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 * 

 
 THE POWER AND THE GLORY
 
 "YES, I M A-GOING TO GET A CHANCE TO WORK RIGHT 
 AWAY," SHE SMILED UP AT HIM
 
 The Power 
 and the Glory 
 
 By 
 Grace MacGowan Cooke 
 
 Author of 
 
 "Mistress Joy," "Return," " Huldah," "Grapple," 
 " Their First Formal Call," etc. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY ARTHUR I. KELLER 
 
 New York 
 
 Doubleday, Page & Company 
 1910
 
 ALL SIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION 
 INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN 
 
 COPYRIGHT, igOQ, IQIO, BY THE BUTTERICK PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 COPYRIGHT, iglO, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE t COMPANY 
 PUBLISHED, AUGUST, IQIO
 
 TO HELEN 
 
 2075550
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 I. THE BIRTH OF A WOMAN-CHILD . . 3 
 
 II. THE BIRTH OF AN AMBITION . . 12 
 
 III. A PEAK. IN DARIEN 25 
 
 IV. OF THE USE OF FEET 36 
 
 V. THE MOCCASIN FLOWER .... 52 
 
 VI. WEAVERS AND WEFT 65 
 
 VII. ABOVE THE VALLEY 76 
 
 VIII. OF THE USE OF WINGS 94 
 
 IX. A BIT OF METAL no 
 
 X. THE SANDALS OF JOY 135 
 
 XI. THE NEW BOARDER 155 
 
 XII. THE CONTENTS OF A BANDANNA . . 166 
 
 XIII. A PATIENT FOR THE HOSPITAL . . 175 
 
 XIV. WEDDING BELLS 188 
 
 XV. THE FEET OF THE CHILDREN . . . 200 
 
 XVI. BITTER WATERS 217 
 
 XVII. A VICTIM 241 
 
 XVIII. LIGHT 256
 
 vi CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XIX. A PACT 269 
 
 XX. MISSING 276 
 
 XXI. THE SEARCH 287 
 
 XXII. THE ATLAS VERTEBRA 303 
 
 XXIII. A CLUE . . . 318 
 
 XXIV. THE RESCUE 335 
 
 XXV. THE FUTURE 358
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Yes, I m a-going to get a chance to work 
 
 right away," she smiled up at him . Frontispiece 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 He loomed above them, white and shaking. 
 "You thieves!" he roared. "Give me my 
 bandanner! Give me Johnnie s silver 
 mine!" 172 
 
 "Lost gone! My God, Mother it s three 
 
 days and three nights!" .... 294 
 
 The car was already leaping down the hill at a 
 
 tremendous pace 346
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE BIRTH OF A WOMAN-CHILD 
 
 WHOSE cradle s that?" the sick woman s thin 
 querulous tones arrested the man at the 
 threshold. 
 
 "Onie Dillard s," he replied hollowly from the 
 depths of the crib which he carried upside down upon 
 his head, like some curious kind of overgrown helmet. 
 
 "Now, why in the name o common sense would 
 ye go and borry a broken cradle?" came the wail 
 from the bed. "I lowed you d git Billy Spinner s, 
 an hit s as good as new." 
 
 Uncle Pros set the small article of furniture down 
 gently. 
 
 " Don t you worry yo se f, Laurelly," he said enthusi 
 astically. Pros Passmore, uncle of the sick woman 
 and mainstay of the forlorn little Consadine household, 
 was always full of enthusiasm. * Just a few nails and 
 a little wrappin of twine ll make it all right," he 
 informed his niece. "I stopped a-past and borried 
 the nails and the hammer from Jeff Dawes; I mighty 
 nigh pounded my thumb off knockin in nails with a 
 rock an a sad-iron last week." 
 
 "Looks like nobody ain t got no sense," returned 
 Laurella Consadine ungratefully. "Even you, Unc 
 
 3
 
 4 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Pros while you borryin why cain t ye borry whole 
 things that don t need mendin ?" 
 
 Out of the shadows that hoarded the further end 
 of the room came a woman with a little bundle in her 
 arm which had evidently created the necessity for the 
 borrowed cradle. 
 
 "Laurelly," the nurse hesitated, "I wouldn t name 
 it to ye whilst ye was a-sufferin/ but I jest cain t find 
 the baby s clothes nowhars. I ve done washed the 
 little trick and wrapped her in my flannen petticoat. 
 I do despise to put anything on em that anybody else 
 has wore hit don t seem right. But I ve been plumb 
 through everything, an cain t find none of her coats. 
 Whar did you put em ?" 
 
 "I didn t have no luck borryin for this one," 
 complained the sick woman fretfully. "Looks like 
 everybody s got that mean that they wouldn t lend me 
 a rag an* the Lord knows I only ast a wearin of the 
 clothes for my chillen. Folks can make shore that 
 I return what I borry ef the Lord lets me." 
 
 "Ain t they nothin to put on the baby?" asked 
 Mavity Bence, aghast. 
 
 "No. Hit s jest like I been tellin* ye. I went to 
 Tarver s wife she s got a plenty. I knowed in 
 reason she d have baby clothes that she couldn t expect 
 to wear out on her own chillen. I said as much to 
 her, when she told me she was liable to need em befo 
 I did. I says, Ye cain t need more n half of em, I 
 reckon, an half ll do me, an I ll return em to ye when 
 I m done with em. She acted jest as selfish said
 
 THE BIRTH OF A WOMAN-CHILD 5 
 
 she d like to know how I was goin to inshore her that 
 it wouldn t be twins agin same as twas before. Some 
 folks is powerful mean an* suspicious." 
 
 All this time the nurse had been standing with the 
 quiet small packet which was the storm centre of 
 preparation lying like a cocoon or a giant seed-pod 
 against her bosom. 
 
 "She s a mighty likely little gal," said she finally. 
 " Have ye any hopes o gittin anything to put on her ?" 
 
 The woman in the bed she was scarcely more 
 than a girl, with shining dark eyes and a profusion of 
 jetty ringlets about her elfish, pretty little face - 
 seemed to feel that this speech was in the nature of 
 a reproach. She hastened to detail her further activ 
 ities on behalf of the newcomer. 
 
 "Consadine s a poor provider," she said plaintively, 
 alluding to her absent husband. "Maw said to me 
 when I would have him that he was a poor provider; 
 and then he s got into this here way of goin off like. 
 Time things gets too bad here at home he s got a big 
 scheme up for makin his fortune somewhars else, and 
 out he puts. He lowed he d be home with a plenty 
 before the baby come. But thar he s the best man 
 that ever was, when he s here, and I have no wish to 
 miscall him. I reckon he thought I could borry what 
 I d need. Biney Meal lent me enough for the little un 
 that died; but of course some o the coats was buried 
 with the child; and what was left, Sis Elvira borried 
 for her baby. I was layin off to go over to the Deep 
 Spring neighbourhood when I could git a lift in that
 
 6 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 direction the folks over yon is mighty accommoda 
 tive," she concluded, "but I was took sooner than I 
 expected, and hyer we air without a stitch. I ve done 
 sont Bud an Honey to Mandy Ann Foncher s - 
 mebby they ll bring in somethinV 
 
 The little cabin shrank back against the steep side 
 of the mountain as though half terrified at the hollow 
 immensity of the welkin above, or the almost sheer 
 drop to the valley five hundred feet beneath. A sidling 
 mountain trail passed the front of its rail fence, and 
 stones continually rolled from the upper to the lower 
 side of this highway. 
 
 The day was darkening rapidly. A low line of red 
 still burned behind the massive bulk of Big Unaka, 
 and the solemn purple mountains raised their peaks 
 against it in a jagged line. Within the single-roomed 
 cabin the rich, broken light from the cavernous fire 
 place filled the smoke-browned interior full of shadow 
 and shine in which things leaped oddly into life, or 
 dropped out of knowledge with a startling effect. 
 The four corners of the log room were utilized, three 
 of them for beds, made by thrusting two poles through 
 auger holes bored in the logs of the walls, setting a leg 
 at the corner where these met and lacing the bottom 
 with hickory withes. The fourth had some rude 
 planks nailed in it for a table, and a knot-hole in one 
 of the logs served the primitive purpose of a salt-cellar. 
 A pack of gaunt hounds quarrelled under the floor, 
 and the sick woman stirred uneasily on her bed and 
 expressed a wish that her emissaries would return.
 
 THE BIRTH OF A WOMAN-CHILD 7 
 
 Uncle Pros had taken the cradle to a back door to 
 get the last of the evening sun upon his task. One 
 would not have thought that he could hear what the 
 women were saying at this distance, but the old hunter s 
 ears were sharp. 
 
 "Never you mind, Laurelly," he called cheerfully. 
 "Wrop the baby up some tashion, and I ll hike out 
 and get clothes for her, time I mend this cradle." 
 
 " Ef that ain t just like Unc Pros ! " And the girlish 
 mother laughed out suddenly. You saw the gypsy 
 beauty of her face. "He ain t content with borryin 
 men s truck, but thinks he can turn in an borry coats 
 mongst the women. Well, I reckon he might have 
 better luck than what I did." 
 
 As she spoke a small boy and girl, her dead brother s 
 children, came clattering in from the purple mysteries 
 of dusk outside, hand clasped in hand, and stopped 
 close to the bed, staring. 
 
 "Mandy Ann, she wouldn t lend us a thing," Bud 
 began in an aggrieved tone. " I traded for this chop 
 ped wood for it and hit was all she would give me." 
 He laid a coarse little garment upon the ragged coverlet. 
 
 "That!" cried Laurella Passmore, taking it up with 
 angrily tremulous fingers. "My child shain t wear no 
 sech. Hit ain t fittin for my baby to put on. Oh, I 
 wisht I could git up from here and do about; I d git 
 somethin for her to wear!" 
 
 "Son," said Mrs. Bence, approaching the bedside, 
 "air ye afeared to go over as far as my house 
 right now ? "
 
 8 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 " I ain t skeered ef Honey ll go with me," returned 
 the boy doubtfully, as he interrogated the twilit spaces 
 beyond the open cabin door. 
 
 "Well, you go ask Pap to look in the green chist 
 and send me the spotted caliker poke that he ll find 
 under the big bun le. Don t you let him give you that 
 thar big bun le; caze that s not a thing but seed corn, 
 and he ll be mad ef it s tetched. Tell Pap that what s 
 in the spotted poke ain t nothin that he wants. Tell 
 him it s well, tell him to look at it before he gives it 
 to you." 
 
 The two little souls scuttled away into the gathering 
 dark, and the neighbour woman sat down by the fire 
 to nurse the baby and croon and await the clothing 
 for which she had sent. 
 
 She was not an old woman, but already stiff and 
 misshapen by toil and the lack of that saving salt of 
 pride, the stimulation of joy, which keeps us erect and 
 supple. Her broad back was bent; her hands as they 
 shifted the infant tenderly were knotted and work- 
 worn. Mavity Bence was a w 7 idow, living at home 
 with her father, Gideon Himes; she had one child left, 
 a daughter; but the clothing for which she had sent 
 w r as an outfit made for a son, the posthumous off 
 spring of his father; and the babe had not lived long 
 enough to wear it. 
 
 Outside, Uncle Pros began to sing at his work. He 
 had a fluty old tenor voice, and he put in turns and 
 quavers that no ear not of the mountains could possibly 
 follow and fix. First it was a hymn, all abrupt, odd,
 
 THE BIRTH OF A WOMAN-CHILD 9 
 
 minor cadences and monotonous refrain. Then he 
 shifted to a ballad and the mountains are full of old 
 ballads of Scotland and England, come down from the 
 time of the first settlers, and with local names quaintly 
 substituted for the originals here and there. 
 
 " She s gwine to walk in a silken gownd, 
 An ha e plenty o siller for to spare," 
 
 chanted the old man above the little bed he was 
 repairing. 
 
 "Who s that you re a-namin that s a-goin to have 
 silk dresses?" inquired Laurella, as he entered and 
 set the mended cradle down by the bedside. 
 
 "The baby," he returned. "Ef I find my silver 
 mine or ruther when I find my silver mine, for you 
 know in reason with the directions Pap s Grandpap 
 left, and that word from Great Uncle Billy that helped 
 the Injuns- work it, I m bound to run the thing down 
 one o these days when I find my silver mine this here 
 little gal s a-goin to have everything she wants - 
 ain t ye, Pretty?" 
 
 And, having made a bed in the cradle from some 
 folded covers, he lifted the baby with strange deftness 
 and placed it in. 
 
 "See thar," he called their attention proudly. "As 
 good as new. And ef I git time I m a-goin to give it 
 a few licks o paint." 
 
 Hands on knees, he bent to study the face of the 
 new-born, that countenance so ambiguous to our eyes, 
 scarce stamped yet with the common seal of humanity.
 
 io THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 "She s a mighty pretty little gal," he repeated 
 Mavity Bence s words. "She s got the Passmore 
 favour, as well as the Consadine. Reckon I better be 
 steppin over to Vander s and see can I borry their 
 cow. If it s with you this time like it was with the 
 last one, we ll have to have a cow. I always thought 
 if we d had a fresh cow for that other one, hit would 
 a lived. I know in reason Vander ll lend the cow 
 for a spell" -Uncle Pros always had unbounded 
 confidence in the good will of his neighbours toward 
 himself, since his own generosity to them would have 
 been fathomless - "I know in reason he ll lend hit, 
 caze they ain t got no baby to their house." 
 
 He bestowed one more proud, fond look upon the 
 little face in the borrowed cradle, and walked out with 
 as elated a step as though a queen had been born to 
 the tribe. 
 
 In the doorway he met Bud and Hone}*, returning 
 with the spotted calico poke clutched fast between them. 
 
 "I won t ask nothin but a wearin of em for my 
 child," Laurella Consadine, born Laurella Passmore, 
 reiterated when the small garments were laid out on 
 the bed, and the baby was being dressed. "They re 
 mighty fine, Mavity, an I ll take good keer of em and 
 always bear in mind that they re only borried." 
 
 "No," returned Mavity Bence, with unwonted 
 firmness, as she put the newcomer into the slip intended 
 for her own son. "No, Laurelly, these clothes ain t 
 loaned to you. I give em to this child. I m a widder, 
 and I never look to wed again, becaze Pap he has to
 
 THE BIRTH OF A WOMAN-CHILD n 
 
 have somebody to do for him, an he d just about tear 
 up the ground if I was to name sech a thing. I m 
 mighty glad to give em to yo little gal. I only wisht," 
 she said wistfully, "that hit was a boy. Ef hit was a 
 boy, mebbe you d give hit the name that should a 
 went with the clothes. I was a-goin to call the baby 
 John after hit s pappy." 
 
 Laurella Consadine lay quiescent for a moment, 
 big black eyes studying the smoky logs that raftered 
 the roof. Then all at once she laughed, with a flash 
 of white teeth. 
 
 "I don t see why Johnnie ain t a mighty fine name 
 for a gal," she said. "I vow I m a-goin to name her 
 Johnnie!" 
 
 And so this one of the tribe of borrowing Passmores 
 wore her own clothing from the first. No borrowed 
 garment touched her. She rejected the milk from the 
 borrowed cow, fiercely; lustily she demanded and 
 eventually received her own legitimate, unborrowed 
 sustenance. 
 
 Perhaps such a beginning had its own influence 
 upon her future.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE BIRTH OF AN AMBITION 
 
 A,L day the girl had walked steadily, her bare 
 feet comforted by the warm dust, shunning the 
 pebbles, never finding sharp stones in the way, 
 making friends with the path that would always be 
 Johnnie. From the little high-hung valley in the 
 remote fastnesses of the Unakas where she was born, 
 Johnnie Consadine was walking down to Cottonville, 
 the factory town on the outskirts of Watauga, to find 
 work. Sometimes the road wound a little upward 
 for a quarter of a mile or so; but the general tendency 
 was persistently down. 
 
 In the gray dawn of Sunday morning she had stepped 
 from the door of that room where the three beds 
 occupied three corners, and a rude table was rigged in 
 the fourth. It might almost seem that the same 
 hounds were quarrelling under the floor that had 
 scrambled there eighteen years before when she was 
 born. At first the way was entirely familiar to her. 
 It passed few habitations, and of those the dwellers 
 were not yet abroad, since it was scarce day. As time 
 went on she got to the little settlement at the foot of 
 the first mountain, and had to explain to everybody 
 her destination and ambition. Beyond this, she
 
 THE BIRTH OF AN AMBITION 13 
 
 stopped occasionally for direction, she met more people; 
 yet she was still in the heart of the mountains when 
 noon found her, and she crept up a wayside bank and 
 sat down alone to eat her bite of corn pone. 
 
 Guided by the instinct or the wood-craft of the 
 mountain born and bred, she had sought out one of the 
 hermit springs of beautiful freestone water that hide 
 in these solitudes. When she had slaked her thirst at 
 its little ice-cold chalice, she raised her head with a 
 low exclamation of rapture. There, growing and 
 blowing beside the cool thread of water which trickled 
 from the spring, was a stately pink moccasin flower. 
 She knelt and gazed at it with folded hands, as one 
 before a shrine. 
 
 What is it in the sweeping dignity of these pointed, 
 oval, parallel-veined leaves, sheathed one within 
 another, the clean column of the bloom stalk rising a 
 foot and a half perhaps above, and at its tip the wonder 
 ful pink, dreaming Buddha of the forest, that so com 
 mands the heart ? It was not entirely the beauty of 
 the softly glowing orchid that charmed Johnnie Consa- 
 dine s eyes; it was the significance of the flower. 
 Somehow the finding this rare, shy thing decking her 
 path toward labour and enterprise spoke to her soul 
 of success. For a long time she knelt, her bright 
 uncovered head dappled by a ray of sunlight which 
 filtered through the deep, cool green above her, her 
 face bent, her eyes brooding, as though she prayed. 
 When she had finished her dinner of corn pone and 
 fried pork, she rose and parted with almost reverent
 
 i 4 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 fingers the pink wonder from its stalk, sought out a 
 coarse, clean handkerchief from her bundle and, steep 
 ing it in the icy water of the spring, lapped it around 
 her treasure. Not often in her eighteen summers 
 had she found so fine a specimen. Then she took up 
 her journey, comforted and strangely elated. 
 
 "Looks like it was waiting right there to tell me 
 howdy," she murmured to herself. 
 
 The keynote of Johnnie Consadine s character 
 was aspiration. In her cabin home the wings of 
 desire were clipped, because she must needs put her 
 passionate young soul into the longing for food, to 
 quiet the cravings of a healthy stomach, which gen 
 erally clamoured from one blackberry season to the 
 other; the longing for shoes, when her feet were frost 
 bitten; the yet more urgent wish to feed the little ones 
 she loved; the pressing demand, when the water-bucket 
 gave out and they had to pack water in a tin tomato 
 can with a string bail; the dull ache of mortification 
 when she became old enough to understand their 
 position as the borrowing Passmores. Yet all human 
 desire is sacred, and of God; to desire to want - 
 to aspire thus shall the individual be saved; and 
 surely in this is the salvation of the race. And Johnnie 
 felt vaguely that at last she was going out into a world 
 where she should learn what to desire and how to 
 desire it. 
 
 Now as she tramped she was conning over her 
 present plans. Again she saw the cabin at home in 
 that pitchy black which precedes the first leavening of
 
 THE BIRTH OF AN AMBITION 15 
 
 dawn, and herself getting up to start early on the 
 long walk. Her mother would get up too, and that 
 was foolish. She saw the slight figure stooping to 
 rake together the embers in the broad chimney s throat 
 that the coffee-pot might be set on. She remonstrated 
 with the little mother, saying that she aimed not to 
 disturb anybody not even Uncle Pros. 
 
 "Uncle Pros!" Laurella echoed from the hearth 
 stone, where she sat on her heels, like a little girl play 
 ing at mud-pies. Johnnie smiled at the memory of 
 how her mother laughed over the suggestion, with a 
 drawing of slant brows above big, tragic dark eyes, a 
 look of suffering from the mirth which adds the crown 
 to joyousness. "Your Uncle Pros he got a revelation 
 long bout midnight as to just whar that thar silver 
 mine is that s been dodgin him for more n forty year. 
 He come a-shakin me by the shoulder like I reckon 
 he s done fifty times ef he s done it once and telling 
 me that he s off to make all our fortunes inside of a 
 week. He said if you still would go down to that thar 
 old fool cotton mill and hire out, to name it to you that 
 Shade Buckheath would stand some watchin . Your 
 Uncle Pros has got sense in streaks. Why in the 
 world you ll pike out and go to work in a cotton mill 
 is more than I can cipher." 
 
 "To take care of you and the children," the girl 
 had said, standing tall and straight, deep-bosomed and 
 red-lipped, laughing back at her little mother. "Some 
 body s got to take care of you-all, and I just love to 
 be the one."
 
 1 6 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Laurella Consadine, commonly called in mountain 
 fashion by her maiden name of Laurella Passmore, 
 scrambled to her feet and tossed the dark curls out 
 of her eyes. 
 
 " Aw law huh ! " she returned carelessly. " We ll 
 get along; we always have. How do you reckon I 
 made out before you was born, you great big some 
 body ? What s the matter with you ? Did you fail 
 to borry a frock for the dance over at Rainy Gap ? 
 Try again, honey I ll bet S lomy Buckheath would 
 lend you one o her n." 
 
 That was it; borrowing borrowing borrowing 
 till they were known as the borrowing Passmores and 
 became the jest of the neighbourhood. 
 
 " No, I couldn t stand it," the girl justified herself. 
 "I had obliged to get out and go where money could 
 be earned me, that s big and stout and able." 
 
 And sighingly yet light-heartedly, for with 
 Laurella Consadine and Johnnie there was always the 
 quaint suggestion of a little girl with a doll quite too 
 big for her the mother let her go. It had been just 
 so when Johnnie would have her time for every term 
 of the "old field hollerin school," where she learned 
 to read and write; even when she persisted in going 
 to Rainy Gap where some charitably inclined northern 
 church maintained a little school, and pushed her 
 education to dizzy heights that to mountain vision 
 appeared "plumb foolish." 
 
 That morning she had cautioned her mother to be 
 careful lest they waken the children, for if the little
 
 ones roused and began, as the mountain phrase has it, 
 "takin on," she scarcely knew how she should find 
 heart to leave them. The children there was the 
 thing that drove. Four small brothers and sisters 
 there were; with little Deanie, the youngest, to make 
 the painfully strong plea of recent babyhood. Con- 
 sadine, who never could earn money, and used to be 
 from home following one wild scheme or another most 
 of the time, was gone these two years upon his last 
 dubious, adventurous journey; there was not even 
 his intermittent assistance to depend upon. Johnnie 
 was the man of the family, and she shouldered 
 her burden bravely, declaring to herself that she 
 would yet have a chance, which the little ones could 
 share. 
 
 She had kissed her mother,, picked up her bundle 
 and got as far as the door, when there came a spat of 
 bare feet meeting the floor, a pattering rush, and 
 Deanie s short arms went around her knees, almost 
 tripping her up. 
 
 "I wasn t sleep I was wake the whole time," 
 whispered the baby, lifting a warm, pursed mouth for 
 a kiss. " Deanie ll be good an let you go, Sis Johnnie. 
 An then when you get down thar whar it s all so 
 sightly, you ll send for Deanie, cause deed and double 
 you couldn t live without her, now could ye?" And 
 she looked craftily up into the face bent above her, 
 bravely choking back the tears that wanted to drown 
 her long speech. 
 
 Johnnie dropped her bundle and caught up the
 
 i8 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 child, crushing the warm, soft, yielding little form 
 against her breast in a very passion of tenderness. 
 
 "Deed and double I couldn t," she whispered back. 
 "Sister s goin to earn money, and Deanie shall have 
 plenty of good things to eat next winter, and some 
 shoes. She shan t be housed up every time it snows. 
 Sis s goin to - 
 
 She broke off abruptly and kissed the small face with 
 vehemence. 
 
 "Good-bye," she managed to whisper, as she set 
 the baby down and turned to her mother. The kind 
 ling touch of that farewell warmed her resolution yet. 
 She was not going down to Cottonville to work in the mill 
 merely; she was going into the Storehouse of Possibili 
 ties, to find and buy a chance in the world for these 
 poor little souls who could never have it otherwise. 
 
 Before she kissed her mother, took up her bundle 
 and trudged away in the chill, gray dawn, she declared 
 an intention to come home and pay back every one 
 to whom they were under obligations. Now her face 
 dimpled as she remembered the shriek of dismay 
 Laurella sent after her. 
 
 "Good land, Johnnie Consadine! If you start 
 in to pay off all the borryin s of the Passmore family 
 since you was born, you ll ruin us that s what you ll 
 do you ll ruin us." 
 
 These things acted themselves over and over in 
 Johnnie s mind as, throughout the fresh April after 
 noon, her long, free, rhythmic step, its morning vigour 
 undiminished, swung the miles behind her; still present
 
 THE BIRTH OF AN AMBITION 19 
 
 in thought when, away down in Render s Gap, she 
 settled herself on a rock by the wayside where a little 
 stream crossed the road, to wash her feet and put on 
 the shoes which she had up to this time carried with 
 her bundle. 
 
 "I reckon I must be near enough town to need 
 em," she said regretfully, as she drew the big, shape 
 less, cowhide affairs on her slim, brown, carefully 
 washed and dried feet, and with a leathern thong 
 laced down a wide, stiff tongue. She had earned the 
 money for these shoes picking blackberries at ten 
 cents the gallon, and Uncle Pros had bought them at 
 the store at Bledsoe according to his own ideas. "Get 
 em big enough and there won t be any fussin about 
 the fit," the old man explained his theory: and indeed 
 the fit of those shoes on Johnnie s feet was not a thing 
 to fuss over it was past considering. 
 
 The sun was westering; the Gap began to be in 
 shadow, although the point at which she sat was well 
 above the valley. The girl was all at once aware that 
 she was tired and a little timid of what lay before her. 
 She had written to Shade Buckheath, a neighbour s 
 boy with whom she had gone to school, now employed 
 as a mechanic or loom-fixer in one of the cotton mills, 
 and from whom she had received a reply saying that 
 she could get work in Cottonville if she would come 
 down. 
 
 Mavity Bence, who had given Johnnie her first 
 clothes, was a weaver in the Hardwick mill at Cotton 
 ville, Watauga s milling suburb; her father, Gideon
 
 20 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Himes, with whom Shade Buckheath learned his 
 trade, was a skilled mechanic, and had worked as a 
 loom-fixer for a while. At present he was keeping a 
 boarding-house for the hands, and it was here Johnnie 
 was to find lodging. Shade himself was reported to 
 be doing extremely well. He had promised in his 
 letter that if Johnnie came on a Sunday evening he 
 would walk up the road a piece and meet her. She 
 now began to hope that he would come. Then, wait 
 ing for him, she forgot him, and set herself to imagine 
 what work in the cotton mill and life in town would 
 be like. 
 
 To Shade Buckheath, strolling up the road, in the 
 expansiveness of his holiday mood and the dignity 
 of his Sunday suit, the first sight of Johnnie came with 
 a little unwelcome shock. He had left her in the 
 mountains a tall, thin, sandy-haired girl in the growing 
 age. He got his first sight of her profile relieved against 
 the green of the wayside bank, with a bunch of bloom 
 ing azaleas starring its verdure behind her bright head. 
 He was not artist enough to appreciate the picture 
 at its value; he simply had the sudden resentful feeling 
 of one who has asked for a hen and been offered a 
 bird of paradise. She was tall and lithe and strong; 
 her thick, fair hair, without being actually curly, seemed 
 to be so vehemently alive that it rippled a bit in its 
 length, as a swift-flowing brook does over a stone. 
 It rose up around her brow in a roll that was almost 
 the fashionable coiffure. Those among whom she 
 had been bred, laconically called the colour red; but
 
 THE BIRTH OF AN AMBITION 21 
 
 in fact it was only too deep a gold to be quite yellow. 
 Johnnie s face, even in repose, was always potentially 
 joyous. The clear, wide, gray eyes, under their 
 arching brows, the mobile lips, held as it were the smile 
 in solution; when one addressed her it broke swiftly 
 into being, the pink lips lifting adorably above the white 
 teeth, the long fringed eyes crinkling deliciously about 
 the corners. Johnnie loved to laugh, and the heart 
 of any reasonable being was instantly moved to give 
 her cause. 
 
 For himself, the young man was a prevalent type 
 among his people. Brown, well built, light on his feet, 
 with heavy black hair growing low on his forehead, 
 and long blackish-gray eyes, there was something 
 Latin in the grace of his movements and in his glance. 
 Life ran strong in Shade Buckheath. He stepped 
 with an independent stride that was almost a swagger, 
 and already felt himself a successful man; but that one 
 of the tribe of borrowing Passmores should presume 
 to such opulence of charm struck him as well-nigh im 
 pudent. The pure outlines of Johnnie s features, their 
 aristocratic mould, the ruddy gold of her rich, cluster 
 ing hair, those were things it seemed to him a good 
 mill-hand might well have dispensed with. Then 
 the girl turned, saw him, and flashed him a swift 
 smile of greeting. 
 
 " It s mighty kind of you to come up and meet me," 
 she said, getting to her feet a little awkwardly on 
 account of the shoes, and picking up her bundle. 
 
 "I lowed you might get lost," bantered the young
 
 22 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 fellow, not offering to carry the packet as they trudged 
 away side by side. " How s everybody back on Unaka ? 
 Has your Uncle Pros found his silver mine yet ?" 
 
 "No," returned Johnnie seriously, "but he s lookin 
 for it." 
 
 Shade threw back his head and laughed so long and 
 loud that it would have been embarrassing to any 
 one less sound and sweet-natured than this girl. 
 
 "I reckon he is," said Buckheath. "I reckon Pros 
 Passmore will be lookin for that silver mine when 
 Gabriel blows. It runs in the family, don t it ?" 
 
 Johnnie looked at him and shook her head. 
 
 "You ve been learnin town ways, haven t you?" 
 she asked simply. 
 
 "You mean my makin game of the Passmores?" 
 he inquired coolly. "No, I never learned that in the 
 settlement; I learned it in the mountains. I just forgot 
 your name was Passmore, that s all," he added sar 
 castically. "Are you goin to get mad about it?" 
 
 Johnnie had put on her slat sunbonnet and pulled 
 it down so he could not see her face. 
 
 "No," she returned evenly, "I m not goin to get 
 mad at anything. And my name s not Passmore, 
 either. My name is Consadine, and I aim to be called 
 that. Uncle Pros Passmore is my mother s uncle, 
 and one of the best men that ever lived, I reckon. If 
 all the folks he s nursed in sickness or laid out in death 
 was numbered over it would be a-many a one; and I 
 never heard him take any credit to himself for anything 
 he did. Why, Shade, the last three years of your
 
 THE BIRTH OF AN AMBITION 23 
 
 father s life Uncle Pros didn t dare hunt his silver 
 mine much, because your father was paralysed and had 
 to have close waitin on, and and there wasn t 
 nobody but Uncle Pros, since all his boys was gone 
 and- -" 
 
 "Oh, say it. Speak out," urged Shade hardily. 
 "You mean that all us chaps had cut out and left the 
 old man, and there wasn t a cent of money to pay 
 anybody, and no one but Pros Passmore would a 
 been fool enough to do such hard work without pay. 
 Well, I reckon you re about right. You and me come 
 of a mighty poor nation of folks; but I m goin to make 
 my pile and have my share, if lookin out for number 
 one 11 do it." 
 
 Johnnie turned and regarded him curiously. It 
 was characteristic of the mountain girl, and of her 
 people, that she had not on first meeting stared, vil 
 lage fashion, at his brave attire; and she seemed now 
 concerned only with the man himself. 
 
 "I reckon you ll get it," she said meditatively. "I 
 reckon you will. Sometimes I think we always get 
 just what we deserve in this here world, and that the 
 only safe way is to try to deserve something good. 
 I hope I didn t say too much for Uncle Pros; but he s 
 so easy and say-nothin himself, that I just couldn t 
 bear to hear you laughin at him and not answer you." 
 
 "I declare, you re plenty funny!" Buckheath 
 burst out boisterously. "No, I ain t mad at you. I 
 kind o like you for stickin up for the old man. You 
 and me 11 get along, I reckon."
 
 24 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 As they moved forward, the man and the girl fell 
 into more general chat, the feeling of irritation at 
 Johnnie s beauty, her superior air, growing rather 
 than diminishing in the young fellow s mind. How 
 dare Pros Passmore s grandniece carry a bright head 
 so high, and flash such glances of liquid fire at her 
 questioner ? Shade looked sidewise sometimes at 
 his companion as he asked the news of their mutual 
 friends, and she answered. Yet when he got, along 
 with her mild responses, one of those glances, he was 
 himself strangely subdued by it, and fain to prop 
 his leaning prejudices by contrasting her scant print 
 gown, her slat sunbonnet, and cowhide shoes with the 
 apparel of the humblest in the village which they were 
 approaching.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A PEAK IN DARIEN 
 
 SO WALKING, and so desultorily talking, 
 they came out on a noble white highway 
 that wound for miles along the bluffy edge 
 of the upland overlooking the valley upon the one side, 
 fronted by handsome residences on the other. 
 
 It was Johnnie s first view of a big valley, a river, 
 or a city. She had seen the shoestring creek bottoms 
 between the endless mountains among which she was 
 born and bred, the high-hung, cup-like depressions of 
 their inner fastnesses; she was used to the cool, clear, 
 boulder-checked mountain creeks that fight their way 
 down those steeps like an armed man beating off 
 assailants at every turn; she had been taken a number 
 of times to Bledsoe, the tiny settlement at the foot of 
 Unaka Old Bald, where there were two stores, a 
 blacksmith shop, the post-office and the church. 
 
 Below her, now beginning to glow in the evening 
 light, opened out one of the finest valleys of the south 
 ern Appalachees. Lapped in it, far off, shrouded with 
 rosy mist which she did not identify as transmuted 
 coal smoke, a city lay, fretted with spires, already 
 sparkling with electric lights, set like a glittering boss 
 of jewels in the broad curve of a shining river. 
 
 25
 
 26 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Directly down the steep at their feet was the cotton- 
 mill town, a suburb clustered about a half-dozen 
 great factories, whose long rows of lighted windows 
 defined their black bulk. There was a stream here, 
 too; a small, sluggish thing that flowed from tank to 
 tank among the factories, spanned by numerous hand 
 rails, bridged in one place for the wagon-road to cross. 
 Mills, valley, town, distant rimming mountains, river 
 and creek, glowed and pulsed, dissolved and relimned 
 themselves in the uprolling glory of sunset. 
 
 "Oh, wait for me a minute, Shade," pleaded the 
 girl, pulling off her sunbonnet. . . . " I want to look. 
 . . . Never in my life did I see anything so sightly!" 
 
 "Good land!" laughed the man, with a note of 
 impatience in his voice. "You and me was raised 
 on mountain scenery, as a body may say. I should 
 think we d both had enough of it to last us." 
 
 " But this this is different," groped Johnnie, 
 trying to explain the emotions that possessed her. 
 "Look at that big settlement over yon. I reckon it s 
 a city. It must be Watauga. It looks like the - 
 the mansions of the blest, in the big Bible that preacher 
 Drane has, down at Bledsoe." 
 
 " I reckon they re blest they got plenty of money," 
 returned Shade, with the cheap cynicism of his 
 kind. 
 
 "So many houses!" the girl communed with her 
 self. "There s bound to be a-many a person in all 
 them houses," she went on. One could read the 
 loving outreach to all humanity in her tones,
 
 A PEAK IN DARIEN 27 
 
 " There is," put in Shade caustically. "There s 
 many a rogue. You want to look out for them tricky 
 town folks a girl like you." 
 
 Had he been more kind, he would have said, "a 
 pretty girl like you." But Johnnie did not miss it; 
 she was used to such as he gave, or less. 
 
 "Come on," he urged impatiently. "We won t 
 get no supper if you don t hurry." 
 
 Supper! Johnnie drew in her breath and shook 
 her head. With that scene unrolled there, as though 
 all the kingdoms of earth were spread before them 
 to look upon, she was asked to remember supper! 
 Sighing, but submissively, she moved to follow her 
 guide, a reluctant glance across her shoulder, when there 
 came a cry something like that which the wild geese 
 make when they come over in the spring; and a thing 
 with two shining, fiery eyes, a thing that purred like 
 a giant cat, rounded a curve in the road and came 
 to a sudden jolting halt beside them. 
 
 Shade stopped immediately for that. Johnnie did 
 not fail to recognize the vehicle. Illustrated maga 
 zines go everywhere in these days. In the automobile 
 rode a man, bare-headed, dressed in a suit of white 
 flannels, strange to Johnnie s eyes. Beside him sat 
 a woman in a long, shimmering, silken cloak, a great, 
 misty, silver-gray veil twined round head and hat 
 and tied in a big bow under the chin. Johnnie had as 
 yet seen nothing more pretentious than the starched 
 and ruffled flummeries of a small mountain watering- 
 place. This beautiful, peculiar looking garb had
 
 28 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 something of the picturesque, the poetic, about it, 
 that appealed to her as the frocks worn at Chalybeate 
 Springs or Bledsoe had never done. She had not 
 wanted them. She wanted this. The automobile was 
 stopped, the young fellow in it calling to Shade: 
 
 "I wonder if you could help me with this thing, 
 Buckheath ? It s on a strike again. Show me what 
 you did to it last time." 
 
 Along the edge of the road at this point, for safety s 
 sake, a low stone wall had been laid. Setting down 
 her bundle, Johnnie leaned upon this, and shared her 
 admiration between the valley below and these beauti 
 ful, interesting newcomers. Her bonnet was pushed 
 far back; the wind ruffled the bright hair about her 
 forehead; the wonder and glory and delight of it all 
 made her deep eyes shine with a child s curiosity 
 and avid wishfulness. Her lips were parted in uncon 
 scious smiles. White and red, tremulous, on tiptoe, 
 the eager soul looking out of her face, she was very 
 beautiful. The man in the automobile observed her 
 kindly; the woman s features she could not quite see, 
 though the veil was parted. 
 
 Neither Johnnie nor the driver of the car saw the 
 quick, resentful glance her companion shot at the 
 city man as Shade noted the latter s admiring look at 
 the girl. Buckheath displayed an awesome familiarity 
 with the machine and its workings, crawling under 
 the body, and tapping it here and there with a wrench 
 its driver supplied. They backed it and moved it 
 a little, and seemed to be debating the short turn which
 
 A PEAK IN DARIEN 29 
 
 would take them into the driveway leading up to a 
 house on the slope above the road. 
 
 Johnnie continued to watch with fascinated eyes; 
 Shade was on his feet now, reaching into the bowels 
 of the machine to do mysterious things. 
 
 "It s a broken connection/ he announced briefly. 
 
 "Is the wire too short to twist together?" inquired 
 the man in the car. "Will you have to put in a new 
 piece ?" 
 
 "Uh-huh," assented Buckheath. 
 
 "There s a wire in that box there," directed the 
 other. 
 
 Shade worked in silence for a moment. 
 
 "Now she ll go," I reckon," he announced, and 
 once more the driver started up his car. It curved 
 perilously near the bundle she had set down, with the 
 handkerchief containing her cherished blossom lying 
 atop; the mud-guard swept this latter off, and Buck- 
 heath set a foot upon it as he followed the machine 
 in its progress. 
 
 "Take care that was a flower," the man in the 
 auto warned, too late. 
 
 Shade answered with a quick, backward-flung glance 
 and a little derisive laugh, but no words. The young 
 fellow stopped the machine, jumped down, and picked 
 up the coarse little handkerchief which showed a bit 
 of drooping green stem at one end and a glimpse of 
 pink at the other. 
 
 "I m sorry," he said, presenting it to Johnnie with 
 exactly the air and tone he had used in speaking to the
 
 30 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 lady who was with him in the car. "If I had seen it in 
 time, I might have saved it. I hope it s not much hurt." 
 
 Buckheath addressed himself savagely to his work 
 at the machine. The woman in the auto glanced uneas 
 ily up at the house on the slope above them. Johnnie 
 looked into the eyes bent so kindly upon her, and could 
 have worshipped the ground on w^hich their owner 
 trod. Kindness always melted her heart utterly, but 
 kindness with such beautiful courtesy added this 
 was the quality in flower. 
 
 " It doesn t make any differ," she said softly, turning 
 to him a rapt, transfigured face. "It s just a bloom 
 I brought from the mountains they don t grow 
 in the valley, and I found this one on my way down." 
 
 The man wondered a little if it were only the glow 
 of the sunset that lit her face with such shining beauty; 
 he noted how the fires of it flowed over her bright, 
 blown hair and kindled its colour, how it lingered in 
 the clear eyes, and flamed upon the white neck and 
 throat till they had almost the translucence of pearl. 
 
 " I think this thing 11 work now for a spell, any 
 how," Shade Buckheath s voice sounded sharply from 
 the road behind them. 
 
 "Are you afraid to attempt it, Miss Sessions?" the 
 young man called to his companion. " If you are, 
 we ll walk up, I ll telephone at the house for a trap 
 and we ll drive back Buckheath will take the ma 
 chine in for us." 
 
 The voice was even and low-toned, yet every word 
 came to Johnnie distinctly. She watched with a sort
 
 A PEAK IX DARIEN 31 
 
 of rapture the movements of this party. The man s 
 hair was dark and crisp, and worn a little long about 
 the temples and ears; he had pleasant dark eyes and 
 an air of being slightly amused, even when he did not 
 smile. The lady apparently said that she was not 
 afraid, for her companion got in, the machine nego 
 tiated the turn safely and began to move slowly up the 
 steep ascent. As it did so, the driver gave another 
 glance toward where the mountain girl stood, a swift, 
 kind glance, and a smile that stayed with her after 
 the shining car had disappeared in the direction of 
 the wide-porched building where people were laughing 
 and calling to each other and moving about people 
 dressed in beautiful garments which Johnnie would 
 fain have inspected more closely. 
 
 Buckheath stood gazing at her sarcastically. 
 
 "Come on," he ordered, as she held back, lingering. 
 " They ain t no good in you hangin round here. That 
 was Mr. Gray Stoddard, and the lady he s beauin 
 is Miss Lydia Sessions, Mr. Hardwick s sister-in-law. 
 He s for such as her not for you. He s the boss of 
 the bosses down at Cottonville. No use of you lookin 
 at him." 
 
 Johnnie scarcely heard the words. Her eyes were 
 on the wide porch of the house above them. 
 
 "What is that place :" she inquired in an awestruck 
 whisper, as she fell into step submissively, plodding 
 with bent head at his shoulder. 
 
 "The Country Club," Shade flung back at her. 
 " Did you low it was heaven ?"
 
 32 
 
 Heaven! Johnnie brooded on that for a long time. 
 She turned her head stealthily for a last glimpse of 
 the portico where a laughing girl tossed a ball to a 
 young fellow on the terrace below. After all, heaven 
 was not so far amiss. She had rather associated it 
 with the abode of the blest. The people in it were 
 happy; they moved in beautiful raiment all day long; 
 they spoke to each other kindly. It was love s home, 
 she was sure of that. Then her mind went back to 
 the dress of the girl in the auto. 
 
 "I m a-going to have me a frock like that before 
 I die," she said, half unconsciously, yet with a sudden 
 passion of resolution. "Yes, if I live I m a-goin 
 to have me just such a frock." 
 
 Shade wheeled in his tracks with a swift narrowing 
 of the slate-gray eyes. He had been more stirred tfcan 
 he was willing to acknowledge by the girl s beauty, 
 and by a nameless power that went out from the seem 
 ingly helpless creature and laid hold of those with 
 whom she came in contact. It was the open admira 
 tion of young Stoddard which had roused the sullen 
 resentment he was now spending on her. 
 
 "Ye air, air ye?" he demanded sharply. "You re 
 a-goin to have a frock like that ? And what man s, 
 a-goin to pay for it, I d like to know?" 
 
 Such talk belonged to the valley and the settlement. 
 In the mountains a woman works, of course, and earns 
 her board and keep. She is a valuable industrial 
 possession or chattel to the man, who may profit by 
 her labour; never a luxury a bill of expense. As
 
 A PEAK IN DARIEN 33 
 
 she walked, Johnnie nodded toward the factory in 
 the valley, beginning to blaze with light her bridge of 
 toil, that was to carry her from the island of Nowhere 
 to the great mainland of Life, where everything might 
 be had for the working, the striving. 
 
 "I didn t name no man," she said mildly. "I don t 
 reckon anybody s goin to give me things. Ain t there 
 the factory where a body may work and earn money 
 for all they need ?" 
 
 "Well, I reckon they might, if they was good and 
 careful to need powerful little," allowed Shade. 
 
 At the moment they came to the opening of a small 
 path which plunged abruptly down the steep side of 
 the ridge, curving in and out with and sometimes 
 across a carriage road. As they took the first steps 
 Oii*this the sun forsook the valley at last, and lingered 
 only on the mountain top where was that Palace of 
 Pleasure into which He and She had vanished, before 
 which the strange chariot waited. And all at once 
 the little brook that wound, a golden thread, between 
 the bulk of the mills, flowed, a stream of ink, from 
 pool to pool of black water. The way down turned 
 and turned; and each time that Shade and Johnnie 
 got another sight of the buildings of the little village 
 below, they had changed in character with the changing 
 point of view. They loomed taller, they looked darker 
 in spite of the pulsing light from their many windows. 
 
 And now there burst out a roar of whistles, like 
 the bellowing of great monsters. Somehow it struck 
 cold upon the girl s heart. They were coming down
 
 34 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 from that wonderful highland where she had seemed 
 to see all the kingdoms of earth spread before her, 
 hers for the conquering; they were descending into 
 the shadow. 
 
 As they came quite to the foot they saw groups of 
 women and children, with here and there a decrepit 
 man, leaving the cottages and making their way toward 
 the lighted mills. From the doors of little shanties 
 tired-faced women with boys and girls walking near 
 them, and, in one or two cases, very small ones cling 
 ing to their skirts and hands, reinforced the crowd 
 which set in a steady stream toward the bridges and 
 the open gates in the high board fences. 
 
 "What are they a-goin to the factory for on Sun 
 day evening?" Johnnie inquired. 
 
 "Night turn," replied Buckheath briefly. "Sun 
 day s over at sundown." 
 
 "Oh, yes," agreed Johnnie dutifully, but rather 
 disheartened. " Trade must be mighty good if they 
 have to work all night." 
 
 "Them that works don t get any more for it," 
 retorted Shade harshly. 
 
 "What s the little ones goin to the mill for?" 
 Johnnie questioned, staring up at him with appre 
 hensive eyes. 
 
 " Why, to play, I reckon," returned the young fellow 
 ironically. "Folks mostly does go to the mill to play, 
 don t they ?" 
 
 The girl ran forward and clasped his arm with 
 eager fingers that shook.
 
 A PEAK IN DARIEN 35 
 
 "Shade!" she cried; "they can t work those little 
 babies. That one over there ain t to exceed four 
 year old, and I know it." 
 
 The man looked indifferently to where a tiny boy 
 trotted at his mother s heels, solemn, old-faced, unchild- 
 ish. He laughed a little. 
 
 "That thar chap is the oldest feller in the mills," 
 he said. "That s Benny Tarbox. He s too short 
 to tend a frame, but his maw lets him help her at the 
 loom every weaver has obliged to have helpers 
 wait on em. You ll get used to it." 
 
 Get used to it! She pulled the sunbonnet about 
 her face. The gold was all gone from the earth, and 
 from her mood as well. She raised her eyes to where 
 the last brightness lingered on the mountain-top. Up 
 there they were happy. And even as her feet carried 
 her forward to Pap Himes s boarding-house, her soul 
 went clamouring, questing back toward the heights, 
 and the sunlight, the love and laughter, she had left 
 behind. 
 
 "The power and the glory the power and the 
 glory," she whispered over and over to herself. "Is 
 it all back there ?" Again she looked wistfully toward 
 the heights. "But maybe a body with two feet can 
 climb."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 OF THE USE OF FEET 
 
 THE suburb of Cottonville bordered a creek, a 
 starveling, wet-weather stream which offered 
 the sole suggestion of sewerage. The village 
 was cut in two by this natural division. It clung to the 
 shelving sides of the shallow ravine; it was scattered 
 like bits of refuse on the numerous railroad embank 
 ments, where building was unhandy and streets almost 
 impossible, to be convenient to the mills. Six big 
 factories in all, some on one side of the state line and 
 some on the other, daily breathed in their live current 
 of operatives and exhaled them again to fill the litter 
 of flimsy shanties. 
 
 The road which wound down from the heights ran 
 through the middle of the village and formed its main 
 street. Across the ravine from it, reached by a wooden 
 bridge, stood a pretentious frame edifice, a boarding- 
 house built by the Gloriana mill for the use of its office 
 force and mechanics. Men were lounging on the wide 
 porches of this structure in Sabbath-afternoon leisure, 
 smoking and singing. The young Southern male of 
 any class is usually melodious. Across the hollow 
 came the sounds of a guitar and a harmonica. 
 
 "Listen a minute, Shade. Ain t that pretty? I 
 
 36
 
 OF THE USE OF FEET 37 
 
 know that tune," said Johnnie, and she began to hum 
 softly under her breath, her girlish heart responding 
 to the call. 
 
 "Hush," admonished Buckheath harshly. "You 
 don t want to be runnin after them fellers. It s some 
 of the loom-fixers." 
 
 In silence he led the way past the great mill buildings 
 of red brick, square and unlovely but many-windowed 
 and glowing, alight, throbbing with the hum of pent 
 industry. Johnnie gazed steadily up at those windows; 
 the glow within was other than that which gilded 
 turret and pinnacle and fairy isle in the Western sky, 
 yet perchance this light might be a lamp to the feet 
 of one who wished to climb that way. Her adventur 
 ous spirit rose to the challenge, and she said softly, more 
 to herself than to the man: 
 
 "I m a-goin to be a boss hand in there. I m goin 
 to get the highest wages of any girl in the mill, time 
 I learn my trade, because I m goin to try harder n 
 anybody." 
 
 Shade looked around at her, curiously. Her beauty, 
 her air of superiority, still repelled him such fancy 
 articles were not apt to be of much use but this 
 sounded like a woman who might be valuable to her 
 master. 
 
 Johnnie returned his gaze with the frank good will 
 of a child, and suddenly he forgot everything but the 
 adorable lift of her pink lip over the shining white 
 teeth. 
 
 The young fellow now halted at the step of a big frame
 
 38 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 house. The outside was of an extent to seem fairly 
 pretentious; yet so mean was the construction, so spar 
 ing of window and finish, that the building showed itself 
 instantly for what it was the cheap boarding-house 
 of a mill town. A group of tired-looking girls sitting 
 on the step in blessed Sunday idleness and cheap 
 Sunday finery stared as he and Johnnie ascended and 
 crossed the porch. One of these, a tall lank woman 
 of perhaps thirty years, got up and followed a few hesi 
 tating paces, apparently more as a matter of curiosity 
 than with any hospitable intent. 
 
 A man with a round red face and a bald pate whose 
 curly fringe of grizzled, reddish hair made him look like 
 a clown in a pantomime, motioned them with a surly 
 thumb toward the back of the house, where clattering 
 preparations for supper were audible and odoriferous. 
 The old fellow sat in a splint-bottomed chair of extra 
 size and with arms. This he had kicked back against 
 the wall of the house, so that his short legs did not 
 reach the floor, the big carpet-slippered feet finding 
 rest on the rung of the chair. His attitude was one 
 of relaxation. The face, broad, flat, small of eye 
 and wide of mouth, did indeed suggest the clown coun 
 tenance; yet there was in it, and in the whole personality, 
 something of the Eastern idol, the journeyman attempt 
 of crude humanity to represent power. And the potential 
 cruelty of the type slept in his placid countenance as 
 surely as ever in the dreaming faceof Shiva, the destroyer. 
 
 " Mrs. Bence Aunt Mavity," called Shade, advanc 
 ing into the narrow hall. In answer a tired-faced
 
 OF THE USE OF FEET 39 
 
 woman came from the kitchen, wiping her hands 
 on her checked apron. 
 
 "Good Lord, if it ain t Johnnie! I was feared 
 she wouldn t git here to-night," she ejaculated when 
 she saw the girl. "Take her out on the porch, Shade; 
 I ain t got a minute now. Pap s poorly again, and 
 I m obliged to put the late supper on the table for them 
 thar gals the night shift s done eat and gone. I ll 
 show her whar she s to sleep at, after while. I don t 
 just rightly know whar Pap aimed to have her stay," 
 she concluded hastily, as something boiled over on the 
 stove. Johnnie set her bundle down in the corner 
 of the kitchen. 
 
 "I ll help," she said simply, as she drew the excited 
 coffee-pot to a corner of the range and dosed it judi 
 ciously with cold water. 
 
 "Well, now, that s mighty good of you," panted 
 worried Mavity Bence. "How queer things comes 
 round," she ruminated as they dished up the biscuits 
 and fried pork. "I helped you into the very world, 
 Johnnie. I lived neighbour to your maw, and they 
 wasn t nobody else to be with her when you was born, 
 and I went over. I never suspicioned that you would 
 be helpin me git supper down here in the settlement 
 inside o twenty year." 
 
 Johnnie ran and fetched and carried, as though she 
 had never done anything else in her life, intent on the 
 one task. She was alive in every fibre of her young 
 body; she saw, she heard, as these words cannot always 
 be truthfully applied to people.
 
 40 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 "Did Shade tell you anything about Louvania?" 
 inquired the woman at length. 
 
 "No," replied Johnnie softly, "but I seen it in the 
 paper." 
 
 Louvania Bence, the only remaining child of the 
 widow, had, two weeks before, left her work at the 
 mill, taken the trolley in to Watauga, walked out upon 
 the county bridge across the Tennessee and jumped 
 off. Johnnie had read the published account, passed 
 from hand to hand in the mountains where Pap Himes 
 and Mavity Bence had troops of kin and where Lou 
 vania was born. The statement ran that there was no 
 love affair, and that the girl s distaste for her work 
 at the cotton mill must have been the reason for the 
 suicide. 
 
 "That there talk in the newspaper wasn t right," 
 Louvania s mother choked. "They wasn t a word 
 of truth in it. You know in reason that if Louvany 
 hated to work in the mill as bad as all that she d have 
 named it to me her own mother and she never 
 did. She never spoke a word like it, only to say now 
 and ag in, as we all do, that it was hard, and that she d 
 - well, she did low she d ruther be dead, as gals will; 
 but she couldn t have meant it. Do you think she 
 could have meant it, Johnnie?" 
 
 The faded eyes, clouded now by tears, stared up into 
 Johnnie s clear young orbs. 
 
 "Of course she couldn t have meant it," Johnnie 
 comforted her. "Why, I m sure it s fine to work in 
 the mill. If she didn t feel so, she d have told you the
 
 OF THE USE OF FEET 41 
 
 first thing. She must have been out of her mind. 
 People always are when they do that." 
 
 "That s what I keep a-thinkin ," the poor mother 
 said, clinging pathetically to that which gave her 
 consolation and cheer. " I say to myself that it must 
 have been some brain disease took her all of a sudden 
 and made her crazy that-a-way; because God knows 
 she had nothing to fret her nor drive her to such." 
 
 By this time the meal was on the table, and the 
 girls trooped in from the porch. The old man with the 
 bald pate was seating himself at the head of the board, 
 and Johnnie asked the privilege of helping wait on table. 
 
 "No, you ain t a-goin to," Mrs. Bence said hos 
 pitably, pushing her into a seat. "If you start in to 
 work in the morning, like I reckon you will, you ain t 
 got no other time to get acquainted with the gals but 
 right now. You set down. We don t take much 
 waitin on. We all pass things, and reach for what 
 we want." 
 
 In the smoky illumination of the two ill-cleaned 
 lamps which stood one at each end of the table, 
 Johnnie s fair face shone out like a star. The tall 
 woman who had shown a faint interest in them on 
 the porch was seated just opposite. Her bulging 
 light-blue eyes scarcely left the newcomer s countenance 
 as she absent-mindedly filled her mouth. She was a 
 scant, stringy-looking creature, despite her height; 
 the narrow back was hooped like that of an old woman 
 and the shoulders indrawn, so that the chest was 
 cramped, and sent forth a wheezy, flatted voice that
 
 42 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 sorted ill with her inches; her round eyes had no 
 speculation in them; her short chin was obstinate with 
 out power; the thin, half-gray hair that wanted to 
 curl feebly about her lined forehead was stripped 
 away and twisted in a knot no bigger than a walnut, 
 at the back of a bent head. 
 
 For some time the old man at the end of the table 
 stowed himself methodically with victuals; his air was 
 that of a man packing a box; then he brought his 
 implements to half-rest, as it were, and gave a divided 
 attention to the new boarder. 
 
 "What did I hear them call yo name?" he inquired 
 gruffly. 
 
 Johnnie repeated her title and gave him one of 
 those smiles that went with most of her speeches. 
 It seemed to suggest things to the old sinner. 
 
 "Huh," he grunted; "I riccollect ye now. Yo 
 pap was a Consadine, but you re old Virgil Passmore s 
 grandchild. One of the borryin Passmores," he 
 added, staring coolly at Johnnie. "Virge was a fine, 
 upstandin old man. You ve got the favour of him 
 - if you wasn t a gal." 
 
 He evidently shared Schopenhauer s distaste for 
 "the low-statured, wide-hipped, narrow-shouldered 
 sex." 
 
 The girls about the table were all listening eagerly. 
 Johnnie had the sensation of a freshman who has 
 walked out on the campus too well dressed. 
 
 "Virge was a great beau in his day," continued Pap, 
 reminiscently. "He liked to wear good clothes, too.
 
 43 
 
 I mind how he borried Abner Wimberly s weddin 
 coat and wore it something like ten year showed it off 
 fine it fitted him enough sight better than it ever 
 fitted little old Ab. Then he comes back to Wimberly 
 at the end of so long a time with the buttons. He says, 
 says he, Looks like that thar cloth yo coat was made 
 of wasn t much count, Ab, says he. I think Jeeters 
 cheated ye on it. But the buttons was good. The 
 buttons wore well. And them I m bringin back, 
 caze you may have use for em, and I have none, 
 now the coat s gone. Also, what I borry I return, as 
 everybody knows. That was your granddaddy." 
 
 There was a tremendous giggling about the board 
 as the old man made an end. Johnnie herself smiled, 
 though her face was scarlet. She had no words to tell 
 
 O 
 
 her tormentor that the borrowing trait in her tribe 
 which had earned them the name of the borrowing 
 Passmores proceeded not from avarice, which ate 
 into Pap Himes s very marrow, but from its reverse 
 trait of generosity. She knew vaguely that they would 
 have shared with a neighbour their last bite or dollar, 
 and had thus never any doubt of being shared with 
 nor any shame in the asking. 
 
 "Yes," pursued Himes, surveying Johnnie chuck- 
 lingly, "I mind when you was born. Has your Uncle 
 Pros found his silver mine yet?" 
 
 "My mother has often told me how good you and 
 Mrs. Bence was to us when I was little," answered 
 Johnnie mildly. "No, sir, Uncle Pros hasn t found 
 his silver mine yet but he s still a-hunting for it."
 
 44 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 The reply appeared to delight Himes. He laughed 
 immoderately, even as Buckheath had done. 
 
 "I ll bet he is," he agreed. "Pros Passmore s 
 goin to hunt that there silver mine till he finds another 
 hole in the ground about six feet long and six feet deep 
 - that s what he s a-goin to do." 
 
 The hasty supper was well under way now. Mrs. 
 Bence brought the last of the hot bread, and shuffled 
 into a seat. The old man at the head of the board 
 returned to his feeding, but with somewhat moderated 
 voracity. At length, pretty fully gorged, he raised 
 his head from over his plate and looked about him for 
 diversion. Again his attention was directed to the new 
 girl. 
 
 "Air ye wedded?" he challenged suddenly. 
 
 She shook her head and laughed. 
 
 "Got your paigs sot for to git any one?" he fol 
 lowed up his investigations. 
 
 Johnnie laughed more than ever, and blushed 
 again. 
 
 "How old air ye?" demanded her inquisitor. 
 "Eighteen? Most nineteen? Good Lord! You re 
 a old maid right now. Well, don t you let twenty 
 go by without gittin your hooks on a man. My ex 
 perience is that when a gal gits to be twenty an 
 ain t wedded or got her paigs sot for to wed she s 
 left. Left," he concluded impressively. 
 
 That quick smile of Johnnie s responded. 
 
 "I reckon I ll do my best," she agreed reasonably; 
 "but some folks can do that and miss it."
 
 OF THE USE OF FEET 45 
 
 Himes nodded till he set the little red curls all 
 bobbing around the bare spot. 
 
 "Uh-huh," he approved, "I reckon that s so. 
 Women is plenty, and men hard to git. Here s Mandy 
 Meacham, been puttin in her best licks for thirty year 
 or more, an won t never make it." 
 
 Johnnie did not need to be told which one was 
 Mandy. The sallow cheek of the tall woman across 
 from her reddened; the short chin wabbled a bit more 
 than the mastication of the biscuit in hand demanded; 
 a moisture appeared in the inexpressive blue eyes; 
 but she managed a shaky laugh to assist the chorus 
 which always followed Pap Himes s little jokes. 
 
 The old man held a sort of state among these poor 
 girls, and took tribute of admiration, as he had taken 
 tribute of life and happiness from daughter and 
 granddaughter. Gideon Himes was not actively a 
 bad man; he was as without personal malice as malaria. 
 When it makes miserable those about it, or robs a eirl 
 
 * o 
 
 of her pink cheeks, her bright eyes, her joy of life, 
 wearing the elasticity out of her step and making an 
 old woman of her before her time, we do not fly into 
 a rage at it we avoid it. The Pap Himeses of this 
 world are to be avoided if possible. 
 
 Mandy stared at her plate in mortified silence. 
 Johnnie wished she could think of something pleasant 
 to say to the poor thing, when her attention was 
 diverted by the old man once more addressing herself. 
 
 "You look stout and hearty; if you learn to weave 
 as fast as you ort, and git so you can tend five or six
 
 46 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 looms, I ll bet you git a husband," he remarked in a 
 burst of generosity. "I ll bet you do; and what s 
 more, I ll speak a good word for ye. A gal that s a 
 peart weaver s mighty apt to find a man. You learn 
 your looms if you want to git wedded and I know 
 in reason you do it s about all gals of your age 
 thinks of." 
 
 When supper was over Johnnie was a little surprised 
 to see the tall woman approach Pap Himes like a small 
 child begging a favour of a harsh taskmaster. 
 
 "Can t that there new girl bunk with me?" she 
 inquired earnestly. 
 
 "I had the intention to give her Louvany s bed," 
 Pap returned promptly. "As long as nobody s with 
 you, I reckon I don t care; but if one comes in, you 
 take em, and she goes with Mavity, mind. I cain t 
 waste room, poor as I am." 
 
 Piloted by the tall girl, Johnnie climbed the narrow 
 stair to a long bare room where a row of double beds 
 accommodated eight girls. The couch she was to 
 occupy had been slept in during the day by a mill hand 
 who was on night turn, and it had not been remade. 
 Deftly Johnnie straightened and spread it, while her 
 partner grumbled. 
 
 "What s the use o doin that?" Mandy inquired, 
 stretching herself and yawning portentously. "We ll 
 jist muss it all up in about two minutes. When you ve 
 worked in a mill as long as I have you ll git over the 
 notion of makin your bed, for hit s but a notion." 
 
 Johnnie laughed across her shoulder.
 
 OF THE USE OF FEET 47 
 
 "I d just as soon do it," she reassured her compan 
 ion. "I do love smooth bedclothes; looks like I dream 
 better on em and under em." 
 
 Mandy sat down on the edge of the bed, interfering 
 considerably with the final touches Johnnie was putting 
 to it. 
 
 "You re a right good gal," she opined patronizingly, 
 "but foolish. The new ones always is foolish. I can 
 put you up to a-many a thing that ll help you along, 
 though, and I m willin to do it." 
 
 Again Johnnie smiled at her, that smile of enveloping 
 sweetness and tenderness. It made something down 
 in the left side of poor Mandy s slovenly dress-bodice 
 vibrate and tingle. 
 
 "I ll thank you mightily," said Johnnie Consadine, 
 " mightily." And knew not how true a word she spoke. 
 
 "You see," counselled Mandy from the bed into 
 which she had rolled with most of her clothes on, 
 "you want to get in with Miss Lydia Sessions and the 
 Uplift ladies, and them thar swell folks." 
 
 Johnnie nodded, busily at work making a more 
 elaborated night toilet than the others, who were going 
 to bed all about them, paying little attention to their 
 conversation. 
 
 "Miss Lyddy she ain t as young as she once was, 
 and the boys has quit hangin round her as much as 
 they used to; so now she has took up with good works," 
 the girl on the bed explained with a directness which 
 Miss Sessions would not perhaps have appreciated. 
 "Her and some other of the nobby folks has started
 
 48 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 what they call a Uplift club amongst the mill girls. 
 Thar s a big room whar you dance if you can - 
 and whar they give little suppers for us with not much 
 to eat; and thar s a place where they sorter preach 
 to ye lecture she calls it. I don t know what-all 
 Miss Lyddy hain t got for her club. But you jist go, 
 and listen, and say how much obliged you are, an 
 she ll do a lot for you, besides payin your wages to 
 get you out of the mill any day she wants you for the 
 Upliftin business." 
 
 Mandy had a gasp, which occurred between sentences 
 and at the end of certain words, with grotesque effect. 
 Johnnie was to find that this gasp was always very 
 much to the fore when Mandy was being uplifted. 
 It then served variously as the gasp of humility, grati 
 tude, admiration; the gasp of chaste emotion, the gasp 
 of reprobation toward others who did not come 
 forward to be uplifted. 
 
 " Did you say there was books at that club ? " inquired 
 Johnnie out of the darkness she had now extin 
 guished the light. "Can a body learn things from the 
 lectures ? " 
 
 "Uh-huh," agreed Mandy sleepily; "but you don t 
 have to read em the books. They lend em to you, 
 and you take em home, and after so long a time you 
 take em back sayin how much good they done you. 
 That s the way. If Mr. Stoddard s round, he ll ask 
 you questions about em; but Miss Lyddy won t - 
 she hates to find out that any of her plans ain t workin ." 
 
 For a long time there was silence. Mandy was just
 
 OF THE USE OF FEET 49 
 
 dropping off into her first heavy sleep, when a whisper 
 ing voice asked, 
 
 " Is Mr. Stoddard has he got right brown eyes 
 and right brown hair, and does he ride in one of these 
 - one of these - 
 
 "Good land!" grumbled the addressed, "I thought 
 it was mornin and I had to git up! You ort to been 
 asleep long ago. Yes, Mr. Stoddard s got sorter 
 brown eyes and hair, and he rides in a otty-mobile. 
 How did you know?" 
 
 But Mandy was too tired to stay awake to marvel 
 over that. Her rhythmic snores soon proved that she 
 slept, while Johnnie lay thinking of the various proffers 
 she had that evening received of a lamp to her feet, 
 a light on her path. And she would climb yes, she 
 would climb. Not by the road Pap Himes pointed out; 
 not by the devious path Mandy Meacham suggested; 
 but by the rugged road of good, honest toil, to heights 
 where was the power and the glory, she would certainly 
 strive. 
 
 She conned over the new things which this day had 
 brought. Again she saw the auto swing around the 
 curve and halt; she got the outline of the man s bent 
 head against the evening sky. They were singing again 
 over at the mechanics boarding-house; the sound came 
 across to her window; the vibrant wires, the chorus of 
 deep male voices, even the words she knew they were 
 using but could not distinguish, linked themselves 
 in some fashion with memory of a man s eyes, his 
 smile, his air of tender deference as he cherished her
 
 50 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 broken flower. Something caught in her throat and 
 choked. Her mind veered to the figures on the porch 
 of that Palace of Pleasure; the girl with the ball tossing 
 it to the young fellow below on the lawn. In memory 
 she descended the hill, coming down into the shadows 
 with each step, looking back to the heights and the light. 
 Well, she had said that if one had feet one might 
 climb, and to-night the old man had tried to train her 
 to his pace for attaining heart s desire. In the midst 
 of a jumble of autos and shining mill windows, she 
 watched the room grow ghostly with the light of a late- 
 risen moon. Suddenly afar off she heard the "honk! 
 honk! honk!" which had preceded the advent of the 
 car on the ridge road. 
 
 Getting up, she stole to the one window which the 
 long room afforded. It gave upon the main street of 
 the village. "Honk! honk! honk!" She gazed toward 
 the steep from which the sounds seemed to come. 
 There, flashing in and out of the greenery, appeared 
 half a dozen pairs of fiery eyes. A party of motorists 
 were going in to Watauga, starting from the Country 
 Club on the Ridge crest. Johnnie watched them, 
 fascinated. As the foremost car swept down the road 
 and directly beneath her window, its driver, whom she 
 recognized with a little shiver, by the characteristic 
 carriage of his head, swerved the machine out and 
 stopped it at the curb below. The others passed, calling 
 gay inquiries to him. 
 
 "We re all right," she heard a well-remembered voice 
 reply. "You go ahead we ll be there before you."
 
 OF THE USE OF FEET 51 
 
 The slim, gray-clad figure in the seat beside him 
 laughed softly and fluttered a white handkerchief as 
 the last car went on. 
 
 "Now!" exulted the voice. "I ll put on my goggles 
 and cap and we ll show them what running is. 
 
 It s they ll take the high road and we ll take the low, 
 And we ll be in Watauga befo-o-ore them!" 
 
 Even as he spoke he adjusted his costume, and 
 Johnnie saw the car shoot forward like a living crea 
 ture eager on the trail. She sighed as she looked after 
 them. 
 
 Feet of what use were feet to follow such a flight 
 as that ?
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE MOCCASIN FLOWER 
 
 JOHNNIE was used to hardship and early rising, 
 but in an intermittent fashion; for the Passmores 
 and Consadines were a haggard lot that came to 
 no lure but their own pleasure. They might and 
 often did go hungry, ill-clad, ill-housed; they might 
 sometimes in order to keep soul and body together 
 have to labour desperately at rude tasks unsuited to 
 them; *but these times were exceptions, and between 
 such seasons, down to the least of the tribe, they had 
 always followed the Vision, pursuing the flying skirts 
 of whatever ideal was in their shapely heads. The 
 little cabin in the gash of the hills owned for do 
 main a rocky ravine that was the standing jest of the 
 mountain-side. 
 
 "Sure, hit s good land fine land," the moun 
 taineers would comment with their inveterate, dry, 
 lazy humour. "Nothing on earth to hender a man 
 from raisin a crap off n it ef he could once git the 
 leathers on a good stout, willin pa r o hawks or buz 
 zards, an a plough hitched to em." And Johnnie 
 could remember the other children teasing her and 
 saying that her folks had to load a gun with seed corn 
 and shoot it into the sky to reach their fields. Yet, 
 
 5 2
 
 THE MOCCASIN FLOWER 53 
 
 the unmended roof covered much joy and good feeling. 
 They were light feet that trod the unsecured puncheons. 
 The Passmores were tender of each other s eccen 
 tricities, admiring of each other s virtues. A wolf 
 race nourished on the knees of purple kings, how 
 should they ever come down to wearing any man s 
 collar, to slink at heel and retrieve for him ? 
 
 One would have said that to the daughter of such 
 the close cotton-mill room with its inhuman clamour, 
 its fetid air, its long hours of enforced, monotonous, 
 mechanical toil, would be prison with the torture added. 
 But Johnnie looked forward to her present enterprise 
 as a soldier going into a new country to conquer it. 
 She was buoyantly certain, and determinedly delighted 
 with everything. When, the next morning after her 
 arrival, Mandy Meacham shook her by the shoulder 
 and bade her get up, the room was humming with 
 the roar of mill whistles, and the gray dawn leaking 
 in at its one window in a churlish, chary fashion, re 
 minded her that they were under the shadow of a moun 
 tain instead of living upon its top. 
 
 "I don t see what in the world could a made me 
 sleep so!" Johnnie deprecated, as she made haste to 
 dress herself. "Looks like I never had nothing to 
 do yesterday, except walking down. I ve been on 
 foot that much many a time and never noticed it." 
 
 The other girls in the room, poor souls, were all 
 cross and sleepy. Nobody had time to converse with 
 Johnnie. As they went down the stairs another con 
 tingent began to straggle up, having eaten a hasty
 
 54 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 meal after their night s work, and making now for 
 certain of the just-vacated beds. 
 
 Johnnie ran into the kitchen to help Mrs. Bence 
 get breakfast on the table, for Pap Himes was bad off 
 this morning with a misery somewhere, and his daughter 
 was sending word to the cotton mill to put a substitute on 
 her looms till dinner time. Almost as much to her own 
 surprise as to that of everybody else, Mandy Meacham 
 proposed to stay and take Johnnie in to register for a job. 
 
 When the others were all seated at table, the new 
 girl from the mountains took her cup of coffee and a 
 biscuit and dropped upon the doorstep to eat her break 
 fast. The back yard was unenclosed, a litter of tin 
 cans and ashes running with its desert disorder into 
 a similar one on either side. But there were no houses 
 back of the Himes place, the ground falling away 
 sharply to the rocky creek bed. Across the ravine 
 half a dozen strapping young fellows were lounging, 
 waiting for breakfast; loom-fixers and mechanics 
 these, whose hours were more favourable than those 
 of the women and children workers. 
 
 " It s lots prettier out here than it is in the house," 
 she returned smilingly, when Mavity Bence offered 
 to get her a chair. "I do love to be out-of-doors." 
 
 "Huh," grunted Mandy with her mouth full of bis 
 cuit, " I reckon a cotton mill ll jest about kill you. 
 What makes you work in one, anyhow ? I wouldn t 
 if I could help it." 
 
 Johnnie eyed the tall girl gravely. "I ve got to 
 earn some money," she said at length. "Ma and the
 
 THE MOCCASIN FLOWER 55 
 
 children have to be taken care of. I don t know of 
 any better way than the mill." 
 
 "An I don t know of any worse," retorted Mandy 
 sourly, as they went out together. 
 
 Johnnie began to feel timid. There had been a 
 secret hope that she would meet Shade on the way to 
 the mill, or that Mrs. Bence would finally get through 
 in time to accompany her. She was suddenly aware 
 that there was not a soul within sound of her voice 
 who had belonged to her former world. With a little 
 gasp she looked about her as they entered the office. 
 
 The Hardwick mill to which they now came con 
 sisted of a number of large, red brick buildings, joined 
 by covered passage-ways, abutting on one of those 
 sullen pools Johnnie had noted the night before, the 
 yard enclosed by a tight board fence, so high that the 
 operatives in the first- and second-floor rooms could 
 not see the street. This for the factory portion; the 
 office did not front on the shut-in yard, but opened out 
 freely on to the street, through a little grassy square 
 of its own, tree-shadowed, with paved walks and flower 
 beds. As with all the mills in its district, the sugges 
 tion was dangerously apt of a penitentiary, with its 
 high wooden barrier, around all the building, the only 
 free approach from the world to its corridors through 
 the seemly, humanized office, where abided the heads, 
 the bosses, the free men, who came and went at will. 
 The walls were already beginning to wear that gar 
 ment of green which the American ivy flings over so 
 many factory buildings.
 
 56 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 As the two girls came up, Johnnie looked at the 
 wide, clear, plate windows, the brass railing that 
 guarded the heavy granite approach, the shining name 
 "Hardwick" deep-set in brazen lettering on the step 
 over which they entered. Inside, the polished oak 
 and metal of office fittings carried on the idea of splen 
 dour, if not of luxury. Back of the crystal windows 
 were the tempering shades, all was spacious, ordered 
 with quiet dignity, and there was no sense of hurry in 
 the well-clad, well-groomed figures of men that sat at 
 the massive desks or moved about the softly carpeted 
 floors. The corridor was long, but cleanly swept, 
 and, at its upper portion, covered with a material 
 unfamiliar to Johnnie, but which she recognized as 
 suited to its purpose. Down at the further end of that 
 corridor, something throbbed and moaned and roared 
 and growled the factory was awake there and 
 working. The contrast struck cold to the girl s 
 heart. Here, yet more sharply defined, was the same 
 difference she had noted between the Palace of 
 Pleasure on the heights and the mills at the foot of 
 the mountain. 
 
 Would the people think she was good enough ? 
 Would they understand how hard she meant to try ? 
 For a minute she had a desperate impulse to turn and 
 run. Then she heard Mandy s thin, flatted tones an 
 nouncing: 
 
 "This hyer girl wants to git a job in the mill. Miz 
 Bence, she cain t come down this morning you ll 
 have to git somebody to tend her looms till noon;
 
 THE MOCCASIN FLOWER 57 
 
 Pap, he s sick, and she has obliged to wait on him - 
 so I brung the new gal." 
 
 "All right," said the man she addressed. "She 
 can wait there; you go on to your looms." 
 
 Johnnie sat on the bench against the wall where 
 newcomers applying for positions were placed. The 
 man she was to see had not yet come to his desk, and 
 she remained unnoticed and apparently forgotten for 
 more than an hour. The offices were entered from 
 the other side, yet a doorway close by Johnnie com 
 manded a view of a room and desk. To it presently 
 came one who seated himself and began opening and 
 reading letters. Johnnie caught her breath and leaned 
 a little forward, watching him, her heart in her eyes, 
 hands locked hard together in her lap. It was the 
 young man of the car. He was not in white flannels 
 now, but he looked almost as wonderful to the girl 
 in his gray business suit, with the air of easy com 
 mand, and the quiet half-smile only latent on his face. 
 Shade Buckheath had spoken of Gray Stoddard as 
 the boss of the bosses down at Cottonville. Indeed, 
 his position was unique. Inheritor of large holdings 
 in Eastern cotton-mill stock, he had returned from 
 abroad on the death of his father, to look into this 
 source of his very ample income. The mills in which 
 he was concerned were not earning as they should, 
 so he was told; and there was discussion as to whether 
 they be moved south, or a Southern mill be estab 
 lished which might be considered in the nature of a 
 branch, and where the coarser grades of sheeting
 
 58 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 would be manufactured, as well as all the spinning 
 done. 
 
 But Stoddard was not of the blood that takes opinions 
 second-hand. Upon his mother s side he was the 
 grandson of one of the great anti-slavery agitators. 
 The sister of this man, Gray s great-aunt, had stood 
 beside him on the platform when there was danger 
 in it; and after the Negro was freed and enfranchised, 
 she had devoted a long life to the cause of woman 
 suffrage. The mother who bore him died young. 
 She left him to the care of a conservative father, but 
 the blood that came through her did not make for 
 conservatism. 
 
 Perhaps it was some admixture of his father s traits 
 which set the young man to investigating the cotton- 
 mill situation in his own fashion. To do this as he 
 conceived it should be done, he had hired himself to 
 the Hardwick Spinning Company in an office posi 
 tion which gave him a fair outlook on the business, 
 and put him in complete touch with the practical 
 side of it; yet the facts of the case made the situation 
 evident to those under him as well as his peers. What 
 ever convictions and opinions he was maturing in this 
 year with the Hardwicks, he kept to himself; but he 
 was supposed to hold some socialistic ideas, and 
 Lydia Sessions, James Hardwick s sister-in-law, made 
 her devoir to these by engaging zealously in semi- 
 charitable enterprises among the mill-girls. He was 
 a passionate individualist. The word seems unduly 
 fiery when one remembers the smiling, insouciant
 
 THE MOCCASIN FLOWER 59 
 
 manner of his divergences from the conventional 
 type; yet he was inveterately himself, and not some 
 schoolmaster s or tailor s or barber s version of Gray 
 Stoddard; and in this, though Johnnie did not know 
 it, lay the strength of his charm for her. 
 
 The moments passed unheeded after he came into 
 her field of vision, and she watched him for some time, 
 busy at his morning s work. It took her breath when 
 he raised his eyes suddenly and their glances encoun 
 tered. He plainly recognized her at once, and nodded 
 a cheerful greeting. After a while he got up and came 
 out into the hall, his hands full of papers, evidently 
 on his way to one of the other offices. He paused 
 beside the bench and spoke to her. 
 
 " Waiting for the room boss ? Are they going to 
 put you on this morning?" he asked pleasantly. 
 
 "Yes, I m a-going to get a chance to work right 
 away," she smiled up at him. "Ain t it fine ?" 
 
 The smile that answered hers held something 
 pitying, yet it was a pity that did not hurt or 
 offend. 
 
 "Yes I m sure it s fine, if you think so," said 
 Stoddard, half reluctantly. Then his eye caught the 
 broken pink blossom which Johnnie had pinned to 
 the front of her bodice. "What s that?" he asked. 
 "It looks like an orchid." 
 
 He was instantly apologetic for the word; but 
 Johnnie detached the flower from her dress and held 
 it toward him. 
 
 "It is," she assented. "It s an orchid; and the
 
 60 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 little yellow flower that we-all call the whippoorwill s 
 shoe is an orchid, too." 
 
 Stoddard thrust his papers into his coat pocket, 
 and took the blossom in his hand. 
 
 "That s the pink moccasin flower," Johnnie told 
 him. "They don t bloom in the valley at all, and 
 they re not very plenty in the mountains. I picked 
 this one six miles up on White Oak Ridge yesterday. 
 I reckon I haven t seen more than a dozen of them 
 in my life, and I ve hunted flowers all over 
 Unaka." 
 
 "I never had the chance to analyze one," observed 
 Stoddard. "I d like to get hold of a good specimen." 
 
 "I m sorry this one s broken," Johnnie depre 
 cated. Then her clouded face cleared suddenly with 
 its luminous smile. " If it hadn t been for you I reckon 
 it would have been knocked over the edge of the road," 
 she added. "That s the flower I had in my hand 
 kerchief yesterday evening." 
 
 Stoddard continued to examine the pink blossom 
 with interest. 
 
 "You said it grew up in the mountains and 
 didn t grow in the valley," he reminded her. 
 
 She nodded. "Of course I m not certain about 
 that," and while she spoke he transferred his attention 
 from the flower to the girl. "I really know mighty 
 little about such things, and I ve not been in the valley 
 to exceed ten times in my life. Miss Baird, that taught 
 the school I went to over at Rainy Gap, had a herba 
 rium, and put all kinds of pressed flowers in it. I
 
 THE MOCCASIN FLOWER 61 
 
 gathered a great many for her, and she taught me to 
 analyze them like you were speaking of but I 
 never did love to do that. It seemed like naming over 
 and calling out the ways of your friends, to pull the 
 flower all to pieces and press it and paste it in a book 
 and write down all its its ways and faults." 
 
 Again she smiled up at him radiantly, and the young 
 man s astonished glance went from her dusty, cowhide 
 shoes to the thick roll of fair hair on her graceful head. 
 What manner of mill-girls did the mountains send 
 down to the valley ? 
 
 "But I- began Stoddard deprecatingly, when 
 Johnnie reddened and broke in hastily. 
 
 "Oh, I don t mean that for you. Miss Baird 
 taught me for three years, and I loved her as dearly 
 as I ever could any one. You may keep this flower 
 if you want to; and, come Sunday, I ll get you another 
 one that won t be broken." 
 
 "Why Sunday ?" asked Stoddard. 
 
 "Well, I wouldn t have time to go after them till 
 then, and the ones I know of wouldn t be open before 
 Sunday. I saw just three there by the spring. That s 
 the way they grow, you know two or three in a place, 
 and not another for miles." 
 
 "You saw them growing?" repeated Stoddard. "I 
 should like to see one on its roots, and maybe make 
 a little sketch of it. Couldn t you just as well show 
 me the place Sunday ?" 
 
 For no reason that she could assign, and very 
 much against her will, Johnnie s face flushed deeply.
 
 62 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 "I reckon I couldn t," she answered evasively. 
 " Hit s a long ways up and hit s a long ways 
 up." 
 
 "And yet you re going to walk it after a week s 
 work here in the mill?" persisted Stoddard. "You d 
 better tell me where they grow, and let me go up in 
 my car." 
 
 "I wish t I could," said Johnnie, embarrassed. 
 " But you d never find it in the world. They isn t 
 one thing that I could tell you to know the place by: 
 and you have to leave the road and walk a little piece - 
 oh, it s no use and I don t mind, I d just love to 
 go up there and get the flowers for you." 
 
 "Are you the new girl?" inquired a voice at 
 Johnnie s shoulder. 
 
 They turned to find a squat, middle-aged man regard 
 ing them dubiously. 
 
 "Yes," answered Johnnie, rising. "I ve been wait 
 ing quite a while." 
 
 "Well, come this way," directed the man and, 
 turning, led her away. Down the hall they went, 
 then up a flight of wooden stairs which carried them 
 to a covered bridge, and so to the upper story of the 
 factory. 
 
 "That s an unusual-looking girl." Old Andrew 
 MacPherson made the comment as he received the 
 papers from Stoddard s hands. 
 
 "The one I was speaking to in the hall ?" inquired 
 Stoddard rather unnecessarily. "Yes; she seems to 
 have an unusual mind as well. These mountain
 
 THE MOCCASIN FLOWER 63 
 
 people are peculiar. They appear to have no 
 idea of class, and therefore are in a measure all 
 aristocrats." 
 
 "Well, that ought to square with your socialistic 
 notions," chaffed MacPherson, sorting the work on 
 his desk and pushing a certain portion of it toward 
 Stoddard. "Sit down here, if you please, and we ll go 
 over these now. The girl looked a good deal like a 
 fairy princess. I don t think she s a safe topic for 
 susceptible young chaps like you and me," the grizzled 
 old Scotchman concluded with a chuckle. "Your 
 socialistic hullabaloo makes you liable to foregather 
 with all sorts of impossible people." 
 
 Gray shook his head, laughing, as he seated himself 
 at the desk beside the other. 
 
 "Oh, I m only a theoretical socialist," he depre 
 cated. 
 
 "Hum," grunted the older man. "A theoretical 
 socialist always seemed to me about like a theoretical 
 pickpocket neither of them stands to do much harm. 
 For example, here you are, one of the richest young 
 fellows of my acquaintance, living along very con 
 tentedly where every tenet you profess to hold is daily 
 outraged. You re not giving away your money. You 
 take a healthy interest in a good car, a good dinner, 
 the gals; I m even told you have a fad for old porce 
 lains and yet you call yourself a socialist." 
 
 "These economic conditions are not a pin," answered 
 Gray, smiling. "I don t have to jump and say ouch! 
 the minute I find they prick me. Worse conditions
 
 64 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 have always been, and no doubt bad ones will survive 
 for a time, and pass away as mankind outgrows them. 
 I haven t the colossal conceit to suppose that I can 
 reform the world not even push it much faster 
 toward the destination of good to which it is rolling. 
 But I want to know I want to understand, myself; 
 then if there is anything for me to do I shall do it. 
 It may be that the present conditions are the best 
 possible for the present moment. It may be that if 
 a lot of us got together and agreed, we could better 
 them exceedingly. It is not certain in my mind yet 
 that any growth is of value to humanity which does not 
 proceed from within. This is true of the individual 
 - must it not be true of the class ?" 
 
 "No doubt, no doubt," agreed MacPherson, indif 
 ferently. "Most of the men who are loud in the 
 leadership of socialism have made a failure of their 
 own lives. We ll see what happens when a man who 
 is a personal and economic success sets up to teach." 
 
 "If you mean that very complimentary description 
 for me," said Gray with sudden seriousness, " I will 
 say to you here and now that there is no preacher in 
 me. But when I am a little clearer in my own mind as 
 to what I believe, I shall practise. The only real 
 creed is a manner of life. If you don t live it, you 
 don t really believe it."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 WEAVERS AND WEFT 
 
 THE Hardwick mill was a large one; to the 
 mountain-bred girl it seemed endless, while its 
 clamour and roar was a thing to daunt. They 
 passed through the spinning department, in which the 
 long lines of frames were tended by children, and 
 reached the weaving-rooms whose looms required the 
 attention of women, with here and there a man who 
 had failed to make a success of male occupations and 
 sunk to the ill-paid feminine activities. In a corner 
 of one of these, Johnnie s guide stopped before two 
 silent, motionless looms, and threw on the power. 
 He began to instruct her in their operation, all 
 communication being in dumb show; for the clap 
 ping thunder of the weaving-room instantly snatches 
 the sound from one s lips and batters it into shape- 
 lessness. Johnnie had been an expert weaver on 
 the ancient foot-power looms of the mountains; but 
 the strangeness of the new machine, the noise and 
 her surroundings, bewildered her. When the man 
 saw that she was not likely to injure herself or the 
 looms, he turned away with a careless nod and left 
 her to her fate. 
 
 It was a blowy April day outside, with a gay blue
 
 66 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 sky in which the white clouds raced, drawing barges 
 of shadow over the earth below. But the necessity 
 of keeping dust out of the machinery, the inconvenience 
 of having flying ends carried toward it, closed every 
 window in the big factory, and the operatives gasped 
 in the early heat, the odour of oil, the exhausted air. 
 There was a ventilating system in the Hardwick 
 mill, and it was supposed to be exceptionally free from 
 lint; but the fagged children crowded to the casements 
 with instinctive longing for the outdoor air which could 
 not of course enter through the glass; or plodded their 
 monotonous rounds to tend the frames and see that the 
 thread was running properly to each spool, and that 
 the spools were removed, when filled. 
 
 By noon every nerve in Johnnie s body quivered 
 with excitement and overstrain; yet when Mandy 
 came for her at the dinner hour she showed her a face 
 still resolute, and asked that a snack be brought her 
 to the mill. 
 
 "I don t see why you won t come along home and 
 eat your dinner," the Meacham woman commented. 
 "The Lord knows you get time enough to stay in 
 the mill working over them old looms. Say, I seen 
 you in the hall did you know who you was talk 
 ing to?" 
 
 The red flooded Johnnie s face as she knelt before 
 her loom interrogating its workings with a dexterous 
 hand; even the white nape of her neck showed pink 
 to Mandy s examining eye; but she managed to reply 
 in a fairly even tone:
 
 WEAVERS AND WEFT 67 
 
 "Yes, that was Mr. Stoddard. I saw him yesterday 
 evening when I was coming down the Ridge with Shade." 
 
 " But did you know bout him ? Say Johnnie Con- 
 sadine turn yourself round from that old loom and 
 answer me. I was goin a-past the door, and when I 
 ketched sight o you and him settin there talkin as if 
 you d knowed each other all your lives, why you could 
 have could have knocked me down with a feather." 
 
 Johnnie sat up on her heels and turned a laughing 
 face across her shoulder. 
 
 "I don t see any reason to want to knock you down 
 with anything," she evaded the direct issue. "Go 
 long, Mandy, or you won t have time to eat your 
 dinner. Tell Aunt Mavity to send me just a biscuit 
 and a piece of meat." 
 
 "Good land, Johnnie Consadine, but you re quare!" 
 exclaimed Mandy, staring with bulging light eyes. 
 "If it was me I d be all in a tremble yet and there 
 you sit and talk about meat and bread!" 
 
 Johnnie did not think it necessary to explain that 
 the tremor of that conversation with Stoddard had 
 indeed lasted through her entire morning. 
 
 "There was nothing to tremble about," she remarked 
 with surface calm. "He d never seen a pink moc 
 casin flower, and I gave him the one I had and told 
 him where it grew." 
 
 "Well, he wasn t looking at no moccasin flower 
 when I seed him," Mandy persisted. "He was lookin 
 at you. He jest eyed you as if you was Miss Lydia 
 Sessions herself more so, if anything."
 
 68 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Johnnie inwardly rebuked the throb of joy which 
 greeted this statement. 
 
 "I reckon his looks are his own, Mandy," she said 
 soberly. "You and me have no call to notice them." 
 
 "Ain t got no call to notice em? Well, I jest 
 wish t I could get you and him up in front of Miss 
 Sessions, and have her see them looks of his n," 
 grumbled Mandy as she turned away. "I bet you 
 there d be some noticin done then!" 
 
 When in the evening Mandy came for Johnnie, 
 she found the new mill hand white about the mouth 
 with exhaustion, heavy-eyed, choking, and ready to 
 weep. 
 
 "Uh-huh," said the Meacham woman, "I know 
 just how you feel. They all look that-a-way the first 
 day or two then after that they look worse." 
 
 Nervelessly Johnnie found her way downstairs in 
 the stream of tired girls and women. There was 
 more than one kindly greeting for the new hand, and 
 occasionally somebody clapped her on the shoulder 
 and assured her that a few days more would get her 
 used to the work. The mill yard was large, filled 
 with grass-plots and gravel walks; but it was shut 
 in by a boarding so tall that the street could not be 
 seen from the windows of the lower floor. To Johnnie, 
 weary to the point where aching muscles and blood 
 charged with uneliminated waste spelled pessimism, 
 that high board fence seemed to make of the pretty 
 place a prison yard. 
 
 A man was propping open the big wooden gates, and
 
 WEAVERS AND WEFT 69 
 
 through them she saw the street, the sidewalk, and a 
 carriage drawn up at the curb. In this vehicle sat a 
 lady; and a gentleman, hat in hand, talked to her from 
 the sidewalk. 
 
 "Come on," hissed Mandy, seizing her companion s 
 arm and dragging her forward. "Thar s Miss Lydia 
 Sessions right now, and that s Mr. Stoddard a-talkin 
 to her. I ll go straight up and give you a knock 
 down I want to, anyway. She s the one that runs 
 the Uplift Club. If she takes a shine to you it ll be 
 money in your pocket." 
 
 She turned over her shoulder to glance at Johnnie, 
 who was pulling vigorously back. There was no 
 hint of tiredness or depression in the girl s face now. 
 Her deep eyes glowed; red was again in the fresh lips 
 that parted over the white teeth in an adorable, tremu 
 lous smile. Mandy stared. 
 
 " Hurry up he ll be gittin away," she admon 
 ished. 
 
 "Oh, no," objected the new girl. "Wait till some 
 other time. I I don t want to 
 
 But her remonstrance came too late; Mandy had 
 yanked her forward and was performing the intro 
 duction she so euphoniously described. 
 
 Gray Stoddard turned and bowed to both girls. 
 He carried the broken orchid in his hand, and appar 
 ently had been speaking of it to Miss Sessions. Mandy 
 eyed him narrowly to see if any of the looks she had 
 apprehended as offensive to Miss Sessions went in 
 Johnnie s direction. And she was not disappointed.
 
 ;o THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Stoddard s gaze lingered long on the radiant counte 
 nance of the girl from Unaka. Not so the young women 
 looked after a few months of factory life. He was 
 getting to know well the odd jail-bleach the cotton 
 mill puts on country cheeks, the curious, dulled, yet 
 resentful expression of the eyes, begotten by continuous 
 repetition of excessive hours of trivial, monotonous 
 toil. Would this girl come at last to that favour ? 
 He was a little surprised at the strength of protest in 
 his own heart. Then MacPherson, coming down the 
 office steps, called to him; and, with courteous adieux, 
 the two men departed in company. 
 
 Johnnie was a bit grieved to find that the re 
 moval from Miss Sessions of the shrouding, misty 
 veil revealed a countenance somewhat angular in out 
 line, with cheekbones a trifle hard and high, and a 
 lack of colour. She fancied, too, that Miss Sessions 
 was slightly annoyed about something. She wondered 
 if it was because they had interrupted her conversation 
 with Mr. Stoddard and driven him away. Yet while 
 she so questioned, she was taking in with swift appre 
 ciation the trim set of the driving coat Miss Lydia 
 wore, the appropriate texture of the heavy gloves on 
 the small hands that held the lines, and a certain inde 
 finable air of elegance hard to put into words, but 
 which all women recognize. 
 
 "Ain t she swell?" inquired Mandy, as they passed 
 on. "She s after Mr. Stoddard now it used to be 
 the preacher that had the big church in Watauga, 
 but he moved away. I wish I had her clothes. *
 
 WEAVERS AND WEFT 71 
 
 "Yes," returned Johnnie absently. She had already 
 forgotten her impression of Miss Sessions s displeasure. 
 Gone was the leaden weariness of her day s toil. Some 
 thing intimate and kind in the glance Stoddard had 
 given her remained warm at her heart, and set that 
 heart singing. 
 
 Meantime, Stoddard and MacPherson were walking 
 up the ridge toward the Country Club together, intend 
 ing to spend the night on the highlands. The Scotch 
 man returned once more to the subject he had broached 
 that morning. 
 
 "This is a great country," he opened obliquely, 
 "a very great country. But you Americans will have 
 to learn that generations of blood and breeding are not 
 to be skipped with impunity. See the sons and daugh 
 ters of your rich men. If the hope of the land lay in 
 them it would be a bad outlook indeed." 
 
 "Is that peculiar to America?" asked Stoddard 
 mildly. They were coming under the trees now. 
 He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair 
 to enjoy the coolness. "My impression was that the 
 youthful aristocracy of every country often made of 
 itself a spectacle unseemly." 
 
 The Scotchman laughed. Then he looked sidewise 
 at his companion. "I m not denying," he pursued, 
 again with that odd trick of entering his argument 
 from the side, "that a young chap like yourself has 
 my good word. A man with money who will go to 
 work to find out how that money was made, and to 
 live as his father did, carries an old head on young
 
 72 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 shoulders. I put aside your socialistic vapourings 
 of course every fellow to his fad I see in you the 
 makings of a canny business man." 
 
 It was Stoddard s turn to laugh, and he did so 
 unrestrainedly, throwing back his head and uttering 
 his mirth so boyishly that the other smiled in sympathy. 
 
 "You talk about what s in the blood," Gray said 
 finally, "and then you make light of my socialistic 
 vapourings, as you call them. My mother s clan - 
 and it is from the spindle side that a man gets his traits 
 
 - are all come-outers as far back as I know anything 
 about them. They fought with Cromwell some 
 of them; they came over and robbed the Indians in 
 true sanctimonious fashion, and persecuted the 
 Quakers; and down the line a bit I get some Quaker 
 blood that stood for its beliefs in the stocks, and sac 
 rificed its ears for what it thought right. I m afraid 
 the socialistic vapourings are the true expression of 
 the animal." 
 
 MacPherson grunted incredulously. 
 
 "I give you ten years to be done with it," he said. 
 "It is a disease of youth. But don t let it mark your 
 affairs. It is all right to foregather with these work- 
 ingmen, and find out about their trades-unions and 
 that sort of thing such knowledge will be useful 
 to you in your business. But when it comes to women " 
 
 - MacPherson paused and shook his gray head - 
 "to young, pretty women a man must stick to his 
 own class." 
 
 "You mean the girl in the corridor," said Stoddard
 
 WEAVERS AND WEFT 73 
 
 with that directness which his friends were apt to find 
 disconcerting. "I haven t classified her yet. She s 
 rather an extraordinary specimen." 
 
 "Well, she s not in your class, and best leave her 
 alone," returned MacPherson doggedly. "It wouldn t 
 matter if the young thing were not so beautiful, and 
 with such a winning look in her eyes. This America 
 beats me. That poor lass would make a model prin 
 cess according to common ideals of royalty and 
 here you find her coming out of some hut in the moun 
 tains and going to work in a factory. Miss Lydia Ses 
 sions is a well-bred young woman, now; she s been all 
 over Europe, and profited by her advantages of travel. 
 I call her an exceedingly well-bred person." 
 
 "She is," agreed Stoddard without enthusiasm. 
 
 "And I m sure you must admire her altruistic ideas 
 - they d just fall in with yours, I suppose, now." 
 
 Stoddard shook his head. 
 
 "Not at all," he said briefly. "If you were enough 
 interested in socialism to know what we folks are driv 
 ing at, I could explain to you why we object to chari 
 table enterprises but it s not worth while." 
 
 "Indeed it is not," assented MacPherson hastily. 
 "Though no doubt we might have a fine argument 
 over it some evening when we have nothing better to 
 talk about. I thought you and Miss Sessions were 
 fixing up a match of it, and it struck me as a very 
 good thing, too. The holdings of both of you are in 
 cotton-mill property, I judge. That always makes 
 for harmony and stability in a matrimonial alliance."
 
 74 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Stoddard smiled. He was aware that Miss Lydia s 
 holdings consisted of a complaisant brother-in-law in 
 whose house she was welcome till she could marry. 
 But he said nothing on this head. 
 
 " MacPherson," he began very seriously, " I wonder 
 a little at you, I know you old-world people regard 
 these things differently; but could you look at Mrs. 
 Hardwick s children, and seriously recommend Mrs. 
 Hardwick s sister as a wife for a friend ?" 
 
 Old MacPherson stopped in the way, thrust his 
 hands deep in his pockets and stared at the younger 
 man. 
 
 "Well!" he ejaculated at last; "that s a great speech 
 for a hot-headed young fellow! Your foresight is 
 worthy of a Scotchman." 
 
 Gray Stoddard smiled. "I am not a hot-headed 
 person," he observed. "Nobody but you ever accused 
 me of such a thing. Marriage concerns the race and 
 a man s whole future. If the children of the mar 
 riage are likely to be unsatisfactory, the marriage will 
 certainly be so. We moderns bedeck and bedrape 
 us in all sorts of meretricious togas, till a pair of fine 
 eyes and a dashing manner pass for beauty; but when 
 life tries the metal when nature applies her inevitable 
 test the degenerate or neurotic type goes to the wall." 
 
 Again MacPherson grunted. "No doubt you re 
 sound enough; but it is rather uncanny to hear a young 
 fellow talk like his grandfather," the Scotchman said 
 finally. "Are there many of your sort in this aston 
 ishing land ?"
 
 WEAVERS AND WEFT 75 
 
 "A good many," Stoddard told him. "The modern 
 young man of education and wealth is doing one of 
 two things burning up his money and going to the 
 dogs as fast as he can; or putting in a power of thinking, 
 and trying, while he saves his own soul, to do his part 
 in the regeneration of the world." 
 
 "Yes. Well, it s a big job. It s been on hand a 
 long time. The young men of America have their 
 work cut out for them," said MacPherson drily. 
 
 "No doubt," returned Stoddard with undisturbed 
 cheerfulness. " But when every man saves his own 
 soul, the salvation of the world will come to pass."
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 ABOVE THE VALLEY 
 
 ALL week in Johnnie the white flame of purpose 
 burned out every consciousness of weari 
 ness, of bodily or mental distaste. The pre 
 posterously long hours, the ill-ventilated rooms, the 
 savage monotony of her toil, none of these reached 
 the girl through the glow of hope and ambition. Phys 
 ically, the finger of the factory was already laid upon 
 her vigorous young frame; but when Sunday morning 
 came, though there was no bellowing whistle to break 
 in on her slumbers, she waked early, and while nerve 
 and muscle begged achingly for more sleep, she rose 
 with a sense of exhilaration which nothing could 
 dampen. She had seen a small mountain church 
 over the Ridge by the spring where her moccasin flowers 
 grew; and if there were preaching in it to-day, the boys 
 and girls scouring the surrounding woods during the 
 intermissions would surely find and carry away the 
 orchids. There was no safety but to take the road early. 
 The room was dark. Mandy slept noisily beside 
 her. All the beds were full, because the night-turn 
 workers were in. She meant to be very careful to 
 waken nobody. Poor souls, they needed this one day 
 of rest when they could all lie late. Searching for 
 something, she cautiously struck a match, and in 
 
 7 6
 
 ABOVE THE VALLEY 77 
 
 the flaring up of its small flame got a glimpse of 
 Mandy s face, open-mouthed, pallid, unbeautiful, 
 against the tumbled pillow. A great rush of pity filled 
 her eyes with tears, but then she was in a mood to 
 compassionate any creature who had not the prospect 
 of a twelve-mile walk to get a flower for Gray Stoddard. 
 
 It was in that black hour before dawn that Johnnie 
 let herself out the front door, finding the direction by 
 instinct rather than any assistance from sight, since 
 fences, trees, houses, were but vague blots of deeper 
 shadow in the black. She was well on her way before 
 a light here and there in a cabin window showed that, 
 Sunday morning as it was, the earliest risers were begin 
 ning to stir. Her face was set to the east, and after 
 a time a pallid line showed itself above the great bulk 
 of mountains which in this quarter backed up the 
 ramparts of the circling ridges about Watauga. The 
 furthest line was big Unaka, but this passionate lover 
 of her native highlands gave it neither thought nor 
 glance, as she tramped steadily with lifted face, fol 
 lowing unconsciously the beckoning finger of Fate. 
 
 It was a dripping-sweet spring morning, dew- 
 drenched, and with the air so full of moisture that it 
 gathered and pattered from the scant leafage. She 
 was two miles up, swinging along at that steady pace 
 her mountain-bred youth had given her, when the 
 sky began to flush faintly, and the first hint of dawn 
 rested on her upraised countenance. 
 
 Rain-laden mists swept down upon her from the 
 heights, and she walked through them unnoting; the
 
 7 8 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 pale light from the eastern sky shone on an aspect 
 introverted, rapt away from knowledge of its sur 
 roundings. She was going to get something for him. 
 She had promised him the flowers, and he would be 
 pleased with them. He would smile when he thanked 
 her for them, and look at her as he had when she gave 
 him the broken blossom. A look like that was to 
 the girl in her present mood as the sword s touch on 
 the shoulder of the lad who is being knighted by his 
 king it made her want to rise up and be all that 
 such a man could ever demand of her. Twelve miles 
 of walking after a week s toil in the mill was a very 
 small offering to put before so worshipful a divinity. 
 She sought vaguely to conjecture just what his words 
 would be when next they spoke together. Her lips 
 formed themselves into tender, reminiscent half- 
 smiles as she went over the few and brief moments 
 of her three interviews with Stoddard. 
 
 Johnnie was not inexperienced in matters of the 
 heart. Mating time comes early in the mountains. 
 Had her dreams been of Shade Buckheath, or any of 
 the boys of her own kind and class, she would have 
 been instantly full of self-consciousness; but Gray 
 Stoddard appeared to her a creature so apart from 
 her sphere that this overwhelming attraction he held 
 for her seemed no more than the admiration she might 
 have given to Miss Lydia Sessions. And so the dream 
 lay undisturbed under her eyelashes, and she breasted 
 the slope of the big mountain with a buoyant step, 
 oblivious of fatigue.
 
 ABOVE THE VALLEY 79 
 
 She reached the little wayside spring before even 
 the early-rising mountain folk were abroad, found three 
 pink blossoms in full perfection, plucked them and 
 wrapped them carefully in damp cloths disposed in 
 a little hickory basket that Uncle Pros had made for 
 her years ago. It was a tiny thing, designed to hold 
 a child s play-pretties or a young girl s sewing, but 
 shaped and fashioned after the manner of mountain 
 baskets, and woven of stout white hickory withes shaved 
 down to daintier size and pliancy by the old man s jack- 
 knife. Life was very sweet to Johnnie Consadine as she 
 straightened up, basket in hand, and turned toward 
 the home journey. 
 
 It was nearly nine o clock when she reached the 
 gap above Cottonville. She was singing a little, softly, 
 to herself, as she footed it down the road, and wishing 
 that she might see Gray s face when he got her flow 
 ers. She planned to put them in a glass on his desk 
 Monday morning, and of course she would be at her 
 loom long before he should reach the office. She was 
 glad they were such fine specimens all perfect. 
 Lovingly she pulled aside the wet cloth and looked 
 in at them. She began to meet people on the road, 
 and the cabins she passed were open and thronged 
 with morning life. The next turn in the road would 
 bring her to the spring where she had rested that eve 
 ning just a week ago, and where Shade had met her. 
 
 Suddenly, she caught the sheen of something down 
 the road between the scant greenery. It was a carnage 
 or an automobile. Now, it was more likely to be
 
 8o THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 the former than the latter; also, there were a half- 
 dozen cars in Cottonville; yet from the first she knew, 
 and was prepared for it when the shining vehicle 
 came nearer and showed her Gray Stoddard driving 
 it. They looked at each other in silence. Stoddard 
 brought the machine to a halt beside her. She came 
 mutely forward, a hesitating hand at her basket cover 
 ing, her eyes raised to his. With the mountaineer s 
 deathless instinct for greeting, she was first to speak. 
 
 "Howdy," she breathed softly. "I I was look 
 ing for I got you - 
 
 She fell silent again, still regarding him, and fumbling 
 blindly at the cover of the basket. 
 
 "Well aren t you lost?" inquired Stoddard with 
 a rather futile assumption of surprise. He was 
 strangely moved by the direct gaze of those clear, 
 wide-set gray eyes, under the white brow and the 
 ruffled coronet of bright hair. 
 
 "No," returned Johnnie gently, literally. "You 
 know I said I d come up here and get those moccasin 
 flowers for you this morning. This is my road home, 
 anyhow. I m not as near lost on it as I am at a loom, 
 down in the factory." 
 
 Stoddard continued to stare at the hand she had 
 laid on the car. 
 
 "It ll be an awfully long walk for you," he said 
 at last, choosing his words with some difficulty. " Won t 
 you get in and let me take you up to the spring ? " 
 
 Johnnie laughed softly, exultantly. 
 
 "Oh, I picked your flowers before day broke. I ll
 
 ABOVE THE VALLEY 81 
 
 bet there have been a dozen boys over from Sunday- 
 school to drink out of that spring before this time. 
 You wouldn t have had any blooms if I hadn t got 
 up early." 
 
 Again she laughed, and, uncovering the orchids, 
 held them up to him. 
 
 "These are beauties," he exclaimed with due enthu 
 siasm, yet with a certain uneasy preoccupation in his 
 manner. "Were you up before day, did you tell me, 
 to get these ? That seems too bad. You needed 
 your sleep." 
 
 Johnnie flushed and smiled. 
 
 "I love to do it," she said simply. "It was mighty 
 sweet out on the road this morning, and you don t 
 know how pretty the blooms did look, standing there 
 waiting for me. I most hated to pick them." 
 
 Stoddard s troubled eyes raised themselves to her 
 face. Here was a royal nature that would always 
 be in the attitude of the giver. He wanted to offer her 
 something, and, as the nearest thing in reach, sprang 
 down from the automobile and, laying a hand on her 
 arm, said, almost brusquely: 
 
 "Get in. Come, let me help you. I want to go 
 up and see the spring where these grow. I ll get you 
 back to Cottonville in time for church, if that s what 
 you re debating about." 
 
 Both of them knew that Johnnie s reluctance had 
 nothing to do with the question of church-time. Stod- 
 dard himself was well aware that a factory girl could 
 not with propriety accept a seat in his car; yet when
 
 82 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 once they were settled side by side, and the car resumed 
 that swift, tireless climb which is the wonder and 
 delight of the mechanical vehicle, it was character 
 istic that both put aside definitely and completely 
 all hesitations and doubts. The girl was freely, inno 
 cently, exultantly blissful. Stoddard noticed her intent 
 examination of the machine, and began explaining 
 its workings to her. 
 
 "Was that what you were doing," she asked, 
 alluding to some small item of the operating, "when 
 you stopped by the side of the road, Sunday night, 
 when Miss Lydia was with you ?" 
 
 He looked his astonishment. 
 
 "You were right under my window when you 
 stopped," Johnnie explained to him. "I watched 
 you-all when you started away. I was sure you would 
 beat." 
 
 "We did," Stoddard assured her. "But we came 
 near missing it. That connection Buckheath put in 
 for me the evening you were with him on the Ridge 
 worked loose. But I discovered the trouble in time 
 to fix it." 
 
 Remembrance of that evening, and of the swift 
 flight of the motors through the dusk moonlight, made 
 Johnnie wonder at herself and her present position. 
 She was roused by Stoddard s voice asking: 
 
 "Are you interested in machinery?" 
 
 "I love it," returned Johnnie sincerely. "I never 
 did get enough of tinkerin around machines. If I 
 was ever so fortunate as to own a sewing machine
 
 ABOVE THE VALLEY 83 
 
 I could take it all apart and clean it and put it together 
 again. I did that to the minister s wife s sewing 
 machine down at Bledsoe when it got out of order. 
 She said I knew more about it than the man that sold 
 it to her." 
 
 "Would you like to run the car?" came the next 
 query. 
 
 Would she like to! The countenance of simple 
 rapture that she turned to him was reply sufficient. 
 
 "Well, look at my hands here on the steering-wheel. 
 Get the position, and when I raise one put yours in 
 its place. There. No, a little more this way. Now 
 you can hold it better. The other one s right." 
 
 Smilingly he watched her, like a grown person 
 amusing a child. 
 
 "You see what the wheel does, of course guides. 
 Now," when they had run ahead for some minutes, 
 "do you want to go faster ?" 
 
 Johnnie laughed up at him, through thick, fair 
 lashes. 
 
 "Looks like anybody would be hard to suit that 
 wanted to go faster than this," she apologized. "But 
 if the machine can make a higher speed, there wouldn t 
 be any harm in just running that way for a spell, would 
 there?" 
 
 It was Stoddard s turn to laugh. 
 
 "No manner of harm," he agreed readily. "Well, 
 you advance your spark and open the throttle that 
 speeds her up. This is the spark and this the gas, 
 here. Then you shove your shifting lever see,
 
 84 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 here it is over to the next speed. Remember that, 
 any time you shift the gears, you ll have to pull the 
 clutch. The machine has to gain headway on one 
 speed before it can take the next." 
 
 Johnnie nodded soberly. Her intent gaze studied 
 the mechanism before her intelligently. 
 
 "We re going a heap faster now," she suggested 
 in a moment. "Can I move that whatever it is - 
 over to the third speed ?" 
 
 "Yes," agreed Stoddard. "Here s a good, long, 
 straight stretch of road for us to take it on. I ll attend 
 to the horn when we come to the turn up there. We 
 mustn t make anybody s horse run away." 
 
 So the lesson proceeded. He showed her brake 
 and clutch. He gave her some theoretical knowledge 
 of cranking up, because she seemed to enjoy it as a 
 child enjoys exploiting the possibilities of a new toy. 
 
 Up and up they went, the sky widening and bright 
 ening above them. Hens began to lead forth their 
 broods. Overhead, a hawk wheeled high in the blue, 
 uttering his querulous cry. 
 
 "I m mighty glad I came," the girl said, more to 
 herself than to the man at her side. "This is the 
 most like flying of anything that ever chanced to me." 
 
 From time to time Stoddard had sent swift, sidelong 
 glances at his companion, noting the bright, bent head, 
 the purity of line in the profile above the steering- 
 wheel, the intelligent beauty of the intent, down- 
 dropped eyes, with long lashes almost on the flushed 
 cheeks. He wondered at her; born amid these wide,
 
 ABOVE THE VALLEY 85 
 
 cool spaces, how had she endured for a week the fetid 
 atmosphere of the factory rooms ? How, having 
 tested it, could she look forward to a life like that ? 
 Something in her innocent trust choked him. He 
 began some carefully worded inquiries as to her expe 
 rience in the mill and her opinion of the work. The 
 answers partook of that charm which always clung 
 about Johnnie. She told him of Mandy and, missing 
 no shade of the humour there was in the Meacham 
 girl, managed to make the description pathetic. She 
 described Pap Himes and his boarding-house, aptly, 
 deftly, and left it funny, though a sympathetic listener 
 could feel the tragedy beneath. 
 
 Presently they met the first farm-wagon with its load 
 of worshippers for the little mountain church beyond. 
 As these came out of a small side road, and caught 
 sight of the car, the bony old horses jibbed and shied, 
 and took all the driver s skill and a large portion of 
 his vocabulary to carry them safely past, the children 
 staring, the w T omen pulling their sunbonnets about 
 their faces and looking down. Something in the sight 
 brought home to Johnnie the incongruity of her present 
 position. On the instant, a drop of rain splashed 
 upon the back of her hand. 
 
 "There!" she cried in a contrite voice. "I knew 
 mighty well and good that it was going to rain, and I 
 ought to have named it to you, because you town folks 
 don t understand the weather as well as we do. I 
 ought not to have let you come on up here." 
 
 " We ll have to turn and run for it," said Stoddard,
 
 86 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 laughing a little. "I wish I d had the hood put on 
 this morning," as he surveyed the narrow way in 
 which he had to turn. "Is it wider beyond here, 
 do you remember ?" 
 
 "There s a bluff up about a quarter of a mile that 
 you could run under and be as dry as if you were in 
 the shed at home," said Johnnie. "This won t last 
 long. Do you want to try it ?" 
 
 "You are the pilot," Stoddard declared promptly, 
 resigning the wheel once more to her hands. "If it s 
 a bad place, you might let me take the car in." 
 
 Rain in the mountains has a trick of coming with 
 the suddenness of an overturned bucket. Johnnie 
 sent the car ahead at what she considered a rapid pace, 
 till Stoddard unceremoniously took the wheel from 
 her and shoved the speed clutch over to the third 
 speed. 
 
 "I m mighty sorry I was so careless and didn t 
 warn you about the rain," she declared with shining 
 eyes, as her hair blew back and her colour rose at the 
 rapid motion. " But this is fine. I believe that if I 
 should ever be so fortunate as to own an automobile 
 I d want to fly like this every minute of the time I 
 was in it." 
 
 As she spoke, they swept beneath the overhanging 
 rocks, and a great curtain of Virginia creeper and 
 trumpet-vine fell behind them, half screening them 
 from the road, and from the deluge which now broke 
 more fiercely. For five minutes the world was blotted 
 out in rain, with these two watching its gray swirls
 
 ABOVE THE VALLEY 87 
 
 and listening to its insistent drumming, safe and dry 
 in their cave. 
 
 Nothing ripens intimacy so rapidly as a common 
 mishap. Also, two people seem much to each other 
 as they await alone the ceasing of the rain or the com 
 ing of the delayed boat. 
 
 "This won t last long," Johnnie repeated. "We 
 won t dare to start out when it first stops; but there ll 
 come a little clearing-up shower after that, and then 
 I think we ll have a fair day. Don t you know the 
 saying, Rain before seven, quit before eleven ? Well, 
 it showered twice just as day was breaking, and I 
 had to wait under a tree till it was over." 
 
 The big drops lengthened themselves, as they came 
 down, into tiny javelins and struck upon the rocks 
 with a splash. The roar and drumming in the forest 
 made a soft, blurring undertone of sound. The first rain 
 lasted longer than Johnnie had counted on, and the 
 clearing-up shower was slow in making its appearance. 
 The two talked with ever-growing interest. Strangely 
 enough Johnnie Consadine, who had no knowledge of 
 any other life except through a few well-conned books, 
 appreciated the values of this mountain existence with 
 almost the detached view of an outsider. Her knowl 
 edge of it was therefore more assorted and available, 
 and Stoddard listened to her eagerly. 
 
 "But what made you think you d like to work in a 
 cotton mill?" he asked suddenly. "After all, weren t 
 you maybe better off up in these mountains ?" 
 
 And then and there Johnnie strove to put into exact
 
 88 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 and intelligent words what she had possessed and 
 what she had lacked in the home of her childhood. 
 Unconsciously she told him more than was in the mere 
 words. He got the situation as to the visionary, kindly 
 father with a turn for book learning and a liking for 
 enterprises that appealed to his imagination. Uncle 
 Pros and the silver mine were always touched upon with 
 the tender kindness Johnnie felt for the old man and 
 his life-long quest. But the little mother and the 
 children ah, it was here that the listener found 
 Johnnie s incentive. 
 
 "Mr. Stoddard," she concluded, "there wasn t 
 a bit of hope of schooling for the children unless I 
 could get out and work in the factory. I think it s 
 a splendid chance for a girl. I think any girl that 
 wouldn t take such a chance would be mighty mean 
 and poor-spirited." 
 
 Gray Stoddard revolved this conception of a chance 
 in the world in his mind for some time. 
 
 "I did get some schooling," she told him. "You 
 wouldn t think it to hear me talk, because I m careless, 
 but I ve been taught, and I can do better. Yet if 
 I don t see to it, how am I to know that the children 
 will have as much even as I ve had ? Mountain air 
 is mighty pure and healthy, and the water up here is 
 the finest you ever drank; but that s only for the body. 
 Of course there s beauty all about you there was 
 never anything more sightly than big Unaka and the 
 ridges that run from it, and the sky, and the big 
 woods and all. And yet human beings have got
 
 to have more than that. I aim to make a chance for 
 the children." 
 
 "Are you going to bring them down and let them 
 work in the mills with you?" Stoddard asked in a 
 perfectly colourless tone. 
 
 Johnnie looked embarrassed. Her week in the 
 cotton mill had fixed indelibly on her mind the picture 
 of the mill child, straggling to work in the gray 
 dawn, sleepy, shivering, unkempt; of the young 
 things creeping up and down the aisles between the 
 endlessly turning spools, dully regarding the frames 
 to see that the threads were not fouled or broken; 
 of the tired little groups as they pressed close to the 
 shut windows, neglecting their work to stare out into 
 a world of blue sky and blowing airs a world they 
 could see but not enter, and no breath of which could 
 come in to them. And so she looked embarrassed. 
 She was afraid that memory of those tired little faces 
 would show in her own countenance. Her hands on 
 the steering-wheel trembled. She remembered that 
 Mr. Stoddard was, as Shade had said, one of the bosses 
 in the Hardwick mill. It seemed too terrible to offend 
 him. He certainly thought no ill of having children 
 employed; she must not seem to criticize him; she 
 answered evasively: 
 
 "Well, of course they might do that. I did think 
 of it before I went down there." 
 
 " Before you went to work in the mills yourself," 
 supplied Stoddard, again in that colourless tone. 
 
 "Ye yes," hesitated Johnnie; "but you mustn t
 
 9 o THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 get the idea that I don t love my work because I do. 
 You see the children haven t had any schooling yet, 
 and well, I m a great, big, stout somebody, and it 
 looks like I m the one to work in the mill." 
 
 She turned to him fleetingly a countenance of appeal 
 and perplexity. It seemed indeed anything but certain 
 that she was one to work in the mill. There was some 
 thing almost grotesque in the idea which made Stod- 
 dard smile a little at her earnestness. 
 
 "I d like to talk it over with you when you ve been 
 at work there longer," he found himself saying. "You 
 see, I m studying mill conditions from one side, and 
 you re studying them from the opposite perhaps 
 we could help each other." 
 
 "I sure will tell you what I find out," agreed Johnnie 
 heartily. "I reckon you ll want to know how the 
 work seems to me at the side of such as I was used 
 to in the mountains; but I hope you won t inquire 
 how long it took me to learn, for I m afraid I m going 
 to make a poor record. If you was to ask me how 
 much I was able to earn there, and how much back 
 on Unaka, I could make a good report for the mill 
 on that, because that s all that s the matter with the 
 mountains they re a beautiful place to live, but 
 a body can t hardly earn a cent, work as they 
 may." 
 
 Johnnie forgot herself she was always doing 
 that and she talked freely and well. It was as 
 inevitable that she should be drawn to Gray Stoddard 
 as that she should desire the clothing and culture Miss
 
 ABOVE THE VALLEY 91 
 
 Lydia possessed. For the present, one aspiration 
 struck her as quite as innocent as the other. Stoddard 
 had not yet emerged from the starry constellations 
 among which she set him, to take form as a young man, 
 a person who might indeed return her regard. Her 
 emotions were in that nebulous, formative stage when 
 but a touch would be needed to show her whither the 
 regard tended, yet till that touch should come, she 
 as unashamedly adored Gray as any child of five could 
 have done. It was not till they were well down the 
 road to Cottonville that she realized the bald fact that 
 she, a mill girl, was riding in an automobile with one 
 of the mill owners. 
 
 She was casting about for some reasonable phrase 
 in which to clothe the statement that it would be better 
 he should stop the car and let her out; she had parted 
 her lips to ask him to take the wheel, when they rounded 
 a turn and came upon a company of loom-fixers from 
 the village below. Behind them, in a giggling group, 
 strolled a dozen mill girls in their Sunday best. Johnnie 
 had sight of Mandy Meacham, fixing eyes of terrified 
 admiration upon her; then she nodded in reply to 
 Shade Buckheath s angry stare, and a rattle of wheels 
 apprized her that a carriage was passing on the other 
 side. This vehicle contained the entire Hardwick 
 family, with Lydia Sessions turning long to look her 
 incredulous amazement back at them from her seat 
 beside her brother-in-law. 
 
 It was all over in a moment. The loom-fixers had 
 debouched upon the long, wooden bridge which crossed
 
 92 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 the ravine to their quarters; the girls were going on, 
 Mandy Meacham hanging back and staring; a tree 
 finally shut out Miss Sessions s accusing countenance. 
 
 "Please stop and let me out here," said Johnnie, 
 in a scarcely audible voice. 
 
 When Stoddard would have remonstrated, or asked 
 why, his lips were closed by sight of her daunted, 
 miserable face. He knew as well as she the mad 
 imprudence of the thing which they had done, and 
 blamed himself roundly with it all. 
 
 "I ll not forget to bring the books we were talking 
 of/ he made haste to say. He picked up the little 
 basket from the floor of the car. 
 
 "You d better keep the flowers in that/ Johnnie 
 told him lifelessly. Her innocent dream was broken 
 into by a cruel reality. She was struggling blindly 
 under the weight of all her little world s disappro 
 bation. 
 
 "You ll let me return the basket when I bring you 
 the books," Gray suggested, helplessly. 
 
 "I don t know," Johnnie hesitated. Then, as a 
 sudden inspiration came to her, "Mandy Meacham 
 said she d try to get me into a club for girls that Miss 
 Sessions has. She said Miss Sessions would lend 
 me books. Maybe you might just leave them with 
 her. I m sure I should be mighty proud to have them. 
 I know I ll love to read them; but well, you might 
 just leave them with her." 
 
 A little satiric sparkle leaped to life in Stoddard s 
 eyes. He looked at the innocent, upraised face in
 
 ABOVE THE VALLEY 93 
 
 wonder. The most experienced manoeuverer of 
 Society s legion could not have handled a difficult 
 situation more deftly. 
 
 "The very thing," he said cheerily. "I ll talk to 
 Miss Sessions about it to-morrow."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 OF THE USE OF WINGS 
 
 I TOLD you I d speak a good word for you," 
 shouted Mandy Meacham, putting her lips down 
 close to Johnnie s ear where she struggled and 
 fought with her looms amid the deafening clamour of 
 the weaving room. 
 
 The girl looked up, flushed, tired, but eagerly recep 
 tive. 
 
 "Yes," her red lips shaped the word to the other s 
 eyes, though no sound could make itself heard above 
 that din except such eldritch shrieks as Mandy s. 
 
 "I done it. I got you a invite to some doin s at the 
 Uplift Club a-Wednesday." 
 
 Again Johnnie nodded and shaped "Yes" with her 
 lips. She added something which might have been 
 "thank you"; the adorable smile that accompanied it 
 said as much. 
 
 Mandy watched her, fascinated as the lithe, strong 
 young figure bent and strained to correct a crease in the 
 web where it turned the roll. 
 
 "They never saw anything like you in their born 
 days, I ll bet," she yelled. "I never did. You re 
 awful quare but somehow I sorter like ye." And 
 she scuttled back to her looms as the room boss came 
 
 94
 
 OF THE USE OF WINGS 95 
 
 in. A weaver works by the piece, but Mandy had 
 been reproved too often for slovenly methods not to 
 know that she might be fined for neglect. Her looms 
 stood where she could continually get the newcomer s 
 figure against the light, with its swift motion, its supple 
 curves, and the brave carriage of the well-formed head. 
 The sight gave Mandy a curious satisfaction, as though 
 it uttered what she would fain have said to the classes 
 above her. Hers was something the feeling which the 
 private in the ranks has for the standard-bearer who 
 carries the colours aloft, or the dashing officer who 
 leads the charge. Johnnie was the challenge she 
 would have flung in the face of the enemy. 
 
 "I ll bet if you d put one of Miss Lyddy s dresses 
 on her she d look nobby," Mandy ruminated, address 
 ing her looms. "That s what she would. She d 
 have em all f fa faded away, as the feller says." 
 
 And so it came about that the next day Johnnie Consa- 
 dine did not go to the mill at all, but spent the morning 
 washing and ironing her one light print dress. It 
 was as coarse almost as flour-sacking, and the blue dots 
 on it had paled till they made a suspicious speckle 
 not unlike mildew; yet when she had combed her thick, 
 fair hair, rolled it back from the white brow and 
 braided it to a coronet round her head as she had seen 
 that of the lady on the porch at the Palace of Pleasure; 
 when, cleansed and smooth, she put the frock on, one 
 forgot the dress in the youth of her, the hope, the 
 glorious expectation there was in that eager face. 
 
 The ladies assisting in Miss Lydia Sessions s Uplift
 
 96 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Club for work among the mill girls, were almost 
 all young and youngish women. The mothers in 
 Israel attacked the more serious problems of orphanages, 
 winter s supplies of coal, and clothing for the destitute. 
 
 " But their souls must be fed, too," Miss Lydia 
 asserted as she recruited her helpers for the Uplift 
 work. "Their souls must be fed; and who can reach 
 the souls of these young girls so well as we who are 
 near their own age, and who have had time for culture 
 and spiritual growth?" 
 
 It was a good theory. Perhaps one may say that it 
 remains a good theory. The manner of uplifting was 
 to select a certain number of mill girls whom it was 
 deemed well to help, approach them on the subject, 
 and, if they appeared amenable, pay a substitute 
 to take charge of their looms while those in process of 
 being uplifted attended a meeting of the Club. The 
 gathering to which Johnnie was bidden was held in 
 honour of a lady from London who had written a book 
 on some subject which it was thought ought to appeal 
 to workingwomen. This lady intended to address 
 the company and to mingle with them and get their 
 views. Most of those present being quite unfurnished 
 with any views whatever on the problem she discussed, 
 her position was something that of a pick-pocket in 
 a moneyless crowd; but of this she was fortunately 
 and happily unaware. 
 
 Mandy Meacham regarded Johnnie s preparation 
 for the function with some disfavour. 
 
 "Ef you fix up like that," she remonstrated, "you re
 
 OF THE USE OF WINGS 97 
 
 bound to look too nice to suit Miss Lyddy. They 
 won t be no men thar. I m goin to wear my workin 
 dress, and tell her I hadn t nary minute nor nary cent 
 to do other." 
 
 Johnnie laughed a little at this, as though it were 
 intended for a joke. 
 
 "But I did have time," she objected. "Miss 
 Sessions would pay a substitute for the whole day 
 though I told her I d only need the afternoon for the 
 party. I think it was mighty good of her, and it s 
 as little as I can do to make myself look as nice as I 
 can." 
 
 "You ain t got the sense you was born with!" 
 fretted Mandy. "Them thar kind ladies ain t a- 
 carin for you to look so fine. They ll attend to all the 
 fine lookin theirselves. What they want is to know 
 how bad off you air, an to have you say how much 
 what they have did or give has helped you." 
 
 Such interchange of views brought the two girls 
 to the door of the little frame chapel, given over for 
 the day to Uplift work. Within it rose a bustle and 
 clatter, a hum of voices that spoke, a frilling of nervous, 
 shrill laughter to edge the sound, and back of that the 
 clink of dishes from a rear room where refreshments 
 were being prepared. 
 
 Miss Sessions, near the door, had a receiving line, 
 quite in the manner of any reception. She herself, 
 in a blouse of marvellous daintiness and sweeping 
 skirts, stood beside the visitor from London to present 
 her. To this day Johnnie is uncertain as to where
 
 98 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 the wonderful blue silk frock of that lady from abroad 
 was fastened, though she gave the undivided efforts 
 of sharp young eyes and an inquiring mind to the 
 problem a good portion of the time while it was within 
 her view. The Englishwoman was called Mrs. Arch- 
 bold, and on her other hand stood a tall, slim lady with 
 long gray-green eyes, prematurely gray hair which 
 had plainly been red, and an odd little twist to her 
 smile. This was Mrs. Hexter, wife of the owner of 
 the big woollen mills across the creek, and only bidden 
 in to assist the Uplift work because the position of her 
 husband gave her much power. These, with the 
 Misses Burchard, daughters of the rector, formed the 
 reception committee. 
 
 "I am so charmed to see you here to-day," Miss 
 Lydia smiled as they entered. It was part of her 
 theory to treat the mill girls exactly as she would 
 members of her own circle. Mandy, being old at the 
 business, possessed herself of the high-held hand 
 presented; but Johnnie only looked at it in astonish 
 ment, uncertain whether Miss Lydia meant to shake 
 hands or pat her on the head. Yet when she did 
 finally divine what was intended, the quality of her 
 apologetic smile ought to have atoned for her lapse. 
 
 "I m sure proud to be here with you-all," she said. 
 "Looks like to me you are mighty kind to strangers." 
 
 The ineradicable dignity of the true mountaineer, 
 who has always been as good as the best in his environ 
 ment, preserved Johnnie from any embarrassment, 
 any tendency to shrink or cringe. Her beauty, in the
 
 OF THE USE OF WINGS 99 
 
 fresh-washed print gown, was like a thing released and, 
 as Miss Sessions might have put it, rampant. 
 
 Gray Stoddard had gone directly to Lydia Sessions, 
 with his proffers of books, and his suggestions for 
 Johnnie. The explanation of how the girl came to be 
 riding in his car that Sunday morning was neither as 
 full nor as penitent as Miss Lydia could have wished; 
 yet it did recognize the impropriety of the act, and was, 
 in so far, satisfactory. Miss Sessions made haste to 
 form an alliance with the young man for the special 
 upliftment of Johnnie Consadine. She would have 
 greatly preferred to interest him in Mandy Meacham, 
 but beggars can not be choosers, and she took what 
 she could get. 
 
 "Whom have we here?" demanded the lady from 
 London, leaning across and peering at Johnnie with 
 friendly, near-sighted eyes. "Why, what a blooming 
 girl, to be sure! You haven t been long from the 
 country, I ll venture to guess, my dear." 
 
 Johnnie blushed and dimpled at being so kindly 
 welcomed. The mountain people are undemonstra 
 tive in speech and action; and that "my dear" seemed 
 wonderful. 
 
 "I come from away up in the mountains," she said 
 softly. 
 
 "From away up in the mountains," repeated the 
 Englishwoman, her smiling gaze dwelling on Johnnie s 
 radiant face. " Why yes so one would conceive. 
 Well, you mustn t lose all those pretty roses in the 
 mill down here." She was a visitor, remember; resi-
 
 ioo THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 dents of Cottonville never admitted that roses, or any 
 thing else desirable, could be lost in the mills. 
 
 O 7 
 
 "I ll not," said Johnnie sturdily. "I m goin to 
 earn my way and send for Mother and the children, 
 if hard work ll do it; but I m a mighty big, stout, 
 healthy somebody, and I aim to keep so." 
 
 Mrs. Archbold patted the tall young shoulder as she 
 turned to Mandy Meacham whom Miss Lydia was 
 eager to put through her paces for the benefit of the 
 lady from London. 
 
 "Isn t that the girl Mr. Stoddard was speaking to 
 me about?" she inquired in a whisper as Johnnie 
 moved away. "I think it must be. He said she was 
 such a beauty, and I scarcely believe there could be 
 two like her in one town." 
 
 Such a type, were Mr. Stoddard s exact words 
 I believe," returned Miss Sessions a little frostily. 
 "Yes, John Consadine is quite a marked type of the 
 mountaineer. She is, as she said to you, a stout, 
 healthy creature, and, I understand, very industrious. 
 I approve of John." 
 
 She approved of John, but she addressed herself to 
 exploiting Mandy; and the lady in the blue silk frock 
 learned how poor and helpless the Meacham woman 
 had been before she got in to the mill work, how 
 greatly the Uplift Club had benefited her, with many 
 interesting details. Yet as the English lady went from 
 group to group in company with Miss Lydia and 
 T. H. Hexter s wife, her quick eyes wandered across the 
 room to where a bright head rose a little taller than
 
 OF THE USE OF WINGS 101 
 
 its fellows, and occasional bursts of laughter told that 
 Johnnie was in a merry mood. 
 
 The threadbare attempt at a reception was gotten 
 through laboriously. The girls were finally settled 
 in orderly rows, and Mrs. Archbold led to the platform. 
 The talk she had prepared for them was upon aspiration. 
 It was an essay, in fact, and she had delivered it suc 
 cessfully before many women s clubs. She is not to be 
 blamed that the language was as absolutely above the 
 comprehension of her hearers as though it had been 
 Greek. She was a busy woman, with other aims and 
 activities than those of working among the masses; 
 Miss Lydia had heard her present talk, fancied it, and 
 thought it w T ould be the very thing for the Uplift Club. 
 
 For thirty minutes Johnnie sat concentrating des 
 perately on every sentence that fell from the lips of 
 the lady from London, trying harder to understand 
 than she had ever tried to do anything in her life. 
 She put all her quick, young mind and avid soul into 
 the struggle to receive, though piercingly aware every 
 instant of the difference between her attire and that 
 of the w r omen who had bidden her there, noting acutely 
 variations between their language and hers, their voices, 
 their gestures and hers. These were the women of 
 Gray Stoddard s world. Such were his feminine associ 
 ates; here, then, must be her models. 
 
 Mandy and her likes got from the talk perhaps noth 
 ing at all, except that rich people might have what 
 they liked if they wanted it that at least was Miss 
 Meacham s summing up of the matter when she went
 
 102 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 home that night. But to Johnnie some of the sentences 
 remained. 
 
 "You struggle and climb and strive," said Mrs. 
 Archbold earnestly, "when, if you only knew it, you 
 have wings. And what are the wings of the soul ? 
 The wings of the soul are aspiration. Oh, that we 
 would spread them and fly to the heights our longing 
 eyes behold, the heights we dream of when we cannot 
 see them, the heights we foolishly and mistakenly 
 expect to climb some day." 
 
 Again Johnnie saw herself coming down the ridge 
 at Shade s side; descending into the shadow, stepping 
 closer to the droning mills; while above her the Palace 
 of Pleasure swam in its golden glory, and these who were 
 privileged to do so went out and in and laughed and 
 were happy. Were such heights as that what this 
 woman meant ? Johnnie had let it typify to her the 
 heights to which she intended to climb. Was it indeed 
 possible to fly to them instead ? The talk ended. 
 She sat so long with bent head that Miss Sessions 
 finally came round and took the unoccupied chair 
 beside her. 
 
 "Are you thinking it over, John ?" she inquired with 
 that odd little note of hostility which she could never 
 quite keep out of her voice when she addressed this 
 girl. 
 
 "Yes m," replied Johnnie meekly. 
 
 Several who were talking together in the vicinity 
 relinquished their conversation to listen to the two. 
 Mrs. Hexter shot one of her quaint, crooked smiles
 
 OF THE USE OF WINGS 103 
 
 at the lady from London and, with a silent gesture, 
 bade her hearken. 
 
 "I think these things are most important for you 
 girls who have to earn your daily bread," Miss Sessions 
 condescended. 
 
 " Daily bread," echoed Johnnie softly. She loved 
 fine phrases as she loved fine clothes. "I know where 
 that comes from. It s in the prayer about daily 
 bread, and the kingdom and the power and the 
 glory. Don t you think those are beautiful words, 
 Miss Lydia the power and the glory ?" 
 
 Miss Sessions s lips sucked in with that singular, 
 half-reluctant expression of condemnation which was 
 becoming fairly familiar to Johnnie. 
 
 "Oh, John!" she said reprovingly, Daily bread 
 is all we have anything to do with. Don t you 
 remember that it says Thine be the kingdom and the 
 power and the glory ? Thine, John -- Thine." 
 
 "Yes m," returned Johnnie submissively. But it 
 was in her heart that certain upon this earth had their 
 share of kingdoms and powers and the glories. And, 
 although she uttered that submissive "Yes m," her 
 high-couraged young heart registered a vow to achieve 
 its own slice of these things as well as of daily bread. 
 
 " Didn t you enjoy Mrs. Archbold s talk ? I thought 
 it very fine," Miss Sessions pursued. 
 
 "It sure was that," sighed Johnnie. "I don t 
 know as I understand it all every word. I tried 
 to, but maybe I got some of it wrong." 
 
 "What is it you don t understand, John?" inquired
 
 io 4 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Miss Lydia patronizingly. "Ask me. I ll explain 
 anything you care to know about." 
 
 Johnnie turned to her, too desperately in earnest to 
 note the other listeners to the conversation. 
 
 "Why, that about stretching out the wings of your 
 spirit and flying. Do you believe that?" 
 
 "I certainly do," Miss Sessions said brightly, as de 
 lighted at Johnnie s remembering part of the visitor s 
 words as a small boy when he has taught his terrier 
 to walk on its hind legs. 
 
 Then if a body wants a thing bad enough, and 
 keeps on a-wanting it Oh, just awful is that 
 aspiration ? Will the thing you want that-a-way come 
 to pass ?" 
 
 "We-e-ell," Miss Sessions deemed it necessary to 
 qualify her statement to this fiery and exact young 
 questioner. "You have to want the right thing, of 
 course, John. You have to want the right thing." 
 
 "Yes m," agreed Johnnie heartily. "And I d low 
 it was certainly the right thing, if it was what good 
 folks like you want." 
 
 Miss Sessions flushed, yet she looked pleased, aware, 
 if Johnnie was not, of the number of listeners. Here 
 was her work of Uplift among the mill girls being 
 justified. 
 
 "I Oh, really, I couldn t set myself up as a 
 pattern," she said modestly. 
 
 " But you are," Johnnie assured her warmly. 
 
 There ain t anybody in this room I d rather go by 
 
 as by you." The fine gray eyes had been travelling
 
 OF THE USE OF WINGS 105 
 
 from neck to belt, from shoulder to wrist of the lady 
 who was enlightening her. "I think I never in all 
 my life seen anything more sightly than that dress-body 
 you re a-wearin ," she murmured softly. " Where - 
 how might a person come by such a one ? If you 
 thought that my wishing and aspiring would ever 
 bring me such as that, I d sure try." 
 
 There rose a titter about the two. It spread and 
 swelled till the whole assembly was in a gale of laughter. 
 Miss Sessions s becoming blush deepened to the tint 
 of angry mortification. She looked about and assumed 
 the air of a schoolmistress with a room full of noisy 
 pupils; but Johnnie, her cheeks pink too, first swept 
 them all with an astonished gaze which flung the long 
 lashes up in such a wide curve of innocence as 
 made her eyes bewitching, then joined it, and laughed 
 as loud as any of them at she knew not what. It was 
 the one touch to put her with the majority, and leave 
 her mentor stranded in a bleak minority. Miss 
 Sessions objected to the position. 
 
 "Oh, John!" she said severely, so soon as she could 
 be heard above the giggles. " How you have misunder 
 stood me, and Mrs. Archbold, and all we intended 
 to bring to you! What is a mere blouse like this to 
 the uplift, the outlook, the development we were striving 
 to offer ? I confess I am deeply disappointed in you." 
 
 This sobered Johnnie, instantly. 
 
 "I m sorry," she said, bending forward to lay a 
 wistful, penitent hand on that of Miss Sessions. "I ll 
 try to understand better. I reckon I m right dumb,
 
 io6 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 and you ll have to have a lot of patience with me. I 
 don t rightly know what to aspire after." 
 
 The amende was so sweetly made that even Lydia 
 Sessions, still exceedingly employed at being pictorially 
 chagrined over the depravity of her neophyte, could 
 but be appeased. 
 
 "I ll try to furnish you more suitable objects for 
 your ambition/ she murmured virtuously. 
 
 But the lady with the gray hair and the odd little 
 twist to her smile now leaned forward and took a hand 
 in the conversation. 
 
 "See here, Lydia," Mrs. Hexter remonstrated in 
 crisp tones, "what s the matter with the girl s aspiring 
 after a blouse like yours ? You took a lot of trouble 
 and spent a lot of money to get that one. I noticed 
 you were careful to tell me it was imported, because 
 I couldn t see the neck-band and find out that detail 
 for myself. That blouse is a dream it s a dream. 
 If it s good enough aspiration for you or me, why not 
 for this girl ?" 
 
 "Oh, but Mrs. Hexter," murmured the mortified 
 Miss Sessions, glancing uneasily toward the mill-girl 
 contingent which was listening eagerly, and then at 
 the speaker of the day, "I am sure Mrs. Archbold will 
 agree with me that it would be a gross, material 
 idea to aspire after blouses and such-like, when 
 the poor child needs er other things so much 
 more." 
 
 "Yes m, I do that," conceded Johnnie dutifully, 
 those changeful eyes of hers full of pensive, denied de-
 
 OF THE USE OF WINGS 107 
 
 sire, as they swept the dainty gowns of the women be 
 fore her. "I do you re right. I wouldn t think of 
 spending my money for a dress-body like that when 
 I m mighty near as barefoot as a rabbit this minute, 
 and the little uns back home has to have every cent 
 I can save. I just thought that if beautiful wishes 
 was ever really coming true if it was right and 
 proper for a person to have beautiful wishes I d 
 like " 
 
 Her voice faltered into discouraged silence. Tears 
 gathered and hung thick on her lashes. Miss Sessions 
 sent a beseeching look toward the lady from London. 
 Mrs. Archbold stepped accommodatingly into the 
 breach. 
 
 "All aspiration is good," she said gently. "I 
 shouldn t be discouraged because it took a rather 
 concrete form." 
 
 Johnnie s eyes were upon her face, trying to under 
 stand. A "concrete form" she imagined might allude 
 to the fact that Miss Sessions had a better figure than 
 she. 
 
 Mrs. Hexter, glad of an ally, tossed that incorrigible 
 gray head of hers and dashed into the conversation 
 once more. 
 
 "If I were you, Johnnie, I d just aspire as hard as 
 I could in that direction," she said recklessly, her 
 mischievous glance upon the flowing lines of Johnnie s 
 young shoulders and throat. "A blouse like that would 
 be awfully fetching on you. You d look lovely in it. 
 Why shouldn t you aspire to it ? Maybe you ll have
 
 io8 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 one just as pretty before the style changes. I am sure 
 you re nice enough, and good-looking enough, for the 
 best in the way of purple and fine linen to come to you 
 by the law of attraction don t you believe in the law 
 of attraction, Mrs. Archbold ?" 
 
 Lydia Sessions got up and moved away in shocked 
 silence. Mrs. Hexter was a good deal of a thorn in 
 her flesh, and she only tolerated her because of Mr. 
 Hexter and his position. After the retreating and 
 disaffected hostess came Mrs. Archbold s voice, with 
 a thread of laughter in it. 
 
 "I believe in the law of such attraction as this girl 
 has," she said kindly. " What is it your Walt Whitman 
 says about the fluid and attaching character ? That 
 all hearts yearn toward it, that old and young must give 
 it love. That is, my dear," turning explainingly to 
 Johnnie, "the character which gives much love, takes 
 much interest in those about it, makes itself one with 
 other people and their affairs do you get my 
 meaning ? " 
 
 "I think I understand," half whispered Johnnie, 
 glowing eyes on the face of the speaker. "Do you 
 mean that I am anything like that ? I do love every 
 body most. But how could I help it, when every 
 body is so good and kind to me ?" 
 
 The glances of the older women met across the 
 bright head. 
 
 "She won t have much use for feet to climb with," 
 Mrs. Hexter summed it up, taking her figure from 
 the talk earlier in the afternoon. "She s got wings."
 
 OF THE USE OF WINGS 109 
 
 And puzzled Johnnie could only smile from one to 
 the other. 
 
 "Wings! * whispered Mandy Meacham to herself. 
 Mandy was not only restricted to the use of spiritual 
 feet; she was lame in the soul as well, poor creature, 
 "Wings air they callin her a angel?"
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A BIT OF METAL 
 
 IN THE valleys of Tennessee, spring has a trick 
 of dropping down on the world like a steaming 
 wet blanket. The season that Johnnie Con- 
 sadine went to work in the mills at Cottonville, May 
 came in with warm rains. Stifling nights followed sultry, 
 drenching days, till vegetation everywhere sprouted 
 unwholesomely and the mountain slopes had almost 
 the reek of tropic jungles. 
 
 Yet the girl performed the labours of a factory weaver 
 with almost passionate enthusiasm and devotion. 
 Always and always she was looking beyond the mere 
 present moment. If tending loom was the road 
 which led to the power and the glory, what need to 
 complain that it the mere road was but dull 
 earth ? 
 
 She tried conscientiously, to do and be exactly what 
 Lydia Sessions seemed to want. Gray Stoddard s 
 occasional spoken word, or the more lengthy written 
 messages he had taken to putting in the books he sent 
 her, seemed to demand of her nothing, but always 
 inspired to much. For all his disposition to keep 
 hands off the personal development of his friends, per 
 haps on account of it, Gray made an excellent teacher, 
 
 no
 
 A BIT OF METAL in 
 
 and these writings the garnered grain, the gist, of 
 his own wide culture were the very sinews for the 
 race Johnnie was setting out on. She began to intelli 
 gently guard her speech, her manner, her very thoughts, 
 conforming them to what she knew of his ideals. 
 Miss Session s striving to build up an imitation lady 
 on the sincere foundation Johnnie offered appealed 
 less to the girl, and had therefore less effect; but she 
 immediately responded to Stoddard s methods, tuck 
 ing in to the books she returned written queries or 
 records of perplexity, which gradually expanded into 
 notes, expressions of her own awakened thought, and 
 even fancies, which held from the first a quaint charm 
 and individuality. 
 
 The long, hot days at the foot of the hills did seem 
 to the mountain-bred creature interminable and 
 stifling. Perspiration dripped from white faces as 
 the operatives stood listlessly at their looms, or 
 the children straggled back and forth in the narrow 
 lanes between the frames, tending the endlessly turn 
 ing spools. 
 
 The Hardwick Mill had both spinning and weaving 
 departments. Administrative ability is as much a 
 native gift as the poet s voice or the actor s grace, and 
 the managers of any large business are always on the 
 lookout for it. Before Johnnie Consadine had been 
 two months in the factory she was given charge of a 
 spinning room. But the dignity of the new position - 
 even the increase of pay had a cloud upon it. She 
 was beginning to understand the enmity there is
 
 iiz THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 between the soulless factory and the human tide that 
 feeds its life. She knew now that the tasks of the 
 little spinners, which seemed less than child s play, 
 were deadly in their monotony, their long indoor hours, 
 and the vibrant clamour amid which they were per 
 formed. Her own vigorous young frame resisted val 
 iantly; yet the Saturday half-holiday, the Sunday of 
 rest, could scarcely renew her for the exorbitant hours 
 of mechanical toil. 
 
 As she left the mill those sultry evenings, with the 
 heat mists still tremulous over the valley and heat 
 lightnings bickering in the west, she went with a lagging 
 step up the village street, not looking, as had been 
 her wont, first toward the far blue mountains, and then 
 at the glorious state of the big valley. The houses of 
 the operatives were set up haphazard and the village 
 was denied all beauty. Most of the yards were 
 unfenced, and here and there a row of shanties would 
 be crowded so close together that speech in one could 
 be heard in the other. 
 
 "And then if any ketchin disease does break out, like 
 the dipthery did last year," Mavity Bence said one 
 evening as she walked home with Johnnie, "hit s 
 sartin shore to go through em like it would go through 
 a family." 
 
 Johnnie looked curiously at the dirty yards with their 
 debris of lard buckets and tin cans. Space air, 
 earth and sky was cheap and plentiful in the moun 
 tains. It seemed strange to be sparing of it, down 
 here where people were so rich.
 
 A BIT OF METAL 113 
 
 "What makes em build so close, Aunt Mavity?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Hit s the Company," returned Mrs. Bence lifelessly. 
 "They don t want to spend any more than they have 
 to for land. Besides they want everything to be nigh 
 to the mill. Lord hit don t make no differ. Only 
 when a fire starts in a row of em hit cleans up the 
 Company s property same as it does the plunder of 
 the folks that lives in em. You just got to be thankful 
 if there don t chance to be one or more baby children 
 locked up in the houses and burned along with the 
 other stuff. I ve knowed that to happen more than 
 oncet." 
 
 Johnnie s face whitened. 
 
 " Miss Lydia says she s going to persuade her brother- 
 in-law to furnish a kindergarten and a day nursery for 
 the Hardwick Mill," she offered hastily. "They have 
 one at some other mill down in Georgia, and she says 
 it s fine the way they take care of the children while 
 the mothers are at work in the factory." 
 
 "Uh-uh," put in Mandy Meacham slowly, speaking 
 over the shoulders of the two, "but I d a heap ruther 
 take care of my own child ef I had one. An ef 
 the mills can afford to pay for it the one way, they 
 can afford to pay for it t other way. Miss Liddy s 
 schemes is all for the showin off of the swells and the 
 rich folks. I reckon that, with her, hit ll end in talk, 
 anyhow hit always does." 
 
 "Aunt Mavity," pursued Johnnie timidly, "do 
 you reckon the water s unhealthy down here in Cotton-
 
 ii 4 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 ville ? Looks like all the children in the mill have the 
 same white, puny look. I thought maybe the water 
 didn t agree with them." 
 
 Mavity Bence laughed out mirthlessly. " The water !" 
 she echoed in a tone of amused contempt. " Johnnie, 
 you re mighty smart about some things; cain tyou see 
 that a cotton mill is bound to either kill or cripple a 
 child ? Them that don t die, sort o drags along and 
 grows up to be mis able, undersized, sickly somebodies. 
 Hit s true the Hardwick Mill won t run night turn; 
 hit s true they show mo good will about hirin older 
 children; but if you can make a cotton mill healthy 
 for young-uns, you can do more than God A mighty." 
 She wiped her eyes furtively. 
 
 " Lou was well growed before ever she went in the 
 mill. I know in reason hit never hurt her. I mean 
 these here mammies that I see puttin little tricks to 
 work that ort to be runnin out o doors gettin their 
 strength and growth well, po souls, I reckon they 
 don t know no better, God forgive em!" 
 
 " But if they got sick or anything, there s always the 
 hospital," Johnnie spoke up hopefully, as they passed 
 the clean white building standing high on its green slope. 
 
 "The hospital!" echoed Mandy, with a half-terrified 
 glance over her shoulder. "Yes, ef you want to be 
 shipped out of town in a box for the student doctors 
 to cut up, I reckon the hospital is a good place. It s 
 just like everything else the rich swells does it s 
 for their profit, not for our n. They was a lot of big 
 talk when they built that thar hospital, and every one
 
 A BIT OF METAL 115 
 
 of us was axed to give something for beds and such. 
 We was told that if we got hurt in the mill we could go 
 thar free, and if we fell sick they d doctor us for little 
 or nothin . They can afford it considerin the 
 prices they git for dead bodies, I reckon." 
 
 "Now, Mandy, you don t believe any such as that," 
 remonstrated Johnnie, with a half-smile. 
 
 "Believe it I know it to be true!" Mandy stuck 
 to her point stubbornly. "Thar was Lura Dawson; 
 her folks was comin down to git the body and bury 
 hit, and when they got here the hospital folks couldn t 
 tell em whar to look no, they couldn t. Atlas 
 Dawson lows he ll git even with em if it takes him 
 the rest of his natural life. His wife was a Bushares 
 and her whole tribe is out agin the hospital folks and 
 the mill folks down here. I reckon you live too far 
 up in the mountains to hear the talk, but some of 
 these swells had better look out." 
 
 As the long, hot days followed each other, Johnnie 
 noticed how Mandy failed. Her hand was forever 
 at her side, where she had a stitch-like pain, that she 
 called "a jumpin misery." Even broad, seasoned 
 Mavity Bence grew pallid and gaunt. Only Pap 
 Himes thrived. His trouble was rheumatism, and 
 the hot days were his best. Of evenings he would sit 
 on the porch in his broad, rush-bottomed chair, the 
 big yellow cat on his knees, and smoke his pipe and, 
 if he cared to do so, banter unkindly with the girls on 
 the steps. Early in the season as it was, the upstairs 
 rooms were terribly hot; and sometimes the poor crea-
 
 u6 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 tures sat or lay on the porch till well past midnight. 
 Across the gulch were songs and the strumming of 
 banjos or guitars, where the young fellows at the 
 inn waked late. 
 
 The rich people on top of the hill were beginning to 
 make their preparations to flit to the seashore or 
 mountains. Lydia Sessions left for two weeks, promis 
 ing to return in June, and the Uplift work drooped, 
 neglected. There seems to be an understanding that 
 people do not need uplifting so much during hot weather. 
 Gray Stoddard was faithful in the matter of books. 
 He carried them to Lydia Sessions and discussed with 
 that young lady a complete course of reading for Johnnie. 
 Lydia was in the position of one taking bad medicine 
 for good results. She could not but delight in any 
 enterprise which brought Stoddard intimately to her, 
 yet the discussion of Johnnie Consadine, the admira 
 tion he expressed for the girl s character and work, 
 were as so much quinine. 
 
 Johnnie herself was dumb and abashed, now, in his 
 presence. She sought vainly for the poise and com 
 posure which were her natural birthright in most of 
 the situations of life. Yet her perturbation was not that 
 of distress. The sight of him, the sound of his voice, 
 even if he were not saying good morning to her, would 
 cheer her heart for one whole, long, hot day: and if 
 he spoke to her, if he looked at her, nothing could touch 
 her with sadness for hours afterward. She asked no 
 questions why this was so; she met it with a sort of 
 desperate bravery, accepting the joy, refusing to see
 
 A BIT OF METAL 117 
 
 the sorrow there might be in it. And she robbed herself 
 of necessary sleep to read Stoddard s books, to study 
 them, to wring from them the last precious crumb 
 of help or information that they might have for her. 
 The mountain dweller is a mental creature. An 
 environment which builds lean, vigorous bodies, is apt 
 to nourish keen, alert minds. Johnnie crowded into 
 her few months of night reading a world of ripening 
 culture. 
 
 Ever since the Sunday morning of the automobile 
 ride, Shade Buckheath had been making elaborate 
 pretense of having forgotten that such a person as 
 Johnnie Consadine existed. If he saw her approaching, 
 he turned his back; and when forced to recognize her, 
 barely growled some unintelligible greeting. Then 
 one evening she came suddenly into the machine room. 
 She walked slowly down the long aisle between pieces 
 of \vhirring machinery, carrying all eyes with her. 
 It was an offence to Buckheath to note how the other 
 young fellows turned from their tasks to look after 
 her. She had no business down here where the men 
 were. That was just like a fool girl, always running 
 after - . She paused at his bench. 
 
 "Shade," she said, bending close so that he might 
 hear the words, " I got leave to come in and ask you to 
 make me a thing like this see ?" showing a pattern 
 for a peculiarly slotted strip of metal. 
 
 Buckheath returned to the surly indifference of 
 demeanour which was natural to him. Yet he smiled 
 covertly as he examined the drawing she had made of
 
 ii8 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 the thing she wanted. He divined in this movement 
 of Johnnie s but an attempt to approach himself, 
 and, as she explained with some particularity, he paid 
 more attention to the girl than to her words. 
 
 " I want a big enough hole here to put a bolt 
 through," she repeated. " Shade do you understand ? 
 You re not listening to one word I say." 
 
 Buckheath turned and grinned broadly at her. 
 
 "What s the use of this foolishness, Johnnie?" 
 he inquired, clinking the strips of metal between his 
 fingers. "Looks like you and me could find a chance 
 to visit without going to so much trouble." 
 
 Johnnie opened her gray eyes wide and stared at 
 him. 
 
 "Foolishness!" she echoed. "Mr. Stoddard didn t 
 call it foolishness when I named it to him. He said 
 I was to have anything I wanted made, and that one 
 of the loom-fixers could attend to it." 
 
 "Mr. Stoddard what s he got to do with it?" 
 demanded Shade. 
 
 "He hasn t anything; but that I spoke to him about 
 it, and he told me to try any plan I wanted to." 
 
 " Well, the less you talk to the bosses a girl like you, 
 working here in the mill the better name you ll 
 bear," Shade told her, twisting the drawing in his 
 hands and regarding her from under lowered brows. 
 
 "Don t tear that," cautioned Johnnie impatiently. 
 " I have to speak to some of the people in authority 
 sometimes the same as you do. What s the matter 
 with you, Shade Buckheath?"
 
 A BIT OF METAL 119 
 
 "There s nothing the matter with me," Buckheath 
 declared wagging his head portentously, and avoid 
 ing her eye. Then the wrath, the sense of personal 
 injury, which had been simmering in him ever since 
 he saw her sitting beside Stoddard in the young mill 
 owner s car, broke forth. "When I see a girl riding in 
 an automobile with one of these young bosses," he 
 growled, close to her ear, " I know what to think - 
 and so does everybody else." 
 
 It was out. He had said it at last. He stared at 
 her fiercely. The red dyed her face and neck at his 
 words and look. For a desperate moment she took 
 counsel with herself. Then she lifted her head and 
 looked squarely in Buckheath s face. 
 
 "Oh, that s what has been the matter with you all 
 this time, is it?" she inquired. "Well, I m glad you 
 spoke and relieved your mind." Then she went on 
 evenly, "Mr. Stoddard had been up in the mountains 
 that Sunday to get a flower that he wanted, like the one 
 you stepped on and broke the day I came down. I 
 was up there and showed him where the things grow. 
 Then it rained, and he brought me down in his car. 
 That s all there was to it." 
 
 " Mighty poor excuse," grunted Shade, turning his 
 shoulder to her. 
 
 "It s not an excuse at all," said Johnnie. "You 
 have no right to ask excuses for what I do or explana 
 tions, either, for that matter. I ve told you the truth 
 about it because we were old friends and you named it 
 to me; but I m sorry now that I spoke at all. Give
 
 no THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 me that drawing and those patterns back. Some of 
 the other loom-fixers can make what I want." 
 
 "You get mad quick, don t you ?" Buckheath asked, 
 turning to her with a half-taunting, half-relenting 
 smile on his face. "Red-headed people always do." 
 
 "No, I m not mad," Johnnie told him, as she 
 had told him long ago. "But I ll thank you not to 
 name Mr. Stoddard to me again. If I haven t the 
 right to speak to anybody I need to, why it certainly 
 isn t your place to tell me of it." 
 
 "Go long," said Buckheath, surlily; "I ll fix em 
 for you." And without another word the girl left 
 him. 
 
 After Johnnie was gone, Buckheath chewed for 
 some time the bitter cud of chagrin. He was wholly 
 mistaken, then, in the object of her visit to the mechan 
 ical department ? Yet he was a cool-headed fellow, 
 always alert for that which might bring him gain. 
 Pushing, aspiring, he subscribed for and faithfully 
 studied a mechanics journal which continually urged 
 upon its readers the profit of patenting small improve 
 ments on machinery already in use. Indeed everybody, 
 these days, in the factories, is on the lookout for patent- 
 able improvements. Why might not Johnnie have 
 stumbled on to something worth while ? That Passmore 
 and Consadine tribe were all smart fools. He made the 
 slotted strips she wanted, and delivered them to her 
 the next day with civil words. When, after she had 
 them in use on the spinning jennies upstairs for a week, 
 she came down bringing them for certain minute
 
 A BIT OF METAL 121 
 
 alterations, his attitude was one of friendly help 
 fulness. 
 
 "You say you use em on the frames? What for? 
 How do they work?" he asked her, examining the 
 little contrivance lingeringly. 
 
 "They re working pretty well," she told him, "even 
 the way they are a good deal too long, and with 
 that slot not cut deep enough, I m right proud of myself 
 when I look at them. Any boy or girl tending a frame 
 can go to the end of it and see if anything s the matter 
 without walking plumb down. When you get them 
 fixed the way I want them, I tell you they ll be fine." 
 
 The next afternoon saw Shade Buckheath in the 
 spooling room, watching the operation of Johnnie 
 Consadine s simple device for notifying the frame- 
 tender if a thread fouled or broke. 
 
 "Let me take em all down to the basement," he 
 said finally when he had studied them from every 
 point of view for fifteen minutes. "They ain t as 
 well polished as I d like to have em and I think they 
 might be a little longer in the shank. There ought to 
 be a ring of babbit metal around that slot, too I 
 reckon I could get it in Watauga. If you ll let me 
 take em now, I ll fix em up for you soon as I can, 
 so that they ll do fine." 
 
 Johnnie remonstrated, half-heartedly, as he gathered 
 the crude little invention from the frames; but his 
 proposition wore a plausible face, and she suffered him 
 to take them. 
 
 "They ain t but five here," he said to her sharply.
 
 122 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 "I know I made you six. Where s the other one?" 
 He looked so startled, he spoke so anxiously, that she 
 laughed. 
 
 "I think that must be the one I carried home," she 
 said carelessly. "I had a file, and was trying to fix 
 it myself one evening, and I reckon I never brought 
 it back." 
 
 " Johnnie," said Shade, coming close, and speaking 
 in a low confidential tone that was almost affectionate, 
 "if I was you I wouldn t name this business to anybody. 
 Wait till we get it all fixed right," he pursued, as he 
 saw the rising wonder in her face. "No need to tell 
 every feller all you know so he ll be jest as smart 
 as you are. Ain t that so ? And you git me that 
 other strip. I don t want it layin round for somebody 
 to get hold of and you find me that other strip. 
 Hunt it up, won t you?" 
 
 "Well, you sure talk curious to-day!" Johnnie told 
 him. "I don t see anything to be ashamed of in my 
 loving to fool with machinery, if I am a girl. But 
 I ll get you the strip, if I can find it. I m mighty 
 proud of being a room boss, and I aim to make my 
 room the best one in the mill. Shade, did you know 
 that I get eight dollars a week ? I ve been sending 
 money home to mother, and I ve got a room to myself 
 down at Pap Himes s. And Mr. Sessions says they ll 
 raise me again soon. I wanted em to see this thing 
 working well." 
 
 "Look here!" broke in Shade swiftly; "don t you 
 say anything to the bosses about this" -he shook
 
 A BIT OF METAL 123 
 
 the strips in his hand "not till I ve had a chance 
 to talk to you again. You know I m your friend, don t 
 you Johnnie ?" 
 
 "I reckon so," returned truthful Johnnie, with 
 unflattering moderation. "You get me those things 
 done as quick as you can, please, Shade." 
 
 After this the matter dropped. Two or three times 
 Johnnie reminded Shade of his promise to bring the 
 little strips back, and always he had an excuse ready 
 for her: he had been very busy the metal he wanted 
 was out of stock he would fix them for her just as 
 soon as he could. With every interview his manner 
 toward herself grew kinder more distinctly that 
 of a lover. 
 
 The loom-fixers and mechanics, belonging, be it 
 remembered, to a trades-union, were out of all the 
 mills by five o clock. It was a significant point for 
 any student of economic conditions to note these 
 strapping young males sitting at ease upon the porches 
 of their homes or boarding houses, when the sweating, 
 fagged women weavers and childish spinners trooped 
 across the bridges an hour after. Johnnie was 
 surprised, therefore, one evening, nearly two weeks 
 later, to find Shade waiting for her at the door of 
 the mill. 
 
 "I wish t you d walk a piece up the Gap road with 
 me, I want to have speech with you," the young fellow 
 told her. 
 
 "I can t go far; I most always try to be home in 
 time to help Aunt Mavity put supper on the table, or
 
 i2 4 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 anyway to wash up the dishes for her," the girl replied 
 to him. 
 
 "All right," agreed Buckheath briefly. " Wait here a 
 minute and let me get some things I want to take along." 
 
 He stopped at a little shed back of the offices, some 
 times called the garage because Stoddard s car stood 
 in it. Johnnie dropped down on a box at the door 
 and the young fellow went inside and began searching 
 the pockets of a coat hanging on a peg. He spoke 
 over his shoulder to her. 
 
 "What s the matter with you here lately since you 
 got your raise ? Pears like you won t look at a body." 
 
 "Haven t I seemed friendly?" Johnnie returned, 
 with a deprecating smile. "I reckon I m just tired. 
 Seems like I m tired every minute of the day and 
 I couldn t tell you why. I sure don t have anything 
 hard to do. I think sometimes I need the good hard 
 work I used to have back in the mountains to get 
 rested on." 
 
 She laughed up at him, and Buckheath s emotional 
 nature answered with a dull anger, which was his only 
 reply to her attraction. 
 
 "I was going to invite you to go to a dance in at 
 Watauga, Saturday night," he said sullenly; "but 
 I reckon if you re tired all the time, you don t want 
 to go." 
 
 He had hoped and expected that she would say she 
 was not too tired to go anywhere that he wished her to. 
 His disappointment was disproportionate when she 
 sighingly agreed:
 
 A BIT OF METAL 125 
 
 "Yes, I reckon I hadn t better go to any dances. I 
 wouldn t for the world break down at my work, when 
 I ve just begun to earn so much, and am sending 
 money home to mother." 
 
 Inside the offices Lydia Sessions stood near her 
 brother s desk. She had gone down, as she sometimes 
 did, to take him home in the carriage. 
 
 "Oh, here you are, Miss Sessions," said Gray Stod- 
 dard coming in. "I ve brought those books for 
 Johnnie. There are a lot of them here for her to make 
 selection from. As you are driving, perhaps you 
 wouldn t mind letting me set them in the carriage, 
 then I won t go up past your house." 
 
 Miss Sessions glanced uneasily at the volumes he 
 carried. 
 
 " Do you think it s wise to give an ignorant, untrained 
 girl like that the choice of her own reading?" she said 
 at length. 
 
 Stoddard laughed. 
 
 " It s as far as my wisdom goes," he replied promptly. 
 " I would as soon think of getting up a form of prayer 
 for a fellow creature as laying out a course of reading 
 for him." 
 
 "Well, then," suggested Miss Sessions, "why not 
 let her take up a Chatauqua course ? I m sure many 
 of them are excellent. She would be properly guided, 
 and and encroach less on your time." 
 
 "My time!" echoed Stoddard. "Never mind 
 that feature. I m immensely interested. It s fascina-
 
 126 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 ting to watch the development of so fine a mind which 
 has lain almost entirely fallow to the culture of schools. 
 I quite enjoy looking out a bunch of books for her, and 
 watching to see which one will most appeal to her. 
 Her instinct has proved wholly trustworthy so far. 
 Indeed, if it didn t seem exaggerated, I should say her 
 taste was faultless." 
 
 Miss Sessions flushed and set her lips together. 
 
 "Faultless," she repeated, with an attempt at a 
 smile. "I fancy Johnnie finds out what you admire 
 most, and makes favourites of your favourites." 
 
 Stoddard looked a bit blank for an instant. Then, 
 
 "Well perhaps she does," he allowed, hesita 
 tingly. His usual tolerant smile held a hint of indul 
 gent tenderness, and there was a vibration in his voice 
 which struck to Lydia Sessions s heart like a knife. 
 
 "No, you are mistaken," he added after a moment s 
 reflection. "You don t realize how little I ve talked 
 to the child about books or anything else, for that 
 matter. It does chance that her taste is mine in very 
 many cases; but you underrate our protege when you 
 speak of her as ignorant and uncultured. She knows 
 a good deal more about some things than either of us. 
 It is her fund of nature lore that makes Thoreau and 
 White of Selborne appeal to her. Now I love them 
 because I know so little about what they write of." 
 
 Lydia Sessions instantly fastened upon the one point. 
 She protested almost anxiously. 
 
 " But surely you would not call her cultured a 
 factory girl who has lived in a hut in the mountains all
 
 A BIT OF METAL 127 
 
 her life ? She is trying hard, I admit; but her speech 
 is well, it certainly is rather uncivilized." 
 
 Stoddard looked as though he might debate that 
 matter a bit. Then he questioned, instead: 
 
 "Did you ever get a letter from her? She doesn t 
 carry her quaint little archaisms of pronunciation and 
 wording into her writing. Her letters are delicious." 
 
 Miss Sessions turned hastily to the window and 
 looked out, apparently to observe whether her brother 
 was ready to leave or not. Johnnie Consadine s 
 letters her letters. What when ? Of course 
 she could not baldly question him in such a matter; 
 and the simple explanation of a little note of thanks 
 with a returned book, or the leaf which reported 
 impressions from its reading tucked in between the 
 pages occurred to her perturbed mind. 
 
 "You quite astonish me," she said finally. "Well 
 - that is good hearing. Mr. Stoddard," with sud 
 den decision, " don t you believe that it would be well 
 worth while, in view of all this, to raise the money and 
 send John Consadine away to a good school ? There 
 are several fine ones in New England where she might 
 partially work her way; and really, from what you say, 
 it seems to me she s worthy of such a chance." 
 
 Stoddard glanced at her in surprise. 
 
 "Why, Miss Sessions, doesn t this look like going 
 squarely back on your most cherished theories ? If 
 it s only to bestow a little money, and send her away 
 to some half-charity school, what becomes of your 
 argument that people who have had advantages should
 
 i 2 8 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 give of themselves and their comradeship to those 
 they wish to help ? " There was a boyish eagerness in 
 his manner; his changeful gray-brown eyes were 
 alight; he came close and laid a hand on her arm - 
 quite an unusual demonstration with Gray Stoddard. 
 "You mustn t discourage me," he said winningly. 
 "I m such a hopeful disciple. I ve never enjoyed 
 anything more in my life than this enterprise you and 
 I have undertaken together, providing the right food 
 for so bright and so responsive a mind." 
 
 Miss Lydia looked at him in a sort of despair. 
 
 "Yes oh, yes. I quite understand that," she 
 agreed almost mechanically. " I don t mean to go 
 back on my principles. But what John needs is a 
 good, sound education from the beginning. Don t 
 you think so ?" 
 
 "No," said Stoddard promptly. "Indeed I do not. 
 Development must come from within. To give it a 
 chance to lend it stimulus that s all a friend can 
 do. A ready-made education plastered on the outside 
 cultivates nobody. Moreover, Johnnie is in no crying 
 need of mere schooling. You don t seem to know how 
 well provided she has been in that respect. But the 
 thing that settles the matter is that she would not 
 accept any such charitable arrangement. Unless you re 
 tired of our present method, I vote to continue it." 
 
 Lydia Sessions had been for some moments watch 
 ing Johnnie Consadine who sat on her box at the door 
 of the little garage. She had refrained from mention 
 ing this fact to her companion; but now Shade Buck-
 
 A BIT OF METAL 129 
 
 heath stepped out to join Johnnie, and instantly Lydia 
 turned and motioned Stoddard to her. 
 
 "Look there," she whispered. "Don t they make 
 a perfect couple ? You and I may do what we choose 
 about cultivating the girl s mind she ll marry a 
 man of her own class, and there it will end." 
 
 "Why should you say that?" asked Stoddard 
 abruptly. "Those two do not belong to the same 
 class. They " 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Stoddard! They grew up side by side; 
 they went to school together, and I imagine were 
 sweethearts long before they came to Cottonville." 
 
 "Do you think that makes them of the same class ?" 
 asked Stoddard impatiently. "I should say the pre 
 sumption was still greater the other way. I was not 
 alluding to social classes." 
 
 "You re so odd," murmured Lydia Sessions. "These 
 mountaineers are all alike." 
 
 The village road was a smother of white dust; the 
 weeds beside it drooped powdered heads; evil odours 
 reeked through the little place; but when Shade and 
 Johnnie had passed its confines, the air from the 
 mountains greeted them sweetly; the dusty white road 
 gave place to springy leaf-mould, mixed with tiny, 
 sharp stones. A young moon rode low in the west. 
 The tank-a-tank of cowbells sounded from homing 
 animals. Up in the dusky Gap, whip-poor-wills were 
 beginning to call. 
 
 "I m glad I came," said Johnnie, pushing the hair
 
 130 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 off her hot forehead. She was speaking to herself, 
 aware that Buckheath paid little attention, but walked 
 in silence a step ahead, twisting a little branch of 
 sassafras in his fingers. The spicy odour of the bark 
 was afterward associated in Johnnie s mind with what 
 he had then to say. 
 
 Johnnie," he began, facing around and barring 
 her way, when they were finally alone together 
 between the trees, "do you remember the last time 
 you and me was on this piece of road here do you ?" 
 
 He had intended to remind her of the evening she 
 came to Cottonville: but instead, recollection built 
 for her once more the picture of that slope bathed in 
 Sabbath sunshine. There was the fork where the 
 Hardwick carriage had turned off; to this side went 
 Shade and his fellows, with Mandy and the girls follow 
 ing; and down the middle of the road she herself came, 
 seated in the car beside Stoddard. 
 
 For a moment memory choked and blinded Johnnie. 
 She could neither see the path before them, nor find 
 the voice to answer her questioner. The bleak pathos 
 of her situation came home to her, and tears of rare 
 self-pity filled her eyes. Why was it a disgrace that 
 Stoddard should treat her kindly ? Why must she 
 be ashamed of her feeling for him ? Shade s voice 
 broke in harshly. 
 
 " Do you remember ? You ain t forgot, have you ? 
 Ever since that time I ve intended to speak to you - 
 to tell you - 
 
 "Well, you needn t do it," she interrupted him pas>-
 
 A BIT OF METAL 131 
 
 sionatefy. " I won t hear a word against Mr. Stoddard, 
 if that s what you re aiming at." 
 
 Buckheath fell back a pace and stared with angry 
 eyes. 
 
 "Stoddard Gray Stoddard?" he repeated. 
 "What s a swell like that got to do with you and me, 
 Johnnie Consadine ? You want to let Gray Stoddard 
 and his kind alone yes, and make them let you 
 alone, if you and me are going to marry." 
 
 It was Johnnie s turn to stare. 
 
 "If we re going to marry!" she echoed blankly 
 "going to marry!" The girl had had her lovers. 
 Despite hard work and the stigma of belonging to the 
 borrowing Passmore family, Johnnie had commanded 
 the homage of more than one heart. She was not 
 without a healthy young woman s relish fcr this sort 
 of admiration; but Shade Buckheath s proposal came 
 with so little grace, in such almost sinister form, that 
 she scarcely recognized it. 
 
 " Yes, if we re going to wed," reiterated Buckheath 
 sullenly. "I m willin to have you." 
 
 Johnnie s tense, almost tragic manner relaxed. 
 She laughed suddenly. 
 
 "I didn t know you was joking, Shade," she said 
 good-humouredly. " I took you to be in earnest. 
 You ll have to excuse me." 
 
 "I am in earnest," Buckheath told her, almost 
 fiercely. "I reckon I m a fool; but I want you. Any 
 day" -he spoke with a curious, half-savage reluc 
 tance - " any day you ll say the word, I ll take you."
 
 132 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 His eyes, like his voice, were resentful, yet eager. 
 He took off his hat and wiped the perspiration from 
 his brow, looking away from her now, toward the road 
 by which they had climbed. 
 
 Johnnie regarded him through her thick eyelashes, 
 the smile still lingering bright in her eyes. After 
 all, it was only a rather unusual kind of sweethearting, 
 and not a case of it to touch her feelings. 
 
 " I m mighty sorry," she said soberly, " but I ain t 
 aimin to wed any man, fixed like I am. Mother and 
 the children have to be looked after, and I can t ask a 
 man to do for em, so I have it to do myself." 
 
 "Of course I can t take your mother and the chil 
 dren," Buckheath objected querulously, as though she 
 had asked him to do so. " But you I ll take; and you d 
 do well to think it over. You won t get such a chance 
 soon again, and I m apt to change my mind if 
 you put on airs with me this way." 
 
 Johnnie shook her head. 
 
 "I know it s a fine chance, Shade," she said in the 
 kindest tone, "but I m hoping you will change your 
 mind, and that soon; for it s just like I tell you." 
 
 She turned with evident intention of going back and 
 terminating their interview. Buckheath stepped beside 
 her in helpless fury. He knew she would have other 
 opportunities, and better. He was aware how futile 
 was this threat of withdrawing his proposition. Hot, 
 tired, angry, the dust of the way prickling on his face 
 and neck, he was persistently conscious of a letter in 
 the pocket of his striped shirt, over his heavily beating
 
 A BIT OF METAL 133 
 
 heart, warm and moist like the shirt itself, with the 
 sweat of his body. Good Lord! That letter which had 
 come from Washington this morning informing him 
 that the device this girl had invented was patentable, 
 filled her hands with gold. It was necessary that he 
 should have control of her, and at once. He put from 
 him the knowledge of how her charm wrought upon 
 him bound him the faster every time he spoke to 
 her. Cold, calculating, sluggishly selfish, he had not 
 reckoned with her radiant personality, nor had the 
 instinct to know that, approached closely, it must inevit 
 ably light in him unwelcome and inextinguishable 
 fires. 
 
 : Johnnie," he said finally, "you ain t saying no 
 to me, are you ? You take time to think it over - 
 but not so very long -- I ll name it to you 
 again." 
 
 " Please don t, Shade," remonstrated the girl, walking 
 on fast, despite the oppressive heat of the evening. 
 "I wish you wouldn t speak of it to me any more; 
 and I can t go walking with you this way. I have 
 obliged to help Aunt Mavity; and every minute of time 
 I get from that, and my work, I m putting in on my 
 books and reading." 
 
 She stepped ahead of him now, and Buckheath 
 regarded her back with sullen, sombre eyes. What 
 was he to do ? How come nearer her when she thus 
 held herself aloof ? 
 
 Johnnie Consadine!" The girl checked her steps 
 a bit at a new sound in his voice. " I ll tell you just one
 
 i 3 4 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 thing, and you d better never forget it, neither. I ain t 
 no fool. I know mighty well an good your reason for 
 treating me this-a-way. Your reason s got a name. 
 Hit s called Mr. Gray Stoddard. You behave yo self 
 an listen to reason, or I ll get even with him for it. 
 Damn him I ll fix him!"
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE SANDALS OF JOY 
 
 GOME in here, Johnnie," Mavity Bence called 
 one day, as Johnnie was passing a strange 
 little cluttered cubbyhole under the garret 
 stairs and out over the roof of the lean-to kitchen. 
 It was a hybrid apartment, between a large closet and 
 a small room; one four-paned window gave scant light 
 and ventilation; all the broken or disused plunder 
 about the house was pitched into it, and in the middle 
 sat a tumbled bed. It was the woman s sleeping place 
 and her dead daughter had shared it with her during 
 her lifetime. Johnnie stopped at the door with a hand 
 on each side of its frame. 
 
 "Reddin up things, Aunt Mavity?" she asked, 
 adding, "If I had time I d come in and help you." 
 
 "I was just puttin away what I ve got left that 
 belonged to Lou," said the woman, sitting suddenly 
 down on the bed and gazing up into the bright face 
 above her with a sort of appeal. Johnnie noticed 
 then that Mrs. Bence had a pair of cheap slippers in 
 her lap. It came back vividly to the girl how the news 
 papers had said that Louvania Bence had taken off 
 her slippers and left them on the bridge, that she 
 might climb the netting more easily to throw herself 
 
 135
 
 136 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 into the water. The mother stared down at these, 
 dry-eyed. 
 
 "She never had em on but the once," Mavity Bence 
 breathed. "And I and I r ared out on her for 
 buyin of em. I said that with Pap so old and all, we 
 hadn t money to spend for slippers. Lord God!" 
 she shivered - " We had to find money for the under 
 taker, when he come to lay her out." 
 
 She turned to Johnnie feverishly, like a thing that 
 writhes on the rack and seeks an easier position. 
 
 "I had the best for her then I jest would do it - 
 there was white shoes and stockin s, and a reg lar 
 shroud like they make at Watauga; we never put a 
 stitch on her that she d wore hit was all new-bought. 
 
 O 
 
 For once I said my say to Pap, and made him take 
 money out of the bank to do it. He s got some in thar 
 for to bury all of us he says but he never wanted 
 to use any of it for Lou." 
 
 Johnnie came in and sat down on the bed beside 
 her hostess. She laid a loving hand over Mavity s that 
 held the slippers. 
 
 "What pretty little feet she must have had," she 
 said softly. 
 
 "Didn t she?" echoed the mother, with a tremulous 
 half-smile. "I couldn t more n get these here on my 
 hand, but they was a loose fit for her. They re as 
 good as new. Johnnie, ef you ever get a invite to a 
 dance I ll lend em to you. Hit d pleasure me to think 
 some gal s feet was dancin in them thar slippers. 
 Lou, she never learned to dance looked like she
 
 THE SANDALS OF JOY 137 
 
 could never find time." Louvania, be it remembered 
 had found time in which to die. 
 
 So Johnnie thanked poor Mavity, and hurried away, 
 because the warning whistle was blowing. 
 
 The very next Wednesday Miss Sessions gave a 
 dance to the members of her Uplift Club. These 
 gaieties were rather singular and ingenious affairs, 
 sterilized dances, Mrs. Hexter irreverently dubbed 
 them. Miss Lydia did not invite the young men 
 employed about the mill, not having as yet undertaken 
 their uplifting; and feeling quite inadequate to cope 
 with the relations between them and the mill girls, 
 which would be something vital and genuine, and as 
 such, quite foreign if not inimical to her enter 
 prise. She contented herself with bringing in a few 
 well-trained young males of her own class, who were 
 expected to be attentive to the girls, treating them 
 as equals, just as Miss Lydia did. For the rest, the 
 members were encouraged to dance with each other, 
 and find such joy as they might in the supper, and the 
 fact that Miss Sessions paid for a half-day s work for 
 them on the morrow, that they might lie late in bed 
 after a night s pleasuring. 
 
 Johnnie Consadine had begun to earn money in such 
 quantities as seemed to her economic experience 
 extremely large. She paid her board, sent a little home 
 to her mother, and had still wherewith to buy a frock 
 for the dance. She treated herself to a trolley ride in 
 to Watauga to select this dress, going on the Saturday 
 half-holiday which the mills gave their workers, lest
 
 138 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 the labour laws regulating the hours per week which 
 women and children may be employed be infringed 
 upon. There was grave debate in Johnnie s mind 
 as to what she should buy. Colours would fade - 
 in cheap goods, anyhow white soiled easily. " But 
 then I could wash and iron it myself any evening I 
 wanted to wear it," she argued to Mandy Meacham, 
 who accompanied her. 
 
 "I d be proud to do it for you," returned Mandy, 
 loyally. Ordinarily the Meacham woman was selfish; 
 but having found an object upon which she could 
 centre her thin, watery affections, she proceeded to be 
 selfish for Johnnie instead of toward her, a spiritual 
 juggle which some mothers perform in regard to their 
 children. 
 
 The store reached, Johnnie showed good judgment 
 in her choice. There was a great sale on at the biggest 
 shopping place in Watauga, and the ready-made 
 summer wear was to be had at bargain rates. Not 
 for her were the flaring, coarse, scant garments whose 
 lack of seemliness was supposed to be atoned for by a 
 profusion of cheap, sleazy trimming. After long and 
 somewhat painful inspection, since most of the things 
 she wanted were hopelessly beyond her, Johnnie 
 carried home a fairly fine white lawn, simply tucked, 
 and fitting to perfection. 
 
 "But you ve got a shape that sets off anything," said 
 the saleswoman, carelessly dealing out the compliments 
 she kept in stock with her goods for purchasers. 
 
 "You re mighty right she has," rejoined Mandy,
 
 THE SANDALS OF JOY 139 
 
 sharply, as who should say, "My back is not a true 
 expression of my desires concerning backs. Look at 
 this other she has the spine of my dreams." 
 
 The saleswoman chewed gum while they waited for 
 change and parcel, and in the interval she had time 
 to inspect Johnnie more closely. 
 
 "Working in the cotton mill, are you?" she asked 
 as she sorted up her stock, jingling the bracelets on her 
 wrists, and patting into shape her big, frizzy pompa 
 dour. "That s awful hard work, ain t it? I should 
 think a girl like you would try for a place in a store. 
 I ll bet you could get one," she added encouragingly, 
 as she handed the parcel across the counter. But 
 already Johnnie knew that the spurious elegance of this 
 young person s appearance was not what she wished 
 to emulate. 
 
 The night of the dance Johnnie adjusted her costume 
 with the nice skill and care which seem native to so 
 many of the daughters of America. Mandy, dressing 
 at the same bureau, scraggled the parting of her own 
 hair, furtively watching the deft arranging of Johnnie s. 
 
 "Let me do it for you, and part it straight," Johnnie 
 remonstrated. 
 
 "Aw, hit ll never be seen on a gallopin hoss," 
 returned Mandy carelessly. " Everybody ll be so tuck 
 up a-watchin you that they won t have time to notice 
 is my hair parted straight, nohow." 
 
 " But you re not a galloping horse," objected Johnnie, 
 laughing and clutching the comb away from her. 
 "You ve got mighty pretty hair, Mandy, if you d give
 
 140 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 it a chance. Why, it s curly! Let me do it up right 
 for you once." 
 
 So the thin, graying ringlets were loosened around 
 the meagre forehead, and indeed Mandy s appearance 
 was considerably ameliorated. 
 
 "There isn t that nice ?" inquired Johnnie, turn 
 ing her companion around to the glass and forcing her 
 to gaze in it a thing Mandy always instinctively 
 avoided. 
 
 "I reckon I ve looked worse," agreed the tall woman 
 unenthusiastically; "but Miss Lyddy ain t carin to 
 have ye fix up much. I get sort of feisty and want 
 to dav-il her by makin you look pretty. Wish t you 
 would wear that breas -pin o mine, an them rings an 
 beads I borried from Lizzie for ye. You might just 
 as well, and then nobody d know you from one o the 
 swells." 
 
 Johnnie shook her fair head decidedly. Talk of 
 borrowing things brought a reminiscent flush to her 
 cheek. 
 
 "I m just as much obliged," she said sweetly. "I ll 
 wear nothing but what s my own. After a while I ll 
 be able to afford jewellery, and that ll be the time for 
 me to put it on." 
 
 Presently came Mavity Bence bringing the treasured 
 footwear. 
 
 "I expect they ll be a little tight for me," Johnnie 
 remarked somewhat doubtfully; the slippers, though 
 cheap, ill-cut things, looked so much smaller than her 
 heavy, country-made shoes. But they went readily
 
 THE SANDALS OF JOY 141 
 
 upon the arched feet of the mountain girl, Mandy and 
 the poor mother looking on with deep interest. 
 
 " I wish t Lou was here to see you in em," whispered 
 Mavity Bence. "She wouldn t grudge em to you one 
 minute. Lord, how pretty you do look, Johnnie 
 Consadine! You re as sightly as that thar big wax 
 doll down at the Company store. I wish t Lou could 
 see you." 
 
 The dance was being given in the big hall above a 
 store, which Miss Lydia hired for these functions of 
 her Uplift Club. The room was half-heartedly decor 
 ated in a hybrid fashion. Miss Lydia had sent down 
 a rose-bowl of flowers; and the girls, being encouraged 
 to use their own taste, put up some flags left over from 
 last Fourth of July. When Johnnie and Mandy 
 Meacham strangely assorted pair entered the long 
 room, festivities were already in progress; Negro 
 fiddlers were reeling off dance music, and Miss Lydia 
 was trying to teach some of her club members the 
 two-step. Her younger brother, Hartley Sessions, was 
 gravely piloting a girl down the room in what was sup 
 posed to be that popular dance, and two young men 
 from Watauga, for whom he had vouched, stood ready 
 for Miss Sessions to furnish them with partners, when 
 she should have encouraged her learners sufficiently 
 to make the attempt. Round the walls sat the other 
 girls, and to Johnnie s memory came those words of 
 Mandy s, "You dance if you can." 
 
 Johnnie Consadine certainly could dance. Many 
 a time back in the mountains she had walked five miles
 
 i 4 2 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 after a hard day s work to get to a dance that some one 
 of her mates was giving, tramping home in the dawn 
 and doing without sleep for that twenty-four hours. 
 The music seemed somehow to get into her muscles, 
 so that she swayed and moved exactly in time to it. 
 
 "That s the two-step," she murmured to her partner. 
 "I never tried it, but I ve seen em dance it at the hotel 
 down at Chalybeate Springs. I can waltz a little; but 
 I love an old-fashioned quadrille the best it seems 
 more friendly." 
 
 Gray Stoddard was talking to an older woman who 
 had come with her daughter a thin-bodied, deep- 
 eyed woman of forty, perhaps, with a half-sad, tolerant 
 smile, and slow, racy speech. A sudden touch on his 
 shoulder roused him, as one of the young men from 
 town leaned over and asked him excitedly: 
 
 "Who s that girl down at the other end of the room, 
 Gray ? the stunning blonde that just came in ? 
 She s got one of the mill girls with her." 
 
 Gray looked, and laughed a little. Somehow 
 the adjectives applied to Johnnie did not please 
 him. 
 
 "Both of them work in the mill," he said briefly. 
 "The one you mean is Johnnie Consadine. She s 
 a remarkable girl in more ways than merely in 
 appearance." 
 
 "Well, take me down there and give me an intro 
 duction," urged the youth from Watauga, in a tone of 
 animation which was barred from Uplift affairs-. 
 
 "All right," agreed Gray, getting to his feet with a
 
 THE SANDALS OF JOY 143 
 
 twinkle in his eye. "I suppose you want to meet the 
 tall one. L I ve got an engagement for the first dance with 
 Miss Consadine myself." 
 
 "Say," ejaculated the other, drawing back, "that 
 isn t fair. Miss Sessions," he appealed to their hostess 
 as umpire. " Here s Gray got the belle of the ball 
 mortgaged for all her dances, and won t even give me 
 an introduction. You do the square thing by me, 
 won t you ?" 
 
 Lydia Sessions had got her neophites safely launched, 
 and they were making a more or less tempestuous 
 progress across the floor. She turned to the two young 
 men a flushed, smiling countenance. In the tempered 
 light and the extremely favouring costume of the hour, 
 she looked almost pretty. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked graciously. The belle 
 of the ball? I don t know quite who that is. Oh!" 
 with a slight drop in her tone and the temperature of 
 her expression; "do you mean John Consadine? 
 Really, how well she is looking to-night!" 
 
 "Isn t she!" blundered the Watauga man with ill- 
 timed enthusiasm. " I call her a regular beauty, and 
 such an interesting-looking creature. What is she 
 trying to do ? Good Lord, she s going to attempt the 
 two-step with that Eiffel tower she brought along!" 
 
 These frivolous remarks, suited well enough to the 
 ordinary ballroom, did not please Miss Lydia for 
 an Uplift dance. 
 
 "The girl with John is one in whom I take a very 
 deep interest," she said with a touch of primness.
 
 i 4 4 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 11 John Consadine is young, and exceptionally strong 
 and healthy. But Amanda Meacham has er - 
 disabilities and afflictions that make it difficult for her 
 to get along. She is a very worthy case." 
 
 The young man from Watauga, who had not regarded 
 Johnnie as a case at all, but had considered her purely 
 as an exceptionally attractive young woman, looked 
 a trifle bewildered. Then Gray took his arm and led 
 him across to where the attempt at two-stepping had 
 broken up in laughing disorder. With that absolutely 
 natural manner which Miss Sessions could never quite 
 achieve, good as her intentions were, he performed the 
 introduction, and then said pleasantly: 
 
 " Mr. Baker wants to ask you to dance, Miss Johnnie. 
 I ll carry on Miss Amanda s teaching, or we ll sit down 
 here and talk if she d rather." 
 
 "No more two-steppin for me," agreed Miss 
 Meacham, seating herself decidedly. "I ll take my 
 steps one at a time from this on. I d ruther watch 
 Johnnie dance, anyhow; but she would have me try 
 for myself." 
 
 Johnnie and the young fellow from Watauga were 
 off now. They halted once or twice, evidently for 
 some further instructions, as Johnnie got the step and 
 time, and then moved away smoothly. Gray took 
 the seat beside Mandy. 
 
 "Ain t she a wonder?" inquired the big woman, 
 staring fondly after the fluttering white skirts. 
 
 "She is indeed," agreed Gray quietly. And then, 
 Mandy being thus launched on the congenial theme
 
 THE SANDALS OF JOY 145 
 
 - the one theme upon which she was ever loquacious 
 out came the story of the purchase of the dress, the 
 compliments of the saleswoman, the refusal of the 
 borrowed jewellery. 
 
 "Johnnie s quare she is that I ll never] deny 
 it; but I cain t no more help likin her than as if she 
 was my own born sister." 
 
 "That s because she is fond of you, too," sug 
 gested Gray, thinking of the girl s laborious attempts 
 to teach poor Mandy to dance. 
 
 "Do you reckon she is?" asked the tall woman, 
 flushing. "Looks like Johnnie Consadine loves every 
 livin thing on the top side of this earth. I ain t never 
 seen the human yet that she ain t got a good word for. 
 But I don t know as she cares specially bout me." 
 
 Stoddard could not refuse the assurance for which 
 Mandy so naively angled. 
 
 "You wouldn t be so fond of her if she wasn t fond 
 of you," he asserted confidently. 
 
 "Mebbe I wouldn t," Mandy debated; "but I don t 
 know. Let Johnnie put them two eyes o hern on 
 you, and laugh in your face, and you feel just like you d 
 follow her to the ends of the earth or I know I do. 
 Why, she done up my hair this evening and" -the 
 voice sank to a half-shamed whisper- "she said it 
 was pretty." 
 
 Gray turned and looked into the flushed, tremulous 
 face beside him with a sudden tightening in his throat. 
 How cruel humanity is when it beholds only the 
 grotesque in the Mandys of this world. Her hair
 
 146 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 was pretty and Johnnie had the eyes of love to 
 see it. 
 
 He stared down the long, lighted room with unseeing 
 gaze. Old Andrew MacPherson s counsel that he let 
 Johnnie Consadine alone appealed to him at that 
 moment as cruel good sense. He was recalled from his 
 musings by Mandy s voice. 
 
 "Oh, look thar!" whispered his companion excitedly. 
 4 The other town feller has asked for a knock-down to 
 Johnnie, too. Look at him passin his bows with her 
 just like she was one of the swells ! " 
 
 Stoddard looked. Charlie Conroy was relieving 
 Baker of his partner. Johnnie had evidently been 
 asked if she was tired, for they saw her laughingly shake 
 her head, and the new couple finished what was left 
 of the two-step and seated themselves a moment at the 
 other side of the room to wait for the next dance to 
 begin. 
 
 "These affairs are great fun, aren t they?" inquired 
 Conroy, fanning his late partner vigorously. 
 
 "I love to dance better than anything else in the 
 world, I believe," returned Johnnie dreamily. 
 
 "Oh, a dance I should suppose so. You move 
 as though you enjoyed it; but I mean a performance 
 like this. The girls are great fun, don t you think ? 
 But then you wouldn t get quite our point of view on 
 that." 
 
 He glanced again at her dress; it was plain and 
 simple, but good style and becoming. She wore no 
 jewellery, but lots of girls were rather affecting that
 
 THE SANDALS OF JOY 147 
 
 now, especially the athletic type to which this young 
 beauty seemed to belong. Surely he wa ot mistaken 
 in guessing her to be one of Miss Sessions s friends. 
 Of course he was not. She had dressed herself in 
 this simple fashion for a mill-girl s dance, that she 
 might not embarrass the working people who attended. 
 Yes, by George! that was it, and it was a long ways 
 better taste than the frocks Miss Sessions and Mrs. 
 Hexter were wearing. 
 
 Johnnie considered his last remark, her gaze still 
 following the movements of the Negro fiddler at the 
 head of the room. Understanding him to mean that, 
 being a mill-hand herself, she could not get a detached 
 view of the matter, and thus see the humour of this 
 attempt to make society women of working-girls, 
 Johnnie was yet not affronted. Her clear eyes came 
 back from watching Uncle Zeke s manoeuvres and 
 looked frankly into the eyes of the man beside her. 
 
 "I reckon we are right funny," she assented. "But 
 of course, as you say, I wouldn t see that as quick as 
 you would. Sometimes I have to laugh a little at 
 Mandy the girl I was dancing with first this evening 
 but but she s so good-natured it never hurts her 
 feelings. I don t mind being laughed at myself, either." 
 
 "Laughed at you?" inquired Conroy, throwing 
 an immense amount of expression into his glance. He 
 was rather a lady s man, and fancied he had made 
 pretty fair headway with this beautiful girl whom he 
 still supposed to be of the circle of factory owners. 
 "Oh, you mean your work among the mill girls here.
 
 148 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Indeed, I should not laugh at that. I think it s noble 
 for those more fortunate to stretch a hand to help their 
 brothers and sisters that haven t so good a chance. 
 That s what brought me over here to-night. Gray 
 Stoddard explained the plan to me. He doesn t seem 
 to think much of it but then, Gray s a socialist at 
 heart, and you know those socialists never believe in 
 organized charity. I tell him he s an anarchist." 
 
 "Mr. Stoddard is a mighty good man," agreed 
 Johnnie with sudden pensiveness. " They ve all been 
 mighty good to me ever since I ve been here; but I 
 believe Mr. Stoddard has done more for me than any 
 one else. He not only lends me books, but he takes 
 time to explain things to me." 
 
 Conroy smiled covertly at the simplicity of this 
 young beauty. He debated in his mind whether indeed 
 it was not an affected simplicity. Of course Gray was 
 devoting himself to her and lending her books; of 
 course he would be glad to assume the position of 
 mentor to a girl who bade fair to be such a pronounced 
 social success, and who was herself so charming. 
 
 "How long have you been in Cottonville, Miss 
 Consadine?" he asked. "Do tell me who you are 
 visiting or are you visiting here ?" 
 
 "Oh, no," Johnnie corrected him. "I believe you 
 haven t understood from the first that I m one of the 
 mill girls. I board at well, everybody calls it Pap 
 Himes s boarding-house." 
 
 There was a moment s silence; but Conroy managed 
 not to look quite as deeply surprised as he felt.
 
 THE SANDALS OF JOY 149 
 
 "I of course I knew it," he began at length, after 
 having sorted and discarded half a dozen explanations. 
 "There why, there s our dance!" And he stood 
 up in relief, as the fiddlers began on an old-fashioned 
 quadrille. 
 
 Johnnie responded with alacrity, not aware of having 
 either risen or fallen in her companion s estimation. 
 She danced through the set with smiling enjoyment, 
 prompting her partner, who knew only modern dances. 
 On his part Conroy studied her covertly, trying to 
 adjust his slow mind to this astonishing new state of 
 things, and to decide what a man s proper attitude 
 might be toward such a girl. In the end he found 
 himself with no conclusion. 
 
 They say they re going to try a plain waltz," he 
 began as he led her back to a seat. He hesitated, 
 glanced about him, and finally placed himself uneasily 
 in the chair beside her. Good Lord! The situation 
 was impossible. What should he say if anybody - 
 Gray Stoddard, for instance chaffed him about being 
 smitten in this quarter ? 
 
 "A waltz ?" echoed Johnnie helpfully when he did not 
 
 go on. " I believe I could dance that I tried it once." 
 
 "Then you ll dance it with me?" Conroy found 
 
 himself saying, baldly, awkwardly, but unable, for the 
 
 life of him, to keep the eagerness out of his voice. 
 
 Upon the instant the music struck up. The two 
 rose and made ready for the dance; Conroy placing 
 Johnnie in waltzing position, and instructing her 
 solicitously.
 
 150 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Gray Stoddard looking on, was amazed at the naif 
 simple jealousy that swept over him at the sight. She 
 had danced with Conroy twice already he ought 
 to be more considerate than to bring the girl into 
 notice that way a chump like Charlie Conroy, what 
 would he understand of such a nature as Johnnie Con- 
 sadine s ? Before he fully realized his own intentions, 
 he had paused in front of the two and was speaking. 
 
 "I think Miss Johnnie promised me a dance this 
 evening. I ll have to go back to the office in twenty 
 minutes, and I hate to interrupt you, but I guess 
 I ll have to claim my own." 
 
 He became suddenly aware that Conroy was signal 
 ling him across Johnnie s unconscious head with 
 Masonic twistings of the features. Stoddard met these 
 recklessly inconsiderate grimacings with an impassive 
 stare, then looked away. 
 
 " I want to see you before you go," the man from 
 Watauga remarked, as he reluctantly resigned his 
 partner. " Don t you forget that there s a waltz 
 coming to me, Miss Johnnie. I m going to have it, 
 if we make the band play special for us alone." 
 
 Lydia Sessions, passing on the arm of young Baker, 
 glanced at Johnnie, star-eyed, pink-cheeked and 
 smiling, with a pair of tall cavaliers contending for her 
 favours, and sucked her lips in to that thin, sharp line 
 of reprobation lohnnie knew so well. Dismissing her 
 escort graciously, she hurried to the little supper room 
 and found another member of the committee. 
 
 "Come here, Mrs. Hexter. Just look at that, will
 
 THE SANDALS OF JOY 151 
 
 you?" She called attention in a carefully suppressed, 
 but fairly tragic tone, to Stoddard and Johnnie dan 
 cing together, the only couple on the floor. " None of 
 the girls know how to waltz. I am not sure that it 
 would be suitable if they did. When I came past, just 
 now, there were two of the men two talking to 
 John Consadine, and they were all three laughing. I 
 can t think how it is that girls of that sort manage to 
 stir things up so and get all the men around them." 
 
 "Neither can I," said Mrs. Hexter wickedly. "If 
 I did know how, I believe I d do it sometimes myself. 
 What is it you want of me, Miss Sessions ? I must 
 run back and see to supper, if you don t need me." 
 
 "But I do," fretted Lydia. "I want your help. 
 This waltzing and and such things ought to be 
 stopped." 
 
 "All right," rejoined practical Mrs. Hexter. "The 
 quickest way to do it is to stop the music." 
 
 She had meant the speech as a jeer, but literal- 
 minded Lydia Sessions welcomed its suggestion. Hurry 
 ing down the long room, she spoke to the leader of 
 their small orchestra. The Negro raised to her a 
 brown face full of astonishment. His fiddle-bow 
 faltered stopped. He turned to his two fellows 
 and gave hasty directions. The waltz measure died 
 away, and a quadrille was announced. 
 
 "That was too bad," said Stoddard as they came to 
 a halt; "you were just getting the step beautifully." 
 
 The girl flashed a swift, sweet look up at him. "I 
 do love to dance," she breathed.
 
 i 5 2 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 John, would you be so kind as to come and help in 
 the supper room," Miss Sessions s hasty tones broke in. 
 
 She was leaning on Charlie Conroy s arm, and 
 when she departed to hide Johnnie safely away in the 
 depths of their impromptu kitchen, it left the two 
 men alone together. Conroy promptly fastened upon 
 the other. 
 
 Charlie Conroy was a young man who had made 
 up his mind to get on socially. Such figures are rarer 
 in America than in the old world. Yet Charlie 
 Conroy with his petty ambitions does not stand entirely 
 alone. He seriously regarded marriage as a stepping- 
 stone to a circle which should include " the best people." 
 That this term did not indicate the noblest or most 
 selfless, need hardly be explained. It meant only 
 that bit of froth which in each community rides high 
 on the top of the cup, and which, in Watauga, was 
 augmented by the mill owners of its suburb of Cotton- 
 ville. Conroy had been grateful for the opportunity to 
 make an entry into this circle by means of assisting Miss 
 Sessions in her charitable work. That lady herself, 
 as sister-in-law of Jerome Hardwick and a descendant 
 of an excellent New England family, he regarded with 
 absolute veneration, quite too serious and profound 
 for anything so assured as mere admiration. 
 
 "I tried to warn you," he began: "but you were 
 bound to get stung." 
 
 "I beg your pardon?" returned Stoddard in that 
 civil, colourless interrogation which should always 
 check over-familiar speech, even from the dullest.
 
 THE SANDALS OF JOY 153 
 
 But Conrpy was not sensitive. 
 
 "That big red-headed girl, you know," he said, 
 leaning close and speaking in a confidential tone. "I 
 mistook her for a lady. I was going my full length - 
 telling her what fun the mill girls were, and trying to 
 do the agreeable when I found out." 
 
 o 
 
 " Found out what ? " inquired Stoddard. " That she 
 was not a lady ?" 
 
 "Aw, come off," laughed Conroy. "You make a 
 joke of everything." 
 
 "I knew that she was a weaver in the mill," said 
 Stoddard quietly. 
 
 Conroy glanced half wistfully over his shoulder in 
 the direction where Johnnie had vanished. 
 
 "She s a good-looker all right," he said thoughtfully. 
 " And smile when that girl smiles and turns those 
 eyes on you by George! if she was taken to New 
 York and put through one of those finishing schools 
 she d make a sensation in the swagger set." 
 
 Stoddard nodded gravely. He had not Conroy s 
 faith in the fashionable finishing school; but what he 
 lacked there, he made up in conviction as to Johnnie s 
 deserts and abilities. 
 
 There she comes now," said Conroy, as the door 
 swung open to admit a couple of girls with trays of 
 coffee cups. "She walks mighty well. I wonder 
 where a girl like that learned to carry herself so finely. 
 By George, she is a good-looker! She s got em all 
 beaten; if she was only . Queer about the accidents 
 of birth, isn t it ? Now, what would you say, in her
 
 154 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 heredity, makes a common girl like that step and look 
 like a queen ?" 
 
 Gray Stoddard s face relaxed. A hint of his 
 quizzical, inscrutable smile was upon it as he answered. 
 
 "Nature doesn t make mistakes. I don t call 
 Johnnie Consadine a common girl it strikes me that 
 she is rather uncommon." 
 
 And outside, a young fellow in the Sunday suit of a 
 workingman was walking up and down, staring at 
 the lighted windows, catching a glimpse now and again 
 of one girl or another, and cursing under his breath 
 when he saw Johnnie Consadine. 
 
 "Wouldn t go with me to the dance at Watauga - 
 oh no! But she ain t too tired to dance with the 
 swells!" he muttered to the darkness. "And I can t 
 get a word nor a look out of her. Lord, I don t know 
 what some women think!"
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE NEW BOARDER 
 
 PAP HIMES was sitting on the front gallery, doz 
 ing in the westering sunshine. On his lap 
 the big, yellow cat purred and blinked with 
 a grotesque resemblance in colouring and expression 
 to his master. It was Sunday afternoon, when the 
 toilers were all out of the mills, and most of them lying 
 on their beds or gone in to Watauga. The village 
 seemed curiously silent and deserted. Through the 
 lazy smoke from his cob pipe Pap noticed Shade Buck- 
 heath emerge from the store and start up the street. 
 He paid no more attention till the young man s voice 
 at the porch edge roused him from his half-somnolence. 
 
 "Evenin , Pap," said the newcomer. 
 
 "Good evenin yourself," returned Himes with 
 unusual cordiality. He liked men, particularly young, 
 vigorous, masterful men. "Come in, Buck, an* set 
 a spell. Rest your hat rest your hat." 
 
 It was always Pap s custom to call Shade by the 
 first syllable of his second name. Buck is a common 
 by-name for boys in the mountains, and it could not 
 be guessed whether the old man used it as a diminu 
 tive of the surname, or whether he meant merely to 
 nickname this favourite of his. 
 
 155
 
 156 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Shade threw himself on the upper step of the porch 
 and searched in his pockets for tobacco. 
 
 "Room for another boarder?" he asked laconically. 
 
 The old man nodded. 
 
 "I reckon there s always room, ef it s asked for," 
 he returned. "Hit s the one way I got to make me 
 a livin , with Louvany dyin off and Mavity puny 
 like she is. I have obliged to keep the house full, 
 or we d see the bottom of the meal sack." 
 
 "All right," agreed Buckheath, rising, and treating 
 the matter as terminated. "I ll move my things in 
 a-Monday." 
 
 "Hold on thar hold on, young feller," objected 
 Pap, as Shade turned away. It was against all reason 
 able mountain precedent to trade so quickly; but 
 indeed Shade had merely done so with a view to forcing 
 through what he well knew to be a doubtful proposition. 
 
 "I m a-holding on," he observed gruffly at last, 
 as the other continued to blink at him with red eyes 
 and say nothing. "What s the matter with what I 
 said ? You told me you had room for another boarder 
 and I named it that I was comin to board at your 
 house. Have you got any objections?" 
 
 "Well, yes, I have," Himes opened up ponderously. 
 "You set yourself down on that thar step and we ll 
 have this here thing out. My boardin -house is for 
 gals. I fixed it so when I come here. There ain t 
 scarcely a rowdy feller in Cottonville that hain t at 
 one time or another had the notion he d board with 
 Pap Himes; but I ve always kep a respectable house,
 
 THE NEW BOARDER 157 
 
 and I always aim to. I am a old man, and I bear 
 a good name, and I m the only man in this house, and 
 I aim to stay so. Now, sir, there s my flatform; 
 and you may take it or leave it." 
 
 Buckheath glanced angrily and contemptuously into 
 the stupid, fatuous countenance above him; he 
 appeared to curb with some difficulty the disposition 
 to retort in kind. Instead, he returned, sarcastically: 
 
 "The fellers around town say you won t keep any 
 thing but gals because nothin but gals would put up 
 with your hectorin em, and crowdin ten in a room 
 that was intended for four. That s what folks say; 
 but I ve got a reason to want to board with you, Pap, 
 and I ll pay regular prices and take what you give me." 
 
 Himes looked a little astonished; then an expres 
 sion of distrust stole over his broad, flat face. 
 
 "What s bringin you here?" he asked bluntly. 
 
 " Johnnie Consadine," returned Shade, without 
 evasion or preamble. "Before I left the mountains, 
 Johnnie an me was aimin to wed. Now she s got 
 down here, and doin better than ever she hoped to, 
 and I cain t get within hand-reach of her." 
 
 "Ye cain t?" inquired Pap scornfully. "Why any 
 body could marry that gal that wanted to. But Lord! 
 anybody can marry any gal, if he s got the sense he 
 was born with." 
 
 "All right," repeated Shade grimly. "I come to 
 you to know could I get board, not to ask advice. I 
 aim to marry Johnnie Consadine, and I know my 
 own business air you goin to board me ?"
 
 158 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 The old man turned this speech in his mind for 
 some time. 
 
 "Curious," he muttered to himself, "how these here 
 young fellers will get petted on some special gal and 
 break their necks to have her." 
 
 "Shut up will you?" ejaculated Buckheath, so 
 suddenly and fiercely that the old man fairly jumped, 
 rousing the yellow cat to remonstrative squirmings. 
 "I tell you I know my business, and I ask no advice 
 of you will you board me ?" 
 
 "I cain t do it, Buck," returned Himes definitely. 
 " I ain t got such a room to give you by yourself as you d 
 be willin to take up with; and nobody comes into 
 my room. But I ll tell you what I ll do for you - 
 I ll meal you, ef that will help your case any. I ll 
 meal you for two dollars a week, and throw in a good 
 word with Johnnie." 
 
 Buckheath received the conclusion of this speech 
 with a grin. 
 
 "I reckon your good word d have a lot to do with 
 Johnnie Consadine," he said ironically, as he picked 
 up his hat from the floor. 
 
 "Uh-huh," nodded Pap. "She sets a heap of 
 store by what I say. All of em does; but Johnnie in 
 particular. I don t know but what you re about right. 
 Ain t no sense in bein all tore up concernin any gal 
 or woman; but I believe if I was pickin out a good 
 worker that would earn her way, I d as soon pick out 
 Johnnie Consadine as any of em." 
 
 And having thus paid his ultimate compliment to
 
 THE NEW BOARDER 159 
 
 Johnnie, Himes relapsed into intermittent slumber as 
 Shade moved away down the squalid, dusty street 
 under the fierce July sun. 
 
 Johnnie greeted the new boarder with a reserve 
 which was in marked contrast to the reception he got 
 from the other girls. Shade Buckheath was a hand 
 some, compelling fellow, and a good match; this 
 Adamless Eden regarded him as a rival in glory even 
 to Pap himself. When supper was over on the first 
 night of his arrival, Shade walked out on the porch 
 and seated himself on the steps. The girls disposed 
 themselves at a little distance your mountain-bred 
 young female is ever obviously shy, almost to prudery. 
 
 "Whar s Johnnie Consadine?" asked the new 
 comer lazily, disposing himself with his back against 
 a post and his long legs stretched across the upper step. 
 
 "Settin in thar, readin a book," replied Beulah 
 Catlett curtly. Beulah was but fourteen, and she 
 belonged to the newer dispensation which speaks up 
 more boldly to the masculine half of creation. 
 " Johnnie! Johnnie Consadine!" she called through 
 the casement. "Here s Mr. Buckheath, wishful of 
 your company. Better come out." 
 
 "I will, after a while/ returned Johnnie absently. "I ve 
 got to help Aunt Mavity some, and then I ll be there." 
 
 "Hit s a sight, the books that gal does read," com 
 plained Beulah. "Looks like a body might get enough 
 stayin in the house by workin in a cotton mill, without 
 humpin theirselves up over a book all evenin ." 
 
 "Mr. Stoddard lends em to her," announced Mandy
 
 160 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 importantly. "He used to give em to Miss Lyddy 
 Sessions, and she d give em to Johnnie; but now 
 when Miss Lyddy s away, he ll bring one down to the 
 mill about every so often, and him an Johnnie ll stand 
 and gas and talk over what s in em I cain t under 
 stand one word they say. I tell you Johnnie Con- 
 sadine s got sense." 
 
 Her pride in Johnnie made her miss the look of 
 rage that settled on Buckheath s face at her announce 
 ment. The young fellow was glad when Pap Himes 
 began to speak growlingly. 
 
 "Yes, an if she was my gal I d talk to her with a 
 hickory about that there business. A gal that ain t 
 too old to carry on that-a-way ain t too old to take a 
 whippin for it. Huh!" 
 
 For her own self Mandy would have been thoroughly 
 scared by this attack; in Johnnie s defence she rustled 
 her feathers like an old hen whose one chick has been 
 menaced. 
 
 "Johnnie Consadine is the prettiest-behaved gal I 
 ever seen," she announced shrilly. "She ain t never 
 said nor done the least thing that she hadn t ort. Mr. 
 Stoddard he just sees how awful smart she is, and he 
 loves to lend her books and talk with her about em 
 afterward. For my part I ain t never seen look nor 
 motion about Mr. Gray Stoddard that wasn t such 
 as a gentleman ort to be. I know he never said 
 nothin he ort not to me" 
 
 The suggestion of Stoddard s making advances of 
 unseemly warmth to Mandy Meacham produced a
 
 THE NEW BOARDER 161 
 
 subdued snicker. Even Pap smiled, and Mandy 
 herself, who had been looking a bit terrified after her 
 bold speaking, was reassured. 
 
 Buckheath had been a week at the Himes boarding- 
 house, finding it not unpleasant to show Johnnie 
 Consadine how many of the girls regarded him with 
 favour, whether she did or not, when he came to supper 
 one evening with a gleam in his eye that spoke evil 
 for some one. After the meal was over, he followed 
 Pap out on the porch and sat down beside the old 
 man, the girls being bunched expectantly on the step, 
 for he was apt to delay for a bit of chat with one or 
 another of them before leaving. 
 
 "You infernal old rascal, I ve caught up with you," 
 he whispered, leaning close to his host. 
 
 Himes clutched the pipe in his teeth till it clicked, 
 and stared in helpless resentment at his mealer. 
 
 "What s the matter with you?" he demanded. 
 
 "Speak lower, so the gals won t hear you, or you ll 
 wish you had," counselled Shade. "I sent that there 
 thing on to Washington to get a patent on it, and now 
 I find that they was a model of the same there in the 
 name of Gideon Himes. What do you make of that ?" 
 
 Pap stared at the thin strips of metal lying in Shade s 
 hard, brown palm. 
 
 "The little liar!" he breathed. "She told me 
 she got it up herself." He glared at the bits of steel 
 with protruding eyes, and breathed hard. 
 
 "Well, she didn t," Shade countered swiftly, taking 
 advantage of the turn things were showing. " I made
 
 1 62 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 six of em; and when I told her to bring em back 
 and I d give her some that would wear better, she 
 only brought me five. She said she d lost one here 
 at home, she believed. I might have knowed then that 
 you d get your claws on it ef I wasn t mighty peart." 
 
 Old Gideon was not listening; he had fallen into a 
 brown study, turning the piece of metal in his skilful, 
 wonted, knotty ringers, with their spade tips. 
 
 "Put it out of sight quick here she comes!" 
 whispered Shade; and the old man looked up to see 
 Johnnie Consadine in the doorway. A grin of tri 
 umph grew slowly upon his face, as he gazed from one 
 to the other. 
 
 "She did get it up!" he returned in Buckheath s 
 fa.ce. "You liar! You re a-aimin to steal it from 
 her. You filed out the pieces like she told you to, and 
 when you found it would work, you tried to get a patent 
 on it for yo se f. Yes, sir, I m onto you!" 
 
 Shade looked over his shoulder. The girls had 
 forsaken the steps. Despairing of his coming, they were 
 strolling two-and-two after Johnnie on the sidewalk. 
 
 " It s you and me for it, Pap," he said hardily. 
 " What was you tryin to do ? Was you gettin the 
 patent for Johnnie ? Shall I call her up here and ask 
 her?" 
 
 "No, no," exclaimed the old man hastily. "They 
 
 ain t no use of puttin sich things in a fool gal s hands. 
 
 She never heard of a patent wouldn t know one 
 
 from a hole in the ground. Hit s like you say, Buck 
 
 -you and me for it."
 
 THE NEW BOARDER 163 
 
 The two men rose and stood a moment, Shade smil 
 ing a bit to think what he would do with Pap Himes 
 and his claim if he could only once get Johnnie to say 
 yes to his suit. The thick wits of the elder man appar 
 ently realized this feature of the matter not at all. 
 
 "Why that thar girl is crazy to get married," he 
 argued, half angrily. "You know in reason she is - 
 they all are. The fust night when you brung her 
 here I named it to her that she was pretty well along 
 in years, and she d better be spry about gettin her 
 hooks on a man, or she was left. She said she d do 
 the best she could I never heered a gal speak up 
 pearter most of em would be shamed to name 
 it out so free. Why, if it was me, I d walk her down 
 to a justice s office an wed her so quick her head d 
 swim." 
 
 "Who s that talking about getting married?" 
 called Johnnie s voice from the street, and Johnnie 
 herself ran up the steps. 
 
 "Hit was me," harangued Pap Himes doggedly. 
 "I was tellin Shade how bad you wanted to git off, 
 and that I lowed you d be a good bargain for him." 
 
 He looked hopefully from one to the other, as though 
 he expected to see his advice accepted and put into 
 immediate practice. Johnnie laughed whole-heartedly. 
 
 "Pap," she said with shining eyes, "if you get me 
 a husband, I ll have to give you a commission on it. 
 Looks like I can t noways get one for myself, don t it ?" 
 
 She passed into the house, and Shade regarded 
 his ally in helpless anger.
 
 1 64 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 "That s the way she talks, here lately," he growled. 
 "Seems like it would be easy enough to come to some 
 thing; and by the Lord, it would, with any other gal 
 I ever seed or with Johnnie like she was when she 
 first came down here! But these days and times 
 she s got a way of puttin me off that I can t seem to 
 get around." 
 
 Neither man quite understood the power of that 
 mental culture which Johnnie was assimilating so 
 avidly. That reading things in a book should enable 
 her a child, a girl, a helpless woman to negative 
 their wishes smilingly, this would have been a thing 
 quite outside the comprehension of either. 
 
 "Aunt Mavity wants me to go down to the store 
 for her," Johnnie announced, returning. "Any of 
 you girls like to come along?" 
 
 Mandy had parted her lips to accept the general 
 invitation, when Shade Buckheath rose to his feet and 
 announced curtly, "I ll go with you." 
 
 His glance added that nobody else was wanted, 
 and Mandy subsided into a seat on the steps and 
 watched the two walk away side by side. 
 
 " Looks like you ain t just so awful pleased to have 
 me boardin with Pap," Shade began truculently, 
 when it appeared that the girl was not going to open 
 any conversation with him. " Maybe you wasn t 
 a-carin for my company down street this eveninV 
 
 "No," said Johnnie, bluntly but very quietly. "I 
 wish you hadn t come to the house to board. 1 have 
 told you to let me alone."
 
 THE NEW BOARDER 165 
 
 Shade laughed, an exasperated, mirthless laugh. 
 You know well enough what made me do it," he 
 said sullenly. "If you don t want me to board with 
 Pap Himes you can stop it any day you say the word. 
 You promise to wed me, and I ll go back to the Inn. 
 The Lord knows they feed you better thar, and I 
 believe in my soul the gals at Pap Himes s will run 
 me crazy. But as long as you hang off the way you 
 do about our marryin , and I git word of you carryin 
 on with other folks, I m goin to stay where I can 
 watch you." 
 
 "Other folks!" echoed Johnnie, colour coming into 
 her cheeks. "Shade, there s no use of your quarrelling 
 with me, and I see it s what you re settin out to do." 
 
 "Yes, other folks Mr. Gray Stoddard, for instance. 
 I ain t got no auto to take you out ridin in, but you re 
 a blame sight safer with me than you are with him; 
 and if I was to carry word to your mother or your 
 uncle Pros about your doin s they d say - 
 
 " The last word my uncle Pros left with ma to give 
 me was that you d bear watchin , Shade Buckheath," 
 laughed Johnnie, her face breaking up into sweet, 
 sudden mirth at the folly of it all. "You re not aimin 
 for my good. I don t see what on earth makes you 
 talk like you wanted to marry me." 
 
 " Because I do," said Buckheath helplessly. He 
 wondered if the girl did not herself know her own 
 attractions, forgetful that he had not seen them plainly 
 till a man higher placed in the social scale set the 
 cachet of a gentleman s admiration upon them.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE CONTENTS OF A BANDANNA 
 
 IT WAS a breathless August evening; all day 
 the land had lain humming and quivering 
 beneath the glare of the sun. It seemed 
 that such heat must culminate in a thunder shower. 
 Even Pap Himes had sought the coolest corner of the 
 porch, his pipe put out, as adding too much to the 
 general swelter, and the hot, yellow cat perched at a 
 discreet distance. 
 
 The old man s dreamy eyes were fixed with a sort 
 of animal content on the winding road that disappeared 
 in the rise of the gap. If was his boast that God 
 Almighty never made a day too hot for him, and to 
 the marrow of them his rheumatic bones felt and 
 savoured the comfort of this blistering weather. High 
 up on the road he had noted a small moving speck 
 that appeared and disappeared as the foliage hid it, 
 or gaps in the trees revealed it. It was not yet time 
 for the mill operatives to be out; but as he glanced 
 eagerly in the direction of the buildings, the gates 
 opened and the loom-fixers streamed forth. Pap had 
 matters of some importance to discuss with Shade 
 Buckheath, and he was glad to see the young man s 
 figure come swinging down the street. The two were 
 
 166
 
 THE CONTENTS OF A BANDANNA 167 
 
 soon deep in a whispered discussion, their heads bent 
 close together. 
 
 The little speck far up the road beteween the trees 
 announced itself to the eye now as a moving figure, 
 walking down toward Cottonville. 
 
 "Well, I ll read it again, if you don t believe me," 
 Buckheath said impatiently. "All that Alabama mill 
 wants is to have me go over there and put this trick 
 on their jennies, and if it works they ll give us a royalty 
 of well, I ll make the bargain." 
 
 "Or I will," countered Pap swiftly. 
 
 "You?" inquired Shade contemptuously. "Time 
 they wrote some of the business down and you couldn t 
 read it, whar d you be, and whar d our money be?" 
 
 The moving speck on the road appeared at this time 
 to be the figure of a tall man, walking unsteadily, reeling 
 from side to side of the road, yet approaching the village. 
 
 "Shade," pacified Himes, with a truckling manner 
 that the younger man s aggressions were apt to call 
 out in him, "you know I don t mean anything against 
 you, but I believe in my soul I d ruther sell out the 
 patent. That man in Lowell said he d give twenty 
 thousand dollars if it was proved to work now 
 didn t he?" 
 
 "Yes, and by the time it s proved to work we ll 
 have made three times that much out of it. There ain t 
 a spinning mill in the country that won t save money 
 by putting in the indicator, and paying us a good 
 royalty on it. If Johnnie and me was wedded, I d 
 go to work to-morrow advertising the thing."
 
 i68 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 "The gal ain t in the mill this afternoon, is she?" 
 asked old Himes. 
 
 "No, She s gone off somewheres with some folks 
 Hardwick s sister-in-law has got here. If you want 
 to find her these days, you ve got to hunt in some of 
 the swell houses round on the hills." 
 
 He spoke with bitterness, and Pap nodded com- 
 prehendingly; the subject was an old one between 
 them. Then Shade drew from his pocket a letter and 
 prepared to read it once more to the older man. 
 
 "Whar s Johnnie?" 
 
 Himes started so violently that he disturbed the 
 equilibrium of his chair and brought the front legs 
 to the floor with a slam, so that he sat staring straight 
 ahead. Shade Buckheath whirled and saw Pros 
 Passmore standing at the foot of the steps the mov 
 ing speck come to full size. The old man was a 
 wilder-looking figure than usual. He had no hat on, 
 and a bloody cloth bound around his head confined 
 the straggling gray locks quaintly. The face was 
 ghastly, the clothing in tatters, and his hands trembled 
 as they clutched a bandanna evidently full of some 
 small articles that rattled together in his shaking 
 grasp. 
 
 "Good Lord Pros! You mighty nigh scared 
 me out of a year s growth," grumbled Pap, hitching 
 vainly to throw his chair back into position. "Come 
 in. Come in. You look like you d been seein* trouble." 
 
 "Whar s Johnnie?" repeated old Pros hollowly. 
 
 It was the younger man who answered this time,
 
 THE CONTENTS OF A BANDANNA 169 
 
 with an ugly lift of the lip over his teeth, between a 
 sneer and a snarl. 
 
 "She s gone gaddin around with some of her swell 
 friends. She may be home before midnight, an 
 then again she may not," he said. 
 
 The old man collapsed on the lower step. 
 
 "I wish t Johnnie was here," he said querulously. 
 "I - he looked about him confusedly " I ve found 
 her silver mine." 
 
 At the words the two on the porch became sud 
 denly rigid. Then Buckheath sprang down the steps, 
 caught Passmore under the arm-pits and half led, 
 half dragged him up to a chair, into which he thrust 
 him with little ceremony. 
 
 He stood before the limp figure, peering into the 
 newcomer s face with eyes of greed and hands that 
 clenched and unclenched themselves automatically. 
 
 "You ve found the silver mine!" he volleyed excit 
 edly. "Whose land is it on? Have you got options 
 yet? My grandpappy always said they was a silver 
 mine - 
 
 "Hush!" Pap Himes s voice hissed across the loud 
 explosive tones. "No need to tell your business to 
 the town. I ll bet Pros ain t thought about no options 
 yit- He may need friends to he p him out on such 
 matters; and here s you and me, Buck God knows 
 he couldn t have better ones." 
 
 The old man stared about him in a dazed fashion. 
 
 "I ve got my specimens in this here bandanner," 
 he explained quaveringly. "I fell over the ledge,
 
 1 70 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 was the way I chanced upon it at the last, and I lay 
 dead for a spell. My head s busted right bad. But 
 the ore specimens, they re right here in the bandanner, 
 and I aimed to give em to Johnnie to put em right 
 in her lap the best gal that ever was and say to 
 her, Here s your silver mine, honey, that your good- 
 for-nothin old uncle found for ye; now you can live 
 like a lady! That s what I aimed to say to Johnnie. 
 I didn t aim that nobody else should tetch them samples 
 till she d saw em." 
 
 Himes and Buckheath were exchanging glances 
 across the old man s bent, gray head. Common 
 humanity would have suggested that they offer him 
 rest or refreshment, but these two were intent only 
 on what the bandanna held. 
 
 What is it in the thought of wealth from the ground 
 that so intoxicates, so ravishes away from all reasonable 
 judgment, the generality of mankind ? People never 
 seem to conceive that there might be no more than 
 moderate repayal for great toil in a mine of any sort. 
 The very word mine suggests to them tapping the vast 
 treasure-house of the world, and drawing an unlimited 
 share wealth lavish, prodigal, intemperate. These 
 two were as mad with greed at the thought of the silver 
 mine in the mountains as ever were forty-niners in 
 the golden days of California, or those more recent 
 ignoble martyrs who strewed their bones along the 
 icy trails of the Klondike. 
 
 "Ye better let me look at em Pros," wheedled 
 Pap Himes. "I know a heap about silver ore. I ve
 
 THE CONTENTS OF A BANDANNA 171 
 
 worked in the Georgia gold mines and you know 
 you never find gold without silver. I was three months 
 in the mountains with a feller that was huntin nickel; 
 he 1 arned me a heap." 
 
 The old man turned his disappointed gaze from 
 one face to the other. 
 
 "I wish t Johnnie was here," he repeated his plain 
 tive formula, as he raised the handkerchief and untied 
 the corners. 
 
 Pap glanced apprehensively up and down the street; 
 Buckheath ran to the door and shut it, that none in 
 the house might see or overhear; and then the three 
 stared at the unpromising-looking, earthy bits of 
 mineral in silence. Finally Himes put down a stubby 
 forefinger and stirred them meaninglessly. 
 
 "Le me try one with my knife," he whispered, as 
 though there were any one to hear him. 
 
 "All right," returned the old man nervelessly. 
 "But hit ain t soft enough for lead if that s what 
 you re meanin*. I know that much. A lead mine 
 is a mighty good thing. Worth as much as silver 
 maybe; but this ain t lead." 
 
 A curious tremor had come over Pap Himes s face 
 as he furtively compared the lump of ore he held in 
 his hand with something which he took from his pocket. 
 He seemed to come to some sudden resolution. 
 
 "No, tain t lead and tain t nothin ," he declared 
 contemptuously, flinging the bit he held back into the 
 handkerchief. "Pros Passmore ye old fool you 
 come down here and work us all up over some truck
 
 1 72 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 that wasn t worth turnin with a spade! You might 
 as well throw them things away. Whar in the nation 
 did you git em, anyhow?" 
 
 Passmore stumbled to his feet. He had eaten nothing 
 for three days, The fall over the ledge had injured 
 him severely. He was scarcely sane at the moment. 
 
 "Ain t they no count?" he asked pitifully. "Why, 
 I made shore they was silver. Well" -he looked 
 aimlessly about- "I better go find Johnnie," and 
 he started down the steps. 
 
 "Leave em here, Pros, and go in. Mavity ll 
 give you a cup of coffee," suggested Pap, in a kinder 
 tone. 
 
 The bandanna slipped rattling from the old man s 
 relaxed fingers. The specimens clattered and rolled 
 on the porch floor. With drooping head he shambled 
 through the door. 
 
 A woman s face disappeared for a moment from 
 the shadowy front-room window, only to reappear and 
 watch unseen. Mavity was listening in a sort of horror 
 as she heard her father s tones. 
 
 "Git down and pick em up every one! Don t 
 you miss a one. Yo eyes is younger n mine. Hunt 
 em up! hunt em up," hissed Pap, casting himself 
 upon the handkerchief and its contents. 
 
 "What is it?" questioned Buckheath keenly. "I 
 thort you had some game on hand." And he hastened 
 to comply. "Air they really silver ?" 
 
 "No better n that. They re nickel. The feller 
 that was here from the North said by the dips and
 
 HE LOOMED ABOVE THEM, WHITE AND SHAKING. "YOU 
 
 THIEVES," HE ROARED. " GIVE ME MY BANDANNER ! 
 
 GIVE ME JOHNNIE S SILVER MINE!"
 
 THE CONTENTS OF A BANDANNA 173 
 
 turns of the stratagems an such-like we was bound 
 to have nickel in these here mountains somewhar. 
 A nickel mine s better n a gold mine an these is 
 nickel. I know em by the piece o nickel ore from 
 the Canady mines that I carry constantly in my pocket. 
 We ll keep the old fool out of the knowin of it, and 
 find whar the mine is at, and we ll - 
 
 The two men squatted on the floor, tallying over the 
 specimens they had already collected, and looking about 
 them for more. In the doorway behind them appeared 
 a face, gaunt, grimed, a blood-stained bandage around 
 the brow, and a pair of glowing, burning eyes looking 
 out beneath. Uncle Pros had failed to find Mavity 
 Bence, and was returning. Too dazed to compre 
 hend mere words, the old prospector read instantly 
 and aright the attitude and expression of the two. 
 As they tied the last knot in the handkerchief, he 
 loomed above them, white and shaking. 
 
 "You thieves!" he roared. "Give me my bandan- 
 ner! Give me Johnnie s silver mine!" 
 
 "Yes yes yes! Don t holler it out that-a- 
 way!" whispered Pap Himes from the floor, where 
 he crouched, still clutching the precious bits of 
 ore. 
 
 "We was a-goin to give em to you, Uncle Pros. 
 We was just foolin ," Buckheath attempted to reassure 
 him. 
 
 The old man bent forward and shot down a long 
 arm to recover his own. He missed the bandanna, 
 and the impetus of the movement sent him staggering
 
 i 7 4 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 a pace or two forward. At the porch edge he strove 
 to recover himself, failed, and with a short, coughing 
 groan, pitched down the steps and lay, an inert mass, 
 at their foot. 
 
 "Cover that handkecher up," whispered Himes 
 before either man moved to his assistance.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A PATIENT FOR THE HOSPITAL 
 
 WHEN the Hardwick carriage drove up in the 
 heavy, ill-odoured August night, and stopped 
 at the gate to let Johnnie Consadine out, 
 Pap Himes s boarding-house was blazing with light 
 from window and doorway, clacking and humming 
 like a mill with the sound of noisy footsteps and voices. 
 Three or four men argued and talked loudly on the 
 porch. Through the open windows of the front room, 
 Johnnie had a glimpse of a long, stark figure lying on 
 the lounge, and a white face which struck her with a 
 strange pang of vague yet alarming resemblance. 
 She made her hasty thankr to Miss Sessions and hurried 
 in. Gray Stoddard s horse was standing at the hitch 
 ing post in front, and Gray met her at the head of the 
 steps. 
 
 Stoddard looked particularly himself in riding dress. 
 Its more unconventional lines suited him well; the dust- 
 brown Norfolk, the leathern puttees, gave an adven 
 turous turn to the expression of a personality which 
 was only so on the mental side. He always rode bare 
 headed, and the brown hair, which he wore a little 
 longer than other men s, was tossed from its mascu 
 line primness to certain hyacinthine lines which were 
 
 75
 
 176 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 becoming. Just now his clear brown eyes were lumin 
 ous with feeling. He put out a swift, detaining hand 
 and caught hers, laying sympathetic fingers over the 
 clasp and retaining it as he spoke. 
 
 "I m so relieved that you ve come at last," he said. 
 "We need somebody of intelligence here. I just hap 
 pened to come past a few minutes after the accident. 
 Don t be frightened; your uncle came down to see you, 
 and got a fall somehow. He s hurt pretty badly, 
 I m afraid, and these people are refusing to have him 
 taken to the hospital." 
 
 On the one side Himes and Buckheath drew back 
 and regarded this scene with angry derision. In the 
 carriage below Lydia Sessions, who could hear nothing 
 that was said, stared incredulously, and moved as 
 though to get down and join Johnnie. 
 
 "You ll want him sent to the hospital?" Stoddard 
 urged, half interrogatively. "Look in there. Listen 
 to the noise. This is no fit place for a man with ; 
 possible fracture of the skull." 
 
 "Yes oh, yes," agreed Johnnie promptly. "If 
 I could nurse him myself I d like to or help; but of 
 course he s got to go to the hospital, first of everything." 
 
 Stoddard motioned the Hardwick driver to wait, 
 and called down to the carriage load, "I want you 
 people to drive round by the hospital and send the 
 ambulance, if you ll be so kind. There s a man hurt 
 in here." 
 
 Lydia Sessions made this an immediate pretext for 
 getting down and coming in.
 
 A PATIENT FOR THE HOSPITAL 177 
 
 " Did you say they didn t wane to send him to the 
 hospital?" she inquired sharply and openly, in her 
 tactless fashion, as she crossed the sidewalk. "That s 
 the worst thing about such people; you provide them 
 with the best, and they don t know enough to appre 
 ciate it. Have they got a doctor, or done anything 
 for the poor man ?" 
 
 "I sent for Millsaps, here he knows more about 
 broken bones than anybody in Cottonville," Pap 
 offered sullenly, mopping his brow and shaking his 
 bald head. "Millsaps is a decent man. You know 
 what he s a-goin to do to the sick." 
 
 "Is he a doctor?" asked Stoddard sternly, looking 
 at the lank, shuffling individual named. 
 
 "He can doctor a cow or a nag better n anybody 
 I ever saw," Pap put forward rather shamefacedly. 
 
 "A veterinarian," commented Stoddard. "Well, 
 they ve gone for the ambulance, and the surgeon will 
 : soon be here now." 
 
 "I don t know nothin about veterinarians and 
 surgeons," growled Pap, still alternately mopping his 
 bald head and shaking it contemptuously; "but I 
 know that Millsaps ain t a-goin to box up any dead 
 bodies and send em to the medical colleges; and I 
 know he made as pretty a job of doctoring old Spotty 
 as ever I seen. To be shore the cow died, but he got 
 the medicine down her when it didn t look as if human 
 hands could do it that s the kind of doctor he is." 
 
 "I aim to give Mr. Passmore a teaspoonful of lamp 
 oil karosene," said the cow doctor, coming forward,-
 
 178 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 evidently feeling that it was time he spoke up for 
 himself. "Lamp oil is mighty rousin to them as lays 
 like he s doin*. I ve used copperas for such but it 
 takes longer. Some say a dose of turpentine is better n 
 lamp oil hut I low both of em won t hurt. * 
 
 Johnnie pushed past them all into the front room 
 where the women were running about, talking loud 
 and exclaiming. A kerosene lamp without a chimney 
 smoked and flared on the table, filling the room with 
 evil odours. Pros Passmore s white face thrown up 
 against the lounge cushion was the only quiet, dignified 
 object in sight. 
 
 "Mandy," said Johnnie, catching the Meacham 
 woman by the elbow as she passed her bearing a small 
 kerosene can, "you go up to my room and get the 
 good lamp I have there. Then take this thing away. 
 Where s Aunt Mavity?" 
 
 "I don t know. She s been carryin on somethin 
 tumble. Yes, Johnnie, honey I ll get the lamp for ye." 
 
 When Johnnie turned to her uncle, she found Mill- 
 saps bending above him, the small can in his hands, 
 its spout approached to the rigid blue lips of the 
 patient with the unconcern of a man about to fill a 
 lamp. She sprang forward and caught his arm, bring 
 ing the can away with a clatter and splash. 
 
 "You mustn t do that," she said authoritatively. 
 "The doctors will be here in a minute. You mustn t 
 give him anything, Mr. Millsaps." 
 
 "Oh, all right all right," agreed Millsaps, with 
 decidedly the air that he considered it all wrong.
 
 A PATIENT FOR THE HOSPITAL 179 
 
 "There is some people that has objections to having 
 their kin-folks cyarved up by student doctors. Then 
 agin, there is others that has no better use for kin than 
 to let em be so treated. I low that a little dosin 
 of lamp oil never hurt nobody and it s cured a-many, 
 of most any kind of disease. But just as you say 
 just as you say." And he shuffled angrily from the 
 room. 
 
 Johnnie went and knelt by the lounge. With deft, 
 careful fingers she lifted the wet cloths above the 
 bruised forehead. The hurt looked old. No blood 
 was flowing, and she wondered a little. Catching 
 Shade Buckheath s eye fixed on her from outside 
 the window, she beckoned him in and asked him to 
 tell her exactly how the trouble came about. Buck- 
 heath gave her his own version of the matter, omitting, 
 of course, all mention of the bandanna full of ore which 
 lay now carefully hidden at the bottom of old Gideon 
 Himes s trunk. 
 
 "And you say he fell down the steps?" asked 
 Johnnie. "Who was with him? Who saw it?" 
 
 "Nobody but me and Pap," Shade answered, trying 
 to give the reply unconcernedly. 
 
 "I I seen it," whispered Mavity Bence, pluck 
 ing at Johnnie s sleeve. "I was in the fore room 
 here and I seen it all." 
 
 She spoke defiantly, but her terrified glance barely 
 raised itself to the menacing countenances of the two 
 men on the other side of the lounge, and fell at once. 
 "I never heard nothin they was sayin ," she made
 
 i8o THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 haste to add. " But I seen Pros fall, and I run out 
 and helped Pap and Shade fetch him in." 
 
 Peculiar as was the attitude of all three, Johnnie 
 felt a certain relief in the implied assurance that there 
 had been no quarrel, that her uncle had not been 
 struck or knocked down the steps. 
 
 "Why, Pap," she said kindly, looking across at the 
 old man s perturbed, sweating face, "you surely ain t 
 like these foolish folks round here in Cottonville 
 that think the hospital was started up to get dead 
 bodies for the student doctors to cut to pieces. You 
 see how bad off Uncle Pros is; you must know he s 
 bound to be better taken care of there in that fine 
 building, and with all those folks that have learned 
 their business to take care of him, than here in this 
 house with only me. Besides, I couldn t even stay 
 at home from the mill to nurse him. Somebody s 
 got to earn the money." 
 
 "I wouldn t charge you no board, Johnnie," fairly 
 whined Himes. "I m willin to nurse Pros myself, 
 without he p, night and day. You speak up mighty 
 fine for that thar hospital. What about Lura Dawson ? 
 Everybody knows they shipped her body to Cincin 
 nati and sold it. You ort to be ashamed to put your 
 poor old uncle in such a place." 
 
 Johnnie turned puzzled eyes from the rigid face 
 on the lounge Pros had neither moved nor spoken 
 since they lifted and laid him there to the old man 
 at the window. That Pap Himes should be con 
 cerned, even slightly, about the welfare of any living
 
 A PATIENT FOR THE HOSPITAL 181 
 
 being save himself, struck her as wildly improbable. 
 Then, swiftly, she reproached herself for not being 
 readier to believe good of him. He and Uncle Pros 
 had been boys together, and she knew her uncle one 
 to deserve affection, though he seldom commanded it. 
 
 There was a sound of wheels outside, and Gray 
 Stoddard s voice with that of the doctor s. Shade 
 and Pap Himes still hovered nervously about the 
 window, staring in and hearkening to all that was 
 said. Mavity Bence had wept till her face was sod 
 den. She herded the other girls back out of the way, 
 but watched everything with terrified eyes. 
 
 "He ll jest about come to hisself befo he dies," 
 the older conspirator muttered to Shade as the stretcher 
 passed them, and the skilled, white-jacketed attend 
 ants laid Pros Passmore in the vehicle without so much 
 as disturbing his breathing. "He ll jest about come 
 to hisself thar, and them pesky doctors 11 have word 
 about the silver mine. Well, in this world, them that 
 has, gits, mostly. Ef Johnnie Consadine had been 
 any manner o kin to me, I vow I d a taken a hickory 
 to her when she set up her word agin mine and let 
 him go out of the house. The little fool! she didn t 
 know what she was sendin away." 
 
 And so Pros Passmore was taken to the hospital. 
 His bandanna full of ore remained buried at the 
 bottom of Gideon Himes s trunk, to be fished up often 
 by the old sinner, fingered and fondled, and laid back 
 in hiding; while the man who had carried it down 
 the mountains to fling it in Johnnie s lap lay with
 
 182 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 locked lips, and told neither the doctors nor Himes 
 where the silver mine was. August sweated itself 
 away; September wore on into October in a proces 
 sion of sun-robed, dust-sandalled days, and still Uncle 
 Pros gave no sign of actual recovery. 
 
 Johnnie was working hard in the mill. Hartley 
 Sessions had become, in his cold, lifeless fashion, 
 very much her friend. Inert, slow, he had one quali 
 fication for his position: he could choose an assistant, 
 or delegate authority with good judgment; and he 
 found in Johnnie Consadine an adjutant so reliable, 
 so apt, and of such ability, that he continually pushed 
 more work upon her, if pay and honours did not 
 always follow in adequate measure. 
 
 For a time, much as she disliked to approach Shade 
 with any request, Johnnie continued to urge him 
 whenever they met to finish up the indicators and 
 let her have them back again. Then Hartley Sessions 
 promoted her to a better position in the weaving 
 department, and other cares drove the matter from 
 her mind. 
 
 The condition of Uncle Pros added fearfully to the 
 drains upon her time and thought. The old man 
 lay in his hospital cot till the great frame had wasted 
 fairly to the big bones, following her movements 
 when she came into the room with strange, questioning, 
 unrecognizing eyes, yet always quieted and soothed 
 by her presence, so that she felt urged to give him 
 every moment she could steal from her work. The 
 hurts on his head, which were mere scalp wounds,
 
 A PATIENT FOR THE HOSPITAL 183 
 
 healed over; the surgeon at the hospital was unable 
 to find any indentation or injury to the skull itself 
 which would account for the old man s condition. 
 They talked for a long time of an operation, and 
 did finally trephine, without result. They would 
 make an X-ray photograph, they said, when he 
 should be strong enough to stand it, as a means of 
 further investigation. 
 
 Meantime his expenses, though made fairly nominal 
 to her, cut into the money which Johnnie could send 
 to her mother, and she was full of anxiety for the help 
 less little family left without head or protector up in 
 that gash of the wind-grieved mountains on the flank 
 of Big Unaka. 
 
 In these days Shade Buckheath vacillated from the 
 suppliant attitude to the threatening. Johnnie never 
 knew when she met him which would be uppermost; 
 and since he had wearied out her gratitude and liking, 
 she cared little. One thing surprised and touched her 
 a bit, and that was that Shade used to meet her of an 
 evening when she would be coming from the hospital, 
 and ask eagerly after the welfare of Uncle Pros. He 
 finally begged her to get him a chance to see the old 
 man, and she did so, but his presence seemed to have 
 such a disturbing effect on the patient that the doctors 
 prohibited further visits. 
 
 "Well, I done just like you told me to, and them 
 cussed sawboneses won t let me go back no more," 
 Shade reported to Pap Himes that evening. "Old 
 Pros just swelled hisself out like a toad and hollered
 
 184 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 at me time I got in the room. He s sure crazy all 
 right. He looks like he couldn t last long, but them 
 that heirs what he has will git the writin that tells 
 whar the silver mine s at. Johnnie s liable to find 
 that writin any day; or he may come to hisself and 
 tell her." 
 
 "Well, for God s sake," retorted Pap Himes testily, 
 "why don t you wed the gal and be done with it? 
 You wed Johnnie Consadine and get that writin , 
 and I ll never tell on you bout the old man and such; 
 and you and me ll share the mine." 
 
 Shade gave him a black look. 
 
 "You re a good talker," he said sententiously. 
 "If I could do things as easy as you can tell em, I d 
 be president." 
 
 "Huh!" grunted the old man. "Marryin a fool 
 gal or any other woman ain t nothin to do. If 
 I was your age I d have her Miz Himes before sun 
 down." 
 
 "All right," said Buckheath, "if it s so damn easy 
 done this here marryin do some of it your 
 self. Thar s Laurelly Consadine; she s a widow; 
 and more kin to Pros than Johnnie is. You go up in 
 the mountains and wed her, and I ll stand by ye in 
 the business." 
 
 A slow but ample grin dawned on the old man s 
 round, foolish face. He looked admiringly at Shade. 
 
 "By Gosh!" he said finally. "That ain t no bad 
 notion, neither. Course I can do it. They all want 
 to wed. And thar s Laurelly light-minded fool -
 
 A PATIENT FOR THE HOSPITAL 185 
 
 ain t got the sense she was born with up thar with 
 out Pros nor Johnnie I could persuade her to take 
 off her head and play pitch-ball with it Lord, yes!" 
 
 "Well, you ve bragged about enough," put in 
 Buckheath grimly. "You git down in the collar and 
 pull." 
 
 The old man gave him no heed. He was still grin 
 ning fatuously. 
 
 "It minds me of Zack Shalliday, and the way he 
 got wedded," came the unctuous chuckle. "Zack 
 was a man bout my age, and his daughter was a-keepin 
 house for him. She was a fine hand to work; the best 
 butter maker on the Unakas; Zack always traded his 
 butter for a extry price. But old as Sis Shalliday 
 was she must a been all of twenty-seven along 
 comes a man that takes a notion to her. She named 
 it to Zack. All right, says he, you give me to-morrow 
 to hunt me up one that s as good a butter maker as 
 you air, and I ve got no objections. Then he took 
 hisself down to Preacher Blaylock, knowin in reason 
 that preachers was always hungry for weddin fees, 
 and would hustle round to make one. He offered 
 the preacher a dollar to give him a list of names of 
 single women that was good butter makers. Blaylock 
 done so. He d say, Now this n s right fine-looking, 
 but I ain t never tasted her butter. Here s one that 
 ain t much to look at, but her butter is prime jest 
 like your gal s; hit allers brings a leetle extry at the 
 store. This n s fat, yet I can speak well of her workin 
 qualifications. He named em all out to Zack, and
 
 186 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Zack had his say for each one. The fat ones is easy 
 keepers/ he says for the last one, and looks don t 
 cut much figger in this business it all depends on 
 which one makes the best butter anyhow/ 
 
 "Well, he took that thar string o names, and he 
 left. Long about sundown, here he is back and 
 hollerin at the fence. Come out here, preacher 
 I ve got her. He had a woman in his buggy that 
 Blaylock had never put eyes on in all his born days. 
 Wouldn t none o them I sent ye to have ye? the 
 preacher asked Zack in a kind of whisper, when he 
 looked at that thar snaggle-toothed, cross-eyed some 
 body that Shalliday d fetched back. I reckon they 
 would, says Zack. I reckon any or all of em would 
 a had me, he says. I had only named it to three 
 o the four, and I hadn t closed up with none o them, 
 becaze I wasn t quite satisfied in my mind about the 
 butter makin . And as I was goin along the road 
 toward the last name you give me, I come up with 
 this here woman. She was packin truck down to 
 the store for to trade it. I offered her a lift and she 
 rid with me a spell. I chanced to tell her of what I 
 was out after, and she let on that she was a widder, 
 and showed me the butter she had hit was all made 
 off of one cow, and the calf is three months old. I 
 wasn t a-goin to take nobody s word in such a matter, 
 and hauled her on down to the store and seed the store 
 keeper pay her extry for that thar butter and here 
 we air. Tie the knot, preacher; yer dollar is ready 
 for ye, and we must be gittin along home it s most
 
 A PATIENT FOR THE HOSPITAL 187 
 
 milkin time/ The preacher he tied the knot, and 
 Shalliday and the new Miz. Shalliday they got along 
 home." The old man chuckled as he had at the begin 
 ning of this tale. 
 
 "Well, that was business," agreed Shade impatiently. 
 "When are you goin to start for Big Unaka ?" 
 
 The old man rolled his great head between his 
 
 O 
 
 shoulders. 
 
 "Ye-ah," he assented; "business. But it was bad 
 business for Zack Shalliday. That thar woman never 
 made a lick of that butter she was a packin to the* 
 settlement to trade for her sister that was one o them 
 widders the preacher had give him the name of. 
 Seems Shalliday s woman had jest come in a-visitin 
 from over on Big Smoky, and she turned out to be the 
 laziest, no-accountest critter on the Unakas. She 
 didn t know which end of a churn-dasher was made 
 for use. Aw law huh! Business there s two 
 kinds of business; but that was a bad business for 
 Zack Shalliday. I reckon I ll go up on Unaka to-mor 
 row, if Mavity can run the house without me."
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 WEDDING BELLS 
 
 A VINE on Mavity Bence s porch turned to 
 blood crimson. Its leaves parted from the 
 stem in the gay Autumn wind, and sifted 
 lightly down to joint he painted foliage of the two little 
 maples which struggled for existence against an adverse 
 world, crouching beaten and torn at the curb. 
 
 In these days Johnnie used to leave the mill in the 
 evening and go directly to the hospital. Gray Stoddard 
 was her one source of comfort and terror. Uncle 
 Pros s injuries brought these two into closer relations 
 than anything had yet done. So far, Johnnie had 
 conducted her affairs with a judgment and propriety 
 extraordinary, clinging as it were to the skirts of Lydia 
 Sessions, keeping that not unwilling lady between her 
 and Stoddard always. But the injured man took a 
 great fancy to Gray. Johnnie he had forgotten; 
 Shade and Pap Himes he recognized only by an irrita 
 tion which made the doctors exclude them from his 
 presence; but something in Stoddard s equable, dis 
 ciplined personality, appealed to and soothed Uncle 
 Pros when even Johnnie failed. 
 
 The old mountaineer had gone back to childhood. 
 He would lie by the hour murmuring a boy s woods 
 
 1 88
 
 WEDDING BELLS 189 
 
 lore to Gray Stoddard, communicating deep secrets 
 of where a bee tree might be found; where, known only 
 to him, there was a deeply hidden spring of pure free 
 stone water, "so cold it ll make yo* teeth chatter"; 
 and which one of old Lead s pups seemed likely to 
 turn out the best coon dog. 
 
 When Stoddard s presence and help had been prof 
 fered to herself, Johnnie had not failed to find a gracious 
 way of declining or avoiding; but you cannot reprove 
 a sick man a dying man. She could not for the life 
 of her find a way to insist that Uncle Pros make less 
 demand on the young mill owner s time. 
 
 And so the two of them met often at the bedside, 
 and that trouble which was beginning to make Johnnie s 
 heart like lead grew with the growing love Gray Stod 
 dard commanded. She told herself mercilessly that 
 it was presumption, folly, wickedness; she was always 
 going to be done with it; but, once more in his presence, 
 her very soul cried out that she was indeed fit at least 
 to love him, if not to hope for his love in turn. 
 
 Stoddard himself was touched by the old man s 
 fancy, and showed a devotion and patience that were 
 characteristic. 
 
 If she was kept late at the hospital, Mavity put by 
 a bite of cold supper for her, and Mandy always waited 
 to see that she had what she wanted. On the day 
 after Shade Buckheath and Gideon Himes had come 
 to their agreement, she stopped at the hospital for a 
 briefer stay than usual. Her uncle was worse, and 
 an opiate had been administered to quiet him, so that
 
 1 9 o THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 she only sat a while at the bedside and finally took her 
 way homeward in a state of utter depression for which 
 she could scarcely account. 
 
 It was dusk almost dark when she reached the 
 gate, and she noted carelessly a vehicle drawn up before 
 it. 
 
 "Johnnie," called her mother s voice from the back 
 of the rickety old wagon as the girl was turning in 
 toward the steps. 
 
 "Sis Johnnie Sis Johnnie!" crowed Deanie; 
 and then she was aware of sober, eleven-year-old Milo 
 climbing down over the wheel and trying to help 
 Lissy, while Pony got in his way and was gravely 
 reproved. She ran to the wheel and put up ready arms. 
 
 "Why, honeys!" she exclaimed. "How come you- 
 all never let me know to expect you ? Oh, I m so glad, 
 mother. I didn t intend to send you word to come; 
 but I was feeling so blue. I sure wanted to. Maybe 
 Uncle Pros might know you or the baby and 
 it would do him good." 
 
 She had got little Deanie out in her arms now, and 
 stood hugging the child, bending to kiss Melissa, 
 finding a hand to pat Milo s shoulder and rub Pony s 
 tousled poll. 
 
 "Oh, I m so glad! I m so glad to see you-all," 
 she kept repeating. "Who brought you ?" She looked 
 closely at the man on the driver s seat and recognized 
 Gideon Himes. 
 
 "Why, Pap!" she exclaimed. "I ll never forget 
 you for this. It was mighty good of you."
 
 WEDDING BELLS 191 
 
 The door swung open, letting out a path of light. 
 
 "Aunt Mavity!" cried the girl. "Mother and the 
 children have come down to see me. Isn t it fine ?" 
 
 Mavity Bence made her appearance in the doorway, 
 her faded eyes so reddened with weeping that she 
 looked like a woman in a fever. She gulped and 
 stared from her father, where in the shine of her 
 upheld lamp he sat blinking and grinning, to Lau- 
 rella Consadine in a ruffled pink-and-white lawn 
 frock, with a big, rose-wreathed hat on her dark 
 curls, and Johnnie Consadine with the children cling 
 ing about her. 
 
 "Have ye told her?" she gasped. And at the tone 
 Johnnie turned quickly, a sudden chill falling upon 
 her glowing mood. 
 
 "What s the matter?" she asked, startled, clutching 
 the baby tighter to her, and conning over with quick 
 alarm the tow-heads that bobbed and surged about 
 her waist. "The children are all right aren t 
 they?" 
 
 Milo looked up apprehensively. He was an old- 
 faced, anxious-looking, little fellow, already beginning 
 to have a stoop to his thin shoulders the bend of 
 the burden bearer. 
 
 "I I done the best I could, Sis Johnnie," he 
 hesitated apologetically. "You wasn t thar, and Unc 
 Pros was gone, an I thest worked the farm and took 
 care of mother an the little uns best I knowed how. 
 But when she when he oh, I wish t you and 
 Unc Pros had been home to-day."
 
 192 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Johnnie, her mind at rest about the children, turned 
 to her mother. 
 
 "Was ma sick?" she asked sympathetically. Then, 
 noticing for the first time the unwonted gaiety of Laur- 
 ella s costume, the glowing cheeks and bright eyes, 
 she smiled in relief. 
 
 " You don t look sick. My, but you re fine ! You re 
 as spick and span as a bride." 
 
 The old man bent and spat over the wheel, prepara 
 tory to speaking, but his daughter took the words 
 from his mouth. 
 
 "She is a bride," explained Mavity Bence in a 
 flatted, toneless voice. "Leastways, Pap said he was 
 a-goin up on Unaka for to wed her and bring her 
 down and I know in reason she d have him." 
 
 Johnnie s terror-stricken eyes searched her mother s 
 irresponsible, gypsy face. 
 
 "Now, Johnnie," fretted the little woman, "how 
 long air you goin to keep us standin here in the road ? 
 Don t you think my frock s pretty ? Do they make 
 em that way down here in the big town ? I bought 
 this lawn at Bledsoe, with the very first money you 
 sent up. Ain t you a bit glad to see us ?" 
 
 The lip trembled, the tragic dark brows lifted in 
 their familiar slant. 
 
 "Come on in the house," said Johnnie heavily, and 
 she led the way with drooping head. 
 
 Called by the unusual disturbance, Mandy left the 
 supper she was putting on the table for Johnnie and 
 ran into the front hall. Beulah Catlett and one or
 
 WEDDING BELLS 193 
 
 two of the other girls had crowded behind Mavity 
 Bence s shoulders, and were staring. Mandy joined 
 them in time to hear the conclusion of Mavity s explana 
 tion. 
 
 She came through the door and passed the new 
 Mrs. Himes on the porch. 
 
 "Why, Johnnie Consadine!" she cried. "Is that 
 there your ma ?" 
 
 Johnnie nodded. She was past speech. 
 
 "Well, I vow! I should ve took her for your sister, 
 if any kin. Ain t she pretty? Beulah she s 
 Johnnie s ma, and her and Pap has just been wedded." 
 
 She turned to follow Johnnie, who was mutely 
 starting the children in to the house. 
 
 "Well," she said with a sigh, "some folks gits two, 
 and some folks don t git nary one." And she brought 
 up the rear of the in-going procession. 
 
 "Ain t you goin to pack your plunder in ?" inquired 
 the bridegroom harshly, almost threateningly, as he 
 pitched out upon the path a number of bundles and 
 boxes. 
 
 " I reckon they won t pester it till you git back from 
 puttin up the nag," returned Laurella carelessly as 
 she swung her light, frilled skirts and tripped across the 
 porch. "You needn t werry about me," she called 
 down to the old fellow where he sat speechlessly 
 glaring. " Mavity ll show me whar I can sit, and git 
 me a nice cool drink; and that s all I ll need for one 
 while." 
 
 Pap Himes s mouth was open, but no words came. .
 
 i 9 4 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 He finally shut it with that click of the ill-fitting false 
 teeth which was familiar and terrible to everybody 
 at the boarding-house, shook out the lines over the old 
 horse, and jogged away into the dusk. 
 
 "And this here s the baby," admired Mandy, kneeling 
 in front of little Deanie, when the newcomers halted 
 in the front room. "Why, Johnnie Consadine! She 
 don t look like nothin on earth but a little copy of you. 
 If she s dispositioned like you, I vow I ll just about 
 love her to death." 
 
 Mavity Bence was struggling up the porch steps 
 loaded with the baggage of the newcomers. 
 
 " Better leave that for your paw," the bride counselled 
 her. "It s more suited to a man person to lift them 
 heavy things." 
 
 But Mavity had not lived with Pap Himes for nearly 
 forty years without knowing what was suited to him, 
 in distinction, perhaps, from mankind in general. 
 She made no reply, but continued to bring in the bag 
 gage, and Johnnie, after settling her mother in a rocking- 
 chair with the cool drink which the little woman had 
 specified, hurried down to help her. 
 
 " Everybody always has been mighty good to me all 
 my life," Laurella Himes was saying to Mandy, Beulah 
 and the others. "I reckon they always will. Uncle 
 Pros he just does for me like he was my daddy, and 
 my children always waited on me. Johnnie s the best 
 gal that ever was, ef she does have some quare notions." 
 
 "Ain t she?" returned Mandy enthusiastically, as 
 Johnnie of the "quare notions" helped Mavity Bence
 
 WEDDING BELLS 195 
 
 upstairs with the one small trunk belonging to 
 Laurella. 
 
 "Look out for that trunk, Johnnie," came her 
 mother s caution, with a girlish ripple of laughter in 
 the tones. "Hit s a borried one. Now don t you 
 roach up and git mad. I had obliged to have a trunk, 
 bein wedded and comin down to the settlement 
 this-a-way. I only borried Mildred Faidley s. She 
 won t never have any use for it. Evelyn Toler loaned 
 me the trimmin o this hat ain t it sightly ?" 
 
 Johnnie s distressed eyes met the pale gaze of Aunt 
 Mavity across the little oilcloth-covered coffer. 
 
 " I would a told you, Johnnie," said the poor woman 
 deprecatingly, " but I never knowed it myself till late 
 last night, and I hadn t the heart to name it at break 
 fast. I thort I d git a chance this evenin , but they come 
 sooner n I was expectin em." 
 
 " Never mind, Aunt Mavity," said Johnnie. " When 
 I get a little used to it I ll be glad to have them all here. 
 I I wish Uncle Pros was able to know folks." 
 
 The children were fed, Milo, touchingly subdued 
 and apologetic, nestling close to his sister s side 
 and whispering to her how he had tried to get 
 ma to wait and come down to the Settlement, 
 and hungrily begging with his pathetic childish eyes 
 for her to say that this thing which had come upon 
 them was not, after all, the calamity he feared. Snub- 
 nosed, nine-year-old Pony, whose two front teeth had 
 come in quite too large for his mouth, Pony, with the 
 quick-expanding pupils, and the temperament that
 
 196 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 would cope ill with disaster, addressed himself gaily 
 to his supper and saw no sorrow anywhere. Little 
 Melissa was half asleep; and even Deanie, after the 
 first outburst of greeting, nodded in her chair. 
 
 "I got ready for em," Mavity told Johnnie in an 
 undertone, after her father returned. "I knowed in 
 reason he d bring her back with him. Pap always 
 has his own way, and gits whatever he wants. I lowed 
 you d take the baby in bed with you, and I put a 
 pallet in your room for Lissy." 
 
 Johnnie agreed to this arrangement, almost 
 mechanically. Is it to be wondered at that her 
 mind was already busy with the barrier this must set 
 between herself and Gray Stoddard ? She had never 
 been ashamed of her origin or her people; but this - 
 this was different. 
 
 Next morning she sent word to the mill foreman to put 
 on a substitute, and took the morning that she might go 
 with her mother to the hospital. Passmore was asleep, 
 and they were not allowed to disturb him; but o .1 the 
 steps they met Gray Stoddard, and he stopped so 
 decidedly to speak to them that Johnnie could not 
 exactly run away, as she felt like doing. 
 
 "Your mother!" echoed Stoddard, when Johnnie 
 had told him who the visitor was. He glanced from 
 the tall, fair-haired daughter to the lithe little gypsy 
 at her side. "Why, she looks more like your sister," 
 he said. 
 
 Laurella s white teeth flashed at this, and her 
 big, dark eyes glowed.
 
 WEDDING BELLS 197 
 
 "Johnnie s such a serious-minded person that she 
 favours older than her years," the mother told him. 
 "Well, I give her the name of the dead, and they say 
 that makes a body solemn like." 
 
 It was very evident that Stoddard desired to detain 
 them in conversation, but Johnnie smilingly, yet with 
 decision, cut the interview short. 
 
 " I don t see why you hurried me a-past that-a-way," 
 the little mother said resentfully, when they had gone 
 a few steps. "I wanted to stay and talk to the gentle 
 man, if you didn t. I think he s one of the nicest per 
 sons I ve met since I ve been in Cottonville. Mr. 
 Gray Stoddard how come you never mentioned 
 him to me Johnnie ?" 
 
 She turned to find a slow, painful blush rising 
 in her daughter s face. 
 
 " I don t know, ma," said Johnnie gently. " I 
 reckon it was because I didn t seem to have any 
 concern with a rich gentleman such as Mr. Stoddard. 
 He s got more money than Mr. Hardwick, they say - 
 more than anybody else in Cottonville." 
 
 "Has he?" inquired Laurella vivaciously. "Well, 
 money or no money, I think he s mighty nice. Looks 
 like he ain t studying as to whether you got money or 
 not. And if you was meaning that you didn t think 
 yourself fit to be friends with such, why I m ashamed 
 of you, Johnnie Consadine. The Passmores and the 
 Consadines are as good a family as there is on Unaka 
 mountains. I don t know as I ever met up with any 
 body that I found was too fine for my company. And
 
 198 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 whenever your Uncle Pros gets well and finds his silver 
 mine, we ll have as much money as the best of em." 
 
 The tears blinded Johnnie so that she could scarcely 
 find her way, and the voice wherewith she would have 
 answered her mother caught in her throat. She 
 pressed her lips hard together and shook her head, 
 then laughed out, a little sobbing laugh. 
 
 "Poor ma poor little mother!" she whispered at 
 length. "You ain t been away from the mountains 
 as I have. Things are well, they re a heap different 
 here in the Settlement." 
 
 They re a heap nicer," returned Laurella blithely. 
 "Well, I m mighty glad I met that gentleman this 
 morning. Mr. Himes was talking to me of Shade 
 Buckheath a-yesterday. He said Shade was wishful 
 to wed you, Johnnie, and wanted me to give the boy 
 my good word. I told him I wouldn t say anything - 
 and then afterward I was going to. But since I ve 
 seen this gentleman, and know that his likes are 
 friends of your n, well I - - Johnnie, the Buck- 
 heaths are a hard nation of people, and that s the truth. 
 If you wedded Shade, like as not he d mistreat you." 
 
 "Oh mother don t!" pleaded Johnnie, scarlet of 
 face, and not daring to raise her eyes. 
 
 "What have I done now?" demanded Laurella 
 with asperity. 
 
 "You mustn t couple my name with Mr. Stoddard s 
 that way," Johnnie told her. " He s never thought 
 of me, except as a poor girl who needs help mighty 
 bad; and he s so kind-hearted and generous he s ready
 
 WEDDING BELLS 199 
 
 to do for each and every that s worthy of it. But - 
 not that way mother, you mustn t ever suppose 
 for a minute that he d think of me in that way." 
 
 "Well, I wish t I may never!" Laurella exclaimed. 
 "Did I mention any particular way that the man was 
 supposed to be thinking about you ? Can t I speak a 
 word without your biting my head off for it ? As for 
 what Mr. Gray Stoddard thinks of you, let me tell you, 
 child, a body has only to see his eyes when he s looking 
 at you." 
 
 "Mother Oh, mother!" protested Johnnie. 
 
 "Well, if he can look that way I reckon I can speak 
 of it," returned Laurella, with some reason. 
 
 "I want you to promise never to name it again, 
 even to me," said Johnnie solemnly, as they came to 
 the steps of the big lead-coloured house. "You surely 
 wouldn t say such a thing to any one else. I wish 
 you d forget it yourself." 
 
 "We-ell," hesitated Laurella, "if you feel so strong 
 about it, I reckon I ll do as you say. But there ain t 
 anything in that to hinder me from being friends with 
 Mr. Stoddard. I feel sure that him and me would 
 get on together fine. He favours my people, the 
 Passmores. My daddy was just such an upstanding, 
 dark-complected feller as he is. He s got the look in 
 the eye, too." 
 
 Johnnie gasped as she remembered that the grand 
 father of whom her mother spoke was Virgil Passmore, 
 and called to mind the story of the borrowed wedding 
 coat.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE FEET OF THE CHILDREN 
 
 THE mountain people, being used only to one 
 class, never find themselves consciously in 
 the society of their superiors. Johnnie Con- 
 sadine had been unembarrassed and completely mis 
 tress of the situation in the presence of Charlie Conroy, 
 who did not fail after the Uplift dance to make some 
 further effort to meet the "big red-headed girl," as 
 he called her. She was aware that social overtures 
 from such a person were not to be received by her, 
 and she put them aside quite as though she had been, 
 according to her own opinion, above rather than 
 beneath them. The lover-like pretensions of Shade 
 Buckheath, a man dangerous, remorseless, as careless 
 of the rights of others as any tiger in the jungle, she 
 regarded with negligent composure. But Gray Stod- 
 dard ah, there her treacherous heart gave way, and 
 trembled in terror. The air of perfect equality he 
 maintained between them, his attitude of intimacy, 
 flattering, almost affectionate, this it was which she 
 felt she must not recognize. 
 
 The beloved books, which had seemed so many steps 
 upon which to climb to a world where she dared 
 acknowledge her own liking and admiration for Stod-
 
 THE FEET OF THE CHILDREN 201 
 
 dard, were now laid aside. It took all of her heart and 
 mind and time to visit Uncle Pros at the hospital, keep 
 the children out of Pap s way in the house, and do 
 justice to her work in the factory. She told Gray, 
 haltingly, reluctantly, that she thought she must give 
 up the reading and studying for a time. 
 
 "Not for long, I hope." Stoddard received her 
 decision with a puzzled air, turning in his fingers the 
 copy of "Walden" which she was bringing back to him. 
 "Perhaps now that you have your mother and the 
 children with you, there will be less time for this sort 
 of thing for a while, but you haven t a mind that can 
 enjoy being inactive. You may think you ll give it 
 up; but study once you ve tasted it will never 
 let you alone." 
 
 Johnnie looked up at him with a weak and pitiful 
 version of her usual beaming smile. 
 
 "I reckon you re right," she hesitated finally, in a 
 very low voice. "But sometimes I think the less we 
 know the happier we are." 
 
 "How s this? How s this?" cried Stoddard, almost 
 startled. "Why, Johnnie I never expected to hear 
 that sort of thing from you. I thought your optimism 
 was as deep as a well, and as wide as a church." 
 
 Poor Johnnie surely had need of such optimism as 
 Stoddard had ascribed to her. They were weary 
 evenings when she came home now, with the November 
 rain blowing in the streets and the early-falling dusk 
 almost upon her. It was on a Saturday night, and she 
 had been to the hospital, when she got in to find Mandy,
 
 202 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 seated in the darkest corner of the sitting room, with a 
 red flannel cloth around her neck a sure sign that 
 something unfortunate had occurred, since the tall 
 woman always had sore throat when trouble loomed 
 large. 
 
 "What s the matter?" asked Johnnie, coming close 
 and laying a hand on the bent shoulder to peer into the 
 drooping countenance. 
 
 " Don t come too nigh me you ll ketch it," warned 
 Mandy gloomily. "A so th oat is as ketchin as small 
 pox, and I know it so to be, though they is them that 
 say it ain t. When mine gits like this I jest tie it up 
 and keep away from folks best I can. I hain t dared 
 touch the baby sence hit began to hurt me this a-way." 
 
 "There s something besides the sore throat," per 
 sisted Johnnie. "Is it anything I can help you 
 about?" 
 
 "Now, if that ain t jest like Johnnie Consadine!" 
 apostrophized Mandy. "Yes, there is somethin - 
 not that I keer." She tossed her poor old gray head 
 scornfully, and then groaned because the movement 
 hurt her throat. That thar feisty old Sullivan gave 
 me my time this evenin . He said they was layin* 
 off weavers, and they could spare me. I told him, well, 
 I could spare them, too. I told him I could hire in any 
 other mill in Cottonville befo workin time Monday 
 but I m afeared I cain t." Weak tears began to travel 
 down her countenance. "I know I never will make 
 a fine hand like you, Johnnie," she said pathetically. 
 "There ain t a thing in the mill that I love to do
 
 203 
 
 nary thing. I can tend a truck patch or raise a field 
 o* corn to beat anybody, and nobody cain t outdo me 
 with fowls; but the mill - 
 
 She broke off and sat staring dully at the floor. Pap 
 Himes had stumped into the room during the latter 
 part of this conversation. 
 
 "Lost your job, hey ?" he inquired keenly. 
 
 Mandy nodded, with fearful eyes on his face. 
 
 "Well, you want to watch out and keep yo board 
 paid up here. The week you cain t pay out you go. 
 I reckon I better trouble you to pay me in advance, 
 unless n you ve got some kind friend that ll stand for 
 you." 
 
 Mandy s lips parted, but no sound came. The gaze 
 of absolute terror with which she followed the old man s 
 waddling bulk as he went and seated himself in front 
 of the air-tight stove, was more than Johnnie could 
 endure. 
 
 "I ll stand for her board, Pap," she said quietly. 
 
 "Oh, you will, will ye?" Pap received her remark 
 with disfavour. "Well, a fool and his money don t 
 stay together long. And who ll stand for you, Johnnie 
 Consadine ? Yo wages ain t a-goin to pay for yo 
 livin and Mandy s too. Ye needn t lay back on bein 
 my stepdaughter. You ain t acted square by me, an I 
 don t aim to do no more for you than if we was no kin." 
 
 "You won t have to. Mandy ll get a place next 
 week you know she will, Pap an experienced 
 weaver like she is. I ll stand for her." 
 
 Himes snorted. Mandy caught at Johnnie s hand-
 
 204 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 and drew it to her, fondling it. Her round eyes were 
 still full of tears. 
 
 "I do know you re the sweetest thing God ever 
 made," she whispered, as Johnnie looked down at her. 
 "You and Deanie." And the two went out into the 
 dining room together. 
 
 "Thar," muttered Himes to Buckheath, as the 
 latter passed through on his way to supper; "you see 
 whether it would do to give Johnnie the handlin o all 
 that thar money from the patent. Why, she d hand it 
 out to the first feller that put up a poor mouth and asked 
 her for it. You heard anything, Buck?" 
 
 Shade nodded. 
 
 "Come down to the works with me after supper. 
 I ve got something to show you," he said briefly, and 
 Himes understood that the desired letter had arrived. 
 
 At first Laurella Consadine bloomed like a late rose 
 in the town atmosphere. She delighted in the village 
 streets. She was as wildly exhilarated as a child when 
 she was taken on the trolley to Watauga. With strange, 
 inherent deftness she copied the garb, the hair dressing, 
 even the manner and speech, of such worthy models as 
 came within her range of vision like her daughter, 
 she had an eye for fitness and beauty; that which was 
 merely fashionable though truly inelegant, did not 
 appeal to her. She was swift to appreciate the change 
 in Johnnie. 
 
 "You look a heap prettier, and act and speak a 
 heap prettier than you used to up in the mountains," 
 she told the tall girl. "Looks like it was a mighty
 
 THE FEET OF THE CHILDREN 205 
 
 sensible thing for you to come down here to the Settle 
 ment; and if it was good for you, I don t see why it 
 wasn t good for me and won t be for the rest of the 
 children. No need for you to be so solemn over it." 
 
 The entire household was aghast at the bride s atti 
 tude toward her old husband. They watched her with 
 the fascinated gaze we give to a petted child encroaching 
 upon the rights of a cross dog, or the pretty lady with 
 her little riding whip in the cage of the lion. She 
 treated him with a kindly, tolerant, yet overbearing 
 familiarity that appalled. She knew not to be 
 frightened when he clicked his teeth, but drew up 
 her pretty brows and fretted at him that she wished 
 he wouldn t make that noise it worried her. She 
 tipped the sacred yellow cat out of the rocking-chair 
 where it always slept in state, took the chair her 
 self, and sent that astonished feline from the room. 
 
 It was in Laurella s evident influence that Johnnie 
 put her trust when, one evening, as they all sat in 
 Sunday leisure in the front room most of the girls 
 being gone to church or out strolling with "company" 
 - Pap Himes broached the question of the children 
 p-oinp; to work in the mill. 
 
 o o 
 
 "They re too young, Pap," Johnnie said to him 
 mildly. "They ought to be in school this winter." 
 
 "They ve every one, down to Deanie, had mo than 
 the six weeks schoolin that the laws calls for," snarled 
 Himes. 
 
 "You wasn t thinking of putting Deanie in the mill 
 not Deanie was you ?" asked Johnnie breathlessly.
 
 2 o6 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 "Why not?" inquired Himes. "She ll get no good 
 runnin the streets here in Cottonville, and she can earn 
 a little somethin in the mill. I m a old man, an 
 sickly, and I ain t long for this world. If them chaps 
 is a-goin* to do anything for me, they d better be puttin 
 in their licks." 
 
 Johnnie looked from the little girl s pink-and-white 
 infantile beauty she sat with the child in her lap - 
 to the old man s hulking, powerful, useless frame. 
 What would Deanie naturally be expected to do for 
 her stepfather ? 
 
 "Nobody s asked my opinion," observed Shade 
 Buckheath, who made one of the family group, "but 
 as far as I can see there ain t a thing to hurt young 
 uns about mill work; and there surely ain t any good 
 reason why they shouldn t earn their way, same as we 
 all do. I reckon they had to work back on Unaka. 
 Goin to set em up now an make swells of em ?" 
 
 Johnnie looked bitterly at him but made no reply. 
 
 "They won t take them at the Hardwick mill," she 
 said finally. " Mr. Stoddard has enforced the rule that 
 they have to have an affidavit with any child the mill 
 employs that it is of legal age; and there s nobody 
 going to swear that Deanie s even as much as twelve 
 years old nor Lissy nor Pony nor Milo. The 
 oldest is but eleven." 
 
 Laurella had bought a long chain of red glass beads 
 with a heart-shaped pendant. This trinket occupied 
 her attention entirely while her daughter and hus 
 band discussed the matter of the children s future.
 
 THE FEET OF THE CHILDREN 207 
 
 ; Johnnie," she began now, apparently not having 
 heard one word that had been said, "did you ever in 
 your life see anything so cheap as this here string of 
 beads for a dime ? I vow I could live and die in that 
 five-and-ten-cent store at Watauga. There was more 
 pretties in it than I could have looked at in a week. 
 I m going right back thar Monday and git me them 
 green garters that the gal showed me. I don t know 
 what I was thinkin about to come away without em! 
 They was but a nickel." 
 
 Pap Himes looked at her, at the beads, and gave the 
 fierce, inarticulate, ludicrously futile growl of a 
 thwarted, perplexed animal. 
 
 "Mother," appealed Johnnie desperately, "do you 
 want the children to go into the mill ?" 
 
 " I don t know but they might as well for a spell," 
 said Laurella Himes, vainly endeavouring to look 
 grown-up, and to pretend that she was really the head 
 of the family. "They want to go, and you ve done 
 mighty well in the mill. If it wasn t for my health, I 
 reckon I might go in and try to learn to weave, myself. 
 But there I came a-past with Mandy t other evenin 
 when she was out, and the noise of that there factory 
 is enough for me from the outside I never could 
 stand to be in it. Looks like such a racket would 
 drive me plumb crazy." 
 
 Pap stared at his bride and clicked his teeth with 
 the gnashing sound that overawed the others. He 
 drew his shaggy brows in an attempt to look masterful. 
 
 "Well, ef you cain t tend looms, I reckon you cart
 
 2 o8 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 take Mavity s place in the house here, and let her keep 
 to the weavin stiddier. She ll just about lose her job 
 if she has to be out and in so much as she has had to be 
 with me here of late. * 
 
 "I will when I can," said Laurella, patronizingly. 
 "Sometimes I get to feeling just kind of restless and 
 no-account, and can t do a stroke of work. When I m 
 that-a-way I go to bed and sleep it off, or get out and 
 go somewheres that ll take my mind from my troubles. 
 Hit s by far the best way." 
 
 Once more Pap looked at her, and opened and shut 
 his mouth helplessly. Then he turned sullenly to his 
 stepdaughter, grumbling. 
 
 "You hear that! She won t work, and you won t 
 give me your money. The children have obliged to 
 bring in a little something that s the way it looks to 
 me. If the mills on the Tennessee side is too choicy to 
 take em and I know well as you, Johnnie, that they 
 air; their man Connors told me so I can hire em 
 over at the Victory, on the Georgy side." 
 
 The Victory! A mill notorious in the district for 
 its ancient, unsanitary buildings, its poor management, 
 its bad treatment of its hands. Yes, it was true that 
 at the Victory you could hire out anything that could 
 walk and talk. Johnnie caught her breath and hugged 
 the small pliant body to her breast, feeling with a 
 mighty throb of fierce, mother-tenderness, the poor 
 little ribs, yet cartilagenous; the delicate, soft frame 
 for which God and nature demanded time, and chance 
 to grow and strengthen. Yet she knew if she gave
 
 THE FEET OF THE CHILDREN 209 
 
 up her wages to Pap she would be no better ofF- 
 indeed, she would be helpless in his hands; and the 
 sum of them would not cover what the children all 
 together could earn. 
 
 "Oh, Lord! To work in the Victory !" she groaned. 
 
 "Now, Johnnie," objected her mother," don t you 
 get meddlesome just because you re a old maid. Your 
 great-aunt Betsy was meddlesome disposed that-a-way. 
 I reckon single women as they get on in years is apt 
 so to be. Every one of these children has been prom 
 ised that they should be let to work in the mill. They ve 
 been jest honin to do it ever since you came down and 
 got your place. Deanie was scared to death for fear 
 they wouldn t take her. Don t you be meddlesome." 
 
 "Yes, and I m goin to buy me a gun and a nag with 
 my money what I earn," put in Pony explosively. 
 " Course I ll take you-all to ride." He added the 
 saving clause under Mile s reproving eye. "Sis 
 Johnnie, don t you want me to earn money and buy 
 a hawse and a gun, and a and most ever thing else ?" 
 
 Johnnie looked down into the blue eyes of the little 
 lad who had crept close to her chair. What he would 
 earn in the factory she knew well blows, curses, evil 
 knowledge. 
 
 "If they should go to the Victory, I d be mighty 
 proud to do all I could to look after em, Johnnie," 
 spoke Mandy from the shadows, where she sat on the 
 floor at Laurella Consadine s feet, working away 
 with a shoe-brush and cloth at the cleaning and polish 
 ing of the little woman s tan footwear. "Ye know I m
 
 210 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 a-gittin looms thar to-morrow mornin . Yes, I am," 
 in answer to Johnnie s deprecating look. "I d ruther 
 do it as to run round a week or a month mongst 
 the better ones, huntin a job, and you here standin 
 for my board/* 
 
 Till late that night Johnnie laboured with her 
 mother and stepfather, trying to show them that the 
 mill was no fit place for the children. Milo was all too 
 apt for such a situation, the very material out of which 
 a cotton mill moulds its best hands and its worst citizens. 
 Pony, restless, emotional, gifted and ambitious, crav 
 ing his share of the joy of life and its opportunities, 
 would never make a mill hand; but under the pressure 
 of factory life his sister apprehended that he would 
 make a criminal. 
 
 "Uh-huh," agreed Pap, drily, when she tried to put 
 something of this into words. "I spotted that feller for 
 a rogue and a shirk the minute I laid eyes on him. 
 The mill ll tame him. The mill ll make him git down 
 and pull in the collar, I reckon. Women ain t fitten to 
 bring up chillen. A widder s boys allers goes to ruin. 
 Why, Johnnie Consadine, every one of them chaps is 
 plumb crazy to work in the mill just like you was - 
 and you re workin in the mill yourself. What makes 
 you talk so foolish about it ?" 
 
 Laurella nodded an agreement, looking more than 
 usually like a little girl playing dolls. 
 
 " I reckon Mr. Himes knows best, Johnnie, honey," 
 was her reiterated comment. 
 
 Cautiously Johnnie approached the subject of pay;
 
 THE FEET OF THE CHILDREN 211 
 
 her stepfather had already demanded her wages, and 
 expressed unbounded surprise that she was not willing 
 to pass over the Saturday pay-envelope to him and let 
 him put the money in the bank along with his other 
 savings. Careful calculation showed that the four 
 children could, after a few weeks of learning, prob 
 ably earn a little more than she could; and in any case 
 Himes put it as a disciplinary measure, a way of life 
 selected largely for the good of the little ones. 
 
 "If you just as soon let me," she said to him at last, 
 "I believe I ll take them over to the Victory myself 
 to-morrow morning." 
 
 She had hopes of telling their ages bluntly to the mill 
 superintendent and having them refused. 
 
 Pap agreed negligently; he had no liking for early 
 rising. And thus it was that Johnnie found herself 
 at eight o clock making her way, in the midst of the 
 little group, toward the Georgia line and the old Victory 
 plant, which all good workers in the district shunned if 
 possible. 
 
 As she set her foot on the first plank of the bridge she 
 heard a little rumble of sound, and down the road came 
 a light, two-seated vehicle, with coloured driver, and 
 Miss Lydia Sessions taking her sister s children out for 
 an early morning drive. There was a frail, long- 
 visaged boy of ten sitting beside his aunt in the back, 
 with a girl of eight tucked between them. The 
 nurse on the front seat held the youngest child, a little 
 girl about Deanie s age. 
 
 As they came nearer, the driver drew up, evidently
 
 212 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 in obedience to Miss Sessions s command, and she 
 leaned forward graciously to speak to Johnnie. 
 
 "Good morning, John," said Miss Sessions as the 
 carriage stopped. "Whose children are those?" 
 
 "They are my little sisters and brothers," responded 
 Johnnie, looking down with a very pale face, and busy 
 ing herself with Deanie s hair. 
 
 "And you re taking them over to the mill, so that 
 they can learn to be useful. How nice that is!" Lydia 
 smiled brightly at the little ones her best charity- 
 worker s smile. 
 
 "No," returned Johnnie, goaded past endurance, 
 "I m going over to see if I can get them to refuse to 
 take this one." And she bent and picked Deanie up, 
 holding her, the child s head dropped shyly against her 
 breast, the small flower-like face turned a bit so that 
 one blue eye might investigate the carriage and those 
 in it. " Deanie s too little to work in the mill," Johnnie 
 went on. "They have night turn over there at the 
 Victory now, and it ll just about make her sick." 
 
 Miss Lydia frowned. 
 
 "Oh, John, I think you are mistaken," she said 
 coldly. "The work is very light you know that. 
 Young people work a great deal harder racing about 
 in their play than at anything they have to do in a 
 spooling room I m sure my nieces and nephews do. 
 And in your case it is necessary and right that the 
 younger members of the family should help. I think 
 you will find that it will not hurt them." 
 
 Individuals who work in cotton mills, and are not
 
 THE FEET OF THE CHILDREN 213 
 
 adults, are never alluded to as children. It is an 
 offense to mention them so. They are always spoken 
 of even those scarcely more than three feet high 
 as "young people." 
 
 Miss Sessions had smiled upon the piteous little 
 group with a judicious mixture of patronage and mild 
 reproof, and her driver had shaken the lines over the 
 backs of the fat horses preparatory to moving on, when 
 Stoddard s car turned into the street from the corner 
 above. 
 
 " Wait, Junius. Dick is afraid of autos," cautioned 
 Miss Lydia nervously. 
 
 Junius grinned respectfully, while bay Dick dozed 
 and regarded the approaching car philosophically. As 
 they stood, they blocked the way, so that Gray was 
 obliged to slow down and finally to stop. He raised 
 his hat ceremoniously to both groups. His pained eyes 
 went past Lydia Sessions as though she had been but the 
 painted representation of a woman, to fasten themselves 
 on Johnnie where she stood, her tall, deep-bosomed 
 figure relieved against the shining water, the flaxen- 
 haired child on her breast, the little ones huddled about 
 her. 
 
 That Johnnie Consadine should have fallen away all 
 at once from that higher course she had so eagerly 
 chosen and so resolutely maintained, had been to Gray 
 a disappointment whose depth and bitterness some 
 what surprised him. In vain he recalled the fact 
 that all his theories of life were against forcing a 
 culture where none was desired; he went back to
 
 214 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 it with grief he had been so sure that Johnnie did 
 love the real things, that hers was a nature which 
 not only wished, but must have, spiritual and mental 
 food. Her attitude toward himself upon their few 
 meetings of late had confirmed a certain distrust of her, 
 if one may use so strong a word. She seemed afraid, 
 almost ashamed to face him. What was it she was 
 doing, he wondered, that she knew so perfectly he 
 would disapprove ? And then, with the return of the 
 books, the dropping of Johnnie s education, came the 
 abrupt end of those informal letters. Not till they 
 ceased, did he realize how large a figure they had come 
 to cut in his life. Only this morning he had taken them 
 out and read them over, and decided that the girl who 
 wrote them was worth at least an attempt toward an 
 explanation and better footing. He had decided not 
 to give her up. Now she confirmed his worst appre 
 hensions. At his glance, her face was suffused 
 with a swift, distressed red. She wondered if he yet 
 knew of her mother s marriage. She dreaded the time 
 when she must tell him. With an inarticulate murmur 
 she spoke to the little ones, turned her back and hurried 
 across the bridge. 
 
 "Is Johnnie putting those children in the mill?" 
 asked Stoddard half doubtfully, as his gaze followed 
 them toward the entrance of the Victory. 
 
 "I believe so," returned Lydia, smiling. "We were 
 just speaking of how good it was that the cotton mills 
 gave an opportunity for even the smaller ones to help, 
 at work which is within their capacity."
 
 THE FEET OF THE CHILDREN 215 
 
 "Johnnie Consadine said that?" inquired Gray, 
 startled. "Why is she taking them over to the 
 Victory?" And then he answered his own question. 
 "She knows very well they are below the legal age in 
 Tennessee/ 
 
 Lydia Sessions trimmed instantly. 
 
 "That must be it," she said. "I wondered a little 
 that she seemed not to want them in the same factory 
 that she is in. But I remember Brother Hartley said 
 that we are very particular at our mill to hire no young 
 people below the legal age. That must be it." 
 
 Stoddard looked with reprehending yet still incredu 
 lous eyes, to where Johnnie and her small following 
 disappeared within the mill doors. Johnnie the 
 girl who had written him that pathetic little letter about 
 the children in her room, and her growing doubt as to 
 the wholesomeness of their work; the girl who had 
 read the books he gave her, and fed her understanding 
 on them till she expressed herself logically and lucidly 
 on the economic problems of the day that, for the 
 sake of the few cents they could earn, she should put the 
 children, whom he knew she loved, into slavery, seemed 
 to him monstrous beyond belief. Why, if this were 
 true, what a hypocrite the girl was! As coarse and 
 unfeeling as the rest of them. Yet she had some shame 
 left; she had blushed to be caught in the act by him. 
 It showed her worse than those who justified this thing, 
 the enormity of which she had seemed to understand 
 well. 
 
 "You mustn t blame her too much," came Lydia
 
 216 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Sessions s smooth voice. " John s mother is a widow, 
 and girls of that age like pretty clothes and a good time. 
 Some people consider John very handsome, and of 
 course with an ignorant young woman of that class, 
 flattery is likely to turn the head. I think she does as 
 well as could be expected. 5
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 BITTER WATERS 
 
 JOHNNIE had a set of small volumes of English 
 verse, extensively annotated by his own hand, 
 which Stoddard had brought to her early in 
 their acquaintance, leaving it with her more as a gift 
 than as a loan. She kept these little books after all 
 the others had gone back. She had read and reread 
 them cullings from Chaucer, from Spenser, from 
 the Elizabethan lyrists, the border balladry, fierce, 
 tender, oh, so human till she knew pages of them 
 by heart, and their vocabulary influenced her own, 
 their imagery tinged all her leisure thoughts. It 
 seemed to her, whenever she debated returning them, 
 that she could not bear it. She would get them out 
 and sit with one of them open in her hands, not reading, 
 but staring at the pages with unseeing eyes, passing 
 her fingers over it, as one strokes a beloved hand, or 
 turning through each book only to find the pencilled 
 words in the margins. She would be giving up part 
 of herself when she took these back. 
 
 Yet it had to be d(jne, and one miserable morn 
 ing she made them all into a neat package, intend 
 ing to carry them to the mill and place them on 
 Stoddard s desk thus early, when nobody would be 
 
 217
 
 2i8 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 in the office. Then the children came in; Deanie was 
 half sick; and in the distress of getting the ailing child 
 comfortably into her own bed, Johnnie forgot the 
 books. Taking them in at noon, she met Stoddard 
 himself. 
 
 "I ve brought you back your those little books 
 of Old English Poetry," she said, with a sudden con 
 striction in her throat, and a quick burning flush that 
 suffused brow, cheek and neck. 
 
 Stoddard looked at her; she was thinner than she 
 had been, and otherwise showed the marks of misery 
 and of factory life. The sight was almost intolerable 
 to him. Poor girl, she herself was suffering cruelly 
 enough beneath the same yoke she had helped to lay 
 on the children. 
 
 "Are you really giving up your studies entirely?" 
 he asked, in what he tried to make a very kindly voice. 
 He laid his hand on the package of books. "I wonder 
 if you aren t making a mistake, Johnnie. You look 
 as though you were working too hard. Some things 
 are worth more than money and getting on in the 
 world." 
 
 Johnnie shook her head. For the moment words 
 were beyond her. Then she managed to say in a fairly 
 composed tone. 
 
 "There isn t any other way for me. I think some 
 times, Mr. Stoddard, when a body is born to a hard 
 life, all the struggling and trying just makes it that 
 much harder. Maybe when the children get a little 
 older I ll have more chance."
 
 BITTER WATERS 219 
 
 The statement was wistfully, timidly made; yet to 
 Gray Stoddard it seemed a brazen defence of her 
 present course. It pierced him that she on whose 
 nobility of nature he could have staked his life, should 
 justify such action. 
 
 "Yes," he said with quick bitterness, "they might 
 be able to earn more, of course, as time goes on." 
 It was a cruel speech between two people who had 
 discussed this feature of industrial life as these had; 
 even Stoddard had no idea how cruel. 
 
 For a dizzy moment the girl stared at him, then, 
 though her flushed cheeks had whitened pitifully and 
 her lip trembled, she answered with bravely lifted head. 
 
 " I thank you very much for all the help you ve been 
 to me, Mr. Stoddard. What I said just now didn t 
 look as though I appreciated it. I ask your pardon 
 for that. I aim to do the best I can for the children. 
 And I thank you." 
 
 She turned and was gone, leaving him puzzled and 
 with a sore ache at heart. 
 
 Winter came on, wet, dark, cheerless, in the shack 
 ling, half-built little village, and Johnnie saw for the 
 first time what the distress of the poor in cities is. A 
 temperature which would have been agreeable in a 
 drier climate, bit to the bone in the mist-haunted 
 valleys of that mountain region. The houses were 
 mostly mere board shanties, tightened by pasting 
 newspapers over the cracks inside, where the women 
 of the family had time for such work; and the heating 
 apparatus was generally a wood-burning cook-stove,
 
 220 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 with possibly an additional coal heater in the front room 
 which could be fired on Sundays, or when the family 
 was at home to tend it. 
 
 All through the bright autumn days, Laurella Himes 
 had hurried from one new and charming sensation or 
 discovery to another; she was like the butterflies that 
 haunt the banks of little streams or wayside pools at 
 this season, disporting themselves more gaily even than 
 the insects of spring in what must be at best a briefer 
 glory. When the weather began to be chilly, she 
 complained of a pain in her side. 
 
 "Hit hurts me right there," she would say piteously, 
 taking Johnnie s hand and laying it over the left side 
 of her chest. " My feet haven t been good and warm 
 since the weather turned. I jest cain t stand these 
 here old black boxes of stoves they have in the Settle 
 ment. If I could oncet lay down on the big hearth at 
 home and get my feet warm, I jest know my misery 
 would leave me." 
 
 At first Pap merely grunted over these homesick repin- 
 ings; but after a time he began to hang about her and 
 offer counsel which was often enough peevishly received. 
 
 "No, I ain t et anything that disagreed with me," 
 Laurella pettishly replied to his well-meant inquiries. 
 "You re thinkin about yo se f. I never eat more than 
 is good for me, nor anything that ain t jest right. Hit 
 ain t my stomach. Hit s right there in my side. Looks 
 like hit was my heart, an I believe in my soul it is. 
 Oh, law, if I could oncet lay down befo a nice, good 
 hickory fire and get my feet warm!"
 
 BITTER WATERS 221 
 
 And so it came to pass that, while everybody in the 
 boarding-house looked on amazed, almost aghast, 
 Gideon Himes withdrew from the bank such money 
 as was necessary, and had a chimney built at the side 
 of the fore room and a broad hearth laid. He begged 
 almost tearfully for a small grate which should burn 
 the soft bituminous coal of the region, and be much 
 cheaper to install and maintain. But Laurella turned 
 away from these suggestions with the hopeless, pliable 
 obstinacy of the weak. 
 
 " I wouldn t give the rappin o my finger for a nasty 
 little smudgy, smoky grate fire," she declared rebel- 
 liously, thanklessly. "A hickory log-heap is what I 
 want, and if I cain t have that, I reckon I can jest die 
 without it." 
 
 "Now, Laurelly now Laurelly," Pap quavered 
 in tones none other had ever heard from him, "don t 
 you talk about dyin . You look as young as Johnnie 
 this minute. I ll git you what you want. Lord, I ll 
 have Dawson build the chimbley big enough for you to 
 keep house in, if them s yo ruthers." 
 
 It was almost large enough for that, and the great 
 load of hickory logs which Himes hauled into the yard 
 from the neighbouring mountain-side was cut to length. 
 Fire was kindled in the new chimney; it drew per 
 fectly; and Pap himself carried Laurella in his arms 
 and laid her on some quilts beside the hearthstone, 
 demanding eagerly, "Thar now don t that make 
 you feel better ? " 
 
 "Uh-huh." The ailing woman turned restlessly
 
 222 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 on her pallet. The big, awkward, ill-favoured old 
 man stood with his disproportionately long arms 
 hanging by his sides, staring at her, unaware that his 
 presence half undid the good the leaping flames were 
 doing her. 
 
 "I wish t Uncle Pros was sitting right over there, 
 t other side the fire," murmured Laurella dreamily. 
 "How is Pros, Johnnie?" 
 
 For nobody understood, as the crazed man in the 
 hospital might have done, that Laurella s bodily ill 
 ness was but the cosmic despair of the little girl who 
 has broken her doll. It had been the philosophy of 
 this sun-loving, butterfly nature to turn her back on 
 things when they got too bad and take to her bed till, 
 in the course of events, they bettered themselves. But 
 now she had emerged into a bleak winter world where 
 Uncle Pros was not, where Johnnie was powerless, 
 and where she had been allowed by an unkind Provi 
 dence to work havoc with her own life and the lives 
 of her little ones; and her illness was as the tears of 
 the girl with a shattered toy. 
 
 The children in their broken shoes and thin, ill- 
 selected clothing, shivered on the roads between house 
 and mill, and gave colour to the statement of many 
 employers that they were better off in the thoroughly 
 warmed factories than at home. But the factories 
 were a little too thoroughly warmed. The operatives 
 sweated under their tasks and left the rooms, with their 
 temperature of eighty-five, to come, drenched with 
 perspiration, into the chill outside air. The colds
 
 BITTER WATERS 223 
 
 which resulted were always supposed to be caught out 
 of doors. Nobody had sufficient understanding of 
 such matters to suggest that the rebreathed, super 
 heated atmosphere of the mill room was responsible. 
 
 Deanie, who had never been sick a day in her life, 
 took a heavy cold and coughed so that she could scarcely 
 get any sleep. Johnnie was desperately anxious, since 
 the lint of the spinning room immediately irritated 
 the little throat, and perpetuated the cold in a steady, 
 hacking cough, that cotton-mill workers know well. 
 Pony was from the first insubordinate and well-nigh 
 incorrigible in short, he died hard. He came to 
 Johnnie again and again with stories of having been 
 cursed and struck. She could only beg him to be good 
 and do what was demanded without laying himself 
 liable to punishment. Milo, the serious-faced little 
 burden bearer, was growing fast, and lacked stamina. 
 Beneath the cotton-mill regime, his chest was getting 
 dreadfully hollow. He was all too good a worker, 
 and tried anxiously to make up for his brother s 
 shortcomings. 
 
 "Pony, he s a little feller," Milo would say pitifully. 
 " He ain t nigh as old as I am. It comes easier to me 
 than what it does to him to stay in the house and tend 
 my frames, and do like I m told. If the bosses would 
 call me when he don t do to suit em, I could always 
 get him to mind." 
 
 Lissy had something of her mother s shining vitality, 
 but it dimmed woefully in the rough-and-ready clatter 
 and slam of the big Victory mill.
 
 224 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 The children had come from the sunlit heights and 
 free air of the Unakas. Their play had been always 
 out of doors, on the mosses under tall trees, where 
 fragrant balsams dropped cushions of springy needles 
 for the feet; their labour, the gathering of brush and 
 chips for the fire in winter, the dropping corn, and, 
 with the older boys, the hoeing of it in spring and 
 summer all under God s open sky. They had been 
 forced into the factory when nothing but places on 
 the night shift could be got for them. Day work 
 was promised later, but the bitter winter wore away, 
 and still the little captives crept over the bridge in the 
 twilight and slunk shivering home at dawn. Johnnie 
 made an arrangement to get off from her work a little 
 earlier, and used to take the two girls over herself; but 
 she could not go for them in the morning. One evening 
 about the holidays, miserably wet, and offering its 
 squalid contrast to the season, Johnnie, plodding along 
 between the two little girls, with Pony and Milo follow 
 ing, met Gray Stoddard face to face. He halted uncer 
 tainly. There was a world of reproach in his face, 
 and Johnnie answered it with eyes of such shame and 
 contrition as convinced him that she knew well the 
 degradation of what she was doing. 
 
 "You need another umbrella," he said abruptly, 
 putting down his own as he paused under the store 
 porch where a boy stood at the curb with his car, hood 
 on, prepared for a trip in to Watauga. 
 
 "I lost our n," ventured Pony. "It don t seem fair 
 that Milo has to get wet because I m so bad about
 
 BITTER WATERS 225 
 
 losing things, does it?" And he smiled engagingly 
 up into the tall man s face -- Johnnie s own eyes, 
 large-pupilled, black-lashed, full of laughter in their 
 clear depths. Gray Stoddard stared down at them 
 silently for a moment. Then he pushed the handle of 
 his umbrella into the boy s grimy little hand. 
 
 " See how long you can keep that one," he said kindly. 
 " It s marked on the handle with my name; and maybe if 
 you lost it somebody might bring it back to you. * 
 
 Johnnie had turned away and faltered on a few paces 
 in a daze of humiliation and misery. 
 
 "Sis Johnnie oh, Sis Johnnie!" Pony called after 
 her, flourishing the umbrella. "Look what Mr. 
 Stoddard give Milo and me." Then, in sudden con 
 sternation as Milo caught his elbow, he whirled and 
 offered voluble thanks. "I m a goin to earn a whole 
 lot of money and pay back the trouble I am to my folks," 
 he confided to Gray, hastily. "I didn t know I was 
 such a bad feller till I came down to the Settlement. 
 Looks like I cain t noways behave. But I m goin 
 to earn a big heap of money, an buy things for Milo 
 an* maw an the girls. Only now they take all I can 
 earn away from me." 
 
 There was a warning call from Johnnie, ahead in the 
 dusk somewhere; and the little fellow scuttled away 
 toward the Victory and a night of work. 
 
 Spring came late that year, and after it had given 
 a hint of relieving the misery of the poor, there fol 
 lowed an Easter storm which covered all the new-made 
 gardens with sleet and sent people shivering back to
 
 226 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 their winter wear. Deanie had been growing very 
 thin, and the red on her cheeks was a round spot of 
 scarlet. Laurella lay all day and far into the night 
 on her pallet of quilts before the big fire in the front 
 room, spent, inert, staring at the ceiling, entertaining 
 God knows what guests of terror and remorse. Noth 
 ing distressing must be brought to her. Coming home 
 from work once at dusk, Johnnie found the two little 
 girls on the porch, Deanie crying and Lissy trying to 
 comfort her. 
 
 " I thest cain t go to that old mill to-night, Sis John 
 nie," the little one pleaded. "Looks like I thest cain t." 
 
 "I could tell Mr. Reardon, and he d put a substitute 
 on to tend her frames," Lissy spoke up eagerly. "You 
 ask Pap Himes will he let us do that, Sis Johnnie." 
 
 Johnnie went past her mother, who appeared to be 
 dozing, and into the dining room, where Himes was. 
 He had promised to do some night work, setting up new 
 machines at the Victory, and he was in that uncertain 
 humour which the prospect of work always produced. 
 Gideon Himes was an old man, pestered, as he himself 
 would have put it, by the mysterious illness of his young 
 wife, fretted by the presence of the children, no doubt 
 in a measure because he felt himself to be doing an ill 
 part by them. His grumpy silence of other days, his 
 sardonic humour, gave place to hypochondriac com 
 plainings and outbursts of fierce temper. Pony had 
 hurt his foot in a machine at the factory and it required 
 daily dressing. Johnnie understood from the sounds 
 which greeted her that the sore foot was being bandaged.
 
 BITTER WATERS 227 
 
 "Hold still, cain t ye? * growled Himes. "I ain t 
 a-hurtin ye. Now you set in to bawl and I ll give ye 
 somethin to bawl for hear me?" 
 
 The old man was skilful with hurts, but he was using 
 such unnecessary roughness in this case as set the plucky 
 little chap to sobbing, and, just as Johnnie entered the 
 room, got him heavy-handed punishment for it. It was 
 an unfortunate time to bring up the question of Deanie; 
 yet it must be settled at once. 
 
 "Pap," said the girl, urgently, "the baby ain t fit 
 to go to the mill to-night if ever she ought. You 
 said that you d get day work for them all. If you 
 won t do that, let Deanie stay home for a spell. She 
 sure enough isn t fit to work." 
 
 Himes faced his stepdaughter angrily. 
 
 "When I say a child s fitten to work it s fitten 
 to work," he rounded on her. "I hain t axed your 
 opinion have I ? No. Well, then, keep it to your 
 self till it is axed for. You Pony, your foot s done 
 and ready. You get yourself off to the mill, or you ll 
 be docked for lost time." 
 
 The little fellow limped sniffling out; Johnnie reached 
 down for Deanie, who had crept after her to hear how 
 her cause went. It was evident that sight of the child 
 lingering increased Pap s anger, yet the elder sister 
 gathered up the ailing little one in her strong arms and 
 tried again. 
 
 "Pap, I ll pay you for Deanie s whole week s work 
 if you ll just let her stay home to-night. I ll pay you 
 the money now."
 
 228 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 "All right," Pap stuck out a ready, stubbed palm, 
 and received in it the silver that was the price of the 
 little girl s time for a week. He counted it over before 
 he rammed it down in his pocket. Then, "You can 
 pay me, and she can go to the mill, caze your wages 
 ought to come to me anyhow, and it don t do chaps 
 like her no good to be muchin em all the time. Would 
 you ruther have her go before I give her a good beatin 
 or after?" and he looked Johnnie fiercely in the eyes. 
 
 Johnnie looked back at him unflinching. She did 
 not lack spirit to defy him. But her mother was this 
 man s wife; the children were in their hands. Devoted, 
 high-couraged as she was, she saw no way here to 
 fight for the little ones. To her mother she could not 
 appeal; she must have support from outside. 
 
 "Never you mind, honey," she choked as she clasped 
 Deanie s thin little form closer, and the meagre small 
 arms went round her neck. "Sister ll find a way. 
 You go on to the mill to-night, and sister ll find some 
 body to help her, and she ll come there and get you 
 before morning." 
 
 When the pitiful little figure had lagged away down 
 the twilight street, holding to Lissy s hand, limping on 
 sore feet, Johnnie stood long on the porch in the dark 
 with gusts of rain beating intermittently at the lattice 
 beside her. Her hands were wrung hard together. 
 Her desperate gaze roved over the few scattered lights 
 of the little village, over the great flaring, throbbing 
 mills beyond, as though questioning where she could 
 seek for assistance. Paying money to Pap Himes
 
 BITTER WATERS 229 
 
 did no good. So much was plain. She had always 
 been afraid to begin it, and she realized now that the 
 present outcome was what she had apprehended. 
 Uncle Pros, the source of wisdom for all her childish 
 days, was in the hospital, a harmless lunatic. Of 
 late the old man s bodily health had mended suddenly, 
 almost marvellously; but he remained vacant, childish 
 in mind, and so far the authorities had retained him, 
 hoping to probe in some way to the obscure, moving 
 cause of his malady. Twice when she spoke to her 
 mother of late, being very desperate, Laurella had said 
 peevishly that if she were able she d get up and leave 
 the house. Plainly to-night she was too sick a woman 
 to be troubled. As Johnnie stood there, Shade Buck- 
 heath passed her, going out of the house and down the 
 street toward the store. Once she might have thought 
 of appealing to him; but now a sure knowledge of 
 what his reply would be forestalled that. 
 
 There remained then what the others called her 
 " swell friends." Gray Stoddard the thought 
 brought with it an agony from which she flinched. 
 But after all, there was Lydia Sessions. She was sure 
 Miss Sessions meant to be kind; and if she knew that 
 Deanie was really sick - . Yes, it would be worth 
 while to go to her with the whole matter. 
 
 At the thought she turned hesitatingly toward the 
 door, meaning to get her hat, and though she had 
 formulated no method of appeal to hurry to the 
 Hardwick house and at least talk with Miss Sessions 
 and endeavour to enlist her help.
 
 230 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 But the door opened before she reached it, 
 and Mavity Bence stood there, in her face the deadly 
 weariness of all woman s toil and travail since the fall. 
 Johnnie moved to her quickly, putting a hand on her 
 shoulder, remembering with swift compunction that 
 the poor woman s burdens were trebled since Laurella 
 lay ill, and Pap gave up so much of his time to hanging 
 anxiously about his young wife. 
 
 " What is it, Aunt Mavity ? " she asked. " Is anything 
 the matter ? " 
 
 "I hate to werry ye, Johnnie," said the other s 
 deprecating voice; "but looks like I ve jest got obliged 
 to have a little help this evenin . I m plumb dead 
 on my feet, and there s all the dishes to do and a stack 
 of towels and things to rub out." Her dim gaze ques 
 tioned the young face above her dubiously, almost 
 desperately. The little brass lamp in her hand made 
 a pitiful wavering. 
 
 "Of course I can help you. I d have been in before 
 this, only I I was kind of worried about some 
 thing else, and I forgot," declared Johnnie, strengthen 
 ing her heart to endure the necessary postponement 
 of her purpose. 
 
 She went into the kitchen with Mavity Bence, and 
 the two women worked there at the dishes, and washing 
 out the towels, till after nine o clock, Johnnie s anxiety 
 and distress mounting with every minute of delay. 
 At a little past nine, she left poor Mavity at the door 
 of that wretched place the poor woman called her 
 room, looked quietly in to see that her mother seemed
 
 BITTER WATERS 231 
 
 to sleep, got her hat and hurried out, goaded by a seem 
 ingly disproportionate fever of impatience and anxiety. 
 She took her way up the little hill and across the slope 
 to where the Hardwick mansion gleamed, many- 
 windowed, gay with lights, behind its evergreens. 
 
 When she reached the house itself she found an 
 evening reception going forward the Hardwicks 
 were entertaining the Lyric Club. She halted outside, 
 debating what to do. Could she call Miss Lydia from 
 her company to listen to such a story as this ? Was 
 it not in itself almost an offence to bring these things 
 before people who could live as Miss Lydia lived ? 
 Somebody was playing the violin, and Johnnie drew 
 nearer the window to listen. She stared in at the 
 beautiful lighted room, the well-dressed, happy people. 
 Suddenly she caught sight of Gray Stoddard standing 
 near the girl who was playing, a watchful eye upon her 
 music to turn it for her. She clutched the window- 
 sill and stood choking and blinded, fighting with a 
 crowd of daunting recollections and miserable appre 
 hensions. The young violinist was playing Schubert s 
 Serenade. From the violin came the cry of hungry 
 human love demanding its mate, questing, praying, 
 half despairing, and yet wooing, seeking again. 
 
 Johnnie s piteous gaze roved over the well-beloved 
 lineaments. She noted with a passion of tenderness 
 the turn of head and hand that were so familiar to her, 
 and so dear. Oh, she could never hate him for it, but 
 it was hard hard to be a wave in the ocean of 
 toil that supported the galleys of such as these!
 
 232 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 It began to rain again softly as she stood there, 
 scattered drops falling on her bright hair, and she 
 gathered her dress about her and pressed close to the 
 window where the eaves of the building sheltered her, 
 forcing herself to look in and take note of the difference 
 between those people in there and her own lot of life. 
 This was not usually Johnnie s way. Her unfailing 
 optimism prompted her always to measure the distance 
 below her, and be glad of having climbed so far, rather 
 than to dim her eyes with straining them toward what 
 was above. But now she marked mercilessly the 
 Jight, yet subdued, movements, the deference expressed 
 when one of these people addressed another; and Gray 
 Stoddard at the upper end of the room was easily the 
 most marked figure in it. Who was she to think 
 she might be his friend when all this beautiful world 
 of ease and luxury and fair speech was open to him ? 
 
 Like a sword flashed back to her memory of the 
 children. They were being killed in the mills, while 
 she wasted her thoughts and longings on people who 
 would laugh if they knew of her presumptuous devotion. 
 
 She turned with a low exclamation of astonishment, 
 when somebody touched her on the shoulder. 
 
 "Is you de gal Miss Lyddy sont for?" inquired 
 the yellow waitress a bit sharply. 
 
 "No yes I don t know whether Miss Sessions 
 sent for me or not," Johnnie halted out; " but," eagerly, 
 "I must see her. I ve Cassy. I ve got to speak 
 to her right now." 
 
 Cassy regarded the newcomer rather scornfully.
 
 BITTER WATERS 233 
 
 Yet everybody liked Johnnie, and the servant eventually 
 put off her design of being impressive and said in a 
 fairly friendly manner: 
 
 "You couldn t noways see her now. I couldn t 
 disturb her whilst she s got company without you 
 want to put on this here cap and apron and come 
 he p me sarve the refreshments. Dey was a gal 
 comin to resist me, but she ain t put in her disappear 
 ance yet. Ain t no time for foolin , dis ain t." 
 
 Johnnie debated a moment. A servant s livery 
 - but Deanie was sick and - . With a sudden, im 
 pulsive movement, and somewhat to Cassy s surprise, 
 Johnnie followed into the pantry, seized the proffered 
 cap and apron and proceeded to put them on. 
 
 " I ve got to see Miss Sessions," she repeated, more 
 to herself than to the negress. " Maybe what I have 
 to say will only take a minute. I reckon she won t 
 mind, even if she has got company. It well, I ve 
 got to see her some way." And taking the tray of frail, 
 dainty cups and saucers Cassy brought her, she started 
 with it to the parlour. 
 
 The music was just dying down to its last wail when 
 Gray looked up and caught sight of her coming. His 
 mind had been full of her. To him certain pieces 
 of music always meant certain people, and the Serenade 
 could bring him nothing but Johnnie Consadine s 
 face. His startled eyes encountered with distaste the 
 cap pinned to her hair, descended to the white apron 
 that covered her black skirt, and rested in astonishment 
 on the tray that held the coffee, cream and sugar.
 
 234 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 " Begin here," Cassie prompted her assistant, and 
 Johnnie, stopping, offered her tray of cups. 
 
 Gray s indignant glance went from the girl herself 
 to his hostess. What foolery was this ? Why should 
 Johnnie Consadine dress herself as a servant and wait 
 on Lydia Sessions s guests ? 
 
 Before the two reached him, he turned abruptly 
 and went into the library, where Miss Sessions stood 
 for a moment quite alone. Her face brightened; 
 he had sought her society very much less of late. She 
 looked hopefully for a renewal of that earlier companion 
 ship which seemed by contrast almost intimate. 
 
 "Have you hired Johnnie Consadine as a waitress ?" 
 Stoddard asked her in a non-committal voice. "I 
 should have supposed that her place in the mill would 
 pay her more, and offer better prospects." 
 
 "No oh, no," said Miss Sessions, startled, and 
 considerably disappointed at the subject he had 
 selected to converse upon. 
 
 " How does she come to be here with a cap and 
 apron on to-night?" pursued Stoddard, with an edge 
 to his tone which he could not wholly subdue. 
 
 "I really don t understand that myself," Lydia 
 Sessions told him. "I made no arrangement with 
 her. I expected to have a couple of negresses they re 
 much better servants, you know. Of course when a 
 girl like John gets a little taste of social contact and 
 recognition, she may go to considerable lengths to 
 gratify her desire for it. No doubt she feels proud 
 of forcing herself in this evening; and then of course
 
 BITTER WATERS 235 
 
 she knows she will be well paid. She seems to be doing 
 nicely," glancing between the portieres where Johnnie 
 bent before one guest or another, offering her tray 
 of cups. " I really haven t the heart to reprove her." 
 
 "Then I think I shall," said Stoddard with sudden 
 resolution. "If you don t mind, Miss Sessions, would 
 you let her come in and talk to me a little while, as soon 
 as she has finished passing the coffee ? I really 
 it seems to me that this is outrageous. Johnnie is 
 a girl of brains and abilities, and we who have her true 
 welfare at heart should see that she doesn t in her 
 youth and ignorance fall into such errors as this." 
 
 "Oh, if you like, I ll talk to her myself," said Miss 
 Lydia smoothly. The conversation was not so different 
 from others that she and Stoddard had held con 
 cerning this girl s deserts and welfare. She added, 
 after an instant s pause, -speaking quickly, with 
 heightened colour, and a little nervous catch in her 
 voice, " I ll do my best. I I don t want to speak 
 harshly of John, but I must in truth say that she s 
 the one among my Uplift Club girls that has been 
 least satisfactory to me." 
 
 "In what way?" inquired Stoddard in an even, 
 quiet tone. 
 
 "Well, I should be a little puzzled to put it into 
 words," Miss Sessions answered him with a deprecating 
 smile; "and yet it s there the feeling that John 
 Consadine is I hate to say it ungrateful." 
 
 "Ungrateful," repeated her companion, his eyes 
 steadily on Miss Sessions s face. "To leave Johnnie
 
 236 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Consadine out of the matter entirely, what else do 
 you expect from any of your protegees ? What else 
 can any one expect who goes into what the modern 
 world calls charitable work?" 
 
 Miss Sessions studied his face in some bewilderment. 
 Was he arraigning her, or sympathizing with her ? 
 He said no more. He left upon her the onus of further 
 speech. She must try for the right note. 
 
 "I know it," she fumbled desperately. "And 
 isn t it disappointing ? You do everything you pos 
 sibly can for people and they seem to dislike you for 
 it." 
 
 "They don t merely seem to," said Stoddard, 
 almost brusquely, "they do dislike and despise you, 
 and that most heartily. It is as certain a result as that 
 two and two make four. You have pauperized and 
 degraded them, and they hate you for it." 
 
 Lydia Sessions shrank back on the seat, and stared 
 at him, her hand before her open mouth. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Stoddard!" she ejaculated finally. "I 
 thought you were fully in sympathy with my Uplift 
 work. You you certainly let me think so. If 
 you despised it, as you now say, why did you help me 
 and and all that ?" 
 
 Stoddard shook his head. 
 
 "No," he demurred a little wearily. "I don t 
 despise you, nor your work. As for helping you - 
 I dislike lobster, and yet I conscientiously provide you 
 with it whenever we are where the comestible is served, 
 because I know you like it."
 
 BITTER WATERS 237 
 
 "Mr. Stoddard," broke in Lydia tragically, "that 
 
 is frivolous! These are grave matters, and I thought 
 
 oh, I thought certainly that I was deserving your 
 
 good opinion in this charitable work if ever I deserved 
 
 such a thing in my life." 
 
 "Oh deserved!" repeated Stoddard, almost impa 
 tiently. "No doubt you deserve a great deal more 
 than my praise; but you know do you not ? that 
 people who believe as I do, regard that sort of philan 
 thropy as a barrier to progress; and, really now, I 
 think you ought to admit that under such circumstances 
 I have behaved with great friendliness and self-control." 
 
 The words were spoken with something of the old 
 teasing intonation that had once deluded Lydia Sessions 
 into the faith that she held a relation of some intimacy 
 to this man. She glanced at him fleetingly; then, 
 though she felt utterly at sea, made one more desperate 
 effort. 
 
 " But I always went first to you when I was raising 
 money for my Uplift work, and you gave to me more 
 liberally than anybody else. Jerome never approved 
 of it. Hartley grumbled, or laughed at me, and came 
 reluctantly to my little dances and receptions. I 
 sometimes felt that I was going against all my world - 
 except you. I depended upon your approval. I 
 felt that you were in full sympathy with me here, if 
 nowhere else." 
 
 She looked so disproportionately moved by the 
 matter that Stoddard smiled a little. 
 
 "I m sorry," he said at last. "I see now that I
 
 238 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 have been taking it for granted all along that you 
 understood the reservation I held in regard to this 
 matter." 
 
 "You you should have told me plainly," said 
 Lydia drearily. " It it gives me a strange feeling 
 to have depended so entirely on you, and then to find 
 out that you were thinking of me all the while as 
 Jerome does." 
 
 "Have I been?" inquired Stoddard. "As Jerome 
 does ? What a passion it seems to be with folks to 
 classify their friends. People call me a Socialist, 
 because I am trying to find out what I really do think 
 on certain economic and social subjects. I doubt 
 that I shall ever bring up underneath any precise label, 
 and yet some people would think it egotistical that I 
 insisted upon being a class to myself. I very much 
 doubt that I hold Mr. Hardwick s opinion exactly 
 in any particular." He looked at the girl with a sort 
 of urgency which she scarcely comprehended. " Miss 
 Sessions," he said, "I wear my hair longer than most 
 men, and the barber is always deeply grieved at my 
 obstinacy. I never eat potatoes, and many well- 
 meaning persons are greatly concerned over it - 
 they regard the exclusion of potatoes from one s 
 dietary as almost criminal. But you I expect in 
 you more tolerance concerning my peculiarities. 
 Why must you care at all what I think, or what my 
 views are in this matter?" 
 
 "Oh, I don t understand you at all," Lydia said 
 distressfully.
 
 BITTER WATERS 239 
 
 "No?" agreed Stoddard with an interrogative note 
 in his voice. " But after all there s no need for people 
 to be so determined to understand each other, is there ?" 
 
 Lydia looked at him with swimming eyes. 
 
 "Why didn t you tell me not to do those things?" 
 she managed finally to say with some composure. 
 
 "Tell you not to do things that you had thought 
 out for yourself and decided on?" asked Stoddard. 
 "Oh, no, Miss Sessions. What of your own develop 
 ment ? I had no business to interfere like that. You 
 might be exactly right about it, and I wrong, so far as 
 you yourself were concerned. And even if I were 
 right and you wrong, the only chance of growth 
 for you was to exploit the matter and find it out for 
 yourself ; 
 
 " I don t understand a word you say," Lydia Sessions 
 repeated dully. "That s the kind of thing you used 
 always to talk when you and I were planning for John 
 Consadine. Development isn t what a woman wants. 
 She wants she needs to understand how to please 
 those she approves. If she fails anywhere, and 
 those she well, if somebody that she has con 
 fidence in tells her, why then she ll know better 
 next time. You should have told me." 
 
 Her eyes overflowed as she made an end, but Stod 
 dard adopted a tone of determined lightness. 
 
 "Dear me," he said gently. "What reactionary 
 views ! You re out of temper with me this evening - 
 I get on your nerves with my theorizing. Forgive me, 
 and forget all about it."
 
 240 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Lydia Sessions smiled kindly on her guest, without 
 speaking. But one thing remained to her out of it all. 
 Gray Stoddard thought ill of her work it carried 
 her further from him, instead of nearer! So many 
 months of effort worse than wasted ! At that instant 
 she had sight of Shade Buckheath s dark face in the 
 entry. She got to her feet. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," she said wanly, "I think there 
 is some one out there that I ought to speak to."
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A VICTIM 
 
 IN THE spinning room at the Victory Mill, with 
 its tall frames and endlessly turning bobbins, 
 where the languid thread ran from hank to 
 spool and the tired little feet must walk the narrow 
 aisles between the jennies, watching if perchance a 
 filament had broken, a knot caught, or other mischance 
 occurred, and right it, Deanie plodded for what seemed 
 to her many years. Milo and Pony both had work 
 now in another department, and Lissy s frames were 
 quite across the noisy big room. Whenever the 
 little dark-haired girl could get away from her own 
 task and the eye of the room boss, she ran across to 
 the small, ailing sister and hugged her hard, begging 
 her not to feel bad, not to cry, Sis Johnnie was bound 
 to come before long. With the morbidness of a sick 
 child, Deanie came to dread these well-meant assur 
 ances, finding them almost as distressing as her own 
 strange, tormenting sensations. 
 
 The room was insufferably close, because it had 
 rained and the windows were all tightly shut. The 
 flare of light vitiated the air, heated it, but seemed 
 to the child s sick sense to illuminate nothing. 
 Sometimes she found herself walking into the machinery 
 
 241
 
 242 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 and put out a reckless little hand to guard her steps. 
 Sister Johnnie had said she would come and take her 
 away. Sister Johnnie was the Providence that was 
 never known to fail. Deanie kept on doggedly, and 
 tied threads, almost asleep. The room opened and 
 shut like an accordion before her fevered vision; the 
 floor heaved and trembled under her stumbling feet. 
 To lie down to lie down anywhere and sleep - 
 that was the almost intolerable longing that possessed 
 her. Her mouth was hot and dry. The little white, 
 peaked face, like a new moon, grew strangely luminous 
 in its pallor. Her eyes stung in their sockets - 
 those desolate blue eyes, dark with unshed tears, heavy 
 with sleep. 
 
 She had turned her row and started back, when there 
 came before her, so plain that she almost thought she 
 might wet her feet in the*clear water, a vision of the 
 spring-branch at home up on Unaka, where she and 
 Lissy used to play. There, among the giant roots of 
 the old oak on its bank, was the house they had built 
 of big stones and bright bits of broken dishes; there 
 lay her home-made doll flung down among gay fallen 
 leaves; a little toad squatted beside it; and near by was 
 the tiny gourd that was their play-house dipper. Oh, 
 for a drink from that spring! 
 
 She caught sight of Mandy Meacham passing the 
 door, and ran to her, heedless of consequences. 
 
 "Mandy," she pleaded, taking hold of the woman s 
 skirts and throwing back her reeling head to stare 
 up into the face above her, "Mandy, Sis Johnnie
 
 A VICTIM 243 
 
 said she d come; but it s a awful long time, and I m 
 scared I ll fall into some of these here old machines, 
 I feel that bad. Won t you go tell Sis Johnnie I m 
 waitin for her?" 
 
 Mandy glanced forward through the weaving-room 
 toward her own silent looms, then down at the little, 
 flushed face at her knee. If she dared to do things, 
 as Johnnie dared, she would pick up the baby and 
 leave. The very thought of it terrified her. No, she 
 must get Johnnie herself. Johnnie would make it 
 right. She bent down and kissed the little thing, 
 whispering: 
 
 "Never you mind, honey. Mandy s going straight 
 and find Sis Johnnie, and bring her here to Deanie. 
 Jest wait a minute." 
 
 Then she turned and, swiftly, lest her courage evapor 
 ate, hurried down the stair and to the time keeper. 
 
 " Ef you ve got a substitute, you can put em on my 
 looms," she said brusquely. "I ve got to go down in 
 town." 
 
 "Sick?" inquired Reardon laconically, as he made 
 some entry on a card and dropped it in a drawer beside 
 him. 
 
 "No, I ain t sick but Deanie Consadine is, and 
 I m goin over in town to find her sister. That child 
 ain t fitten to be in no mill let alone workin night 
 turn. You men ort to be ashamed that baby ort to 
 be in her bed this very minute." 
 
 Her voice had faltered a bit at the conclusion. 
 Yet she made an end of it, and hurried away with
 
 244 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 a choke in her throat. The man stared after her 
 angrily. 
 
 "Well!" he ejaculated finally. "She s got her 
 nerve with her. Old Himes is that gal s stepdaddy. 
 I reckon he knows whether she s fit to work in the 
 mills or not he hired her here. Bob, ain t Himes 
 down in the basement right now settin up new 
 machines ? You go down there and name this business 
 to him. See what he s got to say." 
 
 A party of young fellows was tramping down the 
 village street singing. One of them carried a guitar 
 and struck, now and again, a random chord upon its 
 strings. The street was dark, but as the singers, step 
 ping rythmically, passed the open door of the store, 
 Mandy recognized a shape she knew. 
 
 "Shade Shade Buckheath! Wait thar!" she 
 called to him. 
 
 The others lingered, too, a moment, till they saw 
 it was a girl following; then they turned and sauntered 
 slowly on, still singing: 
 
 " Ef I was a little bird, I d nest in the tallest tree, 
 That leans over the waters of the beautiful Tennessee. 
 
 The words came back to Buckheath and Mandy in 
 velvety bass and boyish tenor. 
 
 " Shade whar s Johnnie ? " panted Mandy, shaking 
 him by the arm. " I been up to the house, and she ain t 
 thar. Pap ain t thar, neither. I was skeered to name 
 my business to Laurelly; Aunt Mavity ain t no help 
 and, and Shade whar s Johnnie?" Buckheath
 
 A VICTIM 245 
 
 looked down into her working, tragic face and his 
 mouth hardened. 
 
 "She ain t at home," he said finally. "I ve been 
 at Himes s all evening. Pap and me has a er, a 
 little business on hand and she ain t at home. They 
 told me that they was some sort of shindig at Mr. 
 Hardwick s to-night. I reckon Johnnie Consadine 
 is chasin round after her tony friends. Pap said she 
 left the house a-goin in that direction or Mavity 
 told me, I disremember which. I reckon you ll find 
 her tha. What do you want of her?" 
 
 "It s Deanie." She glanced fearfully past his 
 shoulder to where the big clock on the grocery wall 
 showed through its dim window. It was half-past 
 ten. The lateness of the hour seemed to strike her 
 with fresh terror. "Shade, come along of me," she 
 pleaded. "I m so skeered. I never shall have the 
 heart to go in and ax for Johnnie, this time o night 
 at that thar fine house. How she can talk up to them 
 swell people like she does is more than I know. You 
 go with me and ax is she thar." 
 
 The group of young men had crossed the bridge and 
 were well on their way to the Inn. Buckheath glanced 
 after them doubtfully and turned to walk at Mandy s 
 side. When they came to the gate, the woman hung 
 back, whimpering at sight of the festal array, and 
 sound of the voices within. 
 
 "They ve got a party," she deprecated. "My 
 old dress is jest as dirty as the floor. You go ax em, 
 Shade."
 
 246 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 As she spoke, Johnnie, carrying a tray of cups and 
 saucers, passed a lighted window, and Buckheath 
 uttered a sudden, unpremeditated oath. 
 
 "I don t know what God Almighty means makin 
 women such fools," he growled. "What call had 
 Johnnie Consadine got to come here and act the ser 
 vant for them rich folks ? runnin around after Gray 
 Stoddard and much good may it do her!" 
 
 Mandy crowded herself back into the shadow of 
 the dripping evergreens, and Shade went boldly up 
 on the side porch. She saw the door opened and 
 her escort admitted; then through the glass was aware 
 of Lydia Sessions in an evening frock coming into the 
 small entry and conferring at length with him. 
 
 Her attention was diverted from them by the 
 appearance of Johnnie herself just inside a win 
 dow. She ran forward and tapped on the pane. 
 Johnnie put down her tray and came swiftly out, 
 passing Shade and Miss Sessions in the side entry 
 with a word. 
 
 "What is it?" she inquired of Mandy, with a 
 premonition of disaster in hsr tones. 
 
 "Hit s Deanie," choked the Meacham woman. 
 "She s right sick, and they won t let her leave the 
 mill leastways she s skeered to ask, and so am I. 
 I lowed I ought to come and tell you, Johnnie. 
 Was that right? You wanted me to, didn t you?" 
 anxiously. 
 
 "Yes yes yes!" cried Johnnie, reaching up swift, 
 nervous fingers to unfasten the cap from her hair,
 
 A VICTIM 247 
 
 thrusting it in the pocket of the apron, and untying the 
 apron strings. "Wait a minute. I must give these 
 things back. Oh, let s hurry!" 
 
 It was but a moment after that she emerged once 
 more on the porch, and apparently for the first time 
 noticed Buckheath. 
 
 "To-morrow, then," Miss Sessions was saying to 
 him as he moved toward the two girls. "To-morrow 
 morning." And with a patronizing nod to them all, she 
 withdrew and rejoined her guests. 
 
 "I never found you when I went up to the house," 
 explained Mandy nervously, "and so I stopped Shade 
 on the street and axed him would he come along with 
 me. Maybe it would do some good if he was to go 
 up with us to the mill. They pay more attention to 
 a man person. I tell you, Johnnie, the baby s plumb 
 broke down and sick." 
 
 The three were moving swiftly along the darkened 
 
 street now. 
 
 tt T 
 
 I m going to t-ake the children away from Pap," 
 Johnnie said in a curious voice, rapid and monotonous, 
 as though she were reciting something to herself. " I 
 have obliged to do it. There must be a law somewhere. 
 God won t let me fail." 
 
 "Huh-uh," grunted Buckheath, instantly. "You 
 can t do such a thing. Ef you was married, and yo 
 mother would let you adopt em, I reckon the courts 
 might agree to that." 
 
 "Shade," Johnnie turned upon him, "you ve got 
 more influence with Pap Himes than anybody. I
 
 248 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 believe if you d talk to him, he d let me have the child 
 ren. I could support them now." 
 
 " I don t want to fall out with Pap Himes for 
 nothin ," responded Shade. "If you ll say that you ll 
 wed me to-morrow morning, I ll go to Pap and get him 
 to give up the children." Neither of them paid any 
 attention to Mandy, who listened open-eyed and 
 open-eared to this singular courtship. "Or I ll get 
 him to take em out of the mill. You re right, I ain t 
 got a bit of doubt I could do it. And if I don t do it, 
 you needn t have me." 
 
 An illumination fell upon Johnnie s mind. She 
 saw that Buckheath was in league with her stepfather, 
 and that the pressure was put on according to the 
 younger man s ideas, and would be instantly withdrawn 
 at his bidding. Yet, when the swift revulsion such 
 knowledge brought with it made her ready to dismiss 
 him at once, thought of Deanie s wasted little counten 
 ance, with the red burning high on the sharp, unchildish 
 cheekbone, stayed her. For a while she walked with 
 bent head. Heavily before her mind s eye went the 
 picture of Gray Stoddard among his own people, in 
 his own world where she could never come. 
 
 "Have it your way," she said finally in a suffering 
 voice. 
 
 " What s that you say ? Are you goin to take me ?" 
 demanded Buckheath, pressing close and reaching 
 out a possessive arm to put around her. 
 
 "I said yes," Johnnie shivered, pushing his hand 
 away; "but but it ll only be when you can come to
 
 A VICTIM 249 
 
 me and tell me that the children are all right. If you 
 fail me there, I - 
 
 Back at the Victory, downstairs went Reardon s 
 messenger to where Pap Himes was sweating over 
 the new machinery. Work always put the old man in 
 a sort of incandescent fury, and now as Bob spoke to 
 him, he raised an inflamed face, from which the small 
 eyes twinkled redly, with a grunt of inquiry. 
 
 "That youngest gal o yours," the man repeated. 
 " She s tryin to leave her job and go home. Reardon 
 said tell you, an see what you had to say. The Lord 
 knows we have trouble enough with those young uns. 
 I m glad when any of their folks that s got sand is 
 around to make em behave. I reckon she can t come 
 it over you, Gid." 
 
 Himes straightened up with a groan, under any 
 exertion his rheumatic old back always punished him 
 cruelly for the days of indolence that had let its supple 
 ness depart. 
 
 "Huh ?" he grunted. " Whar s she at ? Up in the 
 spinnin room ? Well, is they enough of you up thar 
 to keep her tendin to business for a spell, till I can 
 get this thing levelled?" He held to the mechanism 
 he was adjusting and harangued wheezily from behind 
 it. "I cain t drop my job an canter upstairs every 
 time one o you fellers whistles. The chap ain t more n 
 two foot long. Looks like you-all might hold on to 
 her for one while I ll be thar soon as I can - - bout 
 a hour"; and he returned savagely to his work.
 
 250 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 When Mandy left her, Deanie tried for a time to 
 tend her frames; but the endlessly turning spools, 
 the edges of the jennies, blurred before her fevered eyes. 
 Everything even her fear of Pap Himes, her dread 
 of the room boss finally became vague in her mind. 
 More and more she dreaded little Lissy s well-meant 
 visitations; and after nearly an hour she stole toward 
 the door, looking half deliriously for Sister Johnnie. 
 Nobody noticed in the noisy, flaring room that spool 
 after spool on her frame fouled its thread and ceased 
 turning, as the little figure left its post and hesitated 
 like a scared, small animal toward the main exit. Pap 
 Himes, having come to where he could leave his work 
 in the basement, climbed painfully the many stairs 
 to the spinning room, and met her close to where the 
 big belt rose up to the great shaft that gave power 
 to every machine in that department. 
 
 The loving master of the big yellow cat had always 
 cherished a somewhat clumsily concealed dislike and 
 hostility to Deanie. Perhaps there lingered in this 
 a touch of half-jealousy of his wife s baby; perhaps 
 he knew instinctively that Johnnie s rebellion against 
 his tyranny was always strongest where Deanie was 
 concerned. 
 
 "Why ain t you on your job ?" he inquired threaten 
 ingly, as the child saw him and made some futile 
 attempt to shrink back out of his way. 
 
 "I feel so quare, Pap Himes," the little girl answered 
 him, beginning to cry. " I thes want to lay down and 
 go to sleep every minute."
 
 A VICTIM 251 
 
 "Huh!" Pap exploded his favourite expletive till 
 it sounded ferocious. "That ain t quare feelin s. 
 That s just plain old-fashioned laziness. You git 
 yo self back thar and tend them frames, or I ll - 
 
 "I cain t! I cain t see em to tend! I m right blind 
 in the eyes!" wailed Deanie. "I wish Sis Johnnie 
 would come. I wish t she would!" 
 
 "Uh-huh," commented Bob Conley, who had 
 strolled up in the old man s wake. " Reckon Sis 
 Johnnie would run things to suit her an you. Himes, 
 you can cuss me out good an plenty, but I take notice 
 you seem to have trouble makin your own family 
 mind." 
 
 "You shut your head," growled Pap. 
 
 Reardon had added himself to the spectators. 
 
 "See here," the foreman argued, "if you say there s 
 nothing the matter with that gal, an she carries on till 
 we have to let her go home, she goes for good. I ll 
 take her frames away from her." 
 
 Pap felt that a formidable show of authority must 
 be made. 
 
 "Git back thar!" he roared, advancing upon the 
 child, raising the hand that still held the wrench with 
 which he had been working on the machinery down 
 stairs. " Git back thar, or I ll make you wish you had. 
 When I tell you to do a thing, don t you name Johnnie 
 to me. Git back thar!" 
 
 With a faint cry the child cowered away from him. 
 It is unlikely he would have struck her with the 
 upraised tool he held. Perhaps he did not intend a
 
 252 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 blow at all, but one or two small frame tenders paused 
 at the ends of their lanes to watch the scene with avid 
 eyes, to extract the last thrill from the sensation that 
 was being kindly brought into the midst of their monoto 
 nous toilsome hours; and Lissy, who was creeping up 
 anxiously, yet keeping out of the range of Himes s 
 eye, crouched as though the hammer had been raised 
 over her own head. 
 
 " Johnnie said - " began the little girl, desperately; 
 but the old man, stung to greater fury, sprang at her; she 
 stumbled back and back; fell against the slowly moving 
 belt; her frock caught in the rivets which were just 
 passing, and she was instantly jerked from her feet. 
 If any one of the three men looking on had taken 
 prompt action, the child might have been rescued at 
 once; but stupid terror held them motionless. 
 
 At the moment Johnnie, Shade and Mandy, coming 
 up the stairs, got sight of the group, Pap with upraised 
 hammer, the child in the clutches of imminent death. 
 
 With shrill outcries the other juvenile workers swiftly 
 gathered in a crowd. One broke away and fled down 
 the long room screaming. 
 
 "You Pony Consadine! Milo! Come here. Pap 
 Himes is a-killing yo sister." 
 
 The old man, shaking all through his bulk, stared 
 with fallen jaw. Mandy shrieked and leaped up the 
 few remaining steps to reach Deanie, who was already 
 above the finger-tips of a tall man. 
 
 "Pap! Shade! Quick! Don t you see she ll be 
 killed!" Mandy screamed in frenzy.
 
 A VICTIM 253 
 
 Something in the atmosphere must have made itself 
 felt, for no sound could have penetrated the din of the 
 weaving room; yet some of the women left their looms 
 and came running in behind the two pale, scared little 
 brothers, to add their shrieks to the general clamour. 
 Deanie s fellow workers, poor little souls, denied their 
 childish share of the world s excitements, gazed with 
 a sort of awful relish. Only Johnnie, speeding down 
 the room away from it all, was doing anything rational 
 to avert the catastrophe. The child hung on the slowly 
 moving belt, inert, a tiny rag of life, with her mop of 
 tangled yellow curls, her white, little face, its blue eyes 
 closed. When she reached the top, where the pulley 
 was close against the ceiling, her brains would be 
 dashed out and the small body dragged to pieces be 
 tween beam and ceiling. 
 
 Those who looked at her realized this. Numbed 
 by the inevitable, they made no effort, save Milo, who 
 at imminent risk of his own life, was climbing on a 
 frame near at hand; but Pony flew at Himes, beating 
 the old man with hard-clenched, inadequate fists, and 
 screaming. 
 
 "You git her down from thar git her down this 
 minute! She ll be killed, I tell ye! She ll be killed, 
 I tell ye!" 
 
 Poor Mandy made inarticulate moanings and reached 
 up her arms; Shade Buckheath cursed softly under 
 his breath; the women and children stared, eager 
 to lose no detail. 
 
 "I always have said, and I always shall say, that
 
 254 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 chaps as young as that ain t got no business around 
 whar machinery s at!" Bob Conley kept shouting over 
 and over in a high, strange, mechanical voice, plainly 
 quite unconscious that he spoke at all. 
 
 The child was so near the ceiling now that a universal 
 groan proceeded from the watchers. Then, all at once 
 the belt ceased to move, and the clash and tumult 
 were stilled. Johnnie, who had flown to the little 
 controlling wheel to throw off the power, came running 
 back, crying out in the sudden quiet. 
 
 "Shade quick get a ladder! Hold something 
 under there ! She might Oh, my God ! " for Deanie s 
 frock had pulled free and the little form hurled down 
 before Johnnie could reach them. But the devoted 
 Mandy was there, her futile, inadequate skirts upheld. 
 Into them the small body dropped, and together 
 the two came to the floor with a dull sort of crunch. 
 
 When Johnnie reached the prostrate pair, Mandy 
 was struggling to her knees, gasping; but Deanie lay 
 twisted just as she had fallen, the little face sunken and 
 deathly, a tiny trickle of blood coming from a corner of 
 her parted lips. 
 
 "Oh, my baby! Oh, my baby! They ve killed 
 my baby! Deanie Deanie Deanie - !" wailed 
 Mandy. 
 
 Johnnie was on her knees beside the child, feeling 
 her over with tremulous hands. Her face was bleached 
 chalk-white, and her eyes stared fearfully at the motion 
 less lips of the little one, from which that scarlet stream 
 trickled; but she set her own lips silently.
 
 A VICTIM 255 
 
 "Thar right thar in the side," groaned Mandy. 
 " She s all staved in on the side thar my pore little 
 Deanie! Oh, I tried to ketch her, but she broke right 
 through and pulled my skirts out of my hand and hit 
 the floor." 
 
 Pap had drawn nearer on shaking limbs; the children 
 crowded so close that Johnnie looked up and motioned 
 them back. 
 
 " Shade you run for a doctor, and have a carriage 
 fetched," she ordered briefly. 
 
 " Is Lord God, is she dead ?" faltered the old man. 
 
 "Ef she ain t dead now, she ll die," Mandy answered 
 him shrilly. "They ain t no flesh on her she s 
 run down to a pore little skeleton. That s what the 
 factories does to women and children they jest eats 
 em up, and spits out they bones." 
 
 "Well, I never aimed to skeer her that-a-way," 
 said Himes; "but the little fool - 
 
 Johnnie s flaming glance silenced him, and his voice 
 died away, a sort of a rasp in his throat. Mechani 
 cally he glanced up to the point on the great belt from 
 which the child had fallen, and measured the distance 
 to the floor. He scratched his bald head dubiously, 
 and edged back from the tragedy he had made. 
 
 "Everybody knows I never hit her," he muttered 
 as he went.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 LIGHT 
 
 GRAY STODDARD S eyes had followed Lydia 
 Sessions when she went into the hall to speak 
 to Shade Buckheath. He had a glimpse of 
 Johnnie, too, in the passage; he noted that she later 
 left the house with Buckheath (Mandy Meacham was 
 beyond his range of vision); and the pang that went 
 through him at the sight was a strangely mingled one. 
 The talk between him and his hostess had been 
 enlightening to both of them. It showed Lydia 
 Sessions not only where she stood with Gray, but it 
 brought home to her startlingly, and as nothing had 
 yet done, the strength of Johnnie s hold upon him; 
 while it forced Gray himself to realize that ever since 
 that morning when he met the girl on the bridge going 
 to put her little brothers and sisters in the Victory mill, 
 he had behaved more like a sulky, disappointed lover 
 than a staunch friend. He confessed frankly to himself, 
 that, had Johnnie been a boy, a young man, instead 
 of a beautiful and appealing woman, he w r ould have 
 been prompt to go to her and remonstrate he would 
 have made no bones of having the matter out clearly 
 and fully. He blamed himself much for the estrange 
 ment which he had allowed to grow between them. He 
 
 256
 
 LIGHT 257 
 
 knew instinctively about what Shade Buckheath was - 
 certainly no fit mate for Johnnie Consadine. And 
 for the better to desert her poor, helpless, unschooled 
 girl could only operate to push her toward the 
 worse. These thoughts kept Stoddard wakeful com 
 pany till almost morning. 
 
 Dawn came with a soft wind out of the west, all the 
 odours of spring on its breath, and a penitent warmth 
 to apologize for last night s storm. Stoddard faced 
 his day, and decided that he would begin it with an 
 early-morning horseback ride. He called up his stable 
 boy over the telephone, and when Jim brought round 
 Roan Sultan saddled there was a pause, as of custom, 
 for conversation. 
 
 "Heared about the accident over to the Victory, 
 Mr. Stoddard?" Jim inquired. 
 
 "No," said Gray, wheeling sharply. "Anybody 
 hurt?" 
 
 "One o Pap Himes s stepchildren mighty near 
 killed, they say," the boy told him. "I seen Miss 
 Johnnie Consadine when they was bringing the little 
 gal down. It seems they sent for her over to Mr. 
 Hardwickses where she was at." 
 
 Gray mounted quickly, settled himself in the saddle, 
 and glanced down the street which would lead him 
 past Himes s place. For months now, he had been 
 instinctively avoiding that part of town. Poor Johnnie! 
 She might be a disappointing character, but he knew 
 well that she was full of love; he remembered her eyes 
 when, nearly a year ago, up in the mist and sweetness
 
 258 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 of April on the Unakas, she had told him of the baby 
 sister and the other little ones. She must be suffering 
 now. Almost without reflection he turned his horse s 
 head and rode toward the forlorn Himes boarding- 
 house. 
 
 As he drew near, he noticed a huddled figure at the 
 head of the steps, and coming up made it out to be 
 Himes himself, sitting, elbows on knees, staring straight 
 ahead of him. Pap had not undressed at all, but he 
 had taken out his false teeth "to rest his jaws a spell," 
 as he was in the habit of doing, and the result was 
 startling. His cheeks were fallen in to such an extent 
 that the blinking red eyes above looked larger; it 
 was as though the old rascal s crimes of callous self 
 ishness and greed had suddenly aged him. 
 
 Stoddard pulled in his horse at the foot of the steps. 
 
 "I hear one of the little girls was hurt in the mill 
 last night. Was she badly injured ? Which one was 
 it?" he asked abruptly. 
 
 "Hit s Deanie. She s all right," mumbled Pap. 
 "Got the whole house uptore, and Laurelly miscallin 
 me till I don t know which way to look; and now the 
 little dickens is a-goin to git well all right. Chaps 
 is tough, I tell ye. Ye cain t kill em." 
 
 "You people must have thought so," said Stoddard, 
 "or you wouldn t have brought these little ones down 
 and hired them to the cotton mill. Johnnie knew what 
 that meant." 
 
 The words had come almost involuntarily. The 
 old man stared at the speaker, breathing hard.
 
 LIGHT 259 
 
 "What s Johnnie Consadine got to do with it?" 
 he inquired finally. " I m the stepdaddy of the children 
 
 and Johnnie s stepdaddy too, for the matter of that 
 
 and what I say goes." 
 
 "Did you hire the children at the Victory ?" inquired 
 Stoddard, swiftly. Back across his memory came the 
 picture of Johnnie with her poor little sheep for the 
 shambles clustered about her on the bridge before the 
 Victory mill. "Did you hire the children to the fac 
 tory?" he repeated. 
 
 "Now Mr. Stoddard," began the old man, between 
 bluster and whine, "I talked about them chaps to the 
 superintendent of yo mill, an you-all said you didn t 
 want none of that size. And one o yo men he was 
 a room boss, I reckon spoke up right sassy to me - 
 as sassy as Johnnie Consadine herself, and God knows 
 she ain t got no respect for them that s set over her. 
 I had obliged to let em go to the Victory; but I don t 
 think you have any call to hold it ag in me -- Johnnie 
 was plumb impident about it plumb impident." 
 
 Stoddard glanced up at the windows and made 
 as though to dismount. All night at his pillow had 
 stood the accusation that he had been cruel to Johnnie. 
 Now, as Himes s revelations went on, and he saw what 
 her futile efforts had been, as he guessed a part of her 
 sufferings, it seemed he must hurry to her and brush 
 away the tangle of misunderstanding which he had 
 allowed to grow up between them. 
 
 They ve worked over that thar chap, off an* on, 
 all night," the old man said. "Looks like, if they
 
 2 6o THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 keep hit up, she ll begin to think somethin s the matter 
 of her." 
 
 Gray realized that his visit at this moment would 
 be ill-timed. He would ride on through the Gap now, 
 and call as he came back. 
 
 "I had obliged to find me a place whar I could hire 
 out them chaps," the miserable old man before him 
 went on, garrulously. "They s nothin like mill 
 work to take the davilment out o young uns. Some 
 of them chaps ll call you names and make faces at you, 
 even whilst you goin through the mill yard and 
 think what they d be ef they wasn t worked! I m 
 a old man, and when I married Laurelly and took 
 the keepin o her passel o chaps on my back, I aimed 
 to make it pay. Laurelly, she won t work." 
 
 He looked helplessly at Stoddard, like a child about 
 to cry. 
 
 " She told me up and down that she never had worked 
 in no mill, and she was too old to 1 arn. She said the 
 noise of the thing from the outside was enough to show 
 her that she didn t want to go inside and go she 
 would not." 
 
 " But she let her children go she and Johnnie," 
 muttered Stoddard, settling himself in his saddle. 
 
 "Well, I d like to see either of em he p theirselves!" 
 returned Pap Himes with a reminscence of his former 
 manner. Johnnie ain t had the decency to give me 
 her wages, not once since I ve been her pappy; the 
 onliest money I ever had from her - - ceptin to pay 
 her board was when she tried to buy them chaps
 
 LIGHT 261 
 
 out o workin in the mill. But when I put my foot 
 down an told her that the chillen could work in the 
 mill without a beatin or with one, jest as she might 
 see and choose, she had a little sense, and took em 
 over and hired em herself. Baylor told me afterward 
 that she tried to make him say he didn t want em, 
 but Baylor and me stands together, an Miss Johnnie 
 failed up on that trick." 
 
 Pap felt an altogether misplaced confidence in the 
 view that Stoddard, as a male, was likely to take of 
 the matter. 
 
 "A man is obliged to be boss of his own family 
 ain t that so, Mr. Stoddard?" he demanded. "I 
 said the chillen had to go into the mill, and into the mill 
 they went. They all wanted to go, at the start, and 
 Laurelly agreed with me that hit was the right thing. 
 Then, just because Deanie happened to a accident 
 and Johnnie took up for her, Laurelly has to go off 
 into hy-strikes and say she ll quit me soon as she can 
 put foot to the ground." 
 
 Stoddard made no response to this, but touched 
 Sultan with his heel and moved on. He had stopped 
 at the post-office as he came past, taking from his per 
 sonal box one letter. This he opened and read as he 
 rode slowly away. Halfway up the first rise, Pap saw 
 him rein in and turn; the old man was still staring 
 when Gray stopped once more at the gate. 
 
 "See here, Himes," he spoke abruptly, "this concerns 
 you this letter that has just reached me." 
 
 Pap looked at the younger man with mere curiosity.
 
 2 6 2 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 "When Johnnie was first given a spinning room 
 to look after," said Gray, "she came to Mr. Sessions 
 and myself and asked permission to have a small device 
 of her own contrivance used on the frames as an 
 Indicator." 
 
 Pap shuffled his feet uneasily. 
 
 "I thought no more about the matter; in fact I ve 
 not been in the spinning department for for some 
 time." Stoddard looked down at the hand which held 
 his bridle, and remembered that he had absented him 
 self from every place that threatened him with the sight 
 of Johnnie. 
 
 Pap was breathing audibly through his open mouth. 
 
 "She she never had nothin made," he whispered 
 out the ready lie hurriedly, scrambling to his feet and 
 down the steps, pressing close to Roan Sultan s shoulder, 
 laying a wheedling hand on the bridle, looking up 
 anxiously into the stern young face above him. 
 
 "Oh, yes, she did, * Stoddard returned. "I 
 remember, now, hearing some of the children from the 
 room say that she had a device which worked well. 
 From the description they gave of it, I judge that it 
 is the same which this letter tells me you and Buckheath 
 are offering to the Alabama mills. Mr. Trumbull, 
 the superintendent, says that you and Buckheath hold 
 the patent for this Indicator jointly. As soon as I 
 can consult with Johnnie, we will see about the matter." 
 
 Himes let go the roan s bridle and staggered back 
 a pace or two, open-mouthed, staring. The skies had 
 fallen. His heavy mind turned slowly toward resent-
 
 LIGHT 263 
 
 ment against Buckheath. He wished the younger 
 conspirator were here to take his share. Then the door 
 opened and Shade himself came out wiping his mouth. 
 He was fresh from the breakfast table, but not on 
 his way to the mill, since it was still too early. He 
 gave Stoddard a surly nod as he passed through the 
 gate and on down the street, in the direction of the 
 Inn. Himes, in a turmoil of stupid uncertainty, 
 once or twice made as though to detain him. His 
 slow wits refused him any available counsel. Dazedly 
 he fumbled for something convincing to say. Then 
 on a sudden inspiration, he once more laid hold of the 
 bridle and began to speak volubly in a hoarse under 
 tone: 
 
 "W y, name o God, Mr. Stoddard! Who should 
 have a better right to that thar patent than Buck and 
 me ? I m the gal s stepdaddy, an he s the man she s 
 goin to wed." 
 
 Some peculiar quality in the silence of Gray Stoddard 
 seemed finally to penetrate the old fellow s under 
 standing. He looked up to find the man on horseback 
 regarding him, square-jawed, pale, and with eyes angrily 
 bright. He glanced over his shoulder at the windows 
 of the house behind him, moistened his lips once again, 
 gulped, and finally resumed in a manner both whining 
 and aggressive. 
 
 Now, Mr. Stoddard, I want to talk to you mighty 
 plain. The whole o Cottonville is full o tales about 
 you and Johnnie. Yes that s the truth." 
 
 He stood staring down at his big, shuffling feet,
 
 264 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 laboriously sorting in his own mind such phrases as 
 it might do to use. The difficulty of what he had 
 to say blocked speech for so long that Stoddard, in 
 a curiously quiet voice, finally prompted him. 
 
 " Tales ? " he repeated. " What tales, Mr. Himes ? " 
 
 "Why, they ain t a old woman in town, nor a young 
 
 one neither I believe in my soul that the young ones 
 
 is the worst that ain t been talkin talkin bad 
 
 ever since you took Johnnie to ride in your otty- 
 
 mobile." 
 
 Again there came a long pause. Stoddard stared 
 down on Gideon Himes, and Himes stared at his own 
 feet. 
 
 "Well?" Stoddard s quiet voice once more urged 
 his accuser forward. 
 
 Pap rolled his head between his shoulders with a 
 negative motion which intimated that it was not well. 
 
 "And lending her books, and all sich," he pursued 
 doggedly. "That kind o carryin on ain t decent, 
 and you know it ain t. Buck knows it ain t but 
 he s willin to have her. He told her he was willin 
 to have her, and the fool gal let on like she didn t want 
 him. He came here to board at my house because 
 she wouldn t scarcely so much as speak to him else 
 where." 
 
 By the light of these statements Stoddard read what 
 poor Johnnie s persecution had been. The details 
 of it he could not, of course, know; yet he saw in that 
 moment largely how she had been harried. At the 
 instant of seeing, came that swift and mighty revulsion
 
 LIGHT 265 
 
 that follows surely when we have misprized and mis 
 understood those dear to us. 
 
 "What is it you want of me ?" he inquired of Himes. 
 
 "Why, just this here," Pap told him. "You let 
 Johnnie Consadine alone." He leaned even closer 
 and spoke in a yet lower tone, because a number of 
 girls were emerging from the house and starting down 
 the steps. "A big, rich feller like you don t mean any 
 good by a girl fixed the way Johnnie is. You wouldn t 
 marry her then let her alone. Things ain t got so 
 bad but what Buck is still willin to have her. You 
 wouldn t marry her." 
 
 Stoddard looked down at the shameful old man with 
 eyes that were indecipherable. If the impulse was 
 strong in him to twist the unclean old throat against 
 any further ill-speaking, it gave no heat to the tone 
 in which he answered: 
 
 "It s you and your kind that say I mean harm to 
 Johnnie, and that I would not marry her. Why 
 should I intend ill toward her ? Why shouldn t I 
 marry her ? I would I would marry her." 
 
 As he made this, to him the only possible defence 
 of the poor girl, Pap faltered slowly back, uttering a 
 gurgling expression of astonishment. With a sense 
 of surprise Stoddard saw in his face only dismay and 
 chagrin. 
 
 " Hit hit s a lie," Himes mumbled half-heartedly. 
 "Ye d never do it in the world." 
 
 Stoddard gathered up his bridle rein, preparatory 
 to moving on.
 
 2 66 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 "You re an old man, Mr. Himes," he said coldly, 
 "and you are excited; but you don t want to say any 
 more that s quite enough of that sort of thing." 
 
 Then he loosened the rein on Roan Sultan, and 
 moved away down the street. 
 
 Gideon Himes stood and gazed after him with bulg 
 ing eyes. Gray Stoddard married to Johnnie! He 
 tried to adjust his dull wits to the new position of affairs; 
 tried to cipher the problem with this amazing new 
 element introduced. Last night s scene of violence 
 when the injured child was brought home went dismally 
 before his eyes. Laurella had said she would leave 
 him so soon as she could put foot to the floor. He had 
 expected to coax her with gifts and money, with con 
 cessions in regard to the children if it must be; but 
 with a rich man for a son-in-law, of course she would 
 go. He would never see her face again. And suddenly 
 he flung up an arm like a beaten schoolboy and began 
 to blubbler noisily in the crook of his elbow. 
 
 An ungentle hand on his shoulder recalled him to 
 time and place. 
 
 "For God s sake, what s the matter with you?" 
 inquired Shade Buckheath s voice harshly. 
 
 The old man gulped down his grief and made his 
 communication in a few hurried sentences. 
 
 "An he ll do it," Pap concluded. "He s jest big 
 enough fool for anything. Ain t you heard of his 
 scheme for having the hands make the money in the 
 mill?" (Thus he described a profit-sharing plan.) 
 "Don t you know he s given ten thousand dollars to
 
 LIGHT 267 
 
 start up some sort o school for the boys and gals to 
 learn their trade in ? A man like that ll do anything. 
 And if he marries Johnnie, Laurelly ll leave me sure." 
 
 "Leave you!" echoed Buckheath darkly. "She 
 won t have to. If Gray Stoddard marries Johnnie 
 Consadine, you and me will just about roost in the 
 penitentiary for the rest of our days." 
 
 "The patent!" echoed Pap blankly. He turned 
 fiercely on his fellow conspirator. " Now see what ye 
 done with yer foolishness," he exclaimed. "Nothin 
 would do ye but to be offerin the contraption for sale, 
 and tellin each and every that hit d been used in the 
 Hardwick mill. Look what a mess ye ve made. I m 
 sorry I ever hitched up with ye. Boy o yo age has 
 got no sense." 
 
 "How was I to know they d write to Stoddard?" 
 growled Shade sulkily. "No harm did if hit wasn t 
 for him. We ve got the patent all right, and Johnnie 
 cain t help herself. But him with all his money 
 he can help her damn him!" 
 
 "Yes, and he ll take a holt and hunt up about Pros s 
 silver mine, too," said Himes. "I ve always mistrusted 
 the way he s been hangin round Pros Passmore. 
 Like enough he s hearn of that silver mine, and that s 
 the reason he s after Johnnie." 
 
 The old man paused to ruminate on this feature of 
 the case. He was pleased with his own shrewdness 
 in fathoming Gray Stoddard s mysterious motives. 
 
 " Buck," he said finally, with a swift drop to friend 
 liness, " hit s got to be stopped. Can you stop it ?
 
 268 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Didn t you tell me that Johnnie promised last night to 
 wed you ? Didn t you say she promised it, when you 
 was goin up to the Victory with her ?" 
 
 Shade nodded. 
 
 "She promised she would if I d get you to let the 
 children stay out of the mill. Deanie s hurt now, and 
 you re afraid to make the others go back in the mill 
 anyhow, count of Laurelly s tongue. I can t hold 
 Johnnie to that promise. But but there s one 
 person I want to talk to about this business, and then 
 I ll be ready to do something."
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 A PACT 
 
 WHILE Himes and Buckheath yet stood thus 
 talking, the warning whistles of the various 
 mills began to blow. Groups of girls came 
 down the steps and stared at the two men conferring 
 with heads close together. Mavity Bence put her 
 face out at the front door and called. 
 
 "Pap, yo breakfast is gettin stone cold." 
 
 " Do you have to go to the mill right now ?" inquired 
 the older man, timorously. He was already under the 
 domination of this swifter, bolder, more fiery spirit. 
 
 "No, I don t have to go anywhere that I don t want 
 to. I ve got business with a certain party up this-a- 
 way, and when I git to the mill I ll be there." 
 
 He turned and hurried swiftly up the minor slope 
 that led to the big Hardwick home, Pap s fascinated 
 eyes following him as long as he was in sight. As the 
 young fellow strode along he was turning in his mind 
 Lydia Sessions s promise to talk to him this morning 
 about Johnnie. 
 
 "But she ll be in bed and asleep, I reckon, at this 
 time of day," he ruminated. "The good Lord knows 
 I would if I had the chance like she has." 
 
 As he came in sight of the Hardwick house, he 
 
 269
 
 270 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 checked momentarily. Standing at the gate, an aston 
 ishing figure, still in her evening frock, looking haggard 
 and old in the gray, disillusioning light of early morning, 
 was Lydia Sessions. Upstairs, her white bed was 
 smooth; its pillows spread fair and prim, unpressed 
 by any head, since the maid had settled them trimly 
 in place the morning before; but the long rug which 
 ran from her dressing table to the window might have 
 told a tale of pacing feet that passed restlessly from 
 midnight till dawn; the mirror could have disclosed 
 the picture of a white, anxious, and often angry face 
 that had stared into it as the woman paused now and 
 again to commune with the real Lydia Sessions. 
 
 She was thirty and penniless. She belonged to a 
 circle where everybody had money. Her sister had 
 married well, and Harriet was no better-looking than 
 she. All Lydia Sessions s considerable forces were 
 by heredity and training turned into one narrow channel 
 - the effort to make a creditable, if not a brilliant, 
 match. And she had thought she was succeeding. 
 Gray Stoddard had seemed seriously interested. In 
 those long night watches while the lights flared on 
 either side of her mirror, and the luxurious room of 
 a modern young lady lay disclosed, with all its sumptu 
 ous fittings of beauty and inutility, Lydia went over 
 her plans of campaign. She was a suitable match for 
 him anybody would say so. He had liked her - 
 he had liked her well enough till he got interested 
 in this mill girl. They had never agreed on anything 
 concerning Johnnie Consadine. If that element were
 
 A PACT 271 
 
 eliminated to-morrow, she knew she could go back 
 and pick up the thread of their intimacy which had 
 promised so well, and, she doubted not at all, twist it 
 safely into a marriage-knot. If Johnnie were only 
 out of the way. If she would leave Cottonville. If 
 she would marry that good-looking mechanic who 
 plainly wanted her. How silly of her not to take him! 
 
 Toward dawn, she snatched a little cape from the 
 garments hanging in the closet, flung it over her 
 shoulders and ran downstairs. She must have a breath 
 of fresh air. So, in the manner of helpless creatures 
 who cannot go out in the highway to accost fate, she 
 was standing at the gate when she caught sight of 
 Shade Buckheath approaching. Here was her oppor 
 tunity. She must be doing something, and the nearest 
 enterprise at hand was to foster and encourage this 
 young fellow s pursuit of Johnnie. 
 
 "I wanted to talk to you about a very particular 
 matter," she broke out nervously, as soon as Buckheath 
 was near enough to be addressed in the carefully 
 lowered tone which she used throughout the interview. 
 She continually huddled the light cape together at the 
 neck with tremulous, unsteady fingers; and it was 
 characteristic of these two that, although the woman 
 had heard of the calamity at the Victory mill the night 
 before, and knew that Shade came directly from the 
 Himes home, she made no inquiry as to the welfare 
 of Deanie, and he offered no information. He gave 
 no reply in words to her accost, and she went on, with 
 increasing agitation.
 
 272 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 "I this matter ought to be attended to at once. 
 Something s got to be done. I ve attempted to improve 
 the social and spiritual conditions of these girls in the 
 mill, and if I ve only worked harm by bringing them 
 in contact with in contact with - 
 
 She hesitated and stood looking into the man s 
 face. Buckheath knew exactly what she wished to 
 say. He was impatient of the flummery she found it 
 necessary to wind around her simple proposition; 
 but he was used to women, he understood them; 
 and to him a woman of Miss Sessions s class was no 
 different from a woman of his own. 
 
 " I reckon you wanted to name it to me about Johnnie 
 Consadine," he said bluntly. 
 
 "Yes yes, that was it," breathed Lydia Sessions, 
 glancing back toward the house with a frightened air. 
 "John is she s a good girl, Mr. Buckheath; I beg 
 of you to believe me when I assure you that John is a 
 good, honest, upright girl. I would not think anything 
 else for a minute; but it seems to me that somebody has 
 to do something, or or - 
 
 Shade raised his hand to his mouth to conceal the 
 swift, sarcastic smile on his lips. He spat toward the 
 pathside before agreeing seriously with Miss Lydia. 
 
 "Her and me was promised, before she come down 
 here and got all this foolishness into her head," he said 
 finally. "Her mother never could do anything with 
 Johnnie. Looks like Johnnie s got more authority - 
 her mother s more like a little girl to her than the other 
 way round. Her uncle Pros has been crazy in the
 
 A PACT 273 
 
 hospital, and Pap Himes, her stepfather well, I 
 reckon she s the only human that ever had to mind 
 Pap and didn t do it." 
 
 This somewhat ambiguous statement of the case 
 failed to bring any smile to his hearer s lips. 
 
 "There s no use talking to John herself," Miss 
 Lydia took up the tale feverishly. "I ve done that, 
 and it had no effect on . Well, of course she would 
 say that she didn t encourage him to the things I saw 
 afterward; but I know that a man of his sort does not 
 do things without encouragement, and Mr. Buck- 
 heath don t you think you ought to go right to Mr. 
 Stoddard and tell him that John is your promised wife, 
 and show him the folly and and the wickedness of 
 his course or what would be wickedness if he per 
 sisted in it ? Don t you think you ought to do that ?" 
 
 Shade held down his head and appeared to be giving 
 this matter some consideration. The weak point of 
 such an argument lay in the fact that Johnnie was not 
 his promised wife, and Gray Stoddard was very likely 
 to know it. Indeed, Lydia Sessions herself only 
 believed the statement because she so wished. 
 
 "I reckon I ort," he said finally. "If I could ever get 
 a chance of private speech with him, mebbe I d 
 
 There came a sound of light hoofs down the road, and 
 Stoddard on Roan Sultan, riding bareheaded, came 
 toward them under the trees. 
 
 Miss Sessions clutched the gate and stood staring. 
 Buckheath drew a little closer, set his shoulder against 
 the fence and tried to look unconcerned. The rising
 
 274 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 sun behind the mountains threw long slant rays across 
 into the bare tree tops, so that the shimmer of it dappled 
 horse and man. Gray s face was pale, his brow looked 
 anxious; but he rode head up and alert, and glanced 
 with surprise at the two at the Sessions gate. He 
 had no hat to raise, but he saluted Lydia Sessions 
 with a sweeping gesture of the hand and passed on. A 
 blithe, gallant figure cantering along the suburban 
 road, out toward the Gap, and the mountains beyond, 
 Gray Stoddard rode into the dip of the ridge and so 
 far as Cottonville was concerned vanished utterly. 
 
 Buckheath drew a long breath and straightened up. 
 
 "I m but a poor man," he began truculently, "yit 
 there ain t nobody can marry the gal I set out to wed 
 and me stand by and say nothing." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Buckheath!" cried Miss Lydia. "Mr. 
 Stoddard had no idea of marrying John a mill girl! 
 There is no possibility of any such thing as that. I 
 want you to understand that there isn t to feel 
 assured, once for all. I have reason to know, and I 
 urge you to put that out of your mind." 
 
 Shade looked at her narrowly. Up to the time Pap 
 gave him definite information from headquarters, 
 he had never for an instant supposed that there was a 
 possibility of Stoddard desiring to marry Johnnie; 
 but the flurried eagerness of Miss Sessions convinced 
 him that such a possibility was a very present dread 
 with her, and he sent a venomous glance after the 
 disappearing horseman. 
 
 "You go and talk to him right now, Mr. Buckheath,"
 
 A PACT 275 
 
 insisted Lydia anxiously. "Tell him, just as you have 
 told me, how long you and John have been engaged, 
 and how devoted she was to you before she came down 
 to the mill. You appeal to him that way. You can 
 overtake him I mean you can intercept him if 
 you start right on now cut across the turn, and go 
 through the tunnel." 
 
 " If I go after him to talk to him, and we uh 
 we have an interruption are you going to tell every 
 body you see about it?" demanded Shade sharply, 
 staring down at the woman. 
 
 She crouched a little, still clinging to the pickets 
 of the gate. The word "interruption" only conveyed 
 to her mind the suggestion that they might be interfered 
 with in their conversation. She did not recollect the 
 mountain use of it to describe a quarrel, an outbreak, 
 or an affray. 
 
 "No," she whispered. "Oh, certainly not I ll 
 never tell anything that you don t want me to." 
 
 "All right," returned Buckheath hardily. "If you 
 won t, I won t. If you name to people that I was the 
 last one saw with Mr. Stoddard, I shall have obliged to 
 tell em of what you and me was talkin about when he 
 passed us. You see that, don t you?" 
 
 She nodded silently, her frightened eyes on his face; 
 and without another word he set off at that long, swing 
 ing pace which belongs to his people. Lydia turned 
 and ran swiftly into the house, and up the stairs to her 
 own room.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 MISSING 
 
 WHEN Stoddard did not come to his desk that 
 morning the matter remained for a time 
 unnoticed, except by McPherson, who fret 
 ted a bit at so unusual a happening. Truth to tell, the 
 old Scotchman had dreaded having this rich young 
 man for an associate, and had put a rod in pickle for 
 his chastisement. When Stoddard turned out to be a 
 regular worker, punctual, amenable to discipline, he 
 congratulated himself, and praised his assistant, but 
 warily. Now came the first delinquency, and in his 
 heart he cared more that Stoddard should absent 
 himself without notice than for the pile of letters lying 
 untouched. 
 
 "Dave," he finally said to the yellow office boy, "I 
 wish you d phone to Mr. Stoddard s place and see 
 when he ll be down." 
 
 Dave came back with the information that Mr. 
 Stoddard was not at the house; he had left for an 
 early-morning ride, and not returned to his breakfast. 
 
 "He ll just about have stopped up at the Country 
 Club for a snack," MacPherson muttered to himself. 
 "I wonder who or what he found there attractive 
 enough to keep him from his work." 
 
 276
 
 MISSING 277 
 
 Looking into Gray s office at noon, the closed desk 
 with its pile of mail once more offended MacPherson s 
 eye. 
 
 "Mr. Stoddard here?" inquired Hartley Sessions, 
 glancing in at the same moment. 
 
 "No, I think not," returned the Scotchman, unwilling 
 to admit that he did not exactly know. "I believe 
 he s up at the club. Perhaps he s got tangled in for 
 a longer game of golf than he reckoned on." 
 
 This unintentional and wholly innocent falsehood 
 stopped any inquiry that there might have been. 
 MacPherson had meant to phone the club during the 
 day, but he failed to do so, and it was not until evening 
 that he walked up himself to put more cautious 
 inquiries. 
 
 "No, sah no, sah, Mr. Gray ain t been here," 
 the Negro steward told him promptly. " I sure would 
 have remembered, sah," in answer to a startled inquiry 
 from MacPherson. "Dey been havin a big game on 
 between Mr. Charley Conroy and Mr. Hardwick, 
 and de bofe of em spoke of Mr. Gray, and said dey 
 was expectin him to play." 
 
 MacPherson came down the stone steps of the club 
 house, gravely disquieted. Below him the road wound, 
 a dimly conjectured, wavering gray ribbon; on the 
 other side of it the steep slope took off to a gulf of inky 
 shadow, where the great valley lay, hushed under the 
 solemn stars, silent, black, and shimmering with a 
 myriad pulsating electric lights which glowed like 
 swarms of fireflies caught in an invisible net. That
 
 278 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 was Watauga. The strings of brilliants that led from 
 it were arc lights at switch crossings where the great 
 railway lines rayed out. Near at hand was Cottonville 
 with its vast bulks of lighted mills whose hum came 
 faintly up to him even at this distance. MacPherson 
 stood uncertainly in the middle of the road. Supper 
 and bed were behind him. But he had not the heart 
 to turn back to either. Somewhere down in that abyss 
 of night, there was a clue or there were many clues - 
 to this strange absence of Gray Stoddard. Perhaps 
 Gray himself was there; and the Scotchman cursed 
 his own dilatoriness in waiting till darkness had covered 
 the earth before setting afoot inquiries. 
 
 He found himself hurrying and getting out of breath 
 as he took his way down the ridge and straight to Stod- 
 dard s cottage, only to find that the master s horse was 
 not in the stable, and the Negro boy who cared for it 
 had seen nothing of it or its rider since five o clock that 
 morning. 
 
 "I wonder, now, should I give the alarm to Hard- 
 wick," MacPherson said to himself. " The lad may have 
 just ridden on to La Fayette, or some little nearby town, 
 and be staying the night. Young fellows sometimes 
 have affairs they d rather not share with everybody - 
 and then, there s Miss Lydia. If I go up to Hardwick s 
 with the story, she ll be sure to hear it from Hardwick s 
 wife." 
 
 "Did Mr. Stoddard ever go away like this before 
 without giving you notice?" he asked with apparer- 
 carelessness.
 
 MISSING 279 
 
 The boy shook his head in vigorous negative. 
 
 "Never since I ve been working for him," he asserted. 
 "Mr. Stoddard wasn t starting anywhere but for his 
 early ride at least he wasn t intending to. He 
 hadn t any hat on, and he was in his riding clothes. 
 He didn t carry anything with him. I know in reason 
 he wasn t intending to stay." 
 
 This information sent MacPherson hurrying to the 
 Hardwick home. Dinner was over. The master of 
 the house conferred with him a moment in the vestibule, 
 then opened the door into the little sitting room and 
 asked abruptly: 
 
 "When was the last time any of you saw Gray 
 Stoddard?" 
 
 His sister-in-law screamed faintly, then cowered in 
 her chair and stared at him mutely. But Mrs. Hard- 
 wick as yet noted nothing unusual. 
 
 " Yesterday evening," she returned placidly. " Don t 
 you remember, Jerome, he was here at the Lyric 
 reception ?" 
 
 "Oh, I remember well enough," said Hardwick 
 knitting his brows. "I thought some of you might 
 have seen him since then. He s missing." 
 
 "Missing!" echoed Lydia Sessions with a note of 
 terror in her tones. 
 
 Now Mrs. Hardwick looked startled. 
 
 "But, Jerome, I think you re inconsiderate," she 
 began, glancing solicitously at her sister. "Under the 
 circumstances, it seems to me you might have made 
 your announcement more gently to Lydia, anyhow.
 
 2 8o THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Never mind, dearie there s nothing in it to be 
 frightened at." 
 
 "I m not frightened," whispered Lydia Sessions 
 through white lips that belied her assertion. Hardwick 
 looked impatiently from his sister-in-law to his wife. 
 
 "I m sorry if I startled you, Lydia," he said in a 
 perfunctory tone, "but this is a serious business. 
 MacPherson tells me Stoddard hasn t been at the 
 factory nor at his boarding-house to-day. The last 
 person who saw him, so far as we know, is his stable 
 boy. Black Jim says Stoddard rode out of the gate 
 at five o clock this morning, bareheaded and in his 
 riding clothes. Have any of you seen him since - 
 that s what I want to know ?" 
 
 "Since?" repeated Miss Sessions, who seemed 
 unable to get beyond the parrot echoing of her ques 
 tioner s words. "Why Jerome, what makes you think 
 I ve seen him since then ? Did he say did anybody 
 tell you - 
 
 She broke off huskily and sat staring at her interlaced 
 fingers dropped in her lap. 
 
 "No no. Of course not, Lydia," her sister 
 hastened to reassure her, crossing the room and putting 
 a protecting arm about the girl s shoulders. "He 
 shouldn t have spoken as he did, knowing that you 
 and Gray knowing how affairs stand." 
 
 "Well, I only thought since you and Stoddard are 
 such great friends," Hardwick persisted, "he might 
 have mentioned to you some excursion, or made oppor 
 tunity to talk with you alone, sometime last night -
 
 MISSING 281 
 
 to to say something. Did he tell you where he was 
 going, Lydia ? Are you keeping something from 
 us that we ought to know? Remember this is no 
 child s play. It begins to look as though it might be 
 a question of the man s life." 
 
 Lydia Sessions started galvanically. She pushed 
 off her sister s caressing hand with a fierce gesture. 
 
 "There s nothing - no such relation as you re 
 hinting at, Elizabeth, between Gray Stoddard and me," 
 she said sharply. Memory of what Gray had (as she 
 supposed) followed her into the library to say to her 
 wrung a sort of groan from the girl. "I suppose 
 Matilda s told you that we had had some conversa 
 tion in the library," she managed to say. 
 
 Her brother-in-law shook his head. 
 
 "We haven t questioned the servants yet," he said 
 briefly. " We haven t questioned anybody nor hunted up 
 any evidence. MacPherson came direct to me from 
 Stoddard s stable boy. Gray did stop and talk to you 
 last night? What did he say?" 
 
 "I why nothing in I really don t remember," 
 faltered Lydia, with so strange a look that both her 
 sister and Hardwick looked at her in surprise. "That 
 is oh, nothing of any importance, you know. I I 
 believe we were talking about socialism, and and 
 different classes of people. . . . That sort of thing." 
 
 MacPherson, who had pushed unceremoniously into 
 the room behind his employer, nodded his gray head. 
 "That would always be what he was speaking of." 
 He smiled a little as he said it.
 
 282 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 "All right," returned Hardwick, struggling into his 
 overcoat at the hat-tree, and seeking his hat and stick, 
 "I ll go right back with you, Mac. This thing some 
 how has a sinister look to me." 
 
 As the two men were leaving the house, Hardwick 
 felt a light, trembling touch on his arm, and turned to 
 face his sister-in-law. 
 
 " Why -- Jerome, why did you say that last?" 
 Lydia quavered. "What do you think has happened 
 to him ? Do you think anybody - - that is ? Oh, 
 you looked at me as though you thought I had some 
 thing to do with it!" 
 
 "Come, come, Lyd. Pull yourself together. You re 
 getting hysterical," urged Hardwick kindly. Then he 
 turned to MacPherson. As the two men went compan- 
 ionably down the walk and out into the street, the 
 Scotchman said apologetically: 
 
 " Of course, I knew Miss Lydia would be alarmed. I 
 understand about her and Stoddard. It made mehesitate 
 a while before coming up to you folks with the thing." 
 
 "Well, by the Lord, you did well not to hesitate too 
 long, Mac!" ejaculated Hardwick. "I shouldn t feel 
 the anxiety I do if we hadn t been having trouble with 
 those mountain people up toward Flat Rock over that 
 girl that died at the hospital." He laughed a little 
 ruefully. Trying to do things for folks is ticklish 
 business. There wasn t a man in the crowd that inter 
 viewed me whom I could convince that our hospital 
 wasn t a factory for the making of stiffs which we sold 
 to the Northern Medical College. Oh, it was gruesome!
 
 MISSING 283 
 
 I told them the girl had had every attention, and that 
 she died of pernicious anaemia. They called it a 
 big die word and asked me point blank if the girl 
 hadn t been killed in the mill. I told them that we 
 couldn t keep the body indefinitely, and they said they 
 aimed to come and haul it away as soon as they could 
 get a horse and wagon. I called their attention to 
 the fact that I couldn t know this unless they wrote 
 and told me so in answer to my letter. But between 
 you and me, Mac, I don t believe there was a man in 
 the crowd who could read or write." 
 
 "For God s sake!" exclaimed the Scotchman. 
 "You don t think those people were up to doing a 
 mischief to Stoddard, do you ?" 
 
 "I don t know what to think," protested Hardwick. 
 "Yes; they are mediaeval half savage. The fact 
 is, I have no idea what they would or what they 
 wouldn t do." 
 
 MacPherson gave a whistle of dismay. 
 
 "Gad, it sounds like the manoeuvres of one of our 
 Highland clans three hundred years ago!" he said. 
 "Wouldn t it be the irony of fate that Stoddard poor 
 fellow! a friend of the people, a socialist, ready to 
 call every man his brother should be sacrificed in 
 such a way ?" 
 
 The words brought them to Stoddard s little home, 
 silent and deserted now. Down the street, the lamps 
 flared gustily. It was after eleven o clock. 
 
 "Where does that boy live that takes care of the 
 horses black Jim ?" Hardwick inquired, after they
 
 284 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 had rung the bell, thumped on the door, and called, 
 to make sure the master had not returned during 
 MacPherson s absence. 
 
 " I don t know really, I don t know. He might 
 have a room over the stable," MacPherson suggested. 
 
 But the stable proved to be a one-story affair, and 
 they were just turning to leave when a stamping sound 
 within arrested their notice. 
 
 "Good God! what s that?" ejaculated Mac 
 Pherson, whose nerves were quivering. 
 
 "It s the horse," answered Hardwick in a relieved 
 tone. "Stoddard s got back - 
 
 "Of course," broke in old MacPherson, quickly, 
 "and gone over to Mrs. Gandish s for some supper. 
 That is why he wasn t in the house." 
 
 To make assurance doubly sure, they opened the 
 unlocked stable door, and MacPherson struck a match. 
 The roan turned and whinnied hungrily at sight of them. 
 
 That s funny," said Hardwick, scarcely above his 
 breath. "It looks to me as though that animal hadn t 
 been fed." 
 
 In the flare of the match MacPherson had descried 
 the stable lantern hanging on the wall. They lit this 
 and examined the stall. There was no feed in the box, 
 no hay in the manger. The saddle was on Gray 
 Stoddard s horse; the bit in his mouth; he was tied by 
 the reins to his stall ring. The two men looked at each 
 other with lengthening faces. 
 
 " Stoddard s too good a horseman to have done that," 
 spoke Hardwick slowly.
 
 MISSING 285 
 
 "And too kind a man," supplied MacPherson loyally. 
 " He d have seen to the beast s hunger before he satisfied 
 his own." 
 
 As the Scotchman spoke he was picking up the horse s 
 hoofs, and digging at them with a bit of stick. 
 
 They re as clean as if they d just been washed," 
 he said, as he straightened up. "By Heaven! I have 
 it, Hardwick that fellow came into town with his 
 hoofs muffled." 
 
 The younger man looked also, and assented mutely, 
 then suggested: 
 
 " He hasn t come far; there s not a hair turned on him." 
 
 The Scotchman shook his head. "I m not sure of 
 that," he debated. "Likely he s been led, and that 
 slowly. God this is horrible!" 
 
 Mechanically Hardwick got some hay down for the 
 horse, while MacPherson pulled off the saddle and 
 bridle, examining both in the process. Grain was 
 poured into the box, and then water offered. 
 
 "He won t drink," murmured the Scotchman. 
 "D ye see, Hardwick ? He won t drink. You can t 
 come into Cottonville without crossing a stream. 
 This fellow s hoofs have been wet within an hour 
 yes, within the half-hour." 
 
 As their eyes encountered, Hardwick caught his 
 breath sharply; both felt that chill of the cuticle, that 
 stirring at the roots of the hair, that marks the passing 
 close to us of some sinister thing stark murder, 
 or man s naked hatred walking in the dark beside our 
 cheerful, commonplace path. By one consent they
 
 turned back from the stable and went together to Mrs. 
 Gandish s. The house was dark. 
 
 "Of course, you know I don t expect to find him 
 here," said Hardwick. "I don t suppose they know 
 anything about the matter. But we ve got to wake 
 them and ask." 
 
 They did so, and set trembling the first wave of that 
 widening ring of horror which finally informed the 
 remotest boundaries of the little village that a man 
 from their midst was mysteriously missing. 
 
 The morning found the telegraph in active requisi 
 tion, flashing up and down all lines by which a man 
 might have left Cottonville or Watauga. The police 
 of the latter place were notified, furnished with informa 
 tion, and set to find out if possible whether anybody 
 in the city had seen Stoddard since he rode away on 
 Friday morning. 
 
 The inquiries were fruitless. A young lady visiting 
 in the city had promised him a dance at the Valentine 
 masque to be held at the Country Club-house Friday 
 night. Some clothing put out a few days before to be 
 cleaned and pressed was ready for delivery. His 
 laundry came home. His mail arrived punctually. 
 The postmaster stated that he had no instructions for a 
 change of address; all the little accessories of Gray 
 Stoddard s life offered themselves, mute, impressive 
 witnesses that he had intended to go on with it in Cotton 
 ville. But Stoddard himself had dropped as completely 
 out of the knowledge of man as though he had been 
 whisked off the planet.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE SEARCH 
 
 THE fruitless search was vigorously prosecuted. 
 On Saturday the Hardwick mill ran short- 
 handed while nearly half its male employees 
 made some effort to solve the mystery. Parties combed 
 again and again the nearer mountains. Sunday all 
 the mill operatives were free; and then groups of women 
 and children added themselves to the men; dinners 
 were taken along, lending a grotesque suggestion of 
 picnicking to the work, a suggestion contradicted by 
 the anxious faces, the strained timbre of the voices that 
 called from group to group. But night brought the 
 amateur searchers straggling home with nothing to 
 tell. It should have been significant to any one who 
 knew the mountain people, that information concerning 
 Gray Stoddard within a week of his disappearance, was 
 noticeably lacking. Nobody would admit that his had 
 been a familiar figure on those roads. At the utmost 
 they had "seed him a good deal a while ago, but he d 
 sorter quit riding up this-a-way of late." But on no 
 road could there be found man, woman, or child who 
 had seen Gray Stoddard riding Friday morning on his 
 roan horse. The whole outlying district seemed to be 
 in a conspiracy of silence. 
 
 287
 
 288 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 In Watauga and in Cottonville itself, clues were 
 found by the police, followed up and proved worthless. 
 All Gray s Eastern connections were immediately 
 communicated with by telegraph, in the forlorn hope 
 of finding some internal clue. The business men in 
 charge of his large Eastern interests answered promptly 
 that nothing from recent correspondence with him 
 pointed to any intention on his part of making a 
 journey or otherwise changing his ordinary way of 
 living. They added urgent admonitions to Mr. Mac- 
 Pherson to have locked up in the Company s safe 
 various important papers which they had sent, at 
 Stoddard s request, for signature, and which they 
 supposed from the date, must be lying with his other 
 mail. A boyhood friend telegraphed his intention 
 of coming down from Massachusetts and joining the 
 searchers. Stoddard had no near relatives. A grand- 
 aunt, living in Boston, telegraphed to Mr. Hardwick 
 to see that money be spent freely. 
 
 Meantime there was reason for Johnnie Consadine, 
 shut in the little sister s sick room day and night, to 
 hear nothing of these matters. Lissy had been allowed 
 to help wait upon the injured child only on promise 
 that nothing exciting should be mentioned. Both 
 boys had instantly begged to join a searching party, 
 Milo insisting that he could work all night and search 
 all day, and that nobody should complain that he 
 neglected his job. Pony, being refused, had run away; 
 Milo the rulable followed to get him to return; and by 
 Sunday night Mavity was feeding both boys from the
 
 THE SEARCH 289 
 
 back door and keeping them out of sight of Pap s 
 vengeance. Considering that Johnnie had trouble 
 enough, she cautioned everybody on the place to say 
 nothing of these matters to the girl. Mandy, a feeble, 
 unsound creature at best, was more severely injured 
 than had been thought. She was confined to her bed 
 for days. Pap went about somewhat like a whipped 
 dog, spoke little on any subject, and tolerated no 
 mention of the topic of the day in Cotton ville; his face 
 kept the boarders quiet at table and in the house, any 
 how. Shade Buckheath never entered the place after 
 Deanie was carried in from the hastily summoned 
 carriage Thursday night. 
 
 The doctors told them that if Deanie survived the 
 shock and its violent reaction, she had a fair chance of 
 recovery. They found at once that she was not inter 
 nally injured; the blood that had been seen came only 
 from a cut lip. But the child s left arm was broken, the 
 small body was dreadfully bruised, and the terror had 
 left a profound mental disturbance. Nothing but 
 quiet and careful nursing offered any good hope; while 
 there was the menace that she would never be strong 
 again, and might not live to womanhood. 
 
 At first she lay with half-closed, glazed eyes, barely 
 breathing, a ghastly sight. Then, when she roused a 
 bit, she wanted, not Lissy, not even Johnnie; she 
 called for her mother. 
 
 When her child was brought home to her, dying as 
 they all thought, Laurella had rallied her forces and 
 got up from the pallet on which she lay to tend on the
 
 290 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 little thing; but she broke down in the course of a few 
 hours, and seemed about to add another patient to 
 Johnnie s cares. 
 
 Yet when the paroxysms of terror shook the emaciated 
 frame, and the others attempted to reassure Deanie by 
 words, it was her mother who called for a bit of gay 
 calico, for scissors and needle and thread, and began 
 dressing a doll in the little sufferer s sight. Laurella 
 had carried unspoiled the faculty for play, up with her 
 through the years. 
 
 "Let her be," the doctor counselled Johnnie, in 
 reply to anxious inquiries. " Don t you see she s 
 getting the child s attention ? The baby notices. An 
 ounce of happiness is worth a pound of any medicine 
 I could bring." 
 
 And so, when Laurella could no longer sit up, they 
 brought another cot for her, and she lay all day babbling 
 childish nonsense, and playing dolls within hand- 
 reach of the sick-bed; while Johnnie with Lissy s help, 
 tended on them both. 
 
 "You ve got two babies now, you big, old, solemn 
 Johnnie," Laurella said, with a ghost of her spark 
 ling smile. "Deanie and me is just of one age, and 
 that s a fact." 
 
 If Pap wanted to see his young wife and thirst 
 for a sight of her was a continual craving with him; 
 she was the light of the old sinner s eyes he had to 
 go in and look on the child he had injured. This 
 kept him away pretty effectually after that first fiery 
 scene, when Laurella had flown at him like a fierce little
 
 THE SEARCH 291 
 
 vixen and told him that she never wanted to see his 
 face again, that she rued the day she married him, and 
 intended to leave him as soon as she could put foot to 
 the ground. 
 
 In the gray dawn of Monday morning, when Johnnie 
 was downstairs eating her bit of early breakfast, Pap 
 shambled in to make Laurella s fire. Having got the 
 hickory wood to blazing, he sat humped and shame 
 faced by the bedside a while, whispering to his wife and 
 holding her hand, a sight for the student of man to 
 marvel at. He had brought a paper of coarse, cheap 
 candy for Deanie, but the child was asleep. The 
 offering was quite as acceptable to Laurella, and she 
 nibbled a stick as she listened to him. 
 
 The bald head with its little fringe of grizzled curls, 
 bent close to the dark, slant-browed, lustrous-eyed, 
 mutinous countenance; Pap whispered hoarsely for 
 some time, Laurella replying at first in a sort of lan 
 guid tolerance, but presently with little ejaculations 
 of wonder and dismay. A step on the stair which 
 he took to be Johnnie s put Himes to instant flight. 
 
 "I ve got to go honey/ he breathed huskily. 
 "Cain t you say you forgive me before I leave? I 
 know I ain t fitten fer the likes of you; but when I 
 come back from this here raid I m a-goin to take some 
 money out of the bank and git you whatever you want. 
 L6ok-a-here; see what I ve done," and he showed a 
 little book in his hand, and what he had written in it. 
 
 "Oh I forgive you, if that s any account to you," 
 returned Laurella with kindly contempt. "I never.
 
 292 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 noticed that forgiving things undid the harm any; 
 but yes oh, of course I forgive you. Go along; 
 I m tired now. Don t bother me any more, Gid; 
 I want to sleep." 
 
 The old man thrust the treasured bankbook under 
 Laurella s pillow, and hurried away. Downstairs in 
 the dining room Johnnie was eating her breakfast. 
 
 Johnnie," said Mavity Bence, keeping behind the 
 girl s chair as she served the meal to her at the end of 
 the long table, "I ain t never done you a meanness yet, 
 have I ? And you know I ve got all the good will in 
 the world toward you now don t you ?" 
 
 "Why, of course, Aunt Mavity," returned Johnnie 
 wonderingly, trying to get sight of the older woman s 
 face. 
 
 Mrs. Bence took a plate and hurried out for more 
 biscuits. She came back with some resolution plainly 
 renewed in her mind. 
 
 Johnnie," she began once more, "there s something 
 I ve got to tell you. Your Uncle Pros has got away 
 from em up at the hospital, and to the hills, and and 
 - I have obliged to tell you." 
 
 "Yes, I know," returned Johnnie passively. "They 
 sent me word last night. I m sorry, but I can t do 
 anything about it. Maybe he won t come to any harm 
 out that way. I can t imagine Uncle Pros hurting 
 anybody. Perhaps it will do him good." 
 
 "Hit wasn t about your Uncle Pros that I was 
 meaning. At least not about his gettin away from the 
 hospital," amended Mavity. "It was about the day
 
 THE SEARCH 293 
 
 he got hurt here. I I always aimed to tell you. 
 I know I ort to have done it. I was always a-goin 
 to, and then Pap he - 
 
 She broke off and stood silent so long that Johnnie 
 turned and looked at her. 
 
 "Surely you aren t afraid of me, Aunt Mavity," 
 she said finally. 
 
 "No," said Mavity Bence in a low voice, "but I m 
 scared of the others." 
 
 The girl stared at her curiously. 
 
 " Johnnie," burst out the woman for the third time, 
 "yo Uncle Pros found his silver mine! Oh, yes, he 
 did; and Pap s got his pieces of ore upstairs in a ban- 
 danner; and him and Shade Buckheath aims to git it 
 away from you-all and oh, I don t know what!" 
 
 There fell a long silence. At last Johnnie s voice 
 broke it, asking very low: 
 
 "Did they how was Uncle Pros hurt?" 
 
 "Neither of em touched him," Mavity hastened 
 to assure her. "He heard em name it how they d get 
 the mine from him or thought he did and he come 
 out and talked loud, and grabbed for the bandanner, 
 and he missed it and fell down the steps. He wasn t 
 crazy when he come to the house. He was jest plumb 
 wore out, and his head was hurt. He called it yo 
 silver mine. He said he had to put the bandanner 
 in yo lap and tell you hit was for you." 
 
 Johnny got suddenly to her feet. 
 
 Thank you, Aunt Mavity," she said kindly. "This 
 is what s been troubling you, is it ? Don t worry any
 
 294 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 more, I ll see about this, somehow. I must go back 
 to Mother now." 
 
 Laurella had said to Pap Himes that she wanted to 
 sleep, and indeed her eyes were closed when Johnnie 
 entered the room; but beneath the shadow of the 
 sweeping lashes burned such spots of crimson that her 
 nurse was alarmed. 
 
 " What was Pap Himes saying to you to get you so 
 excited ? " she asked anxiously. 
 
 :< Johnnie, come here. Sit down on the edge of the 
 bed and listen to me," demanded Laurella feverishly. 
 She laid hold of her daughter s arm, and half pulled 
 herself up by it, staring into Johnnie s face as she talked ; 
 and out tumbled the whole story of Gray Stoddard s 
 disappearance. 
 
 As full understanding of what her mother said came 
 home to Johnnie, her eyes dilated in her pale face. 
 She sank to her knees beside the bed. 
 
 "Lost!" she echoed. "Lost gone! Hasn t been 
 seen since Friday morning Friday morning before 
 sunup! Friday, Saturday, Sunday. My God, Mother 
 it s three days and three nights!" 
 
 "Yes, honey, it s three days and three nights," 
 assented Laurella fearfully. "Gid says he s going up 
 in the mountains with a lot of others to search. He 
 says some thinks the moonshiners have taken him 
 in mistake for a revenuer; and some believe it was 
 robbery for his watch and money; and Mr. Hard- 
 wick is blaming it on the Groner crowd that raised 
 up such a fuss when Lura Dawson died in the hospital
 
 " LOST GONE ! 
 
 MY GOD, MOTHER IT S THREE DAYS AND 
 THREE NIGHTS ! "
 
 THE SEARCH 295 
 
 here. Gid says they ve searched every ridge and 
 valley this side of Big Unaka. He Johnnie, he 
 says he believes Mr. Stoddard suicided." 
 
 "Where is Shade Buckheath?" whispered Johnnie. 
 
 "Shade s been out with mighty nigh every crowd 
 that went," Laurella told her. " Mr. Hardwick pays 
 them wages, just the same as if they were in the mill. 
 Shade s going with Gid this morning, in Mr. Stoddard s 
 automobile." 
 
 "Are they gone oh, are they gone?" Johnnie 
 sprang to her feet in dismay, and stood staring a 
 moment. Then swiftly she bent once more over the 
 little woman in the bed. " Mother," she said before 
 Laurella could speak or answer her, "Aunt Mavity 
 can wait on you and Deanie for a little while with 
 what help Lissy will give you can t she, honey ? 
 And Mandy was coming downstairs to her breakfast 
 this morning she s able to be afoot now and I 
 know she ll be wanting to help tend on Deanie. You 
 could get along for a spell without me don t you 
 think you could ? Honey," she spoke desperately. " I ve 
 just got to find Shade Buckheath I must see him." 
 
 "Sure, we ll get along all right, Johnnie," Laurella 
 put in eagerly. She tugged at a corner of the pillow, 
 fumbled thereunder with her little brown hand, and 
 dragging out Pap Himes s bankbook, showed it to 
 her daughter, opening at that front page where Pap s 
 clumsy characters made Laurella Himes free of all his 
 savings. "You go right along, Johnnie, and see cain t 
 you help about Mr. Stoddard. Looks like I cain t
 
 296 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 bear to think. . . the pore boy . . . you go 
 on me and Deanie ll be all right till you get back." 
 
 Johnnie stooped and kissed the cheek with its fever 
 ish flush. 
 
 "Good-bye, Mommie," she whispered hurriedly. 
 "Don t worry about me. I ll be back . Well, don t 
 worry. Good-bye." She snatched a coat and hat, 
 and, going out, closed the door quietly behind her. 
 
 She stepped out into the dancing sunlight of an early 
 spring morning. The leafless vine on Mavity Bence s 
 porch rattled dry stems against the lattice work in a 
 gay March wind. Taking counsel with herself for 
 a moment, she started swiftly down the street in the 
 direction of the mills. In the office they told her that 
 Mr. Hardwick had gone to Nashville to see about getting 
 bloodhounds; MacPherson was following his own 
 plan of search in Watauga. She was permitted to go 
 down into the mechanical department and ask the head 
 of it about Shade Buckheath. 
 
 "No, he ain t here," Mr. Ramsey told her promptly. 
 "We re running so short-handed that I don t know 
 how to get along; and if I try to get an extra man, I 
 find he s out with the searchers. I sent up for Himes 
 yesterday, but him and Buckheath was to go together 
 to-day, taking Mr. Stoddard s car, so as to get further 
 up into the Unakas." 
 
 Johnnie felt as though the blood receded from her 
 face and gathered all about a heart which beat to suffo 
 cation. For a wild moment she had an impulse to 
 denounce Buckheath and her stepfather. But almost
 
 THE SEARCH 297 
 
 instantly she realized that she would weaken her cause 
 and lose all chance of assistance by doing so. Her 
 standing in the mill was excellent, and as she ran up the 
 stairs she was going over in her mind the persons to 
 whom she might take her story. She found no one from 
 whom she dared expect credence and help. Out in 
 the street again she caught sight of Charlie Conroy, 
 and her thoughts were turned by a natural association 
 of ideas to Lydia Sessions. That was it! Why had 
 it not occurred to her before ? She hurried up the long 
 hill to the Hardwick home and, trying first the bell 
 at the front, where she got no reply, skirted the house 
 and rapped long and loudly at the side door. 
 
 Harriet Hardwick, when things began to wear a 
 tragic complexion, had promptly packed her wardrobe 
 and her children and flitted to Watauga. This hegira 
 was undertaken mainly to get her sister away from the 
 scene of Gray Stoddard s disappearance; yet when 
 the move came to be made, Miss Sessions refused to 
 accompany her sister. 
 
 "I can t go," she repeated fiercely. "I ll stay here 
 and keep house for Jerome. Then if there comes 
 any news, I ll be where oh, don t look at me that 
 way. I wish you d go on and let me alone. Yes - 
 yes yes it is better for you to go to Watauga and 
 leave me here." 
 
 Ever since her brother-in-law opened the door of 
 the sitting room and announced to the family Gray 
 Stoddard s disappearance, Lydia Sessions had been, 
 as it were, a woman at war with herself. Her first
 
 298 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 impulse was of decorum to jerk her skirts about her 
 in seemly fashion and be certain that no smirch adhered 
 to them. Then she began to wonder if she could find 
 Shade Buckheath, and discover from him the truth of 
 the matter. Whenever she would have made a move 
 ment toward this, she winced away from what she 
 knew he would say to her. She flinched even from 
 finding out that her fears were well grounded. As 
 matters began to wear a more serious face, she debated 
 now and again telling her brother-in-law of her sus 
 picions that Buckheath had a grudge against Stoddard. 
 But if she said this, how account for the knowledge ? 
 How explain to Jerome why she had denied seeing 
 Stoddard Friday morning ? Jerome was so terribly 
 practical he would ask such searching questions. 
 
 Back of it all there was truly much remorse, and 
 terrible anxiety for Stoddard himself; but this was 
 continually swallowed up in her concern for her own 
 welfare, her own good name. Always, after she had 
 agonized so much, there would come with a revulsion - 
 a gust of anger. Stoddard had never cared for her, he 
 had been cruel in his attitude of kindness. Let him 
 take what followed. 
 
 Cottonville was a town distraught, and the Hardwick 
 servants had seized the occasion to run out for a bit of 
 delectable gossip in which the least of the horrors 
 included Gray Stoddard s murdered and mutilated 
 body washed down in some mountain stream to the 
 sight of his friends. 
 
 Johnnie was too urgent to long delay. Getting no
 
 THE SEARCH 299 
 
 answer at the side door, she pushed it open and ventured 
 through silent room after room until she came to the 
 stairway, and so on up to Miss Sessions s bedroom 
 door. She had been there before, and fearing to alarm 
 by knocking, she finally called out in what she tried to 
 make a normal, reassuring tone. 
 
 "It s only me -- Johnnie Consadine Miss Lydia." 
 
 The answer was a hasty, muffled outcry. Somebody 
 who had been kneeling by the bed on the further side 
 of the room sprang up and came forward, showing a 
 face so disfigured by tears and anxiety, by loss of sleep 
 and lack of food, as to be scarcely recognizable. That 
 ravaged visage told plainly the battle-ground that 
 Lydia Sessions s narrow soul had become in these 
 dreadful days. She knew now that she had set Shade 
 Buckheath to quarrel with Gray Stoddard and 
 Gray had never been seen since the hour she sent the 
 dangerous, unscrupulous man after him to that quarrel. 
 With this knowledge wrestled and fought the instinct 
 we strive to develop in our girl children, the fear we 
 brand shamefully into their natures her name must 
 not be connected with such an affair she must not be 
 "talked about." 
 
 "Have they found him?" Lydia gasped. "Is he 
 alive?" 
 
 Johnnie, generous soul, even in the intense pre 
 occupation of her own pain, could pity the woman who 
 looked and spoke thus. 
 
 "No," she answered, "they haven t found him - 
 and some that are looking for him never will find him.
 
 300 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Oh, Miss Lydia, I want you to help me make them send 
 somebody that we can trust up the Gap road, and on 
 to the Unakas." 
 
 Miss Sessions flinched plainly. 
 
 "What do you know about it?" she inquired in a 
 voice which shook. 
 
 Still staring at Johnnie, she moved back toward her 
 bedroom door. "Why should you mention the Gap 
 road ? What makes you think he went up in the 
 Unakas?" 
 
 "I don t know that he went there," hesitated 
 Johnnie. " But I do know who you ve got to find before 
 you can find him. Oh, get somebody to go with me 
 and help me, before it s too late. I - " she hesitated 
 
 "I thought maybe we could get your brother 
 Hartley s car. I could run it I could run a car." 
 
 The bitterness that had racked Lydia Sessions s 
 heart for more than forty-eight hours culminated. 
 She had been instrumental in putting Gray Stoddard 
 in mortal danger and now if he was to be helped, 
 assistance would come through Johnnie Consadine! 
 It was more than she could bear. 
 
 "I don t believe it!" she gasped. "You know who 
 to find! You re just getting up this story to be noticed. 
 You re always doing things to attract attention to 
 yourself. You want to go riding around in an auto 
 mobile and and Mr. Stoddard has probably gone 
 in to Watauga and taken the midnight train for Boston. 
 This looking around in the mountains is folly. Who 
 would want to harm him in the mountains ?"
 
 THE SEARCH 301 
 
 For a moment Johnnie stood, thwarted and non 
 plussed. The insults directed toward herself made 
 almost no impression on her, strangely as they came 
 from Lydia Sessions s lips. She was too intent on her 
 own purpose to care greatly. 
 
 "Shade Buckheath - she began cautiously, in 
 tending only to state that Shade had taken Stoddard s 
 car; but Lydia Sessions drew back with a scream. 
 
 "It s a lie!" she cried. "There isn t a word of truth 
 in what you say, John Consadine. Oh, you re the 
 plague of my life you have been from the first! 
 You follow me about and torment me. Shade Buck- 
 heath had nothing to do with Gray Stoddard s disap 
 pearance, I tell you. Nothing nothing nothing!" 
 
 She thrust forward her face and sent forth the words 
 with incredible vehemence. But her tirade kindled 
 in Johnnie no heat of personal anger. She stood 
 looking intently at the frantic woman before her. 
 Slowly a light of comprehension dawned in her eyes. 
 
 "Shade Buckheath had everything to do with Gray 
 Stoddard s disappearance. You know it that s what 
 ails you now. You you must have been there when 
 they quarrelled!" 
 
 "They didn t quarrel they didn t!" protested 
 Miss Lydia, with a yet more hysteric emphasis. They 
 didn t even speak to each other. Mr. Stoddard said 
 Good morning to me, and rode right past." 
 
 Johnnie leant forward and, with a sudden sweeping 
 movement, caught the other woman by the wrist, 
 looking deep into her eyes.
 
 302 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 "Lydia," she said accusingly, and neither of them 
 noticed the freedom of the address, "you didn t tell 
 the truth when you said you hadn t seen Gray 
 since Friday night. You saw him Friday morning - 
 you and Shade Buckheatb! You have both 
 lied about it God knows why. Now, Shade and 
 my stepfather have taken poor Gray s car and gone 
 up into the mountains. What do you think they went 
 for?" 
 
 The blazing young eyes were on Miss Sessions s 
 tortured countenance. 
 
 "Oh, don t let those men get at Gray. They ll 
 murder him!" sobbed the older woman, sinking once 
 more to her knees. * Johnnie I ve always been 
 good to you, haven t I ? You go and tell them that - 
 say that Shade Buckheath that somebody ought 
 to " 
 
 She broke off abruptly, and sprang up like a suddenly 
 goaded creature. 
 
 "No, I won t!" she cried out. "You needn t ask 
 it of me. I will not tell about seeing Mr. Stoddard 
 Friday morning. I promised not to, and it can t 
 do any good, anyhow. If you set them at me, I ll 
 deny it and tell them you made up the story. I will - 
 I will I will!" 
 
 And she ran into her room once more, and threw 
 herself down beside the bed. Johnnie turned 
 contemptuously and left the woman babbling inco- 
 herencies on her knees, evidently preparing to pray 
 to a God whose laws she was determined to break.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE ATLAS VERTEBRA 
 
 JOHNNIE hurried downstairs, in a mental turmoil 
 out of which there swiftly formed itself the 
 resolution to go herself and if possible over 
 take or find Shade and her stepfather. Word 
 must first be sent to her mother. She was glad to 
 remember that little bankbook under Laurella s 
 pillow. Mavity and Mandy would tend the invalids 
 well, helped by little Lissy; and with money available, 
 she was sure they would be allowed to lack for nothing. 
 She crossed the hall swiftly, meaning to go past the 
 little grocery where they bought their supplies and 
 telephone Mavity that she might be away for several 
 days. But near the side door she noted the Hardwick 
 telephone, and hesitated a moment. People would 
 hear her down at Mayfield s. Already she began to 
 have a terror of being watched or followed. Hesita 
 tingly she took down the receiver and asked for con 
 nection. At the little tinkle of the bell, there was a 
 swift, light rush abore stairs. 
 
 "Mahala!" screamed Miss Sessions s voice over the 
 banisters, thinking the maid was below stairs; "answer 
 that telephone/ She heard Johnnie move, and 
 added, "Tell everybody that I can t be seen. If 
 
 303
 
 304 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 it s anything about Mr. Stoddard, say that I m sick - 
 utterly prostrated and can t be talked to." She 
 turned from the stairway, ran back into her own 
 room and shut and locked the door. And at that 
 moment Johnnie heard Mavity Bence s voice replying 
 to her. 
 
 "Aunt Mavity," she began, "this is Johnnie. I m 
 up at Mr. Hardwick s now. Uncle Pros is out in the 
 mountains, and I m going to look for him. I d rather 
 not have anybody know I m gone; do you under 
 stand that ? Try to keep it from the boarders and 
 the children. You and Mandy are the only ones 
 that would have to know." 
 
 "Yes, honey, yes, Johnnie," came the eager, 
 humble reply. "I ll do just like you say. Shan t 
 nobody find out from me. Johnnie - there was a 
 pause- " Johnnie, Pap and Shade didn t get off as 
 soon as they expected. Something was the matter 
 with the machine, I believe. They ain t been gone 
 to exceed a quarter of an hour. I -- I thought maybe 
 you d like to know." 
 
 " Thank you, Aunt Mavity," said Johnnie. "Yes, 
 I m glad you told me." She understood what a 
 struggle the kind soul had had with her weakness and 
 timidity ere, for loyalty s sake, she was able to make 
 the disclosure. "I may not be back for two or three 
 days. Don t worry about me. I ll be all right. 
 Mother s got money. You buy what she and Deanie 
 need, and don t work too hard. Good-bye." 
 
 She hung up the receiver, went out the side door
 
 THE ATLAS VERTEBRA 305 
 
 and, reaching the main street, struck straight for the 
 Gap, holding the big road for the Unakas. To her 
 left was the white highway that ran along above the 
 valley, and that Palace of Pleasure which had seemed 
 a wonder and a mystery to her one year gone. To-day 
 she gave no thought to the sight of river and valley 
 and town, except to look back once at the roofs and 
 reflect that, among all the people housed there in sight 
 of her, there were surely those who knew the secret 
 of Gray Stoddard s disappearance who could tell 
 her if they would where to search for him. Somehow, 
 the thought made her feel very small and alone and 
 unfriended. With its discouragement came that 
 dogged persistence that was characteristic of the girl. 
 She set her trembling lip and went over her plans 
 resolutely, methodically. Deanie and Laurella were 
 safe to be well looked after in her absence. Mavity 
 Bence and Mandy would care for them tenderly. 
 And there was the bankbook. If Johnnie knew her 
 mother, the household back there would not lack, 
 either for assistance or material matters. 
 
 And now the present enterprise began to shape 
 itself in her mind. A practical creature, she depended^ 
 from the first on getting a lift from time to time. Yet 
 Johnnie knew better than another the vast, silent, 
 secret network of hate that draws about the victim 
 in a mountain vendetta. If the spirit of feud was 
 aroused against the mill owners, if the Groners and 
 Dawsons had been able to enlist their kin and clan, 
 she was well aware that the man or woman who
 
 3 o6 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 gave her smiling information as to ways and means, 
 might, the hour before, have looked on Gray Stoddard 
 lying dead, or sat in the council which planned to kill 
 him. Thus she walked warily, and dared ask from 
 none directions or help. She was not yet in her own 
 region, these lower ridges lying between two lines 
 of railway, which, from the mountaineer s point of 
 view, contaminated them and gave them a tincture 
 of the valley and the Settlement. 
 
 Noon came and passed. She was very weary. 
 Factory life had told on her physically, and the recent 
 distress of mind added its devitalizing influence. 
 There was a desperate flagging of the muscles weak 
 ened by disuse and an unhealthy indoor life. 
 
 "I wonder can I ever make it?" she questioned 
 herself. Then swiftly, "I ve got to I ve got to." 
 
 Her eye roved toward a cabin on the slope above. 
 There lived a man by the name of Straley, but he was 
 a cousin to Lura Dawson, the girl who had died in 
 the hospital. Johnnie knew him to be one of the 
 bitterest enemies of the Cottonville mill owners, and 
 realized that he would be the last one to whom she 
 should apply. Mutely, doggedly, she pressed on, 
 and rounding a bend in a long, lonely stretch of road, 
 saw before her the tall, lithe form of a man, trousers 
 tucked into boots, a tall staff in hand, making swift 
 progress up the road. The sound of feet evidently 
 arrested the attention of the wayfarer. He turned 
 and waited for her to come up. 
 
 The figure was so congruous with its surroundings
 
 THE ATLAS VERTEBRA 307 
 
 that she saw with surprise a face totally strange to her. 
 The turned-down collar of the rumpled shirt was 
 unbuttoned at a brown throat; the face above seemed 
 to her eyes neither old nor young, though the light, 
 springing gait when he walked, the supple, easeful 
 attitude now that he rested, one hand flung high on 
 the curious tall staff, were those of a youth; the eyes 
 of a warm, laughing hazel had the direct fearlessness 
 of a child, and a slouch hat carried in the hand showed 
 a fair crop of slightly grizzled, curling hair. 
 
 A stranger at first the thought frightened, and 
 then attracted her. This man looked not unlike 
 Johnnie s own people, and there was something in his 
 face that led her to entertain the idea of appealing 
 to him for help. He settled the question of whether 
 or no she should enter into conversation, by accosting 
 her at once brusquely and genially. 
 
 "Mornin , sis . You look tired," he said. "You 
 ought to have a stick, like me. Hold on I ll cut 
 you one." 
 
 Before the girl could respond beyond an answering 
 smile and "good mormng," the new friend had put 
 his own alpenstock into her hands and gone to the 
 roadside, where, with unerring judgment, he selected 
 .a long, straight, tapering shoot of ash, and hewed 
 it deftly with a monster jack-knife drawn from his 
 trousers pocket. 
 
 " There try that," he said as he returned, trim 
 ming off the last of the leaves and branches. 
 
 Johnnie took the staff with her sweet smile of thanks.
 
 3 o8 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 For a few moments the two walked on silently side 
 by side, she desperately absorbed in her anxi 
 eties, her companion apparently returning to some 
 world apart in his own mind. Suddenly: 
 
 "Can I get to the railroad down this side?" the 
 man asked her in that odd, incidental voice of his 
 which suggested that what he said was merely a small 
 portion of what he thought. 
 
 "Why yes, I reckon so," hesitated Johnnie. 
 "It s a pretty far way, and there don t many folks 
 travel on it. It s an old Indian trail; a heap of our 
 roads here are that; but it ll take you right to the 
 railroad the W. and A." 
 
 Her companion chuckled, seemingly with some 
 inner satisfaction. 
 
 "Yes, that s just what I supposed. I soldiered all 
 over this country, and I thought it was about as pretty 
 scenery as God ever made. I promised myself then 
 that if I ever came back into this part of the world, 
 I d do some tramping through here. They re going 
 to have a great big banquet at Atlanta, and they had 
 me caged up taking me down there to make a speech. 
 I gave them the slip at Watauga. I knew I d strike 
 the railroad if I footed it through the mountains here." 
 
 Johnnie examined her companion with attention. 
 Would it do to ask him if he had seen an automobile 
 on the road a dark green car ? Dare she make 
 inquiry as to whether he had heard of Gray Stod- 
 dard s disappearance, or met any of the searchers ? 
 She decided on a conservative course.
 
 THE ATLAS VERTEBRA 309 
 
 "I wish I had time to set you in the right road," 
 she hesitated; "but my poor old uncle is out here 
 somewhere among these ridges and ravines; he s 
 not in his right mind, and I ve got to find him if I 
 can." 
 
 "Crazy, do you mean?" asked her companion, 
 with a quick yet easy, smiling attention. "I d like 
 to see him, if he s crazy. I take a great interest in 
 crazy folks. Some of em have a lot of sense left." 
 
 Johnnie nodded. 
 
 "He doesn t know any of us," she said pitifully. 
 They ve had him in the hospital three months, trying 
 to do something for him; but the doctors say he ll 
 never be well." 
 
 "That s right hopeful," observed the man, with 
 a plainly intentional, dry ludicrousness. "I always 
 think there s some chance when the doctors give em 
 up and begin to let em alone. How was he hurt, 
 sis ?" 
 
 Johnnie did not pause to reflect that she had not 
 said Uncle Pros was hurt at all. For some reason 
 which she would herself have been at a loss to explain, 
 she hastened to detail to this chance-met stranger 
 the exact appearance and nature of Pros Passmore s 
 injuries, her listener nodding his head at this or that 
 point; making some comment or inquiry at another. 
 
 "The doctors say that they would suppose it was a 
 fractured skull, or concussion of the brain, or something 
 like that; but they ve examined him and there is 
 nothing to see on the outside; and they trephined
 
 3 io THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 and it didn t do any good; so they just let him stay 
 about the hospital." 
 
 "No," said her new friend softly, almost absently, 
 "it didn t do any good to trephine but it might 
 have done a lot of harm. I d like to see the back of 
 your uncle s neck. I ain t in any hurry to get to that 
 banquet at Atlanta a man can always overeat 
 and make himself sick, without going so far to do it." 
 
 So, like an idle schoolboy, the unknown forsook 
 his own course, turning from the road when Johnnie 
 turned, and went with her up the steep, rocky gulch 
 where the door of a deserted cabin flung to and fro 
 on its hinges. At sight of the smokeless chimney, 
 the gaping doorway and empty, inhospitable interior, 
 Johnnie looked blank. 
 
 "Have you got anything to eat?" she asked her 
 companion, hesitatingly. "I came off in such a hurry 
 that I forgot all about it. Some people that I know 
 used to live in that cabin, and I hoped to get my dinner 
 there and ask after my uncle; but I see they have 
 moved." 
 
 "Sit right down here," said the stranger, indicating 
 the broad door-stone, around which the grass grew 
 tall. "We ll soon make that all right." He sought 
 in the pockets of the coat he carried slung across his 
 shoulder and brought out a packet of food. "I laid 
 in some fuel when I thought I might get the chance 
 to run my own engine across the mountains," he told 
 the girl, opening his bundle and dividing evenly. 
 He uttered a few musical words in an unknown tongue.
 
 THE ATLAS VERTEBRA 311 
 
 " That s Indian," he commented carelessly, without 
 looking at her. "It means you re to eat your dinner. 
 I was with the Shawnees when I was a boy. I learned 
 a lot of their language, and I ll never forget it. They 
 taught me more things than talk." 
 
 Johnnie studied the man beside her as they ate their 
 bit of lunch. 
 
 " My name is Johnnie Consadine, sir," she told him. 
 "What shall I call you?" 
 
 Thus directly questioned, the unknown smiled quiz 
 zically, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners and 
 overflowing with good humour. 
 
 "Well, you might say Pap, " he observed consider 
 ingly. "Lost of boys and girls do call me Pap 
 more than a thousand of em, now, I guess. And 
 I m eighty mighty near old enough to have a girl 
 of nineteen." 
 
 She looked at him in astonishment. Eighty years 
 old, as lithe as a lad, and with a lad s clear, laughing 
 eye! Yet there was a look of power, of that knowl 
 edge which is power, in his face that made her say 
 to him: 
 
 "Do you think that Uncle Pros can ever be cured 
 have his right mind back again, I mean ? Of course, 
 the cut on his head is healed up long ago." 
 
 "The cut on his head didn t make him crazy," said 
 her companion, murmuringly. "Of course it wasn t 
 that, or he would have been raving when he came 
 down from the mountain. Something happened to 
 him afterward."
 
 3 i2 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 "Yes, there did," Johnnie assented wonderingly - 
 falteringly. "I don t know how you came to guess 
 it, but the woman who told me that she was hiding 
 in the front room when they were quarrelling and 
 saw Uncle Pros fall down the steps, says he landed 
 almost square on his head. She thought at first his 
 neck was broken that he was killed." 
 
 "Uh-huh," nodded the newcomer. "You see I m 
 a good guesser. I make my living guessing things." 
 He flung her a whimsical, sidelong glance, as, having 
 finished their lunch, they rose and moved on. "I 
 wish I had my hands on the processes of that atlas 
 vertebra," he said. 
 
 "On on what?" inquired Johnnie in a slightly 
 startled tone. 
 
 "Never mind, sis . If we find him, and I can handle 
 him, I ll know where to look." 
 
 "Nobody can touch him but me when he gets out 
 this way," Johnnie said. "He acts sort of scared 
 and sort of fierce, and just runs and hides from people. 
 Maybe if you ll tell me what you want done, I could 
 do it." 
 
 " Maybe you could and then again maybe you 
 couldn t," returned the other, with a great show of 
 giving her proposition serious consideration. "A 
 good many folks think they can do just what I can - 
 if I d only tell em how and sometimes they find 
 out they can t." 
 
 Upon the word, they topped a little rise, and Johnnie 
 laid a swift, detaining hand upon her companion s
 
 THE ATLAS VERTEBRA 313 
 
 arm. At the roadside, in a little open, grassy space 
 where once evidently a cabin had stood, knelt the 
 figure of a gaunt old man. At first he seemed to the 
 approaching pair to be gesticulating and pointing, 
 but a moment s observation gave them the gleam of 
 a knife in his hand he was playing mumblety-peg. 
 As they stood, drawn back near some roadside bushes, 
 watching him, the long, lean old arm went up, the 
 knife flashing against the knuckles of the clenched 
 fist and, with a whirl of the wrist, reversing swiftly 
 in air, to bury its blade in the soil before the player. 
 
 "Hi! Hi! Hi! I th owed it. That counts two 
 for me," the cracked old falsetto shrilled out. 
 
 There on that grassy plot that might have been a 
 familiar dooryard of his early days, he was playing 
 alone, gone back to childhood. Johnnie gazed and 
 her eyes swam with unshed tears. 
 
 "You better not go up there and him with the 
 knife and all," she murmured finally. The man 
 beside her looked around into her face and laughed. 
 
 O 
 
 "I m not very bad scared," he said, advancing 
 softly in line with his proposed patient, motioning 
 the girl not to make herself known, or startle her 
 uncle. 
 
 Johnnie stole after him, filled with anxiety. When 
 the newcomer stood directly behind the kneeling man, 
 he bent, and his arms shot out with surprising quick 
 ness. The fingers of one hand dropped as though 
 predestined upon the back of the neck, the other caught 
 skilfully beneath the chin. There was a sharp wrench,
 
 3 14 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 an odd crack, a grunt from Uncle Pros, and then the 
 mountaineer sprang to his full and very considerable 
 height with a roar. Whirling upon his adversary, 
 he grappled him in his long arms, hugging like a grizzly, 
 and shouting: 
 
 "You, Gid Himes, wha r s my specimens ?" 
 
 He shook the stranger savagely. 
 
 "You an Shade Buckheath you p ar o scoun 
 drels give me back my silver specimens! Give 
 me back my silver ore that shows about the mine for 
 my little gal." 
 
 "Uncle Pros! Uncle Pros!" screamed Johnnie, 
 rushing in and laying hold of the man s arm. "Don t 
 you know me ? It s Johnnie. Don t hurt this gentle 
 man." 
 
 The convulsion of rage subsided in the old man 
 \vith almost comical suddenness. His tense form 
 relaxed; he stumbled back, dropping his hands at 
 his sides and staring about him, then at Johnnie. 
 
 "Why, honey," he gasped, "how did you come 
 here? Whar s Gid? Whar s Shade Buckheath? 
 Lord A mighty! Whar am I at?" 
 
 He looked around him bewildered, evidently expect 
 ing to see the porch of Himes s boarding-house at 
 Cottonville, the scattered bits of silver ore, and the 
 rifled bandanna. He put his hand to his head, and 
 sliding it softly down to the back of the neck demanded. 
 
 "What s been did to me?" 
 
 "You be right good and quiet now, and mind 
 Johnnie," the girl began, with a pathetic tremble in
 
 THE ATLAS VERTEBRA 315 
 
 her voice, "and she ll take you back to the hospital 
 where they re so kind to you." 
 
 "The hospital?" echoed Pros. "That hospital 
 down at Cottonville ? I never was inside o one o 
 them places what do you want me to go thar for, 
 Johnnie ? Who is this gentleman ? How came we-all 
 up here on the road this-a-way ?" 
 
 "I can quiet him," said Johnnie aside to her new 
 friend. "I always can when he gets wild this way." 
 
 The unknown shook his head. 
 
 "You ll never have to quiet him any more, unless 
 he breaks his neck again," came the announcement. 
 "Your uncle is as sane as anybody he just doesn t 
 remember anything that happened from the time he 
 fell down the steps and slipped that atlas vertebra a 
 little bit on one side." 
 
 Again Pros Passmore s fingers sought the back of 
 his collar. 
 
 "Looks like somebody has been tryin to wring 
 my neck, same as a chicken s," he said meditatively. 
 "But hit feels all right now all right Hoo-ee!" 
 he suddenly broke off to answer to a far, faint hail 
 from the road below them. 
 
 " Pap ! Hey Pap ! " The words came up through 
 the clear blue air, infinitely diminished and attenuated, 
 like some insect cry. The tall man seemed to guess 
 just what the interruption would be. He turned with 
 a pettish exclamation. 
 
 "Never could go anywhere, nor have any fun, but 
 what some of the children had to tag," he protested.
 
 3 i6 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 "Hoo-ee!" He cupped his hands and sent his 
 voice toward where two men in a vehicle had halted 
 their horses and were looking anxiously up. "Well 
 -what is it?" 
 
 " Did you get lost ? We hired a buggy and came 
 out to find you," the man below called up. 
 
 "Well, if I get lost, I can find myself," muttered 
 the newcomer. He looked regretfully at the green 
 slopes about him; the lofty, impassive cliffs where 
 Peace seemed to perch, a visible presence; the great 
 sweeps of free forest; then at Uncle Pros and Johnnie. 
 And they looked back at him dubiously. 
 
 "I expect I ll have to leave you," he said at last. 
 "I see what it is those boys want; they re trying to 
 get me back to the railroad in time for the six-forty 
 train. I d a heap rather stay here with you, but - 
 he glanced from Johnnie and Uncle Pros down to the 
 men in their attitude of anxious waiting "I reckon 
 I ll have to go." 
 
 He had made the first descending step when Johnnie s 
 hand on his arm arrested him. Uncle Pros knew not 
 the wonder of his own restoration; but to the girl 
 this man before her was something more than mortal. 
 Her eyes went from the lightly tossed hair on his brow 
 to the mud-spattered boots was he only a human 
 being ? What was the strange power he had over 
 life and death and the wandering soul of man ? 
 
 "What what aren t you going to tell me your 
 name, and what you are, before you go ?" she entreated 
 him.
 
 THE ATLAS VERTEBRA 317 
 
 He laughed over his shoulder, an enigmatic laugh. 
 
 "What was it you did to Uncle Pros ?" Her voice 
 was vibrant with the awe and wonder of what she had 
 seen. "Was it the laying on of hands as they tell 
 of it in the Bible?" 
 
 "Say, Pap, hurry up, please," wailed up the thin, 
 impatient reminder from the road. 
 
 " Well, yes I laid my hands on him pretty strong. 
 Didn t I, old man?" And the stranger glanced to 
 tvhere Uncle Pros stood, still occasionally interrogat 
 ing the back of his neck with fumbling fingers. " Don t 
 you worry, sis ; a girl like you will get a miracle when 
 she has to have it. If I happened to be the miracle 
 you needed, why, that s good. As for my profession 
 my business in life there was a lot of folks that 
 used to name me the Lightning Bone-setter. For 
 my own part, I d just as soon you d call me a human 
 engineer. I pride myself on knowing how the struct 
 ure of man ought to work, and keeping the bearings 
 right and the machinery properly levelled up. Never 
 mind. Next time you have use for a miracle, it ll be 
 along on schedule time, without you knowing what 
 name you need to call it. You re that sort." With 
 that curious, onlooker s smile of his and with a nod 
 of farewell, he plunged down the steep.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 A CLUE 
 
 THEY stood together watching, as the tall form 
 retreated around the sharp curves of the red 
 clay road, or leaped lightly and hardily 
 down the cut-offs. They waved back to their late 
 companion when, climbing into the waiting buggy 
 below, he was finally driven away. Johnnie turned 
 and looked long at her uncle with swimming eyes, 
 as he stood gazing where the vehicle had disappeared. 
 She finally laid a tremulous hand on his arm. 
 
 "Oh, Uncle Pros," she said falteringly, "I can t 
 believe it yet. But you you do understand me now, 
 don t you ? You know me. I m Johnnie." 
 
 The old man wheeled sharply, and laughed. 
 
 "See here, honey," he said with a tinge of irritation 
 in his tones. "I reckon I ve been crazy. From what 
 you say, looks like I haven t known my best friends 
 for a long time. But I have got as much sense now as I 
 ever had, and I don t remember anything about that 
 other business. Last thing I know of was fussin 
 with Gid Himes and Shade Buckheath about my silver 
 ore. By Joe! I bet they got that stuff when I was 
 took -- Johnnie, was I took sudden ?" 
 
 He seated himself on the lush, ancient, deep-rooted 
 
 318
 
 A CLUE 319 
 
 dooryard grass where, a half-hour gone, he had knelt, 
 a harmless lunatic, playing mumblety peg. Half 
 reluctantly Johnnie sank down beside him. 
 
 "Yes yes yes, Uncle Pros," the girl agreed, 
 impatience mounting in her once more, with the 
 assurance of her uncle s safety and well-being. "They 
 did get your specimens; but we can fix all that; there s 
 a worse thing happened now." And swiftly, suc- 
 cintly, she told him of the disappearance of Gray 
 Stoddard. 
 
 "An 5 I been out o my head six months and better," 
 the old man ruminated, staring down at the ground. 
 "Good Lord ! it s funny to miss out part o your days 
 like that. Hit was August but O-o-h, hot enough 
 to fry eggs on a shingle, the day I tramped down to 
 Cottonville with them specimens; and here it is" he 
 threw up his head and took a comprehensive survey 
 of the grove about him- "airly spring March, I 
 should say ain t it, Johnnie ? Yes," as she nodded. 
 "And who is this here young man that you name that s 
 missin , honey ?" 
 
 The girl glanced at him apprehensively. 
 
 "You know, Uncle Pros," she said in a coaxing tone. 
 "It s Mr. Stoddard, that used to come to the hospital 
 to see you so much and play checkers with you when 
 you got better. You why, Uncle Pros, you liked 
 him more than any one. He could get you to eat 
 when you wouldn t take a spoonful from anybody 
 else. You must remember him you can t have 
 forgot Mr. Stoddard."
 
 320 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Pros thrust out a long, lean arm, and fingered the 
 sleeve upon it. 
 
 "Nor my own clothes, I reckon," he assented with 
 a sort of rueful testiness; " but to the best of my knowin 
 and believin , I never in my life before saw this shirt 
 I m wearin - every garment I ve got on is a plumb 
 stranger to me, Johnnie. Ye say I played checkers 
 with him and - 
 
 "Uncle Pros, you used to talk to him by the hour, 
 when you didn t know me at all," Johnnie told him 
 chokingly. "I would get afraid that you asked too 
 much of him, but he d leave anything to come and sit 
 with you when you were bad. He s got the kindest 
 heart of anybody I ever knew." 
 
 The old man s slow, thoughtful gaze was raised a 
 moment to her eloquent, flushed face, and then dropped 
 considerately to the path. 
 
 "An* ye tell me he s one of the rich mill owners? 
 Mr. Gray Stoddard ? That s one name you ve never 
 named in your letters. What cause have you to think 
 that Shade wished the man ill ?" 
 
 Slowly Johnnie s eyes filled with tears. "Why, 
 what Shade said himself. He was - 
 
 "Jealous of him, I reckon," supplied the old man. 
 
 Johnnie nodded. It was no time for evasions. 
 
 "He had no call to be," she repeated. "Mr. Stod 
 dard had no more thought of me in that way than he 
 has of Deanie. He d be just as kind to one as the 
 other. But Shade brought his name into it, and 
 
 O * 
 
 threatened him to me in so many words. He said -
 
 A CLUE 321 
 
 she shivered at the recollection "he said he d fix 
 him he d get even with him. So this morning 
 when I found that Pap Himes and Shade had taken 
 Mr. Stoddard s car and come on up this way, it scared 
 me. Yet I couldn t hardly go to anybody with it. 
 I felt as though they would say it was just a vain, 
 foolish girl thinking she d stirred up trouble and 
 had the men quarrelling over her. I did try to see 
 Mr. Hardwick and Mr. MacPherson, and both of them 
 were away. And after that I went to Mr. Hardwick s 
 house. The Miss Sessions I wrote you so much about 
 was the only person there, and she wouldn t do a thing. 
 Then I just walked up here on my two feet. Uncle 
 Pros, I was desperate enough for anything." 
 
 Passmore had listened intently to Johnnie s swift, 
 broken, passionate sentences. 
 
 "Yes ye-es," he said, as she made an end. "I 
 sorter begin to see. Hold on, honey, lemme think 
 a minute." 
 
 He sat for some time silent, with introverted gaze, 
 Johnnie with difficulty restraining her impatience, 
 forbearing to break in upon his meditation. 
 
 "Hit cl ars up to me sorter as I study on it," 
 he finally said. "Hit s like this, honey; six months 
 ago (Lord, Lord, six months!) when I was walkin 
 down to take that silver ore to you, Rudd Dawson 
 stopped me, and nothing would do but I must go 
 home with him ye know he s got the old Gid Himes 
 place, in the holler back of our house an talk to 
 Will Venters, Jess Groner, and Rudd s brother Sam.
 
 322 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 I didn t want to go my head was plumb full of the 
 silver-mine business, an I jest wanted to git down 
 to you quick as I could. The minute I said Johnnie, 
 Rudd lowed he wanted to warn me about you down 
 in the Cottonville mills. He went over all that stuff 
 concerning Lura, an how she d been killed off in 
 the mill folk s hospital and her body shipped to Cin 
 cinnati and sold. I put in my word that you was 
 a-doin well in the mills; an I axed him what proof 
 he had that the mill folks sold dead bodies. I lowed 
 that you found the people at Cottonville mighty kind, 
 and the work good. He came right back at me sayin 
 that Lura had talked the same way, and that many 
 another had. Well, I finally went with him to his 
 place the old Gid Himes house an him an 
 me an Sam an Groner had considerable talk. They 
 told me how they d all been down an saw Mr. Hard- 
 wick, and how quare he spoke to em. Them mill 
 fellers never offered me a dollar, not a dollar, says 
 Rudd. An I says to him, Good Lord, Dawson! 
 Never offered you money? For God s sake! Did 
 you want to be paid for Lura s body? And he says, 
 You know damn well I didn t want to be paid for 
 Lura s body, Pros Passmore, he says. But do you 
 reckon I m a-goin to let them mill men strut around 
 with money they got that-a-way in their pockets ? No, 
 I ll not. I ll see em cold in hell fust, he says them 
 Dawsons is a hard nation o folks, Johnnie. I talked 
 to em for a spell, and tried to make em see that the 
 Hardwick folks hadn t never sold no dead body to
 
 A CLUE 323 
 
 the student doctors; but they was all mad and out o 
 theirselves. I seed that they wanted to get up a feud. 
 Well, says Rudd, They ve got one of the Dawsons, 
 and before we re done we ll get one o them/ 
 
 " Uh-huh, I says, you-all air a-goin to get one o 
 them, air ye ? Do you mean by that that you re ready 
 to run your heads into a noose ? 
 
 We don t have to run our heads into nary noose, 
 says Sam Dawson. Shade Buckheath is a-standin 
 in with us. He knows all them mill fellers, an their 
 ways. He aims to he p us; an we ll ketch one o 
 them men out, and carry him off up here som ers, 
 and hold him till they pay us what we ask. I reckon 
 the live body of one o them chaps is worth a thousand 
 dollars. That s jest what he said," concluded the 
 old man, turning toward her; "an from what you tell 
 me, Johnnie, I ll bet Shade Buckheath put the words 
 in his mouth, if not the notion in his head." 
 
 "Yes," whispered Johnnie through white lips, 
 "yes; but Shade Buckheath isn t looking to make 
 money out of it. He knows better than to think that 
 they could keep Mr. Stoddard prisoner a while, and 
 then get money for bringing him back, and never 
 have to answer for it. He said he d get even he d 
 fix him. Shade wants just one thing Oh, Uncle 
 Pros! Do you think they ve killed him ?" 
 
 The old man looked carefully away from her. 
 
 "This here kidnappin business, an tryin to get 
 money out of a feller s friends, most generally does 
 wind up in a killin ," he said. "The folks gits to
 
 3 2 4 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 huntin pretty hot, then them chat s done the trick 
 gets scared, and they wouldn t have no good place 
 to put him, them Dawsons, and and," reluctantly, 
 "a dead body s easier hid than a live man. Truth 
 is, hit looks mighty bad for the young feller, honey girl. 
 To my mind hit s really a question of time. The sooner 
 his friends gets to him the better, that s my belief." 
 
 Johnnie s pale, haggard face took on tragic lines 
 as she listened to this plain putting of her own worst 
 fears. She sprang up desperately. Uncle Pros rose, 
 too. 
 
 "Now, which way?" she demanded. 
 
 The old hunter stood, staring thoughtfully at the 
 path before his feet, rubbing his jaw with long, supple 
 fingers, the daze of his recent experience yet upon him. 
 
 "Well, I had aimed to go right to our old cabin," 
 he said finally. "Hit s little more than a mile to where 
 Dawson lives, in Gid s old place in Blue Spring Holler. 
 They all think I m crazy, an they won t interfere 
 with me - not till they find out different. Your 
 mother; she ll give us good help, once we git to her. 
 There s them that thinks Laurelly is light-minded and 
 childish, but I could tell em she s got a heap of sense 
 in that thar pretty little head o her n." 
 
 "Oh, Uncle Pros! I forgot you don t know of 
 course you don t," broke in Johnnie with a sudden 
 dismay in her voice. "I ought to have told you that 
 mother" - she hesitated and looked at the old man 
 "mother isn t up at the cabin any more. I left her in 
 Cotton ville this morning."
 
 A CLUE 325 
 
 "Cottonville!" echoed Pros in surprise. Then 
 he added, " O course, she came down to take care o 
 me when I was hurt. That s like Laurelly. Is all the 
 chaps thar ? Is the cabin empty ? How s the baby ?" 
 
 Johnnie nodded in answer to these inquiries, for 
 bearing to go into any details. One thing she must 
 tell him. 
 
 "Mother s mother s married again," she man 
 aged finally to say. 
 
 "She s - The old man broke off and turned 
 Johnnie around that he might stare into her face. 
 Then he laughed. "Well well! Things have been 
 happenin -- with the old man crazy an all!" he 
 said. "An yit I don t know it s so strange. Laurelly 
 is a mighty handsome little woman, and she don t 
 look a day older than you do, Johnnie. I reckon 
 it came through me bein away, an her havin nobody 
 to do for her. Course" -with pride- "she could 
 have wedded most any time since your Pa died, if 
 she d been so minded. Who is it ?" 
 
 Johnnie looked away from him. "I Uncle Pros, 
 I never heard a word about it till I came home one 
 evening and there they were, bag and baggage, and 
 they d been married but an hour before by Squire 
 Gaylord. It" -her voice sank almost to a whisper 
 -" It s Pap Himes." 
 
 The old man thrust her back and stared again. 
 
 "Gid Gideon Himes?" he exclaimed incredu 
 lously. "Why, the man s old enough to be her grand- 
 daddy, let alone her father. Gid Himes the old
 
 326 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 What in the name of-- ? Johnnie and you think 
 Himes is mixed up with this young man that s been 
 laywaid him and Buckheath ? Lord, what is all 
 this business ?" 
 
 "When Shade found I wouldn t have him," Johnnie 
 began resolutely at the beginning, "he got Pap Himes 
 to take him to board so that he could always be at me, 
 tormenting me about it. I don t know what he and 
 Pap Himes had between them; but something that 
 I m sure of. And after the old man went up and mar 
 ried mother, it was worse. He p.ut the children in 
 the mill and worked them almost to death; even 
 even Deanie," she choked back a sob. "And Shade 
 as good as told me he could make Pap Himes stop it 
 any time I d promise to marry him. Something they 
 were pulling together over. Maybe it was the silver 
 mine." 
 
 "The silver mine!" echoed old Pros. "That s 
 it. Gid thought I was likely to die, and the mine 
 would come to your mother. Not but what he d be 
 glad enough to get Laurelly but that s what put 
 it in his head. An Gid Himes is married to my little 
 Laurelly, an been abusin the children! Lord, hit 
 don t pay for a man to go crazy. Things gits out of 
 order without him." 
 
 "Well, what do you think now?" Johnnie inquired 
 impatiently. "We mustn t stay here talking when 
 Mr. Stoddard may be in mortal danger. Shall we go 
 on to our place, just the same ?" 
 
 The old man looked compassionately at her.
 
 A CLUE 327 
 
 "Hold on, honey girl," he demurred gently. 
 "We- he sighted at the sun, which was declining 
 over beyond the ridges toward Watauga. "I m 
 mighty sorry to pull back on ye, but we ve got to get 
 us a place to stay for the night. See," he directed her 
 gaze with his own; "hit s not more n a hour by sun. 
 We cain t do nothin this evenin ." 
 
 The magnitude of the disappointment struck 
 Johnnie silent. Pros Passmore was an optimist, one 
 who never used a strong word to express sorrow or 
 dismay, but he came out of a brown study in which he 
 had muttered, "Blaylock. No, Harp wouldn t do. 
 Gulp s. Sally Ann s not to be trusted. What about 
 the Venable boys? No good" -to say with a dis 
 tressed drawing of the brows, " My God ! In a thing 
 like this, you don t know who to look to." 
 
 "No. That s so, Uncle Pros," whispered Johnnie; 
 she gazed back down the road she had come with the 
 stranger. "I went up Slater s Lane to find Mandy 
 Meacham s sister Roxy that married Zack Peavey," 
 she said. "But they ve moved from the cabin down 
 there. They must have been gone a good while, for 
 there s no work done on the truck-patch. I guess 
 they went up to the Nooning-Spring place Mandy 
 said they talked of moving there. We might go and 
 see. Mandy" -she hesitated, and looked question- 
 ingly at her uncle "Mandy s been awful good to 
 all of us, and she liked Mr. Stoddard." 
 
 "We ll try it," said Pros Passmore, and they set 
 out together.
 
 3 z8 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 They climbed in silence, using a little-travelled 
 woods-road, scarce more than two deep, grass-grown 
 ruts, full of rotting stumps. Suddenly a couple of 
 children playing under some wayside bushes leaped 
 up and ran ahead of them, screaming. 
 
 "Maw he s comin back, and he s got a woman 
 with him!" 
 
 A turn in the road brought the Nooning-Spring 
 cabin in sight, a tiny, one-roomed log structure, ancient 
 and ruinous; and in its door a young woman standing, 
 with a baby in her arms, staring with all her eyes at 
 them and at their approaching couriers. 
 
 She faltered a step toward the dilapidated rail fence 
 as they came up. 
 
 "Howdy," she said in a low, half-frightened tone. 
 Then to Uncle Pros, " We-all was mighty uneasy when 
 you never come back." 
 
 Involuntarily the old man s hand went to that 
 vertebra whose eighth-inch displacement had been 
 so lately reduced. 
 
 "Have I been here?" he asked. "I was out of 
 my head, and I don t remember it." 
 
 The young woman looked at him with a hopeless 
 drawing of scant, light eyebrows above bulging gray 
 eyes. She chugged the fretting baby gently up and 
 down in her arms to hush it. Johnnie saw her resem 
 blance to Mandy. Apparently giving up the effort 
 in regard to the man, Zack Peavey s wife addressed 
 the girl as an easier proposition. 
 
 "He was here," she said in a sort of aside. "He
 
 A CLUE 329 
 
 stayed all night a-Saturday. Zack said he was kinder 
 foolish, but I thought he had as much sense as most 
 of em." Her gaze rested kindly on the old man. 
 The children, wild and shy as young foxes, had stolen 
 to the door of the cabin, in which they had taken 
 refuge, and were staring out wonderingly. 
 
 "Well, we ll have to ask you could we stay to-night," 
 Johnnie began doubtfully. "My uncle s been out of 
 his head, and he got away from the folks at the hospital. 
 I came up to hunt for him. I ve just found him - 
 but we aren t going right back. I met a man out there 
 on the road that did something to him that that - 
 she despaired of putting into words that the woman 
 could comprehend the miracle which she had seen the 
 stranger work- "Well, Uncle Pros is all right now, 
 and we d like to stay the night if we can." 
 
 "Come in come in the both of you," urged 
 the woman, turning toward the cabin. " Course, 
 ye kin stay, an welcome. Set and rest. Zack ain t 
 home now. He s - A curious, furtive look went 
 over her round face. "Zack has got a job on hand, 
 ploughing for ploughing for a neighbour, but he ll 
 be home to-night." 
 
 They went in and sat down. A kettle of wild greens 
 was cooking over the fire, and everything was spot 
 lessly clean. Mandy had said truly that there wasn t 
 a thing on the farm she didn t love to do, and the 
 gift of housewifery ran in the family. Johnnie had 
 barely explained who she was, and made such effort 
 as she could to enlist Mandy s sister, when Zack came
 
 330 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 tramping home, and showed, she thought, some 
 uneasiness at finding them there. The wife ran out 
 and met him before he reached the cabin, and they 
 stood talking together a long time, the lines of both 
 figures somehow expressing dismay; yet when they 
 came in there was a fair welcome in the man s de 
 meanour. At the supper table, whose scanty fare 
 was well cooked, Uncle Pros and Johnnie had to 
 tell again, and yet again, the story of that miracu 
 lous healing which both husband and wife could see 
 was genuine. 
 
 Through it all, both Pros and Johnnie attempted 
 to lead the talk around to some information which 
 might be of use to them. Nothing was more natural 
 than that they should speak of Gray Stoddard s dis 
 appearance, since Watauga, Cottonville, and the moun 
 tains above were full of the topic; yet husband and 
 wife sheered from it in a sort of terror. 
 
 "Them that makes or meddles in such gits their- 
 selves into trouble, that s what I say," Zack told the 
 visitors, stroking a chin whose contours expressed the 
 resolution and aggressiveness of a rabbit. "I ain t 
 never seen this here Mr. Man as far as I know. I don t 
 never want to see him. I ain t got no call to mix 
 myself up in such, and I low I ll sleep easier and live 
 longer if I don t do it." 
 
 "That s right," quavered Roxy. "Burkhalter s boy, 
 he had to go to mixin in when the Gulps and the 
 Venables was feudin ; and look what chanced. Nary 
 one o them families lost a man; but Burkhalter s
 
 A CLUE 331 
 
 boy got hisself killed up. Yes, that s what happened 
 to him. Dead. I went to the funeral." 
 
 "True as Scriptur ," confirmed Zack - "reach 
 an take off, Pros. Johnnie, eat hearty true as 
 you-all set here. I he ped make the coffin an dig 
 the grave." 
 
 After a time there came a sort of ruth to Johnnie 
 for the poor creatures, furtive, stealing glances at 
 each other, and answering her inquiries or Uncle Pros s 
 with dry, evasive platitudes. She knew there was 
 no malice in either of them; and that only the abject 
 terror of the weak kept them from giving whatever 
 bit of information it was they had and were consciously 
 withholding. Soon she ceased plying them with ques 
 tions, and signalled Uncle Pros that he should do the 
 same. After the children were asleep in their trundle- 
 bed, the four elders sat by the dying fire on the hearth 
 and talked a little. Johnnie told Zack and Roxy 
 of the mill work at Cottonville, how well she had got 
 on, and how good Mr. Stoddard had been to her, 
 choking over the treasured remembrances. She related 
 the many kindnesses that had been shown Pros and 
 his kinfolk at the Hospital, how the old man had been 
 there for three months, treated as a guest during the 
 latter part of his stay rather than a patient, and how 
 Mr. Stoddard would leave his work in the office to 
 come and cheer the sick man, or quiet him if he got 
 violent. 
 
 "He looked perfectly dreadful when I first saw him," 
 she said to them, "but the doctors took care of him as
 
 332 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 if he d been a little baby. The nurses fed him by 
 spoonfuls and coaxed him just like you would little 
 Honey; and Mr. Stoddard he never was too busy 
 to - " the tears brimmed her eyes in the dusky cabin 
 interior "to come when Uncle Pros begged for him." 
 
 The woman sighed and stirred uneasily, her eye 
 stealthily seeking her husband s. 
 
 In that little one-room hut there was no place for 
 guests. Presently the men drifted out to the chip 
 pile, where they lingered a while in desultory talk. 
 Roxy and Johnnie, partly undressed, occupied the 
 one bed; and later the host and his guest came in and 
 lay down, clothed just as they were, with their feet to 
 the fire, and slept. 
 
 In the darkness just before dawn, Johnnie wakened 
 from heavy sleep and raised her head to find that a 
 clear fire was burning on the hearth and the two men 
 were gone. Noiselessly she arose, and replaced her 
 outer wear, thinking to slip away without disturbing 
 Roxy. But when she returned softly to the interior, 
 after laving face and hands out at the wash-basin, 
 and ordering her abundant hair, she found the little 
 woman up and clad, slicing bacon and making coffee 
 of generous strength from their scanty store. 
 
 "No why, the idea!" cried Roxy. "Of course, 
 you wasn t a-goin on from no house o mine thout no 
 breakfast. .Why, I say!" 
 
 Johnnie s throat swelled at the humble kindness. 
 They ate, thanked Roxy and her man Zack in the 
 simple uneffusive mountain fajshion, and started away
 
 A CLUE 333 
 
 in the twilight of dawn. The big road was barely 
 reached, when they heard steps coming after them in 
 the dusk, and a breathless voice calling in a whisper, 
 "Johnnie! Johnnie!" 
 
 The two turned and waited till Roxy came up. 
 
 "I ye dropped this on the floor," the woman 
 said, fumbling in her pocket and bringing out a bit of 
 paper. "I didn t know as it was of any value and 
 then again I didn t know but what it might be. 
 Johnnie - she broke off and stood peering hesitat 
 ingly into the gloom toward the girl s shining face. 
 
 With a quick touch of the arm Johnnie signed to 
 Pros to move on. As he swung out of earshot, the 
 bulging light eyes, so like Mandy s, were suddenly 
 dimmed by a rush of tears. 
 
 "I reckon he d beat me ef he knowed I told," Roxy 
 gasped. "He ain t never struck me yit, and us married 
 five year but I reckon he d beat me for that." 
 
 Johnnie wisely forbore reply or interference of any 
 sort. The woman gulped, drew her breath hard, 
 and looked about her. 
 
 " Johnnie," she whispered again, "the that there 
 thing they ride in the otty-mobile hit broke 
 dbwn, and Zack was over to Pres Blevin s blacksmith 
 shop a-he pin em work on it all day yesterday. You 
 know Pres he married Lura Dawson s aunt. 
 Neither Himes nor Buckheath could git it to move, 
 but by night they had it a-runnin - or so hit would 
 run. That s why you never saw tracks of it on the 
 toad hit hadn t been along thar yit. But hit s
 
 334 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 went on this morning. No no no! I don t know 
 whar it went. I don t know what they was aimin 
 to do. I don t know nothin ! Don t ask me, Johnnie 
 Consadine, I reckon I ve said right now what s put 
 my man s neck in danger. Oh, my God I wish 
 the men-folks would quit their fussin an feudin !" 
 And she turned and ran distractedly back into the 
 cabin while Johnnie hurried on to join her uncle.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE RESCUE 
 
 JOHNNIE caught her uncle s hand and ran 
 with him through the little thicket of saplings 
 toward the main road. 
 
 "We ll get the track of the wheels, and when we find 
 that car and Shade Buckheath and Pap Himes. 
 . . . I. . . ." Johnnie panted, and did not 
 finish her sentence. Her heart leaped when they came 
 upon the broad mark of the pneumatic tires still fresh 
 in the lonely mountain road. 
 
 "Looks like they might have passed here while 
 we was standin back there talkin to Roxy," Uncle 
 Pros said. "They could have we d not have heard 
 a thing that distance, through this thick woods. Won 
 der could we catch up with them ?" 
 
 Johnnie shook her head. She remembered the 
 car flying up the ascents, swooping down long slopes 
 and skimming like a bird across the levels, that morn 
 ing when she had driven it. 
 
 "They ll go almost as fast as a railroad train, Uncle 
 Pros," she told him, "but we must get there as soon 
 as we can." 
 
 After that scarcely a word was spoken, while the 
 two, still hand in hand, made what speed they could. 
 
 335
 
 336 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 The morning waxed. The March sunshine was 
 warm and pleasant. It was even hot, toiling endlessly 
 up that mountain road. Now and again they met 
 people who knew and saluted them, and who looked 
 back at them curiously, furtively; at least it seemed 
 so to the old man and the girl. Once a lean, hawk- 
 nosed fellow ploughing a hillside field shouted across 
 it: 
 
 " Hey-oh, Pros Passmore ! How yuh come on ? 
 I lowed the student doctors would a had you, long 
 ago." 
 
 Pros ventured no reply, save a wagging of the head. 
 
 "That s Blaylock s cousin," he muttered to Johnnie. 
 "Mighty glad we never went near em last night." 
 
 Once or twice they were delayed to talk. Johnnie 
 would have hurried on, but her uncle warned her with 
 a look to do nothing unusual. Everybody spoke to 
 them of Gray Stoddard. Nobody had seen anything 
 of him within a month of his disappearance, but 
 several of them had "hearn say." 
 
 "They tell me," vouchsafed a lanky boy dawdling 
 with his axe at a chip pile, "that the word goes in 
 Cottonville now, that he s took money and lit out for 
 Canada. Town folks is always a-doin such." 
 
 "Like as not, bud," Pros assented gravely. "Me 
 and Johnnie is goin up to look after the old house, 
 but we allowed to sleep to-night at Bushares s. Time 
 enough to git to our place to-morrow." 
 
 Johnnie, who knew that her uncle hoped to reach 
 the Consadine cabin by noon, instantly understood
 
 THE RESCUE 337 
 
 that he considered the possibility of this boy being 
 a sort of picket posted to interview passers-by; and 
 that the intention was to misinform him, so that he 
 should not carry news of their approach. 
 
 After this, they met no one, but swung on at their 
 best pace, and for the most part in silence, husbanding 
 strength and breath. Twelve o clock saw them enter 
 ing that gash of the hills where the little cabin crouched 
 against the great mountain wall. The ground became 
 so rocky, that the track of the automobile was lost. 
 At first it would be visible now and again on a bit of 
 sandy loam, chain marks showing, where the tire left 
 no impression; but, within a mile or so of the Con- 
 sadine home, it seemed to have left the trail. When 
 this point arrived, Johnnie differed from her uncle 
 in choosing to hold to the road. 
 
 "Honey, this ends the cyar-tracks. Looks like 
 they d turned out. I think they took off into the bushes 
 here, and where that cyar goes we ought to go," Pros 
 argued. 
 
 But Johnnie hurried on ahead, looking about her 
 eagerly. Suddenly she stooped with a cry and picked 
 up from the path a small object. 
 
 "They ve carried him past this way," she panted. 
 "Oh, Uncle Pros, he was right here not so very long 
 ago." 
 
 She scrutinized the sparse growth, the leafless 
 bushes about the spot, looking for signs of a struggle, 
 and the question in her heart was, "My God, was 
 he alive or dead?" The thing she held in her hand
 
 338 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 was a blossom of the pink moccasin flower, carefully 
 pressed, as though for the pages of a herbarium. The 
 bit of paper to which it was attached was crumpled 
 and discoloured. 
 
 "Looks like it had laid out in the dew last night," 
 breathed Johnnie. 
 
 "Or for a week," supplied Pros. He scanned the 
 little brown thing, then her face. 
 
 "All right," he said dubiously; "if that there tells 
 you that he come a-past here, we ll foller this road - 
 though it pears to me like we ought to stick to the 
 cyar." 
 
 "It isn t far to our house," urged Johnnie. "Let s 
 go there first, anyhow." 
 
 For a few minutes they pressed ahead in silence; 
 then some subtle excitement made them break into 
 a run. Thus they rounded the turn. The cabin 
 came in sight. Its door swung wide on complaining 
 hinges. The last of the rickety fence had fallen. 
 The desolation and decay of a deserted house was over 
 all. 
 
 There s been folks here lately," panted Pros. 
 "Look thar!" and he pointed to a huddle of baskets 
 and garments on the porch. "Mind out! Go 
 careful. They may be thar now." 
 
 They "went careful," stealing up the steps and 
 entering with caution; but they found nothing more 
 alarming than the four bare walls, the ash-strewn, 
 fireless hearth, the musty smell of a long-unoccupied 
 house. Near the back door, at a spot where the dust
 
 THE RESCUE 339 
 
 was thick, Uncle Pros bent to examine a foot-print, 
 when an exclamation from Johnnie called him through 
 to the rear of the cabin. 
 
 "See the door!" she cried, running up the steep 
 way toward the cave spring-house. 
 
 "Hold on, honey. Go easy," cautioned her uncle, 
 following as fast as he could. He noted the whittling 
 where the sapling bar that held the stout oaken door 
 in place had been recently shaped to its present pur 
 pose. Then a soft, rhythmic sound like a giant breath 
 ing in his sleep caught the old hunter s keen ear. 
 
 "Watch out, Johnnie," he called, catching her arm. 
 "What s that? Listen!" 
 
 Her fingers were almost on the bar. They could 
 hear the soft lip-lip of the water as it welled out beneath 
 the threshold, mingled with the tinkle and fall of the 
 spring branch below. 
 
 Johnnie turned in her uncle s grasp and clutched 
 him, staring down. Something shining and dark, 
 brave with brass and flashing lamps, stood on the 
 rocky way beneath, and purred like a great cat in the 
 broad sunlight of noon Gray Stoddard s motor 
 car! The two, clinging to each other on the steep 
 above it, gazed half incredulous, now that they had 
 found the thing they sought. It looked so unbeliev 
 ably adequate and modern and alive standing there, 
 drawing its perfectly measured breath; it was so elo 
 quent of power and the work of men s hands that there 
 seemed to yawn a gap of half a thousand years be 
 tween it and the raid in which it was being: made a
 
 340 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 factor. That this pet toy of the modern millionaire 
 should be set to work out the crude vengeance of wild 
 men in these primitive surroundings, crowded up on 
 a little rocky path of these savage mountains, at the 
 door of a cave spring-house such a food-cache as a 
 nomad Indian might have utilized, in the gray bluff 
 against the sky-line it took the breath with its 
 sinister strangeness. 
 
 They turned to the barred door. The cave was 
 a sizable opening running far back into the mountain; 
 indeed, the end of it had never been explored, but 
 the vestibule containing the spring was fitted with rude 
 benches and shelves for holding pans of milk and jars 
 of buttermilk. 
 
 As Johnnie s hand went out to the newly cut bar, 
 her uncle once more laid a restraining grasp upon it. 
 A dozen men might be on the other side of the oaken 
 door, and there might be nobody. 
 
 "Hello!" he called, guardedly. 
 
 No answer came; but within there was a sound of 
 clinking, and then a shuffling movement. The pant 
 ing motor spoke loud of those who had brought it 
 there, who must be expecting to return to it very 
 shortly. Johnnie s nerves gave way. 
 
 "Hello! Is there anybody inside?" she demanded 
 fearfully. 
 
 "Who s there? Who is it?" came a muffled hail 
 from the cave, in a voice that sent the blood to Johnnie s 
 heart with a sudden shock. 
 
 "Uncle Pros, we ve found him!" she screamed,
 
 THE RESCUE 341 
 
 pushing the old man aside, and tugging at the bar 
 which held the door in place. As she worked, there 
 came a curious clinking sound, and then the dull im 
 pact of a heavy fall; and when she dragged the bar 
 loose, swung the door wide and peered into the gloom, 
 there was nothing but the silvery reach of the great 
 spring, and beyond it a prone figure in russet riding- 
 clothes. 
 
 "Uncle Pros he s hurt! Oh, help me!" she cried. 
 
 The prostrate man struggled to turn his face to 
 them. 
 
 "Is that you, Johnnie?" Gray Stoddard s voice 
 asked. "No, I m not hurt. These things tripped 
 me up." 
 
 The two got to him simultaneously. They found 
 him in heavy shackles. They noted how ankle and 
 wrist chains had been rivetted in place. Together 
 they helped him up. 
 
 As they did so tears ran down Johnnie s cheeks 
 unregarded. Passmore deeply moved, yet quiet, stud 
 ied him covertly. This, then, was the man of whom 
 Johnnie thought so much, the rich young fellow who 
 had left his work or amusements to come and cheer 
 a sick old man in the hospital; this was the face that 
 was a stranger s to him, but which had leaned over his 
 cot or sat across the checker-board from him for long 
 hours, while they talked or played together. That face 
 was pale now, the brown hair, "a little longer than 
 other people wore it," tossed helplessly in Stoddard s 
 eyes, because he scarcely could raise his shackled
 
 342 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 hands to put it right; his russet-brown clothing was 
 torn and grimed, as though with more than one 
 struggle, though it may have been nothing worse than 
 such mishap as his recent fall. Yet the man s soul 
 looked out of his eyes with the same composure, the 
 same kindness that always were his. He was eaten 
 by neither terror nor rage, though he was alert for 
 every possibility of help, or of advantage. 
 
 "You, Johnnie you!" whispered Gray, struggling 
 to his knees with their assistance, and catching a fold 
 of her dress in those manacled hands. "I have 
 dreamed about you here in the dark. It is you it 
 is really Johnnie." 
 
 He was pale, dishevelled, with a long mark of black 
 leaf-mould across his cheek from his recent fall; and 
 Johnnie bent speechlessly to wipe the stain away and 
 put back the troublesome lock. He looked up into 
 the brave beauty of her young, tear-wet face. 
 
 Thank God for you, Johnnie," he murmured. "I 
 might have known I wouldn t be let to die here in the 
 dark like a rat in a hole while Johnnie lived." 
 
 "Whar s them that brought you here? The 
 keepers?" questioned the old man anxiously, in a 
 hoarse, hurried whisper. 
 
 " Dawson s gone to his dinner," returned Gray. 
 "There were others here came in an auto I 
 heard that. They ve been quarrelling for more than 
 an hour." 
 
 "About what they d do with you," broke in Pros. 
 "Yes, part of em wants to put you out of the way,
 
 THE RESCUE 343 
 
 of course." He stooped, eagerly examining the shackles 
 on Gray s ankles. "No way to git them things off 
 without time and a file," he muttered, shaking his 
 head. 
 
 "No," agreed Stoddard. "And I can t run much 
 with them on. But we must get away from here as 
 quick as we can. Dawson came in and told me after 
 the other had gone that they had a big row, and he 
 was standing out for me. Said he d never give in to 
 have me taken down and tied on the railroad track 
 in Stryver s Gulch." 
 
 Johnnie s fair face whitened at the sinister words. 
 
 "The car!" she cried. "It s your own, Mr. 
 Stoddard, and it s right down here. Uncle Pros, 
 we can get him to it I can run it I know how." 
 She put her shoulder under Stoddard s, catching the 
 manacled hand in hers. Pros laid hold on the other 
 side, and between them they half carried the shackled 
 captive around the spring and to the door. 
 
 "Leggo, Johnnie!" cried her uncle. "You run 
 on down and see if that contraption will go. I can git 
 him thar now." 
 
 Johnnie instantly loosed the arm she held, sprang 
 through the doorway, and headlong down the bluffy 
 steep, stones rattling about her. She leaped into the 
 car. Would her memory serve her ? Would she for 
 get some detail that she must know ? There were 
 two levers under the steering-wheel. She advanced 
 her spark and partly opened the throttle. From the 
 steady, comfortable purr which had undertoned all
 
 344 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 sounds in the tiny glen, the machine burst at once 
 into a deep-toned roar. The narrow depression 
 vibrated with its joyous clamour. 
 
 Suddenly, above the sound, Johnnie was aware of 
 a distant hail, which finally resolved itself into words. 
 
 "Hi! Hoo ee! You let that car alone, whoever 
 you are." 
 
 She glanced over her shoulder; Passmore had got 
 Gray to the top of the declivity, and was attempting 
 to help him down. Both men evidently heard the 
 challenge, but she screamed to them again and again. 
 
 "Hurry, oh hurry! They re coming they re com- 
 ing." 
 
 Stoddard had been stepping as best he could, hob 
 bling along in the hampering leg chains, that were 
 attached to the wrists also, and twitched on his hands 
 with every step. His muscles responded to Johnnie s 
 cry almost automatically, stiffening to an effort at 
 extra speed, and he fell headlong, dragging Pros 
 down with him. Despairingly Johnnie started to 
 climb down from the car and go to their aid, but 
 her uncle leaped to his feet clawing and grabbing to 
 find a hold around Gray s waist, panting out, "Stay 
 thar -- Johnnie I can fetch him." 
 
 With a straining heave he hoisted Gray s helpless 
 body into his arms. The car trembled like a great, 
 eager monster, growling in leash. Johnnie s agonized 
 eyes searched first its mechanism, and then went to 
 the descending figures, where her uncle plunged des 
 perately down the slope, fell, struggled, rolled, but
 
 THE RESCUE 345 
 
 rose and came gallantly on, half dragging, half carry 
 ing Gray in his arms. 
 
 "Let that car alone!" a new voice took up the hail, 
 a little nearer this time; and after it came the sound of 
 a shot. High up on the mountain s brow, against 
 the sky, Johnnie caught a glimpse of the heads and 
 shoulders of men, with the slanting bar of a gun barrel 
 over one. 
 
 "Oh, hurry, Uncle Pros!" she sobbed. "Let me 
 come back and help you." 
 
 But Passmore stumbled across the remaining space; 
 mutely, with drawn face and loud, labouring breath 
 he lifted Gray and thrust him any fashion into the 
 tonneau, climbing blindly after. 
 
 The pursuit on the hill above broke into the open. 
 Johnnie moved the levers as Gray had shown her how 
 to do, and with a bound of the great machine, they 
 were off. Stoddard, dazed, bruised, abraded, was back 
 in the tonneau struggling up with Uncle Pros s assis 
 tance. He could not help her. She must know for 
 herself and do the right thing. The track led through 
 the bushes, as they had found it that morning. It 
 was fairly good, but terribly steep. She noted that 
 the speed lever was at neutral. She slipped it over 
 to the first speed; the car was already leaping down 
 the hill at a tremendous pace; yet those yelling voices 
 were behind, and her pushing fingers carried the 
 lever through second to the third speed without pausing. 
 
 Under this tremendous pressure the car jumped like 
 a nervous horse, lurched drunkenly down the short
 
 346 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 way, but reeled successfully around the turn at the 
 bottom. Johnnie knew this was going too fast. She 
 debated the possibility of slackening the speed a bit 
 as they struck the highway, such as it was. Uncle 
 Pros, yet gasping, was trying to help Gray into the 
 seat; but with his hampering manacles and the jerking 
 of the car, the younger man was still on his knees, 
 when the chase burst through the bushes, scarcely 
 more than three hundred feet behind them. 
 
 There was a hoarse baying of men s voices; there 
 were four of them running hard, and two carried guns. 
 The noise of the machine, of course, prevented its 
 occupants from distinguishing any word, but the men 
 ace of the open pursuit was apparent. 
 
 "Johnnie!" cried Gray. "Oh, this won t do! 
 For God s sake, Mr. Passmore, help me over there. 
 They wouldn t want to hurt her but they re going 
 to shoot. She - 
 
 The old man thrust Gray down, with a hand on 
 his shoulder. 
 
 "You keep out o range," he shouted close to Gray s 
 ear. "They won t aim to hit Johnnie; but you 
 they ll pick off as far as they can see ye. Bend low, 
 honey," to the girl in the driver s seat. " But freeze 
 to it. Johnnie ain t no niece of mine if she goes back 
 on a friend." 
 
 The girl in front heard neither of them. There 
 was a bellowing detonation, and a spatter of shot 
 fell about the flying car. 
 
 "That ain t goin to hurt nobody," commented
 
 THE RESCUE 347 
 
 Pros philosophically. "It s no more than buck-shot 
 anyhow." 
 
 But on the word followed a more ominous crack, 
 and there was the whine of a bullet above them. 
 
 "My God, I can t let her do this," Gray protested. 
 But Johnnie turned over her shoulder a shining face 
 from which all weariness had suddenly been erased, 
 a glorified countenance that flung him the fleeting 
 smile she had time to spare from the machine. 
 
 "You re in worse danger right now from my driving 
 than you are from their guns," she panted. 
 
 As she spoke there sounded once more the ripping 
 crack of a rifle, the singing of a bullet past them, and 
 with it the flatter, louder noise of the shot-gun was 
 repeated. Her eye in the act of turning to her task, 
 caught the silhouette of old Gideon Himes s uncouth 
 figure relieved against the noonday sky, as he sprang 
 high, both arms flung up, the hands empty and clutch 
 ing, and pitched headlong to his face. But her mind 
 scarcely registered the impression, for a rifle ball 
 struck the shaly edge of a bluff under which the road 
 at this point ran, and tore loose a piece of the slate- 
 like rock, which glanced whirling into the tonneau 
 and grazed Gray Stoddard s temple. He fell forward, 
 crumpling down into the bottom of the vehicle. 
 
 "On go on, honey!" yelled Pros, motioning 
 vehemently to the girl. " Don t look back here I ll 
 tend to him"; and he stooped over the motionless 
 form. 
 
 Then came the roaring impression of speed, of
 
 348 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 rushing bushes that gathered themselves and ran back 
 past the car while, working under full power, it stood 
 stationary, as it seemed to Johnnie, in the middle 
 of a long, dusty gray ribbon that was the road. The 
 cries of the men behind them, all sounds of pursuit, 
 were soon left so far in the distance that they were 
 unheard. 
 
 "Ain t this rather fast?" shouted Uncle Pros, who 
 had lifted Stoddard s bleeding head to his knee and, 
 crouched on the bottom of the tonneau, was shielding 
 the younger man from further injury as the motor 
 lurched and pitched. 
 
 "Yes, it s too fast," Johnnie screamed back to him. 
 "I m trying to go slower, but the foot-brake won t 
 hold. Uncle Pros, is he hurt ? Is he hurt bad ?" 
 
 "I don t think so, honey," roared the old man 
 stoutly, guarding Gray s inert body with his arm. 
 Then, stretching up as he kneeled, and leaning forward 
 as close to her ear as he could get: "But you git 
 him to Cottonville quick as you can. Don t you 
 werry about goin slow, unlessen you re scared your 
 self. Thar ain t no tellin who might pop up from 
 behind these here bushes and take a chance shot at us 
 as we go by." 
 
 Johnnie worked over her machine wildly. Gray 
 had told her of the foot-brake only; but her hand en 
 countering the lever of the emergency brake, she grasped 
 it at a hazard and shoved it forward, as the god of 
 luck had ordered, just short of a zigzag in the steep 
 mountain road which, at the speed they had been
 
 THE RESCUE 349 
 
 making, would have piled them, a mass of wreckage, 
 beneath the cliff. 
 
 The sudden, violent check shooting along at the 
 speed they were, it amounted almost to a stoppage 
 gave the girl a sense of power. If she could do that, 
 they were fairly safe. With the relief, her brain 
 cleared; she was able to study the machine with 
 some calmness. Gray could not help her out of 
 the side of her eye she could see where he lay inert 
 and senseless in Passmore s hold. The lives of all 
 three depended on her cool head at this moment. 
 She remembered now all that Stoddard had said the 
 morning he taught her to run the car. With one move 
 ment she threw off the switch, thus stopping the engine, 
 entirely. They must make it to Cottonville running 
 by gravity wherever they could; since she had no 
 means of knowing that there was sufficient gasoline 
 in the tank, and it would not do to be overtaken or 
 waylaid. 
 
 On and on they flew, around quick turns, along nar 
 row ways that skirted tall bluffs, over stretches of 
 comparatively level road, where Johnnie again 
 switched on the engine and speeded up. They were 
 skimming down from the upper Unakas like a great 
 bird whose powerful wings make nothing of distance. 
 But Johnnie s heart was as lead when she glanced back 
 at the motionless figure in the tonneau, the white, blood- 
 streaked face that lay on her uncle s arm. She turned 
 doggedly to her steering-wheel and levers, and took 
 greater chances than ever with the going, for speed s
 
 350 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 sake. The boy they had talked with two hours before 
 at the chip pile, met them afoot. He leaped into the 
 bushes to let them pass, and stared after them with 
 dilated eyes. Johnnie never knew what he shouted. 
 They only saw his mouth open and working. Merci 
 fully, so far, they had met no vehicles. But now the 
 higher, wilder mountains were behind them, there 
 was an occasional horseman. As they neared Cot- 
 tonville, and teams were numerous on the road, 
 Johnnie, jealously unwilling to slacken speed, kept 
 the horn going almost continuously. People in wagons 
 and buggies, or on foot, drawn out along the roadside, 
 cupped hands to lips and yelled startled inquiries. 
 Johnnie bent above the steering-wheel and paid no 
 attention. Uncle Pros tried to answer with gesticu 
 lation or a shouted word, and sometimes those he 
 replied to turned and ran, calling to others. But 
 it was black Jim, riding on Roan Sultan, out with the 
 searchers, who saw and understood. He looked down 
 across the great two-mile turn beyond the Gap, and 
 sighted the climbing car. Where he stood it was less 
 than an eighth of a mile below him; he could almost 
 have thrown a stone into it. He bent in his saddle, 
 shaded his eyes, and gazed intently. 
 
 " Fo God ! " he muttered under his breath. " That s 
 Mr. Gray hisself ! Them s the clothes he was wearin ! " 
 
 Whirling his horse and digging in the spurs, he 
 rattled pell-mell down the opposite steep toward Cot- 
 tonville, shouting as he went. 
 
 "They ve done got him they ve found him! Miss
 
 THE RESCUE 351 
 
 Johnnie Consadine s a-bringin him down in his own 
 cyar!" 
 
 At the Hardwick place, where the front lawn sloped 
 down with its close-trimmed, green-velvet sward, 
 stood two horses. Charlie Conroy had come out as 
 soon as the alarm was raised to help with the search. 
 He and Lydia had ridden together each day since. 
 Moving slowly along a quiet ravine yesterday, out 
 of sight and hearing of the other searchers, Conroy 
 had found an intimate moment in which to urge his 
 suit. She had begged a little time to consider, with so 
 encouraging an aspect that, this morning, when he 
 came out that they might join the party bound for 
 the mountains, he brought the ring in his pocket. 
 The bulge of the big diamond showed through her 
 left-hand glove. She had taken him at last. She 
 told herself that it was the only thing to do. Harriet 
 Hardwick, who had returned from Watauga, since 
 her sister would not come to her, stood in the door 
 of the big house regarding them with a countenance 
 of distinctly chastened rejoicing. Conroy s own frame 
 or mind was evident; deep satisfaction radiated from 
 his commonplace countenance. He was to be Jerome 
 Hardwick s brother-in-law, an intimate member of 
 the mill crowd. He was as near being in love with 
 Lydia Sessions at that moment as he ever would be. 
 As for Lydia herself, the last week had brought that 
 thin face of hers to look all of its thirty odd years; 
 and the smile which she turned upon her affianced
 
 352 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 was the product of conscientious effort. She was safely 
 in her saddle, and Conroy had iust swung up to his 
 own. when Jim came pelting down the Gap road 
 toward the village. They could see him across the 
 slope of the hill. Conroy cantered hastily up the 
 street a bit to hear what the boy was vociferating. 
 Lydia s nerves quivered at sight of him returning. 
 
 "Hurrah! Hurrah!" shouted Conroy, waving his 
 cap. "Lord, Lord; Did you hear that, Lydia: 
 Hoo-ee, Mrs. Hardwick! Did you hear what Jim s 
 saying? They ve got Gray! Johnnie Consadine s 
 bringing him in his own car." Then turning once 
 
 O O O 
 
 more to his companion: "Come on. dear; we ll ride 
 right down to the hospital. Jim said he was hurt. 
 That s where she would take him. That Johnnie 
 Consadine of yours is the girl isn t she a wonder, 
 though :" 
 
 o 
 
 Lydia braced herself. It had come, and it was 
 worse than she could have anticipated. She cringed 
 inwardly in remembrance; she wished she had not 
 let Conroy make that pitying reference unreproved, 
 uncorrected to Stoddard s being a rejected man. 
 But perhaps they were bringing Gray in dead, after 
 all she tried not to hope so. 
 
 The auto became visible, a tiny dark speck, away 
 up in the Gap. Then it was sweeping down the Gap 
 road; and once more Conroy swung his cap and 
 shouted, though it is to be questioned that any one 
 marked him. 
 
 Below in the village the noisy clatter brought people
 
 THE RESCUE 353 
 
 to door and casement. At the Himes boarding-house, 
 a group had gathered by the gate. At the window 
 above, in an arm-chair, sat a thin little woman with 
 great dark eyes, holding a sick child in her lap. The 
 sash was up, and both were carefully wrapped in a big 
 shawl that was drawn over the two of them. 
 
 "Sis Johnnie is comin back; she sure is comin 
 back soon," Laurella was crooning to her baby. "And 
 we ain t goin to work in no cotton mill, an we ain t 
 goin to live in this ol house any more. Next thing 
 we re a-goin away with Sis Johnnie and have a fi-ine 
 house, where Pap Himes can t come about to be cross 
 to Deanie." 
 
 High up on Unaka Mountain, where a cluttered 
 mass of rock reared itself to front the noonday sun, an 
 old man s figure, prone, the hands clutched full of 
 leaf-mould, the gray face down amid the fern, Gideon 
 Himes would never offer denial to those plans, nor 
 seek to follow to that tine house. 
 
 The next moment an automobile flashed into sight 
 coming clown the long lower slope from the Gap, 
 the horn blowing continuously, horsemen, pedestrians, 
 buggies and wagons fleeing to the roadside bushes as 
 it roared past in its cloud of dust. 
 
 "Look, honey, look yon s Sis Johnnie now!" 
 cried Laurella. "She s a-runnin Mr. Stoddard s 
 car. An thar s L nc Pros. . . . Is my Lord! 
 Is that Mr. Stoddard hisself, with blood all over him : " 
 
 Lydia and Conroy, hurrying down the street, drew 
 up on the fringes of the little crowd that had gathered
 
 354 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 and was augmenting every moment, and Johnnie s 
 face was turned to Stoddard in piteous questioning. 
 His eyes were open now. He raised himself a bit on 
 her uncle s arm, and declared in a fairly audible voice: 
 
 "I m all right. I m not hurt." 
 
 "Somebody git me a glass of water," called Uncle 
 Pros. 
 
 Mavity Bence ran out with one, but when she got 
 close enough to see plainly the shackled figure Pass- 
 more supported, she thrust the glass into Mandy 
 Meacham s hand and flung her apron over her head. 
 
 "Good Lord!" she moaned. "I reckon they ve 
 killed him. They done one of my brothers that-a-way 
 in feud times, and throwed him over a bluff. Oh, 
 my Lord; Why will men be so mean ?" 
 
 Pros had taken the glass from Mandy and held it 
 to Gray s lips. Then he dashed part of the remaining 
 water on Stoddard s handkerchief and with Mandy s 
 help, got the blood cleared away. 
 
 From every shanty, women and children came hasten 
 ing men hurried up from every direction. 
 
 "Look at her look at Johnnie!" cried Beulah 
 Catlett. " Pony ! Milo ! " turning back into the house, 
 where the boys lay sleeping. "Come out here and look 
 at your sister!" 
 
 "Did ye run it all by yourself, Sis Johnnie ?" piped 
 Lissy from the porch. 
 
 The girl in the driver s seat smiled and nodded to 
 the child. 
 
 "Are you through there, Uncle Pros?" asked
 
 THE RESCUE 355 
 
 Johnnie. "We must get Mr. Stoddard on to his 
 house." 
 
 The women and children drew back, the crowd 
 ahead parted, and the car got under way once more. 
 The entire press of people followed in its wake, surged 
 about it, augmenting at every corner. 
 
 "I m afraid my horse won t stand this sort of thing," 
 Lydia objected, desperately, reining in. Conroy 
 glanced at her in surprise. Bay Dick was the soberest 
 of mounts. Then he looked wistfully after the crowd. 
 
 "Would you mind if I - he began, and broke 
 off to say contritely, " I ll go back with you if you d 
 rather." It was evident that Lydia would make of 
 him a thoroughly disciplined husband. 
 
 "Never mind," she said, locking her teeth. "I ll 
 go with you." One might as well have it done and 
 over with. And they hurried on to make up for lost 
 time. 
 
 They saw the car turn in to the street which led to 
 the Hardwick factory. Somebody had hurried ahead 
 and told MacPherson and Jerome Hardwick; and just 
 as they came in sight, the office doors burst open 
 and the two men came running hatless down the steps. 
 Suddenly the factory whistles roared out the signal 
 that had been agreed upon, which bellowed to the 
 hills the tidings that Gray Stoddard was found. Three 
 long calls and a short one that meant that he 
 was found alive. As the din of it died down, 
 Hexter s mills across the creek took up the message, 
 and when they were silent, the old Victory came in
 
 356 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 on their heels, bawling it again. Every whistle 
 in Cottonville gave tongue, clamouring hoarsely above 
 the valley, and out across the ranges, to the hun 
 dreds at their futile search, "Gray Stoddard is found. 
 Stoddard is found. Alive. He is brought in alive." 
 
 MacPherson ran up to one side of the car and Hard- 
 wick to the other. 
 
 "Are you hurt?" inquired the Scotchman, his 
 hands stretched out. 
 
 "Can you get out and come in?" Hardwick de 
 manded eagerly. 
 
 On the instant, the big gates swung wide, the 
 factory poured out a tide of people as though the 
 building had been afire. At sight of Stoddard, the car, 
 and Johnnie, a cheer went up, spontaneous, heart- 
 shaking. 
 
 "My God look at that!" MacPherson s eyes 
 had encountered the shackles on Stoddard s wrists. 
 
 "Lift him down lift him out," cried Jerome 
 Hardwick. With tears on his tanned cheeks the 
 Scotchman complied; and Hardwick s eyes, too, were 
 wet as he saw it. 
 
 "We ll have those things off of him in no time," he 
 shouted. "Here, let s get him in to the couch in my 
 office. Send some of the mechanics here. Where s 
 Shade Buckheath?" 
 
 A dozen pairs of hands were stretched up to assist 
 MacPherson and Pros Passmore. As many as could 
 get to the rescued man helped. And when the crowd 
 saw that shackled figure raised, and heard in the tense
 
 THE RESCUE 357 
 
 silence the clinking sound of the chains, a low groan 
 went through it; more than one woman sobbed aloud. 
 But at this Gray raised his head a bit, and once more 
 declared in a fairly strong voice: 
 
 "I m not hurt, people only a little crack on the 
 head. I m all right thanks to her," and he motioned 
 toward the girl in the car, who was watching anxiously. 
 
 Then the ever thickening throng went wild; and 
 as Gray was carried up the steps and disappeared 
 through the office doors, it turned toward the auto 
 mobile, surging about the car, a sea of friendly, admir 
 ing faces, most of them touched with the tenderness 
 of tears, and cheered its very heart out for Johnnie 
 Consadine.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE FUTURE 
 
 GRAY!" it was Uncle Pros s voice, and Uncle 
 Pros s face looked in at the office door. 
 "Could I bother you a minute about the side 
 walk in front of the place up yon ? Mr. Hexter told 
 me you d know whether the grade was right, and I 
 could let the workmen go ahead." 
 
 Stoddard swung around from his desk and looked 
 at the old man. 
 
 "Come right in," he said. "I m not busy I m 
 just pretending this morning. MacPherson won t give 
 me anything to do. He persists in considering me still 
 an invalid." 
 
 Uncle Pros came slowly in and laid his hat down 
 gingerly before seating himself. He was dressed in 
 the garb which, with money, he would always have 
 selected the village ideal of a rich gentleman s wear 
 - and he looked unbelievably tall and imposing in 
 his black broadcloth. When the matter of the patent 
 was made known to Jerome Hardwick, a company 
 was hastily formed to take hold of it, which advanced 
 the ready money for Johnnie and her family to place 
 themselves. Mrs. Hexter, who had been all winter 
 in Boston, had decided, suddenly, to go abroad; and 
 
 358
 
 THE FUTURE 359 
 
 when her husband wired her to know if he might let 
 the house to the Consadine-Passmore household, she 
 made a quick, warm response. 
 
 So they were domiciled in a ready-prepared home 
 of elegance and beauty. Though the place at Cotton- 
 ville had been only a winter residence with Mrs. Hexter, 
 she was a woman of taste, and had always had large 
 means at her command. With all a child s plasticity, 
 Laurella dropped into the improved order of things. 
 Her cleverness in selecting the proper wear for herself 
 and children was nothing short of marvellous; and her 
 calm acceptance of the new state of affairs, the acme 
 of good breeding. Johnnie immediately set about 
 seeing that Mavity Bence and Mandy Meacham were 
 comfortably provided for in the old boarding-house, 
 where she assured Gray they could do more good than 
 many Uplift clubs. 
 
 "We ll have a truck-patch there, and a couple of 
 cows and some chickens," she said. "That ll be good 
 for the table, and it ll give Mandy the work she loves to 
 do. Aunt Mavity can have some help in the house - 
 there s always a girl or two breaking down in the mills, 
 who would be glad to have a chance at housework 
 for a while." 
 
 Now Pros looked all about him, and seemed in no 
 haste to begin, though Gray knew well there was 
 something on his mind. Finally Stoddard observed, 
 smiling: 
 
 "You re the very man I wanted to see, Uncle Pros. 
 I rang up the house just now, but Johnnie said you had
 
 360 THE POWE R AND THE GLORY 
 
 started down to the mills. What do you think I ve 
 found out about our mine?" 
 
 Certainly the old man looked very tall and dignified 
 in his new splendours; but now he was all boy, leaning 
 eagerly forward to half whisper: 
 
 " I don t know what ?" 
 
 Stoddard s face was scarcely less animated as he 
 searched hastily in the pigeon-holes of his desk. The 
 patent might have a company to manage its affairs, 
 but the mine on Big Unaka was sacred to these two, in 
 whom the immortal urchin sufficiently survived to 
 make mine-hunting and exploiting delectable employ 
 ment. 
 
 "Why, Uncle Pros, it isn t silver at all. It s - 
 Gray looked up and caught the woeful drop of the face 
 before him, and hastened on to add, "It s better than 
 silver it s nickel. The price of silver fluctuates; 
 but the world supply of nickel is limited, and nickel s 
 a sure thing." 
 
 Pros Passmore leaned back in his chair, digesting 
 this new bit of information luxuriously. 
 
 "Nickel," he said reflectively. And again he 
 repeated the word to himself. "Nickel. Well, I don t 
 know but what that s finer. Leastways, it s likelier. 
 To say a silver mine, always seemed just like taking 
 money out of the ground; but then, nickels are money 
 too and enough of em is all a body needs." 
 
 These people say the ore is exceptionally fine." 
 Stoddard had got out the letter now and was glancing 
 over it. " They re sending down an expert, and you
 
 THE FUTURE 361 
 
 and I will go up with him as soon as he gets here. 
 There are likely to be other valuable minerals as by 
 products in a nickel mine. And we want to build an 
 ideal mining village, as well as model cotton mills. 
 Oh, we ve got the work cut out for us and laid right to 
 hand ! If we don t do our little share toward solving 
 some problems, it will be strange." 
 
 "Cur us how things turns out in this world," the old 
 man ruminated. "Ever sence I was a little chap settin 
 on my granddaddy s knees by the hearth big hickory 
 fire a-roarin up the chimbly, wind a-goin whooh! 
 overhead, an me with my eyes like saucers a-listenin 
 to his tales of the silver mine that the Injuns had ever 
 sence that time I ve hunted that thar mine." He 
 laughed chucklingly, deep in his throat. "Thar 
 wasn t a wild-catter that could have a hideout safe 
 from me. They just had to trust me. I crawled 
 into every hole. I came mighty near seein the end 
 of every cave but one. And that cave was the 
 one whar my Mammy kept her milk and butter the 
 springhouse whar they put you in prison. Somehow, 
 I never did think about goin to the end of that. 
 Looked like it was too near home to have a silver 
 mine in it; and thar the stuff lay and waited for the day 
 when I should take a notion to find a pretty rock for 
 Deanie, and crawl back in thar and keep a crawlin , 
 till I just fell over it, all croppin out in the biggest 
 kind of vein." 
 
 Gray had heard Uncle Pros tell the story many 
 times, but it had a perennial charm.
 
 362 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 "Then I lost six months plumb lost em, you know. 
 And time I come to myself, Johnnie an me was a-huntin 
 for you. And there we found you shut in that thar same 
 cave; and I was so tuck up with that matter that I 
 never once thought, till I got you home, to wonder did 
 Buckheath and the rest of em know that they d penned 
 you in the silver mine. I ain t never asked you, but 
 you d have knowed if they had." 
 
 "I should have known anything that Rudd Dawson 
 or Groner or Venters knew," Gray said, "but I m not 
 sure about Buckheath or Himes. However, Himes 
 is dead, and Buckheath I don t suppose anybody 
 in Cottonville will ever see him again." 
 
 Pros s face changed instantly. He leaned abruptly 
 forward and laid a hand on the other s knee. 
 
 That s exactly what I came down here to speak with 
 you about, Gray," he said. They ve fetched Shade 
 Buckheath in now, what do you make out of that ?" 
 
 Stoddard shoved the letter from the Eastern mining 
 man back in its pigeon-hole. 
 
 "Well," he said slowly, "I didn t expect that. I 
 thought of course Shade was safely out of the country. 
 I--Passmore, I m sorry they ve got him." After 
 a little silence he spoke again. "What do I make of 
 it ? Why, that there are some folks up on Big Unaka 
 who need pretty badly to appear as very law-abiding 
 citizens. I ll wager anything that Groner and Rudd 
 Dawson brought Shade in." 
 
 Uncle Pros nodded seriously. " Them s the very 
 fellers," he said. " Reckon they ve talked pretty free
 
 THE FUTURE 363 
 
 to you. I never axed ye, Gray how did they treat 
 ye?" 
 
 "Dawson was the best friend I had," Stoddard 
 returned promptly. "When I got to the big turn on 
 Sultan coming home that Friday morning Buck- 
 heath met me, and asked me to go down to Burnt 
 Cabin and help him with a man that had fallen and 
 hurt himself on the rocks. Dawson told me afterward 
 that he and Jesse Groner were posted at the roadside 
 to stop me and hem me in before I got to the bluff. 
 I ve described to you how Buckheath tried to back 
 Sultan over the edge, and I got off on the side where 
 the two were, not noticing them till they tied me hand 
 and foot. They almost came to a clinch with Buck- 
 heath then and there. You ought to have heard Groner 
 swear . It was like praying gone wrong." 
 
 "Uh-huh," agreed Pros, "Jess is a terrible wicked 
 man in speech that-a-way but he s good-hearted." 
 
 "That first scrimmage showed me just what the men 
 were after," Stoddard said. "Buckheath plainly 
 wanted me put out of the way; but the others had some 
 vague idea of holding me for a ransom and getting 
 money out of the Hardwicks. Dawson complained 
 always that he thought the mills owed him money. 
 He said they must have sold his girl s body for as much 
 as a hundred dollars, and he felt that he d been cheated. 
 Oh, it was all crazy stuff! But he and the others had 
 justified themselves; and they had no notion of standing 
 for what Buckheath was after. I was one of the cotton- 
 mill men to them; they had no personal malice.
 
 364 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 Through the long evenings when Groner or Dawson 
 or Will Venters was guarding me or maybe all three 
 of them we used to talk; and it surprised me to find 
 how simple and childish those fellows were. They 
 were as kind to me as though I had been a brother, 
 and treated me courteously always. 
 
 "Little by little, I got at the whole thing from them. 
 It seems that Buckheath took advantage of the feeling 
 there was in the mountains against the mill men on 
 account of the hospital and some other matters. He 
 went up there and interviewed anybody that he thought 
 might join him in a vendetta. I imagine he found 
 plenty of them that were ready to talk and some that 
 were willing to do; but it chanced that Dawson and 
 Jesse Groner were coming down to Cottonville that 
 morning I passed Buckheath at the Hardwick gate, 
 and he must have cut across the turn and followed 
 me, intending to pick a quarrel. Then he met Dawson 
 and Groner and framed up this other plan with their 
 assistance. 
 
 "Uncle Pros, I want you to help me out. If Buck- 
 heath has to stand trial, how are we any of us 
 going to testify without making it hard on the Dawson 
 crowd ? I expect to live here the rest of my days. 
 Here s this mine of ours. And right here I mean to 
 build a big mill and work out my plans. I think you 
 know that I hope to marry a mountain wife, and I 
 can t afford to quarrel with those folks." 
 
 Uncle Pros s chin dropped to his breast, his eyes 
 half closed as he sat thinking intently.
 
 THE FUTURE 365 
 
 "Well," he said finally, "they won t have nothing 
 worse than manslaughter against Shade. It can t 
 be proved that he intended to shoot Pap -- cause 
 he didn t. If he was shootin after us there s the 
 thing we don t want to bring up. You was down in 
 the bottom of the cyar, an I had my back to him, 
 and so did Johnnie, and we don t know anything about 
 what was done ain t that so ? As for you, you ve 
 already told Mr. Hardwick and the others that you 
 was taken prisoner and detained by parties unknown. 
 Johnnie an me was gettin you out of the springhouse 
 and away in the machine. Then Gid and Shade 
 comes up, and thinkin we re the other crowd stealin 
 the machine they try to catch us and turn loose at 
 us that makes a pretty good story, don t it?" 
 
 "It does if Dawson and Groner and Venters agree 
 to it," Stoddard laughed. "But somebody will have 
 to communicate with them before they tell another one 
 or several others." 
 
 "I ll see to that, Gray," Pros said, rising and pre 
 paring to go. "Boy," he looked down fondly at the 
 younger man, and set a brown right hand on his 
 shoulder, "you never done a wiser thing nor a kinder 
 in your life, than when you forgave your enemies that 
 time. I ll bet you could ride the Unakas from end 
 to end, the balance o your days, the safest man that 
 ever travelled their trails." 
 
 "Talking silver mine?" inquired MacPherson, put 
 ting his quizzical face in at the door. 
 
 "No," returned Stoddard. "We were just mention-
 
 366 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 ing my pestilent cotton-mill projects. By this time 
 next year, you and Hardwick will be wanting to have 
 me abated as a nuisance." 
 
 "No, no," remonstrated MacPherson, coming in and 
 leaning with affectionate familiarity on the younger 
 man s chair. There s no pestilence in you, Gray. 
 You couldn t be a nuisance if you tried. People who 
 will work out their theories stand to do good in the 
 world; it s only the fellows who are content with 
 bellowing them out that I object to." 
 
 "Better be careful!" laughed Stoddard. "We ll 
 make you vice-president of the company." 
 
 "Is that an offer?" countered MacPherson swiftly. 
 "I ve got a bit of money to invest in this county; and 
 Hardwick has ever a new brother-in-law or such that 
 looks longingly at my shoes." 
 
 "You d furnish the conservative element, surely," 
 debated Stoddard. 
 
 "I d keep you from bankruptcy," grunted the 
 Scotchman, as he laid a small book on Gray s desk. 
 "I doubt not Providence demands it of me." 
 
 Evening was closing in with a greenish-yellow sunset, 
 and a big full moon pushing up to whiten the sky above 
 it. It was late March now, and the air was full of 
 vernal promise. Johnnie stepped out on the porch 
 and glanced toward the west. She was expecting 
 Gray that evening. Would there be time before he 
 came, she wondered, for a little errand she wanted to 
 do ? Turning back into the hall, she caught a jacket 
 from the hook where it hung and hurried down to the
 
 THE FUTURE 367 
 
 gate, settling her arms in the sleeves as she ran. There 
 would be time if she went fast. She wished to get the 
 little packet into which she had made Gray s letters 
 months ago, dreading to look even at the folded out- 
 sides of them, tucking them away on the high shelf 
 of her dress-closet at the Pap Himes boarding-house, 
 and trying to forget them. Nobody would know where 
 to look but herself. She got permission from Mavity 
 to go upstairs. Once there, the letters made their own 
 plea; and alone in the little room that was lately her 
 own, she opened the packet, carrying the contents 
 to the fading light and glancing over sheet after sheet. 
 She knew them all by heart. How often she had 
 stood at that very window devouring these same words, 
 not realizing then, as she did now, what deep meaning 
 was in each phrase, how the feeling expressed increased 
 from the first to the last. Across the ravine, one of the 
 loom fixers found the evening warm enough to sit on 
 the porch playing his guitar. The sound of the 
 twanging strings, and the appealing vibration of his 
 young voice in a plaintive minor air, came over to her. 
 She gathered the sheets together and pressed them to 
 her face as though they were flowers, or the hands of 
 little children. 
 
 "I ve got to tell him to-night," she whispered to 
 herself, in the dusky, small, dismantled room. "I ve 
 got to get him to see it as I do. I must make my 
 self worthy of him before I let him take me for his 
 own." 
 
 She thrust the letters into the breast-pocket of her
 
 368 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 coat and ran downstairs. Mavity Bence stood in the 
 hall, plainly awaiting her. 
 
 "Honey," she began fondly, "I ve been putting away 
 Pap s things to-day jest like you oncet found me 
 putting away Lou s. I came on this here." And 
 then Johnnie noticed a folded bandanna in her hands. 
 
 " You-ali asked me to let ye go through and find that 
 nickel ore, and ye brung it out in a pasteboard box; 
 but this here is what it was in on the day your Uncle 
 Pros fetched hit here, and I thought maybe you d take 
 a interest in having the handkercher that your fortune 
 come down the mountains in." 
 
 "Yes, indeed, Aunt Mavity," said Johnnie, taking 
 the bandanna into her own hands. 
 
 "Pap, he s gone," the poor woman went on tremu 
 lously, " an the evil what he done or wanted to do - 
 is a thing that I reckon you can afford to forget. You re 
 a mighty happy woman, Johnnie Consadine; the Lord 
 knows you deserve to be." 
 
 She stood looking after the girl as she went out into 
 the twilit street. Johnnie was dressed as she chose now, 
 not as she must, and her clothing showed itself to be 
 of the best. Anything that might be had in Wautaga 
 was within her means; and the tall, graceful figure 
 passing so quietly down the street would never have 
 been taken for other than a member of what we are 
 learning to call the " leisure class." When the shadows 
 at the end of the block swallowed her up, Mavity turned, 
 wiping her eyes, and addressed herself to her tasks. 
 
 "I reckon Lou would a been just like that if she d
 
 THE FUTURE 369 
 
 V lived," she said to Mandy Meacham, with the 
 tender fatuity of mothers. " Johnnie seems like a 
 daughter to me an I know in my soul no daughter 
 could be kinder. Look at her makin me keep every 
 cent Pap had in the bank, when Laurelly could have 
 claimed it all and kep it." 
 
 "Yes, an addin somethin to it," put in Mandy. 
 "I do love em both -- Johnnie an Deanie. Ef I 
 ever was so fortunate as to get a man and be wedded 
 and have chaps o my own, I know mighty well and 
 good I couldn t love any one of em any better than I do 
 Deanie. An yet Johnnie s quare. I always will say 
 that Johnnie Consadine is quare. What in the nation 
 does she want to go chasin off to Yurrup for, when she s 
 got everything that heart could desire or mind think 
 of right here in Cottonville ?" 
 
 That same question was being put even more search- 
 ingly to Johnnie by somebody else at the instant when 
 Mandy enunciated it. She had found Gray waiting 
 for her at the gate of her home. 
 
 "Let s walk here a little while before we go in," 
 he suggested. "I went up to the house and found 
 you were out. The air is delightful, and I ve got some 
 thing I want to say to you." 
 
 He had put his arm under hers, and they strolled to 
 gether down the long walk that led to the front of the 
 lawn. The evening air was pure and keen, tingling 
 with the breath of the wakening season. 
 
 "Sweetheart," Gray broke out suddenly, "I ve 
 been thinking day and night since we last talked together
 
 370 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 about this year abroad that you re planning. I cer 
 tainly don t want to put my preferences before yours. 
 I only want to be very sure that I know what your 
 real preferences are," and he turned and searched 
 her face with a pair of ardent eyes. 
 
 " I think I ought to go," the girl said in a very low 
 voice, her head drooped, her own eyes bent toward 
 the path at her feet. 
 
 "Why?" whispered her lover. 
 
 " I oh, Gray you know. If we should ever be 
 married well, then," in answer to a swift, impatient 
 exclamation, "when we are married, if you should 
 show that you were ashamed of me I think it would 
 kill me. No, don t say there s not any danger. You 
 might have plenty of reason. And I --I want to be 
 safe, Gray safe, if I can." 
 
 Gray regarded the beautiful, anxious face long and 
 thoughtfully. Yes, of course it was possible for her 
 to feel that way. Assurance was so deep and perfect 
 in his own heart, that he had not reflected what it 
 might lack in hers. 
 
 "Dear girl," he said, pausing and making her look 
 at him, "how little you do know of me, after all! Do I 
 care so much for what people say ? Aren t you always 
 having to reprove me because I so persistently like what 
 I like, without reference to the opinions of the world ? 
 Besides, you re a beauty," with tender brusqueness, 
 "and a charmer that steals the hearts of men. If you 
 don t know all this, it isn t from lack of telling. More 
 over, I can keep on informing you. A year of European
 
 THE FUTURE 371 
 
 travel could not make you any more beautiful, Johnnie 
 or sweeter. You may not believe me, but there s 
 little the European capitals could add to your native 
 bearing you must have learned that simple dignity 
 from these mountains of yours. Of course, if you 
 wanted to go for pleasure - His head a little on one 
 side, he regarded her with a tender, half-quizzical 
 smile, hoping he had sounded the note that would 
 bring him swift surrender. 
 
 " It isn t altogether for myself there are the others," 
 Johnnie told him, lifting honest eyes to his in the dim 
 moonlight. They re all I had in the world, Gray, till 
 you came into my life, and I must keep my own. I 
 belong to a people who never give up anything they 
 love." 
 
 Stoddard dropped an arm about his beloved, and 
 turned her that she might face the windows of the 
 house behind them, bending to set his cheek against 
 hers and direct her gaze. 
 
 "Look there," he whispered, laughingly. 
 
 She looked and saw her mother, clad in such wear 
 as Laurella s taste could select and Laurella s beauty 
 make effective. The slight, dark little woman was 
 coming in from the dining room with her children 
 all about her, a noble group. 
 
 "Your mother is much more the fine lady than you ll 
 ever be, Johnnie Stoddard," Gray said, giving her the 
 name that always brought the blood to the girl s cheek 
 and made her dumb before him. "You know your 
 Uncle Pros and I are warmly attached to each other.
 
 372 THE POWER AND THE GLORY 
 
 What is it you d be waiting for, girl ? Why, Johnnie, 
 a man has just so long to live on this earth, and the 
 years in which he has loved are the only years that 
 count would you be throwing one of these away ? 
 A year twelve months three hundred and sixty- 
 five days cast to the void. You reckless creature!" 
 
 He cupped his hands about her beautiful, fair face 
 and lifted it, studying it. 
 
 "Johnnie -- Johnnie -- Johnnie Stoddard; the one 
 woman out of all the world for me," he murmured, 
 his deep voice dropping to a wooing cadence. "I 
 couldn t love you better I shall never love you less. 
 Don t let us foolishly throw away a year out of the days 
 which will be vouchsafed us together. Don t do it, 
 darling it s folly." 
 
 Hard-pressed, Johnnie made only a sort of inarticu 
 late response. 
 
 "Come, love, sit a moment with me, here," pleaded 
 Gray, indicating a small bench hidden among the 
 evergreens and shrubs at the end of the path. "Sit 
 down, and let s reason this thing out." 
 
 "Reasoning with you," began Johnnie, helplessly, 
 "isn t it isn t reasonable!" 
 
 "It is," he told her, in that deep, masterful tone 
 which, like a true woman, she both loved and dreaded. 
 "It s the height of reasonableness. Why, dear, the 
 great primal reason of all things speaks through me. 
 And I won t let you throw away a year of our love. 
 Johnnie, it isn t as though we d been neighbours, and 
 grown up side by side. I came from the ends of the
 
 THE FUTURE 373 
 
 earth to find you, darling and I knew my own as 
 soon as I saw you/ 
 
 He put out his arms and gathered her into a close 
 embrace. 
 
 For a space they rested so, murmuring question and 
 reply, checked or answered by swift, sweet kisses. 
 
 "The first time I ever saw you, love. 
 
 "Oh, in those dusty old shoes and a sunbonnet! 
 Could you love me then, Gray?" 
 
 "The same as at this moment, sweetheart. Shoes 
 and sunbonnets I m ashamed of you now, Johnnie, 
 in earnest. What do such things matter?" 
 
 "And that morning on the mountain, when we got 
 the moccasin flowers," the girl s voice took up the theme. 
 " I it was sweet to be with you and bitter, too. 
 I could not dream then that you were for me. And 
 afterward the long, black, dreadful time when you 
 seemed so utterly lost to me 
 
 At the mention of those months, Gray stopped her 
 words with a kiss. 
 
 "Mine," he whispered with his lips against hers, 
 "Out of all the world mine." 
 
 THE END
 
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