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Windy Creek 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 By Helen Stuart Thompson 
 
 Charles Scribner's Sons 
 New York 1899 
 
Copyright, 1899, by 
 Charles Scribner's Sons 
 
 TROW DIRECTORY 
 
 PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
PREFACE 
 
 Lest the writer be thought to be holding 
 up a primitive people to ridicule, a few words 
 of explanation may be necessary. 
 
 It is not my wish to decry religion: I 
 have seen instances of sincerity and child- 
 like faith, especially among the Free 
 Methodists. There is one Evangelist now. 
 preaching in the rain-belt who gave up his 
 position of railroad engineer to work and 
 suffer for a pittance in the cause of Christ. 
 But as an eye-witness to the shallowness 
 and absurdities palmed off on a credulous 
 community under the name of religion, it 
 has been my wish to set forth the harm of 
 emotional religion — to show how the glar- 
 ing inconsistency between professions of 
 holiness and imperfect lives tends to dull 
 the moral sense. 
 
 
 T 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 I. A Colorado Claim 1 
 
 II. A Campbellite Sermon .... 24 
 
 III. The Immersion 56 
 
 IV. Spending the Day 72 
 
 V. Some Neighborly Gossip . . .115 
 
 VI. Free Methodism versus Campbell- 
 
 itism 153 
 
 VII. A Dance 193 
 
 VIII. Two Weddings 216 
 
 IX. The Come-Outers 242 
 
 X. Rose Rooney's Error 272 
 
 XL Diantha 315 
 
WINDY CREEK 
 
 i\ COLORADO CLAIM 
 
 Whoever on a clear day climbs Pike's 
 Peak may catch a bird's-eye view of the 
 rain-belt rolling eastward from its foot: a 
 grassy strip amid arid plains; a fertile spot 
 in the alkaline desert, coaxed into verdure 
 by rain-clouds that, swept from mountain- 
 heights by light and ever-moving winds, 
 sometimes hover and dissolve themselves in 
 showers. 
 
 Pregnant with a sense of profound isola- 
 tion is this plain, its monotony broken alone 
 by winding creeks, high hills, and steep 
 descents, and ever-changing panoramas of 
 Hght and shadow on the mountain-range ly- 
 ing to westward; even the long, irregular 
 lines of telegraph poles, the whistle of the 
 locomotive, and the rumble of the train bring 
 I 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 but an instant's unreal memory of the far- 
 off, busy world. 
 
 From out of the east and the south and 
 the north drift the settlers, file on quar- 
 ter sections, run barbed wire around their 
 lands, put up shanties, and so found home- 
 steads for their families. Corn waves on 
 the hill-sides. The lowlands are marked 
 off in dull green potato-patches. At inter- 
 vals of a few miles are the schoolhouses, 
 within whose bare walls the children spell 
 out their lessons, and their elders listen to 
 doctrines variable and changing as the 
 winds that sweep the prairies and wither 
 the young corn and send on aimless, flying 
 trips the unstable tumble-weed. 
 
 In early times one of the rain-belt's sandy 
 water-courses, dry except in time of August 
 floods, was known by the name of Windy 
 Creek; and the settlement that emigration 
 has scattered along its banks is to-day 
 known by no other name. Here the winds 
 blow almost incessantly. On the stillest 
 days there is ever perceptible a gentle mo- 
 tion of the atmosphere. There is infinite 
 variety in fitful breeze, mad whirlwind, tur- 
 
 2 
 
A Colorado Claim 
 
 bulent gust, or steady gale. But the greater 
 the altitude, the lighter the wind; never in 
 the memory of the oldest inhabitant has 
 even so light a structure as his hen-house 
 been overturned, bluster the elements how 
 they may. 
 
 To this lonely region, for three succes- 
 sive Septembers, came the Wood cousins: 
 Ruth, invalided by a brief life-struggle too 
 eagerly tried, sought a respite on her claim, 
 and Hermia bore her company. There 
 could be no rude jostling here; on these 
 broad homesteads there was a chance for 
 the feeblest, there was room to expand in 
 this pure air and sunshine. Here were 
 virtues flourishing as the flowers of the 
 field: hospitality, simple-heartedness, tem- 
 perance, charity — far from the city's bane- 
 ful breath, living close to the heart of 
 nature, the country people must be both in- 
 nocent and good. 
 
 A haven of refuge was the home-ranch, 
 adjoining. With an old horse and wagon 
 at their disposal, the country for miles 
 around was theirs to explore. Housekeep- 
 ing duties dwindled to a slight routine. 
 3 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " Early to bed and late to rise " became 
 their maxim, and few were the sunrises they 
 troubled themselves to see. With a little 
 of sewing and mending, and much of driv- 
 ing and visiting, the short days flowed 
 easily on ; between them they kept a journal 
 alive with incident; they read aloud; twi- 
 light walks and talks ended the day. A 
 drowsy existence, but brimful of healthful 
 idleness, profit, and peace. 
 
 The first night in the little gray shack 
 alone on a sea of prairie was a wakeful one. 
 Sleep fled before the sense of solitude. 
 Every nerve was tense. Sounds broke on 
 the ear with exaggerated distinctness: the 
 ticking of an insect in the wood, the crick- 
 ets' shrill fiddling, the early twitter of little 
 birds, and the quick scratching of their tiny 
 feet on the roof. These sounds passed into 
 insignificance before a howl that cleft the 
 stillness — a wild, curdling, long-drawn 
 howl, and a burst of barks and yelps and 
 yells, and weird, uncanny laughter. Imag- 
 ination pictured a wolf and the answering 
 pack. But the ventriloquous throat of a 
 single tawny-coated coyote produced both 
 4 
 
A Colorado Claim 
 
 howl and yelping and laughter, sounds that^ 
 speedily familiarize themselves to inhabi- 
 tants of the prairie. 
 
 As the cousins sat down to the breakfast- 
 table, their nervous fears of the night and 
 the darkness dispelled by the yellow sun- 
 shine that streamed in across the floor, a 
 quick step sounded without, and a shadow 
 darkened the doorway. A young woman 
 stood on the threshold, her tall form illy 
 fitted by a gown of dark-blue calico, her 
 face sparkling in the depths of her sun- 
 bonnet. 
 
 "Hello, Ruth! Thought I'd ketch you 
 jist gittin' up! " 
 
 She burst in and noisily kissed Ruth, who 
 in some confusion presented their nearest 
 neighbor. Rose Rooney. 
 
 " I heard you had a cousin come to visit 
 you," said the caller, staring hard. " How- 
 dy do? You don't favor Ruth one bit, nor 
 your aunt and uncle, neither. You're twic't 
 as big as the whole outfit. You girls goin' 
 to bach here? Gracious! Ain't you 'fraid 
 to stay alone nights? I'd be! Set still! 
 Don't quit your breakfast fur jist me, I'll 
 set on the trunk ! " 
 
 5 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 She spoke in exclamatory bursts. Her 
 voice was loud and brisk, with pleasant, 
 ringing tones. She pulled off her bonnet 
 and fanned her heated face, while her ob- 
 servant glance swept the room, taking a 
 rapid inventory of the curtains, the rugs, 
 the dishes on the table, and the books and 
 photographs ranged on shelves around the 
 bare pine walls. 
 
 " 'S your cousin expectin' to stay all fall 
 with you? Her ma needs her at home, FU 
 bet. You girls do about as you please when 
 you're bachin', don't you? Let your pa 
 work your claim fur you ; don't even have 
 to dig your own taters fur dinner — my ! and 
 lay around and take it easy. Git up late, 
 have your meals when you like — my land! 
 You hadn't ought to want more'n two meals 
 a day when you git up so late. You jist 
 ought to see the work I put through only 
 this mornin' — afore you girls was up, most 
 likely. I milked an' got breakfast an' got 
 the kids up an' give them their breakfast an' 
 slopped the pigs an' done a churnin' an' 
 washed up after it an' scrubbed my floor; 
 an' then I come over here. I've got so 
 6 
 
A Colorado Claim 
 
 much to do I jist can't see straight. There 
 ain't no let up to it, neither. Jist wait till 
 you git married, if you want to know what 
 work's like!" 
 
 She glanced knowingly at Hermia, who 
 noticed that her eyes, set too close together, 
 gave her face an expression of cunning. 
 
 " You look lots better 'n what you done 
 last summer when I first seen you, Ruth," 
 continued the visitor. ** You use' to look 
 kind o' peaked. Folks that's sick looks so 
 old, don't they ? But you look lots younger 
 'n you use' to. Land! I couldn't be sick 
 if I tried. I ain't got no time to be sick. 
 Layin' around in the house an' doin' nothin' 
 's what ails you. You git out more an' 
 work out-doors an' you'll soon be as well 
 an' strong as anybody. Take a wheel-bar- 
 row an' run it 'round the house every day, 
 if you can't git nothin' else to do. That'll 
 limber you up ! I see your pa's give you a 
 horse an' wagon — you want to ride if you 
 can't walk ; you want to ride out to church 
 Sundays — say ! we've got us a new preacher 
 sence you was out here last ! " 
 
 "What is his name?" 
 7 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 "Mr. Crimp. He's a rustler, too. He's 
 got the whole country converted, most, sence 
 he come out here last March; an' he gives 
 immersions every two weeks, reg'lar." 
 
 " He must be a Baptist, then." 
 
 " No, he ain't no Baptist. He's what 
 they call a Campbellite preacher. He 
 preaches beautiful sermons, they make you 
 laugh an' cry ! I wish 'twas Sunday every 
 day of the week, sence I was converted, so's 
 I could go an' listen to that man preach. 
 An' I never use' to care fur preachin' nor 
 nothin'. I tell you religion's made a great 
 change in me. You jist ought to hear Mr. 
 Crimp, girls; you never see a man that 
 knowed as much as he does, an' he so mod- 
 est about it, too. He's jist as common, he 
 don't put on no airs at all. You folks is 
 Presbyterians, ain't you? Now I never 
 would care to be one of them kind — I'd 
 rather be a Campbellite. Presbyterians is 
 so high-minded." 
 
 " Have you been immersed ? " 
 
 " I ain't yit, but I'm goin' in the water 
 come Sunday, if I live. Ruth, have you got 
 that princess pattern of yourn that your ma 
 8 
 
A Colorado Claim 
 
 said you had? I'm makin' my dress that 
 I'm goin' to be immersed in, kind o' prin- 
 cess-like, clos't fittin' an' long enough to 
 drag. Em, that's my sister, she come over 
 yisterday an' helped me cut it out. But 
 the thing didn't hang together right, some- 
 way, an' I had a good cry over it. Your 
 ma said you had a reg'lar princess pattern, 
 so I jist posted over fur it. Goodness ! I 
 must be goin'! Them young uns o' mine 
 'II set the house afire afore I git back ! " 
 
 Ruth brought out her box of paper pat- 
 terns and rummaged through it. 
 
 " I don't see how you are going to have 
 your gown ready by Sunday," remarked 
 Hermia. 
 
 " Oh, I don't putter over my sewin' ! 
 Onc't I git it cut out to suit me, I'll slap it 
 together someway ! I'll have the thing oat 
 o' the way afore the men come home to 
 their supper to-night." 
 
 " What sleezy curtains you've got ! " 
 cried Mrs. Rooney, fingering the cheese- 
 cloth drapery. " Flour sackin' 'ud wear 
 better. An' look at them beds, narrow as 
 all git out ! I sh'd think you would want to 
 9 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 hang curtains in front so's folks couldn't 
 see 'em! Why, they're jist bunks, made 
 fast to the wall! Don't you feel like you 
 was gittin' into your coffins ? " 
 
 Her busy eye roved about. 
 
 " Land ! Look at them books ! I never 
 see sich a family fur books an' papers! 
 You ain't got hardly any flies yit, have 
 you? But they'll find you out when you 
 begin to leave victuals 'round. You jist 
 ought to see the flies to my house ! You're 
 awful crowded here, ain't you ? Guess your 
 pa built you a little bit of a house to match 
 you, Ruth! Ha, ha! I alius have to pick 
 on Ruth about her size ; but don't you mind 
 me, I was jist joshin' ! Ain't you 'fraid to 
 stay alone nights? I'd git nervous in a 
 place like this where they ain't no man 
 'round. Well, I must be goin'." 
 
 Rose Rooney stood for an instant poised 
 in the doorway, swinging her bonnet by the 
 strings. Her bold, free attitude brought to 
 mind some tameless creature of the plains. 
 She was tall, with large-boned, muscular 
 frame. Her skin was richly browned; a 
 bright color burned in her cheeks. Her 
 
 lO 
 
A Colorado Claim 
 
 blue-black hair grew low on her forehead 
 and temples, and its smooth strands she had 
 twisted into a knot on the nape of her neck. 
 Framed by black brows and lashes, her 
 eyes, though slightly marred in expression 
 by their proximity, were wide open, blue, 
 and sparkling. 
 
 " You girls must come over and spend 
 the day! Til send you word by Jimmy. 
 You must come good 'n' early now ! Good- 
 by!" 
 
 The Wood cousins lingered at the door 
 to admire her quick stride, and to make 
 sure that she was out of ear-shot before dis- 
 cussing their neighbor. 
 
 Toward the close of the long sleepy after- 
 noon a hesitating knock shook the latch. 
 Hermia, rising to open the door, was 
 confronted by a large, scoop-shaped hat, 
 trimmed with bunches of flowers so purple 
 as to hurt the eye, its flaring brim filled in 
 with wiry black hair tortured into a thou- 
 sand frizzles and kinks, and by a round, 
 brown, smiling face, the centre-piece of all 
 this adornment. Behind, a younger girl 
 stood giggling ; sandy in complexion, snub- 
 II 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 nosed, her pudgy form arrayed in a short 
 sky-blue frock, yellow flowers on her hat, 
 green ribands tying the hay-colored braids 
 of her hair. 
 
 Cicely and Polly Bunt, daughters of a 
 neighboring ranchman, trooped in, staring 
 about them with the frank curiosity of 
 very young children. They sat down, 
 stiffly at first, each on the extreme edge of 
 her chair, but presently relaxed into easier 
 positions. The younger began stripping 
 off her cotton mitts, for which breach of 
 etiquette she was properly reproved by her 
 sister. 
 
 " Don't take off your half-handers. Poll, 
 when you're out callin'. Mind where you- 
 uns is. You ain't got no style about you." 
 
 " I don't keers. It's so awful hot. I hate 
 the feel of my hands kivered up, anyway," 
 and off came the " half-handers." 
 
 '' It's soon to call," explained the elder 
 girl, with a company drawl, "but I an' 
 Polly laid off to come an' see you-uns 
 to-day, seein' as I leave home a-Monday. 
 I've got a place to the Springs to work 
 out." 
 
 12 
 
A Colorado Claim 
 
 " Cis thinks it's hard lines on her to leave 
 home an' work out," giggled Polly. 
 
 *' Well, I don't tie to bein' at the beck 
 an' call o' folks, but I ain't a-goin' to sweat 
 over it. I sha'n't work a lick more'n enough 
 to git me a outfit o' clo'es, an' then I aim 
 to quit an' come home, licketty split. I 
 alius were great fur home — I enjoy home 
 wuss'n anything." 
 
 She handed Ruth a little tin lard-pail. 
 " Maw, she sent you girls some fresh pork. 
 You'd better un-lid the bucket, Ruth ; fresh 
 meat don't keep good lidded up tight." 
 
 Polly turned to Hermia : " You-uns is 
 from Denver, ain't you? Do you work 
 out?" 
 
 Hermia replied to the latter query in the 
 negative. 
 
 " I reckoned you arned your clo'es that-a- 
 way," with another giggle. 
 
 Cicely took a portion of Hermia's sleeve 
 between her thumb and finger. 
 
 "What d'ye call this stuff? Jest feel of 
 it, Polly. What did it cost, now? " 
 
 " About twelve and a half cents a yard." 
 
 " Well, I swan ! I must git me a dress 
 13 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 like that. It's awful handsome an' awful 
 cheap, too. Got the pattern of it? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " What did that pin in your hair cost?'* 
 
 " Really, I don't remember." 
 
 " See them rings of ourn ? " said Polly, 
 spreading out her short-fingered hand be- 
 side Cicely's to display two very brassy 
 circlets. " Them's prize rings. Cis arned 
 'em seUin' tea." 
 
 And Cicely explained, with honest pride : 
 " They give you a solid gold guaranteed 
 ring fur every five pound of tea you sell. 
 See the filigreed work on them ? I sold ten 
 pound of tea fur the two. If you girls 
 would like to arn you one apiece," with ani- 
 mation, " ril git the name an' address of 
 the tea company fur you." 
 
 " Cis," broke in Polly, " when you git you 
 a dress like Hermia's, hyur, you mustn't 
 make it wrapper-like. You know maw 
 don't like a wrapper on you." 
 
 " Maw says she don't never like to see 
 
 a wrapper on a thick woman, it looks so 
 
 slowsy," Cicely explained. '' I'm sort o' 
 
 thick made, an' so's maw, an' so's Polly. 
 
 14 
 
A Colorado Claim 
 
 Now, you're slim, an' you look good in a 
 wrapper." 
 
 Polly laughed aloud, struck by a sudden 
 recollection. 
 
 " Us girls took a fit o' dressin' up t'other 
 day. I tried on maw's tea-gownd an' I went 
 a-swishin' the tail around on the floor, an' 
 Cis, she dressed up in my knee-dresses, jest 
 fur devilment. Jake, he come in onex- 
 pected, an' ketched us, an' he like to deviled 
 Cis to death over it." 
 
 "Now, Polly, what did you go to tell 
 that on me fur? Polly, she do like to bad- 
 ger folks," expostulated her sister; adding, 
 " I ain't got much to my back, now, but I'm 
 aimin' to git me some fine clo'es right soon." 
 
 Polly tittered. " Your clo'es won't keep 
 fine long when you an' Jake housekeep ! " 
 
 " Now, Polly, don't tell everything you 
 know!" 
 
 Ruth looked up. 
 
 " Oh, there is a wedding in. prospect, is 
 there ? Is it Jake Atwood ? " 
 
 Cicely simpered, delighted at the turn of 
 the conversation, and the others laughed 
 from sympathy. 
 
 IS 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " Her an' Jake," volunteered Polly, *' aim 
 to set up in the spring. Jake's claim lays 
 right alongside o' yourn, there, on the east 
 side." 
 
 Conscious pride of her position vibrated 
 in Cicely's flat, metallic tones as she took 
 up the strain. 
 
 " I an' Jake lay off to build us a little 
 house first, like this 'n' o' yourn. This 'n' 's 
 big enough fur I an' Jake. We don't need 
 no bigger house to start with. Some day 
 we're talkin' about addin' on to it, an' 
 buildin' us a five-room house. I want a 
 parlor an' a dinin'-room an' two bedrooms, 
 an' a kitchen, an' wild cucumber-vines to 
 climb all over the porticule in front." 
 
 " It will be a fine house for Windy 
 Creek," observed Hermia. 
 
 " Yes, I an' Jake lay off to put us up a 
 finer house than what Rose Rooney's got 
 her. That woman's alius braggin' high an' 
 low over her fine house, an' I an' Jake aim 
 to call her down." 
 
 ''Don't you like Rose Rooney for a 
 neighbor ? " 
 
 " Nq, we don't. Maw's been a mother to 
 i6 
 
A Colorado Claim 
 
 that woman, an' she's treated her so mean. 
 We-uns jest had to drop Rose Rooney. 
 She's talked about all of us. She's talked 
 about me, awful. She tolt maw I weren't 
 neat like her 'n Polly. She said I were 
 frowsy-headed, an' she said when I were 
 married an' had a house o' my own, I'd let 
 it go dirty. She said I let my head go 
 frowsy, Rose did. My sakes! Maw says 
 I comb my head clair out o' raison! I 
 never let my bangs go straight, an' maw 
 scolds me fur combin' my head two an' 
 three times a day. Maw says I won't have 
 ary hair left in my head if I don't quit rak- 
 in' it so much. An' Rose, she tolt Em Post, 
 that's her sister, that she never did see what 
 Jake seen in me — that she didn't admire his 
 taste. Rose, she never liked me. I wouldn't 
 do her work fur her, I reckon that's why 
 she's talked so about me. She use' to send 
 over fur I an' Polly to come an' mind her 
 children fur her or chop her wood or help 
 her wash. I went onc't or twic't, but it 
 were too much like bein' a servant to 
 her, so I up an' quit. But Polly's free- 
 hearted: she goes yit, sometimes. I ain't 
 17 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 never spoke to Rose sence Marky, that's 
 her youngest, were horned. I ain't got no 
 use fur her, an' I won't go with a woman 
 that can't keep thur tongue off o' me. 
 Onc't she says to maw, 'Thur ain't a girl 
 in this country that has a decent drop o' 
 blood in them ! ' An' that were jist about 
 as bad as her sayin' I an' Polly weren't de- 
 cent. Maw, she fired right up, an' she says, 
 * Look-a hyur. Rose, you needn't talk about 
 ary one o' my girls ! I've got some spunk, 
 now I can tell ye ! ' Rose, she says, ' I 
 weren't talkin' about none o' your girls ! ' 
 But maw knowed she were meanin' I an' 
 Polly. Rose, she's alius talkin' about peo- 
 ple's wrongs — she's alius gassin' about how 
 mean people is, when she's the mean one. 
 She's alius meddlin' whur she ain't no busi- 
 ness to. She went an' tolt Dr. Peffer that 
 we was too poor to pay our doctor-bills; 
 an' after her meddlin'. Dr. Peffer quit fixin' 
 maw's eyes: she had granite eyes. He's 
 awful mean that-a-way, he's as clos't an' 
 hard as he can be. Didn't you-uns see Dr. 
 Peffer? You'd remember him if you did. 
 He's got him a office over to Arrowhead, 
 i8 
 
A Colorado Claim 
 
 an' he doctors all over Windy Crick. He's 
 a little man, awful neat, an' he's got little 
 bits of hands, like Ruth's. He's a awful 
 smart doctor, if he is little. But we-uns 
 ain't got no use fur him. 
 
 " What do you-uns think Rose said to 
 maw, right after maw's little baby died? 
 When maw lost her little boy, that were the 
 first experiments she'd ever had of death. 
 She were feelin' all broke up over it, like. 
 Her 'n Rose was down suUer, an' Rose, she 
 says, ' It's a good thing the baby did die. 
 You-uns is too poor to raise it.' That's 
 jest what that woman said. Maw didn't tell 
 me that not fur a long time. When she 
 did tell me, I as't her why she didn't kick 
 Rose out o' the suller; an' maw said she 
 would, only fur havin' to kick her up- 
 stairs." 
 
 " Looky, Cis ! " Polly broke in ; she had 
 left her seat. '* Come an' take a look at this 
 table over hyur. I've been a-stedyin' whur 
 the table were at whur you-uns et, an' hyur 
 'tis!" 
 
 " Now, ain't that a right cute idee ! " 
 cried Cicely, jumping up to see. *' I'm go- 
 19 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 in' to git Jake to make me a table like that 
 in my house, sure as you're horned. Say, 
 it don't take up no room at all when it's 
 down, do it? An' that's the idee in a little 
 bit of a house." 
 
 The table in question was a single leaf, 
 swung by leathern hinges against the wall; 
 when in use, it was propped into a horizon- 
 tal position by a folding leg. 
 
 Cicely drew back the curtains. 
 
 " Looky, Polly ! see how them bunks is 
 fixed, nailed to the walls! An' corn-husk 
 mattresses to sleep on, an' curtains hung in 
 front. An' them nail-kegs an' trunk with 
 calico sewed on them, an' cooshions on top, 
 fur chairs an' a sofy. I'm a-goin' to have 
 some jest like them." 
 
 '' An' oh, ain't that a cute little stove ! " 
 cried Polly. 
 
 " You've got a lot of things inside your 
 house, but the way thur made, an' the way 
 thur put, they don't seem to take up no 
 room at all," said Cicely. "You kin turn 
 around an' walk about jest as easy! Your 
 pa, he's an awful handy man — he's got you 
 so many things hand-made. I aim to tell 
 
A Colorado Claim 
 
 Jake how nice your house is fixed inside, 
 so's he kin git an idee how to fix up ourn 
 that-a-way." 
 
 Polly turned on Hermia, suddenly. 
 " You-uns kin keep house so nice, why don't 
 you git married ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I shall, some day," 
 
 " Oh, maw says thur ain't no chanc't fur 
 a girl after they're eighteen. If they want 
 to git married, they'd better hustle afore 
 they git that old. The men's gittin' to be 
 so pettic'lar nowadays they want a girl 
 to be reel young, or else they won't look at 
 them. Cis were eighteen last Christmas, 
 an' maw tells her she only got Jake by the 
 skin of her teeth. 
 
 " Poll's only fourteen, so she thinks she's 
 got jest heaps o' time. But maw says she's 
 jest cut out fur a old maid — she likes cats. 
 Plow old are you ? " directing her question 
 point-blank at Hermia. 
 
 *' Sixteen," smiling. 
 
 " Well, I swan ! " said Cicely, in slow sur- 
 prise, and Polly exclaimed, " Why, you-uns 
 ain't old, then! Folks said you was a old 
 maid. You look as old as Cis, anyway, an' 
 
 21 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 you act old. What number of shoe do you- 
 uns wear ? " 
 
 " Oh, sometimes one number, sometimes 
 another !•" 
 
 " How funny ! I wear fours, an' Cis, she 
 wears five and a halves." 
 
 " Polly, we-uns must be goin'," said 
 Cicely. " It's drawin' towards milkin'- 
 time.'' 
 
 " You-uns must come over an' see we- 
 uns," said Polly. 
 
 Cicely clapped her hand to her pocket. 
 
 " Oh, I clean furgot this stuff. Maw 
 hearn you-uns were poorly, Ruth, an' she 
 sent over this bottle fur you to take. She 
 seen your skin were swarty like, an' she 
 made out it were your liver ailin' you. 
 Folks that's got the liver complaint is alius 
 swarty in the face." 
 
 "Your mother was very kind," mur- 
 mured Ruth, turning over the bottle and 
 eying its dark and grewsome contents. 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " It's called Lyman's Liver Alleviator. 
 Maw's took most of the bottle. It's helped 
 her, lots. It's a patent medicine, an' it's 
 
 22 
 
A Colorado Claim 
 
 good fur liver-complaint, cat-arrh, and 
 take-it/' 
 
 "* Take-it!' What's that?" 
 
 " Why, when you take it inside. You 
 pour a spoonful into a cup of water, an' you 
 take a swig of the stuff onc't in a while till 
 you feel better." 
 
 23 
 
II 
 
 A CAMPBELLITE SERMON 
 
 The Peak, wind and weather prophet of 
 ,the region, rose into a clear sky on the 
 morning of the Sabbath set apart for im- 
 mersion. 
 
 On the plain, beside a section road fenced 
 along with barbed wire, stands the school- 
 house, the counterpart of a dozen others 
 scattered throughout the country. A square 
 frame building, unshaded without and bare 
 within ; desks hacked and ink-stained ; rude 
 benches placed around the walls ; at the far- 
 ther end, the teacher's desk for pulpit. 
 
 The blackboards bristled with auto- 
 graphs of the young people, and scrawled 
 announcements such as these invited pub- 
 lic attention: 
 
 Art has got a black eye 
 He looked at Jean and thats why 
 24 
 
A Campbellite Sermon 
 
 R is sweet on D 
 Dance at Bunts 
 next Saturday Night 
 Come early 
 if you want any Vittles 
 
 There was a buzz of talking and laughter 
 in the school-room. A strong smeir of to- 
 bacco pervaded the room. Bushy-headed, 
 horny-handed ranchmen, wearing their 
 every-day overalls, by natural affinity col- 
 lected in groups to discuss crops and cattle 
 and weather. The younger men affected 
 the cowboy style of dress; they were sun- 
 burned and awkward. Supremely conscious 
 of the presence of the tittering girls, they 
 cast sidelong glances thither ; but shyness 
 held them aloof. The women came clothed 
 in calico, and some in gingham aprons be- 
 sides; they wore sun-bonnets, which they 
 took off in the house. In a corner near the 
 door, the matrons displayed with conscious 
 pride an assortment of not less than one- 
 and-twenty lusty infants. Lullabies were 
 hummed in two or three different keys; 
 babies cooed and fretted. The small chil- 
 25 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 dren ran about with that boisterousness ex- 
 hibited by the young rustic, when, its panic 
 of fear at first sight of strangers allayed, 
 a reaction sets in. 
 
 A sudden quiet fell on the congregation 
 as the preacher entered the school-house 
 door. He strode down the aisle, and laid 
 his hat and stick on the desk. His minis- 
 terial attire was a seedy, dust-colored suit, 
 with a sack-coat that bagged at the pockets, 
 and slightly soiled linen; he wore neither 
 tie nor cuffs. Mr. Crimp stood before his 
 people, a short, thick-set man of about 
 forty ; his face and hands were red ; he wore 
 close-cut side-whiskers, and a mustache 
 that partially concealed thin, tight lips ; his 
 shaven chin was flat, with an upward tilt; 
 a lurking smile played about his mouth ; his 
 eyes were small, restless, and greenish-blue 
 in color. 
 
 From right and left smiling nods greeted 
 the pastor. A wiry little man, with face 
 and hands fiery red, hitched up his trousers 
 and ostentatiously crossed the room to do 
 him honor. A huge, hairy farmer gripped 
 him by both hands and shook them as 
 26 
 
A Campbellite Sermon 
 
 though he would shake them off. The first 
 was Mr. Post; the second, Mr. Flieger, 
 step-father to Rose Rooney. Both were on 
 the school-board, and great men in the dis- 
 trict. 
 
 Mr. Crimp pulled a white cotton hand- 
 kerchief out of his breast-pocket, wiped his 
 heated brow, and addressed the expectant 
 congregation : 
 
 " We've come together this morning, 
 good people, to witness and to participate 
 in the most solemn ritual of the Christian 
 Church. We've come together first to lis- 
 ten to a discourse which shall prepare our 
 minds for this solemn rite ; and when that's 
 done, we'll all repair in a body to Bittern's 
 sheep-pond, where the services has been ar- 
 ranged to be held, and there receive a little 
 band of beloved penitents into the fola. 
 When they are gethered in, dear friends, 
 let us do everything in our power to make 
 them appreciate their blessed privilege. 
 
 " Let us sing." 
 
 The preacher gave out a hymn, one of 
 those compositions in which " vain repeti- 
 tion" supplies what is lacking in matter, 
 27 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 set to a jigging tune caught quickly by the 
 popular ear: 
 
 " 'Tis religion that can give, 
 In the light, in the light, 
 Sweetest pleasure while we live, 
 In the light of God. 
 
 Chorus: — 
 
 Let us walk in the light. 
 In the light, in the light, 
 Let us walk in the light. 
 In the light, the light of God." 
 
 The people sang vigorously from paper- 
 covered hymn-books, torn, and scribbled 
 with nonsense similar to the inscriptions on 
 the blackboards. Mr. Crimp threw back his 
 head and shut his eyes ; he beat time with a 
 lead-pencil, tapping his foot on the floor to 
 mark the rhythm. 
 
 During the singing a young fellow saun- 
 tered in, late. He dropped beside two slim- 
 waisted slips of girls who colored brightly 
 at his coming, and made room for him on 
 the bench. From the hand of one he 
 wrested a broken fan tied with bits of scar- 
 let ribbon, and gallantly plied it, rewarded 
 28 
 
A Campbellite Sermon 
 
 by her flashing smile, himself a mark for 
 the resentment of more than one less auda- 
 cious swain. The youth was Soph Crimp, 
 the preacher's son. He had a town- 
 bred air; his smile was pleasant, his eye 
 blue and fearless; but in the son the thin 
 lips of the father were repeated, and the 
 sharp chin was yet more prominent. 
 
 There was a great clattering of seats; 
 mothers hushed their children; two of the 
 matrons lulled their babies to repose by rak- 
 ing their heads with fine-toothed combs; 
 and the congregation settled down to the 
 digestion of the sermon. 
 
 Mr. Crimp picked up a small Bible bound 
 in black leather and laid it open on his out- 
 stretched palm, while he turned over the 
 leaves with his other hand. Then he cleared 
 his throat and read that portion of the 
 eighth chapter of Acts which relates to 
 Philip's baptism of the Ethiopian eunuch. 
 When he had finished the reading he re- 
 placed the Bible on the desk. 
 
 " I have read to you on this occasion that 
 portion of the Scriptures that tells us how 
 Philip baptized the Ethiopian. I want you 
 29 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 to take notice of the simplicity with which 
 PhiHp carried out his plan of baptizing this 
 man. He didn't wait till they come to a 
 city with a church in it and a baptismal font 
 and all that. No; he stopped the carriage 
 at the very first pond they come to — and 
 most likely it was a sheep-pond. In those 
 days the great men, the learn'd and think- 
 ers, kept sheep for a living; and of course 
 it stands to reason that where there was 
 sheep, there was ponds for washing the wool 
 to prepare it for shearing, don't it ? " 
 
 Mr. Flieger nodded his large head sev- 
 eral times, and leaned over to whisper to 
 his wife. 
 
 " I selected this here verse for my text. 
 Hunt the Bible through from one end to 
 the other and you won't find a text that's 
 more to the point than this one : 
 
 " ' And as they went on their way, ihey 
 came unto a certain water; and the eunuch 
 said, See, here is water. What doth hinder 
 me to he baptized?' Acts 8: 36. 
 
 " Philip believed in simplicity so far as 
 the means of baptizing was concerned. 
 But he was mighty particular about the 
 30 
 
A Campbellite Sermon 
 
 manner of his baptizing! Just listen to 
 these words; 
 
 " ' And they went down both into the 
 water, both Philip and the eunuch; and he 
 baptised him/ 
 
 " The eunuch was completely submerged 
 under water. No half-way baptizing about 
 that. Philip believed in doing the thing up 
 brown; he believed in a genu-ine immer- 
 sion. It beats me how some of these here 
 churches that believes in sprinkling a few 
 little drops of water on the top of your 
 head gets around that verse. And some 
 other verses in this book, too! I tell you 
 what it is, my good people, I'm glad that I 
 belong to the Christian church, and I'm 
 glad that I understand its doctrines. Fm 
 glad that you do, too. It's a good thing to 
 be on the right side, ain't it ? " said Mr. 
 Crimp, with an engaging smile. 
 
 Mr. Flieger laughed aloud and a sympa- 
 thetic ripple ran around the audience. 
 
 " Now, one Sunday, when I lived in the 
 
 city, I didn't feel in the mood to go to my 
 
 own church, and I strayed into the first big 
 
 church I come to — an Episcopalian or a 
 
 31 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 Presbyterian or a Methodist — IVe forgot- 
 ten which it was; but it don't matter; 
 they're all about of a piece. Now I hadn't 
 been there long before I seen a baby 
 whisked into the entry; then another an' 
 then another. I tumbled: I had happened 
 in on an infant baptizin'. Excuse me for 
 callin' it baptizin' : sprinkUn' is more to the 
 point. (Laughter.) 
 
 " Now, I don't know whether any of 
 you has seen a * sprinklin',' or not. If you 
 haven't, I hope you never will. It's a waste 
 of time even to look on at such a sight. 
 You'd better be at work in your fields of a 
 Sunday mornin', diggin' potatoes or hoein' 
 corn, than lookin' on to see a lot of little 
 young babies baptized, like I did. Well, a 
 string of men and women walked in at a 
 side door, single file, every man a-carryin' 
 a baby in his arms, tricked out in long 
 clothes and lace and finery, his wife a-fol- 
 lowin' at his heels. They formed a half- 
 circle round the pulpit and come to a stand- 
 still. The preacher come down the steps, 
 and another man come after him carryin' a 
 silver cake-plate in his hands — I guess it 
 32 
 
A Campbellite Sermon 
 
 was a cake-plate, borrowed for the occasion 
 of some lady in the congregation, most 
 likely." (Loud and delighted laughter 
 from Mr. Flieger, and tittering from others 
 in the congregation.) "The preacher 
 stopped before the first baby in the row, and 
 its father handed him a slip of paper with 
 the child's name wrote on it. I surmised 
 that was the way of it. Think of it ! Think 
 of baptizing a creature that wasn't ac- 
 quainted with its own name! Why, you'd 
 do better if you was to have your cat or 
 your dog baptized ! " (Laughter.) " They 
 have the sense to know when their name is 
 called ; but what sense has a baby got that's 
 under six months old? I don't ask you to 
 believe me, my good friends : it's asking too 
 much to expect you to believe what I'm 
 going to tell you. That infant that the 
 preacher stopped before and took the slip 
 of paper with its name wrote on it — that 
 infant wasn't two months old, if it was 
 that." (A murmur of horror ran round the 
 room.) "When the baptizin' — no, ' sprin- 
 klin' ' — commenced, there was a great si- 
 lence fell on the people, and everybody 
 33 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 leaned over and craned their necks to see. 
 The preacher and the fathers and mothers 
 looked as solemn as death over it. The 
 preacher dipped the fingers of his right 
 hand into the cake-plate, so, and shook the 
 drops oflf onto the baby's forehead and 
 wiped the top of its head with his wet hand. 
 ' Elizabeth Mary,' said he, ' I baptize thee 
 in the name of the Father, and the Son, and 
 the Holy Ghost.' And what do you suppose 
 happened then ? Just what would naturally 
 happen, of course. The baby cried! It 
 screamed and hollered like all possessed, 
 and its father had to bundle it out at a side 
 door without waiting for the close of the 
 ceremony. 
 
 " That little infant was wiser than the 
 minister and all the people put together. It 
 knew that a foolish and unnatural thing 
 was being done to it, and it raised its little 
 voice in protest. But that didn't bring 
 them numskulls to reason; oh, no; they 
 proceeded with their fruitless task, and fin- 
 ished it, too, although nearly every babe 
 there raised its little voice and had to be 
 took out. There was seven infants baptized 
 34 
 
A Campbellite Sermon 
 
 that day." (The congregation looked 
 serious.) 
 
 " I left that there temple of Mammon, 
 and come away quite roused and heated 
 over the thought of all the foolishness that 
 had been perpetrated since the world was 
 created, and is being perpetrated yet, even 
 in this civilized age. But it come over me 
 that as I hadn't had a finger in the creation, 
 I needn't trouble myself if things did go 
 topsy-turvy. It would be all the same a 
 hundred years hence. So I cooled down 
 again. 
 
 " I thank God " (raising his eyes to the 
 ceiling) " that my children never saw, 
 much less partook, of the mockery of infant 
 baptism. Through the wisdom of their 
 natural guardians they were saved from 
 that ordeal. 
 
 " I lost a little girl, once ; she never was 
 baptized; she went to heaven without it. 
 Now some would think that was awful to 
 allow an unbaptized child to die. But Tm 
 thankful to say the water of the baptismal 
 font never touched her. When I stood be- 
 side her little grave — she was the oldest of 
 35 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 my little girls, it seemed to me that I had 
 lost the only thing I cared for on earth. I 
 didn't care to live. I tell you the earth 
 looked black to me; and the future looked 
 black. But the worst moment of all come 
 when they was filling up the grave, when 
 the first clods of dirt fell on the coffin that 
 held my little girl. Then it just seemed like 
 — my heart — broke." 
 
 Mr. Crimp stopped and swallowed hard. 
 His face reddened and a moisture suffused 
 his eyes. The room had grown very still. 
 Then Rose Rooney burst into noisy weep- 
 ing. The women put their aprons to their 
 eyes. Mothers pressed their infants closer 
 to their bosoms. In a husky voice, Mr. 
 Crimp resumed: 
 
 " It was years before I could revisit that 
 little grave of mine again. But I felt re- 
 signed. There wasn't a moment from the 
 first, in fact, that I didn't feel resigned. 
 It's a blessed feeling, that feeling of resig- 
 nation. But it's only a Christian that can 
 experience it. ' He tempers the wind to the 
 shorn lamb.' Them are the most comfort- 
 ing words in the whole Bible, and the truest. 
 
 36 
 
A Campbellite Sermon 
 
 A lamb that's sheared is a very tender 
 creature, you know. David couldn't have 
 thought of a prettier comparison — the lamb 
 shorn of its wool and the bereaved parent 
 shorn of his child. The Sam that that's in, 
 is my favor-ite. It was my mother's favor- 
 ite too. 
 
 *' I've only got to shut my eyes " (assum- 
 ing a beatified expression) *' and I see my 
 little girl's pure spirit and glorified body on 
 the shining sands, among the blessed. 
 
 " Speaking of the glorified body " (wak- 
 ing up suddenly to toss over the leaves of 
 the Bible), " I refer you to the first chapter 
 of the first book of Revelations. I want to 
 read a few verses to you on this wonderful 
 subject; they're appropriate on an occasion 
 of immersion. In immersion we're cleansed 
 from our sins, you know, and in death we'ie 
 cleansed from our earthly bodies and given 
 the glorified body. Now this is how the 
 revelator describes one of these here glori- 
 fied bodies. 
 
 '''And in the midst of the seven candle- 
 sticks one like unto the Son of Man, clothed 
 with a garment down to the foot, and girt 
 about the paps with a golden girdle, 
 37 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 '^ ' His head and his hairs were white like 
 wool, as white as snow; and his eyes were 
 as a flame of fire. 
 
 *' ' And his feet like unto fine brass, as if 
 they burned in a furnace; and his voice as 
 the sound of many waters. 
 
 '"And he had in his right hand seven 
 stars: and out of his mouth went a sharp, 
 two-edged sword: and his countenance was 
 as the sun shineth in his strength.' '' 
 
 Closing the book, Mr. Crimp laid it back 
 on the desk and went on: 
 
 " The revelator points to the glorified 
 body that the Christian is going to receive 
 in the next life. It's the Universalist idea, 
 you know, that of the glorified body. My 
 mother's people was all Universalists, and 
 I was raised among those kind of ideas. 
 Why, my Cousin Carrie and I had a conver- 
 sation on that very subject just the other 
 day. It's a great pleasure to me to think 
 that when I get to heaven, / shall be like 
 Jesus, in the glorified body. That's what 
 the Universalists believe, you know. I've 
 got in mind another instance of the glorified 
 body. I suppose you remember the sermon 
 
 38 
 
A Campbellite Sermon 
 
 I preached to you on the transfiggeration, 
 when Christ stood on the mount in a trans- 
 figgered form, and Moses and EHas come 
 and stood by him, also transfiggered ? 
 Christ's body was glorified in that vision. 
 Now, I look at this different from most stu- 
 dents of the Bible. It isn't generally known 
 or thought of that this scene of the trans- 
 figgeration was heaven, but it was heaven, 
 come right down and settled on the top of 
 the mount, there; and the three disciples, 
 Peter, James, and John, saw right into 
 heaven. Whenever there was a glorified 
 body descended to this earth, that was 
 heaven right around it. And this vision of 
 the transfiggeration, this was a typical vi- 
 sion. The three figgers, Moses, Elias, and 
 Christ, these stood for three types; Moses 
 stood for the body dead, buried, and living. 
 Christ for the body, dead, buried, and resur- 
 rected ; and Elias for the body neither dead 
 nor buried nor yet resurrected, but living. 
 I've sometimes thought of writing a com- 
 mentary on this subject, or a treatise or 
 something; it's a very absorbing subject to 
 me. Here they are; the type of life and 
 39 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 the type of death, and the type of resurrec- 
 tion. The Christian is another type of the 
 glorified body, though our earthly eyes can't 
 see the glory of it till we get to heaven, but 
 it's there, all the same. Now, what had the 
 Christian ought to wear outside of him ? " 
 
 As the preacher put this question, intend- 
 ing to answer it himself after an oratorical 
 pause, a young man said in a stage whisper, 
 " Clothes ! " and looked around for ap- 
 proval. But no one laughed. Mr. Post 
 turned full abput in his seat and transfixed 
 the offender with a frowning eye. Mr. 
 Crimp, ignoring the interruption, pro- 
 ceeded : 
 
 " Did you notice in the verses I read, the 
 revelator speaks of the vision as clothed 
 from head to foot? Yes, his feet and even 
 his hands was covered. And you know 
 that the high-priest in the sanctuary was 
 always clothed from head to foot, likewise. 
 Well, the garment that was wore by the 
 high-priest stood for what the Christian 
 had ought to be covered with now — the 
 garment of the life of Christ. The outside 
 of him had ought to be covered with this 
 40 
 
A Campbellite Sermon 
 
 garment from head to foot, if he is a Chris- 
 tian. The inside of the Christian some- 
 times gets contrary " (with a knowing 
 smile), "but the outside must be all right. 
 The first duty of the Christian is to set a 
 good example, and he can't do it without 
 the garment that I speak of. 
 
 " It takes a scholar to get into the truths 
 of the Book of Revelations." (With unc- 
 tion.) "These college professors go deep 
 into the subject. There was two of them, 
 friends of mine, that used to pore over it 
 half the night, and teach school all next 
 day, besides. It's the great thinkers that 
 read this book. 
 
 " In the fourteenth verse it speaks of the 
 white wool on the top of the head; don't 
 that point to the white hairs of old age? 
 Scientists have discovered that deep think- 
 ers get gray early in life; and don't it 
 take a deep thinker to understand the 
 Book of Revelations ? I've noticed that it's 
 the old, gray-headed men that take pleasure 
 in reading the Book of Revelations. My 
 grandfather used to pore over it; he was 
 raised a Quaker. When I was a little 
 41 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 codger, so high, I used to love to listen to 
 my grandfather read from Revelations ; and 
 it's always had greater attractions for me 
 than any other book in the Bible — I guess 
 that's the reason why my hair is gettin' 
 gray. I guess I'll leave it get gray — I won't 
 dye it." 
 
 Mr. Crimp facetiously ran his fingers 
 through the grayish stubble on his compact 
 head, and the congregation laughed. That 
 his audience was entirely sympathetic, went 
 far toward proving Mr. Crimp's merit as a 
 preacher: it listened attentively, it re- 
 sponded quickly to his changes of mood, it 
 always laughed in the right place. 
 
 " I've always been thankful that I was 
 born with a logical mind," said Mr. Crimp. 
 The audience gushed its approval. '' It's a 
 pleasure to be able to sum up your points 
 and have a reason for everything at your 
 tongue's end. It ain't everybody that's 
 gifted that way. But logic kind of runs in 
 our family. I get it from my mother's side 
 of the house. Pa was a pretty smart man 
 to talk to, in his young days, but he wasn't 
 brainy, like my mother. Some have said to 
 42 
 
A Campbellite Sermon 
 
 me that I missed my vocation when I took 
 up with preachin' — I had ought to 'sl been 
 a lawyer. I don't think so. I might have 
 made a pretty good livin' at the law ; there's 
 no doubt but what I could: but the field 
 wasn't wide enough for me. No; I chose 
 the ups and downs of the preacher's life; 
 and beyond and above that, I struck out in- 
 to country districts, where my talents could 
 have free play. I wasn't to be bound down 
 by the laws and regulations of no city 
 church. Perhaps some of you good people 
 here don't know I refused a five-thousand- 
 dollar salary as pastor of the first Christian 
 church that was erected in the Springs, so's 
 I could accept a call to Windy Crick." 
 
 Mr. Flieger turned himself about and 
 nodded at the audience with triumph in his 
 eye. 
 
 " It's been a life-long habit of mine to 
 keep a lookout for causes of failure. I've 
 often profited by others' mistakes by study- 
 in' how they might have prevented 'em, and 
 then followin' out that principle myself. 
 So, as a student of the Bible, it's a favor-ite 
 pastime of mine to search the Scriptures 
 43 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 for the cause of this apostle's failure or that 
 apostle's failure. As I'm one of the called, 
 I reason that I've got as good a right to 
 study how to promote the Gospel as one of 
 these here apostles : and if I can learn any- 
 thing from their blunders, I'll do it. 
 
 " In the Acts of the Apostles, Paul goes 
 to Greece to preach to the people of that 
 country, you know. The inhabitants was 
 Pagans: that is, they believed in gods and 
 goddesses. They worshipped Jupiter and 
 Venus and Mercury and Plato and two or 
 three hundred others of them fancy beings. 
 Jupiter was the God of Thunder, Mercury 
 was the God of Lightning, Venus the 
 Goddess of Beauty, and Cupid the God 
 of Love " (there was a titter from the 
 young people), " and Plato, he guarded the 
 gates of Hell — like Peter at the gate of 
 Heaven, only Peter's got a cooler situa- 
 tion." (Laughter.) "All these was imag- 
 inary gods. It must have took a lot of 
 imagination to think up all these here gods 
 and goddesses, but the Greeks has always 
 been chock full of that commodity. That's 
 where I get my vein of imagination. The 
 44 
 
A Campbellite Sermon 
 
 Greeks was a noble race. For all their 
 idolatrousness, they was far more civilized 
 than people is now, and powerful, rich, and 
 handsome, besides. The proudest moment 
 of my life is when I remember that I was 
 born a Greek. On my mother's side of the 
 house, there's as pure a streak of Grecian 
 blood as you could find anywheres. My 
 mother was a noble woman; she bore the 
 pure Greek name of Helen. Her grand- 
 father, my great-grandfather, sailed direct 
 from A-thens in the early part of this cen- 
 tury. His given name was Sophocles, which 
 name has been the proud inheritance of 
 most of the male descendants in our family. 
 It was give to me by my grandfather, and 
 I give it to my only son, there. Did you 
 ever hear that old fable where an assembly 
 of all the animals mocked at the lion be- 
 cause he had only one whelp, and the lion 
 says : ' One, but a lion! ' Well, that's about 
 the way I always felt about my having got 
 only the one boy ; and I have a way of say- 
 ing: 'One, but a Crimp!' The Crimps 
 always had plenty of family pride. The 
 name of Sophocles come from Sophocles, 
 45 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 the Greek poet and playwright. There's a 
 story that our family is descended direct 
 from old Sophocles, himself. I can't say 
 how true it is, but it's a pleasant thing to 
 contemplate. Did you ever stop to think 
 what an attractive place heaven must be, 
 peopled, as it were, by all the great men of 
 the world that we read about, counting 
 away back to old Adam's time? Why, 
 when I get to thinking about it, I can't 
 hardly contain myself till I get to heaven 
 and get to walk the streets with those old 
 philosophers of the Grecian race — whose 
 blood flows in my veins — and converse with 
 them on familiar, every-day topics. What 
 a privilege ! what a blessed privilege ! 
 
 " Perhaps you've noticed that I pronounce 
 the name of the town where Paul went to, 
 A-thens. That's the way the Greeks pro- 
 nounce the name of their town. I intend to 
 stick by it, as I certainly have a right to, 
 bein' of Greek extraction, though it ain't 
 generally given that pronunciation in this 
 country. 
 
 " I started out to tell you about Paul, and 
 strayed from my subject, as I always do 
 46 
 
A Campbellite Sermon 
 
 when I get to talking about the country of 
 my ancestors. Paul, as you'll notice if 
 you'll read the Book of Acts, had went to 
 Greece on a preaching tour. He visited 
 Thessalonica, which was a town some'eres 
 in the north of Greece, and then he went to 
 A-thens. When Paul saw the idolatrous- 
 ness of the people in that city, he was fired 
 with a spirit of righteous wrath. He ex- 
 postulated with them, and stirred up re- 
 sentment against himself, and so lost his 
 popularity. He wasn't politic enough. A 
 certain amount of policy, now, is as neces- 
 sary in religion as it is in business " (wrin- 
 kling his brow into a smile). "That's one 
 of my fads ; and it's a pretty good fad, too. 
 Then the Epicureans and the Stoics, they 
 went for him, and asked him questions, just 
 to get into an argument with him and mix 
 him up. Those old Greeks was always up 
 to that — so brainy. You couldn't find a 
 race on the face of the earth that was fonder 
 of an argument. The Epicureans was the 
 kind of philosopher that was particular 
 about their eating. They spent eleven 
 hours at the table, nine in bed, and four at 
 47 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 the bath. They never eat anything that was 
 stale or inferior, and they never looked at 
 an article of food unless it cost a pretty sum 
 of money. They never touched a thing on 
 their table unless the servant had washed 
 his hands seven times afore he had touched 
 it. In consequence of all these finicky ways 
 of theirs, they never contracted either gout 
 or dyspepsia, and they was as long-lived as 
 the best of 'em. Their name ' Epicurean ' 
 come from a Greek word meaning ' eat ' ; 
 notice how the letter ' e ' is the only letter 
 left of the root to tell us where our word 
 ' eat ' is derived from. The name ' Stoic ' 
 come from a Greek word meaning * stone.' " 
 Mr. Crimp stepped to the blackboard and 
 wrote with flourishing chalk: 
 
 Lo-TTjfjLc — ^to stay, stand still. 
 i(TT(o — a stone. 
 (TTOLK — stoic. 
 
 " Our word ' stone ' is derived from all 
 three of them words. And the Stoics was 
 them stony-hearted kind that didn't believe 
 in showing any feeling or emotion. They 
 never let on that they cared when any of 
 48 
 
A Campbellite Sermon 
 
 their relations died. It would be mighty 
 convenient, wouldn't it, to be that kind of 
 a philosopher when your mother-in-law 
 died, because no one would expect you 
 to shed tears?" (Laughter.) "But the 
 Stoics have gone out of fashion. They 
 never laughed at a joke, neither. They was 
 descended from the Spartans. 
 
 " Well, Paul, he kep' on, arguing and ex- 
 postulating, until, first thing he knew, the 
 place got too hot for him. If he hadn't a' 
 left when he did, he would 'a' been fired 
 out of the town. The only converts he 
 made was a man and a lady, and a few 
 others not named — not enough to shake a 
 stick at. There was nothing for it but for 
 Paul to own up that his revival had been a 
 failure. He as much as owned it, too, when 
 he said he'd had enough of the Greeks : he'd 
 shake off their dust, and go to the Gentiles. 
 
 " I fancy Paul learnt something from his 
 failure in A-thens. In the other towns that 
 he put up at, he used more policy, and you'll 
 notice, if you read your Bible, he got to 
 be quite a popular fellow in time. But he 
 dumb a tree when he went to A-thens. 
 49 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 "Now, what was Paul's failure in 
 A-thens due to? Paul's failure in A-thens 
 was due to his neglect of the ordinance of 
 baptism!" (Mr. Flieger cast an inex- 
 pressible look over his shoulder.) " If you 
 read this chapter when you go home — it's 
 the seventeenth chapter of the Book of Acts 
 — you won't find a word about baptism in 
 the whole of Paul's sojourn in A-thens. I 
 guess he got tired of taking so much 
 trouble with his converts, or mebbe he tried 
 to slip out of work by sprinklin' a few drops 
 of water out of a silver cake-plate onto the 
 tops of their heads." (Laughter.) "At 
 any rate, a slip-shod ministry like that didn't 
 work, and it was the cause of his failure. 
 He didn't tumble to it at first; but I fancy 
 he did afterwards, because I notice he give 
 more immersions at the other places he went 
 to. Paul had his trip to A-thens for noth- 
 ing. If he had took this man and this lady 
 out to the sea, or out into some pond of 
 water, and baptized them before all the peo- 
 ple, Paul would 'a' had more applicants for 
 baptism on the spot than he could handle. 
 He'd have had to hire an assistant. He'd 
 50 
 
A Campbellite Sermon 
 
 have touched the people's hearts. They 
 couldn't 'a' stood by and looked on at that 
 solemn rite with hardened hearts. It 
 wouldn't 'a' been in nature. I tell you, I've 
 sometimes wished that I'd 'a' lived in those 
 times. I wouldn't have let Paul go out of 
 A-thens without giving him a pointer or 
 two. The trouble with Paul was, he didn't 
 understand human nature. More than that, 
 he didn't understand himself. Tv&dc aeav- 
 t6v so the Greeks say. That means, ' Know 
 thyself.' Paul was fond of telling others 
 to know themselves, but he didn't know 
 himself, not by a jugful. Perhaps Paul got 
 a little rattled while he was at A-thens, on 
 account of his sore eyes. We mustn't be 
 too hard on him. You know, Paul speaks 
 of his ' thorn in the flesh ' that he was af- 
 flicted with; the thorn he had reference to 
 was his sore eyes. Perhaps you didn't 
 know that Paul never pretended to write 
 his epistles himself; he couldn't half see; 
 he hired an amanuensis. 
 
 " Some bring up as an argument against 
 immersion that Peter couldn't have baptized 
 three thousand souls in a single day, as he 
 SI 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 is said to have done some'eres in Acts. 
 They say Peter must have sprinkled 'em. 
 These skeptics seem to have an idea that it 
 takes time to immerse. Well, so it does, if 
 you have a small crowd and stop to do up 
 all the ceremonials. Anything takes time if 
 you string it out. But it can be done quick, 
 and I can prove it. I know of one immer- 
 sion that was put through in double-quick 
 time. When I conducted that revival down 
 at Kiawa, the converts come so thick and 
 fast that I got to be quite an expert — soused 
 'em at the rate of three per minute." 
 (Laughter.) 
 
 " Before I close I mean to give you in 
 Greek what the eunuch said to Philip and 
 what Philip answered. As Greek was the 
 tongue they spoke, and the tongue that the 
 New Testament was wrote in before it was 
 translated, you can form an idea of their 
 conversation as they rode along in the car- 
 riage together. It'll bring the scene home 
 to you. 
 
 " When they come to the pool of water, 
 the eunuch said, ' Idoo hoodoar; tie koloo- 
 aye me baptisthayneyef which is, trans- 
 52 
 
A Campbellite Sermon 
 
 lated, ' Here is water ; what doth hinder me 
 to be baptized ? ' 
 
 "And Philip answered, 'Aye pitzooice 
 eks hollace tace kardiass eksetdn/ And 
 the translation of that is, 'If thou believest 
 with all thine heart, thou mayest/ 
 
 " When I was at college, I learnt the 
 Greek language; it's a noble tongue. It's 
 been a great lift to me in my study of the 
 Bible. 
 
 " Well ! weVe got a long ride before us 
 to Bittern's sheep-pond, and I must cut my 
 sermon short, or some of us'll be wantin' 
 our dinner. The subject of immersion is a 
 deep one, a profound one, and I only regret 
 that lack of time prevents me from doing 
 justice to it. I'll ask you, my good friends, 
 to accompany myself and these converts at 
 the close of the services, to Bittern's sheep- 
 pond, where the solemn rite of immersion 
 will be performed without delay. I think 
 it'll be most direct for us to go in a body 
 across the school section. Some of you 
 men c'n let down the wires at the furthest 
 corner, so's we c'n drive straight across to 
 the pond without going around by the 
 road." 
 
 53 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 The congregation stirred; the rustle and 
 flutter that follows the closing of an address 
 broke in on the quiet of the room. 
 
 Mr. Crimp slightly inclined his head and 
 closed his eyes. 
 
 *' Great God," he said, in calm and equa- 
 ble tones, " we thank Thee for the converts 
 that have been brought into the fold 
 through the preaching of Thy servant and 
 apostle. We thank Thee that Thou hast 
 preserved them from the wiles of other 
 sects, blinded by conceit and ignorance, and 
 teaching foolishness to their followers. 
 Bless this little flock of converts ; keep them 
 in the paths of righteousness; bless their 
 families. We thank Thee for the fair 
 weather that Thou hast sanctified this oc- 
 casion with. Attend us to the scene of im- 
 mersion, and consecrate the sacred rite to 
 these children in the faith; re-consecrate us 
 older members of Thy great and blessed 
 family. We ask it in Thy name. Amen and 
 amen." 
 
 Mr. Crimp reached out for the hymn- 
 book on the desk, but delayed opening it. 
 A smile played about his mouth and brought 
 54 
 
A Campbellite Sermon 
 
 out the crows'- feet around the corners of his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Perhaps you wonder why I repeat the 
 word ' amen ' twice. I don't mind enlight- 
 ening you. I generally have a reason for 
 everything I do, and I have a reason for 
 this. Now, the ancient Hebrew meaning of 
 the word * amen ' was ' So help me God.' 
 The Greeks render it ' So do Thou protect 
 me and mine ' ; while the Saxon cuts off the 
 original meaning and leaves it plain ' So be 
 it,' besides making it one of the shortest 
 words in our language. I feel the impor- 
 tance of this little word to be weightier than 
 most ministers and students of the Bible 
 do, and I think I better the expression and 
 render it more important by making a 
 repetition of the word : * Amen and amen.' " 
 
 55 
 
Ill 
 
 THE IMMERSION 
 
 A general scramble followed the benedic- 
 tion. Men hurried to get out their teams. 
 Women seized the opportunity to exchange 
 items of gossip while jamming little sun- 
 bonnets over babies' faces. Near the door, 
 the young people drifted together ; red, em- 
 barrassed youths, twirling their sombreros 
 in their hands; girls smiling and self-con- 
 scious. Three or four young men clustered 
 about the pretty sisters at Soph Crimp's 
 side. These girls with flower-like faces, so 
 slenderly formed, were as unlike as could 
 be to the buxom variety of damsel abound- 
 ing on Windy Creek. They were pictures ; 
 the one in red calico and ribbons, the other 
 in blue. One was wild as a gypsy ; a gentle 
 dignity, inborn, marked the other. To the 
 boys their easy, taking manners were irre- 
 sistible. But in spite of masculine attention, 
 
The Immersion 
 
 the two strangers of their own sex were 
 remembered, and the sisters came up smil- 
 ing to shake hands. Ruth Wood introduced 
 them to her cousin as Diantha and Estelle 
 Bittern. 
 
 "You girls must come over. I and 
 Stelle 'd be right glad to have you come out 
 and spend the day/' said Diantha ; she had 
 the soft negro tones of the ** way-down " 
 Southerner. She looked down at Ruth 
 from her queenly height. " You're lookin' 
 right peart-like, Ruth ; I 'low you'll git well 
 if you stay out chur long." 
 
 " And how well you are looking, Dian- 
 tha!" 
 
 Ruth's tone of admiration deepened the 
 pink color in the girl's cheek, but she re- 
 plied, deprecatingly : " I'm jest toler'ble. I 
 don't look it in the face, but I'm consider'- 
 ble porer than what I was last chur." 
 
 " Are you going to be immersed to-day ? " 
 asked Ruth. 
 
 " No, but my two married sisters aim to 
 
 be, and my brother-in-law, Viny's husband, 
 
 if he don't git scairt out o' the notion. 
 
 Viny's been sayin' she darsn't trust Joel 
 
 57 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 out of her sight, she's that feared he'll back 
 out. Ever sence he was converted she's 
 had to keep bolsterin' him up, like. Come 
 over, and I'll make you acquainted with my 
 sisters." 
 
 Diantha's two sisters had married broth- 
 ers, who, beyond the family name of Milli- 
 gan, had obviously had little else in the way 
 of worldly goods to endow the women of 
 their choice. Three fretful babies clung to 
 the skirts of Malvina, whose fading youth 
 and jaded looks were due to her heavy bur- 
 den of work and want and care. Maggie, 
 having passed but two mile-stones since her 
 bridal day, was not yet come to her sister's 
 stage of nervous exhaustion; but already 
 her feverish color and worried eye told 
 whither she was bound. Life is hard on 
 the women of Windy Creek, and youth is 
 transient. 
 
 While Hermia chatted easily with the 
 married sisters, and noticed the babies, 
 Diantha was taking in the stranger; she 
 presently whispered to Ruth, who had much 
 ado to keep a straight face, that her cousin 
 was awful nice — she was quite a rowdy, 
 wasn't she? 
 
 58 
 
The Immersion 
 
 They spoke of the afternoon's ceremony. 
 
 " Wish't you and Dianthy had got con- 
 verted last Sunday, so's you could be bap- 
 tized 'long of us," said Maggie. 
 
 " Sha'n't risk my life bein' ducked in no 
 sheep-pond ! " flashed Estelle. She had 
 nothing to say for herself, but when spoken 
 to, her words came out like explosives ; her 
 voice was hoarse, not soft like Diantha's; 
 she twisted and untwisted her little brown 
 fingers, her eyes danced, and color and 
 dimples flew into her speaking face. 
 
 Mr. Crimp, shaking hands to right and 
 left, shouldered his way into the circle. 
 
 " Them are awful bad girls ! Been a-try- 
 in' to bring 'em into the church these five 
 months, and still they keep a-hangin' back. 
 Encouragin' to a minister of the gospel, 
 ain't it ? Afraid of the water, eh ? " 
 
 The preacher brought his pastoral speech 
 to a close by pulling a lock of Diantha's hair 
 and chucking Estelle under the chin. 
 
 Estelle laughed out with pleasure. 
 
 Mr. Crimp, gracefully presented by 
 Diantha, extended a hand to each of the 
 strangers, treating them to a bold gaze. 
 59 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 A great red hand descended over Ruth's 
 shoulder, and above it the whiskered coun- 
 tenance of Mr. Flieger beamed like the set- 
 ting sun out of a cloud. 
 
 " Have to come out to the plains to hear 
 a sermon like that, don't ye? We never 
 knowed what preachin' was till Brother 
 Crimp come out here. He don't preach 
 every-day sermons. Brother Crimp don't — 
 he's college-l'arn'd." 
 
 Rose Rooney went quietly out, leading 
 her children by the hand, and taking no no- 
 tice of the crowd of neighbors. Her eye 
 gleamed with a strange excitement. 
 
 Soon an odd procession wended its way 
 across the school section, bound for Bit- 
 tern's sheep-pond. The country people rode 
 in any fashion, some in farm wagons, some 
 in spring wagons, and some in two-wheeled 
 carts. 
 
 Joel Milligan piled his wife and little 
 ones into an old buggy drawn by a mule. 
 The Flieger's surrey, packed to overflowing 
 with the women and children of the family, 
 lent an air of gentility to the cavalcade: 
 run-down, rusty, dilapidated, sprinkled with 
 60 
 
The Immersion 
 
 dust and powdered with mud, it was a two- 
 seated carriage for all that. And in and out 
 circled the young men, sitting erect on 
 broncos, vicious or brow-beaten, according 
 to the manner of their breaking~in. 
 
 The day was intensely still: not a breath 
 of wind stirred the stratum of warm air 
 enveloping the earth; heat-waves rippled at 
 the horizon. Over head all was azure blue, 
 under foot all tawny yellow. From the feet 
 of the horses far out to the limit of vision 
 the prairies stretched, a harmony in yellow ; 
 the same color even climbed for a space be- 
 yond the horizon, for a golden haze ob- 
 scured the line where prairie ended and sky 
 began, and mellowed the mountains lying 
 far removed with outlines lost and tints pale 
 and indistinct. Far off on the bluffs they 
 saw a United States signal, the staff mark- 
 ing the geodetic survey that follows the 
 curve of the thirty-ninth parallel from coast 
 to coast, a work begun fifty years since, and 
 now nearing its completion. Looking east- 
 ward, the plain seemed to tremble, and lo, 
 earth was melting into sky, and liquid sky 
 stealing downward into earth, taking to it- 
 6i 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 self the form of a broad river, its blue 
 waters undulating in the sun. They called 
 to one another to look, and pointed. But 
 even as they gazed, the phantom river re- 
 ceded, and the earth closed up its gap, and 
 the mirage faded from their sight. 
 
 The prairie was bleached, the thread-and- 
 needle and all manner of grasses cured by 
 sun and wind. The grama grass grew 
 knee-high; its slender stems topped with 
 seed-bearing combs looked oddly like a 
 colony of music-rests settled on the close- 
 curled tufts below. There was neither 
 cactus nor sage-brush, but the tumble-weed 
 flourished apace. The yucca plant encircled 
 its tall flower-spikes, now gone to seed, with 
 a frill of formidable needles of a dusty 
 green. Sunflowers yellowed the prairie. 
 Indian paint-brushes flamed on the hillside. 
 Close to the ground clustered the purple 
 blooms of the deadly loco. 
 
 A myriad of insects buzzed; a ground- 
 squirrel chirrupped; prairie-dogs waddled 
 and barked. Little birds of a dull-black hue, 
 with white spots on their wings, poised 
 themselves in the air and sang, and sank to 
 62 
 
The Immersion 
 
 rise again. An occasional cotton-tail darted 
 from its burrow and scurried away. Along 
 a gentle rise a jack-rabbit loped, bounding 
 from the ground in long, regular leaps. 
 Tiny speckled lizards shot across their path. 
 Black and gray spiders leaped to their dens, 
 great gauzy webs spun across holes in the 
 ground. 
 
 At the farther corner of the school sec- 
 tion the men drew the staples and lowered 
 the wires, that the teams might pass over. 
 Descending the slope, the party followed 
 the windings of a narrow ravine, with a 
 stream trickling along the rift at the bot- 
 tom ; and they presently came to a shallow 
 bowl of clear water. Recent floods had 
 washed the pool, leaving its banks ragged 
 and steep, and baring the twisted roots of 
 a stunted growth of cotton-woods that had 
 sprung into life along its sides. The eye, 
 fatigued by stretches of treeless prairie, 
 found relief in the slight shade flickering 
 on the bank and in the water below. 
 
 Ruth and Hermia sought the shelter of 
 the trees on the edge, and, looking down, 
 wondered if this pool resembled the " cer- 
 63 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 tain water " where, ages ago, the Ethiopian 
 had been baptized. 
 
 In awed silence the people gathered 
 around; they spoke in whispers, or in low- 
 toned murmurs; even the children were 
 quiet; the men uncovered. The Flieger 
 family formed a group on the edge of the 
 pool, and beyond them were Malvina and 
 Maggie Milligan with their husbands and 
 children. Malvina nodded back reassuring- 
 ly to her husband, who was seen to be a 
 small man with a miserably anxious look 
 and a restless eye. His eldest had him by 
 the hand — a delicate, stunted boy, whose 
 face reproduced in miniature the worried 
 expression of the parent. 
 
 Mr. Crimp pulled Mr. Flieger aside; the 
 two held a whispered consultation. Mr. 
 Crimp's trousers were tucked into his boots, 
 and he wore his hat a little on one side ; he 
 appeared highly elated by the prospect be- 
 fore him. In his hand he held a paper, and 
 from this he read in a loud voice, stepping 
 forward to command attention: 
 
 " Rose Rooney, aged nineteen years, con- 
 verted to the Christian faith and accepted 
 64 
 
The Immersion 
 
 the doctrines of the Christian Church Au- 
 gust 12, 1894. 
 
 " Joel Milligan, aged thirty-three years, 
 converted August 26, 1894. 
 
 *' Elnora Malvina MiUigan, aged twenty- 
 four years, converted August 26, 1894. 
 
 " Margaret Janet MilHgan, aged twenty- 
 one years, converted August 26, 1894." 
 
 The preacher placed his hat on the 
 bank, and waded out into the pool, cau- 
 tiously feeling for a level bottom. *' Rose 
 Rooney,'' he called loudly, beckoning with 
 his hands. 
 
 Without a moment's hesitation, Rose 
 Rooney pulled off her sun-bonnet and tossed 
 it to her mother. The ruddy color had died 
 out of her cheeks. The scanty folds of her 
 gray gown clung to her tall form, showin£^ 
 its crude but artistic outlines like a sculpt- 
 ured figure half chiselled. She clasped the 
 preacher's outstretched hands and stepped 
 into the water beside him : she stood waist- 
 deep ; a shiver ran through her frame ; her 
 eyes were wide open and frightened, like 
 a child's. 
 
 Her two Uttle children crept close to the 
 65 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 edge, breathless with curiosity, staring 
 round-eyed, with lips apart. 
 
 Their mother saw neither them nor the 
 crowd on the bank. After the first shock of 
 the water, a rapt and dreamy look had come 
 into her eyes. She was alone; visionary 
 ideas of salvation and of another world 
 whose boundaries the rite of immersion was 
 to gain for her filled her childish soul to 
 the oblivion of all else. 
 
 The preacher, raising his hands heaven- 
 ward, repeated a prayer. 
 
 The people bowed their heads. 
 
 " Great God, sanctify this water to the 
 mystical washing away of this woman's sin- 
 ful affections. Grant that this water may 
 give her power to triumph over the world, 
 the flesh, and the devil. Grant that the Old 
 Adam in this woman may be buried." 
 
 Mr. Crimp's version of the baptismal ser- 
 vice appeared to be adapted from the Epis- 
 copal form, with such revisions as he saw 
 fit to make. He evidently trusted to the 
 chance that his parishioners would not 
 know the difference. 
 
 A convulsion broke over the features of 
 66 
 
The Immersion 
 
 the convert; she clasped her rough hands 
 before her face, and trembled and cried; 
 her attitude was that of a penitent. Did she 
 grasp the meaning of the vows she was 
 about to take, or was she wrought to the 
 pitch of nervous excitement by an awe- 
 inspiring ceremony? 
 
 Her agitation thrilled the people. The 
 women broke into sobs. Mrs. Flieger wept 
 aloud, and her husband groaned, while tears 
 forced themselves underneath his closed 
 eye-lids and coursed down his cheeks. Even 
 Ruth and Hermia Wood succumbed to the 
 passing thrill of emotion. 
 
 The preacher attempted to draw away 
 Rose Rooney's hands, but, as if in terror, 
 she persisted in hiding her eyes. He then 
 placed his hands on her shoulders, and ir 
 resonant tones reciting the baptismal form, 
 he drew her backward until the water bub- 
 bled over her face and hair. 
 
 " Buried with Christ in baptism, in the 
 name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy 
 Ghost, I baptize thee." 
 
 The convert reappeared on the surface, 
 drenched, gasping for breath, her lips pur- 
 
 67 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 pie, her chest and shoulders heaving. She 
 turned in a bewildered way to the bank. 
 Some one struck up a familiar chorus, and 
 the people lifted their voices and sang, 
 
 •* Pull for the shore, sailor, pull for the shore ; 
 Heed not the rolling waves, but bend to the oar t 
 Safe in the life-boat, sailor, cling to self nd 
 
 more ; 
 Leave the poor old stranded wreck, and pull fof 
 
 the shore." 
 
 Rose Rooney climbed shivering out of the 
 water. Her step-father sprang to aid her; 
 his kindly features wore an expression of 
 deep concern; he threw a heavy woollen 
 shawl over her shoulders, and hurried her 
 into the carriage. 
 
 "Next! Joel Milligan!'* shouted Mr. 
 Crimp. 
 
 No one responded to the call. The peo- 
 ple on the bank turned around and looked 
 at the people behind them ; and they in their 
 turn stared at those in the rear. There was 
 a confused whispering and nudging. Mr. 
 Post sternly elbowed his way through the 
 crowd until he confronted the scared face 
 of Malvina Milligan. 
 6S 
 
The Immersion 
 
 " Where's that man o' yourn ? " 
 
 " I d'n know ; I 'lowed he was hyur ; I 
 can't think whur he's took hisself." 
 
 " Ain't he about ? " demanded Mr. Crimp, 
 from the middle of the pool, and several 
 voices replied, " No, he ain't." 
 
 Jimmy Rooney thrust himself into the 
 midst of the excited crowd. He was a blue- 
 eyed boy of three years; his hat, in close 
 imitation of Mr. Crimp's, was stuck on the 
 side of his head ; and his sturdy little figure 
 bristled with importance. 
 
 " I seen him ! J seen Joel Milligan ! " 
 
 An interested audience collected. 
 
 " Where'd he go to? Where's he at? " 
 
 Jimmy jerked his thumb in the direction 
 of the Milligan claim. 
 
 '' Over yonder ! I seen him kitin' acros't 
 the prairie ! He jist hit the road ! " 
 
 The spell was broken; the people parted 
 into knots of twos and threes; everybody 
 talked aloud at once. In the midst of the 
 confusion, Malvina Milligan lifted her chil- 
 dren into the aged family buggy, and 
 jumped in after them. Several voices called 
 to detain her. She shouted back her inten- 
 69 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 tion of finding and restoring her truant 
 husband, slapped the old mule with the 
 reins, and ambled away; she was soon be- 
 yond recall. 
 
 Thus it befell that the only remaining 
 candidate for baptism was Maggie Milli- 
 gan ; but, upon being importuned to come 
 forth and enter the water, she, too, hung 
 back, and refused to be baptized without 
 her sister. Not even when Mr. Crimp him- 
 self clambered up the bank, and desired her 
 to remember her vows, and attempt to lead 
 her down into the water, did she reverse 
 her decision, but stood stubbornly silent, 
 with burning cheeks and tears dropping 
 from her eyes. 
 
 Mr. Crimp sat down on the bank. He 
 looked considerably less elated than half an 
 hour since. He seemed quite out of humor 
 from the way he slapped the water out of 
 his boots and thrashed his wet trousers. 
 But the fear of losing his popularity soon 
 made him think better of his pettishness; 
 and he once more mingled familiarly with 
 his congregation, contenting himself with 
 indulging in little pleasantries at the ex- 
 pense of his faint-hearted converts. 
 70 
 
The Immersion 
 
 " Tain't very pleasant to get your 
 breeches wet for one convert! But a min- 
 ister has got to expect such things/' said 
 Mr. Crimp. 
 
 Neither Joel Milligan nor his wife Mal- 
 vina reappeared on the scene, and the peo- 
 ple, grown tired of waiting, dispersed, 
 leaving the valley and the lonely ravine and 
 the quiet pool that continually emptied its 
 waters into the sluggish little stream. And 
 all the little animals came out of their holes 
 and ran about in the golden sunshine. And 
 the myriad inhabitants of the prairie went 
 on with their simple existence, untroubled 
 by the illusions and the emotions and the 
 exaltations of their human neighbors who 
 came to visit the pool. 
 
 71 
 
IV 
 
 SPENDING THE DAY 
 
 Confusion reigned among the elements 
 in the days that followed the immersion at 
 Bittern's sheep-pond. Rising in the middle 
 of the morning, with a frolic among the 
 tumble-weeds and now and then a puff of 
 sand in the eyes; gathering in fury as the 
 day advanced, obscuring with a smoke-gray 
 haze mountains and sky, and thickening the 
 air with a fine brown dust; falling at dark 
 to leave a ghostly stillness in its wake; in 
 violent gusts in the night-time often renew- 
 ing its spent forces: so, every day and all 
 day long, blew the wind on Windy Creek. 
 Monotony wrapped the plains: always the 
 same blurring of roads and fences, horizon 
 and mountains, always the dim figures of 
 patient cattle standing motionless, their 
 backs to the wind. 
 
 72 
 
Spending the Day 
 
 One who has for many days at a time wit- 
 nessed such a sullying of the landscape, felt 
 the rocking of the frail structure that shel- 
 ters him, listened to the wild shrieking of 
 the wind around the corner, its demoniac 
 wailing down the stove-pipe, and its dismal 
 moaning within the building paper, can 
 imagine nothing drearier: — it is then that 
 the mind reverts to the old geography at 
 school, and dwells upon the lesson of that 
 waste-land known as the Great American 
 Desert. 
 
 A morning of quiet came at last, and 
 Ruth and Hermia Wood crossed the fields 
 to Rose Rooney's to spend the day. The 
 naked spots between the grass tufts were 
 swept clean of every grain of sand as 
 though by a ruthless broom. Brushed by 
 their skirts, the dried flower-heads and 
 weeds and blades of grass shook off little 
 showers of dust. But the air was fresh and 
 cool, and a great silence had fallen over the 
 plains. 
 
 Pete Rooney's house, a three-roomed cot- 
 tage painted lead-color and garnished with 
 a front piazza and a brick chimney, was 
 73 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 more pretentious than any other of the set- 
 tler's homes on Windy Creek. But it lacked 
 the home-like air possessed by some of its 
 humblest neighbors. Two or three broken 
 window-panes were stuffed out with pil- 
 lows, the yard was rooted up into unsightly 
 rifts and hollows by the busy snouts of 
 half a dozen Httle pigs; cows and calves 
 and colts stood about in the shade close un- 
 der the house; and, worse than all, there 
 was no front gate. 
 
 There w^as nothing for it but to crawl 
 under the barbed-wire fence, and while so 
 doing tear several three-cornered rents in 
 their clothing. Taddy, playing on the 
 piazza, espied them in the act. He fled into 
 the house, and a moment later the doorway 
 framed Rose Rooney's spirited face with 
 Taddy peeping around her skirts. 
 
 " Hello, girls ! How's you ? Come right 
 in. I declare, I'm powerful glad to see 
 some comp'ny agin ! It's dreadful lonesome 
 stayin' here with jist the kids! Ain't the 
 wind blowed awful? Set down, Hermia! 
 Take your things off, girls, an' don't mind 
 me fur keepin' on with my work. Jimmy ! 
 74 
 
Spending the Day 
 
 You take that truck out o' here ! Ain't you 
 'shamed, cuttin' up *taters all over my clean 
 floor?" 
 
 The floors, still damp from scrubbing, 
 were littered with the children's clothing 
 and bits of raw potato. The week's wash- 
 ing was heaped on one bed, and on the 
 other the visitors laid their wraps. 
 
 Jimmy threw a scrap or two out of the 
 door and looked at his mother with an elfish 
 grin to see if her command were to be taken 
 literally. But she rattled on in loud, ani- 
 mated tones : 
 
 " I ain't red up my house, girls, but you'll 
 have to take me as you find me ! You know 
 how 'tis with housework — things won't 
 stay put! 'F I don't let the work slide 
 sometimes an' git something slapped to- 
 gether, them young-uns of mine 'ud go 
 naked. There ain't nobody but me to 'tend 
 to 'em. I says to Pete at breakfast, ' This 's 
 the day fur them Woodses to come over, 
 an' I'm up to my eyes in work. I sha'n't 
 straighten up too slick fur 'em! They'll 
 have to take me as they find me ! ' Them's 
 the very words I says. An' Pete, he says, 
 IS 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 * That's gener'ly the way you do let folks 
 do, ain't it?' Ha, ha, ha!'' 
 
 She laughed merrily. 
 
 His first shyness abated, Taddy began to 
 fret and whine. His curly hair was rubbed 
 into a mop and he had pursed his red lips 
 into an ugly pout. 
 
 "What's the matter with Taddy this 
 morning ? " asked Ruth. 
 
 " Oh, he had the colic last night, awful, 
 an' he's been a-fussin' all the mornin'. I 
 never see sich a young-un'. I give that 
 child sixteen nutmegs mashed an' boiled in 
 milk sence day before yisterday mornin'. 
 But it didn't seem to do him no good. I 
 got out o' nutmegs an' sent over to your 
 ma's an' to Bunt's fur some more, but they 
 didn't neither one of 'em have none, so I 
 begun on the paregoric. Paregoric's the 
 only stuff that does that young-un any good. 
 I've used twic't the bottles on him that I 
 used on my other young-uns ! " 
 
 " Come over and see me, Taddy," coaxed 
 Ruth, holding out her hands. But he clung 
 the more closely to his mother. 
 
 " Go to Ruth, Taddy, you little bother! " 
 76 
 
Spending the Day- 
 cried Rose, pushing him aside and snatch- 
 ing up a child's half-finished gingham waist. 
 " Ma's busy. You go to Ruth. She ain't 
 got nothin' to do. She's got time an' to 
 spare fur kids like you ! " 
 
 Hermia asked, mildly, " I suppose you 
 have a great deal to do, Mrs. Rooney ? " 
 and was answered with asperity: 
 
 " Oh, land, yes ! Why, I don't never git 
 time to turn around — what with cookin' fur 
 the men, an' 'tendin' to the kids, an' reddin' 
 up the house, an' sloppin' the pigs, an' 
 milkin' — Pete never milks; he ain't got no 
 time — Lord knows I ain't, neither; but I 
 have to do it, all the same. Them young- 
 uns is most naked fur clothes, an' when I 
 do git anything made, they bust it out in a 
 week's time. My young-uns is most av^ful 
 hard on their clothes. Jimmy's the worst, 
 the little rascal ! You girls " — drawing her 
 eyes together — " had ought to git married 
 an' have your men take up claims out here ! 
 You'd have to git a hustle on you then! 
 You'd find they was something else to do 
 on a claim 'sides fixin' yourselves up an' 
 lookin' at other people work! I c'n brush 
 77 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 up a feller apiece fur you if you want one," 
 she added. 
 
 A crowing sound called Rose Rooney in- 
 to the bedroom, whence she was heard pour- 
 ing forth a stream of baby-talk. She proud- 
 ly exhibited her youngest, trundling him 
 out in a rickety carriage; she cuddled him 
 in her arms; then, without ceremony, de- 
 posited the infant in Hermia's lap and 
 stepped back to watch the effect. 
 
 " Like children, do you? " 
 
 " Pretty well." 
 
 She burst into a scream of delighted 
 laughter. 
 
 '■ Hermia don't handle that young-un like 
 she was used to baby-tendin'. She acts like 
 she was afraid of him — an' she's got him 
 wrong end foremost! I bet you ain't 
 got no little brothers or sisters to your 
 house." 
 
 "No. My youngest brother" — Ruth 
 nudged her cousin, but too late — " is over 
 sixteen." 
 
 "You're older'n your brother, ain't 
 you?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly." 
 
 78 
 
Spending the Day 
 
 " Is Mr. Crimp going to preach next 
 Sunday ? " Ruth asked, hurriedly. 
 
 *' Guess so ; ain't heard nothin' to the 
 contrary. How old are you, anyway, 
 Hermia?" 
 
 Hermia laughed. " I believe Ruth and 
 I are twins, aren't we, Ruth ? '' 
 
 " Ruth won't never tell me her age. 
 Guess she's gittin' too old to tell her age." 
 
 Rose bit off her thread, glancing inquisi- 
 tively first at Ruth, then at Hermia ; seeing 
 that the desired information was not forth- 
 coming, she tossed her head. 
 
 " Oh, I ain't cur'ous ! It don't make no 
 difference to me how old you girls is, nor 
 how young, neither! I ain't ashamed to 
 tell my age! I was nineteen the fourth of 
 last March. 
 
 " Ruth's so much prouder'n her ma," she 
 went on, in an injured tone. '' Her ma'll 
 tell me anything I ast her. Her ma ain't a 
 bit proud ! " 
 
 Mrs. Rooney's gaze became riveted on 
 Hermia's hair. 
 
 " You don't seem to have as much hair 
 on your head as you did the last time I seen 
 79 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 you. Do you wear a switch when you're 
 dressed up ? " She left her seat and walked 
 around her guest to get a view from all 
 sides. Hermia endeavored to preserve a 
 placid exterior. " YouVe got hair like my 
 sister Lympy's. Hern is awful thin an' 
 scraggly; it ain't got no life to it. An' 
 yourn is the same brown color as hern. Jist 
 see how much I've got! Queer how some 
 folks has it all an' others ain't got anything, 
 hardly! I've got enough an' to spare fur 
 two. When I go to comb my head, I can't 
 hardly run the teeth through it, it's so thick, 
 an' I c'n set on it, too ! " 
 
 Mrs. Rooney paused, waiting for remark, 
 but as none came, she returned to the attack. 
 
 " Like livin' on your claim ? Why don't 
 you take up land out here too, Hermia ? " 
 
 Hermia replied that she had no fondness 
 for roughing it. 
 
 " But you could take up land if you 
 wanted to, couldn't you ? " 
 
 Hermia perceived the drift of Mrs. 
 Rooney's remarks in time to reply, " I am 
 afraid I might be considered too youthful." 
 
 Rose Rooney dropped her sewing and ran 
 So 
 
Spending the Day 
 
 out on the piazza, where she stood gazing 
 up the road, shading her eyes with her 
 hand. 
 
 " Something has happened to ruffle her," 
 whispered Ruth, and Hermia whispered 
 back, " Let's go home as soon as we can get 
 away, after dinner." 
 
 Their hostess rushed into the kitchen. 
 She assailed stove-Hds, kettle, and frying- 
 pan, shouting out of the din: 
 
 " Blest if it ain't time to be gittin' din- 
 ner ! We ain't got no w^ay to tell time — the 
 children was playin' with the clock yister- 
 day an' broke it, I guess. I only knowed 
 it was drawin' toward dinner time when I 
 see the smoke from your ma's stove-pipe! 
 You c'n see the smoke jist as plain from our 
 porch ! An' I c'n see your ma's washin' on 
 the line, when I stand on tip-toe. That 
 porch 's awful handy. Had an awful big 
 wash this week, didn't you? I never see 
 sich folks fur wearin' light dresses! I 
 won't never wear 'em — they git dirty too 
 quick! Didn't you never see the smoke 
 from our chimney when you're over to your 
 ma's?" 
 
 8i 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " I've never noticed it." 
 
 " Where's your eyes ? " said Jimmy, pert- 
 ly. " When Fm over to your ma's I c'n see 
 the smoke comin' out of our chimbley. 
 Ourn's a brick chimbley; yourn ain't." 
 
 Mrs. Rooney winked. 
 
 " Jist listen to the young-un ! He's grow- 
 in' smarter 'n sassier every day of his life! 
 He's most caught up to his ma ! " 
 
 Jimmy, flattered by her allusion to his 
 wit, lolled out his tongue and kicked up his 
 heels on the floor. 
 
 " You git up off that floor an' quit tryin' 
 to act smart, you little skeesics, you ! " cried 
 the mother. " You clear out an' rustle me 
 in some wood fur dinner ! Go 'long, now ! 
 Quick!" 
 
 Jimmy's countenance fell. *' Don't want 
 to," he grumbled. 
 
 "Jimmy Rooney! I'll whip you if you 
 don't git me that wood ! " 
 
 " Oh, you don't want no wood ! That 
 box's half full, now." 
 
 " There ain't enough there to burn two 
 minutes! You go chop up that dry-goods 
 box out there." 
 
 82 
 
Spending the Day 
 
 ''Daddy wants that box. I see myself 
 choppin' up that box/' 
 
 " What do I care fur daddy. That box's 
 none of hisn ! " 
 
 During this angry controversy Rose 
 Rooney strode to the door as Jimmy edged 
 out of it. 
 
 "Well, I won't touch that box!" was 
 Jimmy's parting shot from the vicinity of 
 the wood-pile. 
 
 Rose gave a short laugh. 
 
 " Sich young-uns as I've got ! I have to 
 draw a tight line over him, now, I tell you 
 — he's a case ! Don't you wish you was me, 
 girls?" 
 
 She bustled about in the kitchen, clatter- 
 ing pans and kettles. She wore no apron; 
 the front of her blue cotton gown was dark 
 with grease-spots and soot from the charred 
 pitch-pine. But in her seeming disorder 
 there was system; in a short time the din- 
 ner was on, and the appetizing odors from 
 the kitchen excited the children, who hung 
 clamoring about the table. She pared a raw 
 potato for each and at these they content- 
 edly munched. She threw down flour- 
 
 83 
 
 4 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 board and rolling-pin and bared her pugi- 
 listic arms to the shoulder; her wrists were 
 firmly rounded, her hands large and well 
 shaped. She looked like a Hebe making 
 the pies. With the rolling-pin she whacked 
 and pounded the paste into shape, from time 
 to time throwing her voice, raised to a cheer- 
 ful shout, into the next room or roughening 
 it to scold the children. She pinched off 
 bits of the raw pie-crust and swallowed 
 them as so many sugar-plums ; for " Good 
 cooks alius taste,'' said Mrs. Rooney. 
 
 The children buzzed around the board 
 like flies about a honey-pot. 
 
 "What you eatin', mudder?" from 
 Taddy. 
 
 " Never you mind, sonny." She made a 
 dive at him. " Taddy ! Git out of the sugar 
 bowl!" 
 
 At sight of the slices of green apple she 
 was ladling into the pans, he threw his po- 
 tato on the floor. 
 
 " Me want apple ! " 
 
 His mother pushed the dish out of reacH 
 of the chubby hands. " Ma wants them 
 apples fur pies, honey. The big old men is 
 84 
 
Spending the Day 
 
 goin' to eat all the apples up an' all the 
 'taters up — they ain't none fur ma's pet." 
 
 The boy set up a loud yell, but she went 
 on talking still more loudly until he pulled 
 a basin of water over his head. Then she 
 jerked him by one arm into the living-room. 
 " I never see sich a young-un in all my born 
 days ! " she said, irritably. " Ruth, you 
 take him an' put him into something 
 dry." 
 
 The men came straggling home to din- 
 ner, brown and dusty after a morning's 
 forking potatoes in the field. They drank 
 at the well and washed their hands, waiting 
 shyly outside until the meal was announced, 
 when they trooped into the kitchen and 
 smoothed their hair before a small, distort- 
 ing glass that hung in a corner. 
 
 " Come on, girls ! " cried Mrs. Rooney. 
 " Don't you be bashful ; there's only one 
 stranger here ! This is Mr. Joe Puttincamp, 
 from Cripple Crick. He's awful jolly — ^but 
 he's married, though," she added in an au- 
 dible tone, winking at her guests. 
 
 Mr. Joe Puttincamp, of Cripple Creek, 
 bowed low. He was a stout young man, 
 35 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 with a forward manner and bulging green- 
 ish eyes like a bull-frog's ; he wore his hair 
 banged, with a plastered curl in the middle 
 of a receding forehead. 
 
 " Here's my Pete ; you know him, Ruth. 
 This is Miss Wood, Pete, Ruth's cousin 
 come to visit her ; them two girls is bachin' 
 it over to Ruth's claim. An' this is Grand- 
 pa Wilkins. An' this is Bob Jenkins; he's 
 diggin' potatoes fur Pete. Now you know 
 each other. Set up an' help yourselves, 
 girls. Don't be backward ! " 
 
 It was a table spread helter-skelter; hot 
 soda-biscuits and mealy potatoes boiled in 
 their jackets were jumbled together; the 
 fried pork w^as browned to a turn ; the cof- 
 fee was yellowed with cream; country 
 fashion, cake, pie, and pudding bombarded 
 each plate. 
 
 The children drummed on the table, 
 clamoring for the first helping. Their 
 father placed one on each side of him, filled 
 their plates and kept a kindly eye upon 
 them ; and with fingers and spoons they fell 
 to. He was a silent man, Pete Rooney ; he 
 ;vvas a good ten years older than his wife, 
 S6 
 
Spending the Day 
 
 and he had a rough, red head and tousled 
 beard. 
 
 The hired man ate and drank speechless- 
 ly, appropriating to himself a large amount 
 of elbow-space. 
 
 But old man Wilkins was more socially 
 inclined. He was the great-grandfather of 
 Jimmy and Taddy, a toothless old man hav- 
 ing a yellow leathern face, fringed with 
 stubby white hair and beard. 
 
 " And how's the sickly one ? '' suavely in- 
 quired old man Wilkins, his underlip shak- 
 ing with age ; he spoke in a leisurely drawl. 
 
 Ruth flushed. " Pretty well, thank you." 
 
 " Air ye campin' out, like, on the per-air- 
 ah fur yer health ? '* 
 
 " Partly for that." 
 
 " These per-air-ahs air considered toler- 
 able healthy fur invalid folks of yer build, 
 that air weak and sickly-like, so IVe heered. 
 Yer cousin thur looks ruggeder, like as if 
 she had been raised on the per-air-ah." 
 
 A pause, during which old man Wilkins 
 stirred mashed potato into his tin of butter- 
 milk, and poured in molasses until the 
 contents were a rich straw-color. 
 87 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " Better settle down on these hyur per- 
 air-ahs an' git married. Now my advice to 
 you ladies is to rustle around an' git ye a 
 feller apiece agin' the other gals has hed 
 thur pick. Ye'll never hev a better chance 
 — thur's several likely young men out in 
 these parts that air jest lookin' around fur 
 to git them a woman agin' they take up 
 land an' settle down on these hyur per-air- 
 ahs." 
 
 Mrs. Rooney waited on the table in her 
 hospitable fashion. 
 
 " Have some more of the pork, Hermia. 
 You ain't half eatin'! We butchered one 
 of our hogs last Tuesday week ; the littlest 
 one of the lot. It's some early to kill hogs 
 afore cold weather sets in, but Pete, he says 
 we'd ought to kill oif one or two an' stop 
 the feed bill, an' we knowed we could use 
 it up afore it spoiled, an' it potato diggin' 
 too an' ail them men to eat. Ain't the flies 
 jist awful? We ain't got no screens to our 
 house, an' I can't get shed of the flies, no- 
 how! It jist plagued me, awful, to have 
 you girls to my house to a meal in fly-time, 
 honest." 
 
 88 
 
Spending the Day 
 
 " Heard what price spuds bring over to 
 Cripple Crick, Joe ? " inquired Pete Rooney 
 of Mr. Puttincamp. 
 
 " Sixty a hundred or thereabouts." 
 
 " Beats me how these hard times keeps 
 up," said Pete. " Prices dropping, banks 
 failing — the country is going to bust up one 
 of these days." 
 
 " If them fool easterners," said Mr. Put- 
 tincamp, " would put the right man in, 
 now. Put the man in fur president, says 
 I, that understands the West ; what's good 
 for the West is good for the East. Fve got 
 my eye on one man," raising his voice, 
 " that's fit to sit in the president's chair, and 
 no mistake. A man that understands the 
 principle of sixteen to one from bottom to 
 top. A man that would open up the West 
 in good shape, give him half a chance. A 
 man that's got the grit to fight it out — first 
 with argyments and last with blood, and 
 come out ahead every time! And that 
 man's Waite! Waite would make the 
 world hum! I had the luck to hear him 
 speechify down there in Denver. If he 
 didn't raise Cain with his blood to the 
 89 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 bridle-bits! That's the kind of talk we 
 want, says I ! It made my American heart 
 boil, by jolly ! Waiters the man to fill the 
 bill, and don't you forget it ! " 
 
 " Say, Waite made things pretty lively up 
 there to Cripple Crick time of the Bull Hill 
 strike, didn't he ? " remarked Pete. 
 
 " You bet your life. Took old Waite to 
 set the camp humming. There was one 
 night there when the old man was settlin' 
 up things that us boys got pretty high. We 
 was all full, not to hurt, you know, but just 
 enough to feel good — and we kep' a-scrap- 
 pin' with the cops all night. My brother, 
 he got into a scrap, and I takes his part. I 
 grabs the cop and ketches hold of his legs 
 till he was throwed. Then up steps another 
 feller with a billy and I settles him. I gets 
 into a scrap all around. Then I steps up 
 and agrees to pay the fine. One of these 
 here Salvation Army fellers stops at the cor- 
 ner saloon and sings, 
 
 '// you get there before I do. 
 Just tell the rest Fm coming too * 
 
 and we joshed him till he lit out. We set 
 
 on the curb-stone and joshed and hollered 
 
 90 
 
Spending the Day 
 
 all night. My throat got so sore with josh- 
 in' that I couldn't hardly speak above a 
 whisper by mornin'. Yes, mom, I ain't had 
 such a bully time since us boys egged the 
 cowboy preacher out of camp. I got hit on 
 the head by an egg myself that night, but 
 it was a fresh eggy all right." 
 
 " Waite's pretty smart of a gov'nor ; 
 there won't be no hard times, long, with 
 him to even up things. He ain't no dough- 
 head, Waite ain't," observed old man Wil- 
 kins. 
 
 " What in thunder started all these hard 
 times, anyway? If it's going to get so 
 thundering hard to live out here, it's time 
 to quit this doggoned country," growled the 
 hired man, in a grumbling bass. 
 
 " These hard times," old man Wllkins 
 explained, " hed oughter be blamed on thet 
 thur gorl-darned Harrison. He air the 
 prime cause fur the scarcity of money at the 
 present day; and we air in the pinch now 
 on account of him, and no other." 
 
 " Oh," said Hermia, " Harrison made a 
 pretty good sort of a president." 
 
 Rose RoQuey upset a coffee-cup. 
 91 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " Oh, but jist think what Harrison done. 
 When Harrison was president, he stole the 
 treasury! " 
 
 Her husband gave a contemptuous laugh. 
 " Oh, come off ! you don't know anything 
 about it. My woman," turning apologet- 
 ically to the visitor from Cripple Creek, 
 " she thinks she knows it all, and she don't 
 know the first thing about politics, and 
 never will." 
 
 "I do, too! You needn't think Fm so 
 awful dumb! I guess I've heard about 
 Harrison's stealin' the treasury ! " 
 
 Mr. Puttincamp's oily tones smoothed 
 the troubled waters. 
 
 " I guess your wife's about right, Pete. 
 There ain't much difference between ' stole ' 
 and ' robbed ' — leastways you wouldn't be 
 apt to think so if a coon meddled with your 
 hen-roost, ha, ha, ha ! " And Mr. Puttin- 
 camp laughed heartily, and winked in a 
 familiar way at the two guests. 
 
 Mrs. Rooney fixed her eyes on Hermia's 
 face and asked, suddenly: 
 
 *' What ticket 'r' you goin' to vote this 
 election ? " 
 
 92 
 
Spending the Day 
 
 " Oh, the RepubHcan, I suppose." 
 
 " Then you're twenty-one. You're old 
 enough to vote ! " 
 
 The men laughed. Hermia exchanged a 
 humorous glance with her cousin, which 
 said, " Caught, that time ! " 
 
 The baby woke out of a nap. His mother 
 brought him to the table just as he was, all 
 warm and pink, and fed him greasy gravy 
 on potato, bits of soda biscuit, pie and cake, 
 and strong coffee. 
 
 " Jist see my baby eat," she said, with 
 pride. '' He c'n eat everything that I do, 
 an' he only four months old next Sunday. 
 He's got an awful strong stummick. Tad- 
 dy, he never use' to could eat things like 
 Marky can. He can't eat like Marky can, 
 now, can he, tumpty-wumpty ? Markv's 
 strong, but he's homely. He's the home- 
 liest young-un I've got. He's an awful 
 homely kid, ain't he, sweet, silly sing?" — 
 punctuating her words with kisses. 
 
 The men pushed back their chairs and 
 went off to their work. Old man Wilkins 
 ambled after them, first replacing in his 
 toothless mouth his quid of tobacco. 
 93 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 Dinner over, the guests wiped the dishes 
 while Rose washed and " swilled " them. 
 
 Then Rose Rooney must needs take them 
 out to see the live-stock. 
 
 She tucked the baby into his buggy and 
 flung a quilt over him, saying, " Marky'll 
 be good till we git back — he's the best baby 
 to stay alone by hisself , Marky is ! " 
 
 She led the way, first to the pig-pen to 
 exhibit the fattening porkers. She took her 
 guests down into the potato cellar to show 
 them the ton or so of potatoes already gath- 
 ered in, and she stopped at the well and 
 drew a bucket of clear, soft water with the 
 windlass. 
 
 " This water ain't got a bit of alkali in 
 it. None of the water out here hasn't. 
 Down around Denver they say the alkali 
 is so bad that when the men sweats, the al- 
 kali comes out on their shirts, from drinkin' 
 the stuff.'' 
 
 "There's the old locoed horse," said 
 Jimmy. 
 
 " Old locoed horse," echoed Taddy. 
 
 They pointed to a weazened, hide-bound 
 bronco with drooping head and sunken 
 94 
 
Spending the Day- 
 eye and legs that bent under its light 
 weight; it was standing motionless in the 
 shade of the house. 
 
 '' Didn't you never see a locoed horse 
 afore ? '' asked Rose Rooney, in a pitying 
 tone. *' Well, you see one now. That's the 
 way they git when they eat the loco — you 
 know that purple flower that grows out 
 here ; there's a bunch now, a-growin' by the 
 corner of the stable. Jimmy, you run an' git 
 her a sprig of it. It makes the cattle crazy 
 to eat it, an' then they pine away an' die; 
 they don't never git over it. That old horse 
 must have eat a lot of it. He was plumb 
 crazy, like he'd been bit by a mad dog. 
 They tied him in the stable an' he broke 
 loose an' kicked an' rolled an' bit. He 
 smashed every stall in the stable — they 
 wasn't a whole two-by-four left inside. Jist 
 come here an' I'll show you the marks where 
 he bit chunks out of the logs. He was that 
 way till he wore hisself all out. That was 
 more'n two months back. Then he got kind 
 o' quiet an' stupid, an' he wouldn't eat none. 
 He gits poorer an' poorer every day of his 
 life. He won't last long, now.*' 
 95 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 Her guests had already looked too long 
 at the poor little brute. They went into the 
 house, wondering why Pete did not put an 
 end to his misery. Their hostess soon put 
 them to work. 
 
 " Ruth, you take that waist of Jimmy's 
 an' sew up them seams on the machine. 
 Fve got to patch this shirt of Pete's, plague 
 take it. Hermia, you mind the baby; you 
 don't seem to have nothin' else to do." 
 
 The little ones romped and frisked like 
 young calves after a full meal. Jimmy 
 jumped into the bed and Taddy after him. 
 They hammered the pillows with their dusty 
 little shoes, they turned somersaults, they 
 whooped and roared. A feverish flush 
 leaped to Ruth's pale cheeks. But the baby 
 slumbered peacefully on; and their mother 
 rocked and talked and sewed. When Her- 
 mia sprang to the rescue of the wraps on 
 the bed, she only said, composedly: *' Oh, 
 never mind the bed — the children wallers 
 in it all day." 
 
 Rose Rooney was not so deeply absorbed 
 in her work as to neglect the world outside. 
 She rushed to the open door. 
 
 96 
 
Spending the Day 
 
 " Believe my soul, that's Claude Fairley ! 
 Wonder what he's took that road fur ? Him 
 an' his brother's ranch is five miles to the 
 north of here." 
 
 Ruth left the machine. '* Oh, is that 
 Claude Fairley? You must have a look at 
 him, Hermia — he's a college graduate, and 
 he's roughing it out here on a cattle ranch." 
 She looked up and down the road. " Why, 
 where is he ? " 
 
 Rose Rooney pointed. After looking up 
 and down and all around, their eyes trav- 
 elled out to the prairie, and they noticed 
 afar off, perhaps three-quarters of a mile 
 or more, a small object moving slowly 
 southward. 
 
 " How do you know that's Claude Fair- 
 ley?" 
 
 "Can't you see his cart?" contemptu- 
 ously. 
 
 " But how can you tell a cart at such a 
 distance? " 
 
 " Where was you raised ? Can't you see 
 
 them two wheels? That's his roan mare, 
 
 too. I could tell that mare anywheres — 
 
 she goes sideways. You Wood girls is so 
 
 97 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 odd, you ain't never learnt to use your eyes, 
 none." 
 
 " Perhaps you can tell us what he has 
 on," said Ruth. 
 
 *' Or the expression on his face," added 
 Hermia. 
 
 Rose missed the sarcasm. She again 
 strained her gaze. " He's got on that red 
 shirt of hisn," she announced. " An' 
 there's something tied to the springs of the 
 cart — 't looks like a jug. I bet I know 
 where he's bound ! " with animation. " He's 
 goin' up by Post's, an' then he's goin' 'round 
 by Arrowhead to git his jug filled! " 
 
 She went back to her work. Her eyes 
 narrowed. " You girls better set your caps 
 fur him. He won't be hard to ketch. They 
 say he's awful anxious to git him a wife." 
 
 " H'm," said Ruth, hastily turning her 
 back on the distant cart, " I wouldn't be 
 seen speaking to that Claude Fairley ! " 
 
 Rose Rooney veered about like a weather- 
 cock at the first breath of wind. 
 
 " I never did like that Claude Fairley, 
 nohow," said she, " nor his brother Dave, 
 neither. I tell you what's the matter of 
 98 
 
Spending the Day 
 
 them: they're bigoty! So's the old lady. 
 The bigotiest lot I ever see, the whole out- 
 fit of 'em." 
 
 Her face reddened and she sewed with 
 a furious needle. 
 
 " Girls," said she, " I was that riled last 
 Saturday week when I went to the Springs 
 to do my tradin' that I could a' said bad 
 words ! Honest, I could ! Fve been takin' 
 my eggs to the woman that lives in the big 
 shingled house on Cascade Avenue, the 
 green house with the white trimmings, you 
 know. And I went to the front door like 
 I alius do — ketch me goin' 'round to the 
 back door like any rag-picker ! An' I rung 
 the door-bell. An' the woman, she opened 
 the door reel quick an' she says, ' After this 
 come to the back door with your eggs ! ' 
 Them's the very words she said! 'After 
 this come to the back door with your eggs ! ' 
 Well, I jist looked a hole through her, an' 
 left. Chaw my heel, if I ever ring her door- 
 bell agin, or go 'round to her back door, 
 neither! I jist won't be put upon, now 
 I tell you! Say, girls, I'm awful glad 
 you ain't tony, like that woman; why, I 
 99 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 wouldn't know how to talk to you if you 
 was ! There's another woman that Hves in 
 one of them big houses that I take my eggs 
 to that's jist as different ! She alius smiles 
 as pleasant and as'ts me inside, and as'ts me 
 if Vm tired, an' how Jimmy is — I took him 
 with me, onc't. She ain't a bit stingy of 
 her pleasant words. I tell you what it is, 
 girls, she's common, like me 'n' you. There 
 ain't nothin' bigoty about that woman. I 
 like folks that's common and treats every- 
 body pleasant alike. But some of them rich 
 bugs is so mean. 
 
 " I took Jimmy to the Springs last time 
 but one," went on Mrs. Rooney, '* an' the 
 little skeesics, he thought the fruit stalls an' 
 candy stands were free to all to help their- 
 selves. 'Twas the first time he's went to the 
 city since he was a teenty kid like Marky, 
 an' he didn't know no better. He got 
 off with consider'ble truck without bein' 
 ketched at it ; but he was li'ble to git us 
 into trouble. It tickled me some to see the 
 kid," 
 
 "Do you like Mr. Crimp as much as 
 ever? " Hermia inquired, wishing to beguile 
 
 lOO 
 
Spending the Day- 
 Rose Rooney into speaking of her immer- 
 sion. 
 
 " Like him ! Guess I do ! Don't you ? 
 I never see a man that could git up an' 
 preach along like him — he could talk an 
 arm off you! Pa says he's the smartest 
 man of his time. Pa's all wrapped up in 
 Mr. Crimp. He was converted in June, pa 
 was. An' did you ever see anything sol- 
 emner than the way that man conducts at 
 baptizings? I declare to goodness, girls, 
 when I went into the water, an' he said 
 them solemn words, I couldn't help it, hon- 
 est, I jist had to cry ! I got to shakin' from 
 head to foot. I wasn't afraid, but I jist got 
 all stirred up like, inside of me. An' I felt 
 like I was dyin', an' my children was took 
 away from me, an' Pete was took away, an' 
 — oh, I don't know what all! I felt like 
 I was at my own funeral ! I'm awful glad 
 the Christians doesn't believe in baptizin' 
 you more'n onc't. I tell you I'd back out 
 if they come fur me agin! I jist would! 
 I'd be a backslider! 'Twas a awful hard 
 pull for me to put my mind on goin' into 
 the water; but I don't care, now it's over. 
 
 lOI 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 Bein' dipped give me the right to go in at 
 the gate of heaven, an' nobody can't take 
 that away from me." 
 
 A dreamy look flitting into her face, she 
 became again the Rose Rooney of the im- 
 mersion. But the next moment she roused 
 herself to give the sharp command : 
 
 " Jimmy ! Git Taddy out of the machine- 
 drawer! I never see that child's like to 
 meddle — he's always got them fingers of 
 hisn into something." 
 
 " What is Taddy's real name ? " 
 
 " His real name ? Taddy's short for 
 Thaddeus." 
 
 " He has a Bible name, then." 
 
 " I give Jimmy an' Marky an' him Bible 
 names a-purpose. Pa says there's some- 
 thing in it : if you give a boy a Bible name, 
 they'll gener'ly turn up good. I'm goin' to 
 name every boy I have after the apostles, 
 if there's seventeen of 'em ! My sister Em, 
 she don't believe a Bible name is goin' to 
 keep boys from bein' bad — she believes if 
 they're goin' to be bad, they'll be bad, an' if 
 they're goin' to be good, they'll be good, 
 an' they ain't no help fur it ! She says she's 
 
 I02 
 
Spending the Day 
 
 goin' to call her boys decent names. So 
 she's named her boy Roger. She's got her 
 a great big rough boy, Em has, with years 
 as big as mine." 
 
 " When is the next immersion coming 
 off?" 
 
 " This comin' Sunday, it was give out to 
 be. They's goin' to be five or six converts, 
 if they don't none of 'em backslide, like Joel 
 Milligan done. That Joel Milligan ain't got 
 no sand; nor them Bitterns, neither. The 
 women folks aim to try it agin: but Joel, 
 he says no one ain't goin' to coax him into 
 the water agin if he don't never git to 
 heaven. An' I reckon everybody knows 
 why, too." Rose Rooney lowered her 
 voice, " Folks say he drownded a man, 
 onc't. They say the sight of water alius 
 makes him sick." 
 
 " Joel Milligan a murderer ! " cried the 
 listeners. 
 
 "Honest! That's jist what he done — 
 drownded a man in cold blood. But that 
 was a long while back, an' it's all blowed 
 over. Him an' his pardner fell out over a 
 calf that hadn't no brand on it, a maverick, 
 103 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 you know, an' they both claimed it. They 
 chanced to meet down to a pond — folks say 
 it was some like Bittern's, an' I reckon it 
 was the sight of Bittern's sheep-pond put 
 Joel in mind of what he'd done, when he 
 went to git dipped. An' Joel, he's powerful 
 stout in the arms, if he is small-built, an' 
 his pardner had lung disease — he wound 
 them arms of hisn 'round his pardner's 
 neck, an' tripped him up, an' held him un- 
 der water till he was stiff an' stark. An' 
 that pond it wasn't more than three foot 
 deep, they say. Joel, he kep' mighty clos't 
 fur a few days, but the boys give him away, 
 an' the sheriff run him down. He had his 
 trial and was give eighteen months in the 
 Pen. Joel, he served his time out, an' then 
 he come back out here, an' took up a claim, 
 an' kep' reel quiet an' stiddy, an' it all 
 blowed over. Malviny Bittern, she come 
 out to these parts with her folks in a 
 schooner from Injun Territory, an' Joel, he 
 kep' comp'ny with her. Folks said she done 
 bad to yoke herself to a murderer, an' she 
 didn't want him, noways; but her pa, he 
 kicked up sich a rumpus, an' Joel, he stuck 
 104 
 
Spending the Day 
 
 to her so, that she took him to git shed of 
 him. But they ain't no git-up to neither one 
 of 'em : they don't seem to know how to git 
 ahead, someways ; Malviny or the children's 
 alius sick, or something; they're awful 
 shif'less. 
 
 '* An' them ain't the only shif'less lot out 
 here, not by a long ways," said Rose 
 Rooney, in energetic tones. " J'ever see 
 the Bunts? Well, them Bunts is the shif- 
 liest family that ever took up a claim an' 
 couldn't work it. Shif'less? No name fur 
 it ! When we first come here to this house, 
 I neighbored off an' on with Mis' Bunt; 
 but land! I've had to give that up. I've 
 took a despise to her. 'Tain't no use tryin' 
 to neighbor with folks that ain't decent an' 
 won't even pretend to be! I jist dropped 
 the lot, honest, I did! Bunt, he drinks, 
 when he c'n git it. Lon's been ketched at 
 liftin' chickens as much as twic't ; your pa'd 
 do well to look after his hen-roost. I'll bet 
 Lon knowed what went with that pullet 
 your pa missed last week. An' Ted's an 
 awful bad boy — he chaws an' swears ! An' 
 the girls is dreadful slack — the men that 
 105 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 gits them girls fur wives has got a elephant 
 on their hands. They don't know how to 
 housekeep nor nothin'. An' Mis' Bunt, 
 she's the fussiest woman to live near by! 
 She 'n me, we had a reg'lar up an' down 
 scrap afore we quit neighborin'. I didn't 
 sass her back nor nothin' ; I jist kep' in an' 
 let her gas till she about wore her tongue 
 out on me. Her tongue is alius clackin' — 
 she's got a awful sassy tongue, that woman 
 has. 
 
 "Jimmy, you leave them lights be, d'ye 
 hear ? Them broken lights pester me dread- 
 ful. Yisterday, when I was stewin' over the 
 stove with my back to the winder, a big 
 Irishman stuck his head in, an' he says, 
 ' Air ye trew potatez-diggin' yit, mum ? ' 
 Land! he like to scairt the daylights out 
 o' me, his big voice hollered through that 
 broken light so suddent! Thought 'twas a 
 tramp at first, but I might 'a' knowed bet- 
 ter: we don't never have no tramps out 
 here — too fur from the railroads. The 
 feller he wanted work, but he didn't git it, 
 all the same. Pete, he won't give no work 
 to no plaguey Irishman, if he did hail from 
 io6 
 
Spending the Day 
 
 the old country hisself — he knows 'em too 
 well ! He mistrusts 'em every time ! Your 
 pa, he was here this mornin' lookin' at the 
 red heifer. An' he noticed them pillers 
 that's stuck in them winder lights, an' he 
 says, ' Put all your beddin' out to air, eh ? ' 
 I was that plagued, I didn't know what to 
 say, honest. I'll be tickled to death when 
 I git them broken lights fixed! I don't 
 care! When them's fixed, me an' Pete's 
 got the comfortablest home this side of the 
 Divide, if I do say it myself! There ain't 
 another house on Windy Creek has got 
 more room than ourn, nor their walls plas- 
 tered, nor a brick chimney, neither." 
 
 Rose Rooney put half a dozen swift fin- 
 ishing stitches into her husband's shirt, and 
 flung it across the room. 
 
 " There," said she. " That'll do fur tem- 
 porary ! " 
 
 The baby wakened and she ran to take 
 it up. With the child lying across her knees 
 she sang a snatch of a lullaby, and in her 
 attitude — the curve of her graceful neck, 
 her downward glance, the mother-light in 
 her eyes, there was a trace of the pictured 
 107 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 Madonna. The older children, attracted by 
 her song, drew to her knee, and Jimmy put 
 out his hand to stroke the little one's head. 
 In a flash a storm gathered and broke; 
 Jimmy's face was slapped, and his little 
 brother pushed rudely over on the floor. 
 Again Rose Rooney made a picture; but 
 this time it was the mother-cat cuffing her 
 older offspring while she fondles her nurs- 
 ling. 
 
 The children cried themselves into a 
 quarrelsome mood; the elder tyrannized 
 over the younger, and the younger fretted 
 and teased; but the mother paid no atten- 
 tion to their small woes. She was looking 
 her guests over with a critical eye. 
 
 " Folks that has to wear glasses looks so 
 old, don't they ? " she remarked. " You 
 can't see good without yourn, can you, 
 Hermia ? To think of your sight failin', an' 
 you so young! Land! 'fore I'd be willin' 
 to wear specs ! S'pose I'll have to come to 
 it some day, when I'm awful old. Jist look 
 at Ruth's hands, how little they is, an' how 
 fast she works! I don't see how you can 
 sew none with sich little paws as them, 
 io8 
 
Spending the Day- 
 Ruth! You're that Httle all over that you 
 can't amount to as much as natural sized 
 folks like me 'n Hermia. Ruth, it's a good 
 thing you never got married, it 'd be a 
 shame fur you to palm yourself off on a 
 man that was well. But your bein' under- 
 sized don't matter much, seein' as you're an 
 invalid. They's less of you to be sick. 
 Now, I've alius been robust an' I've alius 
 had to hoe my own row — don't know what 
 would a-become of me if I hadn't. In our 
 fam'ly everybody had to look out fur num- 
 ber one. We was put out to work as soon 
 as we was knee-high to a grasshopper. 
 When I was young, I worked out. You'd 
 better believe I worked hard, too ! No soft 
 pillers fur me! I was young then, only 
 fourteen, girls, an' I put out big washin'j, 
 an' scrubbed floors till my hands was sore, 
 an' cooked meals fur whole families! I 
 never did stay long to one place — ^but 'twas 
 'cause I jist wouldn't be put upon! When 
 the woman at one place got too sassy, I jist 
 lit out, an' looked up another place. I tell 
 you, I was pretty 'cute ! " 
 
 She went to the window and looked rest- 
 lessly up and down. 
 
 109 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " Wish't a team or something 'd come 
 along. Say, girls, know them Joneses that 
 live down the hill there ? They're awful ig- 
 norant people — they're Welsh. The Welsh 
 is so ignorant. There's a lot in that little 
 house — eleven children, and the father and 
 mother and old man Jones — ^but he's half- 
 cracked, he ain't all there. I sent Jimmy 
 over to Mis' Jones's of a errand yisterday 
 — no, mebby 'twas day before; but it don't 
 matter. They's jist got up from the table, 
 an' the young-uns' faces was all sticky, an' 
 Mis' Jones, she wet the wash-cloth in some 
 warm water an' went the rounds. Then 
 what do you reckon that woman done? 
 Slapped the wash-cloth into the dish-water 
 and went to washin' the dishes with it! 
 Yes, ma'am ! Jimmy he see her ! He come 
 an' told me! Washed the dishes with the 
 cloth she's wiped the young-uns' faces on! 
 Oh, she's awful ignorant. 
 
 " Ain't heard any news anywhere, have 
 you, girls?" inquired Rose Rooney, yawn- 
 ing. " I wish't something 'ud happen. I 
 almost wish't there'd come a blizzard off 
 somewheres, honest I do. Did you hear 
 no 
 
Spending the Day 
 
 about that blizzard they had out here last 
 fall? My sister Lympy was ketched out in 
 that blizzard. She was out gittin' up the 
 cows, three miles from home. The storm 
 blowed up awful quick an' she couldn't see 
 nothin'. So she ketched hold of a cow's 
 tail an' come home a-flyin'; the blizzard, it 
 happened to be blowin' her way. They was 
 two thousand sheep strown over the prairie 
 after the storm blowed over. And they was 
 the body of a woman found out on the Di- 
 vide. They examined her and found she 
 was thirty years old and well educated. 
 Wish't something like that would happen 
 out here. It's so awful dull on Windy Crick 
 this year, there ain't no sparkin' to speak 
 of, nor no pairin's off, nor nothin'. We 
 need something to stir up our blood onc't 
 in a while. There's Art Post soft as mush 
 on that Scotch girl, Jean McLeod, but he 
 don't seem to gain on her none. Guess 
 she's got a mind of her own. But every- 
 body says she'll end by marryin' him. 
 Wish't she'd throw him over or elope with 
 him. I can't bear to see folks jist paddle 
 along like them two. Ruth, why don't you 
 III 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 set your cap fur Art an' take him away 
 from her? That 'd be an excitement to 
 even up things. I declare to goodness I'd 
 do it 'f I was a girl. Then there's that Soph 
 Crimp. Folks don't know whether he's 
 keepin' comp'ny with Dianthy or Stelle or 
 both, or whether he means business by 
 either one of 'em. But I reckon Dianthy's 
 a little softer on him than Stelle is, if you 
 turn it the other way. Them are odd girls. 
 They're gittin' a little old. Dianthy '11 be an 
 old maid afore she settles down if she don't 
 look out. I guess she's nineteen. She told 
 me her age two years back, but she won't 
 tell it now. Oh, she's gittin' old, Dianthy 
 is ; she's had her day." 
 
 She thrust out her feet in front of her. 
 
 " Look at them shoes ! Don't I need a 
 new pair awful bad? Them's fours, hon- 
 est, though they don't look it; sides busted 
 out, soles flappin', heels run down — what 
 size shoes do you wear, Hermia?" 
 
 " Tens, on the H last," replied Hermia, 
 glibly. 
 
 " Oh, you're joshin' ! You don't wear 
 no tens. Ruth don't wear more'n ones, I 
 
 112 
 
Spending the Day 
 
 know, from the size of her foot. But she's 
 so httle anyway you can't see her. She 
 ain't no bigger'n a bar of soap put out to 
 dry. I wouldn't have sich Httle feet." 
 
 " Hermia, it's time we were going home," 
 said Ruth, decisively; and Hermia sprang 
 to her feet, saying, " Indeed, I think so, 
 too." .;- 
 
 " What's your hurry ? Come over reel 
 often, girls. When you don't know what 
 to do with yourselves, come over an' mind 
 my kids. I c'n keep you in work ! " 
 
 The afternoon sun shone strong on Her- 
 mia standing in the doorway. " What a 
 little, thin neck Hermia has got ! " ex- 
 claimed Rose Rooney, who seemed to be 
 in a perpetual state of astonishment over 
 some new discovery. Hermia moved pre- 
 cipitately out of the door. She carefully 
 held up the wires to let her cousin roll un- 
 der the fence without doing further damage 
 to her clothing. 
 
 Rose Rooney, watching from the piazza, 
 screamed with laughter. 
 
 "Hermia, you act like you was Ruth's 
 feller!" 
 
 "3 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 Neither spoke a word until across the 
 road and in the next field ; then the cousins 
 glanced at each other and simultaneously 
 burst into merry laughter. 
 
 114 
 
SOME NEIGHBORLY GOSSIP 
 
 " My woman, she'll be in d'rectly," said 
 Mr. Bunt, removing the pipe from his lips 
 to greet the Wood cousins at his door. He 
 kicked away the three yellow shepherd dogs 
 snapping at their heels, as he added, apolo- 
 getically, " The women alius has to fix, ye 
 know." 
 
 " Well, girls, thought you wasn't never 
 cominV' cried Mrs. Bunt, at that moment 
 entering the living-room from the kitchen. 
 " Set down, an' make yourselves to home. 
 Have cheers. Polly, you take thur things." 
 
 She was a comely woman, this Mrs. 
 Bunt ; and she wore her hair in a tight pug 
 in the back corresponding to a turned-up 
 nose in front. Her company gown was a 
 wrapper of green and yellow calico, made 
 with a Watteau pleat in the back 
 
 " Polly, have you furgot that you-uns is 
 "5 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 a young lady ? " continued Mrs. Bunt. Her 
 second daughter was trying on the hats and 
 wraps that she had appropriated. " S'pose 
 you quit that child foolishness of tryin' on 
 other folkses belongings an' light a few pine 
 slivers in this hyur stove. An' leave the 
 front door open so's to give the sun a 
 chanc't to warm up. I laid off to make a 
 fire in this room, but someways I didn't git 
 around to it. It's cold-like in hyur — this 
 room ain't easy het from the kitchen." And 
 their hostess retired to hasten preparations 
 for dinner. 
 
 " Say, you-uns is awful fixy," said Polly, 
 admiringly. She perched a white sailor on 
 her sandy, frizzled head, and looked side- 
 wise at her image in the cracked looking- 
 glass. " You look good in this sailor hat 
 of yourn, Hermia. Your hair kind o' sticks 
 out at the sides, so you don't look good 
 'thout you have a hat on." 
 
 The Bunt shanty was built in the shape 
 of a capital T, the end of one long room 
 joining the side of the other. Log-cabin 
 quilts covered the beds; the windows were 
 hidden by newspaper curtains pinned 
 ii6 
 
Some Neighborly Gossip 
 
 across, and the walls were gay with pict- 
 ure-cards advertising soaps and sewing- 
 machines and cottolene. The rooms were 
 bare, but orderly and clean. 
 
 Through the open door the boys, tall, 
 long-legged fellows, were seen coming in 
 from work; they cast longing glances at 
 the table. 
 
 " Maw," said the younger and slighter 
 of the two, " ain't dinner 'most ready ? I'm 
 that hungry, I feel Hke I were all stove in." 
 
 " In half a minute, now. When them 
 sody biscuits is browned, we'll set right 
 down." 
 
 The boys shied away from the open door, 
 but the sound of their voices was carried 
 into the next room. 
 
 " Ketch any rabbits in yur trap last night, 
 Ted ? " This from Alonzo, who invariably 
 wore a red bandanna neckerchief, loosely 
 knotted, and whose features strongly re- 
 sembled those of a goose. 
 
 "Ary a rabbit. But the trap ketched a 
 
 owl — one of these yur little prairie-dog 
 
 owls, you know. I packed that thur trap 
 
 out yander an' set it on the side of the hill 
 
 117 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 whur they's likely to be rabbits, an' this 
 mornin' yurly I paid a visit out thur, an' I 
 found a owl had ben ketched instid of a 
 rabbit. But it were all et up — all but one 
 foot, 'n' hyur 'tis," fumbling in his pocket 
 for the poor little foot. 
 
 " Well, I swan! " remarked Alonzo; " I'd 
 like to know what the critter were that et 
 up the owl ; like's not 'twere a badger or a 
 ki-ote." 
 
 " Say, Lon! " called Polly, " goin' to ride 
 the colt after the cows to-night? " 
 
 " I aim to." 
 
 " Better have her cinch good 'n' fast. Us 
 girls'U watch you off." 
 
 " I'd laugh if she throwed you," said Ted. 
 
 " Betchoo she won't ! I've rode skittisher 
 mares 'n her afore now. She bucks enough 
 jest to call to buck — she bucks nice. I've 
 rode that mare of Art's, an' the fellar that 
 rides her has got to have some grit, now I 
 tell ye. I've seen that mare jump so high 
 that I could see the sky under her." 
 
 " Hooray fur the bronco-buster ! " roared 
 Ted. 
 
 The boys' hilarious mood died away when 
 ii8 
 
Some Neighborly Gossip 
 
 the guests were called out to the table, 
 heaped up with Windy Creek fare — soda 
 biscuit, fried pork, and boiled potatoes, sup- 
 plemented by the usual cake, pie, and pud- 
 ding; smitten with sudden shyness, they 
 bolted their dinner in silence, staring fur- 
 tively whenever they thought themselves 
 unobserved. 
 
 Hermia essayed to draw them into con- 
 versation. 
 
 " Do you ever shoot any coyotes out 
 here?'* 
 
 Alonzo looked at Ted and Ted looked at 
 Alonzo, and both reddened to the tips of 
 their ears. " Yes, mom, quite a few,'' 
 Alonzo managed to get out at last; and he 
 kicked his brother under the table, whereat 
 Ted sputtered and choked. 
 
 When the dinner dishes were washed — 
 Mrs. Bunt " dreened " hers in place of 
 " swilling " them — the feminine portion of 
 the party adjourned to the living-room, and 
 the tidal- wave of gossip rolled gently in; 
 for as receptive gossips Ruth and Hermia 
 had already found their hostess to be one 
 of those women who, if they would but 
 "9 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " press the button/' would cheerfully " do 
 the rest." 
 
 "Polly," said Mrs. Bunt, " s'posin' you 
 git out the machine an' go on with yur red 
 Henrietta whiles you've got the chanc't. 
 Her pa got her a bran new dress to wear to 
 dances this winter. Sence she's got to be 
 a young lady, she can't be fixy enough." 
 
 The girl proudly displayed her new gar- 
 ment, cut out and partially put together. 
 In Windy Creek circles basting is an un- 
 known science; so Polly fitted the parts of 
 the basque together without this prelim- 
 inary step, and rapidly sewed up the seams 
 on the whirring machine. 
 
 Mrs. Bunt drew attention to the wrapper 
 she was wearing. 
 
 " How do my tea-gownd do fur noo, 
 girls? I bought it to the Springs, reel 
 cheap. Ninety-eight cents were all it cost 
 me. Bein' thick-made, I'm no great on 
 wrappers, but this don't look on me like a 
 wrapper do." 
 
 " I suppose you miss Cicely," remarked 
 Ruth, when the " tea-gownd " had been suf- 
 ficiently admired. 
 
 120 
 
Some Neighborly Gossip 
 
 " Her pa do, dretful. The house don't 
 seem quite Hke, with Cis gone. I kind o' 
 hated to see her leave, an' she so great fur 
 home, but she said she weren't goin' to see 
 her pa buyin' her clo'es, she'd arn 'em her- 
 self. She's a free-hearted girl, Cis is." 
 
 " The boys is layin' oflf to git her up a 
 dance fur a s'prise, like, when she gits to 
 come home agin," said Polly above the 
 noise of her machine. 
 
 " Has yur maw raised many chickens this 
 yur ? " asked Mrs. Bunt. " Our aigs 
 chicked good, and I aimed fur to raise a 
 hundred by fall. But I failed, 'long o' 
 Flory. Do you mind Lon's black shepherd ? 
 She were Queenie's aunt. She et forty 
 chickens or thurabouts fur me this summer. 
 She were awful smart, Queenie were, an' I 
 thought 'twere rats or some varmint till I 
 come acrost her unbeknownst, one day. I 
 see that dog a-trottin' off with a chicken in 
 her mouth and one eye on the house, an' I 
 made up my mind she were too 'cute fur me. 
 I give her away. 
 
 " Is the milk fallin' oflf much to your 
 paw's? Some of our cows is commencin' 
 
 121 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 to strip. That Holstein of ourn's holdin' 
 out good; she gives lots of cream in her 
 milk ; she appears like a rich cow. 'Tain't 
 often you come acros't a Holstein that's a 
 poor milker. Paw, he laid off to pack some 
 of the Holstein's milk to his sister — she 
 lives to the Springs, an' she's got a sick 
 baby. He had me to fill two bottles, cream 
 'n' all, an' he hauled them to town 'long of a 
 load o' spuds. But when he went fur to 
 lift them two bottles out, they'd broke with 
 the joltin' an' the milk were all spilt. Milk's 
 onhandy to pack." 
 
 In the short pause that followed, Polly 
 observed, " You-uns must like church ; I see 
 you to the school-house reg'lar on Sun- 
 days." Then, "Don't you-uns think Mr. 
 Crimp is jest lovely?" 
 
 Here was a poser ! 
 
 " He seems to be rather a popular preach- 
 er," said Ruth, evasively. 
 
 Mrs. Bunt's eyes snapped ; she spoke up 
 with decision : 
 
 " I an' paw don't tie to Crimp. The 
 young folks they do think he's some, but 
 I an' paw can't someways swaller him! 
 
 122 
 
Some Neighborly Gossip 
 
 We-uns sized that man up first we see of 
 him. He's small potatoes, Crimp is." 
 
 " Now, maw," began Polly. 
 
 " I don't keers if I do speak out my mind 
 fur onc't, Polly; that man do preach ser- 
 mons that's all-powerful teedjous ! An' he's 
 got a most tremenjous good opinion of his- 
 self, Crimp has. No man ain't called on to 
 have no sech opinion of hisself. I didn't 
 go fur to speak my mind, that-a-way," 
 apologized Mrs. Bunt. " I'm H-ble to have 
 my head took off fur it ; but it do rile me, so 
 it do." 
 
 " The Fliegers an' the Posts is stuck on 
 him," said Polly, with tears in her voice. 
 
 " Yes, an' the Bitternses and the Milli- 
 ganses an' all them other ninnies. Nev- 
 er mind talkin' now; mebbe you'll oce 
 Crimp with paw 'n' my eyes one o' these 
 days. 
 
 " Look at the way that man do hold up 
 that thur fam'ly of hisn over folks's heads, 
 like nobody never done nothin' till the 
 Crimps was borned! 'T makes me sick. 
 Know why his paw weren't brainy, like his 
 maw? 'Cause his paw's took up a claim 
 123 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 out hyur, an' folks can see fur thurselves 
 the old man ain't got no brains to spare. 
 Know why his maw were smart an' rich an' 
 han'some an' a Greek? It's this-a-way: 
 his maw bein' dead an' in her grave long 
 afore Crimp come to these hyur parts give 
 him the chanc't to claim that that puddin'- 
 head of hisn come .straight from her side of 
 the house. Oh, Crimp give hisself plumb 
 away to I an' paw, he did ! 
 
 " Look at that man's baptizin's ! — how 
 folks doos resk their healths ! Thur's Mal- 
 viny Milligan; now, she were dipped last 
 Sunday an' she not able to quit her bed fur 
 the next three days. That woman's so frail- 
 like, she ought to knowed she couldn't stand 
 water that-a-way. An' what would them 
 little young-uns of hern do if thur maw 
 were to be took off, suddent? Thur ain't 
 no religion in ketchin' yur death o' cold an' 
 leavin' yur young-uns fur a step-mother to 
 knock around! Thur ain't ary one of the 
 Bitternses has got a constitootion. I mind 
 Malviny when her first child were borned. 
 It were the fisilest little thing, it only lived 
 a month and a half. When it up an' died, 
 124 
 
Some Neighborly Gossip 
 
 she took on awful; she like to broke her 
 heart over it. 
 
 " Thur's Bruce Post's wife, Em ; she's 
 got her a fine baby now that ain't got noth- 
 in' the matter of it to begin life with. It 
 favors its paw; its got blue eyes and right 
 blood-red hair. 'T seems like no matter 
 how many times them Posts marry, they 
 can't git shed o' thur red heads. It breaks 
 out in every noo crop o' children, so it do. 
 The Posts, they hail from Texas. They's 
 dretful easy riled. An' they don't wear sus- 
 penders. I never see a Texan yit that 
 wore a suspender." 
 
 " And where did the Bitterns come 
 from?" 
 
 " The Bitternses they come from 'way 
 down south in Virginny. To hyur them 
 two girls talk you'd think they was niggers 
 lest you chanc't to look thur way. Now, 
 we-uns was raised down in Tennessee. My 
 folks live down thur yit, an' so do paw's. 
 'T seems like the people out hyur's from 
 so many diff'rent States that all of them 
 talks diff'rent. Now thur's the Fairleys, 
 Claude an' Dave an' the old lady — they 
 125 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 come from New York. The people that 
 live in New York State, they is what you 
 call Yankee people. They don't talk like 
 the people do out West. Whur we-uns 
 say ' What-fur/ they say ' What-fore/ that- 
 a-way. It sounds furrin like, to hyur them 
 kind of people speak ; they is awful plain to 
 talk, though. The Fliegers is south, too, 
 but they talk different from what we-uns 
 do agin. The old lady, she an' her two 
 oldest, Rose an' Em, they was borned an' 
 raised in the State of Kaintucky. The old 
 lady, she picked up Flieger after she came 
 out West; so he don't count. She come 
 out in a schooner, an' Rose an' Em — they 
 was little things then — they begged on the 
 way out fur the grub they et. Rose Rooney 
 she gives herself airs like she were some ; 
 but we all know how she come out to Colo- 
 raydo — ragged an' barefoot an' beggin' her 
 way. 
 
 *' Yisterday Rose Rooney, she sent over 
 after the camp-fire. That woman has got 
 the most gall ever I see — to send over to 
 borry an' not to be on speakin' terms, 
 neither. I an' her hasn't spoke these six 
 weeks." 
 
 126 
 
Some Neighborly Gossip 
 
 " Maw let her have the camp-fire bottle, 
 though," said Polly. 
 
 " Yes, I give it to her. It ain't in me to 
 hold back medicines from a sick woman. 
 Pete, he were by this mornin' an' he left 
 the bottle. She'd emptied it, all right. 
 Pete Rooney, he makes a good man fur 
 Rose, he do. He's a awful good provider, 
 an' she so wasteful, too. She's dretful 
 slack in some of her ways, Rose is, fur all 
 she slashes 'round like all possessed when 
 she gits a fit o' clairin' up. Cis were over 
 to her house onc't an' she see Rose washin' 
 the dishes in the butter-bowl ; and then she 
 took and scrubbed the floor, a-usin' the 
 butter-bowl fur a mop-bucket. And onc't 
 she washed Taddy's feet in the bread-pan. 
 'Tain't safe to eat victuals of Rose's cookin'. 
 Thur ain't another man that I knows of 
 that 'ud put up with her didos the way Pete 
 do. Them little young-uns of hisn is the 
 very apples of his eye, an' he won't never 
 leave Rose, 'long of them. I feel sorry fur 
 the little things to think they has to be 
 raised up in the world not to know nothin' 
 only jest fussin' an' quarrelin' — poor Httle 
 127 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 toads. Pete, he's as stiddy an' hard-work- 
 in' as she is slack. He's a Catholic, Pete 
 is ; quiet an' clos't-mouthed, not one to run 
 after every new preacher that comes along. 
 But he won't never hender Rose from run- 
 nin', nor from takin' the children, neither. 
 Rose, she's all took up with religion an' 
 sech, an' she makes a dretful to-do over 
 these yur baptizin's. But she can't hold a 
 candle to Pete — he's fur an' away the best 
 of the two, if he ain't reHgious like her. 
 Pete, he got hisself into hot water when 
 he fell in love with Rose — he ain't never 
 had no peace sence the day he laid eyes on 
 that woman. He were workin' fur a cattle- 
 king out hyur that he owed some money 
 to, an' it took him seven yur to pay it. The 
 cattle-king were uncle to Mis' Flieger's 
 two oldest girls, Rose an' Em. An' one 
 day along come Rose to work fur her uncle, 
 an' them two was throwed together, an' 
 Pete, he up an' fell dead in love with her. 
 She were wearin' knee-dresses then, a 
 gawky, tall thing, but bright's a razor. 
 Mis' FHeger, she were figgerin' how to git 
 her girls married off good an' yurly, an' 
 128 
 
Some Neighborly Gossip 
 
 she were dretful smooth to Pete. An* when 
 the seven years were worked out, Rose an' 
 Pete, they set up on his claim, immediate. 
 Rose, she weren't fifteen yet when she were 
 married; an' they do say she never cared 
 fur Pete nor fur ary one of the boys, but 
 were jest give away Hke a doll made out 
 of saw-dust. When I hearn about how 
 them two come together, I were minded of 
 Rachel an' Jacob, an' how Jacob served 
 seven yur fur Rachel. But them two didn't 
 pan out like the two done in the Bible. 
 Thur ain't ben much love lost atwixt them 
 two over yonder. I use' to think Rose 
 Rooney were right smart of a woman ; but 
 we-all have got that wore out by her two- 
 facedness; we ain't got no more use for 
 her nor hern. It's a heap better to drop a 
 woman like Rose 'n to be etarnally fussin' 
 with her. I've ben a mother to that woman, 
 but it didn't pay. I've took keers of her 
 when she was sick a-bed — she had a awful 
 bad spell with her head last fall. Pete, he 
 were off to town yurly that mornin' with a 
 load of spuds, an' he'd left Rose washin' 
 the dishes, same's ever. He hadn't gone 
 129 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 above half a mile when my Lon, he came 
 a-tearin' after him, cryin' that Rose were 
 dead. Lon, he'd chanc't to pass Rooney's, 
 an' he'd seen Rose crossin' the yard with 
 the empty swill-bucket in her hand — she'd 
 ben swiUin' the pigs — an' he see her fall, 
 an' pick herself up an' fall agin, acros't the 
 door-step. He run to her, an' when he see 
 her in a dead faint he 'lowed she were dead, 
 an' he put down the road fur Pete 's tight 
 's he could go. Pete, he growed right 
 white Hke a cloth, an' he turned them horses 
 of hisn an' went back on the lope, load 'n' 
 all. He gethered Rose up where she'd fell 
 an' lay her on the bed like she were a baby. 
 When I come home, he were a-hanging' 
 over her, a-cryin' like she'd ben the best 
 woman to him ! She didn't come to fur an 
 hour or more, an' when she did she were 
 out of her head. She were a awful sick 
 woman. I took keers of that woman an' 
 set up with her nights an' minded her 
 young-uns — I were a mother to that wom- 
 an. But law ! all I got fur it were, ' What 
 fur do you do that-a-way ? ' ' Why don't 
 you do this-a-way ? ' So I up an' left. Of 
 130 
 
Some Neighborly Gossip 
 
 all the ungratefulest, cantankerous women, 
 Rose Rooney she do be the worst I ever 
 struck. 
 
 *' Ain't Jimmy the sensiblest child not to 
 be four yur old yit? An' so old-like, with 
 his talk about the crops, an' cattle, an' land 
 — he knows a heap about ranchin' a'ready. 
 An' he minds the children like a little old 
 man; he's as stiddy as Pete. He thinks a 
 heap of his daddy. He's only bad when 
 his maw's around. Polly see him out to 
 the potato-patch day before yisterday — 
 Polly, you tell about Jimmy out to the po- 
 tato-patch." 
 
 Polly laughed. 
 
 "Jimmy were out to his paw's potato- 
 patch, a-workin' to git Taddy started fur 
 home, an' the young-un didn't want to go. 
 After Jimmy'd coaxed him an' jawed him 
 an' turned him face about an' worked with 
 him nigh onto half an hour, the young-un 
 set down flat on the ground an' Jimmy 
 couldn't budge him. An' Jimmy he looked 
 black, an' he folded his arms acros't his 
 chist, so, an' he says, says he, ' Gorl darn 
 sech a child ! ' I were that tickled at the 
 young-un I liked to died laughin'." 
 131 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " Em, she's different," continued Mrs. 
 Bunt. " She ain't tonguey Hke Rose ; she's 
 soft in her ways, an' she minds her husband 
 an' child an' lets other folkses alone. Her 
 pa use' to say to her 'fore she left home to 
 be married, ' Em's the lady of the fam'ly ! ' 
 An' I reckon he were about right. 
 
 " Rose, she come rightly by her temper 
 from her maw. That thur woman is as 
 cantankerous as a old cat, an' the only 
 raison in creation I an' her ain't had a split 
 afore now is 'cause we live so fur apart. 
 Her nature's like a cross-cut saw — alius a- 
 rubbin' aidgewise agin things, an' a-scrapin' 
 an' a-raspin', never iled, an' a-settin' a 
 body's teeth on aidge with its screechin'. 
 Folks that neighbor with her'll all tell you 
 the same story. I've got the idee that she 
 puts Rose up to the most of her didos. 
 Rose's alius twic't as cranky after she's ben 
 up to see her maw, or her maw has ben up 
 spendin' the day. They do say a man with 
 any backbone to him couldn't live with Mis' 
 Flieger three days 'thout throttlin' her — 
 she's that ornery. But Flieger, he could 
 live with the divil himself an' not git riled. 
 132 
 
Some Neighborly Gossip 
 
 He's like a big lamb 'round the house, an' 
 he shed's her jawin's like a duck docs rain- 
 water. But I do despise thees yur lamby- 
 like kind of men that leaves other folks to 
 do thur stewin's fur 'em! Flieger sheddin' 
 of his wife's jawin' only gives them more 
 of a chanc't at Betty. Mis' Flieger, she lays 
 out to be one of thees yur invaleeds that's 
 got more'n enough diseases the matter of 
 'em to fill a Ayres almanac. So she doosn't 
 pretend to do no work ; she jest sets around ^^ 
 
 an' jaws the whole blessed time. The heft 
 of the work falls onto Betty, bein' as she's 
 big an' strong. An' that pore child, not 
 havin' the chanc't to skin out of the house 
 like her paw, 's got to hyur the scrapin' an' 
 the screechin' an' the raspin' of the cross- 
 cut saw from mornin' till night. She's a 
 awful free-hearted girl, but it do wear on 
 her, so it do. Her maw's alius a-tellin' that 
 she don't do enough, an' Betty a-killin' her- 
 self with the work. I were over to Mis' 
 FUeger's one day an' I see right then how 
 Betty were put upon by her maw. Betty 
 were right young then, not more'n eleven 
 year old; she were stouter'n what she be 
 ^33 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 now, an' all bent over like, with the work. 
 She put out a tremenjous big washin' an' 
 emptied the tubs, an' I see her jest drop fur 
 a minute onto a cheer out in the kitchen to 
 rest herself. Then her maw began to jaw 
 at her an' tolt her to git right up an' go to 
 churnin', an' cod her about bein' so clumsy 
 like. An' I see Betty git out the churn, 
 an' pour the cream in, an' go to joggin' 
 the dasher up 'n' down, up 'n' down, 
 with her fat sides an' her big arms jog- 
 gin' too, an' her back bent over, an' 
 that yellowy-white streak 'round her mouth 
 that give her the look of bein' ready to 
 cave in; an' I jest couldn't hardly holt 
 in, I were that riled. An' all the while 
 her maw'd fling out at her an' say, ' Betty's 
 so big,' * Betty's so fat thur ain't no shape 
 to her,' * Betty's took after her paw — he 
 ain't nothin' but a lump of flesh,' an' sech 
 like. An' thur were that Olympy, that I 
 could 'a' took an' shook, a-runnin' off out 
 doors to play, an' doin' nary a lick to help 
 her sister, nor her maw makin' her do it, 
 neither. She's her maw's apple of the eye, 
 Olympy is; but you'd better believe when 
 134 
 
Some Neighborly Gossip 
 
 Betty leaves home to git married her maw 
 won't git the work out of Lympy that she 
 gits out of Betty. Lympy ain't no hand to 
 work in the house nor in the field, neither. 
 She's a awful independent child." 
 
 '' Onc't," put in Polly, " Betty, she were 
 chased by a Texas steer, an' she went to 
 roll under a barb-wire fence, an' she got 
 caught an' tore awful. She wouldn't say a 
 word about it to home, but kep' it to her- 
 self fur fear her maw'd badger her afore 
 folks fur bein' so big an' clumsy that she 
 couldn't roll quick under a fence. She kep' 
 in about it till her maw come on her unbe- 
 knownst the next day, rollin' over on the 
 floor an' cryin' from the pain — she's that 
 feared of her maw's tongue." 
 
 " They do say," went on Mrs. Bunt, 
 " her 'n' Curly O'Coole will make a match. 
 He's little an' red-headed, an' she's about 
 as opposite as could be. He's old, nigh 
 onto thirty, I should reckon, an' twic't her 
 age — she's fourteen. He's quite a beau, an' 
 a man of the world asides — he's got him a 
 ranch in South Americy, an' he's ben all 
 over. Folks says Flieger he's held out all 
 135 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 sorts of indoocements to that man to take 
 his daughter off his hands, an' Curly, he do 
 appear to be dancin' attendance ruther 
 lively. 
 
 " Have you-uns seen Miss Staver, the 
 school-teacher that were hired to teach our 
 school last yur? You'd jest ought to see 
 her, she's a awful independent woman! 
 Mis' Flieger, she boarded her when she 
 first come out hyur ; an' she were that riled 
 when Miss Staver quit her at the end of 
 three weeks an' got boardin' with the Jen- 
 kinses, whur she didn't have no wash-bowl 
 nor pitcher, an' had to sleep with the chil- 
 dren, three-a-bed. Mis' Flieger had went 
 to a lot of trouble fur her — she'd fixed up 
 the room fine, an' give the teacher a wash- 
 bowl an' pitcher an' half a bed to herself. 
 But she turned up her nose an' left. Said 
 Flieger's was too religious fur her ; Flieger, 
 he has fam'ly prayers an' as'ts a blessin' at 
 the table. Mis' Flieger, she said she'd had 
 enough of it — she were leary of school- 
 teachers — they might lie on the ground 
 after this, fur all her. Folks likes Crimp 
 fur a teacher a sight better'n they done Miss 
 136 
 
Some Neighborly Gossip 
 
 Staver — they do say he gives satisfaction, 
 all right. They say she never learnt the 
 little ones a single thing, an' at the end of 
 the yur ary a letter of thur alphabet did the 
 little things know! Why, when I were a 
 young-un, the first thing they done to me 
 were to make me learn ofif my alphabet 
 backwards ! She were that smart, she were 
 layin' of¥ to learn them young-uns to read 
 'thout learnin' them thur letters — * word ' 
 readin' she called it, or some sech fool 
 name. Now Crimp, he's teached three 
 weeks an' a half, an' he's a-skimmin' the 
 little things along so fast he's got 'em all 
 in the second reader a'ready — ^the old folks 
 is awful tickled over it. Miss Staver she 
 wanted the school, agin this yur an' she fit 
 hard fur it. But Crimp, he were eetchin' 
 fur the job, too, an' he didn't have to rustle 
 none, seein' he were in with all three of the 
 directors at the election; the school were 
 hisn almost afore he as't fur it. They give 
 good wages to our school; forty dollars a 
 month or thereabouts. Miss Staver, she 
 didn't stand no show at all. She queered 
 herself in this country last spring when she 
 137 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 licked Will Spruce. Didn't ye ever hyur 
 about that? Well, I swan! It were the 
 talk of Windy Crick. 
 
 " It were this-a-way. Will Spruce, he 
 were sweet on Miss Staver, but he were 
 dretful backward an' tongue-tied at spark- 
 in'. He were the tallest boy in school, 
 but stoop-shouldered like, an' spindly in 
 the legs — kind o' delicate. He were dret- 
 ful smart at his books — him an' Raleigh 
 Post was the best scholars in school. He'd 
 took up with some of these fancy studies 
 'long o' Miss Staver, an' I've hearn he were 
 away up in botomy, like. But Miss Staver, 
 she's a man-hater, if there ever was one; 
 she took it out on the boys at school ; they 
 say she were never without one or two of 
 the little fellars a-cryin' 'round her desk. 
 You'd know her if you see her. She wears 
 eye-glasses with a little gold chain danglin' 
 over one yur, codfish style, an' her hair 
 slicked straight back 'thout ary a friz — ^jest 
 cut out fur a old maid. Well ! she see Will 
 Spruce kind o' hangin' around her, an' the 
 other boys pokin' fun at him, an' the folks 
 where she boarded at plaguin' her, an' she 
 laid ofl to git even with him fur it. Fur 
 138 
 
Some Neighborly Gossip 
 
 jest nothin' at all, she jumped on him one 
 day. She'd made a rule that thur shouldn't 
 be no swearin' on the playground ; an' one 
 recess Will he dropped a swear-word afore 
 he thought, an' she hearn him out o' the 
 winder. She called school, an' then she 
 called Will up to her desk, an' took out her 
 ferule. The scholars said Will turned 
 white's a cloth, but he never said a word, 
 jest looked at her. She were a little thing, 
 he could 'a' whipped her, easy. She looked 
 him over, an' then she called Sam Peters 
 up; Sam, he's heavy-built. She tolt Sam 
 to holt Will down fur her ; an', would you 
 believe it, he done what she tolt him to. 
 She give Will a most tremenjous wallerpin', 
 afore the whole school, an' ary one of them 
 big boys an' girls stirrin' out of thur seats 
 to stop her — all scairt an' brow-beat by that 
 little thing, not twenty-one! Sam Peters, 
 he felt dretful bad about it, he hadn't noth- 
 in' agin Will, nothin' at all; but when he 
 were as't why he held Will he said he jest 
 thought he had to, he jest couldn't help but 
 mind that school-teacher ! Will Spruce, he 
 didn't show hisself at home nor no place 
 139 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 else fur a week, an' he quit school fur good. 
 His paw 'n' maw 'n' sisters, they was awful 
 mad at Miss Staver. The whole neighbor- 
 hood were down on her. Law, she didn't 
 keers none, went around holdin' her head's 
 high as ever. But she lost her school fur 
 next yur by it. Folks out hyur won't never 
 hire her agin." 
 
 Mrs. Bunt's pleasant tones flowed on : 
 " They's likely to be two or three wed- 
 din's on hand afore long; the young folks 
 on Windy Crick appear to be takin' a out 
 'n' out shine to each other of late. But 
 they's one weddin' I don't want to see nor 
 hyur of, an' that's Jean's an' Art's weddin'. 
 Jean McLeod's right smart of a woman, 
 now. Jest look how that girl has helped 
 her paw ! Thur ain't many girls would do 
 like her — help in the house, an' work in the 
 field, an' go to school, an' sew out, an' take 
 keers of little Aureely so well. She's a dret- 
 ful stiddy-hearted girl, Jean is. The fellar 
 that gits her will git a good wife. Some 
 says she liked Will Spruce reel well — she 
 liked to cried her eyes out when he got that 
 lickin' to the school-house — but they say 
 140 
 
Some Neighborly Gossip 
 
 Will don't take no shine to the girls sence 
 Miss Staver more'n jilted him. Jean an' 
 Miss Staver was awful thick, onc't, but I 
 reckon the trouble with Will Spruce has 
 parted 'em fur good. An' now folks do say 
 how Jean goes with Art Post to spite Will. 
 Beats all how the young folks doos mix 
 thurselves up in theesyur love-affairs of 
 theirn. Why can't they have some sense? 
 Mis' McLeod, she's broke in her looks an' 
 aged-like sence Jean began to keep com- 
 p'ny with Art. She see one of her daugh- 
 ters wigged off by one of them Post boys, 
 an' that one has ben too many fur her. 
 Madge McLeod, she were as much of a lady 
 as Jean afore she set eyes on Mort Post, 
 but she were high-steppin' an' head-strung, 
 like a colt afore it's ben broke in. She's had 
 enough to break her in sence her marriage, 
 but she's not ben broke in right. She's like 
 one of theesyur hard-mouthed, vixiny 
 broncos that's took the bit in thur mouth 
 an' won't stop fur no one. Thur ain't hard- 
 ly a dance but what she's at, a-packin' all 
 her young-uns to, an' a-robbin' the little 
 things of thur sleep. She lives hard an' 
 141 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 she works hard, an' she dances hard. She's 
 got a awful bold, brassy look out of her 
 eyes, that woman has. Mis' McLeod, she 
 tried to make the best of it, an' she an' Jean 
 done a heap fur Madge's children. But 
 they was a racket atwixt old man Post an' 
 old man McLeod, an' Post's boys, they all 
 took it up, an' Madge, she sided with her 
 man's folks; an' now she won't speak to 
 her paw 'n' maw, nor have nothin' to do 
 with 'em. I see that woman one Sunday 
 to the school-house come suddent on Mis' 
 McLeod an' Httle Aureely settin' by them- 
 selves on a bench; an' if she didn't fling 
 her head high, an' jerk past her maw ! Mis' 
 McLeod, she set still like a stone, lookin' 
 straight ahead of her, with a kind of crazy 
 look out of her eyes like she were a-weary 
 of this life. I don't blame the woman. 
 She'd ruther see Jean in her grave than 
 jined to another Post. An' now hyur's lit- 
 tle Aureely comin' on ; Mis' McLeod'll soon 
 have another growed-up daughter on her 
 hands." 
 
 Her guests wished to know if Mrs. Bunt 
 meant either of the Bittern girls when she 
 142 
 
Some Neighborly Gossip 
 
 spoke of weddings near at hand, remark- 
 ing that the sisters seemed to be favorites 
 with the young men. 
 
 " They's sech favor-ites they ain't ary 
 beau left fur none of the other girls ; them 
 two takes more'n thur share. But girls will 
 be girls ! If they ain't a mite stingy about 
 anything else, when it comes to beaus, 
 thur's ary a girl but what'U take all she can 
 git, an' other folks can do without." 
 
 '' What a pretty creature Diantha is ! " 
 remarked Ruth. 
 
 Mrs. Bunt pursed up her mouth. 
 
 " Dianthy ain't got much to boast on in 
 the way of looks; she's right skinny; you 
 kin almost see that girl's bones a-stickin' 
 out. An' Stelle's black as a Injun. Betty 
 Flieger, now, she's a right smart prettier'n 
 them two ; she's got a pulpy face, an' a clean 
 skin on it, an' she's well fed an' hearty look- 
 in', though she do be some stouter'n what 
 she'd ought to be. But them Bittern girls, 
 they don't need looks to hold thur own. 
 They is peart-like girls, an' powerful easy 
 mannered with the boys. I reckon that's 
 why the boys take to 'em so. Ary dance 
 143 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 doos them two miss, nor ary religious 
 meetin', neither. I tell my girls, when they 
 gits to jawin' over the boys all goin' fur 
 Dianthy an' Stelle, ' It's the girls that's the 
 most Hfe-like that ketches the boys,' says I. 
 'N' that's what. Dianthy, she's got three 
 or four on her string, constant; thur's 
 Raleigh Post, he's mashed on her, an' Phil 
 Schuyler a-hangin' 'round, an' Hal Hopper 
 a-castin' sheep's-eyes after her. Two yur 
 back Claude Fairley, he tried to git to go 
 with her, but she give him the bounce in a 
 hurry. The boys they badgered him good, 
 an' he got his mad up, an' flung out at her 
 when she weren't around, an' smutched her 
 some. It ain't jest safe fur a girl to give 
 Claude Fairley the send-off. But I reckon 
 Dianthy don't keers none. Sence Soph 
 Crimp's come sparkin' 'round, Dianthy nor 
 Stelle neither can't see nobody but him. 
 Windy Crick ain't big enough to hold ary 
 boy but Soph or ary man but Crimp. It's 
 Soph's city ways has took them girls. He 
 do seem a likely feller enough, Soph doos, 
 but he can't help but take some after that 
 swelled head onto his paw. Them young 
 144 
 
Some Neighborly Gossip 
 
 folks gits to go to school from corn-huskin' 
 till potato-plantin', 'long o' the open win- 
 ters; an' there's a right smart of courtin' 
 gits aidged in alongside of the book-learn- 
 in', an' don't you furgit it. They's a 
 toler'ble big school to our distric', twenty- 
 eight or thurabouts, they make it." 
 
 " They was a racket up to the school- 
 house last week — did you-uns hyur about 
 it ? " asked Polly. " They was two fights, 
 all girls, an' Stelle Bittern in it both times. 
 Stelle fit with Betty Flieger an' had a scrap 
 with Huldah Moss, both inside of the week. 
 The teacher were jest a-callin' school — he 
 were goin' to the door ringin' the bell — an' 
 Stelle an' Betty was stoopin' under the 
 wire fence both a-jawin' fur all they w?s 
 wuth, an' jest as Mr. Crimp got to the door, 
 Stelle she up an' hit Betty a Hck right in 
 the eye. Betty grabbed holt of her, an' 
 they had it up 'n' down — oh, it were awful ! 
 Mr. Crimp, he tried to stop them, an' Soph, 
 he rushed in an' were goin' to make them 
 quit. But Mrs. Despard, you know the 
 grass-widder that lives by herself on a 
 claim, she come by, an' she wouldn't let 
 145 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 nobody stop them ; wanted to see fair play, 
 she said. Then jest a few days after that, 
 Stelle had another row with Huldah Moss 
 — she's twic't as big as Stelle, and twic't as 
 old. They was scrappin' all the mornin', 
 but nobody thought 'twas goin' to turn out 
 like that. It was jest after noon-time, an' 
 we was scramblin' to our seats. Stelle 
 slapped Huldah in the face, an' they fit 
 an' fell over the desks. Oh, it were jest 
 awful! I don't know what got into the 
 girls — someway they didn't act like thur- 
 selves." 
 
 " Them Bittern girls, they ain't never had 
 no raisin', pore things," said Mrs. Bunt. 
 " That's a queer paw o' theirn. Thur paw 
 he never 'lows them girls to go nowhurs 
 'thout he goes along — some says to purtec' 
 them. I never see sech a man to be on the 
 go — -'less it were a young man; he's at 
 every dance they is. Some says he do set 
 great store by them girls of hisn, to pilot 
 them 'round so. Law, we-uns knows a dif- 
 ferent turie to that. Some says them Bit- 
 tern girls has it hard an' heavy to home; 
 some says thur paw lays hands on them 
 146 
 
Some Neighborly Gossip 
 
 two an' uses them downright cruel, an' they 
 not doin' a thing to rile him/' 
 
 The visitors suspended their needle-work 
 to gaze in inquiring silence at Mrs. Bunt, 
 who continued, placidly: 
 
 " It's goin' about that Dan Bittern's a 
 evil man to them two girls of hisn. That 
 man, he's got the face of a prowler; he 
 shows it in the face. Folks do say he's the 
 orneriest man that ever drawed the breath 
 of life, an' he the father of growed-up 
 girls that's been left to him this dozen year 
 an' more by thur maw a-dyin'. Dianthy 
 an' Stelle, they was little things when thur 
 maw was took off, an' thur paw broke up 
 an' packed the fam'ly off to Injun Territory. 
 Them girls jest growed up with the wild 
 Injuns. Then they come out hyur to Colo- 
 raydo in a perairie schooner. He's knowed 
 to drink, that man is. We-uns have hearn 
 how he draws a pension every quarter — 
 he fit with the North, an' that's how he 
 comes to draw a pension — an' folks says 
 he drinks it up, every drop of it, an' them 
 girls of hisn a-starvin' an' a-freezin'. You 
 won't never hyur it from them girls, law, 
 147 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 them two is as close-mouthed ! But Dian- 
 thy, she's come to show it in her looks. I 
 never see a girl so deathly 'feared of any- 
 body in all my horned days ! It's growed 
 on her, too. She's come to have a scairt 
 look in her eyes whenever her paw's by. 
 Some says her bein' so scairt of him makes 
 it all the wuss fur her to home. When he 
 comes nigh her, she'll draw back suddent, 
 like she were goin' to be hit. I reckon that 
 riles him, an' when he's alone in the house 
 with her he lams her good fur it. I reckon 
 he gives her six Hcks to Stelle's one, jest 
 fur why she's 'feared of him an' Stelle ain't. 
 Stelle, now, she kin take her own part an' 
 sass back; an' if she do git a lick now 'n' 
 then, she don't take on over it like it were 
 a killin' matter ; she don't keers, like Dian- 
 thy do. Dianthy, she's all broke up, like, 
 when she's struck. An' her paw's that 
 mean she gits the heft of the licks, folks 
 says. I've hearn things, an' them we neigh- 
 bor with has tolt things, an' the children, 
 they've see things. Polly, she an' Betty 
 Flieger, they walked over to Bitternses one 
 Sunday evenin' to git the girls to go to 
 148 
 
Some Neighborly Gossip 
 
 meetin' 'long of them. When they was 
 goin' down the slope of the hill to the house 
 they hearn screams an' sobs so piti'ble Hke 
 they was 'feared to go on. But they pushed 
 ahead, an' when they come to knock the 
 sounds hushed up an' it growed so still 
 they could 'a' hearn a whisper inside. Dan 
 Bittern, he opened the door, an' peek as 
 they might, they couldn't see ary one of 
 the girls, an' when they as't fur them he 
 says, gruff, like a dog, he s'posed they'd 
 gone to meetin'. So they went on to the 
 meetin', but the Bittern girls wasn't thur, 
 of course not. Next day at school, Polly, 
 she as't Dianthy about it. An', would you- 
 uns believe me? That girl, she looked 
 Polly straight in the eye, an' tolt off a lie 
 jest as slick as anything. She claimed 
 her 'n' Stelle'd ben havin' a game of romps 
 together, an' they got high, a-screechin' 
 an' a-hollerin', an' when the knock come 
 they hid, thinkin' it were some of the boys 
 come a-callin', an' bein' plagued to show 
 thurselves, after bein' ketched hollerin' that- 
 a-way. An' Stelle, she tolt off the same 
 story, like she'd learnt it by heart. ' Queer 
 149 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 game of romps, thet/ says I, when Polly 
 come an' tolt me. 
 
 " You can't someways blame the girls for 
 bein' flirty, an' clairin' out from house 'n' 
 home every whip stitch when thur's a 
 chanc't fur a good time. I'd do more, I'd 
 stay claired out if I was them. 'F I were 
 Dianthy I'd git me a man right soon, an' 
 set up in my own house whur I'd git shed 
 o' my paw, an' be let be. She'd do better 
 to take up with Raleigh Post than with ary 
 boy of Crimp's. Raleigh'd make a good 
 man fur Dianthy. Them two youngest 
 boys of Post's is reel smart, stiddy boys, if 
 they do be Posts. Raleigh ain't like Art. 
 He lays off to teach our school one of these 
 days, so he do. He's right bright at fig- 
 gers, an' he's the best speller in school. 
 But Dianthy don't keers no more fur Ra- 
 leigh bein' 'round than she does fur a fly 
 buzzin' at her yur. Thur's another that 'ud 
 marry her to-morrow, if she'd have him, an' 
 that's Phil Schuyler. Her'n Phil 'ud make 
 a toler'ble good match. He's one of these 
 fellers that's alius got his mouth stretched 
 fur a laugh — he's a awful tease. But he's 
 ISO 
 
Some Neighborly Gossip 
 
 dretful slow with his sparkin'; he ain't in 
 no hurry; he's waitin' fur Soph to git out 
 o' his way — an' every other feller; he ain't 
 never goin' to say the word till he's sure 
 of his girl. He's foreman of a big cattle- 
 ranch north-like of hyur, an' he owns quite 
 a few head of cattle in his own right. Thur's 
 some that says he's clos't-fisted with his 
 money, an' thur's others that says he drinks 
 some — he goes off on a spree onc't in a 
 while an' never comes back till he's all 
 bunged up; but that don't happen very 
 often. He's reel stiddy, mostly. I'd take 
 Phil rather'n stay 'long o' my paw, if I 
 were Dianthy. I'd take Hal Hopper, yes I 
 would ! " warmly protested Mrs. Bunt at a 
 laugh from Polly. " I can't someways 
 make out why Hal don't take with you 
 young folks. Thur ain't nothin' the matter 
 of him 'cep'in' he's scairt of hisself, an' easy 
 deviled; an' he's a little queer. It appears 
 like the boys is all down on him, an' the 
 girls won't ary one of 'em go with him. 
 But if Dianthy don't quit foolin' with Soph 
 she'll git left. Her chanc't to git married 
 ain't a-goin' to last long. She's growin' 
 151 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 old, an' she's begun to show her age in her 
 face. She ain't as young as she use' to be. 
 The fellars'U begin to shy off after awhiles." 
 A light skirmishing of the wind about the 
 door warned the guests to break away from 
 gossip's • fascination. An army of tumble- 
 weeds escorted them homeward; a most 
 laughable spectacle it was — countless hulk- 
 ing brown bunches rolling and bouncing 
 and airily skipping across the prairie, all 
 headed north, and marching, almost as if 
 imbued with life, before the wind. 
 
 152 
 
VI 
 
 FREE METHODISM VERSUS CAMPBELLITISM. 
 
 Already, at the close of its first year, the 
 star of Mr. Crimp's popularity was on the 
 wane. Another form of religion had arisen 
 in Windy Creek ; and before the Hght of the 
 new faith the old was fading away. 
 
 One sunny Sabbath morning of the Wood 
 cousins' second September in the rain-belt, 
 two congregations filled the school-house, 
 each expectant of a sermon from its own 
 particular shepherd. The forces had met ; 
 the opposing factions, worshipping here on 
 alternate Sundays, to-day had clashed, ow- 
 ing to some blunder in the notices given 
 out. Their leaders were late in coming; 
 and, moved by a spirit of contention long 
 harbored, the waiting flocks fell to disput- 
 ing. 
 
 While their elders wrangled, the young 
 people, sitting together now on benches 
 153 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 near the door, flirted openly. In these, his 
 loyal followers, the subtle influence of Mr. 
 Crimp was traceable; for more especially 
 were the impressionable natures of the 
 young stamped with the personality of him 
 who had been their pedagogue as well as 
 preacher for a twelve-month; there was a 
 freedom from former stiflfness ; a certain as- 
 surance of manner; a disposition to trifle 
 with serious subjects ; a smartness in dress. 
 A pleased agitation possessed their giddy 
 souls. Far from feeling concerned as to 
 their spiritual welfare, their minds were 
 swayed by temporal things, not the least of 
 these being personal adornment. The sun- 
 bonnet was in its decline. The girls had 
 their hair frizzed; they wore cotton mitts, 
 and large hats, trimmed high with gaudy 
 flowers. The young men flaunted neck- 
 ties and paper collars. A bright plaid ging- 
 ham, with balloon sleeves, bedecked the 
 plump person of Betty Flieger. Diantha 
 and Estelle Bittern were like blue and pink 
 morning glories in their sateens, whose 
 cheap splendor a summer's wear had some- 
 what faded. 
 
 154 
 
Free Methodism versus Campbellitism 
 
 A rumor starting at the open door ran 
 around the room. The two preachers, 
 coming from opposite directions, were said 
 to be nearing the school-house. The dis- 
 putants drew apart. Silence fell. A hushed 
 expectancy sharpened every face. 
 
 Mr. Crimp, walking very fast and swing- 
 ing a stout cane, his face scarlet, his eyes 
 scintillating, gained the steps and then the 
 door two minutes in advance of his rival. 
 With his pompous strut he swung quickly 
 down the aisle ; he laid his hat and stick on 
 the desk, and amidst indignant glances 
 from the Free Methodist saints seated on 
 the right hand of the pulpit, he felt in his 
 breast-pocket for the accustomed handker- 
 chief to polish his scarlet face. 
 
 A young man of pious mien, who half 
 rose out of his seat with a protesting growl 
 of " Hold on there !" was pulled unceremo- 
 niously backward by Mr. Flieger, and 
 quieted with an audible whispering in the 
 ear. 
 
 There now appeared in the doorway the 
 Free Methodist Evangelist. His wife and 
 nine children came trooping after. The 
 155 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 pale mother, with her six-weeks' infant in 
 her arms, sat down in the Amen Corner, 
 while her eldest born, a pinched and care- 
 worn Martha, guided the younger children 
 to the left of the pulpit. With the excep- 
 tion of the father, apparelled in a yellow 
 linen duster, and the infant, wrapped about 
 with a scrap of shawl, the entire family was 
 dressed out in rusty black. 
 
 " Good-mornin', Brother Stamper ! '' ob- 
 served the man of Christian faith ; but the 
 deep flush in his face belied the spright- 
 liness of his tone. 
 
 " Good-morning, Brother Crimp." 
 
 The two men looked at each other. The 
 audience stared with hard intensity. Some 
 in the rear of the room stood up, and others 
 craned their necks to see. Even the flip- 
 pant breeze at play without stopped to 
 listen. 
 
 " I believe I see you in the wrong place. 
 Brother Crimp," said the Free Methodist, 
 mildly. 
 
 " I guess you're mistaken, sir. My place 
 is behind this desk, and I propose to stay 
 here." Mr. Crimp's countenance was red 
 with wrath. • 
 
 156 
 
Free Methodism versus Campbellitism 
 
 Mr. Flieger sprang to his feet with vio- 
 lence. He had been fuming in his seat for 
 some moments, and could sit still no longer. 
 " Look-a-here ! What in Sam Hill do you 
 take us Free Methodists for? Us sisters 
 and brethren ain't to be fooled out of our 
 sermon so easy ! We come here a-purpose 
 to listen to Brother Stamper's preachin', 
 and if Brother Stamper ain't a-goin' to be 
 let preach, then we'll stampede back to our 
 homes, and spend the rest of the day in 
 holy communion with the Lord. Us sis- 
 ters and brethren " 
 
 " Hold on, Brother Flieger !" expostu- 
 lated Brother Stamper, " Fm willing for 
 you to listen to the brother, and the whole 
 congregation, too. I'd as lief listen my- 
 self, for a change.-' 
 
 Mr. Crimp's eyes shot green lights. 
 Magnanimity, except on his own part, was 
 distasteful to him. 
 
 " There seems to be some mistake about 
 this here preachin'. 
 
 " Accordin' to my ears, and I guess Fve 
 got just as good hear in' apparatus as any 
 Free Methodist here, it was give out last 
 157 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 Sunday that Sophocles Crimp, senior, was 
 to hold this here platform in this here 
 school-house to-day. IVe got my sermon 
 ready prepared. But I don't propose to be 
 hoggish about it. I move we refer the 
 matter to the school board. I'm willin' to 
 abide by their decision," said Mr. Crimp, 
 pleasantly. " Eh, Brother Stamper ? Ain't 
 that square ?" 
 
 Since the august body referred to con- 
 sisted of but one Free Methodist and two 
 of his own flock, Mr. Crimp felt perfectly 
 safe in proposing a settlement of the diffi- 
 culty by arbitration. 
 
 The school board retired to the entry with 
 a great stamping of cow-hide boots. 
 
 The result of a whispered consultation 
 was a decision in favor of the Campbellites. 
 
 Brother Stamper smiled feebly, and 
 backed oflf from the pulpit. But Mr. Flie- 
 ger was made of different stuff. He put on 
 his hat, with an angry clap, and as one man 
 the entire Free Methodist congregation 
 rose, and straightway made for the door. 
 
 A voice seldom raised in religious con- 
 troversy now made itself heard above the 
 158 
 
Free Methodism versus Campbellitism 
 
 clatter, and arrested those going forth; 
 some who were already outside came back, 
 and put their heads in at the door. Mr 
 Bunt, a man not to be bound by creeds,, 
 moved that the united congregations listen 
 to two sermons, the first by Brother Stamp- . 
 er, the second by Brother Crimp ; and fur- 
 ther proposed that the question be settled 
 by a rising vote. 
 
 The vote was speedily taken. The ma- 
 jority signifying their willingness to listen 
 to two sermons, both Free Methodists and 
 Christians remained in their seats, and the 
 long-delayed services began. 
 
 Mr. Crimp, with tilted chair and folded 
 arms, and head thrown well back on his 
 shoulders, tolerated the sermon that fol- 
 lowed ; his features were set in a contempt- 
 uous smile that became them well. 
 
 The spare figure of the Free Methodist 
 preacher stepped forward; his linen-duster 
 flapped about his knees; the long, lean 
 hands that hung far out of the shrunken 
 sleeves, the yellowed cadaverous visage — 
 gave him the look of having lain out in the 
 weather. He began to speak, and the tones 
 159 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 of his voice were husky, further deepening 
 the impression. Salvation was his topic. 
 
 He was going to speak to the people in 
 the simple words of the Gospel. Lord 
 help them to speak and to hear nothing but 
 the simple Gospel! There was lots of 
 preaching that hadn't nothing about salva- 
 tion in it ; there was a great deal of sending 
 people to hell by an easy gospel ; there was 
 lots of professors of religion, even some 
 that stood behind the sacred desk, that 
 talked and smoked and spit like sinners, 
 and went to hell like sinners. All them 
 that professed religion hadn't got it. If 
 they'd got religion it could be told in 
 them by their lives, and by their conversa- 
 tion. " By their fruits ye shall know 
 them." Let them ask a man if he'd got 
 salvation, like he done once, and let them 
 get for an answer, like he done, " You bet !" 
 They could be mighty sure that man didn't 
 know the first thing about salvation. Lord 
 deliver these young friends from turning 
 the grace of God into lasciviousness ! He 
 frowned around upon the youthful portion 
 of his audience, who, without respect for 
 i6o 
 
Free Methodism versus Campbellitism 
 
 the preacher's presence, saw fit to be enter- 
 tained rather than convicted by the warn- 
 ings thrown out. Once launched into ex- 
 hortation, he ceased to be irresolute; his 
 voice had been steadily rising, and already 
 his tones were louder than the size of the 
 auditorium demanded. Ah, if those young 
 friends had religion, that would learn them 
 how to laugh! There was two kinds of 
 laughing — laughing when you'd got relig- 
 ion and laughing when you hadn't got it. 
 Their kind of laughing hadn't got the ring 
 of religion to it — the way they was laughing 
 was the way of the devil. If those young 
 friends of his had got salvation they'd be 
 laughing the other way, because they'd be so 
 happy they couldn't help theirselves. Ah! 
 salvation was a sweet comfort and consola- 
 tion in this hard life ! His Christian father 
 and mother had salvation, especially his 
 mother. When they'd got it, they wouldn't 
 have no room in their heart for noth- 
 ing else ; it filled them full, bless the Lord I 
 From the minute he was converted — ah — 
 he hadn't cared for the things of this world ! 
 He'd been intent on the Father's business ! 
 i6i 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 He cared more for saving souls than he did 
 for worldly prosperity — ah! He hadn't 
 had none of his loved ones to weight him 
 down, neither. His wife was of his way of 
 thinking, bless the Lord! And his little 
 ones was of his way of thinking ! 
 
 Mrs. Stamper, in the Amen Corner, was 
 visibly moved. 
 
 The way to Heaven wasn't an easy way. 
 No, he would warn his beloved, the way to 
 Heaven was strait and narrow, like a 
 barbed-wire fence. But the Lord's way 
 was their way, and the Lord's work was 
 their work, and they was all happy in it. 
 Blessed be His holy name forever! 
 
 Fervent laughter and amens swept the 
 room. From the depths of a black calico 
 sun-bonnet in the Amen Corner there was 
 fired at regular intervals the sonorous 
 phrase. Glory be to God! The preacher's 
 voice had deepened into a steady roar; he 
 gesticulated with his long arms. 
 
 When they saw a young lady going with 
 
 one young man — ah — more than with the 
 
 others (tittering from the young people), 
 
 they knew very well that, though she hadn't 
 
 162 
 
Free Methodism versus Campbellitism 
 
 said nothing, her heart had singled out that 
 young man from all the others, and that he 
 was more to her than all the world besides 
 — ah. So it was with religion, when they'd 
 got it. Religion ought to have their best 
 love and their best thoughts, and their best 
 work — ah! Oh! if the converted only 
 showed the same spirit about their Father's 
 business — ah — that they showed to those 
 they gave their love to on earth ! 
 
 When he was looking for a wife — ^ah — he 
 used to sit in church and watch the one he 
 loved — ah (more tittering from the young 
 people) — and many a time he saw her look 
 across the aisles at some other young man. 
 There was such a thing as spiritual coquet- 
 ting — ah! Oh! How many were coquet- 
 ting with the world to-day^ Men and 
 women loved darkness rather than light. 
 Oh! How many were flirting with the 
 dark! What would they do when the 
 world gave them the go-by? Those flirts 
 and coquettes, where would they go in the 
 next life ? There was a place prepared for 
 such as them ; a lake of fire and brimstone 
 for them to drop into like millers. Where 
 163 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 would their home be in that next life? 
 Where their ^jorm dieth not, and the fire is not 
 quenched. 
 
 Deep groans issuing from the Amen Cor- 
 ner were echoed from different parts of the 
 room. The preacher, bellowing and stamp- 
 ing, continued his portrayal of the divine 
 economy of the lower regions, with all his 
 might, striving to thrill the latent emotions 
 of the unconverted, and thus bring them to 
 conviction. The young people were awed 
 into temporary gravity; they exchanged 
 glances and smiles to assure one another of 
 their unshaken scepticism. Mr. Crimp, 
 alone unmoved, smiled to himself in a supe- 
 rior way. The vibrations shook from its 
 insecure fastening a raised window sash ; it 
 fell with a bang. Two or three of the 
 younger children lifted their voices into a 
 wail, terrified as much by the expression of 
 deep melancholy settling upon the counte- 
 nances of their parents as by the prolonged 
 uproar. 
 
 The preacher paused in his elocutionary 
 labors, wiped his eyes, and began again, in 
 tones spent by strenuous exertion. 
 164 
 
Free Methodism versus Campbellitism 
 
 " I preach more than salvation — ah ! I 
 preach sanctification ! It's a stumbling- 
 block to fools — ah — the doctrine of sancti- 
 fication, but, bless the Lord! our eyes are 
 opened to it till we can see it as plain as day. 
 
 " What does the good Book say ? ' Our 
 old man is crucified with Him (Christ) that 
 the body of sin might be destroyed, that 
 henceforth we should not serve sin. For 
 he that is dead is free from sin.' So you 
 see that us living brethren and sisters can 
 be mighty sure, if we live right, that we're 
 dead to sin and free from sin. 
 
 " What is sanctification ?" shouted the 
 preacher. " Is it to be saved — ah ? Is it 
 to get to Heaven — ah? Bless the Lord, 
 it's more than to get salvation, ha, ha ! It's 
 more than to get to Heaven! It's to live 
 without sin — ah! It's to be holy — ah! 
 Holy like the angels in Heaven, that can't 
 be let to sin as long as they're in the grace 
 of the Lord ! 
 
 " ' Go and sin no more,' says the good 
 Book. 
 
 " ' Being made free from sin, ye become 
 the servants of righteousness.' 
 165 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " * Henceforth ye shall not serve sin.' 
 "'Let no sin therefore remain in your 
 mortal bodies/ 
 
 " ' If thou wilt be perfect/ says Christ to 
 the rich young man. The Lord knew that 
 young man could be perfect, and He knows 
 that we can be perfect, too, my beloved. 
 There's no excuse for us if we ain't. We 
 mustn't stop at being good: that ain't 
 enough; we must aim higher; we must 
 become holy. O, brethren — ah! O, sis- 
 ters — ah! seek the Lord this day, and give 
 Him your unsanctified hearts to cleanse 
 from all sin and all evil and all unrighteous- 
 ness — ah! Cast off the shackles of your 
 sin, and come and sit on the right hand of 
 the sacred desk, and swell our circle here! 
 Come and join these brethren and these sis- 
 ters ! We claim holiness ! And we've got 
 it, too ; ha, ha ! We live without sin ! We 
 haven't got no anger and no bad passions 
 in our hearts! We haven't got no evil 
 thoughts! No vain imaginations ! Praise 
 the Lord! Come on! There's plenty of 
 room for all — we'll find chairs for every- 
 body! Our circle'll stretch clean around 
 i66 
 
Free Methodism versus Campbellitism 
 
 the room, and when everybody's in it, there 
 won't be none to laugh us to scorn and cast 
 slurs on us for setting up to be sanctified ! 
 We'll all be sanctified ! Ha, ha, ha ! Praise 
 His holy name ! Blessed be His holy name 
 forever !" 
 
 The sermon ended in a triumphal flourish 
 of amens. 
 
 The evangelist fell on his knees. All the 
 members of his flock dropped on theirs, 
 while those of the other fold sat upright in 
 their seats. A strangely grotesque figure 
 was the preacher's — great feet pointing to- 
 ward the black-board; huge, bony hands 
 outstretched ; the prodigious roaring of his 
 prayer accented by the measured smiting of 
 his palms, held high in air. 
 
 A hymn had scarcely been sung ere one 
 after another of the Free Methodists quick- 
 ly rose, each eager to descant upon the mar- 
 vellous topic of sanctification ; and a testi- 
 monial meeting was at once put into full 
 swing. 
 
 The Campbellite preacher awaited his 
 turn, resignedly. He attempted to assume 
 a look of infinite compassion, but this, 
 167 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 blending with the sneer already settled up- 
 on his features, produced an odd mixture of 
 expressions. 
 
 Strongly excited, with rapid and incohe- 
 rent speech, Mrs. Flieger led the testimo- 
 nies. 
 
 " My old man is dead ! I'm free ! Oh, 
 I'm so happy! Thank the Lord! Glory 
 be to God !" (The surprising intelHgence of 
 Mrs. Flieger's widowhood provoked a 
 storm of smothered laughter from the of- 
 fenders on the benches.) " I'm saved ! 
 Glory to God ! I live without sin ! I'm so 
 glad that I've been shown the way ! Pray 
 for me, everybody, so's I kin be kep' in the 
 right way! I want your prayers! I jest 
 wish't I could see somebody here gittin' up 
 to give their heart to the Lord and be 
 saved ! Why can't the people care fur their 
 souls? They're so dead in sin, 't seems 
 like. Git saved! Why don't you git saved? 
 Why don't you git shed of your old man? 
 So many jest pretend to be saved an' then 
 go on sinnin'. If you go on sinnin' you 
 ain't saved! The devil's got you fur his 
 own ! The devil can't git no good fight out 
 i68 
 
Free Methodism versus Campbellitism 
 
 of me, thank the Lord! Ha, ha, ha! 
 Praise His holy name forever I" 
 
 " The Lord tells me I must speak to you 
 about the power of prayer,'' gasped Mrs. 
 Stamper, tottering to her feet. She was a 
 woman of a singularly death-like appear- 
 ance. The severity of the black sailor hat 
 worn by most of the women of the sect, and 
 the hair strained backward from its roots, 
 brought out every line in the drawn, sallow 
 face. 
 
 " I dar'sn't keep my mouth shut when 
 the Lord tells me to speak for Him. Oh ! I 
 don't know what the people do that don't 
 have the sweet consolation of prayer. The 
 Lord works miracles every day in answer 
 to prayer. The Lord tells me I must testify 
 to you what He done yesterday in our corn- 
 field. Some cattle broke down the fence 
 and got in. My husband was off organiz- 
 ing Sunday-schools, thank the Lord, and 
 Maria had gone to borrow some corn-meal, 
 and the little ones was at school. I was 
 too poorly to run the cattle out myself, so 
 I just kneeled down in the door and prayed. 
 I hadn't prayed more than half an hour 
 169 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 when the cattle went off of themselves. 
 They didn't know the Lord was leading 
 them, but I knew it. Oh, what a power 
 there is in prayer! Why don't everybody 
 quit troubling themselves about the things 
 of this life? When their crops fail, they 
 curse and swear. Why don't they get down 
 on their knees? When any of the family 
 is sick, they send for the doctor ; why don't 
 they get down on their knees? I knew a 
 woman once that had a sick child and sent 
 for the doctor, after she'd got tired of pray- 
 ing for it, and the sick child was poisoned 
 worse than ever with swallowing the medi- 
 cines the doctor give him, and he died. 
 That woman turned her back on the Lord 
 when she sent for the doctor, and the Lord 
 punished her. The Lord has healed more 
 than the doctor has! The Lord tells us 
 it's a sin to call in the doctor, just like it's 
 a sin to go to the dance. The Lord tells 
 us to get down on our knees and pray. Oh ! 
 what a power there is in prayer ! Bless the 
 Lord!" 
 
 Mr. Flieger sprang up with shining face. 
 
 " I tell you it feels good to git reel good 
 170 
 
Free Methodism versus Campbellitism 
 
 and happy ! You don't know how good it 
 feels till you try it! One old lady that I 
 use' to be acquainted with got so happy in 
 meetin' that she told how she'd be perfectly 
 satisfied if they'd let her set and look at 
 Jesus fur one thousand years, when she got 
 to Heaven. That's what I call reel salva- 
 tion, when you feel that way." (Mr. Flie- 
 ger wiped his eyes and gazed with tender 
 emotion into the faces directed toward 
 him.) " It makes me feel to-day Hke Jesus 
 done, when he went over them mountains " 
 (he made a sweeping gesture with both 
 arms), " and looked down into Jerusalem. 
 He wanted to save the people. I want to 
 save them. I feel like I want to gether 
 them under my wings " (another swooo) 
 " like a hen does her chickens ! But they 
 would not be gethered then, and they will 
 not be gethered now. They was just like 
 the people is now — stubborn and worldly. 
 Oh! I want to show sinners the rowt to 
 Heaven! It's my work, I'm ready, bless 
 the Lord! I'm just waitin' fur the Lord 
 to tell me what He wants me to do, and I'm 
 willin' to do it, and I'm willin' to say what- 
 171 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 ever the Lord puts in my mouth to say to 
 His glory — praise be to His holy name ! I 
 want to save souls! I just feel when the 
 spirit's on me, like it is now, that I love 
 every soul God ever made ! I love every- 
 body here ! Bless the Lord ! Ha, ha, ha !'* 
 
 Mr. Flieger closed with a prayer ; he in- 
 voked blessings on the Sunday-school, for 
 he was its founder and superintendent. 
 
 " The way to tell yer name's writ in 
 Heaven," droned old man Wilkins, " is to 
 be persecuted on this yearth, and talked 
 about. When I was converted I come 
 home, an' my first wife, she says to me, 
 says she, ' They've ben a-sayin' things 
 about ye, an' they've ben a-callin' ye hard 
 names,' says she. At that I jest jumped 
 up an' down an' hollered fur joy. 'An' 
 what's got the matter with ye now?' says 
 my first wife, says she. An' I says, says I : 
 ' I've jest found out my name's writ in 
 Heaven ! I know it now ! Glory, hallelu- 
 jah ! ' says I." 
 
 Rose Rooney bundled her child into the 
 lap of the woman next her and faced the 
 audience, with flushed and sparkling face. 
 172 
 
Free Methodism versus Campbellitism 
 
 " The devil's alius a-layin' in wait fur us 
 poor humans. He don't want us to git 
 salvation nor holiness neither. He's awful 
 smart, the devil is! He knows the weak 
 points in a body's make-up! But we'd 
 ought to be smarter'n the devil. He's 
 alius a-layin' in wait fur me when I'm 
 gassin', 'cause he knows it's a heap easier 
 fur me to lie than to tell the truth. He use' 
 to lay in wait fur Jimmy, too ; but he don't 
 git half a chanc't now. Jimmy's a right 
 good boy — he use' to be a Hmb." (Jimmy, 
 on a front seat, pricked up his ears.) " He 
 don't swear, Jimmy don't; an' he don't 
 chaw tobacco, like he use' to. I broke him, 
 I did. He don't say bad words now, 'cept 
 jist onc't in a great while. His pa learned 
 him. But I won't have it, not in my house ! 
 Oh, Jimmy's a right good boy. It's lots 
 easier to row down stream than to row up 
 — it's lots easier to act bad than to act good. 
 The Bible says so. It's human nature. 
 I'm learnin' every day how to live more 
 holy. Oh! we must git sanctification an' 
 holiness — we can't see the Lord unless we 
 have holiness — the Bible says so! I love 
 173 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 everybody. I don't love their sins ; I love 
 their souls! An' I love to git good an' 
 happy! I love a religion that'll let you 
 shout when you feel like you can't hold in ! 
 I ain't a bit afraid to shout ! Oh, the jump- 
 in' an' kickin' religion's the religion fur 
 me!" 
 
 Rose Rooney's little Mark, ill-pleased 
 with his sudden plunge into a stranger's 
 lap, had cried at the change, and still fretted 
 on being returned to his mother. With 
 characteristic decision. Rose Rooney on the 
 spot treated her audience to an exhibition 
 of parental discipHne; holding the child 
 out at arms' length, she administered a se- 
 ries of smart shakes, at each demanding, 
 through closed teeth, " Quit it ! Quit it ! 
 Quit it!" 
 
 The wearer of the black calico sun-bon- 
 net now arose in the Amen Corner ; she was 
 tall and angular, with aquiline features; 
 and with the intolerance of the old for giddy 
 youth, she bent a censorious gaze upon the 
 young people, and waited for the tumult of 
 their laughter to subside. Stretching forth 
 her arm, she measured with her withered 
 174 
 
Free Methodism versus Campbellitism 
 
 hand the height of a pretty brown bonnet, 
 trimmed with curling tips of the same 
 shade. This article of head-dress was worn 
 by Ruth Wood's mother, a lady of mild and 
 inoffensive personality. 
 
 " There's many a hat and there's many 
 a bunnit," pronounced the old lady, " that's 
 going to be too high to get in at the gate 
 of Heaven with. High hats and bunnits is 
 a vanity and a sin, before the eyes of the 
 Lord. The Lord shall take away their 
 * mincing feet,' and their * twinkling feet,' 
 and their ' gold rings,' and their ' ear-rings,' 
 and their * mantles,' and their ' wimples,' 
 and their ' bunnits,' and their ' veils ' ; and 
 the Lord shall give bald heads to them that 
 does up their hair in ' crisping pins.' I was 
 down to Denver last month to visit my sick 
 sister. Before I left I made up my mind 
 that the city of Denver was the city of the 
 wicked, where Satan hath his rule. ' All 
 is vanity, vanity of vanities.' The streets 
 is given over to fine dressing, and the 
 churches has more of finery in them than 
 the streets has. I used to stand on the 
 steps of the church where I worshipped at 
 I7S 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 and watch the women come out with bright- 
 colored flowers and feathers on their hats, 
 and young men with button-hole bou- 
 quets, that is going to shut them out of 
 Heaven. 
 
 " The devil has got other ways besides 
 fine apparel to lead the young astray, and 
 sometimes the old, too." (Mr. Crimp now 
 received in his turn a scathing glance from 
 the depths of the black bonnet.) " The 
 devil goes around to dances and candy- 
 pullings, and picnics, and Fourth of July 
 celebrations in petticular, seeking who he 
 may devour. The Lord was mighty scan- 
 dalized at the doings of some folks to the 
 school-house, last Fourth. The devil was 
 let loose that day ; he run in the sack-race, 
 and he dumb the greased pole, and he 
 ketched the greased pig." (Curly O'Coole, 
 the winner in the contest last mentioned, 
 burst into a short laugh, and all the young 
 people giggled.) " He jined in the speech- 
 making, and he helped serve the refresh- 
 ments. There wasn't a thing the devil 
 didn't have a hand in that day. He was 
 everywhere, and the Lord wasn't nowhere. 
 176 
 
Free Methodism versus Campbellitism 
 
 All our doings that ain't done for the glory 
 of the Lord is done for the glory of the 
 devil. I'm a prayin' and all the brethren 
 and sisters is a-prayin' for them folks that 
 is so set on Fourth of July celebrations — 
 and Mr. Crimp over there is the most set 
 of them all — to have their spiritual eyes 
 opened for them to see their sin afore next 
 Fourth, so's they can spend the day in fast- 
 ing and prayer, as is pleasing to the Lord. 
 I'm a-prayin' and a-wrastlin' that they'll all 
 git salvation and all be sanctified afore that 
 day. There's nothing that gives real joy to 
 the heart but holiness. Nobody can't be 
 joyous but them that's sanctified and livin' 
 free from sin." 
 
 After expatiating more fully upon the 
 pleasures of holiness, the speaker concluded, 
 in an imposing manner : " I stand afore 
 you a monument of sanctification. It's for 
 all of us, and it's for you, too, Mr. Crimp." 
 She then sat down and sanctimoniously 
 folded her hands. And the gentleman thus 
 publicly addressed reddened, and his nos- 
 trils distended with scorn. 
 
 Old man Wilkins spoke a second time. 
 177 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 He thrust his quid into a recess of his 
 mouth : " There was a young lady of my 
 acquaintance thet hed a young man to fall 
 in love with her and marry her. Now, how 
 did it come about that the young man fell in 
 love with her? 'Cause she was plain and 
 neat. That's what we air, my brethren, 
 plain and neat, and if we keep so the Lord 
 will fall in love with us/' (Groans and 
 amens.. A loud, satisfied amen from Mrs. 
 Stamper, dingy and unkempt in her black 
 habiliments.) " Now, I don't see why it 
 hed oughter be hard fur folks to give up 
 thur wearin' apparel when it ain't suitable 
 fur the faith. These fine clothes and gold 
 rings and jooelry, they air the devil's own. 
 They air jest one of the baits that the devil 
 hes on his fishin' hook fur yankin' people 
 into his kingdom with. When I wuz still 
 of the world's way of thinkin' I hed a pair 
 of patent-leather boots thet I wuz mighty 
 fond of. And I hed a tall hat, too — one of 
 these hyur stove-pipes. I wuz young then, 
 and the young will be fools, ye know. But 
 when I wuz converted I didn't hev two 
 minds about my dooty. I knowed what I 
 178 
 
Free Methodism versus Campbellitism 
 
 hed oughter do. I kicked off them patent- 
 leathers, and I knocked that thur shiny hat 
 into a corner. I never wore 'em agin. 
 Give the devil his doo, says I." 
 
 A raw-boned young Welshman rose to 
 observe : " We're so big-feeling now-a- 
 days that we want horthodox sermons : but 
 horthodoxy won't save hus." 
 
 A fat young man in the Amen Corner, 
 Job Postlethwaite by name, but nick-named 
 *' Jumbo," mumbled into his red bandanna 
 handkerchief some such phrases as " these 
 infidikes," and " going straight to predic- 
 tion." 
 
 A solo concluded the testimonial service. 
 This hymn, rendered by a holy young man, 
 who remained seated, clutching the corners 
 of his book in a tight grip, and ducking his 
 head as he sang, set forth the journey by 
 rail to Zion, and depicted the passenger 
 train stopping at each station to throw off 
 bangs, curly hair, gold rings, or other vani- 
 ties that might encumber its speed. 
 
 Two long hours had worn themselves 
 away before Mr. Crimp obtained a hearing. 
 An ill-humored sneer wreathed his features, 
 179 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 but he adopted his customary tone of rail- 
 lery. 
 
 " You c'n get up and leave," said he. 
 " You c'n adjourn if you want to. It don't 
 make the slightest difference to me. But I 
 propose to preach in this here school-house 
 to-day, if I ain't got but two people to 
 preach to. IVe been giving 'way all sum- 
 mer. Now I propose to assert my rights 
 and preach every other Sunday." (At their 
 leader's show of spirit the young people ex- 
 changed approving glances, and Mr. Post 
 shook his red head theateningly at Mr. Flie- 
 ger.) " There's been some pretty plain talk 
 here this morning. Some sects don't stop 
 at nothing when they've got a spite against 
 you. They blat it right in your face. 
 There's a Christian spirit for you! Never 
 mind : ' An eye for an eye, and a tooth for 
 a tooth.' That's Bible doctrine. I'll give 
 them as good as they gave, now I've got 
 possession of the ' sacred desk,' as the rev- 
 erend brother calls it. I take the liberty of 
 informing the reverend brother that this 
 here sacred desk's mine for five days out of 
 every week, when I'm learnin' the scholars 
 1 80 
 
Free Methodism versus Campbellitism 
 
 to read and write, and I feel quite at home 
 behind it. IVe got a corner on this desk. 
 
 " I don't quarrel with your doctrines, my 
 friends. They're all right in their place; 
 they're harmless ; it takes all kinds of people 
 to make a world, and it takes all kinds of 
 creeds to make a rehgion. But you Free 
 Methodists had ought to look out and not 
 let yourselves get too fresh, roasting us 
 Christians. Some of you folks may get a 
 taste of roasting, yourselves, in the next 
 life. I understand its rather warm, shovel- 
 ing coal, down there." 
 
 A violent snort from Mr. Flieger warned 
 the orator to desist from this theme. 
 
 " You Free Methodists claim to be holy," 
 said Mr. Crimp, banteringly. " Now, you'd 
 ought to be careful, you know, and mind 
 your P's and Q's. There's goin' to be a pret- 
 ty sharp look-out for any stray sins of yours 
 layin' loose around here. I guess we know 
 a sin when we see it, if we do dress a little 
 better'n our friends in black, and wear rib- 
 bons on our hats and climb greased poles, 
 and serve refreshments along with some- 
 body who it ain't polite to mention. I'm 
 i8i 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 not afraid of the Lord's takin' a mental in- 
 ventory of the duds I've got on. I guess 
 the Lord has got other business on hand 
 besides snatching the girls bald-headed for 
 puttin' up their hair on curl-papers. So 
 the Old Harry was associating with our 
 crowd last Fourth, was he? We wasn't 
 aware of the fact, now, was we ?" facetiously 
 inquired Mr. Crimp, as he deliberately 
 winked in the direction of his young disci- 
 ples. " I guess we're not quite so well ac- 
 quainted with the gentleman's personal ap- 
 pearance as same folks seem to be; since 
 we weren't aware of his presence, until told 
 of it. Some folks not only knows him by 
 sight, but also has a speaking acquaintance 
 with him, it seems. But I am surprised " 
 (with gravity) " that anybody should have 
 mistook my young friend here, Mr. Curly 
 O'Coole, for the gentleman from the lower 
 regions. There don't seem to be much re- 
 semblance between the two, so far as I c'n 
 see." 
 
 The young people were by this time 
 so convulsed with laughter that the speak- 
 er was obliged to pause some moments. 
 182 
 
Free Methodism versus Campbellitism 
 
 When the room was quiet once more, Mr. 
 Crimp went on, greatly mollified : 
 
 " I promised myself to give you a treat, 
 my good people, in the shape of a mission- 
 ary lady from India — a returned missionary, 
 you know. I hoped to give you a pleasant 
 surprise, for I know you'd all like to see a 
 foreign missionary and hear them speak. 
 She promised to come out here and speak 
 at the school-house in the morning, and at 
 Arrowhead in the evening; that was the 
 arrangement. But yesterday when I went 
 to the house where she's stopping at, to see 
 about the appointment, I found her pros- 
 trated, and I see it was impossible to think 
 of bringing her out here. This lady is in 
 very delicate health; she has neuralgia of 
 the stomach, and you know anybody with 
 that complaint ain't liable to enjoy very 
 good health. I'm sorry for you, for I know 
 you're disappointed at not seein' her. I did 
 all I could — borrowed a buggy to bring her 
 out in, and had my trip to the Springs and 
 back for nothing. However " (smirking), 
 " I wasn't altogether disappointed, for I had 
 the pleasure of bringin' out a very nice 
 183 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 young lady along in the buggy with me. 
 She was my niece ; but I must say she was 
 a very pretty young lady, if she was a rela- 
 tion of mine." 
 
 Toward the close of a lengthy address, 
 delivered in much the same strain, Mr. 
 Crimp said : 
 
 " I have made mistakes in my life, like 
 other men, and I am sometimes sorrowful 
 on account of the mistakes of my life. But 
 I am happy and glad to be living. Life is 
 full of work to do. Things don't stand 
 still these days — the world's humming! 
 And I thank God every day of my life that 
 I'm here to help make it hum. I am what 
 they call of a sanguine temperament. 
 You've noticed, haven't you, when the sun 
 IS shining, how the furthest side of the 
 clouds is always the brightest? Well, it is 
 my way to be on the look-out for the silver- 
 sheen ; in other words, to look on the bright 
 side of life. But I never get excited. I 
 pride myself on bein' superior to the sway 
 of emotion. I guess there is some Spartan 
 blood flows in my veins. I am different* 
 from most people, and I take things dif- 
 184 
 
Free Methodism versus Campbellitism 
 
 ferent. Some call me cold and unsympa- 
 thetic, but I am not that. I am of a serene 
 temperament. Call things by their right 
 names, you know. Some say this and some 
 say that. Folks seem to be awful busy with 
 my name, now-a-days. Some say I haven't 
 got any friends. My good people, that just 
 shows how much you know about it. Why, 
 IVe only got to go to the Springs to meet 
 hosts of 'em. I refer you to the Springs 
 for references. There ain't a man in that 
 town is better known than I am. There 
 ain't a name in Colorado Springs to-day is 
 more highly respected than the name of 
 Crimp. It's good to blow your own horn, 
 sometimes " (glancing defiantly around at 
 his Free Methodist hearers). "There dn't 
 nobody else will blow it for you. If you want 
 to know what it means to have your repu- 
 tation up, just step into a bank some day. 
 My mere name is good for five hundred 
 dollars on a note at any bank in the city. 
 Yes, some people are out with me because 
 there ain't nothing of the Free Methodist 
 in me ; I'm too serene. Now, I never could 
 make a good Free Methodist. I can't shout 
 i8S 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 and get happy like you folks call it, when 
 you laugh at things that ain't funny. I 
 consider this emotional religion ain't got 
 much more to it than the froth on the top 
 of a milk-tmcket — that's the way I look at 
 it. I don't tie to emotional religion, my- 
 self. My religion lies deep — there ain't no 
 froth to it. Still waters run deep, you 
 know. I fancy ex- Governor Waite has got 
 a temperament something like mine. I'm 
 an admirer of that man. I've watched his 
 career down there in Denver. There's a 
 man that ain't appreciated like he'd ought 
 to be. He's got some sand to his make-up ; 
 he's level-headed; he's hopeful; he's got a 
 vein of humor of his own; he's something 
 of a philosopher. Yes, I fancy Waite and 
 I would make a pretty good team. 
 
 " I am a gentleman and a scholar," bom- 
 bastically announced Mr. Crimp. " I am 
 a man of brains and culture. I never pre- 
 pare my sermons. I speak from inspira- 
 tion. I study the human specimen as I see 
 it about me. And I read. Then I am 
 ready to preach my sermons, extempore, 
 whenever I'm called on. I'm never at a 
 loss for a word and I never run out of ideas 
 J 86 
 
Free Methodism versus Campbellitism 
 
 — my brain teems with 'em ; I can go on 
 ad infinitum, I evolve my sermons out of 
 the people around me, and out of what I 
 read. I unroll them, as it were. My read- 
 ing is wide. I don't see. a daily paper any 
 oftener than the rest of you do, but I keep 
 up with most of the magazines of the day. 
 It's a little saying of mine that the maga- 
 zines has more meat in them than the dai- 
 lies has. For deep reading, at present, I'm 
 dipping into Darwin's ' Origin of Species.' 
 It's a noble work, that of Darwin's — one of 
 the finest books of the age. Darwin — he's 
 the man that wrote it — makes out that man- 
 kind is progressing from one state to an- 
 other, and getting a little higher up all the 
 time. He says there wasn't any creation, 
 and there wasn't any Adam and Eve, and 
 all that. He says when man first started, 
 he was a protoplasm ; in other words, a cell. 
 
 "TrpwTo " — first 
 (wrote Mr. Crimp on the black-board), 
 ** ifkaajM " — cell, prison-cell. 
 
 That's the Greek of it — first prison-cell of 
 
 man. Then he evolved into a sponge, then 
 
 i37 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 into a monkey; and then into man, noble 
 man. But he ain't perfect yet. He's got 
 to keep on evolving till he's perfect, if it 
 takes millions and billions of years. This 
 is a very different kind of perfection " (jeer- 
 ingly) " from what you folks that claims 
 holiness aims at. No, my good friends, 
 this is the doctrine of evolution. Darwin, 
 he's the founder of the doctrine. We don't 
 need to swallow it whole, you know. We 
 can take it as an allegory, or as a parable, 
 and deduce some lessons from it. It's got 
 some good sound horse sense in it, that 
 won't do us any harm. Now, we people of 
 Windy Crick, we're in a process of evolu- 
 tion — we're evoluting, as you might say. 
 Darwin's book is a little deep. If I wasn't 
 afraid it would be beyond your depth I'd 
 be tempted to quote you some extracts from 
 it. But you'll grow up to it in time ; you'll 
 evolute. We never stand still, you know; 
 we progress forward, or we progress back- 
 ward ; we prograde or we retrograde. You 
 young folks are prograding, all right. Sorry 
 I can't say the same of you old folks, as 
 well. I'm sorry to have to say it, but some 
 i88 
 
Free Methodism versus Campbellitism 
 
 of you old folks seems to be evoluting the 
 wrong way; kind of a back-sliding evolu- 
 tion, I should call it. Never mind ! It'll be 
 all the same a hundred years hence. Still " 
 (sighing), " I feel disappointed. I had 
 hoped better things of some of the older 
 members of my flock. Do you want to 
 know who you folks reminds me of ? Why, 
 Ignorance, to be sure, the dolt that Chris- 
 tian had the conversation with near the end 
 of his journey to the city of Zion. The 
 trouble with Ignorance was, he had too 
 much religion. He had soaked himself in 
 it, and he had went mad over it ; he was all 
 puffed up with it; he had went blind from 
 self-conceit and vain-glory ; he knew it all, 
 and Christian couldn't learn him nothing; 
 he was one of your sanctified sort. Igno- 
 rance was,'' said Mr. Crimp, feelingly. 
 " Some of you folks that's so sure of your- 
 selves, claiming holiness and all that, may 
 find yourselves in the same fix as Igno- 
 rance, some day, at the very gate of Heaven, 
 feeling in your pockets for the certificate 
 that you haven't got — you may find your- 
 selves bundled off to the side door in the 
 189 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 hill, and dumped down to that place you're 
 all so fond of mentioning before polite com- 
 pany. 
 
 *' Speaking of ' Pilgrim's Progress ' re- 
 minds me of an article I was reading only 
 yesterday — Gail Hamilton's *- Valley of the 
 Shadow of Death.' I want to speak of that 
 Valley this morning. * From the fulness 
 of the mouth the heart speaketh,' you 
 know. In this article that I was reading, 
 Mrs. Hamilton tells her experience in the 
 Valley. It come to her when she was very 
 sick. She found herself alone, walking in 
 the Valley, and she naturally give herself 
 up for dead. But she come to, again, and 
 now her health is as good as ever. Now, 
 as a student of the Bible, the conclusion that 
 I draw from this story is this : You can ex- 
 perience the Valley of the Shadow of Death 
 in your lifetime. When I was a child I was 
 learnt that the Valley come just before 
 Death, and couldn't come at no other time. 
 But I think different now ; I think it comes 
 to some in the midst of life. Let me read to 
 you that beautiful Sam wrote by David." (In 
 a loud voice the preacher read the Twenty- 
 190 
 
Free Methodism versus Campbellitism 
 
 third psalm.) '' Now, David, he experi- 
 enced that Valley in life, and this Sam 
 proves it. If you'll call to mind that ser- 
 mon I preached where the prophet said to 
 David, ' Thou art the man ' ! and pointed 
 his finger at him, you'll see that David 
 found himself in the Valley then and there. 
 When we're in great trouble in the midst of 
 life, we're standing in the Valley of the 
 Shadow. I have had my experience of that 
 Valley. I have underwent great trials in 
 my life, more than most people give me 
 credit for. I recollect once in my life " 
 (Soph Crimp moved impatiently in his seat 
 at this the fourth repetition of the story, 
 and those nearest him heard him mutter, 
 ' Oh, shoot ! ') " of standing over the gra^^e 
 of one of my little girls — my oldest little 
 girl, in fact. I realized that I cared more 
 for that little child than for anything else 
 on this earth, perhaps. And for a moment 
 it seemed to me like I had rather give up 
 life right there ; I didn't care to go on with 
 my life. It seemed awful easy to give up 
 and die." Mr. Crimp choked and paused, 
 winking hard. But his simulated agitation 
 191 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 was stared out of countenance and he went 
 on hurriedly. " That was my experience 
 of the Valley of the Shadow of Death. I 
 walked it from one end to the other. Then 
 it seemed to me like God was telling me to 
 leave that little grave and take up the bur- 
 dens of life again. I knew I had duties to 
 perform — one of them had me by the hand 
 that very minute, in the shape of my boy, 
 Soph. But I want to say this : From that 
 time to this, death has never seemed the 
 same to me that it used to before the day 
 that I stood beside the portals of that little 
 grave." 
 
 The flow of Mr. Crimp's oratory might 
 have continued all day had not the restless 
 stirring of his audience penetrated even to 
 his dense perception, and reminded him of 
 the possible existence of cramped legs and 
 aching backs. 
 
 After singing " God be with you till we 
 meet again," a hymn in which both congre- 
 gations joined with a will, the meeting 
 broke up at the hour of a quarter past two 
 in the afternoon. 
 
 192 
 
VII 
 
 A DANCE 
 
 Revelry in Windy Creek began at an 
 early hour in the evening, nor did it 
 cease until the dawn. Eight o'clock 
 found the Bunt cabin lighted up, the 
 doors wide open, a crowd inside. But 
 the neighbors, though met together, were 
 not mingling in social ease ; bunches of 
 eager girls huddled together, whispering 
 and tittering, now and then rushing out of 
 doors to get drinks of water or tell secrets. 
 The men stood awkwardly apart ; conversa- 
 tion there was none ; they were waiting for 
 the dance to free them from the stiffness 
 that held them in thrall. 
 
 The household furniture had been cast 
 forth bodily into the yard, and around the 
 four sides of the room planks were laid from 
 chair to chair. The cracks along the rough 
 board floor had been freshly planed. Two 
 193 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 hand-lamps illumined the room; a tallow 
 candle in the kitchen showed the long pine 
 table spread with pies, boiled ham, cold 
 buttered soda biscuits, and cakes baked in 
 milk-pans ; and, in a dim corner, a bed with 
 a double row of infants packed within. 
 
 The night was dark and moonless; the 
 chill air blew in at the open doors ; the smell 
 of boiling coffee pervaded the rooms. Ruth 
 and Hermia Wood, who had come to the 
 dance under the protection of Ruth's broth- 
 er, shivered and wrapped their cloaks about 
 them. 
 
 Soph Crimp came late with the Bittern 
 sisters. Their arrival created a general stir 
 of interest; every head was turned, and as 
 the three walked in together they encoun- 
 tered the lively stare of a roomful. The 
 faces under the old pink fascinators, though 
 blemished with powder, were sweet with an 
 expression of innocent happiness. Close 
 in his daughters' wake dodged Dan Bit- 
 tern's ferret face. He carried in his hand a 
 brown gallon-jug, and this, with a prowling 
 air, he deposited underneath the table in 
 the kitchen among a collection of similar 
 pottery. 
 
 194 
 
A Dance 
 
 At the scraping of the fiddle in Raleigh 
 Post's hands there was a shuffling of feet; 
 men and women drifted together as if a 
 spell were broken; the company awoke, 
 summoned by the sounds into sudden life 
 and action. In a trice a space was cleared 
 down the centre of the room. Curly 
 O'Coole, wag and chief caller-oflf of Windy 
 Creek circles, shouted, " Get your pardners 
 for a square dance ! " The floor rapidly 
 filled with couples. 
 
 Two sets were formed ; the caller-off with 
 Betty Flieger, her cheeks a flaming match 
 to her rose-colored ribbons, led in one ; in 
 the other Soph Crimp and Diantha Bittern 
 were leading couple. Mr. Crimp handed 
 out Estelle Bittern — for the Campbellite 
 preacher sometimes honored a dance with 
 his presence, and had a pleasant way of in- 
 dulging in the diversion himself now and 
 then. Polly Bunt had for a partner Hal 
 Hopper, and her brother Alonzo, resplen- 
 dent in a pair of carpet slippers, appeared 
 on the floor with Mrs. Mort Post, flaunting 
 a waist of magenta red. 
 
 All the women wore high-necked and 
 I9S 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 long-sleeved dresses; the reverse would 
 have been shocking to Windy Creek's code 
 of morality. 
 
 "Another good-lookin' couple wanted 
 here ! " shouted the caller-off ; and Ted 
 Bunt, blushing, handed out Olympia Flie- 
 ger, now a young lady of thirteen and a 
 half, with her hair done up high. 
 
 "All full!" 
 
 The fiddle struck up; the shuffling feet 
 fell into time; the caller-off jigged and 
 clapped his hands, crying, facetiously, 
 " Everybody rag ! " Another moment and 
 the quadrille was in full swing ; bending and 
 swaying, bowing and sliding, the dancers 
 pranced through the figures, obeying with 
 ease the orders of the caller-off, who half 
 sung, half shouted the calls : 
 
 " All honor to your pardners, 
 
 " And honor on the corners ! 
 
 " All join hands and circle to the left. 
 
 " Left alla-man, right hand to your pard- 
 ner, and grand right and wrong. 
 
 " Once and a half with an elbow swing 
 and keep a-hookin* on." 
 
 Actively observant of the rapid changes 
 196 
 
A Dance 
 
 in the last figure, the caller-oflf reminded 
 the men of the approach of their original 
 partners by snatching Betty off her feet and 
 bawling : 
 
 " Swing your turtle-dove ! Swing her 
 pretty ! '* 
 
 " First couple lead out to the right," 
 shouted the caller-off. 
 
 " Lady 'round the lady, 
 And the gent so-lo: 
 Lady 'round the gent, 
 And the gent don't go." 
 
 When all four couples in each set had 
 successively galloped through the mazes of 
 this figure, the call, 
 
 " Lemonade eight. 
 And you'll get straight!" 
 
 untwisted the dancers and sent them prom- 
 enading in a circle, two and two, and a 
 loud whistle and a yell or cat-call brought 
 both fiddling and dancing to a sudden stop. 
 After a brief respite spent in mopping brows 
 and adjusting loosened hair-pins, some- 
 body roared, " Start the animal ! " and they 
 197 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 all went at it again, harder than ever. Often 
 each quadrille had as many as half a dozen 
 changes, so that the same set occupied the 
 floor from ten to twenty minutes before re- 
 tiring, quite blown, to give place to others 
 already paired off and waiting impatiently 
 about. 
 
 Alonzo Bunt flung out his carpet slippers 
 as if heels were quite separate from his 
 anatomy. Betty FHeger bounced heavily, 
 with immovable gravity and precision. A 
 tall man, with high, round shoulders and 
 bullet head, hopped through the figures 
 with her. 
 
 Curly O'Coole skipped and shouted : 
 
 " Swing the left hand lady, 
 For she's an old maidy, 
 And all chaw hay ! " 
 " Swing your honey, hey, don't you know, sonny, 
 Swing that girl with the cracker-box feet ! '* 
 " On to the next and swing, 
 Misses O'Flannigan; 
 You do it so well you can do 
 It aganigan ! " 
 
 The swing, evidently a favorite with the 
 caller-off, was a whirl round and round, 
 198 
 
A Dance 
 
 each girl being lifted bodily off her feet in 
 the rapid revolution. 
 
 '* Forward two and back again, 
 Forward two and pass right through, 
 And swing that girl behind you." 
 
 In the " forward two " the heavy dough- 
 face of Huldah Moss, a great over-grown 
 young woman, met Estelle Bittern's with 
 a sharp crack. Quick as a flash the Httle 
 brown fist flew out and slapped the bun- 
 gler's face. A laugh went up. Huldah 
 Moss burst out crying, and stood, a foolish 
 picture of distress, until whisked off in an- 
 other figure. And in the rhythmic uproar 
 of the dance the 6torm blew over. 
 
 The bullet-headed man, who took pas- 
 time seriously, though a dancer of mrny 
 years' standing, had evidently never yet 
 mastered the intricacies of the quadrille. 
 
 Often flustered by some old, familiar call, 
 he would flounder clumsily, until, pushed 
 and pulled this way and that, perchance he 
 fell into time and rhythm again ; or halted, 
 confused and gaping, in the midst of the 
 whirling forms, so bringing the quadrille to 
 a dead stop, with the figure to be done all 
 199 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 over again. Yet he was an indefatigable 
 dancer and put the girls to endless trouble 
 to avoid such a helpless, scatter-brained 
 partner. 
 
 " Ladies' dough, 
 A little more dough ! " 
 " Bird in the middle and three hands round, 
 Bird fly out and keep a-goin' round." 
 
 Sometimes, as a rude joke : 
 
 " Ladies to the middle, 
 And gents to their seats ! " 
 
 without warning, deprived the former of 
 their partners, and left them stranded. But 
 usually the caller-off dismissed the sets 
 from the floor with the yell : 
 
 " Lemonade all to you know where, 
 And hand your pardner to a chair." 
 
 The square dance was by far the most 
 popular on Windy Creek. Once in a while 
 a waltz tune varied the tedious sameness of 
 the quadrille, and the untuned voices of the 
 dancers accompanied the fiddle with the 
 mournful ditty: 
 
 " Where, O where, is my little dog gone. 
 His tail cut short and his ears cut long, 
 Where, O where, is my little dog gone? " 
 200 
 
A Dance 
 
 A hopping movement marked the waltz ; 
 the gUde was unknown. Each man sup- 
 ported his partner with the flat of his hand 
 placed, with fingers outspread, in the mid- 
 dle of her back, often leaving a shadowy 
 impression thereon. The girls rested their 
 chins on their partners' broad shoulders. 
 
 Groups of over-heated revellers rushed 
 repeatedly out between sets to cool off in 
 the night air. 
 
 Those sitting out a dance on the benches 
 discussed those on the floor, indulging free- 
 ly in personal remarks at their expense. 
 The kind or appreciative word remained 
 unspoken ; the comments were usually un- 
 feeling, scornful, prompted by envy, tainted 
 with venom — a trait of Windy Creek soci ^ty 
 evincing its kinship to society of higher 
 degree. 
 
 '' Huh ! We think we're some pumpkins, 
 don't we?" 
 
 " Look at Curly O'Coole lookin' sweet 
 at Betty! They say her pa up and asked 
 him to marry her." 
 
 "Ain't Betty Flieger the dickens of a 
 girl to dress ? " 
 
 20I 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " Wonder why the grass-widow ain't to 
 the dance to-night ? " 
 
 " Didn't have no company, I reckon." 
 
 " Oh, that wouldn't phase the widow. 
 She'd go to a dance without as quick as with 
 it. Guess she couldn't stand it to see Jean 
 dancin' with Art. She's dreadful jealous of 
 Jean." 
 
 A young woman, whose partner had left 
 her for a moment, fastened an inquisitive 
 gaze on the Wood cousins. She was short 
 of stature, but carried herself very straight, 
 and she wore eye-glasses. She at once 
 entered into conversation with them; she 
 spoke with a Yankee twang. Were they 
 strangers in Windy Creek? Where were 
 they stopping? How long had they been 
 here? When did they expect to leave? 
 
 " The Windy Creek people are so vul- 
 gar ! It is all I can do to put up with them," 
 said she, elevating a pointed chin. 
 
 She caught Mr. Crimp's eye, who was 
 smirking and bowing to her across the 
 width of the room. She promptly turned 
 her back on him, saying, " That Mr. Crimp 
 is the most detestable creature I ever met ! " 
 
 202 
 
A Dance 
 
 " May I set aside of you ? " 
 
 It was Mrs. Bunt's cheery greeting. The 
 young woman had flounced away on the 
 arm of her partner, and Ruth inquired who 
 she might be. 
 
 " Her with the specs and chain stringin' 
 over one yur? Why, that woman's the 
 school-teacher, her that wallerped Will 
 Spruce down to the school-house, an' had 
 her school took away from her an' give to 
 Crimp, thur." 
 
 Hermia's gaze travelled among the young 
 men present. 
 
 " Is Will Spruce here to-night? '' 
 
 " Him ? Law, ye don't ketch Will Spruce 
 goin' 'round to no dance whur Miss Staver's 
 at, not if he knows hisself." 
 
 " Does he ever go with the girls now ? " 
 asked Hermia, dropping into Windy Creek 
 vernacular. 
 
 " Not much he doosn't ; no, they say 
 Will's soured on the girls." 
 
 In reply to the cousins' query whether 
 
 the floors were never waxed on the occasion 
 
 of a country dance, Mrs. Bunt related an 
 
 instance of the kind that had taken place 
 
 203 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 on the Divide, where beeswax, being a 
 home product and cheap, was smeared on 
 the planks, and " whenever you went to pull 
 your foot up it went kchwump! like a cow 
 liftin' its hoof out of the mud ; folks said it 
 sounded like they was some pretty tall 
 smackin' went on to the dance that night." 
 
 Mrs. Bunt's interest in people was too 
 lively and her tongue too restless to dis- 
 course long upon things ; and, be the truth 
 known, her guests were as eager to hear as 
 she was to relate the foibles and follies of 
 their neighbors on Windy Creek. With a 
 shrewd twinkle in her eye, she began by 
 inquiring how they liked Crimp, now? 
 
 He hadn't got the friends he had last yur, 
 but that swelled head of hisn hadn't gone 
 down none yjt, so fur as she could see. 
 What did they think of Stamper's preach- 
 in' ? Fur her part, she didn't tie to Stamp- 
 er's reHgion, neither; she didn't believe in 
 women gittin' up in meetin' an' tellin' thur 
 experimints ! 
 
 Dan Bittern was seen emerging from the 
 kitchen, furtively wiping his mustache on 
 his coat-sleeve. 
 
 204 
 
A Dance 
 
 Mrs. Bunt nudged her listeners. 
 
 **Thur's a man that ain't goin' to last 
 long, an' thur won't be none to shed tears 
 at his funeral, neither. He's got the shakes 
 bad, now. They do say he's wusser'n what 
 he were to home, an' that's a sure sign when 
 a drinker's drawin' near his eend. Did ye 
 ever see a mean, sneakin' boy to kick an' 
 beat his little dog on the sly? Well, Dan 
 Bittern, he's that boy growed up ; an' them 
 two girls of hisn ain't no more to that cow- 
 ardly critter than two pitiable, crouchin' 
 dogs fur him to torment. Thur's them that 
 says he's meaner sober than full; but full 
 or sober, he's alius at it. They do say he 
 keeps handy a wicked lookin' thing made 
 out of twisted rope an' wire. I reckon them 
 girls of hisn packs fresh marks of his devil- 
 try to every dance they goes to, an' every 
 Sunday to the school-house, too." 
 
 Her hearers, pained and shocked, gazed 
 at Diantha and Estelle, gayly dancing ; and 
 with rising indignation asked why the 
 neighbors didn't do something about it? 
 
 " Do ? It ain't a easy job to stir up 
 neighbors agin deviltry; didn't you ever 
 205 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 take note of that ? Everybody knows that 
 Dan Bittern had ought to be tarred and 
 feathered an' rid on a rail — but who's a- 
 goin' to do it ? An' nothin' ain't proved on 
 him, neither. He's that sly, he ain't never 
 ben ketched at his deviltry, nor ain't likely 
 to be. Nor them girls of hisn won't never 
 give him away. Thur ain't no place but the 
 open prairie fur them to run to when Dan 
 gits on a rampage. Thur married sisters, 
 Malviny and Maggie Milligan, doosn't 
 keers overmuch what happens to Dianthy 
 'n' Stelle; they is that took up with their 
 own fam'lies, an' that crowded, an' that put 
 to it to git enough to eat. An' the girls, 
 they won't run nowhere else. They is that 
 proud-sperited an' high-steppin' they won't 
 never tell no sech a disgrace on thurselves. 
 " But we-uns has seen things. Last 
 week we was sca'ce of hands, an' Lon, he 
 put over to Dan Bittern's to see about hir- 
 in' him to fork potatoes. He looked fur 
 Dan all over the place, an' then he peeked in 
 at the door, an' he see Dianthy a-sittin' on 
 the aidge of the bed a-cryin' fit to break her 
 heart. She looked up scairt like, an' they 
 206 
 
A Dance 
 
 was a blue bar riz acrost her forehead, an' 
 her mouth were all swole from a cut on her 
 lip. Lon, he's dretful backward with the 
 girls, but his dander riz when he see Dian- 
 thy's face, an' he taxed her mighty sharp, 
 but he couldn't git nothin' out of her. That 
 pore thing hung down her head, shamed- 
 like, an' vowed an' vowed agin she'd fell 
 down the trap-door into the suller, an' hurt 
 herself. Lon, he come home, a-sweatin' an' 
 a-jawing' an' a-cussin' fur all he were 
 worth; an' Dan, he lost his job of forkin' 
 spuds. But you couldn't have proved it on 
 him." 
 
 The fiddle complained in querulous re- 
 iterations of the strains from " Rabbit in 
 the Cotton-patch " and " Little Brown 
 Jug." There was a continuous thumping 
 and stamping to mark the time, as the 
 dancers settled to downright hard work. A 
 baby now and then, more clamorous than 
 the rest in its outcry against the discom- 
 fort of late hours, called its mother from the 
 floor, and her partner was left to finish the 
 figure alone. 
 
 There was an untrained grace in the 
 207 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 dancing of the Bittern girls. Where others 
 trod heavily, they with springing step and 
 nimble foot lightly tripped through the fig- 
 ures, and crossed and recrossed the floor 
 and swung corners as though they moved 
 on air. They were seen at their best when 
 on the floor; there their Southern blood 
 took fire ; enchanted by harmonious sound 
 and motion, flushed with social joys, an ani- 
 mation they never knew elsewhere trans- 
 ported them; their eyes sparkled, their 
 faces flamed with light and color; happy 
 laughter burst from their throats. They 
 were untiring in their zest, and ever in de- 
 mand ; they rarely sat out a dance. To two 
 observers on the benches the secret of their 
 popularity was soon no secret. It was not 
 alone for their prettiness they were sought, 
 nor yet for their engaging manners, nor 
 their graceful dancing. It was that they 
 courted the masculine sense with a coquetry 
 inborn, an instinct that must have stirred 
 in infant breasts before they left off clinging 
 to their mother's skirts. In the glance of 
 the eye they wooed ; by their deference they 
 paid court; though themselves far cleverer 
 208 
 
A Dance 
 
 than the men they flattered, veiling that 
 cleverness; hanging on every word, how- 
 ever trifling, laughing at every sally, how- 
 ever witless. 
 
 Soph Crimp joined in the dance with the 
 ease of one long familiar with the art. The 
 girls' lionizing, the conciliatory attitude of 
 all, had fed his trivial mind until in social 
 circles he had acquired a lordly and inso- 
 lent air. Thrice during the night some 
 bungling couple bumped against him, and 
 thrice did the unlucky offenders feel the 
 weight of his displeasure. 
 
 The supper for a time lured the dancers 
 from the floor. Sitting at their ease, with 
 heaped-up plates and cups of steaming 
 coffee, the guests gave way to a general 
 gust of merriment. All stiffness had van- 
 ished in the first freedom of the arm-encir- 
 cling, rough-and-tumble dance. 
 
 A short literary and musical programme 
 followed close upon the refreshments. 
 After much coaxing, Polly Bunt, who was 
 considered something of an elocutionist, 
 was prevailed upon to recite a poem, each 
 verse of which she ended with a flirt of a red 
 209 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 bandanna in her auditors' faces, accom- 
 panied by the spirited words : 
 
 ** When this old flag was noo ! " 
 
 Claude Fairley, having now arrived at 
 the vivacious stage of tipsiness, volun- 
 teered a song. Somebody pounded on the 
 floor. 
 
 Encouraged by the loud applause, he 
 stepped forth, and, while tapping his foot 
 on the floor to mark the time, began to sing, 
 in loud, monotonous tones, interspersed 
 with grins, a foolish set of verses, whose 
 burden was: 
 
 '' O girls, why don't you be good? 
 Get married, and do as you should ! 
 If you don't look out, you'll die an old maid, 
 So rustle around or get left in the shade! " 
 
 With an air of gallantry. Soph Crimp 
 waited on Diantha ; he was plainly a youth 
 fancy-free ; but, as already whispered about, 
 it was otherwise with the radiant girl at his 
 side. When Soph carried away her cup and 
 plate she left her seat to speak to the Wood 
 cousins ; in the midst of her own pleasure, 
 not unmindful of their strangeness. 
 
A Dance 
 
 " Sometimes the boys gives you their 
 arm when they goes to take you out on the 
 floor, and sometimes they doesn't/' said she 
 in a voice that vibrated with happy excite- 
 ment. " I was to a dance when we first 
 come to these parts and wasn't much ac- 
 quainted. And my pardner went to take 
 me out on the floor, and he put his arm up 
 at his side, and jest crooked it, so, and I 
 'lowed he aimed to give it to me ; so I went 
 fur to take it, and everybody laughed. I 
 never was so plagued in my life. But he 
 looked back and talked to me jest as cool, 
 when we walked acros't the floor, and I 
 'lowed if folks laughed like that at things 
 out chur, and wasn't polite like, I hadn't 
 ought to care ; so I laughed too, but I was 
 awful plagued." 
 
 The music struck up. A young man with 
 a pleasant, firm face, came up to claim the 
 speaker for the next quadrille. The cousins 
 had noticed his unobtrusive admiration of 
 Diantha, and had been contrasting his 
 manners with Soph Crimp's spoiled, im- 
 portant airs. This was Phil Schuyler, the 
 foreman of a large cattle-ranch beyond 
 
 211 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 Arrowhead; he was considered a great 
 " catch," but he had never yet seriously set- 
 tled to the business of wife-hunting. 
 
 The drinking had been sly at first; but 
 as the night advanced it was carried on 
 more openly, and the visits to the jugs un- 
 der the kitchen-table began to be attended 
 with a noisy sort of hilarity. 
 
 The dancing, too, had grown rougher in 
 character. One figure, which should right- 
 ly have been a pretty thing, the now wildly 
 mirthful dancers distorted into a grand 
 romp; this was the grapevine twist, meta- 
 morphosed by the Windy Creek young 
 people into a tussle not unlike the game of 
 '* crack the whip." As the ring of dancers, 
 twisting in and out of the archway formed 
 by the leading couples' clasped hands held 
 high overhead, pounded along, without re- 
 gard to time or rhythm, each jerked on- 
 ward by those ahead and tugging at those 
 in the rear, Betty Flieger stubbed her toe 
 in a knot-hole and fell face downward on 
 the floor; in falling, amidst smothered cries 
 and shrieks of laughter, she hauled down 
 half the ring in a struggling heap. 
 
 212 
 
A Dance 
 
 " Ladies bow, 
 And gents show them how! " 
 
 Two couples formed a star with eight 
 hands across ; at " ladies bow " the girls' 
 heads were encircled by the clasped hands 
 of the men ; at " gents show them how " 
 the girls threw their arms over the men's 
 lowered heads, and the call, "Shake 'em 
 up ! " sent the four jumping round in a cir- 
 cle, until the heads within the encircling 
 arms were swimming. This figure called 
 for a general mauling, and a retreat on the 
 part of the feminine portion to pin rents 
 and to put up their tumbled hair always 
 followed, while the boys emerged scarlet 
 and panting, collars rumpled and neckties 
 awry. 
 
 As animal spirits grew rampant and de- 
 corum decreased, the swing assumed a 
 wilder and more bacchanalian aspect. Two 
 cow-boys in from the range, tough of muscle 
 and tall of stature, spun their partners until 
 the girls' heels struck the door-knobs. 
 Waxing half-mad with excitement, a spirit 
 of rivalry seized them, and they laid a wager 
 on the exploit. 
 
 213 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 One of the girls thus Hghtly treated was 
 Polly Bunt, the other, Estelle Bittern. All 
 other dancing ceased, though the fiddle 
 played on furiously. Spectators gathered 
 around, and jests and rude laughter passed 
 from lip to lip. " Now we've got 'em goin' 
 South ! " yelled one of the rivals. " Now 
 she's workin' ! " bawled the other. 
 
 " Cheat or swing " was a favorite, though 
 not always a safe figure for the inebriated, 
 as it demanded a cool head and a steady 
 temper. 
 
 Choosing between the orders : 
 
 ** Swing 'em if you love 'em, 
 Cheat 'em if you dare ! " 
 
 Alonzo Bunt, instead of swinging Mrs. 
 Mort Post, grappled with her partner and 
 attempted to whirl him; he chanced to be 
 the bullet-headed man; dazed by the sud- 
 den onslaught, he resisted, and both came 
 crashing to the floor, amidst roars of 
 laughter. 
 
 The gale of merriment raised by this acci- 
 dent had scarcely subsided — the figure was 
 becoming frightfully mixed, for in its be- 
 214 
 
A Dance 
 
 wildering maze the coolest often lost their 
 presence of mind and forgot whom to cheat 
 and whom to swing — when Dan Bittern 
 and Claude Fairley, both fuddled, making 
 for the same girl, collided, clutched, and 
 crashed heavily to the floor, snarling and 
 swearing. The floor rapidly cleared. Wom- 
 en retreated to the kitchen or jumped up 
 on benches, while the men dragged apart 
 the drunken disturbers, thrust them to the 
 door, and kicked them out into the night. 
 
 Fights of this sort were of such frequent 
 occurrence as to provoke little comment, 
 much less to break up a dance. The fiddle 
 took up its strains anew and the dance went 
 on, albeit in soberer cadence after the 
 dampening effect of the quarrel. 
 
 215 
 
VIII 
 
 TWO WEDDINGS 
 
 Before sunrise of a frosty morning two 
 riders left the main road and galloped up 
 to the Crimp claim — a quarter-section that 
 had its history; entered under the Home- 
 stead Act by an impoverished Free Metho- 
 dist, the Campbellite preacher had jumped 
 it, a circumstance that had not a little to 
 do with the sudden decline of his popu- 
 larity. 
 
 Early though it was, there were signs of 
 life about the place. A cock was swelling 
 and crowing in the yard, his strut an im- 
 pertinent copy of the preacher's own gait. 
 Thin, bluish wreaths of smoke curled up- 
 ward from the stove-pipe, and there was a 
 loud frying sound inside the cabin. 
 
 The man dismounted and rapped smartly 
 with the handle of his cowhide. 
 216 
 
Two Weddings 
 
 Mr. Crimp flung open the door. The 
 smell of frying bacon rushed forth, and 
 Soph, with floury face and fingers, looked 
 up from the sheet-iron camp-stove. 
 
 " Why, hello, Art ! Out early this morn- 
 ing you and your lady ! " 
 
 Mr. Crimp was unshaven and collarless; 
 his crumpled shirt looked as if it had been 
 slept in. 
 
 " Howdy, Mr. Crimp," replied Art Post, 
 for he it was. " Kin you jine us two ? " 
 
 A sly smile wrinkled the brow of the 
 preacher; he glanced comprehensively at 
 the young man's companion, who at the 
 moment, in subduing the unbroken spirit of 
 the colt she bestrode, had her back toward 
 him. 
 
 '* Cert'nly, cert'nly. Art ! Anything you 
 ask's granted on the spot. But how in the 
 dickens did you get th^ girl off without the 
 old lady givin' chase? Pretty cute fellow. 
 Art. You're all right." 
 
 The woman had now mastered her 
 bronco's will; she faced about, laughing. 
 
 " Jerusalem ! " said Mr. Crimp. " Jiminy 
 Christopher! If it ain't the grass-wid — 
 217 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 Mrs. Despard. Well, I'll be switched. 
 What's went with that there little Jean of 
 yourn, Art? Ain't gone back on you, has 
 she?" 
 
 The young man choked out a vindictive 
 oath. 
 
 With a click of the tongue Mr. Crimp 
 took in the situation. " ' I see,' said the 
 blind man. Give you the slip, ain't she ? " 
 
 " Married yesterday to the Springs," 
 snarled Art, showing his teeth. 
 
 " I see, I see. So you mean to pay the 
 girl off by unitin' yourself in holy matri- 
 mony to Mrs. Despard, eh ? I admire your 
 spirit, my young friend," clapping him on 
 the shoulder. " I always knew you had 
 plenty of spunk. But what will the old 
 folks say — your folks, I mean? What will 
 they do to me, for aidin' and abettin' — look 
 here. Art, I don't like to disappoint you, 
 but you know your governor is the best 
 friend I've got out here on Windy Crick." 
 
 Art made as if to fling back into the sad- 
 dle again. " There are others who would 
 do the jining and no questions asked. The 
 
 justice of the peace " 
 
 218 
 
Two Weddings 
 
 " Great Scott, Art, don't go off mad," ex- 
 postulated the preacher, alarmed. *' You 
 know I'd do anything for Art Post. I don't 
 mind takin' risks for you, and you know it ; 
 you come to the right man. * Do unto 
 others as ye would they should do unto 
 you.' That's my motto. It'll be all the 
 same a hundred years hence. Best wishes, 
 Mrs. Despard ! Lovely mornin' for a wed- 
 din' ! Come in, come in, both of you. Get 
 my trappin's out in a minute." 
 
 Soph, grinning a good-morning, set out 
 chairs for the visitors. 
 
 The bearing of the prospective bride- 
 groom was fiercely determined; on his be- 
 trothed he turned a cold neglect, altogether 
 undemonstrative of feeling. The Widow 
 Despard, unabashed, hitched her chair to 
 his, tucked her half-handers into his pocket, 
 and bestowed a love-pat on his coat-sleeve. 
 
 The place had a bare, disorderly aspect, 
 for father and son were " baching " here. 
 On the west a sliding window dimly lighted 
 the room. Shelves hung at either side, 
 stuffed with paper-backed novels of the 
 Seaside Library and Albatross editions^ 
 919 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 and musty piles of the New York Ledger 
 and Police Gazette, Beneath the window 
 stood a rough pine desk; several of the 
 poets huddled in ragged binding among its 
 litter of crumpled manuscript, quill pens, 
 and cigarette stumps; in incongruous 
 union, Darwin's " Origin of Species " lay 
 cover to cover with the " Pilgrim's Prog- 
 ress," and from a small Bible, bound in 
 black leather, the preacher hunted out 
 enough theology to support him in an easy 
 pastorate, with a few strange characters and 
 sounding phrases from a pocket-edition of 
 the Greek Testament thrown in by way of 
 seasoning. Such was Mr. Crimp's study; 
 in this spot, with these instruments, the 
 philosopher of Windy Creek, " deep-versed 
 in books, but shallow in himself," 
 ** evolved " his sermons. 
 
 The preacher rummaged in the desk- 
 drawer for the marriage service contained 
 in an Episcopal prayer-book in his posses- 
 sion. As elsewhere stated, he had none of 
 the printed forms of his own church by him ; 
 but he always took care to keep his fingers 
 well over the inscription on the cover, lest 
 220 
 
Two Weddings 
 
 the little deception be discovered. " No 
 use tellin' everything you know," he would 
 have said. 
 
 He slipped on his coat, and, being now 
 dressed for the ceremony, asked: 
 
 " Didn't bring no witnesses along, did 
 you? Well, Soph here'll do. 
 
 " Got the permit ? Le's see it." 
 
 Art produced the license. 
 
 " Any hurry, folkses ? " 
 
 " Got to make it to the Springs and back 
 by sunset." 
 
 " Honeymoon trip, eh ? Guess you c'n 
 wait'five minutes or so till sun-up. IVe got 
 a notion in my head to perform the cere- 
 mony out-of-doors at the first clap of sun- 
 rise. Picturesque idea, you know. I always 
 go in for the poetical side of the thing. I'd 
 ought to have been born a poet. 
 
 * Out of the sea rose the sun.' 
 
 IVe got my brain stored with lines from the 
 poets, both great and small. Do you want 
 to know what I call them lines that IVe 
 learnt off by heart? — the adopted children of 
 my brain. 
 
 221 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " ' Beautiful were his feet on the purple tops of 
 the mountains/ you know." 
 
 He ushered the pair out of doors ; and the 
 four awaited silently the moment of day. 
 All was quiet. The coming sphere flooded 
 the east with a yellow haze and drove west- 
 ward the warm light of dawn, which, creep- 
 ing from peak to valley, painted the moun- 
 tains a pinkish hue. Pike's Peak first caught 
 the beams of the sun, not yet visible 
 from the plains ; some metal object on the 
 side of a distant foothill shone like a speck 
 of mica embedded ; on the brow of a neigh- 
 boring hill-side the window of a shanty re- 
 flected the rays in a sudden blaze of light; 
 another moment, and the rim of the golden 
 ball protruded above the horizon, and Mr. 
 Crimp opened his book. 
 
 The bridegroom stood up stiff and 
 straight; the bride cuddled to his side and 
 laid her cheek against his unresponsive 
 shoulder. 
 
 As the first sun-beams touched up the 
 ruddy head of the bridegroom and revealed 
 the details of the bride's costume — she wore 
 a short gown of gray calico, supplemented 
 
 222 
 
Two Weddings 
 
 by one of Art's cast-off coats — the words of 
 the marriage service sounded sonorously 
 on the frosty air : 
 
 Dearly beloved, we are gathered together 
 here in the sight of God, and in the face of 
 this company, to join together this Man 
 and this Woman in holy Matrimony; which 
 is commended of Saint Paul to be honour- 
 able among all men: and therefore is not 
 by any to be entered into unadvisedly or 
 lightly; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, 
 soberly, and in the fear of God. Into this 
 holy estate these two persons come now to 
 he joined. 
 
 If any man can show just cause why 
 they may not lawfully be joined together, 
 let him now speak, or else hereafter forever 
 hold his peace. 
 
 The humor of the situation here so struck 
 Mr. Crimp as to oblige him to wink ex- 
 pressively before going on with the service. 
 
 Arthur Post, wilt thou have this Woman 
 to thy wedded wife, to live together after 
 God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matri- 
 mony ? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, 
 223 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 honor, and keep her in sickness and in 
 health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee 
 only unto her so long as ye both shall live? 
 
 Mrs. Despard, wilt thou have this Man 
 to thy wedded husband, to live together 
 after God's ordinance in the holy estate of 
 Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve 
 him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness 
 and in health; and, forsaking all others, 
 keep thee only unto him so long as ye both 
 shall live? 
 
 And each answered, the man according 
 to his phraseology, " Yep," and the woman 
 according to hers, " Yes, sirree ! " And 
 Art Post and the Widow Despard had taken 
 each other for better, for worse. 
 
 The prayer Mr. Crimp omitted, for, as he 
 said afterward in describing the scene and 
 his own part in it, he never could pray 
 without an audience. 
 
 Mr. Crimp, followed by his son, then 
 shook hands with the newly married pair, 
 wishing them all manner of happiness, and 
 added an invitation to breakfast, not unwill- 
 ing to convert that dull meal into a wedding 
 repast. 
 
 224 
 
Two Weddings 
 
 " Thanks," said the taciturn Art, " we 
 had a bite afore we started." 
 
 He placed a dollar bill in Mr. Crimp's 
 outstretched fingers, and sprang on his 
 horse; his bride, unassisted, leaped light- 
 ly astride of hers, and the pair galloped 
 away. 
 
 Forgetful of the breakfast sizzling on the 
 stove within, the preacher and his son gazed 
 long after the riders, and each fell into 
 revery. 
 
 Soph scattered his train of meditations 
 first. " I say, pa, youVe put your foot in 
 it, this time." 
 
 "How's that, son?" 
 
 Soph grinned. " Won't old Post be mad, 
 though ? He won't do a thing to you." 
 
 " The old man'll come 'round all right," 
 said Mr. Crimp, easily. Then he burst into 
 a fit of laughter. " But I thought better 
 things of Art." 
 
 Soph looked about for a pebble to fling 
 at the meadow-lark singing happily on a 
 fence-post near by, and remarked, as the 
 little creature flew away with a note of 
 alarm: 
 
 225 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 "You bet no woman will ever get me 
 that way, pa." 
 
 On Windy Creek news travels fast. Be- 
 fore night everyone within a radius of five 
 miles was discussing the details of the sun- 
 rise wedding. 
 
 " Thur's one woman that's ben made 
 happy by Art's mittenin', if thur's half a 
 dozen that's had thur rest broke by it ; an' 
 that woman is Mis' McLeod," announced 
 Mrs. Bunt, in recounting the tale to an 
 eager circle of listeners. " When that 
 woman hearn the noos that Jean were mar- 
 ried, she busted right out cryin', an' she 
 kep' a-cryin' all night fur joy; she were 
 that tickled that Jean hadn't married Art; 
 she weren't even riled 'long of Jean's not 
 sendin' her notice of the weddin' till after 
 it were over. You see, it were this-a-way. 
 Mrs. McLeod, she sent Jean to the Springs 
 to visit her aunt fur why she were all wore 
 out a-seein' Art an' her daughter sweet on 
 each other an' gittin' sweeter. It use' to 
 make that woman deathly sick to see Art 
 jest lookin' Jean's way. Jean she didn't 
 reely keers none fur Art; fur she hadn't 
 226 
 
Two Weddings 
 
 hardly laid eyes on this young widower- 
 fellar— he^s got a baby left him a year old — 
 afore she up an' married him. 'T looked 
 like she hadn't give him a chanc't to git the 
 askin' out of his mouth afore she took him. 
 Girls is queer things. 
 
 "Jean, she like to stirred up a yaller- 
 jacket's nest out hyur on Windy Crick when 
 she meddled with them Posts ; so did Crimp, 
 a fellar that ought to knowed better'n to 
 have tied one of old man Post's boys to 
 the Widow Despard. They's war 'twixt 
 the Posts an' Crimp, only Crimp, he's fur 
 makin' up ; an' they's war 'twixt the Posts 
 an' the McLeods; an' none of the Posts 
 won't speak to Art, nor have nothin' to do 
 with Art's noo wife — the old folks, nor the 
 boys, nor the boys' wives, neither." 
 
 Rose Rooney supplied with gusto an in- 
 cident of the honeymoon trip to Colorado 
 Springs. 
 
 " Pete, he run into them two lunchin' at 
 Delmonico's. They was eatin' like they 
 was half starved — ^they'd run off without 
 their breakfasts, I reckon. The old lady, 
 she seemed possessed to rub her face acros't 
 227 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 Art's sleeve after every mouthful. She kep' 
 a-grinnin' up in his face an' ketchin' him 
 'round the neck. 'T seemed like she could- 
 n't let the fellar be. An' the waiters jist 
 a-splittin'. An' Art settin' up straighter'n 
 a ramrod, an' gittin' madder 'n' more red- 
 faceder every minute. She's awful bold. 
 The first time I ever laid eyes on that wom- 
 an she says to me, ' Art Post is about the 
 prettiest man I ever seen.' Yes, I alius 
 knowed the old lady had her eye on Art." 
 
 Mrs. Mort Post disposed of the culprits 
 in the following energetic fashion : 
 
 " 'F I was Art, I'd send the old lady flyin' 
 in a month's time." 
 
 " She's awful old, she's pretty near twic't 
 as old as him," said Diantha Bittern. 
 " Why, she's gray-headed ; she's thirty- 
 three or thirty-four year old." 
 
 Toward sundown a singular cavalcade 
 passed along the road by the Wood claim ; 
 a young man in a two-wheeled cart, valises, 
 bags, boxes, and bundles piled up to his 
 knees, driving a rapid trotter; a brown- 
 faced woman sitting her spirited bronco 
 with ease, her scant skirts and mannish coat 
 228 
 
Two Weddings 
 
 flapping in the wind. The bridal proces- 
 sion, for such the spectators knew it to be, 
 was seen to turn in at Art Post's gate, and 
 to halt beside his shanty. 
 
 At church the couple made their first 
 public appearance. It was observed that 
 Mrs. Art Post kept her arm about her hus- 
 band's waist during the entire service ; and 
 her affectionate disposition was remarked. 
 
 At high noon, two weeks after the sealing 
 of Art Post's fate, another knot was tied. 
 Unlike the first wedding, the second was 
 witnessed by friends, relatives, and well- 
 wishers, gathered together in the name of 
 the Lord. 
 
 For more than a year past his daughter 
 Betty's future had caused the soul of Mr. 
 Flieger exceeding great tribulation. He 
 had known no peace of mind ; anxiety had 
 cankered his heart. To Betty had come 
 that momentous period of her life, by wom- 
 an-kind soon attained, soon passed — the 
 marriageable age. Those were moments of 
 exquisite torture to the parent, when his 
 imagination, as with a stereoscope, flashed 
 229 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 before his mind's eye views of Betty, un- 
 sought ; Betty, pointed out as an old maid ; 
 Betty, year after year picking potatoes in 
 her father's patch, rather than in her hus- 
 band's. Stung to frenzy by such visions, 
 he would exorcise by prayer the hallucina- 
 tions of a disordered mind ; the corral, the 
 corn-field, the potato-patch, were frequent 
 witnesses to his piety. He had been tor- 
 mented by the question of the dance; his 
 religion frowned upon it; but it was made 
 manifest to the solicitous parent that the 
 matrimonial prizes of Windy Creek were 
 not to be won in the church, nor yet in the 
 Sunday-school, but at the dance. Clearly, 
 it was his duty as a father to provide a mate 
 for his child. A husband once caught, 
 Betty might safely eschew that form of 
 worldly recreation, together with her big 
 sleeves and her rose-colored ribbons. So 
 it came about that Betty, the child of Free 
 Methodist parents, the subject of Free 
 Methodist prayers, moved unmolested in 
 Windy Creek society, while her natural 
 guardians practised a fine self-abnegation 
 in thus sacrificing a religious scruple to a 
 moral duty. 
 
 230 
 
Two Weddings 
 
 . During the fortnight following the rupt- 
 ure of the engagement between his daugh- 
 ter and Curly O'Coole, Mr. Flieger had lost 
 flesh; he had diminished in girth. Upon 
 the non-appearance of the young man he 
 had accosted Betty in tremulous tones ; he 
 had demanded the reason of her suitor's 
 absence. Her reply, " I reckon I'll let him 
 sweat awhile ! " provoked a storm from her 
 mother; but her father had groaned in 
 anguish of spirit, and turned aside to seek 
 accustomed refuge in prayer. The person 
 of Job Postlethwaite was the substantial, 
 the corporeal answer to that petition- The 
 youth had been received with open arms; 
 he had complaisantly responded to the ad- 
 vances of the family ; had it not been, how- 
 ever, for Mr. Flieger's zeal, the spousal rites 
 of the two young people committed to his 
 care might have been postponed to an 
 indefinite period of time. Job was not 
 averse to matrimony. To his mind the 
 words " wife " and " helpmeet " were syn- 
 onymous; but his temper was phlegmatic. 
 He was a youth devoid of passion, without 
 ambition. To use Mr. Flieger's own ex- 
 231 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 pression, he required " boosting." Job, as 
 a member of the family, was desirable ; but 
 Job as a constant table-guest was rather an 
 expensive ' appendage. He was no light 
 eater, having, on the contrary, an appetite 
 proportionate to his bulk. It became ap- 
 parent to the subtle instinct and clear un- 
 derstanding of Betty's father that nothing 
 was to be gained by waiting; Job would 
 never, of his own accord, commit himself; 
 a proposal was fraught with too much un- 
 certainty. This matter, too, was made a 
 subject of prayer. With inspired language 
 upon his lips, Mr. Flieger approached the 
 young man; speaking no word that was 
 not revealed to him by that higher wisdom 
 upon which he leaned. His end was ac- 
 complished, his desire attained. The youth 
 accepted the situation ; he gave his consent, 
 his blessing, as it were, quite as if the tables 
 were reversed, and Mr. Flieger were asking 
 for the hand of Job's daughter. 
 
 Job Postlethwaite had no cabin to offer 
 
 his bride. A dug-out was his all. The 
 
 potato-plants in his patch, fostered by 
 
 heaven's rain and sunshine rather than by 
 
 232 
 
Two Weddings 
 
 stress of labor, brought forth the usual 
 quantity of homely brown tubers. Neither 
 cow, pig, nor fowl had Job; it therefore 
 behooved him to waste no vital energy on 
 the planting and hoeing of corn. His was 
 not a nature to be troubled by forebodings 
 of the future; he was without inordinate 
 longing for prosperity; his temperament 
 was calm, equable; some ill-disposed to- 
 ward him — he had no enemies — were wont 
 to call him lazy ; but this was calumny. 
 
 The date of the wedding had been fixed, 
 the invitations issued, the preparations for 
 the feast begun. 
 
 During the week preceding his nuptials, 
 Job Postlethwaite remained under the shel- 
 tering roof of his would-be parents. But 
 rumor, always afloat on Windy Creek, 
 whispered about that the bridegroom was 
 ailing ; stated that he had taken to his bed ; 
 and lastly affirmed his malady to be that 
 fell disease of the parotid glands commonly 
 known as the mumps. The bridegroom, so 
 said rumor, had caught them while bestow- 
 ing a fraternal kiss upon the young sister 
 of the bride, debarred from school by a 
 233 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 light attack. The postponement of the 
 wedding-day was prophesied. Those of the 
 invited guests acquainted with the fame of 
 Mrs. Flieger's Southern cookery, grew de- 
 spondent. Among people outside the bonds 
 of Free Methodist brotherhood, some were 
 ill-natured enough to predict that Betty 
 never would get Job now; that a wedding 
 put off were a wedding broke off ; that old 
 man Flieger knowed what he were about 
 when he struck while the iron were hot. 
 
 A surprise was in store for these croak- 
 ers. The father of the bride-elect made 
 proclamation that the wedding date should 
 remain unaltered. Inquiry, conjecture, 
 speculation were set on foot. Much talk 
 was created. Gossip emulated gossip. 
 
 The nuptial day arrived. As the sun 
 neared the meridian the festivities in active 
 preparation at the Flieger homestead as- 
 sailed the senses of passers-by, exciting to 
 such a degree the envy and curiosity of 
 some as to cause them most acute mental 
 suffering. In the long, low-roofed kitchen, 
 women hovered over the stove or bustled 
 from cupboard to table. Confusion reigned. 
 234 
 
Two Weddings 
 
 Tongues were clacking, spoons stirring. 
 Tliere was a sputtering, a steaming, a hiss- 
 ing, a boiling, a bubbling. Guests crowded 
 the living-room. Everyone wore his Sun- 
 day black, and every face was grave, even 
 long ; for it was a solemn occasion. Among 
 the guests were Ruth and Hermia Wood. 
 The presence of these young ladies, as 
 much a surprise to themselves as to their 
 neighbors, was due to the kindness of Mrs. 
 Flieger, who, though opposed to their 
 " fine dressing " and " doctoring," had dis- 
 closed to invalid Ruth an unsuspected ten- 
 der side of her character. 
 
 Mr. Flieger fidgeted from one room to 
 the other and back again. His eye roved 
 hither and thither in search of his daughter ; 
 and when she appeared, dressed out in her 
 bright plaid frock and pink ribbons, and 
 pressed her glowing cheek for an instant 
 against his, a rush of emotion dimmed his 
 sight, for Mr. Flieger's tears, like his feel- 
 ings, were but skin deep. 
 
 A closed door guarded the shed-room on 
 the left, where the afflicted bridegroom 
 recHned. Thither the evangehst, pausing 
 235 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 from his labor of handshaking around the 
 room, followed Mr. Flieger. The door was 
 jealously closed behind the two. Their 
 muffled bass, at first scarcely more audible 
 than the faint tones of the invalid, soon in- 
 creased in .volume; the father's agitated 
 outbursts were mirgled with the preacher's 
 devotional roar. It became apparent that 
 the bodily ailment of Job Postlethwaite was 
 being subjected to a trial of healing by 
 faith, and the voices within, raised in sup- 
 plicating prayer, met with ardent response 
 in the lively amens of the listeners without. 
 
 The test was brief. The voices died 
 away. Brother Stamper, in his yellow linen 
 duster, came forth and took his stand at 
 the upper end of the room. He carrieH 
 neither manual nor notes. The women sus- 
 pended their culinary operations. Betty 
 lunged in. All rose to their feet. Mr. 
 Flieger rapped on the shed-room door; 
 " Ready," he bawled. 
 
 A shocked murmur was elicited by the 
 bridegroom's entrance. Free Methodists 
 though they were, not a few of the com- 
 pany but found their risibilities excited by 
 236 
 
Two Weddings 
 
 the ludicrous appearance of Job Postle- 
 thwaite, as, shambling forward, he rolled to 
 Betty's right, and faced the minister. The 
 innocent cause of Job's discomfiture gig- 
 gled aloud, and was promptly slapped in the 
 face by her mother. Rose Rooney, choked 
 by the effort to restrain her ready laughter, 
 went off into hysterics ; and this display of 
 natural feeling on so momentous an occa- 
 sion as the widening of the family circle by 
 marriage, was regarded by all present as 
 highly proper and commendable. Happily 
 for them, the Wood cousins succeeded in 
 keeping countenance. Job's legs, bowed 
 outward, impressed the beholder with the 
 idea that the underpinning of his structure 
 had at some remote period of his existence 
 given way. From frequent burrowing 
 after the cool spot in his pillow, his hair 
 stood on end. His eyes were swollen half- 
 shut. His countenance, deeply flushed and 
 bandaged round about with a crimson 
 neckerchief, had exchanged the symmetry 
 of its roundness for that of an equilateral 
 triangle, and the unusual breadth from jaw 
 to jaw lent a comical air to his physiog- 
 nomy. 
 
 237 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 Betty, blushing like a full-grown peony, 
 slipped her hand into Job's ; and so this odd 
 young pair stood up together and were 
 married. The ceremony was brief, but the 
 prayers lengthy. Painful grimaces dis- 
 torted the bridegroom's countenance, and 
 he now and then gave vent to a smothered 
 groan, which, taken for a sign of the inward 
 workings of spiritual emotion, was re- 
 sponded to by loud amens. Mrs. Flieger 
 wept. 
 
 Shaken and thrilled, the voice of Mr. 
 Flieger followed close on the preacher's. 
 He had took Brother Postlethwaite's in- 
 disposition to the Lord in prayer. He 
 had went to the Lord a-purpose to find 
 out if the weddin' was to be put off. He 
 hadn't wanted the weddin' put off, hisself, 
 but if the Lord willed it so, why, he was 
 willin'. He knowed how to say them words, 
 " Thy will be done ! " But he hadn't had 
 to say them. The Lord had answered that 
 prayer of hisn afore he had rose from his 
 knees. The Lord had said, Why put off 
 the weddin'? Why trouble theirselves 
 about earthly sickness when he was there 
 238 
 
Two Weddings 
 
 to heal? The mumps hadn't oughter hen- 
 der a marriage from bein' solemnated, no 
 more than they had oughter hender a 
 funeral, especially when they would leave 
 of theirselves if there was faith enough. 
 Oh, the Lord was good ! The Lord be 
 blessed ! 
 
 Mrs. Stamper was moved to give a sam- 
 ple of the power of prayer, and Mrs. Flieger 
 chimed in with another instance on the 
 same topic; the elderly saint in the black 
 calico sunbonnet testified to the healing by 
 faith of a boil on the back of her husband's 
 neck; a graphic illustration of Marky's 
 swallowing a marble was contributed by 
 Rose Rooney ; and a fervid testimonial ser- 
 vice threatened the festivities of the wed- 
 ding. At the outset of these pious ex- 
 travagances the bridegroom slipped away, 
 groaning, to his couch ; the discovery of his 
 exit took of? the keen edge from the testi- 
 monies, and whiflFs of fried chicken and 
 roast pork from the kitchen brought them 
 speedily to a close. 
 
 The afternoon passed away in feasting; 
 thrice in succession was the long table 
 239 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 filled and filled again, and there was a sur- 
 feit of eating and drinking. The bride- 
 . groom, waited upon solicitously by his 
 mother-in-law, gazed with momentary ani- 
 mation into a plate heaped with the breast 
 of chicken, mashed potato, squash, and 
 gravy, only to find that with the most 
 strenuous exertion he might open his 
 mouth the eighth of an inch and no more. 
 The good things had vanished, as they have 
 a way of doing in this life, before Job was 
 able once more to exercise a proper control 
 over his jaws. 
 
 The young couple presently set up house- 
 keeping in their dug-out. The day after 
 her establishment in her new home, several 
 reliable witnesses attested to having seen 
 the bride picking potatoes out in the field 
 while her lord and master forked them. 
 Mrs. Art Post, too, it was said, had a liking 
 for the occupation. Picking potatoes is no 
 uncommon industry with the women and 
 children of the rain-belt, and brides, for the 
 sake of being near their husbands, as well 
 as to ward off incipient attacks of home- 
 sickness, take to it with avidity. 
 240 
 
Two Weddings 
 
 The first Sabbath after the wedding, a 
 new member was received into the fold. 
 Whatever may have been her change of 
 heart, a striking metamorphosis in her ex- 
 ternal appearance marked Mrs. Postle- 
 thwaite's entrance into the church. Her 
 frizzes were laid low, her ribbons discarded, 
 her stays abolished; her full sleeves, the 
 pride of her simple heart, she had cut down 
 and fitted close to her plump arms. To 
 quote Polly Bunt, the latter resembled 
 "stuffed bolognys, an' looked jest awful." 
 One other step sufficed to sunder the ties 
 between Betty and her former playmates; 
 this was accomplished on the day that Betty 
 seated herself by her husband's side in the 
 Amen Corner, thus tacitly assuming the 
 sublimities of sanctification. 
 
 " She's awful changed," complained Polly 
 Bunt. " She don't go to dances no more, 
 an' she don't go a-visitin', an' she don't 
 have nothin' to do with the young folks. 
 She's growed old all to onc't. If that's the 
 way folksact when they git religion, I ain't 
 never goin' to git none, so there ! " 
 
 241 
 
IX 
 
 THE COME-OUTERS 
 
 It was evening meeting, and the people 
 of Windy Creek were flocking into the 
 school-house. 
 
 " Let me make you acquainted with a 
 brother in the faith !" said Mr. Flieger, pre- 
 ^ senting a stranger in black to Ruth Wood's 
 father. " Brother Hawkey, from Denver ; 
 he's agoin' to preach to us to-night." He 
 added, with a heartfelt chuckle, " This is 
 my kind, now.'' 
 
 And, indeed, the good man was gaining 
 quite a reputation for changing religions; 
 it had been said of him that he was " like a 
 tumble-weed in a blizzard — you couldn't 
 tell where he was at." 
 
 The Evening Light bestowed a look of 
 severe scrutiny upon the elderly farmer. 
 
 " Have you got salvation ? Have you 
 found the Light?" 
 
 242 
 
The Come-outers 
 
 Upon the other's mild response that he 
 had been a church member for upwards of 
 fifty years, the brother from Denver de- 
 manded, with asperity, " The church of the 
 living God ?" and squared himself for a con- 
 troversy that was nipped in the bud by the 
 opportune arrival of Brother Mellon, the 
 regular preaching elder of the district. The 
 two brothers in the faith flew to each other's 
 arms and saluted with a mighty kiss. 
 
 Em Post came in, hugging a heavy baby, 
 while the superseded toddler waddled by 
 her side, and her husband came after, 
 empty-handed and careless. Mrs. Flieger 
 and Rose Rooney rushed to meet her with 
 a loud whispering and buzzing. " Let up, 
 ma," she was heard to say. Her soft tones 
 disarmed the words of their rudeness. " I 
 ain't none of yer old Come-outers r 
 
 Few outsiders disturbed the sanctity of 
 the meeting. There was a scarcity of 
 young people. But the Bittern sisters 
 were present, for they went to everything. 
 They sat alone; their father was not with 
 them, nor was any rustic swain in their 
 company. Estelle had decked her dress 
 243 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 with a profusion of little scarlet bows, 
 tacked on in every available spot. From a 
 red ribbon around her slim waist three door- 
 keys dangled, in imitation of a young lady's 
 chatelaine. Since last year Diantha's skirts 
 had been visibly shortened. The sisters 
 had cut off their abundant hair, and wore 
 their short locks elaborately curled. In 
 their rear sat Mrs. Bunt and Mr. Crimp, 
 with his sneer, both unsympathetic listen- 
 ers. 
 
 Mr. Crimp, it was said, no longer 
 preached in Windy Creek, for the very good 
 reason that he had no longer any congre- 
 gation ; so fleeting is earthly countenance. 
 But Satan finds mischief for idle hands to 
 do, and Mr. Crimp now made it his busi- 
 ness to break up every Sunday-school or- 
 ganized in that region, before it was fairly 
 started. He had, in addition, gained the 
 reputation of being something of a fighter. 
 It was told of Mr. Crimp that, when at- 
 tempting to disorganize a Presbyterian Bi- 
 ble school just started at Brierly, he had 
 treated the people to a " tongue-lashing,'' 
 and threatened to " sweep the door-yard 
 244. 
 
The Come-outers 
 
 with some of them." A late arrival, more 
 spirited than the others, entering the school- 
 house just in time to catch the closing 
 threat, pulled off his coat and started for 
 Mr. Crimp, vowing to " swat the map with 
 him." It was told of the Campbellite 
 preacher that he and his grip disappeared 
 out of the door in a hurry ; and one Sunday- 
 school was left to flourish without interfer- 
 ence. 
 
 The eye, wandering over the assembly, 
 lighted upon the dejected figure of Job 
 Postlethwaite in an obscure corner, his 
 head dropped forward on his hands, and his 
 young wife sitting beside him. 
 
 Several infants, when hushed to sleep, 
 were bundled in a pile of shawls behind the 
 door. This was the Baby Comer. The 
 older children sat with their parents; wide 
 awake enough at first, they soon succumbed 
 to the soporific influence of a long sermon, 
 and dropped off, one by one. 
 
 In the year's lapse the Amen Corner had 
 
 not been done away with ; on the contrary, 
 
 the holy individuals within its circle had, 
 
 by no perceptible stages of development, 
 
 245 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 been metamorphosed from sanctified Free 
 Methodists into full-fledged Come-outer 
 saints. 
 
 The stranger elder from Denver was a 
 slight, spare man, with shiny black hair and 
 pointed chin-beard. He did not shout, nor 
 strain for unnecessary vocal effect; he was 
 possessed of a glib tongue and a good 
 memory; he was familiar with a string of 
 Scriptural phrases, and he tumbled eagerly 
 over the leaves of his Bible in search of pas- 
 sages or even whole chapters to read aloud 
 for reference. He began by scoring the 
 church. 
 
 " Cast off the cloak of your high-pocrisy 
 and unbelief, and leave the church with its 
 abominations!" admonished the elder. 
 " Seek for a holier life outside of its doors ! 
 Sling off the filth that men has covered the 
 Christians with ! Wherefore come out from 
 umong them and be ye separate, saith the 
 Lord, and touch not the unclean thing, 11. 
 Cor. 6:iy. 
 
 " Listen to that, you who have planted 
 your feet on the infirm and tottering foun- 
 dations of the church ! Ain't that convinc- 
 246 
 
The Come-outers 
 
 ing? Could anything be plainer? Oh, 
 what a wonderful Book this is for telling 
 us what to do ! 
 
 " Did you ever hear how Christian went 
 a-climbing up to the holy city after he'd left 
 the abominations of the world behind him ? 
 Well, that's just what the Lord wants you 
 to do, leave Babylon behind and climb up- 
 ward. The Church is Babylon. Leave it, fly 
 from it ; it's in disgrace. Stick your fingers 
 in your ears and run like Christian done 
 when he run from the City of Destruction. 
 Oh, the vileness of the world. Oh, the cor- 
 ruptions of the church ! What do you think 
 of a preacher's wife standing up in a corner 
 to be kissed at ten cents apiece ?" (Laugh- 
 ter.) " That's just what happened in a 
 church within my knowledge, not a great 
 while ago. There's the abominations of 
 the church for you ! 
 
 "The city of Denver, where I come 
 from " (impressively, spreading wide five 
 fingers) " is full of churches. Yet the Chris- 
 tians in that city I could count on the fingers 
 of one hand. . . . 
 
 " I don't bring you a lot of printed stuff, 
 247 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 got up by man. I bring the Scriptures, un- 
 changed and unrevised, just like they was 
 when first written by the chosen of God. I 
 don't even have my sermon written out. 
 I'm not preaching to you to show off my 
 learning. I don't know that " (snapping his 
 fingers) " about theology ! And you don't 
 miss anything by it — ha, ha! If I was to 
 come here with a rigmarole of high-sound- 
 ing, hifalutin' words, it wouldn't convert 
 you at all ; it would only make you harder !" 
 (Laughter.) " I speak to you as the word 
 is give me by the spirit of the Lord. I'm 
 taught by the spirit and I teach by the 
 spirit." 
 
 Brother Hawkey appeared to have for- 
 gotten the " Gospel Trumpet," a little pa- 
 per published by his sect ; or perhaps he re- 
 garded it as too slight a matter in the way 
 of printed stuff to deserve mention. He 
 went on : 
 
 " There's certain ordinances, dear ones, 
 laid down by the Holy Scriptures; we're 
 bound to obey them. And we find our 
 greatest happiness and satisfaction in obey- 
 ing them. Now, one of these ordinances 
 248 
 
The Come-outers 
 
 is washing each other's feet. In the 
 thirteenth chapter of John, which I will 
 read to you, you'll see how weVe coni- 
 manded to do this in memory of the Mas- 
 ter. It's just as sacred and we're under 
 just as great obligation to obey it as any 
 other command in this Bible. It's beyond 
 my human comprehension how the 
 churches that's so strict about the Lord's 
 Supper ever come to leave out the ordi- 
 nance of feet-washing. The brethren's sal- 
 utation of a kiss is another very solemn and 
 sweet custom that has been handed down 
 to us from the apostles. ** Greet ye one an- 
 other with an holy kiss,' says Paul. ' Sa- 
 lute every saint in Christ Jesus.' But the 
 most blessed of all the ordinances we're di- 
 rected to obey, you'll find in James 5 : 14,15. 
 Open up your Bibles and look for it. Go 
 home and learn off these blessed verses by 
 heart." 
 
 He wet his fingers to turn over the leaves. 
 " How the Bible clings together, don't it ? 
 Ha, ha! 
 
 " Is any sick among you? let him call for 
 the elders of the church: and let them pray 
 249 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 over him, anointing him with oil in the name 
 of the Lord: 
 
 "And the prayer of faith shall save the 
 sick and the Lord shall raise him up; and 
 if he have committed sins, they shall he 
 forgiven him, ' 
 
 " If any among you feels within them 
 the moving of the spirit, that gives them 
 the power to heal, let them heal the sick; 
 and if any man of you can heal the sick, he 
 is an elder, and nobody but elders can heal, 
 for it's a great honor, and it isn't given to 
 everybody to do it. Just before I came up 
 here I went to see this Schlatter that's fool- 
 ing the people down there on the streets of 
 Denver. The street was blocked with car- 
 riages. There was a string of fools stand- 
 ing in line clean around the block and more 
 a-coming. The false healer took each per- 
 son by the hand as they stepped up and let 
 on to be healing them. I was looking on 
 and saw a blind old woman come up to be 
 healed. And he squeezed and squeezed her 
 hand. When Christ healed he laid his hand 
 on the blind man's eyes. I steps up to the 
 old woman when the healer let go her hand 
 250 
 
The Come-outers 
 
 and says I, ' Well, are you healed, my sis- 
 ter ? ' and she says, ' Fve been treated, but I 
 don't know whether I'm healed or not.' 
 So that's the way it is with all these poor, 
 deluded creatures that go to this man to be 
 healed. Dear friends, beware of false heal- 
 ers ! There's impostors in healing just like 
 there's impostors in every other department. 
 Dear friends, take heed you don't let these 
 upstarts in the name of religion — these doc- 
 tors and false Christs and Christian Science 
 cranks — blind you till you can't see the true 
 light. Look at the bottles and bottles of 
 medicine, and all the different kinds of in- 
 struments that physicians and doctors use. 
 Don't that show they're experimenting on 
 the people they undertake to cure? Don't 
 it ? Pah ! It's no better than being healed 
 by the man with long hair down in Denver. 
 The healer in Denver is opposed to the 
 commands of God. The doctors are op- 
 posed to the commands of God. Dear 
 friends, with prayer and faith, and laying on 
 of hands, we, the humble followers of the 
 Lord Jesus Christ, can accomplish what 
 these impostors fail to do. It all lays in 
 251 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 prayer and faith, bless the Lord !'' (Loud 
 cries of Amen.) 
 
 The elder, expounding the doctrine of 
 sanctification — his views on this topic did 
 not differ materially from those of the Free 
 Methodists — said : 
 
 " I've got the same salvation Paul had. 
 My carnal nature's not here; it's gone to 
 the devil, where it come from. If you seek 
 salvation, dear ones, one way to please the 
 Lord will be to drop slang and tobacco and 
 all those nasty things. I dropped them. I 
 don't use them any more Hke I once done. 
 I threw them away with my carnal nature. 
 Christ says, ' Go and sin no more.' He 
 never meant when he forgave a sinner for 
 him to go on sinning again — it's contrary 
 to the rules of the Gospel. If you see a 
 man that's been converted, as he calls it, 
 and then goes on sinning, you may know 
 he's a liar and the truth's not in him. Yes, 
 everybody that claims to be a Christian and 
 don't live free from sin are liars, and the 
 truth's not in them. When I got salvation 
 the great big I was took clean out of me. 
 Whenever you see a converted sinner, you'll 
 252 
 
The Come-outers 
 
 see a hollow place in them, and you'll know 
 that same great big I has moved out. 
 
 " I tell you what, dear friends, this relig- 
 ion's an enemy to worrying and fretting. 
 I've got some wrinkles in my face, but they 
 was there before I got salvation. I haven't 
 had any new ones to come since. There's 
 some good in a religion that keeps the 
 wrinkles off. Why, I don't even think 
 about cares any more. I left my family 
 behind me in Denver, but that don't worry 
 me. I hadn't thought of them until just 
 now. They're all right — they're in the 
 hands of the Lord. My sister there that 
 came with me from Denver, she left her 
 baby behind her and she hasn't thought of 
 it until this evening — forgot she had a 
 baby." (Laughter.) 
 
 " This religion's an enemy to fear, too. 
 Perfect love casteth out fear, you know. If 
 a man's afraid of anything, he's not got sal- 
 vation. If a woman's afraid of a horse or 
 dog, and claims to be converted, she's a 
 liar, and the truth's not in her. I used to be 
 afraid of a bull-dog, but now I could face 
 rows of bull-dogs without winking. I'm 
 253 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 not afraid of anything. There's no fear in 
 me. Why, once I went into a stall where 
 a horse was tied, and that horse begun to 
 kick, and if I'd been afraid he would have 
 kicked me a belt ; yes, sir, and spraddled me 
 clean out of the stable. But I wasn't afraid 
 of him, and I come out unharmed." 
 
 There was a great deal more of the same 
 sort of talk. Above two hours the elder 
 spoke at length ; when words failed him he 
 read from his open Bible long passages and 
 sometimes entire chapters, interspersing his 
 reading with rapid comments. 
 
 An altar service followed the sermon; 
 there was singing and prayer ; the meeting 
 grew to be not unlike a Methodist revival. 
 Brother Hawkey preached salvation 'and 
 the cause of Christ ; but some of his ortho- 
 dox hearers may be pardoned for growing 
 slightly confused when the brother in the 
 same breath called sinners to repentance 
 and church members to come out of the 
 church. 
 
 One simple soul was touched — a woman 
 left her seat and came quickly forward; it 
 was Em Post, with her sleeping child in her 
 254 
 
The Come-outers 
 
 arms, a moved look on her fair, sun-burned 
 face, her whole air one of gentle acquies- 
 ence with the brother's will ; she stepped up 
 to the circle at the preacher's right; from 
 each woman in the Amen Corner she 
 stooped to receive the holy kiss. A hymn 
 of praise was sung, and room was made for 
 the convert among the saints. 
 
 A strange sister at the preacher's right 
 hand, a slight, black-robed figure, with a 
 white, eager face, spoke to the people. The 
 tones of her voice were sweet; she had a 
 sing-song delivery that was not unpleas- 
 ing. It seemed almost as though she were 
 chanting to them : 
 
 m 
 
 3^^^ 
 
 f 
 
 Leave the world with 
 
 its 
 
 fol - lies 
 
 1, Take your stand 
 
 m 
 
 It 
 
 a - mong the sin -less saints; It is not hard. 
 
 it is just as eas - y 
 
 255 
 
 can be. 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " Dear ones, come to the Light ! Dear 
 backslider, come! The Light is shining 
 above you ; you've only to look up to see it. 
 I and my brother came to-night to show 
 you the Light. If we save any soul we'll 
 give the Lord the glory of it. We'll do all 
 we can for you, dear ones; but few there 
 are who are saved. We're only human after 
 all, and the Lord above has power to save 
 some of you. 
 
 " Dear ones, you are married to the 
 world ; pray the Lord to divorce you from 
 it ; pray the Lord to back you up with His 
 spirit ; turn to Him, turn to the Light ! Dear 
 ones, Satan has rocked you to sleep ; wake 
 up and break the spell! Once I was like 
 you ; I was asleep in sin ; I woke and I was 
 peaceable nowhere; but I found salvation; 
 I have been happy ever since. I just praise 
 God for it ; my heart is made perfect in the 
 Lord. I don't sin; I can't sin; I don't 
 know what sin is. I have forgotten all 
 about it. I'm a servant of the Lord. If 
 you only knew what it meant to be a servant 
 of the Lord ! Dear ones, try it. It is not 
 hard; it is just as easy as it can be. I'm 
 256 
 
The Come-outers 
 
 willing to do anything He asks me ; anything 
 at all. Sometimes I'm asked to speak; 
 sometimes I'm asked to work; it's all the 
 same to me; it's just as easy as it can be. 
 Here I can speak low ; I don't have to raise 
 my voice ; in Denver I have to shout ; here 
 I speak to a few ; in Denver to a crowd. I 
 work among women most, because I'm one 
 of their kind ; I do anything I see to do ; I 
 do sewing, or dish-washing, or even scrub- 
 bing; there is nothing too mean for my 
 hands to do. It's the work of the Lord. I 
 used to hate some people and love others, 
 but my natural dislike turned to love. I 
 love them all. Try working for Him, dear 
 ones; it will make you happy. You are 
 sin-laden and sorrowful ; work for the Lord ; 
 you will shake off your sin and forget your 
 sorrow." 
 
 The sister spoke long and prayed, and 
 her words and the spirit that breathed in 
 them were more loving and earnest than 
 any that had ever yet been uttered in the 
 school-house. 
 
 Sister Mellon, the wife of the district 
 elder, testified without rising. She spoke 
 2S7 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 with difficulty, and a scowl of pain knotted 
 her brow. She had been tipped off a load 
 of hay that liked to mired, and had to be 
 carried home on a stretcher. She had broke 
 a rib, she was certain of that. Brother 
 Hawkey had been sent for, and, with him on 
 one side praying, and her husband praying 
 on the other, her hurts had left her, her 
 bones had healed, and she had leaped out 
 of bed, praising God. 
 
 A chorus of amens greeted this announce- 
 ment. Job Postlethwaite, lifting his head 
 to hearken to the testimony of the elder's 
 wife, was distinctly heard to murmur that 
 her bones would be mighty crooked set if 
 she waited on the Lord to heal her. Those 
 who heard his words looked meaningly at 
 one another, and precipitately drew away 
 from him. 
 
 Old man Wilkins piped up. 
 
 " They was one of my grand-children, 
 he'd took sick abed. His ma, she reckoned 
 he hed swallowed somethin' thet didn't gibe 
 with his insides. When it come the third 
 day, an' the leetle feller hadn't got no better, 
 Brother Hawkey here, he an' me, we took 
 258 
 
The Come-outers 
 
 to our knees, an' we done a powerful sight 
 o' loud prayin' an' wrastlin' afore the Lord. 
 An' as I Stan' here to prove it, afore day- 
 light hed struck this yearth, thet leetle 
 shaver, he wuz healed by faith." 
 
 " Amen !" shouted Mr. Flieger, starting 
 up. " Bless the Lord ! He does his heal- 
 in' free ! He don't dun you for no doctor 
 bills! Oh, it makes me happy to see the 
 sisters an' brethren get up in meetin' and 
 testify to their healin' by faith ! The healin' 
 hand of the Lord has ben in my house this 
 week. He has made me to be the instir- 
 ment of heaHn'; He's give the power into 
 my hands; I've ben a-usin' it — I've ben 
 a-usin' it — I've ben a-usin' it to the glory of 
 His name, bless the Lord, glory hallelu- 
 jah!" 
 
 The prodigious roar made all the win- 
 dows rattle. He went on again in tones 
 slightly modified. 
 
 " Ma, there," nodding his large head 
 in his wife's direction, " was all doubled 
 up with pain, an' sent Olympy down to 
 the field after me. I'd ben in a prayer- 
 ful frame of mind all day, an' when I 
 2S9 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 come to the side o' the bed, I jest let out. I 
 followed the spirit an' took no thought 
 how or what I was to say, for the words 
 was give me in that same hour, an' they 
 come a-tumblin' out faster'n I could holler 
 them. I kep' it up stiddy fur about a quar- 
 ter of an hour, near as I could judge, an' 
 then ma, she reached out an' grabbed me. 
 ' Stop it,' says she. * The pain's left, thank 
 the Lord.' ' The Lord be praised,' says L" 
 
 Mrs. Flieger devoutedly chuckled and 
 said " Amen !" And a happy laugh went 
 round. 
 
 Mr. Flieger ended, more in sorrow than 
 in anger, by anathematizing the Sunday- 
 school that he had founded a year ago; it 
 was Babylon; an abomination unto the 
 Lord ; the cage of the unclean ; the habita- 
 tion of devils. 
 
 "One Sunday," said Mrs. Flieger, "I 
 see a lot of teams go by to the school-house 
 at Sunday-school time, an' I felt , like I 
 wanted to go, too ; I couldn't think what all 
 them teams was goin' there fur, an' I come 
 pretty nigh bein' slipped up on, fur it was 
 the devil raisin' a racket inside of me; but 
 260 
 
The Come-outers 
 
 I knowed I hadn't ought to go, an' so the 
 devil an' me had a wrastle, right there; I 
 got down on my knees an' prayed, an' the 
 Lord whipped. When I riz up I didn't 
 want to go at all. I didn't care nothin' 
 about Babylon." 
 
 Mrs. Flieger continued : " The Lord 
 has done a heap of heaHn' in my house. I 
 wasn't hardly able to do a lick when Betty 
 was at home, I was so poorly, but now the 
 Lord has made me strong and able to do 
 my work, 'cept jest onc't in a while, when 
 I git them dizzy spells. I was ironin' the 
 clothes a-Chewsday, an' I was that tired an' 
 weak I like to dropped ; an' I prayed to be 
 made strong so's I could put my ironin' 
 through, an' the Lord, he laid right hold o' 
 that iron, an' first I knowed I was rubbin' 
 it over the clothes jest as slick as anythin'. 
 
 " The strength that we git from the Lord 
 is worth more than man's strength. Them 
 that swills beer an' tea an' coffee ain't as 
 strong as them that does without an' prays. 
 I never use' to could go to the Springs 
 without packin' along my bottle of strong 
 coffee to keep me from givin' out, an' the 
 261 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 last time I went with my butter an' eggs I 
 packed the bottle. But when I come to 
 take a swig of it I had another wrastle with 
 the evil one to keep me from drinkin' the 
 stuff, an' I prayed an' throwed the bottle 
 jest as fur as ever I could sling it. An' I 
 ain't never drank a drop since, nor wanted 
 to. My first husband, he was a hard 
 drinker. An' my grandfather, he begun his 
 life with coffee an' he ended up with whis- 
 key. He had him a big farm onc't, but he 
 drank it up ; he had a horse left an' he drank 
 that up; then he drank the saddle up, an' 
 then he drank the bridle up. He was a 
 teetotal drunkard. Oh, the drink ain't got 
 no holt on me, thank the Lord ! Bless His 
 holy name forever ! I git so full o' blessin' 
 the Lord I jest can't behave myself! I'd 
 give up any thin' fur Him — I'd give up my 
 old daddy there, if the Lord wanted me 
 to!" 
 
 Old man Wilkins blinked at his daugh- 
 ter, dazzled by the sacrifice she meditated, 
 and seemed to have lost his power of 
 speech. 
 
 Mr. Crimp attempted to throw a wet 
 blanket over the testimonies ; he got up to 
 262 
 
The Come-outers 
 
 say, with bitter raillery, that the Windy 
 Crickers were for all the world like the 
 " Athenians " and " strangers ;" they 
 " spent their time in nothing else but either 
 to tell or to hear some new thing." 
 
 Rose Rooney, with a defiant air, said that 
 there was one woman on Windy Creek that 
 wasn't tongue-tied, and she wasn't afraid to 
 tell right out in meetin' who that woman 
 was, neither — it was Mis' Bunt (whereat the 
 lady mentioned became the centre of at- 
 traction for many pairs of curious eyes, but 
 being blessed with a comfortable opinion 
 of herself, kept her countenance). That 
 when she was comin' out of meetin' an' say- 
 in', " Oh, I'm saved, an' I'm so glad," Mis' 
 Bunt had said to her, " How d'ye know 
 ye're saved ?" an' she had said : " Why, I 
 tell the truth, an' I don't git mad, an' I 
 don't talk about folks no more;" an' Mis' 
 Bunt had said : " Saved nothin' ! I don't 
 believe you're saved any sech a thing!" an' 
 then that woman had lit into her, an' tongue- 
 lashed her, an' come down on her like a 
 thousand o' brick ; an' she hadn't sassed her 
 back nor nothin'; she had jes' kep' her 
 mouth shet ; the Lord had helped her. 
 263 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 Rose Rooney next berated the absent 
 Pete, relating how he had gone off to Cripple 
 Creek with a load of spuds and left her with 
 all the work to do ; an' how when he was at 
 home, he set around and smoked while she 
 slopped the pigs ; and how he was so mean 
 he'd take the cents off his dead grand- 
 mother's eyelids; winding up her tirade 
 with, " A saint couldn't live with Pete, he's 
 so ornery." 
 
 There was to-night a strange, evanescent 
 brilliancy about the speaker. When she 
 sat down, out of breath, the young fellow 
 at her side smiled, under his incipient mus- 
 tache. He was a youth about her own age, 
 and there was something quizzical in his 
 manner of taking in the meeting. He wore 
 the usual cow-boy dress of fringed leathern 
 breeches and flannel shirt, belted in; his 
 sombrero lay across his knee. It was an 
 ingenuous, boyish countenance; bronze- 
 colored and framed with tawny hair, worn 
 long on the shoulders. 
 
 When all the Come-outers in good stand- 
 ing had testified to the Light they enjoyed, 
 and had seated themselves with marks of 
 264 
 
The Come-outers 
 
 evident approval and satisfaction, a huge, 
 shambling figure in the rear of the room 
 rose to its feet, and everyone was compelled 
 to face directly about, in order to see and 
 hear " Happy Jim/' A body seven feet in 
 height, and the mind of a seven-year-old, a 
 foolish smile spreading over vapid features, 
 he stood eying the people while he jingled 
 some loose coppers in his trousers' pockets. 
 " Happy Jim " had been converted at the 
 last meeting, and he had since spared no 
 pains to make publicly known his intention 
 of testifying with the rest. 
 
 " Yo-all say," he began, " that Happy 
 Jim can't testify, but I'm a-gointer show 
 yo-all that Happy Jim can, too, testify." 
 
 He paused and jingled the pennies 
 louder. 
 
 " Yo-all say that Happy Jim can't testi- 
 fy; but I'm a-gointer show yo-all that 
 Happy Jim can, too, testify." 
 
 He ruminated awhile. 
 
 " Yo-all say that Happy Jim can't tes- 
 tify, but I'm a-gointer show yo-all that 
 Happy Jim can, too, testify/' 
 
 The grin deepened. " Yo-all say that 
 265 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 Happy Jim can't testify ; an' I say so, too/* 
 And Happy Jim sat down. 
 
 Throughout the entire evening the at- 
 mosphere of the meeting had seemed to be 
 surcharged with an excited anticipation of 
 something to follow; and in the growing 
 tensity the ludicrous effect of Happy Jim's 
 testimony was lost. 
 
 Report had long since published the fact 
 that the society of Come-outers harbored 
 in the midst one possessed of devils; that 
 Job Postlethwaite was the victim, and that 
 the horrid inmates of his person were seven 
 in number. It had been whispered about, 
 but with secrecy, for fear of a crush of un- 
 believers at the meeting, that the elder had 
 been summoned from Denver for no other 
 purpose than the casting out of these same 
 devils. 
 
 In the quiet that followed. Brother Haw- 
 key stepped out into the space in front of 
 the desk, and called loudly upon the name 
 of Job Postlethwaite. 
 
 The wretched man stumbled forward, 
 pulling at his neckerchief, as if choked by 
 it. His knees knocked together. The 
 people drew away from him. 
 266 
 
The Come-outers 
 
 The elder raised his voice : 
 
 " If there is any back-slidden, or unre- 
 generate among you to-night, let them be- 
 ware ! Let them take heed unto themselves, 
 for when the devils in this man are loosed 
 by graying and laying on of hands, they'll 
 be more than likely to enter into the first 
 vessel of wrath that comes to hand." 
 
 The people looked at one another ; some 
 of the children began to cry. 
 
 Brother Hawkey made a downward gest- 
 ure with both arms, and all the Come-out- 
 ers fell on their knees. He laid his hands 
 on the bowed head of the man before him, 
 and, lifting up his voice, prayed with a great 
 noise and a mighty clamor. Lashing him- 
 self into a state of ungovernable fury, he 
 ran backward and forward in front of the 
 desk ; he kneeled and he shot up again ; he 
 doubled his body like a jack-knife, and he 
 unbent it, as if in torment ; he writhed, he 
 leaped, he groaned, he yelled, he howled. 
 One would have thought him a more fitting 
 subject for devilish habitation than the 
 pacific Job. 
 
 The victim's features were now distorted ; 
 267 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 his face was livid ; his eyes rolled — some af- 
 terward stated that he foamed at the mouth. 
 
 The frenzy of the leader affected the peo- 
 ple. The children screamed at the tops of 
 their voices; they clutched their mothers' 
 gowns, and hid their little faces from the 
 sight. Cries of " Lord, help !" " Save us, 
 Lord !" " Lord, have mercy !" swept the 
 room. Betty Postlethwaite, her fingers in 
 her ears, bellowed in her corner. One 
 woman shrieked, another fainted; for even 
 a ranch-man's wife may swoon under stress 
 of violent emotion. The audience was now 
 transformed into a swaying, screaming 
 mass, through fright and awe half de- 
 mented. 
 
 A belated ranchman, returning from the 
 city in his empty wagon, heard the noise 
 of the uproar. He burst in at the door, and 
 stood, open-mouthed, appalled at the scene 
 within, and went home to report that them 
 Come-outers was havin' a love-feast or 
 somethin', and had all went mad over it. 
 
 " Come out of him, thou unclean spirits !" 
 howled the elder. " I charge thee, come 
 out of him, and enter no more into him !" 
 268 
 
The Come-outers 
 
 From sheer exhaustion he ceased his im- 
 portunities, and paused to mop his stream- 
 ing brow. 
 
 But a remarkable change was passing 
 over the countenance of the possessed ; the 
 fat face broadened into a tearful grin; he 
 stood upright and stretched himself, in 
 awed delight at finding himself whole. 
 " They've went !" blubbered Job. And his 
 friends, pressing around, gathered that he 
 had been able to count them, one by one, 
 for each, on leaving, had bestowed a part- 
 ing kick. 
 
 Job's young wife flung herself on his 
 neck, and there was a great hand-shaking 
 and hullabaloo. But the joy of the people 
 was short-lived. 
 
 Brother Hawkey rapped on the desk for 
 attention; he wished to ascertain whether 
 the devils yet lingered in the company ; did 
 anyone present feel any inconvenience? 
 
 The clamor ceased. One stared at an- 
 other. Gradually their looks centred on the 
 father of Huldah Moss, a brown and bat- 
 tered countryman. Those near him backed 
 away, so that he was left standing alone in 
 269 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 the middle of the room, twirling his hat in 
 his hands. Beneath the tan he was seen to 
 be very pale. He confessed, huskily, to 
 feeling quite unwell ; he had been took sud- 
 dent, while the brother was praying, with 
 an all-overish pain; he didn't know where 
 it was at ; he couldn't place it ; he felt kind 
 o' queer and shaky-like, inside of him ; he 
 didn't know but he'd got one of them dev- 
 ils ; yes, he was dretful afraid he'd got 'em. 
 
 Huldah Moss, his daughter, went into 
 violent hysterics. 
 
 The people waited to hear no more. A 
 consuming fear possessed them ; even now 
 a devil or so might be lurking in their midst, 
 in search of a suitable dwelling-place ; their 
 strained nerves gave way, and the meeting 
 ended in a general stampede. 
 
 Mr. Crimp jammed on his hat. He 
 laughed jeeringly : " When all these isms 
 have passed away," said he, in his strident 
 voice, " I mean to establish a church here 
 on a firm basis." 
 
 But no one heeded the Campbellite 
 preacher's words. 
 
 Later, to the relief of all, it was learned 
 270 
 
The Come-outers 
 
 that the fears of Mr. Moss were groundless ; 
 he passed several uneasy days and nights, 
 but in an improved state of health he ceased 
 to regard himself as a vessel of v^rath, and 
 concluded that he had been mistaken in his 
 symptoms. 
 
 271 
 
ROSE ROONEY^S ERROR 
 
 In these days there was much talk of 
 Rose Roonej, and Windy Creek was all 
 astir with the speculation of the gossips, 
 voiced as usual by Mrs. Bunt. 
 
 " Her 'n' Bertie Brown's awful thick. 
 He's ben hangin' 'round her all summer. 
 He sets off aside of her nights at meetin', 
 an' he sees her home. An' she don't testify 
 in meetin' no more, only to git the chanc't 
 to run Pete down. Folks that don't sus- 
 picion nothin' do be awful dumb. Rose, 
 she ain't got no more use for Pete. She 
 don't keers fur home nor nothin'. She's 
 got it bad. It's like pitch-pine stickin' to 
 your fingers of a warm day when Rose gits 
 her head set on a thing. Lord only knows 
 how it's goin' to eend. 
 
 " The Come-outers is at the bottom of it, 
 an' her maw's at the bottom of it. They 
 272 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 kep* a-dingin' at her all spring fur havin* 
 a Catholic fur a husband. First, they was 
 after Pete to convert him. An' when they 
 see he hadn't a mind to be converted, they 
 spit out at him, an' they cranked at him. 
 'T seemed like they couldn't let him be. 
 They kep' a-sendin' papers an' books with 
 slurs on the Catholics fur him to read. An' 
 they've got him that badgered — he riles aw- 
 ful easy with his red hair — that he couldn't 
 be hired to step foot inside the school- 
 house. But he ain't hendered Rose none 
 from 'tendin' ary meetin', an' so the mis- 
 cheef keeps a-pilin' up on him. They've 
 got Rose all out with herself, till nothin' 
 pleases her. She don't do her work half, 
 an' she's forever jawin' at Pete an' the 
 young-uns. 'T seems like her maw's lost 
 all the sense she ever had. That thur cross- 
 cut saw of hern's set all aidge-wise agin, 
 an' goin' constant. It's Pete bein' a Catho- 
 lic, an' Pete smokin', an' Pete swillin' beer 
 an' coffee, an' Pete this an' Pete that. 'T 
 seems like she's furgot she were the one to 
 ketch Pete fur Rose — an' dretful oneasy 
 she were, too, onc't, lest Pete 'ud give her 
 273 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 the slip. 'T seems like she's shet her eyes 
 to what she's doin' — drivin' Pete an' Rose 
 to a spHt. 'T 'ud serve her right to have 
 Rose back on her hands agin, an' wuss on 
 her hands with all her young-uns than if 
 she were single. 
 
 " The Come-outers an' her maw, they be- 
 gun it ; an' Bertie Brown, he done the rest, 
 hangin' 'round. He's 'tended meetin' 
 reg'lar, an' the Come-outers, they reckoned 
 on another convert, an' they palavered him 
 up good. But he ain't jined, an' he ain't 
 no Come-outer. Religion ain't what's 
 drawed Bertie Brown. 
 
 " Onc't in June Pete an' Rose they had a 
 flare-up, an' Rose she left, an' went home 
 to her maw fur three days, an' back-slid fur 
 one whole week. It were tolt around that 
 she were reel reckless like in her talk, an' 
 she says, * I'm goin' to drink beer, an' 
 swear, an' go to dances ; I'm goin' to be as 
 bad as I want to ! ' But the Mellonses, 
 they iled her up agin; an' first people 
 knowed, she were back to Pete's, an' back 
 to meetin', an' things was goin' on jest like 
 they'd done afore. 
 
 274 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 " Bertie Brown, he'd have quite a herd 
 of cattle 'round him if he'd kep' all he's han- 
 dled this yur; he'd have more'n he's got 
 pasture fur. He baches on his claim, but 
 he don't hurt hisself none workin' it. He 
 gives out that he arns his livin' at buyin* 
 an' sellin' cattle. But it's kind o' queer 
 about Bertie — he'll never buy up none o' 
 the young cattle hyurabouts. He's had a 
 whole pile o' calves offered him dirt cheap, 
 but he'd rather go clean off somewhurs fur 
 his bargainds. He'll make trips a-horse- 
 back, way to the east and south, frequent ; 
 he about lives a-horseback, though he ain't 
 no cow-boy ; an' he'll come home in a few 
 days, or a week, mebby, with a head or 
 two of stock, an' often as pore an' scraggly 
 critters as you'd keer to see. He don't 
 seem to keers none fur them bein' pore. 
 He fattens 'em up, an' sells 'em down to 
 the Sprungs, .or to Arrowhead, or west of 
 hyur. He's a heap cuter'n to do his trad- 
 in' in these parts ; thur ain't a man on 
 Windy Creek that 'ud tech one of his calves 
 with a ten-foot pole; ary a rancher but 
 what looks sideways at him. Oh, Bertie's 
 275 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 queered hisself in this country. He's a 
 rustler, all right, Bertie Brown is; an' it'll 
 all come out one o' these days when the 
 sheriff finds his trail." 
 
 The Wood cousins, one balmy morning, 
 were surprised in the act of sitting down to 
 breakfast by their widely reputed neighbor, 
 who, with Jimmy, Taddy, Mark, and Ruth 
 Lucille, had come to spend the day. 
 
 Rose Rooney was violently red in the 
 face; she was in her most captious mood. 
 With a bundle of carpet-rags in her lap, 
 she sat cross-legged in the middle of the 
 floor, and sorted and sewed; dispossessing 
 herself, for the time being, of the custody 
 of her children, she turned them loose. 
 
 Taddy's face was grimy and tear-soaked. 
 Jimmy's dimpled with smiles. 
 
 " He's been a-cryin' all the way," said 
 Jimmy. " He cried 'cause I wouldn't wait 
 for 'im. I can't never walk slow, you know, 
 an' Taddy, he jest pokes." 
 
 "Is this little boy tired?" Ruth asked, 
 kindly. 
 
 The child drew back, and Jimmy 
 thumped his unresponsive brother, saying, 
 276 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 apologetically, " He's awful bashful, 'cept 
 when he's acquainted with folks. That kid 
 don't know nothin'. But he's big enough 
 to fight, an' he c'n fight good, too." 
 
 " Are you hungry, Taddy ? Do you like 
 crackers ? " 
 
 Taddy glanced surlily at his questioner. 
 
 " Tell her ! " his elder brother sternly 
 commanded, with a dictatorial kick. 
 
 At the suggestion of something to eat, 
 Taddy's tongue was loosened. 
 
 " You dot some cake ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Dot some pie ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Well," sighing, " crackers'll do." 
 
 Ruth distributed the crackers among the 
 children. 
 
 Mark, with both fists full, climbed to a 
 seat on Ruth's knee, and regarded her with 
 an air of sweet gravity. He was a straight, 
 solid, round-limbed child, with fresh, vivid 
 coloring. Although a year and a half 
 younger than Taddy, he could talk more 
 plainly and was more wide-awake and ob- 
 servant. 
 
 277 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " Can you say ' God ' ? Say it. Say it 
 harder. Let me see your teeth. Have you 
 got all your teeth ? Can you bite ? " 
 
 The cousins wondered if Mark's mother 
 had put him up to calculating their ages by 
 their teeth. 
 
 " YouVe got you a nice shanty/' observed 
 Jimmy, critically. " But your door ain't 
 hung straight. Raised a pretty fair crop o' 
 'taters, didn't you? Put in any cabbages? 
 Ourn didn't head up good; they busted 
 open. Pete said they growed too fast the 
 first of the season. Raise any alfalfa?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " We did. Had a pretty good stand on 
 two acres. The rest didn't come up good 
 — they was only 'bout half a stand." 
 
 " Do you work in the field, Jimmy ? " 
 
 " Yes, I pick 'taters till my back aches." 
 
 "Are you going to take up land when 
 you're a man ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ! I'm a-goin' to take up a claim, 
 an' I'm a-goin' to make a good livin' off it, 
 too. You git you a woman, an' a herd o' 
 cattle 'round you, ^n' you'll sure git 
 ahead!" 
 
 278 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 Ruth Lucille acquitted herself with dig- 
 nified baby decorum. Not once all day did 
 she twist her face into even the prelimina- 
 ries of a squall, but sucked her thumb, 
 cooed, and slept. A round, plump, pink- 
 and-white baby, with silken wisps of hair, 
 and a placid expression in her blue eyes, 
 she was adorable in the little embroidered 
 slip, fashioned for her little namesake by 
 the cunning fingers of Ruth Wood. 
 
 " Ruth, you lay that young-un on a piller 
 an* give her something to chaw on," or- 
 dered Rose Rooney ; adding, *' Ma's baby 
 ain't a circumstance to this'n. Ma 'n' pa 
 think theirn is the smartest child in this 
 country, an' they can't seem to git over it, 
 someways. Hallelujah's so dull — she ain't 
 more'n half bright — though course I would- 
 n't tell ma that. She ain't got a sign of a 
 tooth comin', an' she only three days 
 younger'n mine. Ruth Lucille's got two 
 of hern a'ready. Ruth, you know I named 
 my baby her other name fur Josh Hop- 
 kins's wife. Well, that woman ain't give 
 the young-un a thing — she's a awful mean 
 woman. I wouldn't have called my baby 
 279 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 fur her if Td a'knowed how mean she was 
 goin' to act about it. Now, you've give 
 Ruth Lucille lots of things — you ain't mean 
 like her. I couldn't be so mean, it ain't in 
 me. 
 
 " Huldah Moss, she takes on so over this 
 baby. She's awful nice, but she's an odd 
 person — she's twenty-nine years old," said 
 Mrs. Rooney, with a meditative air; and 
 added, " When this baby's a young lady, 
 you girls'll begin to break." 
 
 The children grew restless and noisy. 
 They began to explore the cabin. They 
 fingered everything within reach, and kept 
 their hostesses busy rescuing treasures from 
 trespassing fingers. Tomkins, the petted 
 house-cat, had his black satin coat rubbed 
 the wrong way and his feelings outraged 
 until he took refuge on top of the cup- 
 board and held himself aloof, with angry 
 twitchings of his tail, and yellow eyes in a 
 blaze. Rose now and then screamed at the 
 children, but they, being clever enough to 
 detect her secret connivance with their 
 naughtiness in another's house, did their 
 worst without interference. 
 280 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 Ruth gathered the little mob together 
 and quieted them for a few minutes by the 
 recital of " The Three Little Kittens That 
 Lost Their Mittens" and "The Three 
 Bears/' Jimmy listened intently, and re- 
 sponded with fragments of wild Indian 
 tales, winding up with the sanguinary state- 
 ment, " The Injuns killed the people dead, 
 and then they cut them up in chunks." 
 
 Taddy and Mark were discovered at the 
 cupboard with a paper sack of apples be- 
 tween them, torn across, and the contents 
 rapidly disappearing. 
 
 Hermia's little silver watch, hanging by 
 a guard from its own particular nail, at- 
 tracted Jimmy's eye, and in forcing open 
 the cover the watch dropped from his hands 
 to the floor. 
 
 A sound that struck terror to the hearts 
 of the Wood cousins proved to be Mark 
 tranquilly tearing out leaf after leaf of a 
 treasured illustrated volume of Shakespeare. 
 While Ruth, almost in tears at the sacrilege, 
 rearranged the torn sheets, Rose leaned 
 over to glance at the portrait of the poet. 
 " That man looks like Brother Hawkey, 
 281 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 don't he?'' she remarked. And Jimmy, 
 hanging over the pages of pictured kings, 
 generals, knights, and clowns, observed, 
 ** Say, them men is dudes, ain't they ? " 
 • Rose Rooney sewed vigorously on her 
 carpet-rags ; her eye was ever busy, and she 
 threw out random remarks with a caustic 
 tongue. 
 
 " Ruth, that train of your'n is good to 
 mop the floor with." Ruth was wearing a 
 pretty morning wrapper. " Don't it make 
 you nervous? It fidgets me jist to hear it 
 swishin' over the floor. 
 
 " I seen your pa this mornin'. He was 
 jist gittin' off fur town ; he was all cleaned 
 up; I hardly knowed him; he looked like 
 a city dude. 
 
 " Ruth, hand me them scissors of your'n 
 - — mine cuts so awful dull. 
 
 " When 're you girls goin' back to the 
 Springs? When you leave fur town, I'm 
 goin' to come in an' stay all night with 
 you." The Wood cousins exchanged 
 alarmed glances. " I reckon I'll have to 
 pack the children along. Marky, he ain't 
 never seen the city in his life, poor young- 
 282 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 un ; an' Taddy ain't been in but twic't. I 
 alius feel so at home at your house. You 
 folks is plain, like me ; you ain't tony. Now, 
 I couldn't never think of puttin' up at the 
 Worthington's for a night, nor fur a meal, 
 neither; they're too tony fur me. D'ye 
 know them rich Worthingtons ? They're 
 millionaires; they live on Cascade Avenue 
 in a hundred thousand dollar house an' 
 grounds. Them Worthingtons is relations 
 of mine. Mis' Worthington is my cousin." 
 
 Upon subsequent inquiry, Ruth Wood 
 and Hermia traced to its source this claim 
 of relationship, never before presented by 
 Rose Rooney. Mrs. Bunt, ever ready, gave 
 the desired information. 
 
 " You know old man Wilkins, him that 
 used to stay at Rooney's, an' were their 
 gran'pa and the young-uns' great-gran 'pa 
 — he's got married to a old maid that come 
 our hyur a-visitin' from down in Missouri. 
 She's third cousin to Mis' Worthington — 
 she tolt me so herself, when I went to call 
 on her, but I took it with a grain of salt. 
 When I see that woman, I as't myself whur 
 she were raised, she were that slowsy. 
 283 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 She'd got her waist an' skirt on wrong side 
 out, to hide the dirt, I reckon, but she had- 
 n't hid much, fur this side looked Hke it 
 were ready fur the wash a month back. 
 Mebbe she'd put her things on wrong side 
 out by mistake an' then left them so fur 
 good luck. Her stockin's was out at the 
 heel, an' she were skatin' 'round in a pair of 
 the old man's over-shoes — she darsn't lift 
 foot off the ground lest they'd drop off. 
 Her skin were swarty an' her teeth all broke 
 in front an' yaller ; she looked like she'd ben 
 dug up. Her hair were stringin' 'round her 
 neck, but she'd ketched up a lot of it onto 
 the crown of her head with a tortoise-shell 
 comb. She said she weren't lookin' fur 
 comp'ny, but I reckoned she were used to 
 goin' about that-a-way." 
 
 Query: If Rose Rooney's step-grand- 
 mother were Mrs. Worthington's third 
 cousin, what relation might Mrs. Worth- 
 ington be to Rose Rooney ? 
 
 " Seen anything of the Bitternses ? Dan 
 Bittern's keepin' hisself kind of clos't — no- 
 body's laid eyes on him since his last spree," 
 Rose Rooney went on. 
 284 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 Jimmy, who was listening, spoke up 
 quickly : 
 
 " Vine's gone to Mag's, an' Joel's sittin' 
 on the jury." 
 
 " I'd set there too if I had a chanc't to 
 make two dollars a day," commented his 
 mother. " Hermia, jest step out an' look 
 fur Marky. If that young-un has took it 
 into his head to run off, I'll lay fur him — 
 I'll lick him within an inch of his life. I 
 won't have no child of mine droppin' into 
 no sich habits. Dianthy Bittern, she use' 
 to be reel stiddy, but she ain't any more, 'n' 
 Stelle is jist gittin' awful wild. They've got 
 everybody down on them; they're talked 
 about awful. The boys is shyin' off some, 
 but they keep a-goin' to dances, with or 
 without comp'ny, jist as it happens. Them 
 two girls, they're goin' crazy, reg'lar boy- 
 crazy." 
 
 " Them two girls is gittin' awful wild, no 
 boy won't look at 'em," echoed Jimmy. 
 
 Mrs. Rooney continued: "Ain't Stelle 
 
 the greatest girl to decorate herself out? 
 
 She was all decorated out with red bows 
 
 last Literary. Dianthy's an old maid. She 
 
 ^ 285 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 can't never git married now. She might's 
 well quit. Soph Crimp, he's about quit 
 goin' with them two. Some say it's his pa's 
 doin's. 
 
 "Ain't Crimp the awfullest man to be 
 stuck on hisself , though ? I alius was leary 
 of that man. An' now I've took a despise 
 to him. He don't never preach any more 
 now — he can't git anybody to listen to him. 
 Onc't, 'long in the summer, a lot of the peo- 
 ple come to the school-house to meetin', 
 an' Mr. Stamper, he was took sick, an' Mr. 
 Mellon it wasn't his day to preach. An' 
 Crimp, he got up an' said he'd preach if 
 they'd like him to; he'd jist thought of a 
 fine sermon an' he had it down pat. But 
 nobody ast him to, an' they had a testi- 
 monial service instid. Crimp, he set it out, 
 but they said he went home awful mad. 
 An' he ain't never got up to preach since. 
 Oh, Crimp's small potatoes, he ain't what 
 he cracked himself up to be. 
 
 " Stamper, he's a better preacher than 
 
 what Crimp is; but he's awful ignorant — 
 
 he can't hold a candle to Mr. Mellon. He's 
 
 so plaguey noisy, too — ^they can't a blessed 
 
 286 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 baby git to sleep with him a-bellerin' in the 
 pulpit; he's got every young-un wide- 
 awake an' fussin' with his preachin' an' 
 prayin'. I do like a preacher that can pray 
 quiet an' peaceable like Mr. Mellon. 
 
 " They can't nobody come up to the Mel- 
 lonses. Mis' Mellon, she's a perfect lady — 
 she's real stylish an' young-lookin' to be 
 the mother of two young ladies. Some 
 call her stuck-up; but she ain't, she's jist 
 as common as she can be. She'll run in on 
 you an' eat a meal with you any time, an' 
 she'll carry you off to eat with her. Mr. 
 Mellon, he's cpmmon, too. He's well edu- 
 cated; he can preach most as good as 
 Brother Hawkey can. Them Mellonses is 
 the best friends I've got. They ain't a thing 
 they wouldn't do fur me — they set sich 
 store by me. Mr. Mellon, he calls me his 
 right-hand man at testimonials." 
 
 " How long have you been a Come- 
 outer ? " inquired Hermia Wood. 
 
 Mrs. Rooney laughed aloud. 
 
 " Come-outer ! Well, that gits me. We 
 don't never call ourselves that name — it's 
 a slur on us, you know. That's what people 
 287 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 cafl us when they want to badger us. We're 
 the Evening Lights. You mustn't mind my 
 laughin' at you, Hermia. I knowed you 
 didn't mean it fur a slur, but it tickled me 
 when you called me a Come-outer." Her- 
 mia apologized for her very natural mis- 
 take. 
 
 His mother's example stimulated Jimmy 
 to gossip, and he announced to the com- 
 pany in general that he seen Bertie Brown 
 last night. 
 
 Rose Rooney looked up quickly; a con- 
 scious blush stained her cheeks. " Where'd 
 you see him ? " 
 
 " Over to Bunt's. Lon Bunt, he says 
 Bertie Brown's a rustler! " 
 
 Rose made a dive at him, but her eldest 
 born was too quick for her, and ran laugh- 
 ing out at the door. Her face was deeply 
 dyed with crimson. " That's the orneriest 
 youngster I ever raised ! " she blazed. " But 
 I can't be expected to have decent children 
 with a wild-cat for a husband! " 
 
 She rambled on, heaping abuse upon the 
 absent partner of her lot ; it was remarked 
 that she had nothing to say of Bertie Brown, 
 nor did she once mention his name. 
 288 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 " The men in this State is so ornery, an' 
 I've got the orneriest man of all. Pete, 
 when he comes home nights from work, he 
 sets around an' smokes till I tell him if I 
 was a ham of meat I'd be pretty well 
 smoked. Many's the wiggin' I've give him 
 for it, but he keeps right on. He's alius 
 a-growHn' at me to pick potatoes. He says 
 to me yisterday mornin', ' There's your sis- 
 ter out on the hill pickin' potatoes; why 
 can't you do like her ? ' he says. ' Why,' 
 I says to him, * Betty ain't got no children 
 an' I have, blame it ! ' I could 'a' slapped 
 him ! I do every bit of the milkin' an' swill- 
 in' the pigs, honest I do ; an' I never git no 
 help from him. Men is so mean. I was 
 tellin' ma 'n' pa about it yisterday when I 
 was over home, an' they said they jist 
 wouldn't do it if they was me; they said 
 they wouldn't be put upon. I don't believe 
 your pa ever ast your ma to work out in 
 the fields; if he done sich a thing onc't I 
 reckon Mis' Wood would be so surprised at 
 him he wouldn't be likely to do it agin. 
 There's Betty now, a-pickin' potatoes for 
 Job, an' she so sick she can't hardly stand 
 289 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 up — jist gittin' over bein' delirious an' talk- 
 in' out of her head. I'd like to see the color 
 of his hair that could make me do it. But 
 Betty's young yit; she's got lots to learn. 
 Betty's kind of odd; she hasn't been away 
 from home enough to know how to act ; an' 
 she takes after pa, too; he's kind of odd. 
 Lord, when I was her age ! You see when 
 she 'n' Job married she was jist a child ; she 
 ain't learnt much yit, neither; she's jist as 
 innocent ; she's jist a angel ; she don't know 
 nothin' about the world. I've seen that girl, 
 when Job spoke short to her, look like she 
 was ready to cry. Her eyes they fill right 
 up with tears jist at nothin'. Betty was 
 raised tender-hearted. Nobody never spoke 
 cross to her at home, 'cept perhaps jist onc't 
 in a while, when something went wrong. 
 Pa, he was alius so good to her, too. She 
 was the pick of the family. Oh, I tell you, 
 girls, we git mighty different treatment 
 when we leave home. Home ain't nothin' 
 to bein' married. You git more hard 
 knocks from the ones that's promised to 
 love an' cherish you than a little bit. I've 
 see the time when I was tender-hearted, like 
 290 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 Betty; but Fve had to git all over that ; I've 
 learnt to be as hard as a rock," — her blue 
 eyes full of fire. 
 
 " I hate this pesky country where you 
 can't raise nothin' but potatoes! There 
 ain't nothin' out here but wind an' dust an' 
 hard work. It seems like the wind is goin' 
 to dry us all up an' blow us away. I declare 
 to goodness, I wish't would. I wish some- 
 thing would happen. I want to clear out 
 from Windy Crick ; I want to go to live in 
 the Springs or in Pueblo. If I had the right 
 kind of a man," said Rose, choking over 
 her wrongs, " a man that had some sand, 
 I would be livin' in the city, you bet ! 
 
 " Ruth, wouldn't you rather have Curly 
 O'Coole than lots of the fellows out here ? 
 Betty could have had him. Betty could 
 have had almost any fellow out here instid 
 of that old lummix that she did marry. You 
 heard about Job havin' seven devils cast 
 out of him ? Well, I reckon he's got seven 
 others left. Ma, she says now she thinks 
 it's almost a sin to marry off your girls so 
 young, she ain't never goin' to do it any 
 more. She's goin' to let Lympy an' Halle- 
 lujah have their pick. 
 
 291 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " Folks thinks it's awful queer you Wood 
 girls don't never git married; but I think 
 you're jist about right; you're a heap bet- 
 ter off single," said Rose Rooney, with her 
 narrow gaze. 
 
 A pair of shoes standing in an out-of-the- 
 way corner caught Mrs. Rooney's eye. 
 She instantly tried them on, and wore them 
 all the afternoon, triumphant over having 
 at last discovered the size of Hermia's shoe. 
 
 With the summons to dinner. Rose 
 Rooney's outspoken discontent was 
 checked for a time. The children had dis- 
 covered a pair of dumb-bells, and were roll- 
 ing them about with a fearful clatter; the 
 general clamor was rivalled by a display of 
 table-manners exceeding anything pre- 
 viously witnessed by the Wood cousins in 
 their experience of Rose Rooney and her 
 family. 
 
 Taddy looked across the dinner-table 
 with a sigh of approval, and spoke his hon- 
 est convictions when he said : " Ruth an' 
 Hermia's all right ! they's daisies ! " 
 
 Rose's roving eye made a critical survey 
 of the dinner-table. She informed her 
 292 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 hostesses that she did not like warm apple- 
 sauce; she could not eat it unless it was 
 cold. She tasted her tea and made a wry 
 face. 
 
 " What kind of tea is this, Ruth? " 
 
 " Young Hyson.'' 
 
 Mrs. Rooney stirred viciously. " Well, 
 I don't like it a bit ; it's awful bitter." 
 
 Jimmy swallowed a trial teaspoonful. 
 " Gosh ! " said he, " this tea's bitter." 
 
 " Ain't you 'shamed to talk that way at 
 the table ? " cried his mother, while she 
 chuckled at his smartness. 
 
 " Ruth, give them young-uns some milk 
 to drink; I don't never let my children 
 drink strong tea." 
 
 "Did your ma make this butter?" de- 
 manded Mrs. Rooney, spreading her bread 
 thickly. " It tastes awful funny. It tastes 
 like the churn hadn't been scalded out. 
 You have to be awful pettic'ler when you 
 make butter, you know." 
 
 Ruth and Hermia simultaneously regis- 
 tered a silent vow never, never, never again 
 to break bread under Rose Rooney's roof. 
 
 Their guest pushed back her dish of 
 cottage-cheese. 
 
 293 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " Why, Hermia, this smear-case is so 
 sloppy ! You ain't squeezed half the whey 
 out. I can't never eat smear-case unless 
 it's real dry. 
 
 "Jake an' Cicely Atwood, they're awful 
 poor, they about live on smear-case. They 
 don't have half enough to eat. Onc't I was 
 over there, an' Cicely, she set Jake down to 
 the table to smear-case an' almost nothin'. 
 He set there over fifteen minutes mincin' 
 over a little water gravy." 
 
 " I could eat a thousand pieces of cake," 
 said Jimmy, helping himself liberally. 
 
 " What are them little sticks fur ? " point- 
 ing with his finger to some tooth-picks. 
 When Ruth had enlightened him, he re- 
 marked : " I'd like to have some of them 
 tooth-picks. I'd take them home an' pick 
 till I died." 
 
 Rose's ill-humor infected the children. 
 
 " That's my knife you're eatin' with," said 
 Jimmy, and forthwith snatched it from his 
 brother. 
 
 " You div that knife here ! " whined 
 Taddy. 
 
 " It's mine, an' I'm a-goin' ter eat with 
 
 it." 
 
 294 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 Their mother spoke sharply from across 
 the table : 
 
 " You give that knife back ! Ain't you 
 'shamed to act like that in comp'ny ? " 
 
 " That's jest like a woman to talk that 
 way ! " The baby voice vibrated with 
 scorn. 
 
 Mrs. Rooney half rose. " Jimmy Roo- 
 ney, do you want me to come there to 
 you?" 
 
 In dreadful anger the boy thrust the 
 knife to his brother. " Dog-gone you ! " he 
 said, his tone more than his words betray- 
 ing his passion. 
 
 Rose Rooney ate heartily of every dish. 
 She pushed back her chair, finally, and 
 swept the crumbs from her lap to the floor. 
 
 " Say, did you hear that Jake an' Cicely 
 Atwood has both back-slid from the United 
 Brethrens ? Jake swears an' they both goes 
 to dances. 
 
 " Did you ever read that book, ' From 
 the Ball-room to Hell ' ? Mis' Mellon, she 
 lent it to me. It's jist splendid. It's got a 
 picture of the Old Harry in it." 
 
 Rose's speech was arrested by a commo- 
 295 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 tion at the door. It was Cicely Atwood, 
 who had run across the road for a neigh- 
 borly call with her baby in her arms and 
 two shepherd dogs at her heels. The bright 
 smile on her face faded as her placid gaze 
 came into sharp contact with Rose Rooney 
 in a sea of carpet-rags. They were not on 
 speaking terms. Cicely sat stiffly on the 
 edge of a chair, refusing all persuasion to 
 lay aside her sun-bonnet. Mrs. Rooney 
 silently stitched, with tightly closed lips and 
 flashing eyes. 
 
 Cicely Atwood's observing faculties were 
 not behind the ordinary country girl's, but 
 a morning spent at her mother's had ren- 
 dered her unconscious of Mrs. Rooney's 
 movements, and she had blundered in on 
 her enemy unawares. 
 
 Since her marriage Cicely Atwood had 
 fulfilled the early predictions of Rose Roo- 
 ney. She was " frowsy headed," her dress 
 was untidy and gaping and buttonless ; pins 
 were used freely in her toilet. Her infant 
 son, a thin, sallow child, with a pale-blue 
 eye and senile leer, was not over-clean, and 
 contrasted but poorly with Mrs. Rooney's 
 296 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 plump, fresh-colored children. He was 
 dressed in a hideous little garment of snuff- 
 colored outing-flannel. 
 
 Hermia drew her embarrassed neighbor 
 into talking of her baby, and remarked that 
 he looked pale. 
 
 The mother glanced thoughtfully at her 
 offspring. " That dress is kind o' delicate, 
 an' I reckon that's why he looks so white," 
 she said, in her flat, nasal tones. " He's 
 light complected, anyway, like his paw. 
 He's fussin' with his teeth now ; they eetch 
 so. He's lookin' lots pearter than what he 
 done awhiles back. He were pulin' away 
 like, an' maw, she said he were kind o' 
 wormy. I were dretful sceert about him. 
 A child has to be 'lowanced by its mother ; 
 if it ain't put on a di-at, it's li'ble to hurt 
 itself. 
 
 " I were home a-visitin' with Shaky this 
 mornin', an' when we went it were milkin' 
 yit, it were that yurly. I do enjoy goin' 
 home; I like to milk with paw, it 'minds 
 me of when I were a girl at home. 
 
 " Did you ever take notice of the sight " 
 (pupils) " of Shaky's eyes, how large they 
 297 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 is? Sometimes I'm afeared they're too 
 large to be healthy. I don't want Shaky 
 to have nothin' the matter of his eyes. 
 Shaky's forehead is so large. I want to 
 have his head examined by one of theesyur 
 friendologists." 
 
 Rose Rooney sniffed audibly. 
 
 " I an' Jake aim to give Shaky a college 
 education." 
 
 " Why do you call him Shaky ? " asked 
 Hermia. 
 
 " Why, we call him fur a man named 
 Shakespeare. The people that Jake used 
 to be coachman to in the Springs was alius 
 talkin' about a man named Shakespeare 
 that were dretful smart, an' Jake, he hearn 
 so much about the man that he had to call 
 our little one fur him. 
 
 " I an' Jake lay off to build a addition to 
 our house this fall." 
 
 Rose Rooney laughed derisively. 
 
 Cicely Atwood, laboriously ignoring her 
 enemy, continued: "Jake lays oflf to haul 
 the lumber from the Divide an' put up a 
 lean-to, an' a portecule for cucumber vines, 
 next Spring. 
 
 298 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 " Have you girls hearn about the people 
 on the Divide ? Jake he were hauHn' fuel ; 
 he gits cedar along the aidge of the Divide, 
 north-like of hyur, an' some campers-out 
 tolt him ; that's the way he come to hyur of 
 It. All the people on the Divide is lookin' 
 fur the world to come to an eend. It was in 
 the papers that the Red Sea had been 
 blowed out by a cyclone, an' you know it 
 says in the Bible, when the Red Sea shall 
 be dried up, then the world shall come to an 
 eend. The preachers is preachin', an' 
 they've got the people all worked up like 
 over it. 
 
 *' Well, I must be goin'," said Cicely, 
 edging oflf her chair. " Have you-uns got 
 a piece of cloth to trim a hat with? Any 
 kind of cloth'll do, if it's worsted. I'm 
 a-goin' to cover the frame of my old hat fur 
 winter; it's all wore out. That piece of 
 striped goods will do. Thanky." 
 
 " World comin' to an end nothin'," cried 
 Ros^ Rooney, bursting from the strain of 
 her difficult silence, as Cicely's receding 
 form left the door. " The people that lives 
 over on the Divide is awful easy took in — 
 299 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 no cyclone is goin' to be big enough to 
 blow out a whole sea ! 
 
 " There's a woman that's awful slack," 
 she went on, loudly. " What'd I tell you 
 girls about Cicely Atwood's housekeepin' 
 when she come to git married? You've 
 only got to peek in her house onc't to jedge 
 of her; she's a awful poor housekeeper. 
 How Jake Atwood puts up with her is more 
 than I can see. She never ast me into 
 her house ; I wouldn't go if she did, but I 
 peeked in onc't when she was out. My 
 land! The floor all over grease-spots, an' 
 the bed not made, an' it afternoon, an' the 
 table a heap of dirty dishes an' vittles, an*" 
 that baby of hern settin' in the middle of the 
 floor, its face an' hair an' clo'es as black as 
 ink. I went right over an' told ma about 
 it, an' Em, an' Mort Post's wife. Cicely, 
 she acts like she done somethin' smart to 
 git married. I never see a woman to be so 
 puffed up about gittin' married in all my 
 borned days. What she c'n see to be proud 
 over in that there soft-soapy Jake of hern 
 I can't see. An' that young-un of theirn is 
 bound for the Pen, 'stid of college. Did ye 
 300 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 ever see the Evil Eye plainer in a child? 
 When that youngun smiles it makes a cold 
 shiver creep up 'n' down my backbone to 
 see him. 
 
 " It's jist wonderful," said the critic, pat- 
 ronizingly, " how the folks has improved 
 out here on Windy Creek. Now, look at 
 them Bunts; when they first come to this 
 country they was awful ignorant, but now 
 they do know a little. The boys is turnin' 
 out real stiddy. I ain't nothin' agin the 
 men-folks, nor Polly. But Fm leary of old 
 lady Bunt, an' Cicely, with the airs she gives 
 herself." 
 
 The rampant tongue ran on and on. The 
 gentle hostesses, long since wearied of their 
 visitor, saw no other way to rid themselves 
 of her than by a freezing process, and about 
 the middle of the afternoon Rose Rooney 
 gathered up her brood and went home, the 
 picture of discontent. 
 
 Often in the morning, when Pete was at 
 work beyond the crest of the hill, a horse- 
 man lingered beside his cabin, lounging 
 with slackened rein, and one leg thrown 
 over the horn of the saddle, while within 
 301 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 the fence Rose dawdled, arms bared to the 
 elbow, cheeks burned to a rich red ; the two 
 lost in a maze of empty, endless talk. 
 
 And often in the evening the idle talk 
 renewed itself at the kitchen door, when 
 the young ranchman stopped for a drink of 
 water, supplied him in a brimming tin cup 
 from Rose's hand. The younger children 
 hung about, open-mouthed; but Jimmy, 
 sharp of eye and ear, treasured much for 
 absent Daddy's sake, and peace fled away 
 from the home when Pete came in to find 
 the stove cold, and the children fretting and 
 Rose dreaming at a window. 
 
 And often of a Sabbath night the two 
 walked home from meeting together. They 
 loitered on their way; now in whispered 
 tones they talked, though the prairie road 
 was lonely. There was a witchery in the 
 strong moonlight, in the odorous night-air. 
 The frogs' hoarse cadence seemed calling 
 them to stay; a night-bird, whizzing past, 
 brushed their mingled hair with its wing; 
 the hour, the place, the stolen caress, dulled 
 sense of duty, blotted out distinction be- 
 twixt right and wrong. 
 302 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 From her seat in the bedroom, one even- 
 ing, Rose, crooning to her infant, could see 
 her husband, stiff and torpid from a long 
 day's work, in a chill east wind, nodding 
 over the fire. Between her clenched teeth 
 she sang; and the smouldering embers of 
 her discontent burst into flames of loathing 
 for the rough, red laborer whom her mother 
 had imposed upon her while she was yet a 
 child, too young to choose for herself. She 
 felt that she hated this man, whom Bertie 
 Brown had called a *' blooming chump." 
 
 Rose Rooney tucked the baby in her little 
 crib, scolded and hustled the older children, 
 and came into the kitchen, with hostility in 
 her eye. She flourished a pamphlet in his 
 face. 
 
 " Look at this, now! Here's a book Mis' 
 Mellon give me to read. Look at it, can't 
 you, 'stid of settin' there blinkin'! I never 
 see sech a dumb-head to set around an' 
 sleep nights. It's a book wrote about your 
 tony Catholics, an' it's a dead give-a-way on 
 them; it tells all about how they cheat folks 
 out of their rights, an' how they take the 
 bread out of poor folks's mouths like us, to 
 303 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 build their fine churches with. Jest you 
 read that now, an' drop your old Catholics! " 
 
 Pete gave a grunt and pushed the book 
 aside. It fell to the floor. " Catholicism 
 Exposed " was printed in glaring letters on 
 the cover. 
 
 Rose stopped to pick up the book. Her 
 impish mood possessed her to spell out to 
 the unwilling ears of her husband, phrase 
 after phrase of libelous thrusts at his relig- 
 ion. At the time of her marriage Rose had 
 not known one letter from another. In 
 picking up " a little larning " since, it had 
 proved " a dangerous thing." 
 
 She had no conception of being herself a 
 trial to him ; she did not see the cloud on his 
 averted face, else she might have refrained 
 from teasing his mood. As she stumbled 
 on over the long words, the tawdry argu- 
 ment, the denunciations, Pete's patience left 
 him, the tempest of his wrath gathered and 
 broke, and he swept the book from his wife's 
 grasp into the fire. 
 
 Rose's face blazed — in a flash the flat of 
 her hand dealt a furious blow across her 
 husband's cheek. She had roused his fury; 
 304 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 he seized her by the wrists and forced her 
 into a chair; shook her; and in deep tones 
 of wrath bade her let him and his religion 
 alone in the future, and to keep her Come- 
 outers to herself — there would be the mis- 
 chief to pay if them or their books ever 
 found their way into his house again. Then 
 he left the room, banging the door behind 
 him. 
 
 The angry woman screamed after her 
 husband until she was hoarse, and followed 
 up her outburst of foul language with wild, 
 hysterical sobbing that lasted half the night. 
 The children crept quietly out of her way, 
 and presently put themselves to bed. 
 
 The next Sunday, in meeting, his wife's 
 testimonials did serious damage to Pete's 
 already defamed character; his reputation 
 as a wife-beater was established, and all the 
 Come-outers gave freely of sympathy and 
 advice to the unfortunate consort of a des- 
 perately hardened villain. 
 
 In the school-yard, after meeting, Mrs. 
 Bunt was overheard by a pair of sharp ears 
 belonging to Olympia Flieger, freeing her 
 mind to a knot of women, as follows : 
 305 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " Pete, he over-doos it ; he ain't got no 
 call to put up with her didos the way he do ; 
 he'd ought to put a stop to her runnin' with 
 them Come-outers, an' gittin' up in meetin' 
 an' callin' him names. She ain't a decent 
 woman to live with, Rose ain't, an' she 
 knows it. She runs down everybody alike 
 that doesn't please her, same as she runs 
 Pete down. Her young-uns is gittin' too 
 smart fur her, hyur lately, an' thur agoin' 
 to give her clean away one of these days. 
 Know why she drives Jimmy out to chop 
 wood when she has comp'ny ? She's afeard 
 he'll let out some of the things she's been 
 a-sayin' about them, an' shame her. Rose 
 is." 
 
 The drift of these remarks, with varia- 
 tions, was promptly carried to headquar- 
 ters. Rose Rooney was furious. When on 
 the point of rushing at once to have it out 
 with Mrs. Bunt, she changed her mind and 
 laboriously wrote her neighbor a scathing 
 note; this she despatched by Jimmy, with 
 instructions to watch the effect; and 
 whipped the children all around to relieve 
 her excitement. 
 
 306 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 While the little messenger impishly lin- 
 gered, Mrs. Bunt, with Polly hanging over 
 her shoulder, read the note ; her indignation 
 rose at every line. And Jimmy's mother, 
 after putting him to the test of a rigid 
 cross-examination, rested satisfied that the 
 phrases : " You said I wasn't a decent 
 woman," and " By the Lord, I'll have you 
 pulled for it," were more cuttingly efficient 
 written than if screamed in her enemy's ear. 
 
 As Pete came home from the field the 
 Wednesday following, and his children ran 
 to meet him, he caught sight of a tall figure 
 in sombrero and leathern breeches, dodging 
 off among the out-buildings. It was the 
 manner of his going that roused into action 
 the latent fury long nurtured in the injured 
 husband's breast, and he flung the children 
 from him, in passing snatched a cow-hide ' 
 from its nail on the shed-door, at the foot 
 of the slope behind the log-stable stopped 
 his enemy, and grappled with him. The 
 loud singing of Rose Rooney in the house 
 above them sounded in their ears. 
 
 Taken by surprise, the young ranchman 
 struck out with his fists ; he had no time to 
 307 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 draw his revolver, but, though tall and ath- 
 letic and inured to the rough life of the 
 plains, he was shortly overcome, pinned to 
 the earth, impotent in an iron grip, and the 
 weapon fell like a flail over face, head, and 
 shoulders, with an almost murderous fury. 
 
 Jimmy stood quiet on the crest of the 
 hill, aghast, but sure that daddy was in the 
 right. But the younger boy ran, scream- 
 ing, to the house, stumbling and falling, yet 
 never varying the pitch of his scream, and 
 Rose, drawn by his noise, came to the 
 kitchen door, dish-towel in hand. 
 
 Strange, significant sounds, thuds and 
 muffled cries struck her keen ear, and at 
 once cleared her perception. She darted 
 down the hill in flying leaps, and, tiger-like, 
 flung herself on Pete's avenging arm. Her 
 husband cast aside his bloody whip, spurned 
 the writhing figure on the ground, and 
 bade him begone. Dusty, bleeding, the 
 boy rose and fell; rose and fell again; he 
 cast upon Pete a look of unquenchable de- 
 fiance and limped away, cursing them both, 
 under his breath. 
 
 Rose Rooney stood with breast heaving 
 308 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 and nostrils dilated as if from hard run- 
 ning ; her color was livid, her lips purple ; 
 the blue blaze of her eyes was like the play 
 of lightning over her face; a moment she 
 stood so, without speech or tears, then 
 turned and fled up the hill. 
 
 When Pete went into the house, a little 
 later, the baby's crib was empty, Mark's 
 house of blocks deserted; Rose was gone. 
 Taddy, crying softly on the door-step, 
 could only tell him that Rose had went off 
 with Marky and the baby ; she tooked them 
 in the little wagon. Pete looked out 
 through the gathering dusk; far down the 
 road he could see the woman's figure, trail- 
 ing after her the little wagon; her course 
 lay in the direction of her mother's house. 
 
 Two little figures, hand in hand, next 
 morning, startled Mrs. Bunt, shaking the 
 breakfast-cloth at the back door. They 
 were Jimmy and Taddy. 
 
 " Well, Rose has left again," said Jimmy, 
 smiling blandly. 
 
 Mrs. Bunt thrust her head in at the door. 
 " Polly, you come right out hyur ! Rose 
 Rooney has gone and left agin ! You poor 
 309 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 little toads, whatever will you do without 
 your maw ?" 
 
 " Oh, we're all right," rejoined Jimmy, 
 swelling with the importance of his position. 
 " Pete an' us has lots of fun. I come to 
 borry some soda. Pete's goin' to make 
 biscuit." 
 
 Mrs. Bunt gazed down at the little boys, 
 with her arms akimbo. " Ain't you 'shamed 
 to talk about your maw that-a-way ?" 
 
 " No. We don't like her, no-way. We 
 don't want her back." 
 
 " Taddy, ain't you sorry your maw's gone 
 off an' left you?" 
 
 " No," said Taddy, pugnaciously. " Me 
 don't like Wose ; me likes Pete." 
 
 Mrs. Bunt and her daughter drew from 
 the children a disconnected and somewhat 
 incoherent account of the events of the day 
 before, thirsting especially after the details 
 of the battle. 
 
 " Polly," said Mrs. Bunt, tying on her 
 bonnet, "you give them children their 
 sody an' send them home; thur paw'll be 
 after them. An' 'tend to the work an' feed 
 the chickens. I must go right over an' tell 
 310 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 Cic'Iy the noes, an' mebbe 111 stop to the 
 Wood girls' if thur up.'* 
 
 While her children were spreading abroad 
 the fame of her flight, Rose Rooney had al- 
 ready left the shelter of her mother's home, 
 and was striding across the prairie, in bold 
 defiance of Mother Grundy. She crossed 
 one field, and then another. Mr. Bunt 
 passed along the road, hauling a load of 
 potatoes to the city; she saw him pull up 
 his slow-stepping horses to take a look at 
 her. " Rubber-neck !" said she, angrily. 
 She crawled under the wire fences and filled 
 her shoes with sand and her stockings with 
 needle-grass barbs; but she forged ahead, 
 preferring the prairie to the public road. 
 Driven on by headlong passion and impe- 
 rious will, she hurried up the path to Ber- 
 tie Brown's shack. She tried the latch; 
 it was fast. She shook the door until the 
 casement rattled ; she peered in at the win- 
 dow; the room was empty. She sought 
 him in the stackyard; she gazed up and 
 down the cornfield. Back at the doorstep, 
 with a loud sob, she shook again the resist- 
 ing latch. His pet cat rubbed against her 
 3" 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 ankles, purring loudly. She sat down and 
 waited, long and patiently ; sometimes cry- 
 ing, sometimes musing, often springing up 
 to gaze, with shaded eyes, out across the 
 prairie. 
 
 While Rose waited on the step, a proces- 
 sion was wending its way into the Springs ; 
 the sheriff, with a young fellow in custody, 
 and a posse of officers on horse-back; a 
 warrant in his possession for the arrest of 
 one Bertie Brown, charged with the crime 
 of cattle-stealing. 
 
 Livid marks of last night's beating dis- 
 figured the prisoner's face. His smart, 
 cow-boy toggery was rent and dusty from a 
 recent struggle. But changed for the worse 
 as was his outward appearance, sadder still 
 were the signs of his moral degradation, 
 the slouch of the figure, the hanging head, 
 the lowering air. A trial and a term in the 
 penitentiary awaited him, and Bertie Brown 
 was seen on Windy Creek no more. As 
 one after another, the owners came to re- 
 claim their cattle, his herd was scattered, 
 and his abandoned claim lay idle. 
 
 A violent squabble with her mother, oc- 
 312 
 
Rose Rooney's Error 
 
 casioned by a broad hint that herself and her 
 children were found burdensome, decided 
 Rose Rooney to return home. She came 
 as she had gone, hauling her two young 
 children in their little wagon. 
 
 The husband showed in his reception of 
 his erring wife a tact and forbearance sur- 
 passed by few in his position. His kindness 
 was negative; for long ago caresses and 
 love-words had ceased between them. But 
 he met the baffled and rebellious woman as 
 if she had merely been away on a visit ; he 
 spoke in a matter-of-fact way of the 
 speckled heifer falling off in her milk, and 
 of Taddy's needing a pair of shoes for the 
 colder weather. He had nothing to say of 
 her past conduct, nor di4 he throw up to 
 her the name of the man who had tampered 
 with his poor home, and so nearly destroyed 
 it. 
 
 Childish though it was, her heart had 
 been capable of a woman's grief; touched 
 but once, it must now turn back upon itself. 
 She had learned to regard her husband with 
 loathing; she must unlearn that notion of 
 him; it was hard for eyes that had once 
 313 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 been opened to criticism, to forget what 
 they had seemed to see. She was very 
 ignorant. She did not know enough to 
 make teachers of her mistakes. As for look- 
 ing to her reHgion to console her, let him 
 who will, try the hardening effect of falling 
 from grace after a sojourn on the heights 
 of sanctification ; and experience the inevita- 
 ble result of shame and disgust at having 
 been duped. The trials of the past few 
 months had had anything but a salutary 
 effect on Rose Rooney's tempestuous nat- 
 ure; she was the worse rather than the 
 better for her sufferings; she took up her 
 old life again, but took it hard. 
 
 314 
 
XI 
 
 DIANTHA 
 
 One of the gayest and best attended 
 dances in the country-side came off at Dan 
 Bittern's on the Tuesday night following 
 the great Come-outer meeting. The young 
 people appeared in full force, and a number 
 of Free Methodist and United Brethren 
 backsliders, incited by a fiddle, slid back 
 to earth on an unplaned floor. Diantha 
 seemed the most blithesome in the com- 
 pany ; her face glowed with color, her trip- 
 ping feet were never still. 
 
 From the circle of her old flames Raleigh 
 Post had long ago withdrawn to be ab- 
 sorbed by a little dumpy girl in a short 
 frock, buttoned in the back; Hal Hopper 
 hung open-mouthed upon Estelle*s every 
 look and laugh; but still faithful, with his 
 gaze of honest admiration, Phil Schuyler 
 3^5 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 hovered near, though too slow, too cautious 
 to be counted as a lover. 
 
 Of partners she had plenty, for as it is 
 with love or money, so with dancing: part- 
 ners beget partners. But Diantha's heart 
 was sinking. Not once since his brief 
 greeting at the door had Soph Crimp come 
 near her. 
 
 As each time the music started up and 
 set her heart to beating, she saw him ap- 
 proach some other girl with his set phrase, 
 " Will you assist me in this dance ?" And 
 oftenest it was the girl from Arrowhead, the 
 new girl who had such a flip way of batting 
 her eyes at the boys. 
 
 She wasn't a bit pretty — what could he 
 see in her? Fear spurred Diantha's flag- 
 ging spirits — fear lest Soph's public neglect 
 of her should be remarked. 
 
 Her natural coquetry, an unconscious 
 spirit often, but ever alive in her, was to- 
 night a means of defence, and the melting 
 glances from her beautiful eyes, half be- 
 witching her partners, were but a mask for 
 her uneasy thoughts strayed off to another. 
 
 She was practising the deception learned 
 316 
 
Diantha 
 
 early by every woman; and as she danced 
 she saw but one figure, tall, square-shoul- 
 dered, the most active in the room. She 
 noted how Jiis blue tie matched his eyes in 
 color; it was her gift to him; and she re- 
 membered how her hands had shaken when 
 she tied it for him, the first night of his 
 wearing it, and how he had smiled and 
 kissed her finger-tips. 
 
 There was one among the boys to-night, 
 a silly fellow, whose breath smelt strong of 
 spirits ; and in avoiding him Diantha found 
 less time for brooding thoughts. 
 
 Dick Mace, commonly known as Peni- 
 tentiary Dick, her father designed for a son- 
 in-law. With the obtuse insistence of a 
 man of whiskey-drenched wits, he had or- 
 dered her attention to Dick, and Diantha, 
 suffering in advance the penalty of her fa- 
 ther's displeasure, caught now and again 
 Dan's shifting eye, saw him drinking not 
 so freely as usual, and knew that she was 
 under surveillance. 
 
 If Soph would only treat her as he used 
 to, there would be no need to keep out of 
 Dick's way, for then Dick would not be 
 317 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 troubling her. Did he never mean to ask 
 her? 
 
 Her partner saw her to a seat on the end 
 of a bench already crowded by two hilarious 
 couples, and walked away. The music 
 changed to a waltz tune, " After the Ball." 
 
 When a dance with Soph seemed to have 
 reached the unattainable, Mr. Crimp's son 
 came carelessly up, and in a masterful way 
 claimed her for the waltz. She who had 
 been so spirited with other lovers, took the 
 offered arm with meekness, her heart beat- 
 ing gladly. For a few brief moments she 
 floated around and around the room on 
 Soph's strong, supporting arm, her hand 
 clasped in his, his glance upon her ; she was 
 radiantly happy; at that moment of exal- 
 tation minding the spying, commenting 
 crowd no more than a swarm of flies, caring 
 naught for scrutiny or whispered slur. 
 
 " Havin' a good time to-night, Di ?" 
 
 "Oh, finer 
 
 The piteous lie was scarcely spoken when 
 the music ceased and he led her to a seat 
 and left her, to come near her no more that 
 night. 
 
 318 
 
Diantha 
 
 At supper Soph and Miss Bliss, the black- 
 eyed little school-teacher from Arrowhead, 
 shared the same plate and coffee cup ; she 
 took no pains to hide her glee; his mirth 
 was offensively loud and boisterous, and 
 Diantha, covertly listening, burned with an- 
 ger and grief. At Phil Schuyler's remarks 
 she laughed at random; she ate nothing; 
 her coffee-cup she sent twice to be re- 
 filled. 
 
 A quadrille was forming; in the one of 
 the sets four were impatiently " ragging ;" 
 in the other, three; the caller-off shouted 
 for another good-looking couple. Young 
 Schuyler, with Diantha on his arm, stepped 
 into the vacant place, but was promptly 
 shoved aside by the missing couple. Soph 
 Crimp and Miss Bliss had lingered out of 
 doors for a whiff of air, so they said, and 
 Soph added insult to injury by the smiling 
 taunt: "Did you ever get left?'' and 
 everybody laughed. 
 
 Someone whispered that the old bache- 
 lor — the cattleman was twenty-seven — was 
 trying to cut Soph out; and someone else 
 averred that Diantha was using the old 
 519 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 bachelor to get Soph back. It was the 
 Valley of Humiliation, and Diantha trod it 
 with dancing feet and weighted heart. 
 
 The September night was one of the most 
 peaceful of the month. Overhead shone 
 the quiet stars. Around lay the hills in 
 calm repose. A dark, low-lying shadow 
 along the western horizon gave a sugges- 
 tion of the mountain-range. The horses 
 champed their hay over the wagon-beds 
 and one of them pawed the earth. With- 
 out, all was tranquillity; within, unhealthy 
 emotion ran all the gamut of triumph, 
 pride, pique, jealousy, and heartache. 
 
 About five o^clock in the morning the 
 dancers wearied of the floor and straggled 
 home. Dick Mace alone lingered after the 
 rest. Though maudlin from the effects of 
 the bad whiskey he had been tossing down 
 all night, he heard sounds that sobered him, 
 and sent him home in perplexed meditation, 
 revolving in his dull mind some few startled 
 thoughts ; he heard Dan Bittern's growl as 
 of a wild beast penned ; he heard him curse 
 his child, and he slunk away at the cruel 
 sound of the blows that followed. 
 320 
 
Diantha 
 
 The sun was high overhead when Dan 
 lay out in the stable, sleeping drunkenly, 
 and Diantha sat alone over her untasted 
 breakfast, the cold remains of last night's 
 feast. She sat unmoved in the midst of ap- 
 paUing disorder — beds and bedding heaped 
 up in the yard, and stove-pipes knocking 
 about the door, the floor begrimed from 
 the pounding of many feet. 
 
 She leaned her pale head on her hand, not 
 thinking, but in a sort of apathy, tracing 
 and retracing by daylight's cold reality the 
 occurrences of the night before. 
 
 During the past year a furor of dances 
 had seized the community, and of the fifty 
 given, the Bittern sisters had missed not 
 one. In the people's regard for them there 
 had been a subtle, slow-working change; 
 they were more lightly treated ; there was a 
 falling ofif in the attentions of the young 
 men ; they were spoken of as " flirty " and 
 " flip " ; even in Mrs. Bunt, who had here- 
 tofore taken a motherly interest in them, 
 there was a certain hardness of manner. 
 
 "Them ain't the stiddy-hearted girls I 
 took them fur," Mrs. Bunt had said of them. 
 321 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " They can't someways settle down and be 
 sensible. They've made thurselves dirt 
 cheap, bein' alius on the go. Let them 
 girls stay at home stiddier, an' thur pa, he'd 
 be stiddier. 
 
 " Thur's faults on both sides, now that's 
 what I do say. Them girls, they ain't called 
 on to stay claired out from home like they 
 doos, goin' to every dance an' prayer-meet- 
 in' in the country. I can't someways put 
 up with Dianthy like I've alius done afore. 
 
 " I've been a mother to that girl, but I 
 ain't aimin' to stew over her no more. Long 
 in the spring, it were jest at school closin', 
 Dianthy she come a-cryin' to me; it were 
 the first time she'd ever owned up to her 
 pa's didos; she said her pa had drove her 
 out of the house and she were 'feared of 
 him; she hadn't nowhurs to go; an' she 
 begged to be let stay with I an' pa. She 
 said she'd be willin' to work in the field to 
 arn her keep if I an' pa'd take her in. I 
 spoke up reel sharp an' ast her what her 
 two married sisters were fur, an' whur they 
 were at that she couldn't go to them ? An' 
 I up an' ast her why she hadn't looked out 
 322 
 
Diantha 
 
 fur herself an' got her a home when she had 
 the pick of decent fellers. I told her she'd 
 better go along back to her pa ; most likely 
 he didn't carry on as bad as some folks said 
 he done, an' she could hitch along with him 
 someways if she'd try. Oh, I were reel 
 sharp with her. I reckoned she needed 
 stirrin' up like, an' I done it fur her own 
 good. I told her she'd thank me fur it some 
 day. It riled me to think of I an' pa takin' 
 Dianthy in that had kin of her own to look 
 after her. We're awful crowded to our 
 house, an' we ain't got no room to spare fur 
 no outsider ; an' I someways couldn't abide 
 the idee of bringin' a flip girl like Dianthy 
 into the house with my boys. Dianthy 'n 
 Stelle, thur kind o' oneasy comp'ny fur 
 young boys. I don't someways feel right 
 when my boys is off with them." 
 
 If Mrs. Bunt and other respectable mid- 
 dle-aged women of her stamp whose own 
 faulty youth lies forgotten in the back- 
 ground, could for an instant witness the 
 sullymg of a girl's pure name by the in- 
 nuendo so lightly thrown out, could for an 
 instant behold the incalculable damage 
 323 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 wrought by that meddlesome member, the 
 tongue, their own would cease to wag, nor 
 would they, for a time at least, repeat the 
 offence. 
 
 Diantha puzzled in vain over the change. 
 She grieved at the estrangement of Mrs. 
 Bunt. Her sad thoughts had travelled this 
 ground many times, yet she had learnt 
 nothing. There was no one to tell her that 
 by her very efforts to regain her social 
 standing she was cheapening herself. 
 
 She imputed her loss of popularity to on- 
 coming age. In a pitiful attempt to appear 
 juvenile, she cut off her hair and shortened 
 her skirts ; and Estelle followed suit. As a 
 result of their social decline, both Diantha 
 and Estelle went out more indefatigably 
 than ever. The summer had been a slow 
 torture to Diantha. That Dick Mace, 
 backed by her father, continually annoyed 
 and beset her, was the least of her griefs. 
 She had long harbored a dread that Soph 
 was wearying of her. Long since she had 
 felt his preference — his feeling for her had 
 never been a passion — cooling, and of late 
 he seemed to be striving to unloose the 
 324 
 
Diantha 
 
 tendrils of her affection that had taken 
 such clinging hold on his cold organism, 
 that he might throw them ruthlessly to the 
 winds. 
 
 Diantha did not take this in ; she felt only 
 a vague fear that Soph was going back on 
 her. . . . 
 
 A step sounded at the door. Diantha 
 started, nervously. Was it Soph, come, 
 too? But no. It was Dick Mace who 
 stepped in over the stove-pipes and stood 
 twisting his hat in his hands, regarding her 
 with a mixture of embarrassment and pity 
 in his dull gaze, that perplexed her. 
 
 " I come to tell you good-by, Diantha. 
 I'm goin' to my claim out to Brierly. . . . 
 I ain't a-goin' to plague you no more." 
 
 At the Sunday meeting fresh reports of 
 Dan Bittern's cruelty were circulated. 
 
 Diantha sat through the sermon looking 
 like a wraith ; when for a day her color left 
 her, its flight discovered the contour of thin 
 cheek and hollow eye. Her wan appear- 
 ance struck even the careless Crimp, who 
 indulged one or two good stares and scarce- 
 ly waited for the girl to leave the school- 
 325 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 room door before remarking jocosely to his 
 son: 
 
 " Soph, you'd ought to marry that girl ; 
 she's dyin' fur love of you." 
 
 Several of the neighbors standing near 
 caught the remark and lingered for the re- 
 ply. 
 
 " Yes, I'll be likely to marry a girl I don't 
 care to kiss. Say, there, Lon, goin' to the 
 dance at Milligan's ?" 
 
 " Betchoo ril be thur to swing the girls," 
 was the response. 
 
 The outcome of the father's lightly given 
 advice was a visit paid by the son to the 
 Bittern homestead. Soph meant at once, 
 and finally, to dispossess Diantha of any 
 cherished idea that she had a hold upon 
 him. He was annoyed that she should 
 openly show herself wounded at any act of 
 his. Once reminded that she had no part 
 in his career, she would alter her manner, 
 and the neighbors, comprehending his po- 
 sition, would respect his man's liberty. 
 
 He set off a little before sunset, in his fa- 
 ther's cart; meaning, when he had thrown 
 the light of his logic upon her future path 
 326 
 
Diantha 
 
 and his own, and shown the two lying quite 
 distinct, to take the sisters to the evening 
 meeting, for in that primitive country it is 
 possible for one seat to hold three, or even 
 four. 
 
 Diantha was not visible, so he sat down 
 beside Estelle on the doorstep, and put his 
 arm around her. She resented his familiar- 
 ity by slapping his hands, laughing in her 
 hysterical manner. They spoke of the 
 dance. 
 
 " What made you do that last waltz so 
 awkward, Stelle?" 
 
 " I didn't." 
 
 " You did, too." 
 
 " Well, if I did 'twas all along o' you. 
 You didn't look where you was leadin' me, 
 an' if I fell over Mr. Fairley, I 'low 'twas 
 your look-out !" 
 
 " Ha, ha ! You did look so funny, but- 
 tin' into Claude Fairley ! Where's Di ? " 
 
 Estelle jerked her head toward the dark- 
 ening room. 
 
 " Come out here an' speak to a fellow ! " 
 said Soph, with a raised voice and a wink 
 aside. 
 
 327 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 There was no reply ; Estelle remarked, as 
 she chewed a strand of gypsy hair, " She's 
 been awful glum since our dance." 
 
 " Say, there, Di, ain't mad at me 'cause 
 I didn't dance with you all the evening, are 
 you?" 
 
 Still no answer, but a slight movement 
 betrayed the listener within. 
 
 " Gosh !" said the sprightly Soph, 
 " there's so many of you girls out here a 
 fellow can't begin to dance with you all. 
 You haven't no call to go and get mad 
 about it." 
 
 Both young people laughed. 
 
 Their nonsense was presently interrupt- 
 ed by Diantha's coming out of her obscuri- 
 ty and standing in the doorway. Her face 
 looked pale, but there was an eager light in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " I reckon I'll bring Dolly up out of the 
 pasture. Go with me, Soph ?" 
 
 " With the greatest of pleasure," respond- 
 ed the youth, lounging off the step. The 
 two walked down the path, the halter hang- 
 ing from the girl's arm. 
 
 Estelle watched them with a face of un- 
 328 
 
Diantha 
 
 concern ; then went into the house to dress 
 •for meeting, singing, as she combed her 
 hair: 
 
 " 'Tis religion that can give » 
 
 Sweetest pleasure while we live." 
 
 Diantha walked by the side of her idol, 
 neither knowing nor caring that he was 
 fashioned of the commonest clay. She had 
 an acute consciousness of the athletic figure 
 sauntering by her side, with self-sufficient 
 air. She ventured a look, but the expres- 
 sion about the tightened lips made her heart 
 sink. She had seen Soph look like that be- 
 fore. 
 
 Soph glanced curiously at the down-cast 
 face, and burst out laughing. 
 
 " What's got the matter with you, girl ?" 
 said he, pinching her cheek. The rough 
 touch of his hand, giving the faintest sug- 
 gestion of a caress, called the red into her 
 dusky cheek ; the quick tears sprang to her 
 eyes ; but these she hastily wiped away, for 
 the sight of tears always irritated Soph. 
 
 *' I haven't saw you so put out over a little 
 thing this long time.'' 
 
 She looked at him forlornly. 
 329 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " If youVe out with me because I wasn't 
 your pardner at that dance of yours, you'll 
 have to stay out. I tell you what it is, Di, 
 I ain't a-going to be tied to no girl's string, 
 and you might's well know it sooner as 
 later." 
 
 Diantha heard him with meekness. Some 
 hearts, tamed by love, learn submission 
 even to insult from their keepers. She 
 sHpped her hand into his. " It wasn't that, 
 Soph. It made me feel bad when you 
 didn't come and talk to me . . . and I 
 'lowed you didn't care enough about me to 
 take me out on the floor — ^like you used to." 
 
 His mouth hardened. 
 
 " Well, Di, I reckon you know you ain't 
 the only girl in this country — there's others 
 that have to be danced with asides you." 
 
 He freed his hand from hers and faced 
 her, dogmatically. 
 
 " Look-a-here, Di, you go with the other 
 fellows and when I want to go with you I'll 
 let you know it. Why didn't you dance 
 with Dick Mace that night and please your 
 pa? I don't care how many times you go 
 with Hopper, or Schuyler, or any other fel- 
 330 
 
Diantha 
 
 low. And ril have some fun with the other 
 girls and take you out now and then. How's 
 that, now?" asked Soph, in a glow of self- 
 approval. 
 
 Diantha, cruelly cut, yet proud enough to 
 conceal her pain, drew back and turned 
 away, trying to steady her quivering lips. 
 They were down by the edge of the corn- 
 patch. The corn was shocked, ready for 
 husking. Dolly was grazing at a little 
 distance. 
 
 " Then folks'll know how we stand," con- 
 tinued Soph. 
 
 " I don't want you to feel you're tied to 
 me like," said Diantha, desperately. " You 
 didn't use to feel that way. . . . Oh, 
 don't you mind. Soph, what you said last 
 winter . . . when we was to the dance 
 at Post's ? " hanging her head. " You said 
 you was proud to dance with me . . . 
 you said I was pretty." 
 
 Soph looked into the wistful face; he 
 laughed shortly. 
 
 " Well, I like that ; you want me to say 
 you're pretty now. You'd ought to know 
 I won't say nothin' of the kind when you 
 come at me like that." 
 331 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 Her eyes dropped in her shame; her 
 cheeks flamed and tingled painfully. She 
 had thirsted for his old words of praise — 
 they had been refused her in scorn. She 
 would have given her life for the assurance 
 that he loved her; but he would not say 
 the words — he would never say them again ! 
 Oh, the anguish of love withdrawn ! Noth- 
 ing can surpass the bitterness that fills a 
 woman's breast when dethroned by the 
 hand tha.t has exalted her. 
 
 " You use' to like me " She drew 
 
 near again and stroked his hand, then 
 clung to it passionately. " Don't go back 
 on me. Soph ! " 
 
 Her appeal but snapped the thread that 
 bound her quondam lover. Soph's patience 
 gave way. He shook off the clinging fin- 
 gers, saying, with brutal emphasis, " When 
 did I give you a claim on me? Tell me 
 that!" 
 
 The girl's ears rang as if from a violent 
 blow; the field of stubble seemed to rock, 
 and she was standing unsteadily; the wide 
 eyes she turned on him were unseeing in 
 their misery. 
 
 332 
 
Diantha 
 
 He glanced at her once or twice, then 
 looked past her with an uneasy laugh. 
 
 " Now don't you go to making a fuss. 
 That's always the way with you women; 
 a fellow can't go with you more'n a few 
 times without your making darned fools of 
 yourselves. I haven't went with you to 
 marry you. I haven't saw the girl yet I 
 care to marry. It ain't my intention to get 
 married for a good ten years, and I sha'n't 
 go with one girl the whole time, neither. 
 There's a-plenty of pretty girls a fellow can 
 have more fun with ; there's a darned sight 
 more," he added, growing savage at the 
 look in her eyes. 
 
 *' Come," said Soph, moving on at last. 
 " Are we goin' for Dolly, or ain't we ? " 
 
 There were no more tears ; but she could 
 not speak; she could only shake her head 
 dejectedly, conscious of nothing but the 
 most poignant suffering. 
 
 Her action still further exasperated him. 
 
 *' I don't give a fig for a girl that can't 
 
 smile and look pleasant," said he. He 
 
 kicked viciously at the stubble, then shook 
 
 himself, as if to rid his mind of the disagree- 
 
 333 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 able impression left there by having to give 
 a girl the " go-by/' and strode back to the 
 house, leaving the stricken figure down in 
 the pasture ; the cold sickness of her despair 
 closed around her. 
 
 He took Estelle to meeting, and the two 
 had a gay drive, for Soph was more than 
 usually entertaining that night. 
 
 Reports of Soph Crimp's break with 
 Diantha Bittern must have been swift and 
 far-reaching, for within a week Phil Schuy- 
 ler called — a thing he had never done be- 
 fore ; and Diantha raised her drooping head 
 and appeared with him in public at morning 
 and evening meeting ; and the young cattle- 
 man was said to be " setting in at Bit- 
 tern's." 
 
 Escorted by Phil Schuyler, Diantha went 
 to the Milligan dance ; all night she danced 
 tirelessly, often meeting Soph face to face 
 in the quadrille, and doing the figures with 
 him when it came her turn. Her spirits she 
 forced to hysterical pitch ; foremost among 
 the girls, she rushed out into the night to 
 cool hot cheeks and throbbing head; but 
 once too often. ... A keen wind had 
 334 
 
Diantha 
 
 blown up from the east ; it was the time of 
 the equinox. The air turned stinging cold, 
 the sky was veiled with gray, and long be- 
 fore morning the flakes of the first snow- 
 storm fell. 
 
 Her homeward drive chilled Diantha 
 through. Dressed as she was, she flung 
 herself on her bed, where she lay all day 
 in a feverish stupor, her only attendant 
 ignorant, careless Estelle. But when she 
 found herself unable to rouse Diantha, 
 alarm penetrated the unconcern of the girl, 
 and she set off in the storm for their mar- 
 ried sisters ; a sick child engrossed the one, 
 and in the absence of her husband the other 
 was full of care. Dan lay senseless in a 
 corner, at least doing them no harm. 
 Diantha grew restless toward night; at 
 times she was delirious, or she was wearily 
 dancing, and she moaned for Soph, the first 
 time his name had crossed her lips since 
 their parting. Estelle kept the fire burn- 
 ing and the covers on her sister ; it was all 
 she knew. By the first streak of dawn she 
 was out at the stable, harnessing Dolly ; she 
 would go for Dr. Peffer. It had cleared; 
 335 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 two inches of snow lay on the ground* and 
 there was a January sting in the air. The 
 seven-mile drive to Arrowhead was a severe 
 trip for six o'clock of a cold morning, 
 though Dolly travelled well. 
 
 Dr. Peffer's office-door was open, and 
 the doctor himself stood looking out at the 
 weather. Cicely Atwood's words best de- 
 scribed him : " He's a little man, awful neat, 
 an' he has little bits of hands like Ruth 
 Wood's." 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, in a rasping, 
 high-pitched voice, as the girl pulled her 
 horse to its haunches before his door. 
 "Who's sick now?" 
 
 *' My sister. She's took bad." 
 
 " Let me see — what's your name — Bit- 
 tern?" 
 
 " Yep." For her life Estelle could not 
 keep back the saucy reply. 
 
 The doctor drew out his pen-knife and 
 opened it, looking over his well-kept finger- 
 nails in search of one to trim. 
 
 " Your father owes me six dollars. When 
 does he intend paying that little bill ? " 
 
 Estelle's eyes snapped. " When he gets 
 336 
 
Diantha 
 
 read " she began, but stopped herself. 
 
 " He aims to pay you, all right, Dr. Peffer. 
 But my sister's right sick and you're want- 
 ed bad ; I come a-purpose to git you ; she's 
 been a-talkin' out of her head all night." 
 
 " When a bill's owing me," returned the 
 doctor, paring a finger-nail with great 
 nicety, " I make it a rule to suspend my 
 services until it is paid." He shut the knife 
 with emphasis and put it in his pocket, look- 
 ing fixedly at the girl in the cart to note the 
 effect of his words. 
 
 Estelle's face had looked blue and 
 pinched when she first drew up ; now it was 
 blazing with color. 
 
 " Pa's sure aimin' to pay you agin he gits 
 his 'taters sold." 
 
 *' Sorry I can't oblige you, my girl.'* 
 
 Estelle gave Dolly a cut intended for the 
 doctor, screaming, as the snow flew from 
 the spinning wheels of her cart, " Arrow- 
 head's the ugliest town of men I ever see, 
 an' you're the ugHest man in it! Git up, 
 git up, there ! " 
 
 Mrs. Bunt and her daughter Polly visited 
 the sick girl. 
 
 337 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " Dianthy ain't long fur this world, pore 
 soul," was the good woman's report. 
 " She's took down with the noomony. I 
 knowed what were the matter of her as soon 
 as ever I laid eyes on her. Thur ain't no- 
 body to look after her but that thur flighty 
 Stelle. Stelle, she means all right — she do 
 keers more fur Dianthy than what she lets 
 on to ; she's got more heart to her than ary 
 one of them sisters of hern what's married 
 to them Milliganses, but she don't know 
 the first thing about keerin' fur sick folks. 
 It takes women folks that's had some ex- 
 periments of nursin' to pull a body through 
 the noomony. That thur's a disease that's 
 awful quick to kill in this hyur climate. Now 
 they all say I'm a borned nurse, if I do say 
 it myself. 'F I had the 'tendin' of Dianthy 
 I'd have her up on her stumps afore she 
 knowed whur she was. But like's not she 
 wouldn't stay thur; she's the limbliest 
 thing ! When Stelle had the noomony two 
 year back — she were took down in potato- 
 plantin' — the noomony's more like to kill 
 in potato-diggin' — she fit fur her life like a 
 wild-cat. It were no time at all till she were 
 338 
 
Diantha 
 
 up agin, sassy as ever. But Dianthy ain't 
 got no fight in her ; an' it's a-goin' to be agin 
 her gittin' up. 'Pears like she don't keers 
 none whether she ever gits around agin or 
 not. She 'pears Hke she were about played 
 out on life sence her 'n' Soph quit keepin' 
 comp'ny awhiles back. I've clean wore out 
 all the patience I ever had on that girl, see- 
 in' her so took up with him. It ain't ben 
 nothin' but Soph this an' Soph that an' 
 Soph 'tother, goin' on three yur now. She 
 ain't got no backbone to her; she's too 
 tender-hearted to live ; she might's well die 
 as live — a little better; thur ain't no place 
 on this yearth fur a girl 'thout ary a back- 
 bone to her make-up ; folks ain't got no use 
 fur sich. Dianthy, she ain't got no friends 
 no more but them Wood girls an' a lot of 
 hobos. Them Wood girls dotes on Dian- 
 thy ; they don't know a flip girl when they 
 see one. 
 
 " Thur paw, he's cleared out. Folks do 
 say he's that feared of death you couldn't 
 hire him to stay around whur thur's a bad 
 case of sickness, fur fear it might eend that- 
 a-way. They say when he come to hisself 
 339 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 after his last drunk, an' see Dianthy out of 
 her head, he clapped on his hat an' lit out, 
 an' he ain't ben seen or hearn of sence. 
 I'm wilHn' to bet anything on our claim 
 that man's in Oldtown on a spree. An' he 
 don't aim to come home, neither, till Di- 
 anthy's up an' around or in her grave." 
 
 All Windy Creek was agog with curiosity 
 when Hermia Wood went to take care of 
 the invalid. Without doctor and without 
 medicine, hers was no light task. The sick- 
 room lacked every convenience ; wood must 
 be split to keep the fire going, water hauled 
 by sled from a well half a mile distant ; there 
 was no food in the house, but potatoes were 
 to be had for the digging, and a cow and 
 chickens straggled about. Strength, pa- 
 tience, sympathy, were needful in the self- 
 imposed nurse. Hermia, a novice yet, 
 sometimes yielding to discouragement, 
 sometimes carried away by too sanguine 
 hope, gave what she could; and defiance 
 of the doctor spurred Estelle to faithful 
 drudgery. 
 
 A frequent caller was Mrs. Bunt. She 
 gave freely of her supply of patent reme- 
 340 
 
Diantha 
 
 dies, and reminded Hermia that " nursin' 
 were a powerful teedjous job." The married 
 sisters came, unloading all their children, 
 and went away complaining when ousted 
 by the jealous nurse. 
 
 The frail body was racked with pain ; but 
 the mind of the sick girl was even more 
 shaken. The long struggle to hold up her 
 head and look her little world in the face, 
 that no eye might see her mortal hurt, had 
 ceased, and the reaction was sad to see. 
 There had fallen upon her a great weari- 
 ness of her Hfe ; the simple joy in existence 
 was gone ; the radiant dreams of her wom- 
 an's destiny had been swept away, leaving 
 her life barren and joyless. She suffered, 
 nothing soothed; she was tired, yet found 
 no rest; she was heavy, dull, stupid, yet 
 sleep forsook her; a drowse often caught 
 her away from those around her, but, doz- 
 ing, a numbing misery oppressed her; 
 waking, she followed with languid gaze the 
 figure at her bedside, dully wondering why 
 it should put her to so much trouble; she 
 was weakly impatient of it; all she asked 
 was to be let alone, to close her eyes, to 
 give up the fight. 
 
 341 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 To the watcher's earthly vision it was 
 plain that the weary soul was longing for 
 release; it seemed infinitely better that 
 Diantha should be at rest. Even while 
 striving to knit together repellant body and 
 soul, she caught herself sending up a prayer 
 that the pitying Father might take the tired 
 child home ; and she marvelled at her own 
 inconsistency. 
 
 The night was wearing away. Estelle, 
 across the other bed, had fallen fast asleep. 
 A sense of loneliness and helplessness crept 
 over Hermia as with pained ear she listened 
 to the uneven breathing of her patient, now 
 quickened and heavy, now dying away un- 
 til scarcely perceptible. If the unknown 
 journey should begin to-night there would 
 be no interval of consciousness at the pass- 
 ing of the soul; if awake at the starting, 
 she would still have no fear, because so ig- 
 norant. She had been so harmless, so in- 
 oflfensive while on this earth; her greatest 
 sin was ignorance ; would she wander unen- 
 lightened in the spirit-world as she had in 
 this, or would the path be smoothed for her 
 stumbling, childish feet ? Oh, have pity on 
 342 
 
. Diantha 
 
 this young soul, denied earth's sweetness, 
 wrung with earth's bitterness, spent with 
 earth's struggle! 
 
 So praying, the watcher, tired out, lost 
 herself in dreams; and when she awoke 
 Diantha was sleeping quietly. 
 
 Inexplicable to human mind the decree 
 of Heaven : rest refused the jaded feet that 
 had not trodden out their span of Hfe ; pass- 
 age to an existence less obscure denied the 
 groping, darkened soul not tried enough by 
 fire. Diantha, reluctant, turned away her 
 face from the unseen to work out anew the 
 problem of her life. 
 
 The convalescence was a weary time, for 
 the invalid was low in her spirits. No lady 
 of high degree could have been more ret- 
 icent concerning her love affair than Dian- 
 tha, yet, in desultory talk with her nurse 
 one day, she let fall the remark that she did 
 love blue eyes, and she liked right light 
 brown hair; and there was a note in her 
 voice that told Hermia her thoughts still 
 dwelt on the possessor of these charms, the 
 beloved idol than whom no image of stone 
 343 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 could be more callous to the worship of 
 humble suppliant. 
 
 Nurse and patient whiled away an hour 
 looking over Diantha's treasures hoarded 
 in an old cigar-box. In turning over the 
 picture-cards and foolish valentines, the 
 peppermint hearts with printed love-mot- 
 toes, and other trifles, the listless fingers 
 closed lovingly round a half-smoked cig- 
 arette. And a tintype, gazed at long, with 
 no other comment than a sigh, arrested 
 Hermia, who fancied she could trace in one 
 of the young fellows, rigged out in cow- 
 boy toggery, the features of Soph Crimp — 
 the chin was certainly very like. There was 
 a daguerreotype of Diantha's mother, long 
 dead — a likeness of the sweet-faced girl 
 who, in wedding Dan Bittern, had cast up- 
 on a villain's mercy yet other young, tender 
 lives than her own. 
 
 On the day that Diantha first left her bed 
 and sat wrapped up in a quilt, so wan, so 
 worn, so hollow-eyed, Polly Bunt called to 
 see her friend. She assured the invalid that 
 she were lookin' awful bad — like she were 
 goin* into a gallopin' consumption. She 
 344 
 
Diantha 
 
 chatted of the last dance, and discussed, in 
 all its details, Rose Rooney's error. And 
 then she said — all the while eying Diantha 
 narrowly — that Soph Crimp had took Miss 
 Bliss out ridin' in his cart last Sunday, and 
 that he had took her to church in the even- 
 ing; that he went with her regular now, 
 and it were all over that them two was 
 engaged. The sick girl closed her eyes, but 
 in her weakness the tears forced a way out 
 and slid down her still face. And Polly 
 went her way to tell how Diantha were takin' 
 on awful over Soph's keepin' company with 
 Miss Bliss. 
 
 A neighbor now and then dropped in, or 
 a girl friend. But all Diantha's old flames 
 seemed to have been allured away, for none 
 came to call. A round-up had carried off 
 Phil Schuyler to the Divide; but she, not 
 knowing the cause of his absence, thought 
 him as inconstant as the rest. 
 
 It is a serious thing — totally to discour- 
 age the young and the ignorant. Thrown 
 back on herself and deeply disheartened, 
 Diantha dwelt on one idea, until, on the 
 day that Ruth came to take Hermia home, 
 345 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 she, clinging to her nurse, gave utterance to 
 her brooding thoughts. She was tired of 
 Windy Creek; she wanted to work out; 
 would they look her up a place when they 
 went back to the Springs? She knew she 
 could do that kind of work, and she would 
 soon be about again, as strong as ever. 
 
 What could the cousins do but promise 
 to make the search? They left Diantha 
 buoyed up by one desperate hope. A diffi- 
 cult quest it was, for ideal mistresses, will- 
 ing to overlook all the disqualifications of 
 such a girl as Diantha, and in all kindness 
 and forbearance to take her from the be- 
 ginning and train her for a servant, were 
 rare indeed. 
 
 His superstitious fears allayed, Dan Bit- 
 tern came home almost a maniac from 
 drunkenness and carousing ; and the tidings 
 of his latest outrage flashed from claim to 
 claim. On the dark, cold night of his re- 
 turn, he chased his two defenceless girls a 
 mile across the prairie, at every step threat- 
 ening to kill them, nor quitting his pursuit 
 until both took refuge with their sister 
 Malvina. His daughters had him arrested. 
 346 
 
Diantha 
 
 He was taken before the constable of the 
 little town of Arrowhead, where Mr. Crimp 
 appeared as his lawyer, bringing all his 
 rusty eloquence to bear upon the case; it 
 is needless to say the prisoner was ac- 
 quitted. 
 
 While his homeless girls stayed at Mal- 
 vina Milligan's, Dan, unmolested, kept soli- 
 tary possession of his claim. 
 
 Young Schuyler, in the meantime, came 
 home from the round-up, and now and then 
 " went with " Diantha. 
 
 About this time a letter came by post to 
 the friends of Diantha: an effectual re- 
 minder of her distress, if they had needed 
 such. Although written in the stiff, fettered 
 style of the illiterate, the cry of the im- 
 patient heart somehow made itself felt be- 
 tween the lines. 
 
 "Arrowhead, Colorado, October nth. 
 "Dear Friend Ruth and Hermia, 
 
 " I Take my Pen in hand to let you know that I 
 am well and hoping to find you the same. 
 
 " We have all the corn gethered. Estelle is 
 helping Malvina and I am helping Joel husking 
 corn. 
 
 347 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " Have you found eny Lady yet that wants a Girl 
 please see if you can get me a place and I will 
 come down right off. 
 
 " I am tired of the ranche I want to stay in 
 Town for awhile for a schange. 
 
 ** I havent eny more to say so I will bring my 
 letter to a close. 
 
 ** From your Friend 
 
 " Miss Diantha, Bittern." 
 
 "Write soon." 
 
 But two days after the coming of the 
 letter, the good woman who was to develop 
 Diantha's good points and bear with her 
 faults was found. 
 
 The cousins dispatched to Arrowhead an 
 answering letter, with directions to the girl 
 to come at once. During these two days, 
 however, affairs in the country had not been 
 at a standstill. 
 
 It was ten o'clock in the morning when 
 Malvina Milligan stepped out to the corn- 
 crib to call Diantha. There was an un- 
 wonted quickening in her spiritless drawl. 
 
 " Dianthy ! Hyur's somebody come to see 
 ye. Better slick yourself up, first. He's in 
 the livin' room." 
 
 Diantha's heart gave a leap, then fluttered 
 348 
 
DIantha 
 
 in a sickening way. She rose from her 
 knees, brushing the dust and bits of dried 
 corn-silk from the front of her dress. Could 
 
 it be ? No, the dusty little bronco at 
 
 the gate was none of the Crimp's ; she did 
 not remember seeing it before. In the 
 kitchen she laid aside her shawl and washed 
 her hands, reddened and bruised from the 
 nature of her work, and saw in the glass a 
 pale face, thinner than of old, the sweet 
 lips quivering wath excitement and weak- 
 ness. She smoothed her hair and stepped 
 into the next room. 
 
 A young man got up, awkwardly scraping 
 his chair across the bare floor ; it was Dick 
 Mace; he shook her unresisting hand. 
 
 " Howdy, Dianthy. How's your health ? " 
 
 " Tolerable. Take a cheer, Dick." Her 
 voice trembled; it was a disappointment; 
 she had half expected to see Phil Schuyler. 
 Feeling faint and sick, she sank into a 
 chair. 
 
 " Ain't seed you fur quite a spell. You're 
 looking poor — what they have been a-doin' 
 to you, Dianthy ? " 
 
 Diantha flushed under the implied pity of 
 look and words. 
 
 349 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 " I was down sick fur awhile, but I'm 
 right peart now." 
 
 " A good lookin' girl like you hadn't 
 oughter get poor," said Dick, looking her 
 admiringly in the face. He hitched his chair 
 nearer. He was not a bad-looking fellow, 
 when sober; he was young, not more than 
 twenty-three ; but he had a weak chin, and 
 early dissipation had dulled the lustre of his 
 eyes. 
 
 " I reckon you're s'prised at me fur comin' 
 to see you," he began, hurriedly. " It was 
 your fault I come back, Dianthy. Last time 
 I seed you, I said I wouldn't plague you no 
 more, and I ain't come to plague you now — 
 leastways not to hurt ; your pa don't know 
 nothin' about me comin' to ask you, so 
 there's nobody to touch you if you say no. 
 I come on my own hook this time; I'm 
 livin' on my claim over to Brierly, an' I 
 want a woman to put on it. I heerd you 
 was goin' with Phil Schuyler. I'd hate fur 
 you to be his woman ; I reckoned it wouldn't 
 do no hurt fur me to come up an' see you 
 about it. 
 
 " I ain't got nothin' agin you fur not 
 350 
 
Diantha 
 
 wantin' to dance with me when I was full. 
 It was my fool way of doin' ; let by-gones 
 be by-gones, says I. I thought you was 
 awful gritty to hold out agin yur pa like 
 you done ; I liked you all the better fur it. 
 
 " What do you think about us gittin' mar- 
 ried, Dianthy? It would please me awful 
 to go back to the claim man and wife." 
 
 Diantha hesitated, a " no '' trembling on 
 her lips. Keenly alive to the indignity of 
 being given the " go-by," a disgrace only 
 to be wiped out by an immediate and deci- 
 sive stroke of marriage, wedlock, formerly 
 her one ambition and the climax of her girl- 
 hood, was now her panacea, the remedy of 
 all her ills. An offer of marriage had come; 
 the chance was hers ; and uncertainty made 
 her as sick over her offer as she had been 
 without one. If only it had come from Phil 
 Schuyler! She would have married him 
 in a moment had he asked her; for she 
 liked him. But her homeless state and un- 
 certain future, two grim spectres, stared her 
 in the face and crowded back the faltering 
 rejection. 
 
 She pressed her hand to her head : " Wait 
 351 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 a minute, Dick; I 'low I'll go out chur in 
 the yard whur I kin think." 
 
 She would go to Estelle and talk it over 
 with her. Estelle would help her think. 
 Her head whirled so; Estelle alius was so 
 stiddy-headed. 
 
 Dick Mace tipped back his chair and slid 
 his hands into his pockets, and waited, 
 whistling ; he was confident of success. 
 
 Without, Diantha was being hurried to 
 her fate. Her sister Malvina met her at the 
 corner of the house. The girl leaned for 
 support against the shed-kitchen, her knees 
 trembling, a white line about her twitching 
 mouth. 
 
 " D'ye want to be a old maid, Dianthy? " 
 
 It was the fretful insistence of the theme 
 she most dreaded. 
 
 " I 'low you will be if you don't take him," 
 said Malvina, jerking her head toward the 
 house. 
 
 " I an' Phil Schuyler's keepin' comp'ny, 
 Viny ; I aim to marry him some day." 
 
 " Yes, if he asks you ! I see him askin' 
 you! He's playin' off with you like that 
 Soph Crimp done. Thur ain't no man in 
 352 
 
Diantha 
 
 these parts is goin' to ask you to marry 
 them : d'ye want to know why ? " 
 
 Diantha winced. 
 
 " You're too old, that's why, 'most 
 twenty-one, an' not married yit, nor even 
 engaged to be. It ain't decent fur a girl 
 to act like you. Shame on you ! " and Mal- 
 vina made the gesture with her forefingers 
 that children make when they call down 
 shame on a culprit. " Old maid's what 
 everybody's callin' you now; 'gainst Phil's 
 done goin' with you, you'll be a old maid 
 past askin' fur, like them Wood girls." 
 
 Estelle burst out from the shed where she 
 had been eaves-dropping. 
 
 " Don't you go listen to that old cat, Di ! 
 Phil's all right. He'll ask you next dance, 
 see if he don't." 
 
 " Shet yourself, you sassy thing ! If 
 Dianthy ain't got the sense to git her a man 
 others has got to hustle fur her." 
 
 Malvina paused, turning over in her cal- 
 lous, passionless mind the most forceful 
 argument to thrust Diantha to a decision. 
 "We can't keep you no longer, Dianthy. 
 You've got to pack up an' quit this hyur 
 353 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 claim. I an' Joel's too poor to keep a old 
 maid on charity." 
 
 " Scat ! " said Estelle, making a face. 
 
 Faint and muffled came Diantha's tones. 
 
 "Them Wood girls, they've give thur 
 word to look me up a place in the Springs 
 to work out. I ain't meanin' to live off 
 you an' Joel fur long. I'm right sure I do 
 all I kin fur my keep, Viny." 
 
 *' You work out ! You'd be back on my 
 hands inside of a week. City folks ain't 
 agoin' to resk thur work on a girl that ain't 
 worth thur keep. Nobody'U have you ! " 
 
 Diantha turned and wavered ; opened her 
 lips to speak and shut them; and started 
 for the house. But Estelle, springing after 
 her, threw her arms around her neck and 
 held her in a fierce embrace. " Don't, Di ! 
 don't do it, Di ! " 
 
 " You'll be a old maid," said Malvina, 
 with dull reiteration, " if you don't take 
 Dick." 
 
 Diantha untwined the clinging arms. 
 
 Hard lines were stamped about her mouth, 
 
 and the tension of her features gave them 
 
 an expression of unwonted firmness. She 
 
 354 
 
Diantha 
 
 brushed her little sister's brown cheek with 
 her lips, and passed into the house. 
 
 In the living room beyond she stood face 
 to face with Dick. 
 
 " I'm willin' to marry you, Dick," said 
 
 she. 
 
 • ••••.• 
 
 The one o'clock train due at Arrowhead 
 already shook the ground with its heavy 
 pounding. Lounging in the door-way of 
 his little office, the justice of the peace 
 whistled abstractedly as he gazed across 
 at two figures waiting on the platform. A 
 cow-boy half across the street reined up, 
 sharply ; a slouching brim shaded his face, 
 and spurs clanked on his boot-heels. Like 
 an automaton he sat his restive horse, gazing 
 transfixed at the apparition of Diantha in 
 her soiled white dress, her worn little 
 satchel carried in one hand, with the other 
 clinging to the arm of Penitentiary Dick. 
 As in a dream, young Schuyler saw him 
 grasp her arm to assist her up the steps — 
 it was her first experience of a railway train 
 — saw their swift recognition of himself, 
 noted Dick's backward look of triumph, the 
 355 
 
Windy Creek 
 
 cloud of disappointment gather in her eyes, 
 heard the grinding of the wheels, the clang- 
 ing of the bell as the train swept away; 
 and awoke from dreaming in time to see 
 the girl for whom he had waited three 
 years, snatched from him by another. 
 
 356 
 
\o .i^yoo