/ A M eyi
 
 fJg&M S 
 
 r* -lifi-* fv 1 "^ u 
 
 - <s ^h ^VYS 
 
 x^ort vSr.. Jv*%. . 
 
 ^1 ^^S^ ^l^s^^a ?^H^^%1K raiK 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ffj

 
 HE WAS SITTING ON THE STEPS OF THE UNOPENED STORE 
 (Page 7)
 
 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 BY 
 
 WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE 
 
 Author of "The Heart of Old Hickory," "The Valley Path/ 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY F. A. CARTER 
 
 THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 PHILADELPHIA MCMII
 
 COPYRIGHT 1898 BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. PAGK 
 
 I THE SETTLEMENT STORE 7 
 
 II A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 22 
 
 III IT WAS GRIM WHO TOLD 66 
 
 IV A RAID 85 
 
 V THE MOONSHINER'S HOME 104 
 
 VI BEHIND THE RAINBOW FALLS 128 
 
 VII THE BEST OF FRIENDS MUST PART 142 
 
 VIII SYLVIA 164 
 
 IX THE BELATED OLD STAGE COACH 178 
 
 X UNDER THE DOORSTEP 190 
 
 XI CONFESSIONS 206 
 
 XII AMONG NEW SCENES 222 
 
 XIII FIRST LESSONS 246 
 
 XIV THE WONDERFUL SHOPS 261 
 
 XV PROGRESS CHANGES 286 
 
 XVI AFTER MANY DAYS ,320 
 
 2061736
 
 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 No man on the mountain was more respected 
 than old Jube Jarvis, the settlement storekeeper. 
 But to no one was he quite such a hero as to 
 the boy sitting on the step of the unopened 
 store, in the dawn of a crisp September morn- 
 ing, waiting for the owner of the establishment 
 to come from the house across the road and 
 " open up." 
 
 He was a young fellow of not more than 
 twelve or fourteen years perhaps, yet there was 
 an old look in his face that told of troubles that 
 never should have knocked at the door of youth. 
 The old-young face was crowned by a mass of 
 reddish-brown hair that showed a golden tinge 
 
 7
 
 8 A MOONSHINER'S, SON 
 
 when the sun fell full upon it; as though 
 nature, of her kindness, would have poured 
 some of her own good warmth into his chilled 
 little body. 
 
 There was an uncovered porch before the 
 door, and a long step that led down into the 
 public road. The boy was seated upon the step, 
 face in his palms, elbows upon his knees, lost in 
 thought. 
 
 Before him, contentedly cropping the crisping 
 blades of grass, stood a gray mule without sad- 
 dle or blanket, her bridle-rein lying lightly 
 across the knee of her young rider. Now 
 and then the boy put out his hand and stroked 
 the short, glossy neck of the animal, at which 
 she would leave off grazing for a moment to 
 rub her nose affectionately against the well- 
 patched knees of her master. Evidently mule 
 and master were on the best of terms. 
 
 Sometimes, too, the boy would rouse up from 
 his dreamings and call out sharply : " Whoa 
 thar, Kit." 
 
 And then the mule would regard him in a kind
 
 THE SETTLEMENT STORE 9 
 
 of mild wonder, us though she said : " How 
 could you think I would do such a thing ?" 
 
 And it was a little singular that he should 
 have suspected old Kit would be guilty of slip- 
 ping off home and leaving her master to tramp 
 it back to the cabin on the bluff, more than 
 two miles distant. 
 
 Of a truth, the boy was not thinking of the 
 mule at all, but of the storekeeper across the 
 way. He was wondering how long it would be 
 before he would " open up " the store. 
 
 And he was telling himself that he was " a 
 great dunce for coinin' thar afore day was fairly 
 broke anyhow." And then he " allowed granny 
 would be in and about done with her breakfast 
 'g'inst he could get back home." And while he 
 was thinking thus the storekeeper chanced to 
 look out of his window and see the forlorn- 
 looking boy sitting there in the gray mists of 
 the morning with the leaves of the big maple 
 tree drifting down upon him like lumps of yel- 
 low gold, and what he said was : " Well, if 
 thar ain't Joe Bentley !" A moment later he
 
 10 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 stepped across the road and saluted his early 
 customer. 
 
 " Mornin', Joe." 
 
 Joe bounded to his feet as though Ihe voice of 
 the storekeeper had sent nev life surging 
 through his frame. 
 
 "Mornin', Mr. Jarvis," said he. "I hope 
 now I didn't wake you up, Mr. Jarvis." 
 
 The storekeeper thrust his iron key into the 
 lock. 
 
 " Well," said he, " I had one eye open, so to 
 speak. Folks all well, Joe?" 
 
 " Same as common, thank'e, sir," said Joe. 
 " I reckon now I'm here toler'bly early, Mr. 
 Jarvis, an' I ought to tell you why." 
 
 " Better hitch your mule first, Joe," said the 
 merchant, with a sharp glance at the little old- 
 young face that was telling him all too plainly 
 that Joe was carrying an uncomfortable secret, 
 and uncomfortable secrets were strictly forbid- 
 den at Jube Jarvis's establishment. The old 
 man kept a sharp watch on the boy while he 
 twisted his lines into the low, drooping branches
 
 THE SETTLEMENT STORE 11 
 
 of the maple. There was that about Joe Bent- 
 ley that had always appealed to childless Jube 
 Jarvis. There was something in the boy, strong 
 and staunch and true, that refused to yield itself 
 to the unpromising surroundings among which 
 fate had placed him. But could the old man 
 have seen the broad black bruises laid upon the 
 young shoulders under the coarse shirt which 
 granny had darned and patched and spent 
 many an hour trying to make look neat, the big 
 heart of him would indeed have felt for ill-used 
 Joe Bentley. 
 
 " Got no mammy, and worse than no pappy," 
 grumbled the storekeeper, as he turned into the 
 store, where Joe soon followed him. 
 
 " Well, son," said Mr. Jarvis, " something 
 onusual must a-happened to fetch you out o' 
 bed when other chaps the size o' you-uns air 
 fairly knocking it off in sleep. What can I do 
 for you, Joe ?" 
 
 Joe leaned his patched elbow upon the coun- 
 ter and hesitated : how like begging his errand 
 appeared now, after he had ridden so fast and
 
 12 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 come so far to get it done. The merchant 
 marked his hesitancy and said, encouragingly : 
 
 " Come, come now; I reckiii it ain't anything 
 to be so mightily ashamed on ?" 
 
 " No, sir," said Joe. " It ain't anything 
 to be ashamed on, I reckin. I have come 
 over here to git one pound o' coffee for 
 granny " 
 
 The storekeeper dropped his right arm into 
 the coffee barrel. 
 
 " Hold on thar, Mr. Jar vis," said Joe, " I 
 allers aims to be forehanded an' honest, an' I'm 
 obliged to tell you I ain't got any money to pay 
 for it," 
 
 " Psher," remarked the merchant. " I reckin 
 I ain't grown so close-fisted as I can't spare a 
 pound o' coffee to an old woman like your 
 granny. For I know mighty well it ain't for 
 yourse'f you're wanting of it." 
 
 " No, sir," remarked Joe, " it's for granny. 
 She don't appear to git on well without her cup 
 o' mornin's. But she don't know I come for it, 
 else she wouldn't a-let me. I slipped off. 'Pears
 
 THE SETTLEMENT RTOKE 13 
 
 like I jest couldn't see her suffrin for her cup " 
 He stopped and his eyes filled. 
 
 " Psher," said the merchant, " what's a pound 
 of coffee more or less. Hand me that thar 
 scoop out o' the shot kaig, son." 
 
 But Joe shook his head : 
 
 " I couldn't take it that way," said he. 
 " Granny'd send me straight back if I did. 
 She'd allow it ware no more'n beggin'. An' she 
 allows nobody has got the right to be a beggar 
 who has got the strength to work. She 
 allows that thar be a sort of fairness even in 
 beggin', granny does. Besides, I aimed to give 
 her the coffee, and I allowed may be you-uns 
 would let me work it out. I could come straight 
 back, soon's I fetched the coffee home for granny's 
 breakfast. An'' I'll work it out full and fair ; 
 'deed I will, Mr. Jarvis." 
 
 The storekeeper stooped down and began scoop- 
 ing up the coffee : he did not measure it : there 
 was no need to let the boy know that his order 
 had been more than doubled. He would get full 
 pay in work : he had tried Joe Bentley before.
 
 14 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 " Whar'd you been, Joe," he asked while 
 wrapping the coffee in a sheet of brown paper. 
 " Whar'd you been so early of a mornin' on old 
 Kit?" Joe dropped his head and was silent ; he 
 stood before his one friend the unmistakable 
 image of guilty shame. 
 
 " Well, well," said Mr. Jarvis, " you needn't 
 tell unless you air so minded, but let us hope it 
 ware a healthy, lawful business you ware out 
 upon. These air mighty rough times, Joe, an' 
 a body's got to be watchful an' wary." 
 
 Joe lifted his head and looked the store- 
 keeper squarely in the eye. He knew the old 
 man allowed nobody to tell unlawful secrets in 
 his house, and Joe half expected he might be 
 kicked out, as he had seen big men kicked 
 many a time, for attempting to make a confi- 
 dent of old Jube. Still, he meant to make an 
 explanation. 
 
 " It ware not lawful," said he. " It ware 
 wicked an' unlawful work, an' I knew it all the 
 time. I ware holpin' to break the law. I tell 
 you fair, Mr. Jarvis. I went afore I came
 
 THE SETTLEMENT STORE 15 
 
 over here I went afore day, long afore day, to 
 fetch a load " 
 
 " Sh h." 
 
 A shadow darkened the doorway, the shadow 
 of a strange horse and rider. A man from one 
 of the valley towns below, judging from his 
 dress and appearance, had ridden up to the 
 step and drawn rein. The storekeeper leaned 
 across the counter and touched Joe's arm. 
 
 " Not a word more," said he, softly. " I 
 don't want to hear a word about it. You can't 
 allers tell what's a-goin' to happen, an' if any- 
 body comes here inquirin' o' me consarnin' the 
 rascality o' the kentry I ain't obligated to lie 
 for nobody, an' I won't be. Now do you-uns 
 run 'long home, an' take the nigh cut through 
 the woods, an' don't you be a-talkin' too much, 
 nuther." 
 
 He saw the gray mule trot off with her young 
 rider before he returned to respond to the 
 stranger's good morning. 
 
 " Mornin', stranger," said Jube, after which 
 he went behind the counter and in his best
 
 16 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 business manner said to the man who had fol- 
 lowed him into the store : 
 
 " What can I do for you, stranger ?" 
 
 "Why," laughed the visitor, "I think 
 you can do a great deal. You see, my good 
 friend" 
 
 " My name be Jarvis," said the merchant. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Jarvis, I am on the track of a 
 great rascal." 
 
 The merchant waved his hand, as though to 
 take in the entire premises. " S'arch," said he. 
 " I ain't concealin' nobody as air wanted, an' I 
 ain't consortin' with rascals, as I knows on. 
 S'arch the place if you're minded, stranger." 
 
 The strange man laughed again, lightly. 
 " Oh, I'm not suspecting you," said he. As he 
 spoke he threw back his coat ; there was not a 
 weapon in sight. The merchant noticed this, 
 as the visitor intended he should. Revenue 
 officers, as a general thing, came armed to the 
 teeth, and under cover of darkness. Evidently 
 this was not an officer, else he was one who had 
 determined to avoid all the old subterfuges of
 
 THE SETTLEMENT STORE 1? 
 
 his predecessors. Or else, Jube thought, he 
 must be a very ignorant young fellow to so dar- 
 ingly take his life in his own hands. 
 
 " I am not suspecting you. And, really, I 
 am not exactly out upon a search to-day ; but 
 I saw that boy come out of here " 
 
 The storekeeper held his breath ; had Joe 
 really got into some trouble, he wondered. He 
 supposed the boy had merely wished to talk 
 about his father, when he shut him up so un- 
 ceremoniously. He didn't care to have Lige 
 Bentley's illicit distilling thrust upon his con- 
 fidence. True, he had suspicions, had had them 
 all along ; but suspicions were not facts. If 
 Joe was in trouble, why, he was ready to help 
 him if he could, though he was not ready to 
 lie for him. He held that a man's first obliga- 
 tion is to his own honor, and that no man's 
 safety should be purchased at the expense of 
 one's own integrity. How he did hope that 
 this man would ask no compromising questions. 
 
 " Do you know that boy ?" was the first 
 question put. 
 2
 
 18 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 " Mighty well ; knowed him nigh all his life ; 
 handy a chap as you ever see." 
 
 " I thought so," said the stranger. " That is, 
 I thought he looked so. And that is what made 
 me suspect " 
 
 The merchant drew in his breath sharply and 
 waited to hear more, the heart in his bosom beat- 
 ing like a trip-hammer until the stranger said : 
 
 " Now, do you think I could hire this boy for 
 a day?" 
 
 " Hire him ? That you couldn't ; he's hired 
 to me ; he's got to keep store." 
 
 " Oh, and why didn't you say so at the first ?" 
 
 " Why didn't you ax me ? I answered you 
 ever time you've put a question, an' answered 
 you truthful, stranger." 
 
 The man withdrew without another word ; he 
 flung himself into the saddle and gave the reins 
 a jerk that sent his big bay spinning out into 
 the road. Suddenly he whirled, and called to 
 the old man standing in the doorway : 
 
 " See here, my friend, I guess you'd best not 
 mention my having been here."
 
 THE SETTLEMENT STORE 19 
 
 "All right, I won't, onless some one should ax 
 me. If they ax they git the truth, let 'em hail 
 from whar they will," and with a sigh of relief 
 the storekeeper returned to his boxes and barrels. 
 
 But he was ill at ease ; something, he felt, was 
 afoot; trouble was brewing for somebody, and 
 he felt a vague fear that somehow Joe was not 
 to escape. 
 
 For a long time the country around had been 
 infested with illicit distillers ; now and then 
 during later years there had been a raid, more 
 or less successful ; but for the most part the 
 " wildcatters," as they were called, or " moon- 
 shiners," were too wary, and too well shielded, 
 by the inaccessible cliffs, to feel any great alarm 
 for their safety. But very lately matters were 
 not moving so easily for the lawbreakers. Jube 
 Jarvis had no sympathy with the illicit trade ; 
 he kept well out of it, and out of its secret 
 hiding places. The " Revernuers " were wel- 
 come to come and go, to destroy or to pass by ; 
 it was nothing, personally, to old Jube. But 
 this boy, Joe Beutley, was a great deal to Jube ;
 
 20 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 if danger threatened Joe, however remotely, he 
 wanted to know it. 
 
 He thought a good deal about it after the 
 strange man left the store ; why had he picked 
 out Joe for his service ? And how was it that 
 he had chanced to come to the store at the same 
 time, and such an unusual time, that Joe had 
 come ? Might he not have been following him, 
 spying upon him, all the morning? And Joe 
 had admitted that he had been upon an unlaw- 
 ful errand. The merchant had grave fears. 
 
 " It jest won't do," said he : " Joe ain't had 
 any manner o' showin' in this world. Though 
 I aint sayiu' but what he's got a good, smart 
 old grau'mother that aims to do right by 
 him. But he's young an' onwary. If that thar 
 saft-speakin' youngster should overtake Joe on 
 the road, he would, like as not up an' confide to 
 him ever thing he knows, an' git hisse'f into no 
 end o' trouble, may be. I'm good mind to close 
 up an' go after him." 
 
 Then he remembered that he had cautioned 
 Joe to keep the trail, or " nigh cut," through
 
 THE SETTLEMENT STORE 21 
 
 the woods. This trail, both narrow and steep, 
 had been made by the adventurous cattle herders 
 on Hickorynut mountain, who were wont to come 
 across to the settlement Saturday afternoons for 
 supplies. It shortened the distance to Lige Bent- 
 ley's cabin by more than a mile ; and sure-footed 
 old Kit was not afraid of its steeps arid windings. 
 
 "If Joe keeps to the trail he'll be safe enough," 
 said the merchant ; " an' 'gainst he strikes the 
 big road on the way back thar'll be too many o' 
 the mount'n boys round to make it healthy for 
 strangers wearin' store clothes, I reckin." 
 
 At that moment there came to him the sound 
 of a horn ; a soft blast, blown from the doorway 
 of the house across the road ; he knew that it 
 meant his breakfast was ready. 
 
 He went out, drawing the door after him, and 
 stood a moment watching the long, yellow road 
 from the settlement. Another blast from the 
 horn reminded him that his cakes were cooling. 
 Still he lingered, watching for Joe. But there 
 was nothing to be seen save that straight, broad 
 line of yellow sand gleaming in the sunlight.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 
 
 THERE was to be a gander-pulling in the 
 neighborhood that day, and the storekeeper 
 knew that all the people for miles around would 
 be on hand to see the fun. The boys from 
 down on Brushy Creek, to say nothing of those 
 over on Pine Knot mountain, would turn out in 
 full force ; for fun was scarce, and to the 
 mountaineers there are few things so diverting 
 as a gander-pulling. 
 
 The storekeeper had reckoned upon the crowd 
 that would visit the store that morning, and was 
 not sorry that he was to have Joe's assistance. 
 For although the entertainment was not to come 
 off until afternoon, the crowd would come early 
 in the morning, bringing their dinners and 
 making an all-day trip of it. The forenoon, for 
 the most part, would be spent at the store ; not 
 22
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 23 
 
 so much in trading as in friendly gossip, 
 though the women, to be sure, would bring 
 their dried fruit and " spun truck " along to 
 barter with old Jube for sugar and coffee and 
 molasses. 
 
 The merchant gave a sigh of genuine relief as 
 he approached the store and saw through the 
 open door, Joe's cheery face beaming above the 
 counter. The place had been carefully swept, 
 and already there were two visitors occupying 
 the shuck-bottomed chairs set convenient for 
 customers just without the door. 
 
 " I would have come over an' told you, Mr. 
 Jarvis," said Joe ; " but they-uns allowed they'd 
 only come to set a spell, an' not to trade ; an' 
 so I didn't see no call for startin' of you up from 
 your breakfast. I allowed as may be I could 
 wait on sech as come before you got back. But 
 thar ain't been a blessed soul exceptin' of Mr. 
 Long out thar an' Jem." 
 
 Jube recognized the early visitors as a man 
 and his son, said to be in league with a certain 
 distiller by the name of Dawson, who was sup-
 
 24 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 posed to be operating a still some miles away 
 among the hills. He had scarcely time to 
 more than say good-morning, however, before 
 others began to come in, some to gossip, some 
 to trade, and ere long the little store was 
 crowded. 
 
 Among the very first to arrive was an old 
 woman by the name of Martin, Polly Martin, 
 known throughout the neighborhood for the 
 sharpness of her tongue, as well as of her wits. 
 She came up, panting and blowing from her 
 long tramp, plumped an open-mouthed jar 
 down on the step, nodded to the assembled 
 neighbors and went into the store, carrying a 
 roll of yellow yarn, some home-knit socks, and 
 a bag of dried fruit, which she had brought to 
 barter for certain necessary articles, after the 
 custom of the mountaineers. She entered with 
 a brusque, business-like air, and a semblance of 
 extreme good humor ; but the practiced eye of 
 the storekeeper saw the anxiety .underlying 
 the make-believe lightness. 
 
 " Mornin', folkses ! moniin', Jube !" was her
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 25 
 
 greeting. " Got any time to fritter away on a 
 ole woman like me, Jube? Then stir your 
 stumps, man, an' let me get along back home. 
 The men folkses at my place air plumb set on 
 goin' to the gander-pullin' this evenin', an' I'm 
 obleeged to git back an' stay long o' the chillen, 
 an' the house, so as they-uns can go. It won't do 
 to disapp'int the men folkses, I tell you ; the men 
 folkses an' the gander. Why, I a'most mis- 
 doubts that thar gander could get its own con- 
 sent to have its neck pulled without the men 
 from my place. 'Pears like the gander would 
 sort o' know it would be a disapp'intin' occa- 
 sion. Want some socks to-clav, Jube ? I'm 
 
 / * 
 
 plumb set on havin' some sorghum for the 
 chillen. We-uns ain't got a drap. The last I 
 got ware not good. I trornped five mile an' 
 better to git it ; over to Yarbrough's. An' 
 Yarbrough don't measure fair, nuther. . So 
 this mornin' I says to the chillen, says I, 
 * Jube Jarvis gives fair measure, an' I be goin' 
 over to trade with Jube. An' here I be.' ' 
 The storekeeper grunted, as he proceeded to
 
 26 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 unwrap the bundle of yarn. " Since you ware 
 so set on tradin' along o' me," said he, " whyn't 
 you fetch them thar eggs here las' Christmas, 
 as you promised to do ?" 
 
 " Laws-a-massy, Jube, ain't you-uns forgot 
 them eggs yit? Why, they'd a been e't up 
 long ago, or else sp'iled. What diffe'nce can it 
 make this late day ?" 
 
 " It makes the diffe'uce of a promise," said 
 Jube. " I allers keep my word to folkses, an' I 
 look to others to keep thar word to me. What 
 air you wantin' for this truck, Mis' Martin ?" 
 
 "Some sorghum, Jube. Thar's the jar for it 
 outside the door. I ware that fagged out I 
 couldn't fetch it another step. I want some sor- 
 ghum an* a mite o' coffee. Then I want a slip 
 o' bacon for the apples. An' I allowed as may 
 be you-uns'd fling in a box o' snuff. I ain't 
 had a good dip since I traded for that thar box 
 last summer. Do you rickerlect, Jube ?" 
 
 " I ain't goin' to throw in a blessed thing," 
 declared the storekeeper. " I aims to be fair, 
 an' may be generous, with my own customers,
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 27 
 
 but I ain't obligated to make presents to Jim 
 Yarbrough's customers. You-uns can go over 
 thar fur snuff. I'll fill the jar an' let you 
 have the meat, but I ain't thro win' in no 
 extrys." 
 
 It was a small thing, merely an incident in 
 the day's happenings. There was a touch of 
 surliness about it, too, that appealed to the mer- 
 chant's sense of fairness, making him half 
 regret what he had done when he saw the old 
 woman start on her long tramp to the desolate 
 cabin among the crags. In winter, when the 
 trees were stripped of their foliage, he could see 
 the brown cabin perched upon the steep bluffs, in 
 the rear of the store, like a great ungainly 
 vulture ready to swoop down upon the un : 
 suspecting little settlement. It was scarcely a 
 half-mile distant straight up the bluffs, but the 
 crags were bold and steep, and the three-mile 
 tramp by the public road was less fatiguing than 
 any attempt to scale those almost inaccessible 
 heights. 
 
 The storekeeper felt himself a brute to refuse
 
 28 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 the snuff; it would have made a welcome com- 
 panion on that long, tiresome trip. He hadn't 
 a doubt but that was what had brought her to 
 the store ; and he had a suspicion that she had 
 stolen away to the settlement without the knowl- 
 edge of her husband, for she generally did 
 her trading at a distant settlement on the other 
 side of the bluff, with a merchant by the name 
 of Yarbrough. Yarbrough was close and grasp- 
 ing, and Jube knew that it was old Martin who 
 made his wife do her trading there ; he and Jube 
 had quarreled some time since, and after that old 
 Mrs. Martin never came to the settlement except 
 on such occasions as she could " slip off," un- 
 known to the old man. She had relied upon 
 Jube's generosity to throw in the snuff. Jube 
 was disgusted with himself; he thought once of 
 sending Joe to run and overtake her with the 
 box, but some one came in and it slipped his 
 mind. 
 
 A little thing, merely a box of disgusting, 
 yellow snuff; yet, could he have foreseen the part 
 it was to play in the day's proceedings he would
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WAKNING 29 
 
 indeed have felt, as lie said, " that you can't 
 allers tell whar a little, small act will end." 
 
 The new arrival who distracted the store- 
 keeper's attention from the episode of the snuff 
 was a young man, who, at a glance, the mer- 
 chant supposed to be a stranger. But a second 
 look convinced him there was something odd, 
 and not altogether unfamiliar, in the man's 
 appearance. The mass of yellow hair that 
 crowned his rather shapely head didn't appear 
 to have just a natural set ; and the hands, 
 though dark, were too small to belong to the 
 mountaineers. In an instant the storekeeper 
 recognized the fact that this new arrival was 
 disguised. 
 
 He asked for a " plug of chawing tobaccy " 
 in such a very natural drawl, however, that for 
 a moment the merchant almost doubted the dis- 
 guise. 
 
 He paid for his purchase, bit off a great hunk 
 of it, and strolling over to an empty, upturned 
 cracker box, dropped leisurely down upon it 
 as though he had merely stopped in, in a
 
 30 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 most natural way, to hear the gossip of the 
 day. 
 
 Close upon his heels came Dawson, the moon- 
 shiner, who seldom showed himself about the 
 settlement, and whose coming at this moment 
 filled Jube's heart with forebodings of trouble. 
 
 Duwson stood leaning a moment against the 
 counter, watching the stranger through his ugly, 
 swollen lids. His two confederates, Long and 
 his son, moved their chairs nearer the open 
 door, thus commanding a view of the entire 
 store. 
 
 And all the time that Dawson was eyeing the 
 strange man, the stranger was watching Joe 
 Bentley. Many times Joe had passed him, 
 brushing him more than once in the crowd, as 
 he went in and out carrying bundles to the 
 wagons of the customers, hitching horses for the 
 women, and sometimes carrying a pail full of 
 water to some thirsty traveler en route to the 
 gander-pulling. 
 
 And Jube keen-eyed, sharp-witted old Jube 
 Jarvis was watching the entire proceedings ;
 
 31 
 
 and always with an eye single to the safety of 
 his young assistant. 
 
 When the rush of custom had subsided some- 
 what, Dawson addressed the merchant : 
 
 " Had many callers this mornin', Jube ?" 
 
 " Right sharp," was the reply, given with 
 indifferent interest. 
 
 " Didn't any come afore you ware up, I reck- 
 in, did they, Jube ?" said old man Long from 
 the doorway 
 
 The storekeeper looked up just in time to catch 
 the unmistakable wink that passed between him 
 and Dawson. But he was quite ready for them. 
 
 " Why, yes," said he, in the same tone of 
 indifference ; " I did have a customer, so to 
 speak, afore I ware fairly up this mornin'. Come 
 in a mighty hurry, ridin' a right peart nag, an' 
 didn't stop powerful long, nuther." 
 
 A shade of purple seemed to gather under the 
 red of Dawson's skin, as he demanded to know 
 who the customer was. 
 
 " Who ware it ?" said he. " Who ware it 
 come a-tradin' so early ?"
 
 32 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 
 
 The merchant glanced at the young clerk, 
 measuring at that moment a peck of dried beans 
 into a bag, and said : 
 
 " Why, Joe, thar." 
 
 "Joe?" 
 
 "Yes, Joe Bentley; come to git some coffee 
 for his granny afore settin' in for his day's 
 work. An' the spry young nag he rid over, 
 why, it's tethered out thar somewhars, I reckin. 
 She answers to the name of Kit, if you're 
 wantin' to talk to her." 
 
 There was a laugh among the men, at Daw- 
 son's expense ; even the big distiller himself 
 smiled at the storekeeper's wit, and not one of 
 them thought to inquire if Joe was the only cus- 
 tomer who had called in the early hours of the 
 morning. Jube had his answer ready, but as 
 nobody put the question he said no more ; only 
 to tell himself that it was " none of his business 
 to remind them of their oversight." 
 
 At that moment he chanced to look at the 
 man on the cracker box. Did the fellow give 
 him a wink before dropping his gaze to the
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 33 
 
 floor ? A moment later, on some pretext of 
 looking for something on that side of the room, 
 Jube approached the stranger and gave him a 
 more critical survey. In dress he was a typical 
 mountaineer, wearing a suit of brownish-gray 
 jeans, a loose frock coat, old, and somewhat 
 patched ; a red necktie, considerably crumpled, 
 and a slouch hat, rammed in, sugar-loaf fashion, 
 topping the shock of yellow hair. 
 
 About this time one of the men about the 
 door called out in friendly salutation : 
 
 " Hello, stranger ; whar'd you hail from ?" 
 
 The man on the box replied in the very 
 purest dialect : 
 
 " From over on Cooney, down yander." 
 
 " Come a-pleasurin' ?" said Dawson. 
 
 " Come to see the gyander-pullin'," was the 
 reply. 
 
 After this the talk became general, the inter- 
 est shifting to the gander that was expected to 
 furnish sport for the afternoon. 
 
 Some " allowed " that Jim Teik would get the 
 gander's neck " first pull ; " while others main- 
 3
 
 34 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 tained that " Lush Simmons would never so 
 much as let Teik git his fingers greased," if 
 Lush should be so lucky as to " draw his pull 
 before Teik's chance came." 
 
 In the general discussion the visitor from 
 Cooney was really forgotten. And evidently 
 the visitor from Cooney forgot himself; in fact 
 he must have forgotten that he was from Cooney 
 at all, and a mountaineer, and supposed to know 
 all about gauder-pullings. For as the interest 
 waxed warmer, he tilted himself back as grace- 
 fully as the backless box would admit of his 
 doing, and called out to the astonished assembly, 
 regardless of dialect and forgetful of conse- 
 quences : 
 
 " How is it done, gentlemen ? How is the 
 gander pulled ?" 
 
 A full dozen bounded to their feet, in sheer 
 astonishment. Dawson slipped his hand down 
 to the hilt of the blade in his belt and waited 
 developments. 
 
 " Live on Cooney an' never see a gander- 
 pullin ' ?" said one.
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 35 
 
 " Why Cooney Creek air gander heaven," 
 declared another. While a third laughed out- 
 right, and declared : " Why, my grandad used 
 to live on Cooney Creek, an' his old woman 
 p'intedly raised ganders for a livin' ; the boys 
 ware that give to pullin' of 'em. Whar's your 
 mammy, son, that you-uus ain't never see agan- 
 der-pullin' ?" 
 
 It was Dawson, however, who really answered 
 the stranger's question; he squared himself in the 
 sunlighted doorway, his hand toying with the hit 
 of yellow horn hilt visible at his belt, and said : 
 
 " Well, stranger" 
 
 There was just the faintest glimmer of steel 
 below the knife's hilt, but the stranger only 
 smiled in an innocent, boyish way and said : 
 
 " Well, I'm a-listnin' to you;" 
 
 " Well, then," said Dawson, " we pull 'em here 
 right frequent. If a gander don't come real 
 handy we jest pull somethin' else instid. The 
 way we do it air this : we first find out if he's 
 a good bird for neck twistin', fitten for nothin' 
 else more'n likely, an then we grease his neck
 
 36 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 right good and swing him up by his feet, if he's 
 a sure 'nough gander. Then the boys mount 
 thar horses, and then the 'ringmaster/ as they 
 say in the circus, he gives the nag a whack with 
 a raw hide that sends him spinnin' under the 
 gander's tree whar he air swung to, an' the 
 rider has to make a lunge at that thar greased 
 neck o' the gander's. That's the way we pull 
 ganders in this country, stranger, only we don't 
 allers stop to grease thar necks. 'Pends on who 
 air the ringmaster. But you-uns come on an' see 
 the pullin' this evenin' ; we'll pull one jest to 
 pleasure you ; maybe we'll pull two." 
 
 There was ugly meaning in Dawson's words, 
 but the stranger did not show the faintest sign 
 that he failed to take the description in good 
 part ; his reply contained more regret for his 
 own ignorance than any doubt of Dawson's 
 sincerity ; 
 
 " We-uns aint been livin'on Cooney very long, 
 an' thar waren't any gander-pullin' whar I ware 
 raised. I mean to see this one though, for sure 
 an' sartain."
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 37 
 
 He got up after awhile, and went off in the 
 direction of the place selected for the day's sport, 
 about a half-mile beyond the settlement. Others 
 began to drop off soon, and before twelve o'clock 
 only the proprietor and Joe were left in the 
 store. 
 
 When the last old woman had ridden away 
 on a sway-back mare with a long-legged colt at 
 her heels, a carpet-bag satchel swung to the 
 horn of the saddle, and a mop between the 
 gums of the toothless rider, Mr. Jarvis called 
 Joe to him. 
 
 "Want to go to the gander-pullin', Joe?" 
 said he. 
 
 " No, sir," Joe replied with suspicious prompt- 
 ness. 
 
 " Go if you want to," said the merchant; "go 
 if you want to." 
 
 But Joe shook his head. 
 
 " Granny said I ware not to go," said he. 
 " Granny allowed that thar ware not any sport 
 but only cruelty in treatin' of ganders that way : 
 an' she said we-uns had had trouble an' suff'rin'
 
 38 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 enough without wantin' to make pleasure out 
 o' the sufferin's o' others : though it mightn't be 
 nothin' but a foolish old gander. I'd ruther stay 
 here after granny said that, an' tend the store. 
 But you go on, Mr. Jarvis, I can take keer o' 
 things. You go on to the pullin'." 
 
 " An' what makes you allow I could find my 
 pleasure in the suffrin's of one o' God A'mighty's 
 critters ?" demanded the storekeeper. 
 
 Joe colored : 
 
 " I didn't mean that thar," said he quickly. 
 " Some folks allow ganders don't count nohows, 
 being as they-uns have got to die anyway. An' 
 some say they haven't got any reasonin' an' 
 don't know if they air ill-treated, an' I have 
 heard say ganders can't die." 
 
 The merchant grunted : 
 
 " Heard that from them as likes to see 
 the pullin' o' thar necks, I reckin. Most 
 folkses cut thar cloth to hide thar own deform- 
 ities, Joe, jest you rickerlect that. Now I'm 
 a-goin' over yander to see that thar gander die. 
 He ain't any relation o' mine, as I knows on ;
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 39 
 
 an' no matter what the kinship air, I'm a-goin' 
 to see him die. You run over to the house an' 
 tell Sary to give you a bite o' dinner : then 
 skip back here an' I'll go and eat, an' then keep 
 right on to the pullin'. I sha'n't be gone mighty 
 long : an' if anybody comes along here askin' 
 after me, do you jest say I've gone to the gan- 
 der-pullin', an' if anybody comes wantin' to 
 hire you-uns, jest tell 'em you're hired to me : 
 for two days. I reckin you didn't know I put 
 two pounds o' coffee in that thar package this 
 morning. Well, I did : an' I claim you for two 
 days to pay for it. So thar." 
 
 " Now, Mr. Jarvis," said Joe earnestly, " I'm 
 pow'ful sorry you done that. I can't come 
 to-morrow, for true. I've got to got to why ? 
 I'm obligated to work somewhars else to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 " Whar ?" demanded the merchant. " Whar 
 have you got to work so suddent?" 
 
 Joe hesitated, and glanced apprehensively at 
 the yellow sand of the road outside. Somehow 
 he always seemed to feel the sole of Jube's big
 
 40 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 boot whenever lie looked at that sandy road. He 
 had seen grown up men go spinning out into it, 
 helped along by that same boot : he fancied that 
 a boy of his size might never stop short of the 
 tops of the big maple tree, if old Jube decided to 
 kick him out. 
 
 He fancied, too, that Jube must know of his 
 father's still : it had been running for several 
 years. Yet he dared not tell the old man that 
 his father had ordered him to haul a load of ap- 
 ples to the still the very next morning ; and to 
 remain there and help the men with some mash 
 they were making. 
 
 The boy's embarrassment misled the store- 
 keeper : his thought was that the stranger of 
 the early morning had intercepted Joe after all, 
 and that he was about to step into some trap 
 that had been laid for him. 
 
 He laid his hand on the boy's arm. 
 
 " See here, Joe," said he, " me an' my old 
 woman have allers had a feelin' for you-uns, 
 seein' as you ain't got any mammy, an' worse 
 than no pappy. You ain't had much show in
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 41 
 
 this world, an' I've been thinkin' that some time 
 maybe you'll be tellin' youse'f that you ain't 
 to blame for doin' of things aginst the law, an' 
 sech as that. Now I want to tell you that you 
 will be to blame. The law'll hold you jest as 
 guilty as it holds the meanest of its critters who 
 go an' do the same thing you-uns may do. An' 
 the good Lord ain't goin' to hold you innercent, 
 nuther, beca'se he has give you the gift of 
 reasonin', an' of knowin' right from wrong. 
 He ain't goin' to hold no soul innercent on 
 which he has bestowed the gift of conscience. 
 Now, do you rickerlect that ! Now, I'm goin' 
 to be gone a bit, an' if anybody comes a-snakin' 
 in here try in' to toll you off, or hire you, do you 
 jest say Jube Jarvis won't let you off, an' 
 that'll end it. An' mind you don't do any 
 extry tongue work, nuther, whilest I'm gone. 
 Run on, now, an' git your dinner." 
 
 At the door Joe turned, stopped. 
 
 " Mr. Jarvis," said he, " I'm obleeged to 
 work at at home to-morrow. Leastways father 
 said said "
 
 42 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 " Oh, at home !" said the merchant. " Whyn't 
 you say so at first ? Well, you needn't be 
 worryiu' about that, I'm thinkin' they won't 
 need you to-morrow, Joe." 
 
 Joe hadn't the faintest idea what he meant, 
 but he was very glad to think the storekeeper 
 might be right, and that he should be at liberty 
 to work at the store. And he felt glad, too, 
 now that he could see his way to paying for it, 
 that granny had her coffee for some days to 
 come. 
 
 When the merchant had gone off to the 
 gander-pulling, and no other customers came 
 in, Joe began to feel lonely. The very silence, 
 after the noisy crowd, had a loneliness about it, 
 and the parting admonition of the storekeeper, 
 too, served to make the boy thoughtful. The 
 earnest words had sunk deep into his heart, fill- 
 ing it with a strange half fear of something 
 that might, perhaps, be threatening his own 
 peace. 
 
 He became almost afraid of the familial 1 old 
 store itself after awhile. The big barrels as-
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 43 
 
 sumed a certain aspect of awe, as though they 
 could foresee the trouble ahead, and would 
 have warned him if they could. 
 
 After struggling for half an hour with the 
 feeling, which he told himself was mere coward- 
 ice, he went out and took a seat in one of the 
 vacant chairs on the little porch, and gave him- 
 self up to reflection. He had been unhappy 
 enough carrying that fearful secret of the hid- 
 den still over on the Rainbow Falls ; but now 
 the thought that God would not hold him 
 guiltless filled him with a fear infinitely 
 more dreadful than any fear of man's broken 
 laws. 
 
 What could he do? Refuse to haul the 
 apples that made him a party to the unlawful 
 business ? That would be to bring down upon 
 himself the wrath of his father, with such pun- 
 ishment as he did not now feel able to bear. 
 And already the men were clamoring for more 
 of his time. He was " too saft," they declared ; 
 too much "afeard of his shadder," and "too 
 good to be real trusty." He might consider it
 
 44 A MOONSHIXER S SON" 
 
 his duty, they declared, to " up an' give the 
 still away some time." 
 
 So they demanded that he should be made to 
 feel himself a partner in the business, a law- 
 breaker as well as they, since this was the only 
 sure means of " stopping his mouth." 
 
 " After awhile," they said, " when he's older, 
 he'll see things different." After awhile they 
 knew that his tender conscience would have 
 become hardened and he would indeed be one 
 of them. " Unless," they always added, " Lige 
 don't make out to kill him first, in a drunken 
 temper." 
 
 Defy men like that? The mere thought of it 
 brought to him the memory of the rawhide; 
 he winced, as though he could feel it cutting 
 into his flesh. Once he thought of running 
 away : but he remembered granny, and gave up 
 that plan of escape at once. Suddenly a clatter 
 of hoofs, muffled somewhat by the sandy road, 
 broke in upon his thought. A moment later 
 the tawny mane of a great claybank gelding, 
 side by side with a gallant roan, dashed into
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 45 
 
 sight. The horses were strange to the com- 
 munity : Joe recognized on the instant that 
 both animals and riders were from a distance. 
 No such steeds were ever seen among those 
 rocky ways : great glossy-limbed, foam-flecked 
 creatures that seemed to take hold upon the 
 solid earth with their strong, shapely feet. Joe 
 watched them in fascinated surprise for a mo- 
 ment. As they drew nearer he saw that they 
 were mud-spattered and somewhat overheated, 
 as though they had traveled far and fast. 
 
 They galloped straight up to the settlement 
 store where Joe was sitting, and stopped. 
 Then, for the first time, Joe remembered that 
 they might be members of the revenue service. 
 
 He had scarcely drawn his breath, however, 
 before one of the men addressed him. 
 
 " Hello, bub," said the rider of the claybanK, 
 " where's the boss ?" 
 
 Instantly Joe remembered the storekeeper's 
 warning and instructions : 
 
 " Gone ter the gander-pullin'," said he. 
 
 The men seemed disturbed for a moment:
 
 46 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 they held a short, half-whispered consulta- 
 tion, then the one who had spoken to Joe said : 
 
 " Could we get a drink of water here, bub ?" 
 
 Joe replied, without moving from his chair : 
 
 " Thar ain't any water here fitten ter drink, 
 an' I can't leave the store ter fetch any. Thar 
 was a pail, full and -fresh ; but Jim Sanderson's 
 coon got in it an' washed his hands, an' it aiiit 
 fitten ter drink. Thar's a spring right over thai 
 cross the road, an' a new gourd : ye can get a 
 drink thar." 
 
 Joe gave this information without the faintest 
 show of interest : the strangers might have 
 been discouraged as to further conversation 
 had their business not been so urgent. 
 
 " See here, bub," said one, " we are mighty 
 sorry to have missed Mr. Jarvis. But maybe 
 you can tell us the way to the Eastop place. It 
 is out this way somewhere?" 
 
 Joe shook his head : " Don't know nothin' 
 'bout it." 
 
 The strangers held another whispered con- 
 sultation, then turned to Joe again :
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 47 
 
 " See here, bub, can't we hire you awhile ?" 
 
 Joe started, and almost tumbled off his chair : 
 he was wondering how on earth Mr. Jarvis 
 knew what these men were going to say to him. 
 Evidently he did know, and that was sufficient 
 to prompt Joe to reply without hesitation, and 
 in a way that admitted of no argument : 
 
 " No, sir," said he, " ye can't. I'm hired here : 
 ter keep store." 
 
 " To-morrow, then," said the stranger ; " see 
 here !" He- ran his hand into his pocket and 
 drew out a half-dozen silver coins. He held 
 up a bright new dollar. " I'll give you, say five 
 of these, for a day's work ; if you do it well I'll 
 make it ten !" 
 
 To a boy brought up in simple, humble ways, 
 as Joe had been, the money did not possess any 
 very great temptation, although he under- 
 stood that those ten dollars would bring many 
 things into the little cabin on the bluff hitherto 
 unknown there. With those pieces of silver 
 safely hidden away from his father's eye, his 
 grandmother would be sure of her coffee for
 
 48 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 many a day, when Lige was drunk and would 
 not allow them to send to the store tor it. He 
 thought of the new tools they would add to the 
 little chest under granny's bed, and of the 
 tobacco with which they would supply her pipe, 
 if only they were his. He thought very quickly, 
 however, and not once with any idea of accept- 
 ing the offer tendered him ; he was already 
 hired; that was sufficient reason for refusal, 
 without Mr. Jarvis's special warning. He shook 
 his yellow-crowned head, therefore, and replied 
 with dogged persistence : 
 
 " I ain't fur hire to-morrer nuther ; I'm hired 
 here already to Mr. Jarvis ; I done told you 
 onc't." 
 
 With this they understood that he was regu- 
 larly employed at the store and at once changed 
 their offer. 
 
 " Well, then, we must find Mr. Jarvis," said 
 the gentleman who was astride the roan. 
 " Scoot down from there, youngster, and pilot us 
 to the place where they are having the gander- 
 pulling and you get that."
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 49 
 
 He flipped a dollar at him with his thumb 
 and forefinger as he spoke. The silver struck 
 Joe's knee and fell upon the floor, where it 
 made a dozen little revolutions in the sunlight 
 before it lay at the boy's feet with the goddess of 
 liberty staring at him in a sort of injured sur- 
 prise. 
 
 Joe merely glanced at the money without 
 stirring from his place. 
 
 " I'm obligated to stay right here," said he, 
 " and I aim to stay. I mostly tries to do what 
 I'm obligated to do ; but you-uns can find the 
 gander-pullin' easy enough ; keep straight 
 ahead that thar road right before you till you 
 come to a big boulder 'longside the way ; storm 
 flung it off" the bluff one night an' left it thar. 
 When you git to the boulder, turn to the left 
 and thar's the gander pullin'." 
 
 He stooped, picked up the silver, handed it 
 back to its owner, and then went immediately 
 into the store. He had suddenly remembered 
 Jube's last warning, " not to talk too much." 
 
 " Seems to me," he told himself, as he moved 
 4
 
 50 A MOONSHINEK'S SON 
 
 among the familiar boxes in the rear of the 
 house, " seems to me the kentry air full of gun- 
 powder, ready to go off." 
 
 The strange men parleyed a moment at the 
 door. 
 
 " It isn't any earthly use," said one, " to try 
 to make it without the boy. With that boy as 
 a guide we could go right into the midst of 
 them, two attorneys, as it were, securing evi- 
 dence concerning the late murder at the Eastop 
 place Hush!" 
 
 From the crags in the rear of the store came 
 the sound of a horn a long, mellow note, fol- 
 lowed by three short, sharp, commanding ones. 
 Again, and yet a third time it was repeated : 
 that strange, commanding melody, and always 
 precisely the same note, in precisely the same 
 time. The men, started ; the horn was a signal, 
 a warning to some one, somewhere. 
 
 Joe, bending over a nail keg, heard it and 
 turned a startled face to the door. At that mo- 
 ment a man came running from the woods across 
 the road. He was carrying a gun, and a long
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 51 
 
 hunting knife was in his belt. He gesticulated 
 wildly to the men sitting on their horses be- 
 fore the door of the store, and shouted a warn- 
 ing that came distinctly to Joe's ears : 
 
 " For your lives ride !" 
 
 The next instant the strangers had put spurs 
 to their horses and were galloping down the 
 mountain in a cloud of yellow dust, as fast as 
 their steeds could carry them ; riding for their 
 lives. The horn was a signal from some point, 
 warning the wildcatters that the revenue officers 
 were on their track. Joe recognized it at once 
 as the signal agreed upon among these daring 
 violators of the law. But if the officers had 
 an enemy who was spying upon them they 
 likewise had an ally, and Joe Bentley had 
 recognized in that ally Joyce Grim, one of 
 the most regular patrons of the various illicit 
 establishments scattered throughout the moun- 
 tain. 
 
 The officers had taken to flight at once; when 
 they were well out of sight Grim strolled 
 leisurely into the store and asked for some
 
 52 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 tobacco. Having paid for it, he dropped with a 
 great pretense of weariness upon the cracker 
 box where earlier in the day the stranger from 
 Cooney had sat, and began to tell Joe of a 
 thrilling fox hunt that he had been enjoying. 
 " T'ware away over yander on Pant'er Creek," 
 he declared. " I tromped all night long to git 
 here in time to holp pay complirnints to that 
 thar gyauder-pullin', an' come up jest in time to 
 miss it at the last. Jest my luck ; allers my 
 luck. Never had no luck at nuthin', nohows. 
 Didn't git no fox nuther, the blame critter run 
 itse'f into a bresh heap sech as no respectable 
 dog would go into after it. Had to give it up ; 
 gander same way. Well, well ! I reckin I'll 
 jest set here an' keep you-uns comp'ny till the 
 rest come back, Joe." 
 
 Joe said nothing ; he knew well enough that 
 Griin's sharp, little black eyes were fixed upon 
 him, and he almost trembled lest they should 
 probe the terrible secret of which he had acci- 
 dentally become possessed. He knew that this 
 was what had brought the man into the store ;
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 53 
 
 to learn whether Joe had seen and heard that 
 which he had done. And he had seen the 
 signal and had heard the warning ; he under- 
 stood that the men were revenue officers, and 
 that Joyce was an informer, a spy. Joe knew 
 also that this meant certain death if once the 
 spy should come within the power of the moon- 
 shiners. Grim's doom was sealed, as sure as 
 fate, if information came to their ears concerning 
 that signal, and that three-word warning : " For 
 your lives !" 
 
 Joe was too startled to quite understand what 
 he meant to do, but he knew that Grim must not 
 know that he had seen or heard. He tried to 
 speak of other things ; to ask about the fox 
 hunt; but somehow his tongue refused to obey 
 him. Had he spoken at all he felt that he 
 would have shrieked out, loud enough to be 
 heard at the gander-pulling, half mile away ; 
 and what he said would be : " What made you 
 do it ? Don't you know they will hang you for 
 telling where the stills are hid ?" It seemed to 
 him ages that he sat there trying to ask about
 
 54 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 the fox hunt over on Panther Creek, and saying 
 nothing ; in reality it was not three minutes. 
 
 Suddenly the informer lifted himself with a 
 l)ound to his feet and reached for his knife. He 
 had caught the expression of fear in Joe's face. 
 
 "What do ye know?" he hissed. "What 
 did ye see ? What did ye hear ? Out with it, 
 ye saft-spoke kid ye, afore I rip it from ye with 
 my knife. An' you got to swear you wont tell 
 it, no matter who may ask you. I ain't told on 
 your pappy nohows. Swear, I tell you, afore 
 I come any nigher." 
 
 The informer gave the knife a threatening 
 turn as he drew nearer. Evidently he supposed 
 he had only a " kid," as he said, to deal with. 
 But Joe was not so " soft " as Grim had sup- 
 posed. He sprang back, squared himself against 
 the wall, and doubled his fists : 
 
 " Stan' back thar, Joyce Grim," said he, 
 " Stan' back thar, I tell you, You'll find it a 
 mighty sorry day for you if you lay that thar 
 knife on me." 
 
 Whether the threat was merely to frighten
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 55 
 
 him into silence, or whether there was some- 
 thing that appealed to him in the sight of the 
 boy, ready, single handed, to fight for his life, 
 Joe did not know, but sullenly Joyce stopped 
 and slowly sheathed his knife. 
 
 " Now," said he, " ain't you a pretty baby to 
 come a-bullyin' of a man my size." 
 
 " An' ain't you a pretty coward," said Joe " to 
 come a-threatenin' of a boy my size ? A mighty 
 brave man you. Maybe you think beca'se I'm 
 1 saft ' I won't fight nuther, but don't you be 
 befoolin of yourse'f, thinkin' as I'll stand by an' 
 whimper whilest you-uns tries to skeer me ; or 
 maybe kill me with that thar huntin' knife o' 
 yourn. But I will ; I'll fight till I drap in my 
 tracks, 'fore I'll let a bully like you-uns be 
 imposin' on me wrongful. Stan' back thar, I 
 tell you. Whyn't you gimme time to answer 
 you ? No ; I won't lie for nobody ; an' I wont 
 swear nuther ; not for nobody, let alone you- 
 uns. You ax me what I see an' heeard ? Well, 
 I see you-uns " 
 
 '* Shet up thar !" yelled Grim ; " if you don't
 
 56 A MOONSHINERS SON 
 
 want your mouth shet for you. Bawlin' out to 
 the whole " 
 
 A step sounded outside, perhaps Grim had 
 heard it, and a stout, familiar figure filled the 
 doorway. 
 
 " How now? What's up? What's all this 
 here row in my house mean ? What you doin' 
 here, Grim ?" 
 
 Jube Jarvis stood in the door, his usually 
 pleasant face angry and threatening ; he glanced 
 at the visitor, dogged and sullen enough he 
 looked now, and then at Joe, braced against the 
 wall, with his eyes full of anger and his hands 
 still drawn up into fists. 
 
 " He come at me with his knife," said Joe. " He 
 come at me with his knife, Mr. Jarvis, an' allowed 
 I ware a ' saft-spoke kid ' beca'se I see him " 
 
 Jube Jarvis didn't care to shoulder Grim's 
 deadly secret; he didn't wait for Joe to finish, 
 he merely stepped across the room, lifted his 
 big cowhide boot and sent his last customer fly- 
 ing through the open door like a spent sky 
 rocket on the home trip.
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 57 
 
 He landed in front of the horses of a 
 party returning from the gander-pulling, and a 
 loud guffaw greeted his descent, head foremost 
 in the yellow sand. 
 
 They jibed and joked him without mercy as 
 he struggled to his feet spitting the sand from 
 his mouth, and shaking it from his hair ; while 
 more than one rider wondered to his neighbor 
 who " Joyce Grim had been a-trying to fight in 
 Jube Jarvis's store, to make the ole man kick 
 him out." 
 
 That kick, however, did good service as testi- 
 mony later on when the moonshiners were 
 hunting evidence concerning the information to 
 the officers. 
 
 As for Grim, he followed the warning given 
 the officers, and " rode for his life." That was 
 the last ever seen of him on the mountain. 
 
 The storekeeper had nothing to say for a 
 long while, after the odd exit to which he had 
 assisted his unwelcome customer. Joe felt uneasy 
 enough : he had knowingly and purposely 
 broken one of the rules of the store. He had
 
 58 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 more than half expected to be kicked out him- 
 self, and was not by any means sure just 
 what manner of punishment would be inflicted 
 upon him. He was sorry to have been the 
 cause of disturbance : yet he was not the 
 least sorry that he had defied Joyce Grim. 
 
 " Can't anything make me sorry I toP that 
 thar sneak he was a coward," said he as he 
 stood back among the shadows in the store wait- 
 ing for Mr. Jarvis to speak. 
 
 The old man sat in front of the door, on the 
 outside, smoking his pipe, his old face wearing 
 something very nearly resembling a smile, only 
 Joe did not know that, for the face was turned 
 from him, and moreover was half hidden by the 
 smoke rising from the pipe. 
 
 Joe glanced at the tall maple tree, and then 
 down at his own spare dimensions. 
 
 " Ef he'd a kicked me plumb square up to 
 the topmos' limbs I'd be glad I sassed that thar 
 Grim," said he ; and he said it aloud, without 
 being conscious that he was speaking. " Wanted 
 to swear me to lie for him." The chair in
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 59 
 
 which the proprietor was sitting squeaked, ever 
 so lightly, and the fat figure of the proprietor 
 shook, just the least little bit, but nobody 
 saw it, except it might be a crow that was 
 passing overhead to a dead tree on the crags 
 hard by 
 
 Twilight descended, the merchant smoked on ; 
 and still Joe waited for his scolding. Finally 
 he went outside, where Mr. Jarvis was sit- 
 ting, and hung about silent and uneasy, until at 
 last the merchant looked up from his pipe and 
 said : 
 
 "Well, Joe? Well, sir?" 
 
 " I hope, sir," said Joe, plunging at once into 
 the trouble, " I hope you ben't mad beca'se I fit 
 him in the store." 
 
 The fat face was suddenly obscured by a cloud 
 of blue smoke, but there was a half concealed 
 satisfaction in the old man's voice as he said, 
 with well assumed carelessness : 
 
 " Did ye fight him, Joe ?" 
 
 " I would a fit," said Joe. " I ain't desarvin' 
 of no good words for not fightin', Mr. Jarvis,
 
 60 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 for I would a fit in a minute. He drawed on 
 me, an' called me a ' saft-spoke,' an' allowed I 
 had to tell what I knowed, else he'd git it from 
 me with his knife. If he'd come a step nigher 
 I'd a fit him. I ware just good for a fight. I told 
 him so, an' he stopped. But I called him a cow- 
 ard, right thar in you-uns' store. I ware tolerble 
 mad, an' I reckin there'd been a fight if you 
 hadn't come in when you did. I'm pow'ful 
 sorry it ware in the store, Mr. Jarvis, but thar 
 can't no coward come a-bullyin' of me, nor 
 swearin' of me to a lie." 
 
 Mr. Jarvis took the pipe from his mouth, 
 tapped the bowl gently upon the palm of his 
 hand : the white ash fell lightly, noiselessly to 
 the floor, a red spark gleaming for a second among 
 the dead grayness. 
 
 " Joe," said he, " a boy has got to learn to 
 live peaceable if he expects to be a peaceable 
 man." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Joe, choking back the tears, 
 " I know that air true." 
 
 "An'," continued the storekeeper without
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 61 
 
 noticing the interruption, " a boy has got to 
 learn to stan' up for hisse'f ef he expects to be 
 a man, an' have the respect of men. Now don't 
 you never go courtin' of a fight : an' keep 
 out o' sech if ye can. But if a coward comes 
 bullyin' of you an' tryin' to skeer you into 
 that you know to be wrong, do you just stand 
 up for yourse'f like a man ! If you can't whip 
 him you can be whipped standin' up for 
 your principles. Son, I'm downright proud of 
 you." And the storekeeper quietly refilled his 
 pipe. 
 
 The next day old Mrs. Martin had occasion 
 to pay a visit to a neighbor. She went to bor- 
 row a dip of snuff, and what she said was : 
 
 "Gimme the dip, Almiry, I must be skittin' 
 along back. The old man don't know I'm here. 
 But I jest can't tromp over to Yarbrough's this 
 day ; an' I jest can't stand it no longer not to 
 have a dip o' snuff. But I must get along back ; 
 the old man's mighty upset about my blowin' of 
 the horn yistiddy. You might a heard him 
 quar'lin' plumb over to the settlemint. You
 
 G2 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 see, I went over to Jube's yistiddy to get a box 
 o' snuff; but Jube, lie got a close fit on him 
 someliows, an' lie wouldn't trade my way. So 
 I went 'long back home, an' the men folks all 
 went off to the gander-pullin'. After they-uns 
 ware all gone -it began to git a little lonesome ; 
 an' the lonesomer it got the more I missed that 
 thar dip. So I says to the chillen, says I, ' I'm 
 a-goin' to see a old woman down on Sugar Creek 
 what's down with the fever, an' I'll git a dip 
 down thar.' It war three good mile, if it war a 
 step. I tromped it every foot. And when I 
 got thar, bless your soul, thar wasn't a dust of 
 snuff in the house ; an' the pore old critter that 
 sick and not a soul, barrin' a little gran'child, to 
 do a thing about the place. So I made out to 
 straighten the house up some, for the land 
 knows it was needin' of straightening an' then I 
 set a spell an' we-uns talked ; an' then I put her 
 up a bite of warm victuals, an' then I went home. 
 An' all the time that thar dip what Jube got too 
 stingy to trade for was a-troublin' of my mind. 
 So instid o' comin' on straight home I turned
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 63 
 
 off into the crossroads t'wa'nt no more'n a 
 mile out'n the way to Ann Long's house, to 
 borry a dip of Ann. Ann's box ware empty 
 as a gourd, too, but she crumpled up a handful 
 of the old man's tobaccy an' give me that to 
 sort o' stay my appetite for the snuff till I could 
 get over to Yarbrough's, or else till Jube got 
 over his close fit. After Ann fixed up the 
 tobaccy dust for me, I started home. About 
 half way thar, after striking the big road again, 
 I met two mens a-ridin' of the fines' nags I ever 
 set eyes on. My ! my ! but they ware pretty ! 
 One of 'em ware a clay bank ; the very spit of 
 one my dad useter own ; an' he allers said his 
 ware the very spit o' one his dad my gran'dad 
 useter own ; one he rid to the polls onc't to 
 vote for Henry Clay to be preserdint. I ain't 
 never heard if Henry Clay ware 'lected preser- 
 dint or no, but that ain't a-henderin' of my 
 gran'dad ridin' that thar claybank to the polls 
 to vote for him. So when I see this here one a- 
 comin' down the road all spick an' span, I jest 
 stepped to one side, an' I know in my soul if I'd
 
 64 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 had on a hat I'd a lifted of it to that thar nag, 
 an' says I, ' Land alive ! if that don't remind 
 me o' Henry Clay !' One o' the men's heeard 
 me, an' they stopped, an' says one : ' Can you 
 show us the way to Eastop house ?' ' Straight 
 road/ says I. ' Nary crook nor crank to it ; 
 nary blessed turn.' Then says one : ' We air 
 workin' up that thar murder as ware done thar 
 las' month. Maybe you heeard 'bout it? We 
 air lawyers, from below.' ' Well,' says I, 
 'I ain't seen many lawyer mens ; an' so, 
 gentlemen, I wish you well.' With that 
 they-uns rid on an' I went straight on 
 home. When I got thar the chillen had a 
 mighty tale to tell about two men as had been 
 thar axin' the way to Eastop House. Seems 
 like they had told the chillen all about thai- 
 business, too ; 'bout bein' lawyer mens an' 
 workin' up that murder ; what the whole 
 mount'n knows enough about already. So 
 says I to myself, ' Polly Martin, your gran'dad 
 allers said you had a nose for revernuers. 
 Them thar men air too set on makin' it plain
 
 A SIGNAL AND A WARNING 65 
 
 who they air an' what they're up to.' An' 
 with that I jest stepped to the door an' took 
 down the horn and blowed. I felt powerful 
 upset about breakin' up the gander-pullin', but 
 'pears like I ware p'intedly bound to head off 
 them ' lawyer mens from below.' I heeard 
 afterward they had been, seen nigh the settle- 
 ment with thar nags all spattered up ; don't 
 know whar they got it; they ware spick and 
 span enough when they passed Polly Martin. 
 An' as for that thar claybank, as I ware 
 a-sayin', it ware the very spit o' one my gran'- 
 dad rid to the polls to vote for Henry Clay. 
 Gimme the dip, Almiry. No, you needn't 
 stop to wrop it up ; I'm goin' to have it right 
 here on my bresh. I aims to be sure o' that 
 thar dip this time, no matter what happens."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 IT WAS GRIM WHO TOLD 
 
 THE officers went away without making any 
 raids, and after a few days the mountain settled 
 down to its customary quiet : although, to be 
 sure, the distillers from all the country round 
 were secretly trying to discover who was the 
 traitor among them. They did not apprehend 
 any danger, however, as the effort to locate 
 their stills had been unsuccessful. Only in 
 the heart of a boy, a young mountain strip- 
 ling, there lurked a fear that danger was 
 hovering near. For only Joe had seen the 
 mysterious signal given the horsemen, and 
 only Joe had noticed the disappearance of Joyce 
 Grim. 
 
 He felt that he ought to tell his father, yet he 
 dared not. Moreover, the danger did not, he 
 considered, threaten his father's still, and the 
 66
 
 IT WAS GRIM WHO TOLD 67 
 
 liquor made there was not circulated very freely 
 about the neighborhood, but was carted to a dis- 
 tant settlement, and sold. 
 
 Yet, while he felt that it was not quite fair to 
 allow the men to go unwarned, so long as the 
 whereabouts of Grim remained a mystery, he 
 could not make up his mind that it was his 
 duty to warn them. Would not this be construed 
 as aiding the lawbreakers 
 
 He wished very much to ask the advice of 
 his friend the storekeeper, but Mr. Jarvis re- 
 fused to listen. 
 
 " I could have been strung to a saplin' a 
 hundred times since the men on this mourit'n 
 took to stillin', if I'd a mind to listen to all 
 folks have tried to tell me," said he, when Joe 
 broached the subject 
 
 At last Joe began to feel that old Jube's plan 
 was a very good as well as a safe one. 
 
 " If I done that I'd be better off," he told 
 himself more than once during those slow days 
 of torture when he knew the distillers, with all 
 their shrewdness, had never hit upon the real
 
 G8 A MOOXSHIXEE'S SON 
 
 culprit in their search for the informer. It was 
 a deadly secret that he carried : yet it had 
 been thrust upon him : he did not ask, did not 
 desire it. And the burden of it was wearing 
 his heart out. The injustice of it appealed to 
 him strongly. 
 
 " I ware not peekin," he told himself, " an' I 
 ware not list'nin' in noways, to hear anybody's 
 secrets, when Joyce Grim called to them thar 
 men to ' ride.' I ware not to blame, and I won't 
 kerry the blame of it." 
 
 With that he walked boldly up to the store- 
 keeper, bending over a keg of nails, and said : 
 
 " Mr. Jarvis, if you ware to git hold of a 
 secret accidental what would you do about it?" 
 
 The merchant gave one short, sharp glance 
 at the boy's face. "I'd jest attend to my own 
 business," said he. 
 
 And Joe straightway resolved that this was 
 precisely what he would do. But one night, 
 about a week later, something happened that 
 completely upset his plans for following his 
 friend's advice. Since the visit of the strange
 
 IT WAS GRIM WHO TOLD 69 
 
 men to the neighborhood the fires had been ex- 
 tinguished in the furnaces around, and the dis- 
 tillers, though quiet, were on their guard. 
 
 Midway the road from Dawson's place to the 
 settlement there lived an old man of whom the 
 brandymakers had been for some time suspi- 
 cious. He had come from some one of the 
 valley towns years before; he was very poor 
 and had been a great drunkard, which ac- 
 counted, doubtless, for his poverty. For years 
 he had been acquainted with the secret paths to 
 the neighborhood stills ; no matter how difficult 
 or inaccessible they might be they were never 
 beyond reach of old David Links. Within the 
 last year, however, he had become converted at 
 one of the meetings of the neighborhood and 
 was now loud in his denunciation of the illicit 
 traffic. Instead of the hidden paths through 
 the laurel brakes, the old drunkard followed 
 the dusty highway to the Methodist meeting- 
 house at the head of Panther Creek. Suspi- 
 cion at once fell upon Links. Links, who 
 had drunk all the liquor he cared to drink in
 
 70 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 the old days of liis vagabondism, had, they be- 
 lieved, turned traitor, in that he had turned, or 
 attempted to do so, his former comrades over to 
 the law he had once encouraged them in break- 
 ing. 
 
 Since the still had been idle Joe had spent a 
 good deal of time at the store, doing such jobs 
 as the storekeeper found for him. One evening 
 he tarried at the settlement later than usual. 
 Jube had been unexpectedly called away to an 
 adjoining county on business and had left Joe 
 in charge of the store. It was past seven 
 o'clock before he returned, and, nothing loath, 
 Joe had his supper with Mrs. Jarvis and stayed 
 until Jube got back. The storekeeper had 
 promised, too, to bring back a bottle of lini- 
 ment for his grandmother, who had been ailing 
 some lately, so Joe had concluded to wait for it. 
 It was eight o'clock when he started out, afoot, 
 for his grandmother's cabin on the bluff. The 
 September moon was shining, a full, golden 
 circle, straight upon the long, sandy line that 
 represented Joe's road. It was a still, warm
 
 IT WAS GRIM WHO TOLD 71 
 
 night, and he determined to follow the road, 
 instead of striking off into the trail, as was his 
 custom, although it would be a full mile out of 
 his way. He had been shut up in the store all 
 day, and somehow the long, sandy road and the 
 tramp through the still moonlight had a fascina- 
 tion for him to-night. The beauty of the night 
 and the restfulness of nature's perfect peace 
 cast a spell upon him. He walked slowly, 
 dreaming dreams, it might be, of the days to 
 come when the little cabin on the bluff should 
 know better times than these that had fallen 
 upon it ; times when he should have become a 
 man. 
 
 The road from the settlement lay in a 
 straight, unbroken line for a quarter of a mile 
 before it made a long bend to the left. Just 
 before reaching this bend Joe was accustomed 
 to taking the herders' old trail that cut through 
 the woods, striking the road again beyond the 
 bend, where the trail crossed it, cut through the 
 laurel down the bluff into the little strip of 
 cove land, and then up again to the cabin
 
 72 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 on the crags that Joe called home. The 
 herders' trail, to he sure, did not follow this 
 last ascent, hut turned off to the right in a line 
 with Hickorynut Mountain. 
 
 Joe gave himself up to the pleasure of his 
 walk. There was not a sound to break the 
 night's stillness save the muffled tramp of his 
 own feet along the dusty highway, the hooting 
 of an owl far away among the blasted cedars 
 upon the mountain top, or the occasional startled 
 scurrying of a frightened coon prowling among 
 the wild grapes and luscious muscadines that 
 skirted the roadside. 
 
 Joe meant to leave the road at a point where 
 the trail would cross it for the last time. He 
 reached this point and was about to turn off 
 into the shadow-girt stillness when a sudden, 
 sharp, discordant sound seemed to cut like a 
 knife through the exquisite stillness of the 
 night. He stopped, just at the opening of the 
 path, to listen : hoofs, in quick, uneven gait 
 was what he heard. It seemed to Joe, as he 
 stood there listening to the inharmonious clat-
 
 IT WAS GRIM WHO TOLD 73 
 
 ter, that full one hundred horsemen must be 
 riding down the road. He was not in the least 
 afraid, so he stopped, full of a boy's curiosity, 
 to see who it was that was coming at that gait, 
 at such an hour ; for the nine o'clock visitor was 
 as unusual to Joe as the caller that came at 
 midnight. At first he could see nothing, 
 although the moon shone bright as day, but 
 the hurrying hoofs came ever nearer and 
 nearer, until at last they swept into the long, 
 swinging strides of the gallop in perfect move- 
 ment. But how long they were 
 
 Suddenly they galloped into view, not one 
 hundred, but six horsemen. It seemed to Joe 
 that they were upon him in a half-second, so 
 close that he could see a little strip of black 
 drawn across the upper part of each face, and 
 the glimmer of pistols and of knives where the 
 moonlight flashed across their belts as they 
 dashed toward him. He stepped back into the 
 shadow wondering, waiting. The next moment 
 he saw that which sent the blood in a cold 
 stream through his veins, paralyzing him with
 
 74 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 such horror that he could neither move for a 
 moment, nor cry out. 
 
 Five of the men were armed, but the sixth, 
 bareheaded, coatless, was bound to the saddle, 
 and in the moonlight Joe distinctly saw the pal- 
 lid face of old Links. Instantly it occurred to 
 him that they were going to take the old man 
 to the settlement and hang him, leaving him 
 there, perhaps, as a warning to future informers. 
 Such a thing had been done, but it was long, 
 long ago, before the law became so vigilant and 
 so unmerciful to mobs. Joe had scarcely an 
 instant for thought; only the sin, the horror of 
 it, and the part he himself was playing in the 
 terrible tragedy filled his brain, paralyzing for 
 the moment every muscle of his body. 
 
 At that instant the gang dashed by him, so 
 close he felt the breath of the leader's horse in 
 his face as it shied past him. And then Joe 
 realized that he must do something, that he 
 must act quickly if he hoped to feel guilt- 
 less of this crime of murder. He must save 
 Links ; tell what he knew ; manage to get
 
 75 
 
 there somehow ahead of the mob. Scarcely 
 knowing what he did, only that he must do 
 something, he darted across the road and into 
 the trail on the other side the short cut to the 
 settlement. Like a shadow among shadows he 
 sped, straight back to the settlement. He 
 ran like a deer, faster, if possible, than a deer. 
 Though he knew that he had not the faintest 
 chance against those galloping hoofs, still he 
 ran. Something might, something must hap- 
 pen to delay them and give him a chance to 
 tell what he had seen and heard. And even in 
 that hour of horror Joe felt glad that he had 
 not been frightened into a promise not to tell 
 what he knew. He did not stop now to argue 
 with himself, to wonder if he were safe in doing 
 this. He only yielded himself to nature, and 
 that which seemed the one thing possible and 
 right. 
 
 The quarter of a mile had never seeined so 
 endless as it did to-night, but he emerged from 
 the shadows at last into the open road to the 
 settlement, footsore, a spent runner indeed, to
 
 76 A MOOXSHINER'S SON 
 
 see the group gathered under the big maple 
 tree in front of the settlement store. 
 
 Not a light was visible, save the golden glory 
 of the moon ; and such a sight as she looked 
 down upon ! 
 
 The men were congregated under the tree, 
 noiseless as shadows, though some one seemed 
 to be giving directions by a sort of pantomime. 
 Joe wondered if he were in time; he tried to 
 call to them, but his throat was dry and parched, 
 and he could not be heard. He understood 
 that they must have stopped to hitch their 
 horses at the bend of the road and that they 
 had walked from there to the tree in order not 
 to arouse the settlement, for anybody could see 
 that the big, burly figure with a bit of calico 
 over his face was Dawson, and Dawson had no 
 wish to be recognized as one of a mob. They 
 worked hurriedly. One of the men had tossed 
 the end of a rope over a limb of the tree ; the 
 other was fastened about the neck of a bent old 
 figure that cowered and trembled and begged 
 piteously, in low, broken tones, for life.
 
 IT WAS GRIM WHO TOLD 77 
 
 Joe tried not to see, lest he should never be 
 able to forget the scene, as he fell, rather than 
 ran, into the midst of the group and shouted : 
 
 " Don't do it ! Wait" 
 
 As the boy's voice rang out sharply upon the 
 night, a door opened across the way and Jube 
 Jarvis stepped noiselessly out into the shadow 
 of the porch to hear what was going on. 
 
 Panting and breathless Joe could only grasp 
 the arm of the man who was holding the rope 
 and gasp, between breaths : 
 
 " He didn't do it, Mr. Links didn't I 
 know. Wait a min ute I'll tell in a 
 minute. Take off the rope !" 
 
 The hand upon the rope slowly opened ; the 
 loose coil fell upon the ground like a serpent 
 slowly unwinding. Surprise at the unexpected 
 interruption drove every other thought from 
 their minds for a moment. 
 
 Then Dawson spoke, in a disguised voice : 
 
 " See here, bub " he had recognized Joe as 
 Bentley's boy, but he had no idea of allowing 
 Joe to recognize him "what is it ye know?
 
 78 A MOOXSHINER'S SON 
 
 Out with it mighty quick. Else " He gave 
 the rope a kick with his foot and looked up into 
 the half denuded branches of the tree in a way 
 that made Joe shiver and turn away his eyes. 
 
 Jube Jarvis stepped down to the shadow of a 
 hemlock that grew in the corner of his yard 
 and listened. He carried a revolver in his 
 hand ; the click of it sounded ominously sug- 
 gestive as he set the trigger at cock and waited to 
 learn what the mob meant to do in regard to Joe. 
 
 Joe, meanwhile recovered his breath suffi- 
 ciently to make himself understood, and was 
 telling what he knew of the proposed, but foiled, 
 raid. 
 
 " Mr. Links didn't tell on ye " said he, when 
 a voice interrupted : 
 
 '"On who?" 
 
 " On nobody," said Joe. " I don't know fur 
 sure who told, but I'm 'bliged ter tell what I do 
 know, ef I git my own self hanged fur it. I 
 can't set still an' see the innercent suffer no- 
 ways, an' I reckiu Joyce Grim's the one what 
 told."
 
 IT WAS GKIM WHO TOLD 79 
 
 " Joyce Grim ?" 
 
 There was a general whisper of surprise. 
 
 " Yes, Joyce Grim. I ware keepin' store fur 
 Mr. Jarvis that day, an' I see Joyce Grim make 
 some signs ter them two lawyer men as were 
 tryin' ter hire me ter take 'em ter the gander- 
 pullin'. It ware when Mis' Martin blowed her 
 horn ; Joyce he run out o' the woods over thar 
 an' signaled the men : and he hollered ter 'em 
 ter ' ride fur thar lives ;' and they rid. Then 
 Joyce he come in the store an' wanted ter fight 
 me, an' make me promise I wouldn't tell no 
 matter who axed me. An' when I wouldn't he 
 drawed his knife an' allowed he'd kill me ef I 
 didn't shet up. An' jest then Mr. Jarvis he 
 come up an' kicked him out fur fightin' in the 
 store. Some of you-uns must a-seen him do 
 it : and then Joyce he run away. An' that's 
 all." 
 
 It was a plain story, plainly told. They knew 
 it was true : some of them did remember seeing 
 Jube kick Joyce Grim into the road, and others 
 remembered having heard about it.
 
 80 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 Joe felt glad that Grim was beyond their 
 reach that night. If they had been determined 
 to hang old Links on mere suspicion, Joe 
 trembled to think what would have been the fate 
 of the real informer had he come within the 
 power of those infuriated men that night. 
 
 When he had told his story Dawson stepped 
 forward and with his own hands cut away the 
 rope that bound their prisoner. 
 
 " Do you go down yander," said he, " to that 
 thar thicket whar we-uns left our horses an' 
 pick ye out a nag. Then do ye go home, 
 straight. The nag's your'n : and ye better not 
 let yer jaw wag too much about this night's busi- 
 ness, nuther." 
 
 Links assented silently : after all, he consid- 
 ered, he was not blameless in the matter : 
 had he not affiliated with them, made himself 
 one of them, he would never have become pos- 
 sessed of their guilty secrets. He accepted the 
 horse as they intended it as some show of 
 reparation for the wrong they had done him, 
 and soon it was galloping home with him over
 
 IT WAS GRIM WHO TOLD 81 
 
 the road he had never expected to travel again. 
 And as he rode he registered with God a prayer 
 for the boy who had spoken so bravely and so 
 opportunely in his behalf. 
 
 " He's too good fur Lige Bentley an' his 
 gang," said he, " an' I pray the Lord ter pluck 
 him out o' thar hands an' ter reserve him fur 
 Himself." 
 
 When Links was set free, the mob disbanded 
 at once : for the confusion had awakened the 
 settlement : more than one window had been 
 opened to ascertain if " it ware daylight al- 
 ready ?" 
 
 Only one question had been put to Joe : it 
 was Dawson who put it : 
 
 " Whyn't ye tell what ye knowed sooner, ye 
 kid ye ?" 
 
 " Because it ware none o' my business," said 
 Joe. 
 
 The men laughed, and their laughter drowned 
 a pleased little chuckle that came from the 
 direction of the hemlock in the corner of Jube's 
 yard. 
 
 6
 
 82 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 " Well," said Dawson, " next time ye better 
 try an' make it yer business ter speak up whenst 
 ye know a thing like that." 
 
 " No I won't," said Joe. " I won't do no sech 
 thing. I won't be blabbin' about things that 
 don't consarn me, not to please anybody." 
 
 Again the men laughed and started off in the 
 direction of the thicket where they had picketed 
 their horses. But Dawson called over his 
 shoulder to Joe as he was going : 
 
 " Ye can ride behin' me a piece ef ye're 
 minded, bub." 
 
 " I don't want ter," said Joe. " I ain't ridin' 
 with mobs an' sech." 
 
 He had grown very bold since he had resolved 
 to face the mob, and he was not sorry to let 
 them know that he disavowed any affiliation with 
 them, and that he had only done what he had in 
 the interest of justice, and not in their interest 
 at all. 
 
 Yet, his independence pleased Dawson, too : 
 
 " See here, bub," said he, " ye ain't a nat'ral 
 son o' Lige Bentley's, that ye ain't. I can a'most
 
 IT WAS GRIM WHO TOLD 83 
 
 believe ye're Jube Jaryis's own blood : ye're 
 that like one 'nother." 
 
 It was a compliment Joe was not expecting, 
 but the shadow under the hemlock hugged itself 
 closer and chuckled : 
 
 " ' It ware none o' my business,' " said the store- 
 keeper ; " that ware a peart answer, son," and 
 again he chuckled, as he felt that his lessons 
 were not lost upon the boy he had been trying 
 in his own rude fashion to help. " An' he tol' : 
 actually tol' on that thar rascal Grim. Made 
 up his own mind an' acted his own act : done it 
 like a man, too. An' how he did sass Dawson : 
 my ! my ! it ware worth a night's sleep ter know 
 Joe had the grit ter do it. I'm downright proud 
 of ye, son." 
 
 And the storekeeper went off to bed again as 
 happy as though he had found a gold mine 
 among the gray bluffs of the mountain, while 
 Joe was whistling along the highway as blithely 
 as though he had heard the storekeeper's com- 
 mendation : which would indeed have given him 
 quite as much happiness at the moment, as an
 
 84 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 equal division of the gold mine, had there been 
 one to divide. 
 
 Then quiet settled down upon the mountain 
 again : September drifted, and October, bland 
 and beautiful, crowned the bluffs with the richer 
 hues of scarlet and amber and purple. No 
 further raids had been attempted, and one day a 
 letter had come to some of Grim's people saying 
 that he had run away to Texas. 
 
 And so, about a month after the great scare, 
 the furnace fires were rebuilt in the illicit work- 
 shops, and the stills put in operation again. In 
 the face of danger and of death, against 
 heavy odds and with mighty risks, with only 
 the great solemn mountain to shelter and conceal 
 them, the distillers again lighted their fires, 
 cleansed their tubs, and set to work, making 
 wildcat whiskey.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A RAID 
 
 IT was mid-afternoon and the mists lay upon 
 the mountains, the gray, silvery mists, min- 
 gling, or trying to mingle, with a long, purplish 
 line that rose and curled into a tell-tale column 
 of smoke, among the bewildering world of hills 
 basking in the October sunlight. 
 
 In a little hollow of the hills three men were 
 stretched upon a bed of drifted autumn leaves. 
 They were lying flat forward, hugging the 
 ground as closely as they might and still allow 
 for the handling of the field glass through 
 which they were peering eagerly, passing it from 
 hand to hand, into that gracefully ascending 
 column of purple smoke. 
 
 They had watched patiently and long for a 
 glimpse of that purple line, which, they had 
 been told, ought to be rising somewhere in that 
 
 85
 
 86 A MOOXSHIXER'S SON 
 
 direction the day old Lige Bentley should start 
 the fire in his furnace again. 
 
 For a month they had been shadowing the 
 place, stealthily, craftily, referring now and 
 then to a roughly drafted code of instructions, 
 a copy of which e'ach man carried in his pocket, 
 for sometimes they had separated for days, 
 meeting again, at last, in the little hollow to 
 watch again for the blue line from Bentley's 
 furnace fire. 
 
 They carried no luggage, not even a shotgun, 
 though each man was armed, not for attack, but 
 for protection. They had no other provision 
 against hunger than a simple little lunch 
 tucked away in each man's pocket ; for down 
 the mountain, about midway, near what was 
 known to them as the First Bench, there was a 
 house which they called their "Half Way 
 House." It was here they went for food, and 
 to this house they crept at night, under shelter 
 of darkness, to rest and sleep. 
 
 Sometimes they went away, down the valley, 
 and were gone for days ; and seemingly the
 
 A KAID 87 
 
 hunt for the illicit still would be abandoned. 
 But after awhile they were back again, still 
 watching for the line of smoke. 
 
 The neighborhood had been virtually under 
 detective inspection for a month. And that for 
 which they had been watching they had at last 
 found, a little curl of purple smoke, harmless 
 enough to all seeming, and that might have 
 issued from any chimney of any honest moun- 
 taineer living thereabouts. 
 
 And that was precisely what the wily old 
 distiller had thought when he put a torch to 
 the dry brush under the copper worm and sent 
 that line of purple out to make acquaintance 
 with the grayish mists. And so the watchers 
 in the hollow might have thought, but for the 
 directions Grim had given them, and which were 
 spread out now before them on the leaves. 
 
 " It is smoke," one of the watchers declared, 
 and his voice vibrated exultingly ; as though 
 among the purple and scarlet October leaves he 
 had found occasion to announce " It is a gold 
 mine !" " It is smoke ; and look !" He ran his
 
 88 
 
 finger along the written directions and read 
 aloud in that half whisper that had become a 
 habit with him during his last mouth's service : 
 
 " ' To the left of a large ledge projecting above 
 the surrounding peaks of the mountain, and to 
 the right of a flat, white-looking stone ; between 
 the stone and the ledge ; near, and to the right 
 of a tall, blasted pine tree may be seen the 
 smoke from Bentley's still, of a fair day, when 
 the mists are not too heavy or too blue/ ' 
 
 " Well, the mists are evidently just right to- 
 day, a grayish white. And yonder is the ledge, 
 ' The Lion's Head,' he called it, to the right of us. 
 On the left is the flat-looking stone. There is 
 the blasted pine, and right there between them 
 is the line of blue smoke. All just as that ras- 
 cally Grim promised when he sold out his 
 friends for ten dollars. Boys, we're in for it." 
 
 " Not so loud, Jackson," said one of the 
 others. " Remember, it isn't Grim's neck that 
 is in danger now, but our own lives. That 
 makes the two we're after. Since Dawson has 
 been located for three weeks, we were only
 
 A KAID 89 
 
 waiting until the old fox got the thing into 
 operation again, so that we could seize him 
 while operating it. Now, since it's done, what 
 next?" 
 
 " Next," said Jackson, " I am going straight 
 back to town and tell the chief we've found 
 them. I reckon they will not laugh at us this 
 time. He'll give us a force to come back with 
 to-morrow night, for the thing must be done at 
 once. I suppose he will take in old Martin on 
 the way down, though that little concern hasn't 
 troubled us overly much. It's the big game 
 we've been trying to bring down. I tell you, 
 boys, we've done this pretty well. The day of 
 the gander-pulling I thought it was all up, for 
 awhile." 
 
 " And I always will believe, Charley, that it 
 was your walnut juice gave us away. You for- 
 got to dye one eyebrow ; didn't he, Ligon ?" 
 
 "One eyebrow and two lashes," laughed 
 Ligon. "They say a mountaineer can detect a 
 revenue fellow if one whisker is left uncolored." 
 
 " Now, boys," said Jackson, " this isn't any
 
 90 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 time for joking. I admit there was a stray 
 lock peeping out from under my wig ; at least 
 I think so, because I saw that fellow Jarvis 
 looking at it so intently that I pulled my hat 
 down over my head more snugty, and just 
 about that time that old horn broke things up. 
 I don't know how I ever did get the wig off 
 without being seen, for it wasn't two minutes 
 before Dawson was looking around for me with 
 his knife. But if anybody saw me it was 
 Jarvis. He didn't matter, because I whispered 
 in his ear who I was the very first hour I set 
 foot at the settlement. I had been told the old 
 fellow kept a still tongue." 
 
 " You had been told that he wouldn't lie for 
 you, either," said Ligon. " So if he had been 
 questioned he would probably have told all 
 about you." 
 
 " That he wouldn't," said Jackson. " I know 
 men too well for that. When a man won't lie 
 he has some honor, lots of it. I put the old 
 fellow on his at the outset. A man like 
 that will die for his honor, at the same time
 
 A RAID 91 
 
 that he wouldn't tell a lie to save the other fel- 
 low's life. I don't believe he would have 
 allowed them to attack me in his store, either, 
 for you know what Grim said : ' He's at peace 
 with all men, an' a peaceable liver, .but he can 
 fight like ol' scratch ef he's minded.' But this 
 isn't a time to talk. We must get to work. 
 Now, boys, I am going to snake it through 
 these woods and carry the good news to the 
 chief. We don't care to tackle these toughs 
 alone. If you boys want to wait till night " 
 
 " That's just what we do," said Ligon. " One 
 head is enough to risk at one time, isn't it, 
 Combs?" 
 
 " I'm willing to wait till dark," said Combs, 
 " but I'm ready for marching orders, too. This 
 is Jackson's job ; I'm ready to obey Jackson." 
 
 " Nonsense," said Jackson. " You've both 
 done as much as I have, and done it better ; for 
 it was I stirred up all the fuss at the gander- 
 pulling." 
 
 "I'm not so sure about that," said Ligon. 
 " I distrust the old woman who ' hadn't seen so
 
 92 A MOOXSHHSTEK'S SON 
 
 many lawyer mens.' But go on, Jackson, what 
 else?" 
 
 " I was going to say, you boys wait until it 
 grows dark, then go on to the Half Way House 
 and get a good sleep to-morrow. I will carry the 
 diagram and directions down and go over them 
 with the boss to-night, explain the plan we 
 have agreed upon, and come on to meet you at 
 the Half Way to-morow evening. How does 
 that suit you ? We take Dawson's first, early 
 in the evening, too late for the news to spread, 
 yet early enough to give us time to skirt the 
 mountain side to Bentley's before midnight. 
 Is that right ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Ligon, " tell him that Bentley's 
 is ten miles or more from Dawson's, the route 
 we will be obliged to take. But that there 
 is a secret trail leading from Bentley's house to 
 his still, large enough for a small wagon to 
 travel. We can follow that coming back and 
 go straight on down the mountain with our pris- 
 oners. Tell him there are four at Dawson's 
 and that there are five at Bentley's : four
 
 A RAID 93 
 
 men and a boy. Are you sure you will know 
 the paths and the exact locality by night, Jack- 
 son?" 
 
 Jackson laughed : 
 
 " I haven't been hugging these hills four 
 weeks for nothing," said he. " I know 'em like 
 a fox." 
 
 " Well, be sure that you travel them ' like a 
 fox/ " said Ligon, " and be doubly .sure you 
 keep a covert ready to run into, my boy : the 
 hunters are pretty wary in this vicinity just 
 now. Luck to you." 
 
 Jackson waved his hand silently, and a 
 moment later he had disappeared among the 
 close, rustling tangles of laurel. 
 
 That night, under cover of darkness, Ligon 
 and Combs crept away through the woods to 
 the house on the First Bench, where they had 
 a cold supper at midnight and went at once to 
 bed. 
 
 It was noon of the following day when they 
 were awakened with a summons to dinner, and 
 with the information that the chief had arrived
 
 94 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 with a mounted posse of five men, among whom 
 was Jackson. 
 
 They ate a hurried dinner, and were soon in 
 the saddle : for the road they expected to take 
 to Dawson's would carry them many miles 
 away from the still before it finally brought 
 them to it. 
 
 They were to skirt the mountain for some two 
 miles, then cut into a dry creek bed for about 
 two more ; that being the only possible excuse for 
 a road to be found until they should reach an 
 old mill road, abandoned when the mill ceased 
 to be operated a half-dozen years before. Here 
 they expected to begin the ascent again, follow- 
 ing this old road until within a mile of Dawson's 
 still, where they had decided to picket their 
 horses and travel afoot to the place of 
 attack. 
 
 Thanks to Grim, they understood that the 
 still was located in the old mill that stood on the 
 bank of a noisy little stream which would deaden 
 all sound of their approach. 
 
 They were also instructed that the mill would
 
 A RAID 95 
 
 present every appearance of a grist mill in full 
 operation, except, perhaps, that the wheel would 
 be stationary : the miller, it might be, would be 
 resting from his grinding, in the mill door. 
 There would be sacks of grain scattered 
 about the door, too, although for many a day 
 the only visitors to the old mill were those who 
 brought jugs instead of meal sacks. 
 
 On reaching the creek bed the chief had 
 divided his men, and detached two of them to 
 go on to the neighborhood of Bentley's ; *with 
 instructions to look over the ground thoroughly, 
 and to keep an eye on Bentley as much as pos- 
 sible without exposing themselves to danger from 
 discoverv. 
 
 / 
 
 " And be sure you look out for the boy," said 
 he. " The fellow Grim gave special notice of 
 a boy connected with this gang : a dangerous 
 character." 
 
 The men, one of whom was Combs, set out 
 for Bentley's, and the rest of the posse passed 
 on down the dry bed of the creek for Dawson's. 
 The chief gave explicit orders that nobody was
 
 96 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 to speak a word to any one they might chance to 
 meet along the road : 
 
 " We will take no chances on that," he de- 
 clared. " These people are far too shrewd and 
 too suspicious for us to venture any kind of 
 acquaintance with them. You will just ride 
 straight ahead, in silence." 
 
 It seemed a needless order : the posse had 
 ridden all the afternoon without meeting a liv- 
 ing soul. They rode the length of the creek 
 bed, -to the point where it touched the old mill 
 road and began the ascent of the mountain. 
 Here another road leading to a little settlement 
 two miles distant crossed the old mill road, and 
 there, in the very centre of the crossing roads, 
 stood an old woman, a gaunt, toothless old 
 crone, with a brush between her gums, who 
 stood staring at them over an armful of gray 
 warp that she was lugging home for a liit-or- 
 miss rag carpet. There was a sleepy look in 
 the little old black eyes fixed upon the posse, 
 as though their owner but half comprehended 
 that those strong, sturdy horses straining their
 
 A RAID 97 
 
 backs under their burdens were carrying men, 
 real men, such as she had seen every day of her 
 life. Not a word was spoken. If the men saw 
 the stupid old woman they gave no sign ; there 
 wasn't even a chance for the customary 
 " howdy," which the mountaineer is ever ready 
 to offer. 
 
 The men kept their eyes upon the broad 
 back of the chief riding stolidly along in front 
 of the line. There was something suggestive 
 of the brave old German, Blticher, in the droop 
 of those massive shoulders, no less than in the 
 sturdy pushing on to meet the dangers ahead. 
 Perhaps, too, there was not lacking some of the 
 wisdom of the proud old Prussian as well ; for 
 no sooner had the posse passed than the expres- 
 sion of the old woman's face changed ; the 
 sleepy eyes flashed. The old crone chuckled : 
 
 " Them mens air up to somethin'," said she 
 to the gray warp. " They ain't revernuers, 
 howsomever. They're too glumsome for rever- 
 nuers. Revernuers air mostly too friendly. I 
 know 'em soon's I scent 'em ; can't fool Polly 
 7
 
 98 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 Martin. My gran'dad allers said I had a nose 
 for revernuers." 
 
 It was indeed old Mrs. Martin, going home 
 from Yarbrougli's store, where she had been to 
 trade for some warp for her weaving the next 
 week. She had no suspicion that the straight 
 young fellow, riding so demurely at the heels 
 of the grim leader of the posse, was the same 
 for whom she had sounded the alarm only a 
 few short weeks before. She had her opinion, 
 however, though she did not express it until 
 they had passed beyond range of her sharp 
 little black eyes. 
 
 " They're up to somethin'," said she. " Them 
 mens air sholy up to somethin'. Maybe it's 
 the sheriff huntin' o' someun ; or maybe it's a 
 mob ; else thar's a big camp-meetin' goin' on 
 somewhars on the mount'n." 
 
 The sun swung over the verge of the bluff, a 
 blood-red ball of fire it looked. Night was 
 ready to drop down upon the valley, already 
 wrapped in the shadows of twilight. The 
 tips of the tallest trees were scarlet; but in
 
 A RAID 99 
 
 the woods, under the shade of the dense old 
 oaks, and pines, and hemlocks, it was dark 
 when the posse dismounted and picketed their 
 horses. 
 
 Then they separated, in order to surround 
 the mill and cut off escape ; for the object of the 
 service is, not so much the destruction of the 
 property as the punishment of the offenders; 
 and Dawsou was a wiry old fellow that had 
 been wanted for a long time, to answer for the 
 offense of illegal distilling. 
 
 Not a word was spoken. Each man under- 
 stood that he carried his own life and the lives 
 of his comrades in his hand ; a misstep, an un- 
 guarded whisper, and all would be lost. 
 
 The old mill stood picturesquely weird in 
 the uncertain light ; a red glow shone from 
 within and streamed through the door, which 
 stood wide upon its rusty hinges. It was a 
 subdued glow, red and warm and mellow ; a 
 glow from the distiller's furnace, where some 
 one had set the door ajar for a moment. There 
 was a low sound of voices in careless couversa-
 
 100 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 tion, mingled with the noisy rush of the stream 
 hard by, bewailing, it might be, the mill's ex- 
 change of industries, or the silence of the great 
 wheel, hanging useless, like a dead sentinel, above 
 the fast hurrying current. Perhaps the little 
 mountain stream felt its own abasement, and was 
 singing a song of regret for the good old days 
 when it helped to make the hoe-cakes for the lit- 
 tle children, miles away among the mountains. 
 
 None of its regret, however, disturbed the 
 group of idle men smoking before the door of 
 the old mill, in happy ignorance of the stealthy 
 figures creeping noiselessly upon them through 
 the shadows of the forest. There were four of 
 them, Dawson and his three confederates, seated 
 there, distinctly visible, with the red glow of 
 the furnace upon their backs. 
 
 Within the shanty could be seen the sacks 
 of grain, as Grim had informed the officers they 
 would find them. He had also instructed them 
 that behind those sacks there were bushels and 
 bushels of apples, and that under the mill floor 
 there were barrels of brandy, new and old,
 
 A RAID 101 
 
 waiting for a safe transport to a certain place 
 of sale, the name of which had never been in- 
 trusted to the informer. 
 
 The still was in full operation. Through 
 the open door came the fumes of the half dis- 
 tilled liquor, powerfully condemning. 
 
 Dawson had just leaned forward to receive 
 from one of the gang a lighted splinter with 
 which to freshen the smouldering tobacco in 
 his pipe, when Hist ! 
 
 The laurel parted all about them and a hasty 
 " click !" " click !" followed by another and 
 another, suddenly cut the silence with deadly 
 meaning. 
 
 The sole of Dawson's heavy foot touched the 
 ground, but before he could rise, the muzzle of 
 a pistol was pressed against his forehead. The 
 voice of the chief, not loud, but thoroughly dis- 
 tinct and fearfully in earnest, said : 
 
 " Surrender ! all of you !" 
 
 The command was emphasized by the gleam- 
 ing barrels of the deputies standing in the full 
 glare of the furnace's light.
 
 102 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 Only one man attempted to get his hand to 
 his belt, but a weapon at his head put a sudden 
 stop to the faint resistance. 
 
 "There isn't the slightest use, men," said the 
 chief. " We are all around you. You had 
 better surrender quietly." 
 
 They did. Not a shot was fired. The 
 surprise had been complete. The distillers 
 stepped out, one by one, and laid down their 
 arms. 
 
 They remained under guard while the brandy 
 was emptied upon the ground and the still de- 
 stroyed. Then two of the posse were detached 
 to march the prisoners down to the county seat, 
 and ere long the old mill was left to the shadows, 
 to the rats, and to the lamentations of the mur- 
 muring stream hurrying past it to find the more 
 placid current of the Calf Killer, miles away, 
 beyond the mountain. 
 
 And then, when the prisoners were fairly 
 started, the chief and his remaining deputies 
 headed their horses for Bentley's. 
 
 As they swept by in the moonlight, one of the
 
 A EAID 103 
 
 men who was guarding the prisoners called out 
 to them : 
 
 " Be sure you get the boy. Grim said there 
 was a boy ; the sharpest little wildcatter in the 
 lot." 
 
 The " sharpest little wildcatter " meant Joe. 
 Grim had planned his revenge nicely.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 THE MOONSHINEK'S HOME 
 
 WILD and picturesque is the Blue Spring ; and 
 the Falls, with their prismatic lights where 
 the waters of the Spring go tumbling over the 
 bluff to the basin a hundred feet below which 
 have won for them the name of " The Rainbow 
 Falls." 
 
 A magnificent hiding place was the Rain- 
 bow. The beautiful Falls, that should have 
 served no baser purpose than to show forth the 
 wonderful handiwork of the Master, was made 
 to serve the distillers in their illicit work. For 
 midway the great bluff and far back under the 
 overhanging rocks a cavity opens. In the 
 centre of the roof a spring trickles down into 
 an old, rotted trough, and beyond the trough 
 into a basin bottomed with bright, pinkish peb- 
 bles. A great heap of stones tells where a fur- 
 104
 
 THE MOONSHLNEB'S HOME 105 
 
 nace has been ; these, with the remnants of a 
 twisted, copper worm, proclaim all too plainly 
 the service the beautiful cataract was made 
 to perform. Falling from the bluff above, 
 it made for Elijah Bentley a most effective 
 screen as he plied his unlawful trade, back 
 under the cavity and behind the Falls. 
 
 Others were raided ; others still grew restless 
 and uneasy and finally moved away or gave up 
 the business as one too full of risks ; to old 
 Bentley, however, danger seemed a thing not to 
 be feared. 
 
 Secure indeed did he feel as he sat behind 
 the watery veil and smoked his after-dinner 
 pipe to the music of the hounds, in open pack 
 in the cove below. Yet the illicit establishment 
 was doomed, despite old Bentley's feeling of 
 security. 
 
 One night he sat smoking on the doorstep of 
 his cabin, a half-mile distant, waiting for his sup- 
 per, which his old mother-in-law was preparing 
 over the fire of logs and pine knots blazing in 
 the great black-mouthed fireplace. The blaze
 
 106 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 lent an air of comfort to the room despite ite 
 scant proportions and coarse furnishings. A pot 
 swung from an iron hook over the fire ; a skillet 
 with cover surmounted by a heap of glowing 
 coals occupied one corner of the capacious 
 hearth, while a griddle from the other side sent 
 up savory odors of broiling bacon. An old 
 woman, wearing a short petticoat of homespun, 
 was flitting here and there over the hearth. 
 Yet, while she made all possible haste, the man 
 on the doorstep grumbled and growled and 
 swore under his breath, and wondered " how 
 long he would be getting his grub." 
 
 He was a rough looking man, tall, with 
 shoulders square enough to have borne the 
 burdens of life honestly, without resort to un- 
 lawful callings. A beard, rough and unkempt, 
 covered his face and lost itself in the masses of 
 uncut hair that fell about his ears and eyes. He 
 wore boots of stout calfskin that reached to his 
 knees and there received the brown jeans panta- 
 loons tucked into their capacious tops, against 
 the dust and dews of the mountain walks. His
 
 THE MOONSHINER'S HOME 107 
 
 waist was encircled by a broad leather belt, into 
 which was thrust a pair of old-fashioned horse 
 pistols. A gun rested against the wall, where 
 he had placed it while waiting for his supper. 
 
 While he sat thus, smoking and grumbling, 
 there came a slight, cautious stir among the 
 laurel bushes outside. 
 
 " Hist !" 
 
 He cautioned the old woman to silence, while 
 his keen eye peered into the shadowy growth, 
 his fingers fumbling for the pistols at his belt. 
 The next moment two stalwart figures emerged 
 from the shadow and cautiously approached 
 within radius of the firelighted doorway. Bent- 
 ley muttered a low growl. 
 
 " Well," said he, slipping the weapon hur- 
 riedly back into its place, " ain't you two bright 
 ones ! Come slippin' up here like a pair o' horse 
 thieves. I like ter put a bullet into your heads. 
 Ain't you got no sense, slippin' up to my house 
 at night in sech a manner? Didn't you know 
 I'd shoot ?" 
 
 " That's what I told Jake," said one of the
 
 108 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 men, a middle-aged man with smoothly shaven 
 face, and hair of thin iron gray. " I allowed we'd 
 just better step up, so. But Jake he allowed dif- 
 ferent. He allowed as revenuers always tried 
 that dodge, and we'uns had better be keerful. 
 That's what Jake allowed." 
 
 " Jake be blowed," said Bentley. " That thar 
 red head o' his ain't stuffed none too full o' 
 sense, as I can see. You little chicken " 
 
 " Let up thar, will you !" The challenge rang 
 out from beardless lips, yet the hardened old 
 sinner quailed for an instant, and instinctively 
 felt for the pistol at his belt. " Drap that !" com- 
 manded the same voice. " I ain't afeard o' you, 
 Lige Bentley, an' you can't skeer me, neither. 
 If I aim ter come here friendly I allow I have 
 the right ; if I choose ter come keerful, 'stead o' 
 makin' a targit o' my figur for every chance 
 raider hid in the brush, I reckon I have that 
 right. Now you hold you jaw ; reckerlect thar's 
 them can shoot as peart, an' may be as true, as 
 you, with all your braggin'. Set back thar, 
 will you?"
 
 THE MOONSHINER'S HOME 109 
 
 Bentley dropped back into his seat silently. 
 The old woman, meanwhile, had hurried the 
 supper on the table. She knew better than to 
 interfere with her son's quarrels, yet she under- 
 stood something of the art of interference in a 
 peaceable way, too. She stepped to the door, 
 as seemingly unconcerned as though she had 
 heard nothing of the disturbance. 
 
 "Supper's on the table, Lige," she said. 
 ' You-uns can come an' eat it." 
 
 Bentley. knocked the ashes from his pipe and 
 laid it upon the water shelf. He, too, had de- 
 cided to ignore the fuss. The quick-headed 
 mountaineer, Underwood, allowed his gun to 
 slip through the palms of his hands until the 
 stock rested upon his boot. Bentley understood 
 that hostilities were withdrawn ; he stood aside 
 and motioned the visitors to enter. The younger 
 acted as spokesman. He was beardless Jake 
 Underwood, a partner in the illicit still. 
 
 " We-uns have had our supper," said he, 
 " but we'll wait out here till you swallow yours, 
 an' then we'll walk back ter the still with you."
 
 110 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 They both carried guns, and under their belts 
 the occasional glimmer of .a blade was visible 
 when the firelight fell upon their stalwart fig- 
 ures. Desperadoes both, yet there was about 
 the younger of the two, a something softer 
 than the exterior warranted, when he glanced at 
 the old woman ; or sometimes when he spoke to 
 the boy, Joe, who hauled the fruit to the cave 
 and did other odd jobs at the command of his 
 father, Bentley. The two stepped back into the 
 shadow and waited ; conversing, if at all, in whis- 
 pers that did not reach the ear of Bentley, who sat 
 down, thankless and sullen, to his supper of bacon 
 and dry beans, and fell again to grumbling. 
 
 He ate, not ravenously, but so rapidly that 
 his eating had the appearance of greed. Finally 
 he stopped, and, looking over his half-lifted 
 knife, said to his mother : 
 
 "Whar's Joe?" 
 
 The old woman answered with fear and trem- 
 bling : 
 
 " Joey allowed he didn't want any supper," 
 said she.
 
 THE MOONSHINER'S HOME 111 
 
 " Wliar is he ?" said Bentley. " Answer a 
 plain question, if you're able. If you ain't, 
 I'll set about seein' if I can find him." 
 
 The old grandmother endeavored to appear 
 indifferent. 
 
 " Oh, well," said she, " if you air bent on 
 knowin' where he is, why, he's in the loft. The 
 child ware took with misery in his head, an' he 
 ware that fagged I let him go up the ladder and 
 rest a bit." 
 
 " ' Rest !' " sneered Bentley. " An' what's he 
 been a-doin' of to be needin' rest, I'd like to 
 know ? He'd better hurry up an' fetch that 
 load of apples to the Blue Spring; that's the 
 kind o' restin' he better be up ter. If them 
 apples ain't thar by sun up I'll engage ter take 
 the mis'ry out o' his head an' put it in his back. 
 You can tell him that with my compl'mints." 
 
 He ate on, greedily, as animals eat ; to satisfy 
 their hunger, without a thought of thanksgiving 
 or a throb of gratitude. At length he called to 
 the men upon the doorstep : 
 
 " Bill," said he, " what's stirrin' at the still ?"
 
 112 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 The man shuffled uneasily. 
 
 " Well," said he, " I aimed to tell you as we 
 walked back." 
 
 " But I aims to know now," said Bentley, in 
 a tone which proclaimed the brawny distiller 
 lord of his domain. His henchmen evidently 
 recognized his power and respected it. 
 
 " Well," said the man addressed as Bill, " I 
 ain't heard nothin' partic'lar stirrin' ter the 
 still, but over at Jube Jarvis's store 'Lihu 
 Hudgins allowed it ware gittin' pretty hot for 
 distillin' in these parts." 
 
 " So it be," said Bentley ; " any baby could 
 tell you that. Pretty tolerble hot for them as 
 don't kiver up their tracks." 
 
 "An'," continued Bill, " Bud Dawsoii's was 
 raided to-night." 
 
 "I allowed he would be," said the moun- 
 taineer, nothing daunted, as he emptied his 
 glass of cider. " He let every sort, go to his 
 place with no more guaranty than a promise 
 not to tell whar it ware hid;" 
 
 "An'," said Bill, "some boys over in the
 
 THE MOONSHINER'S HOME 113 
 
 cove sent word to us to-night to lie low. Some 
 of our boys." 
 
 Instantly the moonshiner pushed back his 
 chair, rose, gathered his gun in his brown 
 hands and joined the men on the outside. 
 Silently the three fell into step, and with long, 
 hasty strides crossed the yard, keeping, from 
 habit, close under the shadow of the gaunt old 
 cedars that studded the little enclosure. Half- 
 way across Bentley stopped, and called back to 
 the woman in the cabin : 
 
 " Tell that thar youngster to be at the Rain- 
 bow with that thar load o' apples by sun up if 
 he wants to save his hide an' tallow." 
 
 Was it fancy or did something stir in the 
 laurel, further back, beyond the cedars ? Was 
 it a footstep creeping back into the denser 
 shadow ? A figure of a man ? Another and 
 another, cowering under the thick stunted 
 growth ? Was it the glitter of a rifle that flashed 
 for a moment across the little clearing, disappear- 
 ing in the laurel thicket ? The distillers paused, 
 held their breath a moment and passed on. 
 8
 
 114 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 "A rabbit, I reckin," said Bentley. 
 
 " Sounds mightily like a step," said Jake 
 Underwood. " Yes, sir, like half a dozen of 
 'em," he added, with a low, mirthless laugh. 
 
 " Shut up, will you ?" said Bentley. " You 
 air enough, betwixt you, to give a fellow the 
 aguy. Takin' fright at a rabbit, an' such. 
 Wonder, now, if you wouldn't run from a 
 mouse ?" 
 
 The men offered no further opinion. After 
 all, they stood in a sort of terror of Bentley that 
 cowed them and at the same time quieted their 
 fears of other dangers. There was a kind of 
 bravado about him which they mistook for 
 courage, as people of their class and circum- 
 stances are wont to do. 
 
 Only the old woman they had left in the 
 cabin was not deceived by it. There was an 
 innate integrity about her that shone out and 
 scintillated even in the den into which fate had 
 cast her. Not for one instant did she mistake 
 Bentley's braggadocio and foolhardiness for 
 bravery. She had seen courage, and was ready
 
 THE MOONSHINER'S HOME 115 
 
 to recognize it always. Truly, fate had decreed 
 her hard lines, but she considered if only she 
 could make the difference plain to the young 
 lad sleeping in the loft over-head, she would not 
 count her life wholly vain. 
 
 " He's a good boy, Joe is," she said, as she 
 set away the remnants of the supper. " He's a 
 good boy an' I aims to teach him the rights an' 
 wrongs o' things, if the good Lord spares me." 
 
 She stepped to the cabin door, to listen for 
 any sound of loitering footsteps. Once she 
 fancied something stirred ; a shadow crossed the 
 yard ; and a moment later the sound of cautious 
 footsteps scrambling down the bluff in the rear 
 of the house. 
 
 " A deer," she said to herself, " or else some 
 o' the settlement boys takjn' the secret path to 
 the still-house. How I do hate that thar path. 
 It's mighty nigh been the ruin o' me and mine." 
 
 When all was still again she tip-toed to the 
 ladder leading to the loft, placed her hands 
 upon the lower rungs and began to mount. 
 
 The window shutter stood wide open, and
 
 116 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 through it the moonlight fell in broad, silver 
 patches upon the floor. By its light she 
 found the pallet in the corner, under the low 
 eaves, and stood a moment gazing down upon 
 the thin, brown face of the young sleeper lying 
 there among the quilts her hands had fashioned. 
 Then, kneeling, she touched him lightly upon 
 the shoulder. The weary fellow did not move ; 
 he was sound asleep, utterly exhausted. The 
 grandmother laid her hand upon his head, 
 pushing back the heavy masses of hair from 
 the smooth, hot forehead. He stirred at the 
 gentle touch, and opened his eyes. 
 
 " What is it, granny ?" he asked ; " is any- 
 thing the matter at the still ?" 
 
 " Anything at the still ?" That was the bur- 
 den of his days and of hers ; the fear that lay 
 ever upon their hearts, chilling the warm flow of 
 life. 
 
 " No, thar ain't anything as I knows on. I 
 come to see if maybe you couldn't eat a bite, 
 son. I have kept it back, a nice supper for you, 
 warm in the oven."
 
 THE MOONSHINER'S HOME 117 
 
 " No'm," said Joe, " I ain't hungry to-night. 
 I just allowed I'd rest some before time to haul 
 the apples. I ware that tired, looked like I 
 couldn't move." 
 
 Again the worn old hand caressed the dark 
 head tenderly. 
 
 " I know it, son. I know you air tired. You're 
 worked to death mighty nigh. Granny'd help 
 you if she could. I don't want to rob you of 
 your rest, but it's kinder lonesome-like down- 
 stairs, an' I feel sort o' cur'us about the still. 
 Sornehows I can't make out to rest for thinkin' 
 about it. The hounds have been howlin' awful, 
 too. I'd allowed maybe as your pappy's gone 
 you'd let me fix you a pallet down thar an' 
 you'd take your rest as well maybe, before the 
 warm fire." 
 
 Instantly Joe rose, leaning heavily upon one 
 elbow ; he was weary and sick, yet the first hint 
 of her need of him was enough to arouse him 
 to an effort to please her. His head ached, and 
 there was a thumping in his ears like the thun- 
 dering of the Blue Creek over the bluff on a
 
 118 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 stormy night. Half-way down the ladder he 
 tottered and caught at the hand put out to stay 
 him. 
 
 " Air the mis'ry that bad, son ?" his grand- 
 mother asked, with anxious voice. 
 
 " It's pretty bad," said Joe, as he sank in a 
 chair and dropped his head in his hands. 
 
 For a brief moment the two were silent ; they 
 were very dear to each other, the old woman 
 and the young boy, understanding each other's 
 needs and sharing each other's hardships. A 
 similar fate had fostered in them similar sym- 
 pathies. 
 
 " Granny," said Joe, after a long pause, 
 " sometimes I almost think it ain't worth while 
 to try." 
 
 She looked up at him with a startled expres- 
 sion in the faded old eyes, yet all she said was : 
 
 " Joey !" in that wounded, hurt way that 
 never failed to appeal to him. 
 
 " I don't mean as I ain't goin' to try," said 
 Joe. " For your sake, granny, I am goin' to 
 keep on, but I reckon it air all for your sake."
 
 THE MOONSHINER'S HOME 119 
 
 " An' for your own, son," said granny. "A 
 boy must always do the best that's in him for 
 his own sake ; for the sake of his conscience an' 
 his hereafter. Always remember that, son; 
 thar's that to be endured an' done always for 
 the sake o' them that love us, or that we-uns 
 love ; an' thar's something must be done for a 
 body's own sake. We have got to make the 
 best of what the good Lord gives us." 
 
 She always quieted and encouraged him by 
 her quiet forbearance and unswerving faith, yet 
 the way seemed rough indeed to the overworked 
 boy. 
 
 " I don't appear to have much chance," he 
 said with a sigh. " Just no showin' at all." 
 
 The old woman got up and began gathering 
 the pillows off a bed that stood in a corner of 
 the room ; then she spread a black bearskin be- 
 fore the fire and proceeded to lay the pillows 
 upon it, making a warm, comfortable pallet. 
 Once she paused in her work and looking at the 
 listless figure in the chair, said : 
 
 " I reckon we-uns don't always know what a
 
 120 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 chance may be when we see it. I see a lily 
 once, growin' in a mud hole " 
 
 Joe said nothing, yet the beauty of the 
 thought was not wholly lost upon him. When 
 the pallet was ready he stretched himself upon 
 it, and lay in the warm glow of the fire, thinking 
 of the lily, while his grandmother plied her 
 knitting needles. After a long silence he said, 
 dreamily, as though unconscious he was speak- 
 ing: 
 
 " Some one must a-dropped a seed thar, I 
 reckon." 
 
 " Whar ?" said granny ; she had forgotten 
 about the lily. 
 
 " Why, in the mud hole," said Joe. " Some 
 one must a-dropped a seed thar, an' the lily 
 come of it, I'm thinkin'." 
 
 " Maybe so," said the old woman, " else the 
 winds fetched it. Anyhow, it was thar, an' 
 growin' pretty as you ever see, spick an' span 
 an' clean, as though it was h'isted on top of the 
 bigges' mountain hereabouts. I ware plumb 
 pleased to see it ; it ware like a sermout,
 
 THE MOONSHINER'S HOME 121 
 
 mighty nigh. An' it almost seemed to say it 
 could keep itself clean spite of the mud about 
 it. I always think of that lily when I see you- 
 uns drug off to that thar hole in the bluff whar 
 the laws of the State air broke, and the laws o j 
 God A'mighty trompled under foot." 
 
 As the heat struck through the boy's chilled 
 and thinly clad body, and the warm blood be- 
 gan to circulate more quickly, the pain in his 
 head became less severe, his languor disap- 
 peared and Joe began to talk more freely. 
 
 " Granny," said he, " guess what I done to- 
 day?" 
 
 "I dunno what you done to-day," said 
 granny, " but I know you works too steady ; 
 that's what I know." 
 
 " This wasn't work," said Joe. " It was just 
 fun. I made a latch for the big gate, that will 
 open and shut for a touch. I made it up myse'f ; 
 all out of my own head. Jube Jarvis, from 
 the settlement, stopped to see it as he ware 
 passin', and let on as how I might get a patent 
 for it if I ware minded to try. I ain't carin' for
 
 122 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 no patent ; all I care for is makin' the thing 
 up." 
 
 " You air workin' too steady," insisted 
 granny. " When I see you bendin' over that 
 thai* chist, so happy an' contented it makes you 
 forgit you air tired, I knows you air workin' too 
 steady an' a-killin' of yourse'f." 
 
 Joe's eyes flashed for an instant : 
 
 " Does it make you feel any better to see me 
 haulin' apples to a wildcat still before daybreak 
 of a mornin' ?" said he. " I tell you, granny, 
 when I mount that thar cart an' sneak off 
 through the woods, snake-like, in the shadow, I 
 feel like a thief. But when I'm at that chist, 
 I plumb forget the still, an' the smell of the 
 b'ilin' liquor, an' the crunchin' of apples in the 
 mill. I forget ole Kit an' the wagiu' creepin' 
 along under the dark of the trees. I forget 
 ev'rything but the things beggin' of me to make 
 'em ; to turn 'em out with my tools. I'll do it 
 some day, granny ; you'll see." 
 
 The old woman listened, pleased in spite of 
 herself. She had always felt as if the boy were
 
 THE MOOXSHTNER'S HOME 123 
 
 indeed her own since the day his dying mother 
 had given him into her keeping, begging her as 
 far as possible to shield him from his father. 
 Bentley had dragged the boy into service when 
 he was too small, indeed, to do more than gather 
 up the apples from under the trees in the 
 orchard. Yet, drudge though he was, Joe 
 worked with tolerable patience so long as he 
 was permitted, at odd hours, the use of the tools, 
 which, with the help of Jube Jarvis he had 
 been able to collect. And, indeed, it was not 
 the work itself, but the nature of the work that he 
 objected to at the still. He was ignorant of the 
 great mysterious law of conscience ; yet, in the 
 heart of the lonely boy among the hills of Ten- 
 nessee, conscience, that defier of circumstance 
 and of conditions, had made for herself an 
 abode. 
 
 The fire burned low in the black fireplace ; the 
 flickering blaze cast shadows, fitful and unreal, 
 upon the face pressed against the pillow ; the 
 great logs fell apart; the grandmother's knitting 
 needles no longer clicked ; only the low breath-
 
 124 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 ing of the sleeping boy broke the stillness of the 
 room. Then the baying of a hound, far away 
 in a copse below, sounded upon the night; 
 nearer and nearer, until the old grandmother 
 awoke with a start and began to knit vigorously 
 for a moment, in the dark. Then, fully awake, 
 she called softly : 
 
 " Joey ? Air you'uns asleep, son ?" 
 " No'm," was the answer. " I ware noddin' 
 some, but the hound woke me up. I ware lyin' 
 here thinkin' about that last time I druv ole 
 Kit ter the still. I ware not right gentle with 
 her, I reckon. Poor ole Kitty ; her an' me 
 have had some tolerable hard licks I'm thinkin.' 
 " The last time I druv her over to the Blue 
 Spring with a load of apples she appeared poorly; 
 leastways she wouldn't go fast enough to pleas- 
 ure me, who ware honin' to get back to that 
 tool chist. So I just lit off that thar load an' 
 cut a poplar saplin', thinkin' to tetch her up a 
 bit. But the first lick I give her the critter 
 turned an' give me such a look! My ! my ! I 
 can't ever furgit that look. I just turned an'
 
 THE MOONSHINER'S HOME 125 
 
 flung that tliar saplin' over the bluff an' asked 
 ole Kit's pardon like a man. I couldn't for the 
 life of me, granny, help thinkin' o' that other 
 mule critter the parson told about over at 
 meetin' onc't. The one as turned round an' 
 talked to the prophet as was tryin' to drive her 
 into the wrong place. My ! how that thar hound 
 do bark ; he must a-treed somethiu V 
 
 Ah ! had he known, had he guessed, what it 
 was the old dog had " treed," he would not have 
 been lying there dreaming in the semi-dark- 
 ness with that contented look upon his face, 
 as he talked of Balaam and his ass. The fire 
 died in the big fireplace ; the room grew dark. 
 The boy dropped to sleep again, and the grand- 
 mother stole off to her bed in the corner. It was 
 still dark when Joe awoke and slipped noise- 
 lessly out the door. As he laid the gear upon 
 the mule's back, he said : 
 
 " I hope thar ain't many more loads like this 
 for you an' me, Kitty." He paused. Far away 
 to the east a faint red flush streaked the sky ; 
 young birds were chirruping in their nests; the
 
 126 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 gorge, wrapped in its mantle of mist, bluer than 
 the blue heavens at noonday, lay at his feet ; the 
 spell of the place and the hour was upon him. 
 
 " I wish," said he, " I wish to heaven this 
 ware the last trip ; the very last, for you an' 
 me. I wish that thar fog would never have to 
 hide me from the eye of man again. I wish 
 it!" 
 
 Did the mists laugh ? Was the breath of the 
 old beast against his cheek an " amen !" to that 
 rash but fervent wish ? For a moment Joe was 
 almost startled. 
 
 " It sounded like a prayer almost," said he. 
 Then he bounded lightly to the mule's back, a 
 mode of riding common among the young driv- 
 ers of those mountain carts, and chirruped softly. 
 But instantly he dropped the lines, and, stretch- 
 ing himself almost flat upon the mule's back, 
 craned forward in an effort to pierce the mists. 
 Something was coming up the secret trail ; foot- 
 steps, and voices without any attempt at silence 
 or concealment. Frightened, startled as he was, 
 Joe thought of the hound whose baying he had
 
 THE MOONSHINER'S HOME 127 
 
 heard in the night, and at the same moment 
 there flashed through his memory a recollection 
 of his own rash wish that this might be his last 
 trip to the still under the bluff. 
 
 With scarcely a breath he slipped from the 
 mule's back, as the steps came nearer and the 
 voices became more distinct. Instantly he knew 
 the secret trail was a secret no longer ; some- 
 thing whispered him the old law-breaking days 
 were over and done with ; yet, the moment had 
 its terrors, its dangers. Scarcely daring to 
 breathe, he crouched low upon his face under 
 the mule's belly, while the officers passed so 
 near he could have put out his hand and touched 
 them. 
 
 Thank God for the mists, the friendly mists, 
 hiding him, indeed, for "the last time "from 
 the eye of man !
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 BEHIND THE RAINBOW FALLS 
 
 AMONG the shadows of the laurel, scarcely 
 fifty feet from Bentley's door, two figures had 
 been crouching for hours. At last the cabin 
 door opened, and another figure, a big burly 
 mountaineer, stood a moment in the lighted 
 doorway before dropping down upon the step, 
 to smoke his pipe and wait grumblingly for his 
 supper. 
 
 The moon shone resplendent, but it was the 
 firelight behind his big, broad back that made 
 distinct the figure upon the doorstep. One of 
 the watchers in the brush touched the sleeve of 
 his companion : 
 
 "That's him," he whispered, "that's Bent- 
 ley himself. He is at home for his supper, I 
 dare say." 
 
 " Then," whispered the other, " we had as well 
 128
 
 BEHIND THE RAINBOW FALLS 129 
 
 go on ; queer the chief lost that diagram, but 
 Jackson said he could lead the others to the 
 spot if you could direct me ; can you do it, 
 Combs?" 
 
 " No, not by moonlight. I thought I could, 
 but I am all turned around to-night. We must 
 just trail the old beast to his lair ; that's all we 
 can do. But there's the boy Grim mentioned, 
 we mustn't forget to look out for him. I haven't 
 seen any boy ; have you ?" 
 
 " No, but Jackson saw one at the store several 
 times while he was out reconnoitring. He 
 thinks it might be the one we are after. In 
 fact Grim intimated as much." 
 
 " Said he was ' sharp as a briar,' too. Hush ! 
 some one is coming." 
 
 There were cautious steps among the shadows 
 on the other side of the lighted clearing before 
 the door. A moment later two other figures 
 advanced stealthily toward the figure upon the 
 step. 
 
 " His confederates," whispered Combs. 
 "Must have gotten wind of the raid on Daw- 
 9
 
 130 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 son ; sh-h, lie low there! They are quarreling 
 about something. Listen." 
 
 They crouched closer to the earth, fairly 
 hugging the ground, as the moon climbed higher 
 in the heavens and the laurels became more and 
 more insecure. From the doorstep came the 
 sound of voices, guarded but angry; evidently 
 the old distiller and his confederates were not 
 on the best of terms this evening. After awhile 
 the older man got up and went in to his supper 
 while the others waited outside. The chief's 
 deputies waited also, crouched among the 
 shadows, afraid to stir lest some stray moonbeam 
 should direct the eyes of the wary distillers to 
 their hiding place. At last Bentley pushed back 
 his chair and, shouldering his gun, joined the 
 men on the doorstep, and the three passed like 
 shadows across the little moonlighted yard, dis- 
 appearing down the secret trail to the still. The 
 shadows among the laurel arose and followed 
 without the slightest hesitation ; although they 
 understood they might at any moment step into 
 some trap set for their undoing.
 
 SHOT FOLLOWED SHOT 
 (Page 136)
 
 BEHIND THE RAINBOW FALLS 131 
 
 They had walked for nearly a mile when the 
 tramp suddenly ended. There was a sound of 
 water ; a rich, round gurgle at first, and softened 
 by distance ; then as they drew nearer, the full, 
 round roar of the cataract tumbling from the 
 bluff. The next moment they saw it, a sheet of 
 white, a dash of frothy silver in the moonlight, 
 against which the figures of the three distillers 
 stood out like giant silhouettes. There was no 
 necessity for whispering now, the cataract 
 drowned all other sounds. 
 
 " This is the place," said Combs. " The still 
 is directly here, somewhere. Don't take your 
 eye off those men for an instant ; watch that big 
 fellow there ; that's Bentley, you know. Don't 
 lose sight of them " 
 
 Did the earth open and swallow them? 
 Without one step from the spot on which they 
 were standing, seemingly without one step for- 
 ward, the distillers had disappeared. The 
 deputies clutched each other in silence ; they 
 were so close that each could hear the breathing 
 of the other above the noise of the cataract.
 
 132 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 What had become of the distillers ? This was 
 the question trembling upon their lips, when a 
 hand reached from the shadow and tapped Combs 
 upon the shoulder lightly. " Be quiet," said 
 the chief's voice, " and step further back into 
 the shadow. The boys are back here. The dis- 
 tillers are behind that waterfall. How they got 
 there is the question we are trying to decide. 
 Jackson is over there now trying to find the 
 entrance to the cave; for evidently there is a 
 cave back there." 
 
 They stepped back into the denser shadows, 
 near enough, however, to keep watch on the 
 waterfall in case the law-breakers should leave 
 before the plans for attack should be perfected. 
 The chief peered into the brake more than once 
 to ascertain if the brave young deputy might 
 be in sight. At last he came, his finger upon 
 his lips, motioning silence. The posse drew 
 their Leads together and listened while he ex- 
 plained the situation of the cascade and its 
 curiously hidden cave. " There is a cascade 
 above," said he; "a long, swift current that
 
 BEHIND THE RAINBOW FALLS 133 
 
 tumbles over a jagged rock bed before it makes 
 the final plunge over the bluff. There is a cave 
 behind the fall ; the best concealed one I ever 
 saw. I failed to find the slightest opening until 
 a moment since, when the three distillers dropped 
 .seemingly into the earth. There are four or five 
 of them in there, however, and there is death 
 behind there for somebody. When they disap- 
 peared I searched the spot. All I found was a 
 curious little step, right into the waterfall. One 
 would suppose to step into it would be to go 
 down a hundred feet into that still-looking pool 
 of blackish water. I didn't see the step; I 
 merely tried it. I thought if they could take 
 it I could, and I did. But first I put my ear to 
 the rocks above on the left side of the cave, and 
 I could hear them talking. They are either 
 drinking, or else they count upon the noise of 
 the fall to drown their voices, for they are evi- 
 dently not trying to speak low. On the^ con- 
 trary, they seem to be having rather a good time. 
 The cave isn't deep, it is merely a sort of hollow, 
 a room under the rocks, without, I believe, any
 
 134 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 other opening than the one through the Fall. 
 They are tough old customers, and we shall 
 probably have a tussle before we take them. 
 Bentley we will never take alive, unless we take 
 him in a drunken stupor. I am at your service, 
 sir." He turned to the chief and lifted his hat ; 
 he was quite ready to beard the lion in his lair 
 if his superior so ordered. 
 
 But the chief had different plans. He drew 
 his men further back into the shadow, but quite 
 near enough to keep guard upon the entrance to 
 the cave. He had decided to wait until mid- 
 night to make the attack ; at that time the dis- 
 tillers would in all probability be drunk, or 
 asleep, and off their guard. 
 
 The plan met with general approval. 
 
 " We shall probably get the boy, too, by 
 waiting," said Jackson. " Grim said he gener- 
 ally came over awhile after midnight to relieve 
 the others before day." 
 
 And while they waited, the distillers, not 
 dreaming that they were caught like rats in a 
 trap, were carousing the night away.
 
 BEHIND THE RAINBOW FALLS 135 
 
 As the time wore on the jug circulated freely, 
 and the big, red eye of the furnace gleamed ; a 
 sullen gleam that lighted up the faces of the 
 distillers and drew their silhouettes as the moon 
 had drawn them, in gigantic black pictures upon 
 the wall of rocks. 
 
 And while the time slipped away the one pass 
 to freedom was watched by the old chief and his 
 dauntless young deputies. But the distillers were 
 too drunk to care now. They sang, and drank 
 again, with only the white foam of the water be- 
 tween them and the despised " revernuers." At 
 midnight the revel ended. One of the men had 
 fallen asleep with his head dropped back against 
 the rocks. The furnace fire showed his face, blood 
 red in the lurid glow. And, suddenly, while the 
 young distiller slept, a strange form stepped down 
 into the white spray of the water-fall; another, and 
 yet another, until there were four. At last the 
 officers stood within the long-sought illicit work- 
 shop of Elijah Bentley and his gang. There was 
 not a sound until the chief clicked his weapon 
 into cock ; then the distillers turned and saw.
 
 136 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 They rose, as one man, and grasped their 
 guns, scattered over the floor of the cavern. 
 They gave no more heed to the chiefs order to 
 surrender than they gave to the cataract tumb- 
 ling from the rocks over their heads. The 
 sleeper over against the wall suddenly awoke, 
 sprang to his feet and fired recklessly into the 
 crowd. The shot was promptly answered from 
 the officers, firing into the air. For the 
 chief had given orders that shooting should be 
 done only for intimidation until orders were 
 given to the contrary; and then only as a matter 
 of defense. 
 
 But the moment the first shot was fired the 
 distillers were wild. Shot followed shot, mingling 
 with the rattle of falling stone, the roar of the 
 water, and the chief's hurried commands to 
 "surrender." In the midst of the confusion 
 the big, burly figure of Bentley pressed for- 
 ward ; his eyes were bloodshot, and he breathed 
 like an animal, brought to bay. He carried his 
 gun, stock forward, as though about to present 
 it to the deputy standing nearest him. The men
 
 BEHIND THE RAINBOW FALLS 137 
 
 fell slightly back, awaiting the surrender of the 
 leader, when, quick as a flash, the distiller 
 whisked his weapon into position, and before the 
 noise of the report had ceased to vibrate through 
 the cavern the waiting deputy fell forward, dead. 
 
 Another shot instantly followed, but the wiry 
 old wildcatter was too quick for them. With a 
 cry of rage he turned and leaped into the cata- 
 ract. As he went down the chief's bullet struck 
 him, squarely between the shoulders, and a 
 moment later the sound of his heavy body 
 striking the pool far below could be heard 
 above the confusion. 
 
 In the midst of the tumult some one banged 
 the furnace door shut and the place was in 
 darkness, save for the moonbeams falling 
 through the water-curtain, showing the strug- 
 gling figures about the cave's mouth. 
 
 When the struggle ended the chief cast up 
 the result : he had destroyed the still and some 
 fifteen barrels of brandy. He had a coat where 
 he had expected to have a prisoner, the man 
 having shed his garment and made good his
 
 138 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 escape. He had wounded one man slightly, 
 and another unto death ; for Bentley, he knew, 
 carried his death wound, if he had not been 
 drowned in that terrible leap he had made. 
 Jackson carried a bullet in his left arm, Combs 
 had a gash across his face, while the fourth 
 man lay back behind the waterfall, dead. The 
 chiefs hat had a bullet hole in the crown, show- 
 ing how close had been his own danger. 
 
 But he was not ready to give up the battle . 
 
 " We must capture Bentley," said he. " If 
 he is alive we must carry him back with us ; at 
 all events, we must be sure he is dead. Those 
 fellows are merely hid out in the woods. I am 
 going to take one of you boys with me to the 
 settlement. Grim said there was a man there 
 who had a couple of fairly trained bloodhounds." 
 
 " Fox hounds, captain," said Combs. " And 
 I think you'll have a hard time getting them, 
 too. These fellows are not any too ready to 
 help run each other down." 
 
 " He said," said Jackson, " that they were 
 * fox hounds with a blood streak in them,' and I
 
 BEHIND THE RAINBOW FALLS 139 
 
 am for getting them. If we fail we will at least 
 have a chance at the boy Grim mentioned." 
 
 Reaching the settlement, they found they 
 needed ammunition and the chief ordered the 
 storekeeper called up. Mr. Jarvis heard only 
 such an account of the raid as they chose to 
 give. It was none of his business, and so he 
 asked no questions. Had he done so, the 
 question burning in his heart, must have sprung 
 to his lips : " Had they trapped Joe ? " The 
 question was unexpectedly answered without his 
 asking ; the chief had received his ammunition 
 and was turning away when he stopped and 
 looked the storekeeper in the eye : 
 
 " Do you know anything about a boy con- 
 nected with this business ?" 
 
 Farewell to the brave old boast of the man 
 who "lied for nobody." Had there been a 
 moment for thought perhaps it might have been 
 different ; but there was not. Yet, between the 
 officer's question and his own reply, the store- 
 keeper felt that he had undone the principles of 
 a lifetime. Truth to him was not a hobby, but
 
 140 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 a grandly magnificent principle ; something 
 that made radiant an humble and obscure life. 
 Yet, to the chief's question he replied : 
 
 " Thar ain't any boy connected with it." 
 
 " What boy was that at the store the other 
 day, some of my men were here ?" 
 
 " My boy. Grim had a grudge against him, 
 that's all. Boy tried to lick him once ; that's 
 all thar was to it." 
 
 " Where is he now ?' 
 
 " At home, in bed." 
 
 The fact that it never once occurred to the 
 officer to doubt him rendered the lie he had 
 spoken only the more detestable to old Jube. 
 He felt that he had not only spoken an untruth, 
 but that he had betrayed the confidence of men. 
 He heard the hoofs of the horses galloping back 
 to the scene of the late struggle ; there was no 
 need of secrecy now. When the last sound of 
 the hoofs had died away, down the sandy road, 
 the storekeeper turned back to the counter where 
 he had lately stood with his midnight customers. 
 His face wore a troubled expression. " I told
 
 BEHIND THE RAINBOW FALLS 141 
 
 a lie," said he. " A common lie." He leaned 
 upon the counter, his chin in his palm. 
 
 " He's a little feller no mammy worse 
 than no daddy good boy " he spoke slowly, 
 with long pauses between the words, as though he 
 might have been arguing the matter with his con- 
 science " never harmed nothin' in the worF, 
 beset by evil all the days of his life ; I dunho 
 ef I done right or no , but God A'mighty 
 furgive me ef the lie ware wrong." 
 
 And the old storekeeper dropped down upon 
 an upturned keg, and burying his face in his 
 hands sobbed as unreservedly and as bitterly as 
 ever the little ill-treated stripling, for whom 
 the lie had been spoken asleep at that moment 
 in his cabin on the bluff had wept for the 
 hardships of fate. 
 
 To him all the props of his character seemed 
 crumbling about him, a pitiful wreck. Truth 
 had been its foundation stone, and the staunch 
 old builder had accepted of himself no com- 
 promise for meaner material. 
 
 Thus is truth the foundation of all genuine 
 self-respect.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE BEST OF FRIENDS MUST PART 
 
 IT was over ; the officers had passed by in the 
 fog, unseen and unseeing. So close had they 
 been to the little cart and its frightened driver 
 that they might almost have heard the beating 
 of the boy's heart had they stopped long enough 
 to listen. 
 
 But they had not stopped, and the friendly 
 mists had veiled both Joe and the tell-tale load 
 of apples until the danger had passed by. When 
 the last sound of horses' hoofs had died away in 
 the distance Joe crept out from his hiding place 
 and began rapidly unloading the fruit, by dump- 
 ing it into a huge trough from which the hogs 
 were fed. As long as he could remember he 
 had been drilled for this very occasion ; the 
 coming of the revenue officers. Yet, at the real 
 moment of danger he never once thought of his 
 142
 
 THE BEST OP FRIENDS MUST PAKT 143 
 
 drilling ; his own good sense told him precisely 
 what to do. 
 
 "They might come back," he whispered, 
 patting as he did so the old mule's back. He 
 had long had a habit of talking to the mule ; 
 they two had been so often together upon that 
 solitary journey down the secret trail to the 
 hidden distillery that he had come to look upon 
 the old beast as something almost human ; almost 
 a friend indeed. 
 
 " They might come back, and we-uns don't 
 want 'em to come up on this here load, now, do 
 we Kitty ?" 
 
 The hand upon the mule's back trembled in 
 spite of the empty cart. In all his life J.oe could 
 not remember to have heard a horse's hoof along 
 that obscure little trail, other than old Kit's. 
 That noisy, bold clatter that had just passed by 
 in the gray fog's arms was ample assurance that 
 the path was no longer a secret one. 
 
 He led the old mule into the barn and pulled 
 down an armful of hay. 
 
 "You did behave a lady, that's what you
 
 144 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 did," he whispered in his old friend's ear. 
 " One word from you-uns an' we wouldn't be 
 here now, would we, Kitty ?" 
 
 He tossed a half-dozen ears of corn into the 
 trough and then, went out noiselessly, glancing 
 cautiously about him, lest the foe might still be 
 lurking near. But all was silent save the sound 
 of the old mule munching the dry corn. Care- 
 fully fastening the latch he picked his way 
 quickly to the cabin door, and lifting the latch 
 entered. 
 
 Granny had risen and was sitting over the 
 fireplace blowing upon the red embers. Joe 
 knelt at her side and mechanically relieved her 
 of her task. But before the red blaze had be- 
 gun to send its little forked tongues in and out 
 the cedar splinters he had told the story of the 
 raid. 
 
 The old woman listened, trembling and 
 frightened, offering no interruption, save an 
 occasional " I knowed it ;" " It was bound to 
 come ;" or else, " I always said it would be so." 
 
 All the morning they sat there in the cabin,
 
 THE BEST OF FRIEXDS MUST PART 145 
 
 afraid to stir, waiting, hoping, dreading the 
 news that must come. At last graimy turned 
 to Joe and said : 
 
 " Hadn't you-uns better slip down to the 
 bluff an' see what's happened, son ?" 
 
 " No, granny," said Joe. " I don't do any 
 more ' slippin' ' round. I'm done with that. 
 If I go to that thar still I'll go open an' above- 
 board, same's anybody else. But I'd ruther 
 die as to go thar. I hope you won't ask me ; 
 oh, I hope you won't ask me, granny !" 
 
 She would not ask him again, and so the day 
 wore on to noon, and still no tidings came of 
 the midnight raid. She would have gone her- 
 self had she known positively that Bentley had 
 been taken. All her life since the beginning 
 of the illicit establishment she had had before 
 her a picture of him lying dead and still under 
 a jungle of mountain laurel. Yet now, although 
 she dreaded the worst, she could not bring her- 
 self to believe that he was really dead or had 
 been taken prisoner. And on this account she 
 dared not go to look for him. Bentley was not 
 10
 
 146 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 one to be taken unawares ; it was more than 
 probable that he was merely in hiding some- 
 where, she thought, until the danger should 
 have passed by. In this event she knew that 
 his anger would be almost unbearable should 
 she, by going to seek him, bring upon him 
 some new danger. So she sat there with Joe 
 in the lonely cabin, hoping, fearing dreading 
 always and listening for the well-known step 
 upon the walk. 
 
 It had indeed, as Joe said, been " hard licks " 
 for both the old woman and her grandson. 
 There had not been a day when either of them 
 would not have rejoiced to know the dull, dark 
 days were over. Blows for the boy, grumblings 
 and growliugs for the mother ; that was what 
 their life had been since the still was put in 
 operation. Yet neither of them had thought 
 or hoped for such an ending as they now feared 
 had come, though, to be sure, they had learned 
 to know long since that it might come at any 
 moment. The old mother, perhaps more than 
 the boy, had dreaded and expected it, yet it
 
 THE BEST OF FRIENDS MUST PART 147 
 
 held its surprise and its sorrow for her, for al- 
 though Bentley was rough and ungracious to 
 an extent that was almost cruel at times, still 
 he was the husband of her child, her daughter, 
 and nature was not dead in her. Then she 
 fancied he would be home by and by, wanting 
 his dinner and desperately angry should any- 
 thing indeed have happened at the still. 
 
 But the noon passed, and the shadows began 
 to creep across the little yard and lay upon the 
 doorstep. Surely with the darkness he would 
 come, else Bill or Jerry, or some of the others 
 would bring tidings. They could not have all 
 been killed. 
 
 Joe shared her anxiety to the full. Only once 
 there had come to him a thought that the little 
 tool-chest would no longer have to be hurried 
 under the bed at the sound of a well-known 
 footstep crunching the gravel outside the door. 
 But he quickly put the thought aside as some- 
 thing wicked at this time of doubt and of 
 danger. Once, too, he remembered his wish, and 
 the answer that had come like a thunderbolt
 
 148 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 straight from the sky. It frightened him ; it 
 was as though the intensity of his desire had 
 made itself into a prayer which God had thrown 
 back at him granted, but with such fearful re- 
 sults that the granting seemed a curse that 
 terrible wish that it might be the last time he 
 should ever take the trip over the secret trail to 
 the still under the bluff. Thinking of the wish 
 reminded him of Kit ; she had had nothing to 
 eat since early morning. He got up and went 
 out to the barn ; the old mule came to meet 
 him, rubbing her nose against his arm. With 
 sudden impulse he threw his arms around the 
 animal's neck and burst into tears. 
 
 His tears relieved him ; the long strain of 
 suspense had told upon him ; but the old mule, 
 his companion in loneliness, had awakened 
 within him that spirit of courage natural to 
 boyhood. 
 
 He returned to the cabin and insisted upon 
 helping granny to get supper. After a simple 
 meal of broiled bacon and hoecake, a potato 
 roasted upon the hearth among the ashes, and a
 
 THE BEST OF FRIENDS MUST PART 149 
 
 cup of steaming coffee, the two sat themselves 
 down again to wait. 
 
 This time they had not long to wait. The 
 moonlight lay upon the gravel outside, white and 
 ghostly, drawing with startling distinctness the 
 figure of a man, tall and gaunt, skulking across 
 the yard to the cabin door. Without knocking, 
 a hand was lifted to the latch, the string care- 
 fully drawn and the frightened face of Jake 
 Underwood appeared in the doorway. Lifting 
 a finger for silence he entered cautiously and 
 drew the door fast behind him, pulling the latch- 
 string to the inside, where it dangled lazily be- 
 neath the wooden fastening Joe had made for it. 
 
 " I ware afeard some o' them revenuers might 
 be about," Underwood remarked by way of 
 apology. 
 
 Granny silently pointed to a chair ; she was 
 too frightened to speak, though she motioned 
 the man to go on, knowing that he had come 
 with news of the raid. 
 
 " Mis' Bentley," said the law-breaker, " we- 
 uns have had some mighty bad luck over to the
 
 1-50 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 still. Me an' Bill had heard some talkin' an' 
 we come over here last night to warn Lige. But 
 we ware most too late." He paused, hesitated, 
 then broke out fiercely : " I've got awful news 
 for you, Mis' Bentley, awful. I'd rather cut 
 my tongue out as to tell you, but it's got to 
 come. After me an' Lige an' Bill left here last 
 night we went to the still to hide the liquor 
 against the revenuers an' to slip out o' sight our- 
 selves if thar should be any danger. 
 
 " When we got thar everything looked that 
 safe an' secure we misdoubted thar ware any 
 revenuers around. An' so, tempted by the 
 warmth an' the keg o' brandy we kept circu- 
 lating we decided to stay thar an' take our 
 chances. It ware not half hour until we heard 
 'em at the very mouth o' the still. We ware 
 that set back we couldn't move for a minute, an' 
 the next minute ware too late. They ware fairly 
 upon us, though we made a scramble for the 
 woods as best we could. One o' the boys left 
 his coat in the officers' hands, an' Lige carried 
 a bullet in his back that disabled him before
 
 THE BEST OF FRIENDS MUST PART 151 
 
 we could get to safe cover. We got down 
 in a sort of a brake, though, amongst the laurel, 
 an' hid thar while the revenuers broke up the 
 still. We ware that close we could hear the 
 licks as they knocked things to pieces. When 
 things got toler'ble quiet I drug Lige back 
 whar the growth ware thicker, an' we-uns lay 
 thar waitin' for daylight. About daybreak I 
 could still hear the men scoutin' about lookin' 
 for us. Lige ware ravin' by this time, plumb 
 out'n his head. About twelve o'clock to-day he 
 died." 
 
 His voice sank to a whisper, carrying with it 
 the horror >f that which he had seen and heard 
 in the brush. The old woman was crying softly, 
 but Joe was too frightened and bewildered for 
 tears. The tragedy of the law-breaker had come 
 home to him in all its sudden, startling horror. 
 After a moment's silence the moonshiner went 
 on with his story : 
 
 " The boys got away somehows, but Lige 
 ware dead. I come up here to tell you-uns, so's 
 Joe could go over thar an' haul him home."
 
 152 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 But Joe sprang to his feet with a startled pro- 
 test : " Oh, I can't," said he ; " I can't go back 
 to that place ! I'm afeard o' him the dead ; an* 
 I'm afeard o' the livin'. The revenuers'll be 
 hid in the brake an' I'm afeard they'd shoot 
 me, or else fetch me away to prison. Don't send 
 me. Granny, they'd know I'd been haulin' the 
 apples ; they'd be sure to harm me in some 
 way." 
 
 " Now, that's a true word," said the visitor. 
 " I never thought o' that. But I don't see who 
 else can go. I can't ; they know I belong to the 
 gang; I crawled halfway here on my hands an' 
 knees. It ought to be some one that ain't got 
 any call to be afeard." He was silent a mo- 
 ment, thinking, then said with sudden inspira- 
 tion : 
 
 " Jube Jarvis would go. Jube ain't got any 
 call to be afeard o' anybody." 
 
 " No," said granny, " Jube's got a good 
 name. Nothin' can't touch him. I reckin Jube 
 would go an' fetch that misguided one home to 
 a decent buryin'."
 
 THE BEST OF FRIENDS MUST PAKT 153 
 
 " I can go over an' ask Jube that word," said 
 Joe, ready to do his part so long as it did 
 not take him back to the despised still. As he 
 sped away in the moonlight in search of the 
 man who had no call to be afraid of anybody, 
 Joe felt, for the first time in his life, the force 
 of a good name. Unconsciously he began to 
 compare the two men the dead man lying in 
 the brake with no one to carry his body home, 
 and the man who had nothing to fear in going 
 where the guilty and suspected were afraid to 
 venture. Unconsciously, there on the lonely 
 mountain road, death behind and danger before 
 him, the boy made the great turn in his life 
 that was to affect all his after destiny. Scarcely 
 realizing that he was speaking, as, lifting his 
 tear- washed face to the solemn skies, he recorded 
 a vow : " I mean," said he, " to make a good 
 name. A good name air worth all gains. A 
 man who has got it need be afeard o' nothin', 
 nothin'." 
 
 He felt the force of it still more when he had 
 delivered his message and saw Jube Jarvis,
 
 154 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 without a moment's hesitation, begin to make his 
 preparations for bringing home the body hidden 
 in the laurel brake. The first thing he did was 
 to send for some of the neighbors and request 
 their assistance. 
 
 " Tell 'em to fetch lanterns, son," said he to 
 the messenger, " an' all the help they can get." 
 
 Lanterns ! there was no skulking about this 
 man. He was no more afraid to go into this 
 den of corruption, spied upon though it was by 
 the eye of the law, than he was to go behind his 
 own counter. To Joe it was courage perfected. 
 
 " Mr. Jarvis, ain't you afeard to fetch lanterns 
 down thar ? The revenuers may be hid about." 
 
 "No, Joe," said the storekeeper ; " I don't do 
 nothin' in the dark. As fur the revenuers, I'd 
 rather they know who it be ; then maybe they 
 won't be shootin' harum-scarum. I ain't afeard 
 o' the light, ever." 
 
 Inspired by the man's courage Joe renewed 
 his vow to make a good name. 
 
 " It's better than a shot-gun," he told him- 
 self, as he slipped off home again, having seen
 
 THE BEST OF FRIENDS MUST PART 155 
 
 the men, a full procession and fully lighted, 
 start on their way to the deserted cave and the 
 laurel brake near by. Later came the simple 
 funeral, the burial, and then the place settled 
 down into such a quiet as it had never known. 
 What days they were to Joe ; no more fear of 
 the heavy step on the walk, the threats, the 
 drive in the dawn, the fire under the crags and 
 the dangers that lurk in the bush. Only the 
 long days with granny ; the simple duties about 
 the place, such as feeding old Kit, keeping the 
 wood cut and the kitchen fire made ; and at 
 night the tool-chest, and the curious things that 
 grew unchallenged beneath his eager hand. 
 Happy days, blessed nights ; season of singing 
 birds, odorous woods and quiet dreams. And 
 then came the awakening ; came the season of 
 falling leaves, scarlet and gay gold, drifting 
 down to the hollows with the chestnuts and the 
 frost-sweetened chinquapins. The Indian pipes 
 were in bloom, the golden-rod flaunted a flag in 
 every fence corner. To Joe the mountain had 
 never been so beautiful ; he had never loved it
 
 156 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 before. Hitherto the purple pines had held 
 something of terror in their melancholy sough- 
 ing; but now he recognized it as the music that 
 had lulled his infancy to slumber. And thus, 
 while all nature warmed and throbbed within 
 him, came the change ; it must all be given up. 
 They were going away. His father's brother 
 had come over from the first bench of the moun- 
 tains and persuaded his grandmother that she 
 and Joe could not live there alone. He kept a 
 "stage stand," a kind of rude inn where 
 travelers across the mountain sometimes stopped 
 for refreshment. She and Joe were welcome to 
 a home there, he said ; and " Joe could help a 
 little about the place." The price the cabin and 
 land would bring " would be used to make the 
 old grandmother comfortable in her old age." 
 So, after much persuasion, granny consented. 
 Jube Jarvis bought the cabin and Ben Bentley 
 dropped the money into his pockets "for 
 granny's comfort in her old age." 
 
 Joe was bitterly opposed to going, but his 
 uncle had carried the day.
 
 THE BEST OF FRIENDS MUST PART 157 
 
 The boy had a strong premonition of sorrow 
 ahead, born perhaps of the hardships that lay 
 behind him. At the last, however, he accepted 
 the inevitable and tried to persuade himself that 
 all was for the best. 
 
 " It ain't been so powerful sunshiny up here," 
 he told himself as he stood upon the bluff's edge 
 taking a last look at the far-away hills across 
 the valley. " It's been hard licks nothin' but 
 hard licks all along. It can't be much worser 
 down thai* on the first bench o' Cumberland 
 Mountain than it's been up here on top, I 
 reckin." 
 
 His eyes filled with tears, however, when later 
 in the day he watched the loading of the wagon 
 containing their modest household goods. Two 
 strange horses stood in old Kit's stall, while old 
 Kit herself, tied to a sapling, waited for her new 
 owner to come and claim her ; for faithful old 
 Kit had been sold, along with the house, to 
 Jube Jarvis. It was this, perhaps more than any- 
 thing else, that had fostered in the boy's heart a 
 distrust of his uncle. He had begged so hard
 
 158 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 to take Kit, promising to feed and care for her 
 with his own hands ; but Beutley had insisted 
 that the money would be worth more to granny 
 than a worn-out old mule in the corucrib. It 
 was this determination to turn all their little 
 property into money that had aroused Joe's 
 suspicions. There was but one comfort about 
 the sale of Kit ; Jube Jarvis had bought her. 
 Yet when Joe heard the new owner's voice in 
 the house he crept away, so that he might not 
 know when she was led off. 
 
 " Seems like she's been the only friend I ever 
 had," he said, as he waited behind the house 
 until Mr. Jarvis should be gone. 
 
 Once, however, he peeped around the corner 
 just at the moment when old Kit lifted her 
 head to look that way. Instantly a familiar 
 bray fell upon his ear ; Jube Jarvis was lead- 
 ing poor Kit away. Joe was seized by a sudden 
 impulse. 
 
 " Mr. Jarvis !" he shouted. " Oh, Mr. Jarvis ! 
 Wait a minute !" 
 
 The new owner of the mule jerked the rope
 
 THE BEST OF FRIENDS MUST PART 159 
 
 knotted about the animal's neck, and waited 
 until the former owner could catch up with 
 him. 
 
 A moment more and without a word he had 
 thrown his arms around the neck of his late 
 friend in adversity and burst into tears. 
 
 The old mule tried to rub his sleeve with her 
 nose, as though she would have returned the 
 caress. 
 
 "Come, come now," said the storekeeper, 
 " what ails ye, Joe, ter be allowin' as I'd mis- 
 treat one o' God A'mighty's critters ? I'll be as 
 keerful o' old Kit as Joe Bentley ever ware, an' 
 that's promise enough." 
 
 Joe drew his rough sleeve across his eyes. 
 
 " I know it, Mr. Jarvis," said he. " I know 
 you-uns'll treat her well. You-uns air fair an' 
 kin' ter all, man an' beast, an' I'm proper glad 
 she fell inter your hands so long as she had ter 
 go. But her an' me have seen some tolerble 
 hard times tergether, Mr. Jarvis; an' somehows 
 I can't think of her as only an ole mule critter ; 
 it seems like I ware partin' from a friend. Fur
 
 160 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 you see we ware sorter partners like an' 
 an' -I loved her." And again poor Joe dropped 
 his head upon Kit's back and sobbed. 
 
 The storekeeper had not forgotten the many 
 errands Joe had run for him those days at the 
 store ; moreover, his own heart was filled with 
 forebodings for the boy's future. 
 
 " No mammy an' lots worse than no daddy 
 always," he told himself as he took Joe's arm 
 and led him away, beyond reach of listening 
 ears. Perhaps they were never to meet again, 
 and he had a parting word to whisper in the 
 ear that had ever been open to counsel. 
 
 " Now, son," said he, " I want to give you a 
 word to carry along with you; a short word 
 maybe, but one as will go a long ways if you-uns 
 will take heed to it. But first I want to say, 
 howsomever, that I bought this yere critter 
 bekase it ware you-uns', an' I knowed as you-uns 
 set store by it. I've had many a favior at 
 you-uns' hands, Joe." 
 
 "At mine, Mr. Jarvis?" 
 
 "Yes, sir ; at you-uns'. Sech faviors, to be
 
 'SEEMS LIKE I WARE PARTIX 1 FROM A FRIEND' 
 (Page 159)
 
 THE BEST OF FRIENDS MUST PART 161 
 
 sure, as only a boy can render, but not sech as 
 all boys air ready to render. So I have set 'em 
 down to you-uns' credit. An' I'm takin' this 
 here dumb critter to save you the sorrow of 
 seein' it go to strangers, and maybe a-worritin' 
 bekase it air likely to be mistreated. Now, I 
 hope you-uns'll find as kind a master as ole Kit's 
 coinin' to, that's all. I ain't denyin' as I mis- 
 trusts that thar uncle o' yours that have 
 turned up jest in time to take control o' your 
 granny's truck an' other belongin's. But, Joey, 
 I want you-uns to reckerlect this word : it ain't 
 always favor'ble surroundin's as makes a man 
 of a boy. A good seed will grow in mighty bad 
 ground sometimes with keerful tendin'. Now, 
 you take the advice of a ole man as found you 
 friendly an' wishes you well. In tryin' to git 
 the good things o' this world, first of all be sure 
 an' get for yourse'f a good name. Get it an' 
 keep it. In the long run o' time it will stand 
 you far more than all the gold an' silver o' this 
 world. Remember that ; if so be you air pore 
 an' humble, let your motto be ' fair an' square/ 
 11
 
 162 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 You'll find she'll fetch you out all safe at the 
 end." 
 
 The words were spoken with an earnestness 
 that made them doubly impressive. Joe felt 
 that the storekeeper shared his own vague doubts 
 as to the future awaiting him and his grand- 
 mother. 
 
 " I'll try to live up to your words, Mr. Jarvis," 
 said he ; " I'll surely try." And without further 
 words the two clasped hands in a long good-bye. 
 The merchant little suspected how his parting 
 advice was to shape Joe's future. 
 
 When they had parted Joe suddenly turned 
 and said : 
 
 . " If I ever git able and come back for her 
 you'll sell old Kit to me, Mr. Jarvis, won't you ?" 
 
 " Without any int'rest," said the storekeeper ; 
 " an' thar's my hand on it." 
 
 There was another long, silent clasp, a fervent 
 " God bless you " from the storekeeper, and 
 they turned their separate ways. 
 
 Joe walked slowly back through the redden- 
 ing sumach with his head bent forward upon
 
 THE BEST OF FRIENDS MUST PART 163 
 
 his breast. The storekeeper's blessing lingered 
 in his ears. Would it follow him indeed 
 upon that strange, eventful path into which 
 his young feet were but just turning? Alas, 
 he would have need of all blessings that might 
 come his way. He realized it before the sumach 
 came again.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 SYLVIA 
 
 THE old stage road across the mountain had 
 been forsaken long ago. When the railroad 
 daringly cut its way through and under the 
 great barrier-mountain it practically cut off 
 travel through the old ways. The old " stage 
 stands " are falling to decay ; the old road 
 itself has gone to wreck and ruin long ago. 
 Land slides have hurled mighty bowlders 
 across the way, and the merciless mountain 
 torrents have cut trenches, deep and dangerous, 
 through the very heart of it. There is little 
 left to tell of the once famous popularity of 
 the old stage road only tumble-down rows of 
 buildings still marking the sites of former inns, 
 and hewn logs, in rotting heaps, where a great 
 barn used to shelter the stage horses. 
 
 Only here and there, where the railroad 
 164
 
 SYLVIA 165 
 
 passed near without touching, may be found an 
 old lodging house. To be sure, travel did 
 not abandon the old road in a night ; it was 
 years and years before the mountaineer brought 
 himself to believe the " cyars " were safe. And 
 some of the old aristocrats, too, were slow to 
 abandon the old way. The big " stand on 
 the first bench " held its own right along with 
 the iron-horse of progress until after the war 
 had ended ; and even to-day a traveler may 
 find accommodation at the old Rock House 
 that is still sometimes called a " stage stand." 
 
 It was here that Tom Tate used to find fresh 
 horses in the great barn while his passengers 
 were finding refreshment at Ben Bentley's inn. 
 Tom always managed to find excuse for stop- 
 ping at Bentley's ; a trace was " givin' way," 
 or a wheel needed " tendiu'," a horse had " cast 
 a shoe," anything almost, was sufficient to hold 
 up the rumbling old stage at Bentley's inn. 
 Generally Tom managed to stop over night, 
 but that was when he did not find his passen- 
 gers too much for him, as was sometimes the
 
 166 A MOOXSHINER'S SON 
 
 case, when they boldly demanded that he pro- 
 ceed at once to the town farther down the 
 mountain. 
 
 Always on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Satur- 
 days the stage would draw up at the inn door, 
 and a moment later, emptied of its load, would 
 disappear under the wings of the big barn. 
 And then Tom would disappear in the direc- 
 tion of a little cabin hidden away among the 
 cedars, where his " baby girl," Sylvia, would 
 be waiting at the window for him. The mo- 
 ment the first note of the stage horn could be 
 heard floating down the mountain Sylvia would 
 be at the window, watching, waiting for Tom. 
 
 Tom Tate was a rough fellow outside, a big, 
 burly fellow, with sharp, black eyes and a 
 shaggy beard and hair. But there must have 
 been something very soft and tender under the 
 rough exterior to make the little pinched face 
 pressed against the window pane brighten with 
 happiness when the familiar music of the stage 
 horn sounded among the great Cumberland 
 crags. And this same little face, to be sure,
 
 SYLVIA 167 
 
 was the cause of all big Tom's sly manoeuvring 
 to hold up the stage over night at Bentley's. 
 
 It was a very weary face that lay against 
 the pillow one afternoon in December waiting 
 for Tom's horn to blow. Four times had Tom's 
 little crippled daughter dragged a twisted foot 
 to the window to see if there might be any sign 
 of the stage coach coming down the mountain. 
 
 At a certain point, far up the mountain, the 
 stage could be seen for one brief moment mak- 
 ing the bend that would bring it down upon 
 the next bench, one of those odd, level 
 stretches peculiar to the Cumberland range. 
 
 Always before sweeping into this " open " 
 Tom Tate blew a long, mellow call, a signal to 
 the little girl in the cabin, who immediately 
 took up her stand at the window to watch the 
 great coach swing around the curve. 
 
 It was a wistful face, old and young at the 
 same time. This may have been because of 
 the foot which the rheumatism had dwarfed 
 and twisted. It was a very tiny body, too, for 
 her years. For although big Tom called her
 
 168 . A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 his " baby girl," Sylvia had passed her twelfth 
 year. On the December afternoon that she 
 waited for the stage the snow was falling in long, 
 shimmery sheets slantwise, making a sort of 
 silver veil that rendered it rather doubtful if 
 the stage would be .visible, after all. Sylvia 
 turned from the window with an impatient sigh, 
 and limped back to the couch in the chimney 
 corner. " It is so snowy I can't see the road," 
 said she in the fretful tone of the invalid. " The 
 mountains are like gray ghosts, an' the trees all 
 big blots in the gray storm. I sha'n't see father 
 come round the bench after all." 
 
 An old woman, Sylvia's aunt, sat in the 
 opposite corner, knitting ; she laid the stocking 
 across her knees and began to rope off the 
 strands of yellow yarn, saying as she did so : 
 
 " Now, now ! I wouldn't fret. It'll come 
 down just as well may be, the stage will ; an' 
 then'll come Tom, an' then supper. I've got a 
 nice, tasty squirrel for you-uns' supper, too. 
 That little boy over to Bentley's fetched it for 
 you-uns."
 
 SYLVIA 169 
 
 The child's face brightened as she lifted her- 
 self on her elbow. 
 
 " Joe ! Did Joe fetch it, Aunt Jane ? Did 
 Joe fetch me a squirrel ?" 
 
 " I reckin that ware his name. It ware that 
 boy that come last fall with his gran'ma to help 
 about the place. An' they do say the way old 
 Bentley works him is a cryin' shame. But he 
 fetched you-uns a mighty nice, young squirrel 
 for your supper. He said p'inted it ware for 
 you-uns. ' For Silvy' ware what he said." 
 
 The small face beamed. 
 
 " Well, I reckon that means me," said she, 
 laughing merrily. " Silvy spells me, for true. 
 He said he aimed to make me a crutch ; an' some 
 day, he says, he'll make me a cheer with a little 
 rollin' wheel, so I can just shove myself along. 
 He made a crutch for an ole woman down in the 
 cove as hadn't walked a step in twenty years, 
 an' she's just gettin' about on that crutch as 
 peart as anybody. I hope Joe'll make mine. 
 I'd hate to have to lie here twenty years. Seems 
 like I'd rather be dead as to lie here all that
 
 170 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 time. Oh, I do hope Joe'll make my crutch ! 
 I thiiik I'd be able to get about on that. Oh, I 
 do hope he will !" 
 
 There were tears in the eyes turned to the 
 window where the snowflakes were darkening 
 the landscape. The voice was a pitiful little 
 wail. 
 
 " He'll make it," said the old woman. " I 
 most know he will. They say he's real peart 
 with his tools. I most know he'll make it, an' 
 then you'll be gettin' well before your pappy 
 can make all that money to fetch you to Flur- 
 idy with." 
 
 " I ain't lookin' fur that." The voice had a 
 despairing tone now. " I ain't lookin' fur no for- 
 tunes to come droppin' down the chimney to 
 fetch a pore lame gal to Fluridy. If my walkin' 
 depends on that, I'll be shut up here twenty 
 years an' more, I'm thinkin'. What I looks 
 for is that thar crutch Joe Bentley promised to 
 make for me, if his mean ole uncle can be per- 
 suaded to let him take time enough to make 
 it. I hate meanness."
 
 SYLVIA 171 
 
 " Why, Silvy !" exclaimed the aunt, " that's 
 mighty bad manners." 
 
 " I hate manners, too," said Sylvia. " I hate 
 anything that makes ole Bentley anything but 
 mean. He is mean ; he's meaner'n p'ison. I 
 know lie makes Joe work all day, an' then 
 don't always give him a bed to sleep on nights. 
 There ! that's meaner than a dog !" 
 
 " Well, then, let it be," said the old woman. 
 " I have heard as how he got all the ole woman's 
 money, an' then threated to have 'em both 
 druv off the place if she said a word about Joe's 
 workin'. 'Pears like the old lady air tolerble 
 fond o' the boy." 
 
 " He's a good boy," said Sylvia. She had 
 forgotten the stage in her defense of Joe. 
 " He's a good boy ; he's goin' to make me a 
 crutch. I'm hopin' more from that than I am 
 from father's ' fortune ' that's to fetch me to 
 Fluridy. There ! that's what I think of Joe 
 Bentley !" 
 
 "Hush! What was that?" 
 
 She lifted herself to listen ; the very last
 
 172 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 note of a horn, mellow and sweet and clear as a 
 silver bell, floated down the mountain. 
 
 The girl attempted to spring up, but fell back 
 with a low moan upon her pillows. She had 
 forgotten the bad foot. 
 
 " I can't get up," she sobbed. " Help me, 
 Aunt Jane. Help me up to the window to see 
 father's stage come down the mountain." 
 
 The old woman slipped her arm under Sylvia's 
 shoulder and attempted to lift her up, but when 
 she tried to balance herself upon the crippled 
 foot the pain was so great that she could only 
 fall back upon her pillows and sob, 
 
 " Ye must a-strained it some a-tryiu' to jump 
 up," said Aunt Jane. 
 
 " An' now I can't see father come down," 
 sobbed the sick girl. "Oh, why don't Joe bring 
 my crutch !" 
 
 The stage had turned into the last bend be- 
 fore Sylvia reached the window, too late to see 
 the rocking old top disappear among the inter- 
 vening trees. She was still standing at the 
 window, the tears upon her cheeks, when
 
 SYLVIA 173 
 
 there came a hurried knocking at the door. 
 To the old woman's " Come in," the latch was in- 
 stantly lifted and Joe appeared in the doorway. 
 Joe, with such a pale, pinched little face that 
 old Kit would never have recognized in him the 
 beloved master she had carried off in the gray 
 dawn to the still under the waterfall. The eyes 
 were sunken and weak ; the shoulders had a 
 telltale droop, bewailing, without voice, the un- 
 natural burdens laid upon them. 
 
 Broken, disappointed, weary unto death, but 
 still the same honest, uncompromising Joe. He 
 carried in his hand a little wooden crutch, care- 
 fully wadded with part of an old comfort 
 where the frail arm must rest upon the saddle. 
 
 He walked straight up to the window where 
 Sylvia had climbed upon a tall chair to watch 
 for the stage. 
 
 " I have fetched your crutch, Silvy," said he. 
 " Measure an' see if it's the proper length so I 
 can trim it off some if it's too long. Measure 
 right quick, please," he said, seeing the girl was 
 about to break into raptures. " I have slipped
 
 174 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 off, an' I must run right back. Here, just run 
 yer arm over that, an' take this handle in your 
 hand. There ! now let's see you go !" 
 
 The laugh that accompanied the words seemed 
 almost out of place upon the thin lips that 
 had known, alas ! too little of boyish mirth. He 
 tarried but a moment to see her try his gift ; 
 her delight was quite thanks enough and he 
 waited for no other, though he heard her laugh 
 and the words that she called after him. 
 
 " Oh, Joe ! I reckon this air the nearest I'll 
 come to Fluridy, and I thank you-uns lots." 
 
 He had heard about the Florida plan, and, like 
 Sylvia, he never expected it to come any nearer 
 consummation than it had already come. They 
 
 was promising them should come " down the 
 chimney some o' these days, an' whisk 'em all 
 away to Fluridy, where the rheumatiz would be 
 thawed out o' the 'flicted body." 
 
 The one pleasure Joe had stumbled upon in 
 his new life was Tom Tate's little lame girl. He 
 had spent many hours when work was over at
 
 SYLVIA 175 
 
 his uncle's inn talking to Sylvia about the 
 wonderful things he expected to make with his 
 tools as soon as he had the leisure to " work on 
 "em/" And he had found her a ready listener 
 and an earnest sympathizer. Once she had said 
 with a little sigh : 
 
 " Now, if only I could divide up all this use- 
 less time o ? mine with TOO." 
 
 From that moment he had been busy deriving 
 means whereby the rime should no longer be 
 "useless," or hang heavily upon the cripple. 
 The crutch was the first step. That would help 
 her to " get about," and truly feel that she was 
 not helpless ; the first great step, indeed, on the 
 road to independence. The night that he tacked 
 on the padding when everybody was asleep for 
 Sylvia's crutch had been made nights when 
 work was over was a very happy one far Joe, 
 But when he dropped in with it, and saw the 
 glad light spring to the tired eyes he felt more 
 than repaid for all his lost sleep and labor. 
 Sylvia had lost her mother when a baby, hot, 
 like meet of the mountain people, Tom had not
 
 176 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 been at any loss to find a convenient relative to 
 come and keep house for him. Indeed, he had 
 been most fortunate in this respect, for his sister 
 was scarcely less devoted to Sylvia than Tom 
 himself. 
 
 She, too, saw the pleasure, the flush of hope 
 that Joe's present had called forth, and she fol- 
 lowed the boy to the gate and tendered her 
 thanks in her own way. 
 
 " It air the first time I have seen her pleasured 
 this many a day," said she, " an' you ware 
 mighty good to remember a little 'flicted gal 
 that way." 
 
 "It pleasured me to make it for her," said 
 Joe ; " it ware a real pleasure to me, Mis' Tate." 
 
 " You air a good boy," said Miss Tate ; " all 
 the mountain says that word o' you. They all 
 say it air a shame the way you air used down 
 yonder. They all gives you a fair word ; a 
 mighty good name." 
 
 " Thank you, ma'am," said Joe. " I'd rather 
 have a good name as to have fair treatment." 
 
 And as he trudged home through the snow
 
 SYLVIA 177 
 
 he remembered Jube Jarvis's parting advice and 
 felt glad that his efforts to follow his first friend's 
 advice had not been wholly vain. He remem- 
 bered Sylvia's words concerning the trip to 
 Florida ; he thought of them as he drew near 
 the old Rock House, that was now his only home, 
 and saw the old stage drawn up before the door, 
 and Tom Tate helping two passengers to alight. 
 He remembered the promised trip to Florida. 
 Like Sylvia he had little faith in the coming of 
 the great fortune ; yet afterward, when it did 
 come, he remembered the promise with sorrow. 
 
 12
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE BELATED OLD STAGE COACH 
 
 AT the Rock House, Bentley was fuming and 
 fussing over the belated stage coach ; it was 
 already several hours late and still no sign of it. 
 
 " The dinner's plumb sp'iled long ago," said 
 he to his wife as he was returning from one of 
 his repeated walks to the gate to see if the 
 rumbling old vehicle might riot " be in sight." 
 
 " Land alive man," said she, " what ails you, 
 to take on so ? Seems like you ought to know 
 that a stage belated in a snow-storm means a 
 full bed for the Rock House." 
 
 " An' whar can we put so many, I'd like to 
 know," said Bentley ; " thar ain't but three 
 rooms in this house have got fireplaces fitten to 
 light a blaze in ; an' one o' them has to be give 
 to granny." 
 
 The woman glanced at Joe. 
 178
 
 THE BELATED OLD STAGE COACH 179 
 
 " We-uns air pore," said she, " an' trav'lers 
 don't come along ev'ry day. We'll be obleeged 
 to crowd up some. Joe'll have to turn out for 
 granny, an' somebody can have her room to- 
 night ; thar's a good fireplace in thar." 
 
 Joe said nothing; he had long ago learned the 
 uselessness of trying to " stand up for granny." 
 He stood silently in the doorway watching the 
 snow drifting in great blinding sheets across the 
 road, driven by the December wind under the 
 long, low ledges of the mountain. He thought, 
 of the swaying old stage making that dangerous 
 descent in the teeth of the storm. Tom Tate 
 was a careful driver, and had doubtless wailed 
 somewhere along the road during the heavier 
 flurries. The way was steep and slippery at all 
 times ; but in winter, and since the railroad had 
 reduced travel, it was far more so. 
 
 Joe felt uneasy enough as hour after hour 
 passed and still the stage did not come. Finally, 
 when Bentley, growing too impatient to wait at 
 home, went up the mountain to meet it, Joe 
 slipped into granny's little room, that had been
 
 180 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 a big pantry in the palmy days of the Rock 
 House, before the railroad killed travel on the 
 road, and drawing from under the bed, where 
 he had hidden the little carefully-smoothed 
 crutch he had finished the night before, watched 
 for a chance when Mrs. Bentley was not on 
 guard and slipped away through the woods to 
 Tom's cabin beyond the orchard. 
 
 He heard the long, winding melody of the 
 horn before he had made half the trip back, and 
 fearing the anger of his uncle should he find him 
 absent, he set out in a run for the house. 
 
 When he reached it the stage had turned 
 from the door, and Tom was driving the tired 
 horses into the great spreading old barn, where 
 they must assuredly have felt lonely enough 
 but for the cows and chickens that had been 
 given habitation there since the need for so much 
 room had become a thing of the past. 
 
 Joe stole around to the back way and came 
 up just in time to take the valises that the two 
 passengers had deposited at the door. He saw 
 them, a very tall man and a very short one, go up
 
 THE BELATED OLD STAGE COACH 181 
 
 to the dirty old register and leave their names 
 there Silas Thompson, attorney, Knoxville, 
 and Emerson H. L. White, Knoxville. The 
 small man was a great lumber dealer and manu- 
 facturer, and Mr. Thompson was his lawyer. 
 Joe deposited their valises as he had orders to 
 do, one in the room generally occupied by 
 granny, the other in what was called " the sit- 
 ting-room." For much of the inn had been 
 torn away of late years, and much of it 
 was still too bare and exposed for winter 
 habitation. 
 
 When the boy returned to the sitting-room he 
 saw the manufacturer stooping, and with chilled 
 fingers trying to unfasten the refractory latch 
 of an arctic overshoe. Instantly Joe dropped 
 upon one knee, and giving a nimble twist and 
 jerk soon had the shoe off; in a twinkling the 
 mate followed and the boy rose. 
 
 "Thank you, my boy," said the gentleman. 
 " My fingers were so nearly frozen I couldn't 
 undo the latch. Now do you run your hand 
 in the pocket of that overcoat of mine and get
 
 182 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 out that big orange. They don't come into 
 these parts every day, I am thinking." 
 
 " No, sir," said Joe, " an' thankee, sir. I'll 
 fetch it to granny." 
 
 "Wait, then," said the lawyer, "and feel in 
 my other pocket for the mate to it for yourself." 
 
 Again Joe expressed his thanks and ran on 
 to granny. A moment more and he was on the 
 way to the great barn where Tom was busy with 
 his horses. He wished to catch the stage driver 
 before he left, and send one of the oranges to 
 Sylvia. Indeed, had he had a dozen oranges 
 he would in all probability have found some one 
 to give them to. For unselfishness is born in 
 the heart of a boy as conscience is born in his 
 soul ; a gift straight from God that may be 
 cultivated or destroyed, just as the possessor wills- 
 
 Joe called lustily at the door of the barn, but 
 there was no answer. This was odd, seeing the 
 doors were wide open and the racks empty. 
 Entering, Joe was still more surprised to find 
 Tom was there, shaking the snow from his old 
 brown beaver and making haste to be off.
 
 THE BELATED OLD STAGE COACH 183 
 
 " You had a hard drive, didn't you Tom ?" 
 said Joe, ignoring the man's silence. 
 
 " Mighty hard," was the reply in a sullen 
 tone, so unlike the usually friendly Tom. " I 
 druv under a bluff and thar I had to wait a 
 whole hour before it held up enough for me to 
 make that thar last bend o' the mount'n. And 
 all the time I knowed Silvy ware frettin' and 
 worritin' at home." 
 
 " Let me feed the horses, Tom," said Joe, 
 " and you go on home. Put this in here " 
 
 He ran his hand, with the orange in it, into 
 Tom's great gaping pocket, and the next moment 
 almost cried out with astonishment as Tom's big 
 bridle hand sent him headlong across the barn 
 floor. Had the man gone mad ! For a moment 
 Joe thought so, and this fear served to curb his 
 anger. 
 
 " I ware only puttin' that orange in thar for 
 Silvy," said he. " One o' them new men give 
 it to me, and I wanted Silvy to have it, that 
 ware all." 
 
 Tom began to apologize with haste. " I didn't
 
 184 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 mean to hurt you," said lie. "You know I 
 wouldn't 'a' done that. I ware jest I ware only 
 dad burn my hide, I don't know what I ware 
 doin'. 'Pears like this here drivin' in snow- 
 storms and worritin' about my little gal have 
 in and about took what little sense I ever did 
 have. I ax your pardon, Joe. You-uns have 
 always been mighty kind to my Silvy ; I ain't 
 furgot the night you rid five miles in the rain 
 to fetch the yerb doctor whenst she was sick and 
 I off on a trip. I wouldn't hurt you not for 
 all Cum'lun Mount'n." 
 
 " I know that," said Joe. "And I know how 
 you feel. Now you go on home. I'll feed the 
 horses and lock the doors. And you tell Silvy 
 I sent her the orange for her supper. Oh, Tom ! 
 I fetched her the crutch this evenin', and she 
 ware that delighted it done me good to see her." 
 
 " I'll be bound she ware," said Tom, with 
 both a smile and a sigh. " Poor little gal ; 
 she air that sprightly and ambitious, and to be 
 so hindered ! It air plumb distractin'. But it 
 ain't goin' to be forever. Not by a long sight.
 
 THE BELATED OLD STAGE COACH 185 
 
 I'm hopin' to fetch her to Fluridy mighty soon 
 now." 
 
 Was it fancy ? Was the face, lifted for a 
 moment to the uncertain light, changed? 
 Where was the honest brown face of Tom Tate, 
 the mountain stage driver ? The face which 
 only the day before had beamed from the box, 
 earnest, eager, open to all the world, and honest 
 in the good light of day ? 
 
 Joe tried to shake off the feeling that had 
 taken possession of him the feeling that Tom 
 had changed. 
 
 " Tell Silvy," said he, " that the orange come 
 from Fluridy anyhows. I know just what she'll 
 say, Tom. She'll say : ' That's as near Fluridy 
 as I'll ever get.' That's what Silvy'll say." 
 
 "An' it'll be a blamed big mistake," snarled 
 Tom, and again that odd, unnatural look came 
 into the brown face. But before Joe could 
 speak Tom was gone. He went dashing out the 
 door with something that sounded very like an 
 oath, but was too low for Joe to understand just 
 what it was.
 
 186 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 He forgot the incident, however, while seated 
 by the sitting-room fire after supper listening 
 to the strange gentlemen talking. One of them, 
 Mr. White, was taking his attorney over into a 
 great lumber district across the mountain to 
 settle up the last year's contracts and to make 
 new ones for the coming year. The great 
 manufacturer told of the wonderful shops in 
 Kuoxville, of the numerous hands employed 
 there, and of the curious things, in the way of 
 furniture, that were every day turned out there. 
 Joe listened with a delight that was not lost 
 upon the stranger. Indeed, the rich man, de- 
 voted as he was to his manufactures, was almost 
 as sorry as Joe when, with a sigh, the boy gath- 
 ered the travelers' boots and went off into the 
 kitchen to black them. And then it was he 
 remembered Tom's odd behavior. 
 
 He was not himself, that was plain enough. 
 
 " Why didn't he answer when I called ?" said 
 Joe to himself. " Why, he hung his head like 
 like " the word was whispered softly, " like a 
 thief."
 
 THE BELATED OLD STAGE COACH 187 
 
 The house was still when he carried the 
 shoes to the gentlemen's rooms. In the sitting- 
 room, where Mr. White had been put to sleep, 
 the fire still burned low in the black fireplace. 
 It would be warm there all night ; in the rafter 
 room, where he would lodge, Joe knew how the 
 bleak winds would creep underneath the loose 
 clapboards. A temptation assailed him ; why 
 not lie down there before the fire and sleep ? 
 He would be up and out long enough before 
 anybody else was awake. The men were going 
 by private conveyance the rest of their journey, 
 and so would not have to be up in time for the 
 stage. Moreover, the stage itself would, like as 
 not, be snowbound for several days. There 
 would be no early rising at the Rock House ; it 
 would be quite safe, he fancied, as he stretched 
 himself out before the warm fire, and soon fell 
 asleep. 
 
 When the sound of his breathing told that he 
 was sleeping, the manufacturer, over in the 
 bed, lifted himself upon an elbow and glanced 
 in sympathetic silence at the weary, overbur-
 
 188 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 dened sleeper. Then, slipping softly across the 
 room, he took his own heavy greatcoat and laid 
 it over the sleeping boy. In his youth he, too, had 
 known what it was to wrestle with an adverse 
 fate ; the recollection of his own struggles had 
 made a very tender spot in his heart for strug- 
 gling boyhood everywhere. 
 
 With the first peep of the gray dawn over the 
 mountain, Joe awoke. When he saw the hand- 
 some coat lying there on the floor beside him 
 his heart seemed to give a great bound and then 
 to stop beating. How came it there ? Had he 
 been cold in the night and taken the coat in his 
 sleep ? Surely he had never dared to touch it 
 when awake and in his senses. He carefully 
 brushed and replaced the garment where it had 
 hung the night before, and, softly opening the 
 door, slipped away to his morning duties. 
 
 When he returned to the house there was 
 great commotion in the sitting-room. Mr. White, 
 was walking the floor in an excited, troubled 
 way, while the attorney stood before the fire, 
 his hands crossed behind him, a worried and
 
 THE BELATED OLD STAGE COACH 189 
 
 uneasy expression upon his face. Bentley was 
 swearing like a madman. Poor Joe heard his 
 own name mixed and mingled rather freely 
 with the oaths ; and granny, poor, feeble old 
 granny, was standing in the doorway waiting 
 for him, the tears rolling down her wrinkled 
 cheeks, and looking as though her heart had 
 broken. When Joe appeared she tottered for- 
 ward and held out her hands helplessly, plead- 
 ingly to him. 
 
 " Oh, Joey, son," said she, " come in here an' 
 tell 'em you didn't steal the gentleman's money. 
 Tell 'em, son, you didn't touch the coat." And 
 with a low, broken cry of despair granny fell 
 forward, senseless, upon the floor.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 UNDER THE DOORSTEP 
 
 IT was quite dark when Tom Tate reached 
 his cabin, after leaving the care of the horses to 
 Joe's ever-willing hands. He walked slowly, 
 and, although he had been in such haste to get 
 away from the barn, he took a roundabout path 
 home, and one that carried him more than a 
 mile out of his way. His step, usually so 
 quick and expectant, was slow and heavy, and 
 he lingered outside the door, under cover of 
 the sheltering darkness. 
 
 Sylvia had been industriously practicing with 
 her crutch ; already she was able to walk about 
 the room with its assistance, and more than 
 once the glad laugh of childhood, so seldom 
 heard in the cabin of late, had brought an 
 answering smile to the lips of Miss Tate, busily 
 preparing supper in the shed-room. 
 190
 
 UNDER THE DOORSTEP 191 
 
 " By to-morrow," said Sylvia, " I'll be able 
 to go over to the Rock House. By to-morrow. 
 I'll sure go over an' see Joe, Aunt Jane, if 
 the snow ain't too deep for my old pardner 
 here." 
 
 " Why; honey," said Miss Tate, " you ain't 
 been out o' the house for nigh on six months. 
 It would in an' about kill you to go out in the 
 weather. You mustn't think about it, Silvy ; 
 not before spring, no ways." 
 
 "Well," laughed Sylvia, "I am thinkin' 
 right smart about it. More than I have thought 
 in many a day, I reckon." And she whisked 
 off to the window to see if Tom might be coming 
 home. 
 
 He was very, very late. Later than she had 
 ever known "him ; another time she would 
 have fretted and complained at the delay. But 
 this evening she had been so occupied with 
 Joe's gift that she had forgotten how time was 
 flying. 
 
 Suddenly the ear, tuned by affliction to catch 
 the faintest footfall, caught the sound of ap-
 
 192 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 preaching steps. She listened a moment, a 
 puzzled expression in the blue eyes turned to 
 the window. It was certainly her father's step ; 
 yet there was something different about it. 
 Sylvia had not listened so intently for that step 
 upon the gravel outside the door not to be 
 familiar with the slightest change in it. 
 
 "Well !" said she, softly, as one speaks to one's 
 own heart, "what is the matter with father?" 
 
 Pressing her face to the pane and shutting off 
 with her hands the light from the fire, she saw a 
 figure, indistinct and shadowy, stoop, lift the 
 great rock that formed the cabin doorstep, and 
 rise again. The next moment she heard a hand 
 feeling cautiously in the darkness for the latch- 
 string. 
 
 Eager and expectant, full of the happiness of 
 being once more able to go and meet him, Sylvia 
 turned to the door, still leaning upon Joe's gift, 
 her face aglow, her heart full of joy. At the 
 very first glimpse of his face she stopped, the 
 little wooden prop slipped from her hand and 
 rolled down upon the floor.
 
 UNDER THE DOORSTEP 193 
 
 " Father," said she, " what has happened to 
 you-uns ?" 
 
 The face turned to hers was pale and anx- 
 ious; the eyes had a furtive, frightened look 
 in them. At the sound of the child's voice 
 Tom rallied and tried to shake off the spell that 
 held him. 
 
 " Why, honey," said he, " there ain't any- 
 thing the matter " At the same moment 
 he glanced over his shoulder in a guilty, fright- 
 ened way, as though an unseen danger were 
 dogging his steps. 
 
 The child stood staring a moment, then sud- 
 denly burst into tears. Instantly Tom was 
 himself again. He stooped and lifted the frail 
 form in his arms. 
 
 " Why, honey," said he, " what ails you, to 
 take on so ? Ain't you glad to see your pappy ? 
 Or air you just mad some bekase he's so late? 
 Well, now, if you just could 'a' seen them horses 
 huggin' that old bluff in the storm you'd feel 
 like huggin' the old driver some, sure, for 
 pilotin' of 'em safe down that thar mount'n. 
 13
 
 194 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 That you would. And what's all this that I 
 see here?" 
 
 He dropped into a chair, the child upon his 
 knee, and reached his hand for the little wooden 
 crutch. Instantly Sylvia's tears ceased to flow ; 
 "It's my crutch," she cried, joyfully. "Joe 
 fetched it to me. Now, see me walk !" 
 
 And walk she did, the slight arm carried 
 over the crutch, the tip of the shortened foot 
 just touching the floor, a smile wreathing the 
 lips that had wellnigh forgotten how to smile. 
 In the stage driver's eyes the quick tears 
 gathered ; " now, if that ware not clever of Joe 
 Bentley," said he. " I'll reckerlect that o' Joe. 
 Git out thar an' let me see you do it again." 
 
 And again the graceful little body tripped 
 carefully across the old puncheon floor while 
 Tom looked on, the smile under his shaggy 
 beard a match to the smile beaming in the 
 child's delighted eyes. 
 
 " Fust rate," declared Tom, " fust rate. I'll 
 do somethin' for Joe Bentley, sure's my name's 
 Tom Tate ; see if I don't. Why, honey, with
 
 UNDER THE DOORSTEP 195 
 
 such skippin' as that we'll soon be runnin' 
 away to Fluridy." 
 
 " A-walkin', you mean," laughed Sylvia. " I 
 reckon that'll be the quickest way we-uns'll ever 
 git to Fluridy. But as for me, I'm content to 
 walk here in Tennessee, if only so I can walk." 
 
 " But we won't walk ; we'll ride in the steam 
 cyars, big as anybody ; see if we don't. I tell 
 y-o-u-" 
 
 He glanced over his shoulder again in that 
 startled, furtive way that was half fear, half 
 surprise, and said no more. 
 
 " Did you hear somethin' ?" said Sylvia. 
 
 He answered her more sharply than he had 
 ever spoken to her in all her life. 
 
 "No, I ain't heeard nothin', an' I can't see 
 as you-uns have got any call to be spyin' on 
 yer own pappy, an' suspicionin' of him, an* 
 takin' of him up so sharp like, as though he'd 
 gone an' done somethin' to be afeard on." 
 
 Aunt Jane put her head in at this moment to 
 say the supper was ready and Tom strode off to 
 the other room without so much as a look at
 
 196 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 Sylvia, who stood staring after him for a 
 moment through the tears that his unusual 
 sharpness brought to her eyes. She followed 
 him out to supper, but her appetite was gone. 
 She was afraid to speak to him again. She 
 had never seen him in such a mood ; something 
 had happened, she felt sure of that. But she 
 had a comfort in her crutch. She slipped off 
 into her aunt's room and walked about there 
 for an hour, while Tom sat moodily in the cor- 
 ner, that furtive, frightened look upon his face, 
 forgetting everything but the one thing which 
 refused to be shaken off. Long after Sylvia 
 was in bed, and, as he thought, asleep, he got 
 up and went out, leaving the door ajar. In- 
 stantly the little figure upon the lounge just 
 under the window lifted itself in bed and 
 peeped through the panes to see if he might be 
 going away. Through the open door a broad 
 blaze of light issued that fell athwart the door- 
 step, and full in the centre of it she saw the fig- 
 ure of her father, kneeling, peering under the 
 old rock step.
 
 UNDER THE DOORSTEP 197 
 
 She pretended to be asleep when he returned, 
 and soon she heard him snoring over in his bed. 
 But before he went to bed she saw him pick up 
 her crutch and examine it carefully, and heard 
 him in a low voice again make a promise of 
 rewarding Joe. 
 
 When Sylvia awoke the next morning Tom 
 was gone, but on the pillow beside her lay the 
 big golden orange that Joe had sent and Tom 
 had forgotten the night before. 
 
 Joe's gift; she had many tokens of the 
 boy's generous nature. Had she known what 
 her friend was suffering at that moment she 
 would indeed have had many tears to shed 
 for him poor, unfortunate, unhappy Joe. 
 Sitting by his grandmother's couch, a fright- 
 ened look upon his face, and a strange, hor- 
 rible fear at his heart, begging, her not to 
 believe it, not to believe he was a thief, could 
 this be the helpful, honest fellow that only 
 yesterday had whistled and sung in the win- 
 ter woods ? 
 
 At the inn the excitement still prevailed.
 
 198 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 Mr. White refused to have the boy punished or 
 any definite charge made against him until the 
 house and barn and stage coach had been 
 thoroughly searched. 
 
 " I'll stripe him in a way that will last him 
 till he dies," said Bentley. " Stealin' from my 
 guests ! I'll show him. He's Lige Bentley's son, 
 sir, and that's enough. He's got a bad name for 
 an inheritance. Lige ware a born law-breaker." 
 
 " Well, he must be proved guilty before he is 
 punished," said the manufacturer. " He hasn't 
 the bearing of a rogue, and I shall give him a 
 chance ; though the ' inheritance ' is against him, 
 I admit." 
 
 " Inherits a bad name." Joe heard the words 
 and again his heart sank. He had no idea of 
 that great and mighty machinery we call law ; 
 nor how, in order to make guilt more sure, the 
 first step is often to prove the bad character and 
 the bad ancestry of one suspected. Every day 
 he lived he learned more surely the value of a 
 good name. He had inherited a bad one. He 
 thought of old Jube Jarvis and his parting
 
 UNDER THE DOORSTEP 199 
 
 advice, and burying his face in his grand- 
 mother's lap Joe shed the first tears that had 
 come to relieve his suspense. 
 
 " Nobody don't believe me," he sobbed. 
 " Everybody thinks I took the money." 
 
 " Tliar's one as knows better than to believe 
 such," said granny. " I knows you didn't, son, 
 an' don't you be afeard. Innocence ain't a-goin* 
 to suffer long. I'll trust the good Lord for 
 that." 
 
 Her faith was a comfort to him ; it sent him 
 out to help in the search for the lost money. 
 
 " I ware plumb give over to grief," he told 
 himself as he crossed the yard. " I forgot I had 
 any friends ; I forgot granny, an' Tom, too ; 
 of course Tom will not believe 'em." 
 
 But a new disappointment awaited him at 
 the barn. Tom had been there and gone home 
 again, after hearing about the loss of the three 
 hundred dollars. He had not even tried to 
 speak a word of comfort, or of doubt as to his 
 guilt. 
 
 " Just bolted off like lightnin' streck him,"
 
 200 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 one of the men who had congregated with 
 the first hint of excitement told Joe. " Lit 
 out like he ware called to git up and go at 
 once." 
 
 It was true ; Tom had been over ; he came 
 late, though he had left home early. He had 
 stepped into the barn and begun feeding the 
 horses when Bentley came over from the 
 house. The musty old barn was shadowy, 
 even in daylight, and the light uncertain. 
 Tom had stood with his back to the door when 
 Bentley entered, but one hand was in the 
 pocket of his greatcoat, tightly clasping the 
 black stock of a pistol. 
 
 " Hello, thar !" Bentley had called in a voice 
 that made the brown bridle hand fasten itself 
 more closely about the weapon in Tom's pocket. 
 
 " Well," said the stage driver, " I'm here. 
 No need o' hurry, I reckon, with all this here 
 snow on the ground." 
 
 "Hurry!" exclaimed Bentley, angrily. 
 " Hurry be blasted ! Hain't you-uns heard 
 how that thar ungrateful neffew o' mine's gone
 
 UNDER THE DOORSTEP 201 
 
 an' robbed a passenger out o' three hundred 
 dollars?" 
 
 There was no need to feign surprise now. 
 Tom actually dropped against the fodder rack, 
 gasping and frightened. 
 
 " Joe !" said he. " Surely Joe ain't any 
 thief. Say, now, they don't s'pect Joe Bentley, 
 surely ?" 
 
 " But they do," said Bentley, with an oath. 
 " The thievin' little rascal. If that thar money 
 ain't forthcomin' in an hour I'm goin' to tee- 
 totally take the hide off 'n him an' then have 
 him arrested." 
 
 Tom grew sick with horror, yet he made an 
 effort, one faint effort, in Joe's behalf. 
 
 " He didn't do it, Mr. Bentley," he declared. 
 " I know Joe didn't steal nuthin'." 
 
 " Then who in thunder did ?" demanded the 
 innkeeper. 
 
 " I I why I don't know, Mr. Bentley, 
 but not Joe." 
 
 " Shut up, then," said Bentley. " In course 
 Joe done it. Ware not the money in the over-
 
 202 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 coat pocket, where the owner put it just before 
 leavin' the stage ? He took it out to divide it 
 on the way down, an' Mr. Thompson took half, 
 bekase it ware too much to risk in a heap. An' 
 when the storm come on Mr. White crammed 
 his package in his coat pocket for a minit when 
 the stage ware swingin' round a dang'rous 
 curve, an' he plumb forgot to change it. Last 
 night he saw that thar boy lay in* on the floor, 
 whar he hadn't no business to be, an' he got up 
 an' flung the coat over him, like a born idiot, 
 an' this morn in' boy an' money ware both gone." 
 " Gone !" cried Tom. "Air Joe gone ?" 
 "Don't be a fool, Tom," said Bentley. 
 " Whar'd he go, I'd like to know. He's goin' 
 somewhars, though, an' mighty fast, I can tell 
 you, if that thar money ain't found foreshortly. 
 I've come down here to overhaul the stage, 
 bekase that thar idiot up thar won't have it no 
 other way but that thar's some mistake." 
 
 Joe suspected ! The earth seemed turning 
 upside down to Tom Tate. Scarcely knowing 
 what he did he assisted in the search for the
 
 UNDER THE DOORSTEP 203 
 
 missing wallet. That done he alone under- 
 stood how useless the search would be he struck 
 off through the orchard toward home. When in 
 sight of his cabin he suddenly whirled around 
 and turned off into a by-path leading deep into 
 the heart of the woods. He wanted time to think ; 
 his brain was on fire, his heart was as ice in his 
 bosom. He had forgotten the snow and the 
 cold; he remembered only that Joe was in 
 distress ; in danger, indeed, for Tom knew old 
 Bentley too well to suppose that he would spare 
 the lad who, he supposed, had brought suspicion 
 upon his house. Joe, who had done so much 
 to lighten and brighten the little straitened 
 life in the cabin among the cedars ! Tom thought 
 of all this as he trudged off through the snow, 
 away from himself and his accusing conscience. 
 He recalled that midnight tramp for the doctor 
 when Sylvia was sick ; the birds he had trapped 
 with which to tempt her delicate appetite ; and 
 the crutch upon which he had seen her hopping 
 about like a little broken-winged bird that had 
 forgotten everything but how to sing. And
 
 204 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 tlien Tom remembered the fearful, fateful 
 package under the old stone doorstep. 
 
 "I didn't think o' this," he groaned. "I 
 didn't think of it fallin' upon Joe when I picked 
 up that thar wallet lyin' upon the floor of the 
 stage whar that rich man drapped it. I didn't 
 think o' trouble to nobody ; I only thought o' 
 my little suff 'rin' one, an' how the rich man 
 would never miss it. An' now, what can I do? 
 To fetch it back means the prison ; to keep it 
 means everlasting torture." 
 
 Torture ! Aye, if an outraged conscience can 
 torture, poor Tom must feel its heavy hand 
 upon him. He lifted his face to the skies, cold, 
 leaden, heavy with the snow clouds. 
 
 " Oh, Heaven !" he prayed, " help me, help me, 
 help me !" 
 
 No cry in time of temptation ever yet failed 
 to reach God's ear, or to have His help. And 
 to Tom help came straight and prompt and 
 perfect. Instantly, the prayer still warm upon 
 his lips, he turned sharply around and struck 
 off briskly in the direction of his home.
 
 UNDER THE DOORSTEP 205 
 
 " I'll fetch it back an' own up square," said lie, 
 "if it kills me." 
 
 He walked straight home ; straight to his own 
 doorstep ; and, stooping, slipped his hand under 
 the old rock step. The next moment his 
 startled cry of alarm rang through the mountain 
 like the cry of some creature in pain. 
 
 The wallet was gone.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 CONFESSIONS 
 
 TOM TATE had resolved to return home and 
 get the wallet, which, upon the impulse, he had 
 concealed and appropriated, and, returning it to 
 the owner, confess his own part in the transac- 
 tion. It was his first crime, and was done upon 
 impulse with the needs of his afflicted daughter 
 hearing upon his heart. He had not considered 
 how his own sin might fall unjustly upon some 
 innocent one ; nor yet how Sylvia would despise 
 any help that might come to her other than in 
 an honest way. For, child as she was, Sylvia 
 was a bravely conscientious little soul. But 
 finding the wallet gone, Tom found himself at a 
 loss what to do. Confess ! That seemed to be the 
 only thing left him, since it was the only thing 
 that would clear Joe. He did not give himself 
 time to consider, but, after the first shock of sur- 
 206
 
 CONFESSIONS 207 
 
 prise was over, he went into the house, half 
 hoping some one might by accident have found 
 the money. Though this he regarded as hardly 
 possible, since the old step had never been re- 
 moved until his own hand had made it a hiding 
 place for stolen property. The money had 
 evidently been taken away by some one who had 
 seen him place it there. For a moment his heart 
 grew cold with fear. Then he found himself 
 hoping the dreadful secret might be kept from 
 Sylvia until he could confess it with his own lips. 
 
 But Sylvia was not in the house. To his de- 
 mand for her his sister answered with a stare : 
 " Why, I allowed she ware a-sittin' same as 
 common in the room thar." 
 
 A thorough search failed to find her ; she was 
 gone ; for the first time in months she had left 
 the house. 
 
 " You didn't meet her, I reckon," said Miss 
 Tate, " as you come along ?" 
 
 " No, I come the long way ; around back, 
 through the woods," said Tom. " Surely the 
 child has not set out through this snow."
 
 208 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 " I dunno now," said the sister. " Jim Byers's 
 boy rid by here a bit ago goin' to mill, and 
 stepped in a minit to say Joe had been tuk 
 up for stealin' from one o' the stage coach pas- 
 sengers last night. Silvy ware mightily upset 
 by it ; cried consider'ble. Though we-uns 
 knowed it ware not so. We knowed Joe Bent- 
 ley air no thief." 
 
 Poor Joe ! The simple words would have 
 brought comfort indeed to his bruised heart at 
 that moment, as he sat alone, with the key 
 turned upon him, in the little room that had 
 been his grandmother's. His uncle had locked 
 him in. Neither Mr. White nor Mr. Thompson 
 had asked that it be done, but the angry Bentley 
 had determined to force a confession from the 
 rebellious boy, Tom went back to the Rock 
 House full of his own confession, and full of 
 uneasiness as to Sylvia. 
 
 " She'll take her death o' cold," he told him- 
 self, as he trudged along through the snow. 
 Then it occurred to him that she might only 
 have gone to the house of a neighbor down the
 
 CONFESSIONS 209 
 
 road a piece, and he turned back to see if this 
 should be so. 
 
 "Just proud o' bein' able to walk thar," was 
 his thought. 
 
 Meanwhile, matters at the Rock House were 
 growing serious enough. A constable had 
 come in and the house had been thoroughly 
 ransacked for the missing wallet. 
 
 Mr. Thompson had determined to make a last 
 effort to get Joe to confess that he had taken the 
 money. He went into the room where the boy 
 had been confined, and locking the door behind 
 him, drew a chair over into the corner where 
 Joe sat weeping. 
 
 " Now," said he, " Joe, my boy, this is a 
 serious business. I have come to talk to you 
 earnestly about it, and I wish you to talk to me, 
 plainly, Joe and freely ; above all I wish you to 
 talk to me truthfully." 
 
 Joe lifted his haggard face ; a sullen expres- 
 sion had come into the eyes that had looked 
 on life's most sombre ways. 
 
 " I ain't got anything to say," said he, " any 
 14
 
 210 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 more than I've done said. You can believe 
 it or no, I can't help it." 
 
 " Come come now," said the attorney, " I 
 am only trying to help you ; you must meet me 
 half way. It is Mr. White's money that is 
 missing, not mine. Mr. White is a kind man ; 
 he was once a very, very poor boy himself, and 
 has a deep sympathy for boys situated as he 
 was. His shops are full of them to-day. He 
 doesn't wish to have you punished ; indeed, I 
 am sure it would pain him very much to be 
 obliged to have to do so. He only wishes to 
 recover his money. We are both willing, Joe, to 
 consider your youth in this matter, and the hard 
 life you have had. We are willing to believe 
 that seeing a way out of your unhappy situation 
 you were tempted beyond your strength." 
 
 Joe lifted his head at this, an angry gleam in 
 his eyes. 
 
 "No, sir," said he, "I ware not. I never 
 ware tempted to steal. Never !" 
 
 In spite of himself Mr. Thompson found it 
 impossible not to believe in the unfortunate,
 
 CONFESSIONS 211 
 
 hard-pressed boy ; still, the circumstances were 
 so fearfully against him. 
 
 "Well," said he, " I have just this to say : if 
 you will go quietly and get the wallet and hand 
 it to me, no more shall be said about it not a 
 word. If you refuse why there's money enough 
 in that wallet to send you to the penitentiary, 
 Joe." 
 
 " I can't help it," said Joe. " I never took 
 nobody's money. I never stole nothin' in my 
 life, as I knows on. If I have to go to prison 
 for nothin/ I can go. I reckon it can't be much 
 worser'n it have been here." 
 
 The attorney, a man accustomed to crime and 
 to dealing with criminals, felt spring to his 
 eyes something moist and warm, that slipped 
 down his cheek and lay like a silver dew- 
 drop upon his hand ; a bright, sympathetic tear. 
 Yet Joe did not see it; and since the voice 
 speaking to him lost nothing of its seriousness, 
 he did not suspect that his forlorn and hopeless 
 condition had awakened in the stern lawyer's 
 bosom a quick and tender sympathy.
 
 212 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 What he said to himself was : " If it comes 
 to the worst I shall defend this boy to the last 
 moment, without a cent of pay or a hope of 
 reward." What he said to Joe was : 
 
 " Yes, Joe, it is a good deal worse than this 
 place. The penitentiary is a place where few 
 good men go in, and fewer come forth ; a place 
 where boyhood perishes in its birth, and crime 
 takes hold upon the throat and kills the life of 
 innocence ; a place where hope dies and virtue 
 
 stagnates ; a place where vice sits upon a throne 
 
 i 
 
 and deals out poison to the souls about her ; a 
 hovel where crime and pestilence and guilt are 
 bred; where virtue and peace and hope die upon 
 the instant. Woe, woe to the boy so unfortunate 
 as to find an entrance there. And besides all 
 this, Joe, it is the death, the very death, of your 
 good name." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Joe, " that's what I ware 
 thinkin' of. That air the hard part. I promised 
 Jube Jarvis to keep a good name." 
 And, breaking utterly down, poor Joe buried 
 his face in his hands and sobbed aloud.
 
 CONFESSIONS 213 
 
 The attorney was perplexed ; there was not 
 a hint of guilt about this boy, yet who else 
 could have touched the coat ? The owner did 
 not pull it off until after supper, for the old 
 Rock House was cold. Suddenly, with a 
 lawyer's keen instinct, he turned to Joe, and 
 said : 
 
 " Have you any idea, Joe, as to who might 
 have taken the money ?" 
 
 Joe drew quickly back, an expression of 
 alarm flitting across his face. 
 
 " I ain't turned track-hound for nobody," said 
 he, with surly reluctance. " I ain't tryin' to run 
 nobody down, I ain't." 
 
 The attorney rose. 
 
 " Come with me, sir," said he. Joe did not 
 stir. " Come with me. I want witnesses to this 
 talk." Still Joe did not move. 
 
 Mr. Thompson stepped to the door and beck- 
 oned the constable. 
 
 " Bring that boy into the sitting-room," said 
 he, pointing to Joe. 
 
 The constable stepped briskly across the room
 
 214 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 and laid his hand roughly upon Joe's collar ; the 
 boy struck at him angrily. 
 
 " Stop," said the attorney ; " no violence there, 
 if you please. You have no warrant yet ; he is 
 still my prisoner, not yours. You'd best come 
 quietly, Joe." 
 
 Recognizing the folly of rebellion Joe followed 
 the men into the sitting-room. His face wore a 
 sullen, determined look ; he had resolved not to 
 say one word. At the best he had only a sus- 
 picion, and he was resolved not to say a word 
 that could bring further trouble upon poor little 
 Sylvia. 
 
 Quite a crowd had congregated in the sitting- 
 room, and Bentley was charging up and down 
 the room declaring he was an honest man him- 
 self and meant to clear his house of rogues even 
 if it took away his own " neffew." In the midst 
 of his tirade the men entered with Joe. 
 
 The attorney motioned him to silence. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said he, " I have brought this 
 boy in here because I wish to talk to him where 
 all may hear and judge for themselves. I do
 
 CONFESSIONS 215 
 
 not believe him to be a thief by nature, but this 
 money is gone and circumstances point to him 
 as the guilty party. He denies the theft. Now, 
 I ask him before this company if he has any 
 suspicion as to who did take the wallet belong- 
 ing to my client." He stopped and looked at 
 Joe. " We only wish," he added, " a clue to 
 work upon." 
 
 But Joe stood sullen and silent, not so much 
 as lifting his eyes. It certainly was a guilty face 
 they saw before them now, with all the first 
 defiance gone out of it. 
 
 " You'd better answer, Joe," said the lawyer. 
 Still not a word from the accused boy. 
 
 " Did you take it yourself?" 
 
 Still Joe said nothing ; he was afraid now to 
 so much as protest his own innocence, lest the 
 quick-witted lawyer should suddenly fix the 
 guilt upon Tom. 
 
 " Very well, then," said the attorney, " I must 
 conclude that you are the guilty party, and shall 
 have to ask Mr. White to swear out the papers 
 for your arrest."
 
 216 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 From the doorway came a sharp cry of pain : 
 " He didn't do it ! I tell you Joe Bentley didn't 
 steal your money ! He didn't do it, I tell you !" 
 
 All eyes were turned in the direction of the 
 voice. There, framed in by the gray, weather- 
 beaten, old door, stood Sylvia, leaning hard upon 
 her crutch, her bright hair, tossed by the wind, 
 almost concealing the pale face that looked 
 upon them from such startled eyes. She sud- 
 denly lifted her hand high above her head and 
 tossed the familiar brown wallet into the midst 
 of the group. 
 
 " Thar's your old money !" she cried, " an' 
 Joe Bentley never touched it ; never !" 
 
 For a moment there was intense stillness ; 
 then a voice demanded sharply : 
 
 " If Joe Bentley didn't take it, who did ?" 
 
 It was the very question she had dreaded, and 
 for which she had tried to prepare herself. The 
 thin lips twitched spasmodically ; the little 
 crutch rolled to the floor and Sylvia staggered 
 forward blindly, with a low " I done it ; I stole 
 the wallet."
 
 CONFESSIONS 217 
 
 It was the voice of the manufacturer that 
 called out to those near the door : 
 
 " Catch that child, somebody !" and a pair 
 of burly arms were opened to receive her as 
 Sylvia fell forward. 
 
 They knew at once that she had not committed 
 the crime ; but before they could express them- 
 selves another figure had darkened the old 
 doorway. The figure of a man, who strode for- 
 ward and lifted the crippled girl in his arms, 
 tenderly stroking the white temples. When 
 the blue eyes looked into his, with their familiar 
 recognition, he turned to the attorney : 
 
 " I be the man you air after," said he. " I 
 took the wallet. I didn't mean to take it, an* 
 it's the first thing I ever did take. I ware 
 tempted o' Satan. When I see it a-layin' thar 
 on the floor o' the coach, shaking in my very 
 face all the hunderds and hunderds o' things I 
 could git for my 'flicted chil', I couldn't help 
 a-takin' it ; I couldn't help it. I never meant 
 to take it ; an' I never meant to hurt nobody 
 else by it. An' this moruin' when I heeard that
 
 218 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 Joe was under s'picion I went home to fetch it 
 back an' s'render both it and myse'f. An' 
 when I looked for it under the old doorstep 
 whar I had hid it, it ware gone. Then I 
 said I'd come an' clear Joe anyhow. An', 
 strangers, I have come." 
 
 There was silence in the room, save for a sob 
 from the corner where Joe had turned away to 
 weep. Granny had hobbled in, in time to hear 
 Tom's confession. Her old face wore its familiar 
 smile of perfect faith as she went over and laid 
 her hand on Joe's bowed head. 
 
 " Your granny trested you, son," she said, in 
 a voice meant only for Joe's ears. "Allers 
 reckerlect that no matter what comes to you, your 
 old granny air a-trestin' o' you. A boy hain't 
 got any right to disapp'int them that trests in 
 him." 
 
 " The little gal didn't tetch the money, 
 strangers," Tom was saying, " exceptin' to fetch 
 it back to you-uns. She ware only try in' to 
 shield me, an' to cl'ar Joe. I took it ; only me. 
 I ain't askin' for pardon, gentlemen ; I only ask
 
 CONFESSIONS 219 
 
 you to look at that. That's what tempted of 
 me." 
 
 He thrust forward his big bridle hand, and 
 in the palm of it lay Sylvia's little twisted foot. 
 
 There were tears in more eyes than Joe's as 
 the little foot came .to view ; the great lawyer 
 blew his nose with unnatural vigor ; and Mr. 
 White, in the sharp voice with which he had 
 bidden some one catch the child when she fainted, 
 a voice meant to hide his emotion, lifted his 
 walking cane, and pointing to the door called out 
 to Tom : 
 
 " Take that child home and care for her." 
 
 Care for her ! That meant he was not to 
 be prosecuted. No more was said about the 
 wallet. Humanity is humanity after all, and 
 full of the beautiful spirit of Christ. Tom's 
 lesson had been quite enough for him, and would 
 do its own work without further molestation. 
 But the stage that carried the attorney and his 
 client back to Knoxville the next week also 
 carried Joe. The manufacturer had obtained 
 permission of granny to take him away, and
 
 220 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 put him into those wonderful shops that he had 
 already learned to love. 
 
 " I'll come back for you, granny," said he 
 at parting. " I'll come back for you some day 
 when I git to be a man, see if I don't." 
 
 She knew better ; she knew that long before 
 Joe could have accomplished his ambitions she 
 would be sleeping under the quiet shadows of 
 the mountain. A hasty visit now and then was 
 the most she could hope for. But she smiled, 
 happy even in the long parting, because it meant 
 so much of good to Joe. So she smiled and 
 sent him off with her blessing and her love, that 
 would follow him always, to the very end. 
 
 She knew that this man who had been touched 
 with a feeling of sympathy for the boy treading 
 the hard road that he, too, had traveled, would 
 not forget, or forbear, to point out the dangerous 
 places along the way. And knowing Joe's 
 sturdy and honorable nature she felt that she 
 could trust him, young as he was, to go into the 
 world of men. 
 
 Sylvia had come over to the Rock House
 
 CONFESSIONS 221 
 
 to say good-bye ; she stood leaning upon her 
 crutch in the doorway, waving her hand in 
 a last farewell. It was well for Joe that he 
 could not see the tears that stood in Sylvia's 
 eyes as she shouted to him in the old familiar 
 way : 
 
 " Good-bye, Joe ; don't forgit the mount'n !" 
 And Joe, seated beside his new friend in the 
 lumbering old stage coach, made to himself a 
 promise that he never, never would.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 AMONG NEW SCENES 
 
 IT was with mingled feelings of pleasure and 
 of pain that Joe took his seat in Tom's old stage. 
 Pleasure, in that the life he had so ardently 
 desired was at last opening before him ; the old 
 hardships were done with ; injustice, that had 
 rankled in the boy's heart at times, would dis- 
 turb him no more. Yet he was not without his 
 fears as well as regrets. He might not, after all, 
 be fitted for the life before him ; his doubts now 
 were all of himself, his own worth and modest 
 capacity. And then, the places that had been 
 the scene of his struggles and of his misfortunes 
 had become dear. The grim old mountain that 
 had looked upon every hour of his life possessed 
 a sort of protection after all ; its shades had re- 
 ceived many of his boyish confidences, and his 
 tears had fallen, bitter drops, upon its silent ways. 
 222
 
 AMONG NEW SCENES 223 
 
 It was like parting from his mother to say good- 
 bye to the mountain. Every crack of Tom's whip 
 seemed to be sweeping him miles and miles away 
 from it. 
 
 As they neared the bend in the steep where 
 little Sylvia was at that moment watching to see 
 the stage pass, the tears started to his eyes, and 
 turning his head Joe stealthily drew his rough 
 sleeve across his face. Tom cracked his whip, 
 the stage swept around the curve, and his moun- 
 tain home lay behind him, passed out of his 
 life forever, save for such influences and impres- 
 sions as it had left upon his character. But 
 hardship, if well directed, is a wonderful teacher; 
 a mighty strengthener of mind and of muscle, 
 and Joe had not failed of its benefits. 
 
 The parting with Tate was perhaps the hard- 
 est of all to Joe. Not that he loved Tom best, 
 but that he seemed a part of the old life, and so 
 long as he sat there on his box cracking his 
 whip and shouting to his horses, the old life 
 seemed, to some extent, to be going along with 
 him. But after a few hours' travel this poor
 
 224 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 link had to be broken, too. The stage was a 
 trifle late ; it reached the station at the foot of 
 the mountain only a short time before the train 
 was bulletined to start. It was all ready to 
 go ; the engine was puffing and blowing, the 
 bell ringing, and the conductor shouting "All 
 aboard !" 
 
 Mr. White felt rather glad there was so little 
 time for leave-taking ; he had been watching 
 Joe carefully during the ride down the moun- 
 tain, and he understood the terrible battle the 
 boy was having with his first homesickness. It 
 would make it somewhat easier, therefore, not 
 to linger over Tom's farewell. 
 
 So he hurried Joe into the car and found 
 seats for his party while his attorney attended 
 to the tickets and secured a check for Joe's box. 
 And Joe passed through it all like one in a 
 dream ; the changes came so often and so 
 quickly that he hdd no time to regret one event 
 until he was pushed on into another. 
 
 He did, however, regret Tom ; why, he had 
 not so much as shaken hands with Tom ; and
 
 HERE'S YOUR OLD MONEY!" SHE CRIED 
 (Page 217)
 
 AMONG NEW SCENES 225 
 
 the old stage driver had done him many a good 
 turn, despite the late unhappy incident of the 
 stolen pocket-book. Moreover, he had a mes- 
 sage to send to granny by Tom. Granny would 
 think he had forgotten her already ; that his 
 good fortune had turned his head at the very 
 outset. Now, if he just could send that mes- 
 sage back to the mountain ! 
 
 Back to the mountain ! He had left it then, 
 indeed, since it was " back " to the mountain. 
 At the thought something seemed to gather in 
 his throat and choke him. 
 
 At that moment some one tapped upon the 
 window, and, turning hastily, he saw Tom's 
 brown face pressed against the glass. Tom's 
 mouth was working, too, and his breath was 
 marring the window glass ; but Joe couldn't 
 hear a word. The engine was letting off steam, 
 and the glass effectually deadened the sound 
 of his voice. Mr. White leaned forward and 
 lifted the window, and in an instant Joe almost 
 shot out of it into Tom's face. 
 
 " Good-bye, Tom," said he ; "good-bye. An' I 
 15
 
 226 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 want you to promise to take care of granny, 
 Tom, in- my stead ; will you ?" 
 
 This was the promise he had been eagerly 
 waiting to extract from Tate, and which he had 
 been so near missing. 
 
 " That I will," said Tom. " I gives you my 
 word for it, I'll write you fair and square all that 
 happens to her whilst you-uns air gone. I sha'n't 
 forgit you, an' I sha'n't forgit that thar crutch." 
 
 There were tears in Tom's eyes, but Joe did 
 not see them. 
 
 " Never mind the crutch," said he. " May be 
 I'll learn to do better things than that bimeby. 
 I've got a chance to learn " 
 
 But Tom shook his head. " You may do 
 bigger things," said he, "but your hands'll 
 never turn a better job than that thar little 
 wooden crutch ; because it ware the work o' love 
 an' pity. I'll allers remember you by that thar 
 crutch, Joe Bentley, an' so will Silvy." 
 
 The people were rushing into their places ; 
 evidently the train would be moving in a mo- 
 ment. Joe leaned farther out the window.
 
 AMONG NEW SCENES 227 
 
 " Tom," said he, " if I ever do make any 
 money I'm goin' to send Silvy to Fluridy. You 
 tell her so for me." 
 
 " All right," said Tom, laughing ; " and she'll 
 say, ' this crutch air as nigh Fluridy as I'll ever 
 git.'" 
 
 But for once Tom was mistaken ; evidently 
 Sylvia was a better judge of human nature than 
 Tom ; for when he delivered Joe's message that 
 night Sylvia did not so much as smile ; she 
 merely gathered her little prop under her arm 
 and said : 
 
 " Well, he will if he can ; that's all." 
 
 But Tom, making his good-byes at the car 
 window, was not sorry to have a word to carry 
 back to the little girl whose restricted life would 
 indeed be lonely enough without the boy whose 
 good heart had devised so many plans for her 
 amusement. 
 
 " I'll tell her," he promised. " I'll tell her 
 faithful, and I'll write you what she says." 
 
 The train began to move. Tom's brown 
 bridle-hand was slipping from the window-sill
 
 228 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 where his brown fingers held Joe's in a parting 
 clasp. 
 
 " When you see Mr. Jarvis tell him " 
 the message, was lost in the rolling of the 
 wheels. But at the last moment Joe's head 
 shot out the window again, and his fresh young 
 voice rang out above the confusion and bustle 
 of starting : 
 
 " Tell granny I've been well all this time." 
 
 Mr. White smiled. How long the hours must 
 have been to the boy leaving, for the first time, 
 his first and only home. The manufacturer 
 glanced at his watch. They had left the Rock 
 House at five o'clock, it was now eleven ; to Joe 
 it had been "all this time." 
 
 " Well, Joe," said he, " we must begin to think 
 about getting home now." 
 
 The words sent Joe's thoughts off in a new 
 line, and soon he began to look forward, instead 
 of backward, and to enjoy the strange new 
 country through which they were passing. The 
 long, low levels were a beautiful wonder to him, 
 and the rivers seemed sluggish and half asleep
 
 AMONG NEW SCENES 229 
 
 after the swift, swirling rush of the mountain 
 streams. And the railroad train ; he had seen 
 it at a distance once before. But this was the 
 first time he had ever been in one of the hand- 
 some coaches with their trimmings of brass and 
 beveled mirrors reproducing with kaleidoscopic 
 fascination the scenes through which the brave 
 old engine was dragging them. 
 
 Mr. White let him alone ; he understood that 
 the boy was occupied with the strangeness of his 
 surroundings, and that these were quite enough 
 to fill his thoughts for the moment. But as the 
 evening drew on and objects outside became less 
 distinct, he saw the little old-young face pressed 
 against the window-pane begin to take on its 
 former expression of gloom. For an hour he 
 sat thus, struggling with his own longings and 
 memories. After a while the porter came in and 
 lighted the lamps, but Joe paid no attention to it. 
 
 The travelers had made their last change of 
 cars and were entering now upon the coal 
 regions not far from the city of Knoxville. 
 Mr. White had been talking with his lawyer
 
 230 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 most of the time, but he never once lost interest 
 in Joe's battle with himself. 
 
 Suddenly he "saw the boy's face brighten ; he 
 half rose in his seat and uttered an exclamation 
 of wonder and delight. 
 
 " Well, Joe," said the manufacturer, " what 
 do you think of it all ?" 
 
 They were passing alongside a row of ovens, 
 and the glow from the burning coke streamed 
 across the earth and the sky, lighting up the 
 dark blue of the heavens with real splendor. 
 
 " Oh, sir," said Joe, " if granny could only 
 see that. It air surely the glory of God !" 
 
 " Manifested through His works," said Mr. 
 White. " But wait until you see the big fur- 
 naces, Joe, where they melt the iron and make 
 it into bars ; then you will realize something of 
 the goodness of God in storing the earth with 
 so much for man's use. We shall be at home 
 now in a few hours." 
 
 At home ! It sounded so good. Joe leaned 
 his head against the back of the seat and pic- 
 tured to himself the night closing in upon the
 
 AMONG NEW SCENES 231 
 
 mountain. Already the lamps were lighted, or 
 the pine knots ; granny was knitting in the 
 corner of the fireplace ; crickets were chirping 
 under the old rock hearth. Joe was fast asleep. 
 
 Mr. White, sitting opposite, studied the face 
 before him carefully. It was a dark face, a good 
 deal sunburned, too, and thin now, almost to 
 gauntness. But that defect would soon right 
 itself. Those little drooping lines about the 
 mouth might disappear, too, in time, as the old 
 life gradually weakened in his memory. The 
 lips were set in a way that indicated strength, 
 endurance and unyielding purpose. The eyes, he 
 knew, were truth's own. His impulses were 
 slow, cautious, but once decided, nothing could 
 change him. But that which troubled his bene- 
 factor was a certain mistaken goodness that 
 would allow the world to trample upon him 
 impose upon his generous nature. 
 
 " That must be corrected," the manufacturer 
 told himself. " Master Jes will be the very 
 first one to take advantage of that weakness, 
 unless I keep a sharp lookout."
 
 232 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 Then, after a moment of silent thought, dur- 
 ing which he again made a careful scrutiny of 
 the face lying against the velvet seat : " What 
 a splendid foil for each other, Joe and Jes. 
 Joe's caution, set off against the impulsive dar- 
 ing of Jes ; the uncompromising conscientious- 
 ness of one against the inclination to shirk in 
 the other ; this boy's quiet yielding against Jes's 
 sturdy aggressiveness ; Joe's doubts against 
 Jes's unswerving faith in himself. They are 
 a good pair ; my boy's quickness will stimu- 
 late the lagging spirit of the mountain boy, too. 
 I shall watch the development of their charac- 
 ters with peculiar interest." 
 
 Mr. Thompson, who had been in the smoker, 
 entered at this moment, and, touching the man- 
 ufacturer lightly upon the shoulder, said : 
 
 " Getting into Knoxville, sir." 
 
 " Into Knoxville ? Why, where has the time 
 gone?" 
 
 The attorney looked at his watch. 
 
 " We are due at seven forty ; it lacks but ten 
 minutes of it. Shall I call Joe up ?"
 
 AMONG NEW SCENES 233 
 
 Not more than half awake, Joe was swept 
 along by the crowd upon the platform ; it was 
 all a part of the dream he had been dreaming 
 when Mr. Thompson awakened him ; the lights, 
 the shrieking of locomotives, the jangling of 
 street-car bells, and the cries of cabmen calling 
 for passengers. But distinct enough he heard 
 the low, deep voice of the attorney saying : 
 
 " There is your carriage, Mr. White, and Mor- 
 rison is coming for your satchel." 
 
 A tall driver stepped forward, relieving the 
 master of his valise, and leading the way to 
 where the carriage waited. 
 
 He had not noticed the strong, rather awk- 
 ward-looking mountain boy following at his 
 master's side, until, reaching the carriage, Mr. 
 White stepped back and said : 
 
 " Come, Joe ; jump in." 
 
 Joe dropped back among the soft cushions, 
 too ignorant and too innocent, as yet, to find 
 anything to contrast between himself and his 
 new surroundings. Mr. White spoke to his 
 attorney :
 
 234 A MOOXSHIXER'S SON 
 
 " Get in with us, Thompson ?" 
 
 " No, there is my car. I'll catch it and go 
 straight home. My wife will feel anxious. 
 Good-night ; see you to-morrow." 
 
 Mr. White took the seat by Joe, and gave the 
 driver his orders. 
 
 " Home, Morrison, as fast as you can get 
 there. I am as hungry as a bear, and as 
 sleepy." 
 
 Sleepy he might be, but Joe was wide enough 
 awake at last, and keenly alive to his new situ- 
 ation. The street lamps were like lost stars, 
 flitting through the night; aimless, but for 
 their one duty of shining. The towering 
 buildings on either side the streets seemed all 
 to be on fire. Mr. White explained nothing ; 
 he was not much of a talker at any time, and he 
 had some curiosity to see how the great change 
 would appeal to Joe. Then, too, he was think- 
 ing, as this boy at his side always set him 
 thinking, of a night in a far-away December 
 when another boy had drifted into Knoxville, a 
 stranger and unused to the city's strangeness.
 
 AMONG NEW SCENES 235 
 
 The difference between the two was slight, 
 though the circumstances were different. The 
 other boy had come alone ; strayed in from out- 
 side the city, where he had either wandered 
 from, or been deserted by, a wandering band of 
 gypsies. Previous to his life among the gypsies 
 the boy had a dim recollection of a tent, a ring, 
 and tiers of laughing, shouting people. Then 
 the gypsies came along ; how, he never knew, 
 but he afterward learned to believe that the 
 dull and timid boy was a burden to the circus 
 company and to his mother. 
 
 He glanced at the face at his side, radiant and 
 wondering, open and honest, too, as the good 
 daylight ; and he told himself that the boy Joe 
 had at least one good branch in his pedigree. 
 
 " That counts for much," he whispered in his 
 own heart. " If I had had a good mother " 
 
 There flitted before his mind the vision of a 
 light, lithe creature leaping through space and 
 alighting, amid the yells of a coarse multitude, 
 upon the back of a flying steed. 
 
 He closed his eyes to shut out the picture, if
 
 236 A MOONSHIXER'S SON 
 
 might be, and fell to thinking of that far-away 
 December night when he had strayed into 
 Knoxville, and had chanced to knock at the 
 right door. Chanced ? No, he did not believe 
 that such chances could be. He had lived to 
 tell himself that it was God's own hand had led 
 him that night to the door of the good woman 
 who had taken him into her home and her 
 heart, and had made indeed a son of him. 
 
 The carriage drew up to a tall, dark house, 
 with shutters carefully drawn, and stopped. 
 But when the coachman ran lightly up the 
 steps and rang the bell, the opening of the door 
 let out such a sudden dash of warm, rich light 
 that for a moment Joe was quite blinded by the 
 brightness. 
 
 A moment later the blistered and bruised 
 feet, so often torn with the stones upon the 
 mountain's side, sunk gratefully and restfully 
 into the softly-padded carpet of his new home. 
 He stood alone for a moment in the great hall- 
 way with only Mr. White, who was removing 
 his overcoat. Joe tried to express something
 
 AMONG NJEW SCENES 237 
 
 of the gratitude he felt, but he did not find 
 speech so easy to-night. 
 
 " I know sir," said he, " that I'd ought to 
 thank you for all you've done, but you see I 
 never see anything like all this in my life ; an' 
 somehows it appears like I can't think o' no 
 words to say." 
 
 " Well, Joe," said Mr. White, " the way to 
 show your gratitude is to endeavor to be happy 
 in my house, and to improve the opportunities 
 that have come to you." 
 
 There was a rush of footsteps coining down 
 the stairs, and a voice in remonstrance, mingled 
 with the high, distinct tones of a boy's voice in 
 angry defiance. The next moment a boy's figure 
 came bounding down the steps ; a straight, 
 slight little figure, and graceful as a deer, clad 
 in a suit of soft, clinging black, with a bright 
 scarlet tie at the throat, and about the delicate 
 temples golden locks, that clung to the pretty 
 round head with girlish grace. 
 
 The figure came down the broad steps two at 
 a time, but with the last bound landed lightly
 
 238 A MOONSHINEE'S SON 
 
 and defiantly face to face with the master of the 
 house and his new protege. 
 
 Behind him, coining decidedly more slowly, 
 was a tall, slender lady with white hair, and 
 wearing an expression of deep annoyance. A 
 flush overspread the lady's face when she found 
 herself so suddenly ushered into the presence of 
 the master of the house, and she opened her lips 
 to speak ; hut the young athlete was hefore her. 
 He lifted his eyes such pleading, roguish eyes 
 they were, yet withal not without a trace of 
 melancholy, too, to the master's face. 
 
 " May I not stay, sir ? May I not sit up 
 a while with you and the new boy ? Morrison 
 said at noon that a telegram had come ordering a 
 room for a new boy. I haven't seen a boy in this 
 house since I have been in it, and I just couldn't 
 go to bed. I have told Mrs. Mallory I am not a 
 baby to be tucked into a crib at eight o'clock." 
 
 " Indeed, sir," the lady interposed, " I am 
 ashamed to be the cause of such a stormy wel- 
 come, but he is not well. Just feel his hands, 
 sir, and see how fevered he is."
 
 AMONG NEW SCENES 239 
 
 But the boy clasped his hands behind him 
 angrily. 
 
 " Indeed I am not sick," he replied. " I 
 won't be sick." 
 
 And that one expression, " I won't be sick," 
 was the key to Jes's character. 
 
 " Come ! come !" said the master, " alter your 
 tone, my little man, then I am ready to talk to 
 you. Mrs. Mallory," turning his back upon 
 Jes and addressing the housekeeper, " this is the 
 young gentleman for whom I telegraphed you 
 to have a room in readiness. I found him in 
 the mountains. Bentley is his name, and he 
 will henceforth be one of the family. Joe, 
 come here and shake hands with my house- 
 keeper." 
 
 The lady took the extended hand, holding it 
 a moment between her own, and saying some 
 gentle word of welcome. Joe never knew what 
 it was she said, or what he said in reply. His 
 eyes, as well as his thoughts, were given entirely 
 to the boy, Jes, the handsome young fellow who, 
 now quiet enough, was regarding him with a
 
 240 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 sort of stare that held both surprise and 
 pleasure. 
 
 Then, for the first time in his life, Joe felt 
 conscious of his own awkward limbs and his 
 rough, outgrown clothes. For the first time in 
 his life he understood what a beautiful specimen 
 of freshness and of grace a boy could be And 
 good breeding, too ; for despite his stormy intro- 
 duction, Jes did not show the slightest amuse- 
 ment, or, what might have hurt more, pity for 
 the odd, old-fashioned figure which Joe at once 
 realized he must have presented in his short 
 pantaloons, showing several inches of coarse yarn 
 stocking, and the sleeves reaching half way to 
 his elbow. But if Jes saw the coarse shoes, the 
 rumpled, unbleached, unstarched shirt, or the 
 patched elbows of Joe's jeans jacket, he gave no 
 sign. Jes, in truth, saw a boy that was all ; to 
 Jes it was quite enough. 
 
 He waited for his uncle to offer some sort of 
 introduction, or to say more, at any rate ; but 
 when he saw him going off to the library with- 
 out another word, he could stand the uncer-
 
 AMONG NEW SCENES 241 
 
 tainty no longer, and burst out in his impulsive 
 way: 
 
 " Is he going to stay ? Oh, uncle, I do hope 
 he is going to stay." Then, as the master said 
 nothing : " Say, are you going to live with 
 us, boy ? Have you truly come to stay ?" 
 
 Joe looked helplessly at Mr. White, but that 
 gentleman was talking to the housekeeper, and 
 Joe was left to speak for himself. 
 
 " Yes," said he, in his most pronounced moun- 
 tain drawl, " I reck-in so." 
 
 " Then don't say ' reckin,' " said Jes, prompt- 
 ly ; " say ' suppose.' Oh, we will have a great 
 time now, uncle !" 
 
 Mr. White smiled ; his nephew's delight in 
 the new member of the household pleased him, 
 as did Jes's manner of ignoring the new boy's 
 appearance. Had he really not observed, he 
 wondered, or was he simply too kind to appear 
 to notice? There were some good qualities 
 about Jes; some very good traits indeed. To 
 his predictions of a " good time " the master 
 replied : 
 16
 
 242 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 " Well, we will see about that. All depends 
 upon how you treat each other. Now, Mrs. 
 Mallory, some supper, and when we have eaten 
 I am going to send these young gentlemen off 
 to the library to get acquainted with each other. 
 Wouldn't you like that, Joe ?" 
 
 " I reck suppose so, sir," said Joe. The 
 master of the house again smiled ; he had 
 noticed Jes's correction of the new boy's speech, 
 and he chuckled as he went off to his room 
 before going in to supper, and told himself that 
 " Jes would root out that dialect in less than a 
 mouth." 
 
 After supper he sat in his own little study, 
 seeing through the open door leading into the 
 library the two boys, seated side by side before 
 the fire, " getting acquainted " after their own 
 boyish ideas. What a contrast they presented ; 
 the brown, sturdy mountain fellow, more than 
 two years younger than the white, delicate 
 boy of the city. Their very clothes indi- 
 cated the contrast of their characters ; the 
 gray jeans and the soft black cloth. But Mr.
 
 AMONG NEW SCENES 243 
 
 White's eye saw deeper than the clothes when 
 he whispered to himself: 
 
 " The mountain boy has had the better 
 chance. But Jes has his fine traits, too ; his 
 nature would not have brooked the schooling 
 that Joe has had, but he will imbibe much of 
 the mountaineer's strength. And he will bring 
 that country boy out like a piece of polished 
 silver unless the boy permits him to lord it 
 over him, and so forfeits Jes's respect." 
 
 The housekeeper tapped lightly at the door 
 opening off the hall, and to Mr. White's " Come 
 in," she entered and asked if Jes had not best 
 be sent to his room. 
 
 " He has been feverish for two days," she ex- 
 plained. "And yesterday he was in bed the 
 most of the day." 
 
 " No," was the reply, " let him alone. Per- 
 haps his own determination not to be sick is the 
 best medicine after all. Sit down, Mrs. Mai- 
 lory ; I want to talk to you a moment about 
 this new boy who has come among us. I wish 
 to tell you the whole sad story of his life, so that
 
 244 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 you will feel and show for him the same kind 
 affection and care that you have given my 
 nephew. But first, I wish to ask you to look 
 after some more suitable clothes for him. I 
 should like a suit for him to put on in the morn- 
 ing, and another, which can he procured later, 
 for better wear. I am going to take him into the 
 shops at once next week. Next year he must 
 go to school ; this year I shall leave him to Jes, 
 however. Jes will teach him more than he will 
 get at any school just now. Moreover, it would 
 do him more harm than good to be dropped 
 down into a city school at his age, not knowing 
 how to read and write ; indeed, not knowing how 
 to talk, you might say. He has been unfortunate, 
 particularly unfortunate, Mrs. Mallory. And 
 finding him situated as he was, with the true 
 nobility of character that he possesses, I felt it 
 my duty, no less than a desire, being a bachelor 
 with plenty, to rescue and place in a position 
 where it could pass something of its greatness 
 on to others this fine, promising character." 
 Then and there he told Mrs. Mallory Joe's
 
 AMONG NEW SCENES 245 
 
 story. When he had finished the good woman 
 was drying her tears. 
 
 " Poor boy," said she ; " poor boy. I hope 
 we shall not find him either too sensitive or too 
 dull, sir. Boys brought up like that are apt to 
 be one or the other. There, sir ! Are they quar- 
 reling already ?" 
 
 Through the open door came the sound of 
 a voice Jes's voice, shrill and indignant. 
 
 " Well !" said he, " I should think you cer- 
 tainly would be ashamed of yourself; that I 
 should."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 FIRST LESSONS 
 
 THE acquaintance in the library was pro- 
 gressing. After the supper, which to Joe had 
 been only a part of the glitter and confusion of 
 the last two days, Mr. White had led his charge 
 to the library, where Jes was awaiting them 
 curled up among the silken pillows on the sofa. 
 He rose promptly when they appeared, and said : 
 
 " Uncle, I think I must have been very rude 
 to Mrs. Mallory to-night, and I am going at 
 once and apologize. I have been thinking about 
 it all this time, and now I know I was wrong." 
 
 Mr. White laid his hand upon Jes's little 
 round head, stroking the short curls tenderly. 
 
 " Oh, Jesse ! Jesse !" said he, " if you only 
 
 would learn to do your thinking first; your sober 
 
 second thought is always so true ; you've got to 
 
 look out for those ugly impulses, my boy. Go 
 
 246
 
 FIRST LESSOXS 247 
 
 on now, and set yourself right ; then come back, 
 I wish you to show Joe over the house. His 
 room opens off your own ; show him that. Then 
 when you are through you may sit a while here 
 together, if you like." 
 
 If they " liked." The master smiled as he 
 saw them run off together, so unlike in every 
 particular save the bounding, boyish heart in 
 the bosom of each. He was glad, indeed he felt 
 rewarded already, that he had brought them 
 together ; then, as he turned away to his study 
 he thought again of that night when he first 
 strayed into Knoxville. There was nobody there 
 to take off the newness of that night but a lady, 
 a good, good woman, and a frail little girl, who 
 had, years afterward, developed a wonderful 
 voice, and who had become Jes's mother. They 
 had called each other " brother " and " sister," 
 and had loved each other as such. And when 
 she died she gave him her boy to father. The 
 boy was " the mother's own self again," he had 
 told himself many times. 
 
 At that moment the boy was enjoying him-
 
 248 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 self not a little in piloting Joe over the big house. 
 The rooms were so large and so beautiful ; Joe 
 would have lingered in each, but that Jes hur- 
 ried him along until they stood in Joe's own 
 special apartment. And all the time the 
 mountain boy was admiring the beautiful things 
 about him he was thinking of granny, fast asleep 
 by this time, in the leaky old Rock House far 
 away up on the mountain. Everything was so 
 strange ; there wasn't a thing in all his surround- 
 ings that touched in any way his life among the 
 hills. Only his rough jacket and short old trou- 
 sers seemed natural. He glanced at his frayed 
 sleeve and unconsciously patted the patch granny 
 had set there preparatory to his going away. And 
 right there he resolved that he would keep that 
 little old patched jacket as long as he lived, so 
 much of granny's love and patience seemed to 
 have been stitched into it. And he resolved 
 that should he ever make any money of his 
 own that she should know what it was to have 
 nice, comfortable things, too. 
 
 " This is the gas." Jes was rattling off his
 
 FIRST LESSONS 249 
 
 information at a great rate. " Did you ever see 
 any gas ? Because if you didn't you might get 
 yourself smothered." 
 
 Involuntarily Joe stepped quickly back from 
 the little harmless-looking jet of flame. But Jes 
 didn't laugh, not once. 
 
 " Do it burn iron ?" said Joe. " Is the the 
 iron stick a-burnin' ?" 
 
 " No," said Jes, " it is gas ; it comes up through 
 that iron pipe, and when you've got enough of 
 it you just whisk it off so." Jes suited the 
 action to the word, much to the country boy's 
 wondering delight. "And," he went on, after 
 getting hold of a match, " you light it so." And 
 again the little flame shot up from the pipe. 
 
 " I suppose you burn lamps in the moun- 
 tains?" said Jes. 
 
 " Lamps an' pinuts," said Joe. " At the Rock 
 House thar " 
 
 "Say 'there,'" Jes interrupted. "Don't 
 ever say ' thar.' And what in the world are 
 ' pinuts ' ?" 
 
 " Pinuts come out o' the woods," Joe ex-
 
 plained. " Granny used to burn 'em mostly. 
 They air fat chunks, yon know, off' the pine 
 trees. Knots, an' they burn toler'ble fair of a 
 cold night." 
 
 " Oh," said Jes. " You must say pine knots, 
 not ' pinuts.' Now we will go down and see 
 the best of all the books." 
 
 When Joe had carefully scanned the long, 
 well-filled shelves in the library, his guide threw 
 back the glass doors of a smaller case and ex- 
 claimed exultantly : 
 
 " These are mine, every one of them. Shall 
 we read now ?" 
 
 He drew from the shelf a story-book, hand- 
 somely bound and illustrated ; and curling him- 
 self up on the sofa made room for Joe beside 
 him. Suddenly he chanced to look at Joe's 
 face ; the book slipped from his fingers and fell 
 to the floor ; the disappointment was too great. 
 
 " Oh," said he, " don't you like books ?" 
 
 Joe blushed and stammered ; he was awk- 
 ward and ashamed enough now, with this boy's 
 eyes watching him so intently.
 
 FIRST LESSONS 251 
 
 " Yes, I like 'em, I reck suppose. I ain't 
 never see any." 
 
 Jes literally bounded to his feet. 
 
 " Never saw any books !" said he. " Why, 
 then, can't you read ?" 
 
 Feeling himself almost as criminal as when he 
 had hauled apples to the illicit still in the moun- 
 tains, poor Joe stammered : 
 
 " No, I can't read." 
 
 It was at this moment that Jes turned from 
 him in disgust, and his voice rang out so that 
 his words reached the two in the study : 
 
 " Well ! I should think you certainly would 
 be ashamed of that ; so I should." 
 
 " I am," was the low reply. " I am mightily 
 ashamed of it." 
 
 " Well, then, why didn't you learn ?" 
 
 " There ware no learnin' places where I ware 
 born." 
 
 " No schools ! Do you mean there were no 
 schools ?" 
 
 Joe nodded. 
 
 " Nairy blessed one."
 
 252 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 Jes forgot the dialect in his surprise. 
 
 "No schools! Well, then," said he, "you 
 needn't be ashamed at all, since it is not your 
 fault, and you cannot help it. That which we 
 can't help is our misfortune. I am sorry I 
 spoke so quickly. Would like for me to read 
 to you ?" 
 
 Dear, honest, impulsive, generous Jes ! Quick 
 to err and as quick to undo. There was, as his 
 uncle said, much that was beautiful and good in 
 Jes. 
 
 The two boys curled themselves up again on 
 the sofa gray jeans and handsome broadcloth, 
 polish and simplicity side by side, so close that 
 ere long the two heads were pressed together, 
 and a rough, hardly-used hand united with a 
 soft, girlish palm in supporting the big book's 
 back. 
 
 For nearly an hour the reading went on, and 
 then Jes, grown weary, closed the book. 
 
 " Oh, don't stop," Joe begged. " Don't stop 
 yit. Please don't stop readin' of it yit." 
 
 Jes regarded him steadily.
 
 FIRST LESSONS 253 
 
 " Say ' reading,' ' said he, " not ' readin';' 
 and never say ' yit.' It is y-e-t yet. No, I am 
 tired now ; I wasn't very well, you know. But 
 I say, would you like to learn to read ?" 
 
 "Would I? Well, now, I would just rather 
 learn to read as to do anything in this world." 
 
 " Well," said Jes, " I'll teach you to read if 
 you like. And say> you mustn't mind my cor- 
 recting, you know, because you must learn to 
 talk properly." 
 
 " Oh, that's all right," said Joe. " And I 
 certainly will be glad to learn. I'll do some- 
 thing for you, too, some time. Granny allers " 
 
 " Always." 
 
 " Always said the time ware " 
 
 " Was." 
 
 " Was sure to come when we could return 
 favors, and I 'most know it'll come to us. But 
 will we have time to learn?" 
 
 " Why, we've got every night," said Jes. 
 
 " I didn't know but I'd have to work nights," 
 said Joe. " I used to work nights at the Rock 
 House."
 
 254 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 " Oh, you poor boy, you," said Jes. " I don't 
 believe you truly know what it is to really rest 
 and be happy." 
 
 " Yes, I do," said Joe. " I used to rest some- 
 times on the mountain while old Kit cropped 
 the grass. I'd just lay back flat on the ground 
 watcliin' the clouds floatin' by overhead, and 
 list'nin' to the flow of water through the laurel, 
 so easy and gurglin' like, sorter singing there in 
 the wilderness ; and I felt that rested and happy 
 I'd sometimes drop off to sleep and not wake up 
 any more until Kit would rub her cold nose 
 into my face. Then I'd jump up and find the 
 moon risin' over the mountain, and the water 
 still singin' in the laurel as sweet and sassy 
 like. Did you ever hear the water running 
 through a laurel brake ?" 
 
 It was Jes's turn to acknowledge ignorance. 
 He said " No," but at the same time he got up 
 and went over to the piano, where he seated 
 himself, and, slipping his slender fingers along 
 among the white keys, said : 
 
 "Is it like this?"
 
 FIRST LESSONS 255 
 
 Joe listened spellbound to the little rippling 
 runs and trills. When he finished Jes looked 
 around to find his listener silently weeping. 
 The awkward, overgrown boy attempted to 
 justify his emotion. 
 
 " It did sound so like the water slippin' down 
 the mountain through the laurel," said he. 
 " Somehow it made rne feel feel I don't 
 know just how." 
 
 Jes got up softly and closed the piano. 
 
 " I know how you feel," said he. " It makes 
 me cry, too, sometimes. My mother was a great 
 singer, and she caught fire one night while 
 singing in a big theatre and was burned to 
 death. She didn't die until the next day, but 
 they never let me see her. My father had 
 wasted all her money and had died, and she 
 wouldn't come and live with uncle because he 
 was against her marrying. But they brought 
 her here that night, and she died in this house. 
 Her coffin stood right there by the window. It 
 was white, and all buried under scarlet roses. 
 She loved the red roses always, you see. Be-
 
 250 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 fore she died she called my uncle and gave him 
 me ; what she said was : ' Take care of my baby, 
 Ralph.' I was a little fellow then. But I 
 remember it, and music always seems to 
 ch-o-ke " 
 
 " I know," said Joe ; " that's the way it did 
 me. You ought to be glad to remember your 
 mother, though, even if it does make you cry. 
 I don't remember mine, but I know she was a 
 good woman. And I've got a good granny, too. 
 But I reckon my father done worse than waste 
 money." 
 
 And then Joe told Jes the story of his life ; 
 of the lonely rides before daylight, and of ^he 
 danger, the deadly danger, ever lurking over 
 the illicit distillers. 
 
 When he finished Jes said : 
 
 " Weren't you awfully afraid ? Going along 
 in the dark that way with only an old mule for 
 company ? I should think you'd been fright- 
 ened almost to death in the dark that way." 
 
 " No," said Joe, " I was only afraid of the sin 
 of it all. Granny always said that sin is the
 
 FIRST LESSQXS 257 
 
 only thing a boy need be afraid of in this world. 
 And it's so; there ain't anything else to hurt 
 us, just only sin. Is your name White ?" 
 
 " That's what they call me ; yes. I took my 
 uncle's name ; he took my grandmother's ; so I 
 have only taken my own mother's name, after 
 all." 
 
 "Boys! Boys! Bed-time." 
 
 Mr. White had looked in several times and 
 hesitated to interrupt the growing acquaintance 
 until the hands upon the study clock pointed to 
 eleven. "Joe isn't accustomed to hours like 
 these ; you must teach Jes how to go to bed and 
 to sleep at a reasonable hour, too, sou." 
 
 Son ! The word had a magical meaning for 
 poor Joe. Long after reaching his own room 
 the echo of the pleasant word lingered in his 
 heart like a benediction. 
 
 The door between the boys' rooms was closed, 
 but not fastened. Joe lingered over his prepa- 
 rations for bed, half hoping Jes would come in. 
 Once he started to go for him, and did draw 
 the door ajar, but he saw Jes with his back to 
 17
 
 258 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 him busily preparing for sleep, and remember- 
 ing that he was not well, Joe hesitated to disturb 
 him again. 
 
 But the glance into Jes's room had awakened 
 a new feeling in Joe's heart. Again he was 
 contrasting himself and his coarse clothing with 
 Jes. Across the foot of Jes's bed Joe saw a 
 delicate white night robe, daintily ruffled and 
 fluted; white curtains were looped back from 
 the pillows with pale ribbons. Evidently 
 neither labor nor love had been lacking to sur- 
 round Jes with all things beautiful. 
 
 Joe thought of his own miserable boyhood 
 and its unattractive surroundings, and for a mo- 
 ment his heart was full of bitter rebellion. Then 
 his fingers accidentally came in contact with 
 granny's patch, and his ugly feelings took flight. 
 He had had as much genuine affection as any 
 boy ; it was only that the money had been lack-, 
 ing, perhaps, to render his life as easy as Jes's. 
 At least that was what he told himself, not 
 allowing himself to think otherwise. 
 
 " And leastways I couldn't help it," he told
 
 FIRST LESSONS 259 
 
 himself, as lie drew back the curtains and looked 
 out upon the night. " I couldn't help it, and 
 Jes said what we couldn't in no ways help was 
 not our blame, but our misfortune." 
 
 The moon was shining ; it was a comfort to 
 think it was shining at the same moment upon 
 the little cabins among the mountains where 
 Sylvia and granny were lying asleep, dreaming 
 it might be, of him. " Sylvia, and granny, and 
 Jube," said Joe ; " I sha'n't ever forget Jube." 
 He couldn't sleep, and he stood at the window 
 watching the moonlight, wishing that Jes would 
 come in. At last he went again and looked into 
 Jes's room. The gas was turned quite low, and 
 in the semi-darkness he saw Jes, in his white 
 night-shirt, quietly kneeling by his bed, saying 
 his prayers. 
 
 It was like a soothing draught to Joe's tu- 
 multuous thought. He went back and was 
 soon fast asleep in his own bed. And the same 
 moon that looked down through the curtainless 
 windows of the Rock House upon the old gray 
 head resting upon its coarse, clean pillow, shone
 
 260 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 for Joe, too, while lie slept and dreamed of 
 home. 
 
 Jes did peep in at last, but Joe was asleep 
 and his gas turned off. Jes crept stealthily 
 back and turned off his light also ; he was 
 accustomed to sleep with it burning, but to- 
 night well, there was something about the new 
 boy from the mountains that made Jes ashamed 
 of his cowardice. He felt afraid Joe might 
 suspect that he burned his light because he was 
 afraid of the dark. He remembered what Joe 
 had told him of those lonely rides over the 
 mountain, and how he had said it was only the 
 sin of it that he feared. " Sin is the only thing 
 a boy need fear in this world." And with 
 granny's lesson in his heart Jes crept into bed. 
 It was the last night he ever burned the gas 
 because he was afraid of the darkness.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE WONDERFUL SHOPS 
 
 WHEN Joe awoke the morning after his 
 arrival at Mr. White's, Morrison was standing 
 at his bedside ; the sun was streaming into the 
 room, and there was a rush of water sounding 
 in his ears. He sprang out of bed with a, cry 
 of alarm ; for an instant he fancied the Rainbow 
 Falls were near, and that he was late getting to 
 the still. 
 
 Morrison smiled and hastened to reassure him. 
 
 "Your bath's awaiting, sir," said he, " and if 
 you please, I am to help you with your dressing 
 this one morning." 
 
 Help him with his dressing; how funny. 
 Why he had been dressing himself ever since 
 he put on his first breeches. But after Mor- 
 rison was done with him Joe began to feel that 
 it was the first time in his life that he had ever 
 
 261
 
 262 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 known the luxury of a genuine toilet. The 
 man first plunged him into a hot bath, after 
 which he deluged him with a cold shower that 
 sent the blood tingling through his veins in a way 
 that made him wonder if it were water or very 
 fine needles pricking into his flesh. And when 
 it was over Morrison cut his hair and carefully 
 brushed it, pared and polished his finger-nails, 
 after which he put on him a new suit of plain, 
 well-made clothes, flipped a spray of perfume 
 into. his face, and slipped a linen handkerchief 
 into his breast pocket, with the tip of the deep 
 hem just visible. Then he opened the door 
 and announced that the master was waiting for 
 him in the library. 
 
 Joe felt so awkward, so entirely ill at ease, 
 that the servant took pity on him. 
 
 " Just try to feel as though you owned the 
 place, sir," said he. " That's the way I do 
 when I goes out to a new service, and it helps 
 things to come handy, mightily." 
 
 Joe laughed, and forgot his awkwardness in 
 fancying how funny it would be to try to feel
 
 THE WONDERFUL SHOPS 263 
 
 that Mr. White's big house belonged to him. 
 Why, if he were master there he would 
 
 And unconsciously Joe began to trip down 
 the stairs in his pliable new shoes for all the 
 world as Jes would have done. 
 
 He was laughing heartily at his " foolishness " 
 when he reached the library door, and heard 
 Jes exclaim : 
 
 " Why, how good you look ! Doesn't he, 
 uncle?" 
 
 " First rate," said Mr. White. " I wish you to 
 feel at home, my son, in good clothing, and 
 among delicate surroundings. Such things are 
 refining, though not absolutely necessary by any 
 means to the development of character. Re- 
 member that, if you are ever tempted to think 
 too much of them. Whenever they become a 
 temptation to you, such as debt, they are no 
 longer refining, but, rather, degrading, and it is 
 time to give them up. I refer, of course, to such 
 things as undue adornment and those little 
 things, harmless enough in themselves, but dan- 
 gerous if given too much attention."
 
 264 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 Joe was not destined to be spoiled by good 
 clothes ; he was glad to look a little more like 
 Jes, whom he admired thoroughly, and glad to 
 feel that the gap between them was, perhaps, 
 beginning to narrow. Already he found himself 
 trying to talk like Jes ; already the slow old 
 drawl of the mountaineer was disappearing, for 
 Joe remembered very carefully the slightest 
 correction made in his speech. 
 
 Mr. White left instructions with Jes to bring 
 Joe down to the shops at eleven o'clock. And 
 although Jes read and played on the piano, 
 the hours dragged slowly until time for them 
 to go. 
 
 " We must go by the book-store and get your 
 books for studying," said Jes. " You ought to 
 begin right away, you know." 
 
 " But I can't," said Joe. " I ain't got any 
 money to buy the book yet, and I'll have to 
 wait till I can make it." 
 
 " Why, it's only twenty-five cents," said Jes. 
 " I can give you that much." 
 
 Joe shook his head.
 
 THE WONDERFUL SHOPS 265 
 
 " I couldn't do that," said he. " I ain't a 
 beggar. Granny always said nobody has a right 
 to be a beggar as long as he can work." 
 
 Jes stared. What kind of a boy was this 
 he had stumbled upon ? An ignorant mountain 
 stripling who refused gifts ! 
 
 " Well," said Jes, " I'll lend it to you, then." 
 
 " But I can't borrow, neither," said Joe. 
 "Granny would make me give the book straight 
 back if she was here." 
 
 " Look here, Joe," said Jes. " It's an awful 
 thing not to know how to read. I mean for a 
 boy your size. You've already lost lots of time. 
 It wasn't your fault, but it is your fault now if 
 you don't learn when you have the chance, and 
 you ought to remember that." 
 
 " Seems to me," said Joe, " it would be 
 worser " 
 
 " Worse," said Jes. 
 
 " Worse to be borrowing when I can't see my 
 way to paying back. No, I must do without it, 
 or else " 
 
 "What?"
 
 266 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 " I must work for it. That's the way I always 
 done" 
 
 " Did." 
 
 " Did in the mountains. If I wanted any- 
 thing at the store Mr. Jarvis let me earn it. 
 That's the way I aim to do always." 
 
 Jes's eyes showed his surprise ; he had never 
 heard of such a thing. 
 
 Why, already he had several little accounts 
 of his own at the stores. He generally had one 
 at the book-store, and always one at the confec- 
 tioner's. It was his own little secret, and he was 
 very careful always to settle them at the end of 
 the month, when he received his allowance. He 
 always took all the money his uncle was willing 
 to give, too. And here was a boy who would 
 neither receive gifts nor borrow. He wondered 
 if, by-and-by, he would not be offering to pay 
 for the clothes he had on. There was no mov- 
 ing a boy like that. Jes was about to give it 
 up in despair. 
 
 " Well," said he, " that ends it ; you can't 
 work for me."
 
 THE WONDERFUL SHOPS 267 
 
 " Why can't I ?" said Joe. " Don't you ever 
 work ? Don't you need anything done ?" 
 
 " No," said Jes. " Never. Morrison does all 
 I need, except blacking my shoes, which uncle 
 requires me to do, because he says it is too much 
 to ask of Morrison, unless I pay him extra out 
 of my own pocket.' 
 
 " Well," said Joe, " why can't I black the 
 boots for the book ? It would only be for about 
 a week ?" 
 
 Jes hesitated. "I don't know what uncle would 
 say. He knows I dislike to black my own shoes, 
 and he thinks I am a little disposed to imposing 
 sometimes." 
 
 " We'll not tell anybody a word about it," 
 said Joe. " It is just paying a debt. If 
 you'll let me take it so, I will be glad to get 
 the book. If you won't, then it will have 
 to wait." 
 
 So it was settled ; but Jes could not feel quite 
 comfortable somehow. He knew that his uncle 
 would not allow Joe to black his shoes if he 
 knew of it ; yet, looking at it Joe's way it seemed
 
 268 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 fair enough. He had already learned that Joe's 
 way was apt to be a fair one. 
 
 Still, when they reached the shops and he led 
 Joe around to the small glass enclosure that Mr. 
 White called his office, he slipped the book into 
 his overcoat pocket. Because he felt sure that 
 if any question should arise Joe would make a 
 clean breast of the matter. But Joe saw noth- 
 ing of Jes's uneasiness ; shared nothing of it. 
 He was wholly absorbed in the wonderful things 
 about him. The great room seemed almost a 
 world of itself. There were heaps and heaps of 
 beautiful lumber, some ready planed and pol- 
 ished, some waiting the polishing table. In 
 another room, of which he had merely a glimpse 
 in passing, there were stacks of furniture ready 
 for the market. In another department still 
 they told him was the machinery, the gluing- 
 room, and the varnish shop. 
 
 There was so much of it that he was quite be- 
 wildered ; he began to wonder if he ever should 
 learn to move about with safety, still less to be 
 useful in the wonderful place.
 
 THE WONDERFUL SHOPS 269 
 
 Mr. White seemed to guess something of the 
 boy's feeling, for he said : 
 
 " You know how it is done, Joe. By begin- 
 ning right at the bottom." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Joe. " But could I begin at 
 once now ? I am willing to start at the bottom, 
 sir ; but I'm not going to stay there." 
 
 Mr. White smiled. 
 
 " Hadn't you better wait a while ?" said he. 
 " Next week will be time enough to begin." 
 
 " If you don't care," said Joe, " I'd rather 
 begin right now. 'Pears like it's what I have 
 been a-thirsting for all my life, Mr. White." 
 
 " Very well, then, you shall begin to-day. 
 Jes, go down and send the foreman to me." 
 
 When the foreman appeared the master said : 
 
 "Mr. Johnson, I have brought you a new 
 hand. I wish you to take this boy and find a 
 place for him. His name is Bentley. Try him 
 a week and then report to me." Joe was led 
 away by the foreman, and Jes went home alone. 
 The boys did not meet again until six o'clock 
 in the evening.
 
 270 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 After dinner Mr. White, looking into the 
 library, saw them with heads bowed together 
 over the table busily at work over Joe's lessons. 
 An hour later he looked in again. They were 
 still at work, though Jes sat back waiting for 
 Joe to master his task and begin a new one. 
 
 That night, after Jes retired, he saw Joe 
 softly enter the room and stop at his bedside. 
 
 " Hello !" he exclaimed. "What's up ?" 
 
 " Nothing," said Joe. " I was trying not to 
 wake you. I am only looking for your shoes." 
 
 " Oh," said Jes, " let them be till morning." 
 
 " No, I won't," said Joe. " It was a fair bar- 
 gain, and if you don't want to stand to it, I'll 
 not have the book." 
 
 " Go on, go on," said Jes. " Do anything 
 you please. Only you've got to learn to read 
 and write and talk. There !" 
 
 " You've got to learn." The words reminded 
 Joe of the first night of his arrival when Jes 
 refused to be sick. He had almost learned to 
 think that whatever Jes willed to do he was 
 pretty sure to have it so.
 
 THE WONDERFUL SHOPS 271 
 
 As Joe was leaving the room with the shoes 
 in his hand Jes turned on his pillow and said : 
 
 " Say, I do believe you are a softy." 
 
 Joe stopped, his anger was up in an instant. 
 
 " You'd better not say that," said he. " I fit 
 a man once, a grown-up man, for saying that." 
 
 Jes chuckled. 
 
 " Oh, well," said he, "just say ' fought,' then, 
 and we'll let it pass." 
 
 The week passed pleasantly gloriously to 
 Joe. At the close of a Saturday afternoon the 
 foreman tapped at the office door. 
 
 " I wish, sir," said he, " that you would just 
 come and take a peep at your new hand." 
 
 Mr. White rose at once and followed the fore- 
 man to the carpenters' department, where Joe 
 was at work. 
 
 Before a long, rough carpenter's table stood 
 Joe, his big striped apron reaching from his chin 
 to the tips of his shoes. Before him lay a broad, 
 white plank, over which he was industriously 
 running a plane. At one end of the table, 
 propped up among the curling yellow shavings,
 
 272 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 stood a book. With each trip he made to the 
 end of the table the young carpenter took a 
 peep at the book, and the two men saw his lips 
 moving the while he applied himself to his 
 double task of planing and learning his lesson. 
 Now and then he stopped a moment to brush 
 away the shavings that threatened to cover the 
 page, but not once was his attention given to 
 anything outside the work before him. He had 
 no idea that he was being watched, not even 
 when the master tiptoed forward to look over 
 his shoulder and see what book it was that was 
 dividing his attention. What he read there 
 was " Goodrich's First Reader." 
 
 He turned away quickly, and beckoned the 
 foreman to follow him. The humble patience 
 of the first effort at securing an education ap- 
 pealed to Mr. White more than all Joe's troubles 
 had touched him. 
 
 " Does he do his work well ?" he asked the 
 foreman. 
 
 " Nobody in the place better," was the reply. 
 " He has a natural love for tools, and handles
 
 THE WONDERFUL SHOPS 2?3 
 
 them with a skill remarkable in a boy of his 
 age. I put him to work in the carpenters' 
 shops after trying him at easy little odds and 
 ends for half a day. It's a pity, sir, he's behind 
 in his education, because that will necessitate his 
 leaving the shops in a short time, I suppose, and 
 he would make a famous hand by-and-by." 
 
 That night when the boys were again at work 
 in the library, Mr. White, in his study, heard 
 Joe's voice carefully plodding through Good- 
 rich's first lessons : 
 
 " It-is-a-hen. Is-it-a-hen ?" 
 
 When the lesson ended Jes said : 
 
 " You ought to have a copy-book ; it is time 
 for you to begin writing." Joe was silent ; he 
 knew it was to be the old battle over again that 
 he had fought in regard to the reader. " You 
 might charge it at the book-store," Jes went on. 
 " I know the man, and I could ask him." 
 
 " No," said Joe. " It ain't any use to ever 
 tell me that again, Jes. I just won't do it, EVER. 
 But I tell you ; I am to have Saturday after- 
 noons off. I can find something: to do, I know, 
 18
 
 274 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 in a big town like this, and make enough to buy 
 what I need. I'll have to wait till Saturday." 
 
 " You could learn a lot in that time," said Jes. 
 ".It's a week off. Besides, the man won't mind ; 
 he'll know uncle will make it good if you don't." 
 
 "But I mind," said Joe. "And granny 
 would mind, too, if she knew about it. And I 
 'most know Mr. White would, too. Besides, 
 something might happen ; I might die, or never 
 make any money to pay him ; then what would 
 the man think ?" 
 
 " Well," said Jes, " you are a funny fellow. 
 You've got lots of old woman ways, and fool- 
 ishness." 
 
 Joe colored. 
 
 "If you just mean that for me, Jes," said 
 he, "I don't care. But if I thought you was 
 making fun of granny I'd thrash you right 
 thar-there-thar whar-where you set-sit " 
 
 Jes broke into a peal of laughter. 
 
 " I wasn't," said he ; " truly, I wouldn't do 
 that. But I do just like to see you fire up for 
 your granny. I wish somebody loved me that
 
 THE WONDERFUL SHOPS 275 
 
 way ; enough to fight for me. But you have 
 got some funny notions, Joe." 
 
 "Well, they are good ones," said Joe. "I 
 ain't ashamed of 'em. Granny knew what was 
 right, if she was old and feeble, and didn't have 
 any book learning ; and I guess her word'll do 
 to live by ; and so I sha'n't take your advice to 
 go against it. There !" 
 
 " No," said Jes, " don't take anybody's. But 
 I say, Joe, would you mind borrowing my slate 
 and pencil till you make your Saturday fortune ? 
 You are welcome to it, and it can't wear out, 
 you know. At least the slate can't. You may 
 give me one of your own pencils any time I 
 need it, if that'll set your mind at rest. Would 
 you object to that ?" 
 
 " Not a bit of it," said Joe, his good humor 
 restored. " If I break 'em I'll buy you more, 
 honest and fair. Could I begin to-night?" 
 
 There was never any putting off about this 
 boy. He meant to conquer in the battle he had 
 begun ; and the sooner he began, the shorter the 
 conflict. Long after Jes was asleep Joe sat in
 
 27 (j A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 liis own room patiently following the copy he 
 had set for him. 
 
 Mr. White heard stirring in the room long 
 after midnight, and got up to go and see if either 
 of the boys was sick. Joe's door stood wide 
 open, the gas was burning brightly, and seated 
 at a table sat Joe, busy with slate and pencil. 
 
 He was about to go in and send the boy off 
 to bed, when Joe got up and passed noiselessly 
 into Jes's room. A moment later he came back, 
 bringing with him Jes's shoes, which he at once 
 began to polish. When the task was finished, 
 Joe crept wearily to bed, and to sleep. 
 
 Mr. White had never been so angry with 
 Jes as he was that night. 
 
 " So that is the way he treats an ignorant 
 boy, who doesn't know any better than to be 
 his lackey, is it ?" said he, as he returned to his 
 own room. " Imposing on his ignorance and 
 good nature. Well, we will see about that in 
 the morning, sir." Then, as he turned off his 
 light again, his disappointment overcame him. 
 
 "Oh, Jes! Jes!" he whispered. "I had
 
 THE WONDERFUL SHOPS 277 
 
 hoped those ugly characteristics were disappear- 
 ing. Poor boy, poor boy !" 
 
 As Joe was hurrying clown to the library the 
 next morning, he met Mrs. Mallory in the 
 hall. 
 
 " Oh, Joe," said she, " what has the poor 
 child been doing to you that the master is so 
 angry with him ?" 
 
 " To me ?" said Joe ; " why, nothing. Jes 
 has been as good as gold to me always." 
 
 " Then do go in there and tell him so, for 
 he's giving the poor boy a terrible scolding, and 
 Jes refuses to say a word in explanation." 
 
 Not knowing what dreadful thing he might 
 expect, Joe hesitatingly opened the library door 
 and entered. Jes stood moody and sulky before 
 his uncle, who was giving him, indeed, a " ter- 
 rible scolding." Joe had never seen Mr. White 
 angry before, and it almost frightened him. 
 He had no idea what Jes had done ; but he 
 knew that whatever it was, he was equally 
 guilty. He began to fear that he might, after 
 all, be sent back to the mountain. It would
 
 278 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 break granny's heart for him to fail ; and his 
 uncle, he knew, would never cease to twit him 
 with it. 
 
 "Come in, sir," said Mr. White; "I want 
 you. What does it mean, your blacking this 
 young gentleman's shoes ? I want to know if 
 he required you, or hired you, or how he per- 
 suaded you to play bootblack for him. I told 
 that boy the night you came to this house that 
 you were here on equal social footing with him- 
 self; and I shall be disappointed to find you 
 had not the same respect for yourself that I 
 had for you. Now then, sir, go on." 
 
 " Oh, sir," said Joe, " Jes has never been 
 anything but goodness to me. He didn't want 
 me to black his shoes ; he said you wouldn't 
 like it" 
 
 "Humph!" 
 
 " It was all my fault ; all my work. I per- 
 suaded him to it, and I said we need not tell 
 you." 
 
 " You did, eh ? You persuaded him to false- 
 hood?"
 
 THE WONDERFUL SHOPS 279 
 
 Joe colored and was silent. It was Jes who 
 replied to the charge. 
 
 " No," said he, " he didn't." 
 
 " Be quiet, will you !" thundered his uncle. 
 " Go on, Bentley." 
 
 " Well, sir," said Joe, " I don't lie. I learned 
 that much in the mountain. It's maybe all I 
 did learn, hut I got that much. I needed a 
 book, and I didn't have any money. Jes offered 
 to lend it to me, and I wouldn't take it. I 
 wanted to learn to read, mightily ; so much, 
 that I begged him to let me work for the book. 
 Granny always let me at home. We couldn't 
 think of anything else, so I begged Jes to let me 
 black his shoes. I am just a-payin' of my 
 debt; that's all. I am sorry if you think I'd 
 oughtn't, because now I must." 
 
 " And if I forbid it ?" said the master. 
 
 " I hope you won't," said Joe ; " but I am 
 right and I shall do it anyhow." 
 
 Mr. White looked from one boy to the other, 
 then said to Jes : 
 
 "Why didn't you give him the book, sir?"
 
 280 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 " Because he wouldn't have it," said Jes. 
 
 " Because," Joe interposed, " I could work 
 for it. I ain't a beggar, and I won't borrow ; 
 so I worked." 
 
 The lines of displeasure disappeared from Mr. 
 White's face. 
 
 " Boy," said he, " I don't know what to say 
 to you. If you had told me what was going on, 
 I might have made it easier for both of you. 
 But now the bargain must be completed, as Joe 
 says. It is only right. And Joe, my boy, you 
 got a good deal more in your mountain home 
 than a strict regard for the truth. Stick to 
 your principles ; debt is a halter around a man's 
 neck. I should find it hard to pardon either of 
 you if I found you contracting debts. So, Jes, 
 let us hear no more of that, sir. And Joe, your 
 grandmother's wisdom is a safe motto : ' No 
 man has the right to be a beggar who can work/ 
 Now for breakfast. And hereafter, boys, don't 
 you think you'd best let me into your plans ?" 
 
 Joe resolved that he would always after that 
 take Mr. White into any plan he might con-
 
 THE WONDERFUL SHOPS 281 
 
 sider. But Jes remembered those unpaid bills 
 at the book-store and the baker's, and was silent. 
 
 The next Saturday at noon Mr. White sent 
 for Joe at the office. When he appeared he 
 handed him some bills. 
 
 " Joe," he said, " I pay off' my employes every 
 Saturday at noon. This is your part for the 
 two weeks' work. I had not intended to pay 
 you wages until you should have learned enough 
 to be really of some use in the shops. But my 
 foreman tells me that your knowledge of tools, 
 and skill in handling them, together with your 
 industry, entitle you to equal wages with the men 
 in that department. Under the circumstances, 
 I can do no less than pay you the same." 
 
 Joe looked at the money in his hand and tried 
 to speak ; he wanted it ; he needed many things 
 that it would buy. Yet had he truly earned 
 it? 
 
 " But, sir," said he, " you are boarding me. I 
 did try to work the best I could, because it was 
 like working out my board. But now " 
 
 "Well?"
 
 282 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 " Why, I must pay for my keep, sir." 
 
 " Not to me," said the master, shortly. " I 
 don't keep a boarding-house." 
 
 " I allers I mean I always did that, Mr. 
 White. Even at my uncle's I had to work for 
 my keep. If you don't let me do it here " 
 
 " Well, what then ?" 
 
 Joe flushed and choked, but not once did he 
 yield his point. 
 
 " If you won't let me pay rny way, then I 
 shall quit," said he. 
 
 " Quit ! Are you crazy ?" 
 
 " No, sir, but I ain't a beggar ; and your own 
 foreman has said I could work same as a man. 
 The boy as can work like a man ain't got any 
 right to be keered for like a baby." 
 
 Without another word the master touched 
 his bell. 
 
 " Send Lawrence to me," said he to the boy 
 who answered the bell. 
 
 " Mr. Lawrence," said he, when a tall, very 
 young man entered the office, " you board, do 
 you not?"
 
 THE WONDERFUL SHOPS 283 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " What do you pay for your board ?" 
 
 "Two and a half a week, sir; workman's 
 fare ; good enough for anybody." 
 
 " Very well," said the master. " You may 
 go ; send Ellis here." 
 
 A moment later another workman, somewhat 
 older, somewhat better dressed, appeared. Evi- 
 dently he belonged to a department of the estab- 
 lishment a degree beyond young Lawrence. 
 
 " You sent for me, sir ?" said he. 
 
 " Yes. I wish to know at what rate your 
 landlady furnishes you board and lodging." 
 
 " Three dollars a week, sir. Best in town." 
 
 "Very good. You may go. Now, Joe," 
 said he, when the workman had disappeared, 
 " you understand what the rates are for board 
 in Knoxville ; that is, workman's board. I sup- 
 pose mine is as good as Ellis's, so if it will ease 
 your conscience, you may hand Mrs. Mallory 
 three dollars every Saturday afternoon." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Joe, " it will ease it mightily. 
 And now, sir, may I go ?"
 
 284 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 The master glanced at the clock. " I knov 
 it isn't time for the whistle," said Joe, " but I 
 want to spend that money before the stores are 
 shut up, and I've got to go home first and get 
 Jes." 
 
 Mr. White could but wonder what it was Joe 
 was so anxious to purchase besides his school 
 books. He had said so little about money, and 
 had never expressed the slightest desire for it ; 
 it was odd to see him so keenly alive to its 
 value all at once. 
 
 He found out through Jes that night the 
 great secret of Joe's happiness in his first 
 wages. A letter was written to granny that 
 afternoon ; Jes wrote it, and a package was sent 
 in care of the stage to the people at the Rock 
 House ; for Joe remembered them all, notwith- 
 standing his hard treatment. It brought such 
 joy to granny that Tom wondered " if that 
 thar gift o' Joe's fetched more pleasure or pain, 
 the way granny ware divided 'twixt laughin' 
 an' cryinV 
 
 He knew which feeling predominated at his
 
 THE WONDERFUL SHOPS 285 
 
 own house, however, when he handed Sylvia 
 the little package which granny had told him 
 Joe sent " along o' her's for Silvy." 
 
 " Oh ! it's a book," cried Sylvia, when her 
 eager little hands had torn away the wrappings ; 
 " it's a book with picture, too. Oh, but ain't 
 I glad Aunt Jane showed me how to read. 
 God bless you, Joe Bentley, for my book." 
 
 The next letter Joe sent was to Jube, and he 
 wrote it himself. 
 
 " It's the first letter I ever tried to write," 
 said he, " and Jes has been teaching me how to 
 do it for a long time. Jes is the boy I got 
 to write my last letter, and he's mighty good to 
 me, and I'm remembering all you told me, and 
 some day I am coming back to the mountain to 
 see you." 
 
 A promise the old mountaineer laid up in 
 his heart. Like Sylvia, he, too, had all faith in 
 Joe's promises.
 
 CHAPTEK XV 
 
 PROGRESS CHANGES 
 
 THE years passed swiftly and pleasantly to Joe. 
 Acting upon Mr. White's advice, he had care- 
 fully laid by a part of his wages each year, thus 
 enabling him to pay his own way through 
 school. Each vacation found him back at the 
 shops, busy as he could be, and throughout the 
 school terms he never failed to show up at the 
 manufactory on Saturday mornings among the 
 very first. Every step he made was onward, 
 upward. With Jes, however, the years had not 
 dealt so kindly. That fatal little habit of con- 
 tracting debts, unknown to his uncle, had grown 
 upon Jes. Once the accounts had been sent to 
 Mr. White, who had paid them, and had given 
 Jes such a lecture that for some time the offense 
 was not repeated. But at length poor Jes's love 
 of indulgence got the better of him, and soon 
 286
 
 PROGRESS CHANGES 287 
 
 the accounts were running again as steadily 
 as ever. 
 
 To Jes, Joe was still a wonder. " I never saw 
 such a boy/' he would declare. " You do nothing 
 but work, work, work all the time. I wish I 
 could do something, too." 
 
 " Why, you can," Joe replied, " and you 
 must." 
 
 And then Jes would fall to wondering if it 
 might not have been Joe's hard beginning that 
 had taught him self-restraint and perseverance. 
 
 " You don't have temptations," he would say. 
 " You got your start in life before the love of 
 luxuries had a chance to spoil you. Sometimes 
 I wish I had." 
 
 And watching Jes's struggle day by day, 
 almost hour by hour, Joe sometimes felt almost 
 glad, too, that his first years had not been years 
 of ease and indulgence. 
 
 One afternoon, when Joe had been a member 
 of Mr. White's household for about six years, 
 he met Jes going up to his room in a very slow, 
 solemn manner, that at once struck Joe meant
 
 288 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 something wrong. His first thought was that 
 Jes was in some trouble about his indebtedness, 
 and he at once followed him to ascertain if it 
 might be the cause of his unhappiness. 
 
 Jes met him at the door, and drawing him 
 into his room, said : 
 
 " It is all up this time, Joe. I am in for it. 
 You know what uncle said." 
 
 " See here, Jes," said Joe, " you surely have 
 not been running up bills again after that last 
 scolding ?" 
 
 " Yes, I have. You can't know what a hold 
 they get on one ; you can't appreciate it because 
 you have never been in debt." 
 
 " No," said Joe, " I haven't. But I can ap- 
 preciate the utter folly and uselessness of your 
 doing so. You must go straight to your uncle 
 and ask forgiveness." 
 
 " I'll go straight out of this house and never 
 enter the door again before I'll do any such 
 thing," was the reply. " In fact I thought of 
 doing that anyhow." 
 
 " Oh, Jes, don't be an ingrate as well as a
 
 PROGRESS CHANGES 289 
 
 spendthrift," said Joe. " How much is it this 
 time, and who are the parties ?" 
 
 " The same old story : books and sweets," said 
 Jes, drawing from his pocket two long accounts, 
 which he handed to Joe. " You see, they 
 threaten me with uncle, too." 
 
 Joe glanced at the amount of the bills and 
 drew a long breath. " Fifty dollars ! Why, how 
 on earth did it run up so ?" 
 
 " Well, you see I didn't settle the last two 
 quarters. I had other things that were more 
 pressing, I thought. And now, well, you see I 
 just can't. And I only have a week in which 
 to settle, or the accounts will go to uncle. That 
 is, the confectioner's will. The book-house is a 
 trifle more decent." 
 
 " See here, Jes," said Joe, " you are in a bad 
 way, I can tell you. There is but one thing to 
 do ; go at once to Mr. White with it. But you 
 must do it ; these men must not be permitted to 
 tell him." 
 
 " Well, I say I won't," said Jes ; " I'll run 
 away first. You know how he feels about debt." 
 19
 
 290 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 " And I can fancy how he would feel about 
 runaways," remarked Joe. 
 
 Jes turned upon his heel, with a scowl. 
 
 " Well," said he, " you needn't preach, that's 
 all." 
 
 Joe wasted no more words, but all the after- 
 noon he was busy trying to devise some means 
 of helping Jes out of his trouble. About sun- 
 set he went up to his room, and, finding the 
 door slightly ajar, entered without knocking. 
 Jes was half inside a closet, from which he was 
 dragging a stout valise, and did not hear Joe 
 enter. When he spoke, the valise fell back into 
 the closet and Jes hurriedly closed the door 
 upon it. 
 
 " See here," said he, " it isn't exactly polite 
 to be sneaking into a fellow's room without 
 knocking." 
 
 " I don't sneak," said Joe, quietly, " and I 
 have come to try to help you. Mr. White will 
 be here in half an hour. Come Jes, get your 
 courage up to the point of braving the worst, 
 and make a clean breast of it. He will be
 
 PROGRESS CHANGES 291 
 
 angry, perhaps, but more hurt than angry; and 
 he will forgive you, too, and help y OU , not'only 
 to get straight, but to keep straight. Come, say 
 you will." 
 
 Jes laid his hand upon an inkstand on the 
 table near by. 
 
 "If you don't get out of this room," said he, 
 [( I'll throw this bottle at your head." 
 
 "And when you do," said Joe, " I shall lay 
 you across my knee and paddle you like a 
 baby." 
 
 Jes was too angry to speak, but something in 
 the face of the strong, robust young fellow be- 
 fore him warned him that Joe meant precisely 
 what he said. So, instead of throwing the bot- 
 tle, he turned and threw himself across the bed, 
 with his face buried among the pillows. 
 
 Joe talked on, quietly, without noticing the 
 hint that Jes might be tired of his company. 
 
 Now, Jes," said he, " you are welcome to 
 my money; I haven't much, because Mr. White 
 put it into some stock for me yesterday. But it 
 might stay off things."
 
 292 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 Jes bounded to his feet and confronted his 
 would-be helper. 
 
 " Don't you dare," said he, " to offer me your 
 money. Do you suppose I have forgotten that 
 when you came here, a mere stripling, that 
 you refused to borrow twenty-five cents from 
 me? Do you think a boy of eighteen has less 
 pride than a boy of twelve had ?" 
 
 " I remember," said Joe, still retaining his 
 quiet voice and manner, " that the boy of twelve 
 might have gone on groveling in ignorance a 
 long time but for that same twenty-five cents. 
 And you remember what I told you, that 
 granny said there always comes a time when 
 we can return kindnesses. It is my turn now, 
 Jes." 
 
 Over the face of the angry boy swept a 
 change ; he had had time for the sober second 
 thought which poor Jes could always depend 
 upon. 
 
 A sob came in his throat, almost choking 
 speech. He held out his hand, which Joe 
 silently clasped.
 
 PROGRESS CHANGES 293 
 
 " Forgive me, Joe," said lie. " I didn't in- 
 tend to be mean, but, indeed, I am in a great 
 strait. I couldn't take your money, though I 
 thank you just as much. I have always made 
 it a matter of conscience that I would not drag 
 you into my troubles and blunders. And, 
 really, your example regarding that twenty-five 
 cents has helped me to stick to this resolution. 
 I shall get on somehow, I dare say ; don't you 
 worry. There ! there is the bell ; uncle has 
 come. Remember, Joe, not a word. Not a 
 word to uncle." 
 
 Reluctantly Joe promised, but at the same 
 time he reserved to himself the right of going 
 down early in the morning and arranging Jes' 
 matters, offering himself as security until the 
 end of another quarter. Meanwhile, however, 
 Jes had made some plans for himself, which, if 
 successful, would effectually balk Joe's plans for 
 his relief. 
 
 He was quiet and thoughtful at dinner, and 
 soon after, pleading indisposition, he went up to 
 his room. There he counted over the money -
 
 294 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 that remained of his last quarter's allowance 
 nine dollars. 
 
 " It will not go very far," said he, " but it 
 will go some " 
 
 And then dragging the big valise out of the 
 closet, he began packing it. Jes had determined 
 to run away. 
 
 "It is not," he told himself, "as though I 
 could confess it to uncle and be clear of it. It 
 will never leave me ; I have tried all my life, 
 pretty well, to conquer the habit, and I can't. It 
 grows, and will only bring more and more trouble 
 to uncle as I get older. I'd best end it now." 
 
 Meanwhile Joe and Mr. White sat below in 
 the study, talking over matters connected with 
 the manufactory. 
 
 They often sat thus together evenings when 
 Jes was busy with his practicing, or reading in 
 his room. 
 
 After a while there was a lull in the conver- 
 sation, and Joe heard the master breathe a deep 
 sigh. Instantly he saw Joe's eye fixed upon 
 him, and said :
 
 PKOGKESS CHANGES 295 
 
 "Joe, I wish I could feel right comfort- 
 able about Jes. He is a good fellow at heart, 
 but somehow I am always afraid for him. If 
 he only knew the sleepless hours I have spent 
 for him, poor boy !" 
 
 " Hadn't you better let him know, sir ?" said 
 Joe. 
 
 " No ; Jes must feel that I trust him. That 
 is his only safety. But I have felt the respon- 
 sibility of him sometimes almost too much for 
 me." 
 
 He dropped his face into his hand in a de- 
 jected way that went to Joe's heart. He felt 
 glad that he didn't have the trouble of Jes's 
 new disobedience at that moment to add to his 
 grief. He had never understood till now what 
 a care a boy might be, and he felt anxious lest 
 he, too, had been a responsibility, carrying with 
 it more pain than pleasure. He thought Jes 
 ought to know, however. He was warm and 
 loyal-hearted, and he felt that if he once could 
 feel the anxiety that was oppressing his uncle 
 it would have great weight with him.
 
 296 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 " I hope, sir," said Joe, " that I, too, have not 
 caused you anxiety ; if at any time I do I shall 
 consider it a kindness if you will plainly point 
 out to me " 
 
 " Stop, Joe," said the manufacturer. " You 
 have been nothing but a joy and a comfort to 
 me since you first set foot in my house. Re- 
 member that always. There has never been an 
 hour that I have not had reason to rejoice to 
 find you here. You have repaid a hundred 
 times over the interest I felt for you, both by 
 your appreciation and your endeavors to profit 
 by your opportunities. Never think of such a 
 thing as my worrying about you. I rejoice in 
 you always." 
 
 He rose as he spoke and held out his hand. 
 
 " I am going to bed now ; good-night my boy, 
 and God bless you." 
 
 After he went out Joe went into the library 
 and wrote a long letter to Jube. Jube was 
 almost his only correspondent now, excepting 
 an occasional letter from Tom. Tom never 
 wrote long letters, however, and they were very,
 
 PROGRESS CHANGES 297 
 
 very few at that. Jube's last letter told him of 
 a visit he had made to the Rock House to see 
 granny. She wasn't very well, the letter said, 
 and would talk of nothing but Joe's last little 
 visit to her. He had only been there for a day ; 
 indeed, once every year he had run up for a 
 day or two to see granny, but he never re- 
 mained long, and never went anywhere else. 
 All the little time he had to spare he preferred 
 to give to her. 
 
 His uncle, Jube wrote, was down with the 
 " rheumatiz, sufferin' mightily, an' crosser'n a 
 sick bear." 
 
 In his reply, Joe inclosed a bill, and asked 
 the storekeeper to see that his grandmother and 
 his uncle had everything necessary to their com- 
 fort. Then, his letter finished, he turned off 
 the gas below stairs preparatory to going up to 
 his own room. 
 
 But the moon shone so brightly that he 
 stopped a moment in the hall to watch through 
 the frosted door glass the brightness outside. 
 He had stood thus for about ten minutes when
 
 298 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 he heard a soft, stealthy footstep coming care- 
 fully down the stairs. His first thought was 
 that thieves had gotten into the house, and had 
 probably been in Mr. White's room. 
 
 He was unarmed, but he would take the mid- 
 night prowler at a disadvantage, and that was 
 something. And he knew that unless the man 
 should get an opportunity of shooting him, that 
 he could hold him until he could alarm the house 
 and get assistance. He drew noiselessly back 
 into the shadow, waiting and listening. The 
 muffled footsteps drew nearer. The thief was 
 coming that way. Instantly Joe was seized with 
 a terrible fear of that which might already have 
 happened to his benefactor. Perhaps he had 
 been murdered, or dangerously hurt. So terri- 
 ble was his anxiety that he was about to give 
 the alarm and call up the house, regardless oi 
 consequences, when he saw a slight, slim figure, 
 wearing a boyish cap upon its small, round 
 head, and carrying a heavy valise in one hand, 
 slowly and noiselessly make the last turn in the 
 stairs ; in another moment Jes stepped into the
 
 PROGRESS CHANGES 299 
 
 moonlight that fell through the door glass. The 
 light was dimmed by the heavy plate frosting, 
 so that the face was not plainly visible, but Joe- 
 recognized Jes's familiar figure at once. He heard 
 him feeling with his free hand along the door 
 facing for the key, then a low, careful creaking 
 as the door opened, before he recovered from 
 his surprise sufficiently to act. 
 
 He sprang out from his concealment and 
 caught the runaway lightly, but securely, by 
 the arm. 
 
 " Come back !" he commanded. " Stop ! You 
 shall not do this ungracious thing, Jesse White." 
 
 " Let go of my arm," murmured Jes. " Let 
 go before I strike you ; do you hear?" 
 
 " No," said Joe, " I never will let you go to 
 your ruin if I can prevent it. Come back at 
 once ; with all your faults don't add to them the 
 unpardonable one of ingratitude." 
 
 The door had swung slightly ajar, and in the 
 moonlight Joe saw the anger in Jes's eyes. Still 
 he held to his arm. He knew that if he could 
 detain him long enough for him to think a
 
 oOO A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 second time of what he was doing, that Jes was 
 safe. And he knew that once he should run 
 away, he would not be shameless enough to re- 
 turn ; for Jes was not lacking in pride, though 
 pitifully wanting in discretion. 
 
 The two stood facing each other an instant, 
 then the hand gripping the valise slowly opened 
 and Jes lifted his fist. 
 
 " Let me go you " 
 
 Joe caught the descending blow full in his 
 face. 
 
 " Don't call me names," said he, blind with 
 the pain ; " you will be sorry to-morrow. But I 
 shall not let you go ; not if you kill me where I 
 stand. I love you too well to ever let you go 
 while there's life in my body. Now, unless you 
 come straight back, I shall hold you here and 
 alarm the house. Do you understand ? Once, 
 twice " 
 
 Jes hesitated ; something stirred in his heart 
 that was plainly visible in his face. Joe has- 
 tened to take advantage of the feeling. 
 
 " My poor Jes," said he, " come back, and let
 
 PROGRESS CHANGES 301 
 
 us figure out a way together. Come back, and 
 let your brother help you." 
 
 Slowly the fingers clasping the door-knob 
 relaxed, and the hand fell at Jes's side. Joe 
 reached out and noiselessly closed and bolted 
 the door ; then, picking up the valise in one 
 hand, he threw his arm around Jes and led 
 him, sobbing like a child, back to his own safe, 
 cosy room. They had reached the foot of the 
 stairway, when Mr. White called from the 
 landing above : 
 
 " Hello ! what's up ? What's the matter down 
 there ? Who is it that is up so late ?" 
 
 " It is I, sir," said Joe. " I sat up to write a 
 letter." 
 
 " Too late, Joe ; too late," said the master. 
 " You'll feel it to-morrow." 
 
 And then he went back to bed, leaving the 
 way clear for Jes to get into his room unob- 
 served. 
 
 They had a long talk together, sitting there 
 in the moonlight on Jes's bed, but there was so 
 little to be done that Joe was almost in despair.
 
 302 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 " I can only let them present the accounts to 
 uncle," said Jes. " And I tell you now, Joe, I 
 will not answer for the consequences." 
 
 Joe argued and suggested, but nothing that 
 he could suggest seemed to satisfy Jes. 
 
 " It isn't as though it were the first time," 
 said he. " And it isn't as though it would be the 
 last. I tell you, I can't cure the habit ; it's got 
 me." 
 
 " No," said Joe, " we can never cure ourselves, 
 Jes. There is but one physician for diseases 
 like yours." 
 
 "You mean?" 
 
 "God; yes." 
 
 " And what would God care about the silly 
 debts of a silly young fellow like me, do you 
 suppose ?" 
 
 " Nothing that is large enough to trouble one 
 of His children is too small for God's interest," 
 said Joe. " I read that somewhere, I don't 
 know where, but I know it is true. And it is 
 just as true that He'll help us when we call 
 upon Him. Now, were I you "
 
 PROGRESS CHANGES 303 
 
 " Well," said Jes, " what would you do in my 
 place?" 
 
 Joe shook his head. 
 
 " You will never do as I should, Jes." 
 
 Jes laid his hand upon Joe's. 
 
 " Try me," said he. 
 
 ' Well, then, were I in the trouble that you 
 are in, if I could not make up my mind to 
 ask the advice of my uncle, I should go to 
 those men and ask them to allow me to work 
 out my debts. I should explain the situa- 
 tion fully. If there is a spark of genuine 
 manhood in them, and it is possible for them to 
 do so, they will not refuse you. It is the 
 beginning of vacation, you have nothing to 
 do; and believe me, Jes, nothing but a gen- 
 uine hard lesson like this will do the least 
 good toward breaking you of the habit of in- 
 dulgence which leads you into debt, and there- 
 by into trouble. After it is all arranged, too 
 late to undo, I would go to my uncle and tell 
 him what I had done. He is too noble, 
 and too keenly alive to any earnest effort on
 
 304 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 your part to do otherwise than commend your 
 
 course." 
 
 " Do you know," said Jes, " that you are ad- 
 vising me to become a baker's boy ?" 
 
 " That is the only honorable way out of it, 
 Jes," said Joe. "A baker's boy is as good as a 
 banker's, if he is honest and upright." 
 
 Jes was silent ; it seemed a very wild scheme, 
 and he wondered if his uncle would allow it. 
 Then he realized that Joe was right ; it was the 
 only manly thing he could do under the circum- 
 stances. He rose and held out his hand. 
 
 " I'll do it," said he. " It seemed awfully 
 silly at first, then it seemed preposterous, and 
 then, somehow, it seemed all right. I'll do it. 
 Good-night, now ; I think I can sleep some." 
 
 Joe had risen, too. 
 
 "Good-night," said he. "A thing resolved 
 upon is half done, Jes." 
 
 Early the next morning Jes went down to at- 
 tend to his unpleasant business. He went alone ; 
 Joe offered to accompany him, but he declined 
 his company.
 
 PROGRESS CHANGES 305 
 
 "Too much like dragging you i nto it, 
 Bentley," said he. "Besides, I'm not baby 
 enough to really need anybody." 
 
 He went first to the book-store; somehow he 
 elt less afraid of facing the head of that estab- 
 lishment than he felt in offering himself to the 
 dusty old baker who owned the confectionery 
 adjoining the bakery. He followed Joe's advice 
 strictly and concealed nothing, admitting that his 
 uncle had forbidden his running into debt, and 
 that he preferred to work out his indebtedness 
 rather than ask his uncle to settle it, or to tell 
 him of his disobedience until he could see his 
 way out of it. 
 
 The old bookseller looked at him over his 
 spectacles. There was that about the boy's 
 confession, and that in his regard for the good 
 opinion of his benefactor, that appealed to the 
 old man's generosity. 
 
 How old are you," he asked. 
 "Eighteen, sir; though I am aware that I 
 look much younger. I have never been very 
 strong, you see." 
 20
 
 30G A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 " And therefore spoiled," said the bookseller. 
 " Well, young man, I am disposed to help you, 
 since you are disposed to help yourself. One of 
 my clerks starts to-day on his vacation ; he will 
 be gone a month. His salary is seventy-five 
 dollars. He is an old and experienced hand. 
 You are young and inexperienced ; if you 
 choose to take the place for four weeks at one- 
 third his salary, you may go to work this after- 
 
 noon." 
 
 Jes was so elated over this success that he 
 almost forgot to be afraid of the baker. Here 
 he didn't find such easy settlement; the old 
 baker wanted his money. 
 
 " I go to der uncle," said he. " He pay de 
 bills I prings to him. I haf but to say ' der 
 young man impose on my shenerosity.' ' 
 
 Jes was so angry that he turned away with a 
 defiant threat to meet the baker's threat ; as it 
 happened this was precisely the thing needed. 
 " Take it to him," said he. " Take it to him, 
 and see how much more of his patronage you 
 will get. He told me last month that if another
 
 PKOGKESS CHANGES 307 
 
 bill of miue was sent him from this house he 
 would give you notice never to put either life or 
 my name on your books again ; there! Go to 
 him if you wish." 
 
 The baker knew a thing or two. He had no 
 wish to endanger his own interest, and the manu- 
 facturer's accounts were always settled promptly 
 every Saturday night; they were not small ac- 
 counts, either, as the baker knew. He called to 
 Jes as he was leaving the house : 
 
 'Vait; vait a minute, young shentleman. 
 Ven did you say you could come?" 
 " In one month precisely." 
 'Veil, den, let it be for a mont; den you 
 coom back, an' talk to me mit it again. I 
 eggspect we make a goot trade." 
 
 'Thank yon, sir," said Jes. "I trust we 
 may. 
 
 Then came the hardest task of all. J es was 
 closeted that night with his uncle for two hours 
 Joe never asked and never knew what hap- 
 pened. He felt that Jes was making a dean 
 breast of it, however. And when at last he saw
 
 308 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 the study door open, and the old man stand a 
 moment with his hand upon Jes's head, he felt 
 that it was laid there in benediction, and that 
 hereafter poor Jes would not have such a single- 
 handed battle with his frailties. 
 
 The new work began at once; the summer 
 proved a long and hard one to the boy earning 
 his first wages. 
 
 True, the work at the book-store was not so 
 unpleasant ; the head of the establishment was 
 kind, and Jes did his best. Still, he was a new 
 hand and the work came awkward at first. 
 
 And then followed those long hot days at the 
 bakery. The best position he could get was 
 that of delivery boy. Even Joe's brown face 
 flushed with indignation when Jes related at 
 night his first day's experience. Joe suggested 
 to him not to remain ; such work as this was not 
 expected of him. But Jes was as stubbornly 
 determined to go on as he had been to shirk his 
 obligation. Day in, day out, the long drives 
 over the hot streets went on. Delivering bread ; 
 there was not much poetry in it, and Jes forgot
 
 PROGRESS CHANGES 309 
 
 to think it might be heroic. He forgot every- 
 thing but that he was doing his duty. One day 
 when he was feeling hotter, and more weary than 
 usual, he rang the bell of his uncle's kitchen to 
 deliver the loaves to the housekeeper. Mrs. 
 Mallory opened the door to him, and seeing 
 lii 111 standing there with his long white apron, 
 and his arms full of bread, she exclaimed : 
 ' You're a brave boy, Jesse, and will make a 
 man of yourself, I'm thinking." 
 
 After that the day seemed less hard to get 
 through with. The little word of encourage- 
 ment had served to give him new courage. 
 
 At last it ended ; with the very last week of 
 summer Jes's contract for paying his debts was 
 concluded. 
 
 One evening he came home with a new light- 
 ness in his step ; he hurried past the library up 
 to his own room, where he made a fresh, careful 
 toilet. He was the old Jes of a few months 
 back. The old Jes ? No, not quite ever the 
 same. The boy that came out from the baker's 
 shop had brought with him an energy, and a
 
 310 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 soul for work, which the old light-hearted Jes 
 of the previous months had not known. 
 
 Mr. White and Joe were waiting for him in 
 the library. Mr. White had been anxious to 
 send Jes to college this fall, but had not been 
 able to get him to talk about it. He had been 
 speaking to Joe on the subject when Jes pre- 
 sented himself in the library. 
 
 " Well, gentlemen," said he, with the familiar 
 glad ring in his voice ngain, " I am once more 
 square with the world. And again I can hold 
 up my head." 
 
 Mr. White held out his hand. 
 
 " You have fought a hard fight, my boy, and 
 you have learned a lesson," said he. "Always 
 remember that debt is a destroyer of one's self- 
 respect, and I shall not regret your late un- 
 pleasant experience." 
 
 " I shall not forget it," said Jes. "And I shall 
 not forget the baker's shop, either. Now, uncle, 
 I am ready to talk about college. I am done 
 with play, and I wish to get into my place in the 
 world of workers. I have found that which
 
 PKOGRESS CHANGES 311 
 
 Joe here learned at the outset: what a serious 
 tiling life is. In short, my season in the baker's 
 shop has made a man of me." 
 
 And the " man " was so overcome by emo- 
 tion that had not the summons to dinner come 
 at that moment he would have been guilty of 
 very womanly tears. Two weeks later Jes left 
 for college. 
 
 Then it was that the manufacturer discovered 
 what a comfort and stay he had in Joe. They were 
 constant companions ; every evening found them 
 together in the library, talking over the events 
 of the day, arranging for the morrow, and be- 
 coming every hour more dear to each other. 
 Often throughout the day they would be closeted 
 together in the office, untangling some matter of 
 business, or else making new contracts, confer- 
 ring upon the merits of some new invention, 
 doing those endless little things necessary to the 
 success of a large establishment. 
 
 Sometimes the master would be absent for 
 weeks, leaving the business entirely to Joe. 
 
 " He understands it as well as I," he would
 
 312 A MOONSHINER'S sox 
 
 say to his foreman at leaving. "As well and 
 better, since lie is a practical workman. Go to 
 him as freely as you would come to me for in- 
 structions." 
 
 The year passed quietly, with few changes to 
 stir the interest, until one day a letter came 
 from Jes that created more than ordinary ex- 
 citement. Jes, little, mischievous, happy-hearted, 
 fun-loving Jes, was going to enter the ministry. 
 He had written to ask his uncle's permission. 
 Mr. White shed happy tears as he held Jes's 
 letter in his hand and talked it over with Joe 
 in the library the night it came. 
 
 " I can die now," said he ; "I can die con- 
 tent, knowing that both my boys are safe. Ah, 
 Joe, if you knew how I have wrestled with God 
 over that boy, praying for the triumph of the 
 good that is in him over the weak ! And it 
 has triumphed ! This is the very thing for 
 him. The boy is a born missionary, only he 
 was never serious enough to find it out until 
 lately." 
 
 " Yes," said Joe, trying to smile and brush-
 
 PROGRESS CHANGES 313 
 
 ing off a tear, " he is a ' born missionary ;' I 
 ought to know, since I was the first heathen 
 that ever fell to his charge. He taught me how 
 to read." 
 
 It was a happy home-coming when at the end 
 of the term Jes got back to them. Only for a 
 little while had he come, however. His place in 
 the world was waiting, and Jes was anxious to 
 get into it. 
 
 He had changed greatly in the year that he 
 had been gone; he was stouter, graver, more 
 manly, and, if possible, more devotedly fond of 
 Joe than he had ever been. 
 
 One night when the two sat alone after din- 
 ner waiting for Mr. White, who had returned to 
 the office at the manufactory for some papers 
 that he had left there, they talked over their 
 experiences of the past and their prospects for 
 the future. 
 
 " You see," said Jes, " I can't help feeling, 
 Joe, that you and I have acted somehow as foils 
 to each other. Surely two boys more unlike 
 were never thrown together ; sometimes, look-
 
 314 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 ing at it, it seems to me that it was a risk. 
 Another way, it seems all right. It proved to 
 be all right, to be sure ; yet I rather think it 
 was your simple beginning in the mountains, 
 together with the hard old truths and splendid 
 examples of the two you never have grown 
 weary of quoting, 'granny' and 'Jube/ that 
 helped us both along. We might, you know, 
 have imbibed the weak that was in each other's 
 characters." 
 
 " You forget," said Joe, " to put Mr. White 
 into your calculations. Remember the beautiful 
 example, the wise head, and the warm sympathy 
 that have surrounded and followed us both all 
 these happy years, Jes." 
 
 " I do remember," said Jes. " I remember 
 and love him always. Yet it is to you that I 
 owe the important turn, the critical decision 
 that really shaped my destiny. It was you who 
 sent me into the ministry, Joe. And to me it 
 has brought a beautiful lesson ; the good that 
 God sends into our lives He expects us to pa-s 
 on to another less fortunate. My grandmother
 
 PROGRESS CHANGES 315 
 
 rescued my uncle ; lie passed the blessing on to 
 you ; you have handed it back to me. God's help 
 is a loan rather than a gift. We use it and pass 
 it on, as my uncle did, and as you have done " 
 "What! I?" 
 
 'Yes; I couldn't forget that baker's boy. 
 So few people gave me a good word, or. even a 
 kind look, that summer. They did not know 
 who I was, and did not think it necessary to be 
 polite to a mere delivery boy. But it taught 
 me what a varied thing life is; and how many 
 have to struggle through it without ever a good 
 word or a lift along the way. I think I deter- 
 mined, really, then to give my life to saying 
 these good words. I found where I was needed. 
 Then, too, that ugly experience showed me 
 
 where I was drifting, and it frightened me. If 
 J had run away that night, as I tried to do, 
 
 I would have been lost. I know that. I hope 
 
 our lives may always touch in some way, Joe. 
 
 You've been the prop to my weak boyhood. I 
 
 tell you so, frankly." 
 
 "Honors are easy," said Joe. "You taught
 
 31G A MOOXSHIXER'S SON 
 
 me to read. Do you remember the night I 
 learned that ' It is a hen T ' 
 
 They both laughed, and the talk turned to 
 lighter things. 
 
 At last Joe remembered that it was time for 
 Mr. White to come back. 
 
 " I think," said he, " that I shall meet him 
 and walk back with him. He hasn't felt so well 
 lately ; complained of swimming in his head. 
 You needn't sit up, Jes, unless you prefer." 
 
 " I think I shall," said Jes. " I haven't long 
 to be with him, and I am eager not to lose one 
 moment of the time." 
 
 Joe smiled, and turned, his hat in his hand, 
 to say : 
 
 " AVhen he got your letter he said, ' I am 
 ready to die now ; both my boys are safe.' ' 
 
 " Thank God he can feel so," said Jes, fer- 
 vently. "And I thank you for telling me, Joe." 
 
 As Joe hurried down to the office, his uneasi- 
 ness increased. He censured himself severely 
 for allowing Mr. White to go alone, at night, to 
 the works. True, the watchman was there, but
 
 PROGRESS CHANGES 317 
 
 in another part of the building, and engaged in 
 liis own work. 
 
 He felt relieved when, passing along the 
 street, he peeped through a chink in the 
 window-blinds and saw the figure of Mr. White 
 sitting quietly at his desk. 
 
 " He has been busy and has forgotten to watch 
 the time," Joe told himself. A moment later 
 he opened the door and went in, whistling as he 
 went, in order not to startle his employer. 
 
 As he approached the glass enclosure he could 
 get a better view of the desk than that afforded 
 through the chink in the shutters. Suddenly 
 it struck him there was something unusual in the 
 position of the body occupying the chair at the 
 desk. The head drooped forward in a weary 
 way, and, though the eyes were opened, Joe saw 
 that Mr. White was not looking at anything. 
 
 With a cry of alarm, he threw back the door 
 and entered the private enclosure, calling as he 
 went. There was no reply, but on the pave- 
 ment outside he heard footsteps, and knew that 
 the night watchman had heard his call.
 
 318 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 Fearing the worst, Joe seized the hand lying 
 upon the desk ; it was warm. " Thank God !" 
 said he, " there is life." He drew the beloved 
 head to his bosom and looked down into the 
 beautiful old face that had borne so much of 
 heaven's goodness in its familiar features. 
 
 The forehead was moist and cold ; the eyes 
 were staring and sightless. " Oh ! my poor, 
 poor friend," said Joe. " To think you were here 
 alone at night, and suffering." 
 
 He placed him gently upon the floor and ran 
 to the door to summon aid. 
 
 " Help !" he cried to the watchman coming 
 down the sidewalk. " Help ! This way." 
 
 A policeman passing at the next corner heard 
 the cry and came running also. 
 
 " Get a doctor, quick !" cried Joe. " Mr. 
 White has had a stroke of paralysis." 
 
 When the doctor arrived Joe sent a messenger 
 on to prepare Jes and Mrs. Mallory, so that 
 when they reached home the house was ready to 
 receive its stricken master. 
 
 It was hopeless from the first, the physician
 
 PROGRESS CHANGES 319 
 
 
 
 had said, so that none of the watchers left his 
 bedside all the long night. Jes and Joe watched 
 eagerly for any sign of recognition that he might 
 make before the end came ; but he never knew 
 them again. It was as though he had indeed 
 only been waiting until he should know that 
 " both his boys were safe " before leaving them. 
 At dawn the gentle, sympathetic spirit passed 
 away. 
 
 When the will was read it was found that he 
 had left his fortune to Jes. All except the house 
 and the shops. These he bequeathed to Joe. 
 " Jes's work will call him elsewhere," the will 
 read, " but Joe will follow in my footsteps. And 
 I am sure I can trust him to take care of Mrs. 
 Mallory." 
 
 There were little gifts to the servants, a dona- 
 tion to his faithful old housekeeper, and certain 
 remembrances to some of his workmen who had 
 served him long and faithfully. The life that 
 had been so helpful to others seemed to be carry- 
 ing on its good works, even beyond, and after it 
 had passed away.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 ANOTHER year had passed ; Joe began to feel 
 settled in his new position as master of the big 
 shops. Jes was entering upon his first charge, 
 so that he didn't write very often of late, and 
 Joe began to think more and more of the friends 
 he had left upon the mountain. They were not 
 so many now ; his uncle had died during the 
 year, and so, too, had granny. She had lived 
 long enough to see her boy safely started upon 
 the life road, and then one quiet day in summer 
 the old hands laid by their work, and granny 
 went home. Under the moaning old hemlock 
 on the mountain top they laid her away to 
 sleep. 
 
 Others were missing, too, from the old scenes 
 of his childhood. One day a letter had come 
 from Tom Tate saying that Sylvia was ill again. 
 320
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 321 
 
 Her old enemy, the rheumatism, had appeared 
 again, and "poor Silvy air failin' fast," said the 
 letter. 
 
 Then Joe did something that he had wished 
 many times in his stinted and unhappy boyhood 
 that he was able to do; he sent Tom the money 
 to carry himself and Sylvia to Florida. 
 
 And there, in the beautiful land of flowers, 
 under the warm skies, and in sight of the gentle 
 waters of the Indian River, Tom had buried 
 her. She would sleep as well, Joe knew, with 
 the birds to sing for her the winter long, and 
 the golden oranges shining through their satiny 
 leaves, as though among the shadows of the grim 
 old mountains. Yet he felt sorry that she was 
 not there; somehow he fancied the old mountain 
 must love the little dust of her that was so closely 
 associated with its glooms and its gladness. 
 When she died Tom wrote again to give him 
 Sylvia's last message : 
 
 "Tell Joe good-bye, and I sha'n't forget 
 him." 
 
 Joe sighed for the little child friend of those 
 21
 
 322 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 first unhappy days, and felt glad that she had 
 remembered him so fondly at the last. There is 
 always a sacred regard for a message from one 
 crossing into the unknown. It is a presence 
 that follows one through all after life. Joe was 
 not sorry to think the love in a little child's 
 heart might perhaps have been carried across 
 the unknown. News still came from the moun- 
 tain, however. Jube wrote ; not often, for Jube 
 found letter-writing a difficult pastime. He was 
 growing old, the letters said ; and he had suffered 
 misfortunes of late. His house had been burned ; 
 his wife had died ; many of his old friends moved 
 away. He was living alone, in the store, doing 
 his own cooking, and sleeping nights in the 
 room over the store where in the old days the 
 peltry had hung from the rafters. 
 
 The last letter from him came in October ; the 
 tenth October since the raiding of the illicit 
 still under the Rainbow Falls. 
 
 Joe was sitting in his office when the letter 
 was handed him, just before the hour of closing 
 up. He read it before going home. At the very
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 323 
 
 bottom of the page there was a postscript; he 
 had been very near overlooking it : 
 
 " I have lost," said the postscript, another 
 dear friend." 
 
 That was all; and written in the crooked, 
 cramped hand of an uneducated old man, away 
 up among the mountains of Eastern Tennessee. 
 But as he read the simple message, something 
 slipped along Joe's cheek and fell, unchecked, 
 upon the page. The young master knew well 
 the royal heart beating in the bosom of the 
 rough old mountaineer. He tossed the letter into 
 his desk, locked it, and rang for the foreman. 
 
 When the man appeared, Joe was getting into 
 his overcoat. 
 
 " I am going away for a few days," said he, 
 " and I leave you in charge until I return." 
 
 " Any address, Mr. Bentley ? " said the fore- 
 man. "Any address, in case of accidents ? " 
 
 ' No," said Joe. I shall be off the railroad 
 where a message could not reach me. I am going 
 up into the timber country, where Mr. White 
 used to buy."
 
 324 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 Once again the maple leaves were drifting ; a 
 purple haze rested upon the hills ; there was a 
 gurgle of water among the laurel brakes ; nuts 
 were falling. 
 
 The settlement store was something the worse 
 for wear. The weather had beaten it gray, 
 the sun warped the clapboards of the roof. 
 The doorstep upon which the moonshiner's 
 son had sat one desolate day in September, 
 holding the bridle of a gray mule, had twice 
 succumbed to the pressure of heavy calf-skin 
 boots, and had been twice replaced by the old 
 storekeeper. Now it was ready to tumble down 
 again, and the storekeeper seemed not to notice 
 it, until the few old neighbors remaining began 
 to say of him, " Jube's ageing some." 
 
 Still he did not, as some advised, "stir 
 himself to find another step." He was get- 
 ting" careless since his wife left him; nothing 
 to work for, he told himself; and sometimes 
 spoke of selling out to a man over in an adjoin- 
 ing county who was anxious to buy the store. 
 The visitors to the settlement often found the
 
 AFTER MAXY DAYS 325 
 
 door closed, for old Jube had fallen into a habit 
 of walking out alone into the forest, communing 
 with nature in the vastness of her solitudes. 
 During these rambles he often thought of the 
 boy he had tried, in his gruff way, to help over 
 the rough places in the life road. Always, 
 when he had heard from him, he was climbing 
 -climbing. And always after a letter from 
 the boy he would hurry over to the old barn 
 and throw down an extra feed to a dilapidated 
 old gray mule that he called Kitty," and that 
 had been cosseted and spoiled into a lazy old 
 age, that was still enjoying itself at a generous 
 corn-crib. Sometimes he patted the mule's back 
 and said : 
 
 "Jest us two left, Kitty ; we ought to be good 
 to one 'nother." 
 
 It was late one morning in October, when he 
 was returning to the store from one of his lonely 
 walks, that he fell to thinking of the mule's 
 former master. The old store seemed more 
 gloomy than usual this morning; it was near 
 noon when jie put the key at last into the lock.
 
 32G A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 Visitors coming early in the day had declared 
 that Jube was " gittiu' triflin'." But the store- 
 keeper was smiling as he went back to the 
 fireplace and lighted his pipe. He was think- 
 ing of the last letter he had written Joe. 
 
 " Maybe," said he, " I'd ought to a-told who 
 that thai* ' dear friend ' ware who died. I could 
 a-told. I useter tell the chap a good many 
 things when he was here. I told a lie for him 
 onct. I don't know to this good day if I done 
 right or no. He was jest a boy, no mammy, 
 worse than no daddy, an' I aimed to do what 
 looked to me best. But, somehows, I have 
 allers hated that thai* lie." 
 
 There was a rattle of wheels running lightly 
 along the sandy road. The storekeeper knew 
 without looking up that the easy-running 
 vehicle did not belong to the mountain. As he 
 rose to go to the door, a light carriage, drawn 
 by two handsome bays, drew up and stopped. 
 A young man leaped to the ground, tossed the 
 lines aside, and ran into the store. 
 
 His step was a little unsteady as he mounted
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 327 
 
 the half-rotted old doorstep, and his eyes were 
 shining and soft as he looked about the lines 
 of shelves, half-emptied of their varied treas- 
 ures, the peppers and the tin cups hanging side 
 by side ; the big boxes and barrels, and among 
 them, slowly rising to meet him, the old store- 
 keeper himself. 
 
 "Mornin', stranger," said the merchant, in 
 his familiar way. 
 
 Did the young eyes twinkle ? Or was it a 
 mist that obscured the stranger's vision for the 
 moment, as he answered, cheerily : 
 
 "Good-morning. I wish to see Mr. Juba 
 Jarvis." 
 
 ; ' Well, stranger, you ain't got to go any fur- 
 ther for that," said the old man. " What can 
 I do for you, now ?" 
 
 Surely the young eyes did twinkle, as their 
 owner stepped forward and, without warn- 
 ing, clasped an arm about the old merchant's 
 neck. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Jarvis ! don't you know me ? Don't 
 you remember Joe, the moonshiner's son ?"
 
 328 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 The storekeeper gasped, stared, and dropped 
 back into his chair again. 
 
 "If it ain't little Joe Bentley I'll be 
 blowed !" said he. " Staii' back thar, Joe ; stan' 
 back ; you've sort o' knocked the wind out 
 o' me." 
 
 He fidgeted nervously a moment, tapped the 
 bowl of his pipe upon the hearth, blew his nose 
 with all his might, and drew the back of his 
 hand suspiciously across his eyes, while Joe 
 stood by and laughed. Then said he again : 
 
 " Stan' back thar, son ; stan' back, an' let me 
 git a good look at you. My ! My ! But I'm 
 glad to see you, Joe." 
 
 Laughing like a boy again, Joe stood back 
 for inspection. When it was over they shook 
 hands again, took seats and began to talk. 
 
 " What fetched you, son ? What fetched you 
 back to the mount'n?" said the storekeeper, 
 thinking, with a chuckle, of the last letter he 
 had written. 
 
 "Well," said Joe, "that 'friend' you had 
 die, for one thing."
 
 " LET ME GIT A GOOD LOOK AT YOU ' 
 (Page 328)
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 329 
 
 ' Yes," said Jube, " it's a trifle lonesome since 
 old Kit was took." 
 
 " Who ?" 
 
 ;< Why, ole Kit, son ; surely you haven't for- 
 got ole Kit, your ' pardner,' Joe ?" 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Jarvis !" said Joe; "is it possible 
 you have kept the old mule all these years for 
 my sake ?" 
 
 " She died week 'fore last," was the reply. 
 "A ' dear friend,' as I writ you. What else 
 fetched you, Joe ?" 
 
 " What else ? Why, I came on a little busi- 
 
 ness." 
 
 "Special?" 
 
 'Yes; very special. I have come to take you 
 off home with me." 
 
 The storekeeper fairly bounded from his 
 
 seat. 
 
 ' To fetch me away from the mount'n ! Why, 
 [ couldn't live off 'n the mount'n, Joe." 
 
 "Yes, you could, too," said Joe. "And 
 you've got to go. I just can't feel satisfied to 
 know you're up here all alone, in your old age.
 
 330 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 There's no sense in it ; your home is gone, and 
 your wife ; and I want you ; I need you." 
 
 The old man blew his nose lustily. 
 
 " Son," said he, " the most I ware hopin' for 
 was to hear you say you'd come to see me, 
 special. Why, sou " 
 
 He stopped, choked ; somehow the coming of 
 this boy, who had left him a mere stripling, 
 ignorant of all things save hardship, and had 
 come back full of success and with the young 
 heart of him unchanged, filled with the simple, 
 boyish affection and gratitude it had carried out 
 into the world, touched him, and speech was 
 choked by tears. 
 
 His coming had awakened tender memories, 
 too, in the breast of the old mountaineer. 
 
 " Yes," said he, after a long pause, " I miss 
 Sary mightily, I ain't denyin' o' that. An' I 
 miss the old house, too. My grandad built that 
 house, and it never sheltered a rascal yit, as I 
 knows on. I miss it mightily every time I 
 look across the road. An' I miss the horn 
 a-blowin' fur dinner whenever I git ter slicin' a
 
 AFTER 3IAXY DAYS 331 
 
 strip o' bacon to brile fur my lonesome meals. 
 I even missed old Kit. But Lor', I reckon I'd 
 miss the mount' n more'n all the balance. Leave 
 the mount'n ! I couldn' think of it, son." 
 
 " Yes, you can," said Joe. " I've come for 
 you, and I'm not going away without you. I 
 intend to tuck you into that trap and carry you 
 down the mountain this night." 
 
 " But the store, Joe ; think o' the store." 
 
 " Kent it," said Joe. " Or sell it ; give it away ! 
 I don't care what. I've got enough for you, I 
 reckon. You don't need a blessed thing in here ; 
 and I don't want a blessed thing in here but you. 
 Come, Mr. Jarvis, time to be stirring." 
 
 " But, Joe" 
 
 " Now, Mr. Jarvis, don't," said Joe. " I want 
 to do it. You did so much for me ; let me pay 
 my debt. I want to take care of you the rest of 
 your life." 
 
 " P'sher ! I didn't do nothin' ; nothin at all." 
 
 " You did, though," Joe insisted, " and I mean 
 to take you home with me. I've a nice home, 
 and Mrs. Mallory is my housekeeper. You
 
 332 A MOONSHINER'S SON 
 
 needn't idle, either ; you shall oversee one of the 
 departments of the manufactory, if you like. 
 You must come. Is the store the only difficulty ?" 
 
 " N o " said Jube, " thar's a man iu the 
 'j'inin' county would buy the store " 
 
 " Send for him at once," cried Joe ; " there's 
 my team at the door. We'll finish up the busi- 
 ness and be off for home by the time the moon 
 rises over old Pine Knot Mountain." 
 
 The storekeeper laughed nervously. 
 
 " Don't be too brash, son ; I ain't said I'd go 
 yit. If I was to die I'd like to sleep 'long o' 
 Sary-" 
 
 " You shall," said Joe. " I promise you 
 faithfully I'll bring you back and bury you on 
 the mountain." 
 
 " That'd be more homeful like. But" 
 
 " Well ! What now ?" 
 
 " It ain't any fun takin' a old man up by the 
 roots, so to speak, an' puttin' of him into new 
 soil. A tree wouldn't stan' it ; an' I've noticed 
 as men an' trees ain't so mighty unlike. Can't 
 transplant 'em mighty well when they're old.
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 333 
 
 Bat I ain't forgetful that you wanted me to go, 
 son. I'm jest too old, too old ; that's all. As 
 for what I done for you, I don't rickerlict but 
 one thing worth mentionin'. I'd ought to a' 
 forgot it long ago, but somehow's it wouldn't lay 
 easy on my mind. I've allers noticed when a 
 thing won't lay easy on the mind the best thing 
 to do 's to git it off. I'm goin' to tell you 
 about it ; maybe you-uns can make it out cl'arer 
 than I ever could. I admit it has worried of 
 me some all these years to know if it ware 
 wrong. You ware sech a little chap ; no mammy; 
 worse than no daddy. Lookin' at you then, an' 
 at you now, I can't but hope God A'mighty for- 
 gives me for that thar lie I told for you." 
 
 " For me, Uncle Jube ?" 
 
 " Yes, son, for you ; I don' know as it ware 
 right, an' I ain't goin' to make no brag of it. 
 I'm a' old man, an' I never ware blessed with 
 uncommon learnin' ; but I allers tried to keep 
 a fair conscience, an' I have allers set it down as 
 a man's own soul ware his first obligation ; an' 
 I never felt obligated to lie fur nobody. But I
 
 oo4 A MOONSHINER S SON 
 
 tol' the revenuers that thai* night you ware ray 
 son. They ware huntin' for you." 
 
 For a moment Joe could not speak ; some- 
 thing rose in his throat and choked him. He 
 turned abruptly away, and walked to the window 
 at the other end of the store. 
 
 He understood just what that lie had meant 
 to that " fair conscience !" He understood fully 
 just what it had meant to him, the boy whose 
 life Grim's mean revenge would have ruined. 
 For a moment he could not see the mountain 
 tops that had looked down in grim silence upon 
 his miserable boyhood. Again the old scenes 
 returned. The furnace, glaring like a round, 
 red eye upon the night ; the smell of the liquor 
 upon the breath of the distillers, sickening, 
 repulsive. The roar of the cataract, and the call 
 of the screech-owl in the depths of the woods ; 
 the weary-boned boy jogging along the uneven 
 roads in the misty morning, astride an equally 
 weary mule. And last, the raid, and that ter- 
 rible fight, followed by the flight in the dark- 
 ness ; his own fear, and the unspeakable feeling
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 335 
 
 of horror lest he, too, should be seized and car- 
 ried away as a law-breaker. He recalled the 
 two terrible pitfalls into which his inexperi- 
 enced, boyish feet had so nearly stumbled the 
 raiders first, and afterward the sheriff. And, 
 recalling them, he could trace the rescuing hand 
 of old Jube in both. 
 
 He turned to him, where he stood beside the 
 battered counter, his hands lying idly folded 
 within each other, his old face, seamed and sad- 
 dened by time and sorrow, lifted to the sunlight. 
 Joe took one of the wrinkled hands in his. 
 
 ' There is but one way," said he, " to make 
 the lie truth, and that is to come home, indeed, 
 to your son." 
 
 The old man laughed ; he had never thought 
 of that. Yet it moved him; it did seem a reason- 
 able righting of the trouble, after all. 
 
 " I'll have to work, Joe," he insisted, when 
 the boy had been sent for the willing buyer 
 in the adjoining county; "I'll have to work. I 
 aim to earn my own salt, as long as the good 
 Lord spar's me."
 
 A MOONSHINER S SON 
 
 Later they had their dinner, which Joe in- 
 sisted upon helping to get. 
 
 " I am going to make the coffee in this smoky 
 old pot ; oh, but don't I know how ! I made it 
 for granny many a time. I stopped at her 
 grave to-day, Uncle Jube, when I went over to 
 speak to Aunt Jane. What are you going to 
 cook the batter bread in ? No, sir ; you are not 
 going to fry any bacon in that pan. Slap it 
 down there on those live coals. Oh ! but this 
 does remind me of granny " 
 
 " I wish't she could see you now, son," said 
 Jube. 
 
 " Perhaps she does," said Joe. " I like to 
 think so, anyhow. And, at any rate, she knows 
 what you did for me, Uncle Jube." 
 
 The old man looked up from the broiling 
 meat he was lifting from the coals. 
 
 " Now, Joe," said he, " you shut that up, else 
 I won't go a foot. I done nothin'; nothin'." 
 
 "Yes, you did,"- said Joe. "You spoke the 
 ' word in season/ and it has, indeed, been to me 
 as apples of gold in pictures of silver."
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 337 
 
 There was a lull in the conversation ; the 
 broiling bacon sputtered and spat and curled 
 itself into rebellious little hoops. The bread in 
 the oven browned to a beautiful golden shade ; 
 it was growing late. Visitors would be coming 
 to the store by-and-by. 
 
 " Uncle Jube," said Joe, " shall we start home 
 to-night ?" 
 
 The storekeeper shook his head. 
 
 " To-morrow, then ?" 
 
 " Next day, son ; next day.' 
 
 " But why ? We are" 
 
 A step sounded upon the rotting old planks 
 at the door ; the old man leaned forward, and 
 put his lips to Joe's ear : 
 
 " Not a word more, son, not a word more. 
 We'll go next day. I want some o' these folks 
 to see you, son. I want 'em to see what the good 
 Lord has raised up for hisse'f out o' the moon- 
 shiner's son." 
 
 THE END
 
 'Best 'Books 
 
 FOR SOF5 AND GIRLS 
 
 A SERIES of books for young 
 ** people that contains the latest 
 and best works of the most popular 
 writers for boys and girls. The 
 stories are not only told in an inter- 
 esting and charming manner, but 
 most of them contain something in 
 the way of information or instruction, 
 and all are of a good moral tone. For this reason they 
 prove doubly good reading; for, while the child is 
 pleasantly employing his time, he is also improving his 
 mind and developing his character. Nowhere can 
 better books be found to put into the hands of young 
 people. They are profusely and handsomely illustrated 
 by the best artists and are well printed on good paper 
 with exceedingly handsome and durable bindings. 
 
 Sold by the leading booksellers everywhere, or sent 
 prepaid on receipt of price. 
 
 Cloth, each, $t.25 
 
 The 
 
 923 <ARCH STREET 
 
 ^Publishing Company 
 
 PHILADELPHIA
 
 STORIES FOR GIRLS 
 
 Earning Her Way 
 
 ^By cMrs. Clarke Johnson Illustrated by Ida Waugh 
 
 A charming: story of an ambitious girl who overcomes in a 
 most original manner, many obstacles that stand in the way 
 of securing a college course. While many of her experiences 
 are of a practical nature and show a brave, self-reliant spirit, 
 some of her escapades and adventures are most exciting, yet 
 surrounding the whole there is an atmosphere of refinement 
 and inspiration that is most helpful and pleasing. 
 
 Her College *Days 
 
 *By cMrs. Clarke Johnson Illustrated by Ida Waugh 
 
 This is a most interesting and healthful tale of a girl's life in a 
 New England college. The trustful and unbounded love of 
 the heroine for her mother and the mutual and self-sacrificing 
 devotion of the mother to the daughter are so beautifully in- 
 terwoven with the varied occurrences and exciting incidents of 
 college life as to leave a most wholesome impression upon 
 the mind and heart of the reader. 
 
 c T c wo Wyoming Girls 
 
 By SMrs. Carrie L. ^Marshall Illustrated by Ida Waugh 
 
 Two girls, thrown upon their own resources, are obliged to 
 " prove up " their homestead claim. This would be no very 
 serious matter were it not for the persecution of an unscru- 
 pulous neighbor, who wishes to appropriate the property to 
 his own use. The girls endure many privations, have a num- 
 ber of thrilling adventures, but finally secure their claim and 
 are generally well rewarded for their courage and persever* 
 ance.
 
 "The Girl ^Ranchers 
 
 <By Mrs. Carrie L. ^Marshall Illustrated by Ida Waugh 
 
 A story of life on a sheep ranch in Montana. The dangers 
 and difficulties incident to such a life are vividly pictured, and 
 the interest in the story is enhanced by the fact that the ranch 
 s managed almost entirely by two young girls. By their 
 energy and pluck, coupled with courage, kindness, and un- 
 selfishness they succeed in disarming the animosity of the 
 neighboring cattle ranchers, and their enterprise eventually 
 results successfully. 
 
 <A ZMaid at King cAlfred's Court 
 
 By Lucy Foster ZMadison Illustrated by. Ida Waugh 
 
 This is a strong and well told tale of the pth century. It is a 
 faithful portrayal of the times, and is replete with historical 
 information. The trying experiences through which the little 
 heroine passes, until she finally becomes one of the great 
 Alfred's family, are most entertainingly set forth. Nothing 
 short of a careful study of the history of the period will give 
 so clear a knowledge of this little known age as the reading 
 of this book. 
 
 ZMaid of the First Century 
 
 <By Lucy Foster ZMadtson Illustrated by Ida Waugh 
 
 A little maid of Palestine goes in search of her father, who 
 for political reasons, has been taken as a slave to Rome.' She 
 is shipwrecked in the Mediterranean, but is rescued by a 
 passing vessel bound for Britain. Eventually an opportunity is 
 afforded her for going to Rome, where, after many trying and 
 exciting experiences, she and her father are united and his 
 liberty is restored to him.
 
 <A Yankee Girl in Old California 
 
 *By Evelyn Raymond Illustrated by Ida Wattgh 
 
 A young girl, reared among most delightful surroundings in 
 Vermont, suddenly discovers that, owing to a clause in her 
 father's will, she must make her future home with relatives 
 in the lower portion of old California. No more interesting 
 experience could come in the life of any bright, observing 
 S\r\ than that of an existence in this semi-tropical region, with 
 its wealth of Spanish tradition and romance, its glorious cli- 
 mate, its grand scenery, and its abundance of flowers and 
 foliage. 
 
 cMy Lady ^Barefoot 
 
 ^By 8M.rs. Evelyn Raymond Illustrated by Ida Waugh 
 
 \ beautifully told story of the trials of a little backwoods girl 
 vho lives in a secluded place with an eccentric uncle, until his 
 death. The privations she undergoes during his life-time, her 
 search for other relatives, her rather uncongenial abode with 
 them, her return to her early home to acquire her uncle's 
 estate, and thus to enjoy a useful and happy life, form a most 
 interesting narrative of a girl whose ruggedness and simplicity 
 of character must appeal to the admiration of all readers. 
 
 TheFerry cMaidofthe Chatiahoochee 
 
 "By <Annie cM. ^Barnes Illustrated by Ida Waugh 
 
 An heroic little Georgia girl, in her father's extremity, takes 
 charge of his ferry, and through many vicissitudes and several 
 impending calamities, succeeds in carrying out her purpose of 
 supporting her invalid parent and his family. The heroine's 
 cheerfulness and hearty good humor, combined with an un- 
 flinching zeal in her determination to accomplish her work, 
 make a character which cannot fail to aapeal to young people.
 
 Dorothy <Day 
 
 ^y Julie M. Lippmann Illustrated by Ida Waugh 
 
 This is a most interesting story of a bright and spirited young 
 Jirl whose widowed mother re-marries. The impulsive girl 
 chafes under the new relationship, being unwilling to share 
 with another the bounteous love of her mother which she had 
 earned to claim wholly for her own. By the exercise of great 
 tact and kindness, the obdurate Dorothy is at last won over 
 and becomes a most estimable girl. 
 
 ZMiss Wildfire 
 
 <By Julie M. Lippmann Illustrated by Ida Waugh 
 
 The story of a governess' attempt to win the love and confi- 
 dence of her ward, who, owing to a lack of early restraint is 
 inclined to be somewhat of a hoyden. The development' of 
 the girl's character and her eventual victory over her turbu- 
 lent disposition combine to form a story of unusual merit and 
 one which will hold its reader's eager attention throughout 
 A story of girls for girls that teaches a moral without 
 labeling or tagging it at the end." - Western Christian 
 Advocate, Cincinnati, O. 
 
 Her Fathers Legacy 
 
 <By Helen Sherman Griffith Illustrated by Ida Waugh 
 
 Suddenly bereft of father and fortune, a young girl finds her- 
 self face to face with the world. Except for a deed to some 
 waste land, there is practically no estate whatever To make 
 matters worse, the executor of the estate endeavors to appro- 
 priate the deed to the land. The heroine engages in a long 
 and heroic struggle for its possession. She succeeds in 
 regaining it, and the land itself proves to be most valuable 
 because of its location in a rich oil-producing district
 
 <An Odd Little Lass 
 
 'By Jessie E. Wright Illustrated by Ida Waugh 
 
 This is a story of the regeneration of a little street waif. She 
 begins life in a lowly court of a large city. Her adventures 
 are numerous, and often quite exciting. After a time she 
 is transplanted to the country, where alter many thrilling 
 experiences she eventually grows into a useful and lovable 
 young woman. The story is pleasantly told, and abounds 
 in interesting incident. 
 
 " The story is an intensely interesting one, and abounds in 
 pleasing and unique situations." Religious Telescope, Dayton, 
 Ohio. 
 
 <An Everyday Heroine 
 
 9y cMary <A. Venison Illustrated by Ida Waugh 
 
 The heroine is not an impossible character but only a pure, 
 winsome, earnest girl, who at fourteen years of age is sud- 
 denly bereft of fortune and father and becomes the chief sup- 
 port of a semi-invalid mother. While there are many touching 
 scenes, the story as a whole is bright and cheerful and moves 
 forward with a naturalness and ease that carries its read- 
 ers along and makes them reluctant to put down the book 
 until the end is reached
 
 STORIES FOR <BOYS 
 The <Boer <Boy of the Transvaal 
 
 <By Kate ZMilner ^abb Illustrated by F. A. Carter 
 
 The career of the Boer boy is one series of exciting adven- 
 tures. In the gallant service for his country he comes face to 
 face with President Kruger, General Cronje, and General Jou- 
 bert. Much interesting information pertaining to this country 
 and its people is introduced, and the reader will understand as 
 never before the cause of the intense hatred of the Boers for 
 the British. 
 
 Uncrowning a King 
 
 <By EdwardS. Ellis, <A. ffl. Illustrated by J. Steeple <Dxvts 
 A tale of the Indian war waged by King Philip in 1675. The 
 adventures of the young hero during that eventful period, his 
 efforts in behalf of the attacked towns, his capture by 'the 
 Indians, and his subsequent release through the efforts o/ 
 King Philip himself, with a vivid account of the tragic death 
 of that renowned Indian chieftain, form a most interesting and 
 instructive story of the early days of the colonies. 
 
 <At the Siege of Quebec 
 
 Vy James Otis Illustrated by F. cA. Carter 
 
 Two boys living on the Kennebec River join Benedict Ar- 
 nold's expedition as it passes their dwelling en route for the 
 Canadian border. They, with their command, are taken pris- 
 oners before Quebec. The description of the terrible march 
 through the wilderness, the incidents of the siege, and the dis- 
 astrous assault, which cost the gallant General Montgomery 
 his life, are in the highest degree thrilling, while at the same 
 time true in every particular.
 
 In the *Days of Washington 
 
 *By William cMurray Graydon Illustrated by}. C. Claghom 
 
 The story opens in Philadelphia just prior to its evacuation by 
 the British in 1778. Nathan Stanbury, a bright lad of seven- 
 teen, joins the Continental Army which is then suffering the 
 hardships of the winter at Valley Forge. A short time later 
 the Battle of Monmouth is fought, and in this the young hero 
 figures quite prominently, as he does afterward at the Massa- 
 cre of Wyoming. 
 
 On Wood CoTte Island 
 
 2?y Elbridge S. 'Brooks Illustrated by Frederic}. 'Boston 
 
 A trio of bright New England children are given an island 
 on which to spend their summer vacation. Here they es- 
 tablish a little colony, the management of which gives them 
 a large amount of amusement and at times causes some 
 seemingly serious difficulties. In the solution of their per- 
 plexing problems the young people receive much encourage- 
 ment and counsel from the poet Longfellow, whose delightful 
 acquaintance they form in a very unexpected and amusing 
 manner. 
 
 Under the ^Tamaracks 
 
 *By Elbridge S. ^Brooks Illustrated 
 
 An interesting and healthful story for boys and girls, repre- 
 senting a summer's outing of young people among the 
 Thousand Islands. It is timed to include the visit of General 
 Grant at Alexandria Bay, and several interesting conversa- 
 tions between one of the boys and the hero of the Rebellion 
 shed pleasing side lights upon the great General's character. 
 
 " General Grant's talks with the heroes will captivate the 
 heart of every boy." Teachers' World, New York.
 
 The Wreck of the Sea Lion 
 
 %y W. 0. Stoddard Illustrated by John H. <Betts 
 
 Tales of the sea are always fascinating to young people, espe- 
 cially when some active, adventuresome boys supply plenty of 
 thrilling escapades to add to the interest. The story of an 
 eventful cruise in Southern waters, as told by an old sea cap- 
 tain, and the ludicrous boastings and experiments of a would- 
 be scientist, constitute a pleasing variety of incident, and 
 afford just that amount of instructive material needed to make 
 a perfect book for young readers. 
 
 The Young Financier 
 
 *By W. 0. Stoddard Illustrated by John H. <Betts 
 
 A unique story, the scene of which is laid in the money centre 
 of New York City. The young hero begins life as a broker's 
 messenger and passing rapidly from one post to another in 
 good time rises to a position of importance and responsibility. 
 Numerous exciting experiences incident to the eventual suc- 
 cess in his business career all 'combine to form a most 
 interesting narrative. 
 
 True to His Trust 
 
 y Edward S. Ellis, <A. ZM. Illustrated by J. Steeple <Davis 
 The hero of this story will win his way at once into the heart 
 of every one, and his pluck and perseverance will carry the 
 sympathy of every reader through his many adventures, strug- 
 gles, and singular experiences. Like all of the author's works 
 the incidents teach in the most convincing manner that true 
 manliness and sturdy integrity are the only principles through 
 which happiness and success in life are possible.
 
 Comrades True 
 
 'Sy Edward S. Ellis, <A. ZM. Illustrated 
 
 In following the career of two friends from youth to manhood, 
 the author weaves a narrative of intense interest. This 
 story is more realistic than is usual, as the two heroes pass 
 through the calamitous forest fires in Northern Minnesota and 
 barely escape with their lives. They have other thrilling ad- 
 ventures and experiences in which the characteristics of each 
 are finely portrayed. 
 
 " Among juveniles there is not one of greater interest, or 
 more wholesome influence than ' Comrades True.' " Sentinel, 
 Milwaukee, Wis. 
 
 c/lmong the Esquimaux 
 
 <By Edward S. Ellis, <A. M. Illustrated 
 
 The scenes of this story are laid in the Arctic region, the cen- 
 tral characters being two sturdy boys whose adventurous spirit 
 often leads them into dangerous positions. They visit Green- 
 land ; go on a hunting expedition, have a number of stirring 
 adventures, but ultimately .reach home safe and sound. 
 
 " A capital and instructive book for boys." Post, Boston, 
 Mass. 
 
 The Campers Out 
 
 *By Edward S. Ellis, <A. M. Illustrated 
 
 Many of the scenes are so vividly described that the reader 
 can, in his imagination, enjoy the excitement of the chase and 
 all the pleasures of a good camping tour. In addition to the 
 vivid descriptions of many exciting adventures, this story 
 teaches a lesson in morals that cannot fail to prove helpful to 
 every reader. 
 
 " Well planned and well written. Full of adventure of just the 
 right sort." Mid- Continent, St. Louis, Mo.
 
 The Young Gold Seekers 
 
 <By Edward S. Ellis, <A. M. Illustrated by F. <A. Carte* 
 
 A thrilling account of the experiences of two boys during a 
 trip to the gold fields of Alaska. The hardships that they 
 endure, the disappointments they suffer, the courage and 
 perseverance that they manifest in the face of seemingly 
 insurmountable obstacles, and their eventual success in their 
 undertaking, are all most graphically portraved. 
 
 c/lndy's Ward 
 
 <By fames Otis Illustrated 
 
 A fascinating narrative of the life and experiences of " Museum 
 Marvels." They dwell in a house owned by a sword-swal- 
 lower, whose wife, the " Original Circassian," is entrusted with 
 its management. The rest of the household includes a dwarf, 
 nick-named the "Major," a fat lady, a giant, and a snake- 
 charmer. The private life of the marvels forms a story full of 
 incident, and one that possesses that peculiar simplicity ol 
 style which has won for this author such a host of readers. 
 
 Chasing a Yacht 
 
 <By James Otis Illustrated 
 
 A semi-nautical tale of adventure about boys, written for boys, 
 and will certainly be appreciated by boys wherever they may 
 be found. The story of how the heroes, two bright, manly 
 fellows, built a steam yacht, how she was stolen from them, 
 and how they eventually regained possession of her, is full of 
 life and is replete with exciting and interesting incident. 
 
 " Boys who do not read this volume with real pleasure must 
 be hard to suit." Journal, Minneapolis, Minn.
 
 The ^Braganza 'Diamond 
 
 ames Otis Illustrated 
 
 A volume that will hold its readers spell-bound as they follow 
 the two boy characters and the bright, courageous girl in 
 their search for the famous diamond. Much useful information 
 is incidentally conveyed and many things with which few 
 persons are familiar are explained. 
 
 " It will rivet the attention of young readers as much as Rob- 
 inson Crusoe." Call, San Francisco, Cal. 
 
 The Lost Galleon 
 
 "By W. <Bert Foster Illustrated byj. Steeple T>a<vis 
 
 The search for a lost treasure ship and her eventual discovery 
 form the basis of this very dramatic story. The plot is in- 
 tensely interesting, and rivets the attention throughout the 
 entire narrative. The story possesses a great deal of origi- 
 nality, and is free from the conventional incidents that usually 
 characterize stories of this description. Incidentally, much 
 valuable information is afforded the reader by the insight that 
 is given into the ship-chandlery business, in which the young 
 hero engages as the means of earning a livelihood. 
 
 Exited to Siberia 
 
 'By William cMurray Graydon Illustrated by F. <A. Carter 
 This is one of the most thrilling stories ever written. The 
 heroes, two American boys, become involved in a political 
 plot that nearly costs them their lives. As nearly all the 
 action occurs in the mines and military prisons of frozen 
 Siberia it can readily be imagined that in the midst of such 
 dramatic surroundings the interest is most intense. The 
 plot is absorbing, the adventure exciting, the movement 
 rapid, and the style unsurpassed.
 
 The Lost Gold 
 
 <By Frank H. Converse Illustrated 
 
 At the opening of this story, the hero, by a singular circum- 
 stance, finds himself in possession of certain papers relating to 
 a gold mine in the far West, and he and his chum conclude to 
 make a search for it. Their untiring efforts are eventually 
 rrowned with success, but not until the party has suffered 
 many privations and escaped numerous impending dangers 
 such as characterized the early days of the gold fever. 
 
 Cape Cod *Boy 
 
 <By Sophie Swett Illustrated by <P. T. Hoyt 
 
 A realistic story of the New England coast, in which are 
 
 vividly depicted the manly efforts of a Portuguese castaway 
 
 who attempts to assist a family in return for kindness shown 
 
 A pronounced sea atmosphere pervades the whole 
 
 ry, which contains many thrilling adventures by water and 
 
 Iships on land. A performing bear, escaped from a 
 
 traveling menagerie, is quite an interesting figure and affords 
 
 much amusement and excitement. 
 
 cMoonshiner's Son 
 
 Witt Men Vromgoole Illustrated by F. <A. Carter 
 
 The scene of this dramatic story is laid in the mountains of 
 
 Tennessee amid the haunts of the illicit distillers The hero 
 
 made to suffer many hardships as a result of his father's un- 
 
 lawful business, but after the latter's tragic death, the boy is af- 
 
 1 an opportunity of going to a large city, where his 
 
 sterling merit soon brings him into prominence. The story is 
 
 ill of the most thrilling incidents, and the tone is wholesome 
 
 and elevating.
 
 The cMoncasket cMystery 
 
 ( By Sidney cMarlwuj Illustrated 
 
 Wise indeed is that teacher or parent who provides his child- 
 ren with such healthful and entertaining reading as this book 
 will prove to be. It is a pleasing story, full of base-ball and 
 fishing experiences, with just sufficient " mystery " to add zest 
 to the tale. The principal character is not called upon 
 to perform any impossible feats, but he exemplifies his char* 
 acter in the pursuits of daily life and always proves faithful to 
 the confidence reposed in him. 
 
 Harry (Ambler 
 
 ^By Sidney cMartow Illustrated 
 
 A charming story of a bright boy, that is full of exciting 
 incidents and is told in a pleasing style. It is interesting 
 without being sensational, and incidentally shows that courage 
 and honesty are the sure roads to success. The characteristics 
 displayed by the hero can be emulated with profit by boys 
 generally. The book points out a moral without making that 
 the * reason of being " of the story. 
 
 ^Making His cMark 
 
 'By Horatio cAlger, Jr. Illustrated by Robert L. cMason 
 A manly, resourceful lad, left to the care of an unscrupulous 
 stepmother, finds his home unbearable, and starts out in the 
 world, determined to make a place for himself. Naturally, he 
 encounters many obstacles and meets with numerous dis- 
 couragements, but his courage and perseverance enable him 
 to push steadily on until he attains a glorious success. The 
 book will prove not only intensely interesting but also helpful 
 to every boy who reads it.
 
 .'*&. 
 
 University of California 
 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 
 
 Return this material to the library 
 
 from which it was borrowed.
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 000 034 054 7 
 
 ^ ^ -V- t t *9*: '-- . X -V , ^ *,%*3Z W^ C 
 
 '""* "^-Vv. " > : -^J-r^?f%"-'Sa^*O^ r -V'*5i5t^*--*#- ^-*?i'?:*iH' 
 
 ^ t