[Illustration: THE BOSS OF LITTLE ARCADY]

[Illustration: "A-CHESTIN' OUT HIS CHEST LAHK A OLE MA'ASH FRAWG. "]

THE BOSS OF LITTLE ARCADY

BY

HARRY LEON WILSON

1905

TO

MY MOTHER

CONTENTS

_THE BOOK OF COLONEL POTTS_

CHAPTER

I. How the Boss won his Title

II. The Golden Day of Colonel Potts

III. The Perfect Lover

IV. Dreams and Wakings

V. A Mad Prank of the Gods

VI. A Matter of Personal Property

VII. "A World of Fine Fabling"

VIII. Adventure of Billy Durgin, Sleuth

IX. How the Boss saved Himself

X. A Lady of Powers

XI. How Little Arcady was Uplifted

XII. Troubled Waters are Stilled

_THE BOOK OF MISS CAROLINE_

XIII. A Catastrophe in Furniture

XIV. The Coming of Miss Caroline

XV. Little Arcady views a Parade

XVI. The Spectre of Scandal is Raised

XVII. The Truth about Shakspere at Last

XVIII. In which the Game was Played

XIX. A Worthless Black Hound

XX. In which Something must be Done

XXI. Little Arcady is grievously Shaken

_THE BOOK OF LITTLE MISS_

XXII. The Time of Dreams

XXIII. The Strain of Peavey

XXIV. The Loyalty of Jim

XXV. The Case of Fatty Budlow

XXVI. A Little Mystery is Solved

XXVII. How a Truce was Troublesome

XXVIII. The Abdication of the Boss

XXIX. In which All Rules are Broken

XXX. By Another Hand

ILLUSTRATIONS

"A chestin' out his chest lahk a ole ma'ashfrawg"

"And yet I have been pestered by cheap flingsat my personal bearing"

"We might get him to make a barrel of it forthe Sunday-school picnic"

"That will do, " I said severely. "Rememberthere is a gentleman present"

The Book ofCOLONEL POTTS

CHAPTER I

HOW THE BOSS WON HIS TITLE

=Late last Thursday evening one Jonas Rodney Potts, better known to thiscommunity as "Upright" Potts, stumbled into the mill-race, where it hadprovidentially been left open just north of Cady's mill. Everything wasgoing along finely until two hopeless busybodies were attracted to thespot by his screams, and fished him out. It is feared that he willrecover. We withhold the names of his rescuers, although under strongtemptation to publish them broadcast. --_Little Arcady Argus_ of May21st. =

Looking back to that time from a happier present, I am filled by agenuine awe of J. Rodney Potts. Reflecting upon those benign ends whichthe gods chose to make him serve, I can but marvel how lightly each ofus may meet and scorn a casual Potts, unrecking his gracious andpredestined office in the play of Fate. 

Of the present--to me--supreme drama of the Little Country, I can onlysay that the gods had selected their agent with a cunning so flawlessthat suspicion of his portents could not well have been aroused in onelacking discernment like unto the gods' very own. So trivially, soutterly, so pitiably casual, to eyes of the flesh, was this Potts ofLittle Arcady, from his immortal soul to the least item of his inferiorraiment!

Thus craftily are we fooled by the Lords of Destiny, whose caprice it isto affect remoteness from us and a lofty unconcern for our poor littledoings. 

There is bitterness in the lines of that _Argus_ paragraph, and aflippant incivility might be read between them by the least discerning. 

Arcady of the Little Country, however, knows there is neither bitternessnor real cynicism in Solon Denney, founder, editor, and proprietor ofthe _Little Arcady Argus_; motto, "Hew to the Line, Let the Chips FallWhere they May!" Indeed, we do know Solon. Often enough has the _Argus_hewn inexorably to the line, when that line led straight through theheart of its guiding genius and through the hearts of us all. One whohad seen him, as I did, stand uncovered in the presence of his newWashington hand-press, the day that dynamo of Light was erected in the_Argus_ office, could never suppose him to lack humanity or the justreverence demanded by his craft. 

We may concede without disloyalty that Solon is peculiar unto himself. In his presence you are cursed with an unquiet suspicion that he maybecome frivolous with you at any moment, --may, indeed, be so at thatmoment, despite a due facial gravity and tones of weight, --for he willnot infrequently seem to be both trivial and serious in the same breath. Again, he is amazingly sensitive for one not devoid of humor. In apleasant sense he is acutely aware of himself, and he does not disliketo know that you feel his quality. Still again, he is bound to spice hiswriting. Were it his lot to report events on the Day of Judgment, Ibelieve the _Argus_ account would be thought too highly colored by manypersons of good taste. 

But Little Arcady knows that Solon is loyal to its welfare--knows thathe is fit to wield the mightiest lever of Civilization in its behalf onWednesday of each week. 

We know now, moreover, that an undercurrent of circumstance existedwhich did not even ripple the surface of that apparently facetiousbrutality hurled at J. Rodney Potts. 

The truth may not be told in a word. But it was in this affair thatSolon Denney won his title of "Boss of Little Arcady, " a title firstrendered unto him somewhat in derision, I regret to say, by a number ofour leading citizens, who sought, as it were, to make sport of him. 

It began in a jest, as do all the choicest tragedies of the gods, --a fewlines of idle badinage, meant to spice Solon's column of business localswith a readable sprightliness. The thing was printed, in fact, between"Let Harpin Cust shine your face with his new razors" and "See that lineof clocks at Chislett's for sixty cents. They look like cuckoos and keepgood time. "

"Not much news this week, " the item blithely ran, "so we hereby startthe rumor that 'Upright' Potts is going to leave town. We would inciteno community to lawless endeavor, but--may the Colonel encounter swiftlyin his new environment that warm reception to which his qualities ofmind, no less than his qualities of heart, so richly entitle him, --thatreception, in short, which our own debilitated public spirit has timidlyrefused him. We claim the right to start any rumor of this sort thatwill cheer the souls of an admiring constituency. Now is the time to payup that subscription. "

The intention, of course, was openly playful--a not subtle sally meantto be read and forgotten. Yet--will it be credited?--more than one of usread it so hurriedly, perhaps with so passionate a longing to have itthe truth, as not to perceive its satirical indirections. The rumoractually lived for a day that Potts was to disembarrass the town of hispresence. 

And then, from the fictitious stuff of this rumor was spawned averitable inspiration. Several of our most public-spirited citizensseemed to father it simultaneously. 

"Why should Potts _not_ leave town--why should he not seek out a newfield of effort?"

"Field of effort" was a rank bit of poesy, it being certain that Pottswould never make an effort worthy of the name in any field whatsoever;but the sense of it was plain. 

Increasingly with the years had plans been devised to alleviate thecondition of Potts's residence among us. Some of these had required atoo definite and artificial abruptness in the mechanics of his removal;others, like Eustace Eubanks's plot for having all our best peoplerefuse to notice him, depended upon a sensitiveness in the person aimedat which he did not possess. Besides, there had been talk of disbarringhim from the practice of his profession, and I, as a lawyer, had beenurged to instigate that proceeding. Unquestionably there was ground forit. 

But now this random pleasantry of Solon Denney's set our minds toworking in another direction. 

In the broad, pleasant window of the post-office, under the "NO LOAFINGHERE!" sign, half a dozen of us discussed it while we waited for thenoon mail. There seemed to be a half-formed belief that Potts mightadroitly be made to perceive advantages in leaving us. 

"It's a whole lot better to manipulate and be subtle in a case likethis, " suggested the editor of the _Argus_. "Threats of violence, forcible expulsion, disbarment proceedings--all crude--and besides theywon't move Potts. Jonas Rodney may not be gifted with a giant intellect, but he is cunning. "

"The cunning of a precocious boy, " prompted Eustace Eubanks, who was oneof us. "He is well aware that we would not dare attempt lawlessviolence. "

"Exactly, Eustace, " answered Solon. "I tell you, gentlemen, thisthriving little town needs a canning factory, as we all know; but morethan a canning factory it needs a Boss, --one of those strong charactersthat make tools of their fellow-men, who rule our cities with an ironhand but take care to keep the hand in a velvet glove, --a Boss that isdiplomatic, yet an autocrat. "

That careless use of the term "Boss" was afterward seen to beunfortunate for Solon. They remembered it against him. 

"That's right, " said Westley Keyts. "Let's be diplomatic with him. "

"How would _you_ begin, Westley, if you don't mind telling us?" Solonhad already begun to shape a scheme of his own. 

"Why, " answered Westley, looking very earnest, "just go up to him in aquiet, refined manner--no blustering, understand--and say in a low tone, kind of off-hand but serious, 'Now, look a' here, Potts, old boy, let'stalk this thing over like a couple of gentlemen had ought to. ' 'Well, all right, ' says Potts, 'that's fair--I couldn't refuse _that_ as fromone gentleman to another gentleman. ' Well, then, say to him, 'Now, Potts, you know as well as any man in this town that you're an all-roundno-good--you're a human _Not_--and a darn scalawag into the bargain. Sowhat's the _use_? Will you go, or won't you?' Then if he'd begin to hemand haw and try to put it off with one thing or another, why, just hintin a roundabout way--perfectly genteel, you understand--that there'd bedoings with a kittle of tar and feathers that same night ateight-thirty sharp, rain or shine, with a free ride right afterward tothe town line and mebbe a bit beyond, without no cushions. Up about theNarrows would be a good place to say farewell, " he concludedthoughtfully. 

We had listened patiently enough, but this was too summary. WestleyKeyts is our butcher, a good, honest, energetic, downright business manwith a square forehead and a blunt jaw and red hair that bristles withchallenges. But he seems compelled to say too nearly what he means torender him useful in negotiations requiring any considerable finesse. 

"We were speaking, Westley, of the gentle functions of diplomacy, "remarked Solon, cuttingly. "Of course, we _could_ waylay Potts and killhim with one of your cleavers and have his noble head stuffed andmounted to hang up over Barney Skeyhan's bar, but it wouldn't besubtle--it would not be what the newspapers call 'a triumph ofdiplomacy'! And then, again, reports of it might be carried to othertowns, and talk would be caused. "

"Now, say, " retorted Westley, somewhat abashed, "I was thinking Ianswered all _that_ by winding up the way like I did, asking him, --notmad-like, you understand, --'Now will you go or _won't_ you?' just likethat. All I can say is, if that ain't diplomacy, then I don't know whatin Time diplomacy _is_!"

I think we conceded this, in silence, be it understood, for Westley isrespected. But we looked to Solon for a more tenuous subtlety. Nor didhe fail us. Two days later Potts upon the public street actuallyannounced his early departure from Little Arcady. 

To know how pleasing an excitement this created one should know moreabout Potts. It will have been inferred that he was objectionable. Forthe fact, he was objectionable in every way: as a human being, a man, acitizen, a member of the Slocum County bar, and a veteran of our latecivil conflict. He was shiftless, untidy, a borrower, a pompousbraggart, a trouble-maker, forever driving some poor devil intosenseless litigation. Moreover, he was blithely unscrupulous in hisdealings with the Court, his clients, his brother-attorneys, and hisfellow-men at large. When I add that he was given to spells of harddrinking, during which he became obnoxious beyond the wildest possibledreams of that quality, it will be seen that we of Little Arcady werenot without reason for wishing him away. 

He had drifted casually in upon us after the war, accompanied somewhatelegantly by one John Randolph Clement Tuckerman, an ex-slave. He camewith much talk of his regiment, --a fat-cheeked, florid man of forty-fiveor so, with shifty blue eyes and an address moderately insinuating. Verytall he was, and so erect that he seemed to lean a little backward. Thisphysical trait, combining with a fancy for referring to himself freelyas "an upright citizen of this reunited and glorious republic, sir!" hadspeedily made him known as "Upright" Potts. He was of a slender buildand a bony frame, except in front. His long, single-breasted frock-coathung loosely enough about his shoulders, yet buttoned tightly over astomach that was so incongruous as to seem artificial. The sleeves ofthe coat were glossy from much desk rubbing, and its front advertised arather inattentive behavior at table. The Colonel's dress was completedby drab overgaiters and poorly draped trousers of the same once-delicatehue. Upon his bald head, which was high and peaked, like Sir WalterScott's, he carried a silk hat in an inferior state of preservation. When he began to drink it was his custom to repair at once to a barberand submit to having his side-whiskers trimmed fastidiously. Sober, heseemed to feel little pride of person, and his whiskers at such a timemerely called attention somewhat unprettily to his lack of a chin. Hisother possessions were an ebony walking stick with a gold head and whathe referred to in moments of expansion as his "library. " This consistedof a copy of the Revised Statutes, a directory of Cincinnati, Ohio, forthe year 1867, and two volumes of Patent Office reports. 

At the time of which I speak the Colonel had long been sober, and theday that Solon Denney completed those mysterious negotiations with himhe was as far from conventional standards of the beautiful as I rememberto have seen him. 

The guise of Solon's subtlety, the touch of his iron hand in a glove ofsoftest velvet, had been in this wise: he had pointed out to the Colonelthat there were richer fields of endeavor to the west of us; newer, larger towns, fitter abodes for a man of his parts; communities whichhad honors and emoluments to lavish upon the worthy, --prizes which itwould doubtless never be in our poor power to bestow. 

Potts was stirred by all this, but he was not blinded to certaindisadvantages, --"a stranger in a strange land, " etc. , while in LittleArcady he had already "made himself known. "

But, suggested Solon, with a ready wit, if the stranger were to gofortified with certificates of character from the leading citizens ofhis late home?

This was a thing to consider. Potts reflected more favorably; but stillhe hesitated. He was unable to believe that these certificates of hisexcellence might be obtained. The bar and the commercial element ofLittle Arcady had been cold, not to say suspicious, toward him. It wasan unpleasant thing to mention, but a cabal had undeniably been formed. 

Solon was politely incredulous. He pledged his word of honor as agentleman to provide the letters, --a laudatory, an uplifting letter, from every citizen in town whose testimony would be of weight; also ahalf-column of fit praise in the next issue of the _Argus_, twelvecopies of which Potts should freely carry off with him for judiciousscattering about the fortunate town in which his journey should end. 

Then Potts spoke openly of the expenses of travel. Solon, royallypromising a purse of gold to take him on his way, clenched the winningof a neat and bloodless victory. 

No one has ever denied that Denney must have employed a faultless, anincomparable tact, to bring J. Rodney Potts to this agreement. By tactalone had he achieved that which open sneers, covert insult, abuse, ridicule, contumely, and forthright threats had failed to consummate, and in the first flush of the news we all felt much as Westley Keytssaid he did. 

"Solon Denney is some subtler than me, " said Westley, in a winningspirit of concession; "I can see that, now. He's the Boss of LittleArcady after this, all right, so far as _I_ know. "

Nevertheless, there was misgiving about the letters for Potts. Old AsaBundy, our banker, wanted to know, somewhat peevishly, if it seemedquite honest to send Potts to another town with a satchel full ofletters certifying to his rare values as a man and a citizen. What wouldthat town think of us two or three days later?

"This is no time to split hairs, Bundy, " said Solon; and I believe Iadded, "Don't be quixotic, Mr. Bundy!"

Hereupon Westley Keyts broke in brightly. 

"Why, now, they'll see in a minute that the whole thing was meant as ajoke. They'll see that the laugh is on _them_, and they'll have a lot offun out of it, and then send the old cuss along to another town withsome more funny letters to fool the next ones. " "That's all very_well_, but it isn't high conduct, " insisted Bundy. 

Westley Keyts now achieved the nearest approach to diplomacy I have everknown of him. 

"Oh, well, Asa, after all, this is a world of give and take. 'Live andlet live' is my motto. "

"We must use common sense in these matters, you know, Bundy, " observedSolon, judicially. 

And that sophistry prevailed, for we were weak unto faintness from ourburden. 

We gave letters setting forth that J. Rodney Potts was the idealinhabitant of a city larger than our own. We glowed in describing thevirtues of our departing townsman; his honesty of purpose, his integrityof character, his learning in the law, his wide range of achievement, civic and military, --all those attributes that fitted him to become astately ornament and a tower of strength to any community larger in theleast degree than our own modest town. 

And there was the purse. Fifty dollars was suggested by Eustace Eubanks, but Asa Bundy said that this would not take Potts far enough. Eustacesaid that a man could travel an immense distance for fifty dollars. Bundy retorted that an ordinary man might perhaps go far enough on thatsum, but not Potts. 

"If we are to perpetrate this outrage at all, " insisted Bundy, pullingin calculation at his little chin-whisker, "let us do it thoroughly. Ahundred dollars can't take Potts any too far. We must see that he keepsgoing until he could never get back--" We all nodded to this. 

"--and another thing, the farther away from this town those letters areread, --why, the better for our reputations. "

A hundred dollars it was. Purse and letters were turned over to SolonDenney to deliver to Potts. The _Argus_ came out with its promisedeulogy, a thing so fulsome that any human being but J. Rodney Pottswould have sickened to read it of himself. 

But our little town was elated. One could observe that last day asubdued but confident gayety along its streets as citizens greeted oneanother. 

On every hand were good fellowship and kind words, the light-heartedsalute, the joyous mien. It was an occasion that came near to beingfestal, and Solon Denney was its hero. He sought to bear his honors withthe modesty that is native to him, but in his heart he knew that we nowspoke of him glibly as the Boss of Little Arcady, and the consciousnessof it bubbled in his manner in spite of him. 

When it was all over, --though I had not once raised my voice in protest, and had frankly connived with the others, --I confess that I felt shamefor us and pity for the friendless man we were sending out into theworld. Something childlike in his acceptance of the proposal, a fewphrases of naive enthusiasm for his new prospects, repeated to me bySolon, touched me strangely. It was, therefore, with real embarrassmentthat I read the _Argus_ notice. "With profound regret, " it began, "weare obliged to announce to our readers the determination of ourdistinguished fellow-townsman, Colonel J. Rodney Potts, to shake thedust of Little Arcady from his feet. Deaf to entreaties from our leadingcitizens, the gallant Colonel has resolved that in simple justice tohimself he must remove to some larger field of action, where his nativegenius, his flawless probity, and his profound learning in the law maysecure for him those richer rewards which a man of his unusual calibercommendably craves and so abundantly merits. "

There followed an overflowing half-column of warmest praise, embodyingfelicitations to the unnamed city so fortunate as to secure this"peerless pleader and Prince of Gentlemen. " It ended with the assurancethat Colonel Potts would take with him the cordial good-will of everymember of a community to which he had endeared himself, no less by hissterling civic virtues than by his splendid qualities of mind and heart. 

The thing filled me with an indignant pity. I tried in vain to sleep. Inthe darkness of night our plan came to seem like an atrocious outrageupon a guileless, defenceless ne'er-do-well. For my share of the guilt, I resolved to convey to Potts privately on the morrow a more thanperfunctory promise of aid, should he find himself distressed at anytime in what he would doubtless term his new field of endeavor. 

CHAPTER II

THE GOLDEN DAY OF COLONEL POTTS

I awoke the next morning under most vivid portents of calamity. Ibelieve I am neither notional, nor given to small, vulgar superstitions, but I have learned that this peculiar sensation is never withoutsignificance. I remember that I felt it the night our wagon bridge wentout by high water. I tried to read the presentiment as I dressed. Butnot until I was shaving did it relate itself to the going out of Potts. Then the illumination came with a speed so electric that I gashed mychin under the shock of it. Instantly I seemed to know, as well as Iknow to-day, that the Potts affair had, in some manner, been botched. 

So apprehensive was I that I lingered an hour on my little riversideporch, dreading the events that I felt the day must unfold. Inevitably, however, I was drawn to the centre of things. Turning down Main Streetat the City Hotel corner, on the way to my office, I had to pass thebarber-shop of Harpin Cust, in front of which I found myself impelled tostop. Looking over the row of potted geraniums in the window, I beheldColonel Potts in the chair, swathed to the chin in the barber's whitecloth, a gaze of dignified admiration riveted upon his counterpart inthe mirror. Seen thus, he was not without a similarity to pictures ofthe Matterhorn, his bare, rugged peak rising fearsomely above hissnow-draped bulk. Harpin appeared to be putting the last snippingtouches to the Colonel's too-long neglected side-whiskers. On the tablelay his hat and gold-headed cane, and close at hand stood his bulgingvalise. 

I walked hastily on. The thing was ominous. Yet, might it not merelydenote that Potts wished to enter upon his new life well barbered? Thebulging bag supported this possibility, and yet I was ill at ease. 

Reaching my office, I sought to engage myself with the papers of anapproaching suit, but it was impossible to ignore the darkling cloud ofdisaster which impended. I returned to the street anxiously. 

On my way to the City Hotel, where I had resolved to await like a manwhat calamity there might be, I again passed the barber-shop. 

Harpin Cust now leaned, gracefully attentive, on the back of the emptychair, absently swishing his little whisk broom. Before him was plantedPotts, his left foot advanced, his head thrown back, reading to Harpinfrom a spread page of the _Argus_. I divined that he was reading Solon'scomment upon himself, and I shuddered. 

As I paused at the door of the hotel Potts emerged from the barber-shop. In one hand he carried his bag, in the other his cane and the _LittleArcady Argus_. His hat was a bit to one side, and it seemed to methat he was leaning back farther than usual. He had started briskly downthe street in the opposite direction from me, but halted on meetingEustace Eubanks. The Colonel put down his bag and they shook hands. Eustace seemed eager to pass on, but the Colonel detained him and beganreading from the _Argus_. His voice carried well on the morning air, andvarious phrases, to which he gave the full meed of emphasis, floated tome on the gentle breeze. "That peerless pleader and Prince ofGentlemen, " came crisply to my ears. Eustace appeared to be restive, butthe Colonel, through caution, or, perhaps, mere friendliness, had mooredhim by a coat lapel. 

The reading done, I saw that Eustace declined some urgent request of theColonel's, drawing away the moment his coat was released. As theyparted, my worst fears were confirmed, for I saw the Colonel progressflourishingly to the corner and turn in under the sign, "Barney Skeyhan;Choice Wines, Liquors, and Cigars. "

"What did he say?" I asked of Eustace as he came up. 

"It was exceedingly distasteful, Major. " Eustace was not a littleperturbed by the encounter. "He read every word of that disgustingarticle in the _Argus_ and then he begged me to go into that Skeyhan'sdrinking-place with him and have a glass of liquor. I said very sharply, 'Colonel Potts, I have never known the taste of liquor in my whole lifenor used tobacco in any form. ' At that he looked at me in the utmostastonishment and said: 'Bless my soul! _Really?_ Young man, don't youput it off another day--life is awful uncertain. ' 'Why, Colonel, ' Isaid, '_that_ isn't any way to talk, ' but he simply tore down thestreet, saying that I was taking great chances. "

"And now he is reading his piece to Barney Skeyhan!" I groaned. 

"Rum is the scourge of our American civilization, " remarked Eustace, warmly. 

"Barney Skeyhan's rum would scourge anybody's civilization, " I said. 

"Of course I meant _all_ civilization, " suggested Eustace, in politehelp to my lame understanding. 

Precisely at nine o'clock Potts issued from Skeyhan's, bearing his bag, cane, and _Argus_ as before. He looked up and down the quiet streetinterestedly, then crossed over to Hermann Hoffmuller's, anotherestablishment in which our civilization was especially menaced. He wasfollowed cordially by five of Little Arcady's lesser citizens, who hadobviously sustained the relation of guests to him at Skeyhan's. Incompany with Westley Keyts and Eubanks, I watched this procession fromthe windows of the City Hotel. Solon Denney chanced to pass at themoment, and we hailed him. 

"Oh, I'll soon fix _that_, " said Solon, confidently. "Don't you worry!"

And forthwith he sent Billy Durgin, who works in the City Hotel, toHoffmuller's. He was to remind Colonel Potts that his train left ateleven-eight. 

Billy returned with news. Potts was reading the piece to Hoffmuller anda number of his patrons. Further, he had bought, and the crowd was thenconsuming, the two fly-specked bottles of champagne which Hoffmuller hadkept back of his bar, one on either side of a stuffed owl, since the dayhe began business eleven years before. 

Billy also brought two messages to Solon: one from Potts that he hadbeen mistaken about the attitude of Little Arcady toward himself--thathe was seeing this more clearly every minute. The other was fromHoffmuller. Solon Denney was to know that some people might be just asgood as other people who thought themselves a lot better, and would heplease not take some shingles off a man's roof?

Solon, ever the incorrigible optimist, said, "Of course I might havewaited till he was on the train to give him the money; but don't worry, he'll be ready enough to go when the 'bus starts. "

I felt unable to share his confidence. That presentiment had for themoment corrupted my natural hopefulness. 

It was a few moments after ten when Potts next appeared to our group ofanxious watchers. This time he had more friends. They swarmedrespectfully but enthusiastically after him out of Hoffmuller's place, adozen at least of our ne'er-do-wells. One of these, "Big Joe" Kestril, a genial lout of a section-hand, ostentatiously carried the bag and hadan arm locked tenderly through one of the Colonel's. These two led theprocession. It halted at the corner, where the Colonel began to read his_Argus_ notice to Bela Bedford, our druggist, who had been on the pointof entering his store. But the newspaper had suffered. It was damp frombeing laid on bars, and parts of it were in tatters. The reader paused, midway of the first paragraph, to piece a tear across the column, andBedford escaped by dashing into his store. The Colonel, suddenlydiscovering that he could recite the thing from memory, did so withconsiderable dramatic effect, seeming not to notice the defection ofBedford. The crowd cheered madly when he had finished, and followed himacross the street to the bar of the City Hotel. 

We could now observe better. The bar of the City Hotel is next theoffice. A door is open between them with a wooden screen standing beforeit. Inside the carouse raged, while we, who had thought to set Potts atlarge, listened and wondered. The taller among us could overlook thescreen. We beheld Potts, one elbow resting on the bar, his other handwith the cane in it waving forward his unreluctant train, while heloudly inquired if there were drink to be had suitable for a gentlemanwho was prepared to spend his money like a lord. 

"None of that cooking whiskey, mind--nothing but the best bottled goods, if you please!" was the next suggestion. 

Again the crowd cheered. New faces were constantly appearing. The newshad gone out with an incredible rapidity. Honest men, inflamed by thereport, were leaving their works and speeding to the front from as farnorth as the fair-grounds and as far south as the depot. 

"Soon, " said Potts, after the first drink, "ah, too soon, I shall bemiles away from your thriving little hamlet, --as pretty a spot, by theway, as God ever made, --seeing none but strange faces, longing for theold hearty hand-clasps, seeking, perhaps, in vain, for one kindly lookwhich--which is now to be observed on every hand. But, friends, ColonelJ. Rodney will not forget you. I have rare prospects, but no matter. Tothis little spot, the fairest in all Nature, --here among your simple, heartfelt faces, where I first got my start, --here my feelings will everand anon return; for--why should I conceal it?--it is you, my friends, who have made me the man I am. "

Here Potts put an arm over the shoulder of Big Joe and urged pleadingly:"Another verse of that sweet old song, boys. I tell you that has thetrue heart-stuff in it--now--"

They roared out a verse of "Auld Lang Syne, " with execrable attempts atpart-singing, little Dan Lefferts, a dissolute house-painter, contributing a tenor that was simply maniacal. 

Potts ordered more drinks. This done, he leaned heavily upon the bar andburst into tears. The varlets crowded about him with tender, soothingwords, while we in the other room anxiously watched them and the clock. 

He was overcome, it seemed, by the affection which it now transpiredthat Little Arcady bore for him. Presently he half dried his tears anddrew from an inner pocket of his coat the package of our letters. 

With eyes again streaming, in a sob-riven voice, he read them all to thepleased crowd. At the end, he regained control of himself. 

"Gentlemen, believe it or not, nothing has touched me like this since Ibade farewell to my regiment in '65. You are getting under the heart ofJonas Rodney this time--I can't deny that. "

He began on the letters again, selecting the choicest, and notforgetting at intervals to rebuke the bar-tender for alleged inactivity. 

At last the clock marked ten-forty, and we heard the welcome rumble ofthe 'bus wheels. There was a hurried consultation with Amos Deane, thedriver. He was to enter the bar in a brisk, businesslike way, seize thebag, and hustle the Colonel out before he had time to reflect. We peeredover the screen, knowing the fateful moment was come. 

We saw the Colonel resist the attack on his bag and listen with markedastonishment to the assertion of Amos that there was just time to catchthe train. 

"Time was made for slaves, " said Potts. 

"That there train ain't goin' to wait a minute, " reminded Amos, civilly. The Colonel turned upon him with a large sweetness of manner. 

"Ah, yes, my friend, but trains will be passing through your prettylittle hamlet for years--I hope for ages--yet. They pass every day, butyou can't have Jonas Rodney Potts every day. "

Here, with a gesture, he directed the crowd's attention to Amos. 

"Look at him, gentlemen. Speak to him for me--for I cannot. I ask you tonote the condition he's in. " Here, again, the Colonel burst into tears. "And, oh, my God!" he sobbed, "could they ask me to trust myself to adrunken rowdy of a driver, even if I _was_ going?" Amos was not onlysober, he was a shrewd observer of events, a seasoned judge of men. Heturned away without further parley. Big Joe told him he ought to be inbetter business than trying to break up a pleasant party. 

As the 'bus started, the strains of "Auld Lang Syne" floated to usagain, and we knew the day was lost. 

"A hand of iron in a cunning little velvet glove, " said Westley Keyts, in deep disgust as he left us. "It looks to me a darned sight more likea hand of mush in a glove of the _same!_"

I have often been brought to realize that the latent nobility in ourhuman nature is never so effectually aroused as at the second stage ofalcoholic dementia. The victim sustains a shock of illumination hardlyless than divine. On a sudden he is vividly cognizant of hisoverwhelming spiritual worth. Dazed in the first moment of this floodingconsciousness, he is presently to be heard recalling instances of hisnoble conduct under difficulty, of righteous fortitude under strain. Especially does he find himself endowed with the antique virtues--withcourage and a rugged fidelity, a stainless purity of motive, a fond andmeasureless generosity. 

To this stage the libations of Potts had now brought him. He began torefresh the crowd with comments upon his own worth, interspersed withkindly but hurt appreciations of the great world's lack of discernment. He besought and defied each gentleman present to recall an occasion, however trivial, when his conduct had fallen short of the loftieststandards. Especially were they begged to cite an instance when he haddeviated in the least degree from a line of strictest loyalty to anyfriend. Big Joe Kestril was overcome at this. He broke down and wept outupon the shoulder of Potts his hopeless inability to comply with thatoutrageous request. The entire crowd became emotional, and a dozenlighted matches were thrust forward toward an apparently incombustiblecigar with which Potts had long striven. 

Recovering from these first ravages of his self-analysis, the Colonelbecame just a bit critical. 

"But you see, boys, a man of my attributes is hampered and kept down ina one-horse place like this. Remarks have been passed about me here thatI should blush to repeat. I say it in confidence, but I have again andagain been made the sport of a wayward and wanton ridicule. I say, gentlemen, I have always conducted myself as only a Potts knows how toconduct himself--and yet I have been pestered by cheap flings at mypersonal bearing. Is this courtesy, is it common fairness, is it theboasted civilization of our nineteenth century?"

[Illustration: "AND YET I HAVE BEEN PESTERED BY CHEAP FLINGS AT MYPERSONAL BEARING. "]

Hoarse expressions of incredulity, of execration, of disgust, came fromthe crowd as it raised glasses once more. The Colonel glared down thesloppy length of the bar, then gazed aloft into the smoky heights. Thecrowd waited for him to say something. 

"This is a beautiful day, gentlemen. A fine, balmy spring day. Let us beout and away to mossy dells. Why stay in this low drinking-place whenall Nature beckons? Come on back to Hoffmuller's. Besides, "--he cast areproachful look at the bar-tender, --"the hospitality of this place isnot what an upright citizen of this great republic has a right to expectwhen he's throwing his good money right and left. "

He marched out in hurt dignity, followed by his train, many of whom, inloyalty to their host, sneered openly at the bar-tender as they passed. 

Outside the Colonel poised himself in gala attitude, and benignantlysurveyed our quiet little Main Street in both directions. Across the wayin the door of the First National Bank stood Asa Bundy, a look ofinterest on his face. 

The Colonel's sweeping glance halted upon Bundy. With a glad cry hestarted across to him, but Bundy, beholding the move, fled activelyinside. The Colonel reached the door of the bank and tried the knob, butthe key had been turned in the lock, and the next moment the curtains ofthe door were swiftly drawn. "Bank Closed" was printed upon them inlarge gold letters. 

Potts stepped aside to look into the window, and the curtain of thatdescended relentlessly. The bank had suddenly taken on an aspect ofSabbath blankness. Once more the Colonel rattled the knob, then heturned to his gathering followers. 

"Gentlemen, I came here to press the hand of one of Nature's noblemen, my tried friend, the Honorable Asa Bundy, whom we have just seenretreating to his precincts, as I might say, with a modesty that israrely beautiful. But no matter. " Here the Colonel mounted the top stepand glowed out upon his faithful and ever enlarging band. 

"Instead, my friends, allow me to read you this splendid tribute fromBundy, and I trust that after this I shall never hear one of you utter aword in his disparagement. "

Rapidly fluttering the packet of letters, he drew out one bearing theimprint of the First National Bank of Little Arcady. The crowd, pressingcloser, was cheerfully animated. From down the street on both sidesanxious looks were bent upon the scene by many of our leading citizens. 

"'To Whom it May Concern, '" began the Colonel, in a voice that carriedto the confines of our business centre; "'The determination of ouresteemed citizen, Colonel J. Rodney Potts, to remove from our town makesit fitting that I record my high appreciation of his character as a manand his unusual attainments as a lawyer. His going will be a grievousloss to our community, atoned for only by the knowledge that he willbetter himself in a field of richer opportunities. He has proved himselfto possess in full measure those qualities which go to the making of thebest American citizenship, and these, as exercised in our behalf duringhis all too-short sojourn among us, entitle him to be cordiallycommended as worthy of all trust in any position to which he may aspire. Very sincerely, A. Bundy, President. '"

Again and again the crowd cheered, and there were encouraging calls forBundy; but the First National Bank stolidly preserved its Sabbath front. 

A moment later the Colonel was leading his steadfast cohort across thestreet again. Marvin Chislett had unwarily peeped from inside the doorof his mercantile establishment. There was but time to turn the key anddraw the curtains before the procession halted. Such behavior may haveperplexed Potts, but daunt him it could not. From Chislett's top step heread Chislett's letter to the delighted throng, a letter in which Pottswas said to bear an unblemished reputation, and to be a gentleman and ascholar, amply meriting any trust that might be reposed in him. 

From Chislett's they moved on to the foot of the stairs leading to the_Argus_ office. Potts sent Big Joe up for twenty-five copies of thelatest number, and, standing on the coal box, he gallantly distributedthese to the crowd as it filed before him, intoning from memory, meantime, snatches of the eulogy, while the crowd flourished the papersand gurgled noisily. 

A brief plunge into the lethal flood at Skeyhan's, and they came oncemore abroad, this time closing the Boston Cash Store most expeditiously. Potts, enthroned upon a big box in front, among bolts of muslin, strawhats, and bunches of innocent early lettuce, read the splendid tributeof the store's proprietor to his capacity as an expert in jurisprudenceand his fitness for a seat of judicial honor. The bank and Chislett'sbeing still closed, the little street, except in the near vicinity ofPotts, began to sleep in a strange calm. 

There were other doors to conquer, however, and Potts, at the head ofhis _Argus_-waving crowd of degenerates, vanquished them all. 

Up and down he wandered busily, doors closing and curtains fallingswiftly at his approach. Then would he turn majestically, and say, witha hand raised, "My friends, a moment's silence, while I read you thismagnificent tribute from one who is unfortunately not among us. "

He was so impressive with this that at last the crowd would remove hatsat each reading, to the Colonel's manifest approval. The doffed hat andthe clutched _Argus_ became the mark of his drink-bought serfs. By fouro'clock the only hospitable doorways on the street were those of thethree saloons. Our leading business men were departing from theirestablishments by back doors and the secrecy of gracious alleys. 

From Skeyhan's to Hoffmuller's, from Hoffmuller's to the City Hotel, thecrowd sang and shouted its irregular progress, the air being "Auld LangSyne. "

It was about this time that the Colonel unhappily caught a glimpse ofmyself through the window of the hotel. A glad light came into his eyes, and at once he searched among the letters, crying, meanwhile: "Mybrother in arms! A younger brother, but a gallant officer, none theless--"

I knew that he sought my letter. Egress from the City Hotel may beachieved, when desirable, by a side door, and I saw no more of Pottsthat day. I believe my letter spoke of him as an able and gracefulpleader, meriting judicial honors, or something of that sort. I hadforgotten its exact words, but I did not wish to hear Potts read them. So I fled to spend the remainder of that eventful day quietly amongrosebushes and tender, budding hyacinths, unspotted of the world, receiving, however, occasional bulletins of the orgy from passers-by. From these and sundry narratives gleaned the following day, I was ableto trace the later hours of this scandalous saturnalia. 

By six o'clock Potts had spent all his money. By six-fifteen this factcould no longer be concealed, and such of his following as had notalready fallen by the wayside crept, one by one, to rest. They left theColonel dreamily, murmurously happy in a chair at the end of the CityHotel bar. 

Here, he was discovered about six-thirty by Eustace Eubanks, who hadincautiously thought to rebuke him. 

"For shame, Colonel Potts!" began Eustace, seeking to fix the uncertaineyes with his finger of scorn. "For shame to have squandered all thatmoney for rum. Don't you know, sir, that a hundred and sixty thousandmen die yearly in our land from the effects of rum?"

"Hundred sixty thousand!" mused the Colonel, in polite amazement. "Well, well, figures can't lie! What of it?"

"You have dishonestly spent that money given to you in sacred trust. "

This seemed to arouse Potts, and he surveyed Eubanks with more curiositythan delight. He arose, buttoned his coat, fixed his hat firmly upon hishead, and took up his stick and bag. He put upon Eustace a glance ofdignified urbanity, as he spoke. 

"I don't know who you are, sir, --never saw you before in my life, --but Ihave done what every good citizen should do. I have spent my money athome. This is a cheap place, full of cheap men. What the town needs, sir, is capital--capital to develop its attributes and industries. Itneeds more men with the public spirit of J. Rodney, sir. I bid you goodevening! Ah, this has been indeed a _beautiful day_!"

He walked out. Those who watched him until he turned out of Main Streetinto Fourth, and so toward the river, aver--marvelling duly at hispowers of resistance--that the head of Potts was erect, his gaze bentaloft, and his gait one of perfect directness save that he stepped alittle high. 

I like to think of him in that last walk. I like to bring up as nearlyas I can his intense exaltation. It _had_ been a beautiful day. And now, as he looked aloft, walking with an automatic precision, his eyes musthave beheld glorious vistas, in which he rode a chariot of triumph atthe head of a splendid procession, while his ears rang with chastetributes to his worth trumpeted by outriding heralds. And the good earthwas firm beneath his tread, stretching broadly off for him to walk uponand behold his apotheosis. 

I cannot wonder that he stepped high, nor can I find it in my heart tobegrudge him his day. Cunningly had he clutched a few golden momentsfrom the hoard that Fate, the niggard, guards from us so jealously. Tomyself I acclaimed him as one to be envied. 

I have always liked to believe that the splendors of that last walkendured to the end--that there was no uncertainty, no hesitation, aboveall, no vulgar stumbling; but that the last high step, which plunged himinto the chill waters of the race, was lifted in the same exultingserenity as the first. 

I stood in my garden that evening, charmed by the wild, sweet, gusty-gentle music of the spring night. 

Northward, in the gathering dusk, came a solitary figure walkingrapidly--a slight, nervous figure, a soft hat drawn well over the face, the skirts of its coat streaming to the breeze. As it passed me, Irecognized Solon Denney. He was gesticulating with some violence, and Icould see his expressive face work as if he uttered words to himself. Ithought it possible that he might be composing a piece for hisnewspaper. Instantly there came to my mind that rather coarse paraphraseof Westley Keyts--"A hand of mush in a glove of the _same!_"

I did not intrude upon my friend as he passed. 

CHAPTER III

THE PERFECT LOVER

To the crime of being Potts the wretched Colonel had now addedmalversation of a trust fund. But I crave surcease, while it may bemine, from the immediately troubling waters of Potts. Let me turn morebroadly to our town and its good people for that needed recreation whichthey never fail to afford me. 

"Arcady of the Little Country, " we often say. On maps it is LittleArcady, county seat of Slocum County, an isle and haven in the drearyland sea that flattens away from it on every side, --north to the bigwoods, south to the swamp counties, and east and west, one might almostsay, a thousand miles to the mountains. Our point is one from which tosay either "back East" or "out West. " It is neither, of itself, thoughit touches both. 

We are so ancient that plenty of us remember the stone fireplace in thelog-cabin, with its dusters for the hearth of buffalo tail andwild-turkey wing, with iron pot hung by a chain from the chimney hook, with pewter or wooden plates from which to eat with horn-handled knivesand iron spoons. But yet are we so modern that we have fine new houseswith bay windows, ornamental cupolas, and porches raving woodenly inthat frettish fever which the infamous scroll-saw put upon fifty yearsof our land's domestic architecture. And these houses are furnished withsplendid modern furniture, even with black walnut, gold touched andupholstered in blue plush and maroon, fresh from the best factories. Ourfairly old people remember when they hunted deer and were hunted by thered Indian on our town site, while their grandchildren have only thememories of the town-born, of the cottage-organ, the novel railroad, andthe two-story brick block with ornamental false front. In short, weround an epoch within ourselves, historically and socially. 

The country, however, keeps its first purity of charm, a country oflittle hills and little valleys lined with little quick rivers. Thesebeauties, indeed, have not gone unsung. Years ago a woman poet eased herheart of ecstasies about this Little Country. 

"Here swells the river in its boldest course, " she wrote, "interspersedby halcyon isles on which Nature has lavished all her prodigality intree, vine, and flower, banked by noble bluffs three hundred feet high, their sharp ridges as exquisitely definite as the edge of a shell; theirsummits adorned with those same beautiful trees and with buttresses ofrich rock, crested with old hemlocks that wear a touching and antiquegrace amid the softer and more luxuriant vegetation. "

Not spectacular, this--not sensational--not even unusual. Common enoughlittle hills, as the world goes, with the usual ragged-edged villagebetween them and the river, peopled by human beings entirely usual bothin their outer and inner lives. It seems to be, indeed, not a place inwhich events could occur with any romantic fitness. 

Perhaps I have grown to love this Little Country because I am a usualman. Perhaps I would have felt as much for it even had I not been heldto it by a memory that would bind me to any spot howsoever unlovely. ButI rejoiced always in its beauty, and more than ever when it made easierfor me the only life it once appeared that I should live. I quote againfrom our visiting poet: "The aspect of this country was to me enchantingbeyond any I have ever seen, from its fulness of expression, its boldand impassioned sweetness. Here the flood has passed over and markedeverywhere its course by a smile. The fragments of rock touch it with amildness and liberality which give just the needed relief. I shouldnever be tired here, though I have elsewhere seen country of more secretand alluring charms, better calculated to stimulate and suggest. Herethe eye and heart are filled. "

Here, too, my eye and heart were filled--emptied--and wondrously filledyet again, for which last I hold Potts to be curiously--but I wander. 

Enough to say that I stored a harvest of memories in a secret place hereyears ago. And I went to this on days when I was downhearted. Your boyof fifteen, I think, is the only perfect lover--giving all, demandingnothing, save, indeed, the right to his secret cherishings. 

Tremors, born within me that day when old gray, bristling Leggett, ourPrincipal, opened the schoolroom door upon Lucy Tait, are as poignant, as sweetly terrible, now as in that far time when the light of herwondrous presence first fell upon me. 

An instant she hesitated timidly in the sombre frame of the doorway, looking far over our heads. Then old Leggett came in front of her. Therewas a word of presentation to Miss Berham, our teacher, the vision wasescorted to a seat at my left front, and I was bade to continue thereading lesson if I ever expected to learn anything. As a matter oftruth I did not expect to learn anything more. I thought I must suddenlyhave learned all there is to know. The page of the ancient reader overwhich I then mumbled is now before me. "A Good Investment" was the titleof the day's lesson, and I had been called upon to render the firstparagraph. With lightness, unrecking the great moment so perilously athand, I had begun: "'Will you lend me two thousand dollars to establishmyself in a small retail business?' inquired a young man, not yet out ofhis teens of a middle-aged gentleman who was poring over his ledger inthe counting room of one of the largest establishments in Boston. "

The iron latch rattled, the door swung fatefully back, our heads wereraised, our eyes bored her through and through. 

Then swung a new world for me out of primeval chaos, and for aeons ofcenturies I dizzied myself gazing upon the pyrotechnic marvel. 

"_Continue, Calvin!_--if you ever expect to learn anything. "

The fabric of my vision crumbled. Awake, I glared upon a page where thewords ran crazily about like a disrupted colony of ants. I stammered atthe thing, feeling my cheeks blaze, but no two words would stay stilllong enough to be related. I glanced a piteous appeal to authority, while old Leggett, still standing by, crumpled his shaven upper lip intoa professional sneer that I did not like. 

"That will _do_, Calvin. Sit down! Solon Denney, you may go on. "

With careless confidence, brushing the long brown lock from his fairbrow, came Solon Denney to his feet. With flawless self-possession heread, and I, disgraced, cowering in my seat, heard words that burnedlittle inconsequential brands forever into my memory. Well do I recallthat the middle-aged gentleman regarded the young man with a look ofsurprise, and inquired, "What security can you give me?" to which thelatter answered, "Nothing but my note. "

"'Which I fear would be below par in the market, ' replied the merchant, smiling. 

"'Perhaps so, ' said the young man, 'but, Mr. Barton, remember that theboy is not the man; the time may come when Hiram Strosser's note will beas readily accepted as that of any other man. '

"'True, very true, ' replied Mr. Barton, thoughtfully, 'but you knowbusiness men seldom lend money without adequate security; otherwise theymight soon be reduced to penury. '"

"Benny Jeliffe, you may go on!"

During this break I stole my second look at her. The small head wassweetly bent with an air of studious absorption--a head with two longplaits of braided gold, a scarlet satin bow at the end of each. 

It seems to me now that these bows were like the touch of frostedwoodbine in a yellowing elm, though at the moment I must have beenunequal to this fancy. I saw, too, the tiny chain that clasped her fairthroat, her dress of pale blue, and, most wonderful of all, two tasselsthat danced from the tops of her trim little boots. The air was indeedtoo heavy with beauty. But the reading lesson continued. 

The years that stretch between that time and this have not bereaved meof the knowledge that Mr. Barton graciously accommodated Hiram Strosser, after vainly seeking to induce "Mr. Hawley, a wealthy merchant of MilkStreet, " to share half the risk. 

At this point a row of stars on the page indicated a lapse of ten years. Mr. Barton, "pale and agitated, " examines with deepening despair, "pageafter page of his ponderous ledger. " At last he exclaims, "I am ruined, utterly ruined!" "How so?" inquires Hiram Strosser, who enters the roomjust in time to hear the cry. Mr. Barton explains, --the failure ofPerleg, Jackson & Co. Of London--news brought on last steamer--creditorspressing him. 

"'What amount would tide you over this crisis?' asks Hiram Strosser, respectfully. 

"'Seventy-five thousand dollars!'

"'Then, sir, you shall have it, ' replied Hiram, and stepping to the deskhe drew a check for the full amount. "

Nor can I ever forget the stroke of poetic justice with which theanecdote concluded. Mr. Hawley of Milk Street was also embarrassed bythe failure of Perleg, Jackson & Co. , but, for want of a trustful friendin funds, was thrown into bankruptcy. Mr. Barton had the chastenedpleasure of telling Mr. Hawley about Hiram's loan, and of reminding himthat he had neglected a fair opportunity to become a co-benefactor ofthat upright and open-handed youth; whereupon the ruinedHawley--deservedly ruined, the tale implied--"moved on, dejected andsad, while Mr. Barton returned to his establishment cheered andanimated. "

The gross, the immoral romanticism of this tale was not then, of course, apparent to me. Children are so defenceless! Child that I was, Ibelieved it would be entirely practicable for a lad in his teens toborrow two thousand dollars from a Boston merchant, by reminding himthat the boy is not the man. So readily is the young mind poisoned. During the latter part of the lesson, between looks stolen fearfully ather profile, I was mentally engaged in borrowing two thousand dollarsfrom a convenient Mr. Barton with which to establish myself in a smallretail business--preferably a candy store with an ice-cream parlor inthe rear. Then I took her to wife, not forgetting to reward Mr. Bartonhandsomely in the day of his ruin. Dimly, in the background of thishasty dramatization, the distrustful Mr. Hawley, who refused to sharethe loan with Mr. Barton, figured as a rival for my love's hand; andlived to hear her say that she hated, loathed, and despised him. 

At recess the others crowded about her, girls at the centre, within astraggling circumference of young males, who dissembled their gallantryunder a pretence of being mere brutal marauders. 

But I, solitary, moped and gloomed in a far grassy corner of the schoolyard. I could not be of that crowd, and it was then I perceived for thefirst time that the world was too densely populated. I saw how muchbetter it would be if every one but she and I were dead. Thereupon, in abreath, I dispeopled the earth of all but us two, and with the couragegained of this solitude, I saw myself approach her there at the cornerof the old brick schoolhouse, greeting her with assurances thateverything was all right, --and then, after she understood what I haddone, and how fine it was, we came into our own. Alas, how bitter thecrude truth! Instead of this, those wondrous tassels now danced from herboot tops as she gave chase to Solon Denney, who had pulled one of thescarlet bows from its yellow braid. Grimly I was aware that he shouldbe the first to go out of the world, and I called upon a just heaven toslay him as he fled with his trophy. But nothing sweet and fittinghappened. He went unblasted. 

She came back to the group of girls, flushed and lovely beyond compare, holding up the ravished end of that golden braid with a comic dismay, while her despoiler laughed coarsely from a distance and pinned thetrophy to his coat lapel. I now saw that blasting was too merciful. Heshould be removed by a slower process if the thing could as easily bearranged. 

That was a bitter recess, even though I learned her wonderful name andthe enchanted state "back East" from which she had come. A still morebitter experience awaited me when we were again in the schoolroom. MissBerham, fastening a steely gaze upon Solon Denney, launched heaven uponhim from tightly drawn lips, without in the least meaning to do so. 

"Solon Denney, you may return that ribbon at once to its owner!"

With a conscious smirk, amid the titters of the room and the sharp rapsof the ruler on Miss Berham's desk, Solon swaggered offensively to theseat that enshrined my idol, and flung down the scarlet treasure beforeher. She merely pushed the thing away, bending her head lower above herbook--pushed it away with a blind little hand, and with undiminishedbravado her despoiler returned, scathless of heaven's vengeance, to hisseat. 

"And you may remain half an hour after school. The A-class, ready forgeography!"

Thus, lightly did our ruler turn from tragedy to comedy. For tragedy, there was the look my queen lavished upon Solon when she heard hissentence; a look of blushing merriment, with a maddening dash of pity init, --he was to suffer because of her. 

"'Twas your beauty that made me do it, " he might have quoted, with theold result. How I longed for the jaunty lightness that would have let medo a thing like that, tossing me fairly to the pinnacle of a publicassociation with her! But I, instead, moped alone, knowing well that thegifts of graceful brigandage were not mine. Had _I_ snatched thatribbon, there would have been tears and a mad outcry at my brutalroughness. 

Now came the lesson in geography. I had known it, had studied itfaithfully that morning. It treated of the state from which she had solately come. But, now, all knowledge of it fled me, save that on the mapit was a large, clumsy state, though yellow, the color of her hair. Wasit to be bounded like any cheaper state? Did it have principal products, like Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, and other ordinary states? Its colorwas rightly golden; had it not produced her? But other products, --iron, coal, wheat, --these were stuffs too base to fellow in the same mind withher. Had it principal industries, like any red, or green, or blue stateon that pedantic map? I could no longer recall them. Formally confrontedwith this problem, I muttered shamefully again that day in the valleyof Humiliation. There was, I knew, a picture at the top of the page inwhich strong, rugged men toiled at various tasks; but the natures ofthese had escaped me. Were they mining coal or building ships, catchingfish or ploughing furrows in God's green earth? Out of my darkness Istammered, "Principal industries, agriculture and fish-building--"

"That will _do_, Calvin! You may remain after school to-night. " I hadnever less liked the way she said this, as if it were a boon at which Iwould snatch, instead of a penalty imposed. 

Solon Denney followed me, glibly enumerating the industries of a greatand busy state. But I could not listen. Phantom-like in my poor mindfloated a wordless conviction that, however it might once have been, thestate would immediately abandon its industries now that she had comeaway from it. I beheld its considerable area desolated, the forges cold, the hammers stilled, the fields overgrown, the ships rotting at theirdocks, the stalwart mechanics drooping idly above their unfinishedtasks. It was not possible to suppose that any one could feel, in astate which she had left, that interest which good work demands. 

My disgrace brought me respite for fresh adventure. I was let alone. Theworld could still be peopled; even Solon Denney might survive a littletime, for another picture in the same geography now reproduced itself inmy inflamed mind--the picture of a South Sea island, a sandy beach witha few indolent natives lolling, negligent of tasks, in the shade ofcocoanut palms. Here, on the outer reef, I wrecked an excellentsteamship. Over the rail sprang a stalwart lad, not out of his teens, with a lovely golden-haired girl in his arms. With strong, swiftstrokes, he struck out for the beach, notwithstanding his burden. Theother passengers, a hazy and quite uninteresting lot, quickly went down;all save one, a coarse, swaggering youth with too much self-possessionwhom I need not name. He, too, sprang over the rail, but, nearing thebeach, a justly enraged providence intervened and he was bitten neatlyin two by a famished and adroit shark. 

With some interest I watched his blood stain the lucid green waters, butit was soon over. Then I bore my fainting burden to the dry sands andrevived her with cocoanut milk and breadfruit, while the natives crowdedrespectfully about and made us their king and queen on the spot. Welived there forever. How flat of sound were it to say that we livedhappily!

And yet I doubt if Solon Denney ever suspected me of aspiring to be hisrival. She, I think, knew it full well, in the way her sex knows mattersnot communicated by act or word of mouth. And once, on the afternoon ofthat day, a Friday, when we spoke pieces, I feared that Solon had foundme out. He was a fiery orator, and I felt on this occasion that hedelivered himself straight at me, with a very poorly veiled malignance. Surely, it must be I that he meant, literally, when he thundered out, "Sir, you are much mistaken if you think your talents have been as greatas your life has been reprehensible!" Fall upon me and upon me aloneseemed to flash his gaze. 

"After a rank and clamorous opposition you became--all of asudden--silent; you were silent for seven years; you were silent on thegreatest questions--and you were silent _for money!_"

There could be no doubt, I thought, that he singled me from themultitude of his auditors. It was I who had supported the unparalleledprofusion and jobbing of Lord Harcourt's scandalous ministry; I who hadmanufactured stage thunder against Mr. Eden for his anti-Americanprinciples--"You, sir, whom it pleases to chant a hymn to the immortalHampden--you, sir, approved of the tyranny exercised against America, and you, sir, voted four thousand Irish troops to cut the throats of theAmericans. "

Under the burden of this imputed ignominy, was it remarkable that Ifaltered in my own piece immediately following?

 "The Warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, And sued the haughty King to free his long imprisoned sire. "

Not more foully was the blameless Don Sancho done to death than I uponthis Friday murdered the ballad that recounts his fate. And she, who hadhung breathless on Solon's denunciations of me, whispered chattily withEva McIntyre during my rendition of "Bernardo del Carpio. "

Later events, however, convinced me that I swam never in Solon's ken asa rival for her smiles. His own triumph was too easy, too widelyheralded. In the second week of her coming, was there not a rhymeshouted on the playground, full in the hearing of both?

 "First the post and then the gate, Solon Denney and Lucy Tait. "

Was not this followed by one more subtle, more pointed, more ribald?

 "Solon's mad and I'm glad, and I know what will please him; a bottle of wine to make him shine and Lucy Tait to tease him!"

I thought there was an inhuman, devilish deftness in the rhymes. Themighty mechanism of English verse had been employed to proclaim myremoteness from my love. 

And yet the gods were once graciously good to me. One wondrous eveningbefore hope died utterly I survived the ordeal of walking home with herfrom church. 

She came with her aunt, uncle, and I present by the god's permission, surmised that she might leave them and go to her own home alone whenchurch was out. Through that service I worshipped her golden braids andthe pink roses on her leghorn hat. And when they sang, "Praise God fromwhom all blessings flow!" my voice soared fervently in the words, for Ihad satisfied myself by much craning of the neck that Solon Denney wasnot present. Even now the Doxology revives within me that mixed emotionof relief at his absence and apprehension for the approaching encounterwith her. 

She passed me at the portals of the house of a double worship, said goodnight to aunt and uncle--and I was at her side. 

"May I have the pleasure of seeing you home?"

She managed a timid "Certainly. " her hand fluttered within my arm, andmy heart bounded forward like a freed race-horse. We walked!

Now it had been my occupation at quiet moments to devise conversationagainst the time of this precise miracle. I had dreamt that it mightcome to pass, even as it did, and I knew that talk for it should bestored safely away. This talk had been the coinage of my leisure. As wewalked I would say, lightly, --"Do you like it here as well as you didback East?"--or, still better, as sounding more chatty, --"How do youlike it here?"--an easy, masterful pause--"as well as you did backEast?" A thousand times had I rehearsed the inflections until they wereperfect. And now the time was come. 

Whether I spoke at all or not until we reached her gate I have neverknown. Dimly in my memory is a suggestion that when we passed UncleJerry Honeycutt, I confided to her that he sent to Chicago for hisear-trumpet and that it cost twelve dollars. If I did this, she musthave made a suitable response, though I retain nothing of it. 

I only know that the sky was full of flaming meteors, that golden stardust rained upon us from an applauding heaven, that the earth rockedgently as we trod upon it. 

Down the wonderful street we went, a strange street shimmering in mysticlight--and then I was opening her gate. I, afterward, decided thatsurely at this moment, with the gate between us, I would haveremembered--superbly would I have said, "How do you like it here?--aswell as you did back East?"

But, two staring boys passed us, and one of them spoke thus:--

"There's Horsehead Blake--hello, Horsehead!"

"That ain't old Horsehead, " said the other. 

"'Tis, too--ain't that _you_, Horsehead?"

"How do you do, boys!" I answered loftily, and they passed on appeased. 

"Do they call you Horsehead?" she asked. 

"Oh, yes!" I replied brightly. "It's a funny name, isn't it?" and Ilaughed murderously. 

"Yes, it's very funny. "

"Well, I'll have to be going now. Good night!"

"Good night!"

And she left me staring after her, the whole big world and its starryheavens crying madly within me to be said to her. 

CHAPTER IV

DREAMS AND WAKINGS

The incomparable Lucy Tait was still but a star to be adored in herdistant heaven when I went away from Little Arcady to learn some thingsnot taught in the faded brick schoolhouse. It was six years before Icame back; six years that I lived in a crowded place where people had noeasy ways nor front yards with geranium beds, nor knew enough of theirneighbors either to love or to hate them. 

I came back to the Little Country a mannish being, learned in the law, and with the right sort of laugh in my heart for the old school days, for the simplicity of my boy's love. 

But, there and then, with her old sweet want of pity, did she smite meagain. Through and through she smote the man as she had smitten the boy. Treacherously it was, within my own citadel, at the very moment of mycoming. Gayly up the remembered path I went, under the floweringhorse-chestnut, to the little house standing back from the street, onlyto find that, as of old, she blocked my way. She stood where thepink-blossomed climber streamed up the columns of the little porch, andher arm was twined among the strands to draw them to her face. She wasleaving, --but she had stayed too long; not the child with yellow braids, humorously preserved in my memory, but a blossomed, a fruiting Eve, withwhilom braids massed high in a coronet, their gold a little tarnished. Later it came to me to think that she was Spring, and had filched a crownfrom Autumn. In that first glance, however, I could only wonderinstinctively if the tassels yet danced from her boot tops. I saw atonce that this might not any longer be known. One could only surmisepleasantly. But straightway was I Atlas, stooping a little, rounding myshoulders under the earth she deigned to walk upon. 

And the disconcerting strangeness of it was in this: that though she wasno longer the woman child, yet with one flash of her gold-curtained eyeshad she reduced me to my ancient schoolboy clumsiness. She was a woman, but, I was again an awkward, stammering boy, rebelliously declining tobelieve that a state she had come away from could retain anysignificance, industrial or otherwise. Nor, in the little time left tous, did I ever achieve a condition higher than this. 

Consciously I was a prince of lofty origin in her presence, but everunable to make known my excellencies of rank. It was as in a dream whenwe must see evil approach without power to raise an averting hand. 

She was Spring with a stolen crown of Autumn; and again, she was asherbet--sweet, fragrant, cold, and about to melt--but not for me. Iknew that. 

I heard presently that she spoke well of me. She spoke of my having akind face--even the kindest face in the world. 

"The _kindest, plainest_ face in the world, " was her fashion of puttingit. And of course that made it hopeless, since, surely, no woman hasever loved the kindest face she knew. 

Only a fool would have hoped after this--and at least I never gave herground to call me that. Not even did I commit the folly of revealing myneed. She alone ever knew it, and she only in the way that the child hadknown the schoolboy to gloom and rage afar in his passion for her. Shehad no word of mine for it then, nor had she now, and I believe she feltrather certain there never would be any. She seemed to be grateful forthis and doubly kind, with only now and then the flash of a knowinglook, or the trifle of a deep, swiftly questioning glance, born, I daresay, of that curiosity which the devil contrives to kindle in God's mostangelic women. 

Doubtless she had a little speech of refusal patted into kindliness forme. Perhaps she would not have been wholly anguished to have me hearthis--to be able to assure me tenderly, graciously, of the depth andpureness of her friendship for me. Who knows? I am older now, and thingsonce hidden are revealed. Sometimes I think that a certain new respectfor me grew within her as the days tried the metal of my silence--arespect, but nothing more. Her appreciation of my face was too palpablywithout those reservations that so often cry louder than words. 

So we sealed our secret, she and I, in an unspoken pledge, and not evenSolon Denney, so keen of scent for rivals, ever divined it. 

He called me out with the old boyish whistle the day he confided to methe tremendous news of his engagement. He laughed, foolish with joy ashe told it, and I felt tingling in my arms that old boyish, bruteimpulse to slay him for the wretched ease of his victory. But we weremen, so I thrust one of those rebellious arms in among the strands ofthe creeper, where her own arm had once been, and laid the other on hisshoulder in all friendliness. This, while he rambled on of the bignessof life, the great future before Arcady of the Little Country, theimportance of the _Argus_, which he had just founded, and the supremeexcellence of that splendid mechanism, the new Washington hand-press, installed the week before. 

His life was builded of these many interests, of her and himself and hiscountry and his town. In the fulness of his heart he even brought outthe latest _Argus_ and read parts from his obituary of Douglas, while Istood stupidly striving to realize what I had long known must be true. 

"A great man has fallen, " he read, declaiming a little, as in our schooldays. "Stephen A. Douglas is dead. The voice that so lately andeloquently appealed to his countrymen is hushed in--"

How long he read is uncertain. But from moment to moment his tones wouldcall me back from visions, and I would vaguely hear that one was gonewho had warned his fellows against the pitfalls of political jealousy, and bade all who loved their country band against those who would seekto pluck a laurel from the wreath of our glorious confederacy. 

But under visions I had made my resolve. Douglas was dead, but otherswere living. 

Two months before in a gray dawn, the walls of a fort in CharlestonHarbor had crumbled under fire from a score of rebel batteries. Now theshots echoed in my ears with a new volume. 

"Good luck, Solon--and good-by--I'm going 'on to Richmond. '"

"Oh, _that!_" said he, easily, "that will be over before you can get tothe front. "

But I went, forthwith, and, triumphant lover though he was, the editorof the _Little Arcady Argus_ was less than a prophet. 

I went to the "little" war; and of her I carried, as I marched, anambrotype in a closed case, which I had obtained deviously. She smiledin it, a little questioning, inciting smile, that seemed to lurk back inher eyes rather than along her lips. It was the smile that had availedto keep me firm in my vows of silence. 

It was another picture I brought back five years later--the picture of ayoung girl, not smiling but grave, even fearful, as if she had faced thecamera full of apprehension. But I knew her not; the thing had come tome by chance, and I threw it aside to be forgotten. 

It is best to tell quickly that those years were swift and full. Earlyin the second a letter from Solon, read at a random camp-fire, told meof my namesake's coming. For the other years I pleased myselfprodigiously by remembering that she must speak my name openly to herfirst-born. And I lusted for battle, then. I was an early Norseman, andI would escape the prosaic bed-death, since, for those dying thus, Heldwaited in her chill prison-house below, with hunger her dish, starvationher knife, care her bed, and anguish her curtains. To survive for easydeath, long deferred, perhaps, I should have my empty dish and bed ofcare at once. Lacking the battle death, I could at least mimic it, asthey did of old, that Odin's choosers of the slain might lead me toValhalla. There should I forever fight at dawn and be healed at noon, ifwounded, to be ready for the feast and song. The world was not bigenough for us two if we must stay apart. Life was not to be lived in abeggarly and ignoble compromise. War was its business, bravery its duty, and cowardice its greatest crime--above all, that ultimate, pulingcowardice of accepting life empty for its own barren sake. 

At the last I lay on a cot in a field hospital, entertained for themoment by the novelty of that vacant, spacious feeling on my leftside--wondering if I could shave now with one arm--without another handto pull my face into hard little hummocks for the razor. 

I heard the soft quick tread of a hospital steward, and standing beforeme, he took from its envelope the letter Solon Denney had sent me to saythat she was dead. I handed it back, told him to burn it, and I shut myeyes to the sickening shapes of life. My fever came up again, and in thenight I felt inch by inch over ground wet with blood for a picture I hadrelinquished in a Quixotic moment. I must have been troublesome, forthey gave me the drug of dreams and I awakened peacefully. I watched thefield surgeons gather about a young line officer brought in with a shotthrough his neck. For the better probing of the wound they removed hishead and gave it to me to hold. Seeing that it was Solon Denney's head, I was seized with a mood of jest--I would hide it and make Solon search. I advanced craftily down an endless corridor, but came to the edge of awood, where there was a wicked spitting of shots. I cried out again, andonce more they gave me the drug. Then I dreamed more quietly. I saw thatthe soul of my dead arm searched for her soul--that it would soon bedrawn to her and offer itself to comfort her and never, never leave her. It would say, "At least take the arm, since you may have it without theface. " It seemed that my other arm should go to her, too. This side ofher there could be nothing for either to close upon. It appeared to methat I fell asleep on this fancy and dreamt that I awoke painfully to apoor, one-sided life, effortless, barren, forbidding. 

A year later I went back to the Little Country to be counsellor at lawto its people in time of need, and a father to Solon Denney and his twochildren. Solon could direct large affairs acceptably, but he and hisbabes were as thistle-down in a prairie wind. 

He brought the children to visit me the first day that I came home--to ahome where I was now to live alone. 

I sat on the little porch above the river bank, by the wall ofblossoming creeper whose tendrils she had once embraced, bringing hercheek intrepidly against the blossoms of that year, and saw him comeslowly up the path. He seemed so sadly alone because of the two littlecreatures that followed him. 

I placed a chair for Solon and was confronted by my namesake. 

"Did they shoot your arm off in the war?" he asked. 

"Yes, in the war. "

He patted the empty sleeve, and his eyes beamed with discovery. 

"What did you have your sleeve rolled up for when your arm was shot?"

I made plain to him the mystery of the whole sleeve. 

"She often spoke of you, " said Solon. "She seemed to think you wouldlike to be a help to us if you could. "

I turned to greet the woman child, but she had strayed into the house. Iheard her shouts from my bedroom. Then she came running to us, cooing inhelpless joy. 

"Candy--candy--Uncle Maje--lovely candy--all pink and dusty. "

Well over a face set with the mother's eyes was spilled that which shehad clutched and eaten of, --a thing pink and dusty, in truth, but whichwas not candy. 

"She does those things constantly, " said the dejected father. "I don'tsee what I can do to her. "

I saw, however, and did it, first wiping the tooth-powder from her face. She had called me Uncle Maje. 

"She's a regular baddix, " announced my namesake, gravely judicial. Then, as if with intention to indicate delicately that the family affordedstriking contrasts, he added, "_I_ ain't a baddix--I can nearly sing. "

The children fribbled about us while we talked away the afternoon. Thewoman child at last put me to thinking--to thinking that perhapsbutterflies are not meant to be happily caught. With many shouts she hadclumsily enough imprisoned one--a fairy thing of green and bronze--in ahand so plump that it seemed to have been quilted. A moment she held it, then set it free, perhaps for its lack of spirit. It crawled andfluttered up the vine, trailing a crumpled wing most sadly, and I tookit for my lesson. Assuredly they were not to be caught with anyprofit--at least not brutally in an eager hand. Brush them ever solightly and the bloom is off the wings. They are to be watched in theirpretty flitting, loved only in their freedom and from afar, with noclumsy reachings. That was a good thing to know in any world. 

The _Argus_ announced my home-coming with a fine flourish of my title inSolon's best style. It said that I had come back to take up the practiceof the law. Not even Solon knew that I had come back to the memory ofher. 

This is how it befell that I was presently engrossed to outward seemingwith the affairs of Little Arcady--even to the extent of a casual Potts, and those blessed contingencies that were later to unfold from him. ThusI took my allotted place and the years began. 

CHAPTER V

A MAD PRANK OF THE GODS

A week after the publication of that blithe bit of acrimony which opensthis tale, Colonel J. Rodney Potts, recreated and natty in a new summersuit of alpaca, his hat freshly ironed, sued the town of Little Arcadyfor ten thousand dollar damages to his person and announced hiscandidacy at the ensuing election for the honorable office of Judge ofSlocum County. He did this at the earnest solicitation of his manyfriends, in whose hands he had placed himself, --at least so read hiscard of announcement in the _Banner_, our other paper. He did not namethese solicitous friends; but it was an easy suspicion that they werethe Democratic leaders, who thought by this means to draw votes from theRepublican candidate to the advantage of their own, who, otherwise, wasconceded to have no hope of election in a county overwhelminglyRepublican. 

It may be told with adequate confidence that Westley Keyts was not oftheir number. As to the damage suit, Westley found it unthinkable thatPotts could deteriorate ten thousand dollars worth and still walk theearth. Indeed, he believed, and uttered a few rough words to express it, that ten dollars would be an excessive valuation even if Potts wereutterly destroyed. 

Being an earnest soul, Westley had taken the Potts affair veryseriously. He made it a point to encounter the Colonel on an early dayand to address him on Main Street in tones that lacked the leastaffectation of suavity or diplomatic guile. He had seen diplomacy triedand found wretchedly wanting. He would have no more of it ever. Like thestraightaway man he was, he went to the meat of the matter. 

"You squandered that hundred dollars we give you to git out of town on, "he burst forth to Potts, breathing with an ominous difficulty. 

"You just wait till you hear the worst of it, " answered Potts, as heconfidingly dusted the shoulder of Westley's coat. "The worst of it is Ihad over twelve dollars of my own money that I'd saved up--you know howhard it is to save money in these little towns--well, that went, too, _every cent of it!_"

It was admitted by witnesses competent to form an opinion that Westley'scontorted face, his troubled breathing, his manner of stepping back, andthe curious writhing of his stout arms, all encouraged a suppositionthat he might be contemplating immediate violence upon the person ofPotts. At all events, this view was taken by the aggrieved and puzzledColonel, who fled through the Boston Cash Store and, by means of a rearexit from that emporium, gained the office of Truman Baird, Justice ofthe Peace, where he swore to a legal document which averred that "thesaid Jonas R. Potts" was "in fear of immediate and great bodily harm, which he has reasonable cause to believe will be inflicted upon him bythe said Westley Keyts. "

The majesty of the law being thus invoked, Westley was put under a goodand sufficient bond to refrain from "in any manner of attacking ormolesting the said Potts, against the statutes therein made andprovided, and against the peace and dignity of the State of Illinois. "

A proceeding so official somewhat dampened the fires of Mr. Keyts. Hewas a citizen, law-abiding by intention, with a patriot's esteem forgovernment. It had merely not occurred to him that the summaryextinction of Potts could be a performance at all incompatible with thepeace and dignity of the great commonwealth to which he was at heartloyal. Being convinced otherwise, he abode grimly by the statutestherein made and provided. Nevertheless he returned to his shop andproceeded to cut up a quarter of beef with an energy of concentrationand a ruthlessness of fury that caused Potts to shudder as he passed thedoor sometime later. By such demeanor, also, were the bondsmen ofWestley--the first flush of their righteous enthusiasm faded--greatlydisturbed. They agreed that he ought to be watched closely by day, andthey even debated the wisdom of sitting up nights with him for a time, turn by turn. But their charge dissuaded them from this precaution. Heexpended his first vicious fury usefully upon his stock in trade, withknife and saw and cleaver, and thereafter he was but petulant orsarcastic. 

"I had the right of it, " he insisted. "The only way to do with a personlike him was to git your feathers and your kittle of tar cooked up allnice and gooey and git Potts on the ground and _make a believer of him_right there and then!" This he followed by his pointed reflection uponthe administrative talents of Solon Denney--"A hand of mush in a gloveof the _same_!" When listeners were not by, he would mutter it tohimself in sinister gutturals. 

Nor was he alone in this spirit of dissatisfaction with Solon. Thetoo-trustful editor of the _Argus_ was frankly derided. He was a Boss atwhom they laughed openly. They waited, however, with interest for thesubsequent issues of this paper. 

The _Banner_ that week contained the following bit of news:--

=DASTARDLY ASSAULT IN BROAD DAYLIGHT=

=Early last Thursday evening, as Colonel J. Rodney Potts, dean of theSlocum County bar, was enjoying a quiet stroll along our beautiful riverbank near Cady's mill, he was set upon by a gang of ruffians and wouldhave been foully dealt with but for his vigorous resistance. Being a manof splendid proportions and a giant's strength, the Colonel was makinggallant headway against the cowardly miscreants when his foot slippedand he was precipitated into the chilling waters of the mill-race at apoint where the city fathers have allowed it to remain uncovered. Seeingtheir victim plunged into a watery grave, as they thought, the thugstook to their heels. The Colonel extricated himself from his perilousplight, by dint of herculean strength, and started to pursue them, butthey had disappeared from sight in the vicinity of Crowder & Fancett'slumber yard. Things have come to a pretty pass, we must say, if such adastardly outrage as this should be allowed to go unpunished. Now thatColonel Potts has brought suit against the city we suppose the councilwill have that mill-race covered. We have repeatedly warned them aboutthis. We wonder if they ever heard a well-known saying about "lockingthe stable door after horse is stolen, " etc. =

=The card of Colonel Potts, printed elsewhere in this issue, is asufficient refutation of the malicious gossip that has been handed backand forth lately that he had planned to leave Little Arcady. It looksnow like certain busybodies in this community had over-steppedthemselves and been hoisted up by their own petard. The Colonel is afine man for County Judge, and we bespeak for him the suffrages of everyvoter who wants an honest judiciary. =

Westley Keyts, reading this, wanted to know what a petard was. Inquirydisclosed that he hoped it might be something that could be used uponPotts to the advantage of almost every one concerned. But in the mindsof others of us an agonized suspicion now took form. Had the lettersbeen upon Potts when he went down? Had they been saved? Were theylegible? And would he use them?

It was decided that Solon Denney should try to illuminate this pointbefore taking the candidacy of Potts seriously. In the next issue of the_Argus_, therefore, was this paragraph, meant to be provocative:--

=God's providence has been said to watch over fools and drunkards. Weguess this is so; and that the pretensions of a certain individual inour midst to its watchfulness in the double capacity indicated can nolonger be in doubt. =

These lines did their work. The next _Banner_ spoke of a foulconspiracy whose nefarious end it was to blacken the sterling characterof a good man, of that Nestor of the Slocum County Bar, Colonel J. Rodney Potts. As testimony that the best citizens of the town were notinvolved with this infamous ring, it had extorted from Colonel Potts hisconsent to print certain letters from these gentlemen setting forth theColonel's surpassing virtues in no uncertain terms--letters which hisinnate modesty had shrunk from making public, until goaded todesperation by the hell-hounds of a corrupt and subsidized opposition. 

The letters followed in a terrific sequence--a series of laudationswhich the Chevalier Bayard need not have scorned to evoke. 

Then we waited for Solon, but he was rather disappointing. Said the next_Argus_:--

=We have heretofore considered J. R. Potts to possess the anti-socialinstincts of a parasite without its moderate spirit of enterprise. Butwe were wrong. We now concede the spirit of enterprise. As for thiscandidacy of Potts, Horace Greeley once said, commenting, we think, onsome action of Weed's, "I like cool things, of ordinary dimensions--aniceberg or a glacier; but this arctic circle of coagulation appallscredulity and paralyzes indignation. Hence my numbness!" Hence, also, our own numbness. But, though Speech lieth prone on a paralytic's couch, ACTION is hearty and stalketh willingly abroad. In this campaign it willspeak louder than words. Yea! it will be heard high above Noah Webster'sentire assemblage of such of them as are decent. That is all! J. R. P. , _take notice!_=

It was jaunty enough, but Potts had unquestionably gained a following. Indeed he had ably cemented the foundations of one by his magnificenthospitality on that day of days. His whilom serfs were men not easilyoffended by faults of taste, and they were voters. To a man they cameout strongly for Potts. 

He himself behaved with a faultless discretion. Above the slurs of the_Argus_ and the bickerings of faction he bore himself as one alienatedfrom earth by the graces of his spirit; and he copiously promised deedswhich should in the years to come be as a beauteous garment to hismemory. The glaive of Justice should descend where erstwhile it hadcorruptly been stayed. Vice should surfer its meed of retribution, andVirtue come again into its glorious own. 

Our letters of eulogy, printed at the _Banner_ office, were scatteredamong the voters, and with them went a letter from Potts saying that ifhis strenuous labors as an attorney in the interests of humanity, publicmorals, and common decency met with the voter's approval, he would begratified to have his good-will and assistance. "It is such gentlemen asyourself, " read the letter, "constituting the best element of oursociety, to whom I must look for the endorsement of my work. Thecriminal classes of this community, whose minions have so recentlysought my life by mob violence, will leave no stone unturned to preventmy sitting as Judge. "

Our Democratic candidate, who had first felt but an academic interest inthe campaign, began now to show elation. Old Cuthbert Mayne, theRepublican candidate, who had been certain of success but for theaccident of Potts, chewed his unlighted cigar viciously, and from thecorner of his trap-like mouth spoke evil of Potts in a voice that wasterrifying for its hoarseness. His own letter, among the others, told ofPotts as one who sprang to arms at his country's call and was now richlydeserving of political preferment. This had seemed to heighten theinflammation of his utterances. Daily he consulted with Solon, warninghim that the town looked to the _Argus_ to avert this calamity of Potts. 

But Solon, if he had formed any plan for relief, refused to communicateit. Mayne and the rest of us were compelled to take what hope we couldfrom his confident if secretive bearing. 

Meantime the _Banner_ was not reticent about "J. Rodney Potts, thatgallant old war-horse. " Across the top of its front page each week stood"POTTS FOREVER--POTTS THE COMING MAN!"

"Big Joe" Kestril was the chief henchman of Potts, and his fidelity waslike to have been fatal for him. He threw himself into the campaign witha single-heartedness that left him few sober moments. Upon the CityHotel corner, day after day, he buttonholed voters and whispered to themwith alcoholic fervor that Potts was a gentleman of character, "asblotchless as the driftin' snow. " Joe believed in Potts pathetically. 

The campaign wore its way through the summer, and Solon Denney wasstill silent, still secretive, still confident, but, alas! stillinactive so far as we could observe. I may say that we lost faith in himas the barren weeks came and went. We came to believe that his assuredbearing was but a shield for his real despair. 

Having given up hope, some of us reached a point where we could view thewhole affair as a jest. It became a popular diversion to enter theestablishment of the ever serious Westley Keyts and whisper secretivelyto him that Solon Denney had found a diplomatic way to rid the town ofPotts, but this never moved Westley. 

"Once bit--twice shy!" would be his response as he returned to slicingsteaks. 

CHAPTER VI

A MATTER OF PERSONAL PROPERTY

In deference to the wishes of J. R. C. Tuckerman, I had formed a habit ofbreakfasting in summer on the little back porch that overlooks theriver. Less radical departures from orthodox custom, it is true, havecaused adverse comment in our watchful little town; but the spot wassecluded from casual censors. And it was pleasant to sit there on asummer morning over an omelette and bacon, coffee such as no otherLittle Arcadian ever drank, and beaten biscuit beyond the skill of anyin our vale save the stout, short-statured, elderly black man who servedme with the grace of an Ambassador. Moreover, I was glad to please him, and please him it did to set the little table back against the wall ofvines, to place my chair in the shaded corner, and to fetch theincomparable results of his cookery from the kitchen, couched andcovered in snowy napkins against the morning breeze. 

John Randolph Clement Tuckerman he was; Mr. Tuckerman to many simplesouls of our town, and "Clem" to me, after our intimacy became such asto warrant this form of address. A little, tightly kinked, grizzledmustache gave a tone to his face. His hair, well retreated up hisforehead, was of the same close-woven salt-and-pepper mixture. His eyeswere wells of ink when the light fell into them, --sad, kind eyes, thatgave his face a look of patient service long and toilsomely, butlovingly bestowed. It is a look telling of kindness that has endured andtriumphed--a look of submission in which suffering has once burned, buthas consumed itself. I have never seen it except in the eyes of certainold Negroes. The only colorable imitation is to be found in the eyes ofmy setter pup when he crouches at my feet and beseeches kindness after apunishment. 

In bearing, as I have intimated, Clem was impressive. He was low-toned, easy of manner, with a flawless aplomb. As he served me those morningsin late summer, wearing a dress-coat of broadcloth, a choice relic ofhis splendid past, it was not difficult to see that he had been theassociate of gentlemen. 

As I ate of his cooking on a fair Sunday, I marvelled gratefully at theslender thread of chance that had drawn him to be my stay. Alone in thatlittle house, with no one to make it a home for me, Clem was the barrierbetween me and the fare of the City Hotel. Apparently without suggestionfrom me he had taken me for his own to tend and watch over. And themarvel was assuredly not diminished by the circumstance that I wasbeholden to Potts for this black comfort. 

Events were in train which were to intensify a thousand fold myamazement at the seeming inconsequence of really vital facts in this biglife-plot of which we are the puppets--events so incredible that todwell upon their relation to the minor accident of a mere Potts were toincur confusion and downright madness. 

Apparently, fate had never made a wilder, more purposeless cast thanwhen it brought Clem to Little Arcady with Potts. 

True, the circumstance enabled Potts for a time to refer to his"body-servant, " and to regale the chair-tilted loungers along the CityHotel front with a tale of picking the fellow up on a Southernbattle-field, and of winning his dog-like devotion by subsequent valorupon other fields. "It was pathetic, and comical, too, gentlemen, tohear that nigger beg me on his bended knees to take better care ofmyself and not insist upon getting to the front of every charge. 'Stayback and let some of the others do a little fighting, ' he would say, with tears rolling down his black cheeks. And I admit I was rash, but--"

Clem, not long after their arrival, confided to such of us as seemedworthy the less romantic tale that he had found the Colonel drunk on thestreets of Cincinnati. He had gone there to seek a fortune for his"folks" and had found the Colonel instead; found him under circumstanceswhich were typical of the Colonel's periods of relaxation. 

"Yes, seh, anybody coulda had that man when Ah found him, " averred Clem;"anybody could 'a' had him fo' th' askin'. A p'liceman offaseh neahlygit him--yes, seh. But Ah seen him befo' that, an' Ah speaks his noticeby sayin', 'This yeh ain' no good place to sleep, on this yeh hahd stonesidewalk. Yo' freeze yo'se'f, Mahstah, ' an' of cose Ah appreciated th'infuhmities of a genaman, but Ah induced him to put on his coat an' hishat an' his boots, an' he sais, 'Ah am Cunnel Potts, an' Ah mus' havemah eight houahs sleep. ' Ah sais to him, 'If yo' is a Cunnel, yo' is agenaman, an' Ah shall escoht yo' to yo' hotel. ' Raght then a p'licemanoffaseh come up, an' he sais, 'Yeh, yeh! what all this yeh row about?'an' Ah sais, 'Nothin' 'tall, Mahstah p'liceman offaseh, Ah's jes' takin'Mahstah Cunnel Potts to his hotel, seh, with yo' kindness, ' an' he sais, 'Git him out a yeh an' go 'long with yo' then, ' so Ah led th' Cunneloff, seh. An' eveh hotel he seen, he sais, 'Yes, tha' she is--tha's mahhotel, ' but the Mahstahs in th' hotels they all talk ve'y shawtly evehtime. They sais, 'No--_no_--g'wan, tek him out a' yeh--he ain' b'long inthis place, that man ain'. ' So we walk an' walk an' ultimately he sais, 'If Ah'm go'n' a' git mah eight houahs sleep this naght, Ah mus' beginsometime, --why not now?' So th' Cunnel lay raght down on th' thu'faihan' Ah set mahse'f down beside him twell he wake up in th' mawnin', notknowin' what hahm maght come to him. An' he neveh _did_ have no hotel inthat town, seh, --_no_, seh. He been talkin' reglah foolishness all thattheah time. An' he sais: 'Yo' stay by me, boy. Ah's go'n' a' go West tomek mah fo'chun. ' Well, seh, Ah was lookin' fo' a place to mek somefo'chun mahse'f fo mah folks, an' that theah Cincinnati didn't seem jes'th' raght place to set about it, so Ah sais, 'Thank yo' ve'y much, Mahstah Cunnel, ' an' Ah stays by him fo' a consid'ble length of time. "

But, little by little, after their coming to our town the Colonel hadalienated his companion by a lack of those qualities which Clem had beenaccustomed to observe in those to whom he gave himself. Potts was atlength speaking of him as an ungrateful black hound, and wondering ifthe nation might not have been injudicious in liberating the slave. 

Clem, for his part, cut the Colonel dead on Main Street one day andnever afterwards betrayed to him any consciousness of his existence. Itwas said that their final disagreement hinged upon a matter of thirtyodd dollars earned by Clem in a Cincinnati restaurant and confided laterto the Colonel's too thorough keeping. 

Be as it may, Clem had formed other and more profitable connections. From a doer of odd jobs of wood-sawing, house-cleaning, andstove-polishing he had risen to the dignity of a market gardener. Asmall house and a large garden a block away from my place were nowrented by him. Also he caught fish, snared rabbits, gathered the wildfruits in their seasons, and was janitor of the Methodist church; allthis in addition to looking after my own home. It was not surprisingthat he had money in the bank. He worked unceasingly. The earliestrisers in Little Arcady found him already busied, and those abroadlatest at night would see or hear him about the little unpainted housein the big garden. 

I suspect he had come out into the strange world of the North withlarge, loose notions that the fortune he needed might be speedilyamassed. Such tales had been told him in his Southland, where he had notlearned to question or doubt. If so, his disappointment was not to beseen in his bearing. That look of patient endurance may have eaten alittle deeper the lines about his inky eyes, but I am sure his purposehad never wavered, nor his faith that he would win at last. 

As I ate my breakfast that morning he told me of his good year. Theearly produce of his garden had sold well. Soon there would be half anacre of potatoes to dig, and now there was a fine crop of melons justcoming ripe. These he would begin to sell on the morrow. 

At this point, breakfast being done, the cloth brushed, and a lightbrought for my pipe, Clem came from the kitchen with a new pine board, upon which he had painted a sign with shoe polish. 

"Yes, seh, Mahstah Majah, --Ah beg yo' t' see if hit's raght!" and heheld it up to me. It read:--

 Mellins on Sale Mush & Water Ask Mr. Tuckerman at his House. 

I gave the thing a critical survey under his grave regard, thenapplauded the workmanship and hoped him a prosperous season with themelons. 

Then I beguiled him to talk of his land and his "folks, " delighting inhis low, soft speech, wherein the vowels languished and the r's faintedfrom sheer inertia. 

"But, Clem, you are a free man now. Those people can't claim yourservices any longer. "

I knew what he would say, but for the sake of hearing it once more, Ihad braved his quick look of commiseration for my shallowness ofunderstanding. 

"Yes, seh, Mahstah Majah, Ah knows 'bout that theah 'mancipationProcalmashum. But Ah was a ve'y diffunt matteh. Yo'-all see Ah was madeoveh t' Miss Cahline pussenly by Ole Mahstah. Yes, seh, Ah been MissCatiline's pussenal propity fo' a consid'able length of time, eveh senceshe was Little Miss. "

"But you are free, just the same, now. "

He looked upon me with troubled, grave eyes. 

"Well, seh, Mahstah Majah, Ah ain't eveh raghtly comp'ehended, but Ah'vereckoned that theah wah business an' Procalmashum an' so fothe was fo'common niggehs an' fiel' han's an' sech what b'long to th' place. But Ahwas diffunt. Ah ain't b'longed to th' place. Ah b'longed to Miss Cahlinelak Ah endeaveh to explain. Ah was a house niggeh an' futhamoah an'notwithstandin' Ah was th' pussenal propity of Miss Cahline. Yes, seh, Ah b'long dreckly to huh--an' Ah bet them theah lawyehs at Wash'nt'n, seh, couldn't kentrive none a' they laws that woulda teched _me_, seh. No, seh--they cain't lay th' law to Miss Cahline's pussenalities. Sheain't go'n' a' stan' no nonsense lahk _that_, seh; she ain't go'n a'have no lawyeh mixin' up in huh private mattehs. Ah lahk t' see one_try_ it--yes, seh. "

He gazed vacantly into the distance, then laughed aloud as he beheld thediscomfiture of the "lawyeh" in this suppositious proceeding. 

"And you even let your wife go?--that must have been hard. "

"Well, seh, not to _say_ mah wife. Mah raght wife, she daid--an' then Ahmahied this yeh light-shaded gehl fum th' quahtahs, an' she's wild an'misled--yes, seh. "

Again he was troubled, but I held him to it. 

"You thought a good deal of her, didn't you, Clem?"

He studied a moment as he rearranged the roses in the bowl on the table, seeking a way to let me understand. Then he sighed hopelessly. 

"Well, Mahstah Majah, Genevieve she cyahed a raght smaht fo' me, also, an' she mek it up fo' me t' come along t' town with huh. She sais Ah gita mewl an' a fahm an' thousan' dollehs money fum yo' Nawthen Presidentan' we all live lahk th' quality. But, yo'-all see, th' ole MahstahCunnel say when he go off to th' wah, 'Clem, yo' black houn', ef Ahdoan' eveh come back, these yeh ladies is lef in yo' pussenal chahge. Yo' unde'stan' _that?_ Yo' go on an' _do_ fo' 'em jes' lahk Ah was yeh. 'An' young Mahstah Cap'n Bev'ly, --he's Little Miss's engaged-to-mahygenaman, --he sais, 'Clem, ef Ah doan' neveh come back, Ah pray an'entrus' yo'-all t' cyah fo' Miss Kate an' huh Maw jes lahk Ah was yeh onth' spot. ' An Ah said, 'Yes, seh, ' an' they ain't neithah one a' themeveh did come back. Mahstah Cunnel he daid by th' hand o' yo' NawthenPresident at th' battle a' Seven Pines, an' Mahstah Cap'n Bev'lyGlentwo'th--yo' ole Mahstah Gen'al She'dan shoot him all t' pieces inhis chest one day. So theah Ah is--Ah _cain't_ leave--an' Genevievecomes a' repohtin' huhse'f to mek mah rediments, 'cause we all free an'go'n' a' go t' Richmond t' live high an' maghty, an' Ah sais, 'Ah'm MissCahline's pussenal propity--Ah ain't no fiel' niggeh!' She sais, 'Is yo'a' comin' aw is you _ain't_ a-comin'?' Ah sais, 'Ole Cunnel daid, youngCap'n daid--yo' go 'long an' min' yo' own mindin's--'"

He paused to look out over the waters with shining eyes. After a bit hesaid slowly, "Ah neveh thought Genevieve would go--but she did. "

"Then what?"

"Well, seh, Ah stayed on th' place twell we moved oveh to Miss Cahline'ssecon' cousin, Mahstah Cunnel Peavey, but they wa'n't nothin' theah, soAh sais t' Miss Cahline that Ah's goin' Nawth wheah all th' money is, an' Ah send fo' huh. So she sais, 'Ve'y good, Clem--yo' all Ah got left' mah name, ' an' so Ah come off. Then afteh while Little Miss she gitresty an' tehible fractious an' she go off t' Baltimoah t' teach in th'young ladies' educationals, an' Miss Cahline she still theah waitin' fo'me. Yes, seh, sh' ain't doin' nothin' but livin' on huh secon' cousinan' he ain' got nothin'--an' Ah lay Ah ain't go'n' a' have _that_ kinda' doin's. No, seh--a-livin' on Cunnel Looshe Peavey. Ah'm go'n' a' githuh yeh whah she kin be independent--"

Again he stopped to see visions. 

"An' then, afteh a tehible shawt while, Ah git Little Miss fum theeducationals an' they _both_ be independent. Yes, seh, Ah'm gittin' th'money--reglah gole money--none a' this yeh Vaginyah papah-rags money. Ahain't stahted good when Ah come, but Ah wagah ten hund'ed thousan'dollehs Ah finish up good!"

The last was a pointed reference to the Colonel. 

"Have you seen Colonel Potts lately?" I asked. Clem sniffed. 

"Yes, seh, on that tavehn cohnah, a-settin' on a cheer an' a-chestin'out his chest lahk a ole ma'ash frawg. 'Peahs like the man ain't gothawg sense, ack'in' that a-way. "

A concluding sniff left it plain that Potts had been put beyond the paleof gentility by Clem. 

He left me then to do his work in the kitchen--left me back on abattle-field, lying hurt beside an officer from his land who triedweakly to stanch a wound in his side as he addressed me. 

"A hot charge, sir--but we rallied--hear that yell from our men behindthe woods. You can't beat us. We needn't be told that. Whatever God is, he's at least a gentleman, above practical jokes of that sort. " Hegroaned as the blood oozed anew from his side, then pleaded with me tohelp him find the picture--to look under him and all about on theground. Long I mused upon this, but at last my pipe was out, and I awokefrom that troubled spot where God's little creatures had clashed intheir puny rage--awoke to know that this was my day to wander in anotherworld--the dream world of children, where everything is true that oughtto be true. 

CHAPTER VII

"A WORLD OF FINE FABLING"

Solon Denney's home, in charge of Mrs. Delia Sullivan, late of Kerry, was four blocks up the shaded street from my own. Within one block ofits gate as I approached it that morning, the Sabbath calm was riven byshouts that led me to the back of the house. In the yard next toSolon's, Tobin Crowder, of Crowder & Fancett, Lumber, Coal and BuildingSupplies, had left a magnificent green wagon-box flat upon the ground, athing so fine that it was almost a game of itself. An imagination ofeven the second order could at once render it supremely fascinating. Mytwo babes, collaborating with four small Sullivans, had by child magic, which is the only true magic, transformed this box into a splendidexpress train. The train now sped across country at such terrific speedthat the small Sullivan at the throttle, an artist and a realist, crouched low, with eyes strained upon the track-head, with one handtightly holding on his Sunday cap. 

Another Sullivan was fireman, fiercely shovelling imaginary coal; stillanother at the side of the box grasped the handle of the brake as oneready to die at his post if need be. The last Sullivan paced the lengthof the wagon-box, being thrown from side to side with fine artistry bythe train's jolting. He arrogantly demanded tickets from passengerssupposedly both to relinquish these. And in his wake went the officialmost envied by all the others. With a horse's nose-bag upon his arm mynamesake chanted in pleading tones above the din, "Peanuts--freshlybuttered popcorn--Culver's celebrated double-X cough drops, cool andrefreshing!"

But the tragic eminence of the game was occupied by my woman child. Perched in the middle of the high seat, her short legs impotentlyprojecting into space, she was the only passenger on this train--andshe, for whose sole behoof the ponderous machinery was operated, inwhose exclusive service this crew of trained hirelings toiled--she sataloft indignant, with tear-wet face, her soul revolted by the ignominyof it. 

I knew the truth in a glance. There had been clamors for the positionsof honor, and she, from weakness of sex, had been overborne. She, whoseheart cried out for the distinction of train-boy, conductor, engineer, brakeman, or fireman, in the order named, had been forced into the onlydegrading post in the game--a mere passenger without voice or office inthose delicate feats of administration. And she suffered--suffered witha pathetic loyalty, for she knew as well as they that some one _had_ tobe the passenger. 

I held an accusing eye upon my namesake and the train came to a suddenhalt, much embarrassed, though the brakeman, with artistic relish, madea vast ado with his brake and pretended that "she" might start off againany minute. 

My namesake poised himself on the foot that had no stone-bruise andbegan:--

"Now, Uncle Maje, I _told_ her she could be engineer after we got to thenext station--"

His tones were those of benevolence that has been ill-requited. 

"_That_ was las' station, " broke in the aggrieved passenger, "an' theywouldn't stop the train there 'cause they said it was a 'spress trainand mustn't stop at such little stations--"

"I tried awful hard to stop her, " said the crafty Sullivan at thethrottle, "but she got away from me. She did _so_, now!"

"And I said, 'First to be engineer, '" resumed the passenger, bitterly, "an' they wouldn't let me, an' I said, 'Secon' to be engineer, ' an' theynever let me, an' I said, 'Las' to be engineer, ' an' they never let me. "

"She wants to be _everything_" said my namesake, rendered a littlesullen by this concise putting of her case. 

"You come with me, " I said to the passenger, "and we'll do somethingbetter than this--something fine!"

Her face brightened, for she knew that I never made idle promises as doso many grown-ups. She jumped from her seat, even though the firstSullivan tooted a throaty whistle and the second rattled his brakemachinery in warning. I helped her over the side of the box, and as wewalked away she shouted back to the bereaved express train a consolatorycouplet:--

 "First the worst, second the same, Last the best of all the game!"

That superb machinery of travel was silent, and the mechanics andofficials, robbed of their passenger, eyed us with disfavor. 

"They are terrapin-buzzards!" exclaimed my woman child, with deepconviction. 

I shuddered fittingly at the violence of her speech. 

Before we had gone far the train-boy deserted his post and came runningafter us. 

"John B. Gough!" he exclaimed bitterly--profanely. 

"He's swearing, " warned his sister. "Look out, Uncle Maje, or he'll say'Gamboge' next. "

"I don't care, " retorted the indignant follower; "you can't have a trainwithout any passenger--it's silly. I don't care if I do say Gamboge. There! Gamboge it!"

I turned upon him. I had endured "terrapin-buzzards, " hurled at thegroup by my woman child, perceiving need of relief for her pent-uppassion. I had, moreover, for the same reason, permitted my namesake toroll under his tongue the formidable and satisfying expletive, "John B. Gough!" But I felt that the line must be drawn at Gamboge. Terrapin-buzzards was bad enough, though it was true that this might beused innocently, as in a moment of mild dismay, or as an exclamation ofmere astonishment without sinister import. But Gamboge!--and ripped outbrazenly as it had been?--No! A thousand times No!

"Calvin, " I said sternly, "aren't you ashamed to use suchlanguage--before me--and before your little sister?"

But here the little sister sank beneath her true woman's level bysaying:--

"I know worse than that--Dut!"

With a look of deadly coldness I sought to chill the pride that shone inher eyes as she achieved this new enormity. 

"What is 'Dut'?" I asked severely. 

"Dut is--is _a_ Dut, " she answered, somewhat abashed by my want ofenthusiasm. 

"A Dut is a baddix--a regular baddix, " volunteered her brother. Following a device familiar to philologists, he submitted concreteexamples. 

"Two of those Sullivans are Duts, and so's Mrs. Sullivan sometimes whenshe makes me split kindling and let the cat alone and--"

"That will do, " I said; "that's enough of such talk. Come right into thehouse. "

"It ain't a baddix to say 'O Crackers!'" he observed tentatively, as hefollowed us. 

"It may not be for some people, " I answered. "Nice people might say thatonce in a great while, on week-days, if they never said any otherbaddixes; but it's just as bad as any of them if you say all theothers--especially that horrible one--"

"Gamboge, " he reminded me, brightly. 

"Never mind saying it again!"

Then came a new uproar from the wagon-box. We perceived that the trainhad moved off again, manned now entirely by Sullivans. They sought, Idetected, to produce in our minds an impression that the thing was goingbetter than ever. The toots of the Sullivan-throated whistle were louderand more frequent, and the voice of the largest could be plainly heard. He had combined the two offices of train-boy and conductor. We heard himalternately demanding "Tickets!" and urging "Peanuts, cakes, andcandies!" If the intention had been to lure us back to witness aSullivan triumph, it failed. We shut our lips tightly and moved aroundto the front porch. 

The foiled Sullivans presently followed us here. They made a group atthe base of a maple on the lawn and, affecting not to notice us, talkedin a large, loud way so that we must overhear and be made envious, --evenawe-struck; for they had all secured jobs on the real railroad, itappeared. They would have to begin to-morrow, probably. They didn't knowfor sure, but they thought it would be to-morrow. It would be fine, riding off on the big train. Probably they would never come back to thistown, but sleep on their big engine every night; and every day, from thetoothsome dainties of the train-boy Sullivan's basket, they would "eatall they could hold. " The elder Sullivan, aged eight, he of theartistic temperament, here soared dizzily into the farthest ether ofromance. He had his uniform at home, at that very moment, and a cap with"gold reading" on it--it read "Conductor" on one side, and "Candy" onthe other. Only--this veritably smacked of genius--the blue coat withthe gold buttons had been made too small for him, and he'd have to waituntil they sent him a larger size--"a No. 12, " he said, with a careless, unseeing glance at our group. This was a stroke that had nearly done forone of us--but a moment's resistance and another of sober reflectionsaved him. He flashed to me a look of scorn for the clumsy fabrication. 

There was still a brakeman needed, it appeared, --a _good_ brakeman. TheSullivans consulted importantly, wondering if "a good man" could by anychance be found "around here. " They named and rejected several possiblecandidates--other boys that we knew. And they wondered again. No--probably every one around here was afraid to leave home, or wouldn'tbe strong enough. 

I held my breath, perceiving at once, the villany on foot. They weretrying to lure one of us into a trap. They wished one of us to leapforward with a glad, eager, artless shout--"_I'll_ be the otherbrakeman!" At once they would jeer coarsely, slapping one another'sbacks and affecting the utmost merriment that this one of us should havebeen equal to so monstrous a pretension. This would last a long time. They would take up other matters only for the sake of coming back to itwith sudden explosions of contemptuous mirth. 

Happily, the one of us most liable to this ignominy remained unbelievingto the bitter end; even did he pretend to a yawning sort of interest ina book carelessly picked up. The Sullivans had been foiled at everyturn, and now we were relieved from the covert but not less pointedinsult of their presence. 

Mrs. Delia, her morning's work done, came out dressed for church, bidding me a briskly sad little "Good marnin', _Major!_" I respondedpleasantly, for in a way I liked Mrs. Sullivan, who came each day fromher bare little house under the hill to make a home for Solon and ourchildren. At least she was kind to them and kept them plump. That sheremained dismal under circumstances that seemed to me not to warrant itwas a detail of minor consequence. Terry Sullivan had been no goodhusband to her. Beating her and the lesser Sullivans had been hisserious aim when in liquor and his diversion when out. But he fell froma gracious scaffolding with a. Bucket of azure paint one day andfractured his stout neck, a thing which in the general opinion of LittleArcady Heaven had meant to be consummated under more formal auspices. 

But when they took Terry home and laid him on her bed, she had wailedabsurdly for the lost lover in him. Through the night her cry had been, "Ah, Terry, Terry, --ye gev me manny a haird blow, darlin', but ye kep'th' hairdest til th' last!"

It was not possible to avoid being irritated a little by such a woman, but I always tried to conceal this from her. I suppose she had a rightto her own play-world. She was dressed now in a limp black of many rustyruffles that sagged close to her and glistened in spots through itsrust. Both the dress and the spiritless silk bonnet that circled herkeen little face seemed to have been cried over a long time--to bealways damp with her tears. 

With parting injunctions to my namesake to let the cat alone, not to"track up" the kitchen, and not to play with matches, the little womanlovingly cuffed the conspiring lesser Sullivans into a decorous linebehind her and marched them off to church. There, I knew, she would givefrom her poor wage that the soul of dead Terry should be the soonerprayed out of a place, which, it would seem, might have been createdwith an eye single to his just needs. 

Thinking of woman's love, --that, like the peace of God it passeth allunderstanding, --I officiated absently as one of two guests at a"tea-party. " My fellow-guest was a large doll braced stiffly in itschair; a doll whose waxen face had been gouged by vandal nails. That wasan old tragedy, though a sickening one at the time. The doll had been myChristmas offering to the woman child, and in the dusk of that joyousday my namesake had craved of its proud mother the boon of holding it alittle while. Relinquished trustingly to him, he had sat with it by acheerful fire--without evil intent, I do truly believe. Surely it wasby chance that he found its waxen face softening under the stove'sglow--and has Heaven affixed nails to any boy of seven that, in a duskyroom at a quiet moment, would have behaved with more restraint? I trownot. One surprised dig and all was lost. Of that fair surface of roundedcheek, fattened chin, and noble brow not a square inch was leftungouged. It was indeed a face of evil suggestion that the unsuspectingmother took back. 

That was the evening when the Crowders, living next door, had rushedover in the belief that my woman child was being murdered. The criminalhad never been able to advance the shadow of a reason or excuse for hismad act. He seemed to be as honestly puzzled by it as the rest of us, though I rejoice to say that he was not left without reason to deploreit. 

But the mother--the true mother--had thereafter loved the disfiguredthing but the more. She promptly divested it of all its splendidgarments, as a precaution against further vandalism, and the naked thingwith its scarred face was ever an honored guest at our functions. 

"You really must get some clothes for Irene, " I said. "That's not quitethe right thing, you know, having her sit there without any. "

In much annoyance she rebuked me, whispering, for this thoughtless lapsefrom my rôle as guest. At our parties Irene was no longer Irene, but"Mrs. Judge Robinson, " and justly sensitive about her faulty complexionand lack of clothes. 

"Besides, " came the whisper again, "I am going to make her someclothes--a lovely veil to go over her face. "

Resuming her company voice, and with the aplomb of a perfect hostess whohas rectified the gaucherie of an awkward guest, she pressed upon meanother cup of the custard coffee, and tactfully inquired of thesupposedly embarrassed Mrs. Judge Robinson if she did not think this was_very_ warm weather for this time of year. 

The proprieties being thus mended, our hostess raised her voice and badeMrs. Sullivan, within doors, to hurry with the next course, which, I wascharmed to learn, would be lemon soup and frosted cake. Mrs. Sullivan'sresponse, though audible only to her mistress, who was compelled to cockan intent ear toward the kitchen, seemed to be in some manner shufflingor evasive. 

"What's _that_?" she exclaimed sharply, listening again. Then, withdignity, "Well, if you _don't_ hurry, I'll have to come right in thereand see to you this minute!"

The threat happily availed, and the feast went forward, a phantom andduly apologetic Mrs. Sullivan serving us with every delicacy which ourimaginations afforded. When we had eaten to repletion, of and from thecheckers which were our plates and food as well, Mrs. Judge Robinsonsuddenly became Irene, who had eaten too much and had to be scolded andput to bed. The lights were out, the revelry done. 

"Going walking now?" asked my namesake. He did not know how to behave attea-parties, and, sitting at a little distance from us, he had beenaiming an imaginary gun at every fat robin that mined the lawn forsustenance. 

"Ask your father if you may go, " I said. I had heard Solon pacing hisroom--forever cogitating the imminent Potts. I did not enter the houseoftener than I could help, for always in those rooms I felt a troubledpresence, a homesick thing that pushed two frail white hands against anintangible but sufficing curtain that held it from those it sickenedfor. I could not long be easy there. 

It was a day poised and serene, with white brush-dabs of cloud on awonderful canvas of blue, --a day when I longed for the honeyed fragranceof the woods warming from the last night's rain. 

But this was not to be my walk. Not for me the shaded arches of the woodwhere glad birds piped, nor the velvet hillsides tufted with green andyellow and brown, nor eke the quiet lane running between walls offoliage, where simple rabbits scampered, amazed, but not yet taughttheir fullest fear. 

The butterflies we must chase hovered rather along urban ways. That ofthe woman child was social. Ahead of us she flounced. Strangely, she washerself Mrs. Judge Robinson now. I understood that she was decked in agown of royal purple, whose sweeping velvet train gave her no littletrouble. But she paid her calls. At each gate she stopped, and it seemedthat persons met her there, for she began:--

"Why, how do you _do?_ Yes, it's lovely weather we're having. Are yourchildren got the scarlet fever? That's too bad. So has mine. I'm afraidthey'll die. Well, I must be going now. _Good_ day!"

Sometimes she ran back to say, "Now do come over some day and bring yourwork!"

The butterflies pursued by my namesake were various, and some of themwere more secret. 

For one he made me stand with him while he gazed long into thedrug-store window. I divined at last that those giant chalices, one ofgreen and one of ruby liquor, were the objects of his worship. He couldnot have told me this, but I knew that in his mind these were compoundsof unparalleled richness, potent with Heaven knows what wondrous charms. It was not that he dreamed ever of securing any of the stuff; the spellendured only while they must stand there, remote, splendid, inaccessible. 

Then we strolled down the quiet street to a road that went close to therailway. And there, with beating hearts, we beheld the two-twentyEastern freight rattle superbly by us. From the cab of its inspiringlocomotive one of fortune's favorites rang a priceless gold bell with anair of indifference which we believed in our hearts was assumed toimpress us. And notwithstanding our suspicion, we _were_ impressed, fordid we not know that he could reach up his other hand and blow thesplendid whistle if he happened to feel like it?

After the locomotive came the closed and mysterious box-cars, importantwith big numbers and initials in cabalistic sequence, indicating a wideand exciting range of travels. Then came stock cars, from between theslats of which strange and envied cattle looked out on their way to awondrous city; and there was a car of squealing pigs, who seemed not towant to ride on a real train; and some cars of sheep that were stupidlyindifferent about the whole thing. At the last was a palatial "caboose", and toward this, over the tops of the moving cars, a happy brakeman madehis exciting progress, not having to hold on, or anything. He casuallywaved an arm at us, a salute that one of our number, in acknowledging, sought to imitate, for the cool, indifferent flourish of its arm, as ifit were a common enough thing for us to be noticed by the mighty fromtheir eminences. 

This was my namesake's most beautiful of butterflies. Any one couldunderstand that. As the train lost itself in smoke I knew well what hefelt. I knew that that smoke of soft coal was so delicious, so wonderfulof portent in his nostrils, that throughout his life it would bring upthe wander-bidding in him--always a strange sweet passion of _starting_. Even now the journey-wonder was in his eyes. I knew that he saw himselfjauntily stepping the perilous tops of cars, clad in a coat of paddedshoulders bound with wide braid, a lantern on his arm, coal dustsmudging the back of his neck, and two fingers felicitously gone fromhis left hand. 

I coughed, to recall him from visions. He looked up at me, a littleshyly, debating--but why should it not be told?

"Uncle Maje--when I grow up, I'm going off to be a brakeman. "

"I know it, " I said quietly. 

"Won't it be just fine!"

"It's the very finest life in all the world. I hoped for it myself once, but I was disappointed. "

He gave me a quick look of sympathy. 

"Wouldn't they let you?"

"Well, they were afraid I'd be hurt--only I knew I wouldn't be--anythingto speak of--a couple of fingers, perhaps--"

"Off the left hand, " he suggested understandingly. 

"Of course, --off the left hand. "

"That brakeman on No. 3 has got two off _his_ left hand, " was the finalcomment. 

We retraced our steps; but there was yet another butterfly of mynamesake's. He led us to a by-path that followed the river bank up tothe bridge, running far ahead of us. When we reached him he was seated, dumb with yearning, before a newly painted sign, "GO TO BUDD'S FOR AN UP-TO-DATE 25 CT. DINNER. "

He was obliged to limp that day, for his stone-bruise was coming onfinely; but he had gone half a mile out of his way to worship at thiswayside shrine. Again he was dreaming. In the days of his opulence hesaw himself going to Budd's. Fortunately for his illusions the price wasnow prohibitive. I had been to Budd's myself. 

"Have you ever been there?" I asked of the dreamer. 

"I've been in his store, in the front part, where the candy is--and ifyou go 'round when he's freezing ice cream, he'll give you a wholeten-cent dish just for turning the freezer; but Pop won't let me stayout of school to do it, and Budd don't freeze Saturdays. But some day--"he paused. Then, with seemingly another idea:--

"He's got an awful funny sign up over the counter. "

He would not tell me what the sign was, though, He shuffled and talkedof other things. I entered Budd's on the morrow, purposely to read it, and I knew that my namesake had quailed before it. The sign was inwhite, frosted letters, on a blue ground, and it ran:--

 TO TRUST IS TO BUST TO BUST IS HELL NO TRUST, NO BUST, NO HELL. 

Its syllogistic hardness was repellant, but I dare say it preserved agorgeous butterfly from utter extinction. 

Home again at early twilight, we ate of a cold supper set out for us byMrs. Sullivan. And here I reflected that good days often end badly, formy namesake betrayed extreme dissatisfaction with the food. 

"Why don't we have that pudding oftener--with lather on top of it?" washis first outbreak. And at last he felt obliged to declare bitterly, "Wedon't have a thing that's fit to eat!"

"Calvin, " said his father, "if I have to whip, it will hurt you worsethan it does me. "

Whereupon the complainer was wisely silent, but later I heard himasserting, between catches of his breath, and out of his father'shearing:--

"I don't care--(_a sniff_)--when I'm rich, I'll go to Budd's for anup-to-date dinner, you bet--(_a snuffle_)--I'll probably go there everyday of my life--(_two snuffles_)--yes, sir--Sundays and all!"

I cheered him as best I could. 

His sister had saved her day to a happy end, babbling off to bed withthe distressing Irene, to whom she would show a book of pictures untilsleep shut off her little eyelid. 

A wise old man--I believe he was a bishop--once said he knew "thatoutside the real world is a world of fine fabling. "

I had stolen a day from that world. Now I hurried through the gloom ofthe hall, past the poor striving hands, to sit with Solon Denney andtell him of a peculiar thing I had observed during the afternoon's walk. 

CHAPTER VIII

ADVENTURE OF BILLY DURGIN, SLEUTH

I spoke to Solon of Billy Durgin, whose peculiar, not to say mysterious, behavior I had been compelled to notice. I had first observed him thatafternoon as we passed the City Hotel. Through the window of the littlewash-room, where I saw that he was polishing a pair of shoes, he hadwinked at me from over his task, and then erected himself to make apuzzling gesture with one hand. Again, while we stood dream-bound beforethe window of the corner drug store, he had sent me a low whistle fromacross the street, following this with another puzzling arm wave;whereat he had started toward us. But instead of accosting me, as I hadthought he meant to, he rushed by, with eyes rigidly ahead and his thinjaws grimly set. Throughout the stroll he haunted us, adhering to thisstrange line of conduct. I would turn a corner, to find Billy apparentlywaiting for me a block off. Then would follow a signal of nodeterminable import, after which he would walk swiftly past me as ifunaware of my presence. Once I started to address him, but was met with"_Not a word_!" hissed at me in his best style from between clenchedteeth. 

I decided at last that Billy was playing a game of his own. For BillyDurgin, though sixteen years old, had happy access to our world of finefabling; and to this I knew he resorted at those times when his dutiesas porter at the City Hotel palled upon his romantic spirit. 

Billy, in short, was a detective, well soaked in the plenteousliterature of his craft and living in the dream that criminals would oneday shudder at the bare mention of his name. 

Nor was he unprovided with a badge of office. Upon his immature chest, concealed by his waist-coat, was an eight-pointed star emblazoned withan open eye. Billy had once proudly confided to me that the star was"pure German Silver. " A year before he had answered an advertisementwhich made known that a trusty man was wanted in every community "to actfor us in a confidential capacity. Address for particulars, with stamp. "

The particulars were that you sent the International DetectiveAssociation five dollars for a badge. After that you were theirconfidential agent, and if a "case" occurred in your territory, you werethe man they turned to. 

Billy's five hard-earned dollars had gone to the great city, and backhad come his star. He wore it secretly at first, but was moved at lengthto display it to a few chosen friends; not wisely chosen, it wouldappear, for now there were mockers of Billy among the irreverent of thetown. As he sat aloft on his boot-blacking throne, waiting for crime tobe done among us, conning meantime one of those romances in which hisheroes did rare deeds, he would be subjected to intrusion. Some coarsetown humorist would leer upon him from the doorway--a leer of furtive, devilish cunning--and whisper hoarsely, "Hist! Are we alone?"

Struck thus below the belt of his dignity, our hero could onlyrespond:--

"Aw, that's all right! You g'wan out a' here now an' quit your foolin'!"

But criminals seemed to have conspired against Little Arcady, to cheatit of its rightful distinction. In vain had Billy waited for a "case" tobe sent him by the International Detective Agency. In vain had he soughtto develop one by his own ferreting genius. Each week he searched thecolumns of the police paper in Harpin Gust's barber-shop, fixing in hismind the lineaments of criminals there advertised as wanted in variouscorners of our land. These were counterfeiters, murderers, embezzlers, horse-thieves, confidence men, what not--criminals to satisfy a sleuthof the most catholic tastes; but they were all wanted elsewhere--atAltoona, Pennsylvania, or Deming, New Mexico; at Portland, Maine, orDodge City, Kansas. In truth, the country elsewhere swarmed with Billy'slawful prey, and only Little Arcady seemed good. 

Billy also gloated over the portraits of well-known deputy sheriffs andother officers of the law printed in the same charming police paper. Itseemed not too much to hope that his own likeness might one day gracethat radiant page--himself in a long, fashionable overcoat, carelesslyflung back to reveal the badge, with its never closing eye, andunderneath, "William P. Durgin, the Dashing Young Detective, whoseCoolness, Skill, and Daring have made his Name a Terror to Evil-Doers. "

Famished for adventure, thirsting for danger, yearning for the perilousmidnight encounter, avid of secrecy and disguises, Billy had been forcedto toil prosaically, barrenly, unprofitably, about the sinless corridorsof the City Hotel. All he had been able to do thus far was to regardevery newcomer to the town with a steely eye of distrust; to watch eachone furtively, to shadow him in his walks, and to believe during hissojourn that he might be "Red Mike, alias James K. Brown, wanted forsafe-breaking at Muskegon, Michigan; reward, $1000, " or some likedesperado. 

As such did he view them all--from the ornately garbed young man whocame among us purveying windmills to the portly, broadclothed, gray-whiskered and forbiddingly respectable colporteur of the AmericanBible Society. Some day would his keen gray eye penetrate the cunningdisguise; some day would he step quietly up to his man and say in lowbut deadly tones: "Come with me, now. Make no trouble or it will be theworse for you. " Whereupon the guilty wretch would blanch and say inshaking voice: "My God, it's Billy Durgin, the famous detective! Don'tshoot--I'll come!"

Billy had faith that this dramatic episode would occur in the veryoffice of the City Hotel, and he believed that some of those who hadjoked him about his life passion would thereafter treat him in a verydifferent manner. 

Though I had long won these facts from Billy, I had never known him toplay his game so openly before. But when I mentioned the thing to Solon, thinking to beguile him from his trouble, I found him more interestedthan I had thought he could be; for Solon knew Billy as well as I did, "Did Billy follow you here?" he asked. "Perhaps he has a clew. "

"A clew to what?"

"A clew to Potts. Billy volunteered to work up the Potts case, and Itold him to go ahead. "

"Was that fair, Solon, to pit a sleuth as relentless as Billy againstpoor Potts?"

"All's fair in love and war. "

"Is it really war?"

"You ask Westley Keyts if he thinks it's love. "

I think I noticed for the first time then that the Potts affair wasetching lines into Solon's face. 

"Of course it's war, " he went on. "You know the fix I'm in. I had theplan to get Potts out. It was a good plan, too. The more I think of itthe better I like it. With any man in the world but Potts that planwould have been a stroke of genius. But I don't mind telling you thatthis thing has robbed me of sleep for three months. Potts has got metalking to myself. I wake up talking of him, out of the little sleep Ido get. I'll tell you the fact--if Potts is here six weeks longer, andlet to finish this canvas, my influence in Slocum County is gone. Imight as well give up and move on to another town myself, where mydreadful secret is unknown. "

"Nonsense! But what can Billy Durgin do?"

"Well, I'm desperate, that's all. And one night Billy had me meet him upby the cemetery--he came disguised in long black whiskers--and he toldme that Potts was James Carruthers, better known to the police of twocontinents as 'Smooth Jim, ' wanted for robbing the post-office at Lima, Ohio. Of course that's nonsense. Potts hasn't the wit to rob apost-office. But I didn't have the heart to tell Billy so. I told him, instead, that this was the chance of his life; to fasten to Potts likean enraged leech, and draw out every secret of his dark past. You can'ttell--Billy might find something to pry him into the next county with, anyway. "

"He certainly looked charged with information this afternoon. He wasfizzing like an impatient soda fountain. But why did he follow me?"

"Well, that might be Billy's roundabout way of getting to me. The othertime he shadowed Marvin Chislett to get a message to me. If you're adetective, you can't do things the usual way, or all may be lost. "

At that instant a low whistle sounded in our ears, a small missile wasthrown over the evergreen hedge, bounding almost to our feet, and aslight but muscular figure was seen retreating swiftly into the dusk. 

Solon sprang for the mysterious object. It was a stone, about which waswrapped a sheet of paper. This he took off and smoothed out. By thefading light we made out to read: "Meet me at graveyard steps atmidnight. You know who. "

We looked at each other. "Why didn't he come in here?" I asked. 

"That wouldn't have been detective-like. "

"But the graveyard at midnight!"

"Well, perhaps he won't hold out for midnight--Billy is merely poetic attimes--and maybe if we hurry along, we can catch up with him and have itout by the marble works there instead of going clear on to the cemetery. Perhaps that will be near enough in the right spirit for Billy. "

Quickly we made ready for the desperate assignation, pulling our hatswell down, in a way that we thought Billy would approve. 

Four blocks along the street, by rapid walking, we came within hail ofthe intrepid young detective. We were also opposite the marble yard ofCornelius Lawson, who wrought monuments for the dead of Little Arcady. In front of the shop were a dozen finished and half-finished stones, ghostly white in the dusk. It seemed indeed to be a spot impressiveenough to meet even Billy's captious requirements, but we had underratedthe demands of his artist's conscience. Solon called to him. 

"Won't this do, Billy?"

Billy stopped dramatically, turned back upon us, and then exploded:--

"Fools! Would you ruin all? You must not be seen addressing me. Now Imust disguise myself. "

Turning stealthily from us, he swiftly adjusted a beard that swept itssable flow down his youthful chest. Then he addressed us again, still intense, hoarse accents. 

"Are you armed?"

"To the teeth!" answered Solon, with deadly grimness, and with apresence of mind which I envied. 

"Then follow me, but at a distance!"

Meekly we obeyed. While our hero stalked ahead, stroking his luxuriantwhiskers ever and anon, we pursued him at an interval so great that notthe most alert citizen of Little Arcady could have suspected thissinister undercurrent to his simple life. 

It is a long walk to the cemetery, but we reached it to find Billyseated on the steps that lead over the fence, still shielded by hishairy envelope. 

"A tough case!" he whispered as we sat by him. "Our man has his spiesout, and my every step is dogged both night and day. "

"Indeed?" we asked. 

"You know that slim little duck that got in last night, purtendin' he'sa shoe-drummer? Well, he's a detective hired by Potts to shadow me. Youknow that big fat one, lettin' on he's agent for the Nonesuch DuplexWashin' Machine? He's another. You know that slick-lookin' cuss--like aminister--been here all week, makin' out he was canvassin' for 'TheScenic Wonders of Our Land' at a dollar a part, thirty-six parts and aportfoly to pack 'em away in? Well, he's an--"

"Hold on, Billy, let's get down to business, " reminded Solon. 

"But I've throwed 'em all off for the nonce, " continued Billy, lookingclosely, I thought, to see if we were rightly affected by "nonce. "

"Yes, sir, it's been the toughest darned case in my whole experience asan inside man. "

He waited for this to move us. 

"What have you found out?" asked Solon; "and say, can't you take offthose whiskers, now that we are alone and unobserved? You know they kindof scramble your voice. "

With cautious looks all about him, Billy bared his tender young face tothe night. A weak wind fretted in the cedars back of us, and an owlhooted. It was not an occasion that he would permit to glide by him tooswiftly. 

"Well, first I had to git my skeleton keys made. "

"I thought you said his door was never locked, " interrupted Solon. 

"That might be only a ruse, " suggested our hero. "Well, I got my keysmade, and then I begun to search his room. That's always a delicate job. You got to know just how. First I looked under the aidges of the carpet, clear around. Nothing rewarded my masterly search. Then I examines thebed and mattress inch by inch, with the same discouragin' results. "Billy had now drifted fairly into the exciting manner of his favoriteauthors. 

"Baffled, but not beaten, I nex' turns my attention to the pictures, examinin' with a trained eye the backs of same, where might be cunninglyconcealed the old will--uh--I mean the incriminatin' dockaments thatwould bring the craven wretch to bay and land him safely behind the barsof jestice. But it seemed like I had the cunning of a fiend to contendwith. No objeks of interest was revealed to my swift but thoroughexamination. Thence I directed my attentions to the wall-paper, wellknowin' the desperate tricks to which the higher class of criminal willofttimes resort to. Once I thought the game was up and all was lost. That new Swede chambermaid walks right in an' ketches me at my delicatetasks. 

"Always retainin' my calm presence of mind and coolness in emergencies, quick to think an' as ready to act, with an undaunted bravery I sprangat the girl's throat and hissed, 'How much will it take to silence youraccursed tongue?' She draws her slight girlish figure up to its fullheight--'Ten thousand dollars!' she hissed back at me. 'Ten thousanddevils!' I cried, hoarse with rage--"

Too palpably our hero had been overwhelmed by his passion for fictitiousprose narrative. 

"Hold on, Billy!--back up, " broke in Solon. "This is business, youknow--this isn't an Old Cap' Collyer tale. "

"Well, anyway, " resumed Billy, a little abashed, "I silenced the girl. Ithreatened to have her transported for life if she breathed a word. Mebbe she didn't suspect anything after all. Tilly ain't so very bright. So at length I continues my researches into every nook and cranny of theden, and jest as I was about to abandon the trail, baffled and beaten atevery turn, what should I git but an idee to look at some papers lyin'in plain sight on the table at the head of the bed. "

"Well, out with it!" I thought Solon was growing a little impatient. ButBilly controlled the situation with a firm hand. 

"It's an old trick, " he continued, "one that's fooled many a better manthan Billy Durgin--leavin' the dockaments carelessly exposed like theydidn't amount to anything; but havin' the well-known tenacity of abloodhound, I was not to be thwarted. Well--to make a long storyshort--"

Solon brightened wonderfully. 

"I have to admit that my first suspicion was incorrect. He ain't the onethat done that Lima, Ohio, job and carried off them eight hundreddollars' worth of stamps--"

"But what _did_ he do?"

"Well, I got a clew to another past of his--"

"What is it? Let's have it!"

Billy was still not to be driven faster than a detective story shouldmove. 

We heard, and dimly saw, him engaged with a metallic object which hedrew from under his coat. We were silent. Then we heard him say:--

"My lamp's went out--_darn_ these matches!"

At last he seemed to light something. He unfolded a bit of paper beforeus and triumphantly across its surface he directed the rays of abull's-eye lantern. This was his climax. We studied the paper. 

"Billy, " said Solon, after a pause, "this looks like a good night'swork. True, it may come to naught. We may still be baffled, foiled, thwarted at every turn--and yet something tells me that the man is inour power--that by this precious paper we may yet bring the scoundrel tohis knees in prayers for our mercy, craven with fear at our knowledge. "

"Say, " said Billy, stung to admiration by this flow of the right sort oftalk, "Mr. Denney, did you ever read 'Little Rosebud, or is Beauty aCurse to a Poor Girl?' That sounded just like the detective in that--youremember--where he's talkin' to Clarence Armytage just after he'soverheard the old lawyer tell Mark Vinton, the villain, 'If this childlives, you are a beggar!' Remember that?"

"Why, no, Billy. I must get that, first thing in the morning. My tributeto your professional skill was wholly spontaneous, though perhaps ashade influenced by having listened to your own graphic style. But come, men! Let us separate and be off, ere we are discovered. And mind, not aword of this. One false step might ruin all! So have a care. "

It must have been one of the few perfect moments in the life of Billy. 

"You may rely upon William Durgin to the bitter end, " said he, with aquiet dignity. "But there is work yet ahead for me to-night. 

"I got to regain my hotel unobserved. My life is not safe a moment withmy every step dogged by the hired assassins of that infamous scoundrel. "

"If death or disaster come to you, Billy, you shall not be unavenged. Weswear it here on this spot. _Swear_, Cal!"

"Say, " Billy called back to us, after adjusting his beard, "if anythingcomes of this, --rewards or anything, --first thing I'm goin' a' do--gitme a good forty-four Colts. You can't stop a man with this here littletwenty-two, an' it's only a one-shot at that. I'd be in a _nice_ holesometime, wouldn't I, with my back up against a wall an' six or seven of'em comin' for me an' nothin' but _this_ in my jeans?"

"Point that the other way, Billy--we'll see about a bigger one later. Wecan't do anything to-night. And sell your life as dearly as possible ifyou have to sell it. "

I fell asleep that night on a conviction that our taste for barrenreality is our chief error. If we could only believe forever, what agood world it could be--"a world of fine fabling, " indeed! Also Iwondered what J. Rodney Potts might have to apprehend from the leaven offact in the fabling of Billy Durgin. 

CHAPTER IX

HOW THE BOSS SAVED HIMSELF

He whom they had, with facetious intent, called "the Boss of LittleArcady" now began to wear a mien of defiance. From being confessedlydistraught, he displayed, as the days went by, a spiritual uplift thatfell but little short of arrogance. He did not permit any reason to berevealed for this marked change of demeanor. He was confident butsecretive, serene but furtive, as one who has endured gibes for the sakeof one brilliant _coup_. 

This apparently causeless change permeated even to the columns of the_Argus_. It had been observed by more than one of us that these had oflate suffered from the depression of their editor. Their general tonehad been negative. Now they spoke in a lightsome tone ofself-sufficiency. They were gay, even jaunty. It was in this very epochthat the verse was born which for many years sang blithely from the topof the first column--sang of Denney's public-spirited optimism as toSlocum County and the Little Country. 

 Keep your eye on Slocum, She's all right! Her skies are clear and full of cheer, And all her prospects bright. 

As pointing more specifically to the incubus of Potts, there wasthis:--

"Lots of people are saying that we have met our Waterloo. They forgetthat Waterloo was a _victory_ as well as a defeat. Two men met it, andthe name of one was Wellington. Look it up in your encyclopaedia. "

But the faction of Potts, it should be noted, saw no reason to beimpressed by a vaunting so vague. It had not tempered its hopefulness. 

Its idol was jubilant, careless as a schoolboy, babbling but sober. The_Banner_ still challenged the world with its page-wide line: "PottsForever! Potts the Coming Man!"

Certain hopeful souls among the opposition had taken counsel how theymight cause Potts to fall by means of strong drink. They had observedthat the mill-race was still significantly uncovered. But to allinvitations, all cunning incitements to indulgence, Potts was urbanelyresistant. Conscious that a river of strong waters rippled at his feet, freely to be partaken of did he choose, it is true that his face showedlines of restraint, a serene restraint, like unto that which the greatold painters limned so beautifully upon the face of the martyr. But themartyrs of old in their ecstasy were not more resolute than Potts. It isprobable that he looked forward to a period of post-electionrefreshment; but pending the first Tuesday after the first Monday inNovember, his determination was such that it stamped his face withsomething akin to dignity. Said Westley Keyts, "If it was rainingwhiskey, Potts wouldn't drink as much as he could ketch on a fork!" andto this the town agreed. For once Potts was firm. 

His alpaca suit had visibly deteriorated during the campaign, and histall hat again cried for the glossing ministry of a heated iron, but hisvirtue burgeoned under stress and flowered to beauty in the sight ofmen. It was understood at last that the mill-race might as well becovered for any adventitious relation it could sustain to Potts drunk. 

Westley Keyts's suggestion that Potts be weighted with pig-iron anddumped into the healing waters, drunk or sober, was the mere playfulnessof an excellent butcher unpractised in sarcasm. His offer to supply, free of cost, a quantity of pig-iron ample for the purpose left thishypothesis unavoidable, for Westley winked flagrantly and leered when hevoiced it. 

But a retribution subtler than mere drowning awaited the superfluousPotts; a retribution so simple of mechanism, so swift, so potent, andwrought with a talent so masterly, that the right of its instigator tothe title of Boss of Little Arcady seemed to be unassailable for allfuture time. 

At the very zenith of his heavenward flight Potts was brought low. Atthe very nethermost point of his downward swoop Solon Denney was raisedto a height so dizzy that even the erstwhile sceptic spirit of WestleyKeyts abased itself before him, frankly conceding that diplomacy'sinnocent and mush-like surface might conceal springs of a terriblepotency. 

Though Solon's public mien for a week or more had been hint enough ofhis secret to those who knew him well, I was, possibly, the first towhom he confided it in words. 

He sent for me one crisp October morning, and I rushed over to the_Argus_ office, knowing that he must have matters of importance tocommunicate. 

I found him pacing the little sanctum, scanning a still damp sheet ofproof. His brow was furrowed, but the lines were those of consciouspower. In the broken chair by the littered desk sat Billy Durgin, hiseyes ablaze with the lust of the chase. As I pushed into the dingylittle room Solon halted in his walk and, with a flourish that did notentirely lack the dramatic, he handed me the narrow strip of paper. Theitem was brief. 

"Mrs. J. Rodney Potts, the estimable wife of Colonel J. Rodney Potts ofthis town, will arrive here from the East next Thursday to make her homeamong us. "

I looked up, to find them eager for my comment. 

"Is it true?" I asked. 

"It is, " said Solon. "I shall meet the lady on the arrival of theeleven-eight train next Thursday. "

"Well--what of it?"

"We are now about to see 'what of it. ' My trusty and fearless younglieutenant here"--he indicated Billy, who coughed in his hand and lookedmodestly out the window--"is now about to beard Potts in his den andfind out 'what of it. ' I may say that we hope there will be a good dealof it. I gather as much from the correspondence of the last three weekswith the lady referred to in that simple galley proof, which I set upand pulled with my own hands. In this opinion I am not alone. It isshared by my able and dauntless young coadjutor, before whom I can see afuture so brilliant that you need smoked glasses to look at it very longat a time. "

The gallant young detective turned from the window. 

"The hour has come to strike our blow, " he remarked, his browcontracting to a scowl that boded no good to a certain upright citizenof this great republic. 

"I have thought it best, " resumed Solon, "to take Potts into ourconfidence at precisely this stage--giving him this exclusive news oneday in advance of its publication. To-morrow, when every one knows it, Potts might be rash enough to stay and brave it out. Being advisedto-day, privately, and thus afforded a chance to fade gracefully intothe great bounding West, he may use his common sense. Now then, officer, do your duty!"

Our hero arose from his chair, buttoned his coat, passed a handcaressingly over his hip pocket, took the proof from me, and stalkedgrimly out. 

"So the lady is really coming?" I asked, as Billy's footsteps died awaydown the wooden stairs. 

"She is, the lady and her little son, " said Solon, resuming his walk upand down the room. "She is coming all the way from Boston, Massachusetts. And I don't believe she quite knows what she's coming to. She speaks in a strange manner of her hope that she may be able to dogood among us, and in her last letter she wants to know if I have everseen a little book called 'One Hundred Common Errors in Speaking andWriting. ' She seems to have the missionary instinct, as nearly as I canjudge. "

He paused in his walk and lowered his voice impressively. 

"Between you and me, Cal, --you know I've had about six letters fromher, --it's just possible that Potts had his reasons. I don't _say_ hedid, mind you, --but strange things happen in this world. 

"But that's neither here nor there, " he went on more lightly. "Potts hasbrought it on himself. "

In silence, then, we awaited the return of the messenger. The moment wastensely electric when at last we heard the clatter of his boots on thestairway. Breathless, he entered and stood before us, his coolness foronce destroyed under the strain of his adventure. Solon helped him to achair with soothing words. 

"Take it easy now, Billy! Get your breath--there--that's good! Now tellus all about it--just what you said and just what he said and just whattalk there was back and forth. "

"Gosh-all-Hemlock!" spluttered Billy, not yet equal to his bestnarrative style. 

We waited. He drew a dozen long breaths before he was again the cold, self-possessed, steely-eyed avenger. 

"Well, " he began brightly, "I gains access to our man in his wretchedden on the second floor of the Eubanks Block. As good luck would haveit, he was alone by hisself, walkin' up and down, swingin' his arms likehe was practisin' one o' them speeches of his. 

"Well, I had it all fixed up fine how I was goin' to act, and what I wasgoin' to say to him, and how I'd back up a few paces against the walland say, 'Not a word above a whisper, or I'll send this bullet throughyour craven heart!' and he'd fall down on his knees and beg me in vainfor mercy and so on. But Gee! the minute I seen him I got all nervousedup and I jest says, 'Here, read that there piece--your wife's comin'next Thursday!'

"Well, sir, at those careless words of mine he gives a guilty start, hisface blanched with horror, and he hissed through his set teeth, 'Whichone?'--as quick as that. 

"_Me_?--I couldn't git out a word for a minute, and he started for me. 'Which _one_?' he repeats, hoarse with rage, and that gives me an idee. 'Stand back!' I cried fearlessly, 'stand back, coward that you are--makeno word of outcry, or it will go hard with you--they're _both_ comin', 'I says, --'this one's comin' next week and the other one's comin' theweek after, soon as she can git some sewin' done up. ' _Me?_--I wasleadin' him on, you understand--for we hadn't knowed there was more thanone. Well, at that he read the piece over and set down in his chair withboth hands up to his head and he says, 'I'm bein' hounded by a venalpress, that's what's the matter; I'm bein' hounded from pillar to post. '

"At this I broke in with a sneer, --'Oh, we've only just began, ' I says. 'We'll have the whole lot of 'em here inside of six weeks--children andall. ' 'It's a lie, ' he hissed at me. 'There ain't any more. '

"'Have a care, Colonel Potts, ' I exclaimed, 'or first thing you know youwill rue those there words bitterly! I will not brook your dastardlyinsults, ' I says, 'and besides, ' I added with a sudden idee, 'it lookslike two wives will warm things up plenty for _you_. '

"At them words his craven face turned an ashen gray, and he fastenedupon me a glare of baffled rage that might well have made a stouterheart quail before it, but I returned his glare fearlessly and backedswif'ly to the door, feelin' for the knob. When I found it, I gotquickly out, without a blow bein' struck or a shot fired. Then I runhere. "

Early in the narrative Solon had begun to beam, identifying readily theslender but important vertebrae of fact upon which Billy had organizedthis drama of his fancy. At the close he shook hands warmly with ourhero. 

"This has been a splendid day's work, William Durgin!" and Billy beamedin his turn. 

"I wasn't goin' to let him know we thought there was only one, " he said. 

"Precisely where your training showed, my boy. Any one could have handedPotts that proof, but it took you to handle the case after the scoundrelhad said 'Which one?' Well, it's Potts's move now. If he doesn't move, we'll just add this to the item: 'Mrs. J. Rodney Potts, wife of ColonelJ. Rodney Potts, will arrive again the following week. The ladiesanticipate an interesting time in meeting their mutual husband. ' How'sthat?"

Billy's eyes glistened--he was yearning for just that situation. 

"But if Potts does move, " added Solon, "not a word about the secondlady. We won't take a mean advantage, even of Potts. "

At six o'clock that evening, the following facts became known: thatColonel Potts had obtained a quart of whiskey from Barney Skeyhan; thathe had borrowed twenty dollars from the same trustful tradesman; that, his cane in one hand and his oilcloth valise in the other, he had walkeddown Main Street late in the afternoon and boarded the five twenty-eightfreight going West, ostensibly on a business trip into the next county. 

Not until the next morning was it known that Potts had left us forever. This came from "Big Joe" Kestril. The two had met at the depot and drunkfraternally from the bottle of Potts, discussing the thing frankly, meanwhile. 

"They've hounded me out of town, " said the Colonel. 

"How?" said Big Joe. 

"They sent for Mrs. Potts to come here--it's infamous, sir!"

It appeared that Potts had said further: "I can't understand the men ofthis town at all. It looks as if I have been trifled with, much as Idislike to think so. One minute they crowd letters on to me, praising meup to the skies, and print pieces in the paper saying that nothing istoo good for me and my departure is a public loss, and why won't Iremain and be a credit to the town and a lot more like that, good andstrong. Then when I do consent to remain, why, what do they do? Do theygrasp my hand and say, 'Ah, good old Potts--stanch Potts, loyalPotts--good for you--you won't desert the town!' Do they talk that way?No, they do _not_. Instead of talking like a body would think they'dtalk after all those letters and things, why, they turn and fling abuseat me--and now--now they've gone and done _this_ hellish thing! I won'tsay a word against any man, but in my opinion they're a passel of knavesand lunatics. Look at me, Joe. Yesterday I was a made man; to-day I'mall ruined up! I merely state facts and let you draw your ownconclusions. "

The conclusions which Big Joe drew, such as they were, he was unable tocommunicate intelligibly until the morrow, for the train was late andthey drank of the liquor until the Colonel had time to lament hisimprovidence in bringing away so little of it. And by the time Big Joe'sreport was abroad, both the _Banner_ and the _Argus_ were out. The itemin the latter concerning Mrs. Potts had been only a little altered. 

"Mrs. J. Rodney Potts, wife of Colonel J. Rodney Potts, until yesterdaya resident of this town, will arrive here next Thursday from Boston, Massachusetts, to make her home among us. She is an estimable andcultured lady, and we bespeak for her a warm welcome to this garden-spotof the mid-West. "

Across the top of the _Banner's_ first page was its campaign slogan asusual:--

"POTTS FOREVER! POTTS THE COMING MAN!"

Across the top of the _Argus_ in similar type ran the pregnant line:--

"POTTS FOREVER, BUT MAYNE FOR COUNTY JUDGE. THE TROUBLE WITH THE COMINGMAN IS THAT HE'S GONE!"

CHAPTER X

A LADY OF POWERS

Superficially and distantly considered, the woman from whom even J. Rodney Potts must flee in terror would not be of a sort to excite theimagination pleasurably. A less impulsive man than Solon Denney mighthave found cause for misgiving in this circumstance of Potts's promptexodus. In the immediate flush of his triumph, however, the editor ofthe _Argus_ had no leisure for negative reflections, and when misgivingdid at last find root in his mind, the time had come for him to receivethe lady. But Solon Denney was not the man to betray it if a doubtingheart beat within his breast. To the town that now lavished admirationupon him, dubbing him "Boss" without ulterior implications, he wasconfidence itself, and rife with prophecies of benefit to be derived byour public from the advent of Mrs. Aurelia Potts. With a gallant show ofanticipation, a sprig of geranium in his lapel, he set out for the trainon that fateful morning, while Little Arcady awaited his return with acordial curiosity. 

It was a gray day of damp air and a dull, thick sky bearing down uponthe earth--a day conducive to forebodings. But Solon Denney's spirit, tothe best of Little Arcady's belief, soared aloft to realms of puresunlight. 

My knowledge of subsequent events that day was gained partly by word ofmouth and partly by observations which I was permitted to make. 

To the hotel Solon conducted his charges, handing them from the 'buswith a flourish that seemed to confer upon them the freedom of the city. From shop doors and adjacent street corners the most curious among usbeheld a tall, full-figured woman of majestic carriage, with a high, noble forehead and a face that seemed to register traces of somethirty-five earnest but not unprofitable years. Even in the quick glanceshe bestowed up and down Washington Street before the hotel swallowedher up, her quality was to be noted by the discerning, --the quality of acommander, of one born to prevail. The flash of her gray-green eye wasinterested but unconcerned. Complemented by the marked auburn of herplenteous hair, the eyes were masterful, advertising most legibly thetemperament of a capable ruler. The subdued, white-faced boy of twelve, with hair like his mother's, who trotted closely at her heels was, forthe moment, a negligible factor. 

An hour later I entered the sanctum of the _Argus_, to find its owneralone before his littered table. Upon his usually careless face was themost profoundly thoughtful look I had ever known him wear. Open beforehim was that week's _Argus_, but his eyes narrowed to its neat columnsonly at intervals. For the most part his gaze plunged far into virginrealms of meditation. It was only after several reminding coughs that Isucceeded in recalling him from afield; and even then the deeplythoughtful look remained to estrange his face from me. 

"Say, Cal, do you believe in _powers_?"

"What kind of powers?"

"Well, I don't know--every kind--just _powers_--mystic, occult powers. "

"I don't care to commit myself without more details, " I answered with acaution that seemed to be needed. 

"Well, sir, that woman has 'em--she has _powers_--she certainly has. There is something in her eye that paralyzes the will; you look at herand you say yes to anything she suggests. "

"For example--"

"Well, I've just agreed with her that the _Argus_ isn't what it ought tobe. "

I gasped. This indeed savored of the blackest magic. 

"What did she _do_ to you?"

"Just looked at me, that's all, --and took it for granted. "

"Heavens! You're shivering!"

"You _wait_--wait till she talks to you! She's promised to give me alittle book, " he went on dejectedly, "'One Hundred Common Errors inWriting and Speaking, ' and she says the split infinitive is a crime inthis nineteenth century. But, say, this paper would never get to pressif I took time to unsplit all my infinitives. "

"Well, put Billy Durgin to work on her case right away, " I said to cheerhim. "If the woman talks like that, I'll bet Billy can find some goodreason why she ought to push on after the Colonel. "

Again his deeply thoughtful gaze bore upon me. 

"I'm puzzled, " he said, --"honestly puzzled. I don't know whether she'llbe good for this town or not. She may in a way--and in a way she maynot. She will be disturbing, --I can see that already, --but she isstimulating. She may stir us up to nobler endeavors. "

"Did she say so?"

"Well--uh--something of the sort. I believe that _was_ the expressionshe used. I'll tell you what you do. You come along with me and see thelady right now. They've had dinner by this time. "

Together we went and were presently climbing the stairs that led to thesecond floor of the City Hotel. 

Mrs. Potts received us graciously. Upon me she bestowed a glance offriendly curiosity, as does a kind physician who waits to be told ofsymptoms before prescribing. Upon Solon she bent a more knowing look, asupon one whose frailties have already been revealed. She gave us chairsand she talked. Little Roscoe Potts writhed near by upon an ottoman andbetrayed that he, too, could talk when circumstances were kindly. Thedetail of their personalities, salient in that first moment, was thatHeaven had denied them both the gift of reticence. 

"Yes--I've been telling Mr. Denney--I feel that there is a work here forme, " she began briskly. "I felt it strongly when I perused the columnsof the newspaper which Mr. Denney was thoughtful enough to send me. "

Solon's eyes uneasily sought the cabbage-like flowers in the fadedcarpet of the room. 

"And I feel it more strongly now that I have ventured among you, "continued the lady, glowing upon us both. 

"I have long suspected that it was a regrettable waste of energy to sendmissionaries into heathen parts of the globe when there remain so manyunenlightened corners in our own land. It almost seems now as if I hadbeen guided here. It is true that my husband has gone, but that shallnot distress me. Rodney is a drifter--I may say a natural-born drifter, and I cannot undertake to follow him. I shall remain here. I have beenguided--" determination gleamed in her gray-green eyes, --"I shall remainhere and teach these poor people to make something of themselves. "

Solon drew a long breath. My own echoed it. Hereupon little Roscoe brokeinto a high-pitched recitative. 

"We are now in the great boundless West, a land of rough butkind-hearted and worthy folk, and abounding with instructive sights andscenes which are well calculated--"

"My son, " interrupted his mother, "kindly tell the gentlemen what shouldbe your aim in life. "

"To strive to improve my natural gifts by reading and conversation, "answered Roscoe, in one swift breath. 

"Very good--_ver-ry_ good--but for the present you may _listen_. Now, Mr. Denney--" she turned to Solon with the latest _Argus_ in herhand, --"perusing your sheet, my eye lights upon this sentence:--"

"'Lige Brackett Sundayed in our midst. He reports a busy time of Fallploughing over Bethel way. '

"Why 'Sundayed, ' Mr. Denney?" She smiled brightly, almost archly, atSolon. "I dare say you would not employ 'Mondayed' or 'Tuesdayed' or'Wednesdayed. ' You _see_? The term is what we may call a vulgarism--youperceive that, do you not?--likewise 'in our midst, ' which is notaccurate, of course, and which would be indelicate if it were. Now I letmy eye descend the column to your account of a certain social function. You say, 'The table fairly groaned with the weight of good things, and agood time was had by all present. ' Surely, Mr. Denney, you are a man notwithout culture and refinement. Had you but taken thought, you could aswell have said that 'An elegant collation was served, the menu includingmany choice delicacies, and the affair was widely pronounced to be mostenjoyable. '"

Solon's frightened eyes besought me, but I could not help him, and againhe was forced to meet the kindly, almost whimsically accusing gaze ofthe censor, who was by no means done with him. 

"Again I read here, 'The graveyard fence needs repairing badly. ' Do younot see, Mr. Denney, how far more refined it were to say 'God's acre, 'or 'the marbled city of the dead'? I now turn from mere solecisms to thebroader question of taste. Under the heading 'Hanged in Carroll County, 'I read an item beginning, 'At eight-thirty, A. M. , last Friday the soulof Martin G. Buckley, dressed in a neat-fitting suit of black, with alow collar and black cravat, was ushered into the presence of his God. 'Pardon me, but do we not find here, if we read closely, an attempt toblend the material with the spiritual with a result that we can onlydesignate as infelicitous?"

Solon was writhing after the manner of uneasy little Roscoe. The blandbut inexorable regard of his inquisitor had subdued him beyond retort. 

"I might, again, call your attention to this item. " And she did, readingwith well-trained inflection:--

"'Kye Mayabb from south of town and Sym Pleydell, who rents the Clemisonfarm, met up in front of Barney Skeyhan's place last Saturday afternoonand started to settle an old grudge, while their respective betterhalves looked on from across the street. Kye had Sym down and was doingsome good work with his right, when his wife called to him, "Now, KyeMayabb, you come right away from there before you get into trouble. "Whereupon the valiant better half of him who was being beaten to deathcalled out cheerily, "Don't let him scare you, Sym!" The boys made itup afterward, but our little street was quite lively for a time. '

"Now as to that, " went on Mrs. Potts, affecting to deliberate, "could wenot better have described that as 'a disgraceful street brawl'? And yetI find no word of deprecation. It is told, indeed, with a regrettableflippancy. Flippancy, I may note again, mars the following item: 'Theytell a good story of old Sarsius Lambert over at Bethel. His wife wasdrowned a couple of weeks ago, and Link Talbot went to break the news tothe old man. "Uncle Sarsh, " says Link, "your wife is drowned. She fellin at the ford, and an hour later they found her two miles down-stream. ""Two miles an hour!" said Uncle Sarsius, in astonishment. "Well, well, she floated down quite lively, didn't she?"'

"You will pardon me, I trust, " said Mrs. Potts, "if I say it would havebeen better to speak of the grief-stricken husband and to conclude witha fitting sentiment such as 'the proudest monuments to the sleeping deadare reared in the hearts of the living. '"

"I'll put it in next week, " ventured Solon, meekly. "I didn't think ofit at the time. "

"Ah, but one should _always think_, should one not?" asked Mrs. Potts, almost sweetly. "By thinking, for example, you could elevate your sheetby eliminating certain misapplied colloquialisms. Here I read: 'The rainlast week left the streets in a frightful state. The mud simply won'tjell. '"

Shame mantled the brow of Solon Denney. 

"In short, " concluded Mrs. Potts, "I regret to say that your paper isnot yet one that I could wish to put into the hands of my littleRoscoe. "

Little Roscoe coughed sympathetically and remarked, before he lost hischance for a word: "The boy of to-day is the man of to-morrow. Parentscannot be too careful about what their little ones will read during thelong winter evenings that will soon be upon us. " He coughed again whenhe had finished. 

"The press is a mighty lever of civilization, " continued the mother, with an approving glance at her boy, "and you, Mr. Denney, should feelproud indeed of your sacred mission to instruct and elevate these poorpeople. Of course I shall have other duties to occupy my time--"

Solon had glanced up brightly, but gloom again overspread his face asshe continued:--

"Yet I shall make it not the least of my works--if a poor weak woman mayso presume--to help you in correcting certain faults of style and tastein your sheet, for it goes each week into many homes where the lightmust be sorely needed, and surely you and I would not be adequatelysensible of our responsibilities if we continued to let it go as it is. _Would_ we?" And again she glowed upon Solon with the condescendingsweetness of a Sabbath-school teacher to the littlest boy in her class. 

But now we both breathed more freely, for she allowed the wretched_Argus_ to drop from her disapproving fingers, and began to ask usquestions, as to a place of worship, a house suitable for residencepurposes, a school for little Roscoe, and the nature of those clubs orsocieties for mental improvement that might exist among us. And sheasked about Families. We were obliged to confess that there were noFamilies in Little Arcady, in the true sense of the term, though we didnot divine its true sense until she favored us with the detail that hersecond cousin had married a relative of the Adams family. We saidhonestly that we were devoid of Families in that sense. None of us hadever been able to marry an Adams. No Adams with a consenting mind--noteven a partial Adams--had ever come among us. 

Still, Mrs. Potts wore her distinction gracefully, and was even a littleapologetic. 

"In Boston, you know, we rather like to know 'who's who, ' as the sayingis. "

"Out here, " said Solon, "we like to know what's what. " He had revivedwonderfully after his beloved _Argus_ was dropped. But at his retort thelady merely elevated her rather fine brows and remarked, "Really, Mr. Denney, you speak much as you write--you must not let me forget to giveyou that little book I spoke of. "

As we went down the stairs Solon placed "One Hundred Common Errors inSpeaking and Writing" close under his arm, adroitly shielding the titlefrom public scrutiny. We stood a moment in the autumn silence outsidethe hotel door, watching a maple across the street, the line of itsboughs showing strong and black amid its airy yellow plumage. The stillair was full of leaves that sailed to earth in leisurely sadness. Wewere both thoughtful. 

"Mrs. Potts is a very alert and capable woman, " I said at last, havingdecided that this would be the most suitable thing to say. 

"I tell you she has _powers_, " said Solon, in a tone almost of awe. 

"She will teach you to make something of yourself, " I hazarded. 

"One minute she makes me want to fight, and the next I surrender, " heanswered pathetically. 

We separated on this, Solon going toward the _Argus_ office with slowsteps and bowed head, while I went thoughtfully abroad to ease my nervesby watching the splendid death of summer. Above the hills, now royallycolored, as by great rugs of brown and crimson velvet flung over theirflanks, I seemed to hear the echoes of ironic laughter--the laughter ofperverse gods who had chosen to avenge the slight put upon an inferiorPotts. 

CHAPTER XI

HOW LITTLE ARCADY WAS UPLIFTED

The winter that followed proved to be a season of unrest for our town. Mrs. Aurelia Potts was a leaven of yeast that fermented its socialwaters, erstwhile calm, not to say stagnant. 

Early in November an evening affair was held in her honor at the Eubankshome. The Eubankses being our leading Presbyterians, and Mrs. Pottshaving allied herself with that church, it was felt that they were bestfitted to give the lady her initial impression of Little Arcady'ssociety. Not only were the three Eubanks girls talented, but the motherwas a social leader, Eustace was travelled, having been one of anexcursion party to the Holy Land, and the family had relatives living inPhiladelphia. None of the girls had married, nor had Eustace. The girls, it was said, had not wished to marry. Eustace had earnestly wished to, it was known; but two of our young women who had successively foundfavor in his sight had failed to please his mother and sisters, andEustace was said to be watching and waiting for one upon whom all couldagree, though every one but Eustace himself knew this was an utterlyhopeless vigil. Meantime the mother and sisters looked up to him, guarding him jealously from corrupting associations, saw that he worehis overshoes when clouds lowered, and knitted him chest protectors, gloves, and pulse warmers which he was not allowed to forget. He taughtthe Bible Class in the Presbyterian Sabbath school, sang bass in thechoir, and, on occasion, gave an excellent entertainment with his magiclantern, with views of the Holy Land, which he explained with a runningfire of comment both instructive and entertaining. 

The Eubanks home that evening was said by a subsequent _Argus_ to havebeen "ablaze with lights" and "its handsome and spacious parlorsthronged with the elite of the town who had gathered to do honor to thenoted guest of the evening. "

There first occurred a piano duet, rendered expertly by the two youngerMisses Eubanks, "Listen to the Mocking Bird, " with some bewilderingvariations of an imitative value, done by the Miss Eubanks seated at theright. 

Then the front parlor was darkened and, after the consequent titteringamong the younger set had died away, Eustace threw his pictures upon ahanging sheet and delivered his agreeable lecture about them, beginningwith the exciting trip from Jaffa to Jerusalem. Most of those presenthad enjoyed the privilege of this lecture enough times to know whatpicture was coming next and what Eustace would say about it. But it wasthought graceful now, considering the presence of a stranger, tosimulate the expectancy of the uninformed, and to emit little gasps ofastonished delight when Eustace would say, "Passing from the city gates, we next come upon a view that is well worthy a moment of our attention. "

With the lights up again, a small flask of water from the river Jordanwas handed about, to be examined, by those who knew it too well, in thesame loyal spirit of curiosity. A guest would hold it reverently amoment, then glance up in search of some one to whom it might beheartily extended. 

This over, the elder Miss Eubanks--Marcella of the severe mien--sanginterestingly, "I gathered Shells upon the Shore, " and for an encore, inresponse to eager demands, "Comin' thro' the Rye. " Not coyly did shegive this, with inciting, blushing implications, but rather with anunbending, disapproving sternness, as if with intent to divert the mindsof her listeners from the song's frank ribaldry to its purely musicalvalues. 

Eustace followed with a solo:--

 "Nigh to a grave that was newly made, Leaned a sexton old on his earth-worn spade. "

In the very low parts, where the sexton old is required to say, "Igather them in, " he was most effective, and many of his more susceptiblehearers shuddered. For an encore he sang, "I am the old Turnkey, " whichgoes lower and lower with deliberate steps until it descends toincredible depths of bassness. 

It was a rare comfort to the Eubanks ladies that Eustace was a bassinstead of a tenor. They had observed that most tenor songs are of asuggestive and meretricious character. Arthur Updyke, for example, whoclerked in the city drug store, was a tenor, and nearly all of his songswere distressingly sentimental; indeed, fairly indelicate at times intheir lack of reserve about kisses and embraces and sighs and ecstasies. Glad indeed were the guardians of Eustace that his voice had lowered toa salutary depth, and that bass songs in general were pure andinnocent, --songs of death, of dungeons, of honest war, or of divingbeneath the deep blue sea--down, down, down, as far as the singer'schest tones permitted. With "Euty" a tenor, warbling those perniciousboudoir _chansons_ of moonlight and longing of sighing love andanguished passion, they suspected that he would have been harder tomanage. Even as it was, he had once brought home a most dreadful thingcalled "A Bedouin Love Song, " for a bass voice, truly enough, but sofearfully outspoken about matters far better left unmentioned among nicepeople that the three girls had fled horrified from the room after thatfirst verse:--

 "From the desert I come to thee, On a stallion shod with fire, And the wind is left behind In the speed of my desire. "

The mother sped to her daughters' appeal for help and required her sonto sing "The Lost Chord" as a febrifuge. The other song was confiscatedafter the mother had read the words so unblushingly penned by an authorwhom she ever afterward deemed an abandoned profligate. She consideredthat Bedouins must be unspeakable creatures--but how much lower the mindthat could portray their depravity, and send it out into the world forinnocent young men to carol in the homes of our best people!

Thereafter Eustace sang only songs that had been censored by his family, and his repertoire was now stainless, containing no song in which aromantic attachment was even hinted at; but only those recitingwholesome adventures, military and marine, pastoral scenes andoccupations, or the religious experience of the singer. 

In the words of the _Argus_, "his powerful singing was highly enjoyed byall present. "

There followed the feature of the evening, --a paper read by Mrs. Potts;subject, "The Message of Emerson. " With an agreeable public manner thelady erected herself at one corner of a square piano, placed hermanuscripts under the shaded lamp, and began. The subject, aforetimemade known among us, had been talked about and perhaps a little wonderedat. It is certain, at least, that Westley Keyts had yielded to theurging of his good wife to be present in the belief that a man namedEmerson had sent Mrs. Potts a telegram to be read to us. This was what"the message of Emerson" meant to Westley, and the novelty of it hadseemed to justify what he called "togging up, " after a hard day's workat the slaughter-house. 

If, then, he listened to Mrs. Potts at first with wonder-widening eyes, amazed at Mr. Emerson's recklessness in the matter of telegrams, and ifat last he fell into gentle slumber, perhaps it was only that he hadbeen less hardened than others present to the rigors of social nicety. No one else fell asleep, but it was noticed that the guests, when thepaper was done, praised it to one another in swift generalities and withaverted face, as if they sought to evade specific or pointed inquiry asto its import. But the impression made by the reader was all that shecould have wished, and the gathering was presently engrossed withrefreshments. The _Argus_ stated that "a dainty collation was served toall present, the menu comprising the choicest delicacies of the season, "which I took to mean that Solon was trying to profit by instruction; andthat never again would he permit a table in the _Argus_ to groan withits weight of good things. 

Westley Keyts, being skilfully awakened without scandal by his wife, drank a cup of strong coffee to clear his brain, and cordially consumedas many segments of cake as he was able to glean from passing trays, speculating comfortably, meanwhile, about the message ofEmerson, --chiefly as to why Emerson had not sent it by mail, thussaving--he estimated--at least a hundred and twenty dollars in telegraphtolls. 

Mrs. Potts, thus auspiciously launched upon the social sea of LittleArcady, was henceforth to occupy herself prominently with the regulationof its ebb and flow. Already she had organized a "Ladies' Literary andHome Study Club, " and had promised to read a paper on "The Lesson ofGreek Art" at its first meeting a week hence. As the _Argus_ observed, "it was certainly a gala occasion, and one and all felt that it wasindeed good to be there. "

In addition to elevating the tone of our intellectual life, however, Mrs. Potts found it necessary to support herself and her son. That shecould devise a way to merge these important duties will perhaps besurmised. Comfortably installed in a cottage at the south end of townwith her household belongings, including a chair once sat in by theAdams-husband of her heaven-favored second cousin, she lost no time inprosecuting her double mission. The title of the work with which shebegan her task of uplifting our masses was "Gaskell's Compendium ofForms, " a meritorious production of amazing and quite infinite scope, elegantly illustrated. The book weighed five pounds and cost threedollars, which was sixty cents a pound, as Westley Keyts took thetrouble to ascertain. But it was indeed a work admirably calculated fora community of diversified interests. While Solon Denney might occupyhimself with the "Aid to English Composition, " including "common errorscorrected, good taste, figures of speech, and sentence building, " theEubanks ladies could further inform themselves upon grave affairs of"The Home and Family, --Life, Health, Happiness, Human Love, " etc. , orupon more frivolous concerns, such as "Introductions and Salutations, Carriage and Horseback Riding, Croquet, Archery, and Matinee parties, and the Art of Conversation. " While Asa Bundy interested himself in"History of Banking, Forms of Notes, Checks and Drafts, Interest andUsury Tables, etc. , " Truman Baird, who meant some day to go to Congress, might perfect himself in Parliamentary law and oratory, an exposition ofthe latter art being illumined by wood-cuts of a bearded and handsomegentleman in evening dress who assumed the various positions of emotionor passion, as, in "Figure 8. --This gesture is used in concession, submission, humility, " or, in Figure 9, which diagrams reproach, scorn, and contempt. While Truman sought to copy these attitudes, to place thefeet aright for Earnest Appeal or Bold Assertion, or to clasp the handsas directed for Supplication and Earnest Entreaty, the ladies of theLiterary and Home Study Club conned the chapter on American literature, "containing choice proverbs and literary selections and quotations fromthe poets of the old and new worlds. " Our merchants found information asto "Jobbing, Importing and Other Business, " and our young ladies couldobserve the correct forms for "Letters of Love and Courtship, " "Apologyfor a Broken Engagement, " "French Terms used in Dancing, " "Rights ofMarried Women, " "The Necessity and Sweetness of Home, " and"Marriage--Happiness or Woe may come of It. "

Again, Westley Keyts could read how to cut up meats. He knew already, but this chapter, illustrated with neat carcasses marked off intonumbered squares, convinced him that the book was not so light as someof its other chapters indicated, and determined him to its purchase. 

And there were letters for every conceivable emergency. "To a Young Manwho has quarrelled with his Master, " "Dismissing a Teacher, " "Inquiryfor Lost Baggage, " "With a Basket of Fruit to an Invalid, " and "To aGentleman elected to Congress. " Rare indeed, in our earth life, would bethe crisis unmet by this treasury of knowledge. Not only was there anelevation of tone in our correspondence that winter, resulting from thepersuasive activities of Mrs. Potts, but our writing became decorativewith flourishes in "the muscular" and "whole-arm" movements. We learnedto draw flying birds and bounding deer and floating swans with scrollsin their beaks, all without lifting pen from paper. Some of us learnedto do it almost as well as the accomplished Mr. Gaskell himself, andalmost all of us showed marked improvement in penmanship. DoubtlessTruman Baird did not, he being engrossed with oratory, striving toreproduce, "Hate--the right foot advanced, the face turned to the sky, the gaze directed upward with a fierce expression, the eyes full of abaleful light, " or other phases of passion duly set down. Not forTruman was the ornate full-arm flourish; he had observed that allCongressmen write very badly. 

But my namesake may be said to have laid the foundations that winter foran excellent running chirography, under the combined stimuli of Mr. Gaskell's curves and a hopeless passion for his school-teacher. 

As my own teacher had been my own first love, I knew all that hesuffered in voiceless longing for his fair one, throned afar in hislanguishing gaze. I knew that he plucked flowers meant to be given toher, only to lay them carelessly on the floor beside his seat whenschool "took in, " lacking the courage to bestow them brazenly upon hisidol as others did. I knew, too, his thrill when she came straight downthe aisle, took up the flowers with a glance of sweet reproof for him, and nested them in the largest vase on her desk. But my poor affair hadbeen in an earlier day, and my namesake wove novelty into the woof ofhis. For in that wonder-book of the fertile-minded Gaskell was a form ofletter which Calvin Blake Denney began to copy early in December, andwhich by the following spring he could write in a style that already putmy own poor penning to the blush. Did he write it a hundred times orfive hundred, moved anew each time by its sweet potencies, its rarest ofsuggestions? I know not, but it must have been very many times, for Iwould find the copies in his school books, growing in beauty offlourish day by day. As well as if he had confessed it I knew that thisletter was intended for the father of his love--for old Sam Murdock, tobe literal, who uncouthly performed for us the offices of drayman; butwho, in my namesake's eyes, shone pure and splendid for hisrelationship. Doubtless the letter was never sent, but I am sure it waswritten each time with an iron resolve to send it. Its title in theexcellent book was "From a Lover to a Father on his Attachment to theDaughter, " and it ran:--

=DEAR SIR: As I scorn to act in any manner that may bringreproach upon myself and family, and hold clandestine proceedingsunbecoming in any man of character, I take the liberty of distinctlyavowing my love for your daughter and humbly request your permission topay her my addresses, as I flatter myself my family and expectancieswill be found not unworthy of your notice. I have some reason to imaginethat I am not altogether disagreeable to your daughter, but I assure youthat I have not as yet endeavored to win her affections, for fear itmight be repugnant to a father's will. I am, etc. =

Under this was provided "A Favorable Answer, " in which Sam Murdock mighthave said that he had long perceived this thing and applauded it, andwould the young man "dine with us to-morrow at six if you are notengaged, and you will then have an opportunity to plead your own cause. "But chillingly after this graceful assent followed an "UnfavorableAnswer, " which Sam Murdock would also see when he opened the book atpage 251; and still more portentously on the same page was a letterwhich Miss Selina Murdock herself might choose to write him, a sickeningand dreadful thing entitled, "Unfavorable Reply on the Ground ofPoverty. "

"To say that I do not feel pleased and flattered at your proposal wouldbe to tell a useless untruth, " the thing began speciously. "But how arewe situated, what hope of happiness with our unsettled prospects andworse than small means? Industry has doubtless never been and never willbe wanting on your part, but--" and so to its dreadful end. It wasalmost base in its coldness and mercenary calculation. That phrase aboutthe "useless untruth" implied even a dubious and considering morality;and the conclusion, "we must not entail misery upon others as well asourselves by a too hasty step, " argued a nature cautious in the extreme. 

Yet Mr. Gaskell was too evidently a man of the world, knowing in hisripe experience that there existed a sufficient number of such coldnatures to warrant the obtrusion of this heart-rending formula; and Idoubt not that these negative specimens of the possible alone restrainedmy namesake from going beyond mere copies of that first letter. 

It will be seen that the influence of Mrs. Potts pervaded our utmostsocial and commercial limits. And when the "Compendium" had become acentre-table ornament in the homes of the rich, and a bulky object of awein humbler abodes, she went over the ground again with other volumescalculated to serve her double purpose, from "Dr. Chase's Receipt Book"to "Picturesque Italy, profusely Illustrated. " She also purveyed a lineof "art-pieces, " including "Wide Awake and Fast Asleep, " "The Monarch ofthe Glen, " "Woman Gathering Fagots, " and "Retreat from Moscow. " Also, little Roscoe, out of school hours, took subscriptions for the _Youth'sCompanion_. 

Yet the town long bore it with a gentle fortitude. I believe it was notuntil the following spring that murmurs were really noticeable. Naturally they were directed against Solon Denney. By that time WestleyKeyts was greeting Solon morosely, though without open cavil; but AsaBundy no longer hesitated to speak out. He quoted Scripture to Solonabout the house that was swept and garnished, and the seven other wickedspirits that entered it, making its last state worse than its first. 

And of course Solon was much troubled by this, though he never failed torally to the support of the lady thus maligned, dwelling upon theadvantage her mere presence must always be to the town. 

"If she'd only let it go at that--'her mere presence'--" rejoined Bundy. But Solon protested, defending the lady's activities. He becamesensitive to any mention of her name, and fell to brooding. He believedher to be a model woman, and little Roscoe to be a model boy. 

"Why don't you try to be more like Roscoe Potts?" I heard him ask hisson in a moment of reproof. 

My namesake took it meekly; but to me, privately, he said:--

"Hunh! I can lick Ginger Potts with one hand tied behind me!"

"How do you know?" I asked sternly. 

He wriggled somewhat at this, but at length confided in me. 

"Well, there's a sell, you know, Uncle Maje. You say, 'They're goin' totear the schoolhouse down, ' or something like that, and the other boysays, 'What fur?' and then you say, quick as you can, 'Cat-fur to makekitten britches of, ' and then we all laugh and yell, and I caught GingerPotts on it, and he got mad when we yelled and come at me, and theypushed him against me and they pushed me against him, and they said hedassent, and they said I dassent, and then it happened, only when I gothim down, he begun to say, 'Oh, it's wrong to fight! I promised mymother I would never fight!' but I wouldn't 'a' stopped for _that_, because teacher says he's by far the brightest boy in school--only justthen Eustace Eubanks come along, and he laid down the meat he was takinghome to dinner and jumped into the crowd and says: 'Boys, boys, shame onyou to act so like the brutes! _That_ isn't any way to act!' and hepulled me off'n Ginger, and--and that's all, but I had him licked fair. "

"I shall not tell your father of this, " I said sternly. 

"He has enough to worry him, " said my namesake. 

"Exactly, " I said. "But I advise you to cultivate a friendly feelingfor Roscoe Potts. Boys should not fight. "

"Well--now--I would--but he's a regular teacher's pet. "

And remembering the letter that was not sent to Sam Murdock, --that theteacher was my namesake's love, --I perceived that this breach was not tobe healed. 

CHAPTER XII

TROUBLED WATERS ARE STILLED

It was spring again, a Sunday in early May, warm, humid, scented withblossoms that were bodied souls of the laughing air. They starred thebank that fell away from my porch to the clear-watered river, and theysang of the young spirit that lives in this old earth so deceptively, defacing it with false scars of age, and craftily permitting us to countyears by the thousand, yet remaining always as fresh in itself as on theprimal morning when the world was found good by that ill-fated butjoyous first pair of lovers. I marvel that so many are fooled by thetrick; how so few of us detect that the soul of it all is ageless--hasnever even wearied. The blossoms told this secret now in quiet triumphover the denials of ancient oaks that towered above them and murmuredsolemn falsities in their tops about the incredible oldness of things. 

There was the star-shaped bloodroot, with its ten or a dozen petals ofwaxen white set with jewel-like precision about a centre of dead gold. There was the less formal phlox of a pinkish purple; deer's-tongue, white and yellow; frail anemones, both pink and white; small butstately violets, and the wake-robin with its wine-red centre among longgreen leaves. There was a dogwood in the act of unfolding its littlegreen tents that would presently be snow-white, and a plum tree ruffledwith tiny flowers of a honied fragrance. 

With a fine Japanese restraint, Clem had placed a single bough of thesein a dull-colored vase on my out-of-doors breakfast table. 

All these were to say that the soul of the world is ageless, and thattime is but a cheap device to measure our infirmities. Above, the treeswere hinting that life might still be lived acceptably, as in Eden days;though they seemed to suspect that the stage of it to which they wereamazedly awakening must be at least the autumn, and timidly clothedthemselves accordingly. The elm, the first big tree to stir in itssleep, showed tiny, curled leaflets of a doubting, yellowish green; andthe later moving oaks were frankly sceptical, one glowing faintly brownand crimson, another silvery gray and pink. They would need at least tenmore days to convince them into downright summer greenery, even thoughslender-throated doves already mated in their tops with a perfectconfidence. 

It was an early morning hour, when it was easy to believe in the perfectfitness of Little Arcady's name; an hour in a time when thePotts-troubled waters had been mercifully stilled by the hand of God; anhour when the spirit of each Little Arcadian might share to its ownfulness in the large serenity of the ageless world-soul. 

I recalled Mrs. Potts's paper on "The Lesson of Greek Art, " which hadenriched two columns of the _Argus_ after its reading to the ladies ofthe Literary and Home Study Club. It seemed to me that the Greeks musthave divined this important secret of the vegetable world--the secret ofageless time--and that therein lay the charm of them; that spirit ofever freshening joy which they chiselled and sang into tangible gracefor us of a later and heavier age. 

At the moment I was on the porch, waiting for my coffee, and my thoughtseemed to be shared by Jim, my bony young setter, who, being but a scantyear old, had not yet forgotten the lesson of Greek art. Over the grassystretch before the porch he chased robins tirelessly, though withindifferent success. His was a spirit truly Greek. I knew it by reasonof his inexhaustible enthusiasm for this present sport after a year'sproving that chased birds will rise strangely but expertly into air thatno dog can climb by any device of whining, leaping, or straining. 

Living on into the Renaissance, I saw that Jim would be taught thegrievous thing called wisdom--would learn his limitations and to formhabits tamely contrary to his natural Greek likings. Then would hehonorably neglect rabbits and all fur, cease pointing droves of pigs, and quit the silly chase of robins. Under check-cord and spike-collar hewould become a fast and stylish dog, clean-cut in his bird work, perhaps a field-trial winner. He would learn to take reproof amiably, to "heel" at a word, to respect the whistle at any distance, to besteady to shot and wing, to retrieve promptly from land or water, andnever to bolt or range beyond control or be guilty of false pointing. 

I knew that coercion, steadily and tactfully applied, would thus educatehim, for was he not of champion ancestry, wearing his pedigree in hislooks, with the narrow shoulders so desirable and so rarely found, withjust the right number of hairs at the end of his tail, the forelegsproperly feathered, the feet and ankles strong, the right amount ofleather in his ear to the fraction of an inch, --a dog, in short, ofbeauty, style, speed, nose, and brains?

But in this full moment of a glad morning I resolved that Jim shouldnever know the Renaissance; he should never emerge from what Mrs. Pottshad gracefully described as "the golden age of Pericles. "

To the end of his days he should be blithely, naïvely Greek; a dog ofwretched field manners, pointing cattle and quail impartially, shamefully gun-shy, inconsequent, volatile, ignorant, forever paganlyjoyous without due cause. For him I should do what no one had been ableto do for me--detain him in that "world of fine fabling" whereeverything is true that ought to be; where the earth is a runningcourse, fascinating in its surprises of open road and tangled hedgerow;where mere indiscriminate smelling is keenest ecstasy; and where thefact that robins have eluded one's fleetest rush to-day, by an amazingand unfair trick of levitation, is not the slightest promise that theycan escape our interested mouthing on the morrow. 

Doubtless he would be a remarkably foolish dog in his old age; but I, growing old beside him, would learn wisely foolish things from hisexcellent folly. I knew we should both be happier for it; knew it wasbest for us both to prove that my thin white friend had been bornchiefly to display the acute elegance of his bones and the beauty ofhopeful effort. 

It was this last that kept him thin. When I took to the road, hetravelled five miles to my every one, circling me widely, ranging farover the hills in mad dashes, or running straight and swiftly on theroad, vanishing in a white fog of dust. Walking slowly to avoid this, Iwould only meet him emerging from a fresh cloud of it with a glad tonguethrown out to the breeze. Again, there were desperate plunges intowayside underbrush or down steep ravines, whence I would hear rapidsplashing through a hidden stream and short, plaintive cries to tellthat that wonderful, unseen wood-presence of a thousand provoking scentshad once more cunningly evaded him. 

Also did he love to swim stoutly across a field of growing wheat, hishead alone showing above the green waves. And if the wheat were tall, hestill braved it--lost to sight at the bottom. Then one might observe themystery of a furrow ploughing itself swiftly across the billows withoutvisible agency. 

When I do not walk, to give countenance to his running, he has a game ofhis own. He plays it with an ancient fur cap that he keeps convenientlystored. The cap represents a prey of considerable dignity which must besprung upon and shaken again and again until it is finally disabled. Then it is to be seized by implacable jaws and swiftly run with aboutthe yard in a feverish pretence that enemies wish to ravish it from itscaptor. Any chance observer is implored to humor this pretence, and uponhis compliance he is fled from madly, or perhaps turned upon and growledat most directly, if he show signs of losing interest in the game. 

This ceaseless motion, with its attendant nervous strains, has preventedany accumulation of flesh, and explains the name of Slim Jim affixed tohim by my namesake. 

Jim consented now to rest for a moment at my feet, though at a loss toknow how I could be calm amid so many exciting smells. I promised him ashe lay there that he should never be compelled to learn any but thefewest facts necessary to make him as harmless as he was happy; chieflynot to bark at old ladies and babies, no matter how threatening theiraspect, as they passed our house. A few things he had alreadylearned--to avoid fences of the barbed wire, to respect the big cat fromacross the way who sometimes called and treated him with watchfuldisdain, and not to chew a baby robin if by any chance he caught one. This last had been a hard lesson, his first contact with a problem onlya few days younger than Eden itself. It came to his understanding, however, that if you mouth a helpless baby robin, a hand or a stickfalls upon you hurtfully, even if you evade it for the moment andseclude yourself under a porch until it would seem that so trifling anoccurrence must have been utterly forgotten. This was the one bigsin--sin, to the best of our knowledge, being obedience to any naturaldesire, the satisfaction of which is unaccountably followed by pain. 

I told him this would probably be all that he need ever know; and helooked up at me in a fashion he has, the silky brown ears falling eitherside of the white face. It is a look of languishing, melting adoration, and if I face him steadily, he must always turn away as if to avoidbeing overcome--as if the sight of beauty so great as mine could beborne full in the eyes only for the briefest of moments. 

But Clem came now, ranging my breakfast dishes about the bowl of plumflowers, and I approached the table with all the ardor he could havewished at his softly spoken, "Yo' is suhved, Mahstah Majah. "

The sight of Clem, however, inevitably suggests the person to whom I amindebted for his sustaining ministrations. Potts had been a necessaryinstrument in one of those complications which the gods devise among ushuman ephemera for their mild amusement on a day of _ennui_. And Potts, having served his purpose, had been neatly removed. I have said that thePotts-troubled waters of Little Arcady were for the moment stilled. Bythe hands of the gods had they been mercifully stilled so that not for amonth had any citizen been asked to subscribe for any improving book orpatented device of culture. 

A month before, in a far-off place, J. Rodney Potts had sufferedextinction through the apparently casual agency of a moving railwaytrain, the intervention of the gods in all such matters being discreetlyveiled so that the denser of us shall suspect nothing but that they werethe merest of accidents. 

One could only surmise that the widow viewed this happening with a kindof trustful resignation, sweetened perhaps by certain ancient memoriesattuned to a gentle melancholy. I know that she placed on view in herparlor for the first time a crayon portrait of Potts in his earlymanhood, one made ere life had broken so many of its promises to him, the portrait of one who might conceivably have enchained the fancy ofeven a superior woman. But the widow was not publicly anguished. Shedonned a gown and bonnet of black in testimony of her bereavement, butthere was no unnecessary flaunt of crape in her decently symbolic garb. As Aunt Delia McCormick phrased it, she was not in "heavymourning, "--merely "in light distress. "

The town was content to let it go at that, especially after theadjustment of certain formalities which enabled the widow for a time tosuspend her work of ministering to its higher wants. 

The railway company had at first, it appeared, been disposed to viewits removal of Potts very lightly indeed; not only because of hisunimposing appearance, but by reason of his well-attested mentalcondition at the time of the occurrence--a condition clearlyself-induced, and one that placed him beyond those measures of safetywhich a common carrier is obliged to exercise in behalf of its patrons. 

But a package of letters had been discovered among the meagre belongingsof the unfortunate man, and these had placed the matter in a verydifferent light. They showed conclusively that the victim had been ofimportance, a citizen of rare values in any community that he mightchoose to favor with his presence. 

Truman Baird settled the case and, after these letters had beenappraised by the corporation's attorney, he succeeded in extorting thesum of eight hundred dollars from the railway as recompense to the widowfor the loss of her husband's services. I considered that the companywould have given up at least five hundred more to avoid being sued forthe death of a man who had been able to evoke those letters; but I didnot say so, for the case was Truman's and eight hundred dollars weremany. Westley Keyts thought they were, indeed, a great many, andoutrageously excessive as a cold money valuation of Potts. "She only goteight hundred dollars, but there's them that thinks she skinned thecompany at _that!_" said Westley. 

But there was no disposition to begrudge the widow a single dollar ofthis modest sum. A jury of Little Arcadians would have multiplied ittenfold without a blush; for, while that little hoard endured, anycitizen, however public spirited, could flavor with a certain grace hisrefusal to subscribe for a book. 

To Solon Denney the thing came as a deep and divine relief. In thesatisfaction induced by it, he penned an obituary of Potts in which heemployed the phrase "grim messenger of death" very cleverly indeed. Formatters had been going from bad to worse. Murmurs at the demands of Mrs. Potts--likened by Asa Bundy to a daughter of the horse leech--had becomepassionately loud as our masses toiled expensively up that Potts-definedpath of enlightenment. The old sneer at Solon's Boss-ship was again tobe observed on every hand, that attitude of doubting ridicule, half-playful, half-contemptuous, which your public man finds moredangerous to his influence than downright hostility would be. 

But the murmurs were again stilled, and Solon might breathe the peace ofa golden age when as yet no Potts, male or female, had come unto us. 

It was not felt at all that Solon's genius for the discretion of publicaffairs had availed him in this latest crisis. But the benefit wassubstantial, none the less, and the columns of the _Argus_ were againbuoyant as of yore. It was at this time, I remember, that the _Argus_first spoke of our town as "a gem at beauty's throat, " and, touching therare enterprise of our citizens, declared that, "If you put a SlocumCounty man astride a streak of lightning, he'd call for a pair ofspurs. "

For myself, I frankly mourned Potts. For I saw now that he had beentruly and finely of that Greek spirit--one accepting gifts from the godswith a joyous young faith in their continuance. I felt that he haddivined more of the lesson of Greek art than his one-time love couldwrite down in papers unending. I should not have wished him back inLittle Arcady, but I did breathe a prayer that he might in some earlyGreek elysium be indeed "Potts forever. " Might it not be? Had not thatother paper on "the message of Emerson" hinted of "compensation" in ajargon that sounded authoritative?

And now, as I breakfasted, my attention was invited anew to thatfateful, never ending extension of the Potts-made ripples in our littlepool. I was threatened with the loss of my domestic stay; again might Ibe forced to the City Hotel's refectory of a thousand blended smells andspotty table-linen; or even to irksome adventure at the board of theself-lauded Budd. 

There was selfish wonder in my heart as I listened to Clem, who, nowthat my second cup of coffee competed with the May blossoms, stood by totell me of his worldly advancement and the nearing of a time when MissCaroline should come among us to be independent. 

His stubborn industry had counted. The vegetable and melon crop of theyear before had been abundant and well sold, despite sundry raids uponthe latter by nameless boys, who, he assured me, "hain't had no raghtraisin'. " And he had further swelled that hoard of "reglah gole money"in Bundy's bank by his performances of house-cleaning, catering, and hiswork as janitor; not a little, too, by sales of the fish he caught. Hewas believed to possess a secret charm that made his fish-baitirresistible. Certainly his fortune in this matter was superior to thatof any other frequenter of the bass nooks below the dam. 

And now he had waxed so heavy of purse that a woman could come betweenus, --a selfish woman, I made no doubt, pampered survival of a perniciousand now happily destroyed system, who would not only unsettle mydomestic tranquillity, but would, in all likelihood, fetch another alienferment into our already sorely tried existence as a town needingelevation. It seemed, indeed, that we were never to be done with theseconsequences. 

Separated from my house by a stretch of weedy lawn was a shamblingstructure built years before by one Azariah Prouse, who believed amongother strange matters that the earth is flat and that houses are builthigher than one story only at great peril, because of the earth'sproneness to tip if overbalanced. Prouse had compromised with thisbelief, however, and made his house a story and a half high, in what Iconceive to have been a dare-devil spirit. The reckless upper rooms werethus cut off untimely by ceilings of sudden slope, and might not bewalked in uprightly save by persons of an inconsiderable stature. 

In a fulness of years Azariah had died and been chested, like Joseph ofold, his soul to be gathered, as he believed, to another horizontalplane, exalted far above this, as would befit an abode for spirits ofthe departed good. 

His earthly home, now long vacant, had been rented by Clem for a monthlysum not particularly cheap in view of its surprising limitations abovestairs. It was of this new home that he chiefly talked to me, of thepersistence required to have it newly painted by the inheriting Prouse, and repairs made to doors, windows, and the blinds that hung awry fromthem. 

"An' Ah been cleanin'--yes, seh, Mahstah Majah--fum celleh to gahet. Them floahs do shine an' them windows is jes' so clean they look lahkthey ain't theah at all. Miss Cahline an' Little Miss, they reside onth' lowah floah, an' Ah tek mahse'f up to that theh gahet. Yes, seh, Ahhaf to scrooge aw Ah git mah haid knocked off, but Ah reckon Ah sho'will luhn to remembeh in Gawd's own time. An' they's a tehible grandhen-house. Ah'm go'n' a' raise a hund'ed thousan' yellow-laiged pullets;an' theh's a staihway down to th' watah whah Ah kin tie up mah olecatfish boat, an' a monst'ous big gyahden whah Ah kin keep mah fie'celook on them mush an' watah melons. Ah don' want t' git into any mo'alterations with them boys, but Ah suttinly will weah 'em out if theydon't mind theah cautions. Yes, seh, --we all go'n' a' have a raghttolable homeplace. "

Then my grievance prompted me. 

"Yes, and who's going to get my breakfast and dinner for me, then?" Iasked with a dark look, but he beamed upon me placatingly. 

"Oh, Ah's still go'n' a' do fo yo', Mahstah Majah. Ah steddied huh allout twell she's plumb systemous. Miss Cahline sh' ain't wantin' huhbreakfus' twell yo's done, an' she'll tek huh dinneh uhliah. Ah manage, Mahstah Majah. Ah mek all mah reddiments, yes, seh--yo's go'n' a' bejes' lahk mah own folks. "

I affected to be made more cheerful by this, but I knew that no man canserve two masters, especially when he is the "pussenal propity" of one;but I forbore to warn the deluded African of the tribulations ahead ofhim. 

The Book of MISS CAROLINE

CHAPTER XIII

A CATASTROPHE IN FURNITURE

"Miss Cahline comin' this yeh time a' yeah so's 't'll seem mo' soft an'homelike. Ah gaiss she go'n' a' sprighten raght up when she see th'summeh time all pleasant. "

Thus Clem said to me a few weeks later, and I praised histhoughtfulness. But I nursed misgivings both for Miss Caroline and forLittle Arcady. How would they take each other? I conceived Miss Carolineto be a formidable person whom Little Miss resembled, Clem said, "asaigs look lahk aigs. " No further detail could I elicit from him savethat his Mistress was "not fleshily inclahned, " and that Little Miss was"sweetah'n honey on a rag!"

They would find our summer acceptable, even after a Southern summerheavy-sweet with magnolia and jasmine, honeysuckle and mimosa; withspirea and bridal-wreath and white-blossomed sloe trees. And the houseas put to rights by Clem would be found at least endurable. It had notthe solid grace nor the columned front of the houses I had somewhathurriedly admired in the Southland some years before, but its lowerrooms were wide, its windows abundant, and outwardly it had escaped theblight of the scroll saw. 

But the civilization of Little Arcady would be alien to the newcomers, and I was apprehensive that it would also be difficult. 

Further, I suspected that J. R. C. Tuckerman, with all his genius for hardwork, lacked the administrative gifts of a true financier. He said ahundred thousand pullets when he should have said twenty-five, and heseemed to consider his banked hoard of gold money to be inexhaustiblewhen it was in fact merely a sum slightly greater than he was wont tojuggle with in his darkened mind. 

I was not surprised, therefore, when I found him rather dejectedly sunkin figures one afternoon about a week after Miss Caroline's"home-fixin's" had begun to arrive. 

These were all about him at the front door, in the hall, and extendingfar into the rooms, a truly depressing chaos of packing boxes, swathedtables, chairs, bureaus, and barrels of china. Nor was this all; foreven as I loitered up to the door the dray of Sam Murdock halted infront with another huge load. 

Clem raised his head from a sheet of sprawled figures and regarded thisfresh trouble with something like consternation. In one hand hefluttered a packet of receipted freight bills, and he spoke as one in anevil dream. 

"Yes, seh, Mahstah Majah, it suttinly do seem lahk them railroadgenamen would git monst'ous rich a-runnin' them freight trains about th'kentry th' way lahk they do. Ah allus think them ole freight cyahs lookmaghty cheap an' common a-rattlin' around, but Ah teks mah ole hat offto um yehafteh. Yes, seh, Ah lays Ah will! Them engineahs an' fiahmenan' them Cunnels with gole on they hats, Ah gaiss they go'n' a' have allth' money in th' world maghty shawtly. They looks highly awdinahy an'unpetentious, but they suttinly p'duces th' revenue. Ah sho'ly go'n' a'repoht mahse'f to um ve'y honably when they pass me by yehafteh. Yo'don't gaiss they made a errah, Mahstah Majah?"

He searched my face with a sudden hope:--

"Yo' don't reckon they git a idy them funichas an' home-fixin's ain'tbeen paid foh in th' fust place?"

I took the packet from his hands and glanced over it. 

"No, these seem to be all right, Clem--only freight is charged for. Butyou must remember Virginia is a long way off. "

"Yes, seh--it ain't neveh raghtly come upon me befoh. "

"And freights are high, of course?"

"Yes, seh, th' freight p'fession does look lahk it ort a' be maghtygainful. Ah gaiss them engineahs go'n' a' do raght well in it, withevabody movin' 'round considable. "

"Well, how many more loads do you expect?"

"Well, seh, Ah don't raghtly know. Ah tell that drivah yestaday Ahalready got a gret abundance to mek evabody comf'table, an' a little bitoveh, but he jes' sais, 'Oh, tha's all raght, ' an' so fothe, an' hestill is _a-bringin_' it. Lohks ve'y strongly lahk he ain't go'n' a'stop at _mah_ implications. Mahstah Majah, maght happen lahk he'd ackmo' reasonin' ef yo' was t' have a good long talk with him. "

"Oh, he hasn't anything to do with it. He only brings what your MissCaroline has shipped. She shouldn't have sent so much, that's all. "

He took the troubling bills again. 

"Yo' _sounds_ raght, Mahstah Majah--you suttinly do sound _raght_! Ahgaiss Ah got a' raise ten hund'ed thousan' pulletts an mo'. "

For three more days the juggernaut of Sam Murdock's dray hauled heavyfurniture over the prostrate spirit of Clem. Faster than he could unpackthe stuff was it unpiled at his door. And it was poor stuff, moreover, in the opinion of Little Arcady. Clem's history was known, of course, and during these busy days the town made it a point to pass his door infriendly curiosity about the belongings of his mistress. When thesecould not be satisfactorily appraised from the yard, they sauntered upto the porch and surveyed Clem in the front room at his work ofunpacking and cleaning. Often, indeed, some kindly disposed observerwith time to spare would lend a hand in freeing some heavy bit ofmahogany from its crate or wrappings. 

The public opinion, thus advantageously formed, was for once unanimous. The house overflowed with worthless and unbeautiful junk. To LittleArcady this was a grievous disappointment. It had expected elegance, forClem had been wont to enlarge upon the splendors of his former home. When it was finally known that the long-vaunted furnishings were coming, the town had prepared to be dazzled by sets of black walnut, ornate withgilt lines, by patent rockers done in plush, by fashionable sofas, gaywith upholstery of flowered ingrain, by bedroom sets of ash, stencilledadroitly with pink-and-blue flowers, or set with veneered panels ofburl; by writing-desks of maple and music-stands of cherry with manyspindles and frettings, by sideboards of finest new oak with brasshandles and mirrors in the backs. 

The town had anticipated, in short, up to its own high and difficultstandards. And along had come a ruck of stuff that was dark and dingyand old-fashioned; awkward articles with a vast dull expanse ofmahogany, ending in clumsy claw feet; spindle-legged tables inlaid withwhite wood; old-fashioned mirrors in scarred gilt frames;awkward-looking highboys and the plainest of sofas and lounges. Thechief sideboard boasted not the tiniest bit of brass; even the handleswere of cheap glass, and Clem had set candle-sticks upon it that werenothing but pewter. 

Where Little Arcady had looked for the best Brussels carpets, there cameonly dull-colored rugs of a most aged and depressing lack of gayety. Asfor silver, we knew the worst when Aunt Delia McCormick declared, "Theyhaven't even a swinging ice-pitcher--nothing but thin battered old stuffthat was made in the year one!"

Aunt Delia had quite the newest and most fashionable furniture in town;her parlor was a feast of color for any eye, and her fine hardwoodsideboard alone had cost twenty-two dollars, so she spoke as one havingauthority. 

By the time that Clem's ancient treasures were all unpacked, LittleArcady felt a genuine if patronizing sympathy for his mistress. If_that_ were the boasted elegance of the ante-bellum South, thenTradition had reported falsely. No plush rockers of the newest patent;no chenille curtains; no art chromos; no hat-racks, not even animitation bronze mantle clock guarded by its mailed warrior. Such clocksas there were left only honest distress in the mind of thebeholder, --tall, outlandish old things in wooden cases. 

It was believed that Clem had wasted money in paying freight on thisstuff. Certainly no one in Little Arcady would have paid those bills topossess the furniture. As to the folly of those who had originallypurchased it, the town was likewise a unit. 

If Clem was made aware of this public sentiment, he still did not waverin his loyalty to the old pieces. Day after day he unpacked and dustedand polished them with loving devotion. They spoke to him of other days, and when he was quite sure that the last freight bill had been paid, heseemed really to enjoy them. The unexpected drain had reduced hissavings to a pittance, but were not the pullets which he could raiseabsolutely without number?

It was true that Miss Caroline would have to come alone now, leavingLittle Miss still to teach in the school at Baltimore until a day ofrenewed surplus. This much Clem confided to me in sorrow. I sympathizedwith him, truly, but I felt it was a fortunate circumstance. I thoughtthat one of the ladies at a time would be as much as Little Arcady couldassimilate. 

Slowly the house grew into a home awaiting its mistress, a home whosefurnished rooms overflowed into others not furnished but merely crowded. 

I foresaw, not without a certain wicked cheerfulness, that, even afterthe coming of Miss Caroline, Clem would be forced to pander to mybreakfast appetites for the slight betterment it made in his fortunes, even must this be done surreptitiously. And at least one dinner wassecured to me beyond the coming of this mistress; for Clem had conveyedto me, with appropriate ceremony, an invitation, which I promptlyaccepted, to dine with Mrs. Caroline Lansdale at six-thirty on theevening of her arrival, she having gleaned from his letters, itappeared, that I had been a rather friendly adviser of her servant. 

In the days that followed I saw that Clem was regarding me with anembarrassed, troubled look. Something of weight lay upon his mind. Norwas it easy, to make him speak, but I achieved this at last. 

"Well, seh, Mahstah Majah, yo'-all see, Ah ain't eveh told Miss Cahlinethat yo's a Majah in th' Nawthun ahmy. "

"No?" I said. 

"No, seh; Ah ain't even said yo's been a common soljah. "

"Well?"

"'Cause Miss Cahline's tehible heahtfelt 'bout some mattehs. Th'Lansdales sho'ly kin ca'y a grudge powful long. An' so--seh--Ah ain'tneveh tole on yo'. "

"But she'll find it out. "

"Yes, seh, an' she maght fuhgit it, but--Ah crave yo' pahdon, seh--theh's yo' ahm what's gone. "

"It's too late to help that, Clem. "

"Well, seh--now Ah was steddyin'--if yo' kin'ly grant yo' grace ofpahdon, seh--lahkly 'twould compliment Miss Cahline ef yo' was to gityo'se'f fitted to one a' them unnatchel limbs, seh. Yo' sho'ly go'n' a'pesteh huh rec'lections with that theh saggin' sleeve, Mahstah Majah. "

But this kindly meant proposal I felt compelled to reject. 

"No, Clem, you'll have to fix it up with Miss Caroline the best youcan. "

"Ve'y well, seh, thank yo', seh--Ah do mah ve'y best fo' yo'. "

But I saw that he had little hope of ever winning for me the favor ofhis captious owner. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE COMING OF MISS CAROLINE

She came to us auspiciously on a day in the first week of June. 

Mistress Caroline Lansdale, a one-time belle of the Old Dominion, relictof the late Colonel Jere Lansdale, C. S. A. , legislator and duellist, whose devotion to her in the days of their courtship had been the talkof two states. Not less notable than his eloquence in the forum, hisskill in the duello, had been the determined fervor with which he kneltat her feet. And I waited no more than a hundred seconds in her presenceto applaud his discernment. 

I had pictured an old woman--some aged trifle of an elder day, sad, withered, devitalized, intemperately reminiscent--steeped in traditionsthat would leave her formidable, and impracticable as a friend to me. Ihad fancied her thus, from Clem's fragmentary and chance descriptionsand my own knowledge of what she should be by all laws of the probable;and she was not as I had evolved her. 

The day she came was one of Little Arcady's best; quite all that heranxious servitor could have wished, --a day of summer's first abundance, when our green-bordered streets basked in a tempered sunlight, and ourtrim white cottages nestled coolly back of their flower gardens. Harriedalien as she was, she would be welcomed with smiles, and I was glad forher sake and Clem's when I hurried home to dress for that first dinnerwith her. 

On my way across the lawn at six-thirty I picked a bunch of the newlyopened yellow roses as a peace offering, should one be needed. Clem, inhis most formal dress, received me ceremoniously at the door, his lookbetraying only the faintest, formalest acknowledgment of having everencountered mine before. With a superb bow toward the drawing-room andin tones stiffly magnificent, he announced, "Mistah Calvin Blake. " Itwas excellently done, but I knew he had rehearsed the "Mistah. "

Then a woman rose from one of the deep old chairs to offer me her hand, and a soft quick laugh came as she perceived my difficulty, for my onehand held the roses. These she gathered gracefully into her left hand, while her right fell into mine with a swift little pressure as she bademe welcome. 

"Clem has told me of you, Mr. Blake. I feel that you are one of us. Letme thank you at once for the consideration you have shown him. "

In the half light I hesitated awkwardly enough to speak her name, for Ifelt that this could not be the mother of Little Miss. Rather was it thedaughter herself. I stammered words that must have revealed myuncertainty, for again she laughed, and then she ordered lights. 

Clem came soft-footedly with a branching candelabra, which he placed onthe round-topped old table by which she had been sitting. She moved astep to where the soft lights glowed up into her face, and with mockseriousness stood to be surveyed fairly. 

"There, Mr. Blake! You see I confess all my years. "

And I saw the truth, that she loitered gracefully among the vague andpleasant fifties. But then she did a thing which would have beeninjudicious in most women of her years. Her hand, still holding myroses, went up to her face, and her cheek glowed dusky and pink againstthe yellow petals. I saw that she rightly appraised her own daring andfelt free to say:--

"You _see_! My confusion was inevitable. Not one of those candles can bespared if I am to believe you are Miss Caroline. "

Again she laughed, revealing now a girlish freshness in the small mouth, that had somehow lingered to belie the deeper, graver lines about herdark eyes. As she still regarded me with that smiling, waiting lift ofthe short upper lip, I called out:--

"More lights, Clem! I need all you have. "

Whereat Miss Caroline fell into her chair with a marvellous blush, anundeniable darkening of the pink on cheeks that were in texture like thefinest, sheerest lawn. 

Never thereafter could I refuse credence to tales, of which many came tome, exposing Miss Caroline as an able and relentless coquette. Norcould I fail to understand how the late Colonel Jere Lansdale would havefound need to be a duellist after he became her lover, even had heaforetime been unskilled in that difficult art. 

As she chatted, chiefly of her journey, I falsely pretended to listen, whereas I only stared and in spirit was prostrate before her. Merekneeling at her feet savored too nearly of arrogance. I felt the need tobe a spread rug in her presence. She sat back in the chair that embracedher loosely, a slight figure with a small head, on which the heavystrands of whitening hair seemed only a powdered lie above the curiouslygirlish face. A tiny black patch or two on the face, I thought, wouldhave made this illusion perfect. And yet when she did not laugh, or insome little silence of recollection, the deeper lines stood out, and Icould see that sorrow had long known its way to her face. It even lurkednow back of her eyes, and I knew that she tried to keep her face lightedfor me so that I should not detect it. She succeeded admirably, but thesmile could not always be there, and ghosts of her dead years camestealthily to haunt her face as surely as the smile went. 

When Clem, with an air of having had word from a numerous kitchen crew, stood before us and bowed out, "Miss Cahline, dinneh is suhved!" I gaveher my arm with a feeling of vast relief. Not only was Miss Caroline anabiding joy, but apprehension as to my modest complicity in her latedistress had, too, evidently been groundless. She had once, with whatseemed to be an almost artificial politeness, asked me about our timbersupply and the state of the lumber market; queries to which I hadreplied with an assumption of interest equally artificial, for I wasignorant of both topics, and not even remotely concerned about either. 

Seated at the table, which Clem had arrayed with a faultless artistry, Ipromptly demanded the removal of a tall piece of cut glass and itsburden of carnations, asserting that both glass and flowers might bewell enough in their way, but that I could regard them only as a blankwall of exasperating ugliness while they interrupted a view of myhostess. Whereat I was again regaled with that imcomparable blush. 

Clem served a soup that had been two days in the making and was worththe time. But even ere the stain had faded from the cheeks of myhostess, cheeks of slightly crumpled roseleaf, another look flashed thesmile from her eyes--a quick, firm, woman look of suffering anddefiance. 

She had raised her glass, and I mechanically did the same. 

"Mr. Blake, let us drink standing!--we women earned the right to standwith you. "

A little puzzled, I stood up to face her, as Clem pulled back her chair. One hand on the table, the other reaching her slender stemmed glassaloft, she leaned toward me with a look of singular vehemence. 

"To our murdered brothers and husbands and sons, Mr. Blake! To our lostleaders and our deathless lost cause! To Jefferson Davis and RobertEdmund Lee! To the Confederate States of America!"

A black wind seemed to blow across the face of her servitor's flutteringeyelids. But I drank loyally to Mrs. Caroline Lansdale and whatsoeverthat woman would. I could see that Clem exhaled a deep breath. How longhe had held it I know not. 

We resumed our seats, and the dinner went forward with my hostess againherself. It was a dinner not heavy but choice, a repast upon which Clemhad magically worked all his spells. There was a bass that had nosed theriver's current that morning, two pullets cut off in the very dawn ofadolescence, and a mysteriously perfect pastry whose secret I had neverbeen able to wring from him beyond the uninforming and obvious enoughdata that it contained "some sugah an' a little spicin's. "

Having for my luncheon that day suffered an up-to-date dinner atBudds's, I felt a genuine craving for food; yet the spell of my hostesswas such that I left her table ahungered. 

Again there was an inexplicable reference from her to the timber andsawed-lumber interests of the Little Country, and the circumstance thatanother black wind seemed to shiver the eyelids of Clem lent no lightto the mystery of it. But then, as if some recondite duty to me had beensafely performed, she talked to me of herself, of days when the youth ofthe Old Dominion had been covetous of her smiles, of nightly triumphs inball and rout, of gay seasons at the nation's capital, amid the fashionand beauty and wit of Pierce's administration and of Buchanan's, ofrounds of calls made in her calash, of bewitching gowns she had worn, oftheatres and musicales and teas and embassy receptions, in a day whenHarriet Lane was mistress of the White House. 

For my pleasing she laughed her sprightly way through memories of thatromantic past, when she danced and chattered in the fulness of herbellehood, bringing out a multitude of treasured mementoes, complimentsshe had compelled, witticisms she had prompted, pranks she had played, delectable repasts she had eaten at Lady Napier's or another's, thesplendor of pageants she had witnessed. And though she was back in anelder day, she glowed young as she talked, whether recalling officialsolemnities or a once-cherished gown of embroidered tulle, caught upwith bunches of grapes. The girl's mouth was her's--fresh and full, unlined by care. 

It was not until she talked of later, younger days that her face took onan old look. 

"When our federated states rose up in their might, " was a phrase thatbrought the change. Thereafter she spoke in subdued tones of a time moreeventful than romantic, but still absorbing. 

She remembered the words in which she felicitated General Pope Walkerfor having issued the order to fire on Sumter. She gave details of theprivation that Richmond on her seven hills had suffered in the latterdays, and she made plain why their women should rise with their men todrink certain toasts; how they, too, had sacrificed and toiled andsuffered with the same loyal tenacity. She mentioned "the presentgovernment" casually, as the affair of a day; and spoke of "Mr. Lincoln, their Northern President, " in a tone implying confidence that I sharedher feeling for him. 

As we went back to the drawing-room for coffee, she summed up herself tome, though she thought to sum up more than herself. 

"They swept us with the besom of war, Mr. Blake, and theyoverwhelmed--but they could not subjugate us. "

As she spoke, my eyes caught for the first time a portrait that hung onthe wall back of her. It was the portrait of one dark but fair, withshoulders of a girlish slenderness all but thin, with eyes of glowingdusk and a half-smile upon her lips. It was like my hostess in a fashionof line and color, and yet enough unlike her so that I knew it must bethe daughter. The face was a shade narrower of chin, a bit longer, andin some obscure differing of the features there was an effect of morepoise, almost of a maturer dignity, so that while I divined it was theface of her daughter, it would seem to have been better planned for theface of her mother. 

She followed my eyes to the picture, and her face was still almoststern from her last speech, though it is true that the sternness was adimpled sternness, for the chin of my hostess was rounded. 

"They overwhelmed us, Mr. Blake, --my daughter there, and me, and Godalone has counted how many other wretched women. Her they struck adouble blow--they killed the two men she loved. One was her father, butshe flew to the other. She found her picture in his dead hands. Ouryoung men were apt to die in that fashion; and when she put it back tobe buried with him, her eyes were dry. Even under her double blow, shewas stronger than I. She has been stronger ever since, but she sufferedmore than I was made to. Oh, it was a fine thing for them to do!"

Her voice rose at the last into a little trembling gust of passion, andI saw again the spirit that gave those women the right to stand with themen. She recovered herself quickly, and the girl in her smiled upon meagain. 

"You must overlook my forgetfulness. I shall not forget often, especially now that I am among these murderous fanatics. But I was tiredto-night, and I was so glad when I knew I could talk to you freely. "

Her eyes were upon me in friendly unreserve, in confident appeal. 

In the face of what I should have felt, I was ashamed at that moment, and in the nervousness of hidden guilt I handled the minute coffee cupawkwardly. Clem, who must have been equally nervous, stepped to rightthe thing in its saucer, with "Yes, seh, Mahstah Majah!"

From across the table I knew, without raising my eyes, that his mistressglanced up at Clem in quick astonishment, then that her eyes werefastened upon my face. I still regarded the coffee interestedly, but Iknew that I myself blushed now and I suspected that my hostess was pale. 

"Major?" she began questioningly, then more decidedly, "_Major_ Blake?"

I raised my eyes to hers and nodded idiotically. 

She laughed a little laugh that was icy in its politeness. 

"How stupid of me, and now I must ask your pardon for all my tirade, formy blasphemies, and for that monstrous toast I--really--"

She shot a look at Clem, under which he blanched visibly, then her eyeswere again upon me and she smiled with a rare art. 

"Really, you will overlook an old woman's weakness. "

It was the inimical, remote, icy superiority of her tone that nettledme--perhaps her implied assumption that I would not know it for such. But also I felt curiously stricken by that swift withdrawal of herconfidence, for Mrs. Caroline Lansdale had won me by her laugh and blushof ancient girlishness. Further, I would not now be hurt by any woman, though she were ten times my years, without a show of defence. 

I arose as Clem hastily fled from the room. 

"Miss Caroline--" I waited for the fine little brows to go up at that. Ihad not long to wait. 

"I shall positively never call you anything else but Miss Caroline whileyou permit me to address you at all--understand it--I've associated withyour boy too long. Well, I did do four years of fighting, and I wasmustered out with the rank of Major. You might as well know it now aslater. You'll have longer to forget it. I wish I could forget it myself. Not the fact, for I should fight again as long and try to fight harderin the same cause, but the hellishness of it--the damnable, inhumanobscenity of it--I should like to forget. I never said so before, MissCaroline, --there was no one to say it to, --but it made me old before mytime. Why, I could almost be a son of yours, if you will pardon thatminor brutality, and the thing is aging me to this day. I helped to killyour young men and your old men, but you ought to know that I didn't doit for holiday sport. The first one of your men I saw dead lay alone bythe roadside, a boy, foolishly young, with a tired face that was stillsmiling. He'd fallen there as if sleep had overtaken him on the march. Our column had halted, and I went to him. It must have taken a fullminute for me to realize that this was dignified war and not the murderof a boy in a homely gray uniform. When I did realize it, I was soweakened that I broke down and cried. I was a private then. I coveredhis face, and got up strong enough to assault two other privates who hadfound my snivelling funny. One of them went to the field hospital, and Iwent under arrest when I'd finished with the other. You ought to know, Miss Caroline, that the sight of thousands of your other dead nevermoved me to any merriment. I tried to be a good soldier, but I felt thedeath pains of every fallen man I saw. I didn't stop to note the colorof his uniform. Miss Caroline--"

I waited until I had made her look at me. 

"The war is over, you know. Suppose you forget me as a soldier and takeme as a man. Really, I believe we ought to know each other better. "

Clem had once found occasion to say, "When Miss Cahline tek th' notionto shine huh eyes up, she sho' is a highly illuminous puhsonality. "

I saw then what he meant, for Miss Caroline had "shined" her eyes, andthey flooded me with a distracting medley of lights. I thought shestruggled very uncertainly with herself. Her eyes shifted from my faceto the empty sleeve. Twice before that evening--I remembered it had beenwhen she spoke so enigmatically of the lumber industry--her eyes hadrested there briefly, discreetly, but in all sympathy. Now the look wasdifferent. It wavered. At one instant I seemed to read regret that I hadcome off so well--her eyes flickered suggestively to my remaining arm. 

"Be fair, " I said; "did I not drink your toast?"

I thought she wavered at this, for a blush deeper than all the otherssuffused her. 

"Besides, " I continued warningly, "you are within the enemy's lines now, and you may find me a help. Come!" and I held out my hand. 

Very slowly she put her own within it. I noticed that it was stillplump, the fine skin not yet withered. 

"You are very kind, Major Blake. I had been misinformed, or you shouldhave had no occasion to think me rude. "

It was then that I wished definitely to shake Miss Caroline. 

"Come, come, " I said, "you are not giving me what you gave at first. I'mnot to be put off that way, you know. If I call you Miss Caroline, --andI've sworn to call you nothing else, --you must be Miss Caroline. "

She searched my face eagerly, --then--

"You _shall_ call me Miss Caroline--but remember, sir, it makes you myservant. " She smiled again, without the icy reserve this time, whereat Iwas glad--but back of the smile I could see that she felt a bitterhomesickness of the new place. 

"Your most obedient servant, " I said. "You have another slave, MissCaroline, another that refuses manumission--another bit of personalproperty, clumsy but willing. "

"Thank you, Major, I need your kindness more than I might seem to needit. Good night!" and even then she gave me a rose, with the samecoquetry, I doubt not, that had once made Colonel Jere Lansdale quick tothink of his pistols when another evoked it. Only now it masked herweariness, her sense of desperate desolation. I took the rose and kissedher hand. I left her wilting in the big chair, staring hard into thefireplace that Clem had rilled with summer green things. 

When my fellow-chattel appeared next morning with my coffee, he wasembarrassed. With guile he strove to be talkative about matters of noconsequence. But this availed him not. 

"Clem, " I said frigidly, "tell me just what you said to Mrs. Lansdaleabout me. "

He paltered, shifting on his feet, his brow contracted in perplexity, asif I had propounded some intricate trifle of the higher mathematics. 

"Huh! Wha--what's that yo'-all is a-sayin', Mahstah Majah?"

"Stop that, now! I needn't tell you twice what I said. Out with it!"

"Well, seh, Mahstah Majah, of co'se, yo'-all tole me to fix it man ownway, an' Ah lay Ah'd do it raghtly--an' so Miss Cahline is ve'y busygoin' th'oo th' rooms an' spressin' huhse'f how grand evehthing suttinlydo look an' so fothe an' so on, an' sh' ain't payin' much attention--Ahreckon sh' ain't huhd raghtly--"

"Clem--the Bible says, 'How forceful are right words!'"

He stopped at my look, despaired, and became succinct. 

"Well, seh, Ah jes' think Ah brek it to huh easy-lahk, by degrees, so Ahsais yo' is a genaman of wahm South'n lahkings. Ah sais yo' been so hotfo' th' South all th'oo that theh wah that evehbody yeh'bouts despisedan' reviled you. An' she sais why ain't yo' gone faght fo' th' South efyo'-all so hot about it, an' Ah sais yo' was eageh to go, but yo' beenin the timbeh business, an' one day yo' got rash about yo' saw-mill, an'th' ole buzz-saw jes' natchelly tuk off yo' ahm, so's yo' couldn't go toth' wah. Yes, seh, Mahstah Majah--Ah laid Ah'd brek it grajally--an' Ahsuttingly did have that lady a-thinkin' ve'y highly of yo' at th' timeof yo' entrance, seh, --yes, seh!"

CHAPTER XV

LITTLE ARCADY VIEWS A PARADE

And so began the time of Miss Caroline among us, --one effect the more ofFate's mad trickery. It was my privilege to be more intimately aware ofher concerns than was the town at large. And even to me in those days shecarried off the difficulties of her lot with a manner so plausible thatit clenched my admiration if it did not win my belief. I knew that shedaily bore a burden of ruin and faced a future of perilous uncertainty. I knew that she must have journeyed into our strange land with a realterror, nerved to that course only by a resolve to be no longer a burdenupon her impoverished kinsman. Surely it had been like dying a death forher to leave the land of her own people, devastated though it was andvacant of those who had made the world easy for her. 

And I was not a little puzzled by the tie that bound her to her oneremaining stay. Both she and Clem, I saw, considered her coming to himto be a thing so natural that it should excite no wonder, a thingfamiliar in the thought and as little to be puzzled about as their ownbreathing. I saw that her perplexities lay not at all in this blackfellow's unthinking adherence to his life of service, but rather in thecircumstance of her spirit-grieving exile and in the necessary doubts ofher chattel's competence for the feat he had undertaken. 

I despaired very soon of ever comprehending the intricate strands oftheir relationship. When I understood, as I was not long in doing, thateach was in certain ways genuinely afraid of the other, I knew that theproblem must always be far beyond my own little powers. 

As to Little Arcady at large, some aspects of this complication weresimpler than they appeared to me; others were more obscure. Of thetragedy of Miss Caroline's mere coming to us they could suspect nothing, save it might be the humiliation her old-fashioned furniture must putupon her in a prosperous town where so much of the furniture was elegantto the point of extravagance. 

In the much-discussed matter of mistress and slave, the town agreedsimply that Clem was stupid and had been deluded by Miss Caroline intobelieving that a certain proclamation had stopped short of her personalproperty. It was believed that she had terrorized him by threatening toput bloodhounds on his trail if he ever tried to run off--for the townknew its "Uncle Tom's Cabin" as well as it knew "Gaskell's Compendium. "It was thought that if Clem proved to be disobedient or rebellious, hismistress would try to hire "Big Joe" Kestril or some equally strongperson to whip him with a "black-snake. " Also it was said that she hadsold his wife away from him, and might try to sell Clem himself if evershe got "hard up, " though it was felt that she would be wise not to gotoo far in that matter. 

For the rest, Little Arcady rather rejoiced in the novelty of MissCaroline's establishment. There was a flavor of much-needed romance inthis survival at our very doors of an ante-bellum unrighteousness. Thetown cherished a hope that Clem would try to run off some time, or thatMiss Caroline would have his back cut to ribbons, or try to sell ormortgage him or something, thus creating entertainment of an agreeableand exciting character. 

If the town could have overheard Clem scolding the lady with frankirritation in his voice, --as I chanced to do once or twice, --had itbeheld his scowl as he raged, "Miss Cahline, yo' sho'ly gittin' old'nuff to know betteh'n _that_. I suttinly do wish yo' Paw was alive an'yeh'bouts. Ah git him afteh yo' maghty quick. Now yo' jes' remembeh Ahain't go'n' a' _have_ no sech doin's!"--if it could have noted thequailing consternation of the mistress at these moments, it might havebeen puzzled; but of such phenomena it never knew. It was aware onlythat Miss Caroline treated Clem with a despotic severity, issuingcommands to him as from a throne of power and in tones of acridauthority that were the envy of all housekeepers among us who kept"hired girls. "

Even Mrs. Potts, long before the arrival of Miss Caroline, had despairedof teaching Clem to make something of himself. He had refused tosubscribe for a "Compendium, " and her cordial assurance that he was, bythe law of the land, both a man and a brother, did not even mildly elatehim. Mrs. Potts was soon in a like despair regarding Miss Caroline, whomshe regarded as too frivolous ever to make anything of herself. Thesetwo ladies, indeed, were widely apart. Perhaps I can intimate the extentof their unlikeness by revealing that Mrs. Potts, early in ouracquaintance, had observed of me that I was not serious enough; whereasMiss Caroline was presently averring to my face that I was entirely tooserious. These judgments of myself seemed to contrast the ladiesinformingly. 

The impression that Miss Caroline was frivolous--or even worse--becamecurrent the day after her arrival in Little Arcady. Arrayed in alavender silk dress of many flounces, with bonnet beribboned gaylybeyond her years, shod in low walking shoes of heel iniquitously high, atoe minute and shining and an instep ornate to an unholy degree, bearinga slender gold-tipped staff of polished ebony to assist theatrically inher progress, and bestowing placid, patronizing looks to right and left, she had flounced into Main Street, followed ceremoniously by her blackchattel, himself set up with a palpable and shameless pride in hisdegradation, saluting stiffly and with an artificial grandeur those whomhe would otherwise have greeted with the unstudied ease of longassociation. 

This procession regaled both Main and Washington streets, where MissCaroline visited our shops to make inconsiderable purchases and manyfriends. It was a function the pleasant data whereof I was not long incollecting. 

Her first conquest was Chester Pierce, our excellent hardware merchant, whom she commissioned to make a needed repair to her range. It was asimple business matter, and Chester Pierce is a simple business personof plain manners. But as he slouched comfortably upon his counter andlistened to Miss Caroline's condescending exposition of her needs, hebecame sensible of a strange influence stealing upon him. By degrees hebrought himself erect and slowly, dazedly performed an act which hadnever before been perpetrated within his establishment. It was not thathe deliberated, nor that his reason dictated it; but instinctively, almost from a purely reflex muscular action, he removed his hat whileMiss Caroline talked, feeling himself thrill with a foreign and mostsuave deference. It was customary in our town to raise your hat to alady on the street; but for a merchant, and a solid citizen at that, todo this thing in his own establishment, was a thing unheard of--and athing of pretentious and sickening foppery when it _was_ heard of, forthat matter, though this need not now concern us. 

"And be sure to tell my servant to give you a glass of wine when yourwork is done, " concluded Miss Caroline, as she turned to rustle silkilyout. Whereat Chester Pierce, charter member and President of our Sons ofTemperance, a man primed with all statistics of the woe resultingtraditionally from that first careless glass, murmured wordsunintelligible but of gratified import, and bowed low after theretreating vision. A moment later he was staring with mystifiedabsorption at the hat in his hands, quite as if the hat were astranger's--and then he brushed it around and around with the cuff ofhis coat sleeve as if the stranger had not been careful enough of it. 

Thence paraded Miss Caroline to the City Drug Store, to be bowed wellout to the sidewalk by young Arthur Updyke when her errand within hadbeen done. But Arthur had attended a college of pharmacy far away fromSlocum County, and it was not unnatural that he should exhibit an aliengrace in times of emergency. 

With Westley Keyts again, to whose shop Miss Caroline next progressed, it was as with Chester Pierce, a phenomenon of instinctive muscularreaction, --that of his hat coming off as he greeted the stately littlelady at his threshold and apologized for the sawdust on his floor whichwas compelling her to raise a froth of skirts above the tops of thosesinful-looking shoes. I suspect that Miss Caroline was rather taken withWestley. She called him "my good man, " which made him feel that he hadbeen distinguished uncommonly, and she chatted with him at some length, asking cordially about cuts of meat and his family, two matters in whichWestley was much absorbed. He declared later that she was "a grandlittle woman. "

There followed pilgrimages that June morning to the First National Bankand to several of our lesser establishments; pilgrimages rarelydiverting to Little Arcady and which invariably provoked bows understrangely lifted hats. 

But there were Little Arcadians of Miss Caroline's own sex to whom shemight not so swiftly fetch confusion. Aunt Delia McCormick devoted achance view of the newcomer to discovering that the gown of lavendersatin had been turned and made over, none too expertly, from oneoriginally built some years before the war. Later she found what ourladies agreed was its primal design, after much turning of the leaves ofancient Godey's magazines. 

Mrs. Judge Robinson, from one sidelong glance, brought off detailedintelligence of the bonnet's checkered past. 

The elder Miss Eubanks decried the mannishness of cane-bearing; and Mrs. Westley Keyts, entering the shop as Miss Caroline was bowed out, declared that her silk stockings were of a hue hardly respectable, andthat she wore shoes "twice too small for her. "

The eyes of the suddenly urbane Westley glistened when he overheardthis, but he fell to dissecting a beef without further sign. 

For better or worse, Miss Caroline and Little Arcady had exchangedimpressions of each other. 

I met her by chance that morning and was charmed by her flatteringimplication of reliance upon myself. She made me feel that ourunderstanding was secret and our attachment romantic. To complete herround of our commercial centre I escorted her to the _Argus_ office. Hergreeting of Solon Denney was a thing to behold with unalloyed delight. They seemed to understand each other at once. Two minutes after Solonhad looked up in some astonishment from his dusty, over-piled desk, theywere arrayed as North and South in a combat of blithest raillery. 

Miss Caroline sat in Solon's battered chair with the missing castor, surveyed his exchange-laden desk with a humorous eye, and seized thelast _Argus_, skimming its local columns with a lively interest andprofessing to be enthralled by its word-magic. She read stray items thatcommended themselves to her critical judgment, such as, "A wind blewlast week that you could lean up against like the side of the house;" or"Westley Keyts has a bran-new 'No Admittance!' sign over the door of hisslaughter-house. We don't see why. He could put up a 'Come one, comeall!' sign and still not get _us_ into the place. They're messy. "

Further she read, "Some fiend with sub-human instincts ravaged oursecret hoard of eating-apples while we were out meeting the farmers lastSaturday afternoon. We wish they had been of no value to any one exceptthe owner. " And then, in her sprightliest manner, and with every sign ofenjoyment, she went on to an item during the reading of which I think weboth flushed a little, Solon and I:--

 "The United States _Is_

"Some grammar sharp down East says you must say 'The United States are. 'But we guess not. Opinions to that effect prevailed widely to the southof us some years ago, but the contrary was proved, we believe. TheUnited States _is_, brother, ever since Appomattox, and even the grammarbook should testify to its is-ness--to its everlasting and indivisibleoneness. "

She carried it off so finely that I knew Miss Caroline had recoveredfrom the fatigues of her journey. 

"I shall write you an item myself, " she exclaimed, and seizing a stubbypencil, she wrote rapidly:--

"A battered and ungrammatical old woman from the valley of Virginia hassettled in our midst. She will always believe that the United Statesare, but she is harmless and otherwise sane. "

"Have I caught the style?--have I used 'in our midst' correctly?" sheasked Solon. And he protested that her style was faultless but that hermatter was grossly misleading. 

From this she was presently assuring him, in all pleasantness, that theseed of Cain, descended through Ham, would, by reason of the curse ofGod, be a "servant of servants" unto the end; while Solon was assuringher, with equal good nature, that this scriptural law had been repealedby President Lincoln. 

Her retort, "I dare say your Mr. Lincoln was _capable_ of wishing torepeal the Bible, " was her nearest approach to asperity. 

"A battered old woman!" said Solon to me later. "She looks more like acandy saint, if they make such things, --one that a child has beencareless with. " We agreed that she was an addition to Little Arcady. 

The editor of the _Argus_ sighed at this point, and I thought he mightbe wishing that all feminine newcomers could be like the latest. ForMrs. Aurelia Potts, whose leisure Heaven had increased, was nowredoubling her efforts to make the _Argus_ a well of Englishundefiled--undefiled by what she called "journalisms. " Solon must not, he confided to me, say "enthuse" nor "we opine" nor "disremember. " Hemight not say that the pastor "was given" a donation party when hereally meant that the party was given, --not that the pastor was given. Further, he must be cautious in the uses of "who" and "whom, " and try tobreak himself of the "a good time was enjoyed by all present" habit. 

"And she always says 'diddy-you' instead of 'dij-you, '" broke in mynamesake, who, loitering near us, had overheard the name of Mrs. Potts. 

"That will _do_, Calvin!" said his father, shortly. It seemed to me thatthe still young life of Solon was fast being blighted. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE SPECTRE OF SCANDAL IS RAISED

A graver charge than frivolity was soon to be brought against the widowof the late Colonel Jere Lansdale. Not with her antiquated gown, herassisting staff, the gay bonnet, nor yet with the showy small slippersand silken hose tinted unseasonably to her years did scandal engageitself; but rather with the circumstance that she drank. 

To "drink" meant in Little Arcady to get drunk, as "Big Joe" Kestril didevery pay-day. Clarence Stull, polishing a stove in the rear of Pierce'shardware store, was swift to divulge that Mrs. Lansdale had "asked ChetPierce to have a glass of wine, --and him a-bowin' and a-scrapin' likeyou'd think he was goin' to fly off the handle!"

It was enough for the town. The unfortunate woman had not yet reeledthrough its streets, but Little Arcady would give her time, and it knewthere could be but one result. That sort of thing might be done in talesof vicious high life to point a moral, but in the real world it couldnot compatibly exist with good conduct. Even Aunt Delia McCormick, goodMethodist as she was, who "put up" a little elderberry wine each yearfor communion purposes, was thought by more than one to strain near tothe breaking point the third branch of that concise behest to "Touchnot, taste not, handle not!"

The ladies were at once dismayed about Miss Caroline, from Aunt Deliaherself, to Marcella Eubanks, who kept conspicuous upon herdressing-table a bedizened motto of the Daughters of Rebecca, --"The lipsthat touch wine shall never touch mine. " It is true that this legendappeared to Marcella to be a bit licentious in its implications as tolips _not_ touched by wine. It had, indeed, first been hung in theparlor; but one Creston Fancett, in the course of an evening call uponMiss Eubanks, had read the thing aloud, twice over, and then observedwith a sinister significance that wine had never touched his own lips. Whereupon, in a coarsely conceived spirit of humor, he proceeded to actas if he had forgotten that he was a gentleman. 

Hence the card's seclusion in Marcella's boudoir. Hence, likewise, Marcella's subsequent preference, in her temperance propaganda, forstraightforward means which no gentleman could affect to misunderstand. She relied chiefly thereafter upon some highly colored charts depictingthe interior of the human stomach in varying stages of alcoholicdegeneration. According to these, "a single glass of wine or a measureof ale, " taken daily for a year, suffices to produce some startlingeffects in color; while the result of "unrestrained indulgence for fiveyears" is spectacular in the extreme. 

Besides these disconcerting color effects Marcella enacted a brief butpithy drama in which she touched a lighted match to a tablespoonful ofalcohol, to show the true nature of the stuff and to symbolize the fateof its votaries. 

With charts and with blazing spirit, with tracts and with figures toprove that we spend "more for the staff of death than for the staff oflife, " Marcella was prepared to move upon the unsuspicious MissCaroline. Nor was she alone in such readiness for a good work. Theladies all felt that their profligate sister should be brought to signthe pledge. 

And they called upon Miss Caroline with precisely this end inview--called singly, and by twos and threes. But for some reason theyseemed always to find obstacles in the way of bringing forward this mostvital topic. If they had only discovered Miss Caroline in her cups, orif her shaded rooms had been littered with empty rum bottles andpervaded by the fumes of strong drink, or if she had audaciously offeredthem wine, doubtless the thing would have been easy. But none of thesehelpful phenomena could be observed, and Miss Caroline had a way ofleading the talk which would have made any reference to her unfortunatehabits seem ungraceful. It would be far too much to say that she charmedthem, but all of her callers were interested, many of them wereentertained, and a few became her warm defenders. Aunt Delia McCormicksurprised every one by aligning herself with this latter minority. Shedeclared, after her first call, that Miss Caroline was "a dear"; andafter the second call, that she was "a poor dear, " and she forthwithbecame of service to the newcomer in a thousand ways known only to themasonry of housekeeping. 

And since none of the ladies, for one reason or another, had found a wayto say those things that Mrs. Lansdale sorely needed to hear, it wasagreed among them that the minister must say them. 

"The minister" in Little Arcady meant him of the Methodist church, thetwo other clergymen being so young and unimportant as to needidentification by name. 

Of the official and inspired visit of this good man to Miss Caroline, the version that reached the public was one thing: its secret and truehistory was another. The latter has never been told until now. It wasknown abroad only that the minister had called on a warm afternoon inJuly; that Miss Caroline had received him out of doors, on the shadedeast side of the house, where the heat had driven her to await a coolingbreeze from the river. One of the dingy rugs had been spread upon thegrass close to the lilac clump, and by an unfashionable little tableMiss Caroline sat, in a chair sadly out of date, reading of ChildeHarold. It was understood that the minister had there sat in anotherantiquated chair of capacious arms and upholstered in faded greenvelvet, a chair brought by Clem; and that he had weakly chatted away apleasant hour or two without ever once daring to bring Miss Caroline'sevil state to that attention which it merited from her. His difficultyseemed to have been similar to that experienced by the calling ladies. He could observe no opening that promised anything but an ungraciousplunge or an awkward stumble, and the ladies had been wrong insuspecting that his authority as a cleric would nerve him to either ofthese things. 

There was despair next day when it was known that he had come away evenlavisher in praise of Miss Caroline than Aunt Delia had become; that herefused with a gentle but unbreakable stubbornness, a thing he was knownto be cursed with latently, ever again to approach the lady with aconcealed purpose or with aught in his heart but a warm and flagrantesteem. 

So much for the public's knowledge; and doubtless the public in everycase knows all that it ought to know. But these are the facts as theycame to my privileged ears, and to what, I believe, are gifts ofinterpretation not below the average. 

When Clem brought the chair for the minister, Miss Caroline gave him abrief, low-toned order, which he hurried away to execute. Within tenminutes, and before Miss Caroline had finished telling how altogetherbeautiful she found Arcady of the Little Country, Clem returned, bearingbreast-high a napkin-covered tray, from which towered twin pillars ofglass, topped with fragrant leafage and pierced each by a yellow straw. This tray he placed upon the table beside the poems of Lord Byron, andthe minister permitted himself an oblique look thereat, even though thisinvolved deserting the eyes of his agreeable hostess. The ice in theglasses tinkled a brief phrase of music, the tops burgeoned with aluxuriant summer green, and the straws were of a sweetly pastoralsuggestiveness. The fragrance moved one to the heart of somespice-scented dell where a brooklet purled down a pebbled course. Theensemble was indeed overwhelming in its message of a refreshment joyous, satisfying, timely, and of a consummate innocence. 

"The day is warm, " said Miss Caroline, receiving one of the glasses fromher servant, and with a bright look at her guest. 

"It is intensely warm, and quite unusually so for this time of year, "said the minister, absently taking the other glass now proffered him. 

"We shall combat it, " said Miss Caroline with some vivacity. Shedelicately applied her lips to the straw, and a slight depressionappeared in each of her acceptable cheeks. 

"A cooling beverage at this hour is most grateful, " said the minister, rejoicing in the icy feel of the glass, and falling hopefully to his ownstraw. 

"Clem makes them perfectly, " said Miss Caroline. 

"What do you call them?" asked the minister. He had relinquished hisstraw, and his kind face shone with a pleased surprise. 

"Why, mint juleps, " replied Miss Caroline, glancing quickly up. 

"Ah, mint! that explains it, " said the minister with satisfaction, hisbroad face clearing of a slight bewilderment. 

"Clem found a beautiful patch of it by a spring half a mile up theriver, " volunteered Miss Caroline, between dainty pulls at her straw. 

"It is a lovely plant--a _lovely_ plant, indeed!" rejoined the minister, for a moment setting down his glass to wipe his brow. "I remember nowdetecting the same fragrance when I watered my horse at that spring. ButI did not dream that it--I wonder--" he broke off, taking up hisglass--"that its virtues are not more widely apprehended. I have neverheard that an acceptable beverage might be made from it. "

"Not every one can make a mint julep as Clem can, " said his hostess. 

A moist and futile splutter from the bottom of the minister's glass washis only reply. 

He set the glass back on the table with a pleasant speculation showingin his eyes. The talk became again animated. Chiefly the ministertalked, and his hostess found him most companionable. 

"Let me offer you another julep, " she said, after a little, noting thathis eyes had swept the empty glass with a chastened blankness. Theminister let her. 

"If it would not be troubling you--really? The heat is excessive, and Ifind that the mint, simple herb though it be, is strangely salutary. "

The minister was a man of years and weight and worth. He possessed areliant simplicity that put him at once close to those he met. Of these, by his manner, he asked all: confidence without reserve, troubles, doubts, distresses, material or otherwise. And this manner of hisprevailed. The hearts of his people opened to him as freely as his ownopened to receive them. He was a good man and, partly by reason of thisingenuous, unsuspicious mind, an invaluable instrument of grace. 

When he had talked to Miss Caroline through the secondjulep, --digressing only to marvel briefly again that the properties ofmint should so long have been Nature's own secret in LittleArcady, --telling her his joys, his griefs, his interests, which were butthe joys and griefs and interests of his people, he wrought a spell uponher so that she in turn became confiding. 

She was an Episcopalian. Her line had been born Episcopalians since atime whereof no data were obtainable; and this was, of course, not acondition to meddle with in late life, even if one's mind should growconsenting. For that matter, Miss Caroline would be frank and pretend tono change of mind. She was an old woman and fixed. She could not at thisday free herself of a doubtless incorrect notion that the outsidechurches--meaning those not Episcopal--had been intended for peopleother than her own family and its offshoots. Clem had once been aBaptist, and it was true that he was now a Methodist. He had told herthat his new religion was distinguished from the old by being "dryreligion". But these were intricacies with which a woman of MissCaroline's years could not be expected to entangle herself. This shewould say, however, that during her residence in Little Arcady she wouldfling aside the prejudice of a lifetime and worship each Sabbath at theminister's Methodist church. 

It did not seem to the minister that she said it as might an explorerwho consents for a time to adopt the manner and customs of the tribeamong which a spirit of adventure has led him. He accepted her impliedtribute modestly and with unaffected gratification, again wiping hisbrow and his broad, good face. 

When I joined them at four o'clock, having been moved by hope of acooling chat with Miss Caroline, the minister was slightly more flushed, I thought, than the day could warrant. He was about to leave, was, infact, concluding his choicest anecdote of "Big Joe" Kestril--for he wasa man who met all our kinds. "Big Joe, " six feet, five, a tower ofmuscled brawn, standing on a corner, pleasantly inebriated, had watchedgo feebly by the tottering, palsied form of little old Bolivar Kent, ourmost aged and richest man. The minister, also passing, had observedKestril's humorous stare. 

"The big fellow called to me, " he was saying to Miss Caroline as I cameup. "'Parson, ' said he--they all know me familiarly, madam--'Parson, 'said he, 'I wish I could take all I'm worth and all old Kent is worthand put it in a bunch on the sidewalk there and then fight the old cussfor it!'"

It was a favorite anecdote of the minister's, but I had never known himbefore to tell it to a lady on the occasion of his first call. MissCaroline laughed joyously as she turned to greet me. 

"I can't tell you how finely I've been entertained, " she said to me. 

"Nor can I tell him for myself, madam, " retorted the minister. I thoughtindeed he spoke with an effort that made this gallantry seem notaltogether baseless in fact. 

"I was on the point of leaving, " said the minister. 

"Are you returning home, or have you more calls in the neighborhood?" Iasked, feeling just a tinge of uneasiness about his expansive manner. 

"No more calls, no. I had planned, instead, a pleasant walk up along theriverside to a spring some distance above. I mean to procure a supply ofthis delicious mint--for mint juleps, " he added affably. 

"Come with me, " I urged. I was about to walk out myself. Together webade adieu to Miss Caroline. 

But the minister's walk ended at my own door. In the cool gloom of mylittle library I asked him if he would be good enough to excuse me amoment, indicating the broad couch beneath the window. 

"With pleasure, Major!" and he sank among the restful pillows. "I amashamed to say that the heat has rendered me a trifle indolent". 

When I came softly back five minutes later, he lay in deep slumber, hisface cherubically innocent, his breathing soft as a babe's. He awokefreshly two hours later. He apologized for his rudeness and expressed awish for a glass of cool water. Three of these he drank with evidencesof profound relish. Then he drew his large silver watch from his pocket. 

"On my word, Major, it's after six, and I shall be late for tea! I havetrespassed shamefully upon you!"

"The heat was very trying, " I said. 

"Quite enervating, indeed! I seem only now to be feeling its effects. "

As he walked briskly down the now cooling street, he bared his brow tothe gentle breeze of evening. 

To the ladies, solicitous about Miss Caroline, who called upon him a fewdays later, he said, "She is a most admirable and lovely woman--not atall a person one could bring one's self to address on the painfulsubject of intoxicants. Had she offered me a glass of wine or otherstimulant, a way might have been opened, but I am delighted to say thather hospitality went no farther than this innocent beverage. " Theminister indicated on his study table a glass containing sweetenedice-water in which some leaves of mint had been submerged. 

"It is called a mint julep, " he added, "though I confess I do not getthe same delicate tang from the herb that her black fellow does. As heprepared the decoction I assure you its flavor was capital!"

CHAPTER XVII

THE TRUTH ABOUT SHAKSPERE AT LAST

Miss Caroline dutifully returned the calls that were paid her, withnever a suspicion that her slavery to strong drink had been the secretinspiration of them. She was not yet awake to our sentiments in thismatter. She had given strong waters to the minister with a heart asinnocent as their disguise of ice and leafage had made them actuallyappear to that good man. And I, who was well informed, hesitated to warnher, hoping weakly that she would come to understand. For I had seenthere were many things that Miss Caroline had not to be told in order toknow. 

For one, she had quickly divined that the ladies of Little Arcadyconsidered her furniture to be unfortunate. She knew that they scornedit for its unstylishness; that some of them sympathized in thehumiliation that such impossible stuff must be to her; while othersbelieved that she was too unsophisticated to have any proper shame inthe matter. These latter strove by every device to have her note theright thing in furniture and thus be moved to contrast it instructivelywith her own: as when Mrs. Judge Robinson borrowed for an afternoon AuntDelia McCormick's best blue plush rocker, Mrs. Westley Keyts's new sofa, upholstered with gorgeous ingrain, and Mrs. Eubanks's new black walnutcombination desk and bookcase with brass trimmings and little spindledbalconies, in which could be elegantly placed the mineral specimenspicked up along the river bank, and the twin statuettes of the flutingshepherd and his inamorata. As Mrs. Judge Robinson herself possessed newand high-priced furniture, including a gold-and-onyx stand to occupy thebay window and uphold the Rogers group, "Going for the Parson, " as wellas two fragile gilt chairs, which considerate guests would not sit inbut leave exposed to view, and a complete new set of black walnut, theeffect that day--which included a grand smell of varnish--was nothingless than sumptuous. 

The occasion was a semi-monthly meeting of the Ladies' Home Study andCulture Club, at which Miss Caroline was to be present. There had been asuspension of the Club's meetings while Mrs. Potts was in abeyance, buton this day she was to enter the world again and preside over themeeting as "Madam President, " though the ladies sometimes forgot to callher that. 

The paper read by Mrs. Potts--who was not at all ineffective in herblack--was on "The Lake Poets, " with a few pointed selections fromWordsworth and others. 

Whether or not Miss Caroline was rightly impressed by the furnitureexhibit was a question not easy to determine. True, she stared at itwith something in her eyes beyond a mere perception of its lines; butwhether this was the longing passion of an awakened soul or the simpleawe of the unenlightened was not to be ascertained at the moment. 

Testimony as to her enjoyment of the President's paper was morecircumstantial. In the midst of this, as the listeners were besought to"dwell a moment on this exquisite delineation of Nature, "--expertlypronounced "Nate-your" by Mrs. Potts, --Miss Caroline turned her headaside as one deeply moved by the poet's magic. But Marcella Eubanks, glancing at that moment into a mirror on the opposite wall, --a mirror ina plush frame on which pansies had been painted, --caught the full andfrank exposure of a yawn. It was a thorough yawn. Miss Caroline hadsurrendered abjectly to it, in the belief--unrecking the mirror--thatshe could not be detected. 

The discussion that followed the paper--as was customary at themeetings--proved to be a bit livelier. Each lady said something she hadthought up to say, beginning, "Does it not seem--" or "Are we not forcedto conclude--"

I suspect that Miss Caroline was sleepy. Perhaps she was nettled by theboredom she had been made to endure without just provocation; perhapsthe fashionable fumes of varnish had been toxic to her unaccustomedsenses. At any rate she now compromised herself regrettably. 

Mrs. Westley Keyts had been thinking up something to say, somethingchoice that should yet be sufficiently vague not to incriminate her. Ithad seemed that these requirements would be met if she said, in a toneof easy patronage, "Mr. Wordsworth is certainly a very bright writer ofpoetry, but as for me--give _me_ Shakspere!"

She had thought of saying "the Bard of Avon, " a polished phrase coinedfor his "Compendium" by the ingenious Mr. Gaskell; but, hearing her ownvoice strangely break the silence, Mrs. Keyts became timid at the lastmoment and let it go at "Shakspere. "

"Oh, Shakspere--of _course_!" said most of the ladies at once, and thosenot quick enough to utter it concertedly looked it almost reprovingly atthe speaker. 

A silence fell, as if every one must have time to recover from thistrivial platitude. But it was a silence outrageously shattered by MissCaroline, who said:--

"O dear! I've always considered Shakspere such an overrated man!"

The silence grew more intense, only Mrs. Potts emitting a slight butaudible gasp. But swift looks flashed from each lady to her horrifiedsisters. Was it possible that the unfortunate woman had been in nocondition to come among them?

"Oh, a _greatly_ overrated man!" repeated Miss Caroline, terribly, "fartoo wordy--too fond of wretched puns--so much of his humor coarse andtiresome. By the way, have you ladies taken up Byron?"

The moment was charged, almost to explosion. A crisis impended, out ofthe very speechlessness of the gathering. Mrs. Potts was aghast inbehalf of William Shakspere, and Marcella Eubanks was crimsoning at theblunt query about Byron, well knowing that he could be taken up by alady only with the wariest caution, and that he would much better be letalone. The others were torn demoralizingly between these two extremes ofdistress. 

But the situation was saved by the ready wit of Mrs. Judge Robinson. 

"I think the hour has come for refreshments, Madam President!" she saidurbanely, and the meeting was nervously adjourned. Under the animationthus induced an approximate equilibrium was restored. The ladies gulpeddown chicken salad, many of them using forks with black thread tiedabout them to show they were borrowed from Mrs. Eubanks. They dranklemonade from a fine glass pitcher that had come as a gratuitous mark ofesteem from the tea merchant patronized by the hostess; and theycongealed themselves pleasantly with vanilla ice-cream eaten from dishesof excellent pressed glass that had come one by one as the Robinsonfamily consumed its baking powder. 

But Miss Caroline would have been dense indeed had she not divined, evenamid that informal babbling, that she was being viewed by the ladies ofthe Club with a shocked stupefaction. 

Precisely what emotion this knowledge left with her I have never known. But I do know that before the meeting broke up, it had been agreed tohold the next one at the house of Miss Caroline herself. It may be thatshe suggested and urged this in pure desperation, wishing to regain afavor which she had felt unaccountably withdrawn; and it may be that theladies accepted in a similar desperation, knowing not how to inform herthat she was grossly ineligible for membership in a Home Study Club. 

The intervening two weeks were filled with tales and talks of MissCaroline's heresy. Excitement and adverse criticism were almostuniversally aroused. It was a scandal of proportions almost equal tothat of her love for strong drink. About most writers one could bepermitted to have an opinion. But it was not thought that one couldproperly have an opinion about Shakspere, and, so far as we knew, no onehad ever before subjected him to this indignity. One might as well havean opinion about Virtue or the law of gravitation. An opinion of anysort was impossible. One favorable would be puny, futile, immodestlypatronizing. An unfavorable opinion had heretofore not been withinrealms of the idlest speculation. 

There were but two of us, I believe, who did not promptly condemn MissCaroline's violence of speech--two men of varying parts. Westley Keytsfrankly said he had never been able to "get into" Shakspere, andconsidered it, as a book for reading purposes, inferior to "Cudjo'sCave, " which he had read three times. The minister, whose church MissCaroline now patronized, --that term being chosen after somedeliberation, --held up both his hands at the news and mildly exclaimed, "Well!" Then, after a pause, "Well, well!" And still again, afteranother pause, "Well, well, well!"

This was thought to be shifty and evasive--certainly not so outspoken asthe town had a right to expect. 

Solon Denney, though in his heart true to Shakspere, affected to begleeful. A paragraph, mysterious to many, including Miss Caroline, appeared in the ensuing _Argus_:--

"An encounter long supposed by scientists to be a mere metaphysicalabstraction of almost playful import has at last occurred in soberphysics. The irresistible force has met up with the immovable body. Welook for results next week. "

I knew that Solon considered Miss Caroline to be an irresistible force. I was uncertain whether Shakspere or Mrs. Potts was meant by theimmovable body. I knew that he held them in equal awe, and I knew thatMrs. Potts felt, in a way, responsible for Shakspere this far west ofBoston, regarding any attack upon him as a personal affront to herself. 

On the day of the next meeting the ladies of the Club gathered in thedingy and inelegant drawing-room of Miss Caroline. No vividly floweredcarpet decked the floor; only a time-toned rug that left the outer edgeof the floor untidily exposing its dull stain; no gilt and onyx tablebore its sculptured fantasy by the busy Rogers. The mantel and shelveswere bare of those fixed ornaments that should decorate the waste placesof all true homes; there were no flint arrow-heads, no "specimens, " novarnished pine cones, no "Rock of Ages, " no waxen lilies, not even achina cup goldenly emblazoned with "Love the Giver, " in German script. And there were no beautiful chairs with delicate gilded spindles--not anelegant and impracticable chair in the whole big room--not one chairwhich could not be occupied as comfortably as any common kitchen rocker. It was indeed a poor place; obviously the woman's best room, yet showingcareless traces of almost daily use. To ladies who never opened theirbest rooms save to dust and air them on days when company was expected, and who would as soon have lounged in them informally as they would havedesecrated a church, this laxity was heinous. 

And ordinarily, in the best rooms of one another, the ladies becamespontaneously, rigidly formal as they assembled, speaking in tonessuitably stiff of the day's paper, or viewing with hushed esteem thoseart treasures that surrounded them. 

But so difficult was it to attain this formality amid the homelysurroundings of Miss Caroline that to-day they not only lounged withnegligent ease in the big chairs and on the poor, broad sofas, but theytalked familiarly of their household concerns quite as if they had beenin one of their own second-best rooms on any common day. 

On a table in one cool corner was a huge bowl of thin silver, whenceissued a baffling fragrance. Discreet observation, as the thronggathered, revealed this to contain a large block of ice and a coloredliquid in which floated cherries with slices of lemon and orange. Aladle of generous lines reposed in the bowl, and circling it on thetable were many small cups. 

There was a feeling of relief when these details had been ascertained. Fear had been felt that Miss Caroline might forget herself and offerthem a glass of wine, or something worse, from a large black bottle; forLittle Arcady believed, in its innocent remoteness, that the devil'sstuff came in no other way than large black bottles. Miss Eubanks hadmade sure that the ladies wore their white ribbons. Marcella's own satinbow was larger than common, so that no one might mistake the principlesof the heart beating beneath it. 

But the cool big bowl with its harmless fruit restored confidence atonce, and when Miss Caroline urged them to try Clem's punch theyrefrained not. The walk to the north end of town on a sultry afternoonhad qualified them to receive its consolations, and they gatheredgratefully about. 

Marcella Eubanks quaffed the first beaker, a trifle timorously, it istrue, for the word "punch" had stirred within her a vague memory ofsinister associations. Sometime she had read a tale in which one HowardMelville had gone to the great city and wrecked a career of much promiseby accepting a glass of something from the hands of a beautiful butthoughtless girl, pampered child of the banker with whom he had secureda position. For a dread moment Marcella seemed to recall that the fataldraught was named "punch. " But after a tentative sip of the compound athand, she decided that it must have been something else--doubtless "aglass of sparkling wine. " For this punch before her was palpably of ababe's innocence. Indeed it tasted rather like an inferior lemonade. Butit was cold, and Marcella tossed off a second cup of it. She could makebetter lemonade herself, and she murmured slightingly of the stuff toAunt Delia McCormick. 

"It wants more lemons and more sugar, " said Marcella, firmly. Aunt Deliapressed back the white satin bow on her bosom in order to manage hersecond glass with entire safety. 

"I don't know, Marcella, " she said in a dreamy undertone, after drainingthe cup to its cherry. "I don't know--it does seem to take hold, for allit tastes so trifling. "

As each lady arrived she was led to the punch-bowl. When the last onehad been taught the way to that cool nook, there was a pleasant hum ofvoices in the room. There was still an undercurrent of difference as tothe punch's merit--other than mere coolness; though Miss Eubanks nowagreed with Aunt Delia that it possessed virtues not to be discerned inthe first careless draught. The conversation continued to be general, tothe immense delight of the hostess, for she had dreaded the ordeal ofthat formal opening, with its minutes of the last meeting; and she haddared even to hope that the day's paper might, by tactful management, beaverted. 

She waxed more daringly hopeful when Clem came to refill the punch-bowl. She felt that she owed much to the heat of the day, which was insuringthe thirst of the arrivals. The punch and general conversation seemed tosuffice them even after their first thirst had been allayed. She beganto wonder if the ladies were not a more unbending and genial lot thanshe had once suspected. 

A considerable group of them now chatted vivaciously about thereplenished bowl, including Madam the President, who had arrived verythirsty indeed, and who was now, between sips, accounting for thesingular favor which the Adams family had always found in the sight ofGod and the people of Massachusetts. She seemed to be prevailed over, not without difficulty, by Aunt Delia, who related her failure to learnfrom Clem the ingredients of his acceptable punch. This was notsurprising, for Clem was either never able or never willing to tell howhe made anything whatever. Of this punch Aunt Delia had been able towheedle from him only that it contained "some little fixin's. " Insistentquestioning did develop, further, that "cold tea" was one of these; butcold tea did not make plain its recondite potencies--did not explain whya beverage so unassuming to the taste should inspire one with a wish topartake of it continuously. 

"We might get him to make a barrel of it for the Sunday-school picnic, "said Marcella, brightly, over her fourth cup. "If it contains only alittle tea, perhaps the effect upon the children would not bedeleterious. "

"We'll try it, " said Aunt Delia, reaching for the ladle at sight ofempty cups in the hands of Mrs. Judge Robinson and Mrs. Westley Keyts. "_I'll_ furnish the cherries and the sugar and the tea. "

How it came about was never quite understood by the ladies, but the trueand formal note of a Ladies' Home Study Club was never once struck thatafternoon. Madam the President did not call the meeting to order, theminutes of the last meeting are unread to this day, and a motion toadjourn never became necessary. 

It had been thought wisest to keep entirely away from poetry at thismeeting, and the paper for the day, to have been read by MarcellaEubanks, was "The Pathos of Charles Dickens. " Marcella had taken unusualpains in its preparation, bringing with her two volumes of the authorfrom which to read at the right moment the deaths of Little Nell andPaul Dombey. She had practised these until she could make her voicequaver effectively, and she had looked forward to a genuine ovation whenshe sat down. 

[Illustration: "WE MIGHT GET HIM TO MAKE A BARREL OF IT FOR THESUNDAY-SCHOOL PICNIC. "]

If it is clearly understood, then, that no one thought of calling forthe paper, that even its proud author felt the hours gliding by withoutany poignant regret, it should be seen that the occasion had strangelycome to be one of pure and joyous relaxation, with never an instructiveor cultured or studious moment. 

There was talk of domestic concerns, sprightly town gossip, mirth, wit, and anecdotes. Aunt Delia McCormick told her parrot story, which was_risqué_, even when no gentlemen were present, for the parrot said "damnit!" in the course of his surprisingly human repartee underdifficulties. 

Mrs. Westley Keyts, the bars being down, thereupon began another parrotstory. But Miss Eubanks, who had observed that all parrot stories have"damn" in them, suddenly conceived that matters had gone far enough in_that_ direction. Affecting not to have heard Mrs. Keyts's opening of "Areturned missionary made a gift of a parrot to two elderly maidenladies--" Marcella led the would-be anecdotist to the punch-bowl, and, under the cover of operations there, spoke to her in an undertone. Mrs. Keyts said that the thing had been printed right out on the funny pageof "Hearth and Home, " but over the cup of punch that Marcella pressedupon her, she consented to forego it on account of the minister's wifebeing present. 

There were other anecdotes, however; not of a parrot character, butchiefly of funny sayings of the little ones at home. Mrs. JudgeRobinson, with the artistic mendacity of your true _raconteur_, accredited to her own four-year-old a speech about the stars being holesin the floor of heaven, although it was said of this gem in "Harper'sDrawer, " where she had read it, that "the following good one comes to usfrom a lady subscriber in the well-known city of X----. "

It could not be recalled afterwards how, from this harmless exchange, they had come to be listening to passages from the adventurous life ofChilde Harold, read crisply by their hostess. Still less could theladies later comprehend how some of their number had been guilty ofinnuendos--or worse--against the well-known Bard of Avon. Yet, so itwas. 

Miss Caroline herself had refrained from abusing him--had seemed to haveforgotten him, indeed; but, as she read Byron to them, their heartsopened to her--rushed out, indeed, with a friendly wholeness thatdemanded something more than mere cordial applause of her favorite poet. Some intimation of a sympathy with her view of the other poet came toseem not ungraceful. During one of the reader's pauses to impress uponthem the splendors of the Byronic imagery, and eke its humanheart-warmth, good Aunt Delia, with defiant looks about the circle, broke in with:--

"I shouldn't wonder if Shakspere _has_ been made too much over. "

Mrs. Keyts stepped loyally into the breach thus effected. 

"Westley thinks Shakspere isn't such an _awful_ good book, " she said, feeling her way, "though it seems to me it has some very interesting andexcellent pieces in it. "

"Shakspere is _ver-ry_ uneven, " remarked Mrs. Judge Robinson, in a toneof dignified concession. 

"There is always a word to be said on either side of thesematters--there is undeniably room for controversy. " Thus Mrs. Potts, inher best manner of authority, from the punch-bowl. 

"Let the dead rest!" gently murmured Miss Eubanks, from her dreamycorner of the biggest sofa. Her inflection was archly significant. Onehad to suspect that Shakspere, alive and a fair target for dispraise, might have learned something to his advantage if not to his delight. 

Miss Caroline was both surprised and gratified. At the previous meetingshe had detected no sign of this concurring sentiment. She plunged againinto Byron with renewed enthusiasm. 

The afternoon came to a glorious end, and the ladies departed with manyexpressions of rejoicing. They had found Miss Caroline so charming thatseveral of them were torn with fresh pity and brought to the verge oftears when they thought of her furniture. 

Marcella Eubanks did cry on the way home and had to put down her greenbarege veil. But that was for thinking of poor little Paul Dombey. Shewas mourning him as a personal loss. Also must she have adored thegenius of a master who could thus move her from a calm that wasconstitutional with every known Eubanks. 

CHAPTER XVIII

IN WHICH THE GAME WAS PLAYED

The next _Argus_ said of Miss Caroline's afternoon that "the ladiespresent one and all report a most enjoyable time. " There was anothermysterious paragraph, too, farther down the column of "locals, " whichproclaimed that "The immovable body has at last been struck by theirresistible force and has failed to live up to its reputation. It movedand moved so you could see it move. Another bubble exploded! We live ina sensational age. "

Now, while it is true that the ladies, "one and all, " had spoken withentire enthusiasm of their afternoon at the unpretentious home of myneighbor, I, nevertheless, deemed it vital to hold plain speech withthat impulsive woman immediately. I saw, indeed, that I should haveacted after the incident of the mint juleps. 

Solon Denney, who had experienced the hospitality of Miss Caroline, andwho could speak from a wider knowledge than our minister or the ladiesof the town, had once said:--

"Those mint juleps are simple, honest things. They taste injurious fromthe start. But that punch--it's hypocritical. It steals into your brainas a little child steals its rosebud hand into yours, beguiling you withprattle; but afterwards--well, if I had the choice, I'd rather bechloroformed and struck sharply with an axe. I'd be my old self againsooner. " Whereupon he would have written a guarded piece for the paperabout this had I not dissuaded him. But I saw that I must at once havewith Miss Caroline what in a later day came to be called "aheart-to-heart talk"; and I forthwith summoned what valor I could forthe ordeal. 

"I never dreamed--I never suspected--how _should_ I?" she murmuredpathetically, after my opening speech of a few simple but tellingphrases. She listened in genuine horror while I gave the reasons why shemight justly regard the call of our minister and her entertainment ofthe Club as nothing short of adventures--adventures which she hadsurvived scathless not but by the favor of an indulgent Providence. 

"So _that_ is what those little white satin bows mean?" she asked, and Isaid that it most emphatically was. 

"I suspected it might be some kind of mourning for babies--a localcustom, you know, though it did seem queer. What can they think of me?"

"They don't know what to think now, " I said, "and if you are wise, youwill never let them know. "

"The Colonel was proud of that punch, " she mused. 

"I dare say he had reasons, " I answered grimly. 

"Especially after Cousin Looshe Peavey came to spend Christmas with usone time. The Colonel had always considered Cousin Looshe ratherarrogant about this punch, and it may have been a special brew. I knowthat Cousin had an immense respect for it after he was able--thatis--afterwards--"

"I can easily believe it. "

"Cherry brandy--Jamaica rum--pint of Madeira--gill of port--a bit ofcordial--some sherry--I forget if there's anything else. "

I grasped the chair in which I sat. 

"Heaven forbid!" I cried; "and don't tell me, anyway--I'm reeling now. "

"But of course there are lemons and oranges and cherries and tea and_quantities_ of ice to weaken it--"

"The whole frozen polar sea itself couldn't weaken that mixture ofelemental forces. See to it, " I went on sternly, "that you remember onlythe innocent parts of it if you are ever asked for the recipe. " Sheactually cowered. 

"Also as to mint juleps--remember that you have forgotten, if you everknew how they are made. "

"Dear, _dear_--and our Bishop did enjoy his mint julep so!"

"That's different, " I said; "they were probably raised together. "

"And that afternoon, I thought something of the sort was necessary; doyou know, they seemed rather cold to me at that other meeting--and ofcourse there wasn't enough of it to hurt them. "

"Your intentions were amiable, I concede, but your carelessness wascriminal--nothing short of it. You laid the train for a scandal thatwould have shaken Slocum County to its remotest outlying cornfield, andeven made itself felt over this whole sovereign state. "

I was gratified to see that she shuddered. 

"I shall never learn, " she pleaded; "their life is so different. "

"Let them at least live it out to its natural end, such as it is, " Iurged. 

Hereupon, confessing herself unnerved, Miss Caroline led me to thedining room, and in a glass of Madeira from a cask forwarded bySecond-cousin Colonel Lucius Quintus Peavey, C. S. A. , she pledged herselfto preserve the decencies as these had been codified in Little Arcady bythe Sons and Daughters of Temperance. For my part I drank to hercontinuance in the wondrous favor of Heaven. 

Thereafter, I am bound to say, Miss Caroline conducted herself with adiscretion that was admirable. Upon more than one occasion I was made tonotice this. One of them was at an evening entertainment at the Eubankshome that autumn, to which it was my privilege to escort her. "A largeand brilliant company was present, " to quote from a competent authority, and the refreshments were "recherche, " to quote again, this being, Ibelieve, the first of our social functions at which Japanese papernapkins were handed around. Eustace Eubanks entertained "one and all" byexhibiting and describing lantern views of important scenes in the HolyLand; Marcella sang "Comin' Thro' the Rye" with such iron restraint thatthe most fastidious among us could have found no cause for offence, andEustace sang an innocent song of war and bloodshed and death. All wentwell until Eustace, being pressed for more, ventured a drinking song. Whether this had been censored by his household I have never learned. Perhaps there had been demurs--there were almost certain to have been;and possibly Eustace had held out for the thing because of the rareopportunity it afforded for the exercise of his lowest tones. Perhaps ithad been deemed wise to indulge him in this, lest in rebellion he breakall bonds of propriety and revert to the "Bedouin Love Song. " At anyrate he sang "Drinking, " a song that lauds the wine-cup as chiefest ofgodless joys, and terminating in "drinking" thrice reiterated, of whicheach individual one finishes so much lower than it begins that the lastone seems to expire in the bottomless pit. 

Many of those present appeared to enjoy this song. Even Marcella Eubanksseemed for once to have soared above mere principle into the unmoralrealm of "Art for Art's sake. " But it falls to be said, and I say itwith a pride which I think should not excite cavil, that Miss Carolinefrowned splendidly from the first moment that the song's true characterwas revealed. She superbly evinced uneasiness, moreover, when the thingwas done, as if to say, "One can't tell _what_ may occur in a placewhere _that_ is permitted!" And her performance was not observed bymyself alone. Marcella saw it and sped to her brother, who, afterlistening to hurried words from her, dashed into "The Lost Chord" with aswift and desperate fervor, as if to allay all alarm in the mind of thissensitive guest. Eustace was at heart as earnestly well meaning as anyEubanks that ever lived, and his vagaries in song were attributablesolely to a trusting nature capriciously endowed with a dash of theartistic temperament. It was only a dash, however. Beyond doubt, had hisfamily but known, he could have sung the "Bedouin Love Song, " and beennone the worse for it. 

If Miss Caroline's eloquent pantomime at this time aroused a suspicionthat she had been maligned, as to her habits of drink, her behavior on asubsequent evening, when Mrs. Judge Robinson entertained, left no one todoubt it. There was music, too, on this occasion--described elsewhere as"a gala occasion"--after Eustace had concluded his part of theentertainment and gotten his lantern out of the way, --music by a quartetconsisting of Messrs. Fancett and Eubanks, first and second bass, andMessrs. Updyke and G. Brown, first and second tenor. In excellent accordthese tenors and basses, so blameless in their living, lifted up theirvoices and sang they "would that the wavelets of ocean were wavelets ofsparkling champagne!" It was a blithe and rippling morceau if one couldforget the well-nigh cosmic depravity of it; but Miss Caroline, itappeared, was not able to forget. She confided as much to MarcellaEubanks and Aunt Delia McCormick, intimating that while she was doublydesirous to be pleased because of her position as an outsider, she was, nevertheless, a silly old woman, encrusted with prejudice, and she couldnot deny that she found this song _suggestive_. Her eyes glistened whenshe said it, and Marcella felt like pinning a white ribbon to her thenand there. 

Escorting Miss Caroline to her home that night, I listened to heraccount of this colloquy and found myself wishing that matters had beendifferent. It seemed to me that I must ultimately become the victim of aromantic passion for her, and I told her as much when we parted. 

Gossip, the yellow-tongued dragon, had been tracked to its lair and doneto death, or at least that one of its heads had been smitten off whichbabbled slander of Miss Caroline. 

Thenceforth she and I were free to think upon other matters. And therewere these other matters in both our lives. 

As to most of them we did not hold speech together. Our intimacy as yetlay quite within a circle so charmed that it might not be entered bythings too personal to either of us. By a kind of tacit treaty webrought thither none but those affairs which invited a not too serioustone. Our late common life had provided an abundance of these, and theyhad been hailed by my friend with an unfailing levity which the widow ofJ. Rodney Potts, for one, would have found it impossible to condone. "Iam a light old woman, " she had said to me; "I laugh at the world evenwhen I fear it most. " There was a desperate sprite of banter in her eyewhen she made this confession, a sprite that leaped forth to be gay whenI shrived her. But, though we sacredly observed all mirthful conventionsin our dallying, I knew that Miss Caroline had more than enough toponder of matters weighty. I knew that she was likely to have regretteda too-ready sharing of Clem's easy enthusiasm over industrial conditionsin the North. 

Clem believed by instinct not only that the evil thereof is sufficientunto the day, but that the incidental good sufficeth also. His qualityof faith would have seemed a pointed rebuke to the common run ofbelievers in a Providence that watches and sends. Confronted by thespectre of present want he could exorcise it neatly by the device ofbeholding, in a contrary vision, future limitless pullets of amarketable immaturity, or endless acres of garden produce ripe and readyto sell. Moreover, his experience with "gold money" was as yetinsufficient to acquaint him with its truly volatile character. All sumsgreater than a hundred dollars were blessedly alike to him--equallyprodigious. Two hundred, or thousands, or tens of thousands sent thesame rays of light through the spectrum of his poetic mind, and a bankwas an institution of such abiding grace that, having once established aconnection with it, one possessed forever a stout prop in time of need. I was sure indeed that Miss Caroline had defined these limitations ofClem as a financier. It was one of those enjoyable topics which we hadbeen free to discuss. That she had discovered how lamentably hisresources had been reduced by freight tolls on her furniture I couldonly infer. But I knew, at least, that she was aware of the blistering, rainless summer that had laid Clem's high hopes of a garden in dust andcut off half his revenue. Plainly, Miss Caroline had more than enough ofmatters fit to engage her graver moments. 

For my own part I, too, had matters to dwell upon of an equal gravity intheir own poor way; though perhaps, too, I could not have defined themas understandingly as I did the perplexities of my neighbor. 

Happily the feat need not be attempted; I had the game, in whichtroubles may be played away at least beyond the necessity for analyzingthem--the game which requires two decks and is to be played alone--themost efficacious of those devices for the solitary which cards afford. 

I had been made acquainted with its scheme and with some of its crudervirtues by a certain illustrious soldier whom I was once much thrownwith. He confessed to me that he played it before a battle to inspirehim with coolness, and after a battle to learn wise behavior undervictory or defeat, as it might have been. 

I was persuaded to learn more of it. I played the thing at first, to besure, as I have noticed that novices always do, with a mind so bent upon"getting it" that I was insensible of its curative and refiningagencies. 

"You haven't the secret yet, " said my mentor, who watched me as I wonfor the first time, and was moved to warn me by my unconcealed pride inthis achievement. "After you've played it a few years, you'll learn thatthe value of it lies chiefly in losing. You'll try like the devil towin, of course, but you'll learn not to wish for it. To win is nothingbut an endless piling up of the right cards, beginning with the ace andending with the king, and it only means more shuffling for next time. But every time you lose you will learn things about everything. "

It was even as he said, --it took me years to learn this true merit ofthe game; and still, as he had said, I learned much from it of life. 

There is a fine moment at the last shuffling of the cards, a moment whenfree will and fatalism are indistinguishably merged. 

I am ready to lay down eight cards in a horizontal row off my doubledeck. Who will say that the precise number of shuffles I have given toit was preordained?

"I do, " exclaimed an obliging fatalist. "The sequence of every one ofthose cards was determined when we were yet star-dust. "

I bring confusion to him by performing half a dozen other shuffles. I amthus far the master of my unborn game--another last shuffle to prove it, though I shuffle clumsily enough. 

I glance disdainfully at the fatalist whom I have refuted, and prepareagain to lay down the first row of cards. But the fellow comes backwith, "Those last shuffles were also determined, as was thischallenge--"

"Very well!" and I prepare for still another rearrangement. But here Ireflect that this could be endless and not at all interesting. 

I dismiss the fatalist as a quibbler and play on. Now there is nodispute, unless there be other quibblers. Fixed is the order in whichthe cards shall fall, eight at a time. There is pure fatalism. But inthe movings after each eight are dealt, I shall consciously choose andjudge, which is pure free will--or an imitation of it sufficientlycolorable to satisfy any, but quibblers. There, for me, is the fatalismof body, the free will of soul. Of these I learn when I play the game. 

Now my first eight cards are down in a horizontal row. There are twokings among them, which is auspicious, for kings must be placed sometimeat the top. There is a red queen, also auspicious, to be placed on oneof the black kings. There is an ace of diamonds and its deuce. Good, again! The ace is placed above the row, beginning a row of aces to beplaced there as fast as they fall, and the deuce is placed atop of it, for in that row the suits will be built _up_, each in its kind. In thelower rows the suits are to be built down and crossed, as when I playedthe red queen on the black king, so that only the top of his crownedhead can be seen. Then I play a red eight on a black nine and a blackseven on the red eight. I am now left most fortunately with five spaceswhen I deal off my second row of eight, --five spaces into which, it maybe, a king or two shall happily fall. 

The game usually becomes intense after the third eight cards are played. By that time a choice must be made. Shall this black six or the other beplayed on the red seven? One must be wise, for either will releaseimportant cards. 

The game has started so well that it promises to play out tooeasily--which is one of its tricks. Presently a deuce will be covered bya king for which no space is ready, a dark queen will be buried under asuccession of smaller cards, crowding along with apparent carelessness, but relentlessly. Now a space is opened for the king that covers thedeuce, but the king has meantime been covered by an insignificant butunmanageable four-spot, and cannot be reached. The game is not soabsurdly easy as it promised to be. Still it may be won by cleverplaying. There follow eight cards that prove to be immovable, and theissue is almost in doubt. Now the last eight cards are down, and thegame is suddenly seen to be lost. One small other shuffle might have wonit; if that tray of spades had fallen one place to the right or left, the thing would now be easy; if it were a deuce or a four, the thingwere easy. One spot on the card has brought ruin. The game has foiled uswith its own peculiar cleverness. 

But then, we learn to expect failure; and, most important of all, welearn to succeed while failing. We learn to see our cards fallwretchedly without a tremor. We learn to take small gains that offer, and to watch unmoved while splendid chances come to naught. We learn tolive life and to waste no energy in vain wishing that we had shuffleddifferently. We learn even to marvel admiringly at the unobtrusivecunning which thwarts us of our dream's own--to wonder that cards evershould come right for any player in that maze of chances and faultyjudgments. And we learn, above all, to brush the things together withoutloss of time and to play a new hand with the same old hope. 

As I studied the cards, making sure of my defeat--one must be mostcareful to do that; a way is sometimes to be found--it was not strangethat I fell to thinking of the face on my neighbor's wall. 

I had mused often upon it since that first night. It seemed, curiouslyenough, to be a face that had long been mistily afloat in my shut eyes, a girl's face that had a trick of blending from time to time with theface of another I had better reason to know. Unaccountably they had comeand gone, one followed by the other. Of that last new face in my visionI could make nothing, save that some one seemed to have painted it overthere in the other house. How I had come by my own mind copy of it was amystery to me beyond solution. 

I played the game again to still this perplexity which had a way ofseizing me at odd moments. It is an especially good game for a man whohas had to believe that life will always beat him. 

CHAPTER XIX

A WORTHLESS BLACK HOUND

After an autumn speciously benign came our season of cold and snow. Itproved to be a season of unwonted severity, every weather expert intown, from Uncle William McCormick, who had kept a diary record forthirty years, to Grandma Steck, who had foretold its coming from agoose-bone, agreeing that the cold was most unusual. The editor of the_Argus_ not only spoke of "Nature's snowy mantle, " but coined anotherhappy phrase about Little Arcady being "locked in the icy embrace ofwinter. " This was admitted to be accurately literal, in spite of itspoetic daring. 

Miss Caroline confessed homesickness to me after the first heavy snow. She spoke as lightly of it as she should have done, but I could see thather own land pulled at her heart with every blast that shook hercasements. No longer, however, was there even a second-cousin whosehospitality she was free to claim, for Colonel Lucius Quintus Peavey, C. S. A. , now slept with his fathers in far-off Virginia, leaving behindhim only traditions and a little old sherry. The former Miss Carolinehad always shared with him, and a cask of the latter he bequeathed toher with his love. And the valley being now void of her kin, she wasdoubly an exile. 

Such new desolation as she must have felt was masked under jestingdispraise of our execrable Northern climate. Surely a land permitted tocongeal so utterly had forfeited the grace of its Maker. 

Clem's lack of executive genius also earned a meed of my neighbor'sdisparagement. He was a worthless, trifling "boy, " an idling dreamer, anirresponsible, inconsequent visionary, in whose baseless fancies it wasastounding that a woman of her years should fatuously place reliance. 

I must confess that I was more than once guilty of irritation when MissCaroline spoke thus slightingly of her "boy"--of one who had been unableto view himself as other than her personal property. Again and again itseemed to me that, fine little creature that she was, her tone towardClem lacked the right feeling. I should not have demanded gratitudeprecisely; at least no bald expression of it. But a manner of speechdenoting, if not wording, a recognition of his unswerving loyalty wouldhave accorded better with the estimate I had otherwise formed of hercharacter. The absence of any tone or word that even one so devoted as Icould construe to her advantage was puzzling in the extreme. 

Still, feeling toward her as I did, I was compelled to excuse her asbest I might by attributing her hardness to an evil system now happilyabolished. But the nerves in my lost arm seemed to tingle with a secretsatisfaction when I thought of Clem's empty reward for his life-work andremembered that I had helped, though ever so little, to free him and hiskind from a bond so unfortunate for each of the parties to it. 

The winter deepened about us, chill and bleak and ravaging. The smokefrom our chimneys went up in tall columns that lost themselves in thegray sky. The snow shut us in, and presently the wind lay in wait toblast us when we dared the drifts. 

Yet Miss Caroline throve, despite her nostalgia. She was even jaunty inher recital of the weather's minor hardships. To its rigors she broughta front of resolute gayety. A new stove graced the parlor, a stove withthe proud nickeled title of "Frost King"; a title seen to be deservedwhen Clem had it properly gorged with dry wood. Within its tropicradiations Miss Caroline bloomed and was hale of being, like some hardyperennial. 

Of Clem, nothing but hardiness was to be anticipated. He had beentoughened by four other of our winters, all said to have been unusualfor severity. And yet it was Clem, curiously enough, and not MissCaroline, who found the season most trying. True, he had to be abroadmost of the time, procuring sustenance for the insatiable "Frost King, "or performing labor for other people by which Miss Caroline shouldpreserve her independence; but it was not supposed that a creature ofhis sort could be subject to weaknesses natural enough to a superiorrace. 

I believe this was his own view of the matter; for when he admitted tome one morning that he had "took cold in the chest, " his manner was oneof deprecating confusion, and he swore me against betrayal of his lapseto Miss Caroline. 

She discovered his guilt for herself, however, after a few days, fromhis very annoying cough. She taxed him with it so sturdily that effortsat deception availed him not. His tale that the snow sifted into his"bref-place" and "tickled it" was pitifully unconvincing, for his coughwas deeper than Eustace Eubanks's proudest note in the drinking song. 

"He's a worthless thing, " said Miss Caroline, telling me of his fault, and I said he was indeed--that he hadn't served me four years without myfinding _that_ out. I added that he was undoubtedly shamming, but thatat the same time it might be as well to take a few simple precautions. Miss Caroline said that of course he was shamming, in order to get outof work, and that she would soon drive _that_ nonsense out of his headif she had to wear the black wretch out to do it. She added that she wasabout tired of his nonsense. 

It may be known that I have heretofore lost no opportunity to foist allfaults of understanding upon the heads of my fellow-townsmen. And Ishould have liked to keep my record clear in that matter; but it wouldbe uncandid to pretend, even at this late day, that I have ever divinedthe precise relationship that exists between Miss Caroline and herslave. I may know a bit more of its intricacies than does Little Arcadyat large, but not enough to permit that certain thrill of superiordiscernment which I have so often been able to enjoy in Slocum County. 

Each of the two, considered alone, is fairly comprehensible. But takentogether, there is something between them which must always baffleme--something which I cannot believe to have been at all typical of therelation between owner and slave, else many of the facts noted by ourdiscerning and impartial investigators were either imperfectly observedor unintelligently reported. 

Up to a certain point my own studies of this slave-holder alignedperfectly with the information which we of the North had been at suchpains to gather. And I tried to hold Miss Caroline blameless, remembering that she had been long schooled to the inhumanity of it. 

I resolved, nevertheless, to take Clem under my own roof--there was asmall unused room almost directly under it--the moment Miss Caroline'simpatience with him should move her to the extremes foretold by herabusive fashion of speech. I would not see even a negro turned out inthe coldest of winters for no better reason than that he was sick anduseless, though I planned to intervene delicately, so as not to affrontmy neighbor. For my heart was still hers, despite this hardness, forwhich I saw that she must not be blamed. 

As I had feared, Clem's cough became more obtrusive, and with this MissCaroline's irritation deepened toward him. She declared that histrifling, no-account nature made him all but impossible. 

Then one morning--one to be distinguished by its cold even among manyunusual mornings--there was no Clem to light my fires and to scent mysnug dining room with unparalleled coffee. This brought it definitelyhome to me that the situation had become grave. I dressed with whatspeed I could and hurried to Miss Caroline's door. The time had comewhen I should probably have to do something. 

My neighbor met me and said that Clem had meanly decided to remain inbed for the day. I searched her face for some sign of consideration asshe said this, but I was disappointed. She seemed to feel only a fiercedisgust for his foolishness. 

"But you may go up and look at the black good-for-nothing if you like, "she said, grudgingly enough I thought. 

I climbed the brief flight of stairs. I knew that Clem had not refusedto get up without reasons that seemed sufficient to him. In a narrow bedin one of the doll-house rooms he lay coughing. 

"So you can't get up this morning?" I asked. 

"Yes, seh, Mahstah Majah, Ah _was_ a-gittin' up, but Ah was fohced tocough raght smahtly an' Miss Cahline she yehs it an' she awdeh me backto baid, seh. Then Ah calls out to huh that Ah ain't go'n' a' have nosech foolishness in this yeh place, an' so she stahts to come up, whichfohces me to retiah huhiedly. Then she stands theh at th' head of th'staihs an' she faulted me--yes, seh--she _threaten_ me, Mahstah Majah, an' she tek mah clothes away, an' so on an' so fothe. Then Ah huhd huha' mekin' th' fiah an' then she brung this yeh cawfee an' she done mekit that foolish that Ah can't tech it. Yes, seh, she plumb ruined thattheh cawfee, _that's_ what she done!"

His tone was peevish. Clem himself was not talking as I thought wouldhave been becoming in him. And there was a definite issue of veracitybetween him and his mistress. I went down again, for the room was cold. 

"He has some fever, " I said. 

"He is a lazy black hound, " said Miss Caroline. 

"He says you ordered him to stay in bed--threatened him and hid hisclothes. "

"Oh, never fear but what that fellow will always have an excuse!" sheretorted shortly. 

Observing that she had a day's supply of wood at hand, I left, not alittle annoyed at both of them. I missed my coffee. 

When I knocked at the door that evening, no one came to admit me. I wentin, hearing Clem's voice in truculent protest from a large room on thefirst floor which had been called the room of Little Miss. I went to thedoor of this room. 

Clem and his bed were there. We had two physicians in Little Arcady, OldDoc and Young Doc. Young Doc was now present measuring powders intolittle papers which he folded neatly, while Miss Caroline stood at hand, cowering but stubborn under Clem's violence. 

"Miss Cahline, yo' suttinly old enough t' know betteh'n that. Ah do wishyo' Paw was about th' house--he maghty quickly put yo'-all in yo' place. Now Ah tole yo' Ah ain't go'n' a' have none o' this yeh Doctahfoolishness. Yo' not go'n' a' stravagate all that theh gole money onsech crazy doin's an' mek us be indigent in ouah ole aige. What Ah_want_ with a Doctah? Hanh! Anseh me that! Yo'-all jes' git me a littlebit calamus an' some catnip, an' Ah do all th' doctahin' tha'sadvisable. " All this he brought out with difficulty, for his breathingwas by no means free. 

"He's up to his tricks, " said Miss Caroline, contemptuously, to me. Then, to Clem, seeming to draw courage from my presence, "You be quiet, there, you lazy, black good-for-nothing, or I'll get some one here towear you out!" And Clem was again the vanquished. 

"Pneumonia, " said Young Doc. "Bad, " he added as we stepped into thedrawing-room. "Take lots of care. "

I thought it as well that Young Doc had come. Old Doc, though wellliked, boasted that all any man of his profession needed, really, werecalomel and a good knife. Young Doc had always seemed to be subtler. Anyway, he was of a later generation. I learned that Old Doc had scornedto make the call, believing that a "nigger" could not suffer fromanything but yellow fever or cracked shins. For this reason he becamegenuinely interested in Clem's case as it was later reported to him byYoung Doc. 

To the rest of Little Arcady the case was also of interest. Sympathy hadheretofore been with Clem, because Miss Caroline paid him no wages, andwas believed to take what he earned from other people. 

Now, however, an important number of persons veered--in wonder if not inabsolute sympathy. That the woman should watch and nurse the blackfellow, apparently with perfect single-heartedness, was not to besquared with any known laws of human association. "Nursing a nigger inher own house with her own hands, " was the fashion of describing thisuntoward spectacle. It was like taking a sick horse into your house, andmaking play that it was human. The already puzzled town was furthermystified, and it is probable that Miss Caroline fell a little in publicesteem. Her course was not thought to be edifying. She could have sentClem to the county poor farm, where he would have been seen to, after afashion good enough for one of his color, by the proper authorities. 

My own bewilderment was at first hardly less than the town's. Had MissCaroline suddenly changed her manner toward Clem, showing regret, however belated, for her previous abuse of him, I should haveunderstood. That would have been a simple case of awakened sensibility. But she continued to disparage him to his face and to me. She wasvenomous--scurrilous in her abuse. Yet only with the greatest difficultycould I persuade her to let me share the watch that must be kept overhim. She called him an infamous black wretch, in tones befitting herwords, but I could not get her to leave him even so long as her ownhealth demanded. 

There came nights, however, as the disease ran its course, when she hadto give up from sheer lack of force. Then she permitted me to watch, though even at these times she often broke from sleep to come and beassured that the worthless black hound had not changed for the worse. 

One dim, early morning, when she thought I had gone, after my night'swatch, I returned softly to the half-opened door with a forgotteninjunction about the medicines. All night Clem had babbled languidly ofmany things, of "a hunded thousan' hatchin' aigs, " and "a thousan'brillion dollahs, " of "Mahstah Jere" and "Little Miss, " of a visitingCousin Peavey whom he had been obliged to "whup" for his repeatedmisdemeanors; and darkly and often had he whispered, so low I couldscarcely hear it, of an enemy that was entering the room with a felldesign. "_Tha'_ he is--he go'n' a' sprinkle snake-dust in mahboots--tha' he is--watch _out_!"

He still maundered weakly as I reached the door, but it was not thisthat detained me at its threshold. It was Miss Caroline, who hadactually knelt at his side. At first I thought she wept over one of hisblue-black hands, which she clung eagerly to with both her own. Then Isaw that there seemed to be no tears--yet silently, almost impassively, she gave me a sense of hopeless grief that I thought no outburst ofweeping could have done. 

I wondered wildly then if her fashion of speech for Clem might not masksome real affection for him. But this was unsatisfying. On the spot Igave up all wondering forever about Miss Caroline. I have ever sinceconstrained myself to accept her without question, even in situations ofdifficulty. There is so much vain knowledge. 

That day, too, was the bad day when news came that Little Miss had beenstricken with the same dread pneumonia. When she told me this, MissCaroline had a look in her eyes that I suspect must often have beenthere in the first half of the sixties. It was calm enough, but therewas a resistance in it that promised to be unbreakable. And to mynever-ending wonder she seemed still to be more concerned about Clemthan about her daughter. 

"Will you go to her?" I asked. 

She smiled. "That could hardly be afforded just now. "

"You could manage it, I think. Clem has some money due from me. "

"Even so, I couldn't leave Clem. My daughter will be cared for, but Clemwouldn't have anybody. We'll fight it out on this line, Major. "

I now saw that continuous questioning about Miss Caroline would bringone in time to madness, and I was glad of my resolve never again toindulge in this unprofitable occupation. 

But even pneumonia has its defeats. Young Doc surprised Old Doc again;for the latter, once convinced that an African could suffer so civilizedan affliction as pneumonia, had declined to believe that he could ever"throw it off, " and had disclosed good reasons why he could not to anattentive group at the City Drug Store. 

Yet after a night when Miss Caroline had refused to let me watch, shemet me at the door as Young Doc was leaving. She was wearied butchipper, though there was an unsteady little lift in her voice as shesaid:--

"That lazy black wretch is going to get well!"

"It's about time, " I said grimly. "I've been in a bad way without him. Indeed I'm very glad to hear you say so. "

Her eyes twinkled approval upon me, I thought. 

"You've behaved excellently, Major. Really, I am glad that we left youthat other arm. " This was almost in her old manner, though her eyesseemed a little dimmed by her excitement. Then, with a sudden return tothe patient:--

"I wonder if you would be good enough to go in and swear at Clem. He'sperfectly rational now, and it will hearten him wonderfully. He'sdreadfully mortified because he's been sick so long. And it needs a man, you know, really. I'll close the door for you. Do it hard! Call him adamned black hound, if you please, and ask him what he means by it!"

I hurried in, for Miss Caroline's eyes were threatening to betray her. 

CHAPTER XX

IN WHICH SOMETHING MUST BE DONE

Clem's prolonged convalescence was a trial to his militant spirit. Themonth or more of curious weakness in his body, always before so stout, left him with a fear that he had been "pah'lyzed in th' frame. "Moreover, there were troubles less intimately personal to him, but notless harassing to the household. 

There was Little Miss, who was making a fight like Clem's own in aBaltimore hospital. Each day I bore to Miss Caroline a telegramdetailing the progress of her daughter, though it had cost me time andtrouble to convince my correspondent that he was not to skimp suchencouragement as might be his to offer, merely to comprise it within tenwords. There were three days, it is true, when ten words were more thanenough in which to be non-committal. And there was a day that came uponthe heels of these when the profits of the telegraph company must havebeen unusual, for only two words came instead of ten--"Recoverydoubtful. " This might as well have been left unsent, for I tore it upand assured the waiting pair that no news was good news. They triedeagerly to believe this aphorism, which has the authority of age, butwhich I suspect was coined originally from despair. 

The next day's bulletin read "Temperature still up, but making a strongfight. " Stupid it was, when these were but eight words, not to haveadded two more, such as, "Very hopeful. " I induced our telegraphoperator to rectify this oversight, and felt repaid for my trouble whenI showed the message. That last touch seemed to have been needed. Ofcourse Little Miss would make a strong fight. Miss Caroline and Clemboth knew that. But they had known other strong fights to be none theless hopeless, and they were grateful for those last two words ofqualification. 

There were four other days when the report seemed to need judiciousediting, and in this I did not prove remiss. As the telegraph companyremained indifferent, I could see that no harm was done. For at lastcame a bulletin of seventeen words which left us assured that LittleMiss had conquered. Henceforth we could receive the things without thatstifling dread, that eager fearfulness of the eyes to read all the wordsin one glance. Leisurely could we learn that Little Miss was gettingback her strength, and Miss Caroline and I could laugh at Clem's fearthat she also would find herself "pah'lyzed in th' frame. "

After that Miss Caroline and I were free to consider another matter, weighty enough with pneumonia out of the running. This was a matter ofways and means--of sheer, downright money. 

When Clem, in the first days of his sickness, had warned Miss Carolinethat she would not be let to waste "all that gold money, " his loftyreference, as a matter of cold figures, was to a sum less than ninedollars. I forget the precise amount, but that is near enough--ninedollars, in round numbers. And the winter had been an expensive one. 

At the lowest time of doubt, when Miss Caroline had affairs of extremegravity to face, I had spoken to her incidentally of money that I owedto Clem for services performed, and I had, in fact, paid severalinstalments of the debt as money seemed to be needed. 

When Clem's recovery was assured and I urged Miss Caroline to go toLittle Miss, she asked me bluntly what sum I had owed Clem. I feltobliged to confess that it was not more than two hundred dollars. 

This must have surprised Miss Caroline as much as it rejoiced her, forshe took up the matter with Clem, and in so clumsy a fashion that he, perhaps owing to his enfeebled condition, witlessly made a confession atvariance with mine, and with an effect of candor that moved hisquestioner to take his word rather than that of an officer and agentleman. Of course this was not at all like Clem. In referring to sumsof money due him he had ever been wont to chant them with a bard-likeinflation that recognized only sums of a vague but immense rotundity. Ihad never known him to be thus prosaic, and I suspected that MissCaroline had, in a sudden impulse of doubt, terrified him into being sobrutally explicit. 

Whence fell a coldness between Miss Caroline and me, for the discrepancybetween Clem's confession and mine was not slight. Even my mutteringsabout interest having accumulated were put down as the desperateresource of embarrassment. Miss Caroline did not even dignify them withher notice, and the coldness increased. 

Yet, while it was a true coldness, it was distinguished by a certainalien quality of warmth, for Miss Caroline, though now on guard againstany mere vulgar benevolence of mine, talked to me frankly, as she hadnever done before, about her situation. 

First, it was impossible to think of going to her daughter. There weredebts in the town; Clem would be unable to work for many weeks; and notonly had Little Miss's contribution from her small wage now failed, butshe herself had incurred debts and would be without money to pay them. 

My neighbor depicted the gravity of this situation with a spirit thattaxed my powers of admiration, --powers not slight, I may explain; forhad they not already been developed beyond the ordinary by this samewoman? Not even was she downcast in my presence. In fine, she wassuperbly Miss Caroline to me. If I saw that to herself she was anill-fated old woman, perversely surviving a wreck with which she shouldhave gone down, alone in a land that seemed unkind because it did notunderstand, and in desperate straits for the commonest stuff in theworld, --why, that was no matter to be opened between us. We affectedwith mild philosophy to study a situation that not only did not requirestudy but scarcely permitted it by candid souls. But we affected toagree that something must be done, which sounded very well indeed. 

As a sign that she bore me no malice it was promised that I might hire aman to plant Clem's garden that spring, with the understanding that Ishould thus acquire an equity in its product. This seemed to be in theline of that something that must be done, and Miss Caroline and I mademuch of it, to avoid the situation's more embarrassing aspects. 

"If I could only sell something, " said my neighbor, with a vacant lookabout the room--a look of humorous disparagement. "The silver is good, but there's hardly enough of it to pay one of those debts--and I'venothing else but Clem. But if I tried to sell him, " she added brightly, "it would only bring on trouble again with your Northern President. Iknow just how it would be. "

We parted on this jest. Miss Caroline, I believe, went to be scolded byClem for her trifling ways, while I sought out Solon Denney. 

When something must be done, I seem never to know what it shall be. Ibelieve Solon is often quite as uncertain, but he will never confessthis, so that talk with him under such circumstances stimulates if itdoes not sustain. 

I put Miss Caroline's difficulties before him. As any common catalogueof troubles will not provoke Solon from a happy unconcern which istemperamental, I spared no details in my recital, and I observed atlength that my listener was truly aroused to the bad way in which MissCaroline found herself. He sat forward in his chair, rested one elbowupon his untidy desk, and for several moments of silence jabbed an inkypen rhythmically into the largest rutabaga ever grown in Slocum County. At last he sat back and gazed upon me distantly from inspired eyes. Then, with his characteristic enthusiasm, he exclaimed:--

"Something will have to be done!"

"Wonderful!" I murmured. "Here I've worried over the thing for twomonths, studied it in court, studied it in my office, studied it inbed--and couldn't make a thing out of it. All at once I am guided to awelling fount of wisdom, and the thing is solved in a flash. Solon, youdazzle me! Denney forever!"

"Now, don't be funny, Calvin--I mean, don't try to be--" but I arose togo. 

"You've solved it, Solon. _Something must be done. _ There's thedifference between intuition and mere clumsy ratiocination. In anothermonth I might have found this out for myself, but you divine itinstantly. You're a clairvoyant. Now I'm going to find Billy Durgin. You've done the heavy work--you've discovered that something must bedone. What we need now, I suppose, is a bright young detective to tellus what it is. "

But Solon interrupted soothingly. "There, there, something must be done, and, of course, I'll do it. "

"What will you do?"

Even then I think he did not know. 

"We must use common sense in these matters, " he said, to gain time, andnarrowed his gaze for an interval of study. At last he drove the penviciously to its hilt in the rutabaga, and almost shouted:--

"I'll go to see Mrs. Potts!"

Before I could again express my enthusiasm, reawakened by the felicitousadequacy of this device, he had seized his hat and was clatteringnoisily down the stairway. 

Two hours later Solon bustled into my own office, whither I had fled toforget his manifest incompetence. His hat was well back, and he seemedto be inflated with secrecy. I remembered it was thus he had impressedme just previous to the _coup_ that had relieved us of Potts. I knew atonce that he was going to be mysterious with me. 

"I am not to say a word to any one, " I began, merely to show him that Iwas not dense. 

He paused, apparently on the point of telling me as much. I saw that Ihad read him aright. 

"I am merely to be quiet and trust everything to you, " I continued. 

"Oh, well, --if you--"

"One moment--let me take a few more words out of your mouth. You are notcertain, I am to remember, that anything will come of it, but you thinksomething will. You think you may say _that_ much. But I am again toremember not to talk about it. There! That's it, isn't it?"

He was entirely serious. 

"Well, that's _practically_ it. But I don't mind hinting a little, instrict confidence. " He dropped into a chair, sitting earnestly forward. 

"You see, Cal, I remembered a little remark Mrs. Potts once made. Ibelieve it was the day after Mrs. Lansdale entertained the ladies' clublast summer--I remember she was complaining of a headache--"

"I never knew Mrs. Potts to make a little remark, " I said. I was not tobe trifled with. Solon grinned. 

"Well, perhaps this one wasn't so very little, only I never thought ofit again until this morning. It was about Mrs. Lansdale's furniture. "

"Indeed, " I said in cold disinterest, having designed to be told more. 

"Well, Mrs. Potts thinks there may be something in it. "

His effort was to seem significant, but those things are apt to failwith me. 

"Oh, I see. Well, that's a good idea, Solon, but you and Mrs. Potts areslow. Billy Durgin had the same idea last summer while the furniture wasbeing unloaded. He took a good look at some of those old pieces, and heconfided to me in strict secrecy that there were probably missing willsand rolls of banknotes hidden away in them. It seems that they're thekind that have secret drawers. Billy knows a case where a man touched aspring and found thirty thousand dollars in a secret drawer, 'and fromthere, ' as Billy says, 'he fled to Australia. ' So you can see it's beenthought of. Of course I've never spoken of it, because I promised Billynot to, --but there's nothing in it. "

"Bosh!" said Solon. 

"Of course it's bosh. I could have told Billy that, but some way Ialways feel tender about his illusions. You may be sure I've learnedenough of the Lansdale family to know that no member of it ever hid anyreal money--money that would _spend_--and there hasn't been a willmissing for at least six generations. "

"Bosh again!" said Solon. "It isn't secret drawers!"

"No? What then?"

"Well, --it's worse--and more of it. "

"Is that all you have to say?" I asked as he stood up. 

"Well, that's all I can say now. We must use common sense in thesematters. But--Mrs. Potts has written!" With this cryptic utterance hestalked out. 

There had been little need to caution me to secrecy. I was not temptedto speak. Had I known any debtor of Miss Caroline's who would have taken"Mrs. Potts has written" in payment of his account, it might have beenotherwise. 

CHAPTER XXI

LITTLE ARCADY IS GRIEVOUSLY SHAKEN

Mrs. Potts had written. I had Solon's word for it; but that whichfollowed the writing will not cease within this generation or the nextto be an affair of the most baffling mystery to our town folk. Me, also, it amazed; though my emotion was chiefly concerned with those graciouseffects which the gods continued to manage from that apparentlymeaningless sojourn of J. Rodney Potts among us. 

Superficially it was a thing of utter fortuity. Actually it was amasterpiece of cunning calculation, a thing which clear-visioned personsmight see to bristle with intention on every side. 

Years after that innocent encounter between an adventurous negro and anamiable human derelict in the streets of a far city, --those two atomsshaken into contact while the gods affected to be engaged with weightiermatters, --the cultured widow of that derelict recalled the name of agentleman in the East who was accustomed to buy tall clocks andfiddle-backed chairs, in her native New England, paying prices thereforto make one, in that conservative locality, rich beyond the dreams ofavarice, almost. 

Such was the cleverly devised circumstance that now intervened betweenmy neighbor and an indigence distressing to think about. It was as if, in the game, a red four which one had neglected to "play up" shouldactually permit victory after an intricate series of disasters, byproviding a temporary resting-place for a black trey, otherwise fatallyobstructive, causing the player to marvel afresh at that last fatefulbut apparently chance shuffle. 

A week after Mrs. Potts had written, the gentleman who received herletter registered as "Hyman Cohen, New York, N. Y. , " at the City Hotel. From his manner of speech when he inquired for the Lansdale home it wasseen that he seemed to be a German. 

When Miss Caroline received him a little later, he asked abruptly aboutfurniture, and she, in some astonishment, showed him what she had, evento that crowded into dark rooms and out of use. 

He examined it carelessly and remarked that it was the worst lot that hehad ever seen. 

This did not surprise Miss Caroline in the least, though she thought thegentleman's candor exceptional. Little Arcady's opinion, which she knewto tally with his, had always come to her more circuitously. 

The strange gentleman then asked Miss Caroline, not too urbanely, if shehad expected him to come all the way from New York to look at such cheapstuff. Miss Caroline assured him quite honestly that she had expectednothing of the sort, and intimated that her regret for his comingsurpassed his own, even if it must remain more obscurely worded. Sheindicated that the interview was at an end. 

The strange gentleman arose also, but as Clem was about to close thedoor after him, he offered Miss Caroline one hundred and fifty dollarsfor "the lot, " observing again that it was worthless stuff, but that in"this business" a man had to take chances. Miss Caroline declined tonotice this, having found that there was something in the gentleman'smanner which she did not like, and he went down the path revealingannoyance in the shrug of his shoulders and the sidewise tilt of hishead. 

To Mrs. Lansdale's unaffected regret, and amazement as well, thegentleman returned the following morning to say that he was about toleave for New York, but that he would actually pay one hundred andseventy-eight dollars for the stuff. This was at least twenty-twodollars more than it could possibly be worth, but the gentleman had anunfortunate passion for such things. Miss Caroline bowed, and calledClem as she left the room. 

The gentleman returned the morning of the third day to close the deal. He said he had missed his train on the previous day, and being asuperstitious man he regarded that as an augury of evil. Nevertheless hehad resolved to take the stuff even at a price that was ruinous. Heunfolded two hundred dollars in the presence of Clem, and wished to knowif he might send a wagon at once. Clem brought back word from MissCaroline, who had declined to appear, that the strange gentleman wouldoblige her by ceasing his remarkable intrusions. Whereupon the gentlemanhad said: "Oh, very _well_! Then I go!"

But he went no farther than the City Hotel; and here one may note afurther contrivance of indirection on the part of our attending Fates. 

From the evening train of that day the 'bus brought another strangegentleman, of an Eastern manner, but somewhat neater of dress than thefirst one and speaking with an accent much less obtrusive. Thisgentleman wrote "James Walsingham Price, N. Y. , " on the register, calledfor a room with a bath, ordered "coffee and rolls" to be sent there ateight-thirty the next morning, and then asked to see the "dinner card. "

After mine host, Jake Kilburn, had been made to understand what "dinnercard" meant, he made Mr. James Walsingham Price understand that therewas no dinner card. This being clear at last, the newcomer said: "Oh, _very_ well! Then just give my order to the head-waiter, willyou--there's a good chap--a cup of consommé, a bit of fish, a bird ofsome sort, broiled, I fancy, --er--potatoes _au gratin_, a green salad ofsome kind, --serve that with the bird, --a piece of Camembert, if it's ingood condition, any _entremet_ you have and a _demi-tasse_. I'll mix thesalad dressing myself, tell him, --oh, yes--and a pint of Chambertin ifyou've something you can recommend. "

Billy Durgin, scrutinizing the newcomer in a professional way, told meafterwards that Jake Kilburn "batted his eyes" during this strangespeech and replied to it, "like a man coming to"--"supper in twentyminutes, " after which he pounded a bell furiously and then himselfshowed his new and puzzling guest to a room--but not a room "with abath, " be it understood, for a most excellent reason. 

Billy Durgin was excited half an hour later by noting the behavior ofthe first strange gentleman from the East as his eyes fell upon thissecond. He threw both hands into the air, where they engaged in rapidhorizontal shakings from his pliant wrists, and in hushed gutturalsexclaimed, "My God, my God!" in his own fashion of speech, which wasreproduced admirably for me by my informant. Billy was thus confirmed inhis earlier belief that the first strange gentleman was a house-breakerbadly wanted somewhere, and he now surmised that the newcomer must be adetective on his trail. But a close watch on their meeting, a littlelater in the evening, seemed to contradict this engaging hypothesis. Thesecond stranger emerged from the dining room, where he had been servedwith supper, and as he shut the door of that banqueting hall, Billy, standing by, heard him, too, call upon his Maker. He called only once, but it was in a voice so full of feeling as to make Billy suspect thathe was remembering something unpleasant. 

At this point the newcomer had glanced up to behold the first strangegentleman, and Billy held his breath, expecting to witness a sensationalcapture. To his unspeakable disgust the supposed sleuth grinned affablyat his supposed quarry and said: "Ah, Hyman! Is the stuff any good?"

"How did you find it out?" asked the first strange gentleman. 

The other smiled winningly. "Why, I dropped into your place the otherday, and that beautiful daughter-in-law of yours mentioned incidentallywhere you'd gone and what for. She's a good soul, Hyman, bright, and aschatty as she can be. "

"Ach! That Malke! She goes back right off to De Lancey Street, where shebelongs, " said the first stranger, plainly irritated. 

"How did you find the stuff, Hyman?"

"Have you et your supper yet?"

"Yes--'tisn't Kosher, is it? How did you find the stuff?"

"No, it ain't Kosher--nothing ain't Kosher!"

"It's a devilish sight worse, though. How did you find the stuff, Hyman?"

The one called Hyman here seemed to despair of putting off this query. 

"No good! No good!--not a decent piece in the lot! I pledge you my wordas a gentleman I wouldn't pay the freight on it to Fourth Avenue!" Billyremarked that the gentleman said "pletch" for pledge and "afanoo" foravenue. 

The second stranger, hearing this, at once became strangely cheerful andinsisted upon shaking hands with the first one. 

"Fine, Hyman, fine! I'm delighted to hear you say so. Your words lift aload of doubt from my mind. It came to me in there just now that I mightbe incurring that supper for nothing but my sins!"

"Have your choke, " said Hyman, a little bitterly. 

"I have, Hyman, I have had my 'choke'!" said James Walsingham Price, with a glance of disrelish toward the dining room. 

It seemed clear to Billy Durgin, who reported this interview to me in amanner of able realism, that these men were both crooks of the firstwater. 

Billy at once polished his star and cleaned and oiled his new 32-caliber"bull-dog. " The promise of work ahead for the right man loomed morebrightly than ever before in his exciting career. 

While I discussed with Miss Caroline, that evening, the unpleasantmystery of her late caller, there came a note from him by messenger. Heoffered six hundred and twenty-one dollars for her furniture, the sumbeing written in large letters, so that it had the effect of beingshouted from the page. He further expressed a wish to close the dealwithin the half hour, as he must leave town on the night train. 

Had Miss Caroline been alone, she might have fallen. Even I wasstaggered, but not beyond recovery. The messenger bore back, at mysuggestion, a refusal of the offer and a further refusal to consider anymore offers that evening. There was indicated a need for calm daylightconsideration, and a face-to-face meeting with this variable Mr. Cohen. 

"But he leaves on the night train, " said Miss Caroline. "It may be ourlast chance, and six hundred dollars is--"

"He only says he leaves, " I responded. "And for three days, at least, Mr. Cohen seems to have been grossly misinformed about his ownmovements. Perhaps he's deceived himself again. "

At eight o'clock the following morning Clem served my breakfast for thefirst time since his illness, and I approached it with thanksgiving forhis recovery. 

A knock at the door took him from me just as he had poured the first cupof real coffee I had seen for nearly three months. He came back with thecard of one James Walsingham Price, whom I did not know; whereas I didknow the coffee. 

"Fetch him here, " I said. "He can't expect me to leave this coffee, whoever he is. "

Into my dining room was then ushered a tall, smartly dressed, smooth-faced man of perhaps middle age, with yellowish hair compactlyplastered to his head. He became, I thought, suddenly alert as hecrossed my threshold. I arose to greet him. 

"This is--" I had to glance at the card. 

"Yes--and you're Major Blake? I regret to disturb you, Major, "--here hisglance rested blankly upon the rich golden-brown surface of Clem'somelette, and it seemed to me that the thread of his intention wasbroken for an instant by a fit of absentmindedness. He resumed hisspeech only after an appreciable pause, as if the omelette had remindedhim of something. 

"The hour is untimely, but I'm told that you're a friend of a Mrs. Lansdale, who has some pieces of Colonial furniture she wishes to letgo. I wondered, you know, if you'd be good enough to introduce me. Irather thought some such formality might be advisable--I understand thata shark named Cohen has already approached her. "

Even as he spoke I recalled that Mr. Cohen's face, in profile, mightprovoke the vision of a shark to a person of lively imagination. 

"I shall be glad, " I said, "to present you to Mrs. Lansdale. "

Again had my caller's glance trailed across the breakfast table, wherethe omelette, the muffins, and the coffee-urn waited. The glance waspolitely unnoting, but in it there yet lurked, far back, theunmistakable quality of a caress. In an instant I remembered, and, witha pang of sympathy, I became his hungered brother. 

"By the way, Mr. Price, are you staying at the City Hotel?"

"The man said it was the only place, you know. "

"You had breakfast there this morning?" He bowed his assent eloquently, I thought. 

"Then by all means sit down and have breakfast. "

"Oh, _really_, no--by _no_ means--I assure you I'd a capitalbreakfast--"

"Clem!"

Clem placed a chair, into which Mr. Price dropped without loss of time, though protesting with polished vehemence against the imposition. 

His eyes shone, nevertheless, as Clem set a cup of coffee at his elbowand brought a plate. 

"May I ask when you arrived?" I questioned. 

"Only last evening. "

"Then you dined at the City Hotel?"

"Major Blake, I will be honest with you--I _did!_"

"Clem, another omelette, quick--but first fetch some oranges, then puton a lot more of that Virginia ham and mix up some waffles, too. Hurryalong!"

"Really, you are very good, Major. "

"Not that, " I answered modestly; "I've merely eaten at the City Hotel. "But I doubt if he heard, for he lovingly inhaled the aroma of his coffeewith half-shut eyes. 

"I am delighted to have met you, " he said. "If ever you come to NewYork--" He tore himself from the omelette long enough to scribble thename of a club on the card by my plate. 

"I rarely crave more than coffee and a roll in the morning, " hecontinued, after the second omelette, the ham, the waffles, and morecoffee had been consumed. "I fancy it's your bracing air. "

I fancied it was only the City Hotel, but I did not revert to that. 

When at last Mr. Price lighted a cigar which I had procured at animmense distance from Slocum County, he spoke of furniture, also ofCohen. 

Beheld through the romantic mist of after-breakfast, Cohen was, perhaps, not wholly a shark; at least not more than any dealer in old furniture. Really, they were almost forced to be sharks. It was not in the natureof the business that they should lead honest lives. Mere collectors--ofwhich class my guest was--were bad enough. Still, if you could catch acollector in one of his human moments--

He blew forth the smoke of my cigar with a relish so poignant that Isuspected he had already tried one of Jake Kilburn's best, the kindconcerning which Jake feels it considerate to warn purchasers that theyare "five cents, straight" and _not_ six for a quarter. I saw that ifthe collector before me were subject to human moments, he must besuffering one now. So, while he smoked, I told him freely of MissCaroline, of her furniture and her plight. 

He commended the tale. 

"One of the best I ever heard, " he declared. "Only, if you'll pardon me, it sounds too good to be true. It sounds, indeed, like a 'plant, '--fineold Southern family, impoverished by war--faithful body-servant--oldColonial mansion despoiled of its heirlooms--rare opportunities for thecollector. Really, Major, you should see some of the stuff that waslanded on me when I began, years ago, with a story almost as good. Reproductions, every piece of it, with as fine an imitation ofworm-eaten backs as you could ever wish to see. "

I had never wished to see any worm-eaten backs whatever, but I sought tobetray regret that I had not encountered this surpassing lot of them. 

"Of course, " he continued, "you will understand that I am speaking nowas a hardened collector, whose life is beset with pitfalls and withgins--not as a starved wretch to the saver of his life. "

"You shall see the stuff, " I said. 

"Oh, by all means, and the quicker the better. Cohen is waiting at thehotel for me now--at the foot of the front stairway, and he may suspectany minute that I was mean enough to slink down the back stairs and outthrough an alley. In fact, I'm rather excited at the prospect of seeingthat furniture--Cohen condemned it so bitterly. "

"He sent an offer of six hundred dollars for it last night, " I said. Hereupon my guest became truly excited. 

"He _did_--six hundred--_Cohen_ did? I don't wish to be rude, oldchap, but would you mind hastening? That is more eloquent than all yourstory. "

For half an hour, notwithstanding his eagerness, Mr. James WalsinghamPrice succumbed to the manner of Miss Caroline. Noting the lack ofcompunction with which she played upon him before my very eyes, Idivined that the late Colonel Lansdale had not found the need of pistolsentirely done away with even by the sacrament of marriage. 

Not until Clem announced "Mr. Cohen" did the self-confessed collectorcease to be a man. 

"Not at home, " said Miss Caroline, crisply. Price grinned withappreciation and fell to examining the furniture in strange ways. 

It was a busy day for him, but I could see that he found it enjoyable, and strangely was it borne in upon me that Miss Caroline's ancient stuffwas in some sense desirable. 

More than once did Price permit some sign of emotion to be read in hisface--as when the sixth chair of a certain set was at last foundsupporting a water-pail in the kitchen. The house was not large, but itwas crowded, and Price was frankly surprised at the number of things itheld. 

At six o'clock he went to dine with me, Miss Caroline having told himthat I was authorized to act for her on any proposal he might have tomake. 

"You have saved me again, " he said warmly, in the midst of Clem'sdinner. "I assure you, Major, that hotel is infamous. I'm surprised, youknow, that something isn't done about it by the authorities. "

I had to confess that the City Hotel was very highly regarded by most ofour citizens. 

Again, after a brief interval of stupefaction, did James WalsinghamPrice call upon his Maker. "And yet, " he murmured, "we are spendingmillions annually to impose mere theology upon savages far lessbenighted. Think for a moment what a tithe of that money would do forthese poor people. Take the matter of green salads alone--to say nothingof soups--don't you have so simple a thing as lettuce here?"

"We do, " I said, "but it's regarded as a trifle. They put vinegar andsugar on it and cut it up with their knives. "

My guest shuddered. 

"I dare say it's hopeless, but I shall always be glad to remember that_you_ exist away from your City Hotel. "

Thus did we reach the coffee and some cognac which the late L. Q. Peaveyhad gifted me with by the hands of his estimable kinswoman. 

"And now to business, " said my guest. His whimsical gray eyes had becomestudious and detached from our surroundings. He had a generous mouth, which he seemed habitually to sew up in a close-drawn seam, but thiswould suddenly and pleasantly rip in moments of forgetfulness. Being thecollector at this moment, the mouth was tightly stitched. 

"Let me begin this way, " he said. "There are exactly six pieces in thathouse that will prevent my being honest so long as they are not mine. Iam not unmindful of your succor, Major. I'll prove that to you if youlook me up in town, --send me a wire and a room shall be waiting foryou, --and I am enraptured by that small and lively brown lady. Nevertheless I shall remain a collector and, humanly speaking, aningrate, a wolf, a caitiff, until those six articles are mine. Make themmine, and for the remainder of that stuff you shall have the benefit ofan experience that has been of incredible cost. Accept my figure, and Ipromise you as man to man to de-Cohenize myself utterly. "

"They are yours, " I said--"what are they and what is the figure?Clem--Mr. Price's glass. "

"There--you disarm me. One bit of haggling or hesitation might havehardened me even now; the serpent within me would have lifted its headand struck. But you have saved yourself--and very well for that! Thearticles are those six ball-and-claw-foot chairs with violin backs. Iwill pay fifty dollars apiece for those. Remember--it is the voice ofCohen. The chairs are worth more--some day they'll fetch twice that;but, really, I must throw a sop to that collector-Cerberus within me. He's entitled to something. He had the wit to fetch me here. "

"The chairs are yours, " I said, wondering if I had not mistaken hisoffer, but determining not to betray this. 

"A little memorandum of sale, if you please--and I'll give you my check. That larger sideboard would also have stood in the way, but those glasshandles aren't the originals. "

The formality was soon despatched, and my curious friend became trulyhuman. 

"Now, Blake, this is from the grateful wretch whose life you have notonly saved but enriched. Well, there's an excellent lot of stuff there. I've got the pick, from a collector's standpoint--though not from amoney valuation. I can't tell what it will bring, but enough to put ouryoungish old friend easy for some time to come. You box it up, as muchas she wants to let go, and send it to the Empire Auction Rooms--here'sthe card. They're plain auction-room people, you understand, --wouldn'thesitate to rob you in a genteel, auction way, --but I'll be there andsee that they don't. Some of those other pieces I may want, but I'lltake a bidding chance on them like a man, and I'll watch the whole thingthrough and see that it's straight. "

Billy Durgin told me that Cohen and James Walsingham Price left on thenight train going East. Billy noticed that Cohen seemed morose, andheard him exclaim something that sounded like "Goniff!" under hisbreath, as Price turned away from him after a brief chat. 

For Little Arcady the appalling wonder was still to dawn. Load afterload of the despised furniture went into freight-cars, until the home ofMiss Caroline was only comfortably furnished. This was sensationalenough--that the things should be thought worth shipping about thecountry with freights so high. 

But after a few weeks came tales that atrophied belief--talescorroborated by a printed catalogue and by certain deposits of money inour bank to the account of Miss Caroline. That six wretched chairs, plain to ugliness, had sold for three hundred dollars spreadconsternation. The plain old sideboard for a hundred and ten dollarsonly fed the flames. But there had been sold what the cataloguedescribed as "A Colonial sofa with carved dolphin arms, winged clawfeet, and carved back" for two hundred and ten dollars, and after thatthe emotions aroused in Little Arcady were difficult to classify. Uponthat very sofa most of the ladies of Little Arcady had sat to pity MissCaroline for being "lumbered" with it. Again, a "Colonial highboy, hooded, " recalled as an especially awkward thing, and "five mahoganyside chairs" had gone for three hundred and eighty dollars. A"Heppelwhite mahogany armchair, " remembered for its faded red satin, hadveritably brought one hundred and sixty dollars; and a carved rosewoodscreen, said to be of Empire design, but a shabby thing, had soldastonishingly for ninety dollars. A "Hogarth chair-back settee" for twohundred and ten dollars, and "four Hogarth side chairs" for threehundred and fifteen dollars only darkened our visions still further. Some of us had known that Hogarth was an artist, but not that he hadfound time from his drawing to make furniture. Of Heppelwhite we hadheard not at all, although twelve arm-chairs said to be his had been bysome one thought to be worth around seven hundred dollars. Nor of anySheraton did we know, though one of his sideboards and a "pair ofSheraton knife urns" fetched the incredible sum of five hundred andfifty dollars. Chippendale was another name unfamiliar in Slocum County, but Chippendale, it seemed, had once made a wing book-case which was nowworth two hundred and forty dollars of some enthusiast's money. Afterthat a Chippendale settee for a hundred and forty dollars and an "Empiretable with 1830 base" for ninety-three dollars seemed the merest triflesof this insane outbreak. 

The amount netted by the late owner of these things was reported withvarious exaggerations, which I never saw any good reason to correct. AsI have said, the thing was, and promises to remain forever in LittleArcady, a phenomenon to be explained by no known natural laws. For along time our ladies were too aghast even to marvel at it intelligibly. When Aunt Delia McCormick in my hearing said, "Well, now, what a worldthis is!" and Mrs. Westley Keyts answered, "That's very _true!_" I knewthey referred to the Lansdale furniture. It was typical of theprevailing stupefaction. 

"It seems that a collector _may_ be a gentleman, " said Miss Caroline, "but Mr. Cohen wasn't even a collector!"

Then I told her the considerable sum now to her credit. She drew a longbreath and said, "_Now!_" and Clem, who stood by, almost cried, "_Now_, Little Miss!"

The Book of LITTLE MISS

CHAPTER XXII

THE TIME OF DREAMS

I had Clem to myself for a time. Little Miss, it seemed, was not yetrugged enough for travel into the far Little Country. Nor was she atonce to be convinced that she might safely leave her work. I suspectthat she had found cause in the past to rank her mother with Clem as aweigher and disburser of moneys. I noticed that she chose to accept MissCaroline's earliest letters about their good fortune with a sort ofhalf-tolerant attention, as an elder listens to the wonder-tales of animaginative child, or as I had long listened to Clem's own dreamy-eyedrecital of the profits already his from "brillions" of chickens not yetcome even to the egg-stage of their careers. 

Not until Miss Caroline had ceased from large and beauteous phrasesabout "the great good fortune that has befallen us in the strangestmanner"--not until she descended to actual, dumfounding figures withpowerful little dollar-marks back of them, did her daughter seem topermit herself the sweet alarms of hope. Even in that moment she did notforget that she knew her own mother, for she took the precaution toelicit a confirmatory letter from her mother's attorney, under guise ofthanking him for the friendly interest he had "ever manifested" in thewelfare of the Lansdales. 

It occurred to me that Little Miss had been endowed, either by nature orexperience, with a marked distrust of mere seemings. The impressionconveyed to me by her unenthusiastic though skilfully polite letter wasof one who had formed the habit of doubting beyond her years. These Ijudged to be twenty-eight or thereabouts, while her powers of restraintunder provocation to believe savored of more years than even her mothercould claim. I had myself been compelled to note the value of negativeviews, save in that inner and lonely world where I abode of nights andSundays; I, too, had proved the wisdom of much doubting as to actual, literal events; but Little Miss was making me think of myself as almostraw-and-twenty credulous. In a lawyer's letter of formal conciseness, devoid of humanities, maintaining to the end an atmosphere ofunemotional fact and figure that descended not even to conventionalfelicitations upon the result, I therefore acquainted Little Miss withthe situation. So nearly perfect was this letter that it caused her torefer to me, in a later communication to Miss Caroline, as "yourdry-and-dusty counting-machine of a lawyer, who doubtless considers themultiplication table as a cycle of sonnets. " That, after I had merelydetermined to meet her palpable needs and had signed myself her obedientservant!

But I had convinced her. She admitted as much in words almost joyous, sothat Miss Caroline went to be with her--to fetch her when she should bestrong enough for the adventure of travel. 

There were three weeks of my neighbor's absence--three weeks in whichClem "cleaned house", polished the battered silver, "neated" the rooms, and tried to arrange the remaining furniture so that it would look likea great deal of furniture indeed; three weeks in which Little Arcadyagain decked itself with June garlands and seemed not, at first glance, to belie its rather pretentious name; three weeks when I studied acalendar which impassively averred that I was thirty-five, a mirrorwhich added weight to that testimony, and the game which taught me withsome freshness at each failure that the greater game it symbolizes isnot meant to be won--only to be played forever with as eager a zest, asdaring a hope, as if victory were sure. 

The season at hand found me in sore need of this teaching. It was thenthat errant impulse counselled rebellion against the decrees of calendarand looking-glass. If vatted wine in dark cellars turns in its bed andmutters seethingly at this time, in a mysterious, intuitive sympathywith the blossoming grape, a man free and above ground, with eyes tobehold that miracle, may hardly hope to escape an answering thrill toits call. 

Wherefore I played the game diligently, torn by the need of its higherlessons. And at last I was well instructed by it, as all may be whoapproach it thus, above a trivial lust for winning. 

Two of us played in that provocative June. One was myself, alert forauspicious falls of the cards, yet stoical and undepressed when a dealpromising to be almost too easy for interest was suddenly blocked bysome trifling card. Thus was I schooled to expectations of a wiseshallowness, not so deep but that they might be overrun by the moderateflow of human happiness. Thus one learned to expect little under muchwanting, and to find his most certain profit in observing the freshnessof those devices which left him frustrated. Jim, the other player of us, chased gluttonous robins on the lawn, ever with an indifferent success, but with as undimmed a faith, as fatuous a certainty, as the earliest ofgods could have wished to see. And between us we achieved a convictionthat the greater game is worth playing, even when one has discovered itsterrific percentage of failures. 

I was not unpleased to be alone during this period of discipline when mysoul was perforce purged of its troublesome ferments. It was well thatmy neighbor should have gone where she might distract me never solittle. 

For it was at the season when Nature brews the irresistible philter. Always, I resolved to forego it like a man; always, like a man, I wasoverborne by the ancient longing, the formless "heimweh" that haunts thehearts of the unmated, and which in my own case made short work of stoicresolutions. And, since the game had taught me that yielding--whereopposition is fated to avail not--is graceful in proportion to itsreadiness, I surrendered as quietly as might be. 

One woman face had been wholly mine for hidden cherishing through allthe years. A woman face, be it understood, not the face of a woman. Atfirst it had been that; but with the years it had lost the lines thatmade it but that one. Imperceptibly, it had taken on an alien, vaguesoftness that but increased its charm while diminishing its power tohurt. 

It brought me now only a pensive pleasure and no feeling more acute. Itwas my ashes of roses, the music of my first love, its poignanciessoftened by time and memory into an ineffable, faint melody; it was themoon that drenched my bygone youth with wonder-light--a dream-face, exquisite as running water, unfolding flowers and those other sweetsthat poets try in vain to entangle in the meshes of word and rhythm. 

This was the face my fancy brought to go with me into every June gardenof familiar surprises. All of which meant that I was a poor thing ofclay and many dolors, who still perversely made himself believe thatsomewhere between him and God was the one woman, breathing andconscious, perhaps even longing. More plainly, it meant that I was a manwhose gift for self-fooling promised ably to survive his hair. Gravitation would presently pull down my shoulders, my face would flaunt"the wrinkled spoils of age", my voice would waver ominously, and Ishould forfeit the dignities befitting even this decay by still playingchildish games of belief with some foolish dog. I would be a village"character" of the sort that is justly said to "dodder. " And thejudicious would shun observation by me, or, if it befell them, wouldaffect an intense preoccupation lest I halt and dodder to them of a pastunromantically barren. 

There were moments in which I made no doubt of all this. But I foughtthem off as foolishly as did Jim his own intervals of clear seeing. Sometimes in a half doze he breathes a long, almost human sigh ofperfect and despairing comprehension, as if the whole dead weight of hisrace's history flashed upon him; as if the woful failure of his speciesto achieve anything worth while, and the daily futilities of himself asan individual dog were suddenly revealed. In such instants he knows, perhaps, that there is little reward in being a dog, unless you cheatyourself by believing more than the facts warrant. But presently he isup to dash at a bird, with a fine forgetfulness, quite as startled bythe trick of flight as in his first days. And I, envying him his gift ofcredulity, weakly strive for it. 

As I have said, I had noted that in these free dreamings of mine thepainted face above my neighbor's mantel seemed to have had a place longbefore I looked upon its actual lines. This perplexed me not a little;that the face should seem to have been familiar before I had seenit--the portrait, that it should have blended with and then almostreplaced another's, so that now the woman face I saw was eloquent oftwo, though fittingly harmonized in itself. Must I lay to the philter'smagic this audacious notion; that the face of Little Miss had tangiblycome to me in some night of the mind? Sober, I was loath to commit thisabsurdity; but breasting drunkenly that tide of dreams, it ceased to beabsurd. 

And so I had plunged into the current again one early evening when thegrowing things seemed to have stopped reluctantly for rest, when therobins had fluted of their household duties the last time for the day, and when only the songs of children at a game were brought to me from aneighboring yard. 

Unconsciously my thoughts fell into the rhythm of this song, with theresult that I presently listened to catch its words--faint, childish, laughing, yet musical in the scented dusk:--

 "King William was King James's son and from the royal race he sprung; Upon his breast he wore a star that showed the royal points of war. Go choose your east and choose your west, and choose the one that you love best. If she's not here to take your part, go choose another with all your heart. Down on this carpet you must kneel, low as the grass grows in yon field. Salute your bride and kiss her sweet, and then arise upon your feet. "

The sentiment was ill suited to my own at the moment, but the raw-voicedlittle singers appealed to my ears not unpleasantly. Again the versecame--

 "If she's not here to take your part--go choose another with all your heart!"

I heard wheels then, nearer than the singing, --the clumsy rumble of ourbig yellow 'bus. Voices were borne to me, --Clem's voice, Miss Caroline'sand another not like her's, a voice firmer, yet a dusky-warm woman'svoice. That was all I could think of at the time: perhaps the nightsuggested it; they had qualities in common. It was a woman's voice, buta determined woman's. I knew of course that Little Miss had come. Butalso I knew at once--this being her voice--that it would not be in mypower to call her Little Miss. 

CHAPTER XXIII

THE STRAIN OF PEAVEY

It was too true that I could not call her "Little Miss, " as I hadlightly called her mother "Miss Caroline" at our first encounter. Of adusky pallor was Miss Lansdale when I first beheld her under the nightof her hair. As the waning light showed me her, I thought of a blossomedyoung sloe tree in her own far valley of the Old Dominion. Closer to herI could note only that she was dark but fair, for observations of thischaracter became, for some reason, impracticable in her immediatepresence. 

She greeted me kindly, as her mother's lawyer; she was cordial to me amoment, as her mother's friend; but later, when these debts of civilityhad been duly paid, when we had gone from the outer dusk into candlelight, she favored me only with occasional glances of the mildestcuriosity, in which was neither kindness nor cordiality. Not that thesehad given way to their opposites; they were simply not there. Not thefaintest hint of unfriendliness could I detect. Miss Lansdale had merelydetached herself into a magnificent void of disinterest, from the centreof which she surveyed me without prejudice in moments when her glancecould not be better occupied. 

I have caught much the same look in the eyes of twelve bored jurymen whowere, nevertheless, bound to give my remarks their impartial attention. Sometimes one may know from the look of these twelve that one's case isalready as good as lost; or, at least, that an opinion has been reachedwhich new and important testimony will be required to change. 

It occurred to me as my call wore on that I caught even a hint of thisprejudgment in the eyes of the young woman. It put me sorely at adisadvantage, for I knew not what I was expected to prove; knew not if Iwere on trial as her mother's lawyer, her mother's friend, or as a mereman. The latter seemed improbable as an offence, for was not my judge adaughter of Miss Caroline? And yet, strangely enough, I came to thinkthat this must be my offence--that I was a man. She made me feel this inher careless, incidental glances, her manner of turning briskly from meto address her mother with a warmer show of interest than I had beenable to provoke. 

It seemed, indeed, opportune to remember at the moment that, while thisalleged Little Miss was the daughter of Miss Caroline, she waslikewise--and even more palpably, as I could note by fugitive swiftglimpses of her face--the daughter of a gentleman whose metal had beenoften tried; one who had won his reputation as much by self-possessionunder difficulties as by the militant spirit that incurred them. 

"Kate has little of the Peavey in her, --she is every inch a Lansdale, "Miss Caroline found occasion to say; while I, thus provided with anexcuse to look, remarked to myself that her inches, while not excessive, were unusually meritorious. 

"Worse than that--she's a Jere Lansdale, " was my response, though Itactfully left it unuttered for an "Indeed?" that seemed less emotional. I could voice my deeper conviction not more explicitly than by sayingfurther to Miss Caroline, "Perhaps that explains why she has the effectof making her mother seem positively immature. "

"My mother _is_ positively immature, " remarked the daughter, with theair of telling something she had found out long since. 

"Then perhaps the other is the false effect, " I ventured. "It is yourmother's immaturity that makes you seem so--" I thought it kind tohesitate for the word, but Miss Lansdale said, again confidently:--

"Oh, but I really _am_, " and this with a finality that seemed to closethe incident. 

Her voice had the warm little roughness of a thrush's, which singsthrough a throat that is loosely strung with wires of soft gold. 

"In _my_ day, " began Miss Caroline; but here I rebelled, no longerperceiving any good reason to be overborne by her daughter. I couldendure only a certain amount of that. 

"Your day is to-day, " I interrupted, "and to-morrow and many to-morrows. You are a woman bereft of all her yesterdays. Let your daughter have had_her_ day--let her have come to an incredible maturity. But you stayhere in to-day with me. We won't be fit companions for her, but sheshall not lack for company. Uncle Jerry Honeycutt is now ninety-four, and he has a splendid new ear-trumpet--he will be rarely diverting forMiss Lansdale. "

But the daughter remained as indifferent to taunts as she had been to myfriendly advances. It occurred to me now that her self-possession wasremarkable. It was little short of threatening if one regarded her tooclosely. I wondered if this could really be an inheritance from herwell-nerved father or the result of her years as teacher in a finishingschool for young ladies. I was tempted to suspect the latter, for, physically, the creature was by no means formidable. Perhaps an inch ortwo taller than her mother, she was of a marked slenderness; a_completed_ slenderness, I might say--a slenderness so palpably finishedas to details that I can only describe it as felicitous in the extreme. It seemed almost certain that her appearance had once been disarming, that the threat in her eye-flash and tilted head was a trick learned bycontact with many young ladies who needed finishing more than they wouldadmit. 

Of course this did not explain why Miss Lansdale should visually butpatently disparage me at this moment. I was by no means an unfinishedyoung lady, and, in any event, she should have left all that behind; themoment was one wherein relaxation would have been not only graceful butentirely safe, for she was in no manner to be held accountable for myconduct. 

Yet again and again her curious reserve congealed me back upon thestanch regard of Miss Caroline. My passion for that sprightly dame andher gracious acceptance of it were happily not to deteriorate under theregard of any possible daughter, however egregiously might we flaunt toher trained eye our need to be "finished. "

The newcomer's reserve was indeed pregnable to no assault I coulddevise. Not even did she lighten when I said to her mother, in openmockery of that reserve, "Well, she cost you a lot of furniture that wasreally most companionable about the house, " and paused with a sighbetokening a regretful comparison of values. That lance shatteredagainst her Lansdale shield like all the others. 

Ending my call, I felt vividly what I have elsewhere seen described as"the cosmic chill". The small, mighty, night-eyed, well-completed MissLansdale, with the voice of a golden jangle, had frozen it about me inlavish abundance. 

I went home to play the game, until my eyes tired so that the face ofking, queen, and knave leered at me in defeat or simpered sickeninglywhen I was able to shape their destinies. Thrice I lost interestinglyand with profit to my soul, and once I won, though without elation, forwe know that little skill may be needed to win when the cards fallright; whereas, to lose profitably is a mark of supreme merit. 

Even after that I must have recourse to the wonted philter to bringsleep, the face of my vision being unaccountably the face of the trueLittle Miss before she had evolved into Miss Lansdale of the threateningself-possession. I refused to bother about the absurdity of this, forthe sake of bringing sleep the sooner. 

I was privileged to observe the following day that my neighbor'sdaughter was still of a dusky whiteness, the baffling, shaded whitenessof soft new snow in a cedar thicket. Incidentally she partook of anotherquality of soft new snow--one by no means so incommunicable. 

And yet in sunlight I incurred the full, close look of her eyes, and nolonger doubted the presence of a Peavey strain in her immediateancestry. Far in their incalculable depths I saw a myriad of lights, brown-gold, that smouldered, ominously, even promisingly. It might nevermeet this young woman's caprice to be flagrantly a Peavey in mypresence, but her capacity for this, if she chose to exercise it, Idetected beyond a doubt. She was patently a daughter of Miss Caroline, and the cosmic chill had been an afterthought of her own. 

She did me the honor, late in the afternoon of this day, to occupy aneasy-chair within my vined porch. She went farther. She affected apolite interest in myself. But her craft was crude. I detected at oncethat she had fallen in love with my dog; that she came not to seek me, but to follow him, who had raced joyously from her at his firstknowledge of my home-coming. 

I was secretly proud of the exquisite thoroughness with which he nowignored her. Again and again he assured me in her very presence that thewoman was nothing, _could_ be nothing, to him. I knew this wellenough--I needed no protestations from him; but I thought it was wellthat she should know it. I saw that he had probably consented to receiveher addresses through a long afternoon, had perhaps eaten of herprovender, and even behaved with a complaisance which could have led herto hope that some day she might be something to him. But I knew that hehad not persistently faced the peril of being trampled to death by me inhis pulpy infancy--so great his fear of our separation--to let a merewoman come between us at this day. And it was well that he should nowtell her this in the plainest of words. 

The woman seemed to view me with an increased respect from that verymoment. She tried first to bring Jim to her side by a soft call thatalmost made me tremble for his integrity. But he did not so much as turnhis head. His eyes were for me alone. With a rubber shoe flung gallantlyover his shoulder, he danced incitingly before me, praying that I wouldpretend to be crazed by the sight of his prize and seek to wrench itfrom him. 

But I pretended instead to be bored by his importunities, choosing torub it in. To her who longed for his friendly notice, --a little throatybark, a lift of the paw, perhaps a winsome laying of his head along herlap, --I affected indifference to his infatuation for me. I pretendedalways to have been a perfect devil of a fellow among the dogs, andprofessed loftily not to have divined the secret of my innumerable andunvarying conquests. 

"Dogs are so foolishly faithful, " remarked Miss Lansdale, with politeacerbity. 

"I know it, " I conceded; "that fellow thinks I am the most beautifulperson in all the world. "

She said "Indeed?" with an inflection and a sweeping glance at me whichI found charged with meaning. But I knew well enough that I had for alltime mastered a certain measure of her difficult respect. 

"And he's such a fine dog, too, " she added in a tone intended to conveyto me the full extent of her pity for him. 

"I have him remarkably well trained, " I said. "I can often force him tonotice people whom I like, especially if they are clever enough to lethim see that they like me rather well. "

"It would be almost worth while, " she remarked with a longing look atJim but none at me. 

"Many have found it quite so, " I said, ordering Jim to charge at myfeet, "but it's a great bore, I assure you. "

I needed not to be told that she envied me my power, and so deep andgenuine appeared to be her love for him that secretly I hoped he wouldagain be amiable to her during my absence on the morrow. The contrast ofhis manner on my return would further chasten her. 

From the porch we both watched her move across the little stretch oflawn, and, at my whispered suggestion, Jim rose to his feet and barkedher insultingly over the last twenty feet of it. I was delighted to notethat this induced a shamed acceleration of her pace and a tighterclutching of her skirts. I thought it important to let her know clearlyand at once just who was the master in my own house. 

CHAPTER XXIV

THE LOYALTY OF JIM

If it must be my lot to dream out a life of insubstantial visions, thatwere well. But it appeared not unreasonable that I should keep at leastone ponderable dog by me, as an emblem of something I had missed throughone too many shuffle of the cards before this big game began. Yet MissLansdale had clearly resolved to deprive my dreaming of even this slightsupport of realness. I tried always to remember, in her behalf, that shedid not know the circumstances, and she herself very soon discoveredthat she did not know Jim. The assaults she made upon his fidelityproved her to be past-mistress of tactics and strategy. No possibleapproach to his heart did she leave untried. She flattered and petted, lured, cajoled, entreated; she menaced, commanded, stormed, raged. Drawing inspiration from a siege celebrated in antiquity, she sought tosecrete her forces--not in a horse of wood, but within the frames ofnumerous fowl, picked to the bone but shredded over so temptingly withfugitive succulence as to have made a dog of feelings less fine herslave for life. 

It was not until the desperate woman had, in the terminology of BillyDurgin, been "baffled and beaten at every turn, " that I could get intocommunication with her on a basis at all acceptable to a free-neckedman. Having proved to the last resource of her ingenuity that Jim wasmore than human in his loyalty, she seemed disposed to admit, thoughgrudgingly enough, that I myself might be not less than human to havewon him so utterly. And thereafter I found it often practicable toassociate with her on terms of apparent equality. 

She surrendered, I believe, on a day when she had thought to lure Jiminto her boat, --fatuously, for was I not a distinguishable figure in thelandscape? Her hopes must have been high, for she had but latelyrepleted him with chicken-bones divinely crunchable, and then bestowedupon him a charlotte russe, an unnatural taste for which she hadsucceeded in teaching him. 

With something of a swagger, --she swaggered in a rather starchy whitedress that day, and under a garden hat of broad rim, --she had enticedhim to the water's edge, so that I must have been nervous but forknowing the dog through and through. 

Her failure was so crushing, so swift, so entire, that for an instant Ialmost failed to rejoice in her open humiliation. Seated in the boat, oars poised, she invited Jim with soft speech and a smile that mighthave moved an iron dog without occasioning any remark from me; but Jim, noting, with one paw already in the boat, that I was not to be of theparty, turned quickly from her and came to me with his head down. Hisinforming and well-feathered tail signalled to Miss Lansdale that sheseemed to have forgotten herself. 

At that moment, I think, the woman abandoned all her preposterous hopes;then, too, I think, she learned the last and bitterest lesson whichgreat fighters must learn, to embellish defeat with an air of urbaneacceptance. Miss Lansdale relaxed--she melted before my eyes to anaspect that no victor who knew his business could afford to despise. 

I clambered in. Jim followed, remarking amiably to the woman as hepassed her on his way to the bow of the boat, "I _thought_ you couldn'thave meant _that_!"

And Defeat rowed Jim and me; rowed us past the feathered marge of greenislands quite as if nothing had happened. But I knew it _had_ happened, for Miss Lansdale was so nearly human that I presently found myselfthinking "Miss Kate" of her. She not only answered questions, but, whatamazed me far more, she condescended to ask them now and then. To anobserver we might have seemed to be holding speech of an actualfriendliness--speech of the water and the day; of herself and the dogand a little of me. 

At length, as I caught an overhanging willow to rest her arms a moment, I felt bold enough to venture words about this assumption of amity whichwas so becoming in her. I even confessed that she was reminding me ofcertain distinguished but truly amiable personages who are commonly tobe found in the side-show adjacent to the main tent. "Particularly ofthe wild man, " I said, to be more specific, for my listener seemed atonce to crave details. 

"There is a powerfully painted banner swelling in the breeze outside, you know. It shows the wild man in all his untamed ferocity, in hisnative jungle, armed with a simple but rather promising club. A dozenintrepid tars from a British man-of-war--to be seen in the offing--arein the act of casting a net over him. It's an exciting picture, I assureyou, Miss Lansdale. The net looks flimsy, and the wild person is notonly enraged but very muscular--"

"I fail to see, " she interrupted, with a slight lapse into what I maycall her first, or Lansdale, manner. 

"Of course you fail! You have to go inside to see, " I explained kindly. "But it only costs a dime, which is little enough--the hired enthusiast, indeed, stationed just outside the entrance, reminds us over and overagain that it is only 'the tenth part of a dollar, ' and he sometimesadds that 'it will neither make nor break nor set a man up in business. 'He is a flagrant optimist in small money matters, ever looking on thebright side. "

"Inside?" suggested my listener, with some impatience. I had regrettedmy beginning and had meant to shirk a finish if she would let me; but itseemed I must go on. 

"Well, inside there's a hand-organ going all the time, you know--"

"The wild man?" she insisted, like a child looking ahead for the realmeat of the story one is telling it. 

"I'm getting to him as fast as I consistently can. The wild man sitstamely in a cheap chair on a platform, with a row of his photographsspread charmingly at his feet. Of course you are certain at once that heis no longer wild. You know that a wild man whose spirit had not beenutterly broken would never sit there and listen to that hand-organ eighthours every day except Sunday. The fluent and polished gentleman incharge--who has a dyed mustache--assures us that we have nothing to fearfrom this 'once ferocious monster of the tropic jungle, with his bestialcraving for human flesh, ' but that seems a mere matter of form, with thehand-organ going in our ears--"

"Really, " Miss Lansdale began--or tried to. 

"One moment, please! The scholarly person goes on to relate thecircumstances of the wild person's capture--substantially as depictedupon the canvas outside--and winds up with: 'After being brought to thiscountry in chains he was reclaimed from his savage estate, was given agood English education, and can now converse intelligently upon all theleading topics of the day. Step up, ladies and gentlemen' he concludes, with a rather pointed delicacy, 'and you will find him ready and willingto answer all proper questions. '"

Miss Lansdale dropped her oars into the water, dully, I thought. Ireleased the willow that had moored us, but I persisted. 

"And he always _does_ answer all proper questions, just as the gentlemansaid he would. Doubtless an improper question would be to ask him if heweren't born tame on our own soil, of reputable New England parents; butI don't know. I have always conducted myself in his presence as agentleman must, with the result that he has never failed to be chatty. He is a trifle condescending, to be sure; he does not forget thedifference in our stations, but he does not permit himself to study mewith eyes of blank indifference, nor is he reticent to the verge ofhostility. Of course he feels indifferent to me, --nothing else could beexpected, --but his captors have taught him to be gracious in public. And, really, Miss Lansdale, you seemed strangely tame and broken to-dayyourself. You have not only received a good English education, but youanswer all proper questions with a condescension hardly more marked thanthat of the wild person's. I can only pray you won't resume a mannerthat will inevitably recall him to me to your own disadvantage. "

She rowed in silence against the gentle current, but she lifted her eyesto me with a look that was not all Lansdale. There was Peavey in it. Andshe smiled. I had seen her smile before, but never before had she seenme at those times. That she should now smile for and at me seemed to bea circumstance little short of epoch-making. 

I cannot affirm that there was even one moment of that curiously shortafternoon when she became wholly and frankly a Peavey. But more thanonce did this felicity seem to impend, and I suspected that she mighteven have been more graciously endowed than with a mere Peavey capacityin general. I believed that if she chose, she might almost become a MissCaroline Peavey. This occurred to me when she said:--

"I only brought you along for your dog. "

It was, of course, quite like a Lansdale to do that; but much liker aPeavey to tell it, with that brief poise of the opened eyes upon one'sown. 

"Don't hold it against Jim, " I pleaded. "It's my fault. I'm obliged tobe most careful about his associates. I've brought him up on a system. "

"Indeed? It would be interesting to know why you object--" she bridledwith a challenge almost Miss Caroline in its flippancy. 

"Well, for one thing, I have to make sure that he doesn't becomeworldly. Lots of good dogs are spoiled that way. And I've succeeded verywell, thus far. To this moment he believes everything is true that oughtto be true; or, if not, that something 'just as good' is true, as thepeople in drug stores tell one. "

"And you are afraid of me--that I'll--"

"One can't be too careful about dogs, especially one that believes asmuch as that one does. Frankly, I _am_ afraid of you. You have such aknowing way of fighting off moments that might become Peavey. "

"I don't quite understand--"

"Of course you don't, but that's of little consequence--to Jim. Hedoesn't understand either. But you see he has a fine faith now that theworld is all Peavey--he learned it from me. Of course, I _know_ better, but I pretend not to, and often I can fool myself for half an hour at atime. And of course I shouldn't care to have that dog find out that thisapparently Peavey world--flawlessly Peavey--has a streak of Lansdalerunning through it--that it has even its moments of curious, hardsuspicion, of distrust, of downright disbelief in all the goodthings, --in short, its Miss Katherine Lansdale moments, if you willpardon that hastily contrived metaphor. "

Perceiving that further concealment would be unavailing, I added quiteopenly: "Now, young woman, you see that I know your secret. I felt it inthe dark of our first meeting; it has since become plainer, --too plain. You know too much--far more than is good for either Jim or me to know. You can't believe enough--all those things that Jim and I have found itbest to believe. I myself always fear that I shall be led into ways ofunbelief in your presence. That is why I can't trust Jim with you alone, and why I could hardly trust myself there without Jim's sustaininglooks--that is why, in fact, that I shall try to shun you in all butyour approximately Peavey moments. I trust now that this shall be thelast time I must ever speak bitterly in your presence. You aresufficiently warned. "

While I spoke she had ceased rowing, and we drifted with the current. Along time we drifted, and I rejoiced to see that I had taunted MissLansdale into something like interest. I saw that she was uncertain asto the degree of seriousness I had meant my words to convey. Once shebegan as if they were wholly serious, and once again as if they had beenwholly unserious. If she at last appeared to suspect that she musteffect a compromise, I dare say she was as nearly correct as I couldhave put her with any words I knew. 

"But you had that dog from the first, " she at length decided to say, clearly in self-defence, "and still you are worried and obliged to guardhim from evil companions. "

"You confess, " I exclaimed in triumph. 

"You had him as a puppy. Could you have expected so much of him if hehad run wild, in a world where any number of good dogs learn unbelief, where they are shocked into it, all in a moment?"

"I didn't have myself from the first, " I reminded her, "and I believeonly a few trifles less than Jim does. I know that robins ascend withoutvisible means, for example, if you run at them; but I believe it's goodto run at them just the same, even more enjoyable than if they sat stillto be caught. "

"We were speaking of dogs, " said Miss Lansdale. "At any rate Jim had_you_ from the first. "

"Let us keep to dogs, then, " I answered. "Meantime, if you listen to me, you'll soon be in deep water, when we've both lost the taste foradventure. This current will take us over the dam in about sevenminutes, I should judge. "

She fell to the oars again with a dreaming face, in which Lansdale andthe other were so well blended that it was indeed the face of visionsthat had long been coming to me. 

"You remind me again of the wild gentleman, " I said, after a long lookat her, a look which she was good enough to let me see that sheobserved. 

"_Et ego in Arcadia vixi_--and I, too, was netted in my native jungle. "

I saw that she, too, essayed the feat of being both light and seriouswithout letting the seam show. 

"I mean about pictures, " I explained. "The gentlemanly curator of theside-show always says of the wild man thoughtfully, 'I _believe_ he hasa few photographs for sale. ' He is always right--the wild man does havethem, though I should not care to say that they're worth the money; thatdepends upon one's tastes, of course--by the way, Miss Lansdale, I havelong had a picture of you. "

"Has mother--"

"No--long before I became a fellow-slave with Clem--long before therewas a juvenile mother or even a Clem in Little Arcady. "

"May I ask how you got it?"

"Certainly you may! I don't know. "

"May I see it?" I thought she felt a deeper interest than she cared toreveal. 

"Unfortunately, no. If you only could see it, you would see that it isalmost a perfect likeness--perhaps a bit more Little Miss than you couldbe now--but it's unmistakably true. "

"I lost such a picture once, " she said with a fall of her eyes. "Whereis the one you have?"

"Sometimes it's behind my eyes and sometimes it is out before them. "

"Nonsense!"

"To be sure! Only Jim and I, trained and hardened in the ways of belief, are equal to a feat of that sort. "

"I see no merit in believing that. "

"I don't know that there is, especially--not in believing thisparticular thing, but the power for belief in general which itimplies--you see I am unprejudiced. "

"Why should you want to believe it?"

I should have known, without catching the glint of her eyes under thehat brim, that a Peavey spoke there. 

"If you could see the thing once, you'd understand, " I said, an answer, of course, fit only for a Peavey. 

"At all events, you'll not keep it long. " The words were Peavey enough, but the voice was rather curiously Lansdale. 

"I have made as little effort to keep it as I did to acquire it, " Isaid, "but it stays on, and I've a notion it will stay on as long as Jimand I are uncorrupted. But it shan't inconvenience you, " I addedbrightly, in time to forestall an imminent other "Nonsense!"

Being thus neatly thwarted, she looked over my shoulder and bent to heroars, for we had again drifted toward the troubled waters of the dam. 

"I warned you--if you listened to me, " I reminded her. 

"Oh, I've not been listening--only thinking. "

"Of course, and you were disbelieving. It's high time you put us ashore. I want to believe, and I want not to be drowned. So does Jim, --_both_ of'em. "

She pointed the boat to our landing, and as she leaned her narrowshoulders far back she shot me; one swift look. But I could see muchfarther into the water that floated us. 

CHAPTER XXV

THE CASE OF FATTY BUDLOW

Lest Miss Katharine Lansdale seem unduly formidable, I should, perhaps, say that I appeared to be alone in finding her so. Little Arcadians ofmy own sex younger than myself--and, if I may suggest it, lessdiscerning--were not only not menaced, but she invited them with acordiality in which the keenest eye among them could detect no flaw. Miss Lansdale's mother had also pleased the masculine element of thetown at her first progress through its pleasant streets. But MissCaroline, despite many details of dress and manner that failedinterestingly to corroborate the fact, was an old woman, and one whoseway of life made her difficult of comprehension to the Little Country. Socially and industrially, one might say, she did not fit the scheme ofthings as the town had been taught to conceive it. Whereas, her daughterwas a person readily to be understood in all parts of the world wheremen have eyes--as well by the homekeeping as by the travelled. EustaceEubanks, more or less a man of the world by virtue of that adventuroustrip to the Holy Land, understood her at one glance, as did ArthurUpdyke, who had fared abroad to the college of pharmacy and knew things. But she was also lucid as crystal to G. Brown and Creston Fancett, whoseknowledge of the outside world was somewhat affected by their experienceof it, which was nothing. To all seven of the ages was this womancomprehensible. Old Bolivar Kent, eighty-six and shuffling his shortsteps to the grave not far ahead, understood her with one look; the butadolescent Guy McCormick, hovering tragically on the verge of his firstpublic shave, divined her quite as capably; the middle-yeared WestleyKeyts read her so unerringly on a day when she first regaled his visionthat he toiled for half an hour as one entranced, disengaging what hebelieved to be porter-house steaks long after the porter-house line inthe beef under his hand had been passed. 

In short, Miss Lansdale was understood spontaneously--to borrow a phrasefrom the _Argus_--"by each and all who had the good fortune to bepresent, " for she was dowered with that quick-drawing charm which hasworked a familiar spell upon the sons of men in all times. She wasincontestably feminine. She gave the woman-call. That she seemed to giveit against her wish, --without intention, --that I was alone in detectingthis, were trifles beside the point. Masculine Little Arcady cared notthat she had been less successful than the late Colonel Potts, forexample, in preserving the truly Greek spirit--cared naught for this solong as, meaningly or otherwise, she uttered the immemorial woman-callin its true note wheresoever she fared. 

And, curiously, since Miss Lansdale did not appear formidable tomasculine Little Arcady--with one negligible exception--she seemed totry perversely not to be so. She was amazingly gracious to it--stillwith one exception. She melted to frivolity and the dance of mirth. Sheaffected joy in its music and confessed to a new feeling for Jerusalemafter attending a lawn party at which Eustace Eubanks did his best toplease. She spoke of this to Eustace with a crafty implication that ithad remained for him to interpret the antique graces of that storiedplace to a world all too heedless. Eustace himself felt not only arenewed interest in the land exploited by his magic lantern, but hebegan to view all the rest of the world in a new and rosy light, ofwhich Miss Lansdale was the iridescent globe that diffused and subduedit to the mellow hue of romance. 

It is impossible to believe that Eustace was ever at any pains toconceal the effects of this astral phenomenon from his family, for itsmembers were very quickly excited. If in that vale the woman-call couldbe heard by ears attuned to its haunting cadences, so also did thefrightened mother-call echo its equally primitive note, accompanied bythe less well-known sister-call of warning and distress. 

The truth is that Eustace was becoming harder to manage with eachrecurring crisis. For testimony in the present instance, I need onlyadduce that he wrote poetry, more or less, after meeting Miss Lansdalebut a scant half-dozen times. This came to me in confidence, however, and the obliquity of it spread no farther beyond the family lines. 

Fluttering with alarm, the mother of Eustace approached me as onepresumably familiar with the power of the Lansdales to work disaster ina peaceful and orderly family. She sought to know if I could not preventher boy from "making a fool of himself. " It was never her way to botherwith many words when she knew the right few. 

With an air that signified her intention of letting me know the worst atonce, Mrs. Eubanks drew from her bead reticule a sheet of paperscribbled over in the handwriting of her misguided offspring. It was arondeau; I knew that by the shape, and the mother apologized for theindelicacy of it before permitting my own cheeks to blush thereat. Thedominant line of the composition I saw to be--

 "When love lights night to be its day. "

I turned from the stricken mother to cough deprecatingly when I hadread. She likewise had the delicacy to turn away and cough. But anemergency of this momentous import must be discussed in plain terms, however disconcerting the details, and Mrs. Eubanks had nerved herselffor the ordeal. 

"I can't think, " she began, "where the boy _learned_ such things!"

I had not the courage to tell her that they might be entirelyself-taught under certain circumstances. 

"Such shameless, brazen things!" she persisted. "We have always been_so_ careful of Euty--striving to keep him--well, wholesome and pure, you understand, Major Blake. "

"There are always dangers, " I said, but only because she had stoppedspeaking, and not in any hope of instructing her. 

"If only we can keep him from making a fool of himself--"

"It seems rather late, " I said, this time with profound conviction. "Seethere!"

Upon the margin of that captured sheet Eustace had exposed, as it were, the very secret mechanics of his passion. There were written tentativerhymes, one under another, as "Kate--mate--Fate--late"--and eke anunblushing "sate. " Also had he, in the frenzy of his poetic rapture, divined and indicated the technical affinities existing among words like"bliss, " "kiss, " and "miss. "

Interference, however delicately managed, seemed hopeless after that, and I said as much. But I added: "Of course, if you let him alone, hemay come back to his better self. Perhaps the young lady herself mayprove to be your ally. "

"Indeed not! She has set out deliberately to ensnare my poor Euty, " saidthe mother, with an incisive drawing in of her expressively thin lips. "I knew it the very first evening I saw them together. "

"Mightn't it have been sheer trifling on her part ?" I suggested. 

"Can you imagine that young woman _daring_ to trifle with EustaceEubanks?" she demanded. 

I could, as a matter of fact; but as her query seemed to repel such adisclosure, I lied. 

"True, " I said, "she would never dare. I didn't think of that. "

"With _all_ her frivolity and lightness of manner and fondness fordress, she must have some sense of fitness--"

"She must, indeed!"

"She could not go _that_ far!"

"Certainly _not_!"

"Even if she _does_ wear too many ribbons and laces and fancy furbelows, with never a common-sense shoe to her foot!"

"Even if she _does_" I assented warmly. 

And thus we were compelled to leave it. In view of those verses I couldsuggest no plan for relief, and my one poor morsel of encouragement hadbeen stonily rejected. 

Eustace went the mad pace. So did Arthur Updyke. It was rather to beexpected of Arthur, however. His duties at the City Drug Store seemed toencourage a debonair lightness of conduct. He treated his blond ringletsassiduously from the stock of pomades; he was as fastidious about hisfingernails as we might expect one to be in an environment of manicureimplements and nail beautifiers; it was his privilege to make free withthe varied assortment of perfumes--a privilege he forewent in no degree;his taste in tooth-powders was widely respected; and in moments ofleisure, while he leaned upon a showcase awaiting custom, he was wont todraw a slender comb from an upper waistcoat pocket and pass itdelicately through his small but perfect mustache. Naturally enough, itwas said by the ladies of Little Arcady that Arthur's attentions werenever serious, --"except them he pays to himself!" Aunt Delia McCormickwould often add, for that excellent woman was not above playingvenomously with familiar words. 

Also did G. Brown and Creston Fancett go the same mad pace. These fourwere filled with distrust of one another, but as they composed our malequartette, they would gather late on summer nights and conductthemselves in a manner to make me wish that old Azariah Prouse'speculiar belief as to house structure might have included a sound-prooffence about his premises. For, on the insufficient stretch of lawnbetween that house and my own, the four rivals sang serenades. 

"She sleeps--my lady sleeps, " they sang, with a volume that seemed boundto insure their inaccuracy as to the lady, and which assuredly left themin the wrong as to her mother's attorney--if their song meant in theleast to report conditions at large. As this was, however, the oneoccasion when they felt that none of the four had any advantage over hisfellows, they made the most of it. Then, in the dead of night, I wouldbe very sorry that I had not counselled the mother of Eustace Eubanks tosend him around the world on a slow sailing ship; for it was his voice, even in songs of sleep, that rendered this salutary exercise mostdifficult. 

On one of these wakeful summer nights, however, I received a queerlittle shock. Perhaps I half dreamed it in some fugitive moment of halfsleep; but it was as if I were again an awkward, silent boy, worshippinga girl new to the school, a girl who wore two long yellow braids. Iworshipped her from afar so that she saw me not, being occupied withmany adorers less timid, who made nothing of snatching a hair ribbon. But the face in that instant of dream was the face of Miss KatharineLansdale, and coupled with the vision was a prescience that in somelater life I should again look back and see myself as now, a grown butawkward boy, still holding aloof--still adoring from some remotebackground while other and bolder gallants captured trophies and lightlycarolled their serenades. It seemed like borrowing trouble to look stillfarther into the future, but the vision was striking. Surely, Historydoes repeat itself. I should have made this discovery for myself had itnot been exploited before my day. For on the morrow I found my womanchild on the Lansdale lawn when I went home in the afternoon. She hadnow reached an age when she was beginning to do "pretties" with her lipsas she talked--almost at the age when I had first been enraptured by hermother, with the identical two braids, also the tassels dangling fromher boot tops. This latter was unexciting as a coincidence, however. Imyself had deliberately produced it. 

Miss Lansdale turned from talk with the child to greet me. Her face wasso little menacing that I called her "Miss Katharine" on the spot. Butmy business was with the child. 

"Lucy, " I said, as I took the wicker chair by the hammock in which theyboth lounged, "there is a boy at school who looks at you a great dealwhen you're not watching him--you catch him at it--but he never comesnear you. He acts as if he were afraid of you. He is an awkward, stupidboy. If he gets up to recite about geography, or about 'a gentleman senthis servant to buy ten and five-eighths yards of fine broadcloth, ' oranything of that sort, and if he happens to catch your eye at themoment, he flounders like a caught fish, stares hard at the map of NorthAmerica on the wall, and sits down in disgrace. And when the other boysare chasing you and pulling off your hair ribbons, he mopes off in acorner of the school yard, though he looks as if he'd like to shoot downall the other boys in cold blood. "

"He has nice hair, " said my woman child. 

"Oh, he _has!_ Very well; does his name happen to be 'Horsehead' oranything like that--the name the boys call him by, you know?"

"Fatty--Fatty Budlow, if that's the one you mean. Do you know him, UncleMaje?"

"Better than any boy in the world! Haven't I been telling you abouthim?"

"Once he brought a bag of candy to school, and I thought he was comingup to hand it to me, but he turned red in the face and stuffed it rightinto his pocket. "

"He meant to give it to you, really--he bought it for you--but hecouldn't when the time came. "

"Oh, did he tell you?"

"It wasn't necessary for him to tell me. I know that boy, I tell you, through and through. Lucy, do you think you could encourage him alittle, now and then--be sociable with him--not enough to hurt, ofcourse? You don't know how he'd appreciate the least kindness. He mightremember it all his life. "

"I might pat his hair--he has such nice hair--if he wouldn't knowit--but of course he would know it, and when he looks at you, he is soqueer--"

"Yes, I know; I suppose it is hopeless. Couldn't you even ask him towrite in your autograph album?"

"Y-e-s--I could, only he'd be sure to write something funny like 'InMemory's wood-box let me be a stick. ' He always does write somethingwitty, and I don't much care for ridiculous things in my album; I'mbeing careful with it. "

"Well, if he's as witty as _that_ in your album, it will be to mask ableeding heart. I happen to know that in a former existence he was nevereven asked to write, though he always hoped he might be. "

"I'm sorry if you like him, Uncle Maje, but I'm positive that FattyBudlow is not a boy I could _ever_ feel deeply for. I don't believe ouracquaintance will even ripen into friendship, " and she looked withprofound eyes into the wondrous, opening future. 

"Of course it won't, " I said. "I might have known that. He will continuethrough the ages to be an impossible boy. Miss Lansdale feels the sameway about him. Poor Fatty or Horsehead or whatever they call him standsoff and glares at her, and can't say his lesson when he catches hereye--only he seldom does catch it, because she's so busy with other boysof more spirit who crowd about her and snatch hair ribbons and sing 'Mylady sleeps' until no one else can. "

"Do you know Fatty Budlow?" asked my surprised woman child of MissLansdale. But that young woman only reached out one foot to point itstoe idly at a creeping green worm and turn its vagrant course. The toewas by no means common-sense, and the heel was simply idiotic. 

"Of course she knows him, " I said; "she knows he would give his righthand for her, which is a good deal under the circumstances, and she veryproperly despises him for it. She'd take her picture away from him ifshe could. "

"She wouldn't, " said Miss Lansdale, with a gesture of her foot thatdisconcerted me. 

"Miss Kate, " I said, "I have lived my life in terror of seeing one ofthose squashy green worms meet a fearful disaster in my presence. Wouldyou mind--"

With a fillip of the bronzed toe she sent the amazed worm into a countrythat must have been utterly strange to it, "She'd take it back quickly enough if she knew what he makes of it, " Isaid, returning to the picture; "if she knew that he had kept it eversince he learned that agriculture, mining, and ship-building areprincipal industries--only at first it had two long yellow braids, andtassels dangling from its boot tops. "

"My mother had beautiful long golden hair, " said the woman child, addingsimply, "papa says mine is just like it. "

Miss Lansdale regarded me narrowly. 

"You get me all mixed up, " she said. 

"I like to. You're heady then--like your mother's punch when it's 'allmixed up. '"

"I must put in more ice, " remarked Miss Lansdale, calmly. 

"Fatty Budlow is so serious, " said the woman child, suspecting that thetalk had drifted away from her. 

"It's his curse, " I admitted. "If he weren't an A No. 1 dreamer, he'd betoo serious to live, but be goes dreaming and maundering along--dreamingthat things are about as he would like to have them. He sees your faceand Miss Lansdale's, and then they get mixed up in a queer way, and MissKate's face comes out of the picture with such a look in the eyes that aman of ordinary spirit would call her 'Little Miss' right off withoutever stopping to think; but of course this Fatty or Horsehead orwhatever it is can't say it right out, so he says it to himself abouttwenty-three or twenty-four thousand times a day, as nearly as he canreckon--he always was weak in arithmetic. "

"You might let him write in _your_ autograph album, " said the womanchild, brightly, to Miss Lansdale. 

"I know what he'd write if he got the chance, " I added incitingly. Butit did not avail. Miss Lansdale remained incurious and merely said, "Long golden braids, " as one trying to picture them. 

"And later a little row of curls over each ear, and a tiny chain with alocket around the neck. I had a picture once--"

"You have had many pictures. "

"Yes--two are many if you've had nothing else. "

But she was now regarding the woman child with a curious, close look, almost troubled in its intensity. 

"Do you look like your mother?" she asked. 

"Papa says I do, and Uncle Maje thinks so too. She was very pretty, "This came with an unconscious placidity. 

"She looks almost as her mother's picture did, " I said. 

When the child had gone, Miss Lansdale searched my face long beforespeaking. She seemed to hesitate for words, and at length to speak ofother matters than those which might have perplexed her. 

"Why did they call you 'Horsehead'?" she asked almost kindly. 

"I never asked. It seemed to be a common understanding. Doubtless therewas good reason for it, as good as there is for calling Budlow 'Fatty. '"

"What did you do?" she asked again. 

"I went to the war with what I could take--nothing but a picture. "

"And you lost that?"

"Yes--under peculiar circumstances. It seemed a kind thing to do at thetime. "

"And you came back with--"

"_With yours, Little Miss!_"

Some excitement throbbed between us so that I had involuntarilyemphasized my words. Briefly her eyes clung to mine, and very slowly werelaxed from that look. 

"I only wanted to say, " she began presently, "that I shall have tobelieve your absurd tale of my picture being with you before you saw me. Something makes me credit it--a strange little notion that I havecarried that child's picture in my own mind. "

"We are even, then, " I answered, "only you are thinking more things thanyou say. That isn't fair. "

But she only nodded her head inscrutably. 

CHAPTER XXVI

A LITTLE MYSTERY IS SOLVED

The significance of Miss Lansdale's manner, rather than her words, ranthrough my darkened thoughts like a thread as I played the game thatnight. After a third defeat this thread seemed to guide me to daylightfrom a tortuously winding cavern. At first the thing was of an amazingsimplicity. 

In a far room was a chest filled with forgotten odds and ends that hadcome back with me years before. I ran to it, and from under bundles ofletters, old family trinkets, a canteen, a pair of rusty pistols, andother such matters, I brought forth an ambrotype--the kind that wasmounted in a black case of pressed rubber and closed with a spring. 

But even as I held the thing, flushed with my discovery, anotherrecollection cooled me, and the structure of my discovery tumbled asquickly as it had built itself. Little Miss had found her own picturewhen she found _him_. Her mother had told me this definitely. It hadbeen clutched in his hands, and she, after a look, had tenderly replacedit to stay with his dust forever. This I had forgotten at first, in myeagerness for light. 

I pressed the spring that brought the face to my eyes, knowing it wouldnot be her face. Close to the light I studied it; the face of a girl, eighteen or so, with dreaming eyes that looked beyond me. It could notbe Miss Lansdale, and yet it was strangely like her--like the LittleMiss she must once have been. 

But one mystery at least was now plain--the mystery of my own mindpicture. I had not looked at this thing for ten years, but its lines hadstayed with me, and this was the face of my dreaming, carried so longafter its source had been forgotten. The face of this picture hadnaturally enough changed to seem like the face of Miss Lansdale after Ihad seen her. 

Perhaps it was the face of a Peavey; there was at least a familyresemblance; that would explain the likeness to Miss Kate. This was notmuch, but it was enough to sleep on. 

As I left the house the following morning, Miss Lansdale, her skirtspinned up, was among her roses with a watering pot and a busy pair ofscissors. 

As I approached her I had something to say, but it was, for an interval, driven from my lips. 

"Promise me, " I said instead, "never to wear a common-sense shoe. "

She stared at me with brows a trifle raised. 

"Of course it will displease Mrs. Eubanks, but there is still a betterreason for it. "

The brows went farther up at this until they were hardly to be detectedunder the broad rim of her garden hat. 

Her answer was icy, even for an "Indeed?"--quite in her best Lansdalemanner. 

"Yes, 'indeed!'" I retorted somewhat rudely, "but never mind--it's notof the least consequence. What I meant to say was this--about thosepictures of people, you remember. "

"I remember perfectly, and I've concluded that it's all nonsense--all ofit, you understand. "

"That's queer--so have I. " Had I been a third person and an observer, Iwould doubtless have sworn that Miss Lansdale was more surprised thanpleased by this remark of mine. 

"I haven't had your picture at all, " I went on; "it was a picture ofsome one else, and I hadn't thought to look at it for a long time--hadforgotten it utterly, in fact. That's how I came to think I knew yourface before I knew you. "

"I told you it was nonsense!" and she snipped off a rose with a kind ofminiature brusqueness. 

"But you shall see that I had some reason. If you find time to-day, stepinto my library and look at the picture. It's on the mantel, and thedoor is open. It may be some one you know, though I doubt even that. "

With this I brazenly snatched a pink rose from those within her arm. 

"You see Fatty Budlow is coming on, " I remarked of this bit of boldness. 

"Let him come--he shan't find _me_ in the way. " This with an effort toseem significant. 

"Oh, not at _all_!" I assured her politely, and with equal subtlety, Ibelieve. 

Had I known that this was the last time I should ever look upon MissKatharine Lansdale, I might have looked longer. She was well worthseeing for sundry other reasons than her need for common-sense shoes. But those last times pass so often without our suspecting them! And itwas, indeed, my good fortune never to see her again. For never again wasshe to rise, even at her highest, above Miss Kate. 

She was even so low as Little Miss when I found her on my porch thatafternoon--a troubled Little Miss, so drooping, so queerly drawn aboutthe eyes, so weak of mouth, so altogether stricken that I was shotthrough at sight of her. 

"I waited here--to speak alone--you are late to-day. "

I was early, but if she had waited, she would of course not know this. 

"What has happened, Miss Kate?"

"Come here. "

Through my opened door I followed her quick step. 

"You were jesting about that this morning, "--she pointed to the picture, propped open against a book on the mantel; and then, with an effort tosteady her voice, --"you were jesting, and of course you didn't know--butyou shouldn't have jested. "

"Can it be you, Miss Kate--can it really be you?"

"It is, it is--couldn't you see? Tell me quickly--don't, don't jestagain!"

"Be sure I shall not. Sit down. "

But she stood still, with an arm extended to the picture, and againimplored me: "See--I'm waiting. Where--how--did you get it?"

"Sit down, " I said; and this time she obeyed with a little cry ofimpatience. 

"I'll try to bring it back, " I said. "It was that day Sheridan hurriedback to find his army broken--all but beaten. Just at dark there was alast charge--a charge that was met. I went down in it, hearing yells anda spitting fire, but feeling only numbness. When I woke up the firingwas far off. Near me I could hear a voice, the voice of a young man, Ithought, wounded like myself. I first took him for one of our men. Buthis talk undeceived me. It was the talk of your men, and sorrowful talk. He was badly hurt; he knew that. But he was sure of life. He couldn'tdie there like a brute. He had to go back and he would go back alive andwell; for God was a gentleman, whatever else He was, and above practicaljokes of that sort. Then he seemed to know he was losing strength, andhe cried out for a picture, as if he must at least have that before hewent. Weak as he was, he tried to turn on his side to search for it. 'Itwas here a moment ago, ' he would say; 'I had it once, ' and he tried toturn again, still crying out for it, --he must not die without it. Ithurt me to hear his voice break, and I made out to roll near him to helphim search. 'We'll find it, ' I told him, and he thanked me for my help. 'Look for a square hard case, ' he said eagerly. 'It must be here; I hadit after I fell down. ' Together we searched the rough ground over in thedark as well as we could. I was glad enough to help him. I had a picturelike that of my own that I shouldn't have liked to lose. But we wereclumsy searchers, and he seemed to lose hope as he lost strength. Againhe cried out for that picture, but now it was a despairing cry, and ithurt me. Under the darkness I reached my one good hand up and took myown picture from its place. So many of us carried pictures over ourhearts in those days. I pretended then to search once more, telling himto have courage, and then I said, 'Is this it?' He fumbled for it, andhis hand caught it quickly up under his chin. He was so glad. He thankedme for finding it, and then he lay still, panting. After a while--weboth wanted water--I crawled away to where I heard a running stream. Itmust have been farther than I thought, and I couldn't be quick becauseso much of me was numb and had to be dragged. But I reached the waterand filled a canteen I had found on the way. As soon as I could manageit I went back to him with the water, but I must have been gone a longtime. He wasn't there. But as I crawled near where he had lain, I put myhand on a little square case such as I had given him. I thought it mustbe mine. I lost consciousness again. When I awoke two hospital stewardscarried me on a stretcher, and a field surgeon walked beside us. I stillhad the picture, and not for many days did I know that it wasn't my own. After that I forgot it--but I've already told you of that. "

Her eyes had not quitted my face while I spoke, though they wereglistening; her mouth had weakened more than once, and a piteous little"Oh!" would come from her lips. When I had finished she looked away fromme, dropping her eyes to the floor, leaning forward intently, her handsshut between her knees. For a long time she remained so, forgetting me. But at last I could hear her breathe and could see the increasing riseand fall of it, so that I feared a crisis. But none came. Again shemastered herself and even managed a smile for me, though it was a poorthing. 

"I've told you all, Miss Kate. "

"Yes--I'm unfair, but you have a right to know. I found thatpicture--your picture, when they brought him in. His hands were clenchedabout it. They said he had pleaded to hold it and made them promise notto take it from him--ever. I was left alone, and I dared to take it, just for a moment. Something in the design of the cover puzzled me. Ihad meant to put it right back, and after I had looked at it there wasonly one thing to do--to put it back. "

"They said you found your own picture, or I might have suspected. "

"They had reason to say it--I never told. "

"Of course you never told, Miss Kate!" I seemed to learn a great deal ofher from that. She had carried her wound secretly through all thoseyears. 

"Poor Little Miss!" I said in spite of myself, and at this quiteunexpectedly there befell what I had hoped we might both be spared. 

I might not soothe her as I would have wished, so I busied myself in thenext room until she called to me. She was putting what touches she couldto her eyes with a small and sadly bedraggled handkerchief. 

"There is a better reason for telling no one now, " she said, "so we mustdestroy this. Mother might see it. "

My grate contained its summer accumulation of waste paper. She laid thepicture on this and I lighted the pyre. 

"Your mother will see your eyes, " I said. 

"She has seen them so before. " And she gave me her hand, which I kissed. 

"Poor Little Miss!" I said, still holding it. 

"Not poor now--you have given me back so much. I can believe again--Ican believe almost as much as Jim. "

But I released her hand. Though her eyes had not quitted mine, theirlook was one of utter friendliness. 

CHAPTER XXVII

HOW A TRUCE WAS TROUBLESOME

In the days and nights that followed this interview I associated rathermore than usual with Jim. It seemed well to do so. I needed to learnonce more some of the magnificent belief that I had taught him in dayswhen my own was stronger. Close companionship with a dog of the trulyGreek spirit, under circumstances in which I now found myself, was boundto be of a tonic value. I had seen, almost at the moment of Miss Kate'sdisclosure, that a change was to come in our relations. Perhaps I waswild enough at the moment to hope that it might be a change for thebetter; but this was only in the first flush of it--of a moment illadapted for close reasoning. It took no great while to convince me thatthe discovery in which we had cooperated was of a character necessarilyto put me from her even farther than she had at first chosen to putme--and that was far enough, Heaven knows. 

In effect I had given back her love to her, a love she had for ten yearsunjustly doubted. That was the cold truth of it for one who knew women. One who could doubt the tenth year as poignantly as she had doubted inthe first--would she not in bitterness regret her doubt ten other years, and sweetly mourn her lost love still another ten? She who had let me belittle enough to her while she felt her wound--how much less could I bewhen the hurt was healed? Before she might have been in want. At leastthat was conceivable. Now her want was met. Not only was there this tofill her heart, but remorse, the tenderest a woman may know, it seems tome--remorse for undeserved suspicion. 

In a setting less prosaic than Little Arcady, where events might be of astory-fitness, that lover would have been alive by a happy chance, estranged by the misunderstanding but splendidly faithful, and I shouldhave been helper and interested witness to an ideal reconciliation;thereafter to play out my game with a full heart, though with anexterior placidly unconcerned. But with us events halt always a littleshort of true romance. They are unexcitingly usual. 

I would have to play out my game full heartedly, nursing my powers ofbelief back to their one-time vigor; nothing would occur to ease mylot--not even an occasion to pretend that I gave my blessing to areunited and happy pair. Miss Kate could go on believing. Unwittingly Ihad given her the stuff for belief. I, too, must go on believing, andproviding my own material, as had ever been my lot; all of which was whymy dog seemed my most profitable companion at this time. His every barkat a threatening baby-carriage a block away, each fresh time he believedsincerely that a rubber shoe was engaging in deadly struggle with him, taxing all his forces to subdue it, each time he testified withsensitive, twitching nostrils that the earth is good with innumerablescents, each streaking of his glad-tongued white length over yellowingfields designed solely for his recreation held for me a certain soothingvalue. And when in quiet moments he assured me with melting gaze that Iwas a being to challenge the very heart of love--in some measure, atleast, did my soul gain strength from his own. 

To know as much as I have indicated had been unavoidable for one of anyintuitive powers. The change at once to be detected in Miss Kate'smanner toward me confirmed my divinations without enlarging them. MissKatharine Lansdale was gone forever; in her place was a Miss Kate, --evena Little Miss to the eye, --who regarded me at first with an undisguisedalarm, then with a curious interfusion of alarm and shyness, a littledisguised with not a little effort. This was plain reading. She would atfirst have distrusted me, apprehending I know not what rashness ofill-timed and forever impossible declarations. As she perceived thisalarm to be baseless, for I not only refrained from intruding but Iostentatiously let Miss Kate alone, shyness would creep into herapprehension to make amends for its first crude manifestations. 

As the days went by and I displayed still the fine sense to keep myselfaloof, to seek Miss Kate only in those ways that I sought her refreshingmother, she let me discern more clearly her faith in my firmness andgood sense. To be plain, in reward for letting her alone, she did notlet me alone. And this reward I accepted becomingly, with a resolve--themetal of which I hoped she would divine--never to show myselfundeserving of its benisons. 

When I say that the young woman did not let me alone, I mean that sheseemed almost to put herself in my way; not obviously, true enough, butin a degree palpable enough to one who had observed her first almostshrinking alarm. And this behavior of hers went forward, at last, without the slightest leaven of apprehension on her part, but hershyness remained. It was so marked and so novel in her--with referenceto myself--that I could not fail to be sensible to it. It was as if shedivined that mad notions might still lurk within my untaught mind to bereasons why she should fear me; but that her confidence in myself-mastery could not, at the same time, be too openly shown. 

Tacitly, it was as if we had treated together; a treaty that bound me toobserve a perpetual truce. My arms were forever laid down, and she, whohad once so feared me, was now free to wander when she would within thelines of an honorable enemy. That she should walk there with increasingfrequency as the days passed was a tribute to my powers of restraintwhich I was too wise to undervalue. I ignored the shyness of which sheseemed unable to divest herself in my presence. It would have been easynot to ignore it, for there were times when, so little careful was sheto guard herself, that this shyness suggested, invited, appealed, signalled; times when, without my deeper knowledge of her sex, I couldhave sworn that the true woman-call rang in my ears. But a treaty is atreaty, on paper or on honor, and ours would never be broken by blacktreachery of mine, let her eyes fall under my own with never sofluttering an allurement. 

They were not bad days, as days go in this earth-life of too much exactknowledge. Miss Kate rowed me over still waters and walked beside me ingreen pastures. At times like these she might even seem to forget. Shewould even become, I must affirm, more nearly Peavey than was strictlyher right; for it was plain that our treaty, must involve certainstipulations of restraint on her part as well as on my own. The burdenwas not all to be mine. But these moments I learned to withstand, remembering that she was a woman. That was a circumstance not hard toremember when she was by. It is probable that my heart could not haveforgotten it, even had my trained head learned blandly to ignore it. 

Further to enliven those days, I permitted Jim to give her lessons inbelieving everything. When I told her of this, she said, "I need them, I'm so out of practice. " That was the nearest we had come to touchingupon the interview of a certain afternoon. I should not have consideredthis a forbidden topic, but her shyness became pitiful at any seemingapproach to it. "Jim will put you right again, " I assured her. And Ibelieve he did, though it was not easy to persuade him that she could bemorally recognized when I was by. The occasion on which he firstremained crouching at her feet while I walked away was regarded by MissKate as a personal triumph. She was so childishly open of her pleasureat this that I did not tell her it was a mere trick of mine; that I hadtold him to charge when he sprang up. She knew his eyes so little as tothink he displayed regard for rather than respect for my command. Shecould not see that he begged me piteously to know _why_ he must crouchthere at a couple of strange inconsequential feet and see the good worldgo suddenly wrong. 

Still further, to make those days not bad days, Miss Kate would crossour little common ground of an early evening to where I played the gameon my porch. Often I did this until dusk obscured the faces of thecards. I faintly suspected in the course of these bird-like visits acaprice in Miss Kate to know what it might be that I preferred to thesociety of her mother on her own porch. She appeared to be more curiousthan interested. She promptly made those observations which theunillumined have ever considered it witty to make concerning those whoplay at solitaire. But, finding that I had long ceased to be moved bythese, she was friendly enough to judge the game upon its merits. Thatshe judged it to be stupid was neither strange nor any reflection uponthe fairness of her mind. The game--in those profounder, rarer aspectswhich alone dignify it--is not for women. I believe that the game ofcards to teach them philosophy under defeat, respect for the inevitableand a cheerful manipulation of such trifling good fortune as maybefall--instead of that wild, womanish demand for all or nothing--hasyet to be invented. I predict of this game, moreover, if ever it befound, that it will be a game at which two, at least, must play. Rarelyhave I known a woman, however rigid her integrity otherwise, who wouldnot brazenly amend or even repeal utterly those decrees of Fate whichare symbolized by the game. She desires intensely to win, and she willnot be above shifting a card or two in contravention of the known rules. Far am I from intimating that this puts upon her the stigma of moraldelinquency. It is mere testimony, rather, to her astounding capacityfor self-deception. And this I cannot believe to be other than graciousof influence upon the intricate muddle of human association. 

Miss Kate was finely the woman at those times when she deigned for a tenminutes to overlook my playing of the game. Before I had half finished, on the first occasion, she had mastered its simple mechanism; and beforeI had quite finished she sought to practise upon it those methods of theworld woman in games of solitaire. She would calmly have placed a blacknine on a black ten. 

"But the colors must alternate, " I protested, thinking she had forgottenthis important rule. 

"Of course--I know that perfectly well--but look what a fine lot ofcards that would give you. There's a deuce of hearts you could play upand a three of spades, and then you could go back to crossing the colorsagain, right away, you know, and you'd have that whole line running upto the king ready to put into that space. "

I looked at her, as she would have glided brazenly over that false playto rejoice in the true plays it permitted. But I did not speak. Thereare times, indeed, when we most honor the tongue of Shakspere bysilence; emergencies to which words are so inadequate that to attempt touse them were to degrade the whole language. 

At the last I was brought face to face with a most intricately planneddefeat; a defeat insured by one spot on a card. Had the obstructive cardbeen a six-spot of clubs instead of a seven-spot, victory was mine. Ipointed this out to Miss Kate, who had declined a chair at the table andhad chosen to stand beside my own. I showed her the series of playswhich, but for that seven-spot, would put the kings in their places atthe top and let me win. And I was beaten for lack of a six. 

That she had grasped my explanation was quickly made plain. Actuallywith some enthusiasm she showed me that the much-desired six of clubslay directly under the fatal seven. 

"Just lay the seven over here, " she began eagerly, "and there's yourblack six ready for that horrid red five that's in the way--"

"But there isn't any 'over here, '" I exclaimed in some irritation. "There can only be eight cards in a row--that would make nine. "

"Yes, but then you could play up all the others so beautifully--justsee!"

"Is this a game, " I asked, "or a child's crazy play?"

"Then it's an exceedingly stupid game if you can't do a little thinglike that when it's absolutely necessary. What is the _sense_ of it?"

Her eyes actually flashed into mine as she leaned at my side pointingout this simple way to victory. 

"What's the sense of any rules to any game on earth?" I retorted. "If Ihadn't learned to respect rules--if I hadn't learned to be thankful forwhat the game allows me, however little it may be--" I paused, for thewater was deeper than I had thought. 

"Well?"

"Well--well _then_--I shouldn't be as thankful as I am this instantfor--for many things that I can't have more of. "

She straightened herself and favored me with a curious look that meltedat last into a puzzling smile. 

"I don't understand you, " she said. With a shade more of encouragementin her voice I had been near to forgetting my honor as a truce-observingenemy. I was grateful, indeed, afterwards, that her wish to understandme was not sufficiently implied to bring me thus low. 

"Neither do I understand the morbid psychology that finds satisfactionin cheating at solitaire, " I succeeded in saying. "I never can see howthey fix it up with themselves. "

"I believe you think and talk a great deal of foolishness, " said MissKate, in tones of reproof; and with this she was off the porch before Icould rise. 

She wore pink, with bits of blue spotting it in no systematic order thatI could discern, and a pink rose lay abashed in her hair. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE ABDICATION OF THE BOSS

There is no need to conceal that I was by this time put to it formatters to think upon not clearly related to myself; in other words formatters extraneous to my neighbor's troublesome daughter. In sheerself-defence was I driven to look abroad for interests that wouldsuffice without disquieting me. I was now compelled to admit that therewas plainly to be observed in Miss Kate Lansdale something more than amere winning faith in my powers of self-control. It was difficult atfirst to suspect that she actually meant to try me to the breakingpoint. The suspicion brought a false note to that harmony of chastenedgrief wherein, I had divined, she meant to live out her life. It seemedtoo Peavey and perverse a thing that she should, finding our trucehonorably observed by myself, behave toward me as if with a cold designto bring me down in disgrace--as a proof of her superior powers and myown wretched weakness. Yet this very thing was I obliged regretfully toconcede of her before many days. And it was behavior that I couldpalliate only by reminding myself constantly that she was not only awoman but the daughter of Miss Caroline, and by that token subjectinevitably to certain infirmities of character. And still did she attimes evince for me that shyness which only enhanced my peril. 

I managed to refrain, though in so grievous a plight, from wishing foranother war; though I did concede that if we must ever again be cursedwith war, it might as well come now as later. Regrettable though I mustconsider it, I should there find, spite of my disability, some field ofactive endeavor to engage my mind. 

Lacking war, I sought distraction in a matter close at hand--one whichpossessed quite all the vivacity of war without its violence. 

Early in the summer Mrs. Aurelia Potts had resumed her activities inbehalf of our broader culture, whereupon our people murmured promptly atSolon Denney; for him did Little Arcady still hold to account for theinfliction of this relentless evangel. 

It was known that something still remained to Mrs. Potts, even after ayear, of the pittance secured from the railway company, so that it wasnot necessity which drove her. To a considerable element of the town itseemed to be mere innate perversity. "It's _in_ her, " was an explanationwhich Westley Keyts thought all-sufficient, though he added by way, asit were, of putting this into raised letters for the blind, "she'd haveto raise hell just the same if it had cost that there railroad eightmillion 'stead of eight hundred to exterminate Potts!"

For myself, I should have set this thing to different words. I regardedMrs. Potts as a zealot whom no advantage of worldly resource could blindto our shortcomings, nor deter from ministering unto them. Had it beenunnecessary to earn bread for herself and little Roscoe, I am persuadedthat she would still have been unremitting in her efforts to uplift us. In that event she might, it is true, have read us more papers and soldus fewer books; but she would have allowed herself as little leisure. 

That Little Arcady was unequal to this broader view, however, was to beinferred from comments made in the hearing of and often, in truth, meantfor the ears of Solon Denney. The burden was shifted to his poorshoulders with as little concern as if our best citizens had notcoöperated with him in the original move, with grateful applause for itsingenious and fanciful daring. In ways devoid of his own vauntedsubtlety, it was conveyed to Solon that Little Arcady expected him to dosomething. This was after the town had been cleanly canvassed for twomonthly magazines--one of which had a dress-pattern in each number, tobe cut out on the dotted line--and after our heroine had gallantlyreturned to the charge with a rather heavy "Handbook of Science for theHome, "--a book costing two dollars and fifty cents and treating of manymatters, such as, how to conduct electrical experiments in adrawing-room, how to cleanse linen of ink-stains, how the world wasmade, who invented gun-powder, and how to restore the drowned. I recitethese from memory, not having at hand either of my own two copies ofthis valuable work. Upon myself Mrs. Potts was never to call in vain, for to me she was an important card miraculously shuffled into the rightplace in the game. It was the custom of Miss Caroline, also, to signgladly for whatsoever Mrs. Potts signified would be to her advantage. She gave the "Handbook of Science" to Clem, who, being strongly moved byany group of figures over six, rejoiced passionately to read the weightof the earth in net tons, and to dwell upon those vastly extensivedistances affected by astronomers. 

But abroad in the town there was not enough of this complaisance nor ofthis passion for mere numerals to prevent worry from creasing the browof Solon Denney. 

"The good God helped him once, but it looks like he'd have to helphimself now, " said Uncle Billy McCormick, the day he refused tosubscribe for an improving book on the ground that the clock-shelfwouldn't hold another one. And this view of the situation came also tobe the desperate view of Solon himself. That he suffered a black houreach week when Mrs. Potts read the _Argus_ to him with corrections tomake it square with "One Hundred Common Errors" and with good taste, inno way lessened the feeling against him. If he sustained an injurypeculiar to his calling, it seemed probable that he would the sooner bemoved to action. Little Arcady did not know what he could do, but it hadfaith that he would do something if he were pushed hard enough. So thegood people pushed and trusted and pushed. 

To those brutal enough to seek direct speech about it with Solon, heprofessed to be awaiting only the right opportunity for a brilliantstroke, and he counselled patience. 

To me alone, I think, did he confide his utter lack of inspiration. Andyet, though he seemed to affect entire candor with me, I was, strangelyenough, puzzled by some reserve that still lurked beneath his manner. Ihoped this meant that he was slowly finding a way too good to be told asyet, even to his best friend. 

"Something must be done, Cal, " he said, on one occasion, "but you see, here's the trouble--she's a woman and I'm a man. "

"That's a famous old trouble, " I remarked. 

"And she's _got_ to live, though Wes' Keyts says he isn't so sure ofthat--he says I'm lucky enough to have an earthquake made up especiallyfor this case--and if she lives, she must have ways and means. And thenI have my own troubles. Say, I never knew I was so careless about mylanguage until she came along. She says only an iron will can correctit. Did you ever notice how she says 'i--ron' the way people say it whenthey're reading poetry out loud? I'll bet, if he had her help, theauthor of 'One Hundred Common Errors' could take an _Argus_ and run hislist up to a hundred and fifty in no time. She keeps finding commonerrors there that I'll bet this fellow never heard of. You mustn't say'by the sweat of the brow, ' but 'by the perspiration'--perspiration isrefined and sweat is coarse--and to-day I learned for the first timethat it's wrong to say 'Mrs. Henry Peterby of Plum Creek, _née_ JennieMcCormick, spent Sunday with her parents of this city. ' It looks righton the face of it, but it seems you mustn't say 'née' for the firstname--only the last; though it means in French that that was her namebefore she was married. I tell you, that woman is a stickler. But whatcan I do?"

"Well, what _can_ you do? Far be it from me to suggest that somethingmust be done. "

"Do you know, Cal, sometimes I've thought I'd adopt a tone with her?"

"Better be careful, " I cautioned. Mrs. Potts was not a person that oneshould adopt a tone with except after long and prayerful deliberation. 

"Oh, I've considered it long enough--in fact I've considered a lot ofthings. That woman has bothered me in more ways than one, I tell youfrankly. She's such a fine woman, splendid-looking, capable, anintellectual giant--one, I may say, who makes no common errors--andyet--"

"Ah! and yet--?" There was then in Solon's eyes that curious reserve Ihad before noted--a reserve that hinted of some desperate but stillsecret design. 

"Well, there you are. "

"Where?"

"Well--she seems to me to be a born leader of men. "

"I see, and you?"

"Oh, nothing--only I'm a man. But something has got to be done. We mustuse common sense in these matters. "

It was early evening a week later when I again saw Solon; one of thosestill, serene evenings of later summer when the light would yet permitan hour's play at the game. I heard a step, but it was not she I longed, half-expected, and wholly dreaded to see. Instead came Solon, and by hisrestored confidence of bearing I knew at a glance that something hadbeen done or--since he seemed to be hurried--that he was about to do it. 

"It's all over, Cal--it's fixed!"

"Good--how did you fix it?"

"Well--uh--I adopted a tone. "

"That was brave, Solon. No other man on God's earth would have dared--"

"A tone, I was about to say--" he broke in a little uncomfortably, Ithought--"which I have long contemplated adopting. If I could tell youjust how that woman has impressed herself upon me, you'd understand whatI mean when I say that she has _powers_. But I suppose you can'tunderstand it, can you?" His tone, curiously enough, was almostpleading. 

"It isn't necessary that I should. I can at least understand that youare the Boss of Little Arcady once more. "

"Boss of nothing!--that's all over. Cal, I've abdicated--I'm not evenBoss of myself. "

"Why, Solon--you can't possibly mean--"

"I do, though! Mrs. Potts is going to marry me and--uh--put an end toeverything!"

With this rather curious finish he held out his hand expectantly. 

"Well, you certainly _did_ something, Solon. "

"We have to use common sense in these matters, " he said with an effortto control his excitement. But, looking into his eyes, I saw reason toshake him warmly by the hand. What was my own poor opinion at a crisislike this? Certainly nothing to be obtruded upon my friend. It was clearthat he had done a thing which he earnestly wanted and had earnestlydreaded to do--and that the dread was past. 

"I'm pretty happy, Cal--that's all. Of course you'll soon know how it isyourself. " He referred here to the well-known fact that I was much inthe company of Miss Lansdale. But this was a thing to be turned. 

"Oh, the game is teaching me resignation to a solitary life, " I saidwith an affectation of disinterest that must have irritated him, for heasked bluntly:--

"Say, Calvin, how long do you intend to keep up that damned nonsensewhen everybody knows--"

This interesting sentence was cut off by Miss Kate Lansdale, whoappeared around the corner and paused politely before us, with a look oftrained and admirable deafness. 

"Ah, Miss Lansdale, " said Solon, urbanely, "I was just about to speak ofyou. "

"Dear me!" said the young woman, simply. I thought she was aghast. 

"Yes--but it's not worth repeating--or finishing. "

Miss Lansdale seemed to be relieved by this assurance. 

"And now I must hurry off, " added Solon. 

"Good evening!" we both said. 

It seemed to be of a stuff from which curtains are sometimes made, white, with little colored figures in it, but the design would haverequired at least a column of the most technical description in amagazine I had subscribed for that summer. There was lace at the throat, and I should say that the thing had been constructed with the needs ofMiss Lansdale's slender but completed figure solely and clearly in mind. 

CHAPTER XXIX

IN WHICH ALL RULES ARE BROKEN

Swiftly I appraised the cool perfection of her attire, scenting thespice of the pinks she had thrust at her belt. And I suffered oneheart-quickening look from her eyes before she could lower them to me. In that instant I was stung with a presentiment that our treaty was inperil--that it might go fearfully to smash if I did not fortify myself. It came to me that the creature had regarded my past success inobserving this treaty with a kind of provocative resentment. I cannottell how I knew it--certainly through no recognized media ofcommunication. 

Most formally I offered her a chair by the card-table, and resumed myown chair with what I meant for an air of inhospitable abstraction. Shedeclined the chair, preferring to stand by the table as was her custom. 

"It was on this spot years ago, " I said, laying down the second eightcards, "that Solon Denney first told me he was about to marry. "

Discursive gossip seemed best, I thought. 

"Two long yellow braids, " she remarked. It would be too much to say thather words were snapped out. 

"And now he has told me again--I mean that he's going to marry again. "

"What did you do?" she asked more cordially, studying the cards. 

"The first time I went to war, " I answered absently, having to play upthe ace and deuce of diamonds. 

"I have never been able to care much for yellow hair, " she observed, also studying the cards; "of course, it's _effective_, in a way, but--may I ask what you're going to do this time?"

"This time I'm going to play the game. "

Again she studied the cards. 

"It's refining, " I insisted. "It teaches. I'm learning to be aSannyasin. "

Eight other cards were down, and I engrossed myself with them. 

"Is a Sannyasin rather dull?"

"In the Bhagavad-gita, " I answered, "he is to be known as a Sannyasinwho does not hate and does not love anything. "

"How are you progressing?" I felt her troubling eyes full upon me, and Isuspected there was mockery in their depths. 

"Oh, well, fairishly--but of course I haven't studied as faithfully as Imight. "

"I should think you couldn't afford to be negligent. "

I played up the four of spades and put a king of hearts in the spacethus happily secured. 

"I have read, " I answered absently, "that a benevolent man should allowhimself a few faults to keep his friends in countenance. I mustn't beeverything perfect, you know. "

"Don't restrain yourself in the least on my account. "

"You are my sole trouble, " I said, playing a black seven on a red eight. She looked off the table as I glanced up at her. 

I am a patient enough man, I believe, and I hope meek and lowly, but Isaw suddenly that not all the beatitudes should be taken withoutreservation. 

"I repeat, " I said, for she had not spoken, "your presence is the mosttroubling thing I know. It keeps me back in my studies. "

"There's a red five for that black six, " she observed. 

"Thank you!" and I made the play. 

"Then you're not a Sannyasin yet?"

"I've nearly taken the first degree. Sometimes after hard practice I cansucceed in not hating anything for as much as an hour. "

I dealt eight more cards and became, to outward seeming, I hope, absorbed in the new aspect of the game. 

"Perseverance will be rewarded, " she said kindly. "You can't expect tolearn it all at once. "

"You might try not to make it harder for me. "

Again had I been a third person of fair discernment, I believe I shouldhave sworn that I caught in her eyes a gleam of hardened, relentlessdetermination; but she only pointed to a four of hearts which I wasneglecting to play up. 

"Why not play the game to win?" she asked, and there was that in hervoice which was like to undo me--a tone and the merest fanning of myface by her loose sleeve as she pointed to the card. 

Suddenly I knew that honor was not in me. She walked within my lines inimminent peril of the deadliest character. But there was no sign of fearin the look she held me with, and I knew she had not sensed her danger. 

"You should play your stupid game to win, " she repeated terribly. "Youare too ingenious at finding balm in defeat. " That little goldenroughness in her voice seemed to grate on my bared heart. I left hereyes with a last desperate appeal to the game. My hand shook as it laiddown the final eight cards. 

"Have I ever had any reason to think I could win?" I found I could askthis if I kept my eyes upon the cards. 

She laughed a curious, almost silent, confidential little laugh, throughwhich a sigh of despair seemed to breathe. 

I looked quickly up, but again there was that strange gleam in her eyes, a gleam of sternest resolve I should have called it under othercircumstances. 

"You see!" I exclaimed, pointing with a trembling but triumphant fingerat the cards. "You see! I am beaten now, in this game that seemed easyup to the very last moment. What could I hope for in a game where thecards fell wretchedly from the very start? If I hoped now, I'd be ahopeless fool, indeed!"

[Illustration: "THAT WILL DO, " I SAID SEVERELY. "REMEMBER, THERE IS AGENTLEMAN PRESENT. "]

"Are you sure you know how to play this game?"

There was a sort of finality in her words that sickened me. 

"I have abided always by the rules, " I answered doggedly, "and I do knowthe rules. Look--this game is neatly blocked by one little four-spot onthat queen. If that queen were free, I could finish everything. "

"Oh, oh--I've told you it's a stupid game with stupid rules--and itmakes its players--" She did not complete that, but went about onanother tack--with the danger note in her voice. "Just now I overheardyour caller say a thing--"

"Ah, I feared you overheard. "

The arrogance of the gesture with which she interrupted me was splendid. 

"He said, 'How long are you going to keep up that--that--'"

"That will do, " I said severely. "Remember there is a gentlemanpresent. " But my voice sounded queerly indeed to the ears most familiarwith its quality. Also it trembled, for her gaze, almost stern in itsquestioning, had not released me. 

"But how long _are_ you?" Her own voice had trembled, as mine did. Shemight as well have used the avoided word. Her tone carried it far toointelligibly. It was quite as bad as swearing. I tried twice before Isucceeded in finding my voice. 

"I've _told_ you, " I said desperately; "can't you see--that queen isn'tfree?"

Swiftly--I regret to say, almost with a show of temper--she snatched thefour of diamonds from its lawful place and laid it brazenly far outsidethe game. 

"The creature _is_ free, " she said crisply--but at once her arrogancewas gone and she drooped visibly in weakness. 

So quickly did I rise from the table that the cards of the game werehurled into a meaningless confusion. I stood at her side. I had lostmyself. 

"Little Miss, --oh, Little Miss! I've a thousand arms all crying foryou. "

Slowly she made her eyes come to mine--not without effort, for we wereclose. 

"I am glad we left you, "--she had meant to say "that arm, " I judge, butthere was a break in her voice, a swift movement, and she suddenly said"_this_ arm, " with a little shudder in which she could not meet my eyes;for, such as the arm was, she had finished her speech from within it. Close I held her, like a witless moonling, forgetting all resolves, alllessons, all treaties--all but that she was not a dream woman. 

"Oh, Little Miss!" was all I could say; and she--"Calvin Blake!" as ifit were a phrase of endearment. 

"Little Miss, that loss has put me out, but never has it been thehardship it is now--one arm!"

I had not thought it possible for her to come nearer, but a successfulnestling movement was her answer. 

"I feel the need of a thousand arms, and yet their strength is--"

"Is in this one. " She completed my sentence with her own nestlingemphasis for "this one. "

"Can you believe now, Little Miss?"

"Yes--you gave it to me again. "

"Can you believe that I--I--"

"_That_ was never hard. I believed that the first evening I saw you. "

"A womanish thing to say--I didn't know it myself. "

But she laughed to me, laughed still as I brought her face nearer--sonear. Only then did her parted lips close tensely in the woman fear ofwhat she read in my eyes. I have reason to believe that she would havemastered this fear, but at that instant Miss Caroline coughed ratheralarmingly. 

"You should do something for that right away, " I said, as we struckourselves apart. "You let a cough like that run along and you don't knowwhat it may end in. " Whereupon, having kissed no one on this occasion, Inow kissed Miss Caroline, --without difficulty, I may add. 

"I've been meaning to do it for a year, " I explained. 

"I must remind you that they were far less deliberate in _my_ day, " saidshe, with a delicate hint of reminiscence in her tone. Whereupon shelooked searchingly at each of us in turn. Then, with a little gasp, shewept daintily upon my love's shoulder. 

I had long suspected that tears were a mere aesthetic refreshment withMiss Caroline. I had never known her weaken to them when there seemed tobe far better reasons for it than the present occasion furnished. 

"I must take her home, " said my love, without speaking. 

"_Do!_" I urged, likewise in silence, but understandably. 

"And I must be alone, " she called, as they stepped out on to the lawn. 

"So must I. " It had not occurred to me; but I could see thoughts withwhich my mind needed at once to busy itself. I watched them go slowlyinto the dusk. I thought Miss Caroline seemed to be recovering. 

When they had gone, I stepped out to look up at the strange new stars. The measure of my dream was full and running over. To stand there andbreathe full and laugh aloud--that was my prayer of gratitude; nor did Ilack the presence of mind to hope that, in ascending, it might in someway advantage the soul of J. Rodney Potts, that humble tool with whichthe gods had wrought such wonders. 

It was no longer a dream, no vision brief as a summer's night, when thelight fades late to come again too soon. Before, in that dreaming time, I saw that I had drawn water like the Danaides, in a pitcher full ofholes. But now--I wondered how long she would find it good to be alone. I felt that I had been alone long enough, and that seven minutes, orpossibly eight, might suffice even her. 

She came almost with the thought, though I believe she did not hurryafter she saw that I observed her. 

"I had to be alone a long time, to think well about it--to think it allout, " she said simply. 

I thought it unnecessary to state the precise number of minutes this hadrequired. Instead I showed her all those strange new stars above us, andtogether we surveyed the replenished heavens. 

"How light it is--and so late!" she murmured absently. 

"Come back to our porch. "

There for the first time in its green life my vine came into its naturalright of screening lovers. In its shade my love cast down her eyes, butintrepidly lifted her lips. Miss Caroline was still where she shouldhave remained in the first place. 

"I am very happy, Little Miss!"

"You shall be still happier, Calvin Blake. I haven't waited this longwithout knowing--"

"Nor I! I know, too. "

"I hope Jim will be glad, " she suggested. 

"He'll be delighted, and vastly relieved. It has puzzled him fearfullyof late to see you living away from me. "

We sat down, for there seemed much to say. 

"I believed more than you did, with all your game, " she taunted me. 

"But you broke the rules. Anybody can believe anything if he can breakall the rules. "

"I'd a dreadful time showing you that I meant to. "

I shall not detail a conversation that could have but little interest toothers. Indeed, I remember it but poorly. I only know that it seemedmagically to feed upon itself, yet waxed to little substance for thememory. 

One thing, however, I retain vividly enough. In a moment when we bothwere silent, renewing our amazement at the stars, there burst upon thenight a volume of song that I instantly identified. 

"She sleeps, my lady sleeps!" sang the clear tenor of Arthur Updyke. "Mylady sleeps--she sleeps!" sang three other voices in well-blendedcorroboration; after which the four discoursed upon this interestingtheme. 

We were down from the stars at once, but I saw nothing to laugh at, andsaid as much. 

"We might take them out some sandwiches and things to drink, " persistedmy Little Miss. 

But the starlight had shown me a gleam in her eyes that was toooutrageously Peavey. 

"We will _not_" I chanted firmly to the music's mellowed accompaniment. "I am free to say now that the thing must be stopped, but you shall doit less brutally--to-morrow or next day. "

"Oh, well, if you--"

She nestled again. So soon had this habit seemed to fasten upon heradaptable nature. 

"It's wonderful what one arm can do, " she said; and in the darkness shefelt for the closing hand of it to draw it yet more firmly about her. 

"It has the spirit of all the arms in the world, Little Miss--oh, myLittle Miss--my dream woman come true!"

She nestled again, with a sigh of old days ended. 

"You _can't_ get any closer, " I admonished. 

"_Here!_" she whispered insistingly, so that I felt the breath of it. 

CHAPTER XXX

BY ANOTHER HAND

A wanderer from Little Arcady in early days returned to its placidshades after many years, drawn thither by a little quick-born yearningto walk the old streets again. But he found such strangeness in thesethat his memory was put to prodigious feats of reconstruction ere itcould make them seemly as of yore. 

To the west, away from the river, the town has groped beyond a prairiefrontier that had once been sacred to boyish games and the family cow. Now, so thickly was it built with neat white houses, that only withstrenuous clairvoyance could famous old localities be identified: theball-ground; the marshy stretch that made skating in winter, or, inspring, a fascinating place to catch cold by wading; the grassy commonwhere "shinny" was played by day and "Yellow Horn" by night; theenchanted spot where the circus built airy castles of canvas, and where, on the day after, one might plant one's feet squarely in the magic ring, on the veritable spot, perchance, where the clown had superhumanlyridden the difficult trick-mule after local volunteers had failed soentertainingly. 

Barns in this once wild country had failed amazingly. Only one of anycharacter was left, and it had shrunk. Of old a structure ofpossibilities intensely romantic, it was now dingy, pitiable, insignificant. No reasonable person would consider holding a circusthere--admission ten pins for boys and five pins for girls. 

Orchards, too, had suffered. Acres of them, once known to their lasttree, including the safest routes of approach by day or night, had beencut down to make space for substantial but unexciting houses, quite likethe houses in anybody's town. Other orchards had shrunk to a few poorunproductive trees so little prized by their owners that they could nolonger excite evil thoughts in the young. 

Indeed, almost everything had shrunk. The church steeples, once of aninconceivable height, were now but a scant sixty feet; and the buildingsbeneath them, that once had vied with old-world cathedrals, were seen tobe but toy churches. 

Especially had gardens shrunk. One that boasted the widest area in dayswhen it must be hoed for the advantage of potatoes insanely plantedthere, was now a plot so tiny that the returned wanderer, amazedlystaring at it, abandoned all effort to make it occupy its old place inhis memory. 

North and south were dozens of strange, prim houses to puzzle up thestreets. The street-signs, another innovation, were truly needed. Of oldit had been enough to say "down toward the depot, " "out by the McCormickplace, " "next to the Presbyterian church, " "up around the schoolhouse, "or "down by the lumber yard. " But now it was plain that one had to knowFirst, Second, and Third streets, Washington, Adams, and Jeffersonstreets. 

Socially as well, the town had changed. Not only is the native stockmore travelled, speaking--entirely without an air--of trips to theYellowstone, to Europe, Chicago, or Santa Barbara, but a new element hasinvaded the little country. It goes in the fall, but it comes again eachsummer, drawn by the green beauty of the spot, and it has left itsimpress. 

The revisiting wanderer observed, as in a dream, an immaculate coupéwith a couple of men on the box who behaved quite as if they were aboutto enter the park in the full glare of Fifty-ninth Street and FifthAvenue, though they were but on a street of the little country amongfarm wagons. The outfit was ascertained to belong to a summer residentwho was said, by common report, to "have wine right on the table atevery meal. " No one born out of Little Arcady can appraise therevolutionary character of this circumstance at anything like its truevalue. 

Further, in the line of vehicular sensationalism, a modish wicker-bodiedphaeton and a minute pony-cart were seen on a pleasant afternoon toissue from a driveway far up a street that now has a name, but whichused to be adequately identified by saying "up toward the Fair Grounds. "

The phaeton was occupied by two ladies, one rather old, to whom a coupleof half-grown children in the pony-cart kissed their hands and shouted. They were not permitted to follow the phaeton, however, as they seemedto have wished. Its shock-headed pony, driven by an aged negro whoscolded both children with a worn and practised garrulity, was turned inanother direction. One of the children, a little dark-faced girl ofeight or nine, called "Little Miss" by the driver, was repeatedlythreatened in the fiercest tone by him because of her perilous twistingsto look back at the phaeton. The cart was followed by a liver-and-whitesetter; a young dog, it seemed, from his frenzied caperings and hismanner of appearing to think of something else in the midst of everyimportant moment. 

There proved to be two papers in the town, as of old, but the _Argus_was now published twice a week, Wednesdays and Saturdays. The wanderereagerly scanned its columns for familiar names and for something of thetown's old tone; but with little success. 

Said one item, "A string of electric lights, on a street leading up oneof our hills, looks like a necklace of brilliants on the bosom of thenight. " Old Little Arcady had not electric lights; nor the _Argus_ thisexuberance of simile. 

Again: "This new game of golf that the summer folks play seems to havetoo much walking for a good game and just enough game to spoil a goodwalk. " Golf in the Little Country!

The advent of musical culture was signified by this: "At least thirtygirls in this town can play the first part of 'Narcissus' pretty well. But when they come to the second part they mangle the keys for a minuteand then say, 'I don't care much for that second part--do you?' Whydon't some of them learn it and give us a chance to judge?"

The _Argus_ had acquired a "Woman's Department, " conducted by Mrs. Aurelia Potts Denney, wife of the editor, --a public-spirited woman, prominent in club circles, and said to be of great assistance to herhusband in his editorial duties. The town was proud of her, and sent heras delegate to the Federation of Woman's Clubs; her name, indeed, hasbeen printed in full more than once, even by Chicago newspapers. Somesay that wisely she might give more attention to her twin sons, Hayesand Wheeler Denney; but this likely is ill-natured carping, for Hayesand Wheeler seem not more lawless than other twins of eight. Andcarpers, to a certainty, do exist in Little Arcady. 

One Westley Keyts, for example, lounging in the doorway of hismeat-shop, renewed acquaintance with the wanderer, who remembered him asa glum-faced but not bad-hearted chap. Names recalled and hands shaken, Mr. Keyts began to lament the simple ways of an elder day, glancingmeanwhile with honest disapproval at a newly installed competitor acrossthe street. The shop itself was something of an affront, its gilt namemore--"The Bon Ton Market. " Mr. Keyts pronounced "Bon Ton" in his ownfashion, but his contempt was ably and amply expressed. 

"Sounds like one of them fancy names for a corset or a patent lamp, " hecomplained. "It's this here summer business that done it. They swarm inhere with their private hacks and their hired help all togged out tillyou'd think they was generals in the army, and they play that game ofsissy-shinny (drop-the-handkerchief for mine, if _I_ got to play anysuch game), and they're such great hands to kite around nights whenfolks had ought to be in their beds. I tell you, my friend, it ain'tdoing this town one bit of good. The idea of a passel of strong, huskyyoung men settin' around on porches in their white pants and calling it'passing the summer. ' _I_ ain't never found time to pass any summers. "

The wanderer expressed a proper regret for this decadence. Mr. Keytsreverted bitterly to the Bon Ton market:--

"Good name for a tooth powder, or a patent necktie, or an egg-beater. But a butcher-shop!--why, it's a _hell_ of a name for abutcher-shop!"

The wanderer expressed perfect sympathy with this view of the shoplegend, and remarked, "By the way, whose big house is that with thecolumns in front, up where the Prouse and old Blake houses used to be?"

The face of Mr. Keyts became pleasanter. 

"Oh, that?--that's Cal Blake's--Major Blake's, you know. He married agirl that come in here from the South with her mother. I guess that wasafter you got out of here. They tore down the two houses and built thatbig one. They say it's like them Southern houses, but I don't know. Itseems awful plain up the front of it. Cal's all right, though. I guessmebbe he built the house kind of bare that way to please his wife andhis mother-in-law. I'll bet if he'd had his own way, there'd be somebrackets and fret work on the front to liven it up some. But I'd a donejust like him in his place, I would, by Gee! So would you if you seenhis wife. _Say!_ but never mind; you wait right here. She'll drive up togit Cal from his office at four-thirty--it's right across there over thebank where that young fellow is settin' in the window--that's young CalDenney, studyin' law with Blake. You just wait and see--she'll drive upin about six minutes. "

The wanderer waited, out of pure cordiality to Mr. Keyts. The prospectwas not exciting, but the simple faith of the villagers that outsidersmust share their interest in local concerns has always seemed tootouching a thing to wreck. 

Within the six minutes mentioned by Mr. Keyts the diurnal happening towhich he attached such importance was observed. A woman (the younger ofthe two seen in the phaeton) drove up for Major Calvin Blake; a youngishrather than a young woman, slight, with an effect of stateliness, andnot unattractive. Her husband, a tall and pleasant enough looking man, came down the stairs, and when he saw the woman his face lightedswiftly--and rather wonderfully, when one considers that she was notunexpected. They drove away. 

The wanderer was not disposed to minimize the incident, however far hemight fall short of Westley Keyts's appreciation. But he had been longabsent from the Little Country, and the people of to-day were strangeand unimportant. He preferred to revive, as best he might, the days ofhis own simple faith in the town's sufficiency; days when the worldbeyond the Little Country was but a place from which to ordermerchandise, or into which, at the most, adventurous Arcadians daredbrief journeys for profit or a doubtful pleasure; the days of a boy'sLittle Arcady, that existed no more save as a wraith in rememberingminds.