OTHER BOOKS BY CHARLES CLARK MUNN

UNCLE TERRY. A Story of the Maine Coast. Richly bound in crimson silkcloth with gold and vignette of heroine. Illustrated by HELENAHIGGINBOTHAM. Gilt top. 370 pp. Price, $1. 50. 

 See description in back of book. 

ROCKHAVEN. The Story of a Scheme. (In preparation. To be published inthe Spring of 1902. )

 See announcement in back of book. 

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 POCKET ISLAND

 _A Story of Country Life in New England_

 By

 CHARLES CLARK MUNN

 Author of "Uncle Terry" and "Rockhaven"

 New York International Association of Newspapers and Authors 1901

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 Copyright, 1901, by Charles Clark Munn

 All Rights Reserved

 POCKET ISLAND

 NORTH RIVER BINDERY PRINTERS AND BINDERS NEW YORK CITY, N. Y. 

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CONTENTS. 

 CHAPTER I. PAGEPocket Island 11

 CHAPTER II. The Sea Fox 18

 CHAPTER III. Nemesis 24

 CHAPTER IV. The Boy 31

 CHAPTER V. The Boy's First Party 41

 CHAPTER VI. Serious Thoughts 49

 CHAPTER VII. Liddy 58

 CHAPTER VIII. The Husking-Bee 66

 CHAPTER IX. Good Advice 74

 CHAPTER X. History 82

 CHAPTER XIWar Clouds 91

 CHAPTER XII. A Day in the Woods 100

 CHAPTER XIII. The Girl I Left Behind Me 107

 CHAPTER XIV. Beside the Camp Fire 117

 CHAPTER XV. Mysteries 125

 CHAPTER XVI. The Grasp of Death 132

 CHAPTER XVII. Those Who Wait 137

 CHAPTER XVIII. A Few Bright Days 146

 CHAPTER XIX. Among the Wounded 156

 CHAPTER XX. Plans for Happiness 164

 CHAPTER XXI. Blue Hill 174

 CHAPTER XXII. The Maine Coast 182

 CHAPTER XXIII. Big Spoon Island 191

 CHAPTER XXIV. Pocket Island 199

 CHAPTER XXV. The Smuggler's Cave 208

 CHAPTER XXVI. The Fate of a Miser 216

 CHAPTER XXVII. Conclusion 224

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POCKET ISLAND. 

CHAPTER I. 

POCKET ISLAND. 

In the year 185- a Polish Jew peddler named Wolf and a roving MicmacIndian met at a small village on Annapolis Bay, in Nova Scotia, andthere and then formed a partnership. 

It was one of those chance meetings between two atoms tossed hither andthither in the whirligig of life; for the peddler, shrewd, calculatingand unscrupulous, was wandering along the Acadian shores driving hardbargains in small wares; and the Indian, like his race, fond of aroaming life, was drifting about the bay in a small sloop he owned, fishing where he would, hunting when he chose, stopping a week in someuninhabited cove to set traps, or lounging in a village drinking orgambling. 

The Jew had a little money and, what was of more value, brains andaudacity. He also knew the conditions then prevalent along the Mainecoast, and all the risks, as well as the profit, to be obtained insmuggling liquor. Rum was cheap in Nova Scotia and dear in Maine. TheIndian with his sloop formed one means to an end; his money and cunningthe other. A verbal compact to join these two forces on the basis ofshare and share alike for mutual profit, was entered into, and CaptainWolf and the Sea Fox, as the sloop was named, with the Indian and hisdog for crew, began their career. 

As a preliminary some fifty kegs of assorted liquors, as many emptymackerel kits, a small stock of oil clothing, sea boots, fishing gear, tobaccos, etc. , were purchased and stowed away on the sloop, and thenshe set sail. 

There were along the coast of Maine in those days many uninhabitedislands seldom visited. Fishermen avoided them, for the deep seafurnished safer and more profitable ground; coasters gave them a wideberth, and there were no others to disturb them. Among these, and lyingmidway between Monhegan and Big Spoon Islands, and distant from the Isleau Haut, the nearest inhabited one, about twenty miles, was a freak ofnature known as "The Pocket, " or Pocket Island, as shown on the maps. This merits a brief description. It was hollow. That is, from a generalview it appeared like an attempt to inclose a small portion of the seawithin high, fir-covered walls. It resembled a horseshoe with the pointsdrawn close. Neptune beat Jove, however, leaving a narrow fissureconnecting the inclosed water and the outer ocean, and through this thetides flowed fiercely; but so protected was the inner harbor that nevera ripple disturbed its surface. It was this harbor that gave the islandits name. 

Occasionally a shipwreck occurred here. In 1842 the British barqueLancaster was driven on to this island in a winter night snowstorm, andall hands perished. Five of the crew were washed ashore alive, only tofreeze among the snow-covered rocks. The vessel went entirely to piecesin one night and the wreck was not discovered until two years after by astray fisherman, who suddenly came upon the bleaching bones and grinningskulls of those unfortunate sailors. The island was a menace to coastersand bore an uncanny reputation. It was said to be haunted. During anight storm a tall man had been seen, by a flash of lightning, standingon a cliff. Strange sounds like the cries of dying men had been heard. When the waves were high, a noise like that made by a bellowing bull wasnoticed. The ocean and its storms play queer pranks at times, especiallyat night. White bursts of foam leaping over black rocks assume ghostlyshape. Dark and grotesque figures appear crawling into or out offissures, or hiding behind rocks. Hideous and devilish, snarling andsnapping, sounds issue from caverns. In darkness an uninhabited coastbecomes peopled with demons who sport and scream and leap in hellishglee. 

Such a spot was Pocket Island. 

Nature also played another prank here, and as if to furnish a lair forsome sea monster she hollowed a cavern in the island, with an entrancebelow tidewater and at the head of this harbor. Inside and abovetide-level it broadened into a small room. As if to still furtherisolate the island all about it were countless rocks and ledges bareonly at low tide and, like a serried cordon of black fangs, ready tobite and destroy any vessel that approached. It is probable that theIndians who formerly inhabited the Maine coast had explored this islandand discovered the cave. An Indian is always looking for such things. Itis his nature. It may be this wandering and half-civilized remnant of anearly extinct tribe whom the Jew had compacted with, knew of this seacavern and piloted his sloop into the safe shelter of "the pocket. " Andit was a secure shelter. No one came here; no one was likely to. Itsuncanny reputation, added to the almost impassable barricade of rocksand ledges all about, made it what Captain Wolf needed--a veritableburrow for a sea fox. Here he brought his cargo of contraband spiritsand stored them in the cave. Here he repacked kegs of rum inside ofempty mackerel kits, storing them aboard the sloop with genuine ones. Bythis ruse he almost obliterated the chance of detection. Like a sly fox, he was always on guard. Even when the sloop was safe at anchor, heworked only in the cave. When all was ready, he and his swarthy partnerwould wait till low tide, then load the dozen or more rum-charged kitsand set sail for the coast. In these ventures Wolf realized what hisrace have always wanted--the Jew's one per cent. 

In this island cave nature had placed a curiosity, known as a rockingstone. In was a boulder of many tons' weight near the wall of the room, and so poised that a push of the hand at one particular point would moveit easily. When so moved a little niche in the rock-wall back of it wasexposed. Wolf had discovered this one day while alone in the cave andutilized it as a hiding place for his money. 

Here he would come alone and, taking out the increasing bags of coin, empty them on a flat stone and, by the light of a lamp, count theircontents again and again. Those shining coins were his god and all hisreligion; and in this damp and dark sea cavern and by the dim light of alamp he came to worship. 

The Indian could neither read nor write, add nor subtract, and while heknew the value of coins, he was unable to compute them. Wolf knew thisand, unprincipled as he was, he not only defied all law in smuggling, but he had from the first defied all justice, and cheated his partner inthe division of profit. As the Indian was never present when eitherbuying or selling took place, and had no knowledge of arithmetic, thiswas an easy matter. Wolf gave him a little money, of course. He neededhim and his vessel; also his help in sailing her. Not only was theIndian a faithful helper, but he held his tongue as well, which was veryimportant. When in some Nova Scotia port the money Wolf gave him as hisshare was usually spent in drinking and gambling, which suited Wolf, whoonly desired to use him as a medium. 

An Indian has no sense of economy, no thought of the morrow. To hunt, fish and eat to-day and let the future provide for itself is enough. Ifhe works one day, it is that he may spend the next. Among the aboriginesthrift was an unknown quantity, and the scattered remnants of thosetribes existing to-day are the same. As they were hundreds of years ago, so are they now. They were satisfied with bark wigwams then; a board anda mud hovel is enough to-day. They cannot comprehend a white man'sambition to work that he may dress and live well, and all money and allthought spent in civilizing the Indian has only resulted in degradinghim. He absorbs all the white man's vices and none of his virtues. Notonly that, but the effort to redeem him has warped and twisted him intoa cunning and revengeful creature; all malice and no honor. So true isthis that the fact has crystalized itself into the universal belief thatthe only good Indian is a dead one. 

Such a one, though not comprehended by Wolf, was his partner. While thatfox-like Jew was reaping rich profit and deluding himself in believinghe was successfully cheating an Indian, he was only sowing the seed thatsoon or late was destined to end in murder. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE SEA FOX. 

While Neal Dow and his associates were conducting an organized crusadeagainst the sale of liquor in Maine, and that fruitless legislationknown as the Maine Law was being enforced, there entered a small coastport in that State one day a sloop called the Sea Fox, manned by a whiteman, an Indian and a dog. 

The white man had sinister black eyes; the Indian was tall and swarthy. He and the dog remained on board the sloop; the Jew, or, as he calledhimself, Captain Wolf, came ashore. He declared himself to be a smallcoast trader in search of choice lots of fish, and incidentally havingfor sale clothing, tobacco and various small wares. He lounged about thewharves and buildings devoted to curing fish, talking fish and fishingto all. He seemed to be in search of information, and appeared ready andwilling to buy small and choice lots of cured fish at a low price; alsoto sell the assortment of wares he carried. He invited prospectivebuyers to visit his sloop, and exerted himself to interest them. Whilehe seemed anxious to sell, he made no sales; and though willing to buyhe bought nothing. He was in no hurry. He just ran in to look the marketover and see if there was a chance to buy at a price that would enablehim to make a fair profit. If not, he might come again, or may be hecould do better elsewhere. His mission appeared innocent and naturalenough and he and his small craft were duly accepted for what theyappeared to be. 

Had any one, however, examined the dozen or so kits of mackerel whichappeared as part of his cargo, they would have found, not fish, but aspecies of bait ofttimes used by fishermen; and could they have readbetween the lines of Captain Wolf's innocent inquiries they would havelearned that fishing information was the thing he cared least about. Though Wolf talked trade, but did no trading; was anxious to buy, andbought not; willing to sell and sold not; it need not be inferred hetransacted no business. Had any of these coast residents been blessedwith the occult ability to see beyond the apparent facts, and tooverhear, they might have learned of certain hard, if illegal, bargainsmade between Wolf and one or more of their number, and they might havewitnessed late at night various mysterious movements of a small boatpassing from shore to the sloop empty, and returning laden withapparently harmless kits of fish. Had these good people been still morewatchful they would have seen the Sea Fox spread her sails and departbefore dawn. Whence Wolf came no one knew; whither he went, no oneguessed. Like a strange bird of prey, like a fox at night, he stole intoport on occasions wide apart and unexpected, and as mysteriously wenthis way. 

The coast of Maine was particularly well adapted to aid Captain Wolf inhis peculiar enterprise. The great tide of summer travel had not thenstarted and its countless bays, coves and inlets were unmolested. Wherever a safe harbor occurred a small village had clustered about itand the larger islands only were inhabited. The residents of thesehamlets were mainly engaged in fishing or coasting, and of a guilelessnature. They were honest themselves, and not easy to suspect dishonestyin others. Into these ports Wolf could sail unsuspected, and, like thecunning fox he was, easily dupe them by his rôle of innocent trader tillhe found some one as unscrupulous as he, who was willing to take thechance and share his illegal profit. 

While he played his rôle of fox by day and smuggled by night, it was notwithout risk. The crusaders against the liquor traffic had an organizedforce of spies and reformers. In every town there was one or more, andas the reformers received half of all fines or value of liquor seized itmay be seen that the Sea Fox had enemies. No one knew it any better thanWolf, and, like the human fox he was, no one was any more capable ofguarding against them. Well skilled in the most adroit kind ofdeception, in comparison to his enemies he was as the fox is to therabbit, the hawk to the chicken. Frequently he would set traps for hispursuers, and, giving them apparent reason for suspicion, would thusinvite a search. On these occasions, it is needless to say, no liquorwas found on board the Sea Fox. To discover his enemies by the method ofinviting pursuit and then doubling on his track as Reynard does waschild's play to him. In each town he had an accomplice who dare not, ifhe would, betray him. 

Captain Wolf was also a miser. He loved gold as none but misers do. Tohim it was wife, child and heaven all in one, and its chink as hecounted it was the sweetest of music. For four years he played his rôleand continually reaped rich reward, and then he resolved to quit. But, true to his nature, before doing so he decided to play the hyena. He hadfor all these years cheated the law; now he planned to cheat those whoaided him. To this end he set a trap. When a fox sets a trap he sets itwell. Wolf began by circulating an alluring story of a chance to sharein the distribution of a large cargo of contraband spirits, providedthose who could so share would buy a _pro rata_ large amount at reducedprice. Having thus set and baited his trap, he proceeded to spring it. He had, in his wanderings, obtained a formula for the manufacture ofspurious brandy. All that was required was a few cheap chemicals andwater. He purchased the former; on Pocket Island there was a spring thatfurnished the latter. Feeling sure that those whom he had duped wouldnot dare to expose him, he yet acted cautiously and began his cheatingat widely separated points. He had usually disposed of small lots at atime. He doubled and sometimes trebled these, and the hoard of silverand gold behind the rocking stone grew rapidly. Trip after trip he madeto the various ports he had been accustomed to visit, never calling atthe same one twice, and at each springing his well-set trap, pocketinghis almost stolen money and disappearing, leaving behind him curses andthreats of revenge. When all whom he could thus dupe were robbed by thiswily Jew and he had secured all the profit they, as his accomplices, hadmade, Captain Wolf and the Sea Fox sailed away to his unknown lair atPocket Island, and were never heard of afterward. 

CHAPTER III. 

NEMESIS. 

While Captain Wolf was carrying out his scheme to rob his accomplices insmuggling, he was planning a still more despicable act, and that was totake his hoard of money, stow all valuables on the sloop, sail to a NovaScotia port, and when near it, to kill the Indian, sell the Sea Fox andcross the ocean. 

There were several weighty reasons for this. In the first place, thosebags of coin behind the rocking stone weighed on his mind. He was amiser, and never before had he so much wealth he could call his own. Afew hundred dollars at the most were all he had ever possessed. Now hehad thousands. Money was his god, and to escape from danger and carry itwith him seemed prudent. He was aware he was suspected of being, and infact was known to be, a smuggler. While as yet undiscovered in hisisland lair, he might at any time be pounced upon. His act of swindlinghis accomplices, he knew well, would create revengeful enemies, whowould spare neither time nor money to hunt him down. 

Then there was the Indian whom he had also robbed from the start. Hemight become suspicious and betray him, or worse yet, discover thesecret of the rocking stone. Wolf had discovered it by accident; whymight not the Indian? With murder in his heart, Wolf for the first timebegan to be afraid. He put the pistols he had always carried in perfectorder and ready for instant use. So far as he had discovered, the Indianpossessed neither knife nor pistol; but nevertheless Wolf feared him, and the more he realized the danger he had incurred in duping hisassistants in smuggling, and how much he was really in the power of hisgiant-framed partner, the more his fears grew. It may be thought it wasconscience working in him; but it was not, for such as he have none. Itwas guilty fear, and that only. This so preyed upon his mind during hislast trip to the coast that he could hardly sleep. Then he began toimagine that the Indian was suspicious of him. To allay that danger hedoubled the small share of profit he had given his partner, knowing fullwell if he had no chance to spend it, it would all come back to him inthe end. Then he set about deceiving him by an offer to buy the Sea Foxand pay what he believed the Indian would consider a fabulous price. Itwas a fatal mistake. The Indian had no real idea of the value of hissloop. It had come to him as payment for his share of a successfulfishing-trip to The Banks years before, and he had become attached tothat craft. It had been his home, his floating wigwam, for a long time, and for Wolf to want to buy it hurt him. 

"Me no sell boat, " he said, when the offer was made. "Me want sloop longtime. "

Wolf, who valued all things from a miser's standpoint, could notunderstand that there might lurk in the Indian a tinge of sentiment. Hewas mistaken, and the mistake was a little pitfall placed in his way. 

There was another which he was also to blame for, and yet, like thefirst, he was not aware of it. In the cave where he had stored his cargoand prepared it for smuggling, he kept a large can of cheap and highlyinflammable oil on a rock shelf, just above the flat stone where he, bythe light of two lamps, had counted his wealth time and again. True tohis nature, when he bought the oil he bought the cheapest, and unknownto him the can had sprung a leak and while he had been absent for weeksat a time, the oil had run out, saturating the rock below and forminglittle pools on the cave floor among the loose stones. Wolf had notnoticed this, or, if he had, had thought nothing of it. Neither did herealize how fate could utilize his miser's instinct in purchasing thecheap can as a means to bring together and bless two lives unknown tohim. We seldom do notice the snags in life that usually trip us. 

By the time the last voyage of the Sea Fox had been made and shereturned to The Pocket, the relations between Wolf and the Indian werein danger of rupture. Wolf distrusted his partner, and yet believed hehad lulled all suspicion. He had never failed before in duping any onehe had set out to; why should he in this case? Still, he was uneasy andresolved to end it all as soon as possible. But Indians have onepeculiarity that will baffle even the shrewdest Jew. They never talk. Their faces are always as expressionless as a graven image. Whilecontemplating the most cruel murder they never show the least change inexpression, nor do their eyes show the faintest shadow of an emotion. They are stolid, surly and Sphinx-like always. Wolf's partner was likehis race, and not even by the droop of an eyelid did he betray theslowly gathering storm of hate and rage within. He brooded over thehurt he felt when Wolf had wanted to buy his sloop, and believing theJew meant to rob him of her, he grew suspicious and watched Wolf. Not byword or sign did he show it, and the Jew saw it not. Wolf watched theIndian as closely, only the Indian knew it, and Wolf did not. It was nowWolf against fox and fox against Wolf, and the swarthy fox was gettingthe best of it. Meanwhile the loading of the sloop for her finaldeparture proceeded. 

Wolf had planned to use the Indian's help to the last, and when all wasready, enter the cave, secure the money about his person and sail away. The cave entrance was under water for about two hours of high tide, andWolf waited until a day came when the tide served early. He had plannedto go in just before the rising water closed the entrance, thus securinghimself from intrusion; and then, when the tide fell away, to come outready to start. The day and hour came and he entered the cave. 

Unknown to him the Indian followed!

Wolf lighted a lamp and sat down. When the sea had closed the entrance, no sound entered. Wolf waited. Ten, twenty, thirty minutes passed, andall sound of the ocean ceased. He believed himself alone. He lighted theother lamp, placing both on the flat rock. Then he went to the rockingstone, and pushing it back, took from the niche, one by one, the bags ofcoin. These he carried to the table stone and poured their contents intoa glittering pile. 

From behind a rock a pair of sinister eyes watched him!

He felt that he had two hours of absolute seclusion and need not hurry. He began to slowly pile the coins in little stacks and count them. Therewas no reason for haste and he counted carefully. He enjoyed this beyondall else in his vile life, and desired to prolong the pleasure. Themoney was all his, and he gloated over it. No sense of awe at hisseparation from all things human in that damp, silent cavern, still as atomb, came over him. No thought of the murder he was soon to commit; nofeeling of remorse, no impulse of good; no thought of the future or ofGod--entered his soul. Only the miser's joy of possession. Not a soundentered the cavern and only the chink of the coin, as he counted it, disturbed the deathly silence. 

Still the sinister eyes watched him from out the darkness!

Stack after stack he piled till all was counted--eight of one thousanddollars each, and twelve of five hundred dollars, all in gold; andtwenty of one hundred dollars each in silver. 

A tall, swarthy form crept noiselessly toward him!

It was the supreme moment of his life, and as he gloatingly gazed on thestacks glittering in the dim light before him, a delirium of joy hushedall thought and deadened all sense, even that of hearing. 

Nearer and nearer drew the swarthy form!

And as Wolf tasted the sublime ecstasy of a miser's joy, his heaven, hisGod, suddenly two cold, massive hands closed tight about his throat. Butmen die hard! Even while unable to breathe, and as he writhed andtwisted beneath the awful menace of death bearing him down, his handsuddenly touched the pistol in his belt! The next instant it was drawnand fired full against the Indian's breast! Then a shriek of deathagony, as his swarthy foe leaped upward against the rocky shelf; a crashof breaking glass; a flash of fierce flame bursting into red billows, curling and seething all about him and turning the cave into a mimichell!

Outside could be heard the sound of a bellowing bull!

CHAPTER IV. 

THE BOY. 

A boy is an inverted man. Small things seem to him great and great onessmall. Trifling troubles move him to tears and serious ones passunnoticed. To snare a few worthless suckers in the meadow brook is tothe country boy of more importance than the gathering of a field ofgrain. To play hooky and go nutting is far better than to study and fithimself for earning a livelihood. He works at his play and makes play ofhis work. He disdains boyhood and longs for manhood. In spite of hisinverted position I would rather be a boy than a man, and a country boythan a city-bred one. 

The country boy has so much the greater chance for enjoyment and is notso soon warped by restrictions and tarnished by the sewers of vice. Hehas deep forests, wide meadows and pure brooks to play in; and if hisfeet grow broad from lack of shoes, he hears the song of birds, thewhispers of winds in the trees, and knows the scent of new-mown hay andfresh water lilies, the beauty of flowers, green fields and shady woods. He learns how apples taste eaten under the tree, nuts cracked in thewoods, sweet cider as it runs from the press, and strawberries picked inthe orchard while moist with dew. All these delights are a closed bookto the city boy. The country boy is surrounded by pure and wholesomeinfluences and grows to be a better man for it. The wide range of forestand field, pure air, sweet water, plenty of sun and rain are all his, and worth ten times the chance for life, health, enjoyment and a goodcharacter than ever comes to the city boy. He may sooner learn to smokeor gather a choice selection of profane and vulgar words; he may havesmaller feet and better clothes, but he often fails in attaining ahealthy body and pure mind and never knows what a royal, wide-openchance for enjoying boyhood days he has missed. He never knows thedelight of wading barefoot down a mountain brook where the clear waterleaps over mossy ledges and where he can pull trout from everyfoam-flecked pool! He never realizes the charming suspense of lying uponthe grassy bank of a meadow stream and snaring a sucker, or what fun itis to enter a chestnut grove just after frost and rain have covered theground with brown nuts, or setting traps, shaking apple trees, orgathering wild grapes! He never rode to the cider-mill on a load ofapples and had the chance to shy one at every bird and squirrel on theway; or when winter came, to slide down hill when the slide was ahalf-mile field of crusted snow! All these and many other delights henever knows; but one thing he does know, and knows it early, and that ishow much smarter, better dressed and better off in every way he is thanthe poor, despised greeny of a country boy! He may, it is true, go earlyto the theatre and look at half-nude actresses loaded with diamonds, buthe never sees a twenty-acre cedar pasture just after an ice storm whenthe morning sun shines fair upon it!

True to his inverted comprehension, the country boy, and our boyespecially, sees and feels all his surroundings and all the voices ofnature from a boy's standpoint. He feels that his hours of work are longand hard, and that the countless chores are interspersed through hisdaily life on the farm for the sole purpose of preventing him fromhaving a moment he can call his own. He has a great many pleasant hours, however, and does not realize why they pass so quickly. His littleworld seems large to him and all his experiences great in theirimportance. A ten-acre meadow appears like a boundless prairie, and ahalf-mile wide piece of woods an unbounded forest. 

On one side of the farm is a clear stream known as Ragged Brook, that, starting among the foothills of a low mountain range, laughs andchatters, leaps and tumbles, down the hills, through the gorges and overthe ledges as if endowed with life. Since he is not blessed withbrothers or sisters, this, together with the woods, the birds andsquirrels, becomes his companion. The first trout he ever catches inthis brook seems a monster and never afterward does one pull quite sohard. Isolated as he is, and having none but his elders for company, hetalks to the creatures of the field and forest as if they couldunderstand him, and he watches their ways and habits and tries to makethem his friends. He is a lonely boy, and seldom sees others of his age, so that perhaps when he does they make a more distinct impression on hismind. 

One day he is allowed to go to the mill with his father, and it is anevent in his life he never forgets. The old brown mill with its bigwheel splashing in the clear water; the millstones that rumble soswiftly; the dusty miller who takes the bags of grain--all interest him, and especially so does the pond above the mill that is dotted with whitelilies and where there is a boat fastened to a willow by a chain. On theway back, and a mile from home, his father stops to chat with a man infront of a large house with tall pillars, and two immense maples oneither side of the gate. Standing beside the man and holding onto one ofhis hands with her two small ones is a little girl who looks at the boywith big, wondrous eyes. He wants to tell her about the mill and ask herif she ever saw the great wheel go around, but he is afraid to. He hearsthe man call her "Liddy, " and wonders if she ever caught a fish. 

Then his world grows larger as the months pass one by one, until he issent to a little brown schoolhouse a mile away and finds a small crowdof boys and girls, only two or three of whom he ever saw before. One ofthem is the girl who looked wonderingly at him a year previous. He tellsher he knows what her name is, and feels a little hurt because that factdoes not seem to interest her. He studies his lessons because he is toldhe must, and plays hard because he enjoys it. He feels no specialattraction toward any of his schoolmates until one winter day this samelittle blue-eyed girl asks him for a place on his sled. He shares itwith her as a well-behaved boy should, and so begins the first faintbond of feeling that like a tiny rill on the hillside slowly gatherspower, until at last, a mighty river, it sweeps all other feelingsbefore it. 

How slowly that rippling rill of feeling grew during the next few yearsneed not be specified. Like other boys of his age, he feels at timesashamed of caring whether she notices him or not, and again theincipient pangs of jealousy, because she notices other boys. In a yearhe begins to bring her flag-root in summer, or big apples in winter, andalthough her way home is different from his, he occasionally feelscalled upon to accompany her, heedless of the fact that it costs him anextra half-mile and fault-finding at being late home. He passes unharmedthrough the terrors of speaking pieces on examination day, and when St. Valentine's day comes he conquers the momentous task of inditing a versewhere "bliss" rhymes with "kiss" upon one of those missives which he haspurchased for five cents at the village store, and timidly leaves itwhere this same girl will find it, in her desk at school. 

On two occasions during the last summer at the district school, he--quite a big boy now--joins the older boys and girls under a largeapple tree that grows near the schoolhouse, and plays a silly game, theprincipal feature of which consists in his having to choose some girl tokiss. As he knows very well whom he prefers, and has the courage to kissher when his turn comes, that seems a most delightful game; and althoughhe and other boys who were guilty of this proceeding are jeered at bythe younger ones, the experience makes such an impression on him that helies awake half the first night thinking about it. 

But all too soon to him comes the end of schooldays and especially thecharming companionship of this particular fair-haired girl. On the lastday she asks him to write in her album, and he again indulges in rhymeand inscribes therein a melancholy verse, the tenor of which is a hopethat she will see that his grave is kept green, as such an unhappy dutymust, in the near future, devolve upon some one. She in turn writes hima farewell note of similar tone, and encloses a lock of her hair tiedwith a blue ribbon. He has planned to walk home with her when the lastday ends, and perhaps participate in a more tender leave-taking, but sherides home with her parents, and so that sweet scheme is foiled. With aheavy heart he watches her out of sight and then, feeling that possiblyhe may never see her again, takes his books and turns away from the dearold brown schoolhouse for the last time. He locks the curl of hair andher note up in a tin box where he keeps his fish-hooks, and resumes hisunending round of hard work and chores. His horizon has enlarged a gooddeal, for he is now twelve years old--but it does not yet include Liddy. 

It is over a year before he sees her again, though once, when given arainy half-day to fish in Ragged Brook, he, like a silly boy, desertsthat enticing stream for an hour and cuts across lots near her home inhopes that he may see her again, but fails. 

Then one summer day a surprise comes to him. Half a mile from his home, and in the direction his thoughts often turn, is a cedar pasture whereblackberries grow in plenty, and here he is sent to pick them. It ishere, and while unconscious what Fate has in store for him, that hesuddenly hears a scream, and running toward him, down the path comes agirl in a short dress with a calico sun-bonnet flying behind her, untilalmost at his feet she stumbles and falls and there, sprawling on thegrass, is--Liddy. 

In an instant he is at her side, and how glad he is of the chance tohelp her up and soothe her fears no one but himself ever knows. She, too, has been picking berries, and has come suddenly upon a monstersnake just gliding from a cedar bough almost over her head. When herfright subsides he at once hunts for and kills that reptile with farmore satisfaction than he ever felt in killing one before. It is anungrateful return, for although the boy knew it not, the snake has donehim a greater kindness than he ever realized. Then when all danger isremoved, how sweet it is to sit beside her in the shade and talk overschooldays while he looks into her tender blue eyes. And how glad he isto fill her pail with berries which he has picked, and when the sun isalmost down how charming it is to walk home with her along themaple-shaded lane! He even hopes that he will see another snake so thathe can kill that also, and show her how brave a boy is. But no moresnakes come to his aid that day and only the gentlest of breezes rustlesthe spreading boughs that shade their pathway. When she thanks him atparting, a little look of gratitude makes her blue eyes seem moretender than ever to him and her voice sound like sweetest music. 

His world has enlarged wonderfully now, for Liddy has entered into it. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE BOY'S FIRST PARTY. 

The Stillman girls were going to give a party, and the boy was invited. It was the first social recognition he had ever received, and itdisturbed his equilibrium. It also made him feel that he was almost aman. 

He had for some time longed to be a man, and for a year past had felthurt when called a boy. When the little note of invitation, requesting"the pleasure of your company, " etc. , reached him, he felt he hadsuddenly grown taller. He realized it more fully that night when hetried on his best clothes to see how they would look. The sleeves of hisjacket were too short and his pants missed connections with his boots byfull two inches. The gap seemed to swell the size of his feet, also. When he looked in his little mirror he noticed a plainly defined growthof down on his lip, and his hair needed cutting. 

Then the invitation filled him with mingled fear, surprise andpleasure. He hardly knew, after thinking it all over, whether he wantedto go or not. The one fact that turned the scale was Liddy. He was sureshe would be there. But then, that painful gap between his pants andboots! He had thought a good deal about her ever since school was over. Now that he was invited to a party where she would be, he began to feeljust a little afraid of her. 

When the important evening came and he presented himself at theStillmans' house, and lifted the big iron knocker on the front door, itsclang sounded loud enough to wake the dead, and his heart was going likea trip-hammer. Mary Stillman met him at the door, and her welcome was socordial he couldn't understand it. He wasn't much used to society. Allhis schoolmates were there--boys that he had played ball, snaredsuckers, and gone in swimming with scores of times, and girls thatseemed a good deal taller than when they went to school. Most of themwere dressed in white, and with their rosy cheeks and bright eyes made apretty picture. 

They were nearly all in one of the big front rooms, and among them wasLiddy, in pink muslin with a broad sash, and bows of blue ribbon at theends of her two braids of hair. She looked so sweet he was more afraidof her than ever. His first thought was to go into the room where someof the boys were, but Mary Stillman almost pushed him into the otherroom and he felt that he was in for it. When he sat down next to anotherboy and looked at the girls whispering and giggling together, he almostwished he had not come. Then when he thought of that unfriendlyseparation of his pants and boots he was sure of it. But he caught apleasant smile and nod from Liddy, and that gave him a world of courage. 

Then he began to talk to the boy next to him, and was just beginning toforget that he was at a party, in an exchange of experiences about beehunting and finding wild honey, when the oldest Stillman girl proposedthey play button. He had never played button and wasn't anxious to, forit might necessitate his walking about the room and expose that gapstill more. He preferred to talk bee-hunting with Jim Pratt. He was soonmade to realize, however, that there was a different sort of wild honeyto be gathered at a party, and "Button, button, who's got the button?"was the method. When it came his turn to pay a forfeit, he was directedto measure three yards of tape with Liddy. As this consisted inkneeling face to face with her on a cushion in the center of the room, joining hands, expanding arms to the limit, and back again, punctuatingeach outward stretch with a kiss, it wasn't so bad. He was sorry itwasn't six yards instead of three. He could stand it if Liddycould--only he hoped that no one had noticed that gap. On the nextround, Jim Pratt was ordered to stand in a well four feet deep andchoose a girl to pull him out. As four feet meant four kisses, and Jimknew a good thing when he saw it, he chose Liddy. And then the boy feltlike licking him. 

After button came post office, and the boy had a letter from NellieBarnes, with five cents postage due, which called for his catchingNellie and kissing her five times. By this time he had forgotten he wasat a party with abbreviated pants, and was having no end of a good time. Then some one started the good old frolic of run 'round chimney, and asthe Stillman house was admirably adapted for that, the fun waxed fastand furious. It was catch any girl you wanted to, and kiss her if youdid. In the romp the boy's collar came off, and he asked Liddy to pin iton, and when she purposely pricked him a little, he grabbed her andkissed her a few times extra, just for luck. He was rapidly realizingwhy he was there, and what for. And that gap had passed entirely out ofhis mind. 

Then the boys, all rather warm and excited, were requested to go intothe kitchen and carry refreshments to the girls, and our boy and Liddywere soon ensconced in a cosy corner with two plates filled with amedley of frosted cake, mince pie, tarts and the like, and as happy astwo birds in a nest. It was the first time he had ever eaten with her, and an event in his life of no small importance. They also talked asfast as they ate. She told him all her little plans about going to thevillage academy the next term, and what she liked to study, and allabout a little white rabbit that her father had given her on her lastbirthday and how cunning it was. The boy decided at once that he wouldhave a white rabbit if he had to steal one. He also told her that he hadfound a nest of young foxes that summer and had kept them ever since ina pen, and he offered to give her one. He also assured her he, too, meant to go to the academy if his parents would let him. It was acharming visit, and the boy's heart warmed in a wonderful way, andLiddy's blue eyes looked into his brown ones so sweetly that he felt asif heaven was just ahead. Like a wise boy he asked her then and there ifhe could go home with her, which, of course, he could, and so all waswell. Almost before any one realized it, the time for the party to breakup came, and with a chorus of "good-nights" the happy gathering ended. 

When the boy, with Liddy's soft hand curled confidingly around his arm, started for her home, a mile away, he was proud as a king, and farhappier. And that long walk in the moonlight, while

 "On his arm a soft hand rested; rested light as ocean's foam, "--

could he, or would he, ever forget it? I think not. It was a poem ofblue eyes like spring violets, of tender, loving words, of mellowmoonlight on the fields where the corn-shocks stood in spectral rows, and the brook they crossed looked like a rippling stream of silver;where the maples along the lane, still clad in yellow foliage, castmottled shadows in their pathway, and the fallen leaves rustled beneaththeir feet. They did not talk much--their hearts were too full of love'syoung dream--although he told her of his visit to a deserted house ayear before, and how he heard ghostly footsteps in the house, and saw acloset door swing half open in a shadowy room, and he was sure there wasa ghost in that closet; at which Liddy's arm clasped his a littlecloser. Maybe he enlarged a trifle upon that spook. Almost any boy witha fertile imagination and his sweetheart clinging to his arm, on amoonlit maple lane, with no one near, would. I am sure I would if I werea boy. 

When her home was reached he was revolving a serious problem in hismind. To kiss Liddy in the games at the party was easy enough. It was apart of the play, and expected. He had even ventured a few independentones when she pricked him, and though he got his ears boxed, she didn'tseem angry. But to deliberately kiss her now at parting was an entirelydifferent matter. No doubt Liddy knew what he was thinking about, forwhen the gate was reached she paused and did not enter. She thanked himsweetly for his company home, and declared she had had a delightfultime. He assured her he had, and then there was a pause. It was acritical moment. He looked at the moon, high overhead. The man in it--asall men would--seemed to say: "Now's your chance, my boy; kiss herquick!" And yet he hesitated. Then he looked at the near-by brook wherethe ripples were like dancing silver coin, and then at Liddy. Maybe thelaughter of those ripples gave him courage, for he hesitated no longer, but full upon her rosy lips he kissed her. Then he walked home, and allthe long mile, though his feet trod the earth, he knew it not. Ratherwas he floating on ripples of moonlight, with a fairy-like face andtender blue eyes ever hovering over him, and a soft white hand clingingto his arm. 

And so ended the boy's first party. 

CHAPTER VI. 

SERIOUS THOUGHTS. 

When the boy reached home a new and surprising change had come to him. For the first time in his life he began to think--and what was more tothe point, to faintly see himself as he was, and the picture was notpleasant. He had longed to be a man. He began to feel that he was almostone, and a poorly clad and ignorant one at that. He lay awake nearly allthat night, and not only lived the party over, but more especially thewalk home with Liddy. 

All he had cared for before was boyish sports, to do his work, andescape wearing his best clothes. Now he began to think about those sameclothes and how ill they fitted him and how awkward they made him look, and the more he thought about it the more he wondered how Liddy couldhave been so nice to him. He vowed he would never be seen in publicagain with them on. He had seen boys in the village who wore neat andwell-fitting garments, a starched shirt and collar that buttoned to it, instead of being pinned to the top of a roundabout, as his was, andthinking of them made him ashamed of himself. And then that awful gapbetween his pants and boots! Then he thought of how the girls werelaughing when he came into the room at the party, and now he felt surethey must have been making fun of him, and that made him feel worse thanever. His coarse boots, in comparison with the nice, thin ones worn bysome of the other boys there, also haunted him. In short, he took amental inventory of himself, and the sum total was not pleasing. 

All the next day he was glum and thoughtful and for a week he acted thesame. It was the birth of the man in him; the step from the happy, care-free boy to young manhood. It was also, be it said, the beginningof a woman's refining influence that has slowly and for countless agesgradually lifted man from savagery to enlightenment. An evolution ofgood conduct, garb and cleanliness made necessary by woman's favor, andto win her admiration. The cynics call it vanity. So then, must theycall the evolution of the species vanity. It may be so, but call it whatyou will, it's the influence that has wrought the naked savage, decorated with paint and feathers, and courting his wife by knocking hersenseless with a club and carrying her to a cave, into the well-dressed, gallant, kindly, thoughtful and refined gentleman of to-day. 

Just a little of this realizing sense of what he should be, and why, came to the boy, and as ever will be it was a woman's face and a woman'ssmiles, albeit a very young and blue-eyed one, that inspired thethought. His parents rallied him a little about the party, but to him itwas--especially its ending, a sacred secret. Then one day he astonishedthem by asking if he might have a new suit and go to the academy thatcoming winter. He had never before shown any unusual eagerness forstudy, and this request was surprising. For several weeks the questionwas held in abeyance, though duly considered in the family councils; andthen one day at the supper-table the answer came. 

"If the boy wants more learnin', " his father said, "by gosh, he can haveit. I never had much chance at books myself, but that ain't no reasonwhy he shouldn't. We'll fix ye up, " he said cheerfully, with a twinklein his eye, "so ye won't be ashamed to go to a party again;" from whichit may be inferred that the old gentleman had divined some things whichthe boy little suspected he had. 

When the winter term at the village academy opened, the boy was there, his courage a good deal strengthened by a new suit that fitted and apair of boots that did not give the impression that he was fallingdownstairs at every step. But his entry into the new school was not athornless path. Most of the faces were new to him, and many a good dealolder. He still felt himself what he was--a big, awkward boy, though aboy with a determined will to study hard and make the most of hisopportunity. 

He soon learned a good many things; one of which was that earnestness instudy did not always win the favor of either teacher or schoolmates;that in school, as in the world, pleasant manners and flattering wordscounted for more than devotion to duty. He also learned that such athing as favoritism between master and pupil existed, and that thepoorest scholar often stood nearest the teacher's heart. The master, Mr. Webber, he discovered, had a monstrous bump of self-esteem. He was asmall man, not larger than the boy, who was sixteen, and large for hisage, and who, as big boys will, cherished a sort of contempt for smallmen. It is possible that the boy was entirely wrong in his estimate ofthe principal. No doubt that worthy, judged from an adult standpoint, was the most courtly and diplomatic pedagogue that ever let his favoritepupils whisper all they pleased, and banged the floor with the othersinners; but, to the boy, he seemed a little, arrogant bit ofbumptiousness, who strutted about the schoolroom and was especially fondof hearing himself read aloud. "The Raven" was his favorite selection, and he read it no less than thirteen times during one term. 

The boy did not feel at home at the academy. It was so unlike the dearold district school. But he felt it was a good training for him, and hewatched the older scholars and studied hard. The girls all wore longdresses, and, as a rule, were just budding into young womanhood. Ofthese he was a trifle afraid, especially of Liddy, who was one of theprettiest. She was also one of the best scholars, and in her studieseasily a leader. It acted as a spur to the boy, whose secret thoughardent admiration had originally been the motive force that brought himto the academy. His pride was such that he was ashamed to have hersurpass him, and for her to solve a problem in algebra that he hadfailed on, humiliated him. 

Another thing he learned that winter besides his lessons, was thatstylish clothes and genteel manners in a young man counted far more in agirl's estimation than proficiency in study. There was one pupil inparticular, named James White, who, though dull in lessons, was popularwith the girls. He was the fop of the school, wore the nattiest ofgarments, patent-leather shoes, gold watch, bosom pin, seal ring, andwas blessed with a nice little moustache. He also smoked cigars with allthe _sang froid_ of experienced men. It might be said that he pridedhimself on his style, but that was all he had for consolation, for hewas always at the foot of his class. He also showered a deal ofattention and candy on Liddy. It is needless to say the boy hated him, and once gave him a good thrashing for calling him a "greeny. " It wastrue enough, but then a boy who is a greenhorn doesn't enjoy beinginformed of it by a better-dressed stupid who tries to cut him out!

There was one other comfort the boy had: he was often enabled to give afar better recitation than White could. On these occasions a faint lookof admiration in Liddy's blue eyes was like a rift of sunshine on acloudy day to him. When the standing of all pupils was read at themiddle of the term, the boy was away ahead of White, and felt almost asproud as the night he walked home with Liddy from his first party. Itcheered him a deal in his hard fight against ignorance and theawkwardness that, like hayseed from the farm, still clung to him. Howmuch the few quiet attentions and pleasant words Liddy favored him withencouraged him, no one but himself ever knew. He never told Liddy even, till a good many years after. Toward the end of the term this studiouslittle lady gave a party, and with the rest the boy was invited. Itgladdened his heart, of course, but when the day before the affair, andas they were all leaving the hill upon which the academy stood, shequietly said to him: "Come early, I want you to help me get ready toplay a new game called questions, " he felt like a king. It is needlessto say he went early. 

The new game proved a success. It consisted of as many numbered cards asthere were players, distributed among them by chance. The holders ofthese were each in turn to give an answer to any question askedbeginning with "Who, " the selection being made by the chance drawing ofone of the same series of numbers from a hat. To illustrate: If therewere thirty boys and girls playing the same game, cards bearing thenumbers from one to thirty were distributed among them. 

As many more bearing the same numbers were retained by the leader, whowould start the game by asking, for instance: "Who has the largestmouth?" A number would be drawn from the hat and the boy or girl whoheld the duplicate number was by this means identified as having asuitable mouth for pie. He or she in turn was then at liberty to getsquare by asking another question also beginning with "who, " and so on. 

"Questions" scored a hit and made no end of fun. Some one asked: "Who isthe biggest fool in the room?" and when the number was called and MasterWhite proved to hold the duplicate, the boy smiled, for retributionoccasionally overtakes those who wear too fine clothes. A young folks'party in those days would be no party at all unless there were somekissing games, and when toward the close of this one, somebody proposedthey wind up with "Copenhagen, " all seemed willing. 

When the little gathering had departed, the boy made bold to stay a fewminutes longer and hold a most delightful though brief chat with Liddy. They talked over a lot of mutually interesting subjects, includingtheir opinions of Mr. Webber, and if that worthy could have heard whatthey said it might have reduced his bumptiousness just a trifle. Liddyalso assured the boy that she did not care a row of pins for Jim White, and considered him too awfully stuck up for endurance, all of which, mingled with a few sweet smiles, caused our young friend to feel thathis future life at the academy might be pleasanter for him. 

CHAPTER VII. 

LIDDY. 

In one of the New England States, and occupying a beautiful valleybetween two low ranges of mountains, was the town of Southton. One ofthese ranges, that on the east, was known as the Blue Hills; the otherwas nameless. This valley was about four miles in width, and windingthrough it ran a small river. On the banks of this, and nearly in thecenter of the town, was a village, or "town center, " as it was called, containing two churches, an academy and several stores. In one of thesechurches, Rev. Jonas Jotham expounded the orthodox Congregational faith, including predestination, foreordination, and all creation, and in theother Rev. Samuel Wetmore argued on the same lines, clinching them allwith the necessity of total immersion as a means of salvation. 

There was no affiliation between the two sects, each declaring the othertotally blind to Scriptural truths; wrong in all points of creed, andsure to be damned for it. Sectarian feeling was strong, social linesbetween the two churches were sharply drawn, and the enmities of feelingengendered in the pulpits were reflected among the members. Each worthydominie emitted long sermons every Sunday, often extending to"seventeenthly, " while occasionally a few of the good deacons slept; andso, year after year, the windy war continued. 

In the meantime the children attended school, played hard, were happy, grew up, courted, married, and kept on farming, and life in Southtonflowed onward as peacefully as the current of the river that meanderedthrough it. 

Near the eastern border, and beside a merry brook that tumbled down fromthe Blue Hill range, was the home of Loring Camp, his wife, and his onlydaughter, Liddy. He was not a member of either of the two orthodoxchurches, but a fearless, independent thinker, believing in a mercifulGod of love and forgiveness, rather than a Calvinistic one, and whomight be classed as a Unitarian in opinion. Broad-chested, broad-minded, outspoken in his ways, he was at once a loving husband, a kind father, agood neighbor, an honest man and respected. Tilling a small farm andmingling with that more or less attention to his trade of a builder, heearned a good livelihood. A reader of the best books and a thinker aswell, he was firm in his convictions, terse in his criticism, and yetcharitable toward all. His daughter inherited her father's keenintellect and her mother's fair face and complexion, it is needless tosay, was the pride of his heart and loved by all. 

Of Liddy herself, since she is the central figure in this narrative, amore explicit description must be given. To begin with, she was at theage of seventeen, a typical New England girl of ordinaryaccomplishments, home loving and filial in disposition, with a nature assweet as the daisies that grew in the green meadows about her home, anda mind as clear as the brook that rippled through them. Fond of prettythings in the house, a daintily set table, tidy rooms, and lovingneatness and order, she was a good cook, a capable housekeeper and acharming hostess as well. She loved the flowers that bloomed each summerin the wide dooryard, and had enough romance to enjoy nature's moods atall times. She cared but little for dress and abhorred loud orconspicuous garments of any kind. While fond of music, she never had hadan opportunity to cultivate that taste, and her sole accomplishment inthat respect was to play upon the cottage organ that stood in herparlor, and sing a few simple ballads or Sabbath-school hymns. She wasof medium height, with a charmingly rounded figure, and blessed with apair of blue eyes that could change from grave to gay, from mirth totenderness, as easily as clouds cross the sun. With the crowning gloryof her sunny hair, a sweet and sympathetic mouth, modest and unassumingways, tender heart and affectionate manner, she was an unusuallyattractive girl. 

Of her feelings toward the boy little need be said; and since he has nowreached eighteen and a moustache, he deserves and shall have anintroduction by his name of Mr. Charles Manson. He was tall, had honestbrown eyes, an earnest manner; was unsophisticated and believed all theworld like himself, good and true. He was of cheerful temper andgenerous disposition; hated shams and small conceits, and--next toLiddy--loved the fields, the woods, and the brooks that had been hiscompanions since boyhood. She had known him when, at the districtschool, he ignored girls; and later, as he began to bring her flag-rootin summer, or draw her on his sled in winter, she had taken more noticeof him. When he left the little brown schoolhouse for good she hadgiven him a lock of hair, though for what reason she could hardly tell;and when he walked home with her from his first party she felt startleda little at his boldness in kissing her. That act had caused a flutterin her feelings, and though she thought none the less of him for it, nothing would have tempted her to tell her parents about it. Thatexperience may be considered as the birthday of her girlish love, andafter that they were always the best of friends. He had never beenpresuming, but had always treated her with a kind of manly respect thatslowly but surely had won her heart. 

When they met at the academy she feared he might be too attentive, butwhen she found him even less so than she expected, unknown to herself, her admiration increased. While she gave him but little encouragementthere, still if he had paid any attention to another girl it would havehurt her. By nature she despised any deception, and to be called a flirtwas to her mind an insult. She would as soon have been called a liar. Onthe other hand, any display of affection in public was equallyobnoxious. She was loving by nature, but any feeling of that kind towarda young man was a sacred matter, that no one should be allowed tosuspect, or at least inspect. This may be an old-fashioned peculiarity, yet it was a part of her nature. It may seem strange, but "Charlie, " asshe always called her admirer, had early discovered this and had alwaysbeen governed by it. 

It is not easy to give an accurate pen-picture of a young and prettygirl who is bright, vivacious, piquant, tender, sweet and lovable. Onemight as well try to describe the twinkle of a star or the rainbow flashof a diamond. To picture the growth of love in such a girl's heart islike describing the shades of color in a rose, or the expression ofaffection in the eyes of a dog, and equally impossible. 

Liddy's home was one of the substantial, old-time kind, with tallpillars in front, a double piazza and wide hall, where stood an ancientclock of solemn tick. There were open fireplaces in parlor andsitting-room, and the wide dooryard was divided by a graveled andflower-bordered walk, where in summer bloomed syringas, sweet williams, peonies and phlox. On either side of the gate were two immense andbroad-spreading maples. Houses have moods as well as people, and themood of this one was calm, cool, dignified and typical of its fairestinmate. 

When the first term of their academy life together closed, and the longsummer vacation began, Manson called on Liddy the next Sunday eveningand asked her to take a ride. He had called at various times before, butnot as though she were the sole object of his visit. This time he camedressed in his best and as if he boldly came to woo the fair girl. Allthat summer he was a regular caller, and always received the same quietand cordial welcome. Together they enjoyed many delightful drives alongshaded roads on pleasant afternoons or moonlit evenings, and eachcharming hour only served to bind the chains of love more tightly. Occasionally they gathered waterlilies from a mill pond hidden awayamong the hills, and one Saturday afternoon he brought her to RaggedBrook--a spot that had been the delight of his boyhood--and showed herhow to catch a trout. 

The first one she hooked she threw up into the top of a tree, and as theline was wound many times around the tip of the limb the fish had to beleft hanging there. Though almost mature in years, they were in manyways like children, telling each other their little plans and hopes, andgiving and receiving mutual sympathy. It was all the sweetest and bestkind of a courtship, for neither was conscious that it was such, andwhen schooltime came after the summer was over, the tender bond betweenthem had reached a strength that was likely to shape and determine thehistory of their lives. How many coming heartaches were also to be woveninto the tender bond they little realized. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE HUSKING-BEE. 

When David Newell, a prosperous Southton farmer living "over east, " asthat portion of the town was designated, invited all the young people inthe vicinity to his annual husking-bee, every one knew that a good timewas in store. Card-playing was considered a vice in those days, andlimited to a few games of "seven-up, " played by sinful boys on ahay-mow, and dancing was frowned upon by the churches. On the outskirtsof the town a few of the younger people occasionally indulged in thecrime of taking steps to music as a change from the pious freedom ofkissing parties. There was one sacrilegious person named Joe Dencieliving in the east-side neighborhood, who could not only "make a fiddletalk, " as the saying was, but "call off" and keep time and head, foot, both arms and entire body as well, and at once. To describe his abilitymore completely it might be said that he fiddled and danced at the sametime. 

When the anticipated evening came, Manson and Liddy, as well as otherinvited ones, arrived at the Newell barn, where everything was inreadiness. In the center of the large floor was a pile of unhusked cornsurrounded by stools and boxes for seats, and lighted by lanternsswinging from cords above. No time was wasted, for Joe Dencie was there, and every one knew that the best of a husking came after the corn wasdisposed of. And how the husks flew! When a red ear was found by a girlthe usual scramble occurred, for unless she could run once around thepile before the young man who discovered it could catch her, he claimeda kiss. Manson, who sat next to Liddy, kept a sharp watch, for he didn'tintend to have some other fellow steal a march on him. He noticed thatshe husked cautiously, and when presently he saw her drop an unhuskedear by her side he quietly picked it up and found it was a red one. Hesaid nothing, but her action set him to thinking. It was not long erethe pile of corn melted away, and then the floor was swept; Joe Dencietook his place in one corner on a tall stool, and the party formed intwo lines for the Virginia reel. 

There is no modern "function" that has one-half the fun in it that anold-time husking-bee had, and no dance that can compare with anold-fashioned contra-dance enjoyed in a big barn, with one energeticfiddler perched in a corner for an orchestra, and six lanterns to lightthe festivities! It was music, mirth, care-free happiness and frolicpersonified. The floor may have been rough, but what mattered? The youngmen's boots might have been a trifle heavy, but their hearts were not, and when it came to "balance and swing, " with the strains of "MoneyMusk" echoing from the bare rafters, the girl knew she had a livefellow's arm around her waist, and not one afraid to more than touch herfingers lest her costume be soiled. Girls didn't wear "costumes" inthose days; they wore just plain dresses, and their plump figures, bright eyes and rosy cheeks were as charming as though they had beenclad in Parisian gowns. 

When the dance was over all were invited into the house to dispose ofmince pie, cheese, doughnuts and sweet cider, and then, with the moonsilvering the autumn landscape, the party separated. As Manson drovealong the wooded road conveying Liddy to her home, he felt a littlecurious. He could not quite understand why she had taken pains _not_ tofind a red ear. All the other girls had found one or more, and seemedto enjoy the scramble that followed. 

"Why did you not husk that red ear?" he asked her, after they were wellon their way. 

"Simply because I do not like public kissing, " she replied quietly. "Some girls do not mind, and perhaps they like it. I do not. It cheapensa girl in my opinion, or at least it certainly cheapens a kiss. You arenot offended, are you?" turning her face toward him. 

"By no means, " he answered; and then, after a pause, he added: "I thinkyou are right, but it seemed a little odd. "

"I presume I am a little peculiar, " she continued, "but to me thispublic kissing at parties and huskings seems not only silly, but just atrifle vulgar. When we were children at the district school, I thoughtit was fun, but it appears different now. " Then, after a pause: "If Iwere a young man I would not want the girl I thought most of kissed adozen times by every other fellow at a party. It is customary here inSouthton, and considered all right and proper, while card-playing anddancing are not. I would much rather play cards or dance than act likeschool children. "

"I most certainly agree with you, so far as the cards and dancing go, "said Manson, "and now that you put it in the way you have, I will agreewith you regarding kissing games. "

As these two young people had just entered their third year at theacademy, and Liddy was only eighteen, it may seem that she was ratheryoung to discuss the ethics of kissing; but it must be remembered thatshe was older in thought than in years, and besides, she was blessedwith a father who had rather liberal and advanced ideas. He did notconsider card-playing at one's home a vice, or dancing a crime. 

"A penny for your thoughts, " said she, after they had ridden in silencefor a time, and were crossing a brook that looked like a rippling streamof silver in the moonlight. 

"I was thinking, " he replied, "of a night just like this four years ago, when I went home with you from that party at the Stillman's. It was anevent in my life that set me thinking. "

"And have you been thinking about it ever since?" she said, laughing. "If you have it must have been an important event. "

"No, " he answered quietly; "but if it had not been for that party, it islikely I should not have gone to the academy, and most likely I shouldnot be escorting you home to-night. "

"I do not quite understand you, " said Liddy; and then, with an accent oftenderness in her voice: "Tell me why, Charlie?"

"I am afraid you will laugh at me if I do, " he said. 

"No, " she replied, "I will not; why should I?"

"Well, " he continued, "to be candid, I was rather ashamed of myself thatevening, or at least ashamed of my clothes. Then you told me you weregoing to the academy, and for that reason mainly I wanted to go, so yousee what resulted from my going to the party. I do not think fatherintended to send me, and he would not if I had not coaxed him. My firstterm there was not very pleasant for many reasons, and had I known all Iwas to encounter I think my courage would have failed me. I am glad nowthat it did not. " He paused a moment and then continued in a lower tone:"Whatever good it has done me is all due to you. "

No more was said on the subject, and as they rode along in silence, eachwas thinking of the curious web of emotions that was moulding theirlives and making definite objects grow from intangible impulses. He washardly conscious yet what a motive force in his plans Liddy was destinedto be; and she was filled with a new and sweet consciousness of awoman's power to shape a man's plans in life. When her home was reached, and after he had assisted her to alight, they stood for a moment by thegate beneath the maples. No light was visible in the house; no sound ofany nature was heard. The sharp outlines of the buildings were softenedby the moonlight, and the bold formation of the Blue Hills, vague andindistinct. The near-by brook, as of yore, sparkled like silver coin, and the landscape was bathed in mellow light. As Liddy's face was turnedtoward him, a ray of moonshine fell upon it, and her eyes seemed to fillwith a new tenderness. It was a time and place for loving thoughts andwords, and what these two young hearts felt called upon to utter may besafely left to the reader's imagination. 

When Manson drove away, he felt that the future was bright before him, and that life held new and wonderfully sweet possibilities. If he builta few air castles as he rode along in silence and alone, and if intothem crept a fair girl's face and tender blue eyes, it was but natural. The magic sweetness of our first dreams of love come but once in theirpure simplicity; and none ever afterward seem quite like them. We maystrive to feel the same tender thrill; we may think the same thoughtsand build the same fairy palaces, woven out of moonbeams and filled withthe same divine illusions, but all in vain, for none can live life over. 

When Liddy entered her home her footsteps seemed touched with a newlife. Perhaps the effect of "Money Musk" had not entirely died away. 

CHAPTER IX. 

GOOD ADVICE. 

The next day after the husking, when Manson resumed his studies at theacademy, a new and serious ambition kept crowding itself into histhoughts. Some definite shape of what the object of a man's existenceshould be would in spite of all efforts mix itself with his algebra, andform an extra unknown quantity, still more elusive. He tried to put itout of his mind, but the captivating air castle would not down. Ofcourse Liddy formed a central figure in this phantom dwelling, and tosuch an extent that he hardly dared to look at her when they met in therecitation room for fear she would read his thoughts. Occasionally, while studying he would steal a look across the schoolroom at herwell-shaped head with its crown of sunny hair, but her face was usuallybent over her book. She had always treated him with quiet but pleasantfriendliness at school, and he, understanding her nature by degrees, had come to feel it would annoy her if he were too attentive. Hisnewborn ambition he felt must be absolutely locked in his own heart formany years to come, or until some vocation in life and the ability toearn a livelihood for two could be won. 

For the entire week his castle building troubled him in a way, as asweet delusion, but a detriment to study, and then he resolved to put itaway. "It may never come, and it may, " he said to himself, "but if itdoes it will only be by hard work. " He had never felt satisfied tobecome a farmer like his father, but what else to apply himself to hehad no idea. He knew this was to be his last term at the academy, andthat he must then turn his attention to some real occupation in life. Hehad been in the habit of calling upon Liddy nearly every Sunday eveningfor the past year, and to look forward to it as the one pleasantanticipation of the week. He felt she was glad to see him, and what wasof nearly as much comfort, that her father was, as well. He resolvedwhen a good chance came to ask Mr. Camp's advice as to some choice of aprofession. 

When he called the next Sunday evening, which happened to be chilly, Liddy met him with her usual pleasant smile and invited him into theparlor, where a bright fire was burning. She wore a new and becomingblue sacque, and he thought she never looked more charming. He hadusually spent part of the evenings in the sitting-room with the family, but this time he felt he was considered as Liddy's especial company andtreated as such. 

"I have noticed a cloud on your face several times the past week, " shesaid, as soon as they were seated. "Has your algebra bothered you, or isthe barn dance troubling your conscience?"

"I have been building foolish air castles, " he replied, "for one thing, and trying to solve a harder problem than algebra contains, for another. The husking dance does not trouble me. I would like to go to one everyweek. Do you feel any remorse from being there?"

"No, " she answered, "I do not; and yet I heard this week that some oneover in town who is active in the church said it was a disgrace to allwho were there. I wish people thought differently about such things. Ienjoyed the dance ever so much, but I do not like to be considered asacting disgracefully. Do you?"

"I presume you will be so considered, " he responded, with a shade ofannoyance on his face, "if you go to dances in this town. I wish thebusybodies of that church would mind their business. "

He made no further comment regarding the dance, but sat looking gloomilyat the fire. 

"What ails you to-night?" asked Liddy, finally breaking the silence;"you seem out of sorts. "

"I am all right, " he replied, with forced cheerfulness. "I have beentrying to solve the problem of a future vocation when I leave schoolnext spring, and I do not know what to do. "

Liddy was silent. Perhaps some intuitive idea of what was in his mindcame to her, for, although he had never uttered a word of love to herexcept by inference, she knew in her own heart he cared for her andcared a good deal. 

"Come, Charlie, " she said at last, "don't worry about a vocation now. It's time enough to cross bridges when you come to them. Do you know, "she continued, thinking to take his mind from his troubles, "that I havediscovered why Mr. Webber does not like me? It's simply because I do notflatter him enough. I have known for a long time I was not a favorite ofhis, and now I know why. You know what a little bunch of mischief AliceBarnes is. She whispers more than any other girl in school, and makesmore fun of him, and yet she is one of his prime favorites. Well, oneday last week, at noontime, while she was talking with three or four ofus girls, he came along, and she up and asked him if he wouldn't read'The Raven' the next Wednesday afternoon when, you know, we all havecompositions, and then she winked at us. He took it all right, and youought to have heard the self-satisfied way in which he said: 'Certainly, Miss Barnes. I shall be very happy to read it for you. ' The way hestrutted across the schoolroom after that! Lida Stanton said he remindedher of a turkey gobbler. "

Manson laughed. 

"Webber doesn't like me, either, " he said, "and never has from thefirst. I don't care. I came to the academy to learn, and not to curryfavor with him. Willie Converse is another of his pets and is cutting upall the time, but he never sees it, or makes believe he does not. "

The discussion of school affairs ended here, for even Manson's evidentdislike of the principal was not strong enough to overcome the mood hewas in. He sat in glum silence for a time, apparently buried in deepthought, while Liddy rocked idly in her low chair opposite. Thecrackling fire and the loud tick of the tall clock out in the hall werethe only sounds. 

At last he arose, and going to the center table, where the lamp stood, he took up a small daguerrotype of Liddy in a short dress, and looked atit. The face was that of a young and pretty girl of ten, with big, wondering eyes, a sweet mouth, and hair in curls. 

"That was the way you looked, " he said finally, "at the district schoolthe day I wrote a painful verse in your album and you gave me a lock ofhair. How time flies!"

"You are in a more painful mood to-night, " responded Liddy, glad to talkabout anything. "You have the worst case of blues I ever saw;" and thenshe added, after a pause, and in a low voice: "It makes me blue, too. "

Manson made no reply, but sat down again and studied the fire. Thelittle note of sympathy in her voice was a strong temptation to him tomake a clean breast of it all; to tell her there and then how much heloved her; what his hopes were, and how utterly in the dark he was as toany definite plans in life. The thought made his heart beat loudly. Helooked at Liddy, quietly rocking on the opposite side of the fireplace. A little touch of sadness had crept into her face, and the warmth of thefire had lent an unusual color to her cheeks and a more golden gleam toher hair. As he looked at the sweet picture his courage began to leavehim. "No, not yet, " he said to himself, "she will think me a fool. "

"Let's pop some corn, " said Liddy suddenly, still anxious to sayanything or do anything to break what seemed to her his unhappy train ofthought; "the fire is just right. "

She waited for no answer, but stepped quickly into the kitchen andreturned with a long-handled popper, three small ears of popcorn, and adish. 

"There, " she said, cheerfully, "you hold the popper while I shell thecorn. I am going to make you work now, to drive away the blues. Ibelieve it's the best medicine for you. "

There is no doubt she understood his needs better than he supposed, forwith the popping of the corn the cloud upon his face wore away. When itcame time to go Liddy rested her hand a moment on his arm and said, in alow voice: "Charlie, we have known each other for a good many years, andhave been very good friends. I am going to give you a little advice:Don't borrow trouble, and don't brood over your future so much. It willshape itself all in due time, and you will win your way as other menhave done. I have faith in you. "

Her brave and sisterly words cheered him wonderfully, and when he hadgone Liddy sat down a moment to watch the dying embers. She, too, hadfelt the contagion of his mood, and strange to say, his hopes and fearswere insensibly merging themselves into her own. She watched the fadingfire for a full half hour, absorbed in retrospection, and then lightinga small lamp and turning out the large one, she walked down the hall andupstairs to her room. 

"I wish that clock wouldn't tick so loud, " she thought as she reachedher door, "it makes the house sound like a tomb. "

CHAPTER X. 

HISTORY. 

From the time Manson, as a barefooted boy, caught trout in Ragged Brook, until the winter of '62, when, a sturdy young man of eighteen, he hadfallen deeply in love with Liddy Camp, a few changes had taken place inSouthton. Three different principals had been in charge of the academy, one of these, a Mr. Snow, being very capable and universally popular. Later, when Mr. Webber succeeded to that position, the question ofpopularity may have been considered an open one. We must do him thejustice to say he was efficient, however, and if he had an exaggeratedidea of his own importance, it was inherited, and a failing that neithertime nor experience could eradicate. 

The two worthy dominies continued to try to convert sinners byexhaustive arguments on predestination and infant damnation, but strangeto say, made little progress. A few of the good townspeople who were notmembers of either church, as well as some that were, had been for manyyears reading and thinking for themselves, and had come to realize thatthe dry bones of Calvinistic argument had lost their force, and that theSupreme Being was not the merciless God the churches had for yearsdepicted him, but rather a Father whose love and mercy was infinite. Thethen ultra-liberal Unitarian idea had begun to spread and a few who hadoutgrown the orthodox religion organized a Unitarian Society, and builta modest church to worship in. Among these pioneers in thought wereLoring Camp and Jesse Olney, the latter the author of some of the bestschool-books then used; a deep thinker and a leader in town affairs. There were other thinking men, of course, who were prominent in this newmovement, but, as this simple story is not an historical narrative, their names need not be mentioned. This new church and its followers ofcourse incurred the condemnation of the other two, especially the oneled by Parson Jotham, who exhausted all argument and invective toconvince his hearers that Unitarianism and sin were synonymous terms, and that all the new church followers were surely slated for the fieryfurnace. So vigorous were his utterances in this connection, and soexplicit his description of the fire that is never quenched and thetorture that never ends, that it was said some of his hearers couldsmell brimstone and discern a blue halo about his venerable white head. One of his favorite arguments was to describe the intense joy those whowere saved through his scheme of salvation would feel when they came tolook over the heavenly walls and see the writhing agony of all sinnersin the burning lake below. When his eloquence reached this climax hewould cease pounding his open Bible and glare over the top of his tallpulpit at the assembled congregation, in the hope, perhaps, ofdiscovering among them some Unitarian sinner who could thus be made torealize his doom. 

In justice to Parson Jotham it must be said that his intentions were ofthe best, no doubt, but his estimate of the motive forces of humanaction was too narrow. He believed the only way to win people from viceto virtue and good conduct was to scare them into it. 

In spite of all the denunciations of the other two churches, the newone, though feeble at first, slowly increased its following. To this onewith their respective parents, came Liddy and Manson. While perhaps notmature enough to understand the wide distinction between Unitarianismand Calvinism, they realized a little of the inexpressible horror ofRev. Mr. Jotham's theories of infant damnation and the like, and wereglad to hear no more of them. Like many other young people to-day, theyaccepted their parents' opinions on all such matters as best and wisest. 

They were not regular in their church attendance, either, for Liddycould not always leave her invalid mother, and occasionally she andManson found a drive in the summer's woods or a visit to the top of BlueHill more alluring than even the Unitarian church. Of similar tastes inthat respect, and both ardent admirers of nature, and loving fields andflowers, birds and brooks, as the lovers of nature do, they oftenworshipped in that broad church. Manson especially, who had fromchildhood spent countless hours alone in the forests or roaming over thehills or along the streams, had learned all the lessons there taught, and now found Liddy a wonderfully sympathetic and sweet companion. Tospend a few quiet hours on pleasant Sundays in showing her some prettycascade where the foam-flecks floated around and around in the poolbelow; or a dark gorge, where the roots of the trees along its bank grewout and over the rocks like the arms of fabled gnomes, was a supremedelight to him. He knew where every bed of trailing arbutus for milesaround could be found; where sweet flag and checkerberries grew; whereall the shady glens and pretty grottoes were, and to show her all thesecharming places and unfold to her his quaint and peculiar ideas aboutnature and all things that pertain to the woods and mountains delightedhis heart. 

Since the evening when she had given him the wise advice not to crossbridges till he came to them, they had grown nearer together in thoughtand feeling, and whether in summer, when they drove in shady woods orvisited a beautiful waterfall, where the rising mist seemed full ofrainbows when the sun shone through it; or in winter, when they wentsleighing over the hills, after an ice storm, and were breathless withadmiration at the wondrous vision, no words or declaration of love hadas yet passed his lips. He had vowed to himself that none should untilthe time came when he had more than mere love to offer. Since all hisacts and words showed her so plainly what his feelings were, she beganto realize what it must all mean in the end, and that in due time hewould ask her the one important question that contains the joy or sorrowof a woman's life. As this belief began to grow upon her it caused hermany hours of serious thought, and had she not discovered in her ownheart an answering throb of love it is certain she was far too honorableto have allowed his attentions to continue. 

How the townspeople viewed the affair may be gathered from a remark madeby Aunt Sally Hart, the village gossip, one Sunday at church. 

"They tell me, " she said, "that young Manson's keeping stiddy companywith Liddy Camp, and they're likely to make a match. Wonder if they'llgo to live on his father's farm, or what he will do?"

As Aunt Sally was an estimable lady of uncertain age, who, never havinghad a love affair of her own, felt a keen interest in those of others, and as she occupied a place in Southton akin to the "personal mention"column of a modern society newspaper, it may be said her remark was asufficient reflex of public opinion. 

When there were any social gatherings where they were invited, he was bytacit consent considered as her proper and accepted escort. At theacademy she had never been in the habit of discussing her privateaffairs with her mates, and so perhaps was spared what might have becomean annoyance. While she listened to much gossip, she seldom repeated it, and, by reason of a certain dignified reticence among even her mostintimate schoolgirl friends, no one felt free to tell her of theopinions current among them regarding herself and Manson. For thisreason a little deviation from the usual rule, made one day by hernearest friend, Emily Hobart, came with all the greater force. 

"Do you know, " said Emily, when they were alone, "it is common talk herein school that you and Charlie Manson are engaged? Oh, you need notblush so, " she continued, as she saw the color rise in Liddy's face, "everybody says so and believes it, too. Shall I congratulate you?"

This did not please Liddy at all. 

"I wish everybody would mind their own business, " she said with a snap, "and leave me to mind mine. "

"Oh, fiddlesticks, " continued Emily; "what do you care? He is a nicefellow, and comes of a good family. We have all noticed that he has noeyes for any other girl but you, and never had. They say he fell in lovewith you when you wore short dresses. "

When Liddy went home that night she held a communion with herself. Soeverybody believed it, did they? And she, in spite of her invariablereticence, was being gossiped about, was she? "I've a good mind neverto set foot in the academy again, " she said to herself. 

For a solitary hour she was miserable, and then the reaction came. Shebegan to think it all over, and all the years she had known him from hisboyhood passed in review. And in all those years there was not oneunsightly fact, or one hour, or one word she could wish were blottedout. And they said he had loved her from the days of short dresses!Well, what if he had? It was no disgrace. Then pride came in and shebegan to feel thankful he had, and as the recollection of it all camecrowding into her thoughts and surging through her heart, she arose andlooked into her mirror. She saw the reflection of a sweet face withflushing cheeks, red lips, bright eyes, and--was it possible! a faintglistening of moisture on her eyelashes!

"Pshaw, " she said to herself as she turned away, "I believe I am losingmy senses. "

The next two days at school she barely nodded to him each day. "At leasthe shall not see it, " she thought. 

When the next Sunday eve came she dressed herself with unusual care, andas it was a cold night she piled the parlor fireplace full of wood andstarted it early. 

Then she sat down to wait. The time of his usual coming passed, butthere was no knock at the door. The hall clock with slow and solemn tickmarked one hour of waiting, and still he did not come. She arose andadded fuel to the fire, and then, taking a book, tried to read. It wasof no use, she could not fix her mind upon anything, and she laid thebook down and, crossing the room, looked out of the window. Howcheerless the snowclad dooryard, and what a cold glitter the starsseemed to have! She sat down again and watched the fire. The tall clockjust outside the parlor door seemed to say: "Never--never--never!"

She arose and shut the door, for every one of those slow and solemnbeats was like a blow upon her aching heart. Then she seated herselfagain by the dying fire, and as she gazed at the fading embers a littlerealization of what woman's love and woman's waiting means came to her. When the room had grown chill, she lighted her lamp and retired to herchamber. 

"I have never realized it before, " she said, as she looked at the sad, sweet face in the mirror. And that night it was long ere slumber came toher pillow. 

CHAPTER XI. 

WAR CLOUDS. 

When Liddy reached her desk at the academy the next day she found a notein a well-known hand that said:

"My father was very ill. I could not call last eve. I hope to nextSunday. "

It was a bitter-sweet message. At times during the week she felt herface burn at the recollection of how disappointed she had felt theprevious Sunday eve. "I am a fool to care, " she would say to herself, and then when she caught sight of his face and saw the cloud restingupon it she felt puzzled. She had asked regarding his father's illnessand learned he was better, so the ominous shadow was not from thatsource. She felt sure it was not from an impending declaration of lovebrewing in his heart, for she knew him well enough to feel that when itcame to that, he would have the manly courage to express his feelings inhis usual outspoken way. 

When Sunday evening came again she awaited his coming with a newanxiety, and when he arrived her heart felt heavy. He greeted her asthough nothing was amiss, and began chatting in an offhand manner, as ifto prevent any question from her. He even joked and told stories, butwith a seeming effort and not in accord with his feelings. Liddy watchedhim quietly, feeling sure he was acting a part and for a purpose. Themore he tried to dissemble, the deeper became her dread. At last, whenthe chance came, she said in her direct way:

"Charlie, you are not yourself to-night, and I believe you have someserious trouble on your mind. I wish you would tell me what it is. "

He looked at her a moment before replying, and then said:

"Oh, well, perhaps I have; but please don't notice it. I do not like totalk of my troubles here. You will dislike me if I do. "

"I shall feel hurt if you do not, " she answered. 

"Don't say that!" he replied; and then, after looking into her earnestface a moment he continued in a lower tone: "You are the last person inthe world I would knowingly hurt. "

He remained silent for a long time, looking at the fire in a vacant way, and then rising suddenly he said:

"There is no use; I can't talk to-night. I am out of sorts. I think Iwill go home. "

"No, no, Charlie, " she replied, trying hard to keep the pain out of hervoice: "don't go yet! It's too early, and we have not had a visit fortwo weeks. Please sit down and tell me all about it. Can't you trustme?"

He remained standing and looking earnestly into her upturned face andpleading eyes for a few moments in silence; then he said:

"Yes, I can trust you, Liddy, and I am not afraid to, either! I am notafraid to trust you with every thought and impulse that ever came to me, but I can't bring myself to hurt you, " and then he turned away. 

His words almost brought the tears to her eyes, but she kept them back. When he had his coat on and was at the door, she made one more effort. She clasped his arm with both hands, as if to hold him, and said:

"You have made me very wretched, Charlie! Don't leave me in suspense! Ido not deserve it. No matter what it is, please tell me!"

He remained silent, but with one hand he softly caressed the two littleones that clasped his arm. Then as her face sank slowly upon them hestooped suddenly and kissed her hair. "When I come again you shall knowall, " he whispered; "good-night!" and he tore himself away. 

The meadows were growing green and the first spring violets were inbloom ere he called again. 

To explain his strange mood a little history must be inserted here. 

The summer and fall of '61 and the winter and spring of '62 weremomentous in the annals of Southton. Fort Sumter had been fired upon, and the war for the preservation of the Union had begun. The President'sfirst call for volunteers had been issued; the Bull Run retreat hadoccurred, and the seven days' horror of the Chickahominy swamp, followedby the battle of Fair Oaks and the siege of Fredericksburg, had startledthe country. Secession was rampant, and Washington was threatened. Thesecond call for volunteers had come and the entire North was alarmed. 

In the spring of '62 came the third call, and by that time the spirit ofpatriotism was spreading over Southton. Captain Samuel Woodruff, a bornsoldier and a brave man, began to raise a company in that town. It didnot require a great effort, for the best and bravest of her sons ralliedto his call. This spirit even reached the oldest of the academy boys, and was the cause of Manson's strange reticence with Liddy. Among hismates were many who openly asserted their intention to enlist. Beforeand after school and at noon it was talked about. Some were, likeManson, the sons of peaceful tillers of the soil, and others the sons oftradesmen, but all were animated by the same patriotic spirit and thatwas to defend their country in her hour of danger. The example of a fewbecame contagious, and seemed likely to affect all the young men of theacademy of suitable age. In fact it did, for out of about thirty thatwere old enough, eighteen finally enlisted and went to war. Were it notthat a list of their names is not pertinent to the thread of thisnarrative, that roll of honor should be inserted here, for it deservesto be; but it is not necessary. It is well known in Southton, and therethe names of those young heroes will never be forgotten. 

For weeks while the fever of enlistment was spreading, Manson had passedthrough serious mental torture. To sign the possibly fatal roll or notto sign was the question! He dared not tell Liddy; he dared not tell hisparents. An only son, and one whom he knew his father loved, he felttorn by conflicting duty. Never in his simple life had he passed throughsuch a struggle. Perhaps pride and the example of his mates were strongfactors in bringing him to a decision, but he reached one at last, andupon a Saturday during the latter part of April he quietly wrote hisname upon the enlistment paper in Captain Woodruff's office, and thedeed was done. 

In the meantime, and for the few weeks in which he did not call, Liddylived in an agony of suspense. She knew what was going on, for it wascurrent gossip in school, and there was something in his face thatseemed to her ominous. In school she tried hard to act unconcerned, evenwhen, as often was the case, other girls whose young and loving heartswere sore, gave way to tears. Each day she smiled and nodded to him asusual; but the smile had grown pathetic, and into her eyes had crept alook of dread. He saw it all, and hardly dared speak to her. Each Sundayeve she dressed herself for his coming and watched the fire while thetall clock ticked in solemn silence. She dreaded to hear her fatherspeak of the war news, and when at school the gossip as to who had orwho was going to enlist was referred to she walked away. She grew silentand morose, and clouds were on her face at all times. There were plentyof sad and worried looks on other girls' faces at school during thoseweeks, so she was not alone in her gloom. 

Manson had felt that deep down in her heart she cared a good deal morefor him than her conduct showed, and to tell her of his intentionsbefore he carried them out would be to subject her to needless days ofsuspense and possibly affect his own sense of duty. Now that it was allover, she must be the first to be told, and how much he dreaded it onlythose who have passed through the same experiences can tell. He scarcelyslept at all that night, and when he presented himself at her house thenext day, just before church time, he looked pale and haggard. It was anunusual thing for him to call at that hour, and when Liddy met him herheart sank. Without any formality he asked her to put on her wraps andtake a ride. 

"I have come to tell you all, " he said, "and I can talk better away fromthe house, and where we are alone. "

When they were well on their way and driving along the wooded roadtoward the top of one of the Blue Hills--a lookout point whence allSouthton's area could be seen--he turned his face and looked at hers forthe first time since starting. What he saw there smote his heart. 

"It's a nice day for a ride, isn't it, Liddy?" he said pleasantly, trying hard to act natural. 

Her answer was peculiar. 

"I can't talk of the day or anything else, Charlie, till I know theworst. Remember, you have kept me in suspense four long, weary weeks. Tell me now as soon as you can. "

He made no reply, and spoke not another word until they reached thelookout place. In silence he assisted her to alight, and taking thecarriage robe, he spread it upon a rock where they had often sat viewingthe landscape below. Then he said, in a low voice:

"Please sit down, Liddy. I've fixed a nice seat for you, and now I cantalk to you. "

Then their eyes met for the second time since starting. Her face andlips were pale, and her eyes full of fear. She clasped her hands beforeher face as if to ward off the coming blow. 

"Tell me now, " she said hurriedly, "tell me the worst, only tell mequickly! I've suffered long enough!"

He looked at her a moment pityingly, dreading to deal the blow, andtrying to frame it into suitable words--and then it came. 

"Liddy, " he said in a husky whisper, "I love you, and I've enlisted!"

A brief sentence, but what a message!

A woman's heaven and a woman's hell in six words!

For one instant she looked at him, until its full force came to her andthen she burst into tears, and the next moment she was in a heap on therobe-covered rock and sobbing like a child. Instantly he was beside her, gathering her in his arms and kissing her hair, her tear-wet face andlips. Not a word was spoken; not one was needed! He knew now that herheart was his, and for weal or woe; for joy or sorrow, their lives mustbe as one. 

"Don't cry any more, my darling, " he whispered at last. "I shall comeback all safe, and then you will be my wife, won't you, Liddy?"

She made no answer, but a small, soft hand crept into one of his, and heknew his prize was won. 

When they were ready to leave the hallowed spot she gathered a bunch ofthe spring violets growing there, and kissing them, handed the clusterto him in silence. 

Late that evening when they parted she put one arm caressingly about hisneck and whispered: "Give me all the hours you can, Charlie, before youmust go; they may be all we shall ever have together. "

CHAPTER XII. 

A DAY IN THE WOODS. 

When schoolmates who have studied and played together until almostmaturity reach the parting of their ways a feeling of sadness comes tothem; but when out of such a band there are eighteen of the best youngmen about to take part in the horror of war, the occasion becomes doublyso. The last few weeks passed together by the graduating pupils ofSouthton Academy came back to them in after years much like the memoryof a funeral. There were no frolics at noontime or after school; nomirth and scant laughter. 

A few of the girls were known to be carrying aching hearts, and it waswhispered that two or three were engaged to be married to youngsoldier-boys now in the academy. Liddy wore a new and heavy plain goldring, and when questioned as to its significance quietly answered, aswas her wont: "I have no confessions to make, " but those who werenearest to her and knew her best detected a proud look in her eyes anddrew their own conclusions. It was noticed also that she and Manson wereseldom apart during the noon hour, and invariably walked away from theacademy together. As there were other couples who thus paired off itcaused no comment. 

When the last day came the academy was packed with the parents andfriends of pupils, and on Liddy's desk was a bunch of June roses. Sheknew whose hand had placed them there. When the final exercises beganshe felt herself growing nervous. She had never felt so before, but nowthe mingled joy and sorrow of the past four weeks were telling upon her. There were several patriotic and warlike recitations by the young men, and readings of an unusually melancholy nature by young ladies, all ofwhich tended to make matters worse, so that when her turn came she feltready to cry. But she caught a look from Manson that was like wine. "Hehas been brave, " she thought; "I will be as much so"--and she was. 

When the exercises were over the principal made a brief but feelingaddress which raised him several degrees in Manson's estimation, andthat was the end. Most of the pupils lingered, loth to utter the lastfarewells, but finally they were spoken, and with many moist eyes amongthat gathering of young friends they separated. Some of them never metin life again. 

The few remaining evenings ere Liddy and her lover were to part were notwasted by them, and the last Sunday was one long to be remembered. 

"Come early, " she had said the night before; "I have a little surprisefor you. " When he arrived at her house that day, just as the distantchurch bells were faintly calling, he found her dressed for a ride, andwas a little puzzled. 

"I want you to take me to church to-day, " she said, smiling, and thenadded, in a low voice, "to our church on the top of Blue Hill, wherethere will be no one but God and ourselves. "

It was an odd thought, and yet, knowing her as he did, it was notsurprising. The simple reverence of it touched him, however. 

"Now, " she continued more cheerfully, "no more sober thoughts. Let ustry and be happy, and like children once more. Here is a basket I havepacked, and you are to put it in the carriage. We are to dine in thewoods. "

The day was one of those rare ones that come only in June, and when theyreached the spot, now, henceforth and forever sacred to them, thesheltering trees were fresh with new foliage, the birds singing whilebuilding their nests, the summer breeze softly whispering in thescattered hemlocks, and over all shone the mellow sunshine. 

For a long time they sat on the rock, now hallowed by her tears, viewingthe beautiful landscape spreading out below and living over, as they hadmany times before, and as young lovers will, all the little incidents oftheir lives, and what a marvelous thing it was that they had come tolove each other. It was all a story as old as the rock upon which theysat, and pure and sweet as the blue violets blooming at their feet. Inthe midst of it Manson pointed to a spot in the valley below--a cedarpasture with an immense boulder in the middle--and said: "Once upon atime, several years ago, when I was a boy, I was picking berries in thatfield, when a little girl in short dress and calico sun-bonnet camerunning down a path near me until, almost at my feet, she stumbled, andgirl, berries and bonnet went sprawling upon the ground! Can you guesswho it was?"

Liddy turned her face toward him and smilingly answered: "Was that theway I entered your heart, Charlie? It wasn't a dignified way, was it?"

"It was at least effective, " he replied, "for you have remained in itever since. "

When the sun was high overhead she arose and said, with bewitchingimperiousness: "Now, sir, you have been idle long enough; you must helpme set the table. Bring me that basket in the carriage. "

"If we are to begin keeping house up here, " he answered cheerfully, "perhaps you had better wait till I build you a table. "

"I shall be glad if you can, " she said, and watched him curiously whilehe cut small, straight sticks, and then larger ones with forked ends. These he drove into the ground under a tree, and placing one stout stickto connect each of the forked ones and form supporting ends, laid theothers across and close together to make the table. He then placed flatstones for seats, covering them with the carriage cushions, and when allwas done he said: "My dear, your table is ready; now I will help you toset it. "

"I am glad I brought a tablecloth, " she remarked smiling. 

When the dainty little banquet board, just large enough for two, wascovered with a snow-white spread and napkins, plates, knives and forks, and all the attractive results of her culinary art, he smiled, for thetempting food would make any hungry man smile. 

"It's not an elaborate dinner, " she remarked, as they sat down, "but youmust get used to my cooking some time, and you might as well begin now. "

When the sun was low in the west and she sat near him idly weavingflowers into the band of his hat, he said: "Liddy, have you neverwondered how I am going to solve the vocation problem I used to worryabout?"

"No, " she answered quietly, "and I do not wish to discuss it, either. Remember, we are children to-day. " Then she continued, in a lower tone:"I have trusted you with my heart, my life, and all the happiness I canever hope for, and when the time comes I know you will not fail me. "

"I realize what it all means, " he answered, after a long pause, "and youcan trust me, for so long as God gives me strength you shall have allthe blessings I can win in life. "

They sat in silence until the lowering sun had left the valley in shadowand smiled only on the hilltop where they lingered. Perhaps the dreadparting that was near seemed creeping toward them with the shades ofnight, for his arm stole softly about her waist, and her hand creptinto his. They watched until the last ray of sunlight had vanished, andwhen they arose he once more gathered her close in his arms andwhispered:

"Promise me, my darling, that if I never come back you will visit thisspot alone, once a year, in June, and if there be such a thing as a lifebeyond the grave, I will be here in spirit. "

"I promise, " she answered solemnly, "and no man shall ever have theright to stop me. "

When they were ready to leave the place he had to lead her to thecarriage, for her eyes were blinded by tears. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME. 

With bayonets flashing in the sunlight, with flags flying and keepingstep to the martial music, Southton's brave Company E marched full onehundred strong to the depot the next day, ready to leave for the war. 

Almost the entire town was there to see them off, and hundreds of men, old and young, filled the air with cheers. Mingling in that throng wereas many mothers, wives, sweethearts and sisters with aching hearts, whose sobs of anguish were woven into the cheering. Strong men wept aswell. As the train rolled away, Manson fought the tears back that hemight not lose the last sight of one fair girl whose heart he knew wasbreaking. When it was all over, and he realized that for months oryears, or perhaps never, would he behold her again, he knew what war andparting meant. He had obeyed his conscience and sense of duty, and nowhe must pay the price, and the payment was very bitter. Of his futurehe knew not, or what it might hold for him. He could only hope that whenhis hour of trial came that he would not falter, and if the worst mustcome that he would find strength to meet it as a soldier should. 

War is such a ghastly, hideous horror, and so utterly at variance withthis simple narrative, that I hesitate to speak of it. There can be nomoments of happiness, no rifts of sunshine, and but few gleams of hopewoven into the picture. All must be as war is--a varying but continuedsuccession of dreaded horror and the fear of death. The first month ofManson's experience at the training camp was hard only in anticipation, and but a daily round of duty easily performed and soon passed. Liddy'sfrequent letters, each filled with all the sweet and loving words that, like flowers, naturally spring from a woman's heart, cheered himgreatly; but when the order came to go to the front, the scene changed, and the reality of war came. He dreaded the first shock, not so muchfrom fear of death; but lest his courage fail. When it came atChancellorsville it was all over before he knew it. Although under firefor eight hours, he was not conscious of the lapse of time or aughtelse, except that he obeyed orders and loaded and fired with the rest;forgetting that he might fall, or whether he was brute or human. Thatnight he wrote to Liddy: "We have had our first battle, and for manyhours I forgot even you. I know now that I shall not falter. PoorLuzerne Norton, one of our academy boys, was killed, also three othersfrom our company; and seven were wounded. "

When the letter reached Liddy her heart sank. To know that one of herbright and happy schoolmates of a few months before had been shot andkilled, and others wounded, was to have the dread reality of war broughtvery near home. "Thank God my boy was spared, " she thought. That nightshe wrote him the most loving letter he had ever received, concludingwith: "Be brave, my darling, and always remember that come what may Ishall keep my promise. "

Then came the battle of Gettysburg, and although his company escapedwith only a few wounded, it was here he first realized the ghastlyhorror of a battlefield after the fight is over, and how the dead areburied. 

When his next letter reached the sad-hearted one at home, no mention wasmade of this experience, and when she wrote asking why he had nevertold her how a battleground looked, or anything about it, he replied:"Not for worlds would I tell you how we bury the dead, or how theylooked, or anything of the sickening details. Please do not read them inthe papers, for it will do you no good, and cause you needlesssuffering. I wish to keep misery from you. Think of me only as doing myduty, and try to believe (as I do) that I shall come back to you aliveand well. "

For the next six months he had no battles to face--only skirmishing andpicket duty. When Christmas came it brought him two boxes of good thingsto gladden his heart. One was from his dear old mother, and one was fromLiddy, and tucked away in that, between four pairs of blue socks knit byher fair hands, was a loving letter and a picture of herself. 

Almost a month after came the battle of Tracy City and the fall of braveCaptain Upson. There were others wounded, but none of his company werekilled. It was here Manson received his first promotion to a corporal'sposition, and he was afterward made sergeant. In the spring thatfollowed, and almost one year from the day he first told Liddy of hislove, came the battle of Boyd's Trail. Five days after, when the moonwas full one night, he wrote by the light of a camp fire: "Do youremember one year ago to-day, and where we were and what I said? I littlerealized that day what was in store for me. One thing I must tell you, however, and that is you can never know how much comfort it has been tome to live over all the happy hours we have had together. Every littleword and look of love from you has come back to me again and again in mylong, lonesome hours of picket duty, and to-night as I sit by the campfire and see the moon shining through the trees I can recall just how Ifelt the first time I kissed you, when the same moon seemed to belaughing at me. Do you remember one night when we were driving acrossthe plains on our way back from a little party over to Marion, and yousang that 'Meet Me by Moonlight' ballad? That was three years ago, andyet I can almost hear your voice now. "

When this letter reached Liddy she read it in tears. 

For the next year it was with Manson as with all that slowly decreasingcompany--one unending round of nervous strain, long marches, sharpfighting, or, worse yet--carrying the wounded from the battlefield andburying the dead. They lived poorly, slept on the ground or in the mudat times, and became accustomed to filth and stench, indifferent todanger and hardened to death. When a comrade fell those who knew himbest said: "Poor fellow, he's gone, " and buried him without a prayer;but the dead who were personally unknown awakened no more feeling thanso many leaves fallen by the wayside. It could not well be otherwise, for such is war. Individual cases of heroism were common enough, andpassed almost unnoticed; for they were all brave men who came to fightand die if need be, and no less was expected. 

War makes strange bedfellows, and forms unexpected friendships. It wasafter the battle of Gettysburg, when the Tenth Army Corps remained incamp for several months, and one night while on picket duty, that Mansonmet with a curious adventure, and made the acquaintance of afellow-soldier by the name of Pullen, belonging to a Maine regiment, whose existence, and the tie thus formed, eventually led to a sequenceof events of serious import. The enemy were encamped but a few milesaway, and that most dastardly part of warfare, the firing upon picketsfrom ambush, was of nightly occurrence. Manson's beat that night wasover a low hill covered with scrub oak, and across part of a narrowvalley, through which wound a small, marsh-bordered stream. The nightwas sultry, and the dampness of the swamp formed in a shallow strata offog, filling this valley, but not rising above the level of the uplands. To add to the weirdness of his surroundings, the thin crescent of a newmoon threw a faint light over all and outlined the winding turns of thismist-filled gorge. Away to the northward a belt of dark clouds emittedfrequent flashes of heat lightning, and occasional sharp reports alongthe line bespoke possible death lurking in every thicket. Keeping alwaysin shadow, and oft pausing to listen, Manson slowly traversed his beat, waiting only at either end to exchange a whispered "All's well!" withthe next sentry. 

What a vigil! And what a menace seemed hidden behind every bush or spokein every sound! The faint creak of a tree as the night wind stirred thebranches; the rustle of leaves on the ground or the breaking of a twigas some prowling animal moved about; the flight of a bird, disturbed atits rest; the hoot of an owl on the hillside or the croak of a frog inthe swamp were all magnified tenfold by the half-darkness and the senseof danger near. One end of his beat ended at the brook and here hewaited longest, for the sentry he met there was, like himself, hardlyout of his teens, and unused to war. A bond of fellowship sprang intoexistence almost at sight, and made them brothers in feeling at once. 

It was while whispering together beside this brook, and oppressed by thesuspense of night and danger near, that they detected a sound of morethan usual ill-omen, and that, the certain one that some creature hadstepped into the stream above, and was cautiously and slowly wading init. Hardly breathing, and bending low, the better to catch every soundthat came, they listened with beating hearts until it ceased. Once theyhad detected the click of stones striking together as if moved by ahuman foot and twice caught the faint plash of a bush or limb of treedropping into the water. Then the sounds ceased, and only the faintmurmur of that slow-running stream disturbed the silence. 

For a few moments they waited there, and then together crept up out ofthe gorge. Just as they emerged from the pall of the fog, and where themoon's thin disk still outlined that narrow white-blanketed valley, theypaused, looking across, above, below and all around, and listening asintently as two human beings so environed would when believing dangernear. And as they looked and listened for moments that seemed hours, suddenly, scarce five rods away, they saw a man slowly emerged from thebush-covered bank, rapidly cross this narrow gorge, apparently walkingon the fog, and disappear in the dark thicket on the other side!

Forgetting in the first shock of supernatural added to natural fear thatthey stood fully exposed in the faint moonlight, they looked at eachother, while a cold chill of dread seemed to check even the power tothink. Manson was the first to recover, and with a quick, "We musthide, " almost hissed, dropped on all fours behind a bush, followed byhis comrade. That the motion betrayed them to watchful eyes is certain, for the next instant, out from the dark thicket across the gorge thereleaped a flash of red fire, and the ping of a bullet, cutting leaves andtwigs above them, told its own tale. Too scared to think of returningthe fire, or conscious that to do so was unwise, they slowly crawleddeeper into the scrub and along the top of the hillock. All that nightthey kept together, and how long it was until the gray light of comingdawn lifted a little of their burden of fear, no one who has neverskulked along a picket line in darkness and dread can imagine!

When the relief guard came, Manson and his mate tried to discover wheretheir night-prowling enemy had crossed that narrow gorge, if he hadcrossed at all, but could not. Whether ghost, or shadow, orflesh-and-blood enemy had walked on fog in the faint moonlight beforethem, they could not tell, and never afterward were they able todetermine. The only certain fact was that some one had fired at them, and fired meaning to kill! Wisely, too, they agreed to keep the ghostpart of that experience a secret, and none of their comrades ever knewthey had seen a man walking upon the fog. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

BESIDE THE CAMP FIRE. 

Both Manson's and Pullen's regiments were encamped along the edge of abelt of pine woods, and after their creepy experience together on picketduty, they naturally sought each other as often as possible. There is a'witching romance lingering about a camp fire in the woods thatstimulates the imagination, and when these two newly made friends couldmeet for an evening's visit beside theirs, many a tale of youthfulexperience and boyish escapade was exchanged. 

"Speaking of ghosts, " said Manson, one evening, "I do not believe intheir existence exactly, and yet there is a strange fascination aboutthe idea that I can't understand. Now I do not believe we saw a manwalking on fog the other night, and yet I can't resist the desire tohunt the matter out and discover what sort of an optical illusion itwas. I am not at all certain the man who took a shot at us was the onewe saw across the ravine, either. I had an experience once when I wasabout nine years old, that, in a way, tainted my mind with the ghostidea, and perhaps that is the reason why the possibility of seeing oneaffects me in the way it does. A couple of miles from the farm where Iwas reared there stood an old deserted ruin of a house known as the TimBuck place. It was hidden away behind hills and woods and reached fromthe highway through a half-mile lane, thick grown with bushes. Here, years before I was born, there had once lived a man by the name of Buck, who hanged himself in the garret one day, while his wife was away. Itwas said she came back just at dusk and found him hanging lifeless froma rafter in the garret. What became of her I never knew, but no one everlived on the place afterward, and in time the farm and house reverted tothe town for taxes. It also soon obtained the reputation of beinghaunted, and no one ever went near it after dark. A couple of 'coonhunters told how they had taken refuge in it from a sudden shower atnight, but left in a hurry when they heard some one walking on thechamber floor above. Some one else said they had seen a white figurewalking on the ridge-pole just at dusk. All this was current gossip inthe town, and believed by many. 

"My parents had sense enough not to tell me, but when I was old enoughto be sent to the district school, I heard all this, and more, too; andthe worst of it was I believed all I heard. I had never been near thehouse, but when I heard the stories, I got another boy for company andwent to look at it from the top of a near-by hill. As I grew older thefascination of the place kept increasing, and one day it overcame myfear and all alone I paid it a visit. 

"The house was a ruin--roof fallen in, floor rotted away and pitchedinto the cellar: only the walls were standing, and the beams andrafters, like the ribs of a skeleton, still in place. I remember thewell-sweep was in the usual position, and seemed to me like a warningfinger pointing at the bleaching rafters. It took me a good half hour tomuster courage enough to go within ten rods of the ruin, but I finallydid, and at last, scared half to death, and trembling, found myselfpeeping in at one window. It was dark in there and smelt queer, and I, anine-year-old boy, fully expected to see some new and horrible spookappear at any moment. How long I stood there I never knew, for I forgotall else except the belief that if I waited long enough I should seesomething queer. I did, too, for all at once I saw in an inner room, where a closet door stood half open, a white, bony hand reach out frombehind it, take hold, and seemingly shut that door from the inside! Ididn't wait any longer, you may be sure, and never stopped running untilI came in sight of home, two miles away!"

"And didn't you ever go back there?" said Pullen, "when you got older?"

"Oh, yes, I did, but not for a year after, and during that year Idreamed of that house and one or a dozen skeleton hands, countlesstimes. Finally I mustered up spunk, went there one day all alone, setthe old ruin on fire, and then ran as fast as my legs would carry me toa hilltop half a mile away, and stood and watched the fire. The placewas so hidden away no one saw it burn except me, and I never told forfear of consequences. "

"And did you ever outgrow the belief that you really saw a skeleton handopen that door?" said Pullen, reaching forward to pick up an ember andlight the pipe he had just refilled. 

Manson was silent for a few moments, as he lay resting his head on onehand and watching the firelight play hide-and-seek among the pine boughsoverhead. 

"No, to tell you the truth, Frank, " he replied at last, slowly, "I donot think I ever did. Of course, I know I did not see what I thought Idid, and yet I have not quite outgrown the scare. I won't admit that Ibelieve in ghosts, and yet the thought of them, owing perhaps to thatboyhood fright, has a sort of deadly fascination for me. I believe andyet I do not believe, and if I were told I could see one by goinganywhere, no matter how grewsome the spook was, I could not resistgoing. "

"You ought to have lived where I came from, " observed Pullen, lookingcuriously at his comrade; "for about twenty miles from my home is anisland known as 'The Pocket, ' that is fairly swarming with ghosts. "

"Tell me about it, " said Manson, suddenly interested. 

"Well, it is a long yarn, " replied Pullen, "but, from your make-up, theisland is just such a spot as you would enjoy visiting. As I told youthe other night, I was born and brought up on an island off the coast ofMaine, and when I was quite a lad I first heard about this island, andthat no one ever went there because it was haunted. I wasn't old enoughto understand what being haunted meant, but later on I did. They used totell about it being a hiding-place for smugglers before I was born, andthat a murder had been committed there and that some one in a fishingboat had seen a man fully ten feet tall, standing on a cliff on it, onenight. Dad, who was a sea captain, used to laugh at all this, and yetalmost everybody believed there was some mystery connected with it. Another thing, I guess, helped give it a bad name was the fact that aship was wrecked on it once, and no one discovered it until long after, and then they found four or five skeletons among the rocks. Anotherqueer thing about this island that is really a fact is, that any time, day or night, you can hear a strange, bellowing sound like that of a madbull, coming from somewhere on it. When there is a storm you can hear itfor miles away. The sound can't be located anywhere, and yet you canhear it all the time. If you are one side, it seems to come from theother, and go around to that side and it is back where you came from. Inside the island is a circular pocket or walled-in harbor, like thecrater of a volcano, that is entered through a narrow passage betweentwo cliffs. Altogether it's a curious place, but as for ghosts--well, I've been there many a time and never saw one yet. But then, I do notbelieve in spooks, and perhaps that accounts for it. It's like thebelievers in spiritualism, that can readily see their dead ancestors'faces peering out of a cabinet, and all that sort of bosh, but I nevercould. I'll bet, " with a laugh, "that you could go to Pocket Island andsee ghosts by the dozen. "

"I would like to go there, " replied Manson quietly, "and if we ever gethome alive, I will. "

"Come and make a visit, and I'll take you there, " said Pullen; "that is"(soberly) "if I ever go home. "

The story-telling ceased while the two friends, each thinking of thesame thing, gravely watched the slowly fading fire. 

"Come, " said Pullen at last, "quit thinking about what may happen, andtell me another ghost story. It's your turn now. "

But Manson was silent, for the story-telling mood had fled, and histhoughts were far away. 

"Where are you now?" continued Pullen, studying his comrade's face. "With some girl, I'll bet; am I right?"

"Yes, " answered Manson slowly, "I was with some one just then, andthinking of a fool promise I exacted from her before I left, and allthis ghost-story telling has made me realize what an injury I may havedone her by exacting that promise. "

"Tell me, " said Pullen, "I can sympathize with you, for I, too, have agirl I left behind me. "

"Well, " came the answer slowly, "this girl has too much good sense tobelieve in ghosts, and yet, you can't ever tell who does or does notbelieve in them. The foolish part of it is that I took her to a lonelyspot away in the woods one day, before I left, and asked her to promiseme that in case I never came back she would visit this spot alone once ayear, on that same day, and if I was in spirit I would appear to her, orat least if there was any such thing as spirit life, I would be there, too. She is one of those 'true blue' girls would keep such a promise aslong as she lived, I think; and now you understand what a fool promiseit was. "

"I can't dispute you, " answered Pullen, and then they separated. 

CHAPTER XV. 

MYSTERIES. 

"Do you know, Frank, " said Manson, a week later, as once more the twolounged beside their camp fire, "that I have the hardest kind of a taskto keep myself from believing in omens, and especially the 'threewarnings' business? Now, to illustrate, we lost a man out of our companytwo nights ago, and he was shot within ten feet of where you and I stoodthe night we were shot at. His name was Bishop, and an old schoolmate ofmine. I was on the morning guard-mount detail, and was the first one tosee him as we were going along the picket line. He had been shot in thehead, and most likely never knew what hit him. To make the fate ofBishop more impressive his going on for night duty instead of myself hadbeen decided by chance. "

"Well, what of it?" said Pullen. "It was his bad luck and not yours thattime, wasn't it? That fact ought to drive away your presentimentsinstead of increasing them, my boy. "

"Perhaps, and yet it doesn't, " replied Manson. "It keeps crowding meinto the belief that I am booked for the same fate in the near future, and, do all I can, I can't put that idea away. "

"Nonsense, " put in Pullen, "that is all bosh, and in the same list withthe Friday business, and seeing the moon over your left shoulder, andall that string of superstition that has come down to us, or rather, upto us from the Dark Ages, when mankind believed in no end of hobgoblinthings. "

"Say, Frank, don't you believe in luck?" interposed Manson. "Don't youbelieve there is such a thing as good or ill luck in this world, andthat one or the other follows us most of the time all through life?"

"Yes, to a certain extent I do, " answered Frank. "But I've noticed thatgood luck comes oftenest to those who put forth the greatest effort, andill luck is quite apt to chase those who are seemingly born tired. "

Manson was silent, for the wholesome optimism of his friend went far todispel his grewsome imaginings. 

"How does a mystery you can't understand affect you, Frank?" he said atlast. 

"Oh, as for that, if I can't find some solution for it easily I put itaway and think of some other matter. Life is too short to waste intrying to solve all we can't understand. And speaking of mysteries, "continued Frank, "you ought to have been born and brought up where Iwas, on an island off the coast of Maine. There is more mystery to thesquare mile down that way, I believe, than anywhere else in the world, unless it be Egypt. There is a little village called Pemaquid, wherethey fence it in and charge an admission. I know of a dozen places wherethere are old Indian villages; old fort sites; old burial-places thatfairly bristle with mystery! If you go anywhere near them the nativeswill ask you to go and look at this spot, or that, and act as if theyexpected you to take off your hat while they tell all about it in anawed whisper. Oh, we have mystery to burn down in Maine! Maine wouldjust suit you, Manson! There isn't an island on the coast, a lake ormountain in the interior that hasn't got a fairy tale, or some legendconnected with it. You remember what I told you about Pocket Island theother night? Well, that is a fair sample. And speaking of fairy tales, there is a curious one current down our way about a Jew and an Indianwho were known to be smugglers and came and went in a mysterious way. They sailed a small sloop called the Sea Fox, and, according to thestories, this Jew was one of the most adroit villains ever born with ahooked nose. Where he hailed from the devil only knew, and he nevertold, and when after he had mystified everybody for two years, smuggledliquor by the boatload all the time without getting caught once, hemysteriously disappeared, and left the entire coast guessing. Accordingto the stories, and there are hundreds told about him, he was thesmoothest Sheeney that ever swore by Moses. Dozens of constables were onthe watch for him; his sloop was searched many times; every one believedhe was smuggling liquor all the time and yet no one ever caught him. Allthis happened when I was a boy, and yet to-day no one sees a smalltops'l sloop gliding into some uninhabited cove that they don't say'There goes the Sea Fox. '"

"And did no story ever crop out regarding what became of him, or wherehe went to?" inquired Manson. 

"Not a word or whisper; that is where the mystery lies, and, as I said, it is one more added to the large stock we already have. "

"I would love to spend a month down your way, Frank, " said Manson, aftera pause. 

"And why not?" replied Pullen. "I've a good boat, plenty of time, andwhen we get out of this scrape I would be more than glad to have youvisit me. I will take you all around among the islands and show you allthe mysteries, even Pocket Island, and who knows but we may run acrossthe Sea Fox? Promise me to come, will you?"

"Yes, if ever I get back alive I will, " answered Manson. 

It was not long after this pleasant chat that there occurred anotherepisode in Manson's war experience that had a peculiar effect upon hisimagination, and one that perhaps will illustrate the pathos of war aswell as any. 

"We do not pause to think what we are about to do when we are marchedinto battle, " he said to his friend Frank the day after it happened; "weare under orders to kill if we can, and the smell of smoke, the roar ofguns, and the awful horror of it all deadens every sense except thebrutal one to shed blood. But to deliberately shoot an enemy, eventhough you know he is only waiting to shoot you, is another matter. Ihad to do it yesterday morning, however, and how miserable I have beenever since, no one can imagine. As you know, the Rebs have been shootingpickets off and on, for two weeks, and orders have been issued to shootat sight and ask no questions. I had been on the line all night and wasso dead tired and worn out with the nervous strain that I was ready tolie down in the mud even, and go to sleep, when just at daylight I saw aman crawling on all fours across an open space maybe twenty rods away, and across a ravine. 

"It was a little lighter up where he was and I knew he couldn't see me. I lay low behind a rock and watched him, and as it grew lighter saw hewore gray, and I knew he was an enemy. For ten minutes he never moved, and I lay there with a bead on him trying to decide what to do. I knewhe was there to kill, and that my duty was to shoot, and yet Ihesitated. We shoot in battle not really knowing whether we kill or not, but to deliberately pull trigger knowing it means sending a human soulinto eternity is an awful thing to do. His own action decided thematter, for, as I saw him lift himself a little and then raise his gunto the shoulder, I fired. Then I saw him spring to his feet, whirlaround, clasp his hands to his breast and slowly sink forward half outof sight. I put a fresh cartridge in, and then never took my eyes offthat gray heap until the relief guard came along. He was not quite deadwhen we went to him, for the ball had gone through his lungs, and he wasfighting hard for breath. He was a beardless boy, not over eighteen, andas he gasped, the blood gushed out of his mouth. We saw him try tospeak, but could not, and then he looked at us three; first one and thenanother. It must be he saw more pity in my face than in the others, forthe poor boy suddenly reached out his hand toward me, and as I took ithe drew me down to try and whisper to me. It was of no use; I could notcatch the sound. 

"I wiped the blood away from his lips and then rolled my blouse up for apillow and laid his head on it. I could see a mute look of gratitude inhis eyes, like those of a dying dog, and, mingling with that, the awfulfear of death. It was all over in a few moments, and at the last he drewmy hand to his lips and kissed it. The other two boys turned away, and Iwas glad, for the tears were chasing each other down my face. The onebit of consolation I had was, the poor boy did not know I shot him. Whenit was all over, we left him, and later we three went up there andburied him beside the rock where he died. I saw his face hovering overme all last night, and it will haunt me as long as I live. "

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE GRASP OF DEATH. 

When the fierce heat of E Company's second summer in an almost tropicalclimate was fast depleting their ranks, Manson wrote to Liddy:

"Disease among us is more dangerous than rebel bullets. When I was a boyI used to feel that the long, hot hours in hay fields, or the bittercold ones in the snow-buried woods, were severe hardships, but now Ithank God for them! If I survive the exposure here it will be because ofthe splendid health and strength that came to me from those days on thefarm. Sometimes when the miserable food I have to eat, or the vile waterI must drink, is at its worst, I think of what mother used to cook, andhow sweet the water in dear old Ragged Brook used to taste on a hotsummer day, and you cannot imagine what I would give for a chance tothrust my face into that cool stream, where it was leaping over a mossyledge, and drink my fill. 

"I have passed through some ghastly and sickening experiences, toohorrible to relate to you, and at times I am so depressed that I loseall hope, and then again I feel that I shall pull through all right. Onething I want you to do, and that is, forget the foolish promise Iexacted from you that day on Blue Hill. Some things have occurred thathave convinced me it was doing you a cruel injustice to ask such apromise. "

It was the last letter Liddy ever received from her soldier boy, andwhen she read it it filled her with a new and uncanny dread. 

During those first two years of service, E Company made heroic history. They took part in eleven hard-fought battles, besides many skirmishes, and not a man flinched or shirked a duty! They were all hardy sons ofold New England, who, like their forefathers of '76, fought for home andliberty; for freedom and love of country. Such, and such only, are trueheroes!

Of the battles in which they took part, now famous in history, Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, Tracy City, Resaca, Peach Creek andAtlanta were the most severe, though many others were as sanguinary. Their losses in all these engagements were sixteen officers, killed orwounded in battle, and twenty-three privates, or total of thirty-nine. In addition, eight were taken prisoners, most of whom died in rebelprison pens; and thirty-six others died of disease or were disabled byit. Out of the one hundred hardy men who left Southton, only nineteenreturned unharmed at the close of the war!--a record for brave servicethat was not surpassed, and one that should weave a laurel wreath aroundevery name!

Manson had passed through eight battles unharmed and dread disease hadfailed to touch his splendid strength; but at the battle of Peach Creek, and under a blazing July sun he fell. His regiment had been ordered tocharge a hill, from the top of which a perfect storm of rebel bulletswere pouring upon them, and with hands gripping his gun and teethfiercely set, he with the rest faced the almost certain death as theycharged up the hill! When half way up, and just as he had leaped a lowstone wall, two red-hot irons seemed to pierce him, and with a bulletthrough one leg, and a shattered arm he went down, and leaving himthere, the storm of battle swept on!

Conscious still, and believing his end had come, he yet remembered thatwall, and faint and bleeding he crawled back to it. He could hear theroar of guns, and the groans of dying men about him, and in that awfulmoment, with death near, one thought alone came, and that was toshelter himself between the rocks, so that mad horses and frenzied menmight not trample upon his face. He could see near by a rock close tothe wall, and like some wild animal that had received its death wound, yet crawls into a thicket to die, so he crept into this shelter and laythere moaning. 

Hour after hour passed in agony, while his life blood ebbed away. Hecould not stop it; he did not try. Since death was near and he felt thatit must come, the sooner it was over the better. Men and horses swept byand heeded him not! The fierce sun beat upon him, but no one came tosuccor! His tongue grew parched and a terrible thirst tortured him; butthere was no water. Only the hard stones upon which his head waspillowed, the dry earth that drank his blood, and the merciless sunblazing above. He could hear the dying men about him groaning andcursing God in their agony, and the roar of cannon that made the earthtremble beneath him. 

Then the sounds of conflict and carnage passed away, and left only themoans of the wounded near him to echo his own. At last night came andthrew her dark mantle over that scene of death and despair, and laterthe moon rose and shed her pale light upon it. Those soft beams ofsilvery white were angels of mercy, for they carried that dying boy'sheart away to the hills of old New England, and to where a ripplingbrook danced like silver coin beneath them, and a fair girl's face andtender blue eyes smiled upon him. Then the picture faded and he knew nomore. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

THOSE WHO WAIT. 

There is nothing in life much harder to bear than suspense. To know theworst, whatever that may be, is far preferable to the long agony ofdoubt; hoping for the best, yet fearing the worst. Even a hardenedcriminal has been known to admit that the two or three hours of waitingfor the verdict was far worse than the march to the gallows. If this beso, what must it be to the tender, loving hearts of good and true womenwhose husbands, sweethearts, brothers and sons are facing the dangers ofwar, and who (God pity them) have to endure this dread suspense forweeks and months when no tidings reach them?

When the train bearing Liddy's soldier boy from sight had rolled awayshe clung to her father's arm in mute despair. Pride sustained her untilthey had left the town behind, and were driving across the wide plainstoward her home, and then the tears came. The memory of many pleasantmoonlit drives along the same road when her lover was with her cameback, and with it the realization that it was all ended, perhapsforever, and that the best she could look forward to was three years ofweary waiting. Before her, miles away, rose the Blue Hills, distinct inthe clear air, and as she looked at them, back came the memory of oneday a month before--a day replete with joy and sorrow, when he had paidher the greatest and sweetest compliment a man can pay a woman. Shecould recall the very tones of his voice and she could almost feel thetouch of his arms when he had held her close for one brief moment. Insilence she rode along for a time, trying to control herself, and thenturning to her father she said:

"Father, there is something I must tell you, and I ask your forgivenessfor not doing so before. " And then, in her odd, winsome way, resting hercheek against his shoulder and holding her left hand before his face fora moment, she continued: "Can you guess?"

"No, my child, " he answered, quickly, wishing to cheer her, "I could notpossibly guess. The ways of my little girl are so deep and dark, howcould I?" and then continuing in a more cheerful tone: "Don't cry anymore, Liddy. Some one is coming back from the war by and by, and someone else will want a lot of new dresses for a wedding, and expects to behappy, and I hope she will be. "

Then a little hand began stroking his arm and a still damp face wasbeing rubbed against his shoulder, and presently a soft voice whispered:"Father, you have always been too good to me. You never said a word andyou knew it all along, I guess!" which rather incoherent speech may beexcused under the circumstances. 

The few weeks that followed were not as gloomy to Liddy as later ones. Her home duties outside of school hours had always been numerous, andnow she found them a relief. Letters also came frequently from theabsent one, and she felt that he was not yet in danger--that was a grainof consolation. But when he wrote that they were to start for the frontthe next day, her heart grew heavy again and from that time on the dreadsuspense was never lifted. She wrote him frequently and tried to makeher letters brave and cheerful. All the simple details of her home lifewere faithfully portrayed, and it became a habit to write him a pageevery night. She called it a little chat, but it might better have beencalled an evening prayer, for into those tender words were woven everysweet wish and hopeful petition of a loving woman's heart. After thebattle of Chancellorsville a cloud seemed resting upon Southton, andLiddy felt that the weary waiting was becoming more oppressive thanever. It had been her father's custom to drive "over town, " as it wascalled, once a day to obtain the news, and she had always met him on hisreturn, even before he entered the house, to more quickly learn theworst. She began to dread even this, lest he should bring the tidingsshe feared most. 

Then came the call for needed supplies to be used in the care of thewounded, and gladly Liddy joined with other good ladies in picking lint, preparing bandages, and the like, and contributing many articles for theuse and comfort of the soldiers. In this noble work she came to realizehow many other hearts besides her own carried a burden, and to feel akinship of sorrow with them. Her engagement to Manson seemed to begenerally known and the common burden soon obliterated her first girlishreticence concerning it. 

"I feel that I am growing old very fast, " she wrote him, "and that I ama girl no longer. Just think, it is only ten months since I felt angrywhen some of the girls told me they heard I was engaged to you, and nowI don't care who knows it. "

For the next three months there were no battles that he was engaged in, and yet the suspense was the same. Then when the new year came anotherburden was added, for her mother grew worse, and it seemed to Liddy asif the shadows were thick about her. An event that occurred in the earlyspring, and two months after the battle of Tracy City, made a deepimpression on her. Captain Upson, promoted from first lieutenant ofCompany E, was wounded at that battle, and dying later, was brought toSouthton for burial. He was universally respected and almost the entiretownsfolk gathered at the church to pay their tribute. Hundreds failedto gain admission, and it was said to have been the largest funeral everknown in the town. Liddy had never seen a military funeral and theceremonies were sadly impressive. The long service at the church; thetouching words of the minister uttered over the flag-draped coffin, uponwhich rested a sword; the sad procession to the cemetery, headed bymuffled drum and melancholy fife mingling their sounds with the tollingbell, and then the arched arms of soldiers, beneath which the body wasborne; the short prayer; the three volleys; and last of all, livelymusic on the return. This feature impressed her as the saddest of all, for it seemed to say: "Now, we will forget the dead as soon aspossible, " which in truth was what it meant in military custom. 

It is needless to say as she returned with her father to their nowsaddened home, a possible event of similar import in which she must be abroken-hearted mourner entered her mind. During the next month cameanother and far worse blow. Her mother, long an invalid, contracted asevere cold and, in spite of all possible effort to save her, in threeshort days passed away. To even faintly express the anguish of that nowbereaved husband and motherless girl is impossible and shall not beattempted. 

When the funeral was over and they once more sat by the fire in thesitting-room, as was customary each evening, their pleasant home seemedutterly desolate, and the tall clock in the hall ticked with far deepersolemnity. Liddy in fact was, as she felt herself to be, walking"through the valley and shadow of death. " To add to her utterwretchedness, if that were possible, she had received no letter fromManson for three weeks, and there were no rifts of sunshine in herhorizon. She wrote him a long account of her loss and all the misery ofmind she was experiencing and then, as she had no address to mail it to, held the letter in waiting, and finally tore it up. "It will only givehim pain to know it, " she thought, "and he has enough to bear. " When shenext heard from him she realized more than ever how many lonely andhomesick hours he had to endure, and was glad she had kept her sorrow toherself. 

A few weeks later her father, thinking to make the house more cheerful, proposed that her Aunt Mary--a widowed sister of his--should come andlive with them. 

"No, father, " said Liddy, after the matter had been discussed, "I wouldrather be alone and take care of you myself. " Then she added, with alittle quiver in her voice: "You are the only one I've got to love nowand perhaps the only one I shall ever have. "

Liddy was essentially a home-loving girl and cared but little forcompany. A few friends, and good ones, might be considered as the textof her life, and even at school it had been the same. Her home dutiesand her father's needs were a sufficient kingdom, and over it she was agracious queen. For the first three months after her mother's death sheand her father lived a life of nearly silent sadness. Almost daily hevisited the town, dreading far worse than Liddy ever knew lest he mustreturn with sad tidings. He knew what was ever in her heart, and as herlife-happiness was dear to him, he wasted no time in discussing war newswith his friends in the village. When June came Liddy felt that a changein the morose current of their lives must be made, and in her peculiarway set about to carry out her idea. She knew his fiftieth birthday cameduring that month, and when the day arrived she said to him:

"Come home early to-night, father, I have a great, big favor to ask ofyou. " All that afternoon she worked at her little plot, and when teatime came and he entered the house a surprise awaited him. Thedining-table had been moved into the sitting-room, set with the bestchina, and in the center was a vase of flowers. Draped from the hanginglamp above it, and extending to each corner were ropes of ground pine, and around his plate was a double row of full-blown roses. It was apretty sight, and when he looked at it he smiled and said: "Expectingcompany, Liddy?"

"Yes, you, " was her answer; "and I've made a shortcake, and I pickedthe strawberries myself. "

When he was seated in his accustomed chair he looked at the array ofroses, and in a surprised voice remarked: "Why didn't you put somearound your own plate, Liddy?"

"Because it's not my birthday, " came the answer; "count them, father. "

The thoughtful tribute touched him, and a look of sadness crept in hisface. "I had forgotten how old I was, " he said. 

Liddy made no reply until she had poured his tea, and then she said, inher earnest way: "Now, father, I don't want you to think of that anymore, or anything else that is past and gone. Please think how hard Iworked all the afternoon to fix the table and how much I want to makeyou happy. "

When it came time to retire, he said: "You haven't told me yet what thatbig favor is, Liddy!"

For answer she went to him and taking his face in her hands, she kissedhim on either cheek and whispered: "Wait till to-morrow!"

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A FEW BRIGHT DAYS. 

The next evening after supper Liddy showed unusual cheerfulness. She hadthat day received three letters from the absent one, though of differentdates, and all contained assuring words. Then she had a little plan ofloving intent mapped out in her mind and was eager to carry it out. Herfather noticed her unusual mood and said: "It seems good to see yousmile once more, Liddy. "

"I am trying hard to feel happy, " she answered, "and harder still tomake you feel so as well. " And then, drawing her chair close to him, shesat down and rested her face against his shoulder. It was one of her oddways, and it must be now stated that when this winsome girl mostearnestly desired to reach her father's heart, she always stroked hisshoulder with her face. 

"Well, " he said, recognizing her method, "I know you have something onyour mind; so tell me what it is right away!"

She made no immediate reply, but softly stroked him for a moment andthen replied: "Yes, I do want something; I want a clock!" and then, straightening herself up, she continued earnestly: "I want a lot ofthings; I want a pretty clock to put on the mantel, and I want you toput the tall one up into the attic, for it gives me the blues; and say, father"---- and here again her face went to his shoulder, "I want apiano!"

"Is that all?" he answered, a droll smile creeping into his face. 

"No, " she said, "that isn't all; but it's all I dare ask for now. "

"Better tell me the rest, " he replied, stroking the head that stillrested against his arm. "You haven't surprised me yet. "

And then there was a very pretty scene, for the next instant thatblue-eyed heart-breaker was sitting in her father's lap, with both armsaround his neck. 

"Do you mean it, father?" she whispered. "Can I have a piano?"

"Why, of course, " he answered softly, "if you want one. "

In a week the old cottage organ that had felt the touch of Liddy'schildish fingers learning the scale, was keeping company with the tallclock in the attic, and in its place stood a piano. In the sitting-rooma new clock that chimed the hours and halves ticked on the mantel. Thesewere not all the changes, for when so much was won our heart-breakerrenewed her assault by her usual method, and pretty portičres took theplace of doors between parlor, hall and sitting-room, and delicate lacecurtains draped the windows. Then Liddy surveyed her home withsatisfaction and asked her father how he liked it. 

"It makes a great change in the rooms, " he replied, "and they seem morecheerful. "

"Do you notice that it also makes the carpets look worn and shabby?"said Liddy; "and the parlor furniture a little old-fashioned?"

Mr. Camp sat down in one of the parlor chairs and looked around. For afew moments he surveyed the room in silence and then said: "Liddy, didyou ever hear the story of the brass fire-dogs? I don't think you have, so I will tell it. There was once a good woman who persuaded her husbandto buy a pair of brass fire-dogs for the parlor, to take the place ofthe old iron ones. When the new ones were in place she polished themvery brightly and asked him to look into the room. 'Don't you think, 'she said, 'they make the carpet look old and worn?' They certainly did, so he bought a new carpet. That in turn made the furniture seem shabby, so he was persuaded to renew that. By this time the curtains were not inharmony, and had to be changed. When it was all done he remarked: 'Wife, you said the fire-dogs would only cost me four dollars, but they havereally cost me two hundred. '"

"But we had the brass fire-dogs already, " said Liddy laughing, "so thestory doesn't hit me. " Then, going to him and putting one arm around hisneck and stroking his face with the other hand, she continued: "Thetrouble is, father, you have got me instead of new fire-dogs; are yousorry?"

"You must judge for yourself, " was his answer. "Is there anything elseyou wish?"

"Yes, there are two other things I want, " was her reply, still strokinghim; "I want to see you look happier, and feel happier, and I want someone to come back safe from the war. "

Life is at best but a succession of moods that, like a pendulum, evervibrate between mirth and sadness. Circumstances will almost invariablyforce the vibrations to greater extremes, but just as surely will itsopposite mood return. Though clouds darken to-day, the sun will shineto-morrow; and if sorrow comes, joy will follow; while ever above therippled shores of laughter floats the mist of tears. 

In some respects Liddy was a peculiar girl. While loving those near herwith almost pathetic tenderness and constantly striving to show it, sheshrank like a scared child from any public exhibition of that feeling. She had another peculiarity that might be called a whim--she loved totry experiments upon her own feelings to see what effect they wouldhave. It was this that had been the real cause of her desire to attendthe military funeral that had taken place in Southton a few monthsprevious. Since her mother's death Liddy had remained at home nearly allthe time. She seldom went to the village, because to do so awakenedunpleasant memories. To drive past the now vacant academy or near thedepot was to awaken unhappy thought and force her into a sad mood. Theseclusion of her home seemed more in harmony with her feelings. She hadbut few intimate friends, and even those jarred upon her now, and herfather was the best, and the only one she cared to be with. One day inmid-summer, she surprised him with a strange request. 

"Father, " she said, "I want to go fishing. I don't mean to trampthrough the brush along a brook, but I want you to take me to somepretty pond where there are trees all around, and where I can sit in aboat on the shady side and fish. We will take a basket of lunch and havea nice time. If we cannot catch fish we can pick pond lilies. Will yougo?"

As there was nothing that loving father would not do for his only child, it is needless to say that the trip was made. 

When Liddy began to catch fish, and he noticed how excited she became, he said, with quiet humor: "Which would you rather do, Liddy, put yourfish in the boat or hang them up in the trees? Tut, tut!" he continued, as he saw a deep shadow creep over her face, "you will have Charlie tobait your hook next summer, never fear!"

That night she wrote to her soldier boy: "I coaxed father to take mefishing to-day. I wanted to see if it wouldn't bring me nearer to you oryou to me. I came home in a sad mood, however, though I learned onething, and that is wherein lies the fascination of fishing. It's theconstant expectation of getting a bite that takes your mind away fromall else. "

With the autumn evenings came the time for open fires, and Liddy hadhard work to keep her spirits up. There were so many tenderassociations lurking in the firelight, and so much that brought back thepast and gone hours of happiness that it was painful instead ofcheerful. Thanksgiving time and the holidays were days of sadnessinstead of joy. The long eighteen months of constant dread and suspensehad worn upon her nerves and was slowly changing her from alight-hearted, happy girl to a saddened, waiting woman. The winterslowly dragged its weary length, and one evening, about a year from thetime she had attended the military funeral, she broke down entirely. Shehad tried piano practice for a time and then reading, but neitheravailed to occupy her thoughts or drive away the gloom. Finally she satdown beside her father, who was reading, and said piteously:

"Father, please talk to me; tell me stories, scold me--anything! I am soutterly wretched I am ready to cry!"

"My child, " he answered tenderly, stroking the fair head that wasresting against his arm, "don't let your mind brood so much upon yourown troubles; try and think how many there are who have more to bearthan you have. "

The delicate reproach, though not intended as such by him, was the laststraw, for the next instant her head was down in his lap and she wassobbing like a child. When the little shower was over she raised herface and whispered:

"Don't think it's all Charlie, father, or that I forget mother, or howmuch you have to bear; for I do not. It's all combined, and the silentroom upstairs added to the dread, that is breaking my heart. "

When the day that marked the anniversary of her parting from Mansonarrived she tried another experiment upon herself. The promise she hadmade him that day seemed a sacred bond, and she resolved to go alone toBlue Hill and see how it would affect her. The day was almost identicalto the one two years previous, and when, late in the afternoon, shearrived at the top, the spot seemed unchanged. The trees were thick withthe same fresh foliage, the birds were there, and around the rock wherethey had sat grew the same blue violets. Under a tree was the littlelattice table, just as they had left it. She sat down on the rock andtried to live over the thoughts and feelings of that day. They all cameback, like so many spectres of a past and gone happiness, and as, one byone, they filed by in thought, the utter silence and solitude of theplace seemed to increase. The only sound was the faint whisper of thebreeze in the hemlocks, and as she listened and looked into the shadowbeyond where the trees grew thicker, a strange feeling of fear began toassail her heart and a new and horrible dread crept into her thoughts. She had not heard from the absent one for two weeks--what if the dreadedfate had already come and he was at this very moment near her in spirit?And as all the horror of this thought forced itself upon her, shesuddenly rose to her feet, and almost running, left the spot. 

When she arrived home and looked into her mirror she saw a strangeexpression on her face and her lips were pale. "I could not go thereagain, " she said to herself; "I should go mad if I did. "

During the next few weeks the dread seemed to grow upon her day by day. She did not dare tell her father of her trip to Blue Hill, but henoticed that she was getting thin and that her eyes were growing hollow. Then came the news of the battle of Peach Creek and that Company E wereengaged in it; but no names of the killed or wounded, if any, reachedher, and no letter from Manson. 

Each day her father drove to the village and he was always met at thegate upon his return by a sad-faced girl whose blue eyes wore a look ofpiteous appeal. He tried to comfort her all he could; but it did nogood. She could not talk; she could scarcely eat or sleep, but wentabout her daily work as if in a trance. Occasionally in the evening shewould give way to tears, and for three weeks she existed in a state ofwretchedness no pen can describe. Then one evening her father handed hera letter in a strange handwriting and turned his face away, for he knewits contents. 

"Tell me the worst, father, " she almost screamed, "tell me quick; is healive?"

"Yes, my child, " he answered sadly, "but we must go to him to-morrow. Heis in the hospital at Washington and very low. "

CHAPTER XIX. 

AMONG THE WOUNDED. 

At nearly noon the day after the battle of Peach Creek the searchers forwounded came upon Manson, still alive, but delirious. Of that ghastlybattlefield, or the long agony of that wounded boy, I hesitate to speak. No pen can describe, either, and to even faintly portray them is but toadd gloom to a narrative already replete with it. The twenty-four hoursof his indescribable pain and torturing thirst were only broken by a fewhours of merciful delirium, when he was once more a boy and living hissimple, care-free life on the farm, or happy with Liddy. When found heknew it not. When examined by a surgeon that stern man shook his headand remarked: "Slim chance for you, poor devil--too much blood gonealready!"

For two weeks he was delirious most of the time, but his ruggedconstitution saved him, and when he showed signs of gaining and couldbe moved, he was taken to the hospital at Washington. Once there, hebegan to fail again, for the long journey had been too much for him. 

"He won't last long, " said the doctor in charge to the nurse. "Betterask him if there is any one he wishes to see. "

When he made his rounds the next morning Manson was worse and again outof his head. "He has been wandering in his mind all night, " was thenurse's report, "and he talks about fishing and catching things intraps, and there is a girl mixed in it all. Case of sweetheart, Iguess. "

That day the wounded boy rallied a little and began to think, and bit bybit the sane hours of the past few weeks came back to him. How near tothe shores of eternal silence his bark had drifted, he little knew! Thelong hours of agony on the battlefield since the moment he hadinstinctively crawled behind a rock had been a delirium of despairbroken only by visions of vague and shadowy import that he could notgrasp. All that he thought was that death must soon end his misery, andhe hoped it might come soon. At times he had bitten and torn the sleevesof his coat, soaked with blood from his shattered arm, or beaten hishead against the dry earth in his agony. 

How long it had lasted he could not tell, and the last that heremembered was looking at the moon, and then he seemed to be driftingaway and all pain ceased. Then all around him he could hear voices andover his head a roof, and he felt as if awakened from some horribledream. With his well arm he felt of the other and found it was boundwith splints. The faces he could see were all strange, but the men worethe familiar blue uniform and he knew they were not enemies. He wascarried to a freight-car and laid in it, where he took a long, joltingride that was all a torture, at the end of which he was taken in an openwagon to a long, low building, and laid on one of many narrow cots whichwere ranged in double rows. He could not raise his head or turn hisbody. He could only rest utterly helpless and inert, and indifferent toeither life or death. 

Of Liddy he thought many times, and of his mother and father as well, and he wondered what they would say and how they would feel when thetidings reached them. Then a kind-faced woman came and lifted his headand held it while he took medicine or sipped broth, and then he waswandering beside a brook again, or in green meadows. Later he could seethe white cots all about and the unceiled roof over his head and thesame motherly face, and he was asked who his friends were and whom hewould like to send for, and from that time on he began to hope. 

Would the one human being on earth he cared most to see come so far, andcould she if she would? And would life still be left in him when shereached his side; or would he have been carried out of the long, lowroom, dead, as he had seen others carried? He wondered what she wouldsay or do when she came, and oh! if he could only know whether she wascoming! He could see the door at one corner of the room where she mustenter, and it was a little comfort to look at that. Then a resolutionand a feeling that he must live and be there when she came began to growupon him. He knew four days had passed since she had been sent for andhe could now count the hours, and from that time on his eyes were seldomturned away from that door while he was awake. Did ever hours pass moreslowly than those? Could it be possible? I think not. He had no means ofknowing the time except to ask the nurse, and when night came he knewthat sleep might bridge a few hours more speedily. 

Six days passed, and then in the gray light of the next morning heopened his weary waiting eyes and saw bending over him the fair facethat for two long years, and all through his hopeless agony he hadlonged for, and as he reached his hand to her in mute gratitude, unableto speak, he felt it clasped, and the next instant she was on her kneesbeside him and pressing a tear-wet face upon it, and he was listening tothe first prayer she ever uttered!

Gone now like a flash of light were all those weary months ofheart-hunger! Gone all the agony and despair of that day and night onthe battlefield! Gone all the hours of pain through which he counted themoments one by one as he watched the door! No more was he lying upon anarrow cot listening to the moans of the wounded as he saw the deadcarried out! Instead was he resting on a bed of violets and listening tothe heart throbs of thankfulness and supplication murmured by an angel!And if ever a prayer reached the heavenly throne it was that one! Whenit was finished, and her loving blue eyes were looking into his, hewhispered:

"Liddy, God bless you! Now I shall live. "

Such is the power of love!

I feel that here and now I must beg the kind reader's pardon forintroducing so much that is painful and sad in the lives of these two, fitted by birth and education for peace and simple home happiness. Warand all its horrors is not akin to them and was never meant to be. Rather should their footsteps lead them where the bobolink sings as hecircles over a green meadow, and the blue water lilies stoop to kiss thebrook that ripples through it; or where the fields of grain bend andbillow in the summer breeze; or the old mill-wheel splashes, while thewhite flowers in the pond above smile in the sunlight. If the patientreader will but follow their lives a little further, only peace andhappiness and all the gentle voices of nature shall be their companions. 

For a month, while cheered by the presence of her devoted father, Liddynursed that feeble spark of life back to health and strength as only atender and heroic woman could. All the dread aftermath of war that dailyassailed her every sense, did not make her falter, but through all thosescenes of misery and death she bravely stood by her post and herlove-imposed duty. How hard a task it was, no one unaccustomed to suchsurroundings can even faintly realize, and it need not be dwelt upon. When she had fulfilled the most God-like mission ever confided towoman's hands--that of caring for the sick and dying--and when returningstrength made it possible to remove her charge, those three devoted onesreturned to the hills of old New England. 

How fair the peaceful valley of Southton seemed once more, and how clearand distinct the Blue Hills were outlined in the pure September air! Thetrees were just gaining the annual glory of autumn color; but to Liddythey brought no tinge of melancholy, for her heart was full of sweetestjoy. She had saved the one life dearest on earth to her, and now thevoices of nature were but sounds of heavenly music. And how dear to herwas her home once more, and all about it! The brook that rippled nearsounded like the low tinkle of sweet bells, and the maple by the gatewhispered once again the tender thoughts of the love that had first cometo her beneath them. She was like a child in her happiness, and everythought and every impulse was touched by the mystic, magic wand of love. Few ever know the supreme joy that came to her and none can except theywalk with bleeding hearts and weary feet through the valley of despair, bearing the burden of a loved one's life. 

The first evening she was alone with her father, she came as a childwould, to sit upon his knee, and putting her arms around his neckwhispered:

"Father, I never knew until now what it means to be happy, and how goodand kind you could be to me, and how little it is in my power to pay itall back. I can only love and care for you as long as I live, or as longas God spares your life. "

And be it said, she kept her promise. 

CHAPTER XX. 

PLANS FOR HAPPINESS. 

Appomattox and a glorious ending of the most sanguinary war in thehistory of the nineteenth century had come, and with it a few changes inSouthton. 

Only a part of that brave E Company that three years before marched soproudly away to fight for the Union ever returned, and of those thegreater number bore the scars of war and disease. Very many sorrowingwomen and children were scattered through the town, whose hearts weresore with wounds that only time could heal, and the empty sleeve and thevacant chair were sad reminders on all sides. 

The Rev. Jotham still extended his time-worn orthodox arguments to awearisome length, usually concluding them with more or less varied andvivid pictures of the doom in store for those who failed at once torepent and believe; but strange to say the sinners who were moved by hiseloquence were few and far between. It was known that he was not insympathy with the great majority of the North, or the principles uponwhich the war had been fought, but believed in the right of secession, and that the North was wrong in its political position. Had he keptthese opinions to himself it would have been far wiser; but he made themistake of giving utterance to them at a Memorial Day service held inhis church, which expression was so obnoxious to the most of hisaudience and such a direct reflection upon the brave men from the townwho had shed their blood for their country that one of the leading menof Southton arose at the close of Rev. Jotham's remarks and there andthen rebuked him. The affair created quite a disturbance in publicfeeling and was perhaps one of the indirect causes that eventually ledto a division of his church and to the formation of a separate societyin another part of the town. 

A new principal had assumed charge of the academy, the trustees havingdecided for several reasons that a change would be beneficial. Mr. Webber, who had ruled there for several years, industriously circulateda report that by reason of several very flattering offers to engage inmercantile pursuits, as well as failing health, he had decided toresign. As his voice, and the apparent desire to use it upon any and allpossible occasions, showed no cessation of energy, a few skeptical oneswere inclined to doubt that his health was seriously affected, and as itwas over a year before he accepted any of the flattering offers, theybelieved he must have had hard work to find them. For the rest the townresumed the old-time even tenor of its way, though there had been addedto its annals heroic history, and to its calendar one day of annualmourning. 

Aunt Sally Hart said that "Liddy Camp had showed mighty good grit andthat young Manson ought to feel purty proud of her, " which expressionseemed to reflect the general sentiment. 

When the autumn days and returning health came to Manson, sunshineseemed to once more smile upon the lives of our two young friends, andhow happy they were during the all too short evenings spent together inLiddy's newly furnished parlor, need not be described. It was no longera courtship, but rather a loving discussion of future plans in life, foreach felt bound by an obligation stronger even than love, and how manycharming air castles they built out of the firelight flashes shall notbe told. In a way, Liddy was a heroine among the little circle of herschoolmates and friends, and deserved to be, for few there were amongthem who could have found the strength to have faced the ghastly scenesshe had, from a sense of duty. 

"I do not care to talk about it, " she said once to one of those who hadbeen near her in the old days at the academy; "it all came so suddenly Idid not stop to think, and if I had it would have made no difference. Idid not think of myself at all, or what I was to meet. How horrible itwas to be thrust among hundreds of wounded and dying men; to hear what Ihad to, and see what I did, I cannot describe and do not wish to. Underthe same circumstances, " she added quietly, "I should face that awfulexperience over again if necessary. "

Life and all its plans practically resolve themselves into a question ofincome finally, and no matter how well aimed Cupid's darts may be, thealmighty dollar and the ability to obtain possession of it, is ofgreater weight in the scale than all the arrows the boy-god evercarried. Even as an academy boy Manson had realized this; faintly atfirst, and yet with growing force, as his attachment for Liddyincreased. With a certain pride in character he had resolved to withholdany declaration of love until he had at least a settled occupation inlife; but when it came to going to war and parting, perhaps forever, from the girl he loved, to longer remain silent was to control himselfbeyond his strength. Now that she had shown how much his life meant toher by an act of devotion and self-sacrifice so unusual, his ambition toobtain a home that he could invite her to share, returned with redoubledforce. What to do, or where to turn, he did not know. He was not evenrecuperated from the terrible ordeal that had so nearly cost him hislife; but for all that his ambition was spurring him onward far inadvance of his strength. One evening late that autumn, when he foundhimself unexpectedly alone with Mr. Camp, he said:

"I have for some time wished to express to you my hopes and ask youradvice regarding my future plans. First, I want to ask you for Liddy, and beyond that, what I had best turn to to obtain a livelihood. I wantLiddy, and I want a home to keep her in. "

Mr. Camp looked at him a moment, while a droll smile crept into hisface, and then replied:

"I am willing you should have Liddy, of course. I wouldn't have takenher to that hospital to try to save your life if I hadn't believed youworthy of her; but beyond that I don't think I have much to say in thematter anyway. I couldn't keep you apart if I would, and I wouldn't ifI could. " And then he added a little more seriously: "She is all I haveleft in my life, and whatever plans you two make, I hope you willconsider that. "

Manson was silent. The perfect confidence and simple pathos of Mr. Camp's statement came to him forcibly, and made him realize how much hewas asking. He meditated a few moments, and then said:

"I feel that I am asking for more than I deserve, and that I owe you farmore than I can ever repay, but believe me, I shall do all in my power. "

"We won't worry about that now, " replied Mr. Camp, smiling again; "waittill your arm is well, and then we will talk it all over. In themeantime"--and a twinkle came into his eyes--"you have one well arm, andI guess that's all Liddy needs just at present. "

The autumn and winter evenings sped by on wings of wind to Liddy and herlover, for all the sweet illusions of life were theirs. Occasionallythey called on some of their old schoolmates, or were invited to socialgatherings, and how proud she was of her manly escort, and he of thefair girl he felt was all his own, need not be told. 

One day in the spring Mr. Camp said to Manson: "How would you like to bea farmer?"

"I have no objections, " he replied; "my father is one, and there is noreason why I should be ashamed of it. It means hard work, but I am usedto that. I am ready and willing to do anything to earn an honestliving. "

Mr. Camp looked at him for a moment reflectively, and then said:

"That has the right ring in it, my boy, " and after thinking a littlelonger added: "I'll tell you what I'll do. Charles, if you can get Liddyto set the day I will give her a deed of the house and you a deed of thefarm, provided you two will take care of me. That's fair, isn't it?"Then he added, with a smile, "I guess you can coax her consent if youtry hard. "

The proposition was so unexpected and surprising that for a momentManson could not speak, and then, when it all came to him, and he sawthe door of his dream of happiness opened wide by such an offer, thetears almost started. For one instant he was in danger of yielding, buthe recovered himself. 

"No mere words can possibly express my gratitude, sir, " he replied, "butI could not accept so much. All I ask for, and all I will accept isLiddy, and that is enough. To let you give me your farm would make mefeel that I was robbing you. I could not do it, sir. "

And then, as he saw a look of pain come into his would-be benefactor'sface, he continued: "Now, I will tell you what I am willing, and shouldbe more than glad to do. Let Liddy and me keep house for you, and I willmanage the farm, under your direction. That is enough, and all I canaccept. "

"I respect your feeling of independence, " replied Mr. Camp, a littlesadly, "but it won't work. A young man, to be content, must feel that hehas a home that is, or soon will be, all his own. I do not want to put aburden on your feelings, but I want to make both you and my child happy, and"--with a little tremor in his voice--"I've only got Liddy to carefor me in my old age, and it's hard to give her up. Can't you believewhat I offer is wisest and best? Would it make you feel any better togive me a note and pay it when you chose? I would never ask you for it. "

That evening when the lovers sat under the freshly leaved maples, hetold her what her father had offered. 

"I've known it for some time, " she said, "and I feared you would feelhurt and refuse it, and hurt father, and I hope you did not. Putyourself in father's place, " she continued seriously, "and tell me howyou would feel. Remember that I am all he has to love and care for him, and he is very dear to me. He would not hurt you for the world, and whathe thinks is the best way I believe _is_ the best. "

"I will think it over, " was Manson's comment. "It's so sudden andoverwhelming I do not know what to say or do. I can't see a way out ofit, either, " he went on reflectively. "I want you and I want a home tokeep you in, all our own, but how, or where it's coming from, I can'tsee. Then it's too much to ask him to give you up. "

He paused, and leaning over and resting his face on his hands, continuedrather sadly:

"I guess it would have been just as well if you had left me to die inthe hospital. "

It was a cruel remark and he saw it in an instant, for he said quickly:"Forgive me, I didn't mean that. I've got you and two hands to workwith, and that's hope enough. Give me time and I'll solve the problem, never fear!"

When they parted she put one arm around his neck and whispered:

"It's the old vocation enigma over again, Charlie, isn't it? But don'tlet it make you miserable, and don't ever say such a thing as that youjust said again. Do you know, when I came to you in the hospital thatmorning, I had not slept one moment for two long days and nights! Nowtry and be happy to pay me for it, and remember:

 "'The happiest life that ever was led Is always to court and never to wed. '"

Then she kissed him, in her tender way, and if he did not think she wasright, it was because he was like most young men who don't know whenthey are well off and happy. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

BLUE HILL. 

Three years from the day Manson led Liddy to the carriage, blinded bytears and heart broken at the separation in store, they once morevisited that dearly loved spot. It was a place more sacred to them thana church, for it had been hallowed by the tears of love and sanctifiedby the noblest impulses of two honest and true hearts. It was farremoved from all the vain pomp and display of humanity and the sordidand selfish influences of life. To Liddy and her lover it was a spotthat appealed to all that was holiest and best in their natures, andlifted them above selfish thought. 

"Can you realize how I felt, " Manson said on the way, "the day I rode insilence up here and then told you I had enlisted?"

"No, " she answered; "no more than you can imagine how I felt. I think Isuffered the more, for I was in suspense and you were not. That makesme think of a question I have long wanted to ask you. You won't mindnow, will you?" she continued with a smile and a twinkle in her eyes. "Why did you tell the bad news first and propose afterward? Why didn'tyou pop the question first?"

"I thought you would be more apt to say 'yes' if I put it the way Idid. "

"I think you knew it wouldn't be 'no, '" she said. "I knew that wascoming weeks before. "

"You did, " he replied, a little surprised. "How did you know?"

"Do you think I was blind?" she answered archly. "A girl usually knowswhen that question is liable to come for months beforehand, and if it isto be 'no' the man in the case will have hard work to obtain a goodopportunity. "

When they were seated beside the rock once more she said: "Now, sir, three years ago I told you we must feel and act like children one day uphere, and you minded me very well; but it was hard work, I think. It wasfor me, I am sure. "

"It will be easier to-day, " he responded, "for I've only one thing toworry about, and that is the proposition your father made. "

She looked at him a moment, and in her eyes he saw a little of the samehumorous twinkle he had at one time noticed in her father's eyes, andthen she said:

"Suppose I should say I would not marry you until you had a home of yourown to take me to; how would that seem?"

"I would not blame you, " he answered soberly; "only you would have tosee clouds on my face a long time, I fear. "

"Oh, I haven't said so yet, " she continued as she saw one gatheringthere then, "only I thought it might make you see father's propositionin a new light. Poor father, " she went on musingly, "he wants to make usboth happy, and he doesn't know how to bring it about. "

"Why can't he accept my plan, then?" said Manson. "I am ready andwilling. "

"But I haven't said I was, " responded Liddy. "I am not sure that I wantpeople to think my husband is working for my father on the farm. Oh, Ididn't mean it that way, " as she saw a frown coming, "only I have somepride as well as you; that is all. Now, Charlie, please don't sayanother word about it to-day. Remember, we are children!"

Then she told him about her lone visit to this spot a year before, andhow it affected her. 

"Do you know, " she explained, "I was terribly scared, and I imagined Iheard ghostly footsteps all around here, and when I reached home I wasas pale as a ghost myself. "

"It was a foolish thing to do, " he said, "and a silly promise for me toexact. "

"I should have kept it just the same, " was her answer, "as long as Ilived. "

At noon he rebuilt the little lattice table, and after the dainty dinnerwas disposed of, they gathered flowers, picked wintergreen, wove wreathsfor each other's hats and talked silly nothings for hours, and enjoyedit, too, as lovers will. Late in the afternoon, when tired of this, hearranged the carriage robe and cushions beside the rock and asked her tosit beside him. It was a preliminary to some serious utterance, shefelt, for he at once remarked:

"Liddy, I've something to tell you. "

She looked at him for a moment, while a smile crept into her face, andthen said:

"Now, Charlie, if you have any more startling or painful things to tellme, don't bring me up here first, or I shall always dread to come. "

"Was my confession of love, made here, painful?" he remarked. 

"Of course not, " she answered, "nor startling, either, for, as I toldyou, I knew that was coming. But the other part of it nearly broke myheart. You must have thought me silly!"

How earnestly, and in what manner he assured her she did not act sillyon that occasion, but was the sweetest and dearest girl that ever lived, need not be specified. When that little episode was over and she hadadjusted her hat, she said:

"Now tell me your story, Charlie. "

"Well, " he replied, "one night nearly two years ago I was on picketduty, and I made the acquaintance of a young fellow by the name of FrankPullen, who belonged to a Maine regiment. We kept up an acquaintance fortwo months and in that time became very good friends. We were in muchthe same state of mind, for he, too, had a waiting sweetheart at home, and when we separated we each promised to write to the other, if welived to do so. His father is a retired sea captain, and well-to-do, andlives in a little out-of-the-way place in Maine. A month ago I receiveda letter from Frank and an urgent invitation to visit him, and I'vepromised to do so. "

"That's nice, " said Liddy regretfully, "to be told I am to be left aloneall summer! The next time you ask me up here I shall say: 'Tell me thebad news first!'"

"Liddy, " he replied seriously, "it's not for a pleasure trip that I amgoing. He knows how I am situated and a good deal about my hopes andplans, and he has promised to help me. "

She was silent, for this opened a new field of conjecture and for a longtime she mused upon it, and at last said:

"I do not see how his assistance will help matters much, do you?"

"No, to be candid, " he replied, "I do not yet; still it may. I am almostsorry I promised to go, but my friend will feel hurt now if I don't. Imay obtain a few suggestions that will help me to solve this problem. "

She made no reply, for the situation seemed as complex to her as to hersuitor. She respected the pride that had made him refuse her father'sgenerous offer, and at the same time she felt herself tortured byconflicting emotions. To desert her father she could not, and to denyher lover his right to herself as a wife was almost as impossible. Along wait seemed the only solution, unless he would accept her father'soffer. 

Perhaps the same conclusions were reached by Manson, for he said atlast: "Do not blame me for going away or looking about to find some wayout of this dilemma. I shall never find one here in Southton. The worldis wide, and I do not feel it half so hard to face as rebel bullets. There is room for me in it, and a chance to win a home for you and me, and I am going to fight for that chance. I am too proud to accept yourfather's farm as a gift, and you are too proud to have me work for him, even if he gave me all the farm produced. Then you can't leave him, andI won't ask you to do so. The only way is to wait and work, and workhard for the girl I love, and her father will be as welcome in that homeas she. "

He paused, and a look of admiration for his spirited words came into herface. 

"Charlie, " she said in a low voice, "please don't think I am proud orstubborn. I can't leave father, but I will wait for you as long as youwish or I will marry you when you wish, provided, of course, you give metime to get ready. Only do not feel that I will let pride separate usfor long. Whatever you are satisfied to do shall be my law. "

Her loving assurance cheered him greatly, for he answered in a hopefulvoice:

"Wait patiently until I return, and then we will decide what is best todo. "

When it came time to leave their trysting-place he drew from an insidepocket a small pocketbook, worn and stained, and handed it to Liddy. Sheopened it and found a bunch of faded violets and a lock of golden hair. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

THE MAINE COAST. 

There is no part of the New England shores so charming as the coast ofMaine. From Cape Elizabeth on the west to Quoddy Head on the east, thereare over a thousand large and small islands, nearly all of which are ofbold formation and most of them wholly or in part covered with a growthof spruce and fir. The shores of these islands, as well as the mainland, are mainly rock-ribbed, with many high cliffs, at the foot of which theocean surges beat unceasingly. Deep fissures and sea caverns into whichthe green water, changed to yeasty foam, ever churns and rushes by dayand night, are common; and when storms arise it bellows and roars likean angry bull. Here the clinging rock-weeds and broad kelpie float andwave idly or are lashed in anger by the waves that seem always trying totear them loose from the rocks. 

Locked in the embrace of these bold shores are countless coves, inletsand harbors, many so land-locked that never a ripple disturbs theirsurface, and here the fishhawk and seagull seek their food and buildtheir nests undisturbed by man. No sound except the unceasing murmur ofthe winds in the fir trees, or the low-voiced neighboring ocean, breaksthe stillness. Along the rocky shore and over these green-clad cliffsone may wander for days in absolute solitude, seeing or hearing naughtof humanity or the handiwork of man. Here may be found the wondrousmagic and mystery of the sea in all its moods--pathetic, peaceful orgrand, and its society, where none intrude. Here, too, wedged among thewave-washed rocks, can be found many a tale of shipwreck, despair anddeath, or whispers of luxuriant life in tropical lands, and all theflotsam and jetsam of the ocean, cast ashore to bleach like bones in adesert, year in and year out. 

Safe harbors are numerous, though not easy of access, for sunken ledgesor merciless reefs guard them from approach. In places are deep bays, notably Somes Sound, connected with the ocean by an inlet a few rodswide. Only the accessible harbors have been utilized by man, and butfew of these are, even to-day. At the head of one of these, and formingthe only safe harbor of the Isle au Haut, there clustered a littlefishing hamlet forty years ago, the largest house of which was oneoccupied by Captain Obed Pullen, a retired sea captain, his wife, twosons--Frank and Obed, Jr. , and one daughter. 

The house was a white, square, two-story one with a flat roof built withbulwarks around it, having portholes like those of a man-of-war. Therewas a small yard in front surrounded by a board fence, and on a knolljust back of the house was a small enclosure containing a few whiteheadstones. Captain Pullen, having amassed sufficient of this world'sgoods, lived in peaceful seclusion, far removed from the worldly strifehe wished to avoid. With his two sons, he tilled a few acres of land. Hefished a little as a pastime, and visited the mainland but seldom. Hewas a blunt-spoken, but warm-hearted man, with shaggy white beard andhair, and a voice and handshake as hearty as a gale of wind. 

To this abode of simple cordiality and good will, one summer day, and byinvitation of the old captain's son Frank, came our battle-scarred andlove-lorn friend Manson. He and young Pullen had much in common, forboth loved the sea, and their friendship, formed when both wereenvironed by the dangers of war, made them now the most affectionate offriends. Manson found himself at once welcomed by the entire family as avalued friend and one whom they all seemed proud to entertain. 

"We don't put on style down here, " said the old captain to him at thefirst meal, and in a voice that made the dishes rattle, "but we're rightglad to see ye, and we'll give ye some fun if the wind holds out. Be yefond o' fishin'?"

As fishing was a mania with Manson, and as his opportunities had beenlimited to the peaceful seclusion of brooks, or the calm waters of millponds, it is needless to say that he admitted he was fond of that sport. 

"Frank tells me, " continued the captain with blunt directness, "that yehave got a sweetheart ye left to come here visitin', but ye best quitthinkin' 'bout her if ye go fishin'. "

Whether our young friend did or not does not matter; but it is certainthat the days which followed, passed amid such surroundings, were redletter ones in his history. With two young men of about his own age forcompanions, a trim and staunch fishing sloop with cabin and cookingconveniences ready at hand, and nothing to do but sail and fish, orexplore the wild shores and fir-clad islands all about, was like a newworld to him. One day it was a fishing trip and a chowder party composedof the entire family; and the next a frolic in an island grove where theyoung men dug clams on a bit of sandy shore and afterward steamed themamong the rocks. Such opportunities were new to him, and with kindfriends near, and a feeling that he was thoroughly welcome in their homeadded to the marvel of enchantment; while all about, the ever-presentsea made him almost forget the vexing problem of his future. 

"It's like a visit to a fairy land, " he said one day to his friendFrank, as they were slowly drifting past a low green island. It wasnearly sundown, and the breeze had almost died away, so that the sloopbarely moved through the unruffled waters and every tree and rock on thenear-by shore was reflected clear and distinct. "To me, " he continued, "it is an entrance into an old-time wonder world, and to sail for hoursamong these islands or in sight of shores where not a house or even afish hut is visible, makes it seem as if we were explorers firstvisiting a new land. When we pass the entrance to some deep cove I halfexpect to see an Indian paddling a canoe up into it, or spy a deerwatching us out of a thicket. My ideas of the ocean have been obtainedwhere islands are few, and passing ships or houses along shore arealways visible. Here it is so solitary. We seldom see a vessel and notmore than two or three small craft in an all day's cruise. "

"That's the best of it, " explained Frank, "you have it all to yourself. But it's different in winter. You have too much of it to yourself then. Altogether too much, for we are prisoners on the island for weeks at atime, and that graveyard up back of the house makes it seem worse. Iwish you could come down here next fall and stay all winter. We don't doa thing but eat and sleep or go ashore once a month for papers, and"--laughing--"just think of what a good chance you would have to getacquainted with your wife!"

Manson was silent. The suggestion opened a vein of vexatious thought inconnection with his dilemma that was not pleasant. 

"Just think it over, " continued Frank, not noticing his silence; "dadand mother would be ever so glad to have you, and so would sis, if yoursweetheart ain't stuck up; is she?"

"No, " replied Manson, "she's just a sensible, everyday sort of a girl, and as sweet and loving as you can imagine. Your folks would like her, Ithink, and I am sure she would like them. "

"Why didn't you splice and bring her along in the first place?" saidFrank, laughing. "I wish you had, and then you wouldn't be looking forInjuns in every cove. Do you remember the night we saw a man walking onfog and thought it was a ghost, and how ten minutes after that sameghost took a shot at us?"

"I do, " answered Manson, looking serious as the memory of thatexperience came back, "and I recall the next night, too, when we sat bythe camp fire and swapped ghost stories, and you told me about a hauntedisland down here. Where is it?"

"Do you see that little patch of green away out beyond Spoon Island?"answered Frank, pointing seaward. "Well, that's the famous Pocket Islandthat I told you about, and the abiding-place of not only a bellowingbull's ghost, but lots of others as well. When we are likely to have agood spell of weather I am going to take you out there and" (with alaugh) "give you a chance to satisfy your mania for ghost hunting, for Ibelieve that is one of your hobbies. "

"Well, not so much as it was when we carried a musket, " said Manson, "for I am not as superstitious as I was then. Still, I want to see yourhaunted island just the same and hear that strange noise. Is there aharbor there where we can run in?"

"Yes, and a queer freak of nature it is, too, " answered Frank, "but I donot know the channel in, and would not dare to try to enter. All I cando is to wait for a fair day and lay outside while Obed takes youashore. "

That night when Manson had retired he lay awake a long time thinkingover the interesting impressions made upon him by his visit, andespecially the suggestion that he at some time should bring Liddy downhere as his wife! That alone was such an entrancing thought that hecould not go to sleep when he tried to. What a new world it would be totake her into, and what supreme delight to show her these beautifulislands and placid coves, and the bold cliffs at the foot of which thewhite-crested billows were beating! How he would enjoy seeing her openher big, blue eyes with wonder and sweet surprise at all the grand andbeautiful bits of scenery and all the magic and mystery of the ocean, far removed from man!

"Some day I will bring her here, " he thought, and then he fell asleepand dreamed he heard the ominous sound of some monster bellowing inanger. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

BIG SPOON ISLAND. 

The next morning our young friends prepared for a three days' trip ontheir little sloop. For a week they had discussed it and had carefullyconsidered when it was best to go. 

"I want to wait till the moon fulls, " Frank had said, "for then theweather will be better, and as our friend Manson is in a romantic frameof mind, he will enjoy it all the more. "

Everything likely to be needed was put on board their boat; provisions, water, extra clothing, guns, fishing gear, and also, it must be said, abottle of good old whiskey, for on such a trip it might be even moreneedful than food. 

"We will take along the banjo, " Obed said, for he was quite an expertwith that cheerful instrument, "and evenings we can have some darkeysongs. "

"What is the program?" asked Manson, when everything was stowed, thesails set, and with Frank at the helm they were gliding out of thelittle island harbor. "Where are we going?"

"Well, " replied Frank, "I think we will run to Big Spoon Island firstand try for mackerel. There is a nice little harbor there if it comes onto blow, and two miles out are some good cod grounds. I suppose youwould like to visit Pocket Island?"

"I would like to just call there, " said Manson, "for you have excited mycuriosity. I have a weakness for ghost hunting, you told me once, andnow you must gratify it, you see. "

There is, perhaps, no pleasanter way for three or four young men tospend a day or two than to have a tidy little yacht all to themselves, and sail her away off among the Maine coast islands, with a summer daybreeze and clear skies to cheer them. 

To feel themselves just lifted over the broad ground swells, ruffled bya light wind that smells sweet and crisp; to watch some distant greenisland gradually coming nearer, or the seagulls lighting on the waterjust ahead, or the white clouds in the blue sky, and with no sense ofdanger, but only the care-free buoyancy of youth and good spirits, is tomany the very acme of enjoyment. At least, it was to Manson, to whomsuch an experience was entirely new. When they reached Spoon Island hewent into raptures over it, for it was a rarity, even among the manybeautiful ones he had visited. As its name implied, it was shaped like aspoon, about five hundreds rods long and formed of white sand, with agrowth of green sedge grass all over it. On the broadest part was acluster of spruce forming a little thicket and beside this, and enteredby a narrow inlet the tiniest bit of a harbor, just large enough toshelter a small sloop. The seagulls had also discovered its beauty, forthousands hovered about it, and the small harbor was alive with them. The island was a favorite nesting-place for them as well, and theirshrill cries at being disturbed almost obliterated the voice of theocean. 

"We will anchor under the lee, " said Frank, as they drew near, "and tryfor mackerel, and then run into the harbor, make everything snug, andstay here to-night, or"--with a droll look at Manson--"perhaps you wouldprefer to go to Pocket Island and have ghosts for company!"

"This is good enough for me, " replied Manson, "and I guess the gullswill be the more cheerful companions!"

When the sloop was at anchor, sails furled, and they were all waitingfor mackerel bites, he said: "What is there so mysterious about thisPocket Island, and why are people afraid to go there? Tell me all aboutit! You have got me so worked up over it, I dreamed I heard a bullbellowing last night. "

"Well, " replied Frank, "it's like all ghost stories and spook spots inthe world; all imagination, I guess. I do not take any stock in them, and dad laughs at the entire batch. The only reality about it is thatthe island itself is the most forbidding pile of rock, covered with theworst tangle of scrub spruce you ever saw, and the shore is full of deepfissures and cracks. The one mysterious fact is, that strange bellowingnoise that you can't locate anywhere. You may clamber all over theisland and all around the shores and it seems to be just ahead of you, or just behind; so far as the stories go, well; the queer harbor insideis said to have been a smuggler's hiding-place years ago, and there areall kinds of yarns connected with the island, from bloody murders downto strange sea monsters seen crawling over the rocks. It has a bad nameand is seldom visited; for one reason, I think, because it's impossibleto land there except in a small boat, and then only when the sea issmooth. The bellowing noise, I believe, is made by the waves enteringsome cavern below high-water mark. There is also an odd sort of a storylinked with it about a little Jew who was known to be a smuggler and whoplayed a sharp trick on a few people ten or twelve years ago. I do notthink he had any connection with the island, however, although some sayhe had. I fancy it's because any ghost-haunted spot always attracts allthe mysterious stories told in its neighborhood. "

All this was interesting to Manson, and not only added a charm to allthe islands he had visited, but made him especially anxious to explorethis one. 

"Do not laugh at me, " he said when Frank had finished his recital, "forexpecting to see Indians paddling canoes among your islands when yourpeople down here believe all the ghost stories they do. My fancy is onlythe shadow of what was certainly a reality not so very long ago; whileyour stories are spook yarns of the most hobgoblin shape. I want to goto Pocket Island, however, " he added a little later, reflectively, "andhear that mysterious bellowing anyhow. "

That evening when the sloop was riding quietly at anchor in the littleSpoon Island harbor and the full moon just rising, round and red, out ofthe sea, Obed brought his banjo on deck and away out there, miles fromany other island, and mingling with the murmur of the ocean's voiceabout this one, there came the strains of old, familiar plantation songssung by those three young friends, at peace with all the world and happyin their seclusion. The gulls had gone to rest, the sea almost so, forthe ground swell only washed the island's sandy shore and idly rockedthe sloop as she rode secure at anchor. The moon and the man in it bothsmiled, and when Manson and Frank, wearied of singing, lived over oncemore the battle scenes they had passed through, feeling that never againcould they or would they be called upon to face such danger, it may besaid that they were as near contentment as often comes in life. And ifthe droll look of the man in the moon brought back to one a certainnight years before, when, as a bashful boy, he could hardly find courageto kiss a blue-eyed girl whom he had walked home with, and who had sincebecome very dear to him, it is not surprising. Neither was it at allstrange, if, when looking seaward, that night, he could see far away inthe broadening path of silvery sheen, a small, dark island; that heshould feel it held a mystery; and that some occult influence had linkedthat uncanny place, in some way not as yet understood, with his own pastand future; that it was some link, some tangible spot, some queerconnection between dreams and hopes that might develop into real facts. 

While not what is usually called superstitious, Manson could notunderstand why he had from the very first mention of this island, feltan unaccountable influence attracting him toward it. What it was hecould not tell, and yet every hour seemed to bind this influence all thecloser, and as it were, cast its spell over him. When they all turned infor the night, he could not go to sleep. His thoughts would go back tothat horrible night on the battlefield when he, in his agonies, fanciedhimself wading down a cool, clear brook; then to the strange influenceLiddy had said she felt when, in keeping a foolish promise, she had allalone paid a visit to Blue Hill, and now this weird spell of enchantmentthat was growing upon him. Was there some mysterious plot in his lifethat was being unfolded step by step, and one that was far beyond hiscomprehension? Was his chance meeting with this friend, Frank, on thepicket line, a part of it? Was the imperative inclination to always takeLiddy away to the top of Blue Hill when he wished to speak to her verysoul, also due to some incomprehensible power that was shaping andbending their lives together? That they were, and must be as one in thefuture--as long as life lasted, he believed as firmly as he believed helived, and yet beyond that belief there was--and here he met animpassable barrier and could go no further, only realizing that he wasbeing led by an unseen force. Was it a power that was pushing him towardPocket Island? He could not tell. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

POCKET ISLAND. 

When the sun rose red and sullen the next morning, and our three friendshad breakfasted and were hoisting sail on the sloop, Frank said:

"If the wind holds up as it did yesterday, we can run to Pocket Islandand back easily. There is no chance to land"--addressing Manson--"oreven to go within half a mile of it in the sloop; but I can lay her towhile Obed rows ashore in the dory. One hour there will give you all theghost hunting you want, I guess. The only thing I don't like is the waythe sun looked this morning. Old Sol appeared mad!"

When they were under way and the sloop was heeling over before the freshmorning breeze, Manson said: "I do not want you to take any chances onmy account, Frank. We can go there some other day. "

"Oh, I'll take no risks, " replied his friend. "It's not the wind thatworries me, for we can reef close, and the sloop takes big seas like aduck. It's these beastly coast fogs that come in without warning andabsolutely bury you. If the wind shifts, then your compass is the onlysalvation. "

Manson was silent, for he was only a passenger, and as his friend'sguest, he felt it unwise to offer any suggestion. 

"We are all right, " continued Frank, scanning the horizon, "so long asthe wind holds this way, for we can beat up to the island by noon, andhave a fair run back. "

Manson was in no mood for talking, for the strange strain of reflectionsthat had come to him the night before still oppressed him and hesilently watched the little island ahead growing nearer. When they werewithin a mile of it, the wind began to drop away and by the time theycould see the many rocks that surrounded it, rising like black fangs outof the white froth of the wave wash, it died out entirely. 

Frank looked anxious. "You had better, " he said, addressing Manson, "eata bite while Obed and I furl the jib and lower the tops'l. He can thenrow you ashore in the dory. I do not like the way the wind acts. "

When Manson started for the island in the small boat he was almostready to give his visit up, for the little look of anxiety on hisfriend's face, coupled with the ugly-looking reefs between which Obedwas rowing him, and the forbidding shores of the island itself, made astrange feeling of fear creep over him. Beneath it, however, was thatqueer influence that, like a beckoning spirit, seemed to lure himforward in spite of himself. 

"I'll land you on the lee side, " said Obed, as he pulled into a narrowopening between two cliffs, "and wait here for you while you go acrossto the harbor on the other side. It will save time, and I can keep aneye on the sloop. "

That Obed felt it necessary to watch the sloop was not reassuring toManson, but, bidding him good-bye cheerfully, he leaped ashore. When hehad made his way up over the confusion of rocks that confronted him, andout of sight of the dory, he stopped and listened. It was a silent anddesolate spot, but, true to his expectations, as he passed there hecaught the sound of a low, moaning bellow that rose and fell, almostdying away, and seemed to come from the farther side of the island. Helooked and listened, and then, with a parting glance at the sloop half amile away, started over the island. He soon found he had been rightlyinformed, for its surface was the worst tangle of rocks and scrub sprucethick between them he ever saw or heard of. He crawled in a little wayand then retraced his steps and followed the shore, but even that wasalmost impassable. He worked his way slowly along, until all at once, when he had climbed a ledge, he found himself looking down into whatseemed like a sunken lake surrounded by a wall, with a narrow opening onthe seaward side, and so still that not a ripple disturbed its surface. Cautiously he crawled down to the edge and glanced about! The spotseemed to fascinate him, and as he gazed at the irregular cliff wallshutting him in, he felt he had descended into a den infested by evilspirits!

Then he started around the shore of this harbor, avoiding theweed-covered rocks, for the tide was low, and as he was slowly movingalong, he came suddenly upon a keg caught between two rocks, and justabove high-water mark. Its staves were warped and gaping, and when hestooped to lift it they fell apart and disclosed another keg inside. This he found was heavy, and as he stood it on end he discovered it wasfilled with some liquid. For a moment he was dazed by the discovery, and then he turned it around till he came to a piece of metal midwaybetween the rusted hoops, and this he pried off with his knife and foundit covered a small bung. Trembling with excitement at this mysteriousfind, he hunted for a pointed stone, and with it drove the bung in, whento his intense surprise he was saluted by the well-known odor of rum!

For an instant his heart almost stopped beating, as there flashedthrough his mind all the vague tales of this island having been asmuggler's hiding-place long before, and then he looked quickly abouthim. Naught was visible save the frowning rock walls and the still cove. Then he stooped again and inserted a finger in the keg and smelled andthen tasted! Rum it was, and no mistake, and the best he had eversipped! But what a find! And what a place to find it in! He looked abouthim again. Crusoe, when he came upon the footprints in the sand, was notmore surprised than Manson at this moment. 

Unconscious of the lapse of time, or where he was, or how he came there, he gazed upon that harmless keg as if it held some ghastly secretinstead of rum! Where did it come from? Who brought it there? Why hadit been concealed in an outer shell? What did it all mean, and was heabout to make some horrible discovery? Once more he looked about, andthen in an instant, he found himself staring at a dark opening beneathan overhanging shelf of rock not two rods away! Breathless withexcitement now, and feeling himself yielding to some dread spell, healmost sprang to the spot, and oblivious of weed-covered rocks and mud, he went down on his hands and knees and peered in. It was a caveopening, sure enough! Trembling still, and yet lured by a weirdfascination, he crawled in a short distance and then paused. The holelooked larger inside, and as his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom hecould see it sloped upward. He felt for a match, and lighting it triedto peer further in. The match burned out and left him unable to see asfar as before. Then reason began to assert itself, and he turned andcrawled out, realizing the folly of trying to explore a cave withlighted matches as an aid. 

When once more he stood upright outside a strange thing had happened. Not only had the tide crept up almost to the cave entrance, but the sunwas no longer visible, and as he looked up to the top of the rock wallthat environed him, a white pall of fog was slowly settling down andhiding all things. He looked at his watch. He had been on the islandover four hours! With sudden fear he started around the way he had come, and when he reached the keg of rum an inspiration almost, made him liftand carry it to a place of safety, well above high-tide mark. Then heretraced his steps to where he had left Obed, but the dory had gone andno one was there, and to add to the situation, the fog had so shut theisland in that he could not see two rods over the water. He hallooedagain and again, but received no answer. 

He was alone on Pocket Island with not a morsel to eat, not a blanket tocover him, night coming on, and a fog so thick that he could not see arod ahead! Even all this did not for one moment obliterate thatmysterious keg or cave discovery from his mind, but he felt that he musttake steps at once to protect himself from coming night, and darkness, and possible rain, for he knew that when the fog lifted, his friendswould return. The first thing was to build himself a shelter, and then afire. Here his army experience came in well, and he searched until hefound two rocks with a level space between, and laying sticks acrossand cutting spruce boughs to pile over them and others to serve as abed, he soon made ready a place to at least crawl into when night came. 

Hunger began to assert itself, but food was out of the question. Thatkeg of rum came to his mind as he worked, however, and when the rudeshelter was complete he searched the rocky shores for some large shell, or anything that would hold a small portion of the liquor. He found acocoanut that the sea had kindly cast up among the rocks, and cuttingone end off with his pocket-knife, and digging out the interior, he oncemore returned where he had left the mysterious keg. 

Twilight was near and the dark cave entrance and frowning walls aboutthe little harbor seemed more ominous than ever. He made haste to fillhis rude cup with rum and return to his shelter. Then he gathered fuel, for fire at least would be a little company, and a strange dread ofspending the coming night alone there on that haunted island wascreeping over him. He did not believe in ghosts, but when he thought ofthe peculiar sequence of events, mingled with a slowly growing beliefthat some mysterious power was leading him--he knew not whither--afeeling that he was soon to face some ghastly experience, came like anicy hand grasping his in the dark. He could not shake that feeling off, and as he gathered driftwood, bits of dead spruce--anything that wouldburn, and piled the fuel near his shelter--his dread increased. Whatstrange spell was it that had kept him four hours beside thatwall-enclosed harbor unconscious of the lapse of time? Why had he notseen the fog coming until too late? And that keg and cave!--what did allthese mysteries mean? Then, searching further along the shore fordriftwood, he came suddenly upon a tangle of wreckage piled high amongthe rocks. It would serve as fuel, and he began to drag large pieces tohis shelter. Three trips he made, and was just lifting the end of abroken spar, when right at his feet, and half-buried in the sand, he sawa white object. The night was fast approaching and he was in a hurry, but some impulse made him stoop, and there in the gathering gloom hesaw--a grinning human skull!

CHAPTER XXV. 

THE SMUGGLER'S CAVE. 

Manson had faced death on the battlefield when comrades were fallingbeside him; he had paced for hours on the picket-line in the darkness ofnight, feeling that at any moment an enemy might fire at him from somethicket or from behind some tree or rock; but amid all these dangers hehad not felt the nameless horror that came to him as he saw that hideousskull grinning at him there in the tangle of wreckage just at dusk onPocket Island. It was like a hand reaching out from a grave, or a voicecalling to him from a tomb. Alone on that little, sea-grit isle, trembling beneath the waves that beat upon it, and in the fast-gatheringdarkness he stood for a moment spellbound. All the ghostly tales he hadbeen told of this spot came to him in an instant and with the force oftruth, and had he at that moment beheld some spectral figure rise fromamong the black rocks he would not have been surprised. Then feelinghis strength leaving him, he turned and ran as fast as he could back towhere he had built the shelter. With trembling hands he managed to starta fire and sat down beside it. It was a little comfort, but not enoughto drive away the dread that seemed to increase as the night grewblacker. He dared not use his small stock of fuel except sparingly, fearing it would not last till morning, and he should be left in totaldarkness. Back of him was the impassable thicket, and in front therock-bound shore, and as he listened to the booming of the surges hecould see, just in the edge of the zone of light, those eyeless socketsand that mocking grin ever hovering near. Then as the night wore on andthe wind increased, slowly rising and falling and rising again, eachtime a little louder, came that ominous, bellowing sound. It was notlike that of any creature he had ever heard or dreamed of, but ratherthe menace of some horrible monster unknown to earth or air. All thestories of hideous shapes that dwelt beneath the ocean waves, and allthe old legends of the sea and its unknown denizens, came to him, andever mingling with these phantasms that seemed to be crawling all aboutwas that grinning skull. 

Solitude and night on a lonely shore, far removed from human kind, inevitably produces in the mind strange effects. All ordinary reasoningis set at naught and common sense goes astray. The nearness of theunknown and unapproachable ocean; the ever varying and menacing soundsthat issue from it; the leaping and curling billows that, like white andblack demons, seem trying to engulf the earth and make even the rockstremble--all have a weird and uncanny influence. In their presence theimagination runs riot and the ghostly and supernatural usurp reason. Spectral shapes crawl out of dark fissures and leap from rock to rockand hideous sea monsters creep in the verge of shadows. To be alone on asmall island of evil repute and many miles out in the ocean, as Mansonwas, was to have this weird influence more than doubled. At times, whenreason seemed trembling in the balance, he fancied himself hovering overthe battlefield where he had lain for hours suffering indescribableagony; and looking at the ghastly faces of dead men in the moonlight! Hecould see their white teeth showing in mocking grin and their glazedeyes staring at him! Here and there were parts of bodies: a head in oneplace, an arm and hand in another! Then he could see himself sittingupon the ground amid thick bushes, and resting in his lap was a boy'sface, the eyes looking up into his in piteous appeal! How well he couldrecall every moment of that half-hour of dumb anguish and the last fightfor life that dying boy had made! He could see the blood gush from hislips at every breath drawn in desperate effort, and feel the tight claspof his hands and oh! the awful dread of coming death in his eyes! Thenthe last earthly effort when the poor boy had, in gratitude at sight ofa pitying face, kissed the hand that killed him!

To Manson's keen imagination it seemed as if Fate had led him to thishorrible spot to go mad and die alone, tortured by remorse and despair. 

As he sat by his one companion, the little fire, all that long night, trying to fight back the imaginary horrors that menaced him, oneconstant thought weighed heaviest upon his feelings, and that was thatsome uncomprehended motive force was shaping his every action andasserting itself more and more. What evil was in store for him, or whatfate was to come, was a greater burden than all the rest. How long thatnight was no pen can describe, and when the first faint tinge of morninglight came, he felt that nothing in life was quite so blessed asdaylight. The fog was still thick, but the hideous darkness, with allits terrors, was passed, and with the light came a bit of returningcourage. He had sipped from the cup of rum at times through the night, but had felt no effect, and now he was faint from need of food. Hehunted the shore, where clams could be found, and securing a few roastedand ate them. Then once more came the uncanny fascination of that cave!He dreaded to go near it, and yet could not keep away. It was like avoice calling to him that must be answered. But how to enter without alight! Once more he thought of that keg, and going to the pile ofwreckage, found pieces of rope, and moistening one end of a bit in therum that was left in his cup, set it on fire. It burned slowly butsteadily, and now he felt he had means to enter the cave. With a fewpieces of this rope he made his way down to where the keg was, andsoaked them well in the rum. Then he paused and looked around. Thefrowning walls seemed more menacing than ever, and that black hole justbeyond, which he had tried to enter the day before, glared at his likea huge eye of sinister import. He thought of the ghastly skull he hadfound the night before, and wondered if it had any connection with thiscave. Cautiously, step by step, he crept toward it. Was it thehiding-place of some sea monster, and was death there in that darkcavern awaiting him? Once again he felt his courage leaving and astrange weakness stealing his strength. He turned back and sat down bythe keg. 

Given the right conditions, and our imaginations will surround us withhobgoblins and spectres by day as well as night, and almost upset thereasoning power of strong men. To Manson, who had passed one long, sleepless night full of imaginary terrors, and believing himselfgoverned and controlled by some supernatural power, the experience hehad passed through, and the impulses that were now alternately pullinghim back and pushing him toward that dark cave in front of him, he feltmust be ill-omened and uncanny. For an hour he sat and looked at hissurroundings, trying to reason away his fears and convince himself theywere groundless, and that all the stories he had heard about this islandbeing haunted were purely imaginary. Only partially did he succeed, however, and then, at last yielding to the fascination that constantlydrew him toward the cave, arose and once more cautiously crept towardit. 

At the entrance he paused and listened. Not a sound could be heardexcept the faint voice of the ocean outside. He stooped and took onestep inward, and listened again. All he could hear now was the beatingof his own heart. He lit one of his torches and then another. Then hetook two steps more and paused again. The faint light showed the cavernsloped sharply upward. Carefully, on his knees, supporting himself byone hand, he crawled up the incline until the floor became level andthen he stood upright. For a moment he halted there, trying to peer intothe inky darkness. He seemed to be looking into a wide, open space; apeculiar odor tainted the air. He took a few steps and paused again. Then he turned one of his torches down inward to increase the flame, andas it burned brighter he held it above his head. Now he could see thewall of rock all about, and on the further side and close to the wall, alarge boulder. Then, as his eyes grew accustomed to the semi-darkness, he could see the floor formation, and as its outlines grew moredistinct, he caught the gleam of white teeth grinning at him from somecreature almost at his feet! Breathless now, and trembling, he loweredhis torch, and beheld prostrate there in front of him two shriveled andblackened corpses!

CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE FATE OF A MISER. 

As Manson gazed in horror at those two charred bodies reduced toskeletons in that dark cave, he felt more than ever that his every stepfor many days had been in obedience to some mysterious power that had atlast brought him face to face with danger and death. 

For one instant the impulse to turn from that ghastly sight and leavethe cave came to him, but the baleful fascination of those hideousobjects held him prisoner. He could not if he would turn away. One ofthe skeletons, for such they almost were, was that of a tall man, faceup, the grinning teeth fully exposed; the other of smaller size, withlegs and arms drawn together. No signs of clothing were visible oneither, and the flesh appeared to have shrunk away, showing the shape ofevery bone. Midway between them lay a rusted pistol and just beyond, glistening in the faint light, were bits of glass. When his eyes grewaccustomed to the sickening sight he raised them, looked around, and forthe first time saw, a few feet away, a raised, table-like rock, and onit piles of round dark bits of metal. Taking two steps he stooped, andpicking up one of these pieces held it close to the light. It was atwenty-dollar gold piece!

Wonder succeeded horror! What mystery was this? Two charred skeletonsbeside a pile of gold in this dark and silent cavern! Was it someinfernal dream or a reality? He stooped and picked up more of the coins. Gold, every one! Then he examined others and found silver dollars andhalves. He turned and looked about, holding one torch above his head, and almost expecting to see some spectral form half-hid in the shadows. Only the faintly outlined walls of rock could be seen. Then, feelingfaint and weak from the intense strain, he hastily retraced his stepsdown and out of the cave. He was just in time, for the rising tide hadalmost cut off his exit. So weak now that he could hardly walk, he creptaround to the keg and sat down to think. Then for the first time helooked at the sky and saw the sun faintly visible through the fog. Whata blessed sight it was! He had never known before how good the suncould look to a poor, hungry, horror-struck mortal! Then he picked up ashell, and pouring a little of the rum out of the keg, drank it. It hada magic effect, for it brought back his strength and courage and arealization of what he had discovered. In the dread experiences he hadjust passed through, he had not comprehended what it meant to him. Nowhe did. 

He, alone on that haunted island, abhorred and shunned by all, had founda fortune!

He drank a little more of the rum. Then he thought of his friends. Maybeat that very moment they were nearing the island!

He quickly clambered out of the walled-in pocket, and looked over theocean. The fog was lifting, the wind rising, but no sail was visible. Hewas still a prisoner. Once more he heard that strange bellowing comingfrom somewhere beneath the island, but it had lost its terrors. Hethought of those skeletons in the dark cavern, and only felt curious toknow how those two human beings met their death. A thousand bulls, foraught he cared now, might bellow all they chose, so long as they did notshow their horns above the rocks, and two or two dozen skeletons more orless in the cave made no difference. He had met and conquered the ghostof Pocket Island, and was himself once more. 

He took one long look all around, where the white, crested waves wererolling as far as the eye could reach; then at the sun now shiningbright and warm, and then returned to the cave. The entrance was halfunder water, but the tide was falling, and he boldly waded in. He was soeager now he could hardly wait to light a torch, and when once moreinside, he did not even stop to look at the hideous skeletons, but wentdirectly to the flat rock where the stacks of coin were; removed hiscoat, heaped all he could carry upon it, and returned to the sunlight. Wildly excited now, he carried his bundle to a flat shelf of rock nearwhere he had first descended into "The Pocket, " emptied it and returnedfor more. Three trips he made to secure his wondrous find, and when thelast mildewed and tarnished bit of money was secured, he took the pistoland left the cave for good. Then, feeling a little faint and weak, hesat down on the shelf beside his pile of gold and silver, and examinedthe rusty weapon. 

On the stock was engraved the name of "Wolf. "

Then, as that miser had many years before stacked and counted those samepieces of money, so did Manson now stack and count them. 

But what a contrast!

Wolf had counted with murder in his heart, and feeling only the miser'slust of possession as he hid himself in that dark cavern. Mansoncounted, thinking only of one good and true girl waiting for him, andfeeling that every one of those bits of money were but so many keys toopen the door of his dream of wife and home and all the blessings helonged to surround that one loved woman with. And as he counted whereGod's sunlight fell upon him, and not in darkness, fearing enemies, sowas that money destined to be a blessing and not a curse. When the countwas made, and that poor, hungry fellow, with naught to aid him in thebattle of life except two hands and a brave heart, found himself thepossessor of sixteen thousand dollars, he felt like offering a prayer ofthankfulness. 

He no longer cared that he was faint with hunger, or that he was still aprisoner on that lone island. All he thought of was to await the comingof his friends with patience; end his visit as soon as possible; returnto Liddy, and tell her of his wondrous find, and the fortune that wastheirs to enjoy. But he was not to escape that day, for the wind stillblew almost a gale, and the waves still cut him off from rescue. Whenthe tide fell he dug clams, and when night came he sat by his littlefire, roasted and ate them, and was happy. That night he saw no spectralshapes or grinning skulls, and when his fire burned low he crept intohis shelter and slept in peace and content. When the morning came only asummer-day breeze ruffled the ocean, and, most gladsome sight of all, only a few miles away was the sloop, with all sails set, and headingdirectly for the island! When Frank came ashore in the dory there was ajoyful meeting. 

"We had to put up sail and run for a harbor to save the sloop when wesaw the fog coming, " said Frank, "and leave you behind. It was that ordesert her and come ashore. I am awfully glad to find you safe, though. Obed waited as long as he dared. Where were you, and what were you doingso long?"

"Trying to find a ghost, " replied Manson, who felt like joking now, "andI succeeded. I not only found ghosts by the dozen, but two skeletons, and one or two skulls scattered around to make things more cheerful. Oh, I've had a real sociable time, I assure you! One of those kind of timeswhen every way you turn a still more hideous object confronts you; a fitof the jims minus the fun that goes before it. The first night I was soscared I didn't sleep a wink, and the spooks were so thick I dared notturn around for fear of seeing a new one. Your island deserves all thathas been said of it, and a good deal more. I've found what's better thanghosts, however!"

When Frank had followed his friend over into "The Pocket, " and saw whathe had found and heard the marvelous story, he gasped for breath. 

"So that is what became of the little Jew smuggler, is it?" he said whenhe saw the pistol; "and the story was true after all! My stars! but youare in luck, " he continued, as he looked at the stacks of coin; andthen, slapping Manson on the back, hilariously exclaimed: "Ghost huntingpays once in a while, old fellow, don't it? Now you can get married andcome down here and stay all next summer, can't you?"

Then the two friends, happy as children escaped from school, returned tothe sloop, and after half-starved Manson had eaten as he never didbefore, they all three went ashore and visited the cave. 

"As near as I can recall the story, " said Frank, when they stood lookingat the skeletons, "there was an Indian who acted as helper for the Jew, and this tall fellow with the horrible grin may have been that poorfellow. Most likely they got into a quarrel over the money, and foughtit out to the death. Great Scott! but what a grim duel that must havebeen here in this dark cavern!"

When they had looked the cave all over, they carried Manson's strangelyfound fortune aboard the sloop, and sailed for home. Two days later hebade adieu to his friend and departed two weeks sooner than he hadplanned, but not until he had made a solemn promise to return the nextsummer and bring a companion. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

CONCLUSION. 

The maples in front of Liddy's home were just showing the first tints ofautumn color when Manson returned. It had been a long three weeks ofseparation to her, and her first words contained a note of reproach. 

"You might have written me once or twice, Charlie, " she said; "the dayshave seemed so long!"

"I could not, " he replied; "I was lost to the world on an island twentymiles from a post office, and letters were not in style there. Thepeople are so far removed from the world they do not seem to thinkcommunication of any value. It is a wild and romantic spot, and the onlything I do not like about it is every house has two or three tombstonesclose by. "

He seemed in a surprisingly cheerful mood, and described his visit andthe friends he had met in glowing words. One incident of his visit, however, he withheld, and for a purpose. The little, half-jesting remarkLiddy had made a month previous on Blue Hill--a remark merely expressiveof her pride--still lingered in his mind, and he was resolved to testthat pride in his own peculiar way. 

A short distance from her house and near the brook was a rustic seatbeneath the maple. Many hours she had passed there with him, and manymore alone with only sad thoughts for company, when the brook's musicseemed a voice of sympathy. Even when a child she had learned to lovethis spot, and the low, sweet murmur of the stream. Early that evening, when the full moon had just appeared over Blue Hill, they intuitivelysought this familiar place. Perhaps the joy in their hearts added a newcharm, for the ripples in the brook appeared like so many laughing watersprites dancing there in the silvery light. For a few moments theysilently yielded to the magic witchery of the time and place, and thenshe could contain herself no longer. She had noticed his unusualelation--even more than could be ascribed to his gladness at being oncemore beside her, and, grown accustomed to his ways, knew there was asurprise in store. 

"Well, Charlie, " she said at last, with a bright smile, "you need notwait to take me up to Blue Hill this time to tell your story. Tell itnow. You have some good news, for I can see it in your face. What isit?"

He looked at her a moment in silence, and then answered:

"Yes, I have a story to tell you, and one that will more than surpriseyou, but first I have a question to ask. Do you remember the promise youmade me a month ago?"

The thought of that tender pledge and his now evident intention to askits fulfillment brought the color to her face, but she bravely answered:"I have never made a promise and failed to keep it. I shall not beginnow. "

Then, as the question he asked and the answer he received were heardonly by the elfin sprites dancing in the brook beside them, so we willleave it to those fairies to tell if they choose. Suffice it to say itwas such as filled his heart so full of happiness it could no longerhold a secret, and there, where the moonlight fell in little rifts uponthem, and the music of running water echoed their feelings, he told herthe strange story of Pocket Island, and what he had found in the cave. 

When late that evening they returned to the house, never again in theirlives did the man in the moon seem to smile so graciously or the brooksound so sweet. 

Then one day--a day bright above all others to them, when nature seemedaglow with joyous color--all those who were near and dear gathered tolisten to their vows, and wish them well in life. Whether those kindwishes were deserved or not, and whether the Fates that direct the stepsof all human kind led theirs along the pleasant walks of prosperity andhappiness, or among the rocks and thorns of adversity, we will leave tothe imagination of those who have read this story, for here theirhistory ends. 

It is told that when Jove, the mythological ruler of the universe, conceived the creation of the human race, he sent Pandora to the realmsof Pluto to bring him the box containing all the good and evil impulseshe intended to select from in his creative work. He gave her strictorders not to open the box, lest its contents escape and work woe to thecoming mortals. But as woman's curiosity never was restrained by anypower, human or divine, since Mother Eve ate apples, and most likelynever will be, no sooner had Pandora set out upon her return than shelifted the lid of that fatal box, and the result to the human race neednot be enlarged upon. One good result came from her disobedience, however, for, seeing her error in time, she closed the cover before Hopeescaped, and so that blessed impulse came to be shared alike by mortals. 

Life at best is but an enigma, and like children pursuing an IgnisFatuus, so do we all pursue the illusive beacon light of a brighter andhappier to-morrow--always hoping, never attaining, though striving everuntil, wearied of the vain pursuit, at last we fall by the wayside andare forgotten. 

 THE END. 

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