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 BERTRANO SMITHS 
 ACRBB OF EOMB 
 
 14O PACIFIC AVENOE 
 BEACH. CALIF.
 
 The Valley Path
 
 Books by 
 Will Allen Dromgoole 
 
 4 
 
 The Heart of Old Hickory and 
 
 Other Stories Tall i6mo, $1.33 
 
 The Valley Path i2mo, ..25 
 
 Hero-Chums Thin izmo, .50 
 
 In Press: 
 Cinch and Other Stories nmo, $i.s 
 
 A Boy's Battle Thin i2mo, .50 
 
 Rare Old Chums Thin iimo, .50 
 
 * 
 
 Estes and Lauriat, Publishers 
 
 Boston, Mass.
 
 The Valley Path 
 
 By 
 
 Will Allen Dromgoole 
 
 Author of " The Heart of Old 
 
 Hickory," " The Farrier's 
 
 Dog and His Fellow," 
 
 etc. 
 
 Boston 
 Estes and Lauriat 
 
 MDCCCXCVIII 
 
 im
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1895 AND l8 9 6 
 BY THE ARENA PUBLISHING Co. 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1898, 
 BY ESTES AND LAURIAT. 
 
 FIRST EDITION PRINTED MARCH IOTH. 
 SECOND EDITION PRINTED MARCH 2 3RD. 
 
 Colonial 
 
 Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. 
 Boston, U. S. A.
 
 To the two 
 
 who gave me life, and 
 
 made it worth the living : my father, 
 
 Jofjn iSaster romgoolc, 
 
 who was my guide and counsellor, my friend, 
 
 my comrade, and my critic, until God took him ; 
 
 and my mother, 
 
 Rebecca fftttoret) Blancfj, 
 
 whose faith and love have been my inspiration, 
 
 and who lingers in my life, a sweet and 
 
 gentle presence, for ever. Both of 
 
 whom, by God's good grace, 
 
 I humbly hope to 
 
 meet again. 
 
 
 2061733
 
 THE love which desolated life, yet made 
 
 So dear its desolation ; and the creeds 
 
 Which, one by one, snapped in my hold like reeds, 
 
 Beneath the weight of need upon them laid. 
 
 Alas ! 'tis not the creed that saves the man ; 
 It is the man that justifies the creed ; 
 And each must save his own soul as he can, 
 Since each is burthened with a different need. 
 
 The Wanderer: ROBERT, LORD LYTTON.
 
 
 The Valley Path 
 
 THIS clay well mixed with marl and sand, 
 Follows the motion of my hand : 
 For some must follow and some command, 
 Though all are made of clay. 
 
 " Ke'ramos." 
 
 Chapter I 
 
 AT the foot of the crags stood the doc- 
 tor's cabin, a gray bird in a nest of 
 green. Above it, the white mists ascend- 
 ing and descending about the heights of 
 Sewanee; below, a brown thread in winter, 
 in summer a strip of gay green, the pleas- 
 ant valley of the Elk ; through the valley 
 now lisping along its low banks, now 
 cutting its course, a mountain torrent, 
 through a jungle of cedar and ivy and
 
 12 The Valley Path 
 
 laurel, the everlasting greens the Elk 
 itself, gurgling gaily down to meet the 
 Tennessee ; and through the valley, in 
 and out among the greens, climbing the 
 mountain farther back, the old brown 
 footpath that used to pass the doctor's 
 door. Making a turn or two, it also 
 passed the door of the next house, a 
 little white-washed cabin, set back in a 
 clearing which Alicia Reams, the miller's 
 granddaughter, used to call her " truck- 
 patch." Singing among her pea-rows, 
 summer days, her voice would come down 
 to the doctor under his own vine and fig- 
 tree, mixing and mingling strangely with 
 his fancies. 
 
 The click-clack of the mill on Pelham 
 Creek might be heard, too, as far as the 
 doctor's, such days when toll was plenty 
 and the wind not contrary. 
 
 It was only a step from the doctor's 
 house to Alicia's, by way of the brown 
 footpath, and he was a frequent visitor at 
 the miller's. Yet were their lives far
 
 The Valley Path 13 
 
 enough apart, for all the connecting path. 
 For Jonathan Reams was a dusty old 
 fellow in jeans, a homespun that was con- 
 sidered only the better for being un- 
 bleached. Of a pattern was the miller 
 with his wife, familiarly known, as moun- 
 tain mothers are, as " granny." Of a 
 pattern the two so far as appearances 
 went ; no further ; for granny was queru- 
 lous and "fixed in her ways some." Any 
 hour of the day, when she was not dozing 
 over her pipe, either upon the hearth or 
 under Alicia's honeysuckle vines, her voice 
 might be heard scolding the miller, calling 
 to Alicia to " shoo the chickens out of the 
 gyarden," singing the praises of the herb- 
 doctor or the psalms of the Methodists, 
 as her mood might move her. Alicia's 
 mother, however, had " been a school- 
 ma'am once, befo' she died," and had 
 taught her children, Al and " Lissy," 
 something of books. She had been a 
 dreamer, evidently, who had mistaken 
 brawn for manhood, and so married Jed
 
 I 4 The Valley Path 
 
 Reams, the miller's son. The mother 
 died, for grief of her mistake ; the father, 
 like other miller's sons, from natural causes. 
 The boy Al inherited the mother's frail 
 physique ; to the girl fell her qualities of 
 soul. Humble folks enough were they. 
 
 There was a silver doorplate on the 
 doctor's door : 
 
 BARTHOLOMEW BORING, M. D. 
 
 Within, there were books, carpets, and 
 servants : those marks of culture, and, 
 they said, of the " eccentric." Such they 
 were pleased to call him, those who had 
 known him, before the valley knew him, 
 for a friend. He might have walked the 
 heights ; that he found the valley paths 
 more to his taste, the years in which he 
 trod their humble ways bore evidence. 
 That he had been ignorant of those un- 
 pretentious ways the first days of his com- 
 ing, the silver plate bore evidence. When 
 he did fall into line with all about him, the 
 silver plate furnished so much of wonder
 
 The Valley Path 15 
 
 and amusement that he let it be. And 
 there it is to this good day : 
 
 BARTHOLOMEW BORING, M. D. 
 
 They had come for miles to look at it ; 
 come horseback and afoot, singly and in 
 squads. They had wondered if M. D. 
 might not be a warning, like "hands off," 
 or "look out for pickpockets," or "don't 
 tramp on the grass," until at last a shrewd 
 young giant from across the mountain 
 made out to read the riddle: 
 
 " It stands for mad" he declared. "'Bar- 
 tholomew Borin', Mad Doctor.' That's 
 what the sign says." 
 
 From that time he was placed, labelled 
 like a vial of his own strychnine ; the mad 
 doctor. 
 
 He chuckled, enjoying the joke as 
 keenly as its perpetrators. He even swore 
 they were right: "Else why should a 'man 
 forsake houses, and brethren, or wife'" 
 arid there he stopped, as he always did, to 
 sigh. Wife ; that was the pivot upon
 
 1 6 The Valley Path 
 
 which his fate had turned ; swung from 
 sun to shade, to rest at last under the 
 stiller shadows of the wilderness. 
 
 The footpath way became familiar with 
 his tread, and with his thoughts, 
 
 " If things inanimate catch heart-beats." 
 
 He was fond of its varied windings among 
 the dusky glooms, and sunnier ways. 
 The brown trail had been first opened by 
 the cattle that went up daily to graze upon 
 the long, lush plateau grasses, stopping 
 by the way to touch their nozzles to the 
 cooling waters of the Elk. Later, the 
 opening in the brake became a footpath 
 for the people on the mountain's side who 
 came down Sabbath mornings to worship 
 in the valley "meet'n-house" at Goshen, 
 near unto Pelham Creek. 
 
 "Because," they said, "the Episcopers 
 had tuk the mount'n bodaciously, callin' 
 of it S'wany." And " Furthermore," they 
 said, "Episcoper an' mount'neer won't 
 mix worth mentionin'."
 
 The Valley Path 17 
 
 And so the mountain monarch had fol- 
 lowed the example of his red brother and 
 "moved on," leaving the plateau to the 
 " Episcopers," who planted their' flag, 
 erected their homes, and worshipped their 
 God under the beautiful groves of Sewa- 
 nee. But to this good day, " Episcoper " 
 and mountaineer refuse to mix, "worth 
 mentionin'." 
 
 The doctor "mixed" with them as little 
 as his rustic neighbours. 
 
 "They're out of my beat," he would de- 
 clare, pointing along the footpath. "Too 
 high," pointing up the mountain, "too 
 church. I like this better." 
 
 He seldom followed the path further 
 than the foot of the mountain, unless he 
 had a patient up there, as was sometimes 
 the case, among the very poor, the natives, 
 living along the steep. He would walk 
 to the spot where the path made a turn at 
 Alicia's truck-patch, and stand leaning 
 over the palings of Alicia's fence, talking 
 with grandad Reams, the miller, about
 
 1 8 The Valley Path 
 
 heaven, perhaps, until dismissed by granny 
 from the doorstep, as "a doggone infidel." 
 
 Sometimes it was with Alicia that he 
 talked ; about the chickens, the eggs he 
 wanted her to fetch over, or to ask if little 
 Al was ailing. Sometimes he only walked 
 there to look up at the heights, and at 
 Sewanee, and to wonder concerning its 
 creeds and dogmas. But he always called 
 over the fence to Alicia, for some one 
 thing or another. 
 
 "Just for the pure pleasure of hearing 
 her laugh," he told himself; "it is like the 
 gurgle of Elk River among the gray rocks 
 at low-water time." He remembered the 
 first time he ever walked there and saw 
 the bright head among the corn rows, and 
 heard the little gurgling laugh, and met 
 the honest gray eyes with their untroubled 
 deeps, and felt the force of her beautiful 
 character, abloom like the sturdy moun- 
 tain-laurel among the secluded ways of the 
 wilderness. He remembered her hands, 
 and the first strong clasp of her fingers,
 
 The Valley Path 19 
 
 and the gentleness of their touch the first 
 time he ever met her, in a cabin by the 
 Pelham Road, with a dead babe lying 
 across her knees, and those strong, gentle 
 fingers feeling for its heart, that had flut- 
 tered like a wounded bird's and then 
 stopped. She had looked like a Ma- 
 donna, with her motherly arms and sweet 
 girl-face. In his fancy he had called her 
 " the Madonna," that first time he saw 
 her. And he had wondered then but if 
 he is going back to that "first time" when, 
 yielding to a whim, or an inspiration, he 
 had bidden the old walks farewell, sent 
 his servants on to prepare a place where 
 he might set his foot down free of creeds 
 and memories and heartaches ; and had 
 sought the cabin in the wilds, cast his lot 
 among the humble dwellers there, and had 
 stumbled upon other creeds and memories 
 and heartaches, why, we will turn the 
 page and go with him, back to that first 
 time when, among the Tennesseean vales, 
 in a cabin in the wilderness, he encoun-
 
 20 The Valley Path 
 
 tered Alicia, the miller's granddaughter, 
 his Madonna. 
 
 Women know their fate the moment 
 they know anything; with a change in the 
 pattern of a dress their destinies are fairly 
 one; with, perchance, this slight variety, 
 wife, spinster. But men stumble upon a 
 strange destiny as they stumble upon one 
 another ; along the crowded walk, in the 
 glare and glow of gaslight, in the ballroom, 
 in the quiet woodland ways ; after their 
 rose-dreams have ended, it may be, along 
 with youth and youthful fancies. Yet are 
 the colours of the afterglow warmer, less 
 blinding, than the sun's rays at meridian.
 
 Chapter II 
 
 THE workmen had gone back to the 
 city, and the house had been in all 
 readiness for more than a week, when a 
 trap set the doctor, and his terrier Zip, 
 down at the gate of that which he was 
 pleased to term his "mountain home." 
 
 Aunt Dike had scrubbed and rubbed 
 and made things "homeful" within doors, 
 while her son Ephraim had performed a 
 like service in stable and yard. Both ser- 
 vants, however, felt that it was so much 
 good labour gone for naught : so much 
 care put upon a cabin that was only a cabin 
 when all was said and done. The only 
 redeemable feature about the business was 
 that it was all for the master, and was one 
 of his whims, of which, they doubted not, 
 he would soon tire. 
 
 True, there was the silver doorplate : to
 
 22 The Valley Path 
 
 be sure, that covered a multitude of evils. 
 Aunt Dike felt an honest town pride in 
 that doorplate. The workmen whom the 
 doctor had sent up to attend to things, 
 and who had put the plate in place, were 
 scarcely outside the gate before old Dilce 
 was polishing the bit of silver "fit to kill." 
 She kept it up every day until the doctor 
 arrived. When the natives began to ride 
 by and peep over the low fence at the 
 little shining square, the old woman only 
 polished the more vigorously. When 
 they opened the gate, and, striding up the 
 walk to the door, stood spelling out " the 
 sign," her pride in it became such that she 
 would certainly have rubbed it out of 
 countenance but for the doctor's rush to 
 the rescue. 
 
 It was the morning after his arrival, a 
 morning in early spring. The laurel was 
 in bloom along the river bluffs, and a 
 quince-tree in the corner of the yard near 
 the fence gave promise of bursting buds. 
 
 The doctor rose early, "an indication
 
 The Valley Path 23 
 
 of old age," he told himself, and called 
 for his coffee. 
 
 "Throw open the windows," he said to 
 Ephraim, " then hand me my purple 
 dressing-gown, and tell your mother I 
 want my coffee. I want it hot, as hot 
 as" 
 
 " Here 'tis, marster ; en yo' bre'kfus' '11 
 be raidy in a minute." The old woman 
 had appeared most opportunely : the doc- 
 tor was about to let slip his one pet 
 profanity. 
 
 He laughed softly as he slipped into 
 his purple robings and his easy chair, and, 
 leaning his big gray head back against the 
 velvet rest, he prepared to enjoy the cof- 
 fee, which old Dike was arranging on the 
 stand at his right hand. 
 
 There was a click of the little gate 
 latch ; the " big gray " was lifted ; through 
 the open window came the fresh, sweet 
 river-breath, and the far-away odour of 
 new mould where some industrious plow- 
 man was overturning the sod, further down
 
 24 The Valley Path 
 
 the valley. And through the window the 
 twinkling blue eyes saw a long, lank 
 figure, followed by another and another, 
 amble up to his doorstep, stop a moment, 
 and move on, making room for the next, 
 like a procession at a public funeral stop- 
 ping to look at the corpse in state. Full 
 twenty passed in at the gate and out again. 
 The master turned to Dike : 
 
 "What the hell are they doing?" he 
 demanded ; and then came old Dike's 
 turn at chuckling. 
 
 " Hit's de do' fixin's, marster," she de- 
 clared. " Dem do' fixin's am too fine fur 
 dese parts ; en dey ain' showin' ob you de 
 proper respec', accordin' ter my suppres- 
 sion. Yistiddy one o' de stroppinist ones 
 ob dem all nicknamed ob you c de Mad 
 Doctor.' He say dat what de sign mean; 
 M. D. f Dat mean Mad Doctor,' he 
 say." 
 
 The gray head went back upon the 
 velvet chair-rest, and a laugh echoed 
 among the rafters and sills and beams of
 
 The Valley Path 25 
 
 the gray cabin, such as they had not heard 
 since rescued from the owl, the bat, and 
 the gopher, to make room for the medi- 
 cine boxes and books of the "mad doc- 
 tor." 
 
 " It is enough to made them think me 
 a lunatic," he told himself, as all day the 
 passers-by stopped to wonder at the reck- 
 less waste of silver. " And when they 
 discover that I am not here to practise, 
 but merely to nurse a whim and a dispo- 
 sition to cynicism and catarrh, they will 
 think me madder still, rip, ranting mad. 
 'The other side' thought the same, because 
 I refused to put the plate on a door in the 
 city. Well, well ; we'll see, we'll see. 
 Maybe there will be no call for declining 
 to practise," he laughed, softly, " among 
 my new neighbours. At all events, I need 
 not refuse until the arrival of my first 
 patient." 
 
 Sure enough, as he had half expected, 
 they set him in the balance at once. 
 "Against herbs and conjure and hornets,"
 
 26 The Valley Path 
 
 he said, whenever he told the joke, as he 
 certainly did tell it, to any of his former 
 friends who hunted him up now and then 
 by a visit to his "shanty," or sent him an 
 invitation to meet them at Sewanee, the 
 Episcopal seat of learning. 
 
 They set him in the balance the very 
 first day of his arrival. He was strolling 
 about the yard among the flower beds 
 Ephraim was laying off, enjoying his mod- 
 est possessions in his own cranky old way, 
 bareheaded, the sun making a sparkle of 
 his wavy hair that touched the purple vel- 
 vet collar of his robe, working a pleasant 
 contrast even in the eyes of the young 
 giant riding along the footpath towards 
 the gate. 
 
 To a mind more familiar with the 
 aesthetic might have occurred some pretty 
 imagery, some blend of colour, gray and 
 purple, like the mists that covered the 
 mountain-top. But the visitor was a 
 stranger to aesthetics. He saw the gray 
 head and the purple gown, the kindly,
 
 The Valley Path 27 
 
 old-young face, with its laughing eyes half 
 hidden under the bushy brows. If he 
 made any comparison, nobody knew it. 
 There were curiosity, eagerness, business, 
 in the man's whole appearance ; in the 
 very trot of the yellow mule upon whose 
 bare back he sat astride, his own bare 
 feet almost touching the ground on either 
 side. 
 
 At the visitor's " Halloo," the doctor 
 looked up from the mignonette bed ; 
 something told him this was the arrival of 
 his first patient. The two regarded each 
 other steadily. What the doctor saw was 
 a slender-built young fellow, with clean, 
 sharply defined features, blue eyes that 
 were wells of mirth, a chin which meant 
 defiance, a brow browned by the valley 
 sun, and, pushed back with careless, un- 
 conscious grace, an old slouch hat, the 
 inevitable adornment of his class. A 
 mass of soft, clinging curls gave a girlish 
 something to the defiant face. The full, 
 beardless lips were ready to break into
 
 28 The Valley Path 
 
 smiles, despite the scowl with which their 
 owner was regarding this newcomer to the 
 valley. 
 
 In this newcomer the visitor saw a 
 young-old face ; the eyes and smile of 
 youth, the lines and snow of age on 
 brow and temple. Beyond the physician 
 the mountaineer saw the silver doorplate 
 and its flaunting M. D., and seeing, took 
 courage. 
 
 "Air you the town doctor?" he de- 
 manded, flecking a cockle-bur from the 
 yellow mule's comb with the tip of a wil- 
 low withe, which served him as a riding- 
 whip. 
 
 " Yes," said the doctor, " I am ; and a 
 mighty good one at that." 
 
 The visitor lifted his big, bare foot and 
 planted it upon the topmost rail of the 
 gray worm fence, almost under the very 
 nose of the ^Esculapius, and, pointing with 
 the willow switch to his great toe, swollen 
 and red and distorted, demanded : 
 
 " What ails hit?"
 
 The Valley Path 29 
 
 The professor of three diplomas put on 
 his spectacles : the toe was three times its 
 ordinary size ; the flesh was raw-looking 
 and ugly ; he touched it gingerly with his 
 practised fingers. 
 
 " A bad toe," he declared, in his slow, 
 professional voice. Ephraim, the bow- 
 legged boy of all work, had sauntered up, 
 dragging his hoe after him ; Aunt Dike 
 was listening, arms akimbo, from the 
 corner of the house. 
 
 " That, sir," the physician explained, 
 " is what we doctors call a pretty bad case 
 of erysipelas." 
 
 The mountaineer reined in the yellow 
 mule. "Erysip'lis hell! " he replied. "A 
 hornet stung it." 
 
 The mule went down the road to 
 Pelham in a cloud of yellow dust. Old 
 Dike ambled back to the kitchen with 
 her cotton apron stuffed into her mouth. 
 Ephraim stumbled back to his mignonette 
 bed. The doctor suddenly turned upon 
 him : " You Ephraim ? "
 
 30 The Valley Path 
 
 "Yes, sah!" 
 
 Ah! he was showing his ivories. 
 
 " If you ever tell that to a living soul, 
 sir, I '11 break every bone in your body ; 
 do you hear, sir ? " 
 
 He could, however, hear Aunt Dilce 
 chuckling over the cake she was about to 
 slap upon the hoe, that had become too 
 hot while she had been enjoying the call 
 of the master's first patient. 
 
 Yet, that first patient proved another 
 pivot upon which life made a turn ; such 
 is the unsuspected magnitude of trifles. 
 It was the real beginning of his life in the 
 little cove tucked away among the spurs 
 of the Cumberlands, where he had elected 
 to pass his summers, not his life. That 
 he would have other patients he never 
 once considered; no more did he moralise 
 upon "the opportunities of doing good," 
 which had become too much of a phrase 
 to hold real earnest meaning. He had 
 given up moralising long ago ; while as 
 for opportunities , he rather thought of them
 
 The Valley Path 31 
 
 as something either self-creative or thrust 
 upon one. That they would come he 
 took for granted, though he refused to 
 seek them. When, at last, one tapped at 
 his door, he did not recognise it at all, 
 hearing in its voice only the cry of suffer- 
 ing humanity ; he merely buttoned on his 
 coat and went to meet it, that was all.
 
 Chapter III 
 
 DURING the next week the physi- 
 cian from the city heard more than 
 once how " Joe Bowen had gotten ahead 
 o' the mad doctor." He had been ques- 
 tioned about it when he went over to 
 the little country town of MofFat, and 
 had even told the joke of his own ac- 
 cord, laughing at it as heartily as the 
 rest. It proved an introduction for him, 
 at all events, and went to verify the old 
 saying that " a bad reputation is better 
 than none." The people roundabout 
 heard of him as a physician, and one 
 afternoon, about ten days after Joe had 
 made his call, the doctor had a second. 
 A man from up the valley, in passing, 
 left word of " a fambly o' children down 
 with scyarlet fever, in a house on the 
 Pelham road." He " reckined they'd 
 32
 
 The Valley Path 33 
 
 take it mighty kind if the mad doctor'd 
 Step over an' see what he could do for 
 'em." 
 
 Being a three-mile "step," he ordered 
 his horse ; and as a family had been at- 
 tacked with the disease, he carried his 
 medicine-case along. 
 
 It was his first ride down the Pelham 
 road, and, notwithstanding there were suf- 
 fering children at the end of his journey, 
 he rode slowly. The young spring was 
 abroad ; the woods were a mass of quiv- 
 ering new greens ; the trees alive with 
 birds ; where he crossed Pelham Creek 
 the water rose with a sibilant gurgle to 
 the bay mare's belly. The birds made 
 merry over their nests in the heart of 
 the laurel-brake; in the tops of the red 
 oak-trees a little mountain oriole was 
 calling, calling in his half-merry, half- 
 melancholy song, the first note of which 
 is a whistle, the second an inquiry, the 
 third a regret, and the fourth an unmis- 
 takable sigh, a trill of music and a wail
 
 34 The Valley Path 
 
 of melancholy. The good green grass 
 crowded the roadside ; the wild honey- 
 suckle nodded to him from the deeper 
 hollows of the wood ; the very winds 
 that fanned his cheek were gentle, kind, 
 sympathetic. He scarcely saw, he only 
 felt, the glad new restfulness of living. 
 
 "It was a wise move," he murmured, 
 "a very wise move. I am glad I came to 
 the wilderness." He rode on for a mo- 
 ment m silence, the mare's feet scarcely 
 audible in the light green sward of the 
 almost untravelled valley road. Suddenly 
 he lifted his head and looked about him, 
 snuffing the keen, spring-scented air. 
 
 "What a place to die in!" he exclaimed; 
 "to grow old and die in. Up, now! we 
 are loitering in this Sleepy Hollow." 
 
 He touched the mare's neck with the 
 bridle-rein lightly, and ere long the rest- 
 ful woods, with their seduction of sound 
 and colour, lay behind him. 
 
 It was noon when he reached the house, 
 one of the ordinary two-room log cabins
 
 The Valley Path 35 
 
 of the neighbourhood, having a shed in the 
 rear, and an open passage between the liv- 
 ing-rooms. 
 
 An old woman, tall and gaunt and ca- 
 daverous-looking, occupied the little home- 
 made bench that adorned the passage ; 
 before her stood a large jar, a crock, 
 surmounted by a wooden top ; the crock 
 was doing duty as churn; the woman was 
 industriously plying the dasher. She rose, 
 when the doctor drove up, and called to 
 him to "turn his nag in the yard, else it 
 would be worrit ter death by a loose mule 
 o' Joe Bowenses that was rampantin' the 
 country." 
 
 He obeyed instructions, and in a mo- 
 ment more stood in the passage, inquiring 
 after the sick. 
 
 " They're right in thar," said the 
 woman, "if you're the doctor man." 
 
 " Are they yours ? " 
 
 " Naw, sir, they ain't mine, an' I'm glad 
 of it, bein' as they're all three 'bout ter 
 die. One of 'em's in an' about dead, I
 
 36 The Valley Path 
 
 reckin. I ain't got but one, an' he's a 
 man growed. Though I ain't tellin' of 
 you, doctor, that I never had no more. 
 I've done my part, I reckin ; I've got 
 'leven dead ones. I failed ter raise 'em; 
 the measles an' the whoopin'-cough an' 
 the fever set in an' they all went, all 
 but Jim. Jim he tuk the jaundice 
 once't, but he got over it. I'm mighty 
 glad ter meet you, Doctor Borin'." 
 
 "Thank you, madam," replied the 
 physician, with such honest simplicity 
 and hearty sincerity that the woman's 
 sallow face beamed the pleasure the 
 words gave her. It was only a simple 
 greeting from a gentle heart; but be- 
 cause of it the mad doctor had one 
 friend more upon the list of those who 
 loved him. 
 
 " Do you live here ? " he asked. 
 
 " Naw, sir ; I live in the first house on 
 the road ter S'wany, back o' yo' place. 
 My name's Tucker ; Mis' Tucker. You 
 can go in now an' see the child'en, Doc-
 
 The Valley Path 37 
 
 tor Borin', if you please ter ; I come over 
 ter try an' help a bit, an' I'll jist churn 
 this milk an' give Lissy a swaller o' fresh 
 buttermilk. Pears like she can't be per- 
 suaded ter take time to eat nothin'." 
 
 He glanced carelessly at the low-ceiled 
 room, the two beds occupying two corners, 
 the small trundle-bed drawn into the cen- 
 tre of the room, and the little square win- 
 dow which did duty in the way of light 
 and ventilation, the batten shutter thrown 
 wide open. A boy of ten years lay toss- 
 ing upon the trundle-bed, flushed and 
 fretting with fever. Upon another bed, 
 listless, and pale as marble, a young girl 
 was lying. Hers was a complicated case, 
 and might prove a hopeless one. The 
 great, hollow eyes were turned to the 
 door, watching the doctor ; a low, pant- 
 ing moan issued continually from the 
 thin, bloodless lips. 
 
 He took it all in at a glance ; the pov- 
 erty, the crowded, close air, the ignorance 
 of disease, and the suffering occasioned
 
 38 The Valley Path 
 
 thereby. But that which appealed to 
 him above all things was the figure of 
 a young girl seated beside an empty 
 cradle, with a little baby upon her knees, 
 her hand lying lightly upon its breast. 
 At first he had seen in the uncertain 
 light only a coil of bright hair, of that 
 peculiar shade that is neither gold nor 
 auburn ; it was more like a dab of warm 
 sunshine in the gloom of the place. As 
 his eye became accustomed to the gloom, 
 the outline of the face grew broader, and 
 he saw where womanly tenderness and 
 sweetness blended into a Madonna-like 
 perfection of beauty. She wore a dress 
 of some dark stuff, opened at the throat, 
 and with the sleeves pushed back in clumsy 
 little rolls above the dimpled elbows, plump 
 and shapely. Her face was bent over the 
 child upon her lap, and her slender, strong 
 fingers were feeling under the bosom of 
 the little white gown for the baby's heart. 
 She lifted her head when the physician 
 bent over her to look into the small, smil-
 
 The Valley Path 39 
 
 ing face against her knee. Even then he 
 noticed that the large gray eyes lifted to his 
 were tearless, the slender fingers were firm 
 and without a tremor ; if she felt an emo- 
 tion she held it magnificently in control. 
 
 " Go to the others," she said, in a quietly 
 impressive tone. " Go to the others ; it 
 ain't no use to waste time here. I felt its 
 heart stop beatin' when I heard your step 
 in the passage. I ain't been able to find 
 it any more." 
 
 Not even when she began to smooth 
 the lids down over the staring baby's eyes, 
 did the slender fingers falter. 
 
 " Its ma is down in the orchard with 
 its pa," she continued, when the phy- 
 sician questioned her concerning the par- 
 ents. " They went out to keep from 
 seein' it die. But it died mighty easy ; 
 there was nothing to run from as I can 
 see, jest a little baby going to sleep." 
 
 The slender fingers went on smoothing 
 the dead eyes ; there was a caressing some- 
 thing about the manner in which they
 
 40 The Valley Path 
 
 moved, that robbed their task of horror. 
 The physician regarded her steadily a 
 moment. 
 
 " Are you one of the family?" he asked. 
 " Do you belong here ? " 
 
 " No, sir," she replied, in her soft, musi- 
 cal drawl. "I live in the house nearest 
 yours ; I'm Alicia Reams, the miller's 
 granddaughter. They call me c Lissy ' 
 for short. I'm just here to help some; 
 so if you want anything I can get it for 
 you. So can Mrs. Tucker, if you'll 
 speak to her outside the door there." 
 
 " Well," said the physician, " I ( want ' 
 a good deal. First thing, I want that 
 churn stopped, or carried out of reach of 
 the ears of this nervous girl here. Then 
 I want to separate living and dead in this 
 house, or we shall have more dead in a 
 little while. Isn't there another room 
 across the passage ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. If you'll call Mrs. Tucker 
 to take the baby I'll help you with the 
 others."
 
 The Valley Path 41 
 
 She placed the dead child in the arms 
 of the older woman, directed her where 
 to find its " things," and sent her into the 
 shed-room to make the tiny body ready 
 for burial. Then she gave a little tuck in 
 her sleeves, and, turning to the physician, 
 said, in a whisper : 
 
 "I'm goin' to run down in the orchard 
 and send the baby's pa to Cowan after a 
 coffin and things ; I'll come right back in 
 a minute. Try and do somethin' for 
 Cora ; she's suffered lots, Cora has." 
 
 She flitted away like a dash of lost 
 sunshine, leaving the real gloom of death 
 in the room. Yet her presence lingered ; 
 the low, sweet cadence of her voice still 
 sounded in the doctor's ears ; the bright 
 face, with its great gray eyes, " shadow 
 pools," he called them, was still before 
 him. What a face it was : neither girl's 
 nor woman's, yet lacking. There were 
 fire, warmth, feeling; a native refinement 
 marked her handling of even the ordinary 
 coarser duties which devolved upon her;
 
 42 The Valley Path 
 
 there was gentleness in every motion of 
 the body. The touch of her fingers was 
 magnetic : her hand had brushed his when 
 he examined the baby upon her knees, 
 and it had thrilled him as he had not been 
 thrilled in years. How strong her pres- 
 ence, outlined against the weakness about 
 her. Already he had begun to specu- 
 late concerning her ; surely the girl had 
 possibilities, a future something beyond 
 the listless lives about her, ran his 
 thought. She was at his side again 
 while he was trying to solve the riddle 
 of her. 
 
 " Now, Doctor Borin'," she said, " I'm 
 ready to help you do something for these. 
 I'm ready to take hold, and you needn't 
 mind telling me; I'm used to doin' for 
 the sick. There's been a good deal o' 
 sickness in this valley, and I've learned 
 to help some, bein' as help was scarce." 
 
 Together they worked ; he directing, 
 and lending a hand when one was needed, 
 as it often was. In a little while the sick
 
 The Valley Path 43 
 
 had been removed into the room across 
 the passage, and made comfortable in the 
 fresh, sweet beds for which the humblest 
 of the region are known. The boy was 
 soon fast asleep under the doctor's minis- 
 trations. The case of Cora, the young 
 girl, was not so easily managed. Fever 
 had started again, and the scene through 
 which she had just passed, the grief- 
 stricken mother, the dead baby, the rest- 
 less fretfulness of her brother, had so 
 excited the patient that the physician 
 found it difficult to calm her. He re- 
 mained until dusk, and returned again after 
 supper, remaining until midnight, gently 
 soothing his patient, until, with the aid 
 of his skill and a subtle something in his 
 presence, she fell into a deep slumber. At 
 midnight he left Alicia in charge. 
 
 " Allow no one to enter the room," he 
 said to her as they stood together for a 
 moment in the passage, where a feeble old 
 lantern was doing its best, with the assist- 
 ance of the moon, in the matter of light-
 
 44 The Valley Path 
 
 ing the way for the neighbours who 
 dropped in at all hours of the night to 
 " sit up with the corpse " in the family 
 room. " Nobody must go in there ex- 
 cept you or Mrs. Tucker ; she has the 
 gift of discretion as well as yourself. 
 Above all things, keep from the sick chil- 
 dren what is going on in the next room. 
 I will return at eight o'clock to-morrow ; 
 can you hold out so long ? " 
 
 He could almost see the laugh in her 
 gray eyes, lifted to his, by the sickly light 
 of the lantern. 
 
 " I'm good for a week yet, Doctor 
 Borin'," she said. " Hold out! you don't 
 know Lissy Reams." 
 
 " I shall know her," he replied, " if she 
 is to set herself up as my rival, or my 
 partner, in practice here." 
 
 He heard her low, gurgling laugh, in- 
 stantly checked as she remembered the 
 presence in the cabin. " We're neigh- 
 bours," she said ; " I have got a little 
 truck-patch where I raise things to sell at
 
 The Valley Path 45 
 
 S'wanee. I'll fetch you over a mess of 
 beans soon ; see if I don't." 
 
 " And all the fresh eggs you can spare," 
 said the doctor. " I want to engage them 
 now, for years, as long as I live." 
 
 " Heish," she said, softly, " don't make 
 me laugh. It ain't kind, at a time like 
 this. Besides, I might die long befo' you, 
 who knows ? " 
 
 " You ? Look at those arms, will you ? 
 Then go look in the glass, and see the 
 blood come and go in your cheeks. 
 Moreover, old Dike, my housekeeper, 
 tells me that you go up the mountain 
 every morning by sunup, and in a canter. 
 In a canter, think of it ! I couldn't walk 
 up in a day. And you talk of dying be- 
 fore me. Tut! Let me hear you laugh 
 again." 
 
 But the laugh did not come ; gazing 
 full into his eyes, she had found there 
 nothing, notwithstanding the lightness of 
 his tone, to encourage mirth. In the lan- 
 tern's light the doctor saw an unmistakable
 
 46 The Valley Path 
 
 shadow, faint, vague, and fleeting, hover 
 for an instant in her eyes. 
 
 " I ain't always so lively," she said, 
 slowly, " nor so reasonable, neither, I 
 reckon. Sometimes I have the blues 
 awful, and then I'm just good for nothin'. 
 I ain't any help to anybody when I get 
 the blues. And most of the time it's just 
 about nothin' I have 'em. Ain't I an 
 awful goose ? " 
 
 As if the confession were precisely that 
 which he had expected, he said, in a vague, 
 dreamful tone, "I know, yes, I under- 
 stand." 
 
 "Doctor Borin'?" The eager surprise 
 in her voice quite startled him. 
 
 "Why, you see," he said in explanation, 
 "we doctors possess certain secret en- 
 trances to the soul, not permitted others. 
 We understand character as well as body. 
 Now you are what we in our profession 
 would call ethereal, that is, pertaining to 
 the spirit. You are a dreamer." 
 
 She laughed softly, under her breath,
 
 The Valley Path 47 
 
 lest the gay sound should reach the 
 troubled ear of the bereaved, and jar un- 
 pleasantly. 
 
 "I'm a peddler of truck," she replied. 
 "I sell vegetables to the college boardin'- 
 house at SVanee. In the winter I sell 
 butter and eggs and dried beans to the 
 same house. That's my life pretty much, 
 and that's the kind of dreamer I am. 
 Though I ain't sayin' but I'd like " 
 
 " There," said he, " I told you so. 
 Your garden rows are full of your dreams, 
 dropped in with your seed. And your 
 egg basket wouldn't begin to hold the 
 fancies that fill your heart while you trip 
 up the mountain to Sewanee." 
 
 He left her standing in the passage, her 
 bare arms folded upon her breast and 
 gleaming like silver in the mingled light 
 of moon and lantern. The picture of her 
 stayed with him while he rode home in 
 the soundless midnight; the fair young 
 face with that dainty mingling of colour 
 which belongs alone to first sweet youth ;
 
 48 The Valley Path 
 
 the coy blending of girl and woman ; the 
 graceful, well-fulled body ; and the soul 
 lurking in the gray deeps of eyes which, 
 once seeing, would for ever refuse the 
 darkness of life's ways. Out of place, 
 as much out of place in that wilderness 
 cabin as his silver doorplate on the hut at 
 the foot of the mountain. 
 
 There was a tragedy in her life ; the 
 bare fact of her being was a tragedy, and 
 could round to no other end than the 
 tragic. Some souls are born to it; and 
 whether they live quietly, unknown, and 
 die tamely in their beds, unmourned, or 
 whether their lives, like candles, are 
 snuffed out at their best brightness, amid 
 the lamentations of the multitude, matters 
 nothing and alters nothing. The tragedy 
 has been enacted ; the soul has suffered, 
 and has fulfilled that whereunto it was 
 born. 
 
 Suddenly he gave the lines a quick, im- 
 patient jerk. " Bah ! " he exclaimed ; then 
 in a softer tone : " I am bewildered by a
 
 The Valley Path 49 
 
 dash of yellow hair, and a dabble of pink 
 and white cheeks. I am an old fool. 
 The girl will marry some strapping moun- 
 taineer, rear a houseful of tow-headed 
 children, wash, scrub, bake, and be happy, 
 after the manner of her kind. But I 
 believe " The words were lost in a 
 gurgle of water, PelhamCreek among its 
 gray rocks, winding down to meet him at 
 the ford. 
 
 " Who knows ? who knows ? " Her 
 words came back to him in the lisping 
 flow as the mare's feet touched the moon- 
 flecked flood. " I might die long before 
 you, who knows ? " 
 
 " Who knows ? " he mused ; " who 
 knows anything? And how little any of 
 us know, for that matter. Yet / know 
 the miller's grandchild, with half a show- 
 ing, would not live the prosaic life of the 
 mountaineer, despite the strong brown 
 arms and the thriving 'truck-patch." 1 
 
 What a contrast she presented to the 
 women he had known ; what a con-
 
 50 The Valley Path 
 
 trast to her, that one woman, who stood 
 out in his thoughts like a ghost in the 
 midday, a ghost that is not seen, but 
 felt, and is cold, chilling the soul of 
 warm life. 
 
 Then he thought of his friends at home, 
 his former confreres and companions. 
 What would they think of the extent to 
 which his " crankiness " had carried him ? 
 ministering in hovels at midnight, with- 
 out so much as the mean motive of a few 
 dollars by way of recompense. 
 
 " They may think as they choose," was 
 his thought. " Most men, all men, I be- 
 lieve, have their cranks, their ideal life' 
 they call it. The only difference with us 
 is that I am fool enough to indulge mine. 
 I claim the right to live my own life, to 
 spoil it myself, rather than permit others 
 to spoil it for me ; since I spoil it at least 
 in the faith that I am doing my best for 
 it. And after all, life is a solitary thing, 
 and must be lived alone. They who pass 
 upon it and advise about it, can do no
 
 The Valley Path 51 
 
 more ; for life in the abstract, like death, 
 knows no duality. Now this girl but 
 enough ; I am an old fool." 
 
 Yet the picture of her stayed with him ; 
 and when at last he fell asleep in his own 
 bed, drawn as he always had it, where the 
 moonlight from the small old-fashioned 
 window fell athwart his pillow, he still 
 saw her, in a dream, sitting beside an 
 empty cradle, with a little waxen baby 
 on her knees.
 
 Chapter IV 
 
 DOCTOR BORING had an early 
 breakfast the next morning, and 
 immediately after ordered his horse. 
 
 "They are as like as not to lay the 
 corpse out on the bed with one of my 
 patients," he said, in reply to Aunt Dike's 
 complaining. " Moreover, I left the 
 little Reams woman there," it never x 
 occurred to him to call Alicia, as his mind 
 had received its first impression of her, a 
 girl, "and she must be all used up by 
 this time. One of those children is going 
 to have a fight for life, and if I am to get 
 in any work it must be at the start ; there 
 is scant need of a physician at the finish. 
 I am going to send Alicia Reams over 
 here, Aunt Dike; and I want you to 
 have a good hot breakfast for her, and 
 make her take the time to eat it. Be 
 5 2
 
 The Valley Path 53 
 
 good to her, black mammy ; when she 
 gets here, look after her; make her 
 rest awhile. Then do you send the 
 horse back to me." 
 
 He found Alicia as busy as though she 
 had not lost a wink of sleep in a month. 
 She was bending over a saucepan in the 
 shed-room, mixing a meal poultice for 
 Cora, who had complained of " a mis'ry 
 in the side." 
 
 Doctor Boring went from room to 
 room with the freedom to which they 
 were too well accustomed to consider it 
 presuming, until he found Alicia in the 
 shed-room. 
 
 " I will attend to that," he said, indi- 
 cating the poultice ; " do you get on your 
 bonnet and mount my horse, can you 
 ride ? " 
 
 She nodded, smiling. " I've always 
 lived nigh enough to the mount'n to 
 be called a mount'n girl," she said; 
 " an' mount'n girls can ride anything, 
 from broomstick to steer. Is somebody
 
 54 The Valley Path 
 
 else sick, an' you want me to go there, 
 to help nurse 'em ? " 
 
 " Hell ! " he murmured. " Go there ? 
 No I I want you to mount that horse 
 and get away from sick folks. Get away 
 like you were getting away from Indians, 
 measles, small-pox, yellow jackets. Do 
 you understand?" 
 
 She set the saucepan upon the hearth 
 and crammed her apron into her mouth. 
 
 " Great I am ! " she exclaimed, when the 
 disposition to laugh outright had been over- 
 come. " I have heard you were wicked." 
 
 "You haven't heard the half," he re- 
 plied. "Here! throw that mash in the 
 pig-pen ; I have a mustard plaster for the 
 pain in the side. The children are both 
 better. I am glad of that. I've got to 
 prove to these people that I'm a doctor, 
 even if I don't know a hornet's sting 
 when it is thrust under my nose." 
 
 A flash of the gray eyes, a dimpling of 
 the cheek, and a twitching of the red lips 
 told him that she knew the story, though
 
 The Valley Path 55 
 
 she said, with proper demureness, " Did 
 somebody allow you didn't know the dif- 
 ference ? " 
 
 " Oh, I didn't," he admitted, with open 
 candour. " I was completely sold. But 
 if I can help these little children back to 
 health I am willing to take my chances 
 with you people. Now, Lissy, you must 
 do as I say. Aunt Dike is holding your 
 breakfast back until you come. You ride 
 on to my house, take a good rest, a good 
 breakfast, and then go home and go to 
 bed." 
 
 " I ain't tired," she replied, " and I 
 ought to stay here and help about bury- 
 in' of the baby." 
 
 " Burying be hanged ! " he replied. 
 " Unless you do as I tell you I shall 
 go back and eat the breakfast myself, 
 and leave the sick to go as the baby 
 went. Do you understand ? If you 
 value your friends here, and my reputa- 
 tion as a physician, you must do as I 
 command."
 
 56 The Valley Path 
 
 " Oh, these ain't my friends," she re- 
 plied. " I never was here before." 
 
 " What ? what are you doing here, 
 then?" 
 
 " Helpin'," she replied. " I always 
 help. That's all I can do ; I'm an aw- 
 ful sinner worse than you, I reckin. 
 You'll hear all about it. But I can't 
 help it; I'm bound to act accordin' to 
 my light, and I haven't seen the way to 
 the mourners' bench yet. And Brother 
 Barry he's the circuit-rider he says 
 I'm bound for hell and torment, and 
 that I'm one o' the stiff-necked and 
 hard of heart. Did you notice I didn't 
 even cry when the baby died in my lap ? 
 I couldn't ; all the rest cried. But me 
 I couldn't see what there was to sorrow 
 about in a little babyjist slippin' from this 
 world o' trouble up to God. It was all 
 mighty sweet and happy to me. I was 
 sort of glad to see it go ; I knew it would 
 never be worried with doubts, like me, nor 
 be hindered none by lack o' light and
 
 The Valley Path 57 
 
 grace. Doctor Borin', I hear Cora cry- 
 in' with the mis'ry in her side ; won't you 
 go in and put the mustard to it ? An' I'll 
 run 'long and get the breakfast you saved. 
 It was mighty good of you. I'll sure en- 
 joy it, I know I will. An' I'll surely fetch 
 the mess o' beans by an' by, and fresh eggs 
 enough for your many a breakfast. If," 
 she added, roguishly, " you don't die of 
 old age befo' the hens can get on their 
 nestes." 
 
 When she had gone, although he gave 
 his full attention to the sick, she was not 
 once absent from his thoughts. If she 
 had puzzled him the night before, the 
 piquant beauty of her face only charmed 
 and bewitched him the more in the good 
 glow of the daylight. He had felt a great 
 curiosity in seeing it again ; without giv- 
 ing form to the doubt, he had somehow 
 felt vaguely that something was lacking 
 to the face's full perfection. She was 
 not slow or dull, after the manner of 
 the mountain maidens, owing perhaps to
 
 58 The Valley Path 
 
 the influence and teachings of her valley 
 mother. There was nothing stupid, none 
 of the heavy country girl about her. Yet, 
 when the large eyes looked full into his, 
 he saw the wavering, weaker lights under 
 the strong purplish gray ; and when she 
 had gone he whispered to his own inquir- 
 ing heart : " A nature to be moulded ; an 
 impressionist, with a tendency towards the 
 morbid." 
 
 It was noon when he left the house of 
 mourning. The little baby had been laid 
 to sleep in a neighbouring burying-ground, 
 and the sick were doing reasonably well. 
 He had found a good deal to contend 
 with in the matter of the infant's burial. 
 In the tall, gaunt minister who had arrived 
 in time to conduct the services, and in the 
 stupid persistence with which he insisted 
 upon the performance of the duty upon 
 which he had come, Doctor Boring rec- 
 ognised " Brother Barry," the Methodist 
 circuit-rider. A funeral was expected, 
 was customary ; Brother Barry was not to
 
 The Valley Path 59 
 
 be set aside by the ravings of an infidel. 
 But when the infidel took the father of 
 the dead babe aside, and swore in large 
 round English that the singing and con- 
 fusion would endanger the life of Cora, 
 Brother Barry, for once in his life, was 
 forced to the wall. So the men tiptoed 
 into the passage, lifted the small pine 
 coffin in their hands, and the rest followed 
 noiselessly to the little grave that had been 
 prepared in the valley shade, within reach 
 of the lisping music of Elk River. 
 
 "The child will sleep as well without 
 their howling," said the doctor, as the bay 
 mare trotted along the valley road in the 
 direction of home. " It will sleep as well, 
 and wake as surely, if they wake, those 
 silent sleepers." 
 
 His thought took a sudden melancholy 
 turn. He let the lines fall upon the bay's 
 neck, and she fell into the ordinary jog- 
 trot of animals less daintily sired than this 
 glossy bay Morgan. She even stopped 
 to seize a mouthful of the new greens
 
 6o The Valley Path 
 
 crowding the roadside, without rebuke 
 from the dreaming rider. 
 
 Suddenly he roused, and took up the 
 lines sharply ; his ear had caught a note 
 of discord in the noontime harmony. He 
 listened; a twinkle came into his eyes, and 
 a smile parted for a moment his lips. He 
 had almost reached the turn of the road 
 where his cabin would stand revealed. 
 Already he could see the low worm fence, 
 which he meant to replace with a pretty 
 paling by and by, and a raw-boned, flea- 
 bitten mare that was cropping the new 
 buds of his favourite quince-tree, to which 
 she had been " hitched " by a bridle-rein 
 twisted among the low-drooping branches 
 that overhung the fence upon the outside. 
 He had a caller. He recognised the flea- 
 bitten mare ; he had seen it at the baby's 
 burial when Brother Barry rode up. He 
 also recognised the voice of Aunt Dike 
 " laying the law down " to bow-legged 
 Ephraim : 
 
 " You Efum ? Git up from dar en
 
 The Valley Path 61 
 
 he'p dribe de peeg out'n de yard, fo' hit 
 root all de marster's flowers up, an' hit dat 
 peeg dar in de haid dis minute. Quit 
 makin' all dat fuss ter let folks know dey 
 done lef de gate op'n, en tu'n all de 
 peegs in de country in de yard. Sooey 
 dar ! Haid 'im ofF'n dat vi-let baid, nig- 
 ger. Dar ! dar he goes ! knock 'im in de 
 haid ! Skeer 'im out'n dem chulups ! en 
 min' yo' own bus'ness ! 'Tain' none yo' 
 bus' ness ter let folks know dey done lef 
 de gate op'n, same lack dey ain' got no 
 sense, en no raisin' nohow. Dar ! hit dat 
 peeg ! Don't let 'im inter dat minuet 
 baid, I tell yer. Call 'im off! Peeg? 
 Peeg ? Sooey dar, sooey ! Call 'im ! 
 haid 'im dar fo' I knock you down wid 
 dis here rock, en make you mo' bow- 
 laigged en what you is a'raidy. Hit 'im ! 
 sooey dar ! Whi' folks know niggers ain' 
 got nuffin ter do 'cept ter run de hogs 
 out. Dat's what de good Lord made 
 dey-all fur ; jes' ter 'commerdate po' white 
 trash. Look at dat peeg ! sooey ! haid
 
 62 The Valley Path 
 
 'im dar ! haid 'im ! Now you got him ! 
 haid 'im off todes de gate. Dar ! easy 
 now haid 'im in Dat fool nigger 
 done let dat horg slip froo his Jaigs." 
 
 The doctor heard every word ; so too 
 had the guest within doors, as Aunt 
 Dike meant he should. He saw the 
 old woman's chase after the interloper, 
 and recognised the jeopardy of his pets, 
 the flower beds. Yet he smiled as he 
 dismounted and tossed his bridle to 
 Ephraim. The little gate still swung 
 wide open upon its hinges, just as the vis- 
 itor had left it ; a pair of yellow, weather- 
 beaten saddle-bags lay upon his doorstep, 
 and Zip, his little black terrier, was in- 
 dustriously seeking an investigation of 
 their contents. 
 
 It was the first call the circuit-rider had 
 made at the cabin. The doctor chuckled. 
 
 " Liked my looks, I suppose," was his 
 reflection, " or else he saw my chicken- 
 coop ; these Methodists ! " 
 
 Old Dike, none the cleaner for her race
 
 The Valley Path 63 
 
 with the hog, hobbled forward to say, in 
 the half-complaining tone familiar to her 
 race: 
 
 " De preacher ob de gospil am in de 
 house, marster; en he look lack he tol- 
 er'ble hongry fur his dinner." 
 
 The doctor laughed softly, rescuing the 
 saddle-bags, thereby bringing upon him- 
 self an onslaught from the terrier. 
 
 "Well, then," said he, "do you be 
 sure you fix him up a good one." 
 
 " Who, me ? " 
 
 " Yes, you. And tell Ephraim to take 
 the mare to the barn." 
 
 The old woman's face wore a knowing 
 look. 
 
 " He say he ain't got but jes' a minute 
 ter set. He say he got ter be about his 
 Marster's business." 
 
 " Yes," said the doctor, " I have heard 
 something like that before. You had 
 better get the dinner ready ; chicken pie 
 and apple dumplings." 
 
 Still she didn't move ; evidently there
 
 64 The Valley Path 
 
 was news yet. He waited a moment for 
 its coming: 
 
 " Dat little gal f'm down yon'er e't tol- 
 er'ble hearty dis mawnin'." 
 
 " Who ? what ? Oh, Lissy. Did she ? 
 Well, I'm glad of that. She's a good girl. 
 You must be good to Lissy." 
 
 " I sho am," was the hearty reply. 
 " She mighty p'lite, en thankful. Dat 
 little gal hab good raisin', sho's you bawn." 
 
 " Oh, get out with you," laughed the 
 doctor, " the girl knows no more of cour- 
 tesies than Zip here. Never been beyond 
 the mountain in her life." 
 
 " Den she am a bawn lady," declared 
 old Dike, nothing daunted. " She ain' 
 no po' white trash." 
 
 " See here now, Aunt Dike, what did 
 the girl give you ? Oh, you needn't pro- 
 test, I know well enough she bought you." 
 
 "'Fo' God, marster, she ain' gimme a 
 bressed thing. She say she gwine fetch 
 me some terbacky out'n o' her grandpa's 
 patch bimeby, dat's all. En she say she
 
 The Valley Path 65 
 
 wish ter de goodness you ud come over dar 
 en see her grandpa; he's plumb peart en 
 healthy en dat fond o' comfy! En she e't 
 her bre'kfus toler'ble healfy; she sho did." 
 
 " Aunt Dike," said the physician, " my 
 tobacco box is on the mantel; help your- 
 self, you sly old rogue. Now go and get 
 the dinner for the preacher. I am going 
 in to invite him to remain to it." 
 
 " You won't have ter baig, I'll be 
 boun'," was the parting shot as she went 
 back to her kitchen. 
 
 The doctor opened the door and went 
 in. As he entered his cosy little study, a 
 stalwart, robust figure, clad in a rusty black 
 suit of clothes and carrying a worn silk 
 hat in his hand, rose to meet him. The 
 face wore a woebegone, lugubrious ex- 
 pression, as if the sins of the world had 
 been too many for the broad, bent 
 shoulders. A mass of long, sandy, un- 
 kempt hair lay upon the sleek collar of 
 the ecclesiastic coat. He was a typical 
 backwoods circuit-rider of the old time,
 
 66 The Valley Path 
 
 when zeal was supposed to do duty for 
 education ; the air of conscious rectitude, 
 of superior knowledge, and a friendly fa- 
 miliarity with the Holy of Holies that was 
 vouchsafed to but few, stamped his call- 
 ing beyond a shadow of doubting. He 
 extended his hand to meet the physician's : 
 
 " I come in the name of the Master," 
 said he. 
 
 " Well, you found the door open, at 
 all events," replied the doctor. " I tarried 
 awhile with the sick down the valley. 
 Resume your seat, sir." 
 
 "Death and disease walk the earth," 
 chanted the divine, in solemn measures. 
 " Sorrow an' desolation walk hand in 
 hand. One sows an' another reaps, and 
 no man knoweth what a day may bring 
 forth. My brother, I am come in the 
 name of the Master. I come not to call 
 the righteous but sinners to repentance. 
 I have come to beg you to repent to 
 warn you, and to teach you." 
 
 " Wait until after dinner," said the doc-
 
 The Valley Path 67 
 
 tor. "I'm a terrible old fool, I reckon, 
 but I like to take my lesson on a full 
 stomach. Sit down there, Brother Barry. 
 I am going to fill a pipe for you, and in- 
 troduce you to my dog Zip ; then I am 
 going to give you a good dinner, another 
 pipe, and a peep at the prettiest colt in 
 this valley. Then I am going to send you 
 up those stairs into my guest-chamber, 'the 
 upper room' where you are to have a bath, 
 a nap, and remain as long as you choose. 
 Heavens ! don't object, man ; doesn't 
 your Methodist nose tell you there is 
 chicken in the pot ? Chicken pie ; and 
 here is Aunt Dike come to tell us it is on 
 the table. Come out ; we will talk relig- 
 ion some other time." 
 
 Brother Barry, however, seemed dis- 
 posed to argument. 
 
 " My Master's business," he pro- 
 tested, though decidedly more feebly than 
 at first, "I must be about it; I cannot 
 tarry." 
 
 "Why," laughed the doctor, " I thought
 
 68 The Valley Path 
 
 you were sent here to seek a lost sheep. I 
 tell you, sir, you've run against the tough- 
 est old ram that ever tried to butt its own 
 brains out. You may spend a week on 
 me if you are so inclined, but you are not 
 commanded to starve meanwhile ; on the 
 other hand, you are told not to muzzle 
 the ox that treadeth out the corn. Come 
 out to your fodder." 
 
 The invitation was too hearty for re- 
 sistance. The Methodist placed his tall 
 hat on the table and followed the doctor 
 out to dinner. It was the first of many 
 they were to take together, these two 
 whose lives were to cross, but not, in the 
 finer sense, to touch ; these two, the one 
 broad and warm with the sunshine of all 
 charity, the other narrow and ignorant and 
 immovable, making religion a dark and 
 unreal thing, and demanding of its advo- 
 cates a life of perpetual gloom in a path 
 beset by dangers, curses, terrors; these 
 two, the one with his eye fixed ever upon 
 the sun, the other a groveller among the
 
 The Valley Path 69 
 
 glooms, believing always in the depravity 
 of humanity and always bearing the bur- 
 den of its rescue. 
 
 The Methodist made himself at home 
 from the moment he entered the doctor's 
 door. He was made as welcome as any 
 might desire ; only upon matters of relig- 
 ion the physician refused to talk. But 
 Brother Barry was a man of infinite re- 
 sources, and failing to take the doctor by 
 one means he had recourse to others. 
 That he would be converted at the last 
 the circuit-rider held no shadow of doubt. 
 
 The first night of his arrival, when the 
 physician had been sleeping for hours he 
 was awakened by a tremendous thumping 
 upon the floor of the chamber overhead. 
 
 He sprang from his bed with a start, 
 and ran to the door of the little old-fash- 
 ioned stairway that went up from his own 
 bedroom. His thought was that Brother 
 Barry was again "surrounding the throne," 
 an exercise that had kept him awake 
 for more than an hour during the earlier
 
 yo The Valley Path 
 
 night. But this was more serious; Brother 
 Barry was calling for a light. 
 
 " Fetch a light, brother ; fetch a light 
 quick, and pencil and paper ; I have got 
 a thought." 
 
 The doctor's gray head was thrust into 
 the doorway. 
 
 "Oh, you go to sleep, Brother Barry," 
 said he, " and trust the Lord for another." 
 And, closing the door, the old infidel went 
 chuckling back to bed. 
 
 They were odd companions, these two ; 
 yet each was interesting to the other. 
 The preacher regarded the doctor with a 
 kind of pious pity, while the physician's 
 feeling for him would have partaken 
 largely of contempt, but that his good 
 heart recognised the fact that the Meth- 
 odist was honest even in his ignorance. 
 After three days Brother Barry threw his 
 saddle-bags across the back of the flea- 
 bitten mare and took his departure. In 
 that three days' time he had vainly 
 endeavoured to impress the doctor with
 
 The Valley Path 71 
 
 a sense of his great danger, and had been 
 laughed at, or cut off with the offer of a 
 pipe, or a plate of fruit. He had been 
 ready to swear a dozen times ; only the 
 respect in which he held his cloth had been 
 sufficient to prevent an outbreak. The 
 doctor had sworn a dozen times, and more. 
 Yet he had never once lost patience ; not 
 even when his guest had pronounced, with 
 tragic vehemence, the "Woe ! woe ! to 
 them that are at ease in Zion." All he 
 had said in reply was, "Hell!" and he 
 had laughed while saying that.
 
 Chapter V 
 
 A RED rose bloomed beside the door, 
 and the bees were busy among the 
 honeysuckle trailing the piazza and crowd- 
 ing the windows of the miller's house. 
 Not that the dusty old miller, or his 
 sharp-voiced wife, ever gave a thought to 
 the training of the vines ; they were 
 Alicia's ; her hand, with the assistance of 
 Al, had put them there, and carefully 
 tended them until they were a bower of 
 bloom, where the bees came summer days, 
 hunting for honey among the pink and 
 pearl white blossoms. 
 
 Doctor Boring recognised her spirit 
 everywhere about the picturesque little 
 place the first morning he went to call 
 upon his neighbours. He had felt some- 
 thing like admiration for the miller, as he 
 72
 
 The Valley Path 73 
 
 stood for a moment looking over the gate 
 into the pretty sloping yard with the 
 newly whitewashed cabin in the centre. 
 There was an air of thrift about the place, 
 as if the little mill on the creek had taken 
 its full measure of toll. Even the greens 
 in the garden seemed to have outgrown 
 the vegetables of other gardens. The 
 peas were clambering up their cedar 
 stakes, a riotous jumble of white bloom 
 and delicate tendril. And above the 
 stakes, a glister of gold in the sunlight, 
 he saw Alicia's bright head, beside a slen- 
 der youth, whom he recognised as " little 
 Al," the delicately disposed brother. 
 
 The boy was adjusting some vines 
 that had had a tumble, together with 
 their props. That he found his task an 
 amusing one might be easily inferred 
 from the laughter with which he re- 
 ceived Alicia's instructions as to the 
 manner in which the work should be 
 done. More than once she playfully 
 boxed his ears, all unconscious of the
 
 74 The Valley Path 
 
 visitor regarding them over the palings 
 of the low fence. 
 
 The doctor, watching, wondered how 
 many milkmaid castles she had erected 
 upon the proceeds of the truck-patch, 
 when the peas and early potatoes should 
 be ready for the boarding-house at Sewa- 
 nee. 
 
 A smile played about his lips and 
 twinkled for a moment in the eyes 
 that were not always mirrors of mirth, 
 and he playfully shouted : 
 
 " Look out for frost ! " 
 
 Alicia gave a startled little scream, and 
 turned quickly to find the owner of the 
 voice. 
 
 Al laughed merrily over her surprise. 
 
 " You ware good scared, Lissy, I do 
 believe," said he ; " you turned plumb 
 white." 
 
 She gave him no reply, if indeed she 
 heard him. She was full of the pleasure 
 of seeing Doctor Boring. 
 
 " Come in," she called, " come right in;
 
 The Valley Path 75 
 
 the dogs don't bite. I'm awful glad to 
 see you. So'll grandad be, I know. The 
 beans are fullin' right along; you'll get 
 your mess by and by ; if, as granny says, 
 4 God spares me.' I certainly think He 
 will, I'm that well and healthy. Though 
 I reckon Brother Barry thinks He ought 
 not to, seein' I'm such a sinner. But 
 sakes ! how I do run on, without ever 
 stoppin* to tell you this is my brother, 
 Doctor Borin'. This is Al. I've in and 
 about raised Al ; you see he fell to my 
 care when he was just nine years old. 
 Don't you think I've brought him up 
 toler'ble well ? " 
 
 The laughing face, full a foot above her 
 own, testified to the bringing up, at all 
 events. 
 
 " I come mighty nigh outgrowin' my 
 gyardeen," said the boy. " If I keep on 
 I'm mortal certain I'll ketch up with her 
 by and by, doctor." 
 
 " But you can't step over that three 
 years' gap between us, son," laughed
 
 j6 The Valley Path 
 
 Alicia. " No, sir, he ain't anything 
 but a boy dressed up in men's clothes, 
 Doctor Borin'. Don't you mind his 
 grown-up airs ; I'm three years older 
 than him, an' I ain't so mighty old, as 
 I can make out. He's jist a boy, doc- 
 tor, that I'm raisin' to take care of me 
 in my old age. Yonder's grandad." 
 
 They were walking in single file up 
 the path to the house. An old man, 
 spare, bent, and full of lively interest 
 in the world about him, came out to 
 meet them. Behind him, her sunbon- 
 net about her ears, hobbled granny. 
 
 " I'm mighty glad to see you," said 
 grandad. " I've been expectin' of you 
 ever since my granddarter Lissy telled me 
 about yer, an' yer fine fixin's down yan- 
 der. Lissy she sets store by fine fixin's, 
 an so do I ; though you needn't tell the 
 ole woman. Her face air turned heaven- 
 ward ; but me an' Lissy air toler'ble fond 
 o' ' the pomp an' glory,' ain't we, darter ? 
 You-uns air valley-born, my granddarter
 
 The Valley Path 77 
 
 tells me, come from the town. Well, 
 I'm mount'n, me an' the ole woman. 
 Born, an' lived, an' might 'a' died thar, 
 but for the 'Piscopers. When they took 
 it up we-uns stepped down. But we're 
 mount'n-born. Lissy an' Al air valley ; 
 tha'r ma was a valley woman. All well 
 
 > 3 
 
 yo way r 
 
 The doctor laughingly told him that 
 he was pretty much all there was " his 
 way," except the servants, the stock, 
 and Zip. " The rest of the family," 
 said he, " enjoy their usual good health." 
 
 " Glad to hear it," said the miller. 
 " Glad to hear it. We-uns don't ap- 
 pear ter be as thrivin' as common. Al 
 thar is enjoying mighty poor health lately; 
 he's aguey, threatened o' chills." 
 
 " Needs quinine," said the doctor. 
 " Come to see me, Al, and I will 
 give you a tonic that will set you up 
 in a week." 
 
 " Hush," whispered the miller ; " don't 
 let the ole woman hear you. She don't
 
 78 The Valley Path 
 
 believe in such ; she's goin' ter live an' die 
 by yarbs, an' boneset tea. Thar she air 
 now." 
 
 A wrinkled old crone advanced to meet 
 them, peering from under her brown sun- 
 bonnet at the visitor. Her eyes were sharp 
 and penetrating; the same might be said 
 of her voice. 
 
 "You air the mad doctor, I reckin," 
 she sang out in her cracked treble. 
 " Well, we air all hearty, thank the 
 Lord. Lissy, run an' fetch a cheer for 
 the mad doctor. Maybe he aims to set 
 a spell." 
 
 He " set " until near noon, and when 
 he left, it was with a cordial invitation 
 to " come again," and " to be neigh- 
 bourly." 
 
 Lissy walked down to the gate to tell 
 him of another case of fever that had 
 broken out in the village of Pelham. 
 She "wondered if there could be any 
 danger of its making its appearance at 
 S'wanee."
 
 The Valley Path 79 
 
 He looked up; the mist-wrapped sum- 
 mits frowned defiance to scourge in any 
 form ; the tall tops of the trees swayed 
 lightly in the mountain breeze, itself a 
 tonic to keep at bay the malaria of the 
 lowlands. 
 
 " Not up there," said he. " The fever 
 could not live a day up there. That is 
 God's country." 
 
 She smiled ; a happy, dancing light 
 played among the deeps of her earnest 
 eyes. 
 
 "It air good," she said, softly, a caress 
 in the slow-spoken words, the dialect of 
 her grandparents, into which she some- 
 times dropped in her dreamful moods. 
 " It air good an' healthy. I look at it 
 sometimes when the clouds lie low upon 
 it, an' I can only make out the windin's o' 
 the little footpath step by step, an' it 
 seems to me like the hills o' Heavin ; an' 
 we can only reach the top of it step by 
 step, ever' day. It certainly do seem like 
 the hills of Heavin," She sighed lightly,
 
 8o The Valley Path 
 
 and rested, her chin upon her hand, her 
 elbow upon the gate, her gaze fixed upon 
 the misty mountain top. " Though," she 
 added, after a moment, " I reckin it'll be a 
 mighty long time befo' I find the hills of 
 Heavin so nigh to hand, a mighty long 
 time, if Brother Barry has the cuttin' of 
 my weddin' garmint. Brother Barry al- 
 lows I'm give over bodaciously to the 
 devil. If, says I, there be a devil." 
 
 The last sentence was uttered in a whis- 
 per, and almost lost in the laugh which 
 accompanied it ; a laugh in which the 
 doctor joined as heartily as though the 
 girl had perpetrated some rich joke, rather 
 than scoffed at traditions as old as the hills 
 towering above the cabin in which she 
 was born. Where, he wondered, had the 
 old-fashioned maiden fallen upon the new 
 heresies ? 
 
 She was a puzzle to him ; he studied the 
 puzzle seriously as he tramped home by 
 the brown footpath. She was a careless, 
 happy girl one moment ; the next a seri-
 
 The Valley Path 81 
 
 cms, earnest woman. She could not be 
 more than sixteen years of age, he thought; 
 she was at the turning, the crisis, where 
 girl and woman meet. Careful ; careful ; 
 oh, how a hand was needed to shape that 
 beautiful young soul ! She was full of 
 doubts. Life itself was a wonder, a riddle, 
 to her ; it was so beautiful, so fresh, so 
 mysterious. Every fibre of soul and body 
 went to meet it, and trembled and thrilled 
 with the strangeness and the sweetness of 
 it. A word, a hint, would fill her soul 
 with richness ; and a word or a hint would 
 crush her peace into ruin for ever. She 
 would make a grand wife ; but she was 
 young yet ; sixteen. 
 
 The doctor opened his door softly, and 
 entered his bedroom. Upon the old- 
 fashioned dresser stood a small square 
 mirror, with his shaving-case lying beside 
 it. He lifted the mirror and carried it to 
 the window; pushed back the white muslin 
 curtain and made a careful study of his 
 face.
 
 82 The Valley Path 
 
 " White hair," he said, " may stand 
 for trouble, no less than years. Wrinkles 
 may index sorrow as well as time. And 
 the heart doesn't always keep pace with 
 the body in its race for the grave. Let 
 me see ; let me see." He placed the 
 mirror upon the window-sill, and stood 
 looking out, his hands clasped behind his 
 neck, his eyes fixed upon, without seeing, 
 the long reddish lane that led to Pelham. 
 " Forty," he mused, " forty-five and six- 
 teen. Sixteen and ten are twenty-six, and 
 ten are thirty-six, and nine are forty-five. 
 Sixteen from forty-five leaves twenty-nine. 
 It is f a gap,' as she said of the three be- 
 tween her brother and herself. Yet " 
 
 A softness stole into the calm blue eyes ; 
 a smile of rare content parted his lips. 
 Had he at last found happiness ? That 
 will o' the wisp so many have chased in 
 vain, had it come to him in a cabin under 
 the shadow of the mountains ? Truth, 
 freshness, innocence, youth ; what else 
 could happiness offer ? And to say noth-
 
 The Valley Path 83 
 
 ing of the possibilities, the hidden aspira- 
 tions, and the unsuspected strength that 
 were all to be developed. Life turned its 
 rose again to eyes that had looked upon 
 its sombre side. Hers was a nature easily 
 moved ; hers a heart ripe for impressions ; 
 her soul one that thirsted for truth, the 
 truth. How he would love to have the 
 fashioning of that character, the guiding 
 of the elastic young will. It would be a 
 sweet task, a very pleasant task indeed. 
 He was half tempted 
 
 He thought of his friends at home ; 
 what would they say ? Why, that he was 
 mad, stark. But, he reasoned, it was 
 none of their affair. He proposed to 
 live his own life, in his own way, and after 
 his own best interest, as he saw it. A 
 strain of an old poem drifted through his 
 thoughts, a little old song of Browning's. 
 Something had set it jingling in his heart. 
 He repeated it softly, under his breath, 
 the quiet melancholy of his voice lending 
 a charm to the poet's thought :
 
 84 The Valley Path 
 
 " The good stars met in your horoscope, 
 Made you of spirit, fire, and dew ; 
 And just because I was thrice as old, 
 And our paths in the world diverged so wide, 
 Each was naught to each, must I be told ? 
 We were fellow mortals, naught beside ? " 
 
 He was fond of Browning, who threw 
 off the conventionalities, broke out of the 
 traces, so to speak, and spoke his thought 
 in his own brave way. The poet re- 
 minded him of a fiery horse which, refus- 
 ing the bit, and spurning alike both 
 chicanery and caress, dies a wild, free 
 thing at last, his great spirit breathed 
 upon and breathing in the untamed chil- 
 dren he has sired. Doctor Boring was 
 fond of those untamed children of the 
 poet's brain, and especially fond of Evelyn 
 Hope. And was he fond of Alicia, 
 that he called her " Evelyn " in that low, 
 soft voice of his ? 
 
 Love is God's great comforter ; pain's 
 one consolation ; the compensation of all 
 sacrifice ; the hope that separates earth
 
 The Valley Path 85 
 
 from hell ; the tie that unites it with 
 heaven. It is the memory of Eden that 
 softens the agony of Gethsemane ; it is 
 wiser than Wisdom, richer than Wealth, 
 bolder than Courage, stronger than Death. 
 By a touch it can open the gates of 
 heaven, and with a breath extinguish the 
 fires of torment ; it can pave the path to 
 Paradise with rarest gold, even though 
 that path lie through the sloughs of degra- 
 dation itself. It speaks to the outcast, and 
 Hope is born ; it nestles in the bosom 
 of Despair, and lo ! the fires of Faith leap 
 to life again ; it grasps the hand of Deso- 
 lation, and Heaven descends. Only Love 
 is great enough for the great tragedy 
 Life.
 
 Chapter VI 
 
 DOWN the road to Pelham a little 
 cloud of dust arose. It came 
 nearer ; the eyes that had been feasting 
 upon visions came back to earth, to see 
 the familiar yellow mule, that had trotted 
 his first patient thither, again stop at the 
 gate. The doctor slipped into his purple 
 gown and went out to meet his visitor, 
 half wondering what manner of prank he 
 would attempt this time. But the man 
 was clothed, even to the afflicted foot, and 
 evidently " in his right mind." 
 
 There was something artistic about him ; 
 to the very swing of his body swaying 
 gracefully with the movements of the 
 mule. He was clad in his Sunday best, 
 a coarse, clean shirt and a suit of gray 
 jeans. The inevitable slouch adorned his 
 head ; pushed back, it made a kind of 
 
 86
 
 The Valley Path 87 
 
 setting for the short, clinging curls. Be- 
 neath the hat was a face, behind which 
 was hidden a brain that would work out 
 its own problems and stand or fall by its 
 own blunders. 
 
 The doctor saw beneath the careless 
 bravado with which his visitor swung him- 
 self down from the mule's back and came 
 up the walk to meet him. The large foot 
 touched the ground with positiveness, as 
 if every step took hold upon the solid 
 earth. His eyes were fixed upon the 
 physician ; evidently he was not altogether 
 confident as to his reception ; but there 
 was that in his manner which said he 
 meant to make the best of things at all 
 events. 
 
 " Mornin', doctor," he said in response 
 to the physician's cordial greeting. " I've 
 come over here, Doctor Borin', to pay 
 you a little visit. I'm Joe Bowen, from 
 Pelham Valley down yonder." 
 
 The doctor eyed him carefully ; it 
 was equally clear to each that the other
 
 88 The Valley Path 
 
 could scarcely refrain from bursting into 
 laughter. 
 
 " Any more erysipelas down your way, 
 Mr. Bowen ? " inquired the doctor. 
 
 " Oh ! say now, Doctor Bonn'," said 
 the mountaineer, " you mustn't be holdin' 
 a grudge ag'inst me 'count of that little 
 joke. I'm outright 'shamed of myself 
 about that. Besides, I was only aimin' 
 to plague you a bit you an* Lissy 
 Reams. Lissy she ware braggin' about 
 you that peart I was afeard, betwixt you, 
 you might git a mortgage on the earth ; 
 let alone Georgy. An' Lissy she talked 
 so much that I laid a bet with her as you 
 couldn't tell snake bite from yaller ja'ndice. 
 So when the hornet stung me that mornin', 
 while I was hunt'n' the house over for my 
 boot the coon had carried off, why I " 
 He broke into laughter in which the 
 doctor was forced to join. "It was too 
 comical ; it was too damned funny for 
 anything, ter see you nosin' aroun' an' 
 specticlin' over that toe, an' tappin' of it
 
 The Valley Path 89 
 
 like it might 'a' been a sp'iled aig, an' 
 allowin' you ' gentlemen of the medical 
 persuasion' ware it persuasion ? or ware 
 it performance? Anyhow, you smart 
 Ikes called it * erysip'las.'" 
 
 The mimicry was so ludicrously perfect 
 the doctor could not speak for laughing. 
 The visitor, too, was enjoying the recital 
 of his smartness, to the utmost ; he had 
 enjoyed it before, a score of times and 
 more. 
 
 "And blame my hide," he continued, 
 " if that ain't about as nigh the truth as 
 most of yer guesses come. But let that 
 pass. I've come over frien'ly, an' I hope 
 you ain't holdin' no grudge ag'inst me, 
 doctor." 
 
 The physician slipped his arm through 
 the arm of his visitor and led him into 
 the house. Grudge? He was at peace 
 with all the world ; he had discovered the 
 secret of content ; he had awakened to 
 new life, new joy, new hope, " in his old 
 age."
 
 90 The Valley Path 
 
 " Grudge ! " said he, " grudge, hell ! It 
 was a sharp trick you played me, young 
 man. But I shall not refuse to see the 
 fun in it because the joke turned upon 
 me. Come right into my den ; there are 
 the pipes on the mantel, and there is a 
 chair for you. The occupant of that old 
 sofa to your left is my chum, Zip. Zip 
 and I are old friends. Fill your pipe ; 
 all mountaineers smoke. Most of them 
 drink; if you are ready for a toddy I'll 
 mix one for you." 
 
 " I don't drink liquor," said Joe, " but 
 I'll take a turn at the pipe. An' I'm 
 proper proud to make the acquaintance 
 of yer friend here." 
 
 He gave the terrier's ear a playful 
 twitch that brought him to his feet and 
 then to the floor, where he stood regard- 
 ing the visitor in an inquiring way, which 
 sent that worthy off in a peal of laughter. 
 
 " Peart pup, to be sure," he said ; and, 
 as if the flattery had indeed gone home, the 
 little terrier curled himself at the feet of
 
 The Valley Path 91 
 
 his new admirer and went to sleep. " No, 
 sir," Joe went back to the previous ques- 
 tion, " I don't drink liquor : I can't ; it 
 makes a fool of me. A man's an idiot 
 to do that as makes a fool of him, an' be- 
 knownst to hisse'f, too. But," he added, 
 with sudden thought, " I ain't got nothin' 
 to say of them that do drink." 
 
 " I do not," said the doctor, smiling, 
 while he pressed the brown tobacco into 
 the bowl of his pipe. " I abstain for the 
 same reason that you do; it makes a fool 
 of me; I have no wish to be a greater 
 fool than nature made me." 
 
 The mountaineer reached one long calf- 
 skin boot to touch the tail of the sleeping 
 terrier : 
 
 " Oh, say now ! I thought you ware 
 the salt of the earth for smartness. Lissy 
 Reams thinks you air, anyhows." 
 
 A smile flitted for a moment about the 
 doctor's lips : 
 
 " Does she ? " said he, softly. " She is 
 a smart guesser."
 
 92 The Valley Path 
 
 " Does she ? Why, from the way Lissy 
 talks I allowed you an' her would in an' 
 about make a cha'ity hospital of the whole 
 valley bimeby. Why, Lissy says the yarb 
 doctor ain't nowhar; that you have got 
 medicine that'll raise the dead out o' their 
 graves if the dead could be induced to 
 swallow it." 
 
 The doctor gathered himself to resent 
 the sudden turn the compliment had 
 taken, reconsidered, however, drew in 
 his breath and said, " T'he dickens ! " 
 
 The mountaineer's eyes twinkled : " But 
 then," he continued, " thar air some 
 who say you air nothin' better nor a 
 blamed fool, as never so much as heard 
 of heavin." 
 
 He was looking straight into the doc- 
 tor's eyes ; the smoking pipe rested, the 
 bowl in the palm of the broad brown hand. 
 His face was aglow with the amusement 
 felt in reciting the opinions of his neigh- 
 bours : amusement he saw reflected in the 
 face of his listener, who again took breath
 
 The Valley Path 93 
 
 and gave expression to a low, half humor- 
 ous, " Hell ! " 
 
 The mountaineer brought his foot down 
 upon the floor with sudden vehemence : 
 
 " Say, doctor," he began, " you have 
 heard o' one place, if you haven't heard 
 o' t'other. The valley 'round here, an' 
 the mount'n too, fur that matter, allows 
 that I be the biggest sinner in the State o' 
 Tennessee, or even Georgy hitse'f. But 
 if you ain't toler'ble close behin' me then 
 I ain't no Solerman. Why, they say you 
 never heard o' Christ ! " 
 
 The reply was low, earnest, and fraught 
 with meaning : 
 
 " Then," said the physician, " they lie." 
 
 " Waal, now," the mountaineer leaned 
 upon the arm of his chair, his face close 
 to the doctor's. The keen eye of the 
 physician detected a fearless interest, an 
 interest that was not assumed, under the 
 careless, half-merry air with which he de- 
 manded, " What do you think of Him, 
 anyhow ? "
 
 94 The Valley Path 
 
 The doctor removed his pipe from be- 
 tween his lips, tapped the bowl of it gently 
 upon his palm the tobacco had ceased 
 to smoke in the mountaineer's pipe and 
 set it upon the hearth, propped against the 
 brass andiron, useless now save for orna- 
 ment. 
 
 " I think," said he, slowly, locking his 
 white fingers loosely upon his knee, and 
 speaking in the quiet tone one uncon- 
 sciously adopts when talking of the gen- 
 tle Nazarene, " I think He is my elder 
 brother and yours." 
 
 " Great God ! " the boy literally bounded ; 
 he gained his feet as if an electric shock had 
 set him upon them. He stood perfectly 
 still one moment, then gave his slouch 
 a shove backward ; shook first one leg, 
 then the other, gave the terrier a kick 
 with his calf-clad foot that sent it yelping 
 from the room ; then he began pacing up 
 and down, pulling at the fireless pipe in 
 long, deep breaths, never conscious that no 
 wreath of smoke responded to his drawing.
 
 The Valley Path 95 
 
 Finally he stopped, looking down at the 
 placid face of the man quietly twirling his 
 thumbs, who had let drop that rank heresy 
 as calmly as though he had expressed 
 himself concerning a rise in Elk River. 
 
 " You mean to live here" he demanded, 
 " an' preach that gospil ? Here under the 
 very nose of Brother Barry an' the Epis- 
 copers ? An' you expect to come out of 
 it whole ? hide, horns, and taller ? Great 
 God ! You'll find the valley hotter'n 
 hell. You'd as well try to crack Cum'- 
 land mount'n wide op'n, as to try to crack 
 the'r skulls wide enough to let in that 
 doctrine ! " 
 
 " I shall not try it," said the doctor. 
 " I came here to get away from creeds 
 and churches, not to build, or to intro- 
 duce new ones. I shall ask no man to 
 think as I think. I shall neither question 
 nor disturb any man's right to his own 
 belief, and I shall claim the privilege of 
 thinking for myself as well." 
 
 His visitor regarded him a moment in a
 
 96 The Valley Path 
 
 kind of wonder, not without a touch of 
 admiration. Then he extended his strong, 
 brown hand, palm up. "Put yours thar," 
 he exclaimed. " You have got spunk as 
 well as spare-rib. Blamed if you haven't! 
 Dad burn my hide if I don't jist admire 
 the fellow that is too smart for Brother 
 Barry. But, Lord, you don't know him! " 
 
 " Yes, I do," laughed the doctor. "He 
 called upon me one day last week, and the 
 week before, and the week before that." 
 
 " Did he ? Come in a mighty big 
 hurry, I reckin ; hitched that freckled- 
 faced nag to yo' best apple-tree, /'// be 
 bound. Was in a mighty hurry an' flus- 
 ter fixin' of the c Master's bus'ness;' but 
 made out to let you put up his nag an' 
 prevail upon him to stay all night. Oh, 
 I know Brother Barry. He's too durned 
 lazy for man's work, so he tuk to preach- 
 in'. An' the way he can preach, while the 
 brethern lay to an' break up his fiel' for 
 him, to keep his family from starvin' ! I 
 went over and plowed his gyarden for him
 
 The Valley Path 97 
 
 las' spring ; I done it to pleasure Lissy, 
 more'n anything else. An' when I was 
 in an' about finished, parson he come out 
 an' threated me with hell fire if I didn't 
 get religion an' jine his church. You 
 know what I done, Doctor Borin'?" 
 
 He stopped, lifted one calfskin and 
 deposited it squarely upon the velvet 
 cushion of the easy chair he had in his 
 excitement vacated, and stood thus, lean- 
 ing forward, his arm resting upon his 
 knee, his face aglow with enjoyment of the 
 discomfiture of the minister. " I reckin I 
 am an awful sinner," he said; "the worst 
 this side o' torment thout'n it be you. 
 When Brother Barry thanked me with his 
 slap-jaw talk, I just got aboard o' my yal- 
 ler mule, an' I says to that holy man, 
 says I : c Nex' time you wants yo' cussed 
 fiel' broke up do you call on yo' fr'en' the 
 devil to fetch out his spade an' shovel 
 I have heard he's got one an ax him to 
 break it up for you. An' if,' says I, f if 
 you ever come givin' o' me any mo' of
 
 98 The Valley Path 
 
 yo' jaw I'll break yer darned neck,' says 
 I. I ain't heard from mealy-mouth since 
 then. I ain't lookin' for thanks, Doctor 
 Bonn'" (he brought his foot to the floor 
 again), " an' I ain't begrudgin' nobody a 
 little measly day's work at the plow. But 
 I deny a man's right to drive a man, even 
 into the kingdom of heaven. I don't be- 
 lieve he'd stay druv after he ware druv ; 
 sech ain't man natur' leastwise it ain't 
 my natur'. Nothing won't be druv, if 
 it's half sensed. My grandad druv a 
 drove o' horses through this valley oncet, 
 long ago. An' the last critter of 'em got 
 back again whar they ware druv from. 
 Well, after the cussin' I give him, I 
 reckin he'll let me sa'nter on to ol' 
 Satan at my own gait. I did cuss 
 him ; I have that to remember. I 
 may die sometime an' go to the devil, 
 but I have got the satisfaction of knowin' 
 I did perform one good deed in the flesh 
 anyhows." 
 
 " What did Lissy say to that ? "
 
 The Valley Path 99 
 
 "Lissy?" He hesitated, cleared his 
 throat, and blushed to the roots of his 
 yellow hair. 
 
 "Yes, Lissy, what did she think of 
 your performance your one good deed?" 
 
 A softness crept into the fearless eyes, 
 lowered now beneath the penetrating gaze 
 of the physician. 
 
 " Doctor Borin'," he shifted one great 
 foot nervously, " I tell you, Lissy Reams 
 air a good gal." 
 
 "Yes, I know that. That's why I 
 want to know how she received your 
 reckless onslaught upon the church." 
 
 There was a moment's embarrassing 
 silence. The clock on the mantel struck 
 the half-past twelve ; the keen eyes of the 
 physician were watching every change in 
 the face before him. The mountaineer re- 
 sumed his seat, awkwardly, and began tug- 
 ging, with the fingers of his right hand, at 
 the strap of his long boot. The doctor 
 sighed and withdrew his gaze; he was 
 satisfied with that he had discovered.
 
 ioo The Valley Path 
 
 " Hit's a pity," speech had come at 
 last, since those searching eyes were no 
 longer upon him, " hit's a pity for Lissy 
 to be made a mealy-mouth of. She's a 
 gal o' good sense. She ain't got her own 
 consent to jine the church yit, an' I most 
 hope she won't git it. Lissy is a quare 
 gal, an' if she once takes a stand for the 
 Methodis', thar ain't no tellin' whar it'll 
 end, nor what sort o' fool notions she'll 
 take into her head. She's toler'ble heady 
 for a sensible gal, sometimes. I air goin' 
 to marry Lissy Reams, Doctor Borin' " 
 
 Now it was his turn to look into the 
 doctor's eyes ; quick as a flash they fell. 
 If the mountaineer saw anything, if there 
 was anything to see, he gave no sign. "I'm 
 goin' to marry Lissy, as soon as little Al's 
 big enough to make a livin' for the ol' 
 folks. I have got a good place t'other 
 side o' Pelham. I can keep Lissy real 
 comf't'ble. Al's fo'teen, goin' on fifteen; 
 Lissy's turned seventeen an' pritty as a 
 pictur'."
 
 The Valley Path 101 
 
 Before the doctor could frame a reply 
 old Dike put her head in to say that din- 
 ner was ready "raidy an' wait'n'." 
 
 It was always "ready and waiting" if 
 once old Dike got it on the table. The 
 two men rose ; the doctor laid his hand 
 upon the arm of his guest : 
 
 "You are coming out to dinner with 
 me," he said. 
 
 But the mountaineer shook his head: 
 
 " That's percisely what I ain't," he de- 
 clared. " I'm not Brother Barry by a 
 long sally. I'm goin' home. An' when 
 you ain't got nothin' better to do, Doctor 
 Borin', you come over to Pelham Valley; 
 you can come the big road or you can 
 keep the path all the way, an' see how a 
 God-forsaken sinner manages to keep his 
 head above water an' starvation. You'll 
 find a pretty lay o' land an' a pleasant 
 pasture, with the creek a-caperin' through 
 it as frisky as it capers for the biggest 
 Methodis' in the State. An' I gits a 
 shower, Doctor Borin', every blessed
 
 102 The Valley Path 
 
 time my church neighbours gits one. 
 An' if thar's a stint o' sunshine in fa- 
 vour o' they-uns it didn't make itse'f 
 felt last July. You come over an' 
 see." 
 
 " Will you send me off with dinner on 
 the table ? " asked the doctor. 
 
 The visitor hesitated, stared, seemed to 
 catch a sudden idea, wheeled about, and, 
 tossing his hat into a corner, said : 
 
 " Lead the way. Though God knows 
 I do feel mightily like a Methodis'." 
 
 It was sunset when the yellow mule 
 trotted leisurely down the road to Pelham. 
 The physician stood at the gate, watching 
 the big slouch bob up and down with the 
 motion of the animal. When it disap- 
 peared in a strip of black gum woods, he 
 placed his hand upon the gate latch, hesi- 
 tated, dropped it, and turned back slowly 
 to the house. 
 
 He had thought of walking down to 
 Lissy's in the dusky twilight. Instead, 
 he went to a little rustic bench under a
 
 The Valley Path 103 
 
 giant beech, and sat there, lost in thought, 
 until Aunt Dike called him in to supper. 
 He rose slowly, his hands clasped behind 
 him, and went in. 
 
 The lamps had been lighted, and, as he 
 stopped a moment in his sitting-room to 
 make some slight change in his clothing, 
 his eye fell upon the dusty imprint of a 
 gigantic foot upon the velvet cushion of 
 his easy chair. 
 
 He smiled and sighed with the same 
 breath. Was he the thoroughly honest 
 fellow he appeared, this young guest of 
 his ? It was odd : the visit, the unsought 
 confidence, the breaking of bread in neigh- 
 bourly way. He had an idea the man had 
 designed to put him on honour not to 
 interfere, so far as Alicia Reams might 
 be concerned, in his love affair. 
 
 He sighed again, and passed his hand 
 over his brow as though to remove a veil 
 that had fallen across his vision. His 
 dream had been fast dispelled ; life had 
 put on her gloom again. And that when
 
 104 The Valley Path 
 
 he had but just strangled all doubt, faced 
 and overcome all fear, just at the mo- 
 ment when he was about to be happy. 
 The golden apple had yielded bitter with 
 the very first taste.
 
 Chapter VII 
 
 SUMMER drifted dreamily; the val- 
 ley budded and blossomed, and 
 brought forth its treasures of harvest. 
 
 Alicia's peas " fulled " almost to burst- 
 ing in their pale pods, and the shrivelled 
 vines were torn away to make room for a 
 turnip patch, in order that "spring greens" 
 might not be lacking when the season for 
 them should come again. Still the physi- 
 cian tarried. Autumn, with its variant 
 winds and restful skies, breathed upon 
 field and flood; the water sank low in the 
 Elk's bed, and the rebellious creek crooned 
 the old, old slumber song of October; the 
 wild grape hung in dusky bunches from 
 the vine-crowned trees ; the stealthy fox 
 prowled along the river bluffs that were 
 rich with the odour of the ripening mus- 
 cadine; the mountaineer fed upon the
 
 io6 The Valley Path 
 
 opossum that had fattened upon the new 
 persimmons. And still the doctor let fall 
 no hint of returning to the city. 
 
 Autumn gave place to winter; the 
 water rose in the river channel, and the 
 foot log went scurrying off with the swoll- 
 en waters of Pelham Creek. The birds 
 gathered in little frightened groups, made 
 out a hasty route, and went south on 
 very short notice. Only a dilapidated 
 crow might be heard now and then, mo- 
 notonously cawing from the tops of a 
 denuded sycamore-tree. There was an 
 occasional dropping of dry nuts from the 
 limbs where they had clung all summer, 
 seeking the moist brown earth to wait un- 
 til Ah ! who knows when, how, what 
 shall rise again ? 
 
 At last the snow came ; little drowsy 
 dribbles that frosted the hills and put a 
 crisp in the air. And still the good man 
 lingered. 
 
 "Why should I go?" he asked him- 
 self. " I am contented here ; am doing a
 
 The Valley Path 107 
 
 little good, maybe, among the people 
 here." 
 
 He scarcely knew himself that Alicia 
 had anything to do with his staying ; 
 he scarcely understood just how he felt 
 towards her. 
 
 He saw her almost every day ; if she 
 failed to call, he hailed her when she 
 passed, taking the nearer cut, the foot- 
 path way to Sewanee. For in winter, also, 
 Alicia found something with which to 
 tempt the appetites of the " Episcopers." 
 
 As for the doctor, his cheery call at the 
 miller's gate had become as familiar as the 
 click-clack of the mill itself. And so fre- 
 quent were his demands for " more eggs " 
 that granny fell to wondering " if the mad 
 doctor ware a-feedin' of his cows an' horses 
 on Lissy's hens' aigs." 
 
 It was one afternoon in November that 
 he returned from a visit to a sick man 
 down the valley. He was tired ; his very 
 eyes ached with wind that had cut him 
 unmercifully as he rode home in the teeth
 
 io8 The Valley Path 
 
 of it. He drew off his boots, stretched 
 his chilled feet a moment before the fire, 
 and thrust them into a pair of felt slippers 
 with a sense of quiet rejoicing that he was 
 home ahead of the snow cloud gathering 
 over the mountain. The fire had never 
 felt so good. Even Zip, as he curled up 
 at his feet, his small head cuddled against 
 the brown felt shoe, assumed vaguely the 
 semblance of a friend. 
 
 He had scarcely had his first yawn when 
 Dike put her head in to say : 
 
 " Marster, dey's a 'oman sick up dar on 
 de mount'n road a piece : mighty sick ; 
 en ole Mis' Reamses granddaughter wuz 
 down here after you whilst you wuz gone. 
 En she say she ud tek it mighty kin' eft 
 you'ud step up dar en see de 'oman what's 
 sick. She say eft you could come dis 
 ebenin' she ud be mighty obleeged ter 
 yer. But I tol' her you wan' gwine do 
 no sich thing, not in dis col' en win'." 
 
 He tossed off his slippers but a moment 
 before put on, and, pointing to his boots
 
 The Valley Path 109 
 
 still lying where he had but just left them, 
 said : 
 
 " Who is the sick woman ? Did Lissy 
 leave no name ? " 
 
 " Naw, sir. I axed fur the entitlements, 
 but she didn't look lack she cud make out 
 what dey wuz." 
 
 " No," said the doctor, " I suppose not ; 
 hand me my shoes, you villainous mur- 
 derer of the king's English. Now tell 
 me what the girl did say. You don't ex- 
 pect me to go tramping up the mountain 
 into the clouds, with nothing nearer than 
 the stars for a sign-post, do you ? " 
 
 " She say hit's de fus' house on de road, 
 after you tu'n de road by de big rock what 
 hangs over hit, whar de S'wany boys hab 
 painted de sun risin'. Mus'n' I git yo' 
 supper fus' fo' you goes out again in de 
 col' ? " she asked, seeing him look about 
 for his greatcoat. " I kin hab it on de 
 table in a minute." 
 
 " No," he said, wearily, " wait until I 
 get back, or get your own, and keep mine
 
 no The Valley Path 
 
 back in the stove. I am going up by 
 way of the foot-path, but you may give 
 Ephraim his supper and then send him 
 with my horse around by the road." 
 
 " Marster ? " 
 
 "Well ? " 
 
 " Hadn' I better fix up a bite fur yer 
 ter carry up dar ? Mis' Reamses daughter 
 say dat de sick 'oman's folks is all gone 
 'way, an' she wuz 'bliged ter g'long back 
 up dar ter knock her up somef'n ter eat. 
 She say she got de mis'ry in de side, 
 mighty bad." 
 
 "You may get me a box of mustard, 
 and when Ephraim comes send a basket 
 of provisions up. You had better put a 
 bottle of blackberry wine in the basket, 
 also. And tell Ephraim to get in plenty 
 of wood ; there is going to be a snow- 
 storm." 
 
 The atmosphere cleared, however; the 
 snow ceased to fall ; and, although it was 
 nearing the hour of sunset when he reached 
 the cabin on the mountain's side, there was
 
 The Valley Path 1 1 1 
 
 a deep, half-sullen glow in the west which 
 brought out all the more forcefully the 
 otherwise cold gray of the heavens. 
 
 He found the sick woman to be old 
 Mrs. Tucker, whom he had met at the 
 cabin where he first met Alicia; he had 
 bought chickens of her more than once 
 since then ; and her son, a listless, idle 
 fellow with a young wife and a baby, had 
 hauled wood for the physician from the 
 forests upon the mountain. He had no 
 idea that he would ever be paid for his 
 services, if that payment depended upon 
 the son. There was, however, something 
 about the old woman herself, hints of 
 those peculiarly strong and admirable 
 characteristics which flash upon the com- 
 prehension with startling emphasis at 
 times, that had inspired him with faith 
 as well as respect. 
 
 The tumble-down gate swung slightly 
 ajar upon a broken hinge ; a tiny line of 
 blue smoke was ascending from the low 
 stack chimney, and in the woods, across
 
 H2 The Valley Path 
 
 the road, a young girl was gathering 
 brush. 
 
 He did not recognise her at first in the 
 half light, but when she pushed back the 
 shawl pinned about her head and came to 
 meet him, he saw that it was Alicia. 
 
 " I'm mighty glad you're come, Doctor 
 Borin'," she said, in her slow, sweet drawl. 
 " I was most afraid you wouldn't, because 
 Aunt Dike said you were off to see some 
 one already. Come right on in ; it's old 
 Mis' Tucker that's sick, and her folks air 
 all off visitin' down to Pelham." 
 
 She was trying to open the hanging 
 gate by pushing against it with her already 
 burdened arms. The doctor put her 
 lightly aside. 
 
 " Wait, wait, young woman," said he. 
 " Don't monopolise the work, I beg. Let 
 me open the gate, or else carry the brush." 
 
 It scraped along the frozen ground like 
 a thing in pain, digging a long furrow in 
 the light snow-crust as it went. 
 
 " Her folks air all gone off," Lissy was
 
 The Valley Path 113 
 
 telling him as they walked towards the 
 cabin, " else I reckin they wouldn't 'a' 
 let me send for you. Jim he's mighty 
 strong for the herb doctor, an' so is Lucy 
 Ann ; but I have heard Mis' Tucker pass- 
 in' compliments over you so many times 
 that I up and went after you this evenin' 
 without askin' leave of nobody, just on 
 the strength of them compliments." 
 
 " Much obliged, I'm sure," said the 
 doctor, "much obliged to both of you." 
 
 She did not detect the jest in his words, 
 and her simple " You are welcome," as 
 she led the way into the cabin, was as 
 genuinely sincere as it was quaintly 
 simple. 
 
 She deposited her kindlings in the shed- 
 room, and returned to take her place with 
 him at the bedside of old Mrs. Tucker. 
 
 To him there was no longer anything 
 odd or incongruous in her being there. 
 He had found her so often among the 
 very poor and the suffering, so many 
 times had they been thus associated to-
 
 H4 Tlle Valley Path 
 
 gether, that it seemed as much her proper 
 place as it was his. She was as truly a 
 physician to them as he. 
 
 "Had she been a poor girl, in a city, 
 she would have been a trained nurse," 
 was his thought ; " had she been a rich 
 woman, in the city, she would have been 
 a patron of hospitals, with the afflicted 
 indigent for a hobby. As it is, she 
 ought to be a doctor's wife," and, so 
 saying, blushed to the roots of his gray 
 hair. 
 
 Old Mrs. Tucker, however, received 
 more of Alicia's attention than the gen- 
 eral sick. The two had been real friends 
 since Alicia, a little girl in short skirts, 
 had made her first trip to Sewanee behind 
 Mrs. Tucker on her gray mare. She had 
 sold a mess of early beans that day, and 
 with Mrs. Tucker's help had purchased a 
 straw hat with the money. It was the 
 very first hat she had ever owned ; but 
 since then so much from spring and fall 
 vegetables was invested in a hat. The
 
 The Valley Path 115 
 
 last winter's was a bright red felt, which 
 the old grandmother declared made her 
 look for all the world like an overgrown 
 woodpecker. Mrs. Tucker liked it, how- 
 ever, and the face that peeped at Lissy 
 from the little mirror over the bureau 
 that had been her mother's was such a 
 piquant, pretty face, under the red felt's 
 brim, that she had worn it, in defiance of 
 the woodpecker insinuation. The hat 
 was in the second season now, but still 
 retained its bright red colour; so that 
 when Lissy crammed it down upon her 
 head and started up the mountain on a 
 clear day in winter, it showed like a 
 scarlet flag " plumb to the top of the 
 mount'n," Mrs. Tucker was wont to 
 declare. 
 
 Alicia seldom passed the cabin without 
 stopping to ask after the health of the 
 family. Thus it was that she found the 
 old woman ill, with a chill upon her, and 
 alone. 
 
 " She was right glad to see me," she
 
 n6 The Valley Path 
 
 told the doctor, while she stroked the 
 thin black hair from the yellow forehead. 
 " But I didn't ask her if I might send for 
 you, Doctor Borin'. And if any harm 
 comes of it the fault's all mine if any 
 harm comes to Mis' Tucker." 
 
 The doctor caught his breath, looking 
 up quickly to discover, if might be the 
 insult was of accident or intent. 
 
 But the quiet face told nothing ; Alicia 
 went on stroking the yellow temples as 
 calmly as though she had not just put 
 the physician on his honour to play 
 no " infedel tricks," as her grandmother 
 was wont to call his practice, upon the 
 patient committed to his care. 
 
 Without replying, he proceeded to ex- 
 amine the sufferer, who waked and rec- 
 ognised him, telling him that she was 
 "much obleeged to him for trompin' 
 up the mount'n ter see a ole woman 
 die." 
 
 "Nonsense," said he. "You will bring 
 me my Christmas turkey ten years from
 
 The Valley Path 117 
 
 now, if Lissy will swing her kettle over 
 the fire, and get some hot water to put 
 your feet in. Then she must hunt up 
 a saucer in which to mix a little mustard, 
 and get for me a bit of soft cotton cloth. 
 I am going to put a plaster on your 
 side, and another on your chest. And 
 I am going to give you a little powder 
 out of this case, it is called quinine. 
 Lissy?" 
 
 She turned to him from the fire where 
 she had been swinging the kettle upon 
 an iron hook that was there for the 
 purpose. 
 
 " Will you be here all night ? " 
 
 "I reckin I'll have to be," she replied. 
 "Though some one ought to go down to 
 Pelham and let Lucy Ann and Jim know 
 their ma is sick. I'll be obliged to run 
 down the mount'n and feed my chickens 
 first, because Al wont give 'em enough, 
 and granny plumb forgets all about 'em. 
 Then I can come back." 
 
 She sighed, standing with her hands
 
 u8 The Valley Path 
 
 folded, her profile against the blaze, her 
 fine, clear-cut face and figure silhouetted 
 against the firelight. 
 
 " It's mighty worrisome to know some- 
 thin' is left to your care; something that 
 can feel, and suffer, and die; though," she 
 added, with a smile, "it be only a brood 
 of chickens." 
 
 He went over and stood by her side, 
 looking down into the earnest young face 
 lifted to his. 
 
 " What if the ( something ' be human 
 life ? " he said, softly ; " what if it rested 
 in your hand every day, almost every 
 hour ? What would you think of such 
 a charge as that ? " 
 
 Her lids dropped for a moment ; she 
 hesitated, then, looking at him with 
 strangely glowing eyes, said : 
 
 " Oh, it must be grand^ grand, to help 
 people to live, to know how to give 
 'em back their life. It is grand. It is 
 like God, to be able to do that. To give 
 back life, and to help people to live their
 
 The Valley Path 119 
 
 life after they get it ; I'd like mightily 
 to be able to do that." 
 
 Her face was aglow with enthusiasm ; 
 the fine lights sparkled in her eyes like 
 crystalline fires. 
 
 She was very near him, her hand rest- 
 ing upon the back of a splint-bottomed 
 chair which stood between them. She 
 leaned forward, resting her elbows upon 
 the chair, waiting for him to speak. He 
 could feel her soft breath upon his hand ; 
 see the throbbing of her white throat ; 
 and the pretty bird-like neck, where the 
 waist of her dark dress had been cut back 
 to make room for a tiny ruffle of white 
 muslin. He saw the rise and fall of her 
 bosom ; her gold-red hair brushed his 
 sleeve. The firelight transfigured her; 
 the dress of dark stuff, in the ruddy, un- 
 certain light, became softest velvet; the 
 brooch of cheap glass, at her throat, be- 
 came a glistening gem of rarest worth. 
 The fluffy bright waves of hair that 
 crowned the well-shaped head were not
 
 120 The Valley Path 
 
 for the rude caresses of the mountain 
 stripling, Joe Bowen ; they were his, the 
 treasured tresses of his love, Alicia ; his 
 wife that might be. 
 
 His wife that might be for the asking. 
 He knew her heart had not wakened ; all 
 the sweet beauty of life's richness was 
 still there. It would never be called into 
 being by Joe Bowen. The girl had a 
 soul ; Bowen's was not the voice that 
 would sound its quickening. Yet unless 
 he spoke she would marry him, and the 
 great richness, the wonderful possibilities, 
 would be lost, all lost. 
 
 He leaned slightly towards her, his 
 hand rested upon hers ; he felt the 
 slender, flexible fingers close about his 
 own. 
 
 " Alicia ? " he said, softly. 
 
 She started, and withdrew her hand. 
 He knew then that her thoughts had 
 been far away. 
 
 "Alicia, how would you like to help 
 the world ? in what manner, I mean ?
 
 The Valley Path 121 
 
 And where did you get your idea of 
 being of service to your fellows ? " 
 
 " At S'wany," she replied. " I was up 
 there once of a Sunday. I didn't care 
 much for the robe and fixin's of the 
 preacher seemed like they was no use. 
 But I remembered what he said. He 
 said we couldn't all be rich and smart ; no 
 more could we all see our way clear ; but 
 we all could help somebody to live their 
 life, somebody not so well off as we air. He 
 said we could all do something even if we 
 couldn't understand God ; and He would 
 count the good up to our credit. He said 
 we could make our fellow men our religion, 
 and helpin' of them our creed. I got that 
 much from the Episcopers, and I'm tryin' 
 to live up to it. Doctor Borin', I have 
 thought that was true religion." 
 
 " It will do to steer by, I suspect," he 
 replied. " But some day I want to come 
 over to your house and plan out a future 
 for you, more congenial than this life you 
 have laid out for yourself."
 
 122 The Valley Path 
 
 She laughed and lifted the steaming 
 kettle from the hook to the hearth. Her 
 next words were foreign to his suggestion. 
 
 " Doctor Borin,' if you could stay here 
 a bit I could run down and feed my 
 chickens, and get back in no time." 
 
 Already her hand was extended for her 
 shawl hanging upon a wooden peg just 
 within the cabin door. 
 
 " Child," said the doctor, " what are 
 you made of? Rubber or whitleather ? 
 Talking of slipping down the mountain 
 as though you were a couple of cast-iron 
 springs, and had only to snap yourself in 
 place. You have been down the moun- 
 tain once to-day." 
 
 She laughed, and tossed a handful of 
 chips in the fire, from the basket she had 
 filled for the morning's kindling. 
 
 " I have been down the mountain 
 twice t to-day," she said, " but I can go 
 again, I reckon. And I don't know but 
 I ought to go down to Pelham and tell 
 Lucy Ann."
 
 The Valley Path 123 
 
 " Well, you'll not go to Pelham this 
 night," said the doctor. " My horse and 
 boy will be around in half an hour, and, 
 if you will direct him to the house where 
 Lucy Ann is stopping, he can go down 
 there and tell her that she is needed here. 
 You may go and feed your chickens, if 
 you are so sure nobody can perform the 
 service to your satisfaction. Has Lucy 
 Ann any way of getting home to-night ? " 
 
 " They went down in the wagon," she 
 replied. " Jim he had a load of straw to 
 fetch up, for bed-makin' and hen nests ; 
 and he allowed Lucy Ann and the baby 
 could ride on the load well as not." 
 
 Half an hour later Ephraim had been 
 sent upon his mission, and Doctor Boring 
 saw Alicia cram her old red felt down 
 upon her head, pin her shawl securely 
 about her shoulders, and run down the 
 little footpath that wound past his own 
 dwelling to hers, at the foot of the moun- 
 tain. 
 
 It was scarcely ten minutes until he
 
 124 The Valley Path 
 
 heard her voice at the gate again, and 
 through the curtainless window he could 
 distinguish in the fading light the slight, 
 girlish figure leaning upon the low pal- 
 ings, on the other side of which stood 
 a tall, slender youth, whose erect car- 
 riage, and shock of yellow hair falling 
 picturesquely about his shoulders, and 
 surmounted by the inevitable slouch, pro- 
 claimed him no other than Joe Bowen. 
 His head drooped, ever so slightly, to 
 meet the pretty face lifted to his. She 
 was laying down instructions of some kind, 
 for the giant nodded now and then, and 
 her pretty, gurgling laugh, half suppressed, 
 in consideration of the sick woman, came 
 to the ears of the physician, watching and 
 listening, with a feeling half anger, half 
 annoyance, in his heart, until the confer- 
 ence was ended and Lissy returned to her 
 charge. 
 
 " Is she asleep ? " she asked, softly, while 
 she laid aside her things. "I met Joe 
 Bowen yonder where the path forks, and
 
 The Valley Path 125 
 
 he said he'd go down and feed the chickens 
 for me. Joe's a master hand at chickens, 
 though he is a sinner." 
 
 She laughed, tucking the covers more 
 securely about the feet of her patient. 
 Evidently Joe's sins were not altogether 
 unpardonable to her partial sense. 
 
 " But," she added, naively, " I ain't so 
 mighty good myse'f as I can be settin' 
 myse'f in judgment on Joe. I ain't a 
 perfessor; I ain't even clear in my mind 
 that I believe all the Methodists say; nor 
 the Episcopers either, for that matter. I 
 know there ain't any sense in all that 
 talkin' back at the parson like the Epis- 
 copers talk, same as if he didn't know 
 what he was sayin'; an' there ain't any 
 call for him to put on them robe fixin's 
 as I can see. And all of that about the 
 dead risin' I know ain't so. For Joe 
 opened an Indian grave last summer 
 there's a whole graveyard of 'em over 
 yonder on Duck River and there was 
 the Indian dead and buried same as ever.
 
 126 The Valley Path 
 
 And he must 'a' been buried a hundred 
 years I know. Oh," she paused; a 
 new idea had come to her, "mebby 
 the Indians don't count. The Book 
 don't say anything about Indians, and 
 neither does Brother Barry. Air you 
 goin'?" 
 
 "Yes, I must get down the mountain 
 while I can see the path. I am not as 
 young as I used to be." 
 
 She laughed again, and toyed with the 
 pewter spoon and coarse saucer with which 
 he had prepared the mustard. 
 
 "You don't appear to be so mighty 
 old, as I can make out," she said. 
 
 The words pleased him. Age had 
 never been unwelcome to him; in fact, 
 he had scarcely felt that it had really 
 come to him, until he crossed paths 
 with this pure young life. Her very 
 next words, however, served to dash 
 the little sweet with bitter. 
 
 "Are you afraid to remain here alone?" 
 he asked. "If you are, I will send Aunt
 
 The Valley Path 127 
 
 Dike up to stay with you. Mrs. Tucker 
 will not waken before midnight possibly ; 
 I have given her a sleeping potion." 
 
 There was the faintest hint of embar- 
 rassment in her manner as she replied: 
 
 "Joe said he'd come up and sit with me 
 till Lucy Ann got here, and then he said 
 he'd fetch me home again." 
 
 "Oh! he did!" 
 
 There was a slight impatience in the 
 words, but she did not recognise it. She 
 was innocent of intent to wound ; too un- 
 conscious of offence, too entirely unused 
 to the world and its ways, to understand 
 that she could be in any sense a cause, 
 however innocent, of contention, a thorn 
 in the bosom of a man's content. 
 
 She gave him her earnest and entire 
 attention while he explained the different 
 medicines and gave directions concerning 
 them, interrupting him now and then, if 
 it might be called an interruption, with 
 her simple "Yes, sir," "No, sir," "All 
 right, Doctor Borin'." She even walked
 
 128 The Valley Path 
 
 to the gate with him, and put the rusted 
 chain over the post that held the broken 
 fastenings ; and called to him as he went 
 off down the snow-dusted path : 
 
 " I'll fetch you a basket of fresh eggs 
 to-morrow, sure and certain." 
 
 And he had called back to her, " So 
 do ; so do," quite cheerily. 
 
 Yet there was an ache in his heart ; the 
 thorn had pierced home.
 
 Chapter VIII 
 
 THE patient was asleep and Alicia 
 busy putting things to rights in the 
 shed-room, when Joe tapped upon the 
 window. Carefully she opened the door 
 to admit him, and drew back, laughing 
 noiselessly at the figure he presented. 
 His arms were filled with the hickory 
 sticks that he had cut in the forest; his 
 very chin was invisible ; only a mass of 
 tawny hair, a slouch, and a pair of 
 restless blue eyes appeared above the 
 " lumber pile." 
 
 " I fetched you up an armful of wood," 
 said he. " I'll pile it back here by the 
 fireplace handy for you. I reckin it won't 
 come amiss in the mornin', nohow." 
 
 " Set it down careful, Joe," said Lissy, 
 
 <f so's not to disturb Mis' Tucker. It 
 129
 
 130 The Valley Path 
 
 was certainly thoughtful of you to fetch 
 it up for Lucy Ann." 
 
 "Lucy Ann be " 
 
 " Heish," laughed Lissy, nodding to- 
 wards the sick-room. 
 
 " Waal," said Joe, " I didn't fetch it for 
 her, though I knew in reason she'd use it. 
 I reckin I'd better take the pail and run 
 down to the spring for some water. It's 
 goin' to be mighty dark outside, an' tol- 
 er'ble cold. Yes, I lay I'll fetch a pail o' 
 water for Lucy Ann." 
 
 Alicia left the dishes she was arranging 
 on their shelves, and came and stood by 
 him, resting her hand lightly upon his 
 sleeve. 
 
 " You're mighty good, Joe," she said, 
 " an' mighty thoughtful o' others." 
 
 He looked down into the pretty, uplifted 
 face so near his shoulder. It was very 
 pleasant to have the face there very 
 pleasant. 
 
 " I'm afeard it's only you I'm thinkin' 
 of, Lissy," he admitted. " A feller don't
 
 The Valley Path 131 
 
 deserve much praise for tryin' to pleasure 
 the girl he loves, I reckin. But "he 
 hesitated ; it was pleasant to hear from 
 Alicia's pretty mouth that he was 
 "good;" he would like her to say it 
 again, to have her think it always ; but 
 his natural honesty spurned the deceit. 
 "Shucks!" he said, "I ain't 'good.' You 
 know I'm the biggest sinner on this earth, 
 maybe in Georgy, too. Ask old mealy- 
 mouth, if you misdoubt it, he'll tell 
 you, Brother Barry will. Shucks ! I say 
 I'd ruther be a sinner o' the deepest dye 
 'an ter be like him ; he's the darndest " 
 She laid her hand lightly upon his lips : 
 " Heish ! " The laughter in her eyes 
 belied the sternness in her voice. " You're 
 mighty wicked, that's certain ; and I ain't 
 any better. I reckin we're about give over 
 to Satan alike, me and you, and Doctor 
 Borin', too." 
 
 There was a momentary flash in the 
 eyes fixed upon her. If she saw it, it 
 was gone so quickly she doubted it had
 
 132 The Valley Path 
 
 been there ; his voice was friendly enough 
 when he asked, quietly : 
 
 " Has he been here, the mad doctor ? " 
 " Why, I went after him," she replied, 
 " and he wasn't there, but he come up and 
 fixed a plaster out o' mustard, and mixed 
 somethin' in a teacup, for Mis' Tucker to 
 swallow ; and then he went home again. 
 
 Joe, I just wish you could hear him 
 say " she glanced over her shoulder, 
 drew closer to his side, and put her lips 
 to his ear " ' Hell ! ' when things don't 
 go to pleasure him." 
 
 " I heard him say a hornet sting ware 
 erysip'las," said Joe, mollified by the near- 
 ness of her face, " an' if I rickerlict right 
 hit ware me as said c Hell ' that time." 
 
 " I'll be boun' it was," said Alicia. 
 " When compliments o' that kind air 
 passin' I'll be boun' you'll get in a say. 
 What's become o' the pail o' water, Joe P 
 
 1 reckin I'll need it about knockin' up 
 somethin' for Lucy Ann and Jim to eat, 
 'gainst they get here."
 
 The Valley Path 133 
 
 " Plumb forgot it," said Joe. " But I'll 
 go now, if I can get my own consent ter 
 tear myse'f away ter the spring an' leave 
 you a-standin' here by yourse'f when I 
 might be a-standin' with you." 
 
 She glanced up with sudden inspiration. 
 
 "Why, Joe," she said, "I'll go with 
 you. Wait till I peep at Mis' Tucker." 
 
 She drew the covers gently about the 
 sleeper, noiselessly laid a stick of wood on 
 the fire, and as noiselessly slipped back to 
 Joe, the cedar water-bucket in one hand, 
 her old shawl in the other. 
 
 " I'll have to hurry back and get you a 
 mouthful to eat," she said, as they started 
 briskly off together. 
 
 " Don't you be worryin' about me," 
 said Joe. " I come over here ter he'p 
 you, not to- be makin' of more work for 
 you-uns ; I can just as well wait till the 
 rest have their supper as not, and waitin' 
 will make less work for you, Lissy. My ! 
 this gate is a bother; I'll come over ter- 
 morrer an' mend it, if the Lord spares me,
 
 134 The Valley Path 
 
 seein' as that lazy Jim won't. Now then ! 
 see who'll get ter the spring first." 
 
 They swung the bucket between them, 
 and started off, like two children, in the 
 crisp, cold air, down the road to the spring 
 under the bluff's side. It was a short 
 run, for there was no moon, and the stars 
 were straggling in the west, clouds were 
 gathering, and when they turned off the 
 road into the foot-path, the way was too 
 narrow, and the rattling dead undergrowth 
 too close and thick, for further racing. 
 They tarried but a moment, for the night 
 was cold ; yet they returned slowly, and 
 their talk was serious, their voices low, as 
 if that had been said at the spring under 
 the bluff which had touched the stronger 
 chords and awakened the deeper feelings 
 of the heart. In his right hand Joe car- 
 ried the bucket; his left lay upon his 
 heart, and Lissy's right slipped through 
 his arm was snugly folded within it. 
 
 " I'm a-comin' sometime, sometime" 
 she was saying; "just as soon as they
 
 The Valley Path 135 
 
 can spare me. When you talk about the 
 little chickens and the lambs, and the 
 cows waitin' to be milked, I want to go 
 real bad, and he'p you with 'em, Joe. I 
 like little chickens ; and I never hear a 
 lamb bleat but I want to pick it up in my 
 arms and rock it to sleep. But " 
 
 She hesitated, and, resting her head 
 against his arm, sighed. 
 
 " Do as you see best, Lissy," said Joe. 
 " I'm a-tryin' not ter worry you. But it 
 do seem to me as you air mighty give ter 
 puttin' off." 
 
 " I know it," she admitted. " I know 
 it, Joe. Granny's tellin' me about that 
 constant; and Brother Barry." 
 
 " Oh, damn Brother Barry ! What's 
 old mealy-mouth got ter do with you- 
 uns ? I know I do despise the groun' 
 he tromps on. An' I tell you now, 
 Lissy, I ruther hear that ole sinner down 
 yander, the mad doctor, as don't know 
 heaven from hornet I'd ruther hear 
 him draw his breath in an' shet his teeth,
 
 136 The Valley Path 
 
 an' say one good honest ( Hell ! ' like he 
 says it, as to hear Brother Barry hallelu- 
 yahin' for a month. Thar's more relig- 
 ion in it, ter my notion. An' thar' ain't 
 no sneak about him, nuther. He's ready 
 ter own up, fair and square, if a feller gits 
 the best of him. Why, he told it all over 
 the mount'n about that hornet-sting joke, 
 told it up ter S'wanee even ; let on he 
 ware plumb sold. It was only a little 
 runt of a joke anyhow; but blamed if he 
 didn't stan' up ter it like a man." 
 
 " I reckin we're all mighty wicked," 
 said Lissy, ignoring the bringing of the 
 doctor into the conversation ; " but some- 
 how I can't bring myse'f to think like 
 Brother Barry. I can't make God out to 
 be as Brother Barry makes Him. He 
 preached to the people over at Goshen 
 last fall that God killed Ike Jordan last 
 September, because Ike drove his sheep 
 up the mountain on Sunday. Everybody 
 knew the lightnin' struck him when he 
 was bringin' Mis' Tucker's warpin' bars
 
 The Valley Path 137 
 
 home for her, because she wasn't able to 
 git a wagon and go down to Pelham to 
 get 'em, and there was nobody else at 
 home to go, unless it was Lucy Ann's 
 baby, that hadn't learned to walk yet. 
 And he told at Jim Tyler's funeral last 
 spring that the Lord had need of Jim 
 and took him home. I'm a-thinkin' as 
 they must be a mighty sca'ce of hands in 
 heaven if such a no-'count as Jim Tyler 
 was needed to fill out. Truth is, Jim fell 
 off the bluff when he was drunk and 
 broke his own neck, after gettin' lost go- 
 in' home from Tracy. He was a profes- 
 sin' member, however, and so maybe his 
 sprees ware overlooked, and he really had 
 a call to come up higher. 
 
 " I'm a sinner, I can't set myse'f up 
 in judgment. Though it always seemed 
 to me as there ought to be, as there must 
 be, some better way o' savin' folks than 
 by threat'nin' of 'em, an' killin' 'em off 
 with lightnin' and such. Seems like it 
 ain't right ; it makes God most like a
 
 138 The Valley Path 
 
 wild beast. I reckin that's why I can't 
 love Him; I'm 'fraid of Him. An' I 
 won't be druv I can't. But I would 
 truly like to know, for certain; I'd like 
 to know what be the truth. Sometimes I 
 almost get my own consent to ask Doctor 
 Borin' to tell me." 
 
 The arm upon which her hand rested 
 gave a sudden jerk ; the owner of it stood 
 free of her, and, although it was too dark 
 for her to see his face, she understood that 
 Joe was angry ; the jealousy that had 
 been brooding in his heart suddenly burst 
 forth. 
 
 " Do ! " he exclaimed, " do ask him ; 
 he knows ; he knows ever' thing. He's 
 smart he's smart as God, I reckin; 
 since he knows the plan o' salvation so 
 peart. Keeps it corked up like he does 
 his doctor stuff, in a bottle, I reckin. 
 Oh, yes ! go ask the mad doctor to save 
 yo' soul ; he can do it. He'd like mighty 
 well to have you saaft-so'derin' him like 
 the sisters saaft-so'der Brother Barry.
 
 The Valley Path 139 
 
 An' it ain't so clear ter my mind but 
 you'd enjoy it 'bout as much as old ery- 
 sip'las would." 
 
 "Joe Bowen!" 
 
 Her voice was full of surprised indigna- 
 tion; had he been calmer, more himself, 
 he would have known that he alone had 
 suggested Doctor Boring, as something 
 more than the truly benevolent friend, 
 the lonely old man, the thoroughly good 
 physician. He would have detected in 
 her simple, startled exclamation, her in- 
 ability to find words with which to deny 
 his unseemly charge, the very first in- 
 timation of the doctor's regard for her 
 that had ever so much as hinted itself 
 to her unsuspecting heart. But he was 
 too angry to see anything, or to heed 
 what he did or said. 
 
 " Oh, I know you, Lissy," he broke 
 out, fiercely. " You're mighty keerful not 
 ter set a day for marryin' me; I'll lay you 
 wouldn't find it so hard ter fix a time for 
 marryin' him, if he asks you. I know
 
 140 The Valley Path 
 
 you. It's all mighty well ter be runnin' 
 over the mount'n nussin' of the sick, as 
 ain't no manner o' kin ter you, an' got no 
 manner o' claim, when you know he II be 
 thar, ter pass compliments over you, an' 
 send you off ter breakfast at his house, 
 ridin' his horse. An' happen he ain't 
 thar you must up an' sen for him ter 
 mix mustard, an' dose out qui-nine; an' do 
 a lot o' rubbish that ain't got neither sense 
 nor savin' in it. Darn his hide! if he 
 don't leave this valley I'll shoot him. 
 An' you may tell him so with my com- 
 pliments. Shucks ! it's easy as eatin' ter 
 see he's in love with you." 
 
 They had reached the door of the shed- 
 room ; Lissy stood with her hand upon 
 the latch-string, afraid to draw it, lest the 
 loud, angry voice disturb the sick woman 
 in the next room. Yet she was terribly 
 angry ; angry enough to go in at that door 
 and leave him there on the outside, and 
 on the outside of her life, for ever. She 
 had made no reply to his outbreak other
 
 The Valley Path 141 
 
 than the simple exclamation of surprise. 
 While she stood there, waiting until he 
 should finish his tirade, she heard Mrs. 
 Tucker calling to her to come in : " she 
 wanted her special." 
 
 " Mis' Tucker's 'wake and wantin' me," 
 she said, quietly. " Good-night, Joe. You 
 can leave the pail outside, I sha'n't need 
 it." And giving the latch-string a pull, 
 she went in, and left him there in the dark- 
 ness, with the door shut fast between them. 
 
 He had planted a thought in her heart 
 that might never be cast out ; had accom- 
 plished that which, of all things, he would 
 not have done. He had awakened her 
 wonder, drawn for her a comparison be- 
 tween himself and the man sleeping at that 
 moment the sleep of one who feels that 
 he has met a burden and lifted it ; he 
 had lifted many burdens for the poor; 
 the last for the old woman to whose 
 need he had responded at the sacrifice 
 of his own comfort and inclination. Joe, 
 too, had offered his shoulder to the bur-
 
 142 The Valley Path 
 
 den; but, ah, the difference of motives. 
 He admitted that difference to his own 
 heart as he rode through the valley to- 
 wards his home. But he was ungenerous 
 enough to hope that Alicia would not see 
 it in the same light. 
 
 But Alicia scarcely thought of him. 
 At another time, girl-like, she would 
 have sat down and cried over the ruin 
 of her pretty dream; but now, having 
 explained to Mrs. Tucker that Joe had 
 "got mad and gone home," and having 
 given her the medicine as she had been 
 instructed to give it, and having seen 
 her patient drop into a gentle slumber, 
 Alicia went back to the shed-room, made 
 a pot of coffee for Lucy Ann and Jim, 
 and otherwise proceeded to "have things 
 ready 'gainst their cominV 
 
 But that night, when her work was 
 done, and the pretty head lay upon its 
 pillow in Mrs. Tucker's close little rafter 
 room, sleep, heretofore so easily wooed, 
 refused to come. Still, her thoughts were
 
 The Valley Path 143 
 
 not of Joe, so much as of Joe's words. 
 Did the doctor care for her ? She felt the 
 red creep to ner temples. She had never 
 thought of such a thing; but now since 
 Joe had thought for her his touch had 
 been always gentle, his voice ever kind ; 
 he had always a smile for her. "And he 
 was so good ; he never went off at a tan- 
 gent and railed out upon folks. If he 
 loved a woman, and knew some one else 
 loved her better, he would close his lips 
 for all words but the very kindest. He 
 would never fault a girl because some one 
 else found her good and pretty." 
 
 And although no word was spoken, 
 Joe lost by comparison. 
 
 " It did look bad, perhaps, her always 
 meeting him when there was sickness ; " 
 so ran her thought; "but she had always 
 helped this way. Most of the neighbours 
 did, who had nothing to prevent. Still, 
 it did look bad; she had never thought 
 of it before, but now that she did think, 
 it looked decidedly queer. She would
 
 144 The Valley Path 
 
 not do it again. Doctor Boring might 
 think bad of it his own self might think 
 she was trying to meet him. And she 
 wouldn't go over there as free as she 
 had been going ; he might think bad of 
 that. But, no; he was good; had sense; 
 he was too good to think bad of anybody. 
 And he liked her to come, ordered eggs 
 just to make her come perhaps." And 
 with a smile upon her lips, as if the 
 thought might be not altogether unpleas- 
 ant, Alicia fell asleep.
 
 Chapter IX 
 
 THERE was trouble in the wind. 
 The old trust, the quiet sense of 
 oneness that had existed between Joe and 
 Lissy, had received a shock. As the weeks 
 went by and the quarrel was not made up, 
 Joe began to grow sullen and morose. He 
 had never known Lissy as she appeared 
 to him during those weeks. Light, gay, 
 careless, she seemed to care no more for 
 his anger than she cared for his suffering. 
 He had expected to teach her a lesson, to 
 force her to sue for forgiveness ; failing in 
 that, he sought to play upon her tender- 
 ness, to reach her by his own sadness and 
 regret. 
 
 His first call after the rupture was 
 ostensibly upon the old people. He 
 brought a turn of corn to the mill, and
 
 146 The Valley Path 
 
 while waiting " allowed he'd step up ter 
 the house an' see how granny was comin' 
 on." 
 
 Lissy saw him coming up the mill path, 
 and, blushing, rose to receive him. After 
 all, she liked Joe, and regretted the quar- 
 rel ! had he asked her to do so, at that 
 moment of surprise and pleasure, she 
 might have received him again into her 
 trust and affection. 
 
 But he merely gave her a careless 
 " Howdy, Lissy," and asked to see her 
 grandmother. 
 
 The next time he called she was careful 
 to meet him at the door, and, calling to 
 her grandmother that he was there, went 
 quietly on making her preparations for 
 carrying some fresh butter to the boarding- 
 house on the mountain. He had the cha- 
 grin of seeing her adjust the red felt upon 
 her head with more than her usual care ; 
 she even tied a bit of bright ribbon into 
 her hair ; he noticed how perfectly the red 
 adornment blended with the color in her
 
 The Valley Path 147 
 
 cheek ; and he noticed, in the same mirror 
 that had reflected the laughing, girlish face, 
 his own hollow eyes, telling the story of 
 sleepless nights and weary vigils. She 
 made no apology for leaving ; on the 
 contrary, she tossed him an offhand de- 
 fiance by calling to Al to bring her the 
 basket of eggs for Doctor Boring. 
 
 " I'll stop as I go by, and see if any- 
 body's sick and needin' me," she said. 
 " I'm gettin' my hand out since Mis' 
 Tucker got up and about. Though I'm 
 glad she's well, goodness knows. Well, 
 an' singin' the praises of the mad doctor 
 like the woods afire." 
 
 Granny unconsciously added fuel to the 
 flame jealousy had kindled : 
 
 " Though she's a-wonderin' some whar 
 the pay air ter come from, for the powders 
 an' stuff he give her. It do beat my time, 
 the hold the infidel air gittin' on the val- 
 ley. He even tol' Lissy thar as he'd 
 make his nigger plow her gyarden, an' 
 plant it, in the spring. Sowin' ter de-
 
 148 The Valley Path 
 
 struction, I tell Lissy, but seems like her 
 an' her grandad can't see it so." 
 
 Joe could do nothing but see her go off 
 with that contented look upon her face, 
 and a basket on either arm. 
 
 But his visit lost its flavour when she 
 was gone ; he had exhausted himself upon 
 the new colt he had bought and meant to 
 " break ter a side-saddle," before Alicia 
 left; the horse was mean and valueless 
 enough when it dawned upon him that 
 the rider he had intended should occupy 
 that same side-saddle might never mount 
 it, after all, might marry the mad doctor, 
 just to spite him ; for it never occurred to 
 him that she could really love the man 
 old enough to be her father. Still she 
 might marry him ; women were guilty of 
 very foolish acts sometimes, and Lissy 
 was a woman. So he reasoned, and the 
 more he reasoned the more angry he be- 
 came ; until, unable to sit tamely there 
 with the knowledge that she was at that 
 moment at his rival's house, sitting oppo-
 
 The Valley Path 149 
 
 site him at the fire perhaps, with that same 
 motherly sweetness in her face that had 
 been there when she spoke of rocking the 
 little lambs to sleep in her arms, he got 
 up, said good-by, and struck out across 
 the mountain. He meant to meet her 
 somewhere upon the way, or to wait for 
 her if she tarried, and to have it out with 
 her. They must either " make it up " or 
 " fight it out," he declared ; meaning that 
 she was to understand that she couldn't 
 play fast and loose with him. 
 
 By the time he reached Mrs. Tucker's 
 cabin his anger had cooled somewhat ; he 
 was quite willing to make up. If Alicia 
 would agree to marry him without further 
 " foolishness," or would even " fix a day," 
 however distant, he would let " bygones 
 be bygones and say no more about it." 
 So he hung about, talking to old Mrs. 
 Tucker, and inwardly fretting because 
 Alicia tarried at the doctor's. 
 
 When at last she did come she would 
 have passed him without a word, without
 
 150 The Valley Path 
 
 so much as a nod of recognition, but that 
 he went down the road a little distance to 
 meet her. Then when her eyes were 
 lifted to his he saw that she had been 
 weeping ; the lids were instantly drooped, 
 refusing to meet his. 
 
 Old Mrs. Tucker from her window 
 could see, without hearing what was said, 
 that Joe was angry. She saw, too, that 
 which Joe failed to see, that Alicia was 
 not feigning indifference. 
 
 As they drew nearer, her sharp old ears 
 caught a threat the jealous young lover let 
 fall ; not the whole of it, but enough to 
 convince her that the doctor was in dan- 
 ger of his life. 
 
 " Land o' mercy !" she exclaimed. "Air 
 Joe Bowen drunk ? Or air he out of his 
 head ? Or air he just a nat'ral fool ? 
 Jealous of the mad doctor ! Well, I'll 
 be beat ! What air we-all a-comin' ter, 
 I wonder. Thar ! if Lissy ain't comin' 
 in, an' just leavin' him ter preach ter the 
 gate-post an' the horse-block. I don't
 
 The Valley Path 151 
 
 wonder. I ain't forgot how he talked 
 that night I ware so sick, an' I called the 
 child in so's he couldn't jaw the life out 
 of her, though he didn't know I heard 
 his threatn'n', an' no more did Lissy." 
 
 How easy it would have been to set 
 him right ; yet Alicia refused to speak the 
 consent he asked, or to explain her tears 
 and agitation. She had meant to tell 
 him, to be kind to him ; but he had given 
 her no opportunity ; now she said " he 
 might go." 
 
 She gave Mrs. Tucker a quiet " Good- 
 mornin'," and as that woman wisely re- 
 frained from speaking of the quarrel, it 
 was not mentioned. 
 
 After awhile she said " Good-mornin' ' 
 again, and went back down the mountain, 
 home, and sent Al to carry the butter to 
 Sewanee. Once alone in her own little 
 room with its white naked walls and mus- 
 lin curtains, Alicia buried her face in the 
 pillows of her bed and burst into tears. 
 For the moment, Joe became dear ; the
 
 152 The Valley Path 
 
 sense of loss made him so. But the next 
 day she went about her duties as usual ; 
 the storm had passed. Of his threats 
 she had little fear. She had known him 
 a long time, almost all her life, and she 
 had never known him do a cowardly or an 
 unprincipled thing. She could say that 
 much for him, at all events. 
 
 Mrs. Tucker, however, was not so sure 
 of him. No sooner had Alicia gone home 
 than the old woman tied the strings of 
 her black sunbonnet under her chin and 
 went down the mountain. She did not 
 follow the footpath leading to the physi- 
 cian's house from the rear, but took the 
 little trail to the right which would cross 
 the " big road" at a point where she knew 
 he often walked mornings, going as far, 
 sometimes, as Pelham Creek. 
 
 When she reached the top of a little 
 bluff where there was a clearing, she saw 
 him coming down the road, flecking with 
 his cane at the long dry grasses either 
 side. His head was dropped forward in
 
 The Valley Path 153 
 
 the attitude of one lost in thought. And 
 indeed, he had abundant cause for medi- 
 tation ; he was half tempted to close his 
 house and go back to the city, as his first 
 plan had been, and remain there until 
 summer. Joe Bowen was beginning to 
 annoy him considerably. He had been 
 disappointed in Bowen ; he had not been 
 the friend a first acquaintance with him 
 had promised. Of late, indeed, he had 
 been quite unfriendly ; had displayed a 
 touch of meanness even, in shooting a 
 fine colt of the doctor's that had broken 
 out, and found a way into Joe's pasture. 
 
 " I ought to sue him and make him 
 pay for it," said the physician, " and I 
 would, only that I believe he is trying to 
 provoke me into a quarrel." 
 
 Since the killing of the colt, that sense 
 of littleness, the sure effect of a cowardly 
 deed, had kept Joe at a distance. What 
 had he done, the doctor wondered, to so 
 arouse the animosity of the young fellow? 
 If he had wronged him he was more than
 
 154 The Valley Path 
 
 willing to make atonement, if he only 
 knew wherein the wrong consisted. 
 
 He was soon to be enlightened ; the 
 enlightenment, or the bringer of it, was 
 calling and signalling from the bluff above 
 the roadside. 
 
 "Doctor Borin'," she called, "O Doc- 
 tor Borin' ! wait thar a minute if you 
 please, Doctor Borin' ; I am comin' down 
 by the path to speak ter you-uns." 
 
 Nothing loath, he seated himself upon a 
 great gray boulder at the foot of the bluff, 
 and waited, while Mrs. Tucker ran down 
 the path to meet him. 
 
 She stood before him at last, breathless, 
 panting, and, although she made an effort 
 to disguise it, he saw that she was excited. 
 
 "Doctor Borin'," she said, "I want ter 
 have a settlemint with you-uns, for doc- 
 torin' of me whenst I ware took sick last 
 month. I want a settlemint." 
 
 Accustomed to humanity in many phases, 
 he saw at once that she was manoeuvring. 
 
 " A settlement ?" he replied. "Well,
 
 The Valley Path 155 
 
 bring me half a dozen chickens. I'm not 
 going to skip the country yet, and I don't 
 believe you are." 
 
 The worried expression in her face 
 did not leave it, as she said, "Doctor 
 Borin', you air a good man ; you have 
 been mighty clever ter me an' mine." 
 
 " Much obliged, madam," said the doc- 
 tor, a twinkle in his eyes. But she gave 
 no heed to the interruption. 
 
 " I wish you well, Doctor Borin' ; I ud 
 hate mightily if anything ware ter happen 
 ter you-uns." 
 
 "Well," he said, "am I in any danger, 
 Mrs. Tucker ? " 
 
 The amusement left his face ; an ex- 
 pression of annoyance came in its place. 
 
 "Yes, Doctor Borin', I'm afeard you 
 air. Leastways won't you take t'other 
 path home ? I ain't a-sayin' anybody ud 
 be mean enough or sneak enough or cow- 
 ard enough ter hurt you unbeknownst. 
 But I wish't you'd take the mount'n path 
 home, 'stid o' the valley path."
 
 156 The Valley Path 
 
 Her solicitude touched him keenly. 
 But there was no coward taint in his 
 blood ; the man who had braved creeds, 
 religious and social ostracism, was not the 
 man to quail before a physical danger. 
 He hesitated, but only in order to shape 
 his language into form not to wound 
 her. 
 
 "Neither shall I," he said, "be small 
 enough or weak enough or coward 
 enough to turn my back to a hidden 
 danger. Madam, no coward ever sees 
 the old doctor's heels ! " 
 
 " Then won't you go, t'other way I 
 mean, for me? Jest ter pleasure an ole 
 woman who air obligated ter yer, an' 
 who wishes you well ? Won't you do 
 it for me, Doctor Borin' ? " 
 
 She laid her hard old hand upon his 
 sleeve ; in the faded eyes tears were start- 
 ing ; the thin lips twitched in a way that 
 was almost painful to witness. Watching 
 her, there stirred in his heart a feeling 
 which had slumbered for years. Before
 
 The Valley Path 157 
 
 him, between the yellow old face and his 
 own, another face arose, his mother's ; 
 gentle, wistful, the tears in the sad, fath- 
 omless eyes, the white lips a-quiver with 
 pain as they pleaded with him to forgive, 
 to forget, for her sake. He had truly 
 tried for her sake ; for her sake he would 
 " pleasure " this humble old woman who 
 had come to him in his mother's stead. 
 
 "Well, well," he said, "if it will be any 
 gratification to you I will take the path 
 down the mountain and go home the back 
 way. But you must know that I am not 
 afraid of dangers that hide in the bush; 
 because I am not afraid of death, perhaps ; 
 it is life that makes cowards of men, not 
 death. I hope you are not going to ask 
 me to put on your sunbonnet, madam." 
 
 He was laughing again, as he walked 
 by her side, up the mountain to a point 
 where her path met the path leading to 
 his cabin. 
 
 " Naw, sir, I sha'n't ask you to do 
 that," she replied; "but, Doctor Borin',
 
 158 The Valley Path 
 
 if you meet Lissy Reams on the way, I 
 wish't you wouldn't stop ter talk ter her." 
 
 He gathered himself together, looked 
 her full in the eye, and said, "Hell! " 
 
 " I knowed that ware just what you 
 would say. But I wish you would mind 
 what / say. I'm goin' up this way now ; 
 I'll come down an' fetch the chickens to- 
 morrer, maybe this evenin' ; good-day, 
 Doctor Borin'." 
 
 Her black sunbonnet appeared now 
 and then, bobbing above the laurel where 
 her path wound among the short stunted 
 growth. He watched it a moment, the 
 tail flapping in the breeze like the wings 
 of a great crow about to alight among the 
 bushes. Then he turned and went slowly 
 down the mountain. He forgot the wrin- 
 kled old face under the sunbonnet's shade; 
 to his vision appeared only the sublimity 
 of gratitude, in an earnest, simple heart. 
 She had tramped all that distance to 
 warn him of a fancied, perhaps a possi- 
 ble, danger.
 
 The Valley Path 159 
 
 When she had eaten her dinner she 
 caught six of her best young pullets, 
 and, tying their legs securely with strips 
 of old cotton, set off down the mountain 
 again. All her fears were reawakened. 
 She had seen Joe ride by with a rifle 
 flung across the saddle-bow. 
 
 How he laughed at her, the odd, death- 
 defying old doctor : 
 
 " Why, my good woman," said he, " I 
 am no more afraid of Joe Bowen than 
 I am of you. He will never shoot me, 
 don't you believe it; not if I can get 
 a word with him before he pulls the 
 trigger. If he does he will have to 
 shoot me in the back, and Joe Bowen 
 isn't a coward, whatever may be his 
 faults." 
 
 " He's crazy," she insisted. " He's 
 ravin' mad, a-thinkin' as how you-uns 
 air tryin' ter keep company with Lissy 
 Reams. I told him myself that he was 
 a fool, an' little better than a idiot, ter 
 s'pose you ware thinkin' o' that chil'.
 
 160 The Valley Path 
 
 An' you ole enough ter be her gran'- 
 father, a-mighty nigh." 
 
 He coloured, and dropped his eyes ; 
 the folly of his thought had been brought 
 home to him many times during the day. 
 Strange he had not seen it himself. Yet 
 if he chose that pure, wax-like nature 
 
 He put the temptation aside; he would 
 put a thorn in no man's content. 
 
 " You are very good to think of me," 
 he said. " And Joe is very foolish to 
 hold such ideas. Yes, I am an old man, 
 an old man. Old enough to be her 
 father; yes, quite so, quite so." 
 
 He had forgotten her presence, and sat 
 with his head dropped forward, and his 
 eyes fixed upon the fire. The vibrant 
 clearness of her voice, when she spoke 
 again, quite startled him. " Can't we 
 have a settlemint now, Doctor Borin'?" 
 
 He glanced up, quickly: 
 
 " Bring me another half dozen chick- 
 ens," he said. 
 
 He sat there long after she had gone,
 
 The Valley Path 161 
 
 his head drooped upon his breast, his 
 eyes fixed upon the glowing coal bed. 
 The gold of the afternoon faded ; the 
 gray twilight set in, and then the night, 
 starlit and cold. Ephraim came in and 
 built up the fire, but the physician did 
 not stir. At last old Dike called him 
 to supper, and he got up, exchanging 
 without thought his coat for the purple 
 dressing-gown. 
 
 As he stood before the mantel, he 
 caught a glimpse of his face in the little 
 mirror above it. His head had never 
 looked so white, his eyes so wearily 
 heavy. " Old enough to be her father," 
 he murmured, resting a moment against 
 the mantel. 
 
 " De supper am gittin' col', marster." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I am coming. I forgot all 
 about it, I am afraid." Then, softly, " An 
 old man ; old enough to be her father ; 
 quite so, quite so." 
 
 Yet he remembered that she had said, 
 " You don't appear to be so old."
 
 Chapter X 
 
 JOE had not stopped in the valley, as 
 Mrs. Tucker feared, to waylay Doctor 
 Boring. The physician had judged him 
 more correctly. Joe was not a coward ; 
 he would shoot him with half an excuse 
 for doing so ; he would go further, and 
 create the opportunity ; but he would not, 
 except it be upon impulse, shoot from 
 ambush. 
 
 Joe rode past the cabin in the valley 
 without turning his head ; he was riding 
 the black, spirited colt he had lately pur- 
 chased, alas ! for Alicia, when Alicia should 
 be his wife. The fact did not augment 
 his good humour. He rode briskly by, 
 sitting his mount like an Indian, down to 
 Cowan, where he spent the day loafing, 
 
 and nursing his wrath, among the usual 
 162
 
 The Valley Path 163 
 
 Saturday visitors " to town." Bowen was 
 not a drinker ; when he drank it was more 
 as a frolic than a brunt to bad feeling, or 
 a taste for alcohol. 
 
 He was not in a humour for fun, so he 
 sat by, sullen and unhappy, listening to 
 the gossip, political and social, until the 
 dusky red of twilight sent the gossipers 
 on their homeward way. Still he lingered, 
 loath to return to his desolate hearth, shorn 
 as it was of the bright dreams that had 
 been his fireside friends of late. 
 
 It was past nine when he rode down 
 the valley. Far before him he saw the 
 round, red eye which he knew to be the 
 doctor's window, through which the min- 
 gled glow of lamp and firelight streamed 
 out upon the night and sent its good, 
 glad glow far down the valley ; a guide to 
 the benighted, a promise to the wanderer 
 pushing homeward through the darkness. 
 
 Something in its brightness appealed 
 to Joe ; there came to him a feeling that 
 the world was not, after all, so desolately
 
 164 The Valley Path 
 
 cheerless as he had fancied. He followed 
 the tiny ray without realising it for a 
 while ; thinking, without realising it, just 
 how good the warmth must be within 
 that little valley home ; how dark out- 
 side, and how cold. His horse's hoofs 
 struck the frozen earth with a harshness 
 that seemed to ring and vibrate. The 
 contrast suddenly opened about and faced 
 him, their two lives, the difference of 
 surroundings, the warmth within where he 
 was, the blackness of night which accom- 
 panied him. Yet he did not care for these 
 things ; he was not so small as that. But 
 that this man, with all the favour of for- 
 tune, with ease, comfort, everything, 
 that he should seek to rob him, had 
 robbed him of the one single flower that 
 had ever lifted its face to gladden the 
 humble path where fate had set him 
 down, this was the sting, this was the 
 injustice which rankled and burned and 
 turned his natural goodness to hate. 
 " He ain't fittin' ter live," he muttered,
 
 The Valley Path 165 
 
 between his strong, set teeth. " He ain't 
 fittin' ter be let live. If I ware ter aim 
 a bullet square at that red pane o' win- 
 der, 'twould find his gray head straight as 
 straight. An' it air no more than he 
 deserves, a bullet ain't. But I ain't that 
 low, I reckin, to shoot a man in the back. 
 Naw, Lord ! if I kill a bird I let it git the 
 start. I'll be as gen'rous ter a man as 
 I am ter a pa'tridge, though he ain't as 
 deservin'." 
 
 He still carried his gun slung across 
 the saddle-bow, and the red pane drew 
 nearer, seemed to grow, to expand, until 
 eighteen small square panes took shape, 
 every pane aglow, and beyond them the 
 doctor's large gray head, resting upon his 
 hand, his elbow upon the table near which 
 he sat reading. 
 
 The devil whispered in Joe's ear a das- 
 tardly thing ; a thing too cowardly mean 
 for the eye of God's good daylight. Only 
 under cover of night could such a deed 
 find birth. But it came so sharp and
 
 1 66 The Valley Path 
 
 strong and sudden, was so irresistibly fas- 
 cinating, so fiendishly fraught with the 
 sweetness of revenge complete, that he 
 had no time to meet the terrible tempta- 
 tion. He forgot his consideration for 
 the " bird ; " forgot his manhood, every- 
 thing but the rank revenge that for the 
 moment robbed him of his reason. 
 
 Quick as a flash he lifted the gun to 
 his shoulder and took aim ; his keen eye 
 flashed along the muzzle for a single 
 instant ; his finger pressed the trigger, 
 which refused to act ; an instant yet, and 
 the gray head was lifted ; the calmly gen- 
 tle face turned as though to catch a sound 
 for which the ear had waited ; then the 
 figure vanished. 
 
 The next moment the door opened, 
 and from it came a stream of crimson 
 light that lay aslant the darkness like a 
 path of fire. In the very centre of it 
 stood the doctor, erect and fearless. 
 What a target against the light, as he 
 stood with his back to the door, his arms
 
 The Valley Path 167 
 
 outspread, resting a hand on either cas- 
 ing ! Joe uttered an oath, and dropped 
 his gun with a sudden snap that brought 
 the hammer of the old-fashioned weapon 
 down upon his finger clumsily feeling for 
 the cock. The noise of his horse's hoofs 
 sounded in his ears like drums beating 
 furiously. Suddenly the doctor put his 
 hands to his mouth and hailed : 
 
 " O Joe ! Bowen ! " The only evi- 
 dence that Joe heard was the sudden 
 silence as the rider brought his horse to 
 a standstill. The physician accepted the 
 silence for attention. " Come by," said 
 he. " Stop ; I want to see you." 
 
 It was an instance of the incomprehen- 
 sible power of will, the stronger over the 
 weaker. The very attitude of the man 
 standing there defying danger, the mere 
 tone of voice, all had about it that which 
 compelled obedience. 
 
 Joe hesitated an instant only, then 
 wheeled his horse into the footpath lead- 
 ing to the doctor's gate.
 
 1 68 The Valley Path 
 
 The physician stood in the doorway 
 while his visitor twisted his bridle into 
 the iron ring dangling from the hitching- 
 post, which few callers ever saw, the limbs 
 of the trees being more familiar to the 
 service. He came up the walk, gun in 
 hand, his long, gaunt shadow growing 
 longer and more gaunt with every step 
 towards the light. 
 
 " Come in ; walk right in there to the 
 fire; you must be half frozen. Nobody 
 there but Zip ; Zip and I are making our- 
 selves comfortable after our own ideas. 
 Do likewise ; do likewise. I will join 
 you in just a minute." 
 
 Scarcely knowing what he did, and in- 
 wardly cursing himself for " a dad-blamed 
 fool," Bowen obeyed. The room was 
 tempting ; the doctor himself was tempt- 
 ing; even the terrier curled up on the 
 hair sofa looked up with an air which 
 said, " Well, now, we are comfortable." 
 There was a homefulness about it all that 
 invited confidence.
 
 The Valley Path 169 
 
 In a moment the doctor returned. 
 The first object to arrest his eye was the 
 old flintlock rifle leaning against the wall ; 
 the next moment he saw the hand resting 
 upon Joe's knee, with the blood slowly 
 oozing from a wound in the right fore- 
 finger. 
 
 " Why, man," said the physician, 
 " you have wounded yourself. Wheel 
 about to the light and let us have a look 
 at it. Sure it isn't another case of hornet 
 sting ? " 
 
 The guilty crimson swept the boyish 
 face, turned for a moment to the lamplight. 
 He had forgotten all about the wounded 
 hand, so much sharper had been the hurt 
 in the heart. 
 
 "I reckin it ain't much," he said, with 
 sullen indifference, making an effort to 
 conceal the bleeding member under the 
 palm of the other. 
 
 "Oh, come now," said the doctor, 
 "this will not do. Put it out here; that 
 is what I am here for. You wouldn't
 
 170 The Valley Path 
 
 cheat an old man out of his trade, would 
 you ? Give me your hand, boy." 
 
 He had been arranging a few simple 
 implements while he talked, a case of 
 steels, a sheet of plaster, a roll of soft, 
 starchless linen lay on the table. 
 
 Joe eyed him sullenly. Suddenly he 
 rose ; his tall, straight figure towered 
 above the other like the figure of a young 
 Goliath. His eyes flashed, and from the 
 uplifted wounded finger drops of bright 
 red blood trickled the length of his hand, 
 disappearing under his sleeve. 
 
 "Damn you!" he hissed. "Say out 
 what you've got to say ; I ain't here to 
 fool an' palaver with you-uns. I see you 
 at that thar table when I rid up, an' I 
 ware tempted to put a bullet into you. I 
 had my gun aimed, cocked, when you 
 moved off out of range. An' the damn 
 thing snapped, ketchin' of my finger. 
 That's how come the wound you're beg- 
 gin' leave ter patch up. An' it ware me 
 killed your horse, the fine colt. I done it
 
 The Valley Path 171 
 
 to make sure you'd never saddle Lissy 
 Reams on to hit, like you done on t'other 
 one. An' it ware me oh, damn it all ! 
 Git up from thar an' kick me out. Or 
 else come outside an' fight it out like men 
 fight. An' if you whip me you may take 
 the gal an' go to the devil, an' I'll quit 
 the country. But don't, in God A'mighty's 
 name, set thar saaft-sawderin' o' me. I 
 can't take it, an' I won't." 
 
 The doctor slowly rose ; he was trem- 
 bling. Afraid? For an instant Joe thought 
 so. Only for an instant, however ; until 
 he saw the face of the man. There was 
 no agitation in the calm eyes, although the 
 hand which he rested upon the table to 
 steady himself shook. 
 
 "The man who would fight with me," 
 said he, in slow, even accents, " must con- 
 tent himself with a very one-sided battle. 
 And the coward lying for my life like a 
 thief outside my window, under cover of 
 night and of darkness, will not find lack 
 of opportunity for taking it. The day
 
 172 The Valley Path' 
 
 has never dawned that found me afraid 
 to die. To the honest man, always, death 
 is only a part of life's plan, and, let it come 
 when and as it will, can neither alter nor 
 affect that plan. 
 
 "To me life has never held an hour 
 that found me unwilling to lay it down ; 
 seldom brought a gift so fair that I have 
 sighed for its renunciation. Do you sup- 
 pose that I am afraid of you ? or any man? 
 That I would have moved my head the 
 fraction of an inch to dodge your coward- 
 bullet ? Do the old, you think, find life 
 so full, its happiness so vast, that they 
 hug it like a miser his gold ? Sometimes, 
 perhaps, but it is where ties are many and 
 love has outlived years. Not so with 
 me ; I am an old man as compared with 
 you : the fifty years that have slipped the 
 measure in my glass were not so many 
 grains of gold to dazzle and amuse, but 
 so much of good life and strength stripped 
 from the old shell called manhood. Sit 
 down there. I want to tell you a story ;
 
 The Valley Path 173 
 
 having told it, you know where your gun 
 is ; and the window will not be closed. Sit 
 down, man ; don't be a fool, if you can 
 help it." 
 
 He forced him to the chair again, and 
 again began to adjust his surgical instru- 
 ments. 
 
 " Give me your hand ; now, while I 
 patch this hole up, all I ask of you is to 
 listen. I have always refused to believe 
 you a coward. It remains to be seen 
 whether or not you are the fool your 
 recent conduct would argue." 
 
 Accustomed to the sick, he had long 
 ago learned to exact obedience of his 
 patients. This man was as truly his pa- 
 tient as if he were suffering some acute 
 disease of the body. And as such he 
 treated him. The dark face lost some- 
 thing of its angry defiance, while the 
 restless eyes furtively followed the deft 
 fingers patting a bit of plaster upon the 
 ugly pinch the rifle had made in the long 
 forefinger. There was seductive sweet-
 
 174 The Valley Path 
 
 ness in the voice that pronounced him "a 
 fool," a something that soothed even 
 while it condemned. Before the doctor 
 had proceeded well into his story Joe 
 began to suspect that he was right; that 
 he was "a fool." 
 
 " I find," said the doctor, " that in 
 order to get your thoughts at rest I must 
 tell you a little story that concerns chiefly 
 myself. I had hoped that it was buried 
 for ever, or until the last resurrection of 
 all pain. I am an old man at fifty, older 
 than you will be at seventy. At twenty 
 I left college ; at twenty-two was a prac- 
 tising physician. That I made success of 
 my profession, no one ever denied. Life 
 held fair promises for me. I was not a 
 Christian, as the world accepts the term. 
 I denied many things, doubted more, that 
 orthodoxy accepted. Mine is an open na- 
 ture, and I saw no reason for concealment ; 
 so that everybody who knew me knew my 
 creed, if I had one. That I have done 
 some good the poor will bear witness at
 
 The Valley Path 175 
 
 the last. If I have harmed any man I do 
 not know it. I made myself a place and 
 practice. At last there came into my life 
 a being who changed its current; awoke 
 the heart within me ; played upon its 
 every string ; sounded every depth, knew 
 every shallow, of my nature. It was at 
 the bedside of her dying father that we 
 first met ; we became lovers, plighted our 
 troth, were soon to have been married. 
 She was poor ; I had plenty. That she 
 was influenced by my wealth was a thought 
 too insulting to have lodging in the same 
 heart that held her. If I found her 
 lacking in demonstration of affection, I 
 attributed it to maiden modesty and was 
 content. She was a Christian, after the 
 favoured order. There was in her family 
 a cousin, a reckless young fellow, who 
 hung about her some, but of whom I had 
 as little jealousy as I have, or might have, 
 of my terrier asleep there on my couch. 
 
 " My wedding-day was fixed ; was near ; 
 but two days gaped between my happi-
 
 i y6 The Valley Path 
 
 ness and me. My best man was an old 
 college chum whom I had lifted out of 
 debt, saved from disgrace once, and given 
 many a turn along the way. The day 
 before that fixed for my marriage I met 
 him, but when I would have greeted him 
 he turned his face away. Was he angry, 
 drunk? I crossed the street and faced 
 him ; he was laughing. He looked so 
 guilty, Bowen, so vulgarly guilty, that 
 with my left I grasped my right hand in 
 order not to strike him down. It was 
 only for an instant, however ; in a twink- 
 ling he was himself again. But for the 
 life of me I couldn't rest. I felt that I 
 had done my friend injustice. I sought 
 him out again before the day was done, 
 and made my full apology. Then, f Jack,' 
 said I, c go down and select my ties for 
 me. You've got good taste about such 
 things.' 
 
 " c Oh, let the ties be, Doc,' was his 
 reply; c there's time enough. I'll see to 
 them, old boy, in time'
 
 The Valley Path 177 
 
 " That night I called on Alice. I never 
 saw her half so radiant, so superbly lovely. 
 I was all happiness ; one thing only came 
 between my joy and me. She refused my 
 good-night kiss. I left her early : she 
 wanted her c beauty sleep,' she said. And 
 since it was her last day of girlhood I re- 
 signed her to herself, knowing it was the 
 last time. When I reached my room I 
 read a chapter from a little velvet Bible, 
 her gift, which, to please her, I had prom- 
 ised to read daily. 
 
 " The following morning I went early 
 to my office ; the few acquaintances I met 
 upon the street dodged me, unmistak- 
 ably dodged me. 
 
 "As I was passing the house of a man 
 who had been my father's friend and as 
 stanchly mine, I saw him open the door 
 and come down the walk to the gate. I 
 said good-morning from across the street, 
 and would have passed on, but that he 
 called me : 
 
 " ( Come in,' said he. * I wish to see
 
 1 78 The Valley Path 
 
 you ; have been watching at the window 
 for you.' 
 
 " I crossed over and went in. I re- 
 member that the sun shone, and that 
 there were scarlet gladiolus blooming 
 in the window, although it was bitter 
 cold. 
 
 " He led me in, motioned to a chair, 
 himself took one, and then I saw his face. 
 Some dreadful thing had happened. I 
 waited for him to go on. 
 
 " c Bart,' said he, ( I had rather cut my 
 tongue out than to tell you ' 
 
 " c Is something wrong ? ' said I. f Tell 
 me ; let me help you if I can.' 
 
 " He motioned me to silence. c The 
 trouble,' said he, f is not mine, but yours.' 
 
 a< Mine?' 
 
 ' " Brace yourself to hear it,' said he. 
 It isn't a sweet duty to dash a man's 
 happiness to death, to crush both pride 
 and joy at a blow.' 
 
 " He was sparring, as he thought, mer- 
 cifully. But I cut him off. c Tell me,'
 
 The Valley Path 179 
 
 said I ; c I'm not a child. What is it that 
 has happened ? ' 
 
 " It was Alice ; she had run away the 
 night before, eloped, and been married to 
 her cousin. 
 
 " Bowen, it struck me like an iron 
 hammer. My head dropped on my 
 breast like lead ; my heart, that had held 
 warm blood, turned to ice while I listened 
 to the story of her falseness, my shame, 
 and my betrayal by my friend ; for Jack 
 was one of the attendants and witnesses ; 
 had helped her to elude me ; gone with 
 her upon her midnight visit to a little 
 village clergyman, who had married the 
 runaways. I heard it all, the shameful, 
 cruel story, and then I roused myself to 
 meet my fate, scarcely harder to encoun- 
 ter than the smiles or the unspoken 
 sympathy, as it chanced, from those who 
 saw the humour or the pathos of the 
 situation. There was one who saw the 
 tragedy , my mother, and it killed 
 her.
 
 i8o The Valley Path 
 
 " I heard the story through and then I 
 lifted my head. 
 
 "'It's pretty hard,' I said, 'but I think 
 that I can bear it.' 
 
 "He grasped my hand, pressed it, and 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " I went to my room with head erect ; 
 I greeted my friends along the way. 
 They looked at me as if they thought 
 me mad. 
 
 " Opening my door, the first thing met 
 my eye was the little velvet Bible, open 
 where I had read the night before. I 
 took it in my hand, glanced down at the 
 open page where she had traced a text, 
 f And the truth shall make you free ',' and 
 tossed it in the fire. I have never opened 
 one since then, not from that day to this. 
 I got into my buggy, visited my patients 
 all day, at night went home, stealing in 
 softly so that my mother need not be dis- 
 turbed. But she was waiting ; had waited 
 for me all the day. She saw my face 
 and read my heart. The smile, the quiet,
 
 The Valley Path 181 
 
 matter-of-fact manner that had bewildered 
 my friends were not needed here. She 
 put her arms around my neck and fainted. 
 She alone knew how one woman's perfidy 
 had made shipwreck of a strong man's 
 tottering faith. Trouble comes in bat- 
 talions : I buried my mother in less than 
 a year. I lived on there, though friends 
 urged me, having my own comfort at 
 heart, to go elsewhere ; every feeling in 
 my nature rebelled against cowardly flight. 
 I remained until I proved myself equal to 
 my destiny. 
 
 " It is almost thirty years since I passed 
 down the steps of my friend's house that 
 crisp, cold morning, and went out to face 
 ridicule, and the pity that was scarcely 
 less difficult to bear. I remember that 
 the sun shone, and that the scarlet glad- 
 iolus were frozen stiff against the window- 
 pane. They looked like spots of clotted 
 blood against the frosted glass. I thought 
 of them when I saw your wounded hand 
 to-night.
 
 1 82 The Valley Path 
 
 " Come : you have my story ; the true 
 heart has but its one, ever." 
 
 The clock above the mantel monoto- 
 nously ticked off the time ; the wounded 
 hand, sponged and bound, lay on the 
 doctor's knee ; the strong, clear profile 
 of the guest shone with cameo effect 
 against the crimson firelight as the owner 
 turned his face from the physician's. Sud- 
 denly he faced him ; in the clear depths 
 of his eyes, lately so defiant, the tears 
 shone like drops of crystal. 
 
 " And you didn't kill him ? " he said, 
 " you didn't kill him like you would 
 kill a dog?" 
 
 " No, he lives yet; she is dead, though, 
 years ago." 
 
 "You ought ter 'a' killed him. He 
 ware not fittin' to live." 
 
 " Would his death have restored to me 
 that which her untruth had lost me, 
 my peace, my faith, my mother ? " 
 
 "Well, no," said Joe, "but I'd 'a' 
 killed him. I'd 'a' had my satisfaction 
 that far."
 
 The Valley Path 183 
 
 " No," said the doctor ; " I chose the 
 better part, I hope. Love isn't quite 
 all of life ; though it is so nearly all 
 that we sometimes make the mistake of 
 thinking it quite so. That is, we who 
 feel intensely. For me, I gathered my 
 burden to my shoulders as best I could, 
 and for thirty years almost I have stum- 
 bled along with it in the dark. In the 
 dark ! Ah, that is the hardest part of 
 pain : that he who bears her company 
 must, at the starting, turn his back upon 
 the light. So I have travelled with her 
 all these weary years, in the dark. But, 
 Bowen, " 
 
 He leaned forward, placing a hand 
 upon either knee of his visitor, compel- 
 ling his strict attention, "I resolved, 
 with God's help and man's strength, that 
 I would never be the despoiler of any 
 man's happiness. That is why I called 
 you in to-night." 
 
 He got up hastily, and began to walk 
 the floor. Joe regarded him steadily
 
 1 84 The Valley Path 
 
 a moment; then he, too, arose. His 
 strong young face bore index to the 
 brave young heart beneath it; shame, 
 sympathy, regret, and the courage of 
 acknowledgment, all were visible in the 
 bold, brown features lifted to the light. 
 
 "Doctor Borin'," he said, "I have 
 been a fool ; I have been a great fool. 
 I'd like to ask yo' " 
 
 "It was granted long ago," said the 
 doctor. " Look at the clock, twelve. 
 That is your candle on the mantel. Aunt 
 Dike built your fire two hours ago." 
 
 The mountaineer regarded him stu- 
 pidly ; he had a faint suspicion that the 
 rehearsal of his wrongs had unsettled the 
 man's mind. 
 
 " If Zip don't min' lettin' me have that 
 hat o' mine he's made his bed in, I'm 
 goin' home," said Joe. " I reckin my nag 
 is in an' about froze by this time." 
 
 " Your horse has been in the stable for 
 hours; ever since you came. You are not 
 going away from here to-night. The guest-
 
 The Valley Path 185 
 
 chamber is waiting for you. We are to 
 be friends from this on, Joe. We will 
 begin by your sharing my roof to-night." 
 
 He was lighting the candle as he 
 spoke ; when he held it to the moun- 
 taineer the latter shook his head. 
 
 " Not yet," said he. Then, with sud- 
 den vehemence, " I tell you, Doctor 
 Borin', I ain't fittin' ter be yo' friend. 
 I want ter be, but, O Lord ! I tell 
 you I ain't fittin'. First, you must take 
 my horse for the one I killed." 
 
 " We will talk about that to-morrow," 
 said the doctor. 
 
 " No, sir, to-night, now. You must 
 promise to take my horse ; he's a good 
 one, an' I'm fond of him. But I'll feel 
 like a thief, an' a sneak-thief at that, 
 unless you say you'll take him. He's 
 in your stable, thar he stays, an' we're 
 even. Be it so ? " 
 
 " Be it so," said the doctor. 
 
 " Good ; gimme my light ; though I 
 ain't sayin' as I don't feel like a blamed
 
 1 86 The Valley Path 
 
 fool, an' a horse thief, an' Brother Barry, 
 all at once." 
 
 He thundered up the stair, spilling the 
 hot sperm upon the linen bandage that 
 enwrapped his wounded hand. The phy- 
 sician sat a long while before the fire, his 
 head dropped forward in the weary way 
 that had come to him of late. 
 
 "A disturber of no man's peace," he 
 said, softly, as he bent to lay a shovelful 
 of ashes on the dying coals. " A spoiler 
 of no man's happiness. No man can 
 charge me with that. Yet I could have 
 won her, she is very gentle, and pliable, 
 and sympathetic; I could have won." 
 The white ashes grew cold, shifted, and fell 
 apart while he sat there, head bowed, 
 hands folded, lost in thought. When 
 the clock upon the mantel struck three 
 he started, rose, and shook himself. 
 " And now," said he, " there is nothing 
 left but to turn down the page." Alas ! 
 turning down the page does not always 
 ensure forgetting.
 
 The Valley Path 187 
 
 He turned off his lamp and crept into 
 bed. The moonlight through the window 
 where he had failed to drop the curtain 
 fell upon his face while he slept ; gently, 
 a caress in each silvery beam, as if they 
 would have smoothed the lines that grief 
 had traced upon his brow, and comforted 
 him. 
 
 When he awoke the sun shone, and his 
 guest was gone. 
 
 "Tromped off befo' breakfus," said 
 Ephraim, " leavin' his black horse in de 
 stable." 
 
 The presence of the horse confirmed the 
 presence of his master, which in the good 
 light of day the doctor was for an instant 
 disposed to regard as a part of the night's 
 dreams ; it gave the stamp of genuineness 
 to Joe's regret for past unfriendliness. 
 
 Later in the day Lissy stopped at the 
 gate to ask the doctor to go up and see 
 Lucy Ann's baby. 
 
 " It's real bad off," she declared, " with 
 the measles."
 
 1 88 The Valley Path 
 
 It was such a message as she brought 
 any day, yet she was awkward and slow 
 in delivering it, and he noticed that the 
 gray eyes refused to meet his with their 
 old-time frankness. 
 
 Joe's jealousy had revealed the physi- 
 cian in a new light ; the mere suspicion 
 of love had poisoned the perfect friend- 
 ship. 
 
 " Are you going back up there ? " said 
 the doctor. 
 
 " I can go if you want to send some- 
 thin'," she replied, "but I'll have to 
 hurry back home again." It was the 
 first time since he had known her that 
 she had not found time to devote to the 
 sick. 
 
 " No," he said, " I can go up, though 
 I am a little busy. It is a tiresome walk, 
 and you have taken it once this morning. 
 Moreover, you seem to be as busy as I." 
 
 Without a moment's hesitation, she 
 stepped into the trap he set for her. 
 
 " It ain't anything but can wait as well
 
 The Valley Path 189 
 
 as not," she insisted. "An' I don't 
 mind the walk a bit. I'm strong an' 
 young. You better send me in yo' 
 stead." 
 
 She had not meant to hurt him, he 
 knew it. He knew that to her the years 
 that lay between them were as nothing. 
 Yet her words hurt. He began to see 
 how old he must appear to other people ; 
 began to see himself that he was an old 
 man ; " an old fool," he said, " so old 
 that even Joe Bowen had comprehended 
 at last the folly of being jealous of such 
 an ancient." But there he did himself 
 and Joe injustice. That gentleman had 
 never discovered any reason on earth why 
 the doctor should not love and marry 
 Alicia, save that he wanted her for him- 
 self. Joe's was a primitive faith. To 
 his thinking, love could come but once. 
 And this love of the doctor's, with its 
 tincture of tragedy, must, according to 
 his idea, for ever disbar the heart where 
 it had been harboured against all meaner
 
 190 The Valley Path 
 
 passions. That first love is all-love is 
 not always granted by those more worldly 
 wise than Joe. But with him it was not 
 a question of will ; he had failed to catch 
 the finer point of honour with which the 
 physician meant to pledge himself, in an 
 unspoken promise, not to interfere with 
 his love affair. To him it was simply an 
 impossibility ; as much so as the new 
 growth of a limb that has been amputated 
 from the human body. With him love 
 had no second birth. A primitive faith, 
 and, like other primitive beliefs, gone to 
 find a grave in the cobwebbed past. 
 
 Alicia refused to " come in," but said 
 " good-mornin' " in the stiffest way, and 
 went home. 
 
 "Anybody would think, to see her," 
 mused the doctor, " that I had robbed 
 her hen-roost, or refused to pay my truck 
 bill." 
 
 The coming of Mrs. Tucker, a few 
 minutes later, changed the current of his 
 thought :
 
 The Valley Path 191 
 
 " Doctor Borin'," she began, " I reckin 
 I pester you a heap with my troubles. I 
 reckin we all pester you, right smart." 
 
 " Sit down there by the fire," said the 
 doctor, " and while you are thawing tell 
 me what the * trouble ' is this time. What 
 is a physician for, if not to listen to the 
 ailings of his patients ? " 
 
 She took the chair he placed for her, 
 and, pushing back the familiar black bon- 
 net, said : 
 
 " Doctor Borin', I have come down 
 here to ax you for a settlemint. I reckin 
 the interest on my debt to you will in 
 an' about eat me out o' house an' home. 
 You air a town doctor, but a mighty good 
 one. I ain't faultin' of you for bein' a 
 town man ; you couldn't holp that. But 
 I have heard say town men axed mighty 
 high for theirse'ves, an' I'm a po' woman. 
 But I'm honest; an' you'll git yo' pay, 
 Doctor Borin', if I have to sell my house 
 an' bit o' Ian' for it. I've come down here 
 to tell you so, an' ter ax for a settlemint."
 
 192 The Valley Path 
 
 " Haven't time to-day," laughed the 
 doctor. " Besides, I have a new patient 
 at your house. Wait until I cure the 
 baby, then we'll bunch the debts and 
 make one of them. I want you to take 
 some medicine up to Lucy Ann ; and see 
 that the measles don't 'go in,' and that 
 the baby doesn't take cold. No, it isn't 
 any use to try to pin me down to arithme- 
 tic to-day. I am going down to Pelham 
 to call on Joe Bowen ; he promised to let 
 me have a load of hay for my horse." 
 
 He saw the worried expression come 
 into her eyes, and gave up teasing. 
 
 " Wait," he said. " How much do I 
 owe you ? " 
 
 She was an honest trader, a careful 
 accountant. 
 
 " You owe me," she replied, in a slow, 
 businesslike way, "two dollars an' seventy- 
 five cents. I owe you " 
 
 " I am keeping my side of the account," 
 he interrupted her to say. " You look to 
 yours."
 
 The Valley Path 193 
 
 "I am gittin' to be an ol' woman, Doc- 
 tor Bonn'," she continued, "an' I want to 
 leave myse'f square with the world when 
 I come ter quit it. I owe you so much 
 that I've been a'most afeard ter ax you 
 how much it air. But I've saved up a 
 little money ter he'p pay you, anyhow, an' 
 I'm proper glad to git you ter talk about 
 it at last. That two dollars an' seventy- 
 five cents " 
 
 " There it is," said the doctor. " I am 
 putting it into your egg basket, since you 
 do not seem to see it. And now, my 
 good woman, we are square. That is our 
 settlement." 
 
 She stared first at him, then at the 
 silver he had slipped into her basket. 
 
 "But, Doctor Borin'," she began, when 
 he again interrupted her : 
 
 " Bring me some more chickens ; if 
 I haven't emptied your roost." 
 
 She understood at last, and went out, 
 silent, the tears in her eyes and in her 
 throat, choking her.
 
 194 The Valley Path 
 
 The next morning Lissy came down 
 to the gate and sent for him to come 
 out. Al was sick ; he had been taken 
 with a chill the night before, and she had 
 wished to come for him then, but her 
 grandmother was opposed to it. She had 
 given him a quantity of pepper tea and 
 had put him to bed, to wait for the herb 
 doctor. 
 
 " He's real sick, Doctor Borin'," Alicia 
 continued, " an' I wish you would go over 
 an' see him befo' the herb doctor gets 
 there." 
 
 " I cannot do that, Lissy," he replied ; 
 " but if you will come in I will fill some 
 quinine capsules for Al. But you must 
 come in the house. I shall not touch 
 them if you insist upon hanging on my 
 gate-post for half an hour in the cold." 
 
 She hesitated, blushing. It did not 
 appear altogether proper for her to go in 
 alone, and no woman there but an old 
 negress. While she hesitated he opened 
 the gate and led her in, up the walk, into
 
 The Valley Path 195 
 
 the little sitting-room where patients and 
 other visitors came every day, almost every 
 hour of the day. 
 
 " What in the name of common sense 
 has come over you, child ? " he asked, 
 fretfully, in order to disguise the pleasure 
 he felt in having her once more sitting 
 opposite him at his own hearth. " You're 
 getting tired of the old hospital, Lissy ; 
 I just know that's it. And everybody else 
 in the neighbourhood likes it, likes to 
 come here. Mrs. Tucker sat an hour, 
 only yesterday." 
 
 His words and manner quite reassured 
 her. After all, she was fond of coming 
 over and chatting with him before the big 
 fire, with the terrier asleep in her lap, and 
 Aunt Dilcy putting her head in now and 
 then to give the milk jar a turn on the 
 hearth where she always set it until ready 
 for the churn. Sometimes Al came over 
 with her, and then the visit was real pleas- 
 ant. But of late, well, after all, she 
 failed to detect any difference in the
 
 196 The Valley Path 
 
 doctor's manner; so she concluded Joe 
 had allowed his jealousy to warp his good 
 sense. The doctor didn't appear near so 
 fond of her as he did of the terrier on her 
 lap. 
 
 " I will fill the capsules," he said, seat- 
 ing himself to the task, "and you may 
 give one to Al every two hours. You 
 can give them on the sly if there's any 
 fuss made." 
 
 " I'll give them fair an' square, if 
 granny'll let me," she replied. " I won't 
 do anything on the sly. I reckin gran- 
 ny'll throw it all in the fire for a lot o' 
 foolishness, because it's bitter instead of 
 hot. Granny believes in fire. Grandad 
 says that's why she's so wedded to the 
 bad place; it's hot. He says hell's about 
 the only medicine ever give that was hot 
 enough for granny. An' he says she's 
 equal to a pretty big dose of that. Doc- 
 tor Borin', if I ever get sick I want you to 
 doctor me. Remember now, you're noti- 
 fied befo'hand. Will you ? "
 
 The Valley Path 197 
 
 " If you let me know you are ill before 
 you send for the undertaker," he replied, 
 tapping the quinine bottle with his finger 
 until the white fluffy powder lay in a soft 
 heap on the paper he had spread upon 
 the table to receive it. " You people 
 have a way of getting sick and sending 
 for a physician while they are taking your 
 measure for a coffin." 
 
 She laughed softly, twirling her hat 
 upon her slender, well-shaped finger. 
 
 " Well, I'm too healthy to send for 
 either of you yet" she said. " When 
 I die " She glanced up, caught the 
 expression in his eyes, and blushed. Was 
 Joe right after all ? His next words al- 
 most made her think herself a fool. 
 
 " Be sure you are not guilty of such 
 a thing until I get home again," said he. 
 " I am going back to the city soon, to be 
 gone months." 
 
 He was watching her now, so intently 
 she dared not look up, and so failed to 
 read the truth, as Joe had seen it, in his
 
 The Valley Path 
 
 eyes. He saw her start, however, and 
 his heart gave a sudden joyous bound, 
 although she went on talking quietly, 
 even merrily, of his going. 
 
 " I sha'n't die befo' you get back, 
 I reckin. I'm healthy an' strong. I 
 reckin I ought to be thankful ; I am 
 thankful, though I ain't as rejoiced over 
 the comin' back of Brother Barry as I 
 might be." 
 
 He was silent, hoping she would talk 
 on ; it was a happiness to have her sit 
 there in his house, and prattle in her 
 sweet, girlish way. But when she drew 
 her chair a trifle nearer the table, and 
 began helping him to fill the capsules in 
 a matter-of-fact, at-home way, his happi- 
 ness was complete, so thoroughly in her 
 proper place did she appear. " I reckin," 
 she went on to say, " they're all expectin' 
 a big revival. Joe said he lay I'd give in 
 this time sure. An little Al has asked 
 granny ter ask the church folks to pray 
 for him. I know he's a sight better than a
 
 The Valley Path 199 
 
 lot of them, but I don't say so; I wouldn't 
 hinder nobody, let alone little Al. But 
 for me, I can't see my way plain to be- 
 lieve. They haven't explained away that 
 resurrection of the body yet; not to my 
 satisfaction." 
 
 He could help her over this stone at 
 all events. 
 
 " Lissy," he said, " that is the easiest 
 part of the problem. Listen, " 
 
 He leaned forward, a half-filled capsule 
 in his hand, his arm resting upon the 
 table. 
 
 " You put a seed in the ground in the 
 spring-time, a grain of corn. In a little 
 while there appears a tender shoot of 
 green, and you say your seed has come 
 up ; ' yet it is not a seed ; it is no longer 
 a grain of corn. And if you dig there 
 the next spring, and every spring until 
 decay has carried it away, you will find 
 the rotted roots, the skeleton of the seed 
 you sowed. Yet the seed came up, al- 
 beit in another form. Was it the seed
 
 2OO The Valley Path 
 
 you sowed ? So it is with our natural 
 body ; it is sown in corruption, in the 
 earth ; it is raised a spiritual body, incor- 
 ruptible. Like the seed you sow, it is 
 not the body which shall be, but bare 
 grain, <it may chance of wheat, or of 
 some other grain.' But c God giveth it a 
 body,' a new body, just as He gives a new 
 form to your seed when you say it has 
 come up." 
 
 She had listened with a kind of rapt 
 intentness while he unravelled the mys- 
 tery of her doubt. When he finished, a 
 smile parted her lips. " Why, it's as 
 easy as anything!" she laughed. "I see 
 it as plain as day now. Doctor Borin', 
 I wonder if the rest might not be just as 
 easy, with somebody to explain it all ? " 
 
 "Just as easy, dear child," he re- 
 plied, blushing like a boy for the slip his 
 tongue had made. " Just you go on 
 living one day at a time, doing your duty 
 as seems right to you, and letting creeds 
 and mysteries take care of themselves.
 
 The Valley Path 201 
 
 Take this for your creed, f For me, I do 
 believe in God and love.' That's creed 
 enough to live by, and life well lived will 
 light death's lantern; never doubt it." 
 
 The gray eyes were aglow with sur- 
 prised delight, 
 
 " Why, Doctor Borin', you're not an 
 infidel ! " she said. " You talk like the 
 preacher." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 She laughed aloud. " I mean the 
 Episcoper, at Sewanee, not Brother Barry. 
 O Lord ! I hope you don't think I'd call 
 you like Brother Barry. But you ain't 
 like an infidel, neither." 
 
 "Joe says I am." 
 
 " Oh, Joe ; he's always talkin* ; and he 
 certainly does talk scan'lous sometimes ; 
 but it's funny, too ; to save my life I can't 
 help laugh in' at him sometimes. Joe 
 says that Moses left off one comman'ment 
 he ought to have put down on them 
 tables of stone. He forgot it, Joe says. 
 ' Plough your own row.' That's the other
 
 202 The Valley Path 
 
 comman'ment Joe says as ought to have 
 been put down. And he says he ain't 
 been so mighty admirin' of them Israel- 
 ites, who borrowed all their neighbours' 
 earrings and jewelry, and then set out for 
 the promised land. Joe says if they ware 
 to try that these times all the promised land 
 they'd reach would be the State prison. 
 And he says just ordinary folks air run- 
 nin' this country, too, and not Moseses. 
 That's what Joe says. Brother Barry 
 says Joe's awful wicked, and something'll 
 certain'y happen to him for his wicked- 
 ness. Goodness knows I hope it won't 
 be another cow to die with the milksick 
 poison. I'm afraid Joe's sins will in and 
 about kill up all his stock and cattle 
 befo' I go down to Pelham. And when 
 the two of us gets there I reckin both our 
 sins, Joe's and mine, will about finish up 
 things, burn up the house, or set rust 
 in the wheat or somethin'. Joe ought to 
 think about that befo' he fetches another 
 sinner to his farm. Good-by, Doctor
 
 The Valley Path 203 
 
 Borin'. I've got to carry the quinine to Al. 
 It's mighty good of you to fix it for him. 
 And I'm much obliged to you till you're 
 better paid. You better come to meet'n' 
 next month and get religion. Somethin' 
 will happen to you, first thing you know. 
 Zip might ketch the mumps, or somethin' 
 else dreadful. You better stay here and 
 get religion under Brother Barry, 'stead 
 of runnin' off to town so soon." 
 
 Was she acting ? More than once he 
 had detected, or thought he had, an in- 
 sincere note in her voice, and when she 
 set him laughing over Joe's foolish say- 
 ings, he had looked up, to find that her own 
 face was entirely destitute of mirth. He 
 had been so satisfied to have her sit there 
 in his house, at his side, so near him that 
 her slight fingers among his capsules and 
 powders touched his own more than once, 
 thrilling him with strangely sweet content, 
 that he had forgotten to sound her heart as 
 he had meant to do, and to administer the 
 advice for which indeed he had called her in.
 
 204 The Valley Path 
 
 " Lissy," he said, " sit still a moment. 
 I want to talk to you." 
 
 She paled and flushed by turns, and 
 nervously fingered the box of quinine 
 with which he had provided her. 
 
 " Alicia," said the doctor, " have you 
 and Joe adjusted your difference ? I 
 mean have you made up your quarrel ? " 
 
 " No, sir," she replied ; " we ain't 
 friends ; not like we useter be." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 He saw the colour in her face deepen ; 
 her eyes were bent upon her hands, work- 
 ing nervously in her lap. Did he know ? 
 she wondered ; did he think that she was 
 fool enough to suppose that he could care 
 for her, a humble little peddler of the 
 vegetables her own hands had raised ? 
 Embarrassment sealed her lips. 
 
 For him, he would have sounded her 
 heart for the one certain blessed knowl- 
 edge that he was not altogether merely a 
 foolish old man to her. 
 
 He leaned forward to look into her eyes.
 
 The Valley Path 205 
 
 " Alicia," he said, the tenderness of his 
 tone giving new music to the pretty, old- 
 fashioned name. "Alicia, may I help 
 you to set Joe right ? I am an old friend, 
 you know." 
 
 She flashed upon him with sudden 
 vehemence : 
 
 " No, sir," she said ; " I don't want 
 any help to do that. But," she added, 
 more gently, " I'm much obliged to you, 
 Doctor Borin'. I know you mean it kind, 
 but I haven't settled it in my own min' 
 yet that I want to make it up with Joe." 
 
 What ? " 
 
 " I allowed you'd be surprised some ; 
 but Joe's been mighty foolish." 
 
 He flushed, understanding thoroughly 
 wherein Joe's folly lay : 
 
 " How has he been ' foolish ? ' What 
 has he done ? " 
 
 He was watching her keenly ; she was 
 too honest, too innocently nai've not to 
 betray her real feeling under his cunning 
 probing.
 
 206 The Valley Path 
 
 "Well, he's been unreas'nable anyhow," 
 she replied. " An' he has been mighty 
 free with his fault-findin'. He has showed 
 me somethin' in his disposition that I 
 don't like, Doctor BorinV 
 
 " Young men, young lovers, are always 
 exacting, Alicia." 
 
 " Then I don't want 'em," she replied, 
 with blunt honesty. "I won't have my 
 life made a tirade and a continual jow. I 
 aim to do some good in the worl' if I can ; 
 and if I marry at all, I'm going to marry 
 a man steady and sober, an' live quiet and 
 helpful. I ain't so mighty anxious to 
 marry at all." 
 
 Again life offered him a chance ; and 
 again he chose the nobler part, the 
 nobler is ever the harder part. 
 
 " Alicia," he said, " you are young. 
 But there is a womanliness about you 
 that should win you a strong man's 
 earnest love " 
 
 He paused ; she was looking straight 
 into his eyes ; as he continued he saw a
 
 The Valley Path 207 
 
 warm light kindle in the shadowy gray 
 depths of her own ; a response that was 
 ready to awaken with the slightest hint. 
 
 He leaned forward and folded her 
 hands, palm to palm, between his own. 
 
 " You might have the life your heart 
 calls for, the c quiet, steady life.' And per- 
 haps you would be content with it. But, 
 dear my dear child, it would slay your 
 youth at the outset; drop you from girl 
 to woman. And your content would con- 
 sist in ignorance, since you would never 
 know the real joy, the aliveness of happi- 
 ness which only the young and senti- 
 mental may feel. You must live your 
 youth, have your joy. Joe loves you, 
 and his is an honest, earnest nature. He 
 will never be unkind to you. The little 
 whims of the lover do not appear in the 
 husband. You must think of it, Alicia. 
 I am going away soon, to be gone until 
 the azaleas come again. When I return I 
 shall expect to find you happy through 
 my advice. You will not disappoint me,
 
 208 The Valley Path 
 
 Alicia ? I am an old man, but in my 
 youth, I, too, had a love ; a love for a 
 woman who cruelly cast it from her. And 
 I can swear to you that an honest man's 
 honest love doesn't easily die. Be good 
 to Joe ; a cruel woman is God's abomina- 
 tion ; I feel sure of it. Go home now, 
 and give Al his quinine. I have kept 
 you a long time." 
 
 She rose with him, and he opened the 
 door for her to pass out. Had she 
 grasped his meaning? Had he hurt 
 her? Her face, as he caught a last 
 glimpse of it, wore a puzzled look ; into 
 the gray eyes the shadows had returned. 
 His heart smote him sharply ; but it was 
 best, " best all round," he told himself; 
 and that she " would soon forget it." As 
 she reached the outer door, he called to 
 her, pleasantly : 
 
 " Oh, Lissy, I am going to bring you 
 a wedding present when I come back." 
 
 She waved her hand lightly, but gave 
 him no other reply. Yet he noticed that,
 
 The Valley Path 209 
 
 in the poise of her head, which he had 
 never observed before. There was a dig- 
 nity, almost a defiance, in the way she 
 carried herself; her very feet seemed to 
 touch the ground with new meaning; as 
 though she demanded of the solid earth 
 the strength of adamant, far down among 
 its basic foundations. 
 
 The physician watched until the red- 
 crowned head disappeared down the 
 brown footpath. 
 
 " More strength than stability," was 
 his thought. " Under favourable cir- 
 cumstances she would have developed 
 a tendency to fanaticism. With a guid- 
 ing hand, what a force she might prove 
 in her day ! As it is ah, well ; there 
 is no telling the by-paths into which a 
 nature like hers may turn."
 
 Chapter XI 
 
 DOCTOR BORING had begun to 
 feel at home in his cabin, and to 
 find in the valley that content which life 
 offers those who follow her humble lead- 
 ings. In every work so much goes for 
 charity ; " for nothing," the world is 
 accustomed to say of that for which no 
 actual return in dollars is to be expected. 
 The physician, more than any man, 
 if he be the true physician, gives more 
 of himself to the poor than does any 
 other man. Yet, does he stop to cast 
 up the discount, so much money, so 
 many hours of sleep, so many miles of 
 cold and sleet and suffering, so much 
 hunger, so much time, so much of man's 
 strength and vitality gone for nothing? 
 Not he ; he doesn't so much as consider
 
 The Valley Path 211 
 
 " done for God's poor." He accepts it as 
 a part of the price of success, as a duty 
 done in the name of humanity, as so much 
 of the discount demanded of his profes- 
 sion. But he responds to the calls. He 
 who does not is a speculator in human 
 suffering and unworthy the name of 
 physician. 
 
 Doctor Boring had not put out his 
 doorplate with any hope or wish for 
 patients ; it was merely a part of the 
 whim that had bought the cabin and 
 transferred him to the quiet valley paths. 
 The little practice that he did was his 
 " discount," his donation, in the name 
 of his profession to humanity. 
 
 As the days grew colder he realised 
 that if he meant to return to the city 
 he must be off. Sometimes he was 
 tempted not to go at all, he was com- 
 fortable, content; what more had any 
 man? But since his talk with Joe, and 
 the promise made himself not to disturb 
 the young man's happiness, he had de-
 
 212 The Valley Path 
 
 cided to return at once, in two days, 
 perhaps. 
 
 He believed there was real good in 
 young Bowen ; for himself, he said, with 
 a sigh, the path would soon reach the 
 river, and he fancied the crossing would 
 be clearer for the sacrifice made. Then, 
 too, and he tried to laugh at the rec- 
 ollection, Bowen's first call had been 
 his introduction to the people round 
 about. It had set him in the balance, 
 learning against ignorance, skill against 
 herbs. And he had felt his end of the 
 scale go up until, he told himself, he had 
 " kicked the beam like a trounced frog." 
 
 Yet this first call had been a godsend 
 to him ; had lifted him out of himself; 
 inspired him with a determination to 
 prove himself to those aristocrats of the 
 wilderness ; given him an entrance into 
 their homes, a part and place in their 
 lives. It had drawn him out from the 
 shadows that dwarfed and the doubts that 
 had upset his life ; from the dogmas and
 
 The Valley Path 213 
 
 creeds, whose " I believes " he had re- 
 fused, and had, in consequence, found the 
 great doors of Christianity closed upon 
 him. So he had knocked at the doors of 
 these native independents, who measure 
 men^ not their phylacteries. They had 
 called to him that the latch-string hung 
 upon the outside, with the same cordial 
 good faith with which they responded to 
 each other's knock, or to the knock of 
 the parson himself, that embodiment 
 of all perfection. And since they had 
 found him neither thief nor liar, they still 
 accepted him as honest, even in his 
 doubts, and granted him the privilege of 
 believing " according to his light." 
 
 True, they still called him infidel, and 
 believed that he would eventually be 
 lost, burned in a lake of fire and brim- 
 stone ; but with the same breath declared 
 " 'twould be a burnin' shame ; " and 
 sighed, unconscious they were guilty of 
 a witticism. 
 
 To those he had left in the world he
 
 214 The Valley Path 
 
 had forsaken, there was a touch of tragedy 
 in his life. They were a trifle disposed to 
 call him the " mad doctor " also. Not 
 because of the old romance to which he 
 had refused to accord the privilege of 
 ruining his life, he had " outlived that," 
 they said of him, " long enough before he 
 left the world." Neither was it for the 
 touch of heresy they pitied him ; it was 
 the voluntary giving up of the pleasures 
 of society, those things for which his 
 wealth and station fitted him, his " self- 
 immolation " they called it, but they 
 had ceased to believe that he would " soon 
 grow weary of the wilderness." Nor 
 would he. To him the hut in the valley 
 was nearer the heaven his fancy painted 
 and his heart called for, than any home 
 he had found elsewhere ; here he was not 
 a cynic, not a scoffer, not a disturber of 
 other men's content. No, no ; no man 
 could charge him with the despoiling of 
 his happiness. The knowledge brought 
 him infinite content. The happiness that
 
 The Valley Path 215 
 
 had been denied his own life he had 
 given another. It is a grand thing to give 
 joy to a troubled heart ; a glorious thing 
 to scatter the rose seed along the barren 
 wastes of a life, a blessed thing; the 
 winds passing over the spot some day, 
 and finding the roses abloom, will bring 
 back their perfume, like sweet incense, to 
 the nostrils of the sower. 
 
 With the cold came Brother Barry. 
 Al, who had been but poorly all the fall, 
 had at last taken to his bed with a chill. 
 The old grandmother still refused the 
 mad doctor's medicines, and poor Al had 
 been at the mercy of herbs and hot teas. 
 
 The day following Alicia's visit Doc- 
 tor Boring walked down the path to the 
 miller's gate to inquire after the sick boy. 
 It was early ; he had not breakfasted, and 
 the frost still lay white and glistening 
 upon the short dry grass, and ridged the 
 crisp brown stalks of the naked sumach 
 and elder bushes. 
 
 The miller had lately met with reverses.
 
 2i6 The Valley Path 
 
 A visitor had dropped a spark from his 
 pipe, and that night the mill had burned. 
 The doctor missed the noisily monoto- 
 nous clatter as he drew near the house, 
 and stood a moment leaning upon the 
 low gate, looking over into the shivering 
 grays and browns that had lately been 
 Alicia's truck-patch. 
 
 The doors of the house stood wide 
 open, and beneath the window a de- 
 nuded, frozen rose-bush tapped persist- 
 ently against the pane. 
 
 A neighbour woman was spreading 
 some quilts to air upon the ancient althea- 
 bushes in the yard, the bright greens and 
 yellows making a gaudy robing for the 
 winter-stripped shrubs. On the door-step, 
 her face buried in her folded arms, sat 
 Alicia. The sun caught and duplicated 
 the golden glints of her bright hair, as 
 though rejoicing in the warmth of colour. 
 
 It was a pretty picture, despite the 
 trouble in the background. He leaned 
 over the gate and called :
 
 The Valley Path 217 
 
 "Lissy!" 
 
 The figure upon the doorstep did not 
 stir. 
 
 " Lissy ! Oh, Lissy ! how is your 
 brother?" 
 
 Still there was no response, and he 
 called again : 
 
 " Lissy ! O-h, Lissy ! How is your 
 brother ? " 
 
 A neighbour woman came to the door, 
 saw him, and said something in a low 
 tone to the girl, seemingly deaf to his 
 call. She lifted her head wearily, saw 
 him, and placed her hand behind her ear ; 
 the wind was blowing contrary. 
 
 " How is your brother ? Your brother ? 
 How is your brother ? " 
 
 The bright head fell back upon the 
 folded arms. The neighbour woman 
 shouted a reply, in a shrill, sharp voice, 
 meant only to be distinct, however. 
 
 "What? Your brother is dead? 
 
 He turned abruptly and went back to
 
 2i 8 The Valley Path 
 
 his cabin, surprise, anger, disgust strug- 
 gling within him. " These people ! " he 
 muttered; "they sit still and let one an- 
 other die like pigs in a pen. Dosed on 
 hot tea and set to cool in a draught that 
 would make a bear sneeze. It's enough 
 to make a man swear. A foot-bath and 
 a few grains of quinine would have set 
 that boy on his feet in three days. And 
 here he is, dead. I declare I've a good 
 mind to pull up stakes and quit the 
 country." 
 
 As he approached his house he heard 
 Aunt Dike calling to Ephraim to " shut 
 de front gate," and, looking up, for the 
 first time discovered that he had a visitor. 
 
 The lank-looking mare industriously 
 skinning the bark from a young sugar- 
 tree proclaimed the ecclesiastical presence 
 before old Dike hobbled to the gate to 
 announce the guest. 
 
 " De preacher ob de gospil, marster. 
 An' lookin' lack he might be tolerable 
 hongry fur his breakfus'."
 
 The Valley Path 219 
 
 He was grieved, troubled ; yet he 
 never permitted his own worries to affect 
 his household, so he replied, as carelessly 
 as possible, although he felt but little dis- 
 posed for the company thrust upon him : 
 
 " Well, you must fix him up a good 
 one. And tell Ephraim to take his mare 
 and feed her, also." 
 
 The old negress's face wore a knowing 
 look. 
 
 "He say he can't stay but just a min- 
 ute ; he say he got to git about de Mars- 
 ter's bus'nes." 
 
 He made a lunge at her with a stick he 
 had cut from a sumach bush down the 
 valley. 
 
 "Get out with you! as if you didn't 
 know what Brother Barry's minutes mean. 
 You old sinner ! go get the parson a 
 good breakfast ; fry another chicken, and 
 make an extra pan of biscuit. Fill up 
 your coffee-pot, and put fresh sheets on 
 the bed in the garret. There's a re- 
 vival to begin at Goshen, the big church
 
 220 The Valley Path 
 
 down the valley. And the Master's busi- 
 ness will locate Brother Barry in the 
 guest-chamber for a week, at the very 
 shortest. Go along, you old sinner, and 
 help entertain the elect." 
 
 She went off, laughing and protesting ; 
 she understood the situation as well as he. 
 
 " Marster," she paused to say, " dey's 
 plenty breakfus' done cooked fur half a 
 dozen hearty eaters, en I ain' guine tech 
 nare 'nother chicken ; not fur nobody. 
 It's ready en waitin'. You Efrum ? come 
 'long here en tak dat mar' nag from dat 
 sugar-tree, 'fo' I bus' it wide op'n." 
 
 The preacher was standing before the 
 fireplace in the attitude of warming him- 
 self. 
 
 He turned to meet the doctor, in the 
 old empty, high-sounding way. His 
 voice had lost nothing of its drawling 
 religious accent since his previous visit; 
 his face wore its usual solemn aspect; he 
 was, if possible, more dismally lachrymose 
 than he had ever been. The sins of his
 
 The Valley Path 221 
 
 people were more crushing than ever. 
 He offered his hand cordially, in brotherly 
 clasp, but without lifting his eyes. 
 
 " My brother," he said, in his solemn 
 way, "the Master has sent me to you." 
 
 " Much obliged for the compliment," 
 said the doctor, dryly. "But as I told 
 you once before, I thought it was only to 
 the lost sheep of the house of Israel you 
 were sent. By the way, one of the flock 
 has just died in the next house. Al 
 Reams, the brother of Alicia, died an 
 hour ago. You might be of service up 
 there, instead of wasting ammunition on 
 an old stray like me." 
 
 The face of the visitor wore a pious 
 frown. Suddenly he lifted his hand and 
 pronounced the doom of the dead boy : 
 
 " Died in his sins ! died in his sins an' 
 gone to hell. A warning ! a warning ! A 
 theme for the evening service ! the 
 death of the unregenerate ; the soul that 
 sinneth it shall surely die." 
 
 The sumach stick slipped from the
 
 222 The Valley Path 
 
 doctor's hand to the floor ; he was all 
 atremble with indignation. 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me that you ex- 
 pect to hold that dead boy up, a terror by 
 which to drag your ignorant hearers out 
 of hell fire ? That boy, who never had 
 an ugly thought in all his poor little life, 
 and whose worst sin was an ignorant fear 
 that somewhere, sometime, there might 
 be reserved for him a punishment for the 
 sins of which he had never so much as 
 heard? The only brother and the idol 
 of a broken-hearted sister who sits yonder 
 crushed and broken with her loss, and 
 whose only comfort is that the poor boy 
 is happy with his God ? And you would 
 destroy that hope? assume the responsi- 
 bility of the overthrow of that faith ? 
 Tou ? you ? " 
 
 " Let the living be warned by the 
 dead," said the enthusiast. " Let them 
 flee the wrath to come, lest they, too, be 
 overtaken in their sins. The girl herself 
 is a sinner; time an' again has the truth
 
 The Valley Path 223 
 
 been presented, the offer refused. And 
 now, for her stubbornness, the Lord has 
 visited her with His rod. Let her be 
 warned ; let her be warned ! Oh, I shall 
 not preach the unregenerate into heaven : 
 / have the courage to say he's in hell and 
 the lake prepared for the devil an' his 
 angels." 
 
 The doctor gave him a glance of intense 
 scorn. 
 
 " Rot ; nothing but rot. In less than 
 ten years the man who gets up to cram 
 such doctrine as that down the throat 
 of an audience will find himself laughed 
 out of the pulpit. Do you believe all 
 that horrible stuff you're talking ? If 
 that is the kind of God you preach, then 
 He is a fiend, and not a God. Stuff and 
 nonsense ! Go up there and help the 
 poor people to live, if you can ; ease 
 their burden, not seek to crush them 
 under it. Don't go straining at the gnat 
 and swallowing the menagerie ; and don't 
 stand off and cry, * The Lord, He did
 
 224 The Valley Path 
 
 it ! ' I tell you He didn't. God doesn't 
 strike in the back. Go up and tell the 
 mourners in that cabin that He cares for 
 them ; that He has not smitten them ; 
 that He is not narrow and cruel and 
 revengeful ; that He established certain 
 laws of health, and that one of these has 
 been violated, and that is all. Tell them 
 that hot teas and cold draughts killed 
 their son and brother ; not God ; and 
 that a dose of quinine taken in season 
 would have accomplished that which that 
 poor girl's prayers failed to do. Go up 
 like a man, and a missionary indeed, and 
 tell them the truth. Preach the doctrine 
 of clean water and common sense. That 
 is what the world needs ; and the mission- 
 ary who carries that creed into the homes 
 of ignorance and of poverty will come in 
 at the harvest bringing his sheaves with 
 him." 
 
 Across the face of the exhorter flitted 
 an expression half pity, half reproach ; the 
 next moment he sighed heavily ; he had
 
 The Valley Path 225 
 
 learned the folly of all argument with this 
 man. He lifted his long arm that had 
 aye been ready to do battle in the cause 
 of his espousing, and said, in his best 
 pulpit style : 
 
 " Let the dead bury their dead ; the 
 Master has sent me to you" 
 
 " No, sir, I reckon not," said the 
 doctor, with something like a return to 
 good humour. " You misunderstood the 
 call, that was all. It was your com- 
 mon sense indicating a place where the 
 cheer was plenteous, and a welcome pos- 
 sible. Well, you are welcome ; make 
 yourself at home while I speak to Aunt 
 Dilcy. You know where the guest-cham- 
 ber is." 
 
 He nodded towards the garret, and 
 went to Aunt Dilcy, busy " taking up 
 the breakfast." 
 
 She had just taken the pot of steaming 
 coffee from' the stove, and at the moment 
 he entered the kitchen was carefully dust- 
 ing away with her apron any possible soot
 
 226 The Valley Path 
 
 that might adhere to the bottom of the 
 vessel. When he spoke she started, 
 being unaware of his presence, and set 
 the pot back upon the stove, with a vehe- 
 mence that almost sent it spinning across 
 the floor. 
 
 " Lor, marster," she exclaimed, " you 
 mos' skeered de life out'n me ; it's de 
 befo' God's truf, you sholy s'prised me 
 some" 
 
 " Well, I am going to surprise you still 
 more," said the doctor. " The young man 
 over at the miller's is dead." 
 
 " Great God A'mighty " 
 
 "And you are to get your breakfast on 
 the table and go over there. You are to 
 carry this bill to Lissy. The miller has 
 had losses lately, and something may be 
 needed beyond their present funds. Give 
 the money to Lissy herself, and tell her 
 to use it as she may find need for it, and 
 that she can repay it in eggs and butter 
 sometime. Be sure you tell her that, 
 else she will not touch it. And before
 
 The Valley Path 227 
 
 you go, send Ephraim to take Brother 
 Barry's mare." 
 
 Despite his rather stormy welcome, 
 Brother Barry continued to occupy the 
 guest-chamber for some weeks. With 
 all his ignorance, the mountaineer was 
 not ignorant of men ; he knew that he 
 was welcome, that his entertainment was 
 given freely, without grudging ; he knew, 
 also, that in none of the humble val- 
 ley homes within his charge would he 
 find himself so comfortable, so free to 
 come and go, so unquestionably at home. 
 So he remained, and although the revival 
 at Goshen furnished food for gossip as 
 well as pleasure for the entire neighbour- 
 hood of believers, and although Brother 
 Barry never for an instant failed to let his 
 light shine in the eyes of the infidel, and 
 never let slip an opportunity to speak 
 a word of warning,, still the doctor con- 
 tinued to " travel the high road to de- 
 struction," as the minister declared he 
 was doing.
 
 228 The Valley Path 
 
 Many had been gathered into the fold, 
 however, and among them Lissy, poor, 
 pale, heart-broken Lissy Reams. Sor- 
 row had so crushed her that Brother 
 Barry found it no difficult task to per- 
 suade her that the Lord had visited her 
 with the rod of His wrath. The doctor 
 saw but little of her those days. There 
 come to all of us points where life makes 
 a certain, emphatic turn, after which all 
 life is different, and runs, or seems to, in 
 a new groove. Such a point had come to 
 Alicia, and the shadow of her grief drew 
 her into herself, away from those who 
 would have offered comfort. He would 
 have gone to her, only that he dared not. 
 His impulse would have been to fold her 
 in his arms and soothe her in his bosom, 
 his own forever. 
 
 At last the meeting closed, and one 
 morning in December the parson mounted 
 his mare and rode out of the valley, back 
 to the heights. 
 
 But even the hard shell of ignorance
 
 The Valley Path 229 
 
 had been pierced by the quiet goodness 
 of the infidel. True, he had writhed not 
 a little under his host's keen sarcasm and 
 keener questioning ; and there were times 
 when he would have been glad to question 
 him on certain points, but he was afraid, 
 lest, showing his weak part to the en- 
 emy, he should be attacked in that quar- 
 ter, overthrown perhaps, and conquered. 
 Moreover, he believed in faith, accepting 
 without questioning the gospel and its 
 teaching. He was afraid to tamper with 
 his religion lest he unsettle its foundation. 
 Yet, in a certain way, he had a great 
 respect for the doctor. As he sat astride 
 his mare at parting, he leaned forward 
 and placed a hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 " My brother," said he, " you have sat 
 beneath the word day after day, hearing 
 without heeding the gospel call. You 
 are not a bad man. Neither are you a 
 Christian. But you are in darkness : I 
 want to help you to the light, to lead 
 you to the Rock. Show me where you
 
 230 The Valley Path 
 
 stand ; tell me your creed. You believe 
 in the hereafter ? in God ? " 
 
 The physician sighed. There was a 
 time when the words would have amused 
 him ; but of late he had looked too stead- 
 ily upon the sombre in life. 
 
 " I believe in God," he said, " yes ; 
 and in a hereafter, yes ; for I am not a 
 fool, though certainly not orthodox. Your 
 theory of three Gods comprising one, 
 no. Your God of vengeance, cruelty, and 
 blood I refuse to accept. Jesus Christ 
 preached the real religion. The creed 
 which I profess is the same that He 
 taught : truth, cleanliness, charity. My 
 religion is told in few words : to tell the 
 truth, help the poor, and keep myself 
 clean." 
 
 The Methodist straightened himself to 
 speak, but paused, reconsidered, and was 
 silent a moment, looking away towards the 
 hills where the mists were shrouded about 
 Sewanee. There was a baffled expression 
 in his eyes. He had toiled all these weeks
 
 The Valley Path 231 
 
 for a certain fish, and at last had been 
 forced to quit with an empty net. He 
 lifted his hand towards the purple haze. 
 
 " Rain," said he. " Rain followed by 
 drought, poor crops, sickness, destitution. 
 I know the signs. Well, for me, I aim to 
 trust in the Lord for a crop. I'll trust 
 in the Lord." 
 
 " And keep the plough handy," laughed 
 the doctor. " Don't forget to mix the 
 plough in with your prayers, Brother 
 Barry." 
 
 The shaft went home ; there was a 
 frown upon the face of the preacher as 
 he rode across the valley; he felt the 
 hot blood mount to his cheeks, recalling 
 as he did the waste which last year Joe 
 Bowen had converted into a garden, but 
 which this spring, for lack of a friendly 
 hand, was only an acre of weeds. He 
 had been insulted, he, a minister of the 
 gospel. His wrath refused to be bridled. 
 Suddenly he clinched his fist, half turned 
 in the saddle, and exclaimed :
 
 23 2 The Valley Path 
 
 " That man's the dad-burndedest infidel 
 this side o' hell, I reckin." It was the 
 nearest he had ever been to swearing. 
 
 But later, when his anger had cooled, 
 and his way lay along the cliffs, where the 
 mists were lifted and the view clearer, 
 and the blue heaven beamed upon him 
 fair and open, the words of the infidel 
 came back to him, and underneath their 
 lightness he read a deeper meaning. 
 
 "To help the poor, and to keep my- 
 self clean." 
 
 He gave the lines a sudden jerk, and, 
 as the mare came to a halt, thrust his 
 hand into his coat pocket, where he 
 carried a small, well-thumbed Bible, for 
 the churches of his circuit were not al- 
 ways supplied with Bibles. Slowly he 
 turned the leaves, until he found that 
 which he sought, then read slowly, aloud, 
 running his finger along the lines, while 
 the mare with considerable forethought 
 cropped the long dry grasses along the 
 roadside.
 
 The Valley Path 233 
 
 " ' Pure religion and undefiled before God 
 and the Father is this : to visit the father- 
 less and widows in their affliction, and to 
 keep himself unspotted from the world.' ' 
 
 After all, the old doctor's creed was not 
 unlike the definition given by the apostle; 
 and that he lived up to it no man could 
 deny. 
 
 He closed the book, replaced it in his 
 bosom, gathered up his lines and rode on. 
 There was nothing he could say against 
 a creed so endorsed ; and, after all, there 
 might be that, in the books of which he 
 knew nothing, which would give new light. 
 But he was resolved to " cling to the safe 
 side." The books might confound him. 
 Too much learning might prove as dan- 
 gerous as too little. 
 
 " I'd rather go it blind," he declared, 
 "go by faith, and keep on the safe side." 
 There entered into his brain no thought 
 of a spiritual law which refuses to condone 
 wilful blindness. 
 
 He chose to hug to his heart the old
 
 234 The Valley Path 
 
 doubtful comfort of " God, He did it." 
 Chose to thus frighten ignorance, and lay 
 the lash to the shoulders of weakness. 
 Chose to believe in God's wrath, set- 
 ting aside Christ's love. Alas ! that man 
 should so malign his Maker.
 
 Chapter XII 
 
 THE day following Brother Barry's 
 departure, the doctor left his ser- 
 vants in charge and went back to the 
 city. 
 
 Winter passed, spring and summer 
 drifted, and still he lingered. At last 
 the snow came again ; silence settled 
 upon the valley, and brooded upon the 
 finer heights of the more distant hills. 
 With the first fall of snow he returned ; 
 fires were kindled, the blue smoke curled 
 above the little hut, buried under its 
 white burden ; lights twinkled in the 
 windows again, lighting the path through 
 the valley and sending a good glow out 
 upon the darkness for the cheer of be- 
 lated travellers. For three days Doctor 
 Boring remained indoors, seeing no one, 
 
 235
 
 2j 6 The Valley Path 
 
 adjusting himself anew to the life which 
 had been temporarily broken into. And 
 then, the fourth morning after his return, 
 Lissy called. 
 
 He heard her voice in the hall, speak- 
 ing first to Aunt Dike and then to Zip. 
 
 He started, and turned cold ; he had 
 dreaded, longed, and steeled himself for 
 this visit. Yet the sound of her voice, 
 with its gentle, music-like cadences, started 
 all his nerves a-jingling. It struck him 
 that there was something new in the tones, 
 something he had not heard there before; 
 its presence cut him to the soul. His 
 trained ear had detected in the first word 
 she spoke the note of sorrow, keen, incur- 
 able, hopeless. Those who have suf- 
 fered recognise the note in any sphere 
 or circumstance. 
 
 He had not seen her since the day 
 they buried Al. He had kept aloof 
 purposely ; he could bear her happiness, 
 her content with her lover, but not her 
 grief; he would undoubtedly have made
 
 The Valley Path 237 
 
 her sorrow his. He had conquered him- 
 self before she entered, though his hand 
 still shook, and there was a mist before 
 his eyes when she opened the door and 
 stood before him. 
 
 At the sight of her he forgot himself as 
 utterly as though he had never felt a pang 
 because of her. He felt nothing but 
 her sorrow ; saw nothing but her poor, 
 pinched little face, with the purple shad- 
 ows under the fathomless eyes that 
 gazed into his with unspoken pain. 
 
 She was as frail as one of the lilies that 
 had bloomed in his yard all autumn ; and 
 like the lily, she had been chilled by the 
 frost that fell too early upon the shivering 
 white petals. 
 
 He would scarcely have recognised her 
 but for the golden hair knotted about 
 the small, dainty head still crowned with 
 the old red felt. Her very voice was 
 changed ; for sorrow makes for itself an 
 abiding-place in the human voice. Other- 
 wise she was the same gentle, quiet Alicia.
 
 238 The Valley Path 
 
 " Doctor Bonn'," she said, extending 
 her hand to meet his, " I'm mighty glad 
 you have come back home again ; I 
 have missed you mightily." 
 
 There was a quiver in the voice, in 
 spite of the powerful effort to hold it 
 firm. A moisture gathered in the large, 
 deep eyes, and a little hacking cough 
 followed her attempt at welcome. With- 
 out a word he took her arm and led her 
 to the fire, and stood scanning carefully 
 the delicate, changed features. He was 
 the physician again, and she the patient; 
 that was all. 
 
 " Why, child, what have you done to 
 yourself? Where is all your colour and 
 where your strength ? Why didn't you 
 write me you were ill ? Didn't you know 
 I would have come to you, Lissy ? that 
 the whole world couldn't have " 
 
 He remembered, and stopped ; but the 
 tone of his voice caught her ear. She 
 was weak and overwrought and nervous. 
 His words and tone quite overcame her
 
 The Valley Path 239 
 
 poor strength. She clasped her poor 
 trembling hands and burst into tears. 
 
 Resisting the impulse to take her to 
 his heart, he drew up his own easy chair, 
 tucked her into it, and said : 
 
 "You are not fit to be out in weather 
 like this. Now you are to sit there and 
 thaw out, and after awhile I am going to 
 give you a tonic. Now then, throw off 
 your hat. You are to spend the day, and 
 knock Zip off or he will be in your lap. 
 And now tell me about it. How long 
 have you been ill ? " 
 
 He drew up a chair and seated himself 
 beside her, watching with the physician's 
 practised eye the come and go of col- 
 our in the delicate cheeks, the play of 
 breath in the rise and fall of the chest, 
 the nervous tears ready to start at a 
 word. 
 
 " I haven't been sick, Doctor Borin'," 
 she said. " I fetched you the fresh aigs 
 I've been waiting to fetch you, to pay up 
 my debts to you. Aunt Dike wouldn't
 
 240 The Valley Path 
 
 take any while you ware gone, because 
 she said you didn't tell her, an' the hens 
 on the place laid enough for her and 
 Ephraim. But I reckin I can begin again 
 now; I'd like to pay my debt. You 
 ware mighty good to remember me that 
 time, an' to send the money. I don't 
 know what I'd 'a' done but for you. You 
 air mighty good anyhow, mighty good to 
 me." 
 
 He saw that she was unnerved, ready 
 to break down ; it required all his strength 
 not to break down himself and pour out 
 the burden of his love. Once he did put 
 out his hand for the little pale one lying 
 upon Zip's shaggy head that rested 
 against her knee ; but he remembered in 
 time to lay his ringers upon the wrist 
 instead, where the pulse was throbbing 
 nervously in the small blue veins. 
 
 " I'd like to do somethin' for you-uns, 
 Doctor Borin'," Alicia went on, in her 
 low, musical voice. " I useter think you 
 ware not happy over here by yourse'f, an'
 
 The Valley Path 241 
 
 I wish I could do somethin' to make 
 you more happy " 
 
 The hand upon her wrist trembled. 
 Did she know what she was saying ? Did 
 she mean that which her words implied ? 
 If so, would his unspoken promise to Joe 
 hold ? Did she understand the situation, 
 and was she trying to help him out of his 
 difficulty ? 
 
 " I'd like to wash yo' clothes even, or 
 he'p Aunt Dike when I get better; I feel 
 that obligated to you." 
 
 He dropped her arm and, leaning back 
 in his chair, said, quietly : 
 
 "We will talk about that when you are 
 strong again. Now, Lissy, will you an- 
 swer my question ? How long have you 
 been ill?" 
 
 " I haven't been sick, Doctor Borin' ; I 
 got overhet at the meetin' last spring, 
 and took a cold. Seems to 'a' settled 
 somewheres, and not minded to let 
 
 go-" 
 
 " Settled hell ! " he exclaimed, and
 
 242 The Valley Path 
 
 then stopped. A shadow, deeper than 
 that which had made its home there, came 
 into the large eyes. She lifted her hand 
 to check the wicked exclamation at which, 
 in other days, she had been wont to laugh 
 so merrily. 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't," she said; "you 
 air so good, it air a pity to spoil it with 
 such words. I wish you wouldn't. If 
 not for your own sake, then just to 
 pleasure me." 
 
 Was there anything he would not have 
 done " to pleasure " her ? 
 
 " I'll quit," he replied, "to please you. 
 But I was about to say something warm. 
 Instead I shall give you something warm 
 for that cough. Suppose I whip up an 
 egg-nog with one of your own eggs ; then 
 we shall see if you are putting off bad 
 eggs upon your old customers; see?" 
 
 She did not respond to his joking ; her 
 face wore a troubled look. 
 
 " I'd rather you wouldn't," she said. 
 " It's made of liquor, egg-nog air, an'
 
 The Valley Path 243 
 
 it's wrong to drink liquor. I'd rather 
 cough as to do wrong." 
 
 Her conversion had been complete, 
 its completeness baffled him. 
 
 " Well, then," he replied, " here is a 
 cough mixture that I keep for just such 
 obstinate cases as yours ; we will try 
 this." 
 
 He poured some of the dark liquid 
 into a tumbler and watched her drink 
 it, wondering the while at the change 
 her new religion had wrought. On a 
 former visit she had drunk a glass of 
 wine, and had carried that which re- 
 mained in the bottle to Al, declaring it 
 would " do him a sight of good if he 
 enjoyed the taste of it as well as she did." 
 How she had changed, her very voice 
 and speech ; she had adopted the slow, 
 drawling dialect of her grandparents, as 
 though in adopting their creeds she must 
 shoulder their ignorance and lack of 
 culture also. 
 
 The tonic revived her ; he saw the
 
 244 Th e Valley Path 
 
 glow spring to eye and cheek, and he 
 felt better for its presence, though he 
 recognised it as only a delusion, a false 
 reflection of health, produced by the 
 stimulating medicine. 
 
 She folded her hands upon her lap and 
 watched him shyly from under her long, 
 dark lashes ; but it was many minutes 
 before she could bring herself to the 
 point of giving him her entire confidence. 
 After awhile her fingers began to work 
 nervously, pulling at the fringe of her 
 gay plaid shawl. He felt that she was 
 bracing herself for an ordeal. 
 
 " I have come to see you," she said, at 
 last, " about about somethin'." 
 
 " Oh, you have, have you ? " he said, 
 with an effort at careless humour. 
 
 " Doctor Borin'," she began, in her 
 quaint drawl, " they calls you-uns an 
 infidel." 
 
 " Yes," said the doctor, " that is no 
 news, Lissy. I have heard that often ; 
 ever since I came to the valley, and for
 
 The Valley Path 245 
 
 more than twenty years before," he added. 
 " They are welcome to call me what they 
 choose ; it is not what others think us, 
 but that which we know ourselves to 
 be, should trouble or please us in this 
 life." 
 
 " But," said Alicia, ignoring the inter- 
 ruption, " they allow that you know right 
 smart, too. Gran'father says he'd about 
 as lief take your say-so as to take Brother 
 Barry's. He says Brother Barry ware 
 never fifty mile from Pelham in all his 
 born days, an' don't know if the word 
 be preached in Tennessee like it be in 
 Georgy, not to save his life. He says 
 one man has as much right to his say 
 as another man, an' to his belief, too. 
 But granny, she says hell's a-bilin' with 
 unbelievers like you-uns, though even 
 she admits you are entitled to a hearin' 
 at the last day, if the infidel gets his 
 entitlements." 
 
 " Oh, I'll get mine, Lissy," said the 
 doctor. " Don't you fret about that. I
 
 246 The Valley Path 
 
 will get a hearing, if God is good. You 
 believe He is good, do you not, Lissy ? " 
 
 The slender hands were clasped with 
 sudden rhapsody, a light leaped to the 
 quiet, fathomless eyes, there was rapture 
 in the face, the rapture, the light, and 
 the excitement of the fanatic. The phy- 
 sician saw it and understood; his heart 
 dropped like lead in his bosom. Too 
 late, too late; the deed had been done. 
 He felt as he had sometimes felt when 
 summoned to attend a wounded man, and, 
 arriving too late, had found the man dead. 
 The heart had ceased beating, a little piece 
 of anatomical mechanism had stopped, that 
 was all. Yet it meant that somebody had 
 committed a murder. 
 
 "Oh, He air," said Alicia, softly, and 
 with strange fervour, "He air good ! God 
 air good! I give my testimony to hit. 
 He air good good; Doctor Borin', I 
 have found peace since I ware here afore- 
 times." 
 
 His heart beat so fiercely he could
 
 The Valley Path 247 
 
 scarcely trust himself to speak, to talk 
 to her, his poor broken flower. They 
 had played upon her heart in its desola- 
 tion; taken advantage of her sorrow, her 
 ignorance, her loneliness, and her need of 
 sympathy. He understood all in an in- 
 stant, and wondered where Joe could have 
 been, and what doing, that he had failed to 
 fit himself to the emptiness left by the be- 
 loved brother. Peace, indeed ! He leaned 
 forward, took the slender, tear-wet hands 
 in his own, folded them gently between 
 his strong, warm palms. Thus would 
 he have folded her life in his, warmed and 
 caressed the quivering, wounded heart. 
 But such was not reserved for him; he 
 might minister as the physician, the friend, 
 the old man versed in the knowledge of 
 books, no more. 
 
 "My child," he said, "you have found 
 peace, you tell me; yet your face, your 
 restlessness, your very voice, all tell me 
 you have not found peace; that you are 
 far from it. What is it, Alicia? What is
 
 248 The Valley Path 
 
 the trouble ? Peace that comes of God 
 is His blessed gift, and 'He addeth no sor- 
 row thereto.' Tell me what troubles you, 
 my child, and let me help you, just as 
 your father would. I am an old man, 
 but not insensible to human pain. Some 
 hearts refuse age in spite of tottering old 
 bodies and heads that catch the snowfall. 
 Mine is young enough to take your grief 
 and help you to a way out of it, may- 
 be; but if it be one of those burdens 
 they fall sometimes which must be 
 borne, I am ready to help you lift it, bear 
 it " Share it, he was about to say. 
 His heart yearned to take her into its 
 protecting warmth, to bless her poor life 
 with the fullness of his love. 
 
 The gentle tone and touch brought the 
 tears against which she had been strug- 
 gling. 
 
 "I want to do right. But it's hard, 
 hard, hard. I want to ask you, Doctor 
 Borin', is it wrong to marry a man who 
 ain't a believer ? Is it a sin to ? "
 
 The Valley Path 249 
 
 Poor little ignorant! the great trouble 
 had been laid bare at last. 
 
 "It's Joe," she continued. "You said 
 I ought to marry Joe. You told me 
 so, and I meant to, because you said it 
 was only fair to him. But since then 
 I've got religion. Joe's a sinner; I don't 
 know as I could make him happy ; an' 
 I didn't want to marry only you said 
 'twas right. But Brother Barry he allows 
 God will lay it up against me if I marry 
 Joe; ( punish me,' he called it. Like He 
 punished me befo' when He took little Al. 
 He says that's what made Al die. God 
 was angry with me fur bein* a sinner; an' 
 He couldn't fetch me to a sense o' sin no 
 other way, an' so He took my brother. 
 My poor little brother Al ! Seems to 
 me He might 'a' got me some other 
 way, an' not have took my brother. But 
 Brother Barry says God's ways is past 
 findin' out, an' I reckin they air. But 
 I can't see my way clear to do anything; 
 'pears to me I'm left alone, now Al's
 
 250 The Valley Path 
 
 gone ; an' Joe's always been good to me, 
 an' I ain't got anybody else, Doctor Borin', 
 nobody; an' I have asked for light, for 
 help; an' it has not come." 
 
 What could he say ? what do ? To 
 him the thing that was so simple, so easy 
 to adjust and to set right, was to her 
 a tragedy. 
 
 To tell her she was a child, an inno- 
 cent, and that Brother Barry was a fool 
 or a fanatic, would have been a use- 
 less waste of words. Six months earlier, 
 Alicia, the "sinner," would have laughed 
 at the prophecy of the preacher, and made 
 merry over his threats. But Alicia, the 
 convert, her heart sore with the desola- 
 tion of death, was ready to hug to itself 
 any promise of consolation, and to flee any 
 threat of a second visitation of sorrow. 
 
 He felt as helpless as she. For the 
 cancerous teachings of ignorance there is 
 no healing save in knowledge ; and the 
 mind diseased, unlike the body, will not 
 bear the knife at the root of the woe ; it
 
 The Valley Path 251 
 
 requires gentle handling, time, and the 
 tender tricks of art to woo it back to 
 health. Hers was a present need ; she 
 being one of those all-soul creations, 
 whose fires, once lighted, will turn upon 
 and consume itself in its own flame. He 
 forbore severe treatment. To her, al- 
 though she still respected his great knowl- 
 edge and admired his undeniable goodness, 
 he was still an infidel, a non-partaker in 
 the feast of the saints. His heart was as 
 sore as hers ; still he must say something, 
 since she had come to him for help. 
 
 " Alicia," he began, " Brother Barry has 
 presented to you but one view of the 
 great God; there is another, child " 
 
 She silenced him with her hand. " Oh, 
 I have been a sinner, I have been a sin- 
 ner, Doctor Borin'; God might burn me 
 in the lake of fire and still be too good 
 to me. I know it, I know it." 
 
 He sighed, discouraged at the outset. 
 But there was another string upon which 
 he might sound for a response.
 
 252 The Valley Path 
 
 "Alicia," he said, "you are considering 
 only yourself in this matter. Listen to 
 me. When God puts into the heart of 
 an honest, earnest man, as you believe 
 God does, a love for an earnest, tender 
 woman, He puts the feeling there to bless 
 and enrich both his life and hers. Such 
 love may not be lightly set aside. There 
 are consequences, fearful and destructive, 
 which sometimes do and always may at- 
 tend cruelty to one who loves us. I 
 know whereof I speak." 
 
 She was silent, knowing that he referred 
 to his own unhappy experience. After 
 a moment he continued : " You have no 
 right to spoil Joe's happiness for a whim. 
 No true woman will grieve the heart that 
 loves her." 
 
 Still she made no reply ; she was afraid 
 of him, afraid to trust him, afraid to trust 
 herself. Above all, she was afraid of her 
 religion ; it had become her tyrant ; she 
 was ready to sacrifice whatever it might 
 demand ; not only her love, but her life 
 as well.
 
 The Valley Path 253 
 
 "Alicia," he said, studying carefully the 
 varying shadows of her face, " is this your 
 only reason for refusing Joe ? " 
 
 She started, flushed, and, without re- 
 plying, rose to go. He also rose, and, 
 scarcely knowing that he did so, put 
 himself between the door and her. 
 
 " You must answer my question ; tell 
 me, before I let you go, if religious mo- 
 tives alone influence you in your refusal 
 to become the wife of Joe Bowen." 
 
 There was a flash of the gray eyes, a 
 curl of the thin, bloodless lip. She lifted 
 her hand, as of one about to take an oath. 
 Instead, however, she waved him out of 
 her path. 
 
 " Stand out of my way," she com- 
 manded. " I am obligated to no man so 
 much that I must take oath to every fool- 
 ish thought I ever had, as I can see" 
 
 He laughed and moved aside to let her 
 pass. Her simple effort at parrying, her 
 refusal to deny the suggestion carried in 
 his questioning, her excitement that was
 
 254 The Valley Path 
 
 embarrassment more than anger, all 
 these spoke more than her simple admis- 
 sion could have spoken, and he was 
 content. 
 
 It is enough sometimes to know one- 
 self beloved, without the additional joy of 
 possession. 
 
 He stood a moment at the little gate 
 through which she had passed, to watch 
 her climbing the brown path, winding 
 in and out the denuded, snow-rimmed 
 mountain growth. Her dress of blue 
 homespun, the large-plaided, many-hued 
 shawl, the bright head wearing its crown 
 of gay felt, all these combined to make 
 a rare dash of colour against the dead 
 whiteness of the landscape. 
 
 Three times she paused to rest, while 
 only the preceding summer she had come 
 down that same path with the light step 
 of a mountain doe, and cheeks to shame 
 the roses that had bloomed beside her 
 door. Alas, the roses were all dead, alike 
 in garden and young life.
 
 The Valley Path 255 
 
 " And all so unnecessary," said the doc- 
 tor, still watching the bright confusion of 
 colour disappearing among the grayness 
 of the heights. She would not climb be- 
 yond the clouds, poor Alicia ; she would 
 only pass into the gloom of the confusing 
 mists. He sighed, and turned back to 
 his cabin. " She will be dead before 
 another winter. I might have saved her 
 once, and both of us been happy. But 
 not now, not now. Fanaticism is stronger 
 than affection ; hers, with Al's death to 
 help along, will soon end it all for her, 
 my poor Alicia." 
 
 It came sooner than he expected. All 
 spring he watched her fade. The roses 
 came again to the bush by the cabin door, 
 but not to the cheek of the fading girl. 
 She came and went as usual, still brought 
 her offering of fresh eggs and butter, 
 though now she left them with old Dike 
 in the kitchen. Her chats with the doc- 
 tor were limited to short resting spells at 
 the gate, where he sometimes hailed her
 
 256 The Valley Path 
 
 on her trips to and from Sewanee. These 
 meetings were as much a torture to him 
 as they were to her; she was not in his 
 life now, nor of it ; his own hand had put 
 her from him. If he could have heard 
 from her own lips, just once before she 
 went from him, a tender word, could have 
 had one assurance that the pure young 
 heart was his, he could have felt that to 
 lay her in her grave was sweeter than 
 to yield her to another. But, try as he 
 might, he could never surprise her into a 
 betrayal of affection, if indeed she har- 
 boured any for him. Only once it was 
 the last visit she made to him he had 
 thought to probe her heart by an unex- 
 pected reference to Joe. She had almost 
 fallen into the snare he had set. 
 
 "You owe it to him," he declared, "to 
 marry him. He is going to the dogs. I 
 saw him drunk last week." 
 
 She recoiled and cried out so sharply 
 he winced for the hurt he had dealt her. 
 
 " I can't," she sobbed. " Oh, I can't ;
 
 The Valley Path 257 
 
 I want to do what seems to me right to 
 do, but I can't marry nobody." 
 
 One June morning, when the winds 
 sang low in the forest, they sent for him. 
 The miller met him at the gate and bade 
 him go in. 
 
 " She'll soon be at rest, poor Lissy," 
 he said, "an' free o' all tormentin'. She 
 ware a likely gal, an' a happy one, 
 befo' trouble tuk holt of her. Trouble 
 come to her, an' they were not satisfied, 
 but they must pile worry 'pon top of 
 hit till she sunk under it. Go in, Doc- 
 tor Borin', an' help my little gal ter 
 die." 
 
 Granny stood in the doorway, awed and 
 tearless, a strange subdued sorrow in her 
 face. She moved aside to let him pass, 
 pointing with her long finger to the little 
 room where the honeysuckle peeped in 
 at the window and the June winds stole 
 through the curtains of simple muslin to 
 fan the brow of the sick girl. Granny 
 had long ago recognised the fact that
 
 258 The Valley Path 
 
 Lissy had passed beyond the skill of 
 either infidel or herb. 
 
 Alicia was awake, restless and tossing, 
 a wild light in her eyes and a strange 
 strength in the worn body. 
 
 The physician stepped to the bedside 
 and spoke her name softly: "Alicia?" 
 
 At the sound of his voice she lifted 
 herself in bed and cried out to him, 
 sharply : 
 
 " Doctor Borin', oh, Doctor Borin', 
 don't let me die." She caught his coat 
 front and held it as he bent over her, 
 seeking to soothe and reassure her, al- 
 though his heart was breaking with her 
 piteous pleadings for life. 
 
 " I'm afeard, oh, I'm afeard to die. 
 I'm afeard the devil will get me. Do 
 you reckin the devil will get me, Doctor 
 Borin'? I've been a-thinkin' about what 
 you said, an' I'm afeard I done wrong 
 after all, treatin' of Joe so bad. But I 
 meant it fur right. Oh, I did try to do 
 right; I did, I did, I did."
 
 The Valley Path 259 
 
 It was too cruel, after all her struggle 
 and sacrifice, to be so harassed at the last ! 
 
 He drew a chair to the bedside and 
 folded the wasted, trembling hands in his. 
 
 " Oh, you poor child," he said. " Have 
 you been worrying over my foolish scold- 
 ing ? You did right, of course, perfectly 
 right ; and you're not to give the matter 
 another thought. I will tell Joe that you 
 thought of him and were sorry that you 
 hurt him, if you wish me to do so ; and 
 he will forgive you, Alicia ; I am sure 
 of it." 
 
 " Oh, I wish't you would," she sobbed. 
 "Tell him I'm sorry I had to hurt 
 him. Air you sure he won't be mad 
 
 3 " 
 
 at me r 
 
 " Perfectly sure, Alicia. May I take 
 him your love ? Must I tell him that 
 you knew that you loved him at the 
 last? " 
 
 He bent his face to hers ; he saw the 
 old hurt, haunted expression return to 
 her eyes. But she smiled, even in the
 
 260 The Valley Path 
 
 face of death ; the principle that had 
 sealed her lips against the comforting lie 
 spoke a comforting, a blessed truth to 
 him. 
 
 " You do not love him, Alicia ? Is 
 that it ? You love another ? One who 
 held you in heart from the first moment 
 he saw you, dear ? You loved him a 
 little in return, for all he was so old, so 
 much too old for you, my poor dar- 
 ling?" 
 
 She nestled closer to him ; her fingers 
 closed upon his with convulsive strength. 
 
 " Don't tell him," she begged. " Don't 
 ever let Joe know; it wouldn't do any 
 good now." 
 
 "It is enough that I know, dear," he 
 said, with broken voice. " I shall take 
 him your love, your dear love, the same 
 you might have sent to Al. May I ? " 
 
 She nodded, and was silent. The 
 shadowy eyes held many a doubt in their 
 startled depths. 
 
 " Rest easy now," said the doctor,
 
 The Valley Path 261 
 
 " and be happy. You have been a good 
 girl, and have tried to do your duty." 
 
 He stooped and touched her forehead 
 with his lips lightly, as one caresses a 
 rose, afraid of bruising the tender petals. 
 He pushed the golden strands of hair back 
 from the brow that death had kissed, and 
 saw her smile, as though the unutterable 
 sweetness of the caress were the one touch 
 of earth, being so like divine, she would 
 carry with her to make paradise more 
 perfect. 
 
 Only a moment, one poor little mo- 
 ment of bliss, and the old horror, the 
 fear of that which might await her when 
 she should pass into the far mysterious, 
 returned to torture her. 
 
 " Don't let me die." The poor plain- 
 tive pleading hurt his very soul to hear. 
 
 " I'm afeard to go down into the 
 pit, Doctor Borin'! I'm afeard of 
 God." 
 
 "Afraid of the good God, dear? 
 Think of Him, Alicia. He alone can
 
 262 The Valley Path 
 
 help you now. Remember only that He 
 is the good God; good, good." 
 
 " An' the devil won't get me ? Oh, 
 I'm afeard of the devil, an' the fire that 
 burns, an' never stops burnin'. Don't 
 let me die an' go to the devil, Doctor 
 Borin'!" 
 
 She was weeping wildly ; her terror was 
 pitiful. He knelt by the bed and took 
 the fragile, wasted form in his arms, hold- 
 ing her closely, so that she lay upon his 
 bosom like a frightened bird with broken 
 wings fluttering helplessly. Granny came 
 in and stood over the foot of the couch ; 
 grandad had gone to fetch a neighbour ; 
 old Dike had come over to offer the as- 
 sistance which she had learned was neces- 
 sary at such times. The doctor neither 
 saw nor heard anything but the dying girl 
 in his arms. She was his for the mo- 
 ment ; to him it had been granted to 
 soothe the last moment of the life that 
 had been so dear to him. He threw aside 
 all disguise : he would speak the truth as
 
 The Valley Path 263 
 
 he believed it, let the result be what it 
 might. 
 
 " Lissy," he said, his face near her own, 
 "listen to me, dear child. There is no 
 devil. There is no devil and no lake of 
 fire. Can you hear me, Lissy ? And do 
 you understand?" 
 
 Into the frightened eyes crept an ex- 
 pression of wonder that mellowed into 
 perfect joy. 
 
 " Air you sure ? " she whispered. " Sure 
 he can't get me? " 
 
 " As I am that you are going straight 
 to God, dear. Don't you be afraid ; 
 don't think of death at all ; just remem- 
 ber the good God. You know Him, 
 Lissy ? " 
 
 She drew a long, deep sigh. " Oh, yes, 
 I know Him. I'm so glad, so glad there 
 ain't any devil. I was so afeard of him, 
 and now there ain't any, there ain't any." 
 
 She nestled her head against his bosom ; 
 the heavy lids dropped wearily. Granny 
 put her apron to her face and went out to
 
 264 The Valley Path 
 
 nurse her grief alone. Old Dike began 
 to move the medicine bottles from the 
 little candle-stand at the bed's side. She 
 knew they would be needed no more. 
 
 But Doctor Boring neither stirred nor 
 spoke, nor moved his eyes from the beau- 
 tiful face upon his bosom. He was wait- 
 ing for the last recognition, which he felt 
 sure would not be denied him. There 
 was a moment of intense silence before 
 Alicia lifted her hand and placed it upon 
 his bosom. He moved it gently to his 
 neck, when she opened her eyes, shadow- 
 less now, and smiled. With the smile 
 came a sigh, a breath of inexpressible con- 
 tent. The smile, the sigh, spoke to him, 
 a wordless message, but he understood 
 and was content. He put her back upon 
 the pillow, wordless and without tears, 
 and passed out where death had entered. 
 His hand, as he passed, brushed a large 
 full-hearted rose that bloomed upon the 
 bush beside the door ; the crimson petals 
 fell apart and lay about his feet. It was
 
 The Valley Path 265 
 
 well the rose should fade, he wondered 
 if it might not know that she was dead. 
 The little tragedy in hearts was played. 
 Henceforth life would wear its gray ; re- 
 turn to its old silence. Into the heart's 
 Holy of Holies only memory, the high 
 priest, might enter. 
 
 The days multiplied to weeks, the 
 weeks and months drifted drowsily into 
 years, and autumn, purple with haze, and 
 steeped with the odour of fading vegeta- 
 tion, was come again. The Indian pipes 
 were in bloom, and where the goldenrod 
 had died, bunches of gray stubble waved 
 in the October wind. 
 
 In the doctor's cabin the fires had 
 been lighted, for the nights were cool. 
 He still went about among his sick, doing 
 a quiet good. The guest-chamber shel- 
 tered but few now, since Brother Barry 
 had been sent upon a different circuit. 
 Sometimes Joe Bowen would lodge there, 
 but not often ; he had become restless
 
 266 The Valley Path 
 
 after Alicia's death, and was fond of roam- 
 ing the woods alone of nights, although 
 he often came over to sit afternoons in 
 the sunshine and talk with the doctor of 
 Alicia. So changed, so softened, so 
 gently patient was he, that Doctor Boring 
 sometimes found it difficult to trace in the 
 quiet, steady farmer the old fiery-tempered 
 Joe who had once commanded him to 
 come out and fight for the girl they both 
 loved. 
 
 Only in one respect was he unchanged, 
 
 he was still proof against Brother 
 Barry. 
 
 " I ain't got no religion, Doctor Borin'," 
 he was wont to declare, "no more than I 
 had when Lissy Reams useter name me 
 for a sinner. An' I don't know no more 
 than I did then. But, Doctor Borin'," 
 
 and his voice would fall to a low, not 
 unmusical cadence, "when they talk of 
 Christ I seem to see Him wanderin' 
 through the mount'n,lonesomin' an* weary, 
 huntin' for the strays amongst His sheep.
 
 The Valley Path 267 
 
 An', oh! I feels for Him, I feels for Him. 
 I know what 'tis to be a lonesome wan- 
 derer in the mount'ns. I know what 'tis 
 to feel the rocks and thorns that cut an' 
 prick. I know what 'tis to be forgot of 
 all, except, maybe, of Him, who lived 
 alone and lonesome, too; though I ain't 
 unmindful of the word she sent ter me, 
 her love an' her good-by. I remembers 
 them, and they air sweet to me. But 
 they air not that which comforts me; its 
 Him, Him who suffered, too ; an' so I say 
 I feels for Him, Christ or elder brother, 
 Son of God or son of man, which you 
 will. He's nigh to me; His presence 
 holps me. Somehows I don't look to 
 reach the heights, where the skies air fair 
 an' the eagles swim. But I'm content ter 
 walk the valley path so long as He walks 
 with me." 
 
 And with a sigh, half sad and half re- 
 signed, he lifts his eyes to the purpling 
 hills where Alicia sleeps underneath the 
 soughing hemlocks; where in summer the
 
 268 The Valley Path 
 
 cows couch under the shadow of the cliffs, 
 hard by Sewanee, and in winter the wind, 
 like a spent runner, moans among the 
 trees, lamenting, mayhap, those baffling 
 mysteries, which to her have been at last 
 made plain. 
 
 THE END.

 
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