STORK'S NEST 
 
In the orchard, surrounded by the angry chickens, stood a girl. 
 
STORK'S NEST 
 
 BY 
 
 J. BRECKENRIDGE ELLIS 
 
 Illustrated By 
 ELIZABETH INGHAM 
 
 NEW YORK 
 MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY 
 
 1905 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY 
 
 MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 Published October, 1905 
 
TO MY MOTHER AND FATHER 
 
 I cannot call this tale mine own 
 
 For it is yours as well. 
 Its every smile has sweeter grown 
 
 That for a moment it did dwell 
 Deep in your eyes so true. 
 
 And if in all there were a tear, 
 I saw the rainbow in its sphere 
 
 Because your love shone through. 
 
 M513160 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I THE GHOST 1 
 
 II THE LOG CABIN 15 
 
 , III "UNCLE Hi" 27 
 
 IV Two WAYS TO BECOME A "PERSON" .... 39 
 
 V ON THE FLOATING TREE 76 
 
 VI IN THE FLOATING HOUSE 96 
 
 VII EMMY TRIES THE LONG ROAD Ill 
 
 VIII A CATALPA LEAF 130 
 
 IX STORK'S NEST 146 
 
 X A STRANGE BURGLAR 170 
 
 XI JIM WHITLICKS "EXPECTS THE WORST" . . . 178 
 
 XII DOES "EMMY" CARE 201 
 
 XIII AT THE MERCY OF 'BijE 210 
 
 XIV "EMMY" CHOOSES THE SHORT WAY .... 228 
 XV BROOM CORN 238 
 
 XVI "WEARING OUT ALL OVER" 252 
 
 XVII UNCLE Hi's LAST CHARGE .277 
 
 XVIII 'BijE's PLOTS 290 
 
 XIX GATHERING IN THE NET 310 
 
 XX BENTON ENCOUNTERS "THE GHOST" .... 328 
 
 XXI THE STAMPEDE AT THE QUICKSANDS ..... 342 
 
 XXII PURSUIT 354 
 
 XXIII BREAKING THE NEWS 367 
 
 vii 
 
STORK'S NEST 
 
 THE GHOST 
 
 ONE evening, in the early part of August, 
 the declining sun discovered a young 
 man hesitating at the margin of a somber 
 wood in northern Missouri. Behind him was 
 the white glare of the narrow, stony road, five 
 miles of which his weary feet had traversed since 
 midday. It turned sharply away from the 
 threatening front of matted thickets and trees, 
 as if afraid of the gloom, and fled to the right. 
 There was a gap in the fence where the bars had 
 been left down so long that grass had grown over 
 the ends resting upon the ground. 
 
 " Here is where I turn off from the main road," 
 said the young man ruefully. c That path in the 
 woods looks so lonesome I feel sorry for it! " 
 
 As he entered the cool shadows, an oppressive 
 loneliness smote upon his spirits. The vastness 
 of the unbroken wood seemed to take his breath 
 away. If he had felt before that he had entered 
 a strange country, peopled by men and women dif- 
 ferent from those of his experience, this feeling 
 was exaggerated by the very color of the earth. 
 
2 STORK'S NEST 
 
 Not only was the country strange; it was one 
 which he believed he could never grow to like. 
 Its roughness, its wildness, repelled him. He 
 had still a long way to go, and his hesitation at 
 the gap had been conquered by the fear of dark- 
 ness overtaking him in the forest. That fear 
 now urged him along the grass-grown way, while 
 his small valise seemed to become heavier at every 
 step. 
 
 Benton Cabot was about nineteen, but his 
 smooth-shaven, refined face wore almost a boyish 
 look, while in his eyes lingered something of the 
 frank innocence of youth. He was tall, but 
 spare, without that sinewy development which 
 often compensates for leanness. The paleness of 
 his cheeks spoke, if not of uncertain health, at 
 least of a life passed in the unhealthful shadow of 
 confining walls. There was, moreover, a thought- 
 ful repose of the mouth which indicated the 
 student. The heaviness of his step and the irreg- 
 ularity of his breathing showed him unused to 
 long-continued or violent exertion. In spite of 
 physical disadvantages his features possessed, in 
 their way, an expression of power; it was the spirit 
 of resolution which had not failed him in sorrow 
 and poverty and which now seemed to challenge 
 the very grimness of the wood. 
 
 He began to whistle, but the silent and un- 
 familiar scene soon cast a spell upon the pucker 
 of his lips. He found himself for the hundredth 
 
THE GHOST 3 
 
 time wondering if the family with which he was 
 to live was composed of uncultured people such 
 as he had viewed from the car window. The fact 
 that Silas Stork had been his father's war comrade 
 many years ago told nothing as to his mental 
 qualities; but his letters had shown a suavity, a 
 copious supply of synonyms, and a contemptuous 
 daring in the matter of spelling, which had won 
 the young man's heart. He had engaged himself 
 to his father's old friend as a farm-hand, hoping 
 by open-air work to regain the strength which 
 study and confinement were threatening to under- 
 mine. 
 
 The young man had proceeded some distance 
 along the wooded path before his ear detected an 
 approaching footstep. Someone was making his 
 way through tangled briers toward the open trail. 
 It was impossible at first not to experience a sense 
 of alarm, as if the desolate waste must be expected 
 to produce a Robin Hood, or at least one of those 
 Missouri bandits so widely known to fame under 
 a less poetic name. But the next moment he 
 smiled at the alarm which had sprung rather from 
 his acquaintance with literature than from his 
 knowledge of the visible world. 
 
 A man emerged from the thicket and nodded 
 briefly to the pedestrian. " Howdy, neighbor," 
 he said. (He spoke in a gasping sort of hoarse 
 whisper, as if he had his real voice under repair, 
 and were using a poor substitute,] ^ <Wcl <XW 
 
4 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " Good-evening," said the other, who was not 
 pleased by the man's rude appearance. He paused 
 in the path instinctively, his valise hanging heavy 
 in his thin white hand. 
 
 " Coin' my way, neighbor? " inquired the 
 stranger. " I'm bound for Si Stork's premises." 
 
 " Why, yes," said Cabot, becoming almost 
 pleased at the encounter. " That is the very place 
 I am hunting! " 
 
 The stranger coughed violently, and, deep down 
 in his grating throat, remarked: "Glad to hev 
 comp'ny, neighbor, for between you 'n' I, I get 
 pow'ful lonesome an' homesick on this here road. 
 Them trees could tell a tale, Stranger, in these 
 parts!" 
 
 " Yes," said Benton, secretly regretting the 
 contrast between his own thin form and the 
 powerful body of the other. " My home is about 
 a hundred and fifty miles from here." 
 
 The hoarse voice grated: " Out of the State, 
 neighbor? " 
 
 " No, I'm a Missourian; only I'm from the cen- 
 tral part of the State, and this northern country 
 seems like a different land. I'm used to blue grass 
 everywhere, even along the wildest roads, running 
 wild. And we have no hills such as I have found 
 up here; all is rolling prairie. Our woods are 
 growing very scarce." 
 
 The man gasped as they walked along. 
 " People up here are differ'nt, too, neighbor. I'm 
 
THE GHOST 5 
 
 like you; I don't live here. Nobody could n't 
 hire me to. This here north country jest smells 
 ill to my nostrils." 
 
 Benton was sorry to have his fears of the neigh- 
 borhood confirmed by these words, but they 
 seemed to bring the travelers together in a bond 
 of sympathy. ' The fact is," he said, " it's 
 hardly a matter of choice with me. I studied 
 pretty hard last year, and then I went into a store 
 as a clerk. I have come up here to get strong, on 
 Mr. Stork's farm." 
 
 " Of course," said the difficult voice, " if you've 
 come up here for your health, that's differ'nt. 
 They's more health up here than they is gold in 
 Californy. An' the healthiest man I know is 
 Mr. Stork." 
 
 1 You know him, then? " began Benton, eager 
 to elicit some information regarding his future 
 employer. 
 
 "Know him?" cried his companion. "Well, 
 I should say! Why, neighbor, I know both of 
 him. They ain't finer men on Grand River than 
 them twins. They is honest as the day is long on 
 the twenty-fust of June." It was apparently such 
 an effort to the man to converse that he was obliged 
 to squeeze his lungs hard to wring out his words. 
 Benton began to feel sorry for him, and therefore 
 warmed toward him a little more. 
 
 " 1 didn't know there was more than one Mr. 
 Stork," he said in cheery confidence. " When my 
 
6 STORK'S NEST 
 
 father died I was left without any kin, at least 
 kin who were interested in me. For I didn't have 
 anything, not even enough to keep me in school. 
 But my guardian helped me along. When school 
 was out, in June, I got a job as clerk in a dry- 
 goods store, but my town is small and so are the 
 wages. And I was n't strong. I want a place 
 where I can make more and grow tough." He 
 looked down and smiled ruefully at his long, thin 
 legs. " Somehow or other, Mr. Silas Stork heard 
 of me. He fought in the war with my father, but 
 I have never seen him. He wrote, offering a place 
 on his farm up here board, and good wages, 
 besides. I don't know how he happened to know I 
 was longing for just such a place. I'm indebted 
 to my guardian, and I have this chance to even up 
 the money account. Of course, his kindness that 
 can't be balanced." 
 
 " It '11 be an eddication to you to live with Si 
 Stork," observed the stranger. " It '11 be like 
 feedin' at the same table with a summer 
 universary." 
 
 Benton gave the other a sharp scrutiny, fancy- 
 ing he detected a trace of humor in these words, 
 but the heavily whiskered face told no tales. Both 
 lapsed into silence and, from time to time, Benton 
 slyly studied his companion. Tall and robust, he 
 trod the earth with a heavy step. He was dressed 
 in blue trousers and a black shirt over which white 
 suspenders crossed themselves conspicuously. On 
 
THE GHOST 7 
 
 his head was a small white cap, and upon his feet 
 heavy boots which came high up the legs. One of 
 them showed a deep gash down the side, as from 
 an ax. His beard was red, and very heavy. His 
 hair was so bushy and unconfined that it reminded 
 Benton of a billowing stream at sunset, with the 
 white cap as a little sail-boat, tossing upon its 
 reddened bosom. The hair hung over his fore- 
 head as well, almost hiding his eyes, while riotous 
 whiskers ran up to meet it. 
 
 After a long silence the man cleared his throat 
 and gasped: " Yap, neighbor, I git pow'ful lone- 
 some on this here road. Say! Skeered of 
 ghosts? " 
 
 Benton laughed. 
 
 " Laugh away," growled the man; "but the 
 fust time you see Hezzie Whitlicks a-comin', I bid 
 you lay low ! " 
 
 " Who is Hezzie Whitlicks? " 
 
 " Neighbor, he's the ghost in question. Ten 
 year ago, Hezekiah Whitlicks died, as mean a 
 man as ever done it. But you kin see him yet, ef 
 you're lucky, from time to time. I can't say he 
 lives in no purtic'ler spot, bein' a speret; but he is 
 to be saw, as anybody in these parts can instruct 
 you. They ain't no ghosts down south; that's 
 why I despise this here north country." 
 
 The other, greatly amused, was tempted to 
 humor this simple child of nature. He was the 
 first white man Benton had ever heard declare 
 
8 STORK'S NEST 
 
 faith in ghosts, and the experience was rather 
 interesting. " Where I come from," he said 
 gravely, " ghosts are not believed in." 
 
 " I did n't believe in 'em myself when I fust 
 come," said the other. " I says to the people, 
 4 I'm from Mizzoury and you'll hev to show me ! ' 
 And they done it, too. But everything up here's 
 differ'nt from the south. Why, jest ridin' on the 
 train, you must of saw that." 
 
 " So I did," said Benton good-naturedly. Noth- 
 ing so readily disposes us toward an expression of 
 kindliness as a feeling of mental superiority, and 
 the young man, sorry for the other's benighted 
 condition, opened his heart still more. " The 
 first thing that struck me were your covered 
 bridges for the railroads, as if you thought 
 the trains might get scared and jump into the 
 creeks!" 
 
 " Don't call 'em my bridges," remonstrated the 
 man. " I despise everything in this section except 
 the Storkses! " 
 
 " Then there are the high hills," continued Ben- 
 ton, " reminding me of those in Kentucky hills 
 just sitting on the level ground so you can see all 
 around them. And the people well, from the 
 car window I saw men doing the washing and 
 hanging out the clothes, and women out in the 
 gardens, hoeing and spading. And some of those 
 women were actually barefoot and walking out- 
 doors barefoot! " 
 
THE GHOST 9 
 
 " Yap," said the other, " them are some of our 
 natural curiosities ; barefooted an' barelegged, too, 
 you'll find. But they don't make an ant-hill beside 
 the Grand River ghost." 
 
 The scene had now grown wilder, and the cool- 
 ness which Benton had experienced on first enter- 
 ing the wood seemed to have been consumed in a 
 close, intense August heat which steamed from the 
 very ground. The young man said: " There are 
 only about two more miles, are n't there?" 
 
 " They're mighty long miles, then," was the 
 reply. " Neighbor, it is at this spot that I see 
 Hezzie Whitlicks the last time about three weeks 
 ago." 
 
 Benton could not but acknowledge to himself 
 that it was an ideal spot for seeing a ghost. Four 
 hills had drawn together, forming a cup, and the 
 two travelers were down in the dregs. On all 
 sides tangled walls of trees, vines and thickets 
 sloped upward. In this silent depth the sunlight 
 could not come at such an hour. It was visible 
 far above, quivering in the dense tree-tops. 
 
 " Now, neighbor," said the man hoarsely, " not 
 to deceive you no longer, I hope you carry a pistol, 
 for sich we need in this ghost-ridden quarter 
 
 section." 
 
 " No, indeed," said Benton with an amused 
 smile, " I do not carry pistols." 
 
 " Well, I do," said the man, " an' if you will 
 excuse me beggin' your pardon I'll draw it, 
 
io STORK'S NEST 
 
 now. An' not to deceive you no longer, / am 
 Hezzie Whitlicks; / am the ghost!" 
 
 The man's countenance was so concealed by his 
 overflowing hair and swollen beard that the young 
 man could not tell whether he spoke in jest or 
 earnest. The pistol, however, had a sober, busi- 
 ness-like air. Benton was alarmed, but he was 
 not a coward. He said with a smile, which, in 
 truth, was rather forced, " You look pretty solid 
 for a ghost." 
 
 " You might as well learn now, neighbor, that 
 Grand River people an' Grand River ghosts is 
 differ'nt from them raised on blue-grass. Hezzie 
 Whitlicks always does look solid. An' if you 
 don't do exactly as I say, he'll feel to you pretty 
 solid, if you will allow me to prophesy." 
 
 " At present I am in your power," said the 
 young man steadily, " so I suppose I must do as 
 you order." 
 
 " Now you're actin' a sensible part, neighbor, 
 an' as long as you keep to your part, this show 
 will go along without a hitch till the curtain is 1 
 rang down. Now, you sit down on this nice, quiet, 
 mossy log with your back to me an' don't you look 
 around at me once. Mind that. You be respon- 
 sible not to look around once, for I'll be 
 responsible that you don't look twice. All I am 
 goin' to do is to examine that there balise of 
 yourn, if you will excuse me." 
 
 The ghost here coughed very hard as if he had 
 
THE GHOST n 
 
 forgotten that part of his role, and was making 
 up for lost time. 
 
 In spite of the stranger's tone of grave polite- 
 ness there was a serious undercurrent to his bad- 
 inage which warned the other to attempt no 
 resistance. Benton Cabot had no choice but to 
 seat himself upon the log, with his back to Hezzie 
 Whitlicks. Like most young men of a romantic 
 turn of mind, he had often pictured himself in 
 scenes of danger. Now, as he stared up the 
 wooded slope and listened to the ghostly fingers 
 delving into his property, a smile trembled upon 
 his finely cut lips. How unheroic his situation! 
 
 " Nice, mossy log," came the voice from behind 
 him. " Comfortable? Stiddy, thar! If you turn 
 once, you'll never turn ag'in. I could put you to 
 sleep with a incantation, but I'm too hoarse to 
 sing any to-day, and the pullin' of a trigger is 
 easy, anyhow." 
 
 " You might skip the high notes," Benton 
 ventured. 
 
 u What do I see? " the ghost communed with 
 himself. " A something white, in a roll. Mortal, 
 what on airth is this here roll?" 
 
 " A nightgown," said Benton, disposed to 
 humor the dangerous thief in the slightest de- 
 tail. 
 
 " Oh, what a shroud it Vd make ! " cried the 
 other approvingly. " What a shroud for some 
 fair young corpse, neighbor! A nightgown, you 
 
12 STORK'S NEST 
 
 say ? I don't know as I ever see one before. I may 
 have. An' here is a volume hum! a Bible." 
 There was a pause, as if the Bible had proved too 
 much for the ghost. Then the rasped voice came 
 again : " Hair-brush ! An' this here is a comb, 
 most likely. Money! How it jingles ! Three 
 five what! a ten-dollar bill? Fifteen dollars and 
 thirty-five cents. Wealth! What a pity ghosts 
 can't use money. But what do I need it for? I 
 don't eat nothin' but dew, nor wear nothin' but 
 what I was buried in barrin' the cap. Neighbor, 
 I'll hev to search your pockets, I have n't found 
 nothin' to my taste. Now don't you move or look 
 around? What are you jumpin' for? This cold 
 thing I've ran down your neck ain't nothin' but 
 my gun. If it was to make a ghost of you, what 
 larks you 'n' me could have together ! " 
 
 Benton sat like a statue while his pockets were 
 being rifled. Everything was taken. At last the 
 ghost left the disconsolate figure and returned to 
 the valise. 
 
 " Now don't look around, neighbor, but answer 
 me; did you leave your trunk at Laclede Station? " 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " I suppose it contains your real valuables?" 
 * You have all my valuables there," said Ben- 
 ton quietly; " my watch and money. In the trunk 
 are clothes too small for you to wear, even if 
 Hezzie Whitlicks wore anything but his grave- 
 clothes. There is nothing else in my trunk but 
 
THE GHOST 13 
 
 old papers, a few keepsakes, nothing so valuable 
 as the old trunk itself." 
 
 " Jest so, neighbor, clothes an' old papers. A 
 ghost has no use for sich. But, mercy me! 
 Listen to that." 
 
 The voice was so agitated that Benton felt hope 
 leap up within. Perhaps someone was coming to 
 his rescue. But his heart soon sank, for his strain- 
 ing ears caught nothing but the far-away melan- 
 choly crowing of a cock which seemed to accent 
 the stillness instead of breaking it. 
 
 " Neighbor," gasped Hezzie in apparent 
 horror, " do you hear that? " 
 
 " I hear nothing," Benton returned. 
 
 "What! you don't hear that there rooster?" 
 
 Benton deigned no reply. 
 
 " Yap, neighbor ! That there rooster is my 
 bugle-call. When I hears him I has to go back 
 into my old coffin. Not in the cemet'ry; no, sir! 
 You see, they digged me up, some medical 
 fraternity, or other, I suppose; so I can't rest. 
 Good-by, Benton Cabot. Oh, I know your name, 
 trust a ghost for that! Now, I'm a-fixin' to dis- 
 appear right through the ground; an' if you turn 
 your head, I'll make you disappear, too. So don't 
 turn round, neighbor, or you'll think there was a 
 crowin' after your speret." 
 
 The voice ceased. Did Hezzie Whitlicks 
 vanish into the earth? Benton did not turn his 
 head to learn, but he fancied he heard sounds of 
 
14 STORK'S NEST 
 
 the " ghost " slipping up the opposite hill. When 
 he ventured to leave the log he was alone. Upon 
 the ground was heaped his property. At one side 
 lay the watch, with the ten-dollar bill as a cushion 
 for its support. The silver pieces were disposed 
 in a circle about the timepiece. Benton examined 
 everything before replacing them in his valise and 
 pockets. Nothing was missing. If he had 
 entered the wood with a presentiment of evil, he 
 resumed his journey with a still heavier heart. 
 The mysterious Hezzie Whitlicks weighed upon 
 his mind. He now looked about him oftener, he 
 was more sensitive to sudden noises, and he made 
 no attempt to whistle as he held on his solitary 
 way. 
 
II 
 
 THE LOG CABIN 
 
 BEFORE leaving the natural cup formed by 
 the four hills in whose dregs he had found 
 himself with Hezzie Whitlicks, Benton 
 secured a stout oak stick for his protection. He 
 was not superstitious, but his mind was quick to 
 profit from new experiences, and he thought it 
 not improbable that he might encounter another 
 " ghost " upon the way. He was inclined to think 
 Hezzie some wandering madman, sane upon all 
 subjects except that of his spiritual condition. No 
 doubt the people of the community understood his 
 harmless state, pitied his singular delusion, and 
 humored him therein. Still, no madman is a 
 pleasant traveling companion, especially when he 
 is armed with pistols, and Benton did not wish to 
 meet his acquaintance again. As he continued on 
 his journey, looking apprehensively from side to 
 side, he pondered over the recent adventure. It 
 was strange that Hezzie should have known his 
 name. 
 
 Could the great-whiskered fellow have seen 
 him at Laclede Station and followed with some 
 sinister intent? Might he not have accomplices 
 
 15 
 
1 6 STORK'S NEST 
 
 even now lying in wait? But if the intention 
 had been to rob him, the young man could 
 not understand why his property had been so 
 scrupulously left behind at the crowing of the 
 cock. Perhaps the next ghost he should meet 
 would not only take his money and watch, but 
 keep them. 
 
 " It was surely a madman," Benton concluded; 
 " his actions, his very words, showed the vagaries 
 of a diseased mind." As he trudged along, weary 
 and footsore, the path grew less wild, and he 
 imagined it began to assume a familiar look. In 
 fact it was familiar. Hezzie had dexterously 
 decoyed the young man from the true way, and 
 had conducted him in a circuit. There could be 
 no mistaking this quiet spot in the wood where 
 four footpaths met under a huge hackberry. He 
 had traversed one from the main road; another 
 led to the Stork farm. But he could neither 
 recognize the old trail nor decide upon the new. 
 He had eyes for geometry, Latin and Shakespere, 
 and even for calico, hose and ribbon; but his eyes 
 for trees, rocks and directions were hardly opened. 
 Benton Cabot was lost in the wood, about six miles 
 from Laclede Station. 
 
 Had it not been for his meeting with Hezzie, 
 this fact would not have alarmed him greatly. He 
 knew there were no extensive forests in northern 
 Missouri. Whichever path he took must finally 
 bring him to a main road and to a farm-house 
 
THE LOG CABIN 17 
 
 where he could inquire his way, or, if need be, 
 pass the night. 
 
 " I might be in a worse situation," he said aloud, 
 seating himself upon a rock and resting the valise 
 upon the ground, while he treated himself to one 
 of those jests better appreciated by others than by 
 him who utters it: " Many a fellow has to make 
 his own way, but here I find four already made 
 for me ! " 
 
 He presented a picturesque figure in the lonely 
 scene as he scrutinized one path after the other. 
 The sunlight, with a friendly touch, rested upon 
 his straight black hair as he fanned himself with 
 his straw hat. As the hackberry quivered in the 
 breeze, the light and shadow played upon the high 
 forehead, the sensitive nostrils, the determined 
 chin, the delicate cheeks. The dark-brown eyes 
 finally selected the footpath running toward the 
 southland, having taken as much time for rest 
 as he dared, in view of his uncertain situation, he 
 took up the valise and resumed his journey. 
 
 He had gone perhaps half a mile when the path 
 led out upon a country road composed of shelving 
 rocks of such a decided slant it seemed almost 
 impossible that a buggy could traverse it without 
 being toppled over upon its side. Along the lower 
 edge ran a deep rut showing how heavy wagons, 
 after slipping and sliding along the surface, had 
 caught some foothold and eaten into the rock. 
 
 " No," said Benton, staring, " this is n't it. My 
 
1 8 STORK'S NEST 
 
 path leads to a ford in the river, with stepping- 
 stcnes. I must be three miles from the Storks's. 
 Well, I must get somewhere. Nothing behind 
 me but ghosts nothing in front but a stone road 
 turned over upon its edge to drain ! " 
 
 He left the wood and climbed along the upper 
 margin of the thoroughfare. Presently his eyes 
 were greeted by a grateful object. " A barn! >x 
 he exclaimed, slipping and scrambling along. " A 
 barn ! Good ! I hope they'll let me stay all 
 night." It was a barn, with a small window of 
 four square panes in its loft. An old horse stood 
 in the doorway looking at Benton with disap- 
 proval. 
 
 Benton passed a horse-lot where some pigs were 
 rooting up the last spears of wire-grass, and 
 found himself opposite a small patch of broom- 
 corn, tall and erect, the green brushes pointing at 
 the zenith. Beyond the patch was an orchard of 
 trees which had grown venerable in service, and 
 which showed the neglect that so often attends 
 old age. The back-yard of a log cabin ran down 
 a hill to the orchard fence, and stopped abruptly 
 there in a tangle of smartweed, crowfoot and bur- 
 dock. The yard-fence was without a gate, but a 
 stile block with steps on each side, and several 
 gaps, where other steps used to be, offered a high- 
 way to the yard path. This path, running to the 
 front door and thence around the cabin to the 
 rear, was composed of wood-ashes, which showed 
 
THE LOG CABIN 19 
 
 a tendency, with every strong breeze, to leave the 
 premises. The fence was the usual rail fence with 
 clumps of weeds in the vertex of each angle. A 
 little wire grass showed itself here and there, but 
 for the most part the yard was given over to plan- 
 tains, which thrust their impudent seed-spears 
 high in air and crowded to the very margin of the 
 building. 
 
 The cabin had an air of desertion, but there 
 came unmistakable signs of life from the orchard, 
 and Benton paused before he reached the fence. 
 In the orchard stood a weather-stained ash hopper, 
 and, not far from it, the hen house. It was now 
 surrounded by a great number of chickens, each 
 in a nervous state, bordering upon hysteria. The 
 fowls were not afraid, but indignant. They flew 
 upon the fence, then down again, then up in the 
 trees, in fact, everywhere except upon certain 
 boards and stepping-planks which had evidently 
 been placed for their accommodation. But where- 
 ever they flew, cackling in their shrillest notes, 
 they refused to be satisfied and immediately 
 returned to their former posts, where they 
 appeared no less miserable. 
 
 Benton, convinced that no one was at home, and 
 persuaded that the presence of some weasel or fox 
 was the cause of the disturbance, seized his stout 
 oak stick in a tighter grasp and cautiously advanced 
 to the fence! Before he reached it, a form 
 appeared from around the hen house. Benton 
 
20 STORK'S NEST 
 
 paused in some confusion. In the orchard, sur- 
 rounded by the angry chickens, stood a girl of 
 about sixteen, tall for her age, and much rounder 
 and in every way better developed than the 
 traveler. She was a beautiful girl with dark gray 
 eyes. Her hair, when it strayed in the sunlight, 
 appeared as light gold silk; and when the cool 
 shadow of the apple-tree fell upon it like a caress- 
 ing hand, it grew a deeper, richer gold. She wore 
 a blue calico dress; the large white buttons showed 
 between the heavy braids that hung down her 
 back. The blue sunbonnet was at present off 
 duty, and clung with its blue strings to her plump, 
 firm arm which was bare to the elbow. The 
 skirt did not reach far below her knees. Her 
 ankles and feet were brown, showing themselves 
 free from the conventional restraint of shoes and 
 stockings. Her arms showed the same healthy 
 brown; indeed, her whole appearance impressed 
 the observer with her strength and fullness of life. 
 Her face was of a creamy pinkness which exposure 
 to sun and wind had been unable to blemish, that 
 rare complexion which should always go with 
 golden hair. 
 
 Much of her charm was lost upon Benton 
 Cabot. He had been too deeply engrossed by 
 study and too anxious to make a living to develop 
 the sentimental part of his nature. He realized 
 that the girl was unusually pretty, but he had 
 never cared for pretty girls; and the fact that this 
 
THE LOG CABIN 21 
 
 one was barefooted when she was, in all but years, 
 a woman, set her apart from his approval. She 
 must belong to that unfamiliar class of people he 
 had viewed from his car window, the men doing 
 the washing, the women hoeing and spading. The 
 very beauty which might have made her charming 
 in other conditions seemed a pathetic underscor- 
 ing to her impossibility. On the other hand, she 
 was a fellow-mortal, to say the least, and could no 
 doubt direct him upon his way. He was about to 
 ask if he could see her father, when she called out 
 to him: 
 
 " Hello, Ben ! " Without waiting for him to 
 return this greeting, she hurried forward, crawled 
 between the lower two rails of the fence and held 
 out a sunburnt hand. Benton flushed with sur- 
 prise at the recognition and at the contraction of 
 his name. How could it be that the very ghosts 
 and farm girls knew him? Then it occurred to 
 him that he might have been mistaken for some- 
 one else. 
 
 " Pardon me," he said drawing back, " I am 
 afraid you have made a mistake. I am a' stranger 
 in the neighborhood." He disliked her manner 
 of crawling through fences and the sturdy way in 
 which she braced herself upon her feet; but the 
 good-natured smile upon her healthy face, 
 although it jarred upon his delicate, sensitive 
 organism, which study and confinement had ren- 
 dered somewhat morbid, won an answering smile. 
 
22 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " You hain't no stranger to me," she said, 
 pouncing upon his hand and wringing it vigor- 
 ously. " I know yous, Ben. I'm Emmy Garrett. 
 Did yous come here from Si Storks's? " 
 
 " No," said Benton, rescuing his limp fingers, 
 " I have lost my way; I happened upon this place, 
 and hope you can tell me how to reach Mr. Silas 
 Stork's farm. My name is Benton Cabot." 
 
 " Yap, I know it air," said the other, staring at 
 him with frank interest, and then examining his 
 clothing. " Si Stork told us. Yous see, all the 
 Storkses has went off on a week's fish-fry, twenty 
 mile from here. Si an' 'Bije, they asked gran'pop 
 to keep yous till they come back home. Si an' 
 'Bije, they put up a notice ag'in their door, so if 
 yous went thar, it 'u'd tell yous to make tracks 
 for this here place. See?" 
 
 " But I wrote Mr. Silas Stork that I should 
 come to-day," said Benton, dismayed at the pros- 
 pect of spending a week at the log-cabin. " I 
 did n't know anything about this 'Bije. I suppose 
 he's the twin brother. Mr. Silas promised to 
 meet me at Laclede Station; but he did n't and 
 I've had this long tramp; and yet, he knew I was 
 coming!" Benton was vexed. 
 
 " Yap," said- Emma, " but jest of a sudden thar 
 come this chance of a fish-fry, so they went off, 
 the hull kit an' boodle of 'em, an' yous are to 
 stay the hull endurin' week with me 'n' gran'- 
 pop." 
 
THE LOG CABIN 23 
 
 Benton walked dejectedly toward the stile- 
 block. 
 
 " Yap," said Emma, keeping beside him, and 
 speaking rather absently. She had finished with 
 his clothing and was now examining his valise, 
 necessarily confined to its exterior. " They never 
 done the like before," she said presently. " The 
 Storkses hain't by natur' the kind as takes holi- 
 days, not even fish-frys. But seemed they went 
 plumb crazy of a sudden over this chance. Well, 
 they're gone now, an' not a livin' soul left at 
 their place excep' the cattle an' chickuns. I guess 
 yous would n't keer to go thar an' be numbered 
 with them. I guess you'll hev to put up with us, 
 as they hain't no hotels closer 'n Laclede Station." 
 She gave him a sidelong look. 
 
 " Can I see your grandfather? " he asked after 
 an awkward pause. 
 
 Emma Garrett looked up at the sun with a 
 knowing twist in her brow and replied: "Yous 
 kin see him before long, I calkerlate." Benton 
 made no reply. She strode over the stile block 
 and he followed to the back yard. He had read 
 books in which the characters said " calkerlate," 
 but he had suspected the author of artificiality. 
 Now he heard it as an everyday form of speech. 
 He was, indeed, in a strange country. And, being 
 in a strange country, he must accustom himself to 
 strange people. Fie shrank from Emma's unlady- 
 like manner, from her boyish freedom, but he 
 
24 STORK'S NEST 
 
 resolved, if possible, to establish a more friendly 
 footing with the ignorant child. Emma, who had 
 darted into the cabin, returned carrying a rock- 
 ing-chair upon her stout shoulder. 
 
 " Now, yous sit right down," she said, twirl- 
 ing the chair in air and bringing it to earth with a 
 thump. " Yous has got a peaked look, an* I cal- 
 kerlate yous hain't used to stirrin' yourself much. 
 Why! yous air as frail as a kitten. Your legs is 
 scurcely half as big as mine; yous air 'most skin 
 an' bones, judgin' from the way your clothes bag. 
 Better take off them shoes, an' stretch your toes, 
 an' make yourself t' 'ome." 
 
 " No, thank you," said Benton, who had sunk 
 into the chair with a grateful sigh. " But this 
 chair is very comfortable," he continued, with his 
 friendly smile. " The fact is, I'm not used to 
 much walking. I was kept pretty close at school 
 till June, and since then I've been clerking in a 
 store. I feel as if I had walked twenty miles since 
 
 noon." 
 
 Emma threw back her head and laughed. 
 
 'Tain't nothin' to me to walk to Laclede Sta- 
 tion," she remarked, " if I hev to. Say, Ben, 
 you're the kind of feller I've wanted to git 
 a-hold of. Yous must know a pow'ful sight of 
 things I want to learn. An' I'll git 'em out of 
 yous, before this week's up," she added, shaking 
 her head at him playfully. " You're differ'nt 
 from us folks. Your very straw hat an' long 
 
THE LOG CABIN 25 
 
 stringy tie, not to say collar, which we hev not, an* 
 your very shoe lacin' smells of eddication. An' 
 hain't yous got little feet ! " Emma danced, 
 holding her skirts out, fan-like, with admirable 
 gravity. " Now, Ben, I'm a ballet gal. Don't I 
 look it?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Benton mildly. " I 
 
 never saw one." 
 
 Emma stopped suddenly. " But yous come 
 from the south of the State. An' yous talk dif- 
 fer'nt from me. I 'lowed yous had saw things, 
 too ! Maybe you're hongry, an' that's what's 
 the matter. Nuver mind; gran-pop '11 be here 
 purty soon, an' then we kin have supper. Say, 
 Ben, don't these chickuns act scan'l'us? I've shet 
 'em out the hen house ca'se of chiggers, an' it's 
 drove 'em plumb ravin' destracted! " 
 
 The girl climbed upon the fence, and seated her- 
 self upon the flat top-rail. As they watched the 
 chickens, Benton could not but be amused by the 
 angry calls of the rival cocks bidding the agitated 
 hens to different trees in the orchard. In spite of 
 his uncertain future, he was able to join in Emma's 
 laughter at the strangely human behavior of the 
 fowls ; and, having given her up as not one of his 
 class, and regarding her simply as a part of his 
 strange experience, he found his disapproval 
 passing away. After all, she was young, and he, 
 with his three years' advantage, could afford to 
 look upon her with a man's broad toleration. He 
 
26 STORK'S NEST 
 
 was so absorbed in his study of her, and so dis- 
 appointed over the departure of the Storks, that 
 Hezzie Whitlicks passed from his mind. 
 
 Suddenly Emma cried: " Gran'pop is comin' ; 
 bless his heart ! " She gave a great leap, cleared 
 a clump of weeds, and rushed around the log 
 cabin. Benton descried a form slowly climbing 
 over the distant fence which separated the wood 
 from the main road. It was an old man, small, 
 thin and dry. His hair and beard were white, 
 and, as he drew nearer, Benton saw that his face 
 was crossed by the different paths care and sorrow 
 had taken during seventy years. Emma met him 
 at the stile block and brought him forward, her 
 vigorous arm about the slight shoulders. 
 
Ill 
 
 "UNCLE HI" 
 
 BEN," cried Emma, with hearty familiarity 
 as if she had known the young man from 
 infancy, " this here is my gran'pop. What 
 do yous think of him? " 
 
 Emma's face beamed and it was so evident that 
 she expected the other to think well that Benton 
 was pleased and touched. The old man carried a 
 skunk by its tail, not gingerly, but as if attached 
 to the dead animal. He was a trapper, "and skunk 
 skins formed his principal income. 
 
 " So yous got here, Ben," said Emma's grand- 
 father in a kindly voice; his tones were in a 
 soprano key and sounded like those of a woman, 
 as if they were wearing out; they had no depth, 
 and, so far from seeming to emanate from his 
 lungs or chest, they appeared to be freshly made 
 in his mouth. His clothes were much too large 
 for him and had an appearance of having been 
 assumed for temporary use. Around his neck 
 was coiled a red yarn sock, the toe of which was 
 fastened to the top by a boldly conspicuous, 
 brassy safety pin. 
 
 " Ben's about tuckered out," Emma explained. 
 
 27 
 
28 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " He hain't used to doin' nothin' ; an' jest walkin' 
 along wears out what legs he has," she added with 
 a disparaging stare at the members in question. 
 " But yous go 'long, gran'pop, an' git off your 
 skunk clo'es so we kin have supper." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said the old man in his faint, worn- 
 out voice. "Sorry you're feelin' poorly, Ben; I 
 hev a bad cold myself; hain't nothin' like a sock 
 for colds. Set here an' enjoy yourself, Ben, till I 
 come back." 
 
 The old man carried his captured prey with him 
 through the orchard. 
 
 " Ain't he a spry ole man, though," said 
 Emma, gazing admiringly after him. " Now 
 would yous think to look at gran'pop, that he was 
 seventy? -Look at that back! They's lots of 
 bone in it ! Gran'pop never says die ! " 
 
 Benton, who had accepted the comment with 
 the utmost gravity, though secretly amused, re- 
 sponded warmly: ' Your grandfather has a 
 very kind face, Emma." Still weary from his long 
 journey, he stretched his thin legs in the cool 
 plantain, and luxuriated in the easy chair, while 
 the breeze stirred his glossy locks. 
 
 " That's right ! " exclaimed Emma, starting 
 toward the cabin. " His face is like a clock that's 
 allays wound up; yous kin look at it an' know 
 it's keepin 1 sun time! Now, I'm goin' to git 
 supper. You sit thar, an' look at the chickuns 
 an' things, an' enjoy yourself." 
 
"UNCLE HI" 29 
 
 Emma's grandfather was so slow in his move- 
 ments, that by the time he had donned his house- 
 clothes and disposed of his beast, supper was 
 ready. As, with his leisurely step, he led Benton 
 toward the cabin, the youth discovered, stretched 
 upon its western side, a beautiful fur skin, hang- 
 ing up to cure. The door led into a combination 
 of kitchen, sitting-room and bed-room. Every- 
 thing was neat but plain. Benton had never 
 before found a single bed associating with a 
 kitchen stove; now, however, he saw them upon 
 fairly intimate terms. The old man was still 
 rather reminiscent of his entrapped animal, but 
 not too much so to conquer Benton's assertive 
 appetite. Even the fierce heat of the roaring 
 kitchen-stove, to which the young man was 
 neighbor, could not overcome the hunger which 
 had increased with every mile of his wan- 
 derings. 
 
 There was one window in the room, small and 
 square, fitted with a sash, which moved upon 
 hinges, like a door. Both window and door were 
 opened to their utmost capacity. The old man, 
 who sat opposite the guest, became moist and 
 glistening in the heat. Emma, at one end of the 
 oblong table, was not only moist and glistening, 
 but very flushed from cooking. Benton was tak- 
 ing a bath from his perspiration, and he could feel 
 his garments sticking to him at various points of 
 contact. 
 
30 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " Take off your coat an' vest, Ben," cried 
 Emma, pushing her golden hair from her damp 
 brow. " Look at gran'pop. What I like to see 
 is suspenders crossin' theirselves, when a feller's 
 burnin' up." 
 
 " I'm allers thinkin'," remarked the old man, 
 " that bimeby I kin git out in the open, an' cool 
 off out'ardly, whilst digestin' in'ardly. But take 
 off that coat 'n' vest, son; it makes me hot to look 
 
 at 'em." 
 
 " I don't mind them," smiled Benton, enjoying 
 the eggs and bacon. 
 
 " Then jest stick to 'em," cried Emma. l Yous 
 are what I've been lookin' for somethin' dif- 
 fer'nt from we-all. Oh, gran'pop! the things he 
 must know! " 
 
 " Emmy," her grandfather explained, " is jest 
 dyin' to pull out of her tracks an' be .a Person. 
 Nobody in these parts could learn her how, unless 
 it's 'Bije Stork. He has money an' could buy her 
 an eddication any day she says the word. I've 
 learned her all I kin. But I've forgot now most 
 I ever knowed, so no use cloggin' up my brains 
 with new matter. When you're as old as me it's 
 best to put in your time clingin' to what you've 
 got on hand." 
 
 * Yous know enough, anyhow," returned 
 Emma. " I don't know nothin'. Ben, he'll have 
 to learn me this week all I kin stand, for his 
 board-money." 
 
"UNCLE HI" 31 
 
 " I'll do my best," said Benton, smiling at the 
 eager face, " but I am no Solomon, Emma." 
 
 " That reminds me we don't know what yous 
 are," she returned. " 'Bije says you're to work 
 for Si an' him an' they knowed your pa before 
 he died." 
 
 " My life is not an interesting story," Benton 
 replied, " just study and clerking; that has kept 
 me from being strong. So I am glad of this 
 chance to live on a farm in the open air. Of 
 course, if I get tired of it, I'll quit and go back 
 to prepare for law college." 
 
 " Don't know whether you'll quit or not," 
 remarked Emma, shaking her bright head. 
 " Heap easier to pick up the Storkses than to le' 
 go of 'em. If they git holt you're their'n, soul 
 an' body. 'Bije is my friend, but that don't bender 
 me from knowin' his ins an' outs; it helps me, I 
 reckon. .They's nothin' like a friend for knowin' 
 your weaknesses an' failin's. An' I know his, 
 an' all his tribe's. I ain't afraid of him, myself, 
 but I don't know nobody else as is n't. An' they 
 won't mix much corn with your hay at feedin'." 
 
 u Well," said Benton decidedly, " open-air 
 exercise is my object in coming north, but I sup- 
 pose the Storks have n't a monopoly on it; if 
 everything does n't suit, I'll try another farm." 
 
 " I don't know * monopoly,' ' said Emma, 
 " but I know 'Bije, and hard it is to git loose from 
 him, let me tell yous! Thar's that poor, meek, 
 
32 STORK'S NEST 
 
 sniffling, spindlin' Jim Whitlicks, a orphan that's 
 lived with 'em come now four year at least he's 
 as much a orphan as kin be with a ghost of a daddy 
 livin' in the same county " 
 
 " Hezzie Whitlicks?" exclaimed Benton, for- 
 getting in his sudden interest to mop his fore- 
 head, and his eyes, in consequence, suffering an 
 inundation. 
 
 " You've heerd of him? " observed Hiram. 
 " Now, your Uncle Hi have saw that speret with 
 these eyes." 
 
 " I wish I could of! " cried Emma. 
 
 u I walked with the big red-whiskered high- 
 wayman this afternoon," said Benton. " Surely 
 you don't think that half-witted rascal a ghost? " 
 
 " I never heerd nobody question it before," 
 returned Hiram, astonished. " You surely don't 
 think he's a man? " 
 
 " Why, yes, that's what I took him to be." 
 
 " A man, nothin' ! " retorted Emma. " Gran'- 
 pop went to Hezekiah's funeral ten year ago; 
 did n't yous, gran'pop ? " 
 
 ' That's what I done, honey. I helped lay 
 him out, an' I see him put in his grave, as dead a 
 man as I ever hope to be. People had 'most for- 
 got his name an' callin' when here, a few year 
 back, his speret riz in the same suit he was buried 
 in, best he had, poor old feller, same boots, 
 the right toe showin' a cut where his ax slipped 
 one day." 
 
"UNCLE HI" 33 
 
 "I noticed that!" Benton remarked. "But 
 you surely don't believe in ghosts? " 
 
 " I don't know nothin' about no others, Ben, 
 but, as to what my eyes has saw, your Uncle Hi 
 can't be gain-sayin'. Eyes must be allowed to 
 assert their privileges. Yous can't say to 'em, 
 * That there skunk yous see catched in the trap 
 hain't no skunk, it's otter-of-roses ; ' yous can't 
 talk to eyes that way." 
 
 As the meal was now over Hiram and his guest 
 issued, steaming, into the yard, leaving Emma to 
 clear away the repast. The old man's first act 
 was to remove his boots and socks, and cool his 
 feet in the long wire-grass. Benton, who felt 
 much refreshed, brought him the rocking chair, 
 and seated himself on the single front step, which 
 consisted of a soap-box. It was not a superfluous 
 adornment to the front of the house, for the dis- 
 tance from the ground to the threshold of the 
 front door was at least three feet. The old man 
 seated himself slowly and carefully as if afraid of 
 breaking himself, and from three different pockets 
 produced a pipe, a sack of tobacco, and a match. 
 These three presently came together. 
 
 When Emma opened the front door and 
 lowered a chair to the ground for her own use, it 
 was growing dark. Benton, who had deserted the 
 soap-box to take the chair, offered to help the mis- 
 tress of the house to descend. Hiram chuckled 
 and Emma laughed. 
 
34 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " Jest watch me," she cried. Then bending 
 her knees, she leaped clear of the step and alighted, 
 flat-footed and secure, upon the grass. She drew 
 her chair to her grandfather's side, put her arm 
 about him, and sat a few moments in silence. Then 
 she reached up, took the pipe from his lips, and 
 holding the bowl near her nose, inhaled vigorously. 
 " Oh, I wish I was a man ! " she sighed. 
 
 " Nuver mind, honey," said Hiram, resuming 
 the pipe, and stroking her beautiful hair, " the 
 smell is the most good they is to a thing anyway, 
 an' yous git the full flavor of that. They ain't 
 nothin' on airth so satisfying if yous look at it 
 right, as smells; they never disagree with your 
 stomicks, they never leave yous feelin' mean, 
 wishin' yous had n't did so-an'-so, they don't 
 leave no regrets, if yous air content jest to smell 
 an' then go on about your business. Now, Ben, 
 do we seem much differ'nt from the people lyin' 
 up on your store-shelves? Well, we air a cur'us 
 mixture. The dregs of Iowa has leaked down 
 here, an' the froth of Mizzoury has riz up; an' 
 thar's a little E-lynoise an' Kentucky that would n't 
 never mix; an* that's us. But jest look at Emmy. 
 What 'd yous think of her? " 
 
 In truth Benton scarce knew what to think. 
 She was so unlike anyone he had ever known that 
 his standards of comparison seemed unfair. As 
 the girl's brown hand passed lightly over the thin 
 white locks of the old man, then came to rest upon 
 
"UNCLE HI" 35 
 
 his shoulder, the guest watched them both and 
 felt a thrill of ever-growing interest and appre- 
 ciation. It was now dark. Yonder ribbon of 
 gloom was the high-road; that black shadow of 
 fantastic outlines was the orchard; the black 
 expanse beyond the paler ribbon was the wood. 
 The air was filled with ceaseless songs of crickets 
 and katydids and immature frogs. Occasionally 
 the shrill trilling was accented by a deeper note. 
 
 " Ole bullfrog," said Emma, as if making an 
 introduction. " He sounds like somebody was 
 milkin' a cow in a tin bucket, don't he? " 
 
 " Kin you remember anythin' the ghost said? " 
 asked the old man, coming out of a deep reverie. 
 " We've got to stay out here till the kitchen stove 
 is cool enough to be Emmy's bedfeller. We 
 might's well talk an' not leave it all to the frogs." 
 
 u He knew my name," Benton answered, as the 
 mysterious sounds from the black forest suggested 
 the lonely ghost wandering in the night. 
 
 " Course ! Now, did he have on a black shirt 
 an' blue pants? In sich I laid him out." 
 
 " Yes, and a small white cap," Benton returned 
 somewhat pointedly. 
 
 "Oh!" said Hiram. "Well, as to say a 
 small white cap, I don't know what to tell you. 
 That goes along with the pistol. Did he talk? " 
 
 " He praised the Storks highly." 
 ' That's cur'us. He was a b'ilin' hot enemy 
 to 'em, when livin'. They had a lawsuit over a 
 
36 STORK'S NEST 
 
 hog gittin' through a gate. Well, I reckon when 
 a feller's dead, he finds out that hogs cuts mighty 
 small figgers, an' that grievances ain't immortal 
 like the soul." He puffed on in silence, his head- 
 light dimming and glowing according to his speed. 
 
 Suddenly Emma began in a deep and awful 
 voice: "One co-o-old, da-a-a-ark night, 'Bije 
 was goin' through them very woods, yonder, an' 
 he heerd somethin' goin' ' Crawmp ! crawmp ! ' 
 By the moon he sees somethin' in blue pants, black 
 shirt and red whiskers. 'Bije clump along closer, 
 an' see it was Hezekiah what was left of him. 
 The ghost says: * Enemy! enemy! ' in jest that 
 awful voice. Did n't it, gran'pop? " 
 
 " That's what it done, honey; 'Bije said so." 
 
 " An' what 'Bije says is gospel," Emma added; 
 " he don't have to tell lies, havin' all the money 
 he needs though he do want more, that's a fact. 
 Well, the ghost disappeared then an' thar, before 
 his eyes, an' immediately a big fire bu'st from the 
 very airth, so no doubts was left as to where 
 Hezekiah lives when he's at home." 
 
 " Ever' word gospel," said Hiram, knocking 
 his pipe upon the chair-leg and rising; " an' a 
 mighty good tale to go to bed on. They would n't 
 no man in his flesh have took your money an' 
 watch, an' then leaved 'em behind. Hezzie 
 would n't of did it, when he was nothin' but a 
 mortal. If he'd took 'em I hain't sayin' he 
 would of, but if he had of he'd kept 'em. 
 
"UNCLE HI' 1 37 
 
 Yap, he were that clostfisted. I don't like to say 
 nothin' ag'in dead folks, an' yous dare n't say 
 nothin' actionable ag'in the livin', so what are 
 yous goin' to do? An' besides, when a dead un 
 hez his ghost round to defend hisself, I feels that 
 the ordinary hamper have been removed." 
 
 Emmy kissed her grandfather good-night, and 
 went around to the kitchen-door, which opened into 
 her bedchamber as well. As she danced around 
 the corner, she sang. Hiram and Benton carried 
 the chairs into the front room, where there was a 
 single bed for the old man, and, upon the carpet- 
 less floor, a pallet for the guest. It was a small 
 room, divided from Emma's by a partition of 
 boards, newspapers and scraps of rag-carpet. The 
 light from Emma's candle made pale blurs in such 
 parts of the partition as had been repaired by 
 newspapers. The front room was but sparely 
 furnished. Besides the beds and two chairs, there 
 was an old gray trunk, a great goods box and a 
 ladder leading up to the loft. Hiram stuck the 
 candle upon a step of the ladder with some of its 
 own grease, and prepared for bed. All this time 
 he and Emma had maintained a brisk conversa- 
 tion which the thin partition allowed without any 
 unusual elevation of the voice. Benton was much 
 longer in disrobing. Presently the blurs disap- 
 peared from the wall, proving that Emma was in 
 bed. The young man blew out the candle. 
 
 " Jest leave that door open, my son," said the 
 
38 STORK'S NEST 
 
 old man in a comfortable voice. " The coolness 
 is reachin' the right spot, an' this sock '11 ward off 
 the dampness from your Uncle Hi." 
 
 Benton lay down with the door open and was 
 about to succumb to heavy drowsiness when there 
 came Emma's cheery voice, "Hello, gran'pop! " 
 
 Hiram's sleepy tones drawled: " Hel-l-lo, 
 honey!" 
 
 " Gran'pop, yous hain't sleep already," Emma 
 remonstrated. " I'm burnin' up. This heat 
 feels like breakin' broom-corn, don't it? Say, 
 Ben!" 
 
 But Benton was fast asleep. The old man 
 emitted a gentle snore. So Emma went to sleep, 
 for company. 
 
IV 
 
 TWO WAYS TO BECOME A 
 "PERSON" 
 
 BENTON was awakened the next morning 
 by hearing old Hiram Garrett groan, yawn 
 and clear his throat violently. The young 
 man started up from his pallet somewhat confused 
 by the strangeness of his bedroom. The old 
 trapper, already dressed, sat in the doorway, his 
 bare feet dangling over the soap-box doorstep. 
 "Oh-ho!" groaned the old man. "Haw-huff! 
 Haw-ho! " He was in no pain; this was his way 
 of letting the world know that he had risen for the 
 day, and that he thought it time for its other in- 
 habitants to be astir. Seeing his guest aroused, 
 Hiram prepared to cease his exertions gradually. 
 He puffed very hard at his pipe, then emitted a 
 half-hearted, "O-o-o-oh!" 
 
 " All right, gran'pop," came Emma's voice 
 through the partition, " I'm up. Have yous 
 got up, Ben? " 
 
 u I'm up," Ben answered in a rather discour- 
 aging voice. He was not accustomed to convers- 
 ing with young girls while in dishabille. As he 
 groped in the semi-gloom for his garments, the 
 
 39 
 
40 STORK'S NEST 
 
 young man addressed his host: " Is n't it early? " 
 He was still sore from his long tramp, and a heavy 
 weariness refused to be shaken off. The air rang 
 with the trills of frogs and the shrill monotones 
 of locusts. 
 
 " This airly? " cried Hiram. " La, no ! Hit's 
 cloudy, that's all; mebby it do seem airly to 
 yous, but bless your heart, this hain't nothin' to 
 what I've saw, in my day ! " 
 
 As Benton followed the old man out of the 
 house, the trees were beginning to separate them- 
 selves from the general darkness. The wood be- 
 yond the main road still presented a background 
 of unbroken black, but in the front yard the 
 twisted persimmon tree and the heavy-topped 
 catalpa tree showed between them a gap of pale 
 gray sky. Hiram walked slowly around the 
 cabin to the well, and, leaving Benton, went to the 
 kitchen for a wash-pan, a box of soft homemade 
 soap, and a rough clean towel. 
 
 Benton found the bucket a burden before he 
 could draw it, hand over hand, to the platform. 
 The rope made his soft hands burn, and his breath 
 was a little labored as he said: " There you are, 
 
 sir." 
 
 Hiram Garrett drew back a pace, waved his 
 skinny arm at the articles of toilet, and said in 
 a hospitable tone: "All right. Jest squat an' 
 duck." 
 
 The young man, considering this an invitation 
 
BECOMING A "PERSON' 41 
 
 to the bath, obeyed, not without a shiver at the 
 cold contact of the water. Before he had finished, 
 Emma appeared in the kitchen door giving the 
 last strokes to her long golden hair, which hung 
 loosely about her shoulders and breast. She 
 wielded a short, yellow comb with which she lifted 
 up the locks, shook them vigorously and drove 
 them into position with practiced skill. 
 
 " Good-morning," said Benton, reaching hastily 
 for the towel. 
 
 She gazed at him attentively as if curious to see 
 how he looked while wet, but made no response. 
 Her close-fitting neckband was unfastened, and 
 the full throat and soft rounded neck showed their 
 creamy tint against the almost black space of the 
 unlighted kitchen. The gray twilight lay about 
 her feet, and she seemed to rise from it with her 
 streaming tresses like some charming Naiad from 
 a somber stream. Her beauty, her freshness, her 
 innocence, appeared, to Benton's mind, to lend 
 some spiritual interpretation to the most com- 
 monplace details of the humble scene. He was 
 divided between the pity of such untrained grace 
 and simple beauty being lost in the backwoods, 
 and the pleasure of being a witness, as it were, 
 from another world. Having dismissed from his 
 mind the cares and engrossing thoughts of his past 
 life, the young man's mind was singularly open to 
 impressions, and he was himself surprised at the 
 interest he began to take in the Grand River girl. 
 
42 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " Gran'pop," said Emma, " time yous git ole 
 'Thuze fed, I'll have the breakfast on the 
 table." Then catching the back of the comb 
 between her strong teeth, she seized her hair in 
 both hands, gave it a twist and roll, and advanced 
 to the guest. " Here yous are," she said, hand- 
 ing him the comb, " help yourself, Ben, an' be 
 t' 'ome." 
 
 Benton took the comb with a gallant bow. 
 Emma returned to the kitchen, still twisting at her 
 locks. 
 
 Hiram Garrett bent over the wash-pan, buried 
 his face in it with a splutter, soused both hands 
 alongside, and began a violent exercise, accom- 
 panied by stentorian breathing. When he had 
 finished " warshin'," he said, still panting, " Now 
 for ole Thuze ! " 
 
 " I will go with you," said Benton. " Are you 
 ready for this now? " 
 
 " Which? " asked Hiram, looking about. 
 
 " The comb, Mr. Garrett." 
 
 "Oh, that?" said Hiram. "Well, I don't 
 keer." He gave his head a few perfunctory 
 scrapes with the comb, then led the way toward the 
 barn. 
 
 They climbed the orchard-fence and passed 
 among the old trees, whose branches were growing 
 distinct in the lightened air. There was no path 
 through the broom corn patch except the natural 
 avenues between the rows. They presently reached 
 
BECOMING A "PERSON' 43 
 
 the barn, and old 'Thuze accepted his corn and 
 hay, not as a favor, but as a right, too long de- 
 layed. He snorted contemptuously at Benton, 
 and as soon as he had received his customary allow- 
 ance, backed himself slowly against Hiram Gar- 
 rett till he had crowded his old master out of the 
 stall. 
 
 " Ole 'Thuze won't have nobody with 'im, when 
 he's eatin'," Hiram explained. "He's morbid; 
 that's how I place it. An' when a man, or hoss, 
 or what-not gits to backin' at me, I jest git out of 
 the way. I don't try to change nobody's disposi- 
 tion. I calkerlate God He did all He could for 'em 
 with what He had to work on, an' it hain't for me 
 to try to make a better job out of 'em than Him." 
 
 He led the way up an uncertain ladder to the 
 loft. Here it was quite dark, the only glimmer of 
 light coming through the opening in the floor 
 through which they had climbed. The old man 
 without hesitation walked over hay strewn planks 
 to a small room which was built against the gable 
 end. It stood like a box, with hay heaped against 
 it. Hiram unlocked its padlock, and opened the 
 door. They entered the little chamber whose 
 window of four panes had been observed by Ben- 
 ton from the road, the evening before. 
 
 " My property is here," said the old man. 
 "See them skins over yander? 'Coon, skunk, 
 'possum; why, Ben, I've sol' seventy-five dollars' 
 worth at one time. Do yous grasp the thought 
 
44 STORK'S NEST 
 
 embodied in them words? Seventy-five dollars! 
 Pshaw! Words don't tell nothin'. The bigger 
 fool yous are, the more of 'em you kin make. 
 Dollars is differ'nt, they hain't made outer air! 
 Ever' dollar I has signifies trompin' through woods 
 an' mire, an' soakin' in rain hit '11 shorely rain 
 to-day an' squattin' in damp an' mold, watchin' 
 traps, and wishin' wishes for Emmy. Yap, 
 seventy-five dollars at one time ! I was n't never 
 no prayin' man, son, but if I was, I'd open thus: 
 ' O Lord, I thank Thee for the skunks an' 'coons 
 an' 'possums rangin' the woods of ole Mizzoury.' 
 Son, see that there heap in the corner? My 
 skunk-duds." 
 
 " I thought they might be," said Benton, in- 
 voluntarily drawing a little farther away. 
 
 The old man observed the movement, and said, 
 with his accustomed gravity, tinged with a gentle 
 reproof: " Yap, they smack of honest toil. 
 Draw a lesson from 'em, son. Never be ashamed 
 of what makes your livin', for whatever it is, you're 
 no better than it. Now we'll go back to the 
 best gal that ever lived. If her cookin' warn't 
 no appetizinger than mud-dobbers' nests, that 
 great big sunny heart of hern would make a 
 gravy to carry it down." 
 
 They found the breakfast ready, and far more 
 appetizing than Hiram had suggested. Benton 
 thought the bacon somewhat excessive in its pro- 
 portion to the fried eggs, but they were built, as 
 
BECOMING A "PERSON* 45 
 
 it were, upon a wholesome foundation of corn 
 hoe-cake; and the coffee was delicious. The 
 morning was so far advanced that the wavering 
 light of the candle was hardly needed. 
 
 " But if they's one thing we have," said Emma, 
 after some discussion as to the advisability of dis- 
 pensing with this luxury, " it's ile an' grease, so 
 let 'er burn ! " When their plates were helped, 
 she said admiringly: "Well, Ben, yous air 
 clingin' to your coat! " 
 
 The young man looked into her thoughtful 
 gray eyes with a merry light in his luminous brown 
 orbs, and his sensitive, finely-cut lips trembled 
 with a reply which he did not utter. There was 
 an unconscious stateliness in his manner, even in 
 the way he held his head, which had hitherto kept 
 strangers at a distance. It amused him that his 
 pale cheek and undeveloped chest made him, in 
 Emma's estimation, little more than a boy. 
 
 The meal went forward almost in silence while 
 each maintained a steady, business-like advance 
 that threatened to lay waste the entire surrounding 
 country. Finally Emma said, as if struck by a 
 sudden thought, " Oh, gran'pop I Why not hitch 
 up the spring-wagon, an' all three of us go over to 
 the Storkses, before yous go to Laclede Station 
 after Ben's trunk? You know yous have to go 
 over this week to do their saltin'; 'Bije asked me 
 to see you done it." 
 
 " I reckon I ought to go thar this mornin'," 
 
46 STORK'S NEST 
 
 said Hiram slowly; " a big rain's a-comin', I 
 calkerlate. But I could n't take you-all to La- 
 clede Station; it 'd throw too much weight on 
 ole 'Thuze, with the trunk comin' home. An' be- 
 sides, he'd jest balk an' refuse to pull. Nobody 
 hain't a-goin' to make nothin' out of ole 'Thuze," 
 he added, poising a bit of bacon on his knife. 
 " Ef yous put too much on him, he jest looks to 
 hisself." 
 
 " Then, gran'pop, take me an' Ben to the 
 Storkses, do your saltin', an' leave us thar while 
 yous go git his trunk by yourself. Me 'n' Ben '11 
 walk home; it hain't but a few mile. Won't we, 
 Ben? Yous air rested your bones for another 
 tromp, hain't yous? " 
 
 Benton refused to recognize the taunt in these 
 words. " I should like very much to see the 
 Stork farm," he said, turning to Hiram. 
 
 " Emmy kin take care of yous," said Hiram. 
 u The river's low, an' it won't be no difficulty 
 walkin' across. I can v t wait till evenin' to git the 
 trunk, for if his weather-eye hain't April-foolin' 
 your Uncle Hi, we 're jest about to have a mighty 
 long steady pull of fallin' weather. I smelled it 
 in the air when I rolled out of bed this mornin', an' 
 I heerd it in the frawgs' jubilatin' las' night," 
 Hiram affirmed, nodding his head. 
 
 u An' yistiddy afternoon," Emma added, " the 
 flies was holdin' camp meetin' congregations on 
 the outside the winder." 
 
BECOMING A "PERSON' 47 
 
 Hiram started up from the table but, not think- 
 ing the matter sufficiently established, returned 
 with: 
 
 " As I come home late, I see Tobe Tucker- 
 more's sheep leavin' the fur pasture. An' the 
 cows was a-bawlin' although jest milked. I 'low 
 the Storkses will git sick of their fish-fry, come a 
 big swamper! " 
 
 " Well," said Emma, as she and Benton rose, 
 " if they git wet an' miser'ble an' spile their duds, 
 they can take it out on Jim Whitlicks. Jim," she 
 added for Benton's benefit, " is the Gran' River 
 ghost's son. Jim, he's bound out to the Storkses, 
 an' he comes in pow'ful handy when they git b'ilin' 
 hot an' can't take it out on each other." 
 
 The old man discarded his sock, as he expected 
 to meet Society at Laclede Station, and in its place 
 substituted a bandana handkerchief, which insured 
 observation and respect by its large red spots. As 
 Emma was not to meet Society, she remained in 
 her ordinary dress, the blue calico. The sun had 
 not made its appearance that morning, and heavy 
 gray clouds hinted that the master would be at 
 home to nobody, that day. The air was warm 
 and oppressive, as if the whole county were an 
 enormous kitchen, with somebody in it getting 
 dinner. 
 
 " Honey," said Hiram, as he sat waiting in the 
 wagon and as she emerged from the house with a 
 large green umbrella, "I'm 'feerd yous an' Ben 
 
48 STORK'S NEST 
 
 will git natchurly soaked, walkin' home from the 
 Storkses. Them clouds is fairly ripe to bu'st 
 open; that's how I place it." 
 
 " We won't care, will we, Ben? " cried Emma, 
 crawling through the fence in preference to climb- 
 ing the stile steps. "I've fetched the umbrelP 
 for him; an' me, I'll jest splash along like a duck. 
 This ole dress needs washin', an' yous know rain 
 never hurts me ! " Emma laughed in blissful an- 
 ticipation of a rain-bath. 
 
 " If I take that umbrella," said Benton, " it will 
 be to hold it over your head. Let me help you 
 in the wagon." 
 
 " I ain't no cripple," said Emma, scrambling 
 over the end board. " You git yourself in, an' it 
 '11 be as much as the bargain." She made him sit 
 beside her grandfather upon the only seat, while 
 she stood in the spring wagon, her bare limbs well 
 apart, sturdily supporting her rounded, compact 
 form. 
 
 Presently a gate admitted them into the wood 
 from which Benton had made his way. 
 
 ' Tell Ben about it, gran'pop," called Emma, 
 who was seeking to balance herself upon one foot. 
 " Ben, look, now. Ballet-dancer! " 
 
 " Honey," said Hiram, glancing back, " I would 
 n't break my neck if I was yous, an' that can't lead 
 to nothin' else." 
 
 Emma at once lowered her other foot from its 
 attitude of inquiry. " I won't if yous mind," she 
 
BECOMING A "PERSON' 49 
 
 said gently, " but beautiful ladies make their livin' 
 that way." 
 
 "I would n't do it, honey; it's morbid. Yap, 
 Ben, one night I was comin' through the woods, 
 not thinkin' of Hezekiah Whitlicks, when of a 
 sudden, thar he was. I looked at him, he looked 
 at your uncle Hi. I was so amazed, I did n't 
 know if I was demicrat or republigun, though in 
 the war I fit. I'd heerd of the ghost, but had n't 
 put enough stock in sich tales to make a bowl of 
 soup. He says in a hoarse, groundy kind of 
 voice : ( Hiram ! Hiram ! ' He allers called 
 me 'Hi ' before he died. I did n't know how to 
 talk to him. At fust my tongue would n't clack. 
 Finally I gets up a weak sort of damp steam an' 
 says, in a solemn Bible strain, ' What art thou ? ' 
 He says, ' Come and see ! ' Well, I decided to 
 foller an' put him forever out of controversy." 
 
 " I've got a turrible brave ole gran'-pop," 
 cried Emma admiringly. " He never says die ! " 
 
 " Yous wait," chuckled Hiram. " I won't be 
 so brave in a minute. Son, I follered him, he 
 goin' before with arms outstretched, ever' now and 
 then lookin' back, an 1 no cap to his head, nuther! 
 Thinks I to myself, * If I had the layin' out of you 
 now, my honey, they would n't be nothin' but a 
 bare sheet, an' then I guess you would n't go 
 streakin' about in the winter woods, at night I ' 
 At last he stops and squats down, an' what do 
 yous think? " 
 
50 STORK'S NEST 
 
 "I know!" cried Emma. " Tell him, gran'- 
 pop." 
 
 14 Thar he set," said Hiram impressively; "on 
 a rock? No, sir! On a cheer? Nuck! Thar 
 he sot down in his own coffin in which he last see 
 the light of day." 
 
 " Coffin ! " echoed Benton, surprised at this un- 
 expected ending. 
 
 " That's what I thought you'd say ! " cried 
 Emma. 
 
 " Well, sir," said Hiram, " I put out, an' I 
 never stopped tell I come in sight of my barn. I 
 forgot I were a ole man. I wish 'Thuze could 
 of saw me, it might of inspirited him with my 
 example ! " 
 
 Old 'Thuze, thinking his personal qualities dis- 
 cussed, brought up so suddenly that Emma needed 
 both feet, and every toe, to hold herself up- 
 right. They had reached the bank of a wide bed 
 in the center of which flowed a lazy, shallow 
 stream. 
 
 " Grand River! " Emma announced. 
 
 'Tain't properly Gran' River," Hiram ex- 
 plained; " Gran' River don't come this fur north. 
 This is a fork of West Fork of Gran' River. All 
 up here in the north country is "forks, or forks of 
 forks, of Gran' River. But yous ought to see 
 this here crick in freshet times, ought n't he, 
 Emmy?" 
 
 " Um-mmh! " cried Emma, in affirmation. 
 
BECOMING A "PERSON" 51 
 
 "Go on, 'Thuze! " cried Hiram; "we wasn't 
 sayin' nothin' ag'in yous ! " 
 
 'Thuze turned his long neck, and looked back 
 at them sourly. 
 
 " That means he won't budge a leg," said 
 Hiram, " 'till one of us gits out an' walks across." 
 
 " That '11 be me," cried Emma, climbing over 
 the end board before Benton could interfere. " I 
 want to walk over on the rocks, anyhow." 
 
 " Come aroun' whar he kin see yous," advised 
 Hiram. Emma trotted around and showed her- 
 self to the suspicious eyes of 'Thuze. The horse 
 quivered, lifted a tentative hoof, then slowly bent 
 forward with his load. " He's gittin' morbid," 
 said Hiram, " an', as to age, he's allers had it, as 
 fur's I know; he were entitled 'Thuzelum when I 
 bought him, long an' merry ago." 
 
 Pyramids of stones, which touched each other 
 at the base, stretched across the bed of the fork 
 of West Fork of Grand River. The water was 
 so low at the ford that it scarcely covered the 
 lower side of the white chain, save here and there, 
 where a deep, narrow channel had been cut. 
 Emma walked over the stones, holding out her 
 plump brown arms to balance herself. 'Thuze 
 followed alongside, and the water came up to his 
 knees. 
 
 " It's pretty deep, after all," said Benton, 
 watching the wheels. 
 
 " No," said Hiram, " it's the quicksand. That 
 
52 STORK'S NEST 
 
 sucks us in. Look out, now, here's quite a 
 place!" 
 
 " Had n't we better go around it, " inquired 
 Benton, as the water suddenly rose to the hub. 
 
 " Jest sit stiddy. Ole Thuze '11 pull us out. 
 This is one place he never stands in to balk. If 
 he did, he'd go right down to Chiny, I calkerlate. 
 Let this be a lesson to us: be keerful whar you 
 stand when you git to balkin'." 
 
 " I wonder what makes it so soft? " called 
 Emma, who was already across. " It must be 
 suckin' up this here dampness from the air. I 
 guess the catttle have n't been drove across sence 
 the last big rain." 
 
 * You see," Hiram explained, " after ever' 
 freshet thar has got to be drove a bunch of cattle 
 across before arry wagon will tackle this place. 
 But we could n't go 'round, as you suggested. As 
 them ole dodgers said to Columbus, they hain't no 
 round to it. This is the only crossin'. Out 
 yander on either side, quicksands is like cannidates 
 runnin' for office; won't le' go of yous." 
 
 Benton was rather relieved when they were on 
 the other side and Emma had climbed, dry-footed, 
 into the wagon. A mile through jumbled hills 
 to whose sides clung patches of corn and fields of 
 wheat, brought them to the Storks' farm. The 
 gate opened into a rolling pasture dotted with 
 sheep. Along a winding brook grew clumps of 
 trees now forsaken by the cows, their shade value- 
 
BECOMING A "PERSON' 53 
 
 less, because swallowed up in the monopoly of the 
 shaded sky. Beyond the pasture stretched an ex- 
 tensive wheat-field and as 'Thuze drew near it the 
 sheep, after a few last hasty mouthfuls, began to 
 follow, bleating in many varied tones, from shrill 
 treble to deep, contemptuous bass. 
 
 " Tobe Tuckermore's sheep," observed Hiram 
 Garrett, " went to cover yisterday. Even the 
 Storks's sheep is frugaler than any other's." 
 
 As they traversed the corn-field 'Thuze oc- 
 casionally reached out and grabbed at a leaf with 
 extended lips, for the stalks crowded close to the 
 weedy road. 
 
 " The Storks's hosses," observed the old man 
 with a chuckle, " knows better'n to do that. Be- 
 sides, bein' muzzled, they has no local option in 
 the matter. 'Tain't to the Storks's economy to 
 lose so much as one corn-stalk leaf." 
 
 "That's right," Emma affirmed. "If thar 
 was a market for air, them Storkses would be at 
 home now, a-bottlin' hit up." 
 
 Beyond the corn-field was another pasture, 
 watered by a deeper stream. Along its course 
 stood about a hundred head of cattle, every face 
 turned toward the visitors, as if waiting at atten- 
 tion. Suddenly, as if the long black steer at one 
 side of the herd were a lieutenant who had taken 
 upon himself the command, and as if he had just 
 said, " Forward, march," the entire line started 
 toward the spring wagon. They came in stately 
 
54 STORK'S NEST 
 
 tread, their necks held out far from the body as if 
 in mute interrogation. 'Thuze stopped. 
 
 " 'Thuze hain't no use fur steers," said Hiram; 
 " never had. Won't yous go forrid a little more, 
 Methuzelum?" 
 
 "Quick, gran'pop, quick!" cried Emma, roll- 
 ing out of the wagon with such velocity that, after 
 reaching the tall weeds in the middle of the road, 
 she took another roll, " he's goin' to squat ! " 
 
 Hiram, considering his age, did remarkably 
 well in the way he vanished from the wagon-seat. 
 Both he and Emma dashed at the horse's head. 
 
 "What will they do?" cried Benton, leap- 
 ing to the ground and confronting the herd; 
 "stampede?" 
 
 " It hain't them," Emma panted, as she hur- 
 riedly assisted her grandfather in unhitching, " it's 
 ole 'Thuze. He's goin' to squat ! " 
 
 " Methuze-lum ! Methuze-lum," said Hiram 
 encouragingly, " I'm right here, along of yous, 
 ole chap!" 
 
 'Thuze reached around and tried to bite him, 
 but the old man skipped nimbly to one side. The 
 cattle were now close upon them, but the wagon 
 was unfastened. The horse, trembling with ex- 
 citement, suddenly brought his legs together and 
 crouched in the weeds like a rabbit. 
 
 " Now let 'im squat ! " cried Emma trium- 
 phantly. 
 
 " Is there any danger, " asked Benton, watch- 
 
BECOMING A "PERSON" 55 
 
 ing the solemn faces of the cattle which sur- 
 rounded them in a silent circle. Every now and 
 then a steer in the rear would hunch himself for- 
 ward, such being his way of saying, " Down in 
 front. " 
 
 " No danger," said Hiram cheerfully. " He 
 allers has got over it so fur, though if he don't 
 look out to hisself," the old man added for 
 'Thuze's benefit, " he'll bring on congestion of 
 the stomick, gougin' his hoofs into it so p'intedly." 
 
 " Does he always squat when he sees cattle com- 
 ing? " inquired Benton, drawing back as the black 
 steer began to manifest an inclination to chew his 
 coat-sleeve. 
 
 "Who, Thuze? La, no! Thuze don't have 
 no reg'lar time fur doin' nothin' except takin' his 
 meals. No use tryin' to tree one of 'Thuze's 
 reasons. He jest natchurly dislikes everythin* 
 that breathes, from me to hoss-flies. I reckon it's 
 because he's been a ole bach'lor all his life, 
 never havin' no species of his own to kick up his 
 heels with. He's a hermit. He's isolated, which 
 wa'n't never intended of man or beast; it has made 
 'im morbid. That's how I place it." 
 
 Here the black steer smelled at Benton with 
 contempt so strongly marked that the young man 
 started after the green umbrella. 
 
 " No use for that," said Emma. Suddenly 
 she extended her arms and rushed at the black 
 steer. As she waved, he slowly turned. Then 
 
56 STORK'S NEST 
 
 she ran at the entire herd, scattering it ignomini- 
 ously. " If it wa'n't for runnin' the fat often 
 them," she said, " I'd chase 'em to the fur pasture. 
 'Thuze, do hurry up! Say, Ben, was you raised 
 in the big cities? How'd yous get so high up 
 without encounterin' cows?" 
 
 Benton laughed. " Blair City is only a small 
 town, Emma. But it has just happened that the 
 cows were not ' in my set.' ' 
 
 " Blair City ! " echoed Hiram in his faint, weak 
 voice. " Never heerd of it. I did n't know 
 Mizzoury ever named towns except after other 
 States's towns, or after other States, such as 
 Mexico, an' Nevada, an' Lexington, an' Platts- 
 burg, an' Paris, an' Kansas City, an' Albany, 
 an' " 
 
 " Gran'pop, don't name 'em all, please," said 
 Emma. " Ben hain't a railroad, an' I hain't a 
 post-office." 
 
 'Thuze," said Hiram, " air yous most done? " 
 
 'Thuze slowly turned and bared his gums at his 
 master. " Honey," said Hiram to Emma, " I'll 
 have to leave yous to wait on 'Thuze. Me 'n' 
 Ben will walk on, an' do the saltin'." / 
 
 Beyond this second pasture a road led to the 
 farm-house. Without entering the yard the old 
 man trudged to the barn, whence he brought forth 
 a sack of salt. This Benton hoisted upon his 
 shoulder, and they returned in such a rapid suc- 
 cession of new scenes that Benton was unable to 
 
BECOMING A "PERSON' 57 
 
 carry more than a vague impression of a large 
 frame mansion and a larger barn. The salt was 
 carried to another part of the pasture where rude 
 troughs stood at a convenient height. Dust-coated 
 husks tucked away in corners showed that in 
 winter these troughs were the cattle's dining 
 boards under which the hogs received the benefit 
 of the crumbs that fell from the rich steers' tables. 
 The salt was emptied in little pyramids at inter- 
 vals along the ground, and the cattle, being thus 
 tolled away, old 'Thuze rose stiffly and suffered 
 himself to be reharnessed. 
 
 " Now, I'll drive to Laclede Station for your 
 trunk, Ben," Hiram said, taking his seat. " I 
 'low this here big rubber kiverin' will come in 
 handy before I git home. If the rain melts that 
 salt before it's licked up well, the Storkses 
 can't do nothin' with the elemints ! " 
 
 A distant rumble of thunder came as a con- 
 firmation of the old man's fears. " Git up, 
 'Thuze! Say, honey," he called as the wagon 
 rumbled away, " you-all be careful comin' home." 
 
 " All right, gran'pop," shouted Emma. Then 
 to Benton, "Now, I'll show yous Storks's Nest. 
 They won't care, for I'm like one of the fambly, 
 an' would be more like one, if I said the word, 
 which mebby I will, some day. Come on, 
 Benny." 
 
 Benton, with a lively curiosity concerning his 
 future home, approached the square, flat, two- 
 
5 8 STORK'S NEST 
 
 story frame building. He felt that the least 
 scrap of a porch would have proved a relief to the 
 eye, but the house was like a uniform box with its 
 lid closed. Every window was guarded by closed 
 shutters. Emma went to one, pushed up its slats, 
 and with an experienced hand drew forth a key. 
 This unlocked the kitchen door. " Come on," 
 she said. They entered a large, cheerless room. 
 
 " Rather dark," remarked Benton. 
 
 " Clouds an' shutters," Emma explained, 
 " make a dark combination. Come on." The 
 kitchen opened into a dining-room, which in turn 
 opened upon the hall. " We'll take up stairs 
 fust," said Emma, " an' git that over. Come 
 
 on." 
 
 Benton followed up the carpetless flight of 
 stairs, but he found himself oppressed, not so much 
 by the gloom as by uneasy forebodings of he knew 
 not what. The way was lighted by one window 
 above the landing, through whose closed shutters 
 a pale, cheerless light seemed to peep at them, 
 afraid to enter. The house had a close and 
 musty smell, and their feet awoke hollow echoes. 
 They reached the hall above. 
 
 " This here fust door," said Emma, knocking 
 upon it, " is Mrs. Storks's bedroom, her an' Si's. 
 This here next to it is a lumber-room." Benton 
 stared distrustfully at each door as it was pre- 
 sented. There were rooms on only one side of the 
 hall. " This here third one," said Emma, lifting 
 
BECOMING A "PERSON' 59 
 
 her bare foot and giving it a hearty kick, "is the 
 Snake Room." 
 
 "The Snake Room? Good!" said Benton 
 smiling. Yet in spite of his smile he could not rid 
 himself of the somber influence which the very 
 walls deepened. " But, Emma, do you notice 
 how near that thunder sounds? I'm afraid you'll 
 get drenched if we linger." 
 
 " Why, I want it to rain," Emma explained. 
 " I don't want to tromp back over hard roads full 
 of nettles, an' have the dry paths hittin' at my 
 feet till they spank 'em sore. The muddier it is, 
 the sweeter it '11 feel. Come on." 
 
 After passing the third room, the hall formed 
 a right angle, the shorter leg of which, unbroken 
 by windows, led to a door at its extremity. 
 " Yous see the fourth an' last door? " said 
 Emma. " In a manner, it's off from the balance 
 of the house. It's Jim Whitlick's bedroom. I 
 calkerlate you'll bed with him, in Char." Then 
 suddenly, speaking in a deep and significant voice, 
 Emma said, as she opened her eyes at him to their 
 fullest extent : " Jim Whitlicks, you'll remember, 
 air the son of the Gran' River ghost." 
 
 " I hope he does n't take after his father," said 
 Benton, not well pleased with the prospect of such 
 a bedfellow. " Emma, the wind is beginning to 
 blow." 
 
 " Let her blow," returned Emma cheerfully. 
 '' Well, I only hope his pa won't take after you ! " 
 
60 STORK'S NEST 
 
 As they once more entered the longer hall, she 
 again kicked the third door, announcing with ad- 
 miration, " Ole Snake Room ! " 
 
 "Why ' Snake Room?"* asked Benton, 
 " surely the Storks do not keep snakes ! " 
 
 " 'S no tellin'," responded Emma. " Nobody 
 calls the room that but me. Nobody ever invades 
 that room but 'Bije; I guess he'd die before he'd 
 let anybody see the insides of it. Even his 
 brother Si, much less Mrs. Stork, she's Si's wife 
 hain't saw it, they tell me. It hain't got no win- 
 ders, or anyway, the shutters hain't never open. 
 Once I was standin' about here, when out comes 
 'Bije. I tried to stare in but hit were all black- 
 ness. After that I called it the Snake Room. It 
 plagued 'Bije pow'ful, at fust, but now he don't 
 care nothin' I do. I'll tell yous why, some day 
 mebby. They's one thing about this here 
 room that's cur'us. I mean noises. They's 
 cur'us noises an' smells, too! But they only 
 sounds, an* they only smells when they hain't 
 nobody in the room. Mrs. Stork says so, an' I 
 know it. If I did n't, her sayin' it would n't cut 
 no figger with me. I used to ask 'Bije about it. 
 Made him bile up at fust, but I wore him used to 
 bein' questioned. Now, he don't keer what I ask 
 'im. But he don't tell me nothin'. Now I'll 
 go down with yous; I see you're jest honin' to 
 git to airth." 
 
 The other did not protest. He found it 
 
BECOMING A "PERSON' 61 
 
 impossible to dispel the gloom which had settled 
 upon his spirits. He began to fear that life in 
 this house could hardly be cheerful. 
 
 They reached the first floor. " That front 
 room, which is never opened except for comp'ny 
 I'm comp'ny, you bet air the parlor. Next 
 is the spare bedroom what nobody never sleeps in. 
 Come on back in the dinin' room; here's whar 
 we'll stay. I never go into any room but this one 
 an' the kitchen. The Storkses know that or they 
 would n't 'low me here. Well, I could n't git in 
 the others if I had a mind to, nohow. They 
 hain't nothin' exposed here to be stole but the 
 clock, an' it don't keep time nor nothin' else." 
 She closed the hall-door, and the one leading into 
 the kitchen. " Now, we're snug. Say! it's 
 rainin' ! Listen at that ! Ain't that grand ! " 
 
 Benton threw open the shutters and looked out 
 gravely. " I think we're in for it, Emma," he 
 said regretfully. '* To be candid, this house is 
 not so cheerful as I had expected. I'd like to 
 hear a sound or two from your Snake Room, to 
 break the spell of that upstairs hall, or even a 
 friendly smell. There's a perfect flood, out- 
 doors!" 
 
 " I have yous all to myself, anyway," said 
 Emma, " an' I 'low to do some learnin'. Now, 
 look here." She darted to a corner shelf and 
 took down a pile of old newspapers. Then seat- 
 ing herself upon the floor with her face toward the 
 
62 STORK'S NEST 
 
 window, she held the papers between her knees, 
 and moistened a finger to turn over the leaves. 
 After fluttering them for a few moments in si- 
 lence, she said: "Now, Ben, I'll tell yous what 
 I want. I want to be a Person. D' ye under- 
 stand?" 
 
 ;4 What kind of a person?" asked the young 
 man, looking down upon the quaint picture from 
 the embrasure of the window. He told himself 
 that the pleasure he experienced was the imper- 
 sonal approval of an artist who by chance happens 
 upon a beautiful model. 
 
 " Well," said Emma slowly, " I don't know 
 how to say it, Ben. An' I dare n't try with gran'- 
 pop by; it 'u'd make him feel lonesome, like. But 
 yous see what I air, an' yous know what I hain't. 
 I'd jest like to swap them two states of bein' and 
 not bein'." 
 
 There was a wistful note in her voice which 
 touched him deeply. " Emma," he said, " you 
 must n't take me for a model." 
 
 " Well," said Emma, " yous air mighty 
 spindlin' about the legs, but this hain't a matter 
 of legs. I want to be like the gals yous 'cus- 
 tomed to goin' with, so if I was to be set in the 
 very midst of the caboodle, nobody could n't see 
 no differ'nce betwixt them an' me; they'd think I 
 was them. See?" She spoke with hesitation, 
 choosing with difficulty the words that ought to 
 explain her aspirations, 
 
BECOMING A "PERSON' 63 
 
 " I believe I understand you," said Benton 
 gently. The intensity of her desire which shone 
 in the great eyes, and the apparent hopelessness of 
 its fulfillment, smote upon his heart. 
 
 " Now, in your town," said Emma still very 
 slowly, "what do the gals thar do? How do 
 they pass their lives? " 
 
 " Really,' 7 said Benton, somewhat at a loss, " I 
 hardly know anything about girls, Emma. I 
 never had a sister. My mother died before I can 
 remember; and I've been so busy and confined, I 
 have n't gone into society." 
 
 " But hain't yous never been in love? " asked 
 Emma in surprise. " What did that gal do? " 
 
 Benton blushed. " I know as little about love, 
 Emma, as about cows." 
 
 " I wish I knew how it felt," sighed Emma. 
 " I know how you'd feel if you was by the way 
 'Bije acts. When a man's in love, all he tries to 
 do is to make the gal pleased with herself. An' 
 I air, pretty well ! But not clear. Now, listen at 
 me, Ben; thar is a sperit growed up inside of me, 
 differ'nt from Grand River sperits. It's a dis- 
 satisfied sperit. Thar's gran'pop. He's jest 
 natchurly satisfied to stay as he is. So air our 
 neighbors; they like theirselves. I'll tell yous 
 about ma ; I can jest remember her, no more. She 
 come from St. Louis. She was so polished up by 
 colleges an' such, it was like rubbin' silver bright. 
 She married gran'pop's son, an' pa, he brung her 
 
64 STORK'S NEST 
 
 here to live. An 7 here they lived, an' stayed pore, 
 an' here they died; more they could n't do. Ma's 
 fambly never forgiv'd her marryin' pa. They 
 won't have nothin' to do with me. I reckon ma's 
 sperrit is workin' in me, callin' for eddication an' 
 polishin' an' prunin' an' preenin', so my mind 
 keeps restless, like birds before cold weather. 
 Guess my mind wants to go South. Ben, show 
 me the road thar. I want to be as good as ma's 
 fambly, as good as ma. I can't be sorry she 
 married pa, who died before her, 'cause that give 
 me my gran'pop. An' I would n't take ten 
 thousan' dollars for ole gran'pop, skunks an' all ! 
 But now I've got him," added Emma, furtively 
 rubbing her eyes, " that's enough. I want to 
 move forrids." 
 
 " I will do all that I can to help you," said Ben- 
 ton, liking her at that moment more than he could 
 have deemed possible an hour ago. It was not 
 only that her unaffected heart was laid bare, invit- 
 ing his sympathy, but his instincts as a student 
 were appealed to strongly. True, she was very 
 ignorant; but her craving for knowledge showed 
 him that, after all, her nature was somewhat akin 
 to his own. He added sadly, " But it takes a long 
 time, Emma, such a very long time to become ' a 
 Person!'" 
 
 " Hain't they no short cut? " inquired the girl. 
 " Now, lemme show yous." She spread an illus- 
 trated weekly open upon her knee. ' This here 
 
BECOMING A "PERSON" 65 
 
 woman takes my eye. Hain't she a beauty? 
 Purty as a picture," she pointed at the picture of 
 a ballet-girl. " Look at them skirts, made out of 
 cobwebs. Yous kin see right through 'em ! She's 
 a angel, fur as clothes kin make her. Well, 
 I've spelled out enough of this readin' to see she 
 has all she wants, money, rooms in a big hotel 
 several at once travelin' tickets all over Miz- 
 zoury an' Ameriky, too, I reckon, an' a little 
 cotton dawg. She made it all by knowin* when 
 an' how to kick. Did n't have to plague her 
 brains with grapplin' an' splicin' on a eddication; 
 done the hull business with them thar two legs; 
 look at 'em!" 
 
 At first Benton was inclined to laugh.^ But 
 the earnestness in her great eyes caused him to say 
 hastily: "Your St. Louis family would n't like 
 you to be a ballet-girl, Emma. That is n't the 
 way." 
 
 " Seems so easy! " sighed Emma regretfully. 
 
 1 There's no use to think of it," the other said 
 conclusively. [" A man, you know, can't lift him- /^ 
 self up by his boot-straps. But there's one way ~~J3tijL 
 he can lift himself up; by his mind.'^) 
 
 Emma rose and slowly lifted the pile of papers. 
 There was silence in the room as she replaced 
 them, broken only by the furious rush of the wind- 
 beaten rain. The girl appeared dejected; appar- 
 ently one of her cherished dreams had been dis- 
 pelled. She slowly crossed to the second window 
 
66 STORK'S NEST 
 
 which was near the one at which the other stood, 
 and, placing the palm of her hand upon the mar- 
 gin, leaped lightly to the broad sill. She sat 
 there, staring at the swirling sheets of rain, swing- 
 ing her feet. At last she said: 
 
 " Ben, begin on me, now, an' don't be afeered 
 of makin' me mad. If it's to be the long road, 
 we'd better git started." 
 
 "You will not be offended?" he asked cau- 
 tiously, for, in spite of himself, Emma at times had 
 tones and looks which almost touched him with 
 something like awe. 
 
 " Not at yous," said Emma frankly. " You're 
 doin' it to help me; an' yous air too thin an' pale 
 to build up an ugly temper on. Go ahead, Ben ! " 
 
 Benton, somewhat sensitive about his lack of 
 physical strength, flushed a trifle, and said on the 
 impulse of the moment : " I would begin by put- 
 ting my heels together." 
 
 " Soldier? " inquired Emma with interest. 
 " All right. Right about face ! " 
 
 Benton with a sudden flash of his sunny smile, 
 continued: " Don't say * yous.' ' 
 
 " An' what do yous say? " 
 
 " Say you; never ' yous.' ' 
 
 " You ! " repeated Emma. " Does n't that 
 sound flat an' empty? It hain't no body to it, 
 air they? Sounds like a sheep to me. You! 
 All right." 
 
 Benton hesitated. The next step in Emma's 
 
BECOMING A "PERSON" 67 
 
 improvement was obvious, but he feared to wound 
 her eager, impulsive spirit. She read the hesita- 
 tion in his brown eyes and said somewhat imperi- 
 ously: "Go ahead!" 
 
 " Emma, you should wear shoes and stockings. 
 You will soon be a young lady." 
 
 "Oh, shoes an' stockin's jest smother me!" 
 said the other impatiently. " I'm seventeen, 
 come September, but what of it? I never see Mrs. 
 Bland with shoes on, an* she's a caution for age. 
 You're gittin' harder an' harder, like a fourth 
 reader. What's the harm of bein' barefooted?" 
 
 Benton could not but acknowledge to himself 
 that if all feet were like Emma's, it might make 
 a difference. As he watched the little brown pen- 
 dulums swinging below the window-sill, it was 
 hard to do his duty, but he concealed a smile and 
 answered, " In your mother's station, no lady goes 
 barefoot." 
 
 A faint flush dyed her cheeks. " I reckon," 
 she said slowly, " it air a shame to me to have 
 two feet! " Suddenly she jumped to the floor 
 and stood facing the young man : " Look at me, 
 Ben, look good, from my toes to my tuck-comb ! " 
 Her face was set in serious earnestness, making 
 him feel that her motive was no slight one. 
 
 He looked, therefore, and as his eyes traveled 
 from her feet to her face, and rested there, then 
 rose to the golden hair under which the dark-gray 
 orbs sparkled with electric life, he felt, as it were, 
 
68 STORK'S NEST 
 
 her beauty and her youth borne in upon him on a 
 wave of pain, and that her personality had entered 
 his life in some mysterious manner, there to abide. 
 Although he knew little of women, he felt that 
 this girl had that within which made her a sister 
 of the purest and the best; and, although he had 
 cared nothing for women, he found himself be- 
 ginning to care 'for Emma. He was thrilled not 
 only by her beauty, but by the realization that he 
 was beginning to care, and that he could, if he 
 allowed himself, care more, nay, that if he did 
 not guard himself, he might care too much. So 
 he looked, but said nothing. 
 
 " Now yous have saw me good," said Emma, 
 " bare feet an' all. Do I look to yous like a gal 
 that could be made a Person of, if persistent? Or 
 do I seem like some common woman, unfit for 
 ma's fambly?" She spoke with no resentment, 
 but with a humble timidity which sat upon her 
 with pathetic strangeness. The last words moved 
 him profoundly. 
 
 4 You look, Emma," he said impetuously, " like 
 you look like an angel ! " 
 
 The angePs face was suddenly flooded with 
 heavenly glory. " An' I'm goin' to try to be one, 
 Ben. But I 'low to be a lady fust. Now le's 
 go on with the trainin'." 
 
 For a moment he was dazzled by the light in 
 her eyes. It recalled him to himself. He re- 
 gretted that he had uttered his involuntary com- 
 
BECOMING A "PERSON" 69 
 
 pliment; but, after all, she was a mere child. His 
 experience as mentor to one so docile and charm- 
 ing tempted him to try her to the utmost. The 
 pleasure of watching the quick changes of the face 
 and eyes, the sudden starts and quivers of eager- 
 ness, was not to be resisted. 
 
 " Miss Emma," he said, " young ladies do not 
 address me as * Ben. 1 ' 
 
 " How do they address you?" 
 
 " Mr. Cabot," said Benton, with the utmost 
 gravity. * 
 
 Emma gave him a long look, but the very in- 
 tentness of her eyes kept the quizzical light from 
 showing in his own. She turned to the window. 
 
 " I believe it's goin' to stop rainin'," she said. 
 " After all," she added, turning toward him with 
 a little pout, half-defiant, half-reproachful* " I 
 have a shorter way than eddication. It's to 
 marry; I have my man ready, an 1 he has the 
 money. He is called 'Bije Stork." 
 
 4 To marry!" echoed Benton, starting vio- 
 lently. The very word in connection with Emma 
 seemed a sacrilege. It changed everything, his 
 emotions, and her nature. " Oh, Emma ! " 
 There was a sharp pain in his heart, and the sight 
 of her youthful charms gave it poignancy; "you 
 would n't ! " he expostulated earnestly. " Is n't 
 'Bije Stork old?" 
 
 ;< Well, he's forty-seven," said Emma, looking 
 up at him from under her careless hair with the 
 
70 STORK'S NEST 
 
 furtive watchful gaze of a naughty child, " but he 
 thinks more of me than I do of myself. For more 
 than a year he's been beggin' me to marry him. 
 'Spect I will, before long. Looks like it's comin' 
 on me ! " 
 
 There was a lull in the storm, but Benton was 
 unaware of the change. In a few moments, how- 
 ever, it occurred to him that Emma's marriage 
 could in no way affect his future, though he had 
 been unduly affected by her few words. He threw 
 up his head with the old stately manner which sat 
 so gracefully upon him, borrowing a hint of gentle 
 nobility from the thinness of his form and pale- 
 ness of his cheeks. He was about to introduce 
 some other subject when there came to them a 
 faint, grating sound. It came from above. 
 
 " That is n't thunder," he said, staring at her 
 in wonder. " You said nobody is at home." 
 
 " It's jest the voice' of the room," Emma ex- 
 plained, after a breathless interval of listening. 
 " Ever' room has a voice of its own; did n't you 
 ever hear one talkin' in the night time? Howso- 
 ever, the Snake Room is differ'nt, I grant yous 
 you for its voice sometimes is dreadful ! " 
 
 " It must have been the wind," Benton re- 
 marked. " I don't think even a Snake Room has 
 a voice that you can hear down a flight of 
 stairs ! " 
 
 " Perhaps," said Emma, " they is other things 
 you hain't learned yit, besides steers an' gals. 
 
BECOMING A "PERSON' 71 
 
 When I marry 'Bije, that Snake Room is to be 
 my room. IVe made 'Bije promise. " 
 
 "It would be wicked! " cried Benton impetu- 
 ously. " Rather than that, you had better kill 
 yourself! " 
 
 '' Thank you," said Emma, laughing; " I expect 
 that would be a good thing to do. Mebby I will. 
 Well, I hain't hankerin' after 'Bije as to say it's 
 'Bije ; but he can make a Person of me. Nobody 
 in these parts could lay it over me, then. Why, 
 they'd look up to me, an' they would n't be no 
 difficulty me lookin' down ! An' it's sich a easy 
 way for a gal to lift herself up marryin' is; she 
 don't have to do nothin'. They would n't be no 
 hamperin' of brains an' crampin' an' subduin' of 
 feet. My legs would jest go scot free. An' I'd 
 say you or yous, or anythin' else I keered to lay my 
 tongue over." 
 
 " It has stopped raining," said Benton quietly, 
 " and I hope you will agree to go home, now. I 
 am afraid it will begin again." 
 
 " You kin go," said Emma. " I'm satisfied." 
 
 Benton went into the kitchen. 
 
 " Good-by," called Emma, " jest give 'em my 
 love, Mr. Cabot" she laughed loudly. 
 
 " Of course, I'll not leave you," said Benton 
 quietly, "but I will wait for you outdoors. ,You 
 will find me at the gate." 
 
 He hurried out of the darkened kitchen, clos- 
 ing the door behind him with that significance 
 
72 STORK'S NEST 
 
 which can be so easily given to that act. The rain 
 had indeed ceased. Shapeless clouds were hurry- 
 ing across the sky before a steady wind, clouds 
 which had parted from their watery stores. He 
 was obliged to catch at his hat to keep it from 
 being blown away. He paused at the gate in the 
 soaking grass, caring nothing for the damage he 
 must do his clothes. He wished the river were 
 crossed. Perhaps it would be swollen by north- 
 ern rains. He wished to be removed from close 
 association with Emma. The flash of sympathy 
 and thrill of admiration had died away, and he 
 could not understand the mood which had experi- 
 enced them. The recollection that he had likened 
 her to an angel made him wonder. The remem- 
 brance that he had feared that he might grow to 
 like her too well for his peace of mind now aston- 
 ished and confused him. She appeared to him as 
 a child with the morbid development of a merce- 
 nary woman. Unused to mingle with the world, 
 and therefore, unable, from his limited experience, 
 to weigh motives radically different from those 
 which prompted his own actions, his sympathies 
 flowed in channels rather narrow, if deep. He 
 stared at the clouds and at the road; he waited; 
 but the girl did not come. A long time passed 
 before he returned to the kitchen door and called : 
 " Emma ! " 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 He returned to the dining-room. He paused 
 
BECOMING A "PERSON' 73 
 
 at the threshold. Emma sat with her back to- 
 ward him, her face buried in her arms. 
 
 " Why, Emma ! " Benton exclaimed in aston- 
 ishment, " you are crying! What has happened? 
 When I left the room you were laughing! " 
 
 Her face remained hidden, but her body ceased 
 to quiver. " Emma," he said in a hesitating 
 voice, drawing nearer, " what is it? " The sight 
 of her distress made him forget every unkind 
 thought he had entertained. " What is it, 
 Emma?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Emma wearily, putting 
 back her hair with both hands, " I don't! " 
 
 "Is it because I left you?" asked Benton 
 gently, taking her hand as it smoothed the tumbled 
 hair, and bending over the table with great sym- 
 pathy in his dark eyes. 
 
 "Oh that? No!" said Emma impatiently, 
 drawing away her hand and rising. " It was n't 
 nothin'. I'm cross. Come on home; it's what 
 you've wanted to do. Don't talk about it." 
 
 They reached the main road in silence and the 
 farther they went the more difficult it was for him 
 to resume the conversation. He began to wonder 
 if he might not find some way to reach her heart 
 and teach it a better way to happiness than the 
 hard path of dollars. To be a missionary to 
 Emma that was a pleasing prospect. But he 
 would wait till he reached home; one does not 
 begin his missionary duties till the voyage is over 
 
74 STORK'S NEST 
 
 and the heathen country entered. It began to rain 
 and he lifted the umbrella above her head. 
 
 " Don't hold that thing over me ! " said Emma, 
 drawing away. Benton checked the impulse to 
 smile and folded the umbrella stoically. On they 
 went in silence, his shoes and her feet of the same 
 color. 
 
 They had gone some distance in the wood, Ben- 
 ton's garments woefully bespattered, when the 
 girl said sharply: " Listen! " 
 
 At first he thought it the rush of the wind, for 
 every moment the air current increased in speed, 
 while the trees over which it rushed groaned anx- 
 iously with its burden. Presently he recognized a 
 note different from the other, a deep, incessant 
 roar. " It can't be 
 
 " It's the river," said Emma, beginning to run. 
 He shared in her excitement and followed rapidly. 
 At last they came in sight of the water, how dif- 
 ferent from the lazy stream, almost lost in its 
 bed, which they had crossed some hours ago ! The 
 bed was now filled to overflowing with a raging 
 torrent which swept along, booming, crashing, 
 while upon its tumultuous bosom tossed driftwood 
 of strange shapes and swirled clouds of fresh earth 
 and grass. 
 
 Benton stared in amazement. Emma raised 
 her voice to be heard: "The clouds have bu'st 
 up north, an' the Biley dam must of bu'st, too. 
 You feel how cool it's grown? I've knowed 
 
BECOMING A "PERSON" 75 
 
 Grand River to rise higher 'n this in an hour 'n' 
 a haff. But this is high enough ! " 
 
 In the presence of this unexpected danger, all 
 past difference was forgotten. 
 
 "What can be done?" called Benton, shrink- 
 ing back as if it seemed to his fanciful mind that 
 the frothing waves were reaching out to grasp 
 them. 
 
 " We'll jest natchurly have to cross *er," called 
 Emma, undaunted. " Come on, Ben." 
 
 He sought to catch her arm to hold her back 
 from the dangerous attempt, but she eluded him 
 and ran down to the margin of the turbulent 
 stream. 
 
 " I cannot let you go," he cried in alarm as the 
 foam cast from the thundering torrent whitened 
 her feet. He sought to overtake her. His 
 words had been drowned in the thousand voices 
 of the river which threatened, laughed, mocked 
 and warned. His outstretched arms sought her 
 in vain. Her form stood out against the fury of 
 the racing tide and the low thick clouds. She 
 was already upon the crossing, whipped by the 
 rain, and shaken by the violence of the flood rush- 
 ing down against the causeway. 
 
ON THE FLOATING TREE 
 
 BOVE the muddy surface of the swollen 
 river rose the summits of the stone-heaps 
 which connected the banks as with a neck- 
 lace. The footway was no longer continuous, 
 for the lower parts were hidden. Here and there 
 the furious tide raced between gaps in the cause- 
 way and it was at such places that the noise was 
 loudest. The driftwood, hurled against the wall 
 with terrific force, helped to form a passage; but 
 occasionally a heavy log smote endways against a 
 pyramid and knocked some of the stones loose. 
 There were several places where the debris had 
 battered its way through. The current, with that 
 instinct which makes currents something akin to 
 wild beasts, had discovered these openings and 
 was pouring through, ever widening them, ever 
 rendering more dangerous the passage. 
 
 " No time to lose ! " cried Emma from the 
 rocks; it was necessary to strain her voice to be 
 heard. "Get off your shoes; you'll need ever* 
 toe youVe got, to hold on by 1 " 
 
 " I think it too unsafe," shouted Benton. 
 
 "Well, I'm goin'," cried Emma; "you kin do 
 76 
 
ON THE FLOATING TREE 77 
 
 as you please ! " She stood upon the rocks bal- 
 ancing herself with her arms, and staring at the 
 whirling eddies which almost reached her feet. 
 Benton leaped down the shore and struggled upon 
 the causeway, maintaining himself with difficulty. 
 " Emma ! " he cried. " Come back, Emma 1 " 
 
 " Yous air clingin' to your shoes," said Emma 
 scornfully, looking back. " I reckon you have 
 made up your mind to live an' die in 'em! " 
 This closed the conversation. It required all 
 their breath and energy and steadiness of nerves 
 to maintain their position upon the wall, against 
 which the driftwood beat so persistently. They 
 were obliged to take steps of great length, balanc- 
 ing themselves as best they might. The stones 
 upon which they stood trembled and sometimes 
 were dislodged the instant they were left behind. 
 The rain grew more furious. 
 
 Emma, always in the lead, was about half 
 across, when the sheet of blinding rain whipped 
 the river into wilder fury, and covered the top of 
 the stoneway with a slippery, dangerous coating. 
 At last she paused. Between her and the next jut- 
 ting peak of stone was a gulf of about four feet; a 
 gulf which now, far below, showed a boiling, 
 seething arm of the river. 
 
 " Look out now," she shouted, " I'm goin' to 
 jump ! Yous be keerful when yous foller. Yous 
 won't be nothin' if yous don't min' your eye when 
 yous air takin' this here leap." 
 
78 STORK'S NEST 
 
 She bent her knees with the accuracy of long 
 training and sped through the air. Her feet 
 found the slippery surface of the next peak, and 
 stumbled and slid toward the edge. The limb of 
 a tree had been driven across the wall, at about 
 the height of Emma's waist. She clutched at it 
 blindly and saved herself. The trunk of the tree 
 from which the limb projected lay bumping and 
 grinding on the up-stream side of the rock-heap. 
 
 " Here I air! " shouted Emma when she had 
 regained her breath, and recovered from her 
 momentary fright, for at the instant of slipping 
 she had believed herself lost. " Come on, an 1 
 look out ! " 
 
 Emma climbed over the high branch, with an 
 unconventional heedlessness of details, and, slip- 
 ping down upon the farther side, waited. Ben- 
 ton, who had been eyeing the gulf of black, foam- 
 ing water with a distrustful look, and who was 
 conscious of his poor skill as a jumper, resolved 
 not to hesitate a moment, but to lessen his danger 
 by hurrying through with it. Accordingly, as 
 soon as he saw Emma safe upon the lucky side, 
 he flung away his umbrella, and leaped. At that 
 moment Emma was climbing over the limb of the 
 half-submerged tree. 
 
 In the instant of his leap, Benton felt that he 
 had been too hurried, that he had dashed into 
 peril without calmly gauging the exertion needful 
 for success. Perhaps he had leaped too far, or 
 
ON THE FLOATING TREE 79 
 
 not far enough. He heard the river beneath him, 
 like the voice of death, calling his name. Or was 
 it Emma's agonized scream? Yes, it was Emma's 
 voice; she saw he had jumped too hurriedly. 
 
 His feet found the stone heap toward which he 
 had striven, but they were in advance of his body. 
 Following the tendency of all jumpers who alight 
 in that manner, his feet, without his volition, beat 
 hasty steps backward, to prevent his falling upon 
 the back of his head. Thus it was that, although 
 he had gained the firm barricade, in his endeavor 
 to preserve his equilibrium he ran backward down 
 the slope and fell with a thud into the stream. It 
 was not deep here, but the force urging his body 
 out into the open river was powerful. He had 
 fallen in a sitting posture between two pyramids 
 and the water was at his neck. In the helpless- 
 ness of one unable to swim he clutched blindly at 
 the rocks and struggled upon his knees in his fierce 
 effort to prevent himself from being swept away. 
 At the same time he felt himself sinking; he was 
 in the quicksands ! 
 
 His misfortune had come in a briefness of time 
 almost incredible. The leap, Emma's scream, his 
 fall, the splash the beginning and the ending 
 were hardly separated by time. Scarcely had he 
 realized that he was fighting for his life in the 
 quicksands before there was added a new danger. 
 When Emma climbed over the limb of the tree, 
 whose trunk quivered in the river, the weight of 
 
8o STORK'S NEST 
 
 her body started it from the jutting rock against 
 which it had lodged. As she slipped down upon 
 the farther side, with the ease and skill of a tried 
 climber, the limb was torn away, and a whirlpool, 
 sucking down the trunk, turned it about in a half- 
 circle. Then the wise current seized the great tree 
 and with unerring accuracy shot it at the gap in 
 the wall where Benton was struggling. 
 
 He saw it coming without, being able to get out 
 of its way. He had struggled to his feet, but he 
 was engulfed to the knees in the terrible quick- 
 sands, which he could feel, like a thing of life, 
 clutching hungrily at his form. The tree shot 
 straight toward him, its long branches upreared 
 as if to avoid the imperfect dam. At that instant 
 came Emma's terrified voice, shrieking for him to 
 catch hold of the branches. 
 
 Benton's wild hands found the neck of a limb. 
 Instantly his legs were jerked violently from their 
 imprisonment, and he felt himself being dragged 
 through the water. His head was above the tide. 
 His arms ached painfully from the wrench they 
 had sustained, and he feared that he could not long 
 maintain his hold upon the quivering support. His 
 eyelids were heavy from the fierce rain which beat 
 upon his face; he did not seek to keep them 
 open. 
 
 " Steady, now! " came Emma's voice, near at 
 hand. He was greatly surprised. Could the tree 
 have swung back to the stones? He felt no pause 
 
ON THE FLOATING TREE 81 
 
 in its bounding course. He looked about wildly. 
 No; far up the river the passage at the ford was 
 visible, growing ever dimmer in the blinding rain ; 
 soon it would be lost from view. He turned his 
 head. Astride of a bough, not far above his head, 
 sat Emma, her hair whipped in wet locks about 
 her bare neck, her sunbonnet hanging upon her 
 back, limp and mis-shapen, her short blue calico 
 dress clinging wet and close to her rounded form, 
 as if it had been put on with fresh paste. 
 
 "Yous 'most tuckered out?" shouted Emma, 
 who was panting to regain her breath. " Steady, 
 now!" 
 
 The limb which she rode was about four feet 
 above that to which the young man clung. Emma, 
 moving with great caution, for the tree rocked 
 violently, worked both feet over on the same side 
 of the bough, then put her arms about it and 
 lowered herself slowly to the bough beneath. 
 Her weight caused the limb to sink in the water, 
 and Benton was almost submerged. 
 
 " Look out! " he cried, " I can't hold on much 
 longer." 
 
 " Steady, now ! " said Emma, pausing. Her 
 difficulty was to let go the limb above her head 
 and keep herself from falling off the lower branch. 
 She placed the soles of her feet on opposite sides 
 of the resting-place, grasped at the bark with her 
 toes, opened out her knees, and held them rigid. 
 Then suddenly releasing the upper limb, she fell 
 
82 STORK'S NEST 
 
 forward, her hands grasping for the lower, while 
 her toes maintained her securely in the rear. 
 
 " Here we air," she gasped. Her fall plunged 
 Benton's head under the surface. 
 
 His face immediately reappeared, gasping and 
 white. " Emma ! " he panted, " I think I'm 
 cramping." 
 
 " I'm the gal that can do for yous," said 
 Emma with more confidence, perhaps, than she 
 really felt. 
 
 Holding to the rough bark with one hand and 
 both knees, which were now in the water, she 
 reached down, and put her other arm about him. 
 " Now ! " she gasped, " up with yous ! Can't you 
 kick?" 
 
 She pulled upward with all the strength she 
 could spare from maintaining herself in her pre- 
 carious situation. Benton kicked violently, and 
 soon found himself across the limb. " There ! " 
 cried Emma, " now look out how yous get up. I 
 couldn't do that ag'in till to-morrow. Yous 
 think you can climb up ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, thank you, Emma ! " 
 
 " Well, maybe you do understand trees," said 
 Emma, rising cautiously, " but you don't know 
 nothin' about water, do yous? " 
 
 Benton's smile was rather mournful as he fol- 
 lowed her to the upper bough, where its connec- 
 tion with the parent stem formed a seat. He was 
 dizzy and faint from his recent peril, and from 
 
ON THE FLOATING TREE 83 
 
 the sight of the banks, apparently, running a race 
 with each other. But the chill air and their wet 
 condition made them shiver from a more tangible 
 cause. The rain came in sheets which whipped 
 the river till it foamed from shore to shore. 
 
 " She's gittin' deeper ever* minute," said 
 Emma, whose voice shook from the chill, " an' 
 we're gittin closter ever' minute to shore enough 
 Gran' River. 'S no knowin' where we will go, if 
 we live to git thar." 
 
 " What can we do? " asked Benton, who sat in 
 the crotch securely, and who did his utmost to 
 speak steadily. " Ugh ! how cold it is ! " The 
 long branch upon which he sat slanted upward. 
 He rested against the trunk, but Emma clung to 
 the upper part, not so secure, and yet quite daunt- 
 less. The rush of the river did not drown their 
 voices, but it lent a strange excitement to the most 
 trivial word; for nothing is so strange as the 
 commonplace in the midst of extraordinary sur- 
 roundings. 
 
 " 1 never was colder in my life," Emma agreed, 
 as a hand on either side of her clutched at the 
 tapering branch. " My clothes seem to be hunt- 
 ing up new places to git me ever' minute. If this 
 tree holds together she may take us plumb to the 
 Mizzoury River an' down to New Orleens, 
 finally. I wisht we's thar now, for I'd like a 
 change of climate." 
 
 " Poor child! " said Benton, forgetting his own 
 
84 STORK'S NEST 
 
 misery at sight of her form quivering from the 
 cold, " I wish I could do something for you and 
 you have saved my life, at least, so far," he added 
 with a whimsical smile. 
 
 " We can do somethin'," said Emma promptly. 
 " Le's sit together. It's pow'ful hard to main- 
 tain my post on this slant. Care if I slide down 
 against you? Both of us is losin' an 7 wastin' what 
 little heat is left to our bodies. If we put 'em 
 both together, somebody might git warm. I ain't 
 nothin' but a little gal, nohow." 
 
 " Slide down, Emma ! " cried Benton, beaming, 
 and forgetting river, rain and tree. Emma hesi- 
 tated a moment, red and laughing; then, with 
 a shiver, moved cautiously down the slippery 
 branch. As Benton was in the crotch at the 
 beginning of the slant, her weight was thrown 
 upon him. He put his arm about the dripping 
 form. 
 
 " Now, don't do that ! " cried Emma, drawing 
 away violently, and thereby causing both almost 
 to fall into the river. 
 
 1 You have nothing to hold to but me," Benton 
 gasped as he recovered his hold on the trunk. 
 " And you are nothing but a little girl. Of 
 course, I would n't think of warming a young 
 lady." 
 
 4 You tell me this, then," said Emma, begin- 
 ning to laugh, " do you consider yourself a man, 
 or a kid?" 
 
ON THE FLOATING TREE 85 
 
 " We are just children," said Benton, smiling 
 in spite of his wretched plight. 
 
 " Then I'll be a little gal, an' nothin' but it," 
 cried Emma. " Look at this ! " She put her arm 
 about his neck. " Now, you can hold around me. 
 We'll scrooch up close like two little chickuns left 
 out in the rain." 
 
 In spite of the cold blast and the colder rain, 
 and the uncertainty of their destination, they felt 
 comfort in the warmth of each other's innocent 
 embrace. The wet, golden hair which rested 
 against his cheek was not so chill as its absence 
 would have proved. But still they shivered, 
 watching the seething river which grew wider and 
 wider. 
 
 " Here we go! " Emma said suddenly, as they 
 clung to each other in sympathetic discomfort. 
 Her voice had a cheerful ring, at which he could 
 not but wonder. " What will gran'pop think?" 
 Then she began to sob. 
 
 " Poor Emma ! " said Benton, distressed. 
 ;< We will reach home safe, somehow. Then we 
 will laugh at all this wretchedness." 
 
 " Le's laugh at it now," said Emma, gasping 
 and lifting her face. " It will do us more good 
 now than it ever will afterwards. Say, Ben! 
 you've clung to your shoes to the last, hain't you? 
 Say! my nose is jest as cold! See here! " The 
 golden hair was lifted from his neck, and her nose 
 was rubbed against his cheek. 
 
86 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " Oh ! " said Benton, who was not yet used to 
 all of Emma's little ways. 
 
 "Yap," said Emma, "now waVt it cold? 
 Did yous. care? La, bless my heart, if I hain't 
 forgot to say you sence leavin' the Storks's ! Did 
 you care when I done that? " 
 
 " Why, no," said Benton. " I guess not." 
 
 u How cold air your nose? " inquired the other 
 with interest. 
 
 " I don't know," said Benton somewhat con- 
 strainedly. 
 
 " Well, neither do I," remarked Emma, looking 
 at him with sudden suspicion, " but they hain't 
 nothin' like findin' out. I hope you did you 
 hear me say ' you ' ? hain't goin' to be as big for 
 a kid as yous air little for a man." 
 
 Benton, feeling her clasp loosening about him, 
 solemnly rubbed his nose against her uplifted 
 cheek. 
 
 11 It's of a piece with mine," said Emma, nest- 
 ling down with satisfaction. He tried to make 
 some response, but his teeth chattered so that the 
 words were bit in two and he gave it up with a 
 mournful smile. " You poor boy! " cried Emma, 
 giving him a hearty squeeze, " what would you 
 do without your Emmy? But, la! how this ole 
 tree is beginnin' to bounce! An' jest listen at that! 
 What on airth can it be? " 
 
 Above the roar and boom of the river and the 
 sharp hissing of the rain, came a distant sound. 
 

 " Here we go," Emmy said suddenly, as they clung to each 
 other in sympathetic discomfort. 
 
ON THE FLOATING TREE 87 
 
 "That must be Cat Crick !" cried Emma. 
 " She empties into here, som'ers. D' ye reckon 
 we've come that fur? " 
 
 As Benton had never before heard of Cat Creek, 
 he ventured no opinion. It was well that behind 
 them a small branch projected which served as a 
 back to their slippery seat, for the tree began to 
 bound and throb like an engine at work in the 
 storm. The huge trunk pointed down-stream, and 
 their weight being thrown upon the branches 
 helped to keep it well elevated, like the prow of a 
 boat. 
 
 Driftwood rode in furious haste and the cur- 
 rent was sometimes almost hidden from sight 
 by great patches of fresh earth and matted 
 grasses. The sound grew nearer and presently, 
 through the whipping sheets of rain, they saw the 
 farther bank recede and the yellow torrent of 
 another stream rushing toward them. 
 
 " Hold tight! " shouted Emma, but Benton did 
 not heed the warning. Suddenly the tree shot for- 
 ward and the great trunk was cast upward into 
 the air, its dripping, snake-like roots pointing at 
 the sky. 
 
 The two streams had rushed together in a giant 
 struggle for mastery, their swollen torrents 
 viciously lashing the branches to which Benton 
 and Emma clung. They were in the river, fight- 
 ing for their lives. On the seething waves they 
 rose and fell, while the tree dipped up and down 
 
88 STORK'S NEST 
 
 like a great river bird diving along the surface. 
 The water closed over their white faces and strain- 
 ing arms, while the deafening boom and roar of 
 river and tempest gave tones of fury and vindic- 
 tive triumph to the voice of threatening death. 
 As their faces came to the surface, a cry burst from 
 the girl's pale lips, and the young man recognized 
 the accent of despair. It was impossible for him 
 to render her assistance, for he was scarcely able 
 to maintain his own grasp upon the limb which 
 jerked and swayed at each moment. 
 
 " Benton ! " came Emma's choking voice. 
 " Oh ! I am drowning, Benton ! " 
 
 " Courage ! " cried Benton, grinding his teeth 
 at his impotency. " Oh, if I were strong enough 
 for us both ! " 
 
 In the meantime they had passed the junction 
 of the streams, and the boiling of the waves sud- 
 denly ceased. The trunk fell back into the water, 
 and the voyagers were jerked violently out of the 
 river up into the driving rain. Emma, panting, 
 clung to Benton hysterically. 
 
 " Oh, Ben ! " she stammered, " your Emmy was 
 'most gone up, that time ! Don't say nothin' for 
 a spell." She rested upon his bosom, breathing 
 heavily. His own bosom heaved from recent exer- 
 tion but his heart leaped with thanksgiving. It 
 was some time before they became composed. At 
 last he gave utterance to a fear which had been 
 growing stronger upon him. 
 
ON THE FLOATING TREE 89 
 
 "Emma, I'm getting so stiff, I'm afraid I'll 
 give out, if we are not cast ashore before long. 
 My arms are beginning to cramp, Emma. If I 
 should fall off, don't hold to me; I would only 
 drag you into the water." 
 
 " We'll have to tie ourselves to the tree," said 
 Emma, " before night comes. Let me rub your 
 arm this coat is nothin' but a hindrance, an' 
 never was! If we went to sleep, sittin' up here 
 loose, we'd never wake up in a bed ag'in ! " 
 
 " But how can we tie ourselves on? " he asked, 
 submitting his arm to be treated. " If this tree 
 had vines clinging to it but with no rope " 
 
 " I'll jest natchurly have to tear my skirt into 
 strips," Emma explained, " an' tie 'em together. 
 Then I'll fasten yous to the tree, an' me to yous, 
 an' we'll be like turkeys hanged up to freeze for 
 to keep 'em sweet." 
 
 " But if you should do that," Benton objected, 
 
 " you'd have no " 
 
 " Oh, I don't care as to that," she assured him. 
 " It hain't doin' me no good, nohow. I'd be lots 
 comfortabler an' lots freer without it this minute. 
 The souse in the river, an' the beatin' rain makes 
 it hug me till I'm jest sick of the nasty, clammy, 
 sneakin' feel of it." 
 
 No more was said for some time. The rubbing 
 had relieved his arms, and in spite of all, there 
 was a certain feeling of exhilaration from the 
 trustful weight of Emma's body, from her embrac- 
 
90 STORK'S NEST 
 
 ing arm, from her clinging hair. In his inmost 
 heart he strove to be true to his promise. He was 
 just a boy, she just a girl. And yet his eyes often 
 left the threatening river to rest upon the beau- 
 tiful face nestling upon his shoulder. Its exquisite 
 complexion was brought out in charming relief 
 against the dull gray of the sky. The golden hair 
 was the touch of light in a scene of darkness. The 
 mouth, sensitive and molded in soft perfection, 
 seemed curved in the bow of innocence. As he sat 
 looking upon her beauty, strangely thrilled, 
 strangely happy in forgetfulness of everything 
 else, the long lashes lifted, her great dark eyes 
 looked straight into his. There was no sudden 
 start on her part, no flush of consciousness. Her 
 gaze was half-tender, half-playful, and wholly 
 composed, while her lips parted in a smile of good 
 comradeship. 
 
 " Here we go ! " she said lightly. 
 
 Benton looked away, as he said abruptly, " I 
 wonder if it's getting near night-time?" 
 
 " Mercy, no! " said Emma, still resting quietly, 
 with her eyes turned up toward his now averted 
 face. " The day is jest fairly gittin' its hand in. 
 You hain't hungry, air you? " 
 
 " Hungry ! " he exclaimed. " No ! " 
 
 Emma laughed at him. " Me, nuther. If any- 
 body was to bring me victuals right here, I'd 
 throw 'em in the river, would n't you, Ben? 
 They'd better not. Say! look at me and tell me 
 
ON THE FLOATING TREE 91 
 
 they ain't nothin' down thar to see but water 
 tell me why you come back to the dinin'-room after 
 you'd left me thar to sulk." 
 
 Benton slowly turned and met her bright gaze. 
 His countenance was composed. The admiration 
 which she had surprised in his look was gone and, 
 in its place, was pity and disappointment, for he 
 had forgotten. " And you will tell me why you 
 were crying ?" he asked. 
 
 Her eyes fell. 
 
 " Why do you look down at the river?" he 
 said with sudden playfulness. ;t There's nothing 
 down there but water! " 
 
 Her face flashed. " Ben, I did n't know you 
 could do that! You're comin* on jest fine. I 
 was cry in' because oh, jest because I am Emmy, 
 I reckon." Her voice became imperious : " Tell 
 me, now, why you went away! " 
 
 " The old house seemed to smother me," said 
 Benton. " It and the thought of your throwing 
 yourself away on 'Bije Stork." She drew away 
 from him. " You see," he continued, " I had 
 thought you a different kind of a girl, not one 
 who would sell herself for money! " 
 
 Emma, with a very red face, worked her way 
 up the slanting bough till she was some distance 
 removed. There was silence between them till 
 the wood was passed, and rolling prairies, diver- 
 sified by hillocks, stretched on either side. The 
 river had overrun its banks, sending vicious swirls 
 
92 STORK'S NEST 
 
 of yellow water over adjoining corn-fields. He 
 watched the crimsoned face of the girl, wondering 
 that the color did not subside as the distance 
 increased, and, in spite of the consciousness that 
 he had spoken for her good, he began to miss her 
 comradeship acutely. 
 
 " Emma," he said suddenly, " slide down 
 again ! " 
 
 She looked at him from over her shoulder, and 
 rubbed her cheek as if to drive away the red. 
 " We was jest boy and gal," she said reproach- 
 fully, " an 1 you had to bring up him! I'm afraid 
 you'll eat me up." 
 
 " No, I won't ! " cried Benton remorsefully. 
 " Come down, Emma, that's a good little girl! " 
 
 She hesitated, then extended her feet before 
 her, and wriggled down the bough to his side. 
 " Here I am at home, once more," she said. " I 
 wonder if you know how you looked at me, just 
 
 now! 
 
 " How could I ever look at you except but I 
 am sorry, Emma. Do forgive me ! " 
 
 " Why, bless your heart ! " cried Emma, rest- 
 ing her streaming locks upon his shoulder and 
 looking into his pleading face, " you must n't talk 
 to your little gal that way; it '11 spoil her. Little 
 gals must n't have their pardons begged. We 
 must stick to our brother-an'-sister program, Ben, 
 an' not git up no side plays like that. An* 
 now " 
 
ON THE FLOATING TREE 93 
 
 A turn in the river brought them in sight of a 
 strange dark object which had become lodged 
 among some inundated trees, and which was 
 swinging free with violent tugs and wrenches. 
 
 " A house ! " Benton exclaimed as it became 
 dislodged. " We'll run into it if our tree does n't 
 drag more on the bottom." 
 
 "A floatin' house!" cried Emma. "Why, I 
 know that house as well as if I'd hired men to 
 build it an' had then to go to build it myself ! It's 
 the Glover house, whar them Storkses went 
 campin' on the fish-fry. I never thought to see 
 her boatin' along Grand River like a great big 
 cork. Look out, thar! We're goin' faster'n her. 
 Say! We're goin' to run into her boddaciously ! 
 Lookout! Hold tight!" 
 
 The trunk of the tree crashed against the side 
 of the two-story frame house, which rode the water 
 at a rather steep slant. A long limb growing at 
 right angles to the trunk caught around the corner 
 of the building. There was a violent wrench and 
 jar, and a sound of grinding timbers. Then the 
 tree and house swept on together. 
 
 "-Hello, Mr. House! " shouted Emma. " Glad 
 to see yous. Air Mr. and Mrs. Glover 't 
 'ome?" 
 
 1 The tree is slipping away from it," said Ben- 
 ton excitedly. " Let us get in the house, out of 
 the rain. Pretty soon it '11 be too late." 
 
 " Hurray! " cried Emma in sudden joy at the 
 
94 STORK'S NEST 
 
 prospect of shelter. The entire second-story of 
 the cottage was free from the water. The greater 
 part of the lower story was submerged, but a win- 
 dow, only the upper half of which was above the 
 tide, showed them a ladder nailed to the inner 
 side, leading aloft. " But won't it feel creepy, 
 though, crawlin' through the little hole of the 
 window, an' sloshin' up the ladder! Once up, 
 howsoever, we can keep dry, though warm we may 
 never be ag'in! Now I'll help yous, Ben. It 
 don't make no differ'nce about you an' yous, now ! 
 Stiddy! Ole Mr. Tree's gittin' loose. Now I've 
 got to lay along this branch an' reach over an' 
 bu'st in the window-pane. Hold tight to my foot, 
 so if I don't grab on to the sash, I won't fall in 
 the river." 
 
 " Emma," said Benton shuddering at the space 
 which was growing between their branch of the 
 tree and the side of the house, "maybe you'd 
 better not try it." 
 
 " Yes, I will, though," panted Emma, who lay 
 at her full length along the branch, preparing to 
 make a desperate lunge toward the window. 
 1 You git hold of that foot, Ben, no time to lose. 
 Hold tight you hain't doin' no good! Grab on 
 to the hull leg. Smash goes the window ! I hain't 
 done nothin' but cut my hand." 
 
 " Oh, Emma ! " cried Benton, his heart bleed- 
 ing in sympathy with her fingers, " what can 
 I do?" 
 
ON THE FLOATING TREE 95 
 
 " You can le' go of me, now yous hain't took 
 hold for life." She splashed into the water and 
 grasped the ladder with one hand, while she held 
 the other strong bare arm up to Benton. " Gim me 
 your hand. Come on, quick! I don't want to lose 
 no passengers." 
 
VI 
 
 IN THE FLOATING HOUSE 
 
 EMMA and Benton were clinging to the 
 ladder when the tree swept clear of the 
 floating house. The girl was on the upper 
 part, hastily regaining the breath it had cost her 
 to help her companion from the slippery bough. 
 Benton was waist deep in the water which covered 
 the floor and the greater part of one wall, but he 
 was so chilled by wind and rain that he felt no dis- 
 comfort from the new bath. The house swept 
 along at such a slant that the opposite window was 
 completely buried from sight. A dim, dusky light 
 showed them the black water upon which floated 
 poles, boxes and other strange boats left behind 
 by the camping-party. The ladder inclined to the 
 surface of the water so they were forced to cling 
 to it with most of their weight thrown upon their 
 hands. 
 
 After a brief period of loud breathing on 
 Emma's part, and expectant waiting on Benton's, 
 the girl with pain and difficulty climbed to the top 
 of the ladder and pushed up the trap-door, crying: 
 " Make yourself 't 'ome ! " 
 
 96 
 
IN THE FLOATING HOUSE 97 
 
 " What's that? " came an alarmed voice from 
 the room overhead. " Who's thar? Git out! " 
 
 " If it ain't Jim Whitlicks ! " shouted Emma, 
 scrambling up through the square opening. 
 "Who's with yous, Jim? Come on, Ben!" 
 
 "Why, hello, Emmy!" said the nasal voice, 
 which sounded with sudden gladness in spite of a 
 constitutional whine, " nobody hain't 't 'ome but 
 me. How did yous git here? " 
 
 " Jest come a-whoopin' down Grand River on 
 a ole oak tree," said Emma, with great heartiness. 
 " Come on up, Benny; 'tain't nobody but jest Jim 
 Whitlicks." 
 
 Benton gained the slanting floor and discovered 
 a boy of about Emma's age. He found Jim a 
 thin, stooping lad, the juices of youth apparently 
 dried out. He had a long, narrow face, an 
 apologetic, drooping nose, a markedly retreating 
 brow over which some tufts of hay-colored hair 
 stood forth in independent groups, and a yellow, 
 wrinkled, toughened skin which reminded one of 
 dried peaches. His eyes were small, uneasy and 
 despondent. His teeth seemed to have more gum 
 than ordinary, and his narrow shoulders were 
 drawn up into his coat as if he feared he was tak- 
 ing up too much room in the world. He was 
 dressed in a homemade suit of jeans which showed 
 a goodly assortment of dyes. The trouser legs 
 were too small and too short, and, from their 
 chafing extremities, socks which refused to be 
 
98 STORK'S NEST 
 
 longer confined showed their gray and yellow 
 stripes. He wore no coat or collar, and the 
 creased neck, with its large Adam's apple, stood 
 forth with more than usual length from the dark 
 blue shirt. 
 
 " I reckon," said Jim in his dispirited and dis- 
 piriting nasal whine, " yous air the feller the 
 Storkses is lookin' fur." 
 
 " Yes, I am Benton Cabot. How do you do, 
 Jim?" 
 
 They shook hands. " I'm porely," said Jim. 
 " I mean as to sperits; to appearances I'm well 
 enough bodily, but that may be deceivin'." 
 
 1 You see," Emma explained, as they stood 
 insecurely upon the rocking deck, " it's always 
 preyin' on Jim's mind that he has a ghost for his 
 daddy, trompin' about at nights." 
 
 " Yap," said Jim, " yous talk about the trials 
 an' tribulations of orphans. But what are all the 
 rest to havin' my ghost throwed up to me day 'n' 
 night? I can't scercely rec'lect pa; I was so bodily 
 young when he died, an' now 't he 's been so long 
 dead an' me so long lookin' out for myself, it's 
 hard on me to be expectin' ever' minute to make 
 his acquaintance as a ghost. But no use slippin' 
 an' slidin' around this here floor; we may be jest 
 as miser'ble sittin' down, but we'll be safer of 
 broken bones. This here upper aidge of the floor 
 is the best, 'cause yous don't feel you're weightin' 
 down the hull edifice in the river-bottom." 
 
77V THE FLOATING HOUSE 99 
 
 Jim cautiously seated himself against the ele- 
 vated wall, his thin legs sloping down toward the 
 opposite window. Each story consisted of but 
 one room. There was no carpet on the dusty, cob- 
 webbed floor. Around Jim were gathered lunch- 
 baskets, an ax, a gun and a roll of bedclothes. 
 The room was otherwise empty. Benton seated 
 himself at some distance from Jim, and, in a half- 
 reclining position, propped his head upon his 
 hand and studied his new acquaintance quizzically. 
 
 Emma, still standing, her feet set well apart to 
 insure safety, looked down upon the disconsolate 
 orphan in sunny good humor. " Well, ole Jim," 
 she said affectionately, " it's mighty nice to find 
 yous jest the same ole Jim. What did yous think 
 when the tree run into your house? " 
 
 " I did n't know it was a tree," whined the 
 other, " but I knowed it were a misfortune of 
 some kind, an', as I was lookin' for it, it did n't 
 take me by surprise. Set down, Emmy, we kin 
 see out the op'site window an' see ourselves when 
 we're ran into somethin' and killed, if it happens 
 before night-time." 
 
 " We're not goin' to be ran into nothin'," said 
 Emma, seating herself at Benton's feet. 
 
 " Well, I'm expectin' it," said Jim. " That's 
 my practice. An' then, if the wust comes which 
 it giner'ly do, now, giner'ly speakin' I'm ready 
 fur it." 
 
 " I'd rather be surprised occasionally," re- 
 
ioo STORK'S NEST 
 
 marked Benton dryly, " than to keep myself 
 unhappy all the time." 
 
 " If your pa was a ghost," returned Jim, " I 
 calkerlate you'd speak different." 
 
 " Besides," remarked Emma, " Jim hain't 
 unhappy. He jest natchur'ly enjoys his antici- 
 pations." 
 
 " Now, Jim, listen to me," said Benton 
 earnestly. " Don't you know there are no such 
 things as ghosts? The day of seriously believing 
 in them passed away with the crazy superstition 
 about witches. You've studied about the New 
 England delusion ; you don't think they were right 
 in their beliefs of black cats and old women! 
 Somebody is imposing on you, somebody who is 
 representing himself as a ghost just to scare you. 
 Don't you suppose that, if people came back after 
 death, good mothers and fathers would be the 
 first to make the journey? " 
 
 " I guess it hain't the best as can come back," 
 said Jim doggedly, " fur they would n't be no call 
 fur them to change quarters, bein' satisfied where 
 they was. But I think it's the most endurin'. 
 That's how Hiram Garrett places it. I don't 
 blame yous, Ben, for bein' dubious, as you hain't 
 no ghost in your own fambly; an' I only hope 
 yous won't meet mine of a dark night." 
 
 " He's already saw him," interrupted Emma. 
 " But, fur goodness' sake, le's talk about flesh 
 an' blood ! Ain't we lonesome enough without all 
 
IN THE FLOATING HOUSE 101 
 
 this? Tell us how come you to be a-house boatin', 
 Jimmy." 
 
 " It was this way," Jim drawled with a sniffle. 
 " We was campin' on Cat Crick, as we sot out to 
 do, an' more mosquitoes you never see, I reckon; 
 I know I never did, an' if yous hed been thar 
 you'd thought that was a flesh-an'-blood subject. 
 Well, snakes, too, was awful. We see clouds 
 a-b'ilin' an' poppin' an' agitatin', an' word come 
 that they'd been a waterspout up north, an' it was 
 still a-spoutin'; an' ever'thin' was risin', an' gittin' 
 ready to drown us out. So the Storkses an' 
 Glovers an' Tuckermores and Stones took out an* 
 leaved me in care of grub an' property. They 
 'lowed to come for me when they'd settled at some 
 place of safety; at least they said they did. But it 
 rained so they could n't of, if so intended. I jest 
 stuck to this ramshacklin' ole shanty; it leakin' so 
 I was like a bed of flowers an' the roof like a gar- 
 den-sprinkler." 
 
 u That's so, Jim," said Emma, who had been 
 shifting her position often to avoid leaks, 
 " though I never knowed yous to be like a flower 
 bed before; far otherwise, Jim! Go on! " 
 
 " Well, as I say, I jest let the water trickle down 
 the back of my neck an' I jest says to it, l Go 
 ahead, I could n't be more miser'ble, nohow ! ' 
 Well, the hardest downpour finally ceased an' I 
 come up here an' dropped off, an' when I woke 
 up I was floatin'. I catched up what few things 
 
102 STORK'S NEST 
 
 yous see here before the water sp'iled 'em. If 
 anybody wants a cheer, go down below an 1 take 
 your pick. Yous see, Ben," he explained, " this 
 house wa'n't lived in by nobody; it were the 
 Glovers' campin' outpost." 
 
 " That's 'Bije's gun, ain't it? " Emma asked. 
 
 " Yap. He hain't been with us much, fust or 
 last. 'Bije he comes an' goes, but he don't never 
 stay. Say! Air your full name Benton Cabot? " 
 
 The young man acknowledged the name. 
 
 " Well," observed Jim, " Benton were a great 
 statesman, an' Cabot a great explorer, an' you'll 
 have to be both to keep up with 'Bije Stork! " 
 
 A silence ensued. Benton found no escape from 
 a certain sinister impression formed upon his mind 
 by 'Bije Stork, the man he had never seen. Emma, 
 though she intended to be his wife; Hiram Gar- 
 rett, though he must look upon him as a suitable 
 groom for his granddaughter; and Jim Whitlicks, 
 though living in the same house with him, all 
 helped to strengthen this impression. The gun, 
 in a manner, seemed to symbolize 'Bije in secrecy 
 and power. People were afraid of him, people 
 feared to penetrate his mystery of the Snake 
 Room. An aversion for the owner of the gun 
 came strong upon him, and, as Benton shrank 
 from the thought of 'Bije, he found it harder than 
 ever to conceal his disappointment in Emma. 
 But this feeling had assumed a new form. Their 
 association in danger, and his better understand- 
 
IN THE FLOATING HOUSE 103 
 
 ing of her character, robbed his heart of all hard- 
 ness. Instead, a deep sadness weighed heavily 
 upon him as he looked at the girl lying at his feet. 
 Her back was toward him as she gazed through 
 the window, her elbow upon the floor, her chin in 
 her hand and the wet hair wound in a coil of dulled 
 gold over her shoulder. It was not, however, the 
 charm of face and form and the untrained grace 
 of her repose which moved him ; it was his insight 
 into her innocent though ignorant heart, her 
 shapeless girl's dream, and the dark future which 
 she believed so rosy-hued. It grew darker. The 
 tipping window showed them that the desolate 
 landscape was fading away in a blur of gray and 
 black. 
 
 Suddenly Jim cried: " Thar it is ! That's what 
 I Ve been lookin' fur ! " 
 
 The words had hardly left his lips before the 
 house was driven with a crash upon a tree grow- 
 ing at the margin of an island. The island was 
 now entirely submerged, and the tree, buried to 
 its knees in the foaming waters, seemed clutching 
 at the floating house to save itself from drowning. 
 There was a terrific jar and wrench and for a 
 moment it appeared as if the house would be torn 
 apart. All three were thrown together against 
 the lower wall, and before they could regain their 
 feet, the house had been shot to one side by an 
 angry current which the island split in two. It 
 sailed out over an inundated orchard, clear of the 
 
io 4 STORK'S NEST 
 
 main stream. Two apple trees held out their arms 
 to embrace the house, and it floated straight toward 
 them, became tightly wedged in the upper 
 branches, and stopped, the lower still scraping 
 upon the ground. 
 
 "Here we air!" cried Emma exultingly. A 
 great lake of water appeared on all sides, but the 
 trees showed them that it was of no considerable 
 depth. " As soon's the water's sank, we can jest 
 step out and walk some'rs. When all the stored- 
 up water has ran through Biley's bu'sted dam it's 
 boun' to fall. One thing we can do before 
 pitch dark; we can sample these here picnic- 
 baskets." 
 
 4 Yap," said Jim gloomily, " we must eat even 
 in the presence of sorrow an' death. Fall to, 
 Emmy." 
 
 " Can you eat, Ben? " inquired Emma, looking 
 into his face thoughtfully, then beginning to open 
 one of the baskets. " I'm afraid you don't feel 
 well, you look so solemn! " She arranged paper 
 dishes upon the floor. 
 
 " I am quite well," said Benton quietly, seeking 
 to regain his old manner, " but I have n't thought 
 of being hungry." 
 
 44 Then smell this," said Emma, holding a dish 
 of ham close to his nose. 44 Now, what do you 
 think?" 
 
 44 Git it out," said Jim. <4 1 had already stuffed 
 when you-all come aboard, but I can allers eat 
 
77V THE FLOATING HOUSE 105 
 
 ag'in. Say, Emmy, I believe I've found out what 
 I've got." 
 
 He was reclining upon the floor once more, and 
 now held open an almanac just drawn from his 
 pistol pocket. 
 
 " Le's see," said Emma with interest, crawling 
 to his side. " Is they a picture of it? " 
 
 " No, no," said Jim hastily. " Yous stay 
 where yous are, Emmy. I've been tryin' to keep 
 dry all this time, an' you're jest tricklin' at ever' 
 pore!" 
 
 " All right," said Emma, in the greatest good 
 humor, as she slid back to the baskets. " Me an' 
 Ben will have to stick together, bein' of the same 
 dampness; won't we, Ben?" She gave him 
 another searching look. He sought to meet her 
 eyes with indifference, but was unable wholly to 
 conceal his unhappiness, which her bright eyes, her 
 genial smile, her very nearness intensified. 
 
 Though she did not understand, she knew he 
 was thinking of her possible marriage with 'Bije, 
 and she construed his gravity into reproof. She 
 turned away from him impatiently and buried her 
 hands in the basket as she remarked: 
 
 " Well, all the danger of gettin' drowned is over 
 now, Jim, so le's hear what danger you're runnin' 
 from." 
 
 " Here it air," said Jim, his finger upon a page. 
 " I'll read it." He did so, in a loud, slow voice, 
 which came through his nose with difficulty and 
 
106 STORK'S NEST 
 
 which occasionally lost a word or syllable in the 
 nasal passages: "'I was very bad with heart 
 trouble at thirty-five an' for eleven year had 
 smothern' spells so bad it was impossible for me 
 to lie down. I also suffered from irreg'lar pulsa- 
 tions an'- Jim paused and looked upon the 
 page fixedly, then said hastily : " An' other things 
 which it air not usual to bandy about in words, 
 Emmy, but which I air often subject to. But the 
 p'int is that she was cured of two bottles at fifty 
 cent a bottle." 
 
 '* Well, Jim," said Emma, with a wink at Ben- 
 ton, " I don't think you've treed it yet, for if they 
 was ever a time when you could n't lay down, it 
 must of been a time of biles, for I can think of no 
 other. Now here's cold chickun, salads till yous 
 can't rest, hard-b'iled aigs, ham, pie, pickles, salt- 
 risin', crulls, mustard, an' three hongry house- 
 boaters to show 'em a thing or two." 
 
 " I'll jest go to Laclede Station fust chance," 
 mused Jim, " an' purchase a bottle." 
 
 " Come on, Jim, supper's ready," said Emma. 
 " Now, Mr. Cabot, allow me to serve you." 
 With great dignity and restraint, Emma helped 
 his plate to various good things. He ate for a 
 while in silence, knowing she was hurt by his unre- 
 sponsive manner, but finding it impossible to throw 
 off his sadness; the better he knew Emma, the 
 greater seemed the pity of her sacrifice. 
 
 " Here's somethin' good," said Emma sud- 
 
IN THE FLOATING HOUSE 107 
 
 denly, taking a generous bite from a square white 
 cake. " Some of Mrs. Glover's homemade candy. 
 Um-mmn! it's so good! Try it, Ben." She held 
 it up toward him: " No, I was n't goin' to give it 
 to you; jest take a bite." 
 
 Benton hesitated, then bent his head and hold- 
 ing her hand to steady it, as it held the candy, he 
 bit from the cake where she had left a little 
 hollow. Emma's quick glance told her as he 
 lifted his head that there was still but one 
 hollow. 
 
 "Was it good?" she asked. Her eyes found 
 his, and sparkled with laughter, while a faint color 
 showed in her cheeks. Benton returned the look 
 without a word. Her color deepened, and sud- 
 denly she looked away; it was the first time she 
 had averted her eyes from the gaze of the young 
 man. " Here, Jim," she said hastily, " don't you 
 want a bite? " 
 
 " Yous jest wait," said Jim, " till I consult my 
 book. I think sweets are tabooed if I take this 
 medicine. " w 
 
 " Jim," said Emma, almost pleadingly, " I want 
 yous to take a bite, now. We're havin' one all 
 around, to show we're jest good friends." 
 
 "It says * no sweets,' Emmy; I've found the 
 place. You an' Ben jest eat it together. I believe 
 you-all can do it," said Jim suspiciously, " without 
 makin' but one hole to it! ", 
 
 " I don't want no more," said Emma, throwing 
 
io8 STORK'S NEST 
 
 the candy from the window and rising abruptly. 
 " Land ! I wish it was mornin' ! Poor gran'pop ! " 
 It had stopped raining. Presently it grew dark. 
 There was little more conversation in the room. 
 Jim was immersed in reflection upon his state. 
 When he spoke, as at times he did drowsily, it was 
 in regard to medicine and symptoms. Emma and 
 Benton seemed to have lost much of that sympa- 
 thetic comradeship which had made the voyage on 
 the tree something like a romance of a ballad. 
 Perhaps with the daylight they would feel once 
 more at ease, but now a restraint bound each. 
 The conflict within the young man had been 
 renewed. Admiration for the girl's natural charm, 
 sympathy with her impulsive spirit, desire to be a 
 closer friend, a confidant, an adviser and a pre- 
 ceptor, sorrow because one so innocent and so 
 capable of higher things should be sacrificed to a 
 man of 'Bije's type, something akin to anger and 
 scorn that she could calmly contemplate marriage 
 from a mercenary standpoint these emotions 
 warred in Benton's breast. In spite of their depth 
 and seriousness, the exhaustion of many feverish 
 hours began to take possession of him. The hard 
 floor upon which he lay stretched became con- 
 founded with his boarding-house bed in Blair 
 City. The face of his old guardian flitted before 
 him, then the friends of his native town. He 
 heard familiar street cries, and the last popular 
 tune, which he had forgotten, began grinding 
 
IN THE FLOATING HOUSE 109 
 
 itself in his brain on a sort of mental hand-organ. 
 All became confused and far-away, and he was 
 being lost in sleep, when a restless toss of his arm 
 brought his hand in contact with the little warm 
 hand of Emma. She was fast asleep, and her 
 hand did not move. It was half-closed, the 
 knuckles resting upon the bare floor. 
 
 What a hard support for so tender a hand! 
 Benton's heart thrilled with pity. She was 
 wrapped in a quilt which, after all, afforded little 
 relief from the discqmfort of drenched garments. 
 But those dainty little knuckles need not be 
 wounded against the rough board where per- 
 chance splinters lurked. He lifted the hand care- 
 fully and let it lie in his, and, as if her fingers pos- 
 sessed some magic power, every unkind thought 
 and every uneasy feeling vanished. It was as if a 
 fairy with her wand had touched his fancies and 
 by that touch had converted them to golden 
 dreams. He lay, now, very wide awake, while 
 through her fingers the warm currents of her life 
 seemed mingling with his being. 
 
 It was about midnight when a strange sound 
 from without roused him from a deep reverie 
 and her name broke from his lips before he was 
 aware. " Emma ! listen ! " 
 
 Emma moved uneasily, and still half-asleep, 
 drew her hand away, murmuring: " Gran'pop! " 
 
 A loud voice came from without : " Ahoy, 
 thar; Jim Whitlicks!" 
 
no STORK'S NEST 
 
 Jim started to a sitting posture. The room was 
 intensely dark. " What new misery is this? " said 
 Jim gloomily. Through the opposite window 
 came the flash of a lantern. " Hi ! " cried the 
 voice. " Hi thar, Jim ! Ahoy ! Ahoy ! " 
 
 "If it ain't Si Stork!" exclaimed Emma as 
 Benton helped her to rise. " Hey, Si," she cried, 
 stumbling to the window. " Mercy me, I'm so 
 dead sleepy! " 
 
 " What on airth ! " came the voice. " Is that 
 Emma Garrett? Well, show me! I'm from 
 Mizzoury." 
 
 " Here I air. The hull fambly is in here ; Jim 
 an' me, an' a young gentleman from down South." 
 
 " A young which? A young gentleman named 
 Benton Cabot?" 
 
 " Him." 
 
 " All right. It won't cost no more for three 
 'n one. I've got a boat here, an' I did n't have to 
 pay for it an' don't expec' to, nuther! Kin you-all 
 drap out that window? " 
 
VII 
 
 "EMMY" TRIES THE LONG 
 ROAD 
 
 EMMA GARRETT was the first to climb 
 down from the window into the skiff; next 
 came Benton Cabot, then Jim Whitlicks. 
 There were no greetings of any sort aside from 
 Silas Stork's hearty "Git in!" and the warning 
 of a second occupant : " Take keer ! " As soon 
 as they had found seats, Silas, with the aid of the 
 other man, who, it appeared, was the owner of 
 the boat, pushed away from the floating house. 
 Benton, curious to examine his new master, for- 
 got everything else in his scrutiny; but the lantern, 
 set securely in the bow, cast more light into his 
 eyes than upon the brother of the much-admired 
 'Bije. Heavy clouds jealously sought to shut in 
 the light of the sky, but the closer they crowded 
 together, the more incessant was the lightning, 
 which laughed at their vain endeavor. It threw 
 its glaring flashes over the wild river now rushing 
 madly along at some distance behind them. It 
 revealed the wide expanse of rippling, blackened 
 water which spread out over the old orchard, and 
 it showed far away upon the margin of the shallow 
 
 in 
 
ii2 STORK'S NEST 
 
 lake a sloping shore of corn which swayed in the 
 wind, whispering and nodding as if rejoicing over 
 its escape from the flood. 
 
 It revealed, too, the rough, burly form of Silas 
 Stork. It cut out of the blackness, in vivid lines, 
 his bushy brown beard, his round massive head, 
 his low, squat figure. His garments were plain 
 and of ill-assorted colors; like Jim's, they were 
 evidently homemade. His shirt was of a dark 
 drab, and, of course, he wore neither coat nor 
 vest. His face showed a certain look of content- 
 ment and good-humor which encouraged Benton, 
 and yet it had the effect of suggesting that this 
 look was a mistake, for the smile was bestowed 
 impartially upon Emma, the flood, and the very 
 clouds. When Silas smiled, the corners of his 
 mouth were sucked in, making two little hollows 
 in his whiskers. It gave him an odd, whimsical 
 appearance which Benton tried to like, for he was 
 anxious to be pleased with his father's old friend, 
 especially in view of his new relations with 'Bije's 
 brother. 
 
 " Well, Ben," said Silas, when the oars were 
 skillfully plying the black waters, " it's a pleasure 
 to meet with yous, so much so that I feel it can't 
 be did too quick. Now, did we shake hands? I 
 disremember, but when we git to shore we must 
 do it to be sartin it's did. Man must 'tend to 
 his hand-shakin', whatever happens. Well, Jim, 
 I see you've kept hold of 'Bije's gun. I'm glad 
 
"EMMY" TRIES LONG ROAD 113 
 
 for your sake, for wolloped you'd been, Jim, if 
 you'd left that gun; yous know that, yourself." 
 * Yap," said Jim gloomily. 
 
 " Yous see, brother," said Silas, turning to the 
 owner of the boat, " yous see I don't know your 
 name, an' don't keer to, as I don't expect to see 
 no more of yous after to-night but I say " 
 
 " I'm Hicky Price," said the other, a tall, 
 loose-jointed, angular man, with cheeks sunburned 
 to a lobster-red, a hay-colored mustache, and a 
 manner of audible breathing. " I've bought out 
 the store at Laclede Station, an' I'm havin' it ran 
 for me, while I farm." 
 
 " Well, whoever yous air," said Silas with the 
 hollows coming in his whiskers, " I was jest sayin' 
 my brother 'Bije is a man of firmness, which I 
 hain't, so could never do by Jim as a orphan must 
 needs be did by. I turn 'im over to 'Bije, an' 
 then, 'Bije turns him over, don't he, Jim?" 
 
 " Yap," said Jim meekly, " he do." 
 
 " My brother 'Bije always does what he has 
 to do. If it's to milk a cow, he milks her, an' if 
 it's to wollop Jim, here, he wollops him, an' no 
 bones about it. Except," added Silas after a 
 moment of reflection, " except Jim's bones, I 
 might say." 
 
 " Si," said Emma, " git on some other subject." 
 
 " All right, Emmy, all right," said Silas good- 
 naturedly. " Neighbor " this to Hicky Price 
 " we've got a leetle business to arrange. Yous 
 
ii4 STORK'S NEST 
 
 see, when I found our campin' house were gone, I 
 sot out to find it. For I knowed if I ever told 
 'Bije that Jim was lost I knowed Jim would n't 
 have enough staminy to come back of hisself I 
 might as well move to E-lynoise ; more I can't say. 
 When daylight failed me, the lightnin' was my 
 pardner, an' at last I see your shanty. I left my 
 hoss thar, I drug yous from bed, an' here we 
 
 air." 
 
 ;< Which I knowed," said Hicky dryly. 
 4 Yap, brother, yap. An' what I want to know 
 air, how much '11 it cost to stop overnight in that 
 shanty of yourn." 
 
 " Well," said Hicky Price very slowly, " as to 
 say how much '11 it cost, yous air a man an' 
 brother, an' I feel that I kin leave it to you to name 
 what yous think it worth." 
 
 " I don't think it wo'th nothin'," said Silas 
 hastily, " as it's no expense to yous; an' I thank 
 yous hearty; indeed, I do." 
 
 "Hold on!" drawled Hicky. " Mebby my 
 roof hain't no expense, but this boat an' my time's 
 somethin'." 
 
 "Nuck, brother," expostulated Silas. "I'll 
 leave your boat as good as I found it, an' as for 
 your time it hain't costin' you a cent. If I had 
 n't drug yous out of bed, you'd slept this time off 
 with no profit to yous or anybody else." 
 
 " My sleep is valuable to me," retorted Hicky 
 doggedly. 
 
"EMMY' TRIES LONG ROAD 115 
 
 " Now, brother," said Silas persuasively, 
 " sleep hain't got no market. If it had, I'd stay 
 awake till next fourth of July if I had to hire some 
 un to tickle me the hull time." 
 
 " Mr. Stork," Benton interposed, his eyes 
 flashing, " I have money to pay for our stay 
 here." 
 
 " You're reasonable," said Hicky, breathing 
 very hard. The boat reached the corn-patch and 
 was run deep into the muddy bank. " As for this 
 feller," he continued, splashing out with bare feet, 
 " they's this to be said: If he thinks so little of 
 my accommodations, he kin jest worry along with- 
 out 'em. So come get your hoss an' light out ! " 
 
 " Brother," said Silas, in his most honeyed ac- 
 cents, " hain't yous got no barn or shed of no kind 
 I could stay under till mornin' ? " 
 
 " See here," said Hicky Price impatiently, " I 
 could n't stay in the same house with you without 
 havin' cramp colic, an' no doctor within three 
 mile. The young people air welcome. Yous 
 kin stay in the barn if yous want, or you kin go 
 
 to " Hicky halted abruptly, then added, his 
 
 voice still husky with anger, " to the wust place 
 you kin think of to which ladies never goes, an' 
 therefore to which it air improper to refer, ladies 
 bein' present." 
 
 " Neighbor," said Silas with great good humor, 
 14 1 thank you hearty. The barn for me, your 
 shack for the young-uns." 
 
n6 STORK'S NEST 
 
 Emma was taken in charge by Mrs. Price, a 
 kind, motherly woman who promised Benton and 
 Jim that in the morning they would find their 
 clothes " nice and dry." They were shown to 
 an unfinished room in the second story where Jim 
 soon fell asleep, lulled to rest by the snoring of 
 two farm-hands, who ordinarily had the room to 
 themselves. 
 
 Benton was stiff and weary from his exhausting 
 experiences of the day, but for a long time he could 
 not sleep. His disappointment in Silas Stork was 
 extreme; his whole nature was repelled by the 
 other's sordid meekness and mean good humor. 
 It was not this, however, which kept him awake, 
 since the disposition of his employer did not vitally 
 concern him. But he found the thought of Emma 
 Garrett reigning among his other thoughts like 
 an imperious queen. No matter whither his mind 
 strayed, or how it hid itself in memories or 
 reveries, it always came back to the sunny hair, 
 the splendid gray eyes, the impulsive heart of the 
 child. Why, after all, should he be alarmed at 
 the pleasure her recollection afforded? She was, 
 indeed, a child. In these strange surroundings, 
 with the dismal Jim, the miserly Silas Stork, and 
 the mysterious 'Bije to oppress him, there could 
 be no harm in taking delight in the Grand River 
 girl, and in wishing that morning were here that 
 he might see her again. While she was absent, 
 his displeasure over her contemplated marriage 
 
"EMMY" TRIES LONG ROAD 117 
 
 >-.v 
 
 faded into dim half forgetfulness, and her smile 
 shone forth ; her fresh, girlish tones sounded in his 
 ears. 
 
 The next morning he hurried downstairs eager 
 to see her, and to discover if he had deceived him- 
 self in her innocent charms. She was already at 
 the table in the dining-room as he entered, slowly 
 followed by Jim. Hicky Price stood at the win- 
 dow, watching the girl with kindly wrinkles 
 spreading out from the corners of his eyes. 
 
 " Good-morning," said Benton, seeing no one 
 but Emma. 
 
 She caught the light from his luminous eyes, 
 but her sudden, flashing smile was bestowed ex- 
 clusively upon the unappreciative Whitlicks. 
 
 " Here's late birds ! " she cried. " Hurry up, 
 or ever'thin' will be gone." 
 
 " Sit down," said Hicky in his gentle drawl, 
 " an' fill up for the day. If you're working for 
 Si Stork, all I say is, fill up, fill up while yous 
 have a chance ! " 
 
 " Mr. Price," said Benton, " I am grateful for 
 your hospitality. May I pay you now " 
 
 " See here, young man," said Hicky kindly, " I 
 never 'lowed to charge one cent for you-all. But 
 I'd heerd of that ole parasite out yander, an' he 
 racked an' wrung me till I was hard drove. Sit 
 down. Why! bless your soul, if they's a time 
 I'm most glad of bacon an' gravy it's when I can 
 divide it with a neighbor. That's the way Hicky 
 
n8 STORK'S NEST 
 
 Price talks. An' that's what Hicky Price means I 
 And it's Hick as says so ! " 
 
 These hearty words removed a cloud from Ben- 
 ton's mind and all three made a good meal. 
 
 "The ole woman," as Hicky styled his wife, 
 looked in occasionally from her work with smiles 
 of encouragement, and with glances at " her 
 man " which showed that Hicky Price was not 
 the only one who took pride in the bearer of that 
 name. When breakfast was ended they went out 
 to Silas Stork. Benton walked with care and 
 some pain, for the ground was muddy and his 
 shoes were hard and misshapen from their recent 
 soaking, but Emma and Jim splashed along with 
 unconcern. The sun shone with a bold face as if 
 resolved to deny yesterday's long, dark defeat. 
 
 " Here you-all air! " shouted Silas. " This is 
 a late start, folks, an' no bed of roses to travel; 
 my one hoss for the four of us." 
 
 " Don't you fret, Si," said Emma. " You an' 
 Ben can ride. Jim can tuck up his pants an' I'll 
 pin up my skirts an' we'll jest slosh along till we're 
 tuckered out, then lay by at some farm-house 
 or other. Won't we, Jim ? " 
 
 " I don't know what we'll do," said Jim. 
 " Whatever it is, I'm ready for it." 
 
 " I'll tell you-all what," said Hicky, who had 
 slowly approached the group. " Me an' one of 
 my hands will row the young folks back to the 
 ford. The river has fell an' the current is reason- 
 
"EMMY' TRIES LONG ROAD 119 
 
 able, jest makin' it so we'll have to take our lunch 
 an' give the day to it. I've got a boat with three 
 sets of rowlocks. Me V my hand will tackle a 
 couple, Jim an' Ben can take turns at the other, 
 an' Emmy can jest sit an' smile on the regretty, 
 an' be cap'n." 
 
 Silas inquired cautiously, " Now air yous ex- 
 pectin' any money out 'f this, Mr. Price? " 
 
 " I hain't got nothin' to say to yous," said 
 Hicky roughly. " Young folks, what do you-all 
 say?" 
 
 " It will be just fine," cried Emma. 
 
 " Then it's a go 1 " exclaimed Hicky. " Tell 
 your Mr. Stork to spread his wings an' fly away." 
 
 " This is noble ! " cried Silas, mounting his 
 horse in great good humor. " Jim, you git out 
 an' come back home at the ole crossin'. But Ben, 
 you return to Hi's with Emmy. 'Bije said to stay 
 thar a week, an' what 'Bije says he means; he 
 hain't like me; he's explicit. Many thanks, 
 Hicky, for the barn. If yous ever come my way 
 I'll do the same by yous. But if anybody," he 
 added impersonally, " is expectin' a cent out of 
 me for this conveyin' up stream, they air buildin' 
 their house on the sand. So long, folks ! " 
 Silas rode away. 
 
 Hicky Price stared after the splashing horse 
 and remarked : " I've been glad a many time to 
 see comp'ny depart; departures has been some of 
 the brightest spots in my dark-colored jeans of 
 
120 STORK'S NEST 
 
 existence. But I don't know as I ever see a comp- 
 'ny go with a more freer uprisin' of the soul than 
 now. Why that thar Silas Stork acts on me like 
 medicine which a man takes by mistake, meanin' 
 to build hisself up, but instead, runs hisself 
 down." 
 
 "Which medicine is that, Mr. Price?" de- 
 manded Jim with sudden interest. 
 
 " I'm sorry for yous, Ben," Hicky pursued, 
 wrapped up in his theme, " to be hired to that ole 
 rhinocerus a tougher figger of speech I can't 
 devise. But le's say no more. )The only satis- 
 faction you kin get out 'f some folks is not to think 
 of 'em a-tall."j 
 
 Mrs. Price prepared a generous basket to which 
 the lunch in the floating house added some dain- 
 ties. The party of five were soon speeding up the 
 stream which by courtesy went by the name of 
 Grand River. It was still larger than usual, but 
 had returned to its banks and the current was just 
 strong enough to afford pleasant exercise for three 
 rowers. 
 
 Emma insisted on rowing first, and as she sat 
 with her feet set sturdily before her and the 
 muscles swelling on her brown arm, Hicky 
 watched with a wink at his " farm-hand," while 
 the wrinkles spread fan-like from his eyes and his 
 breathing became audible. Benton watched her, 
 also, but with admiration less openly expressed. 
 Jim consulted his almanac without finding com- 
 
"EMMY' TRIES LONG ROAD 121 
 
 fort, while the " hand," with eyes upon the wasted 
 corn-field, discussed national politics. When it 
 was Jim's turn, Emma beckoned Benton to sit be- 
 side her in the stern. The faces of the rowers 
 were toward them, but in a manner they were 
 alone, for the boat was long, the u hand " was 
 loud in his commendation of Free Silver, and Jim, 
 though next to them, saw them not. Emma 
 addressed Benton directly for the first time that 
 day: 
 
 " Ben, air you ready to begin work on me? " 
 He flashed a look of surprise at the fair face so 
 near his own. " I thought," he said with a 
 searching look, " that you had made up your mind 
 to try the short way to become a Person." He 
 smiled as he used the word which meant so much 
 to her, but seriousness returned as that word re- 
 called 'Bije. The sunlight, full upon her face, 
 showed none of those little defects it is so wont 
 to reveal in its unpitying glare. " Emma," he 
 said, pushing back the old misshapen straw hat 
 which Hicky had provided and smiling with new 
 tenderness, "your face is sunproof! " 
 
 But as she looked up at the handsome features 
 which the broad rough hat brim seemed to crown 
 in a sort of yellow glory, she realized how differ- 
 ent he was from her associates and how like some 
 of the figures in her dreams; and the grave 
 earnestness did not desert her eyes, while about 
 her lips a pensive gravity added dignity to her 
 
122 STORK'S NEST 
 
 beauty. The heart of the woman was revealing 
 itself in the opening flower of Emma's youth. He 
 could not treat her as a little child. Under her 
 gaze he forgot his advantage of age and felt some- 
 thing slipping away to which he had clung tena- 
 ciously. He looked down, and her bare feet helped 
 him in the endeavor; for they reminded him how 
 different in station in everything was this girl 
 whose embrace had cheered him on the storm- 
 driven tree. Then, as he looked up again, it was 
 difficult to realize that she had rested in his arm, 
 that her hair had lain upon his neck, that her palm 
 had smoothed his cheek. Thus he passed from 
 one emotion to another, no longer sure of himself 
 and never sure of Emma. 
 
 " The main thing about me," said Emma, 
 ignoring his remark, " is to patch up my talkin'. 
 Nachur'ly that's the fust thing that shows. I 
 want you, from now on, to correct ever' word that 
 falls from my mouth. When my words is fixed 
 up you kin begin on my manners. After them, 
 you kin teach me what thoughts to git into my 
 head. Nothin' ain't thar now but weeds which 
 has got to be plowed up an' sowin' made. For as 
 shore as you sit thar in your shoes an' stockin's, 
 Ben, I'm goin' to make myself fit for my St. 
 Louis kin ! " 
 
 In spite of the pleasure Benton felt at these 
 words, which seemed to intimate that the mar- 
 riage with 'Bije was still undetermined, and in 
 
"EMMY' TRIES LONG ROAD 123 
 
 spite of her charms and freshness, he felt a doubt 
 which pained him but which refused to be 
 unrecognized. 
 
 " Emma," he answered, not looking at her, " it 
 is almost impossible to make a person over. Do 
 you really care to toil at it day and night, when 
 you are already so happy with your grand- 
 father? " 
 
 " Mr. Cabot," said Emma, her eyes flashing, 
 " IVe told you one way I have to lift myself up. 
 You air the only other way I know. Seems like 
 you were sent jest in time to stop somethin'. But 
 if you don't want the job of Emmy Garrett, say 
 so now ! " 
 
 " Emma, are you resolved to work hard? For 
 the effort must be unceasing." 
 
 " I won't stop at nothin', if you feel like it. 
 I'll improve ever' bone of my body. I'll git out 
 of myself ever'thin' God has put in it. From now 
 on, I'll jest say one remark. You'll say it as it 
 orter be. Then I'll say it after you. Then you'll 
 keep on till you make me say it right." 
 
 " Emma," exclaimed Benton, thrilled by her 
 earnestness and showing a sudden color in his pale 
 cheeks, " Have you given up 'Bije? Say you 
 have, Emma ! " 
 
 " No, I have n't," said Emma abruptly. " But 
 I hain't given' up your plan. Ain't that enough 
 to say? If you feel I'm goin' to be a burden to 
 you " 
 
124 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " Oh, Emma ! you a burden to me ! Why ! 
 Don't you know that just to be with you this way 
 makes everything " Benton stopped abruptly. 
 
 "Well, all right!" said Emma, smiling; "I 
 think a heap of you, too, Ben. Now git to work 
 on me! " 
 
 " Then I'll take that last remark of yours," 
 said Benton, " for it's a good one to begin with. 
 Now listen, attentively; I think a great deal of 
 you, too." 
 
 Emma repeated with a sober, business-like air, 
 " I think a great deal of you, too." 
 
 " Do you, Emma? " he asked suddenly. 
 
 " That hain't my remark," said Emma gravely; 
 "I don't know it!" 
 
 " Now this would be better English." said Ben- 
 ton; "I like you very much. And it would be 
 truth, too, Emmy," he said, pronouncing the 
 familiar name with a lingering touch, 
 
 " Le's not wear out that remark," said Emma, 
 " we might want to use it ag'in. Besides, if I git 
 perfect on the fust thing I say, they would n't be 
 no chance of improvement." 
 
 Benton recovered himself with heightened 
 color and became more guarded. During the long, 
 bright day Emma learned much practical gram- 
 mar which she might have sought in vain at 
 school. Every sentence she uttered was taken up 
 by Benton. She repeated his corrections with un- 
 failing good humor and enduring patience. At 
 
"EMMY' TRIES LONG ROAD 125 
 
 midday they stopped in a little cove to eat their 
 dinner. The great wicker-basket was drawn 
 forth and the middle-seat furnished a table. The 
 skiff was fastened under a forest tree which stood 
 looking at itself in the mirror of the stream. It 
 threw a grateful shade to the party as a reward 
 for honoring it with their presence. All of them 
 were hungry and the meal was made almost in 
 silence. 
 
 "This here thing of talkin'," said Emma to 
 Hicky,. " is so serious a thing, it's a pity babies 
 ever begins till they kin learn to do it right. I 
 never knowed they was any difference betwixt an* 
 an' and, an' uv an' of. I wish I'd waited till now 
 to tek to take up language ; then I would n't hev 
 have to do it all over. Ben, air yous listenin' 
 to me? Land! If I hain't gone back to yous. 
 Looks like ever' new princible I git aboard, it- 
 crowds out somethin' I thought I knowed." 
 
 " I am listening," said Benton, " but I'll let 
 you rest till dinner is over." 
 
 '* Thank ye hearty, Ben ; you're a good soul. 
 All right, we'll forgit the hull business. Land, 
 Jim ! If you are n't crying ! " 
 
 " Never mind me," said Jim dolefully, rubbing 
 his eyes with his shirt-sleeve. " Hand me some 
 of that chickun, please, Mr. Price." 
 
 ;< Why, Jim, lad," said Hicky, much discom- 
 posed, "what's the matter, bub? Yous ain't 
 goin' to improve yourself, I hope ! " 
 
126 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " Mr. Price," said Jim, whose thoughts were 
 far from the present scene, " did yous ever see 
 teeth drawed? I jest got to thinkin' about the 
 time Mrs. Si Stork had one drawed; that drawin' 
 was jest awful, an' the screamin' an' shriekin' I 
 never hear the likes ! " 
 
 " Well, Jim," said Hicky, " it wa'n't none of 
 your teeth." 
 
 " I know it wa'n't, sir. But time's comin' 
 when all on us must have false teeth. I don't see 
 how I'm to stand it a-tall when I come to mine 
 to be drawed. When I git to thinkin' of it, I git 
 so meser'ble, nothin' on airth can cheer me up. 
 Will yous hand me some jell to go on this biscuit, 
 please?" 
 
 " But Jim, it's shorely a long time off for 
 yous." 
 
 " Yas, sir; but I'll be ready an' waitin' when 
 the time comes. I don't let no trouble take me 
 by sa'prise." 
 
 " Besides," said Hicky, with a wink at Emma, 
 " the time may never come a-tall. Cheer up, 
 bub, yous may die before yous git old enough for 
 false teeth." 
 
 ;< Which? " said Jim, stopping the bread on its 
 way to his mouth, in sudden surprise; he had 
 clearly not thought of this contingency. 
 
 " I say, take heart, bub. They's a many good 
 corpse in the cemet'ry without false teeth to their 
 mouths." 
 
"EMMY" TRIES LONG ROAD 127 
 
 Emma began to laugh, while Hicky could not 
 prevent his smile-wrinkles from spreading over his 
 sunburned face. Jim looked down his nose at the 
 bread, took a mournful bite and said nothing. 
 
 " Jim never smiles," said Emma, patting Jim's 
 shoulder with a protecting hand, "unless nachurly 
 drove to it. But it's no wonder. With the kind 
 uv of father he has, you can't expect him to be 
 jubilatin'." 
 
 Hicky, who had been treated to a detailed ac- 
 count of the ghost the flow of Emma's narrative 
 painfully hampered by the corrections of her men- 
 tor looked at his " farm-hand " doubtfully and 
 said no more. ^ 
 
 When luncheon was finished they wandered in - 
 the wood, in spite of the wet earth. Benton 
 sought the advantage of the logs, the upper sides 
 of which had dried in the sun, but Emma and Jim 
 splashed in mossy pools that they might show 
 Benton and the boatmen their aquatic skill. With 
 the resumption of the journey, the language les- 
 sons were taken up again. Emma talked about 
 whatever she pleased, careful to speak but one 
 sentence at a time. Benton immediately pounced 4 
 upon it, shook it, as it were, from the dust of -g 
 ignorance, and returned it bright and proper, to 
 be stored away in memory. 
 
 Late in the afternoon they reached the " ole 
 crossin' " where Jim had been directed to land. 
 He sadly bade them good-by and disappeared 
 
128 STORK'S NEST 
 
 among the trees, his green almanac in his hand. 
 At last, far up the river, the stone chain of the 
 ford came in sight. 
 
 Benton looked from it to Emma, his eyes shin- 
 ing. Her gray orbs filled with tears. She took 
 his hand and squeezed it heartily. As they came 
 nearer, the girl suddenly exclaimed: 
 
 "What's that on the shore, Ben? Look I 
 If it ain't ole 'Thuze an' the spring-wagon ! Silas 
 Stork must of rode over to tell gran'pop to meet 
 us. Now see? it is gran'pop!" Her voice 
 faltered. She stood up and wildly waved her 
 arm: "We're safe, gran'pop!" she shouted to 
 the small, frail figure standing at the horse's 
 head. 
 
 The old man sought to respond, but his faint 
 voice died away in sobs of joy. 
 
 " I wish I could get out of this boat ! " cried 
 Emma, desperately. " Can't you row faster 4 
 Hicky? Here, Ben, give me the oars! " 
 
 Hicky tried to wink at his " farm-hand," but 
 the eye filled with tears. The grandfather, who 
 for hours had given up Emma and Benton for 
 lost, quivered with tremulous joy as he clung to 
 the horse's bit. 
 
 \When the skiff drew up at the river's edge, 
 Emma leaped out first, splashed through the 
 water, and took Hiram Garrett in her strong 
 arms. Both of them cried a little, but Benton 
 was not forgotten, and Hicky Price was crowned 
 
"EMMY' TRIES LONG ROAD 129 
 
 with the thanks of three grateful hearts.) Pres- 
 ently the boat dropped down the river, and the 
 wagon with its three occupants turned homeward. 
 Hiram had many questions to ask and the time 
 passed rapidly in the relation of yesterday's ad- 
 ventures and to-day's pleasures. 
 
 'Thuze, on finding himself near home, for the 
 first time showed an air of cheerfulness. The sun 
 had set, and the world, softened by recent rains 
 and warmed by the love of a golden day, lay all 
 in a quiver of delicious perfumes. The warm 
 and deep-blue August sky looked down tenderly 
 upon her happiness. 
 
VIII 
 A CATALPA LEAF 
 
 BEFORE Benton Cabot climbed out of the 
 spring wagon he stood up to gaze across 
 the corn-patch and orchard at Hiram Gar- 
 rett's log cabin. It looked, indeed, like home to 
 the wanderer; even the yard, carpeted with thou- 
 sands of plantain leaves, had a look which brought 
 peace, reminding him, though so different, of his 
 Blair City boarding house. He stood thus but a 
 moment, then descended to help Hiram unhitch. 
 Emma had been watching him and she had seen 
 the glow of home pleasure on his handsome, open 
 face. 
 
 4 Yap, it is good to get back," she said, smiling 
 at him. " I feel like an old hen that has been 
 kept shut up some'ers." Her simile was doubt- 
 less suggested by the chickens at the edge of the 
 orchard. They were huddled about the hen- 
 house door, not yet accustomed to camping out 
 and indignant over not being fed. " I'm corn- 
 in'," called Emma, climbing the lot-fence with 
 peculiar agility. ' You chickens air just like 
 human folks; you'd ruther go in your home an' 
 die of chiggers than change your base ! " 
 
 130 
 
A CAT ALP A LEAF 131 
 
 The pigs which had followed her to the fence 
 watched her departing feet with heartrending 
 squeals of anguish. Hiram and Benton placed 
 the horse's supper before him and 'Thuze watched 
 them out of the corner of his eye till they had left 
 the barn before he would take a bite. They carried 
 a basket of corn to the pig pen. 
 
 " Yous kin do the shuckin'," said Hiram, " an' 
 I'll slop 'em.' 7 The old man trudged to the cabin 
 with a bucket and vanished through the kitchen 
 door. He was gone a good while. Emma 
 finished feeding the chickens and joined him. 
 When Benton saw him reappear, Emma was by 
 his side in the doorway, her arms about him. By 
 that time the corn was shucked and Benton, 
 perched upon the top plank of the pen, watched 
 the picture with a smile. The grandfather held 
 his bucket, now full, and his exertions were 
 divided between preserving its contents and receiv- 
 ing Emma's kiss. The bucket was so heavy that 
 it bent him away from the girl. She stood upon 
 tiptoe, laughing. The sun turned the little man's 
 hair to silver. Emma, finding Benton watching, 
 shook out a golden lock and, holding it about her 
 grandfather's head, mingling its glory of beauty 
 with his glory of age, shouted : " Hooray ! Six- 
 teen to one ! " When at last the pigs were 
 "slopped" the men went to the house; a hot 
 breath fanned their faces as they passed the 
 kitchen. Emma, flushed and bare-armed, cried: 
 
132 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " I'm gettin' a rousin' supper, folks. Better be 
 coolin'off!" 
 
 They walked around to the front room. Hiram 
 shouldered a chair and carried it outside. Ben- 
 ton, observing his trunk, went to rummage in its 
 depths, looking at old keepsakes and drawing 
 forth his work-clothes. 
 
 " Pull on that book a spell," said Hiram, who 
 sat with his chair tilted against the cabin wall, his 
 legs drawn up with his feet tucked upon the rounds 
 to avoid the damp grass, and his pipe at full blast. 
 Understanding this an invitation to read aloud, 
 the young man began in a doubtful tone which 
 soon grew steady and assured. The book was the 
 Bible. 
 
 Hiram listened in profound silence, his eyes 
 upon the distant wood. His pipe went out, but 
 he did not remove it from his thin, dry lips. Per- 
 haps his thoughts were wandering to the long dis- 
 tant past ; perhaps the words were sinking into his 
 heart; Benton could not tell. When supper was 
 announced Hiram rose with a sigh. 
 
 ' Thanky," he said simply. 
 
 " Now, gran'pop," said Emma, when they were 
 seated at the table close to a furious fire, " you 
 must n't think strange of our goin's on ; Ben is im- 
 provin' my grammar." She paused and looked 
 at the young man for correction, but he had none 
 to make. 
 
 " Well," said the old man, surprised at her 
 
A CAT ALP A LEAF 133 
 
 inactivity, " hain't you's goin' to eat, along with 
 it?" 
 
 " Yap," said Emma, smiling across the table at 
 him : " Give me some of that there bonny clab- 
 ber cheese." 
 
 " Yes, sir," spoke up Benton promptly; " please 
 help me to some of that bonny clabber cheese." 
 
 Hiram, who had reached for Emma's plate, 
 changed the direction of his hand and took up 
 Benton's. But, before he could put the spoon into 
 the dish, Emma, intent upon her pursuit of knowl- 
 edge and not regarding the effect of her words 
 upon Hiram, said: " Yes, sir, please help me to 
 some of that there bonny clabber cheese." 
 
 Hiram poised the spoon in amazement at this 
 breach of hospitality. " No, no," cried Benton, 
 " not * that there ' ! Yes, sir, please help me to 
 some of that bonny clabber cheese." 
 
 " Gim me time, son ! " said Hiram briefly. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Emma, " please help me to 
 some of that bonny clabber cheese." 
 
 Hiram laid down the helping-spoon in dismay. 
 " Emmy, I never knowed yous to act so onperlite, 
 an* in your own house, too! Don't yous see it air 
 ever' thin' to Ben to git helped fust? An' why 
 not let him? The evenin' is before us, honey." 
 
 " Why, gran'pop ! " expostulated Emma, " did 
 n't I tell you we are improvin' my grammar? " 
 
 " Oh," said the old man, greatly relieved. 
 ' Yap, yap. Well, would yous mind to put it off 
 
134 STORK'S NEST 
 
 till after meal time? It's pow'ful confusin' to 
 me, an' it don't seem to accomplish nothin' prac- 
 tical." 
 
 " We'll put it off," said Emma, " but it will 
 accomplish so much that it will make a Person 
 out of me. Would you like to improve yourself, 
 gran'pop? " 
 
 "Nuck," said Hiram hastily. " Thanky, I 
 druther not, if yous don't mind, honey. I got all 
 the grammar I need now for to ketch my beastes, 
 but yous kin improve yourself till you can't sit 
 down. An ole man, honey, air sot in his bones, 
 an' no course of grammar hain't goin' to put mar- 
 row in 'em. It was n't intended, Emmy," he 
 added after a pause; " air yous goin' to be a hap- 
 pier gal when you be fine an' high? 'Cause I 
 hain't no doubt you'll git to so be if so be yous 
 air sot on so bein'." 
 
 " Happier! " said Emma contemptuously. 
 " Bless your heart, gran'pop, no ! How could I 
 be happier than I've been all my life along of 
 yous, you dear ole darlin' of a gran'poppy ! " 
 Emma dropped her knife, with which her eating 
 was almost exclusively carried forward, and 
 started up from the table. 
 
 " Go 'way, honey," interposed Hiram hastily, 
 in his faint shallow voice; "victuals an' kisses 
 don't go together." 
 
 " Of course, I won't be happier," Emma said, 
 reseating herself and beaming upon the old man 
 
A CAT ALP A LEAF 135 
 
 in lieu of the unwelcome kiss. " Bein' happy ain't 
 no pursuit for grand folks; it belongs to tramps 
 an' rascals. Th' ain't nothin' to it but relapses. 
 I calkerlate nobody ain't happier than a feller that 
 thinks he's goin' to be hung an' of a sudden is 
 pardoned. All I ask is to be put on a plane with 
 my St. Louis kin that won't claim me now; if I 
 don't show 'em a thing or two some day my name 
 is other than Emmy Garrett." 
 
 " I hope," said Hiram slowly, " that if yous 
 ever meet 'em, you kin show the -pure an' innocent 
 heart you've showed me. Ben was readin' be- 
 fore supper out of a book I'd like for yous to 
 know somethin' about, honey. The Bible's a 
 good thing. I hain't never made no speciality of 
 it, but I allers claimed it as a tol'able like good 
 thing. Ben, can't yous hump her up along that 
 line?" 
 
 " Now, I can't carry too many lines at once," 
 interposed Emma. " I'm pow'ful burdened as it 
 is. Ben, which is more important in gettin' up 
 high, Bible or grammar? " 
 
 " If I gathered the meanin' of what Ben were 
 readin' to me before supper," remarked the old 
 man, " so fur from the Bible bein' a steppin'- 
 stone to society, honey, it's ag'in the hull business." 
 
 " Then that settles the Bible! " said Emma. 
 
 " Do not say that ! " cried Benton. " Mr. 
 Garrett, you don't understand what kind of society 
 Emma means." 
 
136 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " I mean the tiptop," cried Emma firmly. 
 
 * You mean the best," rejoined the young man, 
 " and not the sort which simply calls itself 
 best." 
 
 " Now they ain't no use to be barkin' up a 
 wrong tree! " said the girl fixedly, " for you can't 
 bring down the 'possum that ain't there. I want 
 to be raised to a plane of my St. Louis kinfolks, 
 where we kin wrestle on a level to see which comes 
 out fust. It won't do me no good to feel myself 
 as good as others; I've allers done that. Others 
 have got to feel it, too; it has got to be rubbed in 
 on 'em till it makes their eyes smart. I know I'm 
 learnin' fast. Sometimes I get my * g's ' at the 
 end of my words, an' I have learned ' are n't,' 
 though I don't know whar it comes in; don't seem 
 no use for it, Ben. But hain't I comin' out 'f the 
 kinks?" 
 
 " It is wonderful," said Benton to Hiram, 
 " how quick and bright she is! " 
 
 " I've put my heart in it," said Emma, " an' 
 when I get my language ship shape, I guess I'll 
 take to shoes an' stockings; but I'll save my feet 
 for the last. Gran'pop, you know I have a way 
 of rising in the world. Yous know what I mean, 
 an' I've told Benton about it. That way is sure 
 and quick. Well, whichever way I take, I 'low 
 to meet them St. Louis relations when I'm older, 
 an' then we'll see whose fur '11 fly ! " 
 
 Benton felt a deep depression at these words. 
 
A CATALPA LEAF 137 
 
 They showed that the thought of 'Bije, however 
 he might forget it, was ever in the background of 
 Emma's mind. After supper Hiram, afraid of 
 " fallin' doo," drew his rocker to the cabin door 
 while Benton sat outside upon the doorstep. 
 Emma was clearing away the dishes and they 
 could hear her singing at her work. 
 
 " Mr. Garrett," said Benton suddenly, " I know 
 what Emma meant when she referred to a quick 
 way; I'd like to speak to you about that; would 
 you mind? " 
 
 " They hain't no bars across the road," said 
 Hiram, smoking steadily. " Drive ahead, son." 
 But his tones were not encouraging. 
 
 " Mr. Garrett, forgive me for speaking of 
 something you may think no affair of mine, but 
 just hearing her fresh, innocent voice singing so 
 happily, saddens me, and I feel I must speak out. 
 Can you consent to her marriage with Mr. 'Bije 
 Stork? She is so she is so inexperienced, and 
 good and not yet seventeen; and he is forty- 
 seven. You know I have never seen Mr. Stork 
 so I can have no prejudice against him, although 
 he must be queer to live in a Snake Room " 
 
 "A what?" demanded Hiram, taking his 
 pipe suddenly from his mouth in great astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " That's what Emma calls it," said Benton. 
 " I mean a room nobody is allowed to enter, a 
 room without windows. But that's not the 
 
138 STORK'S NEST 
 
 point. Think how young and and well, you 
 know what she is. And then think of her marry- 
 ing, she, a mere child " 
 
 " I understan' you, Ben, an' I hain't takin' no 
 offense, though I may remark that these cattle 
 hain't got your brand on 'em ! " 
 
 " I know I have no right," said Benton hastily, 
 " but I can't help speaking just this once ! " 
 
 " Ben, listen at me, my son. You know I 
 hain't good for this world much longer; I'm up 
 in my seventies, an', while I orter be proud to of 
 dumb so high, a man jest nachurly thinks less of 
 his age the more he gits of it. A few more years 
 will land me out, an* then what '11 become of 
 Emmy? What kin she do, alone here in this 
 cabin, with ole 'Thuze gittin' peskier ever' day an' 
 nobody to set the traps ? What kin become of my 
 Emmy? They hain't no kinfolks on her pa's 
 side, an' you've heerd how her ma's relations has 
 cut up jack. But they's only one thing a gal kin 
 allers do, if so be that a man stands ready to 
 assist; she kin marry. 'Bije Stork is forty-seven 
 years old, an' he looks it, I will say that for 
 him. But he's stiddy; he's honest; he's in earnest 
 about Emmy; an' he owns the farm that Silas lives 
 on. He's a good feller. I hain't urgin' Emmy 
 to have him ; as to that, I hain't even advised her 
 in the business. She kin do exactly as she has a 
 min'. But between you an 'me, I can't, to save 
 my soul, see what else kin help my Emmy? " 
 
A CAT ALP A LEAF 139 
 
 At these words a great sadness came upon the 
 young man. Perhaps for the first time he vaguely 
 realized something of the pathos and tragedy of 
 human life. In the midst of his own poverty and 
 sorrows he had maintained a cheerful heart, tell- 
 ing himself that one can shape one's life almost as 
 desire and resolution direct. But now he was con- 
 fronted by those conditions of society which fit 
 like iron chains about the lives of the poor and 
 helpless. He recognized the truth of the old 
 man's words and the wisdom of this marriage. 
 What else, indeed, was there for Emma ? Yet his 
 soul rebelled against what appeared so evident a 
 necessity. Presently he rose from the step, and 
 wandered out in the twilight with an aching heart. 
 Such a child ! Not only so young, but so innocent, 
 so pure, so beautiful ! What ambition in her warm 
 heart, what intense craving after better things ! 
 What might she not have become under proper 
 guidance ! But there was no use to think of that. 
 He saw the future as if it were past ; he saw Emma 
 married; he saw her established on the farm, 
 going about a life of endless toil. She thought, 
 in marrying the master of the estate, that she 
 would obtain position, riches, culture; but in 
 reality she might obtain only a hard life of labor 
 and companionship with a mysterious man, thirty 
 years her senior. 
 
 There recurred to his mind Emma's suggestion, 
 that perhaps his coming to the cabin was the means 
 
i 4 o STORK'S NEST 
 
 of saving her and that Providence, perhaps, had 
 brought it about. Perhaps it was not too late to 
 prove himself the good missionary. But she must 
 soon tire of his instruction, and, even if she did 
 not, his farm labors would interfere with it. She 
 was too impulsive to be content to wait. During 
 the following days he found himself drifting 
 toward the obscure future with undiminished 
 delight in the little happy experiences of the 
 present. Something might happen to turn the 
 course of Emma's mind from 'Bije; Benton might 
 effect the diversion when he had learned 'Bije 
 better. If he could but linger at the log cabin 
 through the summer and fall ! 
 
 " A day on your place," he said once to Hiram, 
 " seems shorter than days anywhere else." 
 
 " It seems that way to me, too," spoke up 
 Emma ; " since you have been here. Oh ! don't 
 you wish we could stop the clock of time? " 
 
 " Or turn it back," remarked Hiram wistfully. 
 
 Benton worked hard during those days, proud 
 of the strength which was beginning to show itself. 
 He cut down several of the trees in the orchard, 
 which Emma, according to Hiram, " hed been 
 layin* off to hew down for a long spell " ! He was 
 proud of the weariness he felt when the day was 
 ended, telling of a man's toil; but the work 
 was always pleasant because Emma was either by 
 his side or visible in the distance. Even when he 
 tramped through the wood with Hiram to examine 
 
A CATALPA LEAF 141 
 
 the traps, Emma accompanied them, her flow of 
 speech and laughter never running low. 
 
 It was Saturday when they drove to Laclede 
 Station to do their trading. The spring wagon 
 carried an enormous basket of eggs, the common 
 currency of the neighborhood. This was a great 
 event and they made a day in the store and its 
 vicinity. Benton was introduced to the Tucker- 
 mores, the Glovers, the Stones and other neigh- 
 bors who rode up to the hitching posts with their 
 baskets of eggs. Scarcely anyone brought money. 
 The men came in great clay-stained boots ; most of 
 the women were bare-footed. 
 
 " Look at 'em good," said Emma to Benton, 
 " an' you'll stop thinkin' I'm a natural Grand 
 River curiosity. Don't you see I'm in fashion 
 here? When the women folks come to town, as 
 now of a Saturday, we put on our nice clean 
 dresses, and our nice clean bare feet, and we don't 
 ask the king to be our counselor! " 
 
 The eggs were finally exchanged for provisions 
 and dry goods and 'Thuze turned his head home- 
 ward. They felt a spirit of sadness settle upon 
 them as the log cabin came in view, for the next 
 day Benton was to leave ; Abe Glover had informed 
 them at the store that 'Bije would come for Ben- 
 ton " bright an' airly." 
 
 "Dear old cabin!" murmured Benton below 
 his breath. No one heard him, but Emma divined 
 his thought, for when supper was cleared away 
 
142 STORK'S NEST 
 
 and they sat, as was their wont, in the front yard, 
 the girl said: 
 
 " Ben, you ought to take a leaf from our ca- 
 talpa tree with you as a keepsake. There are n't 
 any on the Storks' place an' it's mighty seldom 
 you'll get to come here, I can tell you, bein' kept 
 to your work so constant." 
 
 " I will get a leaf, of course," said Benton. 
 
 Emma rose. " Come and get it now while you 
 are thinkin' about it," she said. 
 
 He followed her through the starlit night to the 
 distant tree. Benton said : " But won't you pull 
 one for me, Emmy? I'll think so much more of 
 it, then." 
 
 " Ben, I hate to see you go away," said Emma 
 suddenly. " I feel like I'm goin' to lose you for- 
 ever. I'll tell you; I'll come over there oftener 
 than I ever did before; maybe 'Bije will let me get 
 a peek at you once in a while." 
 
 " Emma," said Benton, watching her face, 
 which had a pale, sylph-like effect against the dark 
 sky, " you seem to think 'Bije a man to be dreaded 
 and conciliated. How, then, can you imagine you 
 will be happy with him? " 
 
 "Happy!" echoed Emma in a low voice. 
 
 " Well, at least you must think your marriage 
 will prove a good thing for you; and yet you are 
 afraid of that man ! " 
 
 " He minds me pretty well," said Emma. 
 " Besides, have n't I told you a thousand times 
 
A CAT ALP A LEAF 143 
 
 Oh, I don't want to think about that to-night, 
 with you goin' away." 
 
 " But think of Emma, think of that man ! " 
 
 " What else is there? " exclaimed Emma, as if 
 in desperation. " Ben, when you have gone home 
 at the end of three months just three months 
 and then back to your Blair City Oh ! what dif- 
 ference does it make about me? I'll be nothing 
 to you, then; you'll even forget how I look and 
 talk and laugh. And there would n't be any use 
 of your remembering, Ben, because our lives are 
 so different. We'll go back to gran'pop, if you 
 please," she added sedately. 
 
 " I'll never forget you, Emmy," said Benton. 
 " But you have n't pulled me a leaf, yet." 
 
 " So I have n't." Emma stood upon tiptoe. 
 " I can't reach the lowest branch since you've 
 trimmed the tree ! " she complained. " Ben, just 
 pull your own leaf an' then do your own 
 remembering." 
 
 " No," said Benton decidedly, " you shall 
 remember with me. You can almost reach that 
 bough. I'll lift you up." 
 
 1 You could n't ever do that ! " exclaimed 
 Emma. 
 
 " I could ! " returned Benton. " But here's a 
 better way." He knelt beside her, and held his 
 hand, the palm turned upward, at his breast. 
 "Here's a stirrup; put your foot in it and make 
 a high reach." 
 
144 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " My foot in your hand! " exclaimed Emma, 
 looking down upon him, " and no shoe on! " 
 
 " So much the better! " said Benton. 
 
 Emma rested her hand upon his shoulder to 
 steady herself and, drawing back her skirt with 
 the other hand, lifted her foot. But she paused, 
 laughing down at him with rosy cheeks. " I can't 
 do that, Ben," she protested. " I wanted to do 
 you honor instead of - " 
 
 She paused. Benton, watching the picture of 
 grace and beauty, of blushing innocence and laugh- 
 ing purity, felt his heart leap wildly toward her. 
 The pressure of her hand upon his shoulder was an 
 appeal to his chivalry and it was with knightly 
 gentleness and gravity that he said: 
 
 ti -r f 111 n f^t 3V 
 
 If you would honor me, trust me. 
 
 Emma's laughing indecision passed. Lifting 
 the little brown foot higher, she slipped it into his 
 steady hand and leaped lightly toward the tree. 
 Her disengaged hand tore a few leaves from the 
 bough. He rose and took them. 
 
 " Every one," he said, as she turned away. 
 
 " I think I'll just keep one myself," said Emma, 
 her voice trembling a little. 
 
 " Honey," called Hiram, " hain't yous skeered 
 of the doo? It's a-fallin' mighty brisk! " 
 
 " I know what yous want, you ole darlin' 
 gran'poppy!" cried Emma, running toward him. 
 ' You want half a dozen kisses this minute, I know 
 you do! " 
 
 % 
 
A CAT ALP A LEAF 145 
 
 But Benton lingered under the catalpa tree. 
 
 The next morning they had scarcely seated 
 themselves at the breakfast-table when the sound 
 of wheels was heard, followed by a loud shout: 
 " Whoop-ee! " 
 
 " That's 'Bije," said Hiram, who had just 
 helped the young man to bacon. " Ben, you'd 
 better run V git out your trunk. It never does to 
 keep 'Bije a minute. Run on, son, Emmy '11 roll 
 up some breakfast yous kin kerry along with yous. 
 An' listen to my last advice, son; whatever yous 
 do, try to please 'Bije Stork! " 
 
IX 
 
 STORK'S NEST 
 
 AIJAH STORK was a man of large pro- 
 portions. In an ordinary crowd he would 
 easily have towered head and shoulders 
 above his fellows. It was not alone in form that 
 he proved a contrast to his short, thick-set brother. 
 His clothes, that is to say, his trousers, were of a 
 sober black and had an air of freshness and care. 
 His dark blue shirt, crossed by suspenders of an 
 inoffensive gray, suited him well. All his features 
 were large. The nose was bold and straight, the 
 lips were thick, the chin was prominent, with a 
 dimple which deepened at a smile; and the eyes, 
 of a light gray, were set back rather far, and some- 
 what wider apart than usual. The head was long 
 with unusual width above the beetling brows, 
 which decreased as the upper temples sloped back 
 to the reddish brown hair. His style was not that 
 which Benton Cabot admired; it suggested neither 
 refinement nor sympathetic kindliness. Yet the 
 young man was obliged to confess that the massive 
 face possessed a handsomeness which might almost 
 be termed magnificent. There was, moreover, a 
 
 146 
 
STORK'S NEST 147 
 
 look of authority upon the clean shaven face, as of 
 one used to commanding and being obeyed, which 
 Benton could well understand might appeal forci- 
 bly to a strong, yet womanly girl like Emma. 
 
 " So this is Benton Cabot," said 'Bije, leaping 
 from the wagon and grasping the young man's 
 hand in a powerful grip. " I greet you, young 
 man. Where is your trunk? " 
 
 Benton was quick to notice that the words were 
 pronounced with more correctness than any he had 
 heard before in the neighborhood. The voice 
 was powerful and deep, but not unmusical. 
 
 "We did n't get to finish breakfast, 'Bije," 
 Emma observed. 
 
 " Pray, do not let me interrupt it," said the bass 
 voice, while the long massive arm was waved 
 politely. " Pray, Benton, go and replete yourself." 
 
 " No, no," said Hiram, winking at Benton, 
 " Ben -is too good a lad to keep yous a minute, 
 waitin'. Come help with the trunk, that is to say, 
 'Bije, if yous will be so good as to len' a ban'." 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure, with the greatest 
 pleasure! " exclaimed 'Bije heartily. His manner 
 did not dissipate the feeling of sadness which smote 
 Benton as he helped carry his trunk from the 
 cabin. 
 
 The wagon which 'Bije had brought for the 
 trunk was a wretched vehicle, so crazy that it 
 rocked from side to side and groaned and creaked 
 as the trunk was shoved along its bottom. It had 
 
148 STORK'S NEST 
 
 no sides and part of the flooring was missing. A 
 dilapidated box, nailed to the forward end, served 
 as a seat. 
 
 'Bije climbed upon the mean vehicle and dragged 
 the trunk to the middle, where he secured it with 
 a frayed rope. 
 
 " Well, 'Bije," remarked Emma, coming to Ben- 
 ton's side as he stood disconsolately at the end of 
 the wagon, " you have sure brought the wagon 
 Mrs. Noah did her movin' with ! " As she spoke 
 she slipped a luncheon into Benton's pocket and 
 gave his hand a sudden tight pressure, whispering : 
 "This is good-by! " She stepped back instantly, 
 and 'Bije, who was bending over the rope, did not 
 see the gesture. 
 
 He straightened himself and said: "Ben, you 
 kin take the front seat. I'll stand up to drive." 
 Then he walked to the edge of the wagon and 
 looked down upon Emma's upturned face. 
 " Emmy, I've got something up at my house I 
 want you to see," he said, the dimple deepening 
 in his long, bold chin. " It's something expressly 
 for them pretty hands of yours. Whenever you 
 come our way " 
 
 !< I expect I'll come pretty often, now Ben's 
 going to be there," Emma interposed. 
 
 "Ah!" said 'Bije in his deepest tone. "To 
 be sure to be sure! Yap. Well, Emmy, I've 
 bought a brand new piano." 
 
 " A piano ! " exclaimed Emma, her eyes danc- 
 
STORK'S NEST 149 
 
 ing, " Oh, 'Bije! A piano! I never saw one in 
 all my whole life; did I, gran'pop? " 
 
 " I guess not, honey," said Hiram, " I never 
 
 air." 
 
 " But, 'Bije," cried Emma, " you can't play on 
 it. Nor Mrs. Stork; nor Si. What did you get 
 it for?" 
 
 " For you, Emmy, that's a fact," said 'Bije, 
 smiling down upon her till his light-gray .eyes 
 grew darker and darker, and his lips showed the 
 pleasure he took no pains to conceal. There was 
 nothing in his face but love and respect and 
 resolution to win; but Benton disliked the look 
 and he turned his eyes from Emma that he might 
 not see an answering smile. " It's your piano, 
 Emmy, but it has got to stay in my house. I 
 thought you'd like to come over and jingle on it 
 and that '11 bring you oftener, you see. Sister 
 Crishy don't have half enough of you, anyhow. 
 So, while the rest were off fishing, I ran up to St. 
 Joe and brung it over." 
 
 " I'll be there mighty often, I know!" cried 
 Emma, her eyes dancing till they matched the 
 sunlight in her golden hair. " Just think, gran'- 
 pop, a piano!" And she executed a pirouette 
 before the men. But to Benton's suspicious fancy 
 the dance was all for the benefit of King Herod, 
 who held his piano upon a charger as a reward. 
 
 " Git ap ! " cried 'Bije to the horses, the smile 
 still lingering upon his face. As the wagon 
 
150 STORK'S NEST 
 
 groaned up the road and neared the turning, Ben- 
 ton looked back for a last glimpse of the log 
 cabin. Hiram had turned toward the door and 
 was holding up his feeble old leg to scratch a 
 match while his pipe hung expectant in his mouth. 
 Emma lingered upon the top rail of the fence, 
 standing with one hand grasping a limb of the 
 catalpa tree. As she saw Benton turn she waved 
 her sunbonnet violently above her head. Then 
 the scene was hidden by the corner of the wood. 
 He gave a furtive glance at his companion; the 
 smile still quivered upon 'Bije's lips. At last that 
 smile faded away and the large features settled 
 into the grave and almost stern look which was 
 habitual to them. But Benton was too preoccupied 
 to observe the change. It was a long time before 
 he could rouse himself to an attempt at conversa- 
 tion. Even had he not been engrossed by reflec- 
 tion and memory, there was something about his 
 companion which forbade the thought of com- 
 radeship. Presently he became aware that the 
 scene was one he had never observed before. It 
 was wild and showed little travel. 
 
 " This is not the way I went to your house with 
 Mr. Garrett last Monday," he observed. 
 
 " I expect not," said 'Bije briefly. " Git ap, 
 thar ! Nuck, I expect not. But since the freshet, 
 the cattle have n't been drove across the crick. 
 Ever' time we have a freshet them cattle have to 
 be drove back and forth to allay the quicksands. 
 
STORK'S NEST 151 
 
 Them quicksands are awful dangerous until 
 trompled down. I guess somebody will lose his 
 life in 'em yet." He drove on for a while in 
 silence, then added: " So we have to go around 
 by the hill." 
 
 There was something in the way he spoke of 
 " the hill," as if there were no other in compari- 
 son with it, which affected the younger man 
 unpleasantly. He made no reply, but occasionally 
 cast sidelong glances at the serious face which 
 never turned his way. When the wood was 
 passed the road led to an ascent, steep and appar- 
 ently impassable, that stood as a wall, shutting 
 out the rest of the world. At its base the road 
 was all of rock over which the uneasy wagon 
 jolted with loud complaints. Up the forbidding 
 wall faint wagon ruts were legible as if to convince 
 the timid and the doubting that these Alps had 
 been crossed. 
 
 " This must be the hill ! " Benton exclaimed. 
 
 " Ben," said 'Bije solemnly, " you are correct." 
 
 "Had n't I better get out and walk?" the 
 young man asked in dismay, staring up the ascent. 
 
 " Both of us will do so," said 'Bije, " an' I'm 
 but sorry that we can't carry the wagon." The 
 horses had stopped without waiting for the invita- 
 tion. They got out, or, to speak literally, they 
 got off, and the poor old wagon started up the 
 stone wall. The horses stepped with great cau- 
 tion, seeming to Benton to stand upon their hind 
 
152 STORK'S NEST 
 
 legs, as they felt for footholds with their fore feet, 
 which were almost before their faces. Benton 
 looked back at the huge rocks bordering the base, 
 then far up at the sky, the only object visible at 
 the summit. He was alarmed for the horses, for 
 the wagon and for his trunk. He could not but 
 be impressed by 'Bije's sturdy tread and by his 
 impenetrable calmness. He fancied that if Emma 
 could see him now her admiration in her suitor 
 would be increased. He could understand the 
 hold 'Bije had upon her. The bold, unyielding 
 spirit, the great strong frame and the handsome 
 face were such as to appeal to the brave, high- 
 spirited maiden. 
 
 But Benton's forced admiration was soon dis- 
 pelled. About half-way up the hill, one of the 
 horses shied and the wagon was in danger of slid- 
 ing over a ridge of stone. 
 
 " I'll learn you to git scared at nothin'," cried 
 'Bije in a voice which trembled with sudden 
 passion. Swinging his whip above his head he 
 began to lash the frightened animal without 
 mercy. For a while Benton witnessed the beating 
 with compressed lips, but when he saw blood 
 mingling with the foam, he cried out sharply: 
 
 "Don't!" 
 
 'Bije turned and stared at the young man a 
 moment, his brow still dark, then dropped the 
 whip. They had reached the summit almost on a 
 run and it was with difficulty the horses could be 
 
STORK'S NEST 153 
 
 held for them to get into the wagon. They drove 
 on in silence, Benton still sickened by the recent 
 exhibition of the other's cruelty. Suddenly 'Bije 
 turned toward him: " Can you play the piano? " 
 
 " No," Benton answered shortly. 
 
 " Know anything about music? " 
 
 " I know music when I hear it, that's all," said 
 Benton. 
 
 " Well, you're right, Ben," be said with some 
 heartiness. " I always thought a man at a piano 
 was like a woman at the polls, both of 'em goin' 
 against the grain of their sect." 
 
 This was the end of all conversation between 
 them, 'Bije's face settling back into its sternest, 
 most self-contained expression, as if his thoughts 
 had traveled ahead to work in 'the Snake Room. 
 At last the road turned into one which Benton 
 remembered. Old 'Thuze had carried him along 
 these familiar ruts, and he and Emma had walked 
 between them on their way to the ford. 
 
 When they stopped before the Stork mansion 
 the house appeared deserted save for a few shutters 
 hanging half open. 'Bije leaped to the ground 
 and began to unhitch, at the same time shouting 
 in stentorian tones, " Whoop-ee ! whoop-ee ! " 
 Benton offered his assistance. 
 
 " Nuck," said 'Bije, " jest stand out of the way; 
 that's all I ask. If I wanted help I'd make Jim 
 
 come." 
 
 Benton flushed and drew away, feeling that he 
 
154 STORK'S NEST 
 
 was " learning " Emma's suitor rapidly. Foot- 
 steps sounded from the hall. One of the horses 
 was now almost unharnessed and manifested a rest- 
 lessness which seemed to afford 'Bije some amuse- 
 ment. " He knows what's coming," he chuckled, 
 hastily slipping the harness along the back, then 
 giving the beast a vicious kick in the side as he 
 turned it loose. " All my horses know me ! " 
 
 The front doo^r opened, and Silas appeared. 
 He advanced to meet Benton, the hollows of good- 
 nature coming in his bushy whiskers. " Well, 
 brother, here you air ! " he cried, " which I 
 have n't saw since boated away by Hicky Price, as 
 graspin' an' stingy a soul as I ever rubbed up 
 ag'inst. An' I disremember if we shuck hands. 
 Yous know, when yous dumb out 'f Glover's 
 shack, they was n't no time for ceremonials. Let's f 
 do it now, pardner, for it's werried me, fearin' 
 it was neglected afterwards." He wrung Ben- 
 ton's hand vigorously. The young man helped 
 to carry his trunk up the familiar staircase. As 
 they passed the Snake Room, the newcomer looked 
 furtively at 'Bije, but that mysterious person 
 showed a countenance of unusual frankness and 
 unconcern. He found Emma right in her sup- 
 position that he was to share Jim Whitlick's bed- 
 room at the end of the shorter hall. It was a 
 cheerless room, unpapered and uncarpeted, all the 
 uglier for its wide extent. 
 
 " They hain't nothin' much here," said Silas, 
 
STORK'S NEST 155 
 
 waving his arm as Benton looked down the stretch 
 of bare discolored planks, for the apartment was 
 as long as the longer hall, " but what they is goes 
 a long ways ! " There were five windows with 
 brown paper shades, their upper casements fes- 
 tooned with cobwebs. A dry goods box served as 
 washstand, while above it, tacked to the dingy 
 plastering, hung a broken bit of looking glass, its 
 edges sewn up in black cambric. In a remote 
 corner stood another dry goods box, its contents 
 showing bottles of diverse shapes and colors. 
 
 " Jim's physic," Silas explained genially. 
 " Jim, he's in the yard, mopin', I reckon. He 
 hain't no time for it but of Sundays." The bed 
 was rather short and narrow, advising Benton's 
 disconsolate eye that it would bring him to close 
 quarters with its occupant. There were two 
 stools, which had once been chairs, and another, 
 to which a round of the departed back still clung. 
 " Now make yourself 't 'ome," said Silas, " in 
 your boo-draw! Come down when you're 
 ready." 
 
 " Yap," said 'Bije, speaking for the first time, 
 " I will want to have a little talk with you by 
 and by." 
 
 Cheerless as the room was, Benton lingered a 
 long time, musing over the situation, seeking to 
 disengage his mind from the memories which drew 
 it toward Hiram's cabin, and disposing the con- 
 tents of his trunk to suit his convenience. Jim's 
 
156 STORK'S NEST 
 
 garments, few in number, hung upon nails along 
 the wall; and the new arrival took possession of 
 other nails. At last he went below. 
 
 Before he reached the foot of the stairs he dis- 
 covered a woman standing in the front hall, alone. 
 She was very tall and very thin, but, thin as she 
 was, the black calico skirt clung to her meager 
 frame with exceeding tightness, as if she had 
 entered into partnership with nature for the 
 economy of her wardrobe. Her hair was wound 
 tightly upon her head till each strand appeared 
 at a tension, as if it were by this means that she 
 kept herself going through the day. The face 
 was sallow, the chin sharp and long, while the nose 
 crooked downward, as if drooping with despond- 
 ency. The eyes, restless and shrinking, had a 
 way of suddenly darting toward an object, show- 
 ing a quick gleam of their whites and retiring like 
 a beaten beast of prey. As Benton reached the 
 last step he suffered such a visitation. 
 
 " Good-morning," he said, trying to speak cor- 
 dially. " I am Benton Cabot." 
 
 The eyes crept toward him, the whites glared 
 at him an instant, the hooked nose drooped lower, 
 the chin was farther extended, and the lady 
 answered, as she looked away: "I air a jail- 
 woman! " 
 
 Benton, a good deal astonished and discomfited 
 by this declaration and secretly glad that he had 
 locked his trunk, found at first no remark which he 
 
STORK'S NEST 157 
 
 deemed appropriate to the occasion. Presently 
 he ventured, " I am sorry to hear it." 
 
 " I am sorry to tell it," said the other, treating 
 him to another display of the whites of her eyes. 
 
 Benton, wondering why she had imparted the 
 information which gave her so little comfort, said : 
 "Can I see Mrs. Stork?" 
 
 " Look at her," said the other sourly. There 
 was silence, while she stared through the open 
 door, mutely offering herself as an object of 
 examination ; but the young man hardly did justice 
 to the opportunity. Presently Mrs. Silas Stork 
 resumed: "I kin see that yous was not brung 
 up to our ways, Benton Cabot, an' I'm afeerd 
 you'll take a tumble. For yous have got to be 
 brung up to our ways to keep on top of 'em. 
 You've never lived up in this kentry. You'll 
 have to buckle your mind to take us as we air or 
 git out. Which '11 it be ? " she asked with a sudden 
 display of hostility in tone and look. In spite of 
 her close fitting dress, she drew one leg up under 
 her at this juncture, saying: "We air Storks!" 
 
 " I shall stay," said Benton quietly. " I hope 
 you do not object, Mrs. Stork, to my coming." 
 
 " Oh, don't say nothin' about me objectin'. 
 Jail-women hain't nothin' to do with objectin'. 
 Jail-women nuther lets nor on-lets." 
 
 Benton was relieved by hearing a door open 
 upstairs. Silas Stork descended to the hall. 
 
 "Well, brother, here yous are!" Silas said 
 
158 STORK'S NEST 
 
 heartily. " Le's all go set down; it's jest as cheap 
 as standin', of a Sunday! " He led the way to 
 the dining-room. 
 
 Benton looked wistfully at the window in which 
 Emma had sat, swinging her feet; at the shelf 
 from which she had taken down the illustrated 
 newspapers; at the table upon which she had 
 bowed her head to weep. He felt an intense long- 
 ing to see her, to be with her. The very floor 
 upon which she had stood spoke of his young 
 friend. 
 
 Mrs. Stork seated herself, and crossed her legs, 
 looking sourly. 
 
 " Ben," said Silas, sitting down, " I'll tell yous 
 what work you'll be required of. You're a gentle- 
 man an' it's our purpose to keep yous one, if any 
 bolsterin' an' proppin' of our'n kin do it. Your 
 dad an' me was bosom friends in the war, an' for 
 the son of that bosom friend I'd do anythin' 
 reasonable, no matter how great a scallywag that 
 son might turn out to be. Now we don't 'low to 
 put yous to the hard an' menial labor to which 
 Jim Whitlicks, bein' a orphan, is devoted by 
 nature. We jest want yous to be a gentleman." 
 
 " That is kind," said Benton, smiling, " but I 
 have come here expecting to work. The open air 
 and the exercise in the fields will be a blessing for 
 my health. And, besides, I imagine you are too 
 good a business man to pay me simply to be a 
 gentleman." 
 
STORK'S NEST 159 
 
 " Nevertheless, brother, sich air our resolve, 
 for to keep yous a gentleman at any price." 
 
 "Then," spoke up Mrs. Stork bitterly, "it 
 hain't no place for sich a character bein' housed 
 up with a jail-woman." 
 
 "Where air a jail-woman?" asked Silas 
 mildly. 
 
 " Me ! " said the other with exceeding fierce- 
 ness. " Yous know I air a jail-woman, Si Stork, 
 an* nothin' but it. The neighbors know it. Any- 
 body kept on bread an' water all her life air a jail- 
 woman ! " 
 
 " Why ! Crishy, wa'n't they some molasses 
 on the table this very mornin' ? " 
 
 " Bread an' water all my life! " cried the lady 
 in great agitation, " bread an' water! " 
 
 " Ben," said Silas in an injured tone, " some 
 molasses were on the table this mornin', an' plenty 
 of 'em. Now a gentleman you air to be. 
 Incidental to the strain that will put yous to, 
 we'll want yous to feed the stock ever' mornin' 
 when feedin' time comes, an' the hogs ever' night, 
 if you'll be so kind, an' cut weeds through the 
 middle of the day till time to break our broom 
 corn. Moreover, we're clearin' down in the 
 woods, an' between whiles, yous kin len' a hand 
 with your ax, if so disposed, an', when the wood 
 is to be corded up an' drove to Laclede Station, 
 yous kin help in the pastime. It's jest like a 
 picnic, clearin' the woods air, a reg'lar woodin' 
 
160 STORK'S NEST 
 
 bee. All our work is like play. Also, I do a heaps 
 of drivin' over the kentry, buyin' up odd calves 
 an 1 cows, an' yous kin go along, if you hain't no 
 objection, an' drive 'em home, all the time yous 
 air bein' a gentleman. An' that hain't all, but 
 enough to show yous that, if exercise air need- 
 ful to your health, yous won't need nothin' but 
 long hair an' a wife to be a reg'lar Samson 
 by-an'-by." 
 
 Benton laughed, and Silas, too, appeared to 
 enjoy the monologue, for the hollows deepened in 
 his whiskers as a smile sucked in the corners of 
 his mouth. 
 
 " No doubt," said Mrs. Stork bitterly, " this 
 sounds mighty prosperous to yous, Ben. An' it 
 air. They's more money made here than arry 
 other farm of its size an' rockiness. But nobody 
 never sees that money but Si an' 'Bije. It don't 
 do no good, nor no harm, nuther. Here I air, a 
 jail-woman, kept on bread an* water, scrapin' an' 
 grindin' to help hoard up wealth for to leave to 
 strangers at our death! " 
 
 " Now, Crishy," said Silas heartily, " cheer 
 up, ole woman, an' git a contented sperit on you. 
 It costs man no more to be contented than fault 
 findin', an' its pow'ful more elervatin' to the 
 feelin's of others." 
 
 "All my life," cried Mrs. Stork, excitedly 
 swaying her uplifted foot to and fro, " I have 
 hankered for what other women has pictures an' 
 
STORK'S NEST 161 
 
 fixin's an' carpets an' good eatin'. I thought when 
 I married I was gittin' somethin' else besides a 
 man. But that's all I got. Thar he sets. His 
 name is Si Stork." 
 
 " It air," said Silas kindly, " an' that name, 
 Ben, air the only thing I kin remember ever givin' 
 away, free an' willin'. But when I give that 
 name to Crishy, an' adorned her with it, I done 
 it as free as ever I took money from mortal 
 
 man." 
 
 Mrs. Stork, unappeased by this courtliness, 
 cried: " Bread an' water! bread an' water! " 
 
 " Crishy," said Silas in a low tone, " 'Bijey air 
 comin', ole woman!" Footsteps were heard 
 descending the stairs and the giant form of the 
 other twin entered the dining-room. 'Bije for a 
 moment keenly regarded all three, while his light 
 gray eyes deepened in the peculiar manner Benton 
 had before observed. Then he said: 
 
 " Sister Crishy, you will kindly retire." 
 
 The lady withdrew without so much as show- 
 ing her brother-in-law the whites of her eyes. 
 
 " Si," said 'Bije, " pray go to the back porch 
 an' wait thar till I come." 
 
 " All right, 'Bijey," said Silas, obeying with 
 alacrity. 
 
 A spirit of antagonism rose up within the young 
 man. "Do you want me to go, too?" he 
 inquired. " Perhaps you would like to be alone." 
 
 " I wish to speak with you," said 'Bije shortly. 
 
1 62 STORK'S NEST 
 
 For a while he stared out of the window. " Ben, 
 has Si told you something of your work? " 
 
 " In general terms," Benton replied briefly. 
 
 " Ben, do your duty, and you'll find us kind and 
 friendly." The voice deepened and grew more 
 powerful. " Every business must have a head. 
 I'm the head of ours. What I say, goes; under- 
 stand? If anybody crosses me, or tries to look 
 into my ways, or explore my doings well, I don't 
 like it." 
 
 " I think you'll find," said Benton quietly, 
 " that I do not interfere in other people's affairs." 
 
 " If you think so now," was the response, 
 " you'll know it, later. Warning in time that's 
 all. Take me as you find me, I'll prove a pow'ful 
 good friend. For I have power, as all know who 
 know me. But if anybody tries to meddle with 
 me, I am not a friend. That's all. Jim Whit- 
 licks is in the yard. You may join him." 
 
 There was something so final in 'Bije's manner 
 that when he spoke there seemed no other course 
 but to obey. Benton found himself leaving the 
 room as quickly and silently as the others had 
 done. Yet, even while he obeyed, that feeling of 
 antagonism rose high and he felt that, before he 
 returned to Blair City, he and the master would 
 cross arms. Under a remote box elder Jim Whit- 
 licks was perched upon the high iron seat of a 
 mowing machine, which was taking its Sunday rest. 
 Even Jim's despondent look cheered Benton as 
 
STORK'S NEST 163 
 
 the well known characteristic of a friend. Jim 
 was one of the leading characters in the little 
 drama of the flood; Emma had patted his 
 shoulder and given him some of her smiles. Still, 
 Benton's manner was preoccupied as he shook the 
 other's limp hand with the perfunctory: "How 
 are you, Jim? " 
 
 " I'm mighty poorly, that's how I am," said 
 Jim, drawing his shoulders up. " But take a seat 
 on the tongue, Ben; I'm glad you've came. I 
 jest taken the iron seat 'cause I was that miser'ble 
 it did n't seem right to be sittin' soft with all my 
 troubles. See that hoe hangin' on the tree? Got 
 to cut weeds with that to-morrow." 
 
 " I'll cut by your side, Jim," said Benton. " I 
 mean to develop my muscle and get strong and 
 hearty." 
 
 " It have made me fur otherwise," said Jim 
 skeptically. 
 
 " I'm sorry you're not feeling well," said Ben- 
 ton absently. 
 
 " Oh, as to that, I hain't never well. Somethin' 
 is allers threatenin' me; but if I was well it 
 would n't be no comfort with all the troubles I've 
 got. I might jest as well be sick along with the 
 rest of it." 
 
 " By the way," said Benton, hoping to cheer 
 him up, " did you buy your medicine? " 
 
 " I hain't got to go to Laclede Station. Besides, 
 I hain't so shore I've got what I thought I had. 
 
164 STORK'S NEST 
 
 Now I've been readin' " he hastily drew a new 
 almanac from his pocket. 
 
 " Jim," the other quickly interposed, " are you 
 going to church to-day? " 
 
 " Hain't never went in my life. Why, Ben, I 
 hain't never got to go to a circus, much less 
 church ! I hain't gone nowhar but after the cows, 
 I might say. The goin' part was left out 'f my 
 bones, I guess. But they's one place I kin go to," 
 he added with a sudden show of spirit, " an' even 
 'Bije can't keep me from it; that place air the 
 grave. I estimate it at about a year's journey for 
 me at my present progress. I won't never live to 
 be eighteen to git out of bondage; yous need n't 
 think it ! " 
 
 He looked so sallow, shrunken and weather- 
 beaten that Benton feared this estimate might not 
 be incorrect. Before he could attempt words of 
 encouragement Silas Stork came to them from the 
 house. 
 
 " Well, pardners," he said genially, " I want 
 you-all to take a nice holiday down to the shady 
 brook. You-all need n't come to the house till 
 horn blowin'. I'll bring your lunch to yous. 
 Jim, take him all over the farm ; enjoy yourselves. 
 So long; so long! " 
 
 Benton was pleased at the prospect of a day in 
 the pastures and wood, but Jim remarked when 
 they had left the yard, " That only means they 
 want us to keep away from the house. They's 
 
STORK'S NEST 165 
 
 business in what Emmy calls the Snake Room, 
 most likely. Oh, I know 'em, I know* em ! But it 
 don't give me no satisfaction when I do," he 
 added hastily, " nor nothin' else." 
 
 "If you don't mind," said Benton, "I wish 
 you'd show me the farm first and we'll rest at 
 the brook afterward. Don't you want to take 
 the walk? " 
 
 " I can't say as I want to," returned Jim, " but 
 I hain't no more ag'in that than anythin' else. 
 Come on." 
 
 At noon Silas brought them a scanty lunch and 
 it was dark before the horn sounded a cheery blast 
 from the back door. The supper was light. 
 There was a plentiful dish of bonny clabber X 
 cheese, one hard boiled egg apiece, and cold batter 
 cakes. 
 
 " We never have warm meals," said Silas 
 cheerfully, " therefore no coffee. Crishy cooks 
 up between whiles an' serves cold. Warm victuals 
 leads man to eat more'n his assimilation requires. 
 For the same princible, we never employ butter. 
 You take bread, an' it air the staff of life, I don't 
 deny it, but it air meant to be leaned on, an' not 
 to be buttered an' gormandized. An' milk an' 
 cream, if we consumed 'em, where's the profit of 
 cows? Sich things makes man overload his 
 stomick, of which he can't be too keerful. It is a 
 mighty tender organ. Don't tell me it wa'n't 
 intended to be took express keer of. If that organ 
 
1 66 STORK'S NEST 
 
 was n't dangerous to tamper with, I guess it 
 would n't of been put on the insides of us ! " 
 
 As they rose from the table 'Bije said: " Ben, 
 we go to bed early. As a regular thing Jim will 
 sleep with you. But to-night I have need of him. 
 So you can go up, alone, if you don't mind." 
 
 :< We have no lamps, for ordinary," said Silas 
 genially, " but if yous should ever need one, Ben, 
 jest come to me, an 1 I'll hunt you one up." 
 
 Jim had a parting word with Benton in the hall. 
 " I don't know why I hain't to sleep with yous," 
 he whined. " I never slept downstairs before, an' 
 I know I'll ketch cold; but that '11 be a piece with 
 all the rest. Better go to bed early, Ben, then 
 when they git yous up before day you'll be glad 
 you done it ! " 
 
 " Well," said Silas, who had softly approached 
 from behind, " I 'low 'Bije wants to let Ben git 
 used to the room one night, and used to Jim the 
 next. Good-night, Jimmy. Ben, shall we go up? " 
 
 Benton followed the affable Silas Stork to the 
 second story, uncertain which of the twins he found 
 the more distasteful. He foresaw hard work and 
 open air exercise in plenty, but, with such associates, 
 he derived no satisfaction from the prospect. As 
 soon as he was better acquainted in the neighbor- 
 hood he might find more agreeable companions. 
 No doubt he could secure work at another home 
 where the supper table was not graced with cold 
 batter cakes. For the present he would conceal, 
 
STORK'S NEST 167 
 
 if possible, his antipathy to Silas and 'Bije, his dis- 
 trust of Mrs. Stork, and his doubt about the Snake 
 Room. 
 
 As soon as he had vanished above 'Bije entered 
 the lower hall and found Jim standing motionless 
 and dejected, gazing up the flight of stairs. 
 " Jim," said 'Bije, striding forward and speaking 
 in a low, hoarse undertone, " what were you say- 
 ing to our young gentleman? " 
 
 " I was a-sayin'," said Jim uneasily, " that I 
 did n't know why I was to sleep downstairs, an' 
 him up? " 
 
 "Oh, you were saying that, were you?" 
 remarked 'Bije gruffly. "Well, I thought I'd 
 learned you not to wonder about my orders! I 
 guess you can't ever learn! Come! I'll give you 
 another lesson, my lad." 
 
 The huge hands suddenly leaped forward and 
 each grasped an ear of the unfortunate orphan. 
 The boy was swung clear of the floor and held 
 aloft by his ears, while an expression of acute 
 agony disfigured his face. 'Bije threw back his 
 great head and laughed silently, his mouth 
 stretched wide. "Call for your friend!" 'Bije 
 counseled, still clutching the delicate organs in his 
 remorseless fingers. 
 
 " Mrs. Stork! " pleaded Jim, " Mrs. Stork! " 
 He called in a guarded voice, knowing that if he 
 made his punishment known to Benton, it would 
 but prolong his agony. Mrs. Stork heard the call 
 
1 68 STORK'S NEST 
 
 and, recognizing the accent of pain, ran with all 
 speed to the hall. 
 
 " Please let him down, 'Bije! " she cried, wring- 
 ing her hands. Sympathy for the other's suffer- 
 ings humanized her face and made her a different 
 woman. 
 
 " He's been carping to Ben," said 'Bije, swing- 
 ing Jim slightly back and forth. " Do you think 
 you can persuade him to stop carping, sister 
 Crishy?" 
 
 " Oh, yes! Oh, yes! " cried Mrs. Stork in an 
 agony of impatience; " please, let him down, 'Bije, 
 please do! " 
 
 Jim uttered a groan, and, unable longer to 
 endure the torment, scratched at the hands 
 which held him aloft. 
 
 'Bije, with a snarl, threw him violently against 
 the wall and turned on Mrs. Stork. " Now, you 
 see that you don't carp, either! " he said, and 
 strode away. 
 
 In the meantime Benton had gained his room. 
 Drawing a stool to the open window, he sat down 
 to look out upon the darkening world and to 
 meditate for a while upon the little characteristics 
 he had noticed in the Storks, each of which 
 seemed to indicate a disposition repugnant to his 
 own. But his mind, soothed by the softened fields 
 and woods, presently slipped away from the 
 Stork's Nest, and went on a starlight visit to the 
 log cabin. It was such a breeze as this, laden 
 
STORK'S NEST 169 
 
 with these wild perfumes, which had soothed his 
 brow in Hiram's yard. He seemed to see the old 
 man sitting with chair tipped back against the cabin 
 wall, his pipe making a dull glow in the dusky air. 
 And Emma ! he saw her sweet face growing 
 paler and paler and her hair a darker and a darker 
 gold in the increasing gloom. He heard her fresh 
 girlish voice; he saw her bright eyes questioning. 
 As he drummed idly upon the window sill, the 
 door suddenly opened. 'Bije Stork towered in the 
 doorway. 
 
 " Why, Ben," said 'Bije, " you did n't lock your 
 door. Better; tramps are abroad and Hezzie's 
 ghost is always liable to 'light. Why ! I'm afraid 
 I scared you ! Well, I generally am around 'most 
 everywheres. I hope you have your trunk key 
 safe." 
 
 Benton, displeased at the intrusion, returned: 
 " Yes, it's safe enough." 
 
 " Better lock up tight," said 'Bije, departing. 
 A deeper sense of homesickness settled upon the 
 young man. He longed to be with Hiram, even 
 if the wind did blow from the east. He drew the 
 key from his pocket; but, as he continued to tap 
 upon the window sill, suddenly it slipped from his 
 fingers and fell into a rosebush growing beside the 
 wall. He started up nervously, then reflected that 
 it would be safe till morning where it lay. The 
 darkness became intense. He felt his way from 
 the window, and went to bed. 
 
A STRANGE BURGLAR 
 
 FOR 'a longtime Benton found it impossible 
 to sleep. Although he was greatly fatigued 
 from his unwonted labor, a certain indefin- 
 able uneasiness kept him tossing in bed. He 
 thought of his trunk key lying upon the ground 
 where he had dropped it. Nobody was likely to 
 find it in the rosebush; but, if it were found, what 
 then? There was nothing in his trunk that could 
 be of value to others; clothes, books, papers 
 these were all. 
 
 Perhaps at last he went to sleep, though of this 
 he could not be sure. He heard the room door 
 creak. It had not been unlocked, but opened! 
 The room was so dark he could not even see the 
 white of his pillow. His first impulse was to cry 
 out, but the next instant he reflected that, if he did 
 so, he would probably be strangled or stabbed. 
 He would wait till the housebreaker had left the 
 room, then alarm the family. The door gave 
 forth no more noise. No footstep was to be 
 heard. What was about to happen? 
 
 Benton reflected that the robber probably 
 carried a dark lantern and that a light would soon 
 
 170 
 
A STRANGE BURGLAR 171 
 
 be flashed about the room. If he should be found 
 with eyes staring into the darkness it might cost 
 him his life. Cautiously he worked the edge of 
 the sheet over his face, then breathed as if asleep. 
 Suddenly, through the sheet, he saw a light flash 
 forth and swiftly circle about the room; then it 
 vanished. He strained his ears, but all was still. 
 At last, however, an almost inaudible sound told 
 him that the clothes which he had left upon a 
 stool were being examined. His money would 
 be found in them. It seemed a long time before 
 the light again flashed forth; this time it sought 
 out every nook of the apartment. He knew it 
 rested upon him. When it vanished, he heard his 
 knife, the gift of a friend, click upon the table. 
 Presently he heard his trunk softly shaken; it was 
 locked. Suddenly there was a hand at his pillow. 
 Benton lay quite still. The hand drew forth his 
 watch, then felt again, first on one side, then on 
 the other. Benton thought of that knife in the 
 hand of the burglar, and made no motion. Then 
 the watch was thrust back under his pillow. The 
 young man was astonished to hear again its famil- 
 iar ticking. Absolute silence followed, which 
 soon became intolerable. There were matches in 
 the room and, though it seemed certain that the 
 burglar was still concealed somewhere in the 
 darkness, Benton resolved to put an end to the sus- 
 pense. Suddenly casting from him the bedclothes, 
 he leaped for the door. His eager hand found 
 
172 STORK'S NEST 
 
 the knob; it was locked. This indicated that the 
 intruder was still present. Fearing at each in- 
 stant that the light would be flashed upon him, 
 the young man unlocked the door, sprang into 
 the dark hall and, slamming the door to, held the 
 knob in a firm grip as he shouted alarm to the 
 household. 
 
 At first there was no answer but the echo of 
 his voice. Then came the hurried sound of bare 
 feet. A light appeared from around the angle 
 of the hall and 'Bije ran toward him, holding a 
 lamp. He was in his night clothes. Silas Stork 
 followed almost immediately. Benton in a few 
 hurried words told what had happened. 
 
 " Got him in a trap, hey? " cried 'Bije gruffly. 
 ' Well, we'll fix him ! Throw open the door." 
 They made a rush into the room, but the lamp 
 revealed no crouching form in its long, bare ex- 
 tent. " Must have got out," 'Bije remarked. 
 " Jumped from a window, maybe. Si, you get 
 Jim and search the premises. I'll examine these 
 windows." 
 
 " 'Bijey," said Silas, hesitating at the threshold, 
 " must I light another lamp? " 
 
 "Why, of course," retorted 'Bije. "When 
 robbers are around, it's no timfe to economize on 
 coal oil. Hurry up, Si ; I tell you this is an awful 
 thing ! " 
 
 Silas hurried away, calling Jim Whitlicks at 
 every step. 'Bije carefully examined the win- 
 
A STRANGE BURGLAR 173 
 
 dows, but at each examination shook his huge 
 head with an air of disappointment. " No 
 tracks," he commented. 
 
 Benton thought 'Bije more disagreeable in his 
 night clothes than in his day dress. His hair was 
 tossed roughly about his head; his neck was long 
 and uncompromising; his feet very broad but 
 unashamed. 
 
 " And you found the door locked just as you 
 left it, with the key in the lock? " said 'Bije; " and 
 your watch was put back under your pillow? 
 And here's your knife and money! And your 
 clothes, none of the pockets turned inside out; 
 and your trunk not broken open! Everything's 
 here, is it? " 
 
 " It is very strange," said Benton, still won- 
 dering at finding his money restored to the table. 
 
 " My dear boy," said 'Bije, " I wonder if what 
 I told you about housebreakers did n't give you 
 a dream? " 
 
 " Mr. Stork, it was not a dream," said Benton, 
 slightly flushing. 
 
 " Well, well," said 'Bije, " you must admit it's 
 curious. Now that's all I want of you, Benton; 
 just admit it's curious, will you? " 
 
 " Indeed, it is," cried Benton, looking at his 
 watch again and then recounting his money. 
 
 " I'm glad to hear you say it," exclaimed 'Bije 
 apparently with some relief. "Yap; but how 
 that door could be unlocked with your key in the 
 
174 STORK'S NEST 
 
 lock is curious. And everything's here, you say. 
 Wait! Ha! Hold on! I have it!" 'Bije 
 struck the table triumphantly with his fist and 
 cried: "The trunk key! where's that, Ben? 
 You don't find that in your clothes. Ha! so, 
 so!" 
 
 " Not at all," Benton hastened to assure him. 
 " I know he did n't take the key because it was n't 
 here. I accidentally dropped it out the window 
 before I went to bed and I thought I'd leave it 
 there till morning instead of disturbing you by 
 getting it. So it was n't in here, at all." 
 
 " Good, good! " cried 'Bije. " Ha, ha, ha! " 
 'Bije began to laugh, but he did not seem to en- 
 joy it very much. " It's certain the wretch came 
 here for that key, Benton; else why come? He 
 did n't want your knife, or your watch, or your 
 money. He wanted that key." 
 
 "But why?" asked Benton. "There's noth- 
 ing at all in my trunk but clothes, books and 
 papers." 
 
 " He did n't know that, of course," said 'Bije, 
 sitting upon the edge of the bed and crossing his 
 feet in such a way that his toes seemed to look 
 up at Benton. " Do you remember my asking 
 you before you went to bed if you'd lost your 
 trunk key?. He may have been around, listening. 
 That may have made him think you'd got valu- 
 ables in the trunk. What sort of papers, now, my 
 dear fellow, do you carry around in your trunk? " 
 
A STRANGE BURGLAR 175 
 
 " Oh just letters," said Benton, impatient at 
 the term of affection, " and blank sheets and note- 
 books." 
 
 " Ah, yap, certainly," said 'Bije, wiggling his 
 toes successively, beginning with the little one on 
 his right foot and ending with the little one on his 
 left. 
 
 " And some mining stock certificates," said 
 Benton. 
 
 " Yap, yap," said 'Bije gruffly. 
 
 " But they're not worth the paper they're 
 printed on," said Benton; "my father lost his 
 money in California mines and all I have to show 
 for it are these pretty certificates." 
 
 " Well," said 'Bije, " I don't know what to tell 
 you. I reckon having nothing but mining stock 
 is the most helpless sort of poverty known to man, 
 because he never knows just how poor he is. I 
 guess this robber don't know you have the shares." 
 
 Benton shook his head impatiently. "If he 
 did he would n't want them. Shall we go and 
 help Silas in the search? " 
 
 " He's comin' now," said 'Bije, rising. " What 
 luck, Si?" 
 
 Silas thrust his head into the room, his bushy 
 whiskers in fine relief against his night clothes. 
 " Ever'thin' shet up as tight as Dick's hatband," 
 he announced, " an' not a track, 'Bijey, not a 
 track! I'm goin' to blow out this lamp; it's too 
 wastin'. Ben has been dreamin', that's all to it, 
 
176 STORK'S NEST 
 
 an' now he'd better be sleepin' fur to-morrow; I 
 kin say that with a clear conscience." 
 
 " Yap," said 'Bije, rising. " I reckon that's 
 so. I'll get your trunk key, Ben, and we'll try 
 it again. As long as robbers put our watches back 
 under our pillows an' treat our money as if afraid 
 of catchin' germs from 'em, it makes small odds 
 whether the house is broken open or not." 
 
 'Bije, in his night attire, carried the lamp out 
 into the yard and groped in the rosebush. As 
 Benton watched him from the open window a 
 deeper distrust settled upon his mind, yet his 
 impressions did not assume tangible shape. 
 "Found!" 'Bije presently announced. He 
 brought the key up to the room. 
 
 " Here you are, Ben, stow it away safe. Lock 
 up tight, now. Pleasant sleep; but I can't wish 
 you no more dreams ! " 
 
 Benton locked up, but with little confidence. 
 He examined the lock carefully to discover if it 
 possessed any peculiar fastening which allowed it 
 to be slipped without disturbing the key, but found 
 none. As the lamp had been carried away he 
 was in total darkness. When, at last, he ventured 
 back to bed he was unable to sleep in spite of Jim's 
 warning. He imagined stealthy footsteps gliding 
 about the room and a ghostly hand slipping under 
 his pillow. Again in fancy he heard the door 
 creak and detected the rustling of his garments in 
 the hands of the intruder. So strong did this im- 
 
A STRANGE BURGLAR 177 
 
 pression become that, at last, he stole from the bed 
 on noiseless feet and crept to the door, only to 
 find it securely fastened. As he tossed restlessly, 
 impatient for the dawn, the determination to leave 
 Stork's Nest grew deeper. All sentiment and 
 romance which had been created by the thought of 
 Silas Stork's being his father's old war-comrade 
 was dispelled. There was nothing to keep him in 
 this house of misers, subject to mysterious night 
 attacks from uncanny burglars. Other farmers 
 needed laborers and it was not likely that any of 
 them would set forth so scanty a table. It would 
 be necessary, or at least prudent, to remain until 
 he had an opportunity to learn the neighborhood 
 better that he might make no mistake in the 
 change. Divided between these thoughts and ap- 
 prehensions concerning another ghostly visitation, 
 it was almost morning before he fell into a 
 troubled sleep. 
 
XI 
 
 JIM WHITLICKS "EXPECTS 
 THE WORST" 
 
 BENTON was aroused the next morning by 
 a loud knocking upon his door. " Git up, 
 Ben!" called Jim Whitlicks; "breakfast's 
 ready, but I guess it won't git no colder 'n it is." 
 
 The young man dressed in the darkness. 
 Through the open window he caught the sleepy 
 twinkle of the stars, as if they found it hard to 
 keep their eyes open. At first, it was difficult to 
 collect his thoughts, but the recollection of last 
 night's adventure set them busily at work. How 
 had the room door been opened while the key re- 
 mained in the lock? He had heard it creak upon 
 its hinges, though he had not heard it closed after- 
 ward. The picture of 'Bije rose before his mind. 
 He found his antipathy to Emma's suitor in- 
 creased. Perhaps the fact that 'Bije was Emma's 
 suitor made the young man unjust. The ques- 
 tion recurred again and again: Why had his 
 room been entered? Nothing had been taken 
 away; neither violence nor theft could have been 
 contemplated. If the object had been the trunk 
 key, and if the intruder had fancied his trunk con- 
 
 178 
 
JIM "EXPECTS THE WORST' 179 
 
 tained riches beyond the value of the watch and 
 money which had been taken, then left behind, 
 how had the burglar learned of that key? 'Bije 
 was innocent; for, if 'Bije knew anything about the 
 attempt upon the trunk, surely he would have 
 been the last to suggest that the key was the one 
 thing wanted by the thief. Still, 'Bije had known 
 about the key. Benton could not dismiss this fact 
 lightly. Could it be that the giant Stork had an 
 accomplice? For what purpose? All day that 
 trunk had been left unlocked while Benton and 
 Jim roamed over the farm and rested at the 
 brook. It could have been entered and examined 
 a hundred times. The worthless mining shares 
 could have been taken at will. It was from mere 
 habit that the trunk had been locked after supper. 
 It was inevitable that Benton should recall his 
 meeting with Hezzie Whitlicks. " The ghost " 
 in the lonely wood and the burglar in the dark 
 bedroom had acted strangely alike. Both had 
 examined all his property and had taken nothing. 
 Could the burglar be Hezzie, and was " the 
 ghost" 'Bije's accomplice? As Benton groped 
 his way through the hall it suddenly occurred to 
 him that the ghost might room in the Snake 
 Room, subject to 'Bije's command. Perhaps he 
 was some criminal hiding from justice in this wild 
 part of Missouri, and 'Bije had taken advantage of 
 him to further some sinister plans of his own. 
 The suspicion caused the young man's blood to 
 
i8o STORK'S NEST 
 
 surge in vague alarm. He sought to dismiss it 
 and to regard 'Bije with some degree of respect, 
 or at least of toleration. 
 
 A lamp burned low upon the table as the five 
 inmates of Stork's Nest seated themselves. Ben- 
 ton's " Good-morning " had fallen dead upon 
 stony ground. Mrs. Stork, her hair wound up 
 for the day, drooped her nose over her plate, gave 
 Benton a swift revelation of the whites of her 
 eyes, and looked down sourly. Jim Whitlicks, 
 his shoulders drawn up into the collar of his shirt, 
 that he might occupy less space, a feat which 
 Benton considered remarkable, stared lugu- 
 briously at the end of his knife before plunging it 
 into his mouth. 'Bije, erect, stern, seemed to 
 watch them all. Silas, alone, was cheerful. 
 
 " I reckon yous thought Hi Garrett got up 
 airly, Ben," he remarked, " but you'll find we kin 
 flax him easy at that game. I can't ever eat 
 breakfast with a calm mind, seein' the coal ile 
 wastin' before my very eyes an' me helpless an' 
 it money. What joy that sunshine's free ! If 't 
 wa'n't, I reckon I'd jest keep it to use for com- 
 p'ny an' live in midnight gloom." 
 
 " How can yous talk about coal oil," cried 
 Mrs. Stork, " an' burglars' tracks* warm in the 
 house? I do believe, Si, you'd pull ever' hair 
 outen your head, 'f yous thought they was a five- 
 cent piece at the roots of 'em." 
 
 " I calkerlate I air about the savin'est man on 
 
JIM "EXPECTS THE WORST' 181 
 
 Gran' River," replied Silas blandly. "I found 
 out when young that man's only hope is to shet off 
 every avenoo of escape. It were then I learned, 
 Crishy an' Ben an* Jim, too, for that matter 
 that there's heaps more ways gittin' shet of 
 money than gittin' holt of it." 
 
 u I wish I'd knowed you'd found that out," 
 cried Mrs. Stork, darting her eyes toward 'Bije, 
 and finding him apparently lost in thought, " when 
 I married yous. If I'd a-knowed I was never 
 to have carpets, nor nothin' so much as a bonnet 
 to my head, thar might 'a' been a Mrs. Stork, an' 
 I ain't sayin' thar might n't; but she would n't 
 'a' been the present incumbent." 
 
 " Sister Crishy," said 'Bije's deep voice, as he 
 suddenly looked up, " are you complainin' ? 
 Ain't everythin' goin' to suit you? What do you 
 want, sister Crishy? " 
 
 " I reckon it's the burglar," said Mrs. Stork 
 apologetically. " I don't know what come over 
 me. Excuse me, 'Bije, I hain't no more to say." 
 
 "Jim," said 'Bije, "pass sister Crishy the 
 slaw." 
 
 Silence ensued. Benton, who had been waiting 
 to hear the burglar discussed, was resolved not to 
 begin the subject himself. The breakfast con- 
 sisted of cold mashed potatoes, a loaf of light 
 bread, a very large round dish of slaw, a remnant 
 of last night's bonny clabber cheese, and water. 
 
 " Well," Silas remarked, not so much to answer 
 
1 82 STORK'S NEST 
 
 his wife, as because it was impossible for him long 
 to refrain from talking, " it's meat an' drink to 
 some to have carpets an 1 put their heads into bon- 
 nets; but it's meat an' drink to me an' 'Bije to 
 save. Ben, you hain't been helped to slaw. I 
 hope yous like slaw? May I ask yous to cast 
 your eye over the board? Here air variety sech 
 as I can't promise ever' day. But I jest says to 
 Crishy, * Ben have been skeered to death last 
 night, an' we'll make a gala day of it to put him 
 easy.' Now, me, I hain't got no faith in that 
 burglar. Nobody heerd him but yous; nobody 
 missed nothin' he took; so I say that robber, if he 
 was in the ministry, would n't be doin' no more 
 harm than in his present profession." 
 
 14 1 know," said Benton firmly, " that my room 
 was entered." He gave 'Bije a swift glance, but 
 the latter was watching Mrs. Stork. 
 
 " Yous feel heap easier to ascribe it all to a 
 dream," said Silas kindly. 
 
 " It was no dream," said Benton. " I heard 
 my door creak and my clothes being examined. 
 I saw the lantern's light flash twice." 
 
 " It fills me with awe," said 'Bije gruffly, " to 
 think of that burglar getting through a locked 
 door and out again. You say there ain't mys- 
 teries, that the day of 'em is past. Then what do 
 you call this? How he got in, comes first; and 
 why he wanted the trunk key comes a mighty close 
 second." 
 
JIM "EXPECTS THE WORST' 183 
 
 " Can it be," said Benton, watching the other 
 narrowly, " that he wanted it for the same rea- 
 son the ghost wanted it? I mean Hezzie Whit- 
 licks." 
 
 " Laws-er-mercy ! " cried Mrs. Stork. " Have 
 yous met up with Jim's own endurin' pa? " 
 
 " I walked with him in the woods," Benton 
 answered. " He pretended to rob me. He 
 searched my valise but took nothing. Perhaps he 
 wanted the trunk key." 
 
 "Why did n't you tell this before?" cried 
 'Bije. " That explains the hull business. Of 
 course, he wanted the key ! It must of been him 
 last night, coming for it. A character like that 
 would n't stop at no lock and key." He rose 
 from the table. 
 
 The others hastily followed his example. 
 " Mr. Stork," said Benton, watching him fixedly, 
 " I am sure a man of your understanding does not 
 believe in ghosts." 
 
 " I care not what you call it," returned 'Bije; 
 " I know Hezekiah Whitlicks died and was 
 buried." 
 
 " And I know," spoke up Silas, " that I sat 
 under as long a funeral sermon on that occasion 
 as ever I hope to have at my own obsequies." 
 
 " And I know," pursued 'Bije, " that I have 
 saw Hezekiah since that funeral, not once, but 
 many times. Whether he is a ghost or not, I 
 leave to Jim, his own son; but I know one thing; 
 
1 84 STORK'S NEST 
 
 he is Hezzie ! Don't speak of my * understand- 
 ing ' when it comes to what my eyes have seen ; 
 I am no philosopher; I am just a plain, saving 
 
 man." 
 
 " An' his name is 'Bije Stork," cried Silas with 
 great admiration, " a man, Ben, as would as soon 
 milk a cow as wollop a orphan. Come, come, le's 
 git to work. Whar is a hoe for Ben, Jimmy? " 
 
 " What could a ghost want with a trunk key? " 
 demanded Benton persistently. 
 
 " Nothing more natural," responded 'Bije 
 gravely. " Them there minin' stocks in your 
 trunk represents imaginary gold in an old un- 
 worked mine. They have no value to mortal 
 beings. Hezzie, being but the ghost of a man, 
 wants to go ha'nt that ghost of a Glory Golden 
 mine, an' dig in the ghost of precious ore." 
 
 " I wish he would go thar! " cried Jim. " I've 
 had more trouble than Solomon with all his wives, 
 havin' pa's ghost throwed up to me, month's eend 
 to month's eend. I wish he would go thar ! " 
 
 "You'd better go for that hoe," said Silas, 
 smiling, " or 'Bijey will wollop yous, Jimmy! " 
 
 Jim set forth accordingly, and Silas led Benton 
 away to explain his work and to provide him with 
 proper implements. As soon as all three had left 
 the dining-room, 'Bije went into the kitchen, 
 whither Mrs. Stork had retreated. 
 
 " See here, sister Crishy," he said roughly, 
 striding toward her, " you're forgetting your job, 
 
JIM "EXPECTS THE WORST' 185 
 
 seems to me. You had a splendid chance to 
 expatiate on the ghost and you never said a word." 
 
 " Don't, 'Bije," said the other, shrinking back 
 against the wall and holding up her hands, " I 
 never said nothin' one way or the other; I did n't 
 do no harm." 
 
 'Bije threw his head forward and thrust out his 
 upper lip in a menacing grimace. " Well, the next 
 time you'll say something, and say it sharp and 
 clear do you hear me, sister Crishy? " 
 
 " Oh, 'Bije, I'm plumb sick of the hull thing! " 
 she answered, with desperate courage. " My life 
 ain't worth nothin' to me now, an' I jest won't 
 carry it no further with that poor orphan." 
 
 1 You won't carry it no further?" roared the 
 ruffian, striding close. " You won't, won't you? " 
 and his broad palm slapped her cheeks till the 
 smart reports rang in the room like rifle shots. 
 " Stand still ! " he hissed, burying his fingers in 
 her tight coil of hair and wringing it an extra 
 twist. 
 
 "'Bije! 'Bije!" she moaned. "Yes, yes, I'll 
 say anythin' you want do anythin' you want 
 dear 'Bije don't kill me! 'Bije Oh yous 
 tearin' out my hair ! " 
 
 " But you get so unreasonable, sister Crishy, 
 now you know that yourself. I have to bring you 
 to your senses. It's unpleasant to you, an' it's 
 unpleasant to me, but it has to be did. Would 
 you like to call Si? " 
 
1 86 STORK'S NEST 
 
 11 No I won't tell nobody, 'Blje. Please 
 please- 
 
 " Well, thar, sister Crishy, jest one more slap 
 on your jaw for good measure. Hold up your 
 face as Scripture says: La! Crishy, you're as red 
 as a blushing school-girl." The brutal hand 
 slapped once more the crimsoned cheek which was 
 smarting painfully from his punishment. Then 
 he strode away whistling. 
 
 In the meantime Jim and Benton, little dream- 
 ing of the scene of violence in the kitchen, went to 
 the field where the weeds were to be cut. The sun 
 was showing himself through narrow bars of 
 clouds. He looked red and had a rather dissipated 
 air as if he had been up too long the evening 
 before. The grass was heavy with dew. Meadow 
 larks wheeled aloft with their sharp, sweet call. 
 
 " How cool and fresh everything is," cried Ben- 
 ton, throwing off gloomy fancies. 
 
 " It '11 be mighty hot pretty soon," whined Jim. 
 1 When I see a August day beginnin' cool, I know 
 it don't mean nothinV 
 
 In an hour or so Silas rode to where they were 
 at work. ' You've did purty well, Ben," he said, 
 critically examining the weeds that lay strewn under 
 the sun's increasing glare, " but yous kin do better. 
 We've got to git these weeds cut to-day, fur we 
 begin our woodin* bee to-morrow. Bear on 'em 
 hard, brother; don't dally! Brisk work, brisk 
 work, that's what we want of yous, an' shinin' 
 
JIM "EXPECTS THE WORST' 187 
 
 silver dollars is what yous want of us, an' you'll 
 git 'em, too, mind what I say! " 
 
 " I will do my best," said Benton, " but you 
 know I am not used to this kind of work. It's 
 pretty hard, but I want hard work." 
 
 " We'll git hard work for yous, brother, we'll 
 bring out the muscle on them arms; we'll build 
 up your bone, an' you'll sleep the better at night. 
 Why! this is glorious, out under the archin' 
 heavens, eatin' the sweat of your brow, communirf 
 so close to nature's bosom yous could n't git no 
 closer without burrowin' a hole in the ground. 
 It's a reg'lar picnic for yous! Now I'll have you 
 an' Jim separate. Git on opposite sides the field. 
 I've found that- when man air with man, they 
 jest nachurly draw talk out of each other an' 
 nothin' ain't more hamperin' than talk." 
 
 Benton flushed but Jim meekly shouldered his 
 hoe and plodded to the far side of the pasture. 
 Stung by the other's imputation, Benton said 
 firmly: " I shall work in Jim's company, Mr. 
 Stork, and as soon as you find me shirking, you 
 may dismiss me." He also shouldered his hoe. 
 
 "All right, brother, all right," said Silas. 
 "No offense, pardner!" At noon the laborers 
 partook of a frugal lunch which Silas brought 
 them. 
 
 When the horn announced supper, the young 
 man was so stiff and weary he had no appetite. 
 His hands were blistered from grasping the hoe, 
 
1 88 STORK'S NEST 
 
 while his face and neck were burned from the 
 intense heat of the sun. 
 
 " Your nose is peelin' off splendid," cried Silas 
 with great good humor; " if it keeps on that way, 
 they won't be nothin' left." 
 
 Benton soon went to his room and sank upon 
 the bed exhausted. 
 
 "Reckon that ghost will come ag'in?" asked 
 Jim in an awed voice. 
 
 " Let it come," was the drowsy rejoinder. 
 
 For the first time Benton experienced the utter 
 exhaustion which comes from labor under the burn- 
 ing sun. The work of that week and the next 
 consisted in chopping down trees and in preparing 
 cord wood for hauling to Laclede Station. The 
 table fare grew no better, but the young man's 
 resolution to leave Stork's Nest had passed away. 
 A new interest bound him to the spot which Emma 
 had promised to visit often. All his hardships 
 seemed worth the hope of being in her company. 
 Moreover, he was intensely interested in watching 
 'Bije Stork that he might find some tangible objec- 
 tion to the contemplated marriage, and nowhere 
 could he exercise a surveillance upon Emma's 
 suitor except at 'Bije's own retreat. Gradually he 
 found himself able to sustain the toil of the day 
 with more constancy and ease. The week at 
 Hiram's cottage had in some measure prepared 
 him for the fatigue, and as the time passed by he 
 found himself able to do more with less exhaus- 
 
JIM "EXPECTS THE WORST' 189 
 
 tion. In spite of a new sorrow which was grow- 
 ing upon him, he derived pleasure from the health 
 and strength which the hard work developed. He 
 was proud of the muscle beginning to show itself, 
 and eager to contend with Silas in feats of endur- 
 ance and agility. 'Bije seldom went with them; 
 sometimes he would suddenly appear while they 
 were at work, nod or speak a few gruff words, and 
 vanish. Sometimes Silas would remark, after 
 such a visitation, always with undisguised ad- 
 miration : 
 
 " An' his name is 'Bije Stork! " 
 
 In the meantime, Benton had accidentally left 
 his trunk unlocked, the key in the lock, yet nothing 
 had been disturbed. On the day following he pur- 
 posely left the trunk open, disposing his mining 
 certificates in such a manner that if anything in the 
 tray was fingered, he could detect it. His pains 
 were of no avail, except to assure him that his 
 property was safe. He knew not what to conclude 
 about the mysterious burglar and presently his 
 mind dismissed him as an uninteresting and un- 
 profitable subject for speculation. He had another 
 theme of unending interest: why did not Emma 
 keep her promise and visit Stork's Nest? If she 
 ever came to the house during his absence, she 
 would learn that he and Jim were " down in the 
 timber," and it would suit her wild spirit to come 
 down to them and be with them in their labors, 
 if she still cared to see Benton. Everything 
 
1 90 STORK'S NEST 
 
 depended upon that. Did she care? Had she 
 already ceased to regard him as a means to the 
 end of becoming a Person? Had 'Bije's ascend- 
 ency triumphed? Emma had shown an excited 
 interest in the piano; she was not the sort of girl 
 to patiently wait for the fulfillment of her desires. 
 Benton reflected with bitterness that perhaps she 
 came to the house every day, going home before 
 the choppers returned to supper. Something made 
 it impossible for him to ask the question of the 
 Storks, but one evening he found the answer for 
 himself. 
 
 A heavy rain near the close of the day had 
 driven them from work, and the young man found 
 himself at leisure before dark. He and Jim went 
 to their room, where the younger was almost at 
 once absorbed in his almanac. Benton stared 
 from a window with abstracted gaze. He was 
 thinking of his life in Blair City and comparing 
 it with his present routine. His old boarding 
 house rose before him, with its broad porches, 
 where the boarders sat in heavy chairs with semi- 
 circular backs, complaining of the cooking, dis- 
 cussing the latest novel, or singing the last vagrant 
 air of some coon song. He saw himself leaving the 
 house with his Blackstone tucked under his arm, 
 on his way to his old friend's, the minister's, where 
 there was ever a quiet nook for his secluded study. 
 Perhaps the minister who for years had acted as 
 his guardian sat in another corner, the breeze 
 
JIM "EXPECTS THE WORST' 191 
 
 stirring his silvered hair. Or, if it were a week- 
 day, he was at the store, standing tall and spare 
 behind the counter, trying to concentrate his mind 
 upon dry goods and half unconscious of the pur- 
 chaser's look and tone. He smelled again the close 
 penetrating odor of dyes and woolen stuffs which 
 had so long been his daily atmosphere; then his 
 chest swelled as with a start from this retrospec- 
 tion, he inhaled the perfume of the open country 
 as it came freshened by the rain. How different 
 those people in their conventional refinement from 
 these rude, uncouth Grand River people! And 
 yet he had nothing to complain of except Mrs. 
 Stork's table. 
 
 As his eye fell upon Jim's emaciated form the 
 smile which the almanac had provoked died away. 
 If he sought another employer, he must leave the 
 orphan since the latter was bound out to Silas. If 
 he remained, he might find some means of provid- 
 ing Jim with more nourishing food than slaw and 
 cold potatoes. This train of thought was now 
 interrupted. 
 
 The dry goods box containing Jim's bottles was 
 partially covered by a long rough board upon 
 which Benton had disposed some of his property. 
 His attention was fixed by these objects, which were 
 conspicuously disarranged. On the top of the pile 
 was his Bible standing upon edge. As it had 
 hitherto been too dark to read upon coming to the 
 bedroom, all his books had been neglected, the 
 
192 STORK'S NEST 
 
 Bible among the others. Surely 'Bije could have 
 no more use for a Bible than a ghost for a trunk 
 key. Had Mrs. Silas Stork been seeking comfort 
 in its pages? He took up the book idly and 
 fluttered the leaves. Something fell softly to his 
 feet. He picked it up eagerly, a large smooth, 
 heart-shaped leaf. Perhaps there was no signifi- 
 cance in its shape ; but it had come from the catalpa 
 tree and Emma's hands must have placed it in the 
 Bible. It showed him that he was not forgotten 
 and the next day he worked with a lighter heart. 
 That night he found a blue wild flower in the 
 Bible. He was ready with his own offering, noth- 
 ing, indeed, but a fragile wood rose, its leaves 
 hanging to the stem as by tissue; yet he hoped it 
 might tell Emma something of his friendship for 
 her and of his loneliness in this second home. So, 
 each day, there was something from Emma, and 
 each day he gave something in exchange. Once 
 it was a note: 
 
 " Dear Emmy: Perhaps I can come to see you 
 Sunday. Are you still resolved to be a Person? " 
 
 The next night he found this brief and char- 
 acteristic reply: " Dear Ben: I am." 
 
 But alas! when Sunday came, a terrific rain- 
 storm of the night before rendered the ford 
 dangerous. Benton came down to the table 
 gloomy and almost as despondent as Jim, who 
 lagged at his heels. A swift glance told them 
 that the slaw, which a copious supply of vinegar 
 
JIM "EXPECTS THE WORST' 193 
 
 insured from decomposition, had been brought 
 forth after several days of obscurity. Half of the 
 great round dish still remained. Jim looked at it 
 and his teeth came together with a snap. 
 
 " Here's our ole friend," said Silas, pushing 
 the dish toward Benton, " an' thar's molasses, 
 too. They is two courses this mornin'. I hain't 
 claimin' it's a great spread, though. To some it's 
 meat an' drink to be wasteful, but to me V 'Bijey, 
 it air meat jest to save up, jest to save up ! " 
 
 " Yap ! " cried Jim excitedly, striking the 
 table with his bony fist, " an' it's the only meat 
 we git." 
 
 "You've broke out ag'in, hey?" cried Silas 
 good-naturedly. " Now, Jimmy, 'Bije '11 have to 
 give yous a wallopin' for them words." 
 
 " I know it, I know it ! " cried the excited youth 
 wildly. " I'm ready to take it now; I don't keer. 
 Thar's times when I must speak or b'ust, and slaw 
 time is one of 'em." 
 
 "Sit down, Jim!" roared 'Bije furiously. 
 :< I'll 'tend to your case this present week, if I am 
 spared." 
 
 " Do it now, do it now ! " cried Jim, waving his 
 skinny arms. " It's these cold victuals that has 
 put a foundation under all my sicknesses. I say 
 your savin' an' grindin' an' scrouchin' air the only 
 meat we git. Do it now I " 
 
 " Sit down! " commanded 'Bije, his deep tones 
 ringing till the glasses quivered. 
 
194 STORK'S NEST 
 
 Jim sank into his seat, saying: " Mrs. Stork, 
 pass them molasses." 
 
 " La, Jim," cried Silas in admiration, " how 
 can yous take to sweets, knowin' what a wol- 
 lopin's laid up for your bones?" 
 
 " Til be ready for that wollopin' when it 
 comes," said Jim with a certain tragic dignity. 
 
 The meal was finished in dismal silence. The 
 rain continued to pour down all that day, and Ben- 
 ton passed cheerless hours in the bedroom with 
 Jim. 
 
 " Jim, 'Bije does n't really intend to beat you, 
 does he? " asked Benton, feeling a delicacy in dis- 
 cussing such a personal matter. 
 
 " Oh, yap, he'll wallop me," said Jim. " Don't 
 le's talk of it. Yous know I'm bound out to Si, 
 an' I'm going to die before I git outer bondage. 
 They hain't nothin' for me but to physic myself 
 an' be ready for whatever comes." 
 
 " I am your friend, Jim, and I shall protect 
 you," said Benton. " Let 'Bije bluster, it's all 
 for effect." 
 
 " I have saw his effects before to-day," said 
 Jim, who dared not reveal the many little acts of 
 refined cruelty which 'Bije practiced upon him. 
 " Anyway, yous have a friend, as I see by your 
 letter Si brung yous." 
 
 " Yes, from my old guardian. Do you ever get 
 letters?" 
 
 " Nuck," said Jim, lying upon his stomach upon 
 
JIM "EXPECTS THE WORST" 195 
 
 the bed with an almanac spread before him. 
 " I'm thankful to say pa's ghost don't pester me 
 with correspondence. It's enough to meet him 
 face to face." 
 
 " Did you ever see * the ghost,' Jim? " 
 
 " Have I fingers an' toes? " demanded Jim. 
 
 Benton had argued against Jim's superstition 
 too often to renew his attack. 
 
 " I've saw it all in white," said Jim, " I've 
 saw it all in red, I've saw it in boots, an' in bare 
 feet. It have waved at me ; it have danced at me ; 
 it have jest looked at me. Say no more of it, 
 Ben 1 " Jim read his almanac with absorbed 
 attention till at last he fell asleep, his nose buried 
 in a picture of somebody's internal organism. 
 
 That evening 'Bije came to the supper table, 
 his great boots covered with dried mud. 
 
 " Just been over to see old Hiram Garret," he 
 observed. " Emmy sent her regards to you, sister 
 Crishy." 
 
 Benton's heart sank. He had been so long used 
 to confinement that it had not occurred to him to 
 brave the ford in the storm, or that Emma could 
 have expected him to come. It was no fear of 
 danger, but a lifelong habit of careful watchful- 
 ness over his health which had restrained him. 
 Now he wished that he had risked everything to 
 visit the log cabin. On Monday night he looked 
 eagerly in his Bible, but found no leaf or flower. 
 Doubtless Emma had not come to the house. But 
 
196 STORK'S NEST 
 
 Tuesday night told the same story. The next 
 day at the breakfast table Benton asked Mrs. 
 Stork, whom he never found alone: 
 
 "Was Emma here yesterday, Mrs. Stork?" 
 
 The mistress of the house showed the whites of 
 her eyes uneasily to 'Bije. 
 
 " Sister Crishy," said 'Bije, " why don't you 
 answer? I'm sure it's a civil question an' very 
 civilly put, likewise." 
 
 " She done her usual playin' on the pianner," 
 said Mrs. Stork constrainedly. 
 
 " If she comes to-day," said Benton, " I wish 
 you'd tell her that Jim and I would like to have a 
 visit from her down in the woods; would n't we, 
 Jim?" 
 
 " I don't keer," said Jim. 
 
 "Bless your heart," said 'Bije gruffly, " I've 
 tried to persuade her to go take a peep at her old 
 friends, but she jest clings to the piano; don't seem 
 to care for nothing else, does she, sister Crishy? " 
 
 " Nuck," Mrs. Stork said faintly. 
 
 Benton gave her a suspicious glance. ;< Will 
 you deliver my message, please?" he insisted. 
 
 Mrs. Stork watched 'Bije. " I'll tell her," she 
 said. 
 
 That night Benton found the Bible lying upon 
 his bed, showing that it had been handled, but 
 there was nothing in it for him nor had his own 
 flower been taken. He did not ask himself why 
 he was grieved or why he longed with increasing 
 
JIM "EXPECTS THE WORST' 197 
 
 eagerness to see Emma. It was his first resolu- 
 tion to leave the woods and come to the house the 
 next day to meet Emma face to face. But, after 
 all, it seemed better to wait till Sunday, when he 
 could be alone with her and learn if it was from 
 her desire that they were kept apart. 
 
 The next Sunday dawned without a cloud. 
 " Jim, I'm going to see Hiram this afternoon/' 
 he said, his voice exultant. " And I want you to 
 come with me," he added with magnanimous 
 generosity. " It '11 do you good and I know 
 Emma will be glad to see you." 
 
 " I 'low 'Bije '11 give me my lickin' to-day," 
 responded* Jim, without enthusiasm. " Sunday 
 bein' an orf day it won't interfere with no work." 
 
 " Oh, Jim 1 " cried Benton impatiently, " he 
 does n't intend to do that. You are always look- 
 ing upon the dark side of everything. Actually, 
 you seem to enjoy doing so ! " 
 
 " I guess one side '11 be about as dark as the 
 other, when 'Bije gets through," said Jim. 
 
 At breakfast Silas said: " Jim, air yous braced 
 up?" 
 
 " Yap, I am," said Jim; " you bet you ! I don't 
 let nothin' saprise me." 
 
 " Ben," said Mrs. Stork, with a hasty attack 
 and retreat of the whites of her shifting eyes, 
 u you've learned by this time not to expect no big 
 Sunday dinners. Sundays hain't no differ'nce to 
 us. My life is jest a plain, unornamented, undressed 
 
I 9 8 STORK'S NEST 
 
 block of wood, my life is, no planin' or sawin* or 
 polishin' " 
 
 'Bije lifted his great head and looked at her. 
 
 Silas announced, " Man ought not to eat big 
 Sunday dinners, then lay er-round like stuffed boa- 
 constricters all afternoon an' call that observin' 
 his Sabbath! Two things keep man useful an' 
 happy; a full pocketbook an' a empty stomick." 
 
 " As I'm to git a lickin', nohow," cried Jim, 
 starting up, " I might's well say them words is 
 nothin'. You rich people jest slave from mornin' 
 to night wuss than if you-all was slaves down South 
 pickin' cotton. Now come on, 'Bije, I'm ready I " 
 
 "Set down!" roared 'Bije savagely. Jim 
 obeyed, trembling at a white heat. " Sister 
 Crishy," continued the other, " did you put up 
 that fool to his idiotic ravings? " 
 
 " She put me up to nothin'," cried Jim, " but 
 I have my eyes; I have my eyes, I have my " 
 
 ' You'll have something else in good time," 
 'Bije interrupted, " an' something you won't need 
 them eyes to discover you are gettin'. Sister 
 Crishy, do you feel dissatisfied like Jim? " He 
 watched her narrowly. 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Stork faintly. 
 
 ' Just name something" said 'Bije politely, his 
 eyes fixed on her quivering lids, " that you've 
 took a fancy to. A hanging-lamp? A cabinet? 
 Come, sister Crishy, put a name to it. Axminister 
 carpet? Why not an Axminister? " 
 
JIM "EXPECTS THE WORST' 199 
 
 " I don't want nothin', brother 'Bije." 
 
 " Contented woman ! " cried 'Bije, looking at 
 her over his poised knife and shaking his head 
 gently in approval. "Contented woman!" he 
 murmured again, and resumed his breakfast. 
 
 After a very early dinner Benton announced 
 to Jim his intention of visiting Hiram. Jim was 
 starting away with him when 'Bije was seen 
 approaching through the trees. 
 
 " Ben," he said quietly, " can you spare Jim 
 for a while? I want him at the house." 
 
 " I know what's comin'," said Jim promptly, 
 " an don't yous think you're sa'prisin' me ! " 
 
 " Nonsense, Jim ! Nothing is coming but you." 
 
 " Mr. Stork," said Benton, " Jim is going with 
 me to visit Hiram Garrett. Is it your purpose to 
 beat him, as he fears? " 
 
 " Sure not ! But I need him all this afternoon. 
 You go and visit Uncle Hi ; it '11 do you good, an' 
 I'll bet he's wondered why you have n't come 
 before." 
 
 " If I thought," said Benton sternly, u that any 
 harm was intended Jim " 
 
 " If harm was intended Jim," remarked 'Bije 
 gruffly, " he'd git it, which would be his concern 
 and none of yours. Go make your visit; spend 
 all evening if so disposed. Jim, come with me." 
 
 Benton, surprised at the permission and uneasy 
 about Jim, hesitated, but the thought of soon 
 standing in Emma's presence prevailed. He set 
 
200 STORK'S NEST 
 
 forth briskly along the road which led to the river. 
 The birds sang gayly, the August afternoon pulsed 
 with heat and light and perfumed breaths of wood 
 and meadow land. Only three weeks had passed 
 since his coming to the north Missouri country, 
 but he would doubtless have given Hezzie Whit- 
 licks a very different reception from that of the 
 gloomy hollow at the foot of the four hills. He 
 swung along boldly, his heart going before. But 
 he was not so bold when the log cabin came in 
 view. Why had the flowers ceased to visit him? 
 Why had his not been taken ? How would Emma 
 receive the young man who had feared to cross 
 the ford from which 'Bije had not shrunk? These 
 doubts caused his feet to slow their pace as he 
 approached the stile block. 
 
XII 
 DOES "EMMY" CARE? 
 
 ABenton mounted the stile block with 
 hesitating feet he tried to decide how he 
 would greet Emma. Her neglect of the 
 past week, her pains to show that she knew his 
 flower was placed in the book for her, and the 
 fact that she would not take it caused him 
 uneasiness and bitterness. On the other hand, he 
 was eager to see her after so long an absence, and 
 he was indebted to her for his life. It might 
 be best to make a show of wounded dignity, to 
 answer her hearty greeting with constraint, to 
 show in look and tone that he was offended. He 
 decided upon this course as he trod the ash path; 
 but the closer he came to the log cabin the more 
 rapidly he found his resentment vanishing. The 
 house was very quiet though the door was partly 
 ajar. Perhaps the girl was in the kitchen. Surely 
 Hiram was at the barn for, had he been within 
 reach of her voice, Emma would have been con- 
 versing with her grandfather. When Benton 
 knocked on the door every trace of stiffness had 
 vanished from his manner. 
 
 There was no response. He went around the 
 
 201 
 
202 STORK'S NEST 
 
 cabin and tried the kitchen door with the same 
 result. Both must have gone to visit old 'Thuze. 
 The young man's step was now light and eager. 
 He hurried through the orchard with a look of 
 greeting for the chickens, traversed the broom 
 corn patch at a smarter pace, and found himself 
 with the pigs in the horse lot. If at that moment 
 he could have seen Emma, a glad call would have 
 burst from his lips; there would have been noth- 
 ing to show her that he had been grieving on her 
 account. But Emma and Hiram, 'Thuze and the 
 spring wagon, were all gone. 
 
 In the shock of his disappointment, all his for- 
 mer sorrow returned. After two weeks he came 
 back to find that Emma and her grandfather had 
 gone visiting. He had written her the note say- 
 ing that he would come last Sunday; but last Sun- 
 day the crossing at the river was dangerous from 
 the rain of the night before. She ought to have 
 known that he would come the next Sunday, that 
 it was only on Sundays he was at liberty to go 
 where he pleased. She must have known this, yet, 
 knowing, she had left home. There could be but 
 one explanation of her conduct; she had ceased 
 to leave a flower in his book and to carry his away, 
 because she had ceased to value his friendship; 
 for that reason she had not stayed to welcome him 
 this afternoon. 
 
 Well, what then? He had warned himself 
 that he must not become too interested in the girl, 
 
DOES "EMMJ' CARE? 203 
 
 nor allow her to care too much for him. At times, 
 he had found it an effort to hold to this prudent 
 course; and now she was helping him and he was 
 dissatisfied! Why? As he wandered disconsolate 
 about the place he asked himself this question, 
 with a certain dread of the answer which readily 
 suggested itself. The truth began to grow upon 
 him that his interest in Emma's future was not 
 so disinterested as he would have preferred to 
 imagine. He shrank with repulsion from the con- 
 templation of 'Bije's marriage, but not wholly 
 because he felt it would make the innocent bride 
 miserable. It would make him miserable; as he 
 dwelt upon the idea, it seemed to him it would 
 render him miserable always. If Emma married 
 'Bije, what mattered regained health or acquired 
 strength ? What mattered all the ambitions which 
 had supported him in unceasing toil at desk and 
 counter and hoe? 
 
 As the afternoon stretched its shadows lazily, he 
 had full time and absolute solitude to examine his 
 heart, but it was not to be expected that he would 
 take complete advantage of it either. The situa- 
 tion was too strange and too unforeseen to com- 
 prehend it fully. Emma was too ignorant, too 
 illiterate, too impossible from the viewpoint of 
 his social set, to regard her as an equal. In spite 
 of her daring spirit, her warm, impulsive heart 
 and a certain homely wit, he felt her to be, not 
 only in the world's estimation, but in his own, 
 
204 STORK'S NEST 
 
 inferior. He considered himself too poor and too 
 young to contemplate marriage seriously; but, had 
 he been rich and mature, marriage with the Grand 
 River girl would have been a throwing away of 
 many of his privileges and powers. In his present 
 condition, such a marriage would encumber him 
 with chains from which it was unlikely that he 
 could ever break free. 
 
 So sane was Benton's view and so cogent his 
 logic, that it seemed a pity he was obliged to go 
 over the same ground and employ the same argu- 
 ments so often. There was something, not, indeed, 
 an argument, but an undeniable influence, which 
 seemed to become inextricably mingled and 
 imbedded in his premises and even in his con- 
 clusion; this was the memory of two dark gray 
 eyes and of silken locks of gold. He lingered in 
 the cabin yard, hoping Hiram and his grand- 
 daughter might be seen at any moment driving up 
 the hill. He reviewed his familiarity with the 
 place, visited the stumps of the trees he had 
 chopped in Emma's company, and even went to 
 examine the old man's traps. He entered the 
 front room and stared wistfully at the ladder and 
 at Hiram's single bed. But everything else 
 seemed suddenly overshadowed by an object 
 neither large nor important. It was Emma's blue 
 sunbonnet which had been carelessly tossed upon 
 the old man's counterpane. He approached it 
 with a tender look in his brown eyes which made 
 
DOES "EMMY" CARE? 205 
 
 his countenance more than usually handsome. He 
 took it up with reverent hand, and the perfume of j 
 her hair breathed upon his face. Reader, shall 
 we look out the door? The sunshine gilds the 
 distant wood, the catalpa beans hang motionless, 
 the plantains shoulder their spears. There is 
 nothing in this silent cabin to interest us ! 
 
 See ! something moves up the " big road," 
 moves so unwillingly, so unsteadily; perhaps it is 
 old 'Thuze at last. The gate opens. Wheels 
 rattle. A blue sunbonnet is thrown down hastily 
 and a young man carries a guilty look to the front 
 yard. 
 
 " Hello, Ben ! " calls a faint, worn-out voice. 
 Hiram is alone. He walks beside the spring 
 wagon, holding a string to keep it from slipping 
 from a shaft. " Now this is pleasant, son I Glad 
 to see yous indeed. I have bruck my harness 
 comin' up the hill. Ole 'Thuze see a rabbit jump 
 out the hedge, an' he squat. If I'd had Emmy 
 it wouldn't 'a' been no use, he done it so un- 
 
 warnin'." 
 
 Benton's heart failed him. He tried to appear 
 cheerful as he offered to help unhitch. 
 
 " We won't unhitch yit," said Hiram; " I 'low 
 thar's somethin' more pressin'. Yous come with 
 me." Hiram tied 'Thuze to a tree and walked 
 with more than accustomed speed to the kitchen 
 door. " Come right in here an' set down to the 
 table. Don't make no delay. As good an ole 
 
206 STORK'S NEST 
 
 ham as ever were cured. Here's a healthy slab; 
 fall to! How d'ye like it?" 
 
 " I never tasted such a ham ! " cried Benton. 
 
 " Take another slab. This corn pone air cold, 
 but it's only needed to bolster up your meat. 
 Kinder sweet, though, hain't it? " 
 
 " It is delightful, Mr. Garrett." 
 
 " Made by Emmy's own hands ! " cried Hiram, 
 beaming. 4 Take some more ! Ready for more 
 ham? Like for me to go out an' knock over a 
 chickun? Have it fried in no time, or b'iled if 
 yous think your stomick too tender for fried 
 meats." 
 
 Benton protested that he could eat all the meat 
 to which he was helped. " How is how is " 
 said Benton, " your health, Mr. Garrett? " 
 
 " Son, I'm runnin' down-hill," said the other 
 with sudden seriousness. " I'm not long now for 
 the open. I've got to leave Emmy before one 
 of these days. I'm wearin' out all over." 
 
 " You must n't ! " cried Benton earnestly. 
 " She can't spare you just now." 
 
 " I hain't fit to take care of her," said Hiram, 
 shaking his white locks. 
 
 " Oh, yes, you are ! " cried the young man. 
 " You are the only one who is fit. Don't trust her 
 in the care of those people, dear Mr. Garrett." 
 
 " She'll manage 'em all," said Hiram. " 'Bije 
 '11 do jest what she says even if it's to spend 
 money." 
 
DOES "EMMY' CARE? 207 
 
 " None of them can be what you are to her," 
 Benton exclaimed, deeply distressed. 
 
 " Well, I ain't dyin' on purpose," Hiram 
 returned, not without a faint show of spirit. " I 
 am dyin' because of complaints which has been 
 nursed an' treated with ever' respect, but which 
 jest nachurly gits more bossy the longer they air 
 knuckled to. Take some more ham. Grease your 
 in'ards, son. I wonder if they would n't be some 
 ways to carry home the ham bone an' keep it quiet 
 in your room? But yous seem pow'ful strong. 
 Them arms is gittin' tol'able like. I've heerd a 
 fat man gits fat on whatever he eats an' I reckon 
 if you're goin' to be strong, Storkses can't hender ! " 
 
 " I get enough exercise," said Benton a little 
 ruefully. " I live in the open air, too. When do 
 you look for Emmy, Mr. Garrett? " 
 
 * 'S no tellin', my son. They make a heap of 
 that gal. I calkerlate 'Bije '11 drive her back about 
 sunset. It's an hour till sun, now." 
 
 " 'Bije ! " exclaimed Benton. " But I left 'Bije 
 at home." 
 
 " Yous left Emmy thar too," said Hiram 
 dryly. " She taken late dinner thar." 
 
 " I think I might have known it," said the other 
 with a quick flush of resentment. " Why was I 
 given an early dinner and sent away, if it was n't 
 to be kept from her? " 
 
 " No other reason that I kin think of," said 
 Hiram. 
 
208 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " Do you mean she did n't want to see me? " 
 asked Benton, his color deepening. 
 
 " I mean 'Bije did n't want yous to. When a 
 man's in love an' kin have his way, love air like 
 a broad river with a island in the middle; that's 
 how I place it. He wants to go all around that 
 island an' no boatin' allowed." 
 
 " If Emma had wanted to see me," said Ben- 
 ton, " she would have asked for me." 
 
 " Stands to reason," said the old man. There 
 was a pause ; then he added : " Has Si paid yous 
 in full?" 
 
 * Yes," said the young man gloomily. 
 
 " I knowed they was a hones' f ambly ! " cried 
 the elder exultantly. " I'm glad yous told me. 
 I'm glad I ast. Can't eat no more? Shall we go 
 an' visit ole 'Thuze now? " 
 
 Benton helped to put the wagon away and to 
 feed the horse. He tried to shake off the despond- 
 ency which had fallen upon him and to show an 
 interest in the price of furs, but he felt that his 
 visit had been a dismal failure. 
 
 " Hain't goin' yit, son? " cried Hiram as Ben- 
 ton held out his hand. " Why Emmy '11 be here 
 now in no time 1 " But Benton was ready to go. 
 " Well, yous can't fail to meet her," the old man 
 said, grasping his hand. " I'm mighty glad yous 
 come. Do it ag'in, son ; do it ag'in ! I wish you'd 
 brung that Bible with yous. Won't yous brung it 
 next time? Say! Le' me tell yous -jest thought 
 
DOES "EMMY" CARE? 209 
 
 of it: two weeks from now an' it comes on Sun- 
 day air Emmy's seventeenth birthday. She's 
 been mighty chesty about it lately. Come an' take 
 dinner with us. Now, yous do it! Now I mean 
 it hearty; this ain't etiquette." 
 
 " Do you think," Benton inquired mournfully, 
 "that Emmy will want me?" 
 
 " It don't make no differnce whether she does or 
 not," Hiram declared. " I won't tell her till 
 you're here, so she can't do nothin' an', bein' her 
 birthday, she'll nachurly be open disposed, nohow. 
 I want to hear more Bible; that's a fact. I'm 
 goin' before long whar they don't have no other 
 readin' book, I do expect ! " 
 
 " I'll come," said Benton suddenly. He had 
 not gone far in the wood when he heard approach- 
 ing wheels, and from an elevation caught sight of 
 'Bije and Emma in a buggy. Emma saw him, but 
 'Bije, whose eyes were upon her face, was appar- 
 ently unaware of his presence. They were far 
 away and the girl's beauty was rather suggested 
 by memory than confirmed by sight. His feeling 
 of wounded pride and resentment asserted itself. 
 He turned aside and was swallowed up in a thicket 
 of hazel bushes. 
 
XIII 
 
 AT THE MERCY OF 'BIJE 
 
 BENTON did not remember Jim Whitlicks 
 till he came in sight of the brook where 
 they had separated. He went to the house, 
 dreading to find that the boy had been punished; 
 he felt that, if such were the case, there must be 
 an open rupture with 'Bije. 
 
 " Nuck," said Jim, in the privacy of their bed- 
 room, " I hain't been wolloped yit. I'll be next 
 Sunday, I reckon." 
 
 " Nonsense," said Benton, whom disappoint- 
 ment over Emma's behavior had rendered irri- 
 table. " Nobody's going to lay their finger on 
 you while I'm here. I believe it's your harping 
 on the dark side of things that has given me such 
 a dark impression of these people I mean of 
 'Bije. I don't know why I'm always thinking of 
 him as of a criminal, if it Is n't from your manner, 
 Jim." 
 
 " Yap," whined Jim, " I reckon if he was littler 
 than yous you'd lick him, though ! I want to tell 
 yous: when 'Bije called me away from yous at 
 the brook, what do yous reckon he wanted? " 
 
 210 
 
AT THE MERCY OF 'BIJE 211 
 
 " What? " demanded Benton sharply. 
 
 " I don't know," returned Jim, " or I would n't 
 be askin' your opinion." 
 
 " Jim," cried Benton impatiently, " how should 
 I know what happened? " 
 
 " Dun'no," said Jim. He sat upon the bed to 
 remove one shoe, for it was fast growing dark. 
 
 Benton walked to the dry goods box, which com- 
 bined the characteristics of a book-stall and drug- 
 store, and sadly opened his Bible; he drew forth 
 one of the faded blue flowers which Emma had 
 hidden there, as fresh and pure as herself. How 
 little he had dreamed, when he first discovered it, 
 that in less than two weeks her interest in him 
 would fade more completely than the delicate 
 petals ! 
 
 " I hope," said Jim, tugging at the shoe, " that 
 they will be some flowers cast on to my grave, but 
 if they hain't one, I won't be sa'prised." 
 
 Benton, staring at the flower, said perversely: 
 " It is your fault, Jim, that 'Bije and I are not 
 better friends. None of the neighbors say a word 
 against him." 
 
 " They dare n't ! " interposed Jim. 
 
 " Nonsense ! Is n't this a free country? " 
 
 " The country may be free, but I hain't," said 
 Jim. " I want t' tell yous. Come here." Jim 
 hobbled on his one shoe to a distant window. 
 "This window's locked, hain't it?" he inquired. 
 
 " Yes," said Benton. 
 
212 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " But it hain't, is it? " cried Jim, pushing it up. 
 " Don't make no noise when it rises, nuther, do 
 it? Smell of this groove. Hain't it been 'iled? 
 Look at that lock. Hain't it a make-believe? 
 This is whar your burglar come in that night. 
 When he got in, he goes to the door an' unlocks it 
 an' creaks it a bit so as to make yous think, if 
 awake, that he come in thar. Then, when he gits 
 through riflin', he locks the door ag'in, sneaks out 
 this window, pulls it down, an' the lock makes it 
 look secure. Poke your head out o' here. See 
 that pipe an' that gutter an' that shutter? I could 
 do it myself! " 
 
 " If you knew all this " 
 
 " Just thunk of it this evenin'. 'Bije made me 
 stay in here after yous went, an 1 I jest got to 
 devisin' about my afflictions an', when I got tired 
 of 'em, I nachurly thunk of pa's ghost. I kep' 
 devisin' an' devisin' till I worked this all out." 
 
 4 Well," said Benton, turning away with a 
 shrug, " I've long since given up trying to account 
 for that visitation except upon the ground of some 
 wandering madman. I've left this room open 
 and my trunk unlocked every day and night since, 
 and nothing is missing yet. As you seem to be 
 developing the talents of a detective, Jim, suppose 
 you investigate the Snake Room." 
 
 u S-s-sh!" said Jim. "Yous wait a minute." 
 He took off his other shoe, stole to each window 
 and looked out, then examined the door and 
 
AT THE MERCY OF 'BIJE 213 
 
 assured himself that no one was in the hall. 
 " Come here," he whispered, plucking Benton's 
 arm and drawing him toward the remotest corner 
 of the long apartment. " Benton Cabot, I was 
 passin' the Snake Room this very afternoon. I 
 did n't put in all my time devisin'. The door was 
 a little open an' thar was a lamp burnin' within; 
 they hain't no windows to it or, if they is, they're 
 nailed up. I see a sight on the floor that would 
 'a' jest iced my blood if I was n't always lookin' 
 for somethin' dreadful. Bein' always ready I jest 
 looked at it an' thinks, * Thar yous air; not as 
 bad as I expected.' But it was bad enough, Ben. 
 What do you's think it was? " 
 
 "The ghost?" asked Benton sarcastically. 
 
 " A coffin," said Jim; " a long black coffin with 
 a spade stickin' out o' it ! " Jim's long sallow face 
 looked preternaturally lugubrious as he stared at 
 the other to watch how this information would be 
 received. 
 
 " Let's go to bed," said Benton quietly. 
 
 " Ben," said Jim, considerably crestfallen, " do 
 yous reckon 'Bije deals in dead men's bodies? " 
 
 " Jim Whitlicks ! " cried Benton with pretended 
 severity, , " how can you think of such horrible 
 things?" 
 
 " I kin think of anythin' ! " Jim declared. 
 
 ' There's no reason why a person should n't 
 keep a coffin in his bedroom," said Benton, still 
 with a show of severity, " or spades. It's a matter 
 
2i 4 STORK'S NEST 
 
 of taste. I wonder you have n't one yourself, Jim. 
 Come, I'm sleepy." 
 
 But Benton still lay awake when Jim was snor- 
 ing mournfully. He was now convinced that " the 
 ghost " inhabited the Snake Room. The coffin 
 se.en by Jim must be the one Hiram Garrett had 
 seen and to which Hezzie Whitlicks had referred. 
 The impostor kept it in this dark apartment until 
 ready to make a visible manifestation. Then it 
 was carried to some lonely spot in the wood, a 
 spectator was tolled near, and " the ghost " crept 
 into its dismal protection. What object could 
 'Bije have in abetting the impostor? As remem- 
 bered by the young man, the ghost was a large, 
 well developed man, almost as tall as 'Bije him- 
 self. It seemed impossible that he could inhabit 
 that room many weeks without discovery. Ben- 
 ton was resolved to fathom this mystery, on 
 Emma's account. If 'Bije was a criminal she 
 should know it. Whatever he was, the reason for 
 that coffin's presence and that room's mystery 
 must be laid bare before he left the Grand River 
 country. Perhaps he had been kept away from 
 the house as much on account of that room's occu- 
 pant as on account of Emma. Henceforth he 
 would not be found so docile in obeying unreason- 
 able orders. With these reflections, he fell asleep. 
 
 The work of the next week consisted in load- 
 ing and hauling cord wood to Laclede Station. 
 Such occupation rendered Benton's resolutions 
 
AT THE MERCY OF 'BIJE 215 
 
 futile. Silas always carried his lunch with him, but 
 Benton treated himself and Jim to hot dinners at 
 the store. Hicky Price, the owner of the establish- 
 ment, happened in upon them one day; he had 
 come from his farm to take an inventory of his 
 stock. 
 
 " Good gracious alive ! " shouted Hicky from 
 the doorway, "if it hain't Ben! How air yous, 
 Ben? Well, if it hain't Jim ! How air yous, Jim? 
 Who on airth would 'a' thought to see yous here 
 with your legs cocked, an' hot victuals rollin' an' 
 tumblin' down your throats? If I'd been told of 
 it, I'd 'a' had to have said: * I'm from Mizzoury 
 show me ! ' An' here you-all set ! How air 
 yous, anyway?" By this time he had wrung 
 their hands heartily. " Whar's Emmy? 'T 'ome? 
 Whar's the old bacteria? Settin' on some gate 
 post, yit, skeered he'll have to pay? How come 
 you-all with spendin' money, livin' with sich a 
 parasite? " 
 
 " He pays us promptly," said Benton. 
 
 " Oh, he do ! " muttered Hicky, shaking his 
 head. ;< Well, no man is consistent, back'ards or 
 for'ads! Whar's Emmy, boys?" 
 
 " Don't ask us," said Jim mournfully. " What 
 with me bein' pestered with germs an' Benton 
 with burglars, we got no time for canticonin'." 
 
 "Burglars!" echoed Hicky; and Benton was 
 obliged to tell the story and to re-tell its salient 
 points many times. Benton, who presently wearied 
 
216 STORK'S NEST 
 
 of such inquiries as "Which window was it?" 
 " How big is it? " " How high is it? " etc., sought 
 to divert the conversation into other channels, but 
 Hicky headed him off with : " Stick to your tale, 
 Ben ! Well, if it hain't Jim ! How air yous, Jim? " 
 Finally he asked, stretching out his neck till his 
 head was close to Benton's : " Whar air them 
 minin' certificates, now? " 
 
 " In my trunk where they have always been." 
 
 " Think you'll find 'em thar when yous git 
 home?" 
 
 " I have hitherto," returned Benton, smiling. 
 
 " An' yit yous air from Mizzoury! " exclaimed 
 Hicky, rising suddenly. He started toward the 
 door, apparently with the intention of leaving the 
 place, but suddenly he turned and approached the 
 table at which Benton and Jim were dining. 
 "Say! you're right in thinkin' they're safe while 
 you're from home. They won't be took till yous 
 air right thar to sw'ar to it. See? " 
 
 " No," said Benton. 
 
 Hicky started away again and this time reached 
 the door. Then he came back hastily. " Don't 
 yous see, if they was took now, you'd suspect ole 
 Parasite? Who would n't? Ole Parasite knows 
 that. But when you're right thar in the room, 
 some night or other, the ghost will come an' carry 
 'em away an' ole Parasite will be streakin' aroun' 
 tryin' to ketch him. See? " 
 
 " You think," Benton smiled, " that Silas Stork 
 
AT THE MERCY OF 'BIJE 217 
 
 wants my mining certificates? Did you ever hear 
 of the Golden Glory mines? " 
 
 " Nuck. But the way they has drawed atten- 
 tention makes me think they're worth a sight. 
 They're worth so much that a man's willin' to 
 break into your room at night to git 'em ! " 
 
 " The trunk stays open all the time," said Ben- 
 ton, trying to argue away the suspicion which was 
 hazily forming in his mind. " Why does n't the 
 thief come while I am down in the timber?" 
 
 Hicky left the room in disgust at this obtuse- 
 ness, but was back almost immediately. " Be- 
 cause," he said in a low voice, " I tell yous it 
 would bring suspicion on ole Parasite." 
 
 " Ben," said Jim, " do have some sense! " 
 
 "That's it, Jim, that's it! " cried Hicky excit- 
 edly; " yous have said the right word. I did n't 
 know yous had it, yourself, Jim. You're right! " 
 
 " I'll tell you what I'll do," said Benton thought- 
 fully. " I'll hide the certificates and write to the 
 mining company, if it is still in existence, and 
 find out if there is anything in it." 
 
 Hicky Price seized Benton's hand as he 
 repeated: "Jim, yous said the right word. I'll 
 git yous pen an' ink this minute, Ben." 
 
 This conversation took place on Saturday, the 
 last day of the wood hauling. Only one place 
 occurred to Benton where the certificates would 
 be safe, Hiram Garrett's cabin. As he was invited 
 to take dinner there Sunday week, he decided in 
 
218 STORK'S NEST 
 
 the meantime never to sleep without having the 
 papers about his person. When he was told the 
 next day that he and Jim would be expected to 
 take " thar usual Sunday frolic down in the pas- 
 tures," he leaped to the conclusion that Emma was 
 again invited to spend the day with the Storks and 
 that the ghost might air himself before her com- 
 ing. He resolved to go to the house in the after- 
 noon, in spite of Silas's warning, and speak to 
 Emma and learn beyond mistake whether or not 
 she desired his absence. About two o'clock 
 'Bije appeared before them as on the previous 
 Sunday. 
 
 " Jim, can you come to the house a minute? " 
 he inquired, his deep voice sounding not unkindly. 
 
 " I kin come," said Jim, rising, " or yous 
 would n't be askin'. An' I kin be walloped, 
 too." 
 
 'Bije winked at Benton. " Did you ever know 
 such a case? " he inquired almost genially. " Come 
 on, then. Ben, you can spare him an hour or so, I 
 reckon. We won't look for you, Ben. Enjoy 
 yourself, being a gentleman ! " 
 
 Benton resented being winked at by 'Bije; he 
 resented the tone of voice which bordered upon 
 bantering, but he was too impatient of Jim's gloomy 
 anticipations to make any objection. Jim and 
 'Bije accordingly departed, Jim muttering that 
 " nobody need n't think he was took by sa'prise." 
 They had not been gone long when the young man 
 
AT THE MERCY OF 'BIJE 219 
 
 prepared to follow. It was not without tingling 
 nerves that he entered into open rebellion against 
 the Storks. Before he reached the back lot he 
 could see a cart standing near the gate to which a 
 dispirited, bony horse was harnessed. The horse 
 stood with head low between its forelegs, its ears 
 pointing at the ground. It heard Benton's 
 approach, but gave no other sign of recognition 
 than by opening its mouth to a frightful extent 
 and working the lower jaw to the right and the 
 upper jaw to the left in a hideous yawn. It was 
 Methuselah. Emma, then, was there and no 
 doubt Hiram had brought her. The sight of the 
 cart changed Benton's purpose. Why should he 
 force himself upon the girl's attention when she 
 expressed no desire to see him? His wounded 
 pride rebelled and he turned half-angrily away. 
 As he approached the barn aimlessly he decided 
 not to go to the log cabin on Emma's birthday nor 
 to seek her in any way. 
 
 " She need never see me again," he muttered, 
 " if that is her wish." 
 
 He was near the rear of the barn when he 
 fancied he heard mysterious sounds from within; 
 every sound on the Stork farm naturally appealed 
 to him as mysterious. The ghost might be taking 
 his air after long confinement in the Snake Room. 
 Benton in his present mood was careless of danger. 
 A door stood open and he entered a floorless 
 inclosure. On his right was the corn bin, a tall 
 
220 STORK'S NEST 
 
 square box with no opening but the little wooden 
 door, now closed. 
 
 " If you yell," came 'Bije's deep hoarse voice, 
 " I'll give you one to-morrow to remember. You 
 see, my lad, you was n't bound out to Si to be 
 always complaining, stirring up sister Crishy and 
 dropping hints to Benton and visitors. You was 
 bound out to do good hard work an' to be con- 
 tented with us. That there being contented is just 
 as much a piece of your job as plowing corn is. 
 D' ye see, Jamie, my boy? " 
 
 Benton had stood thus long rooted to the spot, 
 his form trembling with suppressed anger and 
 amazement. As 'Bije's voice ceased its deep 
 rumble there came the sound of a blow and a faint 
 moan. With every nerve tingling Benton flung 
 open the door, which was about three feet from 
 the floor, and glared within. Jim Whitlicks stood 
 upon the corn in the middle of the inclosure, naked 
 to the waist. His poor bony arms were extended 
 straight upward, the wrists bound to a beam over- 
 head. 'Bije clutched a leather strap whose cruel 
 descent Benton had heard. A dull red stripe 
 appeared across the thin, unhealthy body of the 
 orphan. 
 
 4 You villain ! " cried Benton, bounding through 
 the narrow opening and sending the corn in all 
 directions from under his impetuous feet. 'Bije, 
 taken by surprise, had not time to ward off the 
 blow which struck him on his cruel mouth. His 
 
AT THE MERCY OF 'BIJE 221 
 
 lower lip was cut against his teeth and the sudden 
 show of blood added a touch of ferocity to his 
 white anger. 
 
 Dropping the strap, 'Bije caught both of the 
 other's arms and held them in a vise of iron. Ben- 
 ton, still mad from outraged indignation, sought 
 to throw himself away from the inflexible hands. 
 There was a tense silence, then the giant slowly 
 bent down Benton's arms, compelling him to sink 
 upon the corn. 
 
 " This room is rather small," said 'Bije with 
 perfect composure, " and I will put you where you 
 will not be in the way; but since you want to 
 see the sights, I'll not throw you out of the 
 room." 
 
 A rope lay close at hand. Pressing his knee 
 upon Benton's chest, 'Bije without much difficulty 
 succeeded in pinioning the young man's arms in 
 such a way that it was impossible for him to move 
 them. Mortification at his own helplessness 
 rendered Benton dumb, but his eyes blazed with a 
 dangerous light as 'Bije dragged him roughly to a 
 corner and still further secured him by tying his 
 legs to an upright beam in the wall. Never before 
 had the young man so keenly realized the advan- 
 tage of physical prowess. 
 
 4 You are stronger than I am," he said, his voice 
 vibrating with passion, " stronger in mere brute 
 force. And yet one day I shall prove your master, 
 'Bije. Beware what you do." 
 
222 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " Now, Jim, we will proceed," remarked 'Bije, 
 snatching up the heavy strap. ' You'll pardon 
 me, my lad, for seeming to treat you with neglect 
 so long. Of course, visitors has their rights an' 
 must be 'tended to. We'll go on with the wollop- 
 ing if you don't mind. As I was sayin', you're 
 hired to Si to do hard work and to be contented, 
 and being contented is just as much a part of your 
 job as plowing corn. I'll try to learn you con- 
 tentment." 
 
 The powerful arm was thrown high in air and 
 the strap came down with cruel force upon the 
 writhing back. Benton strained at his bonds, 
 hissing between clenched teeth, " I'll testify to 
 this brutal treatment before the court ! " 
 
 " And your carping makes sister Crishy dis- 
 satisfied," said 'Bije, " and it keeps you miserable. 
 Are you getting more contented, Jim ? Wait, you 
 need n't answer yet." The strap descended again 
 and again and at each sickening thud Benton felt, 
 at it were, the sting of the blow upon his own 
 heart. 
 
 " 'Bije, 'Bije," moaned Jim at last, " I can't bear 
 it, I can't, indeed, stand no more ! " 
 
 " Oh, yes, you can ! " said 'Bije, stretching his 
 mouth in silent laughter as he paused in his labor. 
 " You can stand fifty lashes. Don't you remem- 
 ber we counted once to see just how much you 
 could stand under? It was forty-eight, an' I'm 
 confident we can make it fifty this time. Be sure 
 
AT THE MERCY OF 'BUE 223 
 
 to keep count; this here is getting interesting, hey, 
 Ben?" 
 
 The next blow brought flecks of blood to the 
 back already covered with bruised stripes. Ben- 
 ton closed his eyes that he might not witness the 
 torture he was powerless to prevent. At that 
 moment there came to them the sound of Emma's 
 voice. It was not far away. She was singing 
 and her fresh, clear tones, untrained but musical, 
 came to them with startling effect. The sob was 
 hushed in Jim's throat. Benton's clenched hands 
 began to relax, the bloody nails showing where 
 they had been driven into the flesh in the intensity 
 of his rage and suffering. The strap swung list- 
 lessly in the hairy hand of the merciless master. 
 
 She was singing a simple ballad of her native 
 State and the words brought before their minds 
 familiar scenes and forgotten days which quieted 
 to some degree Benton's resentment and softened, 
 it may be, 'Bije's inherent cruelty. But, whether 
 it was from a touched conscience or from fear of 
 discovery, the strap was cast hastily into a corner 
 as the words floated to them on a sweet, unpreten- 
 tious air: 
 
 "We've wandered 'long barefooted, through the woods trudged 
 
 many a mile, 
 
 The pawpaw and the blackhaw gav? a zest to young delight, 
 The blue-grass waved a smile, 
 In old Missouri. 
 
224 STORK'S NEST 
 
 "The Mississippi bathed our feet, its waters lulled to rest; 
 For us the locusts blossomed, and deep burned the goldenrod, 
 The redbird sang his best, 
 In old Missouri! 
 
 " The steamboat's melancholy cry came as the plaintive dove, 
 And every paddle-wheel that plied from steep St. Louis shores 
 To Hannibal we love, 
 In old Missouri. 
 
 " The sorghum-cane grew yellow, and gave forth its fragrant 
 
 foam; 
 
 The maple-syrup campfires gleamed on clover-scented fields, 
 There is no place like home 
 In old Missouri ! " 
 
 The song grew fainter as the singer passed 
 farther and farther away; then came her call 
 "'Bije! O, 'Bije!" 
 
 That name upon her lips broke the spell which 
 had silenced Benton. He shouted madly, hoping 
 she might come and discover Jim's situation. 
 
 "She can't hear you," said 'Bije. "Don't 
 exert yourself, Benny. Well, Jim, she's saved 
 you this once and when she's my wife I reckon 
 you'll have an easier time. I've got to leave 
 you, my lad, but we'll count fifty another time, 
 hey, my boy? We won't consider this ended yet, 
 will we, old fellow? We'll have to begin all 
 over again, too, but we'll wait till some day 
 when we have lots of time before us. Now take 
 this knife, my fine fellow," he added, thrusting an 
 open knife into Jim's hand. " If you work indus- 
 
AT THE MERCY OF 'BIJE 225 
 
 triously you can get yourself loose in about half an 
 hour. Then you can liberate Ben, here. So long, 
 gentlemen ! " 
 
 'Bije hastened toward the door. " Be sure," 
 called Benton fiercely, " that I will tell Emma 
 everything that has happened here. She shall see 
 your character as it is. And when I am free " 
 
 " Please send the rest by mail," called 'Bije, as 
 he left the barn with eager feet. " Here I am, 
 Emmy," he called; " I'm cominM " 
 
 Jim made, indeed, a pitiful object as he stood 
 with the knife in his almost helpless hand. 'Bije 
 had learned that by infinite pains and patience the 
 lad could work his wrist about till at last the blade 
 would encounter the rope that held his arm, 
 stretched to its utmost length; then, by sawing 
 back and forth in the scant space afforded, the rope 
 after successive efforts would be severed. 
 
 " I knowed I'd git wolloped," said Jim, as he 
 tugged at the rope, and his voice was not without 
 a dismal note of triumph, " I told you so ! Ben, 
 you'll pay for tryin' to he'p me ! " 
 
 " I'm ready to meet 'Bije at any moment," cried 
 Benton angrily. 
 
 " Yap," said Jim, " and you'll be jest as ready 
 to git away from him, I reckon. Nobody gits 
 nothin' off o' 'Bije without payin' int'rust. But 
 thanky for tryin' to help me; if Emmy had n't 
 sang, I felt like the hunt was up." 
 
 " Can't you reach that rope, Jim? " interrupted 
 
226 STORK'S NEST 
 
 the other impatiently. " I want to take you to the 
 house and show you to Emma." 
 
 " Who, me? Nuck! I ain't goin' to rub my- 
 self on 'Bije's memory. I'm ready for what conies, 
 but I ain't goin' after it." 
 
 " I shall go as soon as you cut me loose," cried 
 Benton, his brown eyes burning with wrath as he 
 recalled the scene just ended, the cringing, shudder- 
 ing half naked form of the lad, and the calm re- 
 morseless giant dealing his cruel blows. " I am 
 not bound out to that wretch. I shall leave this 
 place at once, and, if there is any justice in the 
 county, you shall be set free to go with me. 
 There ! " as Jim's knife smote the edge of the 
 rope, " cut deeper, Jim, and you are free. I'll 
 go to the house and strike while the iron's hot." 
 
 " If 'Bije is the iron you mean," whined Jim, 
 " I guess you'll always find him warm enough ! 
 They was a new moon last night an ' I knowed it 
 wa'n't for nothin'. New moons has been the 
 plague of my life. When I see one a-comin' in 
 the almanac, I lay out ground to plant aches and 
 misery. An' they always come up, ever' hill of 
 
 'em." 
 
 A bolder stroke of the knife severed the rope 
 and presently the orphan was free. It was the 
 matter of but a few moments to set Benton at 
 liberty. 
 
 " Come, Jim," said the young man hastily. 
 
 " Nuck," said Jim, drawing on his shirt and 
 
AT THE MERCY OF 'BIJE 227 
 
 watching the other with a dismal face until eclipsed 
 by the garment, " excuse me, Ben ! " 
 
 " Then good-by," and Benton hurried from the 
 corn bin. " Wish me luck, Jim ! " he called, 
 hardly yet composed in view of the approaching 
 encounter. 
 
 " The moon hain't right for luck," said Jim, 
 dolefully; " it's too fresh!" 
 
 As Benton strode across the lot he heard dis- 
 cordant sounds from the parlor. Emma was at 
 the piano, Emma and 'Bije. His face hardened, 
 and the light in his eyes burned brighter as he 
 drew near. 
 
XIV 
 
 "EMMY" CHOOSES THE SHORT 
 WAY 
 
 BIJE, with the helpless moans of Jim Whit- 
 licks still sounding in his ears, met Emma 
 Garrett wandering in the yard. As he 
 stepped beside her the sufferings of the orphan 
 and the fury of Jim's friend passed from his mind. 
 He loved the girl whose bright face was turned 
 away, and his voice was as tender as it was deep as 
 he said: 
 
 " YouVe had plenty of time, I hope, to reach 
 a decision, Emmy. I've waited, feeling that my 
 life depends upon your answer. I can't stand this 
 suspense no longer. Have you been taking time to 
 think it over? " 
 
 1 Yes," said Emma, little dreaming how he had 
 been passing his period of suspense. " Yes, I have 
 thought hard an' long, 'Bije, hard an' long." 
 
 "We'll go to the parlor," said 'Bije, " an' 
 there I'll have your final answer. You know how 
 I love you, dear girl, an' have loved you for years. 
 And you know that your gran'father thinks high 
 of me, and I reckon you don't dislike me 
 yourself." 
 
 228 
 
"EMMY' CHOOSES SHORT WAY 229 
 
 " I am so young," said Emma, plucking 
 nervously at the strings of her sunbonnet, which she 
 carried in her hands. She looked at her com- 
 panion as they approached the front steps, but no 
 color showed in her rounded cheeks. 
 
 " That's another reason," came the deep voice, 
 its gentleness giving it a musical reverberation. 
 " Your dear grandfather can't live much longer. 
 What '11 become of you, then, Emmy? Just step 
 in the parlor; I'll be there directly." 
 
 Emma entered the front room and 'Bije 
 hurried to the dining-room, where Silas and his 
 wife were sitting. " Come on, sister Crishy," said 
 'Bije in a low voice, " an' make your little speeches, 
 as rehearsed, an' speak up prompt and spicy! " 
 
 Mrs. Stork's eyes seemed to have turned all to 
 whites as she looked at her brother-in-law, but she 
 rose, limp and skimpy of attire, and prepared to 
 follow. They had scarcely departed when Benton 
 came through the rear door and found Silas alone. 
 
 " Why, Ben ! " exclaimed the farmer, thrusting 
 his fingers into his bushy whiskers and seeking to 
 block the hall door with his squat form, " yous 
 hain't waited till horn blowin' ! " 
 
 'Where is 'Bije?" Benton interrupted, push- 
 ing his way into the hall. 
 
 " Better slip back, brother," said Silas, in a con- 
 ciliatory voice. " Better return to them sweet airy 
 pastures an' not tromple on 'Bije's sensibilities, 
 each of 'em as tender as any corn to my toes." 
 
2 3 o STORK'S NEST 
 
 Benton went to the parlor door and drew it 
 open roughly. As he did so Emma said, speak- 
 ing very slowly, while her girlish tones smote 
 upon the young man's heart: 
 
 " I reckon it's the best thing I can do." 
 
 Benton entered. The room had three occu- 
 pants: 'Bije, Mrs. Stork and Emma Garrett. It 
 was the first time Benton had viewed the interior 
 of this room and, even in his excited condition, he 
 found surprise in the costly pictures, the rosewood 
 furniture and the velvet carpet. A room of such 
 luxurious furnishings in the house whose other 
 rooms were so poorly appointed, took his mind for 
 an instant from those who had hastily turned at 
 the sound of the opened door. But the next 
 moment he was aware of 'Bije's heavy, hostile 
 brow, of Mrs. Stork's lean, tall form, and of 
 Emma's radiant beauty. 
 
 " Why, hello, Ben ! " said Emma, in a quiet but 
 friendly voice. She was seated upon the piano 
 stool, her back to the instrument and, before Ben- 
 ton's entrance, she had been facing 'Bije, who 
 stood at the window. She made no motion to rise 
 and Benton bowed with constraint. He turned 
 at once toward the master and was struck by his 
 appearance, which, in the excitement of the corn 
 bin, he had scarcely observed. 'Bije was undeni- 
 ably handsome. He was dressed in a decent black 
 suit which even went the length of a vest, the 
 closest approach to a coat Benton had seen since 
 
"EMMY' CHOOSES SHORT WAY 231 
 
 coming to this wild country. His shirt was not 
 white, of course, there were no white shirts in 
 the neighborhood, apparently, save Benton's, 
 but it was as near white as pale blue polka dots 
 would permit. His hair was carefully arranged 
 in two scallops, his neck was at ease in a high 
 laundered collar and his face, when it recovered 
 from a momentary flush of anger, wore its grave 
 authority. 
 
 " Well, Benton," he said suavely, u how you 
 burst in upon us! Do you wish to speak to me? 
 I will join you in your room, if you desire." 
 
 The sight of Emma, so well at ease, so calm 
 and, though friendly, so indifferent, changed Ben- 
 ton's purpose or rather inspired him with a sudden 
 resolution. " I will speak to you here ! " he said 
 firmly. 
 
 'Bije had not anticipated so speedy a liberation 
 of the young man. In truth, Benton's encourage- 
 ment had made Jim more than usually expeditious 
 with the knife. However, since he was here, it 
 pleased the suitor to treat him with supercilious 
 politeness and at the same time to wound him to 
 the quick by seeming to ignore him while pressing 
 his suit. 
 
 " Indeed, Emmy," he said, " you are right. It 
 is best for you and me and for uncle Hi. I'll 
 give you a happy life; I'll build you a noble house 
 over in Gentry County. Say the word an' I'll go 
 to work on it to-morrow. This here parlor shows 
 
232 STORK'S NEST 
 
 you how every room in that house '11 show up. 
 Say the word, my dear girl, say the word! " 
 
 Benton's cheeks turned a dusky red, not so 
 much from 'Bije's contemptuous treatment of him, 
 as from outraged shame that Emma could listen 
 to such a villain. It was true, she did not know 
 him as he was, but it was true also that she frankly 
 regarded the suit from a mercenary point of 
 view. 
 
 As he turned to regard Emma with a stern 
 brow he was more than ever struck by the beauty 
 of her winning face. She was dressed in her 
 accustomed plain attire. Perhaps it was because 
 he had not seen her for so long a time and had so 
 craved to see her, and had dreamed over the 
 thought of her at his humble toil; certain it was 
 that her skin looked clearer and softer, her hair 
 showed a more exquisite sheen of gold, her eyes 
 appeared of a darker gray and of a brighter light 
 and purer clearness, her feet were more like per- 
 fectly sculptured marble. 
 
 Benton opened his mouth to speak, but at that 
 moment 'Bije darted a significant glance at the 
 mistress of the house. Mrs. Stork, who had been 
 sitting rigid with legs crossed, apparently deeply 
 interested in an examination of the foot extended 
 before her, spoke in an automatic voice: 
 
 " Emmy, yous know 'Bije is as soft-hearted a 
 human as can be found. So I have always knowed 
 him an' so you'll experience." 
 
" Indeed, Emmy," he said, " You are right; it is best for you 
 and for me. Say the word, my dear girl, say the word." 
 
"EMMY' CHOOSES SHORT WAY 233 
 
 'Bije glanced at his sister-in-law again, this time 
 with an approving nod. 
 
 " Mr. Stork," Benton interposed, in a sharp, 
 clear tone, " I have come upon you at a wrong 
 time. But my business is soon stated." 
 
 " If you had obeyed me," said 'Bije quietly, 
 " you would n't have made this mistake. I never 
 give orders without reason. But it may be a com- 
 fort to you to know that Emmy has found a pro- 
 tector and, when she's my own little wife, we'll 
 live in a house that them St. Louis kinsfolks 
 might die of envy to inhabit. You've often 
 wondered, Benton, what would become of Emmy, 
 uncle Hi being dead. Now you see she is pro- 
 vided for." 
 
 u Benton," said Emma, turning toward him and 
 gazing into his eyes with a wistful, almost appeal- 
 ing look upon her face, " what else can I do? I 
 had a scheme to come here an' take lessons of you 
 every day, an' I did come, but you was always 
 busy, always busy ! An' gran'pop has got weaker, 
 now, an' he wants me to marry 'Bije; he says it '11 
 rest his mind to knovv I will. Looks like I'm 
 drove to it. An' they was n't no help from you, 
 Benton, they was n't no help ! I come an' I waited, 
 but it was n't no use. An' an' you won't care, 
 will yous? " 
 
 u Whether I care or not is nothing to you," 
 said Benton abruptly. " You know what I think 
 of this man and I have no more to say. If you 
 
234 STORK'S NEST 
 
 had wanted to see me here, you could have asked 
 for me. Perhaps if you had seen this fellow as I 
 just found him, beating Jim Whitlicks in the 
 barn " 
 
 " 'Bije told me he had to give Jim a thrashin'," 
 said Emma, a bright red spot coming in either 
 cheek at Benton's manner. " An' there are times 
 when Jim ain't to be put up with; you know that." 
 
 Benton, indignant at this defense, blazed forth : 
 " It is well for you to defend this monster since 
 you are to marry him. And when you are his 
 wife, you can help him to strip Jim to the waist 
 and stretch his poor arms above his head to the 
 rafters and count the blows from his bloody lash. 
 Or, if you do not enjoy this sport, you can run and 
 hide and reflect upon the sequel of selling yourself 
 for this man's money." 
 
 " But, my dear sir," interposed 'Bije coolly, 
 though his eyes darted toward the other a savage 
 glance, " when a fellow's getting trounced he 
 has no use for his hands; they'd just be in the way, 
 like. That's why I tied 'em up. Emmy, say the 
 word! 1 ' 
 
 Emma's face showed a hard light as she 
 answered a little louder than was her wont: 
 " Jest consider the word said." 
 
 " He is as soft-hearted a mortal," Mrs. Stork 
 again announced in her monotonous voice, as one 
 who speaks by rote, " as kin be found. I have 
 knowed him as sich an' so you'll experience." 
 
"EMMY' CHOOSES SHORT WAY 235 
 
 " I have come to tell you," Benton interrupted, 
 " that I am going to leave your place." 
 
 " Whenever you're ready," returned 'Bije, " just 
 make your own schedule an' run your train accord- 
 ing to it." 
 
 " Oh, Ben ! " Emma exclaimed, rising suddenly, 
 while the hardness melted as by magic from her 
 face, " you ain't goin' away, Ben? " 
 
 " Let 'im go," said 'Bije; " did n't he say you 
 was n't nothing to him? As if we did n't know 
 that before ! Don't you fret about him nor nothin' 
 else, Emmy; when we're married, we'll go to 
 them St. Louis kinfolks an' we'll take all the air 
 out 'f their sails. They'll find you as good a 
 woman as the female part of 'em ever dared 
 to be." 
 
 Emma looked at 'Bije with the clear steadiness 
 she had hitherto exhibited, as if weighing his every 
 word, then turned to the young man : " Ben, when 
 are you goin' ? " 
 
 " Now," said Benton sternly; " at once! " 
 
 " H'ist your trunk on your back," 'Bije advised, 
 " an' turtle off in your own shell. Don't stop for 
 gates, nor nothin'." 
 
 Benton had not considered difficulties. " As 
 soon as I can, I will go," he replied with grim 
 fixedness. 
 
 '' Won't I see you again? " Emma asked, look- 
 ing at him wistfully. " You'll come to tell 
 gran'pop good-by, won't you ? " 
 
236 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " Did your grandfather come with you? " Ben- 
 ton asked, turning away. " If so, I can tell him 
 good-by here." 
 
 Emma did not answer. There was an awkward 
 pause. 
 
 "Well," said 'Bije, suddenly lifting his head, 
 " go or stay. Do somethin' I " 
 
 " I will go," Benton answered. Emma's 
 strange meekness after her haughty bearing, her 
 humility as she watched him with clasped hands, 
 so unlike the high-spirited behavior natural to her, 
 touched him deeply. " I owe you my life, Emma," 
 he said with sudden gentleness, " and if the time 
 should ever come I would gladly repay you with 
 my own. I owe you some happiness, but I cannot 
 hope to repay you that, because you have resolved 
 to marry this man with whom I know you can 
 never be happy. Good-by." He moved away. 
 
 44 Ben " said Emma, then paused. He 
 
 turned toward her swiftly, hoping she might, after 
 all, depart from her resolution. 
 
 The afternoon sunlight was behind her as she 
 stood between Benton and the open window, and 
 its golden glory edged her hair with radiant 
 splendor. At that moment the future was closed 
 to him, and he fancied he was taking his last look 
 at the Grand River girl. The sight of her youth- 
 ful beauty, framed in August gold, and the reflec- 
 tion that it would soon be claimed by the cruel 
 master of Stork's Nest brought him exquisite pain. 
 
"EMMY' CHOOSES SHORT WAY 237 
 
 Emma added, almost in a whisper, " Good-by! " 
 Still he waited. It was always a sorrow to leave 
 Emma. But she had turned her face away as if 
 he were already gone from her thoughts and from 
 her life. 
 
XV 
 BROOM CORN 
 
 NOT long after Benton's abrupt departure 
 from the parlor Silas Stork apologetically 
 opened the door. Emma sat upon the 
 piano stool, gazing steadily through the open win- 
 dow, Mrs. Stork was covertly watching 'Bije, and 
 there was little affection in her shifty glance. 
 
 " 'Bijey " said Silas timidly. 
 
 'Bije turned abruptly toward him. " Seems as 
 if the whole earth is comin' here," he muttered, 
 " before I can get my courtin' done ! Well, Silas, 
 what do you want? " 
 
 " Ben's goin' to leave, 'Bijey," said Silas, in his 
 most conciliating tones. " I refused him the bosses 
 an' the mules, so he 'lows to light out a-foot an' 
 send a wagon here from Laclede Station after his 
 trunk. An' I told him to wait till I seen you an' 
 he's promised to wait jest a minute. He's down 
 to the front gate, now, an honin' to git fu'ther; 
 an' I says " 
 
 'Bije interrupted him impatiently: " Oh, yes, 
 I'll go an' talk to the young hum ! gentleman. 
 All right. Well, Emmy, you've done said the 
 word; that buoys me up till I can speak with you 
 fu'ther. I'll be back at once." 
 
 238 
 
BROOM CORN 239 
 
 The twins left the parlor. 
 
 u Hold on, 'Bije," said Silas, in a low voice as 
 the other was striding toward the front door. 
 " Wait a minute. I've been thinkin'. Now, if 
 Ben goes an' gits away before his trunk leaves here 
 an' if he misses them shurs afterwards, nobody 
 would n't think but what we had a hand in it, 
 ever'body standin' pat to think the worst of man 
 that the law allows. An' then we would be up 
 Salt River, shore ! Can't yous git him back to the 
 house, so them shurs " 
 
 "What are you talkin' of?" growled 'Bije, 
 pausing in the door. " Who said Ben was goin' 
 to leave ? Him ? Well, who is he ? I never said 
 so. He'll stay right here along of his certificates 
 till they can be took by Hezzie Whitlicks from 
 under his very nose. Now it's me tellin' you ! " 
 
 Silas extended his arm toward his brother in 
 proud affection, saying to the empty hall, " An' 
 his name air 'Bije Stork! " 
 
 'Bije, wholly unappeased by this compliment, 
 growled fiercely: " You are a mighty little man 
 to be so big a fool, Si ! " 
 
 " Look, 'Bijey, I know I air a fool, but look at 
 Ben ; he have dumb the gate ! " 
 
 " I'll get him," said 'Bije confidently. " Both 
 of us has gone too far to let him get fu'ther! " 
 
 Benton, however, was not so eager to be gone 
 as Silas feared. For a time hot anger had borne 
 him away, but already the influence of Emma had 
 
240 STORK'S NEST 
 
 asserted itself. Even the thought of her readiness 
 to sacrifice herself began to find an excuse in the 
 wishes of her grandfather. She was but a child, 
 so pure and tender-hearted, so dutiful and loving, 
 comprehending so little the result of the step she 
 was about to take. She was but a child, with life's 
 morning sunbeams quivering in her hair and 
 sparkling in her eyes. He must judge her as a 
 child and his heart plead for her. After all, she 
 was not so much like a willful woman about to pur- 
 chase position with the giving of self, as like a 
 martyr, ready to be cast into the arena to a wild 
 beast. Poverty, necessity and disease had joined 
 their grizzly hands against her. 
 
 Could he go away and leave her to her fate? 
 Who then would prove her protector? He might, 
 doubtless, find a situation as near the log cabin, 
 where the table would be more bountifully sup- 
 plied, and life, in every respect, would prove 
 pleasanter. If forced to work farther away, the 
 genial Hicky Price might offer him work. But, in 
 his new resolve to do his utmost to prevent this 
 marriage, Benton felt that he should remain at 
 Stork's Nest to watch 'Bije, to convict him, if pos- 
 sible, of some crime, to remain as Jim's protector 
 and to find, if might be, in another occupant of 
 the Snake Room, the means of bringing 'Bije to a 
 just punishment. He was standing upon the far- 
 ther side of the gate, irresolute, when 'Bije 
 came up. 
 
BROOM CORN 241 
 
 "Well, Ben," said 'Bije, without a trace of 
 anger or excitement in his deep tones, " you are 
 putting out, hey? Si says you'd like to borrow 
 the hosses." 
 
 " It would save me a walk to Laclede Station," 
 Benton answered quietly, " and I think it would 
 look better for you to accomodate me." 
 
 "Sure," said 'Bije, nodding. "That's right. 
 Well, where will you stay to-night, Ben? They 
 ain't no train till mornin'. You'll get over to 
 Laclede Station after sun. The store an' post 
 office will be locked up an' everybody gone. Where 
 will you put my hosses and who'll bring 'em back? 
 Now I can trust you, but no other living man, 
 with them hosses. Don't tell me Jim can go along 
 and bring 'em back! Jim ain't got enough back- 
 bone to say ' gee ' to a boss if it has took a fancy 
 to ' haw.' Now we're talking reasonable, you 
 see, as a plain, saving man to a gentleman. I'll 
 have Si take you over in the mornin', if you can by 
 strainin' wait overnight, here. An' then it's hey 
 for Blair City, I suppose? " 
 
 " I shall not return to Blair City," said Benton, 
 watching him narrowly. " I mean to stay right 
 here in this neighborhood. Perhaps Hicky Price^^ 
 will employ me." 
 
 " But Ben, if a job is what you want, ain't you 
 already got one?" 'Bije remonstrated. "Now 
 let's talk as a plain, saving man to a gentleman. 
 You don't love me, Ben, but that ain't no cause 
 
242 STORK'S NEST 
 
 for neither of us gettin' huffy about it. You don't 
 want to love me and I don't want you to, so both 
 of us is satisfied. The world is just filled up and 
 overflowin' with other folks besides you and me; 
 enough for both of us to love. Ben, I'm going 
 away in about an hour. I'm going to drive over 
 to Pawpaw Point, an' take train for Gentry 
 County, an' in the mornin' I'll begin buildin' mine 
 an' Emmy's house. I expected her to say the word 
 to-day an' I've been allowin' to set out this even- 
 ing. That's why I give Jim such a wollopin'. I 
 can't expect to lay hands on him for some weeks 
 an', if I'd let him go unwolloped, he'd been 
 simply beyond recall when I come back. That 
 boy has got to be dressed down occasionally. He 
 gets to thinking on imaginary troubles till, if you 
 don't give him somethin' real an' tingling to muse 
 over, he'd go mad." 
 
 " I will not discuss your brutal treatment of 
 Jim ! " Benton cried, his eyes flashing. 
 
 " Bless your heart, Ben, who asked you to? 
 You do the listening an' I'll attend to the dis- 
 cussing. So, as I say, I won't be here for you to 
 look at an' take exceptions to, so why not help Si 
 out, and be getting more money, and hold your 
 job? Si '11 keep you a gentleman; I'm talking to 
 you as if you was one, spite of appearances. And 
 here you can stay till my house is built, and a big 
 wedding with a ring, an' flower-girls " 
 
 " I will stay," said Benton coldly, " if you go." 
 
BROOM CORN 243 
 
 " Good for you ! And don't be oneasy about 
 Emmy. Though you don't love me, have the 
 justice to remark that I love her with all my heart. 
 When we two are one she'll spend my money like J[ ^ 
 water, just like water. You have n't saw it water- 
 ing our farm very copious, hey? Well, when we 
 two are one it '11 keep our place irrigated. They 
 won't be no drouths in our locality! Everythin' 
 will be as merry as a whistle. Good-day; fare 
 thee well." 
 
 Benton went for a solitary walk in the wood and 
 stayed till sunset. Since he was not to leave the 
 farm, there was no need to hunt Hiram. When he 
 at last sought the house, he was relieved to find 
 that 'Thuze was gone. Jim Whitlicks informed 
 him that 'Bije had departed, also. 
 
 " He have went," said Jim, stretching his eyes. 
 " He have actually put out! He did n't take the 
 road uncle Hi and Emmy took, nuther! And he 
 said he'd send the hoss home by some un' else, 
 to-morry. Well, it won't be no better for me; Si 
 will keep tab of ever'thin' I say." 
 
 " Be very careful," said Benton abstractedly. 
 
 " But I'm boun' to say somethin' to get me into 
 trouble," whined Jim. " Steam must git out or 
 bu'st the kittle. Say, Ben, I feel closter to yous 
 sence yous stood up fur me before 'Bije. Say ! 
 I want to thank yous," he added with a hang-dog 
 look, deeply ashamed, it appeared, of expressing 
 his gratitude. " An' now," he added hastily, " I 
 
244 STORK'S NEST 
 
 want to tell yous what I think I heerd just as 'Bije 
 was gittin' ready to put out. He says to Si, * If 
 that trunk gits away from here before I come 
 back, ' that is what he says to Si, ' you'll wish 
 you'd been the only son in pa's f ambly ! ' 
 
 " You think he meant my trunk, Jim? " 
 
 !< I guess it wa'n't his own," remarked Jim, 
 dryly, " an' I hain't got none. Then Si, he says 
 somethin' about burnin' of somethin', and 'Bije 
 asked if he was shore he burnt ever' scrap; an' I 
 think Si says he done it, an' 'Bije says to look an' 
 make shore. Was he talkin' about your minin' 
 certificates, d' ye reckon? " 
 
 Benton felt in his bosom. " No, I have 
 them safe. It could n't have been any of my 
 things." 
 
 ' They talked as if it was," said Jim, shaking 
 his head. 
 
 Benton had a wild notion that reference might 
 have been made to his faded flowers, but when 
 he reached his bedroom he found everything 
 safe. 
 
 'Bije's departure changed the atmosphere of 
 the place. Everybody became freer in his move- 
 ments and, while the same rigid economy was pre- 
 served, Mrs. Stork was at liberty to complain from 
 morning till night. To do her justice, she took 
 full advantage of her opportunities and scolded 
 without ceasing, and also without accomplishing 
 anything beyond the relief of her feelings. Silas, 
 
BROOM CORN 245 
 
 always good-natured, always stingy, kept Benton 
 and Jim at work as steadily as if the brother had 
 been present. 
 
 " Now I have set Wednesday as corn breakin' 
 day," he announced the evening before. ' We'll 
 have a delightful time to-morrow, all the neigh- 
 borhood boys an' gals here to help break corn. 
 It '11 be a reg'lar World's Fair day. Don't hev 
 to pay 'em a cent, Ben; yous see, we swap our 
 labor betwixt each other. An' I have prevailed 
 on some of 'em to bring their own grub. Some 
 will have to be fed, Crishy, an' you'll have to 
 serve hot, I reckon. We don't want no talk." 
 
 Accordingly, the next morning saw more than a 
 dozen youths enter the Storks' broom corn. 
 Hiram drove Emma over to be one of the hands. 
 Both sexes were represented, all barefoot. They 
 were a sturdy set, large-limbed, broad-footed, 
 muscular. The young men were sunburned to 
 the redness of Hicky Price. The girls lacked the 
 fineness which set Emma apart from her associates. 
 Their heads were large, their brows heavy, their 
 shoulders broad. They all knew each other, and 
 laughed and called in bantering tones as they 
 worked. 
 
 " Look at Jim Whitlicks! " called one maiden 
 to a distant youth. " He always works next to 
 Liza Mary. Funny anybody so nachurly meechin' 
 kin git up such nerve." 
 
 Benton, looking at Jim, was astonished to find 
 
246 STORK'S NEST 
 
 him gazing upon his red-haired neighbor with 
 romance on his sallow face. 
 
 ;< Them's the kind," came back the answer, " as 
 is married before yous kin turn aroun'." 
 
 There were shouts of delighted laughter. 
 
 " Well," cried the maiden boldly, " why don't 
 yous take counsel of Jim Whitlicks an' sa'prise 
 your friends, Jake O'Brien?" 
 
 More laughter. Jim was much embarrassed, 
 his fair companion, blushing and smiling, well 
 pleased. 
 
 " I ain't goin' to have Jim pestered," called 
 Emma. " You leave him be, Elly Ann ! " 
 
 " Oh, yes, Emmy Garrett, we all know whar 
 your bread's buttered! " retorted Elly Ann. 
 
 1 Too much talkin', neighbors, too much 
 talkin'," cried Silas good-humoredly. " Bend to 
 it, neighbors ! " 
 
 " Si, when yous come to break our broom 
 corn," shouted Jake O'Brien, " we're goin' to 
 muzzle yous! " 
 
 Loud guffaws. Shrill peals. 
 
 All this while Benton had not found an oppor- 
 tunity to greet Emma. From a distant part of 
 the field, he could see her walking backward, bend- 
 ing the cornstalks over each arm till they were 
 broken. She made a graceful picture, the little 
 hands extended, the body bent back, the feet 
 flitting like white sunbeams through the dusky 
 greenness. A sunbonnet covered her hair, the 
 
BROOM CORN 247 
 
 same blue sunbonnet he had found upon Hiram's 
 bed. Ah, if she could have known what he had 
 done to that sunbonnet ! But she could not know. 
 Would she have cared to know ? Did she think of 
 him, as her graceful form bent in youth's supple- 
 ness, her head tilted back? She talked to others, 
 but if she ever glanced his way, he could not tell. 
 She was at home in the broom corn; he was not. 
 It would have been easy for her to direct those 
 little feet toward him, but they stole about their 
 noiseless toil, ever far away; and so the morning 
 melted into the heat of noon. Luncheon was 
 spread under a huge forest tree which grew in the 
 pasture beside, a pond. Benton thought that per- 
 haps Emma would now approach him and offer 
 to share her luncheon. 
 
 "Where's Jim?" called Emma, in the con- 
 fusion of spreading lunches. The air rang with 
 happy voices, among which Silas's jovial tones 
 sounded without discord. 
 
 " He's settin' to Liza Mary," came a masculine 
 voice. There was loud laughter, of course. Ben- 
 ton thought Emma would then call him, but she 
 did not. She cast a glance in his direction, it is 
 true, but his eyes fell. 
 
 " Ben," said Silas, " hain't yous goin* to fall 
 to? Go thar an' eat by Crishy's own side. I give 
 yous my place, as the gentleman of Stork's Nest." 
 
 '* Thank you," said Benton, with a dismal smile. 
 But, with sudden resolution, he walked to where 
 
248 STORK'S NEST 
 
 Emma sat alone upon the grass. " How do you 
 do, Emmy? " he said with constraint. 
 
 Emma looked up at him from under the brim 
 of her sunbonnet. ' Thought you goin' away," 
 she remarked. There was a haunting charm on 
 the sweet face, now softened by the cool shadow 
 of the bonnet, which wrung his heart with pain 
 and pleasure. 
 
 " Did you want me to go, Emmy? " he asked 
 gently. 
 
 '* Why of course not," said Emma, but she 
 spoke in a tone of the utmost indifference. " Say, 
 Jim! come over here an' share my dinner 
 with me I " 
 
 Benton was wounded by her manner. He went 
 to Mrs. Stork, and took melancholy satisfaction 
 in eating by her side and in being miserable under 
 her flow of bitter complaints. There was no 
 reason why Emma should have treated him with 
 such indifference. Her manner had changed 
 greatly since the parting in the parlor. 'Bije had 
 spent some time with her alone and the change 
 might be due to his parting commands; yet it was 
 difficult to conceive of Emma's yielding passively 
 to her suitor's orders. At any rate, 'Bije was now 
 far away and there was necessarily a pause in the 
 course of the little tragedy of love. 
 
 A few nights after the corn breaking, Benton 
 was awakened by hearing a strange sound outside 
 the room. He started up, but all was still. Jim 
 
BROOM CORN 249 
 
 had not been awakened. Benton slipped from the 
 bed and crept to the door. He had not listened 
 long when the sound came again. It reminded 
 him of that which he and Emma had heard the 
 day they inspected the house, that which she had 
 declared emanated from the Snake Room. 
 
 He cautiously opened his door. The hall was 
 intensely dark and he ventured into it, his bare 
 feet making no sound. As he approached the 
 mysterious chamber an almost imperceptible odor 
 of burning sulphur came to his nostrils. He 
 paused, undecided how to proceed. As he stood 
 motionless, one hand against the farther wall, 
 there came from the room a subdued scratching 
 as upon metal. It did not long continue but it' 
 was sufficient to prove that the Snake Room had 
 its occupant. Benton was unarmed. Should he 
 venture into the forbidden apartment he might 
 confront a desperate villain, none other, he felt 
 sure, than the ghostly Hezzie Whitlicks, who 
 might well be expected to receive him with vio- 
 lence. The sound ceased and presently the 
 peculiar odor died away. From a great distance, 
 as it appeared, came a dull thud, so faint it was 
 almost imperceptible. Then another; then, after 
 long waiting, a third. Benton resolved to bring 
 witnesses the next night and burst into the room. 
 The outlaw would thus be surprised at whatever 
 he might have undertaken and, without doubt, 
 'Bije would be implicated. He seemed so certain 
 
250 STORK'S NEST 
 
 that the means for breaking off Emma's con- 
 templated marriage was at hand, that the young 
 man was able to sleep with the mystery un- 
 explained. 
 
 As he and Jim went to breakfast the next morn- 
 ing, he was astonished to find the door of the 
 Snake Room standing wide open. 
 
 " Thar's the old coffin," said Jim, thrusting his 
 head through the doorway. " Dark as Indy in 
 here," he added in an awed voice. 
 
 Benton boldly strode into the room and lit a 
 lamp which stood upon a bare table. In a corner 
 was a single bed. There were some clothes in the 
 room which Benton recognized as belonging to 
 'Bije and a few pieces of furniture. Jim crept 
 after him, and tried a closet door, remarking 
 "Locked!" 
 
 ;< Why, hello!" said Silas, suddenly appearing 
 at the door. u Did n't yous know breakfast's 
 ready? Jim, what air yous doin' in here? It's 
 all right for a gentleman to go into private rooms, 
 but I bet you a big wollopin' is in store for your 
 trespassin' ! " 
 
 " Mr. Silas," said Benton, " I'd like to know 
 whose coffin this is, if you please ! " 
 
 " Mine," said Silas. " I'm to be buried in it 
 when my time comes, an' I got it cheap. Shall 
 we go below? " 
 
 '* The reason I am in here is this," said the 
 young man, watching Silas closely: " Last night I 
 
BROOM CORN 251 
 
 heard strange noises from this room, and Emma 
 had already prepared me for them. Would you 
 mind to tell me what you were doing last night? " 
 
 " Sure not," said Silas kindly. " I was 'tendin' 
 to my own business; what was yous doin'? " 
 
 " I was witnessing the presence of an intruder 
 in this room," said Benton, " and I shall make my 
 testimony good." 
 
 " It was me in this room," said Silas, " an' none 
 other. I was experimentin' with some sulphur, if 
 you must know, to kill insects on my fruit-trees 
 which I lay off to spray this day. An' if yous 
 don't think that sprayin' is on the billboards you'll 
 think so when yous have sprinkled about a 
 hundred trees ! " 
 
 The spraying of the trees was indeed a matter 
 of reality, but whether previously projected or 
 devised upon the spot, there was no way to deter- 
 mine. For several days the Snake Room was left 
 open, and when one morning Benton found the 
 door closed, Silas, finding his expression changed, 
 casually threw it open. It seemed hopeless to dis- 
 cover any hidden crimes of 'Bije until 'Bije should 
 return. In the meantime, Emma's birthday was 
 at hand, and the prospect of spending the day with 
 her and removing the cloud which had come 
 between them caused Benton to forget the myster- 
 ious sounds and the unusual odor of the dark hall. 
 
XVI 
 
 "WEARING OUT ALL OVER" 
 
 THE Sunday of Emma's seventeenth birth- 
 day dawned with the serene smile of early 
 September. A dreamy haze hung about 
 the horizon and the sky, a deep blue overhead, 
 shaded away into pale and paler azure, as it sloped 
 lovingly down to the fragrant wood and meadow 
 land. Benton set forth alone for Hiram Garrett's 
 cabin about two hours before noon. Jim preferred 
 to remain at home. 
 
 " Nuck," said Jim, " birthdays hain't no 
 occasions for me. I hain't got nothin' to do with 
 birthdays; I'm always sorry when I see mine 
 comin' round. I says to myself, ' Well, pard, this 
 brings yous one peg nearer the grave.' Now if it 
 were a funer'l, Ben, I'd go in a minute. I'm great 
 on them." 
 
 Benton made no attempt to influence the other; 
 he himself felt despondent and Jim's gloomy face 
 and doleful tone appealed to him more than ever 
 before. He was inclined to be angry with himself 
 for placing such importance upon Emma's neglect, 
 for allowing her behavior toward him to over- 
 shadow, as it were, the sky of his mind, but he 
 seemed helpless in the grasp of an emotion new, 
 
 252 
 
"WEARING OUT ALL OVER" 253 
 
 bewildering, inconsistent. He was impatient to 
 reach the log cabin, and at the same time he 
 dreaded to come in sight of it. He hurried, then 
 paused to let the morning run ahead of him. He 
 feared to be too early or too late. When the cabin 
 appeared at the top of the hill, his heart leaped 
 with loving recognition; but the black oblong of 
 the opened door made him pause at the thought 
 of watchful eyes. As he drew near the stile, Hiram 
 issued from the cabin carrying a chair; his step 
 had grown noticeably feebler. 
 
 Hiram started at the sight of the young man. 
 " Hi, son! " he called out in his worn-out voice, 
 while a tender smile lit up the dried, wrinkled 
 face. He waved the hand which held his unlighted 
 pipe. Ben hastened forward, cheered by this 
 welcome. 
 
 " Emmy, Emmy! " called Hiram, who sank into 
 his chair wearily after the greeting. " Here's 
 Ben, settin' on the doorstep as if he'd never 
 left it!" 
 
 Benton's acute ear caught footsteps from the 
 kitchen. The rear door was opened, and Emma 
 came around the house. The first glimpse of her 
 reminded him of the hours of sorrow he had spent 
 on her account, and of her indifference and plainly 
 intentional slights. He remembered how he had 
 striven to improve her, how he had spent patient 
 days correcting, advising, helping, and how, as a 
 return, she had treated him with less friendliness 
 
254 STORK'S NEST 
 
 than such strangers as Elly Mary, and Jake 
 O'Brien. The recollection rendered him un- 
 usually grave. 
 
 " Howdy, Ben," said Emma quietly, advanc- 
 ing, and holding out her hand. " Gran'pop said 
 you'd come. I said you would n't. Glad to see 
 you." Her manner was that of the girl who had 
 first greeted him on his arrival in the strange 
 country. They shook hands. " Take care of your- 
 self," said Emma hospitably. " I'll go get 
 dinner. We'll have a rousin' big one, if I do 
 say it myself." 
 
 " Honey," said the old man, " looks like on 
 your birthday yous ought to have a rest. Make 
 the dinner light, Emmy jest seein' yous at the 
 table, smilin' an' seventeen, will be fried chickun 
 to me." 
 
 " I'll have the fried chicken," Emma declared, 
 laughing, " so you can save me for dee-zert." 
 
 " I consider that a promise," said Benton, with 
 a grave smile and a searching look, " and I shall 
 ask you to fulfill it, presently." 
 
 Emma looked at him, but her dark eyes told him 
 nothing. Had 'Bije ordered her to hold him 
 aloof, and would Emma obey such orders? The 
 suspicion made his blood boil. At one moment he 
 despised her weakness; at the next, for that very 
 weakness, he loved her. The old man rambled 
 on in his faint voice, but it was some time before 
 the other heeded the words, 
 
"WEARING OUT ALL OVER" 255 
 
 " My time ain't .fur off, Ben," he was saying. 
 " I'm a-wearin' out all over. Wish now I'd laid 
 more on the Bible when stout an' lusty. Were I 
 what I should have been, I might be catchin' 
 Christians in the daytime an' skunks at night; it 
 would be hard to tell which air more valuable." 
 
 " Mr. Garrett," said Benton suddenly, " 'Bije 
 Stork is not a fit husband for your granddaughter. 
 His age is the least objection to him, but that alone 
 should debar him. A young, impulsive girl like 
 Emma could never be happy with such an old 
 man, used to being obeyed in everything, tyran- 
 nical, cold, unyielding." 
 
 " Your uncle Hi knows 'Bije," said the other, 
 a faint flush showing in the withered cheeks. 
 " He's always kept inside the law an' Emmy kin 
 wrap him around her little finger. They ain't no 
 broad stripe on 'Bije Stork." 
 
 " No broad stripe?" repeated Benton. 
 
 " Nuck. He was catched in cold weather, 'Bije 
 was. He's black all over." 
 
 " And through and through," remarked the 
 other with some bitterness. " You seem to know 
 him, after all." 
 
 " Why, my son, you don't understand. Black 
 skunks brings a dollar and thirty cents, but them 
 with stripes fetches only a quarter. An' if not 
 catched in cold weather they're good fur nothin', 
 though I may say that hot weather skunks makes 
 the rankest ile, I was comparin' 'Bije to that 
 
256 STORK'S NEST 
 
 which is my meat an' bread, my livin' an* my 
 stand-by." 
 
 " And a very proper comparison," said the 
 young man promptly. " If you call 'Bije a skunk, 
 you'll not object to my doing so; and at no very 
 distant day, I hope to prove to you and to Emma 
 that the comparison holds good in many ways you 
 do not now suspect." 
 
 The old man smoked in silence for a time, then 
 answered: " I hev' confidence in 'Bije, an' if it was 
 removed it could n't bring me nothin' but sor- 
 row, fur he's Emmy's only hope as fur as I kin 
 
 see." 
 
 " Emma need never throw herself away upon 
 such a man as 'Bije Stork while I live," said Ben- 
 ton firmly. ' The man who can beat poor Jim 
 Whitlicks on the bare back is not fit to come into 
 your granddaughter's presence." 
 
 " My son," said Hiram, suddenly removing his 
 pipe and staring at his guest, " what could you do 
 for Emmy? " 
 
 The question took Benton by surprise. What, 
 indeed, could he do? He had nothing in the 
 world except the strength of his arms and the 
 resolution to succeed. If he were willing to share 
 his meager earnings with Emma she was too high- 
 spirited to accept his charity. The old man 
 resumed kindly: 
 
 " You could do nothin', my son, nothin'. An' 
 if you succeeded in settin' her against 'Bije, it 
 
"WEARING OUT ALL OVER" 257 
 
 would n't be no kindness to me nor to her; it 
 would be removin' the only prop I've got to die 
 on an' her to live on. But thar's dinner ready; 
 le's keep holiday an' not rake an' scrape among 
 the ashes that the cheerful fire is blazin' over." 
 
 In answer to Emma's call, they filed into the 
 hot kitchen. The dinner was an ambitious one. 
 Hiram took the privileged seat near the door and 
 threw open his shirt collar, while Benton found 
 himself next to the roaring stove upon which a 
 teakettle blubbered loudly. 
 
 " 'Tain't no use, I reckon, Ben," said Emma, 
 "to ask you to take off your coat; you've never 
 done it yet. I don't know what he's got under 
 there," she added to Hiram, "but they was n't 
 never no mysteries about your clothes, was they, 
 you old darlin' gran'pop?" 
 
 "Don't say nothin' ! " cried Hiram, "jest look 
 at them corn-on-the-cobs, an' fall to ! " 
 
 " I think you'll find the cornbread proper, too," 
 said Emma with pride. " It browned jest as I 
 wanted it and done through the middle and not a 
 burnt edge." 
 
 "That chicken looks fine," smiled Benton. 
 "Browned delightfully!" 
 
 " See them pole beans ! " Hiram urged. " Help 
 yourself an' git 'em this way. If I knowed they 
 was but one more meal to be tuck by your uncle 
 Hi, I'd say l pole beans ' ever' time ! Now some 
 folks don't like 'em shellin' out. If yous don't, 
 
258 STORK'S NEST 
 
 take note of them sliced tomatoes and onions. 
 Yous kin hev' sugar on 'em, or vinegar on 'em 
 or jest tek 'em as God intended. Ben, can Mrs. 
 Stork do better than this?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Benton significantly. 
 " I've never seen her try ! " 
 
 " They're close," said Hiram, " they're mighty 
 near. Well, some makes money an' wears it, 
 some makes money an' eats it, an' some makes 
 money an' lays it away to die on. But I want a 
 softer bed than that to lie on; an' I reckon I'll 
 have it, too," he added with a grin. 
 
 The meal progressed with a hearty cheer which, 
 for a time, removed the young man's despondency. 
 When it was completed he said to Emma, not 
 without an effort to appear cheerful: "You 
 promised to be dessert, you know. Come and 
 walk about the place with me once more, please." 
 
 " I've got to clean these dishes," said Emma 
 promptly. " I'm heated to it, an' I don't want to 
 be heated over." 
 
 "Honey," said Hiram, " it bein' your birthday, 
 take a holiday; stack up the plates till nightfall." 
 
 " That would n't be holiday for me," Emma 
 declared resolutely. " I never let my dishes pile 
 up ; they're just like a fire it won't do to let 'em 
 get ahead of you." 
 
 " Now, hey, for the front yard ! " cried Hiram, 
 mopping his streaming face with his bandana and 
 making for the door. Emma was left alone in 
 
"WEARING OUT ALL OFER" 259 
 
 the kitchen. It was a good while before she joined 
 the others. 
 
 Benton did not again proffer his request, so they 
 sat in a family group till the shadows grew late. 
 Emma's apparent unwillingness to be alone with 
 him, coupled with his recent conversation with her 
 grandfather, forbade any further attempt on Ben- 
 ton's part to seek an interview aside. Hiram at 
 last fell to discoursing about the best remedy to 
 apply to young pigs when suffering from those mis- 
 fortunes to which swine is heir. 
 
 " I'm goin' to sprinkle 'em now," he added, 
 rising. " Want to see it did? " 
 
 Benton rose. " Ben," said Emma suddenly, 
 "haven't you seen that pig-pen often enough?" 
 
 " So I have," said Benton, reseating himself. 
 Hiram slowly took his way through the orchard 
 and the young man's wish was gratified; he and 
 Emma were alone. And yet he had nothing to 
 say. Perhaps she would explain her strange con- 
 duct, her reserve, her unfriendliness. Indeed, she 
 had seemed to wish to speak to him. He did not 
 look at her, though all his being was drawn toward 
 the Grand River girl. He heard her turn her 
 head several times, perhaps to seek his eyes, then 
 look away. Once, there was a sudden catching of 
 the breath as if she were about to speak. He was 
 eager to hear her rich appealing tones, perhaps 
 shyly offering some explanation of her coolness. 
 He sought to open the conversation, but was bound 
 
260 STORK'S NEST 
 
 by a restraint which he found difficult to overcome. 
 At last Emma slowly rose. " It is just fine this 
 evening, is n't it ! " she said in a low voice. The 
 tone was a little tremulous. Benton turned and, 
 as he rose, looked into her face. She met his eyes 
 with a long steady gaze. 
 
 " I like September," he said, with a sad smile. 
 
 There was a pause. Emma lifted her sunbonnet 
 from the back of the chair and prepared to put it 
 on. " These strings are always tangled ! " she 
 said. " Well, it's a good thing to have something 
 to quarrel at, is n't it?" She put on the bonnet. 
 " I believe I'll go look at the pigs," she said 
 abruptly. " They're awful interestin', sometimes. 
 Want to go?" 
 
 " Won't you stay with me? " he asked, a sudden 
 pleading in his tone. 
 
 "There don't seem to be anything goin' on 
 here," remarked Emma, gazing toward the 
 orchard. 
 
 "Emmy," he burst forth impulsively, "won't 
 you tell me what has happened to make you treat 
 me so? You have n't been the same to me since 
 I went to work for the Storks. We were good 
 friends once, and that made me very happy. 
 Did n't you care to have me for your friend? May 
 I not be your friend, now? " 
 
 " Of course we are friends," said Emma, but 
 her smile was not wholly free. " Le's go, as 
 friends, to see what gran'pop is devising." 
 
"WEARING OUT ALL OVER" 261 
 
 " No," said Benton, with deep disappointment, 
 "I will stay here." She tripped away and he 
 wandered to the catalpa tree. He saw himself 
 kneeling there in the twilight and felt a little soft, 
 bare foot in his hand. Then came the thought 
 of 'Bije and of his cruel blows and of Emma's de- 
 fense of his cruelty. So the holiday came to an 
 end in doubt and regret and longing. 
 
 During the day that followed, the thought of 
 Emma haunted him at his daily toil and was with 
 him in his dreams. He dreaded 'Bije's return, yet 
 was impatient to face the successful suitor once 
 more. As no letter had come from the Golden 
 Glory Company, he was convinced that his mining 
 shares were as worthless as he had always sup- 
 posed. It was more for Hicky's satisfaction than 
 from any uneasiness of his own that he had hidden 
 them in the log cabin on the holiday of Emma's 
 seventeenth birthday. 
 
 When Sunday came he prevailed upon Jim to 
 go with him to the union meeting house. They 
 arrived late, but all the men, except the minister, 
 were perched upon the fence or standing in line 
 about the door, discussing crops in low undertones 
 and occasionally catching a few sentences of the 
 loud sermon. 
 
 Benton entered, and every head turned to note 
 his appearance. Emma was present, but on the 
 other side of the house. She looked at him 
 gravely, but with no sign of pleasure in her eyes. 
 
262 STORK'S NEST 
 
 Benton, finding himself beside Mrs. Tucker- 
 more, murmured: "I don't see Hiram Garrett." 
 
 "Nuck," said Mrs. Tuckermore, a very fleshy, 
 red-faced and motherly woman, " he told me 
 t'other day he's jest wearin' out all over." 
 
 After the long sermon Emma drove home be- 
 hind old 'Thuze. Benton looked about the house 
 for Jim, but did not discover him till he went into 
 the weedy yard. Jim sat upon the broad plank 
 which formed the top of the fence, his knees drawn 
 up and his face lighted by a wintry smile. Beside 
 him, upon the same broad plank, perched Liza 
 Mary. At sight of Benton he slowly descended, 
 while the maiden, with a prodigious leap, cleared 
 a patch of horse weeds. 
 
 " Jim," said Benton severely, " did n't you go 
 in to hear brother Wilton preach?" 
 
 " Nuck," said Jim, " goin' to wait till I'm older. 
 Ain't goin' to waste my young springtime of life 
 in meetin' houses. If I got religion, 'Bije would 
 take it out of me ; so I jest sot along of Liza Mary. 
 I done fust rate. Marry that gal, some day ! " 
 
 "Why, Jim! I thought you meant to die," 
 said Benton cruelly. 
 
 " Neither would n't sa'prise me," was the stoical 
 rejoinder. 
 
 A few days later Benton was in the field help- 
 ing to cut the broom corn, when he was approached 
 by his employer: "Ben," he said complainingly, 
 "when Hezzie Whitlicks died I thought I ought 
 
"WEARING OUT ALL OVER" 263 
 
 to go. We had n't been frien's, him livin', and I 
 thought we'd git along better, him dead. It was 
 hay harvestin'. Well, I went, an' a rain come and 
 sp'ilt my crap. But man never dies when con- 
 venient, I've learned that. An' now Emmy hev' 
 driv' up sayin' her gran' daddy sent for yous, an' 
 how he air mighty low " 
 
 Benton hurried to the house. Emma sat in her 
 cart, holding the lines. She looked pathetically 
 worn and tired, with dark circles under her eyes. 
 Seldom before had Benton seen her except as an 
 embodiment of perfect health and self-command. 
 She spoke in a low hurried voice : 
 
 " Hello, Ben ! Can you go right now? '* 
 
 Benton climbed over the wheel. "Yes; is he 
 very bad?" 
 
 Emma whipped up the horse. " He says he is 
 just wearin* out all over. The doctor does n't give 
 him many days to live." 
 
 "You are alone there?" 
 
 " No, Mrs. Tuckermore sleeps with me and her 
 son comes every day." 
 
 " Poor uncle Hi ! " said Benton softly. " He 
 was always so good to me. And those long, pleas- 
 ant evenings we spent together. I think of them 
 very often." 
 
 " Oh! " exclaimed Emma, putting her hand be- 
 fore her eyes. " You drive, Ben; I can't! " 
 
 Benton took the lines and they sped on in 
 silence. Her grief had removed all restraint. At 
 
264 STORK'S NEST 
 
 last she took her hand from her eyes and said: 
 "It is sweet of you to remember those evenings, 
 Ben." 
 
 "Those are the only evenings I have enjoyed 
 since I came," he returned. "How could I for- 
 get them?" 
 
 She opened her mouth as if to speak, but said 
 nothing. He looked at her curiously. What 
 words had she checked? 
 
 " Emmy," he said suddenly, " did you find them 
 happy evenings, too?" 
 
 Emma answered slowly: " I was so busy, then, 
 trying to be a Person." 
 
 For some reason the words brought before Ben- 
 ton the face of 'Bije. He did not pursue the con- 
 versation. They reached the ford; the river was 
 low and showed that cattle had been driven back 
 and forth since the last rain. 
 
 Suddenly Emma said, as the wheels splashed in 
 the water: "Do you remember the last time we 
 were here together?" 
 
 " I remember," said Benton, not meeting her 
 glance. 
 
 " You don't enjoy remembering," she remarked 
 with quiet dignity. 
 
 " Everything is so different since then," said 
 Benton. " Since that Sunday in the parlor, Emmy, 
 I can't help thinking about you all the time; but, 
 no, I do not enjoy remembering; it keeps me mis- 
 erable, Emmy." 
 
"WEARING OUT ALL OFER" 265 
 
 Emmy looked at him fixedly and answered: "I 
 don't enjoy remembering this ford, either, Ben, 
 for it brings to my mind the Sunday you did not 
 come, when you wrote that you would." 
 
 "That Sunday!" cried Benton, astonished. 
 " But, Emmy, don't you remember that heavy rain 
 of the night before? It made the crossing danger- 
 ous; after our experience on it, you surely did n't 
 expect me ! " 
 
 u 'Bije could come," said Emma. "Yes, Ben, 
 I did expect you 'cause you'd said you were comin'. 
 An' when you'd said that, I did n't believe nothin' 
 could hinder you. An' I told 'Bije you'd be here, 
 but he laughed. He said you was afraid. He 
 plagued me awfully about it, me standin' up for 
 you. That's why I don't enjoy rememberin' the 
 ford. Mebby you've got as good a reason; I 
 don't know." 
 
 Benton, humiliated and embarrassed, did not 
 reply. They drove on with no relief to his feelings 
 until the log cabin came in sight. He felt how 
 futile it would have proved to make explanations 
 or apologies. Emma had an answer for every- 
 thing " 'Bije could come! " That gave the key 
 to her conduct of the past weeks. It told why her 
 flowers had ceased to visit him and why his offer- 
 ing had been rejected. He found himself put in 
 the wrong, and it made him humble and ashamed. 
 
 " Let me out here," said Emma, as they drew 
 up at the stile-block, " and you can take 'Thuze to 
 
266 STORK'S NEST 
 
 the barn and unhitch. I'll tell gran'pop youVe 
 
 come." 
 
 Her voice was quiet and even friendly, but he 
 felt something lacking. He knew her standards 
 of life were different from his and that personal 
 bravery, even rash hardihood, would more surely 
 gain her admiration than calm endurance. " 'Bije 
 could come," Benton had not dared; that is how 
 she regarded the situation. With a depressed 
 heart Benton saw the girl go to the house; but he 
 had taken the wisest course possible, could he have 
 known; he had not spoken one word in defense. 
 When 'Thuze had been fed and the cart put away, 
 he hurried through the orchard toward the yard. 
 He was met by Mrs. Tuckermore near the cabin. 
 
 Benton asked in a low voice: "How is he 
 now?" 
 
 Mrs. Tuckermore shook her sympathetic head: 
 " He's wearin' out all over, he says. Walk in. I 
 guess yous know the way. Tell Emmy I want her ; 
 uncle Hi wants yous alone a spell." 
 
 Benton entered the front room and sent Emma 
 to her neighbor. The room was just as the young 
 man had left it, the ladder, the box, even the sun- 
 light which fell a little way across the bare floor. 
 But on the old trapper's face there was a change. 
 Benton felt the tears spring to his eyes. " Here 
 I am," he said, taking the dry, hard hand, and 
 bending over the prostrate form; "how do you 
 feel?" 
 
"WEARING OUT ALL OVER" 267 
 
 " I'm wearin' out all over, son," said Hiram 
 in a far fainter voice than the other had heard him 
 use. " I'm throwin' overboard ever'thin' that 
 hampers a man ; my pipe has went an' my Ole Miz- 
 zoury Mule is give away to Tobe Tuckermore for 
 him to chaw on an' think of his uncle Hi. I'll 
 tell yous why I sent for yous. Emmy out o' 
 hearin'?" 
 
 Benton assured him that they were quite alone. 
 
 " I want yous to write to Emmy's uncle on her 
 ma's side. Yous air the only man I could ask, 
 Ben. Tell him about her, how sweet an' lovin' 
 she is, with a heart of gold an' a mind of sunshine. 
 Make him interested in her; work on him, son. 
 You'll know what to put in. But what's more to 
 the p'int, you'll know what to leave out. Knowin' 
 what to leave out is the main secret of letter writin' 
 an' public speakin' ; that's how I place it, son." 
 
 " I will do all I can for you and for her," said 
 Benton. "What is his address?" 
 
 "William Selton is his name; not Bill, son, but 
 William. He owns a big drug store thar, so jest 
 address it to his drug store, St. Louis, Mo. He'll 
 git it. Onct I took and writ him a few lines an' 
 was off to Laclede Station with it, when here comes 
 Emmy tearin' an' rearm' after me, on the scent, 
 by hook or crook. She says, 'That letter don't 
 go ! ' An' it never, nuther ! She was plumb out- 
 done, being that independent an' high-strung an' 
 proud. But they ain't nothin' practical in a 
 
268 STORK'S NEST 
 
 woman's pride; it jest all goes to yeast with no 
 dough to work on. So don't let her know youVe 
 wrote an 1 , when she finds out, I'll be gone an' she 
 won't blame me, then. Seems kind o' under- 
 handed to take advantage of her by dodgin' be- 
 hind the tombstone, so to say, but it's for her 
 good. Better call her now or she'll git suspicionin' 
 her ole no-'count gran'pop." 
 
 " Dear Mr. Garrett," said Benton, distressed, 
 " don't think of leaving Emma now; she needs you 
 more than ever in her life before ! " 
 
 " Why, if it laid with me, Ben, I would n't insist 
 on leavin' Emmy; I'd stan' to her, sure. But your 
 uncle Hi, which have ketched skunks an' moles 
 an* foxes an' other beastes lo! these many year, 
 has got ketched in a trap hisself, at last, an' he 
 can't break the chain; that's how I place it. I 
 reckon it wa'n't intended. An' I am sort o' recon- 
 ciled when I reflect that she's goin' to be married 
 soon to a strong, able-bodied man with a fat farm 
 to his back." 
 
 " But how can you think she'll be happy with 
 the sort of a person 'Bije is? Don't you know 
 farms and cattle don't make girls happy? " 
 
 " Son, I know this: it air a mighty big rise from 
 skunks to cattle. An' besides, when that St. Louis 
 uncle comes, he kin eye 'Bije over an' see how he 
 likes the prospect. You write to him immediate; 
 an' now call Emmy." 
 
 Emma was called and Mrs. Tuckermore entered 
 
"WEARING OUT ALL OVER" 269 
 
 with her. Emma went to the bedside and, taking 
 the chair Benton had just vacated, put her arm 
 about the wasted form. " You beautiful ole gran'- 
 pop," she said softly; " ain't you goin' to live for 
 your Emmy? " 
 
 " I'm goin' to do my best, honey," said the old 
 man, lifting a bony hand to stroke her golden locks, 
 " but when a man wears out all over, they's no 
 place to fasten new strength on. Thar comes a 
 time, which it have about come to ole Hi, I do 
 expect, when the rankest Me that was ever growed 
 can't reach the in'ardness of trouble. Ben, you's 
 see that thar book, half way up the ladder? " 
 
 Benton hastened to take it from the step saying: 
 " It is the Bible I left you." 
 
 " Yap. Emmy an' me " His voice faltered. 
 
 Emmy bowed her head over him caressingly. 
 
 " Emmy an' me has tried to find our way in it. 
 Now honey, yous must n't mind ! I am a ole man, 
 an' all the hard work they was in me has been used 
 up, an' more too ! What '11 Ben think of yous, a 
 
 big strong gal like my Emmy " Hiram cleared 
 
 his throat and continued: "As I were sayin', I 
 sot out travelin' in that Bible, but I had waited too 
 long to learn the road. I knowed what I was 
 lookin' for, an' Emmy knowed, an' even Mrs. 
 Tuckermore got some inklin' of it, but they did n't 
 seem to be no paths cut to the place. I'll tell yous 
 what we wanted to find; we wanted to read about 
 Jesus, like yous used to read, ever'thin' about 
 
2 yo STORK'S NEST 
 
 Jesus; we did n't want nothin' else: Whar He was 
 born; an' whar He went off by hisself to sorrow; 
 an' whar they killed 'im; an' He died, an' was 
 buried, but He riz ag'in an' Mrs. Tuckermore 
 says He did n't " 
 
 " My man have always held out that He 
 did n't," Mrs. Tuckermore said apologetically. " I 
 hain't no real idees on the subjec'. My man, he 
 says Jesus was jest a historical allegory, like." 
 
 " Ben kin show yous the place whar He riz," 
 said Hiram, " I guess that '11 settle it. As I say, 
 son, me V Emmy has tried to find whar Jesus is 
 told about. We laid our traps all around, but we 
 did n't ketch nothin'. So I take an' sot out from 
 the word go at the fust page; I told Emmy I'd jest 
 hold my course through thick an' thin. Got 
 mighty thick, too, what with more names to be 
 cleared out of the way than bresh out o' the forest. 
 Then Emmy taken a hand. Onct I told her that 
 we never would git the Tabernacle builded, but 
 we come out all right, an' thar wasn't nothin' on 
 the other side." 
 
 " I wish I had been here ! " Benton exclaimed. 
 
 " Well, we'll use yous while we have yous. 
 Jest turn to the manger an' go to whar He was 
 livin' amongst poor, onery folks an' prayin' to 
 Hisself an' was in the Garden an' was took, but 
 would n't let nobody do nothin' for Him ; an' then 
 He died, his mother standin' thar lookin' up so 
 wistful An' then about Him an' Mary an' His 
 
"WEARING OUT ALL OVER" 271 
 
 shinin' face. An' Mrs. Tuckermore, don't yous 
 budge from this room! " 
 
 Benton drew his chair beside Emma and opened 
 the book. 
 
 " Emmy," said Hiram, " jest look at that, would 
 yous ! He goes at it like a ole hunter that knows 
 all the ole stompin' grounds. Look a-thar ! How 
 on airth would we ever have fit our way that 
 fur? It's plumb over to the other eend of the 
 book." 
 
 Benton began to read: "Now when Jesus was 
 born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod 
 the King, behold " 
 
 Hiram breathed a deep sigh of profound content. 
 " A-a-a-ah ! that's the place ! No Hittites thar, 
 Emmy! Go on, Ben. I would jest remark that 
 one word thar is the softest word to me an' the 
 meanin'est I ever knowed. I mean * Behold.' It 
 jest seem to be a sort of music to the rest. Begin 
 thar ag'in." 
 
 " * Behold there came wise men from the east 
 to Jerusalem saying, Where is He that is born King 
 of the Jews?'" . 
 
 " Seems like the wiser a man is, the less he 
 knows about Jesus," Hiram remarked. He closed 
 his eyes while Emma rested her head upon the 
 pillow, her hair mingling with the gray, his hand 
 clasped in hers. Benton read on and on, selecting, 
 repeating, till it grew too dark to see. The part- 
 ing was very quiet and grave. Mrs. Tuckermore's 
 
272 STORK'S NEST 
 
 son took Benton to Stork's Nest. He promised 
 to come again Sunday. 
 
 " It's all right, Ben," said Silas the next Sun- 
 day as the young man was preparing to set forth 
 afoot, " for yous to go t' see Hiram Garrett. He's 
 ole, an' then besides he's a man. But jest remem- 
 ber 'Bije when thar. That's all." 
 
 The advice was not needed; to think of Emma 
 was to remember 'Bije. When he reached the 
 cabin he found Hiram more feeble, his voice 
 fainter, his gestures more languid. The end was 
 close at hand. Mrs. Tuckermore was at church 
 when the young man arrived. Hiram and Emma 
 were alone. As they sat together something of 
 the old comradeship was felt, but every thought 
 and emotion was deepened and sobered by the 
 presence of the old trapper's fading eyes. Benton 
 read to him till the aged lids drooped and a slum- 
 ber seemed to have come. But suddenly Hiram 
 said: 
 
 " Meetin' must be 'most out, now. I wish you'd 
 go an' see if you kin see anythin' of ole 'Thuze 
 comin' over the hill. I won't never see that sight 
 ag'in." 
 
 Benton went out and walked to the fence, star- 
 ing toward the distant road intently. Nothing was 
 to be seen moving between the hedges,. He had 
 paused under the catalpa tree. He reached up 
 absently and pulled down a bough till it rested 
 upon his shoulder. The sun was golden on the 
 
"WEARING OUT ALL OVER" 273 
 
 broom corn and silver on the pond. The wood 
 stood hushed, each leaf reaching out as if strain- 
 ing to catch the wandering breeze which did not 
 come. All the world was silent save a redbird 
 which, on a topmost twig, sang proudly and with- 
 out a pause, filling his world, from the hollows of 
 the meadows, where the blue grass stood heavy in 
 seed, to the hills beyond the orchard, with sweetest 
 melody. 
 
 Benton was suddenly startled by feeling the 
 bough shake under his shoulder. He turned and 
 found Emma standing beside him, ankle deep in 
 the blue grass. 
 
 " Is n't it sweet? " said Emma, nodding toward 
 the redbird. " He fills his world with music. Do 
 you? But no person does, only a bird. See her 
 comin' ? " 
 
 "No, Emmy. Is your grandfather asleep?" 
 
 Emma nodded. u Ben, is n't he beautiful? Did 
 you ever know anything so cheerful an' sweet at 
 such a time? He just keeps up my courage. That's 
 why he's so brave for my sake oh, I know my 
 gran'pop! An' I have to seem cheerful, he'd be 
 so disappointed not to think he was helpin' me. 
 He's given all his life for me, toil an' trouble an' 
 everythin'. An' now he hates to die just because 
 he knows it's about to break my heart." 
 
 Her voice faltered and she put both hands be- 
 fore her face and leaned on the far end of the 
 bough as Benton held it down upon his shoulder. 
 
274 STORK'S NEST 
 
 He looked at her while his heart thrilled with un- 
 utterable sympathy. 
 
 At last she wiped the tears away and looked up 
 at him. His face told her that he, too, had suf- 
 fered and was suffering. " I must be brave," she 
 said, " until it won't matter; then I'll just be my- 
 self, and cry. Ben " 
 
 Benton did not reply, but his eyes met hers and 
 in them was a pleading, a mute defense, which she 
 understood. " I know what you're thinkin'," she 
 said abruptly, " but you tell me, Ben." 
 
 Benton answered slowly: " 'Bije could come! " 
 
 " Don't you ever think about that again, Ben. 
 I ought n't said it. An' what if he did come? It 
 was n't anything but 'Bije. An' I believe if I 
 needed you an' you knew it, you'd come across the 
 ford, no matter how dangerous it was." 
 
 " I would; indeed, I would; but there's no use 
 to say so," Benton checked himself. " Only 
 words " 
 
 " But they're your words, Ben," said Emma 
 gently. " I did you wrong. I'm afraid I've 
 made you feel bad. I was so angry, oh, just 
 mad because you did n't keep your word! I 
 thought I'd never get over it. But I have. An' 
 everythin' is the same as before that Sunday when 
 I waited, an' waited, an' you But there was such a 
 rain' and you could n't know 'Bije was coming, 
 could you? " 
 
 " If I had only known, Emmy! " 
 
"WEARING OUT ALL OVER" 275 
 
 " Well, don't you bother, Ben, any more. But 
 I must go back; gran'pop might wake up. And 
 there's one more thing I'd like for you to know. 
 It's about 'Bije. Gran'pop thinks I'm goin' to 
 marry him and that keeps him quiet. I'm not 
 saying anything." 
 
 " But have n't you promised? " cried Benton, 
 his heart ceasing to beat. " Is n't he building a 
 house for you? " 
 
 " 'Bije has gone off on one of his trips," re- 
 turned Emma. " House nothin' ! I got a letter 
 from him yesterday and he had n't begun on it. 
 No, I did n't promise not so that I could n't get 
 out of it. It was n't dead wood. Between you 
 an' me, I don't as near think I will as I think I 
 won't!" 
 
 As the gray stars shone up at him, a smile crept 
 about the mouth and shed its light over cheek and 
 brow, and lost itself in the brighter glory of her 
 hair. At that moment a feeble moan came from 
 the cabin door. 
 
 " Oh, Ben ! " whispered Emma, the light van- 
 ishing, " what will become of me? " 
 
 She drooped toward him, and the catalpa bough, 
 released, shot upward in the warm, softened Sep- 
 tember air. His arm was about her and her cheek 
 upon his shoulder, as when they were borne down 
 Grand River on the flood; and just as innocent as 
 then, with just as little thought of love or passion, 
 she rested there a moment, then raised her pale, 
 
276 STORK'S NEST 
 
 weary face, and looked straight into his eyes. But 
 it was not the same with Benton as on that day of 
 storm and flood. For the love which had been so 
 long hidden in his breast and which he had told 
 himself must never be revealed, with one quick rush 
 bore down the barriers. His arm trembled with 
 sudden freedom and drew her close, while his lips 
 were pressed to hers in a passionate kiss which 
 sent the pale face flaming, and closed the long 
 lashes. Ah! never again were those gray orbs to 
 look into his brown depths with the old, careless, 
 unconscious strength of girlhood's freedom. But 
 something fairer than girlhood's freedom, and just 
 as sacred, burned in her cheeks and on her brow as 
 she hurried to the house ; for the Prince had come, 
 and Sleeping Beauty was awake at last. The 
 Prince was left standing under the catalpa, his eyes 
 upon the distant road as it climbed between the 
 hedges. But if old 'Thuze had then appeared, 
 drawing the portly Mrs. Tuckermore, Benton 
 would have been unconscious of the approach, as 
 he was now unconscious of road, wood, redbird, 
 sky everything except Emmy. 
 
XVII 
 UNCLE HI'S LAST CHARGE 
 
 BENTON CABOT had made no progress in 
 his discoveries of 'Bije's secrets, if, indeed, 
 that cold, self-centered man had secrets 
 worthy of discovery. The chamber where he slept 
 and which Emma had named the Snake Room was 
 now seldom closed when the young man passed 
 through the hall. He had come to the conclusion 
 that a coffin was kept there to intimidate Jim Whit- 
 licks and that the orphan was purposely given a 
 glimpse of it to keep him in subjection. Concern- 
 ing the ghost he was still in doubt but, in lieu of 
 a better explanation, held to his theory of a fugi- 
 tive criminal who had come under 'Bije's power. 
 He was resolved to demand an explanation, should 
 he ever hear sounds again issue from the apart- 
 ment while the master was away and, if he were 
 denied, to force the door; for he felt none of that 
 timidity which a student's life and delicate health 
 had fostered. Now, strong and stout of heart, 
 there was nothing he feared save his love of 
 Emma. 
 
 For he loved Emma and he knew that he loved 
 her; and, loving her, he felt that she could never 
 
 277 
 
278 STORK'S NEST 
 
 be his wife; all his training and instincts for refine- 
 ment and education cried out against it. His 
 associates at home, his friends, the memory of his 
 father's pride, the dignity of the family name and 
 his own ambitions stood, as with flaming sword, 
 between him and love's fair Eden. He pictured 
 to himself the sensation that would be produced 
 in Blair City society by the introduction of the 
 illiterate girl of the backwoods, with her bad gram- 
 mar, her faulty pronunciation and her ignorance 
 of social conventions. And there was her grand- 
 father, whose manner of obtaining a livelihood 
 could hardly be seriously regarded by his friends. 
 No no, it could never be ! 
 
 But he wondered if she could love him. If 
 everything were different, if he were free to woo, 
 would she return his love? Could the light in her 
 eyes deepen and the color in her cheeks grow 
 brighter and her bosom throb faster at his ap- 
 proach? He would like to know. He must 
 know! Nay, had he not learned she was no 
 longer a child? At seventeen these children of 
 the woods were women. And he had kissed her; 
 his lips and hers had met beneath the silent catalpa. 
 What a moment! Old Time had paused to lean 
 upon his scythe; the world had stood still. It was 
 love's first kiss. But she! No, she had been 
 thinking of her grandfather; she had leaned to- 
 ward him for comfort, tears in her eyes. That 
 was all. All? She did not think she would 
 
UNCLE HI'S LAST CHARGE 279 
 
 marry 'Bije, in spite of that Sunday afternoon. 
 Why? 
 
 " I must go away," thought Benton. " I must 
 go back to Blair City, back to my real life. Time 
 for holidays to end! And Emmy, I must n't see 
 her again I mean, alone. I mean not for long 
 for very long. I wonder if she will care? " 
 
 No wonder Benton gave little thought to the 
 ghost! He had a ghost all of his own, a ghost 
 to haunt him day and night. It was, indeed, the 
 ghost of what he had been. For he was changed 
 more than he knew, and those ambitions which 
 had led him in the past and which he thought still 
 guided him, were not the same. 
 
 " I wish 'Bije would come home," said Silas 
 to his wife; "here's October on hands an' the 
 cattle to be shipped in a few days an' Ben goin' 
 over thar to Emmy's so constant ! " 
 
 " Over to uncle Hi's, more like," snapped Mrs. 
 Stork. 
 
 "Uncle Hi's foot!" said Silas, who had lost 
 his usual urbanity. " I tell yous I don't like it. 
 Reckon Ben goes to wait on a ole man like that 
 when boys is goin' off from thar prodigal fathers 
 ever' day, as Scriptur' says? Man don't cleave 
 unto man; thar's neither reason nor Bible fur it. 
 An' when thar's neither reason nor Bible fur a 
 thing what are yous to do? Why, write to 'Bije! 
 An' I'll do it to-day. An' he'll come, an' sich a 
 high strike as they'll be here an' sich a log rollin' 
 
280 STORK'S NEST 
 
 up Salt River, I guess yous never see ! If hide or 
 hair is left o' Ben it won't be in this quarter sec- 
 tion. Is they any ink on this here place? " 
 
 " Don't ask a jail-woman about ink," snarled 
 Mrs. Stork. 
 
 Silas caught sight of Jim passing the window 
 and called to him: " Hey! is thar any ink on the 
 place, Jim? Quit a-spillin' that water, Jim! " 
 
 "They's plenty of water," said Jim, who was 
 bearing a pail. 
 
 " Don't keer, brother," rejoined Silas jovially. 
 " Jest seein' a drop of water wasted makes me 
 think that man could have a hull ocean if he'd only 
 save up, save up ! Any ink on the place? " 
 
 Jim paused on one leg, and scratched it with the 
 toes of his other foot. 
 
 "Stork, Stork!" snarled the mistress, wrin- 
 kling her hooked nose contemptuously. 
 
 " Well," said Jim slowly, " they's a pa-a-ale, 
 sort o' light gre-e-een fluid in a ole white stone 
 bottle in my box o' medicines which I think it is 
 ink, for it don't taste like nothin' else to me, an' I 
 know it hain't no virtues for anythin' else." 
 
 Silas said, as he started toward the stairs, " I 
 wonder yous ain't dead, Jim ! " 
 
 Jim called back as he went toward the field: 
 " I air goin' to be, one day, now yous mark it! " 
 
 Silas wrote his letter in urgent terms and as he 
 sealed it, he espied, from an upstairs window, old 
 'Thuze slowly coming up the road. 
 
UNCLE HI'S LAST CHARGE 281 
 
 " This thing has got to be stopped," muttered 
 the farmer. " If it goes on, 'Bije will kill Ben 
 an' me, too, which is more to the p'int." He 
 hurried downstairs. 
 
 "Crishy, honey," he said speaking rapidly, 
 " go down pasture an' meet Emmy an' hold her 
 thar till I can get Ben off on another road. 
 Hasten, honey, hasten ! " 
 
 " I hain't a-goin' to do it," said his wife, with 
 spirit, " an' I won't be the only * honey ' that is ever 
 named on this place except what is took to be sold 
 an' us never gittin' a taste. So don't yous call 
 me that ag'in, Si Stork! " 
 
 u Crishy, honey," said Silas calm and smiling, 
 " I hold here a letter to 'Bije. Coin' t' have it 
 mailed to-day. You've got to stop Emmy down 
 thar, by hook or crook. They's been too much 
 meetin' aroun' uncle Hi's bedside. If you don't 
 go this minute I'll rip open this envelop, if I bu'st 
 the stamp, an' I'll add a postscrip' that won't do 
 yous no good, honey ! " 
 
 Mrs. Stork snatched her sunbonnet vindictively, 
 and hurried away upon her errand. Silas leaped 
 upon his horse, which stood saddled and fastened 
 to a tree, and galloped to the field where Benton 
 and Jim were at work. 
 
 " Ben," said Silas, somewhat flustered, " lay by 
 your corn-knife; I've got a job to send yous 
 on. I want yous to ride over to Laclede Station, 
 if you'll be so kind, an' pay Hicky Price for 
 
282 STORK'S NEST 
 
 yous an' Emmy's an' Jim's board that night you- 
 all stayed on his farm, an' for rowin' you-all in his 
 skift. Hicky, if he hain't thar, his pard is, but 
 I've heerd he's thar. I want yous to ketch 'im. 
 So light out right now, if yous hain't no engage- 
 ments that stan' in the way. An' mail this letter 
 for me." 
 
 Benton was so astonished that it was impossi- 
 ble to control his face. 
 
 * Yous thought me a sponger," said Silas 
 kindly. He had recovered his poise. l Yous 
 an' Hicky Price both thought me a double close- 
 fisted. But Si Stork is a man which pays as he 
 goes, an' which gits paid as he stays." Silas 
 thrust his hand into his pocket and drew forth six 
 new silver dollars. " I believe in the open hand. 
 Why should man hoard up the wealth which a 
 all-sufficient Providence hev' slipped into his 
 pocket? How come this wealth in my pocket? 
 Man was not born with wealth, man is not born 
 with pockets. He may be with hair, though like 
 'nough, not. But as to say pockets, no sir-ee. 
 Then why hoard up? Take it, Ben, an' tell 
 Hicky Price if they's any change comin', you're 
 comin' back an' '11 bring it with yous. Hasten 
 now, brother, make hot tracks; be a swift 
 gentleman ! " 
 
 As Benton rode through the wood he marveled 
 over this strange commission. Why should Silas 
 Stork, a confirmed miser, stop him in the midst of 
 
UNCLE HI'S LAST CHARGE 283 
 
 his work for the purpose of paying a debt long 
 since repudiated? The generosity of the six 
 dollars seemed uncanny. The young man half 
 expected to see " the ghost " start up before him. 
 Still he was glad of the chance to go to Laclede 
 Station. 
 
 At last he rode up before the store where 
 Emma had come to do her u tradin'," paying for 
 everything with her eggs. That seemed long 
 ago. In the store, seated in a circle about a great 
 brown cuspidor, were five or six countrymen 
 who stared at Benton with frank curiosity. Be- 
 hind the counter were Hicky Price and his 
 partner. 
 
 " Well ! good gracious alive ! " cried Hicky in 
 his thin voice as he caught sight of Benton, " if 
 here ain't a bird from the Stork's Nest ! Howdy, 
 Ben! How're yous? How're you feelin'?" 
 
 " Fine," said Benton, grasping his hand and 
 deriving pleasure from the hearty welcome shining 
 on the almost blood-red face of his friend. 
 Hicky grasped his hay-colored mustache and 
 looked the other over critically. 
 
 " Ben, I'm glad to see yous, shore! " he said 
 leaping over the counter. " How air yous, any- 
 way?" 
 
 " First rate," Benton reassured him. 
 
 " Now hev' Taylor thar wait on yous; " Hicky 
 waved toward his partner. " I don't know nothin' 
 about the handin' out part of this job." 
 
284 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " I have n't come to buy anything," said Ben- 
 ton, leading Hicky aside. " I'm just on my way 
 to the post office. Silas sent me over to pay you 
 for our board at your house, the night of the 
 flood." 
 
 "Oh say!" cried Hicky suspiciously, "I'm 
 from Mizzoury, you know." 
 
 " I have six dollars for you," Benton de- 
 clared. 
 
 Hicky gnawed at his mustache and responded: 
 " I guess you'll hev' to show me ! " 
 
 Benton laughed. 
 
 " Say, Ben, hide them certificates? Glad to 
 know it. Le's see them six dollars." 
 
 Hicky stared at the bright coin and examined 
 one after another. " Le's go on to the post office," 
 he said suddenly. 
 
 " You seem very solemn," Benton laughed. 
 " Maybe you're like me and think Silas has lost 
 his mind." 
 
 " Well, no, I wa'n't thinkin' jest that," said 
 Hicky absently. 
 
 They walked into the post office side by side. 
 Benton mailed the letter to 'Bije and inquired for 
 his own mail. There was nothing. 
 
 " Say, Jack," said Hicky to the postmaster. He 
 laid the six coins upon the little window sill. 
 " Don't yous think Si hev' got mighty generous 
 of a sudden? " 
 
 The postmaster examined the dollars and be- 
 
UNCLE HI'S LAST CHARGE 285 
 
 came strangely excited. " Yous don't mean it, 
 Hicky!" 
 
 "Then what do I mean?" retorted Hicky. 
 
 " Great fathers alive ! " cried the postmaster. 
 " That ole skinflint ! Whar's 'Bije? " 
 
 " He said he was going to Gentry County to 
 build a house," said Benton, wholly mystified. 
 
 "Build his gran'mammy! " snorted the post- 
 master. " He's in St. Louis this minute, as shore 
 as the Fore Courts is thar', which he orter be in one 
 of 'em!" 
 
 " When's he comin' home? " demanded Hicky. 
 
 Benton shook his head. 'Bije had not revealed 
 his plans. 
 
 " Say! " said Hicky hastily, " d' ye reckon the 
 operator is in the deepot? " 
 
 " 'Course he hain't in the deepot," retorted the 
 postmaster. " Is he ever in the deepot when 
 yous want to send a telegraph? Git on my ole 
 sorrel, Hicky, an' hike out to his place. Make 
 him pick up his feet; ole sorrel can do it." 
 
 " Ben," said Hicky impressively, " don't say 
 nothin' of all this to Silas. Begin to smell 
 smoke?" 
 
 " That explains the queer sounds from the dark 
 room and the smells ! " Benton exclaimed as 
 the truth flashed upon him. " How dull I have 
 been ! " 
 
 " Well, you're gettin' bright. Jest lay low 
 till 'Bije comes; we want to take him warm. We'll 
 
286 STORK'S NEST 
 
 git the sheriff here; but if the least warnin' is 
 leaked, you'll never see hide nor hair of our man. 
 Heard from your minin' shurs?" 
 
 Benton shook his head, still excited by his sud- 
 den discovery. " No such company in existence, 
 I suppose," he returned. " How long has 'Bije 
 been at this business?" Hicky became confiden- 
 tial and they whispered apart. 
 
 The next week Mrs. Tuckermore's son drove 
 over for Benton with the intelligence that Hiram 
 Garrett was dying. They made all speed to reach 
 the log cabin before sunset. As Benton leaped 
 from the stile-block, his eyes caught sight of a 
 group of seven or eight neighbors who sat under 
 the trees, exchanging anecdotes and asking about 
 each other's families in low voices. It was thus 
 they paid respect to the dying, and Benton realized 
 that the time was now close at hand. A heavy 
 sadness caused his heart to sink, and his feet grew 
 slower as he approached the beloved door. 
 
 He heard Mrs. Tuckermore saying to Mrs. 
 Price, " Yap, ole uncle George's cow hev gone 
 dry," and he heard Mrs. Price say: "Poor 
 uncle Hi! I remember when he sold that cow 
 to George." 
 
 Hicky Price stood awkward and solemn in his 
 Sunday suit. " He's been callin' for yous, Ben," 
 he said in a thin whisper. " How d' yous find 
 the roads? " 
 
UNCLE HI'S LAST CHARGE 287 
 
 " Very muddy/' said Benton, passing on. 
 
 "They'll get muddier," said Hicky turning to 
 Tobe Tuckermore; " they's goin' to be a down- 
 fall to-night; the sun need n't be shinin' ! " 
 
 Tobe looked at the sun critically. " It's drawin* 
 water I do believe," he cried. 
 
 No one was in the front room with the dying 
 man except Emma. 
 
 At sight of the young man, Emma's golden 
 hair fell about the white face like a halo as she 
 said close to his ear: "Here's Ben, dear gran'- 
 
 Pop." 
 
 A faint smile appeared on the wrinkled face 
 and a thin hand stirred toward the newcomer. 
 As Benton took the hand, the old man gasped: 
 " Son, your comin' to this country was the best job 
 yous ever done I Emmy ! " 
 
 " Dear gran'pop, ain't I always here, right by 
 you? " said Emma, kissing him. 
 
 " Now yous tell Ben," gasped Hiram. 
 
 " Ben," said Emma in a low voice, but keeping 
 her face toward the fading eyes, " gran'pop wants 
 me to say that he asks you, if you ever have the 
 
 chance " 
 
 . " No," whispered Hiram. 
 * " I mean," continued Emma slowly, " if every- 
 thln' turns out so that you can, convenient, and it 
 comes your way " 
 
 "No!". Hiram objected feebly. "Oh, 
 Emmy!", 
 
288 STORK'S NEST 
 
 Emma kissed him and began again : " Gran'- 
 pop wants to ask you to protect me and take care 
 of me I he means if I am in trouble, an' you 
 happen to find it out, you know. Gran'pop 
 seems to forget how well I can take care of my- 
 self. So, if it is ever convenient to you, and I need 
 you " 
 
 " I don't mean just that," whispered Hiram. 
 
 Benton knelt beside the bed and, laying 
 Emma's hand upon that of her grandfather's, 
 held both in a close grasp. " You know," he said 
 earnestly, " that I love you and that I love 
 Emmy. No harm shall ever come to her while 
 I live, if I can prevent it. And as long as she 
 lives, if she will let me, I will take care of her." 
 
 '* That's what I meant, son," said the old man, 
 with a deep sigh of content. "Now I will go to 
 sleep. Good-night, son. Good-night, Emmy." 
 
 Emma said with a piteous entreaty in her 
 earnest girlish voice: " Oh, darlin', can't yous 
 keep awake a little longer? " 
 
 But Hiram had fallen asleep. 
 
 Emma knelt beside the bed, and Benton softly 
 rested his hand upon her head. 
 
 The last beams of the sun shot through the 
 open door and quivered on the step where the old 
 trapper had loved to sit in the evening with his 
 pipe. Those beams were as golden and as elo- 
 quent of joyous life as when they had made glad 
 his eyes in long vanished boyhood; but now they 
 
UNCLE HI'S LAST CHARGE 289 
 
 were not for him. The world was robed in her 
 fresh green dress which showed dashes of autumn 
 color, and the redbird sang, but it was not to do 
 him honor. Yet there was no cruelty, Benton 
 thought, in the laughing sunbeams or in the 
 sparkling garments of the earth or in the burst of 
 bird song. For sun, earth and bird are for the 
 living; but for the dead a Sun of Righteousness, 
 a world fairer than man's dream of beauty, and 
 the music of God's voice. 
 
XVIII 
 'BIJE'S PLOTS 
 
 A FORM approached the watchers in the 
 yard, and suddenly Hicky whispered 
 fiercely: " Thar's 'Bije! He have come 
 at last!" 
 
 It needed but a glance at the neighbors sitting 
 under the trees to tell Abijah Stork that Hiram 
 Garrett was, to say the least, in a critical condi- 
 tion. He strode past them with a slight bow and 
 entered the front room. His eagle eye scanned 
 Emma kneeling beside the dead trapper. Ben- 
 ton turned, as if to oppose his entrance, but the 
 giant pushed his way to Emma's side. The word 
 was now circulated among the friends in the yard 
 that Hiram was dead. One by one they entered, 
 solemn and noiseless, and stood about the bed. 
 The sunlight vanished from the wall where it had 
 quivered above the white face. The chill twi- 
 light of October looked through the open win- 
 dow and the cries of whippoorwills and the 
 hoarse prophetic calls of rain crows added a mel- 
 ancholy touch to the hush of nature. 
 
 'Bije took control of affairs, as a matter of 
 course, and no one thought of questioning his 
 orders. Even Benton obeyed, finding them reason- 
 
 290 
 
BIJE'S PLOTS 291 
 
 able, even necessary, but he obeyed in secret 
 triumph. 'Bije was at home again, little dream- 
 ing that the secret of his life had been penetrated 1 
 Hicky Price gave Benton a significant glance as if 
 to say "Wait!" 
 
 Few of the conveniences which, at the time of 
 death, had seemed in Blair City indispensable were 
 available here in the backwoods. The funeral 
 must take place in the morning, and before dark a 
 man was sent to dig the grave. 'Bije appointed 
 himself to sit up with the body and Emma was 
 driven to the Tuckermore home. Benton watched 
 the buggy vanish over the hill, then said to 'Bije 
 with quiet decision : " I, too, will sit up in the 
 
 room." 
 
 Silas overheard the words and sought to dis- 
 suade the young man, but Benton put him aside. 
 At last, all had left the cabin save 'Bije and Ben- 
 ton, Emma's two lovers. It was now dark. A 
 candle was stuck upon a step of the ladder which 
 rose from the center of the front room to the loft 
 above. The two men seated themselves in silence 
 to watch beside the dead. The younger was near 
 the bed, while the other crouched in his chair be- 
 side the open door. 
 
 The face of the old trapper was calm and smil- 
 ing as the light flared up and wavered in the un- 
 steady breeze; and when the flame sank to a blue 
 flutter the white, still face showed against the 
 gathering shadows as a messenger of peace. It 
 
292 STORK'S NEST 
 
 was some time before Benton discovered that his 
 companion never glanced toward the bed, seeming 
 to cower from the presence of death. The huge 
 form was shrunken in its chair, as if forsaken by 
 that resolution and authority which was wont to 
 hold it erect. The large features were in profile 
 and, as they showed against the blackness of the 
 sky, they suggested latent cruelty which had lost 
 its power to inflict pain. What had happened to 
 the giant to rob him of his self-possession? He 
 could not have found out that he was suspected of 
 criminal conduct, the punishment for which was 
 the prison at Jefferson City! He must not sus- 
 pect this till the net was ready to close about his 
 feet. He had left Emma, confident of her willing- 
 ness to become his wife, and he had not seen her 
 alone since his return. Yet Benton felt sure that 
 'Bije's whole attitude was changed, not only to- 
 ward him, but toward Emma. 
 
 The young man grew heavily oppressed by the 
 silence and by the uneasy influence which emanated 
 from the stooped-over body, the long arms hanging 
 with fingers crooked as if for grasping, the heavy 
 boots extended along their sides upon the bare 
 floor. Nor was it this silent influence alone which 
 disturbed his thoughts. Once in a while, now and 
 again, the huge head turned stealthily and the 
 deep eyes of 'Bije, cowering from the bed and its 
 occupant, crept along the floor to Benton and stole 
 over him with an impenetrable gaze. It seemed 
 
BIJE'S PLOTS 293 
 
 to study his every member and to weigh his possi- 
 bility of resistance. When Benton met the search- 
 ing gaze 'Bije would slowly turn away, while the 
 other concealed the little chill which stole over him 
 on encountering those evil eyes. 
 
 About midnight 'Bije rose and walked from the 
 room. Presently he was heard in the kitchen, 
 rummaging among dishes and pans. When he 
 returned he carried a shapeless piece of corn bread 
 and the thigh of a chicken. He seated himself 
 with his back to the bed, bringing his profile to the 
 candlelight, and began to eat. As he tore the 
 meat from the bone with his large white teeth his 
 nose flattened and the wrinkles above his lip 
 stretched out in a suggestion of ferocious hunger, as 
 if the miser, half-starved by his own frugality, 
 were appeasing his appetite without stint upon 
 another's bounty. It was a fancy whicli did him 
 injustice, yet Benton could not but entertain it; and 
 when, at last, the teeth ceased to tear and the bread 
 had disappeared in large, swift bites, he imagined 
 that 'Bije was still hungry and would presently rise 
 in quest of more. At last, the sky began to lighten 
 while a fresh breeze rushed with increasing volume 
 through the indistinct trees. 
 
 'Bije slowly rose and stood in the doorway. He 
 spoke and, after the long, tense silence, his deep 
 voice jarred strangely upon the death-chamber. 
 
 " It's come at last! " 
 
 " What? " asked Benton quickly. 
 
294 STORK'S NEST 
 
 'Bije did not answer, but a sudden dash of rain 
 answered for him. Presently it was descending 
 with violence. The roof rang with the downpour 
 and the water-pipes gurgled and foamed. The 
 early light vanished as thick clouds swung low. 
 
 " Lonesome weather," growled 'Bije. He 
 pulled his hat down to his ears and walked leisurely 
 out of the house. " I'll take 'Thuze an' get 
 Emmy," he said, walking away as quietly as if 
 water were his native element. It seemed a long 
 time to Benton before the sound of horses' hoofs 
 were heard. Hicky Price, Tobe Tuckermore, 
 Silas Stork and a few other men appeared on the 
 cinderpath. Among them, Benton espied Jim 
 Whitlicks. 
 
 " Come in," said Benton, as they stood still, 
 craning their necks to look through the open door. 
 
 " Nuck," said Tobe; "too wet." 
 
 " But you must n't stand out there in that del- 
 uge," Benton remonstrated. 
 
 ' We air as wet as the rain," remarked Hicky; 
 " they's no more danger of it wettin' us than us 
 wettin' it." 
 
 . " My ole woman '11 be here d'rectly," Tobe said 
 solemnly. " 'Bije is drivin' her an' Emmy in our 
 kerridge. Has the coffin came? " 
 
 Benton shook his head. " Jim, you'd better 
 come in, anyway," he urged. " You'll be made 
 sick out there." 
 
 " 'Twon't be more 'n I expect," said Jim 
 
BIJE'S PLOTS 295 
 
 dismally. " I'm too wet to come in. Thar's the 
 coffin now," he added, as wheels were heard. " I 
 do hope ole 'Thuze will behave hisself goin' in the 
 percession," he added; " like 'nough he '11 squat! " 
 
 " If he do, I'll kill him," said Tobe sharply. 
 " He will find he hain't got uncle Hi to cherish 
 his stubborn ole bones now ! " 
 
 The minister had come with the coffin and, dur- 
 ing the solemn scene that followed, Benton drew 
 Hicky aside and asked his intentions regarding 
 'Bije. 
 
 " We can't do nothin' till to-night," said Hicky, 
 cautiously looking about to make sure that they 
 were not overheard. " Us telegraphin' to St. 
 Louis must of got to his years somehow, he left so 
 quick, an' if so he must be suspicionin' a thing or 
 two ! But I 'low to git the sheriff here, train-time, 
 an', as Tobe will be cattle-loadin' an' you with 
 Tobe's son an' Jim But I reckon we'll have to 
 leave Jim out of this, he has so little bone." 
 
 * Yap," said Jim, hearing the last remark, " I 
 have been wood choppin' since cock-crowin' an' 
 I'm that wore out I'm past patchin'. Leave me 
 out of ever'thin' ! " 
 
 Hicky turned his back on Jim and whispered 
 more guardedly: "That will make four men 
 ag'in 'Bije; me, you, Tobe an' the sheriff for 
 Tobe's son will have to take the cattle on to 
 Chicawgo. We'll round him up at his house an' 
 But thar he comes now. S-s-sh! " 
 
296 STORK'S NEST 
 
 'Bije drove into the yard with Emma and Mrs. 
 Tuckermore. 
 
 As the little company slowly wound their 
 way to the cemetery the rain beat with undi- 
 minished force upon the horsemen. There was 
 but one carriage to follow the coffin ; in this carriage 
 sat the minister, 'Bije, Benton, Emma and Mrs. 
 Tuckermore. 'Thuze had been turned over to Jim 
 Whitlicks, who rode the ancient horse with much 
 trepidation. Tobe Tuckermore kept an eye upon 
 the animal, as if resolved to carry out his threat ; 
 but so far from manifesting a desire to " squat," 
 'Thuze showed an almost uncontrollable purpose 
 to get in the lead of the procession. 
 
 " I never see him so spry," muttered Jim as he 
 blistered his hands from sawing and jerking on the 
 bridle; "seems like he jest knows uncle Hi's 
 dead!" 
 
 It was raining so hard when the body was low- 
 ered into the grave that the minister made his cere- 
 mony brief. Tobe Tuckermore and his wife in- 
 vited Emma to go home with them in their car- 
 riage " an' stay till we whistle," their manner 
 indicating that it would be many a day before they 
 gave the signal. 
 
 " Let me ride with you," said 'Bije, who had 
 stood apart from the group of mourners. " I 
 have something very important to discuss with 
 Emmy." He climbed in and they drove away, 
 Benton watching with the thought that 'Bije was 
 
BIJE'S PLOTS 297 
 
 perhaps taking his last ride with the Grand River 
 girl. 
 
 " Seems awful lonesome, 1 ' moralized Hicky as 
 the men mounted, " to leave poor ole uncle Hi out 
 here in the lonesome cemet'ry, the rain pourin' and 
 the sky so gray." They splashed away, along the 
 roads where pools were already forming, and 
 nothing more was said till they reached the cross- 
 roads. Then as Silas, Benton, and Jim turned 
 homeward, Hicky called to the young man, 
 "Don't forget!" 
 
 In the meantime the Tuckermore carriage had 
 reached home, and 'Bije waited on the front porch 
 to see Emma. Grim and silent he moved rest- 
 lessly from side to side with iron determination 
 fixed upon his strong, handsome face. There was 
 something in his contempt for physical discomforts 
 which naturally appealed to those of weaker 
 natures and his sober suit of black set off his large 
 features to advantage. When Emma came out to 
 him she could not repress a little thrill of admira- 
 tion. She, too, was in black and he had never 
 found her so winning. Grief had softened and 
 refined her expression and it was more appealing 
 than he had ever known. But the stern lines of 
 his face did not relax. 
 
 " It won't rain on us out here, Emmy," he said, 
 
 drawing a chair close to the weather-boarding. 
 
 'You set down; I'll just stand. I know this 
 
 ain't no time to bother you, if it could be helped, 
 
298 STORK'S NEST 
 
 your gran'daddy just laid away; but it can't be 
 helped and I've got to speak out and clear things 
 up." 
 
 " Yes, I'd rather not talk about it now," said 
 Emma wearily, folding her little hands on the 
 black dress and looking down. 
 
 " I got your letter," said 'Bije abruptly. 
 " That's why I come; and a letter from Si, same 
 mail, Emmy." 
 
 " Must 'a' been Si's letter that brought you," 
 said Emma, still looking down; " guess it was n't 
 
 mine." 
 
 " Guess it was, though," retorted the man 
 hoarsely. 
 
 " There was n't no use to answer my letter," 
 said the tired voice, " either by pen, or by person." 
 
 " Emmy," said 'Bije suddenly, " do you think I 
 mean to give you up? " 
 
 " I reckon so," was the quiet answer. * You'd 
 best." 
 
 His voice shook with suppressed emotion. 
 " After me loving an' hoping an' toiling for you all 
 these years, an' seein' you grow up from a little 
 girl to the beautiful young woman you are, do 
 you think Abijah Stork will just sit by an' let you 
 go?" 
 
 " You get somebody else, 'Bije; the world is full 
 of girls as fine as I am." 
 
 " I've known you since you used to be carried 
 in these arms, Emmy," he burst forth passionately. 
 
BIJE'S PLOTS 299 
 
 " An* I've felt the lonesome spot for you ever 
 since you grew too big to be loved like I used to 
 love you, you runnin' to meet * 'Bijey ' as you called 
 me in your flutey-kind o' voice. They ain't no 
 other girl in the world for me. But you are for 
 me and these arms will hold you again just as they 
 done years ago ! " 
 
 " 'Bije," said Emma gently, " I am very sorry 
 for you, an' I want you to be happy. But some- 
 body else will have to make you so. I would n't 
 have written that letter if I had n't meant ever' 
 word. I mean ever' word of it now. 'Tain't no 
 use to talk, but I'm sorry, that's all I can say." 
 
 * You don't know 'Bije if you think I am dis- 
 couraged that easy," he said almost contemptu- 
 ously. " Little girl, you belong to me; your life 
 is a part of my life. Your dead gran'father 
 wanted us to marry, an' it '11 kill me if I don't. 
 Think what you are doing, Emmy; remember our 
 plans and your promise ! " 
 
 " It's all settled, 'Bije," she said compassion- 
 ately. " There's no use. I just can't love 
 you ! " 
 
 " You don't know 'Bije," he said, his voice hard- 
 ening, " if you think I'll let a milk-faced, cowardly 
 cur like Benton Cabot stand between me and my 
 very life! "i 
 
 " And you don't know Emmy Garrett," she 
 cried, springing up with cheeks aflame, " if you 
 think you can talk to me like that ! " 
 
300 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " I reckon," said the other slowly, " you think 
 Benton is more to your taste than a man who has 
 seen the world and can provide for you. But if 
 so, you might as well stop thinking; provided for 
 you'll be, and by me ! Nothin' on earth can pre- 
 vent it, not even your wishes, Emmy; an' as 
 for that long-faced cub, afeerd of a muddy 
 crossin' " 
 
 " I guess you think a heap of me," said Emma, 
 " or you would n't come from gran'pop's funeral 
 to insult me in my friends' house ! I never knew 
 you cared quite so much for me, 'Bije I I wish you 
 good-morning." 
 
 'Bije stepped between her and the front door. 
 " Emmy," he said, " listen to me a minute." 
 
 "Not to-day," said Emma, her eyes burning. 
 " Stand out of my way, 'Bije, stand out of my 
 way!" 
 
 Suddenly the great form knelt in the doorway 
 and, before she realized his intention, 'Bije had 
 kissed one of her bare feet. Emma stood motion- 
 less a moment then reached down her hand and 
 touched his hair. "Poor 'Bije!" she said, and 
 entered the house. 
 
 'Bije hurried out into the rain and walked home 
 through the increasing mud of the unworked roads. 
 Silas saw him coming and met him at the door. 
 
 " Come up," said 'Bije abruptly. They as- 
 cended to the second story and 'Bije led the way 
 to the Snake Room. He unlocked the door and 
 
BIJE'S PLOTS 301 
 
 they entered. It was intensely dark. 'Bije lit a 
 lamp. " Set down," he said gruffly. 
 
 "What's up, 'Bijey?" said Silas nervously. 
 The other gave him a quick look. 
 
 "What are you shakin' about, Si?" he asked, 
 suddenly holding the lamp close to his brother's 
 face. 
 
 " Git away, 'Bijey, boy," remonstrated Silas, 
 shrinking back, "th' ain't nothin' the matter with 
 
 me." 
 
 'Bije replaced the lamp upon the table and 
 seated himself upon a pile of sacks which filled one 
 corner of the room and overflowed into the middle 
 of the floor. The coffin was pushed back under 
 the table. 
 
 " I come here to discuss troubles of my own," 
 said 'Bije, u but I find you have some, too I Now, 
 Si, you never could keep nothin' from me an' you 
 never could help actin' the fool when I went off 
 and left you to yourself. What have you done 
 an' what are you holdin' back?" 
 
 "Nothin', 'Bijey, nothin'!" said Silas faintly. 
 
 "You tell me," said 'Bije, pointing his long 
 finger at his brother, "an' do it quick! What's 
 on that conscience of yourn? Glad I hain't 
 one!" 
 
 " 'Bijey, I hain't none nuther, I sw'ar I hain't. 
 No conscience fur me ! An' I hain't done a thing. 
 I did pay off Hicky Price a matter o' six dollars 
 board, three days ago " 
 
302 STORK'S NEST 
 
 'Bije started to his feet. " How'd you pay 
 him, Si ? " he asked quickly. " In new goods? " 
 
 Ya-a-a Well, yous see " 
 
 "New goods, Si? New goods?" 
 
 " Ya-a-a-ap. I sent it by Ben." 
 
 " Oh, yap ! " said 'Bije, nodding his head. 
 "Well, Si, you've about ruined us! If I was n't 
 about ready for anythin', nohow, I'd jest go crazy, 
 I'd be so mad at you. But it '11 take ever' cool nerve 
 I've got to get out o' this, so I can't afford to fall 
 to an' half beat you to death, as somebody should 
 if they was anybody to call on, whilst I was plan- 
 nin'. Oh, you ole fool ! So you let that pride of 
 yourn, that unreasonable scarecrow of a pride, 
 nothin' in it but straw, you let that pride undo us ; 
 You would n't no more spend a cent than I would, 
 but you want to get the name of bein' liberal 
 which nobody won't believe! You can't make 
 people think you liberal unless you are liberal. 
 That's one thing nobody can't be fooled about! 
 An' yet that newborn pride of flesh an' lust of 
 eye has brung every'thing to a focus with me at 
 the end of the focus." 
 
 " I jest thought " Silas apologized. 
 
 'Bije waved his hand impatiently. ;t When a 
 man has luck an' Si Stork ag'in him, he might as 
 well quit the game ! When Ben's guardian wrote 
 up here that Ben had nothin' but minin' stock I 
 looked up that mine, though you said 't was a 
 waste of time and money.. I found it valuable, 
 
BIJE'S PLOTS 303 
 
 did n't I? When Ben comes, nothin' would do 
 you but we must all go off on a fish-fry to give the 
 ghost a chance to rob him of his shurs. I knowed 
 he'd leave 'em in his trunk, but, jest to make you 
 easy, Hezzie Whitlicks done the job. Did n't find 
 nothin', did he?" 
 
 " Well, now, brother 'Bijey," remonstrated 
 Silas feebly. 
 
 " You have a conscience, you fool, and they's 
 no use lyin' out of it ! Let it go. No time now, 
 but to plan an' plan quick. I noticed how Hicky 
 Price was lookin' at me durin' the funeral, an' 
 winkin' at ole Walker an' Josh Turner. And 
 when I come through Laclede Station I found out 
 an' you listen an' let that everlastin' conscience 
 of yourn enjoy itself that a telegraph had been 
 sent to the county sheriff biddin' him to make haste 
 for these parts. Understan'? He ought to be 
 here jest about mornin' from what I could gather. 
 Ever'thing must be done this blessed day, an' a 
 reg'lar flood outdoors ! " 
 
 "My Lord!" cried Silas, ghastly pale in the 
 flare of the smoky lamp. " We air did fur ! " 
 
 'Bije rose. " 'T would serve you right," he said 
 hoarsely, " but you do as I say, no matter what I 
 say, an' I'll get us both out o' this." 
 
 " I believe yous kin," said Silas, his face light- 
 ing up. 
 
 "Yap," said 'Bije, "they ain't no train of cir- 1 
 cumstances can down me, not even if my fool of a , 
 
304 STORK'S NEST 
 
 brother is the enjine hitched to it, snortin' an' 
 puffin' down grade." 
 
 Silas, taking fresh courage, cried, "An' his 
 name is 'Bije Stork!" 
 
 " Dry up ! " retorted 'Bije ungraciously, " an' 
 listen to me. Ever' one of these bags has got to 
 be carried from here to-night and buried under 
 the old Shagg cabin across Grand River. That's 
 number one. Jim will have to drive the cattle to- 
 night just before we cross. We'll take the team 
 of mules. Git it in your head? " 
 
 " Yap. It '11 be awful dark, 'Bije ! " 
 
 "Won't be as dark as the pen'tentiary," re- 
 torted the other. " They have mighty dark places 
 thar, I do hear ! Now ! listen at me. I will be seen 
 to leave this place in about half an hour and ever'- 
 body must believe I've went back to St. Louis. 
 You get ever'body out o' the way so I can sneak 
 back to this room. Understan'? Listenin' at 
 me?" 
 
 " Yap. That's easy an' often did before." 
 
 "Which we air now to number three. When 
 we drive away with these bags, I'll lead my hoss 
 to the red oak at the turnin' in the woods an' tie 
 him thar. When we come back, I'll git out the 
 wagon an' take my hoss an' leave you." 
 
 "Wharto?" 
 
 " Tuckermore's." 
 
 " For which, 'Bijey; for which? " 
 
 "When I leave these diggin's to-night, pard, 
 
BUS'S PLOTS '305 
 
 Emmy goes with me," said 'Bije, walking on tiptoe 
 toward Silas and stoopin' down to whisper. 
 
 " Bije! " cried Silas, starting back. 
 
 " It's your own fault," growled 'Bije. " You 
 let Ben run over thar all the time I was way, an' 
 yet you knew my wishes." 
 
 " 'Bijey, I could n't help uncle Hi's dyin'," re- 
 monstrated Silas. 
 
 "You can't help nothin'," retorted 'Bije; "but 
 I can an' will! She'll marry me all right. You 
 just tell folks she has run away with me an' when 
 we come back she'll tell the same tale." 
 
 "Them cattle has to be loaded this evenin'," 
 said Silas. 
 
 " Don't I know it? " retorted 'Bije. " I'll just 
 weave that into my scheme. Tobe will be at the 
 cattle pen with Ben an' Jim and Bud Tuckermore. 
 I'll git shet of Mrs. Tuckermore. Emmy will be 
 all alone in the house. She'll get on my hoss an* 
 away we go, luck to you farewell! " 
 
 " Now, say it all over ag'in, an' slow," said 
 Silas. " If thar's a hitch, you'll blame me, 'Bijey." 
 
 " I reckon I will, bein' nothin' but mortal," re- 
 joined 'Bije, "an* if they is I'll hitch you! I 
 never went away from home yet but you well-nigh 
 ruined ever'thing. Your sudden pride to be 
 thought a payin' man makes me sick. Now, can 
 I trust you to git them minin' certificates just before 
 we drive off with the bags?" 
 
 "Shore, 'Bijey!" 
 
306 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " Nothin' ain't shore that has you at one end of 
 it," growled his brother. " Shore they're in his 
 trunk?" 
 
 " Yap. Cert. I've quit watchin' 'em too care- 
 ful because, as I told yous, he laid traps to catch 
 meddlers. But they're thar. An' narry one of 
 the letters from his minin' comp'ny has reached 
 his eye." 
 
 "That goes without sayin'," interrupted 'Bije 
 impatiently. " Well, just remember them shurs 
 represents six hundred and seventy thousand spuds 
 an' swing on to 'em at the proper moment. Git 
 
 Benton off to the loadin' " Suddenly he turned 
 
 toward the door and held up a warning hand. 
 " Si," he said, raising his voice, " that 
 ghost will have to walk the earth ag'in to- 
 night; this rainy weather is too propitious 
 for it to lay in its coffin ! " As he spoke the 
 last word he made a leap for the door and tore it 
 open. Jim Whitlicks shrank back terrified. 
 
 "Why, Jim, howdy!" cried 'Bije, seizing the 
 lad's arm. " Come in here, pard, come in an' be 
 one of us ! " He dragged the helpless orphan into 
 the chamber and locked the door. 
 
 Silas stared at the unhappy youth with ashen 
 face. "My Lordy, 'Bije!" he gasped, his eyes 
 starting, "he hev' overheard us an' the hunt's up !" 
 
 " If it's up," said the other composedly, " we've 
 catched the fox, so no need to repine ! " As 
 he spoke, he took up a pair of scissors from the 
 
BIJE'S PLOTS 307 
 
 table and held the tips of the blades over the lamp. 
 Jim Whitlicks darted his eyes from wall to wall 
 like an entrapped animal seeking escape. His 
 knees smote together in terror. "Why, set down, 
 pard," said 'Bije heartily, "set down an' be at 
 home. Tell us what you heard just now." His 
 manner suddenly became brutal; "tell us ever' 
 word or we'll kill you on the spot ! " 
 
 " 'Bije," said Jim piteously, " don't do nothin' 
 to me, 'Bije; I air jest a poor weak orphan that 
 ain't never done you or Si any harm an' could n't 
 if I wanted to." 
 
 " You imp ! " growled 'Bije in a fierce undertone, 
 " tell us ever' word you heerd quick! I ain't got 
 no time to waste over such an incubus as you." 
 
 Jim writhed in anticipated torture and locked 
 his thin fingers together. " I heerd yous say I 
 must drive the cattle acrost the ford to-night an' 
 that you-all was goin' to bury these bags, an' that 
 when you-all went off on the fish-fry, it wasn't no 
 use; an' somethin' about pa's ghost I did n't 
 understan' it, indeed I did n't." 
 
 "Where are we goin' to bury these bags?" in- 
 quired 'Bije, holding the scissors closer to the 
 blaze. 
 
 " I sw'ar I don't know, 'Bije, I sw'ar I don't 
 know! " cried Jim earnestly. 
 
 "What else are we goin' to do?" demanded 
 'Bije, watching Jim narrowly. 
 
 " I don't know what you're goin' to do, 'Bije," 
 
308 STORK'S NEST 
 
 faltered Jim, wringing his hands. " Oh, I don't 
 know." 
 
 " An' if you knew, you'll tell, hey? " 
 
 " I never told on yous yit, 'Bije." 
 
 'Bije treated himself to a wide-mouthed, silent 
 laugh. Then he rose from his chair. " Jim," he 
 said sternly, " I want to know why you was listen- 
 in' at that door, and I mean to find out. You know 
 me, an' you know whether I'll find out or not. Say, 
 Jim! Do you remember when your pa's ghost 
 catched you in the woods and had them red hot 
 pincers an' held your leg with 'em till they went 
 through your pants an' gripped on to your flesh? 
 Let me see that scar, pard. Quick, now ! " 
 
 " For God's sake, 'Bije," faltered Jim, wildly 
 glaring at the scissors, but at the same time rolling 
 up his trousers' leg, " have mercy on me ! Si, speak 
 a word for me." 
 
 " This thing is getting hot," said 'Bije, whipping 
 out his handkerchief to grasp the scissors by the 
 handle. ' Yap, your scar stays with you ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! I've reason to think your pa's ghost will 
 ha'nt you to-night with a red hot pitchfork, most 
 likely. Now you're goin' to tell me why you was 
 listening at the door. An' you know I'll find out, 
 first or last, so treat yourself easy, an' out with it 
 at once." 
 
 " I was jest wantin' to know what you V Si had 
 to say to each other," gasped Jim, " and that's 
 all, 'Bije; that's the God's truth." 
 
BIJE'S PLOTS 309 
 
 " Nobody did n't set you to listenin', now, hey, 
 pard?" 
 
 " Not a soul, as I live, not a soul ! " 
 
 " Ben did n't know you was listenin', hey? " 
 
 "No, no, no, 'Bije, nobody did!" 
 
 "But how come you listenin' at the door?" 
 
 " 'Bije, I wanted to find out what you was de- 
 visin' ; an' listenin' at the door was the best way I 
 knowed to git it fust handed." 
 
 'Bije made a sudden spring at the lad who, in- 
 stead of seeking to escape, fell in a heap at his 
 feet. The man threw the lad's head back upon the 
 floor and, sitting upon his chest, snatched up one 
 of the thin arms. Jim sought to draw away, but 
 he was a puny child in the other's might. 'Bije 
 tore up the shirtsleeve and caught the flesh of the 
 arm between the heated blades of the shears. The 
 lad uttered an agonized groan. 
 
 ' 'Bijey," said Silas hastily, " don't be too firm, 
 'Bijey!" 
 
 " Did Benton know you was listenin' ? " de- 
 manded 'Bije furiously. "Did he? did he? 
 Hey? " 
 
 " No, no, no ! 'Bije, I can't bear it, I can't." 
 
 " Oh, yap, you can. Shore he did n't know, 
 Jim?" 
 
 "On my soul, 'Bije, he never! Mercy, O 
 Mercy! 'Bije!" 
 
 "'Bijey!" said Silas feebly, "don't be too 
 firm." 
 
3io STORK'S NEST 
 
 "Still shore, Jim?" demanded 'Bije, pinching 
 the skin with a diabolical contortion of mirth upon 
 his lips. 
 
 " He did n't know he did n't know ! " moaned 
 the orphan. 
 
 " These plagued scissors are gettin' cold," said 
 'Bije, holding them up and feeling them with a 
 shake of his head. Jim panted violently, scarcely 
 able to get his breath. 
 
 4 'Bijey," cried Silas, in desperation, " leave the 
 kid be, an' come set on me instead. Yous kin 
 see he's tellin' the truth an' about tuckered out at 
 the same time. I believe he'll do jest as we say." 
 
 "Will you, Jim?" asked 'Bije, with a sudden 
 politeness. 4 Will you be so kind as to keep this 
 from Ben, an' sister Crishy bags, fish- fry an' all ? 
 An' will you be so kind as to drive them cattle 
 to-night?" 
 
 " Oh, yes you're killin' me, 'Bije my breath 
 is plumb squeezed out my body." 
 
 "Why, excuse me!" said 'Bije, rising. "I'm 
 afeerd I was too inconsiderate, findin' such a com- 
 fortable seat, an' stayin' too long. Let me help 
 you to arise, pard." He grasped Jim by the ears 
 and drew him upright, grinning all the while. 
 Then his manner changed: "Now, git!" he 
 hissed, dragging the other to the door, " an' make 
 your will before breathin' a word of all this. Si, 
 go with him an' keep an eye on him till the bags 
 are ready." 
 
XIX 
 
 GATHERING IN THE NET 
 
 WHEN Benton Cabot returned from 
 Hiram's funeral his mind was occupied 
 by the plan to capture 'Bije. He went 
 over in detail the various parts that were to be 
 played in the drama, on the arrival of the sheriff, 
 by Hicky, Tobe and several other men of the 
 neighborhood. Silas, too, must be taken, and Ben- 
 ton had been repelled by the thought of assisting 
 in the capture of men for whom he was working. 
 On that account, it had been agreed that he should 
 have nothing to do with the enterprise beyond pre- 
 serving an unsuspicious aspect, leaving the others 
 free to act as they thought best. He would have 
 left the farm had he known 'Bije meant to return 
 so soon, but a withdrawal on this day of fate would 
 doubtless arouse the giant's suspicions and render 
 the capture impossible. 'Bije's career had been 
 too desperate, and his nature too bold and vindic- 
 tive, to allow a hope of peaceful surrender. If he 
 were taken, it would probably be at the expense of 
 his life and certainly with danger to the lives of 
 others. It was not danger from which the young 
 
3 i2 STORK'S NEST 
 
 man shrank; but, in spite of 'Bije's treatment of 
 him and the punishment so well deserved, there 
 was that in the thought of taking by stealth the 
 man at whose board he was eating which was 
 peculiarly repugnant. 
 
 Benton now regretted that he had not left the 
 employ of the Storks the day of the scene in the 
 parlor. He had stayed on, hoping to find some 
 evidence to convict the man whose suit seemed 
 about to be rewarded by Emma's hand. He had 
 succeeded better than he had hoped, but must leave 
 others to take advantage of his discovery. The 
 noises and smells of the Snake Room, and the sil- 
 ver dollars with which he had been paid and which 
 had so excited Hicky, were no longer mysteries. 
 Everything was clear except the part that Hezzie's 
 ghost was playing in the somber tragedy. 
 
 But, even while he thought of all this, his mind 
 was distracted by a very different image from that 
 of his enemy. There arose constantly before him 
 the sweet, pale face of Emma and her form, ideal- 
 ized by the simple gown of black. All his heart 
 went out to her in her sorrow; the sharp edges of 
 his logic were dulled by human experience. It 
 seemed possible that at some future day there 
 might be a new Emmy, one with the imperfections 
 of the old Emmy refined away. She did not love 
 him, he thought, because she had not yet learned 
 to know love. But when her heart was opened in 
 the flower of womanhood, he believed the beauty 
 
GATHERING IN THE NET 313 
 
 of its bloom would be for him alone. Since that 
 moment of sacred ecstasy when her lips met his 
 without shrinking, he knew the cause of 'Bije Stork 
 was lost, and since then, he had grown surer and 
 surer that he was her destiny as she was to be a 
 part of his own. Now, she was impossible. But 
 already he was planning her education and wonder- 
 ing how he could place her under those influences 
 which were to make her an equal in the eyes of 
 the world. 
 
 He was so engrossed by these reflections that the 
 morning wore away before he missed Jim Whit- 
 licks. He did not see the orphan till Mrs. Stork 
 announced dinner. This ceremony consisted in 
 the mistress of the house entering the front hall, 
 rubbing her hands upon her apron, and crying 
 shrilly: "Hi, thar!" 
 
 Benton, who had been mending harness in his 
 room, obeyed the summons just as Silas, 'Bije and 
 Jim issued from the Snake Room. Benton stared 
 at his friend in surprise, but the latter made no 
 sign. All four went downstairs together in si- 
 lence while the rain dashed viciously against the 
 window above the landing, as if trying to reach 
 them. Jim had been in the Snake Room with the 
 twins, yet expressed neither fear nor exultation 
 upon his leathery face ! Benton marveled. 
 
 " I've got to set off for Laclede Station this 
 minute," 'Bije announced to his sister-in-law. 
 '' Wrap me up something to eat an' be in a hurry 
 
3 i4 STORK'S NEST 
 
 about it. I won't be back fur a month or 
 
 more." 
 
 " 'Bije has got to go to buildin' his an 1 Emmy's 
 house in 'arnest, now," murmured Silas. " Emmy 
 have gi'n in complete, this day." 
 
 " Yap," said 'Bije sternly. " Good-by, Benton 
 Cabot, I may never see you again. You can con- 
 gratulate me right now, if you want to have it 
 
 over." 
 
 " Oh, I'll wait," said Benton carelessly, though 
 his heart stood still in sudden doubt. 
 
 " Good-by, Jim," said 'Bije, taking the youth's 
 hand. " Many's the wallopin's I've give you, but 
 none o' em was given amiss, I do think." 
 
 " The same to yous, 'Bije," said Jim in a per- 
 functory manner. 
 
 " Good-by, sister Letitia," said 'Bije. "Be 
 contented." 
 
 " I'll do my best, 'Bije," was the uneasy re- 
 sponse, as Mrs. Stork wrapped up his lunch. 
 
 " Don't drop no tears in it," said 'Bije sarcas- 
 tically. " So long, Si. Take keer of yourself." 
 
 " I'll aim to, 'Bijey," said Silas heartily. 
 
 'Bije strode out into the rain, slamming the door 
 after him. 
 
 " Now, all to the table," said Silas, " an' let's 
 hasten with our victuals, for we've got a nasty 
 day for cattle-drivin' and cattle-loadin'. It's six 
 mile to the switch, an' that '11 take over three 
 hours' drivin', an' the loadin' will be two hours an' 
 
GATHERING IN THE NET 315 
 
 more. They's eighteen steer to a load; an' ten 
 minutes for each car in schedule time. Thar's 
 five hours, an' comin' back another hour, with this 
 mud, an' like enough the train late ! An' it don't 
 come till half-past six. Pass them cold fried per- 
 tatoes, Crishy; but la! I hope you-all won't feel 
 like gormandizin' to-day with poor uncle Hi jest 
 laid in his grave. Eat sparin', to do the ole man 
 honor!" 
 
 But Benton did not need the injunction. He 
 found himself unable to swallow his food. He 
 realized the impossibility of stopping 'Bije un- 
 aided; but, since Hicky had gone to Laclede Station 
 to remain there till the sheriff's coming, it was 
 likely enough that he might seize the escaping 
 fugitive. 
 
 What had given 'Bije this sudden alarm? It 
 might be that his going was a part of previously 
 arranged plans. What most troubled the young 
 man were the few words dropped relative to 
 Emma. He knew 'Bije had been alone with her 
 just after the funeral. It was not unlikely that at 
 such a time, with her grandfather's wishes fresh 
 in her dutiful mind, she had yielded to the 
 lover's importunity. There might have been even 
 some sort of a love scene. His impatient eager- 
 ness to see Emma and learn what had happened 
 contended with the necessity of seeming calmness 
 and indifference. 
 
 It was not long before 'Bije splashed past the 
 
316 STORK'S NEST 
 
 window on his powerful black mare, shouting 
 his usual signal : " Whoop-ee ! whoop-ee ! " 
 
 Silas arose hastily and hurried out of the room. 
 Jim looked after him wildly and, as soon as he 
 was gone, said excitedly: "I air that charged 
 with secrets I feel nigh to bustin'. I've got to 
 have the chance to speak out ! " 
 
 " Careful, Jim ! " whispered Mrs. Stork, who 
 felt a sisterly sympathy in Jim's outbursts. 
 
 Silas ran back to them as if afraid to lose their 
 company for a moment. " He's gone," he said, 
 reseating himself and casting a sharp glance at 
 Jim. But Jim's face was impassive. " Well, it's 
 rainin' awful, I do say. But rain or shine, man 
 must dine. Jim, I would n't take no more of that 
 salt r'isin'. If yous died with a overloaded 
 stomick I'd be 'shamed to call in a doctor to wait 
 on yous, an' him findin' your in'ards stuffed like 
 link sausage." 
 
 Jim's mouth flew open, but Letitia Stork, 
 otherwise " Crishy," interposed: " I hain't findin' 
 no fault with the weather. If the weather was all 
 that tormented me I'd jest say ' Come rain, come 
 snow.' " 
 
 "Now, Crishy, honey," remonstrated Silas, 
 " can't yous work up a contented sperit? Look at 
 me. If woman won't take man as her standard 
 what's the use of your Bible? " 
 
 " Mr. Stork's decision to go away," remarked 
 Benton dryly, " seems a very sudden one, Mr. 
 
GATHERING IN THE NET 317 
 
 Silas. You think he will begin building im- 
 mediately?" 
 
 " I guess so, brother. An' bein' sudden don't 
 mitigate his seriousness. 'Bije is always sudden, 
 but no more discount to him on that account than 
 on tornadoes. Them's sudden, too. Yap. Cert. 
 Sure." 
 
 * You think he will be gone a month, perhaps? " 
 
 " A full month, brother. He's off to St. Louis, 
 now, an' from that, Chicawgo. Law, me! Chi- 
 cawgo hain't nothin' to a character like my brother 
 'Bije. Why! he would n't be skeered of New 
 York, nor like 'nough of Boston itself ! " 
 
 " Si," cried Jim Whitlicks, starting up from 
 the table, " I can't bear it, I can't! Thar comes 
 a time, Silas Stork." 
 
 " Why, Jim ! " cried Mrs. Stork uneasily, 
 "what's the matter?" 
 
 Jim gulped down his impetuous rush of words 
 and strangled. Evidently more than usual fear 
 restrained him. 
 
 " Go on, Jim, go on, dear boy," said Silas, 
 combing his heavy beard with his long fingers and 
 watching the youth narrowly. "Thar comes a 
 time which? Go ahead, brother, go ahead!" 
 
 " When I can't stay here eatin'," cried Jim, with 
 sudden inspiration, " knowin' an feelin' a live flea 
 gambolin' up an' down my leg. I've got to go an' 
 sot him free." And he retired precipitately from 
 the room. 
 
3 i 8 STORK'S NEST 
 
 Silas, bland and smiling, leaned his arms in 
 their red striped shirt sleeves, and remarked: 
 " Well, say what yous will of fleas, an' much can 
 be said one way or another, though it's one case 
 whar words don't reach the p'int, but that thar flea 
 to which Jim were subject have saved us one slice of 
 bread for breakfast ! " 
 
 Benton felt a sickening revulsion at sight of the 
 urbane miser. Mrs. Stork's show of sympathy 
 for Jim caused the young man's heart to go out 
 toward the hard-worked wife, the flowers of 
 whose nature had been dwarfed and blighted by 
 cruel privations. He wondered what she might 
 have become in a home of liberality and love. He 
 sought to imagine her as a fresh, sweet maiden 
 like Emma, standing at the altar, the visions of a 
 happy life dancing before her eyes. But, alas ! 
 when he looked at the spare, bent form, the 
 drooping head, the gray streaked hair, the knobby 
 feet, his imagination threw down its brush. Thus 
 Emma Garrett might become if married to 
 'Bije. In one moment his heart glowed with hope 
 at the memory of her promise not to marry the 
 twin. At the next, it thrilled with the recollection 
 of the scene under the catalpa tree. At the next, 
 'Bije's boast of to-day's conquest sounded in his 
 ears. If she, knowing Hiram's wish, had suf- 
 fered herself to be over-persuaded! he arose 
 impatiently. 
 
 They had eaten dinner in the kitchen, As Mrs. 
 
GATHERING IN THE NET 319 
 
 Stork cleaned the dishes, Silas and Jim stood in 
 the dining-room watching the rain. Jim stood at 
 a closed window writing upon the pane with the 
 end of a toothpick. Benton watched him with 
 abstracted gaze, but Jim did not turn his head. At 
 last the young man went to his room, hoping the 
 lad would follow him, but in this he was dis- 
 appointed. For a time he paced his room 
 restlessly, impatient of the creeping hands of his 
 watch. The day seemed to stand still. When 
 the thought of Silas's company ceased to be less 
 disagreeable than solitude, he opened the door. 
 At that moment came a soft, grating sound from 
 the Snake Room. Benton's face flashed a look 
 of triumphant hope and surprise. After all, 'Bije 
 had deceived them and had crept back to his room 
 while all were at the table. Benton went below, 
 exultant. Jim still stood at the closed window, 
 writing upon the pane. 
 
 "Wish Tobe would hurry up an' come," said 
 Silas, at last breaking the silence, and looking up. 
 
 " By the way," said Benton suddenly, " while 
 'Tobe is away with the cattle who will stay with 
 Mrs. Tuckermore?" 
 
 " They don't need nobody," returned Silas 
 genially. " Mrs. Tuckermorels as bold as a lion, 
 to say nothin' of Emmy for a Daniel. However, 
 I reckon Bud Tuckermore air enough. If he 
 ain't, I'll have Jim go over thar, after loadin'. 
 He'll be a David, I do expect," 
 
320 STORK'S NEST 
 
 Jim screwed up one eye painfully for Benton's 
 benefit, and continued to trace invisible letters 
 over the glass. 
 
 " I hear Tobe's hoss squarshin' along, now," 
 said Silas presently. " We'd better go git our 
 hosses, too." 
 
 " Come on, Jim," said Benton. 
 
 "Jim ain't comin'," said Silas kindly. "He 
 hain't strong enough to venture out in no such 
 Noah's flood as this here. You an' me, Ben, 
 has a ark of good health to ride in. Come, 
 brother!" 
 
 A presentiment seemed to warn Benton not to 
 leave Jim. He looked back at the forlorn youth. 
 Jim caught his eye and pointed to the window 
 pane, upon which he had been marking. Benton 
 stared, wondering at the other's behavior. 
 
 "Here we air," shouted Tobe Tuckermore 
 from the yard. "Bud an' me is too wet to 
 
 come in." 
 
 Silas and Benton went outdoors, pulling their 
 rubber coats up about their necks. Benton went 
 after the horses and Silas returned to the front 
 door, where the orphan made a doleful picture on 
 the threshold. 
 
 " Now, Jim, I want yous to go up to your 
 room an' not stick your nose out of thar till the 
 clock strikes eight. Then yous come down an' 
 saddle Billy an' go git them lean cattle in the fur 
 pasture, an' now yous listen, brother. You 
 
GATHERING IN THE NET 321 
 
 done it at the door; now do it in the open! But 
 brother, how yous could listen at a door is more'n 
 I can understan' ! " 
 
 " It's the best way I knowed to get it fust 
 handed," said Jim sullenly. 
 
 "Well, how much you heerd I can't say," 
 remarked Silas, "but if yous leak a word of what 
 yous heerd yous know 'Bije! " 
 
 "Which I guess he hain't so very fur away, 
 nuther," said Jim defiantly. 
 
 " Near or fur," said Silas with composure, " one 
 thin' is sure I mean your pa's ghost. So take 
 care, for he walks this night. Now listen atten- 
 tive; life an' death depen's on it. You drive them 
 lean cattle back an' forth at the ford till yous 
 know it's safe for a heavy wagon to cross. Under- 
 stan'? I mean a very heavy wagon an' mules." 
 
 " I understan' mighty well," flashed Jim. " I 
 understan' better'n yous think! " 
 
 " Then yous perform it," said Silas. " If yous 
 don't, 'Bije will come from fur or near an' 
 'he'll perform on yous till you'll think yous air 
 a hard-actioned planner which it air necessary, 
 they do tell me, to strike pow'ful hard to draw 
 any music outen it. Up stairs now, brother; an' 
 Crishy is set watch to see yous don't stick that 
 nose out the door. Take that nose up, Jim, an' 
 remember I'm comin' back bimeby, an' remem- 
 ber, if 'Bije air near at hand, so much the less 
 nose need be out of your room till eight! " 
 
322 STORK'S NEST 
 
 Benton brought horses for himself and Silas. 
 As the cattle were slowly driven toward the 
 railroad siding, the rain gradually slackened and 
 at last ceased. The clouds, however, did not clear 
 away. Silas was unusually silent and, for the most 
 part, nothing broke the silence save the splashing 
 and trampling of hoofs, the occasional bellowing 
 of the steers, and the shouts and cracking of whips 
 from the four drovers. When they reached the 
 halfway sign Silas suddenly remarked: 
 
 " Bless my soul, an 1 yourn too, brothers-all, if 
 I hain't forgot a most important engagement! 
 Why! as I live, I've got to go back home this 
 blessed minute! But Tobe, you V Ben can take 
 care of ever'thin'," he added heartily, ignoring 
 the looks of surprise. " Bud, are you goin' to 
 Chicawgo with your pap?" 
 
 " I'm goin', cert," said Bud. 
 
 " Well, luck to you-all. See yous later." 
 Silas gave his horse a cut and splashed away at a 
 gallop. 
 
 "Now," commented Tobe, gazing after the 
 horseman, "that's sa'prisin'. Somebody say it 
 ain't!" 
 
 " That engagement of his'n is in my eye," said 
 Bud. " He's thought of some way of savin' a 
 copper, I do expect." 
 
 " It will make everything easier," Benton said 
 thoughtfully, " if he and 'Bije are together. I 
 know 'Bije is at home. If Silas had stayed with 
 
GATHERING IN THE NET 323 
 
 us, there must have been violence before we could 
 have joined Hicky and the sheriff. Still, with 
 those two men together, plotting, it may be " 
 
 " We'll get this bunch of cattle to the pen as 
 quick as they'll bear drivin'," said Tobe. Benton 
 urged on the steers, oppressed by the same pre- 
 sentiment which had counseled him not to leave 
 Jim. Each mile which separated him from Stork's 
 Nest seemed to stretch between him and hope. 
 What did he fear? Nothing. And yet he feared 
 for himself, for Jim, for Emma. He found it 
 impossible to shake off his gloomy despondency. 
 Silas's sudden return home assumed a sinister 
 meaning. Jim's significant wink came to him 
 again and again. 'Bije was hiding in his myste- 
 rious bedroom. What could be his object? Might 
 it not in some way be associated with Emma ? As 
 the day rapidly declined and darkness crept upon 
 them, he seemed to see Jim writing upon the 
 window pane. , If he could know what he had 
 written there, perhaps his fears would prove 
 groundless. Had the orphan scribbled something 
 about his diseases ?_ Or had he written a warning? 
 a hint? 
 
 It was quite dark when they came to the cattle- 
 pen at the railroad siding. - ; Red and green lights 
 twinkled far up the track. They were in the open 
 country with no place of refuge should the rain 
 recommence. The cattle turned away from the 
 open gate and started on a run down the track. 
 
324 STORK'S NEST 
 
 The men floundered over sunken ties and through 
 ditches in their efforts to head them off with little 
 loss of time. The darkness of the prairie seemed 
 to press upon their way, threatening to swallow 
 the herd, while the colored lights watched like 
 sinister eyes. 
 
 ' We're losin' precious time ! " groaned Tobe. 
 " Head 'em thar, Bud, they're breakin' through 
 again." 
 
 "Look out, Bud!" shouted Benton, as the 
 other suddenly vanished in the night, " they're 
 coming dead at you ! " 
 
 " Stan' on t'other side the gate ! " shouted 
 Tobe. "Did he go in?" ' 
 
 The head steer paused at the threshold and 
 sniffed, then threw down his head and wheeled. 
 Bud began to lash him furiously in the eyes. 
 Bawling with rage and pain, he floundered upon 
 his knees, then twirled in a semi-circle and rushed 
 into the cattle-pen. The herd followed. Bud 
 with a great shout slid the gate shut. 
 
 " Good-by, Bud," said Tobe hurriedly. " Me V 
 Ben have to leave you here. Train '11 be along 
 purty soon. Never see me ag'in, Bud, tell the ole 
 woman I thought of her." 
 
 "All right," responded Bud, wringing his 
 hand. "Take care of yourself. Don't let 'Bije 
 git the drop on you." 
 
 Tobe and Benton galloped away at utmost 
 speed. At the halfway sign they separated, Tobe 
 
GATHERING IN THE NET 325 
 
 taking the road for Laclede Station, there to join 
 Hicky and the sheriff, Benton holding on his 
 homeward way. The fleetness of the horse 
 which sent the mud flying about Benton's head 
 increased his impatient desire to reach Stork's 
 Nest and see with his own eyes if Jim were 
 safe. 
 
 It was after eight when he drew rein at the road- 
 gate. He hurried to the house afoot, that he need 
 not pause to lift the heavy gates. He burst into 
 the house noisily. 
 
 A faint cry came from the dining-room and the 
 door was opened hastily. "Why, Ben!" cried 
 Mrs. Stork. "What on airth?" 
 
 "Where are Silas and Jim?" cried Benton, not 
 pausing in his hurry up the stairs. 
 
 " All gone," answered the other. " They left 
 here about half an hour ago." 
 
 Benton, mad with impatience, flung open his 
 room door, but it was empty. The Snake Room 
 stood open. He ran in, striking a match as he did 
 so. Nothing was to be seen but the ordinary 
 furniture of a bachelor's bedroom. The front 
 room also stood open but no one was within. Mrs. 
 Stork had evidently spoken the truth. But where 
 had they gone? What did they mean to do? He 
 rushed below, but Mrs. Stork could not, or would 
 not, answer any of his questions. 
 
 " They put out together," she persisted; " that's 
 all I know." 
 
326 STORK'S NEST 
 
 Baffled, still filled with nameless fears and tor- 
 mented by enforced waiting, Benton snatched up 
 the lamp from the dining-room table and carried 
 it to the window. He stared at the pane, upon 
 which the orphan had seemed to write, but it was 
 perfectly clear and revealed nothing save the 
 blackness of the night. 
 
 " Ben," said Mrs. Stork, with an unwonted note 
 of kindness in her voice, " You'd better git. 
 They'd be awful trouble if they came an' foun' 
 yous here." 
 
 " So 'Bije is here, is he ! " remarked Benton 
 dryly. 
 
 " I hain't nothin' to tell yous ! " she returned. 
 
 The plan had apparently failed. When Tobe, 
 Hicky and the others came, they would find that 
 the twins had fled. They must have carried Jim 
 away, he reflected, to prevent him from betraying 
 them. Still, they were somewhere in the neighbor- 
 hood. Bud would shut off escape at the railroad 
 siding and Laclede Station was guarded. And he 
 must remain to guard the home. 
 
 Suddenly the black window pane gave him a 
 new thought. Jim might have left a message for 
 him. He ran upstairs, carrying the lamp. No 
 significant scrap of paper was visible, but, of 
 course, if Jim had written, he would not have 
 dared place the note where 'Bije or Silas could 
 see it. Benton hurried instinctively to his Bible 
 and opened it with trembling fingers. A blank 
 
GATHERING IN THE NET 327 
 
 memorandum leaf torn from some almanac flut- 
 tered to the floor. He snatched it up and holding 
 it to the lamp read in small cramped characters: 
 they ar goin to bury thur money under shaggs 
 cabin an he air goin te kerry of emmy on is hoss 
 an mek her marry im. 
 
XX 
 
 BENTON ENCOUNTERS 
 "THE GHOST" 
 
 A soon as Benton had read the message he 
 dashed from the house and hurried through 
 the yard and pasture to his horse. Not for 
 a moment did he doubt the truth of Jim's state- 
 ment. It was not the burial of the money under the 
 old deserted cabin beyond Grand River that most 
 excited Benton; it was the allusion to Emma. It 
 was 'Bije's intention to elope with the girl, to force 
 her to mount his horse and to compel her to marry 
 him! The young man's blood boiled as he 
 spurred his horse along the heavy road. He now 
 knew 'Bije's boast of winning Emma's consent had 
 been false and that she had adhered to her reso- 
 lution not to marry the giant. 'Bije in his des- 
 peration had resolved to force her to his will. 
 Benton pictured to himself the burly farmer 
 riding up to the Tuckermore house. No one 
 would be at home but Mrs. Tuckermore and 
 Emma. The entrance would be effected as that 
 of a friend and everything would yield to 'Bije's 
 might. Benton sought to increase his speed 
 toward the scene, but the weary horse could go no 
 
 328 
 
BENTON ENCOUNTERS "GHOST" 329 
 
 faster. Here and there the road was in a miser- 
 able condition; culverts were threatening to give 
 away, washouts making passage dangerous, sudden 
 pools splashed about the horse's knees. It was 
 intensely dark and the rider was unable to choose 
 the best parts of the road. Often the horse 
 floundered in deep mud through which a wagon 
 could scarcely have been drawn. The young man 
 felt keenly his unfamiliarity with the roads and 
 was obliged to confide to the animal's instinct. 
 When he found himself almost brought to a stand- 
 still he tried to find comfort in the thought that 
 the money was to be buried first, after which the 
 abduction would be attempted. By that time, he 
 would surely be at the Tuckermore's, prepared to 
 defend Emma with his life. The way was not 
 far, but deep pools delayed his progress wherever 
 nature had held a cup to the recent rain. 
 
 He had reached the slight elevation where the 
 course led over a welcome ridge of shelving rock, 
 when his eyes were attracted by a distant glimmer 
 in the wood on his left. It was a fire, so far from 
 the road that its light trembled as if about 
 to expire at a breath. Benton wondered that 
 campers should select this night for sleeping in 
 the wood and he fancied it must have been difficult 
 for them to secure dry wood to burn. But in 
 quick succession came other thoughts which 
 caused him to check his horse abruptly. Jim had 
 been ordered to cut a quantity of extra wood that 
 
330 STORK'S NEST 
 
 morning, before the funeral; he had complained 
 to Benton of the task; Hiram Garrett had told of 
 the ghost disappearing in a cloud of flame. Could 
 it be that Jim's chopping had been for the benefit 
 of the ghost? and was it not possible that the 
 ghost was even now hovering over his fire ? And 
 if the ghost were there, certainly 'Bije Stork was 
 not far away ! Benton felt sure that he had solved 
 the mystery of the fire. He came to a determina- 
 tion to confront 'Bije before the attempt at 
 abduction. 
 
 Springing to the ground, he led the horse to a 
 tree and secured him, then set out on a run toward 
 the fire. He lost it several times, but each upward 
 dip of the land brought it to view. He gave no 
 heed to the brambles which tore his hands and 
 face. With outstretched arms he felt his way 
 among the slippery trees, stumbled and fell in the 
 mushy path, which was half under water, rose with 
 undiminished resolution and pressed on. At last 
 the fire was so near that he was forced to use 
 caution in his advance, and he grimly congratu- 
 lated himself that there was not a twig dry enough 
 to snap. 
 
 Near the fire stood the ghost. Only a glance 
 was needed to tell Benton that it was the mysteri- 
 ous Hezzie Whitlicks. Near him Jkn's wood 
 had been carelessly thrown; a large part of it was 
 already consumed. As the young man stared from 
 a safe nook, the floating red hair and enormous red 
 
BENTON ENCOUNTERS "GHOST" 331 
 
 whiskers, the blue trousers and black shirt did not 
 impose upon his credulity. Hezzie Whitlicks, 
 when not acting the part of a phantom, went by 
 the name of 'Bije Stork! The head was effectually 
 disguised; but every movement of the enormous 
 body was characteristic of the twin. Benton 
 wondered he had not sooner suspected the truth. 
 His theory of an escaped criminal had satisfied his 
 mind, engaged as it had been with other and much 
 deeper interests. He had seen Hezzie Whitlicks 
 before he had met 'Bije, hence he had been the 
 more easily deceived. Even now, in spite of the 
 evidence of the cut wood, and in spite of the move- 
 ments of body and head, it was difficult to trace 
 the farmer's likeness in the grotesque make-up of 
 the ghost. 
 
 The ghost was busily engaged, but, as he stood 
 between Benton and his task, and as he was not 
 transparent, for even ghosts are different in real 
 life from ghosts in stories, it was impossible to 
 discover what he was doing. Benton strained his 
 eyes; he moved cautiously to another point of 
 observation, but the fire half blinded him and the 
 giant form stood between him and the mystery. 
 Hezzie was in a hurry and, from time to time, he 
 uttered below his voice such words as only a very 
 wicked ghost might employ. Benton dared not 
 creep around to the other side of the fire for fear 
 of being heard. He therefore waited and in a 
 few minutes Hezzie's work was done. Benton 
 
332 STORK'S NEST 
 
 heard the hissing of hot metal in water. Then a 
 coarse, heavy bag was shaken in the air and placed 
 upon the ground. It was filled. There came the 
 rattle of coin. 
 
 Suddenly the ghost, with a skillful twist, tied up 
 the bag and, throwing it over his shoulder, 
 snatched up a spade which had lain beside a long, 
 dark object the coffin. He began to extinguish 
 the fire by casting dirt upon it while the heavy bag 
 swayed upon his back. So wild and grotesque was 
 the picture formed in the blackness of the night 
 that Benton might, some months ago, have half 
 believed the huge form would presently leap into 
 the coffin and vanish, bag and all. But now all 
 was different with him. He saw simply a counter- 
 feiter who had formed a plan to carry off Emma. 
 He felt that this was the time to frustrate the plan 
 and, without further hesitation, he rushed into the 
 circle of light., straight toward his enemy. 
 
 'Bije's back had been toward him, but in an 
 instant the great form whirled about and the young 
 man was discovered. 
 
 " You rogue ! you counterfeiter ! " cried Benton. 
 
 'Bije with an oath swung the heavy bag above 
 his false hair and hurled it at the approaching 
 form. It barely missed Benton's head. 'Bije 
 grasped the spade with a murderous glare and 
 waited. The young man, apparently lost to rea- 
 son, seemed rushing upon certain destruction. 
 'Bije brought down the blade of the instrument 
 
BENTON ENCOUNTERS "GHOST" 333 
 
 with a savage snarl, but at that moment Benton 
 swerved aside and the iron edge sank in the soft 
 ground. Benton leaped upon 'Bije from the side 
 and tore the spade from the other's hand. They 
 locked in a terrible embrace, struggling and writh- 
 ing back and forth over the slippery wire grass. 
 
 Not a word was spoken. Intense silence, in- 
 tense darkness surrounded the little circle of light. 
 The fire, for want of fresh fuel, was sinking to a 
 dull bed of coals. Its glare was no longer vivid 
 upon the faces of the combatants. Benton, filled 
 with the new strength of his hardy life, and 
 stronger still from his love for Emma, held his 
 own well. But he soon found it would not be in 
 his power to throw 'Bije to the ground and that 
 his resistance must presently succumb. He felt, 
 with a despairing heart, that soon he would be out 
 of Bije's way, either dead or disabled, and that, 
 in spite of his utmost, Emma would be in the 
 counterfeiter's power. All that remained was to 
 protract the struggle as long as possible. With 
 the bitterness of helpless rage, he reproached him- 
 self for endangering Emma by thus seeking to 
 oppose a man so much stronger than himself. 
 Thus his resistance to 'Bije had always terminated. 
 Brute strength seemed bound to triumph over in- 
 nocence. 
 
 'Bije, who never relaxed his fierce grip, never 
 giving an inch, never speaking a word, presently 
 felt the resistance of the younger man giving way. 
 
334 STORK'S NEST 
 
 Benton's breath grew labored. At length it came 
 in quick, painful gasps. He felt his body grow limp 
 in the bear-like embrace. Suddenly his leg was 
 kicked viciously from under him. He fell heavily, 
 with 'Bije upon him. There was a moment's 
 pause in the struggle. The young man lay help- 
 less. He expected to hear angry curses, bitter 
 reproaches. But the other was mute. 
 
 After this brief pause, which suggested inde- 
 cision on 'Bije's part, as if he were debating with 
 the thought of mercy, the heavy hand shot 
 toward Benton's throat. An irresistible vise closed 
 upon his windpipe. Benton gasped, choked 
 and lay still in agony. The fingers relaxed and the 
 young man panted heavily, but uttered no plea for 
 mercy. For a few moments he breathed rapidly 
 while the heavy knee rested upon his breast. 'Bije 
 watched him. Benton, his face still a faint purple 
 from suffocation, glared up, unconquered. 
 
 The victor hesitated. There was but one way 
 to remove the witness of his guilt and at the same 
 time to dispose of the man who had won Emma 
 from him. And yet 'Bije, remorseless as he had 
 proved, shrank from this crime. He hated the 
 young man who lay beneath his knee with that 
 imperious hatred which those accustomed to com- 
 mand feel for the one who ventures opposition. 
 The very sight of his helplessness had tightened 
 the fingers upon the throat. He wished he had 
 held them there a little longer. Time was very 
 
BENTON ENCOUNTERS "GHOST" 335 
 
 precious just now, yet he allowed it to slip by while 
 he fought against his better self. 
 
 For a time nothing broke the stillness but 
 Benton's labored breathing. Suddenly all was 
 changed as by magic. Into the light of the dying 
 fire sprang the dark forms of men crying: 
 "Surrender!" 
 
 In an instant, 'Bije was upon his feet and 
 Benton, relieved from the cruel pressure, struggled 
 from the ground. Six men silently confronted 
 the counterfeiter, their weapons leveled at his 
 breast. They stood in sturdy contrast to his wild 
 and bewildered uncertainty, their aim deliberate 
 and sure. But in a moment, 'Bije was all agility 
 and cunning. With a great leap he snatched up 
 the spade, then seemed to hesitate. 
 
 " Put up them hands!" shouted Hicky Price. 
 
 "Don't shoot!" came the deep voice of the 
 county sheriff. 
 
 In rising, Benton had placed himself in the line 
 of their aim. 'Bije noted the fateful moment of 
 indecision. With a magnificent leap he sprang 
 straight toward them, brandishing the spade above 
 his head. At sight of such daring and ferocity it 
 was impossible for them to prevent a feeling of 
 shrinking alarm ; but they stood their ground. 
 
 " Fire ! " came the sheriff's brief command. At 
 that instant the huge form fell flat upon the 
 ground, the outstretched spade cutting viciously 
 at the legs of the nearest man. The bullets 
 
336 STORK'S NEST 
 
 whistled above his prostrate form and Benton, 
 catching up the bag of counterfeit money, hurled 
 it at 'Bije's head. 
 
 He was just an instant too late. At the crash 
 of firearms, the giant had gained his feet. Whirl- 
 ing the spade above his head, with demoniacal fury 
 in his black eyes, he rushed among the men, scat- 
 tering them to right and left, and was swallowed 
 up in the woods before they had recovered from 
 the onslaught. The bullets which sped after the 
 crashing footsteps were in vain. Tobe's face was 
 ghastly from a wound inflicted by the edge of the 
 spade which had cut open his cheek. 
 
 " Ben," he said, as he hastily bound up the 
 wound with his handkerchief, " 'most did for, 
 was n't you?" 
 
 " Run him down! " came the deep voice of the 
 sheriff. 
 
 "No use," said Hicky, "nobody could n't run 
 'Bije down in his woods. Ever'body make hot 
 tracks for Stork's Nest. He can't run as fast as 
 we can ride. Hurry hurry! " 
 
 With almost incredible rapidity the scene had 
 changed again and again. One moment Benton 
 had lain at 'Bije's mercy, the next moment 'Bije 
 stood with six pistols leveled at his breast. There 
 had been the gigantic leap, the crash of weapons, 
 the furious hissing of the spade, the sudden spurt 
 of blood from Tobe's cheek, and the vanishing 
 footsteps of the counterfeiter. Now the men pre- 
 
BENTON ENCOUNTERS "GHOST" 337 
 
 pared to dash for their horses, but first there was 
 a hasty examination of the tools 'Bije had left 
 behind. Another form entered the clearing, but no 
 one showed surprise except Benton. 
 
 " Emma ! " he exclaimed in amazement. The 
 dying embers but partially revealed the short 
 skirt, the bare arms, the careless hair. In the 
 semi-gloom there was but a suggestion of gleam- 
 ing threads in the dusky locks. The head was in 
 shadow, but the indistinct profile was sufficient to 
 recall the rich beauty of face and neck which the 
 dull glow of the fire sullenly refused to paint. It 
 was a picture of bright dashes and black blur one 
 to excite the imagination to the utmost, one to 
 thrill the heart of him who had grown to love its 
 most imperfect detail. One of the men, a 
 stranger to Benton, stepped at once to her side 
 with an air of ownership. 
 
 Emma, who was intensely excited, failed to 
 notice Benton's greeting. Turning to the others, 
 she cried as her musical voice trembled with some- 
 thing like laughter and something like anger: 
 
 "Well, I brought you to 'Bije, but I could n't 
 hold him for you ! " 
 
 There was a rush for the horses, which the men 
 had left at some distance from the fire, and 
 Benton found himself beside the girl, her hand 
 in his. 
 
 " I'm awful glad," she panted, as they made 
 their way through the mud. " I know you was 
 
338 STORK'S NEST 
 
 fightin' for me, Ben. You are just as brave as 
 as me!" 
 
 No more could be said for some time. There 
 was an excited tingling of the blood as the men 
 ran to their horses and mounted. One of them, 
 the stranger, kept beside Emma and would have 
 helped her to mount if Benton had not 
 forestalled him. 
 
 " Ben," panted Emma, " this is my St. Louis 
 uncle. He's come ! " Her voice rang with tri- 
 umph. When she was upon her horse she cried: 
 " Now for war. Is n't this just glorious ! " 
 
 They plunged through the darkness, Benton on 
 one side of Emma, the stranger from St. Louis on 
 the other. The young man's surprise at the pres- 
 ence of the Grand River girl was soon gone. Too 
 many events, out of the ordinary, had followed each 
 other that day without giving pause for one 
 to reflect upon their consequences. He took 
 unmeasured delight from the consciousness of her 
 being so near and, though it was too dark to dis- 
 tinguish her face, her form was darkly outlined 
 against the brooding trees. As the men galloped 
 through the night, each form grim and menacing 
 as ministers of justice or death, the sound of their 
 horses' hoofs awoke the echoes of the distant hills 
 which sounded as if a rush of cavalry were descend- 
 ing to oppose them. With mud cast into their 
 faces and the black drops of shallow pools dashing 
 over them like rain, they sped toward Stork's Nest. 
 
BENTON ENCOUNTERS "GHOST" 339 
 
 Benton's mind reviewed the history of that day 
 in vivid flashes. First, had been the waiting beside 
 the dead, with 'Bije crouching and silent in his 
 chair, the repulsive nature of the grim giant acquir- 
 ing almost physical weight in the long oppressive 
 hours of candle light. Then the funeral procession 
 moving in dismal train through the pitiless rain to 
 the cemetery on the prairie. Then the driving of 
 the cattle, the anxiety in regard to Emma and 
 Jim, the delay at the cattle-pen, the unmanageable 
 herd. Then the furious gallop to Stork's Nest to 
 find Jim gone and the warning in the Bible. Then 
 that struggle with 'Bije which had proved well- 
 nigh fatal, the sudden appearance of the posse and 
 the pale face of Emma, as the dying coals of the 
 counterfeiter's fire faintly defined it against the 
 darkness. And now she was riding by his side, and 
 the fear of death which had stolen into his heart as 
 'Bije clutched his throat was replaced by an exult- 
 ant sense of life and happiness. 
 
 Hicky Price's voice came to them sharply: 
 " What's the matter in front? " 
 
 " Whoa ! " cried Tobe. " Look out, thar ! It's 
 Walker, hain't it?" 
 
 " Stuck ! " came the angry voice of Walker. 
 " This mud hole is jest like Mizzoury cussedness; 
 it's the 
 
 " Dry up ! " cried Tobe. " Ladies is present. 1 ' 
 
 " Forward, forward ! " shouted the sheriff, " a 
 delay at this time may lose us our prey." 
 
340 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " Better lose 'em," retorted Tobe, " than git to 
 'em without all our auxiliaries. Can't leave Walker 
 here with his horse stuck. Git off, Hicky, an' push 
 on his rear." So saying, he rode cautiously for- 
 ward. " Reach me his bridle." 
 
 The party had come to a standstill and Benton, 
 bending over, met Emma's hand in a long, clinging 
 grasp. " I don't understand how you came here," 
 he said, in a low voice, " but our good angels 
 usually come unexpectedly." 
 
 " I was with Mrs. Tuckermore," Emma ex- 
 plained, her silvery tones sounding oddly against 
 the gruff, impatient voices of the men, " when Silas 
 drove up to. say that her mother, who's been 
 sick so long, you know, was dyin' and he had 
 come for her. So he drove away with her and 
 I was left alone but not carin* anything about 
 that." 
 
 " Brave little Emmy! " murmured the other. 
 
 She pressed his hand impulsively. 4 Then Tobe 
 and the men came with Uncle Selton from St. Louis 
 he just happened to be on the same train with 
 the sheriff and they stopped at Mrs. Tucker- 
 more's to leave him with me, an' I told about seein' 
 a fire where gran'pop had once saw Hezzie Whit- 
 licks's ghost; and they wanted me to lead them to 
 the place; for they said the ghost was 'Bije, none 
 other." 
 
 " I allowed her to come," said the stranger from 
 St. Louis, " for the sake of justice; but it's simply 
 
BENTON ENCOUNTERS " GHOST ' 341 
 
 awful for my niece to be out in such a scene and 
 on such a night." 
 
 " What, Emmy!" cried Tobe admiringly; 
 u law sakes ! nothin' kin hurt that there gal ; she's 
 the toughest human I ever see. Heave now! 
 Git-ap ! " 
 
 " Can't you-all prize that beast out? " growled 
 the sheriff. 
 
 " Mebby so," said Hicky irritably. " Go git 
 a rail." 
 
 " She's a-moving! " cried Walker triumphantly. 
 " She's a-moving! " 
 
 " Forward, if she moves ! " cried Hicky, " for- 
 ward, gents an' lady, an' ever' man's hand on his 
 gun!" 
 
 The road became more passable, and the horses 
 were urged along at utmost speed to make up for 
 the delay. The rain had recommenced before they 
 reached the gate leading into the Stork farm. 
 
 " The gate is open ! " cried Benton, as he rode 
 forward. " I left it closed; perhaps the cattle are 
 all out." 
 
 " An' the Storkses, too," added Hickey uneasily. 
 
 " Dismount ! " ordered the sheriff, " and take 
 the house on a dead run." 
 
XXI 
 
 THE STAMPEDE AT THE 
 QUICKSANDS 
 
 WHEN Jim Whitlicks was sent to his room 
 by Silas Stork he stood at the window 
 till the cattle drivers had passed up the 
 road out of sight. Then, heaving a great sigh, he 
 turned away from the rain-beaten landscape. 
 
 " These awful secrets I hev' got a-holt of," he 
 muttered, " air so preyin' on my min' sometimes I 
 think they won't be none of it lef but bones. 
 Well, knowin' what I do, an' knowin' they'd kill 
 me if I moved a peg in the business, an' thinkin' 
 Emmy would better marry 'Bije than for me to die 
 so onseasonable, there hain't nothin' kin comfort 
 me. There's one thing, though; when nothin' 
 could n't cheer yous up, nothin' like bein' jest as 
 miser'ble as poss'ble." 
 
 He stood before a calendar which hung tacked 
 to the dingy wall. " The dark of the moon," he 
 muttered. * That may be good for pertaters, but 
 it bodes no good for humans. I never knowed 
 nothin' pleasant to happen to me in the dark of the 
 moon. But as for that," he added, after a pause, 
 
 342 
 
STAMPEDE AT QUICKSANDS 343 
 
 " in the light of the moon, either. Whar's my 
 book?" 
 
 The question was put merely in the way of 
 soliloquy, as the new yellow almanac was almost at 
 hand. He carried it to the bed, lay down upon his 
 stomach, bent his legs back and locked his toes at 
 half mast. Then leaning on his elbows he began 
 to read nasally: 
 
 " Imagine billions of disease germs floatin' about 
 your head." He paused, and presently announced: 
 " All right, IVe done it ! " Then he resumed 
 reading: "The danger cannot be exaggerated 
 and it is needless to add that " Jim turned from 
 the page remarking: "Then it's needless for 
 me to fool any more of my time with yous if yous 
 hain't nothin' to tell! " He fluttered the pages. 
 " Here's a awful lookin' pictur'," he presently 
 remarked. " Let's see what she had. * For ten 
 year I suffered with prophylactics ! ' That sounds 
 about as big as my troubles feel. I wonder if I've 
 got it? Prophylactics . . . Like 'nough, 
 though, men folks hain't bothered with 'em. I 
 must remember that word. That thar name would 
 lend dignity to chicken-pox. Lor' ! I wonder what 
 Liza Mary will say to that! She's the only one 
 in the hull worF that's taken any int'rust in my 
 diseases. Poor Emmy! She's a good gal, an' 
 mighty handy with cookin', but she never sympa- 
 thized with my sorrows." 
 
 It was growing dark when footsteps were heard 
 
344 STORK'S NEST 
 
 in the hall and Silas Stork entered the room. " Si," 
 said Jim, still reclining, " has men prophylactics? " 
 
 " Brother," said Si, taking a stool, " how air 
 yous, brother? Come to chat with yous. Hev' 
 yous been lonesome, brother? " 
 
 * Yap, but it's customary," said Jim, rising. 
 14 What d'ye want me to do now, Si Stork? " 
 
 " Jest set thar a spell," said Silas mildly. " I 
 hev' came from Tobe Tuckermore's. I met some 
 un on my way from cattle drivin' an' he said Mrs. 
 Tuckermore's ma was dyin'. So I taked the top 
 buggy after her an' when we got thar, lo an' behol' ! 
 it were a mistake, though she were bad enough. I 
 could n't take Mrs. Tuckermore home, not goin' 
 that way, so Emmy is all alone; that's what 
 pinches me." 
 
 " Si Stork," cried Jim fiercely, " I know why 
 Emmy is left thar alone. Let me tell yous " 
 
 " Don't tell me nothin' Jim," said Silas good- 
 humoredly. " I've read the papers. What I 
 want to git into your head is the importance 
 of beatin' down the crossin' at the ford after 
 dark." 
 
 "Who's that trompin' out in the hall?" 
 demanded Jim suddenly. 
 
 " Crishy, I reckon." 
 
 Jim stared at Silas wildly. " Si Stork, yous 
 know Mrs. Stork is, not only to say a woman, but 
 bar'footed an' as light as down of nettles. Yous 
 know that hain't her. I don't see how yous kin sit 
 
STAMPEDE AT QUICKSANDS 345 
 
 thar an' pervaricate in that off-handed way, not if 
 yous hev' 'Bije beat me fur sayin' so." 
 
 " 'Tain't nothin' but practice," said Silas 
 modestly. " It were hard at first, I do say." 
 
 " That thar is 'Bije, trompin' downstairs," cried 
 Jim, " yous know it air." 
 
 " Yous jest set still," said Silas, " an' let him 
 be who Providence hev' made him." 
 
 After a brief interval the footsteps were heard 
 ascending the stairs. They entered the Snake 
 Room and came out slowly. 
 
 " I know, I know ! " cried Jim. " He's carryin' 
 down them pokes of money. What's he goin' to 
 do with 'em, Si?" 
 
 Silas watched him narrowly. ' Why, Jim ! yous 
 heerd what we are to do with 'em when yous 
 listened at the door." 
 
 " Nuck," said Jim innocently. " I could n't 
 hear skercely a word out thar." 
 
 " 'Bije said he'd 'a' killed yous if yous had 
 heerd," remarked Silas. 
 
 " Yap," said Jim cheerfully, " an I knowed 
 he'd of done it, too. Thar goes more bags. I'd 
 druther spend my money along day by day than 
 hev' it all on my back at once, weightin' me down. 
 Si, did yous ever reflect that yous can't carry none 
 o' your money with yous when you die? " 
 
 " I don't see no good o' thinkin' about it," said 
 Silas somewhat crossly. ' Why not hev cheerful 
 thoughts?" 
 
346 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " La ! " said Jim, " that thought nigh makes 
 me laff I don't say it do. Whar's he takin' all 
 them bags? " 
 
 Silas made no answer. There was a long 
 pause, at the end of which Jim remarked: 
 " Can't carry none of it with yous beyant the 
 grave ! " 
 
 Silas started. " Hush, Jim ! " he said impa- 
 tiently, " yous make me feel creepy. I dunno 
 what's the matter with me, nohow." 
 
 " Thar's 'Bije whistlin' to yous," said Jim 
 presently. 
 
 Silas rose. " Yous stay right here till eight," 
 he said, " then drive them lean cattle. An' if yous 
 do exact as yous been tole I'll see that your pa's 
 ghost is pacified. He's out to-night. Well, Jim, so 
 long! I feel kind o' sorry to leave yous. Say, 
 Jim, hain't we allers been kind er neighborly-like 
 and got along sort er fust rate? " 
 
 * Third-rate would be more exact," rejoined 
 Jim. Yous never struck me a blow, Si, but yous 
 put up 'Bije to many a lick. So long, Si; 'Bije is 
 whistlin' sort o' impatient-like." 
 
 " Well, good-bye, Jim. I think we've been tol'- 
 able-like good frien's." 
 
 " I've knowed one meaner man than yous, Si," 
 said Jim dryly, " but not more, I do say. Good-bye 
 to yous." 
 
 Silas hurried away. " Til git licked for them 
 words," muttered Jim, " but the more my poor 
 
STAMPEDE AT QUICKSANDS 347 
 
 body is wracked an' tormented, the freer an' more 
 uplifted I fin' my min' an' sperit." 
 
 It was then that Jim prepared to write his 
 message. " I'll put it in the Bible whar Emmy 
 used to stick her bo'quets," he muttered, " an' it 
 may save her. If he only has sense enough to look 
 for it! He see me a-writin' on the winder an' 
 winkin' till my eye watered, an' like 'nough he 
 ketched my devise." 
 
 When the clock struck eight he left the room and 
 hurried out to get his horse. It was so dark that, 
 had he not been familiar with every step of the 
 way, he could not have performed his task. The 
 steers were indistinguishable in the blackness of the 
 night, and he was obliged to trust to the sound of 
 hoofs, the occasional bellowings of uneasiness and 
 the heavy breathing as he rode near. Having 
 propped open the road gate, he spurred here and 
 there, shouting and cracking his blacksnake whip, 
 till the herd was started. He came close in their 
 rear, leaving the gate open. Many a time before, 
 he had driven cattle across Grand River, but never 
 in such appalling darkness. He was, however, 
 undismayed. The hoarse cries and the sound of 
 the cattle's movements told him they were taking 
 the right direction, and he was not only enabled to 
 drive them with ease but to devote some thought 
 to his sorrows. Seldom, if ever, had he enjoyed 
 such an appropriate setting for his melancholy. 
 The total darkness, the cold, damp air, the con- 
 
348 STORK'S NEST 
 
 fused tramping of hoofs, the prospect of flounder- 
 ing back and forth across the quicksands, the 
 thought of 'Bije's projected villainy and the pros- 
 pect of seeing his father's ghost at any moment, all 
 fitted in with his natural bent. Jim Whitlicks was 
 thoroughly miserable. 
 
 He came to the intersection of two roads and 
 naturally expected the cattle to take the wrong one, 
 compelling him to follow to head them off. He 
 dashed forward with the purpose of starting them 
 aright, but his anxiety was needless. They took 
 the road toward the river. 
 
 "Well!" muttered the lad, "that's the fust 
 good luck I've had to-day, but I reckon it don't 
 mean nothin'. They'll go wrong comin' home, 
 I bet." 
 
 His horse floundered in deep mud and almost 
 fell. Jim spurred out of the muck and splashed 
 into a newly formed pool which had inundated the 
 road. The cattle lowed uneasily as they found 
 the water rising to their sides and their tails 
 whipped the spray over their backs. 
 
 " This hain't nothin', my honeys," called Jim, 
 " to the sousin' you'll git at the ford ! " 
 
 At last the bank of Grand River was reached. 
 Jim could not see the water, but he heard its 
 swollen current rushing past, gurgling in the foot 
 passage, thundering over the waterfall. The cattle 
 came to a standstill. The straining eyes of the 
 youth could distinguish a white steer which stood 
 
STAMPEDE AT QUICKSANDS 349 
 
 almost within reach. The others were lost in the 
 night. He raised his voice and began cracking his 
 whip. The cattle did not stir. 
 
 "Hi! hi!" shouted Jim. "Hoo-ey! hoo-ey! 
 hoo-ey!" He brought down the whip sharply 
 upon the white steer. It plunged forward bellow- 
 ing. There was a mad scramble down the bank. 
 " Hoo-ey! hoo-ey! " shouted Jim. 
 
 Suddenly his horse reared upon his hind legs. 
 " Whoa ! " shouted Jim, clinging on with difficulty. 
 "What's the matter with yous, now? Whoa, 
 thar! " The horse, snorting and plunging, backed 
 away from the rushing tide. The bellowing, and 
 floundering of the cattle increased. " They're 
 turnin' ! " he exclaimed suddenly. "Oh, Lord! 
 they won't take the river. But they've got to 
 cross! 'Bije '11 kill me if I don't git the ford 
 trompled down. Hoo-ey, thar! hoo-ey, hoo-ey! " 
 
 The cattle were panic-stricken and Jim's horse 
 leaped sideways out of their mad rush. Jim drove 
 in his spurs and compelled the frightened animal 
 to dash ahead of the cattle. Once in the lead he 
 whipped the steers cruelly, shouting at the top of 
 his voice ; but he could not check their flight. The 
 horse, terrified by the thundering hoofs behind 
 him, became unmanageable and took the bit in his 
 teeth. Jim pulled upon the bridle with all his 
 strength. But he was too late. The horse, stretch- 
 ing out his long neck straight from the shoulders, 
 ran down the muddy road, splashing his rider from 
 
350 STORK'S NEST 
 
 head to foot. After the runaway horse came the 
 herd, never decreasing their frenzied speed. 
 Through the intense darkness the wild rush con- 
 tinued, and Jim forgot everything else in his 
 endeavor to keep upon the horse's back. The fear 
 of immediate death drove from his mind the ter- 
 rible punishment he might expect from his cruel 
 master on account of his failure to cross the ford. 
 The frenzied bellowing and wild rush of the pur- 
 suing cattle were to his terrified ears as the pursuit 
 of ferocious demons, crying for his blood. The 
 clamor beat upon his consciousness ever nearer and 
 nearer, as it appeared to him, and at each moment 
 he expected to find his horse overborne, and his 
 own body trampled to a shapeless mass by the 
 herd. 
 
 Suddenly his horse stumbled violently, casting 
 him to the ground. He still clung to the bridle, 
 and now, with desperate hands, swung to it as the 
 frightened animal plunged and snorted, while the 
 cattle thundered up. He leaped for the saddle, 
 but his foot missed the stirrup as the horse bounded 
 to one side. Nerved by the despairing strength 
 of a man whose last hope is centered upon a final 
 effort, he threw his arm about the horse's neck and 
 leaped again. As he did so the white steer, which 
 was in the lead, plunged past him, flinging the mud 
 over his head. He gained the horse's back and 
 spurred him madly, while a shout, half of fear, half 
 of triumph, burst from his throat. The horse took 
 
STAMPEDE AT QUICKSANDS 351 
 
 the bit again and the turmoil gradually lessened. 
 The splashing of many hoofs came more dully, 
 while the bellowing grew fainter and at last died 
 away. 
 
 Jim supposed the herd was left in silence on 
 account of the fleetness of the horse, but at last he 
 found another reason for his triumphant escape; 
 he was being carried up a road so steep and difficult 
 that the horse came under control; he had reached 
 " the hill." The horse had taken the wrong way 
 at the cross roads and they were far from home. 
 
 Jim's relief at being able to manage his horse 
 gave way to alarm at the thought of 'Bije and 
 Silas. Turning about he hurried back, hoping the 
 cattle had gone home and that he could still drive 
 them to the ford in time. At any rate, the Storks 
 must be informed of his failure, lest they venture 
 into the quicksands and perish. 
 
 Suddenly the horse stumbled again and Jim was 
 thrown to the ground. He sank deep in the mud 
 and, before he could recover himself, the horse 
 had galloped away. Jim sought the side of the 
 road where grasses grew along the hedge and, 
 groaning with apprehension, made what speed 
 he could toward Stork's Nest. He at last reached 
 the farm, wretched and aching. As he climbed the 
 yard fence it began to rain. From the front door 
 came the gleam of a lantern. It was held aloft 
 by Mrs. Stork's hand. Its light fell upon a big 
 wagon to which two mules were attached. Silas 
 
352 STORK'S NEST 
 
 sat on the seat and 'Bije had just come from the 
 house. 
 
 " Thank the Lord ! " muttered Jim. " I reckon 
 never was such a wallopin' as 'Bije '11 give me, but, 
 bless God, he's alive to give it ! " 
 
 " I guess we're ready," said 'Bije, in a hurried 
 voice as he approached the end of the wagon to 
 which his black mare was fastened. " They'll be 
 here purty soon. Crishy, be sure to send 'em the 
 wrong road you know how. If I had n't had my 
 hoss they'd ketched up with me, Si ! " 
 
 " Not them, 'Bijey; not them! " cried Silas con- 
 temptuously. " Whoa ! what's that? " 
 
 " Jim ! " exclaimed 'Bije fiercely, " did you go 
 to Gran' River as you were ordered? " 
 
 " Yap," stammered Jim, " I went all right 
 enough, but oh, 'Bije ! I am so sorry that that 
 that " Jim's voice trailed off into amazed si- 
 lence as his eyes glued themselves upon an object 
 which had fallen from 'Bije's blue trousers pocket. 
 It was an enormous red wig. Jim's eyes rolled 
 upward and took note of the black shirt, then down 
 and rested upon the boots, one of which showed a 
 cut toe. A cry burst from his thin lips. 
 
 1 Yous air the ghost, 'Bije Stork ! It's yous 
 hev' drove me destracted about pa's sperrit. I see 
 it all, I see it all; an' pa is dead like other folks, 
 bless God ! Pa hain't got no more sperrit than me ! 
 Don't yous deny it, 'Bije, fur I see through you, an' 
 if I did n't speak out I'd fly to pieces! " 
 
STAMPEDE AT QUICKSANDS 353 
 
 "You idiot !" shouted 'Bije savagely, "Til 
 kill you ! " His clenched fist smote Jim's head 
 upon the side and the boy fell senseless. 'Bije 
 sprang upon the end of the wagon and grasped 
 the halter that held his mare. "Hurry!" he 
 cried hoarsely. " Don't spare the whip, Si ! " 
 
 The mules plunged forward and the front wheels 
 barely grazed the gate-post. For a time, the air 
 rang with the sharp report of the whip, the beat 
 of the hoofs and the groaning of the wagon. Then 
 the sounds gradually died away. 
 
 When Mrs. Stork felt herself safe, she knelt 
 beside the motionless form of Jim Whitlicks, and 
 held the lantern close to the ashen face. 
 
 " Jim," she said softly, " Jim, air yous hurt? " 
 The form did not move. " Poor boy," said Mrs. 
 Stork, laying a hand upon his rough hair, " poor 
 boy! " She seated herself upon the ground and 
 drew the unconscious head upon her knee. The 
 rain hissed against the lantern. The woman looked 
 fearfully all about and presently muttered, " I'm 
 a-goin' to do it, before he comes to! He won't 
 never know, an' I've often wanted to be like a 
 mother to him, poor discredited orphan as he is! 
 I jest want to know how it 'd seem if I'd had one 
 of my own, an' could hev' been a woman in my 
 actions as I am one bodily." Then suddenly bow- 
 ing her head she kissed Jim's homely cheek. 
 
XXII 
 PURSUIT 
 
 JIM WHITLICKS showed no sign of life as 
 Mrs. Stork's hand fluttered here and there in 
 her agitation. She heard approaching foot- 
 steps but, knowing the twins would not return, 
 riveted her gaze upon the orphan's pinched face as 
 her lantern revealed it; but Jim did not stir. 
 
 14 What is this? " came a hurried voice as several 
 forms advanced into the light. 
 
 Mrs. Stork, without looking up, replied: " I 
 air a jail-woman." 
 
 " Mrs. Stork," cried Emma Garrett, running for- 
 ward, " oh! what has happened to Jim? " 
 
 " Lightning," was the grim answer. Emma 
 knelt beside the motionless form. Five men 
 approached. 
 
 " Where is 'Bije, Mrs. Stork? " inquired Hicky 
 Price persuasively. 
 
 " Ast 'Bije," said the lady of the house, staring 
 at Emma as the girl rubbed Jim's limp arms. 
 
 " Mr. Price," said the sheriff, " is this woman 
 an escaped prisoner? " 
 
 " I air a jail-woman," said Mrs. Stork, giving 
 the sheriff a sour look, " but I hain't escaped as 
 yet." 
 
 354 
 
PURSUIT 355 
 
 " Guard the house ! " cried the sheriff. " Tobe, 
 get to the rear." 
 
 Benton, who carried one of the dark lanterns 
 with which Hicky had provided the party, sud- 
 denly exclaimed: "Look, look! here are fresh 
 wagon-tracks. They have left the place by the 
 back way! " 
 
 " Emma," said the strange gentleman whom the 
 girl had described as her uncle from St. Louis, 
 " you ought not to be sitting in that mud. Let me 
 take the boy in the house " 
 
 The sheriff interrupted him. " Mrs. Stork, if 
 you do not tell us instantly where the counter- 
 feiters have gone you will be placed under arrest." 
 
 " An' what of it? " retorted Mrs. Stork. " I've 
 lived on bread an' water ev' sence married, I've 
 been; an' it's meet that iron bars should be h'isted 
 about my head. Poor Jim," she added, stroking 
 Jim's hair in a secret, half-ashamed manner. 
 
 Jim opened his eyes and murmured : " Git 
 out!" 
 
 " He's alive, bless him ! " cried Emma. 
 " Uncle, take him in the house; he's a mighty fine 
 boy, Jim is." 
 
 The St. Louis uncle gave Jim Whitlicks a dis- 
 paraging glance but lifted him up gently. 
 
 " This," whispered Jim, "air what I hev' allers 
 expected. I hain't been sa'prised." 
 
 As the lad was being borne to the house, the 
 sheriff again addressed Mrs. Stork with the utmost 
 
356 STORK'S NEST 
 
 sternness: "How long have these men been 
 gone?" 
 
 " Gents," said the other rising and kicking out 
 a foot to dislodge some of its mud, " tweezers or 
 pully-kins could n't draw nothin' out of me. I 
 will say they're carryin' heavy pokes which air to 
 your favor." 
 
 " They have gone to bury the money under 
 Shagg's cabin," interposed Benton. " We can over- 
 take them if we lose no more time." 
 
 " Where is Shagg's cabin ? " asked Walker. " I 
 wa'n't growed in these parts, an' I hain't no 
 instincts." 
 
 " I know the spot," interposed Tobe Tucker- 
 more. " Every man to 'is hoss ! We can foller 
 these tracks if Ben isn't wrong, surmisin'." 
 
 " Ben," said Emma, gripping his arm, " did you 
 hear uncle Selton 'low I ought n't to be sitting in 
 the mud? He's been that way ever since he came. 
 I'm going back with him an' be a lady! La! I'll 
 forget I have ever seen mud when down in St. 
 Louis, I do expect ! " 
 
 As the men made a rush for their horses Mrs. 
 Stork took up the lantern preparatory to slipping 
 into the house. Its light fell upon Emma. It was 
 the first time Benton had had a distinct view of her 
 since he had learned of the villainy threatening her 
 life. She was stained with mud and dripping from 
 the rain which still poured down upon them, but 
 he thought it the fairest picture he had ever gazed 
 
PURSUIT 357 
 
 upon as her face appeared white and softened 
 by the mild light, with the golden locks coiled in 
 glistening wet loops about the gleaming neck. 
 And Emma glanced at his tall and manly form, 
 no longer thin and sickly, but showing strength 
 and self-reliance, and noted the handsome face, 
 the glowing brown eyes, the sturdy shoulders, and 
 remembered how he had just fought, ready 
 to give his life to save her, and her eyes looked all 
 the admiration and affection of her heart. The 
 blue orbs burned and sparkled like heaven at sun- 
 rise, and Benton started toward her, forgetful of 
 the world. But at that moment Mrs. Stork blew 
 out the lantern. 
 
 " Ben," called Hicky, " air yous comin' or not? " 
 
 " Emma," called Mr. Selton, from the doorway, 
 having returned from carrying Jim to his room, 
 " come in out of that rain, my child! " 
 
 Benton asked hastily, " Mr. Selton, will you 
 go with us? " 
 
 " Thank you, no," said the other dryly. " I'll 
 stay to take care of my niece. I did n't come up 
 here to pursue bandits." 
 
 Benton ran to the fence where his horse was 
 fastened and overtook the others. The delay at 
 Stork's Nest had been brief, and soon they were 
 plunging along the miry road, splashing in black 
 pools, stumbling over rocky ledges. They took 
 turn about, riding ahead with the lantern swung 
 low, to reveal the wagon tracks. These were 
 
358 STORK'S NEST 
 
 already filled with the ever-increasing rain which 
 whipped their faces mercilessly. At last they 
 reached one of those spots so familiar to Missouri 
 country roads where the utmost caution is required 
 to prevent " being stuck," and the sheriff took 
 advantage of the delay to inquire: 
 
 " What did Mrs. Stork mean by * heavy 
 pokes'?" 
 
 " Bags," Benton explained. " The people up 
 here always say * pokes ' even when they mean 
 little paper sacks." 
 
 " Well," gasped Tobe, as he bravely saved him- 
 self from being thrown sideways, " what do yous 
 call 'em?" 
 
 " I wonder," said Hicky, from the other side, 
 " what had went wrong with Jim? " 
 
 " 'Bije knocked him down, most likely," said 
 Tobe, forgetting about the " pokes." 
 
 " Poor Jim," commented Hicky, " it was some- 
 thin' melancholy I'll be boun'. If he was to 
 git happy of a suddint it Vd kill him, most 
 likely. Jim ought never to marry, though they do 
 say he's standin' to Liza Mary. But what I say 
 is, if a man is melancholy, that's for him to say; 
 but he ought not to be the father of melancholy. 
 He said he was n't sa'prised. Hear him, Ben? 
 Poor Jim were true blue. I guess we're most to 
 Gran' River now, hey? " 
 
 " It's not far away," said Benton. " Listen ! 
 Do we not hear it? " 
 
PURSUIT 359 
 
 "Sure," Walker assented. "Sounds like all 
 Gran' River has got out of bed an' is rampagin' 
 down the road to meet us." 
 
 " It is n't the river," the sheriff interposed has- 
 tily. "It's their horses. They're coming back!" 
 
 There was a moment of strained listening and 
 the beat of approaching hoofs was distinctly 
 audible. 
 
 "What's 'Bije's game, I wonder?" muttered 
 Tobe. "Shet off all them lights. When they 
 drive abreast, flash 'em on the team." 
 
 " If they don't stop at my order," said the 
 sheriff, " shoot one of the mules." 
 
 There was a period of intense expectancy, while 
 the rush of hoofs drew nearer, drowning out the 
 distant boom of the river. 
 
 Hicky presently murmured : " They could n't 
 of went far, as these here tracks ain't plumb full 
 from the rain. Guess they found they could n't 
 git across." 
 
 The hoof-beats thundered close at hand. 
 "Steady! " whispered the sheriff; then in a loud 
 voice: "Light!" 
 
 The lanterns flashed upon the road and revealed 
 one mule galloping past, broken harness trailing 
 from its back. 
 
 " My God! " muttered one of the men, " what 
 could have happened?" 
 
 "Forward!" came the sharp voice of the 
 sheriff. " Look to your guns! " 
 
360 STORK'S NEST 
 
 They spurred down the road and the murmur of 
 the swollen river grew deeper and more threaten- 
 ing. At last, their light revealed the sloping bank 
 and a fleeting gray shadow which they knew to be 
 the hurrying tide. 
 
 Hicky dismounted and went forward. " These 
 tracks go cle'r down to the water," he called. 
 " They're at Shagg's cabin most likely, buryin' 
 their bogus coin. But why they cut one of them 
 mules loose, beats me ! " 
 
 " I'll cross over," said Benton, leaping to the 
 ground, " and try to find the tracks on the other 
 side." Holding a lantern before him, he felt his 
 way over the rock crossing, while the rain dashed 
 against him furiously. He was reminded of the 
 time he had attempted to cross with Emma. Now 
 it was difficult to understand how the river had 
 terrified him. With bold, sure strides he passed 
 the various chasms in the chain and reached the 
 opposite bank. 
 
 " What d' ye see? " called Tobe. 
 
 Benton moved the lantern along the bank, then 
 rose and answered solemnly: " Gentlemen, that 
 wagon never reached this bank ! " 
 
 " Look farther down," the sheriff called. 
 ' They's no down or up to the quicksands," 
 interposed Hicky. " It's the ford or or nothin'. 
 I'll cross over an' examine, too. Shorely, Ben, 
 them tracks air there ! " 
 
 " There is no sign of them," Benton persisted, 
 
PURSUIT 361 
 
 as Hicky joined him after a tedious and laborious 
 struggle over the insecure crossing. 
 
 At that moment horses* hoofs were heard 
 hurrying up to the far side of the river. 
 
 " Boys! " cried Hicky excitedly, " they're here 
 after all. Git to our help! We two can't stand 
 'em off. Come, boys, come ! " 
 
 :< We're comin'," shouted the sheriff, starting 
 for the crossing. 
 
 " Halt! " cried Benton, as two horsemen came 
 within the light of his lantern. 
 
 "What's the matter?" came a voice of one 
 of the horsemen. " Who was yelling for help? " 
 
 "Why! that's Peter Glover!" exclaimed 
 Hicky. " Don't shoot, Ben, he's a friend." 
 
 " Is that yous, Hicky? " exclaimed the new- 
 comer. "What's the matter? I heerd awful 
 screaming down here, an' I jest stopped to bring a 
 neighbor to see what was to be done. Mr. Vald- 
 ington Mr. Price." 
 
 " Pleased to meet you," said the second horse- 
 man, as both dismounted. 
 
 " Thank y'," said Hicky. 
 
 " I'm afraid, then," said the sheriff, " all is 
 over with the counterfeiters." 
 
 " Why, Peter, is that you? " cried Tobe Tucker- 
 more, joining the group. " Howdy, brother, 
 howdy! Now ever'body turn their light on to 
 the ford." 
 
 All the lanterns were bent upon the fleeting 
 
362 STORK'S NEST 
 
 shadows of gray as it passed out of blackness into 
 impenetrable gloom. 
 
 :< There's something," said the sheriff sud- 
 denly. 
 
 " It hain't bresh," said Hicky, " for it don't 
 
 move." 
 
 " I believe I can reach it from the rocks," said 
 Benton, beginning to take off his shoes. " I'll 
 try for it." 
 
 1 You'll be reskin' your life," said Tobe, shak- 
 ing his head. " What if it don't hold yous up? 
 Then down in the quicksands you'll go ! " 
 
 " I don't believe it will sink with me," said Ben- 
 ton resolutely, " or it would have sunk already. I 
 shall make a leap for it, and if I fall upon it, I 
 believe it will hold. And if I miss it well " 
 
 " Yap," said Tobe. 
 
 "I'll git my rope," said Peter Glover. "I 
 'lowed some un was swamped in the quicksands 
 when I heerd screamin'." 
 
 He unwound a coil from the pommel of his 
 saddle. They tied one end of the rope about Ben- 
 ton's waist and the other end was grasped in strong 
 hands. The young man walked carefully to the 
 middle of the crossing and looked over the black 
 sheet of water at the motionless object. 
 
 "Say!" said Hicky, slowly following, "I 
 believe that's the rim of a wheel. Ben, you'll 
 breck your neck, jumpin' on that. Better swim out 
 to it." 
 
PURSUIT 363 
 
 Benton hesitated. The mysterious object which 
 barely showed above the racing tide as the lanterns 
 flashed had a sinister look to the young man. If 
 it were the wheel of a wagon, where were 'Bije and 
 Silas? He shuddered, then, with renewed decision 
 sprang from the crossing. The black water closed 
 about him, and he battled for the unknown goal. 
 The fury of the current beat him back and he 
 struggled against it with all his strength. Suddenly 
 he found himself sinking, drawn down by some 
 irresistible power. Something slimy, soft, unspeak- 
 ably horrible, sucked at his foot like a thing of life. 
 The next moment, he was drawn to the surface by 
 the rope. His arms clutched at the passway and 
 he climbed out of the water. 
 
 " Give it up! " exclaimed Hicky, his face pale 
 and distressed. 
 
 " No ! " said Benton, " I'll go up farther, and 
 try it again." 
 
 " Look, look! " called Tobe, " that thing hain't 
 as high as it was. Say! It's sinkin' it's 
 sinkin' ! " 
 
 But Benton had already made a desperate 
 spring. This time his feet found the ford. The 
 water was not waist high, but he felt himself being 
 drawn under. He was near the object of all eyes 
 and, holding out his hands, he fell forward. His 
 hands grasped some object, and he drew himself up. 
 
 "What is it?" called Hicky, in nervous sus- 
 pense. 
 
364 STORK'S NEST 
 
 Benton was breathing too heavily to respond at 
 once. 
 
 "Hurrah!" shouted Tobe wildly. "Boys, 
 he's landed on somethin' as firm an' solid as the 
 South!" 
 
 " I'm standing," Benton called, " on the bot- 
 tom of an overturned wagon. Here is a wheel 
 here is another." There was a pause while his 
 arms splashed in the water; then he added: " I 
 believe they are under this wagon ! " 
 
 An exclamation of horror burst from each of the 
 onlookers. Benton knelt upon the bottom of the 
 wagon, and dipped his arm into the water. Pres- 
 ently his voice came, cool and clear, across the 
 river. 
 
 " One of the mules. It could n't break loose 
 and it was sucked under just far enough to be 
 drowned." He shifted his position cautiously and 
 felt on the other side, but found nothing. " I will 
 dive," he called. Clinging with bare feet to one 
 of the wheels, his head and shoulders disappeared. 
 He came to the surface panting. " Gentlemen, 
 the wagon is resting upon the money bags. Mr. 
 Sheriff, you'll not have to hunt farther for 'Bije 
 Stork!" 
 
 There was an excited run for the crossing, and 
 by the time Benton had fought his way back to the 
 stone pyramids Hicky had gained the overturned 
 wagon bed, the rope about his waist. 
 
 " Don't no more of you-all come," he shouted. 
 
PURSUIT 365 
 
 " The thing's sinkin* fast. Hold down your 
 lanterns." The rim of the wheel was already out 
 of sight and the water was up to Hicky's waist, 
 " I'm going to explore! " he shouted; " don't pull 
 me out till I tell yous." 
 
 He dived downward, holding to the wagon. 
 They waited in breathless suspense, while the rush 
 of the river and the hiss of the rain filled the 
 pause. The stones of the crossing quivered beneath 
 their feet as heavy driftwood was dashed against 
 it by the swirling, black waves. At last, Hicky 
 stood up, and now the water was at his neck. 
 " Boys, I'm ready," he gasped. " Pull me out! " 
 
 Their arms bent to the rope and Hicky soon 
 stood on the crossing. " It's awful ! " he panted, 
 when he had somewhat regained his breath. 
 " 'Bije could 'a' got out; but he grabs Si, tryin' 
 to git him out, too. But Si, he was under the 
 money bags an' he could n't move an' could n't be 
 raised up. 'Bije can't budge him, an' Si, knowin' 
 it, tries to push him away. He's got his arm all 
 doubled up, beatin' off his brother; but 'Bije won't 
 leave him. He pulls with all that muscle of his'n. 
 But the money Si would n't let go of when a-livin', 
 would n't let go o' him when dyin' ! " 
 
 There was an awful pause while their eyes gazed 
 upon the surface of the river which held its 
 tragedy concealed from human eyes. 
 
 " After all's said," Hicky at last remarked, 
 " they was some good in 'em both. Boys, le's go 
 
366 STORK'S NEST 
 
 git our horses. Ben kin break the news to Mrs. 
 Stork; I couldn't!" 
 
 When Benton had mounted, he looked back at 
 the solemn scene. Several men still stood upon 
 the crossing, holding up their lanterns as if expect- 
 ing the tide to pause in its mad rush and tell them 
 of the catastrophe. Others were preparing to 
 mount, or seeking their horses, silent and awed by 
 the thought of Silas and 'Bije, so near at hand, 
 yet forever escaped from the clutch of human 
 justice. A red glow from the lights burned upon 
 Grand River where it frothed at the ford and died 
 away to a pale uncertain glimmer of gray where 
 the blackness of night crouched, waiting for the 
 departure of man, that it might triumph. Over- 
 head, a few boughs of dripping trees were revealed 
 ghostly, fantastic, as if springing out of the unseen 
 sky. The faces of the men, half in crimsoned 
 light, half in black shadow, the movements of their 
 limbs, which caused black shapes to spring and 
 dance along the white causeway, made even the 
 human elements of the weird scene appear gro- 
 tesquely unreal. When all were ready they rode 
 away from the stress of death. Over the quick- 
 sands rushed the black river, and over the river 
 brooded black night. Somewhere in that rush and 
 darkness 'Bije and Silas Stork were sinking sink- 
 ing sinking. 
 
XXIII 
 BREAKING THE NEWS 
 
 A i Benton Cabot rode away from Grand 
 River he left behind all hatred, all jeal- 
 ousy, all uneasiness, for 'Bije was dead. 
 However great had been his faults, however evil 
 his purposes, those faults and purposes were 
 buried with the counterfeit money in the quick- 
 sands. Strong from his labors, his exposure to 
 the elements and his very privations, he was ready 
 to return to Blair City and to take up his former 
 life. He felt that his coming to Northern 
 Missouri had been richly repaid. Not only was 
 he physically another man; there was Emmy. If 
 he had not come, how different her aspirations and 
 her fate ! 
 
 Now her uncle was at hand to carry her to 
 refinement and protection. She had no further 
 need of Benton; he had fulfilled his part and must 
 vanish for the present from her life. Why not? 
 There was no need, now, to take her under his 
 protection as he had promised her dying grand- 
 father; a natural protection was provided. If 
 'Bije had gone immediately to work upon his 
 house in Gentry County instead of carrying false 
 
 367 
 
368 STORK'S NEST 
 
 coin to St. Louis to dispose of, and if a telegram to 
 the authorities of that city had not frightened him 
 away, Emma might even now be the widow of the 
 drowned fugitive. 
 
 Thus Benton mused as he splashed along the 
 dreary road, reasoning from many points of view 
 that he should be happy, yet feeling a strange 
 weight at his heart the while. The fact that 
 Emma needed him no longer and that, perhaps, 
 to-morrow, they would separate, chilled every 
 happy thought. 
 
 When he, at last, reached Stork's Nest he found 
 light streaming from the open door. Mr. Selton 
 met him with eager questions. In a few words, 
 Benton told the result of the search for the twins. 
 
 " Nobody has gone to sleep on the place," said 
 Mr. Selton. "Who will break the news to 
 Mrs. Stork?" 
 
 ' l I thought, perhaps, Emma could do it more 
 gently than I," said Benton, hesitating. " She has 
 such a way, and we men don't understand 
 women so well." 
 
 "Emma is right here," said Mr. Selton. 
 
 Emma entered the hall and accepted her mis- 
 sion. " Mrs. Stork is in the dining-room," she 
 said in a low voice. " Poor woman, you don't 
 know how tender she can be ! " 
 
 Mr. Selton smiled somewhat grimly, but turned 
 away to conceal his face. He had his opinion of 
 these Grand River people, but Emma had not 
 
BREAKING THE NEWS 369 
 
 mentioned one of them without some commenda- 
 tion. He felt uneasily that she must be like them ; 
 yet there was something in the girl that appealed 
 to him in spite of all his conventionality and 
 greater cultivation. 
 
 "Do you leave us soon?" Benton ventured. 
 
 " First train, sir," said the St. Louis uncle, dart- 
 ing a keen glance at the young man from under his 
 heavy gray eyebrows. 
 
 Benton bowed gloomily. The other hooked his 
 thumb over his watch fob and walked up and 
 down the hall, as if impatient for the first train 
 to sound its call. 
 
 In the meantime Emma had entered the dining- 
 room, closing the door behind her. Mrs. Stork 
 sat beside the table, the lamp turned down to 
 economize the coal oil. Her hair, tightly twisted 
 as usual, trembled at the closing of the door 
 and the whites of her eyes shot inquiringly at 
 Emma. 
 
 " I heerd voices out thar," she said, " an' I 
 'lowed thar's trouble. I've got out of Jim that 
 he did n't git the cattle over the quicksands. Poor 
 kid, I reckon his hide would n't make gloves when 
 'Bije is done with it!" 
 
 "Mrs. Stork," said Emma gently, "I am 
 bringing you dreadful news." She crossed to the 
 table and laid her hand impressively upon the 
 stooped shoulder. "The wagon and the bags of 
 money all went down in the quicksands. But 
 
370 STORK'S NEST 
 
 wagons and bags can be resurrected. Something 
 went down there, Mrs. Stork, that can't be resur- 
 rected. I mean," added Emma thoughtfully, 
 " not for some time to come." 
 
 "Emmy," cried Mrs. Stork, straightening her- 
 self suddenly, " speak out, gal, speak out ! " 
 
 " 'Bije is dead! " said Emma impressively. 
 
 "I can't never think it!" returned the other 
 below her breath. 
 
 " He died in the quicksands, Mrs. Stork." 
 
 Mrs. Stork rose. " If anybody see Mm dead," 
 she said composedly, "bring 'im in! " 
 
 Emma, considerably astonished by the other's 
 manner of bearing this calamity, called Benton. 
 
 "Ben, air 'Bije dead?" she demanded. "Did 
 yous see 'im? Can't thar be no mistake? " 
 
 "There is no mistake," said Benton gravely. 
 " He is in the quicksands, now, quite dead." 
 
 "Then I guess he did n't want to live," said the 
 other, " or he'd not 'a' done it. What next? " 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Stork," said Emma gently, 
 " 'Bije was not alone. Your own man Si do 
 you think you can bear it, Mrs. Stork? " 
 
 " I think I kin," was the stoic's rejoinder. 
 
 " Si drowned with poor 'Bije ! " 
 
 Mrs. Stork looked at Benton, who bowed his 
 confirmation. "Well," she said slowly, leaning 
 forward and turning up the lamp, " all his troubles 
 is over; an y so air mine. Le's go tell Jim. Come 
 on. He's abed an' been awful low-sperited." 
 
BREAKING THE NEWS 371 
 
 Mrs. Stork went first and, as Emma and Benton 
 followed, the girl gave the young man a solemn 
 wink, as calling his attention to the erect form 
 and firm tread of the " jail-woman." Mr. Selton 
 respectfully averted his eyes that he might not 
 witness the widow's grief. " Come on ! " called 
 Mrs. Stork, not unlike a victorious captain leading 
 the final charge. 
 
 At the bedroom door they halted. " Who's 
 thar?" came Jim's feeble voice. 
 
 " The lady of this house," Mrs. Stork answered, 
 entering. 
 
 Jim, who lay in bed, his head bandaged, stared 
 wildly at the group. " I thought 'Bije was 
 comin'," he said feebly. 
 
 "Jim," said Mrs. Stork, "'Bije an' Si is 
 drownded in the quicksands. They won't come no 
 more. They are dead; drownded." 
 
 Jim started up, staring at Benton. The young 
 man's attention had been attracted by the con- 
 dition of his trunk, showing that Silas had 
 examined everything in it before leaving the 
 house. He had started to lift an accusing arm, 
 but restrained the impulse. Why cover the dead 
 with obloquy? It was enough that he could con- 
 firm Mrs. Stork's words: 'Bije and Silas would 
 come no more. 
 
 " Jim," said Emma, standing at the bedside, 
 " does your head hurt you so bad? " 
 
 "Naw!" said Jim, tearing off the bandage. 
 
372 STORK'S NEST 
 
 11 It was what I was expectin' that hurt. Will 
 yous jest turn your back a minute, Emmy? " 
 
 "Sure," said Emma composedly. 
 
 " Emma," said Benton hastily, as he discovered 
 Jim busily at work under the bedclothes, " I think 
 we had better go below." 
 
 " Not yit," cried Jim, casting some object upon 
 the floor. " I jest taken off my electric belt. I 
 don't 'low to wear it no further. Mrs. Stork, 
 would yous mind to go to that goods box an' tek' 
 them bottles in your dress an' carry 'em out o' this 
 room? Kin yous hold 'em all? If not Ben 
 might make shift to tote some of 'em in his 
 pockets." 
 
 " I'll pack 'em," said Mrs. Stork cheerfully, as 
 her hand clinked the bottles in her eagerness. 
 
 "Emmy," said Jim, his hair standing very 
 erect as he sat in bed with the dingy quilt gathered 
 about his lean neck, " will yous kindly take that 
 roll of almanacs an' dispose 'em whar I kin neither 
 see nor smell 'em ag'in? I've took my last dose 
 of medicine, an' the moon kin raise an' set an' come 
 an' go without me, for I don't calkerlate to look 
 into a calendar no more." 
 
 "Jim," said Mrs. Stork, holding the bottles in 
 her skirt and waiting for Emma to get the last 
 of the almanacs, " you'll jest live here with me, 
 lad, an' if yous marry Liza Mary, both on yous 
 kin hev' as much of this house as yous kin fill. 
 Ben, yous kin stay too; an' Emmy." 
 
BREAKING THE NEWS 373 
 
 Emma and Benton looked at each other with 
 a little mournful smile, but Jim chuckled : 
 
 " Liza Mary's ready when I am," he announced. 
 
 " Now, I'm goin' to git hot supper, late though 
 it be," said Mrs. Stork, departing. 
 
 " Then yous go 'long, Emmy," said Jim, " for 
 up I must git ! " 
 
 Emma walked composedly toward the door 
 and paused as her eyes fell upon Benton's Bible. 
 The color crept to her cheeks. She took up the 
 book, and they entered the hall where Mrs. Stork 
 had paused holding the lamp. 
 
 "All here," said Emma, fluttering the leaves 
 and finding some dried flowers. 
 
 " Yes," said Benton, helping her hold the book, 
 " and here is the one I put for you, and you did n't 
 take it, Emmy! " 
 
 "Did you feel very bad about that, Ben?" 
 asked Emma gently. 
 
 " I was very unhappy." 
 
 " I felt bad not to take it," said Emma. " I 
 will now." She took the faded flower and placed 
 it in her bosom. "Now it is with my catalpa 
 leaf." 
 
 " Come on, or I'll leave you-all! " called Mrs. 
 Stork, from the head of the stairs. 
 
 It was strange how their hands could meet and 
 clasp and cling to each other with that book in the 
 way, but so, in some way, somehow, it hap- 
 pened. 
 
374 STORK'S NEST 
 
 " I'm goin' ! " the " lady of the house " warned 
 them. 
 
 :< Just go ahead, " rejoined Emma, gurgling 
 with sudden laughter. 
 
 " Emma ! " came the measured voice of Mr. 
 Selton. 
 
 " La ! " whispered Emma, " I forgot I was cut 
 glass! " Then aloud, " I'm coming, dear uncle." 
 
 u Oh, Emmy!" murmured Benton, his voice 
 trembling with sudden passion, " Emmy I can't 
 tell you how much you are to me not yet ! But 
 your uncle I know he is here for your good. 
 But not for mine, dear, not for mine," he added 
 wistfully. 
 
 " Yes he is," returned Emma decidedly. " I'll 
 think just as much of you, Ben, when I'm a 
 Person." 
 
 " Emma, how much do you think of me 
 now?" 
 
 " I know how you risked your life to-night for 
 me, Ben ; but that is n't anything. It did n't make 
 me think more of you. For already I thought just 
 as much of you as I could. Why ! Ben, if you were 
 my own, own brother, I could n't love you any 
 more!" 
 
 "You little innocent angel," cried Benton, 
 clasping her in his arms. 
 
 44 Ben," called Jim, cautiously poking his head 
 around the corner of the hall, " I forgot to tell 
 yous I heerd 'em say your minin' shurs air wuth 
 
BREAKING THE NEWS 375 
 
 six hundred and seventy thousand dollars. It was 
 the comp'ny's letter to you that Si burnt." 
 
 "Six hundred and seventy thousand dollars! " 
 echoed Emma, in dismay, shrinking away from his 
 detaining arm. " Oh, Ben, you are rich ! " 
 
 " So I am, little sunbeam," murmured Benton, 
 " but it is what you just said that makes me so." 
 
 The light had vanished from the upper hall, and 
 if Jim Whitlicks still stood half dressed at its angle 
 near the Snake Room, he could not see what took 
 place above the Bible. 
 
 "Emma!" called Mr. Selton, this time with 
 dawning displeasure in his tone, " you must come 
 down, niece, from that dark hall." 
 
 As she tripped down the stairs there was a rosy 
 color in her cheeks which, perhaps, she did not 
 wish to show her uncle, for she turned and looked 
 up at Benton, who was slowly following. 
 
 " Ben," she said, her voice quivering, " do you 
 know that hall reminded me of catalpa trees ! " 
 
 "That hall," said Mr. Selton, "reminded you 
 of what, Emma?" 
 
 " Oh! you darling uncle," cried Emma, rushing 
 upon him and giving him an embrace which melted 
 him like wax; " I want you to make me a Person 
 just as quick as you can ! " 
 
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