PZ 
 
 3 
 
 A358 
 
 By 
 
 1899 
 MAIN 
 
 THE 
 PANSY 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OP 
 
 \CAtlFO8NIA 
 
By W^ay of the 
 v- Wilderness 
 
Drawn by Charlotte JJardiiiy. 
 
 WAYNE AND ENID. 
 Now can t I have a keepsake ? " he said. 
 
 (Seepage^.} 
 
BY WAY of The 
 WILDERNESS * 
 
 BY "PANST" (MRS. G. R. ALDEN) 
 AND MRS. C. M. LIVINGSTONE 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 4 
 
 BOSTON 
 LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 
 
^ PANSY ^ 
 
 TRADE-MARK 
 
 Registered in U. S. Patent Office. 
 
 LOAN STACK 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY 
 LOTHROP PUBLISHING 
 COMPANY * * * * 
 
5 
 
 Contents. 
 
 Chapter 
 
 
 Page 
 
 T 
 
 
 
 J. 
 
 II. 
 
 He meant to be Good . . 
 
 24 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 TV 
 
 
 
 1 V 
 
 V. 
 
 
 65 
 
 
 
 VT 
 
 
 78 
 
 V 1. 
 
 VII. 
 
 A Fateful Letter .... 
 
 . 92 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The " Upper Deestrict " 
 
 . 106 
 
 IX. 
 
 I might be a Fool " . 
 
 . 119 
 
 X. 
 
 " Wayne Lorimer Pierson " . 
 
 . 132 
 
 XI. 
 
 "Bethune Breckenridge Armitagc" . 
 
 144 
 
 XII. 
 
 The Way Out .... 
 
 157 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Progress, and Problems . . 
 
 . 172 
 
 XIV. 
 
 "Sarah" 
 
 . 186 
 
 XV. 
 
 " Do you really mean it ? " 
 
 200 
 
 XVI. 
 
 A Counterfeiter s State of Mind 
 
 . 215 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Educating a Conscience . 
 
 . 229 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Conscience Salve .... 
 
 . 242 
 
 XIX. 
 
 "Who is Sarah Jane?" . 
 
 . 256 
 
 XX. 
 
 The Demands of Decency 
 
 . 271 
 
 By 
 
 766 
 
Contents. 
 
 Chapter 
 XXI. 
 
 Whither? 
 
 Page 
 . 286 
 
 XXII. 
 
 A Land not Inhabited . . 
 
 2 99 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 "I will fear no Evil" 
 
 3 12 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 A Weary Way .... 
 
 325 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " All that is left of him " . 
 
 339 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 By the Way of Peace . 
 
 353 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " The Lord thy God hath led thee " 
 
 . 366 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " By a way that they know not " . 
 
 . 380 
 
By U^ay of the 
 
 fr Wilderness 
 
By Way of the 
 Wilderness. 
 
 Revelations. 
 
 IT was in the dawn of a winter morning 
 that Wayne Pierson was awakened by a 
 kiss softly laid upon his forehead. He 
 opened his eyes to see his father, dressed 
 in a new gray suit, valise in hand, bending over 
 him. 
 
 "Why, father, are you going away ? " Wayne 
 asked, wide awake in an instant. 
 
 " Oh, I didn t mean to waken you, my boy, 
 but I wanted to give you a good-by kiss. I 
 am going on a little journey that I have no 
 time to tell you about. Aunt Crete will ex 
 plain. I trust you, Wayne, to be a good brave 
 boy, and believe that your father thinks he is 
 acting for the best good of all concerned, how 
 ever it may seem to you. Good-by." 
 
 9 
 
By JVay of the Wilderness. 
 
 The father stooped and kissed his boy again, 
 while Wayne clasped both arms about his neck 
 and held him close. 
 
 The boy lay still for a few minutes after his 
 father had left him, thinking over those words 
 about trusting him. Of course, he would always 
 believe that his father did just right. 
 
 "Perhaps," he said to himself, "father 
 thought I acted vexed yesterday when he 
 wouldn t let me go sailing; I wish I had said 
 that I wasn t, and that he s all right every 
 time. I can t think why he told me to be 
 brave, just now. Is anything going to happen 
 to me, I wonder ? " Whereupon he bethought 
 himself to get up and ask Aunt Crete for an 
 explanation. 
 
 Just then his eyes fell upon a picture hanging 
 at the foot of his bed. He had not noticed 
 it the night before. He remembered now that 
 when he went to bed the moon shone into his 
 room so brightly that he had not lighted the 
 gas. It was a full-size head done in water 
 colors. So lifelike that the blue eyes and 
 lovely mouth seemed to smile down at the 
 boy, who gave it a long, worshipful look, won 
 dering greatly, the while, why it had been taken 
 from the library. It was a delight to have it 
 in his room, but why had it been given to him? 
 His father liked that picture better than any of 
 the others. Tears came into the boy s eyes as 
 
 10 
 
Revelations. 
 
 he gazed, and thought what a heaven of joy it 
 would be if his mother had indeed come into 
 his room once more from that long journey 
 whence, he well knew, there is no returning. 
 Only a little over a year since she went away, 
 his beautiful mother. 
 
 It seemed long ago in one sense, yet her 
 words and tones and looks were vivid as ever. 
 He turned away suddenly and made a rush for 
 the dining room. 
 
 " Aunt Crete, where has father gone, and 
 when will he be back ? " 
 
 Miss Lucretia Pierson, Mr. Pierson s elder 
 sister, who had guided his household since his 
 wife s death, turned a pair of keen gray eyes 
 upon her nephew, and studied his face for a 
 moment, to discover if she could whether 
 the boy had any suspicions that this was a 
 journey out of the common order, before she 
 answered. 
 
 " Your father has gone to Massachusetts on 
 important business ; and I think he expects to 
 be gone two or three weeks/ 
 
 " So long ! " and Wayne s eager face shad 
 owed. 
 
 "Well," he said, after a moment, "father 
 said you would tell me all about it ; that he 
 hadn t time. What is there to tell ? " 
 
 " Wait till after breakfast," Aunt Crete said, 
 willing to postpone her communications as long 
 
 1 1 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 as possible. " We can t talk over family mat 
 ters very well while Ann is coming and going 
 with the waffles." 
 
 No sooner was breakfast over than Aunt Crete 
 was hurried to the library by her impatient 
 nephew, whose eyes were at once observant 
 of certain changes in the room, especially that 
 a fine oil painting of a sunset scene hung in 
 the place of his mother s picture. 
 
 " Aunt Crete, what does this mean ? Why 
 was my mother s picture taken from here ? It 
 was the prettiest picture in the room." The 
 boy s tone expressed grief and a suggestion of 
 indignation. 
 
 " Well," began Aunt Crete, after an aggra- 
 vatingly long pause, " that s a part of the whole 
 story." Then she added grimly, half to her 
 self, " I do wish your father would tell his own 
 secrets, and not leave it for me to do." 
 
 " Secrets ! I like secrets ; go on ! tell quick, 
 please." Wayne was in a quiver of excitement. 
 
 Aunt Crete s hair was sprinkled with gray, 
 and she had passed through many trying ex 
 periences, but this was one of the " hard spots," 
 needing more tact and wisdom than she pos 
 sessed. She drew the boy down beside her on the 
 couch, and began in a voice that sounded strange 
 even to herself. 
 
 " Wayne, did you never guess, not one little 
 bit, that changes are coming to this house ? " 
 12 
 
Revelations. 
 
 " Changes ? What can you mean, Aunt 
 Crete ? The very worst thing that could 
 happen to this house has come already. You 
 and father are not going to die, too, are you ? " 
 
 " Did it never enter my boy s mind that he 
 might, sometime, have a new mother ? " 
 
 " A new mother ! Nobody can have but one 
 real mother. Do you mean a j/^mother? " 
 with ominous emphasis on that word " step." 
 "Aunt Crete, you must be joking. Tell me 
 the whole truth right out in plain words/ 
 
 " Well, then, here it is. Your father is going 
 to marry a Mrs. Hamilton of Boston. He 
 has gone there now, for that purpose ; he will 
 bring her home with him, and she will be your 
 new mother or stepmother." 
 
 There it was, plain and hard. Aunt Crete s 
 soul writhed in pain for the boy, though she 
 gave no outward sign. If only he were one 
 of those careless rollicking fellows who would 
 forget all about it in ten minutes, and bound 
 away with a laugh and a whistle ! but he was 
 not. He would brood over it in solitude ; his 
 intense nature would be stirred to its depths, 
 and he might become rebellious, or morbid and 
 gloomy. The boy s face had grown white as 
 his aunt talked, and his eyes glowed with 
 something like anger as he asked : 
 
 " Did did my father take my mother s 
 picture out of the library ? " 
 
 3 
 
By J^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 "No," Aunt Crete assured him, " I did that; 
 I thought you would like it to be in your room 
 after this." 
 
 " A stepmother ! " the boy groaned, as if in 
 that word he had sounded the depths of all 
 misery. " Somebody else in mother s place ! 
 How could father do it? I can t! I won t 
 stand it ! I wont ! " 
 
 And then this boy, with the instincts of a 
 man, rushed away to his room ; he must be 
 alone with his sorrow and his anger. It is 
 pitiful to see boyish lips compressed, and youth 
 ful brows drawn with mental pain. Aunt Crete 
 suffered with this boy. She said to herself, as 
 he dashed away : 
 
 " Yes, I ve made a mess of it ! I knew I 
 would. It does seem a strange state of things, 
 I declare. The fact is, it is downright cruelty 
 to that child, and nothing else. Men are 
 queer ! " 
 
 Then Aunt Crete fell to congratulating her 
 self that she was as " the angels in heaven," 
 knowing nothing, by personal experience, of 
 this most mysterious troublous ordinance 
 marriage. 
 
 Wayne had believed himself to be getting 
 too old to cry ; but once in his room, hot tears 
 and fierce sobs had their way. 
 
 So that was what his father had meant when 
 he spoke to him about being brave ! Certainly 
 
 H 
 
Revelations. 
 
 he did need courage to face such an awful 
 trial. The bitterest drop in his cup was the 
 feeling that his mother was forgotten. Some 
 body else was to come into that house, and live 
 in her room and use her things ! And father 
 was willing to have even mother s picture put 
 out of his sight ! He must have known about 
 it, and bought that handsome new one to take 
 its place. It was dreadful to be angry with 
 father, but he was ! The more the poor boy 
 thought about it, the fiercer his anger burned. 
 He recalled his father s words that morning. 
 Was it only that morning? It seemed to 
 him that he had heard the news weeks ago 
 " Believe that your father thinks he is acting 
 for the best good of all concerned/ 
 
 How could it be possible that this horrible 
 thing about to happen could be for the good 
 of anybody in that house ? 
 
 "I won t stand it! I ll go away, some 
 where ! " he declared in frenzy, as he got up 
 and paced the floor after the manner of an 
 excited man. " I 11 pack my trunk this minute 
 and be off* before they can get here." 
 
 He rushed toward the hall door, intent 
 upon bringing his trunk at once from the attic, 
 but as he went, something stopped him. It 
 was what had often checked him before, his 
 mother s eyes. When she was living, it had 
 often needed but a look from her to set right 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 his wayward spirit. It seemed to the boy that 
 she beckoned him now, to stop ; he fancied he 
 could hear her voice : 
 
 " Take care, mother s boy ! keep the reins 
 steady. Don t let that temper of yours run 
 away with you. Try to bear it patiently." 
 
 "Oh, mother! mother!" he broke into a 
 passionate cry, "I can t, I cant! It will kill 
 me. Oh, if I only could die ! " 
 
 He meant it, this poor boy, just as much as 
 we older ones, when with every nerve tense 
 with anger or sorrow we wish ourselves dead. 
 Yet as he looked into those eyes and longed 
 for his mother s presence, his fierce mood 
 insensibly softened. On the bureau near 
 where he stood was a box where he treasured 
 little keepsakes of his mother. As he opened 
 it now, and brought them out, tears rained 
 over his face. There was a pair of light 
 gloves that she had last worn, shaped to her 
 hands ; how well he remembered those hands, 
 small and white and plump. A fine lace- 
 edged handkerchief with a faint violet odor 
 clinging to it, and a light blue satin ribbon 
 that she used to wear about her neck. They 
 brought vividly before him the fair sweet 
 mother with loving eyes. He had other 
 mementoes of her ; costly ones, of gold, and 
 silver, and precious stones, but none of them 
 brought her warm tender presence, like those 
 16 
 
Revelations. 
 
 which the imaginative boy had secured for his 
 own. 
 
 When Aunt Crete came in search of her 
 boy, he was lying on the lounge, asleep, and 
 the hand which pillowed his cheek held his 
 mother s handkerchief and gloves. 
 
 " Sleeping for sorrow ! " Aunt Crete mur 
 mured, and she went out softly. 
 
 In the library that evening the boy sat alone 
 in the twilight, still engaged in puzzling his 
 young brain over life and its mysteries. It 
 was there that his aunt found him, and he be 
 gan at once : 
 
 " Aunt Crete, I wish you would explain one 
 thing to me. Why isn t it just as hard for 
 father to put somebody else into mother s 
 place as it is for me ? " 
 
 Aunt Crete was silent for a whole minute. 
 The truth was, the same perplexing question 
 had come to her, but she had dismissed it as 
 belonging to the mysteries of that mystic sac 
 rament marriage, of which she could not be 
 supposed to have knowledge. How should 
 she be able to explain to the boy ? 
 
 At last she said : " My dear boy, don t you 
 know there are a good many things that 
 puzzle wiser heads than yours ? When you 
 get to be a great scientist, try to unravel some 
 of these knotty points. Perhaps your father 
 would say that the fact of his having been very 
 
By Tf^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 happy with your mother, was an excellent 
 reason for marrying again : because he missed 
 such companionship, and was unhappy and 
 desolate without it." 
 
 " But he had us ; why wasn t that enough ? 
 O Aunt Crete, you will always live here, 
 won t you ? " 
 
 He asked the question eagerly, and hung 
 upon her answer. Here was another " hard 
 spot." It seemed impossible to tell him that 
 she must go away as soon as his father re 
 turned, but it had to be done. 
 
 He bore it better than she had feared, the 
 greater trouble having dulled his heart to all 
 lesser ones ; but he murmured desolately that 
 he could never get on without her, and begged 
 her to change her mind and stay. 
 
 " No," she said firmly, " I shall not be ex 
 pected to stay. This is not my home, you 
 know ; I only came because your father needed 
 me, and he will not need me any more." 
 
 " Perhaps he will not need me any more, 
 either," said Wayne, with slow bitterness ; " I 
 wish I could go away. I ll tell you what, 
 Aunt Crete, I ll come and live with you ! 
 Why, we can have jolly times ! " 
 
 Boy-like, for the moment he forgot his 
 wretchedness, and his face lighted with a new 
 hope. Aunt Crete s heart went out with a great 
 longing to the dear boy whose eyes looked so 
 
 18 
 
Revelations. 
 
 wistfully into hers. She would have asked no 
 greater joy in life than to have been able to 
 take him to her heart and home ; but she must 
 not feed him upon false hopes, and her tone 
 told nothing of her heart. 
 
 " There are several reasons why we can t do 
 that. In the first place, we shouldn t have 
 anything to live on ; I haven t much in the 
 world besides the old house, and I live a long 
 way from any good school. But the chief 
 reason is, that your father would never consent 
 to it. He wants his boy with him." 
 
 " Does he ? If he cares for me, why does 
 he go and do something that I just hate and 
 despise ! " 
 
 The passionate look that his aunt hated to 
 see, came into his face again. She feared a 
 stormy life for this sensitive highly organized 
 temperament. 
 
 " We were happy together," continued Wayne, 
 "as happy as we could be, without mother; and 
 now it is all spoiled. A stranger coming in her 
 place, and you gone ! I shall get into all sorts 
 of trouble, I know I shall. She ll want me to 
 do things that I won t do, and then there ll be 
 trouble with father. You don t seem to under 
 stand how hard it is going to be for me." 
 
 How little he guessed what depths of tender 
 ness were hidden behind Aunt Crete s calm face 
 and business-like ways ; neither could he see 
 
By IVay of the W^ilderness. 
 
 the tears on her cheeks, for the twilight had 
 deepened into darkness as they talked. 
 
 " Come and sit here by me/ she said pres 
 ently, " I want to give you a little lecture. I 
 can do it better in the dark; then if you look 
 cross, I shall not know it. Wayne, when you 
 were on the banks of the St. Lawrence last 
 summer, if you had seen a boy in a sail-boat 
 steering toward the rapids as fast as he could 
 go, and there was no one to warn him, you 
 would surely have shouted and signalled to him 
 that he was in danger, wouldn t you ? Now, I 
 see whirlpools ahead for you, and I m going to 
 warn you. Wayne, dear, one need not go over 
 the rapids to wreck his life. 
 
 "One of your dangers is selfishness ; you are 
 forgetting that there is anybody but yourself to 
 be made happy, and you are angry with your 
 father, questioning his rights, and even his 
 love for you ! Then, you are conjuring up 
 troubles that may never come, and cultivating 
 a wicked prejudice against one whom you have 
 never seen. She may turn out to be the best 
 friend you have in the world. There s one 
 danger for you, my boy, that is at the bottom 
 of all the others. To find fault with what God 
 lets come to you, is to rebel against him. He 
 had some people long ago, who rebelled, and 
 because of it they had to spend the best part 
 of their lives in the wilderness ; there was no 
 20 
 
Revelations. 
 
 other way to bring them to their senses. I do 
 hope, Wayne, that your life will not have to go 
 by the way of the wilderness." 
 
 " I m in it this minute," said Wayne, "just 
 as dark and ugly a piece of woods as can be 
 found." 
 
 The relations between Wayne and his mother 
 had been peculiar. Being the only child he 
 was much with her, and in consequence grew 
 wise beyond his years. The fear of grieving 
 her had been his strongest motive for good 
 conduct. He almost literally shared every 
 thought with her, and was always on the look 
 out to shield her from annoyance or danger. 
 
 It was months after her death before the boy 
 could open his heart to his father. There was 
 an element of sternness in Mr. Pierson s char 
 acter. Wayne obeyed him because he both 
 honored and feared him ; he had obeyed his 
 mother because it was his delight to please her. 
 
 Of late, however, a strong and tender bond 
 had grown up between father and son. Mr. Pier- 
 son had made his son his companion in walks 
 and drives and short journeys, and there had 
 come to the boy a proud sense of comradeship 
 which had charmed him. And now, behold, a 
 stranger was to come between them ! 
 
 As the time drew near when the bridal party 
 might be looked for, Aunt Crete grew nervous 
 and excited. She had not fully obeyed her 
 
 21 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 brother s instructions ; there was something 
 more to reveal to Wayne ; something from 
 which she shrank. So it was not until the 
 afternoon before the travellers were expected 
 that she girded herself for another conflict. 
 Wayne, at the piano, had played persistently 
 for nearly an hour ; he had gone over all the 
 tempestuous pieces in his repertoire, his nervous 
 excitement rinding vent in the loudest pedal, 
 then his mood suddenly changed, and he ran 
 his fingers over the keys in improvised minor 
 strains. Aunt Crete sat in a shaded corner and 
 watched the back of his head. It was a beauti 
 ful head, covered with waves of light brown 
 hair ; yet she noticed that its pose was slightly 
 proud and defiant, whereat she sighed. She 
 sympathized with those dirgelike notes, yet 
 how did she know, after all, but that what she 
 had to tell might be received with joy ? 
 
 At last the piano was closed, and Wayne 
 came over to her. 
 
 " I have been thinking," she said, " how nice 
 it would be if you had another boy here to visit 
 with." 
 
 " Yes," said Wayne, " two boys can have 
 better times than one, if the other fellow is the 
 right sort." 
 
 " If both fellows are of the right sort, you 
 mean," retorted Aunt Crete. " I m glad you 
 would like it, because it looks now as if there 
 22 
 
Revelations. 
 
 would be two boys in this house, instead of 
 
 one." 
 
 " What ! " said Wayne. "Aunt Crete, what 
 do you mean ? " Now it must be told ; and 
 she hurried on. 
 
 " There is another boy, Wayne ; your 
 Mrs. Hamilton has a son somewhere near your 
 own age, and he will come here to live, of course. 
 O Wayne, I do hope you will be brothers in 
 deed, without any step between." 
 
 She spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, as though 
 it were an everyday occurrence to have step 
 brothers suddenly let down into one s life. 
 Wayne stood transfixed, his eyes on Aunt 
 Crete s face, as if he had lost the power of 
 speech. Before he recovered it, the door-bell 
 rang and guests were shown in. 
 
 In the pine grove near the house was a shaded 
 nook that Wayne claimed for his very own. 
 To that retreat he rushed with his astounding 
 piece of news, like one pursued. 
 
II. 
 
 He meant to be Good. 
 
 TO say that the Pierson home was in a 
 state of expectancy, is to put it mildly. 
 The very chairs, as they stood in formal 
 rows against the walls, told that some 
 thing unusual was about to happen. Absolutely 
 fleckless cleanliness and propriety were observ 
 able everywhere ; but if Aunt Crete had really 
 tried to banish every suggestion of a home, she 
 could not have succeeded better. She had done 
 nothing of the kind, poor woman, but had made 
 an earnest effort to accomplish her best, albeit 
 her heart felt like lead. 
 
 She was at this moment arrayed in her old- 
 fashioned bristling black silk with a garniture 
 made of lace and ribbon choked about her neck. 
 It did not become her, and she had been heard 
 to declare that she never felt at home in it. 
 Possibly she had chosen it for the day on this 
 very account ; certain it is that in her inmost 
 heart she never expected to feel at home in that 
 house again. She had taken her seat in the 
 parlor, in the straightest backed chair that the 
 
 24 
 
He meant to be Good. 
 
 room contained, and without even knitting work 
 to keep her company. This also was a conces 
 sion to the supposed proprieties. She wanted 
 to greet the new Mrs. Pierson in the most re 
 spectable manner possible. 
 
 In vain did she try to pinion the son of the 
 house at her side. As a rule he was more than 
 willing to stay with Aunt Crete, and liked 
 nothing better than one of her grave, old-fash 
 ioned stories for entertainment. But on this 
 day he declared that he hated the parlor, and 
 did not want to change his trousers, the ones 
 he had on were good enough ; he had worn 
 them to the minister s house the night before, 
 and he guessed the minister s folks were better 
 than but here the boy stopped ; no names 
 should be mentioned. It was true enough that 
 he hated the parlor. If poor, kind-hearted, blun 
 dering Aunt Crete could have understood it, 
 every nerve in the sensitive boy s body quivered 
 with the pain of some cruel memory. In the 
 parlor he could see nothing but his mother s 
 coffin as it had stood in solemn state half buried 
 in flowers. Could he stay in that room to meet 
 her I But he knew instinctively that such ideas 
 would shock Aunt Crete, therefore he kept 
 them hidden. Every room in the house was 
 more or less hateful to him on this day ; they 
 were all peopled with sorrowful ghosts of the 
 past. When he had to go up and down stairs 
 
 2 5 
 
By T^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 past his mother s room, he placed both trem 
 bling hands over his ears and rushed headlong 
 as though followed by phantoms. His sick 
 nerves almost made him believe that he heard 
 behind that closed door his mother s voice ; 
 there were moments when he was sure of it, 
 and that she was crying. 
 
 Still, being the boy he was, Wayne controlled 
 outward sign of these mental conditions, and 
 looked only a little paler than usual, and ate 
 somewhat less at the breakfast table, "saving 
 his appetite for the big dinner they were going 
 to have," his well-intentioned and hopelessly 
 blundering Aunt Crete suggested. After 
 that, Wayne could not finish his glass of 
 milk ; he knew he should choke if he tried 
 to swallow. 
 
 Let it be confessed right here and now that 
 the chroniclers of this life are perfectly aware 
 that they deal with a history that has been 
 often told. The introduction of a new mother 
 to a shattered home is certainly a very common 
 affair. But so is death common and love, 
 and hate and life itself, for that matter; yet 
 so long as there are individual hearts to suffer, 
 there will be individual experiences that will 
 vary from that of other individuals, and that 
 will deserve to be written, it may be, for pur 
 poses of study ; because, if by understanding 
 human pain we can by any means lessen its 
 26 
 
He meant to be Good. 
 
 volume, we are bound by the rule that guides 
 all lives worth living, to do so. 
 
 That this experience might have been made 
 almost infinitely less painful to Wayne Pierson 
 can be easily demonstrated. Had the father 
 who had sacrificed much for him, and, studying 
 his tastes, had succeeded to a remarkable de 
 gree in meeting them, taken up his own cross 
 and gone frankly to the boy with the story of 
 his needs, and by degrees, kindly and wisely as 
 he knew how to do it, had accustomed his son 
 to the thought of a new mother, though it 
 might have been a pain, the loyal part of the 
 boy s nature would have risen to stand by his 
 father, and the utter abject misery that a young 
 soul feels when deserted would have been spared 
 him. To have been made his father s confidant 
 would have gone far in itself toward reconciling 
 a boy like Wayne. That the father s love was 
 weak, and had in it an element of selfishness, 
 was distinctly shown by his shirking his duty 
 in this regard, and putting off his cross on the 
 shrinking shoulders of his maiden sister, who 
 loved the boy Wayne as she did her life, and 
 who had all through the years taken pains to 
 hide that love under a mask of almost indif 
 ference. Oh, Wayne knew that his aunt liked 
 him, and was good to him, and sacrificed some 
 thing to make him comfortable ; but that he 
 was her one special and peculiar treasure, dearer 
 
 27 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 to her than any other creature in the world, the 
 boy never dreamed. A knowledge of this fact 
 would have lessened his pain. 
 
 People who do not understand human na 
 ture will wonder to hear that Aunt Crete had 
 lain awake nights to plan just how she should 
 divulge the great news to her boy ; yet could 
 she have done it more bunglingly had to bungle 
 been her object ? Pity those poor mortals who, 
 with warm hearts and good intentions, have yet 
 a genius for blundering ; they are not few in 
 number. 
 
 Up in his own room, crouching down before 
 the open grate fire which burned for him 
 because he liked open fires, his pale face paler 
 than usual, save for one small bright spot that 
 burned on either cheek, the poor fellow waited 
 for his fate. Every other spot in the house 
 had grown hateful beyond endurance, and he 
 had .broken away from Aunt Crete with the 
 passionate announcement that he would not stay 
 downstairs and wait for the carriage that was 
 momently expected. He was all but breath 
 less with wonderment as to what would happen 
 next after that carriage arrived. Would his 
 father come in search of him, and should he get 
 his first kiss alone there in his room ? If so 
 what should he say, oh, what could he say to his 
 father P " I will try to be good," he murmured 
 to the glowing coals, " oh, I will try ! I don t 
 28 
 
He meant to be Good. 
 
 want to hurt father as he has hurt me. Mother 
 wouldn t like that ; she said a boy should 
 always think first of his father." Then he 
 broke off to wonder further. " Would they 
 perhaps call him downstairs to meet them ? 
 And would that other boy, that awful boy, be 
 there ? Aunt Crete had fancied at times that 
 the other boy would be a relief, even a comfort 
 to Wayne ; it might have been so arranged. 
 One can fancy the father sitting some quiet 
 evening in the firelight with his arm about 
 his son, telling him softly, tenderly, of another 
 shadowed home ; of a boy near his own age 
 whose father had gone away forever ; of a 
 mother who was desolate, like themselves, be 
 cause of a grave; and of his saying, by and by, 
 when all questions had been asked and an 
 swered, and the boy s heart had grown tender 
 over the loneliness of others, some word like 
 this : " What would you think, my boy, of our 
 trying to brighten these two lives ? Could not 
 you be a brother to this lonesome fellow ? He 
 had a brother, once, but he died. Are you 
 willing to share your father with him, if he will 
 let us have a share in his mother ? Wouldn t 
 we all be happier and better able to do our 
 work in the world, if we planned this way of 
 living ? " 
 
 It could have been done ; some such words 
 as that would have made a difference forever in 
 
 29 
 
By PP^ay of the IVilderness. 
 
 the life of the desolate lad who crouched before 
 the fire and felt himself deserted and deceived. 
 
 If his father had but talked it over with him! 
 Still, poor fellow, he meant to try to be good ; 
 and he said to the coals presently, that his father 
 would surely come and find him, and hold him 
 tight for a minute, and kiss him, and he would 
 say to him just that, " Father, I will try to be 
 good." 
 
 And then the bell rang, and there was the 
 opening and closing of doors, and the sound 
 of trunks being banged up the steps, and all 
 the hum and bustle of arrival ; and the boy 
 sat and waited ; strained his ears for the sound 
 of his father s voice, and of that other voice ; 
 and held his breath and felt faint and giddy as 
 he heard their steps ascending the stairs. They 
 were coming together, then ! If his father would 
 but come alone ! But they passed his door at 
 the head of the stairs, and went on, into his 
 father s room. Instinctively he glanced toward 
 the communicating door, although he knew that 
 it was closed. It nearly always stood wide open, 
 and Wayne had been wont to look upon that 
 room as belonging to him almost as much as it 
 did to his father. A dozen times during the 
 process of dressing he ran into it to say a word 
 to his father. A dozen times that day he had 
 closed the door, and opened it again, and closed 
 it. The final decision was that it should be 
 
 3 
 
He meant to be Good. 
 
 closed; some rare instinct of self-abnegation went 
 with the decision. Since there were to be two 
 in that room instead of one, they would, per 
 haps, like it better closed. He meant to be 
 good. 
 
 He listened for his father s voice and heard 
 it, a cheery, happy voice ; once he laughed. 
 Wayne had always liked his father s laugh ; he 
 did not understand, poor fellow, why it should 
 strike like a blow on his heart just then. Cer 
 tainly he wanted his father to be happy. 
 
 They went down again, both of them ! 
 Wayne listened, and listened ; he thought they 
 would come in ; he could hear his own voice 
 saying politely : " How do you do, ma am," 
 by way of greeting. Would that be the way to 
 do it, if one meant to be good? But they went 
 down. The tension on his heart lessened a 
 little. His father would go with her to the 
 foot of the stairs, and come back alone in search 
 of him; he waited and waited^ and no one came. 
 If his father had but gone up to the boy that 
 afternoon, it might have made a difference with 
 Wayne s whole life s story. Was ever truer 
 poet than he who recorded as the saddest words, 
 " It might have been " ? 
 
 Three-quarters of an hour afterward came 
 Susie, the second girl. 
 
 " Mr. Wayne," she said, " your father wants 
 to know where you are, and why you are not 
 
 3 1 
 
By H^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 downstairs ; he says you are to come to the 
 parlor right away." 
 
 The parlor! if they would only let him say, 
 " How do you do, ma am," in any other room 
 than that ! 
 
 He did not make a good impression. 
 
 "Well, sir," his father said, "where were 
 you, my boy ? I expected to get sight of you 
 as soon as our carriage turned into the square, 
 and here we have been at home for nearly an 
 hour." 
 
 Actually his father had expected to see the 
 boy come rushing around the corner to greet 
 him. Why not ? That was the way he had 
 been doing, of late, after ever so short an ab 
 sence from home. On the boy s part it seemed 
 that his father must know that wherever he 
 turned his tear-filled eyes in that room, they 
 saw only an open coffin. All that the father 
 saw was the trace of tears, and he did not like it. 
 
 " Augusta," he said, " this is the boy." His 
 voice sounded cold. It seemed quite as if they 
 were planning to hire an errand boy. 
 
 " How do you do, my dear," said Mrs. 
 Pierson, and she touched her lips to his pale 
 cheek. She was tall and fair, and had blue eyes, 
 and very light brown hair that was arranged in 
 what the boy called " crinkles." 
 
 All that he said about this experience after 
 ward was that she did not look in the least as 
 
 3 2 
 
He meant to be Good. 
 
 he had supposed that mothers always did. Her 
 voice was pleasant and she went on, talking 
 about him. 
 
 " He looks pale, Edward, and rather frail. 
 He is only a year younger than my Leon, and 
 there is the greatest possible difference in their 
 appearance. Not that he isn t tall enough, too 
 tall for his years. We must try to broaden you 
 out. I am afraid you do not take enough out- 
 of-door exercise. Leon will remedy all that, 
 though ; he is a regular athlete." 
 
 It was all very kindly said. She could not 
 be expected to know how disagreeable it was to 
 the boy. Hadn t he been told all his life that 
 he was too fond of his books, and too little in 
 clined for out-of-door sports. Wasn t Aunt 
 Crete always exclaiming anxiously over his "thin 
 chest." And didn t he almost despise athletes ? 
 Great rough fellows he thought them, who were 
 always behind in their studies. He had not a 
 word to say to this new lady, and he remained 
 silent and awkward. His father darted him an 
 annoyed glance which but sealed his lips the 
 closer, and finally said coldly, 
 
 " Well, my son, if you have nothing to say, 
 we will excuse you." But he followed the boy 
 into the hall and spoke sternly. 
 
 " Wayne, this is by no means the sort of 
 greeting that I had expected at your hands. I 
 thought I could trust you, and believed that 
 
 33 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 you would honor your father. I want you to 
 understand that I shall expect you to show a 
 very different face to your mother the next 
 time she sees you. If you cannot control 
 yourself to-night, you would better not come 
 to dinner until after we are done." 
 
 Wayne turned without a word and began 
 to mount the stairs. His father looked after 
 him with a yearning heart and a heavy sigh. 
 The boy was actually stubborn and meant to 
 fight. He had not dreamed of such a con 
 dition of things. Wayne had always been a 
 gentlemanly boy. 
 
 The door into the dining room had stood 
 open, and Aunt Crete had been a forced 
 listener to this little scene. She appeared in 
 the hall now, and did not mend matters. Her 
 face was red, and her voice like an icicle. 
 
 " If I had been you, Edward, I would have 
 choked myself before I spoke in that way to 
 Wayne; the poor child s heart is almost 
 broken." 
 
 " I am not aware that he has cause for 
 excessive grief," answered the master of the 
 house, coldly, " and I look to you, Lucretia, 
 not to uphold him in rebellion. I have done 
 what I believe is for the best good of all 
 concerned, and my son must understand that 
 I am not accountable to him for my actions." 
 
 "/uphold!" said Aunt Crete. "The land 
 
 34 
 
He meant to be Good. 
 
 knows I " then she stopped. Nobody 
 had seen Aunt Crete cry for years ; but just 
 then she distinctly felt a lump in her throat 
 that she knew was as large as a hen s egg, and 
 was certain that she could not trust her voice 
 with another word. 
 
 Mr. Pierson turned and went back into the 
 parlor, and perhaps he may be pardoned if 
 he gave the door a more determined push in 
 closing than there was need. The unreasonable 
 man was disappointed in his home coming. 
 
 Never was there a more forlorn and 
 utterly vanquished "fighter" than that poor 
 fellow who threw himself on his bed in an 
 agony of weeping. He did not go downstairs 
 for any dinner ; he was sure that a mouthful 
 would have choked him. Aunt Crete came 
 herself with turkey and cranberry and all 
 manner of dainties, and coaxed ; but he only 
 shook his head and murmured in muffled 
 
 tones, " Aunt Crete, I would if I could, but 
 
 I> , > 
 can t. 
 
 "Poor little fellow," said Aunt Crete, "it 
 is too everlasting mean ! " But she made no 
 attempt to speak the words she might have 
 said. Her heart had been much ruffled by 
 her brother s stern condemnatory words. 
 
 Late that night a small brown head raised 
 itself from its pillow that was all but wet through 
 with tears, and listened eagerly. Its owner 
 
 35 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 heard his father s step moving about the next 
 room, and his father s voice. He listened, 
 breathless, as the steps moved toward that 
 closed door ; his father would come in and kiss 
 him good night he always did, no matter 
 how late home he was. Then he would put 
 his arms round his neck, and whisper in the 
 darkness that he meant to be good, and had 
 meant so all the time, only the words would 
 not come. 
 
 And the father, the other side the wall, stood 
 still and considered. Should he go in to see 
 Wayne ? No, he believed not. The boy 
 might still be obstinate, and he might say 
 something in his annoyance that he would wish 
 unsaid. He would wait until morning and 
 give the youngster a chance to be reasonable. 
 
 So, for the first time in his life, when his 
 father was at home, Wayne Pierson received 
 no good-night kiss from him. If he had, many 
 things might have been different. 
 
III. 
 
 " If only " 
 
 WHEN Wayne got downstairs the 
 next morning he was relieved to find 
 that his father, having an important 
 business engagement, had taken the 
 first train to town, and that his stepmother, 
 fatigued with her journey, had not yet risen. 
 Aunt Crete, too, was gone. She had bidden 
 him good-by the night before, although he 
 had secretly determined to surprise her by 
 being at the station, but he did not waken in 
 time. 
 
 It was a doleful breakfast he took by him 
 self, smarting, the while, under the sense of 
 his father s displeasure, and forlornly desolate 
 without Aunt Crete. It began to seem to him 
 that he had no friend left in that house except 
 Ann, the cook, who had lived in the family 
 ever since he could remember, and who came 
 now with cheery words and a plate of muffins. 
 In momentary dread of "that stranger s" ap 
 pearance, he made short work of breakfast and 
 hurried off to school. 
 
 Mrs. Pierson was more than pleased with her 
 
 37 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 new home when she stepped out on the broad 
 porch and gazed about her that morning; she 
 was charmed. The house was substantial and 
 roomy, standing on an eminence which com 
 manded fine views in all directions. If the 
 style of architecture was somewhat old-fashioned, 
 it was atoned for by grand old trees and spa 
 cious grounds stretching and sloping to the 
 shore of a wide river which went placidly on its 
 way to the near-by sea, so near that this morn 
 ing its blue expanse seemed in the vista between 
 the trees but a piece of the sky reaching down 
 to meet the earth. It was early springtime, 
 when the willows were just beginning to show 
 tender green against dark pines. The blue 
 and green and brown and purplish tints 
 mingled in a soft haze as if nature had but 
 sketched into the landscape a few mere hints 
 of what the summer glory might be. 
 
 Mrs. Pierson took in all the delightful pos 
 sibilities of the place, feeling that sense of ela 
 tion which is born of possession. She walked 
 up and down the long porch exulting in the 
 pure air, contrasting it all with the life she had 
 lived for the last several years in a crowded city, 
 with limited space and limited means. How 
 wonderful that she should suddenly have come 
 into this fair heritage ! And stranger still that 
 the love of a noble man should have come into 
 her lonely life, and that her boy should have 
 
 38 
 
"If only 
 
 again a good father, who would care for his 
 well-being as if he were his very own. He had 
 promised it, and she trusted him absolutely. 
 
 The newcomer found it pleasant to go on 
 this little tour of exploration about her husband s 
 home, quite alone, tarrying where she pleased, 
 to look or muse. She passed on into the par 
 lor and library, large pleasant rooms full of 
 windows commanding charming views. She 
 studied the furnishings. Her taste was fastid 
 ious, and another woman s individuality was 
 expressed there : a woman whom, in spite of 
 herself, she regarded as a sort of rival. It 
 would be natural to find fault with her work, 
 but there was no fault, and it half nettled the 
 new woman that it should be so. 
 
 She sank into a luxurious chair, and the mir 
 ror opposite told her that her lilac morning 
 gown trimmed with soft lace was extremely be 
 coming, and that she fitted well into her sur 
 roundings. Again she congratulated herself, 
 while her heart brimmed over in pride and 
 gratitude. 
 
 And yet, and yet with ail this affluence 
 and satisfaction, there was an undeniable fly in 
 the ointment there usually is the remem 
 brance of it came now with a pang to Mrs. 
 Pierson : that boy^ her husband s son ! There 
 came also a sharp reminder of the altogether 
 kind and fatherly way in which her husband had 
 
 39 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 taken her son to his heart. It made her wince, 
 yet she hastened to apologize for herself after 
 this manner. 
 
 " That is a very different matter. My dear 
 handsome boy wins everybody at once ; but 
 this cold, silent fellow, actually assuming haughty 
 airs ! Who could love him ? Oh, why did he 
 have to be here to make unpleasantness ? " 
 
 But it startled her to find such thoughts 
 trying to get possession. She resolutely shook 
 them off for the time, and continued her survey 
 of the house. 
 
 The upper rooms were delightful. It was 
 as if a kind and thoughtful friend had selected 
 carpets, draperies, and paper hangings with 
 special regard to the taste of one who was 
 coming there a stranger. She lingered in the 
 exquisitely appointed guest chamber, but un 
 welcome thoughts came to her how that other 
 wife had been busy and happy planning and 
 arranging it for her! She went from it to 
 Wayne s room, and found there the same care 
 ful attention to every detail of grace and 
 beauty. 
 
 " Still, it is better suited to a girl than a 
 boy," was Mrs. Pierson s mental comment, 
 " and that is one trouble with that boy : he 
 has been spoiled ; one can see that he has been 
 taught to consider himself of utmost im 
 portance." 
 
"If onfy 
 
 The object that caught and held her atten 
 tion, however, was the portrait of Wayne s 
 mother. It impressed her at once as a face of 
 marvellous sweetness and purity. The lovely 
 eyes looked directly into hers with a searching 
 gaze. Did they say : 
 
 " You have taken my place in this home. 
 Will you be a true mother to my boy ? " 
 
 The better nature of this woman stood in 
 reverence before that other woman, whose place 
 on earth she had taken. There came to her a 
 sense of unworth and insufficiency. It would 
 not be easy to fill this office which she had 
 dared accept ; it would require her best. Well 
 she would try; she would do her duty by 
 her husband s son as far as in her lay. Yet, 
 even with the resolve, came a sigh of deep 
 regret that there was such a person in existence, 
 and there swept over her an unreasoning wave 
 of jealousy and dislike not only for the boy, 
 but for that pictured face. So began the strug 
 gles of a life that had the promise of unalloyed 
 happiness. 
 
 Mrs. Pierson made haste away from the 
 searching eyes, and turned her thoughts to 
 more agreeable subjects. Her son Leon, her 
 idol, was coming that very day. There were 
 little motherly touches to be put to the lovely 
 room set apart for him. How delighted he 
 would be with this beautiful home ! if only 
 
 4 1 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 and again the mother sighed as she thought of 
 that other boy, and of what she had been prom 
 ising. A shadow fell across her spirit as it oc 
 curred to her for the first time that the boys 
 might take a dislike to each other, and endless 
 quarrels result. In such case one of them 
 would have to be sent away to boarding 
 school, and Mrs. Pierson knew well which 
 should go if the question were left to her 
 to settle. 
 
 Eliphalet was the name of Wayne s pony. 
 A farmer back on the hills, with whom the 
 family had boarded one summer, had presented 
 him to Wayne, on the boy s eighth birthday, a 
 promising young colt. In a transport of grati 
 tude Wayne had forthwith called his little horse 
 " Eliphalet " after the donor. The formidable 
 name soon shortened to " Liph," and they grew 
 up together. The gentle creature seemed to 
 know almost as much, Wayne thought, as an 
 other boy. He developed into a beautiful ani 
 mal, with shining coat and silky mane ; he was 
 fleet and spirited, yet perfectly obedient to his 
 master s voice. 
 
 Wayne, who never tired of skimming over 
 the country on Liph s back, no sooner returned 
 from school that afternoon than he set out for 
 a long ride. He omitted going first into the 
 house to be welcomed. There was no Aunt 
 Crete waiting for him, and his intuitions told 
 42 
 
"If only- 
 
 him that his stepmother was no more desirous of 
 his presence than he was of hers. 
 
 The ride lengthened itself; the boy wished 
 that he could stretch it out indefinitely ; could 
 ride on and on, beyond that glory in the west 
 ern sky, to some-other-where, and so escape 
 the home coming that he dreaded. 
 
 At last, however, he trotted up the driveway 
 in time to see his father and a boy, a little taller 
 than himself, alight from the carriage at the door. 
 The "other boy" had come! Wayne would 
 have gone on to the stable, but his father, as he 
 went into the house, by a motion of his hand 
 and a look, said that he was to stay and be intro 
 duced to the newcomer. Mrs. Pierson had de 
 scended the steps and stood with outstretched 
 arms to welcome her boy. While she held him 
 close, showering kisses, Wayne felt a thrill go 
 through him. So had his mother welcomed 
 him. Would ever anybody do it again like 
 that ? Aunt Crete loved him, but it was not 
 her way to show it by caresses. His step 
 mother rose several degrees in his estimation. 
 He felt almost sorry for her when her boy 
 broke impatiently away exclaiming : 
 
 "Oh, there now, hold up! Don t lather a 
 fid!" 
 
 " Leon ! " His mother s tone was sharp and 
 imperative. 
 
 Slang was her abhorrence, as Leon well knew, 
 
 43 
 
By J4^ay of the H^ilderness. 
 
 so he hastened to atone ; for, fond as his mother 
 was of him, she could treat him to hours of silent 
 coldness when displeased. Throwing an arm 
 about her, he said with that smile which always 
 disarmed her : 
 
 " Why, you make as much fuss, Motherie, 
 as if I had been gone three years instead of 
 three weeks." 
 
 Then, catching sight of Wayne who had dis 
 mounted and stood holding his horse, he called 
 out : 
 
 " Hallo ! Who s this ? Oh, that s the little 
 popinjay you wrote me about, is it ? " 
 
 Wayne had advanced a step or two and was 
 about to extend his hand, but drew it back when 
 he heard this rude salutation, his cheeks flush 
 ing with resentment. 
 
 " Ah ! Quite a pretty boy," Leon went on 
 in a mincing tone. " He s bashful, isn t he ? 
 What s your name, dear ? " He came nearer 
 as he spoke, and gave Liph a poke in the ribs 
 which made him rear. 
 
 " Shame on you, Leon," his mother ex 
 claimed, suppressing a smile ; " you are becom 
 ing perfectly lawless." 
 
 Leon had a secret ambition to be thought 
 so. One of his mother s friends went about 
 saying rude things to people in a serio-comic 
 way, making everybody laugh, and the boy 
 admired it. 
 
 44 
 
" If only - 
 
 Wayne wheeled his horse sharply about and 
 went rapidly toward the stable without having 
 spoken a word to his stepbrother, who sent a 
 derisive laugh after him. Once in the stable, 
 with the door fastened, Wayne fairly ground 
 his teeth in rage. That impudent, hateful, 
 horrid boy ! To insult him in the very begin 
 ning. In his own home, too ! His heart 
 swelled in bitterness against his father. It was 
 not enough to put another in his dear mother s 
 place, but there must be that hideous fellow to 
 make life miserable for him. The thought of 
 his coming into that house to stay was per 
 fectly intolerable. The boy had been trying 
 for the last twenty-four hours to become rec 
 onciled to the thought of another boy coming 
 there to claim " father " as his father, and 
 having a right to everything about the place. 
 There had been brief minutes during this time 
 when he tried to assure himself that it would 
 be pleasant to have a nice boy there, and have 
 good times together. He had almost persuaded 
 himself into that belief when the dream of 
 pleasant companionship was rudely dispelled. 
 The moment he caught sight of Leon s bold 
 black eyes and something like a leer on his 
 otherwise handsome face, his heart sank like 
 lead. 
 
 Mr. Pierson, through a half-closed blind, 
 watched with eager curiosity the meeting be- 
 
 45 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 tween the two boys. He was too far off to 
 hear any words, but he saw that one boy with 
 smiling face appeared to be making advances 
 which the other met with silence and dark 
 looks, even turning abruptly away in the midst 
 of it. The father was vexed and disappointed, 
 and the son was now in no mood to seek the 
 reconciliation for which he had longed. 
 
 This was a beginning which did not promise 
 well for pleasant relations between the boys, and 
 no one who had taken pains to study their dif 
 ferent temperaments and training would have 
 hoped for it. 
 
 It was well that Aunt Crete was not present 
 in those first few weeks of the new family, or 
 there might have been an open rupture. As it 
 was, there were no keen eyes to look on and 
 judge, and it may be glow with anger. Mr. 
 Pierson was as blind as most men who have 
 "married a wife." The halo about her was 
 as yet undimmed. Everything connected with 
 her was sacred, even the young scapegrace who 
 was all deference and reverence in his step 
 father s presence, but in his absence mimicked 
 his grave dignity and laughed to scorn his 
 words of advice. 
 
 Mr. Pierson had resolved, in the beginning 
 of his infatuation for Mrs. Hamilton, that he 
 would take her son into his heart as well ; and 
 it would not be difficult, bright merry fellow 
 
 4 6 
 
"If only 
 
 55 
 
 that he was. When one is disposed to be 
 blind and deaf to faults in another, the way is 
 open for genuine liking. Mr. Pierson had 
 ambitions, too ; the world should for once see 
 a family who, maintaining that relation to each 
 other which is supposed to be peculiarly pro 
 ductive of strife, were nevertheless beautifully 
 harmonious. He was prepared to exercise 
 patient forbearance toward his stepson, and 
 surely his wife would love his sweet spirited 
 boy. But he had apparently misjudged. 
 Here was his submissive son taking on a 
 rebellious attitude, a boy remarkable for love 
 liness of character suddenly become unlovely. 
 He could not understand it ; this lawyer who 
 was rated by his fellows as a man of keen per 
 ceptions. He did not know that there was 
 quietly carried on in his own house a series of 
 cunning devices for tormenting and humiliat 
 ing his own son "jokes," the inquisitors 
 called them. 
 
 His own amusement was one reason why 
 Leon never lost an opportunity to annoy 
 Wayne, at least that was the one he gave to 
 his mother, who sometimes reproved him, 
 though with a smile lurking behind the words 
 she herself was coldly kind to Wayne, and 
 such kindness when long endured is little 
 better than a series of blows. There was a 
 deeper reason than love of fun though, which 
 
 47 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 was the secret of Leon s actions, and that was 
 jealousy. One source of pique was Wayne s 
 musical gifts, cultivated by able instructors and 
 much practice. When he played for guests it 
 was gall and wormwood to Leon to hear 
 praises showered upon the performer. He did 
 what he could to embarrass Wayne at such 
 times, usually managing to sit near the piano 
 and keep up an undertone of talk, teasing and 
 mocking until the victim was perfectly furious. 
 The auditors sometimes called the music 
 " spirited " when Wayne, with a frown on his 
 brow, pounding the keys with vim, longed 
 instead to let his force fly at the exasperating 
 fellow who stood smiling by his side officiously 
 turning the leaves in a way to cause blunders if 
 possible. Once the young musician was adroitly 
 tripped up on his way to the piano, and no 
 body but the victim knew how it came about 
 that a boy sprawled on the floor, his music 
 scattered about him to his own and his father s 
 intense mortification, while his amiable step 
 brother flew to his assistance. 
 
 There were other indignities too numerous 
 to mention, and it must not be supposed that 
 Wayne bore them in silence. He had been 
 carefully taught that resort to blows in the 
 settlement of difficulties was brutal. It was 
 not possible though to refrain from pouring 
 out his indignation in a torrent of words, met 
 
 4 8 
 
"If only- 
 
 by jeers and rude laughter, which often misled 
 the parents into thinking that the boys were 
 making merry instead of quarrelling. And 
 through it all Wayne had no sympathy from 
 his blinded father. It was strange how often 
 the boy appeared at a disadvantage; contrasted 
 with Leon s bright ways he seemed dull and 
 sullen, and it was charged to chronic rebellion. 
 We are severest on the faults of those we love 
 most, just because we love them and long to 
 have them blameless. 
 
 And why did not Wayne tell his father all 
 and claim his protection ? Partly because he 
 had the usual schoolboy code of honor which 
 condemns one who reports the evil doings of 
 another boy. There was another reason : 
 Once in a desperate fit he had broken out with 
 an account of some outrageous prank of Leon s, 
 when his father silenced him with : 
 
 " My son, I am astonished. Have you no 
 more manliness than to come to me with 
 complaints ? You must learn to take fun as it 
 is meant, and like other boys who know how 
 to take care of themselves." 
 
 These words cut the nerves of the sensitive 
 boy like a knife. Never again would he com 
 plain to his father. He went away by himself, 
 and there followed one of those conflicts which 
 change children into men and women. Oh ! 
 the pity that it should begin so early. 
 
 49 
 
IV. 
 
 A Crisis. 
 
 THEY were father and son; even a 
 careless observer would have known 
 that. As Wayne Pierson had grown 
 to manhood, certain marked character 
 istics of his father s face had repeated them 
 selves in a pronounced way in his. It is a 
 question whether the very similarity of their 
 natures did not help to make it more difficult 
 for them to understand each other. The 
 merest glance into the room at this time would 
 have shown that disturbing forces were at work. 
 The father s tones were as cold as ice. 
 
 "I sent for you, Wayne, not to have a 
 lengthy conversation, but to speak certain very 
 plain words. I am simply weary of this sort 
 of life, and feel that I have endured it perhaps 
 too long. It is of no use to hide the fact that 
 you are a sad disappointment to me ; instead 
 of improving under the most patient treatment 
 possible, matters seem to be growing worse. 
 Every report that comes to me shows an ad 
 vance in I hesitate to pronounce the words, 
 
 5 
 
A Crisis. 
 
 but sullenness and vindictiveness seem to have 
 become characteristics of yours. I am afraid 
 that the mother whose memory you have pro 
 fessed to love would not recognize her son 
 if she were with him now. I can only hope 
 that she, at least, is spared the pain you have 
 given me. 
 
 " But I did not intend to say this. It has 
 all been said before, and proved useless. My 
 words this time shall be to the point. I have 
 reached a decision. Either you will apologize 
 to Leon for this latest insult, and in my pres 
 ence, that I may see and hear for myself, or " 
 
 He paused involuntarily as his son turned 
 from the window and confronted him. The 
 young man s face certainly offered no en 
 couragement to him to proceed. 
 
 "Well, sir," Wayne said at last, " or 
 what ? " 
 
 " Or consider yourself no longer a college 
 student at my expense, with every want even 
 anticipated. I choose to bestow my money 
 upon a son who at least tries to show me that 
 he appreciates my help." 
 
 Wayne s heretofore pale face flushed so deep 
 a crimson that it almost seemed as though the 
 blood must burst through the sensitive skin. 
 His lips were quivering, but he was biting 
 them to prevent it, and his eyes flashed omi 
 nously as he threw back his head with a gesture 
 
 5 1 
 
By Pf^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 that was peculiarly irritating to his father, per 
 haps because it was his own, and said: 
 
 " I shall certainly offer no apology to Leon 
 Hamilton, sir." 
 
 " Very well, then ; take the consequences. 
 Consider yourself excused. In your present 
 mood I have seen quite enough of you." 
 
 As he spoke, Mr. Pierson wheeled away from 
 his desk, but Wayne did not wait for him to 
 rise. Without further word or glance he 
 rushed from the room, out into the side yard, 
 down the lane, and so by a path well known 
 to his childhood, which led him presently to a 
 lonely place along the beach, so dreary-look 
 ing and unattractive to others that they rarely 
 visited it ; but the boy, Wayne, had fought 
 out many of his childish battles just there, 
 and by a sort of instinct he turned to it again 
 in his young manhood, now that another crisis 
 in his life seemed to have been reached. 
 
 Nearly six years since he began to tramp 
 there as a child, and tell to the restless waves 
 the story of his humiliations at the hand of his 
 stepbrother ; but never had the passionate 
 heart of the boy been so stirred as now, when 
 on the verge of manhood he paced the sanded 
 shore, and added yet another chapter. 
 
 " Since the first hour that he came, he has 
 done his utmost to rob me of my father and 
 my home, and this is the climax ! he has suc- 
 
 52 
 
A Crisis. 
 
 ceeded ! I am not only worse than motherless, 
 but my father has deliberately thrown me off, 
 and taken in my place this usurper who has 
 hated and bullied me through the years, and 
 been upheld always by his mother. I apolo 
 gize to Leon Hamilton ! My father will find 
 that I will follow my dead mother to the grave, 
 rather than that. He is weary of this sort of 
 life ; who isn t ? He has c borne enough, he 
 thinks ; he will find that I have ! The crisis 
 has come at last ; I knew it would." 
 
 He could not think connectedly ; he could 
 not give even the waves, that came constantly 
 up to hear about it, a lucid account of how the 
 climax had been reached. He could only 
 tramp about like some wounded creature of 
 the forest, and utter at intervals half sentences 
 that merely hinted at the fires of passion and 
 of pain that were burning within him. 
 
 Apparently a climax had at last been reached, 
 and the way to it had been long and hard. 
 One curious fact was that it had been hard for 
 most of the parties concerned, and not one of 
 them had been able to imagine to any extent 
 the other s pain. 
 
 There, for instance, was Mrs. Pierson ; it will 
 be remembered that she entered this home with 
 a resolve in her heart to do her duty in full 
 measure ; and it shall be frankly admitted that 
 at times she had earnestly tried to do it. She 
 
 53 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 had brought with her a sincere affection for the 
 head of the house, and a real desire to make a 
 home for him. But she had also brought one 
 consuming, unreasoning passion. She had an 
 idol, and its name was Leon. For this son of 
 hers no sacrifice was too great. Despite the 
 affection which she certainly had for her hus 
 band, she would never have become his wife 
 had it not been plain to her that for Leon to 
 secure a father who was an eminent lawyer 
 would be much better for him than to remain 
 only the son of a quiet widow who had but a 
 few hundreds a year of her own, and no influ 
 ence in the great world. She would not have 
 liked to own that she married her husband for 
 the sake of her son, yet if she had understood 
 her own heart, that might not have been too 
 bald a way to put it. 
 
 Plainly she did not understand her heart 
 very well, nor begin to realize how hard it 
 would be to open it to the son as well as the 
 father ; yet, as has been said, she had tried. 
 
 Neither was she inclined to be hard upon 
 herself for her evident failure. Could she be 
 blamed for taking her own boy s part ? Who 
 should stand by him if not his mother? Then, 
 when one boy was good-natured and merry and 
 fun-loving, and the other was silent and cold 
 and sullen, could any one be blamed for seeing 
 just where the fault lay ? On those rare occa- 
 
 54 
 
A Crisis. 
 
 sions when even she was compelled to see faults 
 in her own son, she excused herself for shield 
 ing him on the plea that the poor boy had no 
 father, and that she must be both mother and 
 father to him. 
 
 As for Mr. Pierson, it would not be fair to 
 him to say that in planning his second marriage 
 he had forgotten his son. On the contrary, he 
 had thought much about him, and had con 
 vinced himself that the step he was about to 
 take would be in every way an advantage to 
 the boy ; but this was not until he had yielded 
 himself so entirely to Mrs. Hamilton s influ 
 ence as to feel sure that he wanted her, and 
 her only, for his own life. If the woman of 
 his choice had chosen him for a like motive, 
 it would have been better for the son, because 
 there is no genuine love for a man that does 
 not to a degree include his child. Mr. Pier- 
 son had come into the new relations, not only 
 with a determination to do his duty by the 
 boy Leon, but with a yearning affection for 
 him because he was his mother s son, and a 
 real desire to take the place as well as the 
 name of father. What an infinite pity that in 
 all his plans and hopes he failed to take his 
 own boy into partnership ! 
 
 To go over the story of the years already 
 passed since the new relations began would fill 
 volumes, and would simply be history repeat- 
 
 55 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 ing itself. For the most part, it was a record 
 of failure. Given such incongruous elements 
 in a home, none of the persons concerned 
 understanding the others heart or motive, and 
 at least one of them not caring to understand, 
 what other record could be made ? 
 
 Wayne, it will be remembered, had meant 
 " to be good." He had carried that idea in 
 his heart, and struggled with it spasmodically ; 
 had the new brother given him half a chance, 
 he would perhaps have come off victor. But 
 it will have to be admitted that Leon Hamil 
 ton was inherently selfish and tyrannical. His 
 nature throughout was hard. Not that he had 
 not occasional good impulses, and there was a 
 sense in which he loved his mother ; but he 
 loved not her nor anybody nor anything half 
 so well as he loved himself. This inherent 
 trait had been fostered by his mother until he 
 was honest in the belief that the world had 
 been created for his enjoyment, and that what 
 ever hindered that enjoyment must be pushed 
 or kicked out of the way. 
 
 They had struggled up through the years, 
 until now Leon was within a few months of 
 his majority and Wayne was just twenty. The 
 two young men were in college together in a 
 town but a few miles from home. That is, 
 they were classmates, but they by this time 
 so thoroughly disliked each other that they 
 
 56 
 
A Crisis. 
 
 came in contact only when necessity com 
 pelled. 
 
 It had been arranged early in their college 
 course that Saturdays and Sundays should be 
 spent at home ; but on one pretext or another 
 this plan often failed, one or the other remain 
 ing in town. When Wayne came out alone, 
 Mrs. Pierson was so disturbed and so full of 
 anxious surmises, as well as of hints that were 
 disagreeable to her stepson, that life for the 
 three was not comfortable. But when Leon 
 came, reporting gayly that Wayne was all right, 
 but had chosen to go off on a lark of his own, 
 it would have made the absent one s sore heart 
 sorer to have known what a thoroughly good 
 time they had without him. 
 
 In a curious sense the two young men were 
 rivals in class. Wayne was by nature a stu 
 dent ; he worked thoroughly, and commanded 
 the respect of his classmates as well as of the 
 faculty. Leon, on the contrary, lived for what 
 he called " fun," but he had a good memory 
 and was quick-witted and unscrupulous. He 
 could spend half the night in his chosen amuse 
 ments, then borrow the notes of a careless stu 
 dent, make free translations therefrom, on his 
 cuffs, or any convenient surface that could be 
 easily concealed, snatch at a few lines of the 
 text, put on a bold face, and corne off sometimes 
 with flying colors. Occasionally Wayne would 
 
 57 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 be so enraged by the success of these bare-faced 
 manoeuvrings as to lose his presence of mind 
 and make a poorer recitation than his rival. 
 Such an episode was sure to be followed by an 
 extraordinary account of the affair at home, 
 always given laughingly and with such an ap 
 pearance of high good humor on Leon s part, 
 that Wayne s contrasting indignation was very 
 marked. Sometimes a word of caution would 
 be called forth from the mother after this 
 manner : 
 
 " Leon dear, what a sad tease you are ! It 
 really isn t even college manners, I should think, 
 to be hilarious over the misfortunes of those 
 who do not happen to be as quick at their 
 studies as you are." 
 
 She meant it for good, and it sounded well 
 to the father. What could it be but an un 
 fortunate spirit of jealousy that caused the 
 blood to rush violently to Wayne s face at the 
 sound of the words ? There were times when 
 he darted a look at Leon that his mother said 
 afterward was " positively suggestive of dan- 
 
 ger." 
 
 It is not the intention of these historians to 
 linger over the boyhood of the two whose lives 
 were so unfortunately linked. It has been 
 thought wise to give to our readers these 
 glimpses of the beginnings, and to hint at cer 
 tain of the stumbling-blocks that might, before 
 
 58 
 
A Crisis. 
 
 they grew large, have been easily taken out of 
 the way ; and then to go on to the account of 
 the life-journey as it led through devious paths 
 and often by way of a wilderness up to what we 
 call the end. It is hoped that the reasons for 
 making the record will be made plain as the 
 reader progresses. 
 
 But the evening before that interview be 
 tween Wayne Pierson and his father, with 
 which this chapter opens, Wayne had been 
 hard at work in his room at college. An im 
 portant recitation, the closing one indeed for 
 the college year, had been scheduled for the 
 next morning, and Wayne, who believed that 
 he stood a fair chance for the honors, was 
 making a last careful preparation, when he was 
 interrupted. 
 
 A response to a tap at his door admitted a 
 senior with whom he had a slight acquaintance, 
 who began without ceremony : 
 
 " Pierson, do you know where Hamilton is, 
 this evening ? " 
 
 " I have not that honor," said Wayne ; " I 
 rarely have." 
 
 " Well, this time I happen to know, and 
 he is in a bad place. There is another row 
 at Ryder s. Poor little Nixon escaped from 
 there a few minutes ago, and came to me 
 with the story. He says Hamilton is the 
 worst one there ; he doesn t know what he 
 
 59 
 
By H^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 is about, you understand, and I am afraid 
 he will get into very serious trouble. The 
 authorities are especially on the watch for 
 Ryder s place, just now, you remember. 
 It won t mean less than expulsion for every 
 one who is found there. So I thought per 
 haps excuse me, I don t want to be offi 
 cious, but Hamilton is a relative of yours, 
 isn t he?" 
 
 " No," said Wayne, with unnecessary em 
 phasis ; " he is my father s stepson." 
 
 " Oh, well, I thought you might like 
 to save your father s name, you understand. 
 Something could be done before the discovery 
 comes, but not afterward, I am afraid. I 
 chanced to learn what the outcome would be 
 through well, no matter who; I won t in 
 terrupt you longer ; good-night." 
 
 Then Wayne dropped his book and leaned 
 his elbows on the table and his head in his 
 hands, and thought. Expulsion, disgrace, dis 
 honor. Were these not what Leon Hamilton 
 deserved ? Was there a greater cheat or a 
 more worthless rogue within those college 
 walls than he ? Was not his influence among 
 those younger and weaker than himself wholly 
 bad ? Yet who knew it ? Heretofore the 
 fellow had been sharp enough to escape all 
 publicity, and to maintain a sort of reputation 
 for scholarship, even. Ought he to be helped 
 60 
 
A Crisis. 
 
 to continue his duplicity ? But, on the other 
 hand, it was his father, his own splendid father, 
 whose name and reputation were hopelessly 
 linked with this young scamp s. It was his 
 father who paid the college bills and to whom 
 all reports were sent. He seemed to see the 
 whole story of the disgraceful scene at Ryder s 
 blazing in the next day s papers, with his 
 father s name put in bold type. " We under 
 stand that young Hamilton, the principal actor 
 in the scene, is the stepson of the eminent 
 lawyer, Edward W. Pierson, Esq." And then 
 would follow sentences that would drag their 
 family affairs before the public, and make his 
 father s face burn with shame. It must not 
 be ! He must try to shield his father, even 
 though in doing so he should have to help 
 that villain. 
 
 Half an hour afterward, a detective in citi 
 zen s dress made his way through the confusion 
 that reigned at the questionable place known as 
 Ryder s, and tried to make plain to the bewil 
 dered brain of the chief rioter that a gentleman 
 in a carriage at the door wished to speak to 
 him. It ended in the detective s calling two 
 policemen to his aid, and even then it was with 
 difficulty that Hamilton was conveyed to the 
 carriage. Once within, however, he sank almost 
 immediately into a drunken stupor ; and when 
 they reached the college, Wayne and the detec- 
 
 61 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 tive had but little difficulty in getting the fellow 
 to his room and bed. Then Wayne locked the 
 door upon him, and went to his own room, 
 In the morning, finding the young reveller still 
 sleeping heavily, he again locked the door, and 
 went to breakfast and to his recitation. It was 
 two hours before he came back, to find the lock 
 broken and his prisoner escaped. Later in the 
 day he learned that Hamilton had taken the 
 eleven o clock train for home. Meantime, 
 the threatened disclosures concerning Ryder s 
 house had taken place later in the evening, and 
 the papers, as Wayne had foreseen, were ablaze 
 with details. A shiver of relief ran through 
 his frame as he glanced them over, and found 
 no mention of the family name. Once more 
 Hamilton had escaped. 
 
 The whole affair gloomed the day that would 
 else have been bright for him. The coveted 
 honors had been won, and he was taking home 
 the newspaper account of prizes, with his name 
 at the head. But he was taking also a heavy 
 heart. The time had come when he must cer 
 tainly break the silence that he had carefully 
 maintained ever since his father had, years be 
 fore, charged him with being jealous of his 
 stepson, and forbidden him to come with tales 
 of him. This time, disgrace had been too 
 imminent, and his father s name had been 
 shielded at too great a price. The son must 
 62 
 
A Crisis. 
 
 choke down his pride, and let the truth be 
 known now, once for all. 
 
 It happened, however, that he reached home 
 by an earlier train than his father, and it was 
 Mrs. Pierson who met him, white with anger, 
 to ask how he dared to follow a fatherless boy 
 to his retreat, after having publicly insulted 
 him, and stolen his honors from him. 
 
 It became evident that young Hamilton had 
 not taken an early train for naught. By dint 
 of careful listening, and a quietly put question 
 now and then, Wayne learned that he was sup 
 posed to have drugged his stepbrother the 
 night before, and then to have locked him into 
 the room, from which he had escaped with dif 
 ficulty, the motive being to keep Hamilton 
 away from that important recitation, and so win 
 for himself the honors that but for this would 
 undoubtedly have been his stepbrother s ! 
 
 Wayne was simply dumfounded over this 
 state of affairs. Well as he thought he knew 
 Leon Hamilton, he had expected to find him, 
 this time, somewhat subdued, and anxious to 
 buy silence. Behold, instead, he had made 
 Wayne s duty well-nigh impossible ! 
 
 Before he had determined just how to try to 
 meet this new state of things, Wayne was sum 
 moned to an interview with his father. And 
 the father, who had just come from an exciting 
 talk with his wife and Leon, without asking a 
 
 63 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 word of explanation from his son, or permitting 
 a suggestion that there might be another side 
 to the story he had heard, had addressed him 
 in the way that has already been told, and then 
 dismissed him from his presence. 
 
V. 
 
 Apologies. 
 
 AFTER pacing the beach until he was 
 worn out, Wayne turned his steps 
 toward his green sanctum in the pine 
 woods as by natural gravitation. It had 
 been the scene of many a boyish mental conflict, 
 and somehow the spot had a calming influence. 
 Perhaps the resinous fragrance is soothing to 
 sick spirits as well as to diseased lungs. 
 
 He sat down on a knoll, leaned his head on 
 his hands, and tried to look the future in the 
 face. His father had again condemned him un 
 heard on the testimony of one to whose faults 
 he was still blind and deaf. He must now 
 begin to plan his life without reference to his 
 father s aid. While he knotted his brows in 
 perplexed thought, he became aware that a 
 familiar form was approaching, and he sprang 
 up in glad surprise, to welcome Aunt Crete. 
 
 " Nobody in the house could tell me where 
 you were," she said, as he bent and kissed her 
 as of old. " I thought, though, I should find 
 you here in your old haunts, and when I came 
 
 65 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 up the hill, Wayne, it looked a little as if you 
 had come out here to settle affairs with some 
 body or something just as you used to/* 
 
 Then the aunt looked him over with those 
 keen, kind eyes of hers, a long, scrutinizing 
 gaze, wondering if the last two years of college 
 life in which she had not seen him had made 
 or marred. But she was satisfied with the lines 
 of the pure mouth and the clear eyes which met 
 hers unfalteringly. 
 
 " Well, begin," Aunt Crete said briskly, tak 
 ing a seat on a cushion of pine needles ; " tell 
 me all about yourself, quick, for I have not long 
 to stay. I am on my way to Uncle Daniel s 
 to spend the rest of the summer, and shall 
 take the night express from here; so go on!" 
 
 " Aunt Crete, do you remember the sunset 
 on the river through that opening in the pines ? 
 Look at it now ; isn t it glorious ? " 
 
 "Yes, it is ; but I have not time to talk about 
 sunsets. What about yourself? You need not 
 try to turn me off on another track. You are 
 not happy, Wayne ; I see it in your eyes." 
 
 "Better talk of sunsets, or anything, rather 
 than my miserable affairs," the young man 
 said gloomily ; " why rehearse them when we 
 have but a little time together ? It will only 
 make you unhappy." 
 
 But Aunt Crete was not to be put off; she 
 questioned and cross-questioned until she knew 
 
 66 
 
Apologies. 
 
 the whole, putting together what he told and 
 did not tell. 
 
 " And why in the world have you not told 
 your father all this long ago ? " 
 
 " Because he long ago refused to listen to any 
 complaints, and I resolved never to trouble 
 him again on the subject. That fellow repre 
 sents to father that I am jealous of him ; he 
 tells all sorts of lies about me which are be 
 lieved because I will not condescend to plead 
 with my father to have as much faith in his own 
 son as he has in a stepson." 
 
 " He shall know the truth," Aunt Crete said 
 resolutely ; " I ll go and tell him myself, this 
 minute. The idea of his suspecting you of 
 such things !" 
 
 " Don t you do it, Aunt Crete ; he would 
 despise me if he thought I got you to inter 
 fere. It would be of no use, either. He is as 
 completely under the influence of that woman 
 and^her son as if he were hypnotized. When 
 I m not in a rage, I m sorry for father; he has 
 to walk on just such a line, because tears and 
 hysterics are a terror to him. When I discov 
 ered that Leon was drinking and running into 
 debt, I thought I ought to tell father for his 
 own sake, but that villain had got his ear first 
 and trumped up a lie about me, as he always 
 does, and father believed it, as he always does ; 
 now he must take the consequences ; I shall 
 
 67 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 not tell him. The injustice of his treatment 
 of me is outrageous ! " 
 
 "The trouble, from the very first," said Aunt 
 Crete, sadly, " has been that miserable Pierson 
 pride. You allowed your father to get wrong 
 impressions, and were silent because you were 
 too proud to explain, when you should have 
 defended yourself." 
 
 " I must maintain my self-respect," Wayne 
 said, with his head held high. Aunt Crete 
 sighed, and was silent. At last she spoke half 
 hesitatingly : 
 
 " Wayne, it is sad enough to have you on 
 bad terms with your father, but there is some 
 thing that troubles me more than that. You 
 said you hated Leon." 
 
 " Yes, I said so, and I do ; it s the naked 
 truth, and I cannot deny it." 
 
 " c He that hateth his brother is a murderer, " 
 quoted Aunt Crete, solemnly. 
 
 " If you knew all that I have suffered from 
 that torment, you would not wonder that I 
 have lost patience. He is perfectly Satanic ; 
 he has made my life miserable. I have envied 
 the merest clodhopper who had a happy home! 
 Don t preach forbearance to me ; I ve got 
 beyond that." 
 
 " But a Christian cannot cherish hate." 
 
 " I am not a Christian, Aunt Crete. Why 
 did you think I was ? " 
 
 68 
 
Apologies. 
 
 " I thought so because once upon a time a 
 certain dear boy declared his purpose to love 
 and serve his Lord/ 
 
 " That boy was lost, long ago, turned into a 
 wretched, prematurely grown-up creature. But 
 don t let s talk of that any more. Time is 
 going, and I must talk to you about my plans. 
 You know I am cast off now. Father said I 
 might consider his aid at an end unless I apolo 
 gize to Leon ! I shall go away from here for 
 ever ; I am tired of this, anyway." 
 
 " Don t think of such a thing ! " Aunt Crete 
 said, with energy. " The idea of your going 
 away and leaving everything to that rascal ! 
 Have a talk with your father and make him 
 understand. He is hasty, I know, and he is 
 in a trying position ; but I am sure that he 
 didn t really mean what he said. Don t cut 
 loose from your father. Finish your college 
 course, at least ; then your way will be clearer. 
 You can come and live with me then as long 
 as you like in the old homestead. I ll pro 
 vide the home, and you can provide the bread 
 and butter." 
 
 Aunt Crete felt at ease about Wayne s fu 
 ture, because his mother s not small fortune had 
 been willed to her boy ; but, by her request, the 
 boy himself was to be kept in ignorance of it 
 until he became of age. 
 
 Before Aunt Crete continued her journey that 
 
 6 9 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 evening, she secured a promise from Wayne 
 that he would have an explanation with his 
 father that very night. Accordingly, when he 
 returned from accompanying his aunt to the 
 station, he went to the library to fulfil this 
 promise. His father was not there, and there 
 seemed to be an unusual bustle and stir in the 
 house. Jonas presently drove the carriage to 
 the door, and soon his father came downstairs, 
 travelling-bag in hand, and hurriedly explained 
 that he had been summoned to a distant city 
 on important business. As he bade Wayne 
 good-by, he left in his hand a note. Wayne 
 hurried with it to the library and read as 
 follows : 
 
 " DEAR WAYNE : I am compelled to be ab 
 sent from home, for several days at least. Per 
 haps I have taken the pranks of college boys 
 too seriously and been unnecessarily harsh with 
 you ; so consider, if you please, those last words 
 of mine unsaid. It is true I am distressed that 
 your manhood has not yet overcome and cast 
 out that strange spirit of jealousy that seemed 
 to take possession of you on Leon s first com 
 ing to us. It seems to me that he has shown 
 much forbearance. Do try to have things dif 
 ferent between you ; his generous nature will 
 overlook everything, I am sure. My life out 
 in the world is extremely harassing ; if I might 
 70 
 
Apologies. 
 
 enjoy peace and quiet in my home, it would 
 be an immense relief. "FATHER." 
 
 If Wayne had been humiliated and angry be 
 fore, he was furious now. What had not that 
 smooth-tongued enemy of his accomplished ! 
 It was just as Aunt Crete had said ; he had 
 himself been foolishly silent. Now indeed his 
 father should know the truth, if he could pos 
 sibly get it before him, and he would not go 
 away ; he would stay and assert his rights. 
 
 He did not know how soon an opportunity 
 would offer. 
 
 It was growing late, but still he paced the 
 floor, absorbed in bitter thoughts. Suddenly 
 he was aware of another presence in the room. 
 His stepmother, clad in a white wrapper, stood, 
 ghostlike, in the doorway. 
 
 "Wayne," she began haughtily, "what is 
 the meaning of this ? Do you know that it 
 is almost twelve o clock ? " 
 
 " Well, and what of that ? " he asked. 
 
 " Are you not aware that the house should 
 be closed by this time ? " She began closing 
 and fastening windows as she spoke. 
 
 " Excuse me, but I m not ready to leave 
 this room yet," Wayne answered. " When I 
 am, I will attend to the locks." 
 
 Mrs. Pierson looked at the tall young man 
 before her, and swiftly took in the fact that 
 
 71 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 he was actually no longer a boy. But she was 
 not to be cowed by him ; she drew herself up 
 with dignity, and said : 
 
 " I think you forget that I am the mistress 
 of this house, and close it when I please." , 
 
 " And I think you forget that I am the 
 grown son of the master of this house, and as 
 such have a few rights worthy of respect." 
 
 Notwithstanding the masterful air, Mrs. 
 Pierson walked toward the lights as if to turn 
 them out, saying, " It s all nonsense for young 
 people to sit up late, and I don t intend to 
 keep my house open and ablaze with light at 
 this hour, inviting the notice of burglars." 
 
 Wayne laughed scornfully. The idea of 
 burglars in that quiet spot where he had spent 
 his life was preposterous. He too came and 
 stood under the chandelier, and there was a 
 silent conflict between the two as they looked 
 into each other s faces. 
 
 " And I do not intend to be turned out of 
 the library and sent to bed, as if I were ten in 
 stead of twenty, at the command of one who 
 came into this family several years later than I 
 did." Wayne s eyes glowed with excitement 
 as he spoke. His stepmother had the advan 
 tage of him, for she remained cool outwardly. 
 She was, in fact, speechless with surprise for a 
 moment. Her stepson had been haughty and 
 cold, but never before had he blazed out like this. 
 72 
 
Apologies. 
 
 " Indeed ! " she said presently ; cc you must 
 make your conduct match your age, then. 
 Men, that is, gentlemen^ are courteous to women. 
 I ghall not condescend to quarrel with you ; 
 but be assured that your father shall hear of 
 this disrespect to me." Whereupon Mrs. 
 Pierson walked majestically out. 
 
 In her room and preparing for rest, she called 
 herself a fool that she had managed so miser 
 ably. The boy who had suddenly turned into 
 a man, and become her enemy, she might years 
 ago have charmed to her allegiance, even as she 
 did the father. 
 
 Wayne Pierson did not sleep well that night. 
 Added to all his other troubles, he had himself 
 to reckon with. At his own tribunal he had 
 been tried and convicted. His stepmother s 
 words held a sting. His standard of what was 
 due from man to woman was extremely high, 
 even chivalric, and it covered him with shame 
 to realize that he had transgressed a law which 
 he particularly prided himself upon observing. 
 He had treated a woman, his father s wife, with 
 discourtesy. There was just one thing to be 
 done : he must apologize. Oh, the misery of 
 going through this ordeal with that icicle of a 
 woman ! but there was no other way out. It 
 was no fear of consequences which made him 
 thus decide. He simply could not respect 
 himself, and do otherwise. 
 
 73 
 
By JJ^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 The next morning he was up early, going 
 about restlessly, waiting for an opportunity to 
 speak to his stepmother. He wanted it over 
 with, but there were guests in the house, and 
 it was not easy to find her alone ; however, 
 after breakfast she happened out on the porch, 
 not knowing that he was there. Wayne came 
 forward eagerly, his hat lifted, and bowing with 
 a grace that Mrs. Pierson had often remarked 
 in him, he said, " I beg your pardon for speak 
 ing to you as I did last night ; it was very rude, 
 and I should not have forgotten myself so far 
 had I not been greatly incensed over another 
 matter." 
 
 His stepmother gazed at him in unqualified 
 surprise. This was a new phase in a young 
 man s character. Wayne had always avoided 
 a direct issue with her, since he had grown 
 older, so there had been no occasion for 
 apology. Her own son was certainly not 
 given to confessions of wrong. What a queer 
 fellow Wayne was ! She knew he was not 
 mocking her ; his tones and manner were re 
 spectful, and his eyes looked sincere. She was 
 not entirely proof against so courteous an 
 apology ; for a moment her heart warmed to 
 him ; then an ugly feeling that an action so 
 noble condemned her own son turned the scale. 
 He from a child had possessed a lawless tongue, 
 and never dreamed of apologies. She thought 
 
 74 
 
Apologies. 
 
 within herself: "Wayne is probably trying to 
 buy me off. He supposes that if he confesses, 
 I will not mention it to his father." When 
 she spoke, after hesitation, her " Certainly " was 
 as cold as if it had frozen on the way out. 
 
 During that day a vivid account of the 
 library scene was forwarded to her husband ; 
 it had concluded with : " I am really worried 
 about Wayne. He looked perfectly furious. 
 But there I did not mean to trouble you ; 
 of course we must bear with him, and count it 
 one of the means of disciplining our spirits in 
 patience. I am truly sorry for you." 
 
 It never seemed to occur to Mrs. Pierson 
 that her husband had aught to complain of in 
 her own son. Mother-love had a mantle broad 
 and long to screen him from eyes severe ; but 
 alas for Wayne, whose faults were seen through 
 a magnifying glass. 
 
 In the afternoon Wayne took a sudden de 
 termination to spend the Sabbath with a friend 
 several miles distant by rail ; so he left home 
 soon after luncheon. 
 
 He had not been long gone when Leon 
 sauntered out to the stable where the horses 
 of the two young men stood side by side. He 
 began to saddle his own for a gallop, but dis 
 covered a loose shoe. Instead of delaying his 
 ride for a little and taking his horse to a near-by 
 blacksmith shop, he laid hold of Wayne s pony. 
 
 75 
 
By W^ay of the W^ilderness. 
 
 Then he gave a long, low whistle, a signal with 
 him that he was somewhat perplexed and non 
 plussed. A slender chain passed about Liph s 
 neck and then through an iron ring in a beam, 
 and was securely fastened with a padlock. 
 
 " Aha, my boy ! we ll see whether you have 
 got the better of me this time," he muttered, as 
 he ransacked his pockets for keys. It was not 
 the first time that Leon had attempted to ride 
 Liph ; but he was so cruel to animals that 
 Wayne would on no account trust his horse 
 to him, and had taken this precaution to make 
 all safe during his absence. He carried one 
 key himself and had provided Jonas, the man 
 of all work, with another. 
 
 It was like Leon to be more than ever de 
 termined to ride the horse as the difficulties of 
 accomplishing it increased. Jonas was at work 
 in a far-off lot, and the horse could be secured 
 if he could only unlock that padlock, and un 
 lock it he would, somehow or other. He went 
 upstairs and got all the keys that would be 
 likely to fit. At last, a key belonging to an 
 old valise almost opened the padlock. A little 
 filing, then the key turned in the lock, and the 
 horse was free, or rather, he was in bonds to a 
 tyrant. 
 
 While Leon saddled him he could not keep 
 the " grin " from his face that the other young 
 man so hated. Very soon he trotted down the 
 
 7 6 
 
Apologies. 
 
 road, well pleased. Liph was the perfection 
 of a saddle-horse, for, added to unusual ease 
 of motion, he was even more fleet and spirited 
 than Leon s own; and the young man had long 
 been manoeuvring to secure him for a dash over 
 the country. 
 
 The sun was throwing long shadows when 
 Leon came plunging at full speed up the car 
 riage-way ; and nobody would have recognized 
 the gentle Liph in this wild-eyed creature with 
 distended nostrils and covered with foam. It 
 happened that Liph s master, not finding his 
 friend at home, had returned by the next train, 
 and at this moment came up the pathway 
 through the grove, amazement, horror, and 
 fury in his face. He was just in time to 
 hear from among the vines about the porch a 
 soft voice with a note of distress in it, exclaim : 
 
 " Oh, that poor dear horse ! " And Wayne 
 knew that it was not his stepmother s voice. 
 
 77 
 
VI. 
 
 Enid. 
 
 DURING the last fortnight there had 
 been a guest at Beechwood whose 
 presence had the same effect on the 
 household that a burst of sunshine let 
 into a gloomy room might produce. Not that 
 the inmates of that home were continually war 
 ring, but when there is not perfect harmony, 
 the atmosphere is more or less affected by it. 
 The house was often gay with music and laugh 
 ter and merry guests, who, despite good cheer 
 and abounding hospitality, were conscious of a 
 chill in the intercourse of the family themselves. 
 Enid Wilmer was the daughter of Mrs. Pier- 
 son s dearest friend. Their intimacy, begun in 
 school, had been cemented through the years 
 by correspondence and occasional visits. When 
 ill health obliged Mrs. Wilmer to spend a year 
 at certain springs in Europe, she decided to 
 leave her daughter Enid in the excellent school 
 where she had been a pupil for two years past. 
 Learning of this, Mrs. Pierson petitioned that 
 the young girl be allowed to spend her summer 
 vacation at Beechwood, 
 
 78 
 
Enid. 
 
 " Let your dear girlie come to us," she had 
 written. " We will take the best care of her. 
 Leon is at home, and will be delighted to ride 
 and walk and row with her. Who knows, dear 
 friend, but that it might be the small beginning 
 of an attachment which would fulfil our early 
 dreams that our children should belong to each 
 other ? Not, of course, that I would encourage 
 love-making thus early, but it is well to have 
 them acquainted." 
 
 Mrs. Wilmer was only too happy to have 
 her daughter in her friend s home during a 
 part of the long separation. There is a type 
 of modern schoolgirl, flippant, irreverent, ill- 
 mannered, which one shudders to encounter 
 until life s experiences and the grace of God 
 have chiselled and polished away insufferable 
 egotisms and vanities. Such was not Enid 
 Wilmer. Indeed, it was a wonder that a na 
 ture so sweet and unspoiled should have sprung 
 from the unfriendly soil of wealth and fashion. 
 The families had not met in several years, but 
 Mrs. Pierson had written much of her son, so 
 that Enid quite looked forward to the pleasure 
 of having a sort of brother to go about with 
 her, unless perhaps she should stand too much 
 in awe of so great a paragon as his mother had 
 painted him. 
 
 Leon, too, welcomed the thought of a young 
 lady guest for so long a time. When they 
 
 79 
 
By H^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 met, both were disappointed. Leon s loud, 
 bold ways, and his taking a sort of possession 
 of Enid from the first, not in a brotherly style, 
 either, but as if she were a grown-up young 
 lady, repelled the girl. He darted impressive 
 glances at her from his big black eyes, and rat 
 tled off sentimental nonsense mixed with silly 
 compliments. Enid, on the contrary, had 
 thought of herself as not much more than a 
 little girl, and Leon as a nice boy who would 
 be a good comrade to ramble about with her. 
 Leon was amazed that his efforts at flirting 
 met with so little success. When he flashed 
 unutterable things at her from eloquent eyes, 
 her own earnest gray-blue ones gave no an 
 swering flash, but gravely regarded him with 
 innocent steadfast look, as if she did not un 
 derstand such manifestations. When he grew 
 bolder and talked what she called " foolish 
 ness," she would promptly take herself out of 
 hearing of his voice, or surprise him by spirited 
 banter, turning his lovemaking into ridicule 
 without mercy. The womanly intuitions even 
 of her brief seventeen years told her it was but 
 hollow talk and mockery. 
 
 The " other boy " whom Enid met at meal 
 times and occasionally in the evening was a 
 problem to her. Reserved, rather silent, it 
 was difficult to know him ; but his grave, kind 
 eyes and courteous manner won Enid s liking, 
 
 so 
 
Enid 
 
 and what she saw of him belied what she con 
 tinually heard from his stepmother and Leon. 
 Mrs. Pierson had remarked to her : 
 
 " Yes, every house has its skeleton, only it 
 has flesh and bones in this case. If it were not 
 for Wayne Pierson, we three would be perfectly 
 happy. My husband is devoted to Leon, and 
 we have lovely times when we are alone, but 
 Wayne is a disturbing element, as you will soon 
 discover. He has a sullen, jealous disposition 
 which is like a dark cloud in our home. There 
 is always some difficulty between him and Leon 
 on account of it. His temper carries him to 
 great lengths sometimes. I will admit that 
 Leon is a sad tease, and does aggravate him 
 from pure love of fun. Wayne is one of those 
 fellows who cannot take a joke, sort of wooden, 
 you know, and Leon does love a joke. If it 
 weren t for his merry brightness I don t know 
 what would become of us sometimes. But the 
 chief trouble grows out of Wayne s inordinate 
 jealousy. One reason for that is, that he does 
 not learn so readily as Leon. It is trying, of 
 course, to see Leon so far ahead of him, getting 
 praises and honors and all that sort of thing. 
 The poor fellow has to get his education by the 
 hardest. I don t know how he would come 
 out if it were not for Leon s constant help; but 
 let me tell you how he repays him." 
 
 Then followed an account of the story that 
 
 81 
 
By Pf^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 Leon had brought home that he had been locked 
 into his room by Wayne in order to prevent 
 his being present at that important closing 
 recitation. 
 
 All this did not have the effect on the young 
 girl that might have been supposed. Enid 
 found herself believing, despite it all, in the 
 clear-eyed young man who sat opposite her at 
 table, and she longed to put some brightness 
 into a life that seemed to have so little. She 
 pitied him ; and Wayne received many a tele 
 graphic glance of sympathy and good-will from 
 the lovely innocent eyes, which he prized more 
 than he would had he known just what prompted 
 them ; no young man likes to be pitied by a girl. 
 
 Enid had been at Beechwood long enough 
 to become acquainted with Liph ; she had even, 
 one day, enjoyed the privilege of skimming 
 over the country on his back ; and she made 
 many a visit to the stable during his master s 
 absence, to take him a dainty bit. So her 
 horror and indignation were almost as great 
 as Wayne s when she saw the jaded creature 
 that Leon brought home after his wild ride. 
 She was in full sympathy, too, with the owner 
 of the beautiful animal in the debate which 
 followed. 
 
 " What does this mean ? What business 
 had you to take my horse without permission ?" 
 Wayne thundered. 
 
 82 
 
Enid. 
 
 Under other circumstances Leon would prob 
 ably have made an insolent reply ; but he knew 
 he had an audience : his mother and Enid were 
 on the porch ; so in a smooth calm tone he 
 said : 
 
 " It means, my beloved brother, that I had 
 an important errand at Milburn. My horse 
 had lost a shoe and I could not delay, so I ven 
 tured upon your well-known generosity, and 
 took yours, for which I crave your royal high- 
 ness s pardon." 
 
 " You wretch ! you brute ! " burst from 
 Wayne s lips. " Look at him ! he s ruined ! " 
 The young man had been obliged to hold him 
 self with a firm hand to keep from seizing the 
 whip and laying it about Leon regardless of 
 consequences. 
 
 The rider dismounted leisurely and flung the 
 bridle over the horse s neck, saying, as he did 
 so: 
 
 cc There ! I was going to take him to his 
 stable and make him as good as new ; but not 
 after such abuse." 
 
 As usual, Leon appeared to his mother, who 
 had silently listened, to be the injured one ; 
 and she said to Enid : 
 
 " There, you can see now what I meant. 
 Did ever any one hear of such a fit of anger 
 over so small a thing! he is always just so 
 mean and disobliging. Poor Leon ! it seems 
 
 83 
 
By J^ay of the Wilderness. 
 j j j 
 
 a shame that his home should be made un 
 pleasant by that fellow." 
 
 Enid, fearing she could no longer repress 
 her indignation, excused herself and went to 
 her room. A few minutes later, she stole away 
 imperceived, by a roundabout way, to the 
 stable. She stepped back when she reached 
 the door and saw Wayne with his head bowed 
 on the neck of the horse ; when he lifted it 
 and began to rub Liph down, Enid walked 
 softly in. She had a basket in her hand con 
 taining a bottle of witch-hazel, some soft 
 cloths, and a few lumps of sugar. 
 
 " I couldn t help coming to try to do some 
 thing for poor, dear Liph," she said, coming 
 to the horse s side and patting him. " It was 
 horrid to treat him so. I do believe Leon 
 used spurs, cruel fellow ! Liph s great eyes 
 look at you mournfully, as if he wanted to 
 ask : f Where was my master when this dread 
 ful thing happened to me ? 
 
 If Wayne had seen Enid approaching in the 
 distance he would probably have fastened the 
 stable door, for he wished to be alone with his 
 anger and grief. As it was, he would not trust 
 himself to words. The feelings that surged 
 within him could find no fit expression for in 
 nocent ears. He only bowed his head and 
 tried to smile when Enid asked : " May I help 
 you comfort poor Liph ? " 
 
 8 4 
 
Enid. 
 
 He could but smile indeed, when, after she 
 had bathed the wounds made by the spurs, 
 she poured witch-hazel liberally over the 
 linen cloth and washed Liph s face as if he 
 were a human, drying it gently with another 
 cloth. She would have bathed the horse from 
 head to foot in the refreshing lotion had she 
 been allowed to do so. Then she combed 
 and stroked his silky mane, talking fondly to 
 him the while, and plumping lumps of sugar 
 into his mouth. Liph was already looking 
 brighter, and his master had grown calmer, 
 when Enid vanished noiselessly as she had 
 come ; though not before she heard, as she 
 went out, a grateful " Thank you ever so 
 much." 
 
 It was a great relief to Wayne that he needed 
 to work vigorously for a time, and so expend 
 some of his overwrought feeling. It was most 
 aggravating to have this to bear without hope 
 of redress ; but there was no hope except it 
 might be through a hand-to-hand encounter. 
 Possibly in that he might come off victor, for 
 he had grown strong and become a skilled ath 
 lete. His lithe slenderness might more than 
 match Leon s stouter proportions ; but the 
 thought of seriously entertaining such an idea 
 was abhorrent to him. Never would he de 
 scend to measures of that sort unless self- 
 defence made it necessary. 
 
 85 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 The next afternoon, which was the Sabbath, 
 Enid had established herself in a corner of the 
 porch with a book. Mrs. Pierson lay in a 
 hammock near by, dozing and reading by turns, 
 when Leon came out and asked Enid to go 
 with him for a row on the river. 
 
 " Thank you, not to-day," Enid said ; " to 
 morrow, if you choose." 
 
 Whereupon Leon struck a theatrical attitude 
 and quoted : 
 
 " To-morrow, did st thou say ? 
 
 Go to I will not hear of to-morrow ! 
 It is a period nowhere to be found 
 In all the hoary registers of time, 
 Unless, perchance, in the fool s calendar. 
 
 "But to come down to everyday prose, 1 
 shall be away to-morrow." 
 
 " Some other day, then," persisted Enid ; " I 
 really cannot go to-day, if you will excuse me." 
 
 Leon muttered something unintelligible and 
 strode off to a seat under a tree in the distance. 
 His mother watched him uneasily, then, turn 
 ing to Enid, asked: "Why did you not go, 
 dear ? Don t you like the water ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes, indeed I do, very much, but " 
 and Enid hesitated, then went bravely on : "I 
 have not been accustomed to going out rowing 
 on the Sabbath. Do you think it is quite right 
 to do so ? " 
 86 
 
Enid. 
 
 " You dear little Puritan ! Why not ? What 
 could be quieter than floating about on a peace 
 ful river talking or reading ? You can take 
 along all the good books you wish." 
 
 "Yes, but," Enid said, with flushing face, 
 " I have lately promised to live to please my 
 Master, the Lord Jesus. I am not sure about 
 this." 
 
 " My dear child, your mother and I when 
 we were girls at home spent almost every Sab 
 bath afternoon in summer floating about in a 
 boat on a little lake. It never crossed our 
 minds that we were doing wrong. We turned 
 out to be rather good women, did we not ? " 
 
 The sarcasm was painful to the sensitive girl, 
 even though it was accompanied by a smile. 
 
 " Besides," Mrs. Pierson went on, " I have 
 always supposed that Christian service meant 
 doing good to others. If so innocent a thing 
 as this will keep a young man from attending 
 a ball-game on the Sabbath, where I presume 
 he is planning this minute to go, it would seem 
 that it was certainly right." 
 
 While Enid hesitated, Mrs. Pierson said in 
 a softened tone : " We mothers have a good 
 deal of .anxious thought about our boys. I 
 hope, dear, if you can find it in your conscience 
 to help me by influencing him for good this 
 afternoon, you will do so." 
 
 Poor Enid, in a strait betwixt many oppos- 
 
 87 
 
By H^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 ing thoughts, began to feel that at least it might 
 be right to heed the wishes of the woman in 
 whose care she had been placed by her mother. 
 Then, if she could really do good by going, 
 was it not her duty ? And yet, with a tenderer 
 conscience and a more logical mind than her 
 hostess, there arose the question : How could 
 she influence another for good when she was 
 by her own standard breaking the Sabbath to 
 accomplish it? The conflict ended by her 
 going down to tell Leon that she had changed 
 her mind and would go with him. 
 
 When they were seated in the boat, moving 
 rapidly to long strokes of the oars over the 
 smooth water, Leon noticed that Enid had a 
 book on her lap. 
 
 " Upon my word ! " he exclaimed, trying 
 to spell out the title. " c The something 
 Secret ! You re a sly midget; you ve brought 
 along a paper-covered novel, French, too, I 
 dare say. Ah! these demure girls they re 
 deep ! " 
 
 " Shall I read to you ? " Enid asked, open 
 ing the book. 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course ; I m always ready for 
 a novel a good one." 
 
 Whereupon Enid began to read the story 
 of a young man who early in life had a vivid 
 realization that he was a soul ; that this world 
 was not his permanent home ; that just over 
 
 88 
 
Enid. 
 
 a boundary line was the other world to which 
 he was going, and it was everlasting. To Enid 
 the " Christian s Secret of a Happy Life " had 
 lately become more intensely interesting than 
 a novel could possibly be. She forgot her 
 companion as she read on with glowing face, 
 until Leon exclaimed : 
 
 " Excuse me, but how much of that trash 
 do you think my good nature capable of en 
 during ? A * happy life/ indeed ! I know the 
 secret of a happy life ; it is to have all the 
 money you want, go where you please, and do 
 what you please. That makes a good time, 
 which of course includes taking a pretty girl 
 out boating ; that is, if she isn t poky. See 
 here, seriously, my dear, take my advice and 
 throw that book into the river. That is no 
 sort of reading for you. It will make you 
 into a disagreeable, sanctimonious old maid. 
 If such an unnatural prig of a fellow as 
 that book describes ever lived, he ought 
 to have been tortured until he got some 
 sense." 
 
 During this tirade Enid read quietly to her 
 self, as if she did not hear what he was saying. 
 
 " Come, now, this isn t very interesting," 
 Leon said, after a silence. "Can t you sing 
 something ? " 
 
 O 
 
 Enid did not feel in the least like singing. 
 Leon s talk had been an offence to her. But 
 
 8 9 
 
By W^ay of the JV^ildarness. 
 
 the remembrance of what had brought her out 
 there made her resolve to pass it over. Her 
 voice was sweet and well trained. It was a 
 pleasure to Leon to hear it, even though it did 
 sing the hymn beginning : 
 
 When peace like a river attendeth my way. * 
 
 That finished, she began one of which Leon 
 liked the melody, and he sang with her. When 
 Mrs. Pierson heard Enid s sweet, penetrating 
 notes and Leon s deep bass float to her from 
 the distant water, in the hymn, 
 
 "O day of rest and gladness, 
 Most beautiful, most bright ! " 
 
 she smiled and congratulated herself. 
 
 Enid was on the alert to forestall Leon s se 
 lections, and she glided into another song as 
 soon as one was finished. But in the midst of 
 a strain he suddenly broke out in a secular sen 
 timental song which had not even merit to com 
 mend it. Of course Enid did not sing with 
 him. That vexed him, and snatches of all the 
 foolish songs that floated through his memory 
 were given. Then college songs, uproarious 
 and bordering on coarseness, were shouted out, 
 while he enjoyed to the utmost Enid s troubled 
 face. She begged him to stop, but he only 
 
 90 
 
Enid. 
 
 laughed and sang the louder. Then she grew 
 indignant, and told him he was rude ; and his 
 reply was : 
 
 " My ! but you look pretty when you re 
 vexed." 
 
 9 1 
 
VII. 
 
 A Fateful Letter. 
 
 BY this time the rising tide had changed 
 the smooth surface of the water, and 
 the sky had begun to darken. 
 
 " You must turn about at once," 
 Enid said, glancing at the threatening clouds. 
 
 " Must ! Indeed ! Nobody says c must to 
 me. Say, c Please take me home, that s a dear/ 
 and I ll do it/ 
 
 But the girl was silent. It began to dawn 
 on her tormentor that she was really becoming 
 frightened. Here was a fine opportunity to 
 tease, and to bring down Miss Enid s dignity 
 at the same time. It would be delicious, he 
 told himself, to see her with tearful face, beg 
 ging him to protect her. When a distant roll 
 of thunder was heard he examined the sky with 
 mock anxiety, then swiftly turned the boat 
 about as if they were in great danger, and he 
 rowed with mad haste till the boat reared and 
 plunged like a living thing. It was on the 
 verge of upsetting several times, and the water 
 dashed in over Enid, who, though pale with 
 
 92 
 
A Fateful Letter. 
 
 fear, held a strong rein over herself, resolved 
 that Leon should not be gratified by one be 
 seeching look. She knew that all this tossing 
 about was unnecessary, and it roused her indig 
 nation. The instant the boat grated on the 
 sands she sprang out. Leon clutched at her 
 arm to detain her, but she broke away and ran 
 swiftly up the hill. 
 
 For once Leon was checkmated ; he had 
 meant to make it all up with her on the home 
 ward walk. The rest of the fun would be to 
 see her beautiful eyes look forgiveness into his 
 own. The path that led to the pine woods was 
 hidden from Leon s view by a bend in the road, 
 and Enid turned in here, thinking to escape him. 
 
 Wayne was accustomed to go to his green 
 retreat on Sabbath afternoons with his Bible, to 
 keep up a boyish practice, and worship in this 
 quiet place not his Lord, but the memory of 
 his mother. He went over then the chapters 
 they used to read together, recalling some of 
 her dear words. Perhaps the seed thus sown 
 would yet blossom and bear fruit. 
 
 He was amazed that afternoon to see Enid 
 rush suddenly in between the tree-trunks, 
 throw herself down at the foot of one, and 
 burst into a paroxysm of weeping. Evidently 
 she thought herself alone. He must let her 
 know to the contrary, but he hesitated to in 
 terrupt those tears. It must do one good to 
 
 93 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 cry like that ; however, he rose and went toward 
 her. When Enid heard the crackling twigs, 
 she started up as if to run, but, seeing Wayne, 
 sank down again, covering her face with her 
 hands. 
 
 " I m glad it s you," came a muffled voice, 
 presently, "and not that that torment! I 
 know you must think me very silly to cry at 
 this rate, but I have got going and can t stop." 
 
 "What has happened? Why! you are wet ; 
 what can I do for you ? " Wayne asked all in a 
 breath. 
 
 "Nothing, thank you," she said, putting back 
 her stray locks ; " I shall run up to the house 
 in a minute, when there is no danger of being 
 overtaken. The wet will not hurt me, and 
 nobody can do anything, anyway ; I must en 
 dure it while I stay. Oh, that disagreeable 
 fellow ! " A sympathetic listener was a temp 
 tation, and Enid gave an account of the trials 
 of the afternoon, adding : " But after all I am 
 troubled most at my own self. I ought not to 
 have gone on Sunday. And then I got so 
 fearfully angry at Leon I didn t know before 
 that I could hate anybody." 
 
 "The brute ! " Wayne exclaimed; " he ought 
 to be " Just then the pine boughs parted and 
 Leon s dark face looked in. He had heard 
 Wayne s last remark, and guessed who was 
 meant. 
 
 94 
 
A Fateful Letter. 
 
 "You puppy!" he roared, shaking his fist 
 in Wayne s face; "I ll teach you to interfere 
 in my affairs. Get out of here, or I ll put you 
 out ! " 
 
 Wayne s answer was a look from bright, reso 
 lute eyes, as he braced himself against a huge 
 tree. He was not averse to punishing Leon 
 for abusing his horse if it could be done in self- 
 defence, so he waited. 
 
 Leon made a bound toward him and put out 
 a hand, but Enid sprang between them. 
 
 " Don t ! " she cried ; " strike me, if you must 
 strike." 
 
 Leon gazed for an instant at the slender girl 
 with her glowing face and white robes, admiring 
 her in spite of himself, then he laughed sneer- 
 ingly and motioned her aside. At this moment, 
 however, footsteps and voices were heard draw 
 ing near. The storm had gone round, the sun 
 was shining, and Mrs. Pierson with a stranger 
 was seen approaching. 
 
 Enid fled at once, and Wayne stepped be 
 hind a large tree. 
 
 " Leon, dear," his mother said, " this is 
 Judge Kemp, your father s old friend, who 
 has kindly stopped on his way North, to see 
 us. We are in search of you to walk with us 
 to the beach." A fortunate interruption, for 
 both young men were in the mood for a con 
 flict. 
 
 95 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 The next morning s mail brought a letter 
 to Wayne which pleased him. It was an in 
 vitation from a college friend to spend the sum 
 mer with him at his father s summer home in 
 the mountains. This was exactly to Wayne s 
 mind; his friend was most congenial, and the 
 visit would take him away from the place that 
 was becoming intolerable. He would have gone 
 almost anywhere, though, until the opening of 
 college. A letter asking his father s approval 
 was despatched at once ; and the reply came 
 in a few cold words, saying that, if he could 
 not treat his mother with respect, his absence 
 in the home was certainly more to be desired 
 than his presence. The father, it will be re 
 membered, received an account of his son s 
 offence, but not of the apology. To do Mrs. 
 Pierson justice, though, her conscience after 
 ward made her promise to tell him when he 
 should come home. 
 
 Wayne waited only to place Liph under the 
 care of his former owner, and one bright sum 
 mer morning set off on his journey almost 
 light-hearted ; he was disappointed, though, in 
 not seeing Enid to bid her good-by. It was 
 quite early, but she often got out for a run 
 before breakfast ; and now he caught a glimpse 
 of her in the distance, seeming in her green 
 dress and cap like a part of the shrubbery. 
 
 " I never before had the pleasure of meet- 
 
 9 6 
 
A Fateful Letter. 
 
 ing the dryad who presides over this wood in 
 her very temple," Wayne said, as he drew near, 
 with a knightly bow. 
 
 " That is only because you don t get up 
 early enough. She is often around at sunrise." 
 Then more seriously, Enid said : " I shall be 
 gone when you come back. How nice it 
 would be if you were to stay and somebody 
 else were to go. I have been wanting to speak 
 to you alone ever since Sunday, and tell you 
 how much I liked to have you plant yourself 
 against that tree and stand firm when ordered 
 off your own grounds. It was splendid." 
 
 " And I have wanted to see you to tell you 
 how grateful I am that you risked your life to 
 save my own." 
 
 They both laughed then, a merry, care-free 
 laugh, such as Wayne seldom indulged in. 
 The young man reached and broke a small 
 sprig from a tall cedar, saying, as he handed 
 it to Enid: 
 
 " Keep that till I see you again, I wonder 
 when it will be, and believe that my friend 
 ship for you is like this tree, fragrant and per 
 ennial. Now can t I have a keepsake ? " 
 
 Enid knew where a stray rosebush hid itself, 
 and she disappeared a moment, returning with 
 a lovely wild rose. Wayne placed it in his coat. 
 Then they shook hands and he was gone. The 
 wood-nymph went her way feeling lonely. 
 
 97 
 
By H^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 Leon Hamilton had not the habit of liquor 
 drinking so fixed upon him that he used it 
 daily ; as yet he indulged only at intervals, or 
 when tempted by dissolute associates. This 
 being the case, it was easy through that sum 
 mer to delude his stepfather into believing 
 that his habits were correct. A safety-valve 
 was afforded him by short absences, when he 
 went on what he called " a lark," returning 
 apparently as usual. He improved every op 
 portunity in Wayne s absence to strengthen 
 Mr. Pierson -s belief in him ; to stand high 
 in his regard was worth working for. Who 
 could tell but that if he manceuvred wisely, 
 the greater part of the estate would fall to 
 him ? Therefore it was as if the young man s 
 character hastened to throw on a mask at the 
 approach of his stepfather ; each day he wel 
 comed him smilingly, as if his home-coming 
 was what he most longed for. He read up 
 the daily news for no other reason but to be 
 companionable to this man of affairs, and noth 
 ing could exceed his delicate thoughtfulness ; 
 he was ever on the alert to perform some ser 
 vice, and so cheerfully that it was a pleasure 
 to receive a favor from him. 
 
 As a consequence the atmosphere of home 
 was delightful to the tired man, whose life 
 went on its busy way, be it summer or 
 winter, and he was wont to sigh when con- 
 
A Fateful Letter. 
 
 trasting his silent, reserved son with this, his 
 other son. 
 
 It was unfortunate that circumstances had 
 seemed always to conspire to aid the young 
 man in the course of deception which had now 
 become second nature. Years before, he had 
 overheard Wayne s father tell him that heshoifld 
 listen to no complaints ; this and Wayne s si 
 lence had encouraged him in lawless conduct, 
 carefully concealed from the father. The pres 
 ent summer, too, was no exception. Enid had 
 too much delicacy of feeling to hint by word 
 or look to her host and hostess that her visit 
 was made intolerable by Leon s insolence and 
 tyranny. She simply cut it short as soon as 
 possible. 
 
 Autumn found the young men in their ac 
 customed places in the university. Wayne, 
 refreshed by his outing, prepared to enter upon 
 the year s study with zeal. Like most earnest 
 souls, when starting afresh, he had fortified him 
 self by many resolves. He would try to curb 
 the fierce anger which Leon s insolence always 
 awakened. He would hold himself so high 
 above his persecutions that they would cease 
 to annoy. It was only a year ; then he should 
 cut loose from his father s house forever. The 
 thought of trying to make his stepbrother dif 
 ferent never crossed the young man s mind. 
 It would have seemed to him like changing 
 
 99 
 
By Way of the W^ilderness. 
 
 Ethiopian skins and leopard spots. It is Chris 
 tians only who have love enough and faith 
 enough to dare hope for such. He also de 
 cided that it was useless to try to enlighten his 
 father as to Leon. A wall of prejudice, strong 
 and high, was in the way. Perhaps, too, Leon 
 had learned his lesson, and it would not be 
 necessary. 
 
 Scarcely a month had passed, however, when 
 the attention of the faculty was again called to 
 the same clique of disorderly students who had 
 annoyed them the year before. They deter 
 mined to break up this state of affairs, and had 
 been cautiously watching and taking notes of 
 certain men who supposed their midnight rev- 
 ellings had been carried on with great secrecy. 
 Leon had joined himself to the wild set, and 
 was one of those who received a reprimand and 
 warning. 
 
 It so happened one Friday that Leon reached 
 home just as the mail arrived ; he received it, 
 and looked over the letters. There was one 
 that startled him. It was in the peculiar up 
 right handwriting of the dean of the university, 
 and was addressed to his stepfather. This was 
 suspicious just at this time, and boded no good 
 to himself. He quickly slipped it into his 
 pocket, placing the others on the tray which 
 stood on a hall table. Hurrying to his room, 
 he carefully opened the envelope, slipped out 
 100 
 
A Fateful Letter. 
 
 the letter, and read what brought a deeper flush 
 to his face, and called forth that long, low whis 
 tle of his, a sign that he was in what he would 
 have called " a hole." The paragraph which 
 was of chief interest to him read: 
 
 " We regret to inform you that your son 
 Leon is not applying himself to study as he 
 should. We fear, too, that he is forming habits 
 of dissipation. Possibly a word from you, joined 
 to the admonition he has already received, may 
 make an impression for good. We trust so ; 
 for the suspension of a young man so bright 
 and attractive, especially one connected with 
 yourself, would give us much pain. For your 
 son Wayne, on the contrary, we have nothing 
 but praise ; he is an honor to our institution, 
 and a young man of much promise in every 
 way." 
 
 Leon knit his brows in perplexity over this 
 letter ; his first thought was to destroy it. But 
 of what use would that be ? Another could be 
 sent in its place though of course he should 
 be more careful in future, and not give those 
 old donkeys a chance to pry into his affairs ; 
 of turning squarely about and being different 
 he had no intention. Suddenly there flashed 
 into his mind a plan. This letter might be 
 so managed that it would actually serve his 
 own interests instead of condemning him. And 
 yet he hesitated. He did not intend to be 
 
 101 
 
By W^ay of the 
 
 wholly bad ; his falsehoods were often incon 
 sequent talk which one might take seriously or 
 otherwise; but to tamper with the mail was, 
 even to his irresponsible nature, not a light 
 matter. Still, it would be an excellent oppor 
 tunity to pay off some grudges toward Wayne, 
 and also aid perhaps in what he had wished for 
 so long, which was an open rupture between 
 father and son, ending in Wayne s leaving 
 home. Then he should have no spy upon his 
 actions. 
 
 It should be done. Without further hesita 
 tion he carefully erased the two names ; then 
 as carefully and he was skilled in the imita 
 tion of handwriting substituted Wayne for 
 Leon and Leon for Wayne. Even then there 
 was a risk in letting it go; his stepfather might 
 go up to the university and have an interview 
 with the faculty, then the truth would come 
 out he had no fears because of altering the 
 letter, that would naturally be charged to a slip 
 of the writer s pen. However, there were risks 
 anyway. That sharp-eyed dean might swoop 
 down upon them at Beechwood. Then what ? 
 However, knowing father and son as he did, 
 the chances were that it would bring on a 
 fracas, and there would be no interview with 
 the dean ; Mr. Pierson was too busy and too 
 proud. The matter decided, he resealed the 
 letter and returned it to its place on the tray, 
 102 
 
A Fateful Letter. 
 
 biding his time, not without much uneasiness, 
 it must be confessed. 
 
 Wayne had not been unaware, during the 
 month, of Leon s conduct, and a report had 
 come to him within a day or two that large 
 sums of money had been put up by him at the 
 gaming-table. Wayne s conscience troubled 
 him. What if his father had been unjust to 
 him ; he could not retaliate, not upon father, 
 whose head was growing gray, he must and 
 would tell him of Leon s misdoings at once. 
 
 Mr. Pierson was in the habit of deferring the 
 opening of his evening mail until after dinner, 
 when he retired to the quiet of the library, where 
 he was left undisturbed an hour or two. He 
 had not been long there on the evening the 
 dean s letter was received, when Wayne came 
 in, saying, " Father, can I speak with you a 
 few minutes ? " 
 
 His father looked at him coldly, making no 
 answer. Wayne shut the door, came over to 
 a seat near him, and began : 
 
 " Father, as long as I was the only one to suf 
 fer I have been silent regarding Leon Hamilton, 
 but now that your own interests are in danger, I 
 must speak." He told his story then in as few 
 words as possible, while the father gazed at him 
 in utter amazement, interrupting him at last, 
 and in a voice hoarse with anger exclaimed : 
 
 " And you expect me to believe all this ! 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 What duplicity! and a son of mine! It is 
 a most likely story, sir, that you would not 
 have informed me long ago had this been true. 
 It is simply a plot to divert suspicion from 
 yourself. I have abundant proof that you are 
 the guilty one." The father almost groaned 
 out the last words, while the veins stood out 
 like cords on his forehead. 
 
 It was Wayne s turn to sit stupefied with 
 horror and surprise. Before he could speak 
 again his father said, in a voice that Wayne 
 scarcely recognized : 
 
 " Leave me alone." The son tried to pro 
 test, but his father waved him away with an 
 imperative " Go ! " 
 
 Then the door was locked after him, and the 
 strong man bowed his head in grief such as he 
 had known but once before in his life. 
 
 How could it be that his boy had come to 
 this ! Was it his father s fault ? Had he been 
 unfaithful to his high trust ? The back years 
 came and passed in review like a panorama ; 
 his mistakes were sharply outlined. He seemed 
 to see again the boy s mother, as she lay dying 
 that summer morning, lift pleading eyes to his 
 face, and murmur with her last breath, " Be gentle 
 with our boy " the boy s eyes were like hers. 
 No, he had not been gentle, he had been harsh 
 and impatient; his son had been unhappy ; and 
 he had not cared. It was too late now. The 
 104 
 
A Fateful Letter. 
 
 years had made their record, the books were 
 closed, and the boy was as he was. 
 
 There was no sleep for Wayne that night. 
 The time he had thought a year away had come. 
 He must go. Before midnight his trunk was 
 packed, and all arrangements for a sudden de 
 parture completed. That done, he went out for 
 a last visit to the woods. The moon shone 
 solemnly down into the still place, still but for 
 the murmured song of a wakeful bird. 
 
 As Wayne stood and took a silent farewell, 
 he heard footsteps, and there in the open moon 
 lit space was his father, walking back and forth 
 with bowed head no sleep for him either. And 
 then to the watching son there came a flood 
 of tenderness, a remnant of boyish fondness, 
 and he rushed out the anger gone from his 
 heart crying : " Father, father ! There is 
 some terrible mistake ! Can t we love each 
 other again ? What can I do to " 
 
 " You can take yourself out of my sight," 
 came in a loud, angry tone from the father. 
 There! It was out! and he had meant to 
 try to be forgiving but " the boy " was gone. 
 Gone indeed, a few minutes later, for he stepped 
 upon the night express and was borne swiftly 
 away. 
 
 105 
 
VIII. 
 
 The " Upper Deestrict" 
 
 THOUGH he should live to be a hun 
 dred years old, Wayne Pierson be 
 lieved that he could never experience 
 a more utter sense of desolation than 
 took possession of him that night when he 
 boarded the midnight train, stumbled over 
 grips and handbags into a seat, and drew his 
 hat down to conceal his face as much as possi 
 ble. He believed that his brain was clear, but 
 in reality it was in a whirl. His thoughts ran 
 riot about one point. It had come ! he was 
 homeless, friendless, alone ! He had imagined 
 such an experience more than once ; gone over, 
 indeed, every slightest possibility of that way, 
 but always, he knew now, with an undertone 
 conviction that it would never come to him. 
 Why should Wayne Pierson, the only son of 
 a man whom he often of late years heard spoken 
 of as the most eminent lawyer in the state, ever 
 be homeless and friendless ? Yet here he was, 
 deserted ! His getting ready had been done 
 in a maze. He had packed his trunk, it is 
 
 106 
 
The " Upper Dee strict? 
 
 true ; but if it had not been pitiful it would 
 have been amusing, the things that went into 
 it. Most of his everyday needs were at the 
 university, whither he had carried them by de 
 grees through the years, always taking from 
 home a full valise and bringing it back nearly 
 empty. Yet when one is going to leave home 
 for good, one must of course take one s trunk, 
 so he packed it. There were books, of course ; 
 Wayne Pierson never went anywhere without 
 books ; he made no effort to choose, but swept 
 in those that happened to be lying about his 
 room. There was also a pile of old music, se 
 lected in the same way. Then there followed 
 miscellaneous articles. A small box contain 
 ing relics of a Noah s Ark that had been dear 
 to his childhood ; most of the animals were 
 maimed, and part of the ark itself was miss 
 ing. The young man could not have told 
 why he packed it, but the fact remains that 
 while he mechanically tossed in any articles of 
 clothing that his eyes happened to fall upon, 
 and made no attempt to plan for that or the 
 coming season, he deliberately climbed to the 
 highest shelf of his full closet and brought 
 down that Noah s Ark and packed it with 
 some care. There was also the little box con 
 taining the bit of ribbon and the half-worn 
 gloves and the dust of a flower or two that his 
 mother s hands had touched ; there was a pho- 
 
 107 
 
By Tf^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 tograph of his father, taken for his mother but 
 a little while before she went away ; an excel 
 lent picture of Aunt Crete, the only photo 
 graph she could ever be persuaded to sit for ; 
 and there were half a dozen pictures of his 
 mother, representing her when she was a fair, 
 girlish bride, then a mother with her baby in 
 her arms, then a matron with the halo of a 
 coming glory already foreshadowing her face, 
 and with a pale, solemn-eyed boy clinging to 
 her. These were carefully selected, but the 
 other things merely happened. 
 
 He had packed his trunk, but it had all 
 seemed unreal. Even when he called Jonas 
 and directed that the trunk be taken to the 
 station for the midnight express, and Jonas 
 had answered with his usual respect, tc Yes, 
 sir ; and where will I check it to, Mr. 
 Wayne ? " he had been dazed. He had 
 looked at Jonas as one in a dream, and re 
 peated mechanically, " Check ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Jonas ; " will I check 
 it for you ? Have you got your ticket, 
 Mr. Wayne ? " 
 
 " Oh," said Wayne, trying to rouse him 
 self to the occasion, " never mind the check, 
 Jonas, I will be down there to see to it." But 
 he had not seen to it ; the baggageman at the 
 station, who of course knew all the Piersons, 
 had done it for him. 
 108 
 
The " Upper Deestrict" 
 
 " You re too late to check, sir," he had said, 
 hurrying up, " the check office isn t open here 
 for the night train; but I ll mark your trunk 
 for you and have it put on, and it will be all 
 right. You re going up to town, I suppose ? " 
 
 " No," said Wayne, speaking with a sharp 
 ness that startled himself; " I m not going to 
 town, that is, I m not going to stop ; mark 
 it for for Chicago." It was the only name 
 he could recall. The baggage-master looked 
 bewildered. 
 
 " You can t do anything of that kind, you 
 know," he said, looking closely at Wayne - 
 and when he thought it over afterward, he 
 muttered to himself, " If it had been the 
 other one, I should think he had had a drop 
 too much, but that isn t this one s stamp. I 
 can t be sure of the trunk without a check 
 farther than the Junction." 
 
 " Oh, very well," said Wayne, " mark it c the 
 Junction, then, it doesn t signify." It seemed 
 to him such a trivial matter how his trunk was 
 marked or what became of it. He was in 
 no clearer frame of mind when the conductor 
 touched his arm and demanded a ticket. 
 
 " Ticket ? " he said vaguely, " I have no 
 ticket." 
 
 "Well, sir," said the conductor, sharply, 
 " what are you going to do about it ? Am I 
 to put you off the train ? " 
 
 109 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 Then Wayne forced himself to attend to 
 business. He explained that he had not had 
 time to buy his ticket, and mentioned Chicago 
 again as the place toward which he was travel 
 ling ; and was informed that he could pay as 
 far as the Junction, which they reached soon 
 after daylight, and there he would better get off 
 and buy a ticket. 
 
 Wayne vaguely remembered that his friend, 
 the baggage-master, had said something about 
 the Junction, and agreed to this plan. Then 
 he settled himself for a night of misery. A 
 whole lifetime of pain could be lived through 
 between midnight and daylight ; and who 
 should have miserable thoughts if not one 
 who had just cut himself loose from all that 
 had heretofore been his life ? He leaned his 
 head against the car window, drawing his hat 
 still further over his face, and prepared to go 
 over the bitter story of his wrongs. And then, 
 in less than five minutes, he went into one of 
 the soundest sleeps he had ever taken in his 
 life. He was young, remember, and the day 
 had been filled with strains of one sort and 
 another, culminating in that latest one which 
 had seemed to benumb all his faculties. 
 
 When the baggageman had asked him if he 
 
 wanted a sleeper, he had smiled bitterly as he 
 
 said briefly, " No, I don t." Nothing had 
 
 seemed more improbable than that he should 
 
 1 10 
 
The " Upper Deestrict" 
 
 do any sleeping that night. Yet when the 
 conductor shook his arm, and shouted in his 
 ear, he opened his eyes to discover that it was 
 broad daylight. 
 
 " Here you are, sir, at the Junction; if you 
 want the Chicago train, you will have to step 
 lively. That s it on the south track." 
 
 The young man managed to get himself off 
 the car, and to bring with him his grip and 
 overcoat ; but he stood quite still and let the 
 Chicago train pull out of the station. Why 
 should he go to Chicago ? Still, he must go 
 somewhere. He felt almost more bewildered 
 than he had the night before, and he also felt 
 humiliated to think that he had been sleeping ; 
 although, if he could have realized it, that was 
 perhaps the most sensible thing he had done 
 during the twenty-four hours just past. 
 
 Across the road from him was a hotel, and 
 people from various trains were crowding in 
 for breakfast. Something reminded Wayne 
 that he had had no dinner the night before, 
 and he followed the crowd. A chance to wash 
 and brush, followed by a good breakfast, re 
 stored his wits somewhat ; and when he saw 
 by the schedule that the next train via the 
 " Great Northwestern road " left in fifteen 
 minutes, he resolved to take it. He had 
 always intended to see the great West some 
 time, why not now ? 
 
 Ill 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 All day he rode, going out with the crowd 
 for dinner and for supper, and accepting the 
 kindly offer of a vacant berth in the over 
 crowded sleepers. 
 
 " Lucky my friend didn t show up," said the 
 friendly stranger who had offered it; " if he had, 
 you d have had to sit up all night ; there s an 
 awful crowd on board." 
 
 Wayne, although he had such important 
 matters of his own to think about, nevertheless 
 took time to wonder who the friend was, and 
 why he had not "shown up." Had he, pos 
 sibly, been going away from home for good, 
 and had something happened to make it all 
 unnecessary ? He had arranged a probable 
 chain of circumstances for him, and was be 
 coming deeply interested in the plot, when 
 he pulled himself up sharply and mentally 
 called himself a fool for allowing his mind 
 to interest itself with childish imaginings in 
 stead of giving himself to the serious business 
 of life. 
 
 He did not sleep so well that night as he 
 had the night before, despite the berth that 
 dozens of weary, less fortunate travellers envied 
 him. His benefactor just below him snored 
 distressfully, and the air of the car, or rather 
 the lack of air, was torture to Wayne s sensitive 
 nerves. So it was a very much jaded traveller 
 who looked gloomily at life, upon the second 
 I 12 
 
The " Upper Dee strict ?^ 
 
 morning of his journey, and tried to determine 
 what should be done next. 
 
 It was folly for him to go on in this way ; 
 besides being monotonous in the extreme, the 
 process was making great strides through his 
 pocket-book. A young man who was hence 
 forth to support himself must think of such 
 things. Years ago, a hundred years ago it 
 seemed to him, when he was a small boy, he 
 had imagined a state of things that pleased him. 
 " When I am a man," he had said, " some day, 
 I mean to take fifty dollars and go to the 
 station and get on the first train that comes, 
 and ride, and ride, until it is all gone, and then 
 see where I will be and how I shall feel." 
 
 He had laughed much over this conceit and 
 argued with his mother as to his probable feel 
 ings. Behold, here he was almost realizing 
 that childish plan ! What with meals, and 
 sleeper, and tickets, he had spent not so very 
 much less than the fifty dollars already ; and 
 if he did not feel " of all men most miserable," 
 it was difficult for him to imagine greater 
 trouble than his own. 
 
 Still it was time to think connectedly, and he 
 set himself about it. There was no use in 
 trying to go over the weary story again, he 
 had been at that all night. His enemy had 
 conquered him somehow ; he could not under 
 stand it, there was a mystery about it, and 
 
 "3 
 
By H^ay of the H^ilderness. 
 
 probably there always would be ; but the fact 
 was plain enough that his father had been 
 entirely alienated from him. That woman and 
 her son had accomplished what they had been 
 trying, from the first. His father had told 
 him, practically, that he was a villain, and that 
 he had been plotting all the while to cover his 
 own guilt at the expense of his stepbrother ! 
 And then, finally, when out of the fulness of 
 his heart, he had made that last cry for confi 
 dence, his father had ordered him out of his 
 sight ! What could have been meant, in view 
 of all that had passed before this, but that he 
 was to go permanently ? It was not the going, 
 the poor fellow told himself as he wiped the 
 perspiration from his forehead ; life at home 
 had become anything but pleasant to him ; he 
 had meant, very soon, to relieve his father of 
 his presence; but the manner of the going, like 
 a disowned reprobate, was terrible. 
 
 The day was heavy with clouds, and the air was 
 chill with the sense of a coming storm ; other 
 men were buttoning their coats closer about them 
 and examining the heating apparatus at their 
 feet; but Wayne wiped the perspiration from 
 his forehead, and his sensitive blood seemed 
 at fever heat. No, he would not go all over 
 it again. He would never, if possible, never, 
 so long as he lived, think of that prince of 
 villains again. If he could kill him and thus 
 114 
 
The " Upper Dee strict? 
 
 rid the earth of a wretch who ought not to 
 live, there might be some excuse for thinking 
 of him ; but since he was powerless, let him not 
 pollute his mind with such a memory. It was 
 in that way that he tried to dismiss his step 
 brother from his life. 
 
 Now what was he to do ? He wished to 
 have himself distinctly understand that he had 
 by no means run away from home, like the 
 bad boy in the story book ; his lip curled in 
 sarcasm over the thought, and he drew him 
 self up with sad dignity. It was not that, by 
 any means : he had been ordered away ! As 
 soon as he was definitely settled and at work, 
 he should of course write to his father and 
 explain the step he had felt himself compelled 
 to take, thus much was due his position as 
 a gentleman, but he would distinctly decline 
 any further assistance from his father and 
 make what way he could by himself. His 
 broken college course, so near the end, and 
 with the end in view so full of expected 
 honors, was a very bitter portion of his cup. 
 He had meant to endure until he should 
 graduate ; but his father had himself made 
 this impossible, so he tried to put that part 
 of his life away as something that was beyond 
 his control. Only, he told himself proudly, 
 that he should graduate. It would not be 
 with his class ; and the class honors, that he 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 knew they had been preparing to lavish upon 
 him, would be given to another ; there would 
 be delay, but some day he should graduate, 
 and from that very college. His father should 
 see, if he cared to see, what the world thought 
 of the son whom he had cast off so easily. 
 
 The funds with which to do all these great 
 things, the young man meant to earn. For 
 several years he had been telling himself that 
 he believed he was intended for a teacher, and 
 down deep in his heart had been an ambition to 
 sometime become a college President. Assur 
 edly he had not meant to begin his work by 
 teaching a district school, but he had the sense 
 to see that for an undergraduate, friendless and 
 alone, even a district school might be hard to 
 secure. Meantime, he must live. He took 
 out his pocket-book and carefully estimated his 
 resources. 
 
 When he left home he had a hundred dol 
 lars in his pocket, and he knew that there was 
 something over fifty placed to his credit at the 
 bank ; his father had been very liberal with 
 his allowance, and he was simple in his tastes 
 and so studious in his habits that the surplus 
 had accumulated. But the long reckless jour 
 ney had already lessened the sum alarmingly 
 to one who had never before been compelled 
 to count costs. He took out his watch and 
 examined it carefully with a new interest. He 
 116 
 
The " Upper Dee strict? 
 
 knew that it was very valuable, " too valuable 
 for a boy to carry," his father had said with an 
 indulgent smile when he handed it to him. 
 " It cost two hundred dollars, my boy ; but 
 your grandfather decreed that you were to have 
 it on your sixteenth birthday, so here it is." 
 
 The grandfather was gone now, his mother s 
 father, and Wayne had meant to keep the watch 
 forever. He meant to still, but he told him 
 self, his eyes suddenly dimming while he gazed 
 at it, that if real necessity should arise, he 
 could sell it for awhile, at least, until he was 
 able to buy it back. Meantime, of course, he 
 could get something to do to earn his living ; 
 if not teaching, why then shovelling snow, or 
 whatever was to be had ; and he set his lips 
 firmly, making lines in his face that his step 
 mother would have said " indicated the Pierson 
 obstinacy," and resolved that he would succeed. 
 
 He got off, toward the close of the day, at a 
 little station where the train seemed to be unac 
 countably delayed, and for very weariness walked 
 about in front of the little hotel, and wondered 
 if it would be wise to pass another night on the 
 train, or whether he ought to stop at once and 
 go to work at something. His fifty dollars 
 would soon be gone, and he knew now, without 
 further experiment, just how he should feel. 
 
 Two men held up the decaying pillars of the 
 hotel porch and chatted together. 
 
 117 
 
By Tf^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 " What they going to do for a teacher up 
 there at the upper deestrict ? " 
 
 " I d no; find another, I s pose. That fellow 
 gave them the slip nice, didn t he ? Bad time, 
 too ; school ought to have took up three weeks 
 ago or more. Here it is the first of November ! 
 But you see they couldn t do nothing till 
 Squire Willard got home, and he didn t come 
 till last night. Now they ll look around lively 
 for another, I s pose." 
 
 " What school is that ? " It was Wayne s 
 voice that asked the question. The man lean 
 ing against the nearest post turned and sur 
 veyed him carefully from head to foot, before 
 he made answer. 
 
 " It s the upper deestrict, stranger ; the big 
 red schoolhouse about a mile from here, along 
 the north pike. They had a man teacher all 
 hired, and he give em the slip at the last min 
 ute ; after the last minute, you may say. They 
 waited for him and didn t hear nothing from 
 him for most a week after school had ought to 
 commenced ; waited for him every day, you 
 know ; and all the time he didn t mean to come 
 at all. So now they re out." 
 
 Wayne turned suddenly and sprang back 
 into the train, just in time to secure overcoat 
 and hand bag. He had resolved to look into 
 matters at the " upper deestrict." 
 
 118 
 
IX. 
 
 " / might be a Fool" 
 " T T M) " said S( i uire Willard > with the 
 
 I 1 doubtful, somewhat perplexed ac- 
 
 JL JL cent, " I dunno, I declare ; it is a 
 kind of a risk, especially as you are 
 so young and haven t had experience, and come 
 without references, as one may say. Still, your 
 references are extra good. I believe in a col 
 lege education myself, and I mean my boy 
 shall have one. I am a self-made man, but 
 every one cannot succeed in that way. Well, 
 I don t deny that we are in a kind of a fix. 
 School ought to have taken up more than a 
 month ago, and the assistant teacher have 
 you seen the assistant teacher ? Well, she s as 
 smart as a new whip ; but then she s young, 
 too, and being well known here it comes hard 
 for her in some ways; your being a perfect 
 stranger will help ; but we ve got a tough lot 
 of boys. Do you think you could manage 
 them ? " 
 
 " I should certainly make an effort to do so," 
 Wayne said, trying to speak with the dignity 
 
 119 
 
By H^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 befitting at least thirty years. " I may not be 
 so young as you fancy ; some people retain 
 their youthful appearance longer than others." 
 
 " That s so ; you don t look a day older 
 than seventeen or eighteen, now that s a fact; 
 but I presume you are older, being you were 
 on your last year in college. Pity you had to 
 stop. Funds give out ? I thought likely ; 
 well, it isn t every young man who has a father 
 to push him through." 
 
 " No," said Wayne, " it isn t. I should like 
 to undertake the work here if you care to have 
 me. If I don t succeed, it will be easy to dis 
 miss me ; and I think you will find that my 
 professors in college will vouch for my charac 
 ter and scholarship." 
 
 " Well, the fact is there isn t time to wait 
 and see what they would say; but I ve no 
 doubt it would be all right ; you don t look 
 like a deceiving young man. Well, Mr. 
 what did you say your name was ? Oh, yes, 
 Pierson. I ve a great mind to give you a 
 trial. Our young folks are getting very res 
 tive. Sarah Jane that s the assistant 
 threatened to open school herself if I didn t 
 stir about and get some one. Fact is, they all 
 depend on me, and when I m away things 
 don t go. I ve been away for nearly a month. 
 I believe I ll risk it and give you a trial ; here 
 it is Friday again ! School ought to begin 
 120 
 
" / might be a Fool" 
 
 Monday, without fail. Well, go in, young 
 man, and see what you can make of it." 
 
 Squire Willard was certainly fond of that 
 word " well " ; Wayne could scarcely repress a 
 smile over its constant and meaningless repe 
 tition. He was astonished, however, at the 
 celerity with which the business was despatched, 
 once the great man s mind was made up. 
 Within the next hour he found himself the 
 duly appointed head of the school, which even 
 the Squire spoke of as the " upper deestrict." 
 Not only that, but he was directed where to 
 find a boarding-house, and given the key to 
 the school building that he might explore it at 
 his leisure. When he ventured to express a 
 doubt as to the propriety of moving so rapidly, 
 the Squire interrupted him with : 
 
 " Oh, there ll be no trouble about that. I ll 
 call the committee together to-night and go 
 through the form ; but you needn t wait for 
 that. Just go ahead and make all your ar 
 rangements and consider yourself hired. Fact 
 is, they all do as I say ; no need for more than 
 me on the committee, for none of the others 
 are willing to stir unless I tell em to. You 
 just go down to Isaiah Thompson s and tell 
 em you want the teacher s room, and you will 
 be all right. . Oh, they ll take you fast enough ; 
 teacher always boards there ; Isaiah is Sarah 
 Jane s father, you see, so it will be handy for 
 
 121 
 
By IVay of the Wilderness. 
 
 you and her to fix things up. Isaiah Thomp 
 son is a blacksmith ; he isn t an educated man, 
 but he s a good, honest blacksmith, and there 
 ain t a better girl in town than Sarah Jane. 
 She s made good use of what chances she s 
 had, and although she has only the little ones 
 to teach, they do say that there ain t a boy in 
 the school who can puzzle her in arithmetic. 
 You may want her to take hold with some of 
 the big scholars if you get in a tight place. 
 She s great on grammar, too, Sarah Jane is. 
 Well, Mr. Pierson, or Professor Pierson, I 
 s pose I must call you now ; sounds queer, 
 don t it? Still, I believe in it. They do it 
 altogether at Westover. That s our nearest 
 city, and a smart, thriving one it is ; only fif 
 teen miles away from us. We want our young 
 sters trained in all the city ways ; give em the 
 best is my motto. Well, Mr. Professor 
 Pierson, I m in something of a hurry this 
 morning, and I presume you are, since you 
 have to set up housekeeping to-day, as it were. 
 I ve got a pile of letters and accounts to go 
 over. Drop in and see me whenever you feel 
 like it, and when you want advice about the 
 school or anything, don t hesitate to let me 
 know. 1 
 
 Whereupon, Wayne asked for and received 
 minute directions how to find the blacksmith s 
 house and walked away, his mind a curious 
 122 
 
44 / might be a Fool? 
 
 mixture of amusement and indignation. Life 
 was certainly pushing him this morning ! An 
 hour ago a houseless stranger, now the duly 
 appointed head of a public school with a board 
 ing place and an assistant ready to receive him ! 
 The indignation was because of the utter reck 
 lessness of this great man, Squire Willard, in 
 thus trusting the interests of the boys and girls 
 of his town to an utter stranger, without wait 
 ing even to learn whether any of the statements 
 he had made concerning himself were true. 
 
 " I might be a fool," he told himself indig 
 nantly, " or worse ; I might be a villain for all 
 he knows, and he is willing to let his own 
 children come immediately under my influence, 
 and to place that immaculate c Sarah Jane in 
 my immediate care! Or am I in hers, I won 
 der P " Then amusement got the uppermost, 
 and he laughed outright. 
 
 It proved to be a busy morning. The irre 
 sponsible young traveller had secured his over 
 coat and bag, but had allowed his trunk to go 
 to the point for which it was checked, fifty 
 miles or so away. He must go to the station 
 and make arrangements to have it returned to 
 him. Since this remarkable village was willing 
 to adopt a stranger, and in five minutes make 
 a "professor" of him, there seemed to be noth 
 ing to do but accept the situation. The trunk 
 planned for, he sought Isaiah Thompson s 
 
 123 
 
By U^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 small plain red house, and was received by a 
 fat motherly looking woman who waddled about 
 with pleased alacrity to show him the room, 
 saying, "I want to know!" to his brief ex 
 planation that he was the new teacher. By 
 this time he felt that he must find a spot where 
 he could be, not only quite out of sight, but 
 out of the hearing of curious ears ; so deposit 
 ing his bag, and learning the hour for supper, 
 he explained that he had taken a late breakfast 
 and should want no dinner ; then he made a 
 dash for the nearest woods and tramped about 
 until he was physically exhausted ; then he sat 
 down on the trunk of a fallen tree and buried 
 his face in both hands. 
 
 What had he done, this creature of impulse ? 
 Placed a thousand miles between himself and 
 his home, his college, all his old life ! Practi 
 cally run away, however much he might sneer 
 at the idea and curl his lip over the story 
 books. In what respect was his action better 
 than those of the young fools about whom he 
 had read in his very early boyhood, and for 
 whom he had felt always a wholesome con 
 tempt ? It is true he would soon be twenty-one 
 and his own master ; but did a self-respecting 
 young man of twenty-one care particularly 
 about being his own master ? Given the fact 
 that he was a decent fellow with a decent home, 
 and a reasonably good father, had he not as a 
 124 
 
" / might be a Fool" 
 
 rule learned by that time to appreciate both ? 
 It is true that his father had spoken bitter 
 words to him, had, in fact, ordered him from 
 his sight. But was it presumable that he 
 meant him to go away from home ? On the 
 contrary, was he not, probably at that very 
 hour, worried and distressed because of his 
 absence ? There had been some misunder 
 standing ; that contemptible wretch, who had 
 been his hidden enemy since the first day they 
 had met, had succeeded in concocting some 
 scheme that he did not understand, and that 
 had for the time deceived his father; but of 
 course the truth would come out, sooner or 
 later ; and if he had been a man, instead of a 
 silly, impatient, reckless boy, he would have 
 stayed patiently and studied out the trouble, 
 and borne the thousand petty trials of his 
 everyday life, and compelled his father to un 
 derstand the mistake he was making. 
 
 There was no getting away from the conclu 
 sion that he had been a fool. He had given 
 his stepmother a chance to tell all her friends, 
 with the air of meek regret which she knew so 
 well how to assume, that " that passionate boy s 
 ungovernable temper had gotten the better of 
 him once more, and he had actually run away 
 from college ! his poor father was nearly dis 
 tracted. Oh, she did not pretend to know the 
 details, some college troubles, such as young 
 
 I2 5 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 fellows of his stamp were always getting into ; 
 this was evidently worse than usual, however, 
 for Wayne had been unable to stay and face 
 it, and they really did not know where he was 
 gone ! " 
 
 The young " professor " on the fallen tree 
 ground his teeth and stamped his foot in im 
 potent rage as he thought of all these things, 
 and realized what opportunities he had given 
 his enemies. If he had only waited, and gone 
 quietly, openly ; if it had finally seemed best 
 for him to go away ; but to rush away in the 
 midnight and leave no word with anybody ! 
 What were even his friends to think of such 
 conduct ? 
 
 It was a pale, worn, miserably depressed 
 youth who emerged at last, toward the close 
 of that eventful Friday, and made his way to 
 his stuffy little room. 
 
 Mrs. Thompson would have been aggrieved 
 could she have known that the word " stuffy " 
 was applied to her spare chamber. She had 
 done her best to make it inviting. Her blue 
 and white " counterpane " was on the bed, her 
 brightest piece of rag carpeting was on the 
 floor, and the white muslin curtains at the 
 windows had been washed and ironed and 
 darned by Sarah Jane s own thrifty hands. 
 
 Mother Thompson could not know that the 
 room looked to its occupant about the size 
 126 
 
" / might be a Fool? 
 
 of the storeroom at home, and that he had 
 never before seen a counterpane and did not 
 admire this one. He noticed the muslin cur 
 tains only to push them wrathfully out of his 
 way as he jerked up both small paned windows 
 and muttered that they were the size of the 
 hen-coop windows at home. Then he felt of 
 the puffy bed and uttered a single dismayed 
 word, " Feathers ! " His tone and manner 
 Mrs. Thompson would not in the least have 
 understood. 
 
 There was time for no more discoveries, for he 
 was summoned to the tea table. Being hungry, 
 at last, he thought he had responded with 
 promptness, but the business of eating had 
 already commenced when he reached the dining 
 room. Two men, both in their shirt-sleeves, 
 were engaged in shovelling down in Wayne s 
 estimation no other term would have fitted the 
 act great mouthfuls of potato and turnip 
 warmed up together. 
 
 " How d do ? " said Isaiah, nodding his 
 great black head as Wayne entered. "You re 
 the new teacher, I reckon. Excuse us, we was 
 in an uncommon hurry to-night, Jim and me 
 was. This is Jim Hotchkiss, and your name 
 is what, now? I ve got a mighty poor 
 memory for names. Oh, yes, Pierson. Mis 
 Thompson I reckon you have seen before. Set 
 right down and make yourself at home ; we all 
 
 127 
 
By W^ay of the W^ilderness. 
 
 feel uncommonly at home at this table, don t 
 we, Jim ? 
 
 " You must be pretty hungry by this time/ 
 continued the genial host, heaping poor Wayne s 
 plate high with the obnoxious potato and turnip. 
 " Didn t want no dinner, mother said. Home 
 sick a little, I reckon. That ain t no discredit 
 to a boy who s gone away from a good home. 
 Come fur ? Good land ! A thousand miles ! 
 What ever possessed you ? " 
 
 What, indeed ! Wayne could only be thank 
 ful that the blacksmith gave him no time to 
 reply. 
 
 " Well, you ve come to a country where 
 there s plenty to eat an plenty to do. Seen 
 Sarah Jane? Haven t! eh? Well, now, I 
 reckoned that you and Sarah Jane was pretty 
 good friends by this time. Where is she, 
 mother?" 
 
 "Why, he jest come in a little bit ago; and 
 Sarah Jane s in the back kitchen fussing ; she s 
 been fussing the livelong afternoon over his 
 room, gettin it to her mind. Young folks is 
 full of notions nowdays." 
 
 This was not said in irritation, but with a 
 sort of motherly pride, as though a woman who 
 had a daughter like Sarah Jane could afford to 
 indulge her in all manner of " notions." A 
 door in the near distance opened and the sub 
 ject of this explanation entered. A wholesome- 
 
 128 
 
" / might be a Fool" 
 
 looking girl, some persons would have called 
 her, with clear, honest eyes and very red cheeks, 
 the color being heightened in effect by the dress 
 she wore. 
 
 "Hallo!" shouted her father, "you ve 
 come, have you ? I didn t know but you was 
 going to stay in the back kitchen all night. 
 This is your fellow-sufferer, Mr. oh, yes," 
 in obedience to an admonition from his wife 
 that she tried to make undertone, " Professor 
 Pierson, I forgot. I dunno whether Jim and 
 me can twist our tongues to that many times 
 a day, eh, Jim ? I m blessed if I ain t afraid 
 I ll forgit sometimes and say c sonny instead, 
 you look so uncommon young. Professor, 
 this is my girl, my Sarah Jane ; and she s a 
 spry one, I can tell you ; you ll have to get up 
 early in the morning to get ahead of her. 
 Think you and her can hit it off together ? I ll 
 tell you what, I guess you ll have to get her 
 to do most of the wolloping. She s got more 
 strength in her arms, I ll bet, than you have." 
 
 " Now, pa! " came in protest from Sarah Jane. 
 But her voice was not harsh, and was brimful 
 of daughterly affection as well as of suppressed 
 mirth. 
 
 There are young men who would have been 
 able to have met the jolly blacksmith halfway ; 
 to have discovered at once that he meant no 
 offence, and was simply laboring in his blunt, 
 
 129 
 
By Tf^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 half-embarrassed fashion to make the young 
 stranger feel at home. Wayne Pierson was not 
 of that type of young manhood ; or, at least, he 
 could not at that time rise to the situation. 
 His penetration was not at fault ; he recognized 
 in the honest blacksmith a mere effort to be 
 funny, but his annoyance and disgust at fun or 
 friendliness of that sort were unbounded. He 
 had never before come in contact with such 
 persons, and he realized that he did not in the 
 least know how to meet them. 
 
 Sarah Jane came bravely to the rescue. Seat 
 ing herself near her father, she began and kept up 
 throughout the meal a running fire of repartee 
 with him, parrying his thrusts at herself, and 
 turning the point of the remark back upon him, 
 with a quickness and keenness that it was plain 
 the blacksmith intensely admired, and calling 
 forth huge guffaws of laughter from the insuf 
 ferable " Jim," whenever his mouth was suffi 
 ciently empty to admit of that exercise. Wayne, 
 in thinking it over afterward, was compelled to 
 own to himself that the girl was bright and 
 quick-witted, and his conscience made him add 
 that neither had she been coarse. But he re 
 venged himself by adding sharply that he 
 detested her and the entire tribe as well, and 
 that it would be simply impossible for him to 
 endure life in the same house with such people. 
 
 The meal, however, had been abundant, and, 
 130 
 
" / might be a Fool? 
 
 notwithstanding the turnip in the potatoes, re 
 markably good. Despite the coarseness of the 
 napery, and the thickness of the dishes, even 
 despite the three-tined steel forks, and the fact 
 that both the blacksmith and " Jim " disdained 
 forks altogether, and ate with their knives, 
 Wayne found himself making a fairly good 
 meal. Had he but been wise enough to real 
 ize his mercies, the bread and butter, and milk 
 and cream, and the general air of cleanliness and 
 neatness, were such as to give him abundant 
 reason to feel that the " lines had fallen to him 
 in fairly comfortable places." He felt no such 
 thing ; he was dismayed, even terror-stricken, 
 over everything, and put himself into the 
 depths of that terrible feather bed with a groan 
 very like despair. 
 
X. 
 
 "W^ayne Lorimer Pier son." 
 
 SATURDAY morning was entirely occu 
 pied in writing a letter. Wayne Pier- 
 son, who was accustomed to expressing 
 himself on paper, and who had a repu 
 tation for being able to do it with clearness and 
 elegance, had never spent so much time nor 
 wasted so much paper on a letter in his life. 
 His little room was all but carpeted with dis 
 carded sheets, containing the words, " Dear 
 father" and two or three, or sometimes half 
 a dozen lines besides. When at last he envel 
 oped and sealed his effort, assuring himself 
 that it was the best he could do, he was far 
 from satisfied. 
 
 Reading it over years afterward, one cannot 
 wonder at his dissatisfaction. It read thus : 
 
 DEAR FATHER : I hope you have suffered 
 no anxiety on my account ; I should have 
 written sooner, but circumstances prevented. 
 It is needless to tell you that I obeyed to the 
 letter your last directions and " took myself 
 out of your sight." 
 I 3 2 
 
" tt^ayne Lorimer Pier son? 
 
 I have known for a long time that, for 
 reasons which I only in part understand, my 
 presence was growing daily more disagreeable 
 to you, and I long ago planned to relieve you 
 permanently, so soon as I should graduate 
 from college. I regret more than words will 
 express that I was not able to complete my 
 college course before starting out in life for 
 myself. To this end I have borne in silence 
 all sorts of misjudgings, and have for years 
 endured a system of petty tyranny that seemed 
 to me at times beyond endurance ; but in view 
 of our last interview, I have no doubt you will 
 agree with me that the time arrived when I 
 had no alternative but to go. 
 
 I came directly to the town and state from 
 which I mail this letter, and have been fortu 
 nate enough to secure work at once. The 
 school of which I have been made the head 
 is to open on Monday next. A misunder 
 standing on the part of the teacher who was to 
 have filled the place created an unexpected 
 vacancy by which I profited. I am, therefore, 
 pecuniarily independent, as regards the future ; 
 and can only regret that I am quite unable at 
 present to repay you for the heavy expense 
 that I have been to you through the years. 
 The time may come when I shall be able to do 
 so. I think I need not assure you that I will 
 keep that end in view. 
 
 J 33 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 I have gone over in careful detail, many 
 times indeed, the last words you spoke to me 
 during our interview in the library, and am at 
 this date as much in fog as to your possible 
 meaning as I was at that time. Why I should 
 need to "plot "to "divert suspicion" from 
 myself is a mystery. And although you 
 informed me in sufficiently distinct language 
 that I was " the guilty one," you failed to 
 reveal to me my guilt. I certainly considered 
 all this a strange reward for my honest though 
 evidently mistaken effort to keep a semblance 
 of peace in our ruined family life. 
 
 It is not, I believe, my nature to boast of 
 my own character or attainments, but the cir 
 cumstances are peculiar, and you will therefore 
 pardon me for saying that I find it hard to 
 understand how a son who has sustained the 
 reputation for character and scholarship that 
 I certainly have during my entire college 
 course, should be the source of disappoint 
 ment and grief that your words and manner 
 clearly intimated. However, I know, and 
 have known for years, that I have a bitter 
 enemy who has secured your private ear and 
 managed to make me appear to you what I am 
 not. It is not my intention to burden you 
 with details. I have tried to be in every 
 respect what a son should be, and in your 
 estimation I have failed. The least that I 
 
 34 
 
" Wayne Lorimer Pier son? 
 
 could do, under such circumstance, was to take 
 myself out of your sight, and I have accord 
 ingly done it. If you care to hear from me, 
 I will keep you posted from time to time as to 
 my success or failure in life, and I shall remain 
 always as now, 
 
 Your sincere and well-meaning son, 
 
 WAYNE LORIMER PIERSON. 
 
 There shall be no attempt to make excuses 
 for this letter other than to say, what seems 
 unnecessary, that its writer was still fiercely 
 angry. Had he waited a week longer, it 
 might, undoubtedly it would, have been a 
 better sounding letter ; but a curious under 
 tone realization of his father s genuine anxiety 
 as to his whereabouts kept him from waiting, 
 although it did not keep him from quoting 
 and requoting the words that had stabbed 
 him, and making them as painful to his father 
 as he could. The letter was indeed a revela 
 tion of the power that anger has over the 
 judgment as well as over the affections, if one 
 cares to study it in that light. It will be 
 remembered that during his prolonged inter 
 view with himself, in the woods the day before, 
 Wayne Pierson had frankly owned that he had 
 been a fool ; that he had caught up his father s 
 hasty words, and attached an importance to 
 them that they did not possess, and had al- 
 
By JVay of the Wilderness. 
 
 lowed himself to run away from home, " like 
 any story-book idiot." But to save his life he 
 could not have expressed any thought of this 
 kind on paper. The moment he wrote those 
 familiar words, " Dear father," the demon of 
 passion seemed to perch at his elbow and move 
 his pen. It made him ignore all the patience 
 and faithfulness and lavish expenditure of the 
 years, and ring the changes only on that last 
 scene, while the father was evidently smarting 
 under some sting that made him for the 
 moment beside himself. It is too bad ! these 
 reckless boys, how carelessly they stab ! The 
 time may come when Wayne Pierson, as a 
 father, will learn from bitter experience some 
 thing of his father s pain, but at that time he 
 could think only of his own pain. 
 
 Still, as has been said, he was dissatisfied 
 with the letter. After it was gone, there were 
 points in it of which he was ashamed, and 
 which he would have recalled if he could. 
 Especially did he realize that that parade of 
 his full name, " Wayne Lorimer Pierson," was, 
 to say the least, in extremely bad taste. Why 
 need he have reminded his father just then 
 that he was the grandson of old Judge Lori 
 mer, a name still spoken throughout the coun 
 try neighborhood of which he had been the 
 autocrat almost with bated breath ? His 
 father had not joined in the general admira- 
 I 3 6 
 
Lorimer Pier son. 
 
 tion of Judge Lorimer ; on certain legal ques 
 tions they had differed, and at times differed 
 sharply, and Wayne had more than once heard 
 his father say, when reminded that his son 
 bore a striking resemblance to the old Judge, 
 that he hoped he would not be like his grand 
 father in every respect. Wayne knew that he 
 was like his grandfather in character, and prided 
 himself on it; under those circumstances it was 
 especially silly to have taken up nearly a line 
 in spreading out his full name before his 
 father. 
 
 He had gone down to the kitchen to ask 
 some questions about the mails, with the letter 
 in his hand, and had found there the worthy 
 blacksmith, shaving his bristling chin before the 
 kitchen glass. 
 
 " Been writing to your father ? " he asked 
 sociably, as his keen eye took in at a glance the 
 name on the envelope written in Wayne s bold 
 est hand. " I always had a notion that the 
 young fellows wrote first to their mothers, but 
 I must say I like to see them think of their 
 fathers, too." 
 
 " My mother is dead," said Wayne, briefly. 
 
 " Oh, is that so ? Sho ! I oughtn t to have 
 spoken about mothers; I m always putting my 
 foot in it." There was such genuine sympathy 
 in Mr. Thompson s tone, that even a preoccu 
 pied young man like Wayne could not but feel 
 
 137 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 it, and he forced a smile as he said that no harm 
 had been done. 
 
 "You ve got a good father, I ll warrant," con 
 tinued the blacksmith, anxious to atone for a 
 blunder. " I can see it all over you that you ve 
 been well brought up, and I daresay your 
 father is that proud of you that he don t know 
 how to stan it sometimes. I would be, I 
 know, if I had a boy like you. Daughters are 
 all well enough," here he gave a comical wink 
 of one eye toward Sarah Jane, who was skil 
 fully putting together materials for a ginger 
 bread, " but I tell you there s nothing like 
 sons to make a father proud. You hold on to 
 your father, young man, and write to him often, 
 and tell him every little thing you do, or don t 
 do. A boy don t commonly have but one 
 good father in a lifetime, and they are worth 
 taking trouble for. You ll excuse my calling 
 you a boy ; you look so tumble young ! I m 
 blessed if I ain t afraid that the youngsters will 
 forget and be calling you one of the boys. 
 Sarah Jane, you ll have to tend up to em and 
 make em understand what s what." 
 
 " I kind of suspicioned that he hadn t got 
 any mother," said Mrs. Thompson, as Wayne 
 turned abruptly and left the room, " he looks 
 so kind of sad all the time. I dunno but I 
 might call it gloomy. I wonder if he lost her 
 only a spell ago ? I feel dreadful sorry for him 
 
 138 
 
Larimer Pier son 
 
 
 
 away off here among strangers, and he so young. 
 Professor Pierson! Why, I m afraid I should 
 laugh if I tried to say it. I guess I ll git along 
 without calling him anything, for a spell at 
 least. But I mean to try to mother him up a 
 little. I wonder if he likes custard pie ? " 
 
 "You better save your petting, mother, for 
 folks that will appreciate it," said Sarah Jane, 
 briskly, as she whisked the completed ginger 
 bread into the oven ; " he looks downright 
 masterful to me. He may be young, but if 
 he doesn t know what he is about, I ll miss my 
 calculation. I don t believe he wants any cud 
 dling, not from us, anyhow ; he ll see to it that 
 the young ones call him Professor or any 
 thing else he wants them to, or take the con 
 sequences." 
 
 In ignorance of all these opinions concerning 
 him, and in supreme indifference as to what 
 the Thompson family thought about anything, 
 Wayne got through with Saturday. He visited 
 the school house and found it very different 
 from the college buildings with which he was 
 familiar. Still, it wasn t a bad schoolhouse in 
 its way, and the young man succeeded in becom 
 ing somewhat interested in it. He meant to 
 do his best for the scholars committed to his 
 care. It is true, he told himself, that he had 
 been forced into teaching before he was ready, 
 and compelled to take that which offered rather 
 
 139 
 
By tt^ay of the H^ildermss. 
 
 than what he would have chosen, but the pupils 
 should not suffer in consequence. 
 
 By evening he had forced himself to admit 
 that he must ask for a conference with Sarah 
 Jane, and learn from her what he could about 
 his new surroundings. 
 
 She accepted the invitation with alacrity, and 
 led the way to the " parlor," which Wayne 
 had not seen before. It was a large dreary- 
 looking room, immaculate as to neatness, but 
 the wall paper was a distinct blue, while the 
 new ingrain carpet was in vivid green plenti 
 fully bestrewn with red flowers. The few 
 pictures on the walls Wayne pronounced 
 " atrocious," and the mantel ornaments were, if 
 possible, worse than the pictures. Yet Sarah 
 Jane had spent the entire afternoon in trying 
 to make the room assume the proper air for a 
 parlor, and flattered herself that she had suc 
 ceeded. She had robbed her own little room 
 of its single ornament, a wreath of hair flowers 
 set in a glass frame, and it now occupied the 
 place of honor in the centre of the mantel. 
 She could not have understood the feeling of 
 utter disgust that Wayne Pierson had for it. 
 Neither was he able in the least to appreciate 
 the little thrill of elation that Sarah Jane felt, 
 as he took the Rochester burner from her 
 hand and set it on the table, then drew the 
 window shades, and pushed forward the large 
 140 
 
Lorimer Pier son. 
 
 willow rocker for her use, while he helped him 
 self to a straight-backed chair on the other side 
 of the table. Sarah Jane was not accustomed 
 to young men who took such small burdens as 
 lamps from her hands, nor who offered her a seat, 
 and themselves remained standing until she was 
 seated. She had not been accustomed to these 
 things, but she liked them. They seemed a 
 legitimate part of the " masterful " world to 
 which this young man belonged. She had no 
 objection whatever to securing glimpses of it 
 through him. 
 
 " I shall have to look to you for a good deal 
 of help in getting acquainted with my work," 
 he said, and his manner was more genial and 
 friendly than it had been before. " You have 
 the advantage of me in having already taught 
 in the school, while I am a novice as well as 
 a stranger." 
 
 Sarah Jane laughed. " Oh, I didn t have 
 much to do with the girls and boys who be 
 long to your room," she said, " I only taught 
 the young ones. I did have a grammar class 
 though, from that room. Professor Smith gave 
 it to me last term because he was too lazy to 
 take it himself. If there was ever a man too 
 lazy to breathe, it was Professor Smith ; but I 
 didn t mind, I liked the class. I think grammar 
 is nicer than anything else, anyhow. Don t 
 you like to parse ? " 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 " I believe I did rather enjoy it at one time," 
 said Wayne, trying not to have his smile too 
 pronounced. " I fancy I shall not especially 
 enjoy teaching grammar, however. If I should 
 develop as lazy a nature as your friend, Mr. 
 Smith, am I to understand that you will take 
 the class again ? " 
 
 Sarah Jane s laugh this time had a touch of 
 sarcasm in it. " You aren t lazy," she said, 
 " whatever else you are ; I don t believe there 
 is a lazy hair in your head; and Professor 
 Smith is no friend of mine I detested him. 
 But of course I will do whatever I am given 
 to do. There s a hard lot of boys in the 
 school ; a few of them I just feel as though I 
 should like to get hold of." 
 
 " Are they such hard fellows to manage ? " 
 said Wayne, with a smile that he feared was 
 sickly ; he felt that the last thing in life that 
 he wanted to do was to " get hold " of such 
 boys. 
 
 " Well, no," said Sarah Jane, thoughtfully, 
 " I can t say that they are ; not if they were 
 managed right, which they haven t been, accord 
 ing to my way of thinking. I don t know as 
 you will agree with me, but it always seems as 
 though boys ought to be treated like human 
 beings that had some rights, and did some 
 thinking, now and then, instead of either like 
 wild animals or fools. Don t you think so ? " 
 142 
 
" Wayne Lorimer Pier son? 
 
 " I should think there could not be two 
 opinions about that," said Wayne, with a sud 
 den accession of respect for Sarah Jane. He 
 had imagined her as wanting to " get hold " 
 of some of those boys with her muscular 
 young arms, and try the effect of that " wallop 
 ing " at which her father had hinted ; and, lo ! 
 she was speaking of a moral hold. 
 
 " There s Beet Armitage now, * continued 
 Sarah Jane, " he s the ringleader. What he 
 doesn t do, he gets the credit of doing, so in 
 the end it comes to the same thing. Beet is 
 expected to be bad, first, last, and always, and 
 he hasn t the courage to disappoint people, so 
 he lives up to their expectations. That s the 
 way it looks to me. I ve always said that 
 I didn t think Beet had half a chance at home 
 nor anywhere else. And if a boy don t get 
 his rights at home, why how can he expect to 
 get them anywhere ? " 
 
 " That is true," said Wayne, a shadow cross 
 ing his face at the thought of his home and 
 his lost rights. " What is the matter with 
 Beet s home ? What an extraordinary name 
 he has, by the way ! Can that be his full 
 name ? " 
 
 43 
 
XL 
 
 "Bethune Ereckenridge Armitage" 
 
 O," said Sarah Jane, " it isn t half 
 of it; he s got name enough too 
 much of it. Bethune Breckenridge 
 Armitage, that s the whole of it; 
 and when Beet is up to any extra piece of 
 mischief, he is sure to write the full name out 
 large somewhere." 
 
 A sudden flush of color mounted to Wayne s 
 very temples; he shaded his eyes ostensibly 
 from the Rochester burner, but in reality from 
 Sarah Jane. He had been unpleasantly re 
 minded just then of " Wayne Lorimer Pier- 
 son " spread over that page. 
 
 " But for short, we call him Beet ; and that 
 is what he gets most of the time, from teachers 
 and everybody. Though we did have a 
 teacher once who thought that teachers oughtn t 
 to use nicknames. What do you think about 
 it ? " 
 
 Wayne gave an evasive answer and asked 
 another question about Beet, and Sarah Jane, 
 who had arrested her rocking-chair to get his 
 144 
 
" Eethune B. Armitage? 
 
 opinion of nicknames, considered his evasion 
 thoughtfully for a moment, then resumed her 
 rocking and her narrative. 
 
 " Why, Beet has an uncomfortable home, I 
 suppose ; I never thought he was altogether to 
 blame ; I think in most cases like that there is 
 blame on both sides. You see, it is a mixed- 
 up family : Beet has a half-brother, or well 
 a kind of a half-brother, his stepmother s son, 
 a regular molly coddle of a boy who has spent 
 his life whining and complaining of Beet and 
 getting him into trouble. He s smart, Joey is, 
 in his way ; and he has managed somehow to 
 pull the wool over Beet s father s eyes ; and he 
 is a stern kind of man, Mr. Armitage is, and 
 the consequence is, Beet gets all the scoldings 
 and whippings and none of the fun. And the 
 village people meddle and make things worse. 
 Beet s got a bad name, around town ; you see, 
 the boy is so brimful of mischief that he can t 
 keep out of it; and he s played a joke of some 
 kind on pretty nearly every man and woman 
 in the country around, so they are ready to 
 believe everything bad that they can of him, 
 and his stepmother is willing to furnish all the 
 material they want. Don t you see how it 
 might be? Then the boys in school and 
 girls, too are so used to hearing him blamed, 
 that they join in and help. If anything goes 
 wrong, no matter what, the cry is right away 
 
 HS 
 
By H^ay of the W^ilderness. 
 
 that Beet Armitage is at the bottom of it ; and 
 some of the things I believe in my heart he is 
 as innocent of as a baby ; but you can t prove 
 that, and so he is getting hardened, Beet is. I 
 just expect that boy will go to ruin unless 
 somebody steps in and helps him, and it seems 
 too bad. He is a nice-looking boy as ever 
 was, when he is in good humor." 
 
 Wayne s face needed shading still. There 
 was certainly contrast enough between " Beet s" 
 position and his, yet there were points of simi 
 larity that could not fail to interest him. Was 
 he possibly to be given a chance to study his 
 own life problems as they presented themselves 
 to others ? He was painfully interested in 
 Beet, yet he did not want to show too much 
 of it. He studied how to word his questions 
 in a way to give his assistant no hint of other 
 interest than that of a teacher. But she did 
 not wait for questions. Her interest was evi 
 dently keen and sincere. 
 
 " There s one thing about Beet," she began 
 again, after a thoughtful pause, " that seems to 
 me to be in the way of doing anything for 
 him ; it s a regular stumbling-block. He isn t 
 over sixteen years old, not a day ; but I tell you 
 he can hate like a man of sixty ; and if he 
 doesn t just about hate that half-brother of his, 
 why then I don t know the meaning of the 
 word. I never saw anything like it, not in a 
 146 
 
" Bet bun e B. Ar milage" 
 
 young fellow. Why, I believe he would kill 
 the boy, if he could get a good chance, without 
 any more hesitation than he would have for a 
 worm. c Snake ! he says, c old slimy, slippery 
 snake ! he oughtn t to be allowed to live, and 
 I hate myself for letting him do it. And he 
 looks, while he is saying it, so fierce and so full 
 of hate that I declare I m sometimes afraid he 
 will be left to do something dreadful ! Well, 
 you can see what kind of a school we are likely 
 to have, with a boy like him, and a boy like 
 his brother to keep us in hot water half the 
 time. I oughtn t to have told you about it, I 
 suppose ; I don t want you to get scared out 
 before you begin ; but I did want somebody to 
 come along who would help poor Beet. I was 
 glad when the other fellow gave us the slip ; 
 he didn t look of the right sort to do it." 
 
 "Am I to be allowed to hope that I look 
 of the right sort ? " A playful response 
 seemed to Wayne the only one that could 
 be made, but Sarah Jane took it seriously 
 enough. 
 
 " I don t know," she said, with an air of 
 penetrative thoughtfulness. " I can t make up 
 my mind. He needs a master, Beet does, and 
 I guess you could be that, if you took the 
 notion ; but then, some kinds of masters would 
 only hurry him on to ruin himself." 
 
 For some reason Wayne felt uncomfortable 
 
 H7 
 
By H^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 under the gaze of her keen eyes. He did not 
 wish to have his inner motives dissected. He 
 made haste to change the subject and get on 
 more general ground. 
 
 " I shall evidently have to make Bethune 
 a subject of special study. Now as to other 
 matters. How has the work been planned 
 heretofore ? I do not wish to make too many 
 innovations just at first. * 
 
 " Why, I dunno as there has been much 
 plan, except the regular thing, you know. We 
 all came into the big room first thing every 
 morning for prayers, and then I took my 
 youngsters out and managed them by myself 
 the best I could. Mr. Smith didn t give me 
 any help, I can tell you ; he was too lazy for 
 that. First thing he had was " 
 
 But Wayne s attention had been called to 
 a more important subject than Mr. Smith. 
 He could distinctly feel the waves of color 
 surging over his face as he asked the ques 
 tion, 
 
 "Does the school always open with with 
 religious exercises ? " 
 
 " Mercy ! yes ; you don t suppose we are 
 heathen, do you, because we live out West ? 
 We have prayers every morning as regular 
 as we have spelling and arithmetic. Deacon 
 Colter would look after us in a hurry, if we 
 didn t. It is the only thing he is particular 
 148 
 
" Bet bun e E. Armitage^ 
 
 about. He s a good man, the deacon is, but 
 he s awful ignorant." 
 
 "And this Mr. Smith, did he conduct the 
 service ? " 
 
 " Why, of course ; there wasn t anybody but 
 him and me to do it. Oh, the deacon comes 
 in once in a while in time for prayers, and I 
 used to be real glad to see him ; the deacon 
 can pray, I tell you, as though he meant it, 
 and he does every time. Mr. Smith never 
 asked him to read in the Bible but once. He s 
 a terrible reader, and Mr. Smith thought be 
 could read elegantly. Well, he could ; but his 
 prayers didn t amount to shucks. What is the 
 matter with you, Mr. Pierson ? Your face got 
 just as red and now it is pale. You ain t sick, 
 are you ? Mother could give you something, 
 if you don t feel well ; she s a master hand at 
 nursing people up." 
 
 " I am perfectly well, thank you," said 
 Wayne, with unnecessary hauteur. " I am 
 interested in learning all about this matter. 
 Do I understand you that it is a rule of the 
 school to open each session with some religious 
 service ? What I mean is, do the board of 
 trustees require it? " 
 
 " Why, of course ! Don t they always ? 
 Even Squire Willard, who isn t much on 
 practising religion, some folks think, wants the 
 school children brought up all right. For that 
 
 149 
 
By JVay of the PTilderness. 
 
 matter, he wants everything done that they do 
 down to Westover. Hasn t he talked West- 
 over to you yet ? Why, Mr. Pierson, do you 
 really mean that they don t have pravers in 
 college ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes, certainly;" and Wayne felt that 
 his face was growing red again. " But in col 
 lege there are generally clergymen among the 
 professors." 
 
 " Oh, well, I shouldn t think they would 
 need a clergyman just to open school with a 
 short prayer. You are one of that kind, aren t 
 you ? " 
 
 " A clergyman ? Oh, no, indeed ! " 
 It was Sarah Jane s turn to blush to the very 
 roots of her hair. 
 
 " I know that," she said, with an embarrassed 
 laugh. " You don t suppose I took a boy like 
 you for a minister, do you ? But I mean you 
 belong to the kind of people who know how to 
 pray. Aren t you a member of the church ? " 
 :c I have not that honor. Is that one of the 
 requisites demanded by the deacon you men 
 tioned ? " 
 
 " N-o," said Sarah Jane, very slowly. " I 
 dunno as it is. Fact is, I never thought about 
 it ; I s posed all teachers were church members. 
 Though I m not one of those folks that think 
 joining the church is everything. I should 
 have liked Mr. Smith better if he hadn t been 
 
" Bethune B. Armitage? 
 
 a professor ; it would have seemed more hon 
 est, because it didn t appear to mean any 
 thing with him. But I had a notion that 
 you " 
 
 She came to a distinct stop, and seemed not 
 to mind Wayne s eyes fixed searchingly upon 
 her. There was silence for so long that he felt 
 compelled to assist her. 
 
 " Yes," he said insinuatingly. " You thought 
 I was not a clergyman, but " 
 
 Sarah Jane drew a long sigh and brought her 
 eyes back from the floor to his face. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " I thought you was one 
 of that sort; a praying man; and if you aren t, 
 I m awfully sorry ; because, I tell you honestly, 
 I don t believe anybody else can do a thing for 
 Beet Armitage. He s got so far along on the 
 wrong road, and has such a feeling of hate in 
 his heart for that tormentor of his, that nothing 
 but a new heart altogether is going to do him 
 any good. And I thought a young man, and 
 a stranger might Well, there s no use in 
 talking. But you ll have to manage morning 
 prayers, somehow. We can all rattle over the 
 Lord s Prayer together, I suppose ; that is what 
 Mr. Smith did whenever he felt particularly 
 lazy, or when he felt so cross, and scolded so 
 much just beforehand, that he could see him 
 self that his prayers didn t match his life. I 
 never liked saying the Lord s Prayer in concert, 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 someway ; the youngsters get in the habit of 
 rattling it off so carelessly, you know, that it 
 doesn t seem like praying ; but it s better than 
 nothing, I suppose." 
 
 Wayne interrupted her with dignity : " We 
 shall be able to arrange all that to our satisfac 
 tion, I hope, Miss Thompson ; but now let 
 me learn, if I can, just what class of scholars 
 we have to deal with, and just what has been 
 accomplished heretofore." He drew a note 
 book and pencil from his pocket, and began to 
 write rapidly while Sarah Jane was put through 
 a systematic list of questions that kept her wits 
 keenly at work to give satisfactory answers, and 
 increased her respect for a " college education." 
 
 " Didn t he put me through, though ! " she 
 said to her father, who listened with the keen 
 est relish to her account of the evening s inter 
 view. " I tell you, that young fellow knows 
 what he is about ! I shouldn t wonder if we d 
 have such teaching in this district as we never 
 had before, if he does look like nothing but a 
 boy. It s a great thing to have a college edu 
 cation, father." 
 
 "Yes," said the blacksmith, "so tis; but 
 it s a great thing to have uncommon sense, 
 too; I ll risk you, Sarah Jane; don t you go 
 to being down in the mouth because you ain t 
 college educated. You ve done the best you 
 could ; and you ain t as old as Methuselah yet. 
 
55 
 
 " Eethune B. Armitage. 
 
 Who knows but you will git an addition tacked 
 on to your education some day ? " 
 
 It was the good blacksmith s dream to give 
 this girl of his not only a college education, 
 but the best that life had to give to any girl. 
 
 Meantime, the boy with the " college educa 
 tion " went upstairs in no enviable frame of 
 mind. It was all very well to put on a brave 
 face before Sarah Jane, and awe her with ques 
 tions about " text-books," and " language 
 lessons," and the " vertical system," and other 
 technical words and phrases that were as A B C 
 to him, but were new and bewildering to her 
 the fact remained that he was simply appalled 
 with the magnitude of the duties that lay before 
 him. He sank into the side of the feather bed 
 and tried to think how he should manage about 
 those opening exercises. He lead in a service 
 of prayer ! Above all other efforts the thought 
 of the Lord s Prayer dismayed him. What 
 ever else he might be, he assured himself posi 
 tively that he was not a hypocrite, and could 
 such as he repeat each morning those solemn 
 words, " Forgive us our debts as we forgive 
 our debtors " ? Had he forgiven Leon ? Did 
 he even care to forgive him ? Had he any ex 
 pectation or intention of trying to do so ? No, 
 assuredly he had not. On the contrary, he 
 distinctly intended at some time in his life to 
 repay the villain with interest for all the injury 
 
 53 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 and pain he had caused him. The mode of 
 payment should be refined, dignified, such as 
 a gentleman might indulge, but it should, 
 nevertheless, be keen and deep-reaching. And 
 he was sufficiently well educated theologically 
 to be sure that it would not be in accord with 
 the spirit of the Lord s Prayer. He and 
 " Beet," it seemed, were in the same condition. 
 Beet could no more truthfully offer the Lord s 
 Prayer than he could himself. Why should 
 the superstitions of an ignorant deacon or two 
 force them to it ? Yet Sarah Jane had been 
 very emphatic ; and it seemed altogether prob 
 able that such an innovation as a school carried 
 on without any form of religious service would 
 not be tolerated in this community. 
 
 Sarah Jane, well-informed though she cer 
 tainly was on many points, had not even heard, 
 it seemed, that there were schools conducted 
 without any reference to the forms of religion. 
 The thought occurred to him that the way of 
 escape might be to put this duty off upon her 
 shoulders. He smiled a cynical smile as he 
 told himself that undoubtedly she was one of 
 " that kind." Then he laughed as he imagined 
 her consternation over such a proposal. That 
 would be infinitely worse than the lazy Mr. 
 Smith had done. She had made it very appar 
 ent that the " Professor," and no other, was the 
 one who was expected to lead in such a service. 
 
" Bethune B. Armitage?* 
 
 What was to be done ? The longer he thought 
 about it, the more dismayed he grew. As he 
 heard the distant rumble of a long freight train 
 crawling through the town, a wild desire to 
 pack his bag, and slip softly out at the un 
 guarded front door, and board that train came 
 to him with such force that he half arose from 
 the billows of feathers that had closed around 
 him. To be free once more, to bid good-by 
 to the red schoolhouse, that he was afraid he 
 hated ; to have nothing to do with the burly 
 blacksmith and the insufferable "Jim"; to 
 assume no responsibility toward " Beet " and 
 his "molly coddle" brother; to be stabbed no 
 more by Sarah Jane s keen-cut phrases that she 
 did not know were stabs. It was a tremendous 
 temptation. He might do it dignifiedly. He 
 might even wait until Monday morning, and 
 then call upon Squire Willard and assure him 
 that, after giving the matter careful considera 
 tion, he had decided that he was not fit to cope 
 with the peculiarities of the "upper deestrict." 
 It was really the thought of his predecessor 
 who had failed them, that held this young man 
 a prisoner. 
 
 " Why did Mr. Jenkins fail to keep his en 
 gagement with you ? " he had suddenly thought 
 to ask of the blacksmith while they were at 
 supper ; and the answer had been full and em 
 phatic. 
 
 155 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 " Got a bigger chance somewheres else, that s 
 the reason. Made an out and out engagement, 
 put it in black and white, and had his box of 
 books sent on ahead, and all that ; and then 
 give us the slip ! It wa n t till after the school 
 had ought to have took up that he was heard 
 from ; and then he owned up that he could get 
 a whole dollar a week more in another district 
 that he knew of, and he thought it his duty to 
 go there. His duty, sho ! I hate to see a 
 man do a thing as mean as pusley and then 
 whine about duty. What become of his prom 
 ises? Isn t a man s word good for nothing, 
 I d like to know? I m a poor man, and 
 always expect to be, and I have to think 
 about dollars as careful as anybody, I reckon, 
 but I ve never seen the time, and I hope I 
 never shall, when for a dollar a week I can 
 afford to go back on my word. His name 
 was Ezra, too ; pity to waste a good Bible 
 name that way ! He said he had a younger 
 brother to help, and must .earn all he could. 
 Sho ! a fellow who can t be trusted, can t help 
 anybody." 
 
 And Wayne Pierson, who had supposed him 
 self utterly indifferent to the entire Thompson 
 family, discovered that he did not want to bring 
 his character into contempt before the worthy 
 blacksmith. He had promised, and for one 
 term, at least, he must endure. 
 
XII. 
 
 The Way Out. 
 
 REACHING the conclusion he had, it 
 was like Wayne Pierson to face the 
 situation manfully, and set himself se 
 riously to work to discover, if possi 
 ble, an honorable way out of this undeniable 
 dilemma. There were three ways out, and one 
 of them lay uphill. He stated the proposi 
 tions to himself: first, the custom of opening 
 the school with religious exercises might be 
 abandoned ; second, a minister or deacon might 
 be engaged to come in each morning and con 
 duct the service; third, he must do it himself! 
 He discussed these different plans at some 
 length, examining pros and cons. The sum 
 ming up was something like this : the first 
 scheme might be difficult of accomplishment. 
 It would probably antagonize the religious 
 prejudices and thus be unwise, even if consent 
 from the trustees could be secured. The sec 
 ond plan was also beset with objections. If he 
 should engage a sort of chaplain, he might be 
 late occasionally, or some mornings not appear 
 
 157 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 at all ; then embarrassments would necessarily 
 follow. There was danger, too, that such an 
 arrangement might lose him the respect of 
 the school and the community, and his own 
 self-respect as well. Moreover, there was a 
 ludicrous side to hiring a man to do his pray 
 ing. It was not to be thought of. There 
 remained this, then : he himself must lead a 
 daily religious service in the school. He 
 would not allow himself to argue the point 
 even. It had to be done, and he must do it. 
 The problem now was how ? 
 
 He arose from his enervating feather seat, 
 and began to pace the floor with knitted brows 
 and arms folded rigidly behind him. While 
 he pondered he was conscious of an undercur 
 rent of irritating thought going on, as if an 
 exasperating somebody were buzzing in his 
 ears, reminding him, in the words of the old 
 proverb, that he had "jumped from the frying- 
 pan into the fire," and that, though he had got 
 out of one set of troubles for the present by 
 running away, he had plunged into others 
 greater ? Not by any means ; these could be 
 met and conquered, he told himself. And it 
 began to look after a time as if he had reached 
 some satisfactory conclusions, for he prepared 
 for rest with the air of one who has settled 
 something, saying to himself as he was falling 
 asleep, "If only school did not open Monday, 
 
 158 
 
The JJ^a Out. 
 
 I could manage it nicely with another week 
 before me." 
 
 School did not open Monday. And the 
 young teacher had a struggle with his con 
 science not to feel real delight thereat. That 
 very night a merciless storm swept through the 
 valley, uprooting trees and damaging buildings. 
 The only roof that was "lifted clean off and 
 laid down in a medder," in the language of one 
 of the villagers, was that of the schoolhouse. 
 It was " queer," the trustees told each other as 
 they stood in dismay about the wrecked build 
 ing, that this particular roof should be the one 
 to fly off. 
 
 " Looks most as if Providence had some 
 thing agin us," a sour-faced man remarked ; 
 " school ort to a took up most a month ago, 
 and here, jes s we git all ready, off goes the 
 ruff. No tellin how long we ll be hendered 
 now." 
 
 " For a week at least, I hope," was the men 
 tal comment of the teacher-elect, as he stood 
 with the others surveying the ruin the storm 
 had wrought. 
 
 " Miss Thompson," Wayne began one even 
 ing after supper, when order had been restored 
 to the large room which served as both dining 
 and sitting room. 
 
 "You needn t Miss Thompson me/ that 
 young woman disclaimed. 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 " La, yes," her mother interposed ; " Sarah 
 Jane d hardly know who you meant." 
 
 " Miss Sarah, then ; how will that do ? " 
 
 And then Sarah Jane had a swift dawning 
 perception that the world to which this young 
 man belonged counted it more refined to use 
 one name rather than two, and she had a 
 twinge of regret that she had not long ago 
 insisted upon being called either "Jane" or 
 " Sarah." 
 
 "Sarah will do," she said; "and you may 
 leave off the c Miss. 
 
 But Wayne had no intention of levelling all 
 walls of formality, and putting himself on 
 terms of such intimacy as this would imply. 
 
 " Did singing form a part of the opening 
 exercises in the school ? " he asked. 
 
 " No ; we tried it awhile, but Professor 
 Smith couldn t sing more n a frog, and there 
 wa n t any one to lead." 
 
 " Are there any good voices among the 
 pupils ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; Beet s got a splendid voice, and 
 Joe sings too, and plays the violin. Ruby 
 Knowles, she sings like a nightingale " 
 
 Wayne had heard some stirring notes from 
 Sarah Jane herself as she moved briskly about 
 in the morning. 
 
 "Why did not you or the nightingale girl 
 lead P " he asked, 
 160 
 
The Way Out. 
 
 " He never asked us to lead. He thought 
 a girl couldn t do anything, anyway." 
 
 " I notice you have an organ in the other 
 room. Suppose we ask a few of the older 
 scholars to come in to-morrow evening and 
 sing, if your mother is willing." 
 
 " Oh, I can t play yet," Sarah Jane demurred, 
 "and I don t know anybody who can on the 
 organ. I only took lessons a little while, and 
 can just pick out a few tunes." 
 
 " I ll do the playing," Wayne said, " if you ll 
 help sing." 
 
 Filled with admiration at thought of a man 
 who could play the organ, both mother and 
 daughter hastened to express their delight at 
 the proposal, Mrs. Thompson adding, in an 
 overflow of generosity, "Jest you use that 
 great lazy room whenever you like." 
 
 Accordingly, the next evening saw Beet and 
 Joe Armitage, with a half dozen others, gath 
 ered about the organ in Mrs. Thompson s 
 front room, where the new teacher played 
 and led the singing. They were shy at first 
 of the "new professor," those boys and girls; 
 but when they saw that he threw his whole self 
 into it, and played and sang with spirit, they 
 found courage to let out their voices and call 
 for favorite hymns or songs, the organist, with 
 or without notes, playing them promptly, 
 " Dixie," "Swanee River," " Star-spangled Ban- 
 
 161 
 
By TVay of the TVilderness. 
 
 ner," and " Robin Adair," up to " Coronation " 
 and other stately old airs of their fathers. The 
 singing was not artistic ; it was better ; it filled 
 both performers and listeners with delight ; the 
 latter consisting of Mr. and Mrs. Thompson 
 and Jim, who nodded approvingly and whis 
 pered, 
 
 " My ! but he s a smart chap ! " 
 
 It was not by any means for his own amuse 
 ment that Wayne had gathered this singing 
 company, though he did have an object two 
 of them. One was to train singers for the 
 school, the other looked to the establishment 
 of friendly relations between himself and the 
 older pupils. What his reserved nature had 
 most dreaded in this undertaking was contact 
 with lawlessness. He realized that it would 
 not be an easy matter for one not many years 
 the senior of some of them to establish au 
 thority without a certain amount of conflict, 
 unless he could by some means forestall possi 
 ble rebellion, and make those pupils his friends. 
 
 And surely it seemed as though the question 
 of subduing the worst boy in school was far 
 toward being solved that night. Beet loved 
 music, and when he was assured that he had a 
 fine bass voice which needed only cultivation to 
 make it first class, his secret delight knew no 
 bounds; added to this, when the master did not 
 put on airs as if he knew.it all, but asked his 
 162 
 
The Wa Out. 
 
 opinion occasionally, why then Beet was pre 
 pared to champion the new teacher whom he 
 beforehand threatened to " thrash." It was 
 cause for pride, too, in Beet s mind, that the 
 upper district had a teacher straight from col 
 lege who, with all the rest he knew, could play 
 the organ and sing one part as well as another. 
 Westover couldn t go ahead of that. He had 
 stopped singing himself at times to hear the 
 professor s wonderful tenor, perhaps gliding 
 into soprano and from that to bass, according 
 to their needs. Yes, he was even willing to 
 call him "professor" now, though he had 
 scornfully declared on the day of his arrival 
 that he never would, because he was nothing 
 but a boy. But now, by those marvellous gifts, 
 he was worthy of all honor. Indeed, Beet was 
 in the way of becoming a hero-worshipper when 
 a day or two later the teacher accepted from him 
 an invitation to a ball game and seemed well 
 up in all the ins and outs thereof. Moreover, 
 he had called him not "Beet" nor "Bethune" 
 which he hated but " Armitage." " When 
 a fellow got called like that he was next door to 
 being a man." 
 
 The conquest of the others who had met to 
 sing was also assured, for greatly to their delight 
 they were invited to consider themselves a part 
 of a school choir to meet regularly for practice 
 and instruction. They would begin at once, 
 
 163 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 and while they waited for the schoolhouse would 
 improve the time and sing every evening. The 
 zest with which he entered into this work, and 
 the interest inspired by his pupils, surprised the 
 teacher himself. He drew them into conversa 
 tion after the singing hour each night, studying 
 them meanwhile, curiously, as if all were rare 
 specimens in biology. The bright ones sprung 
 questions upon him which he might have been 
 puzzled to answer had he not been an omnivo 
 rous reader with fine memory; as it was, the 
 prompt replies, combining instruction with fun, 
 charmed them into admiration and hearty good 
 will. In all this there was no overstepping the 
 line between teacher and pupil; Wayne s natu 
 ral dignity precluded that as well as their rev 
 erence for his knowledge. 
 
 Work upon the schoolhouse wevnt on but 
 slowly, the roof being so badly wrecked that a 
 new one had been found necessary ; rain also 
 added to the delay. Meantime Wayne was by 
 no means idle. He made calls, studied all sorts 
 of theories for conducting a model school, and 
 sent for many things he considered necessary to 
 its success, chief among which was a cabinet 
 organ. An old friend of his father was a dealer 
 in musical instruments in Chicago. Wayne had 
 confidence in his judgment and honesty, and 
 wrote asking that a second-hand organ at a certain 
 price be sent him without delay. He considered 
 164 
 
The tt^a Out. 
 
 this and some other expenses a necessity if he 
 meant to make his first venture out in the world 
 a success, and he did, even though the sphere 
 was humble ; he should do his best. When 
 therefore his other prudent self interfered, charg 
 ing him with improvidence, he ignored the ad 
 monition as youth is prone to do, and went on, 
 ordering besides several copies of singing books. 
 This done, he sent home for maps and pictures 
 collected through the years by means of gifts 
 and his own purchases. Apparently he had 
 forgotten that his stay was to be short in this 
 place, and was planning as if for years. 
 
 Wayne s first view of the inside of the school- 
 house had been most depressing ; he had taken 
 in each dismal detail, the air of desolation, the 
 hacked desks, the smoky walls, the grimy win 
 dows, and the indescribable odor adhering to 
 an old schoolroom: odors made up of genera 
 tions of lunches, bread-and-butter, and head 
 cheese, pie, and doughnuts. It had seemed 
 to him as if he could not spend months there. 
 Why should not a place in which young people 
 stayed half of the time be a little better than a 
 barn ? He confided his desires and ambitions 
 concerning that room to Sarah Jane, asking, as 
 the time drew near to occupy it, " Can t we do 
 something to make that place more attractive?" 
 
 This was a ne\v idea ; no teacher had ever 
 suggested the like before- 
 
 165 
 
By PJ^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 "The boys would just racket around and 
 spoil everything if we did," Sarah Jane answered 
 after reflection. 
 
 " Oh no, I think not ; I was a boy not so 
 long ago, and I didn t do those things." 
 
 " You ! " and the girl put an emphasis on 
 the word as if language failed to express the 
 immeasurable distance between him and them. 
 " Well, we can make it clean any way,"she said 
 alertly ; " I ll go right off and get the girls to 
 come and help." 
 
 Certain college men would have opened their 
 eyes wide in astonishment could they have seen 
 their elegant classmate actually carrying water 
 for a company of girls who swept and scrubbed 
 and scoured till windows and desks and floors 
 testified to the virtues of soap and water and 
 strength the trustees had hired the walls 
 whitened, thanks to the energies and insistence 
 of Sarah Jane. 
 
 " Now," that young woman said to her helpers 
 as they started for home that night, "he thinks 
 all s done that s going to be. Let s surprise 
 him a bit. What if we get some shades for 
 those staring windows ? How many will take 
 a paper and go round and raise enough to buy 
 em ? I ll give a dollar. It s got to be done 
 to-morrow, and the next day they must be 
 bought and put up." 
 
 Each girl promised, and began that very night 
 166 
 
The Jf^a Out. 
 
 to coax money out of everybody they met, as 
 only girls can. The outcome of those days of 
 hard work was, that the Saturday night before 
 the opening of school saw a transformation in 
 the old place. The windows were clothed in 
 neat shades, the teacher s desk stood on a large 
 square of bright carpeting, the stove shone in 
 blackness, and in each window was a plant 
 choice treasures culled from many homes ; the 
 assistant teacher brought a pot of pinks filled 
 with buds and a monthly rose, these graced the 
 professor s desk. 
 
 It remained now for him to do his part 
 toward beautifying. Securing Beet s help that 
 evening, they went to the schoolhouse with 
 great secrecy. A rush of surprise and delight 
 came over him when he saw what had been 
 done ; though reared in luxury, he keenly 
 appreciated these homely efforts. He noticed 
 that the room of his assistant, though clean, 
 was utterly bare, she had herself managed that 
 all the brightness should go to his room. 
 The unselfish kindness touched him, and when 
 the pictures were unpacked he hastened to hang 
 upon the walls of the small room a lovely 
 Madonna and two gay little water-colors. 
 When the organ was set up and the walls cov 
 ered with maps and pictures, it really seemed 
 an exceedingly cheerful, pleasant place, and the 
 young teacher turned the key with a sense of 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 satisfaction, even elation, which he would not 
 have thought possible for him when first he 
 surveyed that ungainly building the red 
 schoolhouse. 
 
 Among the books Wayne had ordered was 
 one rather new to him. Its title was "The 
 Book of Common Prayer." He sat down to 
 examine it with eagerness. It was to be an 
 important factor in smoothing the way about 
 those opening exercises. While he felt that he 
 could not honestly repeat the Lord s Prayer 
 with that one searching clause over which he 
 stumbled, he yet had no hesitancy in going as 
 far as he could consistently. He was willing 
 and glad, he argued, to acknowledge God as 
 Sovereign of the universe, the father and pro 
 tector of mankind, the one from whom all 
 blessings flow, and deserving of honor, praise, 
 and gratitude. He was not even averse to 
 confessing a sense of unworth in a general way, 
 but the story of the atoning sacrifice was to him 
 as an idle tale. He had not yet apprehended 
 Christ, like that other young man of old 
 whom the Master loved but sent on his way 
 sorrowing. 
 
 Certainly there could be nothing wrong in 
 reading prayers, Wayne told himself, inasmuch 
 as it was practised by a large evangelical de 
 nomination, and neither would it be irreverent 
 to omit the parts that he could not conscien- 
 168 
 
The Way Out. 
 
 tiously repeat when it was but the composition 
 of a man. Why should he not make use of 
 this book ? Why should he, when his train 
 ing had been in another direction ? The young 
 man did not like to go deep into this question. 
 He would have been forced to admit that it 
 seemed a solemn thing to come before God 
 with words of his own, especially when there 
 had been no public profession of allegiance. 
 He was not at home in the language of prayer ; 
 fluent enough on all other themes, his tongue 
 might here forget its cunning, and that that 
 would be most humiliating, settled the ques 
 tion. 
 
 When the pupils came trooping into school 
 that Monday morning, they stood in open- 
 mouthed amazement. Was this lovely, clean, 
 bright place school ? Pictures and plants and, 
 above all, an organ ! It would seem that all 
 this had a refining influence at once, for some 
 of the boys went back to wipe their feet. 
 Even the wildest boys forgot their usual 
 pranks on opening day. And no wonder ; 
 for when the bell rang, here went Beet and 
 some of his choice spirits to the upper end 
 of the room to special seats set in a half- 
 circle about the organ. Evidently their leader 
 had abdicated. When the professor took 
 his seat at the organ, and led off in " Cor 
 onation " Joe Armitage s violin joining 
 
 169 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 when the trained choir " burst into song," 
 the teacher s fine voice soaring uppermost, then 
 the whole school, carried away by a wave of 
 enthusiasm, joined with fervor in the grand old 
 hymn and made the rafters ring. " Whoever 
 knew we could sing like that!" their tri 
 umphant glances said to each other. Then 
 came a speech from the teacher, brief and prac 
 tical ; he asked them to cooperate with him in 
 making this the very best school in the county. 
 He expected to give to them a winter of hard 
 work, and would they not promise faithful study 
 and good conduct in return ? 
 
 " Let me beg you to bear in mind," he said, 
 " that your work is not simply to commit and 
 recite lessons, but to discipline mind and mould 
 character." 
 
 The few impressive words of the young 
 teacher, his face glowing with earnestness, 
 gave to some of them the first glimpse of an 
 idea that every hour spent in that room was 
 of utmost importance and must be accounted 
 for. 
 
 There followed a short reading of Scripture, 
 then the prayer, and not even Sarah Jane, when 
 she heard the words, "Father of all mercies, 
 we, thine unworthy servants, do give thee most 
 humble and hearty thanks for all thy goodness 
 and loving kindness to us," knew that they 
 came from a prayer book ; true, the teacher had 
 170 
 
The Wa Out. 
 
 a fine memory and needed not to glance at the 
 book. After this came another hymn, and the 
 opening exercises for that day were over. 
 
 So much had they been enjoyed that all were 
 sorry when they ended. Formerly this had 
 been the most tedious time of the whole day, 
 and usually devoted to mischief; on this morn 
 ing they had no leisure to throw even one paper 
 ball or twitch the braids of the girl who sat be 
 fore them. They were singing for dear life out 
 of bran, span new books and listening to a new 
 Bible, for the teacher had chosen a striking les 
 son, and made it so vivid by correct reading 
 that it was true, as they said, they " never 
 heard it afore." 
 
 Strangely enough the teacher enjoyed it more 
 than any one of them. Those rough, untaught 
 voices chiming in with fervor, those eager, up 
 turned faces, appealed to him. He wanted to 
 help them. He forgot that he had seas of 
 trouble, and that the place was dreary, and that 
 he longed inexpressibly for college life again. 
 This was his school, his kingdom, and he would 
 make it fair and strong. 
 
 171 
 
XIII. 
 
 Progress, and Problems. 
 
 THERE are reasons why one would 
 like to linger over that winter which 
 marked Wayne Pierson s first experi 
 ence of independent life. In many 
 respects it was an entirely different winter from 
 the one he had imagined on the first night 
 when he sank among those obnoxious feathers, 
 and, according to his custom, made a mental 
 picture foreshadowing it. To his own un 
 bounded surprise he found himself thoroughly 
 enjoying his work. More than once, before 
 spring opened, he told himself with little thrills 
 of satisfaction that about one thing he had cer 
 tainly been right: he was evidently designed 
 for a teacher. His scholars would have agreed 
 with him. As the weeks passed, and the new 
 plans that had been introduced were continu 
 ally reenforced with others, thus keeping up the 
 pleasant excitement, every boy and girl in the 
 school voted him in their different grades of 
 language a success. Those morning services 
 especially, that were to have been such a trial 
 172 
 
Progress^ and Problems. 
 
 to the new teacher, became an actual source of 
 pride. The idea of having a trained choir took 
 possession of the leader. He was charmed with 
 the material that he found in the rough, and spent 
 no little time in developing it. Sarah Jane, 
 he told himself, if she had had proper advan 
 tages, would have possessed a really remarkable 
 voice ; as it was, it was worth cultivating. As 
 for Beet, or " Armitage," as he was now being 
 called even by some of the older scholars, 
 Wayne declared that he should have opportu 
 nities. He was still only a boy, and " one of 
 these days " he should become such a basso 
 that there would be a satisfaction in hearing 
 himself spoken of as his first teacher. 
 
 " Reflected glory," said the young man to 
 himself, with a laugh so gleeful that it would 
 have astonished his stepmother; "why shouldn t 
 I have a little of that, since my own expecta 
 tions have been nipped in the bud ? " He 
 could think this, and still laugh, because he 
 did not put any confidence in such thoughts. 
 His determination to take, one day, such a 
 position in the cultured world as his father 
 would hear of with pride and joy, was never 
 stronger ; of course he would succeed. 
 
 His home relations, by the way, were pecul 
 iar, and deserve special mention. During the 
 five days th~t had intervened between Wayne 
 Pierson s disappearance and the arrival of that 
 
 173 
 
By T^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 letter which it cost him so much trouble to 
 write, his father had grown old rapidly. His 
 heart was torn with a hundred different anx 
 ieties, every one of them enhanced by the fact 
 that his conscience was by no means at rest. 
 He remembered the harsh words that he had 
 last spoken to his son : what if they should be 
 the last that he could ever speak to him ! As 
 the days passed, this torture grew, and he went 
 about with so haggard a face and eyes so sunken, 
 that his wife was alarmed. He gave almost 
 no attention to his pressing business concerns, 
 but gave himself to trying to find trace of 
 his son, and yet to do it quietly, in a way that 
 would shield the boy from further exposure of 
 every sort. His visit to the college and his 
 interview with several members of the Faculty 
 opened his eyes in a way that did not lessen 
 the pain at his heart. He had been unjust, 
 then, all the time to his boy ! and to the trust 
 imposed on him by the boy s dead mother ! 
 The Faculty spoke very plainly ; the only 
 fault they had ever had to find with his son 
 had been this unaccountable absence from his 
 work, just at the beginning, as they might say, 
 of his last important year. They had looked 
 to him to do the institution honor ; he was 
 without exception the finest scholar that had 
 been with them for years. What was detain 
 ing him ? The father mentally groaned, but 
 
 174 
 
Progress, and Problems. 
 
 offered no outward sign ; his manner was in 
 direct but dignified. He left the officials think 
 ing that some grave family matter, about which 
 the keen-brained lawyer did not choose to talk, 
 was detaining their favorite pupil for a few days. 
 The dean, being confronted by his own let 
 ter that had caused all the trouble, uttered an 
 exclamation of impatient dismay. How was 
 it possible that he could have transposed those 
 two names ! yet that he had done so was evi 
 dent ; his apologies and regrets were sincere 
 and profuse, but the father scarcely heard them, 
 and was so preoccupied with the all-absorbing 
 question, " Where is Wayne ? " that he did not 
 take to heart his stepson s downfall as he would 
 otherwise have done. Indeed, throughout the 
 trying experience, Leon Hamilton, if he had 
 but known it, had excellent reason for being 
 grateful to his brother. For once, Mr. Pier- 
 son allowed his own boy to fill his thoughts to 
 the almost entire exclusion of that other boy 
 to whom he had earnestly tried to be a father. 
 As the days passed and he heard nothing, the 
 poor father told himself that to hear that his 
 darling was safe with his mother who under 
 stood him and had never wronged him would 
 be a relief. Yet, so strange are human hearts, 
 that no sooner had he read the letter which 
 at last saved his reason to him, than an ex 
 traordinary reaction took place. Wayne was 
 
 75 
 
By W^ay of the W^ilderness. 
 
 safe, then, and comfortable, and had been all 
 the time that he had paced his room through 
 sleepless nights ! The letter sounded to him 
 so cold, so hard, so insolent ! to talk about 
 paying him for all the expense that had been 
 incurred on his account ! and to spread his full 
 name " Wayne Lorimer Pierson " over half a 
 page of his letter ! Oh ! the father was stabbed 
 infinitely worse than the son meant him to be. 
 In fact, justice must be done to that boy who 
 did not understand fathers, nor know very 
 much, after all, about human pain ; he had not 
 meant that sentence about repaying his father 
 as a stab. It had been an awkward, blundering 
 way of giving expression to a vague fear he 
 had that his father was being pecuniarily em 
 barrassed, and a desire to prove to him that 
 his son could not only take care of himself, 
 but hoped to be in a position to do more than 
 that. So they did not understand each other, 
 these two, any better than they had for years. 
 Smarting under the sense of injury that came 
 with the reaction, the father replied to the letter. 
 He said nothing about those days and nights 
 of agony, that all his friends could see had 
 aged him, but in words of smooth sarcasm con 
 gratulated his son on having a nature that en 
 abled him to cut loose in a moment of time 
 from home and all home ties and helps, merely 
 because his father, during a time when he was 
 
Progress^ and Problems. 
 
 tortured by troubles known only to himself, 
 had spoken a few sharp words ! This, after 
 careful consideration, was all the reference that 
 he decided to make to the dean s letter and 
 his own misunderstanding. And he made the 
 decision in love, too. Since Wayne was not, 
 and, as a student, never had been, unworthy of 
 his trust, why should he pain him by revealing 
 all that had been believed against him ? 
 
 Wayne, of course, knew nothing about it, 
 so the father argued, and need never know. 
 Let him continue to consider that that last 
 interview referred on his part to the un 
 comfortable relations between the two young 
 men. Wayne could not consider himself 
 altogether blameless here ; though sometime, 
 perhaps, the father told himself, he would say 
 to Wayne that doubtless he had been often 
 deceived in this regard, as he had in the col 
 lege life but he could not say it then ; the 
 pain of Wayne s letter was too heavy upon 
 him. His own was brief, and cold ; though 
 he closed with an assurance that he should 
 always be glad to hear from his son, and 
 always ready to help him to the extent of his 
 ability, even to the extent of paying all his 
 college expenses as heretofore. Then he said 
 that he would not sign himself, " Edward 
 Everett Pierson " as he did in very important 
 business letters, but, " Your affectionate father." 
 
 177 
 
By W^ay of the W^ilderness. 
 
 Wayne had blushed over this, and then he 
 had sighed a long sigh so full of disappoint 
 ment that had good Mrs. Thompson heard it 
 she would have hastened to make him a very 
 thick custard pie. He had hoped that his 
 father s letter would throw some light on the 
 strange charges that had been made against 
 him, but it had not. The letter did not anger 
 him, as his had angered his father ; he had 
 had time to grow quiet. It simply disap 
 pointed him, and he went on misunderstanding. 
 He had decided by this time that he had un 
 doubtedly been a fool to leave home in the 
 way he did ; but he believed that having done 
 so, the sensible thing was to stay away and 
 carry out his present trust. 
 
 " My father is in financial trouble," he said, 
 as he folded away the letter, " I am quite sure 
 of it ; that probably is the explanation of the 
 troubles known only to himself; does he 
 think that I will go back and make his bur 
 dens heavier ! If he had confided in me, I 
 would have lightened them long ago ; as it is, 
 the least I can do for him is to support my 
 self." 
 
 So he wrote again, after a few weeks, a 
 short letter that he tried not to make dignified, 
 but all the time the demon at his shoulder 
 told him that Mrs. Pierson would read it too ; 
 and he must have a care what he said, so that 
 
 178 
 
Progress, and Problems. 
 
 she could not twist it to suit her views. And 
 she "twisted " it with perfect ease. 
 
 " Poor boy ! " she said with a sigh, " how 
 angry he is, and how carefully he nurses his 
 rage ! He is not wholly to blame ; that is like 
 his grandfather, I think you told me. These 
 hereditary traits are so hard to overcome. My 
 poor Leon inherited such a rolicking, fun-lov 
 ing disposition that I sometimes fear that he 
 will never learn self-control. All his college 
 troubles, you know, have grown out of this 
 disposition to have a good time." 
 
 Letters were exchanged but rarely after that. 
 The father was very busy, very weary after 
 business hours, and very much hurt with his 
 son. The stepson had gone wrong, it is true ; 
 but he seemed to be really penitent and was 
 doing better in college, and was very thought 
 ful for him when at home, while Wayne 
 here the father sighed. 
 
 And the son, who was working harder in 
 the red schoolhouse "out West" than he had 
 worked in college, looked forward steadily to 
 the time when he should be able to "help 
 father," and failed each week to help him as he 
 might have done. They do it so often, these 
 wise, foolish boys. 
 
 The least satisfactory part of Wayne s work 
 was with the boy Armitage. Not in the direc 
 tion that he had feared ; no more loyal adhe- 
 
 179 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 rent to the new professor could be found in the 
 school than he ; and being a leader, he kept 
 the turbulent spirits in admirable subjection, 
 so that the " contact with lawlessness," which 
 Wayne had feared, had not to be endured. 
 
 Young Armitage had never realized, until 
 he came in contact with Wayne, that his 
 powerful voice was for any purpose but to 
 roar through the woods with and frighten little 
 children. Under Wayne s tuition he was de 
 veloping a passionate love for music, which 
 went far toward subduing his rough nature. 
 That choir, by the way, became a continued 
 source of interest and delight. It attracted 
 marked attention in the little village that had 
 few objects of general interest. It was Squire 
 Willard who started the custom which soon 
 became a fashion that of dropping in of a 
 morning to the schoolhouse for " Prayers." 
 The " trained choir " was always ready to en 
 tertain any guests who came, and the young 
 teacher who had grown used to his prayer book, 
 and could depend upon his memory, had ceased 
 to inwardly tremble, even with a dozen guests 
 present, when it fell to his lot to roll off some 
 of the majestic sentences found in his Book of 
 Prayer. There is no accounting for the con 
 ceits which the human conscience will adopt 
 on occasion. Wayne s told him, with a logic 
 that he did not stop to refute, that to read 
 1 80 
 
Progress, and Problems. 
 
 from a prayer book, or to formally quote from 
 it the ideas of others, was very different from 
 speaking, in prayer, words of one s own. He 
 was not being a hypocrite ; he was simply 
 " leading the devotions of others " in some 
 of the grandest words that had been written 
 through the centuries. He began himself to 
 like the sound of them. 
 
 It was near the holiday vacation that Wayne 
 conceived the idea of training his choir to give 
 a concert in the little town hall, asking for 
 a silver offering at the close ; said offering to 
 be used to buy lamps for the schoolhouse, that 
 the debating society which he had formed 
 might have more light on their subjects than 
 they had been able to secure heretofore. The 
 idea met with instant approval on the part of 
 the choir ; and when with infinite pains the 
 training progressed and culminated in a trium 
 phant finale in the town hall before a delighted 
 audience, the admiration of the town s people 
 for the prize they had secured knew no bounds. 
 Squire Willard, especially when the teachers 
 from the Westover High School came down 
 to the concert in a body, and expressed them 
 selves as delighted, felt that his cup of pride 
 was full. The next day it overflowed ; for 
 the Westover Chronicle gave a detailed account 
 of the concert, and closed with the statement 
 that cc Professor Pierson and his matchless 
 
 181 
 
By W^ay of the W^ilderness. 
 
 company of trained singers had given the 
 music-loving people in that vicinity such a 
 treat as they were rarely able to enjoy ; one, 
 indeed, that would do credit to any Eastern 
 city." What had Squire Willard to wish for 
 after that ? 
 
 Wayne laughed uproariously over the notice, 
 and sent a paper heavily marked to his Aunt 
 Crete; then sat himself down in his study chair 
 to face and study a problem that continually 
 haunted him. That boy Beet ; he was not 
 doing for him what ought to be done. There 
 was nothing that Beet did not stand ready to 
 do or to give up doing for his sake ; he knew 
 that his influence was unbounded, and it was 
 this that troubled him. 
 
 In numberless ways had Beet improved, but 
 he still hated his stepbrother, the " molly 
 coddle," with all the intensity of his fierce 
 nature, and Wayne was compelled to admit to 
 himself that he sympathized only too heartily 
 with this feeling ; he detested Joey with a vigor 
 that deepened as his knowledge of him grew. 
 The weak, half-developed, wholly spoiled boy 
 was as unlike the stalwart athlete, Leon Hamil 
 ton, as it was possible for him to be, yet there 
 were points of similarity in the two characters. 
 Joey was what the girls called " slippery." He 
 had a way of making his own conduct look 
 angelic, and his brother s the opposite, that was 
 
 182 
 
Progress^ and Problems. 
 
 almost admirable in its skill. As Sarah Jane 
 had said, he was " sharp " ; on occasion, he was 
 also sly, and small, and stopped at no mean 
 ness, however minute, that would help him to 
 carry his point. How could such a nature fail 
 to remind Wayne of what he had suffered at 
 the hands of his stepbrother ? He wished that 
 Armitage would not come to him for advice, 
 as he constantly did, or for sympathy, which 
 was worse. 
 
 " What would you do, Professor ? Would 
 you stand such a thing ? He s cheating father, 
 too, and that s the meanest of it ; father ought 
 to know. I ve done my best to tell him, but 
 he can t understand. I say that fellow ought 
 to be killed, that s the only way out ; he ll 
 go on cheating everybody till he is. He s 
 such an everlasting sneak, though, that I don t 
 know but he would cheat the grave, and crawl 
 out of it somehow, if he was dead." 
 
 " Armitage ! " would the dignified young 
 " professor" say, " such talk is unworthy of you. 
 No matter how much of a villain a person may 
 be, you are not called upon to rid the earth of 
 him. Let the hand of justice attend to such 
 matters." 
 
 "Well, now, I wouldn t kill him, of course : 
 I don t mean that kind of talk, you know ; 
 but what I say is, that he ought to be come 
 up with, somehow. Don t you think so ? Say, 
 
 183 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 I ve been thinking about a plan " And then 
 would follow a careful outline of a scheme 
 designed to bring the obnoxious Joey into 
 humiliating prominence, in the direction where 
 he would most feel it. A scheme so keen and 
 requiring such skill and courage to carry it out 
 that Wayne, who was sure that a word from 
 him would set it in motion, could not help 
 admiring the brightness of it all ; but he would 
 gravely shake his head. 
 
 " No, Armitage, don t do that, it isn t 
 gentlemanly; you cannot afford, for the sake 
 of a little revenge, to give up being a gentle 
 man, you know. On account of your own 
 self-respect let the whole thing pass." And 
 Armitage, with something between a groan and 
 a grimace, would mutter that he was afraid it 
 would kill him to be a gentleman all the time, 
 if that serpent had got to live ; but he would 
 turn away, and Wayne would know that he had 
 once more conquered. But deep within his own 
 heart could be heard distinctly the undertone, 
 " You have only conquered the surface ; you 
 are not using your influence as you might." 
 
 There were others, besides himself, who 
 knew this, and Wayne knew that they knew it. 
 Sarah Jane had only admiration for the brill 
 iant young professor who had won even Beet 
 Armitage ; but her father, the keen-eyed black 
 smith, shook his head and said sorrowfully : 
 184 
 
Progress, and Problems. 
 
 " I wisht he d win his heart into the right 
 place ; it s all outside, Sarah Jane, and won t 
 last." Something in line with the same thought 
 he expressed to Wayne. 
 
 Then there was Jim that insufferable 
 Jim, who used his knife at all times when he 
 shouldn t, and who made a fearful sound with 
 his lips when he ate, as though his soup plate 
 were filled with/ s and /s, and who in count 
 less other ways irritated the nerves of the pro 
 fessor. Jim said, solemnly, one day : 
 
 " What Beet wants is somebody that ll show 
 him how to get rid of the devil in bis own heart. 
 If that can t be done, I wouldn t give shucks 
 
 for Beet s life, no matter how much he can 
 
 > 
 sing. 
 
 And they knew, all those people knew, that 
 " Professor Pierson " could do with Beet Ar- 
 mitage what he would. 
 
 185 
 
XIV. 
 
 "Sarah." 
 
 IF Wayne Pierson, during his rush through 
 that unique winter, had stopped to con 
 sider it, nothing would have surprised 
 him more than his relations with Sarah 
 Jane, or " Miss Sarah," as he carefully called 
 her. That she liked the new name as in 
 deed she liked everything that the new pro 
 fessor .said and did was most apparent. 
 
 " I wish Nancy Ann wouldn t go around 
 the house yelling ( Sarah Jane at me ! " she 
 said to her mother in a burst of confidential 
 indignation. "Nancy Ann" was an impor 
 tation from one of the distant farms a girl 
 who wanted to work for her board and go to 
 school ; and the worthy blacksmith, chiefly, 
 be it confessed, for Nancy Ann s own sake, 
 decided that "mother" might as well have 
 somebody to "step about" a little for her, 
 now that Sarah Jane had so many new notions 
 about school that she didn t have much time 
 to help. " Mother " did not take kindly to 
 the idea of outside help, she would really 
 much rather have done ail the "stepping" 
 186 
 
" Sarah." 
 
 herself; but every member of this family had 
 imbibed the spirit of the golden rule, and 
 tried to measure their lives by it ; so Mother 
 Thompson bravely took up her cross and fol 
 lowed Nancy Ann about, and saw that she 
 did her work well. 
 
 And Nancy Ann did yell names through the 
 house in a fearful manner, that shall be admitted. 
 
 Mrs. Thompson smiled indulgently on Sa 
 rah, and apologized for Nancy. 
 
 " She don t know no better, child ; folks in 
 this neighborhood is used to yelling around, 
 you know." 
 
 " Well, she ought to begin to know better ; 
 she goes to school. Professor Pierson is just 
 as particular with all the girls ! he never says 
 c Nancy Ann ! He don t use but one name 
 for anybody ; they never do where folks are 
 educated, I guess. It makes me mad every 
 time I forget and call her Nancy Ann. I 
 just hate it myself." 
 
 Thereafter, the patient mother undertook 
 the task of teaching herself to say " Sarah " ; she 
 even considered for one entire evening the 
 propriety of her saying " Miss Sarah," and de 
 cided that that formality would be unneces 
 sary; but she would like it if "father" would 
 begin to say just " Sarah," and Jim, too. They 
 had ought to when the child hated the other 
 name. The father, being admonished, grum- 
 
 187 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 bled a little. He did not see why Sarah Jane 
 must take to hating her grandmother s name 
 all of a sudden, but he did his best. A dozen 
 times in the course of the day he began, " Sarah 
 Jane, er that is to say Sarah," whereat 
 Jim would, each time, laugh uproariously. He 
 knew his limitations, Jim did, and never, to 
 the end of the chapter, attempted other name 
 than that with which his tongue was familiar. 
 
 But " Miss Sarah " undoubtedly improved. 
 Duller eyes and ears than even Jim s would 
 have discovered it. They all knew that she 
 was copying the professor, she knew it herself, 
 and felt no sense of shame thereat. Why not 
 copy one so wise and kind and so entirely her 
 superior? She did not do it in an offensive 
 way, she was not in the least servile ; on the 
 rare occasions when she differed decidedly from 
 the professor after she fully understood him, 
 she could argue with him sharply, and hold 
 her own in a way that surprised and interested 
 him. Occasionally she carried her point, and 
 proved herself the wiser of the two. But in 
 speech, and manner, and even in movement, 
 she sometimes consciously and often uncon 
 sciously followed his lead, to her marked im 
 provement. Her voice, that had been loud 
 and hearty, was learning the laws of modula 
 tion, and Wayne was discovering that it was 
 really a remarkably pleasant voice. 
 
 188 
 
" Sarah" 
 
 He had his day-dreams about her, this young 
 man. He was interested in her, as he might 
 have been in a hardy plant that he had plucked 
 from the woods and brought home and culti 
 vated. Plants seemed sometimes to change 
 their very natures under such treatment; how 
 far would human beings change ? It was an 
 interesting study. Almost of necessity he 
 spent much time with her. Endless were the 
 new schemes to be carried out in connection 
 with the school, and no more eager assistant 
 with them all could be imagined than was Sarah. 
 Moreover, he contrived to find time to give 
 to her for herself alone. She was a fairly good 
 reader, having a natural manner that was 
 pleasant to Wayne ; with a few corrections, he 
 felt that she might become an exceptionally 
 good home reader, so he set about making the 
 corrections, and was gratified with his success. 
 
 " Suppose you should read aloud to me for 
 a half hour or so each evening, in the book 
 I am reviewing ? " he said. " It would rest my 
 eyes, and give you practice in a line that would 
 be helpful to you as a teacher." 
 
 " I d like nothing better in the world," said 
 Sarah, with eagerness ; " only that book has 
 French words in it every few pages, and whole 
 lines of it every once in a while. I was look 
 ing through it yesterday when I was clearing 
 up your room. I should make worse fuss 
 
 189 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 with French words than Tommy Carter does 
 with his third reader." 
 
 " That ought not to be," said Wayne, with 
 the wisdom of a seer ; he felt wise enough at 
 times to be this girl s grandfather, their educa 
 tion and environment had heretofore been in 
 such different worlds. " You will meet French 
 words very often in reading aloud, and I 
 should wish, if I were you, to cultivate that 
 art ; you can make good use of it with your 
 friends. Why not take up French as a study, 
 and conquer it ? " 
 
 " Oh, my land ! " said Sarah with one of her 
 sudden lapses into her very recent past, " I 
 couldn t do that ; I m too old. I never had 
 that kind of chances." 
 
 " Not at all," said Wayne, briskly, the latter 
 part of the girl s sentence had that note of piti 
 ful regret in it that made him always want to 
 help her. " I don t mean that you shall pre 
 pare to teach French, or even to read aloud 
 in it, but one winter s work would be sufficient 
 to make you feel at ease over stray French 
 words that one finds scattered through Eng 
 lish, and you could go on, after you had 
 acquired the pronunciation, as far as your 
 time or inclination led you. After one catches 
 the trick of pronunciation, it is only a matter 
 of study and the dictionary. I shall be glad 
 to help you if you care to try." 
 190 
 
" Sarah." 
 
 So the girl tried v/ith all her strength, and 
 was succeeding, as she was quite in the habit 
 of doing, with what she undertook ; her teacher 
 was proud of his success as a teacher, and the 
 honest blacksmith had a marked accession of 
 pride in his daughter. 
 
 But I started out to tell you of some of 
 Wayne s day-dreams concerning her. He 
 liked to sit by the hour and fancy what effect 
 daily contact with a girl like Enid Wilmer 
 would have on Sarah. Enid, with her soft 
 voice and her movements of quiet grace, and, 
 above all, with her exquisite taste in dress. It 
 was really the dress question that troubled him 
 most. In this sphere he could not hope to do 
 much ; he had accomplished something by dint 
 of affecting to dislike certain colors that were 
 especially unbecoming to Sarah, and by merci 
 lessly ridiculing certain combinations of color; 
 that the girl had quickly taken the hints thus 
 given was apparent in the marked improve 
 ment of her appearance; but she needed more, 
 needed what he could not do for her and Enid 
 could. He fancied the quick-witted girl de 
 veloping daily, hourly, under such tuition, and 
 Enid s joy and pleasure in it. 
 
 " She is just the sort of girl to delight in 
 such work," he told himself, and he mentally 
 resolved to bring it about. There was another 
 day-dream lying beneath that, infinitely sweeter 
 
 191 
 
By H^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 than that. Sometime, in that mystic future 
 when he should have secured the college 
 honors that were waiting for him, and proved 
 to his father what manner of man he was, and 
 established a fair home the like unto which 
 there had not been yet in this world, there 
 should be a lovely presiding angel in the home 
 whose name should be Enid. " Enid Pierson," 
 he said the name over softly, reverently, some 
 times, when quite alone, not often ; it was a 
 sacred dream, it must not be touched rudely 
 even by himself. But it was vivid ; and the 
 girl, Sarah, bright, energetic, quick-witted, 
 grown quiet enough of manner and pleasant 
 enough of voice to fit her world, should flit 
 in and out of this paradise, doing her work as 
 a teacher wonderfully well, and consulting con 
 stantly with the angel of his home, being 
 guided by her, and being a success in every 
 sense of the word in the higher sphere to 
 which she had been lifted, because he and 
 Enid had prepared her for fitting into it. 
 He was charmed with the thought, and 
 labored to do his share of the work faith 
 fully and well. He was interested in young 
 Armitage, and in Ruby Knowles, Sarah Jane s 
 "nightingale" ; she sang very well, but Wayne 
 had long ago decided that her voice was really 
 not so good as Sarah s own, still he was in 
 terested in her, and in a dozen others, and was 
 192 
 
" Sarah." 
 
 making an honest and painstaking effort to 
 help them all he could ; but this particular girl 
 he had singled out and invested with a special 
 and steadily increasing interest because she was 
 always being associated in his mind with Enid, 
 and with what Enid could and would do for 
 her. To this end he mentioned her in his 
 letters to Enid, making a sort of foundation 
 for the interest that he intended should be 
 built up by and by, and feeling complacent 
 over the thought that but for him and Enid, 
 the girl might actually have been willing to 
 marry Jim ! There was no danger of that 
 now. 
 
 Yes, he wrote to Enid ; not often, for her 
 letters were rare treasures of his. Her mother 
 had returned now, and she was a wise mother. 
 But he made his letters so wise and safe and 
 friendly, that she did not object to their occa 
 sional coming. And her daughter s replies 
 might have been read upon the housetops 
 without winning other than admiration for 
 their brightness. But, sometime^ he planned to 
 have other letters from her, letters such as 
 should never be shared with any housetop. 
 He could imagine them, and he meant to 
 have them, as fully as he meant to have those 
 belated college honors. 
 
 Meantime, his life was not all rose color. 
 He had put a thousand miles between his 
 
 93 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 mortal enemy and himself, but petty hatred 
 and revenge can reach farther than that. Leon 
 Hamilton had not forgiven his brother for the 
 fearful fright he had given him and all the 
 trouble that followed the exposure of his 
 actual position in college. There had been 
 weeks together when he waited tremblingly, 
 fearing each day lest his stepfather s displeas 
 ure should take the form of a withdrawal of 
 his allowance and an order to look out for 
 himself. No such dire results had followed, 
 owing, Leon believed, to his skilful manage 
 ment ; but no less did he intend to be revenged 
 upon Wayne for trying to ruin him. 
 
 Rumors of a trying nature began to float 
 through the town concerning "the professor s" 
 past history. He had been " suspended from 
 college for inattention to study ! " " No, he 
 had been expelled for disgraceful conduct." 
 " No, indeed ! he had run away ! Why, he 
 got into an awful fuss, and actually killed a 
 man ! Probably they were looking for him 
 now!" The story grew, and grew; until, 
 when at last it reached Wayne in the form 
 of a solemn Board of Trustees who demanded 
 the right to know the facts, its magnitude al 
 most appalled that angry young man himself. 
 Of course he could make very short work of 
 the stories, and he did. The United States 
 mail was days too slow for his fevered blood ; 
 194 
 
" Sarafa 
 
 he telegraphed the dean, the president, three 
 of his favorite professors, begging them to 
 reply at his expense in the same manner. 
 They smiled, these cooler-headed, wiser men, 
 but they were fond of Wayne Pierson, and 
 every one complied with his request, letting 
 the terseness of the telegram aid them in 
 positiveness. 
 
 " No young man in this institution ever 
 had a better record." 
 
 " We have only one regret, that we lose you 
 from this year s class." 
 
 " Too much cannot be said in praise of his 
 character or scholarship." Thus the telegrams 
 read. In some way, it is possible that Squire 
 Willard might have told how, the enterpris 
 ing reporter of the H^estover Chronicle got 
 hold of every telegram, and the next day s 
 paper bristled with headlines. " The Brilliant 
 Young Professor Vindicated ! " and the like. 
 It was all dreadful. Wayne groaned and 
 writhed under it, but it might have been 
 worse ; his popularity was greater than ever, 
 after that ; and he had had one revenge. 
 When he handed the last telegram over to 
 Squire Willard as the Chairman of the " Board" 
 he said: "There, Squire Willard, I think 
 those will answer your anxieties ; but allow 
 me to say that in my judgment your caution 
 came very late. I might have been the veri- 
 
 195 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 est scoundrel that my enemy tried to make 
 me appear, for all that you knew to the con 
 trary when you placed me at the head of your 
 school." 
 
 The winter was quite gone before Wayne 
 left the little town for even a single night. 
 Then, but two weeks before the summer va 
 cation, he went for a three days absence. A 
 college friend, with whom he had been quite 
 intimate, was about to be married, and it ap 
 peared that the home of the bride-elect was not 
 very far away from Wayne s hiding place; so 
 he had been summoned to serve as " best man " 
 at the wedding ceremony. 
 
 During his absence, Sarah was to assume 
 the reins of government at the red school- 
 house ; but by this time the peculiar system 
 of self-government after which Wayne had 
 striven was so well understood in the school 
 that no anxiety was felt on the part of either 
 teacher. 
 
 " Our school has been made over," said 
 the assistant teacher, complacently ; " it man 
 ages itself." And Squire Willard replied with 
 equal complacence : " I reckon that s so ; I 
 knew what I was about when I hired that chap, 
 I tell you ! The telegrams were all very well, 
 and I m glad, for the sake of the ninnies, 
 that he got em, but I didn t need em, bless 
 you ! / knew." 
 196 
 
" Sarah." 
 
 The young man on the car platform looked 
 about him with an air of complacence, too. 
 Who would have imagined that he would stay 
 so long in that little town and become such 
 a force in it as he knew he was ? Certain 
 of the older " boys " were lingering near, and 
 blushed with pleasure and lifted their hats in 
 return for his greeting, and said " Good-by, 
 Professor, wish you a good time." They 
 would not have known enough to lift their 
 hats last fall. They would have stared and 
 chuckled, or at best merely nodded, with their 
 hands in their pockets. It was a small dif 
 ference, perhaps, but a significant one ; it stood 
 for many others. With what different feel 
 ings he should reach the little station next 
 Wednesday from those he had had when he 
 first arrived ! 
 
 The mental statement was truer than he 
 supposed. The state of mind in which he re 
 turned to the village was not one to be envied. 
 He was pushing through, or, more properly 
 speaking perhaps, had passed through what he 
 believed was the fiercest blow that his stormy 
 life had yet given him. Yet it was represented 
 by only a few words. 
 
 " So our friend Hamilton is to take to him 
 self a wife, before long, is he ? " This his 
 college friend had said to him as they stood 
 together on the evening of the wedding, going 
 
 197 
 
By Pf^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 over old times. He knew something of the 
 feeling with which Wayne regarded his step 
 mother, and had been by no means a friend 
 of Leon himself. 
 
 " I don t know c really, Wayne had said 
 with a little start of surprise ; he had not 
 thought of such complications. " I am not 
 in correspondence with that individual, and 
 haven t been posted. Whom is he to vic 
 timize ? " 
 
 " I don t know the lady. Alice has met 
 her, and thinks her charming. It is a Miss 
 Wilmer, I believe Enid Wilmer singular 
 name that, isn t it ? " 
 
 There had been more talk, but Wayne had 
 not heard it. This, then, was Leon s last 
 horrible piece of revenge ! He could not 
 doubt but that the villain had in some way 
 in the wildness of his excitement he did not 
 stop to explain to himself how learned of 
 his feeling for this girl and shaped his course 
 accordingly ! At the time, I think it would 
 not have been possible for Wayne Pierson to 
 have given his stepbrother credit for having 
 a true motive or a true thought upon any 
 subject. 
 
 Fierce as his mood was, he could not but be 
 somewhat soothed with the manner of his re 
 ception. The boys were at the train in full 
 force, and gave a glad cheer as he stepped 
 198 
 
Sarah:* 
 
 from the platform. One seized his grip, an 
 other his package of books, and umbrella ; they 
 would have carried him on their shoulders if 
 he would have let them. At the blacksmith s 
 there was no less hearty joy in his coming. 
 
 "Welcome home," Sarah had said, in the 
 doorway ; she wore a white dress, and her 
 bright eyes had a softened brightness in them 
 that was very becoming. 
 
 " Well," said the good blacksmith as he 
 grasped and held the hand of the professor 
 with painful energy, " so you ve got back ? 
 I reckon we re glad ; not that we haven t got 
 along all right, we ve made things hum in the 
 school, same as when you were here. Sarah 
 Jz-ah-Sarab, she s a master hand, if I do say 
 it that shouldn t. But it ain t all school, you 
 know ; not half of it. Sho ! you know that 
 better than I do. It beats all, Professor, what 
 a hold you ve got on the girl. It would kill 
 me, I reckon, if I didn t believe in you through 
 and through ; or else I d kill you, I m afraid. 
 Sho! I m talking nonsense, you know; but 
 my heart is jest bound up in her and so s her 
 mother s. We had ambitions for her, I ll 
 allow; but we never did expect that she d 
 marry a real out-and-out professor, and a brill 
 iant one at that, as the Westover Chronicle says 
 you are; and I believe em, too." 
 
 199 
 
XV. 
 
 " Do you really mean it?" 
 
 IT is impossible to describe the amazement 
 and chagrin of Wayne Pierson on hear 
 ing words like these addressed to himself. 
 He was thankful that they two stood 
 alone in the hall, and that the din of the supper 
 bell prevented other ears from hearing through 
 the open door. 
 
 Supper in this house was wont to be a 
 cheerful meal to which Mother Thompson of 
 ten added a little surprise in the shape of some 
 favorite dainty of her most excellent cook 
 ery. The young teacher, with healthy appe 
 tite, had usually done it full justice, somehow 
 the cold pork and cabbage had drifted of 
 late down to the lower end of the table, con 
 venient to Jim s more substantial requirements, 
 to-night the table was almost festive in its 
 outlay : there was chicken with toast and 
 cream gravy, peach preserves, and a raisin cake, 
 of which the professor was quite fond. What, 
 then, was the dismay of mother and daughter 
 when he appeared in the doorway to say that 
 200 
 
" Do you really mean it? 1 * 
 
 as he had dined quite late he should need 
 nothing more that night. 
 
 " For pity s sake ! " exclaimed Mrs. Thomp 
 son, " and here I went and got up a nice 
 supper a-purpose to welcome you home. 
 Better set down and have a cup of tea and a 
 piece of cake, leastways." 
 
 But that young man excused himself with 
 a smile so genial and a bow so deferential that 
 the good woman felt complimented despite her 
 disappointment. Her mother heart went out 
 to Sarah, though, when she took note that her 
 face had suddenly clouded over. " Too bad!" 
 she said to herself, " when she looked so pretty 
 in her white dress an took such pains a-settin 
 the table." And then the mother sighed, as 
 if that was the lot of woman, to plan and try 
 to please a man and fail, but she cast anxious 
 glances at her girl, who ate sparingly and did 
 not talk. It was well that her father was inter 
 ested in hearing about a lawsuit from Jim, who 
 had just returned from Westover, or he would 
 have then and there inquired into the cause 
 of Sarah s silence. 
 
 When the evening wore on and the professor 
 did not come down to sing or be read to, though 
 the big lamp was lighted and a fire on the hearth 
 glowed cheerily, the mother excused him by say 
 ing, " Most likely that poor boy is all tired 
 out, and is going to bed early; I ll fix a little 
 
 201 
 
By IVay of the Wilderness. 
 
 bite and you take it up to his door." It would 
 have been like the breezy, independent Sarah 
 Jane to have advised her mother to do no such 
 thing, and that if he didn t choose to come after 
 his supper, let him go without it; but Sarah was 
 cast in gentler mould. The change seemed to 
 have come when that obnoxious "Jane" had 
 been dropped. She took the tray spread with 
 biscuit, cold chicken, and cake, with a glass of 
 milk, and going upstairs, set it down noise 
 lessly at Wayne s door, knocked on it, then 
 disappeared quickly into another room. 
 
 Mrs. Thompson was listening at the foot of 
 the stairs. That way of doing things was no 
 plan of hers, she expected to have the tray 
 presented in person. But that was not the 
 daughter s way ; it might have been once, but 
 Sarah knew better now. Some mysterious in 
 fluence had been at work developing womanly 
 delicacy and reserve. Wayne recognized this 
 as he opened the door and took up the tray ; he 
 guessed who had brought it. Mrs. Thompson 
 would not have so effaced herself. His heart 
 smote him as he surveyed the lunch and real 
 ized that it was tender care for him which 
 prompted it. He had all his life sighed for 
 loving appreciation ; now it had come, and he 
 felt like flinging it from him. 
 
 He had been sitting in the dark thinking 
 over those dreadful words. What had he done 
 202 
 
"Do you really mean it?** 
 
 to delude this father into believing that he had 
 any such intention ? Marrying, in his mind, 
 was a far-away beautiful dream that might never 
 be realized. Years of hard, self-denying work 
 were to come first. He went over the past 
 winter in thought. There had been absolutely 
 nothing that any sane person could call serious 
 attention bestowed upon his assistant. He would 
 have been willing that the whole village should 
 hear every word he had ever spoken to her. He 
 should not allow himself to be disturbed further 
 by the banter of an ignorant man. It was too 
 preposterous and he dismissed the subject, or 
 tried to. 
 
 There was another something that disturbed 
 him more than that just now, and that was the 
 report of Enid s engagement to Leon. Could 
 it be possible that it was true ? If so, it must 
 have been brought about by the urgent wishes 
 of their elders as far as Enid was concerned, 
 for she had seemed to feel nothing but repul 
 sion for him. But then, who could sound the 
 depths of the heart of a young girl ? Leon s 
 handsome face may have had some fascination for 
 her which she had carefully concealed. More 
 over, Leon was equal to anything ; he might 
 have professed to have been greatly changed, 
 even to have become a Christian after Enid s 
 own heart, and in need of her sweet guiding to 
 keep him in the narrow path. That would 
 
 203 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 appeal to her as nothing else could. It came 
 over Wayne Pierson all at once that life looked 
 dark ahead without that precious, dreamy hope 
 he had hidden in his heart all these months. 
 
 He reached out his hand for a box on the 
 table. Among his other treasures was the 
 keepsake she had given him at parting a 
 little withered white rose. There was a linger 
 ing perfume about it still ; it reminded him of 
 her. He pictured her again handing it to him 
 that morning, not coquettishly, but with inno 
 cent, true eyes. How dreadful that this white 
 dove of a girl should be in the power of a 
 vulture! He would write and warn her; but 
 not to-night, he must be calmer. It was a 
 night of tossing and unrest for the young man; 
 in dreams he was striving to hold Enid back 
 from the edge of a precipice at whose foot lay 
 dark, deep waters ; and then he was being pur 
 sued through tangled growths of swamp and 
 wood by Father Thompson, who brandished a 
 huge sledge-hammer over his head. 
 
 The young teacher did not go to his duties 
 that morning with his usual zest. All through 
 that day the undercurrent of distracting thought 
 went on. It was most humiliating that this 
 man had all winter supposed him to be engaged 
 in " courting " his daughter ! How should he 
 disabuse their minds of such a belief? Sarah 
 was sensible ; it was not likely that she had a 
 204 
 
"Do you really mean it?** 
 
 thought of such a thing. She was interested 
 in her lessons ; besides, she knew that he had 
 neither by word or look led her to believe 
 that he had for her any other feeling than that 
 of mere friendliness. 
 
 Wayne Pierson, by reason of his peculiar 
 life trials, was older than his years in some 
 respects, but in others he was not so worldly 
 wise as he might have been. Even if he had 
 ever thought himself old enough to begin, he 
 would have scorned the thought of a flirtation, 
 albeit some of the arts a flirt employs were 
 natural to him. His eyes would have widened 
 and glowed, though, and sought the other pair 
 of eyes when deeply interested, just the same, 
 whether he had been talking with his grand 
 mother or a pretty girl. Then that grace of 
 manner and thoughtful courtesy, more fascinat 
 ing to a woman than good looks, and a revela 
 tion to this girl, deceived her. It all testified 
 to tender regard for herself; and these subtle, 
 silent factors had naturally not been taken into 
 account by him. 
 
 As the days went on it became evident to 
 Wayne that Mrs. Thompson was of the same 
 mind as her husband, for she assumed toward 
 him an unwonted familiarity bordering upon 
 motherly relations. And to his extreme an 
 noyance, now that he had become sensitive on 
 the subject, the air of the whole community 
 
 205 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 seemed full of the same thing. The scholars 
 gave knowing nods and nudges to each other 
 if he and his assistant happened to exchange a 
 few words. And Squire Willard even went so 
 far as to congratulate him in a way, hailing him 
 as he went by his office with : 
 
 "Hello, Professor! heard some good news 
 about you ! See here, if you and Sarah Jane 
 are going to couple up soon, why can t you 
 come back here and keep our school next 
 winter ? Maybe we can all put our heads 
 together and have a first-rate academy or 
 something of that sort, bimeby. There s 
 money enough in all these farms to pay you 
 something nice, eventooaly. Why not settle 
 down here ? Think of it, won t you ? " 
 
 Wayne was relieved that a man just then 
 stepped in and asked to see the squire on busi 
 ness, so cutting short the interview. Had the 
 young man not been so incensed and mortified, 
 he would have enjoyed a hearty laugh as he 
 went on his way at thought of himself marry 
 ing Sarah Jane and settling down in Hardin 
 the " upper deestrict " at that. His duties 
 for that day were over, and striking off into a 
 little footpath which led to the woods, he won 
 dered grimly as he went along why it was that 
 he had been all his life tramping off to hide 
 away with some trouble. Was it, had it always 
 been, his own fault ? But he could not stop to 
 206 
 
"Do you really mean it? 
 
 puzzle over that, there was this latest perplex 
 ity harassing him night and day. Gradually 
 he had come to regard that half-divine precept 
 " put yourself in his place," and he had 
 faint glimpses of how the case might stand in 
 the minds of Sarah s father and mother. It 
 was like this : 
 
 All winter long there had been a fire in the 
 best roorn every evening a thing unheard of 
 before Sarah and " her young man " had sat 
 there alone. They had sung and studied 
 French and read aloud ; the sceptical parents 
 were wont to nod knowingly at each other 
 when these studies and readings were men 
 tioned, a mere excuse that to be together they 
 decided. Sometimes when the book proved 
 intensely interesting they took no note of time, 
 and the reading was protracted until a late 
 hour. Then the father, rousing from his first 
 nap, and still hearing the sound of voices, was 
 apt to remark, " Sarah Jane ought to a been 
 abed two hours ago ; " and the mother would 
 put in soothingly, " La, father, young folks are 
 only young once, do let them enjoy it." The 
 professor had also escorted Sarah to and from 
 the singing classes and debates, and sometimes 
 to a sociable. All the neighborhood took it as 
 a thing of course that she would appear with 
 him ; her rustic admirers recognized it too, and 
 stood aside. 
 
 207 
 
By H^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 Now in the rural community of New Eng 
 land, whence the Thompsons and many others 
 of this Western village had emigrated, this was 
 the regular recognized form of a genuine court 
 ship, and equivalent to an engagement when 
 persisted in for a few months. When a young 
 man had begun " keeping company " with n 
 girl, especially if he had " set up " with her, it 
 would be accounted most dishonorable to "jilt " 
 her after that. The remembrance of this fact, 
 gleaned from a book of old-time stories, ex 
 plained why everybody had jumped to the 
 same conclusion concerning himself, and did 
 not comfort this much troubled young man. 
 Putting many little things together, he could 
 see that for some time back the Thompsons 
 had seemed to regard him as one of the family. 
 It had come to be a rule for the mother to trot 
 into the room where Sarah and he sat together 
 about nine o clock in the evening, bringing 
 some little delicacy for their refreshment. She 
 would mend the fire, beam serenely upon them 
 a moment, and vanish. The unsuspecting 
 young man set it all down to abounding kind 
 ness of heart, and took encouragement to pro 
 long the reading after iiis conscience had warned 
 him that he ought to be asleep. 
 
 It cannot be denied that Sarah, during that 
 winter, had enjoyed the opportunity of her life 
 in an educational way, even though some of 
 208 
 
"Do you really mean it?^ 
 
 what she read was far beyond her depth. It 
 embraced a wide range : books of history, 
 science, and metaphysics, with a sprinkling of 
 fiction by the best authors. And the listener 
 had realized his good fortune in having secured 
 a reader so good-natured and untiring ; her 
 voice was good also, and she was eager to have 
 all faults corrected. The long winter evenings 
 had slipped delightfully away, and Wayne was 
 grateful, for he knew that his already overtaxed 
 eyes could not have borne this extra strain. 
 He had occasionally rewarded her by reading 
 aloud choice bits from the poets. A new 
 world had already been opened to the girl, 
 but this was enchantment to hear in Wayne s 
 faultless intonation 
 
 "Where the quiet-colored end of evening smiles 
 
 Miles and miles, 
 On the solitary pastures where our sheep 
 
 Half asleep 
 Tinkle homeward through the twilight," 
 
 or the musical cadences of 
 
 " The blessed damozel leaned out 
 From the gold bar of heaven ; 
 Her eyes were deeper than the depths 
 Of waters stilled at even." 
 
 And thus it had turned out that the reading 
 for a half-hour a day had come to be the busi- 
 
 209 
 
By tf^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 ness of the evening after a short lesson in 
 French, and an occasional music lesson. He 
 had to thank his own selfish thoughtlessness, 
 he told himself more than once, that he had 
 been brought into such a dilemma. He had 
 taught French to Sarah so that his pronuncia 
 tion should not grow rusty ; in fact, it was all 
 selfish ; he had enjoyed posing as a sort of 
 philanthropist, wise and good and gracious, giv 
 ing out his gifts with princely generosity. And 
 so he had gone on all winter with not a thought 
 of anybody but himself. Fool ! If only the 
 girl herself were not harmed ; he should never 
 have dreamed of such a thing but for the talk 
 that had been started. 
 
 The evenings at home were necessarily 
 broken up now by reason of frequent rehear 
 sals of the whole school, preparatory to the 
 closing exercises, and the teacher contrived to 
 be so continually occupied that he had no time 
 to give to Sarah except in thought. The con 
 flict within went steadily on. " What was to 
 be the end of all this ? " he asked himself. 
 His eyes at times regarded the girl, who was 
 the cause of all this tumult, with a new curios 
 ity. Most persons would have called her 
 good-looking. Somehow during the winter 
 she had lost a superabundance of flesh, and 
 the intense color which had flamed in her 
 cheeks was toned down to a becoming pink. 
 210 
 
"Do you really mean it? * 
 
 Her brown eyes were sincere, though rather 
 too wide open, perhaps, and she walked with a 
 free swinging step which might be trained into 
 grace. No, there was nothing in her appear 
 ance to terrify him, and she really had a very 
 good mind susceptible to high cultivation. But 
 oh, that something in the face and presence, 
 that delicacy and fineness, the spirit illumining 
 the flesh, it was not there ! Again he thought 
 of Enid and stifled a groan. At the same time 
 it smote him like a blow that this other girl 
 was thoroughly good, kind, pure-hearted, and 
 unselfish. She had anticipated every want and 
 ministered to his comfort like a sister, taking 
 burdens upon herself in the school which did 
 not belong to her that he might not be annoyed. 
 It was after weary trampings, sleepless nights, 
 and many conflicts that he came at last to this 
 decision : If he should discover that Sarah, 
 in view of what she considered special atten 
 tion, had given her heart to him, why then 
 it would be his duty to pledge himself to her. 
 The thought was terrible, but he must be 
 honorable and true to his convictions, what 
 ever the sacrifice. He had written an essay 
 in college wherein he had taken high ground 
 on the perfidy of stealing hearts, denouncing 
 the guilty ones as worthy of far greater pun 
 ishment than ordinary thieves. He would 
 wait, though, until the last day or two of his 
 
 21 I 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 stay before taking this decisive step, and watch 
 developments. He was not reassured when he 
 found that evening a lovely bunch of white 
 violets and spring beauties in his room, nor 
 when the next day he stepped into her school 
 room to make an inquiry, her face became 
 suffused with blushes and she made stammer 
 ing replies, increased by a loud whisper from 
 a precocious little woman gossip who pro 
 claimed from behind her hand "He s her 
 beau," followed by a giggle. 
 
 It was all over; the last day of school came 
 and went with highly creditable examinations, 
 followed by a "brilliant" entertainment in the 
 evening, consisting of music and declamation 
 which covered them all with glory, especially 
 the professor, whom a throng of boys gathered 
 about to clasp his hand in loving good-bys, 
 and beg him to return the next winter. It was 
 not that young man s purpose to do so if any 
 other place opened where he could earn his liv 
 ing, but he left it an open question ; he might be 
 obliged to accept it. 
 
 Wayne had planned to take the midnight 
 train, and there was but an hour left. Mother 
 Thompson, with unfailing kindness, had pre 
 pared for him a generous lunch-box for his 
 journey, and when she presented it, begged as 
 a last favor that he would sing her favorite song 
 before he went. The musician, as he seated 
 212 
 
"Do you really mean it?** 
 
 himself at the organ to comply with her request, 
 was conscious of a wish that the writer of those 
 words had never been born. Annoyed beyond 
 measure, he nevertheless went through it, sing 
 ing as effectively as if his heart were torn with 
 regrets, the old song, beginning : - 
 
 " We parted in silence, we parted by night." 
 
 With the last line Mrs. Thompson left the 
 room in tears. There was silence for a little 
 when the two were left alone. Wayne had felt 
 that this last talk would probably decide his 
 course of action, and yet, within the last few 
 minutes, the suggestion had come to him 
 What need for pledging himself to her now in 
 any case ? Why not wait and arrange to corre 
 spond simply ? Of course that would be, in the 
 eyes of her friends, still continuing a tacit en 
 gagement, but it would not seem so dreadful to 
 him, and who could tell what might happen 
 meantime ? The girl might be carried captive 
 by the next teacher and forget him utterly. 
 
 " It s dreadful to have you go away ; I never 
 had such a good time in all my life," Sarah said 
 innocently. " I was beginning to be somebody 
 and know something. Now I ll just drop back 
 and be Sarah Jane again. I was getting on so 
 well in music and French, and now there ll be 
 no more of that. I ll have nobody to help me, 
 ever again." 
 
 213 
 
By U^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 The girl was leaning her head on her hand, 
 her eyes on Wayne s face, as one takes a last 
 lingering look at something infinitely precious. 
 Wayne had a tender heart for distress in what 
 ever guise, and now pity sent that regardful 
 look into his eyes, so misleading it was, as he 
 said : 
 
 " I will help you. I will be your friend 
 always, if you will let me." He was going on 
 to say more, that he would write to her regu 
 larly, and continue her French lessons by cor 
 respondence. But when that treacherous voice 
 of his, with the tender note, which was always 
 saying more than he had authorized it to say, 
 fell upon the girl s ear in those words, the abso 
 lute radiance that flashed into her face was some 
 thing wonderful to see. " Her friend always," 
 with that look and tone, meant just one thing 
 to her. 
 
 " Do you really mean it ? " she asked in a 
 tremble of delight. " I was afraid you would 
 never like me enough for that, I I know I m 
 not good enough for you, but I ll try and learn." 
 
 She had mistaken his meaning ! He saw it 
 in a flash. And now he was pledged unless he 
 spoke and undeceived her. He could not do 
 it. He must abide by his words as she had 
 understood them. And she had not feigned 
 this to entrap him ; she was a child of nature, 
 and true. 
 
 214 
 
XVI. 
 
 A Counterfeiter s State of Mind. 
 
 IT was a strange wooing ; Wayne Pierson 
 indeed was too young to realize how 
 strange it was. He smiled into the face 
 of the girl who questioned him eagerly, 
 it was an acquirement of his to smile when 
 his heart was heaviest, and he took her hand 
 and pressed it reassuringly, then dropped it as 
 it came to him that he was acting more than 
 he felt. He spoke a few grave words too, 
 words of advice mostly, concerning studies, 
 with hints of the years of hard work which 
 lay before him. Then train-time came. He 
 clasped Sarah s hand in good-by, and she 
 watched him down the street until he was lost 
 in the darkness. 
 
 It must be confessed that Sarah was disap 
 pointed at first. Why did he not say he loved 
 her as they do in story books, and kiss her 
 good-by ? However, she loyally put away the 
 feeling of dissatisfaction ; perhaps refined peo 
 ple like Wayne did not do things in that way. 
 She said the name over again softly, thrilling 
 
 2I 5 
 
By H^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 with the thought that now she had a right to 
 call him that, though with it came a twinge of 
 regret that he had not told her she might ; 
 anyway she should say it to herself. And to 
 think she should get letters from him ! She 
 had never received but three letters in her life. 
 How often did people who were engaged write 
 to each other, she wondered. It would be so 
 great a pleasure to answer his letter, for Sarah 
 prided herself on spelling and penmanship as 
 well as grammar. But she had no nice paper ; 
 she must send to Westover for some. " Let s 
 see, shall it be blue or pink or green ? " She 
 could not decide. 
 
 And the other party to this queer transac 
 tion ? He was not troubled by any such triv 
 ial matters as he sat straight up in a common 
 car all night, to save the expense of a sleeper, 
 being moved rapidly on toward the East. He 
 was busy at something else not sleeping, but 
 calling himself "fool" and other hard names; 
 not because of what had just happened, that 
 was unavoidable, he told himself, albeit it was 
 the result of a winter of insane thoughtless 
 ness. It would have been dishonorable as 
 things turned to have acted in any other way. 
 He had seemed to seek out one girl and devote 
 himself to her ; naturally enough she had in 
 ferred that he had peculiar interest in her, and 
 her heart had gone out to him. Duty required 
 216 
 
A Counterfeiter s Mind. 
 
 of him what he had done that night, and brave 
 men did not shirk duty, however hard. ^ 
 
 The deluded boy did not seem to realize that 
 duty and truth go hand in hand, and he had 
 forgotten his beloved Shakespeare : - 
 
 "To thine own self be true ; 
 
 And it must follow as the night the day 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man." 
 
 He was yet to learn by hard lessons that one 
 cannot pass counterfeits in the sacred relations 
 of love and marriage, and go unpunished. 
 
 Aunt Crete had invited Wayne to spend the 
 summer with her, and thither he had gone with 
 all speed, as she wished him to be there on his 
 birthday. He decided, as he drew near the 
 old homestead among the hills, that he should 
 not at present inform Aunt Crete of any pecul 
 iar relations he held with a young woman in 
 the West; time enough for that most humiliat 
 ing avowal. 
 
 The quaint old house was open to the May 
 sunshine, and lilac, blooms of white and lavender 
 mingled their sweet breaths with apple blossoms 
 and the thousand other fragrancies of spring. 
 It was a delightful, peaceful spot, embowered in 
 ancient elms, that line the wide streets ^of that 
 ideal village. Aunt Crete welcomed him with 
 shining face and loving words, bestowing kisses 
 on cheek and brow with demonstrativeness unu- 
 
 217 
 
By H^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 sual to her. It was grateful to the young man. 
 He was weary of tossings and bufferings and 
 harassments ; he felt, almost, like a worn old 
 man who longed to drop his burdens in this 
 peaceful spot and there rest forever, or like 
 a tired child who wanted to creep into his 
 mother s arms and be rocked to sleep. 
 
 Wayne s feelings were never on the surface, 
 though ; he assumed a cheerful air and rushed 
 about, out and in, exploring the old place anew 
 with all the apparent delight of his boyhood. 
 He had never seen Aunt Crete more happy, 
 and she knew why. Not only had her dear 
 boy come to stay for months, but locked in 
 the old secretary drawer was a long thick en 
 velope whose seals looked official and impor 
 tant. To-morrow he would know all. 
 
 And the morrow dawned in brightness. Aunt 
 Crete dressed the house in flowers and brought 
 out the traditional birthday cake with its twenty- 
 one candles, and gave her little gifts as when he 
 was a boy : a fine handkerchief of her own 
 hemstitching, a bright pinball, and a box of 
 her home-made taffy. Tears came to the young 
 man s eyes. Again he was back in his happy 
 mothered childhood. 
 
 He took up the formidable looking docu 
 ment, finally, asking, "What can this be, Aunt 
 Crete ? Have you made your will so soon ? " 
 She was silent while he opened it, expecting 
 2l8 
 
A Counterfeiter" s Mind. 
 
 to find in it some of Aunt Crete s dry fun, per 
 haps a whole sheet full of good advice. 
 
 He read far enough to understand that he 
 held in his hand his fortune ; then he looked 
 up and gazed at Aunt Crete in dumb amaze 
 ment before reading it again in silence. Mean 
 time Aunt Crete slipped out and left him 
 alone. 
 
 After a half-hour had passed she was a little 
 perplexed and disappointed that he had not 
 come out, beside himself with joy, to jump 
 over the tulip bed, or seize her and whirl her 
 about, which were some of his pranks when 
 he had come down from college to spend short 
 vacations. He took it altogether too coolly. 
 Was Wayne putting on airs and trying to be 
 old and grave before his time ? 
 
 Whatever it was that kept back an overflow 
 of spirits on that eventful day, it was something 
 real, Aunt Crete decided when she returned to 
 the room and found Wayne sitting where she 
 had left him, his head bent forward in deep 
 thought, his eyes intent upon a pattern in the 
 carpet ; he looked as if he were puzzling out a 
 problem, she thought, and not a pleasant one 
 at that. The boy had grown up ! And Aunt 
 Crete, with all her pride in his manly beauty 
 and talent, had a sore heart for a minute as she 
 took it in. It would have been sorer, though, 
 could she have known all. 
 
 219 
 
By W^ay of the W^ilderness. 
 
 He caught at her hand as she came by, and 
 smiled up into her face. It was her boy s look 
 still, but graver, sadder. She passed her hand 
 caressingly over his head and put back a stray 
 lock from his forehead, thinking within herself 
 that if any mother loved a boy more than she 
 did this one, she was sorry for her. 
 
 He drew her down into an easy chair by his 
 side, and began to ply her with eager questions. 
 Among others he asked, " Aunt Crete, did you 
 all these years know of this this wonderful 
 thing that was coming to me ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; didn t I keep a secret well ? " 
 
 " Why did you not tell me ? Some things 
 might have been different if you had." 
 
 " Most likely. You would probably have 
 turned out as many another boy has, a good- 
 for-nothing, because you had some money com 
 ing to you. Besides, I couldn t tell you. I 
 gave my word to your mother that I would 
 not." 
 
 " If I had known it," he said meditatively, 
 " I would have come to you last fall, and gone 
 on with my studies by myself, while I waited 
 for all this abundance. If I had" -he almost 
 said, " if I had, this terrible yoke of bondage 
 would not be about my neck this minute." 
 
 " Yes," Aunt Crete answered, in an aggrieved 
 tone, " if I had but known you were going to 
 fly up and off like a parched pea I should have 
 22O 
 
A Counterfeiter } s Mind. 
 
 insisted upon your coming to me. However, I 
 consoled myself by thinking that you couldn t 
 probably have a better discipline for a time 
 than to teach a country school." 
 
 " Discipline, yes, lifelong discipline it might 
 be," the young man told himself. 
 
 "But that s all past," Aunt Crete said 
 briskly. " Now you have your life to plan 
 over again, I know you are just aching to get 
 off by yourself and think and think, to take it 
 all in ; so tramp off if you want to till dinner s 
 ready, and I ll go down to old Mrs. Bower s 
 with some broth." 
 
 Wayne blessed her for her thoughtfulness. 
 He did wish to be alone for a time, and gloom 
 over the situation. He had been wretched be 
 fore this news came, but doubly wretched now. 
 It was so tantalizing, so exasperating, that now 
 when he was free from his enemy and had be 
 come his own master, when he held in his 
 hand the means to go on with study to any 
 extent, to travel in foreign lands, what he had 
 longed for, when a charmed life was opening 
 up before him, it should be turned to bitter 
 ness by his own folly, fettered in his young 
 manhood by a chain of his own forging. Sup 
 pose even that he could tolerate the thought 
 of being bound to this girl, how was she in her 
 humble home ever to be fitted for that station 
 in life to which he belonged ? It was appalling. 
 
 221 
 
By H^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 He felt degraded, too, in his own eyes that she 
 had given to him her whole heart s devotion 
 and received naught in return. It was not a 
 light thing to have won this, and it was by his 
 own mistakes ; he might have saved her from 
 it. 
 
 Wayne had expected to spend this summer 
 in efforts to obtain a more lucrative position, 
 but now there was no need. Study was the 
 next thing, and with that joyful thought the 
 student got the better of all depressing circum 
 stances, for a time, and he went off into making 
 plans. He would go to one of the older uni 
 versities to be graduated, after that a post 
 graduate course in Europe, after that travel. 
 Then what ? Oh, what P And this brought 
 his thoughts back to the hateful present, and 
 the remembrance that he had promised Sarah 
 to let her know of his safe arrival. He took 
 out his pen and tablet to begin. What should 
 he say, and how ? Engaged but three days, 
 and obliged to ponder in perplexity over what 
 he should say in his first letter. He saw the 
 absurdity of the situation, and half smiled in 
 scorn of himself. He sat long on the log, pen 
 in hand, leaning against the tree, but he did not 
 write the letter ; with eyes fixed on the blue 
 sky and dreamy white clouds he had gone off 
 into dreams himself; there was no girl in the 
 dreams, they were about books. Oh, the 
 222 
 
A Counterfeiter s Mind. 
 
 treasures of books he would have ! He revelled 
 in the thought of his riches, and made out a 
 choice list of rare books at once. 
 
 A day or two elapsed before he set himself 
 in earnest to write to Sarah. It was a difficult 
 task. Part of the epistle might have been 
 copied from " The Polite Letter- Writer," so 
 stilted and devoid of heart interest was it. 
 Much of it had to do with French verbs. He 
 was more at home there, and some of the sen 
 tences were written in French for that poor 
 creature to puzzle out by the aid of a diction 
 ary. At the close there was some quite plain 
 English, however. He wrote that, having had 
 time for reflection, it had occurred to him that 
 he should have been more explicit about a 
 matter at which he had merely hinted. Real 
 izing that it would be years, with his long 
 cherished plans for a thorough education, be 
 fore he could marry the boy writhed under 
 using that word, but there was no other he 
 felt the importance of impressing upon her, 
 with utmost frankness, that the waiting time 
 
 * O 
 
 would be long, and much of it spent in a 
 foreign land. If she felt that so protracted 
 an engagement was undesirable, he would not 
 hold her to it ; she was free when she chose to 
 say the word. He did not feel it right to con 
 tinue it unless she clearly understood it was for 
 tedious years. Perhaps it was all wrong for 
 
 223 
 
By J^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 her to sacrifice her youth in this way. If 
 Wayne had a secret hope that the simple- 
 minded girl and her friends might become 
 awed at the prospect of great learning and 
 high position, as well as dismayed in view of 
 an apparently interminable engagement, and 
 shrink therefrom, he did not tell it to his 
 inner self. 
 
 Sarah Thompson knew that she could not 
 expect to receive a letter under two or three 
 days, at least ; nevertheless she began to look 
 for it the second day after Wayne s departure. 
 It was the first thought in the morning and 
 the last at night. As the week dragged by, 
 and it had not yet come, the hitherto strong- 
 nerved, cheerful girl began to be depressed 
 and nervous, seized with a fit of trembling 
 when mail-time came, and dropping every 
 thing to hurry off to the post-office. 
 
 It came at last, and she fled to her own 
 room to read it, holding it a few seconds un 
 opened, and gazing at her own name in that 
 dear handwriting. There was not much in it 
 to give her comfort. But the fact that he had 
 written to her at all, that she was the only one 
 who had received word from him, that he 
 called her " dear friend " at the beginning and 
 signed himself " your friend " at the close, that 
 was joy enough for now. How could he 
 think she would ever tire of waiting for him? 
 224 
 
A Counterfeiter s Mind. 
 
 That showed how honest and kind he was, 
 though, to tell her the exact truth at the start. 
 A more sensitive nature would, of course, have 
 read between the lines, and taken offence at 
 the mere suggestion of considering herself free. 
 But this girl had an idol, and he was infallible 
 in her eyes. 
 
 When she read parts of her letter aloud to 
 her father and mother that night, it was not 
 quite so satisfactory to them. 
 
 " It s queer for a love-letter, ain t it ? " 
 Mother Thompson said to her husband, after 
 Sarah had gone to her room ; " but then, most 
 likely she didn t want to read the love part 
 out. He s a-goin to be a great scholar, though. 
 Coin to Europe! I want to know!" she mused 
 on, more to herself than to her husband ! 
 " My ! But Sarah Jane 11 be somebody great 
 when she gets him." 
 
 Father Thompson had been meditatively 
 rubbing his stubbly chin while he gazed into 
 the fire with something like a frown on his 
 broad face, and he sighed now, ending in an 
 audible Huh! then answered almost bitterly: 
 " Maybe; ef she ain t most a hundred year old 
 time he gets good ready. I tell ye, Mariar, I 
 don t mor n half like this business. Courtin 
 a girl ten or twelve year; it mostways ends in 
 smoke, then where is she ? Been a-mopin 
 an a-pinin an* a-losin her good looks. Sho! 
 
 225 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 I wish he d never laid eyes on her. He scart 
 away Sam Scott. An I most wish she hadn t 
 got the idee of so much learnin into her head, 
 an had a married Sam an settled down nigh 
 us. Why, Sam s got the best farm on all these 
 prairies, an he s a likely fellow too." 
 
 " Now, father," Mother Thompson said, as 
 she rolled up her knitting-work for the night, 
 " you ve got to let young folks steer their own 
 boat. Providence 11 manage what you can t, and 
 we needn t worry anything about it. But for 
 pity s sake, Isaiah, don t let out anything of this 
 to Sarah Jane ; it ll just about kill her if you do." 
 
 It was a perfect morning with summer airs, 
 and Wayne lounged in a hammock under a 
 big tree, by turns dipping into the pages of 
 a book and pausing to take in the delights 
 of flitting birds and scent of apple blossoms. 
 Aunt Crete appeared in the doorway presently 
 with a knife and a pan, asking : " Wayne, are 
 you equal to cutting some asparagus for dinner? 
 You remember where the old bed is down in 
 the garden, don t you ? " 
 
 Next to Aunt Crete s house stood another 
 large old-fashioned mansion, half hidden by 
 trees with spacious grounds, and old-time gar 
 den at the back. Wayne, going on his errand, 
 stopped by the fence between the two gardens 
 to admire the wealth of bloom on the other 
 226 
 
A Counterfeiter } s Mind. 
 
 side, great beds of tulips and daffodils glowing 
 in morning freshness. To his surprise some 
 body who seemed a part of the spring morning, 
 in a gown of sprigged cambric and a little 
 white ruffled sunbonnet, lifted herself up from 
 over the flowers she was cutting. Face to face 
 they came Enid Wilmer and Wayne Pier- 
 son, each pronouncing the other s name in the 
 same breath and in unfeigned delight. Wayne 
 was the first to find his speech. " Where did 
 you come from, and how in the name of all 
 that s wonderful did you find this out-of-the- 
 way place ? " he asked. 
 
 " I came from home only last night. Aunt 
 Serena lives here, and mother and I have come 
 to spend the summer. The doctor thinks the 
 air of these Berkshire hills is just what she needs. 
 There, I accounted for myself all in one breath ; 
 now may I ask you the same questions ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I have come to spend the summer 
 too, and Aunt Crete lives here/ Then their 
 gay laughter floated out over those old gardens 
 that had not echoed to the sound of young 
 voices for years, and Enid exclaimed, " How 
 strange ! how very nice ! " 
 
 There followed a talk over that garden fence, 
 so long continued that Aunt Crete was obliged to 
 come in search of her nephew and her asparagus. 
 
 The young man had learned one thing by 
 that talk to his comfort or discomfort. In 
 
 227 
 
By Tf^ay of the W^ilderness. 
 
 the inquiries Enid had made concerning his 
 father s family, it was evident by her manner 
 of speaking of Leon, that the report he had 
 heard of the two was utterly false. It had 
 probably been fabricated by that fellow, and 
 circulated through the college that it might 
 reach his ears. 
 
 But for this hateful rumor, he told himself 
 as he came back to the hammock, perhaps he 
 might not have been bound by any promises ; 
 for he began to realize that it had plunged him 
 into a state of despairing recklessness that 
 probably had much to do with his hasty deci 
 sion to sacrifice himself to a sense of duty. 
 Was it duty after all ? Why had he not waited 
 and counselled with somebody older and wiser ? 
 He had not even the settled conviction that he 
 was suffering for conscience sake, since these 
 disturbing thoughts had gained entrance. 
 
 He could not be wholly wretched now, though, 
 that he had seen that lovely face far back in the 
 little sunbonnet. He recalled her joy at meet 
 ing him, and dwelt with delight upon her every 
 word. From this pleasant dreaming he was 
 awakened by Aunt Crete calling : 
 
 " A letter for you, Wayne;" and she gave 
 him a quizzical look as she handed it out a 
 little fat, pink letter. 
 
 " Horrors ! Pink ! " and the young man 
 flushed as he recognized Sarah s handwriting. 
 228 
 
XVII. 
 
 Educating a Conscience. 
 
 l 
 
 fT^HAT "pink letter" which was such 
 a source of mortification to Wayne 
 was not by any means a letter to be 
 ashamed of. Sarah Thompson, by 
 reason of the limitations of her education, 
 might not know just the proper color of paper 
 to use in polite correspondence, but she knew 
 how to write a genial, newsy letter, expressed in 
 such a way that the reader might almost im 
 agine himself present at the scenes described. 
 Given the fact that Wayne Pierson had been 
 undeniably interested in many of his late pupils 
 and had done his best for the little Western 
 town where he had spent his winter, and it will 
 be readily understood that he might be inter 
 ested in a well-written letter from that place. 
 If he could have divested himself of all thought 
 of personality in connection with it, he would 
 have heartily enjoyed Sarah s letter. He imag 
 ined himself going down to Aunt Crete with 
 certain paragraphs in it that described the last 
 " sewing society," and gave a lively and effective 
 
 229 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 picture of Western life as he had been living 
 it. If when Aunt Crete said, " Who writes 
 the letter ? " he could reply unconcernedly, 
 " Oh, one of my pupils who is really a very 
 promising scholar," he would go to her at once. 
 Less than two weeks ago he could have made 
 some such reply ; now, he was sure that the 
 telltale blood would flow into his face, and 
 that his aunt s keen eyes would ferret out his 
 ugly secret ; for that it was ugly, every added 
 day of Enid Wilmer s society assured him. 
 
 No, there was no enjoyment to be had from 
 Sarah s letter. He put it from him in pain 
 and disgust. However, in due course of time 
 it was followed by others, not all of them 
 pink ; some were of a pale green, others had a 
 delicate tint called " azure " by the stationer at 
 Westover ; it had especially charmed Sarah, 
 and she used it somewhat liberally. Yet there 
 came a time, and only that subtle instinct which 
 seemed to be at work moulding her life could 
 have told why it came, when Sarah used the 
 pink and green and azure paper for her every 
 day friends, and sent only plain white to Wayne. 
 He had not hinted at this ; instinctively he 
 shrank from tutelage of the sort, his face burn 
 ing with shame over the idea that it should be 
 necessary. But the white sheet and the white 
 envelope that went to her with careful precision 
 every two weeks told their story, it may be. 
 230 
 
Educating a Conscience. 
 
 Yes, he wrote to her with painstaking exact 
 ness, sending his letter every other Monday 
 morning. If he had failed in this, his curiously 
 tutored conscience would have tortured him. 
 For after carefully going once more over the 
 weary ground he had assured himself that there 
 was nothing for him but to abide by his pledged 
 word. Others had been martyrs to principle 
 before now, why not he ? 
 
 Yet it must be owned that he was a very 
 cheerful and comfortable martyr. Having re 
 solved upon doing his duty at whatever cost, 
 why should he not have a little cheer on the 
 way ? It would be years before he could think 
 of settling down to actual life ; years of study 
 were before him, but he had surely earned a 
 short vacation, and for this brief summer he 
 would forget that he was other than a boy on 
 a visit to his aunt, and that there was a girl on 
 a visit to her aunt who would naturally look 
 to him for friendly companionship. Could 
 anything be more natural and innocent ? He 
 did not plan out the summer and look at it 
 steadily, he merely let it float dreamily through 
 his brain, contenting his conscience with the 
 stern orders to Fancy never to take him down 
 the lane marked, " It might have been. * In 
 other words he drifted, all that summer, often 
 calling a halt, it is true ; as often, indeed, as 
 the fortnightly letter was written, and making 
 
 231 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 certain stern resolutions, forgotten as soon as 
 he heard Enid s voice in the garden next door. 
 For the most part he was content to drift, and 
 if he had been so ill taught as not to know 
 that drifting always led down-stream, who shall 
 be blamed ? 
 
 Those many colored letters that came so 
 regularly, tried him much at first, until he hit 
 upon this plan, without letting himself know 
 that it was a plan. He talked much with 
 Aunt Crete and with Enid about his pupils. 
 He told them of " Beet," and of one, John 
 Loomis, who had interested him, and of Ruby 
 Stevens, with her unfortunately good voice, 
 since it was not better, and of little Nellie 
 Parsons, with her dangerously pretty face and 
 her innocence of danger. He corresponded 
 with some of them, he said, and should, for a 
 time, to try to keep a hold upon them ; at 
 least, until some teacher came who could take 
 up the work where he left it. He did not 
 mention Sarah, and he said nothing about the 
 pink and blue letters. Could he help it if 
 Aunt Crete believed that she had received 
 their explanation ? And adoring her boy as 
 she did, was it not natural for her to tell it all 
 over to Enid and dilate a little upon the unusual 
 quality of helpfulness and protectiveness for 
 those " youngsters out West," and he so young 
 himself ? As for those fortnightly letters, Wayne 
 232 
 
Educating a Conscience. 
 
 posted them sometimes at the village and oftener 
 at the town office six miles away. When he 
 went for his morning gallop it was as easy to 
 go in that direction as any other, and he did 
 not allow any impertinent questions from his 
 conscience as to why he took the trouble to 
 carry his letters there to post. He was doing 
 right, he told it coldly, at a great sacrifice of 
 self, and that was enough. 
 
 His home relations during the summer were 
 peculiar. He went dutifully home as soon as 
 he had fully established himself at Aunt Crete s, 
 and meant to be magnanimous and forget all 
 the pain that his father had given him ; but he 
 began wrong. His father had longed with an 
 almost pitiful eagerness for the home-coming 
 of his boy ; he had meant to put his arms 
 about him in the first moment of privacy, 
 as he used to do when Wayne was thirteen, 
 and to say, " Wayne, my boy, we haven t un 
 derstood each other very well of late, but your 
 father loves you with all his heart." But there 
 had been no privacy ; they had met in the pres 
 ence of company, and Wayne had risen with 
 an ease that was almost indifference at least 
 so the father thought to take his hand for 
 a moment, and say, " I hope you are quite 
 well ? " and then to continue at once the con 
 versation that the father s entrance had inter 
 rupted. Nor even when they were alone did 
 
 233 
 
By PFay of the Wilderness. 
 
 the son succeed in making himself understood. 
 Throughout the winter he had been .haunted 
 with that fear which had taken possession of 
 him that his father was suffering from losses, or 
 heavy expenditures. He knew that his was 
 an expensive household, and could well believe 
 that Leon Hamilton had not improved in the 
 matter of spending money. Almost his first 
 thought, after recovering from the astonish 
 ment into which the announcement of his own 
 fortune had thrown him, had been that now 
 he should be able to help his father. He had 
 planned a dozen ways of offering that help, 
 and then, without plan, had hit upon the worst 
 way that could have been found. 
 
 " Father," he had said, the moment they 
 were alone together, " you know of my rare 
 good fortune, of course ? you have known it 
 all the while. My chief pleasure in it is that 
 now I can repay to you all the lavish expendi 
 ture of the years. Can you give me any idea, 
 do you suppose, what the amount should be?" 
 
 He had smiled as he spoke the words, and 
 had meant to express by them the utter folly 
 of trying to repay with mere money such care 
 as had been his. He thought his father would 
 understand that he pretended to throw a thin 
 veil of business over the transaction, so as to 
 cover the humiliation of a father, still in the 
 prime of life, having to receive at the hands of 
 
 2 34 
 
Educating a Conscience. 
 
 a son. If, instead of this, he had only said : 
 " Oh, father, are you having money troubles ? 
 I have been afraid of it, and have lain awake 
 nights wondering how I could help you ; now 
 it is such a joy to me to think that I can ! 
 How much do you need, father, to set every 
 thing straight ? " But he said nothing of the 
 kind ; and no one could have misunderstood his 
 meaning more thoroughly than did that father. 
 So the boy, his boy, had come home still nurs 
 ing petty anger in his heart, and had planned 
 the mean revenge of offering to pay him for his 
 bringing up ! Well, if that was his spirit, the 
 least said between them the better. He had 
 smiled in return, a smile so cold that it chilled 
 Wayne s heart, as he said with that touch of 
 irony that he knew well how to use : - 
 
 " I am not mathematician enough to com 
 pute such a sum as that, and do not care to 
 undertake it. The fewer words we have about 
 it the better for us both." And then he had 
 turned abruptly and gone into the inner room 
 and closed the door. " He is utterly set against 
 me ! " groaned Wayne, inwardly ; " he will not 
 even let me help him ! " 
 
 As for Mrs. Pierson, she tried to appear at 
 her best. Her son Leon was away from home, 
 and was at present well up in his stepfather s 
 favor, and Wayne was a fine-looking young 
 man with a large fortune in his own right, 
 
 235 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 needing not a penny of his father s money ; 
 why should she not patronize him? She did so 
 to the best of her abilities, talking often of him 
 to his father, telling how Wayne had improved, 
 had ceased to be a boy, and lost all of his "sul 
 len " ways, and was really delightful in con 
 versation. The sore-hearted father heard it 
 all in silence, and grew more and more disap 
 pointed. If he had been told that Wayne was 
 silent and miserable, it would have comforted 
 him a little, for then he could have told him 
 self that the boy was troubled about something, 
 and was trying to put a brave face on it ; as it 
 was, he could only feel that his son had nursed 
 his boyish jealousies until he had become ut 
 terly estranged from his own father. And the 
 folly of this chafed him so that he grew colder 
 and haughtier every hour. 
 
 Wayne made his visit at home very brief, 
 and came back to Aunt Crete more thoroughly 
 embittered against his stepmother and step 
 brother, than before. His version of it was 
 that they had succeeded beyond their fondest 
 hopes ; they had robbed him of his father. 
 
 In this way the summer passed. Wayne 
 by no means gave all his time to Enid, but 
 perfected his plans for the autumn with such 
 success that October found him well established 
 in one of the most time-honored institutions 
 of learning that this new land boasts. Here 
 236 
 
Educating a Conscience. 
 
 he set himself to work with such energy and 
 perseverance that the college honors which he 
 had determined regretfully to forego when he 
 resolved upon choosing a new college for his 
 senior year, began to pour upon him. Passing 
 all the rules of precedent, he was unanimously 
 chosen as the representative of the class at 
 commencement ; and in various other ways 
 did he distinguish himself as the hero of the 
 day. Aunt Crete beamed upon him from the 
 choicest seat that the great opera house af 
 forded, and believed him to be the greatest 
 man in the world. His father had received 
 a formal invitation to be present, and had for 
 mally answered that a court engagement of 
 importance would deprive him of the privi 
 lege. 
 
 There was a girl toiling away in a little 
 Western town who would have given her year s 
 earnings for the privilege. She hinted some 
 thing of the kind to Wayne, and he promptly 
 made her realize the utter impossibility of such 
 a proceeding. Sarah Thompson was given to 
 understand that young ladies of culture did 
 not take long journeys for the sake of visiting 
 young men. Oh, he did not put it in so bald 
 a manner, but Sarah was quick at receiving 
 hints, and had blushed painfully, to the very 
 roots of her black hair, over the suggestion 
 that his reply contained. Yet beside Aunt 
 
 237 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 Crete sat Enid Wilmer, fair and sweet, and 
 happy in the honors heaped upon her friend. 
 She had made almost as long a journey as 
 Sarah would have had to take, for the pleasure 
 of hearing that one oration ; but then, Enid 
 Wilmer had an aunt to visit that must be 
 taken into consideration. 
 
 Within a week after his graduation Wayne 
 Pierson went abroad. He had not meant to 
 go so soon. His plan had been to go home 
 for a month s visit, and he had told himself 
 determinately that he would get acquainted 
 with his father over again, and insist upon 
 breaking down that wall of cold reserve. 
 He also told himself, with less determination, 
 that he must go to Hardin, he supposed. He 
 sighed heavily whenever he thought of this, 
 and forebore to make any definite plans about 
 the going, and put the thought of it from him 
 as much as possible. It was enough that, 
 being a man of honor, he meant to go, of 
 course, sometime. 
 
 In point of fact he did none of the things 
 thus planned. A rare opportunity for going 
 abroad with choice company and exceptional 
 advantages for sight-seeing being offered, this 
 young man of impulse decided in a single 
 night that he would avail himself of it. 
 
 By October, again, he was established in Berlin 
 for a graduate course, and was writing to Aunt 
 
 238 
 
Educating a Conscience. 
 
 Crete frequently, to his father every three or 
 four or six weeks, and to Sarah, with the regu 
 larity of the sun, once a month ! He had 
 planned this with care ; had explained to 
 that patient young woman that his studies 
 were very heavy, as indeed they were, and 
 that he had extremely little time to spend in 
 correspondence ; a letter a month was all he 
 could conscientiously give to her. He nursed 
 his conscience very carefully in those days, to 
 make sure that it should sustain him in all 
 that he did. He had need to later, as temp 
 tation spread itself out alluringly before him. 
 It chanced that Mrs. Wilmer was advised to 
 go abroad again, and this time she took Enid 
 with her. As she gained in strength, she nat 
 urally desired to give Enid all the benefit of 
 travel that she could, and in course of time 
 their route led them to the very town and 
 street where Wayne was boarding. Not with 
 out plans to that effect. The correspondence 
 begun so long ago between Enid and Wayne 
 had never been entirely dropped. Wayne 
 wrote only occasionally, his conscience keeping 
 him well up on the remembrance that he had 
 not time for letter-writing ; and Enid, whether 
 by accident or design, never replied to his let 
 ters any more promptly than he had to hers, 
 yet they kept in touch with each other in this 
 way; and their relations were of such a frank 
 
 239 
 
By U^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 and friendly character that before Mr. Wilmer 
 started for home, after establishing his wife and 
 daughter comfortably for a six weeks stay, 
 he called upon Wayne, and told him that any 
 little oversight he was able, without too much 
 trouble, to keep on the ladies, would be duly 
 appreciated. After that, what could Wayne 
 do but call frequently and send cards of invi 
 tation or admission, as they came in his way, 
 and act as escort to points of interest? In 
 short, he kept an " oversight." Who could 
 have done less ? Let it not, for a moment, 
 be imagined that Wayne Pierson was, in any 
 sense of the word, doing what is called " flirt 
 ing " with Enid Wilmer. His regard for her 
 was too painfully sincere to have tempted him 
 in that direction. His attentions to her, dur 
 ing that winter abroad, were such as any gen 
 tleman might have offered, could hardly have 
 helped offering, indeed, under the circum 
 stances; but they helped to add painful weight 
 to the chains in which he had entangled him 
 self. 
 
 It was not very much better after Enid went 
 home. In some respects it was worse. With 
 her and her mother alone in a foreign land, it 
 was easy to assure himself that he must, at 
 whatever cost to his future peace, do for them 
 whatever would add to their comfort ; but it 
 was difficult for that much-burdened conscience 
 240 
 
Educating a Conscience. 
 
 of his to find excuses for the letters that still 
 occasionally went to her after she was fairly 
 settled again among her home friends. There 
 was another who was more or less troubled by 
 these same letters, and that was Mrs. Wilmer. 
 Her daughter seemed to be entirely undis 
 turbed, and, up to a certain point at least, en 
 tirely frank. She carried the letters promptly 
 to her mother as soon as they were read, and 
 they were still such as might have been read 
 aloud anywhere, and would have interested. 
 Wayne knew how to write fascinating letters 
 from abroad, though in the Thompson home 
 it might not have been suspected, -- but Mrs. 
 Wilmer, mother-like, was troubled. Since this 
 young man cared to continue writing to her 
 daughter, until the years were past in which 
 they could both be looked upon as children, 
 and since she cared enough for his letters to 
 reply, and chose not to do as much for other 
 young men who would have been glad to corre 
 spond with her, why did not they both Yet 
 here she had to stop. Up to a certain point, 
 as has been said, Enid was frank and communi 
 cative. She was gently dignified whenever the 
 mother sought to understand the peculiar friend 
 ship that seemed to exist between herself and 
 Wayne Pierson. 
 
 241 
 
XVIII. 
 
 Conscience Salve. 
 
 MEANTIME in her far-away Western 
 home, the girl, Sarah, received her 
 letters, and answered them, and 
 lived her life. Those two items are 
 put first because, in a sense, they were her 
 life. Had the monthly mail failed her it is 
 not known what Sarah Thompson would have 
 done ; but it did not fail, and, having put as 
 absolute trust in the writer of those letters as 
 she did in the daily sunrise, she was not un 
 happy. She had argued the question out with 
 her heart, and accepted, once for all, the fact 
 that Wayne Pierson was not like other men, 
 was far too high above them to be judged by 
 their rules. Her letters, that at first had been 
 so unlike her dream of what such a correspond 
 ence would be as to almost make her heartsick, 
 had gradually grown to be models. After a 
 little she even ceased to mourn over the utter 
 absence of all terms of endearment. Some 
 where in her reading she came across the story 
 of the famous college president whose words 
 were so weighty that students hung upon them, 
 242 
 
Conscience Salve. 
 
 and great men repeated them for authority. 
 " What did the president say about last night s 
 address ? " so the story ran. " Why, he said 
 it was perfectly magnificent ! 
 
 The questioner wheeled in his chair and 
 looked his astonishment at the speaker before 
 he asked : 
 
 " Did President Blank say that ? " 
 
 "No, said the other, with a shamefaced 
 laugh ; " but he said its equivalent, from him - 
 he said it was good. 
 
 This story Sarah Thompson hugged to her 
 heart ; she felt that it explained Wayne to her. 
 His "Dear friend" at the beginning, and 
 "Always your friend" at the close, grew to 
 mean far more to her than the "darlings" and 
 "sweethearts" that came to her girl friends. 
 Ruby Knowles, for instance, was engaged to 
 Sam Scott, the young man whom Sarah had once 
 imagined she admired, she wondered over it 
 now as something too strange to understand, 
 and his letters during the six weeks that he was 
 away from home were spread out for Sarah s 
 admiration. They began, " My dearest girl," 
 and were plentifully besprinkled with pet words, 
 and phrases from " sweetheart," and " lovey 
 down. It was an evidence of Sarah s develop 
 ment in several ways, that she was able to assure 
 herself that she would rather have "Always 
 your friend." 
 
 243 
 
By H^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 As the months moved on and it became nec 
 essary for her to absorb herself in something, 
 Sarah Thompson chose the school in which she 
 was still a teacher. To it she gave thought and 
 time and prayer, and it gradually became ap 
 parent even to the dullest that she was making 
 of the "upper deestrict" what it never could 
 have become but for her, a model school. 
 The newly fledged young teachers, who winter 
 after winter found their way to it, early learned 
 that they must try, at least, to reach up to the 
 standard of the assistant, if they desired to hold 
 the position. It became, in course of time, not 
 an easy thing to do. Sarah Thompson had 
 "ideas." As she read and studied, they grew; 
 she fell into the habit of explaining them as 
 well as she could in those long foreign-bound 
 letters, and, curiously enough, Wayne Pierson 
 grew interested in them, and grew intensely in 
 terested in the school, his school, as he began 
 to have a kind of pride in calling it. Sarah s 
 ideas, some of them very original, afforded 
 him foundation for many a day-dream, that 
 being a habit in which he still luxuriated. He 
 saw himself and Enid Wilmer established and 
 recognized as patrons of the upper district, 
 with Sarah Thompson for the leading teacher. 
 They would assist her to make it a model 
 indeed, and to make of herself a model teacher. 
 When it occurred to him one day that here was 
 244 
 
Conscience Salve. 
 
 a possible solution of his own difficulties, 
 Sarah to become absorbed in her school, to fall 
 in love with it indeed, to such an extent as to 
 make all other interests secondary and easily 
 shifted, he hugged the thought to his heart 
 and spent almost as much time as Sarah did 
 in planning for the school. He entered into 
 her ideas and explained them to her, and en 
 larged upon them until they became plans of 
 which she had never dreamed. Gradually he 
 began to send her appliances with which to 
 carry out these ideas. Boxes and rolls and 
 mysterious looking packages began to come to 
 her by mail, by express, by freight, some of 
 them ordered from New York or Chicago, 
 some of them actually crossing the sea to her 
 and bearing that fascinating foreign mark or 
 label. 
 
 In due course of time it came to pass that 
 the upper district was the pride of the town 
 ship. Then they began to come from West- 
 over to see the new-fashioned maps and globes 
 and charts, and what not ? that that inde 
 fatigable young teacher had introduced. They 
 gazed and questioned and wondered and ad 
 mired, and the heart of Squire Willard swelled 
 within him in pride, and he talked far and 
 near about the " upper district " and the strides 
 it was taking ; and the Westover Chronicle 
 bristled with headlines once more, reporting its 
 
 245 
 
By W^ay of the JVilderness. 
 
 onward march, and making plain enough, for 
 those who wanted to understand, the real 
 source of the wealth that had fallen upon 
 Hardin township. For the people in Westover, 
 as well as the residents of Hardin, knew, every 
 one of them, that Sarah Thompson s " beau 
 away out in foreign parts kept sending things 
 to her all the time." 
 
 In truth, Wayne s gifts were royal. If he 
 had been trying to bury a troubled conscience 
 under a wealth of modern educational appli 
 ances, he could not have heaped more lavish 
 gifts upon the proud young teacher. When 
 he sent a magnificent system of moving worlds, 
 sun and stars and earth for Sarah to explain to 
 the children of the upper district the mysteries 
 of day and night and summer and winter, the 
 delight of the people knew no bounds. The 
 thing must have cost many hundreds of dol 
 lars. Why, it could go ! All the district not 
 only, but the country around, nay, all West- 
 over, in course of time, came to see the wonder 
 and to hear the happy Sarah s explanation of it; 
 for she could explain it, at least to their entire 
 satisfaction. Wayne had written twelve pages 
 telling her just how to do it. The Westover 
 Chronicle fairly exhausted its resources of ex 
 clamatory type to do justice to the exhibi 
 tion, and the proud young teacher sent in the 
 next day s foreign mail a marked copy of the 
 246 
 
Conscience Salve. 
 
 effort ; and cut out another copy of it to wear 
 close to her heart, for was not one dear name 
 repeated by those types at least a dozen times ? 
 Happy Sarah ! Poor, foolish Sarah ! 
 
 She was developing in other ways besides 
 that of a teacher and demonstrator of new 
 methods. As a girl in the district school she 
 had been fond of study ; in her loneliness she 
 renewed her love for it. She had lonely hours 
 in these days, or would have had if she had 
 given herself time for them. The young peo 
 ple of her world grew uninteresting, and by 
 degrees " silly " ; she did not enjoy their soci 
 ety, nor their amusements, and, little by little, 
 unintentionally at first, she drew farther and 
 farther away from them, until, being friends 
 with all the township, she was really intimate 
 with no one. They grew to admiring Sarah, 
 being proud of her, boasting of her among 
 themselves, and letting her alone. The first 
 time they seemed actually to forget to invite 
 her to a hallowe en frolic, she cried a little. 
 She had not been to any of the neighborhood 
 gatherings for months, she had been so busy ; 
 but to be forgotten ! 
 
 Well, she must be busier. She plunged into 
 study as never before. Always being fond of 
 books, she lived in them now ; made them the 
 companions of every waking hour. She made 
 rapid, even amazing, progress in French, when 
 
 2 47 
 
By H^ay of the W^ilderness. 
 
 one considers that she had no teacher. But 
 directly that sentence is written one realizes 
 that it is not fair; she had an excellent teacher. 
 Wayne Pierson had learned some time before 
 this that he need not attempt to arrange a 
 series of puzzles for Sarah s leisure hours by 
 writing partly in French ; evidently she mas 
 tered the letters readily enough. Her first 
 timid effort to reply to them in the same lan 
 guage nearly took his breath away. It was 
 the first time he fully realized what strides the 
 girl was making in the language. But it 
 pleased him. He made it into a soothing salve 
 for his conscience and spread it thickly. What 
 an avenue of culture he had opened to the 
 girl ! but for him she would not even have 
 known how to translate stray French phrases, 
 such as one finds in ordinary reading. He 
 added yet another chapter to his beautiful day 
 dream ; Sarah should become a magnificent 
 French scholar ; she should go to France some 
 day, why not ? and perfect herself in pronun 
 ciation, and become celebrated as a teacher ; 
 and he and Enid would talk together of her 
 wonderful success, and congratulate each other 
 that it was their work. Let it be well under 
 stood that he always took himself severely to 
 task after one of these dreams, and assured 
 himself that he was pledged in honor to one 
 with whom Enid Wilmer could not, in the 
 248 
 
Conscience Salve. 
 
 nature of things, have anything in common. 
 But he used his powerful influence to increase 
 Sarah s fondness for the French language, and 
 filled pages with explanatory notes on obscure 
 French rules, and by degrees discarded the 
 English altogether and wrote everything in 
 French. But he still wrote his semi-occasional 
 letters to Enid, keeping in touch with her life ; 
 asking questions in so shrewd a way as to keep 
 himself informed of her friendships and inter 
 ests, and letting his heart rejoice over her 
 frankness that revealed her indifference to all 
 mankind. " Why should you want her to 
 remain indifferent ? " his troublesome con 
 science asked him occasionally, and he sternly 
 bade it be still. 
 
 Once a wild hope sprang up in his heart. 
 Sarah had much to say in her letters that win 
 ter about her associate in the school. He was 
 better educated, she wrote, than the others had 
 been ; he reminded her a little, just a little bit, 
 of him, in some things, though in others they 
 couldn t be more unlike. Wayne grew deeply 
 interested in the young man ; admired him, 
 suggested ways in which Sarah could be helpful 
 to him, and by every method that he could 
 conceive labored to increase the girl s interest. 
 Evidently it deepened. Mr. Bateman had 
 been showing her how to press flowers, and 
 had offered to get her some rare specimens not 
 
 249 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 to be found in that part of the country. Then, 
 Mr. Bateman was so glad to discover that she 
 could read French ; he did not read it very well, 
 and was working on a subject that made it neces 
 sary for him to read certain French books ; she 
 had promised to read aloud to him. Wayne 
 blessed the day that he began to give Sarah 
 French lessons, and waited in suspense and 
 hope. Then came total silence ; two letters, and 
 Mr. Bateman s name not mentioned. He 
 questioned so closely that Sarah, blushing with 
 shame while she wrote, confessed that Mr. 
 Bateman had misunderstood her helping him, 
 and she must have been to blame, father 
 said she was ; he said people ought to know 
 what they were about in this world, and not 
 just by carelessness lead others into trouble; 
 and she was careless, she supposed, she had 
 never thought of such a thing ; she was so 
 sure that everybody knew that she belonged 
 to him, that Sarah had grown reticent even 
 on paper, but she must be true Mr. Bate 
 man had asked her to become his wife, and she 
 had told him with surprise and pain that she 
 was almost the same as a married woman, 
 and she thought he understood because folks 
 gossiped so much, she didn t think he could 
 help it. And Wayne had groaned in spirit and 
 put the hope of Mr. Bateman forever away 
 from him. She was "almost the same as a 
 250 
 
Conscience Salve. 
 
 married woman ! " Then was he almost the 
 same as a married man ? 
 
 In all these ways the months and then the 
 years slipped away, and Wayne Pierson still 
 lingered abroad. He had taken his degree, 
 and spent an entire year in travel, and it came 
 to pass that he was rapidly nearing his twenty- 
 fifth birthday and had not yet definitely settled 
 just when he should sail for home. That he 
 was to sail soon he settled with his conscience, 
 but he told it angrily that that ought to satisfy 
 it. Wasn t he to be trusted? There were 
 reasons, now that the years of study that he 
 had set for himself had been successfully passed 
 and the year of travel that he had hoped for 
 had been indulged, why he felt in haste to go 
 home ; and there were reasons why he felt as 
 though he could never go. How was he to 
 face that "upper deestrict" ? It was no easier 
 now, nay, it was harder, than it would have 
 been at the first. Sarah might have improved, 
 he had no doubt but that she had, she might 
 have become an angel, it would make no differ 
 ence to him ; he had known all these years 
 just what he wanted, and but for that hateful 
 story told him at that hateful wedding long 
 ago he might have secured what he wanted. 
 Be it observed that Wayne Pierson was still 
 at work blaming rumor, circumstance, fate, for 
 all his experiences. No, he reminded himself 
 
 2 5 I 
 
By IVay of the Wilderness. 
 
 occasionally that if he had not been a fool and 
 rushed away, taking for truth what was a false 
 and malicious story furbished up to ruin him, 
 and tumbled headlong into the meshes woven 
 for him out of ignorance and misunderstanding, 
 all might have been well. But in the main he 
 blamed that relentless Fate which had pursued 
 him ever since his father s second marriage, 
 and the name of the Fate was always Leon 
 Hamilton. He had bitter reason for this, it 
 is true. The determination to trace the rumor 
 concerning Enid s engagement had become al 
 most morbid with him, and bit by bit through 
 the years he had ferreted out and pieced to 
 gether the story, until he knew to a certainty 
 that Leon Hamilton had with patience and 
 painstaking worthy of a better cause planned 
 to have the rumor, with enough details accom 
 panying it to make it plausible, float through 
 just the right channels to reach his ears. By 
 what underhand methods he had discovered 
 that such news would be as gall and worm 
 wood to Wayne, that young man had never 
 been able to learn ; he was obliged to content 
 himself with the muttered statement that Leon 
 Hamilton seemed always to have been in 
 league with the evil one, and could doubtless 
 discover by his aid what had never been com 
 mitted to mortals. 
 
 There had been times, of course, when this 
 252 
 
Conscience Salve. 
 
 sorely beset young man had considered whether 
 he could not take the honest way and frankly 
 explain to Sarah the situation. If he had only 
 done so at the first ! If during those first few 
 weeks after leaving the school he had written 
 to her and been honest throughout, had told 
 her of the mood in which he had returned 
 from the wedding, and the mistake that her 
 father had revealed to him, and his mistaken 
 idea that as a man of honor he must abide by 
 it, and his discovery of the falseness of the 
 rumor he had heard while away, and the cer 
 tainty that it revealed to him that his heart 
 was not his to give ; it might have been done. 
 Sarah was true ; he had not drawn her on, 
 and she knew it ; she would have accepted 
 the situation, with pain perhaps, but with true 
 womanly dignity, and in a little while she 
 would have forgiven and forgotten him. But 
 he had not been honest, he had been persist 
 ently false ; and as the years passed he had 
 steadily fostered and cemented the falseness 
 until now she looked upon herself as " almost 
 a married woman"; and her father but as 
 often as Wayne thought of the honest black 
 smith he found it difficult to suppress a groan. 
 He could seem to hear his voice, and it was 
 saying, " Sho ! a man that can t keep his 
 promises can t help himself nor nobody else." 
 No in his sane moments, Wayne Pierson 
 
 253 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 assured himself that it was too late ; it might 
 have been done if that terrible "if" ! 
 
 He might well have groaned at thought of 
 the honest blacksmith. He was honest to his 
 heart s core, and wanted to believe in other 
 people, and was troubled and anxious. 
 
 " Sho ! " he said to the long-suffering Mrs. 
 Thompson, when the foreign mail came in, and 
 Sarah had rushed away with her letter. " Sho ! 
 how many years is he goin on that way ? 
 Teachin of her ! Who wants him to ? He 
 didn t ask her to be his scholar for a lifetime ; 
 he asked her to marry him. Anyhow that s 
 what honest folks thought he meant, but he 
 ain t ever said a word to me, not a solitary 
 word ; and it s goin on five years and he 
 a-courtin her all the while and the queerest 
 courtin that ever I see in my life, or heard 
 tell of! I don t like it, I tell you now; and 
 as sure as my name is Isaiah Thompson, if he 
 don t " 
 
 And then Mother Thompson would take 
 him in hand and remind him of the steadiness 
 of the foreign mail, and of the lavish gifts for 
 the school that came all the time, and why 
 should a young man spend his money on the 
 " upper deestrict " if he didn t do it for Sarah s 
 sake ? Of course it was all right, and Sarah, 
 she wasn t troubled. Only yesterday, when 
 she was talking about some nonsense that the 
 
 254 
 
Conscience Salve. 
 
 school children were having over, she said, 
 " Mother, when folks can make me believe 
 that the sun isn t going to shine on this earth 
 any more, why then, maybe, they can make me 
 believe that Wayne Pierson isn t to be trusted ; 
 but until then it isn t worth while to try." 
 
 The poor father toned down his grumbling 
 into inarticulate mutters, but he was sore- 
 hearted and afraid. He knew the world better 
 than his daughter did. It was an added anxi 
 ety to him that he could not talk with her freely 
 about it all. His Sarah Jane had changed. 
 She was just as loving as ever, and she was, 
 for the most part, as cheery as a girl could be, 
 and nobody could be more thoughtful of her 
 old father and his comfort, but For one 
 thing he could not joke with her any more ; 
 and he could not seem to so much as mention 
 the young teacher to her. He couldn t tell 
 what it was, but something about her stopped 
 him as sure as he attempted it. The utmost 
 he could do was to wish that he had " never 
 set eyes on the fellow " ; and this at times he 
 did heartily. 
 
 255 
 
XIX. 
 
 is Sarah Jane f 
 
 IN the way that he had done all important 
 things in life thus far, that is, following 
 out a sudden impulse, Wayne Pierson at 
 last went home to Aunt Crete in time to 
 celebrate his twenty-fifth birthday. Up to 
 twenty-four hours before he sailed, he had not 
 been sure whether he should start in another 
 week, or in two weeks, or in a month. The 
 accident of a friend having engaged passage 
 and being unable to go, finally determined 
 him. He could accommodate his friend by 
 going, and he must go sometime, why not 
 now ? 
 
 It is difficult to explain why a young man so 
 exceptionally brilliant as Wayne Pierson cer 
 tainly was, and with such excellent mental 
 training as he had undoubtedly enjoyed, 
 should order all his movements by the Jaw of 
 impulse, except on the basis that the one fool 
 ish mistake of his life had taken such hold 
 upon him that it held his common sense in 
 chains, and left him to be the creature of the 
 256 
 
" Who is Sarah Jane r 
 
 moment. It is painfully true that he shrank 
 from decisions of all kinds, because deliberate 
 calculation seemed to bring him nearer to that 
 crisis in his life that he felt must come. 
 
 To Aunt Crete s eyes he was vastly im 
 proved. In truth, he kept his best for Aunt 
 Crete. In her presence he was again the genial 
 boy, entering into a frolic with all his heart, yet 
 with a background of manly dignity that he 
 could assume on occasion in an instant of 
 time. His aunt studied him carefully, and 
 there were very few particulars in which she 
 would have had him different. 
 
 In one respect he still puzzled and pained 
 her. As a young boy Wayne Pierson had 
 been his aunt s model of youthful piety. His 
 faith in God as his Father and Jesus Christ as 
 his Saviour seemed to have been born with 
 him, and to be strong and abiding. Aunt 
 Crete, listening to his youthful expositions of 
 all things theological, had been wont to say to 
 herself: " Here is another exhibition of what 
 a child can become who is consecrated to God 
 from his birth. Wayne will never know the 
 time when he became a Christian. I presume 
 Samuel did not." 
 
 Alas for the promise of his youth ! What 
 had become of that assured faith and that pre 
 cocious wisdom to which all things obscure to 
 others were made plain ? Just when and how 
 
 257 
 
By W^ay of the W^ilderness. 
 
 did Wayne get so hopelessly drawn away from 
 the narrow path as to have lost sight of it en 
 tirely ? Aunt Crete did not know. She puz 
 zled and wept and prayed over it. She tried 
 all the devices known to a loving heart to win 
 her boy to be frank with her on the subject, 
 and failed. Up to a certain point his conduct 
 was satisfactory enough. He went to church 
 with her regularly on Sundays, and gave re 
 spectful attention to all the services, bowing 
 his head during prayer with every outward 
 appearance of reverence. He even refrained 
 from criticising the sermon on the way home, 
 out of regard for Aunt Crete. But the fond 
 dream she had had that her boy Wayne, when 
 he came again, would take his place at the 
 head of her modest household and conduct 
 family worship morning and evening, and take 
 part in the mid-week prayer-meeting, and, in 
 short, be in this, as in all things, a model to 
 young men this was Aunt Crete s disap 
 pointment. She tried to argue with him a 
 little. Why were things as they were ? 
 
 " You led prayers in your school, you told 
 me," she said tentatively. 
 
 He smiled gravely when he thought of it ; 
 that experience seemed to have been a hundred 
 years ago. What would Aunt Crete think of 
 the roll of those majestic prayers that he used 
 to read! 
 
 258 
 
is Sarah Jane? 
 
 " That was when I was a child," he told her, 
 with his fascinating smile ; " now I have c put 
 away childish things. Then, gravely : " No, 
 Aunt Crete, it is too bad to disappoint you in 
 anything, but I am no hypocrite. I am not 
 a praying man, and I will not repeat words 
 of prayer when my heart does not mean 
 them. I am as far from being what you 
 consider a Christian as a man can well be, I 
 imagine." 
 
 " But why, Wayne, why is it ? Your grand 
 father, whom you grow more like in manner 
 every day of your life, was as stanch a Chris 
 tian as the country about here has ever known, 
 and your dear mother had as strong a faith as 
 any woman that ever lived; it is wonderful and 
 dreadful to me that you have not followed her 
 in this. I am sure that you will, sometime ; I 
 cannot but be certain that her believing prayer 
 for you will be answered, but I cannot bear to 
 think that you will wait to be driven home ! 
 Plenty of people do take the wilderness road, 
 I know ; but I thought you chose the narrow 
 one in your babyhood, and would have sun 
 shine all the way." 
 
 Then Wayne s face would darken, and he 
 would say coldly : " I have had none too 
 much sunshine in my life, I can assure you, 
 Aunt Crete ; if it is your idea that God 
 scourges and drives people in order to win 
 
 259 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 them, that way has certainly been tried with 
 me ; but it has failed, as I should think it 
 would with everybody." 
 
 He thought, this wise young man, that be 
 cause his mother had gone early home to 
 heaven, and his father had chosen to marry 
 again, and his stepbrother had not been to 
 his mind, that he was a terribly ill-used, for 
 saken man. Hidden away in his heart, not 
 fully owned by himself, was this obstacle in 
 the way of his giving God his service. He 
 ought to have had a happy life. He had 
 meant to be good, and true, and honorable. 
 He had been sad but not rebellious, he told 
 himself, even when his mother went away. 
 He had determined to be brave and bright, and 
 to be all things to his father. He had done 
 his best, and with what result ? His father 
 had turned away from him and married a 
 stranger and brought her home to his mother s 
 room ! Even that he might have borne in 
 time, he had meant to try ; but there had been 
 brought also another boy, who had been al 
 lowed to steal his place, his possessions, his 
 home, even his father, and had gone on 
 through the years unrebuked so that now he 
 had no father and no home. If this was the 
 loving-kindness of God, why then He was 
 too well trained to complete the sentence even 
 in thought, but he let the subject rankle as 
 260 
 
" Who is Sarah Jane? 
 
 much as it would. Aunt Crete, after trying 
 by all means in her power to win him, owned 
 to herself that she must let it alone and give 
 herself to prayer, and wait for God to find the 
 road by which this child of many prayers would 
 be willing to travel home to his mother. 
 
 There was another person, if Aunt Crete 
 had but known it, who was making, and had 
 been making through the years, every effort in 
 her power to win Wayne Pierson for Christ. 
 There had been times when Sarah s letters 
 would be full of the subject ; when her eager, 
 prayerful longing for him would crop out 
 every few lines, despite her efforts to write 
 about something else. Knowing as little about 
 the real life of a Christian as the young man 
 did, he admitted to himself that Sarah was 
 evidently growing in that direction also. There 
 had been wonderful doings in the old red 
 schoolhouse, no longer ago than last winter. 
 One after another of his pupils, those for 
 whom he had been anxious, and those about 
 whose futures he was most sceptical, had settled 
 what Sarah declared was the all-important 
 question, and begun to live for Christ. Among 
 them was Beet Armitage, the incorrigible. He 
 had taken his heart full of hatred and revenge 
 to the Lord, and lo ! it had become a heart 
 of love. Sarah was almost eloquent over that 
 description. If he could have seen Beet Armi- 
 
 261 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 tage one night, after a meeting, cross the room 
 and take Joey by the hand, and say so that all 
 could hear, cc My brother, I have not been a 
 brother to you, but I mean to deserve the 
 name after this. I ask you to forgive every 
 thing I have ever done to trouble you, and let 
 me begin over again with Christ in my heart." 
 
 Wayne Pierson had read the story with a 
 curling lip, and had told himself if he had 
 heard it he should have wanted to knock Beet 
 Armitage down ! He to ask forgiveness ! If 
 that miserable Joey had done it, why And 
 then, as if to satisfy him, that was the very 
 next news ! The half-brother, Joey, had become 
 a follower of Jesus Christ, and the two brothers 
 led the boys prayer-meeting together but the 
 night before ! And then Wayne, though his 
 lip still curled, had no word that he cared to 
 speak ; and he met Sarah s earnest appeal, then 
 and afterward, only by marked and continued 
 silence. 
 
 Well, he lingered through the sunny weeks 
 at Aunt Crete s, letting the summer slip away 
 from him, and coming to no decisions in any 
 line. There was somewhere back in his inner 
 consciousness the determination to devote him 
 self to teaching. Certain of his professors knew 
 this, and twice during the summer came flatter 
 ing openings to him to commence his life-work 
 as instructor in leading colleges. He con- 
 262 
 
is Sarah Jane? 
 
 sidered them, and put them from him. The 
 answer he gave on paper was that there were 
 reasons why he could not positively decide as 
 yet, and he must not keep them waiting. What 
 he told his heart was, that once settled at work, 
 the anxieties of Isaiah Thompson with regard 
 to his daughter s future could no longer be 
 ignored. As long as he remained indefinite as 
 to where he should live and what he should 
 do, nothing could be expected of him. It was 
 all very well for the poor fellow to assure his 
 aunt that he was no hypocrite ; he said nothing 
 of the kind to himself. Instead, he told him 
 self with growing emphasis as the days passed 
 that he was a hypocrite of the most despicable 
 sort, and found a shade of comfort occasionally 
 in calling himself hard names. One experience 
 of the early summer that had opened his eyes 
 more fully than before to his position ought to 
 be recorded here. 
 
 On the steamer, during his homeward voyage, 
 he fell in with a college friend who had married 
 and settled in one of the charming suburban 
 towns near New York. Thither Wayne allowed 
 himself to be taken for a few days visit, before 
 going to his aunt s. Behold, but a square away 
 from his friend s beautiful home, was settled 
 another college friend, and his wife was an 
 intimate friend of Enid Wilmer, and Enid was 
 that very week making her a long-promised 
 
 263 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 visit. Wayne hugged to his heart the fact 
 that all this had been entirely unknown to him, 
 and if he had believed in Providence as he 
 once did, would have called it a providential 
 arrangement. As it was, he felt, without inquir 
 ing into the logic of the reasoning, that the 
 accident in some way entitled him to have as 
 pleasant a week with Enid as he could. Of 
 course, under the circumstances, there was 
 abundant opportunity. He needed not to lift 
 his hand, or express a thought. Walks and 
 drives and sails and tennis games arranged 
 themselves, always with giving Enid to him as 
 a companion. Since the other friends were 
 mated for life, what was more natural and 
 reasonable than this arrangement ? 
 
 They went one evening to Table Rock to 
 get a wonderful view of the sunset. Enid was 
 a girl who was singularly susceptible to the 
 solemnly grand in nature, and, as is the case 
 with true natures, the scene had hushed all 
 desire for conversation. She had stood apart, 
 rapt and silent, gazing upon the crimson and 
 gold of the distant sky, and seeming to see 
 veritable angels moving in and out of the 
 massy bars of golden light, that had resolved 
 themselves into turrets and towers, as though 
 they belonged to the palaces of the city of 
 God. All the others of the party had moved 
 on down the hill ; their voices could be heard 
 264 
 
is Sarah Jane? 
 
 in the near distance beginning to chatter again ; 
 and still Enid, unconscious of it all, stood, and 
 gazed and gazed. And Wayne, a step behind 
 her, stood with folded arms, and waited and 
 gazed, not at the glory in the sky, but at the 
 fair girl who was being held by it. Suddenly 
 some movement of a twig, or the rustle of a 
 bird winging by, arrested her ; she turned, and 
 discovered that they were quite alone. 
 
 " Why ! " she said, " where are the others ? 
 Have they gone ? " 
 
 She never knew how it happened ; and cer 
 tainly Wayne did not. There must have been 
 a misstep, and she must have been nearer the 
 edge of the overhanging rock than she thought. 
 For an instant she wavered and would have 
 fallen, then she clutched at the jagged rock 
 with one hand, and then Wayne had her 
 in his arms, and was carrying her quite to the 
 beaten path. And what his white and trem 
 bling lips were saying was, " Oh, my darling ! 
 are you hurt ? " 
 
 It had been a single moment of peril. It 
 seemed that a miracle must have been wrought 
 to save her from the fall ; the ravine was many 
 feet below, and the way down was lined with 
 cruel, sharp-edged rocks. The deathly pallor 
 of Wayne s face was certainly natural enough 
 under the circumstances; but Enid s face, for a 
 moment pale, flushed until, in its fair beauty, 
 
 265 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 it seemed like a reflection of the glory of 
 the sunset. She had struggled instantly to 
 free herself, and then were heard voices near- 
 ing them. 
 
 " Why, Enid dear, aren t you coming ? We 
 did not notice that you were left behind." 
 
 "I am here," said Enid; and she ran and 
 clasped the hand of the pretty matron whose 
 guest she was, and walked with her back to 
 the village, while Wayne and the deserted hus 
 band paced slowly on behind. 
 
 Given a sensitive, naturally an honorable, 
 nature, such as Wayne Pierson possessed, and 
 can the night that followed be imagined ? For 
 one single, perilous second he had spoken 
 truth. TRUTH ! let him not deny it to his 
 soul, at least. Had she heard ? Oh, she must 
 have heard ! What was to become of him ? 
 In either case, even if she had not heard, what 
 was to become of him ? How was this terri 
 ble thing to end ? He did not think ; not a 
 rational thought passed through his excited 
 brain that night; he just tossed and exclaimed 
 mentally, and saw himself at the bottom of a 
 very real precipice, with no way out. 
 
 What he did, next day, was what he told 
 himself that, being an honorable man, he must 
 do. He went not near Enid Wilmer all day 
 long. There had been no engagement that ne 
 cessitated their meeting, it had simply been a 
 
 266 
 
is Sarah Jane? 
 
 * * 
 
 tacit understanding between the young couples 
 whose guests they were that they were to 
 spend much time together, of course. And 
 this day, being Wayne s last, various plans that 
 had been until then overlooked came up for 
 discussion. Wayne negatived them all, so far 
 as he was concerned; he had some writing that 
 must be done in the morning, and in the after 
 noon he must go to New York and look up a 
 neglected friend. Despite fascinating schemes 
 and some coaxing, he rigidly adhered to his 
 programme, and left for home by the next 
 morning s train without other good-by for 
 Enid than the carefully worded message that 
 he left with his hostess for her. 
 
 And the girl ? Well, she had heard. Girls 
 always hear. It was not the fright or even the 
 sudden rescue that brought that lovely glow to 
 her fair face. It was the sound of words that, 
 let Wayne Pierson say what he might about 
 being a man of honor, her heart told her she 
 had a right to expect from the young man who 
 had so carefully and steadily been her friend 
 through all these years. That day of deser 
 tion was a surprise and a pain to her, but when 
 a woman trusts she trusts. By night she had 
 quieted all her heart-throbs, a touch of rising 
 indignation with the rest, and constructed a 
 theory. For some reason, and since he was 
 what he was, undoubtedly it was a good rea- 
 
 267 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 son, he was not prepared to speak the thought 
 of his heart. Perhaps he had made a solemn 
 promise to his dead mother that he would not 
 engage himself until he was a certain age, or 
 until a certain thing had happened. Perhaps 
 he had pledged himself to accomplish some 
 definite work before he spoke words that 
 would commit him to any woman. Perhaps 
 oh, perhaps any one of a dozen theories, 
 what mattered which it was ? He was good 
 and he was true and he was grand in every 
 way, and she was his "darling" ! Sometime, 
 and it must be that it would be very soon, else 
 he who had been so careful of his words would 
 not have been thrown off his guard even by 
 her peril, very soon, probably, he would tell 
 her the whole sweet story, and then she would 
 understand. Until then, couldn t she trust ? 
 Yes, indeed ! she could trust him forever. 
 
 It was under such conditions that Wayne 
 came home to Aunt Crete and managed to so 
 conduct himself outwardly as to make her 
 think that he was the same dear heart-free 
 boy ; and he spent, all things considered, by 
 far the most miserable summer of his life. 
 The only salve to his conscience was found in 
 maintaining utter silence toward Enid. She 
 had written the last letter, and their corre 
 spondence had never been sufficiently regular 
 to make delays embarrassing. Wayne by no 
 
 268 
 
o is Sarah Jane? 
 
 means told himself that his correspondence 
 with her was at an end ; he simply said that 
 he would wait until he decided what to write, 
 and would not allow himself to ask just what 
 that sentence meant. Enid and her parents 
 had gone West to visit some far away uncles 
 and cousins, and to see The Garden of the 
 Gods and Central City and other places of 
 note. They expected to be constantly chang 
 ing their address ; indeed, Enid had frankly 
 told him that one drawback to her summer 
 would be the irregularity and uncertainty of 
 their mail. When he wondered what she would 
 think of his long delay, this comforted him. 
 
 Moreover, he grew irregular even with those 
 monthly letters that had heretofore been so 
 punctual. Someway, to write to Sarah from 
 New England seemed very unlike writing to 
 her from Berlin or Paris. He was frightfully 
 near to her! He must go to her! The ex 
 clamations hint at the consternation with which 
 both thoughts rilled him. It is not probable 
 that he would have lingered quite so long had 
 not his aunt fallen ill. She was at no time 
 seriously ill, but he told himself with excellent 
 reason that she would miss him doubly while 
 she was ill. So he stayed, and gave his days 
 to petting her in the most charming ways that 
 love and ingenuity could devise, and his nights, 
 too many of them, to miserable thoughts. 
 
 269 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 Then, suddenly, came one of those bomb 
 shells that seemed to be needed to quicken 
 him into action. This time it was a telegram, 
 more imperative in its message than even tele 
 grams are given to being. 
 
 " Sarah Jane is very sick; you must come at 
 once. ISAIAH THOMPSON." 
 
 Aunt Crete was dressed in her new wrapper 
 that morning, and sat in her arm-chair by the 
 window. She had the open telegram in her 
 hand when Wayne came back from a trip to 
 town whither he had gone to execute her com 
 missions. 
 
 " I opened it," she said ; " I thought it was 
 from your father, and might need immediate 
 answer. Who is < Sarah Jane ? " 
 
 270 
 
XX. 
 
 The Demands of Decency. 
 
 HOW he got his trunk packed and the 
 hundred last things attended to, and 
 evaded Aunt Crete s bewildered curi 
 osity, and got himself at last on board 
 the night express, he could not have told then, 
 nor afterward. In some respects, it was a 
 more bewildering journey than that first one 
 he had taken over the same route. 
 
 It affords a curious illustration of the young 
 man s state of mind to note how promptly and 
 unquestioningly he obeyed the summons. 
 This was what bewildered Aunt Crete. 
 " It is a queer message," she grumbled ; " I 
 should have thought that at least he would 
 have said, c Can you corne ? If you were 
 going to marry the girl her father couldn t 
 have done more than that. It is a good deal 
 to ask, I must say, of just a teacher ! But 
 then, I suppose they are frightened about her, 
 and want to humor every notion she has. 
 How old is she? Just a little girl, I sup 
 pose ? " 
 
 2 7 I 
 
By JVay of the W^ilderness. 
 
 Wayne was giving attention to a refractory 
 lock, and with color heightened, no doubt by 
 the struggle he was having with it, allowed his 
 aunt to " suppose" what she would, and turned 
 her attention as quickly as possible to something 
 else. 
 
 He will remember forever the curious mix 
 ture of pain and disgust with which he finally 
 swung himself from the train at the Hardin 
 station. His reflections during the journey 
 had certainly been very different from those of 
 five years before, but they were not less gloomy 
 and miserable. He dreaded the ordeal through 
 which he was now to pass more than he had 
 any other in his life. He had not believed in 
 Sarah s illness. She was not well, of course ; 
 but it was evident to him that the sturdy 
 blacksmith had taken advantage of what was, 
 no doubt, a slight illness, to summon him per 
 emptorily to his duty. Very well, he had 
 come, and his mind was at last settled ; if only 
 he had settled it years ago ! He should tell 
 Sarah the whole miserable truth, and throw 
 himself on her mercy. He had not much 
 doubt of Sarah, he believed in her goodness 
 and in her sturdy purity of heart ; but the 
 father ! Well, if they held him, why, he was 
 held. He should not run away. He was a 
 man of honor. But not of such honor as the 
 blacksmith demanded. It was a bitter portion 
 272 
 
The Demands of Decency. 
 
 for this proud soul that he must that day sink 
 himself forever in the estimation of the black 
 smith. There was another depth of misery at 
 which he would not let himself look. Suppose 
 that Sarah s influence should prevail and he 
 could go from there, free. As a man of honor 
 must he not tell Enid the whole story ? And 
 what would Enid say ? 
 
 Then the train whistled once more, and he 
 was at the station. They were there by the 
 half-dozen to meet him ; his old pupils, grown 
 to manhood and womanhood now. He re 
 sented this. Such coarse publicity ! How 
 could decent people endure to make them 
 selves a town talk in this way ? He passed 
 them with cold nods, but they seemed not sur 
 prised. They held back with strange embar 
 rassment. " How do you do, Professor ? " 
 they said, the men lifting their hats respect 
 fully and looking after him gravely. One 
 pressed nearer. He had to look a second 
 time to be sure that it was Beet Armitage. 
 The years had changed him, certainly. Beet 
 was studying music in the nearest large city, 
 and was going to make a success with his voice. 
 Wayne had known that, but he had not realized 
 that Beet had become outwardly a gentleman. 
 He held out his hand, but had no word to 
 speak. Wayne wondered, and tried to be 
 friendly. 
 
 273 
 
By J^ay of the W^ilderness. 
 
 " Well, Armitage," he said, " here we are 
 again ; but you have changed so much that I 
 hardly knew you." 
 
 " I have a carriage waiting for you, Pro 
 fessor, * was all the reply he received. The 
 carriage door was thrown open, and Wayne 
 motioned into it, then Armitage closed the 
 door, and he was whirled away alone. This 
 was a relief. But Hardin must have changed 
 in many ways. Who would have supposed 
 that they would consider the ceremony of a 
 carriage necessary ? Nobody had seen fit to 
 ask him where he was going. The whole 
 state knew, it seemed, that he belonged to 
 the blacksmith s family ! He sneered at the 
 thought and chafed under it, and was in his 
 most cynical and at the same time bewildered 
 mood when the carriage drew up at last before 
 Isaiah Thompson s door. He half expected 
 to meet Sarah in the hall; her invalidism he 
 told himself would probably be equal to that. 
 A crowd of curious boys and some little girls 
 were gathered not far from the door ; this 
 angered him the more. " We ought to have 
 arranged for a public meeting in the town hall," 
 he told himself, as he seized his valise from the 
 hand of the officious driver. Even he knew 
 him. " Never mind that, Professor," he had 
 said, respectfully : " I ll see to it." 
 
 Then the door opened, not waiting for Y 6 
 
 274 
 
The Demands of Decency. 
 
 knock, and there appeared, not Sarah, not the 
 burly blacksmith, but Enid Wilmer. 
 
 "She is living yet, Mr. Pierson; but you 
 must come at once." Her voice was as calm 
 as the summer morning, and yet as cold as if 
 it came from lips of ice. She turned at once 
 without giving him so much as a hand-clasp 
 and ran upstairs. Wayne followed her in a 
 bewilderment that was torture followed her 
 to his old room. There, kneeling beside the 
 bed, was Isaiah Thompson, and there, with her 
 face close to the pillow, was the gray head of 
 Mother Thompson, and lying white and beau 
 tiful among the pillows was Sarah. Never in 
 all his tortured imaginings of the scene when 
 he should go to her had she looked in the least 
 like this. There was radiant beauty on her 
 face and in her eyes, but it was unearthly 
 beauty. She turned her eyes as the door 
 swung open, and the radiance deepened. "Oh, 
 Wayne ! " she said distinctly, and with a mighty 
 effort tried to raise her head, and it fell back ; 
 and the mother gave a great cry, and those 
 who had been watching for the end knew that 
 it had come. Sarah was gone away where she 
 could trouble him no more. 
 
 An hour afterward the stricken father came 
 to the room that had been assigned to Wayne, 
 and told in broken sentences, interrupted by 
 great waves of grief, what he could tell of the 
 
 275 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 story. He had wrung Wayne s hand in a 
 grasp so mighty that the pain of it still lin 
 gered. In that supreme moment of sorrow 
 all the forebodings of evil that the father had 
 felt were laid to rest. Wayne had responded 
 promptly to his summons ; the first train by 
 which they could by any possibility hope for 
 his coming had brought him, and he had looked 
 like one stricken to the earth. He had loved 
 her, then, and been honest with her all the 
 time, and had meant the best for her ; and the 
 endless delays that had seemed so unreasonable 
 had been necessary. Sarah had been right in 
 that as in all things ; he was true. The father s 
 heart went out to him in utter surrender from 
 that hour. He went to him as soon as he 
 could. 
 
 " You see, it was all so sudden," he said, 
 trying to apologize for the fierceness of the 
 blow. " Oh, she has been sick off and on for 
 three weeks or more, but not a mite of danger, 
 the doctor said, just run down. Yes, she was 
 run down and had good reason for being. 
 You know that place we used to call the hol 
 low ? Well, there s been sickness there all 
 summer; there mostly is, a shiftless set as ever 
 lived. Sho ! to think my girl should have to 
 be sacrificed for such as them ! that s what it 
 is, Professor, sacrificed. She would go there 
 and set up nights with the sick children, and 
 276 
 
The Demands of Decency. 
 
 bathe em and fuss with em days, and do 
 things that their mothers didn t know enough 
 to do ; and it was too much for her. First 
 thing we knew she had the fever; nothing 
 dangerous about it, the doctor said, kept saying 
 it all the time ; jest slow and aggravating like, 
 on account of its slowness ; and you see we 
 was sort of expecting you every day, and Sarah 
 Jane she wouldn t have you scared by any 
 word that she was sick, and so it run on till 
 all of a sudden she took this turn for the 
 worse, and for twenty-four hours she was jest 
 waiting to set her eyes on you once more afore 
 she went to heaven. I thank my God that she 
 had that, anyhow." Here the story broke, 
 and the father laid his great head on the little 
 table near which he sat, and shook the chair 
 and the table with his mighty sobs. And the 
 miserable young man, looking indeed like one 
 stricken, kept his station by the mantel against 
 which he leaned, and knew no word to speak. 
 "That girl named her well," began Mr. 
 Thompson again, when he had recovered self- 
 control. "She said she was c an angel of light 
 to the folks in the hollow, and so she was. 
 Everybody will tell you that ; sho ! it ain t the 
 hollow folks only ; she was a blessing and a 
 comfort to everybody she come near. That 
 girl loves her like a sister, and she ain t been 
 acquainted with her but a few weeks. You 
 
 277 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 know who I mean ? The girl with a queer 
 name, she said she was acquainted with you ; 
 the last name is Wilmer." 
 
 :c Enid," said Wayne, mechanically. It 
 seemed to him that it was the little plaster 
 of Paris image of Samuel on the corner of the 
 mantel who spoke, not he. 
 
 "Yes," said the blacksmith, "Enid; curious 
 name, I can t remember it, but Sarah Jane 
 took to it and to her; they took to each other; 
 I never see the like. She come here about six 
 weeks ago, she and her mother. They was 
 going to stay somewhere in some quiet place 
 while the father went on to look after some 
 mines, and they jest happened here, come to 
 see that Indian mound you know eight or ten 
 miles north of here. Well, the girl took a 
 notion to stay. They wanted her to go to 
 the mountains and to the lakes, and I dunno 
 where they didn t want her, but she had jest 
 made up her mind to stay here, and stay she 
 did. And she took a notion from the first 
 minute to Sarah Jane. She see your picture, 
 that one you had took for the scholars, you 
 know; Sarah Jane got it copied, she missed 
 hers, somehow, and the girl what did you 
 say her name was ? yes, Enid, saw that, and 
 knew it in a minute ; and they got to talking 
 about you, I s pose, her and Sarah Jane, and it 
 made her feel kind of friendly to Sarah lane 
 
 278 
 
The Demands of Decency. 
 
 to find that she belonged, as you may say, to 
 one that she was so well acquainted with, and 
 they jest took to each other. She has been a 
 great comfort, I ll say that for her. My girl 
 has clung to her most amazing right through 
 the sickness ; and she wasn t a mite afraid, and 
 wouldn t go away when they began to talk 
 about her getting the fever. Nothin catchin 
 about the fever, the doctor said ; nothm at all ; 
 it was jest a low state of the system that made 
 her take it ; them are his very words. And to 
 think I believed his story to the last, that she 
 would get up and be stronger than ever. Oh 
 my ! oh my ! " Another great wave of pain, 
 and Wayne s misery so deepened by all he 
 had heard, that it seemed to him. the only way 
 of relief would be to lie down still and cold in 
 the parlor below, where they had placed Sarah. 
 He lived through the terrible days that fol 
 lowed. From sheer inability to talk to any 
 one he kept his room carefully. They brought 
 him food, and respected his grief. Enid he 
 knew was much in the house, she and her 
 mother, acting as though they were sisters 
 bereaved, instead of as strangers. He heard 
 her soft step on the stairs, and her low voice 
 speaking tender words to the broken-hearted 
 mother who clung to her even as her child had 
 done. But she spoke no word to him; she 
 passed him swiftly and silently with a far-away, 
 
 279 
 
By tt^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 respectful bow when they chanced to meet in 
 the hall, or on the stairs. He felt as far re 
 moved from her as if he himself had sunken 
 into that ravine from which he had rescued 
 her, and she had gone up into the waiting 
 glory. It was young Armitage who came to 
 him from time to time, low-voiced, thought 
 ful, himself heavily stricken, to inquire as to 
 whether this or that arrangement would suit 
 him. Mr. Thompson had said that every 
 thing was to be just as he, the professor, 
 wanted it. Wayne groaned in spirit over the 
 words, and took up his burden. He must be 
 chief mourner, then ! Decency, it seemed, de 
 manded it ; nay, more than that, regard for the 
 memory of the dead and the sorrow of the 
 stricken living demanded it. He must not 
 say those words to Isaiah Thompson that he 
 had come a thousand miles intending to say. 
 He was free, it is true, but only death had freed 
 him. No, he was not free ; he was bound by 
 all the laws that govern propriety and decency 
 to pose before the world as the intended hus 
 band of the girl they would meet to honor. 
 It was an awful mockery, but it was a solemn 
 one. He had played the hypocrite for five 
 years, and he must go through to the bitter 
 end. He gave his pocket-book, well filled, to 
 Armitage and told him to come for more when 
 that was gone, and to do everything that 
 280 
 
The Demands of Decency. 
 
 money could do to honor the memory of the 
 dead, and not to let him hear one word of the 
 details. And when Beet Armitage went away 
 with soft tread and a face of speechless pain, 
 the poor young man left behind groaned aloud 
 in his misery as there flashed before him the 
 thought that that other one was stricken in 
 deed ! He remembered that there was not 
 many months difference between their ages, 
 his and Sarah s, and that they had been much 
 together, and he translated rightly the look 
 on the young man s face. If they could but 
 change places, he and Armitage ! How freely 
 would he pour out his money and how faith 
 fully would he give his time to making the last 
 tokens of love and respect all that they could 
 be, if Armitage, the honestly bereaved, might 
 take his place as chief mourner ! 
 
 That evening there came up with his tea- 
 tray a letter. He devoured the handwriting 
 with his eyes, and left his tea untasted to read 
 the contents. Enid s writing ! 
 
 It began without formula of any sort: 
 
 " I was to tell you things that it seems not 
 well to keep from you longer. Her love, her 
 c dear love and trust, were to be given to you. 
 She wanted you, for some reason, to know es 
 pecially that she had never suffered one hour 
 of pain through distrusting you. She had been 
 
 281 
 
By J^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 sure that the long separation was necessary, and 
 was pain to you as to her. If you came in 
 time she would tell you herself how blessed 
 her life had been by your love, but if you did 
 not, I was to deliver the message. I cannot 
 do it justice ; you who know the strong, true 
 heart of the girl whose love you won, can 
 imagine it. There was another message more 
 earnest, if possible, a pleading cry from her 
 very soul. She wants to wait for you in 
 Heaven, and to be SURE that you will 
 come. I place the word in capitals to express 
 if I can the intensity of her plea. I feel that 
 I am but a poor channel through which to 
 pour the love and hope of that brave, true 
 heart; if you had been with her and heard 
 her for yourself, you could never have for 
 gotten the scene as long as you live. I feel 
 that I have learned something of what it is 
 to love with an utter abandon of self and all 
 selfish aims. I count it a privilege to have 
 had opportunity to be with and minister to 
 the closing hours of such a woman. I will 
 not intrude sympathy upon you. 
 
 If the poor young man who struggled alone 
 
 with his pain and his remorse had needed any 
 
 thing to complete his humiliation, this was the 
 
 added touch. What must Enid think of him 
 
 282 
 
The Demands of Decency. 
 
 now ? And he could not explain, could not 
 make her understand how it all was, and that 
 he had meant from the first nothing but honor 
 and true nobility. In the name of decency he 
 must keep silent now. 
 
 His brief instructions concerning the funeral 
 were carried out well. Young Armitage had 
 been out in the world of late ; he knew what 
 custom considered necessary in order to show 
 proper respect for the poor clay that the soul 
 leaves behind. He saw to it that everything 
 was as it should be ; and the town helped him 
 well. All Hardin not only, but the people of 
 the surrounding towns for miles away, and 
 many from Westover besides, came to the 
 funeral. The people told for years afterward 
 what a peculiarly solemn time it was, and what 
 a long array of carriages followed poor Sarah 
 to the grave. 
 
 Armitage had ventured upon one question 
 more. Would the professor ride in the car 
 riage with Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, or 
 Wayne interrupted him with such a short, 
 sharp " No ! " that he turned away at once, 
 believing that he understood. Westover sent 
 its finest carriage for his use, and in accord 
 ance with the custom of the region it followed 
 close behind the hearse, with W\iyne sitting 
 alone, chief mourner. 
 
 " Of course," the blacksmith said, when 
 
 283 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 Armitage began an explanation, " that is as it 
 should be ; it is his right." 
 
 It shall be admitted also that the father s 
 sore heart found a crumb of consolation in 
 it ; Sarah had her rights at last. The one 
 for whom she had lived in all sweetness and 
 trust for long years, was as close to her now 
 as could be arranged. All the world, his 
 world, saw and understood. No, none of 
 them understood the weight of misery filling 
 that first carriage. To appreciate it, let it be 
 remembered that from the first Wayne Pier- 
 son had meant to be true, at any cost to him 
 self, to his idea of honor. That it was a 
 mistaken idea may perhaps be admitted with 
 out argument, but such as it was, he had tried 
 to abide by it. Alone in that carriage follow 
 ing that fair clay, being followed by a father 
 and mother who had lost all they had, he felt 
 the veriest hypocrite that the world contained. 
 At times it was almost as much as he could 
 do to hold himself from opening the carriage 
 door and shouting out to the decorous crowd 
 that it was all a mistake, a cruel mistake, and 
 had been from the first. Of course he did 
 nothing of the kind. He sat with folded 
 arms, and let the carriage wind its slow way 
 in and out among the graves. He alighted 
 at the proper time and stood with bowed 
 head, while the simple service was conducted 
 284 
 
T be Demands of Decency. 
 
 at the open grave. The crowd watched him 
 curiously, and pushed a little in order to get 
 a better view, and whispered to one another 
 that " the professor looked like death ! " 
 
 In one of the carriages not far behind the 
 immediate family rode Enid and her mother. 
 " It was the poor girl s wish, mamma," Enid 
 explained to the bewildered mother ; " you will 
 go with me to the very end, won t you ? she 
 said, and I promised." 
 
 As they turned away from the grave, Wayne 
 caught a glimpse of her pale, pure face ; she 
 was not looking at him, nor at the grave. 
 The day was westering, and she had turned 
 her eyes toward the glory of the coming sun 
 set. Her face reminded him of the hour at 
 Table Rock, that time when for once during 
 all these weary, hateful years his heart had 
 spoken, and he had said, "Oh, my darling!" 
 It seemed an added hatefulness and hypocrisy 
 to think of it now, and he turned away, angry 
 with himself and with all the world. 
 
 " I didn t think the professor would be so 
 cut up," said Squire Willard, as they talked it 
 all over that evening. " He has stayed away 
 so long that somehow " a pause, then a long- 
 drawn sigh "but it s a genuine thing, sure 
 enough. I saw his face when he turned away 
 from the grave, and it looked as though he had 
 buried all the hopes he had in life." 
 
 285 
 
XXI. 
 Whither? 
 
 ONCE again Wayne Pierson took the 
 midnight train from Hardin, and this 
 time it was Enid instead of Sarah who 
 
 watched him disappear down the one 
 long street of the village. It might have been 
 a small bit of comfort to his troubled soul had 
 he known that she stood in the moonlight at 
 the window of her room and listened to his last 
 footfall while bitter tears rained from her eyes. 
 And yet it is doubtful if he would have been 
 consoled, either, had he known the cause of 
 her deepest sorrow. It was not that she had 
 lost him, and that another had apparently won 
 the first place in his heart, but that one whom 
 she had trusted and honored had fallen from 
 the pedestal of integrity upon which he had 
 stood, in her eyes. He had bidden her good- 
 by earlier in the evening; a lingering hand 
 clasp on his part, and he had tried to look into 
 her eyes to see if he read contempt there, but 
 they were cast down and would not meet his 
 own. Then he had gone out and indulged his 
 
 286 
 
Whither? 
 
 old propensity for tramping about, that he 
 might be alone and not obliged to talk. 
 
 O O 
 
 All the old liking and admiration for the 
 professor showed itself on the part of Sarah s 
 father and mother as they bade him good-by, 
 heaping blessing on his head, even though they 
 were unaware that the envelope he slipped into 
 the mother s hand held a liberal check which he 
 begged them to accept as an expression of his 
 gratitude for all their kindness. 
 
 So that leaf of his life was turned over, and 
 he walked away free from chains that had bound 
 him. What next ? And whither should he 
 turn his footsteps ? He shrank from every 
 place he had ever been in before. He could 
 not return to Aunt Crete, her questionings 
 would be torture. After reflection he decided 
 to go for a time to one of the large Western 
 cities and study the vast tract of country known 
 as the West. He was too unfamiliar with that 
 region, and this would occupy his thoughts. 
 
 No sooner was he established in the prosper 
 ous city, a gateway to western wilds, than there 
 arrived at the hotel he had chosen for head 
 quarters a party who furnished an unexpected 
 opportunity for carrying out a part of his 
 scheme. 
 
 As he entered the dining room one morning, 
 whom should he meet in the hall but his old 
 college friend, Macfarlan, for whom he felt sin- 
 
By Pf^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 cere regard. Warm greetings were exchanged, 
 and the two young men took seats together at 
 the table. There was much to be talked over 
 as each gave to the other experiences of the 
 years that had passed since leaving college ; in 
 part at least, of course, there were sealed records 
 which neither young man revealed to the other, 
 not at the first meeting if ever. 
 
 It was while the two were driving about 
 viewing the city that Macfarlan suddenly 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " Pierson, do you know you are the man of 
 all others that I am delighted to see just now? 
 I expect to go to the wildest West in a few 
 days. I ve joined an exploring party sent out 
 by the government to explore the Yellowstone 
 region, that vast wilderness lying just on the 
 borders of civilization, and I want you to go 
 along. I have a vivid recollection that you are 
 a worshipper at Nature s shrine. Think of 
 over three thousand square miles of Nature 
 unspoiled by man. I know that will be an 
 inducement to you." 
 
 A question or two from his listener encour 
 aged Macfarlan, and he went on eagerly to 
 dilate upon the advantages of such a trip. 
 
 "You know the expedition that went out 
 last year brought back famous reports. It 
 must be magnificent, according to all accounts. 
 There is every variety of scenery, and wonders 
 
 288 
 
Whither? 
 
 without end : mountains, plains, forests, rivers, 
 lakes, geysers, canons, and even volcanoes. Of 
 course the game is splendid, and the oppor 
 tunity for adventure unlimited. Come ! go 
 with us, won t you ? It will be like a glimpse 
 of the primeval world to get up there where 
 
 Nature s heart beats strong amid the hills. 
 
 Macfarlan was surprised that his friend did 
 not hesitate and interpose objections and say he 
 would think about it, before committing him 
 self to a decision, and he regarded Wayne with a 
 keen look when that young man declared, with 
 ill-concealed bitterness, that he was more than 
 willing to go anywhere away from the world. 
 After having urged him with enthusiasm to go, 
 he nevertheless felt called upon to warn him 
 that the journey was a perilous one, and the 
 hardships great. His friends, too. What of 
 them ? Wayne smiled at that. Who in the 
 wide earth cared about his comings and goings 
 except the dear aunt up in Berkshire ? As for 
 being free, he was free as any vagabond in the 
 universe. He caught at the proposition to join 
 the expedition with eagerness. The deeper he 
 could bury himself, the better it suited him. 
 Moreover, it was in the line of his own plans, 
 and an opportunity that might come but once 
 in a lifetime. 
 
 289 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 He was soon suitably equipped, and the 
 party set out in high spirits. The long jour 
 ney by rail was monotonous, and all rejoiced 
 when, leaving railroads and civilization behind 
 them, they mounted horses and galloped away 
 in the freshness of an early summer morning. 
 Even Wayne caught the infection of buoyant 
 spirits in the exhilarating atmosphere and sense 
 of freedom as they skimmed over the plains. 
 The novel experience, the keen enjoyment of 
 Nature s wonders, and the gay companionship, 
 left him little room for gloomy meditations. 
 He felt like one who had cast his past behind 
 him and entered upon a new stage of existence. 
 He wished it might last forever, this swift ride 
 among the fragrant pines. It was typical of 
 life, this pathway through the wilderness. But 
 yesterday it lay over breezy uplands and sunny 
 slopes. Stretching away in the distance was a 
 clear, flower-bordered path, blue skies, trans 
 porting views on every side, and the gleam of 
 bright wings with a grand chorus of wild, sweet 
 airs. And it was yet like life when mists turned 
 blue skies to gray, and the path lay over moun 
 tain passes, or in the lowlands where uprooted 
 trees barred the way through the storm-swept 
 valley. 
 
 It was one night when Wayne s turn had 
 come to keep watch of the fires which they had 
 built for protection against wild beasts, that his 
 290 
 
Whither? 
 
 troubles came down upon him like a nightmare. 
 Usually two shared the night watch, but Wayne 
 had declined the offer of companionship, saying 
 he had writing to do and would be unsociable. 
 While the others stretched themselves in pro 
 found sleep, the one silent watcher sat gazing 
 into the fire, recalling the events of the past 
 few weeks ; especially every word and look of 
 Enid s when last they had met, the memory 
 of which he had heretofore steadily put from 
 him. But now haunting thoughts trooped 
 into his mind and took possession. Oh, those 
 days of torture ! the end of a labyrinth of 
 mistakes, resulting in being misinterpreted and 
 misunderstood and probably scorned by her. 
 And he with no opportunity to speak a word 
 in his own defence ! He could see again the 
 cold disapproval in her true eyes when she had 
 met him at Mr. Thompson s door. Suddenly 
 a resolute look came into his face, and he told 
 himself that he did not intend to rest quietly 
 under her censure without an attempt to vindi 
 cate his honor. It was bad enough, but he 
 was not the contemptible creature she evidently 
 believed him to be. He would write out the 
 whole plain truth and send it to her as soon as 
 possible. He would begin at once. 
 
 In a capacious pocket of his coat were writ 
 ing materials enough to last a considerable 
 time ; he had thought to make full notes of 
 
 291 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 the topography of the country, as well as jot 
 down the incidents of the journey. But the 
 writing that rapidly filled the pages of a tablet 
 was of intenser interest than anything of that 
 sort could be. 
 
 " To vindicate myself as far as possible, I 
 must go back a few years in my history," he 
 wrote in his letter to Enid. 
 
 Then there followed an account of the cause 
 and manner of his leaving home, his teaching, 
 the story of his relations with Sarah Thompson, 
 and the wretched mistake which the immature 
 judgment of his young manhood had allowed 
 to go uncorrected, believing that such was the 
 only noble course, and how it had culminated 
 in misery through the unhappy years. 
 
 "I may never see you again," he wrote; "but 
 whether I do or not, I want you to know that 
 I have been guilty of no greater sins in this 
 connection than the carelessness of youth, and 
 what I now see to have been an error of judg 
 ment. Since the morning we stood together 
 in the woods and said good-by I have cher 
 ished in my heart the image of the girl who 
 then gave me a white rose. It has been my 
 precious treasure through wanderings on sea 
 and land, because it was to me a type of her 
 self. Never has there been a throb of my 
 heart or even a straying of fancy for any other 
 woman. Never did I knowingly, in thought, 
 292 
 
Whither? 
 
 word, or deed, give Sarah Thompson reason to 
 suppose that I had more than friendly interest 
 in her until I fancied that circumstances com 
 pelled me to engage myself to her. The words 
 I spoke to you at Table Rock, which forced 
 themselves from my lips when I was off my 
 guard, were my heart s deepest secret and the 
 truth which I longed to tell you months ago, 
 but could not honorably because of what you 
 now know. You may imagine my deep dis 
 tress at being obliged to go through what I 
 did at Sarah s funeral, posing as chief mourner, 
 and feeling like the veriest hypocrite that ever 
 breathed. I had already decided, before the 
 summons came, to tell Sarah the truth, for I 
 could not longer lend myself to deceit. I am 
 glad she was spared that pain now, and you 
 can understand why I did not disturb her 
 father and mother by any such revelation, and 
 why I was obliged to act the hypocrite to the 
 bitter end. My punishment for egotism, in 
 not seeking advice from older and wiser ones, 
 for violating the strongest principle of my 
 manhood, and allowing myself to appear to be 
 true in relations to which my whole soul re 
 volted, has been at times almost greater than 
 I could bear, especially the thought that 
 your confidence in me is shattered. So, my 
 friend, even if you cannot give me what I dare 
 not ask, I pray you let me at least have kindly 
 
 2 93 
 
By TVay of the W^ilderness. 
 
 judgment from the one being who is dearer to 
 me than the whole world besides, and believe 
 me that I hate, abhor, every false way." 
 
 He had not felt so great a sense of relief in 
 a long time as when he folded those sheets, 
 placed them in an envelope, sealed and ad 
 dressed it. Now, even if he never came safely 
 through the wilderness, his comrades would 
 send the letter, and Enid would know the 
 whole truth, th at he had meant to be all that 
 was right and honorable, and learn that he had 
 loved her and her alone ; and then he wondered 
 again for the hundredth time whether that rosy 
 glow that overspread her face at Table Rock 
 was the mere reflection of the sun, or what he 
 hoped it might have been. 
 
 But then he grew hot and uncomfortable 
 when he reflected upon what she must have 
 thought of him afterward. No man could be 
 accounted honorable who had spoken words 
 like those to a girl and then silently retreated. 
 
 It was after the expedition had reached the 
 heart of the forest that they came one day upon 
 a piled-up mass of trees uprooted by the storm, 
 which made a wall high and wide across their 
 path. To add to the difficulty the under 
 growth on either side was extremely dense. 
 Every member of the party at once became 
 sure that he could find a way through or 
 around the barrier. There was a fascination 
 294 
 
Whither? 
 
 about exploring for one s self hard to be re 
 sisted by the more venturesome, and each 
 plunged into the forest in different directions, 
 with the understanding that whoever found 
 egress was to signal to the others. It was 
 after a long, weary struggle that the party 
 found themselves upon the trail again. Their 
 satisfaction turned to dismay, however, when 
 they discovered that one of their number was 
 missing. 
 
 " Where is Pierson ? " one shouted to an 
 other, excitedly. Then the woods echoed to 
 his name, and anxious glances passed between 
 the men when no response came to their 
 signals. 
 
 " How could he have got out of hearing so 
 soon ? " asked one. 
 
 And another replied : 
 
 "You forget it is many hours since first we 
 came upon the blockade. He probably made 
 a dash into the woods and became separated 
 from us at the very first." 
 
 " He is an impulsive fellow," said one. 
 
 " And a brave, daring spirit as ever breathed," 
 Macfarlan answered, with a frown. 
 
 They drew near each other and consulted, 
 finally deciding to put no greater distance than 
 was necessary between themselves and the com 
 rade from whom they were separated, and so 
 would go into camp as soon as they reached 
 
 295 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 an available spot. And then, gradually, after 
 the manner of men, most of them settled down 
 into the comfortable conviction that it would 
 be all right, Pierson would surely turn up in 
 the morning. Nevertheless, they instructed 
 the watchman to give the signals at intervals 
 through the night. 
 
 And the one lone horseman who, by the light 
 of the moon, pushed his way through tangled 
 undergrowth, what of him ? He had fancied 
 when the way became blocked that, by circling 
 about somewhat, he could reach a clear space 
 visible in the distance which must be the trail, 
 but he would experiment somewhat before 
 mentioning it to the others. His faithful 
 horse had almost human sense and would work 
 his way through difficult places where many 
 another animal would have reared and plunged 
 and refused to go. On he went, expecting each 
 moment to shout to the others to follow him. 
 Unfortunately, the rest of the party, before dis 
 covering his disappearance, had decided to move 
 in an exactly opposite direction, consequently 
 every advance of each placed them still further 
 apart. 
 
 And Wayne, by many unavoidable turnings, 
 at last became confused and lost all sense of the 
 direction of the trail. When shouts and signals 
 brought no response from the others, he was not 
 so greatly dismayed as might have been sup- 
 296 
 
Whither? 
 
 posed ; separations had occurred before, and 
 they always got together afterward, so he rode 
 on confident that he had found the right path, 
 believing that his companions would soon reach 
 it by another route. Even when darkness 
 closed about him it caused no alarm. He 
 selected a spot for his bedroom, picketed his 
 horse, built a fire, wrapped his blanket about 
 him, and lay down to sleep, with the feeling 
 that supper might add to his comfort, and that 
 he should have a keen appetite for the camp 
 breakfast next morning. 
 
 He was far too weary to feel either loneliness 
 or fear, and slept soundly, rising once or twice 
 to replenish the fire. At early dawn he was 
 still on his way again. It was still dark in the 
 woods, but there was no time to be lost ; cer 
 tainly he was on a trail that led somewhere, 
 although the pine needles continually falling 
 sometimes covered all trace of it. It was after 
 weary hours of travel, and breakfast still an 
 unknown quantity, that Wayne dismounted to 
 cheer his discouraged horse by a rub down and 
 a rest. " Good fellow," he said, with one arm 
 about his neck after the old fashion of caressing 
 Liph senior, " you and I are lost. Did you 
 know it ? " The faithful creature elevated his 
 pointed ears, gave a cheerful whinny, and 
 rubbed his nose on his master s hand as if to 
 say, " Cheer up, I ll stand by you." 
 
 297 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 Alas ! his promises were, like some human 
 creature s, soon broken. Wayne left him to 
 browse about unhitched, as had always been 
 his custom, while he walked a few rods away to 
 an opening in the woods from which he could 
 see^ several vistas. He stood trying to decide 
 which one probably led in the direction of the 
 lake, where he thought the party might be en 
 camped. It was but a moment or two when 
 he heard a scramble, and, turning, saw one of 
 the smaller wild animals of the forest darting 
 away in one direction, and, horror of hor 
 rors, Liph in another! He shouted to the 
 horse, but fear had taken possession of him. 
 With frantic leaps and bounds that cleared all 
 obstacles, he fled like the wind, and vanished 
 in the distance. It was useless to try to pur 
 sue him, and yet his master did, tearing as 
 recklessly through what barred his way as the 
 horse himself, and calling his name long after 
 he knew it was in vain, keeping up his weary 
 pursuit until he was convinced of its utter 
 hopelessness. Liph was gone ! and with him 
 blankets, guns, revolvers, fishing tackle, 
 matches everything gone except the clothes 
 he wore, his watch, field-glass, knife, note-book, 
 and pencils. 
 
 298 
 
XXII. 
 
 A Land not Inhabited" 
 
 OF course much time had been lost in 
 the pursuit of the horse, and though 
 at first it seemed to Wayne an impos 
 sible task for him to pursue his jour 
 ney on foot, nevertheless he pushed manfully 
 on, knowing that his only hope was to reach 
 the camp where they were probably awaiting 
 him. Refusing to yield to despair, he wrote 
 notices of the direction he had taken and 
 posted them on trees in an open space. Fully 
 convinced that he was on the right trail, he felt 
 that sooner or later the party would come up 
 with him. 
 
 Through all that day he had cast aside dis 
 mal forebodings and cheered himself with the 
 hope that before many hours he would be 
 laughing and talking over his adventure with 
 his companions. It was not until the shadows 
 of night again closed around him, and he at 
 tempted to build a fire, that he realized and 
 admitted to himself the extreme peril of his 
 situation. Alone in an unexplored wilderness, 
 
 299 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 no food, no fire, nor means to provide any, 
 surrounded by wild beasts, and famishing with 
 hunger. What could he do ? Nothing. Ab 
 solutely nothing ; at least, not that night. Faint 
 from hunger and weary beyond expression, he 
 sank down among the branches of a thick 
 growth of stunted pines. He looked up to 
 find the sky, but all was inky darkness. The 
 wind sighed dolefully through the trees, the 
 woods seemed alive with the screeching of 
 night-birds and the dismal howl of the wolf. 
 These sounds had had no terrors when resting 
 by a blazing campfire surrounded by compan 
 ions, but now they were fearful. 
 
 Despite the awfulness of it all he slept at 
 intervals through the long, hideous night. At 
 the first glimmer of day he crept out, stiff and 
 sore, to pursue his dreary journey, hope again 
 springing up to delude him into the belief that 
 he should momentarily descry the smoke of the 
 camp or hear a signal. Hour after hour passed, 
 and he travelled on in what seemed a limitless, 
 never ending treadmill. When another night 
 drew its shadows about him he sank down in 
 despair. He was lost ! He must resign him 
 self to die there, far from any human soul, to 
 die of starvation or be torn to pieces by wild 
 beasts, with no fire to hinder their approach. 
 His safety could be accounted for thus far only 
 by the belief that angels encamped about him 
 300 
 
"A Land not Inhabited"" 
 
 during those terrible nights and defended him 
 while he slept. 
 
 In the morning, while the sense of weakness 
 from hunger and thirst was great, he yet girded 
 himself anew to meet the new day. He re 
 membered a statement of a certain philosopher, 
 which was that Providence had implanted in 
 every man a principle of self-preservation equal 
 to any emergency which did not destroy his 
 reason. The thought put new vigor into him. 
 Why should he perish like an animal ? He 
 would not. Force of will would sustain him, 
 allay hunger, and bring him out victorious. 
 And again began the measured tramp of the 
 lonely traveller through the vast forest, crack 
 ling twigs, and the matins of million birds 
 alone breaking the solemn stillness. As often 
 as he sank from exhaustion after scrambling 
 over logs and through thickets, he would rouse 
 himself with the reminder that his rescue de 
 pended upon himself. 
 
 As he groped and stumbled over fallen trees, 
 or crouched by night beneath branches to pro 
 tect him from cold winds, he had bitter thoughts 
 of that God who is said to rule and govern all 
 things. How could he be expected to think 
 of God as a Father? It was strange fatherly 
 care that had allowed his whole life to be em 
 bittered by a chain of cruel circumstances and 
 now left him alone in the wilderness to perish 
 
 301 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 from starvation or to be torn to pieces by wild 
 beasts. Yet foolish people prated of His pro 
 tecting care. He had always believed that 
 there was a powerful, wonderful Being who 
 created the universe ; but as for His controll 
 ing it and caring for his creatures that was a 
 delusion. 
 
 But here he came to a difficulty. Surely, his 
 mother s God was a Father, for she had com 
 mended her child to Him with her last breath, 
 praying that he might be shielded from all evil ; 
 and she had loved her Father in heaven as she 
 loved nothing earthly. 
 
 Probably a few choice spirits knew how to 
 secure His favor for themselves, but certainly 
 it did not extend to their children. His 
 mother s dying prayer had not been answered. 
 How could he for one moment think that God 
 loved him when he had been denied the happi 
 ness that belongs to youth, and had been fairly 
 pursued with evil ; a bitter, life-long enemy 
 raised up in his own home, and his father 
 alienated from him. His years of young man 
 hood, too, had been shadowed by another cloud 
 his conscience made a loud protest just here, 
 declaring that this later trial was of his own 
 making, but he was too irritated to heed it. It 
 was a miserable ending of a most miserable life, 
 he told himself. A few days more, and he 
 should perish. 
 302 
 
"A Land not Inhabited" 
 
 Famished, thirsty, footsore, he dragged his 
 weary limbs unflinchingly on, till he emerged 
 from the forest into an open space and beheld, 
 lying at the foot of the hills, a broad, beautiful 
 lake glittering in the sunshine. The supply of 
 drinking water in his flask, which he had treas 
 ured like gold dust, was gone, and his thirst 
 had become almost intolerable. The sight of 
 that wealth of water put new life into him. 
 Never in all his life had the sense of taste 
 been satisfied as in that long drink of cold 
 water of crystal clearness. Revived, he reso 
 lutely refused to think of his swift-coming fate, 
 while he gave his whole soul to the worship of 
 Nature here in her very temple. It was an 
 enchanting scene, a silver lake of broad ex 
 panse and lovely curves was fringed on one 
 side by the dark forest. A mountain range 
 reflected itself in the water, stretching away 
 peak on peak as far as the eye could reach, 
 and, curling about them, softening the rugged 
 outlines, was the ascending vapor from num 
 berless hot springs. The brilliant jet of a mag 
 nificent geyser added unearthly beauty to the 
 scene, while the bluest of skies overarched all. 
 
 " Nature, with folded hands, seemed there 
 Kneeling at her evening prayer." 
 
 These lines came into Wayne s mind as the 
 sweet, entrancing beauty of the scene stole upon 
 
 33 
 
By IVay of the Wilderness. 
 
 his senses. It was a triumph of spirit over 
 flesh that this famished, jaded being could 
 stand even a few brief moments in adoring 
 reverence, hunger and weariness forgotten in 
 joy of beholding this marvellous beauty. He 
 was soon irritated at himself though that, de 
 spite all the grandeur about him, it began to 
 be as nothing compared with the sound of a 
 friendly human voice or a crust of bread. 
 
 Wayne Pierson had sometimes fancied that 
 he set little store by life, but during the last 
 few days the words, " All that a man hath will 
 he give for his life," had come true in his ex 
 perience. 
 
 While he yet gazed over the broad expanse 
 of the lake he spied something that set his 
 pulses throbbing wildly. Surely, in the dis 
 tance he could see a canoe, and in it an oars 
 man, and, O joy ! it was rapidly approaching 
 the shore where he stood. He paced the beach 
 in excitement, while visions of food and friends 
 and safety filled his mind. Nearer and nearer 
 it came, and now he discovered that it was not 
 a canoe at all, but a cruel delusion. To his 
 bitter disappointment a huge pelican presently 
 stalked from the water, flapped its dragon-like 
 wings, and flew to the top of a tall pine in the 
 distance. It was then that Wayne Pierson s 
 courage failed, and he cast himself upon the 
 sand, face downward, in despairing agony, 
 
 34 
 
"A Land not Inhabited? 
 
 as the horrors of the situation closed about 
 him. 
 
 The day was drawing to a close, and he must 
 search for the safest place to spend the night. 
 As the last rays of the sun fell upon lake and 
 mountain and shore, he had no heart to drink 
 in the beauty of the scene, although it did not 
 escape him. His attention was attracted 
 though, in the golden light that brought out 
 everything distinctly, to a small plant of bright 
 green. He went over to one and pulled it up 
 by the root. It was long and tapering, not un 
 like a radish. Class, Syngenesia : of the genus 
 Carduus, the scholar promptly decided ; in 
 plain English, one of the thistle family. He 
 tasted it. It was palatable ; the first thing he 
 had found that could be called food in all those 
 four days of fasting. He ate it eagerly, joyfully, 
 involuntarily contrasting the state of the man 
 who, during most of his life, had scarcely given 
 a thought to daily bread, with this poor wretch 
 who counted a thistle root a heaven-sent bless 
 ing. It seemed to be nutritious and there was 
 abundance of it growing about, and now it was 
 certain he should not die of starvation as long 
 as it could be found. With hunger and thirst 
 appeased, there came a wonderful revulsion of 
 feeling. He grew almost cheerful, and set about 
 selecting a place for the night, finding it in a 
 sheltered spot between two trees which stood 
 
 35 
 
By IVay of the Wilderness. 
 
 so near together that the low-growing, inter 
 woven branches made quite a luxurious couch. 
 If only he had his blanket which was fastened 
 to the horse. Poor Liph, where was he, and 
 how fared it with him ? Wayne did not give 
 himself up to slumber at once that night. The 
 spot was even more entrancing with the light 
 of a full moon glorifying it ; opportunities like 
 this must not be wasted in sleep. He seated 
 himself on a bluff that overlooked the won 
 drous panorama, and gazed in delight. The 
 quiet scene soothed and calmed him. The 
 lovely lake, with shimmering waters and setting 
 of mountain and forest, reminded him of scenes 
 among the hills of Palestine, and of a hymn he 
 had often sung ; he softly hummed the air, and 
 then the magnificent voice, that choirs and con 
 certs counted it a privilege to obtain, lifted it 
 self up in song, mountains and forest reechoing 
 the words of the simple strains. 
 
 " Calm on the listening ear of night, 
 Come heaven s melodious strains, 
 Where wild Judea stretches far 
 Her silver-mantled plains. 
 Celestial choirs from courts above 
 Shed sacred glories there, 
 And angels with their sparkling lyres 
 Make music on the air. 
 
 "The answering hills of Palestine 
 Send back the glad reply, 
 
 306 
 
"A Land not Inhabited? 
 
 And greet from all their holy heights 
 The day spring from on high. 
 O er the blue depths of Galilee 
 There comes a holier calm ; 
 And Sharon waves in solemn praise 
 Her silent groves of palm." 
 
 It was not alone the voice of Nature speak 
 ing to the desolate man in the solemn beauty 
 of the night. The spirit of God had followed 
 him even to " the uttermost parts of the earth." 
 A strange awe came upon him and a conscious 
 ness that God was a real, living Being. He 
 had read scores of times that " all things were 
 made by Him," but that night, in the midst of 
 beauty so unearthly, it was written in the skies 
 and on the earth. " The hand that made us 
 is divine." And then the words of a chant 
 came to him with an irresistible desire to sing 
 them. The sublime grandeur of the spot 
 fitted the stately measures better than frescoed 
 ceilings and carved pillars. Never had he 
 sung them in the choir-loft while worshippers 
 hung upon the words as now in the silence, 
 the mountain walls sending back the echoes. 
 " Lift up your heads, O ye gates, and be ye 
 lift up, ye everlasting doors, and the King of 
 glory shall come in. Who is this King of 
 glory ? The Lord, strong and mighty." 
 
 He went through the beautiful chant to the 
 end, decorously, as if in sound of an audience, 
 
 37 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 and there came to him for a brief moment the 
 sense of a majestic Presence. It seemed, in 
 the sacred stillness of that hour, that there 
 were but two beings in the universe, God and 
 himself, and that he was being searched by 
 penetrative eyes. Never before had he ex 
 perienced so great a sense of condemnation 
 and self-abasement. There came into his 
 heart, for the first time in his life, a longing 
 for reconciliation with this strong and mighty 
 One. Had he come out to this wilderness to 
 find Him ? He remembered Aunt Crete s 
 remark, years ago, that some people had to go 
 through life like the children of Israel, by way 
 of the wilderness, because they could be sub 
 dued in no other way. Dear Aunt Crete ! 
 What would she say if she knew he was on 
 the way to-night through a veritable wilder 
 ness ? 
 
 These feelings had for the time driven away 
 the haunting thoughts of the horrors of his 
 situation. He threw himself down to rest 
 among the branches, with face upturned to the 
 sky, and fell asleep with this hush upon his 
 spirit. How long he slept he knew not. A 
 fearful sound awakened him. He knew at 
 once that the loud, shrill scream, like that of 
 a human being in distress, came from a moun 
 tain lion. There was no mistaking that dread 
 ful voice, for he had heard it often in the 
 308 
 
"A Land not Inhabited? 
 
 distance and been deceived by it. Now it 
 was so near as to cause every nerve to thrill 
 with terror. Involuntarily he answered the 
 yell by another, intending to frighten the beast 
 in turn, then seizing a branch of the tree 
 sprang lightly into it and hurriedly scrambled 
 from limb to limb as near the top as safety 
 would allow. The savage beast was growling 
 below, snuffing the boughs which had formed 
 Wayne s bed but a moment before. He an 
 swered every growl of the lion with one almost 
 as terrible, which seemed to infuriate it still 
 more. Terrified beyond measure, Wayne in 
 creased his voice to its utmost volume, while 
 he frantically broke branches from the tree and 
 hurled them at the howling creature. 
 
 Apparently it was in vain. It could not be 
 frightened away. To Wayne s horror the lion 
 began to make the circuit of the tree as if to 
 select a spot for springing into it. Then the 
 victim shook the tree until every limb rustled 
 with the motion, but still the fearful beast pur 
 sued its catlike tread, circling about the tree, 
 lashing the ground with its tail, and howling 
 furiously. The thick branches cast shadows so 
 that neither foe could see the other, but when 
 Wayne heard the howls on one side of the tree, 
 he made lightning-like leaps to the other side, 
 while cold chills crept over him at thought of 
 being torn to pieces by the monster. Expecting 
 
 39 
 
By Jf^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 each instant that the fearful leap would be 
 made, he tried to prepare himself for the con 
 flict which he felt must soon come. Suddenly 
 it occurred to him that he would try silence. 
 Accordingly he clasped the trunk of the tree 
 with both arms and kept perfectly still. 
 
 Meantime the lion raged, and howled, and 
 tramped its circle round, filling the forest with 
 echoes of its fearful howls. Suddenly it imi 
 tated the example of its victim and became 
 silent also. Terrible minutes passed. The 
 silence of the beast was even more fearful than 
 to hear it crashing through the brushwood, 
 as now Wayne did not know from what direc 
 tion to expect it. After a silence that seemed 
 like hours, the creature gave a spring through 
 the thicket and ran screaming away into the 
 forest. Wayne, almost fainting from exhaus 
 tion, climbed down from the tree, strange to 
 say into his former bed, and instantly dropped 
 into a deep sleep, from which he did not awaken 
 until the sun was high the next day. He shud 
 dered when he recalled the experience of the 
 night before, and was tempted in the first wak 
 ing moments to believe it to have been only 
 a hideous dream, but his torn clothing and 
 broken branches lying about the tree testified 
 to a horrible reality. 
 
 He refused to go over the dreadful thing in 
 imagination, and hastened to the shore of the 
 310 
 
"A Land not Inhabited? 
 
 lake to feast his eyes again upon beauty such 
 as he had never looked upon before in any 
 land. The morning sunshine had brought out 
 from their hiding places the dwellers in this 
 favored spot. The place teemed with life. 
 Mocking-birds trilled out gay songs, and flocks 
 of swans sported on the quiet lake. Mink and 
 beaver swam about unscared, and soft-skinned 
 otters performed funny aquatic gymnastics. 
 Deer, elk, and mountain sheep had not fled at 
 the explorer s approach, but gazed upon him 
 with wide, innocent eyes, and he told himself 
 with grim humor that they probably considered 
 him one of their unknown kinsmen. 
 
 The hope that he should find his party en 
 camped on the shore of this lovely lake was 
 crushed when he surveyed it with his glass and 
 saw no signs, and especially when there came 
 no answering signal to the shrill whistle that 
 he blew. 
 
 3 11 
 
XXIII. 
 
 " / will fear no Evil" 
 
 THE next few hours brought a marked 
 change in the atmosphere, the ther 
 mometer having fallen with surprising 
 rapidity. A storm of mingled snow 
 and rain, common to those high latitudes, had 
 set in, and Wayne, whose clothing was not 
 suited to the cold weather, with benumbed rin 
 gers gathered the few thistle roots that grew 
 about there, then hastened to prepare a place 
 of shelter from the storm. There was a 
 friendly spruce near with low-growing, wide- 
 spreading limbs. About these he heaped 
 other branches laid thickly together to keep 
 out the winds. When done it was a sort of 
 wigwam with boughs piled in one corner for a 
 bed. Into this refuge he crept, first filling his 
 flask with water. 
 
 The delay occasioned by the storm would 
 make the prospect of rejoining his companions 
 more doubtful than ever. It began to be plain 
 to him that if ever he escaped from that wil 
 derness, it must be by his own unaided efforts. 
 
 312 
 
"/ will fear no Evil.^ 
 
 For two days the east wind roared, the storm 
 raged, and the prisoner in his house of spruce 
 did the only thing left to be done, he thought. 
 He went back, as far as memory reached, to 
 the brightness of his early childhood. He 
 lived over again the Sabbaths with his mother, 
 and then was reminded to count the days since 
 his separation from the party, and discovered 
 that that day was the Sabbath. To pass the 
 time away, he began to repeat aloud psalms 
 and chapters that he had learned to recite to 
 his mother. He lingered on one verse in the 
 Twenty-third Psalm, " Yea, though I walk 
 through the valley of the shadow of death 
 thou art with me." The valley of the shadow 
 of death ! That was where he was on that 
 Sabbath. 
 
 " I will fear no evil." It must be comfort 
 ing, he mused, to have a faith like that. If he 
 could but feel that the Lord was near now 
 comforting him, it would relieve the desolation ; 
 but he could not conceive of himself as ever 
 attaining to such a state. His mother had 
 faith, and Enid had it. And then his thoughts 
 drifted off to Enid. He could see her in church 
 now as he had often watched her, with earnest 
 face upturned to the preacher, and clear eyes 
 reflecting the truth she drank in. Would she 
 care if she knew of the terrible ordeal through 
 which he was passing ? A long time he spent 
 
By Jf^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 recalling the scenes of the last summer, bring 
 ing to sound and sight all her lovely words and 
 ways. Again he heard her singing a gay carol 
 or the tender strains of a hymn sweet and low. 
 What a rare face was hers, with lovely eyes 
 sincere and sweet ! It was a face that one 
 would not meet twice in a lifetime, not even 
 among old world pictures and statues ; and the 
 reason was apparent : it was not mere charm of 
 shape or color, but the lovely character shone 
 from her eyes sincere and sweet, and told of 
 one who scorned deceits and affectations, who 
 lived not for her own pleasure, whose tongue 
 dropped words of kindness, whose hands were 
 helping hands. Had he lost her forever, this 
 white-souled girl ? he resolutely put away fur 
 ther thoughts of her. It was insupportable 
 that she had probably learned by this time to 
 think of him as one beneath her notice. He 
 must set his mind upon something absorbing 
 or he should lose his reason. It is doubtful if 
 this would not have happened could he have 
 read a letter Enid received about that time. 
 
 Leon Hamilton, after several years abroad, 
 had returned to his native land. To all ap 
 pearances he had outgrown youthful follies, 
 and was pronounced handsome, cultured, genial, 
 charming, by a large circle of friends. He 
 soon visited Enid s home to renew his acquaint 
 ance with his mother s old friends. His man- 
 
 3 4 
 
"/ will fear no Evil? 
 
 ner and conversation were calculated to deceive 
 the very elect. Thoughtful, earnest, courteous, 
 with lofty sentiments on all moral questions, 
 Mrs. Wilmer was delighted with him, and even 
 Enid could but feel that he was greatly changed. 
 In anticipation of this visit he had studied up 
 certain questions from a Christian s point of 
 view that he might be furnished with a sort 
 of passport to Enid s favor. Thus he had the 
 language of Canaan at his tongue s end. And 
 yet Enid s intuitions distrusted him, for which 
 she blamed herself. To atone for this and to 
 please her mother she consented to correspond 
 with him occasionally on account of old friend 
 ship s sake. A paragraph in a letter received 
 from him ran thus : 
 
 " I presume that you have heard that Wayne 
 Pierson has fled from the world into the wilder 
 ness, joining an exploring expedition in the far 
 West. And it was none too soon. I am sorry 
 to say he was having trouble on account of a 
 love affair. It seems that he has broken the 
 heart of a country damsel, literally, for she 
 has lately died. Her father and mother, natu 
 rally, are much stirred up over it and have 
 vowed vengeance upon him. 
 
 " I had hoped that as he grew older he would 
 have learned wisdom. Perhaps you are aware 
 that love-making is an old weakness of his. 
 He got into serious trouble several times from 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 that cause while in college; seemed to have no 
 scruples about engaging himself to two or 
 three girls at one time. One would never sus 
 pect him of it, either. He really has a talent 
 for deception. While his manner is most im 
 pressively courteous to all womankind, he yet 
 assumes something like indifference toward 
 them, which diverts suspicion from him. I 
 very much regret that any person, even slightly 
 connected with me, should have been guilty of 
 so great a crime as winning the affections of a 
 young, ignorant girl, merely for his own amuse 
 ment/ 
 
 The thought that the day was Sunday and 
 that Enid was probably in church sent Wayne 
 back again to the Bible. So would he be 
 nearer to her with thoughts in harmony. What 
 would he not give for a Bible now ? However, 
 he had read it through twice, and when a child 
 had committed much of it to memory. There 
 were whole chapters and psalms that he should 
 never forget, and scattered passages without 
 number. He did not know then, and not until 
 long afterward did it dawn upon him that the 
 wise mother had not been haphazard in her 
 selections ; they really embodied a system of 
 theology : sin, repentance, and peace with God. 
 He set himself now the task of recalling every 
 thing he knew about it: the life in Eden, the 
 sad ending of it ; the sins and wanderings of 
 316 
 
44 / will fear no Evil" 
 
 God s chosen people, their restoration ; the birth 
 of the Redeemer and justification by faith. He 
 knew it all intellectually this cultured young 
 man, for he prized the Bible as being rich in liter 
 ary lore; but the mystery of redemption was to 
 him a mystery still. A fool may solve it if he 
 will, and a wise man may know it under the same 
 conditions, but either has power to draw bolts 
 and bars so that the spirit will not enter. 
 
 He did not hurry through the repetition of 
 these as a schoolboy might ; he stopped to an 
 alyze and reflect, and finally he began to feel 
 amazed that anybody should have the temerity 
 to stand out against God. It was really absurd 
 for a poor, weak man to lift his head in defi 
 ance of a Being so strong and glorious. He 
 did not feel self-condemned in this. He had 
 always reverenced God. But after all, cold rev 
 erence was unsatisfying. True loyalty meant 
 more than this. Had he during all these years 
 been a rebel ? Had he been trying to bring 
 unacceptable sacrifices to the altar like those 
 old Jews whom God had rejected, declaring to 
 them that obedience was better than sacrifice P 
 Really, he was something like them. He had 
 tried to find favor with God by a correct life 
 and elevated moral principles, when he knew it 
 had been written, " The sacrifices of God are a 
 broken spirit " and a " contrite heart." It be 
 gan to seem like insufferable conceit and inso- 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 lence, as if he had said to God by his life: 
 "You are mistaken in me, I am not a com 
 mon sinner by any means that I can get down 
 and repent. I have nothing much to repent 
 of. I aim to be right and true, but I cannot 
 go further. Your requirements are too hard 
 for me to comply with, moreover. You have 
 said, c Love your enemies, bless them that curse 
 you, and pray for them that despitefully use 
 you/ This is most unreasonable and impossi 
 ble, and I cannot and will not do it." 
 
 It was appalling that he had in effect said 
 this to the great and mighty God. He was 
 now having his just deserts in being left to 
 perish. Why had God not long ago stricken 
 him down in anger? And then he remembered 
 " slow to anger, long-suffering, of tender mercy." 
 Certainly he was far out of the way. But where 
 was the remedy? He had not a contrite heart, 
 and he was no more ready to forgive his enemies 
 than he ever had been. His haughty spirit, too ; 
 how could the pride ever be taken out and he 
 be made meek and loving ? It was an utter 
 impossibility, and yet he longed to have the 
 favor of the glorious Lord, strong and mighty, 
 and he longed to be made fit to dwell with Him 
 through the eternity upon which he might soon 
 enter. 
 
 When the weary day had drifted into the 
 night, the heart-sick, desolate man knelt by his 
 
 318 
 
"/ will fear no Evil^ 
 
 bed of pine boughs. He had not bowed his 
 knee in private prayer since he was a boy, and 
 no words came now, only an infinite longing, 
 an inarticulate cry to the Lord of all from one 
 of His helpless human creatures the cry of a 
 soul who had come to know his poverty and 
 wretchedness, and now cast himself down at the 
 feet of the Ruler of the universe with a cry for 
 mercy. That was as far as he could reach then. 
 He had read and reread of Jesus Christ the 
 Saviour ; but the blessed way of deliverance 
 was as yet hidden from his eyes so hard 
 is it for the wise to understand the way of 
 salvation. 
 
 The next morning the sky was still gray, but 
 there was a lull in the storm, and the traveller, 
 benumbed with cold, rose early, and started in 
 the direction of a group of hot springs that 
 were steaming in the distance under the shadow 
 of a mountain. It was not long though before 
 the storm set in again with renewed force. Wet 
 and chilled through by the time he reached 
 the place, the warmth of the incrusted sand was 
 most grateful. When warmed through he 
 took a survey of his new quarters, and selected 
 a spot between two springs near together. 
 There by the aid of his knife, a priceless treas 
 ure, he built another bower of pine branches, 
 carpeted it with small, fine ones, made a bed of 
 the same, and prepared to stow himself away 
 
By H^ay of the IVilderness. 
 
 for a long rest, for he had heard that these 
 storms sometimes lasted several days. 
 
 Thistles grew all about his new abode, and 
 in convenient reach was a small, round, boiling 
 spring which he called his dinner pot. In an 
 obscure pocket he fortunately discovered a 
 small ball of twine, so, tying his roots in 
 bunches, he suspended them in the bubbling 
 pot Nature had provided. When thoroughly 
 cooked they were really quite palatable. With 
 warmth and food he could be almost comforta 
 ble, except for the fear of wild beasts; but while 
 the storm lasted, the danger from them would 
 not be so great. During several days of im 
 prisonment he employed much of his time in 
 cooking, and writing in his note-book. The 
 chirography was microscopical, for paper was 
 limited ; but there were notes on the scenery, 
 the trials and pleasures of the journey, his 
 thoughts about different things, and his adven 
 tures. Any employment was delightful. If 
 paper had been more abundant, he would have 
 written a book. He even sighed for an axe 
 that he might chop trees anything to make 
 the leaden hours go faster. 
 
 When all else was done he could think. 
 There was no limit to that nor to the pleasures 
 of memory, thanks to an unusual gift in that 
 line. He enriched his solitude by recalling 
 some of the books he had read : history, poetry, 
 320 
 
44 / will fear no Evil." 
 
 and fiction. He revisited picture galleries in 
 foreign lands, and, being one who can vividly 
 bring past scenes back to him, he revelled again 
 in treasures of art, painting, and sculpture. 
 Among others he vividly recalled a face of the 
 Christ painted by the one man who has ever 
 caught a satisfying glimpse of what we love to 
 think the face of the Master must have been 
 like, the one pictured face that unites sweetness 
 with divine dignity, and infinite tenderness with 
 power and majesty. He lingered long on it, 
 and passages of Scripture concerning the man, 
 Christ Jesus, the Redeemer, came to him and 
 interpreted themselves in the light of that face. 
 " He was a man of sorrows and acquainted with 
 grief." " He was led as a lamb to the slaugh 
 ter." " He was oppressed, and He was af 
 flicted; yet He opened not His mouth." "The 
 Lord hath laid on Him the iniquities of us all." 
 Yes, it was all there : the sadness, the self- 
 abnegation, and self-repression. And there, 
 too, was the power and the purity which made 
 hypocrisy and uncleanness slink away at his 
 rebuke. How easy to imagine Him with that 
 face offender pity saying, " Come unto Me, all 
 ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will 
 give you rest." " Him that cometh unto Me, 
 I will in no wise cast out." Passage after pas 
 sage came to his mind, and then, little by little, 
 the story told itself. At last it all loomed up 
 
 321 
 
By J^ay of the W^ilderness. 
 
 before him. The way to God was through 
 Christ, the atoning sacrifice for our sins. The 
 ransom had been paid. The gift of eternal life 
 was held out to all who would receive it, and 
 become loyal subjects of the Lord Jesus Christ. 
 He saw it clearly now. How blind and stupid 
 he had been that he had not seen it long before ! 
 He reflected though that since he had grown 
 to manhood the years had been given to hurry 
 ing up and down in the pursuit of knowledge. 
 Never had he spent two consecutive hours on 
 "the greatest thing in the world." " The truth 
 shall make you free." If a soul cannot be 
 brought face to face with truth, how then shall 
 it be saved ? Although no light from heaven 
 shone round about him as blazed about Saul 
 of Tarsus, the light came into his heart, and he 
 looked into the face of the Christ and saw there 
 pity and forgiveness before he had asked for 
 it. And then there rushed over him a crush 
 ing sense of unworthiness, of condemnation, 
 of black ingratitude, and insolent rebellion. 
 Again he knelt in prayer, and this time there 
 were words, and tears, and repentings. He 
 made no compact with the Lord that if He 
 would deliver him from the wilderness he 
 would serve Him all the days of his life. He 
 had not thought of his own misery ; it was so 
 wonderful that he was really talking with Jesus 
 Christ who seemed near him. And he made 
 322 
 
"/ will fear no Rvil^ 
 
 no promises. He confessed his sin, declaring 
 his bankruptcy, and then cast himself into the 
 arms of his Saviour to do with as He would. 
 He had not the least idea that he had not only 
 come to Christ in the most acceptable way, but 
 had taken a long stride into the religious life. 
 
 Some one wise in soul lore has said, " What 
 Christ is to us depends upon what we are will 
 ing to be to Him." 
 
 When this wanderer in the wilderness, deso 
 late, with spirit subdued and humbled, had cast 
 himself upon Christ with the abandon of a child, 
 God honored the simple faith and revealed Christ 
 as a forgiving Saviour. The troubled soul took 
 Him at His word, and forgot cold and hunger 
 and loneliness in this strange experience. His 
 heart sprang up to meet his Master and to pledge 
 life-long allegiance. In the ardor of his joy he 
 longed to do something for Him. He would 
 be His slave anything. He had attained to 
 an experience which many reach only after years 
 of struggle. Why should it not be so ? The 
 blessing waits only for conditions to be fulfilled. 
 
 " When the Comforter is come He shall 
 teach you all things, and bring all things to 
 your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto 
 you." And sweetly was this promise verified 
 to the young man during those days of im 
 prisonment. Texts long-forgotten came to 
 strengthen faith and deepen trust. It was 
 
 3 2 3 
 
By H^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 precious, too, when night came, to kneel and 
 ask protection, believing that now Jehovah, 
 King of Kings and Lord of Lords, the Crea 
 tor and Ruler of the earth, was in Christ a 
 living, loving Friend lighting the gloom. And 
 it brought sweet assurance as he stretched him 
 self on his bed of pine boughs to remember 
 words like these : 
 
 " I will both lay me down in peace and sleep, 
 for thou, Lord, only makest me to dwell in 
 safety. * " The angel of the Lord encampeth 
 round about them that fear Him, and deliver- 
 eth them." 
 
 And he did lay him down and sleep, though 
 the voice of the wolf and the mountain lion 
 might often be heard in the distance. The 
 One who created them was his defender now, 
 and if they came and did their worst, death 
 was not the terrible thing it had once seemed 
 to be. Indeed, most things looked different, 
 now that he had a tender, grateful heart. He 
 remembered his escape from the paws of the 
 lion, and thanked God that His protecting care 
 had been about him and delivered him in that 
 strange, unexpected way. Then, too, he had 
 been guided to the hot springs during the cold 
 storm, or he must have perished another in 
 stance of the kind care over him. And now 
 a wonderful thing had come to pass. He had 
 learned to say, " I will fear no evil." 
 
 3 2 4 
 
XXIV. 
 
 A Weary Way* 
 
 DURING some of the time of his im 
 prisonment, Wayne had racked his 
 brain in contriving means for mak 
 ing himself more comfortable. With 
 the aid of his pocket knife and the invaluable 
 ball of twine, he mended his clothes. It was 
 a pitiful sight : the man with an elegant ward 
 robe and large bank account, repairing tattered 
 garments by punching holes in each side of a 
 rent and lacing it together with twine; and 
 then in a painstaking way trying to fashion 
 a fish-hook from a pin, and rigging out a 
 sapling for a fish-pole, afterward standing a 
 weary while on the shore to catch a few little 
 fishes. No morsel was ever sweeter, though, 
 than they, when cooked in the boiling spring. 
 
 Nothing gave Wayne more concern than the 
 want of fire, for he felt that without it he could 
 not hope to endure many storms like the one 
 he had been through; besides, it gave cheer 
 and comfort and safety in the night. 
 
 The very day the storm abated and the sun 
 
 3 2 5 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 once more appeared in the sky, Wayne stood 
 on the beach watching the clouds break and 
 drift away. As the sunlight flashed on the 
 waters of the lake it also flashed an idea into 
 his mind, which was, that the lens of his field 
 glass would bring fire from heaven. He tried 
 the experiment at once, and trembled with ex 
 citement when he saw the smoke curl from a 
 bit of dry wood in his fingers. Joy ! joy ! he 
 had fire once more. He thanked God and 
 took courage. 
 
 And now he was obliged to be most indus 
 trious, fishing and gathering thistle roots in 
 preparation for continuing his journey. He 
 dried the fish and dried some of the thistle 
 roots, cooking others. It cost him a pang to 
 think of leaving his comfortable quarters. The 
 spot was growing dear to him. Nevertheless, 
 he bade it a final farewell, and started once more 
 on his journey with renewed courage, in the 
 direction which he still faintly hoped might 
 lead to the encampment of the rest of the 
 party. 
 
 As he walked and mused he fell to imagin 
 ing their conjectures concerning him and what 
 means they were taking for his rescue. The 
 belief that they were surely searching for him 
 was comforting. He surmised, too, that some 
 of the party might retrace their steps to civili 
 zation and secure the aid of experienced men, 
 326 
 
A T^eary Way. 
 
 thoroughly armed and inured to the hardships 
 of life on the frontier. Macfarlan, he knew, 
 would leave no stone unturned for his deliver 
 ance. His father, too, would be informed ; his 
 later kindlier judging of his father assured him 
 that everything possible for his rescue would 
 be attempted. As for Aunt Crete, she would 
 arouse the whole country as far as in her lay, 
 and sell the house from over her head, if nec 
 essary, to save him. And this reminded him 
 that he must write Aunt Crete about the 
 wonderful change that had come to him there 
 on the wild shores of the beautiful lake, and 
 how her warning, spoken long ago to the boy, 
 had been prophetic. 
 
 He almost regretted now that he had sent 
 her a letter just before he had set out on the 
 expedition, telling her of his purpose. What 
 cruel anxieties she had suffered already and 
 would suffer! At least, there was one person 
 on the earth whose prayers in his behalf were 
 strong and fervent. Was there another ? Did 
 Enid remember him in that way ? It would 
 lighten his burden if he could but be assured 
 of it. He was almost sure that his name came 
 into her prayers in one way, as we ask sadly 
 for a wandering one that he may be reclaimed 
 and saved, but that was different from agonized 
 petitions for those we love as our lives. No, 
 there was but one that he could be sure of, 
 
 3 2 7 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 who thus bore him on her love before the 
 Lord. 
 
 He sat down on a log and began the letter 
 in his note-book, that perchance might some 
 day reach her how, he could not now tell. 
 Perhaps he might be rescued, just as he was 
 at the end ; then pitying strangers would take 
 the message from his limp body and send it 
 on its way. 
 
 The letter was not quite finished when he 
 became aware of a change in the atmosphere. 
 There was a chill northeast wind blowing. He 
 must have a fire. He examined the torch 
 which he carried with him, but there was not 
 even one smouldering spark of life. He 
 brought out his lens and touch-wood ; alas ! 
 there was no sun, and the sky was overcast 
 with heavy clouds. A fire was impossible. 
 Hours passed and he waited for the sun : it 
 came not, but night, dark and cold and dis 
 mal, came. In distress he looked about him. 
 
 It was a bare, open place, a bleak hillside 
 with a few scattered pines ; and it was all the 
 shelter he could find. Through the long night 
 he could keep from freezing only by brisk walk 
 ing up and down, clapping his hands, and strik 
 ing his benumbed feet against a log. When 
 daylight appeared with a still clouded sky, he 
 decided to carry out a resolution made during 
 the longest, most terrible night of his life. He 
 
 328 
 
A 
 
 started back to his comfortable quarters by the 
 lake and hot springs. 
 
 It was a tiresome way back, but the delicious 
 warmth was most grateful to his half-frozen 
 frame. Now, he must wait two or three days 
 to recover from the effects of the night of 
 exposure. 
 
 This further delay took away the last shred 
 of hope of meeting with his companions, and 
 he set to work to make plans without reference 
 to such an event. Either of three directions 
 that he might take would effect his escape if 
 strength lasted. Accordingly, he drew upon 
 the sand of the beach a map of these several 
 courses with reference to making the lake a 
 starting-point, and set himself down to con 
 sider. 
 
 One course was to follow a certain river a 
 distance of a hundred miles or more, but that 
 was through a desolate region subject to up 
 heavals and floods. 
 
 Another was to cross the country and scale 
 a range of mountains. And the other to re 
 trace his steps over the long and weary way 
 by which he had entered the wilderness. The 
 route by the mountain range was much the 
 shortest, and he decided upon venturing upon 
 it. 
 
 Again laying in a supply of food, he started 
 once more from the place that had begun to 
 
 3 2 9 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 seem like home, and this time he felt sure that 
 he was leaving it forever. 
 
 That day s journey carried him into appar 
 ently impenetrable wilds. At noon the sun 
 came out long enough to give him fire, and he 
 kept a brand alive all the rest of the day by 
 waving it to and fro, sometimes blistering his 
 fingers by the sparks. 
 
 Toward night he kindled a fire in the only 
 clear space to be found. Never since his jour 
 ney began had he been in so dense a growth of 
 pines. The weird light of the fire revealed on 
 all sides a compact and unending growth of 
 trunks of trees with a canopy of dark foliage. 
 Wayne was actually homesick for the lovely 
 lake and the comfortable bed in the warm sand. 
 The howlings of fierce beasts seemed more hor 
 rible there in that shut-in wildness. All sorts 
 of spectral shapes disturbed his fitful slumbers. 
 Visions of a pack of yelping wolves grinned at 
 him across the fire, and a fearful monster of 
 the forest glared at him from the thicket with 
 fixed, fiery eyes. 
 
 At last the victim of nervous fancies took 
 himself in hand, sat straight up and looked 
 about him. Nothing was to be seen but leap 
 ing flames lighting up dark masses of foliage, and 
 tree-trunks straight and tall, tier on tier. He 
 remembered the word of his Lord : " Lo, I am 
 with you always." " I will never leave thee 
 
 33 
 
A Weary Way. 
 
 nor forsake thee." And then, in audible words, 
 he asked the Lord Jesus to abide with him that 
 night, and keep him, as He had promised, " from 
 fear of evil." The dark fancies were exorcised, 
 and he lay down to sweet sleep. From that 
 time on he was not lonely nor nervous. 
 
 One walked beside him with whom he talked 
 as friend with friend, and each night he lay 
 down secure in His care. 
 
 Another day of toilsome travel over, steep 
 ascents amid the tree tops brought him in sight 
 of the Yellowstone Lake, from whence he must 
 cross the country to the mountain range ; that 
 scaled, he could easily reach the settlements in 
 the valley. 
 
 Buoyed up by this hope he pushed on, and 
 toward sunset reached a lofty headland jutting 
 into the lake, and commanding a magnificent 
 prospect of mountains and valleys over an im 
 mense area. Facing him, in the clear blue of 
 the horizon, rose arrowy peaks in the far dis 
 tance. There were mountains to left, to right, 
 above him, stretching away in picturesque gran 
 deur, or majestic in lofty domes. It was a vast 
 and wondrous panorama spread out before him, 
 a grand enclosure of lake and mountains with 
 ravines, gorges, and geysers. The mineral 
 deposits of the latter had covered, with a hard, 
 white floor, many square miles of the valleys, 
 and built up craters around the springs. Vari- 
 
 33 1 
 
By Pf^ay of the JVilderness. 
 
 ous other springs containing different mineral 
 deposits had stained the pure white of the wide 
 whiteness with bright bands of color. There 
 were deep canons composed of volcanic rocks, 
 gorgeous with rich coloring ; red, yellow, and 
 purple set off against the dark green of the for 
 ests, and the white foam of the tempestuous 
 river hurrying through the bottom of the 
 chasm. 
 
 The sun, low in the west, glinted here and 
 there, and lighted, to wondrous brilliancy, the 
 jagged rocks and deepened sombre shadows. 
 
 It was magnificent ! It was marvellous! 
 
 Again Wayne forgot hunger, suffering, deso 
 lation, everything but exquisite delight, in gaz 
 ing upon the wondrous scene. 
 
 There was a sense of exultation that it was 
 his God, his Father, Friend, and Saviour, who 
 had fashioned this glorious world. He drew 
 nearer to Him on this mount of transfiguration 
 and poured out his heart in adoring worship. 
 
 Then he hastened to light his torch at the 
 sun s last rays, and clamber down this rocky 
 descent to the shore of the lake. 
 
 It was difficult and dangerous, but in his ex 
 alted mood he did not feel it to be so. This 
 continued while he wandered along the beach 
 to gather wood for the night. With thankful 
 ness he lay down to rest at last near a cheerful 
 fire, and fell asleep to the lullaby of the waves. 
 
 332 
 
A TVeary IVay. 
 
 Being quite sure that his party had encamped 
 along this lake, he set out in the morning, 
 buoyed up by the hope of finding food which 
 they had left for him. He made good prog 
 ress in his journey, by noon struck a trail, and 
 not long after came upon signs that made his 
 heart throb with hope and fear. Evidently 
 they had been there. He searched eagerly for 
 food in the ground and in the trees, but found 
 none. Neither was there any notice to apprise 
 him of their movements. Why, why had they 
 not remembered him ? Perhaps it was some 
 other party who had encamped there. He 
 should try to think so, at least. The only evi 
 dences that civilized man had ever visited the 
 spot were found in a fork and a tin can. Of 
 these he thankfully took possession. The fork 
 would be useful in digging roots, and the can 
 could serve as a cooking utensil when he 
 had anything to cook. 
 
 The disappointment of finding no food was 
 made up to him a few hours afterward. He 
 had built his campfire for the night, when he 
 discovered something lying on the ground not 
 far away, which proved to be a bird with a 
 broken wing. It was soon killed and dressed, 
 and placed in the tin can to be cooked, making, 
 what the half-starved traveller called, a most de 
 licious soup. The condiments to which he was 
 accustomed were lacking, but never had any- 
 
 333 
 
By JVay of the Wilderness. 
 
 thing been more relished, and he lay down to 
 sleep with a pleasant feeling that the Lord 
 Himself had sent him food, even as He sent it 
 to His other children long ago in the wilderness. 
 It was a monotonous life, and yet it had its 
 excitements and adventures. When clamber 
 ing a steep hillside one day, he became ex 
 hausted and lay down in the sage brush to 
 sleep for a few minutes. Awaking, he fastened 
 his belt, and hurriedly pursued his journey. 
 As night drew near, he selected a camping 
 place, gathered wood into a deep heap, and felt 
 for his glass to procure fire before the sun 
 should set. The glass was gone ! And with 
 it hope was gone. He lay down in the brush 
 wood and drew some branches over him con 
 vinced that the end would soon come. While 
 he lay there with his misery rolling over him 
 like a flood, he tried to think calmly and recall 
 every step of his journey that day. Soon it 
 flashed upon his mind that the glass had prob 
 ably slipped from his belt when he lay down to 
 sleep on the hillside. He arose at once and 
 began the weary journey back, a walk of per 
 haps five miles over the hills. Never had he 
 been more overjoyed than the next morning 
 when he came to the spot where he had slept, 
 and found the glass glittering in the sun. 
 There was not money enough in the whole 
 world to buy that glass from him. 
 
 334 
 
A 
 
 Another thrilling experience came a few 
 nights later. While the tired wanderer slept 
 soundly amid pine branches, he was awakened 
 by the snapping and crackling of burning foli 
 age, so near him that he felt its hot breath on 
 his face. He sprang up quickly to discover 
 that the forest trees nearest the campfire were 
 in a broad sheet of flame which had crept along 
 to his pine bower, and aroused him none too 
 soon, for the fire was rapidly spreading in a 
 circle about his resting place. Let us quote 
 from his note-book. 
 
 "The grandeur of the burning forest sur 
 passes description. Imagine an immense sheet 
 of flame following to^ their tops the lofty trees 
 of an almost impenetrable pine forest, leaping 
 madly from top to top, and sending thousands 
 of forked tongues hundreds of feet athwart 
 the midnight darkness. It was marvellous to 
 witness the flashlike rapidity with which the 
 flames would mount the loftiest trees. The 
 roaring, crackling, crashing, and snapping of 
 falling limbs and burning foliage was deafen 
 ing. . . . Afar up the wood-crowned heights 
 the overtopping hills shot forth pinnacles and 
 streamers of arrowy fire, the entire hillside being 
 an ocean of glowing and surging fiery billows." 
 
 As soon as it was day, Wayne hastened to 
 leave the desolated spot with blackened, naked 
 trunks ranged about like spectres, and started 
 
 335 
 
By H^ay of the W^ilderness. 
 
 to follow the trail of the party who had been in 
 camp, whoever they were. The traces were but 
 faint though, and after pursuing a course by the 
 lake for a time, seemed to turn and go back 
 ward, and then become confused. He aban 
 doned it finally, and resolved to follow no more 
 trails, but select, for a landmark, the lowest 
 notch in the range of mountains which he had 
 before proposed to cross. All the day long he 
 struggled over rocky hills, through thickets 
 and matted forests, with the goal ever in view. 
 As he advanced, it seemed to recede. On he 
 went, still another day, bracing up his courage 
 with the thought that, if once he found a pass 
 through that mountain barrier, it would mean 
 hope, and friends, and life, perhaps. 
 
 Long before he arrived at the base of the 
 range and eagerly scanned its possibilities it 
 began to grow into a cruel disappointment : 
 an endless succession of inaccessible peaks and 
 precipices, rearing themselves thousands of feet 
 defiant and grim above the plain as far as eye 
 could reach. To scale them was impossible. 
 A wave of despair seized him as he seated him 
 self on a rock commanding an extensive view. 
 He cast his eyes over the route by which he 
 had come and the only one that now seemed 
 practicable for ever getting out. Could he re 
 trace his steps over that labyrinth of mountain 
 and forest, and have had his two days journey 
 
 336 
 
A IVeary W^ay. 
 
 in vain, or should he persist in trying to find a 
 pass over the mountains ? 
 
 Why had he been allowed to so waste his 
 strength when he had cast himself on the Lord 
 and asked His protection ? And then the old 
 enemy, who can even find a soul in the wilder 
 ness, smiled. It is ever a sweet sound to him 
 to hear a saint find fault with his Lord. 
 
 No sooner had the evil suggestion come to 
 this sore heart beset on every side, than an 
 other question forced itself upon him. Had 
 he ever asked God to point out to him the 
 way out of this wilderness ? Never. He had 
 acted as if that were too hard a thing for Him 
 to do. The eye of God looked down upon 
 this trackless wild continually ; the paths were 
 all plain to Him. How strange that one who 
 believed this had not thought to ask for guid 
 ance before. 
 
 He knelt down on the rock at once, and in 
 simple words and strong faith asked to have 
 the way clearly pointed out to him. 
 
 For a long time he sat considering whether 
 to remain and search for a pass over the 
 mountain, or return by the way he had 
 come. 
 
 Half-awake and utterly worn out, he experi 
 enced one of those strange hallucinations that 
 sometimes come to weary nerves. A man 
 with a strong, kind face seemed suddenly to 
 
 337 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 appear before him, and say with a voice and 
 manner of authority : 
 
 " Go back at once as rapidly as possible. 
 There is no food here, and the idea of scal 
 ing those rocks is madness." 
 
 " But," said Wayne, " it is too far. I can 
 never live to go through it again." 
 
 " You must," his visitor answered ; " it is 
 your only chance. Start now." 
 
 " My friend, whoever you are," protested 
 Wayne, " I doubt the wisdom of your advice. 
 Just over the mountain, a few miles away, I 
 shall find friends. My clothes are in tatters. 
 My strength is almost gone. I cannot endure 
 a long journey and think I would better make 
 this last attempt." 
 
 " Don t think of it ! " the man protested. 
 " Turn back. I will go with you. Put your 
 trust in God." 
 
 Overcome by the persuasions of this strange 
 guide, and delighted with the thought of a com 
 panion, he started and began to plod over the 
 back track. His guide seemed to be invisible 
 except when the doubting traveller was disposed 
 to question the wisdom of the choice of route ; 
 then the commanding form appeared again, 
 urging him on with words of encouragement. 
 
 338 
 
XXV. 
 
 " All that is left of him." 
 
 OUT in that world from which Wayne 
 Pierson had so strangely and so 
 effectually hidden himself, life was 
 moving on in the regular routine that 
 for the most part it continues, even when the 
 grave has closed over the hopes of some. The 
 sturdy blacksmith and his desolate wife lived 
 their stricken lives as best they could, and 
 talked often, softly, in the gathering twilight, 
 of Sarah, and of how she was missed and 
 mourned in the school, in the church, and, in 
 deed, wherever their world reached ; and they 
 murmured together occasionally over that sor 
 row so much greater, they believed, than theirs, 
 and of how the broken-hearted man had tried 
 to bury his grief in the great wilderness. 
 
 " He won t find any help there," would the 
 blacksmith affirm, drawing from ^ his great 
 lungs a sigh that was almost like a sob. 
 " He ll have to learn, poor fellow, that the 
 only place to find it is in God. Seems strange 
 that he could go on knowing our Sarah all 
 these years and not find God." 
 
 339 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 Meantime, in an entirely different world 
 from theirs, those others who had been stricken 
 through the same means lived their lives as 
 best they could. Enid Wilmer and her 
 mother left the little western town where they 
 had suffered such strange experiences two days 
 after the funeral, and went to one of the nu 
 merous mountain resorts that had been allur 
 ingly pointed out to them, to await the return 
 of the husband and father. Mrs. Wilmer, 
 wise woman that she was, felt that there was 
 something beneath the surface that she did 
 not understand, and watched Enid s white, 
 quiet face with a daily increasing anxiety, and 
 resolved at last to break the strained silence. 
 
 Enid sat on the white covered lounge in 
 their room watching the afterglow of the sun 
 set, and the look on her face made her mother s 
 heart yearn over her. She dropped beside her, 
 and, drawing the brown head to her shoulder, 
 let her fingers play among the waves of hair 
 with a caressing movement that Enid knew, 
 as she said tenderly : 
 
 " Isn t it time, darling, for mother to be 
 told all about it?" 
 
 If Enid had buried her head in her mother s 
 neck and cried, the mother would have been 
 relieved. Instead, she smiled, a grave sweet 
 smile that had infinite depths of sadness in it, 
 and for a little said not a word. 
 
 34 
 
"All that is left of him" 
 
 " What should there be for me to tell, 
 mother dear ? " she asked at last, the continued 
 silence compelling her to speech. 
 
 "I don t know, daughter; it is for you to 
 say. Do you think I cannot see that my 
 child is bearing a heavy load of pain of some 
 sort ? Just what it is or why it is I do not 
 understand, but that it is real I would be blind 
 if I did not see. Have I been so poor a 
 mother that you can afford to shut me out ? " 
 
 Then the brown head went down on the 
 mother s shoulder, and the words were tremu 
 lous with tears. 
 
 " O mother ! there could never be a dearer, 
 sweeter, wiser mother than you, and if there 
 were anything to tell, don t you know how 
 swiftly I would run to you with it ; but there 
 is nothing, mamma, only " 
 
 " Yes, dear, I understand much ; it is the 
 only that I want to have explained." 
 
 " Mamma, a woman like you knows, with 
 out explanation, how hard it would be to lose 
 respect for one who had been a friend." 
 
 "Yes, that would be hard. How did it 
 happen ? " The mother was resolved now to 
 have the entire story. But she had to wait, 
 and question again. 
 
 " I am sure, darling, that you are speaking 
 of Wayne, and that you have, for some reason, 
 lost faith in him. Can you tell me what it 
 
 341 
 
By U^ay of the W^ilderness. 
 
 means ? Was Wayne more to you than ap 
 peared on the surface ? I saw his letters, you 
 know. Did they mean more than they said, 
 or was there something else, something that I 
 do not know ? " 
 
 " It is a thing that cannot be explained in 
 words ; it has to be lived. Mamma, he was not 
 true; not true to anybody. Do you under 
 stand that he was engaged to that poor girl all 
 these years ? All the time when he was abroad, 
 and that first summer before he went abroad, 
 when I was at Auntie s. It was an engagement 
 from the very first. Why did he spend his 
 time writing to me, and in visiting with me ? 
 Why did he oh! don t you know how im 
 possible it is to tell it ? Don t you feel the 
 falseness of it all ? And what was she endur 
 ing all these years ? So true a girl, so noble 
 and self-forgetful and trustful ! I feel my face 
 burning with indignation for her. She thought 
 him everything that was good and grand, and 
 so did I until I knew her. Don t you under 
 stand ? " 
 
 " Not quite, my daughter. Wayne may 
 have been very foolish to have continued a 
 friendly correspondence with you during the 
 years, but the intimacy between the two fami 
 lies might have accounted for that ; then, when 
 we were abroad, he felt that we were in a sense 
 dependent upon him. He may have given us 
 
 342 
 
"All that is left of him." 
 
 more time than was necessary, but he was far 
 away from all other friends, and lonely ; I can 
 not say that I think it was very strange. It 
 may, as I say, have been foolish, but young 
 men often err in judgment, yet it seems not 
 quite fair to call them false. There may have 
 been reasons for the long engagement that we 
 do not understand, may there not? Am I 
 hearing all that there is to hear, darling ? " 
 
 " Mother, there was a time, there was one 
 evening, it was when I was at Effie s, only 
 this summer. I did not tell you about it, 
 because I thought you would have been so 
 frightened over the peril, and there would have 
 been no need. And then, besides, such strange 
 things happened almost immediately that I did 
 not think I could tell you, but " 
 
 And then the mother heard for the first time 
 of that misstep at Table Rock and the awful 
 peril that for a moment threatened her darling. 
 She spoke no word, but tightened her clasp of 
 the cold fingers, and pressed her lips with 
 soundless kisses to the girl s fair cheek. And 
 then she heard of that word which seemed 
 wrung from the soul of the rescuer as he car 
 ried her child in his arms to safety : " Oh, my 
 darling!" 
 
 " I thought he meant it, mamma ; meant it in 
 the only way that a true man can ; and I was 
 I was happy in the thought. But the next day he 
 
 343 
 
By H^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 did not come even to the house where I was, 
 and left the morning after, with only a formal 
 message for me, as if we had been passing 
 acquaintances. I did not understand, but I 
 trusted. I thought there were reasons, noble 
 reasons, for his silence, and that I should soon 
 know all about it. And I did ! It was only two 
 weeks after that, that we drove over to Hardin 
 and I met Sarah ; and when I went to her 
 room to arrange my hair that afternoon, I saw 
 his photograph on her mantel, and letters in 
 his writing on her table. And, mamma, you 
 must understand the rest. 
 
 " I bad to stay there and find out for myself 
 what it all meant. I couldn t go away. And 
 I found out." 
 
 When Mrs. Wilmer did at last speak, what 
 she said was so utterly different from anything 
 that her daughter expected that the girl lifted 
 her head and strained her eyes in the fast wan 
 ing light to get a view of her mother s face. 
 
 Said Mrs. Wilmer : " Poor boy ! " 
 
 " I mean it, darling," she added, bending to 
 kiss the quivering lips, and the cheeks that had 
 crimsoned under the power and the pain of her 
 story. " I see how it looks to you; but I can 
 not help a touch of pity for the poor, foolish, 
 headstrong boy who had been inveigled into an 
 engagement in some way that did not represent 
 his heart, and became thenceforth a victim to 
 
 344 
 
that is left of him? 
 
 his false ideas of honor. I see it all, as plainly 
 as though he had told me the story ; and much 
 that was a mystery in his conduct is explained." 
 
 Enid twisted herself quite away from her 
 mother s encircling arm and sat erect, her eyes 
 flashing. 
 
 " Mother ! " she said, " I cannot allow even 
 you to speak in that way of Sarah or her peo 
 ple. She was true and noble and unselfish 
 to a degree that the very angels might envy. 
 I never knew a purer-hearted girl ; and those 
 people, her father and mother, they are 
 not cultured or educated r but they are true ; 
 and they have true nobility, both of them. 
 You do not understand. There was no in 
 veiglement nor deception ; not one of them 
 but would scorn to stoop to anything of the 
 kind. They were so honorable themselves 
 and knew so little of the world that they did 
 not for a moment dream of anything dis 
 honorable in the treatment they were receiv 
 ing. Poor Sarah had no word for him but 
 the loveliest trust. O mamma ! mamma ! " 
 
 The flash of indignation was gone, and she 
 lay weeping and trembling in her mother s 
 arms. 
 
 " My darling, * said Mrs. Wilmer, speaking 
 softly as to a frightened child, " I think I un 
 derstand ; and I believe with you, that the girl, 
 Sarah, was good and true and pure-hearted. 
 
 345 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 But at the same time you must let me speak 
 one word for the young man. I have watched 
 Wayne Pierson carefully, even anxiously, 
 through these years, and I believe I under 
 stand him. He has faults, grave ones, but 
 falseness is not one of them. If you ever 
 learn the whole story, I fancy you will even 
 find that it is a false idea of truth and honor 
 that has sacrificed him. I have seen people 
 before who fancied that they were bound to 
 live a lie because they had in some way, at some 
 time, been misunderstood. Undoubtedly he 
 has been foolish, and careless, possibly at times 
 reckless, he is capable of all three, but 
 never what he considers dishonorable. Per 
 haps his very gravest fault is inordinate confi 
 dence in his own judgment, and it is probably 
 that which has led him wrong. If you ever 
 hear " 
 
 Enid sat up again, her eyes dry, her face 
 burning, and interrupted her mother : " I 
 never want to hear of him again, mamma, never ! 
 The man who could speak to me as he did, and 
 look as he did, and be at the same time en 
 gaged to be married to a girl whom he had for 
 four long years taught to love and trust him, is 
 a villain. I wish I need never see him again." 
 
 Meantime, Aunt Crete was nursing her in 
 dignation and astonishment. It all came out, 
 
 34 6 
 
"All that is left of him" 
 
 of course. Matters that we desire to keep 
 from the public always do. Somebody, no one 
 took the trouble to inquire who, interested him 
 self in seeing that not only Aunt Crete but the 
 Pierson household received the local papers of 
 "Hardin Township," and not alone the West- 
 over Chronicle but half a dozen other papers as 
 well occupied space with every actual and many 
 imagined details of the tragedy that had shaken 
 the neighborhood. The name of " Wayne 
 Lorimer Pierson " must have been rolled as a 
 sweet morsel on the tongue of more than one 
 reporter, so frequently did the types have to 
 repeat it. And then, instead of returning to 
 Aunt Crete s storm of indignant questions, and 
 to the tender petting that she knew in her heart 
 would come later, her boy had taken himself 
 off to the wilderness ! 
 
 This, in truth, was the added drop too much 
 in Aunt Crete s cup. In vain she told herself 
 aloud in the privacy of her own room that it 
 was a good thing he had gone, she should 
 think he would want to hide ! In her sore heart 
 she knew that she wanted to fold her arms 
 about him at that moment. She took a little 
 satisfaction in writing to his father, that it was 
 no wonder, she was sure, that Wayne had felt 
 compelled to seek his comfort elsewhere, since 
 there was none to be had for the poor boy in 
 his own home. 
 
 347 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 And the father ? Surprise, bewilderment, 
 and indignation struggled with one another for 
 the mastery. Bewilderment was for the most 
 part uppermost. It was all so strange in 
 Wayne ! Why had he maintained such secrecy 
 even with his aunt ? There must be some 
 thing that they did not understand. And then 
 he discovered to himself that he had always 
 known that the boy was the soul of honor. 
 
 Before any of those most disturbed had had 
 time to settle to the inevitable facts and try to 
 grow used to them, followed the terrible news 
 that the traveller was lost ! His travelling com 
 panions had returned to camp and reported 
 that after the most vigorous and exhaustive 
 search they had been compelled to abandon 
 him until more help could be secured ! 
 
 The telegraph blazoned this news over the 
 country, and this time many more papers than 
 the West over Chronicle exhausted adjectives in 
 trying to conjecture the horrors of the situa 
 tion. The busy city lawyer dropped his briefs 
 and his notes of important engagements, left 
 his numberless trusts, with the briefest of hur 
 ried explanations, in the hands of others, and 
 went as far and as fast as steam could take him 
 in search of his son. It was not sufficient to 
 be assured that everything that money and 
 skilled explorers could do was being done : he 
 must go himself. What were business engage- 
 
 348 
 
"All that is left of him." 
 
 ments to him now ? What was anything ? 
 His boy was lost ! And Aunt Crete ? poor 
 Aunt Crete ! she could not go with the father 
 as she longed to do, she could not do any 
 thing but wait and pray. We have a habit of 
 using language in that manner, yet, after all, 
 we believe and know that Aunt Crete on her 
 knees set at work the most tremendous forces 
 for relief that it was possible to secure. The 
 poor young man in the wilderness, as often as 
 he thought of her, saw her always on her knees, 
 and drew his hope and his strength from the 
 thought. 
 
 They would not let the almost distracted 
 father follow the last rescuing party down the 
 trail. The sturdy men who had volunteered to 
 make another desperate search shook their 
 heads stolidly to his appeal. 
 
 " It would only mean two to take care of 
 instead of one," said the keenest-brained of 
 the group ; " we need all our strength for 
 him/ Then the father coaxed no more, but 
 waited, and got through the terrible days and 
 the awful nights as best he could, in that mining 
 camp ; tenderly cared for and watched over by 
 the rough men whose camp it was, and who 
 shook their heads in ominous silence over the 
 folly of his forlorn hope. 
 
 There came a day when Wayne, benumbed 
 with cold, trying to struggle on in the face of a 
 
 349 
 
By Jf^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 pitiless storm, felt his strength leaving him and 
 knew that he must stop and try to raise a fire, 
 or perish very soon. Knew indeed, or thought 
 he knew, that he must die very soon in any 
 case. Could he not die better if he were warm ? 
 Some heaven-sent suggestion had made him 
 preserve a brand from the last night s fire, and 
 he groped about trying to find something not 
 too wet to burn. Again and again he tried to 
 coax the few sparks left in his brand into a 
 flame. His hands were growing too numb to 
 hold it longer, and he found there was no 
 breath in his lungs when he tried to blow upon 
 the sparks. 
 
 " It is the end ! " he said aloud and with a 
 solemnity that the very rocks might have felt. 
 
 And then there was a crackling of the wet 
 bushes near at hand, and the instinct of preser 
 vation, which it seems cannot die, made him 
 start and turn his head, and a voice, a human 
 voice, said, " Are you Mr. Pierson ? " 
 
 He stared at them : at the two apparitions 
 who looked down at him from the rocks above. 
 Were they angels ? He had not thought that 
 angels looked just like them, yet they knew 
 him. He stared and spoke no word. 
 
 " Come on, boys," said the Voice, again, 
 " we must carry him ; he is beyond speech, I 
 guess." 
 
 And then, suddenly, cliff and forest and the 
 
 35 
 
"All that is left of him" 
 
 sense of cold and the apparition of faces and 
 the impression of the Voice faded out together. 
 
 They carried him on their sturdy shoulders 
 with slow, sure progress through the wilderness. 
 They were not sure that he was dead ; they 
 must get him on a few rods to where they had 
 a fire before they could be certain. 
 
 " Dead or alive," said the grimmest of the 
 two, " his father shall have all that is left of him." 
 
 They were faithful to their trust. Seven 
 days afterward, in the travellers quarters at 
 Fort Ellis, surrounded by the appliances and 
 resources of civilization, the lawyer at the bed 
 side of his son watched the struggle going on 
 between life and death. How often he had 
 watched it in the crowded court room ! how 
 skilfully and untiringly he had participated in 
 the struggle ! how many times he had come off 
 victor ! Now he felt himself as powerless as the 
 watch on the stand by the bedside that ticked 
 away the solemn hours. What hours they 
 had been ! Seven days of suspense, seven 
 nights of torture, and still the struggle con 
 tinued and no man knew which should be 
 victor. There were many helpers, and Aunt 
 Crete from her distant home was coming as 
 fast as steam could bring her; but the father 
 had been the untiring watcher day and night. 
 The solemn hours he had spent alone by that 
 unconscious form on the bed ! Will the busy, 
 
 35 1 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 successful man of the world ever forget them ? 
 The world had rolled between himself and his 
 son ; he realized that ; had he been less busy, 
 less absorbed, many things that had happened 
 need not have happened. Should he never be 
 able to say those words he had planned long ago 
 to say, "My boy, forgive me ! " Ah, but he real 
 ized a more tremendous truth than that. The 
 world had rolled between himself and his God ! 
 Once he used to know God ; to be on intimate 
 terms with Him, to think of Him as a friend. 
 Now he felt a million miles removed from 
 Him and yet felt alone with Him, he and God! 
 He dropped to his knees at last, the man who 
 had not prayed in a score of years, and cried 
 out in his agony, "Oh, God! Oh, God!" 
 At first it was all that he could say. But 
 when did a soul come with even an unvoiced 
 agony to God and not receive instant response ? 
 
 After that he had prayed and prayed: and 
 his only moments of relief were found upon 
 his knees. He was kneeling that night, and 
 praying : trying to get used to the words, 
 " Thy will, not mine ; " trying to get used to 
 the awful gulf of separation that he felt was 
 widening, and widening. 
 
 A pair of great eyes from the bed were watch 
 ing him. A wondering voice spoke softly: 
 
 "Father! did you die too? Are we both in 
 heaven ? " 
 
 352 
 
XXVI. 
 
 By the Way of Peace. 
 
 THE father s heart leaped with joy when 
 he heard that voice, scarcely above a 
 whisper though it was. He bent over 
 the bed, pressed a kiss on the white 
 brow, then silently gave to the patient a spoon 
 ful of nourishment, drew the covering over 
 him and said gently, " Hush." 
 
 The two looked an instant into each other s 
 faces and smiled. Then the son closed his eyes 
 again in sleep and the father, gazing anxiously, 
 thought within himself that the face on the pil 
 low had the whiteness and the content of one 
 who is sleeping his last sleep. Nevertheless he 
 dared to hope that the fever had abated, and 
 the crisis was being safely passed. 
 
 And so it proved. The days of convales 
 cence that followed were precious, when the 
 father and aunt tenderly nursed their dear one 
 back to life. The father and son drew near to 
 each other, forgetting the hateful past and re 
 joicing in the old-time trust. As Wayne grew 
 stronger his two auditors never tired of listening 
 
 353 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 to every detail of that terrible month when he 
 was entombed in the wilderness. 
 
 While Aunt Crete rested, the other two en 
 joyed many an hour of quiet talk. They did 
 not speak of the chief cause of the long aliena 
 tion between them Leon; it was a sore subject 
 for the father. He would long ago have ad 
 mitted to his son that he was aware there had 
 been just cause for complaint and that he had 
 judged him harshly, but that Wayne, in the 
 past few years, at every interview had seemed 
 to him so proud and cold and self-sufficient that 
 the father s own pride had never allowed him 
 to speak the conciliating words. Now pride 
 was gone and, in its place, was an infinite 
 tenderness. His son was dead and was alive 
 again ; he was lost and was found. 
 
 As for Wayne, he suspected that his father 
 had received clearer vision as to the true state 
 of things and carried a burden in proportion. 
 Not for worlds would he add to it, now that he 
 knew what depths of tenderness for himself had 
 been hidden in that great heart. Moreover he 
 had scarcely thought of Leon for weeks. Now, 
 with returning strength, he refused to allow his 
 mind to dwell upon anything that might disturb 
 the blessed peace which had come to him. 
 
 There was another theme, too, of which they 
 did not speak, that was ever in their thoughts. 
 Wayne Pierson had bravely faced lions and 
 
 354 
 
By the Way of Peace. 
 
 wolves, had stared starvation in the face, and 
 walked hand in hand with death for weeks, and 
 his spirit had not flinched. But now his heart 
 throbbed wildly, and he shrank and trembled 
 when he wished to speak a few words to his 
 father about the things that are said to belong 
 to another world, but, in reality, should be the 
 chief concern of this one. And in like manner 
 the father, who was accustomed to plead before 
 high tribunals, with intellectual giants as critics, 
 yet hesitated to speak a few simple words to his 
 own son in the quiet of his room, though he 
 longed to tell him of the decision he had made 
 and counsel him to follow his example. Wayne 
 was filled with intense desire that his father 
 might have the .rest of soul that had been 
 given to him. It would be difficult, he rea 
 soned, for his father, with a nature more in 
 clined to command than to submit, and with 
 habits of lifelong unbelief, to accept the simple 
 gospel and in lowliness of spirit account himself 
 a sinner to be saved. 
 
 The day came, though, when Wayne could 
 keep silence no longer. Mr. Pierson was soon 
 to return to his business, leaving Aunt Crete 
 with the invalid. Wayne was sitting up for 
 the first time on a lovely morning ; the cheery 
 sunshine looked in at the window, lighted the 
 peaks of a distant purple mountain, and sent 
 sparkles over the face of a lake near by. It 
 
 355 
 
By TVay of the Wilderness. 
 
 reminded Wayne of the lake in the wilderness, 
 and he began suddenly, lest his courage fail. 
 
 "Father, I have something still more wonder 
 ful to tell you of which I have not yet spoken, 
 and you must know it before you go. It is to 
 revolutionize my whole life, I trust. Perhaps 
 you will be surprised to know that I have 
 become a servant of the Lord Jesus Christ. He 
 followed me, a lost sheep, to the wilderness, and 
 found me before the men did that you sent out." 
 
 And then the father listened with keen inter 
 est while the son told the story in low, tender 
 tones, adding at the close " Perhaps it may 
 seem like superstition to you that I believe 
 He guided me to my deliverers, even through 
 the hallucination of a tottering brain. You 
 can have no idea of the blessed comfort it was 
 to me to have that wise, kind, strong man 
 come and tell me just what to do. Sometimes 
 I have wondered if it were irreverent to believe 
 that the Good Shepherd Himself really came 
 over the dark, rough way by my side and 
 cheered me with a kind word now and then as 
 He sometimes did for His disciples when He 
 was on the earth. Certainly if I had not fol 
 lowed a voice that distinctly told me to turn 
 about and go in an opposite direction, and in a 
 way contrary to my judgment and inclinations, 
 I should have been far from the place where I 
 was rescued. * 
 
 35 6 
 
By the Way of Peace. 
 
 Wayne, at first, had his eyes fixed on the 
 distant hills while he talked, dreading to meet 
 an unsympathetic glance from his father, but 
 presently turned his head, expecting an incredu 
 lous, pitying look, and was amazed at the joy 
 ful expression of his father s face while he wiped 
 away the tears and grasped his hand, exclaiming, 
 " Thank God ! " 
 
 " My son," he said, "you are braver than I. 
 I have not yet had the courage to confess to 
 you that while I waited here in an agony of 
 suspense I prayed for the first time in long 
 years. I dare not say yet that I belong to Him, 
 I only know that I asked Him to come into my 
 life. Whether He will* receive me I know not, 
 but it is my purpose to serve Him for the rest 
 of my life. And now, dear boy," he went on 
 in a broken voice, " I want you to forgive the 
 mistakes I made through all these past years, 
 and the injustice and harsh judgments of which 
 I have been guilty. I begin to see what you 
 must have suffered, and " 
 
 " Father, don t ! " Wayne interrupted. 
 "Please don t say any more such things. It 
 is all right now. Much of the trouble was my 
 own fault. I was too sensitive, and I was im 
 perious, and cold, and proud, and unforgiving, 
 and everything that was unlovely. You for 
 give me and overlook all that has been wrong 
 in my past. We can begin to live this new life 
 
 357 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 together. Oh, father, how glad and happy I 
 am to know that you, too, have come to Him." 
 
 " I hope I have," Mr. Pierson said humbly. 
 " The way is not very clear as yet. I am like 
 one groping in the dark. It seems presump 
 tuous for one who has spent years and years in 
 ignoring God, and living in defiance of His 
 commands, to come when he is growing old 
 and offer the dregs of his life to the Lord and 
 expect to be accepted." 
 
 " But, father, it is written, ( Whosoever will, 
 let him take the water of life freely, " Wayne 
 said earnestly. " I think many of us stumble 
 just there. We cannot rid ourselves of the 
 notion that we must pay for the favor of God 
 by a good life, and we will not believe that par 
 don and justification are gifts, and that a good 
 life is the result of believing in Christ and not 
 a means to secure His favor." 
 
 " It is all mystery to me, my son," Mr. 
 Pierson said with a sigh, " I thought I knew 
 the way once, but the knowledge must by this 
 time be buried under heaps of rubbish. I only 
 know that when I was in distress about you, I 
 felt constrained to call upon God. So don t 
 misunderstand my state. I have no sort of 
 feeling, and it is a mere cold decision. I can 
 not even pray with any satisfaction to myself. 
 I am simply persuaded that God has claims 
 upon me and I want to meet them. I may 
 
 358 
 
By the Way of Peace. 
 
 never succeed in becoming a Christian. It 
 seems an uphill road I will frankly confess." 
 
 " Why father, is not that the first step in 
 any undertaking : to will to do it ? And is 
 not the will the real self? " 
 
 " Well, my boy, you seem to have got far 
 along the way yourself. I shall have to learn 
 of you. Who taught you, I wonder ? " 
 
 " The Spirit of God I do believe," Wayne 
 answered reverently, " the Spirit applying 
 the truth learned long ago when I was a boy, 
 thanks to mother, and recalled as I told you, 
 in those desolate days when I had to go over 
 everything that I ever knew to employ my 
 mind and so preserve my reason. Besides, you 
 know, I had time to think." 
 
 " Yes, I see you have the advantage of me. I 
 have no truths stored away to bring forth fruit." 
 
 " But father, the scheme of salvation is so 
 beautiful and simple ; the Lord Jesus Christ 
 taking our place, bearing our sin, and handing 
 over a pardon to any of us who will ask ; re 
 quiring only in return that we love Him and 
 acknowledge that He has bought us and paid 
 for us, and so of course we rightfully belong 
 to Him. Excuse me, father, for seeming to 
 set myself up as a teacher, but I do long to 
 have you see it. You believe, don t you, that 
 we are all sinners and that Christ came into 
 the world to save us ? " 
 
 359 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I have no doubts about anything 
 except myself. It seems a thing almost im 
 possible to turn a cold, hard, worldly heart, with 
 not a spark of love for God, into such a Chris 
 tian as your mother was, for instance. I can 
 not say that I feel myself a great sinner. I 
 don t feel anything about it as I ought, but I 
 know I am." 
 
 " Why then," the son said eagerly, " hear 
 this. It is one of mother s verses, c The blood 
 of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin/ and 
 this, If we confess our sins He is faithful and 
 just to forgive us our sins. There is His 
 word for it. When it came to me in that way, 
 father, I just trusted Him and believed I was 
 forgiven, not because I felt it, but because He 
 said so. We cannot depend upon our feelings. 
 If we have put our wills on His side and trust 
 alone in His atoning sacrifice for our salvation, 
 why may we not now call ourselves c sons of 
 God. We could never make ourselves any 
 more fit if we were to live hundreds of years. 
 Don t you know that old hymn that mother 
 used to sing ? 
 
 " Let not conscience make you linger, 
 Nor of fitness fondly dream, 
 All the fitness He requireth 
 Is to feel your need of Him. * 
 
 That night when they two bowed in prayer 
 together and the father voiced his childlike 
 360 
 
By the Tl^ay of Peace. 
 
 trust in Christ, the son following in fervent 
 pleading, both felt that the bond between them, 
 strong and dear, was nevermore to be broken. 
 
 " And did you never get any trace of the 
 horse again ? " Aunt Crete asked Wayne one 
 day, when she was making him go over the 
 story of his exciting adventures for the hun 
 dredth time. 
 
 " Never ; I suppose poor Liph met with the 
 same fate that would have come to me by this 
 time if I had not been rescued just when I 
 was." 
 
 Somebody else had heard of Liph, though. 
 A trapper told, that, as he pushed his way 
 through the dense forest, setting traps for wild 
 animals, he discovered a horse with a broken 
 limb entangled in the brushwood. Nothing 
 could be done for him but to put him out of 
 misery. The man took possession of every 
 thing he found strapped upon the horse except 
 a letter he found addressed to " Miss Enid Wil- 
 mer." The pity that had prompted him to 
 shoot the suffering animal moved him to take 
 good care of the letter and send it on its way 
 as soon as he reached a mail station. " For," 
 reasoned one of Nature s noblemen in the 
 rough, as he stood alone in the woods, "likely 
 as not this letter s for some young feller s sweet 
 heart away down east. Maybe she ll never see 
 
By IVay of the Wilderness. 
 
 him again, but she shall have this letter to com 
 fort her anyhow." 
 
 It was one day while Wayne was still in the 
 wilderness, and the Wilmers tarrying in the 
 little mountain resort on account of health and 
 business interests, that the letter had reached 
 Enid. 
 
 Being remote from newspapers and with mails 
 at rare intervals, almost shut out from the world 
 in fact, they were ignorant of what had happened 
 to Wayne. 
 
 Enid was on the way to her room for the 
 night when the worn, begrimed letter was given 
 her. The handwriting on the envelope set her 
 pulses throbbing wildly even though she thought 
 she had shut and barred the door of her heart 
 against the writer. She looked the letter over 
 curiously, dreading to open it. When at last 
 she broke the seal and read, surprise, sorrow, 
 and delight struggled for the mastery. But 
 youth and joy belong to each other and joy was 
 uppermost, irradiating her face and raining 
 down soft tears. 
 
 He was not false hearted. He had loved 
 her and her only all these years. This precious 
 letter had come straight from the depths of the 
 wilderness, straight from the true heart of the 
 writer. Nothing in the universe could ever 
 make her think ill of him again. Why had 
 she ever doubted for one moment but that 
 
 362 
 
By the Way of Peace. 
 
 there was some satisfactory explanation of cir 
 cumstances, however they might appear. She 
 hated herself for entertaining degrading thoughts 
 of him. He may have erred, but it was on the 
 side of nobility and not to please himself. The 
 night waned, but she heeded it not. A won 
 drous thing had come to pass. God himself 
 had planned that the highest, best joy of life 
 next to loving Him should be the joining of two 
 human hearts in one, and now He had sent this 
 great joy to her. It was too much to believe. 
 If the cold, hungry, desolate man who sat that 
 night in darkness that might be felt could but 
 have had a glimpse into the heart of this maiden, 
 why then the darkness would have been light. 
 
 The Wilmers were about to continue their 
 journey ings still farther west in the region of 
 new mines, and the next day was the one set for 
 their departure. Enid s mother was not a little 
 puzzled at her daughter s appearance in the 
 morning. Of late the girl s face had worn an 
 expression of weariness and indifference, and 
 sometimes there were rigid lines like one who 
 held some strong emotion in check. What 
 was her mother s surprise that Enid seemed to 
 have taken on again the old bloom and light 
 and joy, gay and bright as a creature of the air. 
 What could it mean? She watched her fur 
 tively all that day of a weary journey from an 
 opposite seat in the car and was perplexed. Not 
 
 3 6 3 
 
By IVay of the Wilderness. 
 
 a trace of fatigue was apparent. She seemed 
 absorbed in a happy dream even to the neglect 
 of the grand scenery through which they con 
 stantly passed. 
 
 In the twilight, though, when her father had 
 gone to the other end of the car to visit with 
 a new acquaintance, Enid slipped into the seat 
 beside her mother, nestled her head against her, 
 and told her softly the contents of the letter. 
 Then there followed a long whispered confer 
 ence such as only loving mothers and daughters 
 know how to enjoy. 
 
 It would seem that all earthly ecstasies are 
 doomed to be short lived. It was but a day 
 or two before a shadow crossed the bright sky. 
 A troublous question began to take shape in 
 Enid s mind. Wayne Pierson was not a Chris 
 tian. Could she belong to one who did not 
 belong to her Lord ? The answer to her own 
 question came like a blow, shattering her beau 
 tiful hopes. She could not, she must not. 
 Then she flushed as she reflected that he had 
 never really asked her to be his wife. Perhaps 
 he never would. She could love him though and 
 pray for him ; then leave it all with the Lord. 
 Certainly, she should do nothing that her Master 
 could not approve, whatever sorrow it might 
 bring to her life. To this resolution she settled 
 down and was still happy in a subdued way 
 until another awful shadow closed about her. 
 
 3 6 4 
 
By the W^ay of Peace. 
 
 And this came a day or two after the trav 
 ellers had reached a point where they were to 
 tarry for a time. Enid had come in from the 
 garden of the friend s house where they were 
 visiting, her arms filled with flowers to arrange 
 in vases. Just as she entered the room noise 
 lessly, she heard her father pronounce Wayne 
 Pierson s name, and saw a look of grief and 
 horror on her mother s face. 
 
 " What is it ? Please tell me quick ! " the 
 girl exclaimed before they were aware of her 
 presence. 
 
 The father and mother looked at each other 
 helplessly. The truth must come out. 
 
 " My dear child," the father said, taking 
 the unwelcome task upon himself, " we have 
 just heard some bad news about Wayne. It 
 seems he became separated from the rest of the 
 party and has been been lost several days in 
 the wilderness." 
 
 He could not tell the whole terrible truth that 
 he had been lost a month and there was scarcely 
 a ray of hope that he might be found alive. 
 
 The stricken girl, with a face as white as the 
 lilies she held, dropped them and went swiftly 
 away to her own room. 
 
 365 
 
XXVII. 
 
 The Lord thy God hath led thee" 
 
 IN fiction one reads or used to read a good 
 deal about broken hearts, but the truth 
 has always been that in real life hearts 
 bear terrible strains and do not break. 
 Enid Wilmer did not die ; she did not even 
 sink under this last blow so peculiar in its 
 nature, and so fearfully wearing upon a sensi 
 tive organism. Again and again, as the weary 
 hours stretched themselves into days, she told 
 herself that if there had only been a grave to 
 weep over she could have borne it. But to 
 have him LOST ! Was ever trial like unto her 
 trial ? 
 
 She had opportunity to test whether other 
 forms of trial were less hard to bear than this. 
 The day came when the papers heralded from 
 one end of the country to the other that the 
 lost was found ! Yet the very next line of 
 type saw to it that no one s joy should be pro 
 found. He was " breathing," when rescued, 
 that was all. Not the slightest hope of a rally. 
 Physicians everywhere said that such a hope 
 366 
 
" Thy God hath led thee" 
 
 was an absurdity. Probably before that paper 
 went to press the end had come. " Still," said 
 the types, " it is a comfort that the rescuing 
 party will be able to bring back to his stricken 
 friends the lifeless body." 
 
 Was it a " comfort " ? Enid Wilmer sat 
 and stared at the paper with great tearless eyes, 
 and wondered vaguely, as though she were 
 somebody else, whether there was any comfort 
 to be had from it. His body ! a grave ! She 
 had thought that she could bear that. Could 
 she? 
 
 What days were those that dragged their 
 length along, measured only by the morning 
 and evening mails and the newspapers ! There 
 were times in her life, afterward, when Enid 
 would turn faint at the sight of the mail being 
 suddenly brought in. This time she did not 
 faint. She seized and devoured what news there 
 was. It was meagre enough, and it would seem 
 as if those cruel types had forgotten how to spell 
 a single hopeful word. The victim was simply 
 breathing ; prolonging the awful struggle; " ut 
 terly hopeless ; " " those who loved him could 
 only pray for his speedy release." 
 
 Some of those who loved him could not 
 pray for anything, in words. Enid was much 
 on her knees, and she knew afterward that 
 she prayed, because she lived ; but all her soul 
 was conscious of was that she whispered the 
 
 367 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 name "Jesus" and seemed sometimes to rest 
 her head upon His pitying breast. After a 
 time there came the hardest strain of all. Not 
 only the local papers but the great city dailies 
 seemed to weary of their theme. They had 
 gleaned every possible particular of the tragedy, 
 and the central figure in it, the one who could 
 have told so much, lay in a hopeless lethargy ; 
 apparently there was no change from day to 
 day, and none could be hoped for save that one 
 when the clay should cease at last that won 
 drous power that we call breathing. Why 
 should the types repeat each day the same 
 story ? When the end should come, they 
 would rouse again to conspicuous head-lines 
 and print and reprint each minutest detail ; 
 meantime, they turned to other and more 
 exciting themes. It was during those days of 
 awful silence that Enid began to feel as though 
 she must pray to be allowed to die. 
 
 What her mother was to her throughout that 
 time, Enid could never tell. The nearest that 
 she came to it was to say sometimes with a look 
 in her eyes that some mothers might have 
 envied, "There is no one in all the world quite 
 like a mother! God makes them understand." 
 
 Yet Mrs. Wilmer would have said that she 
 did nothing : nothing at all. Perhaps that was 
 it. She did not attempt doing or saying. She 
 made not the slightest effort to comfort or to 
 
 368 
 
" Thy God hath led thee? 
 
 condole with her stricken daughter. There 
 was no meaningless attempt to make that look 
 hopeful which, humanly speaking, was hope 
 less ; such an effort is on the face of it so often 
 false that the hungry hearts of those stricken 
 turn away as from a nauseous potion. Mrs. 
 Wilmer simply hovered about her daughter, 
 caring for her in a hundred little, unofficious, 
 nameless ways, shielding her as by a divine 
 instinct from eyes and speech that would have 
 probed ; bringing her a flower now and then, 
 and speaking of them and of other safe com 
 monplaces in a quiet, natural tone ; not de 
 manding that Enid should be interested in any 
 of these matters, but simply taking it for 
 granted that a thread of interest still existed. 
 And Enid was grateful to her, oh, so grateful 
 for her silence ! 
 
 " If mamma had tried to comfort me," she 
 said afterward, " I know I should have gone 
 insane ; but she didn t ; she just held me close, 
 and waited." 
 
 Speaking of flowers, there were times when 
 Enid hated them. They belonged to the days 
 long ago when she was young and life had 
 looked a beautiful thing. She had a spray of 
 evergreen, small and shrivelled and turned yel 
 low, " evergreen " only in name ; but nothing 
 ever grew, nothing ever would grow, she 
 believed, more precious than that. It made 
 
 3 6 9 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 her think of roses, white roses, one in particu 
 lar ; how eloquent his eyes had been when he 
 hid it away ! And then, for a while she would 
 feel that she hated roses ; they had promised so 
 much and been so no, they had not been 
 false, that one had not, he had not; he had 
 simply been a victim of circumstances, and she 
 had been cold and cruel during all that time 
 when she might have helped him ! Poor little 
 woman ! righting with life and its problems and 
 its caverns there in her youth ! 
 
 One day there came to her a great resolve. 
 
 " Mother," she said, speaking out of a 
 silence that had lasted for more than a hour, 
 and had been of such a nature that the watch 
 ing mother had thought well not to disturb it, 
 " I must go there. It isn t that I cannot bear 
 it any more ; it is that I ought to go. OUGHT ! 
 do you understand, mother ? Even though 
 he cannot speak, nor move, he may be able to 
 hear, they are sometimes ; and there may be 
 no one near him who will speak the name 
 c Jesus in his ear. Mother, he must not go 
 down into that silence without HIM, be must 
 not! I can bear all the rest, but not that. 
 God does not want me to bear it ; He wants 
 him saved ! " 
 
 " She was more excited than I have seen 
 her before," said the mother, telling the 
 father about it, while together they made hur- 
 
 37 
 
" Thy God hath led thee? 
 
 ried preparations for a journey. " I felt that 
 to humor the idea was the only way. Don t 
 you think so ? " 
 
 The father drew a heavy sigh ; it was hard 
 to have his one flower stricken, but he answered 
 promptly : 
 
 " Oh, yes; I had expected that wondered 
 indeed that it had not come before. It is not 
 so very far away, and fortunately it is in a 
 region that tourists visit, so you will have the 
 conveniences of modern travel about you. 
 The worst is that this meeting of mine-owners 
 prevents my going with you ; if Enid could 
 have waited for a few days but you are used 
 to travelling, and I will follow you so soon as 
 the meeting is over." 
 
 It was all arranged very quickly. To out 
 siders Mrs. Wilmer and her daughter were a 
 couple of restless tourists who could not be 
 satisfied long in any place. 
 
 " They can t even wait until he can go with 
 them ! " explained one of the lady boarders to 
 another. " He can t go until after some big 
 meeting of which he is secretary, and it is to 
 be held next week; but my young lady has 
 taken a notion to go now, so go she must. 
 If my husband had a wife and daughter like 
 that, I wonder what he would do ? " 
 
 It was not a very long journey to those 
 accustomed to travel, and by evening of the 
 
 37 1 
 
By T^ay of the W^ilderness. 
 
 second day following their departure, Mrs. 
 Wilmer and Enid were sheltered in a boarding 
 house that had been recommended to Mr. 
 Wilmer, and was situated in as quiet and lovely 
 a region as any they had yet seen. They had 
 learned from the papers that the sick man had 
 been brought by easy stages to a town within 
 three miles of this village, that the physicians 
 who were attending him might be able to 
 reach him daily. 
 
 During the last two hours of their journey, 
 Mrs. Wilmer felt that she had reason to regret 
 their hasty departure without her husband s 
 strength and judgment to lean upon. As they 
 neared the place where they might expect to 
 hear news of the sick one, if indeed he were 
 yet living, Enid s nervous excitement increased 
 to such a degree that her mother was seriously 
 alarmed. Every time the car door opened, 
 she was seized with a fit of trembling. Yet 
 her nervousness took the form of shrinking 
 from news. 
 
 " Don t asK, mother ! " she said with a tone 
 that had almost a command in it ; " don t ask 
 anybody. Wait ! let us get under cover some 
 where before we hear/ 
 
 And then the mother fell to wondering how 
 she should manage the news. He must be 
 living, else the papers would be full of the 
 story, but suppose the end was just at the 
 
 37 2 
 
11 Thy God hath led thee" 
 
 door ? How should she tell Enid ? How 
 prepare her for the ordeal ? 
 
 Like many things for which we try to plan, 
 nothing happened as she had expected. News 
 came to them suddenly, without time for prep 
 aration. Mrs. Wilmer had stepped into the 
 hall to wait for a messenger, and had left the 
 door ajar because she had a nervous fear of 
 leaving Enid alone even for a moment, and 
 these sentences floated up to them, spoken in 
 clear, voluble tones : 
 
 " Oh yes, he is getting well. It seems 
 almost a miracle, doesn t it ? You know he 
 was thirty-seven days in that awful wilderness ! 
 Only think of it ! " 
 
 " Yes, I know ; he lay at death s door, as you 
 may say, for I don t know how many days, 
 but he is gaining fast now. The doctor who 
 attends him was in to see my auntie to-day, and 
 I asked him all about it. He says the young 
 man sat up for several hours yesterday, and is 
 improving steadily." 
 
 Mrs. Wilmer was back with her hand on 
 the door knob long before these sentences were 
 concluded, but Enid had heard the voice ; she 
 raised her hand with a gesture for silence and 
 listened as for her life to every word. Then 
 she spoke quietly : 
 
 " Don t be frightened, mamma, I am not 
 going to faint, I m going to to try to behave 
 
 373 
 
By W^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 myself now. Oh, mother ! " And the long 
 pent-up excitement vented itself in a burst of 
 tears. 
 
 Mr. Pierson and his son were spending their 
 last evening together. The time had come 
 when the man of affairs could not longer delay 
 his departure ; two telegrams received that day 
 had helped him to realize the need for haste. 
 There was really no longer any reason for 
 delay. Wayne s strides back toward health were 
 astonishing his physicians as much as anything 
 about the strange experience had done ; but 
 the father, having found his lost son in more 
 senses than one, was loath to part from him 
 again. Still, Aunt Crete was there, and Wayne 
 was coming home as soon as it should seem 
 wise to undertake the journey, and the busy 
 lawyer drew a long breath as he told himself 
 that he must go away from paradise out into 
 the world again. 
 
 On this evening that he had meant should 
 be a very pleasant one, his face was shadowed. 
 He had been reading a letter from his wife, 
 and it had that in it which troubled him. Dur 
 ing the weeks that Wayne had been able to 
 visit and to listen to reading, his father had fallen 
 into the habit of reading aloud to him large 
 portions of his letters from home. His wife 
 used a ready pen, and her descriptions of home 
 experiences were racy and enjoyable. Wayne 
 
 374 
 
"Thy God hath led thee" 
 
 had himself asked for news from home, and 
 had astonished and delighted his father s heart 
 by remarking cheerily that "mother" was a 
 capital letter-writer. In truth, the young man, 
 in the abundant leisure which awaits the conva 
 lescent, had gone all over that ground and, as 
 he expressed it, cc had it out with himself." 
 Looked at in the clear light of his recent expe 
 riences he was enabled to tell himself positively 
 and sincerely that he had been unjust to his 
 stepmother. He had accused her of coming 
 between himself and his father ; and, in the 
 sense that he had meant it, this was simply not 
 true. She had perhaps not wasted much love 
 upon him, but had he given her any reason for 
 loving, even for liking him ? Holding his 
 enlightened conscience steadily to the work, he 
 was able to see that from almost the first he 
 had allowed his dislike for the boy, Leon, to 
 prejudice him against his mother. Leon had un 
 doubtedly worked him mischief, and had meant 
 to ; and the mother had been faithful to her 
 boy. Why not ? He would have despised her 
 if she had not been. True she had been utterly 
 blind to his faults, but that was not so hopeless 
 a trait in a mother as to be beyond excuse. He 
 could see now that she had tried, with the light 
 she had, and with the prejudices she had 
 against him, faithfully nursed by Leon, to 
 be good to him. 
 
 375 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 " She has really done her best/* was this 
 young man s honest conviction after long 
 thought. "It wasn t my mother s best how 
 could it have been ? But I sincerely believe 
 it was hers, and if I had but known enough 
 to meet her halfway, things might have been 
 better than they were." 
 
 After that, he electrified his father by asking 
 in cordial tone : " Is that thick letter from 
 mother ? What s the news at home ? " And 
 that had opened the way for the readings 
 from those thick letters, that had drawn from 
 Wayne the gracious compliment, and had made 
 his father happier than he had been since his 
 son was a child. 
 
 Mrs. Pierson on her part was certainly doing 
 " her best." Her letters, the father told his 
 son, had been overflowing with sympathy and 
 sorrow for him while the strain was heavy ; 
 again and again she had expressed the wish 
 that she were there to help care for the sick 
 one. Then as the anxiety lessened she had 
 grown cheerful and hopeful even before others 
 had dared to be so. And then she had begun 
 to talk about the home coming quite as a 
 matter of course. 
 
 " Tell Wayne he has no idea what a good 
 nurse I am," she wrote. " I had a long experi 
 ence in caring for my dear father ; I am pre 
 pared to read to him, or write letters for him, 
 
 376 
 
"Thy God hath led thee" 
 
 or make better invalid dishes to tempt his appe 
 tite than he ever had before. My powers in 
 that line are not half appreciated." 
 
 But the thick letter that had arrived that day 
 had shadowed the fathers face ; he had not 
 offered to read any of it aloud ; and Wayne 
 had wondered, and queried whether his father 
 would like it if he should ask for it. 
 
 Here is one of the paragraphs that had 
 troubled the father : 
 
 " We have so long had thought only for 
 Wayne, that it seems hardly proper to begin 
 about anything else ; but matters have not 
 meanwhile been standing still. I think I may 
 tell you that my long-cherished hopes in regard 
 to dear Leon are to be realized. You know 
 how earnestly I have desired that he should 
 choose the daughter of my dear old school 
 friend for a wife, and he writes me at last that 
 it is a positive engagement. He has been 
 spending a week with them and the matter is 
 all settled, and a speedy marriage is being 
 planned for. In truth, Leon says that they 
 are only waiting until you get home and the 
 house has settled down into its natural state 
 before he will be ready to bring his bride for 
 a father s and mother s blessing. He says some 
 very sweet things about what a father you have 
 been to him, which I shall not tell you for fear 
 of your being puffed up. But I am sure, dear, 
 
 377 
 
By Pf^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 you have never known how fully Leon appre 
 ciates your love and care. He writes also that 
 he has given up all his c harum scarum ways 
 and is going to c bone down to business in a 
 way that will delight your heart. I am sure, 
 now that your soul is throbbing with gratitude 
 for the restoration of your own dear boy, you 
 will be ready to sympathize with me in this 
 new hope I have for Leon. A few words of 
 that kind mean so much from him." 
 
 There was more of it, but the father had not 
 the heart to read further. He did not believe 
 in Leon as his wife did. He had only too good 
 reason to doubt his sincerity in anything; the 
 later years of his life had been spent in trying 
 to shield his wife from a knowledge that could 
 bring her only pain. But it was not this 
 thought that troubled him now. 
 
 He had heard from his son s lips the story 
 of poor Sarah, the blacksmith s brave, faithful 
 daughter and if father and mother Thompson 
 could have heard the story as he told it, they 
 would have respected even more the man 
 whom they looked upon as almost their son. 
 Mr. Pierson had understood better than his 
 son had imagined that he could. And in the 
 glow of his gratitude for the sympathy bestowed, 
 Wayne had gone a step further and mentioned 
 Enid Wilmer. Of course there could, in the 
 nature of things, be very little indeed said on 
 
 378 
 
" Thy God hath led tbee" 
 
 such a subject ; and he was by no means sure 
 that that little was understood. But it was the 
 memory of it that had shadowed the father s 
 face, and caused him to thrust the letter hastily 
 into his pocket and read no word of it to 
 Wayne. 
 
 379 
 
XXVIII. 
 
 " By a way that they know not 
 
 BUT later in the evening, less than half 
 an hour, indeed, before that train would 
 carry him away, the father resolved 
 upon what he ought to do. Wayne 
 had not spoken plainly; perhaps it was because 
 nothing was plain. There was, possibly, only 
 a vague, misty dream of a possible future. It 
 might not have taken strong hold in any way. 
 There might be time to prevent his dreaming 
 over it and fixing the fancy in his heart to bear 
 more pain. If he could save the boy an hour 
 of pain in the future, shouldn t he do it ? 
 
 The longer he thought about it the more sure 
 he felt that nothing very serious could have 
 happened as yet ; the other experience had 
 been too recent. Which statement will show 
 you how well the father understood the situa 
 tion ! He determined to ignore that little hint 
 of Wayne s; to act as though he had not heard 
 it, and to give him the word simply as an item 
 of news. So he said, with as easy an air as he 
 could assume : 
 
that they know not? 
 
 " By the way, Wayne, I have a bit of home 
 news for you. I know, my boy, better than 
 you think I do, what a trial one person con 
 nected with us has been to you ; and I am sure 
 you will understand why I cannot speak of it 
 more plainly." 
 
 Wayne turned sympathetic eyes upon his 
 father, and bowed his head. " I know, father, 
 of course you cannot ; never mind. We are 
 not children any more. I shall not let it 
 rankle." 
 
 " God bless you, my boy, I had hoped to 
 have it all very different. Well Leon is 
 to be married now, it seems. I hope that will 
 do something toward making a man of him ; 
 marriage sometimes does. His mother is glad 
 over it. You may have known that she has 
 cherished the hope for years that he and the 
 daughter of her old friend, Mrs. Wilmer, would 
 live their lives together, and it seems that is to 
 be. His mother writes that they only await 
 our getting settled at home and all well again, 
 before there will be a wedding. Hark ! that s 
 the whistle of the train at the other station, 
 isn t it ? I shall just have time to make it. 
 Well, my boy, good--by." 
 
 He prided himself on the skill with which 
 he had accomplished it, and rejoiced in the 
 hope that his fears had been groundless. 
 Wayne had taken the information with utmost 
 
 381 
 
By JVay of the Wilderness. 
 
 calmness. That little hint had riot meant, 
 after all, what he had fancied. 
 
 This is, perhaps, as much as we really know, 
 a great deal of the time, concerning the inner 
 life of those with whom we are most closely 
 associated. Outward calm, long years of expe 
 rience had schooled Wayne Pierson to observe. 
 The tumult that raged within would be hard to 
 picture in words. Fortunately ii was night and 
 he could be alone. Aunt Crete came tapping 
 at the door soon after she heard his father s 
 rapid retreating footsteps, to know if she could 
 do anything for the comfort of her dear boy. 
 He answered her in his usual quiet voice, then 
 locked his door and came face to face with that 
 battle that he had believed there was no need 
 to fight. As often as he had thought of Leon 
 Hamilton during his convalescence, and the 
 thought of him had not come often, he had 
 felt, as has already been intimated, that the 
 subject was not of sufficient importance to be 
 dwelt upon. Tremendous issues had inter 
 vened and filled his mind, and henceforth Leon 
 Hamilton and his movements could be viewed 
 with indifference. So he had fondly believed. 
 He had yet to learn that the human heart does 
 not put aside its life-long besetments so easily. 
 He had yet to discover that he was to be called 
 upon to feel something besides indifference for 
 his life-long enemy. Somewhat to his after 
 
 382 
 
"Way that they know not? 
 
 astonishment, the strongest emotion roused 
 within him by his father s item of news was 
 that of fierce unreasoning hatred toward his 
 stepbrother. The whole bitter story of his 
 life of trial and pain and peril seemed to roll 
 itself before him like a panorama, with always 
 Leon Hamilton as the power behind the scenes. 
 And now to add the last stroke ! That fair, 
 pure life to be sacrificed to him! 
 
 Was there room for other feeling than 
 hatred ? He writhed in agony upon his bed, 
 and felt the current of passion all the more 
 fiercely because he gave no voice to it, but 
 repeated it in his heart that he hated, hated, 
 HATED that man, and had a right to hate him ; 
 and that a God of truth and justice ought not 
 to permit him longer to pollute the earth. 
 
 Suddenly came a voice not from outside, not 
 audible to other than himself, but strangely, 
 solemnly distinct to him, " He that hateth his 
 brother is a murderer ! " It would not do to 
 hide behind the weak little subterfuge which 
 had sheltered him as a child, that Leon Hamil 
 ton was no brother of his. He had grown 
 wiser in some things, at least, and had begun 
 to have some faint idea of what God means by 
 that word " brother." It was one of the names 
 that had been applied to Jesus Christ, " The 
 Elder Brother." 
 
 The voice sobered him ; not with a sense of 
 
 383 
 
By li^ay of the Wilderness. 
 
 fear, but of humiliation. His brother, his 
 " Elder Brother," what had He not borne 
 from him ? What had He not forgiven him. 
 " Is the disciple greater than his Lord ? " 
 Bible words learned long ago and long ago 
 forgotten trooped back and hovered about 
 him. It was a long, fierce battle, the fiercest 
 by far of his stormy life. When it was over 
 he was physically spent, so that he was glad to 
 lie in utmost physical quiet. But there was 
 mental quiet as well. Wayne Pierson had 
 tested severely the power of Jesus Christ to 
 conquer the fiercest passions of the human 
 heart and had proved Him conqueror. He 
 who is Himself THE TRUTH had forced this 
 lover of truth and honor to speak naked truth 
 to his own soul. It had not been enough for him 
 to say that he would forgive Leon Hamilton ; 
 stern conscience, that had waited for its hour, 
 came forward and insisted upon his owning 
 that there was not so much to forgive as he had 
 all his life indulged himself in believing. Shorn 
 of heroics and put into everyday plain talk, 
 what was the case ? 
 
 Leon Hamilton had been an untruthful, 
 coarse, selfish, heedless boy ; yes, he had ; but 
 there had been other such boys who had been 
 borne with, and suffered for, and watched over, 
 and won. If he, Wayne Pierson, had been the 
 sort of boy he might have been, the kind his 
 
 384 
 
* 
 
 that they know not. 
 
 mother had prayed that he might be, could 
 he not have won his stepbrother long ago ? 
 Later in life, what had Leon done but act out 
 the nature that he had allowed to develop ? 
 And what had Wayne Pierson done but much 
 the same ? That the two natures had devel 
 oped differently was owing to a thousand subtle 
 influences, perhaps, over which neither boy had 
 much control. That they might both have 
 chosen the Elder Brother and been guided by 
 Him into other lives was solemnly true. In 
 stead, the lives of both had, in the sight of 
 God, been a long series of failures. 
 
 As for the item of news that had brought 
 about such a storm of passion, his conscience 
 asked him if it was strictly honest to blame Leon 
 Hamilton for that. Ought he to be blamed 
 for admiring and reaching after and longing to 
 win such a woman as Enid Wilmer ? If he 
 had honorably wooed and won her, if she had 
 actually chosen him, could he be blamed for 
 that ? It was bewildering, it was incomprehen 
 sible, he found it impossible to reconcile his 
 knowledge of the girl with such a state of 
 things, but there could of course be no mis 
 take this time ; and, after all, it had nothing to 
 do with the question at issue. What had to 
 be decided was whether he, Wayne Pierson, 
 was an out and out follower of the Lord Jesus 
 Christ, or whether he meant only to follow Him 
 
 385 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 when the way was smooth and thefe were no 
 crosses to be seen ahead. 
 
 It was, as has been said, a fierce battle ; but 
 in the end Wayne Pierson prayed for the soul 
 of his stepbrother, that it might be redeemed 
 to God ; that he might learn to think of and 
 speak of him as his brother, and that if such 
 were indeed the will of God he paused long 
 before that sentence, waiting, on his knees, then 
 he finished it he might learn to think of 
 Enid Wilmer as his sister ! 
 
 " I m afraid you did not sleep at all last 
 night," Aunt Crete said, scanning him closely, 
 and speaking anxiously. " I thought I heard 
 you moving about once ; I sat up and listened, 
 and had a mind to come in. You look like 
 a ghost. What is the matter ? Didn t you 
 sleep well ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Wayne, with a smile as quiet as 
 the morning; "I was late in sleeping, but I 
 slept well at last ; unusually well. I dreamed 
 of my mother ; I thought she came and kissed 
 me good night as she used, and called me her 
 dear boy." 
 
 Aunt Crete was puzzled and troubled. What 
 should keep her boy awake half the night if 
 he was doing well in every way ? She asked a 
 number of questions, judiciously, through the 
 day, and learned some things and guessed at 
 others. Before night she had heard what 
 386 
 
"Way that they know not? 
 
 there was to tell about the piece of news from 
 " home." 
 
 "Fiddlesticks!" she said to herself; "if a 
 hundred and fifty Leon Hamiltons should 
 come to me with such a story as that, I should 
 have sense enough not to believe it. Men are 
 all fools ! ( Leon Hamilton/ indeed ! just as 
 though I didn t know Enid Wilmer i 
 
 But she said nothing of this to Wayne. In 
 the course of the next few days, she made cer 
 tain astonishing discoveries. During the long 
 daily naps prescribed for the invalid, she was 
 in the habit of occupying herself with the local 
 newspapers, gleaning items of interest to read 
 to Wayne afterward. Among other matters, 
 she was sure to glance over the list of arrivals, 
 especially from the East ; there was always the 
 possibility of finding a name that would interest 
 Wayne. What she found on this particular 
 morning made her utter an exclamation half 
 way divided between astonishment and exulta 
 tion. Then she grew thoughtful, and put on 
 what Wayne would have called her " scheming 
 face." Presently, she went in search of a 
 woman who she was sure would be informed, 
 and learned many items of interest concerning 
 the pretty village only three miles away from 
 them. 
 
 " It is a village of boarding-houses," said the 
 lady, " they say that every house in the place 
 
 387 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 is open to travellers, and people seem to be 
 charmed who go there ; they stay on and on. 
 I have often thought of trying it myself/ 
 
 Two days thereafter, while Wayne went to 
 drive with the doctor, Aunt Crete herself took 
 a drive about which she said nothing whatever 
 to Wayne. Following that trip came a period 
 of dissatisfaction with her surroundings; noth 
 ing in the house, from the culinary department 
 to the location of their rooms with reference to 
 the prevailing winds, quite suited her. Finally 
 came her plan. She had heard of rooms that 
 had just been vacated in a lovely little town 
 only three miles away. Everybody said it was 
 a charming part of the country, and the doctor 
 declared that he could not too highly approve 
 of Aunt Crete s plan to remove there for a 
 week or two, and give Wayne the benefit of 
 real country air and food, preparatory to his 
 long journey homeward. Wouldn t he like it 3 
 
 Wayne would like anything in the world 
 that this blessed auntie of his wished to do. 
 Therefore it came to pass that before the father 
 had been many days at home, his son was 
 moved and settled in a comfortable house exactly 
 opposite the one in which Enid Wilmer and 
 her mother were boarding ; and the two young 
 people were as utterly ignorant of each other s 
 nearness as though there was no such science 
 as Telepathy in existence. 
 
 3 88 
 
44 
 
 that they know not. 
 
 Enid, be it understood, had no sooner 
 learned that the man whom she supposed 
 dying was getting well, than a painful timidity 
 overtook her. She would even have turned and 
 fled back over the hundreds of miles she had 
 come, but for the fact that her mother proved 
 obstinate. Mrs. Wilmer had borne with every 
 passing fancy of the girl s while she was in 
 trouble, now it was her turn. It was pleasant 
 there, and quiet ; and they were as unknown 
 to and as far from intruding upon Wayne 
 Pierson since she chose to have it so as 
 though they were three hundred miles away 
 from him instead of three ; and there was no 
 good reason why they should not wait there 
 for the father, as had been planned. She could 
 journey without him when it was necessary, but 
 when it was not, why and she held her 
 ground. So they waited. 
 
 They went, one evening, mother and daugh 
 ter, to the little mission chapel, just around 
 the corner from them, to the prayer-meeting. 
 They had made the acquaintance of the home 
 missionary, who was doing faithful work in a 
 discouraging corner of the vineyard, and were 
 minded to help him if they could. And to 
 that same prayer-meeting went Aunt Crete and 
 her nephew. She, because it was as natural for 
 her to gravitate toward an open chapel door 
 and a summoning bell as it was to breathe, and 
 
 389 
 
By JVay of the Wilderness. 
 
 he, because he knew that for the first time in 
 his life he should, within church walls, meet his 
 kindred, brothers in Christ, and he thirsted for 
 their company. 
 
 Enid and her mother came in late, having 
 mistaken the hour, and sat near the door ; and 
 Enid studied the back of Wayne s head and 
 wondered at the unaccountable likeness to the 
 back of another head that she knew. And 
 then, suddenly, all her pulses went to throb 
 bing, and the room seemed to whirl in a 
 strange dance before her ; the man with the 
 familiar head had risen and was praying, and 
 his voice, oh, his voice! She looked at her 
 mother ; was she going insane after all ? But 
 her mother smiled on her albeit there were 
 tears in her eyes and whispered as she bowed 
 her head : 
 
 " It is he, darling ; just himself, and not his 
 spirit." 
 
 They walked home together, of course. 
 They met decorously after the meeting, as 
 people should who are tourists and meet by 
 accident before others in a strange town. 
 
 " Is it possible ! " was all Enid said as she 
 took his outstretched hand, and he said, " Did 
 you come down in one of those golden chariots 
 that I saw at sunset ? " 
 
 On the way home they talked the merest 
 commonplaces. Yes, they were staying here, 
 
 39 
 
that they know not.^ 
 
 she and her mother, waiting for papa who was 
 detained by some tiresome mine business. 
 
 Oh, yes, he was gaining very rapidly now ; 
 hoped to be able to go home in a few days. 
 Mrs. Wilmer, being introduced to Aunt Crete, 
 walked discreetly by her side talking common 
 places, and aware that she was near enough to 
 hear anything that the other two might be say 
 ing. They reached Mrs. Wilmer s house first, 
 and both accepted her playful invitation to stop 
 and rest before they crossed the street. 
 
 Then, once in the pleasant parlor, a little 
 removed from the two elder ladies, Wayne, 
 who had determined to have no more misun 
 derstandings in life for lack of straightforward 
 speech, went directly to the point. 
 
 " Enid, I am not going to feign ignorance or 
 wait for confidences. I have heard through my 
 people at home of your approaching marriage ; 
 and I want to tell you at once that my desire 
 for your future happiness is sincere, and that I 
 intend to be as true a brother, not only to you 
 but to him, as God will help me to become." 
 
 He never forgot the look in her great brown 
 eyes that seemed to widen and deepen under 
 his rapid speech, nor the words in which she 
 answered him : 
 
 " They told me you were quite well, men 
 tally ; but I am constrained to think that they 
 are mistaken, and that you are a lunatic. I 
 
 39 1 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 have always wanted a brother, but not at the 
 expense of being married. If you fancy me 
 engaged to to any one> there was never a 
 more ridiculous mistake." 
 
 He had been sitting just opposite to her; 
 he suddenly drew his chair nearer, and his 
 voice dropped lower. Aunt Crete could not 
 catch even a syllable. She and Mrs. Wilmer 
 talked and talked. Aunt Crete went over, in 
 what detail she could, the story of the peril, 
 and the rescue, and the battle waged so fiercely 
 and so long with death. She had a fascinated 
 listener and told her story well ; but most 
 stories reach a period at last. Hers did. The 
 story being told in chapters, over in the other 
 corner of the room, by two authors, seemed to 
 have no periods : it went on and on ! 
 
 Aunt Crete tried to talk commonplaces to 
 Mrs. Wilmer, and failed ; and looked surrep 
 titiously at her watch. Her eyes served her 
 better than her ears. Over in the corner she 
 saw Wayne take from the pocket of his private 
 diary a little wizened specimen of a worn-out 
 rosebud and show it to Enid as though it 
 were a diamond. 
 
 "Pity s sake!" she said to herself; cc and 
 the vase almost under his nose is full of roses 
 that were gathered to-day." 
 
 Suddenly she looked at the waiting mother. 
 
 " There s more than one kind of wilderness," 
 
 392 
 
that they know 
 
 she said. " That boy of mine has been floun 
 dering through some of them for years. There 
 is one verse in the Bible that if I ve thought 
 of once I suppose I have a hundred times in 
 the last few weeks : And thou shalt remember 
 all the way which the Lord thy God hath led 
 thee, these forty years in the wilderness, that 
 he might humble thee, to prove thee, to know 
 what was in thine heart, whether thou wouldst 
 keep his commandments or not/ Wayne has 
 been tried, and he s kept the Lord waiting a 
 good while ; but you know there s that other 
 verse : c The Lord thy God bringeth thee into 
 a good land, a land of brooks of water, of 
 fountains and depths, springing forth into val 
 leys and hills. I do hope the boy has got out 
 of the terrible wilderness, and where he can 
 cultivate a few roses at last ; but he won t enjoy it 
 not a mite, unless he can have Eve with him." 
 
 The mother smiled, a high, sweet, self-abne 
 gating smile, such as only mothers can, as she 
 said : 
 
 " I have a few treasures so precious that I 
 dare not even try to care for them myself; 
 I have to trust them entirely to the Lord s 
 keeping." 
 
 A few days thereafter, Wayne received a 
 letter from his father, one paragraph of which 
 ran thus : 
 
 " By the way, my boy, I do not suppose it 
 
 393 
 
By Way of the Wilderness. 
 
 will make any difference to you, but, I want to 
 set right a piece of news that I gave you. 
 Leon, in writing to his mother about his ap 
 proaching marriage, was careless, as he generally 
 is, and gave her an utterly wrong impression. 
 The chosen one is the daughter of an old 
 schoolmate, but it appears not the schoolmate 
 that his mother had supposed and hoped for. 
 It is a Miss Gatewood, I believe; a very 
 charming young woman if we may take Leon s 
 judgment, and we can only hope for the best. 
 
 Having reached as far as this, Wayne 
 dropped the letter, bowed his head in his 
 hands, and lost himself in a maze of thought. 
 Suppose his father had not misunderstood, and 
 he had not been led to fight that battle with his 
 enemy, and come off victor, and understand God 
 as he never had before, what then ? But why 
 " suppose " anything ? Did not God know ? 
 
 "Aunt Crete," he said, when he went to 
 carry her the letter, "you are always finding 
 Bible verses that are not in other people s 
 Bibles ; do you know, I have found one now 
 that I cannot think has been even in yours all 
 these years. Aunt Crete, I have lived it, and 
 I know it is true. Listen : c I will bring the 
 blind by a way that they know not; in paths 
 that they know not will I lead them. I will 
 make darkness light before them, and crooked 
 places straight. " 
 
 394 
 
THE PANSY BOOKS. 
 
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WHEN GRANDMAMMA 
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