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STORIES & PERSE 
 of WILLIAMS 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 ALFRED DUDLEY BRITTON 
 PHILIP RICHARDS DUNBAR 
 CHARLES FISHER HEPBURN 
 
 WILL1AMSTQWN PUBLISHED BY 
 THE EDITORS, M D C C C C 
 
Copyright, zpoo, by 
 ALFRED DUDLEY BRITTON 
 
 UNIVERSITY PRESS . JOHN WILSON 
 AND SON . . CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. 
 
TO 
 
 LOUIS LEGRAND DRAPER 
 
 IN RECOGNITION OF HIS UNTIRING DEVOTION TO THE 
 FOOTBALL INTERESTS OF WILLIAMS. 
 
 R71S36 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 CT*HE quality of the work which has appeared In the 
 "Lit." during the past four years has stamped that 
 period as the most successful which the literary Interests 
 of Williams have enjoyed. This, coupled with the fact 
 that no bound volumes of the " Lit" have been put on 
 sale, has led the editors to the belief that there was a field 
 for a book containing the best stories and verse Included 
 In the "Lit." during this period. 
 
 That the book has merits, the Editors feel sure; that 
 It will In some measure appeal to Williams men and be 
 accorded their support, Is the sincere wish of those who 
 have enjoyed Its compilation. 
 
 For kind permission to reprint several selections, thanks 
 are due the " /poo Gul." and " Cap and Gown" Second 
 Series (L. C. Page & Co., Publishers). 
 
Table of Contents 
 
 c / . \ \ itu i< 
 lUjM***^- 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PROVIDENCE AND THE Boss ......... I 
 
 Charles Newman Hall, ' 'oo. 
 
 THE GYPSY STRAIN ........... 4 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, "98. 
 
 POOR LITTLE REGINALD .......... 5 
 
 Percival Henry Truman, *p8. 
 
 THE SPANISH GALLEON .......... 7 
 
 Charles Nenuman Hall, ""oo. 
 
 THE FRECKLELESS VILLAGE ......... 9 
 
 Philip Richards Dunbar, * oo. 
 
 GOOD JACOBITES ALL .......... 23 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, *p8. 
 
 No ROBBERY ........ ..... 25 
 
 y<?^ Saunders Oakman, "go. 
 
 MASTER FRA^OIS SINGS ......... 27 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, *o8. 
 
 A RAGAMUFFIN SANTA GLAUS ........ 28 
 
 Alfred Dudley Britton, ''oo. 
 
 NANTUCKET ............. 37 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, *p8. 
 
 THE END OP IT ........... .38 
 
 Percival Henry Truman, *o$. 
 iz 
 
Table of Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 BARBARA 40 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, '98. 
 
 " GREATER LOVE HATH No MAN " 41 
 
 Charles Fisher Hepburn, '00. 
 
 ON BOARD THE " GOLDEN SWALLOW " 50 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, *p8. 
 
 A STAMPEDE 52 
 
 Albert Hopkins, '00. 
 
 CERVERA AT ANNAPOLIS 56 
 
 Henry Rutgers Couger, 'pp. 
 
 ADVICB ' > 57 
 
 Percival Henry Truman, *p^. 
 
 SACRAMENT 59 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, ^8. 
 His SON'S ENEMIES 60 
 
 Dudley Butler, *oo. 
 
 Nox CHRISTI 64 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, '98. 
 
 r ^U . AN OBSCURE HEROINE 67 
 
 Philip Richards Dunbar, *oo. 
 
 THEY SAY HER FACE is PASSING FAIR 69 
 
 John Barker, 'pp. 
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE GOD 70 
 
 Charles Newman Hall, *00. 
 
 THE CUIRASSIER 84 
 
 John Clarkson Jay, *07. 
 
 HERB o* GRACE 85 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, *p. 
 x 
 
Table of Contents 
 
 PACT 
 
 AT SAINT FORTUN 93 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, '98. 
 FABLE 94 
 
 Percwal Henry Truman, *g8. 
 
 FROM HILOISE TO ABELARD . ... . .' ... ... 96 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, '98. 
 
 APPLIED MATHEMATICS 97 
 
 Per aval Henry Truman, *p<5*. 
 
 As TOLL 109 
 
 John Barker, *pp. 
 
 AT MONTE CARLO not 
 
 Dudley Butler, *oo. 
 
 THE SONG OF THE CAVALIERS 113 
 
 James Brewer Corcoran, ex- oi 
 
 " WHICH PASSETH ALL UNDERSTANDING " . . . . 116 
 Charles fisher Hepburn, *oo. 
 
 AT THE DAWN 122 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, *g8. 
 THE LEPER 123 
 
 John Sounders Oakman, 'pp. 
 
 A SONG FOR SEAFARERS 130 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, 'p& 
 
 PRINCIPLE 131 
 
 John Saunders Oakman, *pp. 
 
 To A DREAMER 133 
 
 James Onven Try on, *oo. 
 
 A LETTER AND A POSTSCRIPT 134 
 
 Arthur Lanvson Goodwillie, *07. 
 
 MY LADY GOES TO THE PLAY 138 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, J $8. 
 xi 
 
Table of Contents 
 
 PACK 
 
 AT A Music HALL 140 
 
 Henry Rutgers Couger, ^99. 
 
 DEAD FOLKS' HOUR 144 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, ^98. 
 
 NOT WITHOUT PRECEDENT 145 
 
 Per rival Henry Truman, '98. 
 
 IN THE HILLS 148 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, '98. 
 
 THE OTHER MAN'S WIFE 149 
 
 Albert Hopkins, 'oo. 
 
 CAPTIVES 152 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, *g8. 
 
 THE OTHER LIFE 153 
 
 Philip Richards Dunbar, 9 oo. 
 
 THE AUTUMN CALL 155 
 
 James Owen Try on, *oo. 
 
 WHITE ROSES 158 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, '98. 
 
 PAGAN TO PRIEST 164 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, ^98. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP ABOVE PAR 165 
 
 Alfred Dudley Britton, *oo. 
 
 IN THE DARK 169 
 
 James Bisset Pratt, "98. 
 
 A REVERIE 170 
 
 Per rival Henry Truman, ^98. 
 
 A SONG OF SPORT 173 
 
 James Brewer Corcoran, ex- 01* 
 xii 
 
Table of Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 DUETS 175 
 
 Arthur La e wson Goodwill'ie, 1 '01. 
 AN EPITAPH 177 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, ^98. 
 
 FOUNDED ON FACT 178 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, "98. 
 
 THE AMOROUS SCIENTIST 181 
 
 James Bisset Pratt, ^98. 
 
 A SONG OF OTHER DAYS . 182 - 
 
 Arthur Lawuson Good*willie t "01. 
 
 IN BOHEMIA 184 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, ^98. 
 
 THAT BABINGTON AFFAIR 1 86 
 
 John Barker, "99. 
 
 CONVICTION 189 
 
 John Barker, *pp. 
 
 THE PRINCE OF GREATER NEW YORK 190 
 
 Per rival Henry 'Truman, 'p<?. 
 
 A RELIC 197 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, ^8. 
 
 A BARGAIN 198 
 
 John Saunders Oakman, 1 'pp. 
 
 A BALLAD OF DOROTHY 200 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, *p8. 
 
 AN AFFAIR OF THE HEART 202 
 
 John Saunders Oakman, 'pp. 
 
 NOEL 204 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, 'ptf. 
 xiii 
 
Table of Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THREE PIPES 206 
 
 Trcadwell Cleveland, Jr., 'p/. 
 
 *99 CLASS POEM 210 
 
 Henry Rutgers Couger, 'pp. 
 
 "THE BLIND RECEIVE THEIR SIGHT" 215 
 
 Charles Newman Hall, *oo. 
 
 AT THE END* 222 
 
 Arthur Ketchum, 'p& 
 
 xiv 
 
STORIES & VERSE 
 of WILLIAMS 
 
 PROVIDENCE AND THE BOSS 
 
 THE Limited was rushing down river, through 
 the growing dawn. Telegraph poles, woods, 
 and hillsides, intermitted here and there by the zig- 
 zag of the fences, went hurrying by in quick succes- 
 sion, and the mists out in the river spun around like 
 a top. Fifty-five seconds to the mile, said the engi- 
 neer's watch, for they were making up time. 
 
 It was a morning when human mortality seemed 
 an impossibility, and that particular river valley an 
 instalment of Paradise. 
 
 The political boss and the sycophant sat by the 
 car-window, and surveyed the universe with the well- 
 satisfied air of proprietors. 
 
 " It 's a pleasure to live, such mornings," said the 
 boss. " How it can be just for any man to be taken 
 away before his threescore years and ten, is more than 
 I can see." And, having delivered this home-thrust 
 at Providence, he turned to the business of the day. 
 
 "Yes, as to Higgins well, he may be capable 
 
 and honest, but he 's just a few square yards too 
 
 honest for his place. Perhaps he is faithful to the 
 
 party ; but after this he '11 wish he 'd fired the man as 
 
 i i 
 
Providence and the Boss 
 
 I ordered him, instead of talking about honest and 
 efficient helpers, and saying he has the legal right to 
 retain them, even after I've said 'no.' At 10.30 
 the city government will dispense with Higgins's ser- 
 vices. No doubt he '11 have a hard time in these 
 days, getting^ another, place, but I can't help that. I 
 sup'pose if I -wis Jivmg in old Jerusalem when Moses 
 was .mayor,, ( an,d Methuselah chief-of-police, I 'd get 
 '"-'', With a 'thunderbolt, or some other 
 
 heavenly ordnance, but they don't do business that 
 way in our times. If a mountain gets in a man's 
 way, the mountain goes up in dynamite smoke. If 
 Providence gets in mine, why " And the boss gave 
 a grim smile, which told clearer than words the fate 
 of Providence in such a case. Men don't seem to 
 fear Providence much nowadays, and politicians, 
 especially, can afford to treat it with easy and scorn- 
 ful superiority. 
 
 Sixty-six miles an hour, said the watch of the 
 engineer, and the big drivers revolved three hundred 
 times a minute; as for the truck-wheels, Heaven knows 
 how fast they went around. The great engine took 
 a curve of two thousand feet radius as if it were a 
 clock-dial, and then went swaying down the long 
 tangent in a cloud of dust and cinders. 
 
 Six o'clock and the beauty of the morning was 
 settling down like a garment. The sun was up, 
 though the shadowy hills still hid him from view. 
 
 They came to the bridge where the river pierced 
 the embankment and connected with the great, shal- 
 low bay inside. The mists hung heavy in there, and 
 even half shrouded the bridge. Strong was the struc- 
 ture, tested, true; and as the engine and six bril- 
 
 2 
 
Providence and the Boss 
 
 liantly lighted cars thundered upon it, it faithfully 
 transmitted the stress to every part. Chord, bar, and 
 main diagonal trembled with the swift vibration, but 
 there was no fault in them. The keen foresight of the 
 engineer had provided for all that, and interminable 
 computations stood sponsor for every part ; but Fate 
 sat on the engine pilot, and she cancels whole yards 
 of figures and sets down a zero in their place. 
 
 It was 6.05 by the engineer's watch, and the 
 minute-hand never passed the thin Roman I. Out 
 over the river went the train, with morning air above, 
 and only air and water below; and then two hundred 
 windows, bright with the gleam of the Pintsch lights, 
 went down in the eclipse of the waters, and a score 
 of souls " fled indignant to the shades." 
 
 The steam of the exploded boiler leaped a mile into 
 the clear, warm summer blue, and the great locomo- 
 tive sagged over in shallow water, while the upper 
 drivers flew round and round, and churned up a yel- 
 low foam. The fish crept up through the twisted 
 and shattered debris, and gazed with startled eyes at 
 the broken valve-stem, thrashing around, and then 
 fled precipitately to the depths. 
 
 They found the boss and the sycophant bowed 
 low, with staring eyes looking this way and that 
 down the long, gloomy car, and dreaming dreams 
 which are not of time or space. 
 
 And all around was the ineffable freshness and per- 
 fume of the morning, with odor of woods and song 
 of birds; and down in the city it was 10.30, and 
 Higgins still kept his place. 
 
The Gypsy Strain 
 
 THE GYPSY STRAIN 
 
 IT comes with the autumn's silence, 
 When great Hills dream apart, 
 And far blue leagues of distance 
 Call to the Gypsy-heart. 
 
 When all the length of sunny roads, 
 
 A lure to restless feet, 
 Are largesses of goldenrod 
 
 And beck of bitter-sweet. 
 
 Then the wand'rer in us wakens 
 And outs from citied girth, 
 
 To go a-vagabonding down 
 The wide ways of the Earth. 
 
Poor Little Reginald 
 
 POOR LITTLE REGINALD 
 
 1 HAD n't seen Mrs. Peter before young Mrs. 
 Peter, I mean since Easter. That was nearly 
 six months before, and in six months, I protest, 
 one may be forgiven for forgetting a great many 
 things. 
 
 We conversed for some little time about common- 
 places not worth the repeating. 
 
 " You remember little Reginald ? " inquired Mrs. 
 Van Holt at last, with a plaintive droop of the voice. 
 
 I hesitated long enough to review mentally a squad- 
 ron of yellow-haired and leather-belegginged little 
 Lord Fauntleroys, who belonged severally to the 
 young married ladies of my acquaintance. Was there 
 a Reginald among them ? I thought so. Still 
 "You cannot have forgotten Reginald, I am sure," 
 she added, a little reproachfully, with emphasis on 
 the "sure." 
 
 " Certainly not," I answered quickly ; " who could 
 forget the dear little fellow ? " 
 
 " We lost him last summer," said she, sadly. 
 
 " I cannot express how your words grieve and sur- 
 prise me," I hastened to say. " It is very strange 
 that I did not hear of it. Was he ill long ? " 
 
 u He was n't ill exactly I should n't say," she 
 replied pensively. " He died of internal injuries, the 
 doctor said." 
 
 " An accident ? " I suggested sympathetically. 
 5 
 
Poor Little Reginald 
 
 " Yes ; he was run over by a cab in front of the 
 house, and died a few hours later." 
 
 " How dreadful ! " I exclaimed. " What a shock 
 it must have given you, Mrs. Van Holt." 
 
 " I am sure it did. Indeed, Peter said it was wrong 
 for me to take it so much to heart as I did. He said 
 it was a sin ; but I don't think it was, do you ? " 
 
 " The duty of restraining one's grief at the losses 
 of those one loves is a duty more honored in the 
 breach than in the observance, I fancy," said I. I 
 felt quite proud of that remark. For a man not 
 given to making moral reflections, it seemed to me 
 rather good. 
 
 " Now you are laughing at me," cried Mrs. Van 
 Holt, pettishly. " You men have no feeling, any of 
 you." 
 
 " You wrong me, I assure you," I protested ve- 
 hemently. Peter Van Holt might be a brute, but I 
 was not. "You wrong me deeply," I continued, 
 " in believing for a moment I would scoff at maternal 
 affection, that purest " 
 
 I stopped. There was something like a smile lurk- 
 ing in Mrs. Van Holt's features. Then I realized 
 my blunder. I was furious. How, in Heaven's name, 
 could a man be expected to remember all the misera- 
 ble little curs that foolish women might choose to 
 lavish their affections upon. 
 
 " We have been having beautiful weather for the 
 last few days, have we not ? " said Mrs. Van Holt, 
 sweetly. 
 
The Spanish Galleon 
 
 THE SPANISH GALLEON 
 
 TEN fathoms down in the placid sea, 
 Where the world is dark and cold, 
 With gaping seams, and whitened bones, 
 And a treasure in her hold. 
 
 Buried far in eternal night, 
 
 And the silence of the grave, 
 A fitting sepulchre, indeed, 
 
 For the death-sleep of the brave. 
 
 Over her grave the deep-sea fronds, 
 
 With their incantations strange ; 
 Above, the chafe of the weary sea, 
 
 And the billow's boundless range. 
 
 In coral and sand, a world of green, 
 
 Where the weird sea-creatures dwell, 
 With moss-grown beams, and skeleton frame, 
 
 She sleeps her long sleep well. 
 
 In a dream, methinks, I see her now, 
 
 As she seems again to rise ; 
 Standing again on the homeward course 
 
 With masts that bar the skies. 
 
 Laden with gold, on the Spanish main, 
 
 The New World sinks astern ; 
 And naught but the sky, and the clouds, and the waves, 
 
 Can the weary eye discern. 
 7 
 
The Spanish Galleon 
 
 Oh, a summer night on the sleeping sea, 
 With the Southern Cross on high ; 
 
 The moon-lit waves, the salt, salt air, 
 And the gleam of the tropic sky. 
 
 And away with the wind and the hissing spray, 
 For the vineyards of sunny Spain, 
 
 With the sky for a sea, and never a thought 
 For the shadow of woe or pain. 
 
 In a moment came the blinding storm, 
 
 And the heavens cleft in twain ; 
 The rattling thunder, the black, black sea, 
 
 And farewell to the Spanish main ! 
 
 Down through the shades of endless night, 
 With her dark-eyed, swarthy men ; 
 
 Down through the ocean's awful realms, 
 Ah, never to rise again ! 
 
 Far down the grand old galleon lies, 
 
 In the sand her buried head ; 
 To sleep and sleep, through the fading years, 
 
 Till the sea gives up its dead. 
 
The Freckleless Village 
 
 THE FRECKLELESS VILLAGE 
 
 SLICE off the tops of the High Alps at an altitude 
 of four thousand two hundred and sixty-nine 
 and five-tenths feet. On this horizontal section 
 draw lines connecting the Uertsch with the Ketsch, 
 the Lenard with the Roseg. Project these lines 
 until they meet and you have to an inch the location 
 of the Freckleless Village. 
 
 Deep within the forest cantons, hidden in the ramifi- 
 cations of mountain-ranges, it lies like an oasis of life 
 in the wilderness of rocks, gorges, and glaciers. No 
 binoculared Englishman or bejewelled pork-packer of 
 Chicago ever happened within ten pipes of it. And 
 for good reason : no one was ever fool enough to 
 tunnel the encircling pinnacles; a tramway in that 
 region would go straightway into the hands of a re- 
 ceiver, and no trolley or cable system was ever con- 
 trived which could climb the nine loops of the zigzag 
 road that leads up from the valley. 
 
 Larch forests grow about and hide it; a cataract 
 throws over it spray impalpable as cosmic dust ; the 
 ice-field, like a vast cetacean, hems it in on one side, 
 and guards it even at midnight, crawling along with 
 horrid crackings. Like a mysterious city of a strange 
 people it stands, hushed by the profound silence and 
 solemn hush of the Alps, enchanted by the ever- 
 lasting slumber of pine and granite. 
 
 But was it always freckleless ? Far from that : 
 the most natural result of its location was that 
 
The Freckleless Village 
 
 its inhabitants should be generously befreckled. 
 The shepherds on the high pastures exposed to the 
 elements ; the mowers who seek tufted grass on 
 narrow ledges and face the blistering reflection of 
 the ice-fields; the village girls, upon whose pretty 
 faces snow-clad Madlein breathes his chill winds as 
 they milk their goats, how could even the dimples 
 of these escape being hidden in freckles, especially 
 when the sunsets there are observed to assume a 
 coppery hue ? Everybody inhere, } from the patriarch 
 down to the youngest baby, had freckles. Cembrosca, 
 the famous hunter, looked like an Indian, his freckles 
 were so merged together. As we look for the baby's 
 first tooth, with the same assiduity and solicitude did 
 these villagers look for the first freckle. But not 
 to encourage and foster it, for they were exceedingly 
 ashamed of these blemishes, and blushed to be called 
 the Freckled Village. They even waited in daily 
 trepidation lest the Emperor William of Germany 
 should visit them unawares and expose their peculiar- 
 ity to the world. 
 
 Clarinda, the daughter of Neyer, the burgomaster, 
 the politic, was the prettiest girl in all the village, and 
 many a love-lorn youth languished for a look of her 
 brown eye. To be sure, her face was dusky with 
 freckles ; but as this was no peculiarity, it was at the 
 same time no derogation. But though many sought 
 her favor, she chose none, and Aldebaran, whom she 
 loved, was cold. 
 
 She was of a marriageable age, and as it is the 
 custom there to make matches as early as possible, 
 her father one day said to her, 
 
 " Clarinda, I have decided that you shall marry/' 
 10 
 
The Freckleless Village 
 
 " But I don't want to marry, father," returned 
 Clarinda. 
 
 " Hush, impudence ! " growled he. " Make no 
 objections. I have concluded that Plazetto, the 
 baker's son, is destined to become famous. You 
 will be married to him immediately after sheep- 
 shearing do you understand ? Immediately after 
 sheep-shearing." 
 
 " No," said Clarinda. " I don't choose to marry 
 Plazetto, and I won't ; " which, since she did n't 
 love him, was a very natural and justifiable thing to 
 say. 
 
 Then the politic burgomaster tried to wheedle his 
 daughter. " Why don't you like Plazetto ? " he asked 
 with a forced smile. " I think him a very likely youth. 
 He acts in a soberer fashion and seems to have a more 
 profound intellect than the rest." 
 
 " No," repeated Clarinda, " I won't marry him. 
 He never laughs. He never dances on the green at 
 parish festivals. On wedding days he wears the same 
 glum face, and stands around like a big awkward 
 booby. Nobody wants to be chosen by him at the 
 Festival of the Shearing and called his jewel and his 
 treasure. He's a stupid old dunce. I don't like 
 him. He never laughs." 
 
 At this the politic burgomaster lost his temper, 
 stamped with rage, and cried : " Wicked, undutiful 
 girl, you shall do as I wish. You may go to your 
 room. There shall be nothing but skim milk and 
 black bread for you till you consent." 
 
 Clarinda was a high-spirited girl ; so she turned 
 up her bewitching, befreckled nose and tripped out 
 of the room. 
 
 it 
 
The Freckleless Village 
 
 The truth is that Plazetto was a stupid blockhead 
 \who never entered into the merriment.) His imper- 
 turbability had led Clarinda's father to the wrong 
 surmise that wise thoughts were passing in his head. 
 Nothing could have been more false. The demand 
 that Clarinda should marry him was quite unreason- 
 able ; she was far too pretty. 
 
 But nothing made Neyer so combative as resistance. 
 He began to seek a subterfuge by which he could 
 oblige Clarinda to take Plazetto under her own 
 conditions. He was politic even in his anger. If 
 she had given in, he would perhaps have relented ; 
 but now she must marry him, whether or no. He 
 would show her parental discipline. Br-r-r ! 
 
 u So he never laughs ! " mused Neyer. " Never 
 laugh indeed ! Ur-r-r-r ! As though daughter of 
 mine must have a laughing lover, a foolish, gibbering 
 idiot, an empty-headed, mincing nincompoop ! The 
 girl does n't know her own mind. But she must 
 take Plazetto. He really must be made a little more 
 gay. He is too sober; no girl in my day would 
 take such a fool. How how can we make the 
 hound laugh ? " 
 
 The burgomaster scratched his head in perplexity. 
 Then he rose, went to the table, and began to search 
 the columns of the Berliner Forschungszeltung. All 
 of a sudden he skipped for joy, and could scarcely 
 contain himself while he wrote a letter and addressed 
 it to Berlin. 
 
 But Clarinda? She obeyed neither the first nor 
 the last of her father's commands. She had slipped 
 out into the little garden where the air was fragrant 
 with almond and cherry trees in bloom, and where 
 
 12 
 
The Freckleless Village 
 
 a hedge, the height of her freckled chin, grew round- 
 about. She picked an azalea of vivid carmine and, 
 putting it in her black hair, looked in the placid brook 
 to note the effect. 
 
 " Hateful freckles," she said ; and after a pause, 
 broke out with : " I won't marry him I won't, I 
 won't. He 's too morose. I love only Aldebaran, 
 and he ignores me. He has been terribly busy 
 about some mysterious business all the year. I wish 
 he would look at me just once. Perhaps I J m too 
 freckled." 
 
 Just then she heard somebody going by on the 
 other side of the hedge, talking the while in an 
 undertone. She listened. 
 
 " Yes, it must be kept secret for a while the 
 compound. A little glacier-wine, two parts of goat's 
 milk unskimmed, and carefully add Ah, stop ! 
 Do not utter it. The hedges have ears. It must 
 be kept secret. When the Imperial Freckle Eradica- 
 tor is perfected and my native village is delivered 
 from the curse of freckles, then every one shall 
 become fair-skinned, there will be great fame and 
 large royalties awaiting me, and then oh, happy 
 day I shall be no longer a pauper, but a millionaire ; 
 no longer a prophet without honor in his own country, 
 but hailed as the man of the hour and the generation ; 
 no longer fearful of her father, the politic burgomas- 
 ter, but welcomed with open arms as worthy of the 
 hand of Clarinda." 
 
 When Clarinda ran and peeped over the hedge, he 
 had passed, and she could see only the ragged sleeves 
 of his waistcoat, his bahered straw hat, and a big pail 
 which he carried under his arm. It was Aldebaran. 
 
 '3 
 
The Freckleless Village 
 
 She clasped her hands ecstatically. " So he loves 
 me, after all," she whispered. " He loves me, after 
 all. And I shall love him always, even if he were a 
 pauper all his life." 
 
 She took the azalea from her hair and tossed it 
 after him. He started, seeing it fall, then stooped 
 and picked it up. No one else was near ; so Clarinda, 
 peering through the hedge, saw him press it to his 
 lips and put it inside his jerkin. 
 
 " I won't marry Plazetto," she repeated, as she 
 looked again into the brook and went into the house. 
 
 4 
 
 Some days later a strange mule-train was seen 
 winding up the nine-looped zigzag road. When it 
 had mounted as far as the village, it stopped in front 
 of the white chapel. There were ten mules in all, 
 on the back of each a pannier containing two sacks. 
 These sacks were labelled, in large yellow letters, 
 
 MUSTARD SEED. 
 
 The conductor of this pack train was an eccentric- 
 looking individual. He wore a burly coat of bear's 
 fur and a tall Robinson Crusoe hat of the same 
 shaggy material. Blue goggles hid his eyes from the 
 glare of the sun, and clouds of smoke, which he 
 drew from a capacious German pipe, circled in azure 
 wreaths about his head. 
 
 But, well prepared as he was for this altitude, he 
 was much impeded by the paraphernalia which he 
 carried about him. There were thermometers stick- 
 ing out of his fur cap like quills on a porcupine ; 
 thermometers in the belt of his greatcoat, a fringe of 
 them sticking out of the tops of his gaiters and several 
 under each arm. On one side he had slung a 
 
 14 
 
The Freckleless Village 
 
 hydrometer, on the other a pedometer. On his 
 back were appliances for measuring heights of moun- 
 tains and depths of crevasses. From all parts of his 
 person dangled microscopes, hammers, pincers, 
 phials, plummets, and a string of labelled notebooks, 
 like festoons of popcorn from a Christmas tree. In 
 the notebooks he entered the readings of his instru- 
 ments after every fifty yards of advance, being much 
 harassed in managing the unruly mules and the 
 cumbrous machinery of his outfit. When he halted 
 in front of the chapel, he muttered, 
 
 " What a country ! pinnacles ! spires ! needles 
 that pierce the heavens ! and a fool's errand ! 1 am 
 exhausted pedometer, ten leagues barometer, 
 four thousand two hundred sixty-nine and five-tenths 
 feet thermometer, sixty degrees, br-r-r ! cold coat, 
 fifteen pounds, a load." 
 
 Although the warm odor of growing orchids was 
 in the air, he muffled himself closer, as if afraid of the 
 influenza, looked awhile at the glacier, and proceeded 
 to tie his mules in front of the chalet of Neyer, the 
 politic burgomaster. Having done so, he knocked, 
 and with a jingling of dangling thermometers and 
 plummets, entered. 
 
 u So you have come," said Neyer, when they were 
 closeted. " Are you prepared to make him laugh ? " 
 
 u Yes," returned the savant. " I will warrant 
 the article as strong as that used by any Berlin 
 dentist. I have the material in enormous quantities." 
 
 " Good ! " ejaculated the burgomaster, rubbing his 
 hands. "And now explain how you intend to go 
 about it." 
 
 " This gas," continued the savant^ " under normal 
 
The Freckleless Village 
 
 temperatures is lighter than air, but only perceptibly 
 so. But if I establish myself on the glacier and cool 
 the gas, as it is generated, by contact with the ice, 
 the density will be lowered and it will flow gradually 
 down, filtering through the atmosphere, seeking the 
 level of its specific gravity. The glacier, as you are 
 aware, lies in the bed of a V-shaped gorge, and the 
 village is close by. Thus the gaseous stream will be 
 kept within narrow bounds as by a funnel, and upon 
 reaching this point will spread undiluted over the 
 entire village." 
 
 u Marvellous," exclaimed Neyer. " The shep- 
 herds, the armaillis, have come down from the upper 
 pastures with their sheep, and the shearing is nearly 
 done. To-morrow noon the Festival of Shearing will 
 begin. The lads will wear their smart gaiters and 
 doublets, after the fashion of William Tell. The 
 girls will put on holiday dresses with peaked caps, 
 and the petra, the heart-shaped leather cuirass em- 
 broidered with blue and gold. They will join in a 
 dance on the green, after which each youth will take 
 a flower and present it to the girl whom he desires to 
 call his jewel and hfs treasure. It is on this occasion 
 that I wish this lad Plazetto to assume a more light- 
 hearted mien. But go easily. Make the gas only 
 strong enough to cause a moderate mirth. I wish 
 nothing to be apparent." 
 
 " It shall be accomplished," said the savant 
 " And be so good as to accept this present of two 
 flagons of wine," continued the burgomaster. "Do 
 not drink any of it until your task is done, lest 
 the fumes mount to your head and destroy your 
 judgment." 
 
 16 
 
The Freckleless Village 
 
 Never fear," said the other, seizing the flagons 
 with avidity, examining the labels and sniffing at the 
 corks. 
 
 Next morning there was discernible, some distance 
 above the village on the breast of the glacier, a 
 small, square shack, from the nearer side of which 
 stuck out a big horn with a belled mouth. 
 
 u What fool has ventured on the glacier ? " growled 
 Froben, the printer, gazing with the crowd. 
 
 "It must be he who came yesterday with the 
 mule-train," ventured the politic burgomaster. " I 
 wonder what he is up to ? " 
 
 " He is preparing to send us dance music through 
 his horn for our festival," said Amerbach, the mower, 
 who had once heard a phonograph. 
 
 "No," said Schneiger, the goldsmith, who knew 
 nothing about it, but had an old-fashioned funnel- 
 mouthed blunderbuss at home. " He is preparing to 
 shoot grenades over the mountains against the French." 
 
 Then all turned to the reverend cure, perceiving 
 he was about to speak. " The cure will tell us," 
 they cried ; " our cure knows. He has seen the 
 world. He has been to Paris." 
 
 " Yes, my children," responded the cure. " I 
 expected you would turn to me. No one is better 
 fitted to deliver an opinion, for I, as you say, have 
 been to Paris. Now, if you had marked, as I did, 
 that the mules carried bags labelled MUSTARD SEED, 
 you would have arrived at the conclusion that he is 
 preparing to remove mountains. He that hath faith 
 even as a grain of mustard seed," said the cure in a 
 prophetic manner, " shall remove mountains." 
 
 The fallacy of which reasoning not being perceived, 
 
The Freckleless Village 
 
 a long and weighty silence met the fearful assevera- 
 tion, and the timorous drew deep breaths. 
 
 " Which peak will he take first ? " asked Amer- 
 bach, the mower. 
 
 Will it be Piz Zupo ? " asked one. 
 
 " Will it be Piz Corvatsch ? " asked another. 
 
 " Will it be Piz Rosatsch ? " asked a third. 
 
 u Will our village go too ? " asked a fourth. 
 
 "Can't we prevent it?" asked several all at 
 once. 
 
 Never, the crafty, the politic, stuffed his handker- 
 chief in his mouth as he listened to these questions. 
 But when the last was asked he perceived things 
 were taking the wrong turn, and said in grave tones : 
 
 "Fellow-villagers, even if it is the will of the 
 Almighty that we, with the heavens, be shrivelled 
 like a burning scroll, we can do no better than to 
 meet the end, pursuing our accustomed occupations." 
 
 So it was decided that the festival should suffer no 
 interruption. 
 
 At noon all the lads and maidens gathered on the 
 village green. Clarinda was there, looking more 
 beautiful than ever. Plazetto was there ; but he only 
 stood apart, leaning up against a tree, silent and 
 glum. Neyer was there with the other burgomasters, 
 Froben with his printer's devils, Schneiger with his 
 apprentices, Amerbach with his mowers, Lugano and 
 the goatherds, Samader the president of the syndic, 
 and Julier the secretary of the commune. But all 
 were oppressed by an unnatural silence. Was the 
 earth really coming to an end ? 
 
 Then a cool, sweet-smelling wind that could 
 hardly be felt, began to blow down from the glacier. 
 
 18 
 
The Freckleless Village 
 
 A smile crept over the solemn face of the cure. 
 He took deep whiffs of the breeze. Then he began 
 to laugh uproariously. He seized Clarinda about 
 the waist, and whirled round and round with her 
 across the green. At first the rest were shocked at 
 such levity on the part of their dominie ; then they 
 also were taken with the same fit of mirth. They 
 first began laughing and pointing at each other like 
 mad people, and, as if moved by a joint impulse, 
 seized partners and whirled after the cure, who was 
 still capering like a lamb. Shepherds, mowers, 
 milkers, burgomasters, no matter how gouty or 
 rheumatic, all mixed like children in the dance, 
 laughing as though they would split. 
 
 Neyer, the burgomaster, was left alone. Looking 
 about him in amazement, he saw Plazetto, perched 
 high up in the crotch of a tree, weeping with his 
 face in his hands, as though his heart were broken. 
 
 " Come down, Plazetto, come down," cried Neyer; 
 and then the merry paroxysm seized him, and he too 
 began to caper. 
 
 Now the sheep, which had been grazing quietly 
 at the farther corner of the green, a flock of a thou- 
 sand or more, commenced to roll and tumble about 
 and utter funny bleatings, like giddy and foolish 
 lambs. Then, instead of running about in a circle, 
 they all broke away across the glacier where they 
 were dashed to pieces in a crevasse three hundred 
 and forty-four feet deep. 
 
 No one knows how long this whirl would have 
 continued, had not the unforeseen happened. A 
 gigantic booming rent the air. The glacier split in 
 two, and a yawning black cavern appeared under the 
 
 19 
 
The Freckleless Village 
 
 hut of the savant. Hut and mules all disappeared 
 into the horrible abyss, and the divided ice-field, like 
 Scylla and Charybdis, closed together with a pon- 
 derous clashing and splintering. 
 
 The cool sweet wind ceased to blow, the up- 
 roar stopped, the crowd by degrees became quiet, 
 
 a great stillness ensued. The cure released 
 Clarinda ; the mowers and milkers, the ancient gold- 
 smith, the venerable president of the syndic stood 
 shamefaced and out of breath, and nobody dared utter 
 the first syllable. 
 
 Then some one cried : " Look ! Here comes 
 somebody down the glacier." 
 
 A solitary figure came rapidly toward the village, 
 leaping from hummock to hummock, and when near 
 was seen to be Aldebaran. He was waving two 
 flagons at arms' length. 
 
 u Where did you get these flagons ? " asked 
 Neyer, as Aldebaran came up. 
 
 " They are all that is left of the stranger's hut," 
 answered Aldebaran. " I found them on the ice, 
 empty." 
 
 u Ah," hissed the burgomaster through his clenched 
 teeth. "He got drunk and overdid it. The villain 
 
 he deserved his fate." 
 
 " Wine is a mocker," observed the cure. 
 
 Then they told Aldebaran of the unaccountable 
 pranks they had all played and of the loss of the 
 sheep. 
 
 u Do not lament this loss, fellow-villagers," said 
 Aldebaran, in a reassuring voice and manner. " Let 
 me relate my experience. For a long time I have 
 yearned to deliver my native village from the bane 
 
 20 
 
The Freckleless Village 
 
 of freckles. My discovery was almost complete. I 
 wished to test it upon myself, and for the last month 
 have been living on the heights, exposed to the sun 
 and all the winds. The compound has stood even 
 this crucial test. Behold me! There is not a 
 freckle on my face." 
 
 Wild cheers greeted this declaration, for his com- 
 plexion, formerly so mottled, now so brilliant, made 
 it evident he spoke the truth. 
 
 He continued : " Do not lament the loss of your 
 sheep. Let another industry spring up among you. 
 My cure for freckles is infallible. Let us all unite 
 in its manufacture. Its revenue will exceed that of 
 sheep-shearing a thousand-fold. We will use the 
 cosmetic ourselves, sell it wholesale to the world, 
 and besides becoming fabulously rich, will be in a 
 short time renowned as the Freckleless Village." 
 
 Wilder cheers ensued. Then Neyer, the burgo- 
 master, the ever-politic, the crafty, who already 
 imagined Aldebaran in princely attire and vested 
 with supreme honors, changed his mind. 
 
 u Villagers," he cried, " rejoice with me that the 
 sheep are lost. I had vowed that my daughter should 
 marry Plazetto as soon as shearing is done. Now 
 that there are no sheep, the shearing cannot be com- 
 pleted, and I am hence clearly absolved from my 
 vow. I hereby give Clarinda to our deliverer, Al- 
 debaran, if he will deign to accept her." 
 
 At these words everybody uttered a wild huzza, 
 for the denouement was pleasing. Clarinda kissed 
 her politic father and ran to Aldebaran, who clasped 
 her in his arms regardless of ragged elbows and 
 patched coat. 
 
 21 
 
The Freckleless Village 
 
 Then, as the festival continued with a less riotous 
 course, Clarinda and Aldebaran left the crowd and 
 walked together through the larch forest that bordered 
 the glacier, and wandered hand in hand through a 
 field of rhododendrons. Far above the village, their 
 feet caressed by gentian and delicate edelweiss, their 
 thoughts with the stars, they sat down on a great 
 rock. 
 
 Now the sunset came, the rose color of the glacier 
 faded, the colored light on the rocks died. Imper- 
 ceptibly a veil of shadows succeeded, the moon cast 
 a ghostly blue over far-glittering ice-fields, and like 
 dream spirits their souls flitted over the valley below 
 to the dim chaos of snow-capped summits on the 
 horizon. " Like a sifted shower of black snow, a 
 snow made of shadow, the night fell, and the melan- 
 choly of the mountain wilderness, the grand nocturnal 
 solitude of the lofty regions cast over them its charm, 
 profound and disquieting." 
 
 Then the owl came hooting out of his hollow tree, 
 and Aldebaran, the mystic influence of love upon 
 him, sent the well-remembered note with intensified 
 meaning across the deep abysm, 
 
 " Liauba, liauba, po-aria" 
 
 The heart-rending, melancholy yodel lingered in 
 the air, catching new glamour from echo to echo, 
 until it expired like a lament ; and when the last ves- 
 tige of sound was lost like a breath in the infinite 
 depths of the valley, her head was on his shoulder, 
 her cheek was moist against his, and she breathed a 
 little sigh that was sweet music to him. 
 
 22 
 
Good Jacobites All 
 
 GOOD JACOBITES ALL 
 
 NOW to all goodly gentlemen, 
 Bide they in East or West, 
 Be greeting at this holy time, . 
 When swords find sheathed rest. 
 And we will pledge the King and Cause 
 Without demur or parley, 
 And we will wear on loyal breasts 
 The white rose of Prince Charlie. 
 
 The rebel hordes their worst have done, 
 
 God sends the varlets down ! 
 
 Our King his triumph may not keep 
 
 In fickle London town. 
 
 But fair as e'er it grew of old 
 
 In gardens green at Farley, 
 
 We '11 wear to-day the Holy Rose, 
 
 The white rose of Prince Charlie. 
 
 We 've yet to pay for all the blood 
 That Naseby drank that day ; 
 And there 's a debt of honor which, 
 As God lives, we shall pay ! 
 By right and might we '11 sweep their ranks 
 As harvesters the barley, 
 Tho' loyal blood shall dye to red 
 The white rose of Prince Charlie. 
 23 
 
Good Jacobites All 
 
 The King shall come into his own, 
 
 Reign where his father reigned ; 
 
 And Church and State united sway 
 
 The Kingdom new regained. 
 
 So here 's to King ! And here 's to Cause ! 
 
 Down on all weakling parley ! 
 
 And here's the white rose proudly won, 
 
 The white rose of Prince Charlie ! 
 
 St. Charles' Day, January 30. 
 
 24 
 
No Robbery 
 
 NO ROBBERY 
 
 SHE AND HER ROOM-MATE 
 
 "ERCY, child, hurry and find some hairpins 
 for me ! And here 's a telegram to read 
 while I 'fix Why will you buy those vicious straight 
 wire ones that slip ? I rather think he exaggerates 
 the c whither thou goest I will go ' effect. c Nothing 
 could detain me upon receiving note.' H'm I be- 
 lieve we will see Cambridge together in June. Well, 
 I only know this one Harvard man, and I 've met 
 him four five six times, but there 's to-morrow 
 afternoon, and Tuesday if I cut that Elizabethan Lit. 
 Do you want to bet on my whereabouts for next 
 Class-day ? Is my hair smooth now and the rest of 
 my raiment ? Please look at me before you say I 'm 
 all right." 
 
 HE AND SHE 
 
 "And that's why things can never be the same 
 between us any more. Did n't you ever feel that a 
 certain day or a certain hour had made all the past 
 useless and colorless, and the present and perhaps the 
 future contained everything worth living for? Don't 
 you think it a bit unkind to spoil a man's past so ? " 
 
 " Heavens ! Have you a past ? Is it quite dis- 
 creet of me to have anything to do with it ? " 
 
 " Quite. But if my future never turns out a past 
 you 'd like to have anything to do with, it 's going to 
 
 25 
 
No Robbery 
 
 be your own fault. And I don't think you care 
 that ! " (He gazes ardently at the insane asylum 
 in the distance.) 
 
 " Not a snap of my finger ? Perhaps I care a 
 little more than that, Billy, and perhaps even more 
 than you think " 
 
 HE SOLUS LATER A BELL-BOY 
 
 "William, shake hands with yourself. It's a very 
 dirty ride from Boston, William, that 's true. But, 
 William, we will go to the Junior Prom., where we 
 shall see another lady who is quite worth all the 
 trouble. Very creditably planned and executed, 
 William. We congratulate ourself and drink to 
 Oh, is that you, Sam ? If you '11 bring four more 
 of the same and set them on the bureau, I won't 
 worry you any more to-night." 
 
 26 
 
Master Frar^ois Sings 
 
 MASTER FRANCOIS SINGS 
 
 A GIRL on my knee, a glass at my side, 
 A lute to strum and a horse to ride, 
 What can a man want more ? 
 To lounge in the warm sun all day long, 
 With jest and kiss and snatch of a song, 
 To squander Youth's sweet store ! 
 
 Oh ! that is the life that seems best to me 5 
 Let Fortune frown, but a shrew is she, 
 
 And life a dream that flies. 
 But ho ! for the reign of the Provence rose, 
 And court-yards drifted with almond snows, 
 
 And Fleurette's laughing eyes. 
 
A Ragamuffin Santa Claus 
 
 A RAGAMUFFIN SANTA CLAUS 
 
 THE Yale fullback of '94, and now a successful 
 sheep-raiser, seared and hardened by four years 
 of experience, was coming East on the Lake Shore 
 Limited. u 878," with its supple line of six Wag- 
 ners, the plate windows and the brass glistening in 
 the sun, was humming down from Albany, never 
 stopping and only letting down its fifty-two-mile gait 
 for the draws and the long quarter-mile stretches of 
 the water-troughs, heaving heavily around the curves, 
 and with added momentum gliding down the straight- 
 aways. Brink, the aforementioned fullback, was sit- 
 ting on a camp-stool out on the observation platform 
 of the rear car, watching the rails glide from under 
 him, and then gradually slow down in the distance 
 until they met. It seemed as if things were slipping 
 away from him in just this way, and the phrase struck 
 him as rather symbolic of his present state, and kept 
 ringing in his head back where the brain and the ears 
 meet. The first pages of his real life had slipped 
 away, and what had he gained ? Gold that could be 
 reckoned in four figures, and experience, and to set 
 over against this, four prime years of manhood lived 
 in that part of our land which lies between our two 
 civilizations, and another loss, that of a friendship 
 that could not be reckoned in four figures, nor four 
 times four. He shook off the recollection with a 
 start and lighted a cigar. The train had rushed by 
 
 28 
 
A Ragamuffin Santa Claus 
 
 the local, side-tracked at Poughkeepsie, and then on 
 down into the gloom of the Highlands. Twilight 
 had fallen; from within the car the glare from the 
 electrics called to him cheerfully, invitingly, and he 
 answered and stepped inside the big glass door. 
 
 As he did so, the " Lake Shore " calendar over the 
 stenographer's desk caught his eye, and it suddenly 
 dawned upon him that it was the day before Christ- 
 mas. In the rush of flying across a continent, he 
 had lost track of time. Travelling fast and continu- 
 ously seems to make a cipher of it anyhow. He 
 settled himself down into one of the big chairs, and 
 let his thoughts travel back along the track he had 
 come for upwards of two thousand miles. Then, 
 after going over all he had done out West, the hard- 
 ships and dangers where a man stands face to face 
 with the God who made him, he naturally thought of 
 the days before he had gone. You never strike the 
 same mood anywhere else, as thrills your whole being 
 when you look out of a car window into the blackness 
 of night and see the lights go hurrying past, some big 
 blotches, others little points, like the thoughts that 
 rush through your brain. Those days were to Brink 
 almost part of another existence. The recollection 
 of them all and of Her seemed a far-away memory, 
 almost an illusive one, something which he had 
 lived through once a long while ago, but whether in 
 this life or in another world he could hardly have 
 told. What had become of her since he had gone 
 West, he did not know ; even as to whether she was 
 married or not he was uncertain. He had lost all 
 trace of her, and a pang shot through him when he 
 remembered it was more or less his fault. If he had 
 
 29 
 
A Ragamuffin Santa Claus 
 
 only written to her as he ought to have done, there 
 would be a pair of eyes with a light in them to wel- 
 come him. 
 
 It is more or less a mocking of fate and princi- 
 pally more to spend Christmas alone. This is 
 in accordance with a man's idea of what the day 
 ought to be. So with Brink. He was one of those 
 who went in for ideals, and the indulgence of this 
 particular kind of castle-building meant more to him 
 than to most of us. So the idea of spending the day 
 alone at his hotel or at a club came hard to him. 
 His father and mother had died just before he went 
 West, but he knew what the day ought to be what 
 it had always been before he had gone and the 
 thought of his loneliness struck across his heart and 
 staggered him as never before. He had lived days 
 together alone in the glorious boundlessness of the 
 plains, and had slept of nights up in the hills, looking 
 up in his waking moments at the infinite distances of 
 the stars, and in all that had never felt himself weighted 
 down by a sense of loneliness. But here, with men 
 about him, rushing along at the speed of fifty-two 
 miles an hour, and the lights of civilization flying by, 
 he felt and knew himself to be alone. The station 
 at Yonkers catching his eye, broke his day-dreaming, 
 and a few minutes later the sharp swing of the train 
 told him they had turned off into the cut. It struck 
 him as peculiar how well he remembered it all, and 
 then, that there was no one to remember him. 
 
 Fifteen minutes later he stood outside the station 
 on 42d Street, watching the underground electrics 
 glide down into the tunnel, and the big heavy mail- 
 wagons roll past with their loads for the Pan-American 
 
 30 
 
A Ragamuffin Santa Claus 
 
 Limited. His ears were ringing with the mighty 
 hum of the vast city, and he remembered how he used 
 to stand that way five, six, and seven years ago. Each 
 time he came home from college it thrilled him to 
 feel for the first time the city's thundering pulsations. 
 He used to take it in slowly, for he needed hours to 
 get accustomed to it after the quietness of his college 
 town. Then there used to come the first glimpse of 
 Broadway, the street of eternal day or eternal night 
 it matters not which you call it. But this time he 
 did n't thrill to the thousands of lives around him, 
 he did n't feel himself drawn to them by any ties in 
 common; he felt alone. Usually there is a subtle 
 something in the air at Christmas that draws people 
 together. There 's a peculiar cheerfulness, in quality 
 though not in intensity, to the glare from the shop 
 windows as it strikes across the snow, and even the 
 clang of the Broadway Cables has an unaccustomed 
 clearness. But it all worked on Brink in just the 
 opposite way. He was strolling slowly toward Fifth 
 Avenue with no purpose in view, and was absent- 
 mindedly fumbling the coins in his pocket. The 
 noise caught the quick ear of a newsboy, and in a 
 flash of rags and half-bare legs he was at his side. 
 
 u Have a paper, Boss ? Sportin' extra," and then 
 with an eye to business, and noting the out-of-town 
 look that Brink carried with him, he held up the 
 tempting headlines of the " World " and " Journal." 
 Have a * Woild,' Mister ? " 
 
 Brink looked the little fellow straight between the 
 eyes, and got back the steady gaze of a pair that was 
 not unlike his own. Four years in the West teach a 
 man to judge others at sight, and Brink could read 
 
 3' 
 
A Ragamuffin Santa Claus 
 
 two eyes almost as well as he could a printed page. 
 This time he looked clear through, down to the 
 depths of the boy, and he saw something there that 
 another might have seen in him, a look of loneli- 
 ness. The kindred of these two conditions suddenly 
 suggested a plan to his mind. 
 
 " Say, young fellow, whatever your name is, how 
 would it do for you and me to go somewhere and get 
 some dinner? I'm all alone here and I hope 
 you 're not, but perhaps we 'd be company for each 
 other anyhow. It 's a beastly shame for any one to 
 eat his dinner alone the night before Christmas." 
 
 The boy's eyes opened rather wide, and he crossed 
 what remained of his left shoe over his right as he 
 answered, 
 
 " What sort of a game are yer givin' us ? I 
 ain't quite next." 
 
 " I honestly mean it," Brink answered, with a 
 sincerity that went right to the boy's heart. Then 
 he added, " If you would only tell me your name, I 
 think we could get along better." 
 
 " I go by der name o' Kid around this here joint, 
 but me name is Charlie McGinnis." 
 
 " Where do you live ? " 
 
 " I ain't never had no old on's, leastwise since I 
 kin remimber, so I hang out at t'irty-t'ree East 
 Houston. Der Gilroys wot lives there lets me sleep 
 wid dere kids if I turn in twenty-five per, if I don't 
 I sleeps where I kin. But say, Mister, wot 's yer 
 name ? " 
 
 u My name is Billy Brink, and I am glad to meet 
 you, Mr. McGinnis," Brink answered. He was deep 
 in the spirit of the thing now, and in the doing of 
 
 32 
 
A Ragamuffin Santa Claus 
 
 a kindness toward another he was fast forgetting his 
 own loneliness. 
 
 " Now, Kid, we are going to have dinner some- 
 where together, just you and I, but not till you 've 
 had some new clothes and a mild exterior application 
 of water." 
 
 While he was talking he had been watching the 
 boy's face. The eyes from their normal condition 
 had slowly expanded until they reached their limit, 
 and then the mouth followed after them. With all 
 wide open, he asked in an awed sort of whisper, 
 
 " Say, are you c Biffy ' Brink, de fellar wot won 
 der game for de Yales four years ago, when dey beat 
 de Princetons six ter five ? " 
 
 " I am that fellow, but I don't see how in the 
 world you know anything about it," Brink answered. 
 
 " Well, say, mebbe I don't read der newspapers ! 
 I 've been in dis here bizness seven years, an' I kin 
 give yer der hull ting about dem cullige joints. But 
 you 're der first guy I ever seen, and say, you 're der 
 best one a-goin*. Don't I remember how dey had 
 your phiz in der papers de day you done dat monkey- 
 shine ? " 
 
 Before such admiration as Brink saw on the face 
 that was upturned to him two feet below his shoulder, 
 he could n't say very much, only his heart thrilled 
 through to' think he had found at least one person 
 somewhere who remembered, some link between the 
 old days and the future. Not that he wanted hero 
 worship ; he had become sick enough of that the last 
 year at college. But he wanted some one who could 
 understand him, and he found just such a one in this 
 kid. It is good for a man once in a while to look 
 3 33 
 
A Ragamuffin Santa Claus 
 
 below his level for a comrade, especially if the one he 
 finds is a child. 
 
 An hour later a tall, well-built, and clean-limbed 
 young fellow and a boy of twelve who had been 
 tubbed, scrubbed, and dressed, and who still had that 
 same pair of marvellous eyes, sat in a quiet corner of 
 the Hotel Imperial Cafe. With the soft low music 
 which floated lazily to them from the palm room, 
 making familiar the unaccustomed luxury of it all, 
 and the undertone of conversation pervading the 
 whole room, Brink sat with his chin in his hands, 
 his elbows resting on the high arms of his chair, and 
 dreamed his dreams. There was a time when he had 
 been used to all this, when it had been part of his 
 life. The crowds of people, the suppers, and the 
 theatres had seemed necessary to him. If he thought 
 of the subject at all, it was that he should never get 
 along without them. But life out West alters a 
 man's way of looking at things. It gives him eyes 
 that see and ears that hear, and Brink thanked God 
 it had been so with him. It seemed good that he 
 realized all this superficial way of living, and that he 
 had learned to do without it. He had learned to 
 live after a pattern that she would approve if she 
 knew him now. She had always been above all this 
 sort of thing, farther than any girl he had ever known, 
 and that is what had first attracted him. Then they 
 had gone out of each other's lives as two people often 
 do, even when they are the best of friends. The 
 miles that separate the West from the East are al- 
 most too many to hold up a friendship for a long 
 time. He felt as if he would give a good deal now 
 to be able to go and see her and tell her how his 
 
 34 
 
A Ragamuffin Santa Claus 
 
 ideals had changed, and how in a way she had been 
 the cause of it. 
 
 " Say, Biffy, can't yer cut it short ? Ain't we 
 a-goin j to eat them aisters ? " and with a leap of four 
 years and anywhere from two to four thousand miles, 
 Brink came back to earth. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Charles, they were certainly 
 put here for some such purpose. But I was thinking 
 of old times; and by the way, Kid, when you grow 
 up, that 's one thing you want to learn to forget. 
 If you don't, you will be sorry some day." 
 
 They talked on about all the things that are under 
 the sun, as a man and a boy will. The uncouth 
 angles of Charlie's manner wore off as the meal grew 
 long, and over the sirloin Brink told some of his old 
 football experiences into two eyes that struck him 
 as being the most sympathetic he had ever seen. 
 Finally, when the coffee came and while Brink was 
 watching the smoke of his cigar drift about the palms 
 that stood at the back of their table, he asked the boy 
 what he was going to do the next day. 
 
 " Holy Moses ! " the Kid commented, sitting bolt 
 upright in his chair, " if I ain't forgot the hull kit. 
 There 's another layout comin' ter-morrow wot a 
 young lady gives twelve of us fellars. She 's done 
 it fer two Christmases, and you can jest bet yer life 
 dere bully feeds. And say, Biny, if that girl ain't a 
 corker, Hully Gee ! " 
 
 " But what is her name ? " Brink asked, with a 
 twinkle in his eye. " Jones, or Smith or " 
 
 " Ah, gowan, she ain't got no name like that. De 
 kids all calls her Miss Helen ; but her name is Button, 
 or leastwise it sounds like some such." 
 
 35 
 
A Ragamuffin Santa Claus 
 
 Brink took a firmer hold on his chair, as the room 
 seemed to swim around in the soft music and the 
 blur of the lights. But he was used to taking things 
 coolly, and he asked in his usual way, 
 
 " You don't mean Miss Helen Denton, do you ? " 
 
 u Shure ; did n't I tell you it looked like Button ? " 
 Charlie replied. Then his eyes opened again in 
 amazement as they had once before. " Say, Biffy, 
 how did yer ever tumble ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I used to know her," he answered quietly ; 
 but somewhere inside him there was a tumult going 
 on, and he felt in his chest as if it was going to burst. 
 The wonder of it all amazed and awed him, so that 
 he could n't reason. All he could realize was that 
 the unexpected had happened. 
 
 " So you think she 's pretty fine, do "you ? " he 
 said at last, after his wonder had partly gone and 
 not knowing what he did say. 
 
 " I could lick der fellar wot says she ain't." 
 Then, " You 'd orter come too ter-morrer ; you 
 ain't no other place ter go." 
 
 "Well, Charles, I rather think I will," Brink 
 said ; adding in an undertone, " For she 's the finest 
 girl in the world, and I could help you, Charles, to 
 lick the fellow that says she ain't." 
 
 It was late when they said good-night, out in front 
 of the hotel. Charles had walked off several feet 
 when Brink called him back and looked him all over. 
 Then he said simply, 
 
 " I want to take back what I said about forgetting 
 the past. Don't ever let go of any memory that has 
 a girl in it, Kid." 
 
 36 
 
Nantucket 
 
 NANTUCKET 
 
 ADRIFT in taintless seas she dreaming lies, 
 The island city, time-worn now, and gray, 
 Her dark wharves ruinous, where once there lay 
 Tall ships, at rest from far-sea industries. 
 The busy hand of trade no longer plies 
 Within her streets. In quiet court and way 
 The grass has crept and sun and shadows play 
 Beneath her elms, in changing traceries ; 
 The years have claimed her theirs, and the still peace 
 Of wind and sun and mist, blown thick and white, 
 Has folded her. The voices of the seas 
 Through many a soft, bright day and brooding night 
 Have wrought her silence, wide as they, and deep. 
 And dreaming of the past, she waits asleep. 
 
 37 
 
The End of It 
 
 THE END OF IT 
 
 UP and down the village street the lights were 
 fast disappearing. But the windows of the 
 tavern were illumined with a ruddy glow, and from 
 out the half-opened door a tipsy singing reeled and 
 staggered into the cool night air. It was a decrep't 
 old building, leaning groggily backward from the street 
 and sidewise toward the new brick milliner's shop 
 next door, which held itself stiffly erect as if in prudish 
 uneasiness lest her disreputable old neighbor should 
 require assistance. And yet, for all its befuddled 
 decrepitude, the old tavern seemed to have a con- 
 sciousness of its own importance in village affairs and 
 to be leering out of its bleary, steamy windows at the 
 huddled collection of cottages around it, which shrank 
 away into the protecting darkness. 
 
 Presently a woman came out of a house a little 
 way up the street, stood for a moment in the glaring 
 light before the door, and then walked on with a sigh. 
 But in a moment she turned and came back, and 
 stood as if debating whether or not to enter. Mean- 
 while the singing increased in loudness, and was fol- 
 lowed by a vociferous clapping of hands and stamping 
 of feet. A few rods away the waters of a mill- 
 stream were pouring over a dam, and their continuous 
 roar mingled strangely with the hilarious sounds of 
 carousal. How doggedly imperative was the voice of 
 the water, as if the stream were the spokesman of fate 
 
 38 
 
The End of It 
 
 itself, now exhorting, now entreating, now command- 
 ing, now forbidding, and yet always the same monoto- 
 nous roar. 
 
 The woman shivered. Within the tavern the 
 carouse gave no signs of coming to an end. At last 
 the woman entered the door. 
 
 After a moment or two the noise abated somewhat, 
 and the woman's voice could be heard, urgent and 
 persuasive, interrupted at first by whinings, then angry 
 remonstrances, and then by imprecations. Finally 
 there was a crash as of a falling table, followed by a 
 scuffling of feet, and the woman appeared on the 
 sidewalk pale and trembling. Still, she did not leave 
 the place, but crouched in the shadow. 
 
 And now again the roar of the waterfall was 
 carried to her ears, exhorting, entreating, command- 
 ing, forbidding as before. She arose, but stood in 
 hesitation, listening intently. How entirely removed 
 from her seemed the washings and ironings, cleanings 
 and mendings, gossipings and squabblings of a few 
 hours ago. It would be impossible to go back to 
 that life now, quite out of the question. The 
 woman turned and walked listlessly in the direction 
 whence came the sound of the stream. From their 
 places in the distant heaven the outposts of the 
 immortals looked down at her with aristocratic 
 indifference. 
 
 39 
 
Barbara 
 
 W 
 
 BARBARA 
 
 HEN the green o' the year comes back, 
 
 my dear, 
 
 Comes back to the patient hills, 
 And weary faith may keep again, 
 True to the call of sun and rain, 
 Spring's covenant, in daffodils, 
 
 It 's little I '11 care, though the days grow fair 
 And time takes the April track 
 When the heart of Spring is buried deep 
 In the quiet place where you lie asleep, 
 When the green o' the year comes back. 
 
 40 
 
"Greater Love Hath No Man" 
 
 "GREATER LOVE HATH NO MAN" 
 
 UT if you will pardon me, Colonel, this matter 
 is entirely out of your province. You have 
 never married, you cannot understand. It is not a 
 question of social position or of wealth. I don't see 
 that it is at all a matter for discussion. It *s simply 
 that I love her ; " and the younger man rose and 
 knocked the ashes sharply from his pipe. 
 
 " Yes," said the Colonel, " I believe that for the 
 present at least you do love her, but I don't think 
 you fully understand quite what an important step 
 this is in your life. You have n't spoken to her as 
 yet ? " queried the elder man, anxiously. 
 
 "No, not definitely, but I think we understand 
 each other. I am to call to-night, and I hope " 
 
 u Precisely," said the Colonel, with a sigh of relief. 
 " Now all I ask of you, Bob, is that you take time 
 to know your own mind. Time is the only register 
 we have of love's depth, and while you are proving 
 your love for her you can test her love for you." 
 
 " I need no proof of the one, I would not test the 
 other except by her answer," said Wayne, proudly. 
 
 The Colonel smiled, half in indulgence, half in 
 admiration. "When your father died," he con- 
 tinued, a he intrusted you to my care. As a boy 
 you won the love of all your associates. Your 
 career at college so far as I know was like most 
 young men of your position. You have never given 
 
"Greater Love Hath No Man" 
 
 me any trouble. Sometimes I have even felt that 1 
 was not keeping my promise to your father very 
 well, because I let you carry out a good many notions 
 of your own which in themselves were unwise, 
 merely that you should come to depend on yourself. 
 Soon you will have grown beyond me, and acting as 
 I am trying to, for your own good, I wish you might 
 respect this, my last wish. Wait a month, wait a 
 year. Understand that you must love this girl better, 
 and be willing to do more for her than you would 
 for your own self. Understand that it means the 
 total abandonment of your free-and-easy life. You 
 cease to consult merely your own wishes and pleas- 
 ures. For a while even the club will be out of the 
 question. 
 
 u Most people are selfish, and you will find it very 
 hard to change a life to which you have been accus- 
 tomed for almost thirty years, unless you get in re- 
 turn the best love a woman can give. Your name, 
 your wealth, make you a desirable husband, from a 
 worldly standpoint alone. Miss Kent is nothing if 
 not worldly, and you know yourself that her position 
 in society, the training of her whole life, would lead 
 her to marry for convenience rather than love." 
 
 Wayne rose with a little gesture of despair. " It 
 is very hard," he said quickly. " I appreciate your 
 affection for me. I know you are looking to my 
 best interests, and you purposely make it very hard 
 for me to refuse you." The young man leaned on 
 the mantelpiece and gazed out through the club 
 window. Outside the lights were beginning to 
 twinkle cheerfully. He stood there for some mo- 
 ments, scowling moodily out upon the busy panorama 
 
 42 
 
"Greater Love Hath No Man" 
 
 before him. The Colonel noted his advantage and 
 remained silent. Suddenly Wayne wheeled sharply 
 around. 
 
 " I want you to understand," he said, " that I am 
 obeying you merely out of respect for you, and not 
 because I admit that your course is wiser or better 
 for me. I think you are wholly wrong." 
 
 The elder man nodded. "You will have to go 
 away," he said meditatively, u and I think yes, 
 it will do you good to go out and inspect your mines 
 in Colorado. It will give you some idea of the 
 extent of your own property and the labor you 
 control. Your mind will be healthier when you 
 return." The Colonel glanced at his watch. 
 
 u Send your man right over to pack your trunks," 
 he continued; "you can just comfortably make the 
 ten o'clock limited." 
 
 " And my engagement for this evening ? " 
 
 " Is the last thing I want you to keep. Send 
 your regrets immediately. Urgent business has called 
 you out of town. You don't expect to be back for 
 some time." 
 
 That night Wayne gazed moodily out upon the som- 
 bre Hudson, and wondered grimly whether the Colonel 
 had been as merciless in war. 
 
 After almost a year's absence in the far West a 
 dinner at the club is an especial luxury. So Wayne 
 thought as he lingered over his coffee. He was 
 feeling especially satisfied with himself in the knowl- 
 edge of having done something and done it well, 
 and of having conquered himself and for the time 
 being set aside his own wishes. It did seem that 
 
 43 
 
Greater Love Hath No Man" 
 
 the Colonel was right, after all. His mines had 
 interested him immensely. He had spent a good 
 deal of labor and thought on them, and his efforts 
 had succeeded far beyond his hopes. As for Miss 
 Kent well, it is harder for love to find entrance 
 into the life of a busy man, and though absence may 
 throw a halo about certain memories, still, memories 
 will fade and 
 
 Wayne was musing over his cigar ; just now he 
 was thinking how good it seemed to be back in New 
 York, and to see his old haunts once more. He 
 rejoiced in the possession of numerous friends who 
 he knew cared for him and who would be glad to see 
 him. In the cafe several women had nodded brightly 
 to him. The pompous head waiter beamed kindly 
 upon him. Even the soft, mellow lights around him 
 seemed to blink a lazy welcome to him. Yet, as he 
 sat there thinking, he grew uneasy. In spite of 
 himself a certain face would keep appearing before 
 his eyes. " It 's no use, old man," he said to him- 
 self. u Might just as well stop wishing. Nobody 's 
 in town in August." Just then Randall rushed up. 
 
 u Mighty glad to see you, Bob ; we 've missed 
 you wonderfully. How 've you been ? No, much 
 obliged, can't stop now. Yachting party coming up 
 from Newport ; got to order dinner and dress. Say, 
 can't you join us ? About nine I should say. 
 That *s good. Helen Kent is to be there, and, of 
 course, Sir Henry Linton. Biggest catch of the 
 season. Well, see you later ; don't forget." 
 
 Wayne sank back in his chair. " And, of course, 
 Sir Henry Linton." The light hurt his eyes, the 
 room seemed very close. He rose and walked slowly 
 
 44 
 
" Greater Love Hath No Man " 
 
 out of the club and down the avenue toward his 
 rooms. Someway he longed for the plains of Colo- 
 rado where he could see for miles and miles. For a 
 long time he sat in his rooms looking very gravely at 
 a picture he held in his hand, and occasionally address- 
 ing it. As it was, he was late at the club. His face 
 betrayed no emotion as he took his seat next Miss Kent. 
 
 Their greeting was that of people who had come 
 to know each other well in a purely worldly way. 
 Across from them sat Sir Henry Linton, a distin- 
 guished looking man, rather well on in years, with a 
 kindly expression on his face which was irresistible. 
 From time to time he smiled knowingly and rather 
 gravely at Miss Kent. The latter was especially 
 brilliant ; she talked of everything anything, and 
 the dinner was half over before Wayne had a chance 
 to defeat her too evident purpose in so doing. Then 
 he leaned over toward her. 
 
 " You have changed," he said, " and I am sorry, 
 because," he continued, " I came here to-night 
 especially to see you and to tell you something. It 
 was a little unfinished story which has been on my 
 mind for some time, and which I wanted you to 
 finish. Your demeanor to-night tells me that the 
 ending would not be a happy one, and yet I wish 
 for my own peace of mind that I might tell it to 
 you." 
 
 " How very romantic ! " she said. " Of course 
 you may. I will try not to disappoint your expecta- 
 tions as to the ending." 
 
 u It is very short," he began. tc A young man 
 whom I knew intimately, grew to care very much 
 for a certain girl, and she was especially kind to him. 
 
 45 
 
" Greater Love Hath No Man " 
 
 Finally he decided to tell her that he loved her, but 
 one of his very best friends advised him to wait 
 to go away in short, to test the girl's love. So the 
 young man went away, much against his wishes ; and 
 when he returned several things told him that the 
 girl did not love him, in fact had grown to care for 
 another man. Now " 
 
 u It seems to me," she broke in, <c that your friend 
 is rather too weak and impossible to be the hero of a 
 story. As I knew him, he played a very different 
 role, especially towards the end. Shall I tell you 
 what I know of him ? " He nodded silently. 
 
 u Mine is not a pretty story," she began, u and it 
 is especially hard for me to tell it to you. A girl 
 who had lived always in the whirl of a social life, 
 and who had been taught that friendships were 
 merely maintained in so far as they were a means to 
 an end, and that all life was but a game of give and 
 take, of which a strict account must be kept; in 
 short, a girl who had never been taught to consider 
 her heart, came to know and to like a certain man. 
 
 " She liked him because he was so unselfish 
 because he cared for her, for herself alone. He was 
 a man whom any girl could love, and he was very 
 devoted. There could be only one result. Then, 
 just as their friendship was budding into love just 
 as the world began to take on a new and happy light 
 for her he went away. 
 
 " For some time she continued to believe in him, 
 then, as month after month went by, she learned that 
 he was only one of a great many young men who 
 have been bred to look down upon that which is low 
 and vulgar, and who turn for their amusement to 
 
 4-5 
 
" Greater Love Hath No Man" 
 
 girls of their own class, and gain favors and privileges 
 from these girls by promises they never expect to 
 keep by all manner of white society lies whose 
 greatest pleasure is in overcoming some girl, in spoil- 
 ing what few good ideals she has, and then leav- 
 ing her for fields untried, unconquered." She had 
 spoken impulsively and very earnestly ; but when she 
 paused there was a little droop about her mouth, and 
 a look almost of helplessness in her eyes. 
 
 " Is that all ? " said Wayne, harshly. She threw 
 her head back, then let it fall wearily forward. 
 
 "No," she said softly. "No, a man came who 
 offered her everything, everything but love, and in 
 place of that honor and devotion." 
 
 " And she took it ? " he said dully. 
 
 " May God forgive her, yes," she answered. 
 
 They rose from the table ; seemingly no one had 
 noticed them, yet Sir Henry was no longer smiling. 
 Wayne's face was set and expressionless. He made 
 his way through the diners out on to one of the little 
 balconies overlooking the park. He saw the happy 
 little lights strung so regularly along the avenues 
 of his past life ; then he turned, and in the gloomy 
 vistas of the park he saw his future. 
 
 She had slipped on a long white cloak. " I came," 
 she said, " to say good-night, and perhaps " 
 
 " Good-night," he said. 
 
 Her eyes filled with tears. " Have you no mercy ? " 
 she said ; " I spoke hastily to-night. I was unjust 
 to you and to myself, and I have come to say that I 
 
 am sorry." 
 
 She paused, but Wayne was still silent. She 
 raised her head with an effort. u If I must go I 
 
 47 
 
" Greater Love Hath No Man " 
 
 want always to think of you as a very dear friend. 
 I have wronged you. Say you forgive me." She 
 stretched out her arms toward him. 
 
 " Don't," he said fiercely. " I can't hear you 
 blame yourself." He took her hands impulsively in 
 his. In another moment she was sobbing like a 
 child in his arms. 
 
 Unnoticed by them a third figure had stepped 
 through the window. It was Sir Henry. He 
 stopped abruptly, with one hand on the casement ; 
 the other hand closed slowly and his shoulders 
 straightened. Twice he started to speak. 
 
 " Pardon me," he said. 
 
 Wayne drew back, but kept his arm defiantly about 
 Miss Kent. Then slowly his hands sank to his 
 sides. But Sir Henry was not looking at him. 
 
 He spoke slowly. u Is this the other man you 
 told me of, Miss Kent ? " 
 
 She nodded silently. 
 
 tt And and do you love him ? " 
 
 Her only answer was a sob. For some few 
 moments Sir Henry was silent, looking first at 
 Wayne and then at her. His face was very white. 
 
 " Yes, it is best," he said softly. u I am growing 
 old, and she loves him." Then aloud : " Life itself 
 is too full of tragedies for people of your age to be 
 making them. There have been several in my life, 
 although never one just like this, but it is better that 
 I should bear it than you." Gently, like a father, he 
 stooped and kissed her. 
 
 " Good-night," he said. " May the best of this 
 life be yours always." 
 
 " I can't -- you must n't," broke in Wayne. 
 48 
 
" Greater Love Hath No Man"" 
 
 a It is not for you," said Sir Henry, coldly ; and 
 then before they could stop him he had stepped 
 through the window and was gone. 
 
 Going through the lobby, they met the Colonel, 
 who immediately and forcibly remarked that he 'd be 
 damned ; which remark, even as events turned out, 
 was undoubtedly true. 
 
 49 
 
On Board the " Golden Swallow 
 
 ON BOARD THE "GOLDEN SWALLOW" 
 
 A. D. 1 7 
 
 NOT two days out from the Spanish Isles, 
 With the wind a-beam and fast, 
 Skimmed the " Golden Swallow," plunder-piled, 
 And the Black Flag at her mast. 
 
 Young Joris climbed to a rum-cask high 
 In the midst of the lounging throng, 
 
 Flashed a smile through his bearded lips, 
 And trolled a catch of a song. 
 
 " Ho ! for the path that the gray gull flies, 
 The wake o'er the western sea 
 
 Up with the anchor and trim the sails 
 And out to the open free ! 
 
 " And here to harry, and there to spoil 
 
 Of booty, of gems or gold, 
 No palace so strong nor fortress stanch 
 
 As to daunt the pirates bold ! 
 
 "The weakling lords in their moated halls 
 
 Grow suddenly pale for fear, 
 Madre de Dios ! their good wine flows 
 
 In pledge to the buccaneer ! 
 5 
 
On Board the " Golden Swallow " 
 
 u There *s naught so sweet as a young maid's lip ! 
 
 Or better than good old rum, 
 Wine, maids and gold, for the pirate bold, 
 
 A fig for the Kingdom Come ! " 
 
 And out to the west from the Spanish Isles, 
 
 With the wind a-beam and fast, 
 Skimmed the " Golden Swallow " plunder-piled 
 
 And the Black Flag at her mast ! 
 
A Stampede 
 
 A STAMPEDE 
 
 TTTVDR several weeks the cowboys making up the 
 " Double X " outfit had been gathering three- 
 year-old steers for the fall market. The results were 
 as pretty a bunch of cattle as could be found in 
 Texas; four thousand five hundred of them, and 
 every one fat and in perfect condition. The wagon 
 was camped for the night in the valley of White 
 Deer Creek, two miles from the bluffs along the 
 Canadian. Three more days would see the bunch 
 safely packed in trains on their way to the Chicago 
 market, so that it was most important that they 
 should be kept from running an ounce of fat off in 
 stampede. So far they had been handled as easily 
 as sheep, and the outfit was proud of itself. 
 
 The men had finished the evening pork and beans, 
 and were saddling and staking out their horses for 
 night guard. Over the buttes back of the Canadian, 
 a bank of black clouds was rapidly covering the 
 whole western horizon. Like the distant roaring of 
 an old bull preparing for battle, angry mutterings of 
 thunder could be heard, while the fitful lightning 
 flashes showed the yellow flood of the great river 
 lashed into white caps. All the signs pointed to a 
 nasty night, and Cal Merchant, the foreman of the 
 outfit, gathered his men together at the tail of the 
 wagon, where the sweep of the wind was broken. 
 
 5* 
 
A Stampede 
 
 "Boys," said he, "there's trouble ahead of us. 
 We 're in for a hell of a storm, and I want you all to 
 remember that the bunch of red beauties out there 
 has got to be held together if it takes every horse and 
 every man in the outfit to do it. As soon as they 
 break loose, there 's eighty thousand dollars gone to 
 the devil, 'cause every one of 'em will run over the 
 bluffs into the Canadian. Remember, turn em* into 
 the sand hills if they start to run. We '11 double the 
 guard so that every man stands twice for an hour at a 
 time. First guard had better go out now." 
 
 As the crowd was breaking up, Joe, the horse 
 wrangler, commonly known as u The Kid," timidly 
 said : " Cal, ain't you goin' to let me help hold 'em ? 
 I 've got Pinto saddled, and I reckon he can run 
 around any steer in the Panhandle." 
 
 "All right, Kid," was the reply, " if you 're so 
 keen to try, turn out with the third guard." 
 
 The promised storm came, and came with a fury that 
 bent the cottonwoods along the creek bottom almost 
 flat, and blew the embers of the dying fire in a long, 
 red stream up the valley. After the wind, came the 
 rain hissing through the dried buffalo grass, which 
 cringed and writhed like a monster cowering under 
 the stinging blows from some giant's hand. The 
 cattle stood huddled together with heads to the 
 ground, all facing away from the storm, only held 
 from drifting with it by the shouts and yells of the 
 men who rode up and down before the line of sullen, 
 lowered horns. 
 
 In this fashion the hours dragged slowly by till the 
 third guard came on. Each moment the cattle be- 
 came more and more restless. Occasionally some 
 
 53 
 
A Stampede 
 
 steer would make a dash through the line for free- 
 dom, only to be turned in again after a mad run of 
 a hundred yards. By this time every man in the 
 outfit was on his horse riding around the bunch. 
 
 It was the Kid's first experience with " snaky " 
 cattle, and as he climbed on to Pinto, a white and 
 pink spindle-legged Mexican pony, and settled him- 
 self deep in the saddle, he resolved to show the boys 
 that he was as good a cowpuncher as any of them. 
 Taking his place in the circle next to Cal, he rode 
 slowly up and down the restless, ever-changing line. 
 It was cold work after the first glow of excitement 
 died away, and his hands grew so numb from the 
 lashing of the rain that he could hardly keep his grasp 
 on the bridle. After what seemed to him an infinite 
 age of waiting came the long expected. A bolt of 
 lightning crashed its way from the blackness above. 
 Ripping down through a cottonwood, it disappeared 
 into the trembling earth. Almost before the Kid 
 could gather his reeling senses, came a hoarse, wild 
 shout from Cal, u They 're loose, boys ! Get after 
 'em ! " The whole herd of cattle, stark mad from 
 fear, was flying down the valley towards the bluffs 
 and to certain destruction. 
 
 A fierce, deep excitement took hold of the Kid. 
 Forgetting the dangers from the uneven ground and 
 the grinding hoofs, he gave Pinto quirk and spur, 
 urging him to the front of the flying column. Cal 
 had told him to turn them from the bluff, and turn 
 them he would, if Pinto's legs could do it. He lost 
 all fear as he raced along by the stampeding cattle. 
 Pinto seemed to skim the earth as he settled into his 
 long racing stride, and the Kid, trusting all things to 
 
 54 
 
A Stampede 
 
 his horse, threw away the reins. He was barely con- 
 scious of bogs and gullies jumped in the wild race ; 
 of other men who shouted to him as he flew by, 
 words which blurred senselessly in his brain. The 
 glaring eyes and tossing sea of horns so close to his 
 left hand had no terror for him, all his thought was 
 to reach and turn the leaders in time to save them. 
 Behind him beat the merciless hoofs as, on a long 
 diagonal, he cut in before the herd ; ahead were the 
 jagged bluffs of the Canadian. Now he was almost 
 even with the leaders, but he could hear above the 
 thunder of the galloping cattle, the roar of the Cana- 
 dian on its rocks. Slowly, slowly, however, the 
 leaders were turning to the left into the sand hills. 
 The sight of the hatless, yelling devil on a white 
 pony ahead of them was worse than the unknown 
 terror behind. 
 
 The men of the Double X outfit don't care to talk 
 of the stampede on White Deer, for they all liked the 
 Kid. They found him next day under Pinto, at the 
 bottom of a crevasse leading to the river. He had 
 saved the herd by the narrow margin of twenty yards, 
 but Pinto was running free and did not turn with the 
 cattle. 
 
 The company, however, paid its usual five per 
 cent dividend that fall. 
 
 55 
 
Cervera at Annapolis 
 
 CERVERA AT ANNAPOLIS 
 
 THEY crowded round to see him, great and small, 
 The conquered admiral of a conquered fleet, 
 Shorn of his glories, thrown from his high seat, 
 Great by the very greatness of his fall. 
 Hope, fortune, honor, lost beyond recall, 
 Gray-haired and bitter-hearted ; doomed to meet 
 His country's censure, sharper than defeat, 
 His foeman's pity that was worst of all. 
 
 He heard them faintly, as one hears, amuse, 
 
 Amid his vision voices far away 
 
 That call him from sad dreams to sadder day ; 
 
 For he was where he would be could he choose, 
 
 At peace beneath the waters of the bay 
 
 Where all his ships lay silent, with their crews. * 
 
Advice 
 
 ADVICE 
 
 SOME one gave Tommy a nice, shiny dime. 
 Lollipop visions floated through Tommy's 
 head. 
 
 u Tommy, you must put the money the kind gen- 
 tleman gave you in your new bank," said Tommy's 
 Aunt Jemima. 
 
 Duty, that Dread Power, began chasing out the 
 visions, as Aunt Jemima did the hens with her broom 
 from the front garden. And they came back just as 
 the hens always did when Aunt Jemima's back was 
 turned. Nature in her lesser creations sets the poor 
 moral animal a shocking example. 
 
 But the dime slipped through the slot rather 
 slowly Aunt Jemima superintending. 
 
 This did not end the battle necessarily. Duty 
 usually won the first skirmish. There was a way 
 a skilful inversion of the bank by which the dime 
 might be brought back again under the laws of supply 
 and demand ; it had been tried before in cases of ex- 
 treme pressure and great financial stringency. But 
 detection was sure sooner or later. 
 
 So, really, the conflict was but just begun. On 
 one side there were the visions aforementioned ever 
 increasing in their sugary seductiveness ; and on the 
 other side, supplementing the Dread Power, whose 
 prestige began to wane when her earthly representa- 
 tive was no longer at hand, other visions confine- 
 
 57 
 
Advice 
 
 ment to the society of one's bedchamber furniture for 
 twenty-four hours ; and then, perhaps more remote, a 
 midnight call from the family physician with the con- 
 comitant unpleasantness for a dime, if expended in 
 a candy shop with the thrifty prudence (I speak ad- 
 visedly) of seven years old, can do wonders. 
 
 I do not know which side carried off the laurels. 
 A cynical person might say that it mattered little, 
 there being something to be gained and something to 
 be lost in either case. But you can read as much of a 
 moral, or of an immoral, into this as you choose. I 
 merely relate the situation as one capable of being 
 reflected upon. 
 
Sacrament 
 
 SACRAMENT 
 
 GOWL'D deep in mist the great hills kneeled, 
 While on the East's high-altar bright, 
 The Host of Dawn lay, full revealed, 
 In the clear monstrance of the Light. 
 
 59 
 
is Son's Enemies 
 
 HIS SON'S ENEMIES 
 
 AT a small table in a cafe of a low order, on one 
 of the many side streets that lead down to the 
 Seine, near the morgue, sat Jean Coqulard. His body 
 was slouched forward, and his long muscular hands 
 clasped before him, in what a careless passer-by might 
 call an attitude of prayer. But his eyes looked 
 straight ahead in a peculiar, hard, vacant stare. Few, 
 if any, noticed him, and if they did, probably judged 
 him from his dress to be an old habitue of the place, 
 and there more on sufferance than anything else. 
 The room was thick with cheap tobacco smoke, 
 which the wind, when the street door was opened, 
 carried across the place in little whirlwinds. The 
 lights from many cigarettes showed dimly like glow- 
 worms in the dense air. At the other end of the 
 room some one was playing a mandolin and singing in 
 a maudlin voice. 
 
 The kerosene lamps had begun to smoke at this 
 late hour, and the people passing in and out seemed 
 out of proportion, and like the fantastic shadows cast 
 on the roadside at night by the side lamps of a dog- 
 cart. Jean saw none of these things. He was think- 
 ing of the journey he had just taken to the great 
 prison outside the city walls, where low malefactors 
 were confined for short terms and worse ones received 
 a five or six years' sentence. 
 
 Jean's son was one of the latter. For repeated 
 small crimes he had at last been sentenced for four 
 
 60 
 
His Son's Enemies 
 
 years, and his father had seen him enter the great 
 iron-barred gates of the prison, very much as he 
 would see him enter his workshop in the morning, 
 knowing that a certain time must elapse, a necessary 
 evil, before the evening would free him to wander 
 once more in his old haunts. His sentence expired 
 that evening, and he had gone to get him, but was in- 
 formed that on the day before his son had died of 
 some disease, whose unfamiliar name he could not 
 remember, and that a Mass had been said for the 
 repose of his soul, and he was now number 4761 in 
 the prison graveyard. The warden actually congratu- 
 lated Jean on his good fortune. " No one like that, 
 that son of yours, ever comes to any good. I have 
 been here twelve years and can tell. A fellow of his 
 particular stamp never reforms. Perhaps Monsieur has 
 other better sons ? Yes ? " But Jean did not answer 
 him, but walked back to the cafe like one in a dream. 
 So his son was dead, his little Henri, who was such 
 a fine fellow, no better company than he ; and now 
 he was dead. He could imagine how he had died, 
 there in the prison, alone, with none of his friends 
 around him, looking out longingly, perhaps, out of 
 the little iron-barred window, out over the plain 
 where the soldiers drilled, to the walls of the city, 
 where the lights twinkled, and where the great Eiffel 
 Tower rose straight and slim, like a great exclamation 
 point out of the flat page of the city. He sat and 
 thought and lived over again their lives which had 
 been so entwined, thought how as a little fellow he 
 had carried him in his arms of a Sunday to the Bois 
 to see the crowd, or gone with him on one of the 
 little steamers that go up and down the Seine, and 
 
 61 
 
His Son's Enemies 
 
 when he was older how often they had spent the even- 
 ing together in some place of amusement. Yes, how 
 often at that cafe and at that very table. But Henri 
 had a weakness, was always taking little things that 
 were not his, and repeated offences had finally gotten 
 him this last sentence. Each time he had promised to 
 reform, but as often slipped from his good intentions. 
 The old story. 
 
 A great wave of anger overcame Jean; an un- 
 reasonable rage that longed to cry out, to bite, to tear 
 with the hands. What right had the officials to take 
 his son from him, to kill him like a rat in a trap out 
 there beyond the city walls ? He seized the bottle of 
 cognac that stood before him on the table, and drank 
 the remaining half without stopping. He smiled ; a 
 feeling of warmth came over him, and a numbness so 
 that the people talking round him seemed a great 
 way off. He rose, say ing to himself: "Now I know 
 the way. Now all will go well." 
 
 He went out and walked toward the Seine, which ran 
 black and oily at the lower end of the street. He came 
 to the edge and, leaning over the low railing, looked 
 into the water where the ripples made the reflection 
 of the gas-lamp above him waver and seem to beckon 
 to him. He heard a step approaching ; a gendarme 
 gorgeous in his blue and red uniform was making his 
 rounds, a comely young fellow, who whistled softly 
 to himself as he looked out over the water, thinking 
 perhaps of his mother in her little home in the Prov- 
 inces, to whom he was to send half his pay when he 
 received it at the end of the month. 
 
 Jean watched him and, as he did, the wave of 
 anger came over him again. So this was one of the 
 
 62 
 
His Son's Enemies 
 
 crew that had taken his son to that place to die. 
 This was one of those who had robbed him of his little 
 Henri. Well, he would show them. He 
 
 Two days later, far down the Seine, where the 
 fishing-boats from Havre anchor by the shores fringed 
 with tall Lombardy poplars, something red and blue 
 floated in mid-stream, face downwards. And an old 
 man jibbered and gnawed at his hands in a cell, from 
 the windows of which could be seen the plain where 
 the soldiers drill, stretching away to the walls of the 
 city, where the lights twinkled and the great tower 
 rose dimly through the darkness. For Jean Coqulard 
 was mad. 
 
Nox Christ! 
 
 NOX CHRISTI 
 
 A CHRISTMAS MYSTERY 
 
 PERSONS. 
 
 MATER, JOSEPHUS, PASTOR PRIMUS, PASTOR SECUNDUS, 
 ANGELI 
 
 SCENE. The Stable in Bethlehem. 
 
 Mater. 
 
 THE winter night is bleak and wild, 
 Yet one great star burns clear. 
 What aileth thee, my little child, 
 
 Thus crying out in fear, 
 What aileth thee, that thou shouldst weep? 
 See ! I will sing, and thou wilt sleep. 
 
 [Here shall she sing : 
 What gift shall the great ones bring ? 
 What gift for their new-born king ? 
 Red, red gold their gift shall be, 
 Fine tried gold for royalty. 
 
 What gift shall the maidens bring ? 
 What gift for their new-born king ? 
 Richly wrought embroideries 
 Of golden thread on peacock dyes. 
 
 What gift shall the people bring ? 
 What gift for their new-born king ? 
 
 [ The child wails again. 
 
Nox Christ! 
 
 Mater. Thy Mother watches, little child, 
 
 And safe upon her breast 
 Fear thou no hurtful thing or wild, 
 
 But sleep and take thy rest; 
 My Royal One, my Holy One, 
 
 Thou child of God, my little son ! 
 
 [Here shall enter JOSEPHUS. 
 
 Josephus. The inn is full, we must abide 
 
 Within this stable-place. 
 Ah ! .What is this lies at thy side ? 
 It is the child of grace ! 
 
 \IIe worships. 
 
 Hail ! Thou of angels' prophecy, 
 
 Hail ! Christ-child born our king to be ! 
 
 [Angeli heard as afar off. 
 
 Angell. IN TERRA PAX ET HOMINIBUS VOLUNTAS ! 
 
 Josephus. Lord, is it thus Thou com'st to reign 
 
 In such humility ? 
 On cushions soft Thou shouldst have lain, 
 
 Be clothed with majesty. 
 Mater. Rough swaddling-clothes must be Thy 
 
 wear, 
 Josephus. Thy throne, this manger rude and bare. 
 
 Angell. HOSANNA ! HOSANNA ! AMEN ! 
 
 [Here shall be heard without^ Pastores. 
 
 Pastores. Star-led come we o'er weald and wold, 
 
 We may not stop nor stay, 
 We seek the king so long foretold, 
 His star hath led the way. 
 
Nox Christi 
 
 Primus. See, it hath stopped ! Here hath it led ! 
 Secundus. What ! Here, our king ? This stable-shed ! 
 [Here shall enter Pastores. They stand amazed. 
 
 We find no king, but gently laid 
 Midst soft-eyed kine and mild, 
 
 We see a simple mother-maid 
 Smile o'er a little child. 
 
 A little child ! It cannot be 
 
 That he hath come to set us free ! 
 
 Angeli. HOSANNA ! HOSANNA ! IN EXCELSIS, GLORIA ! 
 
 Primus. Kneel, brother, kneel ! For this is He ; 
 
 We have not sought in vain. 
 Secundus. When angels worship, shall not we ? 
 
 O Little King, long reign ! 
 Both. The Angels' song we raise again. 
 
 Sing, IN EXCELSIS, GLORIA. 
 
 \And here subjoineth all. 
 AMEN! 
 
 66 
 
An Obscure Heroine 
 
 AN OBSCURE HEROINE 
 
 THEY were dining at Parker's. It was eleven 
 o'clock, and the Boy was trying not to 
 appear sleepy. 
 
 The big plumes of the actress* hat drooped be- 
 tween her eyes and the light that fell from many little 
 chandeliers. But in the seclusion of the shadow her 
 gaze was even more lustrous than before, and the 
 Boy, as he looked, dreamed that they were the eyes 
 of a leopard. Soft feathers and long eyelashes make 
 an intricate labyrinth and a very mazy jungle. 
 
 Making an effort, the Boy straightened up. 
 
 "Julie," he said. 
 
 <c Mm hm ? " said the actress, lifting her brows. 
 
 " You have beautiful eyes." 
 
 " Mm hm." The brows descended. 
 
 After a pause : 
 
 "Julie." 
 
 " Mm hm ? " toying with her champagne glass. 
 
 " I wish I wish you would n't would n't wear 
 that costume any more." 
 
 The actress pursed her lips and shrugged her 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Business," she said. 
 
 " But," objected the Boy, " don't you see how it 
 is ? that it 's different with us that we 've met so 
 often that hang it, Julie, that I love you ? " 
 
 The hat plumes rose and showed hungry eyes. 
 67 
 
An Obscure Heroine 
 
 " Say that again," she whispered fiercely. 
 
 " I love you," repeated the Boy, more firmly. " I 've 
 got a ranch out in Texas, twenty thousand head of 
 cattle and all that whole outfit, you know. The 
 Gov'nor gave it to me last Christmas." 
 
 He leaned forward with both elbows on the table, 
 his head between his palms. 
 
 " Say you '11 go," he whispered. 
 
 But the actress was silent, and the nodding plumes 
 concealed twin tears. 
 
 " Say you '11 go," reiterated the Boy. 
 
 " I '11 go," she said, looking up. " But it is early. 
 Order another bottle." And because she spoke so, 
 the Boy was blind and could not see that there was 
 Self-Denial in her face, and that the twin tears were 
 no longer those of Joy. 
 
 He turned to the waiter. The actress reached 
 out over his half-empty glass. There fell from a 
 locket on her wrist a little pellet, which fizzed and 
 dissolved. 
 
 They clinked glasses and drank. 
 
 Presently the Boy mumbled dizzily : " Why don't 
 we go ? I '11 order the cab." 
 
 Yes do so," said the actress. 
 
 But his eyes were heavy closed. She smiled 
 and rose. 
 
 " Take him to the Union Club when he wakes up," 
 she said to the attendant at the door. 
 
 And her face was radiant as she passed out into the 
 noise and electric glare of the street, and the twin 
 tears twinkled like two stars. '..: 
 
 68 
 
They Say her Face is Passing Fair 
 
 THEY SAY HER FACE IS PASSING 
 FAIR 
 
 THEY say her face is passing fair 
 And this her soul exemplifies 
 But, blinded by some passion's snare, 
 I looked and only saw her eyes. 
 
 They say her eyes are ocean's blue, 
 
 Nor fain would I their words condemn, 
 
 For never have I marked their hue 
 But only saw herself in them. 
 
The Shadow of the God 
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE GOD 
 
 WHITMAN sat on the veranda and looked 
 vacantly off toward the dull glow in the 
 west. Twilight in ^Yucatan is no time to discuss 
 mathematics, and, with a young lady in a great arm- 
 chair only a few feet away, it is sacrilege. Still, that 
 was the subject of the conversation. 
 
 " How absurd ! So you really think women are 
 poor mathematicians ? " 
 
 It was a hard question, but Whitman was not the 
 man to flinch. He had sedulously avoided girls ever 
 since he could remember, and could speak to them 
 with a frankness which the average person might 
 envy. 
 
 If he was sitting only four yards away from one 
 now, the Fates knew it was n't his fault. Two 
 months before, at the invitation of Senor Cortez, he 
 had come down to gather data for his father's great 
 work on " The Ancient Ruins of Yucatan," and no 
 one had been more surprised than he to find that 
 the hospitable household already entertained Tom 
 Wakely, of college memories, and Tom's uncle and 
 fair cousin. Tom was gunning, his uncle was 
 entomologizing, and Miss Ethel girls seem to 
 have no serious purpose in life anyway. 
 
 All this explains how he could say bravely that 
 mathematics seemed to be for men and poetry for 
 women. 
 
 70 
 
The Shadow of the God 
 
 This was too much, and Miss Ethel spoke out 
 impatiently : " Poetry ! pshaw ! Some day I think 
 [ can show you that it 's just the other way round." 
 
 Just then Tom, who sat off in a corner, with his 
 chair tilted at a most remarkable angle, broke in 
 with : " Oh, let up on this ; " the mathematics had 
 never been kind to him " day after to-morrow we 
 are going to leave Will here, digging around in the 
 ruins, and you '11 probably never see him again ; don't 
 get him all worked up. By the way, I 've made all 
 the arrangements for our visit to the temple of 
 Huetzilopochtli to-morrow " 
 
 44 Mercy ! " interrupted Miss Ethel, hands at ears. 
 " and also," he continued, " I have learned all 
 about it from the Don. You wanted to know 
 about those Edgar Allan Poe human sacrifices they 
 used to have. Here J s the story. People from all 
 around the country used to go there, and a good many 
 of course were of the very pious kind, who hung 
 around in the temple, worshipping like sixty till all 
 of a sudden they found that the water was beginning 
 to rise. This used to take place about supper-time, 
 and by that time a big obelisk outside had thrown a 
 shadow clear across the doorway. Well, this shadow 
 was a consecrated shadow some sun-god business 
 and to cross it was a horrible sacrilege. But the 
 people inside did n't know anything about the shadow, 
 ten to one; and if they did, it was n't any use; 
 they had stayed so late. Out they would rush, and 
 the priests tended to the rest. In that way they 
 satisfied Maya scruples and Aztec requirements. 
 About a hundred years ago the Don lost an ancestor 
 that way, and the old place has since been sacked, 
 
 7 1 
 
The Shadow of the God 
 
 and gone to rack and ruin ; but no one has been 
 down there for a century, and it would be nineteenth- 
 century enterprise to go down, count skeletons, and 
 bring away the temple in our pockets, with some 
 good lies and kodak-pictures." 
 
 The old Spanish clock downstairs was striking 
 eleven when Whitman retired that night ; but the 
 incessant clatter of the countless insects which make 
 hideous a tropic night, was more conducive to reverie 
 than to sleep. Airy visions floated in through the 
 window, and he was annoyed to see that every one 
 contained the graceful, girlish form he knew so well. 
 Probably it was because she was going away so soon, 
 but he felt that it was unworthy of his manly heart. 
 Still, she was a remarkable girl and had sailed through 
 Vassar in a halo of mathematical glory, with the 
 special commendation of Maria Mitchell ; and he 
 had a soft place in his heart for any one who courted 
 the mathematics. On the whole, he was ashamed 
 of such weakness and tried to imagine the phantom 
 forms less fair; and, failing in this, began to long 
 for potassium bromide, and ended up by counting 
 sheep jumping over a stile. It was no use; it 
 wasn't possible to get to sleep that way; and, be- 
 sides, there was a sheep who proved to be Monte- 
 zuma, last emperor of the Aztecs ; and he wished to 
 extract his young friend's heart in the good old 
 Aztec fashion; for as far as he Montezuma 
 could see, he had no use for it. Then Miss Ethel 
 for it was she said the square on the hypothe- 
 nuse was a circle It was six when he awoke, 
 and the horses were ready. It was a fine cold 
 winter day, with prospect of the thermometer stop- 
 
 72 
 
The Shadow of the God 
 
 ping at seventy-six degrees Fahrenheit. The old 
 Spaniard was to escort them the first mile, and he 
 rode off ahead with Miss Ethel. 
 
 The dew sent tiny javelins of light hither and 
 thither, and the perfume of the forest was a whole 
 Arabia and Cathay. If there is one thing rarer than 
 a day in. June, it is a day in Yucatan. 
 
 " Fine old fellow," quoth Thomas, nodding ahead 
 at the old Spaniard. " So she is," answered Whit- 
 man, showing that his thoughts were not on temples, 
 which in most languages are of anything but femi- 
 nine gender. "You'd better drop the c s,' old man. 
 You know you once said the nineteenth letter of the 
 English alphabet was a barbarous superfluity. She 
 is n't old, you know ; why, only well, log 2.30 1 030, 
 which is the same as not telling you." 
 
 "The characteristic is characteristic of you; make 
 
 it 3-" 
 
 " She won't thank you for that, and I '11 tell." 
 
 " She ' be hanged ! " 
 
 " Hope not, William. She likes you immensely, 
 only you 're such an old mathematical fossil. To 
 be grave, here 's a piece of sound advice. Be a fossil 
 all you want, only, when the time comes to act 
 don't stand like a stump as most fossils do. Other- 
 wise good-by to the ladies. Really, unless you 
 sober down from your sines and cosines, she can 
 never " 
 
 Here the old Spaniard came riding back, and a 
 tournament was prevented. They had now turned 
 into a by-path, remarkably well defined considering 
 that it led only to a disused temple and had been 
 barely saved from complete erasion by the nature of 
 
 73 
 
The Shadow of the God 
 
 the ground. Great bars of sunlight streamed through 
 the trees here and there, and stood out against the 
 woodland shadows like veins of silver in a coal- 
 measure. Hither and thither darted humming-birds 
 and orioles, and once a magnificent trogon swept 
 across the sunlight, trailing its gorgeous rainbow 
 behind it. 
 
 A mottled snake writhed across the path, and 
 everywhere were abundant life and the glory of early 
 morning. 
 
 It was well on in the day when they trotted out 
 on the plateau where the temple lay, sleeping in the 
 sun; for it is not wise to hurry in latitude twenty 
 degrees, even in winter. At the end of a long street, 
 lined on either side by great rough monoliths, was 
 the temple, a conical hill, hewn into terraces, and 
 overgrown with the radiant leaves of the yucca. All 
 underneath was the great cavern, with carved and 
 painted walls, and mighty altars long since cold. A 
 broad stone porch, high as a man's shoulders, and 
 furnished at both sides with a parapet, stood out 
 from the front of the temple ; and on the western 
 parapet to their right stood a short pillar like an 
 inverted Egyptian obelisk minus its apex. The 
 whole west face of the structure rose straight from 
 the sombre waters of a little lake, in whose depths 
 the pillar was mirrored clear and bright. 
 
 The doorway opened out on the great porch, and 
 was so low that it scarce gave passage for a man on 
 hands and knees. Grotesque sculptures appeared on 
 every hand ; one being especially noticeable where a 
 king wearing a crown which would have floored such 
 men as live in our days, poured holy water over a 
 
 74 
 
The Shadow of the God 
 
 dead cat, an occult ceremony which must have 
 stirred the holy enthusiasm of many a pious heart. 
 
 " Well," said Whitman, u it's easy to believe 
 Tom's story now. That lake is plainly an intermit- 
 tent spring, and any one can see that the shadow from 
 that pillar will lie almost directly across the door- 
 way to-night. The man who tarried too long in 
 there tarried till the vultures were satisfied out here ; " 
 and he looked at a great bird soaring a thousand feet 
 above them. 
 
 Miss Ethel shivered, and would not sit in the 
 shade of the eastern pylon ; so, as soon as they 
 had looked around, and had ascertained that the 
 entrance passage plunged steeply down into the hill, 
 they went off to sit by the lake-side. 
 
 It was a weird spot in that hoary sepulchre of an 
 Ancient faith, but Tom was irrepressible. " Great 
 old building ; humph ! Eleven o'clock ; at three I am 
 going to explore the whole thing inside. It J s as 
 big as all creation, and will take the afternoon ; 
 besides, I have n't seen any skeletons." 
 
 " You '11 get lost, sir j it 's a regular labyrinth 
 inside," objected Ethel. 
 
 u There are hands cut in the rock at every cross- 
 roads to show the way, and look at all these 
 candles." 
 
 " But the old priests " 
 
 u Dead and gone a century." 
 
 " But some of them might " 
 
 " None of them do. You 're nervous, miss." 
 
 She flushed, and said something about intuition of 
 women. 
 
 " Stops up at the Rio Grande." 
 75 
 
The Shadow of the God 
 
 Such logic was invincible, and yet she seemed 
 dissatisfied. At length she got him to promise to 
 come out before the shadow reached the door ; and 
 as she seemed very worried and anxious, the conces- 
 sion was made and Tom was careful to keep his 
 promises. But here a difficulty arose. Little was 
 known of the temple interior, but by common report 
 it was a small edition of the Mammoth Cave. How 
 could one inside know when the shadow reached the 
 door ? It had been taken for granted that Whitman 
 should stay out with Miss Ethel, for she would 
 never consent to enter, even if it were feasible. He 
 might go in and give warning, but the chances of 
 his finding Tom were ridiculously small, and Tom 
 could n't keep running back to the entrance to find 
 out. 
 
 " I '11 tell you," said Tom, " work it out by 
 mathematics ; that will be sport. Make Ethel do it. 
 There, my dear, is a chance to show that men are 
 poets, and women mathematicians." 
 
 She started at having her words thrown up at her 
 so soon, and colored deeply, but she felt that the 
 reputation of her sex rested upon her. She threw 
 her head back and a little to one side, defiantly, as 
 women will when combative, and accepted the 
 challenge. 
 
 Out came Whitman's long lead-pencil and mathe- 
 matical tables, and Tom brought forth a dilapidated 
 note-book. Whitman's omnipresent tape-measure 
 on the end of a stick showed the height of the pillar 
 above the terrace to be fifteen feet. How long 
 would it take the shadow to block a doorway forty- 
 nine feet distant? This was child's play for a 
 
 76 
 
The Shadow of the God 
 
 Vassar girl. Find the angle which the sun made 
 with the summit of the pillar ; divide by ninety 
 degrees, and multiply the number of hours between 
 noon and sunset by this proper fraction. Now the 
 sun was setting at forty minutes past five to-night ; so 
 there were all the data. 
 
 "Don't forget the refraction," said Whitman, 
 with a laugh. Now refraction would have altered 
 the result some three minutes, but Miss Ethel was 
 thrown into consternation ; for all she knew, it might 
 make the difference of an hour. She bit thoughtfully 
 at the pencil, and the point broke. Whitman shar- 
 pened it for her. Just then she saw a table of re- 
 fraction coefficients ; thank Heaven, she knew how 
 to use them ! It was all on page twenty-seven ; she 
 remembered it all by heart. The amount of mathe- 
 matics a young lady can get by rote is amazing. She 
 uttered a sigh of relief; she realized now how 
 frightened she had been, for the figures gyrated in all 
 directions, and ciphers and decimal points kept dis- 
 appearing ; she must be careful, or she would get 
 something down wrong. Whitman should never 
 know how near he had come to catching her, and 
 the mathematical reputation of her sex was preserved 
 in its integrity, so far as she was concerned. 
 
 There, the problem was done; at 5.01 P.M., 
 precisely, the shadow would reach the doorway. 
 Tom was to allow five minutes lee-way, and come 
 out at 4.56. 
 
 As it came on toward three o'clock, they strolled 
 up to the terrace. The sun did not strike the rock 
 so blindingly now, and they started, as they saw on 
 the lintel of the door, the bloody imprint of a human 
 
 77 
 
The Shadow of the God 
 
 hand. But it was only that strange symbol puzzle 
 of the antiquarian, which peers out from tangled 
 underbrush and yawning cavern throughout the land 
 of the ancient Aztec. 
 
 " I shall stay my whole time," declared Tom, as 
 he went down on his hands and knees at the en- 
 trance ; and they could hear him remonstrating with 
 the narrow passage till his voice was lost in the 
 distance. 
 
 Two hours to while away in that graveyard of 
 the centuries. It was very quiet, and even the lap- 
 ping of the lake against the stones was no longer 
 discernible. The silence was oppressive, and Whit- 
 man proposed a ride in the woods. A pink haze 
 rose from a neighboring swamp, and, as the sun sank 
 lower and lower, the profound silence, as of a tomb, 
 grew more and more depressing. At last, to break 
 the spell, Whitman ventured to recite the first lines 
 of Shelley's " Naples," 
 
 I stood within the city disinterred, 
 And heard the autumnal leaves like light foot-falls 
 Of spirits, passing through the streets.** 
 
 Ethel looked at him queerly, as if, perhaps, he 
 were something more than a calculating machine, 
 after all. 
 
 It was her turn, now, to relieve the monotony : 
 " By the way, what do you think of that for trigo- 
 nometry ? " and she gayly handed him the paper con- 
 taining her computations of the afternoon. He 
 thought she seemed a little ill at ease, as if she began 
 to doubt her work, in the awesome quiet of the 
 woods. 
 
 78 
 
The Shadow of the God 
 
 He smiled, and glanced at the figures carelessly, 
 then started, and began to figure rapidly. Silence, 
 deep and unbroken. 
 
 " Well, what 's the matter, sir ? " she broke in, 
 impatiently. 
 
 " Why, the refraction coefficient of vacuum to 
 air is 1.00029, not 1.0294, an( ^ 7 OU bring the answer 
 out twenty-six minutes too high. Taking out the 
 five minutes, Tom will come out twenty-one minutes 
 too late." 
 
 They turned their horses' heads, he with knitted 
 brow, she with ashen face, and the rapid hoof-beats 
 were not too quick to be a threnody in their ears. 
 
 Suddenly he reined up with a loud laugh. " Fools 
 er excuse me, I am what harm will it do if he 
 does cross the shadow ? There we were taking it 
 for granted that the priesthood still existed ; it must 
 have been this devilish silence." 
 
 The color came back to her face, and she laughed 
 a little. 
 
 They rode out upon the plateau ; it was 4.40, and 
 the shadow must be well across the opening. And 
 then Whitman leaped half out of his saddle, and gave 
 a choking cry ; while his companion drooped forward 
 on the horse's neck, and the world swam round and 
 round and round. 
 
 On the summit of the temple, clad in Aztec 
 garb, stood a white-haired priest, and six others, 
 armed with the iztli knife, clustered around the 
 doorway. 
 
 The girl clapped her hands to her face and burst 
 into tears, crying that she had killed her cousin, and 
 all for pride, and that she knew nothing about mathe- 
 
 79 
 
The Shadow of the God 
 
 matics at all. She seemed scarcely able to sit on her 
 horse. 
 
 Whitman only stared blankly before him. So the 
 old priesthood was not all gone. After all, it was 
 not so strange in that great unknown peninsula. 
 
 " Why don't you save him ? " cried Ethel ; and 
 there was a fine light in her eyes, and her hands 
 were clenched now. Whitman felt that any other 
 girl would have fainted long ago, and a wave of 
 admiration swept over him. 
 
 " Oh, if you were only a man, and not a fossil " 
 it sounded ludicrous at such a time "I am 
 going up myself. Poor old Tom ! " 
 
 He had the presence of mind to seize her bridle- 
 rein. Parabolas, hyperbolas, what not darted 
 througti his head, poor aids at such a time. After 
 all, calculus was a small thing to know when human 
 life hung in the balance and quick wit might tip the 
 scale. He knew now that the good opinion of this 
 young lady was not so undesirable. He would give 
 a good deal for it at this moment. 
 
 " And can't you save him ? " she cried in piteous 
 tones. 
 
 He was thinking clearly now, at any rate : the 
 water, the priests, and the shadow ; the shadow, the 
 priests, and the water ; which could be eliminated 
 from that network of death ? 
 
 He leaped with delight as a thought dawned on 
 him, and he was never prouder in his life than when 
 he wheeled on the shivering girl. " I can ! " he 
 said, while his eyes danced with that battle-fire which 
 lurks in every true man, " but you must go home." 
 
 She looked at him with rebellious eyes; but he 
 80 
 
The Shadow of the God 
 
 gazed steadily back, and it was the man now and not 
 the mathematician. She turned her horse, with never 
 a word, and rode off, looking back only once with 
 wistful glance subdued, yet perhaps subduer. 
 
 Silence again, and the dreamy air ; fleeting shadows 
 and the peace of the sleeping woods ! But it was a 
 time for most vigorous, action. That shadow could 
 be lifted in just one way. The stone must go. The 
 shadow gone, the scrupulous priests could no longer 
 claim their victim. It would be a complete rescue. 
 In a few minutes Tom would be out and the work 
 must be fast. The pillar was larger at top than 
 bottom, and the centre of gravity high. A sharp 
 blow well up would overthrow it ; for the ancient 
 builders used no cement. He was ofF his horse im- 
 mediately and running toward the terrace. The 
 priests looked on with patient, wondering eyes. They 
 had naught to do with him. He sprang upon the 
 parapet and thus gained four out of the fifteen feet ; 
 eight feet high can a tall man strike with effect, and 
 it would fall out just right here. The two-foot 
 coping seemed narrower than the dread Al Sirat, but 
 it was wide enough for one blow of a desperate man ; 
 there could not be another. Eight feet up he struck, 
 and in a glance he caught the faint markings on the 
 pillar. Then stone and sky and all flashed out of 
 sight ; and the water flew up and smote him, and 
 seethed and bubbled over his head. He saw where 
 the great foundations of the temple-wall sank into 
 the bright sand; and then the whole calm water- 
 world green and waving, rose before his eyes, with 
 startled fish and long-bending water-grasses. 
 
 He gained the shore at last, with his left wrist all 
 6 81 
 
The Shadow of the God 
 
 bent in a Collie's fracture, and dashed away the water 
 which dripped from his hair into his eyes. Then he 
 sat down, sick to vomiting, and looked around. The 
 temple was pillarless now as the great black Kaaba of 
 Mecca; but he hardly noticed that. There, strung 
 along the water-terrace and looking down into the 
 silent lake, stood the seven priests of the great war- 
 god ; and, as they stood, they chanted the Maya- 
 death-song. Death and the Yucatan Indian are 
 brethren, and the latter lives only to long for some 
 excuse for entering into that last fraternal embrace. 
 These seven, standing over the total wreck of the 
 crumbling faith, looking down into the depths whither 
 the light of their eyes had gone, had nothing to live 
 for, and it was a joyful farewell to those long deso- 
 late halls. The Maya-death-song is the weirdest 
 strain which ever touched human ear; and the 
 hushed voices of legions of departed spirits breathe in 
 the not inharmonious notes. Lengthening shadows, 
 and the cool of approaching evening, and never a 
 cry ! The water whitened with foam, and the bub- 
 bles rose, and the circles eddied to the lily-pads off in 
 the woods ; but the brown hands clung in tiger-grip 
 and water grasses are tenacious. 
 
 Whitman and Tom rode home in the dark, and 
 lights were twinkling all about the house as they 
 came up. Some one said, as they passed through the 
 door, " You 're not a fossil ; " and perhaps it was 
 meant for Tom. 
 
 There were two who walked by the brook-side at 
 evening. The departure, which had been postponed 
 a day, was set for to-morrow. 
 
 82 
 
The Shadow of the God 
 
 It was Whitman who spoke, and the width of the 
 path was between them. He was earnest enough 
 now. 
 
 "Miss Ethel," they always called her that, 
 " do you mean, can you mean that I may have any 
 hope of er well, solving your problems for you 
 er all the rest of your life ? " 
 
 He waited a long time. 
 
 " I suppose you think I need some one after yes- 
 terday," she said faintly. 
 
 "And may I be that one ? " 
 
 The universe stood still to hear the answer, but 
 only a final letter was audible. 
 
 After all, the nineteenth letter of the English alpha- 
 bet has its uses. 
 
The Cuirassier 
 
 THE CUIRASSIER 
 
 WITH a hearty dash and a sabre's clash, 
 With a thousand gleams and a double flash 
 Of the brightened steel that knows no fear, 
 What say ye, lads, as our horses rear ? 
 Who is there equals a cuirassier ? 
 
 With a bold, brave air and a winning smile, 
 With a stolen kiss that 's won by guile, 
 And a swagger known full many a mile, 
 
 What say ye, lassies, as we appear ? 
 
 Was there ever the like of a cuirassier ? 
 
 A flagon, then, of the rich, red wine, 
 And a toast for the foot, the men of the line, 
 To the sapper, the lancer, the cannoneer, 
 But first to the man who owns no peer, 
 Come, drink ye, men, u To the cuirassier ! " 
 
Herb o' Grace 
 
 HERB O 9 GRACE 
 
 "You must wear your rue with a difference." 
 
 PERSONS PRINCIPALLY CONCERNED 
 
 REV. ERNEST BELLAMY, aged 40, the Rector of St. Luke's 
 
 in the Woods. 
 CICELY, aged zo, who plays "Lady Bountiful" under the 
 
 Rector's direction ; and 
 MIKE, the Rector's terrier. 
 
 THE scene is Bellamy's study in bachelor dis- 
 order. At one side is a tea-table and opposite 
 a desk. At the back are windows and a glass door. 
 Through these one gets a glimpse of a garden in the 
 full sunshine of a late spring afternoon. At the desk 
 sits Bellamy smoking a pipe and writing ; near him 
 lies Mike, the terrier. 
 
 BELLAMY (writing). Finally, my brethren (gazes 
 out of the window). Finally, my brethren (takes out 
 his watch). Why, it 's four o'clock. Bellamy, my 
 boy, let the finally go to some other time. You 
 deserve a rest. (Walks over to the doorway.) Ah, 
 what a day it is ! These spring days are much too 
 fine to cage oneself up in a room. No wonder a 
 man can't keep his mind on his work. No wonder. 
 Bah ! What 's the sense of lying to myself this 
 way ? When I know that the only reason I have 
 loafed away the best part of a Saturday afternoon 
 with my sermon unwritten, is because I have been 
 
 8s 
 
Herb o' Grace 
 
 much more intent on wondering if it were not almost 
 time for Cicely to come. And she is coming, and 
 very soon now ! Come over here, Mike, you lazy 
 beast ! I am going to tell you something. (MiKE 
 rises, stretches himself lazily, and comes over to BELLAMY, 
 who sits down in a big chair and takes him on his knees.) 
 Possibly you may not have guessed the fact, so I '11 
 tell you whisper (whispers in the dog's ear) 
 Yes, really ! There 's no use in my trying to hide 
 it or disguise or lie out of it. Now, if you could, 
 my worthy friend, I suppose you 'd croak and ask 
 me very naturally what a middle-aged, compara- 
 tively sane country parson had to do with a thing of 
 that sort, and I would n't have a thing to say in my 
 defence, Mike, not a thing. I am ashamed of 
 myself, and yet and yet I was never so happy in 
 my life before. And I '11 tell you why, and it 's a 
 greater secret than the other it 's because the 
 conceited idiot that I am I think she cares just a 
 little bit for me ! And, something more and this 
 the greatest secret of all I 'm going to ask her ! 
 What do you think of that ? Why don't you show 
 some signs of surprise ? Of all the unsympathetic 
 confidants ! There, get down now, for I must put 
 the room to rights, for Cicely 's coming. Mike ! 
 Cicely 's coming ! And maybe she '11 make tea for 
 us, and perhaps But we must wait and see. (Be- 
 gins to clear up the room.) Now, these can go in here 
 (tucks old newspapers behind the bookcase), and these 
 in here (brushes some scraps under the rug). 
 
 Now, I wonder if there are any burnt matches in 
 the teacups this time. (Looks.) No, not one Why, 
 there are n't any flowers. Cicely won't like that ! 
 
 86 
 
Herb o' Grace 
 
 Never mind, we can go out and get some together 
 Look at that picture over the mantel I must 
 straighten that. (Pulls chair up and stands on /V, 
 straightening the picture.) 
 (Enter CICELY with a basket on her arm. She laughs.) 
 
 CICELY (from the doorway). I am afraid that I am 
 interrupting you, Mr. Belkmy. 
 
 BELL, (turning and seeing her). Oh, there you are, 
 Cicely, come in. I was just straightening that picture. 
 I had been writing, but, er I 'm resting now. (Gets 
 down from chair.) 
 
 Cic. I 'm glad of that. You must get so tired. 
 I J ve just been down with jelly for old Mrs. Tudor, 
 and am on my way to Mrs. Wilkins', if you will give 
 me those copies of "The Church Militant" you 
 promised her. 
 
 BELL. Certainly, I have them right here ; but you 
 have not got to go this very minute, have you ? 
 
 Cic. Oh, no ! Besides, I have a lot of things to 
 say to you about poor Mrs. Tudor. 
 
 BELL, (aside). Mrs. Tudor be bothered ! (To 
 CICELY) All right, but meanwhile won't you be 
 charitable to me and make me some tea ? 
 
 Cic. That will be doing myself a kindness ; I love to 
 make tea. But I thought old Margaret made it for you ! 
 
 BELL. She does, but I would much rather have you. 
 
 Cic. Of course I will, then. 
 
 BELL. That will be splendid. Here, I beg your 
 pardon ! let me relieve you. 
 
 Cic. Thank you (giving him the basket). Be very 
 careful not to drop that ; there 's a bowl of soup and 
 some wine in it for Mrs. Grimes I made the soup 
 all myself! 
 
 87 
 
Herb o* Grace 
 
 BELL, (aside). I wish I were Mrs. Grimes ! 
 
 Cic. (giving him a bunch of herbs). These are for 
 her too 
 
 BELL. What odd-looking flowers ! 
 
 Cic. They're not flowers at all, they're herbs. 
 The poor old thing puts great faith in them, so I got 
 them for her. She wanted sweet marjoram and Johns- 
 wort, but I could get only rue. (She sits down at the 
 tea-table and busies herself with the tea things.) 
 
 BELL. Rue ! That 's for remembrance, is n't it ? 
 
 Cic. Oh, you 're thinking of rosemary. Rue 
 means bitterness. 
 
 BELL. Sometimes it 's the same thing, I 'm afraid. 
 
 Cic. It ought not to be. You know rue's other 
 name is herb o' grace. This water 's fine and hot. 
 Oh ! I 've put three lumps in your cup. You like 
 sugar, don't you ? 
 
 BELL. Yes, oh yes 5 (aside) but I never take more 
 than one lump. 
 
 Cic. And cream ? (Pours it in.) 
 
 BELL. N that is, yes! \Aside) I hate cream in 
 my tea. 
 
 Cic. There ! Now, do say you like it. 
 
 BELL, (sipping). Delicious ! Quite the best I ever 
 tasted. 
 
 Cic. I 'm so glad. Now some for myself Here, 
 Mike, here 's a lump of sugar for you. There, sir ! 
 The last time I made tea for you you kept your tobacco 
 in the tea-caddy. Do you remember ? 
 
 BELL. Yes, it was a capital place for it. But 
 there is n't any there now. 
 
 Cic. No, everything is in very good order. Mar- 
 garet takes good care of you, I think. 
 
 88 
 
Herb o' Grace 
 
 BELL. (Indifferently). Oh yes, she does everything 
 well enough. 
 
 Cic. Mr. Bellamy, you are n't half grateful enough. 
 For my part, I think Margaret does everything for 
 your comfort. 
 
 BELL. She tries to ; but there is so much a servant 
 can't do, after all, Miss Cicely. 
 
 Cic. How odd it sounds to have you say u Miss " 
 to me ! I wish you would n't. Why, you 've called 
 me Cicely ever since I was a little girl, and I should 
 no more think of having you call me " Miss " than I 
 should of calling you Ernest. Well, Mr. Bellamy, 
 I will give some advice, may I ? The only thing for 
 you to do is to find a wife. 
 
 BELL. I 'm afraid it is easier to find her than to 
 win her. 
 
 Cic. Why do you say that ? I assure you, girls 
 aren't so foolish as you seem to think. 
 
 BELL. But they would be wise in this case. Why, 
 what would they have to do with an old man like 
 me ? 
 
 Cic. But you are n't old, at least not very. I 'm 
 sure you don't look as old as papa and even if 
 you were old 
 
 BELL. Well, what ? Ah, but put yourself in her 
 place. Suppose I should come to you, Cicely, and 
 say, "Here I am in autumn, you in mid-spring. 
 Will you take what there is left of my life, worn 
 and old, and give me yours, fresh and sweet and un- 
 broken, in exchange for I love you ; will you take 
 my heart, that has grown tired with aching for lost 
 hope, and weary with yearning for impossible ideals, 
 and give me yours, tremulous with new life, because 
 
 89 
 
Herb o' Grace 
 
 I love you?" Suppose I should ask you, Cicely, 
 what would you say ? 
 
 The chimes strike the hour. 
 
 Cic. I think, Mr. Bellamy, I would say " yes," if 
 I loved you. (She rises.) But I must go now. I 
 promised Bob I would come at five, and he 's waiting 
 for me. 
 
 BELL. Bob ? What, has Bob come back ? 
 
 Cic. Yes, he came yesterday. (She turns away shyly.) 
 And oh, Mr. Bellamy, perhaps it is too soon to tell 
 any one, but I feel I must tell you, you have been so 
 kind to me always and are such a friend of papa's. 
 Bob says he does care for me, and I I 
 
 BELL. I understand. I am glad you have told me 
 so soon, Cicely, for I would want to be one of the first 
 to wish you happiness. And I do, my dear, with all 
 my heart. 
 
 Cic. Thank you, Mr. Bellamy ! And now, about 
 that foolish girl. If you will only send her home, 
 well, I think I can show her what a mistake she is 
 making. 
 
 BELL. I don't believe you will have to attempt as 
 much as that. We 're better off as bachelors, Mike 
 and I. I am afraid that we 've gotten selfish and 
 settled and could not adapt ourselves to new ways 
 easily. But you will come to make tea for us 
 sometimes ? Just as you have to-day, so we sha'n't 
 forget our manners ? And you '11 think of us now 
 and then, won't you ? For we sha'n't forget you. 
 
 Cic. Indeed, indeed, I will. 
 
 BELL. Thank you. But I am keeping you, and I 
 have no right to do that now, you know ! 
 
 Cic. Yes, I must run along. There are " The 
 90 
 
Herb o' Grace 
 
 Church Militants." Good-by, Mr. Bellamy. The 
 tea was very nice ! 
 
 BELL. Good-by, Cicely ! (He puts his hand softly 
 on her hair.) Good-by, and God bless and keep you 
 always ! 
 
 Cicely goes out. 
 
 Bellamy stands in the doorway looking after her. 
 He smiles, and bows, and says good-by. The lights 
 in the garden die away. The sound of an organ 
 playing the Intermezzo comes as from a distance. 
 
 BELL, (at the door). Good-by ! (He comes in and 
 sits in the big chair.} Dear little Cicely ! I wonder 
 if she knows, strolling under the apple blossoms with 
 her lover, that she has just killed youth and heaven 
 for some one. No. She cannot know, and she 
 must never know. It would break her tender little 
 heart. And after all, why should she ? It was my 
 fault, in mistaking friendliness, perhaps a little pity ' 
 for something more. That's what we get for 
 wanting too much, Mike, my boy. Perhaps I ought 
 to have taken your advice. It was foolish for me 
 even to dream that she could ever care for me in that 
 way ! Foolish ! it was mad ! And yet if it only 
 could have been ! Dear God, I can't think of that ! 
 I must not think of it ! only perhaps, now and then, 
 of what was, never what might have been ! (A pause.} 
 Well, Mike, you won't go back on me, will you, old 
 boy ? No, you are faithful from the end of that 
 Irish nose of yours to the tip of your stubby tail ! 
 And we '11 just have to settle down to the old order 
 of things, and must not think of afternoon tea and 
 some one pretty and dainty to be waiting for us when 
 we come home tired and things of that sort 
 
 9 1 
 
Herb o' Grace 
 
 any more. They 're not for the likes of you and me. 
 But we must just make up our minds to having the 
 house as quiet and lonely as it used to be, and set 
 ourselves to doing our duty and trying to enjoy it 
 and that reminds me, I might begin by writing the 
 "finally " that I postponed. (As he goes to his desk^ 
 he sees a sprig of rue on the floor. He picks it up.) 
 Cicely must have dropped it. "There's rue for 
 you " No, not that. I like its other name better 
 Herb o' Grace ! (He raises it to his lips^ and the 
 curtain falls.) 
 
 92 
 
At Saint Fortun6 
 
 AT SAINT FORTUNE 
 
 AT old Saint Fortune" the sea 
 Creeps up to clasp the gray old town, 
 The dreaming skies bend tenderly 
 And round about stretch dune and down. 
 
 The wind-racked houses on the shore 
 With dim old eyes gaze 'cross the bay, 
 For gallant ships that come no more 
 Again to old Saint Fortune. 
 
 With marigolds the gardens gleam, 
 And in the doors, when work is done, 
 Stand girls with happy eyes a-dream, 
 And old men dozing in the sun. 
 
 Great peace broods o'er Saint Fortune, 
 Born of the sunshine and the sea,' 
 From time far off and long dead day 
 That was and nevermore shall be. 
 
 And when the waiting west is bright 
 With all the sunset's gleam and glow, 
 And safely settled for the night, 
 The town sleeps, then the sea croons low : 
 
 <l Be not downcast, O hearts ashore, 
 When waves mount high and great winds chafe, 
 For all thy sons who come no more, 
 Deep in my heart are waiting safe ! " 
 93 
 
Fable 
 
 FABLE 
 
 HERE and there through the wheat glowed the 
 red poppy blossoms, like great passionate, 
 palpitating stars in a pale green, unfeeling sky. 
 
 The winds swept over the field, and the wheat- 
 stalks bowed humbly before them. But of the pop- 
 pies no such humility was required ; the winds rather 
 played about them, alternately teasing and caressing 
 them, and laughing softly at the pretty coquetry of 
 their petulance. 
 
 Of one blood-red bloom, deeper in color and finer 
 in texture, perhaps, than its fellows, the winds never 
 tired; nor indeed was it averse to their flattering 
 attentions. 
 
 Finally, a stolid burgher wheat-stalk felt it its duty 
 to interpose and to expostulate with the thoughtless 
 flower upon the unseemliness of its conduct. 
 
 " Have you never considered," it began, " what 
 a useless thing you are? What right have you to 
 be happy ? Do you not see all about you these 
 thousands of industrious wheat-stalks, each of whom, 
 like myself, is at work creating and bringing to 
 maturity a fruit which is some day to be of the 
 greatest value to the world ? You are an intruder 
 here in this busy community. We shall be grain 
 some day j is that not a noble ambition ? And you, 
 what can you hope for or aspire to ? You flaunt 
 and prink yourself for a time before every coxcomb 
 
 94 
 
Fable 
 
 breeze, and then you die and are forgotten; that is 
 your fate." 
 
 The flower shrank under the bitterness of the re- 
 proof. Mutely it protested against all that the wheat- 
 stalk had said, but what manner of defence was it 
 possible to make ? Uselessness has no argument 
 against the iron logic of utility. Henceforth the 
 breezes wooed in vain. 
 
 As the July sun sank behind the horizon, a youth 
 and a maiden walked together through the field, part- 
 ing the wheat. The youth stooped, and picking the 
 sorrowing poppy, gave it to his companion. As the 
 girPs fingers pressed its stem, the flower gave one 
 timid glance upward, and saw in the face above it a 
 color scarcely less deep than its own. The poppy 
 died on the breast of the girl, forgetting entirely in 
 its rapture the wheat-stalk's bitter words. 
 
 The wheat-stalk must needs moralize on the event, 
 remarking sarcastically to a neighbor, that the poppy 
 had come to a pretty end. " How far," it inquired, 
 " would a thousand such go toward feeding one hungry 
 child ? " 
 
 The wheat-stalk was a faithful servant, and of a 
 surety did not lack its reward. 
 
 95 
 
From Heloise to Abelard 
 
 FROM HfiLOISE TO ABELARD 
 
 IN the dim church at Vesper-time last night, 
 Amid the surge of canticle and prayer 
 And ecstasies of adoration, there 
 With the great cross high in the tapers' light, 
 I crouched where all the nuns knelt, hushed and white. 
 Those still, pure women ! Have they aught to share 
 With hearts that yearn, and mad desires that dare 
 To barter Heaven for earthly touch and sight? 
 
 Across the singing came a dream to me 
 Lo, it was April and we twain a-stray 
 Down drifted orchard-paths in that old place 
 My heart has folded safe in memory. 
 Do you remember, Dear, that sweet spring day ? 
 Ah, pity, Lord ! Let me forget its grace ! 
 
Applied Mathematics 
 
 APPLIED MATHEMATICS 
 
 /TAKE court mathematician's pupil was sitting 
 dejectedly on a rustic seat in the beautiful 
 gardens which surrounded the royal palace of 
 Nunvalia. But it would be an error to call him 
 the pupil of the court mathematician, for such he was 
 no longer; neither was he, as a few short hours 
 before, the accepted suitor of Angelina, the court 
 mathematician's lovely daughter : hence the cause of 
 his woe. 
 
 This is how it all happened. The court mathe- 
 matician and his pupil had been working together 
 on a mathematical problem of huge dimensions, and 
 they had differed as to the result of one of their 
 computations. It was a small point indeed, but 
 when professional honor is involved there is no such 
 thing as agreeing to disagree, as ordinary people may, 
 even on a very insignificant point. 
 
 " The square of the cube root of the logarithm of 
 the sine of 45 is 1.9731," said the court mathema- 
 tician, firmly. 
 
 " The square of the cube root of the logarithm of 
 the sine of 45 is 1.9732," replied his pupil, with 
 equal decision. 
 
 u I said one ten-thousandth," retorted the court 
 mathematician, warmly. 
 
 ** Pardon me, two ten-thousandths," answered the 
 pupil. 
 
 7 97 
 
Applied Mathematics 
 
 The court mathematician glared at his pupil, and 
 his pupil glared back in return. 
 
 u One," almost shouted the court mathematician ; 
 " and what is more, I command you not to contra- 
 dict me." 
 
 His pupil was silent, but held up two fingers. 
 
 I will not describe how the anger of the court 
 mathematician became a passion, and the passion a 
 fury, and how in the latter state he ordered his pupil 
 to leave the house and never dare to come there 
 again ; nor how he remained obdurate in his decision, 
 in spite of all the supplications of his daughter, who 
 even went so far as to throw herself on the floor 
 and clasp his unrelenting knees. 
 
 So now Ferdinand such was the name of the 
 court mathematician's pupil that was sat discon- 
 solate and sweetheartless under the trees of the royal 
 gardens, bemoaning his hard fate; naturally he fell 
 into figures of speech suggested by his early training. 
 
 " Ah ! she is the locus of all good traits," he 
 murmured with a sigh. "Yes, her life is the curve 
 toward which my own has been tending from the 
 first. Once I believed mine to be the tangent to 
 hers at finite distance ; woe is me that I should find 
 that it is an asymptote." 
 
 While Ferdinand was thus complaining, the Prin- 
 cess Elsa, the third and youngest daughter of King 
 Adolphus of Nunvalia, who was strolling idly through 
 the royal gardens, chanced to come that way, and 
 hearing the young man's voice came a bit closer and 
 peered through the shrubbery that surrounded the 
 rustic seat, to see from whom the doleful sounds 
 were coming. 
 
Applied Mathematics 
 
 The required course in mathematics for princesses 
 in Nunvalia at that time did not include analytics, 
 and hence the Princess Elsa did not understand a 
 word that the ex-pupil had uttered, but being a 
 woman as well as a princess she was able to interpret 
 pretty well the young man's sighs and woebegone 
 countenance. Now the princess was tender-hearted, 
 and a bit frolicsome too ; so she determined to address 
 this good-looking young man and inquire the cause 
 of his grief; which she did accordingly. 
 
 It was an unwritten law at the court of Nunvalia 
 that no man should express love for another woman 
 in the presence of any of the ladies of the royal 
 family ; yet for all this Ferdinand need not have 
 answered the princess just as he did, and thereby 
 cause her to drop her eyes to the ground ; perhaps 
 he felt just a bit flattered by the sympathy of a 
 princess. 
 
 That night the Princess Elsa related to her lady 
 in waiting her conversation with the silly youth in 
 the garden, and both mistress and maid laughed 
 heartily over the story. Then they talked together 
 in low voices and if I should say what they said, 
 it would spoil my story. 
 
 But if the princess thought of Ferdinand that 
 evening, no vestige of remembrance of the princess 
 remained in the mind of the court mathematician's 
 ex-pupil ; for it was on that evening that he had 
 arranged a secret meeting with his Angelina, at an 
 hour when the court mathematician would be sure to 
 be lost in his calculations. And at the same time that 
 the playful princess and her maid were maliciously 
 plotting in the royal palace, out under the trees before 
 
 99 
 
Applied Mathematics 
 
 the court mathematician's house the two lovers were 
 also contriving a plot from which, to judge from the 
 beatific faces that the moonlight revealed, they ex- 
 pected the happiest outcome. 
 
 " Can you love me enough for that ? " asked the 
 court mathematician's ex-pupil anxiously, as the 
 time drew near when they must leave each other. 
 
 " Yes, when you have won the ruby," answered 
 Angelina, prudently. 
 
 " Ah, where is the paper ? " he asked eagerly. 
 
 In answer the girl took from her bosom a bit of 
 paper and handed it to him. They read it together 
 in the moonlight. 
 
 " And one ten-thousandth," murmured Angelina, 
 laughingly. 
 
 u Two, though," the ex-pupil answered doggedly. 
 
 "For my sake, one," she pleaded, putting her 
 arms about his neck. 
 
 " Yes, for our sakes, one ; " and he kissed her. 
 
 It will be necessary before going any further to 
 make a digression and speak of certain affairs of state 
 in the kingdom of Nunvalia. King Adolphus of 
 Nunvalia, like many another king, had found it 
 frequently very difficult to collect the taxes due him 
 from his subjects. He had tried imprisonment and 
 even beheading as punishments for non-payment, but 
 for all that many of his people had continued to 
 spend all their money just before the tax-collector 
 came to them, and then what was to be done ? 
 
 In this dilemma the king called to him his court 
 economist and asked his advice. As a result, two 
 years later there appeared an exhaustive treatise on 
 100 
 
Applied Mathematics 
 
 * ' ' > ,' i ' ,o ' 
 
 u Taxation " in fourteen volumes, written by the 
 court economist, copies of which are still to be seen 
 among the Nunvalian archives. The gist of the 
 treatise was as follows : First, that it is very hard to 
 take money out of a man's pocket when the man is 
 looking and especially when there is none there. 
 " This," wrote the court economist, " is the difficulty 
 in the system prevailing in Nunvalia." Second, it 
 is easier to take money from a man's pocket when 
 he is not looking. And third, it is easier still to do 
 so when one makes a pretence of giving something 
 in return. 
 
 What pretence would you suggest ? " asked the 
 king when the court economist had explained to him 
 what there was in his fourteen volumes and what it 
 meant. 
 
 " Theoretically," replied the court economist, cau- 
 tiously, " it is not possible to get something in return 
 for nothing; but considering that constant element 
 in human nature which, for want of a better term, 
 may be called the 'eternally gullible,' I think the 
 result could be obtained approximately by means of a 
 lottery." 
 
 But King Adolphus objected to a lottery. <c The 
 court moral and social philosopher," he said, "tells 
 me that lotteries tend to cause a deterioration in 
 public morality, and that is a thing I should like to 
 avoid in the kingdom of Nunvalia." 
 
 But then a brilliant idea occurred to him. "I 
 have it," he cried. " I will raise my taxes by means 
 of a guessing game, the moral objections to which 
 will be more than balanced by the educational advan- 
 tages. This year I will have my people guess how 
 zoz 
 
Applied Mathematics 
 
 many beans there are in a bottle " (this game was 
 then very popular in Nunvalia,) " each citizen paying 
 so much for the privilege of guessing, and the one 
 coming the nearest to the correct number receiving 
 the valuable prize which I shall offer. Every year I 
 shall have a new problem devised, and thus make 
 revenue raising in my kingdom a great instrument 
 for popular education." 
 
 The scheme was tried, and worked to perfection. 
 The populace, who had heard what the problem was 
 to be, got bottles of all shapes and sizes, and practised 
 estimating their contents measured in beans until 
 they became so accurate that when it came to the 
 contest the guessing was very close indeed, and the 
 very number guessed in fact, it being 11,989*^, one 
 bean having been split and the other half lost in the 
 process of filling the jar. 
 
 This happened several years before the events of 
 our story, and so pleased was King Adolphus with 
 the results of his scheme that he continued it year 
 after year. This particular year it was announced 
 that a mathematical problem would be given in the 
 annual contest ; whereupon, to the king's great joy, 
 all his people began to hunt up and study their old 
 arithmetics. Furthermore the king announced that 
 the prize would be nothing less than the third finest 
 jewel of his crown, which, as was understood by all, 
 was a very beautiful ruby of great size and value. 
 
 The problem was to be devised by the court math- 
 ematician. " It will give him something to do at 
 last," said the king, delightedly. Heretofore the 
 court mathematician's sole duty had been to ride in 
 state processions, he being allowed at other times to 
 
 102 
 
Applied Mathematics 
 
 go triangulating among the stars at will, in the hope 
 that in this way the stars might be discovered to be 
 at some time of importance to the kingdom of 
 Nunvalia. 
 
 Now on the paper which Angelina had given her 
 lover was written the problem whose correct solution 
 meant the possession of the ruby, itself a princely 
 fortune. 
 
 The day of the contest came at last, and a vast 
 multitude was assembled in the public square of the 
 capital, some to try for the prize, others as mere 
 onlookers. A throne had been raised at one side 
 of the square for the king, who was to preside in 
 person ; and around him were seats where, nearest to 
 the king, sat the members of the royal family, and 
 on either side of these the courtiers with their wives 
 and daughters. 
 
 The king arose and called the first name on his 
 list. A young man pale with the studying of all the 
 old arithmetic books he could find, stepped forward 
 before the throne. Then the king read slowly the 
 following : 
 
 " What is the square of the cube root of the loga- 
 rithm of the sine 01*45 - ? " 
 
 The pale young man looked paler still and trembled 
 visibly. He knew what a square was ; he thought 
 he knew what a cube root was ; he remembered 
 indistinctly having heard once of a logarithm ; but a 
 sine "Twenty-five," he cried in desperation. 
 
 " Wrong," answered the king sternly, and called 
 upon the next contestant. 
 
 The next man knew nothing about any of these 
 103 
 
Applied Mathematics 
 
 terms, but thinking that the pale youth was apt to 
 know a little more than he, said twenty-six. The 
 next answered twenty-four, and the fourth, seeing that 
 his predecessors were evidently not on the track at 
 all, guessed one thousand. And thus it went for three 
 long weary hours, at the end of which the king 
 and the spectators were showing evident signs of 
 weariness. 
 
 At last the king called the name of the court 
 mathematician's ex-pupil. 
 
 Just a moment before this, however, a messenger 
 in the royal livery, who had been sent the previous 
 day to search for a young man answering to the 
 description of the court mathematician's ex-pupil, 
 and who had forgotten all about his commission 
 until a few minutes before, hastened up to the young 
 man and gave him a note written on delicate, violet- 
 scented paper. Ferdinand had just glanced at it 
 when he heard his name called. This is what he 
 had read : 
 
 Stupid youth, do you not understand what is meant by the 
 third finest jewel in King Adolphus* crown ? What else 
 but his third daughter, the most unfortunate Elsa ? If the 
 words you spoke in the garden were not utterly false, you 
 will be at the little postern gate on the east wing of the 
 palace to-night at midnight. E. 
 
 Ferdinand, dazzled by the contents of the note, 
 stepped forward mechanically, and made the custom- 
 ary obeisance before the throne. The time of the 
 meeting proposed by Princess Elsa had passed, but he 
 did not think of that. He only thought of the 
 power he had to gain the prize that King Adolphus 
 104 
 
Applied Mathematics 
 
 had offered. To be the husband of a princess, son- 
 in-law of a king this lay in his power! Then 
 he throught of Angelina and how she had put her 
 arms about his neck, and he thanked the princess for 
 her information. 
 
 He was brought to his senses by hearing the wearied 
 voice of King Adolphus, who was thoroughly tired 
 of the whole proceeding and about come to the point 
 of telling the next contestant to give the correct 
 answer or be beheaded, droning for the hundred and 
 fifty-fourth time, " What is the square of the cube 
 root of the logarithm of the sine of 45 ?" 
 
 The ex-pupil of the court mathematician looked at 
 the Princess Elsa, who, all unconscious of the mischief 
 she was causing, returned his glance with a well- 
 affected look of reproach and supplication. 
 
 w One and nine thousand seven hundred and 
 thirty " He paused and looked at Angelina, whose 
 soft gray eyes were fixed intently upon him ; " two 
 ten-thousandths," he finished doggedly. 
 
 a Wrong ! " cried the king angrily, and called the 
 next name. 
 
 u One and nine thousand seven hundred and thirty- 
 three ten-thousandths," answered the next man, 
 shrewdly. 
 
 u Wrong again," cried the king, still more petu- 
 lantly. " You did n't come as near to it as he did." 
 
 The next contestant did not know the difference 
 between mathematics and geology, yet, strange to say, 
 he replied without hesitation, u One and nine thou- 
 sand seven hundred and thirty-one ten-thousandths." 
 
 " Right at last ! " cried the king, gleefully. " Kneel, 
 my friend, and receive your prize ; " and the man 
 
Applied Mathematics 
 
 knelt on the steps of the throne, while the wearied 
 multitude applauded wildly. 
 
 Now, as Ferdinand knew, the successful contestant 
 was a middle-aged man with a wife and seven chil- 
 dren, and he smiled, in spite of the bitterness of his 
 disappointment, to think of the disposition he would 
 make of his prize, for it was a capital offence in 
 Nunvalia to refuse the gift of the king. 
 
 Imagine then his surprise and rage when he saw 
 in King Adolphus* extended hand the ruby. 
 
 For a moment he stood confounded. Then he 
 pushed his way through the throng, and throwing him- 
 self before the throne, cried that he had a boon to ask. 
 
 " State it," said the king good-natured lly, and with- 
 drawing his hand. 
 
 " Your majesty, I dispute the computation of the 
 court mathematician, and maintain that the square of 
 the cube root of the logarithm of the sine of 45 is 
 1.9732." 
 
 The king frowned. 
 
 " Listen, your highness," continued Ferdinand. 
 u I do not wish to regain the ruby. But I love the 
 court mathematician's daughter. Grant that if I 
 can prove him in error he shall give her to me in 
 marriage, and if I am shown to be wrong I promise 
 to pay for my boldness with my head." 
 
 The king gladly consented to this proposal. The 
 prospect of enjoying a beheading, a luxury which his 
 advanced notions of the function of a king had not 
 allowed him for a long time, appealed very strongly 
 to his not yet entirely civilized and moralized nature. 
 He therefore called forth the court mathematician, and 
 the discussion began. 
 
 1 06 
 
Applied Mathematics 
 
 But the king soon repented of his action. For he 
 could not understand a word which either disputant 
 uttered ; nor could his wise men nor any of his court 
 any better than he ; neither indeed could the court 
 mathematician understand his pupil, nor on the other 
 hand could the pupil understand the court mathemati- 
 cian ; and therefore the discussion went on for almost 
 an hour, now purely argumentatively, and now be- 
 coming heated almost to the point of personal recrim- 
 ination and blows, and now again subsiding into the 
 persuasive ; until at last the king, being able to stand 
 it no longer, jumped to his feet and was about to 
 cry, " To the block with both of them." Just then 
 his youngest daughter, the Princess Elsa, laid her 
 hand on his sleeve. 
 
 Now the Princess Elsa, who was a tender-hearted 
 maid in spite of her occasional pranks, had seen the 
 mischief that she had unwittingly done, and had de- 
 termined to make amends for it if possible. 
 
 When King Adolphus saw her standing at his side, 
 he put off uttering his dire command, and leaned 
 over to hear what she had to say. Then gradually 
 the stern look on his face became mollified, and bid- 
 ding the princess be seated, he thus addressed the 
 court mathematician and his ex-pupil, 
 
 " It is evident that this point cannot be settled by 
 dispute, and that it will be necessary for each to give 
 away a little to the other. This is the compromise 
 which the Princess Elsa, my daughter, suggests, and 
 which I now command to be carried out. You " 
 (addressing the ex-pupil) " shall acknowledge that the 
 square of the cube root of the logarithm of the sine 
 of 45 is 1.9731; this will satisfy the court mathe- 
 
 107 
 
Applied Mathematics 
 
 matician, and being a young man you ought to know 
 that you must be wrong anyway. And you " (address- 
 ing the court mathematician) u shall give your daugh- 
 ter to your former pupil ; and I will say that being 
 an old man you should have known better than to try 
 to hinder the course of true love. Thus will we 
 follow our old maxim which says, ' Honor shall be 
 given to old age, and to the youth his sweetheart.' 
 And," added the enlightened king of Nunvalia, smil- 
 ing, u since it is impossible to tell just what is the 
 square of the cube root of the logarithm of the sine 
 of 45, I will keep the ruby myself, and have it reset 
 in my crown." 
 
 That night, as Ferdinand was wending his way 
 through the royal gardens toward the place of rendez- 
 vous with his beloved, he was stopped by a man who 
 gave into his hands a packet and then hastened away. 
 Ferdinand opened the packet, and within found a 
 beautiful little casket of gold and mother-of-pearl, and 
 inside the casket a ruby, none other than the one 
 which had been the third jewel in worth in the crown 
 of the king of Nunvalia. And he found in the 
 casket also a little bit of pasteboard, upon which was 
 written, in the same hand as was the note he had 
 received in the afternoon, these words : " If you love 
 a girl, look upon no other, serve no other, trust no 
 other." 
 
 The ruby the ex-pupil of the court mathematician 
 afterward sold, and he and his beautiful wife lived on 
 the proceeds of its sale all their life long. The cas- 
 ket he gave to Angelina that very evening. But the 
 card he did not. 
 
 108 
 
As Toll 
 
 AS TOLL 
 
 LOVELY Mabel, were you dreaming ? 
 Glad the day you said to me, 
 Dancing eyes so brightly beaming, 
 " Give my love to dear Marie ! " 
 What a strange exhilaration 
 To be bearer of your heart, 
 What a wonderful temptation 
 For a part. 
 
 For I have not tried to find her 
 Since you sent your love by me ; 
 Day by day I think I 'm blinder, 
 Fruitless search, as you might see. 
 I wonder, if in sending, 
 If you chose your slave by chance, 
 What that twinkle was portending 
 In your glance ? 
 
 Tell me, when I bear the treasure, 
 Would you very angry be 
 Should I keep a trifling measure 
 That was hardly meant for me ? 
 For it 's common in commissions 
 Some percentage of the whole 
 To extract from you patricians 
 Just for toll. 
 
 109 
 
At Monte Carlo 
 
 AT MONTE CARLO 
 
 I WAS seated at one of the tables of the Cafe de 
 Paris, and was waiting for the time to come 
 when the crowd would return. The place was de- 
 serted, or at least practically so; the only persons 
 present were the leader of the orchestra, who was 
 leaning on the edge of the piano, with a cigarette be- 
 tween his lips, and the waiter with whom he was 
 discussing a political question. From time to time 
 he removed the cigarette from his lips, and made 
 passes in the air with it, which gave him an advantage 
 over the garcon whose arms were full of empty beer- 
 glasses, and so had to depend solely on his lips ; which, 
 as every one knows, was a distinct drawback. 
 
 The old woman was putting the chairs back in 
 place around the little tables, and the chef talked 
 with the cashier at her little desk at the back. It 
 was quiet, and the only sounds were an occasional 
 whistle from an engine about to enter the short tun- 
 nel at Villefranche, which seemed to have a petulant 
 I note about it as if the engine objected to entering the 
 dark hole with its red lights, its smoke, and its noise. 
 The towers of the Casino rose above the palms, and 
 began to take more definite form as some one lighted 
 one by one the little oil lamps with colored globes 
 that followed the lines of the building. 
 
 The first group of guests arrived. It consisted of 
 a man and two women, the former a type of the 
 
 no 
 
At Monte Carlo 
 
 Frenchman of the Boulevards. He wore the straight- 
 brimmed cylindrical silk hat so offensive to the Amer- 
 ican eye, and the tight-fitting evening coat, and the 
 embroidered shirt-front and black gloves were in 
 accordance with it. The women were also typical, 
 loud of voice, vivacious of manner, and with that 
 peculiar something that marks at once the born and 
 bred Parisienne. The white light of the arc lamp 
 above them accentuated the pencilling of the brows, 
 and the vermilion line of the lips. A fourth mem- 
 ber of the party I forgot to mention. A white poodle 
 cut to represent a lion followed in their wake. Seated 
 at one of the tables over long glasses of absinthe, to 
 which the arc light gave the color of beryl, they dis- 
 cussed the events of the day and plans for the even- 
 ing; nor was the poodle forgotten, for a lump of 
 sugar or sweet cracker now and then fell to his lot. 
 The man was as vivacious as the women, and all 
 talked at once, and about nothing, a trait peculiar to 
 the nation to which they belonged. An Englishman 
 now entered, at once making a contrast between him- 
 self and the group at the table. Tall, broad of shoul- 
 der, blond, and athletic, with a strongly marked face 
 and quiet manner, he too was a type of the race from 
 which he came, and the old proverb that " An Eng- 
 lishman can whip three Frenchmen" came to my 
 mind as I looked across to where the scented gesticu- 
 lating son of France sat and grimaced over his ab- 
 sinthe and oranges. It had grown dark, and the 
 towers of the Casino were entirely outlined by the lit- 
 tle colored globes, and between the trunks of the 
 palm-trees I could see the entrance like the door of a 
 huge furnace sending its light in a broad pathway, and 
 in 
 
At Monte Carlo 
 
 seeming to swallow the many people that crossed its 
 threshold, for every one seemed to go in, and none to 
 come out. Another group entered, two young fel- 
 lows in evening dress followed by a third marked by 
 his very lack of personality. Tall and dressed in gray, 
 with stooping shoulders, his scanty and sandy-colored 
 hair carefully parted, he looked about him with watery 
 blue eyes in a vacant way, as when a torch is sud- 
 denly brought before the eyes of an owl. He was 
 the sort of a man you see on ocean steamers who 
 never seems to know any one, and drinks champagne 
 for lunch ; you might also see him at a racecourse, 
 but always alone. 
 
 They came and went, this light or heavy minded 
 throng, came in and drank, and listened to the orches- 
 tra, and went out again into the night, and if you 
 chose to follow any of them, you would generally see 
 them swallowed by the great glowing maw of the 
 Casino. All sorts and conditions of men ; the coach- 
 man went in beside the count whose ancestors had 
 worn the red cross and died in the Holy Land, for 
 the love of money makes the whole world kin. 
 
 And so the crowd came and went in the cafe, and 
 every one was happy or pretended to be, and the 
 lights from the Casino seemed to grow brighter as 
 the night advanced. Why this was a red-letter day 
 to me I do not know, only that I have never for- 
 gotten it. 
 
 112 
 
The Song of the Cavaliers 
 
 THE SONG OF THE CAVALIERS 
 
 WHEN our sabres rattle merrily against our 
 lance's butt, 
 And our bugles ring out clearly in the coolness of 
 
 the dawn, 
 You can see the guidons waving as the ranks begin 
 
 to shut, 
 And the morning sun beams forth on the sabres 
 
 that are drawn. 
 Then the bits begin to jangle and our horses paw the 
 
 air, 
 When we vault into the saddle and we grasp the 
 
 bridle-rein, 
 Of danger we are fearless, and for death we do not 
 
 care, 
 
 For we fight for good Don Carlos and the grim 
 grandees of Spain. 
 
 So to horse and away 
 At the break of day , 
 With never a thought of fears ^ 
 For Spain and the right 
 We'lldieorwe'llfigbt^ 
 Sing Ho^for the Cavaliers. 
 
 As we gallop through the villages or through the 
 
 sylvan glades, 
 Merry maid and buxom matron smile and wave as 
 
 we ride by ; 
 8 113 
 
The Song of the Cavaliers 
 
 There are broken hearts behind us, as well as broken 
 
 blades, 
 For the cavaliers are gallants till the war notes 
 
 rend the sky. 
 But when summer breezes waver and grow cold with 
 
 news of war, 
 We gird our good swords closer and we arm us for 
 
 the fight, 
 Maid and winecup fade behind us, lance and helmet 
 
 to the fore, 
 
 And we wheel into our battle line for Carlos and 
 the right. 
 
 So to horse and away , 
 At break of day, 
 With never a thought of fears, 
 We 'II die or we 'II fight 
 For Spain and the right, 
 Sing Ho, for the Cavaliers. 
 
 When at last the brazen bugles ripple out the ring- 
 ing charge, 
 We rise up in our stirrups and we wave our swords 
 
 on high, 
 The dust clouds rise beneath us, and the demons 
 
 seem at large, 
 The cavaliers are charging in to conquer or to 
 
 die. 
 Grim death may claim his victims from out our 
 
 whirling ranks, 
 Our plumes may be down-trodden in the grinning, 
 
 bloody sod, 
 
 The Cavaliers will meet their fate without a word of 
 thanks, 
 
 114 
 
The Song of the Cavaliers 
 
 But they've died for good Don Carlos, for old 
 Spain, and for their God. 
 
 So to horse and away , 
 At break of day, 
 With never a thought of fears, 
 We 'II die or we 'II fight 
 For Spain and the right, 
 Sing Ho, for the Cavaliers* 
 
"Which Passeth All Understanding 
 
 "WHICH PASSETH ALL UNDERSTANDING" 
 
 IT was reflected in every face. Men's eyes looked 
 kinder and happier, and the singing of thousands 
 and thousands of hearts filled the air with a full- 
 voiced, happy murmur, which rose and fell varyingly 
 over the great city. Down town the shops sent out 
 a cheerful glow early in the gray of the afternoon, 
 and the crowds surging restlessly back and forth 
 under the brilliantly lighted windows swelled the 
 murmur till it rose to an indistinct buzz. On the 
 up-town avenues it was quieter, but the long 
 lines of well-groomed men and beautifully gowned 
 women had changed their usual self-complacent 
 saunter to a brisker pace, and were hurrying about 
 the many little errands which must be done before 
 Christmas. 
 
 The tapering rows of arc lights were beginning to 
 shine brightly over against the growing dusk of 
 the park as Wilton swung rapidly along, his blood 
 tingling in response to the keen cold of the wind. 
 Wilton was six feet and good-natured, and did most 
 things with an unconcern which was marvellous. He 
 fell in love with Miss Wainwright quite as uncon- 
 cernedly as he did anything, and was on his way to 
 see her now. Much more wonderful, he was think- 
 ing deeply. It has been omitted to say that at times 
 Wilton rose to occasions. He turned sharply into 
 the broad side street, and went up the steps of the 
 
 116 
 
" Which Passeth All Understanding " 
 
 big brownstone two at a time, nodded brightly to the 
 maid, who was of all maids the daintiest and 
 sweetest, and towered behind her to Miss Wain- 
 wright's study. This was a privilege which he 
 shared alone. He stood aimlessly in the centre of 
 the room for a moment, with the first flush of awe 
 that a man sometimes feels in surroundings exclu- 
 sively feminine. 
 
 " I forgive your lateness," said a voice from the 
 window. " Look ! " She pointed over to the west, 
 where the palisades rose straight and black against 
 the dull red of the setting sun. Below, the street 
 was filled with stylish traps, returning home after 
 their hour in the park. The subdued rumble of 
 many wheels, and the jingle of tossing lip-chains came 
 to them faintly. " But it 's so bleak," said Miss 
 Wainwright. " I 've been lonely to-day," she went 
 on, " and some way I 've been thinking of those still, 
 warm nights last summer, you remember ? when 
 there were only little baby swells on the water, and 
 the moon's reflection reminded us of big silver dollars 
 coming up from the bottom." 
 
 " Sentimental twilight," agreed Wilton. " I can 
 picture just how bleak and cold and windy it is out 
 there now," he continued. " The buoys are leaning 
 way over with the wind, and the schooners are 
 shouldering their way stubbornly against the heavy roll- 
 ers, and the little white yachts at anchor in the harbor 
 are turning their noses up into the wind and dipping 
 their bright lights defiantly out to sea, and the sea is 
 rolling in, strong and restless, and churning itself 
 white over against Little Captain's reef, and I am 
 glad to be here," he ended with a smile. 
 117 
 
" Which Passeth All Understanding " 
 
 She nodded silently to the cigarette in his hand. 
 u See," she said, " these are my Christmas presents. 
 Don't you think this will please Jack ? " and she 
 held up a tobacco pouch, which, as such, was mani- 
 festly impossible. u I copied this for papa," she con- 
 tinued. " Is n't it appropriate ? " Mr. Pipp was 
 being convinced that a European trip was necessary. 
 " And I have something very nice for a big, careless 
 boy I know ; something to remind him " 
 
 But Wilton was staring out the window unheed- 
 ingly. He was smoking rapidly, blowing the smoke 
 nervously far in front of him, as men will when they 
 think. A keen woman remarks this shortly. 
 
 Miss Wainwright sat down and folded her hands. 
 a Tell me," she said simply. 
 
 u But it 's so positively foolish, and you would n't 
 take it seriously, and " 
 
 " I have yet to dress for the Assembly," remarked 
 Miss Wainwright, pointedly. 
 
 Wilton wheeled sharply around. "You have 
 noticed," he said, u that there is an intoxication about 
 a dance." 
 
 " Music and men," she answered, " comes after you 
 remove your gloves." 
 
 " Music and women," he corrected, u comes after 
 your second collar. It is furthered," he went on, 
 u by the ride home in the half shadow. Close prox- 
 imity to a being whose individuality is lost in the soft, 
 warm, perfumed fluffiness of an immense opera cloak 
 is not conducive to sobriety." 
 
 Miss Wainwright was laughing at him frankly. 
 Yes ? " she smiled. 
 
 " Well, to drop the general and hold to the con- 
 118 
 
" Which Passeth All Understanding " 
 
 ditions. He and she used to be excellent friends, 
 and she had been away for a year. It was perhaps 
 natural that he should stop at her home after the 
 dance. It was natural that he should toast her return 
 in what, for obvious reasons, he called the queen's 
 drink. 
 
 " She held the glass before the light, and smiled to 
 herself, and spoke of it as c my influential friend.' 
 And later, of all places, she stopped him in the inky 
 blackness of the library to ask when he was to call. 
 Now, if not indisputable, at least it is a fact which 
 can be proved, that in a dark room, between two people 
 who are who are well, let us say merely the 
 dance and the home-toast, you understand politely 
 intoxicated, there is a mutual attraction. And so" 
 Wilton paused to relight his cigarette " it was 
 the intoxication of the surroundings that, pure and 
 simple. In nine cases out of ten, the matter, foolish 
 as it was, would in the end merely have strengthened 
 a friendship like theirs. But in this case the girl 
 happened to take it seriously, and he happened to 
 have a peculiar motto on his coat of arms, Klyp Tryst^ 
 or something like that, which means keep faith. He 
 also had ideas about family honor which were 
 peculiar, and was of course in love with another girl 
 at the time." Wilton stopped abruptly, and un- 
 clasping his watch-fob, handed it to her silently. 
 Stamped in old Scottish beneath the crest were 
 the words Klyp Tryst. She fingered it thought- 
 fully. Wilton leaned toward her over the back of 
 a chair. 
 
 " Alice," he said, " we drove tandem the other 
 morning in the park, and since then I 've been think- 
 
 119 
 
"Which Passeth All Understanding" 
 
 ing just how much it would mean to me just how 
 good it would be if we might start sometime early 
 in the new year and do the rest of life tandem. It 's 
 all come over me with a sort of rush, and even now 
 it 's hard for me to realize myself just how much I 
 love you, and now/' he went on slowly, "there's 
 that ; " and he pointed to the crest in her hand. 
 " Not so long ago I relished just such affairs. At 
 worst I called them ridiculous. This one seems 
 wretched. It 's mine, all my doing," he went on, 
 "but I know that it 's your nature to be kind and for- 
 giving, and so I *m allowing myself to hope." He 
 straightened himself. " Do you think, Alice " 
 
 She rose abruptly. "There is a time for think- 
 ing, and a time for dressing," she said. " You really 
 must go. You require considerable forgiveness," 
 she went on ; " but " The smile in her eyes was 
 hardly defiant, and always Wilton did things uncon- 
 cernedly. The pretty little maid lifted her hands 
 and gasped, at a sound which she had grown to 
 associate exclusively with herself. But a new bank- 
 note crinkled in the pretty maid's bosom, and Miss 
 Wainwright sang softly to herself, while the pretty 
 maid dressed her. " Even to the changing of a 
 motto," she said. And later, as she went downstairs 
 she was still holding an odd-looking crest that was 
 lettered in Scotch, and saying something to herself 
 about a big, foolish, splendid boy. And the footman 
 held the door open absent-mindedly so long, while 
 she was pulling on her gloves, that the long white 
 cloak blew off one shoulder, and a cold, tiny snow- 
 flake drifted in and settled on the warm neck, and 
 was quickly covered up and smothered for its im- 
 
 120 
 
" Which Passeth All Understanding " 
 
 pertinence. But at Christmas thousands of hearts 
 are singing, and all mankind is happy, and even a 
 footman may be pardoned if his mind be filled with 
 thoughts of the Yule-tide and bright wood-fires and 
 savory roast turkey. 
 
 121 
 
At the Dawn 
 
 AT THE DAWN 
 
 PALING stars and a waking breeze ; 
 Then softly, faintly heard, 
 Across the dewy silences, 
 Drowsy and sweet a bird. 
 
 While the Dawn's banners deck the sky 
 And dark trees sigh and stir, 
 
 I pray God's dearest gift may lie 
 In this new day for Her. 
 
 122 
 
The Leper 
 
 THE LEPER 
 
 , Domine, Domine! " I was wont to 
 say, over and over, till my tongue was 
 numb and my lips near to bleeding, but God never 
 heard. u Domine, Domine, Save the white people ! 
 Save us, save us ! " Is Heaven so far, then, that 
 God cannot see that my flesh is white and rotten 
 and stinking ? Can he not know that my blood is 
 turned to milk ? I have shaken the wooden clapper 
 of my bell, and made a great noise that He might 
 take notice of me. But God the God of the 
 Red People, we say did not hear. It was in the 
 old days when I had a left foot which was white, 
 indeed, but nearly whole, that I prayed thus to the 
 God of the Red Folk. In that time I fell into 
 frenzies and tore the scabs from my legs with my 
 nails, till I was covered with blood but the blood 
 was more horrible than the flesh. 
 
 I knew a leper then who was a priest aforetime 
 but he became white like us, and joined our lodge, 
 the Order of the White Brethren. When he was 
 new to us, he carved the crucifix on his bell, and a 
 crown, which I do not rightly remember ; but after- 
 ward he scrawled over them, and cut images which 
 were not decent. When he was new, he wrote a 
 litany for us, all in monks' Latin, full of u Domine, 
 Domine, Domine ! " that one could say in rhythm with 
 the strokes of the bell on his neck. " Lord God, save 
 
 123 
 
The Leper 
 
 us ! Save us from death forever who are now dead in 
 life ! Save us^ Lord^ save us ! " Afterward he spat 
 out at the church, because it would not help him ; 
 and he wrote the litany anew, full of blasphemy and 
 uncleanness. I learned that, too, in my own course, 
 though I had never quite known the other, and we 
 would repeat it together, when he was not laughing 
 to himself or praying to the fiends in hell. 
 
 He was a gaunt man, this Aucassin, with gray 
 hair that was thicker where the tonsure had been. 
 And he died I do not remember a hound bit 
 his throat and he died. That was in the south of 
 the land, where we followed a great train of men in 
 shirts of mail, with many banners, and long lines of 
 men with steel knives that dazzled our eyes in the 
 sun. And in the train was much refuse, so that 
 some of us followed for weeks, not heeding our 
 companions the dogs, who had fear of us. There 
 were other followers, too, who, although afraid, would 
 yet pelt us from behind shelter. But it happened 
 that Aucassin followed one into a marsh, and there- 
 after we were free of these beggars. 
 
 Once, too, there came men from the rear camp, clad 
 in yellow jerkins, who were drunk, and who would 
 have cut us with their swords. But we did not run, 
 and Aucassin laughed at them, so that they were 
 astonished ; and, finally, when they saw what manner 
 of men we were, they fled and left their weapons 
 behind them. So that our white robes seemed a 
 greater defence than coats of mail like the angels 
 in the holy writings, Aucassin told me. But I could 
 not see wherein we were like the holy angels the 
 angels. 
 
 124 
 
The Leper 
 
 There are two parts in the time of our life ; I do 
 not know which is the worse, yet they are unlike. 
 When we are not long lepers, or young, so that the 
 sound of our bells is yet hateful in our ears and the 
 color of our bodies sickens us, we cry out and maim 
 ourselves vainly, and we wish to crush whatever we 
 look upon, just as a snake whose back is broken bites 
 at twigs. Some of the white brothers kill themselves, 
 but these are not many. In these days we are full 
 of the desires of the Red People, so that we are nearly 
 akin to them. I have heard that those others, when 
 life goes ill with them, seek adventure. So do we, 
 I think ; but I am not sure, for it is so long and the 
 desire of adventure does not live long, because what- 
 ever may be to do, there is no one to see. After, 
 we are quieter, but we are less alike. Some, like 
 Aucassin, go about with their lips mouthing words, 
 without ceasing, whether prayers to Satan, or words 
 learned and forgotten, whose meaning is yet forgotten. 
 And some draw their cowls over their heads and do 
 not speak, even as I have not spoken since the last 
 harvest. It is one in the end, when the eyes go, and 
 the feet and hands. 
 
 I can remember when I hated the Red People so 
 that I waited behind trees on the highway that I 
 might frighten them women and little children. 
 The men I feared more than they feared me. And 
 then they . . . there is another happening which I 
 remember also, of a monk. 
 
 He rode a jennet that was weighted down with 
 
 heavy saddle panniers, and under the three knots of 
 
 his girdle was the neck of a bottle. When I came 
 
 into the road and laid my hand on the bridle of his 
 
 "5 
 
The Leper 
 
 beast, he fell and lay in the dust trembling. And 
 when I left the beast and approached him, out of 
 malice, he made great use of what strength fear had 
 left in him, and clambered into the saddle and rode 
 away, throwing away his goods that he might be 
 carried the faster. Part of the burden was of coin, 
 and I threw gold ducats at him, striking him in the 
 head and cutting him so that the blood ran down his 
 bald scalp. But his blood was red, and that threw 
 me into a frenzy, and I followed after him ; but I 
 could not overtake him. I do not know why I 
 remember these things. 
 
 While I was still young, so that my thoughts were 
 as the thoughts of those others, I hid in a forest that 
 was beyond the town of La Tourin. In the day I 
 lay in the leaves in the wood, but at night I ventured 
 to the edge of the town that I might see the yellow 
 lights in the windows, and haply children at a fire, 
 and, when I grew bold, sometimes men at a tavern 
 table. In those days I had not forgotten the others 
 and the ways of their life. By the edge of the forest, 
 so near that I could lie in the wood and see the 
 smoke of the chimney and the sun on the tiles, stood 
 a cottage, and because of its nearness I learned to 
 watch it by day. When it was evening, I could see 
 through an opening, where sat an old man, yellow 
 and thin, near to dying, and often with him sat his 
 daughter. I had learned to be more quiet than the 
 leaves wherein I lay, and though I came and hid in a 
 young tree near the door, they never heard me. 
 
 The girl had yellow hair and a face red as the 
 berries which grow in the forests in the winter for the 
 White Brethren. And because of the ruddiness of 
 
 126 
 
The Leper 
 
 her skin, and her body, firm and clean like a young 
 tree, a great desire rose in my flesh, and not only in 
 my flesh, but my heart, if the kind God had left me 
 that. 
 
 Therefore I made myself strong in the purpose to 
 go there no more, the virtues of the others not being 
 yet dead in me. But because the appetites of the 
 Red People were no less living in my flesh, I could 
 not. Wherefore I washed my body in the brook, 
 and dried it with leaves whenever I went down to 
 the town. And as I came more often, so much 
 greater grew the desire in my flesh the flesh which 
 I began to understand in all its foulness and I grew 
 daily fiercer and more like the wild beasts. Once I 
 saw a young man sitting at the fire, fair and ruddy 
 also, and strong of limb ; whereat I grew so angry 
 that I went back to the wood and thought how I 
 should kill him and worse. That came to nothing, 
 because I never saw him again. 
 
 In those days when I began to feel the evil that lay 
 in me, I called unto all the saints whose names I 
 knew. Could they not see that I was not like the 
 others ? Even all the squirrels in the wood knew 
 that, and were afraid. Therefore why should I feel 
 the same desires as the others, and the same pain ? 
 But Aucassin said that Heaven was very far off, and 
 there they cannot hear us, save we be in a church. 
 And how was I, of the white people, to enter a 
 church ? After that, upon a day when the air was 
 sweet like spring-water, as I lay in the leaves in the 
 forest, I saw the girl walking through the trees alone. 
 I grasped the trunk of a sapling and lay shaking as 
 with an ague, so that the leaves rustled, until she passed 
 
 127 
 
The Leper 
 
 on, not seeing me. And again after that, she came 
 often to the wood, so that I learned where to wait for 
 her. And day by day it was harder to keep silence. 
 It grew in my mind then that if I showed myself, 
 she would not see that I was different if I should 
 throw away my bell and pull back my cowl. I do 
 not know why these strange thoughts were in my 
 brain, haply because I had eaten no fit food for 
 many days. Thus one day when she stopped in the 
 wood, I came out from behind a tree and stood be- 
 fore her. I had forgotten that even vermin would 
 not come near me. 
 
 She did not speak to me when I waited there for 
 her, but cried out, and fell back as if she were dead. 
 And a great eagerness filled me, and I ran forward. 
 But before I reached her I stopped, with the same 
 impulses that the others feel fighting in me, so that I 
 went no nearer, but stopped, too far away to touch 
 the hem of her dress, and stood thus biting my lips 
 till the teeth met. But in the end I turned my back 
 upon her, as she lay there with the red color gone 
 from her face, and ran through the forest crying, 
 " Leper, leper ! " and shaking my bell until my feet 
 gave way under me, and I sank down, I do not know 
 where. 
 
 I do not know why I remember this. Yesterday 
 I did not know that I had not always been of the 
 white people, and to-morrow I should not recognize 
 the woman if I should see her. But to-day I know. 
 
 Since then I have shunned the white people as the 
 
 others shun me, and live alone in the forest, talking to 
 
 myself of I do not know what. I do not know. But 
 
 my limbs are almost gone now, and I cannot tell 
 
 128 
 
The Leper 
 
 what will happen then. I only know that the fire of 
 hell will burn my flesh till it is charred and almost 
 clean like the others. That is what Aucassin said. 
 Therefore I am waiting until then, for the fire 
 of hell. 
 
 129 
 
A Song for Seafarers 
 
 A SONG FOR SEAFARERS 
 
 HOW may he know the haven's peace 
 Who never fared a-sea ? 
 Little recks he who bides on shore 
 
 What tides and winds may be, 
 How the blue days drop down the sky, 
 And nights creep stealthily. 
 
 Little recks he the joy that comes 
 
 When 'gainst the sunset sky 
 Dark headlands and the gray old town 
 
 In waiting welcome lie, 
 While harbor-lights a greeting flash 
 
 And homing sea-birds cry. 
 
 These be for him who far hath fared ; 
 
 For him alone they be. 
 (Oh ! welcome waiting lights ! and oh ! 
 
 Her dear eyes' watch for me ! ) 
 Well may I know the haven's peace, 
 
 For I have fared the sea. 
 
 130 
 
Principle 
 
 PRINCIPLE 
 
 " TT is a most convenient institution, that c cafe- 
 terion,' " said the broker, " not only because it 's 
 in the basement, ten steps from the elevator. Have 
 you never had a lunch there before? Then you 
 see the simplicity of the system. And, except an 
 occasional well-dressed tramp, I 've never heard of 
 anything 's not being paid for 
 
 u Indeed it is. If one is to ruin one 's digestion 
 with a mixture of coffee and lamb-pie, eaten in three 
 minutes and digested in ten, it's at least a comfort 
 not to spend ten minutes more waiting for checks. 
 About paying? I thought you saw. Why, you 
 pick up a menu at the door, and check each dish as 
 you get it. When you come out, there's no one to 
 watch you just a cashier at a desk, and you present 
 the card with whatever " 
 
 "Twelve, going up!" intoned the elevator boy, 
 with that graphic rising inflection which masters of 
 elevating use. 
 
 "With whatever Well, by Gad! Yes, you 
 know what I said of the well-dressed tramp. Right 
 past, and the check in my hand ! They can't count 
 on absent-mindedness; still, one rarely gets too far to 
 save one 's self-respect. I wonder if the boy 's in the 
 office. Tim ! Tim ! let the ticker go, and take this 
 check, and this, and pay the restaurant downstairs. 
 And shut the door. Sharp now ! 
 
Principle 
 
 " Yes, they are here, as I left them. The deed 's 
 in a separate package. Here. What? Yes, that 
 was the trouble; it was utterly impossible to alter it, 
 my man said. So I had Clifton make a new one. 
 Unpleasant, decidedly, but quite safe, I 'm sure, and 
 necessary necessary. You'd best destroy that 
 original." 
 
 132 
 
To a Dreamer 
 
 TO A DREAMER 
 
 THINK not by dreaming to regain 
 Hopes blasted by dull years of pain, 
 Up, laggard, let thy sword flash out; 
 Scatter the shadows by thy shout. 
 
 133 
 
A Letter and a Postscript 
 
 A LETTER AND A POSTSCRIPT 
 
 uRcmsoN." 
 
 A man elbowed his way through the 
 crowd that surrounded a fat little Englishman who 
 was conducting an impromptu distribution of the 
 bi-monthly mail, and took his letter. 
 
 He was the only one in all this motley crew 
 of South African miners who seemed worthy a 
 second glance. Something about his mouth when he 
 smiled seemed to hint that he had been cheated of 
 his youth and had begun life midway. A man 
 seemingly capable of the tenderest devotion and the 
 bitterest hate, and one in whom silence, strength, 
 and loneliness were personified. 
 
 As he looked at the delicately penned address, his 
 eyes recalled to one a half-forgotten memory of a 
 morning when, from the dark shadows of the foot- 
 hills, one saw the sun touch the stern mountain- 
 peaks with its soft first light. 
 
 Murchison left the noisy, good-natured crowd and 
 went to another part of the store to read his letter. 
 It began: 
 
 DEAREST HUSBAND, It is such a long time since I 
 have heard from you, lost in your terrible Africa. ... I 
 have been so lonely, so very lonely, since our little Mabel 
 left us, Mabel, whom you never saw. What would I 
 not give if you might have known her. . . . And you are 
 coming home, let me see, why, so soon my poor little letter 
 
 134 
 
A Letter and a Postscript 
 
 may not reach you before you start. And you are rich, 
 John ? Really it is all so odd. It seems as though I can 
 hardly wait for the days when we shall be together again. 
 You have been away for such a long time. ... I am 
 much better, I think. I walked several blocks this after- 
 noon, and the fresh air seemed to make me stronger. 
 Cousin Annie is kinder to me each day, if that is possible. 
 Perhaps I shall want to add something in the morning, so I 
 shall not seal my letter now. Good-night, my dear hus- 
 band, and good-by for a little while. MEG. 
 
 And below this, in another hand : 
 
 Meg died early this morning. She was conscious almost 
 to the last, and in no pain. I have only time to write these 
 words as the postman waits. God help you. ANNIE. 
 
 The man's face became livid. He clutched blindly 
 at the air, and would have fallen but for the wall at 
 his back. Presently he staggered out of the store, 
 down the little street and out among the hills. He 
 wandered on for hours, stumbling over half-buried 
 rocks and tripping on the long, tough bunches of 
 grass that lay in his path. He knew nothing of this ; 
 only knew that the woman for whom he had toiled 
 and struggled and prayed, was dead, and that he 
 would never see her face again, never take her slight 
 form into his arms, as he would a child's, never gaze 
 into the depths of her dear eyes, nor stroke her soft 
 hair again. 
 
 He was sick and faint and weak, his eyes were 
 
 blinded, his feet like lead ; yet he did not stop, but 
 
 struggled on. At last he could go no farther. He 
 
 fell exhausted, but lay quiet for only a moment. He 
 
 135 
 
A Letter and a Postscript 
 
 must up and away; away from this terrible night- 
 mare anywhere, but he must go. He struggled to 
 his feet, staggered on for a few steps, and fell again. 
 This time he did not try to rise, but lay panting, as 
 some wild beast, dog-driven until it is unable to go 
 farther, falls and lies in mute agony awaiting its 
 end. 
 
 As Murchison lay there, his senses became more 
 and more confused, and presently he fell into a sort 
 of half sleep, but he could not forget himself entirely, 
 and so, though not asleep, he feared to waken. The 
 cool evening wind bathed his fevered face, and at last 
 its chilly breath roused him from his stupor. He sat 
 up and looked about, wondering. For the moment 
 he had forgotten, but now the revelation of the day's 
 events came back to him with crushing force. 
 
 A demon seemed to possess him, and liquid fire to 
 run in his veins. He cursed heaven, his Maker, 
 himself, the mother who bore him. Cursed, not with 
 the blind, unreasoning rage of a less intense nature 
 but in low-spoken sentences, every word of which 
 was fully measured before it was uttered. Then 
 presently the idea of self-destruction took hold on 
 him. There was nothing to live for now, and he 
 would die. Surely this was the simplest way out of 
 his misery. Yes, he would die. 
 
 Now he felt more calm. He was on the border- 
 land between this life and the next, and he would 
 pause for a few moments. How sweet and still 
 everything about him seemed ! He wondered if 
 there were ever before as beautiful a night. The 
 soft, caressing breeze, the dark sky with its innumer- 
 able dots of light, and the great, solemn mountain 
 
 136 
 
A Letter and a Postscript 
 
 over yonder. This last seemed like a friend to him. 
 The half-light from the rising moon showed its deep 
 scars, marks of conflicts long since ended. How 
 grand it seemed standing there alone, utterly alone, 
 yet so much nobler than the smooth, grassy hills 
 among which he lay ! How much purer was the 
 light that fell on its lofty peak, shedding upon its 
 snowy summit a soft halo, than that which reached 
 the plain below. 
 
 And was he, a man endowed with an intellect, to 
 be put to shame by a mere mass of earth and rock ? 
 And she was surely watching over him now, what 
 would she say to this cowardice ? He must not, he 
 could not die so. There was surely something for 
 which to live. By God's help men should see in 
 him the lesson he had found in the mountain, and 
 perhaps some might learn as he had. 
 
 All this took hours. 
 
 As the east was turning pink, weary and faint he 
 reached the little mining village again, and that same 
 day, upon the wagon which had borne his letter to 
 him, he went out into the world. 
 
 137 
 
My Lady Goes to the Play 
 
 MY LADY GOES TO THE PLAY 
 
 WITH the link-boys running on before 
 To light her on her way, 
 A-lounging in her sedan goes 
 Belinda to the play. 
 
 In patch and powder, puff and frill, 
 
 From satin shoe to hair, 
 Of all the maids in London town 
 
 I wot there 's none so fair ! 
 
 From Mayfair down along the Strand 
 
 To Covent Garden's light, 
 Where Master David Garrick acts 
 
 In a new role to-night, 
 
 The swinging sedan takes its way, 
 
 And with expectant air 
 Belinda fans, and wonders who 
 
 To-night there will be there. 
 
 Sir Charles, perhaps, or, happy thought, 
 
 Flushing thro' her powder, 
 He might come in beneath her stays 
 
 She feels her heart beat louder, 
 
 138 
 
My Lady Goes to the Play 
 
 The place, at last ! The flunkies set 
 
 Their dainty burden down. 
 u Lud, what a crowd ! " My Lady frowns 
 
 And gathers up her gown. 
 
 ENVOY 
 
 Alack for human loveliness 
 
 And for its little span ! 
 Where 's Belinda ? Here, quite fresh, 
 
 Are still her gown and fan ! 
 
 139 
 
\ 
 
 At a Music Hall 
 
 AT A MUSIC HALL 
 
 " "\7*OU 've never been here before, have you ? " 
 asked Conway, as they stepped from the 
 elevator of the Gayety Roof Garden. 
 
 " No," answered Wendall ; " and it 's queer, too, 
 for I J ve visited New York quite a number of times. 
 What a crowd there is ! " 
 
 u I 'm afraid we 're too late to get a seat," said 
 Conway. " No, we 're in luck, there 's an empty 
 table. Let 's hurry up and take it." 
 
 " What kind of a place is this ? " asked Wendall, 
 as they seated themselves. 
 
 " Why, it 's rather a fashionable sort of theatre," 
 replied his companion, u a little above the average 
 music hall, I should say. That is, the vaudeville is 
 no worse than you '11 find at most places during the 
 summer, and the beer is excellent, which reminds 
 me Waiter ! " he called to a white-aproned 
 individual who was hurrying past, u two steins and 
 a couple of cigars." 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered the man deferentially, and 
 vanished in the direction of the bar. 
 
 "We've missed most of the numbers, I guess," 
 continued Conway, " but this next ought to be good." 
 
 Wendall glanced at the stage, where two little boys 
 in lavender court suits were putting into the bulletin 
 boards large cardboard placards with the name 
 u Mamie Devereaux" printed conspicuously on them. 
 
 u Who is Mamie Devereaux ? " he inquired. 
 140 
 
At a Music Hall 
 
 tt Why, I *ve never seen her myself," said Conway, 
 "but they say she is the drawing card here. She 
 sings and dances, I believe, or some such stunt. 
 However, you can see for yourself in a minute." 
 
 A murmur of satisfaction swept through the audi- 
 ence, which changed into noisy clappings as Miss 
 Devereaux danced on the stage and kissed her hands 
 knowingly to the front row. Evidently she was a 
 favorite with the patrons of " The Gayety." She 
 was rather a tall girl, of the usual variety star 
 type, and would have been pretty if her cheeks 
 had been less aggressively red. After she had fin- 
 ished her salutations to the house, she nodded to the 
 orchestra, danced a few preparatory steps, and began 
 to sing. 
 
 People said afterwards that Mamie was a little worse 
 than usual that night. There is no use describing 
 the song ; it was somewhat beyond the average man's 
 powers of description even if he wanted to try, and 
 the worst of it all was that she really had a beautiful 
 voice. Her frank indecency affected even the dulled 
 sensibilities of the audience. Most of the women 
 blushed or looked down, and their escorts listened 
 with a shamefaced sort of attention which did not pre- 
 vent them from joining in the enthusiastic applause, 
 as Mamie, after five startling verses, kissed her hands 
 again and danced lightly behind the wings. 
 
 u I thought you told me this was a respectable 
 theatre," remarked Wendall, after a short silence. 
 
 u I beg your pardon," answered Conway, with the 
 ready cynicism of twenty-two, " I said it was fashion- 
 able. Now, for heaven's sake, Bob, don't begin to 
 discuss the degeneracy of the stage, because it 's too 
 141 
 
At a Music Hall 
 
 hot, and, besides, Mamie '$ coming back again. No, 
 by Jove, she is n't ! It 's some one else." 
 
 A good many in the audience thought the same 
 thing ; but it was Mamie, though at first it did n't 
 seem possible. She had slipped a long, soft-colored 
 cloak over the tawdriness of her former costume, and 
 somehow it softened the lines of her face until she 
 was almost beautiful. But it was n't only the dress ; 
 the whole woman was changed ; her manner, her 
 expressions, her gestures, everything. She stood 
 somewhat back on the stage, out of the glare of the 
 footlights, and then the orchestra began a little simple 
 lullaby, and she sang it. 
 
 There were those in the house that night who 
 confessed afterwards that they cried, and no one who 
 had been there laughed at them. It may have been 
 only acting, but if so it was certainly the best acting 
 in the world. 
 
 She did n't sing the song exactly ; she was the song. 
 Her voice touched the commonplace words and made 
 them beautiful. She sang as a young mother sings 
 to her first-born, and the men who listened were 
 surprised out of their worldliness and thought of their 
 own mothers purely and tenderly, as even the worst 
 of us think of our mothers, thank God ! The tune 
 lost itself in a flood of golden sound, that faltered and 
 softened with yearning love, and then rang out again 
 with all the passionate tenderness of maternity and 
 all its purity. 
 
 There was no applause when the first verse ended ; 
 only a little sound, as though the people were impa- 
 tient at the pause. Then the violins crooned through 
 the interlude and she began to sing again. 
 
 142 
 
At a Music Hall 
 
 Oh, the pathos of that second verse ! It was no 
 longer the mother song, though the words were still 
 those of the lullaby. The words were forgotten in 
 the music ; people did n't hear them. Only they 
 heard the starved soul of the woman pleading for 
 that which she had not which now she could never 
 have. And in a vague, clumsy sort of way, they 
 understood, and pleaded with her. 
 
 Then back to the first verse. And again she held 
 the child in her arms and sang to it, quietly, tenderly, 
 and oh, how sweetly ! cuddling it close to her with 
 little ripples of soft, happy laughter. And while the 
 audience held their breath and leaned forward as if 
 they feared to lose one note of that perfect song, her 
 voice died gently into silence, and she slipped from 
 the stage so quickly that, before they had time to 
 recover themselves and applaud, she was gone, and 
 the little boys in lavender court suits were slipping 
 another name into the bulletin boards. 
 
 " Two steins, sir ! " cried the waiter. 
 
 Both men were rather glad of the interruption; 
 your Anglo-Saxon hates to be caught off his guard 
 emotionally. They lit their cigars, and then Wen- 
 dall turned to his companion. 
 
 "Just as a matter of curiosity, Fred," said he, 
 " which do you think was the real woman ? " 
 
 "Neither, of course," answered Conway, "but 
 she 's a mighty good actress." 
 
 Wendall shook his head. 
 
 " You may be right," he said doubtfully, " prob- 
 ably you are ; but I think on the whole I should 
 say both." 
 
 '43 
 
Dead Folks' Hour 
 
 DEAD FOLKS' HOUR 
 
 HOARY the grass in the churchyard still ; 
 A round, red moon peers over the hill. 
 A cricket cries like a soul in fear, 
 No other sound of live thing near. 
 The white frost shines ; the dead wind sighs ; 
 The cold stars gleam in the silent skies ; 
 A hand-like cloud blinds the moon's eye red; 
 Out from their graves peer the sheeted dead ! 
 Then up from their narrow cells they pass 
 To keep the hour of the Hallow mass. 
 Strange is the company huddled there, 
 The old, the young, the foul, and the fair. 
 Warm and sweet seems the frost wind's breath 
 To the icy dampness underneath. 
 They smooth their shrouds, and talk and jest, 
 For silence reigns in the earth's wide breast. 
 All too soon do the minutes pass 
 Of the Dead Folks' hour of Hallow mass. 
 One o'clock ! Their time is done ! 
 Back to his grave creeps every one. 
 But one begged God in vain to stay 
 A mother, buried but yesterday. 
 
 The night wind sighs through the churchyard still, 
 And the red moon sinks behind the hill. 
 
 144 
 
Not without Precedent 
 
 NOT WITHOUT PRECEDENT 
 
 THE Christmas tree stood despoiled of its gaudy 
 adornment of tinsel and bonbons, with only 
 here and there a few as yet unextinguished tapers 
 that sputtered aimless protests against the fate that 
 was soon to overtake them. 
 
 The younger members of the cousinhood, after 
 bidding affectionate farewell to their hobby horses, 
 their newly obtained families of dolls, and the other 
 fascinating acquisitions of the evening, had been led 
 off reluctantly to bed, there to be the prey of con- 
 flicting forces drowsiness, with its seductive invita- 
 tion on the one hand, versus the glittering allurements 
 of the real world on the other. 
 
 There were only two persons in the room now 
 a tall young fellow of twenty and a girl of about the 
 same age. They were sitting, looking into the fire 
 where else can one look when there is a fire ? 
 which had softened its boisterously cheerful mood of 
 a few minutes before to one of reverie ; the memory 
 of former Christmas eves, sweet, though fraught, per- 
 haps, with melancholy, having succeeded its whole- 
 souled participation in present festivities. 
 
 The boy was speaking. " I read a story to-day," 
 he said musingly, " and I 'm going to tell it to you. 
 It was about a man who, when he was strolling 
 through a field once upon a time, saw a very beauti- 
 ful flower, the most beautiful he had ever seen, the 
 10 145 
 
Not without Precedent 
 
 only one of the kind, so he firmly believed, in the 
 world. < If I could only have this flower, I would 
 be perfectly happy,' he said to himself; which might 
 have seemed strange to some, since he had never 
 cared much for flowers before. So great was his 
 desire to get the flower for his very own that he 
 determined to transplant it to the little plot of ground 
 before his own house. But then he reflected that, 
 having had no garden up to that time the plant 
 would probably die before he could prepare the 
 ground for its reception. Therefore he returned to 
 his cottage, worked hard for a time, and then came 
 to dig up his wonderful plant. But this time so 
 struck was he with its marvellous beauty that he cried 
 out, c What a shame it is to put such a miracle of 
 Nature in so mean a little garden plot as mine is ! 
 It would die of very shame, even if the hardships of 
 wind and weather, to which it must be exposed, did 
 not cause some day its death. Rather, I will abandon 
 my mean cottage and have a beautiful mansion 
 erected with a conservatory, which will at once pro- 
 tect and afford a suitable dwelling-place for my price- 
 less flower.' All of which he did; but when he 
 returned again to the field where the flower had 
 bloomed, it was no longer there." 
 
 " What a foolish man ! " said the girl, lightly. 
 
 The young man looked in her face earnestly. 
 " Do you think so ? " he asked. 
 
 u Yes, if he could have the flower for the taking," 
 she answered. " Don't you ? " 
 
 " You are laughing at me," said the young man, 
 half offended. 
 
 The girl looked at him gravely, but with just a 
 146 
 
Not without Precedent 
 
 faint suggestion of smiling in her eyes. "Why at 
 you, Fred ? I was only laughing at the silly hero of 
 your story." 
 
 The young man looked rather disconcerted, and 
 fingered the poker nervously for a moment. Then 
 he commenced doggedly, " You may be only joking 
 with me, but I am going to take you at your word." 
 He drew a bit nearer, and began speaking in a lower 
 voice, but hurriedly and earnestly. The girl's cheek 
 became flushed, perhaps because she had bent over a 
 little nearer to the fire. 
 
In the Hills 
 
 IN THE HILLS 
 
 IN pomp of scarlet and a-gleam with gold, 
 The Hills, like kings besieged, await the bands 
 Of Winter's host grown great with power, and bold, 
 Whose path was ruin 'cross the Summer lands. 
 
 The tyrant's will the Northwind's sword fulfils ; 
 
 The henchman, Frost, in pity will not spare. 
 In trampled scarlet stand the conquered hills, 
 
 Shorn of their glory, of their beauty bare. 
 
 Yet they are monarchs still, and when the Night 
 Has drawn the splendid curtains of the west, 
 
 She brings them purple, with the sunset light 
 Gold on their brows, their kingship's manifest. 
 
 148 
 
The Other Man's Wife 
 
 THE OTHER MAN'S WIFE 
 
 MRS. BENTON and Mrs. Wheeler no longer 
 spoke to each other. Their husbands, 
 bound together by mutual affliction, were staying at 
 the club, waiting resignedly for the clouds of domes- 
 tic trouble to blow over. It had all come about 
 through the cursed similarity between the two halves 
 of a double house. 
 
 Benton and Wheeler had been friends for years, 
 and each choosing a wife at the same time, they had 
 decided to keep up the intimacy by renting the ad- 
 joining halves of a double house. The arrangement 
 worked beautifully. Their wives developed a great 
 fondness, even to the point of matching samples for 
 each other at bargain sales ; and many were the excit- 
 ing rubbers of whist fought out during long winter 
 evenings. The only trace of their prenuptial freedom 
 which remained was the monthly club smokes, where 
 they found old friends and much pleasure of a kind 
 different from that of their own firesides. Punctually 
 at one, they would always drive home together, 
 simultaneously unlatch their doors, with a " Jolly 
 evening, was n't it, old man ? " and decorously mount 
 to their conjugal partners. 
 
 On a certain night, however, the unruffled staid- 
 ness of the gathering at the club was violently dis- 
 turbed. Dicky Asquith, the most popular and well- 
 loved man of the brotherhood, returned to New York 
 
 149 
 
The Other Man's Wife 
 
 after a year's absence on his yacht in the Mediterra- 
 nean. In his honor had the fatted calf been killed. 
 Many an old bottle had been ruthlessly torn from its 
 dusty retreat on cool shelves to contribute its little to 
 the conviviality of the occasion. 
 
 When, at one o'clock, the two benedicts rose 
 unsteadily and reluctantly to take their sorrowful 
 departure, the whole room cried out vehemently, 
 with many shouts of "Shysters," "Wife's apron- 
 strings." Asquith himself, climbing down from the 
 piano on which he had been perched as toastmaster, 
 with tears in his eyes begged them not to leave him 
 so soon, when he had just got back. They hesi- 
 tated, and were lost. 
 
 At three the meeting broke up. Sleepy waiters 
 assisted the helpless into cabs. In many cases the 
 blind led the blind. Long-suffering cabbies tucked 
 away obstreperous arms and legs, picked up wander- 
 ing hats, and asked patiently where to go. Save for 
 the rattle of the dispersing cabs, the city was silent. 
 
 The bumping over the cobbles, as they turned into 
 a cross street, awakened Benton and Wheeler to the 
 fact that they were almost home. Painfully they 
 extracted themselves from the common knot into 
 which they had slipped. Bracing themselves for the 
 ordeal about to come, they endeavored to straighten 
 rumpled ties and hats. From the second story of 
 each house a light burned dimly. The cabman, 
 being paid, drove off, leaving them to their fate. 
 
 No railing separated the doors, and with arms 
 locked for mutual support they mounted the steps. 
 After much searching, the two latchkeys were pro- 
 duced. Then Benton dropped his, and both men 
 
The Other Man's Wife 
 
 searched on their knees, with many matches, to 
 recover it. This made no little noise j neither was 
 the quest for the keyholes inaudible. At last both 
 doors stood open. The men turned, fervently wished 
 each other " God-speed," and entered each the other's 
 house. 
 
 Strange was the similarity of scenes within. At 
 the foot of each staircase sat a man with fumbling 
 fingers unlacing his shoes. At the top stood a stiff 
 figure draped in white, upon whose face was an 
 expression of stern and freezing contempt. With- 
 out perceiving their awaiting fates, each man, grasp- 
 ing firmly the banister, commenced the weary climb. 
 
 "John," said Mrs. Wheeler, when the toiling 
 figure had nearly reached her, " you are intoxicated." 
 
 Too much surprised to speak, Benton looked up 
 at her with open mouth. Then only did Mrs. 
 Wheeler see her mistake. Clasping her draperies 
 close around her, with a horrified shriek she fled into 
 the echoing darkness. Simultaneously from the next 
 house came a similar sound. Half falling, Benton 
 clattered downstairs, and collided violently with 
 Wheeler, outside the door. For a moment each 
 man leaned against the wall, recovering. 
 
 " John," said Benton, gravely, " your wife 's wait- 
 in* for you." 
 
 u So 's yours, James." 
 
 Then silence. " John, s'pose we could get into 
 the club as late as this ? " 
 
 " Less try, James." 
 
 With arms locked for mutual support, the two 
 descended the step into enveloping blackness. 
 
Captives 
 
 CAPTIVES 
 
 MY brain is like a prison cage, 
 Its thronging thoughts like birds. 
 Captives are they, who may not find 
 The outer air in words. 
 
 They were not born for narrow place 
 God's own free singing things ! 
 And 'gainst the bars of Silence, they 
 Beat ever with fierce wings. 
 
 Some day who knows ? at last will end 
 Their bondage kept so long, 
 And from the opened cage they '11 gain 
 Their liberty of Song. 
 
 152 
 
The Other Life 
 
 THE OTHER LIFE 
 
 PRECISELY how it happened the Elder Tramp 
 could not imagine. He had never heard of 
 such a thing before. There lay the Kid, stretched 
 out on the snow, motionless the Kid, whom he 
 had toted all the way from Chicago. He had showed 
 him how to lie most easily on the truck journals and 
 to hold on to the brake-rod above his head where the 
 steam-pipe keeps it warm in winter; had slept with 
 him in freight cars, and served thirty days with him 
 on a charge of vagrancy. 
 
 The Elder Tramp ran his hand through his griz- 
 zled hair and looked up at the starry sky. Then he 
 listened to the noise of the river on the other side of 
 the embankment. 
 
 " Clean gone," he muttered in a dazed way. 
 " His arm clean gone. He 'd 'a* bled to death, if I 
 had n't tied up the stump with a twisted rag. But 
 he 's hurted inside, too must be don't see why 
 he was n't all hashed up. He must 'a' dozed he 's 
 only a kid an' to be on the road two weeks steady. 
 But 'e said he must get home. Yes, he must ha* 
 dozed with the wheels o' thirty cars waitin* to 
 chew 'im up, dozed and got 'is arm caught in the 
 wheel. 'E must 'a' laid between the rails. There 's 
 where I found 'im. 'E 's goin' pretty fast." 
 
 The Elder Tramp went off to a little distance, 
 and came back with his hands full of snow. With 
 it he began to rub the pale face. 
 153 
 
The Other Life 
 
 " This ain't so full o* cinders," he said softly. 
 
 Presently there was a rumbling sound in the 
 distance. The Tramp jumped up, shouting : " A 
 passenger train. There's a chance then." He 
 rushed to a pile of new ties near by, and began to 
 strip off the fringes of bark. The train was swiftly 
 approaching. Now he had an armful and deposited 
 it in the middle of the track. He struck a match. 
 The train was a quarter of a mile away, and the 
 gleam of its headlight already on the rails. He 
 shielded the flame and applied it. A feeble fire 
 sprang up. It grew. Now the wind would not 
 extinguish it. Still he shielded it. The train was 
 fifty yards away. Still he squatted there, gazing 
 curiously at the eye of the advancing engine. Now 
 he held up his arm with an imperious repellent ges- 
 ture. But the pilot of the engine dashed it aside. 
 
 The wheels of eight brilliantly lighted cars drew 
 their thunder from the ground and flashed by in a 
 whirlwind. 
 
 The engine had thrown up from the stack a par- 
 ticularly large and brilliant spark. It descended in 
 a graceful, illuminated curve and fell by the form of 
 the Kid. Hissing and sputtering, it melted a little 
 hollow into the snow, and seemed to glow with greater 
 intensity before it became black. 
 
 At that instant the Kid's heart beat with a fierce 
 spasm. Then it fluttered stopped. The snow of 
 the world had chilled out the last fire in its core. 
 
 154 
 
The Autumn Call 
 
 THE AUTUMN CALL 
 
 O heart, my heart, the world is weary-wise, 
 My only resting-place is your deep eyes." 
 
 THERE 's a sobbing in the valley, 
 There 's a moaning on the peak, 
 And the myriad winds still dally, 
 Summoning the heart they seek. 
 
 Still the myriad winds are calling 
 Out from all the quarters round, 
 
 And the russet leaves are falling 
 Broken-hearted, to the ground. 
 
 II 
 
 Then open the places of heaven's last bounding, 
 
 And let the wild rivers run down to the sea ; 
 Stretch open your ears to the trumpet peal sounding, 
 
 Give heed to the ever eternal " to be." 
 The hill gates are open, the bronzed leaves are falling, 
 
 The season is nearing that bids us away ; 
 Farewell to thee, home-haunts, the mad world is 
 calling, 
 
 And stern is the mandate and brooks no delay. 
 
 Still feckless are we to the call that goes ringing 
 From river to ocean, from valley to crown 5 
 155 
 
The Autumn Call 
 
 The music of billow, the bird-throated singing, 
 
 The world-hazes cover and world-hummings drown. 
 
 All down through the mazes of Nature's adorning 
 The keen winds are shrilling their pitiless cry, 
 
 And we must be off on the wings of the morning, 
 So hail to thee, wild winds, and home-haunts, 
 good-by. 
 
 Oh ! taste of the meadow ! Oh J scent of high places, 
 
 That tempers the nerving salt sting of the sea ! 
 The mad world will pilfer the tan from our faces, 
 
 The mad world that harps its eternal " to be." 
 Farewell to the salt seas that ring the fair harbor, 
 
 Farewell to the brook that hangs white on the hill ; 
 Farewell to the slope climbing green to the arbor, 
 
 Farewell to the love that no farewell can kill. 
 
 The hills are behind us, the seas are behind us, 
 
 The dismantled schooner lies hull down to lee ; 
 And soon we will be where the past cannot find us, 
 
 A long way from hill and from sorrowing sea. 
 Then let the campfires die down to dull grayness, 
 
 Abandon the embers by forest and trail, 
 And cry with a sob and a pretence of gayness, 
 
 u All hail to thee, mad world, and once more, all 
 hail ! " 
 
 in 
 
 Then hark to the wind songs, 
 
 The myriad wind songs, 
 Give heed to their call, and throw open the gate ; 
 
 Farewell to thee, river, 
 
 And haste thee, a-quiver, 
 Far down to the sea, for the hour grows late. 
 
The Autumn Call 
 
 The wind songs are humming, 
 
 Their voices are summing 
 The clans of the Faithful from mountain to plain ; 
 
 Then heed ye the wind songs, 
 
 The myriad wind songs, 
 And haste ye away to the mad world again. 
 
 157 
 
White Roses 
 
 WHITE ROSES 
 
 THE music came to them faintly, out there 
 under the trees. The warm darkness seemed 
 to have grown sensuously tender with it. From 
 where they were sitting they could see the yellow 
 lights of the house blaze out into the night, and 
 sometimes over the wail of the violins came the 
 crowded sound of the chatter of many voices. The 
 little girl in the white gown had taken off her long 
 gloves, and had laid them limply across her knees. 
 She bent forward, smoothing the wrinkles out of 
 them with a kind of nervous indifference. The light 
 of a fairy lamp hung in the leaves above her, fell on 
 her soft hair, and caressed the smooth, babyish round- 
 ness of her throat and breast. Lorrimer, leaning 
 back in the shadow, regarded her with a sort of pity- 
 ing admiration " Poor little thing ! " he thought. 
 As he watched her, he felt himself suddenly feeling 
 very old. He envied the little girl in an amused, 
 careless way. "Would you mind if I lit a cigar- 
 ette ? " he inquired. He did n't care about smoking, 
 but he felt the conversational blank must be filled 
 somehow. 
 
 The girl turned to him quickly. " Why are you 
 so formal ? Have I ever cared ? Have I ever 
 stopped you doing anything you wanted ? " 
 
 Lorrimer smiled indulgently. It was his theory 
 that a man should always indulge women as long as 
 
 153 
 
White Roses 
 
 it did not give him too much trouble. There was a 
 moment's silence. The sob of the waltz-music thrilled 
 the night, and made it pulsate with answering rap- 
 ture. u Youth ! Youth ! " the violins seemed to be 
 sighing. u So soon lost ! So soon lost ! Love and 
 youth ! Love and youth ! " The music caught at 
 the girl's heart convulsively. She crushed the soft 
 gloves between her hands. " It is always this way," 
 she said with hurried vehemence. " I do all the car- 
 ing, and you " 
 
 " Is this apropos of cigarettes or of noth- 
 ing ? " Lorrimer asked lazily. He wanted to avert 
 the melodrama if possible. The girl did not hear 
 him. 
 
 "Look," she went on. "You are older than I. 
 You know the world and people. Perhaps I am not 
 like all the others. Maybe I amuse you. Perhaps 
 you have never realized it, but you have made me 
 love you. Do you understand, love you ? I know I 
 have n't any decency or I would n't tell this to you. 
 I don't care for decency or anything else. I love 
 you ! " Her voice shrilled softly with the defiance 
 of desperation. 
 
 Lorrimer threw his half-smoked cigarette away. 
 He was enough of a man to be more sorry than 
 flattered by what he had heard. He would have 
 given much to have known the right thing to say ; 
 a feeling of shame came over him, and a wordless 
 tenderness. The other had covered her face, and 
 was crying softly and brokenly. Lorrimer drew 
 away one of the little cold hands, still wet with her 
 tears. 
 
 " Don't cry," he said with gentle firmness. " You 
 
White Roses 
 
 really must n't, you know. How are we to go back 
 and face all those people if you do ? There ! Now 
 we can talk it all over quietly, and perhaps we can 
 understand each other better. You say you love me. 
 Can you tell me why, at first, I mean ? " 
 
 She had straightened up, and had stopped crying, 
 although her lips were still working tremulously. 
 There were white roses pinned to her gown and tak- 
 ing one, she began to tear it to pieces, petal by petal. 
 After a little pause she answered him. 
 
 " It was your dancing at first, and then then 
 other things. And then I knew that you were my 
 ideal." Lorrimer could have laughed there in the 
 shadow, but the pathos of the little fluttering hands 
 deterred him. 
 
 "And I am that now, and you want to, marry 
 me ? " He asked the question quite simply. 
 
 The girl looked up and met his eyes bravely. 
 "Yes," she said. "You are the best and finest 
 
 " Wait ! " Lorrimer said. " Wait ! You don't 
 know me yet." He had decided that she should 
 know. " I suppose that if I were to tell you that 
 I* m none of these good things, you would n't believe 
 me." 
 
 The girl shook her head, smiling faintly. " No," 
 she said. " I won't " 
 
 " Of course not. We never believe anything evil 
 about our ideals, until we have ceased to have them. 
 Nevertheless, it 's not true I 'm very far from being 
 even respectably virtuous, and certainly I 'm not fine 
 in any way. There is really no reason why you 
 should make anything more of me than of the 
 
 160 
 
White Roses 
 
 twenty-odd other men who ask you to dance, and 
 send you flowers occasionally." 
 
 "Ah! But I know you too well to believe you 
 now. You are n't like any of those others not 
 like any one else in the whole world. How can you 
 be ? I don't love any of them, and I do love you." 
 Her eyes were shining like stars, and leaning forward, 
 she rested her hand on his knee. Lorrimer saw that 
 another method of procedure was necessary. 
 
 " My dear," he said, " will you allow me to talk 
 to you just as your father might I'm almost old 
 enough to be or at least your older brother ? " 
 
 " Yes," assented the girl quietly. " Go on." 
 
 " Do you know you don't really love this er 
 person we have been talking about ? He is n't your 
 c ideal ' at all. He merely happened to step into your 
 life when you were in need of a figure to wear the 
 costume your imagination had made, and masquerade 
 as your ideal. Very soon you would have seen for 
 yourself how badly the costume fitted and then you 
 would have blamed him for being an impostor. It *s 
 not me you 're loving, dear, but your idea of me, and if 
 I let you go on thinking as you do, it would merely 
 hurt us both." 
 
 u Why do you talk to me in this way ? " she broke 
 out passionately. 
 
 u Because you are a sweet, simple little girl, and I 
 care for you too much to let you think you love me, 
 and that your heart is broken because I can't feel for 
 you in the same way." 
 
 a If it is not love what is it, then ? " she asked, 
 almost harshly. 
 
 "Just a part of your youth, little one," he an- 
 161 
 
White Roses 
 
 swered gravely. " Just a part of the moonlight, and 
 roses, and white frocks, and waltz-music. A very 
 sweet and beautiful part, and something you'll re- 
 member some day very tenderly but no more love 
 than those lights in there where they 're dancing are 
 the sun. Can you believe me ? " His tone had be- 
 come very earnest. 
 
 " Yes," she answered listlessly, " I believe you 
 anything, always." 
 
 They sat silent again until she had pulled the last 
 petal from the rose in her hand ; then she asked, very 
 quietly and slowly : " Do you think I '11 ever know 
 this other love now ? " 
 
 Lorrimer raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it. 
 " I can ask no greater happiness for my dear friend 
 than that, some time, she may," he said. 
 
 Some one came through the trees behind them just 
 then. " Oh, here you are ! " said the new-comer. 
 u They 're just going to begin the cotillion, and I 've 
 been looking for you everywhere." 
 
 The girl stood up, sweeping the white rose petals 
 from her lap as she did so. " I 'm all ready," she said. 
 " I 'm sorry you had such a bother to find me. Mr. 
 Lorrimer has just been teaching me a new game. 
 Good-by, Mr. Lorrimer," she said to him, u thank 
 you so much for the lesson. I 'm afraid I was very 
 stupid at first, but I I understand perfectly 
 now ; " and she laughed. 
 
 When they had gone, Lorrimer settled back in his 
 old seat again. "I'm glad she laughed," he said, 
 half aloud. " When a woman laughs, because she is 
 afraid she will cry if she does n't, she has learned 
 how to take care of herself." His eye fell on the 
 162 
 
White Roses 
 
 flowerless rose-stem on the seat beside him. He 
 took it into his hand for a moment. 
 
 u Poor little rose," he said softly. " I am sorry 
 it had to be pulled to pieces ; it was so pretty too 
 pretty to last," he added under his breath. 
 
 163 
 
Pagan to Priest 
 
 PAGAN TO PRIEST 
 
 AYE ; very fair the place you tell 
 The Holy Hosts, the changeless light, 
 The rush of song, the sweep of wings 
 All glorified, all pure, all white. 
 
 But I I wonder if perchance, 
 Sometimes, when all is done, is said, 
 My heart would long for sight again 
 Of one hot pulsing bit of red. 
 
 If more than all the lights and psalms 
 That will be time that has no end, 
 I 'd crave the clasp of one warm hand, 
 The sound of one voice saying u Friend." 
 
 I am not wise in holy things, 
 I only know that youth is fleet 
 I ask no far stars, white and cold, 
 While skies are warm and love is sweet. 
 
Friendship above Par 
 
 FRIENDSHIP ABOVE PAR 
 
 MARGARET and Randall when they were 
 nine and ten, respectively, had enough 
 originality and imagination to supply several grown 
 up persons, and yet leave an amount over that would 
 make them more than ordinary children. It was 
 Randall who had the originality, and Margaret the 
 imagination. As a proof of his originality, he in- 
 vented a system by which every one was given a 
 definite numerical valuation, but which like stocks 
 was liable to rise and fall. He started by assigning 
 to every new acquaintance five hundred, then for all 
 sins of omission and commission he subtracted cer- 
 tain definite sums, and for every little act of kindness 
 or generosity he added. Every virtue and every vice 
 had its minus or plus value. What he did when 
 any one got to absolute zero, he never told ; very 
 probably he dropped their acquaintance. 
 
 Margery, when he met her, went through this same 
 valuation. They were visiting neighbors, and after 
 an introduction made and strengthened over a picture- 
 book, they saw each other frequently. In the first 
 week Margery's stock valuation had gone up to six hun- 
 dred and twenty-five, and during the next week, be- 
 cause she could throw a ball almost as well as Randall, 
 she went up sixty-four more points. All this without a 
 fall. This was unparalleled in Randall's experience. 
 Never had any one's value risen without receiving 
 
 165 
 
Friendship above Par 
 
 occasional set-backs, for so far he had met no one 
 perfect. So it was already a case of love at first sight, 
 and love, you know, has broken down more complicated 
 systems than this. And it was love on both sides too. 
 For, after all, originality and imagination are very 
 much of the same, and Margaret found that with his 
 gift of originality he could invent more stories about 
 the pictures in the book than she could with her im- 
 agination. So immediately she fell captive, and took 
 no pains to hide the fact. Before the book was finished 
 she even allowed him to wipe his fingers on her hand- 
 kerchief. " You have forgotten yours," she said. 
 
 " Boys never have them," he explained. 
 
 She thought the matter over for several minutes, 
 and then she said, "You can always borrow mine." 
 This was so delicately put that with the obtuseness 
 of his sex he quite overlooked its meaning. It was 
 Margaret's complete and unconditional surrender. 
 
 It would be a long story to follow their companion- 
 ship through the days that followed. Margaret de- 
 serted the others with whom she had played before, 
 and learned to storm block forts with colored marbles, 
 that were at one moment cavalry and the next can- 
 non balls ; to make siege guns out of the elderberry 
 bush, and to lay out a cemetery for the soldiers, 
 using dominoes for headstones. The game of im- 
 prisoned princess followed this, and brought about 
 their only quarrel, as to whether the prince ought to 
 die or not, after rescuing the princess from the fury 
 of ten dragons. Randall thought that he ought to 
 live ; Margaret thought he ought to die of his wounds. 
 They finally compromised by having him die every 
 fourth time they played. 
 
 166 
 
Friendship above Par 
 
 All this time they had both worked the evaluation 
 system, but separately, for Randall had explained it 
 fully to Margaret. At the end of each week Ran- 
 dall would make public Margaret's value, and Mar- 
 garet, Randall's. You can readily see the result. 
 Imagine yourself in love with some one, and every 
 week calmly calcukting how much she has risen or 
 fallen in your estimation. In such a case Cupid has 
 a way of adding by multiplication. By the middle of 
 the summer they were both up in the thousands, and 
 even in the quarrel over the princess game they only 
 dropped ten points apiece. 
 
 u Of course she J d want him to die for her," said 
 Randall, by way of excusing her. 
 
 " It 's only right that he should live after doing so 
 much," said Margaret. 
 
 Finally, when the numbers became so large that 
 they were difficult to handle, they agreed to stop. 
 
 u You see when we get married we can commence 
 again," Randall said. " For after that there will be 
 as much going down as going up." When they 
 stopped Margaret's score was three thousand five 
 hundred and eighty-one, and Randall's three thousand 
 five hundjj 'd and eighty. The difference was insisted 
 upon by Kandall out of politeness. 
 
 At last the day for departure came. Margaret gave 
 him her finest handkerchief with her monogram 
 worked in pale blue silk, her photograph, and a 
 promise to write every day. Randall gave to Mar- 
 garet nobody but themselves knows what. And 
 her mother still wonders why Margaret turned her 
 left cheek always for the good-night kiss. 
 
Friendship above Par 
 
 Fifteen years later, a man who had gone through 
 school and college, surveyed railroads and built 
 bridges in the West, and whose name was Randall 
 Easton, was crossing the continent on the Overland 
 Limited with Miss Margaret Sutton. They had 
 known each other for nearly a year, so Easton sup- 
 posed ; but Miss Sutton, adding two and two together, 
 concluded otherwise. It was the morning of the 
 last day, and they were eating breakfast together in 
 the dining-car. At noon they were due in San 
 Francisco, and a week later Easton was to sail for 
 Japan. Over his second cup of coffee he asked a 
 question, one so commonplace that it is asked every 
 hour somewhere in the world. It was a peculiar 
 place to ask such a question, the dining car of an 
 Overland Limited, but perhaps the conventionality of 
 the question excused the commonplace surroundings. 
 
 At any rate, it was answered in a most unconven- 
 tional way. Miss Sutton glanced across at Easton 
 and said slowly, " Are n't you afraid my valuation 
 will fall too rapidly from three thousand five hundred 
 and eighty-one ? " 
 
 1 68 
 
In the Dark 
 
 IN THE DARK 
 
 HAVE you ever been a-walkin* on the grim old 
 hills at night, 
 When the stars go twinkle-twinkle, and the moon is 
 
 not in sight, 
 
 And the big trees in the forest seem to keep out all 
 the light ? 
 
 You hear a noise behind you and you start, you 
 
 don't know why, 
 And somethin' in the darkness seems to moan and 
 
 pass you by, 
 And the blackness, gettin* blacker, shuts you off 
 
 from all the sky. 
 
 Our ancestors were foolish to believe in sprite or 
 
 fay, 
 Or in ghosts that love the darkest night and always 
 
 shun the day, 
 And that spirits of the dead still walk in their 
 
 mysterious way. 
 
 Yet, though it 's kind o* childish, I sometimes feel as 
 
 though 
 They were n't so wrong as we believe, and maybe 
 
 here below 
 There 's more around us in the dark than any of us 
 
 know. 
 
 169 
 
A Reverie 
 
 A REVERIE 
 
 THE gas was turned low, and the soft reddish 
 glow of a dying wood fire filled the richly 
 furnished room, giving an added lustre to the costly 
 wine-set of Hungarian ware on the table and tingeing 
 with a warm light the marble statuette half hiding in 
 a corner. In strange contrast to this luxuriance was 
 the occupant of the room, a little deformed figure, 
 hardly more than half the height of an ordinary man, 
 sunk deep in a great thickly upholstered armchair, 
 which seemed to be holding him in its embrace and 
 protecting him from the scorn real though unex- 
 pressed that the world feels for the weaker ones of 
 its great family. 
 
 He had been reading a review, cutting the leaves 
 with a beautiful little pearl-hiked dagger some 
 souvenir of foreign travel, no doubt but the oil in 
 the piano lamp beside him, which had served to light 
 his page, had become exhausted and the magazine had 
 fallen from his hand and lay sprawling on the hearth- 
 rug by his chair. Yet he still sat before the fire, 
 toying with the dainty little weapon and watching 
 the firelight as it gleamed on the eager jj quivering 
 blade. Presently he took up from the table beside 
 him a bit of crumpled paper and smoothed it out 
 with his thin white hands. It was the programme 
 of an amateur theatrical entertainment, and he had 
 taken it up and smoothed it out in the same way 
 
 170 
 
A Reverie 
 
 several times before since his return that evening; 
 each time the same look of pain had overspread his 
 features. Yet in spite of all he could do, his 
 mind persisted in reverting to it, with the memory 
 it called up. 
 
 As he read over the paper, his eyes turned instinc- 
 tively to the photograph of a girl on the table, which 
 she had given him in pity, he thought, pity, the 
 rose with the bitterest thorns of all. How perfect 
 she had looked that evening ! Yes, perfect, that was 
 the word ; perfect in herself physically, first of all, 
 and then perfect in accord with the life setting 
 wherein fate had placed her. He went over in his 
 musing the different scenes of the little play in which 
 she had appeared and of another scene to which 
 he had been by chance an unseen audience of one. 
 After the entertainment was over he had stepped 
 behind the improvised scenery to wait for a friend 
 who was divesting himself of his make-up, and as he 
 did so he saw her standing with a tall young man 
 amid the confusion of the dim-lit stage. 
 
 The man had been congratulating her on her 
 success. " I 'm afraid you did n't have the best of 
 support," he said. u I confess I was terribly afraid." 
 
 " You were a little too conscious," the girl an- 
 swered with candor, " especially in the love scenes. 
 But you J ll improve in time," she added lightly. 
 
 Then the young man had leaned toward her, saying 
 something in a low voice, and the watcher in the 
 wing had become aware that he was eavesdropping 
 and turned away. 
 
 He could not say that a hope had been destroyed 
 for him, for he had never had the remotest hope in 
 171 
 
A Reverie 
 
 that respect ; yet, for all that, it was a bitter experi- 
 ence. He slowly crumpled the paper in his hand 
 and tossed it into the fire, and then sat watching it 
 flame up, redden, and finally lose its identity among 
 the glowing embers and all the while he held the 
 little dagger in one hand, now and then pressing its 
 needle-like point into the other till he almost cried 
 out with pain. What a strange turn his thought 
 was taking! At last he rose wearily and laid the 
 weapon on the table. u In another century and 
 another land I might have done it," he thought, 
 u when most likely I should have been dressed in 
 motley and served as the plaything of royalty, but 
 now one can do nothing but become cynical and rail 
 against all the first-born of Egypt." 
 
 172 
 
A Song of Sport 
 
 A SONG OF SPORT 
 
 WHAT ho, my boys, for the leafless woods, 
 On a crisp November day, 
 When the west wind sings through the moss-hung 
 
 oaks 
 
 A merry roundelay. 
 The partridge whirrs and the quail lie close ; 
 
 Our dogs work fast and free. 
 Sing ho, my boys, for the cracking guns 
 And a day of jollity ! 
 
 What ho, my boys, for a baying pack 
 
 And a coat of crimson hue, 
 With champing studs and fair, hard pulls 
 
 With Reynard full in view. 
 The clear horn rings on the cool sweet air, 
 
 The fences fly below, 
 The brush shall swing at our belt to-night. 
 
 Sing ho, for the chase, sing ho ! 
 
 What ho, my boys, for a narrow trail 
 
 That leads to a placid lake, 
 Where lilies float in quietude 
 
 And hares play in the brake. 
 The hounds give voice on the mountain side, 
 
 The woods re-echo again, 
 And we grasp the rifle with firm, strong hands. 
 
 Sing ho, for a stag of ten ! 
 173 
 
A Song of Sport 
 
 What ho, for sport, whatever it be, 
 
 Wherever our pleasure calls, 
 Be it gun, or horse, or field, or hounds, 
 
 Or rod 'neath the mist-hung falls. 
 Come, fill us a brimming bumper now, 
 
 And drain it deep and low. 
 A toast to sport, a toast to luck, 
 
 Sing ho, sing ho, sing ho ! 
 
 174 
 
Duets 
 
 DUETS 
 
 THE Sage had grown weary of solving problems 
 in celestial mechanics. Their utter simpli- 
 city annoyed him, and so, rising from his seat, he 
 walked out into the cool, sweet garden. There, 
 alone, gazing at the countless stars above, he tried to 
 solve another problem, Eternity. 
 
 And afterward four of the King's guard bore him 
 away to the madhouse. 
 
 Two met on a highway. " Go no farther," said 
 one. 
 
 u Know you not who I am ? " said the other. " I 
 go where I list ; I am Love." 
 
 " You can go no farther," said the first. " I am 
 Death." 
 
 Two lovers quarrelled and parted, each claiming 
 the other was in the wrong. The woman married a 
 man she did not love ; the other drank himself to 
 death. So each was avenged. 
 
 " I WILL grant you two desires," said Life to the 
 youth. " What would you ? " 
 
 " I am blind," said the youth. " Open my eyes." 
 And Life did so. 
 
 u Now what is the other wish ? " asked Life. 
 
 " Make me blind again," answered the youth. 
 '75 
 
Duets 
 
 " I HAVE found the secret of the universe,*' said 
 one. 
 
 " And I, too," said the other. 
 
 " But you are only a lover," said the first. 
 
 "And you are only a scientist," answered the 
 second. 
 
 LIFE once cast away, as useless, a block of white 
 marble ; but Sorrow, finding the block, began to labor 
 upon it. 
 
 "Your work will be vain," said Life, contempt- 
 ously. 
 
 " Wait and see," Sorrow replied. 
 
 And after many years Life saw that Sorrow from 
 the useless marble had carved out the figure of a 
 strong man. 
 
An Epitaph 
 
 AN EPITAPH 
 
 CLOSE-FOLDED to the mountain's heart 
 Let him sleep well, sleep long. 
 The voices of a thousand pines 
 Be for his slumber song. 
 
 O'er him shall ferny greennesses 
 
 A dauntless verdure set 
 To comfort him till warm rains wake 
 
 April's first violet. 
 
 Here to the tired child of change, 
 
 Through days that shall not fail, 
 Shall come the summer's last Farewell, 
 
 The steadfast spring's All hail ! 
 
 And he shall fear no evil thing 
 
 When warrior winds awake ; 
 I think their mighty hosts will pass 
 
 More gently for his sake. 
 
 So, girt by list'ning forests, 
 
 And hushed by breathless song, 
 Still dreaming down the pilgrim years, 
 
 He shall sleep well and long. 
 
 His was the wand'rer's wild heart 
 
 That loved not bonds and bars 
 Wildness to wildness ! Rest ! while burn 
 
 The watch-lights of the stars. 
 
 12 177 
 
Founded on Fact 
 
 FOUNDED ON FACT 
 
 THE Woman of the World sat at the piano. 
 The Boy stood beside her, bending down 
 to her. The Woman of the World was playing 
 Schumann. Her throat and arms gleamed like warm 
 marble in the soft candlelight, and the effect against 
 the shadow was very lovely. Possibly the Woman 
 of the World knew this. At any rate, she ought n't 
 to have allowed the Boy to stand there. Being a 
 woman, she continued to allow him; but from a 
 similar reason she compromised with her conscience 
 and changed abruptly from the Schumann to a passion- 
 less jingling two-step. The sacrifice was heroic. 
 
 " Why do you play that thing ? " asked the 
 Boy. 
 
 The Woman of the World made some answer. 
 She wished she had no conscience, and did not really 
 like the Boy. He was big and muscular, with a face 
 suggestive of all the Cardinal Virtues and Pears' soap. 
 Lately there had come into his eyes a look that made 
 her a little sorry. For she liked him, as has been 
 said previously. The blow came before she had a 
 chance to avert it. 
 
 u Claudia," the Boy said, it was the first time 
 he had ever called her by her Christian name, and he 
 said it with a bashful tenderness, u I love you 
 will you marry me ? " The Boy bent very low, almost 
 touching her hair with his lips. 
 
 I7 8 
 
Founded on Fact 
 
 There is always one subject that a man may be 
 sure will interest a woman. There is always one 
 statement that will not grow commonplace through 
 frequent repetition. The love scenes are really the 
 only ones in the comedy of life that most women 
 enjoy acting for their own sake. 
 
 But Claudia liked the Boy j in fact, she liked him 
 so well that she would have preferred putting her face 
 on the cold white keys and crying : women are 
 nothing if not illogical. Instead of such a bit of 
 melodramatic bad taste, she laughed softly without 
 looking up. u How absurd ! " she said, as if he had 
 made quite a clever remark for a boy. 
 
 u My dear child," her tone was motherly, " I am 
 ages older than you quite five years. You would 
 never cease regretting that you had married me. I 
 should be old and worn before you were in your 
 prime. No, you must find some one else, who will 
 adore you and make you perfectly happy, and I will 
 come to see you to lend the dignity of age to your 
 marriage." 
 
 "You are heartless," said the Boy, between his 
 teeth. 
 
 " Am I ? Well, I don't agree with you, and in 
 a year you and she will thank me." 
 
 " I can never love any one else." 
 
 " Quite the conventional remark under the circum- 
 stances. I should have felt quite hurt had you not 
 said it. But it J s nonsense all the same. Besides, I 
 care for some one else." 
 
 She told the lie with no apparent struggle. 
 
 He left her there in the shadow still playing 
 the noisy, blatantly cheerful two-step. He went 
 179 
 
Founded on Fact 
 
 too quickly to hear the music stop with a sudden 
 crash, and to see her turn with wide-stretched arms, 
 with her eyes like dewy stars shining through her 
 tears. And perhaps it was well for him that he did 
 not. 
 
 180 
 
The Amorous Scientist 
 
 THE AMOROUS SCIENTIST 
 
 A SCIENTIST, with learning vain, 
 Who thought all things he could explain 
 By means of nerve cells in the brain 
 And molecules and motion, 
 
 Once fell a prey to Cupid's dart, 
 And to the maid who stole his heart 
 He thus attempted to impart 
 His passionate emotion : 
 
 " My lobes occipital are wrecked, 
 
 (Their every cell thou dost affect), 
 
 Their vaso-motor process checked 
 
 By the mere concept of you. 
 
 " Do yours respond likewise to me ? " 
 " Pray, sir, what do you mean ? " quoth she. 
 " Why, only simply," stammered he, 
 " In other words I love you." 
 
 Ah, Science, all thy technique vain, 
 Thy knowledge vast of world and brain, 
 Can ne'er the simple worth attain 
 Of these three words, " I love you." 
 
 181 
 
A Song of Other Days 
 
 A SONG OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 HE was an old man, bent and gray ; she was a 
 young girl hardly yet grown to womanhood. 
 She sat on the arm of his chair, gently stroking the thin 
 gray hair, and watching the dancing blaze in the 
 fireplace. The fire cast fantastic shadows about the 
 room, lighting up the dark corners for a moment, 
 then leaving them to greater gloom. For a long 
 time neither of the two spoke. Gradually the flames 
 ceased trooping over the logs, and the gray sparks 
 took shorter journeys chimney-ward. 
 
 " Play to me," the old man said. 
 
 The girl rose and took her violin from the table 
 where it lay. For a moment was heard only the 
 thrumming of strings; then she played to him. It 
 was a simple air, one of the old ones that are 
 always best, and as the old man gazed into the 
 glowing coals, he forgot the music and the girl and 
 himself, and felt only the sweet thrill of another day, 
 years gone. 
 
 It was spring and they two were maying. They 
 wandered through woodland and meadow, chasing the 
 few early butterflies they saw, and gathering flowers 
 here and there. Her face was hot and flushed and 
 happy under her great white sunbonnet. A bit of 
 curl had broken loose from its bonds and struggled 
 out beneath her hat, and he begged her to give it to 
 him. He smiled now as he thought of her scornful 
 refusal. 
 
 182 
 
A Song of Other Days 
 
 She wanted some violets that grew on the other 
 side of the brook, and he was helping her over the 
 stepping-stones. In the most unsteady part he 
 stopped and refused to go on until she had answered 
 something he asked her. Blushing, with eyes cast 
 down, she replied so softly that none but a lover 
 might have heard. 
 
 And afterward, wearying of the birds and the 
 flowers and the butterflies, they sat down on the 
 flower-strewn bank, and with the fragrance of sweet- 
 fern all about, she sang to him. 
 
 It was the same song that the young girl had played 
 to-night. The old man had rested his head in his 
 hands, and as he gazed into the glowing embers, a 
 dreamy half-smile upon his face, in the light of the 
 dying fire he looked young again. When the music 
 ceased, he did not move, and so, softly replacing her 
 violin, the young girl stole away. 
 
 183 
 
In Bohemia 
 
 IN BOHEMIA 
 
 Dans un grcnier, qu'on est bien a vingt ans! *' 
 
 A BOOK in French yellow covered, 
 The smoke of a cigarette 
 On the divan by the windows 
 It seems that I see you yet. 
 
 Outside the roofs steeped in sunshine, 
 'Neath a faint spring sky of blue, 
 
 Below us the city's tumult 
 Above in our nest we two. 
 
 I was young with all before me, 
 You, too with something behind, 
 
 You told me one day, half crying ; 
 I kissed you and did n't mind. 
 
 Vive la Follet ! and we pledged her 
 
 In clear golden veuve cliquot 
 (I *d sold a sketch, I remember, 
 
 How bad then I did not know). 
 
 A banquet ! a box our table, 
 
 Other things claimed it as well 
 
 Fruit from the stand on the corner 
 And bread served au natureL 
 
 184 
 
In Bohemia 
 
 Your gowns are designed by Worth now, 
 Perfection of style and tone ; 
 
 I go to a London tailor 
 
 (iMine and H. B. H.'s own!) 
 
 Yet, if Fate choice should grant me 
 ' Twixt these and the days gone by, 
 
 I *d take the crust and the laughter 
 In that bare room 'neath the sky ! 
 
 .85 
 
That Babington Affair 
 
 THAT BABINGTON AFFAIR 
 
 'OU will pardon my being so abominably per- 
 sonal," I said to my friend Reeves in a 
 burst of confidence, as we sat smoking before the 
 open fire, talking over our summer at Babington. 
 " But did I ever tell you the little stunt that happened 
 to Miss Marston and me on the links last summer ? " 
 
 He moved rather uneasily at the mention of that 
 name, I thought, but listened with interest. 
 
 " Well," I continued, " you know that, thanks to 
 your exploiting of my peculiarities and a natural diffi- 
 dence which I must admit, I got a reputation with 
 those girls for being the most bashful thing there ; I 
 don't think she seriously believed it, though. 
 
 " It was the afternoon that you were feeling rather 
 rocky from meeting those Yale people the night be- 
 fore. I was much flattered when she accepted my 
 services as instructor, and with a few remarks as to 
 the uselessness of engaging a caddy, I proudly took 
 an armful of clubs and we started. 
 
 " You are also aware that the Babington golf course 
 was not laid out with a view to pleasing the novice. 
 Those apple orchards and swamps that diversify the 
 landscape and the omnipresent Sackett brook, so 
 dangerously near, are very trying. But that is 
 neither here nor there. 
 
 " Miss Marston progressed rapidly under my com- 
 petent tuition. Going through Profanity Lane, we 
 1 86 
 
That Babington Affair 
 
 chatted about Farmington, and upon my remarking 
 that I should probably see Alice Walker in August, 
 she exclaimed : c Why, really ? Do give Alice my 
 best love ! ' 
 
 " c May I keep it until I see her ? ' I asked, rather 
 clumsily, trying your favorite bon mot. But just then 
 the lusty Mrs. Wrenn-Smith (you remember seeing 
 her avoirdupois galloping over the links) cried 
 ' Fore ! ' about twenty yards behind us, and we turned 
 around inopportunely to see a large area of turf lose 
 its connection. So my maiden effort was lost. 
 
 u We passed ' Sleepy Hollow ' and ' Despair ' 
 easily, but in approaching the eighth green a long 
 mashie shot sent the ball across the brook, where it 
 poised defiantly. I admit I was up a tree. 
 
 " ' Thunder ! ' I think she said some forbidding 
 word of two syllables. c How can I cross ? there 
 does n't seem to be a sign of a bridge. And I so 
 wanted to make this my record.' 
 
 " ' A toppy lie, and you had such a good show for 
 the bogy ! Won't you allow me to carry you over ? ' 
 I suggested, and I swear I saw mischief in her look 
 as she smiled at me and then turned in the direction 
 of Mrs. Wrenn-Smith, a friendly hill had already 
 managed to conceal that lady." 
 
 Reeves had removed his feet from the mantel early 
 in the narrative, and now he clutched his chair ner- 
 vously. I refused to notice this agitation and went 
 on : 
 
 " I imagine Miss Marston was surprised when she 
 found herself speedily transferred to the other side. 
 Anyway, she played the stroke in silence. We 
 recrossed as before. 
 
That Babington Affair 
 
 " There was rather a long pause as we walked up. 
 Finally she could n't refrain from laughing : ' Are 
 you the Mr. Jackson they spoke of at the hotel as 
 being so unfortunately ' 
 
 " I supplied, ' Such a bashful fool ? ' and assured 
 her the accusation was entirely just. 
 
 "Later, as we were seated on the club-house 
 porch with several others, I alluded to our experi- 
 ence : c You know, Miss Marston and I had such 
 an amusing adventure to-day/ I began. 
 
 " ' Yes, and we only lost two strokes by it,' she 
 deftly interposed, and commenced a discussion on 
 the use of the niblech in putting. 
 
 " My reputation for diffidence continued as good 
 as ever except with one person, and on the whole 
 I am glad it is that way, as she is the only girl " 
 
 Reeves leaned forward eagerly : " Eh ! You don't 
 mean that you and she But Ethel Marston was 
 a corking girl quite the queen at Babington. I 
 have some pleasant memories of her myself." 
 
 Reeves did not seem to care particularly for my 
 story. I confess I was too dense to see why at the 
 time, but four months later their engagement was 
 announced. I am planning a trip around the world 
 after graduation. 
 
 188 
 
Conviction 
 
 'Vv CONVICTION 
 
 MARRIAGE is a failure, 
 I at least divine 
 Bachelors support me 
 
 In this claim of mine. 
 I hate a man that 's lovesick, 
 
 Always looking sore, 
 'S though he thought he ought to 
 Drink and smoke no more. 
 
 I 'm too young to marry, 
 
 Like too well my fun 
 And that ancient saying : 
 
 " Go it while you 're young." 
 Love and fame can never 
 
 Live together long ; 
 I shall choose the latter 
 
 Love 's not worth a song. 
 
 Helen gets here Sunday ? 
 
 Coming early ? Why, 
 Think I '11 stay till Monday 
 
 Just to say good-by. 
 
The Prince of Greater New York 
 
 THE PRINCE OF GREATER NEW YORK 
 
 MARCUS WILLOUGHBY was smoking a 
 cigarette in his apartment on the fourth floor 
 of Mrs. Elder's boarding-house on Somethingeth Street. 
 Outside, a Sabbath calmness reigned over the usually 
 clattering streets. Within was the fading aroma of 
 Mrs. Elder's Sabbath dinner, of which Marcus Wil- 
 loughby had just partaken. Marcus was lying on the 
 sofa amid the wreck of a sixty-page Sunday paper 
 which had engaged him during the morning hours. 
 He was watching the little curl of smoke that wriggled 
 out of the end of his cigarette. 
 
 u And you are one of the competing princes ? " 
 asked the old man, slowly. " Frankly, I would ad- 
 vise you not to try it. It 's too risky, and the game 
 is not worth the candle. To be sure, the Princess 
 is a very beautiful princess and a great prize if you 
 succeed, but there are plenty of princesses to be had 
 almost as beautiful and for less trouble." 
 
 The old man was sitting at his cottage doorstep. 
 Before them a road wound over the hills. In the 
 west the setting sun gilded the roofs and towers of 
 the palace. It looked very fine, this palace in the 
 distance with the green fields in front of it and be- 
 yond the ruddy sky. But it was very disconcerting, 
 and so was the old gentleman with his talk about 
 princes and princesses. A moment ago Marcus was 
 lying on his back looking at the faded design of Mrs. 
 
 190 
 
The Prince of Greater New York 
 
 Elder's ceiling paper through a cloud of tobacco 
 smoke. Well, it is proverbial that life is full of 
 changes. 
 
 " Really, my dear sir," Marcus began, " I am 
 afraid I shall have to ask you to explain." 
 
 " Then you are n't one of the competing princes ? " 
 asked the old man. 
 
 Marcus was forced to reply that he was not. 
 
 u But you must be a prince ? " 
 
 It was evident from the old gentleman's tone that 
 it would be necessary to concede him this point. 
 Marcus's curiosity was aroused. 
 
 "Oh, of course I am a prince," he said non- 
 chalantly. 
 
 The old man looked relieved. " Merely in search 
 of adventure, I suppose," he said. " In that case I 
 would advise you to go to the next kingdom. Things 
 are dead here since the Princess met with that little 
 accident decidedly dead. Of course, if you want, 
 you can try to get into the palace over yonder, as the 
 others have done. It's the only thing in the shape 
 of adventure that this country can offer. But I 
 would advise you not to try it, as I said before. It 's 
 too dangerous. The underbrush is something awful 
 not been touched, you know, for about a century. 
 The last man came to grief who tried it scratched 
 his eyes out." 
 
 Marcus felt that he was beginning to get oriented. 
 
 " But he scratched them in again, didn't he ? " he 
 suggested, a little doubtfully. 
 
 " No," said the old man, contemptuously ; " that's 
 his side of the story, but he did nothing of the sort. 
 It 's preposterous to think so." 
 
 191 
 
The Prince of Greater New York 
 
 Marcus felt decidedly crushed. 
 
 " Ah, but he was a queer one ! " the old man 
 chuckled, regaining his good nature at the recollec- 
 tion. "The old duffer said to me very solemnly, 
 c I do not undertake this enterprise with matrimonial 
 intentions, but in the interests of science. I am 
 especially delegated by the " Society for the Advance- 
 ment of Disillusion " to make a careful examination 
 of the whole matter and to report the result of my 
 investigation to the society. We have doubts, in 
 fact, about there being any princess at all/ And 
 then the fellow went into the thicket a few yards, 
 scratched out his eyes, and came back fully persuaded 
 that there was no princess. He did not get as far as 
 the others ; they never came back at all." 
 
 " Well, I think I must be going," said Marcus. 
 " It will be dark soon." 
 
 " You think you will try it, then," said the old 
 man. " Well, the best of good luck to you, and 
 don't worry about the time of day. It has been sun- 
 set here for about a hundred years now, more or less, 
 and it 's likely to stay so for a while, I guess." 
 
 Marcus followed the road along for quite a bit. 
 Presently he saw on ahead the thicket which sur- 
 rounded the palace. It certainly looked formidable. 
 
 But as he approached nearer, it underwent a curious 
 change. The thorn bushes at the edge became trans- 
 formed into flowering plants, which of their own 
 accord bent aside and let him pass through ; and, more 
 curiously still, this transformation continued as he 
 advanced till he found himself before the palace gate. 
 
 Marcus entered. The warden was sitting asleep 
 in his box. He walked through the courtyard. The 
 
 192 
 
The Prince of Greater New York 
 
 dogs were sleeping in their kennels, and the guards 
 leaning on their pikes. Farther he went, into the 
 main hall, where the king and queen were asleep on 
 their thrones. It was a very fine room, this main 
 hall, but Marcus did not stop there. He followed a 
 long passage and ascended a little winding stairway 
 at the end of it that led into a turret chamber. There 
 was the Princess lying on the floor, with just the least 
 speck of blood on her palm. 
 
 " O, poor misguided representative of the Soci- 
 ety for the Advancement of Disillusion ! " thought 
 Marcus. 
 
 And they lived happily ever after ? Unfortunately 
 not. 
 
 Hand in hand Marcus and the Princess stood at 
 the window looking out over the garden of roses and 
 lilies, which had once been a frightful thicket. Mar- 
 cus had just told the Princess of the many kings' 
 sons who had tried to reach the palace and been 
 held fast by the cruel thorn bushes till wild beasts had 
 come and eaten them up. This had made the Prin- 
 cess pensive. 
 
 " H'm ! " coughed some one behind them. It 
 was the King and his spouse, who had just entered 
 the chamber. 
 
 Marcus turned and made obeisance before them. 
 
 " You are the scion of some noble house, I trust, 
 young man, or you would not have ventured to take 
 this liberty," said the King, rather crossly. 
 
 " Yes, may it please your majesty, of the house of 
 Butts & Tugaway, New York. No better house in 
 the country you can look them up in Bradstreet." 
 Marcus was a little confused. 
 13 193 
 
The Prince of Greater New York 
 
 These were terms new to his majesty's heraldry. 
 " What may your title be ? " he asked. 
 
 Marcus regained his presence of mind and assum- 
 ing a haughty tone, replied, " Your Highness, I am 
 the Prince of Greater New York." The occasion 
 demanded a decisive stand. 
 
 "Then let the marriage ceremony take place at 
 once," cried the King. 
 
 The great hall of the palace was crowded with the 
 King's retainers all dressed in their best. The King 
 himself, with his consort, sat on their thrones arrayed 
 in their robes of state. Before them stood Marcus 
 and the Princess, the latter in organdie, or tulle, or 
 something else ravishing and appropriate to the 
 occasion, and surrounded by her bridesmaids. From 
 a bower of palms a mandolin orchestra was playing 
 the last strains of the Wedding March. The cere- 
 mony was about to take place. 
 
 Just then Marcus saw enter the room, unan- 
 nounced, but no less confidently on that account, 
 a figure he knew very well. It was Mr. George 
 Daniel Butts, of Butts & Tugaway, New York. He 
 came striding up through the hall, his hands in his 
 trousers' pockets, his great seals dangling over the 
 brow of his portly paunch, his silk hat tipped on the 
 back of his head, and that irritated, contemptuous 
 look on his face that Marcus had noticed there before 
 when there had been something wrong with his 
 balance sheet. 
 
 Mr. Butts came right up before the throne. 
 
 " Look here, you old fool," he cried, addressing his 
 astonished majesty, " what are you doing ? Marry- 
 ing your daughter to this rascal here! He's no 
 194 
 
The Prince of Greater New York 
 
 prince, nor anything like it. He 's my clerk, whom 
 I pay twenty dollars a week to, and make sit on a 
 stool nine hours a day and six days in the week, try- 
 ing to earn it. He 's swindled you. He has n't a 
 red cent in the world, to say nothing about being 
 a prince. Do you know what kind of an es- 
 tablishment he could provide for his wife ? A 
 four-room flat in Harlem, where her cook and her 
 housemaids and her hairdresser and her ladies in 
 waiting, if she had any, would have to be her own 
 hands." 
 
 The King glared all kinds of fury at Marcus. 
 
 " To prison with him ! " he shouted, and his 
 guards carried out the order. 
 
 Marcus was lying on a pallet of straw in his 
 dungeon. The sun had gone down, and the moon 
 was well up in the sky. A gleam of it came through 
 the window away up above Marcus's head and 
 lighted up the opposite wall. It was almost mid- 
 night. The guard outside was asleep from the sound 
 of his snoring, but as Marcus was chained to a big 
 ring in the wall, it did not matter. 
 
 He had almost gone to sleep himself when the 
 door was opened softly, and there stood the Princess. 
 She had a big bunch of keys in her hand. 
 
 u I have come to set you free," she said. 
 
 Marcus said nothing because he felt so much 
 ashamed for having told them all that he was a prince 
 when he was not. But then it seemed as if he was 
 at the time. 
 
 Marcus watched the Princess in silence, as she 
 unfastened his fetters. When she had finished he 
 followed her past the sleeping guard and down a 
 
The Prince of Greater New York 
 
 long passageway till they both emerged on the broad 
 terrace before the palace. 
 
 "Thank you," he said, kneeling and kissing her 
 hand. 
 
 The Princess watched him as he turned to leave 
 her. " Are you going without me ? " she said. 
 
 Marcus looked back sadly. 
 
 " It is true that I am no prince at all," he answered, 
 " and the rest that he said too." 
 
 " Oh, I don't care for that," cried the Princess. 
 u I don't need Gretchen to do my hair or the 
 others. We will go together and live in a what 
 did he call it? in Harlem." 
 
 Marcus found himself in his room on the fourth 
 floor of Mrs. Elder's boarding-house on Somethingeth 
 Street. He was alone, for the Princess had stayed 
 behind in that land where princesses are still to be 
 gained by the adventurous. . Unfortunately one cannot 
 live there happily ever after. 
 
 196 
 
A Relic 
 
 A RELIC 
 
 MUSEUM 
 
 SUCH a dainty thing you 'd hardly guess 
 The evil it could do, 
 With hilt impearled and slender blade 
 Of softly mottled blue. 
 
 And yet, one night, in a man's hot clasp, 
 
 To mar and to destroy, 
 Paying shame's debt to jealousy 
 
 It went as death's envoy. 
 
 You know the place ; 'twixt the throat and ear, 
 
 Where the hair 's fine and light, 
 And swelling veins show tenderly 
 
 Soft purple through the white. 
 
 Dear God ! how it leaped to drink its fill 
 Of the red, cloy'd warm and wet ! 
 
 Its steely heart at the memory 
 Must thrill with rapture yet ! 
 
 You 'd hardly guess ah, the wreck it wrought ! 
 
 And then, its tongue withdrawn, 
 The awful thing is left to meet 
 
 The wan, gaunt face of dawn. 
 
 197 
 
A Bargain 
 
 A BARGAIN 
 
 THE painter's wife had come all the way up to 
 the studio ; her soft hair and quiet unobtru- 
 sive little face looked pale and monotonous in the 
 gray north light from above. The painter softened 
 his brushes in a tin of turpentine and laid them away. 
 He glanced across the big bare room at the slender 
 figure and raised his eyebrows. 
 
 "I came up to get you, Jim, if if you are 
 coming home to supper," she said. 
 
 " I 'm sorry you took that trouble," he answered. 
 " I 'm dining out. I thought I told you." 
 
 " I know, Jim, but I was so lonesome. I read 
 till I was tired I was reading c Tess,' you know 
 and I got nervous and fidgety, and I went to see 
 Mrs. Taylor on the floor below, and and I won- 
 dered whether you would n't have supper home to- 
 night. You have n't for four days. Why, Jimmy, 
 your model sees more of you than I." 
 
 u You have given yourself rather a needless journey, 
 then, because I am promised for this evening. I 'm 
 glad you satisfied your suspicions, though. I sent her 
 home an hour ago if you care to take my word, 
 that is." 
 
 " Oh, oh ! How can you say such nasty things ! 
 I only wanted to have you home this one evening. 
 You are n't very good to me now, Jim, I think. 
 And I have such a nice hot supper and that salad 
 you like. You used to say " 
 198 
 
A Bargain 
 
 u Spare us the description, please, Nellie. I am 
 really very sorry." He took off his working blouse. 
 " There 's nothing else, is there ? If you '11 excuse 
 me, I will clean up." 
 
 " I 'm going in a minute, Jim. I did n't mean to 
 interrupt you. I am afraid I spoiled a sitting yester- 
 day, coming in. No, don't bother to come with me. 
 I know the stairs. Good-by." She closed her lips 
 firmly and went carefully down the flights of narrow 
 stairs into the street crowded with home-going shop- 
 people. 
 
 Three months later she went away with another 
 man who said he cared for her. He died, it seems, 
 and no one has heard of her since. However, such 
 pictures as Jimmy's cannot be had for nothing. For 
 my part, since I have seen " The Harvesters," and 
 that study of a " Girl in Gray," and u The Greatest 
 of These is Charity," the last and finest of all (I 
 saw that at the Metropolitan with its salon number 
 fresh in the corner), I can only think the world had 
 all the best of the bargain. 
 
 199 
 
A Ballad of Dorothy 
 
 A BALLAD OF DOROTHY 
 
 IT 's " Dorothy ! Where 's Dorothy ? " 
 From morn to even fall, 
 There 's not a lad on Cowslip Farm 
 Who joins not in the call. 
 
 It 's Dolly here and Dolly there, 
 
 Where can the maiden be ? 
 No wench in all the countryside 's 
 
 So fine as Dorothy. 
 
 With tucked-up gown and shining pail, 
 
 Before the day is bright, 
 Down dewy lanes she singing goes 
 
 Among the hawthorns white. 
 
 Perchance her roses need her care, 
 
 She tends them faithfully. 
 There 's not a rose in all the world 
 
 As fresh and sweet as she ! 
 
 With morning sunshine in her hair 
 
 A-churning Dolly stands ; 
 Oh, happy churn, I envy it, 
 
 Held close between her hands. 
 
 And when the crescent moon hangs bright 
 
 Athwart the soft night sky, 
 Down shady paths we strolling go. 
 
 Just Dorothy and I. 
 
 200 
 
A Ballad of Dorothy 
 
 As true of heart as sweet of face, 
 
 With gay and girlish air, 
 The painted belles of citydom 
 
 Are not a whit as fair. 
 
 Come Michaelmas the parish chimes 
 
 Will ring out merrily. 
 Who is the bride I lead to church ? 
 
 Why, who but Dorothy ? 
 
 201 
 
An Affair of the Heart 
 
 AN AFFAIR OF THE HEART 
 
 ONCE there was a man with whom Chance had 
 a very desperate flirtation. Now Chance is 
 a very fickle goddess, whose affections are a bit less 
 stable than her poise on the wheel which the sculptors 
 put under her foot. But you know as well as I, if 
 you have seen her, in marble as the sculptors re- 
 member her, or as you know her yourself, when 
 you look through a grate fire from the depths of a 
 high-backed chair, that she is a very beautiful and 
 gracious and alluring person, albeit cruel and indiffer- 
 ent when she has a will. 
 
 After the manner of womankind, she fell in love 
 with a man who^ had little need of her, and, to say 
 the truth, thought little good of her (for some of 
 her escapades had been not a little daring, and there 
 are busybodies to speak ill of us all). My lady was 
 fairly taken aback at this, for her admirers aforetime 
 had never been slow to respond to her smile 
 indeed, all the fault she found was that the stupid 
 fellows did not know when she was tired of them. 
 But this man was already not ill-settled with the good 
 things in life, had no particular lack of the favors at 
 Chance's bestowal, and seemed quite content. All 
 the others had been fortune-hunters, said Chance. 
 Thereupon she completed her most bewitching toilet, 
 which consisted of tying her hair in a new knot ; and 
 she managed to show her profile pretty often because 
 202 
 
An Affair of the Heart 
 
 she thought it better than her full face; and she 
 shook her cornucopia over him till it was fairly 
 ragged. 
 
 But the man was not in haste to come at her beck, 
 nor did he ever allow her to feel sure of him ; for his 
 speeches had a ring to them neither false nor true, 
 and he never showed his trust in Chance, as the 
 others had done. The others were young for the 
 most part, and had told her their trials and ambitions, 
 and had plighted themselves eternally, as young men 
 feel bound to do; while he was older and a little 
 more cynical and far too wise to do anything of that 
 kind. Chance did her prettiest, and was kinder than 
 ever before especially when she heard her last ad- 
 mirer was still attentive to Opportunity and Ability 
 (these were steadier ladies, but, to quote hearsay, old 
 flames of his). 
 
 When, after all these efforts, Chance saw that he 
 was still as smilingly half-hearted and content, she 
 left him in a huff. And that was after a very trying 
 little scene, I assure you. She wished him more ill- 
 luck, and cursed him more heartily than any of the 
 others (for she always abandoned them when they 
 seemed abject enough, like the vicious little coquette 
 she was). The man laughed at her malevolence, and 
 went calmly back to his more serious friendships of 
 former years and it seemed that he mourned Chance 
 not at all. But the bigger gods at the back of things 
 seemed to enjoy her discomfiture. 
 
 203 
 
Noel 
 
 NOEL 
 
 EACH star gleams like an Altar-light, 
 The great winds chaunting pass. 
 The earth hath donned her vestments fair 
 To keep the Holy Mass. 
 
 Now, who are these who wend the fields 
 
 To hill-top Bethlehem ? 
 The night grows late the inn is full, 
 
 There is no room for them. 
 
 They may not bide within the inn, 
 
 But in the stable-place 
 Amid the kine she lays her down, 
 
 Our Lady full of grace. 
 
 s 
 
 Each star gleams like an Altar-light, 
 The great winds chaunting pass. 
 
 The earth hath donned her vestments fair 
 To keep the Holy Mass. 
 
 Lo, she hath put her Baby down 
 
 Within the soft sweet hay. 
 The vaulted skies are quick with lights 
 
 Of the first Christmas Day. 
 
 Across the world of glistening snow 
 
 It dawneth now as then, 
 And Christian hearts are glad to sing 
 
 Of God's good grace to men. 
 204 
 
Noel 
 
 Each star gleams like an Altar-light, 
 The great winds chaunting pass. 
 
 The earth hath donned her vestments fair 
 To keep the Holy Mass. 
 
 205 
 
Three Pipes 
 
 THREE PIPES 
 
 I 
 
 THE hallway on the top floor of a Fifth Avenue 
 apartment house ended in two rooms which 
 made the bachelor quarters of Henry Forel. In front 
 of the door of the larger room Forel was now jan- 
 gling at his chain for the latchkey. The hall was 
 dark, or Forel' s hand unsteady, for he botched about 
 in vain for the key-hole. 
 
 " D that porter ! " he muttered doggedly through 
 tight lips, as he at last rammed the key home, and 
 flung the door back against the rubber stop, making 
 it shiver painfully on its hinges. 
 
 Without more words he shuffled his way between 
 the furniture to the gas-jet, fumbled after a match, 
 found one, and broke it against the sole of his shoe. 
 He rubbed another along the seat of his trousers. 
 There was no head on it, and he hurled it in the 
 direction of the grate. A third flared off against his 
 finger. u D these matches ! " was all he chose to 
 remark. Then he pulled off his coat, drew on a house 
 jacket, and dragging a large chair up to the fireplace, 
 sat down in it with a grunt of profound disgust. 
 
 Near him stood a smoking-table on which a pipe 
 rested beside a paper of u Old Gold." Mechanically 
 he took up the pipe and began stuffing it. Then, 
 remembering that he had not crumbled the tobacco, 
 he knocked it out, and milled it in the palm of his 
 206 
 
Three Pipes 
 
 hand. Filling the pipe once more, he lighted it, fol- 
 lowing a chain of habit. 
 
 For five minutes or so the smoke wreathed and 
 eddied about his head. The narcotic began to tell, 
 and his body and limbs relaxed. A long and rather 
 tremulous sigh came between two puffs of smoke. 
 Presently he put the pipe aside on the table, rose, 
 went into his bedroom, and came back with a 
 photograph in his hand. This he put on the table, 
 leaning it against a candlestick, and sat quietly con- 
 fronting it. At last he took up the photograph 
 again and kept it close in front of his face. He 
 did not know that he was holding his breath till the 
 air forced a way all at once through his lips. 
 
 " I love her," he said, and sank back in his chair. 
 The hand which held the photograph fell down at 
 his side. 
 
 II 
 
 IT was two o'clock and Forel had not come in. 
 A gusty gas-jet dodged to and fro in the hall of the 
 upper story. The house was asleep. Then the 
 front door slammed far below, and an irregular clatter 
 of light shoes wound up the stairs. It was Forel, in 
 evening dress, and wrapped chin-deep in an opera 
 coat. The key went straight home, the first match 
 struck brightly, and the lamp shone warmly through 
 the room. Forel took the chair by the hearth, care- 
 fully kneaded his tobacco, filled and lighted his pipe. 
 
 " I will have a little blaze," he said, and stooping, 
 set fire to the paper under the irons. " There," he 
 added as he settled deep between the arms of the 
 chair, " there, that 's just what I wanted." 
 207 
 
Three Pipes 
 
 By and by, when the pipe had slowly yielded up 
 its ghost, he brought the photograph again and set 
 it where he could look at it while his head rested 
 back on the cushion. What were his thoughts ? 
 
 " Fool that I am ! " he blurted out, and sprang to 
 his full height, every tendon in his body taut as 
 cords. " Fool that I am ! . I should have known." 
 He strode to the window, threw it up violently, 
 and breathed hard, looking out into the pale black 
 of the sky about him. 
 
 Ill 
 
 STEPS came slowly but steadily up the winding 
 flights to Forel's door. It was Forel himself. He 
 went in, and with deft, easy movements set the 
 room to rights. A minute more and he was sitting 
 in the usual chair puffing at a pipe. He glanced 
 at a calendar on the mantelpiece. 
 
 " Five years ago to-night," he said with a light 
 sigh, "and," he added, looking at his watch, "just 
 about this time." He kept rubbing the face of the 
 watch with his thumb, and stared with wide eyelids 
 at nothing. 
 
 Then the light of thought crept into his face again. 
 
 " It will do no harm," he argued with some inner 
 voice, " I have n't let myself since then." Rising 
 and going to a cabinet, he brought thence a portfolio 
 which he laid open on his knees. 
 
 " Here it is," he murmured, as he drew from 
 
 within a photograph. He held it close to his face 
 
 and gazed at it eagerly for a long, long time. All 
 
 at once he looked up with a start. He shook him- 
 
 208 
 
Three Pipes 
 
 self and slipped the photograph hastily back between 
 the leather flaps. 
 
 " No more of this," he exckimed ; " what J s the 
 use ? " and going again to the cabinet, he locked the 
 portfolio into its drawer and returned to the fire. 
 Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he 
 stared into the logs. And for a long time he scarcely 
 moved but to breathe, staring into the logs. 
 
 209 
 
Ninety-nine Class Poem 
 
 NINETY-NINE CLASS POEM 
 
 /N the hush of the early summer, 
 'Neath the smile of the soft June sky, 
 PVe, who have lived together, 
 
 Gather to say good-by. 
 And now, with our labor ended, 
 
 And the hours we may linger few, 
 We kneel for our mother's blessing, 
 
 As is our right to do. 
 Stately and tall is our mother, 
 
 Tender and strong and wise ; 
 With the light of infinite knowledge 
 
 In the depths of her steadfast eyes. 
 And as we kneel before her, 
 
 Her voice rings clear and slow, 
 As she speaks the words of the blessing 
 
 That she gives to her sons, ere they go. 
 
 II 
 
 " Sons of my four years' nurture, 
 Ye who have eaten my bread, 
 
 Pause ere you take your journey 
 Down the wide roads ahead ! 
 
 Listen ! that I may tell you 
 In simple speech and plain, 
 210 
 
Ninety-nine Class Poem 
 
 How from the debt that ye owe me 
 
 Ye may quit yourselves again ! 
 The wisdom of generations 
 
 I have spread for your delight ; 
 And the truths that men have died for 
 
 Ye may claim as your simple right. 
 Heirs of the hoarding ages, 
 
 How use ye your legacy ? 
 Masters of many talents 
 
 Render account to me ! 
 
 in 
 
 " Are ye puffed with the pride of learning ? 
 
 Are ye pleased with the praise of fools ? 
 Have your minds grown cramped and narrow 
 
 With the lore that ye learned in schools ? 
 Has your knowledge made you slothful, 
 
 And your culture made you vain, 
 That ye think to gain without labor 
 
 What another must toil to gain ? 
 Then are your years here wasted 
 
 As pearls that are cast to swine ! 
 Then are ye servants of servants, 
 
 And no true sons of mine ! 
 For they who began behind you 
 
 Shall pass you in the race ; 
 And untaught men shall shame you 
 
 In the open market-place ! 
 
 IV 
 
 " From the quiet heart of the mountains 
 Ye must take journey, down 
 
 211 
 
Ninety-nine Class Poem 
 
 To the world, that is ever careless. 
 
 Of the skirts of a scholar's gown. 
 And the sheltered life of college 
 
 Ye must leave behind you then, 
 And bear your parts in the battle 
 
 Where men fight hard with men. 
 There there is naught to help you 
 
 But your wit and strength of limb, 
 There every man is your master 
 
 Until you have mastered him. 
 For a great law governs the fighting 
 
 And all are ruled thereby 
 c He that is strong shall conquer ! 
 
 He that is weak must die ! ' 
 
 " Therefore, that ye may merit 
 
 Men's praise when your heads are gray> 
 Cling to the good ye have gathered 
 
 From my teaching that ends to-day. 
 Ye have learned many true sayings 
 
 And many wise maxims heard, 
 For some ye know the reason, 
 
 And for some ye must take my word. 
 But, though ye forget the others, 
 
 These two hold firm and clear : 
 The first is ' He that would win must workj 
 
 The second ' Thou shalt not fear ! ' 
 For the vices of a strong man 
 
 Are pardoned in the end ; 
 But he that is born a coward 
 
 Hath neither foe nor friend ! 
 212 
 
Ninety-nine Class Poem 
 
 VI 
 
 " Be tender, and quick to pity 
 
 At the sight of another's wrong, 
 Humble before a weaker, 
 
 Cringing not to the strong. 
 Paying each service twofold, 
 
 Nor counting the debt clear then ; 
 Keeping your faith with women, 
 
 Speaking the truth to men. 
 
 VII 
 
 " High in the purple mountains, 
 
 Where the world's strife cannot come, 
 Ringed by the iron cordon 
 
 Of the hills that guard my home, 
 I gather my sons about me 
 
 And teach them at my knee, 
 And when they have learned their lessons, 
 
 My sons go forth from me. 
 Over the world they wander, 
 
 In sunshine and wind and storm, 
 But I sit here in the quiet room 
 
 And keep the hearthstone warm ; 
 Watching and listening and waiting 
 
 For their footsteps at the door, 
 Till one by one as the years go by 
 
 My sons come home once more. 
 Then I fling wide the portal 
 
 And welcome them to the hall, 
 With praise for the strong, and pity 
 
 For the weak, and love for all. 
 213 
 
Ninety-nine Class Poem 
 
 And the welcome that I give them 
 
 Is reward for those that win ; 
 And they who are spent with fighting 
 
 Find a new strength therein. 
 And when they have told their stories, 
 
 And rested a little space, 
 They rise, and get them forth again 
 
 Each man to his own place ; 
 To take the task that waits him, 
 
 And labor to the end, 
 That he may win a living 
 
 For wife and child and friend. 
 Careless of sneers and frowning 
 
 From curs that cringe and shirk, 
 Asking no greater pleasure 
 
 Than the sight of his finished work. 
 
 VIII 
 
 "Ye who to-day must follow 
 
 Whither your fates shall lead, 
 These are your elder brothers ! 
 
 Prove yourselves of the breed ! 
 See that ye count as shameful 
 
 No work your hands can do ; 
 And when ye are spent, come back to me, 
 
 That I may comfort you. 
 Now, through the open portal, 
 
 Rise, and go forth to-day ! 
 And a mother's blessing go with you, 
 
 To help you on your way." 
 
 WILLIAMSTOWN, June 20, 1899. 
 214 
 
The Blind Receive their Sight " 
 
 "THE BLIND RECEIVE THEIR SIGHT' 
 
 LORY to Allah ! Love is but a hieroglyph 
 to me, and I know not what it means." 
 
 A student stared through a blue-flamed fire into a 
 phantom world, while outside the city clocks struck 
 three. The fire was bright, but everything else 
 seemed to be a pall. To tell the truth, a man can't 
 always afford to let two and a half college years slip 
 away in idleness ; for, when it becomes advisable to 
 seize the trailing threads, lo, it is too late. So the 
 student was about to receive his quietus at the hands 
 of the great university, and a regiment of tutors 
 could n't have " whipped him into line " for the 
 exams. 
 
 Now the father of Her^ whose photograph was in 
 his pocket, in the fire-flame, and burned deepest in 
 his brain, was the old ex-judge ; and the ex-judge had 
 fished off a log with bent pins fifty years ago, with his 
 father. He would hear how the university " dropped " 
 the delinquent, and would remark, " So that 's the kind 
 of a boy he is ! " and, seeing his daughter very friendly 
 with the young reprobate, away he would snatch 
 her to foreign capitals ; and what girl ever looked 
 through Parisian streets, and over three thousand miles 
 of rolling Atlantic, but her girlhood memories faded 
 and her old acquaintanceship became almost as if it 
 had not been ? Then he thought of her sitting on a 
 2I 5 
 
"The Blind Receive their Sight" 
 
 hotel veranda and holding a dozen admirers at bay, 
 while she prays that night or something would come 
 to relieve her ; for of all created things, men are the 
 most unmitigated bores. 
 
 " Well ? " asked the student of the wearer of the 
 faded tennis cap just across the fireplace, " have you 
 solved my problem for me ? " 
 
 " Let me see that picture again," said the other. 
 He took the photograph and held it at arm's length j 
 then he placed it on the shelf and inspected it at 
 two yards' range ; after that he made a microscopic 
 examination at close quarters, and ended by turning 
 up his soles to the fire and his face to the ceiling. 
 " If she looks anything like that" he spoke im- 
 pressively and seemed to be emotionally affected, 
 u go pretty blamed quick and enlist for the war." 
 
 It was a perfect solution. Who would know of 
 the disgraceful standing, and the student could enter 
 next year a class lower, and there would be no 
 more loafing not by a long shot. And the next 
 morning H. H. Brown, collegian, enlisted for the 
 Spanish War. 
 
 On the night of July I the ex-judge's daughter 
 could not sleep, so she threw a shawl about her 
 shoulders and sat by the window. " What a silly 
 boy ! " she muttered anxiously, and meant something 
 else. Then she looked deep into the unsoundable 
 heaven-dome, and saw visions that no girl but an army 
 nurse should ever see. 
 
 ^ 
 
 All night they brought in the wounded to Siboney 
 men who would be helpless as babes forevermore, 
 216 
 
"The Blind Receive their Sight" 
 
 men whose light was setting in black eclipse. A 
 boy, with his fair hair bedraggled with mud and 
 dust, was received by the surgeons with a deprecating 
 smile, which meant that those overworked machines 
 could not bother with those who needed only a spade 
 and a wooden cross. " The kid wants the photograph 
 sent to that address," said a bearer, thumbing a blood- 
 stained portrait of a young girl with a long jagged 
 groove in the card right across the eyes. " Write on 
 the back, ' I was never worth using, anyhow/ ' 
 
 u I was never worthy of you, anyway," corrected 
 the quick-witted Red Cross helper who undertook the 
 mission, looking down at the pale, fine face of the 
 boy and guessing a romance. And then they laid 
 him away in a stately row over by the trees, where 
 many had already entered upon the long, dawnless 
 night. He tossed wearily and babbled of brooks and 
 springs, and then this battered, blood-stained specimen 
 of humanity began a wonderful song in prose about 
 some fair young face which had no more business 
 to be dragged into such a grim scene than a violet in 
 a coal-mine ; after that he wanted a drink of water, 
 and asked for his mother, and then off into a 
 great, swimming, shadow world of flitting void and 
 airy nothingness. The great scheme had worked 
 beautifully the university record had been com- 
 pletely wiped out, and incidentally something else 
 seemed to be wiped out too ; most problems in 
 life have two solutions, and occasionally the wrong 
 one will turn up. 
 
 On the morning of the second of July three of 
 that band of hopeless cases were still alive, and even 
 gaining. " What t'ell are ye puttin* me with these 
 217 
 
" The Blind Receive their Sight " 
 
 dead men for ? " asked one. " Give me a drink of 
 the genewine stuff," said No. 2. The third was the 
 boy, and he talked about ice and Her and Her and 
 ice, and politely requested the surgeon to go climb a 
 tree, which that dignitary strangely declined to do. 
 
 Now some parts of Lat. 42 N. are pleasant for 
 summer resorts. The home of Brown Senior was 
 fanned by the hotel-keepers' "salubrious breezes." 
 It was just the right altitude above sea-level for the 
 ex-judge's disease with a Greek name, and he straight- 
 way took a cottage for that season. The ex-judge's 
 daughter was everywhere, upon the old hills, and 
 down in the woody ravines ; she floated in a canoe 
 on the blue lake, and spoiled camera films by the 
 score. But all of a sudden the camera company 
 ceased to receive mutilated pictures and double ex- 
 posures ; all of a sudden she ceased the long twilights 
 out on the unruffled lake ; all of a sudden she stopped 
 reading Kipling, and laughed and cried over a pho- 
 tograph minus the eyes. u So it was n't just admira- 
 tion, and he really did care ever so much, and he 
 was n't just hanging around because he did n't have 
 anything better to do, and so funny that I was so 
 blind, blind as this picture, and he was blind too." 
 And then she looked over to the far blue hills 
 and the white, sun-streaked river, and saw ever so 
 much farther, people can occasionally see a long 
 distance when they look that way, quite consider- 
 ably beyond the bounds of this little world with its 
 girdle of twenty-five thousand miles. 
 
 And then one day there came a stretcher, and an- 
 other day a girl stood at the door and wanted to see 
 218 
 
" The Blind Receive their Sight " 
 
 the patient. " He may not know you, miss," said 
 the nurse ; " sometimes he 's off, for a little time." 
 But she entered. 
 
 u Huh ! " exclaimed the invalid. " You come to 
 nurse too ? By the way, you 're about the homeliest 
 I 've seen yet not a bit like Her." 
 
 " Who 's that ? " she asked gently, but trembling. 
 
 " Who 's she ? " impatiently. u Why, the one 
 with the eyes taken out by a bullet. I had three in 
 me. So she 's blind blind, blind, blind. She '11 
 be blind till some Russian count comes along ; then 
 her eyes '11 open. Why, I did it all for her." 
 
 Did what ? " 
 
 " Why, I would have flunked out at the university, 
 and I knew her father would break off everything 
 then, and I would n't even get a chance to assassi- 
 nate the Russian count. So I went to the war. 
 Heroic, was n't it ? " 
 
 u Yes, and you went up the hill ahead of the whole 
 company, after being shot twice," she said, coloring. 
 It seemed like talking to a lunatic, but a lunatic with 
 a glorious record. 
 
 He smiled. "I was thinking of Her; thought 
 She was looking on. To tell the truth, if I 'd been 
 in my senses, I 'd have been behind a tree. They 're 
 made for sensible men." 
 
 " Thought of me, thought / was looking on," she 
 said dreamily. 
 
 " You ! who said you ? " he exclaimed gruffly, 
 looking hard and he began to brush cobwebs from 
 his eyes. " I do believe no delirium again." 
 
 It 's only I," she said. 
 
 " Only ! Why, I Ve been seeing you for a month 
 219 
 
"The Blind Receive their Sight'* 
 
 back. You 're a phantasm, you know. You must n't 
 talk so clearly j phantasms don't." 
 
 She walked quietly up and laid her hand on his hot 
 cheek. u It is n't delirium this time." 
 
 He pondered, and the world seemed to drift back ; 
 or rather he seemed to drift back into the world. 
 
 " It is n't," he said soberly ; " but it 's worse. 
 You 've heard all I 've said and will go and laugh 
 over it." 
 
 " And cry over it." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Oh, because." 
 
 He looked at her solemnly. " I '11 tell you frankly, 
 since you 've heard all," he said. " My whole world 
 has always been within three feet radius of you. You 
 never saw it. But now I 'm only an old, battered 
 hulk, with three bullet-holes, and it '11 be months, 
 even, before I 'm around, and a year before I get 
 back my strength. I surrender ; I 'm out of the 
 race. But you were worth it," looking at her ad- 
 miringly. u And now, I suppose, I must say good- 
 by forever forever, of course, considering that 
 I 'm not plucky at all on such things. My little 
 scheme did n't work, you see. I did n't bargain for 
 all this." He was making a gallant effort to tide 
 over the season of embarrassment. 
 
 " That photograph had her eyes torn out. She 
 was blind ; and you think I 'm blind too," she 
 mused. 
 
 " Oh, it 's all right. I 'm a mere wreck," he 
 protested, not knowing what she was driving at. 
 
 Her eyes were on him with that old look of mys- 
 tery. It 's a pretty good thing to be a wreck some- 
 
 220 
 
"The Blind Receive their Sight" 
 
 times. A .276-inch perforation can now and then 
 sweep away a cloud of misunderstanding very quickly, 
 and a mute, inanimate Mauser ball disentangle what 
 is beyond human ingenuity. I imagine the girl looked 
 clear through the eternities that time, as she sank on 
 her knees by the bedside, and, resting one hand on 
 his, whispered to him that secret. And, as she 
 touched her cheek to his, the revelation broke fully, 
 and he laid his other hand on hers, and the sky split, 
 and he saw into the seventh heaven, and into the 
 seventh of the seventh which is the forty-ninth 
 and But, alas ! I understand not such things ; and, 
 praise be to Allah and the Prophet, all love and senti- 
 ment are to me but a sealed book, and my life is far 
 removed from them all, now and evermore. Amen 
 and Amen. 
 
 221 
 
At the End 
 
 AT THE END 
 
 I WONDER did you understand, 
 Or if you ever knew 
 That all these little halting songs 
 Were made for you ? 
 
 A message 'cross a world of change, 
 
 And weary leagues of space 
 From one who might not take your hands, 
 
 Nor see your face. 
 
 Would I might meeter service do, 
 
 And fairer tribute bring 
 Than these poor faltering waifs of time 
 
 From love and spring. 
 
 These records, fashioned here and there 
 
 Along a winding way ; 
 These dying echoes of a past, 
 
 Half sad, half gay. 
 
 All broken music faint and thin, 
 
 Ah, might I give instead 
 The lyrics that my heart has sung 
 
 In words unsaid ! 
 
 Yet take them, Dear, for good or ill, 
 
 To you they all belong, 
 Who are the singing's very soul, 
 
 Heart of the song ! 
 222 
 
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