
 again did the tortured instrument excite her 
 nerves, and she sank into a troubled slumber. 
 As they sat at breakfast the next morning, and 
 Henriette was calculating the share due each 
 cup from the half-pint of boiled milk, the broken 
 bell-wire jangled. Pauline said she would go. 
 
 " It can t be any one to call so early in the 
 morning," said Henriette ; " you may go." 
 
 It was young Armstrong, in his Sunday clothes. 
 Pauline s only picture of him had been in his 
 work-a-day garb ; it was curious how differently 
 he impressed her, fresh from the bath and the 
 razor, trigly buttoned up in a perfectly fitting 
 suit of blue and brown, with a dazzling rim of 
 
" SOMEBODY TIIllEW THESE THINGS AT OUll WINDOW 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN 
 
 white against his shapely tanned throat, and a 
 crimson rose in his button-hole. "How hand 
 some he is !" thought Pauline. She had never 
 been satisfied with her own nose, and she looked 
 at the straight bridge of his and admired it. 
 She was too innocent and ignorant herself to 
 notice how innocently clear were his eyes ; but 
 she thought that they looked true and kind, and 
 she did notice the bold lines of his chin and jaw, 
 and the firm mouth under his black mustache. 
 Unaccountably she grew embarrassed ; he was 
 looking at her so gravely, almost sternly, his new 
 straw hat in one hand, and the other slightly 
 extended to her and holding a neat bundle. 
 
 He bowed ceremoniously, as he had seen act 
 ors bow on the stage. " Somebody threw these 
 things at our window last night/ said he; "I 
 think they belong to you. 1 couldn t find all 
 the pieces of the china." 
 
 " They weren t all there," stammered Pauline, 
 foolishly ; and then a wave of mingled confusion 
 and irritation at her false position there was 
 her monogram on the ivory brush ! and a queer 
 kind of amusement, swept over her, and dyed her 
 delicate cheek as red as Armstrong s rose. And 
 suddenly he^too, flushed, and his eyes flashed. 
 
 "I m sorry I disturbed your sister/ said he, 
 but I hope she will not throw any more things 
 
72 THE MISSrONAKY SHERIFF 
 
 at us. We will try not to practise so late another 
 night. Good-morning/ 
 
 " I am sorry/ said Pauline ; " tell your moth 
 er I m sorry, please. She was so kind to me." 
 
 "Thank you/" Armstrong said, heartily; "I 
 will." And somehow before he went they shook 
 hands. 
 
 Pauline gave the message, but she felt so 
 guilty because of this last courtesy that she gave 
 it without reproach, even though her only good 
 brush disclosed a pitiful crack. 
 
 "Well, you know why I did it," said Henri 
 etta, coolly; "and does the man suppose his 
 playing isn t obnoxious any hour of the day as 
 well as night ? But let us hope they will be 
 quiet awhile. Paula, have you any money ? We 
 ought to go over those numbers for the concert 
 beforehand, and we must get Verdi s Requiem. 
 Mysie has some, but she wants it to buy cur 
 tains. 
 
 " I m sorry, sister Etty, but I haven t a cent." 
 
 "Then the curtains will have to wait, Mysie," 
 said Henriette, cheerfully, " for we must have 
 the music to-morrow." 
 
 Mysie threw a deprecating glance at Pauline. 
 " There was a bargain in chintzes-/" she began, 
 feebly, "but of course, sister, if Paula doesn t 
 mind " 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN 73 
 
 "I don t mind, Mysie," said Pauline. 
 
 Why should she make Mysie unhappy and 
 Henriette cross for a pair of cheap curtains ? 
 The day was beautiful, and she attended church. 
 She was surprised, looking round at the choir, 
 to discover young Armstrong in the seat behind 
 her. She did not know that he attended that 
 church. But surely there was no harm in a 
 neighbor s walking home with Mysie and her. 
 How well and modestly he talked, and how gen 
 tle and deferential he was to Mysie ! Mysie 
 sighed when he parted from them, a little way 
 from the house. 
 
 " That young man is very superior to his sta 
 tion/ she declared, solemnly; "he must be of 
 good though decayed family." 
 
 "His grandfather was a Vermont farmer, and 
 ours was a Massachusetts farmer." retorted Pau 
 line ; " I dare say if we go back far enough we 
 shall find the Armstrongs as good as we 
 
 " Oh, pray don t talk that way before Etty, 
 dear," interrupted Mysie, hurriedly : " she thinks 
 it so like the anarchists ; and if you get into that 
 way of speech, you might slip out something be 
 fore her. Poor Etty, I wish she felt as if she 
 could go to church. I hope she had a peaceful 
 morning. " 
 
 Ah, hope unfounded ! Never had Miss Hen- 
 
74 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 riette Beaumont passed a season more rasping to 
 her nerves. Looking out of the window, she 
 saw both the younger Armstrongs and their moth 
 er. The boys had been picking vegetables. 
 
 "Now, boys/ called Mrs. Armstrong, gayly, 
 "let s come and play oil the organ." 
 
 Henriette s soul was in arms. Unfortunately 
 she was still in the robes of rest (attempting to 
 slumber after her tumultuous night), and dig 
 nity forbade her shouting out of the window. 
 
 The two boys passed a happy morning experi 
 menting 011 the different stops, and improvising 
 melodies of their own. "Say, mummy, isn t 
 that kinder like a tune?" one or the other would 
 exclaim. Mrs. Armstrong listened with pride. 
 The awful combination of discords fell sweetly 
 on her ear, which was "no ear for music." 
 
 " It s just lovely to have an organ," she thought. 
 
 When Miss Beaumont could bear no more she 
 attired herself and descended the stairs. Then 
 the boys stopped. In the afternoon several 
 friends of the Armstrongs called. They sang 
 Moody and Sankey hymns, until Hen riette was 
 pale with misery. 
 
 " I think I prefer the untutored Armstrong 
 savages themselves, with their war-cries," she 
 remarked. 
 
 "Perhaps they will get tired of it." Mysie prof- 
 
NOW, BOYS, LET S COME AND PLAY ON THE ORGAN 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN to 
 
 fered for consolation. But they did not tire. 
 They never* played later than nine o clock at 
 night again, but until that hour the music-lov 
 ing and unmusical family played and sang to 
 their hearts content. An.d the Beuumonts saw 
 them at the Thomas concert, Ike and his moth 
 er and Jim, applauding everything, lleiiriette 
 said the sight made her ill. 
 
 Time did not soften her rancor. She caught 
 cold at the concert, and for two weeks was con 
 fined to her chamber with what Mrs. Armstrong 
 called rheumatism, but Henriette called gout. 
 During the time she assured Mysie that what 
 she suffered from the Armstrong organ exceeded 
 anything that gout could inflict. 
 
 "Do let me speak to Mrs. Armstrong," beg 
 ged Mysie. 
 
 " I spoke to that boy, the one with the frec 
 kles, myself yesterday," replied Henriette, "out 
 of the window. I told him if they didn t stop I 
 would have them indicted." 
 
 " Why, how did you see him ?" Mysie was 
 aghast, but she dared not criticise Henriette. 
 
 "He came here with a bucket of water. Said 
 his mother saw us taking water out of the well, 
 and it was dangerous. The impertinent woman, 
 she actually offered to send us water from their 
 cistern every day." 
 
76 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 "But 1 think that was was rather kind, 
 sister, and it would be dreadful to have typhoid 
 fever/" 
 
 "I would rather die of typhoid fever than 
 have that woman bragging to her vulgar friends 
 that she gives the Beaumonts, Governor Beau 
 mont s daughters, water! I know what her 
 kindness means." Thus Henriette crushed My- 
 sie. But when the organ began, and it was 
 evident that Tim Armstrong intended to learn 
 Two Little Girls in Blue," if it took him all 
 the afternoon, Mysie rose. 
 
 "Mysie," called Henriette, " don t you go one 
 step to the Armstrongs ." 
 
 Mysie sat down, but in a little while she 
 tried again. 
 
 " I wish you d let Paula, then ; she is going 
 by there every day, and she has had no dispute 
 with them. She often stops to talk." 
 
 "Talk to whom ?" said Henriette, icily. 
 
 "Oh, to any of them Tim or Pete or Mrs. 
 Armstrong. " 
 
 "Does she talk to them long ?" 
 
 o 
 
 "Oh no, not very long just as she goes by. 
 I think you re mistaken, sister. They don t 
 think such mean things. Truly they are nice ; 
 they seem very fond of each other, and they 
 almost always give Paula flowers." 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN tl 
 
 " What does she do with the flowers ?" 
 
 " She puts them in the vases, and wears 
 them/ 
 
 "Do they give her anything else ?" Henriettas 
 tone was so awful that Mysie dropped her work. 
 Do they ?" persisted Henriette. 
 
 "They sent over the magazines a few times, 
 but that was just borrowing, and once they 
 they sent over some shortcake and some 
 bread." 
 
 Henriette sat bolt-upright in bed, reckless of 
 the pain every movement gave her. 
 
 Mysilla Beaumont, do you see where your 
 sister is drifting ? Are you both crazy ? But I 
 shall put a stop to this nonsense this very day. I 
 am going to write a note to John Perley, and 
 you will have to take it. Bring me the paper. 
 If there isn t any in my desk, take some out of 
 Pauline s." 
 
 "Oh, Henriette," whimpered Mysie, * whaf 
 are you going to do ?" 
 
 "You will soon see, and you will have to help 
 me. After they have been disgraced and 
 laughed at, we ll see whether she will care to 
 lean over their fence and talk to them." 
 
 It was true that Pauline did talk to the Arm 
 strongs ; she did lean over the Armstrong fence. 
 It had come to pass by degrees. She knew per- 
 
78 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 fectly well it was wrong. Henriette never al 
 lowed her to have any acquaintances. But Hen 
 riette could not see her from the bed, and Mysie 
 did not mind ; and so she fell into the habit 
 of stopping at the Armstrong gate to inquire 
 for Mrs. Armstrong s turkeys, or to ask advice 
 about the forlorn little geraniums which fought 
 for life in the Beaumont yard, or to lend her 
 own nimble fingers to the adorning of Mrs. Arm 
 strong s bonnets. She saw Ike often. Once she 
 actually ventured to enter "those mechanics " 
 doors and play on the detested organ. Her mu 
 sical gifts could not be compared to her sister s. 
 A sweet, true voice, o e no great compass, a touch 
 that had only sympathy and a moderate facility 
 these the highly cultivated Beaumonts rated 
 at their very low artistic value ; but the ignorant 
 Armstrongs listened to Pauline s hymns in rapt 
 ure. The tears filled Mrs. Armstrong s eyes : 
 impulsively she kissed the girl. "Oh, you dear 
 child !" she cried. Ike said nothing. Not a 
 word. He was standing near enough to Pauline 
 to touch the folds of her dress. His fingers al 
 most reverently stroked the faded pink muslin. 
 He swallowed something that was choking him. 
 Joel Armstrong nodded and smiled. Then his 
 eyes sought his wife s. He put out his hand and 
 held hers. AVhen the music was done and the 
 
TIIK CABINET ORGAN 79 
 
 young people were gone, he puffed hard on his 
 dead pipe, saying, "It s the best thing that can 
 happen to a young man, mother, to fall in love 
 with a real good girl, ain t it ?" 
 
 "Yes, I guess it is." 
 
 " And I guess you d have the training of this 
 one, mother ; and there s plenty of room in the 
 lot opposite that s for sale to build a nice little 
 house. They d start a sight better off than we 
 did." 
 
 " But we were very happy, Joe, weren t we ?" 
 
 " That we were, and that we are, Sally," said 
 Armstrong. "Come on out in the garden with 
 your beau ; we ain t going to let the young folks 
 do all the courting." 
 
 Mysie and Henrietta saw the couple walk 
 ing in the garden, the husband s arm around 
 his wife s waist, and the soft - hearted sister 
 sighed. 
 
 " Oh, sister, don t you kinder wish you hadn t 
 done it 9" she whispered. "They didn t mean 
 any harm." 
 
 "Harm? No. I dare say that young car 
 penter would be willing to marry Pauline Beau 
 mont !" cried Henriette, bitterly. 
 
 Mysie shook her gray head, her loose mouth 
 working, while she winked away a tear. "I 
 don t care, I don t care " thus did she inwardly 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 moan out a spasm of dire resolution I m just 
 going to tell Pauline !" 
 
 Perhaps what she told set the cloud on the 
 girl s pretty face ; and perhaps that was why she 
 looked eagerly over the Armstrong fence every 
 night ; and the cloud lifted at the sound of Mrs. 
 Armstrong s mellow voice hailing her from any 
 part of the house or yard. 
 
 But one night, instead of the usual cheerful 
 stir about the house, she found the Swede girl 
 alone in the kitchen, weeping over the potatoes. 
 To Pauline s inquiries she returned a burst of 
 woe. " They all tooken to chail all I" she 
 wailed. " I don t know what to do if I get sup 
 per. The mans come, the police mans, and 
 tooken them all away. / hela verlden ! who ever 
 know such a country ? Such nice peoples sent 
 to chail for play on the organ their own organ ! 
 They say they not play right, but I think to send 
 to chail for not play right on the organ that 
 sha n t be right !" 
 
 Pauline could make nothing more out of her ; 
 but the man on the corner looked in at one par 
 ticularly dolorous burst of sobs over poor Tim 
 and poor Petey and tendered his version : 
 i( They ve gone, sure enough, miss. Your sis 
 ters have had them arrested for keeping and 
 committing a nuisance. Now, I ain t stuck on 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN 81 
 
 their organ -playing, as a general rule, myself, 
 but I wouldn t go so far as to call it a nuisance. 
 But the Fullers ain t on the best of terms ; old 
 Fuller is a crank, and there s politics between 
 him and Armstrong and the Delaneys, who have 
 just moved into the neighborhood, mother and 
 daughter very musical folks, they say, and 
 nervous ; they have joined in with your sister 
 
 " Where have they gone ?" asked Pauline, who 
 was very pale. 
 
 " To the police court. They were mighty cun 
 ning, if you ll excuse me, miss. They picked 
 out that old German crank, Von Reibnitz, who 
 plays in the Schubert Quartet, and loves music 
 better than beer." 
 
 The man was right. Henriette had chosen 
 her lawgiver shrewdly. At this very moment 
 she was sitting in one of the dingy chairs of the 
 police court, with the mien of Marie Antoinette 
 on her way to execution. Mysie sat beside her 
 in misery not to be described ; for was she not 
 joined with Henriette in the prosecution of the 
 unfortunate Armstrongs? and had she not sur 
 reptitiously partaken of hot rolls and strawberry 
 jam that very day, handed over the fence to her 
 by Mrs. Armstrong ? She could not sustain the 
 occasional glare of the magistrate s glasses; and, 
 unable to look in the direction of the betrayed 
 
82 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 Armstrongs, for the most part she peered deso 
 lately at the clerk. The accused sat opposite. 
 Mr. Armstrong and Ike were in their working- 
 clothes. Hastily summoned, they had not the 
 meagre comfort of a toilet. The father looked 
 about the court, a perplexed frown replacing at 
 intervals a perplexed grin. When he was not 
 studying the court-room, he was polishing the 
 bald spot on his head with a large red handker 
 chief, or rubbing the grimy palms of his hands 
 on the sides of his trousers. He had insisted 
 upon an immediate trial, but his wits had not 
 yet pulled themselves out of the shock of his ar 
 rest. The boys varied the indignant solemnity 
 of bearing which their mother had impressed on 
 them with the unquenchable interest of their 
 age. Mrs. Armstrong had assumed her best bon 
 net and her second-best gown. She was a hand 
 some woman, with her fair skin, her wavy brown 
 hair, and brilliant blue eyes; and the reporter 
 looked at her often, adding to the shame and 
 fright that were clawing her under her Spartan 
 composure. But she held her head in the air 
 bravely. Not so her son, who sat with his hands 
 loosely clasped before him and his head sunk on 
 his breast through the entire arraignment. 
 
 Behind the desk the portly form of the mag 
 istrate filled an arm-chair to overflowing, so that 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN 
 
 83 
 
 the reporter wondered whether he could rise from 
 the chair, should it be necessary, or whether chair 
 and he must perforce cling together. His body 
 and arms were long, but his legs were short, so 
 he always used a cricket, which somehow de 
 tracted from the dignity of his appearance. He 
 had been a soldier, and kept a martial gray mus 
 tache ; but he wore a wig of lustrous brown 
 locks, which he would push from side to side in 
 the excitement of a case, and then clap frankly 
 back into place with both hands. There was no 
 deceit about Fritz Von Reibnitz. He was a man 
 of fiery prejudices, but of good heart and sound 
 sense, and he often was shrewder than the law 
 yers who tried to lead him through his weak 
 nesses. But he had a leaning towards a kind of 
 free-hand, Arabian justice, and rather followed 
 the spirit of the law than servilely questioned 
 what might be the letter. Twirling his mus- 
 tachios, he leaned back in his chair and studied 
 the faces of the Armstrong family, while the 
 clerk read the information slowly for the ben 
 efit of his friend the reporter, who felt this to 
 be one of the occasions that enliven a dusty road 
 of life. 
 
 " State of Iowa, Winfioid County. The City 
 of Fairport vs. Jos. L. Armstrong, Mrs. J. L. 
 Armstrong, Isaac J. Armstrong, Peter Arm- 
 
84 THE MISSIONAltY SHERIFF 
 
 strong, and Timothy Armstrong. The defend 
 ants" (the names were repeated, and at each 
 name the mother of the Armstrongs winced) 
 "are accused of the crime of violating Section 2 
 of Chapter 41 of the ordinances of said city. 
 For that the defendants, on the 3d, the 10th, 
 the 15th, and 23d day of July, 18 , in the city 
 of Fairport, in said county, did conspire and 
 confederate together to disturb the public quiet 
 of the neighborhood, and in pursuance of said 
 conspiracy, and aiding and abetting each other, 
 did make, then and there, loud and unusual 
 noises by playing on a cabinet organ in an un 
 usual and improper manner, and by singing 
 boisterously and out of tune ; and did thereby 
 disturb the public quiet of the neighborhood, 
 contrary to the ordinances in such case pro 
 vided/ 
 
 " You vill read also the ordinance, Mr. Clerk," 
 called the magistrate, with much majesty of man 
 ner, frowning at the same time on the younger 
 lawyers, who were unable to repress their feel 
 ings, while the reporter appeared to be taken 
 with cramps. 
 
 The clerk read : 
 
 "Every person who shall unlawfully disturb 
 the public quiet of any street, alley, avenue, pub 
 lic square, wharf, or any religious or other public 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN 85 
 
 assembly, or building public or private, or any 
 neighborhood, private family, or person within 
 the city, by giving false alarms of fire " (Mrs. 
 Armstrong audibly whispered to her husband, 
 "We never did that!"), "by loud or unusual 
 noises" (Mrs. Armstrong sank back in her cor 
 ner, and Joseph Armstrong very nearly groaned 
 aloud), "by ringing bells, blowing horns or other 
 instruments, etc., etc., shall be deemed guilty of 
 a misdemeanor, and punished accordingly." 
 
 Then up rose the attorney for the prosecution 
 to state his case. He narrated how the Arm 
 strong family had bought an organ, and had 
 played upon it almost continually since the pur 
 chase, thereby greatly annoying and disturbing 
 the entire neighborhood. He said that no mem 
 ber of the Armstrong family knew more than two 
 changes on the organ, and that several of them, 
 in addition to playing, were accustomed to sing 
 in a loud and disagreeable voice (the Armstrong- 
 family were visibly affected), and that so great 
 was the noise and disturbance made by the said 
 organ that the prosecuting witness, Miss Beau 
 mont, who was sick at the time, had been agi 
 tated and disturbed by it, to her great bodily and 
 mental damage and danger. That although re 
 quested to desist, they had not desisted (Tim 
 and Pete exchanged glances of undissembled 
 
THK MISSION All Y SHERIFF 
 
 enjoyment), and therefore she was compelled in 
 self-defence to invoke the aid of the law. 
 
 Ike listened dully. There was no humor in 
 the situation for him. He felt himself and his 
 whole family disgraced, dragged before the po 
 lice magistrate just like a common drunk and 
 disorderly loafer, and accused of being a nui 
 sance to their neighborhood ; the shame of it 
 tingled to his finger - tips. He would not look 
 up; it seemed to him that he could never hold 
 up his head again. No doubt it would all be in 
 the paper next morning,, and the Armstrongs, 
 who were so proud of their honest name, would be 
 the laughing-stock of the town. Somebody was 
 saying something about a lawyer. Ike scowled 
 at the faces of the young attorneys lolling and 
 joking outside the railing. "I won t fool away 
 any money on those chumps," he groAvled ; " I 
 want to get through and pay rny fine and be 
 done." 
 
 Somebody laughed ; then he saw that it was 
 the sheriff of the county, a good friend of his. 
 He looked appealingly up at the strong, dark 
 face ; he grasped the big hand extended. 
 
 " Fm in a hole, Mr. Wickliff," he whispered. 
 
 "Naw, you re not," replied Wickliff ; "you ve 
 a friend in the family. She got onto this plot 
 and came to me a good while ago. We re all 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN 87 
 
 ready. I ve known her since she was a little 
 girl. Know em all, poor things ! Say, let me 
 act as your attorney. Don t have to be a mem 
 ber of the bar to practise in this court. Y Hon- 
 or ! If it please y Honor, Fd like to be excused 
 to telephone to some witnesses for the de 
 fence. 7 
 
 Ike caught his breath. " A friend in the fam 
 ily I" He did not dare to think what that meant. 
 And Wickliff had gone. They were examining 
 the prosecuting witnesses. Miss Mysilla Beau 
 mont took the oath, plainly frightened. She 
 spoke almost in a whisper. Her evident desire 
 to deal gently with the Armstrongs was used 
 skilfully by the young attorney whom John Per- 
 ley (his uncle) had employed. Behold (he made 
 poor Mysie s evidence seem to say) what ear-rend 
 ing and nerve-shattering sounds these barbarous 
 organists must have produced to make this ami 
 able lady protest at law ! Mysie fluttered out of 
 the witness - box in a tremor, nor dared to look 
 where Mrs. Armstrong sat bridling and fanning 
 herself. Next three Fullers deposed to more or 
 less disturbance from the musical taste of the 
 Armstrongs, and the Delaney daughter swore, in 
 a clarion voice, that the playing of the Arm 
 strongs was the worst ever known. 
 
 "It ain t any worse than her scales I" cried 
 
* s THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong, goaded into speech. The mag 
 istrate darted a warning glance at her. 
 
 Miss Henriette Beaumont was called last. 
 Her mourning garments, to masculine eyes, did 
 not show their age ; and her grand manner and 
 handsome face, with its gray hair and its flash 
 ing eyes, caused even the magistrate s manner to 
 change. Henriette had a rich voice and a beau 
 tiful articulation. Every softly spoken word 
 reached Mrs. Armstrong, who writhed in her 
 seat. She recited how she had spent hours of 
 "absolute torment" under the Armstrong in 
 strumentation, and she described in the language 
 of the musician the unspeakable iniquities of the 
 Armstrong technique. Her own lawyer could 
 not understand her, but the magistrate nodded 
 in sympathy. She said she was unable to sleep 
 nights because of the " horrible discords played 
 on the organ " 
 
 " I declare we never played it but two nights, 
 and they weren t discords ; they were nice tunes," 
 sobbed Mrs. Armstrong. 
 
 The justice rapped and frowned. " Silence in 
 der court I" he thundered. Then he glared on 
 poor Mrs. Armstrong. "Anybody vot calls his- 
 self a laty ought to behave itself like sooch I" he 
 said, with strong emphasis. The attorneys pres 
 ent choked and coughed. In fact, the remark 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN 89 
 
 passed into a saying in police-court circles. Miss 
 Henriette stepped with stately graciousness to 
 her seat. 
 
 "Und now der defence," said the justice 
 " der Armstrong family. Vot has you got to 
 say ?" 
 
 "Let me put some witnesses on first, Judge," 
 called Wickliff, "to show the Armstrongs char 
 acter." He was opening the door, and the hall 
 behind seemed filled. 
 
 " Oh, good land, Ikey, do look !" quavered 
 Mrs. Armstrong; there s pa s boss, and the 
 Martins that used to live in the same block with 
 us, and Mrs. O Toole, and all the neighbors most 
 up to the East End, and oh, Ikey ! there s Miss 
 Pauline herself ! Our friends ain t deserted us ; 
 I knew perfectly well they wouldn t /" 
 
 Ike did look up then he stood up. His eyes 
 met the eyes of his sweetheart, and he sat 
 down with his cheeks afire and his head in 
 the air. 
 
 In the first place," said Wickliff, assuming 
 an easy attitude, with one hand in a pocket and 
 the other free for oratorical display, " I ll call 
 Miss Beaumont, Miss Henriette Beaumont, for 
 the defence." Miss Beaumont responded to the 
 call, and turned a defiant stare on the amateur 
 attorney. 
 
90 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 "Yon say you Avere disturbed by the Arm 
 strongs organ ?" 
 
 "I was painfully disturbed." 
 
 " Naturally you informed your neighbors, and 
 asked them to desist playing the organ ?" 
 
 "I did." 
 
 " How many times ?" 
 
 "Once." 
 
 "To whom did you speak ?" 
 
 "I told the boys to tell their mother." 
 
 "Are you passionately fond of music ?" 
 
 "lam." 
 
 " Are you sensitive to bad music acutely sen 
 sitive ?" 
 
 " I suppose I am ; a lover of music is, of neces 
 sity." 
 
 The magistrate nodded and sighed. 
 
 " Are you of a particularly patient and for 
 bearing disposition ?" Henriette directed a 
 withering glance at the tall figure of the ques 
 tioner. 
 
 "I am forbearing enough," she answered. 
 " Do I need to answer questions that are plainly 
 put to insult me ?" 
 
 "No, madam," said the magistrate. "Mr. 
 Wickliff, I rules dot question out." 
 
 Nothing daunted, Wickliff continued : " When 
 you gave the boys warning, where Avere they ?" 
 
THE CABINET OltUAN 91 
 
 "Iii my house." 
 
 <f How came they there ?" 
 
 "They had brought over a bucket of water. 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " Because we had only well-water, they said." 
 
 " That was rather kind on the part of Mrs. 
 Armstrong, don t you think ? In every respect, 
 besides playing the organ, she was a kind neigh 
 bor, wasn t she ?" 
 
 "I don t complain of her. 
 
 "Wasn t she rather noted in the neighbor 
 hood as a lady of great kindness ? Didn t she 
 often send in little delicacies flowers, fruit, and 
 such things gifts that of ten pass between neigh 
 bors to different people ?" 
 
 " She may have. I am not acquainted with 
 her." 
 
 " Hasn t she sent in things at different times 
 to you ?" 
 
 Henriette s throat began to form the word no ; 
 then she remembered the shortcake, she remem 
 bered the roses, she remembered her oath, and 
 she choked. " I don t know much about it ; 
 perhaps she may have," said she. 
 
 "That will do," said Wickliif. "Call Miss 
 Mysilla Beaumont." Wickliff s respectful bear 
 ing reassured the agitated spinster. He wouldn t 
 detain her a moment. lie only wanted to know 
 
92 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 had neighborly courtesies passed between the 
 two houses. Yes ? Had Mrs. Armstrong been 
 a kind and unobtrusive neighbor ? 
 
 " Oh yes, sir ; yes, indeed/ 7 cried poor Mysie. 
 
 Were you yourself much disturbed by the 
 organ ?" 
 
 " No, sir," gasped Mysie, with one tragic 
 glance at her sister s stony features. She knew 
 now what Jeanie Deans must have suffered. 
 
 "That will do/ said Wickliff. 
 
 Then a procession of witnesses filed into the 
 narrow space before the railing. First the em 
 ployer of the elder Armstrong gave his high 
 praise of his foreman as a man and a citizen; 
 then came the neighbors, declaring the Arm 
 strong virtues from Mrs. Martin, who deposed 
 with tears that Mrs. Armstrong s courage and good 
 nursing had saved her little Willy s life when he 
 was burned, to Mrs. O Toole, an aged little Irish 
 woman, who recited how the brave young Peter 
 had rescued her dog from a band of young tort 
 urers. "And they had a tin can filled with 
 fire-crackers, yer Honor (an they was lighted), 
 tied to the poor stoompy tail of him ; but Petey 
 he pulled it aff, and he thro wed itferninst them, 
 and he made them sorry that day, he did, for it 
 bursted. He s a foine bye, and belongs to a 
 foine family !" 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN 93 
 
 "Aren t you a little prejudiced in favor of the 
 Armstrongs, Mrs. O Toole ?" asked the prosecut 
 ing attorney, as Wickliff smilingly bade him 
 "take the witness." 
 
 " Yes, sor, I am," cried Mrs. O Toole, huddling 
 her shawl closer about her wiry little frame. " I 
 am that, sor, praise God ! They paid the rint 
 for me whin me bye was in throuble, and they 
 got him wur-rk, and he s doin well this day, 
 and been for three year. And there s many 
 a hot bite passed betwane us whin we was neigh 
 bors. Prejudeeced ! I d not be wuth the crow s 
 pickin s if I wasn t ; and the back of me hand 
 and the sowl of me fut to thim that s persecuting 
 of thim this day !" 
 
 " Call Miss Pauline Beaumont," said Wickliff. 
 
 "That will do, grandma." 
 
 Pauline s evidence was very concise, but to the 
 point. She did not consider the Armstrong 
 organ a nuisance. She believed the Armstrongs, 
 if instructed, would learn to play the organ. It 
 the window were shut the noise could not dis 
 turb any one. She had the highest respect and 
 regard for the Armstrongs. 
 
 " There s my case, your Honor," said Wickliff, 
 "and I ve confidence enough in it and in this 
 court to leave it in your hands. Say the same. 
 Johnny ?" to the young lawyer. Perley laughed ; 
 
94 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 he was beginning to suspect that not all the 
 case appeared on the surface. Perhaps the Beau 
 mont family peace would fare all the better if he 
 kept his hands off. lie said that he had no evi 
 dence to offer in rebuttal, and would leave the 
 case confidently to the wisdom of the court. 
 
 " And Pll bet you a hat on one thing, Amos," 
 he observed in an undertone to the amateur at 
 torney on the other side, " Fritz s decision on 
 this case may be good sense, but it will be awful 
 queer law." 
 
 "Fritz has got good sense," said Amos. 
 
 The magistrate announced his decision. He 
 had deep sympathy, he said, for the complainant, 
 a gifted and estimable lady. He knew that the 
 musical temperament was sensitive as the violin 
 yes. But it also appeared from the evidence 
 that the Armstrong family were a good, a worthy 
 family, lacking only a knowledge of music to 
 make them acceptable neighbors. Therefore he 
 decided that the Armstrong family should hire a 
 competent teacher, and that, until able to play 
 without giving offence to the neighbors, they 
 should close the window. With that under 
 standing he would find the defendants not guilty ; 
 and each party must pay its own costs. 
 
 Perley glanced at Amos, who grinned and re 
 peated, "Fritz has got good sense." 
 
THEY HAVE ENGAGED ME 
 
THE CABINET ORGAN 95 
 
 "I d have won my hat/ said Perley, "but 
 I m not kicking. Just look at Miss Beaumont, 
 though/ 
 
 Henriette had listened in stony calm. She 
 did not once look at Pauline, who was standing 
 at the other side of the room. " Come, sister/ 
 she said to Mysie. Mysie turned a scared face 
 on Henriette. She drew her aside. 
 
 " Did you hear what he said ?" she whispered. 
 " Oh, Henriette, what shall we do? We shall 
 have to pay the costs 
 
 "The Armstrongs will have to pay them too/ 
 said Henriette, grimly. 
 
 " Theirs won t be so much, because none of 
 their witnesses will take a cent ; but the Fullers 
 and Miss Delaney want their fees, and it s a dol 
 lar and a half, and there s 
 
 "We shall have to borrow it from John Per 
 ley," said Henriette. 
 
 " But he isn t here, and maybe they ll put us 
 in jail if we don t pay. Oh, Henriette, why did 
 you" 
 
 This, Mysie s first and last reproach of her 
 sovereign, was cut short by the approach of 
 Pauline. 
 
 At her side walked young Armstrong. And 
 Pauline, who used to be so timid, presented him 
 without a tremor. 
 
96 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 "I wanted to tell you, Miss Beaumont," said 
 Ike, "that I did not understand that we were 
 disturbing you so much when you were sick. 
 Not being musical, we could not appreciate what 
 we were making you suffer. But I beg you to 
 believe, ma am, that we are all very sorry. And 
 I didn t think it no more than right that I should 
 pay all the costs of this case which I have done 
 gladly. I hope you will forgive us, and that we 
 may all of us live as good neighbors in future. 
 We will try not to annoy you, and we have en 
 gaged a very fine music-teacher. 7 
 
 " They have engaged me" said Pauline. And 
 as she spoke she let the young man very gently 
 draw her hand into his arm. 
 
HIS DUTY 
 
HIS DUTY 
 
 A MOS WICKLIFF little suspected himself 
 A\ riding, that sunny afternoon, towards 
 the ghastliest adventure of an adventu 
 rous life. Nevertheless, he was ill at ease. His 
 horse was too light for his big muscles and his 
 six feet two of bone. Being a merciful man to 
 beasts, he could not ride beyond a jog-trot, and 
 his soul was fretted by the delay. He cast a 
 scowl down the dejected neck of the pony to 
 its mournful, mismated ears, and from thence 
 back at his own long legs, which nearly scraped 
 the ground. " Lord ! ain t I a mark on this 
 horse !" he groaned. " We could make money 
 in a circus !" With a gurgle of disgust he looked 
 about him at the glaring blue sky, at the meas 
 ureless, melancholy sweep of purple and dun 
 prairie. 
 
 "Well, give me Iowa !" said Amos. 
 
 For a long while he rode in silence, but 
 
100 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 his thoughts were distinct enough for words. 
 "What an amusing little scamp it was!" thus 
 they ran " I believe he could mimic anything 
 on earth. He used to give a cat and puppy 
 fighting that I laughed myself nearly into a fit 
 over. When I think of that I hate this job. 
 Now why ? You never saw the fellow to speak 
 to him more than twice. Duty, Amos, duty. 
 But if he is as decent as he s got the name of be 
 ing here, it s rough Hullo! River? Trees?" 
 The river might be no more than the lightening 
 rim of the horizon behind the foliage, but there 
 was no mistake about the trees ; and when Wick- 
 liff turned the field-glass, which he habitually 
 carried, on them he could make out not only the 
 river and the willows, but the walls of a cabin 
 and the lovely undulations of a green field of 
 corn. Half an hour s riding brought him to the 
 house and a humble little garden of sweet-pease 
 and hollyhocks. Amos groaned. "How cursed 
 decent it all looks ! And flowers too ! I have 
 no doubt that his wife s a nice woman, and the 
 baby has a clean face. Everything certainly 
 does combine to ball me up on this job ! There 
 she is ; and she s nice !" 
 
 A woman in a clean print gown, with a child 
 pulling at her skirt, had run to the gate. She 
 looked young. Her freckled face was not ex- 
 
HIS DUTY 
 
 actly pretty, but there was something engaging 
 in the flash of her white teeth and her soft, black- 
 lashed, dark eyes. She held the gate wide open, 
 with the hospitality of the West. " Won t yon 
 light, stranger ?" she called. 
 . "I m bound for here," replied Amos, telling 
 his prepared tale glibly. " This is Mr. Brown s, 
 the photographer s, ain t it ? I want him to 
 come to the settlement with me and take me 
 standing on a deer. " 
 
 "Yes, sir." The woman spoke in mellow 
 Southern accents, and she began to look inter 
 ested, as suspecting a romance under this vain 
 glory. " Yes, sir. Deer you shot, I reckon. 
 I ll send Johnny D. for him. Oh, Johnny D. !" 
 
 A lath of a boy of ten, with sunburnt white 
 hair and bright eyes, vaulted over a fence and 
 ran to her, receiving her directions to go find 
 uncle after lie had cared for the gentleman s 
 horse. 
 
 " Your nephew, madam ?" said Amos, as the 
 lad s bare soles twinkled in the air. 
 
 "Well, no, sir, not born nephew," she said, 
 smiling ; " he s a little neighbor boy. His folks 
 live three miles further down the river ; but I 
 reckon we all think jest as much of him as if he 
 was our born kin. Won t you come in, sir ?" 
 
 By this time she had passed under the luxuri- 
 
102 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 ant arbor of honeysuckle that shaded the porch, 
 and she threw wide the door. The room was 
 large. It was very tidy. The furniture was of 
 the sort that can he easily transported where 
 railways have to be pieced out with mule trails. 
 But it was hardly the ordinary pioneer cabin. 
 N^ot because there was a sewing-machine in one 
 corner,, for the sewing-machine follows hard on 
 the heels of the plough ; perhaps because of the 
 white curtains at the two windows (curtains 
 darned and worn thin by washing, tied back 
 with ribbons faded by the same ministry of neat 
 ness), or the square of pretty though cheap car 
 pet on the floor, or the magazines and the bunch 
 of sweet-pease on the table, but most because of 
 the multitude of photographs on the clumsy 
 walls. They were on cards, all of the same size 
 (not more than 8 by 10 inches), protected by 
 glass, and framed in mossy twigs. Some of the 
 pictures were scenes of the country, many of 
 them bits of landscape near the house, all chosen 
 with a marvellous elimination of the usual gro 
 tesque freaks of the camera, and with such an 
 unerring eye for subject and for light and shade 
 that the artist s visions of the flat, commonplace 
 country were not only picturesque but poetic. 
 In the prints also were an extraordinary richness 
 and range of tone. It did not seem possible that 
 
HIS DUTY 103 
 
 mere black and white could give such an effect 
 of brilliancy and depth of color. An artist look 
 ing over this obscure photographer s workman 
 ship might feel a thrill like that which crinkles 
 a flower-lover s nerves when he sees a mass of 
 azaleas in fresh bloom. 
 
 Amos was not an artist, but he had a camera at 
 home,, and he gave a gulp of admiration. " Well, 
 he is great ! he sighed. " That beats any photo 
 graphic work I ever saw." 
 
 The wife s eyes were luminous. Ain t he !" 
 said she. " It most seems wicked for him to be 
 farming when he can do things like that 
 
 " Why does he farm ?" 
 
 "It s his health. He caynt stand the climate 
 East." 
 
 " You are from the South yourself, I take it ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, Arkansas, though I don t see how 
 ever you guessed it. I met Mist Brown there, 
 down in old Lawrence. I was teaching school 
 then, and went to have my picture taken in his 
 wagon. Went with my father, and he was so 
 pleasant and polite to paw I liked him from the 
 start. He nursed paw during his last sickness. 
 Then we were married and came out here 
 You re looking at that piture of little Davy at 
 the well ? I like that the best of all the ten ; his 
 little dress looks so cute, and he has such a sweet 
 
104 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 smile ; and it s the only one has his hair smooth. 
 I tell Mist Brown I do believe he musses that 
 child s hair himself " 
 
 " Papa make Baby s hair pitty for picture !" 
 cried the child, delighted to have understood 
 some of the conversation. 
 
 " He s a very pretty boy/ said Amos. " Fraid 
 to come to me, young feller ?" 
 
 But the child saw too few to be shy, and hap 
 pily perched himself on the tall man s shoulder, 
 while he studied the pictures. The mother ap 
 peared as often as the child. 
 
 "He s got her at the best every time," mused 
 the observer ; " best side of her face, best light 
 on her nose. Never misses. That s the way a 
 man looks at his girl ; always twists his eyes a 
 little so as to get the best view. Plainly she s in 
 love with him, and looks remarkably like he was 
 in love with her, damn him !" Then, with great 
 civility, he asked Mrs. Brown what developer her 
 husband used, and listened attentively, while she 
 showed him the tiny dark room leading out of 
 the apartment, and exhibited the meagre stock 
 of drugs. 
 
 "I keep them up high and locked up in that 
 cupboard with the key on top, for fear Baby 
 might git at them," she explained. She evi 
 dently thought them a rare and creditable col- 
 
HIS DUTY 105 
 
 lection. l{ I ain t a bit afraid of Johnny D.; he s 
 sensible, and, besides, he minds every word Mist 
 Brown tells him. He sets the world by Mist" 
 Brown ; always has ever since the day Mist 
 Brown saved him from drowning in the eddy." 
 
 How was that ?" 
 
 " Why, you see, he was out fishing, and climbed 
 out on a log and slipped someway. It s about 
 two miles further down the river, between his 
 parents farm and ours ; and by a God s mercy 
 we were riding by, Dave and the baby and I 
 the baby wasn t out of long-clothes then and 
 we heard the scream. Dave jumped out and ran, 
 peeling his clothes as he ran. I only waited to 
 throw the weight out of the wagon to hold the 
 horses, and ran after him. I could see him 
 plain in the water. Oh, it surely was a dreadful 
 sight ! I dream of it nights sometimes yet ; and 
 he s there in the water, with his wet hair stream 
 ing over his eyes, and- his eyes sticking out, 
 and his lips blue, fighting the current with one 
 hand, and drifting off, off, inch by inch, all the 
 time. And I wake up with the same longing on 
 me to cry out. Let the boy go ! Swim ! Swim / " 
 
 " Well, did you cry that ?" says Amos. 
 
 " Oh no, sir. I went in to him. I pushed a 
 log along and climbed out on it and held out a 
 branch to him. and someway we all got ashore " 
 
106 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 "What did you do with the baby ?" 
 " I was fixing to lay him down in a soft spot 
 when I saw a man was on the bank. He was 
 jumping up and down and yelling : 1 1 caynt 
 swim a stroke I I caynt swim a stroke \ Then 
 you hold the baby, says I ; and I dumped poor 
 Davy into his arms. When we got the boy up 
 the bank he looked plumb dead ; but Dave said : 
 6 He ain t dead ! He caynt be dead ! I won t 
 have him dead ! wild like, and began rubbing 
 him. I ran to the man. If you please, there 
 that unfortunate man was, in the same place, 
 holding Baby as far away from him as he could 
 get, as if he was a dynamite bomb that might go 
 off at any minute. Give me your pipe/ says I. 
 You will have to fish it out of my pocket your 
 self/ says he ; f I don t dast loose a hand from 
 this here baby ! And he did look funny ! But 
 you may imagine I didn t notice that then. I 
 ran back quick s I could, and we rubbed that boy 
 and worked his arms and, you may say, blowed 
 the breath of life into him. We worked more n 
 a hour that poor man holding the baby the en 
 during time : I reckon Ms arms were stiff s ours ! 
 and I d have given him up : it seemed awful 
 to be rumpling up a corpse that way. But Dave, 
 he only set his teeth arid cried, Keep on, I will 
 save him ! " 
 
HIS DUTY 107 
 
 " And you did save him ?" 
 
 "He did," flashed the wife; "he d be in his 
 grave but for Dave. Fd given him up. And 
 his mother knows it. And she said that if that 
 child was not named Johnny ayfter his paw, 
 she d name him David ayfter Mist Brown ; but 
 seeing he was named, she d do next best, give 
 him David for a middle. And as calling him 
 Johnny David seemed too long, they always call 
 him Johnny D. But won t you rest your hat on 
 the bed and sit down, Mister " 
 
 "Wickliff," finished Amos; but he added no 
 information regarding his dwelling-place or his 
 walk in life, and, being a Southerner, she did 
 not ask it. By this time she was getting supper 
 ready for the guest. Amos was sure she was a 
 good cook the instant his glance lighted on her 
 snowy and shapely rolls. He perceived that 
 he was to have a much daintier meal than he 
 had ever had before in the "Nation," yet he 
 frowned at the wall. All the innocent, labori 
 ous, happy existence of the pair was clear to 
 him as she talked, pleased with so good a lis 
 tener. The dominant impression which her un 
 conscious confidences made on him was her 
 content. 
 
 " I reckon I am a natural-born farmer/ she 
 laughed. " I fairly crave to make things grow. 
 
108 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 and I love the very smell of the earth and the 
 grass. It s beautiful out here." 
 
 " But aren t you ever lonesome ?" 
 
 "Why, we ve lots of neighbors, and they re all 
 such nice folks. The Robys are awful kind peo 
 ple, and only four miles, and the Atwills are only 
 three, on the other side. And then the Indians 
 drop in, but though I try to be good to them, it s 
 hard to like anybody so dirty. Dave says Red 
 Horse and his band are not fair samples, for they 
 are all young bucks that their fathers won t be 
 responsible for, and they certainly do steal. I 
 don t think they ever stole anything from us, 
 cept one hog and three chickens and a jug of 
 whiskey ; but we always feed them well, and it s a 
 little trying, though maybe you ll think I m in 
 hospitable to say so, to have half a dozen of them 
 drop in and eat up a whole batch of light bread 
 and all the meat you ve saved for next day and a 
 plumb jug of molasses at a sitting. That Red 
 Horse is crazy for whiskey, and awful mean 
 when he s drunk ; but he s always been civil to 
 us There s Mist Brown now ! 
 
 WickliiFs first glance at the man in the doorway 
 showed him the same undersized, fair-skinned, 
 handsome young fellow that he remembered ; he 
 wanted to shrug his shoulders and exclaim, "The 
 identical little tough !" but Brown turned his 
 
HIS DUTY 109 
 
 head, and then Amos was aware that the reck 
 lessness and the youth both were gone out of the 
 face. At that moment it went to the hue of 
 cigar ashes. 
 
 " Here s the gentleman, David; my husband, 
 Mist Wickliff," said the wife. 
 
 "Papa ! papa !" joyously screamed the child, 
 pattering across the floor. Brown caught the 
 little thing up and kissed it passionately ; and he 
 held his face for a second against its tiny shoulder 
 before he spoke (in a good round voice), welcom 
 ing his guest. He was too busy with his boy, it 
 may be, to oifer his hand. Neither did Amos 
 move his arm from his side. He repeated his 
 errand. 
 
 Brown moistened his blue lips ; a faint glitter 
 kindled in his haggard eyes, which went full at 
 the speaker. 
 
 " That s what you want, is it ?" 
 
 " Well, if I want anything more, I ll explain it 
 on the way," said Amos, unsmilingly. 
 
 Brown swallowed something in his throat. 
 "All right; I guess I can go," said he. "To 
 morrow, that is. We can t take pictures by 
 moonlight; and the road s better by daylight. 
 Won t you come out with me while I do my 
 chores ? We can can talk it over." In spite of 
 his forced laugh there was undisguised entreaty 
 
110 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 in his look, and relief when Amos assented. He 
 went first, saying under his breath, " I suppose 
 this is how you want." 
 
 Amos nodded. They went out, stepping down 
 the narrow walk between the rows of hollyhocks 
 to one side and sweet-pease to the other. Amos 
 turned his head from side to side, against his 
 will, subdued by the tranquil beauty of the scene. 
 The air was very still. Only afar, on the river- 
 bank, the cows were calling to the calves in the 
 yard. A bell tinkled, thin and sweet, as one cow 
 waded through the shallow water under the wil 
 lows. After the dismal neutral tints of the prai 
 rie, the rich green of corn-field and grass looked 
 enchanting, dipped as they were in the glaze of 
 sunset. The purple-gray of the well-sweep was 
 painted flatly against a sky of deepest, lustreless 
 blue the sapphire without its gleam. But the 
 river was molten silver, and the tops of the trees 
 reflected the flaming west, below the gold and 
 the tumbled white clouds. Turn one way, the 
 homely landscape held only cool, infinitely soft 
 blues and greens and grays ; turn the other, and 
 there burned all the sumptuous dyes of earth and 
 sky. 
 
 "It s a pretty place," said Brown, timidly. 
 
 "Very pretty," Amos agreed, without emo 
 tion. 
 
HIS DUTY 111 
 
 "I ve worked awfully hard to pay for it. It s 
 all paid for now. You saw my wife." 
 
 " Nice lady," said Amos. 
 
 " By , she is !" The other man swore with 
 
 a kind of sob. " And she believes in me. We re 
 happy. We re trying to lead a good life." 
 
 " Fm inclined to think you re living as decent 
 ly and lawfully as any citizens of the United 
 States." The tone had not changed. 
 
 " Well, what are you going to do ?" Brown 
 burst forth, as if he could bear the strain no 
 longer. 
 
 " I m going to do my duty, Harned, and take 
 you to Iowa." 
 
 " Will you listen to me first ? All you know 
 is, I killed" 
 
 But the officer held up his hand, saying in the 
 same steady voice, "You know whatever you 
 say may be used against you. It s my duty to 
 warn 
 
 "Oh, I know you, Mr. Wicklitf. Come be 
 hind the gooseberry bushes where my wife can t 
 see us " 
 
 "It s no use, Harned ; if you talked like Bob 
 Ingersoll or an angel, I have to do my duty." 
 Nevertheless he followed, and leaned against the 
 wall of the little shed that did duty for a barn. 
 Harned walked in front of him, too miserably 
 
112 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 restless to stand still, nervously pulling and 
 breaking wisps of hay between his fingers, talk 
 ing rapidly, with an earnestness that beaded his 
 forehead and burned in his imploring eyes. All 
 you know about me " so he began, quietly 
 enough "all you know about me is that I was 
 a dissipated, worthless photographer, who could 
 sing a song and had a cursed silly trick of mim 
 icry which made him amusing company ; and so 
 I was trying to keep company with rich fellows. 
 You don t know that when I came to your town 
 I was as innocent a country lad as you ever 
 saw, and had a picture of my dead mother in my 
 Bible, and wrote to my father every week. He 
 was a good man, my father. Lucky he died be 
 fore he found out about me. And you don t 
 know, either, that at first, keeping a little studio 
 on the third story, with a folding-bed in the 
 studio, and doing my cooking on the gas-jet, I 
 was a happy man. But I was. I loved my art. 
 Maybe you don t call a photographer an artist. 
 I do. Because a man works with the sun instead 
 of a brush or a needle, can t he create a picture ? 
 And do you suppose a photographer can t hunt 
 for the soul in a sitter as well as a portrait- 
 painter ? Can t a photographer bring out light 
 and shade in as exquisite gradations as an etcher? 
 Artist ! Any man that can discover beauty, and 
 
HIS DUTY 113 
 
 can express it in any shape so other men can see 
 it and love it and be happy on account of it 
 lie s an artist ! And I don t give a damn for a 
 critic who tries to box up art in his own little 
 hole !" Earned was excitedly tapping the horny 
 palm of one hand with the hard, grimy fingers of 
 the other. Amos thought of the white hands that 
 he used to take such pains to guard, and then he 
 looked at the faded check shirt and the patched 
 overalls. Earned had been a little dandy, too 
 fond of perfumes and striking styles. 
 
 " I was an artist/ said Earned. " I loved my 
 art. I was happy. I had begun to make repu 
 tation and money when the devil sent him my 
 way. Ee was an amateur photographer ; that s 
 how we got acquainted. When he found I could 
 sing and mimic voices he was wild over me, flat 
 tered me, petted me, taught me all kinds of fool 
 habits ; ruined me, body and soul, with his 
 friendship. Well, he s dead ; and God knows 
 she wasn t worth a man s life; but he did treat me 
 mean about her, and when I flew at him he jeered 
 at me, and he took advantage of my being a lit 
 tle fellow and struck me and cuffed me before 
 them all ; then I went crazy and shot him !" Be 
 stopped, out of breath. Wickliff mused, frown 
 ing. The man at his mercy pleaded on, gripping 
 those slim, roughened hands of his hard togeth- 
 
114 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 er : "It ain t quite so bad as you thought, is it, 
 Mr. Wickliff ? For God s sake put yourself in 
 my place ! I went through hell after I shot him. 
 You don t know what it is to live looking over 
 your shoulder ! Fear ! fear ! fear ! Day and 
 night, fear ! Waking up, maybe, in a cold 
 sweat, hearing some noise, and thinking it meant 
 pursuit and the handcuffs. Why,, my heart was 
 jumping out of my mouth if a man clapped me 
 on the shoulder from behind, or hollered across 
 the street to me to stop. Then I met my wife. 
 You need not tell me I had no right to marry. I 
 know it ; I told myself so a hundred times ; but 
 I couldn t leave her alone with her poor old sick 
 father, could I ? And then I found out that 
 that it would be hard for her, too. And I was 
 all wore out. Man, you don t know what it is to 
 be frightened for two years ? There wasn t a 
 nerve in me that didn t seem to be pulled out as 
 far as it would go. I married her, and we hid our 
 selves out here in the wilderness. You can say 
 what you please, I have made her happy; and she s 
 made me. If I was to die to-night, she d thank 
 God for the happy years we ve had together ; 
 just as she s thanked Him every night since we 
 were married. The only thing that frets her is 
 me giving up photography. She thinks I could 
 make a name like Wilson or Black. Mavbe I 
 
HIS DUTY 115 
 
 could ; but I don t dare ; if I made a reputation 
 I d be gone. I have to give it up, and do you 
 suppose that ain t a punishment ? Do you sup 
 pose it s no punishment to sink into obscurity 
 when you know you ve got the capacity to do 
 better work than the men that are getting the 
 money and the praise ? Do you suppose it 
 doesn t eat into my heart every day that I can t 
 ever give my boy his grandfather s honest name ? 
 that I don t even dare to make his father s 
 name one he would be proud of ? Yes, I took 
 his life, but I ve given up all my chances in the 
 world for it. My only hope was to change as I 
 grew older and be lost, and the old story would 
 die out 
 
 " It might ; but you see he had a mother," said 
 Wickliff ; "she offers five thousand 
 
 "It was only one thousand," interrupted 
 Earned. 
 
 "One thousand first year. She s raised a 
 thousand every year. She s a thrifty old party, 
 willing to pay, but not willing to pay any more 
 than necessary. When it got to five thousand I 
 took the case." 
 
 Harned looked wistfully about him. " I might 
 raise four thousand " 
 
 " Better stop right there. I refused fifty 
 thousand once to let a man go." 
 
116 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 " Excuse me," said Harned, humbly ; " I re 
 member. I m so distracted I can t think of any 
 thing but Maggie and the baby. Ain t there 
 anything that will move you ? I ve paid for that 
 thing. I saved a boy s life once " 
 
 " I know ; I ve seen the boy." 
 
 Then you know I fought for his life ; I fought 
 awful hard. I said to myself, if he lived I d 
 know it was the sign God had forgiven me. He 
 did live. I ve paid, Mr. Wickliff, I ve paid in 
 the sight of God. And if it comes to society, it 
 seems to me I m a good deal more use to it here 
 than Fd be in a State s prison pegging shoes, and 
 my poor wife " 
 
 He choked ; but there was no softening of the 
 saturnine gloom of Wickliff s face. 
 
 ( You ought to tell that all to the lawyer, not 
 to me," said Wickliff. "Fm only a special of 
 ficer, and my duty is to my employer, not to so 
 ciety. What s more, I am going to perform it. 
 There isn t anything that can make it right for 
 me to balk on my duty, no matter how sorry I 
 feel for you. No, Mr. Harned, if you live and I 
 live, you go back to Iowa with me." 
 
 Harned in utter silence studied the impassive 
 face, and it returned his gaze ; then he threw his 
 arm up against the shed, and hid his own face in 
 the crook of his elbow. His shoulders worked 
 
"HARNED HID HIS FACE" 
 
HIS DUTY 117 
 
 as in a strong shudder, but almost at once they 
 were still, and when he turned his features were 
 blank and steady as the boards behind them. 
 
 " I ve just one favor to ask/ said he; " don t 
 tell my wife. You have got to stay here to 
 night ; it will be more comfortable for you, if I 
 don t say anything till after you ve gone to bed. 
 Give me a chance to explain and say good-bye. It 
 will be hard enough for her " 
 
 " Will you give me your parole you won t try 
 to escape ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Nor kill yourself ?" 
 
 Harned started violently, and he laughed. 
 "Do you think I d kill myself before poor Mag 
 gie ? I wouldn t be so mean. No, I promise 
 you I won t either run away or kill myself or 
 play any kind of trick on you to-night. Does 
 it go ?" 
 
 "It goes," responded Amos, holding out his 
 hand ; " and I ll give you a good reputation in 
 court, too, for being a good citizen now. That 
 will have weight with the judge. And if you 
 care to know it, I m mighty sorry for you." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Wickliff," said Harned ; but 
 he had not seemed to see the hand ; he was strid 
 ing ahead. 
 
 "That man means to kill himself," thought 
 
118 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 Amos ; he s too blamed resigned. He s got it 
 all planned before. And God help the poor 
 beggar ! I guess it s the best thing he can do 
 for himself. Lord, but it s hard sometimes for 
 a man to do his duty !" 
 
 The two men walked along, at first both mute, 
 but no sooner did they come well in view of the 
 kitchen door than they began to talk. Amos 
 hoped there was nothing in the rumors of Indian 
 troubles. 
 
 "There s only one band could make trouble," 
 said Harned. "Red Horse is a mean Indian, 
 educated in the agency schools, and then relapsed. 
 Say, who s that running up the river - bank ? 
 Looks like Mrs. Roby s sister. She s got the 
 baby." His face and voice changed sharply, 
 he crying out; "There s something wrong with 
 that woman!" and therewith he set off running 
 to the house at the top of his speed. Half-way, 
 Amos, running behind him, could hear a clamor 
 of women s voices, rising and breaking, and loud 
 cries. Mrs. Brown came to the doorway, beck 
 oning with both hands, screaming for them to 
 hurry. 
 
 When they reached the door they could see the 
 new - comer. She was huddled in a rocking- 
 chair, a pitiful, trembling shape, wet to the skin, 
 her dank cotton skirts dripping, bareheaded, and 
 
HIS DUTY 11H 
 
 her black hair blown about her ghastly face ; 
 and on her breast a baby, wet as she, smiling and 
 cooing, but with a great crimson smouch on its 
 tiny shoulder. Near her appeared Johnny D. s 
 white head. He was pale under his freckles, but 
 he kept assuring her stoutly that uncle wouldn t 
 let the Indians get them. 
 
 The woman was so spent with running that her 
 words came in gasps. " Oh, git ready ! Fly ! 
 They ve killed the Robys. They ve killed sister 
 and Tom. They killed the children. Oh, my 
 Lord ! children ! They was clinging to their 
 mother, and crying to the Indians to please not 
 to kill them. Oh, they pretended to be friendly 
 so s to git in ; and we cooked em up such a 
 good supper ; but they killed every one, little 
 Mary and little Jim I heard the screeches. I 
 picked up the baby and run. I jumped into the 
 river and swum to the boat I don t know how 
 I done it oh, be quick ! They ll be coming ! 
 Oh, fly !" 
 
 Earned turned on Amos. " Flying s no good 
 on land, but maybe the boat you ll help ?" 
 
 " Of course," said Amos. "Here, young fel 
 ler, can you scuttle up to the roof -tree and re 
 connoitre with this field-glass ? you re consider 
 ably lighter on your feet than me. Twist the 
 wheel round here till you can see plain. There s 
 
120 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 a hole, I see, up to the loft. Is there one out on 
 the roof? Then scuttle!" 
 
 Mrs. Brown pushed the coffee back on the 
 stove. " No use it burning/ said she ; and Amos 
 admired her firm tones, though she was deadly 
 pale. " If we ain t killed we ll need it. Dave, 
 don t forget the camera. I ll put up some com 
 forters to wrap the children in and something to 
 eat." She was doing this with incredible quick 
 ness as she spoke, while Harned saw to his gun 
 and the loading of a pistol. 
 
 The pistol she took out of his hands, saying, 
 in a low, very gentle voice, " Give that to me, 
 honey. " 
 
 He gave her a strange glance. 
 
 " They sha n t hurt little Davy or me, Dave," 
 she answered, in the same voice. 
 
 Little Davy had gone to the woman and the 
 baby, and was looking about him with frightened 
 eyes ; his lip began to quiver, and he pointed to 
 the baby s shoulder : " Injuns hurt Elly. Don t 
 let Injuns hurt Davy !" 
 
 The wretched father groaned. 
 
 " No, baby," said the mother, kissing him. 
 
 " Hullo ! up there," called Amos. " What do 
 you see ?" 
 
 The shrill little voice rang back clearly, 
 "They re a-comin , a terrible sight of them." 
 
HIS DUTY 121 
 
 " How many ? Twenty ?" 
 
 " I guess so. Oh, uncle, the boat s floated 
 off !" 
 
 " Didn t you fasten it ?" cried Earned. 
 
 " God forgive me !" wailed the woman, " I 
 don t know !" 
 
 Harned sat down in the nearest chair, and his 
 gun slipped between his knees. " Maggie, give 
 us a drink of coffee," said he, quietly. " We ll 
 have time for that before they come." 
 
 " Can t we barricade and fight ?" said Amos, 
 glaring about him. 
 
 " Then they ll get behind the barn and fire 
 that, and the wind is this way." 
 
 "We ve got to save the women and the kids !" 
 cried Amos. At this moment he was a strik 
 ing and terrible figure. The veins of his tem 
 ple swelled with despair and impotent fury ; his 
 heavy features were transfigured in the intensity 
 of his effort to think to see ; his arms did not 
 hang at his sides ; they were held tensely, with 
 his fist clinched, while his burning eyes roamed 
 over every corner of the room, over every pict 
 ure. In a flash his whole condition changed, 
 his muscles relaxed, his hands slid into his pock 
 ets, he smiled the strangest and grimmest of 
 smiles. "All right," said he. "Ah Brown, 
 you got any whiskey ? Fetch it." The women 
 
122 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 stared, while Harned passively found a jug and 
 placed it before him. 
 
 " Now some empty bottles and tumblers." 
 
 " There are some empty bottles in the dark 
 room ; what do you mean to do ?" 
 
 " Mean to save you. Brace up ! I ll get them. 
 And you, Mrs. Brown, if you ve got any pare 
 goric, give those children a dose that will keep 
 them quiet, and up in the loft with you all. We ll 
 hand up the kids. Listen ! You must keep 
 quiet, and keep the children quiet, and not stir, 
 no matter what infernal racket you may hear 
 down here. You must ! To save the children. 
 You must wait till you hear one of us, Brown or 
 me, call. See ? I depend on you, and you must 
 depend on me !" 
 
 Her eyes sought her husband s; then, "I m 
 ready, sir/ she said, simply. "I ll answer for 
 Johnny D., and the others I ll make quiet." 
 
 "That s the stuff," cried Amos, exultantly. 
 " I ll fix the red butchers. Only for God s sake 
 hustle /" 
 
 He turned his back on the parting to enter the 
 dark room, and when he came back, with his 
 hands full of empty bottles, Harned was alone. 
 
 "I told her it was our only chance," said 
 Harned ; "but I m damned if I know what our 
 only chance is !" 
 
HIS DUTY 123 
 
 " Never mind that," retorted Amos, briskly. 
 He was entirely calm ; indeed, his face held the 
 kind of grim elation that peril in any shape 
 brings to some natures. " You toss things up 
 and throw open the doors, as if you all had run 
 away in a big fright, while I ll set the table." 
 And, as Harned feverishly obeyed, he carefully 
 filled the bottles from the demijohn. The last 
 bottle he only filled half full, pouring the re 
 mains of the liquor into a tumbler. 
 
 "All ready?" he remarked; "well, here s 
 how," and he passed the tumbler to Harned, who 
 shook his head. " Don t need a brace ? I don t 
 know as you do. Then shake, pardner, and 
 whichever one of us gets out of this all right 
 will look after the women. And it s all 
 right ?" 
 
 "Thank you," choked Harned; "just give 
 the orders, and I m there." 
 
 " You get into the other room, and you keep 
 there, still ; those are the orders. Don t you 
 come out, whatever you hear ; it s the women s 
 and the children s lives are at stake, do you 
 hear ? And no matter what happens to me, you 
 stay there, you stay still! But the minute I 
 twist the button on that door, let me in, and be 
 ready with your hatchet that will be handiest. 
 Savez ?" 
 
124 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 "Yes; God bless you, Mr. Wickliff !" cried 
 Harned. 
 
 "Pardner it is, now/ 7 said Wickliff. They 
 shook hands. Then Harned shut himself in the 
 closet. He did not guess Wickliff s plan, but 
 that did not disturb the hope that was pumping 
 his heart faster. He felt the magnetism of a 
 born leader and an intrepid fighter, and he was 
 Wickliff s to the death. He strained his ears at 
 the door. A chair scraped the boards ; Wickliff 
 was sitting down. Immediately a voice began to 
 sing Wickliff s voice changed into a tipsy man s 
 maudlin pipe. He was singing a war-song : 
 
 " We ll rally round the flag, boys, we ll rally once 
 
 again, 
 Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom ! " 
 
 The sound did not drown the thud of horses 
 hoofs outside. They sounded nearer. Then a 
 hail. On roared the song, all on one note. 
 Wickliff couldn t carry a tune to save his soul, 
 and no living man, probably, had ever heard him 
 sing. 
 
 " And we ll drive the savage crew from the land we 
 
 love the best, 
 Shouting the battle-cry 
 
 " Hullo! Who s comin ? Injuns mean noble 
 red men ? Come in, gen lemen all." 
 
HIS DUTY 125 
 
 The floor shook. They were all crowding in. 
 There was a din of guttural monosyllables and 
 sibilant phrases all fused together, threatening 
 and sinister to the listener ; yet he could under 
 stand that some of them were of pleasure. That 
 meant the sight of the whiskey. 
 
 "P-play fair, gen lemen," the drunken voice 
 quavered, "thas fine whiskey, fire-water. Got 
 lot. Know where s more. Queer shorter place 
 ever did see. Aller folks skipped. Nobody wel 
 come stranger. Ha, ha ! hie ! stranger found 
 the whiskey, and is shelerbrating for himself. 
 Help yeself, gentlemen. I know where there s 
 shum shum more plenty." 
 
 Dimly it came to Harned that here was the 
 man s bid for his life. They wouldn t kill him 
 until he should get the fresh supply of whiskey. 
 
 " Where Black Blanket gone ?" grunted Ked 
 Horse. Harned knew his voice. 
 
 "Damfino," returned the drunken accents, 
 cheerfully. " L-lit out, thas all I know. Whas 
 you mean, hitting each orrer with bottles ? Plenty 
 more. I ll go get it. You s-shay where you are." 
 
 The blood pounded through Harned s veins at 
 the sound of the shambling step on the floor. 
 His own shoulders involuntarily hunched them 
 selves, quivering as if he felt the tomahawk be 
 tween them. Would they wait, or would they 
 
126 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 shy something at him and kill him the minute 
 his back was turned ? God ! what nerve the 
 man had ! He was not taking a step the quicker 
 ah ! Wickliff s fingers were at the fastening. 
 He flung the door back. Even then he stag 
 gered, keeping to his role. But the instant he 
 was over the threshold the transformation came. 
 He hurled the door back and threw his weight 
 against it, quick as a cat. His teeth were set 
 in a grin of hate, his eyeballs glittered, and he 
 shook his pistol at the door. 
 
 "Come on now, damn you I" he yelled. "We re 
 ready." 
 
 Like an echo to his defiance, there rose an 
 awful and indescribable uproar from the room 
 beyond screams, groans, yells, and simulta 
 neously the sound of a rush on the door. But 
 for a minute the door held. 
 
 The clatter of tomahawk blades shook it, but 
 the wood was thick ; it held. 
 
 " Hatchet ready, pard ?" said Wickliff. 
 " When you feel the door give, slip the bolt to 
 let em tumble in, and then strike for the women 
 and the kids ; strike hard. I ll empty my pop 
 into the heap. It won t be such a big one if 
 the door holds a minute longer." 
 
 " What are they doing in there ?" gasped 
 Earned. 
 
" IT WON T BE SUCH A BIG ONE IP THE DOOR HOLDS " 
 
HIS DUTY 127 
 
 " They re dying in there, that s what/ Wick- 
 liif replied, between his teeth, " and dying fast. 
 Now !" 
 
 The words stung Harned s courage into a rush, 
 like whiskey. He shot the bolt, and three In 
 dians tumbled on them, with more he could 
 not see how many more behind. Then the 
 hatchet fell. It never faltered after that one 
 glimpse Harned had of the thing at one Indian s 
 belt. He heard the bark of the pistol, twice, 
 three times, the heap reeling ; the three fore 
 most were on the floor. He had struck them 
 down too ; but he was borne back. He caught 
 the gleam of the knife lurching at him ; in the 
 same wild glance he saw WicklifPs pistol against 
 a broad red breast, and Red Horse s tomahawk 
 in the air. He struck struck as Wickliff fired ; 
 struck not at his own assailant, but at Red Horse s 
 arm. It dropped, and Wickliif fired again. He 
 did not see that ; he had whirled to ward the 
 other blow. But the Indian knife made only a 
 random, nerveless stroke, and the Indian pitch 
 ed forward, doubling up hideously in the narrow 
 space, and thus slipping down dead. 
 
 " That s over !" called Wickliff. 
 
 Now Harned perceived that they were stand 
 ing erect ; they two and only they in the place. 
 Directly in front of them lay Red Horse, the 
 
128 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 blood streaming from his arm. He was dead; 
 nor was there a single living creature among the 
 Indians. Some had fallen before they could 
 reach the door at which they had flung them 
 selves in the last access of fury ; some lay about 
 the floor,, and one the one with the knife was 
 stiff behind Harned in the dark room. 
 
 "Look at that fellow/ called Harned. "I 
 didn t hit him ; he may be shamming." 
 
 " I didn t hit him either/ said Wickliff, " but 
 he s dead all the same. So are the others. I d 
 been too, I guess, but for your good blow on 
 that feller s arm. I saw him, but you can t kill 
 two at once." 
 
 " How did you do it ?" 
 
 " Doped the whiskey. Cyanide of potassium 
 from your photographic drugs ; that was the 
 quickest. Even if they had killed you and me, 
 it would work before they could get the women 
 and children. The only risk was their not tak 
 ing it, and with an Indian that wasn t so much. 
 Now, pardner, you better give a hail, and then 
 we ll hitch up and get them safe in the settle 
 ment till we see how things are going." 
 
 "And then ?" said Harned, growing red. 
 
 Amos gnawed at the corners of his mustache 
 in rather a shamefaced way. " Then ? Why, 
 then I ll have to leave you, and make the best 
 
HIS DUTY 129 
 
 story I can honestly for the old lady. Oh yes, 
 damn it ! I know my duty ; I never went back on 
 it before. But I never went back on a pardner 
 either ; and after fighting together like we have, 
 Fm not up to any Roman-soldier business ; nor 
 I ain t going to give you a pair of handcuffs 
 for saving my life ! So run outside and holler 
 to your frau." 
 
 Left alone, Wicklif? gazed about him in deep 
 meditation, which at last found outlet in a few 
 pensive sentences. " Clean against the rules of 
 war; but rules of war are as much wasted on 
 Injuns as please on a stone-deaf man ! And 
 I simply had to save the women and children. 
 Still it s a pretty sorry lay-out to pay five thou 
 sand dollars for the privilege of seeing. But it s 
 a good deal worse to not do my duty. I shall 
 never forgive myself. But I never should for 
 give myself for going back on a pardner either. 
 I guess all it comes to is, duty s a cursed blind 
 trail I" 
 
THE HYPNOTIST 
 
THE HYPNOTIST 
 
 THERE were not so many carriages in the 
 little Illinois city with chop-tailed horses, 
 silver chains, and liveried coachmen that 
 the clerks in the big department shop should not 
 know the Courtlandt landau, the Courtlandt vic 
 toria, and the Courtlandt brougham (Miss Abbie 
 Courtlandt s private equipage) as well as they 
 knew Madam Courtlandt, Mrs. Etheridge, or 
 Miss Abbie. Two of -the shop-girls promptly 
 absorbed themselves in Miss Abbie, one May 
 morning, when she alighted from the brougham. 
 For an instant she stood, as if undecided, look 
 ing absently at the window, which happened to 
 be a huge kaleidoscope of dolls. 
 
 A tall man and two ragged little girls were 
 staring at the dolls also. Both the girls were 
 miserably thin, and one of them had a bruise on 
 her cheek. The man was much too well clad 
 and prosperous to belong to them. He stroked 
 
134 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 a drooping black mustache, and said, in the voice 
 of a man accustomed to pet children, whether 
 clean or dirty, " Like these dolls better than 
 yours, sissy ?" at the same time smiling at the 
 girl with the bruised cheek. 
 
 A sharp little pipe answered, "I ain t got no 
 doll, mister." 
 
 "No, she ain t," added the other girl ; "but 
 / got one, only it ain t got no right head. Pa 
 stepped on its head. I let her play with it, and 
 we made a head outer a corn-cob. It ain t a 
 very good head." 
 
 " I guess not," said the man, putting some 
 silver into her hand ; " there, you take that, lit 
 tle sister, and you go in and buy two dolls, one 
 for each of you ; and you tell the young lady 
 that waits on you just what you told me. And 
 if there is any money left, you go on over to that 
 bakery and fill up with it." 
 
 The children gave him two rapid, bewildered 
 glances, clutched the money, and darted into the 
 store without a word. The man s smiling eyes 
 as they turned away encountered Miss Abbie s, 
 in which was a troubled interest. She had tak 
 en a piece of silver from her own purse. He 
 smiled, as perceiving a kindly impulse that 
 matched his own ; and she, to her own later sur 
 prise, smiled too. The smile changed in a flash 
 
THE HYPNOTIST 135 
 
 to a startled look ; all the color drifted out of 
 her face, and she took a step forward so hasti 
 ly that she stumbled on her skirt. Recovering 
 herself, she dropped her purse ; and a man who 
 had just approached went down on one knee to 
 pick it up. But the tall man was too quick for 
 him ; a long arm swooped in between the other s 
 outstretched hand and the gleaming bit of liz 
 ard-skin on the bricks. The new-comer barely 
 avoided a collision. He did not take the escape 
 with good-humor, scowling blackly as he made a 
 scramble, while still on his knee, at something 
 behind the tall man s back. This must have 
 been a handkerchief, since he immediately pre 
 sented a white nutter to Miss Courtlandt, bow 
 ing and murmuring, " You dropped this too, I 
 guess, madam." 
 
 " Yes, thank you," stammered Miss Court 
 landt ; " thank you very much, Mr. Slater." 
 She entered the store by his side, but at the 
 door she turned her head for a parting nod of 
 acknowledgment to the other. He remained a 
 second longer, staring at the dolls, and gnaw 
 ing the ends of his mustache, not irritated, but 
 sharply thoughtful. 
 
 Thus she saw him, glancing out again, once 
 more, when inside the store. And through all 
 the anguish of the moment for she was in a 
 
136 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 dire strait she felt a faint pang that she should 
 have been rude to this kind stranger. In a 
 feeble way she wondered, as they say condemned 
 criminals wonder at street sights on the way to 
 the gallows, what he was thinking of. But had 
 he spoken his thought aloud she had not been 
 the wiser, since he was simply saying softly to 
 himself, " Well, wouldn t it kill you dead !" 
 
 Miss Abbie stopped at the glove-counter to 
 buy a pair of gloves. As she walked away she 
 heard distinctly one shop-girl s sigh and exclama 
 tion to the other, " My, I wish I was her !" 
 
 A kind of quiver stirred Miss Abbie s faded 
 cold face. Her dark gray eyes recoiled sidewise ; 
 then she stiffened from head to heel and passed 
 out of the store. 
 
 To a casual observer she looked annoyed ; in 
 reality she was both miserable and humiliated. 
 And once back in the shelter of the brougham 
 her inward torment showed plainly in her face. 
 
 Abigail Courtlandt was the second daughter 
 of the house ; never so admired as Mabel, the 
 oldest, who died, or Margaret, the youngest, who 
 married Judge Etheridge, and was now a widow, 
 living with her widowed mother. 
 
 Abigail had neither the soft Hayward loveli 
 ness of Mabel and her mother, nor the haughty 
 beauty of Margaret, who was all a Courtlandt, 
 
THE HYPNOTIST 137 
 
 yet she was not uncomely. If her chin was too 
 long, her forehead too high, her ears a trifle too 
 large, to offset these defects she had a skin of 
 exquisite texture, pale and clear, white teeth, and 
 beautiful black brows. 
 
 She was thin, too thin ; but her dressmaker 
 was an artist, and Abbie would have been grace 
 ful were she not so nervous, moving so abruptly, 
 and forever fiddling at something with her fin 
 gers. When she sat next any one talking, it did 
 not help that person s complacency to have her 
 always sink slightly on the elbow further from 
 her companion, as if averting her presence. An 
 embarrassed little laugh used to escape her at 
 the wrong moment. Withal, she was cold and 
 stiff, although some keen people fancied that -her 
 coldness and stiffness were no more than a mask 
 to shield a morbid shyness. These same people 
 said that if she would only forget herself and 
 become interested in other people she would be 
 a lovable woman, for she had the kindest heart 
 in the world. Unfortunately all her thoughts 
 concentred on herself. Like many shy people, 
 Abbie was vain. Diffidence as often comes from 
 vanity, which is timid, as from self - distrust. 
 Abbie longed passionately not only to be loved, 
 but to be admired. She was loved, assuredly, 
 but she was not especially admired. Margaret 
 
138 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 Etheridge, with her courage, her sparkle, and 
 her beauty, was always the more popular of the 
 sisters. Margaret was imperious, but she was 
 generous too, and never oppressed her following ; 
 only the rebels were treated to those stinging 
 speeches of hers. Those who loved Margaret 
 admired her with enthusiasm. No one admired 
 poor Abbie with enthusiasm. She was her fa 
 ther s favorite child, but he died when she was 
 in short dresses ; and, while she was dear to all 
 the family, she did not especially gratify the 
 family pride. 
 
 Her hungry vanity sought refuge in its own 
 creations. She busied herself in endless fictions 
 of reverie, wherein an imaginary husband and 
 an imaginary home of splendor appeased all her 
 longings for triumph. While she walked and 
 talked and drove and sewed, like other people, 
 only a little more silent, she was really in a land 
 of dreams. 
 
 Did her mother complain because she had for 
 gotten to send the Book Club magazines or 
 books to the next lawful reader, she solaced her 
 self by visions of a book club in the future which 
 she and "he" would organize, and a reception 
 of distinguished elegance which " they " would 
 give, to which the disagreeable person who made 
 a fuss over nothing (meaning the reader to whom 
 
THE HYPNOTIST 139 
 
 reading was due) should not be invited thereby 
 reducing her to humility and tears. But even 
 the visionary tears of her offender affected Ab- 
 bie s soft nature, and all was always forgiven. 
 
 Did Margaret have a swarm of young fellows 
 disputing over her card at a ball, while Abbie 
 must sit out the dances, cheered by no livelier 
 company than that of old friends of the family, 
 who kept up a water-logged pretence of conver 
 sation that sank on the approach of the first 
 new-comer or a glimpse of their own daughters 
 on the floor, Abbie through it all was dreaming 
 of the balls "they" would give, and beholding 
 herself beaming and gracious amid a worship 
 ping throng. 
 
 These mental exercises, this double life that 
 she lived, kept her inexperienced. At thirty she 
 knew less of the world than a girl in her first 
 season ; and at thirty she met Ashton Clarke. 
 Western society is elastic, or Clarke never would 
 have been on the edges even ; he never did get 
 any further, and his morals were more dubious 
 than his position ; but he was Abbie s first im 
 passioned suitor, and his flattering love covered 
 every crack in his manners or his habits. Men 
 had asked her to marry them before, but never 
 had a man made love to her. For two weeks 
 she was a happy woman. Then came discovery, 
 
140 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 and the storm broke. The Courtlandts were in 
 a rage except gentle Madam Courtlandt, who 
 was broken-hearted and ashamed, which was 
 worse for Abbie. Jack, the older brother, was 
 summoned from Chicago. Ralph, the younger, 
 tore home on his own account from Yale. It 
 was really a testimony to the family s affection 
 for Abbie that she created such a commotion, 
 but it did not impress her in that way. In the 
 end she yielded, but she yielded with a sense of 
 cruel injustice done her. 
 
 Time proved Clarke worse than her people s* 
 accusations ; but time did not efface what the 
 boys had said, much less what the girls had said. 
 They forgot, of course ; it is so much easier to 
 forget the ugly words that we say than those 
 that are said to us. But she remembered that 
 Jack felt that Abbie never did have any sense, 
 and that Ralph raged because she did not even 
 know a cad from a gentleman, and that Mar 
 garet, pacing the floor, too angry to sit still, 
 would not have minded so much had Abbie made 
 a fool of herself for a man ; but she didn t wait 
 long enough to discover what he was ; she pos 
 itively accepted the first thing with a mustache 
 on it that offered ! 
 
 Time healed her heart, but not her crushed 
 and lacerated vanity. And it is a question 
 
THE HYPNOTIST 141 
 
 whether we do not suffer more keenly, if less 
 deeply, from wounds to the self-esteem than to 
 the heart. Generally we mistake the former for 
 the latter, and declare ourselves to have a sensi 
 tive heart, when what we do have is only a thin- 
 skinned vanity ! 
 
 But there was no mistake about Abbie s misery, 
 however a moralist might speculate concerning 
 the cause. She suffered intensely. And she 
 had no confidant. She had not even her old 
 fairyland of fancy, for love and lovers were be 
 come hateful to her. At first she went to 
 church until an unlucky difference with the 
 rector s wife at a church fair. Later it was as 
 much her unsatisfied vanity and unsatisfied 
 heart as any spiritual confusion that led her into 
 all manner of excursions into the shadowy bor 
 der-land of the occult. She was a secret attend 
 ant on table-tippings and seances ; a reader of 
 every kind of mystical lore that she could buy ; 
 an habitual consulter of spiritual mediums and 
 clairvoyants and seventh sons and daughters and 
 the whole tribe of charlatans. But the family 
 had not noticed. They were not afraid of the 
 occult ones ; they were glad to have Abbie happy 
 and more contented; and they concerned them 
 selves no further, as is the manner of families, 
 being occupied with their own concerns. 
 
142 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 And so unguarded Abbie went to her evil fate. 
 One morning, Avith her maid Lucy, she went to 
 see "the celebrated clairvoyant and seer, Pro 
 fessor Rudolph Slater, the greatest revealer of 
 the future in this or any other century." 
 
 Lucy looked askance at the shabby one-story 
 saloons on the street, and the dying lindens be 
 fore the house. Her disapproval deepened as 
 they went up the wooden steps. The house was 
 one of a tiny brick block, with wooden cornices, 
 and unshaded wooden steps in need not only of 
 painting but scrubbing. 
 
 The door opened into an entry which was dark, 
 but not dark enough to conceal the rents in the 
 oil-cloth on the floor or the blotches on the imi 
 tation oak paper of the walls. 
 
 Lucy sniffed ; she was a faithful and aif ection- 
 ate attendant, and she used considerable free 
 dom with her mistress. "I don t know about 
 there being spirits here, but there s been lots of 
 onions \" remarked Lucy. Nor did her unfavor 
 able opinion end with the approach to the sor 
 cerer s presence. She maintained her wooden 
 expression even sitting in the great man s room 
 and hearing his speech. 
 
 Abbie did not see the hole in the green rep 
 covering of the arm-chair, nor the large round 
 oil-stain on the faded roses of the carpet, nor 
 
THE HYPNOTIST 143 
 
 the dust on the Parian ornaments of the table ; 
 she was too absorbed in the man himself. 
 
 If his surroundings were sordid, he was splen 
 did in a black velvet jacket and embroidered 
 shirt-front sparkling with diamonds. He was a 
 short man, rather thick -set, and although his 
 hair was gray, his face was young and florid. 
 The gray hair was very thick, growing low on 
 his forehead and curling. Abbie thought it 
 beautiful. She thought his eyes beautiful also, 
 and spoke to Lucy of their wonderful blue color 
 and soul-piercing gaze. 
 
 "I thought they were just awful impudent," 
 said Lucy. " I never did see a man stare so, 
 Miss Abbie ; I wanted to slap him !" 
 
 " But his hair was beautiful/ Abbie persisted ; 
 " and he said it used to be straight as a poker, 
 but the spirits curled it." 
 
 "Why, Miss Abbie," cried Lucy, "I could 
 see the little straight ends sticking out of the 
 curls, that come when you do your hair up on 
 irons. I ve frizzed my hair too many times not 
 to know them." 
 
 " But, Lucy," said Abbie, in a low, shocked 
 voice, "didn t you feel something when he put 
 on those handcuffs and sat before the cabinet in 
 the dark, and his control spoke, and we saw the 
 hands ? What do you think of that ?" 
 
144 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 " I think it was him all the time/ said Lucy, 
 doggedly. 
 
 "But, Lucy, why? 9 
 
 "Finger-nails were dirty just the same," said 
 Lucy. Nor was there any shaking her. But 
 Abbie, under ordinary circumstances the most 
 fastidious of women, had not noted the finger 
 nails ; one witching sentence had captured her. 
 
 The moment he took her hand he had started 
 violently. " Excuse me, madam," said he, "but 
 are you not a medium yourself?" 
 
 " No at least, I never was supposed to be," 
 fluttered Abbie, blushing. 
 
 "Then, madam, you don t perhaps realize 
 that you yourself possess marvellous psychic 
 power. I never saw any one who had so much, 
 when it had not been developed." 
 
 To-day Abbie ground her teeth and wrung 
 her hands in an impotent agony of rage, remem 
 bering her pleasure. He would not take any 
 money ; no, he said, there had been too much 
 happiness for him in meeting such a favorite of 
 the spiritual influences as she. 
 
 "But you will come again," he pleaded; 
 "only don t ask me to take money for such a 
 great privilege. You caynt see the invisible 
 guardians that hover around you !" 
 
 His refusal of her gold piece completed his 
 
THE HYPNOTIST l45 
 
 victory over Abbie s imagination. She was sure 
 he could not be a cheat, since he would not be 
 paid. She did come again; she came many 
 times, always with Lucy, who grew more and 
 more suspicious, but could not make up her 
 mind to expose Abbie s folly to her people. 
 " Think of all the things she gives me !" argued 
 Lucy. "Miss Abbie s always been a kind of 
 stray sheep in the family ; they are all kind of 
 hard on her. I can t bear to be the one to get 
 her into trouble." 
 
 So Lucy s conscience squirmed in silence until 
 the fortune-teller persuaded Abbie to allow him 
 to throw her into a trance. The wretched wom 
 an in the carriage cowered back farther into the 
 shade, living over that ghastly hour when Lucy 
 at her elbow was as far away from her helpless 
 soul as if at the poles. How his blue eyes 
 glowed ! How the flame in them contracted to 
 a glittering spark, like the star-tip of the silver 
 wand, waving and curving and interlacing its 
 dazzling flashes before her until her eyeballs 
 ached ! How of a sudden the star rested, blink 
 ing at her between his eyes, and she looked ; she 
 must look at it, though her will, her very self, 
 seemed to be sucked out of her into the gleam 
 ing whirlpool of that star ! 
 
 She made a feeble rally under a woful im- 
 
 10 
 
146 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 pression of fright and misery impending, but in 
 vain ; and, with the carelessness of a creature 
 who is chloroformed, she let her soul drift 
 away. 
 
 When she opened her eyes, Lucy was rubbing 
 her hands, while the clairvoyant watched the two 
 women motionless and smiling. 
 
 The fear still on her prompted her first words, 
 " Let me go home now !" 
 
 " Not now/" begged the conjurer ; "you must 
 go into a trance again. I want you to see some 
 thing that will be very interesting to you. Please, 
 Miss Courtlandt." He spoke in the gentlest of 
 tones, but there was a repressed assurance about 
 his manner that was infuriating to Lucy. 
 
 " Miss Abbie s going home," she cried, an 
 grily ; " we ain t going to have any more of this 
 nonsense. Come, Miss Abbie. She touched 
 her on her arm, but trembling Abbie fixed her 
 eyes on the conjurer, and he, in that gentle 
 tone, answered : 
 
 " Certainly, if she wishes ; but she wants to 
 stay. You want to stay, Miss Courtlandt, don t 
 you ?" 
 
 "Yes, I want to stay/ said Abbie; and her 
 heart was cold within her, for the words seemed 
 to say themselves, even while she struggled fran 
 tically against the utterance of them. 
 
"" .;. 
 
 " SHE MUST LOOK AT IT " 
 
THE HYPNOTIST 147 
 
 "Do you mean it, Miss Abbie ?" the girl re 
 peated, sorely puzzled. 
 
 "Certainly, just once more," said Miss Abbie. 
 And she sat down again in her chair. 
 
 What she saw she never remembered. Lucy 
 said it was all nonsense she talked, and, anyhow, 
 she whispered so low that nobody could catch 
 more than a word, except that she seemed to be 
 promising something over and over again. In 
 a little while the conjurer whispered to her, and 
 with a few passes of his hand consciousness re 
 turned. She rose, white and shaken, but quite 
 herself again. He bade the two good-bye, and 
 bowed them out with much suavity of manner. 
 Abbie returned not a single word. As they drove 
 home, the maid spoke, "Miss Abbie, Miss Ab 
 bie you won t go there again, will you ?" 
 
 "Never," cried Abbie "never!" 
 
 But the next morning, after a sleepless night, 
 there returned the same horrible, dragging long 
 ing to see him ; and with the longing came the 
 same fear that had suffocated her will the day 
 before a fear like the fear of dreams, formless, 
 reasonless, more dreadful than death. 
 
 Impelled by this frightful force that did not 
 seem to have anything to do with her, herself, 
 she left the house and boarded a street-car. She 
 felt as if a demon were riding her soul, spur- 
 
148 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 ring it wherever he willed. She went to a little 
 park outside the city, frequented hy Germans 
 and almost deserted of a week-day. And on 
 her way she remembered that this was what she 
 had promised him to do. 
 
 He was waiting to assist her from the car. As 
 he helped her alight, she noticed his hands and 
 his nails. They were neat enough ; yet she 
 suddenly recalled Lucy s words ; and suddenly 
 she saw the man, in his tasteless, expensive 
 clothes, with his swagger and the odor of whis 
 key about him, as any other gentlewoman would 
 have seen him. Her fright had swept all his 
 seer s glamour away ; he was no longer the mys 
 tical ruler of the spirit-world ; he was a squalid 
 adventurer and her master ! 
 
 He made her realize that in five minutes. 
 "You caynt help yourself, Miss Courtlandt," 
 he said, and she believed him. 
 
 Whether it were the influence of a strong will 
 on a hysterical temperament and a morbidly im 
 pressible fancy, or whether it were a black power 
 from the unseen, beyond his knowledge but not 
 beyond his abuse, matters little so far as poor 
 Abbie Courtlandt was concerned ; on either sup 
 position, she was powerless. 
 
 She left him, hating him as only slavery and 
 fear can hate ; but she left him pledged to bring 
 
THE HYPNOTIST 149 
 
 him five hundred dollars in the morning and to 
 marry him in the afternoon ; and now, having 
 kept her word about the money, she was driving 
 home, clinching in her cold fingers the slip of 
 paper containing the address of a justice of the 
 peace in the suburbs, where she must meet him 
 and be bound to this unclean vulture, who 
 would bear her away from home and kindred 
 and all fair repute and peace. 
 
 A passion of revolt shook her. She must meet 
 him ? Why must she ? Why not tear his ad 
 dress to bits ? Why not drive fast, fast home, 
 and tell her mother that she was going to Chi 
 cago about some gowns that night ? Why not 
 stay there at Jack s, and let this fiend, who har 
 ried her, wait in vain ? She twisted the paper 
 and ground her teeth ; yet she knew that she 
 shouldn t tear it, just as we all know we shall 
 not do the frantic things that we imagine, even 
 while we are finishing up the minutest details 
 the better to feign ourselves in earnest. Poor, 
 weak Abbie knew that she never would dare to 
 confess her plight to her people. No, she could 
 never endure another family council of war. 
 
 " There is only one way," she muttered. In 
 stead of tearing the paper she read it : 
 
 "Be at Squire L. B. Leitner s, 398 8. Miller 
 Street, at 3 p.m. sharp" 
 
160 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 And now she did tear the odious message, 
 flinging the pieces furiously out of the carriage 
 window. 
 
 The same tall, dark, square-shouldered man 
 that she had seen in front of the shop-window 
 was passing, and immediately bent and picked 
 up some of the shreds. For an instant the cur 
 rent of her terror turned, but only for an in 
 stant. What could a stranger do with an ad 
 dress ?" She sank into the corner, and her 
 miserable thoughts harked back to the trap that 
 held her. 
 
 Like one in a nightmare, she sat, watching 
 the familiar sights of the town drift by, to the 
 accompaniment of her horses hoofs and jingling 
 chains. " This is the last drive I shall ever take," 
 she thought. 
 
 She felt the slackening of speed, and saw (still 
 in her nightmare) the broad stone steps and the 
 stately, old-fashioned mansion, where the dain 
 tiest of care and the trimmest of lawns had 
 turned the old ways of architecture from decrepi 
 tude into pride. 
 
 Lunch was on the table, and her mother 
 nodded her pretty smile as she passed. Abbie 
 had a box of flowers in her hand, purchased 
 earlier in the morning ; these she brought into 
 the dining-room. There were violets for her 
 
THE HYPNOTIST 151 
 
 mother and American Beauties for Margaret. 
 " They looked so sweet I had to buy them," she 
 half apologized. Going through the hall, she 
 heard her mother say, " How nice and thought 
 ful Abbie has grown lately I" And Margaret 
 answered, " Abbie is a good deal more of a 
 woman than I ever expected her to be/ 
 
 All her life she had grieved because so she 
 morbidly put it to herself her people despised 
 her ; now that it was too late, was their approval 
 come to her only to be flung away with the rest ? 
 She returned to the dining-room and went 
 through the farce of eating. She forced herself 
 to swallow ; she talked with an unnatural ease 
 and fluency. Several times her sister laughed 
 at her words. Her mother smiled on her fondly. 
 Margaret said, " Abbie, why can t you go to 
 Chicago with me to-night and have a little lark ? 
 You have clothes to fit, too ; Lucy can pack you 
 up, and we can take the night train." 
 
 " I would," chimed in Mrs. Courtlandt. " You 
 look so ill, Abbie. I think you must be bilious ; 
 a change will be nice for you. And I ll ask 
 Mrs. Curtis over for a few days while you are 
 gone, and we will have a little tea-party of our 
 own and a little lark for ourselves." 
 
 Never before had Margaret wished Abbie to 
 accompany her on "a little lark." Abbie as- 
 
152 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 sented like a person in a dream ; only she must 
 go down to the bank after luncheon,, she said. 
 
 Up-stairs in her own chamber she gazed about 
 the pretty furnishings with blank eyes. There 
 was the writing-desk that her mother gave her 
 Christmas, there glistened the new dressing- 
 table that Margaret helped her about finishing, 
 and there was the new paper with the sprawly 
 flowers that she thought so ugly in the pattern, 
 and took under protest, and liked so much on 
 the walls. How often she had been unjust to 
 her people, and yet it had turned out that they 
 were right ! Her thoughts rambled on through 
 a thousand memories, stumbling now into pit 
 falls of remorse over long-forgotten petulance 
 and ingratitude and hardenings of her heart 
 against kindness, again recovering and thread 
 ing some narrow way of possible release, only 
 to sink as the wall closed again hopelessly about 
 her. 
 
 For the first time she arraigned her own vanity 
 as the cause of her long unhappiness. Well, it 
 was no use now. All she could do for them 
 would be to drift forever out of their lives. She 
 opened the drawer, and took a vial from a secret 
 corner. " It is only a little faintness and numb 
 ness, and then it is all over/ she thought, as she 
 slipped the vial into the chatelaine bag at her 
 
THE HYPNOTIST 153 
 
 waist. In a sudden gust of courage she took it 
 out again ; but that instinctive trusting to hope 
 to the last, which urges the most desperate of us 
 on delay, held her hand. She put back the vial, 
 and, without a final glance, went down the stairs. 
 It was in her heart to have one more look at her 
 mother, but at the drawing-room door she heard 
 voices, and happening to glance up at the clock, 
 she saw how near the time the hour was ; so she 
 hurried through the hall into the street. 
 
 During the journey she hardly felt a distinct 
 thought. But at intervals she would touch the 
 outline of the vial at her waist. 
 
 The justice s office was in the second story of 
 a new brick building that twinkled all over with 
 white mortar. Below, men laughed, and glasses 
 and billiard-balls clicked behind bright new 
 green blinds. A steep, dark wooden stairway, 
 apparently trodden by many men who chewed 
 tobacco and regarded the world as their cuspidor, 
 led between the walls up to a narrow hall, at 
 the farther end of which a door showed on its 
 glass panels the name L. B. Leitner, J. P. 
 
 Abbie rapped feebly on the glass, to see the 
 door instantly opened by Slater himself. He 
 had donned a glossy new frock-coat and a white 
 tie. His face was flushed. 
 
 " I didn t intend you should have to enter 
 
154 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 here alone/ he exclaimed, drawing her into the 
 room with both hands; "I was jest going out 
 side to wait for you. Allow me to introduce 
 Squire Leitner. Squire, let me make you ac 
 quainted with Miss Courtlandt, the lady who will 
 do me the honor." 
 
 He laughed a little nervous laugh. He was 
 plainly affecting the manner of the fortunate 
 bridegroom, and not quite at ease in his role. 
 Neither of the two other men in the room re 
 turned any answering smile. 
 
 The justice, a bald, gray-bearded, kindly, and 
 worried-looking man, bowed and said, "Glad to 
 meet you, ma am," in a tone as melancholy as 
 his wrinkled brow. 
 
 " Squire is afraid you are not here with your 
 own free-will and consent, Abbie," said Slater, 
 airily ; " but I guess you can relieve his mind." 
 At the sound of her Christian name (which 
 he had never pronounced before) Abbie turned 
 white with a sort of sick disgust and shame. 
 But she raised her eyes and met the intense gaze 
 of the tall, dark man that she had seen before. 
 He stood, his elbow on the high desk and his 
 square, clean-shaven chin in his hand. He was 
 neatly dressed, with a rose in his button-hole, 
 and an immaculate pink-and-white silk shirt ; 
 but he hardly seemed (to Abbie) like a man of 
 
THE HYPNOTIST 155 
 
 her own class. Nevertheless, she did not resent 
 his keen look ; on the contrary, she experienced 
 a sudden thrill of hope something of the same 
 feeling she had known years and years ago, when 
 she ran away from her nurse, and a big police 
 man found her, both her little slippers lost in 
 the mud of an alley, she wailing and paddling 
 along in her stocking feet, and carried her home 
 in his arms. 
 
 "Yes, Miss Courtlandt" she winced at the 
 voice of the justice "it is my duty under 
 the hem unusual circumstances of this case, 
 to ask you if you are entering into this 
 hem solemn contract of matrimony, which is 
 a state honorable in the sight of God and man, 
 by the authority vested in me by the State of 
 Illinois hem to ask you if you are entering 
 it of your own free-will and consent are you, 
 miss ?" 
 
 Abbie s sad gray eyes met the magistrate s look 
 of perplexed inquiry ; her lips trembled. 
 
 "Are you, Abbie ?" said the clairvoyant, in a 
 gentle tone. 
 
 "Yes," answered Abbie; "of my own free 
 will and consent." 
 
 " I guess, professor, I must see the lady alone," 
 said the justice, dryly. 
 
 " You caynt believe it is a case of true love 
 
6 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 laffs at the aristocrats, can you, squire ?" sneered 
 Slater; "but jest as she pleases. Are you will 
 ing to see him, Abbie ?" 
 
 "Whether Miss Courtlandt is willing or not/ 
 interrupted the tall man, in a mellow, leisurely 
 voice, " I guess /will have to trouble you for a 
 small sceance in the other room, Marker." 
 
 "And who are you, sir ?" said Slater, civilly, 
 but with a truculent look in his blue eyes. 
 
 " This is Mr. Amos Wickliff, of Iowa, special 
 officer/ the justice said, waving one hand at the 
 man and the other at Abbie. 
 
 Wickliff bowed in Abbie s direction, and sa 
 luted the fortune-teller with a long look in his 
 eyes, saying : 
 
 " Wasn t Bill Marker that I killed out in Ari 
 zona your cousin ?" 
 
 "My name ain t Marker, and I never had .a 
 cousin killed by you or anybody," snapped back 
 the fortune-teller, in a bigger and rounder voice 
 than he had used before. 
 
 Wickliff merely narrowed his bright black eyes, 
 opened a door, and motioned within, saying, 
 "Better." 
 
 The fortune-teller scowled, but he walked 
 through the door, and Wickliff, following, closed 
 it behind him. 
 
 Abbie looked dumbly at the justice. He sigh- 
 
THE HYPNOTIST 157 
 
 ed, rubbed his hands together, and placed a chair 
 against the wall. 
 
 " There s a speaking-tube hole where we used 
 to have a tube, but I took it out, cause it was 
 too near the type-writer/ said he. "It s just 
 above the chair ; if you put your ear to that hole 
 I guess it would be the best thing. You can 
 place every confidence in Mr. Wickliff ; the chief 
 of police here knows him well; he s a perfect 
 gentleman, and you don t need to be afraid of 
 hearing any rough language. No, ma am." 
 
 Abbie s head swam ; she was glad to sit down. 
 Almost mechanically she laid her ear to the hole. 
 
 The first words audible came from AVickliff. 
 "Certainly I will arrest you. And I ll take you 
 to Toronto to-night, and you can settle with the 
 Canadian authorities about things. Rosenbaum 
 offers a big reward ; and Rosenbaum, I judge, is 
 a good fellow, who will act liberally." 
 
 " I tell you I m not Marker," cried Slater, 
 fiercely, " and it wouldn t matter a damn if I was ! 
 Canada ! You caynt run a man in for Canada !" 
 
 Wickliff chuckled. " Can t I ?" said he ; 
 "that s where you miss it, Marker. Now I 
 naven t any time to fool away ; you can take 
 your choice : go off peacefully I ve a hack at 
 the door and we ll catch the 5:45 train for 
 Toronto, and there you shall have all the law 
 
158 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 and justice you want ; or you can just make 
 one step towards that door, or one sound, and 
 Til slug you over the head, and load you into 
 the carriage neatly done up in chloroform, and 
 when you wake up you ll be on the train with 
 a decent gentleman who doesn t know anything 
 about international law, but does know me, and 
 wouldn t turn his head if you hollered bloody 
 murder. See ?" 
 
 " That won t go down. You caynt kidnap 
 me that way ! I ll appeal to the squire. No, 
 no ! I won t! Before God, I won t I was jest 
 fooling !" 
 
 The voice of terror soothed Abbie s raw nerves 
 like oil on a burn. " He s scared now, the cow 
 ard !" she rejoiced, savagely. 
 
 " There s where we differ, then," retorted 
 Wickliff; "/wasn t." 
 
 " That s all right. Only one thing : will you 
 jest let me marry my sweetheart before I go, and 
 I ll go with you like a holy lamb ; I will, by" 
 
 " No swearing, Marker. That lady don t want 
 to marry you, and she ain t going to " 
 
 "Ask her," pleaded Slater, desperately. " I ll 
 leave it with her. If she don t say she loves me 
 and wants to marry me, I ll go all right." 
 
 Abbie s pulses stood still. 
 
 " Been trying the hypnotic dodge again, have 
 
HE S SCARED NOW, THE COWARD * " 
 
THE HYPNOTIST 159 
 
 you ?" said Wickliff, contemptuously. " Well, it 
 won t work this time. I ve got too big a curl on 
 you." 
 
 There was a pause the length of a heart-beat, 
 and then the hated tones, shrill with fear : " I 
 wasn t going to the window ! I wasn t going to 
 speak " 
 
 " See here," the officer s iron-cold accents in 
 terrupted, " let us understand each other. Eo- 
 senbaum hates you, and good reason, too ; he d 
 much rather have you dead than alive ; and you 
 ought to know that / wouldn t mind killing 
 you any more than I mind killing a rat. Give 
 me a good excuse pull that pop you have in 
 your inside pocket just a little bit and you re a 
 stiff one, sure ! See ?" 
 
 Again the pause, then a sullen voice: "Yes, 
 damn you ! I see. Say, won t you let me say 
 good-bye to my girl ?" 
 
 Abbie clinched her finger-nails into her hands 
 during the pause that followed. Wickliff s reply 
 was a surprise; he said, musingly, "Got any 
 money out of her, I wonder ?" 
 
 " I swear to God not a red cent !" cried the 
 conjurer, vehemently. 
 
 "Oh, you are a scoundrel, and no mistake," 
 laughed Wickliff. "That settles it; you have! 
 Well, I ll call her Oh, Miss Courtlandt !" he 
 
160 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 elevated his soft tones to a roaring bellow 
 "please excuse my calling you, and step out 
 here ! Or well go in there." 
 
 "If it s anything private, you ll excuse me/ 
 interposed a mild voice at her elbow ; and when 
 she turned her head, behold a view of the skirts 
 of the minister of justice as he slammed a door 
 behind him ! 
 
 A second later, Wickliff entered, propelling 
 Slater by the shoulder. 
 
 " Ah ! Squire stepped out a moment, has he ?" 
 said the officer, blandly. "Well, that makes it 
 awkward, but I may as well tell you, madam, 
 with deep regret, that this man here is a pro 
 fessional swindler, who is most likely a bigamist 
 as well, and he has done enough mischief for a 
 dozen, in his life. I m taking him to Canada 
 now for a particularly bad case of hypnotic in 
 fluence and swindling, etc. Has he got any 
 money out of you ?" As he spoke he fixed his 
 eyes on her. "Don t be afraid if he has hyp 
 notized you ; he won t try those games before 
 me. Kindly turn your back on the lady, John 
 ny." (As he spoke he wheeled the fortune-teller 
 round with no gentle hand.) "He has? How 
 much ?" 
 
 It was strange that she should no longer feel 
 afraid of the man ; but his face, as he cowered 
 
THE HYPNOTIST 161 
 
 under the heavy grasp of the officer, braced her 
 courage. " He has five hundred dollars I gave 
 him this morning," she cried ; "but he may keep 
 it if he will only let me go. I don t want to mar 
 ry him !" 
 
 " Of course you don t, a lady like you ! He s 
 done the same game with nice ladies before. 
 Keep your head square, Johnny, or Fll give your 
 neck a twist ! And as to the money, you ll march 
 out with me to the other room, and you ll fish it 
 out, and the lady will kindly allow you fifty dol 
 lars of it for your tobacco while you re in jail 
 in Canada. That s enough, Miss Courtlandt 
 more would be wasted and if he doesn t be 
 quick and civil, I ll act as his valet." 
 
 The fortune - teller wheeled half round in an 
 excess of passion, his fingers crooked on their 
 way to his hip pocket; then his eye ran to the 
 officer, who had simply doubled his fist and 
 was looking at the other man s neck. In 
 stinctively Slater ducked his head; his hand 
 dropped. 
 
 "No, no, please," Miss Courtlandt pleaded; 
 "let him keep it, if he will only go away." 
 
 "Beg pardon, miss," returned the inflexible 
 Wickliff, "you re only encouraging him in bad 
 ways. Step, Johnny." 
 
 "If you ll let me have that five hundred," 
 11 
 
162 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 cried Slater, " I ll promise to go with you,, though 
 you know I have the legal right to stay." 
 
 " You ll go with me as far as you have to, and 
 no farther, promise or no promise/ said Wick- 
 liff, equably. ef You re a liar from Wayback ! 
 And I m letting you keep that revolver a little 
 while so you may give me a chance to kill you. 
 Step, now !" 
 
 Slater ground his teeth, but he walked out of 
 the room. 
 
 " At least, give him a hundred dollars !" begged 
 Miss Courtlandt as the door closed. In a mo 
 ment it opened again, and the two re-entered. 
 Slater s wrists were in handcuffs; nevertheless, 
 he had reassumed a trifle of his old jaunty bear 
 ing, and he bowed politely to Abbie, proffering 
 her a roll of bills. " There are four hundred 
 there, Miss Courtlandt," said he. "I am much 
 obliged to you for your generosity, and I assure 
 you I will never bother you again." He made a 
 motion that she knew, with his shackled hands. 
 " You are quite free from me," said he; "and, 
 after all, you will consider that it was only the 
 money you lost from me. I always treated you 
 with respect, and to-day was the only day I ever 
 made bold to speak of you or to you by your 
 given name. Good-bye, Miss Courtlandt ; you re 
 a real lady, and I ll tell you now it was all a fake 
 
" I LL ACT AS HIS VALET " 
 
THE HYPNOTIST 163 
 
 about the spirits. I guess there are real spirits 
 and real mediums, but they didn t any of em 
 ever fool with me. Good-afternoon, ma am/ 
 
 Abigail took the notes mechanically ; he had 
 turned and was at the door before she spoke. 
 " God forgive you !" said she. " Good-bye." 
 
 "That was a decent speech, Marker," said 
 Wickliff, "and you ll see I ll treat you decent 
 on the way. Good-morning, Miss Courtlandt. 
 I needn t say, I guess, that no one will know 
 anything of this little matter from the squire or 
 me, not even the squire s wife. / ain t got one. 
 I wish you good-morning, ma am. No, ma am " 
 as she made a hurried motion of the money 
 towards him " I shall get a large reward ; don t 
 think of it, ma am. But if you felt like doing 
 the civil thing to the squire, a box of cigars is 
 what any gentleman is proud to receive from a 
 lady, and I should recommend leaving the brand 
 to the best cigar-store you know. Good-morn 
 ing, ma am." 
 
 Barely were the footsteps out of the hall when 
 the worthy justice, very red and dusty, bounced 
 out of the closet. "Excuse me," gasped he, 
 " but I couldn t stand it a minute longer ! Sit 
 down, Miss Courtlandt ; and don t, please, think 
 of fainting, miss, for I m nearly smothered my 
 self !" He bustled to the water-cooler, and prof- 
 
164 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 f ered water, dripping over a tin cup on to Abbie s 
 hands and gown ; and he explained, with that air 
 of intimate friendliness which is a part of the 
 American s mental furniture, " I thought it bet 
 ter to let Wickliff persuade him by himself. He 
 is a remarkable man, Amos Wickliff ; I don t sup 
 pose there s a special officer west of the Missis 
 sippi is his equal for arresting bad cases. And 
 do you know, ma am, he never was after this 
 Marker. Just come here on a friendly visit to 
 the chief of police. All he knew of Marker was 
 from the newspapers ; he had been reading the 
 letter of the man Marker swindled in Canada, 
 and his oifer of a reward for him. Marker s 
 picture was in it, and a description of his hair 
 and all his looks, and Wickliff just picked him 
 out from that. I call that pretty smart, pick 
 ing up a man from his picture in a newspaper. 
 Why, I " he assumed a modest expression, but 
 glowed with pride "/ have had iny picture in 
 the paper, and my wife didn t know it. Yes, 
 ma am, Wickliff is at the head of the profession, 
 and no mistake ! Didn t have a sign of a war 
 rant. Just jumped on the job ; telegraphed for 
 a warrant to meet him at Toronto." 
 
 "But will he take him safely to Canada?" 
 stammered Miss Abigail. 
 
 "Not a doubt of it," said the justice. And it 
 
THE HYPNOTIST 165 
 
 may be mentioned here that his prediction came 
 true. Wickliff sent a telegram the next day to 
 the chief of police, announcing his safe arrival. 
 
 Miss Courtlandt went to Chicago by the even 
 ing train. She is a happier woman, and her 
 family often say, " How nice Abbie is growing !" 
 She has never seen the justice since ; but when 
 his daughter was married the whole connection 
 marvelled and admired over a trunk of silver 
 that came to the bride From one to whom her 
 father was kind." 
 
 The only comment that the justice made was 
 to his wife: "Yes, my dear, you re right; it 
 is a woman, a lady; but if you knew all about 
 it, how I never saw her but the once, and all, 
 you wouldn t mind Bessie s taking it. She was 
 a nice lady, and I m glad to have obliged her. 
 But it really ought to go to another man." 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 
 
 IT was as much the mystery as the horror 
 that made the case of Margaret Clark (com- 
 monly known as Old Twentypercent ) of 
 such burning interest to the six daily journals 
 of the town. I have been told that the feet of 
 tireless young reporters wore a separate path up 
 the bluff to the site of old Margaret s abode ; but 
 this I question, because there were already two 
 paths made for them by the feet of old Margaret s 
 customers the winding path up the grassy slope, 
 and the steps hewn out of the sheer yellow bluff- 
 side, sliced down to make a backing for the 
 street. These are the facts that, whichever the 
 path taken, they were able to glean: Miss Margaret 
 lived on the bluff in the western part of town. 
 The street below crosses at right angles the street 
 running to the river, which is of the kind the 
 French term an "impasse." It is a street of varied 
 fortunes, beginning humbly in a wide and tree- 
 
170 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 less plain, where jimson, dock, and mustard weed 
 have their will with the grass, passing a number 
 of houses, each in its own tiny yard, creeping up 
 the hill and the social scale at the same time, until 
 it is bordered by velvety boulevards and terraces 
 and lawns that glow in the evening light, and 
 pretty houses often painted ; then dropping again 
 to a lonely gully, with the flaming kilns of the 
 brick-yard on one side, and the huge dark bulk 
 of the brewery on the other, reaching at last the 
 bustle and roar of the busiest street in town. 
 The great arc-light swung a dazzling white porcu 
 pine above the brewery vats every night (when 
 the moon did not shine), and hung level with 
 the crest of the opposite bluff. By day or night 
 one could see the trim old-fashioned garden and 
 the close-cropped lawn and the tall bur-oaks that 
 shaded the two-story brown cottage in which for 
 fifteen years Margaret Clark had lived. Here 
 she was living at the time of these events, with 
 no protector except her bull-dog, the Colonel 
 (who, to be sure, understood his business, and I 
 cannot deny him a personal pronoun), and no 
 companion except Esquire Clark, her cat. She 
 did not keep fowls judging it right and neces 
 sary to slay them on occasion, but never having 
 the heart to kill anything for which she had 
 cared and which she had taught to know her. 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 171 
 
 Therefore she bought her eggs and her " frying 
 chickens " of George Washington, a worthy col 
 ored man who lived below the hill, and who kept 
 Margaret s garden in order. Although he had 
 worked for her (satisfactory service given for 
 satisfactory wage) during all these fifteen years, 
 he knew as little about her, he declared, as the 
 first week he came. Nor did the wizened little 
 Irishwoman who climbed the clay stairway three 
 times a week to wash and scrub know any more. 
 But she stoutly maintained "the old lady was 
 a rale lady, and the saints would be good to 
 her." One reporter, more curious, discovered 
 that Margaret several times had helped this 
 woman over a rough pass. 
 
 The only other person (outside of her custom 
 ers) who kept so much as a speaking acquaint 
 ance with Margaret was the sheriff, Amos Wick- 
 liff. And what he knew of her he was able to 
 keep even from the press. As for the customers, 
 her malicious nickname explains her business. 
 Margaret was an irregular money-lender. She 
 loaned money for short periods on personal se 
 curity or otherwise. It should speak well for 
 her shrewdness that she rarely made a bad debt. 
 Yet she was not unpopular ; on the contrary, she 
 had the name of giving the poor a long day, and, 
 for one of her trade, was esteemed lenient. 
 
172 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 Shortly after her accident, also (she had the ill- 
 hap to fall down her cellar -way, injuring her 
 spine), she had remitted a number of debts to 
 her poorest debtors. 
 
 The accident occurred of a Wednesday morn 
 ing ; Wednesday afternoon her nephew called 
 on her, having, he said, but just discovered her 
 whereabouts. The reporters discovered that this 
 nephew, Archibald Gary Allerton by name, was 
 not an invited and far from a welcome guest, 
 although he gave out that his mother and he 
 were his aunt s sole living kindred. She would 
 not speak to him when he visited her, turning 
 her head to the wall, moaning and muttering, so 
 that it was but kindness to leave her. The nurse 
 (Mrs. Raker, the jailer s wife, had come up from 
 the jail) said that he seemed distressed. He 
 called again during the evening, after Wickliff, 
 who spent most of the evening with her alone, 
 was gone, but he had no better success ; she 
 would not or could not speak to him. Thursday 
 morning she saw Amos Wickliff. She seemed 
 brighter, and gave Amos, in the presence of the 
 nurse, the notes and mortgages that she desired 
 released. Thursday evening, about eight o clock, 
 Amos returned to report how he had done his 
 commissions. He found the house flaming from 
 roof-tree to sills ! There was no question of his 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 173 
 
 saving the sick woman. Even as he panted up 
 the hill-side the roof fell in with a crash. Amos 
 screamed to the crowd : " Where is she ? Did 
 you save her ?" And the Irish char-woman s 
 wail answered him : " I wint in I wint in whin 
 it was all afire, and the fire jumped at me, so I 
 run ; me eyebrows is gone, and I didn t see a 
 sign of her !" Then Amos betook himself to 
 Mrs. Raker, whom he found only after much 
 searching ; nor did her story reassure him. She 
 was violently agitated between pity and shock, 
 but, as usual, she kept her head on her shoulders 
 and her wits on duty. She was not in the house 
 when the catastrophe had happened. Allerton 
 had come to see his aunt. He told the nurse 
 that she might go to her sister, her sister s child 
 being ill, and that he would stay with his aunt. 
 Wickliff was expected every moment. And the 
 patient had added her word, "Do go, Mrs. 
 Raker ; it s only a step ; and take a jar of my 
 plum jelly to Sammy to take his medicine in \" 
 So Mrs. Raker went. She saw the fire first, and 
 that not half an hour from the time she left the 
 house. She saw it flickering in the lower win 
 dows. It was she sent her brother-in-law to give 
 the alarm, while she ran swiftly to the house. 
 The whole lower story was ablaze when she got 
 up the hill. To enter was impossible. But Mrs. 
 
174 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 O Shea, the char-woman, and she did find a lad 
 der, and put it against the wall and the window 
 of Miss Clark s chamber, which window was wide 
 open, and Mrs. Baker held the ladder while Mrs. 
 O Shea, who was of an agile and slimmer build, 
 clambered up the rounds to look through the 
 smoke, already mixed with flame. And the room 
 was empty. Amos at once had the neighborhood 
 searched, hoping that Allerton had conveyed his 
 aunt to a place of safety. There was no trace of 
 either aunt or nephew. But Amos found a boy 
 who confessed (after some pressure) that he had 
 been in Miss Margaret s yard, in the vineyard 
 facing her room. He had been startled by a 
 kind of rattling noise and a scream. Involun 
 tarily he cowered behind the vines and peered 
 through at the house. The windows of Miss 
 Clark s room were closed, or maybe one was open 
 very slightly ; but suddenly this window was 
 pushed up and Allerton leaned out. He knew 
 it was Allerton by the square shoulders. He did 
 not say anything, only turned his head, looking 
 every way. The boy thought it time to run. 
 He was clear of the yard and beginning to de 
 scend the bluff, when he looked back and saw 
 Allerton running very swiftly through the circle 
 of light cast by the electric lamp. All the re 
 porters examined the lad, but he never altered 
 
THE KEXT ROOM 175 
 
 his tale. "Mr. Allerton looked frightened he 
 looked awful frightened," he said. 
 
 Amos was on the point of sending to the 
 police, when Allerton himself appeared. The 
 incredible story which he told only thickened 
 the suspicions beginning to gather about him. 
 
 He said that he had found his aunt disinclined 
 to talk. She told him to go into the other room, 
 for she wished to go to sleep ; and although he 
 had matters of serious import to discuss with 
 her, he could not force his presence on a lady, 
 and he obeyed her. He went into the adjoining 
 room, and there he sat in a chair before the door. 
 The door was the sole means of exit from the 
 bedchamber. The two rooms opened into each 
 other by the door ; and the second room, in 
 which Allerton sat, had a door into a small hall, 
 from which the staircase led down-stairs. Aller 
 ton was ready to swear to his story, which was 
 that he had sat in the chair before the door until 
 he heard a singular muffled scream from the other 
 room. Instantly he sprang up, opened the door, 
 and ran into the other room. The bed was op 
 posite the door. To his terror and amazement, 
 the bed was empty, the room was empty. He 
 ran frantically round the room, and then flung 
 up the window, looking out ; but there was noth 
 ing to be seen. Moreover, the room was twenty 
 
176 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 feet from the ground, nor was there so much as 
 a vine or a lightning-rod to help a climber. It 
 was past believing that a decrepit old woman, 
 who could not turn in bed alone, should have 
 climbed out of a window and dropped twenty 
 feet to the ground. Besides, there was the boy 
 watching that side of the house all the time. He 
 had seen nothing. But where was Margaret 
 Clark ? The chief of police took the respon 
 sibility of arresting Allerton. Perhaps he was 
 swayed to this decisive step by the boy s testi 
 mony being in a measure corroborated by a 
 woman of unimpeachable character living in the 
 neighborhood, who had heard screams, as of some 
 thing in mortal pain or fear, at about the time 
 mentioned by the boy. She looked up to the 
 house and was half minded to climb the steps ; 
 but the sounds ceased, the peaceful lights in the 
 house on the hill were not disturbed, and, chid 
 ing her own ears, she passed on. 
 
 The fire broke out a little later, hardly a quar 
 ter of an hour after Allerton went away. This 
 was established by the fact that the boy, who 
 ran at the top of his speed, had barely reached 
 home before he heard the alarm-bells. The 
 flames seemed to envelop the whole struct 
 ure in a flash, which was not so much a mat 
 ter of marvel as other things, since the house 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 177 
 
 was of wood, and dry as tinder from a long 
 drought. 
 
 It was possible that Allerton was lying, and 
 that while he and the boy were gone the old 
 woman had discovered the fire and painfully 
 crawled down-stairs and out of the burning house ; 
 but, in that case, where was she ? How could a 
 feeble old woman thus vanish off the face of the 
 earth ? The next day the police explored the 
 ruins. They half expected to find the bones of 
 the unfortunate creature. They did not find a 
 shred of anything that resembled bones. If 
 Allerton had murdered his aunt, he had so con 
 trived his crime as to destroy every vestige of 
 the body ; and granting him a motive to do such 
 an atrocious deed, why should so venturesome 
 and ingenious a murderer jeopard everything by 
 a wild fairy tale ? The reporters found them 
 selves before a blank wall. 
 
 " Maybe it ain t a fairy tale," Amos Wickliif 
 suggested one day, two days after the mystery. 
 He was giving "the boys" a kind word on the 
 court-house steps. 
 
 " It s to be hoped it is a true story," said 
 the youngest and naturally most hardened re 
 porter, " since then he ll die with a better con 
 science !" 
 
 "They never can convict him on the evi- 
 12 
 
178 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 dence," interrupted another man. "I don t 
 see how they can even hold him/ 
 
 " That s why folks are mad/ said the young 
 est reporter, with a pitying smile. 
 
 " There s something in the talk, then ?" said 
 Amos, shifting his cigar to the other side of his 
 mouth. 
 
 "Are they going to lynch that feller ?" asked 
 another reporter. 
 
 "Say so," the first young man remarked, 
 placidly; "a lot of the old lady s chums are 
 howling about stringing him up. They ve the 
 notion that she was burned alive, and they re 
 hot over it." 
 
 " That s your paper, old man ; you had most 
 two columns, and made it out Mrs. Kerby heard 
 squealing after the boy did ; and pictured the 
 horrible situation of the poor old helpless woman 
 writhing in anguish, and the fire eating nearer 
 and nearer. Great Scott ! it made me crawl to 
 read it ; and I saw a crowd down-town in the 
 park, and if one fellow wasn t reading your 
 blasted blood-curdler out loud ; and one woman 
 was crying and telling about the old party lend 
 ing her money to buy her husband s coffin, and 
 then letting her off paying. That made the 
 crowd rabid. At every sentence they let off a 
 howl. You needn t be grinning like a wild-cat ; 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 179 
 
 it ain t fnnny to that feller in jail, I bet. Is it, 
 Amos ?" 
 
 "You boys better call off your dogs, if you 
 can get em/ was all the sheriff deigned to 
 answer, and he rose as he spoke. He did not 
 look disturbed, but his placid mask belied him. 
 Better than most men he knew what stormy 
 petrels "the newspaper boys" were. And bet 
 ter than any man he knew what an eggshell was 
 his jail. " Fd almost like to have em bust that 
 fool door, though," he grimly reflected, "just 
 to show the supervisors I knew what I was talk 
 ing about. Fll get a new jail out of those old 
 roosters, or they ll have to get a new sheriff. 
 But meanwhile" He fell into a perplexed 
 and gloomy reverie, through which his five 
 years acquaintance with the lost woman drifted 
 pensively, as a moving car will pass, slowly re 
 vealing first one familiar face and then another. 
 "I suppose I m what the lawyers would call her 
 next friend hereabouts, anyhow," he mused, 
 " and yet you might say it was quite by accident 
 we started in to know each other, poor old lady !" 
 The cause of the first acquaintance was as simple 
 as a starved cat which a jury of small boys were 
 preparing to hang just under the bluff. Amos 
 cut down the cat, and almost in the same 
 rhythm, as the disciples of Delsarte would say. 
 
180 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 cuffed the nearest executioner, while the others 
 fled. Amos hated cats, but this one, as if recog 
 nizing his good-will (and perhaps finding some 
 sweet drop in the bitter existence of peril and 
 starvation that he knew, and therefore loath to 
 yield it), clung to Amos s knees and essayed a 
 feeble purr of gratitude. Well, pussy/ said 
 Amos, "good-bye !" But the cat did not stir, 
 except to rub feebly again. It was a black cat, 
 very large, ghastly thin, with the rough coat of 
 neglect, and a pair of burning eyes that might 
 have reminded Amos of Poe s ghastly conceit 
 were he not protected against such fancies by 
 the best of protectors. He could not remember 
 disagreeably that which he had never read. 
 " Pussy, you re about starved," said Amos. " I 
 believe I ve got to give you a stomachful before 
 I turn you loose." 
 
 "I ll give the kitty something to eat," said a 
 voice in the air. 
 
 Amos stared at the clouds ; then he whirled 
 on his heel and recognized both the voice, which 
 had a different accent and quality of tone from 
 the voices that he was used to hear, and the lit 
 tle, shabby, gray-headed woman who was scram 
 bling down to him. 
 
 " Will you ?" exclaimed Amos, in relief, for he 
 knew her by repute, although they had never 
 

 I LL GIVE THE KITTY SOMETHING TO EAT 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 181 
 
 looked each other in the face before. " Well, 
 that s very nice of you, Miss Clark." 
 
 "Fll keep him with pleasure, sir," said the old 
 woman. "Fve had a bereavement lately. My 
 cat died. She was most at the allotted term, I 
 expect, but so spry and so intelligent I couldn t 
 realize it. I couldn t somehow feel myself at 
 tracted to any other cat. But this poor fugi 
 tive Come here, sir !" 
 
 To Amos s surprise, the cat summoned all its 
 forces and, after one futile stagger, leaped into 
 her arms. A strange little shape she looked to 
 him, as she stood, with her head too large for 
 her emaciated little body, which was arrayed in 
 a coarse black serge suit, plainly flotsam and jet 
 sam of the bargain counter, planned for a wom 
 an of larger frame. Yet uncouth as the woman 
 looked, she was perfectly neat. 
 
 " Fm obliged to you for saving the poor creat 
 ure," she said. 
 
 " I m obliged to you, ma am, for taking it off 
 my hands," said Amos. He bowed ; she re 
 turned his bow not at all in the manner or with 
 the carriage to be expected of such a plain and 
 ill-clad presence. Amos considered the incident 
 concluded. But a few days later she stopped 
 him on the street, nervously smiling. "That 
 cat, sir," she began in her abrupt way she never 
 
182 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 seemed to open a conversation ; she dived into it 
 with a shiver, as a timid swimmer plunges into 
 the water "that cat/ said she, "that cat, sir, 
 is a right intelligent animal, and he has pleased 
 the Colonel. He s so fastidious I was afraid, 
 though I didn t mention it ; but they are very 
 congenial." 
 
 " I m glad they re friendly," says Amos ; "the 
 Colonel would make mince-meat of an uncon 
 genial cat. What do you call the cat ?" 
 
 " I couldn t, on account of circumstances, you 
 know, call him after my last cat, Miss Margaret 
 Clark, so I call him Esquire Clark. He knows 
 his name already. I thank you again, sir, for 
 saving him. I just stopped you so as to tell you 
 I had a lot of ripe gooseberries I d be glad to 
 have you send and pick." 
 
 "Why, that s good of you," said Amos. "I 
 guess the boys at the jail would like a little 
 gooseberry sauce." 
 
 She nodded and turned round ; the words 
 came over her shoulder : " Say, sir, I expect 
 you wouldn t give them jam ? It s a great deal 
 better than sauce, and / don t mind letting 
 you have the extra sugar." Amos was more be 
 wildered than he showed, but he thanked her, 
 and did, in fact, come that afternoon with a 
 buggy. The first object to greet him was the 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 183 
 
 large white head and the large black jaws of the 
 Colonel, chained to a post. Amos, who is the 
 friend of all dogs, and sometimes has an un 
 invited following of stray curs, gave the snarling 
 figure-head a nod and a careless greeting : " All 
 right, young feller. Don t disturb yourself. I m 
 here, all proper and legal. How are you ?" The 
 redoubtable Colonel began to wag his tail ; and 
 as Amos came up to him he actually fawned on 
 him with manifestations of pleasure. 
 
 " I guess he s safe to unloose, ma am," said 
 Amos. 
 
 Old Twentypercent was looking on with a 
 strange expression. et He likes you, sir ; I never 
 saw him like a stranger before." 
 
 "Well, most dogs like me/ said Amos. "I 
 guess they understand I like them." 
 
 " I reckon you re a good man," said Old 
 Twentypercent, solemnly. From this auspicious 
 beginning the acquaintance slowly but steadily 
 waxed into a queer kind of semi - friendship. 
 Amos always bowed to the old woman when he 
 met her on the street. She sent the prisoners in 
 the jail fruit every Sunday during the season ; 
 and Amos, not to be churlish, returned the 
 courtesy with a flowering plant, now and then, 
 in winter. But he never carried his gifts him 
 self, esteeming that such conduct would be an 
 
184 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 intrusion on a lady who preferred a retired life. 
 Esquire Clark, however, was of a social turn. 
 He visited the jail often. The first time he 
 came Amos sent him back. The messenger, Mrs. 
 Eaker, was received at the door, thanked warm 
 ly, sent away loaded with fruit and flowers, hut 
 not asked over the threshold, which made Amos 
 the surer that he was right in not going himself. 
 Nevertheless, he did go to see Miss Clark, but 
 hardly on his own errand. A carpenter in the 
 town, a good sort of thriftless though industrious 
 creature, came to Amos to borrow some money. 
 He explained that he needed it to pay interest on 
 a debt, and that his tools were pledged for secu 
 rity. The interest, he mourned, was high, and 
 the debt of long standing. The creditor was 
 Old Twentypercent. 
 
 ** It s a shame I ain t paid it off before, and 
 that s a fact," he concluded ; "but a feller with 
 nine children can t pay nothing not even the 
 debt of nature for he s fraid to die and leave 
 them. And the blamed thing s been a-runnin> 
 and a-runnin , like a ringworm, and a-eatin me 
 up. Though my wife she says we ve more n paid 
 her up in interest." Amos had an old kindness 
 for the man, and after a visit to his wife he 
 holding the youngest two of the nine (twins) on 
 his knees and keeping the peace with candy he 
 
THE NEXT BOOM 
 
 185 
 
 told the pair he would ask Miss Clark to allow a 
 third extension, on the payment of the interest. 
 
 " Well, but I don t know s he s even got that/ 
 said the wife, anxiously. "We d a lot of ex 
 penses ; I don t s pose we d orter had the twins 
 photographs taken this month, but they was so 
 delicate I was fraid we wouldn t raise em ; and 
 Mamie really couldn t go to school without new 
 shoes. Children s a blessing, I s pose, but it s a 
 blessing poor folks had got to pay for in ad 
 vance !" 
 
 "So!" says Amos. "Well, we ll have to see 
 to that much, I guess. I ll go this night." He 
 betook himself to his errand in a frame of mind 
 only half distasteful. The other half was curious. 
 His visit fell on a summer night, a Sunday night, 
 when the air was soft and still and sweet with 
 the tiny hum of insects and the smell of drying 
 grass and the mellow resonance of the church- 
 bells. Amos climbed the clay stairs. The white 
 porcupine blazed above the bluffs. It gave light 
 enough to see the color of the grass and flowers ; 
 yet not a real color, only the ghost of scarlet and 
 green and white, and only a ghost of the violet 
 sky, while all about the devouring shadows sank 
 form and color alike in their olive blacks. The 
 stars were out in the sky and the south wind in 
 the trees. Amos stepped across the lawn he 
 
186 
 
 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 was a light walker although a heavy-weight 
 and stopped before the front door, which had 
 long windows on either side. He had his arm 
 outstretched to knock ; but he did not knock , 
 he stood and watched the green holland shade 
 that screened the window rise gradually. He 
 could see the room, a large room, uncarpeted, 
 whereby the steps of the inmate echoed on the 
 boards. He could see a writing-desk, a table, 
 and four or five chairs. These chairs were en 
 tirely different from anything else in the room ; 
 they were of pretty shape and extremely com 
 fortable. Immediately the curtain descended at 
 a run, and the old woman s voice called, { You re 
 a bad cat ; don t you do that again !" The voice 
 went on, as if to some one present : " Did you 
 ever see such a trying beast ? Why, he s almost 
 human ! Now, you watch ; the minute I turn 
 away from that window, that cat will pull up the 
 shade." It appeared that she was right, for the 
 curtain instantly rolled up again. < No, honey," 
 said Miss Clark, " you mustn t encourage the 
 kitty to be naughty. Squire, if I let that cur 
 tain stay a minute, will you behave !" A dog s 
 growl emphasized this gentle reproof. "You 
 see the Colonel disapproves. Don t pull the 
 dog s tail, honey. Oh, mercy ! Squire !" Amos 
 heard a crash, and in an instant a flame shot up 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 187 
 
 in a cone ; and he, with one blow dislodging the 
 screen from the open window, plunged into the 
 smoke. The cat had tipped over the lamp, and 
 the table was in a blaze. Amos s quick eye 
 caught sight of the box which served Esquire for 
 a bed. He huddled feather pillow and rug on 
 the floor to invert the box over the blaze. The 
 fire was out in a moment, and Margaret had 
 brought another lamp from the kitchen. Then 
 Amos had leisure to look about him. There was 
 no one in the room. Yet that was not the most 
 pungent matter for thought. Old Margaret, 
 whom he had considered one of the plainest 
 women in the world, as devoid of taste as of 
 beauty, was standing before him in a black silk 
 gown. A fine black silk, he pronounced it. She 
 had soft lace about her withered throat, and a 
 cap with pink ribbons on her gray hair, which 
 looked silvery soft. Her skin, too, seemed fairer 
 and finer : and there were rings that flashed and 
 glowed on her thin fingers. It was not Old 
 Twentypercent ; it was a stately little gentle 
 woman that stood before him. How did you 
 happen to come, sir ?" she spoke with cold 
 ness. 
 
 "I came on an errand, and I was just at the 
 door when the curtain flew up and the cat 
 jumped across the table/ 5 
 
188 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 She involuntarily caught her breath, like one 
 relieved ; then she smiled. " You mustn t be 
 too hard on Squire ; he s of a nervous tempera 
 ment ; I think he sees things things outside 
 our ken." 
 
 Meanwhile Amos was unable not to see that 
 there had been on the table a tumbler full of 
 some kind of shrub, fpur glasses, and a decanter 
 of wine. And there had been wine in all the 
 glasses. But where were the drinkers ? There 
 were four or five plates on the table, and a seg 
 ment of plum-cake was trodden underfoot on the 
 floor. Before she did anything else, old Mar 
 garet carefully, almost scrupulously, gathered 
 up the crumbs and carried them away. When 
 she returned she carried a plate of cake and a 
 glass of wine. This refreshment was proffered 
 to Amos. 
 
 "It s a domestic port," she said, "but well 
 recommended. I should be right glad to have 
 you sit down and have a glass of wine with me, 
 Mr. Sheriff." 
 
 "Perhaps you mayn t be so glad when you 
 hear my errand," said Amos. 
 
 She went white in a second, and her fingers 
 curved inward like the fingers of the dying ; she 
 was opening and shutting her mouth without 
 making a sound. He had seen a man hanged 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 189 
 
 once, and that face had worn the same ghastly 
 stare of expectation. 
 
 " If you knew I was come to beg off one of 
 your debtors, for instance," he went on ; " that s 
 my errand, if you want to know." 
 
 Her face changed. " It will go better after a 
 glass of wine," said she, again proffering the wine 
 by a gesture she didn t trust her hand to pass 
 the tray. 
 
 Amos was a little undecided as to the proper 
 formula to be used, never having taken wine with 
 a lady before ; he felt that the usual salutations 
 among "the boys," such as "Here s how !" or 
 "Happy days!" or "Well, better luck next 
 time !" savored of levity if not disrespect ; so 
 he grew a little red, and the best he could do 
 was to mumble, "Here s my respects to you, 
 madam !" in a serious tone, with a bow. 
 
 But old Margaret smiled. " It s a long while," 
 said she, "since I have taken wine with a a 
 gentleman outside my own kin." 
 
 " Is that so ?" Amos murmured, politely. 
 "Well, it s the first time I have had that pleas 
 ure with a lady." He was conscious that he was 
 pleasing her, and that she was smiling about 
 her, for all the world (he said to himself) as if 
 she were exchanging glances with some one. A 
 new idea came to him, and he looked at her 
 
190 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 compassionately while he ate his cake, breaking 
 off bits and eating it delicately, exactly as she ate. 
 
 She offered him no explanation for the wine 
 glasses or for the conversation that he had over 
 heard. He did not hear a sound of any other 
 life in the house than their own. The doors 
 were open, and he could see into the bedroom 
 on one side and into the kitchen on the other. 
 She had lighted another lamp, enabling him to 
 distinguish every object in the kitchen. There 
 was not a carpet in the house, and it seemed 
 impossible that any one could be concealed so 
 quickly without making a sound. 
 
 Amos shook his head solemnly. " Poor lady!" 
 said he. 
 
 But she, now her mysterious fright was passed, 
 had rallied her spirits. Of her own motion she 
 introduced the subject of his errand. " You 
 spoke of a debtor ; what s the man s name ?" 
 
 Amos gave her the truth of the tale, and with 
 some humor described the twins. 
 
 " Well, I reckon he has more than paid it," 
 she said at the end. " What do you want ? 
 Were you going to lend him the money ?" 
 
 "Well, only the interest money; he s a good 
 fellow, and he has nine children." 
 
 " Who have to be paid for in advance ?" She 
 actually tittered a feeble, surprised little laugh, 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 191 
 
 as she rose up and stepped (on her toes, in the 
 prim manner once taught young gentlewomen) 
 across the room to the desk. She came back with 
 a red -lined paper in her meagre, blue -veined 
 hand. She handed the paper to Amos. "That 
 is a present to you." 
 
 " Not the whole note ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. Because you asked me. You tell 
 Foley that. And if he s got a dog or a cat or a 
 horse, you tell him to be good to it." 
 
 This had been a year ago ; and Amos was sure 
 that Foley s gratitude would take the form of a 
 clamor for revenge. Mrs. Foley dated their pres 
 ent prosperity entirely from that day ; she had 
 superadded a personal attachment to an imper 
 sonal gratitude ; she sold Miss Clark eggs, and 
 little Mamie had the reversion of the usurer s 
 shoes. Amos sighed. "Well, I can t blame 
 em," he muttered. From that day had dated 
 his own closer acquaintance. 
 
 He now occasionally paid a visit at the old 
 gentlewoman s home. Once she asked him to 
 tea. And Raker went about for days in a broad 
 grin at the image of Amos, who, indeed, made a 
 very careful toilet with his new blue sack-coat, 
 white duck trousers, and tan-colored shoes. He 
 told Raker that he had had a delightful supper. 
 Mrs. O Shea, the char-woman, was without at the 
 
192 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 kitchen stove, and little Mamie Foley brought in 
 the hot waffles and jam. Esquire Clark showed 
 his gifts by vaulting over the grape-arbor,, trying 
 to enter through the wire screen, bent on join 
 ing the company,, and the Colonel wept audibly 
 outside, until Amos begged for their admission. 
 Safely on their respective seats, their behavior, in 
 general, was beyond criticism. Only once the 
 Colonel, feeling that the frying chicken was un 
 conscionably long in coming his way, gave a low 
 howl of irrepressible feeling ; and Esquire Clark 
 (no doubt from sympathy) leaped after Mamie 
 and the dish. 
 
 " Squire, I m ashamed of you \" cried Miss 
 Clark ; "Archie, you know better \" Amos paid 
 no visible attention to the change of name; but 
 she must have noticed her own slip, for she said: 
 " I never told you the Colonel s whole name, did 
 I ? It s Colonel Archibald Gary. I d like you 
 never to mention it, though. And Squire Clark 
 is named after an uncle of mine who raised me, 
 for my parents died when I was a little girl. 
 Clark Byng was his name, and I called the cat 
 by the first part of it." 
 
 Amos did not know whether interest would be 
 considered impertinent, so he contented himself 
 with remarking that they were "both pretty 
 
THE NEXT KOOM 193 
 
 " Uncle was a good man/ 7 said Miss Clark. 
 " He was only five feet four in height, but very 
 fond of muscular games, and a great admirer 
 of tall men. Colonel Gary was six feet two. I 
 reckon that s about your height ?" 
 
 " Exactly, ma am," said Amos. 
 
 She sighed slightly ; then turned the conver 
 sation to Amos s own affairs. 
 
 An instinct of delicacy kept him from ever 
 questioning her, and she vouchsafed him no in 
 formation. Once she asked him to come and 
 see her when he wanted anything that she could 
 give him. " I m at home to you every day, ex 
 cept the third of the month/ said she. On reflec 
 tion Amos remembered that it was on the third 
 that he had paid his first visit to Miss Clark. 
 
 ""Well, ma," he remarked, walking up and 
 down in front of his mother s portrait in his of 
 fice, as his habit was, " it is a queer case, ain t it? 
 But I m not employed to run the poor old lady 
 to cover, and I sha n t let any one else if I can 
 help it." 
 
 Had Amos been vain, he would have remark 
 ed the change in his singular friend since their 
 friendship had begun. Old Margaret wore the 
 decent black gown and bonnet becoming an 
 elderly gentlewoman. She carried a silk um 
 brella. The neighbors began to address her as 
 
 13 
 
194 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 "Miss Clark. 7 Amos, however, was not vain, 
 and all he told his mother s picture was that the 
 old lady was quality, and 110 mistake. 
 
 By this time, on divers occasions, she had 
 spoken to Amos of her South Carolina home. 
 Once she told him (in a few words, and her 
 voice was quiet, but her hands trembled) of the 
 yellow-fever time on the lonely plantation in the 
 pine woods, and how in one week her uncle, her 
 brother and his wife, and her little niece had 
 died, and she with her own hands had helped to 
 bury them. " It was no wonder I didn t see 
 things all right after that," she said. Another 
 time she showed him a locket containing the old- 
 fashioned yellow photograph of a man in a sol 
 dier s uniform. " He was considered very hand 
 some," said she. Amos found it a handsome 
 face. He would have found it so under the 
 appeal of those piteous eyes had it been as ugly 
 as the Colonel s. " He was killed in the war," 
 she said ; shot while he was on a visit to us to 
 see my sister. He ran out of the house, and the 
 Yan your soldiers shot him. It was the fort 
 une of war. I have no right to blame them. 
 But if he hadn t visited our fatal roof he might 
 be living now ; for it was in the very last year of 
 the war. I saw it. I fell down as if shot my 
 self better if I had been." 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 195 
 
 " Well, I call that awful hard/ 7 said Amos ; " I 
 should think you would have gone crazy I" 
 
 "Oh no, sir, no!" she interrupted, eagerly. 
 " My mind was perfectly clear." 
 
 "But how you must have suffered !" 
 
 " Yes, I suffered," said she. " I never thought 
 to speak of it." 
 
 A week after this conversation her nephew 
 came. The day was September 3d. Nevertheless, 
 on that Wednesday night she summoned Amos. 
 He had been out in the country ; but Mrs. Raker 
 had heard through little Minnie Foley, who came 
 for some crab-apples and found Miss Clark moan 
 ing on the cellar floor. The jail being but a few 
 blocks away, Mrs. Raker was on the scene almost 
 as soon as George Washington. By the time 
 Amos arrived the two doctors had gone and 
 Miss Clark was in bed, and the white bedspread 
 or white pillows under her head were hardly 
 whiter than her face. 
 
 " Mrs. Raker s making some gruel," said she, 
 feebly, "and if you ll stay here I have some 
 thing to say. It s an odd thing, you ll think," 
 she added, wistfully, when he was in the arm 
 chair by her bed (it was one of the chairs from 
 the other room, he noticed) "an odd thing for 
 a miserable old woman with no kin and no friends 
 to be loath to leave ; but I m like a cat, I reckon. 
 
196 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 It near tore my soul up by the roots to leave 
 the old place, and now it s as bad here." 
 
 "Don t you talk such nonsense as leaving, 
 Miss Clark," Amos tried to console her. But 
 she shook her head. And Amos, recalling what 
 the doctors said, felt his words of denial slipping 
 back into his throat. He essayed another tack. 
 " Don t you talk of having no friends here either. 
 Why, poor Mrs. O Shea has blued all my shirts 
 that she was washing, so they re a sight to see 
 all for grief ; and little Mamie Foley ran crying 
 all the way down the street." 
 
 " The poor child !" 
 
 " And why are you leaving me out ?" 
 
 " I don t want to leave you out, Mr. Sheriff " 
 
 " Oh, say Amos when you re sick, Miss Clark," 
 he cried, impulsively; she seemed so little, so 
 feeble, and so alone. 
 
 " You re a kind man, Amos Wickliff," said 
 she. " Now first tell me, would you give the 
 Colonel and Squire a home as long as they need 
 it?" 
 
 Amos gave an inward gasp ; but it may be im 
 puted to him for righteousness some day that 
 there was only an imperceptible pause before he 
 answered, " Yes, ma am, I will ; and take good 
 care of them, too." 
 
 " Here s something for you, then ; take it 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 197 
 
 now/ She handed him a large envelope, sealed. 
 "It s for any expenses,, you know. And HI 
 send em over to-morrow." 
 
 He took the package rather awkwardly. " Now 
 you know you have a nephew " he began. 
 
 "I know, and I know why he s here, too. 
 And in that paper is my will ; but don t you open 
 it till I m dead a month, will you?" 
 
 Amos promised in spite of a secret misgiving. 
 
 " And now," she went on, in her nervous way, 
 " I want you to do something right kind for me 
 not now when Mrs. Eaker goes ; she s a good 
 soul, and I hope you ll give her the envelope I ve 
 marked for her. Yes, sir, I want you to do 
 something for me when she s gone. Move in 
 the four chairs from down-stairs the pretty ones 
 all the rest are plain, so you can tell ; and 
 fetch me the tray with the wineglasses and the 
 bottle of shrub you ll find the tray in the buffet 
 with the red curtains down-stairs in my office. 
 Then you go into the kitchen I feel so sorry to 
 have to ask a gentleman to do such things, but 
 I do want them and you ll see a round brown 
 box with Cake marked on it in curly gilt letters, 
 and you ll find a frosted cake in there wrapped 
 up in tissue-paper ; and you take it out, and get 
 a knife out of the drawer, and fetch all those 
 things up to me. And then, Amos Wickliff, all 
 
198 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 the friend I ve got in the world, you go and stay 
 outside it ain t cold or I wouldn t ask it of you 
 you stay until you hear my bell. Will you ?" 
 
 Amos took the thin hand, involuntarily out 
 stretched, and patted it soothingly between both 
 his strong brown hands. 
 
 " Of course I will/ he promised. And after 
 Mrs. Raker s departure he did her bidding, say 
 ing often to himself, " Poor lady!" 
 
 When the bell rang, and he came back, the 
 wineglasses and the decanter were empty, and 
 the cake was half gone. He made no comment, 
 she gave him no explanation. Until Mrs. Raker 
 returned she talked about releasing some of her 
 debtors. 
 
 The following morning he came again. 
 
 " I declare," thought Amos, " when I think of 
 that morning, and how much brighter she looked, 
 it makes me sick to think of her as dead. She 
 had been doing a lot of things on the sly, help 
 ing folks. It was her has been sending the 
 money for the jail dinner on Christmas, and the 
 ice-cream on the Fourth, and books, too. It s 
 so terrible to be a prisoner, says she. Wonder, 
 didn t she know? I declare I hate her to be dead! 
 Ain t it possible Lord! wouldn t that be a go?" 
 He did not express even to himself his sudden 
 flash of light on the mystery. But he went his 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 199 
 
 ways to the armory of the militia company, the 
 office of the chief of police (which was the very 
 next building),, and to the fire department. At 
 one of these places he wrote out an advertise 
 ment, which the reporters read in the evening 
 papers, and found so exciting that they all 
 nocked together to discuss it. 
 
 All this did not take an hour s time. It was 
 to be observed that at every place which he vis 
 ited he first stepped to the telephone and called 
 up the jail. " Are you all right there, Raker ?" 
 he asked. Then he told where he was going. 
 " If you need, you can telephone me there/ he 
 said. 
 
 " I guess Amos isn t taking any chances on 
 this," the youngest reporter, who encountered 
 him on his way, remarked to the chief of police. 
 
 The chief replied that Amos was a careful man ; 
 he wished some others would be as careful, and 
 as sure they were right before they went ahead ; 
 a good deal of trouble would be avoided. 
 
 " That s right/ said the reporter, blithely, and 
 went his lightsome way, while the chief scowled. 
 
 Amos returned to the jail. He found the 
 street clear, but little knots of men were gather 
 ing and then dispersing in the street facing the 
 jail. Amos thought that he saw Foley s face in 
 the crowd, but it vanished as he tried to dis- 
 
200 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 f 
 
 tinguish it. " No doubt he s egging them on/ 
 muttered Amos. He was rather taken aback 
 when Raker (to whom he offered his suspicions) 
 assured him, on ear evidence, that Foley was 
 preaching peace and obedience to the law. " He s 
 an Irishman, too/ muttered Amos ; " that s aw 
 ful queer." He spent a long time in a grim 
 reverie, out of which he roused himself to de 
 spatch a boy for the evening papers. " And you 
 mark that advertisement, and take half a dozen 
 copies to Foley" thus ran his directions "tell 
 him I sent them ; and if he knows anybody 
 would like to read that f ad/ to send a paper to 
 them. Understand ?" 
 
 "Maybe it s a prowl after a will-o -wisp," 
 Amos sighed, after the boy was gone, " but it s 
 worth a try. Now for our young man !" 
 
 Allerton was sitting in his cell, in an attitude 
 of dejection that would have been a grateful 
 sight to the crowd outside. He was a slim- 
 waisted, broad - shouldered, gentle- mannered 
 young fellow, whose dark eyes were very bright, 
 and whose dark hair was curly, and longer than 
 hair is usually worn by Northerners not study 
 ing football at the universities. He had a mildly 
 Roman profile and a frank smile. His clothes 
 seemed almost shabby to Amos, who never 
 grudged a dollar of his tailor s bills ; but the 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 
 
 201 
 
 little Southern village whence he came was used 
 to admire that glossy linen and that short-skirt 
 ed black frock-coat. 
 
 At Amos s greeting he ran forward excitedly. 
 
 " Are they coming ?" he cried. " Say, sheriff, 
 you ll give me back my pistol if they come ; you ll 
 give me a show for my life ?" 
 
 Amos shrugged his shoulders impatiently. 
 "Your life s all right," said he; "it s how to 
 keep from hurting the other fellows I m after. 
 The fire department will turn out and sozzle em 
 well, and if that won t do they will have to face 
 the soldiers ; but I hope to the Lord your aunt 
 won t let it come to that." 
 
 " Do you think my aunt is living ?" 
 
 "I don t see how she could be burned up so 
 completely. But see here, Mr. Allerton, wasn t 
 there no trap-door in the room ?" 
 
 "No, sir ; there was no carpet on the floor ; she 
 hadn t a carpet in the house. Besides, how could 
 she, sick as she was, get down through a trap 
 door and shut it after her ? And you could see 
 the boards, and there was no opening in them." 
 
 " So Mrs. O Shea says, too," mused the sheriff ; 
 "but let s go back. Had your aunt any motive 
 for trying to escape you ?" 
 
 "I m afraid she thought she had," said the 
 young man, gravely. 
 
202 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 " Mind telling me ?" 
 
 " No, sir. I reckon you don t know my aunt 
 was crazy ?" 
 
 "I ve had some such notion. She lost her 
 mind when they all died of yellow-fever or was 
 it when Colonel Gary was killed ?" 
 
 " I don t know precisely. I imagine that she 
 was queer after his death, and all the family dying 
 later, that finished the wreck. There were some 
 painful circumstances connected with the colo 
 nel s death" 
 
 "I ve heard them." 
 
 " Yes, sir. Well, sir, my mother was not to 
 blame not so much to blame as you may think. 
 She was almost a stranger to her sister, raised in 
 another State ; and she had never seen her or 
 Colonel Gary, her betrothed ; and when she did 
 see him well, sir, my mother was a beautiful, 
 daring, brilliant girl, and poor Aunt Margaret 
 timid and awkward. She broke the engagement, 
 not Gary." 
 
 "It was to see your mother he came to the 
 plantation !" 
 
 "Yes, sir. And he was killed. Poor Aunt 
 Margaret saw it. She came back to the house 
 riding in a miserable dump - cart, holding his 
 head in her lap. She wouldn t let my mother 
 come near him. Now he knows which loved 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 
 
 203 
 
 him best/ she said. He s mine ! And it didn t 
 soften her when my mother married my father. 
 She seemed to think that proved she hadn t 
 cared for Colonel Gary. Then the yellow-fever 
 came, and they all went. Her mind broke down 
 completely then ; she used to think that on the 
 day Colonel Gary was shot they all came back for 
 a while, and she would set chairs for them and 
 offer them wine and cake as if they were visit 
 ing her. And after they left she would pour the 
 wine in the glasses into the grate and burn the 
 cake. She said that they enjoyed it, and ate 
 really, but they left a semblance. She got hold 
 of some queer books, I reckon, for she had the 
 strangest notions ; and she spent no end of money 
 on some spiritual mediums ; greedy harpies that 
 got a heap of money out of her. My father and 
 mother had come to Gary Hall, then, to live, 
 and of course they didn t like it. The great 
 trouble, my mother often said to me, was that 
 though they were sisters, they were raised apart, 
 and were as much strangers as we are. You 
 can imagine how they felt to see the property 
 being squandered. Ten thousand dollars, sir, 
 went in one year " 
 
 " Are you sure it did go ?" said the sheriff. 
 
 " Well, the property was sold, and we never 
 saw anything afterwards of the money. And the 
 
204 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 estate wasn t a bottomless well. It isn t so 
 strange, sir,, that that they had poor Aunt 
 Margaret cared for." 
 
 "At an insane asylum ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, for five years. I confess," said the 
 young man, jumping up and pacing the room 
 "I confess I think it was a horrible place, horri 
 ble. But they didn t know. It was only after 
 she recovered her senses and was released that 
 we began to understand what she suffered. Not 
 so much then, for she was shy of us all. She 
 was so scared, poor thing ! And then we began 
 to suspect that she was not cured of her delu 
 sions. Maybe there were consultations and talk 
 about her, though indeed, sir, my mother has as 
 sured me many times that there was no intention 
 of sending her back. But she is very shrewd, 
 and she would notice how doors would be shut 
 and the conversation would be changed when she 
 entered a room, and her suspicions were aroused. 
 She managed to raise some money on a mortgage, 
 and she ran away, leaving not a trace behind her. 
 My mother has reproached herself ever since. 
 And we ve tried to find her. It has preyed upon 
 my mother s mind that she might be living some 
 where, poor and lonely and neglected. We are 
 not rich people," said the young man, lifting his 
 head proudly, "but we have enough. I come to 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 205 
 
 offer Annt Margaret money, not to ask it. We ve 
 kept up the place, and bit by bit paid off the 
 mortgage, though it has come hard sometimes. 
 And it was awkward the title being in that kind 
 of shape, and ma wouldn t for a long time get it 
 quieted." 
 
 "But how did you ever find out she was 
 here?" 
 
 The young Southerner smiled. " I reckon I 
 owe being in this scrape at all to your gentlemen 
 of the press. One of them wrote a kind of char 
 acter-sketch about her, describing her " 
 
 i( I know. He s the youngest man on the list, 
 and an awful liar, but he does write a mighty 
 readable story." 
 
 " He did this time," said Allerton, dryly ; " so 
 readable it was copied in the papers all over, I 
 expect ; anyhow, it was copied in our local sheet 
 inside, where they have the patent insides, you 
 know. It was entitled A Usurer, but Merci 
 ful ! I showed it to my mother, and she was 
 sure it was Aunt Margaret. Even the name was 
 right, for her whole name is Margaret Clark 
 Gary. She hadn t the heart to cast the name 
 away, and she thought, Clark being a common 
 name, she wouldn t be discovered." 
 
 Amos, who had sat down, was nursing his 
 ankle. " Do you suppose," said he, slowly " do 
 
206 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 yon suppose that taking it to be the case she 
 wasn t so much hurt as the doctors supposed,, 
 that then she could get out of the room ?" 
 
 " I don t see how she could. She was in the 
 room, in the bed, when I went out. I sat down 
 before the door. She couldn t pass me. I 
 heard a screech after a while, a mighty queer 
 sound, and I ran in. Sir, I give you my word of 
 honor, the bed was empty ! the room was empty I" 
 
 " How was the room lighted ?" 
 
 "By a large lamp with a Rochester burner, 
 and some fancy of hers had made her keep it 
 turned up at full blaze. Oh, you could see 
 every inch of the room at a glance ! And then, 
 too, I ran all round it before I ran to the window, 
 pushed it up, and looked out. I would be will 
 ing to take my oath that the room was empty." 
 
 "You looked under the bed ?" 
 
 " Of course. And in the closet. I tell you, 
 sir, there was no one in the room." 
 
 Amos sat for the space of five minutes, it 
 seemed to the young man, really perhaps for 
 a full minute, thinking deeply. Then, " I 
 can t make it out," said he, "but I be 
 lieve you are telling the truth." He stood 
 up ; the young man also rose. In the silence 
 wherein the younger man tried to formulate 
 something of his gratitude and yet keep his lip 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 207 
 
 from quivering (for he had been sore beset by 
 homesickness and divers ugly fears during the 
 last day), the roar of the crowd without beat 
 through the bars, swelling ominously. And now, 
 all of an instant, the jail was penetrated by a 
 din of its own making. The prisoners lost their 
 heads. They began to scream inquiries, to shriek 
 at each other. Two women whose drunken dis 
 order had gone beyond the station-house re 
 straints, and who were spending a week in jail, 
 burst into deafening wails, partly from fright, 
 partly from pity, and largely from the general 
 craving of their condition to make a noise. 
 
 "Never mind," said Amos, laying a kindly 
 hand on young Allerton s shoulder, " the Com 
 pany B boys are all in the yard. But I guess you 
 will feel easier if you go down-stairs. Parole of 
 honor you won t skip off ?" 
 
 " Oh, God bless you, sir I" cried Allerton. 
 "I couldn t bear to die this way; it would kill 
 my mother ! Yes, yes, of course I give my word. 
 Only let me have a chance to fight, and die fight- 
 ing-" 
 
 "No dying in the case," Amos interrupted; 
 " but what in thunder are the cusses cheering for? 
 Come on ; this needs looking into. Cheering !" 
 
 He hurried down the heavy stairs into the hall, 
 where Raker, a little paler, and Mrs. Baker, a 
 
208 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 little more flushed than usual, were examining 
 the bolts of the great door. 
 
 Amos flung a glare of scorn at it, and he 
 snorted under his breath : " Locks ! No need 
 of locking You! I could bust you with the 
 hose !" 
 
 As if in answer, the cheering burst forth anew, 
 and now it was coupled with his name : " Wick- 
 liff ! Amos ! Amos !" 
 
 " Let me out I" commanded Wicklifl 3 , and he 
 slipped back the bolts. He stepped under the 
 light of the door-lamp outside, tall and strong, 
 and cool as if he had a Gatling gun beside him. 
 
 A cheer rolled up from the crowd yes, not 
 only from the crowd, but from the blue-coated 
 ranks massed to one side, and the young faces 
 behind the bayonets. 
 
 Amos stared. He looked fiercely from the 
 mob to the guardians of the law. Then, amid a 
 roar of laughter, for the crowd perfectly under 
 stood his gesture of bewilderment and anger, 
 Foley s voice bellowed, " All right, sheriff; we ve 
 got her safe \" 
 
 They tell to this day how the iron sheriff, 
 whose composure had been proof against every 
 test brought against it, and whom no man had 
 ever before seen to quail, actually staggered 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 
 
 against the door. Then he gave them a broad 
 grin of his own, and shouted with the rest, for 
 there in the heart of the rush jailward, lifted 
 up on a chair loaned, as afterwards appeared 
 (when it came to the time for returning), from 
 Hans Obermann s " Place " sat enthroned old 
 Margaret Clark ; and she was looking as if she 
 liked it ! 
 
 They got her to the jail porch ; Amos pacified 
 the crowd with free beer at Obermann s, and 
 carried her over the threshold in his arms. 
 
 He put her down in the big arm-chair in his 
 office, opposite the portraits of his parents, and 
 Esquire Clark slid into the room and purred at 
 her feet, while Mrs. Kaker fanned her. It was 
 rather a chilly evening, the heat having given 
 place to cold in the sudden fashion of the cli 
 mate ; but good Mrs. Raker knew what was due 
 to a person in a faint or likely to faint, and she 
 did not permit the weather to disturb her rules. 
 Calmly she began to fan, saying meanwhile, in a 
 soothing tone, " There, there, don t you worry ! 
 it s all right !" 
 
 Raker stood by, waiting for orders and smiling 
 feebly. And young Allerton simply gasped. 
 
 "You were at Foley s, then ?" Amos was the 
 first to speak apart from Mrs. Raker s crooning, 
 which, indeed, was so far automatic that it can 
 
 14 
 
210 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 hardly be called speech ; it was merely a vocal 
 exercise intended to quiet the mind. "You were 
 at Foley s, then ?" says Amos. 
 
 Yes, sir," very calmly ; but her hands were 
 clinching the arms of the chair. 
 
 " And you saw my advertisement in this even 
 ing paper ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; Foley read it out to me. You 
 begged M. C. C. to come back and help you 
 because you were in great embarrassment and 
 trouble and you promised me nobody should 
 harm me." 
 
 " No more nobody shall !" returned Amos. 
 
 "But maybe you can t help it. Never mind. 
 When I heard about how they were talking about 
 lynching him" she indicated her nephew "I 
 felt terrible ; the sin of blood-guiltiness seemed 
 to be resting on my soul ; but I couldn t help 
 it. Mr. Sheriff, you don t know I I was once 
 in in an insane asylum. I was !" 
 
 " That s all right," said Amos. " I know all 
 about that." 
 
 " There, there, there !" murmured Mrs. Ra 
 ker, "don t think of it !" 
 
 " It wasn t that they were cruel to me they 
 weren t that. They never struck or starved me ; 
 they just gave me awful drugs to keep me quiet ; 
 and they made me sit all day, every day, week 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 211 
 
 in, week out, month in, month out, on a bench 
 with other poor creatures, who had enough com 
 pany in their horrible dreams. If I lifted my 
 hands there was some one to put them down 
 to my side and say, in a soft voice, Hush, be 
 quiet ! That was their theory absolute rest ! 
 They thought I was crazy because I could see 
 more than they, because I had visitors from the 
 spirit-land " 
 
 " I know/ interrupted Amos. " I was there 
 one night. But I" 
 
 " You couldn t see them. It was only I. They 
 came to me. It was more than a year after they 
 all died, and I was so lonely oh, nobody knows 
 how desolate and lonely I was ! and then a 
 medium came. She taught me how to summon 
 them. At first, though I made all the prepara 
 tions, though I put out the whist cards for un 
 cle and Ralph and Sadie, and the toys for little 
 Ro, I couldn t seem to think they were there ; 
 but I kept on acting as if I knew they were 
 there, and having faith ; and at last they did 
 come. But they wouldn t come in the asylum, 
 because the conditions weren t right. So at last 
 I felt I couldn t bear it any longer. I felt like 
 I was false to the heavenly vision ; but I couldn t 
 stand it, and so I pretended I didn t see them 
 and I never had seen them ; and whatever they 
 
212 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 said I ought to feel I pretended to feel, and I 
 said how wonderful it was that I should be 
 cured ; and that made them right pleased ; and 
 they felt that I was quite a credit to them, and 
 they wrote my sister that I was cured. I went 
 home, but only to be suspected again, and so I 
 ran away. I had put aside money before, thou 
 sands of dollars, that they thought that I spent. 
 They thought I gave a heap of it to that me 
 dium and her husband ; I truly only gave them 
 five hundred dollars. So I went forth. I hid 
 myself here. I was happy here, where they 
 could come, until until I saw Archibald Aller- 
 ton on the street and overheard him inquiring 
 for me. I was dreadfully upset. But I decided 
 in a minute to flee again. So I drew some 
 money out of the bank, and I bought a blue 
 calico and a sun-bonnet not to look like myself ; 
 and I went home and wrote that letter I gave 
 you, Mr. Sheriff, with my will and the money." 
 
 "The parcel is unopened still," said Amos. 
 " I gave you my word, you know." 
 
 " Yes, I know. I knew you would keep your 
 word. And it was just after I wrote you I slipped 
 down the cellar stairs. It came of being in a 
 hurry. I made sure I never would get on my 
 feet again, but very soon I discovered that I was 
 more scared than hurt. And I saw then there 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 213 
 
 might be a chance of keeping him off his guard 
 if he thought I was like to die, and that thus 
 I might escape the readier. It was not hard to 
 fool the doctors. I did just the same with them 
 I did with the asylum folks. I said yes when 
 ever I thought they expected it, and though I 
 had some contradictory symptoms, they made 
 out a bad state of things with the spine, and 
 gave mighty little hope of my recovery. But 
 what I hadn t counted on was that my friends 
 would take such good care of me. I didn t 
 know I had friends. It pleased me so I was 
 wanting to cry for joy ; yet it frightened me so 
 I didn t know which way to turn." 
 
 " But, great heavens ! Aunt Margaret," the 
 young Southerner burst out, unable to restrain 
 himself longer, "you had no need to be so afraid 
 of me r 
 
 The old woman looked at him, more in sus 
 picion than in hope, but she went on, not an 
 swering : " The night I did escape, it was by 
 accident. I never would say one word to him 
 hardly, though he tried again and again to start 
 a talk ; but I would seem too ill ; and he s a 
 Gary, anyhow, and couldn t be rude to a lady. 
 That night he went into the other room. He 
 was so quiet I reckoned he was asleep, and, think 
 ing that here might be a chance for me, I slipped 
 
214 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 out of bed, soft as soft, and slipped over to the 
 crack of the door it just wasn t closed ! and 
 I peeked in on him " 
 
 "And you were behind the door when he 
 heard the noise ?" exclaimed Amos. " But what 
 made the noise ?" 
 
 "Oh, I reckon just Squire jumping out of the 
 window ; he gave a kind of screech." 
 
 " But I don t understand/ cried Allerton. 
 " I went into the room, and it was empty." 
 
 " No, sir," said Miss Gary, plucking up more 
 spirit in the presence of Wickliff " no, sir ; I 
 was behind the door. You didn t push it shut." 
 
 " But I ran all round the room." 
 
 " No, sir ; not till you looked out of the win 
 dow. While you were looking out of the win 
 dow I slipped out of the door ; and I was so 
 scared lest you should see me that I wasn t afraid 
 of anything else ; and I got down - stairs while 
 you were looking in the closet, and found my 
 clothes there, and so got out." 
 
 te But I was sure I went round the room first," 
 cried Allerton. 
 
 " Very likely ; but you see you didn t," re 
 marked Amos. 
 
 "It was because I remembered stubbing my 
 toe" Allerton was painfully ploughing up his 
 memories " I am certain I stubbed my toe, and 
 
THE NEXT ROOM 215 
 
 it must have been going round the no ; by 
 I beg your pardon I stubbed it against the bed, 
 going to the window. I was all wrong." 
 
 " Just so/ agreed Amos, cheerfully. "And 
 then you went to Foley, Miss Gary. Trust an 
 Irishman for hiding anybody in trouble ! But 
 how did the house catch fire ? Did you " 
 
 But old Margaret protested vehemently that 
 here at least she was sackless ; and Mrs. Raker 
 unexpectedly came to the rescue. 
 
 "I guess I can tell that much/ said she. 
 " Squire came back, and he s got burns all over 
 him, and he s cut with glass bad ! I guess he 
 jumped back into the house and upset a lamp 
 once too often !" 
 
 "I see it all/ said Amos. "And then you 
 came back to rescue your nephew " 
 
 " No, sir," cried Margaret Gary ; " I came 
 back because they said you were in trouble. It s 
 wicked, but I couldn t bear the thought he d 
 take me back to the crazies. I m an old woman ; 
 and when you re old you want to live in a house 
 of your own, in your own way, and not be 
 crowded. And it s so awful to be crowded by 
 crazies ! I couldn t bear it. I said he must take 
 his chance ; and I wouldn t read the papers for 
 fear they would shake my resolution. It was 
 Foley read your advertisement to me. And then 
 
216 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 I knew if yon were in danger, whatever happened 
 to me, I would have to go." 
 
 Amos wheeled round on young Allerton. 
 "Now, young fellow/ said he, "speak out. 
 Tell your aunt you won t touch a hair of her 
 head ; and she may have her little invisible fam 
 ily gatherings all she likes." 
 
 Allerton, smiling, came forward and took his 
 aunt s trembling hand. "You shall stay here 
 or go home to your sister, who loves you, which 
 ever you choose; and you shall be as safe and 
 free there as here," said he. 
 
 And looking into his dark eyes the Gary 
 eyes she believed him. 
 
 The youngest reporter never heard the details 
 of the Clark mystery, but no doubt he made 
 quite as good a story as if he had known the 
 truth. 
 
THE DEFEAT OF AMOS WICKLIFF 
 
THE DEFEAT OF AMOS WICKLIFF 
 
 WHAT S the matter with Amos ?" Mrs. 
 Smith asked Ruth Graves; "the boy 
 doesn t seem like himself at all." 
 Amos, at this speaking, was nearer forty than 
 thirty ; but ever since her own son s death he 
 had been "her boy" to Edgar s mother. She 
 looked across at Ruth with a wistful kindling of 
 her dim eyes. "You you haven t said any 
 thing to Amos to hurt his feelings, Ruth ?" 
 
 Ruth, busy over her embroidery square, set 
 her needle in with great nicety, and replied, "I 
 don t think so, dear." Her color did not turn 
 nor her features stir, and Mrs. Smith sighed. 
 
 After a moment she rose, a little stiffly she 
 had aged since Edgar s death walked over to 
 Ruth, and lightly stroked the sleek brown head. 
 " I ve a very great respect for Amos," she said. 
 Then, her eyes filling, she went out of the room; 
 so she did not see Ruth s head drop lower. Re- 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 spect ? But Ruth herself respected him. No 
 one, no one so much ! But that was all. He 
 was the best, the bravest man in the world ; but 
 that was all. While poor, weak, faulty Ned 
 how she had loved him ! Why couldn t she love 
 a right man ? Why did not admiration and re 
 spect and gratitude combined give her one throb 
 of that lovely feeling that Ned s eyes used to 
 give her before she knew that they were false ? 
 Yet it was not Ned s spectral hand that chilled 
 her and held her back. Three years had passed 
 since he died, and before he died she had so 
 completely ceased to love him that she could 
 pity him as well as his mother. The scorching 
 anger was gone with the love. But somehow, in 
 the immeasurable humiliation and anguish of 
 that passage, it was as if her whole soul were 
 burned over, and the very power of loving shriv 
 elled up and spoiled. How else could she keep 
 from loving Amos, who had done everything 
 (she told herself bitterly) that Ned had missed 
 doing ? And she gravely feared that Amos had 
 grown to care for her. A hundred trifles be 
 trayed his secret to her who had known the 
 glamour that imparadises the earth, and never 
 would know it any more. Mrs. Smith had seen 
 it also. Ruth remembered the day, nearly a 
 year ago, that she had looked up (she was sing- 
 
THE DEFEAT OF AMOS WICKLIFF 221 
 
 ing at their cabinet organ, singing hymns of a 
 Sunday evening) and had caught the look, not 
 on Amos s face, but on the kind old face that 
 was like her mother s. She understood why, 
 the next day, Mrs. Smith moved poor Ned s 
 picture from the parlor to her own chamber, 
 where there were four photographs of him al 
 ready. 
 
 "And now she is reconciled to what will nev 
 er happen/ thought Ruth, "and is afraid it 
 won t happen. Poor Mother Smith, it never 
 will I" She wished, half irritably, that Amos 
 would let a comfortable situation alone. Of 
 late, during the month or six weeks past, he had 
 appeared beset by some hidden trouble. When 
 he did not reckon that he was observed his 
 countenance would wear an expression of harsh 
 melancholy ; and more than once had she caught 
 his eyes tramping through space after her with 
 a look that made her recall the lines of Tenny 
 son Ned used to quote to her in jest for she 
 had never played with him : 
 
 "Right thro his manful breast darted the pang 
 That makes a man, in the sweet face of her 
 That he loves most, lonely and miserable." 
 
 Then, for a week at a time, he would not come 
 to the village ; he said he was busy with a mur- 
 
222 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 der trial. He was not at their house to-day; it 
 was they who were awaiting his return from the 
 court-house, in his own rooms at the jail, after 
 the most elaborate midday dinner Mrs. Raker 
 could devise. The parlor was less resplendent 
 and far prettier than of yore. Ruth knew that 
 the change had come about through her own 
 suggestions, which the docile Amos was always 
 asking. She knew, too, that she had not looked 
 so young and so dainty for years as she looked 
 in her new brown cloth gown, with the fur trim 
 ming near enough a white throat to enhance 
 its soft fairness. Yet she sighed. She wished 
 heartily that they had not come to town. True, 
 they needed the things, and, much to Mother 
 Smith s discomfiture, she had insisted on going 
 to a modest hotel near the jail, instead of to 
 Amos s hospitality ; but it was out of the ques 
 tion not to spend one day with him. Ruth be 
 gan to fear it would be a memorable day. 
 
 There were his clothes, for instance ; why 
 should he make himself so fine for them, when 
 his every-day suit was better than other people s 
 Sunday best ? Ruth took an unconscious de 
 light in Amos s wardrobe. There was a finish 
 about his care of his person and his fine linen 
 and silk and his freshly pressed clothes which 
 she likened to his gentle manner with women 
 
THE DEFEAT OP AMOS WICKLIFF 223 
 
 and the leisurely, pleasant cadence of his voice, 
 which to her quite mended any breaks in her 
 admiration made by a reckless and unprotected 
 grammar. Although she could not bring herself 
 to marry him, she considered him a man that 
 any girl might be proud to win. Quite the same, 
 his changing his dress put her in a panic. Which 
 was nonsense, since she didn t have any reason 
 to suppose The cold chills were stepping up 
 her spine to the base of her brain ; that was his 
 step in the hall ! 
 
 He opened the door. He was fresh and 
 pressed from the tailor, he was smooth and per 
 fumed from the barber, and his best opal-and- 
 diamond scarf-pin blazed in a new satin scarf. 
 Certainly his presence was calculated to alarm a 
 young woman afraid of love-making. 
 
 Nor did his words reassure her. He said, 
 "Ruth, I don t know if you have noticed that 
 I was worried lately." 
 
 "I thought maybe you were bothered about 
 some business," lied Ruth, with the first defen 
 sive instinct of woman. 
 
 "Yes, that s it; it s about a man sentenced 
 to death." 
 
 "Oh!" said Ruth. 
 
 "Yes, for killing Johnny Bateman. He s 
 applied for a new trial, and the court has just 
 
224 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 been heard from. Raker s gone to find out. If 
 he can t get the hearing, it s the gallows; and 
 I" 
 
 " Oh, Amos, no ! that would be too awful ! 
 Not you r 
 
 " I d rather resign the office, if it wouldn t 
 seem like sneaking. Ah !" A rap at the door 
 made Amos leap to his feet. In the rap, so 
 muffled, so hesitating, sounded the diffidence 
 of the bearer of bad news. " If that s Raker," 
 groaned Amos, "it s all up, for that ain t his 
 style of knock !" 
 
 Raker it was, and his face ran his tidings 
 ahead of him. 
 
 " They refused a new trial ?" said Amos. 
 
 "Yes, they have," exploded Raker. "Oh, 
 damn sech justice ! And he s only got three days 
 before the execution. And it s here! Oh, ain t 
 it h ?" 
 
 "Yes, it is," said Amos, "but you needn t 
 say so here before ladies." He motioned to the 
 portrait and to Ruth, who had leaned out from 
 her chair, listening with a pale, attentive face. 
 
 " Please excuse me, ladies," said Raker, ab 
 sently; "I m kinder off my base this morning. 
 You see, Amos, my wife she says if hanging Sol 
 is my duty Fve jest got to resign, for she won t 
 live with no hangman. She s terrible upset," 
 
THE DEFEAT OP AMOS WICKLIFF 225 
 
 " It ain t your duty ; it s mine/ said Amos. 
 
 " I guess y6u don t like the job any more n 
 me/ stammered Raker, "and it ain t like Joe 
 Raker sneakin off this way ; but what can I do 
 with my woman ? And maybe you, not having 
 any wife " 
 
 "No," said Amos, very slowly, "I haven t 
 got any wife ; it s easier for me." Nevertheless, 
 the blood had ebbed from his swarthy cheeks. 
 
 " But how did it happen ?" said Ruth. 
 
 " Ain t Amos told you ?" said Raker, whose 
 burden was visibly lightened he pitied Amos 
 sincerely, but it is much less distressful to pity 
 one s friends than to need to pity one s self. 
 " Well, this was the way : Sol Joscelyn was a 
 rougher in the steel-works across the river, and 
 he has a sweetheart over here, and he took her 
 to the big Catholic fair, and Johnny was there. 
 Johnny was the biggest policeman on the force and 
 the best-natured, and he had a girl of his own, it 
 came out, so there was no cause for Sol to be jeal 
 ous. He says now it was his fault, and she says 
 twas all hers ; but my notion is it was the same 
 old story. Breastpins in a pig s nose ain t in it 
 with a pretty girl without common-sense ; and 
 that s Scriptur , Mrs. Raker says. But Sol felt 
 awful bad, and he felt so bad he went out and took 
 a drink. He took a good many drinks, I guess ; 
 
 15 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 and not being a drinkin man he didn t know 
 how to carry it off, and he certainly didn t have 
 any right to go back to the hall in the shape he 
 was in. It was a friendly part in Johnny to take 
 him off and steer him to the ferry. But there 
 was a little bad look about it, though Sol went 
 peaceful at last. Sol says they had got down to 
 Front Street, and it was all friendly and cleared 
 up, and he was terrible ashamed of himself the 
 minnit he got out in the air. He was ahead, he 
 says, crossing the street, when he heard Johnny s 
 little dog yelp like mad, and he turned round 
 of course he wasn t right nimble, and it was a 
 little while before he found poor Johnny, all 
 doubled up on the sidewalk, stabbed in the 
 jugular vein. He never made a sign. Sol got 
 up and ran after the murderer. The mean part 
 is that two men in a saloon saw Sol just as he 
 got up and ran. Naturally they ran after him 
 and started the hue-and-cry, and Sol was so 
 dazed he didn t explain much. Have I got it 
 straight, Amos ?" 
 
 " Very straight, Joe. You might put in that 
 the prosecuting attorney, Frank Woods, is on 
 his first term and after laurels; and that, un 
 luckily, there have been three murders in this 
 locality inside the year, and by hook or crook 
 all three of the men got off with nothing but a 
 
THE DEFEAT OF AMOS WICKLIFF 227 
 
 few years at Anamosa ; and public sentiment, in 
 consequence, is pretty well stirred up, and not 
 so particular about who it hits as hitting some 
 body ; and that poor Sol had a chump of a 
 lawyer and you have the state of things." 
 
 " But why are you so sure he wasn t guilty ?" 
 said Ruth. The shocked look on her face was 
 fading. She was thinking her own thoughts, 
 not Amos s, Raker decided. 
 
 " Partly on account of the dog," said Amos. 
 "First thing Sol said when they took him up 
 was, Johnny s dog s hurt too ; and true enough 
 we found him (for I was round) crawling down 
 the street with a stab in him. Now, I says, 
 here s a test right at hand ; if the dog was 
 stabbed by this young feller he ll tell of it when 
 he sees him, and I fetched him right up to Sol ; 
 but, bless my soul, the dog kinder wagged his 
 tail ! And he s taken to Sol from the first. 
 Another thing, they never found the knife that 
 did it ; said Sol might have throwed it into the 
 river. Tommy rot ! I mean it ain t likely. Sol 
 wasn t in no condition to throw a knife a block 
 or two !" 
 
 " But if not he, who else ?" said Ruth. 
 
 Amos was at a loss to answer her exactly, and 
 yet in language that he considered suitable "to 
 a nice young lady "; but be managed to convey 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 to her an idea of the villanous locality where the 
 unfortunate policeman met his death ; and he told 
 her that from the first, judging by the character 
 of the blow ("no American man a decent man 
 too, like Sol would have jabbed a man from 
 behind that way; that s a Dago blow, with a 
 Dago knife !"), he had suspected a certain Ital 
 ian woman, who " boarded " in the house beneath 
 whose evil walls the man was slain. He suspected 
 her because Johnny had arrested "a great friend 
 of hers" who turned out to be "wanted/ and in 
 the end was sent to the penitentiary, and the 
 woman had sworn revenge. "That s all," said 
 Amos, "except that when I looked her up, she 
 had skipped. I have a good man shadowing her, 
 though, and he has found her." 
 
 "And that was what convinced you ?" 
 
 "That and the man himself. Suppose we 
 take a look at him. Then I ll have to go to 
 Des Moines. I suspected this would come, and 
 I m all ready." 
 
 So the toilet was for the Governor and not for 
 her; Ruth took shame to herself for a full 
 minute while Raker was speaking. Amos s de 
 jection came from a cause worthy of such a man 
 as he. Perhaps all her fancies. . . . 
 
 "That will suit," Raker was saying. "He 
 lias been asking for you. I told him." 
 
THE DEFEAT OF AMOS WICKLIFF 229 
 
 "Thank you, Joe/ said Amos, gratefully. 
 
 " I don t propose to leave all the dirty jobs to 
 you," growled Raker. And he added under his 
 breath to Ruth, when Amos had stopped behind 
 to strap a bag, "Amos is going to take it hard." 
 
 He led the way, through a stone-flagged hall, 
 where the air wafted the unrefreshing cleanli 
 ness of carbolic acid and lime, up a stone and 
 iron staircase worn by what hundreds of lagging 
 feet ! past grated windows through which how 
 many feverish eyes had been mocked by the 
 brilliant western sky ! past narrow doors and the 
 laughter and oaths of rascaldom in the corridor, 
 into an absolutely silent hall blocked by an iron- 
 barred door. There Raker paused to fit a key 
 in the lock, and on his commonplace, florid 
 features dawned a curious solemnity. Ruth 
 found herself breathing more quickly. 
 
 The door swung inward. Ruth s first sensa 
 tion was a sort of relief, the room looked so little 
 like a cell, with its bright chintz on the bed 
 and the mass of nosegays on the table. A black- 
 and-tan terrier bounded off the bed and gam 
 bolled joyously over Amos s feet. 
 
 Here s the sheriff and a lady to see you, Sol," 
 Raker announced. 
 
 The prisoner came forward eagerly, holding 
 out his hand. All three shook it. He was a 
 
230 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 short, cleanly built man, who held his chin 
 slightly uplifted as he talked. His reddish- 
 brown hair was strewn over a high white fore 
 head ; its disorder did not tally with the neat 
 ness of his Sunday suit, which, they told Ruth 
 afterwards, he had worn ever since his convic 
 tion, although previously he had been particular 
 to wear his working-clothes. Ruth s eyes were 
 drawn by an uncanny attraction, stronger than 
 her will, to the face of a man in such a tremen 
 dous situation. His skin was fair and freckled, 
 and had the prison pallor, face and hands. But 
 the feature that impressed Ruth was his eyes. 
 They were of a clear, grayish-blue tint, meeting 
 the gaze directly, without self-consciousness or 
 bravado, and innocent as a child s. Such eyes 
 are not unfrequent among working-men, but the 
 rest of us have learned to hide behind the glass. 
 He did not look like a man who knew that he 
 must die in three days. He was smiling. Look 
 ing closer, however, Ruth saw that his eyelids 
 were red, and she observed that his fingers were 
 tapping the balls of his thumbs continually. 
 
 I m real glad to see you," he said. " Won t 
 you set down ? Poker, you let the lady alone " 
 addressing the dog. "He s just playful; he 
 won t bite. Mr. Wickliff lets me have him 
 here ; he was Johnny s dog, and he s company 
 
THE DEFEAT OF AMOS WICKLIFF 231 
 
 to me. He likes it. They let him out when 
 ever he wants, you know." His eyes for a 
 second passed the faces before him and lingered 
 on the bare branches of the maple swaying be 
 tween his window grating and the sky. Was he 
 thinking that he would see the trees but once, 
 on one terrible journey ? 
 
 Raker blew his nose violently. 
 
 "Well, Fm off to Des Moines, Sol," said Amos. 
 
 " Yes, sir. And about Elly going ? I don t 
 want her to go to all that expense if it won t do 
 no good. I want to leave her all the money I 
 can" 
 
 "You never mind about the money." Amos 
 took the words off his tongue with friendly gruff- 
 ness. "But she better wait till we see how I 
 git along. Maybe there ll be no necessity." 
 
 " It s a kinder long journey for a young lady," 
 said Joscelyn, anxiously, " and it s so hard get 
 ting word of those big folks, and I hate to think 
 of her having to hang round. Elly s so timid 
 like, and maybe somebody not being polite to 
 her" 
 
 "Til attend to all that, Joscelyn. She shall 
 go in a Pullman, and everything will be fixed." 
 
 " Can you git passes ? You are doing a ter 
 rible lot of things for me, Mr. Wickliff ; and Mr. 
 Raker too, and his good lady " (with a grateful 
 
232 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 glance at Raker, who rocked in the rocking-chair 
 and was lapped *in gloom). "It does seem like 
 you folks here are awful kind to folks in trouble, 
 and if I ever git out " He was not equal to 
 the rest of the sentence, but Amos covered his 
 faltering with a brisk 
 
 "That s all right. Say, ain t yon got some 
 new flowers ?" 
 
 Joscelyn smiled. " Those are from the boys 
 over to the mill. Ten of them boys was over to 
 see me Sunday, no three knowing the others were 
 coming. I tell you when a man gits into trouble 
 he finds out about his friends. I got awful good 
 friends. The roller sent me that box of cigars. 
 And there s one little feller he works on the 
 hot-bed, one of them kids and he walked all the 
 six miles, cross the bridge and all, cause he 
 didn t have money for the fare. Why he didn t 
 have money, he d spent it all in boot-jack to 
 bacco and a rosy apple for me. He s a real nice 
 little boy. If if things was to go bad with me, 
 would you kinder have an eye on Hughey, Mr. 
 Wickliff ?" 
 
 Amos rose rather hastily. "Well, I guess I 
 got to go now, Sol." 
 
 Euth noticed that Sol got the sheriff s big hand 
 in both his as he said, " I guess you know how 
 I feel bout what you and Mr. Raker " This 
 
THE FAREWELL 
 
THE DEFEAT OF AMOS WICKLIFF - 233 
 
 time he conld not go on, his mouth twitched, 
 and he brushed the back of his hand across his 
 eyes. Ruth saw that the palm had a great white 
 welt on it, and that the sinews were stiffened, 
 preventing the fingers from opening wide. She 
 spoke then. She held out her own hand. 
 
 " I know you didn t do it," said she, very de 
 liberately ; and I m sure we shall get you free 
 again. Don t stop hoping ! Don t you stop one 
 minute !" 
 
 " I guess I can t say anything better than 
 that," said Amos. In this fashion they got 
 away. 
 
 Amos did not part his lips until they were 
 back in his own parlor, where he spoke. " Did 
 you notice his hand ?" 
 
 Ruth had noticed it. 
 
 " A man who saw the accident that gave him 
 those scars told me about it. It happened two 
 years ago. Sol had his spell at the roll, and he 
 was strolling about, and happened to fetch up at 
 the finishing shears, where a boy was straighten 
 ing the red-hot iron bars. I don t know exactly 
 how it happened ; some way the iron caught on 
 a joint of the bed-plates and jumped at him, 
 red-hot. He didn t get out of the way quick 
 enough. It went right through his leg and 
 curved up, and down he dropped with the iron 
 
234 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 in him. Near the femoral artery, they said, too; 
 and it would have burned the walls of the artery 
 down, and he would have bled to death in a flash. 
 Sol Joscelyn saw him. He looked round for 
 something to take hold of that iron with that 
 was smoking and charring, but there wasn t any 
 thing the boy s tongs had gone between the 
 rails when he fell. So he he took his hands 
 and pulled the red-hot thing out ! That s how 
 both his hands are scarred." 
 
 " Oh, the poor fellow !" said Euth ; " and 
 think of him here !" 
 
 Amos shook his head and strode to the win 
 dow. Then he came back to her, where she 
 was trying to swallow the pain in the roof of her 
 mouth. He stretched his great hands in front 
 of him. How could I ever look at them again 
 if they pulled that lever ?" he sobbed for the 
 words were a sob ; and immediately he flung 
 himself back to the window again. 
 
 "Amos, I know they won t hang him ; why, 
 they can t. If the Governor could only see him." 
 Euth was standing, and her face was flushed. 
 "Why, Amos, / thought maybe he might be 
 guilty until I saw him ! I know the Governor 
 won t see him, but if we told him about the poor 
 fellow, if we tried to make him see him as we 
 do?" 
 
THE DEFEAT OP AMOS WICKLIFF 235 
 
 Amos drearily shook his head. "The Govern 
 or is a just man, Ruth, but he is hard as nuts. 
 Sentiment won t go down with him. Besides, 
 he is a great friend of Frank Woods, who has got 
 his back up and isn t going to let me pull his 
 prisoner out. Of course he s given his side." 
 
 " The girl this Elly ? If she were to see the 
 Governor ?" 
 
 " I don t know whether she d do harm or not. 
 She s a nice little thing, and has stood by Sol 
 like a lady. But it s a toss up if she wouldn t 
 break down and lose her head utterly. She 
 comes to see him as often as she can, always 
 bringing him some little thing or other ; and 
 she sits and holds his hand and cries never 
 seems to say three words. Whenever she runs 
 up against me she makes a bow and says, I m. 
 very much obliged to you, sir, and looks scared 
 to death. / don t know who to get to go with 
 her; her mother keeps a working-man s board 
 ing-house ; she s a good soul, but " 
 
 He dropped his head on his hand and seemed 
 to try to think. 
 
 It was strange to Ruth that she should long to 
 go up to him and touch his smooth black hair, 
 yet such a crazy fancy did flit through her brain. 
 When she thought that he was suffering because 
 of her, she had not been moved ; but now that 
 
236 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 he was so sorely straitened for a man who was 
 nothing to him more than a human creature, her 
 heart ached to comfort him. 
 
 "No," said Amos; "we ve got to work the 
 other strings. Fve got some pull, and I ll work 
 that; then the newspaper boys have helped me 
 out, and folks are getting sorry for Sol; there 
 wouldn t be any clamor against it, and we ve got 
 some evidence. I m not worth shucks as a talk 
 er, but I ll take a talker with me. If there was 
 only somebody to keep her straight " 
 
 " Would you trust me ?" said Euth. " If you 
 will, I ll go with her to-morrow. " 
 
 Amos s eyes went from his mother s picture to 
 the woman with the pale face and the lustrous 
 eyes beneath it. He felt as stirred by love and 
 reverence and the longing to worship as ever 
 mediaeval knight ; he wanted to kneel and kiss 
 the hem of her gown ; what he did do was to 
 open his mouth, gasp once or twice, and finally 
 say, " Ruth, you you are as good as they make 
 
 Amos went, and the instant that he was gone, 
 Euth, attending to her own scheme of salvation, 
 crossed the river. She entered the office of the 
 steel-works, where the officers gave her full in 
 formation about the character of Sol Joscelyn. 
 
THE DEFEAT OF AMOS WICKLIFF 237 
 
 He was a good fellow and a good workman, al 
 ways ready to work an extra turn to help a fel 
 low-workman. She went to his landlady, who 
 was Elly s mother, and heard of his sober and 
 blameless life. " And indeed, miss, I know of a 
 certainty he never did git drunk but once before, 
 and that was after his mother s funeral ; and she 
 was bedfast for ten years, and he kep her like a 
 lady, with a hired girl, he did; and he come home 
 to the dark house, and he couldn t bear it, and 
 went back to the boys, and they, meaning well, 
 but foolish, like boys, told him to forget the 
 grief." Euth went back to Sol s mill, between 
 heats, to seek Sol s young friend. She found 
 the "real nice little boy" with a huge quid in 
 his cheek, and his fists going before the face of 
 another small lad who had "told the roller lies." 
 He cocked a shrewd and unchildish blue eye at 
 Euth, and skilfully sent his quid after the flying 
 tale-bearer. " Sol Joscelyn ? Course I know 
 him. He s a friend of mine. Give me coffee 
 outer his pail first day I got here ; lets me take 
 his tongs. Fm goin to be a rougher too, you 
 bet ; I m a-learnin . He s the daisiest rougher, 
 he is. It s grand to see him ketch them white- 
 hot bars that s jest a-drippin , and chuck em 
 under like they was kindling-wood. He s licked 
 my old man, too, for haulin me round by the 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 ear. He ain t my own father, so I didn t inter 
 fere. Say, you goin to see Sol to-night ? You 
 can give him things, can t you ? I got a mince- 
 pie for him." 
 
 Kuth consented to take the pie, and she did 
 not know whether to laugh or cry when, examin 
 ing the crust, she discovered, cunningly stowed 
 away among the raisins and citron, a tiny file. 
 
 When she told Sol, he did not seem surprised. 
 "He s always a -sending of them/ said he; 
 "most times Mr. Eaker finds em, but once he 
 got one inside a cigar, and I bit my teeth on it. 
 He thinks if he can jest git a file to me it s all 
 right. I s pose he reads sech things in books." 
 
 Amos went to Des Moines of a Monday after 
 noon ; Tuesday night he walked through the jail 
 gate with his head down, as no one had ever seen 
 the sheriff walk before. He kept his eye on the 
 sodden, frozen grass and the ice-varnished bricks 
 of the walk, which glittered under the electric 
 lights ; it was cruelty enough to have to hear 
 that dizzy ring of hammers ; he would not see ; 
 but all at once he recoiled and stepped over the 
 sharp black shadow of a beam. But he had his 
 composure ready for Eaker. 
 
 "Well ! he wouldn t listen to you ?" 
 
 " No ; he listened, but I couldn t move him, 
 
THE DEFEAT OP AMOS WICKLIFF 239 
 
 nor Dennison couldn t, either. He s honest 
 about it ; he thinks Sol is guilty, and an example 
 is needed. Finally I told him I would resign 
 rather than hang an innocent man. He said 
 Woods had another man ready. 
 
 " That will be a blow to Sol. I told him you 
 would attend to everything. He said he d risk 
 another man if it would make you feel bad " 
 
 " I won t risk another man, then. But the 
 Governor called my bluff. Where s Miss Graves ?" 
 
 " Gone to Des Moines with Elly. Went next 
 train after your telegram." 
 
 "And Mrs. Smith?" 
 
 " She s in reading the Bible to Sol. I don t 
 know whether it s doing him any good or not ; he 
 says Yes, ma am, and That s right to every 
 question she asks him ; but I guess some of it s 
 politeness. And he seems kinder nighty, and 
 his mind runs from one thing to another. But 
 he says he s still hoping. He s made a list of all 
 his things to give away ; and he s said good-bye 
 to the newspaper boys. I never supposed that 
 youngest one had any feeling, but I had to give 
 him four fingers of whiskey after he come out ; 
 he was white s the wall, and he hadn t a word to 
 say. It s been a terrible day, Amos. My wom 
 an s jest all broke up ; she wanted me to make a 
 rope-ladder. Me ! Said she and old Lady Smith 
 
THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 would hide him. Polly/ says I, I know my 
 duty ; and if I didn t, Amos knows his. She 
 ain t spoke to me since, and we had a picked-up 
 dinner. Well, / can t eat !" 
 
 " You best not drink much either, then, Joe," 
 said Amos, kindly ; and he went his ways. Dark 
 and painful ways they were that night : but he 
 never flinched. And the carpenters on the 
 ghastly machine without the gate (the shadow 
 of which lay, all night through, on Amos s cur 
 tain) said to each other, "The sheriff looks sick, 
 but he ain t going to take any chances !" 
 
 The day came Sol s last day and there were 
 a hundred demands for Amos s decision. In the 
 morning he made his last stroke for the pris 
 oner. He told Raker about it. " I found the 
 tool at last," he said, "in the place you sus 
 pected. Dago dagger. I ve expressed it to Miss 
 Graves and telegraphed her. It s in her hands 
 now." 
 
 " Sol says he ain t quit hoping," says Eaker. 
 " Say, the blizzard flag is out ; you don t think 
 you could put it off for weather, being an out 
 door thing, you know ?" 
 
 "No," says Amos, knitting his black brows; 
 "I know my duty." 
 
 Towards night, in one of his many visits to the 
 condemned man, Sol said, "Elly 11 be sure to 
 
THE DEFEAT OP AMOS WICKLIFF 241 
 
 come back from Des Moines in in time, if she 
 don t succeed, won t she ?" 
 
 " Oh, sure," said Amos, cheerfully. He spoke 
 in a louder than common voice when he was 
 with Sol; he fought against an inclination to 
 walk on tiptoe, as he saw Raker and the watch 
 doing. He wished Sol would not keep hold of 
 his hand so long each time they shook hands ; 
 but he found his hands going out whenever he 
 entered the room. He had a feeling at his heart 
 as if a string were tightening about it and cut 
 ting into it : shaking hands seemed to loosen 
 the string. From Sol, Amos went down-stairs 
 to the telephone to call up the depot. The elec 
 tricity snapped and roared and buzzed, and baf 
 fled his ears, but he made out that the Des 
 Moines train had come in two hours late ; the 
 morning train was likely to be later, for a storm 
 was raging and the telegraph lines were down. 
 Elly hadn t come ; she couldn t come in time ! 
 Amos changed the call to the telegraph office. 
 
 Yes, they had a telegram for him. Just re 
 ceived ; been ever since noon getting there. 
 From Des Moines. Read it ? 
 
 The sheriff gripped the receiver and flung 
 back his shoulders like a soldier facing the fir 
 ing-squad. The words penetrated the whir like 
 bullets : " Des Moines, December 8, 189-. Gov- 
 
 16 
 
242 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 ernor refused audience. Has left the city. My 
 sympathy and indignation. T. L. Dennison." 
 
 Amos remembered to put the tube up, to ring 
 the bell. He walked out of the office into the 
 parlor ; he was not conscious that he walked on 
 tiptoe or that he moved the arm-chair softly as 
 if to avoid making a noise. He sank back into 
 the great leather depths and stared dully about 
 him. "They ve called my bluff !" he whispered ; 
 "there isn t anything left I can do." He could 
 not remember that he had ever been in a simi 
 lar situation, because, although he had had many 
 a buffet and some hard falls from life, never had 
 he been at the end of his devices or his obsti 
 nate courage. But now there was nothing, noth 
 ing to be done. 
 
 "By -and -by I will go and tell Sol/ he 
 thought, in a dull way. No ; he would let him 
 hope a little longer ; the morning would be time 
 enough. ... He looked down at his own hands, 
 and a shudder contracted the muscles of his 
 neck, and his teeth met. 
 
 "Brace up, you coward !" he adjured himself ; 
 but the pith was gone out of his will. That 
 which he had thought, looking at his hands, 
 was that she would never want to touch them 
 again. Amos s love was very humble. He knew 
 that Ruth did not love him. Why should she ? 
 
THE DEFEAT OP AMOS WICKLIFP 243 
 
 Like all true lovers in the dawn of the New 
 Day,, he was absorbed in his gratitude to her for 
 the power to love. There is nothing so beauti 
 ful, so exciting, so infinitely interesting, as to 
 love. To be loved is a pale experience beside it, 
 being, indeed, but the mirror to love, without 
 which love may never find its beauty, yet hold 
 ing, of its own right, neither beauty nor charm. 
 Amos had accepted Ruth s kindness, her sym 
 pathy, her goodness, as he accepted the way her 
 little white teeth shone in her smile, and the 
 lovely depths of her eyes, and the crisp melody 
 of her voice as windfalls of happiness, his by 
 kind chance or her goodness, not for any merit 
 of his own. He was grateful, and he did not 
 presume ; he had only come so far as to wonder 
 whether he ever would dare But now he only 
 asked to be her friend and servant. But to have 
 her shrink from him, to have his presence odi 
 ous to her ... he did not know how to bear 
 it ! And there was no way out. Not only the 
 State held him, the wish of the helpless, trust 
 ing creature that he had failed to save was 
 stronger than any law of man. He thought of 
 Mrs. Raker and her foolish schemes : that wom 
 an didn t understand how a man felt. But all 
 of a sudden he found himself getting up and go 
 ing quickly to his father s picture ; and he was 
 
244 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 saying out loud to the painted soldier : " I know 
 my duty ! I know my duty !" Without, the snow 
 was driving against the window-pane ; that ac 
 cursed Thing creaked and swayed under the flail 
 of the wind, but kept its stature. Within, the 
 tumult and combat in a human soul was so fierce 
 that only at long intervals did the storm beat its 
 way to his consciousness. Once, stopping his 
 walk, he listened and heard sobs, arid a gentle 
 old voice that he knew in a solemn, familiar mo 
 notony of tone ; and he was aware that the wom 
 en were in the other room weeping and pray 
 ing. And up-stairs Sol, who had never done a 
 mean trick in his life, and been content with so 
 little, and tried to share all he got, was waiting 
 for the sweetheart who never could come, turn 
 ing that pitiful smile of his to the door every 
 time the wind rattled it, "trying to hope !" 
 
 He had not shed a tear for his own misery, 
 but now he leaned his arm on the frame of his 
 mother s portrait and sobbed. He was standing 
 thus when Kuth saw him, when she flashed up 
 to him, cold and wet and radiant. 
 
 She was too breathless to speak ; but she did 
 not need to speak. 
 
 "You ve got it, Kuth I" he cried. "0 God, 
 you ve got the reprieve !" 
 
 "Yes, I have, Amos; here it is. I couldn t 
 
THE DEFEAT OP AMOS WICKLIFP 245 
 
 telegraph because the wires were down, but the 
 Governor and the railroad superintendent fixed 
 it so we could come on an engine. I knew you 
 were suffering. Elly is with Mother Smith and 
 Mrs. Raker, but I but I wanted to come to 
 you." 
 
 If he had thought once of himself he must 
 have heard the new note in her voice. But he 
 did not think once of himself ; he could only 
 think of Sol. 
 
 "But the Governor, didn t he refuse to see 
 you ?" said he. 
 
 "No; he refused to see poor Mr. Dennison." 
 Ruth used the slighting pity of the successful. 
 " We didn t try to go to him ; we went to his 
 wife." 
 
 Amos sat down. " Ruth/ he said, solemnly, 
 "you haven t got talent, you ve got genius !" 
 
 "Why, of course," said Ruth, "he might snub 
 us and not listen to us, but he would have to 
 listen to his wife. She is such a pretty lady, 
 Amos, and so kind. We had a little bit of 
 trouble seeing her at first, because the girl (who 
 was all dressed up, like the pictures, in a black 
 dress and white collar and cuffs and the nicest 
 long apron), she said that we couldn t come in, 
 the Governor s wife was engaged, and they were 
 going out of town that day. But when Elly began 
 
246 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 to talk to her she sympathized at once, and she 
 got the Governor s wife down. Then I told her 
 all about Sol and how good he was, and I cried 
 and Elly cried and she cried we all cried and 
 she said that I should see the Governor, and 
 gave us tea. She was as kind as possible. And 
 when the Governor came I told him everything 
 about Sol about his mother and the little boy 
 at the mill and the dog, and how he saved the 
 other boy, pulling out that big iron bar red- 
 hot" 
 
 " But," interrupted Amos, who would have 
 been literal on his death-bed "but it wasn t a 
 very big bar. Not the bar they begin with a 
 finished bar, just ready for the shears." 
 
 "Never mind ; it was big when I told it, and 
 I assure you it impressed the Governor. He got 
 up and walked the floor, and then Elly threw 
 herself on her knees before him ; and he pulled 
 her up, and, don t you know, not exactly laughed, 
 but something like it. I can t make out, said 
 he, from your description much about the guilt 
 or innocence of Solomon Joscelyn, but one thing 
 is plain, that he is too good a fellow to be 
 hanged ! " 
 
 "And did you take the dagger I sent, and my 
 telegram ?" 
 
 "Your telegram? Dagger? Amos, I m so 
 
THE DEFEAT OP AMOS WICKLIFP 247 
 
 sorry, but we didn t go back to our lodgings at 
 all. We had our bags with us, and came right 
 from the Governor s here !" 
 
 " Then you didn t say anything about evi 
 dence ?" 
 
 "Evidence?" Kuth looked distressed. "Oh, 
 Amos ! I forgot all about it !" 
 
 Amos always supposed that he must have 
 been beside himself, for he caught her hand and 
 kissed it, and cried, " You darling !" Nothing 
 more, not a word ; and he went abjectly down 
 on his knees before her chair and apologized, 
 until, frightened by her silence, he looked up 
 and saw Ruth s eyes. 
 
 After all, the evidence was not at all wasted ; 
 for the Italian woman, thanks to a cunning use 
 of the dagger, made a full confession ; and, the 
 public wrath having been sated on Sol, a more 
 merciful jury sent the real assassin to a lunatic 
 asylum, which pleased Amos, who was not cer 
 tain whether he had not stepped from one hot 
 box into another. Ruth told Amos, when he 
 asked her the inevitable question of the lover, 
 " I don t know when exactly, dear, but I think 
 I began to love you when I saw you cry ; and I 
 was sure of it when I found I could help you !" 
 
 Honest Amos did not analyze his wife s heart ; 
 
248 THE MISSIONARY SHERIFF 
 
 he was content to accept her affection as the 
 gift of God and her, and his gratitude included 
 Sol and Elly ; wherefore it comes to pass that a 
 certain iron-worker, on a certain day in Decem 
 ber, always dines with Amos Wickliff, his wife, 
 and Mother Smith. Amos is no longer sheriff, 
 but a citizen of substance and of higher office, 
 and they live in what Mother Smith fears is al 
 most sinful luxury ; and on this day there will 
 be served a dinner yielding not to Christmas 
 itself in state ; and after dinner the rougher will 
 rise, his wineglass in hand. " To our wives !" he 
 will say, solemnly. 
 
 And Amos, as solemnly, will repeat the toast : 
 " To our wives ! Thank God I" 
 
 THE END 
 
FOURTEEN DAY USE 
 
 RETURN TO DBSK FKOM WH ICH BORROWED 
 
 to immediate recall. 
 
 LD 21-100w-2, 55 
 (Bl39s22)476 
 
 General Library 
 
 University of California 
 
 Berkeley 
 
YB 
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY