SLIPPY McGEE

 SOMETIMES KNOWN AS THE BUTTERFLY MAN

 BY MARIE CONWAY OEMLER

 NEW YORK THE CENTURY CO. 1920

 1917, by THE CENTURY CO. 

 Published, April, 1917. Reprinted, August, 1917; February, 1918; August, 1918; March, 1919; August, 1919; November, 1919; February, 1920. 

 TO ELIZABETH AND ALAN OEMLER

FOREWORD

 I have known life and love, I have known death and disaster; Foregathered with fools, succumbed to sin, been not unacquainted with shame; Doubted, and yet held fast to a faith no doubt could o'ermaster. Won and lost:--and I know it was all a part of the Game. 

 Youth and the dreams of youth, hope, and the triumph of sorrow: I took as they came, I played them all; and I trumped the trick when I could. And now, O Mover of Men, let the end be to-day or to-morrow-- I have staked and played for Myself, and You and the Game were good!

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

 I APPLEBORO 3 II THE COMING OF SLIPPY McGEE 19 III NEIGHBORS 37 IV UNDERWINGS 48 V ENTER KERRY 65 VI "THY SERVANT WILL GO AND FIGHT WITH THIS PHILISTINE. " 1 SAM. 17-32 94 VII THE GOING OF SLIPPY McGEE 111 VIII THE BUTTERFLY MAN 131 IX NESTS 145 X THE BLUEJAY 172 XI A LITTLE GIRL GROWN UP 189 XII JOHN FLINT, GENTLEMAN 203 XIII "EACH IN HIS OWN COIN" 226 XIV THE WISHING CURL 258 XV IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT 283 XVI "WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOR" 302 XVII "--SAID THE SPIDER TO THE FLY--" 319XVIII ST. STANISLAUS CROOKS HIS ELBOW 343 XIX THE I O U OF SLIPPY McGEE 364 XX BETWEEN A BUTTERFLY'S WINGS 382

SLIPPY McGEE

CHARACTERS

FATHER ARMAND JEAN DE RANCÉ, Catholic Priest of Appleboro, South CarolinaMADAME DE RANCÉ, his MotherCLÉLIE, their ServantLAURENCE MAYNE, the BoyMARY VIRGINIA EUSTIS, the GirlJAMES EUSTIS, Man of the New SouthMRS. EUSTIS, a LadyDOCTOR WALTER WESTMORELAND, the Beloved PhysicianJIM DABNEY, Editor of the Appleboro "Clarion"MAJOR APPLEBY CARTWRIGHT }MISS SALLY RUTH DEXTER } NeighborsJUDGE HAMMOND MAYNE }GEORGE INGLESBY, the Boss of AppleboroJ. HOWARD HUNTER, his Private SecretaryKERRY, an Irish SetterPITACHE, the Parish House DogTHE MOTHS AND BUTTERFLIES OF SOUTH CAROLINATHE CHILDREN, THE MILL-HANDS, THE FACTORY FOLKS, andSLIPPY MCGEE, sometimes known as the Butterfly Man

SLIPPY McGEE

CHAPTER I

APPLEBORO

"Now there was my cousin Eliza, " Miss Sally Ruth Dexter once said tome, "who was forced to make her home for thirty years in Vienna! Shemarried an attaché of the Austrian legation, you know; met him whileshe was visiting in Washington, and she was such a pretty girl and hewas such a charming man that they fell in love with each other and gotmarried. Afterward his family procured him a very influential post atcourt, and of course poor Cousin Eliza had to stay there with him. Dear mama often said she considered it a most touching proof ofwoman's willingness to sacrifice herself--for there's no doubt it musthave been very hard on poor Cousin Eliza. She was born and raisedright here in Appleboro, you see. "

Do not think that Miss Sally Ruth was anything but most transparentlysincere in thus sympathizing with the sad fate of poor Cousin Eliza, who was born and raised in Appleboro, South Carolina, and yetsacrificed herself by dragging out thirty years of exile in the courtcircles of Vienna! Any trueborn Appleboron would be equally sorry forCousin Eliza for the same reason that Miss Sally Ruth was. Getyourself born in South Carolina and you will comprehend. 

"What did you see in your travels that you liked most?" I was curiousto discover from an estimable citizen who had spent a summer abroad. 

"Why, General Lee's standin' statue in the Capitol an' his recumbentfigure in Washington an' Lee chapel, of co'se!" said the colonelpromptly. "An' listen hyuh, Father De Rancé, I certainly needed him totake the bad taste out of my mouth an' the red out of my eye afterviewin' Bill Sherman on a brass hawse in New York, with an angelthat'd lost the grace of God prancin' on ahead of him!" He addedreflectively: "I had my own ideah as to where any angel leadin' _him_was most likely headed for!"

"Oh, I meant in Europe!" hastily. 

"Well, father, I saw pretty near everything in Europe, I reckon;likewise New York. But comin' home I ran up to Washington an' Lee tovisit the general lyin' there asleep, an' it just needed one glance toassure me that the greatest an' grandest work of art in this roundworld was right there before me! What do folks want to rush off toforeign parts for, where they can't talk plain English an' a man can'tget a satisfyin' meal of home cookin', when we've got the greatestwork of art an' the best hams ever cured, right in Virginia? SeeAmerica first, I say. Why, suh, I was so glad to get back to good oldAppleboro that I let everybody else wait until I'd gone around to themonument an' looked up at our man standin' there on top of it, an' Ifound myself sayin' over the names he's guardin' as if I was sayin' myprayers: _our names_. 

"Uh huh, Europe's good enough for Europeans an' the Nawth's a God'splenty good enough for Yankees, but Appleboro for me. Why, father, they haven't got anything like our monument to their names!"

They haven't. And I should hate to think that any Confederate livingor dead ever even remotely resembled the gray granite one on ourmonument. He is a brigandish and bearded person in a foraging cap, leaning forward to rest himself on his gun. His long skirted coat isbuckled tightly about his waist to form a neat bustle effect in theback, and the solidity of his granite shoes and the fell rigidity ofhis granite breeches are such as make the esthetic shudder; one has toadmit that as a work of art he is almost as bad as the statuescluttering New York City. But in Appleboro folks are not critical;they see him not with the eyes of art but with the deeper vision ofthe heart. He stands for something that is gone on the wind and thenames he guards are our names. 

This is not irrelevant. It is merely to explain something that isinherent in the living spirit of all South Carolina; wherefore itexplains my Appleboro, the real inside-Appleboro. 

Outwardly Appleboro is just one of those quiet, conservative, oldCarolina towns where, loyal to the customs and traditions of theirfathers, they would as lief white-wash what they firmly believe to bethe true and natural character of General William Tecumseh Sherman asthey would their own front fences. Occasionally somebody will give abackyard henhouse a needed coat or two; but a front fence? Never! Itisn't the thing. Nobody does it. All normal South Carolinians comeinto the world with a native horror of paint and whitewash and theydepart hence even as they were born. In consequence, towns likeAppleboro take on the venerable aspect of antiquity, peacefullydrowsing among immemorial oaks draped with long, gray, melancholymoss. 

Not that we are cut off from the world, or that we have escaped theclutch of commerce. We have the usual shops and stores, even anemporium or two, and street lights until twelve, and the mills andfactory. We have the river trade, and two railroads tap our richterritory to fetch and carry what we take and give. And, except in thepoor parish of which I, Armand De Rancé, am pastor, and some fewwealthy families like the Eustises, Agur's wise and noble prayer hasbeen in part granted to us; for if it has not been possible to removefar from us all vanity and lies, yet we have been given neitherpoverty nor riches, and we are fed with food convenient for us. 

In Appleboro the pleasant and prejudiced Old looks askance at thenoisy and intruding New, before which, it is forced to retreat--alwayswithout undue or undignified haste, however, and always unpainted andunreconstructed. It is a town where families live in houses that havesheltered generations of the same name, using furniture that was notnew when Marion's men hid in the swamps and the redcoats overran thecountry-side. Almost everybody has a garden, full of old-fashionedshrubs and flowers, and fine trees. In such a place men and women growold serenely and delightfully, and youth flourishes all the fairer forthe rich soil which has brought it forth. 

One has twenty-four hours to the day in a South Carolina town--plentyof time to live in, so that one can afford to do things unhurriedlyand has leisure to be neighborly. For you do have neighbors here. Itis true that they know all your business and who and what yourgrandfather was and wasn't, and they are prone to discuss it with afrankness to make the scalp prickle. But then, you know theirs, too, and you are at liberty to employ the same fearsome frankness, providedyou do it politely and are not speaking to an outsider. It isperfectly permissible for _you_ to say exactly what you please aboutyour own people to your own people, but should an outsider and analien presume to do likewise, the Carolina code admits of but onecourse of conduct; borrowing the tactics of the goats against thewolf, they close in shoulder to shoulder and present to the audaciousintruder an unbroken and formidable front of horns. 

And it is the last place left in all America where decent poverty isin nowise penalized. You can be poor pleasantly--a much rarer and farfiner art than being old gracefully. Because of this, life in SouthCarolina sometimes retains a simplicity as fine and sincere as it ischarming. 

I deplore the necessity, but I will be pardoned if I pause here tobecome somewhat personal, to explain who and what I am and how I cameto be a pastor in Appleboro. To explain myself, then, I shall have togo back to a spring morning long ago, when I was not a poor parishpriest, no, nor ever dreamed of becoming one, but was young Armand DeRancé, a flower-crowned and singing pagan, holding up to the morningsun the chalice of spring; joyous because I was of a perishablebeauty, dazzled because life gave me so much, proud of an old andhonored name, secure in ancestral wealth, loving laughter so much thatI looked with the raised eyebrow and the twisted lip at austeritiesand prayers. 

If ever I reflected at all, it was to consider that I had nothing topray for, save that things might ever remain as they were: that Ishould remain me, myself, young Armand De Rancé, loving and above allbeloved of that one sweet girl whom I loved with all my heart. Young, wealthy, strong, beautiful, loving, and beloved! To hold all that, crowded into the hollow of one boyish hand! Oh, it was too much!

I do not think I had ever felt my own happiness so exquisitely as Idid upon that day which was to see the last of it. I was to goa-Maying with her who had ever been as my own soul, since we werechildren playing together. So I rode off to her home, an old house setin its walled inclosure by the river. At the door somebody met me, calling me by my name. I thought at first it had been a stranger. Itwas her mother. And while I stood staring at her changed face she tookme by the hand and began to whisper in my ear . .. What I had to know. Blindly, like one bludgeoned on the head, I followed her into adarkened room, and saw what lay there with closed eyes and hair stillwet from the river into which my girl had cast herself. 

No, I cannot put into words just what had happened; indeed, I neverreally knew all. There was no public scandal, only great sorrow. But Idied that morning. The young and happy part of me died, and, onlyhalf-alive I walked about among the living, dragging about with me thecorpse of what had been myself. Crushed by this horrible burden whichnone saw but I, I was blind to the beauties of earth and deaf to themercies of heaven, until a great Voice called me to come out of thesepulcher of myself; and I came--alive again, and free, of a strongspirit, but with youth gone from it. Out of the void of anirremediable disaster God had called me to His service, chastened andhumbled. 

"_Who is weak and I am not weak? who is offended and I burn not?_"

And yet, although I knew my decision was irrevocable, I did not findit easy to tell my mother. Then:

"Little mother of my heart, " I blurted, "my career is decided. I havebeen called. I am for the Church. "

We were in her pleasant morning room, a beautiful room, and the lacecurtains were pushed aside to allow free ingress of air and sunlight. Between the windows hung two objects my mother most greatlycherished--one an enameled Petitot miniature, gold-framed, of a man inthe flower of his youth. His hair, beautiful as the hair of Absalom, falls about his haughty, high-bred face, and so magnificently is heclothed that when I was a child I used to associate him in my mindwith those "_captains and rulers, clothed most gorgeously, all of themdesirable young men, . .. Girdled with a girdle upon their loins, exceeding in dyed attire upon their heads, all of them princes to lookto" . .. Whom Aholibah "doted upon when her eyes saw them portrayedupon the walls in vermilion_. "

The other is an Audran engraving of that same man grown old andstripped of beauty and of glory, as the leaf that falls and the flowerthat fades. The somber habit of an order has replaced scarlet andgold; and sackcloth, satin. Between the two pictures hangs an oldcrucifix. For that is Armand De Rancé, glorious sinner, handsomest, wealthiest, most gifted man of his day--and his a day of glorious men;and this is Armand De Rancé, become the sad austere reformer of LaTrappe. 

My mother rose, walked over to the Abbé's pictures, and looked longand with rather frightened eyes at him. Perhaps there was something inthe similarity to his of the fate which had come upon me who bore hisname, which caused her to turn so pale. I also am an Armand De Rancé, of a cadet branch of that great house, which emigrated to the NewWorld when we French were founding colonies on the banks of theMississippi. 

Her hand went to her heart. Turning, she regarded me pitifully. 

"Oh, no, not that!" I reassured her. "I am at once too strong and notstrong enough for solitude and silence. Surely there is room and workfor one who would serve God through serving his fellow men, in theopen, is there not?"

At that she kissed me. Not a whimper, although I am an only son andthe name dies with me, the old name of which she was so beautifullyproud! She had hoped to see my son wear my father's name and face andthus bring back the lost husband she had so greatly loved; she hadprayed to see my children about her knees, and it must have cost her afrightful anguish to renounce these sweet and consoling dreams, thesetender and human ambitions. Yet she did so, smiling, and kissed me onthe brow. 

Three months later I entered the Church; and because I was the lastDe Rancé, and twenty four, and the day was to have been mywedding-day, there fell upon me, sorely against my will, the halo ofsad romance. 

Endeared thus to the young, I suppose I grew into what I might call avery popular preacher. Though I myself cannot see that I ever did muchactual good, since my friends praised my sermons for their "fineGallic flavor, " and I made no enemies. 

But there was no rest for my spirit, until the Call came again, theCall that may not be slighted, and bade me leave my sheltered place, my pleasant lines, and go among the poor, to save my own soul alive. 

That is why and how the Bishop, my old and dear friend, after longargument and many protests, at length yielded and had me transferredfrom fashionable St. Jean Baptiste's to the poverty-strickenmissionary parish of sodden laboring folk in a South Carolinacoast-town: he meant to cure me, the good man! I should have the worstat the outset. 

"And I hope you understand, " said he, sorrowfully, "that this steppractically closes your career. Such a pity, for you could have goneso far! You might even have worn the red hat. It is not hoping toomuch that the last De Rancé, the namesake of the great Abbé, mighthave finished as an American cardinal! But God's will be done. If youmust go, you must go. "

I said, respectfully, that I had to go. 

"Well, then, go and try it out to the uttermost, " said the Bishop. "And it may be that, if you do not kill yourself with overwork, youmay return to me cured, when you see the futility of the task youwish to undertake. " But I was never again to see his kind face in thisworld. 

And then, as if to cut me off yet more completely from all ties, as ifto render my decision irrevocable, it was permitted of Providence thatthe wheel of my fortune should take one last revolution. Henri Dupuisof the banking house which bore his name shot himself through the headone fine morning, and as he had been my guardian and was still theexecutor of my father's estate, the whole De Rancé fortune went downwith him. All of it. Even the old house went, the old house which hadsheltered so many of the name these two hundred years. If I could havegrieved for anything it would have been that. Nothing was left exceptthe modest private fortune long since secured to my mother by myfather's affection. It had been a bridal gift, intended to cover herpersonal expenses, her charities, and her pretty whims. Now it was tostand between her and want. 

Stripped all but bare, and with one servant left of all our staff, weturned our backs upon our old life, our old home, and faced the worldanew, in a strange place where nothing was familiar, and where I whohad begun so differently was destined to grow into what I have sincebecome--just an old priest, with but small reputation outside of hisfew friends and poor working-folks. There! That is quite enough of_me_!

There was one pleasant feature of our new home that rejoiced me for mymother's sake. From the very first she found neighbors who werefriendly and charming. Now my mother, when we came to Appleboro, wasstill a beautiful woman, fair and rosy, with a profusion of _blondecendre_ curls just beginning to whiten, a sweet and arch face, andeyes of clearest hazel, valanced with jet. She had been perhaps theloveliest and most beloved woman of that proud and select circle whichis composed of families descended from the old noblesse, the mostexclusive circle of New Orleans society. And, as she said, nothingcould change nor alter the fact that no matter _what_ happened to us, we were still De Rancés!

"Ah! And was it, then, a De Rancé who had the holy Mother of Godpainted in a family picture, with a scroll issuing from her lipsaddressing him as 'My Cousin'?" I asked, slyly. 

"If it was, nobody in the world had a better right!" said she stoutly. 

Thus the serene and unquestioning faith of their estimate ofthemselves in the scheme of things, as evidenced by these Carolinafolk around her, caused Madame De Rancé neither surprise noramusement. She understood. She shared many of their prejudices, andshe of all women could appreciate a pride that was almost equal to herown. When they initiated her into the inevitable and inescapableCarolina game of Matching Grandfathers, she always had a Roland fortheir Oliver; and as they generally came back with an Oliver to matchher Roland, all the players retired with equal honors and mutualrespect. Every door in Appleboro at once opened wide to Madame DeRancé. The difference in religion was obviated by the similarity ofFamily. 

Fortunately, too, the Church and Parish House were not in the milldistrict itself, a place shoved aside, full of sordid hideousness, ribboned with railroad tracks, squalid with boarding-houses never freefrom the smell of bad cooking, sinister with pawnshops, miserable withdepressingly ugly rows of small houses where the hands herded, and allof it darkened by the grim shadow of the great red brick millsthemselves. Instead, our Church sits on a tree-shaded corner in theold town, and the roomy white-piazza'd Parish House is next door, embowered in the pleasantest of all gardens. 

That garden reconciled my mother to her exile, for I am afraid she hadregarded Appleboro with somewhat of the attitude of the castawaysailor toward a desert island--a refuge after shipwreck, but a desertisland nevertheless, a place which cuts off one from one's world. Andwhen at first the poor, uncouth, sullen creatures who were a part ofmy new charge, frightened and dismayed her, there was always thegarden to fly to for consolation. If she couldn't plant seeds of orderand cleanliness and morality and thrift in the sterile soil of poorfolks' minds, she could always plant seeds of color and beauty andfragrance in her garden and be surer of the result. That garden was mydelight, too. I am sure no other equal space ever harbored so manybirds and bees and butterflies; and its scented dusks was the paradiseof moths. Great wonderful fellows clothed in kings' raiment, littlechaps colored like flowers and seashells and rainbows, there the airycohorts of the People of the Sky wheeled and danced and fluttered. Nowmy grandfather and my father had been the friends of Audubon and ofAgassiz, and I myself had been the correspondent of Riley and Scudderand Henry Edwards, for I love the People of the Sky more than allcreated things. And when I watched them in my garden, I am sure it wasthey who lent my heart their wings to lift it above the misery andoverwork and grief which surrounded me; I am sure I should have sunkat times, if God had not sent me my little friends, the moths andbutterflies. 

Our grounds join Miss Sally Ruth Dexter's on one side and JudgeHammond Mayne's are just behind us; so that the Judge's black DaddyJanuary can court our yellow Clélie over one fence, with coy anddelicate love-gifts of sugar-cane and sweet-potato pone in season; andMiss Sally Ruth's roosters and ours can wholeheartedly pick eachother's eyes out through the other all the year round. These are fowlswith so firm a faith in the Mosaic code of an eye for an eye that whenMiss Sally Ruth has six blind of the right eye we have five blind ofthe left. We are at times stung by the Mayne bees, but freely andbountifully supplied with the Mayne honey, a product of fine flavor. And our little dog Pitache made it the serious business of his life tokeep the Mayne cats in what he considered their proper bounds. 

Major Appleby Cartwright, our neighbor to the other side of Miss SallyRuth, has a theory that not alone by our fruits, but by our animals, shall we be known for what we are. He insists that Pitache wags histail and barks in French and considers all cats Protestants, and thatMiss Sally Ruth's hens are all Presbyterians at heart, in spite of thefact that her roosters are Mormons. The Major likewise insists thatyou couldn't possibly hope to know the real Judge Hammond Mayne unlessyou knew his pet cats. You admire that calm and imperturbabledignity, that sphinxlike and yet vigilant poise of bearing which hasmade Judge Mayne so notable an ornament of the bench? It is purelyfeline: "He caught it from his cats, suh: he caught every God-blessedbit of it from his cats!"

As one may perceive, we have delicious neighbors!

When we had been settled in Appleboro a little more than a year, and Ihad gotten the parish wheels running fairly smooth, we discovered thatby my mother's French house-keeping, that exquisitely carefulhouse-keeping which uses everything and wastes nothing, my salary wasgoing to be quite sufficient to cover our modest ménage, thus leavingmy mother's own income practically intact. We could use it in theparish; but there was so much to be done for that parish that we wererather at a loss where to begin, or what one thing to accomplish amongso many things crying aloud. But finally, tackling what seemed to usthe worst of these crying evils, we were able to turn the two emptyrooms upstairs into what Madame pleasantly called Guest Rooms, thusremedying, to the best of our ability, the absolute lack of anyaccommodation for the sick and injured poor. And as time passed, theseGuest Rooms, so greatly needed, proved not how much but how little wecould do. We could only afford to maintain two beds on our smallallowance, for they had to be absolutely free, to help those for whomthey were intended--poor folks in immediate and dire need, for whomthe town had no other place except an insanitary room in the jail. Youcould be born and baptized in the Guest Rooms, or shriven and sentthence in hope. More often you were coaxed back to health under mymother's nursing and Clélie's cooking and the skill of Doctor WalterWestmoreland. 

No bill ever came to the Parish House from Dr. Walter Westmoreland, whom my poor people look upon as a direct act of Providence in theirbehalf. He is an enormous man, big and ruddy and baldheaded andclean-shaven, with the shoulders of a coal-heaver and legs like a pairof twin oaks. He is rather absent-minded, but he never forgets thedown-and-out Guest Roomers, and he has a genius for remembering themill-children. These are his dear and special charge. 

Westmoreland is a great doctor who chooses to live in a small town; hesays you can save as many lives in a little town as a big one, andfolks need you more. He is a socialist who looks upon rich people asbeing merely poor people with money; an idealist, who will tell youbluntly that revelations haven't ceased; they've only changed for thebetter. 

Westmoreland has the courage of a gambler and the heart of a littlechild. He likes to lay a huge hand upon my shoulder and tell me to myteeth that heaven is a habit of heart and hell a condition of liver. Ido not always agree with him; but along with everybody else inAppleboro, I love him. Of all the many goodnesses that God has shownme, I do not count it least that this good and kind man was sent inour need, to heal and befriend the broken and friendless waifs andstrays who found for a little space a resting place in our GuestRooms. 

And when I look back I know now that not lightly nor fortuitously wasI uprooted from my place and my people and sent hither to impinge uponthe lives of many who were to be dearer to me than all that had gonebefore; I was not idly sent to know and love Westmoreland, and MaryVirginia, and Laurence; and, above all, Slippy McGee, whom we ofAppleboro call the Butterfly Man. 

CHAPTER II

THE COMING OF SLIPPY MCGEE

On a cold gray morning in December two members of my flock, Poles whospoke but little English and that little very badly, were on their wayto their daily toil in the canning factory. It is a long walk from thePoles' quarters to the factory, and the workpeople must start early, for one is fined half an hour's time if one is five minutes late. Theshort-cut is down the railroad tracks that run through the milldistrict--for which cause we bury a yearly toll of the children of thepoor. 

Just beyond the freight sheds, signal tower, and water tank, is agrade crossing where so many terrible things have happened that thecolored people call that place Dead Man's Crossin' and warn you not togo by there of nights because the signal tower is haunted and Thingslurk in the rank growth behind the water tank, coming out to showthemselves after dark. If you _must_ pass it then you would betterturn your coat inside out, pull down your sleeves over your hands, andbe very careful to keep three fingers twisted for a Sign. This is aspecific against most ha'nts, though by no means able to scare awayall of them. Those at Dead Man's Crossin' are peculiarly malignant andhard to scare. Maum Jinkey Delette saw one there once, coming down thetrack faster than an express train, bigger than a cow, and wavingboth his legs in his hands. Poor old Maum Jinkey was so scared thatshe chattered her new false teeth out of her mouth, and she neverfound those teeth to the day of her death, but had to mumble along asbest she could without them. 

Hurrying by Dead Man's Crossin', the workmen stumbled over a man lyingbeside the tracks; his clothing was torn to shreds, he was wet withthe heavy night dew and covered with dirt, cinders, and partlycongealed blood, for his right leg had been ground to pulp. Peering atthis horrible object in the wan dusk of the early morning, theythought he was dead like most of the others found there. 

For a moment the men hesitated, wondering whether it wouldn't bebetter to leave him there to be found and removed by folks with moretime at their disposal. One doesn't like to lose time and beconsequently fined, on account of stopping to pick up a dead tramp;particularly when Christmas is drawing near and money so much neededthat every penny counts. 

The thing on the ground, regaining for a fraction of a second a glintof half-consciousness, quivered, moaned feebly, and lay still again. Humanity prevailing, the Poles looked about for help, but as yet theplace was quite deserted. Grumbling, they wrenched a shutter off theAgent's window, lifted the mangled tramp upon it, and made straightfor the Parish House; when accidents such as this happened to men suchas this, weren't the victims incontinently turned over to the ParishHouse people? Indeed, there wasn't any place else for them, unless oneexcepted the rough room at the jail; and the average small townjail--ours wasn't any exception to the rule--is a place where adecent veterinary would scruple to put a sick cur. With him the Polesbrought his sole luggage, a package tied up in oilskin, which they hadfound lying partly under him. 

We had become accustomed to these sudden inroads of misfortune, so hewas carried upstairs to the front Guest Room, fortunately just thenempty. The Poles turned over to me the heavy package found with him, stolidly requested a note to the Boss explaining their necessarytardiness, and hurried away. They had done what they had to do, andthey had no further interest in him. Nobody had any interest in one ofthe unknown tramps who got themselves killed or crippled at Dead Man'sCrossin'. 

The fellow was shockingly injured and we had some strenuous days andnights with him, for that which had been a leg had to come off at theknee; he had lain in the cold for some hours, he had sustained afrightful shock, and he had lost considerable blood. I am sure that inthe hands of any physician less skilled and determined thanWestmoreland he must have gone out. But Westmoreland, with his jawset, followed his code and fenced with death for this apparentlyworthless and forfeited life, using all his skill and finesse tooutwit the great Enemy; in spite of which, so attenuated was the man'schance that we were astonished when he turned the corner--very, veryfeebly--and we didn't have to place another pine box in the potter'sfield, alongside other unmarked mounds whose occupants were otherunknown men, grim causes of Dead Man's Crossin's sinister name. 

The effects of the merciful drugs that had kept him quiet in time woreaway. Our man woke up one forenoon clear-headed, if hollow-eyed andmortally weak. He looked about the unfamiliar room with wan curiosity, then his eyes came to Clélie and myself, but he did not return thegreetings of either. He just stared; he asked no questions. Presently, very feebly, he tried to move, --and found himself a cripple. He fellback upon his pillow, gasping. A horrible scream broke from hislips--a scream of brute rage and mortal fear, as of a trapped wildbeast. He began to revile heaven and earth, the doctor, myself. Clélie, clapping her hands over her outraged ears, fled as if fromfiends. Indeed, never before nor since have I heard such a frightful, inhuman power of profanity, such hideous oaths and threats. Whenbreath failed him he lay spent and trembling, his chest rising andfalling to his choking gasps. 

"You had better be thankful your life is spared you, young man, " Isaid a trifle sharply, my nerves being somewhat rasped; for I hadhelped Westmoreland through more than one dreadful night, and I hadsat long hours by his pillow, waiting for what seemed the passing of asoul. 

He glared. "Thankful?" he screamed, "Thankful, hell! I've got to havetwo good legs to make any sort of a getaway, haven't I? Well, have Igot 'em? I'm down and out for fair, that's what! Thankful? You make mesick! Honest to God, when you gas like that I feel like bashing inyour brain, if you've got any! You and your thankfulness!" He turnedhis quivering face and stared at the wall, winking. I wondered, heartsick, if I had ever seen a more hopelessly unprepossessingcreature. 

It was not so much physical, his curious ugliness; the dreadful thingwas that it seemed to be his spirit which informed his flesh, aninherent unloveliness of soul upon which the body was modeled, workedout faithfully, and so made visible. Figure to yourself one with thefine shape of the welter-weight, steel-muscled, lithe, powerful, springy, slim in the hips and waist, broad in the shoulders; the armsunusually long, giving him a terrible reach, the head round, well-shaped, covered with thick reddish hair; cold, light, andintelligent eyes, full of animosity and suspicion, reminding youunpleasantly of the rattlesnake's look, wary, deadly, and ready tostrike. When he thought, his forehead wrinkled. His lips shut uponeach other formidably and without softness, and the jaws thrustforward with the effect as of balled fists. One ear was slightlylarger than the other, having the appearance of a swelling upon thelobe. In this unlovely visage, filled with distrust and concentratedvenom, only the nose retained an incongruous and unexpected niceness. It was a good straight nose, yet it had something of the pleasanttiptiltedness of a child's. It was the sort of nose which should havecomplemented a mouth formed for spontaneous laughter. It lookedlonesome and out of place in that set and lowering countenance, towhich the red straggling stubble of beard sprouting over jaws andthroat lent a more sinister note. 

We had had many a sad and terrible case in our Guest Rooms, butsomehow this seemed the saddest, hardest and most hopeless we had yetencountered. 

For three weary weeks had we struggled with him, until the doctor, sighing with physical relief, said he was out of danger and neededonly such nursing as he was sure to get. 

"One does one's duty as one finds it, of course, " said the big doctor, looking down at the unpromising face on the pillow, and shaking hishead. "Yes, yes, yes, one must do what's right, on the face of it, come what will. There's no getting around _that!_" He glanced at me, ashadow in his kind gray eyes. "But there are times, my friend, when Iwonder! Now, this morning I had to tell a working man his wife's gotto die. There's no help and no hope--she's got to die, and she amother of young children. So I have to try desperately, " said thedoctor, rubbing his nose, "to cling tooth and claw to the hope thatthere is Something behind the scenes that knows the forward-end ofthings--sin and sorrow and disease and suffering and death things--anduses them always for some beneficent purpose. But in the meantime themother dies, and here you and I have been used to save alive a pooruseless devil of a one-legged tramp, probably without his consent andagainst his will, because it had to be and we couldn't do anythingelse! Now, why? I can't help but wonder!"

We looked down again, the two of us, at the face on the pillow. And Iwondered also, with even greater cause than the doctor; for I hadopened the oilskin package the Poles found, and it had given meoccasion for fear, reflection, and prayer. I was startled and alarmedbeyond words, for it contained tools of a curious and unusualtype, --not such tools as workmen carry abroad in the light of day. 

There was no one to whom I might confide that unpleasant discovery. Isimply could not terrify my mother, nor could I in common decencyburden the already overburdened doctor. Nor is our sheriff one to turnto readily; he is not a man whose intelligence or heart one mayadmire, respect, or depend upon. My guest had come to me with emptypockets and a burglar's kit; a hint of that, and the sheriff hadcamped on the Parish House front porch with a Winchester across hisknees and handcuffs jingling in his pockets. No, I couldn't consultthe law. 

I had yet a deeper and a better reason for waiting, which I find itrather hard to set down in cold words. It is this: that as I growolder I have grown more and more convinced that not fortuitously, notby chance, never without real and inner purposes, are we allowed tocome vitally into each other's lives. I have walked up the steep sidesof Calvary to find out that when another wayfarer pauses for a spacebeside us, it is because one has something to give, the othersomething to receive. 

So, upon reflection, I took that oilskin package weighted down withthe seven deadly sins over to the church, and hid it under the statueof St. Stanislaus, whom my Poles love, and before whom they come tokneel and pray for particular favors. I tilted the saint back upon hiswooden stand, and thrust that package up to where his hands fold overthe sheaf of lilies he carries. St. Stanislaus is a beautiful and mostholy youth. No one would ever suspect _him_ of hiding under his brownhabit a burglar's kit!

When I had done this, and stopped to say three Hail Marys forguidance, I went back to the little room called my study, where mybooks and papers and my butterfly cabinets and collecting outfitswere kept, and set myself seriously to studying my files ofnewspapers, beginning at a date a week preceding my man's appearance. Then:

 Slippy McGee Makes Good His Name Once More. Slips One Over On The Police. Noted Burglar Escapes. 

said the glaring headlines in the New York papers. The dispatches weredated from Atlanta, and when I turned to the Atlanta papers I foundthem, too, headlining the escape of "Slippy McGee. "

I learned that "the slickest crook in America" finding himselfsomewhat hampered in his native haunts, the seething underworld of NewYork, because the police suspected him of certain daring andmysterious burglaries although they had no positive proof against him, had chosen to shift his base of operations South for awhile. But theSouthern authorities had been urgently warned to look out for him; inconsequence they had been so close upon his heels that he had beensurrounded while "on a job. " Half an hour later, and he would havegotten away with his plunder; but, although they were actually uponhim, by what seemed a miracle of daring and of luck he slipped throughtheir fingers, escaped under their very noses, leaving no clue to hiswhereabouts. He was supposed to be still in hiding in Atlanta, thoughas he had no known confederates and always worked alone and unaided, the police were at a loss for information. The man had simplyvanished, after his wont, as if the earth had opened and swallowedhim. The papers gave rather full accounts of some of his pastexploits, from which one gathered that Slippy McGee was a very notedpersonage in his chosen field. I sat for a long time staring at thosepapers, and my thoughts were uneasy ones. What should I do?

I presently decided that I could and must question my guest. So far hehad volunteered no information beyond the curt statement that his namewas John Flint and he was a hobo because he liked the trade. He hadbeen stealing a ride and he had slipped--and when he woke up we hadhim and he hadn't his leg. And if some people knew how to be obligingthey'd make a noise like a hoop and roll away, so's other people couldpound their ear in peace, like that big stiff of a doctor ordered themto do. 

As I stood by the bed and studied his sullen, suspicious, unfriendlyface, I came to the conclusion that if this were not McGee himself itcould very well be some one quite as dangerous. 

"Friend, " said I, "we do not as a rule seek information about theguests in these rooms. We do not have to; they explain themselves. Ishould never question your assertion that your name is Flint, and Isincerely hope it is Flint; but--there are reasons why I must and doask you for certain definite information about yourself. "

The hand lying upon the coverlet balled into a fist. 

"If John Flint's not fancy enough for you, " he suggested truculently, "suppose you call me Percy? Some peach of a moniker, Percy, ain't it?"

"Percy?"

"Sure, Percy, " he grinned impudently. "But if you got a grouch againstPercy, can it, and make me Algy. _I_ don't mind. It's not _me_beefing about monikers; it's you. "

"I am also, " said I, regarding him steadily and ignoring hisflippancy, "I am also obliged to ask you what is your occupation--whenyou are not stealing rides?"

"Looks like it might be answering questions just now, don't it? Whatyou want to know for? Whatever it is, I'm not able to do it now, am I?But as you're so naturally bellyaching to know, why, I've been in thering. "

"So I presumed. Thank you, " said I, politely. "And your name is JohnFlint, or Percy, or Algy, just as I choose. Percy and Algy are ratherunusual names for a gentleman who has been in the ring, don't youthink?"

"I think, " he snarled, turned suddenly ferocious, "that I'm named whatI dam' please to be named, and no squeals from skypilots about it, neither. Say! what you driving at, anyhow? If what I tell you ain'tsatisfying, suppose you slip over a moniker to suit yourself--and goaway!"

"Oh! Suppose then, " said I, without taking my eyes from his, "suppose, then, that I chose to call you--_Slippy McGee_?"

I am sure that only his bodily weakness kept him from flying at mythroat. As it was, his long arms with the hands upon them outstretchedlike a beast's claws, shot out ferociously. His face contractedhorribly, and of a sudden the sweat burst out upon it so blindinglythat he had to put up an arm and wipe it away. For a moment he laystill, glaring, panting, helpless; while I stood and watched himunmoved. 

"Ain't you the real little Sherlock Holmes, though?" he jeeredpresently. "Got Old Sleuth skinned for fair and Nick Carter eatingout of your hand! You damned skypilot!" His voice cracked. "You're allalike! Get a man on his back and then put the screws on him!"

I made no reply; only a great compassion for this mistaken andmiserable creature surged like a wave over my heart. 

"For God's sake don't stand there staring like a bughouse owl!" hegritted. "Well, what you going to do? Bawl for the bulls? What put youwise?"

"Help you to get well. No. I opened your bag--and looked up thenewspapers, " I answered succinctly. 

"Huh! A fat lot of good it'll do me to get well now, won't it? Youthink I ought to thank you for butting in and keeping me from dyingwithout knowing anything about it, don't you? Well, you got anotherthink coming. I don't. Ever hear of a pegleg in the ring? Ever hear ofa one-hoofed dip! A long time I'd be Slippy McGee playingcat-and-mouse with the bulls, if I had to leave some of my legs homewhen I needed them right there on the job, wouldn't I? Oh, sure!"

"And was it, " I wondered, "such a fine thing to be Slippy McGee, flying from the police, that one should lament his--er--disappearance?"

His eyes widened. He regarded me with pity as well as astonishment. 

"Didn't you read the papers?" he wondered in his turn. "There don'tmany travel in _my_ class, skypilot! Why, I haven't _got_ anyequals--the best of them trail a mile behind. Ask the bulls, if youwant to know about Slippy McGee! And I let the happy dust alone. Mostdips are dopes, but I was too slick; I cut it out. I knew if the dopeonce gets you, then the bulls get next. Not for Slippy. I've kept myhead clear, and that's how I've muddled theirs. They never get next toanything until I've cleaned up and dusted. Why, honest to God, I canopen any box made, easy as easy, just like I can put it all over anybull alive! That is, " a spasm twisted his face and into his voicecrept the acute anguish of the artist deprived of all power to create, "that is, I could--until I made that last getaway on a freight, andthis happened. "

"I am sorry, " said I soothingly, "that you have lost your leg, ofcourse. But better to lose your leg than your soul, my son. Why, howdo you know--"

He writhed. "Can it!" he implored. "Cut it out! Ain't I up againstenough now, for God's sake? Down and out--and nothing to do but havemy soul curry-combed and mashfed by a skypilot with _both_ his legsand _all_ his mouth on him! Ain't it hell, though? Say, you bettersend for the cops. I'd rather stand for the pen than the preaching. What'd you do with my bag, anyway?"

"But I really have no idea of preaching to you; and I would rather notsend for the police--afterwards, when you are better, you may do so ifyou choose. You are a free agent. As for your bag, why--it is--itis--in the keeping of the Church. "

"Huh!" said he, and twisted his mouth cynically. "Huh! Then it'sgood-bye tools, I suppose. I'm no churchmember, thank God, but I'veheard that once the Church gets her clamps on anything worth while allhell can't pry her loose. "

Now I don't know why, but at that, suddenly and inexplicably, as if Ihad glimpsed a ray of light, I felt cheered. 

"Why, that's it exactly!" said I, smiling. "Once the Church gets realhold of a thing--or a man--worth while, she holds on so fast that allhell can't pry her loose. Won't you try to remember that, my son!"

"If it's a joke, suck the marrow out of it yourself, " said he sourly. "It don't listen so horrible funny to me. And you haven't peeped yetabout what you're going to do. I'm waiting to hear. I'm realinterested. "

"Why, I really don't know yet, " said I, still cheerfully. "Suppose wewait and see? Here you are, safe and harmless enough for the present. And God is good; perhaps He knows that you and I may need each othermore than you and the police need each other--who can tell? I shouldsimply set myself strictly to the task of getting entirely well, if Iwere you--and let it go at that. "

He appeared to reflect; his forehead wrinkled painfully. 

"Devil-dodger, " said he, after a pause, "are you just making a noisewith your face, or is that on the level?"

"That's on the level. "

His hard and suspicious eyes bored into me. And as I held his glance, a hint of wonder and amazement crept into his face. 

"God A'mighty! I believe him!" he gasped. And then, as if ashamed ofthat real feeling, he scowled. 

"Say, if you're really on the level, I guess you'd better not beflashing the name of Slippy McGee around promiscuous, " he suggestedpresently. "It won't do either you or me any good, see? And say, parson, --forget Percy and Algy. How was I to know you'd be so white?And look here: I did know a gink named John Flint, once. Only he wascalled Reddy, because he'd got such a blazing red head and whiskers. He's croaked, so he wouldn't mind me using his moniker, seeing it'snot doing him any good now. "

"Let us agree upon John Flint, " I decided. 

"Help yourself, " he agreed, equably. 

Clélie, with wrath and disapproval written upon every stiffened line, brought him his broth, which he took with a better grace than I hadyet witnessed. He even added a muttered word of thanks. 

"It's funny, " he reflected, when the yellow woman had left the roomwith the empty bowl, "it's sure funny, but d'ye know, I'm lots easierin my mind, knowing you know, and not having to think up a hard-luckgag to hand out to you? I hate like hell to have to lie, except ofcourse when I need a smooth spiel for the cops. I guess I'll snooze abit now, " he added, as I rose to leave the room. And as I reached thedoor:

"Parson?"

"Well?"

"Why--er--come in a bit to-night, will you? That is, if you've gottime. And look here: don't you get the notion in your bean I'm justsome little old two-by-four guy of a yegg or some poor nut of a dip. I'm _not_. Why, I've been the whole show _and_ manager besides. Yep, I'm Slippy McGee himself. "

He paused, to let this sink into my consciousness. I must confess thatI was more profoundly impressed than even he had any idea of. Andthen, magnanimously, he added: "You're sure some white man, parson. "

"Thank you, John Flint, " said I, with due modesty. 

Heaven knows why I should have been pleased and hopeful, but I was. Myguest was a criminal; he hadn't shown the slightest sign ofcompunction or of shame; instead, he had betrayed a brazen pride. Andyet--I felt hopeful. Although I knew I was tacitly concealing aburglar, my conscience remained clear and unclouded, and I had a calmintuitive assurance of right. So deeply did I feel this that when Iwent over to the church I placed before St. Stanislaus a small lampfull of purest olive oil, which is expensive. I felt that he deservedsome compensation for hiding that package under his sheaf of lilies. 

The authorities of our small town knew, of course, that anotherforlorn wretch was being cared for at the Parish House. But had notthe Parish House sheltered other such vagabonds? The sheriff saw noreason to give himself the least concern, beyond making the mostcasual inquiry. If I wanted the fellow, he was only too glad to let mekeep him. And who, indeed, would look for a notorious criminal in aParish House Guest Room? Who would connect that all too commonoccurrence, a tramp maimed by the railroad, with, the mysteriousdisappearance of the cracksman, Slippy McGee? So, for the present, Icould feel sure that the man was safe. 

And in the meantime, in the orderly proceeding of everyday life, whilehe gained strength under my mother's wise and careful nursing andWestmoreland's wise and careful overseeing, there came to him thosewho were instruments for good--my mother first, whom, like Clélie, henever called anything but "Madame" and whom, like Clélie, he presentlyobeyed with unquestioning and childlike readiness. Now, Madame is atruly wonderful person when she deals with people like him. Never fora moment lowering her own natural and beautiful dignity, but without ahint of condescension, Madame manages to find the just level uponwhich both can stand as on common ground; then, without noise, shehelps, and she conveys the impression that thus noiselessly to help isthe only just, natural and beautiful thing for any decent person todo, unless, perhaps, it might be to receive in the like spirit. 

Judge Mayne's son, Laurence, full of a fresh and boyish enthusiasm, was such another instrument. He had a handsome, intelligent face, astraight and beautiful body, and the pleasantest voice in the world. His mother in her last years had been a fretful invalid, and to meether constant demands the judge and his son had developed an angelicpatience with weakness. They were both rather quiet andundemonstrative, this father and son; the older man, in fact had astern visage at first glance, until one learned to know it as the faceof a man trained to restraint and endurance. As for the boy, no onecould long resist the shrewd, kind youngster, who could spend an hourwith the most unlikely invalid and leave him all the better for it. Iwas unusually busy just then, Clélie frankly hated and feared the manupstairs, my mother had her hands full, and there were many heavy andlonesome hours which Laurence set himself the task of filling. I leftthis to the boy himself, offering no suggestions. 

"Padre, " said the boy to me, some time later, "that chap upstairs isthe hardest nut I ever tried to crack. There've been times when I felttempted to crack him with a sledge-hammer, if you want the truth. Youknow, he always seemed to like me to read to him, but I've never beenable to discover whether or not he liked what I read. He never askedme a single question, he never seemed interested enough to make acomment. But I think that I've made a dent in him at last. "

"A dent! In Flint? With what adamantine pick, oh hardiest of miners!"

"With a book. Guess!"

"I couldn't. I give up. "

"The Bible!" said Laurence. 

The Bible! Had _I_ chosen to read it to him, he would have resentedit, been impervious, suspicious, hostile. I looked at the boy'slaughing face, and wondered, and wondered. 

"And how, " said I, curious, "did you happen to pitch on the Bible?"

"Why, I got to studying about this chap. I wanted something that'd_reach him_. I was puzzled. And then I remembered hearing my fathersay that the Bible is the most interesting book in the world becauseit's the most personal. There's something in it for everybody. So Ithought there'd be something in it for John Flint, and I tried it onhim, without telling him what I was giving him. I just plunged rightin, head over heels. Lord, Padre, it _is_ a wonderful old book, isn'tit? Why, I got so lost in it myself that I forgot all about JohnFlint, until I happened to glance up and see that he was up to theeyes in it, just like I was! He likes the fights and he gloats overthe spoils. He's asking for more. I think of turning Paul loose onhim. "

"Well, if after the manner of men Paul fought with wild beasts atEphesus, " I said hopefully. "I dare say he'll be able to hold his owneven with John Flint. "

"I like Paul best of all, myself, " said Laurence. "You see, Padre, myfather and I have needed a dose of Paul more than once--to stiffen ourbackbones. So I'm going to turn the fighting old saint loose on JohnFlint. 'By, Padre;--I'll look in to-morrow--I left poor old Elijah upin a cave with no water, and the ravens overdue!"

He went down our garden path whistling, his cap on the back of hishead, and I looked after him with the warm and comforting sense thatthe world is just that much better for such as he. 

The boy was now, in his last high school year, planning to studylaw--all the Maynes took to law as a duck to water. Brave, simple-hearted, direct, clear-thinking, scrupulously honorable, --thiswas one of the diamonds used to cut the rough hard surface of SlippyMcGee. 

CHAPTER III

NEIGHBORS

On a morning in late March, with a sweet and fresh wind blowing, aclear sun shining, and a sky so full of soft white woolly clouds thatyou might fancy the sky-people had turned their fleecy flock out tograze in the deep blue pastures, Laurence Mayne and I brought JohnFlint downstairs and rolled him out into the glad, green garden, inthe comfortable wheel-chair that the mill-people had given us for aChristmas present; my mother and Clélie followed, and our little dogPitache marched ahead, putting on ridiculous airs of responsibility;he being a dog with a great idea of his own importance and whollygiven over to the notion that nothing could go right if he were notthere to superintend and oversee it. 

The wistaria was in her zenith, girdling the tree-tops with amethyst;the Cherokee rose had just begun to reign, all in snow-white velvet, with a gold crown and a green girdle for greater glory; the greedybrown grumbling bees came to her table in dusty cohorts, and over hergreen bowers floated her gayer lovers the early butterflies, clotheddelicately as in kings' raiment. In the corners glowed theruby-colored Japanese quince, and the long sprays of that flower Imost dearly love, the spring-like spirea which the children callbridal wreath, brushed you gently as you passed the gate. I never seeit deck itself in bridal white, I never inhale its shy, clean scent, without a tightening of the throat, a misting of the eyes, a meltingof the heart. 

Across our garden and across Miss Sally Ruth Dexter's you could see inMajor Appleby Cartwright's yard the peach trees in pink party dresses, ruffled by the wind. Down the paths marched my mother's daffodils andhyacinths, with honey-breathing sweet alyssum in between. Robins andwrens, orioles and mocking-birds, blue jays and jackdaws, thrushes andblue-birds and cardinals, all were busy house-building; one heardcalls and answers, saw flashes of painted wings, followed by outburstsof ecstasy. If one should lay one's ear to the ground on such amorning I think one might hear the heart of the world. 

"_Hallelujah! Risen! Risen!_" breathed the glad, green things, pushingfrom the warm mother-mold. 

"_Living! Living! Loving! Loving!_" flashed and fluted the flyingthings, joyously. 

We wheeled our man out into this divine freshness of renewed life, stopping the chair under a glossy, stately magnolia. My mother andClélie and Laurence and I bustled about to make him comfortable. Pitache stood stock still, his tail stuck up like a sternlyadmonishing forefinger, a-bossing everything and everybody. We spreada light shawl over the man's knees, for it is not easy to bear a cruelphysical infirmity, to see oneself marred and crippled, in the growingspring. He looked about him, snuffed, and wrinkled his forehead; hiseyes had something of the wistful, wondering satisfaction of ananimal's. He had never sat in a garden before, in all his life! Thinkof it!

Whenever we bring one of our Guest Roomers downstairs, Miss Sally RuthDexter promptly comes to her side of the fence to look him over. Shecame this morning, looked at our man critically, and showed plaindisapproval of him in every line of her face. 

On principle Miss Sally Ruth disapproves of most men and many women. She does not believe in wasting too much sympathy upon people either;she says folks get no more than they deserve and generally not half asmuch. 

Miss Sally Ruth Dexter is a rather important person in Appleboro. Sheis fifty-six years old, stout, brown-eyed, suffers from a congenitalincapacity to refrain from telling the unwelcome truth when people aremadly trying to save their faces, --she calls this being frank, --istactless, independent, generous, and the possessor of what she herselfcomplacently refers to as "a Figure. "

For a woman so convinced we're all full of natural and totaldepravity, unoriginal sinners, worms of the dust, and the devil'snatural fire-fodder, Miss Sally Ruth manages to retain a simple andunaffected goodness of practical charity toward the unelect, such asmakes one marvel. You may be predestined to be lost, but while you'rehere you shall lack no jelly, wine, soup, chicken-with-cream, preserves, gumbo, neither such marvelous raised bread as Miss SallyRuth knows how to make with a perfection beyond all praise. 

She has a tiny house and a tiny income, which satisfies her; she hasnever married. She told my mother once, cheerfully, that she guessedshe must be one of those born eunuchs of the spirit the Biblementions--it was intended for her, and she was glad of it, for it hadcertainly saved her a sight of worry and trouble. 

There is a cherished legend in our town that Major Appleby Cartwrightonce went over to Savannah on a festive occasion and was therejoyously entertained by the honorable the Chatham Artillery. TheChatham Artillery brews a Punch; insidious, delectable, deceptive, butwithal a pernicious strong drink that is raging, a wine that mockethand maketh mad. And they gave it to Major Appleby Cartwright incopious draughts. 

Coming home upon the heels of this, the major arose, put on his PrinceAlbert, donned his top hat, picked a huge bunch of zinnias, and atnine o'clock in the morning marched over to Miss Sally Ruth Dexter's. 

We differ as to certain unimportant details of that historic call, butwe are in the main agreed upon the conversation that ensued. 

"Sally Ruth, " said the major, depositing his bulky person in a rockingchair, his hat upon the floor, and wiping his forehead with a spotlesshandkerchief the size of a respectable sheet, "Sally Ruth, you likeOld Maids?" Here he presented the zinnias. 

"Why, I've got a yard full of 'em myself, Major. Whatever made youbother to pick 'em? But to whom much hath more shall be given, Isuppose, " said she, resignedly, and put them on the whatnot. 

"Sally Ruth, " said the major solemnly, ignoring this indifferentreception of his offering. "Sally Ruth, come to think of it, an OldMaid's a miserable, stiff, scentless sort of a flower. You mightthink, when you first glance at 'em, that they're just like any otherflowers, but they're not; they're without one single, solitaryredeemin' particle of sweetness! The Lord made 'em for a warnin' towomen. 

"What good under God's sky does it do you to be an old maid, SallyRuth? You're flyin' in the face of Providence. No lady should fly inthe face of Providence--she'd a sight better fly to the bosom of someman, where she belongs. This mawnin' I looked out of my window and myeye fell upon these unfortunate flowers. Right away I thought of you, livin' over here all alone and by yourself, with no man's bosom tolean on--you haven't really got anything but a few fowls and the Lordto love, have you? And, Sally Ruth, tears came to my eyes. Talk not oftears till you have seen the tears of warlike men! I believe it wouldalmost scare you to death to see me cryin', Sally Ruth! I got tothinkin', and I said to myself: 'Appleby Cartwright, you have alwaysdone your duty like a man. You charged up to the very muzzle of Yankeeguns once, and you weren't scared wu'th a damn! Are you goin' to bescared now? There's a plain duty ahead of you; Sally Ruth's a finefigure of a woman, and she ought to have a man's bosom to lean on. Gooffer Sally Ruth yours!' So here I am, Sally Ruth!" said the majorvaliantly. 

Miss Sally Ruth regarded him critically; then:

"You're drunk, Appleby Cartwright, that's what's the matter with you. You and your bosom! Why, it's not respectable to talk like that! Atyour age, too! I'm ashamed of you!"

"I was a little upset, over in Savannah, " admitted the major. "Thosefellows must have gotten me to swallow over a gallon of their infernalbrew--and it goes down like silk, too. Listen at me: don't you everlet 'em make you drink a gallon of that punch, Sally Ruth. "

"I've seen its effects before. Go home and sleep it off, " said MissSally Ruth, not unkindly. "If you came over to warn me about fillingup on Artillery Punch, your duty's done--I've never been entertainedby the Chatham Artillery, and I don't ever expect to be. I suppose itwas intended for you to be a born goose, Appleby, so it'd be a wasteof time for me to fuss with you about it. Go on home, now, do, and letCæsar put you to bed. Tell him to tie a wet rag about your head and tokeep it wet. That'll help to cool you off. "

"Sally Ruth, " said the major, laying his hand upon his heart andtrying desperately to focus her with an eye that would waver in spiteof him, "Sally Ruth, _somebody's_ got to do something for you, and itmight as well be me. My God, Sally Ruth, _you're settin' likeclabber!_ It's a shame; it's a cryin' shame, for you're a fine woman. I don't mean to scare or flutter you, Sally Ruth, --no gentleman oughtto scare or flutter a lady--but I'm offerin' you my hand and heart;here's my bosom for you to lean on. "

"That Savannah brew is worse even than I thought--it's run the manstark crazy, " said Miss Sally Ruth, viewing him with growing concern. 

"Me crazy! Why, I'm askin' you, " said the major with awful dignity, "I'm askin' you to marry me!"

"Marry _you_? Marry fiddlesticks! Shucks!" said the lady. 

"You won't?" Amazement made him sag down in his chair. He stared ather owl-like. "Woman, " said he solemnly, "when I see my duty I try todo it. But I warn you--it's your last chance. "

"I hope, " said Miss Sally Ruth tartly, "that it's my last chance tomake a born fool of myself. Why, you old gasbag, if I had to stay inthe same house with you I'd be tempted to stick a darning needle inyou to hear you explode! Appleby, I'm like that woman that had achimney that smoked, a dog that growled, a parrot that swore, and acat that stayed out nights; _she_ didn't need a man--and no more doI. "

"Sally Ruth, " said the major feelingly, "when I came here this mawnin'it wasn't for my own good--it was for yours. And to think this is allthe thanks I get for bein' willin' to sacrifice myself! My God! Theingratitude of women!"

He looked at Miss Sally Ruth, and Miss Sally Ruth looked at him. Andthen suddenly, without a moment's warning, Miss Sally Ruth rose, andtook Major Appleby Cartwright, who on a time had charged Yankee gunsand hadn't been scared wu'th a damn, by the ear. She tugged, and themajor rose, as one pulled upward by his bootstraps. 

"Ouch! Turn loose! I take it back! The devil! It wasn't intended forany mortal man to marry you--Sally Ruth, I wouldn't marry you now forforty billion dollars and a mule! Turn loose, you hussy! Turn loose!"screeched the major. 

Unheeding his anguished protests, which brought Judge Hammond Mayne onthe run, thinking somebody was being murdered, Miss Sally Ruth marchedher suitor out of her house and led him to her front gate. Here shepaused, jaws firmly set, eyes glittering, and, as with hooks ofsteel, took firm hold upon the gallant major's other ear. Then sheshook him; his big crimson countenance, resembling a huge overripetomato, waggled deliriously to and fro. 

"I was born"--_shake_--"an old maid, "--_shake, shake, shake_--"I havelived--by the grace of God"--_shake, shake, shake_--"an old maid, andI expect"--_shake_--"to die an old maid! I don't propose tohave"--_shake_--"an old windbag offering _me_ his blubbery oldbosom"--_shake, shake, SHAKE_--"at this time of my life!--and don'tyou forget it, Appleby Cartwright! _THERE!_ You go back home"--_shake, shake, shake_--"and sober up, you old gander, you!"

Major Appleby Cartwright stood not upon the order of his going, butwent at once, galloping as if a company of those Yankees with whom hehad once fought were upon his hindquarters with fixed bayonets. 

However, they being next-door neighbors and friends of a lifetime'sstanding, peace was finally patched up. In Appleboro we do not mentionthis historic meeting when either of the participants can hear us, though it is one of our classics and no home is complete without it. The Major ever afterward eschewed Artillery Punch. 

This morning, over the fence, Miss Sally Ruth addressed our invaliddirectly and without prelude, after her wont. She doesn't believe inbeating about the bush:

"The wages of walking up and down the earth and going to and fro init, tramping like Satan, is a lost leg. Not that it wasn't intendedyou should lose yours--and I hope and pray it will be a lesson toyou. "

"Well, take it from me, " he said grimly, "there's nobody but mecollecting my wages. "

A quick approval of this plain truth showed in Miss Sally Ruth'ssnapping eyes. 

"Come!" said she, briskly. "If you've got sense enough to see _that_, you're not so far away from the truth as you might be. Collecting yourwages is the good and the bad thing about life, I reckon. Buteverything's intended, so you don't need to be too sorry for yourself, any way you look at it. And you could just as well have lost _both_legs while you were at it, you know. " She paused reflectively. "Let'ssee: I've got chicken-broth and fresh rolls to-day--I'll send you oversome, after awhile. " She nodded, and went back to her housework. 

Laurence went on to High School, Madame had her house to oversee, Ihad many overdue calls; so we left Pitache and John Flint together, out in the birdhaunted, sweet-scented, sun-dappled garden, in thegolden morning hours. No one can be quite heartless in a green garden, quite hopeless in the spring, or quite desolate when there's a dog'sfriendly nose to be thrust into one's hand. 

I am afraid that at first he missed all this; for he could think ofnothing but himself and that which had befallen him, coming upon himas a bolt from the blue. He had had, heretofore, nothing but hisbody--and now his body had betrayed him! It had become, not thesplendid engine which obeyed his slightest wish, but a drag upon him. Realizing this acutely, untrained, undisciplined, he was savagelysullen, impenetrably morose. He tired of Laurence's reading--I thinkthe boy's free quickness of movement, his well-knit, handsome body, the fact that he could run and jump as pleased him, irked and chafedthe man new and unused to his own physical infirmity. 

He seemed to want none of us; I have seen him savagely repulse thedog, who, shocked and outraged at this exhibition of depravity, withdrew, casting backward glances of horrified and indignantreproach. 

But as the lovely, peaceful, healing days passed, that bitter andcontracted heart had to expand somewhat. Gradually the ferocity faded, leaving in its room an anxious and brooding wonder. God knows whatthoughts passed through that somber mind in those long hours, when, concentrated upon himself, he must have faced the problem of hisfuture and, like one before an impassable stone wall, had to fallback, baffled. He could be sure of only one thing: that never againcould he be what he had been once--"the slickest cracksman inAmerica. " This in itself tortured him. Heretofore, life had beenexactly what he chose to make it: he had put himself to the test, andhe had proven himself the most daring, the coolest, shrewdest, mostcunning, in that sinister world in which he had shone with so evil alight. _He had been Slippy McGee_. Sure of himself, his had been thatcurious inverted pride which is the stigmata of the criminal. 

More than once I saw him writhe in his chair, tormented, shaken, spentwith futile curses, impotently lamenting his lost kingdom. He stillhad the skill, the cold calculating brain, the wit, the will; and now, by a cruel chance and a stupid accident, he had lost out! The end hadcome for him, and he in his heyday! There were moments when, watchinghim, I had the sensation as of witnessing almost visibly, here in ourcalm sunny garden, the Dark Powers fighting openly for a soul. 

_"For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but againstprincipalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness ofthis world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. "_

CHAPTER IV

UNDERWINGS

If I have not heretofore spoken of Mary Virginia, it is because allthat winter she and Mrs. Eustis had been away; and in consequenceAppleboro was dull enough. For the Eustises are our wealthiest andmost important family, just as the Eustis house, with its pillared, Greek-temple-effect front, is by far the handsomest house in town. When we have important folks to entertain, we look to the Eustises tosave our faces for us by putting them up at their house. 

One afternoon, shortly after we had gotten settled in Appleboro, Icame home to find my mother entertaining no less a personage than Mrs. Eustis; she wasn't calling on the Catholic priest and his mother, youunderstand; far from it! She was recognizing Armand De Rancé and Adelede Marsignan!

Mrs. Eustis was a fair, plump little partridge of a woman, soperfectly satisfied with herself that brains, in her case, would haveamounted to a positive calamity. She is an instance of the fascinationa fool seems to have for men of undoubted powers of mind and heart, for Eustis, who had both to an unusual degree, loved her devotedly, even while he smiled at her. She had, after some years ofchildlessness, laid him under an everlasting obligation by presentinghim with a daughter, an obligation deepened by the fact that thechild was in every sense her father's child, not her mother's. 

That afternoon she brought the little girl with her, to make ouracquaintance. When the child, shyly friendly, looked up, it seemed tome for an anguished moment as if another little girl had walked out ofthe past, so astonishingly like was she to that little lost playmateof my youth. Right then and there Mary Virginia walked into my heartand took possession, as of a place swept and garnished and longwaiting her coming. 

When we knew her better my mother used to say that if she could havechosen a little girl instead of the little boy that had been I, shemust have chosen Mary Virginia Eustis out of all the world. 

Like Judge Mayne's Laurence, she chose to make the Parish House hersecond home--for indeed my mother ever seemed to draw children to her, as by some delightful magic. Here, then, the child learned to sew andto embroider, to acquire beautiful housewifely accomplishments, and tospeak French with flawless perfection; she reaped the benefit of mymother's girlhood spent in a convent in France; and Mrs. Eustis wasfar too shrewd not to appreciate the value of this. And so we acquiredMary Virginia. 

I watched the lovely miracle of her growth with an almost painfultenderness. Had I not become a priest, had I realized those springhopes of mine; and had there been little children resembling theirmother, then my own little girls had been like this one. Even thus hadbeen their blue eyes, and theirs, too, such hair of such curlingblackness. 

The hours I spent with the little girl and Laurence helped me as wellas them; these fresh souls and growing minds freshened and revivedmine, and kept me young in heart. 

"We are all made of dust, " said my mother once. "But Mary Virginia'sis star dust. Star dust, and dew, and morning gold, " she addedmusingly. 

"She simply cannot imagine evil, much less see it in anything or inanybody, " I told Madame, for at times the child's sheer innocencetroubled me for her. "One is puzzled how to bring home to this naïvesoul the ugly truth that all is not good. Now, Laurence is betterbalanced. He takes people and events with a saving grain ofskepticism. But Mary Virginia is divinely blind. "

My mother regarded me with a tolerant smile. "Do not worry too muchover that divinely blind one, my son, " said she. "I assure you, she isquite capable of seeing a steeple in daylight! Observe this: yesterdayLaurence angered her, and she seized him by the hair and bumped hishead against the study wall--no mild thump, either! She has in herquite enough of the leaven of unrighteousness to save her, at apinch--for Laurence was entirely right, she entirely wrong. Yet--shemade him apologize before she consented to forgive him, and he did itgratefully. She allowed him to understand how magnanimous she was inthus pardoning him for her own naughtiness, and he was deeplyimpressed, as men-creatures should be under such circumstances. Suchwisdom, and she but a child! I was enchanted!"

"Good heavens! Surely, Mother, I misunderstand you! Surely youreproved her!"

"Reprove her?" My mother's voice was full of astonishment. "Why shouldI reprove her? She was perfectly right!"

"Perfectly right? Why, you said--indeed, I assure you, you said thatLaurence had been entirely right, she entirely wrong!"

"Oh, _that!_ I see; well, as for that, she was. "

"Then, surely--"

"My son, a woman who is in the wrong is entirely right when she makesthe man apologize, " said my mother firmly. "That is the Law, fixed asthe Medes' and the Persians', and she who forgets or ignores it isground between the upper and the nether millstones. Mary Virginiaremembered and obeyed. When she grows up you will all of you adore hermadly. Why, then, should she be reproved?"

I have never been able to reflect upon Laurence getting his headbumped and then gratefully apologizing to the darling shrew who didit, without a cold wind stirring my hair. And yet--Laurence, and I, too, love her all the more dearly for it! _Miserere, Domine!_

It was May when Mary Virginia came back to Appleboro. She had writtenus a bubbling letter, telling us just when we were to expect her, andhow happy she was at the thought of being home once more. We, too, rejoiced, for we had missed her sadly. My mother was so happy that sheplanned a little intimate feast to celebrate the child's return. 

I remember how calm and mild an evening it was. At noon there had beena refreshing shower, and the air was deliciously pure and clear, andfull of wet woodsy scents. The raindrops fringing the bushes becameprisms, a spiderweb was a fairy foot-bridge; and all our birds, leaving for a moment such household torments as squalling insatiablemouths that must be filled, became jubilant choristers. "The opulentdyepots of the angels" had been emptied lavishly across the sky, andthe old Parish House lay steeped in a serene and heavenly glow, everywindow glittering diamond-bright to the west. 

Next door Miss Sally Ruth was feeding and scolding her cooing pigeons, which fluttered about her, lighting upon her shoulder, surrounding herwith a bright-colored living cloud; the judge's black cat Panch layalong the Mayne side of the fence and blinked at them regretfully withhis slanting emerald eyes. From the Mayne kitchen-steps came, faintly, Daddy January's sweet quavering old voice:

 "--Gwine tuh climb up higher 'n' higher, Some uh dese days--"

John Flint, silent, depressed, with folded lips and somber eyes, hobbled about awkwardly, savagely training himself to use the crutchesWestmoreland had lately brought him. Very unlovely he looked, dragginghimself along like a wounded beast. The poor wretch struck adiscordant note in the sweet peacefulness of the spring evening; norcould we say anything to comfort him, we who were not maimed. 

Came a high, sweet, shrill call at the gate; a high yelp of delightfrom Pitache, hurtling himself forward like a woolly white cannonball;a sound of light and flying feet; and Mary Virginia ran into thegarden, the little overjoyed dog leaping frantically about her. Shewore a white frock, and over it a light scarlet jacket. Her blue eyeswere dancing, lighting her sweet and fresh face, colored like a rose. The gay little breeze that came along with her stirred her skirts, andfluttered her scarlet ribbons, and the curls about her temples. Youmight think Spring herself had paused for a lovely moment in theParish House garden and stood before you in this gracious and virginalshape, at once delicate and vital. 

Miss Sally Ruth, scattering pigeons right and left, dashed to thefence to call greetings. My mother, seizing the child by the arms, held her off a moment, to look her over fondly; then, drawing hercloser, kissed her as a daughter is kissed. 

I laid my hand on the child's head, happy with that painful happinessher presence always occasioned me, when she came back after anabsence--as if the Other Girl flashed into view for a quick moment, and then was gone. Laurence, who had followed, stood looking down ather with boyish condescension. 

"Huh! I can eat hominy off her head!" said he, aggravatingly. 

"Old Mister Biggity!" flashed Mary Virginia. And then she turned andmet, face to face, the fixed stare of John Flint, hanging upon hiscrutches as one might upon a cross, --a stare long, still, intent, curious, speculative, almost incredulous. 

"You are the Padre's last guest, aren't you?" her eyes were full ofgravest sympathy. "I'm so sorry you met with such a misfortune--butI'm gladder you're alive. It's so good just to be alive in the spring, isn't it?" She smiled at him directly, taking him, as it were, into apleasant confidence. She seemed perfectly unconscious of the evilunloveliness of him; Mary Virginia always seemed to miss the evil, passing it over as if it didn't exist. Instead, diving into the depthsof other personalities, always she brought to the surface whateverpearl of good might lie concealed at the bottom. To her this sinistercripple was simply another human being, with whose misfortune one mustsympathize humanly. 

Clélie, in a speckless white apron and a brand-new red-and-whitebandanna to do greater honor to the little girl whom she adored, set atable under the trees and spread it with the thin dainty sandwiches, the delectable little cakes, and the fine bonbons she and my motherhad made to celebrate the child's return. And we had tea, making verymerry, for she had a thousand amusing things to tell us, every airytrifle informed with something of her own brave bright mirthfulspirit. John Flint sat nearby in the wheel chair, his crutches lyingbeside it, and looked on silently and ate his cake and drank his teastolidly, as if it were no unusual thing for him to break bread insuch company. 

"Padre, " said Mary Virginia with deep gravity. "My aunt Jenny says I'mgrowing up. She says I'll have to put up my hair and let down myfrocks pretty soon, and that I'll probably be thinking of beaux inanother year, though she hopes to goodness I won't, until I've gotthrough with school at least. "

The almost unconscious imitation of Miss Jenny's pecking, birdlikevoice made me smile. 

"Beaux! Long skirts! Put up hair! Great Scott, will you listen to thekid!" scoffed Laurence. "You everlasting little silly, you! P'titeMadame, these cakes are certainly all to the good. May I have anothertwo or three, please!"

"I'm 'most thirteen years old, Laurence Mayne, " said Mary Virginia, with dignity. "You're only seventeen, so you don't need to giveyourself such hateful airs. You're not too old to be greedy, anyhow. Padre, _am_ I growing up?"

"I fear so, my child, " said I, gloomily. 

"You're not glad, either, are you, Padre?"

"But you were such a delightful child, " I temporized. 

"Oh, lovely!" said Laurence, eying her with unflatteringbrotherliness. "And she had so much feeling, too, Mary Virginia! Why, when I was sick once, she wanted me to die, so she could ride to myfuneral in the front carriage; she doted on funerals, the littleghoul! She was horribly disappointed when I got better--she thought itdisobliging of me, and that I'd done it to spite her. Once, too, whenI tried to reason with her--and Mary Virginia needed reason if ever akid did--she bumped my head until I had knots on it. There's yourdelightful Mary Virginia for you!"

"Anyhow, you didn't die and become an angel--you stayed disagreeablyalive and you're going to become a lawyer, " said Mary Virginia, toogently. "And your head was bumpable, Laurence, though I'm sorry to sayI don't ever expect to bump it again. Why, I'm going away to schooland when I come back I'll be Miss Eustis, and you'll be Mr. Mayne!Won't it be funny, though?"

"I don't see anything funny in calling you Miss Eustis, " saidLaurence, with boyish impatience. "And I'm certainly not going tonotice you if you're silly enough to call me Mister Mayne. I hope youwon't be a fool, Mary Virginia. So many girls are fools. " He ateanother cake. 

"Not half as big fools as boys are, though, " said she, dispassionately. "My father says the man is always the bigger fool ofthe two. "

Laurence snorted. "I wonder what we'll be like, though--both of us?"he mused. 

"You? You're biggity now, but you'll be lots worse, then, " said MaryVirginia, with unflattering frankness. "I think you'll probably strutlike a turkey, and you'll be baldheaded, and wear double-lensed hornspectacles, and spats, and your wife will call you 'Mr. Mayne' to yourface and 'Your Poppa' to the children, and she'll perfectly _despise_people like Madame and the Padre and me!"

"You never did have any reasoning power, Mary Virginia, " saidLaurence, with brotherly tact. "Our black cat Panch would put it allover you. Allow me to inform you I'm _not_ biggity, miss! I'mlogical--something a girl can't understand. And I'd like to know whatyou think _you're_ going to grow up to be?"

"Oh, let's quit talking about it, " she said petulantly. "I hate tothink of growing up. Grown ups don't seem to be happy--and _I_ want tobe happy!" She turned her head, and met once more the absorbed andwatchful stare of the man in the wheel-chair. 

"Weren't you sorry when you had to stop being a little boy and growup?" she asked him, wistfully. 

"Me?" he laughed harshly. "I couldn't say, miss. I guess I was borngrown up. " His face darkened. 

"That wasn't a bit fair, " said she, with instant sympathy. 

"There's a lot not fair, " he told her, "when you're born and broughtup like I was. The worst is not so much what happens to you, thoughthat's pretty bad; it's that you don't know it's happening--andthere's nobody to put you wise. Why, " his forehead puckered as if athought new to him had struck him, "why, your very looks get to bedifferent!"

Mary Virginia started. "Oh, looks!" said she, thoughtfully. "Now, isn't it curious for you to say just that, right now, for it remindsme that I brought something to the Padre--something that set me tothinking about people's looks, too, --and how you never can tell. Waita minute, and I'll show you. " She reached for the pretty crocheted bagshe had brought with her, and drew from it a small pasteboard box. None of us, idly watching her, dreamed that a moment big with fate wasupon us. I have often wondered how things would have turned out ifMary Virginia had lost or forgotten that pasteboard box!

"I happened to put my hand on a tree--and this little fellow moved, and I caught him. I thought at first he was a part of the tree-trunk, he looked so much like it, " said the child, opening the little box. Inside lay nothing more unusual than a dark-colored and rather uglygray moth, with his wings folded down. 

"One wouldn't think him pretty, would one?" said she, looking down atthe creature. 

"No, " said Flint, who had wheeled nearer, and craned his neck over thebox. "No, miss, I shouldn't think I'd call something like thatpretty, "--he looked from the moth to Mary Virginia, a bitdisappointedly. 

Mary Virginia smiled, and picking up the little moth, held his body, very gently, between her finger-tips. He fluttered, spreading out hisgray wings; and then one saw the beautiful pansy-like underwings, andthe glorious lower pair of scarlet velvet barred and bordered withblack. 

"I brought him along, thinking the Padre might like him, and tell mesomething about him, " said the little girl. "The Padre's crazy aboutmoths and butterflies, you must understand, and we're always on thelookout to get them for him. I never found this particular one before, and you can't imagine how I felt when he showed me what he had hiddenunder that gray cloak of his!"

"He's a member of a large and most respectable family, the Catocalæ, "I told her. "I'll take him, my dear, and thank you--there's always ademand for the Catocalæ. And you may call him an Underwing, if youprefer--that's his common name. "

"I got to thinking, " said the little girl, thoughtfully, lifting herclear and candid eyes to John Flint's. "I got to thinking, when hethrew aside his plain gray cloak and showed me his lovely underwings, that he's like some people--people you'd think were very common, youknow. You couldn't be expected to know what was underneath, could you?So you pass them by, thinking how ordinary, and matter of fact, anduninteresting and even ugly they are, and you feel rather sorry forthem--because you don't know. But if you can once get close enough totouch them--why, then you find out!" Her eyes grew deeper, andbrighter, as they do when she is moved; and the color came morevividly to her cheek. "Don't you reckon, " said she naïvely, "thatplenty of folks are like him? They're the sad color of thestreet-dust, of course, for things do borrow from their surroundings, didn't you know that? That's called protective mimicry, the Padresays. So you only think of the dust-colored outside--and all the whilethe underwings are right there, waiting for you to find them! Isn't itwonderful and beautiful? And the best of all is, it's true!"

The cripple in the chair put out his hand with a hint of timidity inhis manner; he was staring at Mary Virginia as if some of the lightwithin her had dimly penetrated his grosser substance. 

"Could I hold it--for a minute--in my own hand?" he asked, turningbrick-red. 

"Of course you may, " said Mary Virginia pleasantly. "I see by thePadre's face this isn't a rare moth--he's been here all along, only myeyes have just been opened to him. I don't want him to go in anycollection. I don't want him to go anywhere, except back into theair--I owe him that for what he taught me. So I'm sure the Padre won'tmind, if you'd like to set him free, yourself. "

She put the moth on the man's finger, delicately, for a Catocala is aswift-winged little chap; it spread out its wings splendidly, as if toshow him its loveliness; then, darting upward, vanished into the coolgreen depth of the shrubbery. 

"I remember running after a butterfly once, when I was a kid, " saidhe. "He came flying down our street, Lord knows where from, or why, and I caught him after a chase. I thought he was the prettiest thingever my eyes had seen, and I wanted the worst way in the world to keephim with me. A brown fellow he was, all sprinkled over with littlesplotches of silver, as if there'd been plenty of the stuff on hand, and it'd been laid on him thick. But after awhile I got to thinkinghe'd feel like he was in jail, shut up in my hot fist. I couldn't bearthat, so I ran to the end of the street, to save him from the otherkids, and then I turned him loose and watched him beat it for the sky. They're pretty things, butterflies. Somehow I always liked them betterthan any other living creatures. " He was staring after the moth, hisforehead wrinkled. He spoke almost unconsciously, and he certainly hadno idea that he had given us cause for a hopeful astonishment. 

Now, Mary Virginia's eyes had fallen, idly enough, upon John Flint'shands lying loosely upon his knees. Her face brightened. 

"Padre, " she suggested suddenly, "why don't you let him help you withyour butterflies? Look at his hands! Why, they're just exactly theright sort to handle setting needles and mounting blocks, and tostretch wings without loosening a scale. He could be taught in a fewlessons, and just think what a splendid help he could be! And you doso need help with those insects of yours, Padre--I've heard you sayso, over and over. "

The child was right--John Flint did have good hands--large enough, well-shaped, steel-muscled, powerful, with flexible, smooth-skinned, sensitive fingers, the fingers of an expert lapidary rather than aprize-fighter. 

"If you think there's any way I could help the parson for awhile, I'dbe proud to try, miss. It's true, " he added casually, with asphinx-like immobility of countenance, "that I'm what might be calledhandy with my fingers. "

"We'll call it settled, then, " said Mary Virginia happily. 

Laurence took her home at dusk; it was a part of his daily life tolook after Mary Virginia, as one looks after a cherished littlesister. When they were younger the boy had often complained that shemight as well be his sister, she quarreled with him so much; and thelittle girl said, bitterly, he was as disagreeable as if he'd been abrother. In spite of which the little girl, for all her deliciousimpertinences, looked up to the boy; and the boy had adored her, fromthe time she gurgled at him from her cradle. 

My mother left us, and John Flint and I sat outdoors in the pleasanttwilight, he smoking the pipe Laurence had given him. 

"Parson, " said he, abruptly, "Parson, you folks are swells, ain't you?The real thing, I mean, you and Madame? Even the yellow nigger's alady nigger, ain't she?"

"I am a poor priest, such as you see, my son, Madame is--Madame. AndClélie is a good servant. "

"But you were born a swell, weren't you?" he persisted. "Old family, swell diggings, trained flunkies, and all that?"

"I was born a gentleman, if that is what you mean. Of an old family, yes. And there was an old house--once. "

"How'd _you_ ever hit the trail for the Church? I wonder! But say, you never asked me any more questions than you had to, so you can tellme to shut up, if you want to. Not that I wouldn't like to know howthe Sam Hill the like of you ever got nabbed by the skypilots. "

"God called me through affliction, my son. "

"Oh, " said my son, blankly. "Huh! But I bet you the best crib evercracked you were some peach of a boy before you got that 'S. O. S. '"

"I was, like the young, the thoughtless young, a sinner. "

"I suppose, " said he tentatively, after a pause, "that _I'm_ one hellof a sinner myself, according to Hoyle, ain't I?"

"I do not think it would injure you to change your--course of life, nor yet your way of mentioning it, " I said, feeling my way cautiously. "But--we are bidden to remember there is more joy in heaven over onesinner saved than over the ninety-and-nine just men. "

"Is that so? Well, it listens like good horse-sense to me, " said Mr. Flint, promptly. "Because, look here: you can rake in ninety-and-nineboobs any old time--there's one born every time the clock ticks, parson--but they don't land something like me every day, believe me!And I bet you a stack of dollar chips a mile high there was somesong-and-dance in the sky-joint when they put one over on _you_ forfair. Sure!" He puffed away at his pipe, and I, having nothing to sayto this fine reasoning, held my peace. 

"Parson, that kid's a swell, too, ain't she? And the boy?"

"Laurence is the son of Judge Hammond Mayne. "

"And the little girl?" Insensibly his voice softened. 

"I suppose, " I agreed, "that the little girl is what you might call aswell, too. "

"I never, " said he, reflectively, "came what you might call _talking_close to real swells before. I've seen 'em, of course--at a distance. Some of 'em, taking 'em by and large, looked pretty punk, to me; someof 'em was middling, and a few looked as if they might have the goods. But none of 'em struck me as being real live breathing _people_, sameas other folks. Why, parson, some of those dames'd throw a fit, fancying they was poisoned, if they had to breathe the same air withfolks like me--me being what I am and they being--what they think theyare. Yet here's you and Madame, the real thing--and the boy--and thelittle girl--the little girl--" he stopped, staring at me dumbly, asthe vision of Mary Virginia rose before him. 

"She is, indeed, a dear, dear child, " said I. His words stung mesomewhat, for once upon a time, I myself would have resented that suchas he should have breathed the same air with Mary Virginia. 

"I'd almost think I'd dreamed her, " said he, thoughtfully, "that is, if I was good enough to have dreams like that, " he added hastily, withhis first touch of shame. "I've seen 'em from the Battery up, and someof 'em was sure-enough queens, but I didn't know they came like thisone. She's bran-new to me, parson. Say, you just show me what shewants me to help you with, and I'll do it. She seems to think I can, and it oughtn't to be any harder than opening a time-vault, ought it?"

"No, " said I gravely, "I shouldn't think it would be. Though I neveropened a time-vault, you understand, and I hope and pray you'll nevertouch one again, either. I'd rather you wouldn't even refer to it, please. It makes me feel, rather--well, let's say _particepscriminis_. "

"I suppose that's the polite for punching you in the wind, " said he, just as gravely. "And I didn't think you'd ever monkeyed with a vault;why, you couldn't, not if you was to try till Gabriel did his littleturn in the morning--not unless you'd been caught when you were softerand put wise. Man, it's a bigger job than you think, and you've got tohave the know-how and the nerve before you can put it over. Butthere--I'll keep it dark, seeing you want me to. " He stretched out hishands, regarding them speculatively. "They _are_ classy mitts, " heremarked impersonally. "Yep, seemed like they were just naturally madeto--do what they did. They were built for fine work. " At that his jawsnapped; a spasm twitched his face; it darkened. 

"The work little Miss Eustis suggested for you, " I insinuated hastily, "is what very many people consider very fine work indeed. About one ina thousand can do it properly. "

"Lead me to it, " said he wearily, and without enthusiasm, "and turn meloose. I'll do what I can, to please her. At least, until I can make agetaway for keeps. "

CHAPTER V

ENTER KERRY

When I was first seen prowling along the roads and about the fieldsstalking butterflies and diurnal moths with the caution of a redIndian on the warpath and the stealth of a tiger in the jungle; whenmystified folk met me at night, a lantern suspended from my neck, ahaversack across my shoulders, a bottle-belt about my waist, and armedwith a butterfly net, the consensus of opinion was that poor Father DeRancé was stark staring mad. Appleboro hadn't heretofore witnessed theproceedings of the Brethren of the Net, and I had to do much patientexplaining; even then I am sure I must have left many firmly convincedthat I was not, in their own phrase, "all there. "

"Hey, you! Mister! Them worms is pizen! Them's _fever_-worms!" wasshrieked at me frenziedly by the country-folks, black and white, whenI was caught scooping up the hairy caterpillars of the tiger moths. Even when it was understood that I wished caterpillars, cocoons, andchrysalids, for the butterflies and moths they would later make, looksof pitying contempt were cast upon me. That a grown man--particularlya minister of the gospel, with not only his own but other people'ssouls to save--should spend time hunting for worms, with which hecouldn't even bait a hook, awakened amazement. 

"What any man in his right mind wants with a thing that ain't nothin'but wriggles an' hair on the outside an' sqush on the inside, beatsme!" was said more than once. 

"But all of them are interesting, some are valuable, and many growinto very beautiful moths and butterflies, " I ventured to defendmyself. 

"S'posin' they do? You can't eat 'em or wear 'em or plant 'em, canyou?" And really, you understand, I couldn't!

"An' you mean to tell me to my face, " said a scandalized farmer, watching me assorting and naming the specimens taken from my fieldbox, "you mean to tell me you're givin' every one o' them bugs a_name_, same's a baptized Christian? Adam named every livin' thing, an' Adam called them things Caterpillars an' Butterflies. If it suitedhim an' Eve and God A'mighty to have 'em called that an' nothin' else, looks to me it had oughter suit anybody that's got a grain o'realreligion. If you go to call 'em anythin' else it's sinnin' agin theBible. I've heard all my life you Cath'lics don't take as much stockin the Scripters as you'd oughter, but this thing o'callin' a wurrumAdam named plain Caterpillar a--a--_what'd_ you say the dum beast'sname was? _My sufferin' Savior!_ is jest about the wust dernfoolishness yet! I lay it at the Pope's door, every mite o' it, an'you'd better believe he'll have to answer for sech carryin's on, someo' these days!"

So many other things having been laid at the Pope's door, I held mypeace and made no futile attempt to clear the Holy Father of the darksuspicion of having perpetrated their names upon certain of theAmerican lepidoptera. 

I had yet other darker madnesses; had I not been seen spreading upontrees with a whitewash brush a mixture of brown sugar, stale beer, andrum?

Asked to explain this lunatic proceeding I could only say that I wassugaring for moths; these airy fairy gentlemen having a very humanliking for a "wee drappie o't. "

"That amiable failin', " Major Appleby Cartwright decided, "is a creditto them an' commends them to a respectful hearin'. On its face itwould seem to admit them to the ancient an' honorable brotherhood ofconvivial man. But, suh, there's another side to this question, an'it's this:--a creature that's got six perfectly good legs, not tomention wings, an' still can't carry his liquor without bein' caught, deserves his fate. It's not in my line to offer suggestions to anallwise Providence, or I _might_ hint that a scoop-net an' a killingjar in pickle for some two-legged topers out huntin' free drinkswouldn't be such a bad idea at all. "

But as I pursued my buggy way--and displayed, save in this oneparticular, what might truthfully be called ordinary commonsense--people gradually grew accustomed to it, looking upon me as amild and harmless lunatic whose inoffensive mania might safely beindulged--nay, even humored. In consequence I was from time to timeinundated with every common thing that creeps, crawls, and flies. Iaccepted gifts of bugs and caterpillars that filled my mother withdisgust and Clélie with horror; both of them hesitated to come into mystudy, and I have known Clélie to be afraid to go to bed of a nightbecause the great red-horned "Hickory devil" was downstairs in a box, and she was firmly convinced that this innocent worm harbored acold-blooded desire to crawl upstairs and bite her. That silly womanwill depart this life in the firm faith that all crawling creaturescame into the world with the single-hearted hope of biting her, aboveall other mortals; and that having achieved the end for which theywere created, both they and she will immediately curl up and die. 

But alas, I had but scant time to devote to this enchanting andengrossing study, which, properly pursued, will fill a man's days tothe brim. I gathered my specimens as I could and classified andmounted them as it pleased God--until the advent of John Flint. 

Now, I must, with great reluctance, here set down the plain truth thathe, too, looked upon me at first with amaze not unmixed with rage andcontempt. Most caterpillars, you understand, feed upon food of theirown arbitrary choosing; and when they are in captivity one mustprocure this particular aliment if one hopes to rear them. 

_Slippy McGee feeding bugs!_ It was about as hideous and devil-born acontretemps as, say, putting a belted earl to peel potatoes or askingan archbishop to clean cuspidors. The man boiled with offended dignityand outraged pride. One could actually see him swell. He had expectedsomething quite different, and this apparently offensive trivialitydisgusted and shocked him. I could see myself falling forty thousandfathoms in his esteem, and I think he would have incontinently turnedhis back upon me save for his promise to Mary Virginia. 

It is true that many of the caterpillars are ugly and formidable, poorthings, to the uninitiated eye, which fails to recognize under thisuncomely disguise the crowned and glorious citizens of the air. I hadjust then a great Cecropia, an able-bodied green gentleman armed withtwelve thorn-like, sizable horns, and wearing, along with otheragreeable adornments, three yellow and four red arrangements likegrowths of dwarf cactus plants on the segments behind his hard roundgreen head. 

Mr. Flint, with an ejaculation of horror, backed off on one crutch andclubbed the other. 

"My God!" said he, "Kill it! Kill it!" I saved my green friend in thenick of time. The man, with staring eyes, looked from me to thecaterpillar; then he leaned over and watched it, in grim silence. 

He knotted his forehead, made slits of his eyes, gulped, screwed hismouth into the thin red line of deadly determination, and with everynerve braced, even as a martyr braces himself for the stake or thesword, put out his hand, up which the formidable-looking worm walkedleisurely. Death not immediately resulting from this daring act, hecontrolled his shudders and breathed easier. The worm became less andless terrifying; no longer appearing, say, the size of the boaconstrictor. A few moments of this harmless meandering about Mr. Flint's hand and arm, and of a sudden he wore his true colors of aninoffensive and law-abiding larva, anxious only to attend strictly tohis own legitimate business, the Gargantuan feeding of himself intothe pupa from which he would presently emerge one of the mostmagnificent of native moths. Gingerly Mr. Flint picked him up betweenthumb and fore-finger, and as gingerly dropped him back into thebreeding-cage. He squared his shoulders, wiped his brow, and drew along whistling breath. 

"Phe-ew! It took all my nerve to do it!" said he, frankly. "I felt fora minute as if a strong-arm cop'd chased me up an alley and pulled hisgun on me. The feeling of a bug's legs on your bare skin is somethingfierce at first, ain't it? But after _him_ none of 'em can scare meany more. I could play tag with pink monkeys with blue tails and greenwhiskers without sending in the hurry-call. "

The setting boards and blocks, the arrays of pins, needles, tubes, forceps, jars and bottles, magnifying-glasses, microscope, slides, drying-ovens, relaxing-box, cabinets, and above all, the mountedspecimens, raised his spirits somewhat. This, at least, lookedworkman-like; this, at least, promised something better than stokingworms!

If not hopefully, at least willingly enough, he allowed himself to beset to work. And that work had come in what some like to call thepsychological moment. At least it came--or was sent--just when heneeded it most. 

He soon discovered, as all beginners must, that there is very muchmore to it than one might think; that here, too, one must pay forexact knowledge with painstaking care and patient study and ceaselesseffort. He discovered how fatally easy it is to spoil a good specimen;how fairy-fragile a wee wing is; how painted scales rub, and vanishinto thin air; how delicate antennæ break, and forelegs willfiendishly depart hence; and that proper mounting, which results in aperfect insect, is a task which requires practice, a sure eye, and anexpert, delicate, and dexterous touch. Also, that one must beceaselessly on guard lest the baleful little ant and other tiny cursesevade one's vigilance and render void one's best work. He learnedthese and other salutary lessons, which tend to tone down an amateur'sconceit of his half-knowledge; and this chastened him. He felt hispride at stake--he who could so expertly, with almost demoniacingenuity, force the costliest and most cunningly constructedburglar-proof lock; he whose not idle boast was that he was handy withhis fingers! Slippy McGee baffled, at bay before a butterfly? And inthe presence of a mere priest and a girl-child? Never! He'd show uswhat he could do when he really tried to try!

Presently he wanted to classify; and he wanted to do it alone andunaided--it looked easy enough. It irked him, pricked his pride, tohave to be always asking somebody else "what is this?" And right thenand there those inevitable difficulties that confront every earnestand conscientious seeker at the beginning of his quest, arose, as thefascinating living puzzles presented themselves for his solving. 

To classify correctly is not something one learns in a day, be henever so willing and eager; as one may discover who cares to take halfa dozen plain, obscurely-colored small moths, and attempts to put themin their proper places. 

Mr. Flint tried it--and those wretched creatures _wouldn't_ stay put. It seemed to him that every time he looked at them they ought to besomewhere else; always there was something--a bar, a stripe, a smalldistinctive spot, a wing of peculiar shape, antennæ, or palpi, orspur, to differentiate them. 

"Where the Sam Hill, " he blazed, "do all these footy little devilscome from, anyhow? Where am I to put a beast of a bug when the nextone that's exactly like it is entirely different the next time youlook at it? There's too much beginning and no end at all to thisgame!"

For all that, he followed them up. I saw with pure joy that he refusedto dismiss anything carelessly, while he scorned to split hairs. Hehad a regular course of procedure when he was puzzled. First he turnedthe new insect over and over and glared at it from every possibleangle; then he rumpled his hair, gritted his teeth, squared hisshoulders and hurled himself into work. 

There was, for instance, the common Dione Vanillæ, that splendid GulfFritillary which haunts all the highways of the South. She's along-wing, but she's not a Heliconian; she's a silver-spot, but she'snot an Argynnis. She bears a striking family likeness to her finerelations, but she has certain structural peculiarities whichdifferentiate her. Whose word should he take for this, and why?Wherein lay those differences? He began, patiently, with hercylinder-shaped yellow-brown, orange-spotted caterpillar, on thepurple passion flowers in our garden; he watched it change into adark-brown chrysalis marked with a few pale spots; he saw emerge fromthis the red-robed lady herself, with her long fulvous forewings, andher shorter hind wings smocked with black velvet, and her under-frockflushed with pinkish orange and spangled with silver. And yet, inspite of her long marvelous tongue--he was beginning to find out thatno tool he had ever seen, and but few that God Himself makes, is sowonderful as a butterfly's tongue--she hadn't been able to tell himthat about herself which he most wished to find out. _That_ called fora deeper knowledge than he as yet possessed. 

But he knew that other men knew. And he had to know. He meant to know. For the work gripped him as it does those marked and foreordained forits service. That marvelous world in which the Little People dwell--aworld so absolutely different from ours that it might well be uponanother planet--began to open, slowly, slowly, one of its manymysterious doors, allowing him just glimpse enough of what magic laybeyond to fire his heart and to whet his appetite. And he couldn'tbreak into that world with a jimmy. It was burglar-proof. That portalwas so impervious to even the facile fingers of Slippy McGee, thatJohn Flint must pay the inevitable and appropriate toll to enter!

Westmoreland had replaced his crutches with a wooden leg, and youmight see him stumping about our grounds, minutely examining theunderside of shrubs and bushes, the bark of trees, poking into cornersand crannies, or scraping in the mold under the fallen leaves by thefences, for things which no longer filled him with aversion anddisgust, but with the student's interest and pleasure. 

"Think of me being in the same world with 'em all these years and notknowing a thing about 'em when there's so much to know, and under myskin stark crazy to learn it, only I didn't know I even wanted to knowwhat I really want to know more than anything else, until I had toget dumped down here to find it out! I get the funniest sort of afeeling, parson, that all along there's been a Me tucked away insidemy hide that's been loving these things ever since I was born. Notjust to catch and handle 'em, and stretch out their little wings, andremember the names some bughouse high-brow wished on 'em, though allthat's in the feeling, too; it's something else, if I could make youunderstand what I mean. "

I laughed. "I think I do understand, " said I. "I have a Me like thattucked away in mine, too, you know. "

He looked at me gravely. "Parson, " said he, earnestly, "there's timesI wish you had a dozen kids, and every one of 'em twins! It's a shameto think of some poor orphans swindled out of such a daddy as you'dhave made!"

"Why, " said I, smiling, "_You_ are one of my twins. "

"Me?" He reflected. "Maybe half of me might be, parson, " he agreed, "but it's not safe for a skypilot to be caught owning a twin like theother half. "

"I'm pinning my faith to _my_ half, " said I, serenely. 

"Now, why?" he asked, with sudden fierceness. "I turn it over and overand over: it looks white on the outside, but I can't to save me figureout _why_ you're doing it. Parson, _what_ have you got up yoursleeve?"

"Nothing but my arm. What should you think?"

"I don't know what to think, and that's the straight of it. What'syour game, anyhow? What in the name of God are you after?"

"Why, I think, " said I, "that in the name of God I'm after--that otherYou that's been tucked away all these years, and couldn't get bornuntil a Me inside mine, just like himself, called him to come out andbe alive. "

He pondered this in silence. Then:

"I'll take your word for it, " said he. "Though if anybody'd ever toldme I'd be eating out of a parson's hand, I'd have pushed his face infor him. Yep, I'm Fido! _Me!_"

"At least you growl enough, " said I, tartly. 

He eyed me askance. 

"Have I got to lick hands?" he snarled. 

I walked away, without a reply; through my shoulder-blades I couldfeel him glaring after me. He followed, hobbling:

"Parson!"

"Well?"

"If I'm not the sort that licks hands I'm not the sort that bites 'em, neither. I'll tell you--it's this way: I--sort of get to chewing onthat infernal log of wood that's where my good leg used to growand--and splinters get into my temper--and I've _got_ to snarl orburst wide open! You'd growl like the devil yourself, if you had totry holding down my job for awhile, skypilot or no skypilot!"

"Why--I dare say I should, " said I, contritely. "But, " I added, aftera pause, "I shouldn't be any the better for it, should you think?"

"Not so you could notice, " shortly. And after a moment he added, in analtered voice: "Rule 1: Can the Squeal!"

I think he most honestly tried to. It was no easy task, and I haveseen the sweat start upon his forehead and his face go pale, when inhis eagerness he forgot for a moment the cruel fact that he could nolonger move as lightly as of old--and the crippled body, betrayinghim, reminded him all too swiftly of his mistake. 

The work saved him. For it is the heaven-sent sort of work, to thoseordained for it, that fills one's hours and leaves one eager forfurther tasks. It called for all his oldtime ingenuity. His tools, forinstance--at times their limitations irked him, and he made othersmore satisfactory to himself; tools adjusted to an insect's frailbody, not to a time-lock. Before that summer ended he could handleeven the frailest and tiniest specimen with such nice care that it wasdelightful to watch him at work. The time was to come when he couldmend a torn wing or fix a broken antennas with such exquisite fidelityto detail that even the most expert eye might well be deceived. 

I had only looked for a little temporary help, such as any intelligentamateur might be able to furnish. But I was not long unaware that thiswas more than a mere amateur. To quote himself, he had the goods, andI realized with a mounting heart that I had made a find, if I couldonly hold on to it. For the first time in years I could exchangespecimens. My cabinets began to fill out--with such perfect insects, too! We added several rare ones, a circumstance to make anyentomologist look upon the world through rosy spectacles. Why, eventhe scarce shy Cossus Centerensis came to our very doors, apparentlyto fill a space awaiting him. Perhaps he was a Buddhist insectundergoing reincarnation, and was anxious to acquire merit byself-immolation. Anyhow, we acquired him, and I hope he acquiredmerit. 

We had scores of insects in the drying ovens. We had more and ever morein the breeding cages, --in our case simple home-made affairs of a kegor a box with a fine wire-netting over the food plant; or a lamp-chimneyslipped over a potted plant with a bit of mosquito-netting tied over thetop, for the smaller forms. 

These cages were a never-failing source of delight and interest to thechildren, and at their hands heaven rained caterpillars upon us thatseason. Even my mother grew interested in the work, though Clélienever ceased to look upon it as a horrid madness peculiar to whitepeople. 

"All Buckrahs is funny in dey haids, " Daddy January consoled her whenshe complained to him about it. "Dey gets all kind o' fool notions'bout all kind o' fool t'ings. You ain't got to feel so bad--de Jedgeis lots wuss'n yo' boss is. Yo' boss kin see de bugs he run atter, butmy boss talk 'bout some kind o' bug he call Germ. I ax um what kind o'bug is dat; an' he 'low you can't see um wid yo' eye. I ain't say soto de Jedge, but _I_ 'low when you see bug you can't see wid yo' eye, you best not seem um 'tall--case he must be some kind o' spook, an'Gawd knows I ain't want to see no spook. Ef de bug ain't no spook, denhe mus' be eenside yo' haid, 'stead o' outside um, an' to hab bug onde eenside o' yo' haid is de wuss kind o' bad luck. Anyhow, nobody butBuckrah talk an' ack like dat, niggers is got mo' sense. "

We found, presently, a ready and a steady sale for our extra stock. Wecould supply caterpillars, butterflies and moths, or chrysalids andcocoons; we had some rather scarce ones; and then, our unmountedspecimens were so perfect, and our mounted ones so exquisitely done, that we had but little trouble in disposing of them. Under the hand ofJohn Flint these last were really works of art. Not for nothing hadhe boasted that he was handy with his fingers. 

The pretty common forms, framed hovering lifelike over delicatelypressed ferns and flowers, found even a readier market, for they werereally beautiful. Money had begun to come in--not largely, it is true, but still steadily and surely. You must know how to handle your stock, and you must be in touch with your market--scientists, students, collectors, --and this, of course, takes time. We could supply thelarger dealers, too, although they pay less, and we had a modestadvertisement in one or two papers published for the profession, whichbrought us orders. But let no one imagine that it is an easy task tohandle these frail bodies, these gossamer wings, so that naturalistsand collectors are glad to get them. Once or twice we lost valuableshipments. 

Long since--in the late spring, to be exact, John Flint had moved outof the Guest Room, needed for other occupants, into a two-roomedoutbuilding across the garden. Some former pastor had had it built foran oratory and retreat, but now, covered with vines, it had stood formany years unused, save as a sort of lumber room. 

When the troublesome question of where we might properly house him hadarisen, my mother hit upon these unused rooms as by directinspiration. She had them cleaned, repainted, scoured, and turned intoa pleasant well-lighted, airy workroom and living-room combined, and asmaller and rather austere bedroom, with an inexpensive but very goodhead of Christ over the mantel, and an old, old carved crucifix on thewall beside the white iron bed. Laurence took from his own room aMorris chair, whose somewhat frayed cushions my mother neatlyre-covered. Mary Virginia contributed a rug, as well as dressing-gownand slippers. Miss Sally Ruth gave him outright a brand-new Bible, andloaned him an old cedar-wood wardrobe which had been hergreat-grandmother's, and which still smelt delicately of generationsof rose-leaved and lavendered linen. 

"All I ask, " said Miss Sally Ruth sharply, "is that you'll read Paulwith your eyes open and your mouth shut, and that you'll keep yourclothes in that wardrobe and your moths out of it. If it was intendedfor anybody to teach you anything, then Paul will teach you; but it_wasn't_ intended for a cedar-wood wardrobe to hold moths, and I hopeyou won't forget it!"

Major Cartwright sent over a fishing-rod, a large jar of tobacco, anda framed picture of General Lee. 

"Because no man, suh, could live under the same roof with even hispictured semblance, and not be the bettah fo' it, " said the majorearnestly. "I know. I've got to live with him myself. When I'm fair tomiddlin' he's in the dinin' room. When I've skidded off the straightan' narrow path I lock him up in the parlor, an' at such times I sleepout on the po'ch. But when I'm at peace with man an' God I take himinto my bedroom an' look at him befo' retirin'. He's about as easy tolive with as the Angel Gabriel, but he's mighty bracin', Marse Robertis: mighty bracin'!"

Thus equipped, John Flint settled himself in his own house. It hadbeen a wise move, for he had the sense of proprietorship, privacy, andfreedom. He could come and go as he pleased, with no one to question. He could work undisturbed, save for the children who brought him suchthings as they could find. He put his breeding cages out on thevine-covered piazzas surrounding two-sides of his house, arranged thecabinets and boxes which had been removed from my study to his own, nailed up a few shelves to suit himself, and set up housekeeping. 

My mother had been frankly delighted to have my creeping friends movedout of the Parish House, and Clélie abated in her dislike of theone-legged man because he had, in a way, removed from her a heretoforenever-absent fear of waking up some night and finding a caterpillarunder her bed. More yet, he entailed no extra work, for he flatlyrefused to have her set foot in his rooms for the purpose of cleaningthem. He attended to that himself. The man was a marvel of neatnessand order. Mesdames, permit me to here remark that when a man is neatand orderly no woman of Eve's daughters can compare with him. JohnFlint's rooms would arouse the rabid envy of the cleanest and mostscourful she in Holland itself. 

Now as the months wore away there had sprung up between him, and MaryVirginia and Laurence, one of those odd comradely friendships whichsometime unite the totally unlike with bonds hard to break. Hisspotless workroom had a fascination for the youngsters. They werealways in and out, now with a cocoon, now an imago, now a larva, andthen again to see how those they had already brought were gettingalong. 

The lame man was an unrivaled listener--a circumstance which endearedhim to youthful Laurence, in whom thoughts and the urge to expressthese thoughts in words rose like sap. This fresh and untaintedconfidence, poured out so naïvely, taught John Flint more than anywords or prayers of mine could have done. It opened to him a worldinto which, his eyes had not heretofore been permitted to look; andthe result was all the more sure and certain, in that the children hadno faintest idea of the effect they were producing. They had no end togain, no ax to grind; they merely spoke the truth as they knew it, andthis unselfish and hopeful truthfulness aroused his interest andcuriosity; it even compelled his admiration. He couldn't dismiss_this_ as "hot air"!

I was more than glad to have him thus taught. It was a salutarylesson, tending to temper his overweening confidence and to humble hiscontemptuous pride. In his own world he had been supreme, a figure ofsinister importance. Brash had been crook or cop who had taught orcaught Slippy McGee! But in this new atmosphere, in which he breathedwith difficulty, the young had been given him for guides. They ledhim, where a grownup had failed. 

Mary Virginia was particularly fond of him. He had as little to say toher as to Laurence, but he looked at her with interested eyes thatnever lost a movement; she knew he never missed a word, either; hissilence was friendly, and the little girl had a pleasant fashion oftaking folk for granted. Hers was one of those large natures whichgive lavishly, shares itself freely, but does not demand much inreturn. She gave with an open hand to her quiet listener--her books, her music, her amusing and innocent views, her frank comments, hertruthfulness, her sweet brave gaiety; and he absorbed it like asponge. It delighted her to find and bring the proper food-plants forhis cages. And she being one of those who sing while they work, youmight hear her caroling like a lark, flitting about the old gardenwith her red setter Kerry at her heels. 

Laurence no longer read aloud to him, but instead gave Flint suchbooks as he could find covering his particular study, and these weredevoured and pored over, and more begged for. Flint would go withoutnew clothes, neat as he was, and without tobacco, much as he liked tosmoke, --to buy books upon lepidoptera. 

He helped my mother with her flowers and her vegetables, but refusedto have anything to do with her chickens, remarking shortly that henswere such fools he couldn't help hating them. Madame said she liked tohave him around, for he was more like some unobtrusive jinnee than amere mortal. She declared that John Flint had what the negroes call a"growing hand"--he had only to stick a bit of green in the ground andit grew like Jonah's gourd. 

Since he had begun to hobble about, he had gradually come to beaccepted by the town in general. They looked upon him as one whoshared Father De Rancé's madness, a tramp who was a hunter of bugs. Itexplained his presence in the Parish House; I fancy it also explainedto some why he had been a tramp!

Folks got used to him, as one does to anything one sees daily. Thepleasant conservative soft-voiced ladies who liked to call on Madameof an afternoon and gossip Christianly, and drink tea and eat Clélie'slittle cakes on our broad shady verandah, only glanced casually at thebent head and shoulders visible through the screened window across thegarden. They said he was very interesting, of course, but painfullyshy and bashful. As for him, he was as horribly afraid of them as theywould have been of him, had they known. I could not always savemyself from the sin of smiling at an ironic situation. 

Judge Mayne had at first eyed the man askance, watching him as his owncats might an interloping stray dog. 

"The fellow's not very prepossessing, " he told me, of an evening whenhe had dined with us, "but I've been on the bench long enough to beskeptical of any fixed good or bad type--I've found that the criminaltype is any type that goes wrong; so I shouldn't go so far as to callthis chap a bad egg. But--I hope you are reasonably sure of him, father?"

"Reasonably, " said I, composedly. 

"Laurence tells me Madame and Mary Virginia _like_ the fellow. H'm!Well, I've acquired a little faith in the intuition of women--somewomen, understand, and some times. And mark you, I didn't say_judgment_. Let us hope that this is one of the times when faith inintuition will be justified. "

Later, when he had had time to examine the work progressing under theflexible fingers of the silent workman, he withdrew with more respect. 

"I suppose he's all right, if you think so, father. But I'd watch outfor him, anyway, " he advised. 

"That is exactly what I intend to do. "

"Rather he fell into your hands than mine. Better for him, " said thejudge, briefly. Then he launched into an intimate talk of Laurence, and in thus talking of the boy's future, forgot my helper. 

That was it, exactly. The man was so unobtrusive without in the leastbeing furtive. Had so little to say; attended so strictly to his ownbusiness, and showed himself so utterly and almost inhumanlyuninterested in anybody else's, that he kept in the background. Hewas there, and people knew it; they were, in a sense, interested inhim, but not curious about him. 

One morning in early autumn--he had been with us then some eight ornine months--I went over to his rooms with a New York newspaper in myhand. It had news that set my heart to pounding sickeningly--news thatat once simplified and yet complicated matters. I hesitated as towhether or not I should tell him, but decided that whatever effectthat news might produce, I would deal with him openly, above board, and always with truth. He must act and judge for himself and with hiseyes open. On my part there should be no concealment. 

The paper stated that the body of a man found floating in the EastRiver had been positively identified by the police as that of SlippyMcGee. That the noted crook had gotten back into New York through thecunning dragnet so carefully spread for him was another proof of hisdaring and dexterity. How he met the dark fate which set him adrift, battered and dreadful, in the East River, was another of thoseunderworld crimes that remain unsolved. Cunning and dangerous, mysterious in his life, baffling all efforts to get at him, he was asevilly mysterious in his death. There was only one thing sure--thatthis dead wretch with the marks of violence upon him was Slippy McGee;and since his breath had ceased, the authorities could breathe easier. 

He read it deliberately; then re-read it, and sat and stared at thepaper. A slow grim smile came to his lips, and he took his chin in hishand, musingly. The eyes narrowed, the face darkened, the jaw thrustitself forward. 

"Dead, huh?" he grunted, and stared about him, with a slow, twistingmovement of the head. "Well--I might just as well be, as buried alivein a jay-dump at the tail-end of all creation!" Once again the Powersof Darkness swooped down and wrestled with and for him; and knowingwhat I knew, sick at heart, I trembled for him. 

"What am _I_ doing here, anyhow?" he snarled with his lips drawn backfrom his teeth. "Piddling with bugs--_Me!_ Patching up their dinkylittle wings and stretching out their dam' little legs and feelers--mebeing what I am, and they being what they are! Say, I've got to quitthis, once for all I've got to quit it. I'm not a _man_ any more. I'ma dead one, a he-granny cutting silo for lady-worms and drynursingtheir interesting little babies. My God! _Me!_" And he threw his handsabove his head with a gesture of rage and despair. 

"Hanging on here like a boob--no wonder they think I'm dead! If Icould just make a getaway and pull off one more good job and landenough--"

"You couldn't keep it, if you did land it--your sort can't. You knowhow it went before--the women and the sharks got it. There'd be alwaysthat same incentive to pull off just one more to keep you going--untilyou'd pulled yourself behind bars, and stayed there. And there's thedrug-danger, too. If you escaped so far, it was because so far you hadthe strength to let drugs alone. But the drugs get you, sooner orlater, do they not? Have you not told me over and over again that'nearly all dips are dopes'? That first the dope gets you--and thenthe law? No. You can't pull off anything that won't pull you intohell. We have gone over this thing often enough, haven't we?"

"No, we haven't. And I haven't had a chance to pull offanything--except leaves for bugs. _Me!_ I want to get my hand in oncemore, I tell you! I want to pull off a stunt that'll make the wholebunch of bulls sit up and bellow for fair--and I can do it, easy aseasy. Think I've croaked, do they? And they can all snooze on theirpeg-posts, now I'm a stiff? Well, by cripes, I just want half of ahalf of a chance, and I'll show 'em Slippy McGee's good and plentyalive!"

"Come out into the garden, my son, and feel that you are good andplenty alive. Come out into the free air. Hold on tight, a littlewhile longer!"

I laid my hand upon his shoulder compellingly, and although he glaredat me, and ground his teeth, and lifted his lip, he came; unwillingly, swearing under his breath, he came. We tramped up and down the gardenpaths, up and down, and back again, his wooden peg making a roundhole, like a hoofmark, in the earth. He stared down at it, spatsavagely upon it, and swore horribly, but not too loudly. 

"I want to feel like a live man!" he gritted. "A live man, not aone-legged mucker with a beard like a Dutch bomb-thrower's, putteringabout a skypilot's backyard on the wrong side of everything!"

"Stick it out a little longer, John Flint; hold fast!"

"Hold fast to what?" he demanded savagely. "To a bug stuck on aneedle?"

"Yes. And to me who trusts you. To Madame who likes you. To the dearchild who put bug and needle into your hand because she knew it wasgood work and trusted your hand to do it. And more than all, to thatother Me you're finding--your own true self, John Flint! Hold fast, hold fast!"

He stopped and stared at me. 

"I'm believing him again!" said he, grievously. "I've been sat onwhile I was hot, and my number's marked on me, 23. I'm hoodooed, that's what!"

Tramp, tramp, stump, stump, up and down, the two of us. 

"All right, devil-dodger, " said he wearily, after a long sullensilence. "I'll stick it out a bit longer, to please you. You've beenwhite--the lot of you. But look here--if I beat it some night . .. Withwhat I can find, why, I'm warning you: don't blame _me_--you'rerunning your risks, and it'll be up to _you_ to explain!"

"When you want to go, John Flint--when you really and truly want togo, why, take anything I have that you may fancy, my son. I give ityou beforehand. "

"I don't want anything given to me beforehand!" he growled. "I want totake what I want to take without anybody's leave!"

"Very well, then; take what you want to take, without anybody's leave!I shall be able to do without it, I dare say. "

He turned upon me furiously:

"Oh, yes, I guess you can! You'd do without eating and breathing too, I suppose, if you could manage it! You do without too blamed muchright now, trying to beat yourself to being a saint! Of course I'dhelp myself and leave you to go without--you're enough to make a manache to shoot some sense into you with a cannon! And for God's sake, _who_ are you pinching and scraping and going without _for_? A bunchof hickey factory-shuckers that haven't got sense enough to talkAmerican, and a lot of mill-hands with beans on 'em like bone buttons!They ain't worth it. While I'm in the humor, take it from me thereain't anybody worth anything anyhow!"

"Oh, Mr. Flint! What a shame and a sin!" called another voice. "Oh, Mr. Flint, I'm ashamed of you!" There in the freedom of the Saturdaymorning sunlight stood Mary Virginia, her red Irish setter Kerrybeside her. 

"I came over, " said she, "to see how the baby-moths are getting onthis morning, and to know if the last hairy gentleman I brought spinsinto a cocoon or buries himself in the ground. And then I heard Mr. Flint--and what he said is unkind, and untrue, and not a bit like him. Why, everybody's worth everything you can do for them--only some areworth more. "

The wild wrath died out of his face. As usual, he softened at sight ofher. 

"Oh, well, miss, I wasn't thinking of the like of you--and him, " hejerked his head at me, half apologetically, "nor young Mayne, nor thelittle Madame. You're different. "

"Why, no, we aren't, really, " said Mary Virginia, puckering her browsadorably. "We only _seem_ to be different--but we are just exactlylike everybody else, only _we_ know it, and some people never can seemto find it out--and there's the difference! You see?" That was thebefuddled manner in which Mary Virginia very often explained things. If God was good to you, you got a little glimmer of what she meant andwas trying to tell you. Mary Virginia often talked as the alchemistsused to write--cryptically, abstrusely, as if to hide the golden truthfrom all but the initiate. 

"Come and shake hands with Mr. Flint, Kerry, " said she to the setter. "I want you to help make him understand things it's high time heshould know. Nobody can do that better than a good dog can. "

Kerry looked a trifle doubtful, but having been told to do a certainthing, he obeyed, as a good dog does. Gravely he sat up and held outan obedient paw, which the man took mechanically. But meeting theclear hazel eyes, he dropped his hand upon the shining head with thegesture of one who desires to become friends. Accepting this, Kerryreached up a nose and nuzzled. Then he wagged his plumy tail. 

"There!" said Mary Virginia, delightedly. "Now, don't you see howhorrid it was to talk the way you talked? Why, Kerry _likes_ you, andKerry is a sensible dog. "

"Yes, miss, " and he looked at Mary Virginia very much as the dog did, trustingly, but a little bewildered. 

"Aren't you sorry you said that?"

"Y-e-s, seeing you seem to think it was wrong. "

"Well, you'll know better from now on, " said Mary Virginia, comfortingly. She looked at him searchingly for a minute, and he mether look without flinching. That had been the one hopeful sign, fromthe first--that he never refused to meet your glance, but gave youback one just as steady, if more suspicious. 

"Mr. Flint, " said Mary Virginia, "you've about made up your mind tostay on here with the Padre, haven't you? For a good long while, atany rate? You wouldn't like to leave the Padre, would you?"

He stiffened. One could see the struggle within him. 

"Well, miss, I can't see but that I've just got to stay on--forawhile. Until he's tired of me and my ways, anyhow, " he said gloomily. 

Mary Virginia dismissed my tiredness with an airy wave of her hand. She smiled. 

"Do you know, " said she earnestly, "I've had the funniest idea aboutyou, from the very first time I saw you? Well, I have. I've somehowgot the notion that you and the Padre _belong_. I think that's why youcame. I think you belong right here, in that darling little house, studying butterflies and mounting them so beautifully they look alive. I think you're never going to go away anywhere any more, but thatyou're going to stay right here as long as you live!"

His face turned an ugly white, and his mouth fell open. He looked atMary Virginia almost with horror--Saul might have looked thus at theWitch of Endor when she summoned the shade of Samuel to tell him thatthe kingdom had been rent from his hand and his fate was upon him. 

Mary Virginia nodded, thoughtfully. 

"I feel so sure of it, " said she, confidently, "that I'm going to askyou to do me a favor. I want you to take care of Kerry for me. Youknow I'm going away to school next week, and--he can't stay at homewhen I'm not there. My father's away frequently, and he couldn't takeKerry about with him, of course. And he couldn't be left with theservants--somehow he doesn't like the colored people. He always growlsat them, and they're afraid of him. And my mother dislikes dogsintensely--she's afraid of them, except those horrible littletoy-things that aren't _dogs_ any more. " The scorn of the realdog-lover was in her voice. "Kerry's used to the Parish House. Heloves the Padre, he'll soon love you, and he likes to play withPitache, so Madame wouldn't mind his being here. And--I'd be moresatisfied in my mind if he were with somebody that--that neededhim--and would like him a whole lot--somebody like you, " she finished. 

Now, Mary Virginia regarded Kerry even as the apple of her eye. Thedog was a noble and beautiful specimen of his race, thoroughbred tothe bone, a fine field dog, and the pride of the child's heart. He waswhat only that most delightful of dogs, a thoroughbred Irish setter, can be. John Flint gasped. Something perplexed, incredulous, painful, dazzled, crept into his face and looked out of his eyes. 

"_Me_?" he gasped. "You mean you're willing to let me keep your dogfor you? Yours?"

"I want to _give_ him to you, " said Mary Virginia bravely enough, though her voice trembled. "I am perfectly sure you'll lovehim--better than any one else in the world would, except me myself. Idon't know why I know that, but I do know it. If you wanted to goaway, later on, why, you could turn him over to the Padre, because ofcourse you wouldn't want to have a dog following you about everywhere. They're a lot of bother. But--somehow, I think you'll keep him. Ithink you'll love him. He--he's a darling dog. " She was too proud toturn her head aside, but two large tears rolled down her cheeks, likedew upon a rose. 

John Flint stood stock-still, looking from her to the dog, and backagain. Kerry, sensing that something was wrong with his littlemistress, pawed her skirts and whined. 

"Now I come to think of it, " said John Flint slowly, "I never hadanything--anything alive, I mean--belong to me before. "

Mary Virginia glanced up at him shrewdly, and smiled through hertears. Her smile makes a funny delicious red V of her lower lip, andis altogether adorable and seductive. 

"That's just exactly why you thought nobody was worth anything, " shesaid. Then she bent over her dog and kissed him between his beautifulhazel eyes. 

"Kerry, dear, " said she, "Kerry, dear Kerry, you don't belong to meany more. I--I've got to go away to school--and you know you wouldn'tbe happy at home without me. You belong to Mr. Flint now, and I'm surehe needs you, and I know he'll love you almost as much as I do, andhe'll be very, very good to you. So you're to stay with him, and--stand by him and be his dog, like you were mine. You'll remember, Kerry? Good-by, my dear, dear, darling dog!" She kissed him again, patted him, and thrust his collar into his new owner's hand. 

"Go--good-by, everybody!" said she, in a muffled voice, and ran. Ithink she would have cried childishly in another moment; and she wastrying hard to remember that she was growing up!

John Flint stood staring after her, his hand on the dog's collar, holding him in. His face was still without a vestige of color, and hiseyes glittered. Then his other hand crept out to touch the dog'shead. 

"It's wet--where she dropped tears on it! Parson . .. She's given meher dog . .. That she loves enough to cry over!"

"He's a very fine dog, and she has had him and loved him from hispuppyhood, " I reminded him. And I added, with a wily tongue: "You canalways turn him over to me, you know--if you decide to take to theroad and wish to get rid of a troublesome companion. A dog is badcompany for a man who wishes to dodge the police. "

But he only shook his head. His eyes were troubled, and his foreheadwrinkled. 

"Parson, " said he, hesitatingly, "did you ever feel like you'd beencaught by--by Something reaching down out of the dark? Something bigthat you couldn't see and couldn't ever hope to get away from, becauseit's always on the job? Ain't it a hell of a feeling?"

"Yes, " I agreed. "I've felt--caught by that Something, too. And it isat first a terrifying sensation. Until--you learn to be glad. "

"You're caught--and you know under your hat you're never going to beable to get away any more. It'll hold you till you die!" said he, alittle wildly. "My God! I'm caught! First It bit off a leg on me, so Icouldn't run. Then It wished you and your bugs on me. And now--Yes, sir; I'm done for. That kid got my goat this morning. My God, who'dbelieve it? But it's true: I'm done for. She gave me her dog and shegot my goat!"

CHAPTER VI

"THY SERVANT WILL GO AND FIGHT WITH THIS PHILISTINE" 1 Sam. 17: 32. 

Mary Virginia had gone, weeping and bewept, and the spirit of youthseemed to have gone with her, leaving the Parish House darkenedbecause of its absence. A sorrowful quiet brooded over the garden thatno longer echoed a caroling voice. Kerry, seeking vainly for thelittle mistress, would come whining back to John Flint, and look upmutely into his face; and finding no promise there, lie down, whimpering, at his feet. The man seemed as desolate as the dog, because of the child's departure. 

"When I come back, " Mary Virginia said to him at parting, "I expectyou'll know more about moths and butterflies than anybody else in theworld does. You're that sort. I'd love to be here, watching you growup into it, but I've got to go away and grow up into something myself. I'm very glad you came here, Mr. Flint. You've helped me, lots. "

"Me?" with husky astonishment. 

"You, of course, " said the child, serenely. "Because you are such agood man, Mr. Flint, and so patient, and you stick at what you try todo until you do it better than anybody else does. Often and often whenI've been trying to do sums--I'm frightfully stupid aboutarithmetic--and I wanted to give up, I'd think of you over here justtrying and trying and keeping right on trying, until you'd gotten whatyou wanted to know; and then _I'd_ keep on trying, too. The funny partis, that I like you for making me do it. You see, I'm a very, very badperson in some things, Mr. Flint, " she said frankly. "Why, when mymother has to tell me to look at so and so, and see how well theybehave, or how nicely they can do certain things, and how good theyare, and why don't I profit by such a good example, a perfectly horridraging sort of feeling comes all over me, and I want to be as naughtyas naughty! I feel like doing and saying things I'd never want to door say, if it wasn't for that good example. I just can't seem to_bear_ being good-exampled. But you're different, thank goodness. Mostreally good people are different, I guess. "

He looked at her, dumbly--he had no words at his command. She missedthe irony and the tragedy, but she sensed the depths of feeling underthat mute exterior. 

"I'm glad you're sorry I'm going away, " said she, with the directnessthat was so engaging. "I perfectly love people to feel sorry to partwith me. I hope and _hope_ they'll keep on being sorry--becausethey'll be that much gladder when I come back. I don't believe there'sanything quite so wonderful and beautiful as having other folks likeyou, except it's liking other folks yourself!"

"I never had to be bothered about it, either way, " said he dryly. Hisface twitched. 

"Maybe that's because you never stayed still long enough in any oneplace to catch hold, " said she, and laughed at him. 

"Good-by, Mr. Flint! I'll never see a butterfly or a moth, the wholetime I'm gone, without making believe he's a messenger from Madame, and the Padre, and you, and Kerry. I'll play he's a carrier-butterfly, with a message tucked away under his wings: 'Howdy, Mary Virginia!I've just come from flying over the flowers in the Parish Housegarden; and the folks are all well, and busy, and happy. But theyhaven't forgotten you for a single solitary minute, and they miss youand wish you'd come back; and they send you their dear, dear love--andI'll carry your dear, dear love back to them!' So if you see a big, big, beautiful, strange fellow come sailing by your window somemorning, why, that's mine, Mr. Flint! Remember!"

And then she was gone, and he had his first taste of unselfish humansorrow. Heretofore his worries had been purely personal andself-centered: this was different, and innocent. It shocked andterrified him to find out how intensely he could miss another being, and that being a mere child. He wasn't used to that sort of pain, andit bewildered him. 

Eustis himself had wanted the little girl sent to a preparatory schoolwhich would fit her for one of the women's colleges. He had visions ofthe forward sweep of women--visions which his wife didn't share. Herdaughter should go to the Church School at which she herself had beeneducated, an exclusive and expensive institution where the daughtersof the wealthy were given a finishing hand-polish with ecclesiasticalemery, as a sort of social hall-mark. Mrs. Eustis had a horror of whatshe called, in quotation-marks, the modern non-religious method ofeducating young ladies. 

The Eustis house was closed, and left in charge of the negrocaretakers, for Mrs. Eustis couldn't stand the loneliness of the placeafter the child's departure, and Eustis himself found his presencemore and more necessary at the great plantation he was building up. Mrs. Eustis left Appleboro, and my mother missed her. There was a veinof pure gold underlying the placid little woman's character, which thestronger woman divined and built upon. 

Laurence, too, entered college that Fall. I had coached him, in suchhours as I could spare. He was conscientious enough, though his Greekwas not the Greek of Homer and he vexed the soul of my mother with aFrench she said was spoke

 full fair and fetisly After ye schole of Strattford atte Bowe. 

But if he hadn't Mary Virginia's sensitiveness to all beauty, nor herplayful fancy and vivid imagination, he was clear-brained andclean-thinking, with that large perspective and that practicaloptimism which seem to me so essentially American. He saw withoutconfusion both the thing as it was and as it could become. With onlyenough humor to save him, he had a sternness more of the puritan thanof the cavalier blood from which he had sprung. Above all was heinformed with that new spirit brooding upon the face of all thewaters, a spirit that for want of a better name one might call theRace Conscience. 

It was this last aspect of the boy's character that amazed andinterested John Flint, who was himself too shrewd not to divine thesincerity, even the commonsense, of what Laurence called "appliedChristianity. " Altruism--and Slippy McGee! He listened with a puzzledwonder. 

"I wish, " he grumbled to Laurence, "that you'd come off the roof. Itgives a fellow stiff neck rubbering up at you!"

"I'd rather stay up--the air's better, and you can see so muchfarther, " said Laurence. And he added hospitably: "There's plenty ofroom--come on up, yourself!"

"With one leg?" sarcastically. 

"And two eyes, " said the boy. "Come on up--the sky's fine!" And helaughed into the half-suspicious face. 

The gimlet eyes bored into him, and the frank and truthful eyes metthem unabashed, unwavering, with a something in them which made theother blink. 

"When I got pitched into this burg, " said the lame man thoughtfully, "I landed all there--except a leg, but I never carried my brains in mylegs. I hadn't got any bats in my belfry. But I'm getting 'em. I'mgetting 'em so bad that when I hear some folks talk bughouse thesedays it pretty near listens like good sense to me. Why, kid, I'm nutenough now to dangle over the edge of believing you know what you'retalking about!"

"Fall over: I _know_ I know what I'm talking about, " said Laurencemagnificently. 

"I'm double-crossed, " said John Flint, soberly and sadly, "Anyway Ilook at it--" he swept the horizon with a wide-flung gesture, "it'sbugs for mine. I began by grannying bugs for _him_, " he tossed hishead bull-like in my direction, "and I stand around swallowing hotair from _you_--" He glared at Laurence, "and what's the result? Why, that I've got bugs in the bean, that's what! Think of me licking anall-day sucker a kid dopes out! _Me!_ Oh, he--venly saints!" hegulped. "Ain't I the nut, though?"

"Well, supposing?" said Laurence, laughing. "Buck up! You _could_ be abad egg instead of a good nut, you know!"

John Flint's eyes slitted, then widened; his mouth followed suitalmost automatically. He looked at me. 

"Can you beat it?" he wondered. 

"Beating a bad egg would be a waste of time I wouldn't be guilty of, "said I amusedly. "But I hope to live to see the good nut grow into afine tree. "

"Do your damnedest--excuse me, parson!" said he contritely. "I mean, don't stop for a little thing like _me_!"

Laurence leaned forward. "Man, " said he, impressively, "he won't haveto! You'll be marking time and keeping step with him yourself beforeyou know it!"

"Huh!" said John Flint, non-committally. 

Laurence came to spend his last evening at home with us. 

"Padre, " said he, when we walked up and down in the garden, after anold custom, after dinner, "do you really know what I mean to do whenI've finished college and start out on my own hook?"

"Put 'Mayne & Son' on the judge's shingle and walk around the blockforty times a day to look at it!" said I, promptly. 

"Of course, " said he. "That first. But a legal shingle can be turnedinto as handy a weapon as one could wish for, Padre, and _I'm_ goingto take that shingle and spank this sleepy-headed old town wide awakewith it!" He spoke with the conviction of youth, so sure of itselfthat there is no room for doubt. There was in him, too, a hint oflatent power which was impressive. One did not laugh at Laurence. 

"It's my town, " with his chin out. "It could be a mighty good town. It's going to become one. I expect to live all my life right here, among my own people, and they've got to make it worth my while. Idon't propose to cut myself down to fit any little hole: I intend tomake that hole big enough to fit my possible measure. "

"May an old friend wish more power to your shovel?"

"It'll be a steam shovel!" said he, gaily. Then his face clouded. 

"Padre! I'm sick of the way things are run in Appleboro! I've talkedwith other boys and they're sick of it, too. You know why they want toget away? Because they think they haven't got even a fighting chancehere. Because towns like this are like billion-ton old wagons sunk sodeep in mudruts that nothing but dynamite can blow them out--and theyare not dealers in dynamite. If they want to do anything that even_looks_ new they've got to fight the stand-patters to a finish, andthey're blockaded by a lot of reactionaries that don't know theearth's moving. There are a lot of folks in the South, Padre, who'vebeen dead since the civil war, and haven't found it out themselves, and won't take live people's word for it. Well, now, I mean to _do_things. I mean to do them right here. And I certainly shan't allowmyself to be blockaded by anybody, living or dead. You've got to fightthe devil with fire;--I'm going to blockade those blockaders, and seethat the dead ones are decently buried. "

"You have tackled a big job, my son. "

"I like big jobs, Padre. They're worth while. Maybe I'll be able tokeep some of the boys home--the town needs them. Maybe I can keep someof those poor kids out of the mills, too. Oh, yes, I expect a rightlively time!"

I was silent. I knew how supinely Appleboro lay in the hollow of ahard hand. I had learned, too, how such a hand can close into astrangling fist. 

"Of course I can't clean up the whole state, and I can't reorganizethe world, " said the boy sturdily. "I'm not such a fool as to try. ButI can do my level best to disinfect my own particular corner, and makeit fit for men and safe for women and kids to live and breathe in. Padre, for years there hasn't been a rotten deal nor a brazen steal inthis state that the man who practically owns and runs this town hadn'ta finger in, knuckle-deep. _He's got to go_. "

"Goliath doesn't always fall at the hand of the son of Jesse, mylittle David, " said I quietly. I also had dreamed dreams and seenvisions. 

"That's about what my father says, " said the boy. "He wants me to be asuccessful man, a 'safe and sane citizen. ' He thinks a gentlemanshould practise his profession decently and in order. But to believe, as I do, that you can wipe out corruption, that you can tackle povertythe same as you would any other disease, and prevent it, as smallpoxand yellow fever are prevented, he looks upon as madness and a wasteof time. "

"He has had sorrow and experience, and he is kind and charitable, aswell as wise, " said I. 

"That's exactly where the hardest part comes in for us youngerfellows. It isn't bucking the bad that makes the fight so hard: it'sbucking the wrong-idea'd good. Padre, one good man on the wrong sideis a stumbling-block for the stoutest-hearted reformer ever born. It'smen like my father, who regard the smooth scoundrel that runs thistown as a necessary evil, and tolerate him because they wouldn't soiltheir hands dealing with him, that do the greatest injury to thestate. I tell you what, it wouldn't be so hard to get rid of thedevil, if it weren't for the angels!"

"And how, " said I, ironically, "do you propose to set about smoothingthe rough and making straight the crooked, my son?"

"Flatten 'em out, " said he, briefly. "Politics. First off I'm going topractice general law; then I'll be solicitor-general for this county. After that, I shall be attorney-general for the state. Later I may begovernor, unless I become senator instead. "

"Well, " said I, cautiously, "you'll be so toned down by that time thatyou might make a very good governor indeed. "

"I couldn't very well make a worse one than some we've already had, "said the boy sternly. There was something of the accusing dignity of ayoung archangel about him. I caught a glimpse of that newer Americagrowing up about us--an America gone back to the older, truer, unbuyable ideals of our fathers. 

"I guess you'd better tell me good-by now, Padre, " said he, presently. "And bless me, please--it's a pretty custom. I won't see you again, for you'll be saying mass when I'm running for my train. I'll go tellJohn Flint good-by, too. "

He went over and rapped on the window, through which we could seeFlint sitting at his table, his head bent over a book. 

"Good-by, John Flint" said Laurence. "Good luck to you and your leggyfriends! When I come back you'll probably have mandibles, and you'llgreet me with a nip, in pure Bugese. "

"Good-by, " said John Flint, lifting his head. Then, with unwontedfeeling: "I'm horrible sorry you've got to go--I'll miss you somethingfierce. You've been very kind--thank you. "

"Mind you take care of the Padre, " said the boy, waiving the thankswith a smile. "Don't let him work too hard. "

"Who, me?" Flint's voice took the knife-edge of sarcasm. "Oh, sure! Itdon't need but one leg to keep up with a gent trying to run athirty-six hour a day job with one-man power, does it? Son, take itfrom me, when a man's got the real, simonpure, no-imitation, soulsaving bug in his bean, a forty-legged cyclone couldn't keep upwith him, much less a guy with one pedal short. " He glared at meindignantly. From the first it has been one of his vainest notionsthat I am perversely working myself to death. 

"There's nothing to be done with the Padre, then, I'm afraid, " saidLaurence, chuckling. 

"I _might_ soak him in the cyanide jar for ten minutes a day withoutkilling him, " mused Mr. Flint. "But, " disgustedly, "what'd be the use?When he came to and found he'd been that long idle he'd die ofheart-failure. " He pushed aside the window screen, and the two shookhands heartily. Then the boy, wringing my hand again, walked awaywithout another word. I felt a bit desolate--there are times when Icould envy women their solace of tears--as if he figured in hishandsome young person that newer, stronger, more conquering generationwhich was marching ahead, leaving me, older and slower and sadder, far, far behind it. Ah! To be once more that young, that strong, thathopeful!

When I began to reflect upon what seemed visionary plans, I wassaddened, foreseeing inevitable disillusion, perhaps even starkfailure, ahead of him. That he would stubbornly try to carry out thoseplans I did not doubt: I knew my Laurence. He might accomplish acertain amount of good. But to overthrow Inglesby, the Boss ofAppleboro--for he meant no less than this--why, that was a horse ofanother color!

For Inglesby was our one great financial figure. He owned our bank;his was the controlling interest in the mills; he owned the factoryoutright; he was president of half a dozen corporations and chairmanand director of many more. 

Did we have a celebration? There he was, in the center of the stage, with a jovial loud laugh and an ultra-benevolent smile to hide themenace of his little cold piglike eyes, and the meaning of his heavyjaw. Will the statement that he had a pew in every church in townexplain him? He had one in mine, too; paid for, which many of them arenot. 

At the large bare office in the mill he was easy of access, and wouldlisten to what you had to say with flattering attention and sympathy. But it was in his private office over the bank that this large spiderreally spun the web of our politics. Mills, banks, churches, schools, lights, railroads, stores, heating, water-power--all these juicy fliesapparently walked into his parlor of their own accord. He had made andunmade governors; he had sent his men to Washington. How? Wesuspected; but held our peace. If our Bible had bidden us Americans tosuffer rascals gladly--instead of mere fools--we couldn't be moreobedient to a mandate. 

Men like James Eustis and Judge Mayne despised Inglesby--but gave hima wide berth. They wouldn't be enmeshed. It was known that MajorAppleby Cartwright had blackballed him. 

"I can stand a man, suh, that likes to get along in this world--withinproper bounds. But Inglesby hasn't got any proper bounds. He's a--across between a Republican mule and a party-bolting boa-constrictor, an' a hybrid like that hasn't got any place in nature. On top of thathe drinks ten cents a bottle grape juice and smokes five cent cigars. And he's got the brazen and offensive effrontery to offer 'em toself-respectin' men!"

And here was Laurence, our little Laurence, training himself tooverthrow this overgrown Goliath! Well, if the boy could not bringthis Philistine to the earth, he might yet manage to give him a fewmanful clumps on the head; perhaps enough to insure a chronicheadache. 

So thinking, I went in and watched John Flint finish a mounting-blockfrom a plan in the book open upon the table, adding, however, certainimprovements of his own. 

He laid the block aside and then took a spray of fresh leaves and fedit to a horned and hungry caterpillar prowling on a bit of bare stemat the bottom of his cage. 

"Get up there on those leaves, you horn-tailed horror! Move on, --youlepidopterous son of a wigglejoint, or I'll pull your real name on youin a minute and paralyze you stiff!" He drew a long breath. "You knowhow I'm beginning to remember their real names? I swear 'em half anhour a day. Next time you have trouble with those hickeys of yours, try swearing caterpillar at 'em, and you'll find out. "

I laughed, and he grinned with me. 

"Say, " said he, abruptly. "I've been listening with both my ears towhat that boy was talking to you about awhile ago. Thinks he can buckthe Boss, does he?"

"Perhaps he may, " I admitted. 

"Nifty old bird, the Big Un, " said Mr. Flint, squinting his eyes. "And, " he went on, reflectively, "he's sure got your number in thisburg. Take you by and large, you lawabiders are a real funny sort, ain't you? Now, there's Inglesby, handing out the little kids theirdiplomas come school-closing, and telling 'em to be real good, andmaybe when they grow up he'll have a job in pickle for 'em--work likea mule in a treadmill, twelve hours, no unions, _and_ the coroner tosit on the remains, free and gratis, for to ease the widow's mind. Inglesby's got seats in all your churches--first-aid to the parson'spants-pockets. 

"Inglesby's right there on the platform at all your spiel-fests, smirking at the women and telling 'em not to bother their nice littlenoddles about anything but holding down their natural jobs of beingperfect ladies--ain't he and other gents just like him always rightthere holding down _their_ natural jobs of protecting 'em and beinginfluenced to do what's right? Sure he is! And nobody howls for thehook! You let him be It--him with a fist in the state's jeans up tothe armpit!

"Look here, that Mayne kid's dead right. It's you good guys that areto blame. We little bad ones see you kowtowing to the big worse ones, and we get to thinking _we_ can come in under the wires easy winners, too. However, let me tell you something while I'm in the humor to gas. It's this: _sooner or later everybody gets theirs_. My sort andInglesby's sort, we all get ours. Duck and twist and turn and sidestepall we want, at the end it's right there waiting for us, with a loadedbilly up its sleeve: _Ours!_ Some fine day when we're looking theother way, thinking we've even got it on the annual turnout of thecops up Broadway for class, why, Ours gets up easy on its hind legs, spits on its mitt, and hands us exactly what's coming to us, biff! andwe wake up sitting on our necks in the middle of day-before-yesterdayand year-after-next. I got mine. If I was you I wouldn't be toocock-sure that kid don't give Inglesby his, some of these days, goodand plenty. "

"Maybe so, " said I, cautiously. 

"Gee, that'd be fly-time for all the good guys in this tank, wouldn'tit?" he grinned. "Sure! I can see 'em now, patting the bump on theirbeams where they think the brain-patch sprouts, and handing out hunksof con to the Lord about his being right on his old-time job ofswatting sinners in their dinners. Yet they'll all of them go right onleading themselves up to be trimmed by the very next holdup that's gotthe nerve to do them! Friend, believe a goat when he tells you thatyou stillwater-and-greenpasture sheep are some bag of nuts!"

"Thank you, " said I, with due meekness. 

"Keep the change, " said he, unabashed. "I wasn't meaning _you_, anyhow. I've got more manners, I hope, than to do such. And, parson, you don't need to have cold feet about young Mayne. If you ask me, _I'd_ bet the limit on him. Why, I think so much of that boy that ifhe was a rooster I'd put the gaffs and my last dollar on him, and backhim to whip everything in feathers clean up to baldheaded eagles. Believe me, he'd do it!" he finished, with enthusiasm. 

Bewildered by a mental picture of a Laurence with ruffledneck-feathers and steel spurs, I hurriedly changed the subject to thesaner and safer one of our own immediate affairs. 

"Yep, ten orders in to-day's mail and seven in yesterday's; and goodorders for the wasp-moths, single or together, and that house in NewYork wants steady supplies from now on. And here's a fancy shop wantsa dozen trays, like that last one I finished. We're looking up, " saidhe, complacently. 

The winter that followed was a trying one, and the Guest Rooms werenever empty. I like to record that John Flint put his shoulder to thewheel and became Madame's right hand man and Westmoreland's faithfulally. His wooden leg made astonishingly little noise, and his entranceinto a room never startled the most nervous patient. He went oninnumerable errands, and he performed countless small services that inthemselves do not seem to amount to much, but swell into a greattotal. 

"He may have only one leg, " said Westmoreland, when Flint had helpedhim all of one night with a desperately ill millworker, "but hecertainly has two hands; he knows how to use his ears and eyes, he'sdumb until he ought to speak, and then he speaks to the point. Father, Something knew what It was about when you and I were allowed to dragthat tramp out of the teeth of death! Yes, yes, I'm certainly glad andgrateful we were allowed to save John Flint. "

From that time forth the big man gave his ex-patient a liking whichgrew with his years. Absent-minded as he was, he could thereafteralways remember to find such things as he thought might interest him. Appleboro laughs yet about the day Dr. Westmoreland got some smallbutterflies for his friend, and having nowhere else to put them, clapped them under his hat, and then forgot all about them; until helifted his hat to some ladies and the swarm of insects flew out. 

Without being asked, and as unostentatiously as he did everythingelse, Flint had taken his place in church every Sunday. 

"Because it'd sort of give you a black eye if I didn't, " he explained. "Skypiloting's your lay, father, and I'll see you through with it asfar as I can. I couldn't fall down on any man that's been as white tome as you've been. "

I must confess that his conception of religion was very, very hazy, and his notions of church services and customs barbarous. Forinstance, he disliked the statues of the saints exceedingly. Theyworried him. 

"I can't seem to stand a man dolled-up in skirts, " he confessed. "Anymore than I'd be stuck on a dame with whiskers. It don't somehow lookright to me. Put the he-saints in pants instead of those brown kimonaswith gold crocheting and a rope sash, and I'd have more respect for'em. "

When I tried to give him some necessary instructions, and to penetratethe heathen darkness in which he seemed immersed, he listened with theutmost respect and attention--and wrinkled his brow painfully, andblinked, and licked his lips. 

"That's all right, father, that's all right. If you say it's so, Iguess it's so. I'll take your word for it. If it's good enough for youand Madame, there's got to be something in it, and it's sure goodenough for me. Look here: the little girl and young Mayne have got adifferent brand from yours, haven't they?"

"Neither of them is of the Old Faith. "

"Huh! Well, I tell you what you do: you just switch me in somewherebetween you and Madame and him and her. That'll give me a line on allof you--and maybe it'll give all of you a line on me. See?"

I saw, but as through a glass darkly. So the matter rested. And I mustin all humility set down that I have never yet been able to get atwhat John Flint really believes he believes. 

CHAPTER VII

THE GOING OF SLIPPY MCGEE

Little by little, so quietly as to be unnoticeable in the working, butwith, cumulative effect; built under the surface like those coralreefs that finally rear themselves into palm-crowned peaks upon thePacific, during the years' slow upward march had John Flint grown. 

Nature had never meant him for a criminal. The evil conditions thatsociety saddles upon the slums had set him wrong because they gave himno opportunity to be right. Now even among butterflies there areoccasional aberrants, but they are the rare exceptions. Give the grubhis natural food, his chance to grow, protect him from parasites inthe meanwhile, and he will presently become the normal butterfly. Thatis the Law. 

At a crucial phase in this man's career his true talisman--a graymoth--had been put into his hand; and thereby he came into hisrightful heritage. 

I count as one of my red-letter days that on which I found himbrooding over the little gray-brown chrysalis of the PapilioCresphontes, that splendid swallowtail whose hideous caterpillar we inthe South call the orange puppy, from the fancied resemblance the humpupon it bears to the head of a young dog. Its chrysalis looks so muchlike a bit of snapped-off twig that the casual eye misses it, fastened to a stem by a girdle of silk or lying among fallen leaves. 

"I watched it ooze out of an egg like a speck of dirty water. Iwatched it eat a thousand times its own weight and grow into thenastiest wretch that crawls. I saw it stop eating and spit its stomachout and shrivel up, and crawl out of its skin and pull its own headoff, and bury itself alive in a coffin made out of itself, a coffinlike a bit of rotting wood. Look at it! There it lies, stone-dead forall a man's eyes can see!

"And yet this thing will answer a call no ears can hear and crawl outof its coffin something entirely different from what went into it!I've seen it with my own eyes, but how it's done I don't know; no, norno man since the world was made knows, or could do it himself. Whatdoes it? What gives that call these dead-alive things hear in thedark? What makes a crawling ugliness get itself ready for what'scoming--how does it _know_ there's ever going to be a call, or thatit'll hear it without fail?"

"Some of us call it Nature: but others call it God, " said I. 

"Search me! I don't know what It is--but I do know there's got to beSomething behind these things, anyhow, " said he, and turned thechrysalis over and over in his palm, staring down at it thoughtfully. He had used Westmoreland's words, once applied to his own case! "Oh, yes, there's Something, because I've watched It working with grubs, getting 'em ready for five-inch moths and hand-colored butterflies, Something that's got the time and the patience and the know-how tobuild wings as well as worlds. " He laid the little inanimate mysteryaside. 

"It's come to the point, parson, where I've just _got_ to know more. Iknow enough now to know how much I don't know, because I've got a peepat how much there is to know. There's a God's plenty to find out, andit's up to me to go out and find it. "

"Some of the best and brightest among men have given all the years oftheir lives to just that finding out and knowing more--and they foundtheir years too few and short for the work. But such help as you needand we can get, you shall have, please God!" said I. 

"I'm ready for the word to start, chief. " And heaven knows he was. 

His passion transformed him; he forgot himself; took his mind offhimself and his affairs and grievances and hatreds and fears; and thushad chance to expand and to grow, in those following years ofpatientest effort, of untiring research and observance, of lovingeststudy. Days in the open woods and fields burned his pale skin a goodmahogany, and stamped upon it the windswept freshness of out of doors. The hunted and suspicious glance faded from his eyes, which took onmore and more the student's absorbed intensity; the mouth lost itssinister straightness; and while it retained an uncompromisingfirmness, it learned how to smile. He was a familiar figure, trampingfrom dawn to dusk with Kerry at his heels, for the dog obeyed MaryVirginia's command literally. He looked upon John Flint as his specialcharge, and made himself his fourlegged red shadow. I am sure that ifwe had seen Kerry appear in the streets of Appleboro without JohnFlint, we would have incontinently stopped work, sounded a generalalarm, and gone to hunt for his body. And to have seen John Flintwithout Kerry would have called forth condolences. 

Sometimes--when I had time--I went with him moth-hunting at night; andnever, never could either of us forget those enchanted hours under thestars!

We moved in a quiet fresh and dewy, with the night wind upon us like abenediction. Sometimes we skirted a cypress swamp and saw the shallowblack water with blacker trees reflected upon its bosom, and heard thefrogs' canorous quarrelings, and the stealthy rustlings of creaturesof the dark. We crossed dreaming fields, and smelt leaves and grassesand sleeping flowers. We saw the heart of the wood bared to the magicof the moon, which revealed a hidden and haunting beauty of placescommonplace enough by day; as if the secret souls of things showedthemselves only in the holy dark. 

For the world into which we stepped for a space was not our world, butthe fairy world of the Little People, the world of the Children of theMoon. And oh, the moths! Now it was a tiger, with his body banded withyellow and his white opaque delicate wings spotted with black; now thegreat green silken Luna with long curved tails bordered with lilac orgold, and vest of ermine; now some quivering Catocala, with afterwingsspread to show orange and black and crimson; now the golden-brown Io, with one great black velvet spot; and now some rarer, shyer fellowover which we gloated. 

How they flashed and fluttered about the lantern, or circled about thetrees upon which the feast had been spread! The big yellow-bandedsphinx whirred hither and thither on his owl-like wings, his largeeyes glowing like rubies, hung quivering above some flower for amoment, and then was off again as swift as thought. The light drew thegreat Regalis, all burnished tawny brown, striped and spotted with rawgold; and the Cynthia, banded with lilac, her heavy body tufted withwhite. The darkness in which they moved, the light which, for a momentrevealed them, seemed to make their colors _alive_; for they show nosuch glow and glory in the common day; they pale when the moon pales, and when the sun is up they are merely moths; they are no longer thefantastic, glittering, gorgeous, throbbing Children of the Dark. 

Home we would go, at an hour when the morning star blazed like alighted torch, and the pearl-gray sky was flushing with pink. No haulhe had ever made could have given him such joy as the treasuresbrought home in dawns like these, so free of evil that his heart waswashed in the night dew and swept by the night wind. 

My mother, after her pleasant, housewifely fashion, baked a big icedcake for him on the day he replaced his clumsy wooden peg with thelife-like artificial limb he himself had earned and paid for. I hadwished more than once to hasten this desirable day; but prudentlyrestrained myself, thinking it best for him to work forward unaided. It had taken months of patient work, of frugality, and planning, andcounting, and saving, to cover a sum which, once on a time, he mighthave gotten in an hour's evil effort. And it represented no smallachievement and marked no small advance, so that it was really thefeast day we made of it. That limb restored him to a dignity he seemedto have abdicated. It hid his obvious misfortune--you could not atfirst glance tell that he was a cripple, a something of which he hadbeen morbidly conscious and savagely resentful. He would never againbe able to run, or even to walk rapidly for any length of time, although he covered the ground at a good and steady gait; and as hegrew more and more accustomed to the limb there was only a slight limpto distinguish him. The use of the stick he thought best to carrybecame perfunctory. I have seen Kerry carrying that stick when hismaster had forgotten all about it. 

Meeting him now upon the streets, plainly but really well-dressed, scrupulously brushed, his linen immaculate, and with his trimmed redbeard, his eyeglasses, and his soft hat, he conveyed the impression ofbeing a professional man--say a pleasantly homely and scholarlycollege professor. There was a fixed sentiment in Appleboro that Iknew very much more about Mr. Flint's past than I would tell--whichwas perfectly true, and went undenied by me; that he had seen betterdays; that he had been the black sheep of a good family, gotten into ascrape of some sort, and had then taken to traveling a rough road intoa far country, eating husks with the swine, like many anotherprodigal; and that aware of this I had kept him with me until he foundhimself again. 

So when folks met him and Kerry they smiled and spoke, for we arefriendly people and send no man to Coventry without great cause. Andthere wasn't a child, black or white, who didn't know and like theman with the butterfly net. 

The country people for miles around knew and loved him, too; for hewalked up and down the earth and went to and fro in it, full ofcurious and valuable knowledge shared freely as the need arose. Hewould glance at your flower-garden, for instance, and tell you whatinsect visitors your flowers had, and what you should do to checktheir ravages. He'd walk about your out-buildings and commendwhite-wash, and talk about insecticides; and you'd learn that bees arepartial to blue, but flies are not; and that mosquitoes seem todislike certain shades of yellow. And then he'd leave you to digestit. 

He was a quiet evangelist, a forerunner of that Grand Army which willsome day arise, not to murder and maim men, but to conquer man'sdeadliest foe and greatest economic menace--the injurious insect. 

It was he who spread the tidings of Corn and Poultry and Live StockClubs, stopping by many a lonely farm to whisper a word in the ears ofdiscouraged boys, or to drop a hint to unenlightened fathers andmothers. 

He carried about in his pockets those invaluable reports and bulletinswhich the government issues for the benefit and enlightenment offarmers; and these were left, with a word of praise, where they woulddo the most good. 

Those same bulletins from the Bureau of Entomology had planted in JohnFlint's heart the seed which bore such fruit of good citizenship. Thewhole course of his early years had tended to make him suspicious ofgovernment, which spelt for him police and prison, the whole grimmachinery which threatened him and which he in turn threatened. He hadfeared and hated it; it caught men and shut them up and broke them. Ifhe ever asked himself, "What can my government do for me?" he had toanswer: "It can put me in prison and keep me there; it can even send meto the Chair. " Wherefore government was a thing to hate, to injure--andto escape from. 

The first thing he had ever found worthy of respect and admiration inthis same government was one of its bulletins. 

"Where'd you get this?"

"I asked for it, and the Bureau sent it. "

"Oh! You've got a friend there!"

"No. The bulletins are free to any one interested enough to ask forthem. "

"You mean to say the government gets up things like this--pays men tofind out and write 'em up--pays to have 'em printed--and then gives'em away to _anybody_? Why, they're valuable!"

"Yes; but they are nevertheless quite free. I have a number, if you'dlike to go over them. Or you can send for new ones. "

"But why do they do it? Where's the graft?" he wondered. 

"The graft in this case is common sense in operation. If farms can berun with less labor and loss and more profit and pleasure, why, thewhole country is benefited, isn't it? Don't you understand, thegovernment is trying to help those who need help, and therefore iswilling to lend them the brains of its trained and picked experts? Itisn't selfish thwart that aim, is it?"

He said nothing. But he read and re-read the bulletins I had, and sentfor more, which came to him promptly. They didn't know him, at theBureau; they asked him no questions; he wasn't going to pay anybody somuch as a penny. They assumed that the man who asked for advice andinformation was entitled to all they could reasonably give him, andthey gave it as a matter of course. That is how and why he foundhimself in touch with his Uncle Sam, a source hitherto disliked anddistrusted. This source was glad to put its trained intelligence athis service and the only reward it looked to was his increasedcapacity to succeed in his work! He simply couldn't dislike ordistrust that which benefited him; and as his admiration and respectfor the Department of Agriculture grew, unconsciously his respect andadmiration for the great government behind it grew likewise. Afterall, it was _his_ government which was reaching across interveningmiles, conveying information, giving expert instruction, telling himthings he wanted to know and encouraging him to go right on and findout more for himself!

_Now_ if he had asked himself what his government could do for him, hehad to answer: "It can help me to make good. "

And he began to understand that this was possible because he obeyedthe law, and that only in intelligent obedience and co-operation isthere any true freedom. The law no longer meant skulking by day andterror by night; it was protection and peace, and a chance to work inthe open, and the sympathy and understanding and comradeship ofdecent folks. The government was no longer a brute force whicharbitrarily popped men into prison; it was the common will of a freepeople, just as the law was the common conscience. 

I dare not say that he learned all this easily, or all at once, oreven willingly. None of us learns our great lessons easily. We have tolive them, breathe them, work them out with sweat and tears. That wedo learn them, even inadequately, makes the glory and the wonder ofman. 

And so John Flint went to school to the government of the UnitedStates, and carried its little text-books about with him and taughtthem to others in even more need that he; and heckled hopeless boysinto Corn Clubs; and coaxed sullen mothers and dissatisfied girls intoPoultry and Tomato Clubs; and was full of homely advice upon suchliving subjects as the spraying of fruit trees, and how to save themfrom blight and scale-insects, and how to get rid of flies, andcut-worms, and to fight the cattle-tick, which is our curse; and thepreservation of birds, concerning which he was rabid. His liking forbirds began with Miss Sally Ruth's pigeons and the friendly birds inour garden. And as he learned to know them his love for them grew. Ihave seen him daily visit a wren's nest without once alarming thelittle black-eyed mother. I have heard him give the red-bird's call, and heard that loveliest of all birds answer him. And I have seen theimpudent jays, within reach of his hand, swear at him unabashed andunafraid, because he fed a vireo first. 

I like to think of his intimate friendship with the wholesome countrychildren--not the least of his blessings. He was their chief visitorfrom the outside world. He knew wonderful secrets about things onehadn't noticed before, and he could make miracles with his quickstrong fingers. He'd sit down, his stick and knapsack beside him, hisglamorous dog at his feet, and while you and your sisters and brothersand friends and neighbors hung about him like a cluster of tow-headedbees, he'd turn a few sticks and bits of cloth and twine and a tack ortwo, and an old roller-skate wheel he took out of his pocket, into anair-ship! He could go down by your little creek and make you awater-wheel, or a windmill. He could make you marvelous little men, funny little women, absurd animals, out of corks or peanuts. He knew, too, just exactly the sort of knife your boy-heart ached for--and atparting you found that very knife slipped into your enraptured palm. You might save the pennies you earned by picking berries and gatheringnuts, but you could never, never find at any store any candy thattasted like the sticks that came out of his pockets, and you needn'thope to try. He had the inviolable secret of that candy, and heimparted to it a divine flavor no other candy ever possessed. If youwere a little doll-less girl, he didn't leave you with the provokingpromise that Santa Claus would bring you one if you were good. He wasso sure you were good that he made you right then and there awonderful doll out of corn-husks, with shredded hair, and a frock ofhis own handkerchief. When he came again you got another doll--a storedoll; but I think your child-heart clung to the corn-baby with thehandkerchief dress. I have often wondered how many little cheekssnuggled against John Flint's home-made dollies, how many innocentbreasts cradled them; how many a little fellow carried his knife tobed with him, afraid to let it get out of reach of a hard little hand, because he might wake up in the morning and find he had only dreamedit! No, I hardly think the country children were the least of JohnFlint's blessings. They would run to meet him, hold on to his hands, drag him here and there to show him what wonders their sharp eyes haddiscovered since his last visit; and give him, with shining eyes, suchcocoons and caterpillars, and insects as they had found for him. Itwas they who called him the Butterfly Man, a name which spread overthe whole country-side. If you had asked for John Flint, folks wouldhave stared. And if you described him--a tall man in a Norfolk suit, with a red beard and a red dog, and an insect case:

"Oh, you mean the Butterfly Man! Sure. You'll find him about somewherewith the kids. " If there was anything he couldn't have, in thatcounty, it was because folks hadn't it to give if he should ask. 

At home his passion for work at times terrified me. When I protested:

"I was twenty-five years old when I landed here, " he reminded me. "SoI've got twenty-five years' back-work to catch up with. "

He had taken over a correspondence that had since become voluminous, and which included more and more names that stood for very much. Sometimes when I read aloud a passage from a letter that praised him, he turned red, and writhed like a little boy whose ears are beingrelentlessly washed by his elders. 

By this time he had learned to really classify; heavens, howunerringly he could place an insect in its proper niche! It was a sortof sixth sense with him. That cold, clear, incisive power of brainwhich on a time had made Slippy McGee the greatest cracksman inAmerica, was, trained and disciplined in a better cause, to make JohnFlint in later years an international authority upon lepidoptera, anobserver to whom other observers deferred, a naturalist whose dictumsettled disputed points. And I knew it, I foresaw it!

_Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!_ I grew as vain over his enlargingpowers as if I had been the Mover of the Game, not a pawn. I felt, gloriously, that I had not lived for nothing. A great naturalist isnot born every day, no, nor every year, nor even every century. And Ihad caught me a great burglar and I had hatched me a great naturalist!My Latin soul was enraptured with this ironic anomaly. I could notchoose but love the man for that. 

I really had some cause for vanity. Others than myself had beengradually drawn to the unassuming Butterfly Man. Westmoreland lovedhim. A sympathetic listener who seldom contradicted, but oftenshrewdly suggested, Flint somehow knew how to bring out the bigdoctor's best; and in consequence found himself in contact with a mindabove all meanness and a nature as big and clean as a spray-sweptbeach. 

"Oh, my, my, my, what a surgeon gone to waste!" Westmoreland wouldlament, watching the long, sure fingers at work. "Well, I suppose it'sall for the best that Father De Rancé beat me to you--at least you'vedone less damage learning your trade. " So absorbed would he becomethat he sometimes forget cross patients who were possibly fumingthemselves into a fever over his delay. 

Eustis, who had met the Butterfly Man on the country roads and hadstopped his horse for an informal chat, would thereafter go out of hisway for a talk with him. These two reticent men liked each otherimmensely. At opposite poles, absolutely dissimilar, they yet had oddsimilarities and meeting-points. Eustis was nothing if not practical;he was never too busy to forget to be kind. Books and pamphlets thatneither Flint nor I could have hoped to possess found their way to usthrough him. Scientific periodicals and the better magazines cameregularly to John Flint's address. That was Eustis's way. Thisfriendship put the finishing touch upon the Butterfly Man's repute. Hewas my associate, and my mother was devoted to him. Miss Sally Ruth, whose pet pear-tree he had saved and whose pigeons he had cured, approved of him, too, and said so with her usual openness. Westmoreland was known to be his firm friend; nobody could forget theincident of those butterflies in the doctor's hat! Major Cartwrightliked him so much that he even bore with the dogs, though Pitache inparticular must have sorely strained his patience. Pitache cherishedthe notion that it was his duty to pass upon all visitors to theButterfly Man's rooms. For some reason, known only to himself, thelittle dog also cherished a deep-seated grudge against the major, thevery sound of whose voice outside the door was enough to send himhowling under the table, where he lay with his head on his paws, awary eye cocked balefully, and his snarls punctuating the Major'sremarks. 

"He smells my Unitarian soul, confound him!" said the major. "An' he'sso orthodox he thinks he'll get chucked out of dog-heaven, if hedoesn't show his disapproval. "

The little dog did finally learn to accept the major's presencewithout outward protest; though the major declared that Pitache alwayshung down his tail when he came and hung it up when he left!

The Butterfly Man accepted whatever friendliness was proffered withoutdiffidence, but with no change in his natural reserve. You could tellhim anything: he listened, made few comments and gave no advice, wasabsolutely non-shockable, and never repeated what he heard. Theunaffected simplicity of his manner delighted my mother. She said youcouldn't tell her--there was good blood in that man, and he had beenmore than any mere tramp before he fell into our hands! Why, justobserve his manner, if you please! It was the same to everybody; hehad, one might think, no sense whatever of caste, creed, age, sex, orcolor; and yet he neither gave offense nor received it. 

Those outbursts which had so terrified me at first came at rare andrarer intervals. If I were to live for a thousands years I shouldnever be able to forget the last and worst; which fell upon himsuddenly and without warning, on a fine morning while he sat on thesteps of his verandah, and I beside him with my Book of Hours in myhand. In between the Latin prayers I sensed pleasantly the light windthat rustled the vines, and how the Mayne bees went grumbling fromflower to flower, and how one single bird was singing to himself overand over the self-same song, as if he loved it; and how the sunlightfell in a great square, like a golden carpet, in front of the steps. It was all very still and peaceful. I was just turning a page, whenJohn Flint jerked his pipe out of his mouth, swung his arm back, andhurled the pipe as far as he could. I watched it, involuntarily, andsaw where it fell among our blue hydrangeas; from which a thin spiralof smoke arose lazily in the calm air. But Flint shoved his hat backon his head, sat up stiffly, and swore. 

He had been with me then nearly four years, and I had learned to knowthe symptoms:--restlessness, followed by hours of depressed and sullenbrooding. So I had heretofore in a sense been forewarned, though Inever witnessed one of these outbursts without being shaken to thedepths. This one was different--as if the evil force had invaded himsuddenly, giving him no time to resist. A glance at his face made melay aside the book hurriedly; for this was no ordinary struggle. Thewords that had come to me at first came back now with redoubledmeaning, and rang through my head like passing-bells:

"_For our wrestling is not against flesh and blood but against . .. Therulers of the world of this darkness, against the spirits ofwickedness_. "

He tilted his head, looked upward, and swore steadily. As for me, mythroat felt as if it had been choked with ashes. I could only stare athim, dumbly. If ever a man was possessed, he was. His voice rose, querulously:

"I get up in the morning, and I catch bugs, and I study them, and Idry them--and I go to bed. I get up in the morning, and I catch bugs, and I study them, and I dry them--and I go to bed. I get up _every_morning, and I do the same damn thing, over and over and over andover, day in, day out, day in, day out. Nothing else. .. . No drinks, nolights, no girls, no sprees, no cards, no gang, no risks, no jobs, nobulls, no anything! God! I could say my prayers to Broadway, anywherefrom the Battery up to Columbus Circle! I want it all so hard I couldpoint my nose like a lost dog and howl for it!

". .. There is a Dutchman got a restaurant down on Eighth Avenue, and Idream at nights about the hotdog-and-kraut, and the ham-and that theygive you there, and the jane that slings it. Hips on her like a horse, she has, and an arm that shoves your eats under your nose in a wayyou've got to respect. I smell those eats in my sleep. I want somemore Childs' bucks. I want to see the electrics winking on the roofs. I want to smell wet asphalt and see the taxis whizzing by in the rain. I want to see a seven-foot Mick cop with a back like a piano-box and apaw like a ham and a foot like a submarine with stove-polish on it. Iwant to see the subway in the rush hour and the dips and mollbuzzersgoing through the crowd like kids in a berry patch. I want to see aninety-story building going up, and the wops crawling on it like ants. I want to see the breadline, and the panhandlers, and the bums inUnion Square. I want a bellyful of the happy dust the old town handsout--the whole dope and all there is of it! My God! I want everythingI haven't got!"

He looked at me, wildly. He was trembling violently, and sweat poureddown his face. 

"Parson, " he rasped, "I've bucked this thing for fair, but I've got togo back and see it and smell it and taste it and feel it and know itall again, or I'll go crazy. You're all of you so good down hereyou're too much for me. _I'm home-sick for hell_. It--it comes overme like fire over the damned. You don't fool yourself that folks whoknow what it is to be damned can stay on in heaven without freezing, do you? Well, they can't. I can't help it! I can't! I've got togo--this time I've got to go!"

I sat and stared at him. Oh, what was it Paul had said we were to prayfor, at such a time as this?

"_And for me, that speech may be given to me . .. That I may open mymouth with confidence_. .. "

But the words wouldn't come. 

"I've got to go! I've got to go, and try myself out!" he gritted. 

"You--understand your risks, " I managed to say through stiff lips. Ihad always, in my secret heart, been more or less afraid of this. Always had I feared that the rulers of the world of darkness, swoopingdown and catching him unaware, might win the long fight in the end. 

"Here you are safe. You are building up an honored name. You arewinning the respect and confidence of all decent people--and you wishto undo it all. You wish to take such desperate chances--now!" Igroaned. 

"I've got to go!" he burst forth, white-lipped. "You've never seen adip cut off from his dope, have you? Well, I'm it, when the old towncalls me loud enough for me to hear her plain. I've stood her off aslong as I could--and now I'm that crazy for her I could wallow in herdust. Besides, there's not such a lot of risks. I don't have to leavemy card at the station-house to let 'em know I'm calling, do I? Theyhaven't been sitting on what they think is my grave to keep me fromgetting up before Gabriel beats 'em to it, have they? No, they're notexpecting _me_. What I could do to 'em now would make the Big Uns looklike a bunch of pikers--and their beans would have to turn inside outbefore they fell for it that _I'd_ come back to my happy home and wason the job again. "

"If--if you hadn't been so white, I'd have cut and run for it withoutever putting you wise. But I want to play fair. I'd be a hog if Ididn't play fair, and I'm trying to do it. I'm going because I can'tstay. I've got enough of my own money, earned honest, saved up, to paymy way. Let me take it and go. And if I can come back, why, I'llcome. "

He was stone deaf to entreaties, prayers, reasoning, argument. Thefour years of his stay with me, and all their work, and study, andendeavor, and progress, seemed to have slipped from him as if they hadnever been. They were swept aside like cobwebs. He broke away from mein the midst of my pleading, hurried into his bedroom, and began tosort into a grip a few necessities. 

"I'll leave on the three-o'clock, " he flung over his shoulder to me, standing disconsolate in the door. "I'll stop at the bank on my way. "I could do nothing; he had taken the bit between his teeth and wasbolting. I had for the time being lost all power of control over him, and before I might hope to recover it he would be out of my reach. Perhaps, I reflected wretchedly, the best thing to do under thecircumstances, would simply be to give him his head. I had seen horsesconquered like that. But the road before John Flint was so dark and socrooked--and at the end of it waited Slippy McGee!

CHAPTER VIII

THE BUTTERFLY MAN

It was just one-thirty by the placid little clock on his mantel. Theexpress was due at three. 

"Very well, " said I, forcing myself to face the inevitable withoutnoise, "you are free. If you must go, you must go. "

"I've got to go! I've got to go!" He repeated it as one repeats anincantation. "I've got to go!" And he went on methodically assortingand packing. Even at this moment of obsession his ingrainedorderliness asserted itself; the things he rejected were laid back intheir proper place with, the nicest care. 

I went over to tell my mother that John Flint had suddenly decided togo north. She expressed no surprise, but immediately fell to countingon her fingers his available shirts, socks, and underwear. She ratherhoped he would buy a new overcoat in New York, his old one beinghardly able to stand the strain of another winter. She was pleasantlyexcited; she knew he had many northern correspondents, with whom hemust naturally be anxious to foregather. There was much to call himthither. 

"He really needs the change. A short trip will do him a world ofgood, " she concluded equably. "He is still quite a young man, and I'msure it must be dull for him here at times, in spite of his work. Why, he hasn't been out of this county for over three years, and justthink of the unfettered life he must have led before he came here!Yes, I'm sure New York will stimulate him. A dose of New York is avery good tonic. It regulates one's mental liver. Don't look soworried, Armand--you remind me of those hens who hatch ducklings. Ishould think a duckling of John Flint's size could be trusted to swimby himself, at his time of life!"

She had not my cause for fear. Besides, in her secret heart, Madamewas convinced that, rehabilitated, reclaimed, having more than provenhis intrinsic worth, John Flint went to be reconciled with andreceived into the bosom of some preeminently proper parent, and to beacclaimed and applauded by admiring and welcoming friends. Foralthough she had once heard the Butterfly Man gravely assure MissSally Ruth Dexter that the only ancestor his immediate Flints weresure of was Flint the pirate, my mother still clung firmly to theillusion of Family. Blood will tell!

As for me, I was equally sure that blood was telling now; and tellingin the atrocious tongue of the depths. I felt that the end had come. Vain, vain, all the labor, all the love, all the hope, the prayers, the pride! The submerged voice of his old life was calling him; thevampire extended her white and murderous arms in which many and manyhad died shamefully; she lifted to his her insatiable lips stainedscarlet with the wine of hell. Against that siren smile, thosebeckoning hands, I could do nothing. The very fact that I was what Iam, was no longer a help, but rather a hindrance; he recognized in thepriest a deterring and detaining influence against which he rebelled, and which he wished to repudiate. He was, as he had said so terribly, "home-sick for hell. " He would go, and he would most inevitably becaught in the whirlpools; the naturalist, the scientist, the ButterflyMan, would be sucked into that boiling vortex and drowned beyond allhope of resuscitation; but from it the soul of Slippy McGee wouldemerge, with a larger knowledge and a clearer brain, a thousand-foldmore deadly dangerous than of old; because this time he knew betterand had deliberately chosen the evil and rejected the good. By the lawof the pendulum he must swing as far backward into wrong as he hadswung forward into right. 

I could not bring myself to speak to him, I dared not bid him themockery of a Godspeed upon his journey, dreading as I did thatjourney's end. So I stood at a window and watched him as with suitcasein hand he walked down our shady street. At the corner he turned andlifted his hat in a last farewell salute to my mother, standinglooking after him in the Parish House gate. Then he turned down theside-street, and so disappeared. 

From his closed rooms came a long wailing howl. For the first timeKerry might not follow his master; more yet, the master had thrust theastonished dog into his bedroom and shut the door upon him. He hadrefused to recognize the scratch at the door, the snuffling whinethrough the keyhole. The outer door had slammed. Kerry raced to thewindow. And the master was going, and going without him! He hadneither net, knapsack, nor bottle-belt, but he carried a suitcase. Hedid not look back, nor whistle: he _meant_ to leave him behind. Sensing that an untoward thing was occurring, a thing that boded nogood to himself or his beloved, the red dog lifted his voice andhowled a piercing protest. 

The sash was down, but the blinds had not yet been closed to. One sawKerry standing with his forepaws on the window-sill, his nose againstthe glass, his ears lifted, his eyes anxious and distressed, his lipcaught in his teeth. At intervals he threw back his head, and thencame the howls. 

The catastrophe--for to me it was no less a thing--had come upon me sosuddenly that I was fairly stunned. From sheer force of habit I wentover to the church and knelt before the altar; but I could not pray; Icould only kneel there dumbly. I heard the screech of the threeo'clock express coming in, and, a few minutes later, its longerscreech as it departed. He had gone, then! I was not dreaming it: itwas true. Down and down and down went my heart. And down and down anddown went my head, humbled and prostrate. Alas, the end of hope, thefall of pride! Alas and alas for the fair house built upon the sand, wrecked and scattered!

When I rose from my knees I staggered. I walked draggingly, as onewalks with fetters upon the feet. Oh, it was a cruel world, a world inwhich nothing but inevitable loss awaited one, in which one wasforedoomed to disappointment; a world in which one was leaf by leafstripped bare. 

I could not bear to look at his closed rooms, but turned my head asideas I passed them. Disconsolate Kerry barked at my passing step, andpawed frantically at the window, but I made no effort to release him. What comfort had I for the faithful creature, deserted by what he mostloved?

His dismal outcries rasped my nerves raw; it was exactly as if the doghowled for the dead. And that John Flint was dead I had no reasonablecause to doubt. _He was dead because Slippy McGee was alive_. Thatthought drove me as with a whip out into the garden, for as black anhour as I have ever lived through--the sort of hour that leaves a scarupon the soul. The garden was very still, steeped and drowsing in thebright clear sunlight; only the bees were busy there, calling fromflower-door to flower-door, and sometimes a vireo's sweet whistlefluted through the leaves. Pitache lay on John Flint's porch, anddozed with his head between his paws; Judge Mayne's Panch sat on thegarden fence, and washed his black face, and watched the little dogout of his emerald eyes. All along the fences the scarlet salvia shotup its vivid spikes, and when the wind stirred, the red petals fellfrom it like drops of blood. 

It seemed to me incongruous and cruel that one should suffer on such aday; grief is for gray days; but the sunlight mocks sorrow, the softwind makes light of it. I was out of tune with this harmony, as Iwalked up and down with my rosary in my hand. I knew that every flyingminute took him farther and farther away from me and from hope andhappiness and honor, and brought him nearer and nearer to thewhirlpool and the pit. I beat my hands together and the crucifix cutinto my palms. I walked more rapidly, as if I could get away from themisery within. My heart ached intolerably, a mist dimmed my sight, anda hideous choking lump rose in my throat; and it seemed to me that, old and futile and alone, I was set down, not in my garden, but in themidst of the abomination of desolation. 

Through this aching desolation Kerry's cries stabbed likeknife-thrusts. .. . And then little Pitache lifted his head, cocked alistening ear and an alert eye, perked up his black nose, thumped anexpressive tail, and barked. It was a welcoming bark; Kerry, hearingit, stiffened statue-like at the window and fell to whining in histhroat. The garden gate had clicked. 

Dreading that any mortal eye should see me thus in my grief, knowingit was beyond my power of endurance to meet calmly or to speakcoherently with any human being at that moment, I turned, with theinstinct of flight strong upon me. I knew I must be alone, to facethis thing in its inevitableness, to fight it out, to get my bearings. The gate was turning upon its hinges; I could hear it creak. 

Hesitating which way to turn, I looked up to see who it was that wascoming into the Parish House garden. And I fell to trembling, andrubbed my eyes, and stared again, unbelievingly. There had been plentyof time for him to have visited the bank and withdrawn his account;there had been plenty of time for him then to have caught thethree-o'clock express. I had heard the train come and go this fullhour since. Surely my wish was father to the thought that I saw himbefore me--my old eyes were playing me a trick--for I thought I sawJohn Flint walking up the garden path toward me! Pitache barked again, rose, stretched himself, and trotted to meet him, as he always didwhen the Butterfly Man came home. 

He walked with the limp most noticeable when he tried to hurry. He wasflushed and perspiring and rumpled and well-nigh breathless; his coatwas wrinkled, his tie awry, his collar wilted, and bits of grass andtwigs and a leaf or so clung to his dusty clothes. The afternoon sunshone full on his thick, close-cropped hair, for he carried his hat inhis hands, gingerly, carefully, as one might carry a fragile treasure;a clean pocket handkerchief was tied over it. 

He was making straight for his workroom. I do not think he saw meuntil I stepped into the path, directly in front of him. Then, stopping perforce, he looked at me with dancing eyes, wiped his redperspiring face with one hand, and nodded to the hat, triumphantly. 

"Such an--aberrant!" he panted. He was still breathing so rapidly hehad to jerk his words out. "I've got the--biggest, handsomest--mostperfect and wonderful--specimen of--an aberrant swallow-tail--any manever laid--his eyes on! I thought at first--I wasn't seeing thingsright. But I was. Parson, parson, I've seen many--butterflies--butnever--another one like--this!" He had to pause, to take breath. Thenhe burst out again, unable to contain his delight. 

"Oh, it was the luckiest chance! I was standing on the end platform ofthe last car, and the train was pulling out, when I saw her go sailingby. I stared with all my eyes, shut 'em, stared again, and there shewas! I knew there was never going to be such another, that if I losther I'd mourn for the rest of my days. I knew I had to have her. So Imeasured my distance, risked my neck, and jumped for her. Game leg andall I jumped, landed in the pit of a nigger's stomach, went down ontop of him, scrambled up again and was off in a jiffy, with the darkybawling he'd been killed and the station buzzing like the judge's beeson strike, and people hanging out of all the car windows to see who'dbeen murdered. 

"She led me the devil's own chase, for I'd nothing but my hat to nether with. A dozen times I thought I had her, and missed. It washeart-breaking. I felt I'd go stark crazy if she got away from me. Ihad to get her. And the Lord was good and rewarded me for my patience, for I caught her at the end of a mile run. I was so blown by then thatI had to lie down in the grass by the roadside and get my wind back. Then I slid my handkerchief easy-easy under my hat, tilted it up, andhere she is! She hasn't hurt herself, for she's been quiet. She'sperfect. She hasn't rubbed off a scale. She's the size of a bat. Herupper wings, and one lower wing, are black, curiously splotched withyellow, and one lower wing is all yellow. She's got the usual orangespots on the secondaries, only bigger, and blobs of gold, and thepurple spills over onto the ground-color. She's a wonder. Come on inand let's gloat at our ease--I haven't half seen her yet! She's thebiggest and most wonderful Turnus ever made. Why, Gabriel could wearher in his crown to make himself feel proud, because there'd be onlyone like her in heaven!"

He took a step forward; but I could only stand still and blink, owlishly. My heart pounded and the blood roared in my ears like thewind in the pinetrees. My senses were in a most painful confusion, with but one thought struggling clear above the turmoil: that _JohnFlint had come back_. 

"But you didn't go!" I stammered. "Oh, John Flint, John Flint, youdidn't go!"

He snorted. "Catch me running away like a fool when a six-inchoff-color swallow-tail flirts herself under my nose and dares me tocatch her! You'd better believe I didn't go!"

And then I knew with a great uprush of joy that Slippy McGee himselfhad gone instead, and the three-o'clock express was bearing him away, forever and forever, beyond recall or return. Slippy McGee had goneinto the past; he was dead and done with. But John Flint thenaturalist was vibrantly and vitally alive, built upon the livingrock, a house not to be washed away by any wave of passion. 

This reaction from the black and bitter hour through which I had justpassed, this turbulent joy and relief, overcame me. My knees shook andgave way; I tottered, and sank helplessly into the seat built aroundour great magnolia. And shaken out of all self-control I wept as I hadnot been permitted to weep over my own dead, my own overthrown hopes. Head to foot I was shaken as with some rending sickness. The sobs weretorn out of my throat with gasps. 

He stood stone still. He went white, and his nostrils grew pinched, and in his set face only his eyes seemed alive and suffering. Theyblinked at me, as if a light had shone too strongly upon them. A sortof inarticulate whimper came from him. Then with extreme care he laidthe handkerchief-covered hat upon the ground, and down upon his kneeshe went beside me, his arms about my knees. He, too, was trembling. 

"Father! . .. _Father!_"

"My son . .. I was afraid . .. You were lost . .. Gone . .. Into a farcountry. .. . It would have broken my heart!"

He said never a word; but hung his head upon his breast, and clung tomy knees. When he raised his eyes to mine, their look was so piteousthat I had to put my hand upon him, as one reassures one's child. Sofor a healing time we two remained thus, both silent. The garden wasexquisitely still and calm and peaceful. We were shut in and canopiedby walls and roof of waving green, lighted with great cream-coloredflowers with hearts of gold, and dappled with sun and shadow. Throughit came the vireo's fairy flute. 

God knows what thoughts went through John Flint's mind; but for me, agreat peace stole upon me, mixed with a greater, reverent awe andwonder. Oh, heart of little faith! I had been afraid; I had doubtedand despaired and been unutterably wretched; I had thought him lostwhom the Powers of Darkness swooped upon, conquered, and led astray. And God had needed nothing stronger than a butterfly's fragile wing tobear a living soul across the abyss!

We went together, after a while, to his rooms, and when he hadsubmitted to Kerry's welcome, we carefully examined the beautifulinsect he had captured. As he had said, she had not lost a scale; andshe was by far the most astonishing aberrant I have ever seen, beforeor since. The Turnus is perhaps the most beautiful of our butterflies, and this off-color was larger than the normal, and more irregularlyand oddly and brilliantly colored. Their natural coloring is gorgeousenough; but hers was like a seraph's head-jewels. 

I have her yet, with the date of her capture written under her. She isthe only one of all our butterflies I claim personally. The gold hasnever been minted that could buy that Turnus. 

"I had the station agent wire for my grip, " said Flint casually. "AndI gave the darky I knocked down fifty cents to soothe his feelings. Heoffered to let me do it again for a quarter. " His eyes roved over thepleasant workroom with its books and cabinets, its air of homelycomfort; through the open door one glimpsed the smaller bedroom, thecrucifix on the white wall. He dropped his hand on Kerry's head, closeagainst his knee, and drew a sharp breath. 

"Father, " said he, quietly, and looked at me with steady eyes, "youdon't need to be afraid for me any more as you had to be to-day. To-day's the last of my--my dumfoolishness. " After a moment he added:

"Remember what that little girl said when she gave me her dog? Well, Ireckon she was right. I reckon I'm here for keeps. I reckon, father, that you and I do belong. "

"Yes, " said I; and looked over the cases of our butterflies, and thebooks we had gathered, and the table where we worked and studiedtogether. "Yes; you and I belong. " And I left him with Kerry's head onhis knees, and Kerry's eyes adoring him, and went over to the ParishHouse to tell Madame that John Flint had changed his mind and wouldn'tgo North just now, because an aberrant Turnus had beguiled him. 

For a moment my mother looked profoundly disappointed. 

"Are you sure, " she asked, "that this doesn't mean a loss to him, Armand?"

"Yes, I am sure. "

She watched my eyes, and of a sudden she reached out, caught my hand, and squeezed it. Her face softened with sympathetic and tolerantunderstanding, but she asked no questions, made no comment. If Solomonhad been lucky enough to marry my mother, I am sure he would neverhave plagued himself with the nine hundred and ninety-nine. But then, neither would he have written Proverbs. 

Neither the Butterfly Man nor I have ever referred to that morning'sincident; the witness of it we cherish; otherwise it pleases us toignore it as if it had never happened. It had, of course, its results, for with a desperate intensity of purpose he plunged back into studyand research; and as the work was broadening, and called for all hisskill and patience, the pendulum swung him far forward again. 

I had been so fascinated, watching that transformation, even merewonderful than any butterfly's, going on before my eyes; I was soenmeshed in the web of endless duties spun for me by my big poorparish that I did not have time to miss Mary Virginia as poignantly asI must otherwise have done, although my heart longed for her. 

My mother never ceased to mourn her absence; something went away fromus with Mary Virginia, which could only come back to us with her. Butit so happened that the ensuing summers failed to bring her back. Thelittle girl spent her vacations with girl friends of whose standingher mother approved, or with relatives she thought it wise the childshould cultivate. For the time being, Mary Virginia had vanished outof our lives. 

Laurence, however, spent all his vacations at home; and of Laurence wewere immensely proud. Most of his holidays were spent, not withyounger companions, but oddly enough with John Flint. That oldfriendship, renewed after every parting, seemed to have grown strongerwith the boy's growth; the passing years deepened it. 

"My boy's forever boasting of your Butterfly Man, " said the judge, falling into step with me one morning on the street. "He tells meFlint's been made a member of several learned societies; and that he'sgotten out a book of sorts, telling all there is to tell about somecrawling plague or other. And it seems this isn't all the wonderfulMr. Flint is capable of: Laurence insists that biologists will have tolook Flintward pretty soon, on account of observations on what hecalls insect allies--whatever _they_ are. "

"Well, you see, his work on insect allies is really unique andthorough, and it opens a door to even more valuable research, " said I, as modestly as I could. "Flint is one of its great pioneers, and he'sblazing the way. Some day when the real naturalist comes into his own, he will rank far, far above tricky senators and mutable governors!"

The judge smiled. "Spoken like a true bughunter, " said he. "As amatter of fact, this fellow is a remarkable man. Does he intend toremain here for good?"

"Yes, " said I, "I think he intends to remain here--for good. " I couldnot keep the pride out of my voice and eyes. Let me again admit mygrave fault: I am a vain and proud old man, God forgive me!

"Your goose turned out a butterfly, " said the judge. "One may well bepardoned a little natural vanity when one has engineered a feat likethat! Common tramp, too, wasn't he?"

"No, he wasn't. He was a most uncommon one. "

"I could envy the man his spontaneity and originality, " admitted thejudge, rubbing _his_ nose. "Well, father, I'm perfectly satisfied, sofar, to have my only son tramp with him. "

"So is my mother, " said I. 

At that the judge lifted his hat with a fine old-fashioned courtesygood to see in this age when a youth walks beside a maid and blowscigarette smoke in her face upon the public streets. 

"When such a lady approves of any man, " said he, gallantly, "itconfers upon him letters patent of nobility. "

"We shall have to consider John Flint knighted, then, " said my mothermerrily, when I repeated the conversation. "Let's see, " she continuedgaily. "We'll put on his shield three butterflies, or, rampant on afield, azure; in the lower corner a net, argent. Motto, '_In Hoc SignoVinces_. ' There'll be no sign of the cyanide jar. I'll have nothingsinister shadowing; the Butterfly Man's escutcheon!"

She knew nothing about the trust St. Stanislaus kept; she had nevermet Slippy McGee. 

CHAPTER IX

NESTS

Laurence at last hung out that shingle which was to tingle Appleborointo step with the Time-spirit. It was a very happy and important dayfor the judge and his immediate friends, though Appleboro at largelooked on with but apathetic interest. One more little legal lightflickering "in our midst" didn't make much difference; we literallyhave lawyers to burn. So we aren't too enthusiastic over ourfledglings; we wait for them to show us--which is good for them, andsometimes better for us. 

This fledgling, however, was of the stuff which endures. Laurence wasone of those dynamic and dangerous people who not only thinkindependently themselves, but have the power to make other peoplethink. No one who came in contact with him escaped this; it seemed tocrackle electrically in the air around him; he was a sort of humanthought-conductor, and he shocked many a smug and self-satisfiedcitizen into horrific life before he had done with him. 

If this young man had not been one of the irreproachable MaynesAppleboro might have set him down as a pestilent and radical theoristand visionary. But fortunately for us and himself he was a Mayne; andthe Maynes have been from the dawn of things Carolinian "a goodfamily. "

I don't think I have ever seen two people so mutually delight in eachother's powers as did John Flint and Laurence Mayne. The Butterfly Manwas immensely proud of Laurence's handsome person and his grace ofspeech and manner; he had even a more profound respect for his moresolid attainments, for his own struggle upward had deepened his regardfor higher education. As for Laurence, he thought his friendmarvelous; what he had overcome and become made him in the youngerman's eyes an incarnate proof of the power of will and of patience. The originality and breadth of his views fired the boy's imaginationand broadened his personality. The two complemented each other. 

The Butterfly Man's workroom had a fascination for others thanLaurence. It was a sort of Open Question Club. Here Westmoreland cameto air his views with a free tongue and to ride his hobbies with agallant zest; here the major, tugging at his goatee, his glasses fardown on his nose, narrated in spicy chapters the Secret Social Historyof Appleboro. Here the judge--for he, too, had fallen into the habitof strolling over of an evening--sunk in the old Morris chair, hiscigar gone cold in his fingers, reviewed great cases. And sometimesEustis stopped by, spoke in his modest fashion of his experiments, andleft us all the better for his quiet strength. And Flint, with hiseyes alive and watchful behind his glasses, listened with that airwhich made one like to tell him things. Laurence declared that he gothis post-graduate course in John Flint's workroom, and that theButterfly Man wasn't the least of his teachers. 

I should dearly like to say that the Awakening of Appleboro began inthat workroom; and in a way it did. But it really had its inception ina bird's nest John Flint had discovered and watched with greatinterest and pleasure. The tiny mother had learned to accept hisapproach, without fear; he said she knew him personally. She allowedhim to approach close enough to touch her; she even took food out ofhis fingers. He had worked toward that friendliness with great skilland patience, and his success gave him infinite pleasure. He had agreat tenderness for the little brown lady, and he looked forward toher babies with an almost grandfatherly eagerness. The nest was overin a corner of our garden, in a thick evergreen bush big enough to becalled a young tree. 

Now on a sunny morning Laurence and I and the Butterfly Man walked inour garden. Laurence had gotten his first brief, and we two olderfellows were somewhat like two old birds fluttering over anadventurous fledgling. I think we saw the boy sitting on the SupremeCourt bench, that morning!

As we neared the evergreen tree the Butterfly Man raised his hand tocaution us to be silent. He wanted us to see his wee friend'sreception of him, and so he went on a bit ahead, to let her know sheneedn't be afraid--we, too, were merely big friends come a-calling. And just then we heard shrill cries of distress, and above it thelouder, raucous scream of the bluejay. 

The bluejay was entirely occupied with his own business of breakinginto another bird's nest and eating the eggs. He scolded violentlybetween mouthfuls; he had finished three eggs and begun on the fourthand last when we came upon the scene. He had no fear of us; he hadseen us before, and he knew very well indeed that the red-beardedcreature with the cane was a particular and peculiar friend offeathered folks. So he cocked a knowing head, with a cruel beak fullof egg, and flirted a splendid tail at his friend; then swallowed thelast morsel and rowed viciously with Laurence and me; for the bluejayis wholly addicted to billingsgate. He paid no attention to thedistraught mother-bird, fluttering and crying on a limb nearby. 

"Gosh, pal, I've sure had some meal!" said the bluejay to John Flint. "Chase that skirt, over there, please--she makes too much noise tosuit me!"

But for once John Flint wasn't a friend to a bluejay--he uttered anexclamation of sorrow and dismay. 

"My nest!" he cried tragically. "My beautiful nest with the four eggs, that I've been watching day by day! And the little mother-thing thatknew me, and let me touch her, and feed her, and wasn't afraid of me!Oh, you blue devil! You thief! You murderer!" And in a great gust ofsorrow and anger he lifted his stick to hurl it at the criminal. Laurence caught the upraised arm. 

"But he doesn't know he's a thief and a murderer, " said he, and lookedat the handsome culprit with unwilling admiration. The jay, havingfinished the nest to his entire satisfaction, hopped down upon a limband turned his attention to us. He screamed at Laurence, thrustingforward his impudent head; while the poor robbed mother, withlamentable cries, watched him from a safe distance. Full of hiscannibal meal, Mister Bluejay callously ignored her. He was moreinterested in us. Down he came, nearer yet, with a flirt of finewings, a spreading of barred tail, just above Flint's head, andtalked jocularly to his friend in jayese. 

"You're a thief and a robber!" raged the Butterfly Man. "You're a damnlittle bird-killer, that's what you are! I ought to wring your neckfor you, and I'd do it if it would do the rest of your tribe any good. But it wouldn't. It wouldn't bring back the lost eggs nor the spoilednest, either. Besides, you don't know any better. You're what you arebecause you were hatched like that, and there wasn't Anything to tellyou what's right and wrong for a decent bird to do. The best one cando for you is to get wise to your ways and watch out that you can't domore mischief. "

The bluejay, with his handsome crested head on one side, cocked hisbright black eye knowingly, and passed derisive remarks. Any one whohas listened attentively to a bluejay must be deeply grateful that thegift of articulate speech has been wisely withheld from him; he is ahooligan of a bird. He lifted his wings like half-playful fists. If hehad fingers, be sure a thumb had been lifted profanely to his nose. 

The Butterfly Man watched him for a moment in silence; a furrow cameto his forehead. 

"Damn little thief!" he muttered. "And you don't even have to care!No! It's not right. There ought to be some way to save the mothers andthe nests from your sort--without having to kill you, either. But goodLord, how? That's what I want to know!"

"Beat 'em to it and stand 'em off, " said Laurence, staring at theravaged nest, the unhappy mother, the gorged impenitent thief. "'Gitthar fustest with the mostest men. ' Have the nests so protected thethief can't get in without getting caught. Build Better Bird Houses, say, and enforce a Law of the Garden--Boom and Food for all, Pillagefor None. You'd have to expect some spoiled nests, of course, for youcouldn't be on guard all the time, and you couldn't make all the birdslive in your Better Bird Houses--they wouldn't know how. But you'dsave some of them, at any rate. "

"Think so?" said John Flint. "Huh! And what'd you do with _him_?" Andhe jerked his head at the screaming jay. 

"Let him alone, so long as he behaved. Shoo him outside when hedidn't--and see that he kept outside, " said Laurence. "You see, theidea isn't so much to reform bluejays--it's to save the other birdsfrom them. "

John Flint's face was troubled. "It's all a muddle, anyhow, " said he. "You can't blame the bluejay, because he was born so, and it'sbluejay nature to act like that when it gets the chance. But there'sthe other bird--it looks bad. It is bad. For a thief to come into alittle nest like that, that she'd been brooding on, and twittering to, and feeling so good and so happy about--Man, I'd have given a month'swork and pay to have saved that nest! It's not fair. God! Isn't there_some_ way to save the good ones from the bad ones?"

There he stood, in the middle of the path, staring ruefully at thewrecked bit of twigs and moss and down that had been a wee home; andwith more of sorrow than anger at the feathered crook who had done thedamage. The thing was slight in itself, and more than common--just oneof the unrecorded humble tragedies which daily engulf the LittlePeoples. But I had seen a butterfly's wing save him alive; and so Idid not doubt now that a little bird's nest could weigh down thebalance which would put him definitely upon the side of good and ofGod. 

"I think there is a way, " said Laurence, gravely, "and that is to beatthem to it and stand them off. All the rest is talk and piffle--theonly way to save is to save. There are no halfway measures; also, it'sa lifetime job, full of kicks and cuffs and ingratitude andmisunderstanding and failure and loneliness, and sometimes even worsethings yet. But you do manage to sometimes save the nests and thefledglings, and you do sometimes escape the pain of hearing themothers lamenting. And that's the only reward a decent mortal ought tohope for. I reckon it's about the best reward there is, this side ofheaven. "

The Butterfly Man swallowed this a bit ungraciously. 

"You've got a devil of a way of twisting things into parables. I'mtalking birds and thinking birds, and here you must go and make mybirds people! I wasn't thinking about people--that is, I wasn't, untilyou have to go and put the notion into my head. It's not fair. Thething's bad enough already, without your lugging folks into it andmaking it worse!"

Laurence looked at him steadily. "You've got to think of people, whenyou see things like that, " said he, slowly; "otherwise you onlyhalf-see. I have to think of people--of kids, particularly--and theirmothers. " He turned as he spoke, and stared out over our garden, withits sunny spaces, and its shrubs and flowers, and trees, to where, over in the sky a pillar of smoke rose steadily, endlessly, andmerged into a cloud overhanging the quiet little town. 

"The pillar of cloud by day, " said he "that leads the children--" Hestopped, and the whimsical smile faded from his face; his jaw set. 

The bluejay, having exhausted his vocabulary of jay-ribaldry, screeched one last outrageous bit of billingsgate into Flint's ears, shut up his tail like a fan, and darted off, a streak of blue andgray. The Butterfly Man's eyes followed him smilelessly; then theycame back and dwelt for a moment upon the ruined nest and thefluttering mother-bird, still vexing the ear with her shrilllamentable futile protests. From her his eyes went, out over the treesand flowers to that pillar mounting lazily and inevitably into thesky. For a long moment he stared at that, too, fixedly. After aninterval he clenched his hand upon his stick and struck the ground. 

"_Nothing's_ got any business to break up a nest! I'd rather sit upall night and watch than see what I've just seen and listen to thatmother-thing calling to Something that's far-off and stone deaf andcan't hear nor heed. Why, the little birds haven't got even the chanceto get themselves born, much less grow up and sing! I--Say, you two goon a bit. I feel mighty bad about this. I'd been watching her. Sheknew me. She let me feed her. If only I'd thought about the jay, why, I might have saved her. But just when she needed me I wasn't there!"He turned abruptly, and strode off toward his own rooms. Kerryfollowed with a drooping head and tail. But Laurence looked after himhopefully. 

"Padre, the Butterfly Man's seen something this morning that willsink to the bottom of his soul and stay there: didn't you see hiseyes? Now, which of those two have taught him the most--the happythief and murderer, or the innocent unhappy victim? The bluejay's nota whit the worse for it, remember; in fact, he's all the better off, for his stomach is full and his mischief satisfied, and that's allthat ever worries a bluejay. And there isn't any redress for themother-bird. The thing's done, and can't be undone. But between themthey've shown John Flint something that forces a man to take sides. Doesn't the bluejay deserve some little credit for that? And is there_ever_ any redress for the mother-bird, Padre?"

"Why, the Church teaches--" I began. 

Laurence nodded. "Yes, Padre, I know all that. But it can't teach awaywhat's always happening here and now. At least not to the ButterflyMan and me, . .. Nor yet the mother-birds, Padre. No. We want to beshown how to head off the bluejays. "

We walked along in silence, his hand upon my arm. His eyes wereclouded with the vision that beckoned him. As for me, I was wonderingjust where, and how far, that bluejay was going to lead John Flint. 

It led him presently to my mother. All men learn their great lessonsfrom women and in stress the race instinctively goes back to be taughtby the mothers of it. There were long intimate talks between herselfand the Butterfly Man, to which Laurence was also called. In her quietway Madame knew by heart the whole mill district, good, bad andindifferent, for she was a woman among the women. She had supportedwives parting from dying husbands; she had hushed the cries offrightened children, while I gave the last blessings to mothers whosefeet were already on the confines of another world; she had taken deadchildren from frenzied women's arms. Just as the Butterfly Man hadshown the country folks to Laurence, so now Madame showed them boththe mill folks, the poor folks, the foreigners in a small towndisdainful of them; and she did it with the added keenness of herwoman's eyes and the diviner kindness of her woman's heart. 

The little lady had enormous influence in the parish. And asLaurence's plans and hopes and ambitions unfolded before her, shethrew this potent influence, with all it implied, in the scale of theyoung lawyer's favor. They began their work at the bottom, as allgreat movements should begin. What struck me with astonishment wasthat so many quiet women seemed to be ready and waiting, as for ahoped for message, a bugle-call in the dawn, for just that whichLaurence had to tell them. 

"A fellow with pull behind him, " said John Flint, "is what you mightcall a pretty fair probability. But a fellow with the women behind himis a steam-roller. There's nothing to do but clear the road and keepfrom under. " And when he went on his rounds among the farm houses nowit wasn't only the men and children he talked to. There was a messagefor the overworked women, the wives and daughters who had all thepains and none of the profits. Westmoreland, who had been a ratherlonesome evangelist for many years, of a sudden found himself backedand supported by younger and stronger forces. 

The work was done very noiselessly; there was no outwarddisturbances, yet; but the women were in deadly earnest; there werefar, far too many small graves in our cemetery, and they were beingtaught to ask why the children who filled them hadn't had a fairchance? The men might smile at many things, but fathers couldn't smilewhen mothers of lost children wanted to know why Appleboro hadn'tbetter milk and sanitation. And there, under their eyes bulked thehuge red mills, and every day from the bosom of this Moloch went upthe smoke of sacrifice. 

Behind all this gathering of forces stood an almost unguessed figure. Not the lovely white-haired lady of the Parish House; not bigWestmoreland; not handsome Laurence, nor outspoken Miss Sally Ruthwith a suffrage button on her black basque; but a limping man in graytweeds with a soft felt hat pulled down over his eyes and a butterflynet in his hand. That net was symbolic. With trained eye and sure handthe naturalist caught and classified us, put each one in his properplace. 

Keener, shrewder far than any of us, no one, save I alone, guessed thepart it pleased him to play. Laurence was hailed as the Joshua who wasto lead all Appleboro into the promised land of better paving, betterlighting, better schools, better living conditions, better citygovernment--a better Appleboro. Behind Laurence stood the ButterflyMan. 

He seldom interfered with Laurence's plans; but every now and then helaid a finger unerringly upon some weak point which, unnoticed anduncorrected, would have made those plans barren of result. He amendedand suggested. I have seen him breathe upon the dry bones of aproject and make it live. It satisfied that odd sardonic twist in himto stand thus obscurely in the background and pull the strings. Ithink, too, that there must have been in his mind, since that morninghe had watched the bluejay destroy his nest, some obscure sense ofrestitution. Once, in the dark, he had worked for evil. Still keepinghimself hidden, it pleased him now to work for good. So there he satin his workroom, and cast filaments here and there, and spun a webwhich gradually netted all Appleboro. 

There was, for instance, the _Clarion_. We had had but that onenewspaper in our town from time immemorial. I suppose it might havebeen a fairly good county paper once, --but for some years it hadspluttered so feebly that one wondered how it survived at all. Inspite of this, nobody in our county could get himself decently born ormarried, or buried, without a due and proper notice in the _Clarion_. To the country folks an obituary notice in its columns was as much amatter of form as a clergyman at one's obsequies. It simply wasn'trespectable to be buried without proper comment in the _Clarion_. Wherefore the paper always held open half a column for obituarynotices and poetry. 

These dismal productions had first brought the _Clarion_ to Mr. Flint's notice. He used to snigger at sight of the paper. He said itmade him sure the dead walked. He cut out all those lugubrious andhome-made verses and pasted them in a big black scrapbook. He had afashion of strolling down to the paper's office and snipping out allsuch notices and poems from its country exchanges. A more ghoulish andfearsome collection than he acquired I never elsewhere beheld. It wasa taste which astonished me. Sometimes he would gleefully read aloudone which particularly delighted him:

 "A Christian wife and offspring seven Mourn for John Peters who has gone to heaven. But as for him we are sure he can weep no more, He is happy with the lovely angels on that bright shore. "†

† Heaven. 

My mother was horrified. She said, severely, that she couldn't to saveher life see why any mortal man should snigger because a Christianwife and children seven mourned for John Peters who had gone toheaven. The Butterfly Man looked up, meekly. And of a sudden my motherstopped short, regarded him with open mouth and eyes, and retiredhastily. He resumed his pasting. 

"I've got a hankering for what you might call grave poetry, " said he, pensively. "Yes, sir; an obituary like that is like an all-day suckerto me. Say, don't you reckon they make the people they're writtenabout feel glad they're dead and done for good with folks that couldspring something like that on a poor stiff? Wait a minute, parson--youcan't afford to miss Broken-hearted Admirer:

 "Miss Matty, I watched thee laid in the gloomy grave's embrace, Where nobody can evermore press your hand or your sweet face. When you were alive I often thought of thee with fond pride, And meant to call around some night & ask you to be my loving Bride. "But alas, there is a sorrowful sadness in my bosom to-day, For I never did it & now can never really know what you would say. 

 Miss Matty, the time may come when I can remember thee as a brother, And lay my fond true heart at the loving feet of another. For though just at present I can do nothing but sigh & groan, The Holy Bible tells us it is not good for a man to dwell alone. But even though, alas, I'm married, my poor heart will still be true, And oft in the lone night I will wake & weep to think she never can be you. " --"A BROKEN-HEARTED ADMIRER. "

"Ain't that sad and sweet, though?" said the Butterfly Man admiringly. "Don't you hope those loving feet will be extra loving whenBroken-hearted makes 'em a present of his fond heart, parson? Wouldn'tit be something fierce if they stepped on it! Gee, I cried in my hatwhen I first read that!" Now wasn't it a curious coincidence that, even as Madame, I regarded John Flint with open mouth and eyes, andretired hastily?

For some time the _Clarion_ had been getting worse and worse; heavenknows how it managed to appear on time, and we expected each issue tobe its last. It wasn't news to Appleboro that it was on its last legs. I was not particularly interested in its threatened demise, not havingJohn Flint's madness for its obituaries; but he watched it narrowly. 

"Did you know, " he remarked to Laurence, "that the poor old _Clarion_is ready to bust? It will have to write a death-notice for itself in aweek or two, the editor told me this morning. "

"So?" Laurence seemed as indifferent as I. 

The Butterfly Man shot him a freighted glance. "Folks in this countywill sort of miss the _Clarion_, " he reflected. "After all, it's theone county paper. Seems to me, " he mused, "that if _I_ were going inhead, neck and crop for the sweet little job of reformer-general, I'dfirst off get me a grappling-hook on my town's one newspaper. Particularly when grappling-hooks were going cheap. "

"Hasn't Inglesby got a mortgage on it?"

"If he had would he let it die in its bed so nice and ladylike? Notmuch! It'd kick out the footboard and come alive. Inglesby must begetting rusty in the joints not to reach out for the _Clarion_himself, right now. Maybe he figures it's not worth the price. Maybehe knows this town so well he's dead sure nobody that buys a newspaperhere would have the nerve to print anything or think anything hedidn't approve of. Yes, I guess that's it. "

"Which is your gentle way, " cut in Laurence, "of telling me I'd betterhustle out and gather in the _Clarion_ before Inglesby beats me to it, isn't it?"

"Me?" The Butterfly Man looked pained. "I'm not telling you to buyanything. _I'm_ only thinking of the obituaries. Ask the parson. I'm--I'm addicted to 'em, like some people are to booze. But if you'dpromise to keep open the old corner for them, why, I might come outand _beg_ you to buy the _Clarion_, now it's going so cheap. Yep--allon account of the obituaries!" And he murmured:

 "_Our dear little Johnny was left alive To reach the interesting age of five When_--"

"That's just about as much as I can stand of that, my son!" said I, hastily. 

"The parson's got an awful tender heart, " the Butterfly Man explainedand Laurence was graceless enough to grin. 

"Well, as I was about to say: I happened to think Inglesby would bebrute enough to choke out my pet column, or make folks pay for it, andthings like that haven't got any business to have price tags on 'em. So I got to thinking of you. You're young and tender; also a collegeman; and you're itching to wash and iron Appleboro--" he took off hisglasses and wiped them delicately and deliberately. 

"Did you also get to thinking, " said Laurence, crisply, "that I'm justabout making my salt at present, and still you're suggesting that Itie a dead old newspaper about my neck and jump overboard? One mightfancy you hankered to add my obituary to your collection!" he finishedwith a touch of tartness. 

The Butterfly Man smiled ever so gently. 

"The _Clarion_ is the county paper, " he explained patiently. "It washere first. It's been here a long time, and people are used to it. Itknows by heart how they think and feel and how they want to be toldthey think and feel. And you ought to know Carolina people when itcomes right down to prying them loose from something they're used to!"He paused, to let that sink in. 

"There's no reason why the _Clarion_ should keep on being a dead one, is there? There's plenty room for a live daily right here and now, ifit was run right. Why, this town's blue-molded for a live paper! Lookhere: You go buy the _Clarion_. It won't cost you much. Believe me, you'll find it mighty handy--power of the press, all the usual guff, you know! I sha'n't have to worry about obituaries, but I bet youdollars to doughnuts some people will wake up some morning worrying awhole lot about editorials. Mayne--people like to think they thinkwhat they think themselves. They don't. They think what their homenewspapers tell them to think. And this is your great big chance toget the town ear and shout into it good and loud. "

A week or so later Mayne & Son surprised Appleboro by purchasing themoribund _Clarion_. They didn't have to go into debt for it, either. They got it for an absurdly low sum, although folks said, with sniffs, that anything paid for that rag was too much. 

"Nevertheless, " said the Butterfly Man to me, complacently, "that'sthe little jimmy that's going to grow up and crack some fat cribs. Watch it grow!"

I watched; but, like most others, I was rather doubtful. It was truethat the _Clarion_ immediately showed signs of reviving life. And thatJim Dabney, a college friend from upstate, whom Laurence had inducedto accept the rather precarious position of editor and manager, wrotepleasantly as well as pungently, and so set us all to talking. 

I suppose it was because it really had something to say, and thatsomething very pertinent to our local interests and affairs, that welearned and liked to quote the _Clarion_. It made a neat appearance innew black type, and this pleased us. It had, too, a newer, clearer, louder note, which made itself heard over the whole county. The countymerchants and farmers began once more to advertise in its pages, asJohn Flint, who watched it jealously--feeling responsible forLaurence's purchase of it--was happy to point out. 

One thing, too, became more and more evident. The women were behindthe _Clarion_ in a solid phalanx. They knew it meant for them a voicewhich spoke articulately and publicly, an insistent voice which mustbe answered. It noticed every Mothers' Meeting, Dorcas activity, Ladies' Aid, Altar Guild, temperance gathering; spoke respectfully ofthe suffragists and hopefully of the "public-spirited women" of thenew Civic League. And never, never, never omitted nor misplaced normisspelled a name! The boy from up-state saw to that. He was wily asthe serpent and simple as the dove. Over the local page appeareddaily:

 "LET'S GET TOGETHER!"

After awhile we took him at his word and tried to . .. And things beganto happen in Appleboro. 

"Here, " said the Butterfly Man to me, "is where the bluejay begins toget his. "

For in most Appleboro houses insistent women were asking harassed andembarrassed men certain questions concerning certain things whichladies hadn't been supposed to know anything about, much less worrytheir heads over, since the state was a state. So determined were thewomen to have these questions fairly answered that they presentlyasked them in cold print, on the front page of the town paper. AndLaurence told them. He had appalling lists and figures and names anddates. The "chiel among us takin' notes" printed them. Dabney'seditorial comments were barbed. 

Now there are mills in the South which do obey the state laws andregulations as to hours, working conditions, wages, sanitation, safetyappliances, child labor. But there are others which do not. Oursnotoriously didn't. 

John Flint and my mother had had many a conference about deplorablecases which both knew, but were powerless to change. The best they hadbeen able to do was to tabulate such cases, with names and facts anddates, but precious little had been accomplished for the welfare ofthe mill people, for those who might have helped had been too busy, orperhaps unwilling, to listen or to act. 

But, as Flint insisted, the new Civic League was ready and ripe tohear now what Madame had to tell. At one meeting, therefore, she tookthe floor and told them. When she had finished they named a committeeto investigate mill conditions in Appleboro. 

That work was done with a painstaking thoroughness, and thecommittee's final report was very unpleasant reading. But the namessigned to it were so unassailable, the facts so incontrovertible, thatDabney thought best to print it in full, and later to issue it inpamphlet form. It has become a classic for this sort of thing now, andit is always quoted when similar investigations are necessaryelsewhere. 

It was the Butterfly Man who had taken that report and had rewrittenand revised it, and clothed it with a terrible earnestness and force. Its plain words were alive. It seemed to me, when I read them that Iheard . .. A bluejay's ribald screech . .. And the heart-rending andpiercing cries of a little brown motherbird whose nest had beenravaged and destroyed. 

Appleboro gasped, and sat up, and rubbed its eyes. That such thingscould be occurring here, in this pleasant little place, in the shadowof their churches, within reach of their homes! No one dared to evenquestion the truth of that report, however, and it went before theGrand Jury intact. The Grand Jury very promptly called Mr. Inglesbybefore it. They were polite to him, of course, but they did manage toask him some very unpleasant and rather personal questions, and theydid manage to impress upon him that certain things mentioned in theCivic League's report must not be allowed to reoccur. One juror--hewas a planter--had even had the temerity to say out loud the ugly word"penetentiary. "

Inglesby was shocked. He hadn't known. He was a man of large interestsand he had to leave a great deal to the discretion of superintendentsand foremen. It might be, yes, he could understand how it might verywell be--that his confidence had been abused. He would look into thesethings personally hereafter. Why, he was even now busily engagedcompiling a "Book of Rules for Employees. " He deplored the almostuniversal unrest among employees. It was a very bad sign. Very. Duealmost entirely to agitators, too. 

He didn't come out of that investigation without some of its slimesticking to him, and this annoyed and irritated and enraged him morethan we guessed, for we hadn't as yet learned the man's ambition. Also, the women kept following him up. They meant to make him complywith the strict letter of the law, if that were humanly possible. 

He was far too shrewd not to recognize this; for he presently calledon my mother and offered her whatever aid he could reasonably give. Her work was invaluable; his foremen and superintendents hadinstructions to give her any information she asked for, to show heranything in the mills she wished to see, and to report to headquartersany suggestions as to the--er--younger employees, she might be kindenough to make. If that were not enough she might, he suggested, callon him personally. Really, one couldn't but admire the _savoir faire_of this large unctious being, so fluent, so plausible, until onehappened to catch of a sudden that hard and ruthless gleam which, inspite of all his caution, would leap at times into his cold eyes. 

"Is he, or isn't he, a hypocrite pure and simple, or are such menself-deceived?" mused my mother, puckering her brows. "He will donothing, I know, that he can well avoid. But--he gave me of his ownaccord his personal check for fifty dollars, for that poor consumptiveShivers woman. "

"She contracted her disease working in his mill and living in one ofhis houses on the wages he paid her, " said I, "I might remind you tobeware of the Greeks when they come bearing gifts. "

"Proverb for proverb, " said she. "The hair of the dog is good for itsbite. "

"Fifty dollars isn't much for a woman's life. "

"Fifty dollars buys considerable comfort in the shape of milk and iceand eggs. When it's gone--if poor Shivers isn't--I shall take theBaptist minister's wife and Miss Sally Ruth Dexter with me, and go andask him for another check. He'll give it. "

"You'll make him bitterly repent ever having succumbed to thetemptation of appearing charitable, " said I. 

We were not left long in doubt that Inglesby had other methods ofattack less pleasant than offering checks for charity. Its two largestadvertisers simultaneously withdrew their advertisements from the_Clarion_. 

"Let's think this thing out, " said John Flint to Laurence. "Cuttingout ads is a bad habit. It costs good money. It should be nipped inthe bud. You've got to go after advertisers like that and make 'em seethe thing in the right light. Say, parson, what's that thing you weresaying the other day--the thing I asked you to read over, remember?"

_"When the scorner is punished, the simple is made wise; and when thewise is instructed, he receiveth knowledge, "_ I quoted Solomon. 

"That's it, exactly. You see, " he explained, "there's always the rightway out, if you've got sense enough to find it. Only you mustn't getrattled and try to make your getaway out the wrong door or the frontwindow--that spoils things. The parson's given you the right tip. Thatold chap Solomon had a great bean on him, didn't he?"

A few days later there appeared, in the space which for years had beenoccupied by the bigger of the two advertisements, the followingpleasant notice:

 People Who Disapprove of Civic Cleanliness, A Better Town, Better Kiddies, and A Square Deal for Everybody, _Also_ Disapprove of Advertising in the Clarion. 

And the space once occupied by the other advertiser was headed:

 OBITUARIES

That ghastly poetry in which the soul of the Butterfly Man reveledappeared in that column thereafter. It was a conspicuous space, andthe horn of rural mourning in printer's ink was exalted among us. Itwas not very hard to guess whose hand had directed thosecounter-blows. 

When we met those two advertisers on the street afterward we greetedthem with ironical smiles intended to enrage. They had at Inglesby'sinstigation been guilty of a tactical blunder of which the men behindthe _Clarion_ had taken fiendish and unexpected advantage. It hadsimply never occurred to either that a small town editor might dare to"come back. " The impossible had actually happened. 

I think it was this slackening of his power which alarmed Inglesbyinto action. 

"Mr. Inglesby, " said the Butterfly Man to me one night, casually, "hasgot him a new private secretary. He came this afternoon. His name'sHunter--J. Howard Hunter. He dresses as if he wrote checks for aliving and he looks exactly like he dresses. Honest, he's the originalhe-god they use to advertise suspenders and collars and neverrips andthat sort of thing in the classy magazines. I bet you Inglesby's gotto fork over a man-sized bucket of dough per, to keep _him_. There'llbe a flutter of calico in this burg from now on, for that fellowcertainly knows how to wear his face. He's gilt-edged from start tofinish!"

Laurence, lounging on the steps, looked up with a smile. 

"His arrival, " said he, "has been duly chronicled in to-day's press. Cease speaking in parables, Bughunter, and tell us what's on yourmind. "

The Butterfly Man hesitated for a moment. Then:

"Why, it's this way, " said he, slowly. "I--hear things. A bit here andthere, you see, as folks tell me. I put what I've heard together, andthink it over. Of course I didn't need anybody to tell me Inglesby wassore because the _Clarion_ got away from him. He expected it to die. It didn't. He thought it wouldn't pay expenses--well, the sheriffisn't in charge yet. And he knows the paper is growing. He's too wisea guy to let on he's been stung for fair, once in his life, but hedon't propose to let himself in for any more body blows than he canhelp. So he looks about a bit and he gets him an agent--older thanyou, Mayne, but young enough, too--and even better looking. That agentwill be everywhere pretty soon. The town will fall for him. Say, howmany of you folks know what Inglesby really wants, anyhow?"

"Everything in sight, " said Laurence promptly. 

"And something around the corner, too. He wants to come out in theopen and be IT. He intends to be a big noise in Washington. Gentlemen, Senator Inglesby! Well, why not?"

"He hasn't said so, has he?" Laurence was skeptical. 

"He doesn't have to say so. He means to be it, and that's very muchmore to the point. However, it happens that he did peep, once ortwice, and it buzzed about a bit--and that's how I happened to catchit in my net. This Johnny he's just got to help him is the first move. Private Secretary now. Campaign manager and press agent, later. Inglesby's getting ready to march on to Washington. You watch him doit!"

"Never!" said Laurence, and set his mouth. 

"No?" The Butterfly Man lifted his eyebrows. "Well, what are you goingto do about it? Fight him with your pretty little _Clarion_? It's notbig enough, though you could make it a handy sort of brick to pastehim in the eye with, if you aim straight and pitch hard enough. Go upagainst him yourself? You're not strong enough, either, young man, whatever you may be later on. You can prod him into firing some poorkids from his mills--but you can't make him feed 'em after he's fired'em, can you? And you can't keep him from becoming Senator Inglesbyeither, unless, " he paused impressively, "you can match him even witha man his money and pull can't beat. Now think. "

The young man bit his lip and frowned. The Butterfly Man watched himquizzically through his glasses. 

"Don't take it so hard, " he grinned. "And don't let the wholesalvation of South Carolina hang too heavy on your shoulders. Leave_something_ to God Almighty--He managed to pull the cocky little brutethrough worse and tougher situations than Inglesby! Also, He ran therest of the world for a few years before you and I got here to helpHim with it. "

"You're a cocky brute yourself, " said Laurence, critically. 

"I can afford to be, because I can open my hand this minute and showyou the button. Why, the very man you need is right in your reach! Ifyou could get _him_ to put up his name against Inglesby's, the Big Unwouldn't be in it. "

Laurence stared. The Butterfly Man stared back at him. 

"Look here, " said he slowly. "You remember my nest, and what thatbluejay did for it? And what you said? Well, I've looked about a bit, and I've seen the bluejay at work. .. . Oh, hell, I can't talk aboutthis thing, but I've watched the putty-faced, hollow-chested, empty-bellied kids--that don't even have guts enough left to laugh. .. . Somebody ought to sock it to that brute, on account of those kids. Heought to be headed off . .. Make him feel he's to be shoo'd outside!And I think I know the one man that can shoo him. " He paused again, with his head sunk forward. This was so new a John Flint to me that Ihad no words. I was too lost in sheer wonder. 

"The man I mean hates politics. I've been told he has said openly it'snot a gentleman's game any more. You've got to make him see it can bemade one. You've got to make him see it as a duty. Well, once make himsee _that_, and he'll smash Inglesby. "

"You can't mean--for heaven's sake--"

"I do mean. James Eustis. "

Laurence got up, and walked about, whistling. 

"Good Lord!" said he, "and I never even thought of him in that light. Why . .. He'd sweep everything clean before him!"

I am a priest. I am not even an Irish priest. Therefore politics donot interest me so keenly as they might another. But even to my slowmind the suitability of Eustis was apparent. Of an honored name, just, sure, kind, sagacious, a builder, a teacher, a pioneer, the plainerpeople all over the state leaned upon his judgment. A sane shrewd manof large affairs, other able men of affairs respected and admired him. The state, knowing what he stood for, what he had accomplished for herfarmers, what he meant to her agricultural interests, admired andtrusted him. If Eustis wanted any gift within the power of the peopleto give, he had but to signify that desire. And yet, it had taken myButterfly Man to show us this!

"Bughunter, " said Laurence, respectfully. "If you ever take the notionto make me president, will you stand behind and show me how to run theUnited States on greased wheels?"

"I?" John Flint was genuinely astounded. "The boy's talking in hissleep: turn over--you 're lying on your back!"

"You won't?"

"I will not!" said the Butterfly Man severely. "I have got somethingmuch more important on my hands than running states, I'll have youknow. Lord, man, I'm getting ready some sheets that will tell prettynearly all there is to tell about Catocala Moths!"

I remembered that sunset hour, and the pretty child of James Eustisputting in this man's hand a gray moth. I think he was remembering, too, for his eyes of a sudden melted, as if he saw again her face thatwas so lovely and so young. Glancing at me, he smiled fleetingly. 

CHAPTER X

THE BLUEJAY

When Mary Virginia was graduated, my mother sent her, to commemoratethat very important and pleasant occasion, one of her few remainingtreasures--a carved ivory fan which Le Brun had painted out of hisheart of hearts for one of King Louis' loveliest ladies. It stillexhaled, like a whiff of lost roses, something of her vanished grace. 

 "I have a fancy, " wrote my mother to Mary Virginia, "that having been pressed against women's bosoms and held in women's hands, having been, as it were, symbols which expressed the hidden emotions of the heart, these exquisite toys have thus been enabled to gain a soul, a soul composed of sentience and of memory. I think that as they lie all the long, long years in those carved and scented boxes which are like little tombs, they remember the lights and the flowers and the perfumes, the glimmer and gleam of jewels and silks, the frothy fall of laces, the laughter and whispers and glances, the murmured word, the stifled sigh: and above all, the touch of soft lips that used to brush them lightly; and the poor things wonder a bit wistfully what has become of all that gay and lovely life, all that perished bravery and beauty that once they knew. So I am quite sure this apparently soulless bit of carved ivory sighs inaudibly to feel again the touch of a warm and young hand, to be held before gay and smiling eyes, to have a flower-fresh face bent over it once more. 

 "Accept it, then, my child, with your old friend's love. Use it in your happy hours, dream over it a little, sigh lightly; and then smile to remember that this is your Hour, that you are young, and life and love are yours. It is in such youthful and happy smiles that we whose day declines may relive for a brief and bright space our golden noon. Shall I tell you a secret, before your time to know it? _Youth alone is eternal and immortal!_ How do I know? _'Et Ego in Arcadia vixi!'_"

Mary Virginia showed me that letter, long afterward, and I haveinserted it here, although I suppose it really isn't at all relevant. But I shall let it stand, because it is so like my mother!

John Flint made for the schoolgirl a most wonderful tray with handlesand border of hammered and twisted copper. The tray itself was coveredwith a layer of silvery thistle-down; and on this, hovering aboveflowers, some of his loveliest butterflies spread their wings. Sobeautifully did their frail bodies fit into this airy bed, socarefully was the work done, that you might fancy only the glass whichcovered them kept them from escaping. 

 "You will remember telling me, when you were going away to grow up, " wrote John Flint, "to watch out for any big fine fellows that came by of a morning, because they'd be messengers from you to the Parish House people. Big and little they've come, and I've played like they were all of them your carriers. So you see we had word of you every single day of all these years you've been gone! Now I'm sending one or two of them back to you. Please play like my tray's a million times bigger and finer and that it's all loaded down with good messages and hopes; and believe that still it wouldn't be half big enough to hold all the good wishes the Parish House folks (you were right: I belong, and so does Kerry) send you to-day by the hand of your old friend, THE BUTTERFLY MAN. 

Mary Virginia showed me that letter, too, because she was so delightedwith it, and so proud of it. I like its English very well, but I likeits Irishness even better. 

But, although she had at last finished and done with school, MaryVirginia didn't come home to us as we had hoped she would. Her motherhad other plans, which failed to include little Appleboro. Why shoulda girl with such connections and opportunities be buried in a littletown when great cities waited for just such with open and welcomingarms? The best we got then was a photograph of our girl in hergraduation frock--slim wistful Mary Virginia, with much of her dearangular youthfulness still clinging to her. 

It was Mrs. Eustis herself who kept us posted, after awhile, of thegirl's later triumphant progress; the sensation she created, the boredworld bowing to her feet because she brought it, along with name andwealth, so fresh a spirit, so pure a beauty. There was a certainautocratic old Aunt of her mother's, a sort of awful high priestess inthe inmost shrine of the sacred elect; this Begum, delighted with heryoung kinswoman, ordered the rest of her world to be likewisedelighted, and the world agreeing with her verdict, Mary Virginiafared very well. She was fêted, photographed, and paragraphed. Herportrait, painted by a rather obscure young man, made the painterfamous. In the hands of the Begum the pretty girl blossomed into agreat beauty. The photograph that presently came to us quite took ourbreath away, she was so regal. 

"She will never, never again be at home in little Appleboro, " said mymother, regretfully. "That dear, simple, passionate, eager child weused to know has gone forever--life has taken her. This beautifulcreature's place is not here--_she_ belongs to a world where the womenwear titles and tiaras, and the men wear kings' orders. No, we couldnever hope to hold her any more. "

"But we could love her, could we not? Perhaps even more than thosefine ladies with tiaras and titles and those fine gentlemen withorders, whom your fancy conjures up for her, " said I crisply, for herwords stung. They found an echo in my own heart. 

"Love her? Oh, but of course! But--love counts for very, very littlein the world which claims Mary Virginia now, Armand. Ambition stifleshim. " I was silent. I knew. 

As for John Flint, he looked at that photograph and turned red. 

"Good Lord! To think I had nerve to send _her_ a few butterflies lastyear . .. Told _her_ to play like they meant more! I somehow couldn'tget the notion in my head that she'd grown up. .. . I never could thinkof her except as a sort of kid-angel, because I couldn't seem to bearthe idea of her ever being anything else but what she was. Well . .. She's not, any more. And I've had the nerve to give a few insects tothe Queen of Sheba!"

"Bosh!" said Laurence, sturdily. "She ought to be glad and proud toget that tray, and I'll bet you Mary Virginia's delighted with it. She's her father's daughter as well as her mother's, please. As forAppleboro not being good enough for her, that's piffle, too, p'titeMadame, and I'm surprised at you! Her own town is good enough for anygirl. If it isn't, let her just pitch in and help make it good enough, if she's worth her salt. Not that Mary Virginia isn't scrumptious, though. Lordy, who'd think this was the same kid that used to bump myhead?"

"She turns heads now, instead of bumping them, " said my mother. 

"Oh, she's not the only head-turner Appleboro can boast of!" said theyoung man grandly. "We've always been long on good-lookers inCarolina, whatever else we may lack. They're like berries in theirseason. "

"But the berry season is short and soon over, my son: and there areseasons when there are no berries at all--except preserved ones, "suggested my mother, with that swift, curious cattiness which so oftenastounds me in even the dearest of women. 

"Dare you to tell that to the Civic League!" chortled Laurence. "I'llgrant you that Mary Virginia's the biggest berry in the patch, at theheight of a full season. But look at her getup! Don't doodads andfallals, and hen-feathers in the hair, and things twisted and tied, and a slithering train, and a clothesline length of pearls and such, count for something? How about Claire Dexter, for instance? She mayn'thave a Figure like her Aunt Sally Ruth, but suppose you dolled Claireup like this? A flirt she was born and a flirt she will die, but isn'tshe a perfect peach? That reminds me--that ungrateful minx gave twodances rightfully mine to Mr. Howard Hunter last night. I didn't raiseany ructions, because, to tell you the truth, I didn't much blame her. That fellow really knows how to dance, and the way he can convey to agirl the impression that he's only alive on her account makes me gnashmy teeth with green-and-blue envy. No wonder they all dote on him! Nohome complete without this handsome ornament!" he added. 

My mother's lips came firmly together. 

"It is a great mistake to figure Mephistopheles as a rather blasébrunette, " she remarked crisply. "I am absolutely certain that if youcould catch the devil without his mask you'd find him a perfectblonde. "

"Nietzsche's blonde beast, then?" suggested Laurence, amused at hermanner. 

"That same blonde beast is perhaps the most magnificent of animals, " Iput in. For alone of my household I admired immensely Mr. Inglesby'ssecretary. He was the only man I have ever known to whom the term'beautiful' might be justly applied, and at the word's proper worth. Such a man as this, a two-handed sword gripped in his steel fists, awolfskin across his broad shoulders and eagle-wings at either side thehelmet that crowns his yellow hair, looks at one out of many a red, red page of the past with just such blue, dangerous, and cloudlesseyes. Rolling and reeking decks have known him, and falling walls, and shrieks, and flames mounting skyward, and viking sagas, anddrinking-songs roared from brass throats, and terrible hymns to OdinAllfather in the midwatches of Northern nights. 

He had called upon me shortly after his arrival, his ostensible reasonbeing my work among his mill-people. I think he liked me, later. Atany rate, I had seen much of him, and I was indebted to him for morethan one shrewd and practical suggestion. If at times I was chilled bywhat seemed to me a ruthless and cold-blooded manner of viewing thewhole great social question I was nevertheless forced to admire thealmost mathematical perfection to which he had reduced his system. 

"But you wish to deal with human beings as with figures in a sum, " Iobjected once. 

"Figures, " he smiled equably, "are only stubborn--on paper. Whenthey're alive they're fluid and any clever social chemist can reducethem to first principles. It's really very simple, as all great thingsare: _When in doubt, reach the stomach!_ There you are! That's theuniversal eye-opener. "

"My dear friend, " he added, laughing, "don't look so horrified. _I_didn't make things as they are. Personally, I might even prefer tosay, like Mr. Fox in the old story, _'It was not so. It is not so. AndGod forbid it should be so!'_ But I can't, truthfully, andtherefore--I don't. I accept what I can't help. Self-preservation, weall admit, is the first law of nature. Now I consider myself, and theclass I represent, as beings much more valuable to the world than, let's say, your factory-hands, your mill-workers, your hewers of woodand drawers of water. Thus, should the occasion arise, I should mostunhesitatingly use whatever weapons law, religion, civilizationitself, put into my hands, without compunction and possibly what somecavilers might call without mercy; having at stake a very vitalissue--the preservation of my kind, the protection of my class againstDemos. "

He spoke without heat, calmly, looking at me smilingly with his fineintelligent eyes: there was even much of truth in his frank statementof his case. Always has Dives spoken thus, law-protected, diningwithin; while without the doors of the sick civilization he hasbrought about, Lazarus lies, licked by the dogs of chance. No, thisman was advocating no new theory; once, perhaps, I might have arguedeven thus myself, and done so with a clean conscience. This man wasmerely an opportunist. I knew he would never "reach their stomachs"unless he thought he had to. Indeed, since his coming, things hadchanged greatly at the mills, and for the better. 

"The day of the great god Gouge, " he had said to Inglesby, "ispassing. It's bad business to overwork and underpay your hands into astate of chronic insurrection. That means losing time and scampingwork. The square deal is not socialism nor charity nor a matter of anyone man's private pleasure or conscience--it's cold hard common senseand sound scientific business. You get better results, and that's whatyou're after. "

Perhaps it was because Appleboro offered, at that time, very little toamuse and interest that keen mind of his, that the Butterfly Manamused and interested Hunter so much. Or perhaps, proud as he was, even he could not wholly escape that curious likableness which drewmen to John Flint. 

He was delighted with our collection. He could appreciate its scopeand value, something to which all Appleboro else paid but passingheed. John Flint declared that most folks came to see our butterfliesjust as they would have run to see the dog-faced boy or the beardedlady--merely for something to see. But this man's appreciation andpraise were both sincere and encouraging. And as he never allowedanything or anybody unusual or interesting to pass him by without atleast sampling its savor, he formed the habit of strolling over to theParish House to talk with the limping man who had come there a dyingtramp, was now a scientist, with the manner and appearance of agentleman, and who spoke at will the language of two worlds. That thisonce black sheep had strayed of his own will and pleasure from somenotable fold Hunter didn't for a moment doubt. Like all Appleboro, hewouldn't have been at all surprised to see this prodigal son welcomedinto the bosom of some Fifth Avenue father, and have the fatted calfdressed for him by a chef whose salary might have hired three collegeprofessors. Hunter had known one or two such black sheep in his time;he fancied himself none too shrewd in thus penetrating Flint's ratherobvious secret. 

My mother watched the secretary's comings and goings at the ParishHouse speculatively. Not even the fact that he quoted her adored LaRochefoucauld, in flawless French, softened _her_ estimate. 

"If he even had the semblance of a heart!" said she, regretfully. "Buthe is all head, that one. "

Now, I am a simple man, and this cultivated and handsome man of theworld delighted me. To me immured in a mill town he brought the modernworld's best. He was a window, for me, which let in light. 

"That great blonde!" said Madame, wonderingly. "He is so designedlyfascinating I wonder you fail to see the wheels go 'round. However, let me admit that I thank God devoutly I am no longer young andsusceptible. Consider the terrible power such a man might exert overan ardent and unsophisticated heart!"

It was Hunter who had brought me a slim book, making known to me apoet I had otherwise missed. 

"You are sure to like Bridges, " he told me, "for the sake of oneverse. Have you ever thought _why_ I like you, Father De Rancé?Because you amuse me. I see in you one of life's subtlest ironies: AGreek beauty-worshiper posing as a Catholic priest--in Appleboro!" Helaughed. And then, with real feeling, he read in his resonant voice:

 "I love all beautiful things: I seek and adore them. God has no better praise, And man in his hasty days, Is honored for them. "

When at times the secretary brought his guests to see what hepleasingly enough termed Appleboro's one claim to distinction, theButterfly Man did the honors to the manner born. Drawer after drawerand box after box would he open, patiently answering and explaining. And indeed, I think the contents were worth coming far to see. Some ofthem had come to us from the ends of the earth; from China and Japanand India and Africa and Australia, from the Antilles and Mexico andSouth America and the isles of the Pacific; from many and many alonely missionary station had they been sent us. Even as ourcollection grew, the library covering it grew with it. But this wasmerely the most showy and pleasing part of the work. That which hadthe greatest scientific worth and interest, that upon which JohnFlint's value and reputation were steadily mounting, was in lesslovely and more destructive forms of insect life. Beside this last, alabor calling for the most unremitting, painstaking, perseveringresearch, observation, and intelligence, the painted beauties of hisbutterflies were but as precious play. For in this last he waswringing from Nature's reluctant fingers some of her dearest and mostdeeply hidden secrets. He was like Jacob, wrestling all night longwith an unknown angel, saying sturdily:

"I will not let thee go except thou tell me thy name!" Like Jacob, hepaid the price of going halt for his knowledge. 

I like to think that Hunter understood the enormous value of thenaturalist's work. But I fancy the silent and absorbed student himselfwas to his mind the most interesting specimen, the most valuablestudy. It amused him to try to draw his reticent host into familiarand intimate conversation. Flint was even as his name. 

Oddly enough, Hunter shared the Butterfly Man's liking for thatunspeakable Book of Obituaries, and I have seen him take a batch ofthem from his pocket as a free-will offering. I have seen him, who hadall French, Russian and English literature at his fingers' ends, sitchuckling and absorbed for an hour over that fearful collection oflugubrious verse and worse grammar; pausing every now and then to casta speculative and curious glance at his impassive host, who, payingabsolutely no attention to him, bent his whole mind, instead, uponsome tiny form in a balsam slide mount under his microscope. 

"Why don't you admire Mr. Hunter?" I was curious to know. 

"But I do admire him. " Flint was sincere. 

"Then if you admire him, why don't you like him?"

He reflected. 

"I don't like the expression of his teeth, " he admitted. "They're toopointed. He looks like he'd bite. I don't think he'd care much who hebit, either; it would all depend on who got in his way. "

Seeing me look at him wonderingly, he paused in his work, stretchedhis legs under the table, and grinned up at me. 

"I'm not saying he oughtn't to put his best foot foremost, " he agreed. "We'd all do that, if we only knew how. And I'm not saying he ought totell on himself, or that anybody's got any business getting under hisguard. I don't hanker to know anybody's faults, or to find out whatthey've got up their sleeves besides their elbows, unless I have to. Why, I'd as soon ask a fellow to take off his patent leathers to provehe hadn't got bunions, or to unbutton his collar, so I'd be sure itwasn't fastened onto a wart on the back of his neck. Personally Idon't want to air anybody's bumps and bunions. It's none of mybusiness. I believe in collars and shoes, myself. _But_ if I seesigns, I can believe all by my lonesome they've got 'em, can't I?"

"Exactly. Your deductions, my dear Sherlock, are really marvelous. Agentleman wears good shoes and clean collars--wherefore, you don'tlike the expression of his teeth!" said I, ironically. 

"Slap me on the wrist some more, if it makes you feel good, " heoffered brazenly. "For he may--and I sure don't. " His grin faded, theold pucker came to his forehead. 

"Parson, maybe the truth is I'm not crazy over him because people likehim get people like me to seeing too plainly that things aren't fairlydealt out. Why, think a minute. That man's got about all a man canhave, hasn't he? In himself, I mean. And if there's anything more hefancies, he can reach out and get it, can't he? Well, then, some folksmight get to thinking that folks like him--get more than they deserve. And some . .. Don't get any more than they deserve, " he finished, withgrim ambiguity. 

"Do you like him yourself?" he demanded, as I made no reply. 

"I admire him immensely. "

"Does Madame like him?" he came back. 

"Madame is a woman, " I said, cautiously. "Also, you are to rememberthat if Madame doesn't, she is only one against many. All the rest ofthem seem to adore him. "

"Oh, the rest of them!" grunted John Flint, and scowled. "Huh! If itwasn't for Madame and a few more like her, I'd say women and hens arethe two plum-foolest things God has found time to make yet. If youdon't believe it, watch them stand around and cackle over the firstbig dunghill rooster that walks on his wings before them! There aretimes when I could wring their necks. Dern a fool, anyhow!" Hewriggled in his chair with impatience. 

"Liver, " said I, outraged. "You'd better see Dr. Westmoreland aboutit. When a man talks like you're talking now, it's just one of twothings--a liver out of whack, or plain ugly jealousy. "

"I do sound like I've got a grouch, don't I?" he admitted, withoutshame. "Well . .. Maybe it's jealousy, and maybe it's not. The truthis, he rubs me rather raw at times, I don't know just how or why. Maybe it's because he's so sure of himself. He can afford to be sure. There isn't any reason why he shouldn't be. And it hurts my feelings. "He looked up at me, shrewdly. "He looks all right, and he sounds allright, and maybe he might be all right--but, parson, I've got thenotion that somehow he's not!"

"Good heavens! Why, look at what the man has done for the mill folks!Whatever his motives are, the result is right there, isn't it? Hisworks praise him in the gates!"

"Oh, sure! But he hasn't played his full hand out yet, friend. You justgive him time. His sort don't play to lose; they can't afford to lose;losing is the other fellow's job. Parson, see here: there are two sidesto all things; one of 'em's right and the other's wrong, and a man's gotto choose between 'em. He can't help it. He's got to be on one side orthe other, if he's a _man_. A neutral is a squashy It that both sides doright to kick out of the way. Now you can't do the right side any goodif you're standing flatfooted on the wrong side, can you? No; you takesides according to what's in you. You know good and well one side isfull of near-poors, and half-ways, and real-poors--the downandouters, the guys that never had a show, ditchers and sewercleaners andsweatshoppers and mill hands and shuckers, and overdriven mutts andstarved women and kids. It's sure one hell of a road, but there's got tobe a light somewhere about it or the best of the whole world wouldn'ttake to it for choice, would they? Yet they do! Like Jesus Christ, say. They turn down the other side cold, though it's nicer traveling. Why, you can hog that other road in an auto, you can run down the beggars andthe kids, you can even shoot up the cops that want to make you keep thespeed laws. You haven't _got_ any speed laws there. It's your road. Youown it, see? It's what it is because you've made it so, just to pleaseyourself, and to hell with the hicks that have to leg it! But--you loseout on that side even when you think you've won. You get exactly whatyou go after, but you don't get any more, and so you lose out. Why?Because you're an egg-sucker and a nest-robber and a shrike, and afour-flusher and a piker, that's why!

"The first road don't give you anything you can put your hands on;except that you think and hope maybe there's that light at the end ofit. But, parson, I guess if _you're_ man enough to foot it without apay-envelope coming in on Saturdays, why, it's plenty good enough for_me_--and Kerry. But while I'm legging it I'll keep a weather eyepeeled for crooks. That big blonde he-god is one of 'em. You soak thatin your thinking-tank: he's one of 'em!"

"But look at what he's doing!" said I, aghast. "What he's doing is_good_. Even Laurence couldn't ask for more than good results, couldhe?"

The Butterfly Man smiled. 

"Don't get stung, parson. Why, you take me, myself. Suppose, parson, you'd been on the other side, like Hunter is, when I came along? Supposeyou'd never stopped a minute, since you were born, to think of anythingor anybody but yourself and your own interests--where would I be to-day, parson? Suppose you had the utility-and-nothing-but-business bug bitingyou, like that skate's got? Why, what do you suppose you'd have donewith little old Slippy? I was considerable good business to look atthen, wasn't I? No. You've got to have something in you that will letyou take gambler's chances; you've got to be willing to bet the limitand risk your whole kitty on the one little chance that a roan will comeout right, if you give him a fair show, just because he _is_ a man; oryou can't ever hope to help just when that help's needed. Right there isthe difference between the Laurence-and-you sort and the Hunter-men, "said John Flint, obstinately. 

As for Laurence, he and Hunter met continually, both being in constantsocial demand. If Laurence did not naturally gravitate toward thatbright particular set of rather rapid young people which presentlyformed itself about the brilliant figure of Hunter, the two did notdislike each other, though Hunter, from an older man's sureness ofhimself, was the more cordial of the two. I fancy each watched theother more guardedly than either would like to admit. They representedopposite interests; one might at any moment become inimical to theother. Of this, however, no faintest trace was allowed to appear uponthe calm unruffled surface of things. 

If Inglesby had chosen this man by design, it had been a wise choice. For he was undoubtedly very popular, and quite deservedly so. He hadunassailable connections, as we all knew. He brought a broaderculture, which was not without its effect. And in spite of the factthat he represented Inglesby, there was not a door in Appleboro thatwas not open to him. Inglesby himself seemed a less sinister figure inthe light of this younger and dazzling personality. Thus the secretarygradually removed the thorns and briars of doubts and prejudices, sowing in their stead the seeds of Inglesby's ambition andrehabilitation, in the open light of day. He knew his work was welldone; he was sure of ultimate success; he had always been successful, and there had been, heretofore, no one strong enough to activelyoppose him. He could therefore afford to make haste slowly. Even hadhe been aware of the Butterfly Man's acrid estimate of him, it musthave amused him. When all was said and done, what did a ButterflyMan--even such a one as ours--amount to, in the world of Big Business_He_ hadn't stocks nor bonds nor power nor pull. He hadn't anythingbut a personality that arrested you, a setter dog, a slowly-growingname, a room full of insects in an old priest's garden. Of courseHunter would have smiled! And there wasn't a soul to tell him anythingof Slippy McGee!

CHAPTER XI

A LITTLE GIRL GROWN UP

Summer stole out a-tiptoe, and October had come among the live-oaksand the pines, and touched the wide marshes and made them brown, andlaid her hand upon the barrens and the cypress swamps and set themaflame with scarlet and gold. October is not sere and sorrowful withus, but a ruddy and deep-bosomed lass, a royal and free-heartedspender and giver of gifts. Asters of imperial purple, golden rod fitfor kings' scepters, march along with her in ever thinning ranks; thegreat bindweed covers fences and clambers up dying cornstalks; and inmany a covert and beside the open ditches the Gerardia swings her pinkand airy bells. All down the brown roads white lady's-lace and yarrowand the stiff purple iron-weed have leaped into bloom; under its fadedgreen coat the sugar-cane shows purple; and sumac and sassafras andgums are afire. The year's last burgeoning of butterflies riots, atangle of rainbow coloring, dancing in the mellow sunshine. And day byday a fine still deepening haze descends veil-like over the landscapeand wraps it in a vague melancholy which most sweetly invades thespirit. It is as if one waits for a poignant thing which must happen. 

Upon such a perfect afternoon, I, reading my worn old breviary underour great magnolia, heard of a sudden a voice of pure gold call me, very softly, by my name; and looking up met eyes of almostunbelievable blue, and the smile of a mouth splendidly young and red. 

I suppose the tall girl standing before me was fashionably andexpensively clad; heaven knows _I_ don't know what she wore, but I doknow that whatever it was it became her wonderfully; and although itseemed to me very simple, and just what such a girl ought to wear, mymother says you could tell half a mile away that those clothes smackedof super-tailoring at its costliest. Hat and gloves she held in herslim white ringless hand. One thus saw her waving hair, framing herwarm pale face in living ebony. 

"Padre!" said she. "Oh, dear, dear, Padre!" and down she droppedlightly beside me, and cradled her knees in her arms, and looked up, with an arch and tender friendliness. That childish action, thatupward glance, brought back the darling child I had so greatly loved. This was no Queen-of-Sheba, as John Flint had thought. This was notthe regal young beauty whose photograph graced front pages. This wasmy own girl come back. And I knew I hadn't lost Mary Virginia. 

"I remembered this place, and I knew--I just knew in my heart--you'dbe sitting here, with your breviary in your hand. I knew just howyou'd be looking up, every now and then, smiling at things becausethey're lovely and you love them. So I stole around by the backgate--and there you were!" said she, her eyes searching me. "Padre, Padre, how more than good to see you again! And I'm sure that's thesame cassock I left you wearing. You could wear it a couple oflifetimes without getting a single spot on it--you were always such adelightful old maid, Padre! Where and how is Madame? Who's in theGuest Rooms? How is John Flint since he's come to be a Notable? HasMiss Sally Ruth still got a Figure? How are the judge's cats, and themajor's goatee? How is everything and everybody?"

"Did you know you'd have to make room for me, Padre? Well, you will. Ipicked up and fairly ran away from everything and everybody, becausethe longing for home grew upon me intolerably. When I was in Europe, and I used to think that three thousand miles of water lay between meand Appleboro, I used to cry at nights. I hope John Flint'sbutterflies told him what I told them to tell him for me, when theycame by! How beautiful the old place looks! Padre, you're _thin_. Whywill you work so hard? Why doesn't somebody stop you? And--you'regray, but how perfectly beautiful gray hair is, and how thick and wavyyours is, too! Gray hair was invented and intended for folks withFrench blood and names. Nobody else can wear it half so gracefully. Now tell me first of all you're glad as glad can be to see me, Padre. Say you haven't forgotten me--and then you can tell me everythingelse!"

She paused, fanned herself with her hat, and laughed, looking up at mewith her blue, blue eyes that were so heavily fringed with black. 

I was so startled by her sudden appearance--as if she had walked outof my prayers, like an angel; and, above all, by that resemblance tothe one long since dust and unremembered of all men's hearts savemine, that I could hardly bear to look upon her. That other one seemedto have stepped delicately out of her untimely grave; to sit once morebeside me, and thus to look at me once more with unforgotten eyes. Thou knowest, my God, before whom all hearts are bare, that I couldnot have loved thee so singly nor served thee without fainting, allthese years, if for one faithless moment I could have forgotten her!

My mother came out of the house with a garden hat tied over her whitehair, and big garden gloves on her hands. At sight of the girl sheuttered a joyful shriek, flung scissors and trowel and basket aside, and rushed forward. With catlike quickness the girl leaped to her feetand the two met and fell into each other's arms. I wished when I sawthe little woman's arms close so about the girl, and the look thatflashed into her face, that heaven had granted her a daughter. 

"Mother complained that I should at least have the decency to wire youI was coming--she said I was behaving like a child. But I wanted towalk in unannounced. I was so sure, you see, that there'd be welcomeand room for me at the Parish House. "

"The little room you used to like so much is waiting for you, " said mymother, happily. 

"Next to yours, all in blue and white, with the Madonna of the Chairover the mantelpiece and the two china shepherdesses under her?"

"Then you shall see the new baby in the bigger Guest Room, and thecrippled Polish child in the small one, " said my mother. "The baby'sname is Smelka Zurawawski, but she's all the better for it--I neversaw a nicer baby. And the little boy is so patient and so intelligent, and so pretty! Dr. Westmoreland thinks he can be cured, and we hope tobe able to send him on to Johns Hopkins, after we've got him in goodshape. Where is your luggage? How long may we keep you? But first ofall you shall have tea and some of Clélie's cakes. Clélie has grownhorribly vain of her cakes. She expects to make them in heaven some ofthese days, for the most exclusive of the cherubim and seraphim, andthe lordliest of the principalities and powers. "

Mary Virginia smiled at the pleased old servant. "I've half a dozengorgeous Madras head-handkerchiefs for you, Clélie, and a perfect duckof a black frock which you are positively to make up and wear now--youare _not_ to save it up to be buried in!"

"No'm, Miss Mary Virginia. I won't get buried in it. I'll maybe getmarried in it, " said Clélie calmly. 

"Married! Clélie!" said my mother, in consternation. "Do you mean totell me you're planning to leave me, at this time of our lives?"

Clélie was indignant. "You think I have no mo'sense than to leave youand M'sieu Armand, for some strange nigger? Not me!"

"Who are you going to marry, Clélie?" Mary Virginia was delighted. "And hadn't you better let me give you another frock? Black is hardlyappropriate for a bride. "

"I'm not exactly set in my mind who he's going to be yet, Miss MaryVirginia, but he's got to be somebody or other. There's been lotsafter me, since it got out I'm such a grand cook and save my wages. But I've got a sort of taste for Daddy January. He's old, but he'slively. He's a real ambitious old man like that. Besides, I'm sure ofhis family, --I always did like Judge Mayne and Mister Laurence, and Ido like 'ristocratic connections, Miss Mary Virginia. That big niggerthat drives one of the mill trucks had the impudence to tell me he'dgive me a church wedding and pay for it himself, but I told him I wasraised a Catholic; and what you think he said? He said, 'Oh, well, you've been christened in the face already. We can dip the rest of youeasy enough, and then you'll be a real Christian, like me!' I'd justscalded my chickens and was picking them, and I was that mad I uppedand let him have that dish pan full of hot water and wet feathers inhis face. 'There, ' says I, 'you're christened in the face nowyourself, ' I says. 'You can go and dip the rest of yourself, ' says I, 'but see you do it somewhere else besides my kitchen, ' I says. I don'tthink he's crazy to marry me any more, and Daddy January's sort ofsoothing to my feelings, besides being close to hand. Yes'm, I guessyou'd better give me the black dress, Miss Mary Virginia, if you don'tmind: it'd come in awful handy if I had to go in mourning. "

"The black dress it shall be, " said Mary Virginia, gaily. She turnedto my mother. "And what do you think, p'tite Madame? I've a rarebutterfly for John Flint, that an English duke gave me for him! Theduke is a collector, too, and he'd gotten some specimens from JohnFlint. The minute he learned I was from Appleboro he asked me allabout him. He said nobody else under the sky can 'do' insects soperfectly, and that nobody except the Lord and old Henri Fabre knew asmuch about certain of them as John Flint does. Folks thought the dukewas taken up with _me_, of course, and I was no end conceited! Ihadn't the ghost of an idea you and John Flint were such astonishinglylearned folks, Padre! But of course if a duke thought so, I knew I'dbetter think so, too--and so I did and do! Think of a duke knowingabout folks in little Appleboro! And he was such a nice old man, too. Not a bit dukey, after you knew him!"

"We come in touch with collectors everywhere, " I explained. 

"And so John Flint has written some sort of a book, describing thewhole life history of something or other, and _you've_ done all thedrawings! Isn't it lovely? Why, it sounds like something out of apleasant book. Mayn't I see collector and collection in the morning?And oh, where's Kerry?"

"Kerry, " said my mother gravely, "is a most important personage. He'sJohn Flint's bodyguard. He doesn't actually sleep in his master's bed, because he has one of his own right next it. Clélie was horrified atfirst. She said they'd be eating together next, but the Butterfly Manreminded her that Kerry likes dog-biscuit and he doesn't. I figurethat in the order of his affections the Butterfly Man ranks Kerryfirst, Armand and myself next, and Laurence a close third. "

"Oh, Laurence, " said Mary Virginia. "I'll be so glad to see Laurenceagain, if only to quarrel with him. Is he just as logical as ever? Hashe given the sun a black eye with his sling-shot? My father's alwayspraising Laurence in his letters. "

Now my mother adores Laurence. She patterns upon this model everyyoung man she meets, and if they are not Laurence-sized she does notinclude them in her good graces. But she seldom lifts her voice inpraise of her favorite. She is far, far too wise. 

"Laurence generally looks in upon us during the evening, if he is nottoo busy, " she said, non-committally. "You see, people are beginningto find out what a really fine lawyer Laurence is, so cases are comingto him steadily. "

The trunks had arrived, and Mary Virginia changed into white, in whichshe glowed and sparkled like a fire opal. We three dined together, andas she became more and more animated, a pink flush stole into herrather pale cheeks and her eyes deepened and darkened. She was vividlyalive. One could see why Mary Virginia was classed as a great beauty, although, strictly speaking, she was no such thing. But she had thatcompelling charm which one simply cannot express in words. It wasthere, and you felt it. She did not take your heart by storm, willynilly. You watched her, and presently you gave her your heartwillingly, delighted that a creature so lovely and so unaffected andworth loving had crossed your path. 

She chatted with my mother about that world which the older woman hadonce graced, and my mother listened without a shade to darken hersmooth forehead. But I do not think I ever so keenly appreciated themany sacrifices she had made for me, until that night. 

The autumn evening had grown chilly, and we had a fire in theclean-swept fireplace. The old brass dogs sparkled in the blaze, andthe shadows flickered and danced on the walls, and across the faces ofDe Rancé portraits; the pleasant room was full of a ruddy, friendlyglow. My mother sat in her low rocker, making something or other outof pink and white wools for the baby upstairs. Mary Virginia, at theold square piano, sang for us. She had a charming voice, carefullycultivated and sweet, and she played with great feeling. 

Kerry barked at the gate, as he always does when home is reached. Mymother, dropping her work, ran to the window which gives upon thegarden, and called. A moment later the Butterfly Man, with Laurencejust back of him, and Kerry squeezing in between them, stood in thedoor. Mary Virginia, lips parted, eyes alight, hands outstretched, arose. The light of the whole room seemed not so much to gather uponher, as to radiate from her. 

The dog reached her first. Outdoor exercise, careful diet, perfectgrooming, had kept Kerry in fine shape. His age told only in an addeddignity, a slower movement. 

The girl went down on her knees, and hugged him. Pitache, aroused byKerry's unwonted demonstrations, circled about them, rushing in everynow and then to bestow an indiscriminate lick. 

"Why, it's Mary Virginia!" exclaimed Laurence, and helped her to herfeet. The two regarded each other, mutually appraising. He toweredabove her, head and shoulders, and I thought with great satisfactionthat, go where she would, she could nowhere find a likelier man thanthis same Laurence of ours. Like David in his youth, he was ruddy andof a beautiful countenance. 

"Why, Laurence! What a Jack-the-Giant-killer! Mercy, how big the boy'sgrown!"

"Why, Mary Virginia! What a heart-smasher! Mercy, how pretty thegirl's grown!" he came back, holding her hand and looking down at herwith equally frank delight. "When I remember the pigtailed, leggy, tonguey minx that used to fetch me clumps over the head--and thenregard this beatific vision--I'm afraid I'll wake up and you'll begone!"

"If you'll kindly give me back my hand, I might be induced to fetchyou another clump or two, just to prove my reality, " she suggested, with a delightful hint of the old truculence. 

"'T is she! This is indeed none other than our long-lost child!"burbled Laurence. "Lordy, I wish I could tell her how more than goodit is to see her again--and to see her as she is!"

Now all this time John Flint had stood in the doorway; and when mymother beckoned him forward, he came, I fancied, a bit unwillingly. His limp was for once painfully apparent, and whether from theday-long tramp, or from some slight indisposition, he was very pale;it showed under his deep tan. 

But I was proud of him. His manner had a pleasant shyness, which was atribute to the young girl's beauty. It had as well a simple dignity. And one was impressed by the fine and powerful physique of him, solean and springy, so boyishly slim about the hips and waist, so deeplystamped with clean living of days in the open, of nights under thestars. The features had thinned and sharpened, and his red beardbecame him; the hair thinning on the temples increased the breadth ofthe forehead, and behind his glasses the piercing blue eyes--somethinglike an eagle's eyes--were clear, direct, and kind. He wore hisclothes well, with a sort of careless carefulness, more like anEnglishman than an American, who is always welldressed, but rathergives the impression of being conscious of it. 

Mary Virginia's lips parted, her eyes widened, for a fraction of asecond. But if, remembering him as she had first seen and known him, she was astonished to find him as he was now, she gave no furtheroutward sign. Instead, she gave him her hand as to an equal, and in afew gracious words let him know that she knew and was proud of what hehad done and what he was yet to do. She repeated, too, with a prettyair of personal triumph, the old nobleman's praise. Indeed, it hadbeen he who had told her of the book, which he had lately purchasedand studied, she said. And oh, hadn't she just _swelled_ with pride!She had been that conceited!

"You don't know how much obliged to you I should be, for if he hadn'taccidentally learned I was from Appleboro, the town in which dwelt hismost greatly prized correspondent--that's what he said, Mr. Flint!--why, I'm sure he wouldn't have noticed me any more than henoticed any other girl--which is, not at all; he being a toplofty andserious Personage addicted to people who do things and write things, particularly things about things that crawl and fly. And if he hadn'tnoticed me so pointedly--he actually came to see us!--why, I shouldn'thave had such a perfectly gorgeous time. It was a great feather in mycap, " she crowed. "Everybody envied me desperately!" She managed tomake us understand that this was really a compliment to the ButterflyMan, not to herself. 

"If the little book served you for one minute it was well worth thefour years it took me to gather the materials together and write it, "said he, pleasantly. And even the courtly Hunter couldn't have said itwith a manlier grace. 

"Mary Virginia, " said Laurence slyly, "when you've had your fill ofbugs, make him show you the Book of Obituaries. He thereby standsrevealed in his true colors. Why, he made me buy the old _Clarion_ andhire Jim Dabney to run it, so his supply of mortuary gems shouldn't becut off untimely. To-day he culled this one:

 Phileola dear, we cry because thou hast gone and left us, But well we know it is a merciful heaven which has bereft us. We tried five doctors and everything else we knew of you to save, But alas, nothing did you any good, and to-day you are in your grave!

He's got it in his pocket now. Dabney calls him Mister Bones, " grinnedLaurence. 

My mother looked profoundly uncomfortable. The Butterfly Man reddenedguiltily under her reproachful glance, but Mary Virginia giggledirrepressibly. 

"I choose the Book of Obituaries first!" said she promptly, withdancing eyes. Flint drew a breath of relief. 

He sat by silently enough, while Laurence and Madame and Mary Virginiatalked of everything under heaven. His whole manner was that of anamused, tolerant, sympathetic listener--a manner which spursconversation to its happiest and best. Not for nothing had MajorCartwright called him the most discriminatin' listener in Carolina. 

"Oh, by the way, Flint! Hunter came by this morning to see Dabney. Heis going to give a series of Plain Talks to Workingmen this winter, and of course he wants the _Clarion_ to cover them. What do you think, Padre?"

"I think they will be eminently sensible talks and well worthlistening to, " said I promptly. 

The Butterfly Man smiled crookedly, and shot me a freighted glance. 

"Of course, " said Laurence, easily. "Where's your father these days, Mary Virginia?"

"He was at the plantation this morning, but he'll be here to-morrow, because I wired him to come. I've just got to have him for awhile, business or no business. "

"You did me a favor, then. I want to see him, too. "

"Anything very particular?"

"Politics. "

"How silly! You know very well he never meddles with politics, thankgoodness! He thinks he has something better to do. "

"That's just what I want to see him about, " said Laurence. 

"You mentioned a--a Mr. Hunter. " Mary Virginia spoke after a shortpause. "This is the first time I've heard of any Mr. Hunter inAppleboro. Who is Mr. Hunter?"

"Inglesby's right-bower, and the king-card of the pack, " said Laurencepromptly. 

"One of them which set up golden images in high places and make allIsrael for to sin, " said my mother. "_That's_ what Howard Hunter is!"

"Oh, . .. Howard Hunter!" said she. "What sort of a person may he be?And what is he doing here in Appleboro?"

We told her according to our lights. Only the Butterfly Man sat silentand imperturbable. 

"And you'll meet him everywhere, " finished my mother. "He'severything a man should be to the naked eye, and I sincerely hope, "she added piously, "that you won't like him at all. "

Mary Virginia leaned back in her chair, and glanced thoughtfully downat the slim ringless hands clasped in her white lap. 

"No, " said she, as if to herself. "There couldn't by any chance be twosuch men in this one world. That is he, himself. " And she lifted herhead, and glanced at my mother, with a level and proud look. "I thinkI have met this Mr. Hunter, " said she, smiling curiously. "And if thatis true, your hope is realized, p'tite Madame. I shan't. "

CHAPTER XII

JOHN FLINT, GENTLEMAN

Almost up to Christmas the weather had been so mild and warm thatfolks lived out of doors. Girls clothed like the angels in whiteraiment fluttered about and blessed the old streets with their freshand rosy faces. In the bright sunshine the flowers seemed to have lostall thought of winter; they forgot to fade; and roses rioted in everygarden as if it were still summer. Nobody but the Butterfly Mangrumbled at this springlike balminess, and he only because he wasimpatient to resume experiments carried over from year to year--theeffect of varying degrees of natural cold upon the colors ofbutterflies whose chrysalids were exposed to it. He generally used thechrysalids of the Papilio Turnus, whose females are dimorphic, thatis, having two distinct forms. He did not care to resort to artificialfreezing, preferring to allow Nature herself to work for him. And thejade repaid him, as usual, by showing him what she could do butrefusing to divulge the moving why she did it. She gave him for hispains sometimes a light, and sometimes a dark butterfly, withdifferent degrees of blurred or enlarged and vivid markings, fromchrysalids subjected to exactly the same amount of exposure. 

The Butterfly Man was burning to complete his notes, already assumingthe proportions of that very exact and valuable book they wereafterward to become. He chafed at the enforced delay, and wishedhimself at the North Pole. 

In the meantime, having nothing else on hand just then, it occurred tohim to put some of these notes, covering the most interesting andcurious of the experiments, into papers which the general run of folksmight like to read. Dabney had been after him for some time to do somesuch work as this for the _Clarion_. 

I think Flint himself was genuinely surprised when he read over thoseenchanting papers, though he did not then and never has learned toappreciate their unique charm and value. Instead, however, of sendingthem to Dabney, he thought they might possibly interest a somewhatwider public, and with great diffidence, and some misgivings, he sentone or two of them to certain of the better known magazines. They didnot come back. He received checks instead, and a request for more. 

Now the book and the several monographs he had already gotten out hadbeen, although very interesting, strictly scientific; they couldappeal only to students and scholars. But these papers were entirelydifferent. Scientific enough, very clear and lucid and most quaintlyflavored with what Laurence called Flintishness, they were so wellreceived, and the response of the reading public to this fresh and newpresentment of an ever-fascinating subject was so immediate and sohearty, that the Butterfly Man found himself unexpectedly confrontinga demand he was hard put to it to supply. 

He was very much more modest about this achievement than we were. Mymother's pride was delicious to witness. You see, it also invested_me_ with a very farsighted wisdom! Here was it proven to all thatFather De Rancé had been right in holding fast to the man who had cometo him in such sorry plight. 

I suppose it was this which moved Madame to take the step she had longbeen contemplating. Knowing her Butterfly Man, she began with infinitewile. 

"Armand, " said she, one bright morning in early November, "_I_ amgoing to entertain, too--everybody else has done so, and now it's myturn. The weather is so ideal, and my garden so gorgeous with allthose chrysanthemums and salvias and geraniums and roses, that itwould be sinful not to take advantage of such conditions. 

"I have saved enough out of my house-money to meet the expenses--and Iam _not_ going to be charitable and do my Christian duty with thatmoney! I'm going to entertain. I really owe that much attention toMary Virginia. " She laid her hand on my arm. "I must see John Flint;go over to his rooms, and bring him back with you. "

I thought she merely needed his help and counsel, for she is alwaysconsulting him; she considers that whatever barque is steered by JohnFlint must needs come home to harbor. He obeyed her summons withalacrity, for it delights him to assist Madame. He did not know whatfate overshadowed him!

My mother sat in her low rocker, a lace apron lending piquancy to herappearance. She looked unusually pretty--there wasn't a girl inAppleboro who didn't envy Madame De Rancé's complexion. 

"Well, " said the Butterfly Man cheerfully, unconsciously falling underthe spell of this feminine charm, "the Padre tells me there's a partyin the wind. Good! Now what am I to do? How am I to help you out?"

My mother leaned forward and compelled him to meet direct her eyesthat were friendly and clear and candid as a child's. 

"Mr. Flint, " said she artlessly, ignoring his questions, "Mr. Flint, you've been with Armand and me quite a long time now, have you not?"

"A couple of lifetimes, " said he, wonderingly. 

"A couple of lifetimes, " she mused, still holding his eyes, "is afairly long time. Long enough, at least, to know and to be known, shouldn't you think?"

He awaited enlightenment. He never asks unnecessary questions. 

"I am going, " said my mother, with apparent irrelevance, "to entertainin honor of Mary Virginia Eustis. I shall probably have all Appleborohere. I sent for you to explain that you and Armand are to be present, too. "

The Butterfly Man almost fell out of his chair. 

"Me?" he gasped. 

"You, " with deadly softness. "You. "

Horror and anguish encompassed him. Perspiration appeared on hisforehead, and he gripped the arms of his chair as one bracing himselffor torture. He looked at the little lady with the terror of one towhom the dentist has just said: "That jaw tooth must come out at once. Open your mouth wider, please, so I can get a grip!"

My mother regarded this painful emotion heartlessly enough. She saidcoolly:

"You don't need to look as if I were sentencing you to be hangedbefore sundown. I am merely inviting you to be present at a verypleasant affair. " But the Butterfly Man, with his mouth open, waggedhis head feebly. 

"And this, " said my mother, turning the screw again, "is but thebeginning. After this, I shall manage it so that all invitations tothe Parish House include Mr. John Flint. There is no reason underheaven why you should occupy what one might call an ambiguousposition. I am determined, too, that you shall no longer rush away tothe woods like a scared savage, the minute more than one or two ladiesappear. No, nor have Armand hurrying away as quickly as he can, either, to bury or to marry somebody. All feminine Appleboro shall behere at once, and you two shall be here at the same time!

"John Flint, regard me: if the finest butterfly that ever crawled acaterpillar on this earth has the impertinence to fly by my garden theafternoon I'm entertaining for Mary Virginia, it can fly, but youshan't. 

"Armand: nobody respects Holy Orders more than I do: but there isn'tanybody alive going to get born or baptized or married or buried, oranything else, in this parish, on that one afternoon. If they areselfish enough to do it anyhow, why, they can do it without yourassistance. You are going to stay home with me: both of you. "

"My _dear_ mother--"

"Good Lord! Madame--"

"I am not to be dearmothered nor goodlorded! Heaven knows I ask littleenough of either of you. _I_ am at _your_ beck and call, every day inthe year. It does seem to me that when I wish to be civilized, andreturn for once some of the attentions I have received from myfriends, I might at least depend upon you two for one littleafternoon!" Could anything be more artfully unanswerable?

"Oh, but Madame--" began Flint, horrified by such an insinuation ashis unwillingness to do anything at any time for this adored lady. 

"Particularly, " continued my mother, inexorably, "when I have yourbest interest at heart, too, John Flint! Monsieur the Butterfly Man, you will please to remember that you are a member of my household. Youare almost like a son to me. You are the apple of that foolishArmand's eye--do not look so astounded, it is true! Also, you willhave a great name some of these days. So far, so good. But--you aremaking the grievous error of shunning society, particularly thesociety of women. This is wrong; it makes for queerness, it evolvesthe 'crank, ' it spoils many an otherwise very nice man. "

Flint sagged in his chair, and clasped and unclasped his hands, whichtrembled visibly. Madame regarded him without pity, with even a touchof scorn. 

"Yes, it is indeed high time to reclaim you!" she decided, with thefearsome zeal of the female reformer of a man. "You silly man, you!Have you no proper pride? Have you absolutely no idea of your ownworth? Well, then, if you haven't, _I_ have. You _shall_ take yourplace and play your part!"

"But, " said Flint, and a gleam of hope irradiated his stricken face, "but I don't think I've got the clothes to wear to parties. And Ireally can't afford to spend any more money right now, either. I spenta lot on that old 1797 Abbot & Smith's 'Natural History of the RarerLepidopterous Insects of Georgia. ' It cost like the dickens, althoughI really got it for about half what it's worth. I had to take it whenI got the chance, and I'd be willing to wear gunny-sacking for a yearto pay for those plates! I need them: I want them. But I don't need aparty. I don't want a party! Madame, don't, don't make me go to anyparty!"

"Nonsense!" said my mother. "Clothes, indeed! I shouldn't worry aboutclothes, if I were you, John Flint. You came into this world knowingexactly what to wear and how to wear it. Why, you have an air! That isa very great mercy, let me tell you, and one not always vouchsafed tothe deserving, either. "

"I have a cage full of grubs--most awfully particular grubs, andthey've got to be watched like a sick kid with the--with the whateverit is sick kids have, anyhow. Why, if I were to leave those grubs onewhole afternoon--"

"You just let me see a single solitary grub have the temerity to hatchhimself out that one afternoon, that's all! They have all the rest oftheir nasty little lives to hatch out!"

"Besides, there's a boy lives about five miles from here, and he'slikely to bring me word any minute about something I simply have tohave--"

"I want to see that boy!" She pointed her small forefinger at him, with the effect of a pistol leveled at his head. 

"You are coming to my affair!" said she, sternly. "If you have noregard whatsoever for Mary Virginia and me, you shall have some foryourself; if you have none for yourself, then you shall have some for_us!_"

This took the last puff of wind from the Butterfly Man's sails. 

"All right!" he gulped, and committed himself irremediably. "I--I'llbe right here. You say so, and of course I've got to!"

"Of course you will, " said my mother, smiling at him charmingly. "Iknew I had only to present the matter in its proper light, and you'dsee it at once. You are so sensible, John Flint. It's such a comfort, when the gentlemen of one's household are so amenable to reason, andso ready to stand by one!"

Having said her say, and gotten her way--as she was perfectly sure shewould--Madame left the gentlemen of her household to their ownreflections and devices. 

"Parson!" The Butterfly Man seemed to come out of a trance. "Rememberthe day you made me let a caterpillar crawl up my hand?"

"Yes, my son. "

"Parson, there's a horrible big teaparty crawling up my pants' legthis minute!"

"Just keep still, " I couldn't help laughing at him, "and it will comedown after awhile without biting you. Remember, you got used to theothers in no time. "

"Some of 'em stung like the very devil, " he reminded me, darkly. 

"Oh, but those were the hairy fellows. This is a stingless, hairless, afternoon party! It won't hurt you at all!"

"It's walking up my pants' leg, just the same. And I'm scared of it:I'm horrible scared of it! My God! _Me!_ At a jane-junket! . .. All thethin ones diked out with doodads where the bones come through . .. Stoking like sailors on shore leave . .. All the fat ones grouchy abouttheir shapes and thinking it's their souls. . .. " And he broke out, ina fluttering falsetto:

"'Oh, Mr. Flint, do please let us see your lovely butterflies! Aren'tthey just too perfectly sweet for anything! I wonder why they don'ttrim hats with butterflies? Do you know _all_ their names, you awfullyclever man? Do _they_ know their names, too, Mr. Flint? Butterfliesmust be so very interesting! And so decorative, particularly on chinaand house linen! How you have the heart to kill them, I can't imagine. Just think of taking the poor mother-butterflies away from the dearlittle baby-ones!' . .. --and me having to stand there and behave like aperfect gentleman!" He looked at me, scowling:

"Now, you look here: I can stand 'em single-file, but if I'm made toface 'em in squads, why, you blame nobody but yourself if I foam atthe mouth and chase myself in a circle and snap at legs, you hear me?"

"I hear you, " said I, coldly. "You didn't get your orders from _me_. _I_ think your proper place is in the woods. You go tell Madame whatyou've just told me--or should you like me to warn her that you'resubject to rabies?"

"For the love of Mike, parson! Have a heart! Haven't I got troublesenough?" he asked bitterly. 

"You are behaving more like an unspanked brat than a grown man. "

"I wasn't weaned on teaparties, " said he, sulkily, "and it oughtn'tto be expected I can swallow 'em at sight without making a face and--"

"Whining, " I finished for him. And I added, with a reminiscent air:"Rule 1: Can the Squeal!"

He glared at me, but as I met the glare unruffled, his lip presentlytwisted into a grin of desperate humor. His shoulders squared. 

"All right, " said he, resignedly. And after an interval of dejectedsilence, he remarked: "I've sort of got a glimmer of how Madame feelsabout this. She generally knows what's what, Madame does, and Ihaven't seen her make a mistake yet. If she thinks it's my turn tocome on in and take a hand in any game she's playing, why, I guess I'dbetter play up to her lead the best I know how . .. And trust God toslip me over an ace or two when I need them. You tell her she candepend on me not to fall down on her . .. And Miss Eustis. "

"No need to tell Madame what she already knows. "

"Huh!" With his chin in his hand and his head bent, he stared out overthe autumn garden with eyes which did not see its flaming flowers. Ofa sudden his shoulders twitched; he laughed aloud. 

"What are you laughing at?" I was startled out of a revery of my own. 

"Everything, " said the Butterfly Man, succinctly, and stood up andshook himself. "And everybody. And me in particular. _Me!_ Oh, goodLord, think of _Me!_" He whistled for Kerry, and took himself off. Iwatched him walk down the street, and saw Judge Mayne's familiargreeting; and Major Cartwright stop him, and with his hand on theButterfly Man's arm, walk off with him. Major Cartwright had keptGeorge Inglesby out of two coveted clubs, for all his wealth; he wasstiff as the proverbial poker to Howard Hunter, for all thatgentleman's impeccable connections; he met John Flint, not as througha glass darkly, but face to face. 

My mother, coming out of the house with her cherished manuscriptcookbook in her hand, looked after them thoughtfully:

"Yes; it is high time for that man to know his proper place!"

"And does he not?"

"Oh, I suppose so, Armand. In a man's way, though--not a woman's. It'sthe woman's way that really matters, you see. When women acknowledgethat man socially--and I mean it to happen--his light won't be hiddenunder a bushel basket. He will climb up into his candlestick andshine. "

That sense of bewilderment which at times overwhelmed me when the caseof John Flint pressed hard, overtook me now, with its ironic humor. Ashe himself had expressed it, I felt myself caught by a Something toobig to withstand. I was afraid to do anything, to say anything, for oragainst, this launching of his barque upon the social sea. I felt thatthe affair had been once more lifted out of my power; that my servingnow was but to stand and wait. 

And in the meanwhile my mother, with her own hands, washed and darnedthe priceless old lace that was her chiefest pride; had something doneto a frock; got out her sacredest treasures of linen and china andsilver; requisitioned the Mayne and the Dexter spoons as well; had theParish House scoured until it glittered; did everything to the gardenbut wash and iron it; spent momentous and odorous hours with Clélieover the making of toothsome delights; and on a golden afternoon gavea tea on the flower-decked verandahs and in the glorious garden, towhich all Appleboro, in its best bib and tucker, came as one. Andthere, in the heart and center of it, cool, calm, correct, collected, hiding whatever mortal qualms he might have felt under a demeanor asperfect as Hunter's own, apparently at home and at ease, behold theButterfly Man!

Everybody seemed to know him. Everybody had something pleasant to sayto him. Folks simply accepted him at sight as one of themselves. Andthe Butterfly Man accepted them quite as simply, with no faintesttrace of embarrassment. 

If Appleboro had cherished the legend that this was a prodigal well onhis way home, that afternoon settled it for them into a positive fact. His manner was perfect. It was as if one saw the fine and beautifulgrain of a piece of rare wood come out as the varnish that disfiguredit was removed. Here was no veneer to scratch and crack at a touch, but the solid, rare thing itself. My mother had been right, as always. John Flint stepped into his proper place. Appleboro was acknowledgingit officially. 

The garden was full of laughter and chatter and perfumes, and women inpretty clothes, and young girls dainty as flowers, and the smilingfaces of men. But I am no longer of the party age. I stole away to afavorite haunt of mine at the back of the garden, behind the spireasand the holly tree, where there is a dilapidated old seat we have beenthreatening to remove any time this five years. Here, some timelater, the Butterfly Man himself came stealthily, and seemedembarrassed to find the place preëmpted. 

"Well, " said I, making room for him beside me, "it isn't so bad afterall, is it?"

"No. I'm glad I was let in for it, " he admitted frankly, "though I'dhate to have to come to parties for a living. Still, this afternoonhas nailed down a thought that's been buzzing around loose in my mindthis long time. It's this: people aren't anything but people, afterall. Men and women and kids, the best and the worst of 'em, they'renothing but people, the same as everybody else. No, I'll never bescared to meet anybody, after this. _I'm_ people, too!"

"The same as everybody else. "

"The same as everybody else, " he repeated, soberly. "Not but whatthere's lots of difference between folks. And there are things it'sgood to know, too . .. Things that women like Madame . .. And Miss MaryVirginia Eustis . .. Expect a man to know, if they're not going to beashamed of him. " He thought about this awhile, then:

"I tell you what, father, " he remarked, tentatively, "it must be amighty fine thing to know you've got the right address written on you, good and plain, and the right number of stamps, and the sender's namesomewhere on a corner, to keep you from going astray or to the DeadLetter Office; and not to be scrawled in lead-pencil, and misspelt, and finger-smutched, and with a couple of postage-due stamps stuck onyou crooked, and the Lord only knows who and where from. "

"Why, yes, " said I, "that's true, and one does well to consider it. But the main thing, the really important thing, is the letteritself--what's written inside, John Flint. "

"But what's written inside wouldn't be any the worse if it was writtenclearer and better, and the outside was cleaner and on nice paper? Andin pen-and-ink, not lead-pencil scratches?" he insisted earnestly. 

"Of course not. "

"That's what I've been thinking lately, father. Somehow, I always didlike things to have some class to 'em. I remember how I used to leanagainst the restaurant windows when I was a kid, and watch the folksinside, how they dressed and acted, and the way the nicest of 'emhandled table-tools. They weren't swells, of course, and plenty of 'emmade plenty of mistakes--I've seen stunts done with a commontable-knife that had the best of the sword-swallowing gents skinned amile--but I wasn't a fool, and I learned some. Then when I--er--beganto make real money (parson, I made it in wads and gobs and lumps thosedays!) why, I got me the real thing in glad rags from the real thingin tailors, and I used to blow a queen that'd been a swell herselfonce, to the joint where the gilt-edged bunch eat and show off theirclothes and the rest of themselves. My jane looked the part to thelife, I had the kale and the clothes and was chesty as a head-waiter, being considerably stuck on yours truly along about then, so we put itover. I had the chance to get hep to the last word in clothes andmanners; that's what I'd gone for, though I didn't tell that to theskirt I was buying the eats for. And it was good business, too, formore than once when some precinct bonehead that pipe-dreamed he was adetective was pussy-catting some cold rat-hole, there was mevanbibbering in the white light at the swellest joints in little oldNew York! Funny, wasn't it? And handy! And I was learning, too--learning things worth good money to know. I saw that the bestsort didn't make any noise about anything. They went about theirbusiness, whatever it was, easy-easy, same as me in my line. But, parson, though I'd got hep to the outside, and had sense enough tocopy what I'd seen, I wasn't wise to the inside difference--the thingsthat make the best what it is, I mean--because I'd never been closeenough to find out that there's more to it than looks and duds andmanners. It took the Parish House people to soak that into me. Peoplearen't anything but people--but the best are--well, different. "

We fell silent; a happy silence, into which, as from another planet, there drifted light laughter, and sweet gay voices of girls, and thestir and rustle of many people moving about. On the Mayne fence thejudge's black Panch sat, neck outstretched, emerald eyes aslant, earscocked uneasily at these unwonted noises. At a little distance abluejay watched him with bright malevolent eyes, every now and thenscreaming insults at the whole tribe of cats, and black Panch inparticular. Flint snapped his fingers, and Panch, with a spring, wasoff the fence and on his friend's knees. It seemed to me it had onlyneeded the sleek beastie to make that hour perfect;--for cats in thehighest degree make for a sense of homely, friendly intimacy. Flint, feeling this, stroked the black head contentedly. Panch purred for thethree of us. 

Into this presently broke Miss Sally Ruth Dexter, and bore down onJohn Flint like a frigate with all sails spread. At sight of her Panchspat and fled, and took the happy spell with him. 

"Here you are, cuddling that old pirate of a black cat!" said she, briskly. "I told Madame you'd be mooning about somewhere. Here's somecocoanut cake for you both. Father, Madame's been looking for you. Didyou know, " she sank her voice to a piercing whisper, "that GeorgeInglesby's here? Well, he is! He's talking to Mary Virginia Eustis, this very minute! They do say he's running after Mary Virginia, andI'm sure I wouldn't be surprised, for if ever a mortal man had theeffrontery of Satan that man's George Inglesby! I must admit he'simproved since Mr. Hunter took him in hand. He's not nearly so stoutand red-faced, and he hasn't half the jowl, though Lord knows he'llhave to get rid of a few tons more of his blubber" (Miss Sally Ruthhas a free and fetterless tongue) "if he wants to look _human_. As Isay, what's the use of being a millionaire if you've got a shape likea rainbarrel? I often tell myself, 'Maybe you haven't been given sucha lot of this world's goods as some, Sally Ruth Dexter, but you canthank your sweet Redeemer you've at least got a Figure!"

The Butterfly Man cast a speculative eye over her generousproportions. 

"Yes'm, you certainly have a whole lot to be thankful for, " he agreed, so wholeheartedly that Miss Sally Ruth laughed. 

"Get along with you, you impudent fellow!" said she, in high goodhumor. "Go and look at that old scamp of an Inglesby making eyes at agirl young enough to be his daughter! I heard this morning that Mr. Hunter has orders to get him, by hook or crook, an invitation toanything Mary Virginia goes to. I declare, it's scandalous! Come tothink of it, though, I never saw any man yet, no matter how old orugly or outrageous he might be, who didn't really believe he stood aperfectly good chance to win the affections of the handsomest youngwoman alive! If you ask _me_, _I_ think George Inglesby had betterjoin the church and get himself ready to meet his God, instead ofgallivanting around girls. If he feels he has to gallivant, why don'the pick out somebody nearer his own age?"

"Why should you make him choose mutton when he wants lamb?" asked theButterfly Man, unexpectedly. 

"Because he's an old bellwether, that's why!" snapped Miss Sally Ruth, scandalized. "I wonder at Annabelle Eustis allowing him to come nearMary Virginia, millionaire or no millionaire. I bet you James Eustiswill have something to say, if Mary Virginia herself doesn't!" And shesailed off again, leaving us, as the saying is, with a bug in the ear. 

"Now what in the name of heaven, " I wondered, "can Miss Sally Ruthmean? Mary Virginia . .. Inglesby. . .. The thing's sacrilegious. "

The Butterfly Man rose abruptly. "Suppose we stroll about a bit?" hesuggested. 

"I thought, " said my mother, when we approached her, "that you haddisobeyed orders, and run away!"

"We were afraid to, " said John Flint. "We knew you'd make us go to bedwithout supper. "

"Did you know, " said my mother, hurriedly, for Clélie was making signsto her, "that George Inglesby is here? The invitation was merelyperfunctory, just sent along with Mr. Hunter's. I never dreamed theman would accept it. You can't imagine how astonished I was when hepresented himself!"

A few moments later, the Butterfly Man said in a low voice: "Lookyonder!" And turning, I saw Hunter. He was for the moment alone, andstood with his head bent slightly forward, his bright cold glanceintent upon the two persons approaching--Mary Virginia and GeorgeInglesby. His white teeth showed in a smile. I remembered, disagreeably, Flint's "I don't like the expression of his teeth: helooks like he'd bite. "

Until that afternoon I had not seen the secretary for some time, forhe had been kept unusually busy. Those eminently sensible talks to themill workers had been well received, and were to be followed by othersalong the same line. He had done even more: he had induced the ownersto recognize the men's Union, and all future complaints and demandswere to be submitted to arbitration. Inglesby had undoubtedly gainedground enormously by that move. Hunter had done well. Andyet--catching that sharp-toothed smile, I felt my faith in him for thefirst time shaken by one of those unaccountable uprushes of intuitionwhich perplex and disturb. 

I knew, too, that Laurence had had several long and seriousconferences with Eustis, and I could well imagine the arguments he hadbrought to bear, the rousing of a sense of duty, and of state pride. 

Eustis was obstinate. He had many interests. He was a very, very busyman. He didn't want to be a Senator; he wanted to be let alone toattend to his own business in his own way. But, insisted Laurence, when a thing must be done, and you can do it in a manner whichbenefits all and injures none; when your own people ask you to do itfor them, isn't _that_ your business?

A cold damning resume of Inglesby's entire career made Eustishesitate. A vivid picture of what the state might expect at Inglesby'shands roused him to just anger. Such as this fellow representCarolina? Never! When Inglesby's name should be put up, Eustisunwillingly agreed to oppose him. 

And here was Inglesby, in my garden, making himself agreeable toEustis's daughter! He was so plainly desirous to please her, that ittroubled me, although it made his secretary smile. 

The Mary Virginia walking beside Inglesby was not the Mary Virginia_we_ knew: this was the regal one, the great beauty. Her whole mannerwas subtly charged with a sort of arrogant hauteur; her fairnessitself changed, tinged with pride as with an inward fire, until sheglowed with a cold, jewel-like brightness, hard and clear. Her veryskirts rustled pridefully. Her glance at the man beside her wasinsulting in its disdainful indifference. 

What would have saddened a nobler spirit enchanted Inglesby. He wasdazzled by her. Her interest in what he was saying was coollyimpersonal, the fixed habit of trained politeness. He could evensurmise that she was mentally yawning behind her hand. When she lookedat him her eyes under her level brows held a certain scornfulness. Andthis, too, delighted him. He groveled to it. His red face glowed withpleasure; he swelled with a pride very different from Mary Virginia's. I thought he had an upholstered look in his glossy clothes, remindingme unpleasantly of horsehair furniture. 

"He looks like a day coach in July, " growled the Butterfly Man in myear, disgustedly. 

Inglesby at this moment perceived Hunter and beamed upon him, as wellhe might! Who but this priceless secretary had pulled the stringswhich set him beside this glorious creature, in the Parish Housegarden? He turned to the girl, with heavy jauntiness:

"My good right hand, Miss Eustis, I assure you!" he beamed. "But I amsure you two need no dissertations upon each other's merits!"

"None whatever, " said Miss Eustis, and looked over Mr. Hunter's head. 

"Oh, Miss Eustis and I are really old acquaintances!" smiled thesecretary. "We know each other very well indeed. "

Mary Virginia made no reply. Instead, she looked about her, indifferently enough, until her glance encountered the ButterflyMan's. What he saw in her's I do not know. But he instantly movedtoward her, and swept me with him. 

"Father De Rancé and I, " said he, easily, "haven't had chance to speakto you all afternoon, Miss Eustis. " He acknowledged Hunter's friendlygreeting pleasantly enough. 

"And I've been looking for you both. " The hauteur faded from the youngface. Our own Mary Virginia appeared, changed in the twinkling of aneye. 

Inglesby favored me with condescending effusiveness. Flint got offwith a smirking stare. 

"And this, " said Inglesby in the sort of voice some people use inaddressing strange children to whom they desire to be patronizinglynice and don't know how, "this is the Butterfly Man!" Out came thejovial smile in its full deadliness. The Butterfly Man's lips drewback from his teeth and his eyes narrowed to gimlet points behind hisglasses. "I have heard of you from Mr. Hunter. And so you collectbutterflies! Very interesting and active occupation for any onethat--ahem! likes that sort of thing. Very. "

"He collects obituaries, too, " said Hunter, immensely amused. "Youmustn't overlook the obituaries, Mr. Inglesby. "

Mr. Inglesby favored the collector of butterflies _and_ obituarieswith another speculative, piglike stare. You could see the thoughtbehind it: "Trifling sort of fellow! Idiotic! Very. " Aloud he merelymumbled:

"Singular taste. Very. Collecting obituaries, eh?"

"Fascinating things to collect. Very, " said the Butterfly Man, sweetly. "Not to be laughed at. I might add yours to 'em, too, youknow, some of these fine days!"

"Dilly, Dilly, come and be killed!" murmured Hunter. Mr. Inglesby, however, was visibly ruffled and annoyed. Who was this fellow brayingof obituaries as if he, Inglesby, were on the highroad to oblivionalready, when he was, in reality, still quite a young man? And rightbefore Miss Eustis! He turned purple. 

"My obituary?" he spluttered. "_Mine_? Mine?"

"Sure, if it's worth while, " said the Butterfly Man, amiably. MaryVirginia barely suppressed a smile. 

"Madame would like to see you, Miss Eustis, " he told her. 

Mary Virginia, bowing distantly to the millionaire and his secretary, walked off with him, I following. 

Once free of them, her spirits rose soaringly. 

"It's been a lovely afternoon, and I've enjoyed it all--except Mr. Inglesby. I don't _like_ Mr. Inglesby, Padre. He's amusing enough, Isuppose, at times, but one can't seem to get rid of him--he's aperfect Old Man of the Sea, " she told us, confidentially. "And youcan't imagine how detestably youthful he is, Mr. Flint! He told mehalf a dozen times this afternoon that after all, years don'tmatter--it is the heart which is young. And he takes cold tubs and isproud of himself, and plays golf--for exercise!" The scorn of thelithe and limber young was in her voice. 

"What's the use of being a millionaire, if you have a shape like therainbarrel?" I quoted pensively. 

Later that night, when "the lights were fled, the garlands dead, andall but me departed, " I went over for my usual last half-hour withJohn Flint. Very often we have nothing whatever to say, and we areeven wise enough not to say it. We sit silently, he with Kerry's nobleold head against his foot, each busy with his own thoughts andreflections, but each conscious of the friendly nearness of the other. You have never had a friend, if you have never known one with whom youmight sit a silent, easy hour. To-night he sucked savagely at his oldpipe, and his eyes were somber. 

"You got the straight tip from Miss Sally Ruth, father, " he said, coming out of a brown study. "What do you suppose that piker's tryingto crawl out of his cocoon for? He never wanted to caper aroundAppleboro women before, did he? No. And here he's been muldooning toget some hog-fat off and some wind and waistline back. Now, why? Toplease himself? _He_ don't have to care a hoot what he looks like. Toplease some girl? That's more likely. Parson: that girl's MaryVirginia Eustis. " He added, through his teeth: "Hunter knows. Hunter'ssteering. " And then, with quiet conviction: "They're both as crookedas hell!" he finished. 

"But the thing's absurd on the face of it! Why, the mere notion ispreposterous!" I insisted, angrily. 

"I have seen worse things happen, " said he, shortly. "But there, --keepyour hair on! Things don't happen unless they're slated to happen, sodon't let it bother you too much. You go turn in and forget everythingexcept that you need a night's sleep. "

I tried to follow his sound advice, but although I needed a night'ssleep and there was no tangible reason why I shouldn't have gotten it, I didn't. The shadow of Inglesby haunted my pillow. 

CHAPTER XIII

"EACH IN HIS OWN COIN"

With the New Year had descended upon John Flint an obsessing andtormenting spirit which made him by fits and starts moody, depressed, nervous, restless, or wholly silent and abstracted. I have known himto come in just before dawn, snatch a few hours' sleep, and be offagain before day had well set in, though he must already have been farafield, for Kerry heeled him with lagging legs and hanging head. Or hewould shut himself up, and refusing himself to all callers, fall intoa cold fury of concentrated effort, sitting at his table hour afterhour, tireless, absorbed, accomplishing a week's overdue work in a dayand a night. Often his light burned all night through. Some of themost notable papers bearing his name, and research work offar-reaching significance, came from that workroom then--as if lumpsof ambergris had been tossed out of a whirlpool. 

All this time, too, he was working in conjunction with the WashingtonBureau, experimenting with remedies for the boll-weevil, and fightingthe plague of the cattle-tick. This, and the other outside work inwhich he was so immensely interested, could not be allowed to hangfire. Like many another, he found himself for his salvation caught inthe great human net he himself had helped to spin. It was not onlythe country people who held him. Gradually, as he passed to and fromon his way among them, and became acquainted with their children, there had sprung up a most curious sort of understanding between theButterfly Man on the one side, and the half-articulate foreigners inthe factory and the sly secretive mill-workers on the other. 

People I had never been able to get at humanly, people who resistedeven Madame, not only chose to open their doors but their mouths, toMeester Fleent. Uncouth fumbling men, slip-shod women, dirty-facedchildren, were never dumb and suspicious or wholly untruthful andevasive, where the Butterfly Man was concerned. He was one to whommight be told, without shame, fear, or compunction, the plain, blunt, terrible truth. _He understood. _

"I wish you'd look up Petronovich's boy, father, " he might tell me, or, "Madame, have a woman-talk with Lovena Smith's girl at the mills, will you? Lovena's a fool, and that girl's up against things. " And wewent, and wondered, afterwards, what particularly tender guardianangels kept close company with our Butterfly Man. 

Then occurred the great event which put Meester Fleent in a placeapart in the estimation of all Appleboro, forever settled his statusamong the mill-hands and the "hickeys, " and incidentally settled atormenting doubt of himself in his own mind. I mean the settling ofthe score against Big Jan. 

Half-Russian Jan was to the Poles what a padrone too often is to theItalian laborers, a creature who herded them together and mercilesslyworked them for the profit of others, and incidentally his own, anexacting tyrant against whose will it was useless to rebel. He had alittle timid wife with red eyes--perhaps because she cried so muchover the annual baby which just as annually died. He made a good dealof money, but the dark Slav passion for whisky forced him to spendwhat he earned, and this increased a naturally sullen temper. He wasthe thorn in the Parish side; that we could do so little for the Poleswas due in a large measure to Jan's stubborn hindering. 

His people lived in terror of him. When they displeased him he beatthem. It was not a light beating, and once or twice we had in theGuest Rooms nursed its victims back into some semblance of humanity. But what could we do? Jan was so efficient a foreman that Inglesby'spower was always behind him. So when Jan chose to get very drunk, andsang long, monotonous songs, particularly when he sang through histeeth, lugubriously:

 "_Yeszeze Polska nie Zginela Poki my Zygemy_ . .. "

men and women trembled. Poland might not be lost, but somebody's skinalways paid for that song. 

In passing one morning--it was a holiday--through the Poles' quarters, an unpleasant enough stretch which other folks religiously avoided, the Butterfly Man heard shrieks coming from Michael Karski's backyard. It was Michael's wife and children who screamed. 

"It is the Boss who beats Michael, Meester Fleent, " a man volunteered. "The Boss, he is much drunk. Karski's woman, she did not like the waysof him in her house, and Michael said, 'I will to send for thepolice. ' So Big Jan beats Michael, and Michael's woman, she hollerslike hell. "

John Flint knew inoffensive, timid Michael; he knew his broad-bosomed, patient, cowlike wife, and he liked the brood of shockheadedyoungsters who plodded along patient in old clothes, bare-footed, andwith scanty enough food. He had made a corn-cob doll for the littlestgirl and a cigar-box wagon with spool wheels for the littlest boy. Perhaps that is why he turned and went with the rest to Michael's yardwhere Big Jan was knocking Michael about like a ten-pin, gruntingthrough his teeth: "Now! Sen' for those policemens, you!"

Michael was no pretty thing to look upon, for Jan was in an ugliermood than usual, and Michael had greatly displeased him; therefore itwas Michael's turn to pay. Nobody interfered, for every one washorribly afraid Big Jan would turn upon _him_. Besides, was not he theBoss, and could he not say Go, and then must not a man go, short ofpay, and with his wife and children crying? Of a verity!

The Butterfly Man slipped off his knapsack and laid his net aside. Then he pushed his way through the scared onlookers. 

"Meester Fleent! For God's love, save my man, Meester Flint!"Michael's wife Katya screamed at him. 

By way of answer Meester Fleent very deliberately handed her hiseye-glasses. Then one saw that his eyes, slitted in his head, werecold and bright as a snake's; his chin thrust forward, and in his redbeard his lips made a straight line like a clean knife-cut. Twobright red spots had jumped into his tanned cheeks. His lean handsballed. 

He said no word; but the crumpled thing that was Michael was of asudden plucked bodily out of Big Jan's hands and thrust into thewaiting woman's. The astonished Boss found himself confronting a paleand formidable face with a pair of eyes like glinting sword-blades. 

Kerry had followed his master, and was now close to his side. For themoment Flint had forgotten him. But Big Jan's evil eyes caught sightof him. He knew the Butterfly Man's dog very well. He snickered. Ahuge foot shot out, there was a howl of anguish and astonishment, andKerry went flying through the air as if shot from a catapult. 

"So!" Jan grunted like a satisfied hog, "I feex _you_ like that in onemeenute, me. "

The red jumped from John Flint's cheeks to his eyes, and stayed there. Why, this hulking brute had hurt _Kerry!_ His breath exhaled in awhistling sigh. He seemed to coil himself together; with a tiger-leaphe launched himself at the great hulk before him. It went down. It hadto. 

I know every detail of that historic fight. Is it not written large inthe Book of the Deeds of Appleboro, and have I not heard it by word ofmouth from many a raving eye-witness? Does not Dr. Walter Westmorelandlick his lips over it unto this day?

A long groaning sigh went up from the onlookers. Meester Fleent was agreat and a good man; but he was a crippled man. Death was very closeto him. 

Big Jan was not too drunk to fight savagely, but he was in a mosthorrible rage, and this weakened him. He meant to kill this impudentfellow who had taken Michael away from him before he had half-finishedwith him. But first he would break every bone in the crippled man'sbody, take him in his hands and break his back over one knee as onedoes a slat. A man with one leg to balk him, Big Jan? That called fora killing. Jan had no faintest idea he might not be able to make goodthis pleasant intention. 

It was a stupendous fight, a Homeric fight, a fight against odds, which has become a town tradition. If Jan was formidable, a veritablebison, his opponent was no cringing workman scared out of his wits andtoo timid to defend himself. John Flint knew his own weakness, knewwhat he could expect at Jan's hands, and it made him cool, collected, wary, and deadly. He was no more the mild-mannered, soft-spokenButterfly Man, but another and a more primal creature, fighting forhis life. Big Jan, indeed, fancied he had nobody but the Butterfly Manto deal with; as a matter of fact he was tackling Slippy McGee. 

Skilled, watchful, dangerous, that old training saved him. Every timeJan came to his feet, roaring, thrashing his arms like flails, makinghead-long, bull-like rushes, the Butterfly Man managed to send himsprawling again. Then he himself caught one well-aimed blow, and wentstaggering; but before slow-moving and raging Jan could follow up hisadvantage, with a lightning-like quickness the Butterfly Man made abattering ram of his head, caught Jan in the pit of the stomach, andeven as he fell Jan went down, too, and went down underneath. Desperately, fighting like a fiend, John Flint kept him down. Andpresently using every wrestler's trick that he knew, and bringing tobear every ounce of his saved and superb strength, in a most orderly, businesslike, cold-blooded manner he proceeded to pound Big Jan intopulp. The devil that had been chained these seven years was a-loose atlast, rampant, fully aroused, and not easily satisfied. Besides, hadnot Jan most brutally and wantonly tried to kill Kerry!

If it was a well deserved it was none the less a most drasticpunishment, and when it was over Big Jan lay still. He would lie pronefor many a day, and he would carry marks of it to his grave. 

When the tousled victor, with a reeling head, an eye fast closing, anda puffed and swollen lip, staggered upright and stood swaying on hisfeet, he found himself surrounded by a great quiet ring of men andwomen who regarded him with eyes of wonder and amaze. He wassuperhuman; he had accomplished the impossible; paid the dreaded Bossin his own coin, yea, given him full measure to the running overthereof! No man of all the men Jan had beaten in his time had receivedsuch as Jan himself had gotten at this man's hands to-day. The reignof the Boss was over: and the conqueror was a crippled man! A greatsighing breath of sheer worshipful admiration went up; they were tooprofoundly moved to cheer him; they could only stand and stare. Whenthey wished, reverently, to help him, he waved them aside. 

"Where's my dog?" he demanded thickly through his swollen lips. "Where's Kerry? If he's dead--" he cast upon fallen Jan a menacingglare. 

"Your dog's in bed with the baby, and Ma's give him milk with brandyin it, and he drank it and growled at her, and the boys is holdinghim down now to keep him from coming out to you, and he ain't muchhurt nohow, " squealed one of Michael's big-eyed children. 

John Flint, stretching his arms above his head, drew in a greatgulping mouthful of air, exhaled it, and laughed a deepchested, satisfied laugh, for all he was staggering like a drunken man. HereMichael's wife Katya came puffing out of her house like a tractionengine--such was the shape in which nature formed her--and falling onher knees, caught his hand to her vast bosom, weeping like theoverflowing of a river and blubbering uncouth sounds. 

"Get up, you crazy woman!" snarled John Flint, his face goingbrick-red. "Stop licking my hand, and get up!" Although he did notknow it, Katya symbolized the mental attitude of every laborer inAppleboro toward him from that hour. 

"Here's Doctor Westmoreland! And here comes the po-lice!" yelled aboy, joyous with excitement. 

Westmoreland cast one by no means sympathetic glance at the wreck onthe ground, and his big arms went about John Flint; his fingers flewover him like an apprehensive father's. 

"What's all this? Who's been fighting here, you people?" demanded thetown marshal's brisk voice. "Big Jan? And--good Lord! _Mister Flint!_"His eyes bulged. He looked from Big Jan on the ground to the ButterflyMan under Westmoreland's hands, with an almost ludicrous astonishment. 

"I'm sure sorry, Mr. Flint, if I have to give you a little trouble forawhile, but--"

"But you'll be considerably sorrier if you do it, " said Dr. WalterWestmoreland savagely. "You take that hulk over there to the jail, until I have time to see him. I can't have him sent home to his wifein that shape. And look here, Marshal: Jan got exactly what hedeserved; it's been coming to him this long time. If Inglesby's bunchtries to take a hand in this, _I'll_ try to make Appleboro too hot tohold somebody. Understand?"

The marshal was a wise enough man, and he understood. Inglesby's petforeman had been all but killed, and Inglesby would be furiouslyangry. But--Mr. Flint had done it, and behind Mr. Flint were powersperhaps as potent as Inglesby's. One thing more may have influencedthe marshal: The hitherto timid and apathetic people had merged into acompact and ominous ring around the Butterfly Man and the doctor. Ashrill murmur arose, like the wind in the trees presaging a storm. There would be riot in staid Appleboro if one were so foolish as tolay a detaining hand upon John Flint this day. More yet, the belovedWestmoreland himself would probably begin it. Never had the marshalseen Westmoreland look so big and so raging. 

"All right, Doctor, " said he, hastily backing off. "I reckon you'reman enough to handle this. "

Some proud worshiper brought Mr. Flint his hat, knapsack, and net, andthe mountainous Katya insisted upon tenderly placing his glasses uponhis nose--upside down. Westmoreland used to say afterward that for amoment he feared Flint was going to bite her hand! Then man and dogwere placed in the doctor's car and hurried home to my mother; whomade no comment, but put both in the larger Guest Room, the whimperingdog on a comfort at the foot of his master's bed. Kerry had a brokenrib, but outside of this he was not injured. He would be out and allright again in a week, Westmoreland assured his anxious master. 

"Oh, you _man_, you!" crowed Westmoreland. "John, John, if anythingwere needed to make me love you, this would clinch it! Prying opennature's fist, John, having butterflies bear your name, working handin glove with your government, boosting boys, writing books, are allof them fine big grand things. But if along with them one's man enoughto stand up, John, with the odds against him, and punish a bully and ascoundrel, the only way a bully and a scoundrel can feel punishment, that's a heart-stirring thing, John! It gets to the core of my heart. It isn't so much the fight itself, it's being able to take care ofoneself and others when one has to. Yes, yes, yes. A fight like thatis worth a million dollars to the man who wins it!"

Westmoreland may be president of the Peace League, and tell us thatforce is all wrong. Nevertheless, his great-grandmother was born inTipperary. 

We kept the Butterfly Man indoors for a week, while Westmorelanddoctored a viciously black eye and sewed up his lip. Morning andafternoon Appleboro called, and left tribute of fruit and flowers. 

"Gad, suh, he behaved like one of Stonewall Jackson's men!" said MajorCartwright, pridefully. "No yellow in _him_; he's one of _us_!"

At nights came the Polish folks, and these people whom he had oncedespised because they "hadn't got sense enough to talk American, " henow received with a complete and friendly understanding. 

"I just come by and see how you make to feel, Meester. "

"Oh, I feel fine, Joe, thank you. "

There would be an interval of absolute silence, which, did not seem toembarrass either visited or visitor. Then:

"Baby better now?" Meester would ask, interestedly. 

"That beeg doctor, he oil heem an' make heem well all right. "

After awhile: "I mebbe go now, Meester. "

"Good-night, " said the host, briefly. 

At the door the Pole would turn, and look back, with the wistfullyanimal look of the Under Dog. 

"Those cheeldren, they make to get you the leetle bug. You mebbe likethat, Meester, yes? They make to get you plenty much bug, thosecheeldren. We _all_ make to get you the bug, Meester, thank you. "

"That's mighty nice of you folks. " Then one felt the note in the quietvoice which explained his hold upon people. 

"Hell, no. We _like_ to do that for you, Meester. Thank you. " Andclosing the door gently after him, he would slink off. 

"They don't need to be so allfired grateful, " said John Flint frankly. "Parson, I'm the guy to be grateful. I got a whole heap more out ofthat shindy than a black eye and a pretty mouth. I was bluemolding fora man-tussle, and that scrap set me up again. You see--I wasn't sureof myself any more, and it was souring on my stomach. Now I know Ihaven't lost out, I feel like a white man. Yep, it gives a fellow theholiday-heart to be dead sure he's plenty able to use his fists ifhe's got to. Westmoreland's right about that. "

I was discreetly silent. God forgive me, in my heart I also was mostsinfully glad my Butterfly Man could and would use his fists when hehad to. I do not believe in peace at any price. I know very well thatwrong must be conquered before right can prevail. But I shouldn't havebeen so set up!

"Here, " said he one morning. "Ask Madame to give this to Jan's wife. And say, beg her for heaven's sake to buy some salve for her eyelids, will you?" "This" was a small roll of bills. "I owe it to Jan, " heexplained, with his twistiest smile. 

Westmoreland's skill removed all outward marks of the fray, and theButterfly Man went his usual way; but although he had laid at rest onecruel doubt, he was still in deep waters. Because of his stress hisclothes had begun to hang loosely upon him. 

Now the naturalist who knows anything at all of those deep mysteriouswell-springs underlying his great profession, understands that he is a'prentice hand learning his trade in the workshop of the Almighty;wherein "_the invisible things of Him from the creation of the worldare clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made_. " AsPaul on a time reminded the Romans. 

Wherefore I who had learned somewhat from the Little Peoples nowapplied what they had taught me, and when I saw my man grow restless, move about aimlessly, withdraw into himself and become as one blindand dumb and unhearing, I understood he was facing a change, makingready to project himself into some larger phase of existence as yet inthe womb of the future. So I did not question what wind drove himforth before it like a lost leaf. The loving silent companionship ofred Kerry, the friendly faces of young children to whom he was kind, the eyes of poor men and women looking to him for help, these werebetter for him now than I. 

But my mother was not a naturalist, and she was provoked with JohnFlint. He ate irregularly, he slept as it pleased God. He was "runningwild" again. This displeased her, particularly as Appleboro had at herinstigation included Mr. John Flint in its most exclusive list, andthere were invitations she was determined he should accept. She hadput her hand to the social plow in his behalf, and she had no faintestnotion of withdrawing it. Once fairly aroused, Madame had thatable-bodied will heaven seems to have lavished so plenteously uponsmall women: In recompense, I dare say, for lack of size. 

Therefore Mr. Flint duteously appeared at intervals among the elect, and appeared even to advantage. And my mother remarked, complacently, that blood will tell: he had the air! He was not expected to dance, but he was a superb cardplayer. He never told jokes, and so avoideddeadly repetition. He had in a large measure that virtue the Chineseextol--the virtue of allowing others to save their faces in peace. Wasit any wonder Mr. Flint's social position was soon solidlyestablished?

He played the game as my mother forced it upon him, though at times, Ithink, it bored and chafed him sorely. What chafed him even moresorely was the unprecedented interest many young ladies--and some oldenough to know better--suddenly evinced in entomology. 

Mr. Flint almost overnight developed a savage cunning in eluding theseekers of entomological lore. One might suppose a single man wouldrejoice to see his drab workroom swarm with these brightly-coloredfluttering human butterflies; he bore their visits as visitations, displaying the chastened resignation Job probably showed toward thelatest ultra-sized carbuncle. 

"Cheer up!" urged Laurence, who was watching this turn of affairs withunfeeling mirth. "The worst is yet to come. These are only thechickens: wait until the hens get on your trail!"

"Mr. Flint, " said Mary Virginia one afternoon, rubbing salt into hissmarting wounds, "Mr. Flint, I am so glad all the girls like you somuch. You fascinate them. They say you are such a profoundly cleverand interesting man, Mr. Flint! Why, some of those girls are perfectlydemented about you!"

"Demented, " said he, darkly, "is the right word for them when it comesdown to fussing about _me_. " Now Laurence had just caught him in hisrooms, and, declaring that he looked overworked and pale, had draggedhim forcibly outside on the porch, where we were now sitting. MaryVirginia, in a white skirt, sport coat, and a white felt hat whichmade her entrancingly pretty, had been visiting my mother and nowstrolled over to John Flint's, after her old fashion. 

"I feel like making the greatest sort of a fuss about you myself, " shesaid honestly. "Anyhow, I'm mighty glad girls like you. It's a goodsign. "

"If they do--though God knows I can't see why--I'm obliged to them, seeing it pleases _you_!" said Flint, without, however, showing muchgratitude in eyes or voice. "To tell you the truth, it looks to me attimes as if they were wished on me. "

Mary Virginia tried to look horrified, and giggled instead. 

"If I could only make any of them understand anything!" said theButterfly Man desperately, "but I can't. If only they really wanted toknow, I'd be more than glad to teach them. But they don't. I show themand show them and tell them and tell them, over and over and overagain, and the same thing five minutes later, and they haven't evenlistened! They don't care. What do they take up my time and say theylike my butterflies for, when they don't like them at all and don'twant to know anything about them? That's what gets me!"

Laurence winked at Mary Virginia, shamelessly. 

"Bugs!" said he, inelegantly. "That's what's intended to get you, youold duffer!"

"Mr. Flint, " said Mary Virginia, with dancing eyes. "I don't blamethose girls one single solitary bit for wanting to know allabout--butterflies. "

"But they don't want to know, I tell you!" Mr. Flint's voice rosequerulously. 

"My dear creature, I'd be stuck on you myself if I were a girl, " saidLaurence sweetly. "Padre, prepare yourself to say, 'Bless you, mychildren!' I see this innocent's finish. " And he began to sing, in alackadaisical manner, through his nose:

 "Now you're married you must obey, You must be true to all you say, Live together all your life--"

No answering smile came to John Flint's lips. He made no reply to thelight banter, but stiffened, and stared ahead of him with a set faceand eyes into which crept an expression of anguish. Mary Virginia, with a quick glance, laid her hand on his arm. 

"Don't mind Laurence and me, we're a pair of sillies. You and thePadre are too good to put up with us the way you do, " she said, coaxingly. "And--we girls do like you, Mr. Flint, whether we're wishedon you or not. "

That seductive "we" in that golden voice routed him, horse and foot. He looked at the small hand on his arm, and his glance went swiftly tothe sweet and innocent eyes looking at him with such frankfriendliness. 

"It's better than I deserve, " he said, gently enough. "And it isn'tI'm not grateful to the rest of them for liking me, --if they do. It'sthat I want to box their ears when they pretend to like my insects, and don't. "

"Being a gentleman has its drawbacks, " said I, tentatively. 

"Believe _me_!" he spoke with great feeling. "It's nothing short ofdoing a life-stretch!"

The boy and girl laughed gaily. When he spoke thus it added to hisunique charm. So profoundly were they impressed with what he hadbecome, that even what he had been, as they remembered it, increasedtheir respect and affection. That past formed for him a somberbackground, full of half-lights and shadows, against which he stoodout with the revealing intensity of a Rembrandt portrait. 

"What I came over to tell you, is that Madame says you're to stay homethis evening, Mr. Flint, " said Mary Virginia, comfortably. "I'mspending the night with Madame, you're to know, and we're planning anice folksy informal sort of a time; and you're to be home. "

"Orders from headquarters, " commented Laurence. 

"All right, " agreed the Butterfly Man, briefly. 

Mary Virginia shook out her white skirts, and patted her black hairinto even more distractingly pretty disorder. 

"I've got to get back to the office--mean case I'm working on, "complained Laurence. "Mary Virginia, walk a little way with me, won'tyou? Do, child! It will sweeten all my afternoon and make my workeasier. "

"You haven't grown up a bit--thank goodness!" said Mary Virginia. Butshe went with him. 

The Butterfly Man looked after them speculatively. 

"Mrs. Eustis, " he remarked, "is an ambitious sort of a lady, isn'tshe? Thinks in millions for her daughter, expects her to make a greatmatch and all that. Miss Sally Ruth told me she'd heard Mrs. Eustistried once or twice to pull off a match to suit herself, but Miss MaryVirginia wouldn't stand for it. "

"Why, naturally, Mrs. Eustis would like to see the child well settledin life, " said I. 

"Oh, you don't have to be a Christian _all_ the time, " said he calmly. "I know Mrs. Eustis, too. She talked to me for an hour and a halfwithout stopping, one night last week. See here, parson: Inglesby'sgot a roll that outweighs his record. Suppose he wants to settle downand reform--with a young wife to help him do it--wouldn't it be a realChristian job to lady's-aid him?"

I eyed him askance. 

"Now there's Laurence, " went on the Butterfly Man, speculatively. "Laurence is making plenty of trouble, but not so much money. No, Mrs. Eustis wouldn't faint at the notion of Inglesby, but she'd keel overlike a perfect lady at the bare thought of Laurence. "

"I don't see, " said I, crossly, "why she should be called upon tofaint for either of them. Inglesby's--Inglesby. That makes himimpossible. As for the boy, why, he rocked that child in her cradle. "

"That didn't keep either of them from growing up a man and a woman. Looks to me as if they were beginning to find it out, parson. "

I considered his idea, and found it so eminently right, proper, andbeautiful, that I smiled over it. "It would be ideal, " I admitted. 

"Her mother wouldn't agree with you, though her father might, " he saiddryly. And he asked:

"Ever had a hunch?"

"A presentiment, you mean?"

"No; a hunch. Well, I've got one. I've got a hunch there's troubleahead for that girl. "

This seemed so improbable, in the light of her fortunate days, that Ismiled cheerfully. 

"Well, if there should be, --here are you and I to stand by. "

"Sure, " said he, laconically, "that's all we're here for--to standby. "

Although it was January, the weather was again springlike. All day theair was like a golden wine, drenched in a golden sun. All day in thecedars' dark and vivid green the little wax-wings flew in and out, andeverywhere the blackberry bramble that "would grace the parlors ofheaven" was unfolding its crisp red leaves and white buds; and all theroads and woods were gay with the scarlet berries of the casida, whichthe robins love. And the nights were clear and still and starry, nights of a beauty so vital one sensed it as something alive. 

Because Mary Virginia was to spend that night at the Parish House, Mrs. Eustis having been called away and the house for once free ofguests, my mother had seized the occasion to call about her the youthin which her soul delighted. To-night she was as rosy and bright-eyedas any one of her girl-friends. She beamed when she saw the old roomsalive and alight with fresh and laughing faces and blithe figures. There was Laurence, with that note in his voice, that light in hiseyes, that glow and glory upon him, which youth alone knows; andDabney, with his black hair, as usual, on end, and his intelligenteyes twinkling behind his glasses; and Claire Dexter, colored like apearl set in a cluster of laughing girls; and Mary Virginia, all inwhite, so beautiful that she brought a mist to the eyes that watchedher. All the other gay and charming figures seemed but attendants forthis supremer loveliness, snow-white, rose-red, ebony-black, like thequeen's child in the fairy-tale. 

The Butterfly Man had obediently put in his appearance. With theeffect which a really strong character produces, he was like aninsistent deep undernote that dominates and gives meaning to a lighterand merrier melody. All this bright life surged, never away from, butalways toward and around him. Youth claimed him, shared itself withhim, gave him lavishly of its best, because he fascinated and ensnaredits fresh imagination. Though he should live to be a thousand it wouldever pay homage to some nameless magic quality of spirit which washis. 

"Are you writing something new? Have you found another butterfly?"asked the young things, full of interest and respect. 

Well, he _had_ promised a certain paper by a certain time, though whatpeople could find to like so much in what he had to say about hisinsects--

"Because, " said Dabney, "you create in us a new feeling for them. They're living things with a right to their lives, and you show uswhat wonderful little lives most of them are. You bring them close tous in a way that doesn't disgust us. I guess, Butterfly Man, the truthis you've found a new way of preaching the old gospel of One Fatherand one life; and the common sense of common folks understands whatyou mean, thanks you for it, likes you for it, and--asks you to tellus some more. "

"Whenever a real teacher appears, always the common people hear himgladly, " said I, reflectively. 

"Only, " said Mary Virginia, quickly, "when the teacher himself is justas uncommon as he can be, Padre. " She smiled at John Flint with asincerity that honored him. 

He stood abashed and silent before this naïve appreciation. It was atonce his greatest happiness and his deepest pain--that open admirationof these clean-souled youngsters. 

When he had gone, I too slipped away, for the still white nightoutside called me. I went around to that favorite retreat of mine, thebattered seat shut in among spireas and syringas. I like to say myrosary out of doors. The beads slipping through my fingers soothed mewith their monotonous insistent petition. Prayer brought me closer tothe heart of the soft and shining night, and the big still stars. 

 _They shall perish, but thou shalt endure; yea, all of them shall wax old as a garment; as a vesture shalt thou change them, and they shall be changed; but thou art the same and thy years shall have no end_. 

The surety of the beautiful words brought the great overshadowingPresence near me. And I fell into a half-revery, in which thehailmarys wove themselves in and out, like threads in a pattern. 

Dreamily enough, I heard the youthful guests depart, in a gale oflaughter and flute-like goodnights. And I noted, too, that no light asyet shone in the Butterfly Man's rooms. Well--he would hurl himselfinto the work to-morrow, probably, and clear it up in an hour or two. He was like that. 

My retreat was just off the path, and near the little gate between ourgrounds and Judge Mayne's. Thus, though I was completely hidden by thescreening bushes and the shadow of the holly tree as well, I couldplainly see the two who presently came down the bright open path. Oflate it had given me a curious sense of comfort to see Laurence withMary Virginia, and, I reflected, he had been her shadow recently. Iliked that. His strength seemed to shield her from Hunter's ambiguoussmile, from Inglesby's thoughts, even from her own mother's ambition. 

I could see my girl's dear dark head outlined with a circle ofmoonlight as with a halo, and it barely reached my tall boy'sshoulder. Her hand lay lightly on his arm, and he bent toward her, bringing his close-cropped brown head nearer hers. I couldn't haverisen or spoken then, without interrupting them. I merely glanced outat them, smilingly, with my rosary in my finger. 

I reached the end of a decade: "_As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be_--"

They stopped at the gate, and fell silent for a space, the girl withher darling face uplifted. The fleecy wrap she wore fell about herslim shoulders in long lines, glinting with silver. She did not givethe effect of remoteness, but of being near and dear and desirable andbeautiful. The boy, looking upon her with his heart in his eyes, drewnearer. 

"Mary Virginia, " said he, eagerly and huskily and passionately andtimidly and hopefully and despairingly, "Mary Virginia, are you goingto marry anybody?"

Mary Virginia came back from the stars in the night sky to the starsin the young man's eyes. "Why, yes, I hope I am, " said she lightlyenough, but one saw she had been startled. "What a funny boy you are, Laurence, to be sure! You don't expect me to remain a spinster, doyou?"

"You are going to be married?" This time despair was uppermost. 

"I most certainly am!" said Mary Virginia stoutly. "Why, I confided_that_ to you years and years and years ago! Don't you remember Ialways insisted he should have golden hair, and sea-blue eyes, and aclassic brow, and a beautiful willingness to go away somewhere and dieof a broken heart if I ordered him to?"

"Who is it?"

"Who is who?" she parried provokingly. 

"The chap you're going to marry?"

Mary Virginia appeared to reflect deeply and anxiously. She put out afoot, with the eternal feminine gesture, and dug a neat little hole inthe graveled walk with her satin toe. 

"Laurence, " said she. "I'm going to tell you the truth. The truth is, Laurence, that I simply hate to have to tell you the truth. "

"Mary Virginia!" he stammered wretchedly. "You hate to have to tell_me_ the truth? Oh, my dear, why? Why?"

"Because. "

"But because why?"

"Because, " said the dear hussy, demurely, "I don't know. "

Laurence's arms fell to his sides, helplessly; he craned his neck andstared. 

"Mary Virginia!" said he, in a breathless whisper. 

Mary Virginia nodded. "It's really none of your business, you know, "she explained sweetly; "but as you've asked me, why, I'll tell you. That same question plagues and fascinates me, too, Laurence. Why, justconsider! Here's a whole big, big world full of men--tall men, shortmen, lean men, fat men, silly men, wise men, ugly men, handsome men, sad men, glad men, good men, bad men, rich men, poor men, --oh, allsorts and kinds and conditions and complexions of men: any one of whomI might wake up some day and find myself married to: and I don't knowwhich one! It delights and terrifies and fascinates and amuses andpuzzles me when I begin to think about it. Here I've got to marrySomebody and I don't know any more than Adam's housecat who and wherethat Somebody is, and he might pop from around the corner at me, anyminute! It makes the thing so much more interesting, so much more likea big risky game of guess, when you don't know, don't you think?"

"No: it makes you miserable, " said Laurence, briefly. 

"But I'm not miserable at all!"

"You're not, because you don't have to be. But I am!"

"You? Why, Laurence! Why should _you_ be miserable?" Her voice lostits blithe lightness; it was a little faint. She said hastily, withoutwaiting for his reply: "I guess I'd better run in. It was silly of meto walk to the gate with you at this hour. I think Madame's callingme. Goodnight, Laurence. "

"No, you don't, " said he. "And it wasn't silly of you to come, either;it was dear and delightful, and I prayed the Lord to put the notioninto your darling head, and He did it. And now you're here you don'tbudge from this spot until you've heard what I've got to say. 

"Mary Virginia, I reckon you're just about the most beautiful girl inthe world. You've been run after and courted and flattered andfollowed until it was enough to turn any girl's head, and it wouldhave turned any girl's head but yours. You could say to almost any manalive, Come, and he'd come--oh, yes, he'd come quick. You've got theearth to pick and choose from--but I'm asking you to pick and choose_me_. I haven't got as much to offer you as I shall have some of thesedays, but I've got me myself, body and brain and heart and soul, sound to the core, and all of me yours, and I think that counts most, if you care as I do. Mary Virginia, will you marry me?"

"Oh, but, Laurence! Why--Laurence--I--indeed, I didn't know--I didn'tthink--" stammered the girl. "At least, I didn't dream you cared--likethat. "

"Didn't you? Well, all I can say is, you've been mighty blind, then. For I do care. I guess I've always cared like that, only, somehow, it's taken this one short winter to drive home what I'd been learningall my life?" said he, soberly. "I reckon I've been just like otherfool-boys, Mary Virginia. That is, I spooned a bit around every goodlooking girl I ran up against, but I soon found out it wasn't the realthing, and I quit. Something in me knew all along I belonged tosomebody else. To you. I believe now--Mary Virginia, I believe withall my heart--that I cared for you when you were squalling in yourcradle. "

"Oh! . .. Did I squall, really?"

"_Squall?_ Sometimes it was tummy and sometimes it was temper. Betweenthem you yelled like a Comanche, " said this astonishing lover. 

Mary Virginia tilted her head back, adorably. 

"It was very, very noble of you to mind me--under the circumstances, "she conceded, graciously. 

"Believe me, it was, " agreed Laurence. "I didn't know it, of course, but even at that tender age my fate was upon me, for I _liked_ to mindyou. Even the bawling didn't daunt me, and I adored you when youresembled a squab. Yes, I was in love with you then. I'm in love withyou now. My girl, my own girl, I'll go out of this world and into thenext one loving you. "

"Then why, " she asked reproachfully, "haven't you said so?"

"Why haven't I said what?"

"Why, you know. That you--loved me, Laurence. " Her rich voice had sunkto a whisper. 

"Good Lord, haven't I been saying it?"

"No, you haven't! You've been merely asking me to marry you. But youhaven't said a word about loving me, until this very minute!"

"But you must know perfectly well that I'm crazy about you, MaryVirginia!" said the boy, and his voice trembled with bewilderment aswell as passion. "How in heaven's name could I help being crazy aboutyou? Why, from the beginning of things, there's never been anybodyelse, but just you. I never even pretended to care for anybody else. No, there's nobody but you. Not for me. You're everything and all, where I'm concerned. And--please, please look up, beautiful, and tellme the truth: look at me, Mary Virginia!"

The white-clad figure moved a hair's breadth nearer; the upliftedlovely face was very close. 

"Do I really mean that to you, Laurence? All that, really and truly?"she asked, wistfully. 

"Yes! And more. And more!"

"I'll be the unhappiest girl in the world: I'll be the most miserablewoman alive--if you ever change your mind, Laurence, " said she. 

There was a quivering pause. Then:

"You care?" asked the boy, almost breathlessly. "Mary Virginia, youcare?" He laid his hands upon her shoulders and bent to search thealluring face. 

"Laurence!" said Mary Virginia, with a tremulous, half-tearful laugh, "Laurence, it's taken this one short winter to teach me, too. And--youwere mistaken, utterly mistaken about those symptoms of mine. Itwasn't tummy, Laurence. And it wasn't temper. I think--I am sure--thatwhat I was trying so hard to squall to you in my cradle was--that Icared, Laurence. "

The young man's arms closed about her, and I saw the young mouthsmeet. I saw more than that: I saw other figures steal out into themoonlight and stand thus entwined, and one was the ghost of what oncewas I. That other, lost Armand De Rancé, looked at me wistfully withhis clear eyes; and I was very, very sorry for him, as one may bepoignantly sorry for the innocent, beautiful dead. My hand tightenedon my beads, and the feel of my cassock upon me, as a uniform, steadied and sustained me. 

Those two had drawn back a little into the shadows as if the night hadreached out its arms to them. Such a night belonged to such as these;they invest it, lend it meaning, give it intelligible speech. As forme, I was an old priest in an old cassock, with all his fond andfoolish old heart melting in his breast. Youth alone is eternal andimmortal. And as for love, it is of God. 

"_As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world withoutend, Amen_. " I had finished the decade. And then as one awakes from atrance I rose softly and as softly crept back to the Parish House, happy and at peace, because I had seen that which makes the morningstars rejoice when they sing together. 

"Armand, " said my mother, sleepily, "is that you, dear? I must havebeen nodding in my chair. Mary Virginia's just walked to the gate withLaurence. "

"My goodness, " said she, half an hour later. "What on earth can thatchild mean? Hadn't you better call her in, Armand?"

"No, " said I, decidedly. 

Laurence brought her back presently. There must have been somethingelectrical in the atmosphere, for my mother of a sudden sat boltupright in her chair. Women are like that. That is one of the reasonswhy men are so afraid of them. 

"Padre, and p'tite Madame, " began Laurence, "you've been like a fatherand mother to me--and--and--"

"And we thought you ought to know, " said Mary Virginia. 

"My children!" cried my mother, ecstatically, "it is the wish of myheart! Always have I prayed our good God to let this happen--and yousee?"

"But it's a great secret: it's not to be _breathed_, yet, " said MaryVirginia. 

"Except, of course, my father--" began Laurence. 

"And the Butterfly Man, " I added, firmly. Well knowing none of uscould keep such news from _him_. 

"As for me, " said my mother, gloriously reckless, "I shall open one ofthe two bottles of our great-grandfather's wine!" The last time thatwine had been opened was the day I was ordained. "Armand, go and bringJohn Flint. "

When I reached his rooms Kerry was whining over a huddled form on theporch steps. John Flint lay prone, his arms outstretched, horriblysuggestive of one crucified. At my step he struggled upright. I had myarms about him in another moment. 

"Are you hurt? sick? John, John, my son, what is it? What is it?"

"No, no, I'm all right. I--was just a little shaky for the minute. There, there, don't you be scared, father. " But his voice shook, andthe hand I held was icy cold. 

"My son, my dear son, what is wrong with you?"

He controlled himself with a great effort. "Oh, I've been a little offmy feed of late, father, that's all. See, I'm perfectly all right, now. " And he squared his shoulders and tried to speak in his naturalvoice. 

"My mother wanted you to come over for a few minutes, there'ssomething you're to know. But if you don't feel well enough--"

He seemed to brace himself. "Maybe I know it already. However, I'mquite able to walk over and hear--anything I'm to be told, " he said, composedly. 

In the lighted parlor his face showed up pale and worn, and his eyeshollow. But his smile was ready, his voice steady, and the hand whichreceived the wine Mary Virginia herself brought him, did not tremble. 

"It is to our great, great happiness we wish you to drink, oldfriend, " said Laurence. Intoxicated with his new joy, glowing, shining, the boy was magnificent. 

The Butterfly Man turned and looked at him; steadily, deliberately, along, searching, critical look, as if measuring him by a new standard. Laurence stood the test. Then the man's eyes came back to the girl, rose-colored, radiant, star-eyed, and lingered upon her. He arose, andheld up the glass in which our old wine seemed to leap upward inlittle amber-colored flames. 

"You'll understand, " said the Butterfly Man, "that I haven't thewords handy to my tongue to say what's in my heart. I reckon I'd haveto be God for awhile, to make all I wish for you two come true. " Therewas in look and tone and manner something so sweet and reverent thatwe were touched and astonished. 

When my mother had peremptorily sent Laurence home to the judge, andcarried Mary Virginia off to talk the rest of the night through, Iwent back to his rooms with John Flint, in spite of the lateness ofthe hour: for I was uneasy about him. 

I think my nearness soothed him. For with that boyish diffidentgesture of his he reached over presently and held me by the sleeve. 

"Parson, " he asked, abruptly, "is a man born with a whole soul, orjust a sort of shut-up seed of one? Is one given him free, or has hegot to earn and pay for one before he gets it, parson? I want toknow. "

"We all want to know that, John Flint. And the West says Yes, and theEast, No. "

"I've been reading a bit, " said he, slowly and thoughtfully. "I wantedto hear what both sides had to say. Paul is pretty plain, on his sideof the fence. But, parson, some chaps that talk as if they knew quiteas much as Paul does, say you don't get anything in this universe fornothing; you have to pay for what you get. As near as I can figure itout, you land here with a chance to earn yourself. You can quit or youcan go on--it's all up to you. If you're a sport and play the gamestraight, why, you stand to win yourself a water-tight fire-proofsoul. Because, you see, you've earned and paid for it, parson. Thatsounded like good sense to me. Looked to me as if I was sort of doingit myself. But when I began to go deeper into the thing, why, I gotstuck. For I can't deny I'd been doing it more because I had to thanbecause I wanted to. But--which-ever way it is, I'm paying! Oh, yes, I'm paying!"

"Ah, but so is everybody else, my son, " said I, sadly. ". .. Each inhis own coin. . .. But after all isn't oneself worth while, whateverthe cost?"

"I don't know, " said he. "That's where I'm stuck. Is the whole show askin game or is it worth while? But, parson, whatever it is, you pay ahell of a price when you buy yourself on the instalment plan, believeme!" his voice broke, as if on a suppressed groan. "If I could get itover and done with, pay for my damned little soul in one big gob, Iwouldn't mind. But to have to buy what I'm buying, to have to pay whatI'm paying--"

"You are ill, " said I, deeply concerned. "I was afraid of this. "

He laughed, more like a croak. 

"Sure I'm sick. I'm sick to the core of me, but you and Westmorelandcan't dose me. Nobody can do anything for me, I have to do it myselfor go under. That's part of paying on the instalment plan, too, parson. "

"I don't think I exactly understand--"

"No, you wouldn't. _You_ paid in a lump sum, you see. And you got whatyou got. Whatever it was that got _you_, parson, got the best of thebargain. " His voice softened. 

"You are talking in parables, " said I, severely. 

"But I'm not paying in parables, parson. I'm paying in _me_, " said he, grimly. And he laughed again, a laugh of sheer stark misery thatraised a chill echo in my heart. His hand crept back to my sleeve. 

"I--can't always can the squeal, " he whispered. 

"If only I could help you!" I grieved. 

"You do, " said he, quickly. "You do, by being you. I hang on to you, parson. And say, look here! Don't you think I'm such a hog I can'tfind time to be glad other folks are happy even if I'm not. If there'sone thing that could make me feel any sort of way good, it's to knowthose two who were made for each other have found it out. It sort ofmakes it look as if some things do come right, even if others arerotten wrong. I'm glad till it hurts me. I'd like you to believethat. "

"I do believe it. And, my son! if you can find time to be glad ofothers' happiness, without envy, why, you're bound to come right, because you're sound at the core. "

"You reckon I'm worth my price, then, parson?"

"I reckon you're worth your price, whatever it is. I don't worry aboutyou, John Flint. "

And somehow, I did not. I left him with Kerry's head on his knee. Hishand was humanly warm again, and the voice in which he told megoodnight was bravely steady. He sat erect in his doorway, frontingthe night like a soldier on guard. If he were buying his soul on theinstalment plan I was sure he would be able to meet the payments, whatever they were, as they fell due. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE WISHING CURL

With February the cold that the Butterfly Man had wished for came witha vengeance. The sky lost its bright blue friendliness and changedinto a menacing gray, the gray of stormy water. Overnight the flowersvanished, leaving our gardens stripped and bare, and our birds thathad been so gay were now but sorry shivering balls of ruffledfeathers, with no song left in them. When rain came the water froze inthe wagon-ruts, and ice-covered puddles made street-corners dangerous. 

This intense cold, damp, heavy, penetrating, coming upon the heels ofthe unseasonably warm weather, seemed to bring to a head all thelatent sickness smoldering in the mill-parish, for it suddenly burstforth like a conflagration. If the Civic League had not already doneso much to better conditions in the poorer district, we must have hada very serious epidemic, as Dr. Westmoreland bluntly told the TownCouncil. 

As it was, things were pretty bad for awhile, and the inevitable whitehearse moved up and down, stopping now at this door, now at that. Inone narrow street, I remember, it moved in the exact shape of a figureeight within the week. I do not like to recall those days. I buriedthe children with the seal of Holy Mother Church upon their innocence;I repeated over them "The Lord hath given, the Lord hath takenaway"--and knew in my heart that it was man-made want, the greed ofmoney-madness, that had taken them untimely out of their mothers'laps. And the earth was like iron; it opened unwillingly to receivethe babes of the poor. 

In and out of stricken mill-houses and shabby shacks, as regularly asWestmoreland and I, whose business and duty lay there, came JohnFlint. He made no effort to comfort parents, although these seemed toderive a curious consolation from his presence. He did not even comebecause he wanted to; he came because the children begged to see theButterfly Man and one may not refuse a sick child. He had made friendswith them, made toys for them; and now he saw dull eyes brighten athis approach and pale faces try to smile; languid and fever-hot handswere held out to him. All the force of the affection of youngchildren, their dazzling faith, the almost unthinkable power upontheir plastic minds of those whom they trust, came home to him. Hecould not, in such an hour, accept lightly, with a careless smile, thefact that children loved him. And once or twice a small hand thatclung to him grew cold in his clasp, and under his eyes a child'sclosed to this world. 

Now, something that saw straight, thought like a naked sword-blade, ate like a testing acid into shams and hated evasions and half-truthsand subterfuges, had of late been showing more and more behind JohnFlint's reserve; and I think it might have hardened into a mentalitycold and bright and barren, hard and cutting as a diamond, had it notbeen for the children whom he had to see suffer and die. 

There was one child of whom he was particularly fond--a child withthe fairest of fair hair, deep and sweet blue eyes, and the quickest, shyest, most fleeting of smiles to lighten flashingly her small paleserious face. She had been one of the first of the mill folks'children to make friends with the Butterfly Man. She used to watch forhim, and then, holding on to one of his fingers, she liked to trotsedately down the street beside him. 

This child's going was sudden and rather painful. Westmoreland didwhat he could, but there was no stamina in that frail body, so her'shad been one of the small hands to fall limp and still out of JohnFlint's. The doll he had made for her lay in the crook of her arm; ithad on a red calico dress, very garish in the gray room, and againstthe child's whiteness. 

Westmoreland stood, big and compassionate, at the foot of the bed. Hisruddy face showed wan and behind his glasses his gray tired eyeswinked and blinked. 

"There must be, " said the Doctor, as if to himself, "some eternal vastreservoir somewhere, that stores up all this terrible total ofunnecessary suffering--the cruel and needless suffering inflicted uponchildren and animals, in particular. Perhaps it's a spiritual serumused for the saving of the race. Perhaps races higher up than we useit--as _we_ use rabbits and guinea-pigs. No, no, nothing's wasted;there's a forward end to pain, somewhere. " He looked down at the childand shook his head doubtfully:

"But when all is said and done, " he muttered, "what do such as theseget out of it? Nothing--so far as we can see. They're victims, theyand the innocent beasts, thrust into a world which tortures anddevours them. Why? Why? Why?"

"There is nothing to do but leave that everlasting Why to God, " saidI, painfully. 

The Butterfly Man looked up and one saw that cold sword-straight, diamond-hard something in his eyes:

"Parson, " said he, grimly, "you're a million miles off the righttrack--and you know it. Leaving things to God--things like poor kidsdying because they're gouged out of their right to live--is just aboutas rotten stupid and wrong as it can well be. God's all right; he doeshis part of the job. You do yours, and what happens? Why, mybutterflies answer that! I'm punk on your catechism, and if _this_ isall it can teach I hope I die punk on it; but as near as I can makeout, original sin is leaving things like this"--and he looked at hissmall friend with her doll on her arm--"to God, instead of tacklingthe job yourself and straightening it out. "

The child's mother, a gaunt creature without a trace of youth left inher, although she could not have been much more than thirty, shambledover to a chair on the other side of the bed. She wore a faded redcalico wrapper--a scrap of it had made the doll's frock--and ablue-checked apron with holes in it. Her hair was drawn painfully backfrom her forehead, and there was a wispy fringe of it on the back ofher scraggy neck. In her dull eyes glimmered nothing but the innateuneasiness of those who are always in need, and her mouth had drawnitself into the shape of a horseshoe. There is no luck in a horseshoehung thus on a woman's face. One might fancy she felt no emotion, herwhole demeanor was so apathetic; but of a sudden she leaned over andtook up one of the thick shining curls; half smiling, she began towrap it about her finger. 

"I useter be right smart proud o' Louisa's hair, " she remarked in adrawling, listless voice. "She come by it from them uppidy folks o'her pa's. I've saw her when she wasn't much more 'n hair an' eyes, times her pa was laid up with the misery in his chest, an' me withnothin' but piecework weeks on end. 

". .. She was a cu'rus kind o' child, Louisa was. She sort o''spicioned things wasn't right, but you think that child ever let asqueal out o' her? Not her! Lemme tell you-all somethin', jest to showwhat kind o' a heart that child had, suhs. "

With a loving and mothering motion she moved the bright curl about andabout her hard finger. She spoke half intimately, half garrulously;and from the curl she would lift her faded eyes to the ButterflyMan's. 

"'T was a Sarrerday night, an' I was a-walkin' up an' down, account o'me bein' awful low in the mind. 

"'Ma, ' says Louisa, 'I'm reel hungry to-night. You reckon I could havea piece o' bread with butter on it? I wisht I could taste some breadwith butter on it, ' says she. 

"'Darlin', ' says I, turrible sad, 'Po' ma c'n give yo' the naked breadan' thanks to God I got even that to give, ' I says. 'But they ain't ascrap o' butter in this house, an' no knowin' how to git any. Oh, darlin', ma's so sorry!'

"She looks up with that quick smile o' her'n. Yes, suh, Mr. Flint, sheups and smiles. 'You don't belong to be sorry any, ma, ' says she, comfortin'. 'Don't you mind none at all. Why, ma, darlin', _I justlove naked bread without no butter on it_!' says she. My God, Mr. Flint, I bust out a-cryin' in her face. Seemed like I natchellycouldn't stand no mo'!" And smiling vaguely with her poor olddown-curved mouth, she went on fingering the curl. 

"Will you-all look a' that!" she murmured, with pride. "Even herhair's lovin', an' sort o' holds on like it wants you should touch it. My Lord o' glory, I'm glad her pa ain't livin' to see this day! He hadhis share o' misery, po' man, him dyin' o' lung-fever an' all. .. . 

"Six head o' young ones we'd had, me an' him. An' they'd all droppedoff. Come spring, an' one'd be gone. I kep' a-comfortin' that man bestI could they was better off, angels not bein' pindlin' an' hungry an'barefoot, an' thanks be, they ain't no mills in heaven. But their pahe couldn't see it thataway nohow. He was turrible sot on themchildren, like us pore folks gen'rally is. They was reel fine-lookin'at first. 

"When all the rest of 'em had went, her pa he sort o' sot his heart onLouisa here. 'For we ain't got nothin' else, ma, ' says he. 'An' pleasethe good Lord, we're a-goin' to give this one book-learnin' an' sich, an' so be she'll miss them mills, ' he says. 'Ma, less us aim to make alady o' our Louisa. Not that the Lord ain't done it a'ready, ' says herpa, 'but we got to he'p Him keep on an' finish the job thorough. ' An'here's him an' her both gone, an' me without a God's soul belongin' tome this day! My God, Mr. Flint, ain't it something turrible the thingshappens to us pore folks?"

The Butterfly Man looked from her to Westmoreland and me: doctor ofbodies, doctor of souls, naturalist, what had we to say to this womanstripped of all? But she, with the greater wisdom of the poor, spokefor herself and for us. A sort of veiled light crept into her soddenface. 

"It ain't I ain't grateful to you-all, " said she. "God knows I be. Youwas good to Louisa. Doctor, you remember that day you give her a ridein your ottermobile an' forgot to bring her home for more 'n a hour?My, but that child was happy!"

"'Ma, ' says she when I come home that night, 'you know what heavenis?'

"'Child, ' says I, 'folks like me mostly knows what it ain't. '

"'I beat you, ma!' says she, clappin' her hands. 'Heaven ain't nothin'much but country an' roads an' trees an' butterflies, an' things likethat, ' says she. 'An' God's got ottermobiles, plenty an' plentyottermobiles, an' you ride free in 'em long's you feel like it, 'causethat's what they's _for_. An', ma, ' says she, 'God's, showfers is allof 'em Dr. Westmorelands and Mr. Flints. ' Yea, suh, you-all beenmighty kind to Louisa. But I reckon, " she drawled, "it was Mr. FlintLouisa loved best, him bein' a childern's kind o' man, an' on accounto' Loujaney. " She laid a hand upon the rag doll lying on the littlegirl's arm. 

"From the first day you give her that doll, Mr. Flint--which she namedLoujaney, for her an' me both--that child ain't been parted from it. "She smiled down at the two. I could almost have prayed she would weepinstead. It would have been easier to bear. 

"The King's Daughters, they give her a mighty nice doll off theirChristmas tree last year, but Louisa, she didn't take to it like shedone to Loujaney. 

"'_That_ doll's jest a visitin' lady, ' says she, 'but Loujaney, she's_my child_. Mr. Flint made her a-purpose for me, same's God made mefor you, ma, an' she's mine by bornation. I can live with Loujaney. Iain't a mite ashamed afore her when we ain't got nothin', but I turn'tother's face to the wall so she won't know. Loujaney's pore folkssame's you an' me, an' she knows prezac'ly how 't is. That's why Ilove her so much. 

"An' day an' night, " resumed the drawling voice, "them two's beentogether. She jest lived an' et an' slept with that doll. If ever adoll gits to grow feelin's, Loujaney's got 'em. I s'pose I'd best givethat visitin' doll to some child that wants it bad, but I ain't gotthe heart to take Loujaney away from her ma. I'm a-goin' to let themtwo go right on sleepin' together. 

"Mr. Flint, suh, seein' Louisa liked you so much, an' it's you she'dwant to have it--" she leaned over, pushed the thick fair hair aside, and laid her finger upon a very whimsy of a curl, shorter, paler, fairer than the others, just above the little right ear. 

"Her pa useter call that the wishin' curl, " said she, halfapologetically. "You see, suh, he was a comical sort of man, an' a greathand for pertendin' things. I never could pertend. Things is what theyis an' pertendin' don't change 'em none. But him an' her was different. That's how come him to pertend the Lord'd put the rainbow's pot o' goldin Louisa's hair with a wish in it, an' that ridic'lous curl one sideher head, like a mark, was the wishin' curl. He'd pertend he could pullit twict an' say whisperin', '_Bickery-ickery-ee--my wish is comin' tome_, ' an' he'd git it. An' she liked to pertend 'twas so an' she couldwish things on it for me an' git 'em. .. . Clo'es an' shoes an' fire an'cake an' beefsteak an' butter an' stayin' home. .. . Just pertendin', yousee. 

"Mr. Flint, suh, _I_ ain't got a God's thing any more to wish for, butyou bein' the sort o' man you are, I'd rather 'twas you had Louisa'swishin' curl, to remember her by. " Snip! went the scissors; and thereit lay, pale as the new gold of spring sunlight, curling as younggrape-tendrils, in the Butterfly Man's open palm. 

"_Silver and gold have I none; but such as I have give I thee_, " saidthe great Apostle to the lame man who lay beside the gate of thetemple that is called, Beautiful. 

"I ain't got nothin' else, " said the common mill-woman; and laid inJohn Flint's hand Louisa's wishing-curl. 

He stared at it, and turned as pale as the child on her pillow. Thehuman pity of the thing, its sheer stark piercing simplicity, squeezedhis heart as with a great hand. 

"My God!" he choked. "My--God!" and a rending sob tore loose from histhroat. For the first time in his life he had to weep; uncontrolled, unashamed, childlike, fatherly, brotherly. For he had experienced, unselfishly, on account of one of the humblest of God's creatures, oneof the great divine emotions. And when that happens to a man it is asif his soul were winnowed by the wind of an archangel's wings. 

Westmoreland and I slipped out and left him with the woman. She wouldknow what further thing to say to him. 

Outside in the bleak bitter street, the Doctor laid his hand on myshoulder. He winked his eyes rapidly. "Father, " said he, earnestly, "when I witness such a thing as we've seen this morning, I do not losefaith. I gain it. " And he gripped me heartily with his big glovedhand. "Tell John Flint, " he added, "that sometimes a rag doll is amighty big thing for a man to have to his credit. " Then he was gone, with a tear freezing on his cheek. 

"Angels, " John Flint had said more than once, "are not middle-ageddoctors with shoulders on them like a barn-door, and ribs like a dray;angels don't have bald heads and wear a red tie and tan shoes. But I'dpass them all up, from Gabriel down, wings and tailfeathers, for oneWalter Westmoreland. "

I would, too. And I walked along, thinking of what I had justwitnessed; sensing its time value. To those slight and fragile thingswhich had, for John Flint, outweighed the scales of evil--a gray moth, a butterfly's wing, a bird's nest--I added a child's fair hair, and arag doll that was going to sleep with its ma. 

There were but few people on the freezing streets, for folks preferredto stay indoors and hug the fire. Fronting the wind, I walked with alowered head, and thus collided with a lady who turned a corner at thesame time I did. 

"Don't apologize, Padre, " said Mary Virginia, for it was she. "It wasmy fault--I wasn't looking where I was going. "

"Are you by any chance bound for the Parish House? Because my motherwill be on her way to a poor thing that's just lost her only child. Where have you been these past weeks? I haven't seen you for ages. "

"Oh, I've been rather busy, too, Padre. And I haven't been quitewell--" she hesitated. I thought I understood. For, possibly from someservant who had overheard Mrs. Eustis expostulating with her daughter, the news of Mary Virginia's unannounced engagement had sifted prettythoroughly throughout the length and breadth of Appleboro; a townwhere an unfledged and callow rumor will start out of a morning andcome home to roost at night with talons and tailfeathers. 

That Mary Virginia had all James Eustis's own quiet will-power, everybody knew. She would not, perhaps, marry Laurence in the face ofher mother's open opposition. Neither would she marry anybody else toplease her mother in defiance of her own heart. There was a prettystruggle ahead, and Appleboro took sides for and against, and settleditself with eager expectancy to watch the outcome. 

So I concluded that Mary Virginia had not been having a pleasant time. Indeed, it struck me that she was really unwell. One might evensuspect she had known sleepless nights, from the shadowed eyes and thelanguor of her manner. 

Just then, swinging down the street head erect, shoulders square, thefreezing weather only intensifying his glowing fairness, came HowardHunter. The man was clear red and white. His gold hair and beardglittered, his bright blue eyes snapped and sparkled. He seemed torejoice in the cold, as if some Viking strain in him delighted in itsnative air. 

As he paused to greet us a coldness not of the weather crept into MaryVirginia's eyes. She did not speak, but bowed formally. Mr. Hunter, holding her gaze for a moment, lifted his brows whimsically andsmiled; then, bowing, he passed on. She stood looking after him, herlips closed firmly upon each other. 

Tucking her hand in my arm, she walked with me to the Parish Housegate. No, she said, she couldn't come in. But I was to give herregards to the Butterfly Man, and her love to Madame. 

"Parson, " the Butterfly Man asked me that night, "have you seen MaryVirginia recently?"

"I saw her to-day. "

"I saw her to-day, too. She looked worried. She hasn't been herelately, has she?"

"No. She hasn't been feeling well. I hear Mrs. Eustis has been veryoutspoken about the engagement, and I suppose that's what worries MaryVirginia. "

"I don't think so. She knew she had to go up against that, from thefirst. She's more than a match for her mother. There's something else. Didn't I tell you I had a hunch there was going to be trouble? Well, I've got a hunch it's here. "

"Nonsense!" said I, shortly. 

"I know, " said he, stubbornly. And he added, irrelevantly: "It'sgenerally known, parson, that Eustis will be nominated. Inglesby'smanaged to gain considerable ground, thanks to Hunter, and folks sayif it wasn't for Eustis he'd win. As it is, he'll be swamped. I hearhe was thunderstruck when he got wind of what Mayne was going to playagainst him--for he knows Laurence brought Eustis out. Inglesby'smighty sore. He's the sort that hates to have to admit he can't getwhat he wants. "

"Then he'd better save himself the trouble of having to put it to thetest, " said I. 

"I'm wondering, " said John Flint. "I wish I hadn't got that hunch!"

I did not see Mary Virginia again for some time. Just then I movedbreathlessly in a horrid round of sickbeds, for the wave had reachedits height; already it had swept seventeen of my flock out of timeinto eternity. 

I came home on one of the last of those heavy evenings, to findLaurence waiting for me in my study. He was standing in the middle ofthe room, his hands clasped behind his back. 

"Padre, " said he by way of greeting, "have you seen Mary Virginialately? Has Madame?"

"No, except for a chance meeting one morning on the street. But shehas been sending me help right along, bless her. "

"Has Madame heard anything from her, Padre?"

"No, I don't think so. But we've been frightfully busy of late, youunderstand. "

"No, neither of you know, " said Laurence, in a low voice. "Youwouldn't know. Padre, I--don't look at me like that, please; I'm notill. But, without reason--swear to you before God, without any reasonwhatever, that I can conjure up--she has thrown me over, jiltedme--Mary Virginia, Padre! And I'm to forget her. _I'm to forget her, you understand?_ Because she can't marry me. " He spoke in a level, quiet, matter of fact voice. Then laughter shook him like a nausea. 

I laid my hand upon him. "Now tell me, " said I, "what you have to tellme. "

"I've really told you all I know, " said Laurence. "Day beforeyesterday she sent for me. You can't think how happy it made me tohave her send for me, how happy I've been since I knew she cared! Ifelt as if there wasn't anything I couldn't do. There was nothing toogreat to be accomplished--

"Well, I went. She was standing in the middle of the longdrawing-room. There was a fire behind her. She was so like ice Iwonder now she didn't thaw. All in white, and cold, and frozen. Andshe said she couldn't marry me. That's why she had sent for me--totell me that she meant to break our engagement: _Mary Virginia_!

"I wanted to know why. I was within my rights in asking that, was Inot? And she wouldn't let me get close to her, Padre. She waved meaway. I got out of her that there were reasons: no, she wouldn't saywhat those reasons were; but there were reasons. Her reasons, ofcourse. When I began to talk, to plead with her, she begged me not tomake things harder for her, but to be generous and go away. She justcouldn't marry me, didn't I understand? So I must release her. "

He hung his head. The youth of him had been dimmed and darkened. 

"And you said--?"

"I said, " said Laurence simply, "that she was mine as much as I washers, and that I'd go just then because she asked me to, but I wascoming back. I tried to see her again yesterday. She wouldn't see me. She sent down word she wasn't at home. But I knew all along she was. Mary Virginia, Padre!

"I tried again. I haven't got any pride where she's concerned. Whyshould I? She's--she's my soul, I think. I can't put it into words, because you can't put feelings into words, but she's the pith of life. Then I wrote her. Half a dozen times I wrote her. I got down to thelevel of bribing the colored maid to take the notes to her, one everyhour, like a medicine, and slip them under her door. I know shereceived them. I repeated it again to-day. It's Mary Virginia atstake, and I can't take chances, can I? And this afternoon she sentthis. 

 "Oh, Laurence, be generous and spare me the torment of questions. So far you have not reproached me; spare me that, too! Don't you understand? I cannot marry you. Accept the inevitable as I do. Forgive me and forget me. M. V. E. "

The writing showed extreme nervousness, haste, agitation. 

"Well?" said Laurence. But I stood staring at the crumpled bit ofpaper. I knew what I knew. I knew what my mother had thought fit toreveal to me of the girl's feelings: Mary Virginia had been very sure. I remembered what my eyes had seen, my ears heard. I was sure she wasfaithful, for I knew my girl. And yet--

There came back to me a morning in spring and I riding gaily off inthe glad sunshine, full of faith and of hope. To find what I hadfound. I handed the note back, in silence. 

"Oh, why, why, why?" burst out the boy, in a gust of acute torment. "For God's sake, why? Think of her eyes and her mouth, Padre--and herforehead like a saint's--No, she's not false. God never made such eyesas hers untruthful. I believe in her. I've got to believe in her. Itell you, I belong to her, body and soul. " He began to walk up anddown the room, and his shoulders twitched, as if a lash were laid overthem. "I could forgive her for not loving me, if she doesn't love meand found it out, and said so. Women change, do they not? But--totake a man that loves her--and tear his living soul to shreds andtatters--

"If _she's_ a liar and a jilt, who and what am I to believe? Whyshould she do it, Padre--to me that love her? Oh, my God, think of it:to be betrayed by the best beloved! No, I can't think it. This isn'tjust any light girl: this is Mary Virginia!"

I put my hand on his shoulder. He is a head over me, and once again asbroad, perhaps. We two fell into step. I did not attempt to counsel orconsole. 

"Here I come like a whining kid, Padre, " said he, remorsefully, "piling my troubles upon your shoulders that carry such burdensalready. Forgive me!"

"I shouldn't be able to forgive you if you didn't come, " said I. Upand down the little room, up and down, the two of us. 

Came a light tap at the door. The Butterfly Man's head followed it. 

"Didn't I hear Laurence talking?" asked he, smiling. The smile frozeat sight of the boy's face. He closed the door, and leaned against it. 

"What's wrong with her?" he asked, quickly. It did not occur to us toquestion his right to ask, or to wonder how he knew. 

In a dull voice Laurence told him. He held out his hand for the note, read it in silence, and handed it back. 

"What do you make of it?" I asked. 

"Trouble, " said he, curtly; and he asked, reproachfully, "Don't youknow her, both of you, by this time?"

"I know, " said Laurence, "that she has sent me away from her. "

"Because she wants to, or because she thinks she has to?" asked JohnFlint. 

"Why should she do so unless it pleased her?" I asked sorrowfully. 

His eyes flashed. "Why, she's _herself!_ A girl like her couldn't playanybody false because there's no falseness in her to do it with. Whatare you going to do about it?"

"There is nothing to do, " said Laurence, "but to release her; agentleman can do no less. "

John Flint's lips curled. "Release her? I'd hang on till hell frozeover and caught me in the ice! I'd wait. I'd write and tell her shedidn't need to make herself unhappy about me, I was unhappy enoughabout her for the two of us, because she didn't trust me enough totell me what her trouble was, so I could help her. That first andalways I was her friend, right here, whenever she needed me andwhatever she needed me for. And I'd stand by. What else is a man goodfor?"

"I believe, " said I, "that John Flint has given you the right word, Laurence. Just hold fast and be faithful. "

Laurence lifted his haggard face. "There isn't any question of mybeing faithful to her, Padre. And I couldn't make myself believe thatshe's less so than I. What Flint says tallies with my own intuition. I'll write her to-night. " He laid his hand on John Flint's arm. "You're all right, Bughunter, " said he, earnestly. "'Night, Padre. "Then he was gone. 

"Do you think, " said John Flint, when he had rejected every conjecturehis mind presented as the possible cause of Mary Virginia's action, "that Inglesby could be at the bottom of this?"

"I think, " said I, "that you have an obsession where that man isconcerned. He is a disease with you. Good heaven, what could Inglesbypossibly have to do with Mary Virginia's affairs?"

"That's what I'm wondering. Well, then, who is it?"

"Perhaps, " said I, unwillingly, "it is Mary Virginia herself. "

"Forget it! She's not that sort. "

"She is a woman. "

"Ain't it the truth, though?" he jeered. "What a peach of a reason fornot acting like herself, looking like herself, being like herself!She's a woman! So are all the rest of the folks that weren't born men, if you'll notice. They're women; we're men: and both of us are people. Get it?"

"I get it, " said I, annoyed. "Your attitude, John Flint, is a vulgarplatitude. And permit me to--"

"I'll permit you to do anything except get cross, " said he, quickly. The ghost of a smile touched his face. "Being bad-tempered, parson, suits you just about as well as plaid pants and a Hello Bill button. "

"I am a human being, " I began, frigidly. 

"And I'm another. And so is Mary Virginia. And there we are, parson. I'm troubled. I don't like the looks of things. It's no use tellingmyself this is none of my business; it is very much my business. Youremember . .. When I came here . .. " he hesitated, for this is a subjectwe do not like to discuss, "what you were up against . .. Parson, I'vethought you must have been caught and crucified yourself, and learnedthings on the cross, and that's why you held on to me. But with thekids, it was different--particularly the little girl. The first thingI ever got from her was a lovely look, the first time ever I set eyeson her she came with an underwing moth. I'd be a poor sort thatwouldn't be willing to be spilt like water and scattered like dust, ifshe needed me now, wouldn't I?"

"But, " said I, perplexed, "what can you do? A young lady has seen fitto break her engagement; young ladies often see fit to do that, mydear fellow. This isn't an uncommon case. Also, one doesn't interferein a lady's private affairs, not even when one is an old priest whohas loved her since her childhood, nor yet a Butterfly Man who is herdevoted friend. Don't you see?"

"I see there's something wrong, " said he, doggedly. 

"Perhaps. But that doesn't give one the right to pry into somethingshe evidently doesn't wish to reveal, " I told him. 

"I suppose, " said he, heavily, "you are right. But if you hearanything, let me know, won't you?"

I promised; but I found out nothing, save that it had not been Mrs. Eustis who influenced her daughter's action. This came out in a callMrs. Eustis made at the Parish House. 

"My dear, " she told my mother, "when she told me she had broken thatengagement, I was astounded! But I can't say I wasn't pleased. Laurence is a dear boy; and his family's as good as ours--no one cantake that away from the Maynes. But Mary Virginia should have donebetter. 

"I quarreled with her, argued with her, pleaded with her. I cried andcried. But she's James Eustis to the life--you might as well try tomove the Rock of Gibraltar. Then one morning she came to my room andtold me she found she couldn't marry Laurence! And she had alreadytold him so, and broken her engagement, and I wasn't to ask her anyquestions. I didn't. I was too glad. "

"And--Laurence--?" asked my mother, ironically. 

"Laurence? Laurence is a _man_. Men get over that sort of thing. I'veknown a man to be perfectly mad over his wife--and marry, six monthsafter her death. They're like that. They always get over it. It'stheir nature. "

"Let us hope, then, for Laurence's peace of mind, " said my mother, "that he'll get over it--like all the rest of his sex. Though Ishouldn't call Laurence fickle, or faithless, if you ask me. "

"He is a very fine boy. I always liked him myself and James adoreshim. If I had two or three daughters, I'd be willing to let one ofthem marry Laurence--after awhile. But having only one I must say Iwant her to do better. "

"I see, " said my mother. To me she said later:

"And yet, Armand, although I condemn it, I can quite appreciate Mrs. Eustis's point of view. I was somewhat like that myself, once upon atime. "

"You? Never!"

My mother smiled tolerantly. 

"Ah, but you never offered me a daughter-in-law I did not relish. Itwas much easier for me to bear the Church!"

That night I went over to John Flint's, for I thought that the factof Mary Virginia's deliberately choosing to act as she had done wouldin a measure settle the matter and relieve his anxiety. 

There was a cedar wood fire before which Kerry lay stretched; littlewhite Pitache, grown a bit stiff of late, occupied a chair he hadtaken over for his own use and from which he refused to be dislodged. Major Cartwright had just left, and the room still smelt of his cigar, mingling pleasantly with the clean smell of the burning cedar. 

On the table, within reach of his hand, was ranged the Butterfly Man'sentire secular library: Andrew Lang's translation of Homer; Omar;Richard Burton's Kasidah; Saadi's Gulistan, over which he chuckled;Robert Burns; Don Quixote; Joan of Arc, and Huckleberry Finn; TreasureIsland; the Bible Miss Sally Ruth had given him--I never could inducehim to change it for my own Douai version--; one or two volumes ofShakespeare; the black Obituary Book, grown loathsomely fat; and the"Purely Original Verse of James Gordon Coogler, " which a light-mindedprofessor of mathematics at the University of South Carolina had givenhim, and in which he evilly delighted. Other books came and went, butthese remained. To-night it was the Bible which lay open, at the Bookof Psalms. 

"Look at this. " He laid his finger on a verse of the nineteenth: "Thetestimony of the Lord is sure, making wise the simple. "

"The times I've turned that over in my mind, out in the woods by nightand the fields by day!" said the Butterfly Man, musingly. "The simpleis _me_, parson, and the testimony is green things growing, andbutterflies and moths, and Kerry, and people, and trouble, andLouisa's hair, and--well, about everything, I reckon. 

"Yes, everything's testimony, and it can make wise the simple--if he'snot too simple. I reckon, parson, the simple is lumped in threelots--the fool for a little while, the fool for half the day, and thelife-everlasting twenty-four-hours-a-day, dyed-in-the-wool damn-fool. 

"Some of us are the life-everlasting kind, the kind that used to makeold man Solomon wall his eyes and throw fits and then get busy andhatch out proverbs with stings in their tails. A lot of us arehalf-the-day fools; and all the rest are fools for a little while. There's nobody born that hasn't got his times and seasons for being afool for a while. But that's the sort of simple the testimony slamssome sense into. Like _me_, " he added earnestly, and closed the greatBook. 

I told him presently what I had heard; that, as he surmised, Mrs. Eustis was not responsible for Mary Virginia's change of mind--orperhaps of heart. He nodded. But he offered no comment. Now, since Ihad come in, he had been from time to time casting at me ratherspeculative and doubtful glances. He drummed on the table, smiledsheepishly, and presently reached for a package, unwrapped it, andlaid before me a book. 

'"The Relation of Insect Life to Human Society, '" I read, "By JohnFlint and Rev. Armand Jean De Rancé. With notes and drawings by FatherDe Rancé. " It bore the imprint of a great publishing house. 

"You suggested it more than once, " said John Flint. "Off and on, thesetwo years, I've been working on it. All the notes I particularly askedyou for were for this. Mighty fine and acute notes they are, too--you'd never have been willing to do it if you'd known they werefor publication--I know you. And I saved the drawings. I'm vain ofthose illustrations. Abbot's weren't in it, next to yours. "

As a matter of fact I have a pretty talent for copying plant andinsect. I have but little originality, but this very limitation madethe drawings more valuable. They were almost painfully exact, themeasurements and coloration being as approximately perfect as I couldget them. 

Now that the book has been included in all standard lists I needn'tspeak of it at length--the reviewers have given it what measure ofbricks and bouquets it deserved. But it is a clever, able, comprehensive book, and that is why it has made its wide appeal. 

Every least credit that could possibly be given to me, he hadscrupulously rendered. He had made full use of note and drawing. Hemade light enough of his own great labor of compilation, but hispreface was quick to state his "great indebtedness to his patient andwise teacher. "

One sees that the situation was not without irony. But I could notcloud his pleasure in my co-authorship nor dim his happiness bydisclaiming one jot or tittle of what he had chosen to accredit mewith. It is more blessed to give than to receive, but much moredifficult to receive than to give. 

"Do you like it?" he asked, hopefully. 

"I am most horribly proud of it, " said I, honestly. 

"Sure, parson? Hand on your heart?"

"Sure. Hand on my heart. "

"All right, then, " said he, sighing with relief. 

"Here's your share of the loot, " and he pushed a check across thetable. 

"But--" I hesitated, blinking, for it was a check of sorts. 

"But nothing. Blow it in. Say, I'm curious. What are you going to dowith yours?"

"What are you going to do with yours?" I asked in return. 

He reddened, hesitated; then his head went up. 

"I figure it, parson, that by way of that rag-doll I'm kin to Louisa'sma. As near as I can get to it, Louisa's ma's my widow. It's a devilof a responsibility for a live man to have a widow. It worries him. Just to get her off my mind I'm going to invest my share of this bookfor her. She'll at least be sure of a roof and fire and shoes andclothes and bread with butter on it and staying home sometimes. She'llhave to work, of course; anyway you looked at it, it wouldn't be rightto take work away from her. She'll work, then; but she won't beworked. Louisa's managed to pull something out of her wishin' curl forher ma, after all. I'm sure I hope they'll let the child know. "

I could not speak for a moment; but as I looked at him, the red in histanned cheek deepened. 

"As a matter of fact, parson, " he explained, "somebody ought to dosomething for a woman that looks like that, and it might just as wellbe me. I'm willing to pay good money to have my widow turn her mouththe other way up, and I hope she'll buy a back-comb for those bangs onher neck. "

"And all this, " said I, "came out of one little wishin' curl, Butterfly Man?"

"But what else could I do?" he wondered, "when I'm kin to Loujaney bybornation?" and to hide his feeling, he asked again:

"Now what are you going to do with yours?"

I reflected. I watched his clever, quizzical eyes, out of which thediamond-bright hardness had vanished, and into which I am sure thatdear child's curl had wished this milder, clearer light. 

"You want to know what I am going to do with mine?" said I, airily. "Well; as for me, the very first thing I am going to do is topurchase, in perpetuity, a fine new lamp for St. Stanislaus!"

CHAPTER XV

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

Timid tentative rifts and wedges of blue had ventured back into thecold gray sky, and a stout-hearted robin or two heralded spring. Onemorning coming from mass I saw in the thin watery sunshine the paintedwings of the Red Admiral flash by, and I welcomed him as one welcomesthe long-missed face of a friend. I cannot choose but love the RedAdmiral. He has always stirred my imagination, for frail as his gaywings are they have nevertheless borne this dauntless small Columbusof butterflies across unknown seas and around uncharted lands, untillike his twin-sister the Painted Lady he has all but circled theglobe. A few days later a handful of those gold butterflies thatresemble nothing so much as new bright dandelions in the young grass, dared the unfriendly days before their time as if to coax the laggingspring to follow. 

The sad white streamers disappeared from doors and for a space thelittle white hearse ceased to go glimmering by. Then at many windowsappeared small faces bearing upon them the mark of the valley of theshadow through which they had just passed. Although they were on sidestreets in the dingy mill district, far removed from our pleasantwindows that looked out upon trees and flowers, all Appleboro waswatching these wan visages with wiser and kinder eyes. 

Perhaps the most potent single factor in the arousing of our civicconscience was a small person who might have justly thought we hadn'tany: I mean Loujaney's little ma, whose story had crept out and gonefrom lip to lip and from home to home, making an appeal to which therecould be no refusal. 

When Major Cartwright heard it, the high-hearted old rebel hurriedover to the Parish House and thrust into my hand a lean roll of bills. And the major is by no means a rich man. 

"It's not tainted money, " said the major, "though some mighty goodBourbon is goin' to turn into pap on account of it. However, it's anill wind that doesn't blow somebody good--Marse Robert can come onback upstairs now an' thaw himself out while watchin' me read theLamentations of Jeremiah--who was evidently sufferin' from a dry spellhimself. "

On the following Sunday the Baptist minister chose for his text thatverse of Matthew which bids us take heed that we despise not one ofthese little ones because in heaven their angels do always behold theface of our Father. And then he told his people of that little one whohad pretended to love dry bread when she couldn't get any butter--inAppleboro. And who had gone to her rest holding to her thin breast arag-doll that was kin to her by bornation, Loujaney being poor folksherself and knowing prezactly how't was. 

Over the heads of loved and sheltered children the Baptist brethrenlooked at each other. Of course, it wasn't their fault any more thananybody else's. --In a very husky voice their pastor went on to tellthem of the curl which the woman who hadn't a God's thing left towish for had given as a remembrance to "that good and kind man, ourbrother John Flint, sometimes known as the Butterfly Man. "

Dabney put the plain little discourse into print and heightened itseffect by an editorial couched in the plainest terms. We were none ofus in the humor to hear a spade called an agricultural implement justthen, and Dabney knew it; particularly when the mill dividends and thecemetery both showed a marked increase. 

Something had to be done, and quickly, but we didn't exactly know hownor where to begin doing it. Laurence, insisting that this was reallyeverybody's business, called a mass-meeting at the schoolhouse, andthe _Clarion_ requested every man who didn't intend to bring hiswomen-folks to that meeting to please stay home himself. WhereforeAppleboro town and county came with the wife of its bosom--or maybethe wife came and fetched it along. 

Laurence called the meeting to order, and his manner of addressing thefeminine portion of his audience would have made his gallantgrandfather challenge him. He hadn't a solitary pretty phrase totickle the ears of the ladies--he spoke of and to them as women. 

"And did you see how they fell for him?" rejoiced the Butterfly Man, afterward. "From the kid in a middy up to the great old girl withthree chins and a prow like an ocean liner, they were with him. Whenyou're in dead earnest, can the ladies; just go after women as womenand they're with you every time. They know. "

A Civic Leaguer followed Laurence, then Madame, and after her a girlfrom the mills, whose two small brothers went in one night. Therewere no set speeches. Everybody who spoke had something to say; andeverybody who had something to say spoke. Then Westmoreland, who likeSaul the king was taller by the head and shoulders than all Israel, bulked up big and good and begged us to remember that we couldn't doanything of permanent value until we first learned how to reach thosefolks we had been ignoring and neglecting. He said gruffly thatAppleboro had dumped its whole duty in this respect upon the frailshoulders of one old priest, and that the Guest Rooms were overworked. Didn't the town want to do its share now? The town voted, unanimously, that it did. 

There was a pause. Laurence asked if anybody else had anything to say?Apparently, anybody else hadn't. 

"Well, then, " said Laurence, smiling, "before we adjourn, is thereanybody in particular that Appleboro County here assembled wants tohear?"

And at that came a sort of stir, a murmur, as of an immense multitudeof bees:

"_The Butterfly Man!_" And louder: "The Butterfly Man!"

Followed a great hand-clapping, shrill whistles, the stamping of feet. And there he was, with Westmoreland and Laurence behind him as if tokeep him from bolting. His face expressed a horrified astonishment. Twice, thrice, he opened his lips, and no words came. Then:

"_I?_" in a high and agonized falsetto. 

"You!" Appleboro County settled back with rustles of satisfaction. "Speech! Speech!" From a corn-club man, joyfully. 

"Oh, marmar, look! It's the Butterfly Man, marmar!" squealed a child. 

"A-a-h! Talk weeth us, Meester Fleent!" For the first time a "hand"felt that he might speak out openly in Appleboro. 

John Flint stood there staring owlishly at all these people who oughtto know very well that he hadn't anything to say: what should he haveto say? He was embarrassed; he was also most horribly frightened. Butthen, after all, they weren't anything but people, just folks likehimself! When he remembered that his panic subsided. For a moment hereflected; as if satisfied, he nodded slightly and thrust his handinto his breast pocket. 

"Instead of having to listen to me you'd better just look at this, "said the Butterfly Man. "Because this can talk louder and say more ina minute than I could between now and Judgment. " And he held outLouisa's dear fair whimsy of a curl; the sort of curl mothers tuckbehind a rosy ear of nights, and fathers lean to and kiss. "_I_haven't got anything to say, " said the Butterfly Man. "The best I cando is just to wish for the children all that Louisa pretended to pullout of her wishin' curl--and never got. I wish on it that all the kidsget a square deal--their chance to grow and play and be healthy andhappy and make good. And I wish again, " said the Butterfly Man, looking at his hearers with his steady eyes, "I wish that you folks, every God-blessed one of you, will help to make that wish come true, so far as lies in your power, from now until you die!" His funny, twisty smile flashed out. He put the fairy tress back into his breastpocket, made a casual gesture to imply that he had concluded hiswishes for the present; and walked off in the midst of the deepestsilence that had ever fallen upon an Appleboro audience. 

But however willing we might be, we discovered that we could not dothings as quickly or as well as might be wished. People who wanted tohelp blundered tactlessly. People who wanted to be helped had to beinvestigated. People who ought to be helped were suspicious andresentful, couldn't always understand or appreciate this suddeninterest in their affairs, were inclined to slam doors, or, whencornered, to lie stolidly, with wooden faces and expressionless eyes. 

Ensued an awkward pause, until the Butterfly Man came unobtrusivelyforward, discovering in himself that amazing diplomacy inherent in theIrish when they attend to anybody's business but their own. It wasamusing to watch the only democrat in a solidly Democratic countyinfusing something of his own unabashed humanness into proceedingswhich but for him might have sloughed into

 Organized charity, carefully iced, In the name of a cautious, statistical Christ. 

Having done what was to be done, he went about his own affairs. Nobodygushed over him, and he escaped that perilous popularity which is as amillstone around a man's neck. Nevertheless the Butterfly Man hadstumbled upon the something divine in his fellows, and theyentertained for him a feeling that wasn't any more tangible, say, thanpure air, and no more emotional than pure water, but was just about asvital and life-giving. 

I was enchanted to have a whole county endorse my private judgment. Irose so in my own estimation that I fancy I was a bit condescending toSt. Stanislaus! I was vain of the Butterfly Man's standing--folkscouldn't like him too much, to please me. And I was greatly interestedin the many invitations that poured in upon him, invitations thatranged all the way from a birthday party at Michael Karski's to astate dinner at the Eustis's. 

From Michael's he came home gaily, a most outrageous posy pinned uponhim by way of honor, and whistling a Slavic love song so dismal thatone inferred love must be something like toothache for painfulness. Hehad had such a bully time, he told me. Big Jan had been there with hiswife, an old friend of Michael's Katya. Although pale, and stillsomewhat shaky as to legs, Jan had willingly enough shaken hands withhis conqueror. 

It seemed quite right and natural that he and Jan should presentlyenter into a sort of Dual Alliance. Meester Fleent was to beArbitrator Extraordinary. When he stipulated that thereafter Big Janwas only to tackle a man his own size, everybody cheered madly, andMrs. Jan herself beamed red-eyed approval. She said her prayers to theman who had trounced Jan into righteousness. 

But from the Eustis dinner, to which he went with my mother, he camehome somber and heavy-hearted. Laurence was conspicuously absent; itis true he was away, defending his first big case in another part ofthe State. But Mr. George Inglesby was just as conspicuously present, apparently on the best of all possible terms with himself, the worldin general, and Mrs. James Eustis in particular. His presence in thathouse, in the face of persistent rumors, made at least two guestsuneasy. Mrs. Eustis showed him a most flattering attention. She wasdeeply impressed by him. He had just aided her pet mission inChina--what he had given the heathen would have buttered my children'sbread for many a day. Also, he was all but lyrical in his voicing ofthe shibboleth that Woman's Sphere is the Home, wherein she should beadored, enshrined, and protected. Woman and the Home! All the innatechivalry of Southern manhood--

I don't know that Louisa's Ma was ever enshrined or protected by thechivalry of any kind of manhood, no, nor any of the mill women. Theirkind don't know the word. But Mrs. Eustis was, and she agreed with Mr. Inglesby's noble sentiments. 

"Parson, you should have heard him!" raved the Butterfly Man. "There'sa sort of man down here that's got chivalry like another sort's gothookworm, and he makes the man that hasn't got either want to set upan image to the great god Dam!

"You'd think being chivalrous would be enough for him, wouldn't you?"continued the Butterfly Man, bitterly. "Nix! What's he been workingthe heavy charity lay for, except that it's his turn to be amisunderstood Christian? Doesn't charity cover a multitude of skins, though? And doesn't it beat a jimmy when it comes to breaking intosociety!"

Mary Virginia, he added in an altered voice, had been exquisite in afrock all silver lace and shimmery stuffs like moonbeams, and with arope of pearls about her throat, and in her black hair. Appleborofolks do not affect orchids, but Mary Virginia wore a huge cluster ofthose exotics. She had been very gracious to the Butterfly Man andMadame. But only for a brief bright minute had she been the MaryVirginia they knew. All the rest of the evening she seemed to growstatelier, colder, more dazzlingly and imperially regal. And her eyeswere like frozen sapphires under her level brows, and her mouth wasthe red splendid bow of Pride. 

Watching her, my mother was pained and puzzled; as for the ButterflyMan, his heart went below zero. Those who loved Mary Virginia hadcause for painful reflections. 

Blinded by her beauty, were we judging her by the light of affection, instead of the colder light of reason? We couldn't approve of herbehavior to Laurence, nor was it easy to refrain from disapproval ofwhat appeared to be a tacit endurance of Inglesby's attention. Shecouldn't plead ignorance of what was open enough to be town talk--theman's shameless passion for herself, a passion he seemed to takedelight in flaunting. And she made no effort to explain; she seemeddeliberately to exclude her old friends from the confidence once sofreely given. She hadn't visited the Parish House since she had brokenher engagement. 

And all the while the spring that hadn't time for the little concernsof mortals went secretly about her immortal business of rejuvenation. The blue that had been so timid and so tentative overspread the sky;more robins came, and after them bluebirds and redbirds andPeterbirds, and the impudent screaming robber jay that is so beautifuland so bold, and flute-voiced vireos, and nuthatches, and the darlingbusybody wren fussing about her house-building in the corners of ourpiazzas. The first red flowers of the Japanese quince openedflame-like on the bare brown bushes. When the bridal-wreath by thegate saw that, she set industriously to work upon her ownwedding-gown. The yellow jessamine was full of waxy gold buds; andlong since those bold frontiersmen of the year, the Judas-trees, hadflaunted it in bravest scarlet, and the slim-legged scouts of thepines showed shoulder-straps and cockades of new gay green abovegallant brown leggings. 

One brand new morning the Butterfly Man called me aside and placed inmy hands a letter. The American Society of Natural History invited Mr. John Flint, already a member of the Entomological Society of France, aFellow of the Entomological Society of London, and a member of thegreatest of Dutch and German Associations, to speak before it and itsguests, at a most notable meeting to be held in the Society's splendidMuseum in New York City. Not to mention two mere ex-Presidents, someof the greatest scientific names of the Americas were included in thatlist. And it was before such as these that my Butterfly Man was tospeak. Behold me rocking on my toes!

The first effect of this invitation was to please me immensely, Ibeing a puffed-up old man and carnal-minded at times; nor do I seem toimprove with age. The plaudits of the world, for anybody I admire andlove, ring most sweetly in my foolish ears. Now the honors he hadgotten from abroad were fine and good in their way, but this meantthat the value of his work was recognized and his positionestablished in his own country, in his own time. It meant a wideningof his horizon, association with clever men and women, ennoblingfriendships to broaden his life. A just measure of appreciation fromthe worthwhile sweetens toil and encourages genius. And yet--our eyesmet, and mine had to ask an old question. 

"Would you better accept it?" I wondered. 

"I can't afford not to, " said he resolutely. "The time's come for meto get out in the open, and I might just as well face the music, andDo it Now. Risks? I hardly think so. I never hunted in couples, remember--I always went by my lonesome and got away with it. Besides, who's remembering Slippy? Nobody. He's drowned and dead and done with. But, however, and nevertheless, and because, I shall go. "

Again we looked at each other; and his look was untroubled. 

"The pipe-dreams I've had about slipping back into little old NewYork! But if anybody had told me I'd go back like I'm going, with thesort of folks waiting for me that will be waiting now, I'd have passedit up. Well, you never can tell, can you? And in a way it's funny--nowisn't it?"

"No, you never can tell, " said I, soberly. "But I do not think it atall funny. Quite the contrary. " Suppose, oh, suppose, that after allthese years, when a well-earned success was in his grasp, it shouldhappen--I turned pale. He read my fear in my face and his smile mighthave been borrowed from my mother's mouth. 

"Don't you get cold feet, parson, " he counseled kindly. "Be a sport!Besides, it's all in the Game, you know. "

"Is it?"

"Sure!"

"And worth while, John?"

He laughed. "Believe me! It's the worthwhilest thing under the sun tosit in the Game, with a sport's interest in the hands dealt out, taking yours as it comes to you, bluffing all you can when you've gotto, playing your cards for all they're worth when it's your turn. Noreneging. No squealing when you lose. No boasting how you did it whenyou win. There's nothing in the whole universe so intensely andimmensely worth while as being _you_ and alive, with yourself thewhole kitty and the sky your limit! It's one great old Game, and I'mfor thanking the Big Dealer that I'da whack at playing it. " And hiseyes snapped and his lean brown face flushed. 

"And you are really willing to--to stake yourself now, my son?"

"Lord, parson, you ought to know! And you a dead ringer for the realthing in a classy sport yourself!"

"My _dear_ son--!"

My dear son waved his fine hand, and chuckled in his red beard. 

"Would _you_ back down if this was your call? Why, you're the sortthat would tackle the biggest noise in the ring, even if you knewyou'd be dragged out on your pantry in the first half of the firstround, if you thought you'd got holy orders to do it! If you saw megetting jellyfish of the spine now, you'd curl up and die--wouldn'tyou, honest Injun?" His eyes crinkled and he grinned so infectiouslythat my fears subsided. I had an almost superstitious certainty thatnothing really evil could happen to a man who could grin like that. Fate and fortune are perfectly powerless before the human being whocan meet them with the sword of a smile. 

"Well, " I admitted cautiously, "jellyfish of the spine must be anunlovely ailment; not that I ever heard of it before. "

"You're willing for me to go, then?"

"You'd go anyhow, would you not?"

"Forget it!" said he roughly. "If you think I'd do anything I knewwould cause you uneasiness, you've got another thing coming to you. "

"Oh, go, for heaven's sake!" said I, sharply. 

"All right. I'll go for heaven's sake, " he agreed cheerfully. "And nowit's formally decided I'm to go, and talk, the question arises--whatthey really want me to talk about? _I_ don't know how to deal inglittering generalities. A chap on the trail of truth has got to letgeneralities go by the board. The minute he tackles the living LittlePeople he chucks theories and bucks conditions. 

"Suppose I tell the truth as I see it: that most so-called authoritiesare like cats chasing their tails--because they accept theories thathave never been really proven, run after them, and so never getanywhere? And that facts dug up in the open under the sunlight don'talways fit in with notions hatched out in libraries under the electriclight?

"Suppose I say that after they've run everything down to that plasmathey're so fond of beginning and ending with, there is still somethingbehind it all their theories can't explain away? Protoplasm doesn'texplain Life any more than the battery explains electricity. Instinct?Evolution? The survival of the fittest? Well, nothing is tagged forfair, and I'm more than willing to be shown. For the more I find outfrom the living things themselves, --you can't get truth from death, you've got to get it from life--the more self-evident it seems to methat to exist at all insects must have arrived on the scene complete, handfinished, with the union label of the Great Workshop on them byway of a trade-mark. "

"As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, one God, worldwithout end, Amen!" said I, smiling. I have never thought it necessaryto explain or excuse the Creator. God is; things are. 

But he shook his head, wrinkling his forehead painfully. "I wish I_knew_, " said he, wistfully. "You're satisfied to believe, but I havegot to know. Oh, great Power behind Things, I want to know! I want to_know_!"

Ah, but I also do most passionately wish to know! If, however, theInsect has taught me anything in my lifelong study of it, it is torecognize the Unknowable, to know there is that which I cannot hope toknow. But if under the law of its world, so different from ours andyet so alike because so inevitable, the Insect must move in a fixedcircle within which it is safe, a circle whose very limitationpreserves it from error and thus from destruction, may not a likefixed circle beyond which _we_ may not penetrate preserve us, too? Arethese mountain peaks of the Unknowable, the Impassable, whichencompass the skyline of our humanity, these heights so mysterious andso unscalable, not rather bulwarks between man's pride and the abyss?

Something of this I said to the Butterfly Man, and he nodded, but didnot answer. He fell into a brown study; then plunged from the roomwithout further look or word and made for his own desk. I was notafraid of what the Butterfly Man, fresh from little Appleboro's woodsand fields, would have to say to the scholars and scientists gatheredto hear him!

Apparently he was not either, for after he had gotten a few notestogether he wisely turned the whole affair over to that mysteriousSelf that does our work and solves our problems for us. On the surfacehe busied himself with a paper setting forth the many reasons why theCounty of Appleboro should appropriate adequate funds for a commondipping vat, and hurried this to Dabney, who was holding open a spacein the _Clarion_ for it. Then there were new breeding cages to bemade, for the supply of eggs and cocoons on hand would requireadditional quarters, once they began to emerge. 

By the Saturday he had finished all this; and as I had that afternoonfree we spent some beautiful hours with the microscope and slidemounts. I completed, too, the long delayed drawings of some diurnalwasp-moths and their larvæ. We worked until my mother interrupted uswith a summons to an early dinner, for Saturday evening belongs to theconfessional and I was shortly due at the church. 

I left Flint with Madame and Miss Sally Ruth, who had run over afterthe neighborly Appleboro wont with a plate of fresh sponge-cake and abowl of fragrant custard. Miss Sally Ruth is nothing if not generous, but there are times when one could wish upon her the affliction ofdumbness. As I slipped into my cassock in the study, I could hear heruplifted voice, a voice so insistent and so penetrating that it canpierce closed doors and come through a ceiling:

"I declare to goodness, I don't know what to believe any more! She'sgot money enough in her own right, hasn't she? For heaven's sake, then, why should she marry for more money? But you never really knowpeople, do you? Why, folks say--"

I hurried out of the house and ran the short distance to the church. Iwished I hadn't heard; I wished Miss Sally Ruth, good as she is, wouldsometimes hold her tongue. She will set folks by the ears in heavensome of these days if she doesn't mend her ways before she gets there. 

It must have been all of ten o'clock when I got back to the ParishHouse. Madame had retired; John Flint's rooms were dark. The nightitself was dark, though in between the clouds that a brisk windpulleyhauled about the skies, one saw many stars. 

Too tired to sleep, I sat beside my window and breathed the reposethat lay like a benediction upon the little city. I found myselfpraying; for Mary Virginia, whom I loved and over whom I was sorelytroubled; for Laurence, even now walking such a road as I also oncehad to travel with feet as young but no more steadfast; and then witha thankfulness too deep for words, I thought a prayer for theButterfly Man. So thinking and so praying, with a glow in my heartbecause of him, I closed my window, and crept into bed and intosleep. 

I awoke with a start. Somebody was in the room. There was an urgentvoice whispering my name, an urgent hand upon me. A pocket lightflashed, and in its pale circle appeared the face of John Flint. 

"Get up!" said he in an intense whisper. "And come. Come!"

"Why, what in the name of heaven--"

"Don't make a row!" he snarled, and brought his face close. "Here--letme help you. Heaven, man, how slow you are!" With furious haste heforced my clothes upon me and even as I mechanically struggled toadjust them he was hustling me toward the door, through the dark hall, and down the stairs. 

"Easy there--careful of that step!" he breathed in my ear, guiding me. 

"But what is the matter?" I whispered back impatiently. I do notrelish mystery and I detest being led willynilly. 

"In my rooms, " said he briefly, and hustled me across the garden onthe double run, I with my teeth chattering, for I had been dragged outof my sleep, and the night air was cold. 

He fairly lifted me up his porch-steps, unlocked his door, and pushedme inside. With the drawn shades and the flickering firelight, theroom was peaceful and pleasant enough. Then Kerry caught my astonishedgaze, for the dog stood statue-like beside the Morris chair, and whenI saw what Kerry guarded I crossed myself. Sunk into the chair, theButterfly Man's old gray overcoat partly around her, was MaryVirginia. 

At my involuntary exclamation she raised her head and regarded me. Agreat sigh welled from her bosom and I could see her eyes dilate andher lips quiver. 

"Padre, Padre!" Down went her head, and she began to cry childishly, with sobs. 

I watched her helplessly, too bewildered to speak. But the other man'sface was the face of one crucified. I saw his eyes, and something Ihad been all too blind to rushed upon me overwhelmingly. This, then, was what had driven him forth for a time, this was what had left itsindelible imprint upon him! He had hung upon his cross and I had notknown. Oh, Butterfly Man, I had not known!

"She'll be able to talk to you in a few minutes now, parson. " He wasso perfectly unconscious of himself that he had no idea he had justmade mute confession. He added, doubtfully: "She said she had to cometo you, about something--I don't know what. It's up to you to findout--she's got to talk to you, parson. "

"But--I wanted to talk to you, Padre. That's why I--ran away from homein the middle of the night. " She sat suddenly erect. "I just couldn'tstand things, any more--by myself--"

Gone was the fine lady, the great beauty, the proud jilt who hadbroken Laurence's heart and maddened and enslaved Inglesby. Here wasonly a piteous child with eyes heavy from weeping, with a pale and sadface and drooping childish lips. And yet she was so dear and solovely, for all her reddened eyelids and her reddened little nose, that one could have wept with her. The Butterfly Man, with an intakeof breath, stood up. 

"I shall leave you with the Padre now, " he said evenly, "to tell himwhat you wanted to tell him. Father, understand: there's somethingrotten wrong, as I've been telling you all along. Now she's got totell you what it is and all about it. Everything. Whether she likes toor not, and no matter what it is, she's got to tell you. Youunderstand that, Mary Virginia?"

She fixed him with a glance that had in it something hostile andoblique. Even with those dearest of women whom I adore, there aremoments when I have the impression that they have, so to speak, theirears laid back flat, and I experience what I may justly term cat-fear. I felt it then. 

"Oh, don't have too much consideration for my feelings, Mr. Flint!"said she, with that oblique and baffling glance, and the smile OldFitz once likened to the Curve in the Cat's Tail. "Indeed, why shouldyou go? Why don't you stay and find out _why_ I wanted to run to thePadre--to beg him to find some way to help me, since I can't fall likea plum into Mr. Inglesby's hand when Mr. Hunter shakes the Eustisfamily tree!"

His breath came whistlingly between his teeth. 

"Parson! You hear?" he slapped his leg with his open palm. "Oh, I knewit, I knew it!" And he turned upon her a kindling glance:

"I knew all along it was never in you to be anything but true!" saidthe Butterfly Man. 

CHAPTER XVI

"WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOR"

It is impossible for me to put down in her own words what MaryVirginia told the Butterfly Man and me. Also, I have had to fill ingaps here and there, supplying what was lacking, from my intimateknowledge of the actors and from such chance words and hints and bitsof detail as came to me afterward. But what I have added has beennecessary, in order to do greater justice to everybody concerned. 

If it be true that the boy is father to the man, it is even moretritely true that the girl is mother to the woman, there being hereless chance for change. So it was with Mary Virginia. That graciouslittle girlhood of hers, lived among the birds and bees and blossomsof an old Carolina garden, had sent her into the Church School with asettled and definite idealism as part of her nature. Her creed wassimple enough: The world she knew was the best of all possible worlds, its men good, its women better; and to be happy and loved one had onlyto be good and loving. 

The school did not disabuse her of this pleasing optimism. It was avery expensive school and could afford to have optimisms of its own. For one thing, it had no pupils poor enough to apply the acid test. 

When Mary Virginia was seventeen, Mrs. Eustis perceived with dismaythat her child who had promised beauty was instead become angular, awkward, and self-conscious; and promptly packed the unworldly one offto spend a saving summer with a strenuously fashionable cousin, awidow, of whom she herself was very fond. She liked the idea ofplacing the gauche girl under so vigorous and seasoned a wing asEstelle Baker's. As for Mrs. Baker herself, that gay and good-humoredlady laughed at the leggy and serious youngster and promptly took hereducation in hand along lines not laid down in Church Schools. 

Mrs. Baker was delighted with her own position--the reasonably young, handsome, and wealthy widow of a man she had been satisfied to marryand later to bury. She had an unimpaired digestion and no illusions, akind heart, and the power of laughter. Naturally, she found lifeinteresting. A club-woman, an ultra-modernist, vitally alive, she wasfully abreast of her day. Her small library skimmed the cream of theinsurgents and revolutionaries of genius; and here the shy andreticent schoolgirl with the mark of the churchly checkrein fresh uponher, was free to browse, for her cousin had no slightest notion ofplaying censor. Mrs. Baker thought that the sooner one was allowed toslough off the gaucheries of the Young Person, the better. She did notgauge the real and tumultuous depths of feeling concealed under theyoung girl's simplicity. 

The revolutionaries and the insurgent and free poets didn't troubleMary Virginia very much. Although she sensed that something was wrongwith somebody somewhere--hence these lyrical lamentations--she couldnot, to save her, tell what all the pother was about, for as yet shesaw the world _couleur de rose_. Some one or two of the French andGermans pleased her; she fell into long reveries over the Gael, whohas the sound of the sea in his voice and whose eyes are full of ahaunting light, as of sunsets upon graves. But it was the Russians whoelectrified and dazzled her. When she glimpsed with her eyes of ayoung girl those strange souls simple as children's and yet mosaicedwith unimaginable and barbarous splendors, she stood blinking and halfblinded, awed, fascinated, and avid to know more of that sky-scalingpassion with which they burned. 

And in that crucial moment she chanced upon the "Diary of MarieBashkirtseff, " so frank and so astounding that it took her breath awayand swept her off her feet. She was stirred into a vague and tremblingexpectancy; she had the sense of waiting for something to happen. Lifeinstantly became more colorful and more wonderful than she had dreamedcould be possible, and she wished passionately to experience all theseemotions, so powerful and so poignant. The Russian's morbid anddisease-bright genius acted upon her as with the force and intensityof a new and potent toxin. She could not lay the book aside, butcarried it up to her room to be pored and pondered over. She failed tounderstand that, untried as she was, it was impossible for her tounderstand it. Had the book come later, it had been harmless enough;but it came at a most critical moment of that seething period whenyouth turns inward to question the universe, and demands that theanswer shall be personal to itself. The first long ground-swell ofawakening emotion swept over her, sitting in the pleasant chintz-hungroom, with the Russian woman's wild and tameless heart beating throughthe book open upon her knees. And these waves of emotion that atrecurrent intervals surge over the soul, come from the shores of afarther country than any earthly seas have touched, and recede todepths so profound that only the eyes of God may follow their ebb andflow. 

Mrs. Baker, however, saw nothing about which to give herself anyconcern. If she perceived the girl intense and preoccupied, she smiledindulgently--at Mary Virginia's age one is apt to be like that, andone recovers from that phase as one gets over mumps and measles. Mrs. Baker did think it advisable, though, to subtly detach the girl frombooks for awhile. She amused herself by allowing her wide-eyedglimpses of the larger life of grown-ups, by way of arousing andinitiation. Thus it happened that one afternoon at the country-club, where Mary Virginia, at the green-fruit stage, found herself playinggooseberry instead of golf, Mrs. Baker sauntered up with a tall andvery blonde man. 

"Here, " said she gaily, indicating with a wave of her hand hersulky-eyed young cousin, "is a marvel and a wonder--a girl who acceptson faith everything and everybody! My dear Howard, in all probabilityshe will presently even believe in _you_!" With that she left them, whisked off by a waiting golfer. 

The man and the girl appraised each other. The man saw youngbread-and-butter with the raw sugar of beauty sprinkled upon itpromisingly. What the girl saw was not so much a faultlessly groomedand handsome man as the most beautiful person in the world. Andsuddenly she was aware that that for which she had been waiting hadcome. Something divine and wonderful was happening, and there was firebefore her eyes and the noise of unloosed winds and great waters inher ears, and her knees trembled and her heart fluttered. A vivid redflamed into her pale cheeks, a soft and trembling light suffused herblue eyes. That happens when the sweet and virginal freshness of youthis brought face to face with the bright shadow of love. 

He drew her out of her shyness and made her laugh, and after awhile, when there was dancing, he danced with her. He did not behave to heras other men of Estelle's acquaintance had more than once behaved--asthough they bestowed the lordly honor of their society upon her out ofthe sheer goodness of their hearts and their desire to please Mrs. Baker. Mary Virginia was uncompromising and stiff-necked enough then, and she bored most of her cousin's friends unconsciously. Now thisman, as much their superior as the sun is to farthing dips, wasexerting himself to please her. That was the one thing Mary Virginianeeded to arouse her. 

Mrs. Baker admired Mr. Hunter for a grace of manner almost Latin inits charm. If at times he puzzled her, he at least never bored her oranybody else, and for this she praised him in the gates. Her respectfor him deepened when she perceived that he never allowed himself tobe absorbed or monopolized. 

The pleasant widow did not take him too seriously. She only asked thathe amuse and interest her. He did both, to a superlative degree. Thatis why and how he saw so much of the school-girl cousin whose naïvetemade him smile, it was so absurdly sincere. 

Mrs. Baker was glad enough to have Howard take her charge off herhands occasionally. She thought contact with this fine pagan anexcellent thing for the girl who took herself so seriously. She wasreally fond of Mary Virginia, but she must have found her hand-grenadedirectness a bit disconcerting at times. She wanted the child's visitto be pleasant, and she considered it very amiable of Howard to helpher make it so. She had no faintest notion of danger--to her MaryVirginia was nothing but a child, a little girl one indulged withpickles and pound-cake and the bliss of staying up later than theusual bedtime. As for Hunter, his was the French attitude toward theYoung Person; she had heard him say he preferred his flowers in fullbloom and his fruit ripe--one then knows what one is getting; oneisn't deceived by canker in the closed bud and worm in the greenfruit. No, Howard wasn't the sort that hankered for verjuice. 

None the less, although Mrs. Baker didn't know it, Mary Virginia wasengaged to the godlike Howard when she returned to school. It was tobe a state secret until after she was graduated, and in the meantimehe was to "make himself worthier of her love. " She hadn't any notionhe could be improved upon, but it pleased her to hear him say that. Humility in the superman is the ultimate proof of perfection. 

The maid who attended her room at school arranged for the receipt ofhis letters and mailed Mary Virginia's. The maid was sentimental, anddelighted to play a part smacking of those dime novels she spoiled herbrains with. 

The little schoolgirl who was in love with love, and secretlybetrothed to a man who had stepped alive out of old knightly romance, walked in the Land of April Rainbows and felt the whole joyousuniverse suffused with a delicious and quivering glow of light andsound and scent. Surcharged with an emotion that she was irresistiblyurged to express, and unable to do so by word of mouth, she was drivento the necessity of putting it down on paper for him. And she put itdown in the burning words, the fiery phrases, of those anarchists ofart who had intoxicated and obsessed her. 

Just a little later, --even a year later--and Mary Virginia could neverhave written those letters. But now, very ignorant, very innocent, very impassioned, she accomplished a miracle. She was like onespeaking an unknown tongue, perfectly sure that the spirit moved her, but quite unable to comprehend what it was that it moved her to say. 

When Mrs. Baker insisted that her young cousin should come back to herfor the Christmas holidays, the girl was more than eager to go. Seeinghim again only deepened her infatuation. 

That holiday visit was an unusually gay one, for Mrs. Baker was reallyfond of Mary Virginia--the young girl's tenderness and simplicitytouched the woman of the world. She gave a farewell dance the nightbefore Mary Virginia was to return to school. It was an informalaffair, with enough college boys and girls to lend it a junior air, but there was a goodly sprinkling of grown-ups to deepen it, for thehostess said frankly that she simply couldn't stand the Very Youngexcept in broken doses and in bright spots. 

Hunter, of course, was to be one of the grownups. He had sent MaryVirginia the flowers she was to wear. And she had a new dancing frock, quite the loveliest and fluffiest and laciest she had ever worn. 

He was somewhat late. And so engrossed with him were all her thoughts, so eager was she to see him, that she was a disappointing companionfor anybody else. She couldn't talk to anybody else. She flitted inand out of laughing groups like a blue-and-silver butterfly, andfinally managed to slip away to the stair nook behind what Mrs. Bakerliked to call the conservatory. This was merely a portion of the bigback hall glassed in and hung with a yellow silk curtain; it had atiny round crystal fountain in the center and one or two carved seats, but one wouldn't think so small a space could hold so much bloom andfragrance. From the nook where Mary Virginia sat, one could hear everyword spoken in the flower-room, though the hearer remained hidden bythe paneled stairway. 

Hands in her lacy lap, eyes abstracted, she fell into the dreams thatyouth dreams; in which a girl--one's self, say, --walks hand in handthrough an enchanted world with a being very, very little lower thanthe angels and twice as dear. They are such innocent dreams, suchimpossible dreams, so untouched of all reality; but I wonder, oh Iwonder, if life can ever give us anything to repay their loss!

Somebody spoke in the conservatory and she looked up, startled. Through a parting in the silk curtain she glimpsed the woman andrecognized one of Estelle's friends, handsome and fashionable, but awoman she had never liked. 

"You provoke me. You try my patience too much!" she was saying, in atone of suppressed anger. "People are beginning to say that you have aserious affair with that sugar-candy chit. I want to know if that istrue?"

The man laughed, a lazy, pleasant, disarming laugh. She knew thatlaugh among a million, and her heart began to beat, but not with doubtor distrust. She wondered how she had missed him, and if he had beenlooking for her; she thought of the exquisite secret that bound themtogether, and wondered how he was going to protect it without evasionsor untruthfulness. And she thought the woman abominable. 

"You're so suspicious, Evie!" he said smilingly. "Why bother aboutwhat can give you no real concern? Why discuss it here, at all? It'snot the thing, really. "

The woman stamped her foot. She had an able-bodied temper. 

"I will know, and I will know now. I have to know, " said she, and hervoice shook. Mary Virginia would have coughed then, would have madeher presence known had she been able; but something held her silent. "Remember, you're not dealing with a love-sick school-girl now, Howard: you are dealing with _me_. Have you made that little foolthink you're in love with her?"

"Why, and what then?" he asked coolly. "I like the child. Of courseshe is without form and void as yet, but there's quite a lot to thatgirl. "

"Oh, yes! Quite a lot!" said she, with sarcasm. "That's what made metake notice. James Eustis's girl--and barrels of money. She'll be acatch. You are clever, Howard! But what of _me_?"

Mary Virginia's heart fluttered. Indeed, what of this other woman?

"Oh, well, there's nothing definite yet, Evie, " said he soothingly. Ahint of impatience was betrayed in his voice. Plainly, it irked him tobe held up and questioned point-blank, at such a time and place. Justas plainly, he wished to conciliate his jealous questioner. "My deargirl, it would be all of two or three years before the affair could beconsidered. Let well enough alone, Evie. Let's talk about somethingelse. "

"No. We will talk about this. You are offering me a two or threeyears' reprieve, are you not? Well, and then?"

"Well, and then suppose I do marry the little thing, --if she hasn'tchanged her little mind?" said he, exasperated into punishing her. "Itwouldn't be a bad thing for me, remember, and she's temptingly easy todeal with--that girl has more faith than the twelve apostles. Heavens, Evie, don't look like that! My dearest girl, _you_ don't have toworry, anyhow. If your--er--impediment hasn't stood in my way, whyshould mine in yours?"

He spoke with a half-impatient, half-playful reproach. The womanuttered a little cry. To soothe and silence her, he kissed her. It wasvery risky, of course, but then the whole situation was risky, and hetook his chance like the bold player he was. The girl crouching behindthe paneled wall clenched her hands in her lap, felt her heart andbrain on fire, and wondered why the sky did not fall upon the worldand blot it out. 

When those two had left the conservatory and she could command hertrembling limbs and whip her senses back into some semblance of order, she went upstairs and got his letters. When she came downstairs againhe was standing in the hall, and he came forward eager, smiling, tender, as if his heart welcomed her; as perhaps it did, men havingcatholic hearts. She put her hand on his arm and whispered: "Comeinto the conservatory. "

The hall was quite empty. From drawing-room and library anddining-room came the laughter and chatter of many people. Then themusic struck up a gay and popular air. The lilt and swing of it madeher giddy. But the little flower-room was cool and sweet, and she drewa breath of relief. 

Hunter bent his fair head, but she pushed him away with her handsagainst his chest. A horror of his beauty, his deliberate fascination, the falseness of him, came over her. For the first time she had beenbrought face to face with sin and falsehood, and hers was theunpardoning white condemnation of an angel to whom sin is unknown andfalsehood impossible. That such knowledge should have come through himof all men made the thing more unbearable. Surprised and irritated bythe pale tragedy of her aspect, Hunter stared, waiting for her tospeak. 

"I was on the stairs. I heard you--and that woman, " said she with thedirectness that was sometimes so appalling. "And I _know_. " Her faceturned burning red before it paled again. She was ashamed for him withthe noble shame of the pure in heart. 

His face, too, went red and white with rage and astonishment. It was adamnable trap for a man to be caught in, and he was furious with thetwo women who had pushed him into it--he could have beaten them bothwith rods. Innocent as this girl was, he could not hope to deceive heras to the real truth. She had heard too much. But he thought he couldmanage her; women were as wax in Hunter's hands. To begin with, they_wanted_ to believe him. 

"I hate to have to say it--but the lady is jealous, " he said franklyenough, with a disarming smile; and shrugged his shoulders, quite asif that simple statement explained and excused everything. 

"Oh, she need not be afraid--of me!" said the girl, with white-hotscorn. "I'd rather die by inches of leprosy than belong to you now. You are clever, though. And I _was_ easy to deal with, wasn't I? And Icared so much! I dare say it was really your hair and beard, but Ihonestly thought you a sort of Archangel! Well, you're not. You're notanything I thought you--not good nor kind nor honorable nortruthful--not anything but just a rather paltry sort of liar. You'renot even loyal to _her_. I think I could respect you more if you were. But I _am_ James Eustis's girl--and that's my salvation, Mr. Hunter. Please take your letters. You will send me back mine to-morrow. "

He stroked his short gold beard. The color had come back into his faceand a new light flashed into his cold blue eyes. He laughed. "Why, yougame little angel!" he said delightedly. "Gad, I never thought you hadit in you--never. I begin to adore you, Mary Virginia, upon my soul Ido! Now listen to reason, my too-good child, and don't be sopuritanical. You've got to take folks as they are and not as you'dlike them to be, you know. Men are not angels, no, nor women, either. You must learn to be charitable--a virtue very good people seldompractice and never properly appreciate. " And he added, leaning lower:"Mary Virginia! Give me another chance . .. You won't be sorry, Ladybird. "

But she stood unmoved, stonily silent, holding out the letters. Andwhen he still ignored this silent insistence, she thrust them into hishands and left him. 

Mary Virginia was to go back to school the next night. All day shewaited for her letters. Instead came a note and a huge bunch ofviolets. The note said he couldn't allow those precious letters whichmeant so much to him to pass even into her hands who had written them. When he could summon up the courage, he would presently destroy themhimself. And she had treated him with great harshness, and wouldn'tshe be a good little girl and let him see her, if only for a fewminutes, before she went away?

Mary Virginia tore up the note and returned the violets by way ofanswer. 

When she returned to school, the superioress regretted that she hadbeen allowed to visit Mrs. Baker again, because too much gaiety wasn'tgood for her, and she was falling off in her studies. The other girlssaid she had lost all her looks, for in truth she was wan and peakedand hollow-eyed. Seventeen suffers frightfully, when it suffers atall. Eighteen enjoys its blighted affection, revels in its brokenheart, would like to crochet a black edging on its immortal soul, andwouldn't exchange its secret sorrow for a public joy. Nineteen isconvalescent--pride would come to its rescue even if life itself didnot beguile it into being happy. 

Mary Virginia got back her color and her appetite and forgot toremember that her heart was incurably broken and that she could neverlove again. She liked to think her painful experience had made hervery wise. Then she went abroad, and her cure was complete. The resultof it all was that poise and pride which had so greatly delighted theautocratic old kinswoman whose fiat had set the last seal of socialsuccess upon her. 

When one of life's little jokes flung Hunter into Appleboro and shehad to observe him with impartial and less ingenuous eyes, she forgavethe simple schoolgirl's natural mistake. He had not changed, and sheperceived his effect upon others older and wiser than herself. And herpride chose neither to slight nor to ignore him now, but rather tomeet him casually, with indifference, as a stranger in whom she wasnot at all interested. 

Mr. Inglesby she did not take seriously. She did not dream that apossible menace to herself lay in this stout man whom she consideredfatuous and absurd, when she thought of him at all. That her mothershould be completely taken in by his specious charity and hisplausible presentment of himself, did not surprise her. She wasinclined to smile scornfully and so dismiss him. 

She underestimated Inglesby. 

The very fact that there was such an obstacle in the way as a youngfellow with whom she fancied herself in love only deepened Inglesby'spassion for Mary Virginia. She was in her proper person all that hecoveted and groveled to. To possess her in addition to his ownwealth--what more could a man ask? Let Eustis become senator, governor, president, anything he chose. But let Inglesby have MaryVirginia by way of fair exchange. 

Mr. Inglesby was well aware that Miss Eustis would not for one momentconsider him--unless she had to. He proposed to so arrange affairsthat she had to. Naturally, he looked to his private secretary to helphim bring about this desirable end. And at this opportune moment fateplayed into his hands in a manner that left Mr. Hunter's assent amatter of course. 

Mr. Hunter had very expensive tastes which his salary was not alwayssufficient to cover. Wherefore, like many another, he speculated. Whenhe was lucky, it was easy money; but it was never enough. Of late hehad not been fortunate, and he found himself confronted by the highcost of living as he chose to live. This annoyed him. So when therecame his way what appeared to be an absolute certainty of not onlyrecouping all his losses but of making some real money as well, Hunterplunged, with every dollar he could manage to get hold of. But WallStreet is a lane that has many crooked and devious turnings, and Mr. Hunter's investments took a very wrong turn. And this time it was notonly all his own money that had been lost. The bottom might havedropped out of things then, except for Inglesby. 

When Hunter had to tell him the truth the financier listened with anunmoved face. Then he swung around in his chair, lifted an eyebrow, grunted, and remarked briefly: "Very unsafe thing to do, Hunter. Very. " And shoved his personal check across the desk. Nobody knewanything about it, except the head bookkeeper of the bank. 

Inglesby had no illusions, however. He understood that to have in hispower an immensely clever man who knew as much about his privateaffairs as Hunter did, was good business, to say the least. He simplyinvested in Mr. Hunter's brains and personality for his own immediateends, and he expected his brilliant and expensive secretary to provethe worth of the investment. 

Inglesby had not risen to his present heights by beating about thebush in his dealings with others. He had seized Success by thewindpipe and throttled it into obedience, and he ruthlessly benteverything and everybody to his own purposes. The task he set beforeHunter now was to steer the Inglesby ship through a perilous passageinto the matrimonial harbor he had in mind. Let Hunter do that--nomatter how--and the pilot's future was assured. Inglesby would be noniggardly rewarder. But let the venture come to shipwreck and Huntermust go down with it. Hunter was not left in any doubt upon thatscore. 

Brought face to face with the situation as it affected his fortune andmisfortune, Hunter must have had a very bad half an hour. I am sure hehad not dreamed of such a contretemps, and he must have been startledand amazed by the cold calculation and the raw fury of passion he hadto deal with. I do not think he relished his task. His was the sort ofconscience that would dislike such a course, not because it wasdishonorable or immoral in itself, but because its details offendedhis fastidiousness. I think he would have extricated himself honorablyif he could. It just happened that he couldn't. 

Give a sufficient shock to a man's pocket-nerve and you electrify hisbrain-cells, which automatically receive orders to work overtime. Hunter's brain worked then because it had to, self-preservation beingthe first law of nature. And this service for Inglesby not only speltsafety; it meant the golden key to the heights, the power to gratifythose fine tastes which only a rich and able man can afford. Inglesbyhad promised that, and he had just had a fair example of whatInglesby's support meant. 

One must try to consider the case from Mr. Hunter's point of view. Torefuse Inglesby meant disaster. And who was Laurence, who was MaryVirginia, that he should quixotically wreck his prospects for them?Why should he lose Inglesby's goodwill or gain Inglesby's enmity forthem or anybody else? Forced to choose, Hunter made the only choicepossible to him. 

_Voe victis!_

CHAPTER XVII

"--SAID THE SPIDER TO THE FLY--"

Now I am only an old priest and no businessman, so of course I do notknow just how Hunter was set like a hound upon the track of thosecircumstances that, properly manipulated, helped him toward a solutionof his problem--the getting of a girl apparently as unreachable asMary Virginia Eustis. 

To start with, he had two assets, the first being Eustis pride. Shrewdly working upon that, Hunter played with skill and finesse. 

When he was ready, it was easy enough to meet Miss Eustis on thestreet of an afternoon. Although her greeting was disconcertinglycold, he fell into step beside her. And presently, in a low andintimate voice, he began to quote certain phrases that rang in herastonished ears with a sort of hateful familiarity. 

A glance at her face made him smile. "I wonder, " he questioned, "ifyou have changed, dear puritan? You are engaged to Mayne now, I hear. Very clever chap, Mayne. The moving power behind your father, Iunderstand. And engaged to you! You're so intense and interesting whenyou're in love that one is tempted to envy Mayne. Do you write _him_letters, too?"

Mary Virginia's level eyes regarded him with haughty surprise. Thesituation was rather unbelievable. 

"Miss Eustis--" he paused to bow and smile to some passing girls whoplainly envied Mary Virginia, "Miss Eustis, you must come to myoffice, say to-morrow afternoon. We must have a heart-to-heart talk. Ihave something you will find it to your interest to discuss with me. "

She disdained to reply, to ask him to leave her; her attitude did noteven suggest that he should explain himself. Seeming to be perfectlycontent with this attitude, he sauntered along beside her. 

"Do you know, " he smiled, "that with you the art of writing genuinelove-letters amounts to a gift? I am sure your father--and let's sayMayne--would be astonished and delighted to read the ones I have. Theyare unequaled. Human documents, heart-interest, delicate and piquantsex-tang--the very sort of thing the dear public devours. I told youonce they meant a great deal to me, remember? They're going to meanmore. Come about four, please. " He lifted his hat, bowed, and wasgone. 

Mary Virginia went to his office at four o'clock the next afternoon, as he had planned she should. She wanted to know exactly what hemeant, and she fancied he meant to make her buy back the letters heclaimed not to have destroyed. The bare idea of anybody on earthreading those insane vaporings sickened her. 

Hunter's manner subtly allowed her to understand that he had known shewould come, and this angered her inexpressibly; it gave him anadvantage. 

"Instead of wasting time in idle persiflage, " he said when he hadhanded her a chair, "let's get right down to brass tacks. Younaturally desire to know why I kept your letters? For one reason, because they are a bit of real literature. However, I propose toreturn them now--for a consideration. "

He leaned forward, idly drumming on the polished desk, and regardedher with a sort of impersonal speculation. A little smile crept to hislip. 

"The whirligig of time does bring in its revenges, doesn't it?" hemused aloud. Mary Virginia's lips curled. 

"I do not follow you, " she said coldly. "I am not even sure you havethe letters--that is why I am here. I must see them with my own eyesbefore I agree to pay for them. That is what you expect me to do, isit not?"

"Oh, I have them all right--that is very easily proven, " said he, unruffled. "Now listen carefully, please, while I explain the realreason for your presence here this afternoon. Mr. Inglesby, forreasons of his own, desires to don the senatorial toga; why not? Also, even more vehemently, Mr. Inglesby desires to lead to the altar MissMary Virginia Eustis: yourself, dear lady, your charming self: again, why not? Who can blame him for so natural and laudable an ambition?

"As to his ever persuading you to become Mrs. Inglesby, withoutsome--ah--moral suasion, why, you know what his chance would be betterthan I do. As to his persuading the state to send him to Washington, it would have been a certainty, a sure thing, if our zealous youngfriend Mayne hadn't egged your father into the game. How Mayne managedthat, heaven knows, particularly with your father's affairs in thecondition they are. Now, Eustis is a fine man. Far too fine to be lostin the shuffle at Washington, where he'd be a condemnednuisance--just as he sometimes is here at home. Do you begin tocomprehend?"

"Why, no, " said she, blankly. "And I certainly fail to see where mysilly letters--"

"Let me make it plainer. You and your silly letters put the game intoMr. Inglesby's hands, swing the balance in his favor. _You_ pay _me_?Heavens, no! _We_ pay _you_--and a thumping price at that!"

For a long moment they looked at each other. 

"My dear Miss Eustis, " he put the tips of his fine fingers together, bent forward over them, and favored her with a white-toothed smile, "behold in me Mr. Inglesby's ambassador--the advocate of Cupid. Plainly, I am authorized to offer you Mr. Inglesby's heart, his hand, and--hischeck-book. Let us suppose you agree to accept--no, don't interrupt meyet, please. And keep your seat, Miss Eustis. You may smile, but I wouldadvise you to consider very seriously what I am about to say to you, andto realize once for all that Mr. Inglesby is in dead earnest andprepared to go to considerable lengths. Well, then, as I was about tosay: suppose you agree to accept his proposal! Being above all things abusiness man, Mr. Inglesby realizes that gilt-edged collateral should beput up for what you have to offer--youth, beauty, charm, health, culture, family name, desirable and influential connections, socialposition of the highest. In exchange he offers the Inglesby millions, his absolute devotion to yourself, and his hearty support to all yourfather's plans and interests. Observe the last, please; it is highlyimportant. Besides this, Mayne and Eustis want reform, progress, Demos-with-a-full-dinner-pail, all the wearisome rest of that upliftstuff? Inglesby will see that they get an undiluted dose of it. Moreyet: if you have any scruples about Mayne, Inglesby will get behind thatyoung man and boost him until he can crow on the weathervane--when youare Mrs. Inglesby. A chap like Mayne would be valuable, properlyexpurgated. Come, Miss Eustis, that's fair enough. If you refuse--well, it's up to you to make Eustis understand that he must eliminate himselffrom politics--and look out for himself, " he finished ominously. 

Mary Virginia rose impetuously. 

"I am no longer seventeen, Mr. Hunter. What, do you honestly think youcan frighten a grown woman into believing that a handful of sillyletters could possibly be worth all that? Well, you can't. And--let meremind you that blackmailing women isn't smiled upon in Carolina. Ahint of this and you'd be ostracized. "

"So would you. And why use such an extreme term as blackmailing forwhat really is a very fair offer?" said he, equably. "The letters arenot the only arrows in my quiver, Miss Eustis. But as you are moreinterested in them than anything else just now, suppose we run over afew, just to remind you of their amazing nature?" He rose leisurely, opened the safe in a corner of the room, took from the steelmoney-vault a package, and Mary Virginia recognized her own writing. Always keeping them under his own hand, he yet allowed her to leanforward and verify what he chose to read. 

Her face burned and tears of mortification stung her eyes. Goodheavens, had she been as silly and as sentimental as all that? But asshe listened to his smooth remorseless voice, mortification mergedinto amazement and amazement into consternation. Older and wiser now, she saw what ignorance and infatuation had really accomplished, andshe realized that a fool can unwittingly pull the universe about herears. 

She was appalled. It was as if her waking self were confronted by anincredible something her dreaming self had done. She knew enough ofthe world now to realize how such letters would be received--withsmiles intended to wound, with the raised eyebrow, the shruggedshoulder. She wondered, with a chill of panic, how she could ever hopeto make anybody understand what she admitted she herself couldn'texplain. For heaven's sake, _what_ had she been trying to tell thisman? She didn't know any more, except that it hadn't been what theseletters seemed to reveal. 

"Well?" said the lazy, pleasant voice, "don't you agree with me thatit would have been barbarous to destroy them? Wonderful, aren't they?Who would credit a demure American schoolgirl with their supreme art?A French court lady might have written them, in a day when folks madea fine art of love and weren't afraid nor ashamed. "

"I must have been stark mad!" said she, twisting her fingers. "Howcould I ever have done it? Oh, how?"

"Oh, we all have our moments of genius!" said he, airily. 

As he faced her, smiling and urbane, she noted woman-fashion thesuperfine quality of his linen, the perfection of every detail of hisappearance, the grace with which he wore his clothes. His manner wasgracious, even courtly. Yet there was about him something sorelentless that for the first time she felt a quiver of fear. 

"If my father--or Mr. Mayne--knew this, you would undoubtedly beshot!" said she, and her eyes flashed. 

"Unwritten law, chivalry, all the rest of that rot? I am well awarethat the Southern trigger-finger is none too steady, where lovelywoman is concerned, " he admitted, with a faint sneer. "But when oneplays for high stakes, Miss Eustis, one runs the risks. Granted I doget shot? That wouldn't give you the letters: it would simply handthem over to prosecuting attorneys and the public press, and they'd bedamning with blood upon them. No, I don't think there'll be anyfireworks--just a sensible deal, in which everybody benefits andnobody loses. "

"The thing is impossible, perfectly impossible. "

"I don't see why. Everything has its price and I'm offering you apretty stiff one. "

"I would rather be burned alive. Marry Mr. Inglesby? _I_? Why, he isimpossible, perfectly impossible!"

"He is nothing of the kind. And he is very much in love with you--youamount to a grand passion with Inglesby. Also, he has twentymillions. " He added dryly: "You are hard to please. "

Mary Virginia waved aside grand passion and twenty millions with agesture of ineffable disdain. 

"Even if I were weak and silly enough to take you seriously, do youimagine my father would ever consent? He would despise me. He wouldrather see me dead. "

"Oh, no, he wouldn't. Nobody can afford to despise a woman with twentymillions. It isn't in human nature. Particularly when you save Mr. James Eustis himself from coming a breakneck cropper, to say the veryleast. "

For the moment she missed the significance of that last remark. 

"I repeat that I would rather be burned alive. I despise the man!"said she, passionately. 

"Oh, no, you wouldn't. " His manner was a bit contemptuous. "And you'dsoon get used to him. Women and cats are like that. They may squalland scratch a bit at first, but the saucer of cream reconciles them, and presently they are quite at home and purring, the sensiblecreatures! You'll end by liking him very well. "

The girl ignored this Job's comforting. 

"What shall I say to my father?" she asked directly. "Tell him youkept the foolish letters written you by an ignorant child--and theprice is either his or my selling out to Mr. Inglesby?"

"That is your lookout. You can't expect us to let your side whip us, hands down, can you? Mr. Inglesby does not propose to submit tamely to_everything_. " His face hardened, a glacial glint snapped into hiseyes. "Inglesby's no worse than anybody else would be that had to holddown his job. He's got virtues, plenty of solid good-citizen, church-member, father-of-a-family virtues, little as you seem torealize it. Also, let me repeat--he has twenty millions. To buy up ahandful of letters for twenty million dollars looks to me about thebiggest price ever paid since the world began. Don't be a fool!"

"I refuse. I refuse absolutely and unconditionally. I shallimmediately send for my father--and for Mr. Mayne--"

"I give you credit for better sense, " said he, with a razor-edgedsmile. "Eustis is honorable and Mayne is in love with you, and whenyou spring this they'll swear they believe you: _but will they_? Domen ever believe women, without the leaven of a little doubt? Speakingas a man for men, I wouldn't put them to the test. No, dear lady, Ihardly think you are going to be so silly. Now let us pass on tosomething of greater moment than the letters. Did you think I hadnothing else to urge upon you?"

"What, more?" said she, derisively. "I don't think I understand. "

"I am sure you don't. Permit me, then, to enlighten you. " He paused amoment, as if to reflect. Then, impressively:

"Hitherto, Miss Eustis, you have had the very button on Fortune'scap, " he told her. "Suppose, however, that fickle goddess chose towhisk herself off bodily, and left you--_you_, mind you! to face theugly realities of poverty, and poverty under a cloud?" And while shestared at him blankly, he asked: "What do you know of your father'saffairs?"

As a matter of fact she knew very little. But something in the deadlypleasantness of his voice, something in his eyes, startled her. 

"What do you mean, Mr. Hunter?"

"Ah, now we get down to bedrock: your father's affairs, " he said evenly. "Your father, Miss Eustis, is a very remarkable man, a man with oneidea. In other words, a fanatic. Only a fanatic could accomplish whatEustis has accomplished. His one idea is the very sound old idea thatpeople should remain on the land. He starts in to show his people how todo it successfully. Once started, the work grows like Jonah's gourd. Hebecomes a sort of rural white hope. So far, so good. But reclamationwork, experimenting, blooded stock, up-to-the-minute machinery, labor-saving devices, chemicals, high-priced experts, labor itself, allthat calls for money, plenty of money. Your father's work grew to itsmonumental proportions because he'd gotten other men interested init--all sorts and conditions of men, but chiefly--and here's at once hisstrength and weakness--farmers, planters, small-town merchants andbankers. They backed him with everything they had--and they haven'tlost--yet. 

"However, there are such things as bad seasons, labor troubles, boll-weevil, canker, floods, war. He lost ship-loads of cotton. Helost heavily on rice. Remember those last floods? In some of hisplaces they wiped the work of years clean off the map. He had to beginall over, and he had to do it on borrowed money; which in lean andlosing years is expensive. Floods may come and crops may go, butinterest on borrowed money goes on forever. He mortgaged all he couldmortgage, risked everything he could risk, took every chance--and noweverything is at stake with him. 

"Do you realize what it would mean if Eustis went under? A smash toshake the state! Consider, too, the effect of failure upon the manhimself! He can't fail, though--_if Mr. Inglesby chooses to lend ahand_. Now do you begin to comprehend?"

In spite of her distrust, he impressed her profoundly. He did notover-estimate her father's passionate belief in himself and the valueof his work. If anything, Hunter had slurred the immense influenceEustis exerted, and the calamitous effect his failure would have uponthe plain people who looked up to him with such unlimited trust. Theywould not only lose their money; they would lose something no moneycould pay for--their faith. 

"Oh, but that just simply couldn't happen!" said Mary Virginia, andher chin went up. 

"It could very easily happen. It may happen shortly, " he contradictedpolitely. "Heavens, girl, don't you know that the Eustis house ismortgaged to the roof, that Rosemount Plantation is mortgaged from thefront fences to the back ditches? No, I suppose he wouldn't want hiswomen-folks to know. He thinks he can tide it over. They alwaysbelieve they can tide it over, those one-idea chaps. And he could, too, for he's a born winner, is Eustis. Give him time and a goodseason and he'd be up again, stronger than ever. " While he spoke hewas taking from a drawer a handful of papers, which he spread out onthe desk. She could see upon all of them a bold clear "_JamesEustis_. "

"One place mortgaged to prop up another, and that in turn mortgaged tosave a third. Like links in a chain. Any chain is only as strong asits weakest link, remember. And we've got the links. Look at these, please. " He laid before her two or three slips of paper. MaryVirginia's eyes asked for enlightenment. 

"These, " explained Hunter, "are promissory notes. You will see thatsome of them are about due--and the amounts are considerable. "

"Oh! And _he_ had to do that?"

"Of course. What else could he do? We kept a very close watch since wegot the first inkling that things were not breaking right for him. Mr. Inglesby's own interests are pretty extensive--and we set them towork. It wasn't hard to manage, after things began to shape: a wordhere, a hint there, an order somewhere else; and once or twice, ofcourse, a bit of pressure was brought to bear, in obdurate instances. But the man with money is always the man with the whip hand. Eustisgot the help he had to have--and presently we got these. All perfectlylegitimate, all in the course of the day's work. 

"Now, promissory notes are dangerous instruments should a holderdesire to use them dangerously. Mr. Inglesby could give Eustis anextension of time, or he could demand full payment and immediatelyforeclose. You see, it's entirely optional with Mr. Inglesby. " And heleaned back in his chair, perfectly self-possessed, entirely at hisease, and waited for her to speak. 

"You could do that--anybody could do that--to my father?" she wasonly half-convinced. 

"I assure you we can send him under--with a lot of other men's moneytied around his neck to keep him down. "

"But even you would hesitate to do a thing like that!"

"All is fair, " said Hunter, "in love and war. "

"_Fair_?"

"Legitimate, then. "

"But if he is in Mr. Inglesby's way and in his power at the same time, why not remove him in the ordinary course of business? Why drag in meand my letters?"

"Why? Because it's the letters that enable us to reach _you_. My deargirl, Mr. Inglesby doesn't really give a hang whether Eustis sinks orswims. He'd as lief back him as not, for in the long run it's goodbusiness to back a winner. But it's _you_ he's playing for, and onthat count all is fish that comes to his net. _Now_ do you begin tosee?"

Mary Virginia began to see. She looked at the unruffled man before hera bit wonderingly. 

"And what do _you_ get out of this?" she asked, unexpectedly. "Mr. Inglesby is to get me, I am to get his money and a package of letters, my father is to get time to save himself; well then, what do _you_get? The pleasure of doing something wrong? Revenge?"

But Hunter looked at her with cold astonishment. "You surprise me, " hesaid. "You talk as if you'd been going to see too many of thoseinsufferable screen-plays that make the proletariat sniffle and theintelligent swear. I am merely a business man, Miss Eustis, andattending to this particular affair for my employer is all in thecourse of the day's work. I--er--am not in a position to refuse toobey orders or to be captious, particularly since Mr. Inglesby hasagreed to double my present salary. That in itself is no lightinducement--but I get more. I get Mr. Inglesby's personal backing, which means an assured future to me; as it will mean to you and yourfather, if you have got the sense you were born with. This isbusiness. Kindly omit melodrama--crude, and not at all your style, really, " he finished, critically. 

"This is nothing short of villainy. And not at all too crude for_your_ style, " said Mary Virginia. 

He laughed good-humoredly. "Bad temper is vastly becoming to you, " hetold her. "It gives you a magnificent color. "

And at that Mary Virginia looked at him with eyes in which the shadowof fear was deepening. Hard as nails, cold as ice, to him she wasmerely a means to an end. He did not even hate her. The guillotinedoes not hate those whom it decapitates, either; none the less ittakes off their heads once they get in the way of the descendingknife. 

"I suggest, " said Hunter, rising, "that you go home now and think thematter over carefully. Weigh what you and your father stand to gainagainst what you stand to lose. I do not press you for an immediatedecision. You shall have a reasonable time for consideration. " It wasa threat and a command, thinly veiled. 

All that night, unable to sleep, she did think the matter overcarefully; she turned and twisted it about and about and saw it nowfrom this angle and now from that; and the more she studied it in allits bearings the worse it grew. There was no escape from it. 

Suppose, although she knew she could never, never hope tosatisfactorily explain them, she nevertheless told her father aboutthose letters and the part they were to be made play, now that his ownaffairs had reached a crisis? She could fancy herself telling him thathe must shield himself behind her skirts if he would save himself fromruin. That . .. To James Eustis!

Suppose that the Carolina trigger-finger slipped, as Hunter hadnonchalantly admitted might happen: what then? But it is the woman inthe case who always suffers the most and the longest; it is the woman, always, who pays the greater price. Her fears magnified the imaginedevil, her pride was crucified. 

What tortured her most was that they were actually making her party toa wreck that could easily be averted. Hunter had admitted that Eustiscould weather the storm, if he were given time. Oh, to gain time forhim, then! And she lay there, staring into the dark with wet eyes. Howcould she help him, she who was also snared?

And in desperation she hit upon a forlorn hope. She dared not speakout openly to anybody, she dared not flatly refuse Inglesby'spretensions, for that would be to invite the avalanche. What sheproposed to herself was to hold him off as long as she could. Shewould not be definite until the last possible minute. Always there wasthe chance that by some miracle of mercy Eustis might be able to meetthose notes when they fell due. Let him do that, and she would thentell him everything. But not now. He was bearing too much, withoutthat added burden. 

It cost her a supreme effort to face the situation as it affectedherself and Laurence. Life without Laurence! The bare thought of ittested her heart and showed her how inalienably it belonged to him. But under all his lovingness and his boyishness, Laurence had asternness, a ruggedness as adamantine as one of Cromwell's Iron-sides. With him to know would be to act. Well--he mustn't know. It terrifiedher to think of just what might happen, if Laurence knew. 

Under the circumstances there seemed but one course open to her--togive up Laurence, and that without explanations. For his own sake shehad to keep silent--just as Hunter had known she would. What Laurencemust think of her, even the loss of his affection and respect, wouldbe part of the price paid for having been a fool. 

In the most unobtrusive manner they kept in touch with her. Hunter hadso adroitly wirepulled, and so deftly softened and toned downInglesby's crudities, that Mrs. Eustis had become the latter's openchampion. Condescending and patronizing, she liked the importance oflending a very rich man her social countenance. She insisted that hewas misunderstood. Men of great fortunes are always misunderstood. Nobody considers it a virtue to be charitable to the rich--they saveall their charity for the poor, who as often as not are undeserving, and are generally insanitary as well. Mrs. Eustis thanked her heavenlyFather she was a woman of larger vision, and never thought ill of aman just because he happened to be a millionaire. Millionaires havegot souls, she hoped? And hearts? Mrs. Eustis said she knew Mr. Inglesby's noble heart, my dear, whether others did or not. 

Compelled to apparently jilt Laurence, Mary Virginia sank deeper anddeeper into the slough of despond. A terror of Inglesby's power, as ofsomething supernatural, was growing upon her, a terror almost childishin its intensity. He had begun to occupy the niche vacated by theBoogerman her Dah had threatened her with in her nursery. She couldbarely conceal this terror, save that an instinct warned her that tolet him know she feared him would be fatal. And she felt for him aphysical repulsion strong enough to be nauseating. 

The fact that she disdained and perhaps even disliked him and made noeffort to conceal her feelings, did not in the least ruffle his blandcomplacency nor affront his pride. He knew that not even an Inglesbycould hope to find a Mary Virginia more than once in a lifetime, andthe haughtier she was the more she pleased him; it added to hisinnate sense of power, and this in itself endeared her to himinexpressibly. 

But as the girl still held out stubbornly, trying to evade the finalword that would force a climax disastrous any way she viewed it, Inglesby's patience was exhausted. He was determined to make her cometo terms by the word of her own mouth, and he had no doubt that herfinal word must be Yes; perhaps a Yes reluctant enough, butnevertheless one to which he meant to hold her. 

To make that final demand more impressive, Hunter was not entrustedwith the interview. Hunter may have been doubtful as to the wisdom ofthis, but Inglesby could no longer forego the delight of dealing withMary Virginia personally. On the Saturday night, then, Mrs. Eustisbeing absent, Mr. Inglesby, manicured, massaged, immaculate, shavenand shorn, called in person; and not daring to refuse, Mary Virginiareceived him, wondering if for her the end of the world had not come. 

He made a mistake, for Mary Virginia had her back against the wall, literally waiting for the Eustis roof to fall. But he could not foregothe pleasure of witnessing her pride lower its crest to him. He didnot relish a go-between, even such a successful one as his secretary. He had made up his mind that she should have until to-morrow night, Sunday, to come to a decision--just that long, and not another hour. He was not getting younger; he wanted to marry, to found a greatestablishment as whose mistress Mary Virginia should shine. And shewas making him lose time. 

What Inglesby succeeded in doing was to bring her terror to a head, and to fill her with a sick loathing of him. Under the smoothprotestations, the promises, the threats veiled with hateful and oilysmiles, the man himself was revealed: crude, brutal, dominant, ruthless, a male animal bull-necked and arrogant, with small eyes, wide nostrils, cruel moist lips, sensual fat white hands she hated. And he was so sure of her! Mary Virginia found herself smarting underthat horrible sureness. 

Perfectly at his ease, inclined to be familiar and jocose, he lookedinsolently about the lovely old room that had never before held such asuitor for a daughter of that house. Watching her with the complacenteyes of an accepted lover, assuming odious airs of proprietorship suchas made one wish to throttle him, he was in no hurry to go. It seemedto her that black and withering years rolled over her head before hecould bring himself to rise to take his departure. Death could hardlybe colder to a mortal than she had been to this man all the evening, and yet it had not disconcerted him in the least!

He stood for a moment regarding her with the eyes of possession. "Andto think that to-morrow night I shall have the right to openly claimyou as my promised wife!" he exulted. "You can't realize what it meansto a man to be able to say to the world that the most beautiful womanin it is his!"

Directly in front of her hung the portrait of the founder of the housein Carolina, the cavalier who had fled to the new world when CharlesStuart's head fell in the old one. It was a fine and proud face, theeyes frank and brave, the mouth firm and sweet. The girl looked fromit to George Inglesby's, and found herself unable to speak. But as shestood before him, tall and proud and pale, the loveliness, theappealing charm of her, went like a strong wine to the man's head. With a quick and fierce movement he seized her hand and covered itwith hot and hateful kisses. 

At the touch of his lips cold horror seized her. She dragged her handfree and waved him back with a splendid indignation. But Inglesby wasout of hand; he had taken the bit between his teeth, and now hebolted. 

"Do you think I'm made of stone?" he bellowed, and the mask slippedaltogether. There was no hypocrisy about Inglesby now; this wasgenuine. "Well, I'm not! I'm a man, a flesh-and-blood man, and I'mcrazy for you--and you're _mine_! You're _mine_, and you might just aswell face the music and get acquainted with me, first as last. Understand?

"I'm not such a bad sort--what's the matter with me, anyhow? Why ain'tI good enough for you or any other woman? Suppose I'm not a youngwhippersnapper with his head full of nonsense and his pockets full ofnothing, can the best popinjay of them all do for you what _I_ can?Can any of 'em offer you what _I_ can offer? Let him try to: I'llraise his bid!

"Here--don't you stand there staring at me as if I'd tried to slityour throat just because I've kissed your hand. Suppose I did? Whyshouldn't I kiss your hand if I want to? It's my hand, when all's saidand done, and I'll kiss it again if I feel like it. No, no, beauty, Iwon't, not if it's going to make you look at me like that! Why, queen, I wouldn't frighten you for worlds! I love you too much to want to doanything but please you. I'd do anything, everything, just to pleaseyou, to make you like me! You'll believe that, won't you?" And heheld out his hands with a supplicating and impassioned gesture. 

"Why can't we be friends? Try to be friends with me, Mary Virginia!You would, if you only knew how much I love you. Why, I've loved youever since that first day I saw you, after you'd come back home. I wasgoing into the bank, and I turned, and there you were! You had on agray dress, and you wore violets, a big bunch of them. I can smellthem yet. God! It was all up with me! I was crazy about you from thestart, and it's been getting worse and worse . .. Worse and worse!

"You don't know all I mean to do for you, beauty! I'm going to giveyou this little old world to play with. Nothing's too good for _you_. Look at me! I'm not an old man yet--I've only just _begun_ to makemoney for you. Now be a little kind to me. You've got to marry me, youknow. Look here: you kiss me good-night, just once, of your own freewill, and I swear you shall have anything under the sky you ask mefor. Do you want a string of pearls that will make yours look like achild's playpretty? I'll hang a million dollars around that whitethroat of yours!"

But there came into the girl's eyes that which gave him pause. Theystood staring at each other; and slowly the wine-dark flush faded fromhis face and left him livid. Little dents came about his nose, and hislips puckered as if the devil had pinched them together. 

"No?" said he thickly, and his jaw hardened, and his eyes narrowedunder his square forehead. "No? You won't, eh? Too fine and proud? Mylady, you'll learn to kiss me when I tell you to, and glad enough ofthe chance, before you and I finish with each other! Why, you--I--Oh, good God! Why do you rouse the devil in me, when I only want to befriends with you?"

But she, with a ghastly face, turned swiftly and with her head heldhigh walked out of the room, passed through the wide hall, andascended the stairs, without even bidding him goodnight. Let him takehis dismissal as he would--she could stand no more!

Once in her own room, Mary Virginia dismissed Nancy for the night. Shehad to be alone, and the colored woman was an irrepressible magpie. Furiously she scrubbed her hands, as if to remove the taint of histouch. That he had dared! Her teeth chattered. She could barely saveherself from screaming aloud. She bathed her face, dashed some toiletwater over herself, and fell into a chair, limp and unnerved. 

_One day!_

She was facing the end and she knew it. Because she had to say No. Shehad never for one minute admitted to herself the possibility of herown surrender. She could give up Laurence, since she had to; but shecould not accept Inglesby. Anything rather than that! At the most, allshe had hoped was to evade that final No until the last moment, inorder to give Eustis what poor respite she could. Only her great lovefor him had enabled her to do that much. And it had not helped. Whenshe thought of the wreck that must come, she beat her hands together, softly, in sheer misery. It was like standing by and watching somesplendid ship being pounded to pieces on the rocks. 

Only her innate bravery and her real and deep religious instinct savedher from altogether sinking into inertia and despair. She _had_ toarouse herself. Other women had faced situations equally as impossibleand unbearable as hers, and the best of them had not allowedthemselves to be whipped into tame and abject submission. Even at theworst they had snatched the great chance to live their own lives intheir own way. As for her, surely there must be some way out of thissnarl, some immediate way that led to honorable freedom, even withouthope. But how and where was she to find any way open to her, betweennow and to-morrow night?

On her dressing table, with a handful of trinkets upon it, lay thetray that the Butterfly Man had sent her when she was graduated. Chinin hands, Mary Virginia stared absently enough at the brightly coloredbutterflies she had been told to remember were messengers bearing ontheir wings the love of the Parish House people. Why--why--of course!The Parish House people! They had blamed her, because they hadn'tunderstood. But if she were to ask the Parish House people for anyhelp within their power, she could be sure of receiving it withoutstint. 

If she could get to the Parish House without anybody knowing where shewas, Inglesby and Hunter would be balked of that interview to-morrownight. The worst was going to happen anyhow, but if she couldn't saveherself from anything else, at least she could save herself fromfacing them alone. To be able to do that, she would go now, in themiddle of the night, and tell the Padre everything. Unnerved as shewas, she couldn't face the hours between now and to-morrow morninghere, by herself. She had to get to the Parish House. 

It was then after eleven. Nancy having been dismissed for the night, she had no fear of being interrupted. She made her few preparations, switched off the light, and sat down to wait until she could be surethat all the servants were abed, and the streets deserted. She felt asif she were a forlorn castaway upon a pinpoint of land, withimmeasurable dark depths upon either side. 

The midnight express screeched and was gone. She switched on the lightfor a last look about her pretty, pleasant room. There was a snapshotof the Parish House people upon her mantel, and she nodded to it, gravely, before she once more plunged the room into darkness. 

Noiselessly she slipped downstairs and let herself out. The midnightair was bitingly cold, but she did not feel it. With one handsatchelholding all she thought she could honestly lay claim to, Mary Virginiaturned her back upon the home that had sheltered her all her life, butthat wouldn't be able to shelter its own people much longer, becauseInglesby was going to take it away from them. It made her wince tothink of him as master under that roof. The old house deserved ahappier fate. 

At best the Parish House could be only a momentary stopping-place. What lay beyond she didn't know. What her fate held further of evilshe couldn't guess. But at least, she thought, it would be in her ownhands. It wasn't. Unexpectedly and mercifully was it put into theabler and stronger hands of the Butterfly Man. 

Now, that night Flint had found himself unable to work. He wasunaccountably depressed. He couldn't read; even the Bible, opened athis favorite John, hadn't any comfort for him. He shoved the bookaside, snatched hat and overcoat, and fled to his refuge the healingout-of-doors. 

He trudged the country roads for awhile, then turned toward town, intending to pass by the Eustis house. It wasn't the first time he hadpassed the Eustis house at night of late, and just to see it asleep inthe midst of its gardens steadied him and made him smile at the vaguefears he entertained. 

He was almost up to the gate when a girl emerged from it, and hestiffened in his tracks, for it was Mary Virginia. A second later, andthey stood face to face. 

"Don't be alarmed, it is I, Flint, " he said in his quiet voice. Andthen he asked directly: "Why are you out alone at this hour? Where areyou going?"

"To--to the Parish House, " she stammered. She was greatly startled byhis sudden appearance. 

"Exactly, " said the Butterfly Man, with meaning, and relieved her ofher satchel. He asked no questions, offered no comments; but asquickly as he could he got her to his own rooms, put Kerry on guard, and ran for help. 

CHAPTER XVIII

ST. STANISLAUS CROOKS HIS ELBOW

Mary Virginia's voice trailed into silence and she sank back into herchair, staring somberly at the fire. Her face marked with tears, thelong braids of her hair over her shoulders, she looked so like a sadand chidden child that the piteousness of her would have moved andmelted harder hearts than ours. 

The Butterfly Man had listened without an interruption. He sat leaningslightly forward, knees crossed, the left arm folded to support theelbow of the right, and his chin in his cupped right hand. His eyeshad the piercing clear directness of an eagle's; they burned with anunwavering pale flame. Shrewder far than I, he saw the great advantageof knowing the worst, of at last thoroughly understanding Hunter andInglesby and the motives which moved them. He had, too, a certaintolerance. These two had merely acted according to their lights; hehad not expected any more or less, therefore he was not surprised nowinto an undue condemnation. 

But the fighting instinct rose rampant in me. My hands are De Rancéhands, the hands of soldiers as well as of priests, and they itchedfor a weapon, preferably a sword. Horrified and astonished, suffocating with anger, I had no word at command to comfort thisvictim of abominable cunning. Indeed, what could I say; what could Ido? I looked helplessly at the Butterfly Man, and the stronger manlooked back at me, gravely and impassively. 

"But what is to be done?" I groaned. 

He seemed to know, for he said at once:

"Call Madame. Tell her to bring some extra wraps. I am going to takeMary Virginia home, and Madame will go with us. "

"But why shouldn't she stay here?"

"Because she'd better be at home to-morrow morning, parson. We're notsupposed to know anything of her affairs, and I'd rather she didn'tappear at the Parish House. Also, she needs sleep right now more thanshe needs anything else, and one sleeps better in one's own bed. Madame will see that she goes to hers and stays there. "

I was perfectly willing to commit the affair into John Flint's hands. But Mary Virginia demurred. 

"No. I want to stay here! I don't want to go home, Padre. "

Flint shook his head. "I'm sorry, " he said mildly, "but I'm going totake you home. " He looked so inexorable that Mary Virginia shruggedher shoulders. 

"Oh, all right, Mr. Flint, I'll go, " said she. "What difference doesit make? I'll even go to bed--as I'm told. " And she added in a tone ofindescribable bitterness: "I have read that men lie down and sleeppeacefully the night before they are hanged. Well, I suppose theycould: they hadn't anything but death to face on the morrow, but I--"and she caught her breath. 

"Why not take it for granted to-night that you'll be looked afterto-morrow?" suggested Flint. "Mary Virginia, nothing's ever so bad asit's going to be. "

"Oh, yes, I'll be looked after to-morrow!" said she, bitingly. "Mr. Inglesby will see to that!" She covered her face with her hands. 

"Oh, I don't know!" The Butterfly Man shut his mouth on the words likea knife. "Inglesby may think he's going to, but somehow _I_ think hewon't. "

"Ah!" said she scornfully. "Perhaps _you'll_ be able to stop him?"

"Perhaps, " he agreed. "If I don't, somebody or something else will. It's very unlucky to be too lucky too long. You see, everybody's gotto get what's coming to them, and it generally comes hardest whenthey've tied themselves up to the notion they're It. Somehow I fancyMr. Inglesby's due to come considerable of a cropper around aboutnow. "

"Between now and to-morrow night?" she wondered, with sad contempt. 

"Why not? Anything can happen between a night and a night. " He lookedat her with shrewd appreciation: "You have taken yourself soseriously, " said he, "that you've pretty nearly muddled yourself intobeing tragic. Those fellows knew who they were dealing with when theytackled _you_. They could bet the limit you'd never tell. So long asyou didn't tell, so long as they had nobody but you to deal with, theyhad you where they wanted you. But now maybe things might happen thathaven't been printed in the program. "

"What things?" she mocked somberly. 

"I don't know, yet, " he admitted, "But I do know there is always away out of everything except the grave. The thing is to find the rightway. That's up to the Padre and me. Parson, would you mind going afterMadame now, please? The sooner we go the better. "

Have I not said my mother is the most wonderful of women? I waked herin the small hours with the startling information that Mary Virginiawas downstairs in John Flint's workroom, and that she herself mustdress and accompany her home. And my mother, though she looked herstark bewilderment, plagued me with no questions. 

"She is in great trouble, and she needs you. Hurry. "

Madame slid out of her bed and reached for her neatly folded garments. 

"Wait in the hall, Armand; I will be with you in ten minutes. " And shewas, wrapped and hatted. 

Once in the workroom, she cast a deep and searching woman-glance atthe pale girl in the chair. Her face was so sweet with motherlinessand love and pity, and that profound comprehension the best women showto each other, that I felt my throat contract. Gathered into Madame'sembrace, Mary Virginia clung to her old friend dumbly. Madame had butone question:

"My child, have you told John Flint and my son what this trouble ofyours is?"

"Yes; I had to, I had to!"

"Thank the good God for that!" said my mother piously. "Now we will gohome, dearest, and you can sleep in peace--you have nothing more toworry about!"

The clasp of the comforting arms, the sweet serenity of the mild eyes, and above all the little lady's perfect confidence, aroused MaryVirginia out of her torpor. She felt that she no longer stood aloneat the mercy of the merciless. Bundled in the wraps my mother hadprovided, she paused at the door. 

"I think you will forgive me any trouble I may cause you, because I amsure all of you love me. And whatever comes, I will be brave enough toface and to bear it. Padre, dear Padre, you understand, don't you?"

"My child, my darling child, I understand. "

"I'll be back in half an hour, parson, " the Butterfly Man remarkedmeaningly. Then the three melted into the night. 

Left alone, I was far from sharing Madame's simple faith in ourability to untangle this miserable snarl. I knew now the temper of themen we had to deal with. I also understood that in cases like this theSouthern trigger-finger is none too steady. Seen from a certain pointof view, if ever men deserved an unconditional and thorough killing, these two did. Yet this homicidal specter turned me cold, for MaryVirginia's sake. 

For Eustis himself I could see nothing but ruin ahead, but I wishedpassionately to help the dear girl who had come to me in her stress. But what was one to do? How should one act?

I sat there dismally enough, my chin sunk upon my breast; for as aplotter, a planner, a conspirator, I am a particularly hopelessfailure. I have no sense of intrigue, and the bare idea of plottingreduces me to stupefaction. 

Perhaps because I am a priest by instinct, I always discover in myselfthe instant need of prayer when confronted by the unusual and thedifficult. I have prayed over seemingly hopeless problems in my timeand I think I have been led to a clear solution of many of them. Major Cartwright insists that this is merely because I bring desireand will to bear upon a given point and so release an irresistiblenatural force. He says prayer is as much a science as, say, mathematics--such and such its units, and such and such its fixedresults. Well, maybe so. All I know is that when I beseech aid I thinkI receive it. 

So I ran over to the church and let myself in. I felt that at leastfor a few minutes I must kneel before the altar and implore help forher who was like my own child to me. 

The empty church was quite black save for the sanctuary lamp and thelittle red votive lights burning before the statues of the saints andof our Lady. All these many little lights only cast the veriest ghostsof brightness upon the darkness, but the white altar was revealed bythe larger glow of the sanctuary lamp. There it shone with a mild andpure luster, unfailing, calm, steady, burning through the night, thesign and symbol of that light of Love which cannot fail, but burns andburns and burns forever and forever before an altar that is theinfinite universe itself. 

My little-faith, my ready-to-halt faith, raised its head above theencompassing waters; the wild turmoil and torment died away: . .. Afterthe earthquake and the fire and the whirlwind, the still smallvoice. .. . 

Then I, to whom life at best can only be working and waiting, was fora space able to pray for her to whom life should be "_as the light ofthe morning, when the sun riseth, even a clear morning without clouds;and as the tender grass by clear shining after rain_. " I rememberedher as she had first come to me, a little loving child to fill myempty heart, the poor clay heart that cannot even hold fast to thelove of God but by these frail all-powerful ties of simple humanaffection. And when I thought of her now, so young and so sore-beset, a bird caught in the snare of the fowler, I beat my breast for pityand for grief. Oh, how should I help her, how!

I turned my head, and there stood St. Stanislaus upon his pedestal, the memorial lights flickering upon his long robe, his smooth boy'sface, his sheaf of lilies. I regarded him rather absently. Somethingstirred in my consciousness; something I always had to remember inconnection with St. Stanislaus. .. . 

Across my mind as across a screen flashed a series of pictures--amangled tramp carried into the Parish House, my mother watching with aconcerned and shocked face, and the hall mud-stained by the tramplingfeet of the clumsy bearers; the shaggy Poles, caps off, turning overto me as to high authority the heavy oilskin package they had found; Iopening that package later and standing amazed and startled before itscontents; and that same package, hidden under my cassock, carried overto the church and placed for security and secrecy in the keeping ofthe little saint. Well, that had been quite right; there had beennothing else to do; one had to be secret and careful when one had inone's keeping the tools of that notorious burglar, Slippy McGee. 

Small wonder that I did not connect those pictures with the fate ofMary Virginia Eustis! No, I did not immediately grasp their tremendousbearing upon the petitions I was repeating. And all the while, with adull insistence, an enraging persistence, they flickered before theeyes of my memory--the Poles, the screaming cursing tramp;Westmoreland pondering aloud as to why he had been permitted to saveso apparently worthless a life; and the little saint hiding from theeyes of men all traces of lost Slippy McGee. Nor, more curiously yet, did I connect them with the Butterfly Man. The Butterfly Man wassomebody else altogether, another and a different person, a man ofwhom even one's secretest thoughts were admiring and respectful. Hewas so far removed from the very shadow of such things as these, thatit did one's conscience a sort of violence to think of him inconnection with them. I tried to dismiss the memories from my mind. Iwished to concentrate wholly upon the problem of Mary Virginia. 

And then that mysterious, hidden self-under-self that lives in us far, far beneath thought and instinct and conscience and heredity and evenconsciousness itself, rose to the surface with a message:

_Slippy McGee had been the greatest cracksman in all America. .. . _"Honest to God, skypilot, I can open any box made, easy as easy!" . .. _And even as his tools were hidden in St. Stanislaus, Slippy McGeehimself was hidden in John Flint_. 

Recoiling, I clung to the altar railing. What dreadful thing was Icontemplating, what fearful temptation was assailing me, here underthe light of the sanctuary lamp? I looked reproachfully at St. Stanislaus, as if that seraphic youth had betrayed my confidence. Isuspected him of being too anxious to rid himself of the ambiguoustrust imposed upon him without so much as a by-your-leave. Perhaps hewas secretly irked at the use to which his painted semblance had beenput, and seized this first opportunity to extricate himself from aposition in which the boldest saint of them all might well hesitate tofind himself. 

I began to consider John Flint as he was, the work he hadaccomplished, the splendid structure of that life slowly andlaboriously made over and lived so cleanly in the light of day. Notonly had that old evil personality been sloughed off like a larvalskin; he had come forth from it another creature, a being lovable, wise, tender, full of charm. Even the hint of melancholy that wasbecoming more and more a part of him endeared him to others, for thebroader and brighter the light into which he was steadily mounting, the more marked and touching was this softening shadow. 

And I who had been the _accoucheur_ of his genius, I who had watchedand prayed and ministered beside the cradle of his growth, was I ofall men to threaten his overthrow? Alas, what madness was upon me thatI was evoking before the very altar the grim ghost of Slippy McGee?

There passed before me in procession the face of Laurence with all itsboyish bloom stripped from it and the glory of its youth vanished; andthe bowed and humbled head of James Eustis, one of the large and noblesouls of this world; and the innocent beauty of Mary Virginia, wistfully appealing; followed them the beautiful ruthless face ofHunter, dazzlingly blonde, gold-haired as Baldur; and the piglike eyesand heavy jowl of Inglesby, brutally dominant; and then the dearwhimsical visage of the Butterfly Man himself. They passed; and I fellto praying, with a sort of still desperation, for all of us. 

And all the while the steady and rosy light of the sanctuary lamp fellupon me, and the little lights flickered before the silent saints. Itook myself in hand, forced myself into self-control. I did notminimize one risk nor slur one danger. I knew exactly what was atstake. And having done this, I decided upon my course:

"If he has thought of this himself, then I will help. But if he hasnot, I will not suggest it, no, no matter what happens. "

I told myself I would say ten more Hailmarys, and I said them, with anOurfather at the end. And without further praying I got to my feet. The church seemed to be full of breathless whisperings, as if itwatched and listened while I moved over to Stanislaus and tipped himbackward. He is a rather heavy and sizable boy for all his saintlyslimness. Up in the hollow inside, in the crook of his arm, lay theoilskin package he had kept these long years through, waiting forto-night. 

"If ever you prayed for mortals in peril, pray, for the love of God, for all of us this night!" I told him. And with the package in a foldof my cassock I went back across the dark garden and let myself intothe Butterfly Man's rooms, and was hardly inside the door when hehimself returned. 

"Didn't meet a soul. And they got in without waking anybody in thehouse, " said he complacently, rubbing his hands before the fire. "Iwaited until they showed a light upstairs. She's all right, nowMadame's with her. "

"Have you--have you thought of anything--any way, John?" I quavered, and wondered if he heard my heart dunting against my ribs. 

"Why, I've thought that she's got until to-morrow night to come toterms, " said he, and turned to face me. "And she can't accept them. Nobody could--that is, not a girl like her. As for Inglesby, he mightpush Eustis under, but he wouldn't have been so cocksure of _her_ ifit wasn't for those letters. She's been afraid of what might happen ifEustis or Laurence found out about them--somebody ran the risk ofbeing put to bed with a shovel. There's where they had her. A bitunbearable to think of, isn't it?" He spoke so mildly that I looked upwith astonishment and some disappointment. 

"Why, " said I, ruefully, "if that's as far as you've gone, we arestill at the starting point. "

"No need to go farther and fare worse, parson, " said he, equably. "Isaw that the first minute I could see anything but red. Yet do youknow, when she was telling us about it, I thought like a fool ofeverything but the right thing, from sandbagging and shanghaingInglesby, down to holding up Hunter with an automatic?

"When I got my reason on straight, I went back to the startingpoint--the letters, parson, the letter in the safe in Hunter's office. Given the letters she'd be free--the one thing Inglesby doesn't wantto happen. We've got to have those letters. "

My mouth was parched as with fever and I saw him through a blur. 

"I don't know, " he went on, "if you agree with me, parson, but to mymind the best way to fight the devil is with fire. What did you dowith those tools?"

"_Tools?_" in a dry whisper. "_Tools_, John?"

"Tools. Kit. Layout. You had them. Could you put your hand on them ina hurry to-night? Don't stare so, man! And for the Lord's love don'tyou tell me you destroyed them! What did you do with my tools?"

The four winds roared in my ears, and one lifted the hair on my scalp, as if the Rider on the Pale Horse had passed by. By way of reply Iplaced a heavy package on the table before him, slumped into my chair, and covered my face with my hands. Oh, Stanislaus, little saint, whathad we done between us to-night to the Butterfly Man?

When I looked up again he had risen. With his hands gripping the edgeof the table until the knuckles showed white, and his neck stretchedout, he was staring with all his eyes. A low whistle escaped him. Wonder, incredulity, a sort of ironic amusement, and a growing, iron-jawed determination, expressed themselves in his changingcountenance. Once or twice he wet his lips and swallowed. Then he satdown again, deliberately, and fixed upon me a long and somewhatdisconcerting stare, as if he were rearranging and tabulating hisestimate of Father Armand Jean De Rancé. He took his head in hishands, and with slitted eyes considered the immediate course of actionto which the possession of that package committed him. One surmisedthat he was weighing and providing for every possible contingency. 

Tentatively he spread out his fine hands, palms uppermost, and flexedthem; then, turning them, he laid them flat upon the table and againspread out his fingers. They were notable hands--shapely, supple, strong as steel, the thin-skinned fingertips as delicate and sensitiveof touch as the antennæ he was used to handling. They were even morecapable than of old, because of the exquisite work they had beentrained to accomplish, work to which only the most skilled lapidary'sis comparable. Apparently satisfied, he drew the bundle toward him. Before he opened it he lifted those cool, blue, and ironic eyes tomine; and I am sure I was by far the paler and more shaken of the two. 

"They were in the crook of St. Stanislaus' arm. " I tried to keep myvoice steady. "I was praying--when you were gone. " Somehow, I did notfind it easy to explain to him. "And . .. I remembered. .. . And Ibrought them with me . .. So in case you also . .. Remembered--" I couldgo no further. I broke into a sort of groaning cry: "Oh, John, John!My son, my son!"

"Steady!" said he. "Of course you remembered, parson. It's the onlyway. Didn't I tell her there's always a way out? Well, here it is!"His funny, twisted smile came to his lips; it twisted the heart in mybreast. No thought of himself, of what this thing might mean to him, seemed to cross his mind. 

"I prayed, " said I, almost sobbing, "I prayed. And, John, there stoodSt. Stanislaus--" I stopped again, choking. 

He nodded, understandingly. He was methodically spreading out the notunbeautiful instruments. And as he picked them up one by one, handlingthem with his strong and expert fingers and testing each with ahawk-eyed scrutiny, a most curious and subtle change stole over theButterfly Man. 

I felt as if I were witnessing the evocation of something superhuman. Horrified and fascinated, I saw what might be called the apotheosisof Slippy McGee, so far above him was it, come back and subtly andawfully blend with my scientist. It was as if two strong and powerfulindividualities had deliberately joined forces to forge a more vitalbeing than either, since the training, knowledge, skill and intellectof both would be his to command. If such a man as _this_ ever steppedover the deadline he would not be merely "the slickest cracksman inAmerica"; he would be one of the master criminals of the earth. Ifancy he must have felt this intoxicating new access of power, forthere emanated from him something of a fierce and exalted delight. Apotentiality, as yet neither good nor evil, he suggested a spiritualand physical dynamo. 

He gave a tigerish purr of pleasure over the tools, handling them withthe fingers of the artist and admiring them with the eyes of theconnoisseur. "The best I could get. All made to order. Tested bluesteel. I never kicked at the price, and you wouldn't believe me if Itold you what this layout cost in cold cash. But they paid. Good stuffalways pays in the long run. It was lucky I winded the cops on thatlast job, or I'd have had to leave them. As it was, I just had time tograb them up before I hit the trail for the skyline. They don't needanything but a little rubbing--a saint's elbow must be a snug berth. Iwish I had some juice, though. "

"Juice?"

"Nitroglycerine, " very gently, as to a child. "It does not make verymuch noise and it saves time when you're in a hurry--as you generallyare, in this business, " he smiled at me quizzically. "Not that onecan't get along without it. " The swift fingers paused for a fractionof a second to give a steel drill an affectionate pat. "I used to knowone of the best ever, who never used anything but a particular drill, a pet bit, and his ear. Somebody snitched though, so the last I heardof him he was doing a twenty-year stretch. Pity, too. He was an artistin his line, that fellow. And his taste in neckties I have never seenequaled. " The Butterfly Man's voice, evenly pitched and pleasantlymodulated, a cultivated voice, was quite casual. 

He gathered his tools together and replaced them in the old worn case. "Wonder if that safe is a side-bolt?" he mused. "Most likely. I daresay it's only the average combination. A one-armed yegg could openmost of the boxes in this town with a tin button-hook. Anyhow, itwould have to be a new-laid lock _I_ couldn't open. If he's left theletters in the safe we're all right--so here's hoping he has. Icertainly don't want to go to his room unless I have to. Hunter's notthe sort to sit on his hands, and I'm not feeling what you'd call realamiable. "

A glance at his face, with little glinting devil-lights shining farback in his eyes, set me to babbling:

"Oh, no, no, no, no, that would never do! God forbid that you shouldgo to his rooms! He must have left them in the safe! He had to leavethem in the safe!"

"Sure he's left them in the safe: why shouldn't he?" he made light ofmy palpable fears. Slipping into his gray overcoat, he pulled on hisfelt hat, thrust his hands into his wellworn dogskin gloves, andpicked up the package. Nobody in the world ever looked less like acriminal than this brown-faced, keen-eyed man with his pleasantbearing. Why, this was John Flint, the kindly bug-hunter all Appleboroloved, "that good and kind and Christian man, our brother John Flint, sometimes known as the Butterfly Man. "

"Now, don't you worry any at all, parson, " he was saying. "There'snothing to be afraid of. I'll take care of myself, and I'll get thoseletters if they're in existence. I've got to get them. What else was Iborn for, I'd like to know?"

The question caught me like a lash across the face. 

"You were born, " I said violently, "to win an honored name, to do awork of inestimable value. And you are deliberately and quixoticallyrisking it, and I allow you to risk it, because a girl's happinesshangs in the balance! If you are detected it means your own ruin, foryou could never explain away those tools. Yes! You are facing possibleruin and disgrace. You might have to give up your work for years--haveyou considered that? Oh, John Flint, stop a moment, and reflect! Thereis nothing in this for you, John, nothing but danger. No, there'snothing in it for you, except--"

He held up his hand, with a gesture of dignity and reproach. 

"--except that I get my big chance to step in and save the girl Ihappen to love, from persecution and wretchedness, if not worse, " saidhe simply. "If I can do that, what the devil does it matter whathappens to _me_? You talk about name and career! Man, man, what couldanything be worth to me if I had to know she was unhappy?"

The tides of emotion rushed over him and flooded his face into ashining-eyed passion nakedly unashamed and beautiful. And I hadthought him casual, carelessly accepting a risk!

"Parson, " he wondered, "didn't you _know_? No, I suppose it wouldn'toccur to anybody that a man of my sort should love a girl of hers. ButI do. I think I did the first time I ever laid eyes on her, and she agirl-kid in a red jacket, with curls about her shoulders and a facelike a little new rose in the morning. Remember her eyes, parson, howblue they were? And how she looked at me, so friendly--_me_, mind you, as I was! And she handed me a Catocala moth, and she gave me Kerry. 'You're such a good man, Mr. Flint!' says she, and by God, she meantit! Little Mary Virginia! And she got fast hold of something in methat was never anybody's but hers, that couldn't ever belong toanybody but her, no, not if I lived for a thousand years and had thepick of the earth. 

"It wasn't until she came back, though, that I knew I belonged to herwho could never belong to me. If I was dead at one end of the worldand she dead at the other, we couldn't be any farther apart than lifehas put us two who can see and speak to each other every day!"

"And yet--" he looked at me now and laughed boyishly, "and yet itisn't for Mayne, that she loves, it isn't for you, nor Eustis, nor anyman but me alone to help her, by being just what I am and what I havebeen! Risks? Fail her? _I?_ I couldn't fail her. I'll get thoseletters for her to-night, if Hunter has hidden them in the beam of hiseye!" He turned to me with a sudden white glare of ferocity thatappalled me. "I could kill him with my hands, " said he, with a quietcold deadliness to chill one's marrow, "and Inglesby after him, forwhat they've made her endure! When I think of to-night--that brutedaring to touch _her_ with his swine's mouth--I--I--"

His face was convulsed; but after a moment's fierce struggle thedisciplined spirit conquered. 

"No, there's been enough trouble for her without that, so they're safefrom me, the both of them. I wouldn't do anything to imperil herhappiness to save my own life. She was born to be happy--and she'sgoing to have her chance. _I'll_ see to that, Mary Virginia!"

The man seemed to grow, to expand, to tower giant-like before me. Nextto the white heat of this lava-flow of pure feeling, all other loveslavished upon Mary Virginia during her fortunate life seemed dwarfedand petty. Beside it Inglesby's furious desire shrunk into a loathsomething, small and crawling; and my own affection was only an oldpriest's; and even the strong and faithful love of Laurence appearedpale and boyish in the light of this majestic passion which gave alland in return asked only the right to serve and to save. 

"_Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm; forlove is strong as death_ . .. 

"_Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it: ifa man would give all the substance of his house for love, it wouldutterly be contemned_. "

Trying desperately to cling to such rags and tatters of common senseas I could lay hold upon:

"There is your duty to yourself, " I managed to say. "Yes, yes, oneowes a great duty to oneself and one's work, John. You are risking toomuch--name, friends, honor, work, freedom. For God's sake, John, donot underestimate the danger. You have not had time to consider it. "

"Ho! Listen to the parson preaching self-interest!" he mocked. "He's afine one to do that--at this hour of his life!"

"I tell you you endanger everything, " I insisted. I might bring thatpackage, but at least he shouldn't rush upon the knife unwarned. 

"I know that--I'm no fool. And _I_ tell _you_ it's worth while. To-night makes me and my whole life worth while, the good and the badof it together. Risks? I'll take all that's coming. You stay here andsay some prayers for me, parson, if it makes you feel any better. Asfor me, I'm off. "

At that I lost my every last shred of commonplace everyday sanity, andlet myself swing without further reserve into the wild current of thenight. 

"Oh, very well!" said I shrilly. "You will take chances, you will runrisks, _hein?_ My friend, you do not stir out of this house this nightwithout _me_!" He stared, as well he might, but I folded my arms andstared back. Let him leave me, bent on such an errand? I to sit athome idly, awaiting the issue, whatever it might be?

"I mean it, John Flint. I am going with you. Was it not I, then, whosaved those tools and had them ready to your hand? Whatever happens toyou now happens to me as well. It is quite useless for you to argue, to scowl, to grind the teeth, to swear like that. And it will bedangerous to try to trick me: I am going!"

For he was protesting, violently and profanely. His profanity was sosincere, so earnest, so heartfelt, that it mounted into heights ofreal eloquence. Also, he did everything but knock me down and lock meindoors. 

"Whatever happens to you happens to me, " I repeated doggedly, and Iwas not to be moved. I had a hazy notion that somehow my being withhim might protect him in case of any untoward happening, and minimizehis risks. 

I ran into his bedroom and clapped his best hat on my head, leaving mybiretta on his bed; and I put on his new dark overcoat over mycassock. Both the borrowed garments were too big for me, the hatcoming down over my ears, the coat-sleeves over my hands. I being asthin as a peeled willow-wand, and the clothes hanging upon me as on aclothes-rack, I dare say I cut a sad and ludicrous figure enough. Flint, standing watching me with his burglarious bundle under his arm, gave an irrepressible chuckle and his eyes crinkled. 

"Parson, " said he solemnly, "I've seen all sorts and sizes and colorsand conditions of crooks, up and down the line, in my time andgeneration, but take it from me you're a libel and an outrage on thewhole profession. Why, you crazy he-angel, you'd break their heartsjust to look at you!" And he grinned. At a moment like that, hegrinned, with a sort of gay and light-hearted _diablerie_. They are abaffling and inexplicable folk, the Irish. I suppose God loves theIrish because He doesn't really know how else to take them. 

"It will break my own heart, and possibly my mother's and MaryVirginia's will break to keep it company, if anything evil happens toyou this night, " said I, severely. I was in no grinning humor, me. 

He reached over and carefully buttoned, with one hand, the too-bigcollar about my throat. For a moment, with that odd, little-boygesture of his, he held on to my sleeve. He looked down at me; and hiseyes grew wide, his face melted into a whimsical tenderness. 

"When you get to heaven, parson, you'll keep them all busy a hundredyears and a day trying to cut and make a suit of sky clothes bigenough to fit your real measure, " said he, irrelevantly. "You realthing in holy sports, come on, since you've got to!" With that he blewout the light, and we stepped into the cold and windy night. It wasten minutes after three. 

Armed with bottle-belt, knapsack, and net, many a happy night had Igone forth with the Butterfly Man a-hunting for such as we might findof our chosen prey. Armed now with nothing more nor less formidablethan the black rosary upon which my hand shut tightly, I, Armand DeRancé, priest and gentleman, walked forth with Slippy McGee in thosehours when deep sleep falls upon the spirit of man, for to aid andencourage and abet and assist and connive at, nothing more nor lessthan burglary. 

CHAPTER XIX

THE I O U OF SLIPPY MCGEE

The wind that precedes the dawn was blowing, a freakish and impishwind though not a vicious one. One might imagine it animated by thosesportive and capricious nature-spirits an old Father of the churchused to call the monkeys of God. Every now and then a great deluge ofpiled-up clouds broke into tossing billows and went rolling andtumbling across the face of the sky, and in and out of these swirlingmasses the high moon played hide-and-seek and the stars showed likepin-points. Such street lights as we have being extinguished atmidnight, the tree-shaded sidewalks were in impenetrable shadow, thegardens that edged them were debatable ground, full of grotesquesilhouettes, backgrounded by black bulks of silent houses allprofoundly asleep. As for us, we also were shadows, whose feet weresoundless on the sandy sidewalks. We moved in the dark like travelersin the City of Dreadful Night. 

And so we came at last to the red-brick bank, approaching it by thelong stretch of the McCall garden which adjoins it. For years therehave been battered "For Sale" signs tacked onto its trees and fences, but no one ever came nearer purchasing the McCall property than askingthe price. Folks say the McCalls believe that Appleboro is going torival New York some of these days, and are holding their garden forsky-scraper sites. 

I was very grateful to the McCall estimate of Appleboro's future, forthe long stretch shadowed by their overgrown shrubbery brought us tothe door leading to the upstair offices, without any possible dangerof detection. 

The bank had been a stately old home before business seized upon it, tore out its whole lower floors, and converted it into a strong andcommodious bank. It is the one building in all Appleboro that keeps alight burning all night, a proceeding some citizens regard asunnecessary and extravagant; for is not Old Man Jackson there employedas night watchman? Old Man Jackson lost a finger and a piece of an earbefore Appomattox, and the surrender deprived him of all opportunityto repay in kind. It was his cherished hope that "some smartybuscrooks 'd try to git in my bank some uh these hyuh nights--an' Icert'nly hope to God they'll be Yankees, that's all. "

Somehow, they hadn't tried. Perhaps they had heard of Old ManJackson's watchful waiting and knew he wasn't at all too proud tofight. His quarters was a small room in the rear of the building, which he shared with a huge gray tomcat named Mosby. With those two onguard, Appleboro knew its bank was as impregnable as Gibraltar. But asnobody could possibly gain entrance to the vaults from above, theupper portion of the building, given over to offices, was of coursequite unguarded. 

One reached these upper offices by a long walled passageway to theleft, where the sidewall of the bank adjoins the McCall garden. Thedoor leading to this stairway is not flush with the street, but is setback some feet; this forms a small alcove, which the light flickeringthrough the bank's barred windows does not quite reach. 

John Flint stepped into this small cavern and I after him. As if bymagic the locked door opened, and we moved noiselessly up the narrowstairs with tin signs tacked on them. At the head of the flight wepaused while the flashlight gave us our bearings. Here a short passageopens into the wide central hall. Inglesby's offices are to the left, with the windows opening upon the tangled wilderness of the McCallplace. 

Right in front of us half a dozen sets of false teeth, arranged in ahorrid circle around a cigar-box full of extracted molars such as madeone cringe, grinned bitingly out of a glass case before the dentist'soffice door. The effect was of a lipless and ghastly laugh. 

Before the next door a fatuously smiling pink-and-white bust simperedout of the Beauty Parlor's display-case, a bust elaborately coiffuredwith pounds of yellow hair in which glittered rhinestone buckles. Hairof every sort and shade and length was clustered about her, as if shewere the presiding genius of some barbarian scalping-cult. Seen atthat hour, in the pale luster of the flashlight, this sorry plunder oflost teeth and dead hair made upon one a melancholy impression, disparaging to humanity. I had scant time to moralize on hair andteeth, however, for Flint was stopping before a door the neat brassplate of which bore upon it:

 _Mr. Inglesby_. 

Mr. Inglesby had a desk downstairs in the bank, in the little pompousroom marked "President's Office, " where at stated hours and times hepresided grandly; just as he had a big bare office at the mills, wherehe was rather easy of access, willing to receive any one who mightchance to catch him in. But these rooms we were entering withoutpermission were the sanctum sanctorum, the center of that wide webwhose filaments embraced and ensnared the state. It would be about aseasy to stroll casually into the Vatican for an informal chat with theHoly Father, to walk unannounced into the presence of the Dalai Lama, or to drop in neighborly on the Tsar of all the Russias, as topenetrate unasked into these offices during the day. 

We stepped upon the velvet square of carpet covering the floor of whatmust have once been a very handsome guest chamber and was now a veryhandsome private office. One had to respect the simple and solidmagnificence of the mahogany furnishings, the leather-covered chairs, the big purposeful desk. Above the old-fashioned marble mantel hung alife-sized portrait in oils of Inglesby himself. The artist had donehis sitter stern justice--one might call the result retribution; andone wondered if Inglesby realized how immensely revealing it was. There he sat, solid, successful, informed with a sort of brutalegotism that never gives quarter. In despite of a malevolentdetermination to look pleasant, his smile was so much more of a threatthan a promise that one could wish for his own sake he had scowledinstead. He is a throaty man, is Inglesby; and this, with anuncompromising squareness of forehead, a stiffness of hair, and ahard hint of white in the eyes, lent him a lowering likeness to anunpedigreed bull. 

John Flint cast upon this charming likeness one brief and pregnantglance. 

"Regular old Durham shorthorn, isn't he?" he commented in a low voice. "Wants to charge right out of his frame and trample. Take a look atthat nose, parson--like a double-barreled shotgun, for all the world!Beautiful brute, Inglesby. Makes you think of that minotaur sideshowthey used to put over on the Greeks. "

In view of Laurence and of Mary Virginia, I saw the resemblance. 

Mr. Hunter's office was less formal than Mr. Inglesby's, and furnishedwith an exact and critical taste alien to Appleboro, where many aworthy citizen's office trappings consist of an alpaca coat, a chairand a pine table, three or four fly-specked calendars and shabbyledgers, and a box of sawdust. To these may sometimes be added a potof paste with a dead cockroach in it, or a hound dog either scratchingfleas or snapping at flies. 

Here the square of carpet was brown as fallen pine-needles in October, the walls were a soft tan, the ceiling and woodwork ivory-toned. Onesaw between the windows a bookcase filled with handsomely bound books, and on top of it a few pieces of such old china as would enrapture mymother. The white marble mantel held one or two signed photographs insilver frames, a pair of old candlesticks of quaint and pleasingdesign, and a dull red pottery vase full of Japanese quince. Therewere a few good pictures on the walls--a gay impudent Detaille Lancerwhose hardy face of a fighting Frenchman warmed one's heart; somesketches signed with notable American names; and above the mantel afemale form clothed only in the ambient air, her long hair swept backfrom her shoulders, and a pearl-colored dove alighting upon heroutstretched finger. 

I suppose one might call the whole room beautiful, for even the deskwas of that perfection of simplicity whose cost is as rubies. It wasnot, however, a womanish room; there was no slightest hint offemininity in its uncluttered, sane, forceful orderliness. It wasrather like Hunter himself--polished, perfect, with a note of finalityand of fitness upon it like a hall-mark. Nothing out of keeping, nothing overdone. Even the red petal fallen from the pottery vase onthe white marble mantel was a last note of perfection. 

Flint glanced about him with the falcon-glance that nothing escapes. For a moment the light stayed upon the nude figure over themantel--the one real nude in all Appleboro, which cherishes familyportraits of rakehelly old colonials in wigs, chokers, andtight-fitting smalls, and lolloping ladies with very low necks andsixteen petticoats, but where scandalized church-goers have been knownto truss up a little plaster copy of the inane Greek Slave in apocket-handkerchief, by way of needful drapery. 

"What I want to know is, _why_ a lady should have to strip to the buffjust to play with a pigeon?" breathed John Flint, and his tone wascaptious. 

It did not strike me as being to the last degree whimsical, improbable, altogether absurd, that such a man should pause at such atime to comment upon art as he thinks it isn't. On the contrary it wasa consistent and coherent feature of that astounding nightmare inwhich we figured. The absurd and the impossible always happen indreams. I am sure that if the dove on the woman's finger had openedits painted bill and spoken, say about the binomial theorem, or theEffect of Too Much Culture upon Women's Clubs, I should have listenedwith equal gravity and the same abysmal absence of surprise. Ipattered platitudinously:

"The greatest of the Greeks considered the body divine in itself, myson, and so their noblest art was nude. Some moderns have thoughtthere is no real art that is not nude. Truth itself is naked. "

"Aha!" said my son, darkly. "I see! You take off your pants when yougo out to feed your chickens, say, and you're not bughouse. You'reart. Well, if Truth is naked, thank God the rest of us are liars!"

What I have here set down was but the matter of a moment. Flintbrushed it aside like a cobweb and set briskly about his realbusiness. Over in the recess next to the fireplace was the safe, andbefore this he knelt. 

"Hold the light!" he ordered in a curt whisper. "There--like that. Steady now. " My hand closed as well upon the rosary I carried, and Iclung to the beads as the shipwrecked cling to a spar. The familiarfeel of them comforted me. 

I do not know to this day the make of that safe, nor its actualstrength, and I have always avoided questioning John Flint about it. Ido know it seemed incredibly strong, big, heavy, ungetatable. Therewas a dark-colored linen cover on top of it, embroidered with yellowmarguerites and their stiff green leaves. And there was a brassfern-jar with claw feet, and rings on the sides that somehow made methink of fetters upon men's wrists. 

"A little lower--to the left. So!" he ordered, and with steady fingersI obeyed. He stood out sharply in the clear oval--the "cleverest crookin all America" at work again, absorbed in his task, expert, amind-force pitting itself against inanimate opposition. He wassmiling. 

The tools lay beside him and quite by instinct his hand reached outfor anything it needed. I think he could have done his workblindfolded. Once I saw him lay his ear against the door, and Ithought I heard a faint click. A gnawing rat might have made somethinglike the noise of the drill biting its way. With this exception anappalling silence hung over the room. I could hardly breathe in it. Igripped the rosary and told it, bead after bead. 

_"Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death--"_

There are moments when time loses its power and ceases to be; beforeour hour we seem to have stepped out of it and into eternity, in whichtime does not exist, and wherein there can be no relation of timebetween events. They stand still, or they stretch to indefinite andincredible lengths--all, all outside of time, which has no power uponthem. So it was now. Every fraction of every second of every minutelengthened into centuries, eternities passed between minutes. Thehashish-eater knows something of this terror of time, and I seemed tohave eaten hashish that night. 

I could still see him crouching before the safe; and all the while theeternities stretched and stretched on either side of us, infinities Icould only partly bridge over with Hailmarys and Ourfathers. 

_"And lead us not into temptation . .. But deliver us from evil . .. "_

Although I watched him attentively, being indeed unable to tear myeyes away from him, and although I held the light for him with such asteady hand, I really do not know what he did, nor how he forced thatsafe. I understand it took him a fraction over fourteen minutes. 

"Here she comes!" he breathed, and the heavy door was open, revealingthe usual interior, with ledgers, and a fairsized steel money-vault, which also came open a moment later. Flint glanced over the contents, and singled out from other papers two packages of letters heldtogether by stout elastic bands, and with pencil notations on thecorner of each envelope, showing the dates. He ran over both, held upthe smaller of the two, and I saw, with a grasp of inexpressiblerelief, the handwriting of Mary Virginia. 

He locked the vault, shut the heavy door of the rifled safe, and beganto gather his tools together. 

"You have forgotten to put the other packages back, " I reminded him. Iwas in a raging fever of impatience to be gone, to fly with thepriceless packet in my hand. 

"No, I'm not forgetting. I saw a couple of the names on the envelopesand I rather think these letters will be a whole heap interesting tolook over, " said he, imperturbably. "It's a hunch, parson, and I'vegotten in the habit of paying attention to hunches. I'll risk it onthese, anyhow. They're in suspicious company and I'd like to knowwhy. " And he thrust the package into the crook of his arm, along withthe tools. 

The light was carefully flashed over every inch of the space we hadtraversed, to make sure that no slightest trace of our presence wasleft. As we walked through Inglesby's office John Flint ironicallysaluted the life-like portrait:

"You've had a ring twisted in your nose for once, old sport!" said he, and led me into the dark hall. We moved and the same exquisite cautionwe had exercised upon entering, for we couldn't afford to have DanJackson's keen old ears detect footfalls overhead at that hour of themorning. Now we were at the foot of the long stairs, and Flint hadsoundlessly opened and closed the last door between us and freedom. And now we were once more in the open air, under the blessed shadow ofthe McCall trees, and walking close to their old weather-beaten fence. The light was still shining in the bank, and I knew that thatredoubtable old rebel of a watchman was peacefully sleeping with hisgray guerilla of a marauding cat beside him. He could afford to sleepin peace. He had not failed in his trust, for the intruders had nodesigns upon the bank's gold. Questioned, he could stoutly swear thatnobody had entered the building. In proof, were not all doors locked?Who should break into a man's office and rob his safe just to get apackage of love-letters--if Inglesby made complaint?

I remember we stood leaning against the McCall fence for a fewminutes, for my strength had of a sudden failed, my head spun like atop, and my legs wavered under me. 

"Buck up!" said Flint's voice in my ear. "It's all over, and thebaby's named for his Poppa!" His arm went about me, an arm like asteel bar. Half led, half carried, I went staggering on beside himlike a drunken man, clutching a rosary and a packet of love-letters. 

The streets were still dark and deserted, the whole town slept. Butover in the east, when one glimpsed the skies above the trees, anebulous gray was stealing upon the darkness; and the morning starblazed magnificently, in a space that seemed to have been cleared forit. Somewhere, far off, an ambitious rooster crowed to make the sunrise. 

It took us a long time to reach home. It was all of a quarter pastfour when we turned into the Parish House gate, cut across the garden, and reached Flint's rooms. Faint, trembling in every limb, I fell intoa chair, and through a mist saw him kneel and blow upon the coals ofthe expiring fire, upon which he dropped a lightwood knot. A ruddyglow went dancing up the chimney. Then he was beside me again. Verygently he removed hat and overcoat. And then I was sitting peacefullyin the Morris chair, in my old cassock, and with my own old biretta onmy head; and there was no longer that thin buzzing, shrill andtorturing as a mosquito's, singing in my ears. At my knee stood Kerry, with his beautiful hazel eyes full of a grave concern; and beside him, calm and kind and matter-of-fact, the Butterfly Man himself stoodwatching me with an equal regard. I rubbed my forehead. The incrediblehad happened, and like all incredible things it had been almostridiculously simple and easy of accomplishment. Here we were, we two, priest and naturalist, in our own workroom, with an old dog wagginghis tail beside us. Could anything be more commonplace? The last traceof nightmare vanished, as smoke dispelled by the wind. If MaryVirginia's letters had not been within reach of my hand I would havesworn I was just awake out of a dream of that past hour. 

"She has escaped from them, they cannot touch her, she is free!" Iexulted. "John, John, you have saved our girl! No matter what they doto Eustis they can't drag her into the quicksands _now_. "

But he went walking up and down, shoulders squared, face uplifted. Onemight think that after such a night he would have been humanly tired, but he had clean forgotten his body. His eyes shone as with a flamelit from inward, and I think there was on him what the Irish peoplecall the _Aisling_, the waking vision. For presently he began tospeak, as to Somebody very near him. 

"Oh, Lord God!" said the Butterfly Man, with a reverent and fiercejoy, "she's going to have her happiness now, and it wasn't holy priestnor fine gentleman you picked out to help her toward it--it was me, Slippy McGee, born in the streets and bred in the gutter, with thedevil knows who for his daddy and a name that's none of his own! Forthat I'm Yours for keeps: _You've got me_. 

"You've done all even God Almighty can do, given me more than I evercould have asked You for--and now it's up to me to make good--and I'lldo it!"

There came to listening me something of the emotion I experienced whenI said my first Mass--as if I had been brought so close to our Fatherthat I could have put out my hand and touched Him. Ah! I had had avery small part to play in this man's redemption. I knew it now, andfelt humbled and abashed, and yet grateful that even so much had beenallowed me. Not I, but Love, had transformed a sinner and an outlawinto a great scientist and a greater lover. And I remembered MaryVirginia's childish hand putting into his the gray-winged Catocala, and how the little moth, raising the sad-colored wings worn to suithis surroundings, revealed beneath that disfiguring and disguisingcloak the exquisite and flower-like loveliness of the underwings. 

He paused in his swinging stride, and looked down at me a bit shyly. 

"Parson--you see how it is with me?"

"I see. And I think she is the greater lady for it and you the finergentleman, " said I stoutly. "It would honor her, if she were ten timeswhat she is--and she is Mary Virginia. "

"She is Mary Virginia, " said the Butterfly Man, "and I am--what I am. Yet somehow I feel sure I can care for her, that I can go right oncaring for her to the end of time, without hurt to her or sorrow tome. " And after a pause, he added, deliberately:

"I found something better than a package of letters to-night, parson. I found--_Me_. "

For awhile neither of us spoke. Then he said, speculatively:

"Folks give all sorts of things to the church--dedicate them ingratitude for favors they fancy they've received, don't they? Lamps, and models of ships, and glass eyes and wax toes and leather hands, and crutches and braces, and that sort of plunder? Well, I'm moved tomake a free-will offering myself. I'm going to give the church mykit, and you can take it from me the old Lady will never get herclamps on another set like that until Gabriel blows his trumpet in themorning. Parson, I want you to put those tools back where you hadthem, for I shall never touch them again. I couldn't. They--well, they're sort of holy from now on. They're my IOU. Will you do it forme?"

"Yes!" said I. 

"I might have known you would!" said he, smiling. "Just one morefavor, parson--may I put her letters in her hands, myself?"

"My son, my son, who but you should do that?" I pushed the packageacross the table. 

"Great Scott, parson, here it is striking five o'clock, and you'vebeen up all night!" he exclaimed, anxiously. "Here--no more gassing. You come lie down on my bed and snooze a bit. I'll call you in plentyof time for mass. "

I was far too spent and tired to move across the garden to the ParishHouse. I suffered myself to be put to bed like a child, and had myreward by falling almost immediately into a dreamless sleep, nor did Istir until he called me, a couple of hours later. He himself had notslept, but had employed the time in going through the letters open onhis table. He pointed to them now, with a grim smile. 

"Parson!" said he, and his eyes glittered. "Do you know what we'vestumbled upon? Dynamite! Man, anybody holding that bunch of mail couldblow this state wide open! So much for a hunch, you see!"

"You mean--"

"I mean I've got the cream off Inglesby's most private deals, that'swhat I mean! I mean I could send him and plenty of his pals to thepen. Everybody's been saying for years that there hasn't been a rottendeal pulled off that he didn't boss and get away with it. But nobodycould prove it. He's had the men higher-up eating out of hishand--sort of you pat my head and I'll pat yours arrangement--andhere's the proof, in black and white. Don't you understand? Here's theproof: these get him with the goods!

"These, " he slapped a letter, "would make any Grand Jury throw fits, make every newspaper in the state break out into headlines like a kidwith measles, and blow the lid off things in general--if they got out. 

"Inglesby's going to shove Eustis under, is he? Not by a jugfull. He'sgoing to play he's a patent life-preserver. He's going to _be_ thatgood Samaritan he's been shamming. Talk about poetic justice--thiswill be like wearing shoes three sizes too small for him, with abunion on every toe!" And when I looked at him doubtfully, he laughed. 

"You can't see how it's going to be managed? Didn't you ever hear ofthe grapevine telegraph? Well then, dear George receives a grapevinewireless bright and early to-morrow morning. A word to the wise issufficient. "

"He will employ detectives, " said I, uneasily. 

The Butterfly Man looked at me quizzically. 

"_With_ an eagle eye and a walrus mustache, " said he, grinning. "Sure. But if the plainclothes nose around, are they going to sherlock theparish priest and the town bughunter? _We_ haven't got any interest inMr. Inglesby's private correspondence, have we? Suppose Miss Eustis'sletters are returned to her, what does that prove? Why, nothing atall, --except that it wasn't her correspondence the fellows thatcracked that safe were after. We should worry!

"Say, though, don't you wish you could see them when they stroll downto those beautiful offices and go for to open that nice burglar-proofsafe with the little brass flower-pot on top of it? What a joke! Holywhiskered black cats, what a joke!"

"I'm afraid Mr. Inglesby's sense of humor isn't his strong point, "said I. "Not that I have any sympathy for him. I think he is gettingonly what he deserves. "

"_Alexander the coppersmith wrought me much evil. May God requite himaccording to his works!_" murmured the Butterfly Man, piously, andchuckled. "Don't worry, parson--Alexander's due to fall sick with thepip to-day or to-morrow. What do you bet he don't get it so bad he'llhave to pull up all his pretty plans by the roots, leave Mr. Hunter incharge, and go off somewhere to take mudbaths for his liver? Believeme, he'll need them! Why, the man won't be able to breathe easy anymore--he'll be expecting one in the solar plexus any minute, notknowing any more than Adam's cat who's to hand it to him. He can'ttell who to trust and who to suspect. If you want to know just howhard Alexander's going to be requited according to his works, take alook at these. " He pointed to the letters. 

I did take a look, and I admit I was frightened. It seemed to mehighly unsafe for plain folks like us to know such things about suchpeople. I was amazed to the point of stupefaction at the corruptionthose communications betrayed, the shameless and sordid disregard oflaw and decency, the brutal and cynical indifference to publicwelfare. At sight of some of the signatures my head swam--I feltsaddened, disillusioned, almost in despair for humanity. I supposeInglesby had thought it wiser to preserve these letters--possibly forhis own safety; but no wonder he had locked them up! I looked at theButterfly Man openmouthed. 

"You wouldn't think folks wearing such names could be that rotten, would you? Some of them pillars of the church, too, and married togood women, and the fathers of nice kids! Why, I have known crooksthat the police of a dozen states were after, that wouldn't have beencaught dead on jobs like some of these. Inglesby won't know it, but heought to thank his stars _we've_ got his letters instead of the StateAttorney, for I shan't use them unless I have to. .. . Parson, youremember a bluejay breaking up a nest on me once, and what Laurencesaid when I wanted to wring the little crook's neck? That the thingisn't to reform the jay but to keep him from doing it again? That'sthe cue. "

He gathered up the scattered letters, made a neat package of them, andput it in a table drawer behind a stack of note-books. And then hereached over and touched the other package, the letters written inMary Virginia's girlish hand. 

"Here's her happiness--long, long years of it ahead of her, " he saidsoberly. "As for you, you take back those tools, and go say mass. "

Outside it was broad bright day, a new beautiful day, and the breathof the morning blew sweetly over the world. The Church was full of aclear and early light, the young pale gold of the new Spring sun. None of the congregation had as yet arrived. Before I went into thesacristy to put on my vestments, I gave back into St. Stanislaus'hands the IOU of Slippy McGee. 

CHAPTER XX

BETWEEN A BUTTERFLY'S WINGS

There was a glamour upon it. One knew it was going to grow into one ofthose wonderful and shining days in whose enchanted hours anyexquisite miracle might happen. I am perfectly sure that the Lord Godwalked in the garden in the cool of an April day, and that it was amorning in spring when the angels visited Abraham, sitting watchful inthe door of his tent. 

There was in the air itself something long-missed and come back, aheady and heart-moving delight, a promise, a thrill, a whisper of"_April! April!_" that the Green Things and the hosts of the LittlePeople had heard overnight. In the dark the sleeping souls of thegolden butterflies had dreamed it, known it was a true Word, and nowthey were out, "Little flames of God" dancing in the Sunday sunlight. The Red Gulf Fritillary had heard it, and here she was, all in herfine fulvous frock besmocked with black velvet, and her farthingalespangled with silver. And the gallant Red Admiral, the brave beautifulRed Admiral that had dared unfriendlier gales, trimmed his paintedsails to a wind that was the breath of spring. 

Over by the gate the spirea had ventured into showering spraysexhaling a shy and fugitive fragrance, and what had been a blur ofgray cables strung upon the oaks had begun to bud with emerald andblossom with amethyst--the wisteria was a-borning. And one knew therewas Cherokee rose to follow, that the dogwood was in white, and theyear's new mintage of gold dandelions was being coined in the freshgrass. 

There wasn't a bird that wasn't caroling _April!_ at the top of hisvoice from the full of his heart; for wasn't the world alive again, wasn't it love-time and nest-time, wasn't it Spring?

Even to the tired faces of my work-folks that shining morning lent alight that was hope. Without knowing it, they felt themselves a vitalpart of the reborn world, sharers in its joy because they were thechildren of the common lot, the common people for whom the world is, and without whom no world could be. Classes, creeds, nations, gods, all these pass and are gone; God, and the common people, and thespring remain. 

When I was young I liked as well as another to dwell overmuch upon thesinfulness of sin, the sorrow of sorrow, the despair of death. Nowthat these three terrible teachers have taught me a truer wisdom and alarger faith, I like better to turn to the glory of hope, the wisdomof love, and the simple truth that death is just a passing phase oflife. So I sent my workers home that morning rejoicing with the truth, and was all the happier and hopefuller myself because of it. 

Afterwards, when Clélie was giving me my coffee and rolls, theButterfly Man came in to breakfast with me, a huge roll of those NewYork newspapers which contain what are mistakenly known as ComicSupplements tucked under his arm. 

He said he bought them because they "tasted like New York" which theydo not. Just as Major Cartwright explains his purchase of them by theshameless assertion that it just tickles him to death "to see whatGodforsaken idjits those Yankees can make of themselves when theyhalf-way try. Why, suh, one glance at their Sunday newspapers ought toprove to any right thinkin' man that it's safer an' saner to die inSouth Carolina than to live in New York!"

_I_ think the Butterfly Man and Major Cartwright buy those papersbecause they think they are _funny_! After they have read andsniggered, they donate them to Clélie and Daddy January. And presentlyClélie distributes them to a waiting colored countryside, whichwallpapers its houses with them. I have had to counsel the erring andbolster the faith of the backsliding under the goggle eyes of inhumancreations whose unholy capers have made futile many a prayer. And yetthe Butterfly Man likes them! Is it not to wonder?

He laid them tenderly upon the table now, and smiled slyly to see meeye them askance. 

"Did you know, " said he, over his coffee, "that Laurence came in thismorning on the six-o'clock? January had him out in the garden showingoff the judge's new patent hives, and I stopped on my way to churchand shook hands over the fence. It was all I could do to keep fromshouting that all's right with the world, and all he had to do was tobe glad. I didn't know how much I cared for that boy until thismorning. Parson, it's a--a terrible thing to love people, when youcome to think about it, isn't it? I told him you were honing to seehim: and that we'd be looking for him along about eleven. And Iintimated that if he didn't show up then I'd go after him with a gun. He said he'd be here on the stroke. " After a moment, he added gently:"I figured they'd be here by then--Madame and Mary Virginia. "

"What! You have induced Laurence to come while she is here--withoutgiving him any intimation that he is likely to meet her?" I said, aghast. "You are a bold man, John Flint!"

The study windows were open and the sweet wind and the warm sun pouredin unchecked. The stir of bees, the scent of honey-locust justopening, drifted in, and the slow solemn clangor of church bells, andlilts and flutings and calls and whistlings from the tree-tops. Wecould see passing groups of our neighbors, fathers and mothersshepherding little flocks of children in their Sunday best, trottingalong with demure Sabbath faces on their way to church. The ButterflyMan looked out, waved gaily to the passing children, who waved back ajoyous response, nodded to their smiling parents, followed the flightof a tanager's sober spouse, and sniffed the air luxuriously. 

"Oh, somebody's got to stage-manage, parson, " he said at last, lightlyenough, but with a hint of tiredness in his eyes. "And then vanishbehind the scenes, leaving the hero and heroine in the middle of thespotlight, with the orchestra tuning up 'The Voice that Breathed o'erEden, '" he finished, without a trace of bitterness. "So I sent Madamea note by a little nigger newsie. " His eyes crinkled, and he quotedthe favorite aphorism of the colored people, when they seem toexercise a meticulous care: "Brer Rabbit say, 'I trus' no mistake. '"

"You are a bold man, " said I again, with a respect that made himlaugh. Then we went over to his rooms to wait, and while we waited Itried to read a chapter of a book I was anxious to finish, butcouldn't, my eyes being tempted by the greener and fresher pageopening before them. Flint smoked a virulent pipe and read his papers. 

Presently he laid his finger upon a paragraph and handed me thepaper. .. . And I read where one "Spike" Frazer had been shot to deathin a hand-to-hand fight with the police who were raiding a divesuspected of being the rendezvous of drug-fiends. Long wanted and atlast cornered, Frazer had fought tigerishly and died in his tracks, preferring death to capture. A sly and secretive creature, he had hada checkered career in the depths. It was his one boast that more thananybody else he had known and been a sort of protegé of the oncenotorious Slippy McGee, that King of Crooks whose body had been foundin the East River some years since, and whose daring and mysteriousexploits were not yet altogether forgotten by the police or theunderworld. 

"_Sic transit gloria mundi!_" said the Butterfly Man in his gentlevoice, and looked out over the peaceful garden and the Sunday calmwith inscrutable eyes. I returned the paper with a hand that shook. Itseemed to me that a deep and solemn hush fell for a moment upon theglory of the day, while the specter of what might have been gibberedat us for the last time. 

Out of the heart of that hush walked two women--one little and rosyand white-haired, one tall and pale and beautiful with the beauty uponwhich sorrow has placed its haunting imprint. Her black hair framedher face as in ebony, and her blue, blue eyes were shadowed. By anodd coincidence she was dressed this morning just as she had been whenthe Butterfly Man first saw her--in white, and over it a scarletjacket. Kerry and little Pitache rose, met them at the gate, andescorted them with grave politeness. The Butterfly Man hastily emptiedhis pipe and laid aside his newspapers. 

"Your note said we were to come, that everything was all right, " saidmy mother, looking up at him with bright and trustful eyes. "Such arelief! Because I know you never say anything you don't mean, John. "

He smiled, and with a wave of the hand beckoned us into the workroom. Madame followed him eagerly and expectantly--she knew her John Flint. Mary Virginia came listlessly, dragging her feet, her eyes somber in asmileless face. She could not so quickly make herself hope, she whohad journeyed so far into the arid country of despair. But he, withsomething tender and proud and joyful in his looks, took herunresisting hand and drew her forward. 

"Mary Virginia!" I had not known how rich and deep the Butterfly Man'svoice could be. "Mary Virginia, we promised you last night that if youwould trust us, the Padre and me, we'd find the right way out, didn'twe? Now this is what happened: the Padre took his troubles to theLord, and the Lord presently sent him back to _me_--with the beginningof the answer in his hand! And here's the whole answer, MaryVirginia. " And he placed in her hand the package of letters that meantso much to her. 

My mother gave a little scream. "Armand!" she said, fearfully. "Shehas told me all. _Mon Dieu_, how have you two managed this, betweenmidnight and morning? My son, you are a De Rancé: look me in the eyesand tell me there is nothing wrong, that there will be no illconsequences--"

"There won't be any comebacks, " said John Flint, with engagingconfidence. "As for you, Mary Virginia, you don't have to worry forone minute about what those fellows can do--because they can't doanything. They're double-crossed. Now listen: when you see Hunter, youare to say to him, '_Thank you for returning my letters_. ' Just thatand no more. If there's any questioning, _stare_. Stare hard. Ifthere's any threatening about your father, _smile_. You can afford tosmile. They can't touch him. But _how_ those letters came into yourhands you are never to tell, you understand? They did come and that'sall that interests you. " He began to laugh, softly. "All Hunter willwant to know is that you've received them. He's too game not to losewithout noise, and he'll make Inglesby swallow his dose withoutsquealing, too. So--you're finished and done with Mr. Hunter and Mr. Inglesby!" His voice deepened again, as he added gently: "It was justa bad dream, dear girl. It's gone with the night. Now it's morning, and you're awake. "

But Mary Virginia, white as wax, stared at the letters in her hand, and then at me, and trembled. 

"Trust us, my child, " said I, somewhat troubled. "And obey John Flintimplicitly. Do just what he tells you to do, say just what he tellsyou to say. "

Mary Virginia looked from one to the other, thrust the package uponme, walked swiftly up to him, and, laying her hands upon his armsstared with passionate earnestness into his face: the kind, wise, lovable face that every child in Appleboro County adores, every womantrusts, every man respects. Her eyes clung to his, and he met thatsearching gaze without faltering, though it seemed to probe for theroot of his soul. It was well for Mary Virginia that those brave eyeshad caught something from the great faces that hung upon his walls andkept company and counsel with him day and night, they that conqueredlife and death and turned defeat into victory because they had firstconquered themselves!

"Yes!" said she, with a deep sigh of relief. "I trust you! Thank Godfor just how much I can believe and trust you!"

I think that meeting face to face that luminous and unfalteringregard, Mary Virginia must have divined that which had heretofore beenhidden from her by the man's invincible modesty and reserve; and beingmost generous and of a large and loving soul herself, I think sherealized to the uttermost the magnitude of his gift. Her name, hersecure position, her happiness, the hopes that the coming years wereto transform into realities--oh, I like to think that Mary Virginiasaw all this, in one of those lightning-flashes of spiritual insightthat reveal more than all one's slower years; I like to think she sawit given her freely, nobly, with joy, a glorious love-gift from thelimping man into whose empty hand she had one day put a little grayunderwing!

I glanced at my mother, and saw by her most expressive face that sheknew and understood. She had known and understood, long before any ofus. 

"If I might offer a suggestion, " I said in as matter-of-fact a voiceas I could command, "it would be, that the sooner those letters aredestroyed, the better. "

Mary Virginia took them from me and dropped them on the coalsremaining from last night's fire--the last fire of the season. Theydid not ignite quickly, though they began to turn brown, and thinspirals of smoke arose from them. The Butterfly Man knelt, thrust ahandful of lightwood splinters under the pile, and touched a matchhere and there. When the resinous wood flared up, the letters blazedwith it. They blazed and then they crumbled; they disappeared in bitsof charred and black paper that vanished at a touch; they were gonewhile we watched, the girl kneeling upon the hearthrug with her handon Flint's arm, and I with my old heart singing like a skylark in mybreast, and my mother's mild eyes upon us all. 

Life and color and beauty flowed back into Mary Virginia's face andmusic's self sang again in her voice. She was like the day itself, reborn out of a dark last night. When the last bit of blackened paperwent swirling up the chimney, and the two of them had risen, the mostbeautiful and expressive eyes under heaven looked up like blue anddewy flowers into the Butterfly Man's face. She was too wise and tootender to try to thank him in words, and never while they two livedwould this be again referred to so much as once by either; but shetook his hand, palm upward, gave him one deep long upward glance, andthen bent her beautiful head and dropped into the center of his palm akiss, and closed the fingers gently over it for everlasting keepingand remembrance. The eyes brimmed over then, and two large tears fellupon his hand and washed her kiss in, indelibly. 

None of us four had the power of speech left us. Heaven knows what weshould have done, if Laurence hadn't opened the door at that momentand walked in upon us. I don't think he altogether sensed thetenseness of the situation which his coming relieved, but he went paleat sight of Mary Virginia, and he would have left incontinently if mymother, with a joyous shriek, hadn't pounced upon him. 

"Laurence! Why, Laurence! But we didn't expect you home untilto-morrow night!" said she, kissing him motherly. "My dear, dear boy, how glad I am to see you! What happy wind blew you home to-day, Laurence?"

"Oh, I finished my work ahead of schedule and got away just as soon asI could, " Laurence briefly and modestly explained thus that he had wonhis case. He edged toward the door, avoiding Mary Virginia's eyes. Hehad bowed to her with formal politeness. He wondered at the usuallytactful Madame's open effort to detain him. It was a little too muchto expect of him!

"I just ran in to see how you all were, " he tried to be very casual. "See you later, Padre. 'By, p'tite Madame. 'By, Flint. " He bowed againto Mary Virginia, whose color had altogether left her, and who stoodthere most palpably nervous and distressed. 

"Laurence!" The Butterfly Man spoke abruptly. "Laurence, if a chap wasdying of thirst and the water of life was offered him, he'd beconsiderable of a fool to turn his head aside and refuse to see it, wouldn't he?"

Laurence paused. Something in the Butterfly Man's face, something inmine and Madame's, but, above all, something in Mary Virginia's, arrested him. He stood wavering, and my mother released his arm. 

"I take it, " said John Flint, boldly plunging to the very heart of thematter, "I take it, Laurence, that you still care a very great dealfor this dear girl of ours?" And now he had taken her hand in his andheld it comfortingly. "More, say, than you could ever care for anybodyelse, if you lived to rival Methusaleh? So much, Laurence, that not tobe able to believe she cares the same way for you takes the core outof life?" His manner was simple and direct, and so kind that one couldonly answer him in a like spirit. Besides, Laurence loved theButterfly Man even as Jonathan loved David. 

"Yes, " said the boy honestly, "I still care for her--like that. Ialways did. I always will. She knows. " But his voice was toneless. 

"Of course you do, kid brother, " said Flint affectionately. "Don't yousuppose I know? But it's just as well for you to say it out loud everynow and then. Fresh air is good for everything, particularly feelings. Keeps 'em fresh and healthy. Now, Mary Virginia, you feel just thesame way about Laurence, don't you?" And he added: "Don't be ashamedto tell the most beautiful truth in the world, my dear. Well?"

She went red and white. She looked entreatingly into the ButterflyMan's face. She didn't exactly see why he should drive her thus, butshe caught courage from his. One saw how wise Flint had been to havesnared Laurence here just now. One moment she hesitated. Then:

"Yes!" said she, and her head went up proudly. "Yes, oh, yes, Icare--like that. Only much, much more! I shall always care like that, although he probably won't believe me now when I say so. And I can'tblame him for doubting me. "

"But it just happens that I have never been able to make myself doubtyou, " said Laurence gravely. "Why, Mary Virginia, you are _you_. "

"Then, Laurence, " said the Butterfly Man, quickly, "will you take yourold friends' word for it--mine, Madame's, the Padre's--that you weremost divinely right to go on believing in her and loving her, becauseshe never for one moment ceased to be worthy of faith and affection?No, not for one moment! She couldn't, you know. She's Mary Virginia!And will you promise to listen with all your patience to what she maythink best to tell you presently--and then forget it? You're bigenough to do that! She's been in sore straits, and she needs all thelove you have, to help make up to her. Can she be sure of it, Laurence?"

Laurence flushed. He looked at his old friend with reproach in hisfine brown eyes. "You have known me all my life, all of you, " said he, stiffly. "Have I ever given any of you any reason to doubt me!"

"No, and we don't. Not one of us. But it's good for your soul to saythings out loud, " said Flint comfortably. "And now you've said it, don't you think you two had better go on over to the Parish Houseparlor, which is a nice quiet place, and talk this whole business overand out--together?"

Laurence looked at Mary Virginia and what he saw electrified him. Boyishness flooded him, youth danced in his eyes, beauty was upon him, like sunlight. 

"Mary Virginia!" said the boy lover to the girl sweetheart, "is itreally so? I was really right to believe all along that you--care?"

"Laurence, Laurence!" she was half-crying. "Oh, Laurence, are you sure_you_ care--yet? You are sure, Laurence? You are _sure_? Because--I--Idon't think I could stand things now if--if I were mistaken--"

I don't know whether the boy ran to the girl at that, or the girl tothe boy. I rather think they ran to each other because, in anothermoment, perfectly regardless of us, they were clinging to each other, and my mother was walking around them and crying heartily andshamelessly, and enjoying herself immensely. Mary Virginia began tostammer:

"Laurence, if you only knew--Laurence, if it wasn't for JohnFlint--and the Padre--" The two of them had the two of us, each by anarm; and the Butterfly Man was brick-red and furiously embarrassed, hehaving a holy horror of being held up and thanked. 

"Why, I did what I did, " said he, uncomfortably. "But, "--he brightenedvisibly--"if you _will_ have the truth, have it. If it wasn't for thisblessed brick of a parson I'd never have been in a position to doanything for anybody. Don't you forget that!"

"What ridiculous nonsense the man talks!" said I, exasperated by thisshameless casuistry. "John Flint raves. As for me--"

"As for you, " said he with deep reproach, "you ought to know betterthan to tell such a thumping lie at this time of your life. I'mashamed of you, parson! Why, you know good and well--"

"Why, John Flint, you--" I began, aghast. 

My mother began to laugh. "For heaven's sake, thank them both andhave done with it!" said she, a bit hysterically. "God alone knows howthey managed, but this thing lies between them, the two great geese. Did one ever hear the like?"

"Madame is right, as always, " said Laurence gravely. "Remember, Idon't know anything yet, except that somehow you've brought MaryVirginia and me back to each other. That's enough for _me_. I haven'tgot any questions to ask. " His voice faltered, and he gripped us bythe hand in turn, with a force that made me, for one, wince andcringe. "And Padre--Bughunter, you both know that I--" he couldn'tfinish. 

"That we--" choked Mary Virginia. 

"Sure we know, " said the Butterfly Man hastily. "Don't you know you'reour kids and we've got to know?" He began to edge them towards thedoor. I think his courage was getting a little raw about the corners. "Yes, you two go on over to the Parish House parlor, where you'll havea chance to talk without being interrupted--Madame will see tothat--and don't you show your noses outside of that room untileverything's settled the one and only way everything ought to besettled. " His eyes twinkled as he manoeuvered them outside, and thenstood in the doorway to watch them walk away--beautiful, youthful, radiantly happy, and very close together, the girl's head just on thelevel of the boy's shoulder. He was still faintly smiling when he cameback to us; if there was pain behind that smile, he concealed it. Mymother ran to him, impulsively. 

"John Flint!" said she, profoundly moved and earnest. "John Flint, thegood God never gave me but one child, though I prayed for more. Oftenand often have I envied her silly mother Mary Virginia. But now. John, I know that if I could have had another child that, afterArmand, I'd love best and respect most and be proudest of in thisworld, it would be _you_. Yes, _you_. John Flint, you are the bestman, and the bravest and truest and most unselfish, and the finestgentleman, outside of my husband and my son, that I have ever known. What makes it all the more wonderful is that you're a genius alongwith it. I am proud of you, and glad of you, and I admire and love youwith all my heart. And I really wish you'd call me mother. You shouldhave been born a De Rancé!"

This, from my mother! I was amazed. Why, she would think she wasflattering one of the seraphim if she had said to him, "You might havebeen a De Rancé!"

"Madame!" stammered Flint, "why, Madame!"

"Oh, well, never mind, then. Let it go at Madame, since it wouldembarrass you to change. But I look upon you as my son, none the less. I claim you from this hour, " said she firmly, as one not to begainsaid. 

"I'm beginning to believe in fairy-stories, " said Flint. "The beggarcomes home--and he isn't a beggar at all, he's a Prince. Because theQueen is his mother. "

My mother looked at him approvingly. The grace of his manner, and theunaffected feeling of his words, pleased her. But she said no more ofwhat was in her heart for him. She fell back, as women do, upon thesafe subject of housekeeping matters. 

"I suppose, " she mused, "that those children will remain with usto-day? Yes, of course. Armand, we shall have the last of yourgreat-grandfather's wine. And I am going to send over for the judge. Let me see: shall I have time for a cake with frosting? H'm! Yes, Ithink so. Or would you prefer wine jelly with whipped cream, John?"

He considered gravely, one hand on his hip, the other stroking hisbeard. 

"Couldn't we have both!" he wondered hopefully. "Please! Just for thisonce?"

"We could! We shall!" said my mother, grandly, recklessly, extravagantly. "Adieu, then, children of my heart! I go to confer withClélie. " She waved her hand and was gone. 

The place shimmered with sun. Old Kerry lay with his head between hispaws and dozed and dreamed in it, every now and then opening his hazeleyes to make sure that all was well with his man. All outdoors was oneglory of renewing life, of stir and growth, of loving and singing andnest-building, and the budding of new green leaves and the blossomingof April boughs. Just such April hopes were theirs who had found eachother again this morning. All of life at its best and faireststretched sunnily before those two, the fairer for the cloud that hadfor a time darkened it, the dearer and diviner for the loss that hadbeen so imminent. 

. .. That was a redbird again. And now a vireo. And this themockingbird, love-drunk, emptying his heart of a troubadour in a songof fire and dew. And on a vagrant air, a gipsy air, the scent of thehoney-locust. The spring for all the world else. But for him Iloved, --what?

I suppose my wistful eyes betrayed me, for used to the changingexpressions of my thin visage, he smiled; and stood up, stretchinghis arms above his head. He drew in great mouthfuls of the sweet air, and expanded his broad chest. 

"I feel full to the brim!" said he gloriously. "I've got almost toomuch to hold with both hands! Parson, parson, it isn't possible you'refretting over _me_? Sorry for _me_? Why, man, consider!"

Ah, but had I not considered? I knew, I thought, what he had to holdfast to. Honor, yes. And the friendship of some and the admiration ofmany and the true love of the few, which is all any man may hope forand more than most attain. Outside of that, a gray moth, and abutterfly's wing, and a torn nest, and a child's curl, and a ragdollin her grave; and now a girl's kiss on the palm and a tear to hallowit. But I who had greatly loved and even more greatly lost andsuffered, was it not for me of all men to know and to understand?

"But I have got the thing itself, " said the Butterfly Man, "that makeseverything else worth while. Why, I have been taught how to love! Mywork is big--but by itself it wasn't enough for me. I needed somethingmore. So I was swept and empty and ready and waiting--when she came. Now hadn't there got to be something fine and decent in me, when itwas she alone out of all the world I was waiting for and could love?"

"Yes, yes. But oh, my son, my son!"

"Oh, it was bad and bitter enough at first, parson. Because I wantedher so much! Great God, I was like a soul in hell! After awhile Icrawled out of hell--on my hands and knees. But I'd begun tounderstand things. I'd been taught. It'd been burnt into me pastforgetting. Maybe that's what hell is for, if folks only knew it. Could anything ever happen to anybody any more that I couldn'tunderstand and be sorry for, I wonder?

"No, don't you worry any about me. I wouldn't change places withanybody alive, I'm too glad for everything that's ever happened to me, good and bad. I'm not ashamed of the beginning, no, nor I'm not afraidof the end. 

"Will you believe me, though, when I tell you what worried me like themischief for awhile? Family, parson! You can't live in South Carolinawithout having the seven-years' Family-itch wished on you, you know. Ifelt like a mushroom standing up on my one leg all by myself among alot of proper garden plants--until I got fed up on the professionalDescendant banking on his boneyard full of dead ones; then I quitworrying. I'm Me and alive--and I should worry about ancestors! Cometo think about it, everybody's an ancestor while you wait. I made upmy mind I'd be my own ancestor and my own descendant--and make a goodjob of both while I was at it. "

But I was too sad to smile. And after awhile he asked gently:

"Are you grieving because you think I've lost love? Parson, did youever know something you didn't know how you knew, but you know youknow it because it's true? Well then--I know that girl's mine and Icame here to find her, though on the face of it you'd think I'd losther, wouldn't you? Somewhere and sometime I'll come again--and when Ido, she'll know _me_. "

And to save my life I couldn't tell him I didn't believe it! Hismanner even more than his words impressed me. He didn't lookimprobable. 

"One little life and one little death, " said the Butterfly Man, "couldn't possibly be big enough for something like this to get awayfrom a man forever. I have got the thing too big for a dozen lives tohold. Isn't that a great deal for a man to have, parson?"

"Yes. " said I. "It is a great deal for a man to have. " But I foresawthe empty, empty places, in the long, long years ahead. I addedfaintly: "Having that much, you have more than most. "

"You only have what you are big enough not to take, " said he. "And I'mnot fooling myself I shan't be lonesome and come some rough tumbles attimes. The difference is, that if I go down now I won't stay down. Ifthere was one thing I could grieve over, too, it would be--kids. I'dlike kids. My own kids. And I shall never have any. It--well, it justwouldn't be fair to the kids. Louisa'll come nearest to being mine bybornation--though I'm thinking she's managed to wish me everybodyelse's, on her curl. "

"So! You are your own ancestor and your own descendant, andeverybody's kids are yours! You are modest, _hein_? And what else haveyou got?"

His eyes suddenly danced. "Nothing but the rest of the United States, "said the Butterfly Man, magnificently. And when I stared, he laughedat me. 

"It's quite true, parson: I have got the whole United States to workfor. Uncle Sam. U. S. _Us!_ I've been drafted into the Brigade thathasn't any commander, nor any colors, nor honors, nor even a name;but that's never going to be mustered out of service, because we thatenlist and belong can't and won't quit. 

"Parson, think of _me_ representing the Brigade down here on theCarolina coast, keeping up the work, fighting things that hurt andfinding out things that help Lord, what a chance! A hundred millionsto work for, a hundred millions of one's own people--and a trail toblaze for the unborn millions to come!" His glance kindled, his facewas like a lighted lamp. The vision was upon him, standing there inthe April sunlight, staring wide-eyed into the future. 

Its reflected light illumined me, too--a little. And I saw that in avery large and splendid sense, this was the true American. He stoodalmost symbolically for that for which America stands--the fightingchance to overcome and to grow, the square deal, the spirit that lookseagle-eyed and unafraid into the sunrise. And above all for unselfishservice and unshakable faith, and a love larger than personal love, prouder than personal pride, higher than personal ambition. They donot know America who do not know and will not see this spirit in her, going its noble and noiseless way apart. 

"The whole world to work for, and a whole lifetime to do it in!" saidthe voice of America, exultant. "Lord God, that's a man-sized job, butYou just give me hands and eyes and time, and I'll do the best I can. You've done Your part by me--stand by, and I'll do mine by You!"

Are those curious coincidences, those circumstances which occur atsuch opportune moments that they leave one with a sense of a guidingfinger behind the affairs of men--are they, after all, only fortuitousaccidents, or have they a deeper and a diviner significance?

There stood the long worktable, with orderly piles of work on it; themicroscope in its place; the books he had opened and pushed aside lastnight; and some half-dozen small card-board boxes in a row, containingthe chrysalids he had been experimenting with, trying the effect ofcold upon color. The cover of one box had been partially pushed off, possibly when he had moved the books. And while we had been payingattention to other things, one of these chrysalids had been payingstrict attention to its own business, the beautiful and importantbusiness of becoming a butterfly. Flint discovered it first, and gavea pleased exclamation. 

"Look! Look! A Turnus, father! The first Turnus of the year!"

The insect had been out for an hour or two, but was not yet quiteready to fly. It had crawled out of the half-opened box, dragged itswormy length across the table, over intervening obstacles, seekingsome place to climb up and cling to. 

Now the Butterfly Man had left the Bible open, merely shoving it asidewithout shutting it, when he had found no comfort for himself lastnight in what John had to say. Protected by piled-up books and proppedalmost upright by the large inkstand, it gave the holding-place theinsect desired. The butterfly had walked up the page and now clung tothe top. 

There she rested, her black-and-yellow body quivering like a tiny livedynamo from the strong force of circulation, that was sending vitalfluids upward into the wings to give them power and expansion. We hadseen the same thing a thousand and one times before, we should see ita thousand and one times again. But I do not think either of us couldever forego the delight of watching a butterfly's wings shapingthemselves for flight, and growing into something of beauty and ofwonder. The lovely miracle is ever new to us. 

She was a big butterfly, big even for the greatest of Carolinaswallow-tails; not the dark dimorphic form, but the true Tiger Turnusitself, her barred yellow upper wings edged with black enamel indentedwith red gold, her tailed lower wings bordered with a wider band ofblack, and this not only set with lunettes of gold but with purpleamethysts, and a ruby on the upper and lower edges. Her wings movedrhythmically; a constant quivering agitated her, and her antennæ withtheir flattened clubs seemed to be sending and receiving wirelessmessages from the shining world outside. 

And as the wings had dried and grown firmer in the mild warm currentof air and the bright sunlight, she moved them with a wider and boldersweep. The heavy, unwieldy body, thinned by the expulsion of thosecurrents driven upward to give flying-power to the wings, had taken ona slim and tapering grace. She had reached her fairy perfection. Shewas ready now for flight and light and love and freedom and theuncharted pathways of the air, ready to carry out the design of theCreator who had fashioned her so wondrously and so beautiful, and hadsent ahead of her the flowers for that marvelous tongue of hers tosip. 

Waiting still, opening and closing her exquisite wings, trying them, spreading them flat, the splendid swallow-tail clung to the page ofthe book open at the Gospel of John. And I, idly enough, leanedforward, and saw between the opening and the closing wings, words. Thewhich John Flint, bending forward beside me, likewise saw. "_Work_, "flashed out. And on a lower line, "_while it is day_. "

I grasped the edge of the table; his knuckles showed white besidemine. 

 "_I must work the works of him that sent me, while it is day. _"

His eyes grew larger and deeper. A sort of inward light, a serene andjoyous acceptance and assurance, flowed into them. I that had dared tobe despondent felt a sense of awe. The Voice that had once spokenabove the Mercy Seat and between the wings of the cherubim wasspeaking now in immortal words between, the wings of a butterfly. 

She was poising herself for her first flight, the bright and lovelyLady of the Sky. Now she spread her wings flat, as a fan is unfurled. And now she had lifted them clear and uncovered her message. TheButterfly Man watched her, hanging absorbed upon her every movement. And he read, softly:

 "_I must work . .. While it is day_. "

Lightly as a flower, a living and glorious flower, she lifted andlaunched herself into the air, flew straight and sure for the outsidelight, hung poised one gracious moment, and was gone. 

He turned to me the sweetest, clearest eyes I have ever seen in amortal countenance, the eyes of a little child. His face had caught asort of secret beauty, that was never to leave it any more. 

"Parson!" said the Butterfly Man, in a whisper that shook with thebeating of his heart behind it: "Parson! _Don't it beat hell?_"

I rocked on my toes. Then I flung my arms around him, with a jubilantshout:

"It does! It does! Oh, Butterfly Man, by the grace and the glory andthe wonder of God, it beats hell!"

THE END