THE WOLF'S LONG HOWL

by Stanley Waterloo

1899

CONTENTS

 THE WOLF'S LONG HOWL AN ULM THE HAIR OF THE DOG THAT BIT HIM THE MAN WHO FELL IN LOVE A TRAGEDY OF THE FOREST THE PARASANGS LOVE AND A TRIANGLE AN EASTER ADMISSION PROFESSOR MORGAN'S MOON RED DOG'S SHOW WINDOW MARKHAM'S EXPERIENCE THE RED REVENGER A MURDERER'S ACCOMPLICE A MID-PACIFIC FOURTH LOVE AND A LATCH-KEY CHRISTMAS 200, 000 B. C. THE CHILD THE BABY AND THE BEAR AT THE GREEN TREE CLUB THE RAIN-MAKER WITHIN ONE LIFE'S SPAN

THE WOLF'S LONG HOWL

George Henry Harrison, though without living near kinfolk, had neverconsidered himself alone in the world. Up to the time when he becamethirty years of age he had always thought himself, when he thought ofthe matter at all, as fortunate in the extent of his friendships. He wasacquainted with a great many people; he had a recognized socialstanding, was somewhat cleverer than the average man, and his instincts, while refined by education and experience, were decidedly gregarious andtoward hearty companionship. He should have been a happy man, and hadbeen one, in fact, up to the time when this trustworthy account begins;but just now, despite his natural buoyancy of spirit, he did not counthimself among the blessed. 

George Henry wanted to be at peace with all the world, and now therewere obstacles in the way. He did not delight in aggressiveness, yetcertain people were aggressive. In his club--which he felt he must soonabandon--he received from all save a minority of the members a heartyreception, and in his club he rather enjoyed himself for the hour, forgetting that conditions were different outside. On the streets he metmen who bowed to him somewhat stiffly, and met others who recognized himplainly enough, but who did not bow. The postman brought daily a bunchof letters, addressed in various forms of stern commercial handwritingto George Henry Harrison, but these often lay unopened and neglected onhis desk. 

To tell the plain and unpleasant truth, George Henry Harrison had justbecome a poor man, a desperately poor man, and already realized that itwas worse for a young man than an old one to rank among those who have"seen better days. " Even after his money had disappeared in what hadpromised to be a good investment, he had for a time maintained hisplace, because, unfortunately for all concerned, he had been enabled toget credit; but there is an end to that sort of thing, and now, with hiscredit gone after his money, he felt his particular world slipping fromhim. He felt a change in himself, a certain on-creeping paralysis of hissocial backbone. When practicable he avoided certain of his old friends, for he could see too plainly written on their faces the fear that he wasabout to request a trifling loan, though already his sense of honor, when he considered his prospects, had forced him to cease asking favorsof the sort. There were faces which he had loved well which he could notbear to see with the look of mingled commiseration and annoyance heinspired. 

And so it came that at this time George Henry Harrison was acquaintedchiefly with grief--with the wolf at his door. His mail, once blossomingwith messages of good-will and friendliness, became a desert of duns. 

"Why is it, " George Henry would occasionally ask himself--there was noone else for him to talk to--"why is it that when a man is sure of hismeals every day he has endless invitations to dine out, but that whenthose events are matters of uncertainty he gets not a bidding to thefeast?" This question, not a new one, baffling in its mystery andchilling to the marrow, George Henry classed with another he had heardsomewhere: "Who is more happy: the hungry man who can get nothing toeat, or the rich man with an overladen table who can eat nothing?" Thetwo problems ran together in his mind, like a couple of hounds in leash, during many a long night when he could not shut out from his ears thehowling of the wolf. He often wondered, jeering the while at his owngrotesque fancy, how his neighbors could sleep with those mournful yetsinister howlings burdening the air, but he became convinced at lastthat no one heard the melancholy solo but himself. 

"'The wolf's long howl on Oonalaska's shore' is not in it with that ofmine, " said George Henry--for since his coat had become threadbare hislanguage had deteriorated, and he too frequently used slang--"but I'mthankful that I alone hear my own. How different the case from what itis when one's dog barks o' nights! Then the owner is the only one whosleeps within a radius of blocks. The beasts are decidedly unlike. "

Not suddenly had come all this tribulation to the man, though the finaldisappearance of all he was worth, save some valueless remnants, hadbeen preceded by two or three heavy losses. Optimistic in his ventures, he was not naturally a fool. Ill fortune had come to him withoutapparent provocation, as it comes to many another man of intelligence, and had followed him persistently and ruthlessly when others lessdeserving were prospering all about him. It was not astonishing that hehad become a trifle misanthropic. He found it difficult to recover fromthe daze of the moment when he first realized his situation. 

The comprehension of where he stood first came to George Henry when hehad a note to meet, a note for a sum that would not in the past haveseemed large to him, but one at that time assuming dimensions ofimportance. He thought when he had given the note that he could meet ithandily; he had twice succeeded in renewing it, and now had come to thetime when he must raise a certain sum or be counted among the wreckage. He had been hopeful, but found himself on the day of payment withoutmoney and without resources. How many thousands of men who have engagedin our tigerish dollar struggle have felt the sinking at heart whichcame to him then! But he was a man, and he went to work. Talk aboutclimbing the Alps or charging a battery! The man who has hurried aboutall day with reputation to be sustained, even at the sacrifice of pride, has suffered more, dared more and knows more of life's terrors than anyreckless mountain-climber or any veteran soldier in existence. GeorgeHenry failed at last. He could not meet his bills. 

Reason to himself as he might, the man was unable to endure his newcondition placidly. He tried to be philosophical. He would stalk abouthis room humming from "The Mahogany Tree":

 "Care, like a dun, stands at the gate. Let the dog wait!"

and seek to get himself into the spirit of the words, but his efforts insuch direction met with less than moderate success. "The dog does wait, "he would mutter. "He's there all the time. Besides, he isn't a dog: he'sa wolf. What did Thackeray know about wolves!" And so George Henrybrooded, and was, in consequence, not quite as fit for the fray as hehad been in the past. 

To make matters worse, there was a woman in the case; not that womenalways make matters worse when a man is in trouble, but in this instancethe fact that a certain one existed really caused the circumstances tobe more trying. There was a charming young woman in whom George Henryhad taken more than a casual interest. There was reason to suppose thatthe interest was not all his, either, but there had been no definiteengagement. At the time when financial disaster came to the man, therehad grown up between him and Sylvia Hartley that sort of understandingwhich cannot be described, but which is recognized clearly enough, andwhich is to the effect that flowers bring fruit. Now he felt glad, forher sake, that only the flower season had been reached. They were yetunpledged. Since he could not support a wife, he must give up his love. That was a matter of honor. 

The woman was quite worthy of a man's love. She was clever and good. Shehad dark hair and a wonderfully white skin, and dark, bright eyes, andwhen he explained to her that he was a wreck financially, and said thatin consequence he didn't feel justified in demanding so much of herattention, she exhibited in a gentle way a warmth of temperament whichendeared her to him more than ever, while she argued with him and triedto laugh him out of his fears. He was tempted sorely, but he loved herin a sufficiently unselfish way to resist. He even sought to conceal hisdepth of feeling under a disguise of lightness. He admitted that in hispresent frame of mind he ought to be with her as much as possible, asthen, if ever, he stood in need of a sure antidote for the blues, andwith a half-hearted jest he closed the conversation, and after that callmerely kept away from her. It was hard for him, and as hard for her; butif he had honor, she had pride. So they drifted apart, each suffering. 

Who shall describe with a just portrayal of its agony the inner life ofthe reasonably strong man who feels that he is somehow going down hillin the world, who becomes convinced that he is a failure, and whostruggles almost hopelessly! George Henry went down hill, though settinghis heels as deeply as he could. His later plans failed, and there camea time when his strait was sore indeed--the time when he had not eventhe money with which to meet the current expenses of a modest life. Toone vulgar or dishonest this is bad; to one cultivated and honorable itis far worse. George Henry chanced to come under the latterclassification, and so it was that to him poverty assumed a phaseespecially acute, and affected him both physically and mentally. 

His first experience was bitter. He had never been an extravagant man, but he liked to be well dressed, and had remained so for a time afterhis business plans had failed. He was not a gormand, but he hadcontinued to live well. Now, with almost nothing left to live upon, hemust go shabby, and cease to tickle his too fastidious palate. He mustbuy nothing new to wear, and must live at the cheapest of therestaurants. He felt a sort of Spartan satisfaction when this resolvehad been fairly reached, but no enthusiasm. It required great resolutionon his part when, for the first time, he entered a restaurant the signin front of which bore the more or less alluring legend, "Meals fifteencents. "

George Henry loved cleanliness, and the round table at which he found aseat bore a cloth dappled in various ways. His sense of smell wasdelicate, and here came to him from the kitchen, separated from thedining-room by only a thin partition, a combination of odors, partlyvegetable, partly flesh and fish, which gave him a new sensation. Afaintness came upon him, and he envied those eating at other tables. They had no qualms; upon their faces was the hue of health, and theywere eating as heartily as the creatures of the field or forest do, andwith as little prejudice against surroundings. George Henry tried tophilosophize again and to be like these people, but he failed. He notedbefore him on the table a jar of that abject stuff called carelesslyeither "French" or "German" mustard, stale and crusted, and rememberedthat once at a dinner he had declared that the best test of a gentleman, of one who knew how to live, was to learn whether he used pure, wholesome English mustard or one of these mixed abominations. His earsfelt pounding into them a whirlwind of street talk larded with slang. Heordered sparingly. He did not like it when the waiter, with a yell, translated his modest order of fried eggs and coffee into "Fried, turned, " and "Draw one, " and he liked it less when the food came and hefound the eggs limed and the coffee muddy. He ate little, and left theplace depressed. "I can't stand this, " he muttered, "that's as sure asGod made little apples. "

His own half-breathed utterance of this expression startled the man. Thesimile he had used was a repetition of what he had just heard in aconversation between men at an adjoining table in the restaurant. He hadoften heard the expression before, but had certainly never utilized itpersonally. "The food must be affecting me already, " he said bitterly, and then wandered off unconsciously into an analysis of the metaphor. Itpuzzled him. He could not understand why the production of little applesby the Deity had seemed to the person who at some time in the past hadfirst used this expression as an illustration of a circumstance moreassured than the production of big apples by the same power, or of theevolution of potatoes or any other fruit or vegetable, big or little. His foolish fancies in this direction gave him the mental relief heneeded. When he awoke to himself again the restaurant was a memory, andhe, having recovered something of his tone, resolved to do what could bedone that day to better his fortunes. 

Then came work--hard and exceedingly fruitless work--in looking forsomething to do. Then Nature began paying attention to George HenryHarrison personally, in a manner which, however flattering in a generalway, did not impress him pleasantly. His breakfast had been a failure, and now he was as hungry as the leaner of the two bears of Palestinewhich tore forty-two children who made faces at Elisha. He thought firstof a free-lunch saloon, but he had an objection to using the fork justlaid down by another man. He became less squeamish later. He wasresolved to feast, and that the banquet should be great. He entered apopular down-town place and squandered twenty-five cents on a singlemeal. The restaurant was scrupulously clean, the steak was good, thepotatoes were mealy, the coffee wasn't bad, and there were hot biscuitsand butter. How the man ate! The difference between fifteen andtwenty-five cents is vast when purchasing a meal in a great city. GeorgeHenry was reasonably content when he rose from the table. He decidedthat his self-imposed task was at least endurable. He had counted onevery contingency. Instinctively, after paying for his food, he strolledtoward the cigar-stand. Half-way there he checked himself, appalled. Cigars had not been included in the estimate of his daily needs. Cigarshe recognized as a luxury. He left the place, determined but physicallyunhappy. The real test was to come. 

The smoking habit affects different men in different ways. To sometobacco is a stimulant, to others a narcotic. The first class canabandon tobacco more easily than can the second. The man to whomtobacco is a stimulant becomes sleepy and dull when he ceases its use, and days ensue before he brightens up on a normal plane. To the one whofinds it a narcotic, the abandonment of tobacco means inviting theheight of all nervousness. To George Henry tobacco had been a narcotic, and now his nerves were set on edge. He had pluck, though, and irritableand suffering, endured as well as he could. At length came, as will comeeventually in the case of every healthy man persisting in self-denial, surcease of much sorrow over tobacco, but in the interval George Henryhad a residence in purgatory, rent free. 

And so--these incidents are but illustrative--the man forced himselfinto a more or less philosophical acceptance of the new life to whichnecessity had driven him. If he did not learn to like it, he at leastlearned to accept its deprivations without a constant grimace. 

But more than mere physical self-denial is demanded of the man on thedown grade. The plans of his intellect a failure, he turns finally tothe selling of the labor of his body. This selling of labor may seem aneasy thing, but it is not so to the man with neither training nor skillin manual labor of any sort. George Henry soon learned this lesson, andhis heart sank within him. He had reached the end of things. He hadtried to borrow what he needed, and failed. His economies had butextended his lease of tolerable life. 

Shabby and hungry, he sought a "job" at anything, avoiding allacquaintances, for his pride would not allow him to make this sort of anappeal to them. Daily he looked among strangers for work. He found none. It was a time of business and industrial depression, and laborers wereidle by thousands. He envied the men working on the streets relaying thepavements. They had at least a pittance, and something to do to distracttheir minds. 

Weeks and months went by. George Henry now lived and slept in his littleoffice, the rent of which he had paid some months in advance before thestorms of poverty began to beat upon him. Here, when not makingspasmodic excursions in search of work, he dreamed and brooded. Hewondered why men came into the feverish, uncertain life of great cities, anyhow. He thought of the peace of the country, where he was born; ofthe hollyhocks and humming-birds, of the brightness and freedom fromcare which was the lot of human beings there. They had few luxuries orkeen enjoyments, but as a reward for labor--the labor always athand--they had at least a certainty of food and shelter. There came uponhim a great craving to get into the world of nature and out of all thatwas cankering about him, but with the longing came also the remembrancethat even in the blessed home of his youth there was no place now forhim. 

One day, after what seemed ages of this kind of life, a wild fancy tookhold of George Henry's mind. Out of the wreckage of all his unprofitableinvestments one thing remained to him. He was still a landed proprietor, and he laughed somewhat bitterly at the thought. He was the owner of alarge tract of gaunt poplar forest, sixteen hundred acres, in a desolateregion of Michigan, his possessions stretching along the shores of thelake. An uncle had bought the land for fifty cents an acre, and hadturned it over to George Henry in settlement of a loan made in hisnephew's more prosperous days. George Henry had paid the insignificanttaxes regularly, and as his troubles thickened had tried to sell thevaguely valued property at any price, but no one wanted it. This land, while it would not bring him a meal, was his own at least, and hereasoned that if he could get to it and build a little cabin upon it, hecould live after a fashion. 

The queer thought somehow inspirited him. He would make a desperateeffort. He would get a barrel of pork and a barrel or two of flour andsome potatoes, a gun and an axe; he knew a lake captain, an old friend, who would readily take him on his schooner on its next trip and land himon his possessions. But the pork and the flour and the other necessarieswould cost money; how was he to get it? The difficulty did notdiscourage him. The plan gave him something definite to do. He resolvedto swallow all pride, and make a last appeal for a loan from some ofthose he dreaded to meet again. Surely he could raise among his friendsthe small sum he needed, and then he would go into the woods. Maybe hishead and heart would clear there, and he would some day return to theworld like the conventional giant refreshed with new wine. 

It is astonishing how a fixed resolution, however grotesque, helps aman. The very fact that in his own mind the die was cast brought a newrecklessness to George Henry. He could look at things objectively again. He slept well for the first time in many weeks. 

The next morning, when George Henry awoke, he had abated not one jot ofhis resolve nor of his increased courage. The sun seemed brighter thanit had been the day before, and the air had more oxygen to the cubicfoot. He looked at the heap of unopened letters on his desk--letters hehad lacked, for weeks, the moral courage to open--and laughed at hisfear of duns. Let the wolf howl! He would interest himself in the music. He would be a hero of heroes, and unflinchingly open his letters, eachone a horror in itself to his imagination; but with all his newly foundcourage, it required still an effort for George Henry to approach hisdesk. 

Alone, with set teeth and drooping eyes, George Henry began his task. Itwas the old, old story. Bills of long standing, threats of suits, letters from collecting agencies, red papers, blue, cream andstraw-colored--how he hated them all! Suddenly he came upon a newletter, a square, thick, well addressed letter of unmistakablerespectability. 

"Can it be an invitation?" said George Henry, his heart beating. Heopened the sturdy envelope and read the words it had enclosed. Then heleaned back, very still, in his chair, with his eyes shut. His heartbled over what he had suffered. "Had" suffered--yes, that was right, forit was all a thing of the past. The letter made it clear that he wascomparatively a rich man. That was all. 

It was the despised--but not altogether despised, since he had thoughtof making it his home--poplar land in Michigan. The poplar supply islimited, and paper-mills have capacious maws. Prices of raw material hadgone up, and the poplar hunters had found George Henry's land the mostvaluable to them in the region. A syndicate offered him one hundreddollars an acre for the tract. 

Joy failed to kill George Henry Harrison. It stunned him somewhat, buthe showed wonderful recuperative powers. As he ate a free-lunch after afive-cent expenditure that morning, there was something in his air whichwould have prevented the most obtuse barkeeper in the world fromcommenting upon the quantity consumed. He was not particularly depressedbecause his hat was old and his coat gray at the seams and his shoescracked. His demeanor when he called upon an attorney, a former friend, was quite that of an American gentleman perfectly at his ease. 

Within a few days George Henry Harrison had deposited to his credit inbank the sum of one hundred and sixty thousand dollars, minus the slightcost of certain immediate personal requirements. Then one morning hestalked over to his little office, now clean and natty. He leaned backin his chair again and devoted himself to thinking, the persons on whomhis mind dwelt being his creditors. 

The proper title for the brief account which follows should be The Feastof the Paying of Bills. Here was a man who had suffered, here was a manwho had come to doubt himself, and who had now become suddenly andarrogantly independent. His creditors, he knew, were hopeless. That hehad so few lawsuits to meet was only because those to whom he owed moneyhad reasoned that the cost of collection would more than offset the sumgained in the end from this man, who had, they thought, no real propertybehind him. Their attitude had become contemptuous. Now he stood forthdefiant and jaunty. 

There is a time in a man's failing fortunes when he borrows and giveshis note blithely. He is certain that he can repay it. He runs up billsas cheerfully, sure that they will easily be met at the end of thirtydays. With George Henry this now long past period had left itssouvenirs, and the torture they had inflicted upon him has been partlytold. 

Now came the sweet and glorious hour of his relief. 

It was a wonderful sensation to him. He marveled that he had sorespectfully thought of the creditors who had dogged him. They werepeople, he now said, of whom he should not have thought at all. Hebecame a magnificently objective reasoner. But there was work to bedone. 

George Henry decided that, since there were certain people to whom hemust write, each letter being accompanied by a check for a certain sumof money, each letter should appropriately indicate to its recipient thecalm and final opinion of the writer regarding the general character andreputation of the person or firm addressed. The human nature of GeorgeHenry asserted itself very strongly just here. He set forth paper andink, took up his pen, and poised his mind for a feast of reason and flowof soul which should be after the desire of his innermost heart. 

First, George Henry carefully arranged in the order of their date ofincurring a list of all his debts, great and small--not that he intendedto pay them in that order, but where a creditor had waited long hedecided that his delay in paying should be regarded as in some degreeextenuating and excusing the fierceness of the assaults made upon aluckless debtor. The creditors chanced to have had no choice in thematter, but that did not count. Age hallowed a debt to a certain slightextent. 

This arrangement made, George Henry took up his list of creditors, onehundred and twenty in all, and made a study of them, as to character, habits and customs. He knew them very well indeed. In their intercoursewith him, each, he decided, had laid his soul bare, and each should betreated according to the revelations so made. There was one man who hadloaned him quite a large sum, and this was the oldest debt of all, incurred when George Henry first saw the faint signs of approachingcalamity, but understood them not. This man, a friend, recognizing thenature of George Henry's struggle, had never sought payment--had, infact, when the debtor had gone to him, apologetically and explaining, objected to the intrusion and objurgated the caller in violent languageof the lovingly profane sort. He would have no talk of payment, asthings stood. This claim, not only the oldest but the least annoying, should, George Henry decided, have the honor of being "No. 1"--that is, it should be paid first of all. So the list was extended, a carefulanalysis being made of the mental and moral qualities of each creditoras exposed in his monetary relations with George Henry Harrison. Therewere some who had been generous and thoughtful, some who had beenvicious and insulting; and in his examination George Henry made thediscovery that those who had probably least needed the money due themhad been by no means the most considerate. It seemed almost as if thereverse rule had obtained. There was one man in particular, who hadpractically forced a small loan upon him when George Henry was stillthought to be well-to-do, who had developed an ingenuity and insolencein dunning which gave him easy altitude for meanness and harshness amongthe lot. He went down as "No. 120, " the last on the list. 

There were others. There were the petty tradesmen who in former yearshad prospered through George Henry's patronage, whose large bills hadbeen paid with unquestioning promptness until came the slip of his cogin the money-distributing machine. They had not hesitated a moment. Asthe peccaries of Mexico and Central America pursue blindly their prey, so these small yelpers, Tray, Blanche and Sweetheart, of the tradeworld, had bitten at his heels persistently from the beginning of hisweakness up to the present moment. Toward these he had no malice. Hecounted them but as he had counted his hunting dogs in better days. Theywere narrow, but they were reckoned as men; they transacted business andmarried the females of their kind, and bred children--prodigally--andafter all, against them he had no particular grievance. They were asthey were made and must be. He gathered a bunch of their billstogether, and decided that they should be classed together, not quite atthe end of the list. 

The grade of each individual creditor fixed, the list was carefullydivided into five parts, twenty in each, of which twenty should receivetheir letters and checks one day, twenty the next, and so on. Then theliterature of the occasion began. 

The thoughtful debtor who has had somewhat continuous relations with acreditor can, supposing he has even a moderate gift, write a very neat, compact and thought-compelling little letter to that creditor when hefinally settles with him, if, as in the case of George Henry, the debtorwill have balance enough left after all settlements to make him easy andindependent. George Henry felt the strength of this proposition as hewrote. In casual, easily written conversation with his meanest creditorshe rather excelled himself. Of course he sent abundant interest toeverybody, though apologizing to the gentlemen among the lot for doingso, but telling them frankly that it would relieve him if they acceptedthe proper sum for the use of the money, saying nothing about it; whileof the mean ones he demanded prompt receipts in full. That was thegeneral tenor of the notes, but there were certain moderateextravagances in either direction, if there be such a thing as a"moderate extravagance. "

To the worst, the most irritating of his creditors, George Henryindicted his masterpiece. He admitted his obligation, he expressed hissatisfaction at paying an interest which made it a good investment forthe creditor, and then he entered into a little disquisition as to thecreditor's manner and scale of thought and existence, followed bycertain mild suggestions as to improvements which might be made in thecharacter under observation. He pledged himself to return at any timethe favor extended him, and promised also never to mention it after ithad been extended. He apologized for the lack of further and moreadequate treatment of the subject, expressing his conviction that themore delicate shades of meaning which might be employed after a moreextended study would not be comprehended by the person addressed. 

George Henry--it is with regret that it is admitted--had a wild hopethat this creditor would become enraged to the point of making apersonal assault on him from this simple summing up of affairs, becausehe had an imbedded desire to lick, or anyway try to lick, thisparticular person, could he be provoked into an encounter. It is as wellto say here that his dream was never gratified. The nagging man is nevera fighting man. 

And so the Feast of the Paying of Bills went on to its conclusion. Itwas a season of intense enjoyment for George Henry. When it was ended, having money, having also a notable gift as a shot, he fled to thenorthern woods, where grouse and deer fell plentifully before him, andthen after a month he returned to enjoy life at ease. 

It was upon his return home that George Henry Harrison, well-to-do andcontent, learned something which for a time made him think this probablythe hollowest of all the worlds which swing around the sun. He cameback, vigorous and hopeful of spirit, with the strength of the woods andof nature in him, and with open heart and hand ready to greet hisfellow-beings, glad to be one with them. The thing which smote him wasodd. It was that he found himself a stranger among the fellow-beings hehad come to meet. He found himself still a Selkirk of the world of tradeand traffic and transfer of thought and well-wishing and strong-doingand of all social life. He was like a strange bird, like an albatrossblown into unaccustomed seas, alighting upon an island where albatrosseswere unknown. 

He found his office as bright and attractive as urgently and sternlydirected servitude could make it. There were no letters upon his desk, however, the desk so overburdened in the past. The desk spoke ofloneliness. The new carpet, without a worn white strip leading from thedoorway, said loneliness. All was loneliness. He could not understandit. 

There was the abomination of clean and cold desolation in and all abouthis belongings. He sat down in the easy-chair before his desk, and wasfar, very far, from happy. He leaned back--the chair worked beautifullyupon its well-oiled springs--and wondered. He shut his eyes, and triedto place himself in his position of a month before, and failed. Why hadthere been no callers? His own branch of business was in a laggard way, but of that he made no account. He thought of Oonalaska, and decidedthat there were worse places in the world than on that shore, even withthe drawback of the howlings. He seemed to be in space. 

To sum up all in an explanatory way, George Henry, having largely losthis grip upon the world, had voluntarily, being too sensitive, severedall connections save those he had to maintain with that portion of thecommunity interested in the paying of his bills. Now, since he had metall material obligations, he thought the world would come to him againunsought. It did not come. 

Every one seemed to have gone away with the wolf. George Henry begantrying to determine what it was that was wrong. The letter-carrier, afine fellow, who had called upon him daily in the past, now nevercrossed his threshold. Even book agents and peddlers avoided the place, from long experience of rebuff. The bill-collectors came no more, ofcourse; and as George Henry looked back over the past months ofhumiliation and agony he suddenly realized that to these same collectorshe had been solely indebted toward the last of his time of trial forwhat human companionship had come to him. His friends, how easily theyhad given him up! He thought of poor old Rip Van Winkle's plaint, "Howsoon we are forgotten when we are gone!" and sarcastically amended it to"How soon we are forgotten when we are here!" A few invitationsdeclined, the ordinary social calls left for some other time, and he wasapparently forgotten. He could not much blame himself that he hadvoluntarily severed the ties. A man cannot dine in comfort withcomfortable friends when his heart is sore over his generalinconsequence in the real world. Play is not play when zest is not givento it by work and duties. Even his social evenings with old and truefriends he had given up early in the struggle. He could not overcome thebitterness of his lot sufficiently to sit easily among those he mostcared for. It is not difficult sometimes to drop out of life while yetalive. Yet George Henry realized that possibly he had been an extendederror--had been too sensitive. He thought of his neglect of friends andhis generally stupid performances while under the spell of the wolf, buthe thought also of the excuse he had, and conscience was half appeased. 

So he was alone, the same old Selkirk or Robinson Crusoe, without a manFriday, without even a parrot and goats; alone in his once familiarhotel and his office, in a city where he was distinctly of the nativesort, where he had seen, it seemed to him, every one of the great"sky-scraping" buildings rise from foundation-stone to turret, where heshould be one whose passage along the street would be a series ofgreetings. He yearned for companionship. His pulse quickened when he metone of his lately persecuting bill-collectors on the street and receivedfrom him a friendly recognition of his bow and smile. He became affablewith elevator-men and policemen. But he was lonely, very lonely. 

The days drifted into long weeks, when one day the mail-carrier, once soregular in his calls, now almost a stranger, appeared and cast uponGeorge Henry's desk a letter returned uncalled for. The recipientexamined it with interest. It did not require much to excite hisinterest now. 

The returned letter was one which he had sent enclosing a check to a Dr. Hartley, to whom he had become indebted for professional services at onetime. He had never received a bill, but had sent the check at a venture. Its return, with the postoffice comment, "Moved, left no address, "startled him. Dr. Hartley was Her father. George Henry pondered. Was ita dream or reality, that a few months ago, while he was almost submergedin his sea of difficulties, he had read or heard of Dr. Hartley's death?He had known the doctor but slightly, well as he had known his daughterSylvia, of the dark eyes, but it seemed impossible that in any state ofmind such a thing as Dr. Hartley's reported death should have made noimpression upon him. He was aroused now, almost for the first time, andwas really himself again. The benumbing influence of his face-to-facefight with poverty and inactivity disappeared. Sylvia lived again, fresh, vital and strong in her hold upon him. He was renewed by thepurpose in life which he had allowed to lapse in his desperate days ofdefeat. He would find Sylvia. She might be in sorrow, in trouble; hecould not wait, but leaped out of his office and ran down the longstairways, too hurried and restless to wait for the lagging elevator ofthe great building where he had suffered so much. The search was longerand more difficult than the seeker had anticipated. It required butlittle effort to learn that Dr. Hartley had been dead for months, andthat his family had gone away from the roomy house where their home hadbeen for many years. To learn more was for a time impossible. He hadknown little of the family kinship and connections, and it seemed as ifan adverse fate pursued his attempts to find the hidden links which bindtogether the people of a great city. But George Henry persisted, and hisheart grew warm within him. He hummed an old tune as he walked quicklyalong the crowded streets, smiling to himself when he found himselfsinging under his breath the old, old song:

 Who is Silvia? What is she That all swains commend her?

In another quarter of the city, far removed from her former home andneighbors, George Henry at last found Sylvia, her mother and a youngerbrother, living quietly with the mother's widowed sister. During hissearch for her the image of the woman he had once hoped might be hiswife had grown larger and dearer in his mind and heart. He wondered howhe had ever given her up, and how he had lived through so muchsuffering, and then through relief from suffering, without the past andpresent joy of his life. He wondered if he should find her changed. Heneed have had no fears. He found, when at last he met her, that she hadnot changed, unless, it may be, to have become even more lovable in hiseyes. In the moment when he first saw her now he knew he had found theworld again, that he was no longer a stranger in it, that he was livingin it and a part of it. A sweetheart has been a tonic since long beforeknights wore the gloves of ladies on their crests. Within a week, through Sylvia, he had almost forgotten that one can get lost, even as alost child, in this great, grinding world of ours, and within a year heand Mrs. George Henry Harrison were "at home" to their friends. 

After a time, when George Henry Harrison had settled down into steadyand appreciative happiness, and had begun to indulge his fancies inmatters apart from the honeymoon, there appeared upon the wall over thefireplace in his library a picture which unfailingly attracted theattention and curiosity of visitors to that hospitable hearth. Thescene represented was but that upon an island in the Bering Sea, andthere was in the aspect of it something more than the traditionalabomination of desolation, for there was a touch of bloodthirsty andhungry life. Up away from the sea arose a stretch of dreary sand, and inthe far distance were hills covered with snow and dotted with stuntedpine, and bleak and forbidding, though not tenantless. In theforeground, close to the turbid waters which washed this frozen almostsolitude, a great, gaunt wolf sat with his head uplifted to the loweringskies, and so well had the artist caught the creature's attitude, thatlooking upon it one could almost seem to hear the mournful but murderoushowl and gathering cry. 

This was only a fancy which George Henry had--that the wolf should hangabove the fireplace--and perhaps it needed no such reminder to make ofhim the man he proved in helping those whom he knew the wolf washunting. His eye was kindly keen upon his friends, and he was quick toperceive when one among them had begun to hear the howlings which hadonce tormented him so sorely; he fancied that there was upon the facesof those who listened often to that mournful music an expressionpeculiar to such suffering. And he found such ways as he could to cheerand comfort those unfortunate during their days of trial. He was ahelpful man. It is good for a man to have had bad times. 

AN ULM

"It is as you say; he is not handsome, certainly not beautiful asflowers and the stars and women are, but he has another sort of beauty, I think, such a beauty as made Victor Hugo's monster, Gwynplaine, fascinating, or gives a certain sort of charm to a banded rattlesnake. He is not much like the dove-eyed setter over whom we shot woodcock thisafternoon, but to me he is the fairest object on the face of the earth, this gaunt, brindled Ulm. There's such a thing as association of ideas, you know. 

"What is there about an Ulm especially attractive? Well, I don't know. About Ulms in the abstract very little, I imagine. About an Ulm in theconcrete, particularly the brute near us, a great deal. The Ulm is amorbid development in dog-breeding, anyhow. I remember, as doubtless youdo as well, when the animals first made their appearance in this countrya few years ago. The big, dirty-white beasts, dappled with dark blotchesand with countenances unexplainably threatening, reminded one of hyenaswith huge dog forms. Germans brought them over first, and they wereaffected by saloon-keepers and their class. They called them Siberianbloodhounds then, but the dog-fanciers got hold of them, and theybecame, with their sinister obtrusiveness, a feature of the shows; thebreed was defined more clearly, and now they are known as Great Danes orUlms, indifferently. How they originated I never cared to learn. Iimagine it sometimes. I fancy some jilted, jaundiced descendant of thesea-rovers, retiring to his castle, and endeavoring, by mating some uglybloodhound with a wild wolf, to produce a quadruped as fierce andcowardly and treacherous as man or woman may be. He succeeded onlypartially, but he did well. 

"Never mind about the dog, and tell you why I've been gentleman, farmer, sportsman and half-hermit here for the last five years--leavingeverything just as I was getting a grip on reputation in town, leaving apretty wife, too, after only a year of marriage? I can hardly dothat--that is, I can hardly drop the dog, because, you see, he's part ofthe story. Hamlet would be left out decidedly were I to read the playwithout him. Besides, I've never told the story to any one. I'll do it, though, to-day. The whim takes me. Surely a fellow may enjoy the luxuryof being recklessly confidential once in half a decade or so, especiallywith an old friend and a trusted one. No need for going far back withthe legend. You know it all up to the time I was married. You dined withme once or twice later. You remember my wife? Certainly she was apretty woman, well bred, too, and wise, in a woman's way. I've seen agood deal of the world, but I don't know that I ever saw a more tactfulentertainer, or in private a more adorable woman when she chose to beaffectionate. I was in that fool's paradise which is so big and holds somany people, sometimes for a year and a half after marriage. Then oneday I found myself outside the wall. 

"There was a beautiful set to my wife's chin, you may recollect--atrifle strong for a woman; but I used to say to myself that, as studentsknow, the mother most impresses the male offspring, and that my sonswould be men of will. There was a fullness to her lips. Well, so thereis to mine. There was a delicious, languorous craft in the look of hereyes at times. I cared not at all for that. I thought she loved me andknew me. Love of me would give all faithfulness; knowledge of me, evenwere the inclination to wrong existent, would beget a dread ofconsequences. My dear boy, we don't know women. Sometimes women don'tknow men. She did not know me any more than she loved me. She has becomebetter informed. 

"What happened! Well, now come in the dog and the man. The dog was givenme by a friend who was dog-mad, and who said to me the puppy woulddevelop into a marvel of his kind, so long a pedigree he had. Irelegated the puppy to the servants and the basement, and forgot him. The man came in the form of an accidental new friend, an old friend ofmy wife, as subsequently developed. I invited him to my house, and hecame often. I liked to have him there. I wanted to go to Congress--youknow all about that--and wasn't often at home in the evening. He madethe evenings less lonely for my wife, and I was glad of it. I told her Iwould make amends for my absence when the campaign was over. She was allpatience and sweetness. 

"Meanwhile that brute of a puppy in the basement had been developing. Hehad grown into a great, rangy, long-toothed monster, with a leer on hisdull face, and the servants were afraid of him. I got interested andmade a pet of the uncouth animal. I studied the Ulm character. I learnedqueer things about him. Despite his size and strength, he was frequentlyovercome by other dogs when he wandered into the street. He was tameuntil the shadows began to gather and the sun went down. Then a changecame upon him. He ranged about the basement, and none but I daredventure down there. He was, in short, a cur by day, at night a demon. Isupposed the early dogs of this breed had been trained to nightslaughter and savageness alone, and that it was a case of atavism, arecurrence of hereditary instinct. It interested me vastly, and Iresolved to make him the most perfect of watchdogs. I trained him to liecouchant, and to spring upon and tear a stuffed figure I would bringinto the basement. I noticed he always sprang at the throat. 'Hardlines, ' thought I, 'for the burglar who may venture here!'

"It was a little later than this nonsense with the dog, which was apiece of boyishness, a degree of relaxation to the strain of my fightwith down-town conditions, that there came in what makes a man think theaffairs of this world are not adjusted rightly, and makes recurrent theimpulse which was first unfortunate for Abel--no doubt worse for Cain. There is no need for going into details of the story, how I learned, orwhen. My knowledge was all-sufficient and absolute. My wife and myfriend were sinning, riotously and fully, but discreetly--sinningagainst all laws of right and honor, and against me. The mechanism of itwas simple. The grounds back of my house, you know, were large, and youmay not have forgotten the lane of tall, clipped shrubbery that led upfrom the rear to a summer-house. His calls in the evening were madeearly and ended early. The pinkness of all propriety was about them. Theservants suspected nothing. But, his call ended, the graceful gentleman, friend of mine, and lover of my wife, would walk but a few hundredpaces, then turn and enter my grounds at the rear gate I have mentioned, and pass up the arbor to the pretty summer-house. He would find time forpleasant anticipation there as he lolled upon one of the soft divanswith which I had furnished the charming place, but his waiting would notbe long. She would soon come to him, and time passed swiftly. 

"That is the prologue to my little play. Pretty prologue, isn't it?--butcommonplace. The play proper isn't! The same conditions affect mendifferently. When I learned what I have told--after the first awful fiveminutes--I don't like to think of them, even now!--I became the mostdeliberate man on the face of this earth peopled with sinners. Sometimes, they say, the whole substance of a man's blood may be changedin a second by chemical action. My blood was changed, I think. Thepoison had transmuted it. There was a leaden sluggishness, but my headwas clear. 

"I had odd fancies. I remember I thought of a nobleman who had anothertorn slowly apart by horses for proving false to him at the siege ofCalais. His cruelty had been a youthful horror to me. Now I had atremendous appreciation of the man. 'Good fellow, good fellow!' I wentabout muttering to myself in a foolish, involuntary way. I wondered howmy wife's lover could endure the strain of four strong Clydesdales, eachstarted at the same moment, one north, one south, one east, one west. His charming personal appearance recurred to me, and I thought of hisfine neck. Women like a fine-throated man, and he was one. I wondered ifmy wife's fancy tended the same way. It was well this idea came to me, for it gave me an inspiration. I thought of the dog. 

"There is no harm, is there, in training a dog to pull down a stuffedfigure? There is no harm, either, if the stuffed figure be given thesimulated habiliments of some friend of yours. And what harm can therebe in training the dog in a garden arbor instead of in a basement? Idropped into the way of being at home a little more. I told my wife sheshould have alternate nights at least, and she was grateful anddelighted. And on the nights when I was at home I would spend half anhour in the grounds with the dog, saying I was training him in newthings, and no one paid attention. I taught him to crouch in the littlelane close to the summer-house, and to rush down and leap upon themanikin when I displayed it at the other end. Ye gods! how he learned totear it down and tear its imitation throat! The training over, I wouldlock him in the basement as usual. But one night I had a dispatch cometo me summoning me to another city. The other man was to call thatevening, and he came. I left before nine o'clock, but just before goingI released the dog. He darted for the post in the garden, and withgleaming eyes crouched, as he had been accustomed to do, watching theentrance of the arbor. 

"I can always sleep well on a train. I suppose the regular sequence ofsounds, the rhythmic throb of the motion, has something to do with it. I slept well the night of which I am telling, and awoke refreshed when Ireached the city of my destination. I was driven to a hotel; I took abath; I did what I rarely do, I drank a cocktail before breakfast, but Iwanted to be luxurious. I sat down at the table; I gave my order, andthen lazily opened the morning paper. One of the dispatches deeplyinterested me. 

"'Inexplicable Tragedy' was the headline. By the way, 'InexplicableTragedy' contains just about the number of letters to fill a line neatlyin the style of heading now the fashion. I don't know about such things, but it seems to me compact and neat and most effective. The lines whichfollowed gave a skeleton of the story:

"'A WELL-KNOWN GENTLEMAN KILLED BY A DOG. 

"'THEORY OF THE CASE WHICH APPEARS THE ONLY ONE POSSIBLE UNDER THE CIRCUMSTANCES. '

"I read the dispatch at length. A man is naturally interested in thenews from his own city. It told how a popular club man had been found inthe early morning lying dead in the grounds of a friend, his throat tornopen by a huge dog, an Ulm, belonging to that friend, which had somehowescaped from the basement of the house, where it was usually confined. The gentleman had been a caller at the residence the same evening, andhad left at a comparatively early hour. Some time later the mistress ofthe place had gone out to a summer-house in the grounds to see that theservants had brought in certain things used at a luncheon there duringthe day, but had seen nothing save the dog, which snarled at her, whenshe had gone into the house again. In the morning the gardener found thebody of Mr. ----- lying about midway of an arbor leading from a gatewayto the summer-house. It was supposed that the unfortunate gentleman hadforgotten something, a message or something of that sort, and upon itsrecurrence to him had taken the shorter cut to reach the house again, ashe might do naturally, being an intimate friend of the family. That wasall there was of the dispatch. 

"Oddly enough, I received no telegram from my wife, but under thecircumstances I could do nothing else than return to my home at once. Isought my wife, to whom I expressed my horror and my sorrow, but shesaid very little. The dog I found in the basement, and he seemed veryglad to see me. It has always been a source of regret to me that dogscannot talk. I see that some one has learned that monkeys have alanguage, and that he can converse with them, after a fashion. If wecould but talk with dogs!

"I saw the body, of course. I asked a famous surgeon once which wouldkill a man the quicker: severance of the carotid artery or the jugularvein? I forget what his answer was, but in this case it really cut nofigure. The dog had torn both open. It was on the left side. From this Iinfer that the dog sprang from the right, and that it was that big fangin his left upper jaw that did the work. Come here, you brute, and letme open your mouth! There, you see, as I turn his lips back, what abeauty of a tooth it is! I've thought of having that particular fangpulled, and of having it mounted and wearing it as a charm on mywatch-chain, but the dog is likely to die long before I do, and I'veconcluded to wait till then. But it's a beautiful tooth!

"I've mentioned, I believe, that my wife was a woman of keen perception. You will understand that after the unfortunate affair in the garden, ourrelations were somewhat--I don't know just what word to use, but we'llsay 'quaint. ' It's a pretty little word, and sounds grotesque in thisconversation. One day I provided an allowance for her, a good one, andcame away here alone to play farmer and shoot and fish for four or fiveyears. Somehow I lost interest in things, and knew I needed a rest. Asfor her, she left the house very soon and went to her own home. Oddlyenough, she is in love with me now--in earnest this time. But we shallnot live together again. I could never eat a peach off which the streetvendors had rubbed the bloom. I never bought goods sold after a fire, even though externally untouched. I don't believe much in salvage asapplied to the relations of men and women. I've seen, in the earlymorning, the unfortunates who eat choice bits from the garbage barrels. So they stifle a hunger, but I couldn't do it, you know. Odd, isn't it, what little things will disturb the tenor of a man's existence andinterfere with all his plans?

"I came here and brought the dog with me. I'm fond of him, despite thefailings in his character. Notwithstanding his currishness and thecowardly ferocity which comes out with the night, there is somethingdefinite about him. You know what to expect and what to rely upon. Hedoes something. That is why I like Ulm. 

"What am I going to do? Why, come back to town next year and pick up thethreads. My nerves, which seemed a little out of the way, are betterthan they were when I came here. There's nothing to equal country air. Imust have that whirl in my district yet. I don't think the boys havequite forgotten me. Have you noticed the drift at all? I could onlyjudge from the papers. How are things in the Ninth Ward?"

THE HAIR OF THE DOG THAT BIT HIM

I have read hundreds of queer histories. I have myself had variousadventures, but I know of no experience more odd than that of an oldschoolmate of mine named John Appleman. John was born in Macomb County, southeastern Michigan, in the year 1830. His father owned a farm of onehundred acres there. John's mother died when he was but a lad, and afterthat he lived alone with his father upon the farm. In 1855 John's fatherdied. In 1856 John married a pretty girl of the neighborhood. A yearlater a child was born to them, a daughter. This is the brief history ofJohn Appleman up to the time when he began to develop his realpersonality. 

He was a contented personage in his early married life. His wife, whilenot a shrew, had undoubted force of character, but there was not muchattrition; and his little daughter was, in John's estimation, thefairest child upon the continent. Personally, he was content with allthe world, though his wife was somewhat less so. John had his failings. He was not counted among the farmers of the neighborhood as a "pushing"man. There was still much woodland in Macomb County in the year 1857, and in autumn the woods were most enticing. Squirrels, black and gray, were still abundant where the oak and hickory were; the ruffled grousestill fed in families upon beech-nuts on the ridges and the thorn-applesof the lowlands. The wild turkey still strutted about in flocks rapidlythinning, and occasionally a deer fell to the lot of the shrewd hunter. John liked to hunt and fish. He wasted time that way, his neighborssaid, and his wife was of the same opinion. It is true, he possessedcertain qualities which, even in their utilitarian eyes, commanded someslight respect. He was so close to nature in his thoughts and fanciesthat he knew many things which they did not, and which had a moneyvalue. It was he, for instance, who first recognized the superiorquality of the White Neshannock, the potato of the time. It was he whografted the Baldwin upon his apple-trees, recognizing the fact that thisparticular apple was a toothsome and marketable and relativelynon-decaying fruit. And it was he who could judge best as to whatcrosses and combinations would most improve the breed of horses andcattle and hogs and sheep. They admitted his "faculty, " as they calledit, in certain directions, but they had a profound contempt for him inothers. They could not understand why he would leave standing in themidst of a wheat-field a magnificent soft maple, the branches of whichshaded and made untillable an area of scores of yards. They could notunderstand why he hesitated to murder a tree. So it came that he waswith them while scarcely of them, and that Mrs. Appleman, who could notcomprehend, belonged to the majority. 

It must not be understood that John Appleman was unpopular. On thecontrary, each sturdy farmer rather liked while he criticised him. HadJohn run for township clerk, or possibly even for supervisor, that mostimportant of township honors throughout Michigan, he might have beenelected, but John did not know his strength. He recognized his ownweakness, after a fashion. He knew that he would work violently for amonth or two at a time, giving the vigorous hired man a decent test inholding his physical own, and he knew that after that he would becomewhat the people called "slack, " and a little listless; and it was in hisslack times that the squirrel and grouse most suffered. Between him andthe wife of his bosom had grown nothing, so grave as to be described asan armed neutrality; but more and more he hesitated in entering thehouse after an evening's work, and more and more he drifted down to theCorners--that is, the cross-roads where were the postoffice and theblacksmith-shop and the general store. He liked to be with the otherfellows. He liked human companionship; and since his fellows drank, hebegan to drink with them. It is needless to explain how the habit grewupon him. The man who drinks whisky affects his stomach, and thestomach affects the nerves, and there is a sort of arithmeticalprogression until the stimulant eventually seems to become almost a partof life; and the man, unless he be one of great force of character, orone most knowing and scientific, must yield eventually to the stress ofclose conditions. Time came when John Appleman yielded, and carriedwhisky home in a gallon jug and hid it in the haymow. 

Need does not exist for any going into details, for telling of whathappened at the cross-roads store, of what good stories were related dayby day and week by week and month by month, while the cup went round; itis sufficient to say that the stomach of John Appleman became querulouswhen he had not taken a stimulant within a limited number of hours, andthat he was in a fair way of becoming an ordinary drunkard. With hisexperience and decadence came, necessarily, an expertness of judgment asto the quality of that which he drank. He could tell good liquor frombad, the young from the old. 

It came that, being thoughtful and imaginative, John Appleman decidedthat he, at least, should drink better liquor than did tipplers ingeneral. He would not be seen a weakly vagrant, buying his jugful at thecorner store; neither would he drink raw liquor. He would buy it inquantity and let it age upon his farm, and so with each replenishing ofthe jug from his private store would come an increase in quality derivedfrom greater age, until in time each daily tipple would be an absorptionof something so smooth and potent that immediate subsequent existencewould be a thing desirable in all ways. And John Appleman had a plan. 

The Appleman barn and house stood perhaps three hundred yards apart, near the crest of what was hardly worthy the name of hill, which slopeddownward into what they called the "flats, " through which the creek ran. The barn stood very close to uncleared woodland, and the banks endingthe woodland showed a decidedly rocky exterior. Appleman, chasing awoodchuck one day, had seen him scurry into a hole in this rockysurface, and prying away with a handspike had unloosed a small mass ofrock and discovered a cave; not much of a cave, it is true, but one ofat least twenty feet in length and eight or ten in breadth, and full sixfeet in height. This discovery occurred a year or two before John feltthe grip of any stimulant. He had forgotten all about it until therecame to him the idea of drinking better whisky than did other people. 

John had sold a yoke of oxen and a Blackhawk colt, and two hundreddollars in gold were resting heavily in his little cherry-wood desk inthe farm-house sitting-room. One day he took ten of these gold-piecesand went to town; not to the cross-roads, but to the larger place, someten miles distant, where was a distillery, and there he bought twobarrels of whisky. Whisky in those days, before the time of presenttaxes, was sold from the distillery at prices ranging from thirty-fiveto fifty cents a gallon, about forty-seven gallons to a barrel. The teamof horses dragged wearily home the heavy load; but they did not stopwhen home was reached, either in front of the house or at the barn-yardgate. Instead, they were turned aside through a rude gate leading intothe flats, and thence drew the load to the mouth of the little cave, where, unseen by any one, Appleman tilted the barrels out and left themlying on the sward. 

Other things had been bought in town that day, and Appleman had nodifficulty in giving reasons for the lateness of his home-coming. Nextday, though, he was a busy man. By the exercise of main strength, andthe leverage afforded with a strong ironwood handspike, he succeeded inrolling both those barrels into the cave and uptilting them, and leavingthem standing high and dry. The cave was as dry as a bone. He noted withsatisfaction the overhanging clay bank above, and felt that if he wereto be called away his treasure would be safe, since the opening woulddoubtless soon be hidden from the sight of anybody. When he went to bedthat night he thought much of the hidden barrels. 

An incident has been neglected in this account. When John Applemanbought those barrels, the son of the distiller, a boy of ten, was toldto see that two designated barrels were rolled out from the storeroom. The boy marked them, utilizing the great chunk of red chalk which everycountry boy carried in his pocket some forty years ago. Furthermore, being a boy and having time to waste, he decorated the barrels withvarious grotesque figures, the ungainly fruit of his imagination. Thisboy's work with that piece of red chalk had an effect upon the future ofJohn Appleman. 

So things drifted, the whisky in the cave getting a little older, thefriction between John Appleman and his more business-like wife gettingsomewhat more vigorous and emitting more domestic sparks, until therecame a change to every one. The farmer, who had read of martial music, heard with his own ears the roll of the drum and the shrieking, encouraging call of the fife. War was on, and good men abandoned homesand families and surroundings because of what we call patriotism andprinciple. As for John Appleman, he was among the very first to enlist. He went into the army blithely. It is to be feared that John Appleman, like many a worthier man, preferred the various conditions appertainingto the tented field and the field of battle to that narrower scene ofconflict called the home. Before leaving, however, he crept into thecave and varnished those two barrels with exceeding thoroughness. 

"That will rather modify the process of evaporation. There will be goodwhisky there when I come home next year, " he said. 

John Appleman went to the war with a Michigan regiment, and it is butjustice to him to say that he made an amazingly good soldier. He wasmade corporal and sergeant, and later second lieutenant, and filled thatposition gallantly until the war ended. That was his record in the greatstruggle. Meanwhile his home relations had somewhat changed. 

Rather happier in the army than on the farm, John Appleman had felt asense of half-gratitude that there had been no objection to hisdeparture, and for months after he left Michigan he sent most of hissoldier's pay home to his wife. Then came promotion and little attendantexpenses, and he sent less. There came no letter, and after a while hesent nothing at all. "They have a good farm there which should supportthem, " so he said to himself; "as for me, I am a poor fellow battlingalong down here, and what little I get I need. " There ceased to be anyremittances, and there ceased to be any correspondence. 

The war ended and John Appleman was free again; but he had a personalacquaintance with a friend of the Confederate Major John Edwards ofMissouri, the right-hand man of the daring General Joe Shelby. Therewere meetings and an exchange of plans and confidences, and the end ofit all was, that Appleman rode into Mexico on that famous foray led byShelby, when the tottering throne of Maximilian was almost given newfoundation by the quixotic raiders. The story of that foray is wellknown, and there is no occasion for repeating it. It need only be saidthat when Shelby's men rode gayly home again, John Appleman was not intheir company. He had met an old friend in the turbulent City of Mexico;had, with due permission, abandoned the ranks of the wild riders, andhad fled away to where were supposable peace and quiet. There wassomething of cowardice in his action now. He had delayed his home-going;he should have been in Michigan shortly after Appomattox, and now he wasafraid to face his vigorous wife and make an explanation. In Guaymas, onthe western coast, he thought peace might be. So he bestrode a mule, andwith his friend traveled laboriously to the shores of the Pacific, andthere with this same friend dropped into the lazy but long life of thelatitude. 

If one had no memory one could do many things. Memory clings ever to aman's coat-tails and drags him back to where he was before. There was atug upon the coat-tails of John Appleman. He was homesick at times. Themusky odors of the coast in blooming time often oppressed him. Thefragrance of the tropic blossom had never become sweeter in his nostrilsthan the breath of northern pines. He wanted to go home, but feared todo so. Mrs. Appleman was assuming monumental proportions in hisestimation. And so the years went by, and John Appleman, dealing outgroceries in Guaymas for such brief hours of the day as people boughtthings, his partner relieving him half the time, hungered more with eachpassing year to see southeastern Michigan, and with each passing yearbecame more alarmed over the prospect of facing the partner of his joysand sorrows there. He was an Anglo-Saxon, far away from home, and theracial instinct and the home instinct were very strong upon him. 

With a tendency toward becoming a drunkard when he left home, JohnAppleton had not developed into one, either during his long experienceas a soldier, or later in western Mexico. There was nothingunexplainable in this. Certain men of a certain quality, worried andhampered, are liable to resort to stimulants; the same sort of men, unhampered, need no stimulants at all. To such as these pure air andnature are stimulants sufficient. Whoever heard of a drunken pioneer andfacer of natural difficulties, from Natty Bumpo of imagination to KitCarson of reality? John Appleman as a soldier did not drink. As a halfidler in Guaymas he tried, casually, _mescal_ and _aguardiente_ and allMexican intoxicants, but cast them aside as things unnecessary. Moreyears passed, and finally fear of Mrs. Appleman became to an extentattenuated, while the scent of the clover-blossoms gained intensity. Andone morning in April, of the good year of our Lord one thousand eighthundred and ninety-four, John Appleman said to himself: "I am going hometo take the consequences. The old lady"--thus honestly he spoke tohimself--"can't be any worse than this hunger in me. I am going toMichigan. "

So he started from Guaymas. He had very little money. The straighteningup of affairs showed him to possess only about four hundred dollars tothe good, but he started gallantly, shirking in his mind the meeting, but overpowered by the homing instinct, the instinct which leads thecarrier-pigeon to its cot. 

Meanwhile there had been living and change upon the farm. Mother anddaughter, left together, existed comfortably for some years, with theaid of the one hired man. The war over, the wife waited patiently thereturn of the husband from whom no letter had come for a long time, butwho she knew was still alive, learning this from returning members ofhis company, who had told of his good services. She had learned later ofhis companionship with the Confederate group under Shelby; but as timepassed and no word came, doubt grew upon her. She wrote to some of theleaders of that wild campaign, and learned from their kindly answersthat her husband had been lost from them somewhere in Mexico. Both sheand her daughter finally decided that he must have met death. In 1867Mrs. Appleman put on mourning, and she and Jane, the daughter, settleddown into the management of their own affairs. 

As heretofore indicated, the farm had not been a bonanza, even when itsmaster was in charge, though its soil was rich and it was a mostdesirable inheritance. Even less profitable did it become under themanagement of the supposed widow and her daughter. They struggledcourageously and faithfully, but they were at a disadvantage. Themowing-machine and the reaper had taken the place of the scythe andcradle. The singing of the whetstone upon steel was heard no longer inthe meadows nor among the ripened grain. The harrow had cast out thehoe. The work of the farm was accomplished by patent devices in wood andsteel. To utilize these aids, to keep up with the farming procession, required a degree of capital, and no surplus had accrued upon theAppleman farm. Mrs. Appleman was compelled to borrow when she bought hermowing-machine, and the slight mortgage then put upon the place wasincreased when other necessary purchases were made in time. The mortgagenow amounted to eleven hundred dollars, and had been that for over fouryears, the annual interest being met with the greatest difficulty. Thefarm, even with the few improved facilities secured, barely supportedthe widow and her daughter. They could lay nothing aside, and now, in1894, there was not merely a threat, but the certainty, of a foreclosureunless the eleven hundred dollars should be paid. It was due on thetwentieth of September. It was the first of September when John Applemanstarted from Guaymas for home. It was nine days later when he left thelittle Michigan station in the morning and walked down the country roadtoward his farm. 

He was sixty-four years of age now, but he was a better-looking man thanhe was when he entered the army. His step was vigorous, his eye wasclear, and there was lacking all that dull look which comes to thecountenance of the man who drinks intoxicants. He was breathing deeplyas he walked, and gazing with a sort of childish delight upon theMichigan landscape about him. 

It seemed to Appleman as if he were awakening from a dream. Real dreamshad often come to him of this scene and his return to it, but thereality exceeded the figments of the night. A quail whistled, and hecompared its note with that of its crested namesake in Mexico, much tothe latter's disadvantage. A flicker passed in dipping flight above thepasture, and it seemed to him that never before was such a golden coloras that upon its wings. Even the call of the woodpecker was music tohim, and the chatter and chirr of a red squirrel perched jauntily on therider of a rail fence seemed to him about the most joyous sound he hadever heard. He felt as if he were somehow being born again. And when hisown farm came into view, the feeling but became intensified. He thoughthe had never seen so fair a place. 

He crossed the bridge above the creek which flowed through his own farm, and saw a man engaged in cutting away the willow bush which had assumedtoo much importance along the borders of the little stream. He calledthe man to him, and did what was a wise thing, something of which he hadthought much during his long railroad journey. 

"Are you working for Mrs. Appleman?" he asked. 

The man answered in the affirmative. 

"Well, " said John, "I want you to go up to the house and say to her thather husband has come back and will be there in a few minutes. "

The man started for the house. Appleman sat down on the edge of thebridge and let his legs dangle above the water, just as he had done manyyears ago when he was a barefooted boy and had fished for minnows with apin hook. How would his wife receive him, and what could he say to her?Well, he would tell her the truth, that was all, and take the chances. He rose and went up the road until opposite his own gate. How familiarthe yard seemed to him! There was the gravel path leading from the gateto the door, and the later flowers, the asters and dahlias, were inbloom on either side, just as they were when he went away in 1861. Thebrightness of the forenoon was upon everything, and it was allinvigorating. He opened the gate and walked toward the house, and justas he reached his hand toward the latch of the door, it opened, and awoman whose hair was turning gray put her arms about his neck and drewhim inside, weeping, and with the exclamation, "Oh, John!"

There was another woman, fair-faced and demure, whom he did notrecognize at first, but who kissed him and called him father. Of whatelse happened at this meeting I do not know. The reunion was at leastgood, and John Appleman was a very happy man. 

But the practical phases of life are prompt in asserting themselves. Itwas not long before John Appleman knew the problem he had to face. Therewas a mortgage nearly due for eleven hundred dollars on the farm, and hehad in his possession only about three hundred dollars. A shrewderfinancier than he might have known how to renew the mortgage, or to liftit by making a new one elsewhere, for the farm was worth many times thesum involved. But Appleman was not a financier. The burden of anxietywhich had rested upon his wife and daughter now descended upon him. Hebrooded and worried until he saw the hour of execution only five daysoff, with no reasonable existent prospect of saving himself. He wanderedabout the fields, plotting and planning vaguely, but to little purpose. One day he stood beside the creek, gazing absent-mindedly toward thehillside. 

Something about the hillside, some association of ideas, perhaps theview of a gnarled honey-suckle-bush where he had gathered flowers in hischildhood, set his memory working, and there flashed upon him theincident of the cave, and what he had left concealed there when he wentinto the army. He looked for the cave's entrance, but saw none. Thematter began to interest him. Why there was no entrance visible waseasily explained. Clay had overrun with the spring rains from thecultivated field above, building gradually upward from the bottom of thelittle hill until the aperture had been entirely hidden. This deposit ofclay, a foot perhaps in depth, reached nearly to the summit of theslight declivity. Appleman began speculating as to where the cave mightbe, and his curiosity so grew upon him that he resolved to learn. He cuta stout blue-beach rod and sharpened one of it, and estimating asclosely as he could where the little cave had been, thrust in histesting-pole. Scarcely half a dozen ventures were required to attain hisobject. He found the cave, then went to the barn and secured a spade andcame back to do a little digging. He had begun to feel an interest inthe fate of those two whisky barrels. It was not a difficult work toeffect an entrance to the cave, and within an hour from the time hebegan digging Appleman was inside and examining things by the aid of alantern which he had brought. He was astonished. The cave had evidentlynever been entered by any one save himself; all was dry and clean, andthe two barrels stood apparently just as he had left them, over thirtyyears ago. He decided that they must be empty, that their contents musthave long since evaporated; but when he tried to tilt one of them overupon its side he found it very heavy. He made further test that day, boring a hole into the top of one of the barrels, with the result thatthere came forth a fragrance compared with which, to a judge of goodliquor, all the perfumes of Araby the Blest would be of no importance. He measured the depth of the remaining contents, and found that eachbarrel was more than two-thirds full. Then he hitched a horse to a buggyand drove to town--drove to the same distillery where he had boughtthose barrels in the latter 'fifties. The distiller of that time hadpassed away and his son reigned in his stead--the youth who haddecorated the barrels with the red chalk-marks. To him, now a keen, middle-aged business man, Appleman told his story. The distiller wasdeeply interested, but incredulous. "I will drive back with you, " hesaid; and late that afternoon the two men visited the cave. 

The visit was a brief one. No sooner did the distiller observe thoselurid hieroglyphics upon the barrels than he uttered a shout of delight. There came back to him the memory of that afternoon so many years ago, and of his boyish exploit in decoration. He applied his nose judiciallyto the auger-hole in the barrel's top. He estimated the amount ofspirits in each. "I wouldn't have believed it, " he said, "if I hadn'tseen it. It's because you varnished the barrels. That made evaporationslow. I'll give you twenty dollars a gallon for all there is of it. "

"I'll take it, " said John Appleman. 

There were in those two barrels just seventy-six gallons of whisky, tocompare with which in quality there was practically nothing else uponthe continent; at least so swore the distiller. Twenty times seventy-sixdollars is fifteen hundred and twenty dollars. The mortgage on the farmwas paid, and John Appleman and wife and daughter leaned back content, out of debt, and, counting the little John had brought home, with fouror five hundred dollars to the good in the county bank. They are doingvery well now. Appleman regrets the disappearance of the deer, wildturkey and ruffed grouse, but the quail are abundant, and the flowersbloom as brightly and the birds sing as sweetly as in the days beforethe war. Time, just as it improved the whisky, has improved his wife, and she has a mellower flavor. He prefers Michigan to Mexico. 

I have read somewhere that there is a moral to the life of every man. Ihave often speculated as to the moral appertaining to the career ofAppleman. If he had never bought those two barrels of whisky he wouldhave lost his farm. On the other hand, had he never taken to drink, hemight have remained at home an ordinary decent citizen, and his farmhave never been in peril. The only moral I have been able to deduce isthis: If by any chance you come into possession of any quantity ofwhisky, don't drink it, but bury it for thirty-five years at least, andsee what will happen. 

THE MAN WHO FELL IN LOVE

He lived in one of the great cities in this country, the man who fell inlove, and was in that city a character at least a little above theordinary rut of men. He had talent and energy, and there had come to hima hard schooling in city ways, though he was born in the forest, and hisyouth had been passed upon a farm sloping downward to the shore of theSt. Clair River, that wonderful strait and stretch of water which flowsbetween broad meadowlands and wheat-fields and connects Lake Huron withthe lower lake system, and itself becomes at last the huge St. Lawrencetumbling down into the Atlantic Ocean. Upon the St. Clair River nowpasses hourly, in long procession, the huge fleet of the lakes, thegrain and ore laden crafts of Lake Superior, queer "whalebacks" and bigpropellers, and the vast fleet of merchantmen from Chicago and Milwaukeeand other ports of the inland seas. The procession upon the watery blueribbon a mile in width, stretching across the farm lands, is somethingnot to be seen elsewhere upon the globe. The boats seen from a distanceappear walking upon the land. Broad sails show white and startlingagainst green groves upon the shore, and the funnels of steamers rearthemselves like smoking stumps of big trees beyond a corn-field. Herepasses a traffic greater in tonnage than that of the Suez Canal, of theMersey, or even of the Thames. But it was not so when the man who fellin love was a boy. There were dense forests upon the river's banks then, and only sailing crafts and an occasional steamer passed, for that washalf a century ago. 

The man who was to fall in love, as will be told, had, in the whirl ofcity life, almost forgotten the sturdy days when he was a youngster inthe little district school, when at other times he rode a mare draggingan old-fashioned "cultivator, " held by his father between the corn rows, and when the little farm hewed out of the woodland had yet stumps onevery acre, when "loggings" and "raisings" drew the pioneers together, and when he, one of the first-born children of that region, had fled forcomfort in every boyish strait to a gentle, firm-faced woman who was hismother. He had, with manhood, drifted to the city, and had become one ofthe city's cream in all acuteness and earnestness and what makes thepulse of life, when thousands and tens and hundreds of thousandscongregate to live together in one vast hive. He was a man of affairs, aman of the world, easily at home among traders and schemers for money, at a political meeting, at a banquet, or in society. Sometimes, in themidst of things, would float before his eyes a vision of woods, of darksoil, of a buckwheat field, of squirrels on brush fences, of a broad, blue river, and finally of a face, maternal and sweet, with brown eyes, hovering over him watchfully and lovingly. He would think of theearnest, thoughtful, bold upbringing of him, and his heart would go outto the woman; but the tide of city affairs rose up and swept away thevision. Still, he was a good son, as good sons at a distance go, andoccasionally wrote a letter to the woman growing older and older, orsent her some trifle for remembrance. He was reasonably content withhimself. 

Here comes another phase of description in this brief account of affairsof the man who fell in love. One afternoon a woman sat in an arm-chairon the long porch in front of what might have by some been called asummer cottage, by others a farm-house, overlooking the St. Clair River. The chair she sat in was of oak, with no arms, and tilted easilybackward, yet with no chance of tipping clear over. It must have costoriginally about four dollars. In its early days it had possessed a caneback and cane bottom, through the round holes of which the littlechildren were accustomed to thrust their fingers, getting them caughtsometimes, and howling until released. Now its back was of stout canvas, and its seat of cords, upon which a cushion rested. It was in generalappearance, though stout enough, a most disreputable chair among thefiner and more modern ones which stood along the porch upon eitherside. But it was this chair that the aging woman loved. "It was thischair he liked, " she would say, "and it shall not be discarded. He usedto sit in it and rock and dream, and it shall stay there while I live. "She spoke the truth. It was that old chair the boy, now the city man, had liked best of all. 

She sat there, this gray-haired woman, a picture of one of the motherswho have made this nation what it is. The hair was drawn back simplyfrom the broad, clear forehead, and her strong aquiline features weresweet, with all their force. Her dress was plain. She sat there, lookingacross the blue waters thoughtfully, and at moments wistfully. 

Not far from the woman on the long, broad porch was a pretty youngerwoman, and beside her two children were playing. The younger woman, themother of the tumbling youngsters, was the niece of the elder one in therude old rocking-chair. She spoke to the two children at times, repressing them when they became too boisterous, or petting and soothingwhen misadventure came to either of them in their gambols. At last shemoved close to the elder, and began to talk. The conversation was aboutthe children, and there was much to say, the gray-haired woman listeningkindly and interestedly. Finally she spoke. 

"Take comfort with the children now, Louisa, " she said, gently, "becauseit will be best for you. It is a strange thing; it is something wecannot comprehend, though doubtless it is all for the best, but I oftenthink that my happiest days were when my children were little, climbingabout my skirts, dependent upon me for everything, as birds in the nestare dependent, and with all my anxiety over them, giving me the greatestcomfort that can come to a woman. But the years passed, and the childrenwent away. They are good men and women; I am proud of them, but they aremine no longer. They love the old mother, too, I know that--when theythink of her. But, oh, Louisa! there is lead in my heart sometimes. Iwant something closer. But I'll not complain. Why should I? It is thelaw of nature. " And she sighed and looked again across the blue water. There were tears in the corners of her eyes. 

The niece, hopeful in the pride of young motherhood, repliedconsolingly: "Aunt, you should be proud of your children. Even Jack, theoldest of them all, is as good as he can be. Think of his long lettersonce in a while. He loves you dearly. "

"Yes, " the old lady replied; "I know he loves me--when he thinks of oldtimes and his boyhood. But, Louisa, I am very lonesome. "

And again her eyes sought the water and the yellow wheat-fields of thefarther shore. 

The road which follows the American bank of the St. Clair River is afine thing in its way. It is what is known as a "dirt" road, well keptand level, of the sort beloved of horses and horsemen, and it liesclose to the stream, between it and the farm lands. At every turn a newand wonderful panorama of green and yellow landscape and azure expanseof water bursts upon the lucky traveler along this blessed highway. Still, being a "dirt" road, when one drives along it at speed therearises in midsummer a slight pillar of dust as the conveyance passes, and one may from a distance note the approach of a possible visitor. 

"There's a carriage coming, aunt, " said the younger woman. 

The carriage came along rapidly, and with a sudden check the horses werebrought to a standstill in front of the house upon the porch of whichthe two women were sitting. Out of the carriage bounded abroad-shouldered gentleman, who stopped only for a moment to givedirections to the driver concerning the bringing of certain luggage tothe house, and who then strode up the pathway confidently. The elderwoman upon the porch looked upon the performance without saying a word, but when the man had got half-way up the walk she rose from the chair, moved swiftly for a woman of her age to where the broad steps from thepathway led up to the porch, and met the ascending visitor with thesimple exclamation:

"Jack, my boy!"

Jack, the "my boy" of the occasion, seemed a trifle affected himself. Helooked the city man, every inch of him, and was one known under mostcircumstances to be self-contained, but upon this occasion he varied alittle from his usual form. He stooped to kiss the woman who had methim, and then, changing his mind, reached out his arms and hugged her alittle as he kissed her. It was a good meeting. 

There was much to talk about, and the mother's face was radiant; but theinstinct of caring and providing for the being whom she had brought intothe world soon became paramount in her breast, and she moved, as she haddone decades ago, to provide for the physical needs of her child. Thisman of the world from the city was but the barefooted six-year-old whomshe had borne and loved and fed and guarded in the years that were past. She must care for him now. And so she told him that he must have supper, and that he must let her go; and there was a sweet tinge of motherlyauthority in her words--unconsciously to her, arbitrary andunconsciously to him, submissive--and she left him to smoke upon thebroad porch, and dawdle in the chair he remembered so well, and talkwith the bright Louisa. 

As for the supper--it would in the city have been called a dinner--itwas good. There were fine things to eat. What about biscuits, so lightand fragrant and toothsome that the butter is glad to meet them? Whatabout honey, brought by the bees fresh from the buckwheat-field? Whatabout ham and eggs, so fried that the appetite-tempting look of thedish and the smell of it makes one a ravenous monster? What aboutold-fashioned "cookies" and huckleberry pie which melts in the mouth?What about a cup of tea--not the dyed green abomination, but lusciousblack tea, with the rich old flavor of Confucian ages to it, and avelvety smoothness to it and softness in swallowing? What aboutpreserves, recalling old memories, and making one think of bees andbutterflies and apples on the trees and pumpkins in the cornrows, androbins and angle-worms and brown-armed men in the hay-fields? Eh, but itwas a supper!

It was late when the man from the city went to bed, and there was muchtalk, for he had told his mother that he intended to stay a littlelonger this time than in the past; that he had been bothered and fledaway from everything for rest. "We'll go up the river to-morrow, " saidhe, "just you and I, and 'visit' with each other. "

He went to his room and got into bed, and then came a little tap at hisdoor. His mother entered. She asked the big strong man how he felt, andpatted his cheek and tucked the bedclothes in about his feet and kissedhim, and went away. He went back forty years. And he repeatedreverently--he could not help it--"Now I lay me, " and slept well. 

There was a breakfast as fine as had been the supper, and as for thecoffee, the hardened man of the city and jests and cynicism foundhimself wondering that there should have developed jokes about what"mother used to make. " The more he thought of it, the madder he became. "We are a nation of cheap laughers, " he said to himself savagely. 

At nine o'clock the mother came out to where the man was smoking on thepiazza, with her bonnet on and ready for the little boat-trip. They wereto go to the outlet of Lake Huron and back. They would have luncheoneither at Sarnia or Port Huron. They would decide when the time came. They were two vagrants. 

Dawdling in steamer chairs and looking upon the Michigan shore satlittle mother of the country and big son of the city. The woman--theblessed silver-haired creature--forgot herself, and talked to the son asa crony. She pointed out spots upon the shore where she, an earlyteacher in the wilderness, had adventures before he was born. There wasBruce's Creek, emptying into the river; and Mr. Bruce, most long-livedof pioneers, had but lately died, aged one hundred and five years. Therewas where the little school-house stood in which she once taught schoolin 1836. There was where she, riding horseback with a sweetheart wholater became governor of the state, once joined with him in a riotousand aimless chase after a black bear which had crossed the road. Hercheeks, upon which there were not many wrinkles, glowed as she told thestory of her youth to the man beside her. He looked upon her with thefull intelligence of a great relationship for the first time in hislife. He fell in love with her. 

It dawned upon this man, trained, cynical, an arrogant production of thecity, what this woman had been to him. She alone of all the human beingsin the world had clung to him faithfully. She had borne and bred, andnow she cherished him, and for one who could see beneath the shell andsee the mind and soul, she was wonderfully fair to look upon. He hadneglected her in all that is best and most appreciated of what wouldmake a mother happiest. But now he was in love. Here came in the man. Hehad the courage to go right in to the woman, a little while after theyhad reached home, and tell her all about it. And the foolish womancried!

A man with a sweetheart has, of course, to look after her and providefor her amusement. So it happened that Jack the next morning announcedin arbitrary way to his mother that they were going to Detroit. 

Men who have been successful in love will remember that after the firstdeclaration and general admission of facts the woman is for a time mostobedient. So it came that this man's sweetheart obeyed him implicitly, and went upstairs to get ready for the journey. She came down almostblushing. 

"My bonnet, " she said, as she came from her room smelling of lavenderand dressed for the journey, "is a little old-fashioned, but it justsuits me; I am old-fashioned myself. "

She was smiling with the happy look of a girl. 

Jack looked at her admiringly. She wore the black silk dress which everyAmerican woman considers it only decent that she should have. It wasmade plainly, without ruffles or bugles or lace, and it fitted hererect, stately figure perfectly. A broad real lace collar encircled herneck, and Jack recognized with delight the solid gold brooch--in shapelike nothing that was ever on sea or land--with which it was fastened. It was a relic from the dim past. Jack remembered that piece of jewelryas far back as his memory stretched. 

The old lady's hands were neatly gloved, and her feet were shod withsubstantial, well-kept laced shoes. Everything about her was immaculate. Jack knew that she had never laid aside the white petticoats andstockings it was her pride to keep spotless. She abominated the newfashions of black and silk. Jack could hear her starched skirts rustleas she came toward him. Her bonnet was black and in style of two orthree years back, and its silk and lace were a trifle rusty. 

"Never mind, mother, we will buy you a bonnet 'as is a bonnet' before wecome back, " the man said as he kissed the happy, shining face. 

The steamers which ply between Detroit and Port Huron and Sarnia are bigand sumptuous, and upon them one sits under awnings in midsummer, andif knowing, takes much delight in the wonderful scenery passed. The St. Clair River pours into St. Clair Lake, and Lake St. Clair is one of thegreat idling places of those upon this continent who can afford to idle. It is a shallow lake, upon the American side stretching out into whatare known as the "Flats, " a vast area of wild rice with deep bluewaterways through them, the haunt of the pickerel and black bass and ofduck and wild geese. Upon the Canadian side, the Thames River comesthrough the lowlands, a deep and reed-fringed stream to contribute tothe lake's pure waters. It was upon the banks of this stream, a littleway from the lake, that the great Indian, Tecumseh, fought his lastfight and died as a warrior should. There is nothing that is notbeautiful on the waterway from Lake Huron to Lake St. Clair. It is justthe place in which to realize how good the world is. It is just theplace for lovers. So Jack, the man who had fallen in love, and hisgray-haired sweetheart were vastly content as the steamer bore themtoward Detroit. 

The man looked upon the woman in a cherishing mood as she sat beside himin a comfortable chair. He noted again the gray hair, thinner than itwas once, and thought of the time when he, a thoughtless boy, wonderedat its mass and darkness. He compared the pale, aquiline features withthe beauty of the woman who, centuries ago it seemed, was accustomed totake him in her lap and cuddle him and make him brave when childishmisadventures came. A greater wave of love than ever came over him. Heregretted the lost years when he might have made her happier, might havegiven her a greater realization of what she had done in the world withher firm example, in a new country, and the strong brood she had borneand suffered for. And he had manhood enough and a sudden impulse to tellher all about it. She listened, but said nothing, and clasped his hand. Mothers will cry sometimes. 

The city was reached, and there was a proper luncheon, and then thearbitrary son dragged his sweetheart out upon the street with him. Thefirst thing, the matter of great importance, was the bonnet, not that hecared for the bonnet particularly, but he was a-sweethearting. He wasgoing to spoil his girl if he could, that was what he said. His girlonly looked up with glistening eyes, and submitted obediently to behaled along in the direction of a "swell" milliner's place, the name ofwhich Jack had secured after much examination of the directory and muchinquiry in offices where he was acquainted. 

As they walked along the busy street they met a lady of unmistakablydistinguished appearance. Instantly she recognized the mother and son, and stopped to greet them. 

She was an old playmate of Jack's and a protégé of his mother's, nowthe wife of a man of brains, influence, money, and a leader in thesocial life of the City of the Straits. 

There came an inspiration to the man. "Mrs. Sheldon, " said he, "I wantyou to help us. We are this moment about to engage in a businesstransaction of great importance; in fact, if you must know the worst, weare going to buy a bonnet!"

Mrs. Sheldon entered into the shopping expedition with a zest whichreminded Jack of the Scriptural battle-steed which sayeth "Ha-ha" to thetrumpets. When the brief but brisk and determined engagement was over, Jack's mother appeared in a bonnet of delicate gray, just a shade darkerthan her silver hair. There was a pink rose in that bonnet, half hiddenby lace, and in the cheeks of its wearer faintly bloomed two other pinkroses. It was just a dream in bonnets as suited to the woman. The motherhad protested prettily, had said the bonnet was "too young" and allthat, but had been browbeaten and overcome and made submissive. Mrs. Sheldon was in her element, and happy. Well she knew the man of theworld who had demanded her aid, and much she wanted to please him; butdeeper than all, her woman's instinct told her of his suddenly realizedlove for his old mother, and she was no longer a woman of fashion alone, but a helpful human being. Even her own eyes were suspiciously moist asshe dragged the couple off to dine with her. 

They were to go to the theater that evening, the man and hissweetheart, and by chance stumbled upon a well-staged comic opera, withgood music and brilliant and picturesque although occasionally scantycostumes. On the way down the son told the mother of how in Detroit, wayback in the sixties, he had seen for the first time a theatricalperformance. He told her what she had forgotten, how she had induced hisfather to take him to the city, and how, in what was "Young Men's Hall, "or something with a similar name, he had seen Laura Keene in "A Schoolfor Scandal. " Then she remembered, and was glad. They had seats in a boxat the theater, and from the rising of the curtain till its final dropthe man was in much doubt. The manner in which women were dressed uponthe stage had changed since the last time when his mother had visitedthe theater. She was shocked when she saw the forms of women, which, ifat least well covered, were none the less outlined. 

There was talking in that box. The son explained. The blessed womanalmost "bolted" once or twice, but finally accepted all that was toldher with the precious though sometimes mistaken confidence a woman hasin the matured judgment of the man-child she has borne. Then, having astreak of the Viking recklessness in her which she had given to her son, she enjoyed herself amazingly. It was a glorious outing. 

Well, in the way which has been described, the man made love to thewoman for a day or two. Then he took her home, and bade her good-by fora time, and told her, in an exaggeratedly formal way, which sheunderstood and smiled at, that he and she must meet each other muchoftener in the future. Then he hugged her and went away. And she, beinga mother whose heart had hungered, watched his figure as it disappeared, and laughed and cried and was very happy. 

"Louisa, " said a dignified old lady, "I was mistaken in saying that allhappiness from children comes in their youth. It may come in a greaterway later--if!"

A TRAGEDY OF THE FOREST

It is Christmas eve. A man lies stretched on his blanket in a copse inthe depths of a black pine forest of the Saginaw Valley. He has beenhunting all day, fruitlessly, and is exhausted. So wearied is he withlong hours of walking, that he will not even seek to reach thelumbermen's camp, half a mile distant, without a few moment's rest. Hehas thrown his blanket down on the snow in the bushes, and has thrownhimself upon the blanket, where he lies, half dreaming. No thought ofdanger comes to him. There is slight risk, he knows, even were he tofall asleep, though the deep forests of the Saginaw region are notuntenanted. He is in that unexplainable mental condition which sometimescomes with extreme exhaustion. His bodily senses are dulled and wearied, but a phenomenal acuteness has come to those perceptions so hard ofdefinition--partly mental, partly psychological. The man lying in thecopse is puzzled at his own condition, but he does not seek to analyzeit. He is not a student of such phenomena. He is but a vigorous youngbackwoodsman, the hunter attached to the camp of lumbermen cutting treesin the vicinity. The man has lain for some time listlessly, but thefeeling which he cannot understand increases now almost to anoppression. He sees nothing, but there is an unusual sensation whichalarms him. He recognizes near him a presence--fierce, intense, unnatural. A rustle in the twigs a few feet distant falls upon his ears. He raises his head. What he sees startles and at the same time robs himof all volition. It is not fear. He is armed and is courageous enough. It is something else; some indefinable connection with the object uponwhich he looks which holds him. There, where it has drawn itself closelyand stealthily from its covert in the underbrush, is a huge gray wolf. 

The man can see the gaunt figure distinctly, though the somber light isdeepening quickly into darkness. He can see the grisly coat, the yellowfangs, the flaming eyes. He can almost feel the hot breath of the beast. But something far more disturbing than that which meets his eye affectshim. His own individuality has become obscured and another is taking itsplace. He struggles against the transformation, but in vain. He can readthe wolf's thoughts, or rather its fierce instincts and desires. He isthe wolf. 

Undoubtedly there exists at times a relation between the souls of humanbeings. One comprehends the other. There is a transfer of wishes, emotions, impulses. Now something of the same kind has happened to theman with this dreadful beast. He knows the wolf's heart. The mantrembles like one in fear. The perspiration comes in great drops uponhis forehead, and his features are distorted. It is a horrible thing. Now a change comes. The wolf moves. He glides off in the darkness. Thespell upon the man is weakened, but it is not gone. He staggers to hisfeet, and half an hour later is in the lumbermen's camp again. But hecomes in like one insane--pallid of face and muttering. His comrades, startled by his appearance, ply him with questions, receiving onlyincoherent answers. They place him in his rude bunk, where he lieswrithing and twisting about as under strong excitement. His eyes arestaring, as if they must see what those about him cannot see, and hisbreath comes quickly. He pants like a wild beast. There is reason forit. His thoughts are with the wolf. He is the wolf. The personalities ofthe ravening brute and of the man are blended now in one, or rather thepersonality of the man has been eliminated. The man's body is in thelumbermen's camp, but his mind is in the depths of the forest. He isseeking prey!

 * * * * *

"I am hungry! I must have warm blood and flesh! The darkness is here, and my time has come. There are no deer to-night in the pine forest onthe hill, where I have run them down and torn them. The deep snow hasdriven them into the lower forest, where men have been at work. Thedeer will be feeding to-night on the buds of the trees the men havefelled. How I hate men and fear them! They are different from the otheranimals in the wood. I shun them. They are stronger than I in some way. There is death about them. As I crept by the farm beside the river thismorning I saw a young one, a child with yellow hair. Ah, how I wouldlike to feed upon her! Her throat was white and soft. But I dare notrush through the field and seize her. The man was there, and he wouldhave killed me. They are not hungry. The odor of flesh came to me in thewind across the clearing. It was the same way at this time when the snowwas deep last year. It is some day on which they feast. But I will feedbetter. I will have hot blood. The deer are in the tops of the fallentrees now!"

Across frozen streams, gliding like a shadow through the underbrush, swift, silent, with only its gleaming eyes to betray it, the gauntfigure goes. Miles are past. The figure threads its way between thetrunks of massive trees. It passes over fallen logs with long, noiselessleaps; it creeps serpent-like beneath the wreck left by a summer"cyclone"; it crosses the barren reaches of oak openings, where theshadows cast by huge pines adjacent mingle in fantastic figures; itcasts a shifting shadow itself as it sweeps across some lighter spot, where faint moonbeams find their way to the ground through overhangingbranches. The figure approaches the spot where the lumbermen have beenat work. Among the tops of the fallen trees are other figures--light, graceful, flitting about. The deer are feeding on the buds. 

The eyes of the long gray figure stealing on grow more flaming still. The yellow fangs are disclosed cruelly. Slowly it creeps forward. It isclose upon the flitting figures now. There is a rush, a fierce, hungryyelp, a great leap. There is a crash of twigs and limbs. The flittingfigures assume another character; the beautiful deer, wild with fright, bounding away with gigantic springs. The steady stroke of their hoofsechoes away through the forest. In the tree-tops there is a greatstruggle, and then the sound comes of another series of great leapsdying off in the distance. The prey has escaped. But not altogether! Thegrisly figure is following. The pace had changed to one of fiercepursuit. It is steady and relentless. 

 * * * * *

The man in the bunk in the lumbermen's camp half leaps to his feet. Hiseyes are staring more wildly, his breathing is more rapid. He appears aman in a spasm. His comrades force him to his bed again, but find itnecessary to restrain him by sheer strength. They think he has gone mad. But only his body is with them. He is in the forest. His prey hasescaped him. He is pursuing it. 

 * * * * *

"It has escaped me! I almost had it by its slender throat when it shookme off and leaped away. But I will have it yet! I will follow swiftlytill it tires and falters, and then I will tear and feed upon it. Theold wolf never tires! Leap away, you fool, if you will. I am coming, hungry, never resting. You are mine!"

With the speed of light the deer bounds away in the direction itsfellows have taken. Its undulating leaps are like the flight of a bird. The snow crackles as its feet strike the frozen earth and flies off in awhite shower. The fallen tree-tops are left behind. Miles are covered. But ever, in the rear, with almost the speed of the flying deer, sweepsalong the trailing shadow. It is long past midnight. The moon has risenhigh, and the bright spots in the forest are more frequent. The deercrosses these with a rush. A few moments later there is in the sameplace the passage of shadow. Still they are far apart. Will they remainso?

Swiftly between the dark pines again, across frozen streams again, through valleys and over hills, the relentless chase continues. Theleaps of the fleeing deer become less vaulting, a look of terror in itsliquid eyes has deepened; its tongue projects from its mouth, its wetflanks heave distressfully, but it flies on in desperation. The distancebetween it and the dark shadow behind has lessened plainly. There is noabatement to the speed of this silent thing. It follows noiselessly, persistently. 

The forest becomes thinner now. The flying deer bounds over a fence ofbrushwood and suddenly into a sea of sudden light. It is the clearing inthe midst of which the farm-house stands. Across the sea of gold made bythe moonshine on the field of snow flies the deer, to disappear in thedepth of the forest beyond. It has scarcely passed from sight, whenemerging from the wood appears the pursuing figure. It is clearlyvisible now. There are flecks of foam upon the jaws, the lips are drawnback from the sharp fangs, and even the light from above does not dimnor lessen the glare in the hungry eyes. The figure passes along thelong bright space. The same scene in the forest beyond, but intensified. The distance between pursuer and pursued is lessening still. The leapsof the deer are weakening now, its quick panting is painful. And thething behind is rushing along with its thirst for blood increased by itsproximity. But the darkness in the forest is disappearing. In the eastthere is a faint ruddy tinge. It is almost morning. 

"I shall have it! It is mine--the weak thing, with its rich, warm blood!Swift of foot as it is, did it think to escape the old wolf? It faltersas it leaps. It is faint and tottering. How I will tear it! The day hasnearly come. How I hate the day! But the prey is mine. I will kill itin the gray light. "

 * * * * *

The man in the bunk in the lumbermen's camp is seized with anotherspasm. He struggles to escape from his friends, though he does not seethem. He is fiercely intent on something. His teeth are set and his eyesglare fiercely. It requires half a dozen men to restrain him. 

 * * * * *

The deer struggles on, still swiftly but with effort. Its breath comesin agony, its eyes are staring from its sockets. It is a pitiablespectacle. But the struggle for life continues. In its flight the deerhad described a circle. Once more the forest becomes less dense, theclearing with the farm-house is reached again. With a last desperateeffort the deer vaults over the brushwood fence. The scene has changedagain. The morning has broken. The great snowy surface which was a seaof gold has become a sea of silver. The farm-house stands out revealedplainly in the increasing light. With flagging movement the fugitivepasses across the field. But there is a sudden, slight noise behind. Thedeer turns its head. Its pursuer is close upon it. It sees the deathwhich nears it. The monster, sure now of its prey, gives a fierce howlof triumph. Terror lends the victim strength. It turns toward thefarm-house; it struggles through the banks of snow; it leaps the lowpalings, where, beside great straw-stacks, the cattle of the farm areherded. It disappears among them. 

The door of the farm-house opens, and from it comes a man who stridesaway toward where the cattle are gathered, lowing for their morningfeed. After the man there emerges from the door a little girl withyellow hair. The child laughs aloud as she looks over the field of snow, with its myriads of crystals flashing out all colors under the rays ofthe morning sun. She dances along the footpath in a direction oppositethat taken by the man. Not far distant, creeping along a deep furrow, isa lank, skulking figure. 

"Can it be? Has it escaped me, when it was mine? I would have torn it atthe farm-house door but that the man appeared. Must I hunger for anotherday, when I am raging for blood! What is that! It is the child, andalone! It has wandered away from the farm-house. Where is the greathound that guards the house at night? Oh, the child! I can see its whitethroat again. I will tear it. I will throttle the weak thing and stillits cries in an instant!"

 * * * * *

The man in the bunk in the lumbermen's camp is wild again. His comradesstruggle to hold him down. 

 * * * * *

A horrible, hairy thing, with flaming eyes and hot breath, which leapsupon and bears down a child with yellow hair. A hoarse growl, the rushof a great hound, a desperate struggle in the snow, and the still air ofmorning is burdened suddenly with wild clamor. There is an opening ofdoors, there are shouts and calls and flying footsteps; and then, mingling with the cries of the writhing brutes, rings out sharply thereport of the farmer's rifle. There is a howl of rage and agony, and agaunt gray figure leaps upward and falls quivering across the form ofthe child. The child is lifted from the ground unhurt. The great houndhas by the throat the old wolf--dead!

 * * * * *

The man in the lumbermen's camp has leaped from his bunk. His appearanceis something ghastly. His comrades spring forward to restrain him, buthe throws them off. There is a furious struggle with the madman. He hasthe strength of a dozen men. The sturdy lumbermen at last gain theadvantage over him. Suddenly he throws up his hands and pitches forwardupon the floor of the shanty--dead. 

They could never understand--the simple lumbermen--why the life of themerry, light-hearted hunter of the party came to an end so suddenly onthe eve of Christmas Day. He was well the day before, they said, inperfect health, but he went mad on the eve of Christmas Day, and in themorning died. 

THE PARASANGS

My friends, the Parasangs, both died last week. Mr. Parasang was carriedoff by a slight attack of pneumonia as dust is wiped away by a cloth, and Mrs. Parasang followed him within three days. He was in life arather energetic man, and she always lagged a little behind him whenthey went abroad walking together, keeping pretty close to him, notwithstanding. So it was in death. It was the shock of the thing, theysay, that killed her, she lacking any great strength; but to me it seemsto have been chiefly force of habit and the effect of what romanticpeople call being in love. She was in love with her husband, as he hadbeen with her. And what was the use of staying here, he gone?

They were buried together, and I was one of the pall-bearers at thedouble funeral; indeed, I was the directing spirit, having been soconnected with the Parasangs that I was their close friend, and theperson to whom every one naturally turned in the adjustment of mattersconcerning them. When Mr. Parasang died, the first instinct of his wifewas to tell them to send for me, and when I reached their home--for Iwas absent from the city--I found that she had clung to and followedhim as usual, as he liked it to be. It was what he lived for as long ashe could live at all. 

They had ordered a fine coffin for Parasang, and when I came he waslying in it. Mrs. Parasang was lying where she had died, in bed. Andthey had ordered another fine coffin for her. (Of course, when I referto the bodies as Mr. And Mrs. Parasang it must be understood that Iconsider only the earthly tenements, for I am a religious man. ) I didnot like it. I went to the undertaker and asked him if he could not makea coffin for two. He answered that it was somewhat of an unusual order, that there were styles and fashions in coffins just as there are inshoes and hats and things of that sort, and that it would be a difficultwork for him to accomplish, in addition to being most expensive. I didnot argue with him at all, for I knew be had the advantage of me. I amnot an expert in coffins, and, of course, could not meet him upon hisown ground. If it had been the purchase of a horse or gun or dog, or anew typewriting machine, it would have been an altogether differentthing. 

I simply told the undertaker to go ahead and make such a coffin as I hadordered, regardless of expense. I wanted it softly cushioned, and I toldhim not to make it unnecessarily wide. I wanted them side by side, withtheir faces turned upward, of course, so that we could all have a fairlast look at them, but I wanted them so close together that they wouldbe touching from head to foot. I wanted it so that when they became dustand bone all would be mingled, and that even the hair, which does notdecay for some centuries, which grows, you know, after death, would beall twined together. 

The undertaker followed my instructions, for undertakers get to be asmechanical as shoemakers or ticket-sellers; but the relations of theParasangs and close friends at home thought it an odd thing to havedone. I overrode them and had things all my own way, for I knew I wasright. I knew the Parasangs better than any one else. I knew what theywould have me do were communications between us still possible. 

There was something so odd about the love story of the Parasangs that italways interested me. It made me laugh, but I was in full sympathy withthem, though sympathy was something of which they were not in need. Thequeer thing about it was their age. 

Mr. Parasang and I were cronies. We were cronies despite the number ofyears which had elapsed since our respective births. He wasseventy-eight. Mrs. Parasang was seventy-five. And they had been marriedbut two years. I knew Mr. Parasang before the wedding, and it wasbecause of my close intimacy with him that I came to know the relationsbetween the two and the story of it. I was just forty years his junior. 

I can't understand why the man died so easily. He was such avigorous-looking person for his age, and seemed in such perfect health. He was one of your apparently strong, gray-mustached old men, and didnot look to be more than sixty-five at most. His wife, I think, wasreally stronger than he, though she did not appear so young. It is oftenthat way with women. The attack of pneumonia which came upon Parasangwas not, the doctors told me, vicious enough to overthrow an ordinaryman. I suppose it was merely that this man's life capital had run out. There is a great deal in heredity. Sometimes I think that each child isborn with just such a capital and vitality, something which could berepresented in figures if we knew how to do it; and that, though it isaffected to an extent by ways of living, the amount of capitaldetermines, within certain limits, to a certainty how long its possessorwill do business on this round lump of earth. I think Parasang's timefor liquidation had come. That is all. As for Mrs. Parasang, I think shecould have stayed a little longer if she had cared to do so, but shewent away because he had gone. One can just lie down and die sometimes. 

I have drifted away from what I was going to say--this problem of dyingalways attracts--but I will try to get back to the subject proper. I wasgoing to tell of the odd love story of the Parasangs, or at least whatstruck me as odd, because, as I have said, of their ages. There isnothing in it particular aside from that. 

A little less than fifty years ago--that must have been about whenTaylor was President--Parasang was engaged to marry a girl of whom hewas very fond, and who was very fond of him. Well, these two, much inlove, and just suited to each other, must needs have a difference of thesort known as a lovers' quarrel. That in itself was nothing to speak of, for most lovers, being young and fools, do the same thing. But it sohappened that these two, being also high-spirited, carried thedifference farther than is usual with smitten, callow males and females, and let the breach widen until they separated, as they thought, finally. And she married in course of time, and so did he. It's a way peoplehave; a way more or less good or bad, according to circumstances. Shelived with a commonplace husband until he died and left her a widow, aged sixty or thereabout. Mr. Parasang's wife died about the same time. What sort of a woman she was I do not know. I remember the old gentlemantold me once that she was an excellent housekeeper and had the gift oftalking late o' nights. I could not always tell what Parasang meant whenhe said things. He was one of the sort of old gentlemen who leave muchto be inferred. 

Parasang had drifted here, and was a reasonably well-to-do man. His oldsweetheart had come also because her late husband had made aninvestment here, and she found it to her interest to live where herincome was mostly earned. Neither knew how near the other was, and theyears passed by. Eventually the two met by an accident of the sheerestkind. Possibly they had almost forgotten each other, though I don'tthink that is so. They met among mutual friends, and--there they were. Ihave often wondered how it must seem to meet after half a century. Thereis something about the brain which makes the reminiscences fresh to onesometimes, but of an early love story it must be like a dream to theaged. Something uncertain and vaguely sweet. Just think of it--half acentury, more than one generation, had passed since these two had met. Their old love story must have seemed to them something all unreal, something they had but read long ago in a book. 

Parasang was a large man, but Mrs. Blood--that was now his oldsweetheart's name--was a small woman. Her hair was nearly white when Imet her, but from the color of a few unchanged strands of it, I imaginethat it must have been red when she was young. Maybe that was why thelovers' quarrel of over fifty years ago had been so spirited. She wasboth spirited and charming, even at seventy-two, and at twenty must havebeen a fascinating woman. Parasang was doubtless himself a strikingperson when he was young. I have already said what he was like in hisold age. Both the man and woman had retained the personal regard forthemselves which is so pleasant in old people, and Mrs. Blood was stillas dainty as could be, in her trim gowns, generally of some fluffy blackor silvery gray material, and Parasang was as strong and wholesomelooking as an ox. I shall always regret that I was not present when theymet. A study of their faces then would have been worth while. 

Parasang once told me about this second wooing of his wife--and it wasdroll. There seemed nothing funny about it to him. He said that afterbeing introduced to Mrs. Blood, and recognizing her in an instant afterall those years, as she did him, they sat down on a sofa together, beingleft to entertain each other, as the two oldest people in the room; andthat he uttered a few commonplace sentences, and she replied gently inthe same vein for a little time; and that then each stopped talking, andthat they sat there quietly gazing at each other. And he said thatsomehow, looking into her eyes, even with the delicate glasses on them, the earth seemed to be slipping away, and there was the girl he hadknown and loved again beside him; and then the years passed by inanother direction, only more slowly. And the girl seemed to get a littleolder and a little older, and the hair changed and the cheeks fell alittle at the sides just below the mouth, you know, and there camecrow's feet at the outer corners of her eyes, and wrinkles across herneck, but that nothing of all this physical happening ever changed oneiota the real look of her, the look which is from the heart of a womanwhen a man has once really known her. And so the years glided over theircourse, she changing a little with each, yet never really changing atall, until it came again up to the present moment, with her beside himon the sofa, real and tangible, just as he would have her in every way. 

"I don't suppose you can understand it, " he said, "for you are only aboy in such things yet" (those old fellows call everything under fifty aboy); "but I tell you it is a wonderful thing to know what a love isthat can come out of the catacombs, so to speak, and be all itselfagain, " and he said this as jauntily as if I, being so young, couldn'tknow anything about the proper article, as far as sentiment wasconcerned. 

They sat there on the sofa, he said, still silent and looking at eachother. At last, when he had fully realized it all, he spoke. 

"I knew that you were a widow, Jennie, but I did not know that you wereliving here. "

She explained that she had been in the city for some time and the reasonof it, and then the conversation lagged again; and they were very muchlike two young people at a children's party, save that they weredreaming rather than embarrassed, and that, I suppose, they felt the drygerm of another age seeking the air and the sunshine of living. Youknow they have found grains of wheat in the Egyptian mummy cases, whichwere laid away over three thousand years ago, and that these grains ofwheat, under the new conditions, have sprouted and grown and shot upgreen stalks and borne plump seeds again. And the love of Mr. And Mrs. Parasang has always reminded me of the mummy wheat. 

They talked a little of old friends and of old times, but their talk wasnot all unconstrained, because, you see, they couldn't refer to thoseformer times and scenes without recalling, involuntarily, some day orsome hour when they two were together, and when there seemed a chainbetween their hearts which nothing in the world could break. It was anawful commentary on the quality of human love and human pledges thatthings should be as they had been and as they were. It was a reflection, in a sense, on each of them. How hollow had been everything--and it wasall their fault. 

They both kept looking at each other, and when they parted he asked ifhe might call upon her, and she assented quietly. He called next day, and found her all alone, for a niece who lived with her had gone away;and they became, he said, a little more at ease. And then began the mostdelicate of all wooings. I met them sometimes then and guessed at it, though as yet Parasang had not told me the story. He was moreconsiderate, I imagine, than he had been in youth, and she, it may be, less exacting. It was a mellow relationship, yet with a shyness that wasamazing. They were drifting together upon soft waves of memory, yetwondering at the happening. 

And one day he asked her if she would be his wife. She had known, ofcourse--a woman always knows--but she blushed and looked up at him, andtears came into her eyes. 

And he thought of the time, so long ago, when he had asked her the samequestion. He could not help it. And somehow she did not seem less. Hethought only of how foolish they had been to throw away a heritage ofbelonging to each other; and then he thought of how the man, theprotector, the guardian of both, should have taken the broader view andhave been above all pettishness and have yielded for the sake of both. She would not have thought more lightly of him. She would haveunderstood some day. For the lost past he blamed himself alone. 

She answered him at last, but it was not as she had answered once. Shespoke sweetly and bravely of their age and of the uselessness of it allnow, and of what people would say, and of other things. But her eyeswere just as loving as when his hair was dark. 

And when she had said all those things he did what made me like him. There was good stuff in Parasang. He merely took her in his arms. Furthermore, he told her when they would be married. And I was at thewedding on that day. 

It was six months later when I got the habit of dining with them prettyregularly and of calling for Parasang on my way down town in themorning. She came into the hall with him, as do young wives, and kissedhim good-by, and it pleased and interested me amazingly. The outlines oftheir mouths were not the same as they were half a century ago, and ashe bent over her I thought each time of--

 "And their spirits rushed together At the meeting of the lips";

and it would occur to me queerly that spirits had but slender causewaythere. I was mistaken, though. I learned that later. 

There was but this variation between the early wedded life of this agedpair and of what would possibly have happened had they married young. There were no differences and no "makings-up. " It was a pleasantstream--I knew it would be--but the volume of it surprised me. 

That is all. There is no plot to the story of what I know of these dearfriends of mine whom I cannot see now. And it was but because of what Ihave told that I had them buried as they were. There was nothing, fromthe ordinary standpoint, which justified my course in overrunning thoseother people who would have buried the two apart; but I believe myselfthat one should, within reason, seek to gratify the fancies of one'sclosest friends. 

LOVE AND A TRIANGLE

A man came out of a mine, looked about him, inhaled the odor from thestunted spruce trees, looked up at the clear skies, then called to a boyidling in a shed at a little distance from the mine buildings, tellinghim to bring out the horse and buckboard. The name of the man who hadissued from the mine was Julius Corbett, and he was a civil engineer. Furthermore, he was a capitalist. 

He was an intelligent looking man of about thirty-five, and a resolutelooking one, this Julius Corbett, and as he stood waiting for thebuckboard, was rather worth seeing, vigorous of frame, clear of eye andbronzed by a summer's work in a wild country. The shaft from which hehad just emerged was that of a silver mine not five miles distant fromBlack Bay, one of the inlets of the northern shore of Lake Superior, andwas a most valuable property, of which he was chief owner. He hadinherited from an uncle in Canada a few hundred acres of land in thisregion, but had scarcely considered it worthy the payment of its slighttaxes until some of the many attempts at mining in the region had provedsuccessful, and it was shown that the famous Silver Islet, worked outyears ago in Lake Superior, was not the only repository thereabouts ofthe precious metal. Then he had abandoned for a time the practice of hisprofession--he had an office in Chicago--and had visited what hereferred to lightly as his "British possessions. " He had found richindications, had called in mining experts, who confirmed all he hadimagined, and had returned to Chicago and organized a company. There wasa monotonous success to the undertaking, much at variance with the storyof ordinary mining enterprises. Corbett had become a very rich manwithin two years; he was worth more than a million, and was becomingricher daily. He was, seemingly, a person much to be envied, and wouldnot himself, on the day here referred to, have denied such imputation, for he was in love with an exceedingly sweet and clever girl, and knewthat he had won this same charming creature's heart. They were plightedto each other, but the date of their marriage was not yet fixed. He hadclosed up his business at the mine for the season, and was now about tohasten to Chicago, where the day of so much importance to him would befixed upon and the sum of his good fortune soon made complete. This wasin September, 1898. 

It was not a commonplace girl whom Corbett was to marry. On thecontrary, she was exceptionally gifted, and a young woman whosecleverness had been supplemented by an elaborate education. There was, however, running through her character a vein of what might be calledemotionalism. The habit of concentration, acquired through study, seemedrather to intensify this quality than otherwise. Perhaps it made evengreater her love for Corbett, but it was destined to perplex him. 

In September the air is crisp along the route from Black Bay to Duluth, and from that through fair Wisconsin to Chicago, and Corbett's spiritswere high throughout the journey. Was he not to meet Nell Morrison, inhis estimation the sweetest girl on earth? Was he not soon to possessher entirely and for a permanency? He made mental pictures of themeeting, and drifted into a lover's mood of planning. Out of his wealthwhat a home he would provide for her, and how he would gratify hergentle whims! Even her astronomical fancy, Vassar-born, should becomehis own, and there should be an observatory to the house. He had aweakness for astronomy himself, and was glad his wife-to-be had the sametaste intensified. They would study the heavens together from a heavenof their own. What was wealth good for anyhow, save to make happy thosewe love?

The train sped on, and Chicago was reached, and very soon thereafter wasreached the home of the Morrisons. Corbett could not complain of hisreception. The one creature was there, sweet as a woman may be, eager tomeet him, and with tenderness and steadfastness shown in every line ofher pretty face. They spent a charming day and evening together, and hewas content. Once or twice, just for a moment, the young woman seemedabstracted, but it was only for a moment, and the lover thought littleof the circumstance. He was happy when he bade her good-night. "To-morrow, dear, " said he, "we will talk of something of greatestimportance to me, of importance to us both. " She blushed and made noanswer for a second. Then she said that she loved him dearly, and thatwhat affected one must affect the other, and that she would look for himvery early in the afternoon. He went to his hotel buoyant. The world wasgood to him. 

When Corbett called at the Morrison mansion the next day he enteredwithout ringing, as was his habit, and went straight to the library, expecting to find Nell there. He was disappointed, but there were tracesof her recent presence. There was an astronomical map open upon thetable, and books and reviews lay all about, each, open, with a markerindicating a special page. A little glove lay upon the floor, andCorbett picked it up and kissed it. 

He summoned a servant and sent upstairs to announce his presence; thenturned instinctively to note what branch of her favorite study was nowattracting his sweetheart's attention. He picked up one of the openreviews, an old one by the way, and read a marked passage there. It wasas follows:

"It will always be more difficult for us to communicate with the peopleof Mars than to receive signals from them, because of our position andphases. It is the nocturnal terrestrial hemisphere that is turned towardthe planet Mars in the periods when we approach most nearly to it, andit shows us in full its lighted hemisphere. But communication ispossible. "

He looked at a map. It was a great chart of the surface of Mars, made bythe famous Italian Schiaparelli, and he looked at more of the reviewsand found ever the same subject considered in the marked articles. Allrelated to Mars. He was puzzled but delighted. "The dear girl has ahobby, " he thought. "Well, she shall enjoy it to the utmost. "

Nelly entered the room. Her face lighted up with pleasure when she mether fiancé, but assumed a more thoughtful look as she saw what he wasreading. She welcomed him, though, as kindly as any lover could demand, and he, of course, was joyously content. "Still an astronomer, I see, "he said, "and apparently with a specialty. I see nothing but Mars, allMars! Have you become infatuated with a single planet, to the neglect ofall the others? I like it, though. We will study Mars together. "

Her face brightened. "I am so glad!" she said. "I have studied nothingelse for months. It has been so almost from the day you left us. And itis not Mars alone I am studying; it is the great problem ofcommunication with the people there. Oh, Julius, it is possible, and theidea is something wonderful! Just think what would follow! It would bethe beginning of an understanding between reasoning creatures of thewhole universe!"

He said that it was something wonderful, indeed, maybe only a dream, buta very fascinating one. 

"Oh, it is no dream, " she answered. "It is a glorious possibility. Why, just think of it, we know, positively know, that Mars is inhabited. Think of what has been discovered. It was perceived years ago that Marswas intersected by canals, evidently made by human--I suppose that's theword--human beings. They run from the extremes of ocean bays to theextremes of other ocean bays, and connect, too, the many lakes there. Nature does not make such lines. They are of equal width, those canals, throughout their whole length, and Schiaparelli has even watched them inconstruction. First there is a dark line, as if the earth had beendisturbed, and then it becomes bright when the water is let in. Sometimes, too, double canals are made there close to each other, running side by side, as if one were used for travel and transportationin one direction and one in another. And there are many other things aswonderful. The world of Mars is like our own. There are continents andseas and islands there--it is not a dead, dry surface like the moon--andit has clouds and rains and snows and seasons, just as we have, and ofthe same intensity as ours. Oh, Julius, we _must_ communicate withthem!"

"But, my dear, that implies equal interest on their part. How do we knowthem to be intelligent enough?"

"Why, there are the canals. They must be reasoners in Mars. Besides, howdo we know but that they far surpass us in all learning! Mars is mucholder in one way than the Earth, far more advanced in its planet life, and why should not its people, through countless ages of advantage, havebecome wiser than we? Whatever their form, they may be superior to us inevery way. We are to them, too, something which must have been studiedfor thousands of years. The Earth, you know, is to the people on Mars amost brilliant object. It is the most glorious object in their sky, astar of the first magnitude. Oh, be sure their astronomers are watchingus with all interest!"

And Corbett, dazed, replied that he was overwhelmed with so muchlearning in one so fair, that he was very proud of her, but that therewas one subject on his mind, compared to which communication with Marsor any other planet was but a trifle. And he wanted to talk with herconcerning what was closest to his heart. It was the one great questionin the world to him. It was, when should be their wedding day?

The girl looked at him blushingly, then paled. "Let us not talk of thatto-day, " she said, at length. "I know it isn't right; I know that I seemunkind--but--oh, Julius! come to-morrow and we will talk about it. " Andshe began crying. 

He could not understand. Her demeanor was all incomprehensible to him, but he tried to soothe her, and told her she had been studying too hardand that her nerves were not right. She brightened a little, but wasstill distrait. He left, with something in his heart like a vengefulfeeling toward the planets, and toward Mars in particular. 

When Corbett returned next day the girl was in the library awaiting him. Her demeanor did not relieve him. He feared something indefinable. Shewas sad and perplexed of countenance, but more self-possessed than onthe day before. She spoke softly: "Now we will talk of what you wishedto yesterday. "

He pleaded as a lover will, pleaded for an early day, and gave a hundredreasons why it should be so, and she listened to him, not apathetically, but almost sadly. When he concluded, she said, very quietly:

"Did you ever read that queer story by Edmond About called 'The Man withthe Broken Ear'?"

He answered, wonderingly, in the affirmative. 

"Well, dear" she said, "do you remember how absorbed, so that it was avery part of her being, the heroine of that story became in the problemof reviving the splendid mummy? She forgot everything in that, and couldnot think of marriage until the test was made and its sequelsatisfactory. She was not faithless; she was simply helpless under anirresistible influence. I'm afraid, love"--and here the tears came intoher eyes--"that I'm like that heroine. I care for you, but I can thinkonly of the people in Mars. Help me. You are rich. You have a milliondollars, and will soon have more. Reach those people!"

He was shocked and disheartened. He pleaded the probable utterimpracticability of such an enterprise. He might as well have talked toa statue. It all ended with an outburst on her part. 

"Talk with the Martians, " said she, "and the next day I will become yourwife!"

He left the house a most unhappy man. What could he do? He loved thegirl devotedly, but what a task had she given him! Then, later, cameother reflections. After all, the end to be attained was a noble one, and he could, in a measure, sympathize with her wild desire. The loverin "The Man With a Broken Ear" had at least occasion for a littlejealousy. His own case was not so bad. He could not well be jealous ofan entire population of a distant planet. And to what better use could aportion of his wealth be put than in the advancement of science! Theidea grew upon him. He would make the trial!

He was rewarded the next day when he told his fiancée what he haddecided upon. She was wildly delighted. "I love you more than ever now!"she declared, "and I will work with you and plan with you and aid youall I can. And, " she added, roguishly, "remember that it is not all formy sake. If you succeed you will be famous all over the world, andbesides, there'll come some money back to you. There is the reward ofone hundred thousand francs left in 1892 by Madame Guzman to any one whoshould communicate with the people of another planet. "

He responded, of course, that he was impelled to effort only by thethought of hastening a wedding day, and then he went to his office andwrote various letters to various astronomers. His friend Marston, professor of astronomy in the University of Chicago, he visited inperson. He was not a laggard, this Julius Corbett, in anything heundertook. 

Then there was much work. 

Marston, being an astronomer, believed in vast possibilities. Being aman of sense, he could advise. He related to Corbett all that had beensuggested in the past for interstellar communication. He told of thesuggested advice of making figures in great white roads upon some ofEarth's vast plains, but dismissed the idea as too costly and not thebest. "We have a new agent now, " he said. "There is electricity. We mustuse that. And the figures must, of course, be geometrical. Geometry isthe same throughout all the worlds that are or have been or ever willbe. "

And there was much debate and much correspondence and an exhibition ofmuch learning, and one day Corbett left Chicago. His destination wasBuenos Ayres, South America. 

The Argentine Republic, since its financial troubles early in thedecade, had been in a complaisant and conciliating mood toward all theworld, and Corbett had little difficulty in his first step--that ofsecuring a concession for stringing wires in any designs which mightsuit him upon the vast pampas of the interior. It was but stipulatedthat the wires should be raised at intervals, that herding might not beinterfered with. He had already made a contract with one of the greatelectric companies. The illuminated figures were to be two hundred mileseach in their greatest measurement, and were to be as follows:

[Illustration: shapes]

It was found advisable, later, to dispense with the last two, and so, only the square, equilateral triangle, circle and right-angled triangle, it was decided should be made. The work was hurried forward with all theimpetus of native energy, practically unlimited money and the power oflove. This last is a mighty force. 

And great works were erected, with vast generators, and thousands andthousands of miles of sheets of wires were strung close together, untileach system, when illuminated, would make a broad band of flamesurrounding the defined area. From the darkened surface of the Earth, atthe time when the Earth approached Mars most nearly, would blaze out tothe Martians the four great geometrical figures. The test was made atlast. All that had been hoped for in the way of an effort was attained. All along the lines of those great figures, night in the ArgentineRepublic was turned into glorious day. From balloons the spectacle wassomething incomparably magnificent. All was described in a thousandletters. A host of correspondents were there, and accounts of theundertaking and its progress were sent all over the civilized world. Each night the illumination was renewed, and all the world waited. Months passed. 

Corbett had returned to Chicago. He could do no more. He could onlyawait the passage of time, and hope. He was not very buoyant now. Hissweetheart was full of the tenderest regard, but was in a condition offeverish unrest. He was alarmed regarding her, so great appeared heranxiety and so tense the strain upon her nerves. He could not help her, and prepared to return again to a season at his mine. 

The man was sitting in his room one night in a gloomy frame of mind. What a fool he had been! He had but yielded to a fancy of a dreaminggirl, and put her even farther away from him while wasting half afortune! He would be better on the rugged shore of Lake Superior, wherethe moods of men were healthy, and where were pure air and the fragranceof the pines. There was a strong pull at his bell. 

A telegraph boy entered, and this was on the message he bore:

 Come to the observatory at once. Important. MARSTON. 

To seek a cab, to be whirled away at a gallop to the university, toburst into Marston in his citadel, required but little time. Theprofessor was walking up and down excitedly. 

"It has come! All the world knows it!" he shouted as Corbett entered, and he grasped him by the hand and wrung it hardly. 

"What has come?" gasped the visitor. 

"What has come, man! All we had hoped for or dreamed of--and more! Why, look! Look for yourself!"

He dragged Corbett to the eye-piece of the great telescope and made himlook. What the man saw made him stagger back, overcome with an emotionwhich for the moment did not allow him speech. What he saw upon thesurface of the planet Mars was a duplication of the glittering figureson the pampas of the South American Republic. They were in lines ofglorious light, between what appeared bands of a darker hue, provided, apparently, to make them more distinct, and even at such vast distance, their effect was beautiful. And there was something more, a figure hecould not comprehend at first, one not in the line of the others, butabove. "What is it--that added outline?" he cried. 

"What is it! Look again. You'll determine quickly enough! Study it!"roared out Marston, and Corbett did as he was commanded. Its meaningflashed upon him. 

There, just above the representation of the right-angled triangle, shoneout, clearly and distinctly, this striking figure:

[Illustration: diagram]

What could it mean? Ah, it required no profound mathematician, noveteran astronomer, to answer such a question! A schoolboy would beequal to the task. The man of Mars might have no physical resemblance tothe man of Earth, the people of Mars might resemble our elephants orhave wings, but the eternal laws of mathematics and of logic must be thesame throughout all space. Two and two make four, and a straight line isthe shortest distance between two points throughout the universe. And byadding this figure to the others represented, the Martians had said tothe people of Earth as plainly as could have been done in written wordsof one of our own languages:

 Yes, we understand. We know that you are trying to communicate with us, or with those upon some other world. We reply to you, and we show to you that we can reason by indicating that the square of the hypothenuse of a right-angled triangle is equivalent to the sum of the squares of the other two sides. Hope to hear from you further. 

There was the right-angled triangle, its lines reproduced in unbrokenbrilliancy, and there were the added lines used in the familiardemonstration, broken at intervals to indicate their use. The famous_pons asinorum_ had become the bridge between two worlds. 

Corbett could scarcely speak as yet. Telegraph messengers came rushingin with dispatches from all quarters--from the universities of Michiganand California, and Yale and Harvard, and from Rochester and all overthe United States. Cablegrams from England, France, Germany and Italyand other regions of the world but repeated the same wonderfulobservation, the same conclusion: "They have answered! We have talkedwith them!"

Corbett returned to his home in a semi-delirium. He had the wisdom, though it was midnight, to send to Nelly the brief message, "Good news, "to prepare her in a degree for what the morning papers would reveal. Heslept but fitfully. And it was at an early hour when he called upon hisfiancée and found her awaiting him in the library. 

She said nothing as he entered, but he had scarcely crossed thethreshold when he found his arms full of something very tangible andwarm, and pulsing with all love. It has been declared by thoughtful andlearned people that there is no sensation in the world more delightfulthan may be produced by just this means, and Corbett's demeanor underthe circumstances was such as to indicate the soundness of theassertion. He was a very happy man. 

And she, as soon as she could speak at all, broke out, impulsively:

"Oh, dear, isn't it glorious! I knew you would succeed. And aren't youglad I imposed the hard condition? It was hard, I know, and I seemedunloving, but I believed, and I could not have given you up even if youhad failed. I should have told you so very soon. I may confess that now. And--I will marry you any day you wish. "

She blushed magnificently as she concluded, and the face of a prettywomen, so suffused, is a pleasing thing to see. 

Of course, within a week the name of Corbett became familiar in everycorner of the civilized globe, the incentive which had spurred him onbecame somehow known, and the romance of it but added to his fame, and afew days later, when his wedding occurred, it was chronicled as neverhad a wedding been before. They made two columns of it even in thefar-away Tokio _Gazette_, the Bombay _Times_ and the Novgorod _News_. But the social feature was nothing; the scientific world was all aflame. 

We had talked with Mars indeed, but of what avail was it if we could notresume the conversation? What next step should be taken in the grandmarch of knowledge, in the scientific conquest of the universe? Never inall history had there been such a commotion among the learned. Corbettand his gifted wife were early ranked among the eager, for he soonbecame as much of an enthusiast as she--in fact, since the baby, he iseven more so--and derived much happiness from their mutual study andspeculation. All theories were advanced from all countries, andsuggestions, wise and otherwise, came from thousands of sources. And soin the year 1900 the thing remains. As inscrutable to us have been thecurious symbols appearing upon Mars of late as have apparently been tothem a sign language attempted on the pampas. It is now proposed to showto them the outline of a gigantic man, and if Providence has seen fit tomake reasoning beings in all worlds something alike, this may proveanother bit of progress in the intercourse, but all is in doubt. 

Given, the problem of two worlds, millions of miles apart, the people ofwhich are seeking to establish a regular communication with each other, each already acknowledging the efforts of the other, how shall the greatfeat be accomplished? Will the solution of the vast problem come from agreater utilization of electricity and a further knowledge of what isastral magnetism? There have been, of late, some wonderful revelationsalong that line. Or will the sign language be worked out upon theplanets' surfaces? Who can tell? Certainly all effort has beenstimulated, in one world at least. The rewards offered by variousgovernments and individuals now aggregate over five million dollars, andall this money is as nothing to the fame awaiting some one. Who willgain the mighty prize? Who will solve the new problem of the ages?

AN EASTER ADMISSION

This is not, strictly speaking, an Easter tale, nor a love story. It ismerely the truthful account of certain incidents of a love affairculminating one Easter Day. It may be relied upon. I am familiar withthe facts, and I want to say here that if there be any one who thinks hecould relate similar facts more exactly--I will admit that he might dothe relation in much better form--he is either mistaken or else anenvious person with a bad conscience. I am going to tell that which Iknow simply as it occurred. 

There is a friend of mine who is somewhat more than ordinarilywell-to-do, who is about thirty years of age, and who lives ordinarilyin the city of Chicago. Furthermore, he is a gentleman of education, notmerely of the school and university, but of the field and wood. He knowsthe birds and beasts, and delights in what is wild. Four or five yearsago he purchased a tract of land studded closely with hardwood trees, chiefly the beech and hard maple, and criss-crossed by swift-flowingcreeks of cold water. This tract of land was not far from the northernapex of the southern peninsula of the State of Michigan. There wereruffed grouse in the woods, in the creeks were speckled trout inabundance, and my friend rioted among them. He had built him a house inthe wilderness; a great house of logs, forty or fifty feet long andthirty wide, with chambers above, with a great fireplace in it, withbunks in one great room for men, and with an apartment better furnishedfor ladies, should any ever be brought into the wilderness to learn theways of nature. 

Two years ago my friend gave his first house party, and the duration ofit included Easter Day, and so was, necessarily, in a happy season. Itis pleasant for us in this northern temperate zone that the day, withall its glorious promises, in a spiritual sense, is as full of promisealso in the physical sense, in that it corresponds with the awakening ofnature and the renewed life of that which so makes humanity. It is agood thing, too, that since the date of Easter Day is among those knownas "movable, " it means the real spring, but a little farther north orfarther south, as the years come and go. So it chanced that the EasterDay referred to came in the northern peninsula of Lower Michigan justwhen the buds upon the trees showed well defined against one of thebluest skies of all the world, when the teeming currents of the creekswere lifting the ice, and the waters were becoming turbulent to the eye;when the sapsuckers and creeping birds were jubilant, and the honk ofthe wild goose was a passing thing; when, with the upspring of the restof nature, the trees threw off their lethargy, and through the ruggedmaples the sap began to course again. It was only a few days beforeEaster that my friend--his name was Hayes, "Jack" Hayes, we called him, though his name, of course, was John--had an inspiration. 

Jack knew that so far as his own domain was concerned the time hadarrived for the making of maple sugar, and there was promise in themaking there, for the wilderness was still virgin. He decided that hewould have a regular "sugar-camp" in the midst of his "sugar-bush, " andthat there should be much making of maple syrup and sugar, with all theattendant festivities common formerly to areas farther south--and herecomes an explanation. 

Not many months before, this friend of mine had done what men had doneoften--that is, he fell in love, and with great violence. He fell inlove with a stately young woman from St. Louis, a Miss Lennox, who wasvisiting in Chicago; a girl from the city where what is known as"society" is old and generally clean; where the water which is drunkleaves a clayey substance all round the glass when you partake of it, and which is about the best water in the world; where the colonels whodrink whisky are such expert judges of the quality of what they consumethat they live far longer than do steady drinkers in other regions;where the word of the business man is good, and where the women arefair to look upon. To a sugar-making Jack had decided to invite thisyoung woman, with a party made up from both cities. 

The party as composed was an admirable one of a dozen people, men andwomen who could endure a wholesome though somewhat rugged change, and ofvarying fancies and ages. There were as many men as women, but four wereoldsters and married people, and of these two were a rector and hiswife. It was an eminently proper but cheerful group, and the rector wasthe greatest boy of all. We tried to teach him how to shoot whiterabbits, but abandoned the task finally, out of awful apprehension forourselves. Had the reverend gentleman's weapon been a bell-mouth, someof us would assuredly have been slain. We were having a jolly time, ourhost furnishing, possibly, the one exception. 

Of the wooing of Hayes it cannot be said that it had prosperedaltogether to his liking. Possibly he had been too reticent. He was alanguid fellow in speech, anyhow, and, excellent woodsman as he was, generally languid in his movements. There was vigor enough underneaththis exterior, but only his intimates knew that. The lady had beengracious, certainly, and she must have seen in his eyes, as women cansee so well, that he was in love with her, and that a proposal wasimpending; but she had not given him the encouragement he wanted. Now hewas determined to stake his chances. There was to be a visit oneforenoon to the place where the sugar-making was in progress, and heasked her to go with him ahead of the others, that he might show her howfull the forest was of life at all times. He had resolved. He was goingto ask her to be his wife. 

There was written upon the white sheet of freshly fallen snow the storyof the night and morning, of the comedies and tragedies and adventuresof the wild things. Their tracks were all about. Here the grouped pawsof the rabbits had left their distinct markings as the animals had fedand frolicked among the underwood; and there, over by the group ofevergreens, a little mass of leaves and fur showed where the number ofthe frolickers had been decreased by one when the great owl of the northdropped fiercely upon his prey; there showed the neat tracks of the foxbeside the coverts. The twin pads of the mink were clearly defined uponthe snow-covered ice which bordered the tumbling creek, and at times thetracks diverged in exploration of the recesses of some brush heap. Little difference made it to the mink whether his prey were bird orwoodmouse. Far into the morning, evidently, his hunting had extended, for his track in one place was along that of the ruffed grouse; and thesigns showed that he had almost reached his prey, for a single brownblack-banded tail-feather lay upon the wing-swept snow, where it couldbe seen the bird had risen almost as the leap came. The sun was shining, and squirrel tracks were along the whitened crest of every log, and thetraces of jay and snowbird were quite as numerous. There was clamor inthe tree-tops. The musical and merry "chickadee-dee-dee" of the tamestof the birds of winter and the somewhat sadder note of the wood peweemingled with the occasional caw of a crow, the shrill cry of a jay, orthe tapping of woodpeckers upon the boles of dead trees. A flock ofsnow-bunting fluttered and fed in a patch of dry seed-laden weeds. Eventhe creek was full of life, for there could be seen the movements ofcreeping things upon its bottom, while through the clear waters troutand minnow flashed brilliantly. There were odors in the air. There wasevidence everywhere that spring was real; and it occurred to Jack, asthe two walked along and he read aloud to her the night's tale told uponthe snow, that the poet who insisted that in the spring a young man'sfancy lightly turns to thoughts of love quite understood his business;not that it really required spring in his own case, but the seasonseemed at least to accentuate his emotions. He wondered if young womenwere affected the same way. He hoped so. At present his courage failedhim. 

They reached the "sugar-bush" proper, and wandered about among the bigmaples. They drank the sweet sap from the troughs, and finally settledthemselves down comfortably upon one of the rude benches which had beenplaced about the fire, over which the kettles boiled steadily, under thewatchful eye of an old sugar-maker, whose chief occupation was to lowerinto the bubbling surface a piece of raw pork attached by a string to arod whenever the sap showed signs of boiling over. Others of the houseparty soon joined them. The sun had come out brightly now, and luncheon, brought from the house, was eaten and enjoyed. Then followed morerambling about the wood. The ground showed bare where the snow hadmelted on an occasional sandy knoll, and there was a search forwintergreen leaves. It was announced that all must be at the house againin time for an early dinner, since the great work of "sugaring-off" wasto be the event of the night. It was then that Jack suggested to MissLennox that they go by another path of which he knew, but which he hadnot lately tried. The remainder of the party took the old route, and sothe two made the journey once more alone. The man was resolved again. Itwas three o'clock in the afternoon now, and about as pleasant a day asany upon which man ever made a proposal. Jack took his fate in hishands. 

He was simple and straightforward about it, and certainly made a ratherneat job of the affair. He showed his intensity and earnestness; and itseemed rather hard that when he concluded he was not at once accepted bythe handsome girl, who stood there blushing, but with a certain firmlyregretful expression about the mouth. 

Her voice trembled a little as she spoke. She said that she liked Mr. Hayes, liked him very much, and he knew it, but that it was only a greatfriendship. She had her ideal, and he did not fulfill it. "I cannot helpit, " she said, earnestly; "I have ambitions for the man whom I marry. Icould really love only a man of action, of physical bravery, one whocould not be content with a life of ease, however cultivated such alife. What have you done? You but enjoy existence! I want some onerugged. Why, even your physical movements are languid! I'd rather marrythe roughest viking that ever sailed the seas than the most accomplished_faineant_. I--"

The sentence was completed with one of the most piercing and agonizingscreams that ever issued from the throat of a fair young woman. At thesame instant she disappeared from sight. 

Jack stood for a single second utterly appalled, but he was recalled tolife by a second scream, equaling the first in every way, and issuingfrom a hole in the snow beside him. He could see in the depths the topof a very pretty hat. He realized the situation in a moment. They hadjust rounded the upturned roots of a monster fallen pine, and MissLennox had broken through the crusted snow and dropped into the cavitybeneath. He threw himself on the ground, reached down his arms, andfinally calmed the fair prisoner sufficiently to enable her to do herpart. She reached up her hands; he caught a firm hold of her wrists andbegan pulling her out. He lifted her thus until her head and shoulderswere in the sunlight, then sought to put an arm around her waist tocomplete the task. He was not grumbling at the good the gods had senthim. He was not at first in a hurry. With one arm at last fairlyencircling that plump person, with that soft breath upon his cheek, hewas not going to be violent. He was going to lift slowly andintelligently until the goddess should be upon her feet again. Then, from beneath, came a growl which was almost a roar; there was anotherwild shriek from Miss Lennox, there was the sound of brushwood beingtorn away, and as Jack, with a mighty effort, lifted the girl to herfeet beside him, there appeared at the hole the blazing eyes and redmouth of a bear, furious at having been aroused from its winter sleep. 

A fragment of limb lay at Jack's feet. With the unconscious instinct ofpreservation for both, he seized it and struck the beast fairly on thesnout. It fell back, but uprose again, growling horribly. The girlstood, too dazed to move, but Jack grasped her roughly by the shoulder, turned her about and shouted, hoarsely, "Run!" then made another blow atthe scrambling animal. She reeled for a moment, then gathered herselftogether and ran like a scared doe. As she ran she screamed--about onescream to each five yards, as carefully estimated by the young man at afuture period. 

Despite her terror, the girl turned at a distance of a hundred yards, stopped and looked backward for an instant, and saw what was certainlyan interesting spectacle, but which made her turn again and flee evenmore swiftly down the pathway, renewing her cries as she sped. 

Affairs were becoming more than interesting for Mr. Jack Hayes. It maybe said fairly and honestly of him, left facing that bear, gaunt andugly and flesh-clamoring from the winter's sleep, though still muscularand enduring--as bears are made--that he demeaned himself as shouldbecome a modern gentleman. He could not or would not run away. He knewthat the beast must not be released, and knew that unless faced it wouldclamber in a moment to the level surface. 

I have read somewhere, as doubtless have you, because it has wanderedthroughout the newspapers of the world, the story of a famous Russianofficer, famous, too, as a great swordsman, who once faced a brown bearrobbed of her young, and beat her into insensibility, since his blowswere swifter and more adroit than those delivered by her great forearms. In the midst of the battle, some thought of this hard Russian taledrifted through the mind of Hayes, as he dealt blow after blow upon themuzzle of the brute seeking daylight and vengeance upon its opponent. Each time as the bear upreared, the stout limb descended, butapparently with slight effect, and with each rush and tearing down ofmatted snow and twigs, the angle of ascent was lessening perceptibly. Tosay that Jack was exceedingly earnest and anxious would not be toexaggerate a particle. Furthermore, he was becoming warm and scant ofbreath. A portion of the breath which remained to him he utilized inwhooping most lustily. 

The girl burst into the great front room of the log house, where thepreparations for Easter were in progress. Most of the guests had not yetreached the house, but there were the rector and two ladies. Shestaggered into the room, but partially recovered from the effect of herwild flight, and could only gasp out, "Jack!--a bear!--a little way upthe eastern path!" and then fell promptly in a heap upon the furs of agreat lounge. 

The rector stood astonished for a moment, then realized the situation. Upon the wall hung a double-barreled gun, which he knew was loaded withbuckshot, intended for the vagrant wild geese still seeking northernhabitats. He leaped for the gun, and asked a question hurriedly:

"The east path?" he cried. 

"Yes, " the girl contrived to say, and the rector, gun in hand, dashedout of the doorway and to the eastern path, which he knew well, for hehad been a guest the preceding autumn; and then over the snow of thatpathway gave such an exhibition of clerical sprinting as probably neverbefore occurred since Jonah fled for Tarsish. He reached the scene of anexceeding lively exchange of confidences in about two minutes, and sawwhat alarmed and at the same time inspirited him most mightily. Herushed up close to the fencing Hayes, and as the beast in the pitupreared himself head and shoulders, managed to discharge one barrel ofthe shotgun. The shot was well intended but ill-aimed. It was but adispensation of Providence that Jack and not the bear was killed. Thebeast sank back for another rush, and at the same instant Jack tore thegun from the reverend gentleman's hands, and as the thing rose againpoured the contents of the second barrel fairly into the middle of histhroat. The episode was ended. Meanwhile, rushing and shouting along thepathway, came the full contingent of male guests. They arrived only intime to hear the story and to assist in heaving out the body of thebear, which was dragged down the pathway and to the house amid muchclamor and gratulation. Jack, in a violent perspiration and extremelyshaky, entered the house, where much was said, all of which he tookmodestly, and then everybody prepared for dinner. The feast and laterthe "sugaring-off" were occasions of much joyousness, but Jack and MissLennox conversed but little, save in a courteous and casual way. Therewas a fine time generally, and all slept the sleep of the more or lessjust. Easter morning broke fair and clear. It was good that morning tohear sounding out over the snow and in the sunlight the farewell notesof the flitting birds of the north and the greetings of the coming birdsof the spring. It was certainly spring now, and all was life and hopeand happiness. The Easter services were to begin at ten. It was nineo'clock, or maybe it was nine fifteen--it is well to be accurate aboutsuch important matters as this--that Jack and Miss Lennox met apart fromthe others, who were assisting in some arrangement of the greenery. There was something of the quality which is known as "melting" in hereyes when she looked at him, and the villain felt encouraged. 

"It is Easter morning, " he said. "Are you glad? Everything seemsbetter. "

She looked up into his face, and only smiled and blushed. 

"Are you all right?" said he. "I've been troubled over you. "

She said nothing at first, but the old critical and defiant look cameinto her face again. It had now, however, in it a trace of the gentlyjudicial. "I was mistaken, " she said; "you are a man of action. "

"Will you be my wife, then?" said Jack. 

"Yes, " said she. 

Well, they are married, as people so frequently are, and Jack is notgoing to the log-house in Michigan this spring, because that St. Louis-Chicago baby is too young to be abandoned. I like Easter and Ilike Jack and his wife, and I like babies, but I don't like being robbedof an outing in a region where spring comes in so suddenly andgloriously. How wise was the old pessimist who declared that "a manmarried is a man marred"--but, then, who will agree with me!

PROFESSOR MORGAN'S MOON

I am aware that attention has already been called in the dailynewspapers to certain curious features of the astronomical discussionbetween Professor Macadam of Joplin University and Professor Morgan ofthe same institution; but newspaper comment has related only to thescientific aspects of the case, lacking all references to the origin ofthe debate and to the inevitable woman and the romance. As a matter offact, the discussion which has set the scientific world, or at least theastronomical part of it, by the ears, had its inception in a loveaffair, and terminated with that affair's symmetrical development. Ithas seemed to me that something more than the dry husks of the storyshould be given to the public, and that a great many people might bequite as much interested in the romance as in the mathematicalconclusions reached. That is why I tell the tale in full. 

Had Professor Macadam never owned a daughter, or had the oneappertaining to him been plain instead of charming, young ProfessorMorgan would never have broken a metaphorical lance with the crustysenior educator. But Professor Macadam did have a daughter, Lee--oddname for a girl--and she was about as pretty as a girl may grow to be, and sometimes they grow that way amazingly. She was clever, too, andgood, and Professor Morgan had not known her for half a year when it wasall up with him. It became essential for his permanent welfare, mental, moral and physical, that this particular young woman should be his, tohave and to hold, and he did not deny the fact to himself at all. Without going into detail, it may be added that he did not deny the factto her, either, and so exerted himself and improved his opportunitiesthat before much time elapsed he had secured a strong ally in hisdesigns. This ally was the young lady herself, and it will be admittedthat Professor Morgan had thus made a fair beginning. But all was not tobe easy for the pair, however faithful or resolved they were. 

College professors generally are not much addicted to either theaccumulation or the love of money, but Professor Macadam was rather anexception to the rule. Sixty years of age, noted as a greatmathematician and astronomer, he had long had a good income from histeaching and his books, and had hoarded and made good investments, andwas a rich man. Lee, being an only child, was in fair way some day ofcoming into a fortune, and her father was resolved that it should not goto any poor man. He had often expressed his opinion on this subject; itwas well known to the lovers, but this did not prevent ProfessorMorgan, who was just beginning and had only a fair salary with nosurplus, from asking the old man for his daughter. 

The interview was not a long one, but there was a good deal of lowbarometer and high temperature to it, meteorologically speaking. Professor Macadam fumed, and flatly declined to consider the subject ofsuch an alliance. "It is absurd!" he said. "What would you live on?"

Professor Morgan intimated that two people might sustain themselves in amodest way on the salary he was getting. 

"Nonsense, sir! Nonsense!" was the retort. "My daughter has beenaccustomed to a better style of living than you could afford her, and Idecline to consider the proposition for a moment. You're in no conditionto support a wife, sir! Figures do not lie, sir! Figures do not lie!"

Professor Morgan suggested that figures sometimes did give a wrongimpression. 

"Then it is because they are used by an incompetent person. I amsurprised that you, sir, assistant professor of astronomy in a greatinstitution of learning, should assert that any mathematical fact is notan actual one. Prove to me that figures lie, and you can have mydaughter! But this is only nonsense. You are presumptuous and somethingof an ass, sir. Good day, sir!"

When Professor Morgan imparted to his sweetheart the result of thisinteresting interview, they were both somewhat cast down. It was she whofirst recovered. 

"And so papa said you could have me, did he, if you could prove to himthat figures ever lied?"

"Yes, he said that, though I don't suppose he meant it. It was simply asort of defiance he blurted out in his anger. But what difference doesit make? How could I prove an impossibility in any event, even if such agrotesque challenge were accepted in earnest? When I said to him thatfigures might give wrong impressions, it was only to convey the ideathat people who cared very much for each other might get along with verylittle money, and that the ordinary estimates for necessary income didnot apply. "

"You don't know papa! He'll keep his word, even one uttered inexcitement. He has almost a superstition regarding the literalobservance of any promise made, though it might be accidental and reallymeaning nothing. You are very clever--as great a mathematician as papais. You must prove to him that figures sometimes really lie, even wherecomputations are all correct. Surely, there must be some way of doingthat. "

"I'm afraid not, dear. The moon isn't made of green cheese. "

"But there must be some way, and you must find it. You shall be like aknight of old, who is to gain a maiden's hand by the accomplishment ofsome great deed of derring-do. Am I not worth it, sir?" And she stoodbefore him jauntily, with her pretty elbows out. 

He looked down into a face so fair and so full of all fealty and promiseof sweet wifehood that he resolved in an instant that if it lay in humanpower to meet the terms of the old man's challenge the thing should beaccomplished. He said as much, and what he said was punctuated labially. Being a professor, it would never have done for him to neglect hispunctuation. 

It was not three months after the stormy Macadam-Morgan interview thatProfessor Morgan's great book on "Eclipses Past and to Come" made itsappearance. And it was not three weeks after that great work'sappearance when all the scientific world was in a turmoil. 

Professor Macadam had, for a season after the interview between him andProfessor Morgan, maintained a cold and formal air in all hisintercourse with the latter gentleman, but after a time this wore away, and the old relations, never very familiar, were resumed. Indeed, itseemed at length that Professor Macadam had forgotten all about theaffair, or if he remembered it at all, did so only as of an exhibitionof foolishness which his own force and wisdom had checked forever. Whentherefore Professor Morgan's book appeared it was read at once withinterest, as the work of a scientist, who, though not a veteran, was ofundeniable ability and good repute. 

But when the book had been considered there was a literary earthquake!Professor Macadam reviewed it, and sought to tear it, figuratively, limbfrom limb! He was ably supported by other pundits everywhere. The pointupon which the debate hinged was a remarkable one. 

As already indicated, Professor Morgan's standing as an astronomer wasundisputed, and Professor Macadam did not question the accuracy of hisreasoning, so far as mere computations went. It is known, even to thenon-scientific, that eclipses of the moon can be foretold with theutmost accuracy; and not only this, but that astronomers can readilydetermine, by the same methods reversed, when eclipses of the moon haveoccurred at any time in the past. It was to one of Professor Morgan'spast eclipses that Professor Macadam objected. 

In a long-ago issue of a great foreign review, M. Camille Flammarion, the French astronomer, advanced the view that this globe has beeninhabited twenty-two millions of years, which is accepted by otherscientists as a fair estimate. It is also admitted that the moon was atone time part of the earth, and was hurled off into space before thecrust upon this body had fairly cooled. Of course, there is no way offixing the exact date of this interesting event, but for the sake ofconvenience it is put at about one hundred millions of years ago. It mayhave been a little earlier or a little later. But that does not matter. 

In the table of dates of past eclipses in Professor Morgan's book hereferred to a certain eclipse of the moon which occurred about twohundred millions of years before Christ, and not a flaw could bediscovered in his figuring. But Professor Macadam did not hesitate tomake a charge. He asserted with great vehemence that as there was nomoon two hundred millions of years before Christ, there could have beenno eclipse of the moon. Had there been an eclipse of the moon then, headmitted that the eclipse would have taken place at just the timeProfessor Morgan's table indicated; but as the case was, he referred tosuch an event contemptuously as "an Irish eclipse, " and was extremelyscathing in his language. His review closed with an expression of regretthat an educator connected with the great Joplin University could havebeen guilty of such an error, not of figures, but of logic. 

Professor Morgan replied to all his critics, Professor Macadam included, in a masterly article, in which he declared that he was responsible onlyfor his mathematics, not for the degree of cohesion of the earth's muckymass hundreds of millions of years ago, and that the eclipse he hadcalculated must stand. 

Professor Macadam came to the charge once more, briefly but savagely. He again admitted the correctness of the computation, but ridiculedProfessor Morgan's attitude on the subject. "His figures, " he concluded, "simply lie. "

The day following the appearance of Professor Macadam's final article, he was called upon in his study by Professor Morgan. The younger man didnot present the appearance of a crushed controversialist. On thecontrary, his air was pleasantly expectant. "I called, " said he, "tolearn how soon you expected my marriage with your daughter to takeplace?"

The older man started in his seat, "What do you mean, sir?" he demanded. 

"Why, I called simply to discuss my marriage with your daughter. On theoccasion when you refused my first proposition you said that if I provedthat figures would lie your consent would be forthcoming. I have provedto you that figures sometimes lie. I have not only your own admission, but your assertion to that effect, made public in the columns of a greatquarterly. I know you to be a man of your word. I have come to talkabout my marriage. "

Professor Macadam did not at once reply. His face became very red. "Imust talk with my daughter, " he said finally. 

That afternoon Professor Macadam and his daughter had an interview. Theyoung lady proved very firm. She would listen to no equivocation and noprotest. She had thought her father to be a man of honor--that was allshe had to say. She touched the old gentleman upon his weak point. Heyielded, not gracefully, but that was of no moment. She and ProfessorMorgan, just then, had grace enough for an entire family--in theirhearts. 

And so they were married. And so, too, you know the origin of one of themost exciting scientific discussions of the period. 

RED DOG'S SHOW WINDOW

The snow lay deep beside the Black River of the Northwest Territory, andupon its surface, where the ice was yet thick, for it was February andweeks must pass before in the semi-arctic climate there would be signsof spring. In the forests, which at intervals approach the river, thesnow was as deep as elsewhere, but there was not the desolation of theplains, for in the wood were many wild creatures, and man was there aswell; not man of a very advanced type, it is true, but man rugged anddirty, and philosophic. In the shadow of the evergreens, upon a pointextending far into the water, stood the tepees of a group of Indians, hardy hunters and dependents in a vague sort of way of the great furcompany which took its name from Hudson's Bay. 

Squatted beside the fire of pine knots and smoking silently in one ofthe tepees was Red Dog, a man of no mean quality among the little tribe. He had faculties. He had also various idiosyncrasies. He was undeniablythe best hunter and trapper and trainer of dogs to sledge, as well asthe most expert upon snowshoes of all the Indians living upon the point, and he was, furthermore, one of the dirtiest of them and the biggestdrunkard whenever opportunity afforded. Fortunately for him and for hissquaw, Bigbeam, as she had been facetiously named by an agent of thecompany, the opportunities for getting drunk were rare, for the companyis conservative in the distribution of that which makes bad hunters. Given an abundance of firewater and tobacco, Red Dog was the happiestIndian between the northern boundary of the United States and Lake Gary;deprived of them both he hunted vigorously, thinking all the while ofthe coming hour when, after a long journey and much travail, he shouldbe in what was his idea of heaven again. To-day, though, the riflebought from the company stood idle beside the ridge-pole, the sledgedogs snarled and fought upon the snow outside, and Bigbeam, squat andbroad as became her name, looked askance at her lord as she prepared themoose meat, uncertain of his temper, for his face was cloudy. Red Dogwas, in fact, perplexed, and was planning deeply. 

Good reason was there for Red Dog's thought. Events of the immediatefuture were of moment to him and all his fellows, among whom, though nochief was formally acknowledged, he was recognized as leader; for had henot at one time been with the company as a hired hunter? Had he not oncegone with a fur-carrying party even to Hudson's Bay, and thence to thefar south and even to Quebec? And did he not know the ways of thecompany, and could not he talk a French patois which enabled him to beunderstood at the stations? Now, as fitting representative of himselfand of his clan, a great responsibility had come upon him, and he waslost in as anxious thought as could come to a biped of his quality. 

Like a more or less benevolent devil-fish, the Hudson Bay Company hasever reached out its tentacles for new territory where furs abound. Sucha region once discovered, a great log house is built there, and furs arebought from the Indians who hunt within the adjacent region. This is, ofcourse, a vast convenience for the Indians, who are thus enabled toexchange their winter catch of peltries for what they need, without ajourney of sometimes hundreds of miles to the nearest trading post. Hence, under the wise treatment of Indians by the British, there haslong been competition between separate Indian bands to secure thelocation of a new post within their own territory. Thus came the straitof Red Dog. A new post had been decided upon, but there was doubt atcompany headquarters as to whether it should be at Red Dog's point or ahundred miles to the westward, where, it was asserted by Little Peter, head man of a tribe there, the creeks were fairly clogged with otter, the woods were swarming with silver foxes and sable, and as for moose, they were thick as were once the buffalo to the south. Red Dog had toldhis own story as well, but the factor at the post toward Fort Defiancewas still undecided. He had told Red Dog and his rival that he woulddecide the matter the coming spring when they came down the river withtheir furs for the spring trading. The best fur region was what hesought. He would decide the matter from the relative quality of thecatch. 

So Red Dog had hunted and trapped vigorously, and would ordinarily havebeen satisfied with the outcome, for his band had found one of the bestfur-bearing regions of the river valley, and the new post was deservedthere upon its merits. This, however, the factor did not know. The issuedepended upon the relatively good showing made by Red Dog and LittlePeter. Despite his name, Little Peter was a full-blooded Indian and likeRed Dog, he was shrewd. 

Red Dog smoked long, and the lines upon his forehead grew deeper as hethought and schemed. At times his glance, bent most of the time upon thefire before him, would be raised to seek the great bale of furs, theproduct of his winter's catch. The meal was eaten, the hours passed, andthen, with a grunt, he ordered Bigbeam to open the package, which workshe performed with great deftness, for who but she had cleaned the skinsand bound them most compactly? They were spread upon the dirt floor, arich and luxurious display. No Russian princess, no Tartar king, nomonarch of the south, ever saw anything finer for consideration. Therewere the smooth, silken skins of the cross fox, of the blue fox, thatstrange, deeply silken-furred creature, the blend of which is a puzzleto the naturalists; of the silver fox, which ranges so far southwardthat the farmers and the farmers' sons of the northern tier of theUnited States follow him fiercely with dog and gun because of the valueof his coating; of the otter, most graceful of all creatures of land orwater, and in the far north with fur which is a poem; of the sable, which creeps farther south than many people know of; of the grimwolverine, black and yellow-white and thickly and densely furred, and ofthe great gray wolf of nearly the Arctic circle, a wolf so grizzly andso long and high and gaunt and strong of limb that he tears sometimesfrom the sledge ranges the best dog of all their pack and leaps easilyaway into the forest with him; a beast who transcends in real being eventhe old looming gray wolf of mediaeval story who once haunted northernGermany and the British Isles and the Scandinavian forests, and who madesuch impress upon men's minds that the legend of the werewolf had itsbirth. There were thick skins of the moose and there was much driedmeat. All these, save the meat, contributed to make expansive thedisplay which Bigbeam, utilizing all the floor space, laid before theeyes of Red Dog. 

The showing made Red Dog even more anxiously contemplative. He thoughtof the long, weary way to the present trading post, and of how it wouldbe equally long and weary were a new post to be located in the huntinggrounds of Little Peter. He knew how soft was the snow when it began tomelt in early spring, how the snow shoes sank deeply and became a burdento lift, how the sledge runners no longer slid along the surface, andthe floundering dogs tired after half a day's journey; he thought howfull the river was of jagged ice cakes in the spring, and how perilouswas the passage of a deeply-laden canoe. Surely the new post must not goto Little Peter. And Red Dog was most crafty. 

There must have been, however attenuated, a fiber of French bloodthroughout the being of Red Dog. It would have been odd, indeed, had thecase been otherwise, for the half-breeds penetrated long ago through thefar northwest, and the blood underneath does not always show itselfthrough the copper skin. Anyhow, Red Dog gazed interestedly and fixedlyupon the gloriously soft carpet before him, and there came to his braina sense of the wonderfully contrasting coloring. He rose to his feet andarranged and rearranged the pelts to please his fancy. At last hesecured a combination which made him pause. He returned to his seat andgazed long and earnestly upon the picture before him; then he turned hiseyes downward and thought as long again. Bigbeam came to him andmuttered words regarding some affair of the teepee. He did not answerher, but, as she passed silently toward the doorway, he raised his eyesand noted her broad expanse of back in the doorway to which the fardistant blue sky gave a distinct and striking outline. He shouted to hergutturally and hoarsely to stand there as she was, and the woman stoppedherself in the doorway; then Red Dog bent his head and thought again. Hethought of a window he had seen in far Quebec, where soft and brilliantfurs were shown upon a flat surface to the most advantage. Why could henot with such display most impress McGlenn, the Scotch factor, with theimportance of his hunting ground, and where could better display be madethan upon the broad back of his squat squaw Bigbeam? He would make hersew the furs together in a mighty cloak, and she should ride the riverwith him when the ice broke and the spring tides bore them down in theirgreat canoe to the factor's place toward Fort Reliance. 

And the cloak was made. Talk of the wrappings of your princesses, of theshallow-ermine-girded trappings of your queens--they were but yearningthings, but imitations, as compared with this great cloak of thebounteous Bigbeam. 

In the center of the field of this wondrous cloak lay white as snow theskin of an ermine of the far north, and about it were arranged sables sodeep in color that the contrast was almost blackness, but for the playof light and shade upon the shining fur. About the sables came contrastagain of the skins of silver fox, alternating with those of the otter, and about all this glorious center piece, set at right angles, werearranged the skins of the marten, the blue fox, the mink, the otter andthe beaver. It was a magnificent combination, bizarre in its contrastsbut wonderfully striking, and with a richness which can scarcely bedescribed, for the knowing Red Dog selected only the thickest andglossiest and most valuable of his furs. He gazed upon the display witha grunt of satisfaction. 

Red Dog rose to his feet and called sharply to his squaw, who enteredthe tent again with a celerity remarkable in one of her construction. The Indian glanced meaningly at the dog whip which hung upon the centerpole, and there was rapid conversation. For days afterward Bigbeam wasbusy sewing together the furs, as Red Dog had arranged them, andattaching thongs of buckskin so that the wonderful garment could be tiedat her neck and waist. 

Spring came at last, and Red Dog and Bigbeam set off upon their journeyto the factor's, as did other Indians from other localities for fivehundred miles about. It was a dreadful journey, the hardships of whichwere undergone with characteristic Indian stoicism. There werebreak-downs of the sledges, there were blizzards in which the travelersalmost perished, there was sickness among the dogs; and when finally thepoint was reached where the river was fairly open, and where the bigcanoe, _cached_ from the preceding season, could be launched and theload bestowed within it, there followed miserable adventures andmisadventures, until, limping and pinched of face, the Indian and hissquaw drew their boat to land upon the shore beside the trading post. 

The trading posts of the Northwest Territory vary little in their mannerof construction. They are built of logs as long as can be convenientlyobtained, and consist of three divisions, the front a store with a rudecounter, behind this the living-rooms of the factor and his assistants, and in the rear the great storeroom for the year's supplies. The frontor trading room is usually well lighted by windows set in the side, forit is well to have good light when fine furs are to be passed upon. Thetrading room of McGlenn offered no exception to the rule, and his windowseats were good resting places for the casual barterer. 

Indians were thronging about and in the post as Red Dog and Bigbeamlugged their bale of furs up the bank and into the big room. There wasjabbering among the bucks, while the squaws stood silently about, andamong the most violent of the jabberers was Little Peter, who hadalready talked with the factor and by magnificent lying had almostconvinced him that his own territory was the best for a new post. Unfortunately, though, for Little Peter, his efforts and those of hisband had been somewhat lax during the winter, and the catch theybrought did not in all respects sustain his story. Red Dog and Bigbeammingled with the other Indians, and Red Dog was soon engaged in aviolent controversy with his rival, while Bigbeam stood silent among thesquaws. But Bigbeam was very tired; she had wielded the paddle for manydays, she had lost sleep and her eyelids were heavy; nature was toostrong; she edged away from the line of squaws, settled down into one ofthe window seats, her broad back filling completely its lower half, anddrifted away into such dreamland as comes to the burdened anduncomplaining Indian women of the Northwest. 

Down a pathway leading beside the storehouse came McGlenn, the factor, and his assistant, Johnson. They reached the window wherein Bigbeam wasreposing and stopped in their tracks! They could not believe their eyes!Were they in Bond or Regent Street again! Never had they seen suchmagnificent display of costly furs before, never one so barbaric, uniqueand striking, and, withal, so honest in its richness! They did nothesitate a moment. They rushed around to the main entrance, tore theirway profanely through the dense groups of Indians, and reached thewindow wherein they had seen displayed the marvel. Then they startedback appalled! The interior appearance of that window afforded, perhaps, as vivid and complaining contrast to its exterior as had ever beenpresented since views had rivalry. The thongs about the neck of theswart Bigbeam had become undone, and her normal front filled all thewindow's broad interior. That front, to put it mildly, thoughpicturesque, was not attractive. It afforded an area of greasy and dirtybrown cuticle and of moose skin, if possible dirtier and greasier still. The two white men could not understand themselves. Was there witchcraftabout; had they been drinking too much of the Scotch whisky in thestores? They forced their way outside and looked at the window again, and discovered that they were sane. There, pressed closely against thewindow by the weight of the sleeping Bigbeam, still extended in all itsglory the wonderful robe of furs. Again they entered the post andunceremoniously pulled from her pleasant resting place the helpmate ofRed Dog, the hunter. The cloak was seized upon and the two men hurriedwith it to the inner apartments, where it was studied carefully and withvigorous expressions of admiration. 

"He's got it!" exclaimed McGlenn. "He's got it, the foxy rascal! It'sonly a trick of Red Dog's; but the buck who knows furs as well as thatand who lives in a region where such furs can be found, and who's beensharp enough to utilize his squaw for a scheme like this, deserves thenew post anyhow. You'll have to go up there, Johnson, and take some ofthe voyageurs with you, as soon as the river is open to the head, andestablish a new post there. There'll be profit in it. " Then Red Dog wasordered to come in. 

How, recognizing the effect already produced upon the factor byBigbeam's cloak, Red Dog waxed eloquent in description of the furproducing facilities of his region cannot here be described at length. From the picture he drew vehemently in bad French-Canadian language itwould appear that the otter and the beaver fought together for merebreathing places in the streams, that the sable and the marten and theermine were household pets, and that as for the foxes, blue and silvergray, they were so numerous that the spruce grouse had learned to buildtheir nests in trees! Turning his regard from his own country, hereferred to that of Little Peter. He described Little Peter as adesperate character with a black heart and with no skill at all in thecapture of wild things. As to Little Peter's country, it was absurd totalk about it! It was a desolate waste of rocks and shrub, whereon eventhe little snowbirds could not live, and where the few bad Indians whofound a home there subsisted upon roots alone. It was a great oration. 

The factor and his assistant listened and laughed and made allowances, but did not alter the decision reached. Red Dog was told that the newpost would be established in his own hunting grounds. As a specialfavor, he was given a quart bottle of whisky and ordered sternly toconduct himself as well as he could under the circumstances. Never wasprouder Indian than Red Dog when he emerged from the storeroom. Beforethe day had ended, his furs were all disposed of, including themarvelous cloak, and in his big canoe were stored away quantities ofpowder and bullets and tobacco, and other things appertaining to thecomfort of the North-western Indian. In place of her cloak of fursBigbeam wore a blanket so gorgeous of coloring that even the brilliantlyhued wood ducks envied her as they swept by overhead. In the bottom ofthe canoe lay Red Dog. He had secured more whisky, and was as the deadwho know not. He would awake on the morrow with a headache, perhaps, butwith a proud consciousness that he had accomplished the feat of astatesman for himself and for his band. Bigbeam rowed steadily towardhome, crooning some barbarous old half-song of her race. She was veryhappy. 

MARKHAM'S EXPERIENCE

Markham awoke late for the simple reason that it had been nearly morningwhen he went to bed. He awoke lying flat upon his back, and looked updreamily at the pattern on the ceiling It was unfamiliar and that sethis mind at work, and gradually he recognized where he was and why hewas there. He reasoned idly that it must be as late as ten o'clock inthe forenoon, and knew that by reaching out his arm he could open theshutter of the hotel window, admitting the sunlight and affording a viewover the park and the blue lake, but he was laggard about it. There wasa pleasure in debating the matter with himself. He could hear bells, thewhistling of steamers and locomotives, the rumble of carriages and themurmur which comes from many distant voices. He recognized that anotherday in a great city was fairly on, and that the thousands were in motionwhile he lay listless. 

He forgot the sounds and thought about himself. He acknowledged, thoughwith a certain lenience of judgment, the absurdity of being where hewas. He should have shown more resolve, he admitted, at 2 A. M. , and havegone to his lodgings, a mile or so away. But he had been doing good workthe night before; that, at least, should, he felt, be counted to hiscredit. Payne had come on from Washington with a duty of moment toperform, and had called upon Markham to assist him. Years had passedsince they had worked together and it was a pleasure to renew thecombination. How well they understood each other's methods, and howeasily confident they felt united! They had been dilatory with what theyhad to accomplish, so self-conscious of their force were they, and hadjustified themselves gracefully in the event. They had strolled forthafter their labor, the last dispatch sent, had smoked and becomereminiscent, and had been soaked by a summer rain. They had been boysagain. Of the two, Markham had been the more buoyant and more reckless. He had been a sick man, though still upon his legs and among hisfellows, when Payne had found him. Things had been going wrong withMarkham. His equation with Her had been disturbed. 

It had been a test, there was no doubt of that, especially of the woman, the relations between Markham and her who had come to be more to himthan he had ever before known or imagined one human being could be toanother. She loved him; she had confessed that in a sweet, womanly way, but there was an obstacle between them. Before she could become his, there was something for him to accomplish; something hard, perplexing, and difficult in every way. He had not been idle. He had laid thefoundations for his structure of happiness, but foundations do notreveal themselves as do upper stories, and she could not see the carefulstonework. The domes and minarets of the castle for which she may havelonged were not in sight. He alone knew what had been his work, but shewas hardly satisfied. And, then, suddenly, because of a disturbingfancy, founded on a fact which was yet not a fact in its relations, shehad become another being. One thing, meaning much, she had done, whichtook from the man his strength. It was as if his heart had been drainedof its blood. He was not himself. He groped mentally. Was there nofaithful love in woman; no love like his, which could not help itselfand was without alternative? Were women less than men, and wascalculation or instability a possibility with the sweetest and thenoblest of them? No boy was this; he had known very many women verywell, but he was helpless as a babe in the new world he had found whenhe met this one who had become so much. She had changed him mentally andmorally, and even physically, for he had been a careless liver, and shehad turned him from his drifting into a better course. She had made him, and now, had he been a weaker man, she would have unmade him. And he hadbecome ill because of it, and almost desperate. Then came the evidencethat she was a woman, as good women are dreamed of, after all; and theyunderstood, and had come close together to hope again. It gave him lifeonce more. There was, and would be, the memory of the lapse, but scarsdo not cripple. He was himself again. He was thinking of it all, as helay late in bed this summer morning. He was a sluggard, he said tohimself. He must go forth and do things--for Her. He raised his arm tothrow open the shutter. 

Ah! The arm would not rise! At least the man could not extend it farenough to open the shutter. There was a twinge of pain and a strangestiffness of the elbow. The other arm was raised--nothing the matterwith that. The man tried to move his legs. The left responded, but theright was as useless as the arm. There was a pain, too, across the loinsas Markham sought to turn himself in bed. He was astonished. There hadbeen no pain until he moved. "What's the matter with me?" he muttered. "I'm crippled; but how, and why?"

There was quietude for a few moments and then more deliberate effort. With his unaffected leg and arm, the victim of physical circumstances hecould not explain worked himself around as if upon a pivot until thepreponderance of his weight was outside the bed. Then, with vastcaution, he tilted himself upward gently until he found himself sittingupon the bed's edge, his feet just touching the floor, and the crippledmember refusing to bear weight. Markham bore down upon the right foot. It was stiff and seemed as if it would break before it bent, while thepain was exquisite, but the man could not stay where he was. He got downupon the floor and crawled toward his clothing. He contrived, somehow, to dress himself, but the task accomplished, his face was pallid and hewas wet with perspiration. He tilted himself to his feet and creepingalong by the wall, reached the elevator and so finally the office floor. 

There was a tinkle of glasses in the hotel saloon, and through the opendoor came the fragrance of mint and pineapple. There was a white-clad, wax-mustached man behind the bar in there, who, as Markham knew, couldmake a morning cocktail "to raise the dead, " and not to raise them starkand rigid, like the bodies in Dora's "Judgment Day, " but flexile andfull of life. "Jack could mix me something that would help, " he thought, and turned instinctively, but checked himself. More than a year hadpassed since he had tasted a morning cocktail. There had been a promisein the way. He looked down at his knee and foot. "Let them twist, " hesaid, and then called for a cab. 

He did not like to do it; it was a confession of weakness, but in hisown apartments again, and in bed as the only restful place, Markham sentfor a doctor. The doctor came, not the ponderous old practitioner of theconventional type called for by a knowing man, but one of the bettermodern type, educated, a man of the world, canny with Scotch blood, butprogressive and with the experimental tendency progressive men exhibit. Markham told what manner of cup had been put to his lips. "What's thematter with me!" he demanded. 

"Muscular rheumatism. "

"And what are you going to do about it?"

"Oh, I'll follow the custom of the profession and make you aprescription. "

"And about the effect?"

"Possibly it will help you. "

"Just at a casual estimate, how long am I to be crippled?"

"That depends. "

"Depends on what?"

The doctor laughed. "There's a difference in rheumatism--and in men. Ifyou don't mind, I'll reserve my answer for a day or two. "

Markham growled. The doctor went away after writing upon a bit of paperthese hieroglyphics:

[Handwriting: illegible prescription]

The prescription came, a powder of about the color of a pulverizedRameses II, and with what Markham thought might be very nearly theflavor of that defunct but estimable monarch. Night came also at length, and with it came an experience, new even to this man who had beenknocked about somewhat, and who thought he knew his world. A man with apain and isolation can make a great study of the former, and Markham hadcertainly all facilities in such uncanny direction. The day passeddrearily, but without much suffering to the man in the bed. He couldread, holding his book in his left hand, and he read far into the night. Then he was formally introduced--he couldn't help it--to Our Lady ofRheumatism. He was destined to become as well acquainted with her as wasAntony with Cleopatra, or Pericles with Aspasia. Not extended, butviolent, was to be the flirtation between these two. 

Markham was tired and inclined to sleep, despite the obstacleintervening with each movement. Exhaustion forces a man to sleepsometimes when the pain which racks him is such that sleep would, underother circumstances, be impossible. When sleeping, come dreams ofwhatever object is nearest the heart, but the dreams are ever fantasticand distorted. There may be pleasant phases to the imaginedhappenings--this must be when the pain has for the moment ceased--butthe dream is usually most perplexing, and its culmination mostgrotesque. At first Markham could not sleep at all. He was experiencingnew sensations. From the affected leg and arm the nerves telegraphed tothe brain certain interesting information. It was to the effect that alittle pot was boiling on--or under--one leg and one arm. It was in thehollow underneath the knee, and that opposite the elbow joint that theboiling was--hardly a boil at first. The pain was not a twinge, it wasnot an ache, it was just a faintly simmering, vaguely hurting thing, enough to keep a man awake. Move but a trifle and the simmer became aboil. So the man lay still and suffered, not intensely, butirritatingly. And at last, despite the simmering, he slept. 

"What dreams may come!" Markham slept, and, sleeping, he was with hislove again, or at least trying to be. And what a season of it he had! Itappeared late evening to him--it might be nine o'clock--but there wasmoonlight, while close to the ground was a white fog. He knew that Shewas waiting on a street only a block away from him, but he must passthrough a park, a square rather densely wooded, with an iron fence aboutit and gates at the center on each side. From one gate to another a pathled straight across through the thick shrubbery. In the queercombination of moon and fog all seemed uncanny, but he was going to meetHer and nothing mattered. He entered the little park jauntily, and wenta few yards up the graveled walk between the trees and bushes, whenthere arose before him a startling figure. It was that of a man, orrather monster, with a huge chest, but narrow loins and oddly spindlelegs, and with a white, dead face malignant of expression. The monsterbarred the passage and gestured menacingly, but uttered not a word. Markham did not care much. He was simply on his way to meet Her, and asfor monsters and _outre_ things in general, what did they amount to! Hewas going to meet Her! He advanced a little and studied the creature. "Ican lick him, " he soliloquized. "He's a whale about the chest but he'sweak about the small of the back, and his legs are nothing, and I'llbreak him in two--him! I've got to meet Her!"

He plunged ahead, and suddenly the monster drifted aside into the bushesand out of sight. Markham went on to the gate opening upon the oppositestreet. He emerged upon the sidewalk and looked about for the woman heloved. She was not there. A most matter-of-fact looking man came along, and Markham asked him who or what it was that barred the passage in thepark. "That?" said the wayfarer, "Oh, he's nothing! He's only TheMechanical Arbor Man!"

The explanation was enough for Markham. Any explanation is enough forany one in a dream. He went down the sidewalk fully satisfied with whatwas said, and intent only upon his errand. He must find his love. Maybeshe had walked along to the next block. A group of bicyclists werecareering by as he crossed the street. One of them passed so close thathe ran over Markham's foot. Talk of sudden agony! It came then. The manawoke. It was three o'clock in the morning, and his rheumatism haddeveloped suddenly into an agony. He said he would be practical. Surely, medical science, if it could not do away with a disease all at once, could alleviate extraordinary pain. Why should a man suffer needlessly?He sent for the doctor, and there was another brush of words betweenthem. A degree of fun as well, for the doctor was not enduring anything, and was making a study of the case, and Markham was, between theebullitions of agony, amused to an extent with his own strange physicalcondition. It seemed like prestidigitation to him. Here is what thedoctor gave for his relief:

[Handwriting: illegible prescription]

The dose was taken as directed, and the man, suffering, set his teethand awaited results. They did not come. The dose was repeated, duplicated and triplicated recklessly, but without result. The pain hadgrown to such proportions that the nerves had become hysterical, andwould be stilled by no physician's potion. They were beyond all reason. This is but a simple, brief account of a man and a woman and somerheumatism. It has no plot, and is but the record of events. Theimmediate sequence just at this stage of happenings was an analysis byMarkham of what it was he was enduring--that is, an attempt at analysis. He was, necessarily, not at his best in a discriminating way. Theaccount may aid the doctors, though. Those of them who have not hadrheumatism must labor under disadvantages in a diagnosis. 

There are certain great holes in great rocks by the sea into which thewater enters through submarine channels and creeps up and up, increasingits bubbling and its seething, as the flood fills the natural well untilwhen the top is reached there is a boiling caldron. This is flood tide. So it seemed to him, came the pain to Markham. There would be nosuffering, and then would come the faint perception that somethingunpleasant was about to happen in a certain locality, it might be almostanywhere, for the rheumatism was no longer confining itself to theright leg and the right arm, but rioted through all the man's limbs andabout his back and shoulders. It went about like a vulture after food, alighting where it found prey to suit its fancy. 

There would be the bubble and trickle beneath the knee and in the calfof the leg, and then would come the increase of turbulence as the floodrose, and then the boiling and the torture culminating throughout a longhour and a half. Then the new murmur somewhere else and the same event. Even in a finger or a toe definitely would the thing at times occur, thepain being, if possible, more intense in such event, because, seemingly, more contracted. 

Pains may be said to have colors; in fact, this can be recognized evenby the less imaginative. A burn, a cut, you have a scarlet pain. A slapmight produce a pink pain, something less intense. But the pain ofrheumatism is of another sort; there is no glitter to it. It is alwaysblue, light at first, and gradually deepening until it becomes the veryblue-blackness of all misery. This is the muscular stage; when itreaches the inflammatory there is a new sensation, something almostgrinding. This latter feature Markham had to learn, for when morningbroke, a single toe and all of one hand were swollen and unbendable. Hewas becoming an expert on sensations. He had formed his own idea of theSpanish Inquisition. It had never invented anything worth while, afterall!

At 11 A. M. All pain suddenly ceased--even Our Lady of Rheumatism tirestemporarily of caressing--and the exhausted man slept. What a sleep itwas--glorious, but not dreamless. He was wandering through the halls ofthe greatest fair the world has ever seen, and he had a purse! Theexhibitors were selling things, and what marvels he bought for Her!There were Russian sables fit for her slender shoulders, and he tookthem. Robes of the silver fox as soft as eider-down, and a cloak ofroyal ermine; he secured them, too. She was fond of rubies, and hepurchased the most glorious of them all. For himself he bought but asingle thing, a picture of a woman with a neck like hers. And then, wandering about seeking more gifts, he came to where they were melting asilver statue of an actress and stepped into a pan of the molten metal!He awoke then. Our Lady was caressing him again. 

The doctor came and heard the story, and to say that Markham exhibited agreat command of language in the telling, would be to do him but mildjustice. The doctor, accustomed to his kind changed into wild animals bypain, only laughed. And then that Hagenback of his profession wrote upona piece of paper this:

[Handwriting: illegible prescription]

There is no definiteness to this account. There is no relevance betweentime and occurrences, save in a vague, general way. A month would coverall the tale, but there are lapses. Markham suffered steadily, but notso patiently as would have done another man. The doctor visited himregularly, and they had difficulties such as will occur between menlearning to understand each other pretty well, and so risking alldebate. Two other prescriptions the doctor made, and these were all, notcounting repetitions at the druggists. These two prescriptions, one, another ineffectual sedative, so great was the man's suffering, and theother but a segment of the medical program looking toward a cure, may bedropped into the matter casually. 

So the man sick with what makes strong men yield, struggled andsuffered, until there came to him one day a man of color. Black as theconventional ace of spades was this man, and most impudent ofexpression, but he bore a note from Her. She had known him formerly butas a serving man in a boarding-house, but he had told to anotherservant, in her hearing, of how he had been engaged for years in aTurkish bath, and how he had cured a certain great man of rheumatism. She had remembered it, and had summoned this person of deep color thatshe might send him to the man she loved. There are a number of men inthe world who can imagine what this messenger was to Markham under suchcircumstances! What to any healthy and healthful man is evidence ofthinking about and for him from the one woman!

He questioned the visitor. He learned that he was at present aprofessional prize-fighter, most of the time out of an engagement. Hisappearance tended to establish his veracity in this particular instance. He looked like a thug and looked like a person out of employment for along time. 

What could he do? was demanded of the messenger. Well, he could "cure derheumatism, shuah. " How would he do it? He would "take de gemman to aTurkish bath and rub him and put some stuff on him. "

Of course Markham was going to try the remedy. He would have tried aprescription of sleeping all night on wet grass under a upas tree, ifsuch a remedy for rheumatism had come from Her. But he was fair aboutit all. He sent for the doctor. It was on this occasion that occurredtheir first controversy. 

The doctor did not object to the Turkish bath nor the manipulation bythe prize-fighter. "Be careful, " he said, "when you come out--don't geta chill--and it may help you. What he rubs you with won't hurt you, andthe rubbing is good in itself. "

[Handwriting: illegible prescription]

"But why haven't your prescriptions made me well?" demanded Markham. 

The doctor was placid. "Because we don't know enough about rheumatismyet, " he answered. 

"Well, what excuse has your profession? You've been fooling about forthousands of years and don't know yet the real cause of a commonailment. What is rheumatism, anyhow?"

The doctor was conservative in his expression. 

"It's a microbe, " blurted out Markham. "I tell you it's a microbe! Theyare holding congresses and town meetings and pink teas all over me!There's a Browning Society meeting in my left knee just now, and that'swhat makes the agony. How could there be such a skipping about from oneplace to another, neither place diseased in itself, if there were not anactive, living agency at work? Tell me that!"

The doctor admitted that microbes might cause the trouble. But he had aword or two to say about this individual case. There had been but alittle over three weeks of the agony. The case was a particularly badone, and he didn't mind admitting that the patient was particularlyintractable and doubting. Optimism had much to do with a recovery inmost cases of illness, and optimism was here lacking. But he would wagera box of cigars that the patient was on his feet again within two weeks. The wager was taken with great promptness, and then the patient wasloaded into a cab and sent off with the black prize-fighter. 

What happened in that Turkish bath will never be told with all itsproper lurid coloring. The prize-fighter stopped at a drug store andbought a mixture of cocoanut oil and alcohol. Markham took a bath in theusual way, and then was taken by the demon controlling him into theapartment for soaping and all cleansing and manipulation. Here occurredthe tragedy. One leg had become stiffened, and the prize-fightersuddenly jumped upon it and broke it down, and Markham rolled off themarble slab, almost fainting from the pain. Then he recovered and triedto fight, but could do nothing, being a weak cripple, and was literallybeaten into limberness. Then, using awful language, but helpless, he wascarried to the cooling room and there rubbed with the alcohol and oil. He was taken to the cab more dead than alive. That night he had a littlerest, and dreamed of Her, and how she had sent him a black angel withwhite wings. The next day he went with the prize-fighter again, butinformed him that when well he should kill him. For three days thiscontinued. The fourth day the prize-fighter got drunk and was arrested, and was sent to jail for thirty days. Meanwhile Markham had continuedthe physician's prescriptions faithfully. A week later he waspractically well. 

The man, walking again, went to Her. He said, "You have been mysalvation, as usual. "

"I don't know, " she answered, thoughtfully. "I do know this, though, dear, that with you away from me and ill, I realized somehow more fullywhat you are to me. I wanted to do things. I have read often about amother and a child. I think I had something of that feeling. I know nowabout us; we must never misunderstand again. I don't think the coloredman helped you much, and I understand he is a most disreputable person. "

He looked into her eyes, but uttered only a sentence of two words, "Little Mother. "

Markham visited the doctor, proud on his way of the swing of his legsagain. "It was a pretty swift cure, " he said, "and I suppose you oughtto have some of the credit for it. "

[Handwriting: illegible prescription]

The doctor advanced the proposition that he ought to have, with nature, not some, but all of the credit. 

"There's a difference in patients, " he remarked, "and when you began toimprove you 'hustled. ' But my treatment, those prescriptions, offset thepoison--call it microbes, if you wish--in your blood and gave yourphysique and constitution and general health a chance. The darky doesnot figure. "

There was a good-natured debate, Markham being now reasonable, but noconclusion. What did cure Markham? Was it the physician's treatment, thecourse with the prize-fighter, or the effect upon Markham's mind of thefact that the latter was all from Her? Will some one say?

A week or two after his complete recovery, Markham asked the doctor whatcourse to follow to avoid a possible recurrence at any time of what hehad endured. The physician was very much in earnest in his answer. "Becareful of what you eat and drink, " he said, "and careful of yourself ina general way aside from that. Do not take risks of colds. Be, in short, a man of sense regarding your physical welfare. "

"But I'm going into the woods of Northern Michigan on a shooting andfishing trip, " was the answer, "and we've got to sleep on the ground, and to a certainty, we'll fall into some creek or lake on an average ofonce a day; and, old man, we've room for another in the party. "

"I'll come!" said the doctor. 

But what cured Markham?

THE RED REVENGER

To build a really good jumper you must first find a couple of youngiron-wood trees, say three inches in thickness and with a clean lengthof about twelve feet, clear of knots or limbs. If you chance to stumbleupon a couple with a natural bend, so that each curls up properly like asled runner, so much the better. But it isn't likely you'll find a pairof just that sort. Young iron-wood trees do not ordinarily grow thatway, and the chances are you'll have to bend them artificially, cuttingnotches with an ax on the upper side of each to allow the curvature. With strong cross-pieces, stout oak reams, and the general constructionof a rude sled rudely imitated, you will have made what will carry aponderous load. The bottom of the iron-woods must, of course, be shavedoff evenly with a draw-shave and some people would nail on each a shoeof strap-iron, but that is really needless. Iron-wood wears smoothagainst the snow and ice and makes a noble runner anyhow. Only an augerand sense and hickory pegs and an eye for business need be utilized inthe making, and in fact this economical construction is the best. That"the dearest is the cheapest" is a tolerably good maxim, but does notapply forever in regions where nature's heart and man's heart and theman's hands are all tangled up together. The hickory creaks and yields, but it is tough and does not break. Such means of conveyance as thatoutlined, in angles chiefly, is equal to a sled for many things, andbetter for many others. 

There may be people of the ignorant sort who have always lived in towns, who do not know what a jumper is. A jumper is a sort of sled, a part ofthe twist and wrench of a new world and new devices of living, and isused in newly-settled regions. It doesn't cost much, and you can drivewith it over anything that fails to offer a stern check to horses or ayoke of oxen. It is great for "coasting, " as they call it in some partof the country; "sliding down hill" in others. It was a big jumper ofthe sort described which was the pride of the boys in the Leavittdistrict school. They had nailed boards across it to make a floor, andthe load that jumper carried on occasions was something wonderful. Itwould sustain as many boys and girls as could be packed upon it. Sometimes there came a need for strange devices as to getting on, andthen the mass of boys would make the journey with its perils, laidcriss-cross in layers, like cord-wood, four deep and very much alive andapprehensive. 

The Leavitt school was situated in the country, ten miles from thenearest town, and those who attended it were the farmers' sons anddaughters. In winter the well-grown ones, those who had work to do insummer, would appear among the pupils, and this winter Jack Burrows, aged eighteen, was among the older boys. He was there, strong, hardworking at his books, a fine young animal, and it may be added of himthat he was there, in love, deeply and almost hopelessly. Among thegirls in attendance was one who was different from the rest, just as anAlderney is different from a group of Devon heifers. She was no better, but she was different, that was all. She had come from a town, MissJennie Orton, aged seventeen, and she was spending the winter with thefamily of her uncle. Her own people were neither better off nor countedsuperior in any way to those she was now among, but she had a town waywith her, a certain something, and was to the boys a most attractivecreature. There was nothing wonderful about her--that is, therewouldn't be to you or me--but she was a bright girl and a good one, andshe awed Jack Burrows. A girl of seventeen is ten years older than a boyof eighteen, and in this case the added fact that the girl had lived intown and the boy had not, but added to the natural disparity. Jack hadmade some sturdy but shy advances which had been well enoughreceived--in her heart Jennie thought him an excessively finefellow--but being a male, and young, and lacking the sight which sees, he failed to take this graciousness at its full value. He had venturedto become her escort on the occasion of this sleigh ride or of that, butwhen all were crowded together by twos in the big straw-carpeted box, onthe red bob-sleds, and the bells were jangling and the woods wereslipping by and the bright stars overhead seemed laughing at somethinggoing on beneath them, his arm--to its shame be it said--had failed tosteal about her waist, nor had he dared to touch his lips to hers, beneath the hooded shelter of the great buffalo robe which curledprotectingly around them. He would as soon have dared such familiaritywith the minister's maiden sister, aged forty-two and prim as a Biblebook-mark. Yet Jennie was just the sort of girl whom a cold-bloodedexpert must have declared as really meriting a kiss, when prudent andfairly practicable for the kisser and kissee, and as possessing just thesort of waist to be fitted handsomely by a good, strong arm. Jack, fullof fun and ordinarily plucky enough--he had kissed other girls and hadlicked Jim Bigelow for saying Jennie Orton put on town airs--was simplyin a funk. He could not bring himself to a manly wooing point. He wasnot without a resolve in the matter, for he was a determined youth, butin this callow strait of his, he was weakling enough to resort todevious methods. He wore no willow; he lost no weight. But the spell oflove which warps us was upon him, and he swerved from the straight line, though bent upon his conquest. He was resolved to have that arm of hisabout sweet Jennie's waist somehow, if he died for it, but withdiscretion. He would not offend her for the world. So he fell toplotting. 

There had come a deep snow, and then the heavens had opened and therehad followed a great rain. The schoolhouse stood on the crest of a hilland by it the highway ran down a steep slope and right across the flats, and the road, raised three feet higher than the low lands which itcrossed, showed darkly just above the water. Then came snow again, andthe road showed next a straight white band across the water. And now hadcome some colder weather, and ice had formed above the waiting waterswhich spread out so in all directions. What skating there would be! Theboys had tried the ice, but it was coy and threatening, not yet quitesafe to venture forth upon. It was what the boys called "India-rubberice"; ice which would bend beneath their tread, but would not quitesupport them when they stopped. It would be all right, they said, injust a day or two. To venture recklessly upon its surface now was but todrop through two feet deep of water. And water beneath the ice in earlyMarch is cold upon the flats. In the interval there would be, at recessand at noontime, great sport in sliding down the hill. 

The jumper, which, as already said, was a marvel of stoutness anddimensions, was the work chiefly of Jack, but he had been assisted inthe labor by Billy Coburg, his chosen friend and ally in allemergencies. Billy was as good as gold, a fat fellow with yellow hairand a red face, full of ingenious devices, stanch in his friendship, andas fond of fun as of eating, in which last field he was eminently great. In the possession of some one of the boys was a thick, old-fashionednovel of the yellow-covered type, entitled, "Rinard, the Red Revenger, "and Billy had followed the record of the murderous pirate chieftain withthe greatest gusto, and had insisted upon bestowing his title upon thejumper. So it came that the Red Revenger was the pride and comfort ofthe school, and Jack Burrows, as he looked up from his algebra and outthe window at it in the frost-fringed morning hour, rather congratulatedhimself upon its general style. They'd had a lot of fun with it. Hiseyes wandered to the ice-covered flats and the narrow roadway stretchingwhite across them. What a time they had yesterday keeping the jumper onthe track, and what a shrewd device they had for steering! A hole hadbeen bored down through the heel of each thick runner, and on each aftcorner of the jumper had a boy been stationed armed with a sharpenedhickory stick. To swerve the jumper to the left, the boy on the rightbut pressed his stick down through the hole beneath him, and the sharppoint scraping along the ice-covered ground, must slow the jumper asdesired. And so, on the other side, when the jumper threatened to gooff the roadway to the left, the boy on that side acted. It was a greatinvention and a necessary one. What would happen if that jumper, loadedwith boys and girls, should leave the track just now? Jack chuckled ashe thought of it. With its broad, sustaining runners, and with impetusonce gained by its sheer descent, for what a distance must it speed uponthat India-rubber ice before it finally broke through! What a happeningthen! The moderately bad boy's countenance was radiant as thecontemplation of this catastrophe came upon him with its rounded force. He turned his face, and his gaze fell upon the trim figure of JennieOrton on the other side of the room. How things go. There was an instantassociation of ideas between girl and jumper. The young fellow's facebecame first bright, and then most shrewdly thoughtful. School wasdismissed for the noon hour. And then, after the lunches had been eaten, Jack Burrows went outside with Billy Coburg. 

"Hi-yah! Jack and Billy are just going to start down hill on the jumper!Look at 'em show off their steering!" yelled a small boy, and the pupilsrushed to the windows and out at the door. The jumper had just started. 

One at each rear corner of the big sled sat Jack and Billy, each with asharpened stick in hand, and thrust down strongly through the bored holein the runner. The jumper started slowly, then, gaining speed, rusheddown the hill like a thunderbolt, the hardened snow screaming beneath inits grating passage. The road below was entered fairly, and deftlysteered, the Red Revenger skimmed away and away into the far distance. It was an exhilarating sight. Then, a little later, pulling the jumpereasily behind them and up the hill again, came Jack and Billy, andshouted out loudly and enthusiastically the proposition that everybodyshould come out and go down the hill with the biggest load the jumperhad ever carried. 

The pupils, big and little, swarmed out in a crowd, all inclined, if notto ride, at least to see the sweeping descent under circumstances sofavorable. Some of the larger girls hesitated, but Billy especially wasearnest in his pleading that the trip should be the big one of thewinter, and that they must see how many the Red Revenger could carry atone swoop. And finally all consented. A look of relief and satisfactionflashed across the face of Jack as Jennie got on with the rest, thoughthere was nothing strange in that, joining as she always did with theother pupils in their various sports. The laden jumper was a sight for amountain packer or a steerage passenger agent or a street car magnate tosee and enjoy most mightily. It was loaded and overloaded. The largergirls, as became their dignity, were seated in the middle, and closebehind them were the smaller children. In front was a mass of boys ofvarying ages. "On account of there isn't much room, " said Billy, "you'll have to cord up, " and so three boys lay down on the huge sledcrosswise, three lay in the other direction across them, and three againacross these latter. It was a little hard on those underneath, but theydidn't mind it. Behind were Jack and Billy as steerers, and three orfour more stood up on the sides and hung on to the others. There weretwenty-three in all, every pupil attending the school that day. 

All was ready. "On account of the road's so smooth, she'll be a hummer, "said Billy. 

"Let her go, " ordered Jack. A kick and the jumper was off. 

Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, moved the big sled, borne hard tothe ground by such a burden. No one was alarmed. But as it sliddownward, the jumper gathered way, and faster and faster it went, andthe sound from beneath changed from a shrill grating to a menacing roar, and the thing seemed like a big something launched downward from a hugecatapult at the narrow strip of road across the ice. With set teeth satJack and Billy at their stakes, each steering carefully and well. Therewas no swerve. The road was entered upon deftly with a rush, and outupon it sped the monster. Then Jack said quietly, "Look out, Billy!"Billy looked across at him and grinned, but uttered never a word normade a move as they tore along. But there was a sudden movement onJack's part, and his stake bore down hardly through the hole in therunner. The flying jumper trembled and swayed, and then like a flashleft the roadway and darted down upon and away across the ice. 

There was one shriek from the girls, and then all was quiet. "Whish!"That was all as the jumper shot out over the glass-like surface. The icebent into a valley, but the Red Revenger was away before the break came. It seemed as if the wild, fierce flight would never cease. But there isan end to all things, and at last came a diminution of the jumper'sspeed. Slower and slower moved the thing, then came a pause and suddenquivering, and then a crash beneath and all about, and the jumper, withits living load, dropped to the bottom! There was no tragedy complete. The water came up just to the side rails and no further. 

For fifteen or twenty feet on every side the ice bobbed up and down infloating fragments, and beyond that, where it still remained intact, itwould support no one stepping out upon it from the water. It was"India-rubber ice" no longer; it was cracked and brittle to the veryshore. That the jumper had careered out so far into the flats wasbecause of its velocity alone. There it stood, an island in a sea of icewater; not a desert island, exactly, either. It was populated--verydensely populated. It was populated several deep, and now from itsinhabitants went up a dreadful howl. 

There was no visible means of escape from the surface of the RedRevenger. The boys who had been "corded" managed to change theirpositions somehow, and stood where they had got upon their feet, holdingthemselves together, and the girls and younger children sat stupefied inthe positions they had held when coming down the hill, from the throatsof the latter going up the lively wail referred to. Billy looked acrossat Jack and grinned again, this time with great solemnity, and Jackhimself looked just a trifle grave. 

"Bang! rat-tat-tat! whack!" sounded from the schoolhouse, and the facesof the younger children paled. The noon hour had reached its end, andthe schoolmaster was sounding his usual call. No bells summoned thepupils at this rural place of learning, but instead, at recess and atnoon time the pedagogue came to the door and hammered loudly with hisruler upon the clapboards there beside him. Very grim was this sameschoolmaster, and unfortunate was the pupil who came into the room alaggard after that harsh summons had rung out across the fields andflats. There stood the schoolmaster--he could be seen from the RedRevenger--and it was not difficult even at that distance to imagine theominous look upon his face. Again and again came forth the wooden call, and then the schoolmaster stepped out into the roadway. He looked aboutinquiringly. He came to the top of the hill, from whence, off in theflats, the jumper and its load were plainly seen, and then he paused. It was clear that he was puzzled and was meditating. He called outhoarsely:

"What do you mean? What are you doing? Come in, and come now!"

There was no mistaking the quality of that sharp summons. It meantbusiness, and in all probability it meant trouble, too, for somebody;trouble of strictly personal, as well as of a physical character. Therewas no reply for a moment, and then Billy, the reprobate, grinning againat Jack, and giving to his voice a tone intended to be a compound ofprofound respect and something like unlimited despair, bawled out:

"We can't!"

The teacher descended the hill with all firmness and sedateness; helooked like a ramrod, or a poker, or anything stiff and straight, andsuggestive of unpleasantness. He followed the roadway until justopposite the jumper, and then surveying the scene with an angry eye, commanded all to return to the schoolhouse on the moment. Here thesituation became acute. It was Jack's turn now to make things clear. That villain rose to the occasion gallantly. He shouted out anexplanation of how the jumper had happened, by the merest accident inthe world, to leave the roadway, and had gone out so far upon theIndia-rubber ice; how the final catastrophe had taken place, and howhelpless they all were in their present condition. The road could bereached only by a wade of a hundred yards through two feet deep of icewater--more in places--breaking the ice as an advance was made. Itwould be an awful undertaking, the death almost of the little children, and dangerous to all. What should they do? And the rascal's voice grewfull of trouble and apprehension. Fortunately for him, the teacher wastoo far off to note the expression on his face. 

The czar of winter did not wait long. He started off, and was over thehill again and out of sight within the next three minutes, and it wasclear that he was going somewhere for assistance. Then some of the otherboys wanted to know what was to be done, and Billy looked at Jackinquiringly. 

"Well, on account of the fix we're in, what's going to happen next!"

Jack, somehow, did not seem undetermined. He answered promptly: "What isgoing to happen is this: The teacher has gone over to Mapleson's forhelp. He might as well have stayed in the schoolhouse. They can't drivea wagon in here, and the ice is so thin, and is cracked so, they can'teven put planks out upon it. They can't help us in any way. What shallwe do? Why, we can't stay here all night and freeze. Somebody's got tobreak a path to the shore, that's all, and then we've got to wade out, and the sooner we do it the better. "

The smaller children began to cry; the older boys growled; the biggirls shuddered; Billy grinned. 

"There's no reason why everybody should get wet, " broke out Jack, suddenly. "Here! I'll break a way to the road myself, and carry one ofthe youngsters. We'll see how it goes. "

He caught up one of the little children and stepped off into theice-packed water. Ugh! but it was cold, and he set his teeth hard. Hefloundered over to where the unbroken ice began, and then raising hisfeet alternately above its edge, he crushed it downward. It was notphysically a great task for this strong fellow, but it was not a swiftone, and the water was deadly cold. His blood was chilling, but theroadway was reached at last. He set the child down quickly, told it torun to the schoolhouse and stand beside the stove, and then himselfbegan running up and down the road to get his blood in fullercirculation. Into the water he plunged again and reached the RedRevenger. "Here, " he said, "each one of you big fellows carry some oneashore. Jump in, quick!"

The boys hesitated, and went into the water in a gingerly way, but didvery well, the plunge once taken, and Jack apportioned to each of themhis burden. The procession waded off boisterously but shudderingly. Asfor Jack himself, he got one youngster clinging about his neck andanother perched upon each hip, and then waded off with the rest. Therewere left on the jumper but two more of the small children, and Jennie. That was Jack's shrewdness. He was well spent and shaky when he reachedthe shore this time. 

He put the children down and turned to Billy. "B-b-illy, " he chattered, "will you go back with me, and will you bring ashore those two kids?"

Billy looked a trifle dismal. He had just set down upon the roadway thegirl he liked best, and he wanted to go to the schoolhouse with her. Added to this he was awfully cold. But he was faithful. 

"On account of you've done more than your share I'll go you, " hedecided. 

They went out again, out through that dreadful hundred yards of icyflood, and Billy marched off with the children, and then Jack reachedout his hands, though hesitatingly. He was bashful still, despite theemergency his villainy had made. As for Jennie, she did not hesitate. She stepped up close to him, was taken in his arms like a baby, and thejourney began. What a trip it was for Jack! There she was, clinging fastto him, and he with his arms close about her! Who said that the waterwas cold? It was just right--never was more delightful water! And shedidn't seem to dislike the journey, either. She even seemed to cuddle alittle. He wished it were a mile to land. Hooray!

And the road was reached at last, and the blushing and beaming younglady set down upon her feet. She didn't say anything but reached outher hand to Jack, and led him on a run to the schoolhouse. The fire hadbeen kindled into roaring strength by those first to reach the place, and all the soaked ones gathered about the stove and steamed there intorelative degrees of dryness. Jack steamed with the rest, but he was in adream--one of the blissful type. 

In time the teacher returned, and with him a farmer and his hired man, and a team and a wagon-load of plank, too late for aid, even had aidbeen practicable. There was no school that afternoon. The teacher couldnot accuse any one of fault, nor blame the pupils that they hadhesitated when he called them; while, on the other hand, he was deterredfrom saying anything commendatory of the waders. He suspected something, he couldn't tell exactly what, and he didn't propose to commit himself. The most he could do was to recognize the fact that the big boys shouldget to their homes as soon as possible and dry their boots andstockings. He dismissed the pupils, and so that eventful day was ended. Jack's boots were full of dampness still, and his feet were chilly, butas he walked home he walked on air. 

The succeeding night was one of bitter cold, and the morning saw the iceupon the flats no longer yielding, but so thick and solid that wagonsmight be driven upon it anywhere without a risk. Even the lately openedspace about the partly submerged jumper was frozen over, and the top ofthe Red Revenger showed where that interesting but ill-fated craft wasfixed for some time to come. "On account of she's frozen in so deep, we'd better let 'er stay there, " commented Billy; and so coasting, saveupon ordinary sleds, was discontinued for the season. It was pretty nearspring, anyhow. 

The frost-decorated windows of the schoolhouse blazed in the morningsun, and was a glory on the heads of the girls. But no head was sobright, in the opinion of Jack Burrows, as that of Jennie Orton. Herbrown hair gleamed like gold, and as for the rest of her--well hethought as he looked across the room, there was nothing to improve. Itseemed hardly possible that only the afternoon before he had held thatcreature in his arms and carried her so three hundred feet or more. Itwas all true, though, and Jennie had smiled across at him just now. Hewas more deeply in love than ever, but his timidity had somehow muchabated. She was as beautiful as ever, but she seemed more human. He feltthat he could speak to her, make love to her, as he might to anothergirl. Of course he couldn't do it very confidently, but he couldventure, and he resolved to ask leave to bring her to the spellingschool that very evening. He did so, pluckily, at recess, and sheconsented. 

As they were walking home that night, they fell naturally to talking ofthe grewsome adventure of the day before; and Jennie asked Jack, innocently, to explain to her the method by which he and Billy wereaccustomed to steer the Red Revenger. He explained fluently and withsome pride, and she listened with close attention. When he had done sheremained silent for a few moments, and then said quietly:

"You did it on purpose. "

The young man was dazed. He could say nothing at first, but managedfinally to blunder out:

"How did you know that?"

"I saw you and Billy look at each other, and saw you push down hard onthe stake. Why did you do it?"

Jack was truthful at least, and, furthermore, he had perception keenenough to see that in his present strait was afforded opportunity forspeaking to the point on a subject he had feared to venture. He wasreckless now. 

"I wanted to carry you ashore in my arms, " he said. 

There was, as any thoughtful girl would admit, really nothing in allthis for Jennie to get very angry over, and, to do her credit, it mustbe added that she showed no anger at all. Of the details of what morewas said, information is unfortunately and absolutely lacking, butcertain it is that before Jennie's home was reached Jack's arm had founda place not very far from that which it had occupied the afternoonbefore. 

They marry young in the country, but seventeen and eighteen are ages, which, even on the farm, are not considered sufficiently advanced forsuch grave venture, and so, though Jack's wooing prospered famously, there was no wedding in the spring. There was the most trustful anddelightful of understandings, though, and three years later Jennie camefrom the town to live permanently on the farm, and her name was changedto Burrows. 

"On account of the Red Revenger was a pirate craft, and took to thewater naturally, Jack got braced up to begin his courting, and so gotmarried, " said Billy, in explanation of the event. 

A MURDERER'S ACCOMPLICE

It is part of my good fortune in life to know a beautiful and lovablewoman. She is as sweet, it seems to me, as any woman can be who has comeinto this world. She is good. She is not very rich, but she helps theneedy as far as she can from her moderate purse. I have known her toattend at the bedside of a poor dying person when the doctor had toldher that the trouble might be smallpox. I should say, at a venture, thatthis woman will go to heaven when she dies. But she will not go toheaven unless ignorance is an excuse for wickedness. If she does gothere, it must be as the savage goes who knows no better than to dothings which thoughtful people, to whom what is good has been taught, count as cruel and merciless. As the savage is a murderer, so is she theaccomplice of a murderer, although it is possible that by the GreatJudge neither may be so classified at the end, because of their lack ofknowing. 

I met this lovable woman on the street the other day, and we walked andtalked together. She had only good in her heart in all she was planningto do. She had taste for outlines and color, and she was very fair tolook upon. Her dress--"tailor-made, " I think the women call it--set offher perfect figure to advantage, and her hat was a symmetricalcompletion of the whole effect. It was a neat, well-proportioned whole, the woman and her toilet, which I, being a man, of course, cannotdescribe. One of her adornments was the head, breast, and wing of aBaltimore oriole, worn in her hat. 

I met this same woman again a day or two ago in another garb not lesscharming and artistic. We ate luncheon together, and it made life worthliving to be with a creature so fair and good. In her hat this time wasa touch of the sky when it lies over a great lake. It was the wing of abluebird. 

I know--or knew--four birds, and to know a fair bird well is almostequal to knowing a fair woman well, though they have different ways. Twoof these birds that I knew were orioles and two were bluebirds. The twoorioles and the two bluebirds were husbands and wives. I stumbled uponthem all last year. The bluebirds had a nest in a hole in a hard maplestump in a clearing in St. Clair County, Michigan. The orioles' nest waswell woven in pear shape, dangling from close-swinging twigs at the endof an elm limb which hung over a creek in Orange County, Indiana. Themale oriole attended faithfully to the wants of his soberer-hued wifesitting upon the four eggs in their nest. He was gorgeous all over, inhis orange and black, and as faithfully and gallantly as the malebluebird did he regard his mate, and he was, if possible, even morejealous and watchful in his unwearied care of her. 

They made two very happy and earnest families. Each male, in addition tocaring for his mate, did good in the world for men and women. Eachkilled noxious worms and insects for food, and each, in the veryexuberance of the flush year, and of living, gave forth at times suchmusic that all men, women, and children who listened, though they mightbe dull and ignorant, somehow felt better, and were better as well ashappier human beings. But there was death in the air. The male orioleand the male bluebird had each a brilliant coat!

Young were hatched in each of these two nests--vigorous, clamoringyoung, coming from the eggs of the beautiful bird couples. The fatherand mother oriole and the father and mother bluebird, each pair vain andprettily jubilant over what had happened, worked very hard to bring foodto the open mouths of their offspring. The young ones were growing andflourishing, and they were all happy. 

One day, in St. Clair County, Michigan, a man armed with a shotgun wentout into a clearing. The shot in the gun was of the kind known as"mustard-seed. " It is so fine that it will not mar the feathers of thebird it kills. On the same day, possibly, or at least very nearly at thesame time, a man similarly armed strolled down beside a creek in OrangeCounty, Indiana. The man in Michigan wanted to kill the beautiful malebluebird who was bringing food to his young ones. The man in Indianawanted to kill the magnificent male oriole who was feeding his youngbirds in the nest. It was not difficult for either of these two brutesto kill the two happy bird fathers. They were business-like butchers, just of the type of man who make the dog-catchers in cities--and theyhad no nerves and shot well. One of them took home a beautiful deadoriole, and the other took not one but two beautiful bluebirds, for asthe male bluebird came back to the nest with food for the younglings, itso chanced that the female came also, and the same charge of shot killedthem both. 

"She isn't quite as purty as the he-bird, " said the man, as he picked upthe two, "but maybe I can get a little something for her. "

The man who shot the oriole would have gladly committed and profited bya similar double murder had the mother bird happened upon the scene whenhe shot her orange-and-black mate. 

These two slayers, who carried shotguns loaded with "mustard-seed" shot, went out after the beautiful birds, because from Chicago and New Yorkhad come into their country certain men who represented great millineryfurnishing houses, and these men had left word with local dealers in thecountry towns that they would pay money for the beautiful feathers ofbluebirds and orioles and other birds. The little local dealers werepromised a profit on all such spoils sent by them to the great citydealers, and they had set the men with the shotguns at work. Mating timeand nesting time are the times for murdering birds, because at thatseason not only is their plumage finest, but the birds are more easilyto be found and killed. It is then that they sing their clearest andstrongest notes of joy; then, that they hover constantly near theirnests; and it is very easy to stop their music. 

So there remained in the nest in the maple stump four little helplessorphan bluebirds, and in the swaying nest in the elm-tree over the brookwere four young orioles with only the mother bird to care for them. Thewidowed oriole fluttered about and beat her wings against the bushes invain search for her lost love--for birds love as madly, and, I havesometimes thought, more faithfully than do human beings. But herchildren clamored, and the oriole had the mother instinct as well as thefaithful love in her, and so she went to work for them. She didn't knowhow to get food for them very well at first, for bird wives and husbandshave in some ways the same relations that we human beings have when weare wives and husbands. The male oriole, who had been learning where theinsects and worms are, where whatever is good for little birds is, allthrough the time while the female bird is sitting on the nest, mustnecessarily know much more than his wife as to where things to eat forthe children may be found nearest and most easily and swiftly. That isthe great lesson the male bird learns while the female is sitting on theeggs and maturing into life the new creatures whose birth and beingshall make this little loving couple happy in the way the good God hasdesignated one form of happiness shall come to His creatures, be theywith or without feathers. 

The forlorn mother did as best she could. She fluttered through brakesand bushes seeking food for her young, but her children did not thrivevery well. She worked so hard for them--human mothers and bird mothersare very much alike in this way--that she became thin and weak, and witheach day that passed she brought less food to the little ones in thewonderfully constructed nest which she and her husband had made in thespring, when the smell of the liverworts was in the air, and muskratsswam together and made love to each other in the creek below. Shesometimes, in the midst of her trouble (the trouble which came becausemy sweet woman, must have a bird's feather in her hat) would think ofthat springtime homemaking, and then this poor little widow would give alittle bird gasp. That was all. One day she had searched hard for foodfor her young, for as they grew bigger they demanded more and were morearrogantly hungry. As she perched to rest a moment upon a twig, beneathwhich in the grass were a few late dandelions, she felt coming over hera weakness she could not resist. As a matter of fact, the bird motherhad been overworked and so killed. Birds, overpressed, die as humanbeings do. So the mother bird, after a few moments, fell off the twigupon which she had paused for rest, and lay, a pretty little dead thingdown in the grass among the dandelions. Then, of course, her childrengasped and writhed and clamored in the nest, and at last, almosttogether, died of starvation. 

Days and days before this the history of the bluebird family had ended. The four little bluebirds, being merely helpless young birds, lone andhungry, did nothing for a few hours after their bereavement but call forfood, as was a habit of theirs. But nothing came to them--neither theirfather nor their mother came. They didn't know much except to be hungry, these little bluebirds. They couldn't know much, of course, as young asthey were, and being but bird things with stomachs, they just wantedsomething to eat. They did not even know that if they did not get thefood they wanted so much the ants would come and the other creatures ofnature, and eat them. But they cried aloud, and more and more faintly, and at last were still. And the ants came. They found four little thingswith blue feathers just sprouting upon them, particularly upon thewings, where the growth seemed strongest and bluest, but the fourlittle things were dead. It was all delightful for the ants and theother small things; all good in their way, who came seeking food. Thevery young birds, which had died gasping, that a woman might wear brightfeathers in her hat, were fine eating for the ants. 

Of course, one cannot tell very well in detail how a starving young birddies. It is but a little creature with great possibilities of song andbeauty and happiness; but if something big and strong kills its fatherand mother, then there is nothing for it but to lie back in the nest andopen its mouth in vain for food, and then it must finally, apreposterously awfully suffering little lump of flesh and startingfeathers, look up at the sky and die in hungry agony. Then the antscome. 

The story I have told of the two bird families and how they died istrue. Worst of all it is that theirs is a tragedy repeated in realitythousands and thousands of times every year; yet the beautiful woman Itried to describe at the beginning of this account wears birds and theirwings on her hat. It is because she and other women wear birds' feathersthat these tragic things take place in the woods and clearings and openspaces of God's beautiful world. I say to any woman in all the worldthat she is wicked if she wears the feather of any of the birds whichmake the world happier and better for being in it. If women must wearfeathers, there are enough for their adornment from birds used forfood, and from the ostrich, which is not injured when its plumes aretaken. 

So long as my beautiful woman wears the feathers of the bluebird, theoriole, or any other of the singing creatures of God, I call her theaccomplice of a murderer. I have talked to her, but somehow I cannotmake her listen to the story of what lies back of the feathers on herhat. She is more accustomed to praise than blame. When this is printed Ishall send it to her, and it may be that she will read it and growearnest over it, and that her heart will be touched, and that she willnever again deserve the name she merits now. 

 * * * * *

There are, it is said, certain savages--just barely human beings--calledDyaks. They have become famous to the world as "head-hunters. " TheseDyaks creep through miles of forest paths and kill as many as they canof another lot of people, and then cut off the heads of the slain anddry them, and hang them up, arranged on lines more or less artisticallyfestooned about the place in which they live. This exhibition of driedand dead human heads seems to make these swart and murderous savagesvain and glad. These people are, as we understand, or think weunderstand, but undeveloped, cruel, bloody-minded human creatures. Theyprefer dried human heads to delicate ferns showing wonderful outlines, or to brilliant leaves and fragrant flowers. They have their own ideasconcerning decoration. 

Upon a dozen or two of the islands in the Southern Pacific, where thewaves lap the sloping sands lazily, and life should be calm andpeaceful, there are, or were until lately, certain people whooccasionally killed certain other people for reasons sufficiently good, no doubt, to them; and who thus coming into possession of a group ofdead creatures with fingers, conceived the idea that the fingers ofthese dead, when dried, would make most artistic, not to say suggestive, necklaces. So they strung these dried fingers upon something strong andpliant, and wore them with much pride. 

When I see the bright feathers of birds, slain that hats may begarnished for the thoughtless females of a higher grade of beings, I amreminded somehow of the Dyaks and of the wearers of the necklaces madeof fingers. 

A MID-PACIFIC FOURTH

The sun shone very fairly on a green hillside, from which could be seenthe town of Honolulu, the capital of Hawaii. The sun makes some veryfair efforts at shining upon and around those islands lying thousands ofmiles out in the Pacific Ocean. He was doing his best on this particularmorning, and under his influence, so brightening everything, two littleboys and a little jackass were having a good time near a long, low, rakish, but far from piratical-looking house upon the hillside alreadymentioned. One of the boys was white, one of the boys was brown, and thelittle jackass was gray. The name of the white boy was William Harrison, though he was always called Billy, and his father, an American merchantin Honolulu, owned the house near which the boys were playing. The nameof the brown boy was Manua Loa, or something like that, but he wasalways called Cocoanut, the nickname agreeing perfectly with his generalsolid, nubbinish appearance. The name of the jackass was Julius Caesar, but he wore almost no facial resemblance to his namesake. The date ofthe day on which the little boys and the little jackass were out theretogether was July 3, 1897. 

As far as the three playmates were concerned, there was a practicalequality in their relations between Billy and Cocoanut and JuliusCaesar. Billy's father was a rich white man, but Cocoanut's father was anative and of some importance, too; and as for Julius Caesar he wasquite capable at times of asserting his own standing among the trio. Hecould be, on occasions, one of the most animated kicking littlejackasses living upon this globe, upon which the moon doesn't shinequite as well as the sun does. On the occasion here referred to thelittle jackass stood apart with head hanging down toward the ground, silent and unmoving, and apparently revolving in his own mind somethingconcerning the geology of the Dog Star. He could be a most reflectivelittle beast upon occasion. The boys sat together on a knoll, theirheads close together, engaged in earnest and animated and sometimesloud-voiced conversation. There was occasion for their lively interest. They were discussing the Fourth of July. They were about equally ardent, but if there were any difference it was in favor of Cocoanut, who, within the year, had become probably the most earnest American citizenupon the face of the civilized globe. His information regarding theUnited States and American citizenship had, of course, been derived fromBilly, who had derived it from his father; and Billy's father had toldBilly, who in turn had told Cocoanut, that by the next Fourth of Julythe Stars and Stripes would be flying from the flagstaffs of Hawaii, and that then, on the Fourth, small boys could celebrate just as smallboys did in the United States. Thenceforth Billy and Cocoanut observedthe flags above Honolulu closely, but neither of them had ever seen theStars and Stripes lying flattened out aloft by the sea breeze. They hadfaith, though, and their faith had been justified by their works. Theyhad between them, as the result of much begging from parents and doing alittle work occasionally, gathered together probably the mostastonishing supply of firecrackers ever possessed by two boys of theirsize and degree of understanding. There were package upon package of thesmall, ordinary Chinese firecrackers, and there were a dozen or two ofthe big "cannon" firecrackers which have come into vogue of late years, and the first manufacturer of whom should be taken out somewhere andhanged with all earnestness. They were now consulting regarding themorrow. Would the flag fly over Honolulu and could they celebrate? Theydidn't know, but they had a degree of faith. Then they wandered offsomewhere with Julius Caesar and had a good time all day, but ever themorrow was in their mind. 

It was early the next morning when the two boys and Julius Caesar wereagain on the point of hill overlooking Honolulu. It was so early thatthe flags had not yet been hoisted over the public buildings. Each boycarried a package, and these they unrolled and laid out together. Thedisplay was something worth looking at. Any boy who could see thatlayout of firecrackers and not feel a kind of a tingling run over himresembling that which comes when he takes hold of the two handles of anelectrical machine wouldn't be a boy worth speaking of. He wouldn't bethe sort of a boy who had it in him to ever become President of theUnited States, or captain of a baseball nine, or anything of that sort. But these two boys quivered. Cocoanut quivered more than Billy did. 

Silently the two boys and Julius Caesar awaited the raising of the flagsover Honolulu. Could they or could they not let off their firecrackers?They might as well, said Cocoanut, be getting ready, anyhow, and so hebegan tying strings of firecrackers together, adjusting cannon crackersat intervals between the smaller ones, and adding Billy's string ofcrackers to his own. When completed there were just thirty-seven andone-half feet of firecrackers of variegated quality. Billy looked onlistlessly, and Cocoanut himself hardly knew why he was making thisarrangement. The sun bounced up out of the ocean, a great red ballbehind the thin fog, and bunting climbed the flagstaffs of Honolulu. With eager eyes the boys gazed cityward until the moment when the breezehad straightened out the flags and the device upon them could be seen. Then they looked upon each other blankly. It was not the Stars andStripes, but the Hawaiian flag which floated there below them!

They didn't know what to do, these poor boys who wanted to be patriotsthat morning and couldn't. They sat down disconsolately near to theheels of Julius Caesar, who was whisking his stubby tail aboutoccasionally in vengeful search of an occasional fly. It chanced that inthe midst of this he slapped Cocoanut across the face, and that Cocoanutincontinently grabbed the tail, to keep it from further demonstration ofthe sort. Julius Caesar did not kick at this, because it was tootrifling a matter. Far better would it have been for Julius Caesar hadhe kicked then and there, but the relation of why comes later on. Lostin their sorrows, Cocoanut and Billy communed together, and Cocoanut, inthe forgetfulness of deep reflection began plaiting together the end ofthe string of firecrackers and the hairs in the tail of Julius Caesar. He was a good plaiter, was Cocoanut--they do such work with grasses andthings in and about Honolulu, and lots of little Hawaiians are goodplaiters--and it may be said of the job that when completed, althoughdone almost unconsciously, it was a good one. That string ofthirty-seven and one-half feet of firecrackers was not going to leavethe tail of that little jackass except under most extraordinarycircumstances. 

A fly of exceptional vigor assaulted Julius Caesar upon the flank, andhis tail not whisking as well as usual, because of the incumbrance, hemissed the enemy at the first swish and moved uneasily forward forseveral feet. As it chanced, this movement left the other string offirecrackers fairly in the lap of Cocoanut. The boys were stilldiscussing the situation. 

"It's too bad; it's too bad, " said Billy. "What'll we do?"

"I don't know, " said Cocoanut. 

"Do you think we dare let 'em off even if the flag didn't fly?" saidBilly. 

"I don't know, " said Cocoanut. 

"I believe I'll get on Julius Caesar and ride a little, " said Billy, "and you throw stones at him and hit him if you can. It's pretty hard tomake him run, you know. "

"All right, " said Cocoanut. 

Billy rose and wandered over and mounted Julius Caesar, Cocoanut barelyturning his head and watching the white boy lazily as Billy gathered upthe bridle, which was the only equipment Julius Caesar had. It was then, just as Billy had fairly settled himself down, that an inspiration cameto Cocoanut. 

"Lemme let off just one little cracker, " he said. "Mebbe it'll startJulius Caesar a-going, " and Billy joyously assented. 

Now Cocoanut had never seen the effect which a whole string offirecrackers can produce. He had assisted in firing one or two littleones, and that was all he knew about it. Billy didn't know that thestring of firecrackers was attached to the tail of Julius Caesar, andCocoanut himself had absolutely forgotten it. Cocoanut produced a matchand lit it and carefully ignited the thin, papery end of the ultimatelittle cracker on the string, and it smoked away and nickered andsputtered toward its object. 

There have been various exciting occasions upon the island whereon isHonolulu. There have been some great volcanic explosions there, andearthquakes and tidal waves. It is to be doubted, however, if upon thatcharming island ever occurred anything more complete and alarming andgenerally spectacular, in a small way, than followed the moment when thefirst cracker exploded of that string of thirty-seven and one-half feetattached to the tail of Julius Caesar. Cocoanut had expected one crackerto go off, but had anticipated nothing further. He was correct in hisview, only as regarded the mere going-off of the cracker. What followedwas a surprise to him and to all the adjacent world. There was a rattleand roar; the first two or three feet of small crackers went off; andthen, as the first cannon cracker was reached with a thunder and blastof smoke, Cocoanut went over backward and away off into the grass, whileJulius Caesar simply launched himself into space. It was all down-hillbefore him. He started for Australia. Anybody could see that. Youcouldn't tell whether he was going for Sydney or Melbourne, but youknew he was going for Australia in a general way. His leaps, assistedby the down-hill course, were something to witness. Cocoanut has sinceestimated them at forty feet a jump, while Billy says sixty--for bothboys, it is good to say, are still alive--but then Billy was on thejackass and may have been excited; probably somewhere, say about fiftyfeet, would be the correct estimate. Talk about your horrifying cometswith their tails of fire! They were but slight affairs, locallyconsidered, for terrific explosions accompanied every jump of JuliusCaesar, and comets don't make any noise. It was all swift, but the noiseand awful appearance of Billy and Julius Caesar sufficed in a minute tostartle such of the populace of Honolulu who were already awake, andthere was a wild rush of scores of people in the wake of where Billy andJulius Caesar went downward to the sea. The extent of the leap of JuliusCaesar when he finally reached the shore has never been fully decidedupon, but it was a great leap. Billy, jackass, and fireworks went downlike a plummet, and very soon thereafter Billy and jackass, but nofireworks, came to the surface again, and then swam vigorously towardthe shore, for everybody and everything in Hawaii can swim like a duck. They were received by a brown and wildly applauding crowd of natives, and a minute or two later by Cocoanut, who had run like a deer to seethe end of the vast performance he had inaugurated. 

An hour or two later two boys and a little jackass were all togetherupon the hill again, the boys excited and jubilant and saying thatthey'd had a Fourth of July, anyhow, and the jackass in a doubtful andthoughtful mood. 

The boys have grown amazingly since. The jackass seems to be about thesame. But about the Fourth of July next at hand the boys won't have thesame trouble they had in 1897. 

LOVE AND A LATCH-KEY

This is the story of the circumstances surrounding the invention ofSimpson's Electric Latch-Key, an invention with which everybody is nowfamiliar, but regarding the origin of which the public has never beeninformed. There were reasons, grave ones for a time, why the storyshould not be told--in short, there was a love affair mixed with it--butthose reasons no longer exist, and it seems a good thing to relate thefacts in the case. They may interest a great number of people, particularly middle-aged gentlemen in the large cities. I know that forme, at least, they have possessed no little attraction. 

Love proverbially laughs at locksmiths, but it is safe to say thatbefore Simpson's Electric Latch-Key was known even that cheerful godwould not have dared to smile in the presence of some of the problemsconnected with locks and keys. Now all is changed. The general use ofthe latch-key mentioned has increased the gayety of nations since therecent time in which this story is laid. Otherwise there would be nostory to tell, as this is but the plain narration of the love andambition which inspired, perfected, and triumphantly demonstrated theusefulness of the invention. 

The North Side in the city of Chicago may put on airs as a residencedistrict, and the South Side may put on airs as containing the heart ofthe vast business district of Chicago, but the West Side is as big asthe two of them, and its population contains a large number ofexceedingly rich men, who, like the rich men of the other sides, are ascontent with themselves for being "self-made, " are just as grumpy, andwith as many weaknesses. Some of these West Side rich men live onAshland Avenue. There certainly lived and lives Mr. Jason B. Grampus, agreat speculator, whose home has its palatial aspects. 

West Side millionaires, like those on the other sides, are notinfrequently the fathers of fair daughters. Sometimes they have only onedaughter, and no sons at all, and in such cases the daughter becomes avery desirable acquisition for a young man of tact and enterprise. Thereis no law of nature which makes a millionaire's daughter less reallylovable than other young women, and there is no law of nature whichmakes a young man who may fall in love with her, even though he be poor, a fortune-hunter and a blackguard. The young man who has a socialposition without money is in a perilous way. He may fall in love with ayoung woman with money, and then his motives will be impugned, especially by the parents. It depends altogether on the young man howhe accepts the more or less anomalous position described. If he bestrong, he adapts himself in one way; if he be weak, he does it inanother. 

Ned Simpson was not of the weaker sort, and he was desperately in lovewith the daughter of "old man Grampus. " The fact that she wouldeventually be worth more than a million did not affect his love to itsinjury. He said frankly to himself that she was none the worse for that, but it must be asserted to his credit that he thought of her prospectivemoney very little. He stood ready to take her penniless, on the instant. Unfortunately, he could not take her on any conditions. Mr. Grampus andMrs. Grampus stood like mountains in his way. 

Not that Simpson lacked social equality with the Grampus family. He wasa young stockbroker, with expectations as yet unrealized, it is true, but with a good ancestry and with business popularity. By day he met oldGrampus upon terms of equality. Old Grampus liked him, after a fashion. He had visited the Grampus house, had dined there often, had met the oldlady with the purring ways, had met, also, the radiant daughter, Sylvia, and had fallen in love with the latter, deeply and irrevocably. He hadmade love cleverly and earnestly, as a fine man should, and hadsucceeded wonderfully. 

Sylvia was as deeply in love with him as he was with her. They hadsolemnly and in all honesty entered into an agreement that they wouldremain true, each to the other, no matter what might come. Then he hadapproached the father, manfully explained the situation, and hadencountered a reception which was a sight to see and an amazing thing tohear. The old man was striking when at his worst, and Simpson almostadmired him for his command of explosive expletives. One likes to seealmost anything done well. Simpson was ordered never to enter the houseagain. He contained himself pretty well; he made no promises, but he metthat young woman almost every evening. Meanwhile, the young man and theold man met daily in a business way. 

As a rule, the relations between a lover who has been figurativelykicked out of a house and the man who has figuratively kicked him outare somewhat strained. Still, young Simpson and old Grampus met downtown in a business way, and it is only putting it fairly concerningSimpson to say that he showed a forgiving spirit--almost an impudentlyforgiving spirit, one might say. Light-hearted and careless as he seemedto be among his business associates, Simpson possessed a resolutecharacter, and when he decided upon a course, adhered to itdeterminedly. He was not going to be desperate; he was not goingoverseas to "wed some savage woman, who should rear his dusky race"; buthe was going to eventually have Miss Grampus, or know the reason why. Hedid not want to elope with the young woman; in fact, he felt that shewouldn't elope if he asked her, for she was fond of her father, and heknew that his end must be attained by vast diplomacy. Just how, he hadnot decided upon. But he felt his way vaguely. 

"One thing is certain, " he said to himself, "I must keep my temper andcultivate the old man. "

He did cultivate Mr. Grampus, and did it so well that after a season thetwo would even lunch together. It was an anomalous happening, thislunching together, of a poor young man with a rich old one, who hadrefused a daughter's hand; but such things occur in the grotesque, hugeWestern money-mart. In Chicago there is a great gulf fixed betweenbusiness and family relations. Grampus began to consider Simpson anexcellent fellow--that is, as one to meet at luncheon, not as ason-in-law. A son-in-law should have money. 

There was a skeleton in the Grampus closet, but it was not scandalous, and was never mentioned. Still, to old Mr. Grampus, the guilty one, theskeleton was real and terrible. He, the gruff, overbearing, successfulman of business, the one beneath whose gaze clerks shuddered andstenographers turned pale, was afraid to go home at least four nights ofthe seven nights in the week. He was afraid to meet his wife. 

A great club man was Mr. Grampus. He delighted in each evening spentwith his old cronies, in the whist-playing, the reminiscences, thestorytelling, the arguments, and the moderate smoking and drinking. Unfortunately, he could not endure well the taking into his system ofanything alcoholic. He always became perfectly sober within three hours, but a punch or two would give a certain flaccidity to his legs, and whenhe reached his home the broad steps leading up to the vestibule seemedAlpine-like and perilous. He would almost say to himself, "Beware thepine-tree's withered branch, beware the awful avalanche. " But after allit was not the danger of the ascent which really troubled him; it waswhat would assuredly happen after he had reached the summit. Thedisaster always came upon the plateau. 

The man could fumble in his pockets with much discretion, and couldalways find his latch-key, for its shape was odd, but with thatlatch-key he could not find the keyhole in the door. There came a clamoralways at the end. When finally he entered, Mrs. Grampus was as aliveand alert as any tarantula of an Arizona plain aroused by a noise uponthe trap-door of its retreat. And Mrs. Grampus was a wonderful woman. Talk about death's-head! Jason B. Grampus would have welcomed one inplace of that pallid creature in a night-dress, who met him when he camein weavingly. 

Mrs. Grampus, who was known to her husband's inner consciousness asSophia, was a slender, blue-eyed woman, soft of voice and by day gentleof manner. Her health was not perfect. She knew this, and so did everyone she met. While not an invalid, she in her imagination trembled onthe edge of invalidism, and upon this subject she was almost loquacious. She was domestic in her tastes, and ambitious and devoted to her homeand family. 

She was a model wife and mother, and this, too, she knew; so did herfamily and friends, for this subject was second in her topics ofconversation only to the state of her health; and, furthermore, she waspeculiar and almost original in the perfection to which she had broughtthe fine art of nagging. 

Let it not be imagined that she scolded, or said small, mean things, orused any of the processes of the ordinary nagger. Her methods wererefined, studied, calculated, and correct. Her style of day-nagging was, to be explicit, to maintain perfect silence as to the grievance underwhich she suffered--indeed, this was often a profound secret from thefirst to the last; to adopt the look and bearing of a Christian martyron the way to the stake, and to keep this demonstration up for dayswithout a gleam of interruption. She shed no tears, made no reproaches;she just looked her agony, sitting, walking, doing anything. This was byday. But at night! How is it that women so have the gift of speech atnight? Mrs. Grampus had it in a marvelous degree, and it was the speechwhich is a thing to dread, penetrating and long-continued. The nerves ofJason B. Grampus were gradually giving way. Some of the finest oldgentlemen in every large city in the country know that one's physicalcondition differs with moods and seasons, and that what may be enduredat one time cannot be at another. This lesson was brought forcibly toJason B. Grampus one morning. He had passed his usual evening at theclub, had gone home at the usual hour, and had encountered even moredifficulty than usual in discovering the keyhole. He made more than theordinary degree of noise, and had encountered even more than the usualhour or two of purgatory, subsequently. He came down town in the morningheavy-eyed, with a headache, and with spirits undeniably depressed. Hesought what relief he could. He first visited the barber, and that deftpersonage, accustomed, as a result of years of carefully performed dutyto the ways and desires of his customer, shaved him with unusualdelicacy, keeping cool cloths upon his head during the whole ceremony, and terminating the exercise with a shampoo of the most refreshingcharacter. An extra twenty-five cents was the reward of his devotion. 

Mr. Grampus went to his business somewhat improved in physicalcondition, and by noon was almost himself again. Still, he had ayearning for human sympathy; he could not help it. He saw young Simpsonat a table, the only acquaintance who happened to be in the dining-roomwhen he entered, and, led by a sudden impulse, walked over, sat downopposite the young man whose aspirations he had discouraged, and enteredinto affable conversation with him. From affability the conversationdrifted into absolute confidence. Jason B. Grampus could no more havehelped being confidential that day to some one than he could helpbreathing. He told Simpson of his trouble of the night before, andconcluded his account with the earnest and almost pitiful exclamation:

"I'd give fifty thousand dollars for a keyhole one could not miss. "Simpson did not reply for a moment. He thought, thought--thoughtdeeply--and then came to him the inspiration of his life. He looked atGrampus half quizzically, but in a manner not to offend, and as if itwere merely a jest over a matter already settled, said:

"Would you give your daughter?"

Grampus looked at him puzzled, and then, responding to the joke whichseemed but one of hopelessness, he said:

"Well--if I wouldn't!"

He was startled the next second by the uprising of Simpson, who graspedhim heartily by the hand, and said:

"I've got the thing! It's a new invention! There is nothing like it inthe world! It is going to revolutionize the social relations and makehome happy. Write me a note, giving me permission to operate upon yourfront door!"

The old man sat dazed. It slowly dawned upon his mind that Simpson hadcaught him in a trap; but the word of Jason B. Grampus had never yetbeen violated. He thought rapidly himself now. Of course, the younglunatic could not do what he promised! That was impossible. No man couldinvent a keyhole which a man could not miss at night. There might besome annoyance to it all, but the young fellow could do as he pleased, only to be rebuffed again, this time with no allowance of a subsequentfamiliarity. And so they parted, the old man wearing a look somewhatperplexed, and the younger one, despite his assumed jaunty air, exhibiting a little of the same quality of expression. 

As a matter of fact, Simpson had not the slightest idea of how such akeyhole and latch-key as he had promised could be made, save that on oneoccasion he had been the author of a practical little invention utilizedin a box-factory, and felt that he had a touch of the inventive geniusin his nature. But there was his friend Hastings. It was the thought ofHastings which gave him the inspiration when he spoke to Grampus. Hastings was one of the cleverest inventors and one of the mostprominent among the younger electricians of the city. They were devotedfriends, and they would invent the greatest latch-key in the world, orburn half the midnight oil upon the market. This he was resolved upon. He sought Hastings. 

To Hastings Simpson unfolded his tale carefully, leaf by leaf, andinterested amazingly that eminent young electrician. Hastings, thoughnow married, the possessor of a baby with the reddest face in allChicago, and perfectly happy, had himself undergone somewhat of anexperience in obtaining the mother of that baby, and so sympathized withSimpson deeply. 

"We'll invent that keyhole or latch-key, or break something, " was all hesaid. There were thenceforth meetings every evening between thetwo--meetings which were sometimes far extended into the night; and theoutcome of it all was that one morning, just as the sunbeams camethrusting the white fog over blue Lake Michigan, Simpson sought his ownroom somewhat weary-eyed, but with a countenance which was simplybeatific in expression. The invention had been perfected! What thatinvention was may as well be described here and now. The first object tobe sought was, naturally, a keyhole which could not easily be missed. Ofcourse, this is a non-scientific description of it, but it may convey afair idea to the average reader. First, instead of the ordinary keyholethere was something exactly resembling the customary mouthpiece throughwhich we whistle upstairs from the ground floor of a flat seeking toattract the people who rarely answer. The only difference between it andthe ordinary mouthpiece was that it was set in so that it was even withthe woodwork of the door, and did not project at all. This mouthpiecetapered all around inside, and terminated in a keyhole which wasrubber-lined. On the other side of this keyhole was a hard surface, padded with rubber, but having just opposite the mouth of the keyhole asmall orifice extending through to a metal surface. That metal surfacewas a section of one of the most powerful horseshoe magnets everinvented in the United States, and was to be imbedded in the woodwork ofthe door. 

It was a huge thing, reaching nearly across the door, and warranted topull toward it anything magnetic of reasonable dimensions. The keyholewas all the design of Simpson, the electric part of the affair all theinvention of Hastings. Combined, they made something beautiful andwonderful. 

A key was made and magnetized so thoroughly that never before was apiece of iron so yearningly full of the electric fluid. The whole thingwas adjusted against the wall of the room, and then the men brought inthe magnetized key to ascertain if their invention would work inpractice. Simpson was carrying the key. No sooner had he entered thedoor than something began to pull him toward the magnet. He walkedsideways, like a crab, resistingly, and could not help himself; andthen, just as he had nearly reached the bell-shaped keyhole, he waswhirled around, as is the end child in a school playground when they areplaying "crack-the-whip, " fairly in front of the keyhole, and literallyhurled toward it, while the key shot fiercely into the lock. But therewas not a sound; the rubber cushion had obviated that. 

Well, to say that those two young men were delighted would be to use butone of the commonplace, everyday, decent conversational expressions ofthe English language. They were simply wild. 

Since their latest conversation Jason B. Grampus had engaged in nofurther communication with Simpson. He thought it best to avoid allrelations with the young man who could jest on serious occasions; andyet underlying his upper strata of thought was a dim and undefinedimpression that he would hear from that young man again. He did. 

The morning after the perfection of the invention Simpson called uponMr. Grampus and calmly, coldly, and dignifiedly announced that his lockwas complete, and that he was now about to install it in the Grampusfront door. He suggested to Mr. Grampus that to avoid any encounterswhich might be embarrassing, the latter should suddenly discover somefault in his own front door--in the stained glass, or something of thatsort--and have it taken off bodily and sent away to be remodeled; whilea temporary door should be put in its place. The old gentleman listenedamazed, and thought it all a farce; but then the word of Jason B. Grampus had gone out, and he must keep his word. "All right, " he said. 

So the front door was sent down town and another one put in its place, and in that front door down town Simpson and Hastings established andfirmly secured the marvelous electric lock and keyhole. Then the doorwas sent back and put in its place. The same day Simpson called at theoffice of Mr. Grampus and handed him a key, the ring of which was bigenough to hold at least two fingers. Mr. Grampus grinned sardonicallyover this continuation of the jest. 

"That's a big ring, " he said. 

"I am confident you'll not find it any too large, " was Simpson'srespectful answer. 

The old man grunted. "Will it unlock the door, and how? That is all Iwant to know. "

"It will, " said Simpson; and so they parted. 

That evening Mr. Grampus spent a late evening at the club, and went homein apprehension. As he neared his residence the apprehension grew. Hewas wobbly, and he knew it. He ascended the steps with some difficulty, and began fumbling for his latch-key. He had forgotten all about thefact that he had a new one. The remembrance came to him only when hethrust his hand into his pocket, felt the huge key, and drew it forth. That instant he felt himself leaning forward. Then something happened. He was literally "yanked" toward that sunken keyhole. His hat smashedagainst the door (fortunately it was a soft one), and he found himself aminute later leaning against the entrance to his own house, graspingthe handle of a latch-key which was in place and which would afford himadmission without the slightest sound. 

Never was a man who could walk in such condition, who, once inside adoor, could not conduct himself with the utmost quietness. Grampus wasno exception to the rule. He removed the key with a tug, closed the doorsoftly and stepped into the drawing-room, where for three hours heslept, as sleeps a babe, upon the sofa. It has already been told thatonly three hours were required to enable Mr. Grampus to recover fromthree hours' indulgence at the club. He awoke refreshed and clear-headedas a man may be. He straightened out his hat, opened the front doorquickly, pulled it to with a bang, as if he had just come in, andstalked upstairs in dignity. Never has a man more conscious andoppressive rectitude than one who has barely escaped a dreadful plight. No word came from the just-awakened terror in a night-dress. He had beensaved--saved by Simpson. 

The word of Jason B. Grampus had never been violated, and never couldbe. His first duty when he reached his office in the morning was to sendfor Simpson. 

"The key worked, " he said, "and you may have my daughter. "

Simpson has her now and is his father-in-law's partner in business. Sometimes, looking at the color of his wife's eyes, and the gracefulbut somewhat square conformation of her jaws, he wonders a little whatexperiences time may bring him. But she is different from her mother inmany ways, and Simpson is a more adaptative and inventive man than hisfather-in-law ever was. He is not much worried. 

CHRISTMAS 200, 000 B. C. 

It was Christmas in the year 200, 000 B. C. It is true that it was notcalled Christmas then--our ancestors at that date were not much givento the celebration of religious festivals--but, taking the Gregoriancalendar and counting backward just 200, 000 plus 1887 years thisparticular day would be located. There was no formal celebration, but, nevertheless, a good deal was going on in the neighborhood of the homeof Fangs. Names were not common at the time mentioned, but the moreadvanced of the cave-dwellers had them. Man had so far advanced thatonly traces of his ape origin remained, and he had begun to have alanguage. It was a queer "clucking" sort of language, something likethat of the Bushmen, the low type of man yet to be found in Africa, andit was not very useful in the expression of ideas, but then primitiveman didn't have many ideas to express. Names, so far as used, were atthis time derived merely from some personal quality or peculiarity. Fangs was so called because of his huge teeth. His mate was called SheFox; his daughter, not Nellie, nor Jennie, nor Mamie--young ladies didnot affect the "ie" then--but Red Lips. She was, for the age, remarkably pretty and refined. She could cast eyes which told a story ata suitor, and there were several kinds of snake she would not eat. Shewas a merry, energetic girl, and was the most useful member of thefamily in tree-climbing. She was an only child and rather petted. Herfather or mother rarely knocked her down with a very heavy club whenangry, and after her fourteenth year rarely assaulted her at all. So faras She Fox was concerned, this kindness largely resulted fromdiscretion, the daughter having in the last encounter so belabored themother that she was laid up for a week. The father abstained chieflybecause the daughter had become useful. Red Lips was now eighteen. 

Fangs was a cave-dweller. His home was sumptuously furnished. The floorof the cave was strewn with dry grass, something that in most othercaves was lacking. Fangs was a prominent citizen. He was one of thestrongest men in the valley. He had killed Red Beard, another prominentcitizen, in a little dispute over priority of right to possession of adead mastodon discovered in a swamp, and had for years been the terrorof every cave man in the region who possessed anything worth taking. 

On this particular morning, which would have been Christmas morning hadit not come too early in the world's history, Fangs left the cave aftereating the whole of a water-fowl he had killed with a stone the nightbefore and some half dozen field mice which his wife had brought in. SheFox and Red Lips had for breakfast only the bones of the duck and someroots dug in the forest. Fangs carried with him a huge club, and in arough pouch made of the skin of some small wild animal a collection ofstones of convenient size for throwing. This was before man had inventedthe bow or even the crude stone ax. He came back in a surly mood becausehe had found nothing and killed nothing, but he brought a companion withhim. This companion, whom he had met in the woods, was known as Wolf, because his countenance reminded one of a wolf. He could hardly becalled a gentleman, even as times and terms went then. He was evidentlynot of an old family, for he possessed something more than a rudimentarytail, and, had his face looked less like that of a wolf, it would havebeen that of a baboon. He was hairy, and his speech of rough gutturalswas imperfect. He could pronounce but few words. He was, however, verystrong, and Fangs rather liked him. 

What Fangs did when he came in was to propose a matrimonial alliance. That is, he grasped his daughter by the arm and led her up to Wolf, andthen pointing to an abandoned cave in the hillside not far distant, pushed them toward it. They did not have marriage ceremonies 200, 000B. C. Wolf, who had evidently been informed of Fangs's desire and who washimself in favor of the alliance, seized the girl and began draggingher off to the new home and the honeymoon. She resisted, and shrieked, and clawed like a wild-cat. Her mother, She Fox, came running out, clubin hand, but was promptly knocked down by Fangs, who then dragged herinto the cave again. Meanwhile the bridegroom was hauling the bride awaythrough furze and bushes at a rapid rate. Red Lips had ceased tostruggle, and was thinking. Her thoughts were not very well defined norclear, but one thing she knew well--she did not want to live in a cavewith Wolf. She had a fancy that she would prefer to live instead withYellow Hair, a young cave man who had not yet selected a mate, and whowas remarkably fleet of foot. They were now very near the cave, and sheknew that unless she exerted herself housekeeping would begin within avery few moments. Wolf was strong, but slow of movement. Red Lips wasonly less swift than Yellow Hair. An idea occurred to her. She bent herhead and buried her strong teeth deep in the wrist of the man who washalf-carrying, half-dragging her through the underwood. 

With a howl which justified his name, Wolf for an instant released hishold. That instant allowed the girl's escape. She leaped away like adeer and darted into the forest. Yelling with pain and rage, Wolfpursued her. She gained on him steadily as she ran, but there was alight snow upon the ground, and she could be followed by the trailwhich her pursuer took up doggedly and determinedly. He knew that hecould tire her out and catch her in time. He solaced himself for hertemporary escape by thinking, as he ran, how fiercely he would beat hisbride before starting for the cave again, and as he thought his teethshowed like those of a dog of to-day. 

The chase lasted for hours, and Red Lips had gained perhaps a mile uponher pursuer when her strength began to flag. The pace was telling uponher. She had run many miles. She was almost hopeless of escape when sheemerged into a little glade, where sat a man gnawing contentedly at araw rabbit. He leaped to his feet as the girl appeared, but a momentlater recognized her and smiled. The man was Yellow Hair. He reached outpart of the rabbit he was devouring, and Red Lips, whose breakfast had, as already mentioned, been a light one, tore at it and consumed it in amoment. Then she told of what had happened. 

"We will kill Wolf, and you shall live with me, " said Yellow Hair. 

Red Lips assented eagerly, and the two consulted together. Near them wasa hill, one side of which was a precipice. At the base of the precipiceran a path. The result of the consultation was that Yellow Hair left thegirl, and making a swift circuit, came upon the precipice from thefarther side, and crouched low upon its summit. The girl ran along thepath at the bottom of the declivity for some distance, then, entering adefile which crossed it at right angles, herself made a turn, climbedthe hill and joined Yellow Hair. From where they were lying they couldsee the glade they had just left. 

Wolf entered the glade, and noted where the footsteps of the girl andthose of a man came together. For a moment or two he appeared troubledand suspicious; then his face cleared. He saw that the tracks haddiverged again. He had recognized the man's tracks as those of YellowHair. 

"Yellow Hair is afraid of my strong arm, " he thought. "He dare not staywith Red Lips. I shall catch her soon and beat her and take her withme. "

The two crouching upon the precipice watched his every movement. Theyhad rolled to the edge of the declivity a rock as huge as they couldcontrol, and now together held it poised over the pathway. Wolf camehurrying along, his head bent down like that of a hound on the scent ofgame. He reached a spot just beneath the two, and then with a suddenunited effort they shoved over the rock. It thundered down upon theunfortunate Wolf with an accuracy which spoke well for the eyes andhands of the lovers. The man was crushed horribly. The two abovescrambled down, laughing, and Yellow Hair took from the dead Wolf anecklace of claws and fastened it proudly upon his own person. 

"Now we will go to my cave, " said he. 

"No, " said Red Lips; "my father will look for Wolf to-morrow, and willfind him. Then he will come and kill us. We must go and kill himto-night. "

"Yes, " said Yellow Hair. 

Hand in hand the two started for the cave of Fangs. The side hill inwhich it was situated was very steep, and the lovers thought they couldduplicate the affair with Wolf. "We must cripple him, anyway, " saidYellow Hair, "for I am not strong enough to fight him alone. His club isheavy. "

They reached the vicinity of the cave and crept above it. Having, withgreat difficulty, secured a rock in position to be rolled down, theywaited for Fangs to appear. He came out about dusk, and stretched outhis arms lazily, when the two above released the rock. It rolled downswiftly and with great force, but there was no such sheer drop affordedas when Wolf was killed, and Fangs heard the stone coming and almosteluded it. It caught one of his legs, as he tried to leap aside, andbroke it. Fangs fell to the ground. 

With a yell of triumph Yellow Hair bounded to where the crippled man layand began pounding him upon the head with his club. Fangs had a verythick head. He struggled vigorously, and succeeded in catching YellowHair by the wrist. Then he drew the younger man to him and began tothrottle him. The case of Yellow Hair was desperate. Fangs's greatstrength was too much for him. His stifled yells told of his agony. 

It was at this juncture that Red Lips demonstrated her quality as a girlof decision and of action. A sharp fragment of slate, several pounds inweight, lay at her feet. She seized it and bounded forward to where thestruggle was going on. The back of Fangs's head was fairly exposed. Thegirl brought down the sharp stone upon it just where the head and spinalcolumn joined, and the crashing thud told of the force of the blow. Delivered with such strength upon such a spot there could be but oneresult. The man could not have been killed more quickly. Yellow Hairreleased himself from the dead giant's embrace and rose to his feet. Then, after a short breathing time, to make assurance sure, he picked uphis club and battered the head of Fangs until there could be no chanceof his resuscitation. The performance was unnecessary, but neitherYellow Hair nor Red Lips was aware of the fact. Their knowledge ofanatomy was limited. Neither knew the effect of such a blow deliveredproperly at the base of the brain. 

Yellow Hair finally ceased his exercise and rested on his club. "Shallwe go to my cave now?" said he. 

"Why should we?" said Red Lips. "Let us take this cave. There is drygrass on the floor. "

They entered the cave. She Fox, who had witnessed what had occurred, sat in one corner, and looked up doubtfully as they entered. "I amtired, " said Yellow Hair, and he laid himself down and went to sleep. 

She Fox looked at her daughter. "I killed three hedgehogs to-day, " shewhispered. 

The new mistress of the cave looked at her kindly. "Go out and dig someroots, " she said, "and come back with them, and then with them and thehedgehogs we will have a feast. "

She Fox went out and returned in an hour with roots and nuts. Red Lipsawakened Yellow Hair, and all three fed ravenously and merrily. It was agreat occasion in the cave of the late Fangs. There was no suchChristmas feast, at the same time a wedding feast, in any other cave inall the region. And the sequel to the events of the day was as happy asthe day itself. Yellow Hair and Red Lips somehow avoided being killed, and grew old together, and left a numerous progeny. 

THE CHILD

There was a man who was called upon to write a Christmas article for agreat newspaper. He had been a newspaper man himself at one time and itoccurred to him, in all reverence, that if some modern daily publicationcould, nearly 1900 years ago, have reported faithfully all it couldlearn regarding the Birth in Bethlehem, there might now be fewerdoubters in the world. He imagined what a conscientious representativeof the Daily Augustinian, had such newspaper existed in Jerusalem, mighthave written concerning what was the greatest happening in the story ofall mankind since the days of Moses and the Shepherd Kings. 

Rarely has man worked harder than did this person, who, for a month orso--he had studied it all years before--sought the certain details ofthe historical story of the Christ. He re-read his Josephus; he soughtnew sources of information, and called to his aid men who knew mostalong the lines of the outstanding spokes of the main question. Then helost himself as a reporter of the Daily Augustinian, and this--headlinesand all--is what he wrote:

 THE BIRTH OF THE CHILD

 IS THEIR MESSIAH COME?

 OLD JEWISH PROPHECY DECLARED FULFILLED IN THE BIRTH OF A GREAT PRINCE. 

 THE STRANGENESS OF THE STORY. 

 A CHILD BORN IN A STABLE IN BETHLEHEM ASSERTED TO BE THE CHRIST. 

 THE ACCOUNT. 

A strange story comes to the Daily Augustinian from the suburb ofBethlehem, the result of which has been to create deep feeling among theJewish residents. It is asserted that the Messiah prophesied in theirbooks of worship has come, and that there will be a revolution in thereligious world. This belief seems to be spreading among the poor, butis not concurred in by the more wealthy nor by the rabbis who officiatein the temple, though one of them, named Zacharias, is a believer. Uponthe first knowledge gained of this reported marvel every effort was madeby the Augustinian to learn all possible concerning it. The account wasthat the Messiah had come in the form of a babe, born in the stable ofan inn at Bethlehem, and a trustworthy member of the Augustinian's staffwas sent to the place at once. Here is his account:

It was learned before Bethlehem was reached by the reporter that thestory of the Child had first been circulated by those in charge of theflocks kept for sacrifice in the Jewish temple. These are shepherds ofan intelligent class who associate with the priests, and whose pasturesare very near the city on the Bethlehem road. It was thought best tointerview these men before seeking the Child. They were found withoutdifficulty, and told their story simply, a story so remarkable that itis impossible to determine what comment should be made upon it. 

The head shepherd, an intelligent and evidently thoroughly honest man ofabout forty years of age, spoke for all present. "We were watching ourflocks as usual on the night concerning the occurrences of which youask, " he said, "when all at once the sky became full of a great light. It was wonderful. We looked up, and there in the midst of the lightappeared a form which I cannot describe, it was so bright and dazzling. It spoke to us; spoke in a voice like nothing that can be conceived offor its sweetness, saying that the Savior we have so long awaited hadbeen born to us, and that we might know Him because we should find Himin Bethlehem wrapped in His swaddling clothes and lying in a manger. Thewonderful figure had but ceased speaking when the whole world aboveseemed filled with similar forms, and there came from the heavens suchmusic, such sounds of praising, as I cannot convey an idea of to youmore than I can of the figure. We were awestricken at first, and thenwith one accord we started for Bethlehem. Then another strange thinghappened. A great light seemed to float above and ahead of us until wereached Bethlehem, when it hung suspended over the inn. And there wefound the Child. "

"Is the Child the Messiah of your race? Do you believe it?"

"I _know_!" was the answer. "It is the Messiah!" And that all theshepherds believe was apparent. They appear intelligent and honest andstraightforward of speech. It is incomprehensible. The next step was tovisit Bethlehem. 

There is but one inn in Bethlehem; there was but one place in which toseek the Child. Thither went the seeker after facts. The inn is a plainstructure of the usual stone-work of the hillside towns, and the stable, extending backward from the house proper, is largely an excavation inthe rock. There is a narrow entrance at the side as well as one throughthe house. About the gates of the inn stood a number of people, the lookupon their faces indicating that they were aware of the great news totheir race, but all silent in their joy or disbelief or whateversentiment affected them. The visitor was shown through the inn into thestable. There were the man, the woman, and the Child. They chanced to bealone at the time. 

Of the Child it may be said that it is a beautiful male infant, nothingmore, to the ordinary eye, and conducting itself not differently fromany babe of its age. It clings to its mother's bosom, knowing nothing ofthe world, and as yet, caring nothing. The man is a sober-faced Jew, apparently about thirty years of age. The woman would attract attentionanywhere, for she is one of the fair women of Nazareth, and even amongthose so noted for their beauty she must have ranked foremost, so sweetof face is she. She is seemingly not yet twenty years of age, with thedark hair, Oriental features, and wonderful eyes of the women of herclass and town, but with an added expression which makes one think ofthe angels of which the Jewish writers tell. That she herself believesshe is the mother of the Messiah, that the Child she has borne is theChrist, does not admit of doubt. Even as she clasped Him to her breastthere was awe mingled with the affection in her look, a devotion beyondeven that of motherhood. The man, it was apparent, shared with her inthe faith. He was asked to tell the story of the miraculous birth, andstepping aside a little from the woman and the Child, he talked gravelyand earnestly, answering all questions, since, as he said, it was hisduty to tell the great thing to all the world, to Jew and pagan alike. 

He was betrothed to the young woman Mary, he said, months ago, in thetown of Nazareth, in Galilee, where he is a carpenter. They were to havebeen wedded, but during the interval between the betrothal and themarriage there came to her a figure, which was that of an angel of theLord, saying to her that a son would be born to her the paternity ofwhich would be supernatural, and that this son would be the Messiah toldof in Jewish prophecy. She informed her betrothed of this, and that shehad evidence that what had been told her would occur. At first Josephwas greatly troubled and resolved that the marriage should not takeplace lest a great disgrace should come upon him. He loved the youngwoman, and did not want to harm her in the eyes of the world, yet thereseemed no alternative but to refuse a consummation of the betrothal. Itwas at this time that there came to him, as there had come to her, anangelic visitation, in which was confirmed what she had told him, and inwhich he was commanded to marry her. He was told this in a dream, andbelieved, and did as he was commanded, though as yet he has been thehusband of Mary but in name. 

After their marriage came the recent order from Rome for the census ofall the Jews, and as it was accompanied by the direction that all shouldbe enumerated, not where they might be living, but where they wereregistered at birth, Joseph, who was originally from Bethlehem, wascompelled to make the journey. He was accompanied by his young wife, whorode upon a donkey, her husband walking all the way from Nazareth besideher. Upon their arrival in Bethlehem they found the place so full ofthose called in by the census that there was no place for them to lodge. The owner of the inn, though, who knew of Joseph's family, did all hecould to relieve them, and they were so given lodging in the stable. There to the patient Mary came a woman's great trial, and the Child wasborn. Then came the shepherds, with their wonderful tale of what theyhad seen, followed, as related, by their adoration. 

It was learned by inquiry in Bethlehem that Joseph, the carpenter, though a poor man, is a direct descendant of David, the famous Jewishking, and, strangely enough, too, that the beautiful Mary belongs to thesame princely family. The Hebrew records of this great race are mostcomplete, and there is no doubt as to the blood of the man and woman. Mary, so it is said, is the daughter of a gentlewoman named Anna and ofa Hebrew who was held in great respect. There is another most singularfact to be related in this connection. It will be remembered that somemonths ago, when it came the turn of the venerable priest Zacharias tooffer the sacrifice in the Jewish temple--a privilege which comes to apriest but once in his lifetime--he returned before the people from theinner sanctuary stricken dumb, and manifesting by signs that he had seena vision, the event creating great excitement among the members of hisfaith. Later he made it known that in the sanctuary he had a vision ofan angel, who declared to him that his wife, who was childless, shouldhave a son in her old age who should be a great prophet and preacher, proclaiming the Messiah. Since that time, the aged couple, who livesouth of Jerusalem, have indeed been blessed with a child, the father'sdumbness disappearing with its birth and the priest again praising theLord of his people. To this child has been given the name of John. 

What is most remarkable and unexplainable of all is something confirmedby Joseph and Mary, as well as by Zacharias and his wife. The wife ofZacharias, who is named Elizabeth, is a cousin of Mary, and some impulsemoved the latter, after she had explained her condition to Joseph, tovisit her aged kinswoman. She did so, and no sooner had she reached thehome of Zacharias and entered the door than Elizabeth, who had not knownof her coming, broke forth into praise of Mary as to be the mother ofher Lord. The unborn babe, it is declared, recognized the presence ofthe Messiah, and so Elizabeth was led to adore and prophesy. 

Many Nazarenes who are now in Jerusalem were seen, and all confirmed thestory, so far as they could know of the relations of Joseph and Mary, while many people of the hill town where Zacharias and Elizabeth liveconfirm all that is related of the extraordinary occurrence in theirhousehold, of the husband's recovery from dumbness when his child wasborn, and of his apparent inspiration at the time. There is a strongfeeling among the Jews, and the belief in the real appearance of theMessiah is spreading, though, as intimated, the priests of the temple, with the exception already alluded to, seem disposed to discredit therevelation. They declare that the Messiah would scarcely come in suchhumble way; that the Prince of the House of David who shall renew theglory of their race will come in great magnificence and that all willrecognize Him at once. 

What has been related is what was learned some days ago from theinterviews given and from inquiries in all quarters where it seemedlikely that they would throw any light on what has really occurred. Since then something as inexplicable has happened as anything heretoforereported, something from many points of view more startling andunexplainable. There came into Jerusalem recently three Persians of thesort called magi, or wise men, the students of the great race who havebeen to an extent friendly with the Jews since the time when Babylon wasat its greatest. These three men, who had made a journey which must haveoccupied them nearly two years, seemed hurriedly intent on some greatmission, and presented themselves at once before the Tetrarch, Herod, asking for information. They wanted to know where the Child was to befound who was born King of the Jews, seeming to think that the Tetrarchmust know and would direct them willingly. They said they had seen theChild's star in the far east and had come to do Him homage. This wasastonishing information to the Tetrarch. As is well known, there aremany political intrigues in progress now, and Herod has adopted asevere policy. As between the Romans and the Jews he has beenconsiderate in the endeavor to preserve pleasant relations with bothparties, but he is most alert. His reply to the magi was that he did notknow where the Child was, but he hoped they would succeed in theirmission. He requested, furthermore, that when they had found the Kingthey should inform him, that he also might visit Him. The magi departed, and shrewd officers were at once sent to follow them, but, assubsequently appeared, with slight success. The magi eluded the officersand found the Child. Joseph and Mary had moved from the stable into ahouse in Bethlehem, and there the three Persians bowed down before theBabe and, after the style of adoration in their country, presentedgifts--gold, frankincense, and myrrh. 

These last related facts were learned, as were those first given, inBethlehem. The next step in the inquiry was naturally to seek aninterview with the magi, the three travelers from Persia who so oddlyshowed their belief in the supernatural nature of what has occurred, butthey were found with difficulty. After visiting the Infant they hadreturned at once to town, and it proved a hard task to discover theirwhereabouts. It was ascertained, after much inquiry, that three Persiansof the better class had been stopping at a small hotel near the southerngate, and a visit to the place revealed the fact that they were stillthere, though about to leave. They had, after their visit to Bethlehem, remained close indoors, and, the keeper of the hotel said, seemedapprehensive of a visit from the authorities. The reporter was presentedto three fine-looking Chaldeans, evidently men of some importance athome, who received him with reserve, but who, after learning hisoccupation and object, became a little more communicative. The eldest ofthe three, a man past middle-age, with full beard and remarkably keeneyes, acted as spokesman for all. He was asked what he thought of theChild at Bethlehem. 

"It is the Messiah of the Jews, " was his prompt reply. 

"How do you know that?"

"We know it by His star--the star that was prophesied as heralding Hiscoming. That the Jewish Messiah was to come was foretold by their ownprophets and by our own Zoroaster. We are astronomers, and know themystery of the heavens and the nativities. In what is called MountVictory in our country is a cave, from the mouth of which the heavensare studied by wise men. About two years ago appeared the star of theMessiah. Then we began our journey to the city of the Jews to pay homageto the Great Ruler born. "

"But why do you, who are not Jews, come on such an expedition?"

"Our belief is broad. We care very little for any old teachings whichare not verified by celestial phenomena. We saw the prophecy fulfilled. That was enough. "

"What about the star? Is it something which will not last?"

"No. It is a star which will last as long as any, but one which isvisible on earth only at intervals of long ages. Then it foretells agreat event. It appeared last just before the birth of Moses. "

"What is it like?"

"It is a bright, almost red, star, visible in the sign Pisces of thezodiac only when Jupiter and Saturn are in conjunction. It is the starof the Messiah. "

His companions assented to all the elder man said, but he declined totalk further on the subject. The name of the speaker was given asMelchoir; the names of his two friends were Caspar and Balthasar. Thefirst was the one who made a gift of gold for the child, while thesecond contributed frankincense, and the third myrrh. The reporterreturned to the hotel later in the day to ask certain additionalquestions, but the visitors had left hurriedly. The landlord said theyhad gone none too soon, as agents of the authorities visited the placesoon after their disappearance. It is said that they were warned in adream that they must escape. They were all three well mounted, and arenow, no doubt, some distance from Jerusalem. 

Such are the facts. Such is the story as learned of the Messiah of theJews. Were their prophets right? Has the great Prince come? Is the gloryof Rome to pass away before the glory of the Hebrew Christ?

Will the Tetrarch remain undisturbed?

THE BABY AND THE BEAR

This is a true story of the woods:

It was afternoon on the day before a holiday, and a boy of nine and afat-legged baby of three years were frolicking in front of a rough loghouse beside a stream in a forest of northern Michigan. The house wasmiles from the nearest settlement, yet the boy and baby were the onlyones about the place. The explanation of this circumstance was simple. 

It was proposed to build a sawmill in the forest, and ship the lumberdownstream to the great lake. The river was deep enough to allow thepassage up to the sawmill site of a small barge, and a preliminary ofthe work was to build a rude dock. A pile-driver was towed up the river, but as this particular pile-driver had not the usual stationarysteam-engine accompanying it, the great iron weight which was droppedupon the piles to drive them into the river bed was elevated by means ofa windlass and mule power. The weight, once lifted, was released bymeans of a trigger connected by a cord with a post, where a man drivingthe mule around could pull it. The arrangement was primitive buteffective. 

A Mr. Hart, the man in charge of the four or five workmen engaged, lived with his wife and two children, Johnny and the baby, in the loghouse referred to. The men had leave of absence, and had left early inthe morning to spend the day in the settlement, about ten miles off. Later in the day Mr. Hart and his wife had driven there also to obtaincertain things for making the holiday dinner a little out of the common, and to secure certain small gifts for Johnny and the baby. So it camethat Johnny, a sturdy and pretty reliable youth of his years, was leftin charge of things, with strict injunctions to take good care of thebaby. A luncheon neatly arranged in a basket was likewise left to beconsumed whenever he and his more youthful charge should become hungry. The pair had been having a good time all by themselves on the dayreferred to. Breakfast had been eaten very late that morning, but Johnnywas a boy and growing. It was about one o'clock when he proposed to thebaby that they eat dinner. That corpulent young gentleman assented withgreat promptness. Johnny went into the house and got the lunch. Thebroad platform of the pile-driver, tied firmly beside the river's bank, attracted Johnny's attention as he emerged, and he conceived the ideathat there would be a good place for enjoyment of the feast. He helpedthe baby to get on board. The great mass of iron used in the workchanced to be raised to the top of the framework, and in the spaceunderneath, between the timbers was a cozy niche in which to sit andeat. The boy and baby sat down there and proceeded to business. 

It occurred to the boy that he had done a tolerably good thing. Hedidn't analyze the situation particularly, but he had an idea thateating on the barge was fun. The platform rocked gently, the air wascrisp and keen, a smell of the pine woods came over the river, andJohnny felt pretty well. He thought this having charge of things all byhimself was by no means bad. 

"Whoosh!"

Born in the backwoods though he had been, Johnny did not at firstrecognize that sound--half grunt, half snort, and full of a terriblemeaning. He sprang to his feet and looked up the bank. There, gazingdown upon the pair on the platform, was a big black bear!

The beast looked fierce and hungry. The weather had been cold, and bearswhich had not gone into winter quarters were all savage. A yearlingsteer had been killed by one in the woods a few days before. Theattention of the brute upon the bank seemed fixed upon the baby. Therewas something in its fierce eyes indicating that it had found just whatit needed. If there was anything that would make a meal just to itstaste that day it was baby--fat baby, about two years old. It gaveanother "whoosh!" and came lumbering down the bank. 

For a moment Johnny stood panic-stricken; then instinctively heclutched the baby--that individual kicking and protesting wildly atbeing dragged away from luncheon--and stumbled toward the other end ofthe barge. As Johnny and the baby reached one end, the bear came downupon the other, and shuffled rapidly toward them. There was slight hopefor the fleeing couple, at least for the baby. That personage seemeddestined for a bear's dinner that day. Suddenly the bear hesitated. Hehad reached the remains of the dinner. 

Part of what Johnny's mother had provided for the midday repast wasbread and butter, plentifully besmeared with honey. If a bear, big orlittle, has one weakness in this world it is just honey. He will do forhoney what a miser will do for gain, what a politician will do foroffice, what a lover will do for his sweetheart, what some women will dofor dress. For that bear to pass that bread and honey was simply animpossibility. He would stop and devour it. It would take but a momentor two, and the baby could come afterward. 

The boy gave a frightened glance behind him as he jumped off theplatform and scrambled up the bank with the baby in his arms. He sawthat the bear had paused, and a gleam of hope came to him. He put thebaby down on its feet and started to run with it. But the baby washeavy; its legs besides being, as already remarked, very fat, were veryshort, and progress was not rapid. The bear, the boy knew, would not beoccupied with the luncheon long. He reached the windlass where the mulehad worked, and leaned pantingly against the post holding the cord bypulling which the weight was released from the top of the timbers on thebarge. A wild idea of trying to climb the post with the baby came intohis head. He looked up and noticed the cord. 

Like a flash came to the terrified boy a great thought. If he dared onlystop a moment! If he dared try to pull the cord as he had seen hisfather do and release the trigger which sustained the great weight!There was the bear right under it!

Even as this thought came to Johnny the bear looked up and growled. Johnny grabbed at the baby and started to run again, but the babystumbled and rolled over into a little hollow with its fat legs stickingupward. In desperation Johnny jumped back and caught at the cord. Hepulled with all his might, but the trigger at the top of the pile-driversustained a great burden and the thing required more than Johnny'sstrength. "Come, baby, quick!" he cried. "Put your arm about me and leanback!" The young gentleman addressed had regained his feet again and wasplacid. He waddled up, put his arm about Johnny, and leaned backsturdily. The bear looked up again and growled, this time moreearnestly. The luncheon was about finished. Johnny set his teeth andpulled again. The baby added, say, thirty pounds to the pull. It wasjust what was needed. There was a creak at the top of the pile-driver, and then--

"W-h-i-r-r! T-h-u-d!"

Six hundred pounds of iron dropped from a height of twenty-five feet onthe small of the back of an elephant would finish him. It is more thanenough for a bear. Over the river and through the forest went out oneawful roar of brute agony, then all was still. A bear with its backbonebroken and crushed down into its stomach is just as dead as a chipmunkwould be under the same circumstances. For a moment the silenceprevailed, to be followed by the yell of a healthy youngster in greatdistress. As the trigger yielded, Johnny and the baby had keeled heelsover head backward into the soft moss, and Johnny had fallen on thebaby. 

The boy arose a little dazed, lifted the howling infant to its feet, andthen looked toward the boat. The bear was there--crushed beneath theiron. From one side of the mass projected the animal's hind-quarters, from the other its front, and there were the glaring eyes and savageopen jaws. It was enough. Johnny grabbed the baby and started for thehouse. 

Johnny was perfectly convinced that the bear was dead, very dead, but hedidn't propose to take any chances. He liked adventure, but he wassatisfied with the quantity for one afternoon. He was young, but he knewwhen he had enough. He dragged the baby inside, bolted the door, andwaited. At about six o'clock in the evening his father and motherreturned. Johnny didn't have much to say when he opened the door andcame out with the baby to meet them, but for a man of his size his chestprotruded somewhat phenomenally. He told his story. His mother caught upthe fat baby and kissed it. His father took him by the hand, and theywent down and looked at the bear. Tears came in the man's eyes as helaid his hand on Johnny's head. 

Along in January or February it was worth one's while to be up inMichigan where they were building a sawmill. It was worth one's while tonote the appearance of a young man, nine years of age or thereabouts, who would saunter out of the log house along in the afternoon, advancetoward the river, and then, with his legs spread wide apart, his handsin his pockets, and his hat stuck on the back of his head, stand on asmall knoll and look down upon the spot where _he_ killed a bear the daybefore Christmas. It was worth one's while to note the expression uponhis countenance as he stood there and as he finally stalked away, whistling Yankee Doodle, with perhaps, a slight lack of precision, butwith tremendous spirit and significance. 

AT THE GREEN TREE CLUB

Tom Oldfield sat comfortably over his newspaper in his big chair at theGreen Tree Club. He gave a good-natured swing of his shoulders, butheaved a sigh when he was told that two ladies desired to see himimmediately on important business. The well-trained club servant, acolored man, gave the message with a knowing look, subdued by respectfulsympathy. 

Now, Tom Oldfield was well known for his gallantry, and no one had everaccused him of being disturbed over a call from ladies, under anycircumstances, but all had not yet learned what was the sad, sinceretruth, that Mr. Oldfield decidedly objected to any interruption when hewas smoking his after-breakfast cigar and glancing over the news of theday. While engaged in this business Mr. Oldfield insisted upon a measureof quiet and self-concentration. When it was over he was ready to meetthe rest of the world--and not before. 

And so he sighed and made his moan to himself as he took his eyes fromthe column of The Daily Warwhoop, and bade Joseph show the ladies to theclub library, his pet loafing place, not only despite of, but because ofthe fact that it was open to visitors and much frequented by clubmembers at all hours. Tom Oldfield was a genial and companionable soul. 

His welcoming smile faded as his kindly eyes took in the advancinggroup. Led by Joseph in a most deferential, not to say deprecating, manner, the two ladies slowly crossed the big room, and came around thegreat table to the chair set for them near Mr. Oldfield's acceptedharbor in the club rooms. 

One of the visitors was a middle-aged woman of much elegance of figure, and with a face the outlines of which were beautiful, while itsexpression of discontent, accentuated by lines of worry, made its ownerdistinctly unattractive. She was clothed in all the glory of richlyexaggerated plainness and in the latest fashion for morning walkingdress. Her daughter, simply the beautiful mother over again without thedisagreeable expression, though her young face was clouded by grief andconcern, was the other caller. Joseph announced the names of the fairinterlopers, and Oldfield groaned inwardly as he heard them. 

"Mrs. And Miss Chester, Mr. Oldfield, " said Joseph, with a low andsweeping Ethiopian bow, and after the ladies were seated he withdrew, not before casting upon Oldfield, however, a significant glance. 

Oldfield was slow to seat himself again, after his greeting to hisguests. Manifestly, he thought, his easy chair would not do for himduring the coming interview. He selected a high-backed cane-seat chairfrom those around the writing table, and as he had already twice said, "Good morning, Mrs. Chester, " and "I am very glad to meet you"--thelast being a wicked perversion of his real emotions--he waited for theparty of the second part to open the business of the meeting. 

"We have come to you--and hope you will pardon us for troubling you, Mr. Oldfield--"

The club man saw that Mrs. Chester was not going to cry, and tookcourage. 

"We need your help, " the lady continued, "and we are sure you will giveit to us. "

"I shall be very glad if I can in any way assist or oblige you, Mrs. Chester, " Oldfield assured the elder lady, while he looked determinedlyaway from the younger one, who, he was positive, was getting ready tocry. "What do you want me to do? Ned isn't in any trouble is he?" Thiswas going straight to the point, as Mr. Oldfield knew full well. 

Of course, Ned Chester was at the bottom of this spectacular disturbanceof his morning. It might as well be out and over the sooner. 

"Oh! Mr. Oldfield, " cried the daughter, "have you seen papa?"

She was bound to cry, if she hadn't already begun. Oldfield was sure ofit. 

"Catherine!" expostulated the girl's mother, and Oldfield noticed thesharp acrimony of voice and gesture. "Mr. Oldfield, " she softened asshe addressed him, but there was a hardness about her every feature andexpression, "my husband has not been seen nor heard from since lastSunday, when he left home, and I am almost distracted. "

"And we have waited until we can bear it no longer. This is Friday--itis almost a week, " broke in the girl, ignoring her mother's protestingwave of the hand and angry glance. 

"Oh, he's all right, " asserted Oldfield. "Don't worry. We will find himat once; I'm sure some one in the club will know all about him. Youhave, of course, inquired at his office?"

"Yes, and no one there knows anything about him. His letters lieunopened on his desk; he has not been there since Saturday. "

There was no occasion for all this fencing. The heaven's truth, known toall three, was that Ned Chester was away on a symmetrical and giganticspree, according to his custom once or twice a year. 

Oldfield, looking straight at Mrs. Chester's slightly bent brow, said, quietly, "I have known Ned Chester for twenty years; it is no new thingfor him to be away for a day or a night occasionally, is it?"

"No, " replied the poor wife, "but he has never stayed so long before, and I know something has happened--he has been hurt, may be killed. Wemust find him!"

"You say he left home Sunday?"

"Yes, Sunday evening. He left in a fit of anger over some little thing, and now--"

She was dangerously near breaking down, and Oldfield could plainly hearsmothered sobs beside him on the side of his chair toward which he chosenot to look. 

"I will inquire, " he said, hopefully, "and I know I can find him almostimmediately. Nothing has happened to hurt him. Sit here a moment andwait for me. "

Just outside the door Oldfield met Joseph. "Well, where is he?" heasked. 

"Mr. Oldfield, I tell you Mr. Chester has on a most awful jag, and hefell and almost split open his skull Tuesday morning, and I've had himover at the Barrett House ever since. The doctor has patched him up, buthe ain't fit to be seen, not by ladies. "

"Pretty nervous, is he?"

"Nervous! Why, he's just missed snakes this time, that's all!"

"Oh, nonsense! He's not so bad as that; but I must go and see him. Whendid you see him last?"

"Stayed all night with him, sir, and left him quite easy this morning. Don't let the ladies see him, Mr. Oldfield; it would break him up. "

"Break him up! What do you think about their own feelings!"

"Well, you see, he is dreading to go home, and to see her walk right inon him would break him all up. It would so! He would have 'em surethen. "

"Joseph, you've got sense. Take this for any little thing you may need, "said Oldfield, as he put a green colored piece of paper in Joseph'shand, and turned back into the library where the waiting women sat. 

"Your father is safe, Miss Chester, " he said, softly to the pale, anxious daughter, who ran to meet him; "you shall see him soon. I willtell your mother all about it. "

Miss Chester, expressing great relief, and, giving Oldfield her hand, sat obediently down to the illustrated books and magazines he handedher. She was quite out of earshot of the place where her mother satimpatiently waiting for news. 

"Your husband is all right, Mrs. Chester. He has met with a slightaccident, but is under a doctor's care at the Barrett House. I will goto see him. Without doubt he will be able to go home in a day or two. "

The wife nearly lost self-control, but as Oldfield talked on, reassuringher of her husband's safety, she gradually became calm, and then thelook of settled hardness came back into her face. 

"What shall I do?" she burst out. "How can I go on in such shame andagony year after year? You're an old friend of Ned's, Mr. Oldfield--excuse me--perhaps you can advise me. "

"I want to, " answered Oldfield, promptly. "But will you hear me withoutbecoming angry?"

"Certainly! I will be thankful for your advice, Mr. Oldfield. "

The man had a certain hardness in his own look now. 

"Let us sit down by this window. There, you look comfortable. Now, let'ssee--oh, yes, I remember where I wanted to begin. Ned is one of thosefellows who find Sunday a bad day--and holidays. I've heard him sayoften how he hated holidays; and it's then, or on a Sunday, that he goesoff on these drinking bouts, isn't it?"

"Yes, " gasped the astonished woman. This cool, practical way of lookingat the trial of her life was strange to her; she found it hard to adjustherself to the situation. 

"He's a hard-working man, is Ned, a regular toiler and moiler. When heis at work he is all right, or when he is at play, so far as that goes. He is never so happy and so entirely himself as when he is amongcongenial friends, unless it is when over a good book, or off hunting orfishing. These crazy drinking spells come on at Christmas orThanksgiving time, or on some Sunday, when he is at home with hisfamily. "

Mrs. Chester's face had flushed painfully. Not seeming to notice heragitation, Oldfield continued: "You remarked, did you not, that Ned lefthome in anger Sunday evening. Pardon me, since I have said so muchalready, was there some argument or contention in the house--between youand Ned, for instance?"

"It was a little quarrel, nothing serious, " faltered Mrs. Chester. 

"I don't want to hear about it, " said Oldfield, hurriedly, himself muchembarrassed, and inwardly fuming over himself as a colossal idiot forentering upon such a conversation. "I only want you to think for aminute about the last hour or two Sunday evening before Ned left home. No doubt he was to blame for whatever that was unpleasant, not a doubt;but since you ask me for advice, can't you think of some way to makeSundays and holidays endurable to Ned, bless his big heart! Be a littleeasy on him, a little careless about his ways. Ned is such a simplefellow! Hard words, irony and sarcasm, complainings and scoldings cuthim very deeply! Don't be offended, but don't you think that perhaps youcould manage it to somehow keep Ned from flinging out of the housedesperate and foolish every once in a while, on some Sunday or holiday?I'll tell you! Begin early--begin sometimes before he is awake--to getthings ready, and keep them going so that Ned won't start out, areckless, emotional maniac before nightfall!"

Oldfield paused, struck by his own earnestness and plain speaking, andsomewhat scared. 

Mrs. Chester arose, and Oldfield's heart ached for her. "Madame, " hesaid, "any man who leaves wife and child to worry over him for dayswhile he carouses is to an extent a brute. There is no comprehensiveexcuse for him. But when one is living with, and intends to go on livingwith a man who at times becomes such a brute, it is as well to know andacknowledge his weak points, and forbear to press him too far, even inthe best cause, even when you are perfectly right, as I am sure youalways are, for example. But let us come back to our original topic ofconversation. I am afraid you cannot see Ned to-day. I will call uponhim, and then telephone you his exact condition, telling you if he needsanything. And to-morrow, after the doctor has made his morning visit, Iwill send you another message. Ned will be all right and at home in aday or two. 

"In the mean time you might think over what I have said to you, and makeup your mind whether I am right or not. About what, you ask, MissChester? Oh! only some nonsense I have been talking to your mother, asort of theory of mine with which she has no patience, I can see. Good-by, ladies--no, don't waste time thanking me; I am glad if I havebeen of any use. Good-by. "

He bowed them into the elevator, and slowly drifted back into the clublibrary. "Of all fools I am the prize fool!" he murmured to himself. Andhe called Joseph, and with him set forth to the Barrett House to see NedChester. 

THE RAIN-MAKER

John Gray, civil engineer, good looking and aged twenty-eight, wasengaged in the service of the United States of America. He had, uponemerging from college, been fortunate enough to secure a place among thenew graduates who are utilized in making what is called the "lakesurvey, " that is, the work upon the great inland seas we designate aslakes, and had finally from that drifted into work for the AgriculturalDepartment--a department which, though latest established, is bound, with its force for good upon this great producing continent, to rankeventually with any place in the cabinet of the President. In theAgricultural Department John Gray, being clever and a hard worker, hadrisen rapidly, and had finally been appointed assistant to the rankingofficial whose duty it was to visit certain arid regions of Arizona andthere seek by scientific methods to produce a sudden rainfall overparched areas, and so make the desert blossom as the rose. 

Mr. John Gray went with the expedition, and distinguished himself fromthe beginning. He could endure hard work; he was a good civil engineerand comprehended the theory upon which his superiors were working, andabove all, he was an enthusiast in the thing they were undertaking, andhad independent devices of his own, to be submitted at the proper time, for the attainment of certain mechanical ends which had puzzled thepundits at Washington. He had ideas as to how should be flown the newform of kite which should carry into the upper depths explosives toshatter and compress the atmosphere and produce the condensation whichmakes rain, just as concussions from below--as after the cannonading ofa great battle--produce the same effect. He had fancies about a lot ofthings connected with the work of the rain-making expedition, and hisfancies were practicalities. He proved invaluable to his superiors inoffice when came the experiments the reports of which at first declaredthat rain-making was a success, and later admitted something to thecontrary. 

There had been, as all the world knows, certain experiments of thegovernment rain-makers followed by rains, and certain experiments afterwhich the earth had remained as parched and the sky as brazen as before. The one successful experiment had, as it chanced, been conducted underMr. Gray's personal and ardent supervision. He had overseen the flyingof the kites, the impudent invasion of the upper depths when a buttonwas touched, and then he had seen the white cumulus clouds gather andbecome nimbus, followed by a brief rainfall upon a hot and yellow land. He had felt as Moses may have felt when he smote the rock, as DeLesseps may have felt when he brought the seas together. He thought oneof the man-helping problems of the ages almost solved. 

So far John Gray, civil engineer in the service of the Government, hadbeen lost in his avocation. He saw no flower beside his path; he dreamedof no woman he had known. But there came a change, for which he was notresponsible. There was delay in the shipping of additional suppliesneeded for the expedition's work--as there usually is delay and badmanagement in whatever is intrusted to certain encrusted bureaus inWashington--and in the interval, with nothing to do, this civilengineer spent necessarily most of his time in the little town about therailroad station, and there fell in love. It was an odd location forsuch luxury or risk as the one denned; but the thing happened. John Grayfell in love, and fell far. 

Arizona is said, by its present inhabitants, to have a climate whichmakes the faces of women wonderfully fair, given a face whose featuresare not distorted to start with. This assertion may be attributed ratherto territorial pride than to conviction; but it doesn't matter. Therewas assuredly one pretty girl in Cougarville, and Gray had begun to feela more than passing interest in her. He had even gone so far in hismeditations as to conceive the idea of taking her East with him when hewent back (he had laid up a little money), and though he had not yetsuggested this to the young lady, he felt reasonably confident. She hadbeen with him much and seemed very fond of him. Once he had kissed herat the door. Certainly he was fond of her. 

The little town upon the railroad was not new, and Miss Fleming belongedto one of the old families of the place--that is, her father had comethere at least twenty-five years ago. He had mined and dealt in timberand taken tie contracts, and was now considered as fairly ranking amongthe twenty-five or thirty "warm" men of the place. There were castes inCougarville, and the society made up of these families was exclusive. Their parties in town were as select as their picnics in the foothills, and the foothill picnics were the occasions where Cougarville societyreally came out. It was a foothill picnic which brought an end to allrelations between John Gray and Miss Molly Fleming. It came about inthis way. 

There had been a party in Cougarville, and Gray, finally abandoninghimself to all the risk of falling in love and marrying this flower ofthe frontier, had committed himself deeply. He had declared himself. Thegirl was reserved, but beaming. He had to leave his apparently more thanhalf-acquiescent inamorata to whom he was an escort. At 11 P. M. He lefther temporarily in charge of one Muggles, the curled darling and easilymost imposing clerk among all those employed in the big "emporium" ofthe frontier town. He felt safe. Such a character as Molly Fleming couldnever be attracted by such a person as that scented floor-walker, evenif he did chance to have a small interest in the concern and reasonablygood prospects. He left them with equanimity; he saw them together anhour later with just a shade of apprehension. They seemed to understandeach other too well, and their eyes, as they looked each into theother's face, seemed a trifle too soulful and trusting. He asked MissFleming on the way home if she would go with him to the picnic to beheld in the wooded foothills on the following day. She laughed in hisface, and said she was going with Mr. Muggles. He saw it all. Civilengineering and devotion had been cast over for a general storeinterest, home relatives, Muggles, and devotion. He was jilted. 

The reflections of John Gray that night, described by colors, may bereferred to as simply green and red--green for jealousy, red forvengeance. He slept and had nightmares, and waked and made plans. It wasan awful night for him. But as morning came and his head cleared, theinstinct of jealousy lessened and that of vengeance increased. He arosein the morning a more or less dangerous human being. 

The picnic had no attraction for John Gray. He attended to businessabout the headquarters of the expedition, and when noon came sat asideand brooded. He thought to himself, "They are up there together, andshe has discarded me for this storekeeper, who knows nothing save how tomake close little trades and make and save money. " Then a new andbroader range of thought came to him: "She is but following the instinctof her family. Blood will tell. Both her father and mother are below thegrade which means the average of my own kind. She will in time show herblood, who ever may marry her. That is the law of nature. " Thisencouraged him. 

As his reasoning process became more smooth and true, he realized whatan escape he had had, and then, as he reviewed the story of the pastmonths, his desire for "evening up" things grew. It was low and mean, heknew, but that made no difference. He must get even. 

He thought over the situation. There they were, the élite ofCougarville, up in a canyon of the foothills, beside a creek, where weretrees and turf and picturesque rocks, and were having a good time. Muggles and Molly had no doubt withdrawn from the mass of picnickers, and were billing and cooing together. His veins burned at the thought. Oh, for some means of settling them! Then came an inspiration to him!

Gray's superior was away, but there had come to hand at last all thematerial necessary for a renewed experiment. He had the kites, theexplosives, and the assistants. He had authority to act should hissuperior not return on time. His superior was not on time. Was it notmore than his inclination but really his duty to try to make rain atonce, and in the particular locality just suited in his judgment forsecuring an effect? As to the locality, there was no doubt. It was upthe foothills a mile or two above, and just beside the valley in whichwere the picnickers. The men about the post were summoned, burros wereloaded, and at 2 P. M. The whole rain-making force was far up thefoothills unloading and preparing to fly gigantic kites and explode inthe upper vaults of the atmosphere bombs and rockets and all sorts ofthings to make a rainstorm. 

All went well. The wind was right, and the huge kites, bomb-laden, climbed into the sky like vultures. The electric wires were in order, and when at last the buttons were touched and the explosion came, itseemed as if the very vaults of heaven were riven. It was a greatsuccess. Gray, elated and hopeful, but not fully assured, stood andwatched and waited. 

He did not have to wait long. Not far to the north in the hard blue skysuddenly appeared a little dab of woolly white. Another showed in theeast. They showed all about, and grew and grew in size until they becamegreat, over-toppling, blending mountains, a new and mysterious worldagainst the sky. Then came a darkening of the mass. The cumulus waschanging to the nimbus. Then came a distant rumble, and, precedinganother, a great blaze of lightning went across the zenith. To those inthe region the world darkened. A mountain thunderstorm was on. 

The darkness increased; the clouds hung lower and lower, the lightningflashed more frequently and fiercely, and finally the flood-gates of theclouds were opened and the rain fell with such denseness that the massof drops made literal sheets. The little brooks were filled, and tumbledinto the creek which ran down the canyon where were the picnickers. Bredin the region, the picnickers knew what such a flood meant, and with thefirst sound of thunder had clambered up the canyon side, where they satunsheltered and awaiting events. The very first downpour wetted everyyoung man and woman to the bone and filled thin boots with water. Theworst of it was that they had not yet eaten. They had brought up withthem two burros laden with supplies, and two mule teams, which haddragged them up into the wooded elysium beside the tumbling creek of thecanyon. When the storm gathered it was at a moment when the burrosstood, still unloaded, and the mules attached to the two wagons stillunhitched. They, the four-footed things, knew what the thunder and thedarkness meant. They knew, somehow, that the upper canyon was no placefor them, and, reasoning in the four-footed way, they exercised thelimbs they had, obeying the orders of such brains as they owned, andgathering themselves together for independent action, went down thecanyon clatteringly in a bunch. 

Foodless and scared, the picnickers huddled far up the little canyon'sside and sat awed and watchful as the lightning flashed about them andthe waters rose beneath them. The torrent of rain loosened the soilabove, and they were so drenched in clay-colored water coming down, andsat so still beneath it, that they looked like cheap terra cotta images. 

Suddenly the thunder ceased, the rainfall ended, and this particularslight area of Arizona was Arizona again. The power of the rain-makerwas limited. Through four yellow miles of yellow muck, beside atemporarily yellow stream, waded for hours wearily a dreadful picnicparty, seeking in disgust the town of Cougarville. They reached theirseparate homes somehow, and washed and went to bed. 

In the Cougarville Screamer of the following morning appeared a graphicaccount of the great exploit of "Professor" Gray, of the Department ofAgriculture, who on the preceding day had, after taking his force intothe foothills and utilizing the means at his command, attained thegreatest rainfall of the season. Of course it was to be regretted that apicnic including the élite of Cougarville was in progress beside thecreek of the canyon alongside which Professor Gray operated, butscientists could not be expected to know anything of social functions, and all was for the best. One of the mules and one of the burros hadbeen recovered. It was a great day for Cougarville. "Now, " concluded theaccount, "since the means for irrigation are assured, the valleys aboutour promising city will bloom eternally fresh, and no one doubts thelocation of the metropolis of the region. "

As for Gray, he met Miss Fleming on the day succeeding, and if witheringglances ever really withered anything, he would have been as a dry leaf. But he did not wither. He went East, and is now connected with thePennsylvania Broad Gauge. Miss Fleming married Mr. Muggles, and Iunderstand the store is doing only moderately well. What puzzles me isthat after Gray's triumph up the canyon on this occasion, the UnitedStates Government should have abandoned the rain-making experiments. Thefacts related in this very brief account are respectfully submitted tothe consideration of the Department of Agriculture. 

WITHIN ONE LIFE'S SPAN

A river flows through green prairies into a vast blue lake. There arelog houses along the banks, and near the lake a more pretentiousstructure, also built of logs. Quaint as an old Dutch mill, with itsoverhanging second story, this fort of rude type answers its purposewell, for only Indians are likely to assail it, and Indians bring noartillery. 

A summer morning comes, an August morning in the year 1812. There iswar, and there have been disgraces and defeats and wavering counsels. Tothe soldiers in the fort has been given the advice of a weakling inperil, and it has had unhappy weight. About the fort are gathering ahost of Indians, dark Pottowatomies, treacherous and sullen. Yet thefort is to be abandoned. The scanty garrison will venture forth with itswomen and its children. 

To the south, along the lake, are reaches of yellow sand and a mile ormore away are trees and scanty shrubbery. From the fort file slowly outthe soldiers with their baggage-wagons, in which the weaker arebestowed. Among the young is a boy of eight--a waif, the orphan of ahunter. Forest-bred, he is alert and in some things older than hisyears. He is old enough to have a sense of danger. From his covert inthe wagon he watches all intently. 

The few musicians play a funeral march, and the procession movesapprehensively, though it moves steadily, for there are brave men in theranks, men who will not flinch, though they rage at the evil folly towhich they have been driven. They do not doubt the issue, though theyface it. They have not long to wait. The bushes which fringe the risingground do not conceal the shifting enemy. The marching column huddles. There are sharp commands and the reports of muskets. The Indians areattacking. The massacre has begun!

Hampered, unsheltered, outnumbered by a vengeful host, the whites mustdie. The men die fighting, as men in such straits should. The Indiansare close upon the women and children in the wagon. Into one of them, that which contains the hunter's child, leaps a savage, in whose beadyeyes are all cruelty and ferocity. His tomahawk sinks into the brain ofthe nearest helpless one, and at the same instant, swift as an ottergliding into water, the boy is out and darting away among the bushes. Oddly enough he is unnoticed--a remnant of the soldiers are dyinghardly--and he escapes to where the bushes are more dense. About acottonwood tree in the distance appears greater covert. Around the treehas been part of the struggle, but the ghastly tide has passed, andthere are only dead men there. The boy is in mortal terror, but hisinstinct does not fail him. There is a heap of brush, the top of sometree felled by a storm, and beneath the mass he writhes and wriggles andis lost from view. 

There is a rush of returning footsteps; there is a clamor of many Indianvoices about the brush-heap, but the boy is undiscovered. The savagesare not seeking him. They count all the whites as slain or captured, andare now but intent on plunder. Night falls. The child slips from hishiding place, and runs to the southward. Suddenly a dark figure rises inhis path, and the grasp of a strong hand is upon his shoulder. Hestruggles frantically, but only for a moment. His own language isspoken. It is in the voice of a friendly Miami fleeing, like the boy, from the Pottowatomies. The Indian takes the boy by the hand, andhurries him to the westward, to the Mississippi. 

It is the year 1835. One of a band of trappers venturing up the Missouriis a slender, quiet man, the deadliest shot in the party. Good trapperhe is, but the fame he has earned among adventurers of his class is notfrom fur-getting. He is a lonely man, but a creature of action. He neverseeks to avoid the Indian trails. Cautious and crafty he is, certainly, but he follows closely the westward drift of the red men, and whenopportunity comes he spares not at all. He is a hunter of Indians, vengeance personified. He is the boy who hid beneath the brush-heap; thememory of that awful day and night is ever with him, and he seeksblindly to make the equation just. To his single arm have fallen moresavages than fell whites on the day of the massacre by the lake. Stillhe moves westward. 

It is the year 1893 now. An old man occupies a farm in the remoteNorthwest. He has lost none of his faculties, nor nearly all hisstrength, though he is eighty-nine years of age. The long battle withthe dangers of the wilds is done. The old man listens to the talk ofthose about him, of how a great nation is inviting all the nations ofthe world to take part in a monster jubilee, because of thequadri-centennial of a continent's discovery. He hears them tell of aplace where this mighty demonstration will be made, and a torrent ofmemory sweeps him backward over eighty years. He thinks of one awful dayand night. An irresistible longing to look again upon the regions he hasnot seen for more than three-quarters of a century, a wild desire torevisit the junction of the river and the great blue lake, and to wanderwhere the sandreaches and the cottonwood tree were, possesses him. And, resolute as ever, he acts upon the impulse which now becomes a plan. 

An old man, as strangely placed as some old gray elk among a herd ofbuffalo, is hurried along the swarming, roaring thoroughfares of agreat city. He has found the river and the lake, but nothing else savepandemonium. He is seeking now the place where the cottonwood treestood, though he scarcely hopes to find it. He asks what his courseshall be, and is answered kindly. He finds his way to a broadthoroughfare bearing the blue lake's name, and is told to seekEighteenth Street, and there walk toward the water. He does as he isdirected, and--marvelous to him, now--he finds the Tree. 

There it stands, the cottonwood of the massacre, with blunt white limbsoutstretched and dead, as dead as those who were slaughtered at its baseand whose very bones have long been dust. The old man walks about it asin a dream. He finds the spot where was the brush-heap beneath which hepassed shuddering hours so long ago, and he stands there upon a modernpavement. The marble piles of rich men loom above him on each side. Where were the sand ridges cast up by the lake, rush by the burdenedrailroad trains. He cannot comprehend it--but there is more to come. 

The old man has sought the oak-dotted prairie miles to the south. Surely, something, somewhere must be unchanged! He has attained the spotwhere the trees were densest. He is in a swirl of hosts. He looks uponvast, splendid structures, such as the world has never seen before. Through shining thoroughfares are surging the people of all nations. And here was where the Miami Indian found the boy!

An old man is sitting again in his cabin in the far Northwest. He iswondering, wondering if it has been but a dream, his old-age journey. How could it be real? Surely there was once the fort where the riverjoined the lake, and there were the yellow sand-ridges, and the low, green prairie and the wilderness. He had seen them. They were there, familiar to the pioneers, the features of a landscape where was theoutpost in the wilderness of the race which conquers. He knew therecould be no mistake about it, that what he remembered was somethingreal, for the river was in its ancient channel; though dark its waters, the lake was blue and vast as of old, and the tree with its starkbranches was still the Tree. Those who had lived with him in his old agein the far Northwest had seemed never to doubt in him the retainedpossession of all his faculties, and he knew that he could not bemistaken as to the things that were. He had lived with them. How couldsuch changes have come within the span of a single lifetime? Yet he hadseen the new! How could it be? And the old man could not tell.