[Illustration] An Arkansas Planter BY OPIE READ, AUTHOR OF "A Yankee from the West, " "The Waters of Caney Fork, " "Mrs. Annie Green, " "Up Terrapin River. " CHICAGO AND NEW YORK: RAND, McNALLY & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS. AN ARKANSAS PLANTER. CHAPTER I. Lying along the Arkansas River, a few miles below Little Rock, there isa broad strip of country that was once the domain of a lordly race ofmen. They were not lordly in the sense of conquest; no rusting armorhung upon their walls; no ancient blood-stains blotched theirstairways--there were no skeletons in dungeons deep beneath the banquethall. But in their own opinion they were just as great as if they hadpossessed these gracious marks of medieval distinction. Their countrywas comparatively new, but their fathers came mostly from Virginia andtheir whisky came wholly from Kentucky. Their cotton brought a highprice in the Liverpool market, their daughters were celebrated forbeauty, and their sons could hold their own with the poker players thattraveled up and down the Mississippi River. The slave trade had beenabolished, and, therefore, what remained of slavery was right; and inproof of it the pulpit contributed its argument. Negro preachers withwives scattered throughout the community urged their fellow bondsmen todrop upon their knees and thank God for the privilege of following amule in a Christian land. The merciless work of driving the negroes totheir tasks was performed by men from the North. Many a son of NewEngland, who, with emotion, had listened to Phillips and to Garrison, had afterward hired his harsh energies to the slave owner. And it wasthis hard driving that taught the negro vaguely to despise theabolitionist. But as a class the slaves were not unhappy. They wereignorant, but the happiest song is sometimes sung by ignorance. Theybelieved the Bible as read to them by the preachers, and the Bible toldthem that God had made them slaves; so, at evening, they twanged rudestrings and danced the "buck" under the boughs of the cottonwood tree. On the vine-shaded veranda the typical old planter was wont to sit, looking up and down the road, watching for a friend or a stranger--anyone worthy to drink a gentleman's liquor, sir. His library was stockedwith romances. He knew English history as handed down to him by thesentimentalist. He hated the name of king, but revered an aristocracy. No business was transacted under his roof; the affairs of his estatewere administered in a small office, situated at the corner of the yard. His wife and daughters, arrayed in imported finery, drove about in acarriage. New Orleans was his social center, and he had been known topay as much as a thousand dollars for a family ticket to a ball at theSt. Charles hotel. His hospitality was known everywhere. He was slow toanger, except when his honor was touched upon, and then he demanded anapology or forced a fight. He was humorous, and yet the consciousness ofhis own dignity often restrained his enjoyment of the ludicrous. Whenthe cotton was in bloom his possessions were beautiful. On a knoll hecould stand and imagine that the world was a sea of purple. That was the Arkansas planter years ago, before the great sentimentalstorm swept down upon him, before an evening's tea-table talk inMassachusetts became a tornado of iron in Virginia. When ragged andheart-sore he returned from the army, from as brave a fight as man everengaged in, he sat down to dream over his vanished greatness. But hisdream was short. He went to work, not to re-establish his formercondition of ease--for that hope was beyond him--but to make a livingfor his family. On a knoll overlooking the Arkansas River stood the Crancefordhomestead. The site was settled in 1832, by Captain Luke Cranceford, whohad distinguished himself in an Indian war. And here, not longafterward, was born John Cranceford, who years later won applause ascommander of one of the most stubborn batteries of the ConfederateArmy. The house was originally built of cypress logs, but as time passedadditions of boards and brick were made, resulting in a formless butcomfortable habitation, with broad passage ways and odd lolling placesset to entrap cool breezes. The plantation comprised about one thousandacres. The land for the most part was level, but here and there a hillarose, like a sudden jolt. From right to left the tract was divided by abayou, slow and dark. The land was so valuable that most of it had beencleared years ago, but in the wooded stretches the timber was thick, andin places the tops of the trees were laced together with wild grapevines. Far away was a range of pine-covered hills, blue cones in thedistance. And here lived the poorer class of people, farmers who couldnot hope to look to the production of cotton, but who for a mereexistence raised thin hogs and nubbins of corn. In the lowlands theplantations were so large and the residences so far apart that thecountry would have appeared thinly settled but for the negro quartershere and there, log villages along the bayous. In this neighborhood Major John Cranceford was the most prominentfigure. The county was named in honor of his family. He was called aprogressive man. He accepted the yoke of reconstruction and wore it witha laugh, until it pinched, and then he said nothing, except to tell hisneighbors that a better time was coming. And it came. The years passed, and a man who had been prominent in the Confederate council becameAttorney-General of the American Nation, and men who had led desperatecharges against the Federal forces made speeches in the old capitol atWashington. And thus the world was taught a lesson of forgiveness--ofthe true greatness of man. In New Orleans the Major was known as a character, and his nerve was notmerely a matter of conjecture. Courage is supposed to hold a solemnaspect, but the Major was the embodiment of heartiness. His laugh wascatching; even the negroes had it, slow, loud and long. Sometimes atmorning when a change of season had influenced him, he would slowlystride up and down the porch, seeming to shake with joviality as hewalked. Years ago he had served as captain of a large steamboat, andthis at times gave him an air of bluff authority. He was a successfulriver man, and was therefore noted for the vigor and newness of hisprofanity. His wife was deeply religious, and year after year shebesought him to join the church, pleaded with him at evening when thetwo children were kissed good night--and at last he stood the rector'scross-examination and had his name placed upon the register. It was ahard struggle, but he weeded out his oaths until but one was left--abold "by the blood. " He said that he would part even with this safetyvalve but that it would require time; and it did. The Major believed inthe gradual moral improvement of mankind, but he swore that the worldintellectually was going to the devil. And for this conviction he had agraded proof. "Listen to me a minute, " he was wont to say. "I'll make itclear to you. My grandfather was graduated with great honors fromHarvard, my father was graduated with honor, I got through all right, but my son Tom failed. " CHAPTER II. One hot afternoon the Major sat in his library. The doors were open anda cool breeze, making the circuitous route of the passage ways, sweptthrough the room, bulging a newspaper which he held opened out in frontof him. He was scanning the headlines to catch the impulsive moods ofthe world. The parlor was not far away, down the hall, and voicesreached him. And then there came the distressing hack, hack, of a hollowcough. He put down the newspaper, got up, and slowly strode about theroom, not shaking with joviality as he walked. In the parlor the voiceswere hushed, there was a long silence, and then came the hollow cough. He sat down and again took up the newspaper, but the cough, hack, hack, smote him like the recurrence of a distressing thought, and he crumpledthe paper and threw it upon the floor. Out in the yard a negro woman wassinging; far down the stream a steamboat whistled. And again came thehollow cough. There was another long silence, and then he heard lightfootsteps in the hall. A young woman halted at the door and stoodlooking at him. Her face was pale and appeared thin, so eager was herexpression. She was slight and nervous. "Well, " he said. She smiled at him and said, "Well. " Then she slowlyentered the room, and with a sigh took a seat near him. The cough fromthe parlor was more distressful, and she looked at him, and in her eyeswas a beseeching sadness. "Louise. " "Yes, sir. " "What did I tell you?" "I don't know, sir. " "Don't say that, for you do know. " "You've told me so many things--" "Yes, I know. But what did I tell you about Carl Pennington?" "I don't know, sir. " "Yes you do. I told you that I didn't want him to come here. Didn't I?" "Yes, sir. " "Then why is he here?" "I met him and invited him to come. " "Ah, ha. But I don't want him here; don't want you to see him. " She sat looking at him as if she would study every line of his face. Heshoved his hands deep into his pockets and looked down. The cough cameagain, and he looked at the girl. "You know the reason I don't want youto see him. Don't you?" "Yes, sir, and I know the reason why I do want to see him. " "The devil--pardon me, " he quickly added, withdrawing his hands from hispockets and bowing to her. She slightly inclined her head and smiledsadly. He looked hard at her, striving to read her thoughts; and she wasso frail, her face was so thin and her eyes so wistful that she smotehim with pity. He reached over and took one of her hands, andaffectionately she gave him the other one. She tried to laugh. The coughcame again, and she took her hands away. He reached for them, but sheput them behind her. "No, not until I have told you, " she said, and hesaw her lip tremble. "He was afraid to come in here to see you, " shewent on, speaking with timid slowness. "He is so weak and sick that hecan't stand to be scolded, so I have come to--" She hesitated. He shovedhimself back and looked hard at her, and his eyebrows stuck outfiercely. "To ask me what?" His voice was dry and rasping. "What can you ask me?To let him come here to see you? No, daughter. I can't permit that. AndI don't intend to be cruel when I say this. I am sorry for him, Godknows I deeply sympathize with him, but he must not hope to--" "I was not going to ask you to let him come, " she broke in. "I am goingto ask you to let me go--go with him. " "By the blood!" the Major exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "What do youmean? Marry him?" "Yes, sir, " she quietly answered. He looked at her, frowning, his facepuffed, his brows jagged. And then appearing to master himself he satdown and strove to take her hand, but she held it behind her. "Mydaughter, I want to talk to you, not in anger, but with common sense. Itactually horrifies me to think of your marriage--I can't do it, that'sall. Why, the poor fellow can't live three months; he is dead on hisfeet now. Listen at that cough. Louise, how can you think of marryinghim? Haven't you any judgment at all? Is it possible that you havelost--but I won't scold you; I must reason with you. There is timeenough for you to marry, and the sympathetic fancy that you have forthat poor fellow will soon pass away. It must. You've got plenty ofchances. Jim Taylor--" "Why do you speak of him, father?" "I speak of him because he loves you--because he is as fine a youngfellow as walks the face of the earth. " "But, father, he is so big and strong that he doesn't need any one tolove him. " At this the Major appeared not to know whether to laugh or to frown. But he did neither; he sat for a time with his hands on his knees, looking wonderingly, almost stupidly at her; and then he said:"Nonsense. Where did you pick up that preposterous idea? So strong thathe doesn't need love! Why, strength demands love, and to a big man thelove of a little woman--" She drew back from him as he leaned toward herand he did not complete the sentence. Her impatience made him frown. "Won't you let me reason with you?" he asked. "Won't you help me tosuppress all appearance of displeasure?" "It is of no use, " she replied. "What is of no use? Reason?" "Argument. " "What! Do you mean--" "I mean that I am going to marry him. " In her eyes there was no appeal, no pleading, for the look that she gavehim was hard and determined. Harsh words flew to the Major's mind, andhe shook with the repression of them; but he was silent. He shoved hishands into his pockets and she heard his keys rattling. He arose with adeep sigh, and now, with his hands behind him, walked up and down theroom. Suddenly he faced about and stood looking down upon her, at therose in her hair. "Louise, one night on a steamboat there was a rollicking dance. It was amoonlight excursion. There was a splash and a cry that a woman hadfallen overboard. I leaped into the river, grasped her, held her headabove the stream, fighting the current. A boat was put out and we weretaken on board, and then by the light of a lantern I found that I hadsaved the life of my own daughter. So, upon you, I have more than afather's claim--the claim of gallantry, and this you cannot disregard, and upon it I base my plea. " She looked up straight at him; her lips were half open, but she saidnothing. "You don't seem to understand, " he added, seeming to stiffen hisshoulders in resentment at the calmness with which she regarded him. "Itell you that I waive the authority of a father and appeal to yourgratitude; I remind you that I saved your life--leaped into the coldwater and seized you, not knowing whose life I was striving to save atthe risk of losing my own. Isn't that worth some sort of return? Isn'tit worth even the sacrifice of a whim? Louise, don't look at me thatway. Is it possible that you don't grasp--" He hesitated and turned hisface toward the parlor whence came again the cough, hollow anddistressing. The sound died away, echoing down the hall, and a henclucked on the porch and a passage door slammed. "Louise, " he said, looking at her. "Yes, sir. " "Do you catch--" "I catch everything, father. It was noble of you to jump into the riverwhen you didn't know but that you might be drowned, and recognizing thatyou risked your life, and feeling a deep gratitude, it is hard to repayyou with disobedience. Wait a moment, please. You must listen to me. Itis hard to repay you with disobedience, but it cannot be helped. You saythat Mr. Pennington is dying and I know that you speak the truth. Heknows that he is dying, and he appeals to me not to let him diealone--not alone in words, " she quickly added, "but with somethingstronger than words, his helplessness, his despair. Other people haveappeared to shun him because he is dying, but--" "Hold on, " he broke in. "I deny that. No one has shunned him because heis dying. Everybody is sorry for him, and you know that I would doanything for him. " "Would you? Then let him die under this roof as my husband. Oh, look howpoor and thin he is, so helpless, and dying day by day, with norelatives near him, with nothing in prospect but long nights ofsuffering. Please don't tell me that I shan't take care of him, for Ifeel that it is the strongest duty that will ever come to me. Listen howhe coughs. Doesn't it appeal to you? How can you refuse--how can youremind me of the gratitude I owe you?" Tears were streaming down her face. He bent over her, placed his handsupon her cheeks and kissed her, but instantly he drew back with hisresentful stiffening of the shoulders. "Louise, it can't be. No argument and no appeal can bring it about. Itmakes me shudder to think of it. Really I can't understand it. Thesituation to me is most unnatural. But I won't be harsh with you. But Imust say that I don't know where you get your stubbornness. No, I won'tbe harsh. Let me tell you what I will agree to do. He may come to thishouse and stay here until--may stay here and the best of care shall betaken of him, and you may nurse him, but you must not bear his name. Will you agree to this?" She shook her head. She had wiped away her tears and her eyes werestrong and determined. "After conceding so much I don't see why youshould refuse the vital point, " she said. "I can tell you why, and I am afraid that I must. " "Don't be afraid; simply tell me. " "But, daughter, it would seem cruel. " "Not if I demand it. " "Then you do demand it? Well, you shall know. His father served a termin the Louisiana penitentiary for forgery. And now you may ask why Iever let him come into this house. I will tell you. He had been teachingschool here some time and I said nothing. One day during a rainstorm hestopped at the gate. He was sick and I invited him to come in. Afterthat I could not find enough firmness to tell him not to come, he was sopale and weak. I see now that it was a false sympathy. Do you understandme? His father was a convict. " "Yes, I understand. He told me. " "By the blood on the Cross! Do you mean to say--Louise, " he broke off, gazing upon her, "your mind is unsettled. Yes, you are crazy, and, ofcourse, all your self-respect is gone. You needn't say a word, you arecrazy. You are--I don't know what you are, but I know what I am, andnow, after the uselessness of my appeal to your gratitude, I will assertthe authority of a father. You shall not marry him. " "And would you kill a dying man?" she quietly asked. The question jolted him, and he shouted out: "What do you mean by suchnonsense? You know I wouldn't. " "Then I will marry him. " For a moment the Major's anger choked him. With many a dry rasp hestrove to speak, and just as he had made smoother a channel for hiswords, he heard the hollow cough drawing nearer. He motioned toward adoor that opened in an opposite direction, and the girl, afterhesitating a moment, quickly stepped out upon a veranda that overlookedthe river. The Major turned his eyes toward the other door, and therePennington stood with a handkerchief tightly pressed to his mouth. For atime they were silent, one strong and severe, the other tremulous andalmost spectral in the softened light. "There is a chair, sir, " said the Major, pointing. "I thank you, sir; I don't care to sit down. I--I am very sorry that youare compelled to look upon me as--as you do, sir. And it is all myfault, I assure you, and I can't defend myself. " He dropped his handkerchief and looked down as if he were afraid tostoop to pick it up. The Major stepped forward, caught up thehandkerchief, handed it to him and stepped back. "Thank you, sir, " Pennington said, bowing, and then, after a shortpause, he added: "I don't know what to say in explanation of--of myself. But I should think, sir, that the strength of a man's love is asufficient defense of any weakness he may possess--I mean a sufficientdefense of any indiscretion that his love has led him to commit. Thissituation stole upon me, and I was scarcely aware of its coming until itwas here. I didn't know how serious--" He coughed his words, and when hebecame calmer, repeated his plea that love ought to excuse any weaknessin man. "Your daughter is an angel of mercy, " he said. "When I foundmyself dying as young as I was and as hopeful as I had been my soulfilled up with a bitter resentment against nature and God, but she drewout the bitterness and instilled a sweetness and a prayer. And now totake her from me would be to snatch away the prospect of that peacefullife that lies beyond the grave. Sir, I heard you tell her that she wascrazy. If so, then may God bless all such insanity. " He pressed the handkerchief to his mouth, racking, struggling; and whenthe convulsive agony had passed he smiled, and there in the shadow bythe door the light that crossed his face was ghastly, like a dim smearof phosphorus. And now the Major's shoulders were not stiffened withresentment; they were drooping with a pity that he could not conceal, but his face was hard set, the expression of the mercy of one man foranother, but also the determination to protect a daughter and the goodname of an honored household. "Mr. Pennington, I was never so sorry for any human being as I am foryou at this moment, but, sir, the real blessings of this life comethrough justice and not through impulsive mercy. In thoughtless sympathya great wrong may lie, and out of a marriage with disease may arise ageneration of misery. We are largely responsible for the ailments ofthose who are to follow us. The wise man looks to the future; the weakman hugs the present. You say that my daughter is an angel of mercy. Shehas ever been a sort of sister of charity. I confess that I have neverbeen able wholly to understand her. At times she has even puzzled hermother, and a daughter is odd, indeed, when a mother cannot comprehendher. I am striving to be gentle with you, but I must tell you that youcannot marry her. I don't want to tell you to go, and yet it is betterthat this interview should come to a close. " He bowed to Pennington and turned toward the veranda that overlooked theriver, but a supplicating voice called him back. "I wish to say, " saidthe consumptive, "that from your point of view you are right. But thatdoes not alter my position. You speak of the misery that arises from amarriage with disease. That was very well put, but let me say, sir, thatI believe that I am growing stronger. Sometimes I have thought that Ihad consumption, but in my saner moments I know that I have not. I cansee an improvement from day to day. Several days ago I couldn't helpcoughing, but now at times I can suppress it. I am growing stronger. " "Sir, " exclaimed the Major, "if you were as strong as a lion you shouldnot marry her. Good day. " CHAPTER III. Slowly and heavily the Major walked out upon the veranda. He stood uponthe steps leading down into the yard, and he saw Louise afar offstanding upon the river's yellow edge. She had thrown her hat upon thesand, and she stood with her hands clasped upon her brown head. A windblew down the stream, and the water lapped at her feet. The Major lookedback into the library, at the door wherein Pennington had stood, andsighed with relief upon finding that he was gone. He looked back towardthe river. The girl was walking along the shore, meditatively swingingher hat. He stepped to the corner of the house, and, gazing down theroad, saw Pennington on a horse, now sitting straight, now bending lowover the horn of the saddle. The old gentleman had a habit of making asideward motion with his hand as if he would put all unpleasant thoughtsbehind him, and now he made the motion not only once, but many times. And it seemed that his thoughts would not obey him, for he became moreimperative in his pantomimic demand. At one corner of the large yard, where the smooth ground broke off intoa steep slope to the river, there stood a small office built of brick. It was the Major's executive chamber, and thither he directed his steps. Inside this place his laugh was never heard; at the door his smilealways faded. In this commercial sanctuary were enforced the exactionsthat made the plantation thrive. Outside, in the yard, in the "bighouse, " elsewhere under the sky, a plea of distress might moisten hiseyes and soften his heart to his own financial disadvantage, but underthe moss-grown shingles of the office all was business, hard, uncompromising. It was told in the neighborhood that once, in thisinquisition of affairs, he demanded the last cent possessed by a widowedwoman, but that, while she was on her way home, he overtook her, graciously returned the money and magnanimously tore to pieces amortgage that he held against her small estate. Just as he entered the office there came across the yard a loud andimpatient voice. "Here, Bill, confound you, come and take this horse. Don't you hear me, you idiot? You infernal niggers are getting to be sono-account that the last one of you ought to be driven off the place. Trot, confound you. Here, take this horse to the stable and feed him. Where is the Major? In the office? The devil he is. " Toward the office slowly strode old Gideon Batts, fanning himself withhis white slouch hat. He was short, fat, and bald; he was bowleggedwith a comical squat; his eyes stuck out like the eyes of a swamp frog;his nose was enormous, shapeless, and red. To the Major's family hetraced the dimmest line of kinship. During twenty years he had operateda small plantation that belonged to the Major, and he was always atleast six years behind with his rent. He had married the widow Martin, and afterward swore that he had been disgracefully deceived by her, thathe had expected much but had found her moneyless; and after this he hadbut small faith in woman. His wife died and he went into contentedmourning, and out of gratitude to his satisfied melancholy, swore thathe would pay his rent, but failed. Upon the Major he held a strong hold, and this was a puzzle to the neighbors. Their characters stood atfantastic and whimsical variance; one never in debt, the other never outof debt; one clamped by honor, the other feeling not its restrainingpinch. But together they would ride abroad, laughing along the road. ToMrs. Cranceford old Gid was a pest. With the shrewd digs of a woman, theblood-letting side stabs of her sex, she had often shown her disapprovalof the strong favor in which the Major held him; she vowed that herhusband had gathered many an oath from Gid's swollen store of execration(when, in truth, Gid had been an apt pupil under the Major), and shehad hoped that the Major's attachment to the church would of necessityfree him from the humiliating association with the old sinner, but itdid not, for they continued to ride abroad, laughing along the road. Like a skittish horse old Gid shied at the office door. Once he hadcrossed that threshold and it had cost him a crop of cotton. "How are you, John?" was Gid's salutation as he edged off, still fanninghimself. "How are you, sir?" was the Major's stiff recognition of the fact thatGid was on earth. "Getting hotter, I believe, John. " "I presume it is, sir. " The Major sat with his elbow resting on a desk, and about him were stacked threatening bundles of papers; and old Gidknew that in those commercial romances he himself was a familiarcharacter. "Are you busy, John?" "Yes, but you may come in. " "No, I thank you. Don't believe I've got time. " "Then take time. I want to talk to you. Come in. " "No, not to-day, John. Fact is I'm not feeling very well. Head's allstopped up with a cold, and these summer colds are awful, I tell you. Itwas a summer cold that took my father off. " "How's your cotton in that low strip along the bayou?" "Tolerable, John; tolerable. " "Come in. I want to talk to you about it. " "Don't believe I can stand the air in there, John. Head all stopped up. Don't believe I'm going to live very long. " "Nonsense. You are as strong as a buck. " "You may think so, John, but I'm not. I thought father was strong, too, but a summer cold got him. I am getting along in years, John, and I findthat I have to take care of myself. But if you really want to talk to meabout that piece of cotton, come out under the trees where it's cool. " The Major shoved back his papers and arose, but hesitated; and Gid stoodlooking on, fanning himself. The Major stepped out and Gid's face wassplit asunder with a broad smile. "I gad. I've been up town and had a set-to with old Baucum and the restof them. Pulled up fifty winner at poker and jumped. Devilish glad tosee you; miss you every minute of the time I'm away. Let's go over thereand sit down on that bench. " They walked toward a bench under a live-oak tree, and upon Gid'sshoulder the Major's hand affectionately rested. They halted to laugh, and old Gid shoved the Major away from him, then seized him and drew himback. They sat down, still laughing, but suddenly the Major becameserious. "Gid, I'm in trouble, " he said. "Nonsense, my boy, there is no such thing as trouble. Throw it off. Lookat me. I've had enough of what the world calls trouble to kill a dozenordinary men, but just look at me--getting stronger every day. Throw itoff. What is it, anyway?" "Louise declares that she is going to marry Pennington!" "What!" old Gid exclaimed, turning with a bouncing flounce and lookingstraight at the Major. "Marry Pennington! Why, she shan't, John. That'sall there is of it. We object and that settles it. Why, what the deucecan she be thinking about?" "Thinking about him, " the Major answered. "Yes, but she must quit it. Why, it's outrageous for as sensible a girlas she is to think of marrying that fellow. You leave it to me; hearwhat I said? Leave it to me. " This suggested shift of responsibility did not remove the shadow ofsadness that had fallen across the Major's countenance. "You leave it to me and I'll give her a talk she'll not forget. I'llmake her understand that she's a queen, and a woman is pretty devilishskittish about marrying anybody when you convince her that she's aqueen. What does your wife say about it?" "She hasn't said anything. She's out visiting and I haven't seen hersince Louise told me of her determination to marry him. " "Don't say determination, John. Say foolish notion. But it's all right. " "No, it's not all right. " "What, have you failed to trust me? Is it possible that you have lostfaith in me? Don't do that, John, for if you do it will be a neverfailing source of regret. You don't seem to remember what my powers ofpersuasion have accomplished in the past. When I was in the legislature, chairman of the Committee on County and County Lines, what did myprotest do? It kept them from cutting off a ten-foot strip of thiscounty and adding it to Jefferson. You must remember those things, John, for in the factors of persuasion lie the shaping of human life. I'vebeen riding in the hot sun and I think that a mint julep would hit menow just about where I live. Say, there, Bill, bring us some mint, sugarand whisky. And cold water, mind you. Oh, everything will come out allright. By the way, do you remember that Catholic priest that came herewith a letter of introduction to you?" "Yes, his name is Brennon. " "Yes, that's it. But how did he happen to bring a letter to you?" "He came from Maryland with a letter given him by a relative of mine. " "Yes, and he has gone to work, I tell you. Do you know what he's doing?Reaching out quietly and gathering the negroes into his church. Andthere are some pretty wise men behind him. They didn't send an Irishmanor a Dutchman or an Italian, but an American from an old family. He'salready got three negroes on my place, and Perdue tells me that he'snipping one now and then over his way. There's a scheme in it, John. " "There is a scheme in all human affairs, and consequently in all churchmovements, " the Major replied, and the impulse of a disquisitionstraightened him into a posture more dignified, for he was fond oftalking and at times he strove to be logical and impressive; but at thismoment Bill arrived with mint from the spring; and with lighter talk twojuleps were made. "Ah, " said old Gideon, sipping his scented drink, "virtue may becomewearisome, and we may gape during the most fervent prayer, but I gad, John, there is always the freshness of youth in a mint julep. Pour justa few more drops of liquor into mine, if you please--want it to rassleme a trifle, you know. Recollect those come-all ye songs we used tosing, going down the river? Remember the time I snatched the sword outof my cane and lunged at a horse trader from Tennessee? Scoundrelgrabbed it and broke it off and it was all I could do to keep him fromestablishing a close and intimate relationship with me. Great old days, John; and I Gad, they'll never come again. " "I remember it all, Gid, and it was along there that you fell in lovewith a woman that lived at Mortimer's Bend. " "Easy, now, John. A trifle more liquor, if you please. Thank you. Yes, Iused to call her the wild plum. Sweet thing, and I had no idea that shewas married until her lout of a husband came down to the landing with adouble-barrel gun. Ah, Lord, if she had been single and worth money Icould have made her very happy. Fate hasn't always been my friend, John. " "Possibly not, Gid, but you know that fate to be just should divide herfavors, and this time she leaned toward the woman. " "Slow, John. I Gad, there's your wife. " A carriage drew up at the yard gate and a woman stepped out. She did notgo into the house, but seeing the Major, came toward him. She was tall, with large black eyes and very gray hair. In her step was suggested thepride of an old Kentucky family, belles, judges and generals. She smiledat the Major and bowed stiffly at old Gid. The two men arose. "Thank you, I don't care to sit down, " she said. "Where is Louise?" "I saw her down by the river just now, " the Major answered. "I wish to see her at once, " said his wife. "Shall I go and call her, madam?" Gid asked. She gave him a look of surprise and answered: "No, I thank you. " "No trouble, I assure you, " Gid persisted. "I am pleased to say that agehas not affected my voice, except to mellow it with more of reverencewhen I address the wife of a noble man and the mother of a charminggirl. " She had dignity, but humor was never lost upon her, and she smiled. Thiswas encouraging and old Gid proceeded: "I was just telling the Major ofmy splendid prospects for a bountiful crop this year, and I feel thatwith this blessing of Providence I shall soon be able to meet all myobligations. I saw our rector, Mr. Mills, this morning, and he spoke ofhow thankful I ought to be--he had just passed my bayou field--and Itold him that I would not only assert my gratitude but would prove itwith a substantial donation to the church at the end of the season. " In the glance which she gave him there was refined and gentle contempt;and then she looked down upon the decanter of whisky. Old Gideon drewdown the corners of his mouth, as was his wont when he strove to excitecompassion. "Yes, " he said with a note of pity forced upon his voice, "I amexceedingly thankful for all the blessings that have come to me, but Ihaven't been very well of late, rather feeble to-day, and the kindMajor, noticing it, insisted upon my taking a little liquor, themedicine of our sturdy and gallant fathers, madam. " The Major sprawled himself back with a roaring laugh, and hereupon Gidadded: "It takes the Major a long time to get over a joke. Told him onejust now and it tickled him mighty nigh to death. Well, I must be goingnow, and, madam, if I should chance to see anything of your charmingdaughter, I will tell her that you desire a conference with her. William, " he called, "my horse, if you please. " CHAPTER IV. Mrs. Cranceford had met Pennington in the road, and on his horse, in theshade of a cottonwood tree, he had leaned against the carriage window totell her of his interview with the Major. He had desperately appealed tothe sympathy which one with so gentle a nature must feel for a dyingman, and had implored her to intercede with her husband; but withcompassionate firmness she had told him that no persuasion could moveher husband from the only natural position he could take, and that sheherself was forced to oppose the marriage. The Major, with his hands behind him, was now walking up and down theshort stretch of shade. "I don't wonder that the absurdity of it doesnot strike him, " he said, "for he is a drowning sentimentalist, catchingat a fantastic straw. " He paused in his walk to look at his wife as ifhe expected to find on her face a commendation of this simile. Shenodded, knowing what to do, and the Major continued, resuming his walk:"I say that I can't blame him so much, but Louise ought to have bettersense. I'll swear I don't know where she gets her stubbornness. Oh, butthere is no use worrying ourselves with a discussion of it. You may talkto her, but I have had my say. " Louise, meanwhile, was strolling along a shaded lane that led from theferry. Iron weeds grew in the corners of the fence, and in one hand shecarried a bunch of purple blooms; with the other hand she slowly swungher hat, holding the strings. A flock of sheep came pattering down theroad. With her hat she struck at the leader, a stubborn dictatordemanding the whole of the highway. His flock scampered off in a fright, leaving him doggedly eyeing the disputer of his progress. But now shewas frightened, with such fierceness did the old ram lower his head andgaze at her, and she cried out, "Go on back, you good-for-nothingthing. " "He won't hurt you, " a voice cried in the woods, just beyond the fence. "Walk right up to him. " An enormous young fellow came up to the fence and with climbing overbroke the top rail. "Don't you see he's scared?" "But he would have knocked me over if you hadn't come. " "No, he wouldn't; he was just trying to make friends with you. " "But I don't want such a friend. " Together they slowly walked along. With tenderness in his eyes he lookeddown upon her, and when he spoke, which he did from time to time, hisvoice was deep and heavy but with a mellowness in it. She addressed himas Mr. Taylor and asked him if he had been away. And he said that hehad, but that was not a sufficient reason for the formality ofMister--his name was Jim. She looked up at him--and her eyes were soblue that they looked black--and admitted that his name had been Jim butthat now it must be Mr. Taylor. She laughed at this but his face wasserious. "Why, I haven't called you Jim since----" "Since I asked you to marry me. " "No, not since then. And now you know it wouldn't be right to call youJim. " In his slowness of speech he floundered about, treading down the briarsthat grew along the edge of the road, walking with heavy tread buttenderly looking down upon her. "That ought not to make any difference, "he said. "I knew you before you--before you knew anything, and now itdoesn't sound right to hear you call me anything but Jim. It is truethat the last time I saw you--seems a long time, but it wasn't more thana week ago--you said that you wouldn't marry me, and really the timeseems so long that I didn't know but you might have changed your mind. " "No, not yet, " she replied. "But you might. " "No, I couldn't. " "Is it as bad as that?" "It's worse; it would be impossible for me to change. " "I don't suppose you know why?" "Yes, I do. I am going to be married. " "What!" He stopped, expecting her to obey his own prompting and haltalso, but she walked on. With long strides he overtook her, passed her, stood in front of her. She stepped aside and passed on. But again heovertook her, but this time he did not seek to detain her. "I can't believe it, " he said, stripping the leaves from the thornbushes and briars that came within touch of his swinging hand. "I don'tbelieve that you would marry a man unless you loved him andwho--who----" "Somebody, " she said. "Please don't tantalize me in this way. Tell me all about it. " "You know Mr. Pennington----" "Who, that poor fellow!" he cried. "You surely don't think of marryinghim. Louise, don't joke with me. Why, he can't live more than threemonths. " Now she halted and there was anger in her eyes as she looked at him, andresentful rebuke was in her voice when she spoke. "And you, too, fix thelength of time he is to live. Why do you all agree to give him threemonths? Is that all the time you are willing to allow him?" He stepped back from her and stood fumbling with his great hands. "Ididn't know that any one else had given him three months, " he replied. "I based my estimate merely on my recollection of how he looked the lasttime I saw him. I am willing to allow him all the time he wants and farmore than Nature seems willing to grant. " "No, you are not. You all want him to die. " "Don't say that, Louise. You know that I ain't that mean. But Iacknowledge that I don't want you to marry him. " "What need you care? If I refuse to marry you what difference does itmake to you whom I marry?" "It makes this difference--that I would rather see you the wife of a manthat can take care of you. Louise, they say that I'm slow abouteverything, and I reckon I am, but when a slow man loves he loves forall time. " "I don't believe it; don't believe that any man loves for all time. " "Louise, to hear you talk one might think that you have been grosslydeceived, but I know you haven't, and that is what forces me to say thatI don't understand you. " "You don't have to understand me. Nobody has asked you to. " She walked on and he strode beside her, stripping the leaves off theshrubs, looking down at her, worshipping her; and she, frail andwhimsical, received with unconcern the giant's adoration. "I told the Major that I loved you--" "Told him before you did me, didn't you?" she broke in, glancing up athim. "No, but on the same day. I knew he was my friend, and I didn't knowbut--" "That he would order me to marry you?" "No, not that, but I thought he might reason with you. " "That's just like a stupid man. He thinks that he can win a woman withreason. " He pondered a long time, seeming to feel that this bit of observationmerited well-considered reply, and at last he said: "No, I didn't thinkthat a woman could be won by something she didn't understand. " "Oh, you didn't. That was brilliant of you. But let us not spat witheach other, Jim. " "I couldn't spat with you, Louise; I think too much of you for that, andI want to say right now that no matter if you do marry I'm going to keepon loving you just the same. I have loved you so long now that I don'tknow how to quit. People say that I am industrious, and they complimentme for keeping up my place so well, and for not going to town andloafing about of a Sunday and at night, but the truth is there ain't adog in this county that's lazier than I am. During all these years mymind has been on you so strong that I have been driven to work. " She had thrown down her iron weed blossoms and had put her hands to herears to shut out his words as if they were a reproach to her, but sheheard him and thus replied: "It appears that I have been of some serviceat any rate. " "Yes, but now you are going to undo it all. " "I thought you said you were going to keep on loving me just the same. " "What! Do you want me to?" There was eagerness in his voice, and withhope tingling in his blood he remembered that a few moments before shehad called him Jim. "Do you want me to?" "I want you always to be my friend. " Under these words he drooped and there was no eagerness in his voicewhen he replied: "Friendship between a great big man and a little bit ofa woman is nonsense. They must love or be nothing to each other. " They had now reached the road that led past the Major's house. Sheturned toward home. "Wait a moment, " he said, halting. She stopped andlooked back at him. "Did you hear what I said?" "What about?" "Hear what I said about a big man and a little woman?" "No, what did you say?" He fumbled with his hands and replied: "No matter what I said then. WhatI say now is good-bye. " "Good-bye. " She tripped along as if she were glad to be rid of him, but after a timeshe walked slower as if she were deeply musing. She heard the brisktrotting of a horse, and, looking up, recognized Gideon Batts, joggingtoward her. He saw her, and, halting in the shade, he waited for her tocome up, and as she drew near he cried out, "Helloa, young rabbit. " She wrinkled her Greek nose at him, but she liked his banter, and withassumed offense she replied: "Frog. " "None of that, my lady. " "Well, then, what made you call me a young rabbit?" "Because your ears stick out. " "I don't care if they do. " "Neither does a young rabbit. " "I call you a frog because your eyes stick out and because you are sopuffy. " "Slow, now, my lady, queen of the sunk lands. Oh, but they are layingfor you at home and you are going to catch it. I'd hate to be in yourfix. " "And I wouldn't be in yours. " "Easy, now. You allude to my looks, eh? Why, I have broken more than oneheart. " "Why, I didn't know you had been married but once. " He winced. "Look here, you mustn't talk that way. " "But you began it. You called me a young rabbit. " "That's right, and now we will call it off. What a memory you've got. Igad, once joke with a woman and her impudence--which she mistakes forwit--leaps over all difference in ages. But they are laying for you athome and you are going to catch it. I laughed at them; told them it wasnonsense to suppose that the smartest girl in the state was going tomarry--" "You've said enough. I don't need your championship. " "But you've got it and can't help yourself. Why, so far as brains areconcerned, the average legislator can't hold a candle to you. " "That's no compliment. " "Slow. I was in the legislature. " "Yes, one term, I hear. " "Why did you hear one term?" "Because they didn't send you back, I suppose. " "Easy. But I tell you that the Major and your mother are furious. Yourmother said--" "She said very little in your presence. " "Careful. She said a great deal. But I infer from your insinuation thatshe doesn't think very well of me. " "You ought to know. " "I do; I know that she is wrong in her estimate of me. And I also knowthat I am right in my estimate of her. She is the soul of gentleness andquiet dignity. But you like me, don't you?" "I am ashamed to say that I like you in spite of my judgment. " "Easy. That's good, I must say. Ah, the influence I have upon people issomewhat varied. Upon a certain type of woman, the dignified lady of apassing generation, I exercise no particular influence, but I catch theover-bright young women in spite of themselves. The reason you think somuch of me is because you are the brightest young woman I ever saw. Andthis puts me at a loss to understand why you are determined to marrythat fellow Pennington. Wait a moment. I gad, if you go I'll ride alongwith you. Answer me one question: Is your love for him so great thatyou'll die if you don't marry him? Or is it that out of a perversitythat you can't understand you are determined to throw away a life thatcould be made most useful? Louise, we have joked with each other eversince you were a child. In my waddling way I have romped with you, and Ican scarcely realize that you are nearly twenty-four years old. Think ofit, well advanced toward the age of discretion, and yet you are about togive yourself to a dying man. I don't know what to say. " "It seems not, " she replied. And after a moment's pause she added: "If Iam so well advanced toward the age of discretion I should be permittedto marry without the advice of an entire neighborhood. " She was now standing in the sun, looking up at him, her half-closed eyesglinting like blue-tempered steel. "Is marriage wholly a matter of selfishness?" she asked. "Slow. If you are putting that to me as a direct question I am, as a manwho never shies at the truth, compelled to say that it is. But let meask you if it is simply a matter of accommodation? If it is, why notsend out a collection of handsome girls to marry an aggregation ofcripples?" Her eyes were wide open now and she was laughing. "No one could beserious with you, Mr. Gid. " "And no one could make you serious with yourself. " "Frog. " "Young rabbit. " She put her hands to her ears. "I would rather be a young rabbit than afrog. " "Wait a moment, " he called as she turned away. "Well. " "When you go home I wish you'd tell your mother that I talked to youseriously concerning the foolishness of your contemplated marriage. Willyou do that much for your old playmate?" She made a face at him and trippingly hastened away. He looked afterher, shook his head, gathered up his bridle reins, and jogged off towardhis home. CHAPTER V. At home Louise made known her arrival by singing along the hallway thatled to her room. She knew that not a very pleasant reception awaitedher, and she was resolved to meet it with the appearance of carelessgayety. She entered her room, drew back the curtains to admit the light, deftly touched her hair at the mirror, and sat down in a rocking chair. She took up a book, an American fad built upon a London failure, and wasaimlessly turning the leaves when she heard her mother's voice. "Are you in there, Louise?" "Yes, come. " In the mother's appearance there was no suggestion of a stored rebuke;her gray hair, faultlessly parted, was smoothed upon her brow, hercountenance bespoke calmness, and her sad eyes were full of tender love. "Oh, you look so cool and sweet, " said the girl. "Have this chair. " "No, thank you, I prefer to sit here. " She sat upon a straight-back chair. In her "day" only grandmothers weresupposed to sit in rockers; younger women were thought to preservetheir health and their grace of form by sitting with rigid dignity uponchairs which might now be exhibited as relics of household barbarism. "Did you have a pleasant visit?" the girl asked. "Yes, very; but it was so warm over there under the hills that I wasglad when the time came to leave. " "Does that Englishman still live alone on the Jasper place?" "Yes, with his straight pipe and Scotch whisky. Perdue says that heappears to be perfectly contented there all alone. " "Have they found out anything about him?" "No, only what he has been pleased to tell, and that isn't much. Itseems that he is the younger son of a good family strayed off from hometo better his condition. " "But why should he try to raise cotton when they say there is so littlemoney in it, and especially when it requires experience? And the climatemust be trying on him?" "No, he says that the climate agrees with him. He has lived in India. Heis reading American history and is much taken with the part the Southhas borne, so I learned from Mr. Perdue. He did not expect to find solittle prejudice against foreigners. I could have told him that, in theSouth, an Englishman is scarcely looked upon as a foreigner--that is, among the best people. " They talked about many things that concerned them but little, of a newsteamboat that had just entered upon the commerce of the lower river, ofa cotton gin that was burned the night before, of the Catholic priestwho had come to gather the negroes into his church; and surely they werefar from a mention of Pennington. But suddenly Louise moved withuneasiness, for she had caught something that had not been said, thathad not been looked, and, springing to her feet, she almost threwherself upon her mother, and with her arms about her, she cried: "Pleasedon't say a word; please don't. I can argue with father, but I can'targue with you, for you take everything so to heart and suffer so much. Please don't speak anybody's name--don't say that father has saidanything to you about anybody. You mustn't cry, either. Leave it all tome, and if I was born to wring your dear heart--there, let us hush. " She straightened up, putting the hair out of her eyes, and the silentand stately woman sat there with the tears rolling down her face. "Please don't, mother. You'll make me think I'm the meanest creature inthe world. And I don't know but that I am, but I can't help it. Justcall me unnatural, as you have done so many times, and let it all go. There, just listen at father walking up and down the porch; and I knowhe's mad at me. " "No, my child, he is not angry; he is hurt. " "Please don't say that. I don't want to hurt him. I would rather makehim mad than to hurt him. Oh, I don't know what ails me, I am sorestless and unhappy. I have tried every way to cure myself, butcan't--I have read and read until I haven't any sense, and now I don'tknow what to do. But don't you tell me what not to do; don't sayanything, but be your own sweet self. " She took up a brush from the dresser, touched her mother's hair, andsaid: "Let me, please. " She loosened the thick coil. "Beautiful, " shesaid. "Don't you know how I used to tease you to let me comb it, a longtime ago? But it wasn't as pretty then as it is now. " Through her fingers the white hair streamed, glinting in the light nowsobered by the falling of dusk. The Major's step was heard at the door. "Come in, father. See, I am atmy old employment. " And in their faces and in the hair streaming throughhis daughter's fingers the old man read that all was well. He stoodsmiling at them. Out in the yard the fox-hounds began to yelp, and agalloping horse stopped with a loud, jolting "gluck" at the gate. Thencame authoritative commands, and then a jar as if some one had leapedupon the porch. There was brisk walking, the opening and slamming ofdoors, and then at Louise's door a voice demanded: "What are you alldoing here in the dark? Ain't supper ready? I'm as hungry as a shebear. " The Major's son Tom had arrived. And just at that moment, and before anyone replied to him, the supper bell began to ring. "Takes me to bringthings about, eh? You people might have waited here hungry for an hour. What are you doing here, anyway? Lou brushing mam's hair and pap lookingon like a boy at a show. " "Thomas, " said his mother, "I wish you wouldn't be so rough. There, daughter, that will do. Just coil it. That's it; thank you. Major, I dowish you wouldn't laugh at the brusqueness of your son; you encouragehim. " Tom took his mother by the shoulders and turned her face toward thedoor. He was a clean-looking, blondish fellow, younger than hissister--an athlete, a boxer, with far more restlessness of muscle thanabsorption of mind. He had failed at Harvard, where hisgreat-grandfather had distinguished himself; he had, with the influenceof a Congressman, secured a West Point cadetship, and there had fallenunder the rapid fire of a battery of mathematics, and had come homescouting at the humiliation which he had put upon his parents, and wasnow ready to submit himself to any other test that might presentitself--was ready to borrow, to lend, or to fight. He picked negro tuneson a banjo, and had been heard hoarsely to sing a love song under acypress tree. He had now just returned from the capital of the state, where he had spent two days watching the flank movements of a militarydrill. "You people seem to be mighty solemn, " was Tom's observation as they satdown to supper, glancing from one to another, and finally directing aquestioning look at his father. "What's the trouble? What's happened? Isit possible that old Gideon has paid his rent?" Louise laughed, a wrinkle crept across Mrs. Cranceford's brow and theMajor sprawled back with a loud "haw. " Gid's rent was a standing joke;and nothing is more sacredly entitled to instant recognition than a jokethat for years has been established in a Southern household. "I notice that he never goes into the Major's office, " Mrs. Crancefordremarked; and Tom quickly replied: "And I don't blame him for that. Iwent in there about a month ago and haven't had a dollar since. " The Major did not laugh at this. The reputed exaction of his executivechamber was a sore spot to him. "How you robbers, young and old, wouldlike to fleece me, " he said. "And if I didn't turn to defensive stoneonce in a while you'd pull out my eye teeth. " "Don't see how anybody could get hold of your eye teeth, dad, " Tomreplied. "You are always busy cutting them when I come round. Oh, bythe way, " he added with sudden seriousness, "you remember that fellowMayo, the one that ran for County Clerk down here some time ago?" "The scoundrel who swore he was elected?" "That's the man. He disappeared, you know, after his trouble down here, then he went on from one community to another, a Democrat one season anda Republican the next, and now he has returned as a labor leader. I methim yesterday in Little Rock, and I never have seen a more insolentruffian. He makes no secret of his plans, and he says that blood isbound to flow. I asked him if he had any to spare, and he cocked his eyeat me and replied that he didn't know but he had. " The Major was silent, abstractedly balancing his knife on the rim of hisplate. Mayo, an adventurer, a scoundrel with a brutish force that passedfor frankness, had at one time almost brought about an uprising amongthe negroes of Cranceford County, and eager ears in the North, not theears of the old soldier, but of the politician, shutting out thesuggestions of justice, heard only the clamor of a political outrage;and again arose the loud cry that the South had robbed the inoffensivenegro of his suffrage. But the story, once so full of alarm, wasbeginning to be a feeble reminiscence; Northern men with businessinterests in the South had begun to realize that the white man, thoughoften in the wrong, could sometimes be in the right. But now aproblem--graver than the over-thrashed straw of political rights, wasabout to be presented. "I was in hopes that somebody had killed that fellow, " said the Major, and his wife looked up with gentle reproof. "Don't say that, dear. TheLord will take him in His own good time. " The old gentleman winked at Tom. "I don't know about that, " he replied. "I am afraid that the Lord in His management of the universe hasforgotten him. " "John, please don't talk that way. " When she was very serious she calledhim John. "When you speak so lightly you make me afraid that yourrelationship with the church is not very sacred to you. " "It's serious at any rate, Margaret. " "What do you mean by that, John?" "Why, " Tom cried, "it means that you dragged him into the pow-wow. " "Thomas"--and this time her reproof was not very gentle--"I won't standthat from you. And daughter, " she added, speaking to Louise, "it is nota laughing matter. It all comes from so close an association with thatgood-for-nothing old Gideon. I know it does, and you needn't say a word. Nothing is sacred to him; he has no respect for God and cares nothingfor man except to the extent that he can use him. " The Major strove to wink at Tom, but there was a hitch in his eye. "Mydear, you don't understand the old fellow, " said he. "And therefore youmisjudge him. I know that he is weak, but I also know that he is strong, and he is quite as necessary to me as I am to him. He rests me, and restis as essential as work. Sometimes the perfect gentleman is a bore;sometimes the perfect lady is tiresome. In man there is a sort ofinnocent evil, a liking for the half depraved and an occasional feedingof this appetite heightens his respect for the truly virtuous. " "I don't believe it, John. " "Of course you don't. You are the truly virtuous, and--" he spreadhimself back with a loud "haw, " and sat there shaking under her coolgaze. "There, Margaret, " he said, wiping his eyes, "don't take it toheart. I am doing the best I can and that is all the excuse I have tooffer. I'm getting old; do you realize that? The things that used toamuse me are flat now and I can't afford to kill an amusement when onedoes happen to come along. Don't you worry about Gid. Why, Margaret, hehas stood by me when other men turned their backs. The river wasdangerous during my day, and the pop of a pistol was as natural as thebark of a dog. But old Gid was there by me. " "Oh, I don't doubt that he has some good qualities, " she admitted. "Butwhy doesn't he mend his ways?" "Oh, he hasn't time for that, Margaret. He's too busy with othermatters. There, now, we won't talk about him. But I promise you, mydear, that he shall not unduly influence me. I don't exactly know what Imean by that, either. I mean that you need have no fear of my permittinghim to weaken my respect for the church. Yes, I think that's about whatI mean. But the fact is he has never tried to do that. But what's theuse of this talk. I can sum up the whole situation by reminding you thatI am the master. There, now, don't sigh--don't look so worried. " "But, John, it grieves me to hear you say that you need him. " "Had to step back to pick that up, didn't you? Tom, after you're marriedyou'll find that your wife will look with coldness or contempt upon yourmost intimate friend. It's the absurdest jealousy in woman's nature. " "Thomas, " said his mother, "you will find nothing of the sort; but I'lltell you what you may expect from the right sort of a wife--contempt fora coarse, low-bred fellow, should you insist upon holding him as yourclosest companion. " "Mother, " Louise spoke up, "I think you are too severe. Mr. Batts ishemmed in with faults, but he has many good points. And I canunderstand why he is necessary to father. I am fond of him, and I amalmost ready to declare that at times he is almost necessary to me. No, I won't make it as strong as that, but I must say that at times it is akeen pleasure to jower with him. " "To do what?" Mrs. Cranceford asked. "Jower with him? Where did you getthat word?" "It's one of his, picked up from among the negroes, I think, and itmeans more than dispute or wrangle. We jower at times--quarrel a littlemore than half in earnest. " "Well, " said the mother, "perhaps I ought not to say anything, but Ican't help it when I am so often hurt by that man's influence. Why, lastSunday afternoon your father left the rector sitting here and went awaywith that old sinner, and we heard them haw-hawing over in the woods. But I won't say any more. " "You never do, Margaret, " the Major replied, winking at Louise. "But letus drop him. So you saw Mayo, eh?" he added, turning to Tom. "Yes, sir, and I understand that he is coming back down here to prove tothe negroes that we are cheating them out of their earnings. " The Major tossed a cigar to Tom, lighted one, and had begun to talk witha rhetorical and sententious balancing of periods--which, to his mind, full of the oratory of Prentiss, was the essence of impressiveness--whena negro woman entered the room. And hereupon he changed the subject. When bedtime came the old gentleman stood on a rug in front of a largefire-place, meditatively winding his watch. His wife sat on astraight-back chair, glancing over the harmless advertisements in areligious newspaper. In the parlor they had spent an agreeable evening, with music and with never an allusion to an unpleasant subject, butthere was something finer than an allusion, and it had passed fromhusband to wife and back again--a look at each other and a glance towardLouise. But they had laughed at the girl's imitation of a cakewalk, andyet in the minds of the father and the mother was the low echo of ahollow cough. Affectionately she had kissed them good night, and hadstarted off down the hall in mimicry of a negro belle's walk, but theyhad heard her door shut with a quick slam as if she were at lastimpelled to be truthful with herself, to close herself in with her ownmeditations. The Major hung his watch on a nail above the mantel-piece. From afar-off nook of the sprawling old house came the pling-plang of theboy's banjo. "Margaret?" "Yes, dear. " "What did you say to her?" She began to fold the newspaper. "I didn't say anything. She wouldn'tpermit me. " "What do you think?" "That she will do as she pleases. " "Consoling, by the--consoling, I must say. But I tell you she won't. Iwill shame her out of it. " CHAPTER VI. The top of the cotton stalk glimmered with a purple bloom, but downbetween the rows, among the dying leaves, the first bolls were opening. The air was still hot, for at noontime the glare in the sandy road wasfierce, but the evening was cool, and from out in the gleaming dew camea sweetly, lonesome chirrup, an alarm in the grass, the picket of theinsect army, crying the approach of frost. In the atmosphere was feltthe influence of a reviving activity; new cotton pens were built alongthe borders of the fields, and the sounds of hammer and saw were heardin the neighborhood of the gin-house. With the dusk of Saturday evening"new" negroes came. In the city they had idled the summer away, gambling, and had now come with nimble fingers to pick cotton during theday and with tricky hands to throw dice at night. Gaunt, long-leggedbirds flew from the North and awkwardly capered on a sand-bar. Afar offthere appeared to hover over the landscape a pall of thin, pale smoke;but, like the end of the rainbow, it stole back from closer view, wasalways afar off, lying low to the earth. The autumn rains had not yetset in, and the water in the bayou was low and yellow. The summergrapes were ripe, and in the cool, shaded coves at the base of the hillsthe muscadine was growing purple. The mules, so over-worked duringplow-time, now stumbled down the lane, biting at one another. Thestiffening wind, fore-whistle of the season's change of tune, was shrillamid the rushes at the edge of the swamp. It was a time to work, but also to muse and dream while working. In theair was something that invited, almost demanded reverie. Upon the fieldsthere might lie many a mortgage, but who at such a time could worry overthe harsh exactions of debt? Nearly three weeks had passed, and not again in the Major's householdhad Pennington's name been mentioned. But once, alone with his wife, theMajor was leading up to it when she held up her hands and besought himto stop. "I can't bear to think of it, " she said. "It stuns andstupefies me. But it is of no use to say anything to her. She is of ageand she is head-strong. " There was a dry rasp in the Major's throat. "Don't you think that to sayshe is a crank would be hitting nearer the mark?" "No, I don't, " his wife answered. "She is not a crank. She is aremarkably bright woman. " "Yes, she shows it. When a man does a fool thing he is weak, off, asthey say; but when a woman jumps out of the enclosure of common sensewe must say that she is bright. " "I thought you were going to shame her out of it?" "I will, but she hasn't given me a chance. But we'll let it go. Ibelieve she has repented of her folly and is too much humiliated to makea confession. " His wife smiled sadly. "Don't you think so?" he asked. "No, I don't. " "Well, I must say that you are very calm over the situation. " "Didn't I tell you that I was stunned and stupefied by it?" "Yes, that's all right, and there's no use in worrying with it. Commonsense says that when you can't help a thing the best plan is to let itgo until a new phase is presented. " And so they ceased to discuss the subject, but like a heavy weight itlay upon them, and under it they may have sighed their worry, but theyspoke it not. From Tom this sentimental flurry had remained securelyhidden. Sometimes the grave tone of his father's words, overheard atnight, and his mother's distressful air, during the day, struck him witha vague apprehension, but his mind was not keen enough to cut into thecause of what he might have supposed to be a trouble; and so, he gave itnone of his time, so taken up with his banjo, his dogs, his sportingnewspaper, and his own sly love affair. In Louise's manner no change wasobserved. One afternoon the Major, old Gid, and an Englishman named Anthony Lowwere sitting on the porch overlooking the river when the Catholic priestfrom Maryland, Father Brennon, stopped to get a drink of water. And hewas slowly making his way across the yard to the well when the Majorcalled him, urging him to come upon the porch and rest himself. "Wait, "the Major added, "and I'll have some water drawn for you. " "I thank you, " the priest replied, bowing, "but I prefer to draw it. "When he had drunk out of the bucket, he took a seat on the porch. He wasa man of middle age, grave, and sturdy. His eyes were thoughtful and hissmile was benevolent; his brow was high and broad, his nose large andstrong, and a determined conviction seemed to have molded the shape ofhis mouth. His speech was slow, resonant, dignified; his accent ofcommon words was Southern, but in some of his phrases was a slight burr, the subdued echo of a foreign tongue. The Englishman was a stocky young fellow, with light hair and reddishside whiskers, a man of the world, doggedly careful in his use ofsuperlatives, but with a habit of saying, "most extraordinary. " He hadrented an old plantation and lived alone in a dilapidated log house, with his briar pipe, Scotch whisky, sole leather hatbox, and tinbathtub. He had thought that it would be a sort of lark to grow a cropof cotton, and had hired three sets of negroes, discharging them in turnupon finding that they laughed at his ways and took advantage of hisinexperience. He had made his first appearance by calling one morning atthe Major's house and asking to be shown about the place. The Majorgladly consented to do this, and together they set out on horseback. The planter knew much of English hospitality, gathered from oldromances, and now was come the time to show a Britain what an Americangentleman could do. They rode down a lane, crossed a small field, andhalted under a tree; and there was a negro with whisky, mint and sugar. They crossed a bayou, passed the "quarters, " turned into the woods; andthere was another negro with whisky, mint and sugar. They rode across alarge field, and went through a gate, came to a spring; and therewaiting for them was a negro with liquor for a julep. They turned intothe "big" road, trotted along until they came to another spring, atleast three miles from the starting point; and there was a negro withwhisky, sugar and mint. But the Englishman's only comment was, "Ah, most extraordinary, how that fellow can keep ahead of us, you know. " Several months had elapsed, and the Major had called on Mr. Low, hadshouted at the yard-gate, had supposed that no one was at home, hadstalked into the wide open house and there had found the Englishmansitting in his bathtub, reading Huxley. And to-day Mr. Low had come toacknowledge the receipt of that visit. "You are on the verge of your busy season, " said the priest. "Yes, " the Major replied, "we begin picking to-morrow. " "A beautiful view across the whitening fields, " said the priest. "You ought to see my bayou field, " old Gid spoke up. "It would make youopen your eyes--best in the state. Don't you think so, John?" "Well, " the Major answered, "it is as good as any, I suppose. " "I tell you it's the best, " Gid insisted. "And as a man of variedexperience I ought to know what best is. Know all about cotton. I gad, Ican look at a boll and make it open. " "Tell me, " said the Englishman, "have you had any trouble with yourlabor?" "With the negroes?" Gid asked. "Oh, no; they know what they've got to doand they do it. But let a cog slip and you can have all the trouble youwant. I gad, you can't temporize with a negro. He's either your servantor your boss. " "All the trouble you want, " said the Englishman. "By Jove, I don't wantany. Your servant or your master. Quite remarkable. " "Don't know how remarkable it is, but it's a fact all the same, " Gidreplied. "You've had trouble, I understand. " "Yes, quite a bit. I've had to drive them off a time or two; the rascalslaughed at me. Quite full of fun they were, I assure you. I had thoughtthat they were a solemn race. They are everywhere else except inAmerica. " "It is singular, " the Major spoke up, "but it is nevertheless true thatthe American negro is the only species of the African race that has asense of humor. There's no humor in the Spanish negro, nor in theEnglish negro, nor in fact in the American negro born north of the Ohioriver, but the Southern negro is as full of drollery as a black bear. " "Ah, yes, a little too full of it, I fancy, " Mr. Low replied. "Ithreatened them with the law, but they laughed the more and were reallyworse in every respect after that. " "With the law!" old Gid snorted. "What the deuce do they care about thelaw, and what sort of law do you reckon could keep a man from laughing?You ought to threatened them with a snake bone or a rabbit's foot. " "I beg pardon. A snake bone or a rabbit's foot, did you say? I reallydon't understand. " "Yes, threaten to conjure them. That might have fetched them. " "Ah, I see. Quite extraordinary, I assure you. " The priest began to talk, and with profound attention they turned tohim. He sat there with the mystery of the medieval ages about him, witha great and silent authority behind him. "Have you gentlemen ever considered the religious condition of thenegro? Have you not made his religion a joke? Is it not a popular beliefthat he will shout at his mourners' bench until midnight and steal achicken before the dawn? He has been taught that religion is purely anemotion and not a matter of duty. He does not know that it means a lifeof inward humanity and outward obedience. I have come to teach him this, to save him; for in our church lies his only salvation, not alone of hissoul, but of his body and of his rights as well as of his soul. I speakboldly, for I am an American, the descendant of American patriots. And Itell you that the Methodist negro and the Baptist negro and thePresbyterian negro are mere local issues; but the Catholic negro isinternational--he belongs to the great nervous system of Rome; andwhenever Rome reaches out and draws him in, he is that moment removed asa turbulent element from politics. Although slavery was long agoabolished, there existed and to some small extent still exists a bondbetween the white man and the black man of the South--a sort of familytie; but this tie is straining and will soon be broken; a new generationis coming, and the negro and the white man will be two antagonisticforces, holding in common no sunny past--one remembering that his fatherwas a master, the other that his father was a slave. When that timecomes, and it is almost at hand, there will be a serious trouble growingout of a second readjustment. The Anglo-Saxon race cannot live on aperfect equality with any other race; it must rule; it demands completeobedience. And the negro will resent this demand, more and more as theold family ties are weakened. He has seen that his support at the Northwas merely a political sentiment, and must know that it will not sustainhim in his efforts against capital, for capital, in the eye of capital, is always just, and labor, while unfortunate, is always wrong. And whenthe negro realizes this, remembering all his other wrongs, he willbecome desperate. That is the situation. But is there no way to avertthis coming strife? I am here to say that there is. As communicants ofthe Catholic Church the negroes will not listen to the labor agitator. He will listen to the church, which will advise peace and submission toproper authority. " The priest had not gone far into his discourse before the Major began towalk up and down the porch in front of him, nodding at him each time ashe passed. And when the clergyman ceased to speak, the Major, haltingand facing him, thus replied: "There may be some truth, sir, in what youhave said--there is some little truth in the wildest of speculation--butI should like to ask you why is not a Protestant negro in a Protestantcountry as safe as a Catholic negro in a Protestant country? You tell methat your religion will protect the negro, and I ask you why it does notprotect the laborer in the North? You say that the Protestant negro inthe South is a local issue, and I ask you why is not a Catholic laborerin the North an international issue? If the negro of the South, yieldingto your persuasion, is to become a part of the great nervous system ofRome, why are not Catholic laborers everywhere a part of that system? Ithink, sir, that you have shrewdly introduced a special plea. Yourchurch, with its business eyes always wide open, sees a chance to makeconverts and is taking advantage of it. And I will not say that I willoppose your cause. If the negro thinks that your church is better forhim than the Protestant churches have proved themselves to be, why I saylet him be taken in. I admit that we are not greatly concerned over thenegro's religion. We are satisfied with the fact that he has hischurches and that he has always been amply provided with preachersagreeing with him in creed and color of skin. I will concede that hisprofessions of faith are regarded more or less in the light of a joke. But I want to tell you one thing--that the negro's best friends livehere in the South. From us he knows exactly what to expect. He knowsthat he cannot rule us--knows that he must work for a living. The landsbelong to the white man and the white man pays the taxes, and the whiteman would be a fool to permit the negro to manage his affairs. Men whodig in the coal mines of Pennsylvania don't manage the affairs of thecompany that owns the mines. I cannot question the correctness of one ofyour views--that the old tie is straining and may soon be broken. Theold negroes still regard us with a sort of veneration, but if theyounger ones show respect it is out of fear. Into this county a largenumber of negroes have lately come from Mississippi and South Carolina. They have been brought up on large plantations and have but a limitedacquaintance with the white man. Instinctively they hate him. And thesenewcomers will listen to the voice of the agitator and by their examplewill lead their brethren into trouble. You are right when you say thatthe Anglo-Saxon race must rule. It will rule a community as it musteventually rule the civilized world. But I don't see how your church isto be the temporal as well as the spiritual salvation of the negro. " The Major sat down; the priest smiled gravely, showing the shape intowhich conviction and determination had molded his mouth. "My church isnot at all times able to prevent labor troubles in the North, " said he, "but it has often prevented the shedding of blood. " "Ah, " the Major broke in, "that may be true; and so has the influence ofthe other churches. But what I want to know is this: How can you protecta negro here more than you protect an Italian in the North?" "My dear sir, the Italian in the North is protected. " "I grant you, but by the law rather than by the church. " "But is not the church behind the law?" There was a shrewd twinkle inthe priest's eyes, and he was about to proceed with his talk when oldGid snorted: "I gad, I hear that the public schools of the North are inthe hands of the Catholics, and if that's the case I reckon they've gota pretty good hold on the court house. I understand that they daresn'topen a Bible in the public schools of Chicago; and they also tell methat the children there have to learn Dutch. Zounds, ain't that enoughto make old Andy Jackson rattle his bones in his grave? I wish I had myway for a few weeks. I'd show the world that this is America. I'd catchlow-browed wretches carrying all sorts of spotted and grid-ironed flagsthrough the streets. Dutch! Now, I'd just like to hear a child of minegabbling Dutch. " The priest addressed himself to the Major: "You ask how we are toprotect the negro in the South. I will tell you--by teaching him thatexcept in the Catholic Church he cannot hope to find perfect equality. Our communion knows no color--save red, and that is the blood of Christ. Our religion is the only true democracy, but a democracy which teachesthat a man must respect himself before he should expect others torespect him. But, my dear Major, I am not here to convince you, but toconvince the negro. He has been buffeted about by political parties, andnow it remains for the church to save him. One of these days an actrather than a word may convince you. " Tom had come out upon the porch. For a time he stood, listening, thenquickly stepping down into the yard, he gazed toward the dairy house, into which, accompanied by a negro woman, had gone a slim girl, wearinga gingham sun-bonnet. The girl came out, carrying a jug, and hastenedtoward the yard gate. Tom heard the gate-latch click and then steppedquickly to the corner of the house; and when out of sight he almost ranto overtake the girl. She had reached the road, and she pretended towalk faster when she heard his footsteps. She did not raise her eyes ashe came up beside her. "Let me carry the jug, Sallie. " "No, I can carry it. " "Give it to me. " He took the jug and she looked up at him with a smile. "How's your uncle, Sallie?" "He ain't any better. " Her uncle was Wash Sanders. Twenty years had passed since he had firstissued a bulletin that he was dying. He had liver trouble and a strongcombination of other ailments, but he kept on living. At first theneighbors had confidence in him, and believed that he was about to passaway, but as the weeks were stretched into years, as men who had beenstrong and hearty were one by one borne to the grave, they began to losefaith in Wash Sanders. All day long he would sit on his shaky verandah, built high off the ground, and in answer to questions concerning hishealth would answer: "Can't keep up much longer; didn't sleep a winklast night. Don't eat enough to keep a chicken alive. " His cows appearedalways to be dry, and every day he would send his niece, Sallie Pruitt, for a jug of buttermilk. He had but one industry, the tending andscraping of a long nail on the little finger of his left hand. He had awife, but no children. His niece had recently come from the pine woodsof Georgia. Her hair looked like hackled flax and her eyes were largeand gray. "I didn't think you could see me, " said the girl, taking off her bonnetand swinging it as she walked, keeping a sort of time with it. "Why, you couldn't possibly come and get away without my seeing you. " "Yes, I could if it was night. " "Not much. I could see you in the dark, you are so bright. " "I'm not anything of the sort. Give me the jug and let me go on bymyself if you are goin' to make fun of me. " She reached for the jug and he caught her hand, and walking along, heldit. "I wouldn't want to hold anybody's hand that I'd made fun of, " she said, striving, though gently, to pull it away. "I didn't make fun of you. I said you were bright and you are. To me youare the brightest thing in the world. Whenever I dream of you I awakewith my eyes dazzled. " "Oh, you don't, no such of a thing. " They saw a wagon coming, and he dropped her hand. He stepped to theright, she to the left, and the wagon passed between them. She lookedat him in alarm. "That's bad luck, " she said. "What is?" "To let anything pass between us. " "Oh, it doesn't make any difference. " "Yes, it does, " she insisted. "No, you mustn't take my handagain--you've let something pass between us. " He awkwardly grabbed after her hand. She held it behind her, and abouther waist he pressed his arm. "Oh, don't do that. Somebody might seeus. " "I don't care if the whole world sees us. " "You say that now, but after awhile you'll care. " "Never as long as I live. You know I love you. " "No, I don't. " "Yes, you do. " "You might say you do, but you don't. But even if you do love me now youwon't always. " "Yes, as long as I live. " She looked up at him, and her eyes were full of beauty and tenderness. "Your mother----" "None of that, " he broke in. "I am my own master. To me you are the mostbeautiful creature in the world, and----" "Somebody's comin', " she said. A horseman came round a bend in the road, and he stepped off from her, but they did not permit the horseman to pass between them. He did notput his arm about her again, for now they were within sight of heruncle's desolate house. They saw Wash Sanders sitting on the verandah. Tom carried the jug as far as the yard gate. "Won't you come in?" Sanders called. "I ought to be getting back, I guess. " "Might come in and rest awhile. " Tom hesitated a moment and then passed through the gate. The girl hadrun into the house. "How are you getting along?" the young man asked as he began slowly totramp up the steps. "Porely, mighty porely. Thought I was gone last night--didn't sleep awink. And I don't eat enough to keep a chicken alive. " "Wouldn't you like a mess of young squirrels?" Tom asked, as he sat downin a hickory rocking chair. Of late he had become interested in WashSanders, and had resented the neighbors' loss of confidence in him. "Well, you might bring 'em if it ain't too much trouble, but I don'tbelieve I could eat 'em. Don't eat enough to keep a chicken alive. " He lifted his pale hand, and with his long finger nail scratched hischin. "What's the doctor's opinion?" Tom asked, not knowing what else to sayand feeling that at that moment some expression was justly demanded ofhim. "The doctors don't say anything now; they've given me up. From the firstthey saw that I was a dead man. Last doctor that gave me medicine was afellow from over here at Gum Springs, and I wish I may die dead if hedidn't come in one of finishin' me right there on the spot. " There came a tap at a window that opened out upon the verandah, and theyoung fellow, looking around, saw the girl sitting in the "best room. "She tried to put on the appearance of having accidentally attracted hisattention. He moved his chair closer to the window. "How did you know I was in here?" she asked, looping back the whitecurtain. "I can always tell where you are without looking. " "Are you goin' to make fun of me again?" "If I could even eat enough to keep a chicken alive I think I'd feelbetter, " said Wash Sanders, looking far off down the road. "I never did make fun of you, " the young fellow declared in a whisper, leaning close to the window. "And I wish you wouldn't keep on sayingthat I do. " "I won't say it any more if you don't want me to. " "But I can't eat and can't sleep, and that settles it, " said WashSanders. "Of course I don't want you to say it. It makes me think that you arelooking for an excuse not to like me. " "Would you care very much if I didn't like you?" "If I had taken another slug of that Gum Springs doctor's stuff Icouldn't have lived ten minutes longer, " said Wash Sanders. And thus they talked until the sun was sinking into the tops of thetrees, far down below the bend in the river. CHAPTER VII. At the Major's house the argument was still warm and vigorous. But theevening was come, and the bell-cow, home from her browsing, was ringingfor admittance at the barn-yard gate. The priest arose to go. At thatmoment there was a heavy step at the end of the porch, the slow andponderous tread of Jim Taylor. He strode in the shadow and in thegathering dusk recognition of him would not have been easy, but by hisbulk and height they knew him. But he appeared to have lost a part ofhis great strength, and he drooped as he walked. "Where is the Major?" he asked, and his voice was hoarse. "Here, my boy. Why, what's the trouble?" "Let me see you a moment, " he said, halting. The Major arose, and the giant, with one stride forward, caught him bythe arm and led him away amid the black shadows under the trees. Mrs. Cranceford came out upon the porch and stood looking with cooldisapproval upon the priest. At a window she had sat and heard himenunciate his views. Out in the yard Jim Taylor said something in abroken voice, and the Major, madly bellowing, came bounding toward thehouse. "Margaret, " he cried, "Louise is married!" The woman started, uttered not a sound, but hastening to meet him, tookhim by the hand. Jim Taylor came ponderously walking from amid the blackshadows. The Englishman and old Gid stole away. The priest stood calmlylooking upon the old man and his wife. "John, come and sit down, " she said. "Raving won't do any good. We mustbe seemly, whatever we are. " She felt the eye of the priest. "Who toldyou, Mr. Taylor?" "The justice of the peace. They were married about an hour ago, lessthan half a mile from here. " She led the Major to a chair, and he sat down heavily. "She shall neverdarken my door again, " he declared, striving to stiffen his shoulders, but they drooped under his effort. "Don't say that, dear; don't say that. It is so cold and cruel. " "But I do say it--ungrateful little wretch. It rises up within me and Ican't keep from saying it. " The priest stepped forward and raised his hand. "May the blessings ofour Heavenly Father rest upon this household, " he said. The woman lookeda defiance at him. He bowed and was gone. Jim Taylor stood with hishead hung low. Slowly he began to speak. "Major, you and your wife arehumiliated, but I am heart-broken. You are afflicted with a sorrow, butI am struck down with grief. But I beg of you not to say that she shan'tcome home again. Her marriage doesn't alter the fact that she is yourdaughter. Her relationship toward you may not be so much changed, but tome she is lost. I beg you not to say she shan't come home again. " Mrs. Cranceford tenderly placed her hand on the giant's arm. He shookunder her touch. "I will say it and I mean it. She has put her feet on our love and hasthrown herself away, and I don't want to see her again. I do think sheis the completest fool I ever saw in my life. Yes, and we loved her so. And Tom--it will break his heart. " In the dusk the wife's white hand was gleaming--putting back the grayhair from her husband's eyes. "And we still love her so, dear, " shesaid. "What!" he cried, and now his shoulders stiffened. "What! do you upholdher?" "Oh, no, but I am sorry for her, and I am not going to turn against hersimply because she has made a mistake. She has acted unwisely, but shehas not disgraced herself. " "Yes, she has disgraced herself and the rest of us along with her. Shehas married the dying son of a convict. I didn't want to tell youthis--I told her----" This was like a slap in the face, and for a moment she was bereft of thecool dignity that had been so pronounced a characteristic of her quietlife. "If you didn't tell me before why do you tell me now?" was her reply. She stood back from him, regathering her scattered reserve, striving tobe calm. "But it can't be helped now, John. " Her gentle dignityreasserted itself. "Let time and the something that brightens hopes andsoftens fears gradually soothe our affliction. " She had taken up the Major's manner of speech. "Mr. Taylor, I have neverintimated such a thing to you before, " she added, "but it was my hopethat she might become your wife. There, my dear man, don't let it tearyou so. " The giant was shaken, appearing to be gnarled and twisted by her words, like a tree in a fierce wind. "I talked to her about you, " shecontinued, "and it was my hope--but now let us be kind to her memory, ifindeed we are to regard her simply as a memory. " "Margaret, " said the Major, getting up and throwing back his leoninehead, "you are enough to inspire me with strength--you always have. Butwhile you may teach me to bear a trouble, you can't influence me toturn counter to the demands of a just resentment. She shan't put herfoot in this house again. Jim, you can find a more suitable woman, sir. Did you hear what became of them after that scoundrel married them? Whoperformed the ceremony? Morris? He must never put his foot in my yardagain. I'll set the dogs on him. What became of them, Jim?" "I didn't hear, but I think that they must have driven to town in abuggy. " "Well, it really makes no difference what became of them. Are you going, Jim?" "Yes, sir. " "Won't you stay with us to-night?" "No, I thank you. It's better for me to be alone. " He hesitated. "If youwant me to I'll find out to-night where they've gone. " "Oh, no, do nothing of the sort, for I assure you that it makes nodifference. Let them go to the devil. " "John, don't say that, please, " his wife pleaded. "But I have said it. Well, if you are determined to go, good-night. " "Good-night. " Jim strode off into the darkness, but halted and turnedabout. "Major, if I can forgive her you ought to, " he said. "You've gotcommon sense to help you, but common sense was never known to help a manthat's in my fix. " They heard the gate open, heard the latch click behind him as he passedout into the road. Toward his lonely home he trod his heavy way, in thesand, in the rank weeds, picking not his course, stumbling, falling onceto his knees. The air was full of the pungent scent of the walnut, turning yellow, and in it was a memory of Louise. Often had he seen herwith her apron full of nuts that had fallen from the trees under whichhe now was passing. He halted and looked about him. The moon was risingand he saw some one sitting on a fence close by the road side. "Is thatyou, Jim?" a voice called. "Yes. Oh, it's you, is it, Mr. Batts?" "Yep, just about. Hopped up here to smell the walnuts. Takes me awayback. They took it pretty hard, didn't they?" "Yes, particularly the Major. His wife has more control over herself. " "Or may be less affection, " Gid replied. "They say she's strong, but Icall her cold. Hold on and I'll walk with you. " He got down off thefence and walked beside the giant. "She's a mighty strange woman to me, "the old man said when they had walked for a time in silence. "Butthere's no question of the fact that she's strong, that is, as somepeople understand strength. To me, I gad, there is more force inaffection than in restraint. She loves her children--no doubt aboutthat--and of course she thinks the world of the Major, but somehow shemisjudges people. She doesn't understand me at all. But I reckon themajority of men are too deep for a woman. I didn't want to see them inthe throes of their trouble, and I says to the Englishman, 'it's time togit, ' and we got. He wanted me to go over to his house and get someScotch whisky. I told him that the last rain must have left some waterin a hollow stump near my house, and that I preferred it to hisout-landish drink. And hanged if he didn't think I was in earnest. Yes, sir, I knew that girl would marry him; and let me tell you, if I was ayoungster I would rather have her love than the love of any woman I eversaw. There's something about her I never saw in any other woman--I gad, she's got character; understand me? She ain't beautiful, hardlyhandsome, but there's something about her, hanged if I know what it is. But it's something; and I've always found that the strongest charm abouta woman is a something that you can't exactly catch--something that isconstantly on the dodge. And you bet I've had lots of experience. TheMajor could tell you many a story on me. Yes, sir. Say, Jim, I know howyou feel over this affair, and I want you to understand that I'm yourfriend, first, last and all the time. I've been trying to talk up to theright place, but now I don't exactly know what to say. " "Don't say anything, Uncle Gideon. " "I reckon that would be about the wisest plan. Just wanted to let youknow where to find me. Strange things happen even in this quietcommunity, don't they? But I'm woefully sorry that this special thinghas happened. I gad, the Major snorted so loud that my horse broke loosefrom the post, and that's the reason I'm stepping around here like ablind dog in a meat house. Begin pickin' to-morrow, I reckon?" "I don't know. I had made all my arrangements, but now after what'shappened I don't care whether there's a boll picked or not. I'm letdown. " "Don't feel that way, old fellow. You'll be all right in a day or two. " "Mr. Batts, if I didn't know that you were trying to soothe me I wouldtake that remark as an insult. If I thought I wasn't any more steadfastthan to be all right in a day or two--if I really believed my characterthat light, I swear I'd go this minute and drown myself. " "Why, my dear boy, you know I didn't mean to infer that your heart hadno more memory than that. What I meant was that your sense ofresignation would demand a hearing, so to speak. Let me tell yousomething. I understand that girl better than her father or motherdoes--I have made her a special study, and I want to tell you that whenI take the trouble to throw my mind on a woman a mystery has to becleared right then and there. And this is what I want to say: She hasmarried that fellow out of pity. I don't believe she loves him. Alwayswas ruled by pity. Recollect hearing the Major tell of a sudden streakof misfortune that overtook his family when he was a child. His fatherhad to sell several of his slaves, and his old black mammy stood on theblock with him in her arms while they were auctioning her off. Well, sir, Louise cried about that fit to kill herself. We told her how longago it had happened, and impressed on her the fact that the old womanwas soon bought back, but she kept on crying over the cruelty of thething. Yes, sir. Well, I turn off here. Good night. " In the dark the Major walked about the yard mournfully calling Tom. Anegro woman said that she had seen him going down the road, and the oldgentleman returned to the porch and sat down. In the sitting room a lampwas burning, and a patch of light fell about his chair. He wanted totell the young man of the trouble that had fallen upon the household, and yet he dreaded to hear his footstep. Tom was so proud of his sister, had always looked up to her, had regarded her whims as an intellectualdiversion; and now what a disappointment. How sadly would his heart bewrung. From a distant room came the pling-plang of a banjo. "There's Tom, Margaret. Will you please tell him to come here? I don'twant to see him in the light. " Mrs. Cranceford hastened to obey, and the Major sat listening. He pushedhis chair back out of the patch of light. The banjo hushed its twanging, and then he heard Tom coming. The young man stepped out upon the porch. His mother halted in the doorway. "Tom, " said the Major, "I have a desperate piece of news, and I wish Icould break it to you gently, but there is no way to lead up to it. Yoursister has married Carl Pennington. " "Yes, so Jim Taylor told me. Met him in the road a while ago. I didn'tknow that there was anything of the sort on hand. Must have kept itmighty quiet. I suppose----" "What, you suppose! What the deuce can you suppose! Stand theresupposing when I tell you that she has married a dying man. " The oldgentleman flounced in his chair. "She has thrown herself away and I tellyou of it and you want to suppose. What's the matter with you? Have youlost all your pride and your sense? She has married a dying man, I tellyou. " The young fellow began awkwardly to twist himself about. He looked athis mother, standing in the door with the light pouring about her, buther eyes were turned from him, gazing far away into the deepeningnight. "I know they might think he's dying, " he said, "but they might bemistaken. Sometimes they believe a man's dying and he keeps on living. Wash Sanders----" "Go back to your banjo, you idiot!" the Major shouted. "I'll swear thisbeats any family on the face of the earth. " He got up, knocking over hischair. "Go on. Don't stand there trying to splutter an explanation ofyour lack of sense! No wonder you have always failed to pass anexamination. Not a word, Margaret. I know what you are going to say:Beats any family on the face of the earth. " CHAPTER VIII. On the morrow there was a song and a chant in the cotton fields. Agedfingers and youthful hands were eager with grabbing the cool, dew-dampened fleece of the fields. The women wore bandana handkerchiefs, and picturesquely down the rows their red heads were bobbing. Whencecame their tunes, so quaintly weird, so boisterous and yet so full ofmelancholy? The composer has sought to catch them, has touched them withhis refining art and has spoiled them. The playwright has striven totransfer from the field to the stage a cotton-picking scene and has madea travesty of it. To transfer the passions of man and to music-riddlethem is an art with stiff-jointed rules, but the charm of acotton-picking scene is an essence, and is breathed but cannot becaught. Here seems to lie a sentiment that no other labor invites, andthough old with a thousand endearments, it is ever an opera rehearsedfor the first time. But this is the view that may be taken only by thesentimentalist, the poet loitering along the lane. To him it is apicture painted to delight the eye, to soothe the nerves, to inspire apastoral ode. There is, however, another side. At the edge of the fieldwhere the cotton is weighed, stands the planter watching the scales. Hiscommercial instincts might have been put to dreamy sleep by theappearance of the purple bloom, but it is keenly aroused by the openingboll. He is influenced by no song, by no color fantastically bobbingbetween the rows. He is alert, determined not to be cheated. Too muchmusic might cover a rascally trick, might put a clod in the cotton to beweighed. Sentiment is well enough, and he can get it by turning toWalter Scott. None of the planters was shrewder than the Major. In his community hewas the business as well as the social model. He was known to be braveand was therefore expected to be generous. His good humor was regardedas an echo of his prosperity, and a lucky negro, winning at dice, wouldstrive to imitate his manner. At planting, at plowing and at gathering, no detail was too small or too illusive to escape his eye. His interestswere under a microscopic view and all plans that were drawn in thelittle brick office at the corner of the yard, were rigorously carriedout in the fields. In the one place he was all business; in the otherthere was in him an admixture of good humor and executive thoroughness. He knew how many pounds of cotton a certain man or woman was likely topick within the working hours of a day, and he marked the clean and thetrashy pickers; and the play of his two-colored temperament was seen inhis jovial banter of the one and his harsh reprimand of the other. Butto-day a hired man stood at the scales to see the cotton weighed. TheMajor walked abroad throughout the fields. As he drew near, the negroeshushed their songs and their swaggering talk. They bowed respectfully tohim and to one another whispered his affliction. At noon, when hereturned home, the housekeeper told him that his wife was away. He satdown in the library to wait for her. Looking out he saw Sallie Pruittcarrying a jug across the yard. A few moments later he asked for Tom andwas told that he had just left the house. He tried to read, but nothinginterested him. There was nothing but dullness in the newspaper and evenIvanhoe had lost his charm. It was nearly three o'clock when Mrs. Cranceford returned. He did not ask whither she had gone; he waited tobe told. She sat down, taking off her gloves. "Did you see Mr. Perdue?" she asked. "No, I have seen no one. Don't care much to see any one. " "I didn't know but you might have met him. He was here this morning. Told me about Louise. " "What does he know about her?" "He told me where she had gone to live--in that old log house at thefar end of the Anthony place. " "Well, go on, I'm listening. " "I didn't know that you cared to hear. " "Then why did you begin to tell me?" She did not answer this question. She waited for him to say more. "Ofcourse I'd like to know what has become of her. " "I went over to see her, " said Mrs. Cranceford. "The deuce you did. " "John, don't talk that way. " "I won't. You went to see her. " "Yes, and in that miserable house, all open, she is nursing her dyinghusband. " The Major got up and began to walk about the room. "Don't, Margaret, I'drather not hear about it. " "But you must hear. No place could be more desolate. The wind wasmoaning in the old plum thicket. The gate was down and hogs were rootingin the yard. Louise did not hear me as I drove up, the wind was moaningso distressfully among the dead plum bushes--she did not know that I wason the place until I entered the room where she sat at the bedside ofher husband. She jumped up with a cry and----" "Margaret, please don't. " "I must tell you, John. I will tell you. She jumped up with a cry andran to me, and started to take off my cloak, but remembering that therewas no fire in the damp room, she let it stay on. She tried to speak, but couldn't. Her husband held out his waxen hand, and when I took it Ishuddered with the cold chill it sent through me. " "Margaret, I am going out, " said the Major, turning toward the door. "If you do, John, I will go with you and tell you as we walk along. Please sit down. " He sat down with an air of helplessness. He fumbled with his fingers, which seemed to have grown thicker; he moved his foot as if it were aheavy weight. His wife continued: "In the room there was scarcely anyfurniture, nothing to soften the appearance of bleakness. I asked why nofire had been made, and Louise said that she had engaged a negro to cutsome wood, but that he had gone away. She had paid him in advance. Shewould herself have kindled a fire, but there was no axe on the place, and she was afraid to leave her husband long enough to go to the woodsto gather sticks. I went out and found the negro dozing in the sun. Hewas impudent when I spoke to him, but when I told him my name andthreatened him with you, he scuffled to his feet and sauntered off, andI thought that we should see no more of him, but soon we heard the lazystrokes of his axe. And shortly afterward we had a fire. Louise was inone of her silent moods, but Pennington talked as much as his coughwould permit him. He said that it was all his fault. 'I told her, ' saidhe, 'that unless she married me I would die blaspheming the name of God, and that if she would save me from hell she must be my wife. I know thatit was selfish and mean, but I couldn't help it. And so she has marriedme to save my soul. ' He grew excited and I tried to calm him. I told himthat you were angry at first, but that now you were in a better humortoward him. " "Margaret----" "This appeared to help him, but I saw that Louise did not believe me. However, I commanded her to come home and bring her husband with her. But she shook her head and declared that she would never again enteryour house until she could in some way discharge the debt of gratitudewith which you reproached her, which she says you flaunted in her faceat a time when she was greatly distressed. " "What! I don't exactly understand. " "Yes, you do, dear. You reminded her that you had saved her life, andtold her that you based your plea for obedience upon your owngallantry. " "Oh, that was a piece of mere nonsense, a theatrical trick. Of course Idon't deserve any credit for having saved the life of my own child. " "It may have been a theatrical trick with you, but it wasn't with her. She keenly feels your reproach. " "Confound it, you are both making a monster of me. " "No, dear, that is not our design. " "Our design! Have you too, set yourself against me? Let me go to oldGideon. He's the only friend I've got. " "John, you mustn't say that. And why, at this time, should you refer tothat old sinner? But let me go on. While I was there the doctor came, and shortly afterward we heard a heavy tread on the flapping boards ofthe passageway that divides the two sections of the old house. " "Jim Taylor, " said the Major. "Yes, Jim Taylor. Louise jumped up in a flutter. He didn't take anynotice of her excitement. 'I heard that you were living here, ' he said, 'and knowing what sort of an old place it is, I've come to see if I canbe of any use to you. ' Here he looked about at the cracks in the wallsand the holes in the roof. 'And you'll pardon me, ' he went on, 'but Itook the liberty to bring a carpenter along to patch up things a little. That's him out there at work on the gate. ' Louise began to cry. Hepretended not to notice her. 'It won't take long to make this a verycomfortable place, ' he went on, 'and I hope you won't feel offended, butI have brought some young chickens and a squirrel or two--in a basketout there in the kitchen. I always was a sort of a neighborly fellow youknow. ' 'You are the best man in the world, ' Louise broke out. 'No, notin the world, but I reckon I can stand flat-footed and lift with themost of them, ' he replied, assuming that he thought she referred to hisstrength. 'Yes, ' he continued, 'and the boys will be here pretty soonwith the wagon to haul you some wood. And I hope you'll pardon me again, but nothing would do old Aunt Nan but she must come over to cook for youand help you take care of Mr. Pennington until he gets about again. She's the best cook in the whole country. You know the governor of thestate once said that she could beat anybody frying a chicken, and----'" "Confound his impudence!" exclaimed the Major, grinding the floor as hewheeled about, "he's performing the offices that belong to me. And Iwon't stand it. " "The offices that did belong to you, dear, but you have washed yourhands of them. " "Have I? Well, we'll see about that. I'll send over there and haveeverything put to rights. No, I'll send the carriage and have thembrought home. I'll be--I say I won't be made a scape-goat of in thisway. Why, confound----" "John. " "Yes, I understand, but I won't put up with it any longer. I'll sendTom over there--I'll send the law over there and bring them home underarrest. " She shook her head. "No, it will be of no use to send for them. Louisewill not come, and you know she won't. Besides, we can make her just ascomfortable there as here. It will not be for long, so let her have herown way. " "By the blood, she has had it!" "John, have you forgotten that you are a member of the church?" "That's all right. But do you mean by member of the church that I am todraw in my head like a high-land terrapin every time anything is said tome? Am I to be brow-beaten by everybody just because I belong to thechurch? Oh, it's a happy day for a woman when she can squash her husbandwith the church. I gad, it seems that all a married woman wants with achurch is to hit her husband on the head with it. " "John, now you are the echo of old Gid. " "I'm not and you know it, but there are times when a man would beexcusable for being the echo of the devil. But for gracious sake don'tcry. Enough to make a man butt his head against the wall. Just as a manthinks a woman is stronger than a lion she tunes up and cries. There, Margaret, let it all go. There. " He put his arm about her. "Everythingwill come out all right. I am wrong and I confess it. I am bull-headedand as mean as a dog. " "No, you are not, " she protested, wiping her eyes. "Yes, I am and I see it now. You are always right. And you may managethis affair just as you see fit. Poor little girl. But never mind, itwill all come right. Let us walk down the lane. It is beautiful downthere. The frost has painted things up for you; the sumac bushes areflaming and the running briars on the fences are streams of fire. Comeon. " He took her by the hand and led her away. CHAPTER IX. Within a few days a great change was wrought in the appearance of theold log house. The roof, which had been humped in the middle like theback of a lean, acorn-hunting hog, was straightened and reshingled; theyard was enclosed with a neat fence; and the stack chimney which hadleaned off from the house as if it would fall, was shoved back and heldin place with strong iron bands. And the interior was transformed. Softcarpets were spread, easy chairs provided, the rough walls were paperedand the windows were curtained. The fire-light fell upon pictures, and acat had come to take her place at the corner of the hearth; but in thedead of night, when all the birds were hushed, when the wind moaned inthe plum thicket, the hollow and distressing cough echoed throughout thehouse. At evening sorrowful-looking cows would come down the lane, andstanding at the gate would low mournfully, an attention which they everseek to pay a dismal place, but Jim Taylor entered a complaint, threatened violence and finally compelled their owners to have themdriven home before the arrival of their time for lonesome lowing. It wasJim's custom to call at morning and at evening. Sometimes, afterlooking about the place, he would merely come to the door and ask afterMr. Pennington and then go away. One morning when Louise answered his tap at the door, she told him thatthe sufferer was much better and that she believed he was going to getwell. "I'm mighty glad to hear it, " he replied. "The doctors can't alwaystell. " "Won't you come in?" "No, I might worry him. " "Oh, not in the least. He's asleep anyway, and I'm lonesome. Come in, please. " He followed her into the house, trying to lessen his weight as if hewere walking on thin ice; and the old house cracked its knuckles, buthis foot-fall made not a sound. She placed a chair for him and sat downwith her hands in her lap, and how expressive they were, small and thin, but shapely. She was pale and neat in a black gown. To him she had neverlooked so frail, and her eyes had never appeared so deeply blue, but herhands--he could not keep his eyes off them--one holding pity and theother full of appeal. "Don't you need a little more wood on?" he asked. "No, it's not cold enough for much fire. " "Where did you get that cat?" "She came crying around the other day and I let her in, and she has madeherself at home. " "The negroes say it's good luck for a cat to come to the house. " Shesighed. "I don't believe in luck. " "I do. I believe in bad luck, for it's generally with me. Does yourmother come every day?" "Yes, although I beg her not to. " "I reckon she'll do about what she wants to. Has the Major----" She held up her hand and he sat looking at her with his mouth half open. But at the risk of offending her, he added: "I didn't know but he mighthave come over. " "He would, but I won't let him. " "And do you think it's exactly right not to let him?" "I think it is exactly right to do as a something within me dictates, "she answered. "He placed me in a certain position----" "But he is more than willing to take you out of it, " Taylor broke in. "He doesn't want you to remain in that position. " "No, he can't take me out of it. He charged me with ingratitude, and Iwould rather he had driven me off the place. Nothing can be much cruelerthan to remind one of ingratitude; it is like shooting from behind arock; it is having one completely at your mercy. " Now she sat leaning forward with her hands clasped over her knees. Pennington coughed slightly in his sleep and she looked toward the bed. She straightened up and put the hair back out of her eyes and Taylorfollowed the motion of her hand. "Did he eat the squirrel?" "Yes, and enjoyed it. " The cat got up, stretched, and rubbing against the tongs, knocked themdown with a clatter. Pennington awoke. Louise was beside him in amoment. "Ah, it's you, Mr. Taylor, " he said. "Yes, but it wasn't me that made the noise. " "Oh, it didn't disturb me, I assure you. I was just about waking upanyway. That will do, thank you. " Louise had begun to arrange thepillows. "I'll sit up. See how strong I am. Give me a pipe. I believe Ican smoke a little. " She went to fill a pipe for him, and turning to Taylor, he said: "I'mgetting stronger now every day; good appetite, sleep first-rate. AndI'll be able to walk about pretty soon. Oh, they had me dead, you know, but I knew better all the time. " Louise placed a coal upon his pipe and handed it to him. She said thatshe was afraid it might make him cough, but it did not. "I have always maintained that there was nothing the matter with mylungs, " he said, contentedly blowing rings of smoke. "Why, I hadn't asymptom of consumption except the cough, and that's about gone. And myprospects were never better than they are this minute. Received a letteryesterday from over in Alabama--want me to take a professorship in acollege. The first thing you know I shall have charge of the entireinstitution. And when I get up in the world I want it understood, Mr. Taylor, that I shall never forget you. Your kindness----" "Don't speak of it, " Taylor put in, holding up his hand in imitation ofLouise. "I've known this little lady, sir, all her life, and I'd be abrute to forget her in time of trouble. " "Yon are a true-hearted man, Mr. Taylor, and I shall never forget you, sir. " And after a short silence, he added: "All I desire is a chance, for with it, I can make Louise happy. I need but little money, I shouldnot know how to disport a large fortune, but I do desire a comfortablehome with pictures and books. And I thank the Lord that I appreciate therefinements of this life. " In silence he smoked, looking up at therings. "Ah, but it was dark for me a short time ago, Mr. Taylor. Theymade me believe that I was going to die. We hear a great deal ofresignation, of men who welcome the approach of death, but I was indespair. And looking upon a strong man, a man whose strength was thrownupon him, a man who had never thought to take even the slightest careof himself, I was torn with blasphemous rage. It wasn't right. But thankGod, I lived through that dark period, and am now getting well. Don'tyou think so?" "Why, yes, I can see it. And I'll tell you what we'll do: I'll bringover the dogs pretty soon and we'll go hunting. How does that strikeyou?" Pennington propped himself higher in the bed and put his pipe on achair. "It has been a long time since I went hunting, " he said, musingly. "It seems a long time since I have done anything, except tobrood over my failing health. But I will have no more of that. Yes, Iwill go hunting with you. " He shoved up the sleeve of his shirt andcalled his wife's attention. "Don't you think I'm getting more flesh onmy arm? Look here. No dying man has this much muscle. Louise, I'm goingto get up. There is really no use of my lying here. " He threw off the covers and the giant arose and stood looking upon him, smiling sadly. He asked for his clothes, and when Louise had broughtthem he picked at a worn spot and said: "I must get some clothes withthe first money I earn. I didn't know that this coat was so far gone. Why, look, it is almost threadbare; and the trousers are not muchbetter. Let a man get sick and he feels that the world is against him;let him get well and wear poor clothes, and he will find that the worlddoesn't think enough of him to set itself against him--find that theworld does not know him at all. " Taylor ventured upon the raveled platitude that clothes do not make theman. Pennington shook his head, still examining his trousers. "That willdo in a copy-book, but not in life, " said he. And then looking up asTaylor moved toward the door, he asked: "Are you going?" "Yes, I must get back to see how things are getting along. Be over againto-morrow. " Louise went with him out into the passage. He halted at the log step andstood there, looking at her. "Mr. Taylor, I can never forget yourkindness, " she said. "All right, but I hope you won't remember to mention it again. " He looked at her hands, looked into her eyes; and frankly she returnedhis gaze, for it was a gaze long and questioning. "Your friendship----" he held up his hand to stop her. "Won't you let mespeak of that, either?" "You may speak of it, but you must know that it does not exist, " heanswered, leaning against a corner of the house, still looking at her. "But you don't mean that you are not my friend?" "I mean what I told you some time ago--that there can be no friendshipbetween a big man and a little woman. " "Oh, I had forgotten that. " "No, you hadn't; you thought of it just then as you spoke. " "Why, Mr. Taylor, how can you say that?" "I can say it because it is true. No, there can be no friendship betweenus. " "You surely don't mean that there can be anything else. " She had drawnback from him and was stiffly erect with her arms folded, her head high;and so narrow was the hard look she gave him that her eyes appearedsmaller. Her lips were so tightly compressed that dimples showed in hercheeks; and thus with nature's soft relics of babyhood, she denied herown resentment. "On your part I don't presume that there can be anything else, " heanswered, speaking the words slowly, as if he would weigh them one at atime on the tip of his tongue. "You may think of me as you please, ascircumstances now compel you to think, and I will think of you not as Iplease, but as I must. " "Please don't talk that way. Don't reproach me when I am in such needof--of friendship. One of these days you may know me better, but now youcan regard me only as a freak. Yes, I am a freak. " "You are an angel. " "Mr. Taylor!" Again her head was high, and in her eyes was the samesuggestion of a sharp squint. "You didn't tell me that I shouldn't think of you as I please. " "But I didn't tell you to speak what you might be pleased to think. There, Carl is calling me. Good-bye. " CHAPTER X. Jim Taylor, too humane to impose the burden of his weight upon a horse, always made his visits on foot, and this day while trudging homeward, hemet Mrs. Cranceford. She had of late conceived so marked a sympathy forhim, that her manner toward him was warmly gentle. Taylor stepped to the road-side and halted there as she drove up alonein a buggy. With a sorrowful reverence he took off his hat, and shesmiled sympathetically; and the lazy old horse, appearing to understandit all, stopped of his own accord. "Good morning, Jim. Have you been over to the house?" "Yes, ma'm, just left there. " "How is he?" "So much better that I believe he's going to get well. " "You don't say so! Why, I am----" she was about to say that she wasdelighted to hear it, but on the giant's face she thought she saw adeeper shadow lying, heard in his voice a softer note of sorrow; andconsiderately she checked her intended utterance. Then they looked ateach other and were ashamed. "He was up dressing himself when I left. " "You surprise me. " "And he has surprised us all, ma'm. I don't believe he's gotconsumption; his cough has left him. Why, he's thinking of taking aplace in a college over in Alabama. " "He is? But I hope he won't take Louise so far from home. " He shifted his position and sunk his hands deep into his pockets. "Iguess he thinks she can't be so very far from home as long as she iswith him. " "But it makes no difference what he thinks. " Mrs. Cranceford persisted. "He must not take her over there. Why, I should think he could findemployment here. " Jim looked far away, and she added: "Is your cottonturning out well?" "First-rate, and I want to sell it as soon as I can. I've got to goaway. " "Go away!" she repeated. "You don't mean it?" "Yes, ma'm, I do. If he gets well they won't have any more use for meand I might as well go off somewhere and take a fresh start; andbesides, I can't keep from showing that I love her, and no matter howcool she might be toward me it couldn't help but pain him. And there arepeople in this neighborhood mean enough to talk about it: No longer agothan yesterday that strapping Alf Joyner threw out a hint of this sort, and although he meant it in fun, maybe, I snatched him off the fencewhere he was sitting, and walloped him in the road. No, I can't keepfrom showing how much I think of her; there is so much of me, " he added, with a smile, "that I can't be a hypercrite all over at once. " At this she smiled, but her countenance grew serious and she said: "I am sorry you have been compelled to resent an insinuation. " Shegathered up the lines. "But perhaps you imagine more than is intended. It is easy, and also natural that you should. " Jim made no reply. She bowed to him, shook the lines, and the old horsemoved on. Just before reaching a bend in the road, she looked back athim. How powerful was his bearing, how strong his stride; and with allhis bigness he was not ungraceful. Everywhere, in the fields, along the fences, lay October's wastefulripeness, but the season was about to turn, for the bleak corner ofNovember was in sight. A sharp wind blew out of a cloud that hung lowover the river, and far away against the darkening sky was a graytriangle traced, the flight of wild geese from the north. With thestiffening and the lagging of the breeze came lower and then louder thepuffing of a cotton gin. Under a persimmon tree Jim Taylor halted, and with his arms resting on afence he stood dreamily looking across a field. Afar off the cottonpickers were bobbing between the rows. The scene was more dull thanbright; to a stranger it would have been dreary, the dead level, thelone buzzard away over yonder, sailing above the tops of the raggedtrees; but for this man the view was overspread with a memory ofchildhood. He was meditating upon leaving his home; he felt that hisdeparture was demanded. And yet he knew that not elsewhere could he findcontentment. Amid such scenes he had been born and reared. He was likethe deer--would rather feed upon the rough oak foliage of a nativeforest than to feast upon the rich grasses of a strange land. But he hadmade up his mind to go. He had heard of the charm of the hills, thevalleys and the streams in the northern part of the state, and once hehad gone thither to acquaint himself with that paradise, but indisappointment he had come back, bringing the opinion that the peoplewere cold and unconcerned in the comfort and the welfare of a stranger. So, with this experience fresh in his mind, he was resolved not tore-settle in his own commonwealth, but to go to a city, though feelinghis unfitness for urban life. But he thought, as so many men and womenhave been forced to think, that life in a crowd would inviteforgetfulness, that his slow broodings would find a swift flow into thetide that swallows the sad thoughts of men. A sudden noise in the road broke the web of his musing, and lookingabout, he recognized Low, the Englishman. Between his teeth the Britonheld his straight-stem pipe, and on his shoulder he carried his bathtub. "Moving?" Taylor asked. "Ah, good morning. No--not moving. An outrage has been committed. Duringthe night someone punched a hole in the bottom of my bath. Don't knowwho could have done it; most extraordinary, I assure you. One of thoseungrateful blacks, I warrant. Going this way? I shall be glad of yourcompany. Ah, do you happen to know of a tinker?" he asked, as togetherthey walked along the road. "A what?" "A tinker to mend my bath?" "Haven't any such thing about here, but I guess the blacksmith can mendyour tub. Here, let me carry it for you a ways. You must be tired of itby this time. " He protested, but Taylor took the tub. "Thank you. You are very kind, I'm sure. I would have sent it, but these rascals are so untrustworthy. Ah, how long do you conjecture it would take one to make his fortune inthis community?" "It depends more upon the man than the community, " Taylor answered. "Iknow one that never could. " "And by Jove, I fancy I have a very intimate acquaintance with another. But I rather like it here, you know. I have plenty of room and no one ismuch disposed to interfere with me except those rascally blacks, andupon my honor I believe they tried to ruin my bath. Don't you thinkyou'd better let me take it now?" "No; I'll carry it. Wouldn't have known I had it if you hadn't remindedme. " "You are very kind, I'm sure. Ah, by the way, a very singular man calledon me yesterday. Mayo, I believe, is his name. " "Yes, we know him down here. Came very near getting a dose of rope once. He tries to be a Moses among the negroes, but instead of leading themout of the wilderness he's going to lead them into trouble. " "I dare say as much, if they listen to him. But he avers that he doesn'twant an office--wants only to see that the blacks get what they areentitled to. " "And about the first thing that will be done for him after he gets whathe's entitled to, " Jim replied, "will be the sending of his measure to acoffin maker. " "I surmise as much, I assure you. I didn't encourage him to prolong hisvisit; indeed, I told him that I preferred to be alone. " They turned out of the lane into a wood, crossed a bayou, and pursuingtheir way a short distance further, Taylor halted, and handing theEnglishman his tub, pointed to a path that crossed the road. "That willtake you to the blacksmith shop, " he said. "Ah, you are very kind, " Low replied, shouldering his treasure. Heturned down the path, but after going a short distance stopped and facedabout. "I say, there!" he cried. "Oh, Taylor. Just a moment. I wouldn'tmind having you over any evening, you know. You are a devilish decentfellow. " "All right; you may look for me most any time. Take you out 'possumhunting some night. " Low was now humping himself down the path, and Taylor turned to pursuehis way homeward, when once more the Englishman faced about and shouted:"You are very kind, I'm sure. I shall be delighted. " Jim Taylor was master of a small plantation and sole inhabiter of thehouse wherein he was born. In the garden, under a weeping-willow tree, were the graves of his parents and of his sister, a little girl, recalled with emotion--at night when a high wind was blowing, for shehad ever been afraid of a storm; and she died on a day when a fiercegale up the river blew down a cottonwood tree in the yard. She andLouise were as sisters. At her grave the giant often sat, for she was atimid little creature, afraid to be alone; and sometimes at night whenthe wind was hard, when a cutting sleet was driving, he would get out ofhis bed and stand under the tree to be near her. It was so foolishlysentimental of so strong a man that he would not have dared to tellanyone, but to the child in the grave he told his troubles. So, on thismorning, when the wind was gathering its forces as it swept the fields, as the clouds were thickening far away among the whitish tops of thedead cypress trees, he went straightway to the weeping-willow, passedthe grave of his father, his mother, and sat down beside the stone thatbore the name and the age of the little one. CHAPTER XI. When Mrs. Cranceford returned home early in the afternoon, she told theMajor, whom she found pacing up and down the long porch, that Penningtonwas up and walking about the house. She told him, also, that he wasresolved upon taking Louise to Alabama, and added that she herself wouldoppose this determination up to the very moment of departure. The Major grunted. "What right have you to do that?" he asked. "Whyshould you meddle with the affairs of a man that is seeking to make aliving for his wife?" "John, you are laughing at me and I know it. Here lately you make lightof everything I say. " The season was changing, he felt its influence, and he shook with goodhumor as he walked. "John, you are so tickled that you can't answer me. " "Why, I could answer you very easily if I only knew what you want me tosay. " This broke her whimsical resentment of his droll playfulness; shelaughed with him, and taking his arm, walked up and down the porch. Theytalked of many things--of Louise's persistent stubbornness, and of agrowing change in the conduct of Tom--his abstraction and hisgentleness. He had left uncut the leaves of a sporting review, had takento romances, and in his room had been found, sprawled on foolscap, anill-rhymed screed in rapturous praise of soulful eyes and flaxen hair. Mrs. Cranceford knew that he must be in love; so did the Major, but hecould not conjecture the object of so fervid a passion. But his wife hadsettled upon the object and was worried, though of her distress she hadnot spoken to Tom, so recent had been the discovery of the tell-taleblotch of ink. But she would as soon as an opportunity offered. "It will soon pass, " said the Major. "I don't think he intends to marryher. " "Marry her!" his wife exclaimed. "I would rather see him dead thanmarried into a family of white trash. She may be a most amiable youngperson and all that, but he shan't marry her. It would break my heart, and I vow she shall never come here. Why, she came from the pine woodsand is a cracker. " "But the cracker may have a most gallant and well-born origin, my dear, "the Major replied. "The victim of a king's displeasure is notinsignificant; he must have been a force. " "What! Do you approve of it?" she demanded, pulling away from him. "Isit possible that you would not oppose his marriage into such a familyas hers must be?" "I don't think, my dear, that her father was in the penitentiary. " "John, that is unworthy of you. I was grieved at Louise's marriage, andyou know it. " In prankishness he sought a refuge; he laughed, but she did not followhim. For a moment her black eyes were hard, then came a look ofdistress--and tears. He put his arm about her. "Why, my dear, I didn'tmean to hurt your feelings; bless your life, I didn't. Why, of course, he shan't marry her. Who ever heard of such a thing? I'll talk tohim--thrash him if you say the word. There, it's all right. Why, herecomes Gid. " She went into the house as Batts came up, glancing back at him as shepassed through the door; and in her eyes there was nothing as soft as atear. The old fellow winced, as he nearly always did when she gave him adirect look. "Are you all well?" Gideon asked, lifting the tails of his long coat andseating himself in a rocking chair. "First-rate, " the Major answered, drawing forward another rocker; andwhen he had sat down, he added: "Somewhat of an essence of November inthe air. " "Yes, " Gid assented; "felt it in my joints before I got up thismorning. " From his pocket he took a plug of tobacco. "I thought you'd given up chewing, " said the Major. "Last time I saw youI understood you to say that you had thrown your tobacco away. " "I did, John; but, I gad, I watched pretty close where I threw it. Fellow over here gave me some stuff that he said would cure me of theappetite, and I took it until I was afraid it would, and then threw itaway. I find that when a man quits tobacco he hasn't anything to lookforward to. I quit for three days once, and on the third day, about thetime I got up from the dinner table, I asked myself: 'Well, now, gotanything to come next?' And all I could see before me was hours ofhankering; and I gad, I slapped a negro boy on a horse and told him togallop over to the store and fetch me a hunk of tobacco. And after Ibroke my resolution I thought I'd have a fit there in the yard waitingfor that boy to come back. I don't believe that it's right for a man tokill any appetite that the Lord has given him. Of course I don't believein the abuse of a good thing, but it's better to abuse it a littlesometimes than not to have it at all. If virtue consists in deadeningthe nervous system to all pleasurable influences, why, you may just markmy name off the list. There was old man Haskill. I sat up with him thenight after he died, and one of the men with me was harping upon thegreat life the old fellow had lived--never chewed, never smoked, neverwas drunk, never gambled, never did anything except to stand still andbe virtuous--and I couldn't help but feel that he had lost nothing bydying. Haven't seen Louise, have you?" "No; but I have about made up my mind to go over there, whether shewants me or not. " "I believe I would, John. We haven't long to stay here, and nothingsweetens our sojourn like forgiveness. I don't mean it in sacrilege, butChrist was greatest and closest to His Father when he forgave thethief. " "That's true, " said the Major. "You may not be able to think verycoherently, Gid, but sometimes you stroll into a discussion and bark theshins of thought. " "Easy, John. I am a thinker. My mind is full of pictures when your fancyis checkered with red and blue lines. So you are willing to forgiveher?" he added after a pause. "Yes, more than willing. But she isn't ready to be forgiven. She hassome very queer notions, and I'll be hanged if I know where she pickedthem up. At times she's most unnatural. " "Don't say that, John. I gad, sir, what right has one person to say thatanother person is unnatural? Who of us is appointed to set up thestandard and gauge of naturalness? Who is wholly consistent? You maysay the average man. Ah, but if everyone conformed to the average therewould be nothing great in the world. There is no greater bore than thewell-balanced man. He wears us out with his evenness. You know what he'sgoing to say before he says it. " "I grant you all that; but the well-balanced man made it possible forthe genius to make the world great. Genius is the bloom that bursts outat the top of commonplace humanity. " "Yes, that's all very well; but just at present I'd like to have alittle liquor. Be easy, though, and don't let the madam know what you'reafter. " "There's not a drop in the house, Gid, but there's a demijohn in theoffice. Let's step out there. " "No, I believe not, John, " the old fellow replied, with a shudder. "Can't you bring it out?" "She'll see me if I do. You must go with me. Whisky that's not worthgoing after is not worth drinking. " "You are right, John; but you have stated one of those truths that arenever intended to be used except in the absence of something else thatmight have been said. Plain truths are tiresome, John. They never lendgrace to a conversation. " "What do you know about the graces of conversation? You are betterfitted to talk of the disgraces of conduct. " "Slow, John. But I know that a truth to be interesting must be whimsicalor so blunt that it jolts. " "But didn't it jolt you when I said that you must go into the officeafter the liquor?" "Yes; but cruelly, John. You must never jolt cruelly. I gad, I'm gettingold. Do you realize that we have known each other intimately forthirty-five years?" Mrs. Cranceford came out upon the porch. "Ah, " said old Gid, withoutchanging his tone, and as if he were continuing a moral discourse, "thirty-five years ago we heard an old circuit-rider preach at GumSprings, and while we could not subscribe to his fiery doctrine, beinginclined to the broader and more enlightened faith of the Episcopalchurch, yet the fervor and sincerity of his utterances made a lastingimpression on us. Madam, I hear with much pleasure that Mr. Penningtonis better. " "Yes, he is feeling quite improved, " she replied, merely glancing athim. "Did the Major think enough of him to tell you?" The Major looked at Gid, winked at him, and the old fellow believingthat he knew what was wanted, thus answered: "Yes, ma'am, but I firstheard it from the priest. He knows everything, it seems. I met him downthe road and had quite a talk with him. By the way, I read a number ofyears ago a most edifying book, 'The Prince of the House of David. ' Youdoubtless have it in your collection, and may I ask you to lend it tome?" She had but small faith in the old fellow's sincerity, and yet she waspleased to see him manifest an interest in so godly a book. "Yes, and Iwill get it for you, " she answered, going straightway to look for it;and when she had passed through the door, Gid snatched a bottle out ofhis pocket and held it out toward the Major. "Here, John, hurry outthere and fill this up while she's gone. Meet me around at the gate. Quick!" "Why, you old rascal, do you suppose me capable of complicity in such afraud?" "Oh, that's all right, John. Hurry up. I could get liquor, plenty of it, but yours always hits me where I live. I'm sick, I tell you, and hangit, I'm getting old. You don't seem to realize that I'm an old man, notlong for this vain world. Take it, John, and hurry up. Confound it, youwon't be deceiving her; it would be an advantage taken of herunreasonable prejudice. You never saw me drunk and never will. Thunderation, here she comes!" He stuffed the bottle back into his hip pocket and the Major threwhimself back with a loud laugh. Mrs. Cranceford, handing the book toGid, cast a suspicious look at the Major, who continued to shake. "Why, what has amused you so?" she asked. And now old Gid was nodding andchuckling in hypocritical diversion. "I was just telling him of thefirst time I borrowed a copy of this book, " he said. "Walked four milesto get it, and when I returned, some rascal had greased the foot-log andI slipped off into the creek. Oh, it's very funny now, but it wasn'tthen; had to fight to keep from losing the book and came within one ofdrowning. Well, I must go. Ma'am, I'm a thousand times obliged to youfor this store-house of faith, and I assure you that I'll take the bestof care that it shall come back to you in good condition. By the way, John, is your office locked? I'll step out there and get that paper. " "Yes, it's locked. I'll go with you. " "Oh, never mind. Let me have the key. " "But you can't find the paper. " "Well, let it go; I can get it some other time. " The Major, slyly shaking, walked with him to the end of the porch. "You've played thunder, " the old fellow whispered. "I didn't think it ofyou. I gad, every chance you get you hoist me on your hip and slam thelife out of me. Sick as a dog, too. Again, ma'am, " he added, turningabout, "let me thank you for this book. And Major, " he said aloud, and"damn you, " he breathed, "I hope to see you over my way soon. " He swore at his horse as he mounted, and throwing back a look ofreproach, he jogged off down the road. But he had not proceeded morethan a mile when a boy, urging a galloping horse, overtook him and gavehim a bundle; and therein he found a bottle of whisky, with these wordswritten in red ink and pasted on the glass: "You are an old fool. " CHAPTER XII. All day the clouds had been gathering, hanging low over the fields. Atevening came a downpour of rain, and at night a fitful wind wasblowing--one moment of silence and then a throb of rain at the windows. In his office the Major sat, looking over the affairs of his estate. Itwas noted that he preferred a stormy night thus to apply himself; theharshness of figures, the unbending stubbornness of a date, in his mindseemed to find a unity with the sharp whistle of the wind and the lashesof rain on the moss-covered roof. Before him, on yellowing paper, wasold Gid's name, and at it he slowly shook his head, for fretfully henursed the consciousness of having for years been the dupe of that man'shumorous rascality. The plantation was productive, the old fellow hadgathered many a fine crop, and for his failure to pay rent there couldbe no excuse, except the apologies devised by his own trickishinvention. Year after year, in his appeals for further indulgence, hehad set up the plea of vague obligations pressing upon him, some olddebt that he was striving to wipe out and from which he would soon befreed; and then, no longer within the tightening grasp of mercilessscoundrels, he would gratefully devote the proceeds of his energies tothe discharge of the obligations held so lightly over him by the noblestman on earth. Once he returned from New Orleans, whither he had gone tosell his cotton, with the story that he had been knocked senseless androbbed of his wallet, and in proof of this he produced a newspaperaccount of the midnight outrage, and exhibited a wound on the head, inflicted by the bludgeon of the footpad. And with such drollery did herecite this story that the Major laughed at him, which meant, of course, that his tenure of the old plantation was not to be disturbed. Thememory of this rascally trick came back to the Major as he sat therelooking over his papers. He recounted it all as a reminiscence of hisown weakness, and he was firmly and almost angrily resolved that thisseason the old fellow should not waddle from under his obligations. Amusement was well enough; to laugh at a foible was harmless, butconstantly to be cheated was a crime against his wife and his children. Children? Yes, for out of no calculation for the future did he leaveLouise. There came a tap at the door. Mrs. Cranceford had sent a negro boy withan umbrella and a lantern. The night was wild, and the slanting rain hithard. Before he reached the house the wind puffed out his lantern, leaving him to stumble through the dark. As he stepped upon the porch there was a loud "halloa" at the gate, andjust at that moment he heard his wife's voice. "John, go out there andsee who that is, " she said. He went round to the gate. His wife stood on the porch waiting for him. Presently he came back, walking rapidly. "Who is it, dear?" "A negro man. Margaret, we must go at once to Louise. Pennington isdying. " With an inarticulate note of astonishment she fled to her room, toprepare herself for the journey, and the Major loudly commanded thecarriage to be brought out. Lanterns flashed across the yard, under the streaming trees, andflickered in the gale that howled about the barn. Pale, impatient, and wrapped in a waterproof, Mrs. Cranceford stood atthe front doorway. The carriage drew up at the gate. "Are you ready?"the Major asked, speaking from the darkness in the midst of the rain. "Yes, " she answered, stepping out and closing the door. "Where is Tom?" the Major inquired. "He hasn't come home. " "He ought to go. I wonder where he can be. " "He could be most any place, " she answered; and as she stepped underthe umbrella to walk with him to the gate, she added: "But I think he isat Wash Sanders' house. " He helped her into the carriage, took a seat beside her, and shut thedoor with a slam. "As fast as you can!" he shouted to the driver. Theysat a long time in silence, listening to the rain and the hoofs of thehorses sloshing in the wet sand. The carriage stopped. "What's the matter?" "De bayou, sah. " "Drive on. " "De bridge is full o' holes. " "Drive through. " "De water's mighty high. " "Drive through. " Down they went with a splash. The carriage swayed, was lifted, was swunground--the horses lunged; one of the doors was burst open and the waterpoured in. Mrs. Cranceford clung to the Major, but she uttered not aword. Up the slippery bank the horses strained. One of them fell, but hewas up in a moment. Firmer footing was gained, and the road was reached. Now they were in a lane. The Major struck a match and looked at hiswatch. It was nearly two o'clock. Across the fields came a light--fromLouise's window. The carriage drew up at the gate. "That you, Major?" a voice asked. "Yes. Why, how did you get here, Jim?" "Tore down the fences and rode across the fields. " "How is he?" the Major asked, helping his wife to the ground. "I haven't been in--been walking up and down out here. Thought I'd waitfor you. " At the entrance of the passageway Louise met them. She kissed hermother, saying not a word. The Major held out his arms toward her. Shepretended not to notice this complete surrender; she took his hand andturned her face from him. "My poor little girl, I----" She dropped his hand, opened the door of a room opposite the dying man'schamber and said: "Step in here, please. Mother, you and Jim may comewith me. " The old man broke down. "My precious child, God knows----" "Will you please step in here? I will come with you. Mother, you andJim----" She pointed to the door of her husband's room. In sorrowfulobedience the Major bowed his head and crossed the threshold. In theroom was a fire and on the mantel-piece a lamp was burning. "Sit down, " she said. "Louise, I have not deserved this. " "Take the rocking chair, please. " He stood with his hands resting on the back of the chair. "Why do youhold me off with such stubbornness? Why continue to be so unnatural achild, so incomprehensible a woman?" Even now he did not forget tomeasure his sentences, but with the depth of his earnestness his voicewas wavering, "You know----" "Yes, I know, " she broke in, looking full at him, and her face smote himwith pity. "But this is no time for explanations. " She turned toward thedoor. "Are you going to leave me?" he asked, following her. "Yes. Mother will tell you all that is to be told. " She went out and closed the door. The Major walked softly up and downthe room, listening, but he heard nothing save the creaking of the houseand the moaning of the wind in the old plum thicket. A long time passed, and then Mrs. Cranceford entered. Her eyes were wet with tears. "It isall over, " she said. At the moment the Major made no reply. He led herto a chair, and when she had sat down, looking up at him, he leaned overher and said: "Margaret, I know you can't help appreciating my position;and I feel that I am the keenest sufferer under this roof, for to me allconsolation is denied. Now, what is expected of me? I am going to makeno more protests--I am going to do as I am instructed. What is expectedof me?" "Go home, dear, and wait until I come, " she answered. "But doesn't that seem hard, Margaret?" "Yes; but it is her wish and we must not oppose it. " "I will do as you say, " he replied, and kissing her he added: "If youcan, make her feel that I love her. Tell her that I acknowledge all thewrong. " He stepped out into the passage, but he came back to the door, and standing there for a moment, he said: "Make her feel that I loveher. " CHAPTER XIII. Pennington was buried in the yard of the church wherein he had taughtschool. No detail of the arrangements was submitted to the Major. For atime he held out that the family burial ground was the proper place forthe interment, under the trees where his father and his mother were laidto rest, but Louise stood in strong opposition to this plan, even thoughappearances called for its adoption. So, after this, the Major offeredno suggestion. At the grave there was no hysterical grief. The day was bleak and theservices were short. When all had been done, the Major gently put hisarm about his daughter and said that she must go home with him. "Not now, " she replied; and she did not look up at him. "But pleasedon't worry over me; don't feel that you have to do something. Mother isgoing with me, and after that you may know what I intend to do. Pleasedon't urge me. Let me have my way just a little longer. " He stepped back from her and Mrs. Cranceford took her arm and led heraway. The Major slowly followed them. He felt the inquisitive look of aneighbor, and his shoulders stiffened. In a buggy the mother and the daughter had followed the hearse; theMajor, Tom and big Jim Taylor were driven in the family carriage. Louisewas to go back to the desolate house. The Major stoutly opposed this, pleaded with her after she had seated herself in the buggy, clutched thespoke of a muddy wheel as if he would hold her back. She took the linesfrom her mother, tossed them upon the horse, folded her arms, and insilence waited. "John, dear, " said Mrs. Cranceford, "let us drive on. There, pleasedon't attract the attention of those people. You know what gossips theyare. " The Major spoke to Louise. "Will you answer me one question?" "Yes, sir. " "Is it your intention to live alone in that wretched house?" "No, sir; but I must go there to think. " The Major stepped back, and with a handkerchief wiped his muddy hand. "Margaret, I leave her with you, " he said. Shortly after the Major reached home his wife arrived, but Louise wasnot with her. "I could do nothing, " she said. "When we drove up to thegate she jumped out and declared that I must come on home. I pleadedwith her, but she wouldn't yield. Two old women were in the house andshe said that they were company enough; she wanted to think and theywould not distract her thoughts. I told her that if she would agree tolet me stay I would not say a word, but she shook her head. 'You shallhear from me to-morrow, ' were her words, 'but you must leave me tomyself to-night. It is of no use to urge me. ' I saw that it wasn't, andI drove away. I declare I can't make her out. " "Most unreasonable creature I ever saw, " the Major replied, uneasilywalking up and down the room. "She has made me contemptible in the eyesof this neighborhood, and now appears determined to disgrace herself. " "Don't say that, John. " "Why not? It's a fact. " "It is not a fact. I am not afraid of a daughter of mine disgracingherself. It's only bad blood that disgraces itself. " "I am not so sure about that when women throughout the entire countryare striving to be unnatural. By the blood----" "John. " He wheeled about and looked at her. "But I ask you if it isn't enough tomake a saint pull out his hair? Simply opposed her marriage, usedlegitimate argument, and afterward begged like a dog. Isn't it enough tomake me spurn the restraints of the church and take up the language ofthe mud-clerk?" "No, dear; nothing should prompt you to do that. You have a soul to besaved. " "But is it necessary that my life should be tortured out of me in orderthat my soul may be saved? I don't care to pay such a price. Is it putdown that I must be a second Job? Is a boil the sign of salvation?" "For goodness' sake don't talk that way, " she pleaded, but she had toturn her face away to hide her smile from him. "But I've got to talk some way. Just reflect on her treatment of me andhow I have humbled myself and whined at her feet. And I ask what may wenot expect of such a creature? Is it that she wants to be different fromanyone else? Let me tell you one thing: The woman who seeks to bestrongly individualized may attain her aim, but it leads to a sacrificeof her modesty. I say she is in danger of disgracing herself. " Mrs. Cranceford shook her head. "You wait and we shall see. No member ofmy family was ever disgraced. I may be distressed at her peculiarities, at times, but I shall never be afraid for her conduct. " Early the next morning a negro brought a letter from Louise. Mrs. Cranceford hastened to the office to read it to the Major. It appearedto have been written with care and thus was it worded: "My Dear Mother:--I am thankful that I am not to look upon the surpriseand sorrow you must feel in reading this letter. I hardly know how torake together and assort what I desire to say, but I will do the best Ican, and if you fail to understand me, do not charge it againstyourself, but list it with my other faults. What I have recently gonethrough with is quite enough to unstring the nerves of a stronger womanthan I am, and what must be my condition? Worn out and weary of any lifethat I could conceive of here--don't you see how I am floundering about?But give me time and in all honesty you shall know the true state of mymind. Many a time father has said that he did not understand me, andmore than once you have charged me with being strange. But I am surethat I have never tried to be mysterious. I have had thoughts that wouldnot have appeared sane, had I written them, but I have never beenfoolishly romantic, although my education has been far from practical. The first thing I remember was a disappointment, and that was not beinga boy. It may be a vanity, but at that early age I seemed to recognizethe little privileges given to a boy and denied a girl. But as I grewolder I was shocked by the roughness and cruelty of boys, and then I waspleased to reflect that I was of gentler mold. At some time of life Isuppose we are all enigmas unto ourselves; the mystery of being, theability to move, and the marvelous something we call emotion, startlesus and drives us into a moody and speculative silence. I give this inexplanation of my earlier strangeness. I could always talk readily, butnever, not even to you, could I tell completely what I thought. Mostyoung people are warned against the trash that finds its way--no oneappears to know how--into the library of the home, but I remember tohave been taken to task for reading mannish books. And in some measure Iheeded the lecture thus delivered, but it is to mannish books that I owemy semblance of common sense. " "What is she trying to get at?" the Major broke in. "Have you read it?If you have, tell me what she says. " "I am reading it now, " his wife replied; and thus she continued: "The strongest emotion of my life has been pity, and you know that Inever could keep a doll nor a trinket if a strong appeal was made forit. I grew up to know that this was a weakness rather than a virtue, butnever has my judgment been strong enough to prevail against it. And thisleads me to speak of my marriage. That was the result of pity and fear. Let me see if I can make you understand me. That poor man's conditionsmote my heart as never before had it been smitten. And when he made hisappeal to me, hollowed-eyed and coughing, I trembled, for I knew thatmy nature would prompt me to yield, although I might fully estimate theinjustice to myself. So my judgment fought with my sense of pity, and inthe end, perhaps, might have conquered it, but for the element of fearwhich was then introduced. The question of his soul was brought forward, and he swore that I would send it to heaven or to hell. In the light ofwhat I have read, and in the recollection of what I have often heardfather say in his arguments with preachers, perhaps I should have beenstrong enough to scout the idea of a literal torment, but I could not. You remember old Aunt Betsy Taylor, Jim's black mammy. When I was veryyoung she was still living on the place, and was to me a curiosity, thelast of her race, I was told. I did not know what this meant, but itgave her words great weight. Once she pictured hell for me, the roaringfurnace, the writhing of the damned, and no reason and no reading hasever served to clear my mind of her awful painting. With her as theadvocate I could hear the groans of lost souls; and in my childish way Ibelieved that the old woman was inspired to spread the terrors ofperdition; nor has education and the little I have seen of society, wholly changed this belief. So when Mr. Pennington swore to me that if Irefused to marry him he would die blaspheming the name of God, myjudgment tottered and fell. I sit here now, looking at the bed whereonhe died. You saw him breathe his last, saw his smile of peace and hope. That smile was my reward. For it I had wrung the heart of my father andwiped my feet upon his pride. But I had sent a soul above. I have setmyself to the task of perfect frankness, and I must tell you that in myheart there was not the semblance of love for him, love as you know it;there was only pity and I can say that pity is not akin to love. Yes. Isold myself, not as many a woman has, not as I would have been praisedand flattered for doing--not for money, but to save a soul. This iswritten at night, with a still clock above me, the hands recording thehour and the minute of his death, and the light of the sun may fade mywords and make them ghastly, but I am revealing, to my mother, my innerself. " Mrs. Cranceford paused to wipe her eyes, and the Major, who had beenwalking up and down the room, now stood looking through the window atthe sweep of yellow river, far away. "But does she say when she is coming home?" he asked without turning hishead. "Read on, please. " The sheets were disarranged and it was some time before she obeyed. "Read on, please, " he repeated, and he moved from the window and stoodwith his hands resting on the back of a chair. Mrs. Cranceford read on: "There is one misfortune of mine that has always been apparent to youand that is my painful sensitiveness. It was, however, not looked uponas a misfortune, but rather as a fault which at will I might correct, but I could no more have obviated it than I could have changed my entirenature. When father charged me with ingratitude I realized the justiceof the rebuke (from his point of view), while feeling on my side theinjustice of the imputation, for I was not ungrateful, but simply in adesperate state of mind. I am afraid that I am not making myself clear. But let me affirm that I do not lose sight of the debt I owe him, thedebt of gallantry. I had always admired him for his bravery, andhundreds of times have I foolishly day-dreamed of performing alife-saving office for him. But the manner--and pardon me for sayingit--the arrogance which he assumed over me, wounded me, and the wound isstill slowly bleeding. But in time it will heal, and when it does I willgo to him, but now I cannot. " "But she must come to me or let me go to her!" the Major broke in. "Iconfess that I didn't understand her. Why, there is heroism in hercomposition. Go ahead, Margaret. She's got more sense than all of us. Goahead. " Mrs. Cranceford continued: "I can conceive of nothing more useless thanmy life at home would be. The truth is, I must do something, seesomething, feel the throb rather than the continuous pressure of life. Thousands of women are making their way in the world. Why should not I?And it is not that I mean wholly to desert you or to love you less, butI must go away, and before this letter reaches you I shall be on myjourney----" Mrs. Cranceford's trembling hands let the paper fall. The Major grabbedit up, fumbled with it, put it upon the desk and sat down. In silencethey looked at each other, and their vision was not clear. "Read on, " hesaid. "We can stand anything now. " She wiped her eyes and obeyed him: "Shall be on my journey. I have inmind a certain place, but what place it is I must not tell you. If Isucceed I shall let you know, and if I fail--but I will base nothingupon the probability of failure. I know that you will look upon thisalmost as an act of insanity, and carrying out my resolve to be frank, Imust say that I do not know but that it is. It is, though, the onlycourse that promises relief and therefore I must take it. You must notcharge me with a lack of love for you and never must you lose faith inme. It is singular that after all these years, after all ourconfidences, I should choose a pen wherewith to make myself known toyou, and you may call me a most unnatural daughter, but you must chargemy unnaturalness to nature, and nothing that nature does should appearunnatural when once we have come to understand it. I have money enoughto last me until I can secure employment. I hope that I know what sortof employment it may be, but as there is in my hope a fear of failure, Iwill not tell you. My training has not been systematic enough to enableme to be a school teacher, for I know a little of many things, but amthorough in nothing. But in some other line the mannish books may helpme. In reading this over I realize that I am vain and affected. But putit down as another frankness. God bless you and good-bye. " "I told you she would disgrace herself, " the Major exclaimed, slappinghis hand upon the desk. "She has done nothing of the sort, " his wife replied, stepping out andclosing the door. CHAPTER XIV. The neighbors were curious to know why Louise had left home and whithershe was gone. Day and night they came to ask questions, and though toldthat she was visiting relatives in Kentucky, they departed suspectingthat something must be wrong. The gossips were more or less busy, andJim Taylor snatched another idler off the fence and trounced him in thesand. Weeks passed and no letter came from Louise. The Major worried over heruntil at last he forbade the mention of her name. During the day Mrs. Cranceford was calm and brave, but many a time in the night the Majorheard her crying. Every Sunday afternoon Jim Taylor's tread was heard onthe porch. To the Major he talked of various things, of the cotton whichwas nearly all picked, of the weakening or strengthening tendency of themarket, but when alone with Mrs. Cranceford his talk began and endedwith Louise. But in this he observed the necessity for great care, lestthe Major might hear him, and he chose occasions when the old gentlemanwas in his office or when with Gid he strolled down into the woods. Inthe broad parlor, in the log part of the house, Jim and Mrs. Crancefordwould sit, hours at a time; and never did she show an impatience of hislong lapses of silence nor of his monotonous professions of faith in therun-away. And upon taking his leave he would never fail to say: "Ibelieve we'll hear from her to-morrow; I am quite sure of it. " In the midst of the worry that followed the young woman's departure, there had been but one mention of the young man's affair with the nieceof Wash Sanders. Mrs. Cranceford had spoken to him, not directly, butwith gentle allusion, and he had replied with an angry denunciation ofsuch meddlesomeness. "I'm not going to marry a dying woman, " hedeclared; "and I'm not going to take up any faded ninny that you andfather may pick out. I'm going to please myself, and when you decidethat I mustn't, just say the word and I'll hull out. And I don't want tohear anything about crackers or white trash, either. That's me. " His mother must have agreed that it was, for the weeks went by and notagain did she drop a hint of her anxiety. One rainy afternoon the Major and old Gid were sitting on a tool-boxunder the barn shed, when Father Brennon came riding down the road. "As they say over the creek, light and look at your saddle!" the Majorshouted. With a nod and a smile the priest rode through the gate, dismounted, gave his horse over to a negro who, in answer to a shout, had comeforward from some mysterious precinct of the barn-yard, shook hands withthe Major and Gid, and gracefully declining a seat on the tool-box, rolled a barrel from against the wall and upon it seated himself. "More in accordance with the life of a priest, " he said, tapping thebarrel with his knuckles. "It is rolling. " "Ah, " replied the Major, "and a barrel may also typify the recklesslayman. It is often full. " The priest gave to this remark the approval of a courteous laugh. Eventhough he might stand in a slippery place, how well he knew his ground. To call forth a weak joke and then to commend it with his merriment--howdelightful a piece of flattery. And it can, in truth, be said that inhis heart he was sincere. To be pleasing was to him an art, and this artwas his second nature. "Mr. Brennon, " said the Major (and under no compulsion would he havesaid father), "I have thought a great deal of the argument we had sometime ago; and I have wondered, sir, that in coming to this community toproselyte the negro, you did not observe the secrecy with which theaffairs of your church are usually conducted. But understand, please, that I do not mean to reflect upon the methods of your creed, butsimply wonder that you have not followed a recognized precedent. " The priest had taken hold of the chine at each end of the barrel and wasslowly rolling himself backward and forward. "I fail to see why anysecrecy should be observed in my work, " he replied. "The Catholic churchhas never made a secret of doing good--for we believe in the potency ofexample. If we elevate the moral condition of one man, it is well thatanother man should know it. The Methodist holds his revival and imploresthe sinner to come forward and kneel at the altar. And as it were, I amholding a revival--I am persuading the negro and the white man as wellto kneel under the cross. Should there be any secrecy in such a work?" "Well, no, not when you put it that way. But you know that we look uponthe Catholic religion as a foreign religion. It does not somehow seemnative to this soil. It is red with the pomp of monarchy, it has theceremonious restraint of the king's court; it hasn't the free noise of arepublic. I will not question its sincerity or the fact that it has inview the betterment of man, but to us it will always seem animportation. " "It was here first, " the priest replied, gravely smiling. "It discoveredthis country. " "We must grant that, " the Major rejoined, "but still I insist that thenative born American regards it as a foreign institution, foreign to hisnature, to his sense of liberty, if not to his soul. " "My dear Major, Christ is foreign to no soil. The earth is His Father'sfoot-stool. The soul of man is the abiding place of the love of theSaviour, and no heart is out-landish. What you may call liberty is aneducation, but the soul as God's province is not made so by training, but came with the first twinkling of light, of reason, the dawn oftime. " "That's about as straight as any man can give it, " old Gid joined in. "But what puzzles me is why God is more at home in one man's heart thanin another. He fills some hearts with love and denies it to others; andthe heart that has been denied is cursed, through no fault of itsown--simply because it has not received--while the other heart isblessed. I reckon the safest plan is to conclude that we don't knowanything about it. I don't, and that settles it so far as I'm concerned. I can't accept man's opinion, for man doesn't know any more about itthan I do; so I say to myself, 'Gideon Batts, eat, drink and be merry, for the first thing you know they will come along and lay you out wherethe worm is whetting his appetite. ' You have raked up quite a passle ofnegroes, haven't you, colonel?" The priest looked at him, but not resentfully. "My work has not beenwithout a fair measure of success, " he answered, now sitting upright andmotionless. "You must have noticed that we are building quite a largechurch. " "So I see, " said the Major. "And you still believe that you are going topreserve the negro's body as well as save his soul. " "We are going to save his soul, and a soul that is to be saved serves toprotect its habitation. " "But you foresee a race war?" "I foresee racial troubles, which in time may result in a war ofextermination. " "I agree with you, Mr. Brennon, " the Major replied. "As time passes itwill become more and more clear that the whites and the negroes cannotlive together. Their interests may be identical, but they are of adifferent order and can never agree. And now let us face the truth. Whatsowed the seeds of this coming strife? Emancipation? No, enfranchisement. The other day Mr. Low gave me a copy of the LondonSpectator, calling my attention to a thoughtful paper on this verysubject. It deeply impressed me, so much so that I read parts of it anumber of times. Let me see if I can recall one observation that struckme. Yes, and it is this: 'We want a principle on which republicans canwork and we believe that the one which would be the most fruitful isthat the black people should be declared to be foreign immigrants, guests of the state, entitled to the benefit of every law and everyprivilege, education, for example, but debarred from political power andfrom sitting on juries, which latter, indeed, in mixed cases, ought tobe superseded by properly qualified magistrates and judges. ' The papergoes on to show that this would not be oppressive, and that the blackswould be in the position of a majority of Englishmen prior to 1832, aposition compatible with much happiness. But the trouble is we have gonetoo far to retrace our steps. It was easy enough to grant suffrage tothe negro, but to take it away would be a difficult matter. So what arewe to do? To let the negro exercise the full and unrestrained measure ofhis suffrage, would, in some communities, reduce the white man to theposition of political nonentity. And no law, no cry about the rights ofa down-trodden race, no sentiment expressed abroad, could force thewhite man to submit quietly to this degradation. Upon the negro's headthe poetry of New England has placed a wreath of sentiment. No poet hasplaced a wreath upon the brow of the California Chinaman, nor upon thehead of any foreign element in any of the northern states. Then why thispartiality? Is the negro so gentle that he must always be defended, andis the white man of the south so hard of heart that he must always becondemned?" "What you say is perfectly clear to me, " the priest replied, "and it isnatural that you should defend your position. " "It is the only position and the only course left to a thinking and aself-respecting white man, " the Major rejoined. "Yes, I will agree to that, too. " "Ah, and that's the trouble, Mr. Brennon. You agree while you oppose. " "My dear Major, I am not here to oppose, nor to destroy, but to savefragments when the hour of destruction shall have come. " "But if your church believes that it can save fragments why doesn't itexert itself to save the whole?" "Major, salvation comes of persuasion and persuasion is slow. " "Yes, and let me tell you that your form of religion will never becomepopular among the negroes. The negro is emotional, and to make a displayof his religious agitation is too great a luxury to be given up. Yourcreed entails too much belief and too little excitement; upon the laymanit doesn't confer sufficient importance. The negro must shout and hug. The quiet mysticism of the divine spirit does not satisfy him. He wantsto be exorcised; he wants what is known as the mourners'-bench jerks. Ifhis brother loves him he doesn't want a quiet assurance of that fact, conveyed by a year of conduct; he demands a noisy proof, the impulse ofa moment of joy. " With a slow shake of his head old Gid confirmed this view, and thepriest looked on, gravely smiling. "You have now touched upon a mistakenphase of the negro's character, " said he. "And to make my point clear, Imust speak plainly with regard to the appearance of our form of worship. I must present it as it impresses the ignorant and the superstitious. Indoing so I make myself appear almost irreverent, but in no other way canI show you the possibilities of my work among the colored race. Mysteryappeals to the negro. Behind all mystery there is power. Under theinfluence of the sensationalist the negro may shout, demand an impulsiveproof of love, hug his brother; but in his heart God is a fearful andsilent mystery. And the Catholic church shows him that the holy spiritis without noise. In the creation of the great tree there has not been asound; all has been the noiseless will of God. It is not difficult toshow him that ours was the first church; it may be shown that theProtestant Bible held him a slave; and above all we prove to him that inthe Catholic church there is no discrimination against his color, that anegro may become a Cardinal. We convince him that shouting is but amental agitation and a physical excitement. I have know many a negro, onthe scaffold, to renounce the religion which for years he hadpracticed, and with cool discernment embrace the parent church. The germof Catholicism is in his blood. He cannot be a free thinker. Thebarbarian is subdued by the solemn and majestic form of the Church ofRome, while he might regard with disdain the intricate reason of thePresbyterian faith. And in this respect the negro is akin to thebarbarian. He is moved by music and impressed by ceremony. " "You are plain-spoken, indeed, " the Major replied. "The boldness withwhich you recount your shams is most surprising. I didn't expect it. " "I told you that I would be bold. " "But you didn't say that you would acknowledge your insincerity. " "Nor have I done so. I have simply shown you why our church appeals tothe superstitious blood of the African. To accomplish a good we must usethe directest means. If I were seeking to convert you, I should adopt adifferent method. I would appeal to your reason; convince you of a truthwhich the wisest men have known and still know--that the Catholic churchis God's church. It is now time for me to go, " he added, after a shortpause. "Please tell your man that I want my horse. " CHAPTER XV. At the close of a misty day Jim Taylor stood at the parlor door to takehis leave of Mrs. Cranceford. During the slow hours of the afternoonthey had talked about Louise, or sitting in silence had thought of her;and now at parting there was nothing to be added except the giant'shopeful remark, "I believe we'll hear from her to-morrow; I am quitesure of it. " Repetition may make a sentiment trite, and into a slangishphrase may turn a wise truism, but words spoken to encourage an anxiousheart do not lose their freshness. "Yes, I am quite sure of it, " herepeated. And the next day a letter came. It bore no post mark; thecaptain of a steamboat had sent it over from a wood-yard. The boat wasan unimportant craft and its name was new even to the negroes at thelanding, which, indeed, must have argued that the vessel was making itsfirst trip on the Arkansas. The communication was brief, but it wasfilled with expressions of love. "I am beginning to make my way, " thewriter said, "and when I feel that I have completely succeeded, I willcome home. My ambition now is to surprise you, and to do this I mustkeep myself in the dark just a little longer. I have tried to imaginemyself a friendless woman, such as I have often read about, and Irather enjoy it. Love to Jim. " The Major was in his office when the letter was brought, and thither hiswife hastened to read it to him. "What is it?" he asked as she entered the room. "A letter from Louise? Idon't want to hear it. " "John. " "I don't want to hear another crazy screed from her. Where is she? Isshe coming home? Read it. " During the reading he listened with one hand cupped behind hisear--though his hearing was not impaired--and when the last word hadbeen pronounced, he said: "Likes to be mysterious, doesn't she? Well, Ihope she'll get enough of it. If her life has been so much influenced bysympathy why has she felt none of that noble quality for us? Where isshe?" "The letter doesn't say. It is not even dated, and it is notpost-marked. " "Did it come in a gale? Was it blown out of a mysterious cloud?" "It came from the wood-yard, and the man who brought it said that it hadbeen left by the captain of the Mill-Boy, a new boat, they say. " "Well, it's devilish----" "John. " "I say it's very strange. Enjoys being mysterious. I wonder if sheequally enjoys having the neighbors talk about her? Sends love to Jim. Well, that isn't so bad. You'd better have some one take the letter overto him. " "I sent him word by the man who brought the letter that we had heardfrom her. " No further did the Major question her, but taking up a handful ofaccounts, he settled himself into the preoccupation in which she hadfound him, but the moment she went out and closed the door, he got outof his chair and with his hands behind him, walked up and down the room. At the window he halted, and standing there, looked down the river, inthe direction of the cape of sand whereon Louise had stood, that daywhen Pennington coughed in the library door; and in his mind the old mansaw her, with her hands clasped over her brown head. He mused over thetime that had passed since then, the marriage, the death, the drearyfuneral; and though he did not reproach himself, yet he felt that couldhe but recall that day he would omit his foolish plea of gallantry. For the coming of Jim, Mrs. Cranceford had not long to wait. She was inthe parlor when he tapped at the door. After she had called, "Come in, "he continued to stand there as if he were afraid of meeting adisappointment. But when he had peeped in and caught sight of hersmiling face, his cold fear was melted. "Here it is, " she said, holding the letter out to him. Almost at onestride he crossed the room and seized the letter. In the light of thewindow he stood to read it, but it fluttered away from him the moment hesaw that there was a greeting in it for himself. He grabbed at it as if, possessing life, it were trying to escape, and with a tight grip upon ithe said: "I knew she would write and I am sure she would have writtensooner if--if it had been necessary. " Mrs. Cranceford was laughing tearfully. "Oh, you simple-hearted man, sotrustful and so big of soul, what is your love not worth to a woman?" "Simple-hearted? I am nothing of the sort. I try to be just and that'sall there is to it. " "No, Jim Taylor, there's more to it than that. A man may be just and hissense of justice may demand a stricter accounting than you ask for. " "I guess you mean that I'm weak. " "Oh, no, " she hastened to reply, "I don't mean that. The truth is I meanthat you give something that but few men have ever given--a love blindenough and great enough to pardon a misdeed committed against yourself. It is a rare charity. " He did not reply, but in the light of the window he stood, reading theletter; and Mrs. Cranceford, sitting down, gave him the attention of amotherly fondness, smiling upon him; and he, looking up from the letterwhich a pleasurable excitement caused to shake in his hand, wonderedwhy any one should ever have charged this kindly matron with a cold lackof sympathy. So interested in his affairs was she, so responsive to asentiment, though it might be clumsily spoken, so patient of his talkand of his silence, that to him she was the Roman mother whom he had metin making his way through a short-cut of Latin. "Jim. " "Yes, ma'm. " "I want to ask you something. Have you talked much with Tom lately?" "Not a great deal. He was over at my place the other night and we talkedof first one thing and then another, but I don't remember much of whatwas said. Why do you want to know?" "Can't you guess?" "Don't know that I can. I was always rather slow at guessing. And don'tlet me try; tell me what you mean?" "You are as stupid as you are noble. " "What did you say, ma'm?" Again he had given his attention to theletter. "Oh, nothing. " "But you must have said something, " he replied, pressing the letter intonarrow folds, and appearing as if he felt that he had committed a crimein having failed to catch the meaning of her remark. "Oh, it amounted to nothing. " He stupidly accepted this decree, and smoothing out the letter andfolding it again, requested that he might be permitted to take it home;and with this reply she gladdened him: "I intended that you should. " At evening old Gid came, with many a snort and many a noisy stamp at thedogs prancing upon the porch. Into the library he bustled, puffing andimportant, brisk with the air of business. "John, " he said, as he satdown, "the last bale of my cotton has been hauled to the landing. Itwill be loaded to-night and to-morrow morning I'm going with it down toNew Orleans; and I gad, I'll demand the last possible cent, for it's thefinest staple I ever saw. " "I thought you were going to bunch in and sell with me, " the Majorreplied. "I intended to, John, but you see I'm too far ahead of you to wait. Idon't like to discount my industry by waiting. The truth is, I want themoney as soon as I can get it. I am chafing to discharge my debts. Itmay be noble to feel and acknowledge the obligations of friendship, butthe consciousness of being in debt, a monied debt, even to a friend, isblunting to the higher sensibilities and hampering to the character. Now, you've never been in debt, and therefore you don't know whatslavery is. " "What! I've owed fifty thousand dollars at a time. " "Yes, but you had a way of getting out from under it, John. We don'tdeserve any credit for paying a debt if it comes easy, if it's naturalto us. Why, a man with the faculty of getting out from under a debt isbetter off and is more to be envied than the man who has never knownwhat it is to walk under a weight of obligations, for to throw off theburden brings him a day of real happiness, while the more prudent andprosperous person is acquainted merely with contentment. You've had agood time in your life, John. On many an occasion when other men wouldhave been at the end of the string you have reached back, grabbed upyour resources and enjoyed them. Yes, sir. And you have more educationthan I have, but you can never hope to rival me in wisdom. " The Major was standing on the hearth, and leaning his head back againstthe mantel-piece, he laughed; and from Mrs. Cranceford's part of thehouse came the impatient slam of a door. "It's a fact, John. And within me there is just enough of rascality tosweeten my wisdom. " "There is no doubt as to the rascality, Gid. The only question is withregard to the wisdom. " "Easy, John. The wisdom is sometimes hidden; modesty covers it up, andif the rascality is always apparent it is my frankness that holds it upto view. Yes, sir. But my wisdom lacks something, is in want ofsomething to direct it. Pure wisdom can't direct itself, John; it islike gold--it must have an alloy. You've got that alloy, and it makesyou more successful as a man, but sometimes less charming as acompanion. The part of a man that means business is disagreeable to agentle, humor-loving nature like mine. I perceive that I've got myspeculative gear on, and I'm bold; yes, for I am soon to discharge asacred obligation and then to walk out under the trees a free man. ButI'm naturally bold. Did you ever notice that a sort of self-educationmakes a man adventurous in his talk when a more systematic trainingmight hold him down with the clamps of too much care?" "Yes, might inflict him with the dullness of precision, " the Majorsuggested, smiling upon his guest. "That's it, and for this reason half-educated men are often thebrightest. I read a book--and I reckon I'm as fond of a good book as anyman--without bringing to bear any criticisms that scholars have passedupon it. But with you it is different. " "Gid, you ascribe scholarship to me when in fact you are far morebookish than I am. You sit in your den all alone and read while I'm shutup in my office going over my accounts. From care you have a freedomthat I can never hope to find. " "John, in comparison with me you don't know what care is. " The Major leaned against the mantel-piece and laughed. "It's a fact, John. Why, I have care enough to kill a statesman orstrain a philosopher. Look at me; I'm old and don't amount to anything, and that is one of the heaviest cares that can settle down upon man. Wise? Oh, yes, we'll grant that, but as I before remarked, my wisdomlacks proper direction. It is like ill-directed energy, and that, youknow, counts for nothing. I once knew a fellow that expended enoughenergy in epileptic fits to have made him a fortune. He'd fall down andkick and paw the air--a regular engine of industry, but it was allwasted. But he had a brother, a lazy fellow, and he conceived the ideaof a sort of gear for him, so that his jerkings and kicks operated apatent churn. So, if I only had some ingenious fool to harness me Imight do something. " "Why, " said the Major, "I wouldn't have you otherwise than what you are. Suppose you were to become what might be termed a useful citizen, truthful and frugal----" "Hold on, John, " Gid broke in, holding up his hands. "You distress mewith your picture. When I hear of a frugal man I always imagine he'shungry. Yes, sir. But let me tell you, I'll be a man of affairs when Icome back from New Orleans. You may be assured of that. I'm going toscatter money about this neighborhood. Why, every lout within ten milessquare, if he's got fifteen dollars, holds his opinion above mine. Ah, by a lucky chance I see that your demijohn is in here. And now just fillup this bottle, " he added, producing a flask as if by a sleight-of-handtrick, "and I will bid you good-night. " CHAPTER XVI. A neighboring planter, having just returned from New Orleans, told theMajor that in the French market he had met Gid, who had informed himthat for his cotton he had received a premium above the highest price, in recognition of its length of fibre and the care with which it hadbeen handled. The part of the statement that bore upon the length offibre was accepted by the Major, but he laughed at the idea that Gid'scare should call for reward. But so good a report was pleasing to himand he told his wife that her denunciation of the old fellow must soonbe turned into praise. And with cool thoughtfulness she thus replied:"John, is it possible that at this late day you are still permittingthat man to fill your eyes with dust? Has he again wheedled you into thebelief that he is going to pay you? It does seem to me that your goodsense ought to show you that man as he really is. " They were at the dinner table. The Major shoved back his chair andlooked at his wife long and steadily. "Margaret, " said he, "there issuch a thing as persecution, and you are threatened with a practice ofit. But do I believe he is going to pay me? I do. And naturally you wantto know my reason for thinking so. " "Yes, I should like to know. I suppose your kindness rather than yourjudgment has found a reason. It always does. " "Good; and the reason which a kindness discovers, though the search forit may be a mistake, is better than the spirit that inspires apersecution. However, we won't indulge in any fine-drawn argument; wewill----" "Search for another reason when one is exploded, " she suggested, victoriously smiling upon him. "Oh, you mean that I really haven't found one. To tell you the truth Ihaven't a very strong one. But in some way he has convinced me of hissincerity. I have forced upon him the understanding that at least a goodpart of the money must be paid, and the fact that he took me seriously, forms, perhaps, the basis of my belief in his desire to face hisobligations. We shall see. " Several days passed, but they saw nothing of Gid. It was known that hewas at home, for Jim Taylor had told the news of his return. At thisneglect the Major was fretted, and one morning he sent word to Gid thathe must come at once and give an account of himself. It was nearly noonwhen the old fellow arrived. Clumsily he dismounted from his horse, andmeekly he made his way into the yard, tottering as he walked. Heappeared to have lost flesh, and his skin was yellow with worry and withwant of sleep. The Major came forward and they met and shook hands undera tree. From an upper window Mrs. Cranceford looked upon them. "Gid, I didn't know what had become of you. I heard of you after you hadreceived for your cotton more than the market price, and----" "It was a fine shipment, John. Have you a rope handy? I want to hangmyself. And why? Because I don't expect anyone to believe my statement;but John, as sure as I am alive this minute, my pocket was picked in theFrench market. Hold on, now. I don't ask you to believe me, for I won'tbe unreasonable, but I hope I may drop dead this moment if I wasn'trobbed. And that's the reason I have held back. Get the rope and I'llhang myself. I don't want to live any longer. I am no account on theface of the earth. I sang like a cricket when I might have been more inearnest, and now when my condition is desperate, the fact that I havebeen foolish and careless takes all weight from my words. As I camealong my old horse stumbled, and I didn't try to check him--I wanted himto fall and kill me. Get me the rope. " The Major took off his hat and leaned against the tree. With humility, with drooping patience, Gid waited for him to speak, and his ear wasstrained to catch the familiar word of hope, or mayhap the first bar ofa resounding laugh. The first words escaped him; he heard only theircold tone without comprehending their meaning: "I want you to get off that place just as soon as you can; and I wantyou to go as you came--with nothing. I have laughed at you while youwere cheating me; I have placed a premium upon your worthlessness andrascality. There is no good in you. Get off that place just as soon asyou can. " "John----" "Don't call me John. You are a hypocrite and a deadbeat. Yes, you havesung like a cricket and I have paid dearly for your music. Don't say aword to me; don't open your lying mouth, but get out of this yard assoon as your wretched legs can carry you, and get off that place atonce. " The Major turned his back upon him, and the old fellow tottered to thegate. With an effort he scrambled upon his horse and was gone. He lookedback as if he expected to see a hand upraised, commanding him to stop;he listened for a voice inviting him to return; but he saw no hand, heard no voice, and onward down the road he went. In the highway he meta man and the man spoke to him, but he replied not, neither did he lifthis heavy eyes, but rode onward, drooping over the horse's neck. Hepassed the house of Wash Sanders, and from the porch the invalid hailedhim, but he paid no heed. Upon reaching home, or the cypress log house which for him had so longbeen a free and easy asylum, he feebly called a negro to take his horse. Into the house he went, into the only habitable room. It was at best adesolate abode; the walls were bare, the floor was rotting, but abouthim he cast a look of helpless affection, at the bed, at a shelf whereona few books were piled. He opened a closet and took therefrom a fadedcarpet-bag and into it he put Rousseau's Confessions, then an old bookon logic, and then he hesitated and looked up at the shelf. All weredear to him, these thumbed and dingy books; many a time at midnight hadthey supped with him beside the fire of muttering white-oak coals, andout into the wild bluster of a storm had they driven care andloneliness. But he could not take them all. Painfully he made hisselections, nearly filled his bag, leaving barely room for an old satinwaistcoat and two shirts; and these he stuffed in hastily. He put thebag upon the bed, when with fumbling he had fastened it, and stoodlooking about the room. Yes, that was all, all except a hickory walkingcane standing in a corner. Onward again he went with his cane on his shoulder and his bag on hisback. At the bars down the lane a dog ran up to him. "Go to the house, Jack, " he said, and the dog understood him and trotted away, but in theold man's voice he heard a suspicious note and he turned before reachingthe house and followed slowly and cautiously, stopping whenever the oldfellow turned to look back. At the corner of a field Gid halted and putdown his bag, and the dog turned about, pretending to be on his wayhome. In the field was a pecan tree, tall and graceful. Year after yearhad the old man tended it, and to him it was more than a tree, it was afriend. Upon the fence he climbed, sitting for a moment on the top railto look about him; to the tree he went, and putting his arms about it, pressed his wrinkled cheek against its bark. He turned away, climbed thefence, took up his bag and resumed his journey toward the steamboatlanding. Far behind, on a rise in the road, the dog sat, watching him. The old man turned a bend in the road, and the dog, running until hismaster was again in sight, sat down to gaze after him. Far ahead was thecharred skeleton of a gin house, burned by marauders many years ago, andhere he was to turn into the road that led to the landing. He looked upas he drew near and saw a horse standing beside the road; and then frombehind the black ruin stepped a man--the Major. "Gid, " he said, coming forward, "I believe we're going to have morerain. " The old man dropped his bag, and the dog far down the road turned back. "Wind's from the northwest, Gid. " He put his hand on the old fellow'sshoulder. "Don't touch me, John; let me go. " "Why, I can't let you go. Look here, old man, you have stood by me morethan once--you stood when other men ran away--and you are more to methan money is. " "Let me go, John. I am an old liar and an old hypercrite. My pocket wasnot picked--I lost the money gambling. Let me go; I am a scoundrel. " He stooped to take up his bag, but the Major seized it. "I'll carry itfor you, " he said. "Too heavy for as old a man as you are. Come on backand raise another crop. " "I haven't a thing to go on, John. Can't even get feed for the mules. Give me the satchel. " "You shall have all the feed you want. " "But your wife----" "I will tell her that the debt is paid. " "John, your gospel would take the taint out of a thief on a cross. And Iwas never so much of a man as you now make me, and, I gad, I'm going tobe worthy of your friendship. Let me remind you of something: That olduncle of mine in Kentucky will leave me his money. It's cold-blooded tosay it, but I understand that he can't live but a short time. I am hisonly relative, and have a hold on him that he can't very well shake off. He'll beat me out of my own as long as he can, but old Miz Nature's gother eye on him. Yes, I'll try it again and next year I'll let you sellthe crop. But say, John, at one time I had them fellows on the hip, andif I had cashed in at the right time I would have hit 'em big. Get yourhorse and we'll hook the satchel over the horn of the saddle. " Along the road they walked toward home, the Major leading the horse. Fora time they were silent, and then the Major said: "As I came along I wasthinking of that bully from Natchez. He would have killed me with hisDerringer if you hadn't broken his arm with your cane. " "Oh, yes; that red-headed fellow. It has been a long time since Ithought of him. How the pleasant acquaintances of our younger days doslip away from us. " "Yes, " the Major laughed, "and our friends fall back as we grow old. Friendship is more a matter of temperament than----" "Of the honesty of the other party, " Gid suggested. "Yes, you are right. Honesty doesn't always inspire friendship, for wemust be interested in a man before we can become his friend; and merehonesty is often a bore. " When they reached the gate that opened into Gid's yard, the Major shookhands with the old fellow and told him to resume his authority as ifnothing had happened to interrupt it. "I will, John; but something has happened to interrupt it, and thatinterruption has been my second birth, so to speak. I passed away attwelve o'clock and was born again just now. I won't try to express myfeelings, I am still so young; for any profession of gratitude would beidle in comparison with what I am going to do. I've got your friendshipand I'm going to have your respect. Come in and sit awhile, won't you?" "Not now, but I'll come over to-night. " "Good. And remember this, John; I'm going to have your respect. " CHAPTER XVII. With a generous and perhaps weak falsehood the Major sought to assurehis wife that Gid had paid a part of his debt, and that a completesettlement was not far off, but with a cool smile she looked at him andreplied: "John, please don't tax your conscience any further. It's toogreat a strain on you. Let the matter drop. I won't even say I told youso. " "And as much as you might want the subject to be dropped you can't letit fall without reminding me--but we will let it drop; we'll throw itdown. But you have your rights, Margaret, and they shall be respected. Iwill tell him that out of respect to you he must stay away from here. " "That is very thoughtful, dear; but does it occur to you that yourcontinued intimacy with him, whether he comes here or not, will show awant of respect for me?" "You don't give a snap whether he pays his debts or not. You simplydon't want me to associate with him. No, it has not occurred to me thatI am not showing you proper respect and neither is it true. Margaret, doyou know what is the most absurd and insupportable tyranny that womancan put upon man? It is to choose a companion for her husband. " "With me, dear, it is not tyranny; it is judgment. " "Oh, yes; or rather, it is the wonderful intuition which we are taughtto believe that woman possesses. I admit that she is quick to see evilin a man, but she shuts her eyes to the good quality that standsopposite to offset it. " "Oh, I know that I haven't shrewdness enough to discover a good trait; Ican recognize only the bad, for they are always clearly in view. It is awonder that you can respect so stupid a creature as I am, and I knowthat you have ceased to have a deeper feeling for me. " "Now, Margaret, for gracious sake don't talk that way. Oh, of courseyou've got me now, and I have to flop or be a brute. Yes, you've got me. You know I respect your good sense and love you, so what's the use ofthis wrangle. There, now, it's all right. I'll promise not to go nearhim if you say so. And I have made up my mind to attend church with moreregularity. I acknowledge that I can go wrong oftener than almost anyman. Respect for you!" he suddenly broke out. "Why, you are the smartestwoman in this state, and everybody knows it. Come on out to the officeand sit with me. " Sometimes the Major, with a pretense of having business to call him awayat night, would go over to old Gid's house, and together they wouldchuckle by the fire or nod over roasting potatoes. They talked of theirdays on the river, and of their nights at Natchez under the hill. To bewholly respectable, a man must give up many an enjoyment, but when atlast he has become virtuous, he fondly recounts the escapades of formeryears; and thus the memory of hot blood quickens the feeble pulse ofage. Sometimes old Gid would meet the Major at the gin house and joke withhim amid the dust and lint, but he always came and departed in aroundabout way, so that Mrs. Cranceford, sitting at the window, mightnot be offended by his horse and his figure in the road. A time camewhen there was an interval of a week, and the old fellow had not shownhimself at the gin house, and one night the Major went to the cypresslog home to invade his retirement, but the place was dark. He pushedopen the door and lighted the lamp. The fireplace was cheerless withcold ashes. He went to a cabin and made inquiry of a negro, and was toldthat Mr. Batts had been gone more than a week, and that he had left noword as to when he intended to return. Greatly worried, the Major wenthome; wide awake he pondered during long hours in bed, but no light fellupon the mystery of the old man's absence; nor in the night nor atbreakfast did the Major speak of it to his wife, but silently he tookhis worry with him to his office. One morning while the planter was athis desk, there came a storming at the dogs in the yard. "Get down, boys. Don't put your muddy paws on me. Hi, there, Bill, youseven years' itch of a scoundrel, take my horse to the stable. " The Major threw open the door. "Don't come out, John!" Gid shouted, coming forward among the prancing dogs. "Don't come out, for I want tosee you in there. " He appeared to have gained flesh; his cheeks were ruddy, and his graspwas strong as he seized the Major's hand. "How are you, John?" "Why, old man, where on earth have you been?" "I have been in the swamp for many years, but now I touch the groundonly in high places. " He boldly stepped into the office, and as he sat down the sweep of hiscoat-tails brushed chattel mortgages and bills of sale from the desk. "Only in high places do my feet touch the ground, John. I have justreturned from Kentucky. And I bring the news that my old uncle is nomore to this life, but is more to me than ever. " "And you were summoned to his bedside, " said the Major, striving to beserious, but smiling upon him. "Not exactly. You might say that I was summoned by a lawyer to hischest-side. He left me no word of affection, but his money is mine, andon many a half-dollar of it I warrant you there is the print of histooth. Give me your check-book, John. " "Wait a while, Gid. Let us accustom ourselves to the situation. " "No; let us get down to business. I am impatient to pay a mildewed debt. God's love was slow, John, but it came. How much do I owe?" "I don't believe I'd pay it all at once, Gid. Leave a part to be met bythe next crop. " "All right; but it's yours at any time. The only way I can use money isto get rid of it as soon as possible. Make out a check for two-thirds ofthe amount and I'll put my strong hand to it. But you haven'tcongratulated me. " "No, " the Major replied, with a drawl, "for I felt that it would havetoo much the appearance of my own greed. I have hounded you--" The oldfellow seized him, and stopped his utterance. "Don't say that, John. Youhave kept me out of hell and you ought to complete my heaven with acongratulation. " They shook hands, looking not into each other's eyes, but downward; theMajor pretended to laugh, and old Gid, dropping his hand, blusteredabout the room, whistled and stormed at a dog that poked his head in atthe door. Then he sat down, crossed his legs; but finding thisuncomfortable, sprawled himself into an easier position and began tomoralize upon the life and character of his uncle. "He always called mea fool with an uproarious fancy, an idiot with wit, and a wise manlacking in sense. He denied himself everything, and it strikes me thathe must have been the fool. I wish he had gathered spoil enough to makeme rich, but I reckon he did the best he could, and I forgive him. Wemust respect the dead, and sometimes the sooner they are dead the soonerwe respect them. Let me sign that thing. Oh, he hasn't left me so much, but I won't quarrel with him now. What was it the moralist said?" heasked, pressing a blotting pad upon his name. "Said something about wemust educate or we must perish. That's all right, but I say we must havemoney. Without money you may be honest, " he went on, handing the checkto the Major, "but your honesty doesn't show to advantage. Money makes aman appear honorable whether he is or not. It gives him courage, andnothing is more honorable than courage. The fact that a man pays a debtdoesn't always argue that he's honest--it more often argues that he'sgot money. Accident may make a man honest just as it may make him athief. " "Your log fire and your old books haven't done you any harm, Gid. " "They have saved my life, John. And let me tell you, that a man whogrows gray without loving some old book is worse than a fool. Thequaint thought of an old thinker is a cordial to aged men who come afterhim. I used to regret that I had not been better educated, but now I'mglad that my learning is not broader--it might give me too manyloves--might make me a book polygamist. I have wondered why anyuniversity man can't sit down and write a thing to startle the world;but the old world herself is learned, and what she demands isoriginality. We may learn how to express thought, John, but after all, thought itself must be born in us. There, I have discharged anobligation and delivered a moral lecture, and I want to tell you thatyou are the best man I ever saw. " "Now you are talking nonsense, Gid. Why, you have been just as necessaryto me as I have to you. In a manner you have been the completion ofmyself. " "Ah, " Gid cried, scuffling to his feet and bowing, "I have the pleasureof saluting Mrs. Cranceford. Some time has passed since I saw you, ma'am, and I hope you will pardon my absence. " The Major sprawled himself back with a laugh. Mrs. Cranceford, standingon the door sill, gave Gid a cool stare. "Won't you please come in?" he asked, courteously waving his hand overthe chair which he had just quitted. "No, I thank you. " "Ah, I see you are surprised to see me in here. There was a time when itwould have strained my boldness, but now it is a pleasure. I am here onbusiness. To me business is a sweet morsel, and I delight myself withrolling it under my tongue. Ma'am, I have just signed a check. My dearold uncle, one of the most humane and charming of men, has been cruellysnatched from this life; and as he found it impossible to take his moneywith him, he left it to me. " "I hope you will make good use of it, " she replied, with never asoftening toward him. "I am beginning well, " he rejoined, surprised that she did not give hima kindlier look. "I am discharging my obligations, and before night I'llcall on the rector and give him a check. " She smiled, but whether in doubt as to his sincerity or in commendationof his purpose he could not determine. But he took encouragement. "Yes, ma'am, and as I have now become a man of some importance, I am going toact accordingly. I am free to confess that my first endeavor shall be togain your good opinion. " "And I'll freely give it, Mr. Batts, when I believe you merit it. " "To desire it, ma'am, is of itself a merit. " She laughed at this, and the Major laughed, too, for he saw that nolonger should he be compelled to defend his fondness for the oldfellow. "I am more than willing to confess my mountain of faults, " Gid went on, smiling, and his smile was not disagreeable. "I am more than willing todo this, and when I have--and which I now do--your Christian heart mustforgive me. " She laughed and held out her hand, and with a gallantry that would havebeen reminiscent, even in old Virginia, he touched it with his lips. "Come here, Margaret, " said the Major, and when she turned toward him, smiling, he put his arms about her, pressed her to his breast and fondlykissed her. CHAPTER XVIII. Mrs. Cranceford's surrender was not as complete as Gid's fancy hadfore-pictured it; he had expected to see her bundle of prejudices throwndown like Christian's load; and therefore the dignity with which shelooked upon the establishment of his honor was a disappointment to him, but she invited him to stay for dinner, and this argued that her reservecould not much longer maintain itself. With pleasure he recalled thatshe had given him her hand, but in this he feared that there was more ofhaughtiness than of generosity. And at the table, and later in thelibrary, he was made to feel that after all she had accepted him merelyon probation; still, her treatment of him was so different from what ithad been, that he took the courage to build up a hope that he might atlast subdue her. To what was passing the Major was humorously alive, and, too keenly tickled to sit still, he walked up and down the room, slyly shaking himself. Mrs. Cranceford asked Gid if he had read the bookwhich she had loaned him, the "Prince of the House of David, " and heanswered that when at last he had fallen asleep the night before, theprecious volume had dropped beside his pillow. There were some bookswhich he read while sitting by the fire, and some whose stirringqualities moved him to walk about as he gulped their contents; but witha godly book he must lay himself down so that he might be more receptiveof its soothing influence. Then he reviewed the book in question, anddid it shrewdly. With the Jewish maiden and the Roman centurion going tosee the strange man perform the novel rite of baptism in the river ofJordan, he looked back upon the city of Jerusalem; and further along hepointed out Judas, plodding the dusty road--squat, sullen, and with asneer at the marvel he was destined to see. "I believe you have read it, " the Major spoke up, still slyly shakinghimself. "Read it! Why, John, I have eaten it. I gad, sir--Pardon me, ma'am. "With a nod she pronounced her forgiveness. The slip was but a pretense, foisted to change the talk to suit his purpose. "Ah, " said he, "I havenot yet weeded out all my idle words, and it grieves me when I amsurprised by the recurrence of one which must be detestable; but, ma'am, I try hard, and there is always merit in a sincere trial. " "Yes, in a sincere trial, " she agreed. "Yes, ma'am; and--now there's John laughing at me fit to kill himself;and bless me, ma'am, you are laughing, too. Am I never to be takenseriously? Are you thus to titter true reformation out of countenance?But I like it. But we are never tired of a man so long as we can laughat him; we may cry ourselves to sleep, but who laughs himself toslumber? Ma'am, are you going to leave us?" he asked, seeing that Mrs. Cranceford was on her feet. "But of course you have duties to lookafter, even though you might not be glad to escape an old man's gabble. I _call_ it gabble, but I know it to be wisdom. But I beg pardon forseeming vanity. " A dignified smile was the only reply she made, but in the smile waslegible the progress his efforts were making. "John, " he said, when she was gone, "that sort of a woman would havemade a man of me. " "But perhaps that sort of a woman wouldn't have undertaken the job, " theMajor replied. "Slow, John; but I guess you're right. " "I think so. Women may be persistent, but they are generally quick torecognize the impossible. " "Easy. But again I guess you're right. I gad, when the teachings of aman's mother leave him unfinished there isn't a great deal ofencouragement for the wife. A man looks upon his wife as a part ofhimself, and a man will lie even to himself, John. " "By the way, " the Major asked, sitting down, "have you seen that fellowMayo since he came back?" "Yes; I met him in the road once, but had no words with him. " "It would hardly do for me to have words with him, " the Major replied;and after a moment of musing he added: "I understand that he'sorganizing the negroes, and that's the first step toward trouble. Thenegro has learned to withdraw his faith from the politician, but labororganization is a new thing to him, and he will believe in it until thebubble bursts. That fellow is a shrewd scoundrel and there's no tellingwhat harm he may not project. " "Then why not hang him before he has time to launch his trouble? There'salways a way to keep the cat from scratching you. Shoot the cat. " "No, " said the Major, "that won't do. It would put us at adisadvantage. " "Yes; but I gad, our disadvantage wouldn't be as great as his. Nobodywould be willing to swap places with a man that's hanged. " "That's all very well, but we would be the aggressors, and distant eyeswould look upon him as a martyr. " "Yes, I know; but isn't it better to have one man looked on as a martyrthan to have a whole community bathed in blood?" "It might be better for us, but not for our children. A blood-bath maybe forgotten, but martyrdom lives in the minds of succeedinggenerations. " "John, there spoke the man of business. You are always looking out forthe future. I have agreed with myself to make the most of the present, and so far as the future is concerned, it will have to look out foritself--it always has. Was there ever a future that was not prepared totake care of itself? And is there a past that can be helped? Then let usfasten our minds to the present. Let me see. I wonder if we couldn'ttrain a steer to gore that fellow to death. And I gad, that would doaway with all possibility of martyrdom. What do you say?" "Nothing more on that subject; but I can say something concerninganother matter, and it will interest you more than the martyrdom of allhistory. " "Then out with it. I demand to be interested. But don't trifle with me, John. Remember that an old man's hide is thin. " "I'll not trifle with you; I'll startle you. Sixty years ago, thegrandfather of Admiral Semmes made whisky in the Tennessee Mountains. " "But, John, that was a long time ago, and the old man is dead, and herewe are alive. But he made whisky sixty years ago. What about it?" "The brother of the admiral lives in Memphis, " the Major continued, "and the other day he sent me a bottle of that whisky, run through a logbefore you were born. " Gid's mouth flew open and his eyes stuck out. "John, " he said, and therestraint he put upon his voice rippled it, "John, don't tamper with theaffections of an old and infirm man. Drive me off the bayou plantation, compel me to acknowledge and to feel that I am a hypercrite and a liar, but don't whet a sentiment and then cut my throat with it. Be mercifulunto a sinner who worships the past. " He sat there looking upward, a figure of distress, fearing the arrivalof despair. The Major laughed at him. "Don't knock me down with a stickof spice-wood, John. " The Major went to a sideboard, took therefrom a quaint bottle and twothin glasses, and placing them upon a round table, bowed to the bottleand said: "Dew of an ancient mountain, your servant, sir. " And old Gid, with his mouth solemnly set, but with his eyes still bulging, arose, folded his arms, bowed with deep reverence, and thus paid his respects:"Sunshine, gathered from the slopes of long ago, your slave. " Mrs. Cranceford stepped in to look for something, and the playimprovised by these two old boys was broken short off. The Major satdown, but Gid edged up nearer the table as if preparing to snatch thebottle. Upon the odd-shaped flask she cast a look of passing interest, and speaking to the Major she said: "Oh, that's the whisky you got from Memphis. Don't drink it all, please. I want to fill up the camphor bottle----" Gid sat down with a jolt that jarred the windows, and she looked at himin alarm, fearing at the instant that death must have aimed a blow athim. "Camphor bottle!" he gasped. "Merciful heavens, ma'am, ' fill upyour camphor bottle with my heart's blood!" At this distress the Major laughed, though more in sympathy than inmirth; and Mrs. Cranceford simply smiled as if with loathness sherecognized that there was cause for merriment, but when she had quittedthe room and gone to her own apartment, she sat down, and with thepicture in her mind, laughed in mischievous delight. "Help yourself, " said the Major. Gid had spread his hands over thewhisky as if to warm them in this liquidized soul of the past. "Pour it out for me, John. And I will turn my back so as not to see howmuch you pour. " "Go ahead, " the Major insisted. "But I am shaken with that suggested profanation, that camphor bottle, and I'm afraid that I might spill a drop. But wait. I am also bold andwill attempt it. Gods, look at that--a shredded sunbeam. " "Don't be afraid of it. " "I was waiting for you to say that, John. But it is reverence, and notfear. That I should have lived to see this day is a miracle. Shall Ipour yours? There you are. " They stood facing each other. With one hand Gid held high his glass, andwith the other hand he pressed his heart. Their glasses clinked, andthen they touched the liquor with their lips, sipped it, and Gidstretched his neck like a chicken. To have spoken, to have smacked hismouth, would have been profane. There is true reverence in nothing savesilence, and in silence they stood. Gid was the first to speak, not thathe had less reverence, but that he had more to say and felt, therefore, that he must begin earlier. "Like the old man of Israel, I am now readyto die, " he said, as he put down his glass. "Not until you have had another drink, " suggested the Major. "A further evidence, John, of your cool judgment. You are a remarkableman. Most anyone can support a sorrow, but you can restrain a joy, andin that is shown man's completest victory over self. No, I am not quiteready to die. But I believe that if a drop of this liquor, thissaint-essence, had been poured into a camphor bottle, I should havedropped dead, that's all, and Peter himself would have complimented meupon the exquisite sensitiveness of my organization. Pour me just abouttwo fingers--or three. That's it. If the commander of the Alabama hadtaken a few drinks of his grandfather's nectar, the Confederacy wouldhave wanted a blockade runner. " "You don't mean to say that it would have softened his nerve, do you?" "Oh, no; but his heart, attuned to sweet melody, would have turned fromfrowning guns to a beautiful nook in some river's bend, there to singamong flowers dripping with honey-dew. I gad, this would make an old manyoung before it could make him drunk. " The Major brought two pipes and an earthen jar of tobacco; and with thesmoke came musings and with the liquor came fanciful conceits. To themit was a pride that they could drink without drunkenness; in moderationwas a continuous pleasure. When Gid arose to go, he took an oath thatnever had he passed so delightful a time. The Major pressed him to stayto supper. "Oh, no, John, " he replied; "supper would spoil my spiritualflow. And besides, I am expecting visitors to-night. " He hummed a tune as he cantered down the road; and the Major in hislibrary hummed the same tune as he stretched out his feet to the fire. As Gid was passing the house of Wash Sanders, the endless invalid cameout upon the porch and called him: "Won't you 'light?" "No, don't believe I've got time, " Gid answered, slacking the pace ofhis horse. "How are you getting along?" "Not at all. Got no relish for victuals. Don't eat enough to keep achicken alive. Can't stand it much longer. " "Want to bet on it?" Gid cried. "What's that?" "I say I'm sorry to hear it. " "Glad to know that somebody sympathizes with me. Well, drop in some timeand we'll take a chaw of tobacco and spit the fire out. " Nothing could have been more expressive of a welcome to Wash's house. Toinvite a man to sit until the fire was extinguished with the overflow ofthe quid was with him the topknot of courtesy. "All right, " Gid shouted back; and then to himself he said: "If I wassure that a drink of that old whisky would thrill him to death I'd stealit for him, but I'd have to be sure; I'd take no chances. " A horse came galloping up behind him. Dusk was falling and the old mandid not at once recognize Mayo, the labor organizer of the negroes. Buthe knew the voice when the fellow spoke: "What's the weather about todo?" "About to quit, I reckon, " Gid answered. "Quit what?" "Quit whatever it's doing. " "Pretty smart as you go along, ain't you?" "Yes, and when I stop, too. " "Strains you to answer a civil question, I see. " The old man turned in his saddle and jogged along facing the fellow, andsome distance was covered before either of them spoke. "Are you tryingto raise a row with me?" Gid asked. "I want to know for if you are I cansave you a good deal of time and trouble. " "Sort of a time-saver, " said Mayo. "Yes, when I'm not a recruiter for eternity. " "I don't believe I follow you. " "Wish you would, or ride on ahead. Now look here, " he added, "I justabout know you when I see you, and as I don't make friends half as fastas I do enemies--in other words, as I am able to grasp a man's badpoints quicker than I can catch his good ones--I would advise you not toexperiment with me. You haven't come back here for the benefit of thecommunity, and if we were not the most easy-going people in the world, we'd hang you and then speculate leisurely as to what might have beenyour aim in coming here. " Mayo grunted. He was a tall, big, stoop-shouldered fellow. He rode withhis knees drawn up. He had a sort of "ducking" head, and his chin waslong and pointed. He grunted and replied: "I guess this is a freecountry or at least it ought to be. " "Yes, " Gid rejoined, still facing him, "but it won't be altogether freefor such as you until the penitentiaries are abolished. " "Oh, I understand you, Mr. Batts. You are trying to work up a chance tokill me. " "Good guess; and you are trying to help me along. " "But I want to tell you that if you were to kill me you wouldn't live totell the tale. I don't want any trouble with you. I'm not here to havetrouble unless it's shoved on me. I am going to do one thing, however, trouble or no trouble; I am going to demand that the colored peopleshall have their rights. " "And at the same time I suppose you are going to demand that the whiteman shall not have his. " "No, won't demand that he shan't have his rights, but that he shan'thave his way. " "Not have his way with his own affairs? Good. And now let me tell yousomething. Want to hear it?" "I'm not aching to hear it. " "Well, I'll give it to you anyway. It's this: The first thing you know acommittee of gentlemen will call on you and offer you the opportunity tomake a few remarks, and after you have made them you will thereafterdecline all invitations to speak. At the end of a rope the mosttalkative man finds a thousand years of silence. Long time for a man tohush, eh? Well, our roads split here. " "How do you know?" "Because I turn to the right. " "But may be my business calls me over that way. " "Don't know about that, but I'm going to turn into this lane and I don'twant you to come with me. Do you hear?" Mayo did not answer. Gid turned into a road leading to the right, andlooking back he saw that Mayo was riding straight ahead. "At any rate heain't afraid to say what he thinks, " the old man mused. "Got more nervethan I thought he had, and although it may make him more dangerous, yetit entitles him to more respect. " His horse's hoof struck into a patch of leaves, heaped beneath acottonwood, and from the rustling his ears, warmed by the old liquor, caught the first bars of a tune he had known in his youth; and liftinghigh his voice he sang it over and over again. He passed a negro cabinwhence often had proceeded at night the penetrating cry of a fiddle, andit was night now but no fiddle sent forth its whine. A dog shoved openthe door, and by the fire light within the old man saw a negro sittingwith a gun across his lap, and beside him stood two boys, looking withrapture upon their father's weapon. Throughout the neighborhood hadspread a report that the negroes were meeting at night to drill, andthis glance through a door gave life to what had been a shadow. He rode on, and his horse's hoof struck into another patch of leaves, but no tune arose from the rustle. The old man was thinking. In a fieldof furrowed clouds the moon was struggling, and down the sandy road felllight and darkness in alternating patches. Far away he saw a figurestepping from light into darkness and back again into light. Into thedeep shadow of a vine-entangled tree he turned his horse, and here hewaited until he heard footsteps crunching in the sand, until he saw aman in the light that lay for a moment in the road, and then he cried: "Hello, there, Jim Taylor!" "Is that you, Uncle Gideon?" "Yes, Gideon's band of one. Come over here a moment. " "I will as soon as I can find you. What are you doing hiding out in thedark? The grand jury ain't in session. " "No, I gad, but something else is, " he replied. Jim came forward and put his hand on the horn of the old man's saddle, which as an expert he did in spite of the shying of the horse; and thenhe asked: "Well, what is it, Uncle Gideon?" "You've heard the rumor that the negroes are drilling at night. " "Yes, what of it?" "It's a fact, that's what there is of it. Just now I rode quite a wayswith Mayo and he was inclined to be pretty sassy; and right back there Ilooked into Gabe Little's cabin and saw him with a gun across his lap. " "Well, what of that? Haven't the negroes had guns ever since the war, and hasn't a man got the right to sit with his gun across his lap? UncleGideon, I'm afraid you've been putting too much new wine into an oldbottle. " "Soft, Jimmie; it was old liquor, sixty years at least. But I gad, itstrikes me that you are pretty glib to-night. You must have heardsomething. " "No, not since Mrs. Cranceford got the letter, but that was enough tolast me a good while. " "Didn't hear about my bereavement, did you?" "What, you bereaved, Uncle Gideon? How did it happen?" "At the imperious beck and call of nature, Jimmie. My uncle died andinflicted on me money enough to make a pretense of paying my debts, andI've made such a stagger that even Mrs. Cranceford has admitted me intothe out-lying districts of her good opinion. But that's got nothing todo with the business in hand. Let's go back yonder and find out whythat negro sits there suckling his gun to sleep. " "But if he suckles it to sleep there's no harm in it, Uncle Gideon. " "Ah, clod-head, but it may have bad dreams and wake up with a cry. Let'sgo back there. " "Are you in earnest?" "As earnest as a last will and testament. " "Then let me tell you that I'll do nothing of the sort. You don't catchme prowling about a man's house at night, and you wouldn't think of sucha thing if you were strictly sober. " "Jimmie, you never saw me drunk. " "No, but I've seen you soberer that you are now. " "An unworthy insinuation, Jimmie. But having great respect for yourplodding judgment, I will not go to the negro's cabin, but will proceedrather to my own shanty. And I want you to come with me. Tom Crancefordand Sallie Pruitt will be there and in the shine of the fire we'll cutmany a scollop. What do you say?" "Uncle Gideon, don't you know how strongly opposed Mrs. Cranceford is toTom's----" "Bah, law-abiding calf. They are going to marry anyway, so what's thedifference? Jimmie, the most useless man in the world is the fellow thatkeeps just within the law. But perhaps it isn't your law-abiding spiritso much as it is your fear. In blind and stupid obedience there is acertain sort of gallantry, and in trotting to Mrs. Cranceford's cluckyou may be wise. " "It's not that I'm afraid of offending her, " the giant said. "The girlis too good for Tom any day, or for any of us when it comes to that, butthe distress of his mother haunts me, and I don't want that girl'saffection for Tom to haunt me too. I don't want to see them together ifI can help it. One haunt at a time is enough. But I tell you this, if itshould come to a question I would decide in favor of the girl. " "Jimmie, you are improving. Yes, I am doing you great good. I found yourmind an insipid dish and I have sprinkled it with salt and pepper. Youare right. Always decide in favor of the young, for the old have alreadyhad their disappointments. Well, I'll go. Lift your paw. My horse can'tmove out from under its weight. " "All right, " said the giant, laughing and stepping back. "By the way, "he added, "tell Tom to be sure and meet me at the landing at two o'clockto-morrow. We are going down to New Orleans. " "What, alone? I ought to go along to take care of you. I could steer youaway from all the bad places and by this means you would naturallystumble on the good ones. I'll see you when you get back. " At home the old man had lighted his fire and was listening to itscheerful crackle when his visitors came, laughing. With a boisterousshout Tom kicked the door open, and when the girl remonstrated with him, he grabbed her and kissed her. "That's all right, " old Gid cried. "One of these days the penitentiarydoors will open for you without being kicked in. Ah, delightful to seeyou, my dear, " he said, bowing to the girl; "refreshing to see you, although you come with a scamp. Sit down over there. I gad, you are abit of sunshine that has lost its way in the night. " About her head she had wound a scarf of red yarn, and as she stoodtaking it off, with the fire-light dancing among the kinks of herflax-like hair, the old man stepped forward to help her. "Hands off, " said Tom. "Don't touch her. " "Wolfish protector of a lamb, " the old man replied, "I ought to throwyou out; but it is not my mission to cast out devils. " The girl sat down on a bench and Tom took a seat beside her; and withmany a giggle and a "quit that, now, " they picked at each other. OldGid, in his splint-bottomed chair, leaned back against the wall andfeasted his eyes upon their antics. "Kittens, " said he, "I will get youa string and a button. Ah, Lord, I was once a delicious idiot. " "And you've simply lost your deliciousness, " Tom replied. "Ah, and in its place took up age. But with it came wisdom, Thomas. " "But didn't it come too late?" "The wise utterance of a foolish youth, " said the old man. "Yes, Thomas, it came too late. Wisdom is not of much use to an old codger. He can'tprofit by it himself and nobody wants his advice. Did I ever tell youabout the girl I loved? Ah, she was glorious. June was in her mouth andOctober fell out of her hair. " "And you didn't marry her because she was poor, eh?" "No, but because she was rich, Jimmie. She wanted me not; and shemarried a wealthy fool and the imbecile made her happy. I could almostforgive her for not loving me, for I was a mate on a steamboat, but tolet that fool make her happy--it was too much and I cast her out of mymind. But when is your wedding to take place? In the sweet light of adistant moon or within the sunshine of a few days?" "Hanged if I know. " "Tom!" cried the girl, putting her hands over his mouth, "that's no wayto talk. " "I said it to make you do that, " he replied, his voice latticed by herfingers and sounding afar off. He took her hands and pressed them to hischeek. "A pretty picture, and I'll long remember you as you now sit on thatbench, " said the old man. "Sallie, how old are you?" he asked. "I don't know, sir. Pap and mother couldn't put it down 'cause theydidn't know how to figger, and when I got so I could figger a littlethey had dun forgot the year and the day of the month. Most of the timewhen I'm by myself I feel old enough, but sometimes Uncle Wash calls mefoolish and then I'm awful young. But Aunt Martha never calls me foolish'cause I help her in the kitchen. " There came a scratching at the threshold. The old man got out of histilted chair and opened the door, and a dog, prancing in, lay down infront of the fire, with his nose between his outstretched paws. "What a pretty dog, " said the girl, and with a look out of one eye andwith a slight wag of the tail the dog acknowledged the compliment. "Oh, he's gallant, " Gid replied, sitting down. "And he knows when atruth has been told about him. " "No good at hunting, is he?" Tom asked. "He is not a sportsman, " Gid answered. "He pays his keep withcompanionship. I sit here and read him to sleep nearly every night. Hetries to keep awake, but he can't. But as long as I read a lively bookhe'll lie there and look up at me as if he enjoys it, and I believe hedoes, but 'Benton's Thirty Years in the American Senate' will knock himmost any time. And old Whateley's logic makes him mighty drowsy. Ireckon you cubs have been to supper. If you haven't you may makeyourselves at home and cook something. Old Aunt Liza cooks for me, outthere in the other room, but she's generally away in the service of herchurch and then I have to shift for myself. " "We've been to supper, " the girl spoke up, "but if you want something toeat I'll cook it. " "Bless your life, not a bite, " the old man protested. "To eat now wouldcanker a memory. I took sacrament over at the Major's. Now, I'm going tolean back here and I may talk or I may drop off to sleep, and in eitherevent just let me go. But if I doze off don't wake me, not even when youget ready to leave. Just pull the door to and that's all. " "Ain't you afraid to sleep here all by yourself?" the girl asked. "I'dbe afraid somebody'd slip in and grab me. " "I could scarcely blame any one for grabbing you, my dear, " the old manreplied, smiling upon her, "but as for myself, the grabber would get theworst of it. " A long time they sat and talked of neighborhood happenings, the death ofa burly man who it was never supposed could die before Wash Sanders waslaid away; they talked of the growing dissatisfaction among the negroes, of the church built by Father Brennon, of the trip to be taken to NewOrleans by Jim and Tom. The fire-light died down. A chunk fell and thedog jumped up with a sniff and a sneeze. Old Gideon took no notice, forleaning back against the wall he was softly snoring. "Let us leave him just as he is, " said Tom. "But it looks cruel, " the girl replied. "He suffers from sleeplessness; to wake him would be more cruel. Let'sdo as he told us. " The girl put the bench out of the way, that he might not fall over it inthe dark; and out of the room they tip-toed and silently they closed thedoor. By the hand he led her to the road, and with a coo and a song theystrolled homeward. The clouds were scattered and acres of light lay onthe cleared land; but the woods were dark and the shadows were black, and he walked with his arm about her. They heard the galloping of ahorse and stepped aside to let the rider pass, and when he had passed, with his head in the moonlight and his horse in the dark, the young mansaid: "I know that fellow. " "Why didn't you speak to him?" she asked. "Because it wouldn't do for me to have any words with him. He's the manthat's trying to organize the negroes. " He left her at Wash Sanders' gate; he heard her feet upon the steps, andlooking back he caught the kiss she threw at him. CHAPTER XIX. A steamboat ride to New Orleans will never lose its novelty. Romancelies along the lower river. The land falls away and we look down uponfields bounded by distant mist, and beyond that dim line one's fancygallops riotously. Not alone the passenger, but the seasoned captain ofthe boat stands musing and motionless, gazing upon the scene. In hismind he could carry the form and the rugged grandeur of a mountain; upona crag he could hang his recollection, but this flat endlessness is everan unencompassed mystery. The wind from the gulf was soft, and the two friends stood on thehurricane-deck, charmed with a familiar view. "It is just as new to me now as it was when I was a boy, coming alonghere with my father, " said the giant. "And yet I don't see what makes itinteresting, no woods, nothing but a house here and there. " "It always makes me think I'm going over the flat side of the globe, andI catch myself wondering what's just beyond, " Tom replied. "There's thecity 'way round yonder. How long do you want to stay?" "I don't know exactly. " "Got any particular business down here?" "No, " he said, hesitatingly. "None that I know of. " "Just pleasure, is it?" "Well, I reckon we might call it that. " "Might call it that? But I know why I'm here. I've come because youwanted me to. There is nothing going on that I care to see. What is ityou're after?" "Oh, just want to look around a little. " "All right, old fellow, I'm with you, but as soon as you get tired oflooking around I wish you'd let me know. It seems to me that I've beengone a month already. You know why. " "Yes, I know; but you've got a consolation that I never had--you knowwhat to expect when you get back. " "Yes, that's true, and may be you'll know what to expect one of thesedays. " From the museful distance the giant removed his gaze and upon the boy athis side he bent a kindly look. "I have been reading a good deal oflate, " he said, "and old Gid has told me that I am improving, but I havefound no book to speak a word of comfort to me. I took the heartacheaway back yonder--but we won't talk about it. We'll poke around downhere a day or two and then go home. " "But hang it, I thought you came to enjoy yourself and not to conjure upthings to make you sad. " "You are right, and you shan't hear any more sad talk out of me. " It was early in the forenoon when they stepped ashore and stood upon theold levee. The splendid life of the Mississippi steamboat is fading, buthere the glow lingers, the twilight at the close of a fervid day. Nolonger are seen the gilded names of famous competitors, "The Lee, " "TheNatchez, " but unheralded boats are numerous, and the deck-hands' choruscomes with a swell over the water, and the wharf is a jungle of trade. In the French market they drank black coffee, listening to the strangechatter about them, and then aimlessly they strolled away. "What's your programme?" the boy asked. "Haven't any. " "Do you want to call on any of the cotton buyers?" "No, don't care to see them. " "All right; I'll walk until you say quit. " And thus they passed the day, with strolling about, halting to look atan old tiled roof, a broken iron gate, a wrought iron balcony, asnail-covered garden wall; and when evening was come they went to ahotel to rest; but no sooner had night fallen than they went out againto resume their walk. "Look here, " said Tom, beginning to lag, "I don't want to kick, but I'djust like to know why I am fool enough to walk all day like a mule on atread-mill?" "You said you'd walk with me. " "Said I would! Haven't I?" "Yes, " the giant drawled, "in a manner. " "If I haven't walked I don't know what you call walking. You have made amachine of me, a corn-planter. Would you mind telling me where we aregoing now?" "I confess I don't know, " the giant answered. "Then let us look around and find out. Right now I'd rather be in oldGid's house, sitting with somebody on a bench--and I'm going backto-morrow. What fun is there in poking about this way like a couple ofgawks? You even pull me away from the supper table to tramp up and downthese streets. Hang it, I don't want to see people. Every face I seeis----" "A disappointment, " said the giant. "Then why do you take the crowded side of the street? Let's go in hereand sit down a moment. " They had halted in front of a music hall. From within proceeded thehusky song of a worn-out negro minstrel. "You may go in but I'll walk on, " Jim replied. "It's nothing but a dive. I'll go on down to the corner and wait for you. Don't stay long. " Jim strode away and Tom went into the beer hall. At the far end was astage, and on it stood the minstrel, dimmed by intervening tobaccosmoke. The floor was covered with damp saw-dust. The place was throngedwith a motley crowd, sailors, gamblers, with here and there a sprinkleof wayward respectability. Painted girls attended the tables andeverywhere was the slopping of beer and the stench of the cigarette. Tom was about to turn away when the sight of a company gathered about atable halted him; and through the smoke his vision leaped and restedupon--Louise. There was a rush, an over-turning of a table, the topplingover of a tipsy man, and Tom stood confronting her. In a loud voice hecried: "What the devil are you doing here?" She got up and held out her hand, but resentment entered her mind andshe drew it back. "What are _you_ doing here?" she replied. "I've asmuch right here as you have. " "I'll show you about that!" he roared, his anger lifting his voice highabove the grumble and the sharp clack of the place. "I'll drag you out!" Beside her sat a solemnly-respectable man, and up he got and quietlysaid: "Your language is most insulting, sir. " Tom did not wait to weigh the remark; indeed he did not hear it, forlike a bull-dog in a fury he lunged at the quiet man's throat, laid holdof his collar, shoved him off to arm's length, and struck him, but theblow glanced and the man jerked away. And then amid loud cries, theover-turning of tables and the smashing of glasses, the furiousyoungster felt himself seized by many hands. But he was a tiger and theycould not bear him to the floor. He broke loose and sprawled one manupon the saw-dust. Others rushed upon him and again he was in a tangleand a tug, but he tore himself from their hands, got a square blow atthe proprietor of the house and knocked him senseless. For a moment hewas free, and this moment was not left unimproved. From an upturnedtable he wrenched a leg, and swinging it above his head he cleared hisway to a side door, and snatching it open, he sprung out into a smallcourt, just as the police were entering at the front of the house. Inthe court a dim light was burning; at the end, but a few yards away, wasa rusty iron gate, and whether or not it was locked he never knew, forthrowing down his weapon he laid hold of a bar and with a jerk he torethe gate from its rust-eaten hinges, threw it against a wall and was outin the street. Now he ran, through an open space, into another street, and then he walked, panting, looking back. It must have been difficultto explain the cause of the disturbance for the police had not followedhim. He halted under a lamp hung above a narrow doorway. His hat wasgone, his coat was torn, and the bosom of his shirt was in shreds. Theshort street was deserted, but he fancied that he heard footsteps, andquickly he walked to a corner, and turning, saw Jim standing under alamp-post not far away. The giant was not looking toward him, and nothearing his easy approach, did not turn his head until Tom was almostwithin the shade-rim of the lamp. "Why, what the deuce have you been doing?" the giant cried, reaching himat a stride. "You look like a drowned rat, and your neck is clawed. Whathave you been doing?" "Row, " the boy panted. "In that place? Come back and we'll clean it out. Come on. " "No, " said Tom, "let's get away from here. I've got something to tellyou. Let's circle round here somewhere and get a hat. I'll tell you whenwe get back to the hotel, and you won't care to walk any more to-nightafter I've told you. " Jim might have been burning to know more, but he said nothing, fordogged patience was a part of his heroism. He took the boy's arm andled him away, to a place where a hat was bought, and thence to thehotel; and not until they were shut in a room did Tom attempt to tellhis story. And it was even then some minutes before he could proceed. His anger was gone and sorrow was upon him. Several times he choked. Andthen he told his story. With hard steps the giant walked about the room, saying not a word; but he drooped as he halted at the window, as hestood looking out upon the glimmering lights, far below. "You said I wouldn't want to walk to-night, but I must, " he spoke, andhis voice had a smothered sound. "I am going out to look for her. Andnow you know why I have been walking all day, gazing at the faces in thecrowd. " He had turned from the glimmering lights and was looking at Tom. "I traced that letter she wrote, and in my mind I settled that it musthave come from this place. But I didn't tell your mother what Isuspected; I kept it to myself. " "If you go out again I'll go with you, Jim. " "No, I insist upon going alone. " He went out; and when he returned, just before the dawn, he found theboy asleep on a chair. He took him up, put him upon a bed and sathimself down at a window; and when Tom awoke, along toward ten o'clock, the giant was still sitting there. "Jim. " "Well. " "How long have you been in?" "Don't know. " "You didn't--didn't find her?" "No. I went to the place where you had the fight--wish to the Lord I hadbeen with you--but of course couldn't learn anything. I was--was afraidto ask about her. But I tramped around all night, and I went into allsorts of places, looking for her, and all the time afraid that I mightfind her. God, what am I talking about! Afraid of finding her! Why, shecouldn't be in a place where--where she oughtn't to be. " "But she was!" the boy cried, bounding out upon the floor. "She wasand--Great God, I can hardly believe it, I don't realize it! I have beenso swallowed up that I haven't thought about her much lately--she'scrazy, Jim. Oh, she must be. She was the purest-minded girl----" The giant stopped him with an uplifting of his ponderous hand. "Don'tsay any more. Don't say she _was_ pure-minded. She _is_ pure-minded. Iwill find her and she shall tell me----" "She can't tell you anything to clear herself, Jim. She's lost--she'scrazy. " "She's an angel, " said the giant. "My dear Jim, she's my sister and I loved her, but angels can't go----" "Don't say it. " "I won't, but don't you be foolish. Truth is truth, and we have to lookat it whether we want to or not. " He walked up and down the room. "Whowould have thought that such a thing could happen?" he went on. "It's adream. But why did she leave home when she knew how much we all lovedher? What made her run away from you when she knew how you loved her?Jim, I'm going home to-day. Are you coming with me?" "No, I'm going to stay here and look for her. " "And when you have found her she'll treat you as she did me. She'll sayshe has as much right there as you have. I don't believe it's any use. Better come home with me. " "No, I'm going to look for her, and if she'll marry me I'll bring herhome. " "Jim, she is my sister, but--I won't say it. I love her, but I wouldrather have seen her dead than where I saw her last night. I'm goinghome. " "Wait a moment. " For a time he pondered and then he said: "You may tellyour mother, but don't tell the Major. " "But why should it be kept from him? He ought to know it. We'll have totell him some time. " "Some time, may be, but not now, and don't you even hint it to him, anddon't you tell Sallie. Don't tell any one but your mother. Do you hear?" "Yes, and I reckon you're right. I'll do as you tell me. Well, it's timeand I'm going. " Jim went with him to the levee, saw him on a boat and then resumed hissearch throughout the town. But he asked no questions; and three dayslater when he went aboard the home-bound boat, he knew no more than hehad known the night when the boy had told his story. CHAPTER XX. The night was rainy and a fierce wind was blowing. The Major and hiswife were by the fire in the sitting-room, when there came a heavy treadupon the porch, but the knock that fell upon the door was gentle. Theyknew who had come, and the door was opened for Jim Taylor. Quietly heresponded to their greeting, and with both hands he took off his slouchhat, went to the fireplace and over the blaze shook it. "Put myself in mind of a wet dog, " he said. "Didn't think to shakeoutside. How are you all getting along?" He was looking at Mrs. Cranceford, but the Major answered him. "In thesame old way. Tilt that cat out of the rocking-chair and sit down. " "Have you heard of the death of Mrs. Wash Sanders?" Mrs. Crancefordasked, fearing that the Major might get ahead of her with this piece ofnews, but all along determined that he should not. "No, I haven't, " he said; but his want of surprise was not satisfying, and Mrs. Cranceford said: "I mean Mrs. Wash Sanders. " "Yes, I know; but this is the first I've heard of it. I came from theboat right up here. So the poor woman's dead? She never knew anythingbut hard work. How long was she sick? Shouldn't think she could take thetime to be sick long, poor soul. " "She was not in bed more than two days. It was awful, the way shesuffered. And all the time Wash was whining that he couldn't eatanything, as if anybody cared. I never was so provoked at a man in mylife. I'd like to know who cares whether he eats another bite or not. Actually, I believe he thought the neighbors had come to sympathize withhim instead of to nurse his wife. And when she was dead he went aboutblubbering that he couldn't live but a few days. " "He'll outlive us all, " said the Major. "He told us yesterday that hewas threatened with convulsions, and Gid swore that a convulsion wasabout the last thing he ought to fear, that he was too lazy to entertainsuch an exertion. " In this talk Jim felt not even the slightest interest. He wanted to talkabout Louise. But not in Mrs. Cranceford's manner nor in her eyes whenshe looked straight at him was there a hint that Tom had told her thatthe girl had been seen. Perhaps the boy had decided to elect him to thisunenviable office. The Major asked him about his trip, but he answeredas if he cared not what he said; but when shortly afterward the Majorwent out, Taylor's unconcern fell from him and he stood up and intremulous anxiousness looked at Mrs. Cranceford, expecting her to saysomething. Surely Tom had told her nothing, for she quietly smiled athim as he stood there, awkwardly and distressfully fumbling withhimself. "I have a letter from her, " she said. Taylor sat down hard. "A letter from her!" "Yes; received it this morning. " "But has Tom told you anything?" "Yes; everything. " "And she has written to you since then?" "Yes; I will show you. " On a corner of the mantel-piece was a work-box, and unlocking it, she took out a letter and handed it to him. "Read it, "she said, "and if you hear the Major coming, put it away. Somereferences in it would have to be explained, and so I have decided notto let him see it. " He took the letter, and standing where the light from the hanging lampfell brightest, read the following: "My Dear Mother:--By this time Tom must have told you of our meeting. And what a meeting it was. He was worse than an orang-outang, but I mustsay that I admire his courage, and I struggled to help him when he wasin the thick of his fight, but my friends tore me away, realizing thatflight was our only redemption. Of course you will wonder why I was insuch a place, and I don't know that I can explain in a satisfactorymanner to you, and surely not to father. I would have introduced Tom tomy friends had he given me time, but it appears that he was in too muchof a hurry to attend upon the demands of politeness. Fight was boilingin his blood and it had to bubble out. Mother, I was with a slummingparty. Do you know what a slumming party is? It is a number ofrespectable people whom curiosity leads into the resorts of crime andvice. Society thinks that it makes one wiser, and that to know theaspect of depravity does not make one less innocent. But I know that youwill not approve of a slumming party, and I cannot say that I do. TheRev. H. Markham, whose sermons you must have read, was with me. As thechampion of virtue he has planned and executed an invasion of the hauntsof iniquity, and his weekly discourses here are very popular, particularly with women. Well, he was sitting beside me, and I havesince thought that it must have been a great shock to his dignity whenTom struck him; but his greatest solicitude was the fear that theoccurrence might be spread by the newspapers, and to keep it out was hisfirst care. That night on business I left the city, and I write this ina quiet, Arcadian neighborhood. It is with pleasure that I feel myself asuccess in the work which I have chosen. What work? you naturally ask. But that is my secret, and I must hold it just a little longer. " Here several lines were erased and a fresh start taken. "I have longedto look upon the dear faces at home; but mingled with my love is apride. I am determined to make something of myself. Simply to be anhonest, patient, upright woman, in love with her home, is no longerenough. Life demands more than this, or at least woman demands it oflife. And to be somebody calls for sacrifice as well as ability anddetermination. Absence from home is my sacrifice, and what my effort isyou shall know in due time. It will surprise you, and in this to me willlie a delight. My associates tell me that I am different from anyoneelse, but this difference they put down as an individuality, and successin my field is won only by the individual. Within two weeks from thisday I shall be with you, and then my little ant-hill of mystery will betorn to pieces. I am going to show you all how I love you; I am going toprove to you that what has appeared odd and unlady-like were butleadings to my development. " More lines were erased, and then the letter thus proceeded: "For some time I have had it in mind to make Sallie Pruitt a present, but as I have no idea as to what she might like best, I enclose twentydollars, which you will please give to her. Do you see my hero often? Ithink of him, dream of him, and my heart will never know a perfect homeuntil his love has built a mansion for it. " The letter was fluttering in the giant's hand. "Who--who--what does shemean?" "She means you, stupid!" Mrs. Cranceford cried. He looked up, dazed; he put out his hand, he grabbed his hat, hesnatched the door open and was out in the wind and the rain. CHAPTER XXI. With rain-soaked sand the road was heavy, and to walk was to struggle, but not so to the giant treading his way homeward. Coming, he had feltthe opposition of the wind, the rain and the mushy sand, but returninghe found neither in the wind nor in the sand a foe to progress. Hisheart was leaping, and with it his feet were keeping pace. In his handhe held the letter; and feeling it begin to cool in his grasp, herealized that the rain was beating upon it; so, holding in common withall patient men the instincts of a woman, he put the wet paper in hisbosom and tightly buttoned his coat about it. Suddenly he halted; thepitiful howling of a dog smote his ear. At the edge of a small fieldlying close to the road was a negro's cabin, and from that quarter camethe dog's distressful outcry. Jim stepped up to the fence and listenedfor any human-made noise that might proceed from the cabin, but therecame none--the place was dark and deserted. "They have gone away andleft him shut up somewhere, " he mused, as he began to climb the fence. The top rail broke under his weight, and his mind flew back to the daywhen he had seen Louise in the road, confronted by the burly leader ofa sheepfold, for then with climbing a fence he had broken the top rail. He found the dog shut in a corn-crib, and the door was locked. But witha jerk he pulled out the staple, thinking not upon the infraction ofbreaking a lock, but glad to be of service even to a hound. "Come out, old fellow, " he called, and he heard the dog's tail thrashingthe corn husks. "Come on. " The dog came to the door, licking at the hand of his rescuer; and Jimwas about to help him to the ground when a lantern flashed from a cornerof the crib. "What are you doing here?" a voice demanded. A white man stepped forward and close behind him a negro followed. "Whatare you doing here?" the white man again demanded. "Getting a dog out of trouble. " "Getting yourself into trouble, you'd better say. What right have you topoke about at night, breaking people's locks?" "None at all, I am forced to acknowledge. I hardly thought of what I wasdoing. My only aim was to help the dog. " "That will do to tell. " "Yes, I think so. And by the way, what right have you to ask so manyquestions? You don't live here. " "But he does, " the white man replied, swinging his lantern toward thenegro. "Gabe Little lives here. " "That you, Gabe?" Taylor asked. "Yas, whut de white folks has left o' me. " "All right. You are well enough acquainted with me to know that Iwouldn't break a lock----" "But you have, sir, " the white man insisted. "Not exactly; but I have drawn the staple. By the way, whose dog isthis?" The dog had jumped out and was frisking about Taylor's legs. "It's a setter and doesn't belong to you, Gabe. " "Dat's fur me ter say, sah, " the negro sullenly replied. "That so? Well, I guess I'll keep him until I find out his owner. " "That's neither here nor there!" the white man almost shouted. "Thequestion is, what right have you got to go to a man's house at night andbreak his lock?" "None, I tell you; and I'm not only willing to pay all damages, but willanswer to the law. " "The law!" and this time he shouted. "Law to protect a negro's lock? Letus hear no more about the law. What we want is justice, and we're goingto have it, sooner or later. " "Who are you, anyway?" the giant asked. "Oh, yes, you are Mr. Mayo, Ibelieve. Well, I'll bid you good-night. " "Wait. You have invaded this man's premises and committed a violence. " "That's a fact, and I'm sorry for it. " "Yes, you are now, but how will you feel about it to-morrow? You'llforget all about it, and that's the way the colored man is treated inthis infernal state. No, Gabe, " he quickly added, taking hold of thenegro's arm, "Put it up. The time ain't ripe. " The negro had drawn a knife, opening it with a spring, and with a loudsnap he closed it. "We mustn't be the first to strike, although theybreak into our houses, " Mayo said; and then speaking to Taylor he added:"You may go. " The giant threw back his head and laughed. "I may go. Why, if it wasn'tfor the fact that I'm feeling particularly happy to-night, I'd mash yourmouth for that. I should think that your poor fool there would teach youbetter than to talk to me that way. But I'll be a better friend to youthan you have taught him to be--I'll give you some very useful advice. If you should ever see me coming along the road, turn back or climb thefence, for I might not be in as good humor as I'm in now. " He whistled and strode away, with the dog trotting at his heels; and bythe time he gained the road the occurrence had almost wholly passed outof his mind, so fondly did his heart leap at the thought of the letterin his bosom. Upon reaching a gate that opened into his meadow, he looked about andwhistled for the dog, but the setter was gone. "You were howling foryour master, " the giant said, "and the greatest service I could do youwas to let you go to him. All right, old fellow, we are both happier forhaving met. " He went into the house, lighted his lamp, sat down, read the letter; hewent out and stood under the weeping-willow. "If I am foolish, " he said, "it is delicious to be a fool, and God pity the wise. But I don't knowwhat to do with myself. Yes, I do; I'll go over and see old Gideon. " He considered not the increasing rain, the dreariness of the road, themoanful wind in the tops of the trees; he felt that to be alone was tosuppress a part of his happiness, that his light and talkative heartmust seek a hearing for the babbling of its joy. So off he strode, andas he climbed over a fence, he laughingly jolted himself upon the toprail to see whether it would break. It did not, and he laughed to find astick of old timber strong enough to support his weight. He calledhimself a lumbering fool and laughed again, sitting there with the rainbeating upon him. A short distance down the road was a wagon-maker's shop, and against theoutside wall a ladder was leaned. He thought of the ladder as he boreto the edge of the road to avoid the deep ruts cut by the cotton-wagons, and fearful that he might pass under it and thus invite ill luck, hecrossed to the other side. He smiled at this weakness, instilled by thenegroes, but he did not recross the road until he had passed far beyondthe shop. The old black mammy was lovable and affectionate, but sheintimidated man with many a superstition. CHAPTER XXII. In old Gid's house a light was burning, and as the giant drew near, hecaught a fragment of a flat-boatman's song. He made no noise, but a doginside scented his approach and announced it with a whimsical bark. Gidopened the door. "Why, here's Jim Taylor, as wet as a drowned bear. Come in. " Sitting by the fire was the Major, with his coat off and his shirtcollar unbuttoned. "Why, James, " said he, "you are making the rounds to-night. Sit downhere and dry yourself. And look at you, mud up to your knees. Why do youtramp about this way? Why don't you ride?" "Too heavy, " the giant answered. "Then, I gad, " Gid replied, dragging his bench from against the wall andsitting down upon it, "I know I'd ride. Do men ride for their owncomfort or for the horse's? And what difference do a few extra poundsmake to a horse? Why, if you were a horse somebody would ride you. Youare not fat, Jim; you are just big. And a horse doesn't mind awell-proportioned fellow; it's the wabbling fat man that riles him. Iowned a horse once that would have been willing to go without corn awhole week for a chance to kick a fat man; and I put it down as anunreasonable cruelty until I found out that he had once belonged to afellow that weighed three hundred pounds. " "And you afterward owned him, " said the Major, winking at Jim. "That's what I said, John. " "Now, Gid, I don't want to appear captious, but are you sure you everowned a horse?" "I bought that horse, John. I confess that it was with borrowed money, but under the law he was mine. Ah, Lord, " he sighed, "self-imposedfrankness will be gone when I am taken from you. And yet I get nocredit. " "No credit!" cried the Major. "Credit has kept you from starving. " "Tip-toe, John; my nerves are tight-strung. Would have starved! Abefitting reproach thrown at genius. Look up there!" he shouted, wavinghis hand at the shelf whereon were piled his dingy books. "They neverowned a horse and they lived on credit, but they kept the world fromstarving to death. And this reminds me that those sweet potatoes must beabout done. Your name is among the coals, Jim; we've got enough for allhands. Wish we had some milk, but I couldn't get any. Dogs couldn'tcatch the cow. You hear of cows giving milk. Mine don't--I gad, I haveto grab her and take it away from her; and whenever you see milk in myhouse you may know it's the record of a fight and that the cow got theworst of it. " Jim sat striving to think of something to say. The presence of the Majorhad imposed a change in his forecast. His meeting of Mayo and the negrosuddenly recurred to him, and quietly he related the adventure. But theMajor and Gid were not quiet with hearing it. "You ought to have cut his throat!" Gid exclaimed. "To-morrow get yourgun and shoot him down--both of them, like dogs. Who ever heard of sucha thing, saying to a gentleman, 'now you may go!' I gad, I'll go withyou, and we'll shoot 'em down. " "No, " said the Major, and now with his hands behind him he was slowlypacing the floor. "That won't do. " "Why won't it do?" Gid cried. "Has the time come when a white man muststand all sorts of abuse simply because he is white? Must he standflat-footed and swallow every insult that a scoundrel is pleased tostuff into his mouth?" The Major sat down. "Let me remind you of something, " he said. "For theaverage man, under ordinary circumstances, it is enough to have simplejustice on his side, but on our side we must have more than justice. Nopeople in the world were ever situated as we now are, for even by ourbrothers we shall be deemed wrong, no matter which way we turn. " "Ah, " Gid cried, "then what's the use of calculating our turn? If we areto be condemned anyway, what's the----" "Hold on a moment, " the Major struck in, "and I will tell you. Sentimentis against us; literature, with its roots running back into the harshsoil of politics, is against us; and----" "No measured oratory, John. Get down on the ground. " "Wait, I tell you!" the Major demanded. "I must get to it in my own way. If your advice were followed, we should never be able to elect anotherpresident. The bloody shirt would wave from every window in the North, and from the northern point of view, justly so; and reviewed even by thedisinterested onlooker, we have not been wholly in the right. " "The deuce we haven't!" Gid shouted, his eyes bulging. "No, not wholly; we couldn't be, " the Major continued. "Asself-respecting men, as Anglo-Saxons, we could not submit to thedomination of former slaves. It was asking too much. We had ruled thenation, and though we were finally overpowered, we could not accept thenegro as a ruler. " "John, I know all that as well as you do; we have talked it many atime, but what I want to get at is this: Has a man the right to resentan insult? I was never cruel to a negro. I like him in his place, likehim better than I do the average white man, to tell the plain truth, forbetween him and me there is the tie of irresponsibility, ofshiftlessness; but I don't want him to insult me; don't want to standany more from him than I would from a white man. You spoke of not beingable to elect another president. Why should we put up with so muchmerely to say that a democrat is president? It doesn't make muchdifference who's president, foreign nations keep on insulting us justthe same. I'd like to see a chief magistrate with nerve enough to say tothe South, 'Boys, go over and grab off Mexico. ' That's me. " The Major laughed. "That's me, too, " he replied. "We ought to sweeten this country with Cuba, " said Jim, with his mind onthe letter in his bosom. "Yes, " Gid replied, raising his hand, "that's what we ought to do, and----" His hand fell, and he wheeled about and seized a poker. "I'llbet a thousand dollars the potatoes are burned up, " he said. "Just lookthere, " he added, raking out the charred remains of what was to be afeast. "That's the way it goes. The devil titters when men argue. Well, it can't be helped, " he went on. "I did my part. If we had settledupon killing that fellow Mayo, everything would have been all right. Hehas not only insulted us but has robbed us as well. " "To tell you the truth, " said the Major, "I'm glad I'm relieved of thetrouble of eating. " "John, don't say that, for when a Southern man loses his appetite forroasted sweet potatoes, he's a degenerate. " The Major was about to say something, but looking at his watch he jumpedup. "Gracious, Gid, you not only kill your own time but murder mine. It's nearly two o'clock. " "Sit down, John. Don't be snatched. " "Snatched! Wind-bag, you counsel me to blow my life away. Hold your lampout here so that I can see to get on my horse. " When Gid returned from the passage wherein he had stood to shelter thelight, he found Jim on the bench, with no apparent intention of takinghis leave; and this he construed to mean that the giant had something onhis mind. "Out with it, Jimmie, " he said, as he put the lamp upon themantel-piece. "I'll sit down here as if it was only earlycandle-lighting, and let you tell me all about it. " "How do you know I've got anything to say, Uncle Gideon?" "How do I know when a dog itches? I see him scratch. You have beensitting there in an itching silence and now you begin to scratch. Youare more patient than a dog, for you don't scratch until you have itchedfor some time. Let the fur fly, Jimmie. " Jim laughed, raised his leg and clasped his hands over his knee. "UncleGideon, I reckon I'm the happiest man in Cranceford County. " The old man sat leaning back against the wall. His coat was off andunder his suspenders he had hooked his thumbs. "Go on, Jimmie; I'mlistening. " "She has written another letter--Did Tom tell you anything?" he brokeoff. "Did Tom ever tell me anything? Did Tom ever tell anybody anything? Didhe ever know anything to tell?" "She has written another letter and in it she confesses--I don't knowhow to say it, Uncle Gideon. " "Well, tell me and I'll say it for you. Confesses that she can be happywith no one but you. Go on. " "Who told you? Did Mrs. Cranceford?" "My dear boy, did Mrs. Cranceford ever tell me anything except to keepoff the grass? Nobody has told me anything. Confesses that you are theonly man that can make her happy. Now shoot your dye-stuff. " "But that's all there is. She says that her heart will never have a homeuntil my love builds a mansion for it. " "Jimmie, if the highest market price for a fool was one hundred dollars, you'd fetch two hundred. " "Why? Because I believe her when she talks that way--when she gives meto understand that she loves me?" "No; but because you didn't believe all along that she loved you. " "How could I when she refused to marry me and married another man?" "That marriage is explained. You've seen the letter she wrote the nightbefore she went away, haven't you?" "Yes, her mother showed it to me. " "I didn't read it, " said Gid, "but the Major gave me the points, and Iknow that she married that fellow believing that she was saving hissoul. " "Yes, I read that, " said Jim, "but I didn't know whether she meant it ornot. I reckon I was afraid to believe it. " "Well, I know it to be a fact--know it because I know her nature. She'sjust crank enough----" "Don't say that, " Jim protested, unclasping his hands from his knee andstraightening up. "Don't call her a crank when she's an angel. " "That's all right, my dear boy, but heaven is full of the right sort ofcranks. Who serves God deeper than the religious crank, and if he's notto be rewarded, who is? By crank I don't mean a weak-minded person; Icome nearer meaning a genius. " "I reckon you mean all right, " the giant agreed; and after pondering insilence he asked: "Do you reckon she would marry me?" "I know it. And why not? You are a gentleman and a devilish good-lookingfellow. Why, any woman interested in a fine stock show would be proud ofyou. " At this the giant rubbed his hands together and softly chuckled; butsobering, he said that he could never hope to equal her in thought andquickness of expression, though by reading he would make an effort toattain that end. "Don't worry about that, Jimmie; and don't you fool yourself that booksare everything. They smooth knots, but they don't make timber. Oh, youare smart enough--for a woman. " "I'm not an idiot, " said the giant. "Sometimes I can talk without anytrouble, and then again I can't say a thing. It's different with you. " The old man's egotism awoke--it never more than dozed. "Jimmie, " saidhe, "it is violating no compact to tell you that I'm no common man. Other men have a similar opinion of themselves and are afraid to spit itout, but I'm bold as well as wise. I know that my opinion doesn't go formuch, for I'm too good-humored, too approachable. The blitheness of mynature invites familiarity. You go to a house and make too much of thechildren, and the first thing you know they'll want to wallow on you allthe time. Well, I have made too much of the children of the world, andthey wallow on me. But I pinch them sometimes and laugh to hear themsqueal. There's only one person that I'm afraid of--Mrs. Cranceford. Shechills me and keeps me on the frozen dodge. I always feel that she isreading me, and that makes me more of a rascal--trying to give hersomething that she can't read. Look here, if we expect to get any sleepwe'd better be at it. " "You go to bed, Uncle Gideon; I'm going to sit up. " "All right; sit there as long as you please. " The old fellow got up, andwalking stiffly went to the window, drew aside the red calico curtainand looked out. "Don't see much promise of a clear-up, " he said. "Not astar in sight. I always dread the rainy season; it makes people looksad, and I want to see them bright--I am most agreeable to them whenthey're bright. Still, I understand that nothing is more tiresome thaneternal sunshine. I wonder if I locked the smokehouse, " he went on, turning from the window. "But, come to think, I don't believe I'velocked it since about a week ago, when some rascal slipped in and stolenearly all my hams and a bushel of meal. I gad, my old joints work likerusty hinges. Well, I'll lie down now. Good night, Jimmie. Don't slipoff before breakfast. " The giant did not hear him. He sat leaning forward, gazing at thecliffs, the mountains, the valleys in the fire. The rain had ceased, butnow and then came a dashing shower, like a scouting party, a guerrillaband sweeping through the dark. To the muser there was no time; time haddribbled out and reverie had taken its place. The fire was dying. He sawthe red cliffs grow gray along the edges, age creeping over the rocks;he saw a mountain fall into a whitening valley, and he looked up. It wasdaylight. He went to the door and looked out, and far across the riverthe brilliant morning sun was rising from a bath of steam. "You here yet, Jimmie?" The bed loudly creaked, and the giant, lookingabout, found old Gid sitting on the edge of his couch, rubbing his eyes. "Don't go, for we'll have breakfast now in a minute. I am always glad tolook up and find a picture of manliness and strength. It takes me backto my own early days, when I didn't know the meaning of weakness. But Iknow now--I can feel it all over me. I do think I can dream more foolishthings during three to half a dozen winks of sleep than any man thatever lived. Now, what could have put it into my mind to dream that Iwas born with one leg and was trying at a county fair to swap it off fortwo? Well, I hear the old woman setting the table out there. Wait till Ijump into my clothes and I'll pour a gourd of water for you to wash yourface and hands. Had a wash-basin round here somewhere, but don't knowwhat became of it. Had intended to get another, but have been so busy. But I'll tell you there's nothing like a good wash under a pouringgourd. How's your appetite this morning?" "I don't know. " "Well, you may find it when you sniff old Liza's corn cakes. Now whatthe deuce became of that other suspender? We used to call them gallusesin my day. And now where is that infernal gallus? Beats anything I eversaw in my life. Ah, there it is, over by the window. But how it couldhave jumped off I don't know. Now let me shove into my old shoes andI'll be with you. " Out in the yard, in a fabulous net of gilded mist they stood, to batheunder the spouting gourd, the mingling of a new day's poetry and theshiftlessness of an old man. "Stream of silver in the gold of aresurrected sun, " he said, bareheaded and blinking. "Who'd want awash-pan? I gad, Jimmie, folks are forgetting how to live. They areputting too much weight on what they can buy for money, unmindful of thefact that the best things of this life are free. Look at that gourd, old, with a sewed-up crack in it, and yet to my mind it serves itspurpose better than a china basin. Well, let's go in now and eat a bite. I'm always hungry of a morning. An old fellow is nearer a boy when hefirst gets up, you know; but he grows old mighty fast after he's hadbreakfast. " The giant, saying never a word, followed him, the loose boards of thepassageway between the two sections of the house creaking and groaningas he trod upon them; and coming to the door he had to stoop, so low hadit been cut. "That's right, Jimmie, duck or you'll lay yourself out. I gad, theworld's full of traps set for big fellows. Now sit down there and fallto. Don't feel very brash this morning, do you?" "I feel first-rate, " Jim answered, sitting down. "Youth and love mixed, " said the old man, placing himself at the head ofthe board. "And ah, Lord, when we grow out of one and forget the other, there's not much left to live for. I'd rather be a young fellow in lovethan to be an emperor. Help yourself to a slab of that fried ham. She'llbring the coffee pretty soon. Here she comes now. Waiting for you, AuntLiza. Have some hoe-cake, Jimmie. Yes, sir; youth and love constitutethe world, and all that follows is a mere makeshift. Thought may come, but thought, after all, is but a dull compromise, Jimmie, a cold potatoinstead of a hot roll. Love is noon, and wisdom at its best is onlyevening. There are some quince preserves in that jar. Help yourself. Thought about her all night, didn't you?" "I think about her all the time, Uncle Gideon. " "And Jimmie, it wouldn't surprise me if the world should think about herafter a while. That woman's a genius. " "I hope not, " the giant replied, looking up, and in his voice was a noteof distress, and in his eyes lay the shadow of a fear. "And why not, Jimmie?" "Because if she should turn out to be a genius she won't marry me. " "That's where your perception is broken off at the end, Jimmie. In thematter of marriage genius is mighty skittish of genius--it seeks theconstancy of the sturdy and commonplace. I'll try a dip of thosepreserves. Now let me see. After breakfast you'd better lie down on mybed and take a nap. " "No, I must go. The Major is going over to Brantly to-day and I want himto bring me a box of cartridges. I forgot to tell him last night. " "Oh, you're thinking about Mayo, eh?" "Well, I don't know but he did cross my mind. It occurred to me that hemight waylay me some night, and I don't want to stand out in the roadand dance while he's shooting at me. " "That's right, " said the old man. "A fellow cuts a mighty sorry figuredancing under such circumstances. I've tried it. " He shoved his chair back from the table and Jim got up to take hisleave. "Look out for the door, Jimmie. Duck as you go under or it willlay you out. Traps set all through life for fellows of your size. " Jim was not oppressed with weariness as he strode along the highway, forin the crisp air a tonic was borne, but loss of sleep had made hissenses dreamy, and all things about him were touched with the spirit ofunreality--the dead leaves fluttering on the underbrush, the purple mistrising from the fields, the water-mirrors flashing in the road; and sosurrendered was he to a listless brooding, forgetful even that he movedalong, that he did not notice, up the road, a man leap aside into thewoods. The man hid behind a tree, with his eye on the giant and with thebarrel of a pistol pressed hard against the bark. Jim passed on, withhis hands in his pockets, looking down; and when a clump of bushes, redwith frost-dyed leaves, hid him from view, Mayo came out from behind thetree and resumed his journey down the road. The Major had mounted his horse at the gate and was on the point ofriding forth when Jim came up. "Why, good-morning, James, " the oldgentleman heartily greeted him. "Have you just crawled out of that oldman's kennel? I see that the old owl must have kept you up all night. Why, sir, if I were to listen to him I'd never get another wink ofsleep. " "I kept myself up, " said the giant; and then he added: "I wanted to seeyou this morning, not very bad, but just to ask you to get me a box offorty-fours when you go to Brantly to-day. " "I'm glad to find you so thoughtful, " said the Major. "And I want totell you right now that you've got to look out for yourself. But stayingup all night is no way to begin. Go on into Tom's room and take a nap. " The Major whistled as he rode along, not for want of serious reflection, for he could easily have reached out and drawn in trouble, but becausethe sharp air stirred his spirits. Nowhere was there a cloud--aspeckless day in the middle of a week that had threatened to keep thesky besmirched. Roving bands of negro boys were hunting rabbits in thefields, with dogs that leaped high in low places where dead weeds stoodbrittle. The pop-eyed hare was startled from his bed among bramblyvines, and fierce shouts arose like the remembered yell of a Confederatetroop. The holidays were near, the crops were gathered, the winter'swood was up, the hunting season open, but no negro fired a gun. At thistime of the year steamboatmen and tavern-keepers in the villages werewont to look to Titus, Eli, Pompey, Sam, Caesar and Bill for their game, and it was not an unusual sight to see them come loaded down withrabbits and quails caught in traps, but now they sat sullen over thefire by day, but were often met prowling about at night. This crossedthe Major's mind and drove away his cheerful whistling; and he wasdeeply thinking when someone riding in haste reined in a horse abreastof him. Looking up he recognized the priest. "Why, good morning, Mr. Brennon; how are you?" "Well, I thank you. How far do you go?" "To Brantly. " "That's fortunate, " said the priest, "for I am selfish enough to let youshorten the journey for me. " "I can't do that, " the Major laughed, "but we can divide it. I rememberovertaking a man one miserable day out in the Indian Territory. He wasignorant, but he was quaint; he couldn't argue, but he could amuse, andhe did until he called me a liar, and there our roads split. Don'tthink, from my telling you this, that I am in the least doubt as to thedesirability of your company on the road to Brantly. Been some timesince I've seen you, Mr. Brennon. " "Yes; I have been very busy. " "And successfully so, I suppose. " "I am not in a position to complain, " said the priest. "By the way, will you answer a few questions?" "Gladly, if they're answerable. " "I think they are. Now, the negroes that come into your communion tellyou many things, drop idle gossip that may mean much. Did any of themever drop a hint of preparations which their brethren may or may not bemaking to demand some unreasonable concession from the white people ofthis community?" "What I have seen I am free to relate to you, " the priest answered, "butas to what has been told--well, that is quite another matter. I haveseen no preparations, but you doubtless remember a conversation we hadsome time ago, and on that occasion I think we agreed that we might havetrouble sooner or later. " "Yes, we were agreed upon that point, " the Major replied, "but neitherof us professed to see trouble close at hand. For some time I have heardit rumored that the negroes are meeting at night to drill, but I havepaid but little attention, giving them credit for more sense than tobelieve that their uprising could be more than a short, and, tothemselves, a disastrous, struggle; but there is one aspect thatimpresses me, the fact that they are taking no notice of the coming ofChristmas; for when this is the case you must know that the negro'snature must have undergone a complete change. I don't quite understandit. Why, sir, at present they can find no possible excuse for revolt. The crops are gathered and they can make no demand for higher wages; noelection is near and they can't claim a political cause fordisaffection. If they want better pay for their labor, why didn't theystrike in the midst of the cotton-picking? That would have been theirtime for trouble, if that's what they want. " "Perhaps they hadn't money enough to buy equipment, guns andammunition, " the priest suggested. "Perhaps they needed the money thatthe gathering of the crops would bring them. " The Major looked at him. "I hadn't thought of that, " he said. "Butsurely the negroes have sense enough to know that the whites wouldexterminate them within a week. " It was some time before Father Brennon replied. His deliberation led theMajor to believe that he would speak from his abundant resources; andthe planter listened eagerly with his head turned to one side and withhis hand behind his ear. "It is possible, " the priest began, "that thenegro had been harangued to the conviction that he is to begin ageneral revolt against capital, that labor organizations everywhere willrise up when they hear that he has been bold enough to fire his gun. " The Major's shoulders stiffened. "Sir, if you have known this, whyhaven't you as a white man and a Southern gentleman told us of it? Whyhaven't you warned us?" The priest smiled. "Your resentment is just, " said he. "But the truthis, it was not formulated as an opinion until late last night. I calledat your house this morning and was told that you had set out for thecounty-seat. And I have overtaken you. " The Major reined up his horse. Both horses stopped. "Mr. Brennon, youare a gentleman, sir. My hand. " They shook hands and rode on. The Major was deep in thought. "It has allbeen brought about by that scoundrel Mayo, " he said at last. "He hasinstilled a most deadly poison into the minds of those people. I willtelegraph the governor and request him to send the state militia intothis community. The presence of the soldiers will dissolve thisthreatened outbreak; and by the blood, sir, Mayo shall be convicted oftreason against the state and hanged on the public square in Brantly. And that will be an end of it. " The priest said nothing, and after a time the Major asked: "How are yougetting on with your work?" "I am greatly encouraged, and I wish I had more time. " "What do you mean by that?" "I have told you that the church can save the negro. Do you know a negronamed Bob Hackett?" "Yes; he was a worthless politician, but they tell me that he haswithdrawn from active politics and gone to work. What about him?" "He is now a communicant of the church, " the priest answered. "Heacknowledges a moral authority; and I make bold to say that shouldtrouble come, he will take no part in it. And I make still bolder to saythat the church, the foster mother of the soul of man, can in timesmooth all differences and establish peace and brotherly regard betweenthe white man and the negro. The Ethiopian cannot change his skin, buttrue religion whitens his soul and makes him our brother. " "Your sentiment is good, " replied the Major, "but religion mustrecognize an impossibility. The white man and the negro can never holdeach other in brotherly regard. Never. " "Don't say never, Major. Men pass from fixed prejudices; the church iseternal in its purpose. Don't say never. " "Well, then, sir, " cried the Major, standing in his stirrups, "I willnot say never; I will fix a time, and it shall be when the pyramids, moldered to dust, are blown up and down the valley of the Nile. " He let himself down with a jolt, and onward in silence they rode. Andnow from a rise of ground the village of Brantly was in sight. Thepriest halted. "I turn back here, " he said. "Mr. Brennon, " the Major replied, "between you and me the question ofcreed should not arise. You are a white man and a gentleman. My hand, sir. " CHAPTER XXIII. Brantly long ago was a completed town. For the most part it was built ofwood, and its appearance of decay was so general and so even as toinvite the suspicion that nearly all its building had been erected onthe same day. In the center of the town was the public square, and aboutit were ranged the business houses, and in the midst of it stood thecourt house with its paint blistered and its boards warping. It wassquare, with a hall and offices below. Above was the court room, andherein was still heard the dying echo of true oratory. On the top ofthis building, once the pride of the county, was a frail tower, and init was a clock, always slow. It was never known to record an hour untilthat hour had long since been due. Sometimes it would save up itsstrokes upon the bell until fifty or more were accumulated, and then, inthe midst of an intense jury trial, it would slowly turn them loose. Amathematician, a man who kept the dates of late and early frosts, had itin his record that the hammer struck the bell sixty-eight times on theafternoon when John Maffy was sentenced to be hanged, and that thejudge had to withhold his awful words until this flood of gathered timewas poured out. Once or twice the county court had appropriated money tohave the clock brought back within the bounds of reason, but a morepressing need had always served to swallow up the sum thus set aside. A stone planted at one corner of the public square marked the site of abit of bloody history. Away back in the fifties a man named Antrem, fromNew England, came to Brantly and, standing where the stone now stands, made an abolition speech. It was so bold an impudence that the citizensstood agape, scarcely able to believe their ears. At last the passiveastonishment was broken by a slave-owner named Peel. He drew twopistols, handed one to the speaker, stepped off and told him to defendhimself. The New Englander had nerve. He did defend himself, and withdeadly effect. Both men were buried on the public square. A railway had skipped Brantly by ten long and sandy miles, and a newtown springing up about a station on the line--an up-start of yesterday, four-fifths of it being a mere paper town, and the other fifthconsisting of cheap and hastily built stores, saloons, boarding houses, a livery stable, a blacksmith shop, and a few roughly constructeddwellings--clamored for the county seat; and until this question wasfinally settled old Brantly could not look with confidence toward anyimprovement. Indeed, some of her business men stood ready to desert herin the event that she should be beaten by the new town, and while allwere bravely willing to continue the fight against the up-start, everyone was slow to hazard his money to improve his home or his place ofbusiness. Whenever a young man left Brantly it was predicted that hewould come to no good, and always there came a report that he wasgambling, or drinking himself to death. The mere fact that he desired toleave the old town was fit proof of his general unworthiness to succeedin life. The Major rode into town, nodding at the loungers whom he saw on thecorners of the streets, and tying his horse to the rack on the square, went straightway to the shop of the only hardware dealer and asked forcartridges. "My stock is running pretty low, " said the dealer, wrapping up thepaste-board box. "I've sold more lately than I ever sold in any oneseason before, and yet there's no game in the market. " The Major whistled. "Who has been buying them?" he asked. "Come to think of it I have sold the most to a Frenchman namedLarnage--lives over on the Potter place, I believe. And that reminds methat I'll have a new lot in to-day, ordered for him. " "Do you know anything about that fellow?" the Major asked. "Not very much. " "Well, don't let him have another cartridge. Keep all you get. We'llneed them to protect life and property. " "What! I don't understand. " "I haven't time to explain now, for I'm reminded that I must go at onceto the telegraph office. Come over to the court-house. " The Major sent a dispatch to the governor and then went to the countyclerk's office where he found the hardware dealer and a number of menwaiting for him. The report that he was charged with serious news wasalready spread about; and when he entered, the clerk of the countycourt, an old fellow with an ink-blot on his bald head, came forwardwith an inquiry as to what had been meant when the Major spoke of thecartridges. The Major explained his cause for alarm. Then followed abrief silence, and then the old fellow who kept the records of thefrosts and the clock, spoke up with the assertion that for some time hehad expected it. "Billy, " he said, speaking to the clerk, "I told youthe other day that we were going to have trouble mighty soon. Don't yourecollect?" "Don't believe I do, Uncle Parker. " "But I said so as sure as you are standing there this minute. Let me trya little of your tobacco. " The clerk handed him a plug, and biting off achew, the old man continued: "Yes, sir, I've had it in mind for a longtime. " "Everybody has talked more or less about it, " said the clerk. "Oh, I know they have, Billy, but not p'intedly, as I have. Yes, sir, bound to come. " "The thing to do is to over-awe them, " said the Major. "I have justtelegraphed the governor to send the militia down here. And by the way, that fellow Mayo ought to be arrested without delay. Billy, is thesheriff in his office?" "No, Major, he's gone down to Sassafras to break up a gang of negrotoughs that have opened a gambling den. He'll be back this evening andI'll have the warrant ready for him by the time he gets back. Any of uscan swear it out--reckon all our names better go to it. " "Yes, " the Major agreed, "we'd better observe the formalities of thelaw. The militia will undo all that has been done, and as for the fellowthat brought about the inquietude, we'll see him hanged in front of thisdoor. " Old man Parker, who kept the records, nudged his neighbor and said:"Inquietude is the word. I told my wife last night, says I, 'Nancy, whenever you want the right word, go to John Cranceford. ' That's what Isaid. Major; and I might have said go to your father if he was alive, for he stood 'way up among the pictures, I tell you; and I reckon Iknowd him as well as any man in the county. I ricollect his duel withDabney. " "He was to have fought a man named Anderson Green, " replied the Major, "but a compromise was effected. " "Yes, " said Parker, "Green's the man I was tryin' to think of. It wasShelton that fought Dabney. " "Shelton fought Whitesides, " said the Major. The men began to titter, "Well, then, who was it fought Dabney?" "Never heard of Dabney, " the Major answered. "Well, I have, and somebody fought him, but it makes no difference. So, in your father's case a compromise was effected. The right word again;and that's what makes me say to my wife, 'Nancy, whenever you want theright word go to John Cranceford;' and, as I said a while ago, yourfather either, for I knowd him as well as any man, and was present atthe time he bought a flat-boat nigger named Pratt Boyce. " "My father was once forced to sell, but he never bought a negro, " theMajor replied. "That so? Well, now, who was it bought Pratt Boyce? You fellers shut upyour snortin'. I reckon I know what I'm talkin' about. " The county judge and several other men came in and the talk concerningthe threatened negro outbreak was again taken up. "It seems rathersingular, " said the Judge, "that we should worry through a storm ofpolitics and escape any very serious bloodshed and reach a climax afterall these years. Of course when two races of people, wholly at variancein morals and social standing, inhabit the same community, there isalways more or less danger, still I don't think that the negroes have solittle sense----" "Ah, the point I made, " the Major broke in. "But you see a labor plankhas been added to their platform of grievance. " Parker nudged his neighbor. "I says, says I, 'Nancy, John Cranceford forthe right word. '" "There's something in that, " the Judge replied. "Nothing can be madderthan misled labor. We have been singularly free from that sort ofdisturbances, but I suppose our time must come sooner or later. But Ithink the militia will have a good effect so far as the negroesthemselves are concerned. But of course if the soldiers come and thetrouble blows over without any demonstration whatever, there will beconsiderable dissatisfaction among the people as to why such a stepshould have been taken. Uncle Parker, " he added, turning to therecord-keeper, "think we'll have much cold weather this winter?" Parker did not answer at once. He knew that glibness would argue againstdue meditation. "I see a good many signs, " he slowly answered. "Hornetshung their nests on the low limbs of the trees, and there are otherindications, still it largely depends on the condition of the wind. Sometimes a change of wind knocks out all calculations, still, I feelassured in saying that we are goin' to have a good deal of frost firstand last; but if the militia don't get here in time we are mighty apt tohave it hotter before we have it colder. Last night while I sat at homeby the fire a smokin' of my pipe, and Nancy a-settin' there a-nittin' apair of socks for a preacher, I looks up and I says, 'there's goin' tobe trouble in this community before many changes of the moon, ' I says, and I want at all surprised to-day when the Major here come a-ridin' inwith his news. Don't reckon any of you ricollect the time we come mightynigh havin' a nigger uprisin' before the war. But we nipped it in thebud; and I know they hung a yaller feller that cost me fifteen hundreddollars in gold. " The old man was so pleased to find himself listened to by so large acompany that he squared himself for a longer discourse upon happeningsantedating the memory of any one present, but attention split off andleft him talking to a neighbor, who long ago was weary of the sage'srecollections. Wisdom lends its conceit to the aged, and Parker wasvery old; and when his neighbor gave him but a tired ear, he turned fromhim and boldly demanded the Major's attention, but at this moment thetelegraph operator came in with a dispatch. And now all interests werecentered. The Major tore open the envelope and read aloud the followingfrom the governor: "Troops are at competitive drill in Mississippi. Have ordered themhome. " The Major stood leaning with his elbow on the top of the clerk's talldesk. He looked again at the dispatch, reading it to himself, and abouthim was the sound of shuffling feet. "Well, it won't take them more than twenty-four hours to get home, " hesaid, "and that will be time enough. But Billy, we'd better not swearout that warrant till they come. " "That's wise, " said the Judge, a cautious man. "His followers would notstand to see him taken in by the civil authorities; it's not showyenough. " And Parker, speaking up, declared the Judge was right. "I ricollect themilitia come down here once durin' the days of the carpet-baggers, and----" "But let no one speak of the dispatch having been sent to the governor, "said the Judge. "Billy, when the sheriff comes back you'd better tellhim to appoint forthwith at least a hundred deputies. " "In fact, " the Major replied, "every law-abiding man in the county mightbe declared a deputy. " Old Parker found his neighbor and nudged him. "I says to my wife, 'Nancy, ' says I, 'whenever you want the right idee, go to JohnCranceford and you'll get it. '" "That's all right, Uncle Parker, " the irritated man replied. "I don'tgive a continental and you needn't keep on coming to me with it. " "You don't? Then what sort of a man are you?" "You boys quit your mowling over there, " the county clerk commanded. "Major, " said the Judge, "the troops will doubtless come by boat andland near your place. Don't you think it would be a good idea for you tocome over with them? The truth is you know our people are always more orless prejudiced against militia, and it is therefore best to have awell-known citizen come along with them. " "I don't know but that you are right, " said the Major. "Yes, I will comewith them. " He bade the men good day and turned to go, and out into the hall theJudge came following him. "By the way, Major, " said he, "you are ofcourse willing to take all responsibility; and I'd a little rather youwouldn't mention my name in connection with the militia's coming downhere, for the ordering out of troops is always looked upon as a sort ofsnap judgment. " "I thought you said that you were not going to run for office again, "the Major bluntly replied. The Judge stammered and though the hall was but dimly lighted, the Majorsaw that his face was growing red. "I have reconsidered that, " confessed the politician, "and next season Ishall be a candidate for re-election. " "And I will oppose you, sir. " "Oppose me? And why so?" "Because you've got no nerve. I believe, sir, that in your smooth wayyou once took occasion to say that Gideon Batts was a loud-mouth andmost imprudent man. But, sir, there is more merit in the loud bark of adog than in the soft tread of a cat. I will oppose you when the timecomes, but I will shoulder the responsibility of martial law in thiscommunity. Good day, sir. " "Major----" "I said good day, sir. " The old gentleman strode hotly out to the rack where his horse was tied, and thereabout was gathered a number of boys, discussing the comingdanger which in their shrewdness they had keenly sniffed. Among them hedistributed pieces of money, wherewith to buy picture books, he said, but they replied that they were going to buy powder and he smiled uponthem as he mounted his horse to ride away. In the road not far distant from the town he met Larnage, the Frenchman. The day before he would have passed him merely with a nod, as hescarcely knew him by sight and had forgotten his name; but the hardwaredealer had recalled it and upon it had put an emphasis; so, reining uphis horse, he motioned the man to stop. "How long have you been in this neighborhood?" the Major asked. At thisabruptness the Frenchman was astonished. "I do not understand, " he replied. "Yes you do. How long have you been here?" "Oh, I understand that, but I do not understand why you should ask. " "But can't you tell me?" "I can be so obliging. I have lived here two years. " "And how long in the United States?" "Ten years. And now will you have the goodness to tell me why you wishto know? Will you be so kind as I have been?" "Well, to be frank, I don't hear a very good report of you. " "But who is appointed to make a report of me? I attend to my ownbusiness, and is this a bad report to make of a citizen of the country?If you will have the goodness to pardon me I will ride on. " "Wait a moment. Why are you buying so many cartridges?" The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. "Has not the citizen of thecountry a right to spend his money? I have heard that the Major ispolite. He must not be well to-day. Shall I ride on now? Ah, I thankyou. " Onward the Frenchman rode, and gazing back at him the Major mused: "Thefrog-eater gave me the worst of it. But I believe he's a scoundrel allthe same. I didn't get at him in the right way. Sorry I said anything tohim. " CHAPTER XXIV. Upon reaching home shortly after nightfall the Major found visitorswaiting for him in the library--Wash Sanders, old Gid, Jim Taylor, Low, and a red bewhiskered neighbor named Perdue. A bright fire was cracklingin the great fire-place; and with stories of early steamboat days uponthe Mississippi, Gid was regaling the company when the hero of the yarnopened the door and looked in. Getting to their feet with a scuffle anda clatter of shovel and tongs (which some one knocked down) they criedhim a welcome to his own house. "Gentlemen, " said the Major, "just wait till I eat a bite and I'll bewith you. Have you all been to supper?" "We have all been stuffed, " Gid took the liberty to answer, "all butWash Sanders and he----" "Don't eat enough to keep a chicken alive, " Sanders struck in. "Wish Icould eat with you, Major, but I ain't got no relish for vidults. ButI'm glad to know that other folks ain't that bad off. Jest go on andtake your time like we want here waitin' for you. " While the Major was in the dining-room, Gid came out and told him thatthe priest had said to him and to others that it might be well to callat the Major's house immediately upon his return from Brantly. "He's all right, " said the Major, getting up and taking the lead towardthe library. And when he had sat down in his chair, bottomed withsheep-skin, he told his friends of his fears of a negro insurrection, ofthe dispatch and of the answer from the governor; and he related histalk with the Frenchman, whereupon Low, the Englishman, spoke up: "I know that chap. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that he put somerascally black up to the trick of punching that hole in my bath. For atime he came about my place quite a bit, you know, but I gave him tounderstand one day that I vastly preferred to choose my own associates. And you may rest with the assurance that he will be against the whites. Ah, with a Frenchman it is never a question as to which side he shalltake. By jove, he always finds out which side the Englishman is on andthen takes the other. I have brought with me a bit of Scotch whisky andI shall be pleased to have you gentlemen join me. " "Wait a minute, " said the Major. "I have some liquor that was distilledsixty years ago by the grandfather of the commander of the Alabama. We'll try that first. " "Good!" cried the Briton. "I can't deny the Alabama claim, you know. "And then he added: "Most extraordinary, I assure you. " "Just wait till you smack your mouth on it, " said Gid. "Why, sir, there's the smile of a goddess in each drop and a 'Paradise Regained' ina swallow. Sit down, Wash Sanders--a swig of it would shoot you into theair like a rocket. " "But really, Mr. Gid, I think a little of it would help my appetite, "Sanders replied, looking anxiously toward the Major. "Appetite!" Gid cried. "You can eat the hind leg of a rhinoceros rightnow. " "Do you mean to insult me, sir?" Sanders retorted, weakly bristling up;and the Major turning from the sideboard, with the odd-shaped bottle andseveral glasses in his hands, looked at Batts and said: "Don't, Gid. " "All right, but I was joking, " the old rascal declared. "Wash and Ialways prank with each other. You can take a joke, can't you, Wash?" "With the best of them, " Sanders answered. "Yes, sir, and before thedoctors proved to me that I couldn't get well I was joking all thetime. " He raised his hand and with his long finger nail scratched hischin. "But they showed me that I couldn't get well and if that ain'tenough to sadden a man's life I don't know what is. " "Now, gentlemen, " said the Major, "I want you to help yourselves, andnot be afraid, for the glasses are shallow and the bottle is deep. " The red bewhiskered man Perdue, who had said nothing, took out his quidof tobacco and with a loud "spat, " threw it against the chimney-back. "I'll join you, " he said, grinning. "Never saw any liquor too old forme. " They stood and touched glasses. Gid walled his eyes like a steer, andwith a rub of his breast and an "ah-hah, " he nodded at Low. "What do youthink of that?" he cried. "Isn't it a miracle?" "Ah, it is very smooth, " Low answered, sipping. "Most uncommon I shouldthink. " "Smooth, " said Gid. "Did you say smooth? It is as silk woven in the loomof a dream. Wash, how does it strike you?" "I think it will help me, " Sanders answered. "Help you!" And under his breath Gid added: "Ought to kill you. " "What did you say?" Sanders asked. "Said it wouldn't kill you. " "Oh, I think not. Really, after a while I might be tempted to go out andeat something. How are you gettin' along, Perdue?" "Shakin' hands with my grandfather in the speret, " Perdue declared, andrunning his fingers through his fiery whiskers he laughed with a hackthat cut like the bleat of a sheep. "Jim, " said the Major, turning to Taylor, who had not left his seat, "you'd better try a little. It won't hurt you. " "No, thank you, Major, I'm afraid of it. " "Let him alone, " Gid spoke. "One drink of this and he'd carry off thegate, posts and all and leave them on the hill. Don't tempt him. " "Gentlemen, " said Perdue, "I have always made it a rule never to repeatanything that my children say, for I know how such a thing bores folks, but I will tell you what my son Ab said the other night. His mother wasgettin' him ready for bed--just a little more, Major. There, that's aplenty. Mother was gettin' him ready for bed and he looked up----" "I feel the blood of youth mounting from the feet of the past to thehead of the present, " Gid broke in. "I can jump a ten rail fence, stakedand ridered. " "And I'm pretty jumpy myself, " the Major declared. "But what were yougoing to say, Perdue?" "I was goin' to say that I always make it a rule never to repeatanything that my children say, for I have often had fellers bore me withthe smart sayin's of their children--and I know that most every manthinks that his children are the brightest in the country and allthat--but the other night as my wife was gettin' Ab ready for bed helooked up----" "We never had any children at our house, " said Wash Sanders, scratchinghis chin with his polished finger-nail, "but I jest as good as raisedone nephew. You remember Dan, don't you, Major?" "Mighty well. Went to Texas, didn't he?" "Yes, and got to cowboyin' around and was killed. " "I recall that he was a very bright young man, " said the Major. "Butwhat were you going to say, Perdue?" "I was goin' to say that I always make it a rule never to tell anythingthat my children say, knowin' how it seems to pester folks, for I havebeen nearly bored to death by fellers breakin' in and tellin' what theyof course thought was a powerful smart thing, said by one of theirchildren--so I am mighty keerful about such things, makin' it a rulenever to repeat anything said by my children, but the other night as mywife was gettin' Ab ready for bed----" "Somebody's hollering helloa at the gate, " said Jim. "Hush a minute. There it is again. " The Major went out and presently returned, bringing with him a largeblue envelope. "It's from the county clerk, " he said, sitting down andbreaking the seal. "Brought by a deputy sheriff, and he said that he hadridden hard all the way and was in a great hurry to get back. Let's seewhat old Billy has to say. " And now having put on his spectacles, heread aloud the following: "Marcus T. Berry, sheriff of this the county of Cranceford, in the State of Arkansas, did on this day seek to break up a den of negro gamblers at Sassafras, in the before mentioned county of Cranceford, and State as above set forth, and while in the discharge of his duty, was then and there fired upon and so desperately wounded that in his home in the town of Brantly, seat of the said county of Cranceford, State as before mentioned, he now lies at the point of death. The negroes claimed that they were not gambling, but engaged in lawful merchandise; but be that as it may, the sheriff and his posse were there and then fired upon, and besides the wounding of the sheriff, two men were killed outright, to-wit, one James Mattox and one Leon Smyers, and the same were left there. The sheriff managed to make his escape, albeit he was followed and repeatedly fired upon. And be it known that the report now reaches here that the atrocity did not cease with the firing on of the sheriff's posse, but that a sharp fight afterward took place between negroes and white men near by; and we are now informed that a strong force of negroes, at the instance of one Mayo, is now gathering in the southwestern part of the county, preparatory to a march upon this, the seat of the county of Cranceford. Therefore, it behooves all good citizens to meet in the before mentioned town for the defense of life and property, as it is here that the blow is to fall. William N. Haines, Clerk of the County of Cranceford, in the State of Arkansas. " Scarcely observing a pause the Major had read the letter, and no word ofsurprise had been spoken by his listeners; and now in silence theylooked at one another, Gid with his mouth open, Sanders with anexpression of pain. "Well, " said the Major, "that settles it. " "By jove, " the Englishman burst out, "I should rather say unsettles it. I can't conceive of a settlement on that basis, you know. Those blacksare positively annoying. First they punch a hole in my bath and thenthey fire on a sheriff's party. I should call it a most extraordinaryapproach toward the settlement of a difficult problem. But now, gentlemen, if you'll join me we'll take a bit of Scotch whisky. " Old Gid looked hard at him. "What?" said he, "insult old Semmes' liquidmusic with a hot breath of peat smoke! Never, sir. And consequently I'lltake another glimpse at this mountain sunrise. " The Englishman laughed. "You have a most extraordinary way of boasting, you know. You may take your sunrise on the mountain, but I prefer thismoonlight in the heather. A glass about half full of water, please. Thank you, very kind I assure you. " The Briton sat and sipped his Scotchwhile the Major paced up and down the room, hands behind him, deep inthought. But soon he took his chair again, a proof that what now was tocome was not a speculation but the outline of a plan of action. "Where's Tom?" he asked, nodding at Gid, but with an eye upon WashSanders. "Over at my house, " Wash Sanders answered. "Well, when you go home, take this message to him. Say that I said go atonce to the neighbors for five miles below your house, along the countyroad, and tell them that trouble of a serious nature has come--tell themto meet, men, women and children, at my house by daylight in themorning. Have him remind them that his house, on account of itssituation high above the river, is the easiest to defend, and that itwill accommodate more people than any other house in the neighborhood. Tell the men, of course, to bring their arms and all the ammunition theyhave. Explain that a sufficient number of men will be left here toprotect the women and children, while the large majority of us will makeall possible haste to the county seat. Tell the men to come mounted. Nowis it clear to you?" "Major, " Wash Sanders spoke up with more than his usual show of spirit, "the doctors have condemned my body but they hain't condemned my mind. It is clear to me, sir, and I will go now. " "All right, " said the Major. "And Jim, " he added, "you do the same withthe upper end of the road. " The giant was smoking. He stood his pipe against a corner of thefire-place, got up and without saying a word, strode away. Wash Sanderswas soon gone, after halting at the door to say that he might not beable to eat enough to keep a setting hen alive, but that he reckoned hecould pull a trigger with any man that ever came over the pike. And nowthe Major, old Gid and the Englishman sat looking into the fire. "War time, Gid, " said the Major. "Yes, without banners and without glory, " the old fellow replied. "You are right. In the opinion of the majority of Americans, bravery onour part will be set down as a cruelty and a disgrace. The newspaperpress of the north will condemn us. But we can't help that, for a manmust protect his home. Mr. Low, there is nothing so unjust as politics. " "We have had many examples of it in England, sir. " "Yes, " said the Major, "there have been examples of it everywhere. Inthis country political influences have narrowed some of the broadestminds. " "In England political prejudices have killed poets, " the Englishmansaid. "And now, " Gid put in, "while you are discussing the evil I will try alittle more of the good. John, have another peep at the blue domeabove?" "No, I must go and give Mrs. Cranceford old Billy's letter. " "Won't it alarm her?" the Englishman asked. "Oh, not in the least, " the Major answered, and old Gid smiled. "Youcouldn't scare her with a bell-mouth blunderbuss, " he declared. The Major now had reached the door, but turning back he said: "Yougentlemen better sleep here to-night. " In a state of apparent alarm the Englishman sprang to his feet. "Mybath, " he cried. "No, I can't stop. I must have my bath. " "But you can bathe here. " "Oh, no, I must have my own tub, you know. But I shall be here early atmorning. I must go now. Good night, " he added, reaching the door. "Youare very kind, I assure you. " And when thus he had taken his leave, theMajor, pointing at a lamp, said to Gid: "End room down the porch. Go tobed. " CHAPTER XXV. Early at morning, just as the dawn began to pale the sandy bluffs alongthe shore, and while the cypress bottoms still lay under the blacknessof night, there came the trampling of horses, the low tones of men, thesharp, nervous voices of women, and the cries of children untimelygathered from their trundle-beds. The Major and his wife were ready toreceive this overflow of company. A spliced table was stretched nearlythe full length of the long hall, and a great kettle of coffee wasblubbering on the fire. There were but three negroes on the place, oneman and two women--the others had answered a call at midnight and hadgone away. But the remaining ones were faithful; at a drowsy hour theyleft their beds and with no word of complaint took it upon themselves toexecute a new and hurried task. "Bill, " said the Major, "I want you andyour wife and Polly to understand that I never forget such faithfulnessas you are now showing, and when I come back--but now is the best time. Here are ten dollars apiece for you and you must remember that as longas I live you shall never want for anything. " Fifty men arrived before the east was flushed with the sun. It wasdecided that ten of these, including Wash Sanders, should be left toprotect the women and children. The least active were chosen. All butthe younger ones had followed Lee through the dark days of his lastcampaign. The Major took command and martial law prevailed. He buckledon no sword but he looked like a soldier; and short, sharp sentencesthat he had forgotten at the close of the war now came back to him. "Make ready, men. Time passes. Mount. " There were pale faces in the hall and at the gate where the men sattheir horses, ready to ride, but there was bravery and no tears. Thecommand was drawn up; the Major, not yet mounted, stood talking to WashSanders, when suddenly down the road a chant arose. All eyes were turnedthat way, and strange to them was the sight they beheld--the Catholicpriest, with slow and solemn pace, treading the middle of the road, holding high aloft a black crucifix; and behind him followed the negromembers of his church, men, women and children. He was leading hispeople to the hills--out of danger. As the head of this weird processioncame opposite the gate, where now the Major stood with folded arms, thepriest gravely smiled and higher held his crucifix. And then, silently, and looking neither to the right nor to the left, came out the threenegroes who had remained at home; and taking up the chant they joinedtheir brothers and sisters. They marched solemnly onward, turned into aroad that led to the hills, the wind hushing their chant, but the blackcross still seen high above their dusky, upturned faces. For full fiveminutes the Major stood in silence, gazing, and then hastily mounting, he shouted: "Forward!" and his troop swept down the road. He chose thenearest course and it lay by the old house wherein Louise had lived; andagain he heard the wind moaning in the ragged plum thicket. Along the road the scattered houses were deserted, and in many a cabinthe fire-place was cold, and many a door stood open. Not a negro wasseen--yes, one, an old man drawn with rheumatism, sitting on a bench, waiting for the sun to warm his joints. When the Major and his troop rode into the town they found itquiet--under the weight of a heavy dread. They were looked upon fromwindows, where men were posted, waiting; and obeying a shoutedinstruction, the Major led his men to a long, low shed not far from thescene of expected blood-flow, to stable their horses. Following themcame old Billy, the county clerk; and when the horses had been put away, he came up and thus addressed the Major: "You are to take command. " "All right. What has been done?" "Not much of anything. Nothing could be done except to wait. " "How many men have we?" "It is surprising how few, " old Billy answered. "We didn't realize howweak the white population was until danger came. We have about threehundred, and more than a thousand negroes are marching on the town. Weheld a sort of council this morning and agreed that we'd better post asmany as we can in the court-house. It commands all the streets andbesides we must save the records. " They were now marching toward the court-house. "Where are the women andchildren?" the Major inquired. "In the brick warehouse with a force of men near. " "Well, I suppose you've done all you can. It would be nonsense to engagethem in the open, but with our men posted about the square not more thantwo-thirds of them can get action at once. Those poor devils are as wellarmed as we and are wrought upon by fanaticism. It is going to bedesperate for a time. At first they'll be furious. Has any one heard ofMayo?" "He's at their head and the Frenchman is with him. " "How is the sheriff?" "Dead. " They filed into the court-house, where a number of men were alreadygathered, posted above and below. "Bring an axe and cut loop-holes, " theMajor commanded. "When the fight begins you can't very well fire fromthe windows. How are you, Uncle Parker?" "Able to be about, Major. You wan't old enough for the Mexican War, wasyou? No, of course not. But I was there and this here fightin' agin suchodds puts me in mind of it. " "Good morning, Major. " It was the voice of the County Judge. "Good morning, sir. I see you have a gun. Don't you think it impolitic?But pardon me. This is no time for ill-humored banter. " The Judge bowed. "Now I recall John Cranceford, the soldier, " said he. "This is a great pity that has come upon us, Major, " he added. "Worse than that, " the Major replied. "It is a curse. The first man wholanded a slave in America ought to have been hanged. " "And what about the men who freed them?" "They were American soldiers, sir, as brave a body of men as ever trodthe face of the earth. Captain Batts, what are you trying to do there?" "Thought I'd take a nap, " old Gid answered. "You can wake me up when thefight begins--don't want to miss it. " "If you go to sleep I will court-martial you, sir. Superintend thecutting of the loop-holes. " "All right, don't believe I'm very sleepy anyway;" and as he shuffledaway the Englishman turned to the Major and asked: "And is he game, sir?" "As a lion, " the Major answered. "But he blows, you know, " said the Englishman. "And so does a lion roar, sir, " the Major rejoined. The Major inspected the other posts, to the right and left of thesquare, and then took active command of the lower floor of thecourt-house; and when the holes had been cut Gid was told to command thefloor above. Tom Cranceford was ordered to serve on the floor above. Atthis he began to grumble, pouting that he couldn't be in the rush if oneshould come; but the Major stormed at him. "It is more dangerous upthere if that's what you want, and I'll be with you now and then to seethat you are kept busy. March this instant or I'll drive you to homeduty under Wash Sanders. " From the windows and the loop-holes guns could be seen bristlingeverywhere, and the minutes that passed were slow and weary withwaiting. Directly across from the court-house was a broad and low brickstore house, with but a single window above, facing the square; and theMajor looking at it for a time, turned to the old clerk and said: "Thatbuilding is the strongest one in town, but no men appear to be posted init. Why so?" "The rear wall is torn out and the men would be unprotected frombehind, " the clerk answered. "The wall was pulled down about a monthago. Evans was going to have the house built deeper into the lot so hecould use it as a cotton shed, but hasn't. " "Bad that it was left that way. How long since the last scout came in?" "About an hour and a half. " "And where was the enemy then?" "In the neighborhood of Gum Springs. " "That's bad. The militia won't have time to get here. " The Major went above, where he found Gid's men posted at the windows andthe loop-holes. "How is everything?" he asked. "Lovely, John. " "Don't call me John. " "All is well, Major. " "Good. " And after a time he added: "The south road is so crooked that wedon't command it very far, therefore look sharp. Back to your post!" hestormed as Perdue looked up from his loop-hole. "This is no time foridleness. " "I wonder what time we eat, " said Gid. "You may never eat another bite, " the Major answered. "Then I don't reckon there's any use to worry about it, John, or Major, I mean. " The Major returned to the floor below. "This is getting to be quite alark, " said the Englishman. "It's beastly cruel to fight, but after allit is rather jolly, you know. " "I'm glad you think so, sir; I can't, " the Major replied. "I regard itas one of the worst calamities that ever befell this country. " "Do you think there will be much pillage by the blacks--much burning ofhouses?" "Possibly, but to sustain their cause their commander will hold them insome sort of check. He is looking out for the opinion of labor unions, the scoundrel. He is too sharp to give his war a political cast. " "Ah, but to butcher is a beastly way to look after good opinion. What'sthat?" the Englishman cried. From afar, through the stillness that lay along the south road, came thepopping of rifles; and then all was still. Then came the sounds ofhoofs, and then a riderless horse dashed across the square. "Steady, men, they are upon us!" the Major shouted, and then all againwas still. From the windows nothing could be seen down the road, and yetthe advance guard must be near, for a gun was fired much closer thanbefore. Now upon the square a rider dashed, and waving his hat hecried: "They are coming through the fields!" He dismounted, struck hishorse with his hat to drive him out of danger and ran into thecourt-house. The Major met him. "They will be here in no time, " the mansaid. "But how they got so close without my seeing them is a mystery tome. But of course I expected to see them in the road and didn't look forthem in the fields. And that ain't all. They've got a cannon. " "What!" the Major exclaimed, and the men at the loop-holes looked backat him. "Yes, " the scout went on, "and I know all about it. Just before the warended an enormous gun was spiked, dismantled and thrown into a well waydown on the Dinkler place. It was got out a good while afterward and thespike drilled out, and since then it has been used for a Christmas gun. Well, they've got that thing on an ox wagon, but they've got no way tofire it for----" The guns to the right and left of the square blurted out, then came aroar and a yell, and in an instant the opposite side of the square wasblack with negroes pouring out from behind the low brick building. Witha howl and a rush they came, but from three sides volley after volleywas poured into them, the white men using their shot guns. The effectwas terrible, and soon the square was cleared of all but the dead andthe wounded. A cessation fell, and Mayo's voice could be heard, shouting at his men. He saw that to attempt to take the house by stormwas certain death, so to comparative safety behind the house and into adeep-cut road a little farther back he withdrew his men. He had notexpected so early to find such opposition, and his aim was to crush withthe senseless weight of force, but the shot-guns were too deadly. Now hewas cool and cautious. The fire from the whites was straggling. Suddenlyout from behind the brick building rushed three black giants, torches inhand, making desperately for the court-house. It was indeed a forlornhope, for one by one they fell, the last, so death-defying was he, thathe fell upon the steps and his torch flew from his hand into the hallwayand crackled on the floor. A man reached out to grasp it, but ashattered arm was drawn back. "Not you, Major!" cried old Parker. Outward he leaned, grabbing at the torch, but Mayo's guns swept thehall. And when they drew the old man back, he brought the snapping pine, but left his life. They laid him out upon the floor, stood for a momentsadly to view him; and through a hole a bullet zipped and beside himfell a neighbor. "Back to your places!" the Major commanded. Now the guns on the oppositeside of the square were silent. "They are lying low and our men can'treach them, " said the Major. "What are they up to now? Preparing foranother charge?" "Worse than that, " said the man who had seen them in the fields. "Theyhave hoisted that cannon up into the brick building and are going topoke it through the window. See there! See that big log up-ended? That'sto brace it. From where I lay I saw them just now breaking up an oldstove out in the lot and they are going to load with the fragments. Ikilled two of them, but they got the stove away. Listen, don't you hearthem pounding it up?" "And this house will afford no more protection that so much paper, " saidthe Major, speaking low. "We have badly planned our defense. We are illprotected from bullets, and a cannon will blow us into the air. " Andthen, moving from one to another, he looked through the loop-holes. "Train every gun on that window, " he commanded, "and shoot if a fingeris seen. " Up the stairs he bounded. Old Gid was walking up and down theroom, softly whistling. "Pretty peppery, Major, " he said, pointing tothree bodies stretched upon the floor. "Yes, " the Major replied, "and it will be worse. We are doomed. " "How so? Keep on rushing till they wear us out? I reckon not. It wouldtake five thousand men. God, but look at them lying out there. They weredesperate, but they are toned down. " "They've got a cannon loaded with the fragments of a stove and willfire it from that window, " said the Major. Gid whistled and resumed his walk. The firing about the square was slowand steady. From across the way there came no gun shot. "Got a cannon, eh?" old Gid mused. "I wondered why they were so still, " and then to theMajor he said: "They'll shell us out and mow us down at their leisure. Who built this infernal court-house?" "I don't remember, " the Major answered, "but he ought to be in here now. Train your guns on that window. " The Major went below. Just as he reached the bottom of the stairway heleaped forward with a cry. He saw Jim Taylor jump from a window out uponthe square. The Major ran to a loop-hole, pushed a man aside and lookedout. And now there was a belching of guns on the other side. Jim Taylorcaught up a child in his arms, and with bullets pecking up the dirtabout him and zipping against the wall, he dodged behind a corner of thehouse. Then he ran across the protected side of the square. Near by, inthe door of a warehouse, a woman stood, shrieking. When she saw thegiant with her little boy in his arms she ran out to meet him, breakingloose from the hands that strove to hold her, and snatching the littlefellow, she cried: "God bless you for this. I have so many little onesto see to that he got out and went to look for his grandpa Parker. Godbless you, sir. " The giant had seen old Parker lying dead on the floor, but he saidnothing; he turned about, and entering the court-house from theprotected side, was soon at his post. The Major stormed at him. "You'velost all your sense, " he cried. "You are a bull-calf, sir. Now see thatyou don't leave your post again. Did they hit you?" he anxiously asked. "Don't believe they did, " the giant grimly answered. "Well, they will in a minute. Look there!" The mouth of the cannon showed above the window, shoved through and nowrested on the ledge; and behind it arose an enormous log. From theloop-holes in the court-house the gun was raked with buck-shot, but allthe work was done from below and no one stood exposed. Once a hand, likea black bat, was seen upon the gun, but instantly it flew away, leavinga blotch of blood. And now the old bell, so quiet all the morning, beganto strike--one, two, ten, thirty--slowly, with dread and solemn pauses. "Look!" the Major cried. A red-hot poker glowed above the cannon. Buckshot hailed from a hundred guns, and the poker fell, but soon itcame again and this time flat upon the gun. The hand that held it wasnervous and fumbling. Suddenly the breech of the gun slipped lower downthe upright log. Up went the muzzle, and then came a deafening boom. There was a crash over-head. The cupola of the court-house wasshattered, and down came the bell upon the roof, and off it rolled andfell upon the ground with a clang. Out surged Mayo's men, but a fearfulvolley met them, and amid loud cries and with stumbling over the deadand the dying, torn and bleeding, they were driven back. But they set upa yell when they saw the damage their gun had wrought. They couldforesee the havoc of a better managed fire. Now the yells were hushed. The Major's men could hear a black Vulcan hammering his iron; then alesser noise--they were driving the scraps into the gun. "It will be worse this time, " said the Major. "They have cut a deeperniche in the log to hold the breech and there'll be no chance of itsslipping. These walls will be shattered like an eggshell. Steady, theyare at it. " Again the gun lay across the window ledge. The red-hot poker bobbed up, glowing in the dim light, but there was a crash and a rain of shot andit flew back out of sight; and it must have been hurled through the rearopening of the wall, for they were a long time in getting it. But itcame again, this time sparkling with white heat. The guns about thesquare kept up an incessant fire, but over the powder the poker bobbed, and then--the whole town shook with the terrific jar, and windowsshowered their glass upon the street, and through the smoke a thrillingsight was seen--the roof of the brick building was blown into splintersand in the air flew boots, hats and the fragments of men--the gun hadexploded. "Out and charge!" the Major shouted. "Forward, Captain Batts!" he criedat the foot of the stairs, and the men came leaping down. The cry wastaken up, and from every building about the square the men were pouring. Mayo had no time to rally his force; indeed, it was beyond his power, for his men were panic-smitten. Into the fields and toward the woodsthey ran for their lives. It was now a chase. Bang, to right and theleft, and in the fields the fleeing blacks were falling, one by one. Once or twice they strove to make a stand, but hell snorted in theirfaces--and death barked at their heels. In their terror they were swift, but from afar the rifles sucked their blood. The woods were gained andnow they were better protected in their flight, dodging from tree totree; some of them faced about and white men fell, and thus was cautionforced upon the pursuers. So much time was gained that Mayo rallied themost of his men, but not to stand and fight. He had another plan. In asmall open space, once a cotton patch, stood a large church, built oflogs, and thither he hastened his men, and therein they found afortress. The Major called in his scattered forces. They gathered in thewoods about the church. "Are you going to charge them?" old Gideon asked. "No, sir, that would be certain death to many of us. Hemmed in as theynow are they'll be deadly desperate. We'll have to manage it some otherway. " A shower of buck-shot flew from the church. "I gad, Major, they've got buck-shot, " said Gid. "And they could mow usdown before we could cross that place. They still outnumber us two toone--packed in there like sardines. Don't you think we'd better scatterabout and peck at 'em when they show an eye? I'd like to know who builtthat church. Confound him, he cut out too many windows to suit me. " "Dodge down, men!" cried the Major. "Mr. Low, get back there, sir!" "Be so kind as to oblige me with the time, " said Low. "The rascals havesmashed my watch. Punch a hole in my bath and then ruin my watch, youknow. Most extraordinary impudence, I assure you. " "It is half-past three, " said the Major. "And what a day it has been andit is not done yet. " Jim Taylor came forward. "Look out, " said the Major. "They'll get youthe first thing you know. Why don't you pick up a few grains of senseas you go along?" "Why don't some one scatter a few grains?" "Hush, sir. I want no back talk from you. " "But I've got an idea, " said the giant, with a broad grin. "Out with it. " "Why, right over yonder is the Nelson plantation store-house, " said Jim, "and at the front end is the biggest door I ever saw, double oak and sothickly studded with wrought-iron nails that their broad heads touch. And my idea is this: Take that door, cut a round hole in the center witha cold-chisel, cut down a good-sized cypress tree, round off one end, fit it in the hole, with about five feet sticking through; let a lot ofus strong fellows gather up the tree and, protected by the door, use itfor a battering ram and punch that house down. Then we can work themfreely, as the fellow says. " "Jim, " the Major cried, "you are learning something. This day hasdeveloped you. I believe that can be done. At least it is worth trying. But, men, if it should be effective, let there be as little unnecessaryslaughter as possible. We are compelled to kill--well, we can't help it. However, take Mayo alive if you possibly can. I want to see him hangedon the public square. Now get the door. Here, Tom, you and Low cut downa cypress tree. Here, Lacy, you help. Low doesn't know how to handle anax. We'd better begin operations over there on the left. There are fewerwindows on that side. We can batter down the door. No, there is a highwindow above the door and they could shoot down upon us. That won't do. We'll take the left side. See, there are but two windows, both closetogether near the end. Look out, boys. Keep behind the trees. I wonderhow solid those logs are. When was that church built, Captain Batts?" "Don't remember the exact time, but not so very long ago. I recollectthat there was talk of a probable extension, the time that newrevivalist was having the house built, and that must account for the fewwindows toward this end on the left. They've got a first-rate place toshoot from, but what astonishes me is that Mayo should want to make astand when he must know that we'll get him sooner or later. " "That's easily explained, " said the scout who had dashed upon the publicsquare. "They are looking for a large body of reinforcements from thesouth, and Mayo knows what to expect if he should run, panic-stricken, into them. His only hope was in making a stand. " "Where is Perdue?" the Major asked, looking about, from one tree toanother. "He fell back yonder in the field, " old Gid answered. "I ran to him, but he must have been dead by the time he hit the ground. " The Major said nothing. He stood leaning against a tree looking towardJim and four other men coming with the heavy door. "And old Billy, " said Gid, "is----" The Major turned about. "Well, " he broke in. "You know, " said Gid, "we used to say that he always had a blot of inkon his head. But now he's lying back yonder with a spot of blood wherethe ink was. " The Major called to Jim: "Put it down there. " And then speaking to Gidhe added: "That scoundrel must pay for this. Don't shoot him--don't evenbreak his legs--I want to see them dangle in front of the court-housedoor. " With a chisel and a hammer the giant worked, on his knees, and it wasalmost like cutting through solid iron. The echo of his heavy blowsrumbled afar off throughout the timber-land. The detail of men came with the log, the body of a cypress tree, one endsmoothly rounded. Jim took his measurements and proceeded with his work. Once he had to drag the door to a better-sheltered spot. Bullets fromthe church were pecking up the dirt about him. Three times the piece oftimber was tried, to find that the hole in the door was not quite largeenough, but at last it went through and the giant smiled at the neatnessof the work. And now the ram was ready. The firing from the church hadfallen and all was silent. "It will take about eight men, four on a side--all strong youngfellows, " said Taylor. "You old men stand back. Major, order CaptainBatts to let go the log. " "Captain Batts, turn loose, " the Major commanded. "You are too old forsuch work. " With a sigh old Gid stepped back, and sadly he looked upon the young menas they took their places. "Yes, I'm getting old, John, but you needn'tkeep telling me of it. " "Sir, didn't I tell you not to call me John?" "Yes, but I thought you'd forgotten it. " Taylor and the Englishman were side by side, the log between them. Augerholes had been bored in the shaft and strong oak pins had been driven into serve for handles. "Remember to keep a tight grip on your handle, " said Jim. "I warrant that, " the Briton replied. "Are we all ready? Really quite alark, you know. " A stable had stood at the left boundary of the field, and one wall, cutdown, was now a part of the fence. Circling about to avoid theundergrowth and at the same time to keep out of Mayo's range, the menwith the ram came up behind the old wall; and here they were halted towait until the Major properly placed his marksmen. He made the circuitof the field, and coming back, announced that all was ready. A score ofshot-guns were trained upon the two windows that looked out upon thespace between the stable wall and the church. Over the wall the door waslifted, and the shot-guns roared, for the negroes had opened fire fromthe windows, but necessary caution marred the effect of their aim. Without a mishap the ram was lowered into the field. And now forward itwent, slowly at first, but faster and faster, the men on a run, thelower edge of the door sweeping the old cotton stalks. Faster, with ayell, and the men about the field stood ready to charge. Shot-gunsblazed from the windows, and shot like sharp sleet rattled off the heavynail-heads in the door. Faster, and with a stunning _bim_ the ram wasdriven against the house. But the logs lay firm. Back again, thirtyfeet, another run and a ram, but the logs were firm. From the windows, almost directly in front, the buck-shot poured, and glancing about, plucked up the dirt like raindrops in a dusty road. Once more, backstill further, and again they drove with head-long force. The houseshook, the roof trembled, but the logs were sound and stubbornly lay inplace. Back again, but this time not to stop. "To the fence, " Jimordered. A shout came from the church. The Major stamped the ground. "Keep your places and wait for me, " said Jim to his men. He leaped thestable wall. "Here, young fellow, " he called, "run over to thatstore-house and bring a can of coal-oil. I was a fool not to think ofthis before. Why, even if we were to batter down the house they wouldkill us before our men could get there. Where is that axe?" He seized the axe and began to split a dry pine log. Every oneunderstood his plan; no one spoke. He split his kindling fine, whittledoff shavings with his knife, and gathering up his faggots waited for theoil. The young fellow returned, running. Jim snatched the can and sprangover the fence. The Englishman smiled when he took his place. "Reallyyou have quite an odd fancy, you know, " he said. "Once more and easy, " Jim commanded. "And may the Lord have mercy onthem. But it has to be done. " Onward they went, leaning inward, treading slowly, and shot was sleetedat them from the windows. But there was no quickening step as the housewas neared--it was a dead march. At a corner of the church they halted, and Jim, putting down his oil can, close to the wall, piled his faggotsabout it, and then, striking a match, set fire to the shavings. "Back!" he commanded. They reached the stable wall and stood there. The guns were silent. Eagerly every one was gazing. Was the fire dying down? One long minute, and then a dull explosion. A column of flame shot high into the air, arain of fire spattered down upon the church, and the roof was ablaze. The white men, ready with their guns, heard a trampling and thesmothered cries of horror; and then the church door flew open and outpoured Mayo and his men. Three times they charged an opening in the lineabout the fence, but unseen foes sprang up and mowed them down. But atthe last, fighting, desperate, yelling, they broke out of theslaughter-pen and once more were in the woods. And now it was not even achase. It was a still-hunt. CHAPTER XXVI. --CONCLUSION. Late in the afternoon, the news of the rout and the slaughter wasreceived at the Cranceford home. All day Wash Sanders and his men hadbeen sitting about, speculating, with but one stir of excitement, theboom of Mayo's cannon. But this soon died away and they sat about, swapping lies that were white with the mildew of time. But when newscame they sprang astir for now they knew that each man must look afterhis own home, to protect it from fire. Some of them offered to remain, but Mrs. Cranceford dismissed them, assuring them that her house, beingso public, was in no danger. So she was left, not alone, but with ascore of women and children. Afar off the guns could be heard, not in volleys, but the slow and fatalfiring of men taking aim. The sun was nearly down when a man climbedover the fence and cautiously walked toward the house. In his hand heheld a pine torch. Mrs. Cranceford grabbed a gun and ran out upon theporch. "What are you doing there?" she demanded. Larnage, the Frenchman, looked up at her and politely bowed. "What are you doing there?" she repeated. "Ah, is it possible that Madam does not suspect?" he replied, slowlyturning his fire-brand, looking at the blaze as it licked the stewingturpentine. "Yes, I do suspect, you villain, and if you don't throw down that torchthis instant I'll blow your head off. " She brought the gun to her shoulder. He saw her close one eye, takingaim, and he stepped back and let his torch fall to the ground. "It shallbe as Madam wishes, " he said. "Now you get out of this yard. " "Madam has but to command. " He passed through the gate and turned down the road; and upon him shekept a steady eye. She saw him leave the road and go into the woods. Not far away was a potato-house, built over a cellar. To this frailstructure he set fire. The dry timbers soon fell into the pit, and hestood there as if to warm himself. Night was his time for real work andhe would wait. The sun was almost down. He turned away, and lookingalong the road that wound through the woods, he saw old Gideon coming. Quickly he hastened to the road-side and stood behind a tree, with aknife in his hand. Gid came slowly along. And just as he came abreastof the tree, his pop-eyes saw the fellow. He threw up his arm and caughtthe knife on the barrel of his gun; then leaping, with the gun clubbed, he struck at the Frenchman, but the fellow was too quick for him. "Oh, if I only had a cartridge!" the old man said with a groan, running afterhim. "I'd rather have a load of shot right now than a mortgage onJerusalem. But I'll follow you--I'll get you. " Larnage was running, looking back, expecting to be shot; and stubbinghis toe he fell--head-long into the potato-cellar, into the pit ofred-hot coals. Ashes and a black smoke arose, and with frightful crieshe scrambled out, and with his charred clothes falling off him, he ranto the bayou and plunged headforemost into the water. Gid saw him sinkand rise; saw him sink again; and long he waited, but the man did notrise again. * * * * * Down along the bayou where negro cabins were thickly set, fires werespringing up; and there, running from place to place, following whitemen who bore torches, was Father Brennon. "Don't burn this house!" he cried. "It belongs to the church. " "Damn the church!" a man replied. "But this house belongs to an innocent man--he would not seek to killthe whites--he's gone to the hills. " "I reckon you are right, " said the man, and onward he ran, waving historch, the priest keeping close behind him. * * * * * From the woods the men were coming, and as Gid drew near to theCranceford house he saw Jim Taylor passing through the gate; and a fewmoments later, turning a corner of the porch, he found the giantstanding there with his arm about--Louise. "Ho, the young rabbit!" the old man cried. "Frog, " she laughed, running forward and giving him both her hands. "Why, how did you get here?" he asked. "I heard that the militia had been ordered home and I got here as soonas I could. I have been home about two hours and mother and I--but whereis father?" "Hasn't he come yet? Why, I thought he was here. We've all beenscattered since the last stand. " "I will go and look for him, " said the giant, taking up his gun fromagainst the wall. "I'm going with you, " Louise declared. "Go on in the house, UncleGideon, and don't tell mother where I'm gone. Now, you needn't say aword--I'm going. " Down the road they went, and out into the woods. Far away they saw thecabins blazing, on the banks of the bayou, and occasionally a gun washeard, a dull bark, deep in the woods. "You'd better go back, " said Jim. "No, I'm going with you. Oh, but this must have been an awful day--butlet us not talk about it now. " And after a time she said: "And youdidn't suspect that I was doing newspaper work. They tell me that I didit well, too. " "I read a story in a newspaper that reminded me of you, " he said. "Itwas called 'The Wing of a Bird. ' It was beautiful. " "I didn't think so, " she replied. "Probably you didn't read it carefully, " said he. "I didn't read it carefully enough before I handed it in, I'm afraid, "she replied. "Oh, and did you write it?" He looked down at her and she nodded herhead. "Yes, and I find that I do better with stories than at anythingelse, " she said. "I have three accepted in the North and I have a bookunder way. That was the trouble with me, Jim; I wanted to write and Ididn't know what ailed me, I was a crank. " "You are an angel. " He was leading her by the hand, and she looked up at him, but saidnothing. Just in front of them they saw the dying glow of a cabin in coals. Along clump of bushes hid the spot from view. They passed the bushes, looking to the left, and suddenly the girl screamed. Not more thantwenty yards away stood the Major, with his back against atree--gripping the bent barrel of a gun; and ten feet from him stoodMayo, slowly raising a pistol. She screamed and snatched the giant's gunand fired it. Mayo wheeled about, dropped his pistol, clutched his barearm, and with the blood spouting up between his fingers he turned toflee. Two white men sprang out in from of him, and the Major shouted:"Don't kill him--he is to be hanged on the public square. I was tryingto take him alive--and had to knock down two of his men. Tie him. " He held out his arms to Louise, and with her head on his breast and withmischief in her eyes, she looked up and said: "I have more than adaughter's claim on you. I have the claim of gallantry and upon this Ibase my plea. " He rebuked her with a hug and a kiss, saying not a word; but big Jim, standing there, turned about, laughing. "What are you snorting at, Goliath? Has a David at last sunk a joke intoyour head? Come, let us go to the house. " "Father, " said Louise, "I am going to show you how much I love you. Andoh, how I longed to rest in your arms the time you held them out to me, in that desolate hall, the night of death; but I knew that if I yieldedI would go back to the nest with my wings untried. I had to go away. Iwill tell you all about it, and I know that you will not be ashamed ofme. " Silently they took their way homeward, choosing a shorter route; andcoming upon an oozy place in the woods, Jim said to Louise: "I'm goingto carry you in my arms. " He did not wait for her to protest, butgathered her in his arms, and her head lay upon his shoulder. "Do you want my love to build a mansion for your heart?" he whispered. She put her arm about his neck. They came out into the hard road, and still he carried her, with herarms tight about his neck. The Major looked on with a sad smile, for thesights of the day were still red before his eyes. But banteringly, hesaid: "First time I ever saw this hard road so muddy. " Louise laughed, whispered to Jim and he eased her to the ground. "Why, they've burnt Wash Sanders' house!" the Major cried. "See, overthere?" They came opposite the place where the house had stood, and the Majorsuddenly drawing back, said to Jim: "Lead her around that way. Shemustn't see this and she mustn't ask what it is. " Jim led her away, and the Major looked at Wash Sanders. Across a lowrail fence his body lay, his hands drooping to the ground, and in frontof him lay a gun that had fallen from his grasp; and a short distanceaway the Major found a mulatto, lying dead beside the road. At the Major's house the women were preparing supper. The hungry men, some of them bleeding, had assembled in the yard. Darkness had fallen. "Father, " said Tom, coming forward, leading Sallie Pruitt by the hand, "mother says that this girl shall live with us. " "Yes, " said the old man, putting his hands on Sallie's cheeks andkissing her. "Yes, my dear, you shall live with us. " And turning to Low, he said: "You are a brave man. My hand, sir. " And Low, grasping the oldman's hand, replied: "I am an Englishman, and my father is a gentleman. " "Gid, " said the Major, "my name is John, God bless you. " Down the road arose sharp words of command, and the burning top of atall pine snag threw its light upon bayonets in the highway. Thesoldiers were come. "I wonder what is to be the end of this day's beginning, " said theEnglishman. "God only knows, " the Major replied. THE END.