TS 
 
 1732 
 W35~ 
 1811 
 
 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME 
 OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT 
 FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY 
 
 HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE 
 
The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021965045 
 
PS ITatfSSs tiffir"*~r 
 
 III lSl?li& ,E ourt Ships. 
 
 3 1924 021 965 045 
 
WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS 
 
fiamlin Garland's Books. 
 
 Uniform edition. Each, 12010, cloth, $1.25. 
 
 Wayside Courtships. 
 
 Jason Edwards. 
 
 A Spoil of Office. 
 
 A Member of the Third House. 
 
 A Little Norsk. i6mo. 50 cents. 
 
 D. APPLETON & COMPANY, NEW YORK. 
 
WAYSIDE 
 COURTSHIPS 
 
 BY HAMLIN GARLAND 
 
 AUTHOR OF A SPOIL OF OFFICE, 
 A LITTLE NORSK, ETC. : : : : ; 
 
 NEW YORK 
 APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 M DCCC XCVII 
 
Copyright, 1897/by 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 A 
 
 s 
 
 Copyright, 1895, 1896, 1897, by Hamlin Garland 
 
The meeting of true lovers' eyes 
 Seems wrought of chance ; and yet 
 Perhaps the same grim law abides 
 Therein as when the dead one lies 
 Low in the grave, and memory chides, 
 And with hot tears love's lids are wet. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 At the beginning 
 
 A preacher's love story 
 
 a meeting in the foothills 
 
 a stop-over at tyre 
 
 an alien in the pines 
 
 The owner of the mill farm 
 
 Of THOSE WHO SEEK: 
 
 I. — The prisoned soul . 
 II. — A sheltered one 
 III. — A fair exile 
 IV. — The passing stranger 
 Before the low green door 
 Upon impulse 
 The end of love is love of love 
 
 PAGE 
 
 i 
 5 
 
 55 
 
 99 
 
 171 
 
 201 
 
 223 
 226 
 230 
 
 247 
 
 253 
 263 
 
 279 
 
AT THE BEGINNING. 
 
 She was in the box ; he was far above in the 
 gallery. 
 
 He looked down and across and saw her sitting 
 there fair as a flower and robed like a royal courte- 
 san in flame and snow. 
 
 Like a red torch flamed the ruby in her hair. 
 Her shoulders were framed in her cloak, white as 
 marble warmed with firelight. Her gloved hands 
 held an opera glass which also glowed with flashing 
 light. 
 
 His face grew dark and stern. He looked down 
 at his poor coat and around at the motley gallery which 
 reeked with the smell of tobacco and liquor. 
 
 Students were there— poor like himself, but with 
 great music-loving, hungry, ambitious souls. Men 
 and nvomen of refinement and indomitable will sat 
 side by side with drunken loafers who had chanced to 
 stumble up the stairway. 
 
 His eyes went back to her. So sweet and dainty 
 was every thread on her fair body. No smell of toil, 
 nor touch of care, nor mark of weariness. Her flesh 
 was ivory, her eyes were jewels, her heart was as 
 clean and sweet as her eyes. She was ■ perfectly 
 clothed, protected, at ease. 
 1 
 
2 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 No, not at ease. She seemed restless. Again 
 and again she swept her glass around the lower 
 balcony. 
 
 The man in the gallery knew she was looking for 
 him, and he took a bitter delight in the distance be- 
 tween them. He waited, calm as a lion in his power. 
 
 The man at her elbow talks on. She does not 
 hear. She is still looking — a little swifter, a little 
 more anxiously — her red lips ready to droop in dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 The noise of feet, of falling seats, continues. 
 Boys call shrilly. Ushers dart hastily to and fro. 
 The soft laughter and hum of talk come up from 
 below. 
 
 She has reached the second balcony. She sweeps 
 it hurriedly. Her companion raises his eyes to the 
 same balcony and laughs as he speaks. She colors 
 a little, but smiles as she lifts her eyes to the third 
 balcony. 
 
 Suddenly the glass stops. The color surges up 
 her neck, splashing her cheeks with red. Her breath 
 stops also for a moment, then returns quick and strong. 
 
 Her smile settles into a curious contraction that is 
 almost painful to see. His unsmiling eyes are look- 
 ing somberly, sternly, accusingly into hers. They are 
 charged with all the bitterness and hate and disap- 
 pointed ambition which social injustice and inequality 
 had wrought into his soul. 
 
 She shivered and dropped her glass. Shivered 
 and drew her fleecy, pink and pale-blue cloak closer 
 about her bare neck. 
 
 Her face grew timid, almost appealing, as she 
 
A T THE. BEGINNING. 3 
 
 turned it upward toward him like a flower, to be 
 kissed across the height that divided him from her. 
 
 His heart swelled with exultation. His face 
 softened. From the height of his intellectual pride 
 he bent his head and sent a winged caress fluttering 
 down upon that flower like face. 
 
 And then the stealing harmony of the violins be- 
 gan, gliding like mist above the shuddering, tumultu- 
 ous, obscure thunder of the drums, and the man's soul 
 swept across that sea of song with the heart of a lion 
 and the wings of an eagle. 
 
 A tender, musi?ig smile was on the woman's lips. 
 
WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 * 
 
 A PREACHER'S LOVE STORY. 
 
 I. 
 
 The train drew out of the great Van Buren 
 Street depot at 4.30 of a dark day in late Octo- 
 ber. A tall young man, with a timid look in his 
 eyes, was almost the last one to get on, and his 
 pale face wore a worried look as he dropped into 
 an empty -seat and peered out at the squalid 
 buildings reeling past in- the mist. 
 
 The buildings grew smaller, and vacant 
 lots appeared stretching away in flat spaces, 
 broken here and there by ridges of ugly squat 
 little tenement blocks. Over this landscape 
 vast banners of smoke streamed, magnified by 
 the misty rain which was driven in from the lake. 
 
 At last there came a swell of land clothed on 
 with trees. It was still light enough to see they 
 were burr oaks, and the young student's heart 
 thrilled at sight of them. His forehead smoothed 
 out, and his eyes grew tender with boyish mem- 
 ories. 
 
 He was seated thus, with head leaning against 
 the pane, when another young man came down 
 
6 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 the aisle from the smoking car and took a seat 
 beside him with a pleasant word. 
 
 He was a handsome young fellow of twenty- 
 three or four. His face was large and beard- 
 less, and he had beautiful teeth. He had a bold 
 and keen look, in spite of the bang of yellow hair 
 which hung over his forehead. 
 
 Some commonplaces passed between them, 
 and then silence fell on each. The conductor 
 coming through the car, the smooth-faced young 
 fellow put up a card to be punched, and the 
 student handed up a ticket, simply saying, 
 " Kesota." 
 
 After a decent pause the younger man said 
 " Going to Kesota, are you ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " So am I. I live there, in fact." 
 
 " Do you ? Then perhaps you can tell me the 
 name of your County Superintendent. I'm look- 
 ing for a school." He smiled frankly. "I'm 
 just out of Jackson University, and " 
 
 " That so ? I'm an Ann Arbor man myself." 
 They took a moment for mutual warming up. 
 " Yes, I know the Superintendent. Why not 
 come right up to my boarding place, and to- 
 morrow I'll introduce you ? Looking for a school, 
 eh ? What kind of a school ? " 
 
 " Oh, a village school, or even a country 
 school. It's too late to get a good place ; but 
 I've been sick, and " 
 
 " Yes, the good positions are all snapped up ; 
 still, you might by accident hit on something. I 
 
A PREACHER'S LOVE STORY. J 
 
 know Mott; he'll do all he can for you. By 
 the way, my name's Allen." 
 
 The young student understood this hint and 
 spoke. "' Mine is Stacey." 
 
 The younger man mused a few minutes, as if 
 he had forgotten his new acquaintance. Sud- 
 denly he roused up. 
 
 " Say, would you take a country school sev- 
 eral miles out ? " 
 
 " I think I would, if nothing better offered." 
 
 " Well, out in my neighborhood they're with- 
 out a teacher. It's six miles out, and it isn't a 
 lovely neighborhood. However, they will pay 
 fifty dollars a month ; that's ten dollars extra for 
 the scrimmages. They wanted me to teach this 
 winter — my sister teaches it in summer — but, 
 great Peter ! I can't waste my time teaching 
 school, when. I can run up to Chicago and take 
 a shy at the pit and make a whole term's wages 
 in thirty minutes." 
 
 " I don't understand," said Stacey. 
 
 "Wheat Exchange. I've got a lot of friends 
 in the pit, and I can come in any time on a 
 little deal. I'm no Jim Keene, but I hope to get 
 cash enough to handle five thousand. I wanted 
 the old gent to start me up in it, but he said, 
 'Nix come arouse.' Fact is, I dropped the 
 money he gave me to go through college with." 
 He smiled at Stacey's disapproving look. " Yes, 
 indeedy; there's where the jar came into our ten- 
 der relations. Oh, I call on the governor — aU 
 ways when I've got a wad. I have fun with 
 
8 WAY SIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 him." He smiled brightly. "Ask him if he 
 don't need a little cash to pay for hog-k'illin', or 
 something like that." He laughed again. " No, 
 I didn't graduate at Ann Arbor. Funny how 
 things go, ain't it ? I was on my way back the 
 third year, when I stopped in to see the pit — it's 
 one o' the sights of Chicago, you know — and 
 Billy Krans saw me looking over the rail. I 
 went in, won, and then took a flyer on Decem- 
 ber. Come a big slump, and I failed to mate- 
 rialize at school." 
 
 " What did you do then ? " asked Stacey, to 
 whom this did not seem humorous. 
 
 " I wrote a contrite letter to the governor, 
 stating case, requesting forgiveness — and money. 
 No go ! Couldn't raise neither. I then wrote 
 casting him off. ' You are no longer father of 
 mine.' " He smiled again radiantly. " You 
 should have seen me the next time I went home ! 
 Plug hat ! Imported suit ! Gold watch ! Dia- 
 mond shirt-stud ! Cost me $200 to paralyze the 
 general, but I did it. My glory absolutely turned 
 him white as a sheet. I knew what he thought, 
 so I said : ' Perfectly legitimate, dad. The walls 
 of Joliet are not gaping for me.' That about 
 half fetched him — calling him dad, I mean — but 
 he can't get reconciled to my business. ' Too 
 many ups and downs,' he says. Fact is, he thinks 
 it's gambling, and I don't argue the case with 
 him. I'm on my way home now to stay over 
 Sunday." 
 
 The train whistled, and Allen looked out into 
 
A PREACHER'S LOVE STORY. g 
 
 the darkness. "We're coming to the crossing. 
 Now, I can't go up to the boarding place when 
 you do, but I'll give you directions, and you tell 
 the landlady I sent you, and it'll be all right. 
 Allen, you remember — Herman Allen." 
 
 Following directions, Stacey came at length 
 to a two-story frame house situated on the edge 
 of the bank, with its back to the river. It stood 
 alone, with vacant lots all about. A pleasant- 
 faced woman answered the ring. 
 
 He explained briefly. " How do you do ? 
 I'm a teacher, and I'd like to get board here a 
 few days while passing my examinations. Mr. 
 Herman Allen sent me." 
 
 The woman's quick eye and ear were satis- 
 fied. " All right. Walk in, sir. I'm pretty full, 
 but I expect I can accommodate you — if you 
 don't mind Mr. Allen for a roommate." 
 
 " Oh, not at all," he said, while taking off his 
 coat. 
 
 "Come right in this way. Supper will be 
 ready soon." 
 
 He went into a comfortable sitting room, 
 where a huge open fire of soft coal was blazing 
 magnificently. The walls were papered in florid 
 patterns, and several enlarged portraits were on 
 the walls. The fire was the really great adorn- 
 ment; all else was cheap, and some of it was 
 tawdry. 
 
 Stacey spread his thin hands to the blaze, 
 while the landlady sat down a moment, out of 
 politeness, to chat, scanning him keenly. She 
 
IO WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 was a handsome woman, strong, well rounded, 
 about forty years of age, with quick gray eyes 
 and a clean, firm-lipped mouth. 
 
 " Did you just get in ? " 
 
 "Yes. I've been on the road all day," he 
 said, on an impulse of communication. " In- 
 deed, I'm just out of college." 
 
 " Is that so ? " exclaimed Mrs. Mills, stopping 
 her rocking in an access of interest. "What 
 college ? " 
 
 "Jackson University. I've been sick, and 
 only came West " 
 
 There came a look into her face that trans- 
 formed and transfigured her. " My boy was in 
 Ann Arbor. He was killed on the train on his 
 way home one day." She stopped, for fear of 
 breaking into a quaver, and smiled brightly. 
 " That's why I always like college boys. They 
 all stop here with me." She rose hastily. "Well, 
 you'll excuse me, won't you, and I'll go an' 'tend 
 to supper." 
 
 There was a great deal that was feminine in 
 Stacey, and he felt at once the pathos of the 
 woman's life. He looked a refined, studious, 
 rather delicate young man, as he sat low in his 
 chair and observed the light and heat of the fire. 
 His large head looked to be full of learning, and 
 his dark eyes were deep with religious fervor. 
 
 Several young women entered, and the room 
 was filled with clatter of tongues. Herman came 
 in a few moments later, his face in a girlish glow 
 of color. Everybody rushed at him with loud 
 
A PREACHER'S LOVE STORY. \\ 
 
 outcry. He was evidently a great favorite. He 
 threw his arms about Mrs. Mills, giving her a 
 hearty hug. The girls pretended to be shocked 
 when he reached out for them, but they were not 
 afraid of him. They hung on his arms and be- 
 sieged him with questions till he cried out, in 
 jolly perplexity: 
 
 " Girls, girls ! This will never do." 
 
 Mrs. Mills brushed out his damp yellow curls 
 with her hands. "You're all wet." 
 
 " Girls, if you'll let me sit down, I'll take one 
 on each knee," he said, pleadingly, and they re- 
 leased him. 
 
 Stacey grew red with sympathetic embarrass- 
 ment, and shrank away into a corner. 
 
 " Go get supper ready," commanded Her- 
 man. And it was only after they left that he 
 said to Stacey : " Oh, you found your way all 
 right. I didn't see you — those confounded girls 
 bother me so." He took a seat by the fire and 
 surveyed his wet shoes. " I took a run up to 
 Mott's house — only a half block out o' the way. 
 He said they'd be tickled to have you at Cyene. 
 By the way, you're a theolog, aren't you ? " 
 Wallace nodded, and -Herman went on :*" So I 
 told Mott. He said you might work up a society 
 but there at Cyene.'" 
 
 "Is there a church there ? " 
 
 "Used to be, but — say, I. tell you what you 
 do : you go out with me to-morrow, and I'll give 
 you the whole history." 
 
 The ringing of the bell took them out into the 
 
12 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 cheerful dining room in a good-natured scram- 
 ble. Mrs. Mills put Stacey at one end of the 
 table, near a young woman who looked like a 
 teacher, and he had full sweep of the table, 
 which was surrounded by bright and sunny faces. 
 The station hand was there, and a couple of 
 grocery clerks, and a brakeman sat at Stacey's 
 right hand. The table was very merry. They 
 called each other by their Christian names, and 
 there was very obvious courtship on the part of 
 several young couples. 
 
 Stacey escaped from the table as soon as 
 possible, and returned to his seat beside the fire. 
 He was young enough to enjoy the chatter of 
 the girls, but his timidity made him glad they 
 paid so little attention to him. The rain had 
 changed to sleet outside, and hammered at the 
 window viciously, but the blazing fire and the 
 romping young people set it at defiance. The 
 landlady came to the door of the dining room, 
 dish and cloth in hand, to share in each outburst 
 of laughter, and not infrequently the hired girl 
 peered over her shoulder with a broad smile on 
 her face. A little later, having finished their 
 work, they both came in and took active part in 
 the light-hearted fun. 
 
 Herman and one of the girls were having a, 
 great struggle over some trifle he had snatched 
 from her hand, and the rest stood about laugh- 
 ing to see her desperate attempts to recover it. 
 This was a familiar form of courtship in Kesota, 
 and an evening filled with such romping was 
 
A PREACHER'S LOVE STORY. 13 
 
 considered a " cracking good time." After the 
 girl, red and disheveled, had given up, Herman 
 sat down at the organ, and they all sang Moody 
 and Sankey hymns, negro melodies, and college 
 songs till nine o'clock. Then Mrs. Mills called, 
 " Come, now, boys and girls," and they all said 
 good night, like obedient children. 
 
 Herman and Wallace went up to their bed- 
 room together. 
 
 " Say, Stacey, have you got a policy ? " Wal- 
 lace shook his head. "And don't want any, I 
 suppose. Well, I just asked you as a matter of 
 form. You see," he went on, winking at Wallace 
 comically, "nominally I'm an insurance agent, 
 but practically I'm a ' lamb ' — but I get a mouth- 
 ful o' fur myself occasionally. What I'm work- 
 ing for is to get on that Wheat Exchange. That's 
 where you get life ! I'd rather be an established 
 broker in that howling mob than go to Con- 
 gress." 
 
 Suddenly a thought struck him. He rose on 
 his elbow in bed and looked at Wallace just as 
 he rose from a silent prayer. Catching his eye, 
 Herman said : 
 
 "Say! why didn't you shout? I forgot all 
 about it — I mean your profession." 
 
 Wallace crept into bed beside his communi-- 
 cative bedfellow in silence. He didn't know how 
 to deal with such spirits. 
 
 " Say ! " called Herman suddenly, as they 
 were about to go to sleep, " you ain't got no pic- 
 nic, old man." 
 
*4 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 " Why, what do you mean ? " 
 
 " Wait till you see Cyene Church. Oh, it's a 
 daisy snarl." 
 
 "I wish -you'd tell me about it." 
 
 " Oh, it's quiet now. The calmness of death," 
 said Herman. " Well, you see, it came this way. 
 The church is. made up of Baptists and Meth- 
 odists, and the- Methodists wanted an organ, 
 because, you understand, father was the head 
 center, and Mattie is the only girl among the 
 Methodists who can play. The old man has got 
 a head like a mule. He can't be switched ofiF, 
 once he makes up his mind. Deacon Marsden 
 he don't believe in anything above tuning forks, 
 and he's tighter'n the bark on a bulldog. He 
 stood out like a sore thumb, and dad wouldn't 
 give an inch. 
 
 "You see, they held meetings every other 
 Sunday. So dad worked up the organ business 
 and got one, and then locked it up when the 
 Baptists held their services. Well, it went from 
 bad to worse. They didn't speak as they passed 
 by— that is, the old folks ; we young folks didn't 
 care a continental whether school kept or not. 
 Well; upshot is, the church died out. The wind 
 blew the horse sheds down, and there they lie — 
 and the church is standing there empty as an — 
 
 • old boot — and " He grew too sleepy to 
 
 finish. 
 
 Suddenly a comical idea roused him again. 
 " Say, Stacey — by Jinks ! — are you a Baptist ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
A PREACHER'S LOVE STORY. 15 
 
 "Oh, Peter! ain't that lovely?" He chuc- 
 kled shamelessly, and went off to sleep without 
 another word. 
 
 II. 
 
 Herman was still sleeping when Stacey rose 
 and dressed and went down to breakfast. Mrs. 
 Mills defended Herman against the charge of 
 laziness : " He's probably been out late all the 
 week." 
 
 Stacey found Mott in the county courthouse, 
 and a perfunctory examination soon put him in 
 possession of a certificate. There was no ques- 
 tion of his attainments. 
 
 Herman met him at dinner-time. 
 
 " Well, elder, I'm going down to get a rig to 
 go out home in. It's colder'n a blue whetstone, 
 so put on all the clothes you've got. Gimme 
 your check, and I'll get your traps. Have you 
 seen Mott ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Well, then, everything's all fixed." 
 
 He turned up about three o'clock, seated on 
 the spring seat of a lumber wagon beside a 
 woman, who drove the powerful team. Whether 
 she was young or old could not be told through 
 her wraps. She wore a cap and a thick, faded 
 cloak. 
 
 Mrs. Mills hurried to the door. " Why, Mattie 
 Allen ! What you doin' out such a day as this ? 
 Come in here instanter ! " 
 
1 6 WAY SIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 "Can't stop," called a clear, boyish voice. 
 "Too late." 
 
 " Well, land o' stars !— you'll freeze." 
 
 When Wallace reached the wagon side, Her- 
 man said, " My sister, Stacey." 
 
 The girl slipped her strong brown hand out 
 of her huge glove and gave him a friendly grip. 
 " Get right in," she said. " Herman, you're go- 
 ing to stand up behind." 
 
 Herman appealed to Mrs. Mills for sympa- 
 thy. "This is what comes of having plebeian 
 connections." 
 
 " Oh, dry up," laughed the girl, " or I'll make 
 you drive." 
 
 Stacey scrambled in awkwardly beside her. 
 She was not at all embarrassed, apparently. 
 
 " Tuck yourself in tight. It's mighty cold on 
 the prairie." 
 
 "Why didn't you come down with the ba- 
 roosh ? " grumbled Herman. 
 
 " Well, the corn was contracted for, and father 
 wasn't able to come — he had another attack of 
 neuralgia last night after he got the corn loaded 
 — so I had to come." 
 
 " Sha'n't I drive for you ? " asked Wallace. 
 
 " No, thank you. You'll have all you can 
 do to keep from freezing." She looked at his 
 thin coat and worn gloves with keen eyes. He 
 could see only her pink cheeks, strong nose, and 
 dark, smiling eyes. 
 
 It was one of ^hose terrible Illinois days 
 when the temperature drops suddenly to zero, 
 
A PREACHER'S LOVE STORY. \j 
 
 and the churned mud of the highways hardens 
 into a sort of scoriae rock, which cripples the 
 horses and sends the heavy wagons booming 
 and thundering along like mad things. The 
 wind was keen and terrible as a saw-bladed 
 sword, and smote incessantly. The desolate 
 sky was one thick, impenetrable mass of swiftly 
 flying clouds. When they swung out upon the 
 long pike leading due north, Wallace drew his 
 breath with a gasp, and bent his head to the 
 wind. 
 
 " Pretty strong, isn't it ? " shouted Mattie. 
 
 " Oh, the farmer's life is the life for me, tra- 
 la ! " sang Herman, from his shelter behind the 
 seat. 
 
 Mattie turned. " What do you think of Pe- 
 nelope this month ? " 
 
 " She's a-gitten there," said Herman, pound- 
 ing his shoe heels. 
 
 " She's too smart for young Corey. She 
 ought to marry a man like Bromfield. My ! 
 wouldn't they talk?" 
 
 " Did y' get the second bundle of magazines 
 last Saturday ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and dad found something in the Popu- 
 lar Science that made him mad, and he burned 
 it." 
 
 " Did 'e ? Tum-la-la ! Oh, the farmer's life 
 for me ! " 
 
 " Are you cold ? " she asked Wallace. 
 
 He turned a purple face upon her. " No — 
 not much." 
 
1 8 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 "I guess you better slip right down under 
 the blankets," she advised. 
 
 The wind blew gray out of the north — a wild 
 blast which stopped the young student's blood in 
 his veins. He hated to give up, but he could no 
 longer hold the blankets up over his knees, so he 
 slipped down into the corner of the box, with 
 his back to the wind, with the blankets drawn 
 over his head. 
 
 The powerful girl slapped the reins down on 
 the backs of the snorting horses, and encouraged 
 them with shouts like a man : " Get out o' this, 
 Dan ! Hup there, Nellie ! " 
 
 The wagon boomed and rattled. The floor 
 of the box seemed beaten with a maul. The 
 glimpses Wallace had of the land appalled him, 
 it was so fiat and gray and bare. The houses 
 seemed poor, and drain-pipe scattered about told 
 how wet it all was. 
 
 Herman sang at the top of his voice, and 
 danced, and pounded his feet against the wagon 
 box. " This ends it ! If I can't come home 
 without freezing to death, I don't come. I 
 should have hired a rig, irrespective of you " 
 
 The girl laughed. " Oh, you're getting thin- 
 blooded, Herman. Life in the city has taken the 
 starch all out of you." 
 
 "Better grow limp. in a great city than freeze 
 stiff in the country," he replied. 
 
 An hour's ride brought them into a yard be- 
 fore a large gray-white frame house. 
 
 Herman sprang out to meet a tall old man 
 
A PREACHER' S LOVE STORY. 
 
 19 
 
 with head muffled up. "Hello, dad! Take the 
 team. We're just naturally froze solid — at 
 least I am. This is Mr. Stacey, the new 
 teacher." 
 
 " How de do ? Run in ; I'll take the horses." 
 
 Herman and Wallace stumbled toward the 
 house, stiff and bent. 
 
 Herman flung his arms about a tall woman 
 in the kitchen door. " Hello, muz ! " he said. 
 " This is Mr. Stacey, the new teacher." 
 
 " Draw up to the fire, sir. Herman, take his 
 hat and coat." 
 
 Mattie came in soon with a boyish rush. She 
 was gleeful as a happy babe. She unwound the 
 scarf from her head and neck, and hung up her 
 cap and cloak like a man, but she gave her hair 
 a little touch of feminine care, and came for- 
 ward with both palms pressed to her burning 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Did you suffer, child ?" asked Mrs. Allen. 
 
 " No ; I enjoyed it." 
 
 Herman looked at Stacey. " I believe on my 
 life she did." 
 
 " Oh, it's fun. I don't get a chance to do 
 anything so exciting very often." 
 
 Herman clicked his tongue. "Exciting? 
 Well, well ! " 
 
 " You must remember things are slower here," 
 Mattie explained. 
 
 She came to light much younger than Stacey 
 thought her. She was not eighteen, but her sup- 
 ple and splendid figure was fully matured. Her 
 
20 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 hair hung down her back in a braid, which gave 
 a subtle touch of childishness to her. 
 
 " Sis, you're still a-growin'," Herman said, 
 as he put his arm around her waist and looked 
 up at her. 
 
 She seemed to realize for the first time that 
 Stacey was a young man, and her eyes fell. 
 
 "Well, now, set up the chairs, child," said 
 Mrs. Allen. 
 
 When the young teacher returned from his 
 cold spare room off the parlor the family sat 
 waiting for him. They all drew up noisily, and 
 Allen said : 
 
 " Ask the blessing, sir ? " 
 
 Wallace said grace. 
 
 As Allen passed the potatoes he continued : 
 
 " My son tells me you are a minister of the 
 gospel." 
 
 " I have studied for it." 
 
 " What denomination ? " 
 
 "Tut, tut! " warned Herman. " Don't start 
 any theological rabbits to-night, dad. With jaw 
 swelled up you won't be able to hold your own." 
 
 " I'm a Baptist," Stacey answered. 
 
 The old man's face grew grim. It had been 
 ludicrous before with its swollen jaw. " Bap- 
 tist ? " The old man turned to his son, whose 
 smile angered him. " Didn't you know no more'n 
 to bring a Baptist preacher into this house ? " 
 
 " There, there, father ! " began the wife. 
 
 " Be quiet. I'm boss of this shanty." 
 
 Herman struck in: "Don't make a show of 
 
A PREACHER' S LOVE STORY. 2 1 
 
 yourself, old man. Don't mind the old gent, 
 Stacey; he's mumpy to-day, anyhow." 
 
 Stacey rose. " I guess I — I'd better not 
 stay— I " 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! Sit down, Stacey. It's all 
 right. The old man's a little acid at me. He 
 doesn't mean it." 
 
 Stacey got his coat and hat. His heart was 
 swollen with indignation. He felt as if some- 
 thing fine were lost to him, and the .cold outside 
 was so desolate now. 
 
 Mrs. Allen was in tears ; but the old man, 
 having taken his stand, was going to keep it. 
 
 Herman lost his temper a little. " Well, dad, 
 you're a little the cussedest Christian I ever 
 knew. Stacey, sit down. Don't you be a fool 
 just because he is " 
 
 Stacey was buttoning his coat with trembling 
 hands, when Martha went up to him. 
 
 " Don't go," she said. " Father's sick and 
 cross. He'll be sorry for this to-morrow." 
 
 Wallace looked into 'her frank, kindly eyes 
 and hesitated. 
 
 Herman said : " Dad, you are a lovely fol- 
 lower of Christ. You'll apologize for this, or 
 I'll never set foot on your threshold again." 
 
 Stacey still hesitated. He was hurt and angry, 
 but being naturally a sweet and gentle nature, he 
 grew sad, and, yielding to the pressure of the 
 girl's hand on his arm, he began to unbutton his 
 overcoat. 
 
 She helped him off with it, and hung it back 
 
22 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 on the nail. She did not show tears, but her 
 face was unwontedly grave. 
 
 They sat at the table again, and Herman and 
 Mattie tried to restore something of the bright- 
 ness which had been lost. Allen sat grimly eat- 
 ing, his chin pushed down like a hog's snout. 
 
 After supper, as his father was about retiring 
 to his bedroom, Herman fixed his bright eyes on 
 -him, and something very hard and masterful 
 came into his boyish face. 
 
 " Old man — you and I haven't had a settle- 
 ment on this thing yet. I'll see you later." 
 
 Allen shrank before his son's look, but shuf- 
 fled sullenly off without uttering a word. 
 
 Herman turned to Wallace. " Stacey, I want 
 to beg your pardon for getting you into this 
 scrape. I didn't suppose the old gentleman would 
 act like that. . The older he gets, the more his 
 New Hampshire granite shows. I hope you 
 won't lay it up against me." 
 
 Wallace was too conscientious to say he 
 didn't mind it, but he took Herman's hand in a 
 quick clasp. 
 
 "Let's have a song,'' proposed Herman. 
 " Music hath charms to soothe the savage 
 breast, to charm a rock, and split a cabbage." 
 
 They went into the best room, where a fire 
 was blazing, and Mattie and Herman sang hymns 
 and old-fashioned love songs and college glees 
 wonderfully. intermingled. They ended by sing- 
 ing " Lorena," a wailing, supersentimental love 
 song current in war times, and when they looked 
 
A PREACHER'S LOVE STORY. 23 
 
 around there was a lofty look on the face of the 
 young preacher — a look of exaltation, of conse- 
 cration and resolve. 
 
 III. 
 
 The next morning, at breakfast, Herman said, 
 as he seized a hot biscuit, " We'll dispense with 
 grace this morning, and till after the-war is over." 
 But Wallace blessed his bread in a silent prayer, 
 and Mattie thought it very brave of him to 
 do so. 
 
 Herman was full of mockery. " The sun 
 rises just the same, whether it's ' sprinkling ' or 
 ' immersion.' It's lucky Nature don't take a 
 hand in these theological contests — she doesn't 
 even referee the scrap. She never seems to care 
 whether you are sparring for points or fighting to 
 a finish. What you theologic middle-weights are 
 really fighting for I can't see — and I don't care, 
 till you fall over the ropes on to my corns." 
 
 Stacey listened in a daze to Herman's tirade. 
 He knew it was addressed to Allen, and that it 
 deprecated war, and that it was mocking. The 
 fresh face and smiling lips of the young girl 
 seemed to put Herman's voice very far away. It 
 was such a beautiful thing to sit at table with a 
 lovely girl. 
 
 After breakfast he put on his cap and coat 
 and went out into the clear, cold November air. 
 All about him the prairie extended, marked with 
 farmhouses and lined with leafless hedges. Arti- 
 
24 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 ficial groves surrounded each homestead, reliev- 
 ing the desolateness of the fields. 
 
 Down the road he saw the spire of a small 
 white church, and he walked briskly toward it, 
 Herman's description in his mind. 
 
 As he came near he saw the ruined sheds, the 
 rotting porch, and the windows boarded up, and 
 his face grew sad. He tried one of the doors, 
 and found it open. Some tramp had broken the 
 lock. The inside was even more desolate than 
 the outside. It was littered with rotting straw 
 and plum stones and melon seeds. Obscene 
 words were scrawled on the walls, and even on 
 the pulpit itself. 
 
 Taken altogether it was an appalling picture 
 to the young servant of the Man of Galilee, a 
 blunt reminder of the ferocity and depravity of 
 man. 
 
 As he pondered the fire burned, and there 
 rose again the flame of his resolution. He lifted 
 his face and prayed that he might be the one 
 to bring these people into the living union of the 
 Church of Christ. 
 
 His blood set toward his heart with tremu- 
 lous action. His eyes glowed with zeal like that 
 of the Middle Ages. He saw the people united 
 once more in this desecrated hall. He heard the 
 bells ringing, the sound of song, the smile of 
 peaceful old faces, and voices of love and fel- 
 lowship filling the anterooms where hate now 
 scrawled hideous blasphemy against woman and 
 against God. 
 
A PREACHER'S LOVE STORY. 
 
 2$ 
 
 As he sat there Herman came in, his keen 
 eyes seeking out every stain and evidence of 
 vandalism. 
 
 " Cheerful prospect — isn't it ? " 
 
 Wallace looked up with the blaze of his reso- 
 lution still in his eyes. His pale face was sweet 
 and solemn. 
 
 " Oh, how these people need Christ ! " 
 
 Herman turned away. " They need killing — 
 about two dozen of 'em. I'd like to have the 
 job of indicating which ones; I wouldn't miss 
 the old man, you bet ! " he said, with blasphe- 
 mous audacity. 
 
 Wallace was helpless in the face of such reck- 
 less thought, and so sat looking at the handsome 
 young fellow as he walked about. 
 
 "Well, now, Stacey, I guess you'll need to 
 move. I had another session with the old man, 
 but he won't give in, so I'm off for Chicago. 
 Mother's brother, George Chapman, who lives 
 about as near the schoolhouse on the other side, 
 will take you in. I guess we'd better go right 
 down now and see about it. I've said good^by 
 to the old man — for good this time; we didn't 
 shake hands either," he said, as they walked 
 down the road together. He was very stern 
 and hard. Something of the father was hidden 
 under his laughing exterior. 
 
 Stacey regretted deeply the necessity which 
 
 drove him out of Allen's house. Mrs. Allen and 
 
 Mattie had appealed to him very strongly. For 
 
 years he had lived far from young women, and 
 
 3 
 
26 WA YSWE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 there was a magical power in the intimate home 
 actions of this young girl. Her bare head, with 
 simple arrangement of hair, someway seemed 
 the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 
 
 He thought of her as he sat at the table with 
 George and his aged mother. They lived alone, 
 and their lives were curiously silent. Once in 
 a while a low-voiced question, and that was 
 all. 
 
 George read the Popular Science, Harper's 
 Monthly Magazine, and the Open Court, and 
 brooded over them with slow intellectual move- 
 ment. It was wonderful the amount of infor- 
 mation he secreted from these periodicals. He 
 was better informed than many college grad- 
 uates. 
 
 He had little curiosity about the young 
 stranger. He understood he was to teach the 
 school, and he did not go further in inquiry. 
 
 He tried Wallace once or twice on the latest 
 discoveries of John Fiske and Edison, and then 
 gave him up and retired to his seat beside the 
 sitting-room stove. 
 
 On the following Monday morning school be- 
 gan, and as Wallace took his way down the lane 
 the wrecked church came again to his eyes. He 
 walked past it with slow feet. His was a deeply 
 religious nature, one that sorrowed easily over 
 sin. Suffering of the poor did not trouble him ; 
 hunger seemed a little thing beside losing one's 
 everlasting soul. Therefore to come from his 
 studies upon such a monument of human de- 
 
A PREACHER'S LOVE STORY. 2J 
 
 pravity as this rotting church was to' receive a 
 shock and to hear a call to action. 
 
 Approaching the schoolhouse, his thought 
 took a turn toward the scholars and toward 
 Mattie. He had forgotten to ask her if she in- 
 tended to be one of his pupils. 
 
 There were several children already gathered 
 at the schoolhouse door as he came up. It was all 
 very American — the boxlike house of white, the 
 slender teacher approaching, the roughly clad 
 urchins waiting. 
 
 He said, ■" Good morning, scholars." 
 
 They chorused a queer croak in reply — 
 hesitating, inarticulate, shy. He unlocked the 
 door and entered the cold, bare room — familiar, 
 unlovely, with a certain power of primitive asso- 
 ciations. In such a room he had studied his 
 primer and his Ray's Arithmetic. In such a 
 room he had made gradual recession from the 
 smallest front seat to the back wall seat ; and 
 from one side of such a room to the other he 
 had furtively worshiped a graceful girlish head. 
 
 He allowed himself but a moment of such 
 dreaming, and then he assumed command, and 
 with his ready helpers a fire was soon started. 
 Other children came in, timorous as rabbits, slip- 
 ping by with one eye fixed on him like scared 
 chickens. They pre-empted their seats by put- 
 ting down books and slates, and there arose sly 
 wars for possession, which he felt in curious 
 amusement — it was so like his own life at that 
 age. 
 
28 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 He assumed command as nearly in the man- 
 ner of the old-time teachers as he could recall, 
 and the work of his teaching was begun. The 
 day passed quickly, and as he walked home- 
 ward again there stood that rotting church, and 
 in his mind there rose a surging emotion larger 
 than he could himself comprehend — a desire to 
 rebuild it by uniting the warring factions, of 
 whose lack of Christianity it was fatal witness. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Now this mystical thing happened. As this 
 son of a line of preachers brooded on this un- 
 lovely strife among men, he lost the equipoise 
 of the scholar and student of modern history. 
 He grew narrower and more intense. The bur- 
 den of his responsibility as a preacher of Christ 
 grew daily more insupportable. 
 
 Toward the end of the week he announced 
 preaching in the schoolhouse on Sunday aft- 
 ernoon, and at the hour set he found the 
 room crowded with people of all ages and 
 sorts. 
 
 His heart grew heavy as he looked out over 
 the room on women nursing querulous children, 
 on the grizzled faces of grim-looking men, who 
 studied him with keen, unsympathetic eyes. He 
 had hard, unfriendly material to work with. 
 There were but few of the opposite camp pres- 
 ent, while the Baptist leaders were all there, 
 
A PREACHER'S LOVE STORY. 
 
 2 9 
 
 with more curiosity than sympathy in their 
 faces. 
 
 They exulted to think the next preacher to 
 come among them as an evangelist should be a 
 Baptist. 
 
 After the singing, which would have dribbled 
 away into failure but for Mattie, Wallace rose, 
 looking very white and weak, and began his 
 prayer. Some of the boys laughed when his 
 voice stuck in his throat, but he went on to the 
 end of an earnest supplication, feeling he had 
 not touched them at all. 
 
 While they sang again, he sat looking down 
 at them with dry throat and staring eyes. They 
 seemed so hard, so unchristianlike. What could 
 he say to them ? He saw Mattie looking at him, 
 and on the front seat sat three beautiful little 
 girls huddled together with hands clasped ; they 
 were inexpressibly dainty by contrast. As he 
 looked at them the thought came to him, What 
 is the goodness of a girl — of a child ? It is not 
 partisan — it is not of creeds, of articles — it is 
 goodness of thought, of deeds. His face lighted 
 up with the inward feeling of this idea, and he 
 rose resolutely. 
 
 " Friends, with the help of Christ I am come 
 among you to do you good. I shall hold meet- 
 ings each night here in the schoolhouse until we 
 can unite and rebuild the church again. Let 
 me say now, friends, that I was educated a Bap- 
 tist. My father was a faithful worker in the 
 Baptist Church, and so was his father before him. 
 
30 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 I was educated in a Baptist college, and I came 
 here hoping to build up a Baptist Church." He 
 paused. 
 
 " But I see my mistake. I am here to build 
 up a Church of Christ, of good deeds and charity 
 and peace, and so I here say I am no longer a 
 Baptist or Methodist. I am only a preacher, and 
 I will not rest until I rebuild the church which 
 stands rotting away there." His voice rang 
 with intellectual determination as he uttered 
 those words. 
 
 The people listened. There was no move- 
 ment now. Even the babies seemed to feel the 
 need of being silent. When he began again it 
 was to describe that hideous wreck. He deline- 
 ated the falling plaster, the litter around the 
 pulpit, the profanation of the walls. " It is a 
 symbol of your sinful hearts," he cried. 
 
 Much more he said, carried out of himself by 
 his passion. -It was as if the repentant spirit of 
 his denominational fathers were speaking through 
 him ; and yet he was not so impassioned that he 
 did not see, or at least feel, the eyes of the 
 strong young girl fixed upon him ; his resolution 
 he spoke looking at her, and a swift response 
 seemed to leap from her eyes. 
 
 When it was over, some of the Methodists 
 and one of the Baptists came up to shake hands 
 with him, awkwardly wordless, and the pressure 
 of their hands helped him. Many of the Baptist 
 brethren slipped outside to discuss the matter. 
 Some were indignant, others much more moved. 
 
A PREACHER'S LOVE STORY. 31 
 
 Allen went by him with an audible grunt of 
 derision, and there was a dark scowl on his face, 
 but Mattie smiled at him, with tears still in her 
 eyes. She had been touched by his vibrant 
 voice; she had no sins to repent of. 
 
 The skeptics of the neighborhood were quite 
 generally sympathetic. " You've struck the right 
 trail now, parson," said Chapman, as they walked 
 homeward together. " The days of the old-time 
 denominationalism are about played out." 
 
 But the young preacher was not so sure of it 
 — now that his inspiration was gone. He remem- 
 bered his debt to his college, to his father, to the 
 denomination, and it was not easy to set aside 
 the grip of such memories. 
 
 He sat late revolving the whole situation in 
 his mind. When he went to bed it was still with 
 him, and involved itself with his dreams ; but 
 always the young girl smiled upon him with sym- 
 pathetic eyes and told him to go on — or so it 
 seemed to him. 
 
 He was silent at breakfast. He went to 
 school with a feeling that a return to teaching 
 little tow-heads to count and spell was now 
 impossible. He sat in his scarred and dingy 
 desk, while they took their places, and his eyes 
 had a passionate intensity of prayer in them 
 which awed the pupils. He had assumed new 
 grandeur and terror in their eyes. When they 
 were seated he bojved his head and uttered a 
 short plea for grace, and then he looked at them 
 again. 
 
32 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 On the low front seat, with dangling legs and 
 red round faces, sat the little ones. Someway 
 he could not call them to his knees and teach 
 them to spell ; he felt as if he ought to call them 
 to him, as Christ did, to teach them love and 
 reverence. It was impossible that they should 
 not be touched by this hideous neighborhood of 
 hate and strife. 
 
 Behind them sat the older children, some of 
 them with rough, hard, sly faces. Some grinned 
 rudely and nudged each other. The older girls 
 sat with bated breath ; they perceived something 
 strange in the air. Most of them had heard his 
 sermon the night before. 
 
 At last he broke silence. " Children, there is 
 something I must say to you this morning. I'm 
 going to have meeting here to-night, and it may 
 be I shall not be your teacher any more — I mean 
 in school. I wish you'd go home to-day and tell 
 your people to come to church here to-night. I 
 wish you'd all come yourselves. I want you to 
 be good. I want you to love God and be good. 
 I want you to go home and tell your people the 
 teacher can't teach you here till he has taught 
 the older people to be kind and generous. You 
 may put your books away, and school will be 
 dismissed." • 
 
 The wondering children obeyed — some with 
 glad promptness, others with sadness, for they 
 had already come to like their teacher very 
 much. 
 
 As he sat by the door and watched them file 
 
A PREACHER'S LOVE STORY. 
 
 33 
 
 out, it was as if he were a king abdicating a 
 throne, and these his faithful subjects. It was 
 the most momentous hour of his life. He had 
 set his face toward dark waters. 
 
 Mrs. Allen came over with Mattie to see him 
 that day. She was a good woman, gentle and 
 prayerful, and she said, with much emotion : 
 
 "O Mr. Stacey, I do hope you can patch 
 things up here. If you could only touch his 
 heart ! He don't mean to do wrong, but he's so 
 set in his ways — if he says a thing he sticks 
 to it." 
 
 Stacey turned to Mattie for a word of encour- 
 agement, but she only looked away. It was im- 
 possible for her to put into words her feeling in 
 the matter, which was more of admiration for 
 his courage than for any part of his religious 
 zeal. He was so different from other men. It 
 seemed he had a touch of divinity in him now. 
 
 It did him good to have them come, and he 
 repeated his vow : 
 
 " By the grace of our Lord, I am going to re- 
 build the Cyene Church," and his face paled and 
 his eyes grew luminous. 
 
 The girl shivered with a sort of awe. He 
 seemed to recede from her as he spoke, and to 
 grow larger, too. Such nobility of purpose was 
 new and splendid to her. 
 
 The revival was wondrously dramatic. The 
 little schoolhouse was crowded to the doors 
 night by night. The reek of stable-stained coats 
 
34 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 and boots, the smell of strong tobacco, the efflu- 
 via of many breaths, the heat, the closeness, 
 were forgotten in the fervor of the young evan- 
 gelist's utterances. His voice took on wild emo- 
 tional cadences without his conscious effort, and 
 these cadences sounded deep places in the heart. 
 To these people, long unused to religious oratory, 
 it was like the return of John and Isaiah. It 
 was poetry and the drama, and processions and 
 apocalyptic visions. He had the histrionic spell, 
 too, and his slender body lifted and dilated, 
 and his head took on majesty and power, and 
 the fling of his white hand was a challenge and 
 an appeal. 
 
 A series of stirring events took place on the 
 third night. 
 
 On Wednesday Jacob Turner rose and asked 
 the prayers of his neighbors, and was followed 
 by two Baptist spearmen of the front rank. 
 On Thursday the women all were weeping on 
 each other's bosoms ; only one or two of the 
 men held out — old Deacon Allen and his antag- 
 onist, Stewart Marsden. Grim-visaged old fig- 
 ures they were, placed among repentant men and 
 weeping women. They sat like rocks in the 
 rush of the two factions moving toward each 
 other for peaceful union. Granitic, narrow, keen 
 of thrust, they seemed unmoved, while all around 
 them one by one skeptics acknowledged the pa- 
 thos and dignity of the preacher's views of life 
 and death. 
 
 Meanwhile the young evangelist lived at high 
 
A PREACHER' 'S LOVE STORY. 
 
 35 
 
 pressure. He grew thinner and whiter each 
 night. He toiled in the daytime to formulate 
 his thoughts for the evening. He could not 
 sleep till far toward morning. The food he 
 ate did him little good, while his heart went out 
 constantly to his people in strenuous supplica- 
 tion. It was testimony of his human quality 
 that he never for one moment lost that shining 
 girl face out of his thought. He looked for it 
 there night after night. It was his inspiration in 
 speaking, as at the first. 
 
 On the nights when Mattie was not there his 
 speech was labored (as the elders noticed), but 
 on the blessed nights when she came and sang, 
 her voice, amid all the rest, came to him, and 
 uttered poetry and peace like a rill of cool sweet 
 water. And afterward, when he walked home 
 under the stars, his mind went with her, she was 
 so strong and lithe and good to see. He did not 
 realize the worshiping attitude the girl took 
 before divine duties. 
 
 At last the great day came — the great night. 
 
 In some way, perhaps by the growing mass 
 of rushing emotion set in action by some deep- 
 going phrase, or perhaps by some interior slow 
 weakening of stubborn will, Deacon Allen gave 
 way ; and when the preacher called for penitents, 
 the old man struggled to his feet, his seamed, 
 weather-beaten face full of grotesque movement. 
 He broke out : 
 
 " Brethren, pray for me ; I'm a miserable sin- 
 ner. I want to confess my sins — here — before 
 
36 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 ye all." He broke into sobbing terrible to hear. 
 " My heart is made — flesh again — by the blessed 
 power of Christ . . ." 
 
 He struggled to get his voice. One or two 
 cried, " Praise God ! " but most of them sat silent, 
 awed into immobility. 
 
 The old man walked up the aisle. " I've been 
 rebellious — and now I want to shake hands with 
 you all — and I ask your prayers." He bent 
 down and thrust his hand to Marsden, his enemy, 
 while the tears streamed down his face. 
 
 Marsden turned white with a sort of fear, but 
 he rose awkwardly and grasped the outstretched 
 hand, and at the touch of palms every soul rose 
 as if by electric shock. " Aniens ! " burst forth. 
 The preacher began a fervent prayer, and came 
 down toward the grizzled, weeping old men, and 
 they all embraced, while some old lady with 
 sweet quavering voice raised a triumphal hymn, 
 in which all joined, and found grateful relief 
 from their emotional tension. 
 
 Allen turned to Mattie and his wife. " My 
 boy — send for him — Herman." 
 
 It seemed as if the people could not go away. 
 The dingy little schoolhouse was like unto the 
 shining temple of God's grace, and the regener- 
 ated seemed to fear that to go home might be- 
 come a return to hate and strife. So they clung 
 around the young preacher and would not let 
 him go. 
 
 At last he came out with Allen holding to his 
 arm. " You must come home with us to-night," 
 
A PREACHER' S LOVE STORY. 
 
 37 
 
 he pleaded, and the young minister with glad 
 heart consented, for he hoped he might walk be- 
 side Mattie ; but this was not possible. There 
 were several others in the group, and they moved 
 off two and two up the deep hollows which 
 formed the road in the snow. 
 
 The young minister walked with head up- 
 lifted to the stars, hearing nothing of the low 
 murmur of talk, conscious only of his great plans, 
 his happy heart, and the strong young girl who 
 walked before him. 
 
 In the warm kitchen into which they came he 
 lost something of his spiritual tension, and be- 
 came more humanly aware of the significance of 
 sitting again with these people. He gave the 
 girl his coat and hat, and then watched her slip 
 off her knitted hood and her cloak. Her eyes 
 shone with returning laughter, and her cheeks 
 were flushed with blood. 
 
 Looking upon her, the young evangelist lost 
 his look of exaltation, his eyes grew soft and his 
 limbs relaxed. His silence was no longer rapt 
 — it was the silence of delicious, drowsy reverie. 
 
 The next morning he did not rise at all. The 
 collapse had come. The bad air, the nervous 
 strain, the lack of sleep, had worn down his 
 slender store of strength, and when the great 
 victory came he fell like a tree whose trunk has 
 
38 WA YSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 been slowly gnawed across by teeth of silent 
 saw. His drowse deepened into torpor. 
 
 In the bright winter morning, seated in a gay 
 cutter behind a bay colt strung with slashing 
 bells, Mattie drove to Kesota for the doctor. 
 She felt the discord between the joyous jangle 
 of the bells, the stream of sunlight, and the 
 sparkle of snow crystals, but it only added to the 
 poignancy of her anxiety. 
 
 She had not yet reached self-consciousness 
 in her regard for the young preacher — she 
 thought of him as a noble human being liable to 
 death, and she chirped again and again to the 
 flying colt, whose broad hoofs flung the snow in 
 stinging showers against her face. 
 
 A call at the doctor's house set him jogging 
 out along the lanes, while she sent a telegram to 
 Herman. As she whirled bay Tom into the road 
 to go home, her heart rose in relief that was 
 almost exaltation. She loved horses. She always 
 sang under her breath, chiming to the beat of 
 their bells, when alone, and now she loosened the 
 rein and hummed an old love song, while the 
 powerful young horse squared away in a trot 
 which was twelve miles an hour — click, click-click, 
 click-dangle, l&ng-lingle, ling. 
 
 In such air, in such sun, who could die ? Her 
 good animal strength rose dominant over fear 
 of death. 
 
 She came upon the doctor swinging along in 
 his old blue cutter, dozing in country-doctor 
 style, making up for lost sleep. 
 
A PREACHER'S LOVE STORY. 
 
 39 
 
 " Out o' the way, doctor ! " she gleefully 
 called. 
 
 The doctor roused up and looked around 
 with a smile. He was not beyond admiring such 
 a girl as that. He snapped his whip-lash lightly 
 on old Sofia's back, who looked up surprised, 
 and, seeming to comprehend matters, began to 
 reach out broad, flat, thin legs in a pace which 
 the proud colt respected. She came of illustrious 
 line, did Sofia, scant-haired and ungracious as 
 she now was. 
 
 " Don't run over me," called the doctor, iron- 
 ically, and with Sofia still leading they swung 
 into the yard. 
 
 Mattie went in with the doctor, while Allen 
 looked after both horses. They found Chapman 
 attending Wallace — who lay in a dazed quiet — 
 conscious, but not definitely aware of material 
 things. 
 
 The doctor looked his patient over carefully. 
 Then he asked, "Who is the yoong mon ?" 
 
 " He's been teaching here, or rather preach- 
 ing." 
 
 " When did this coom on ? " 
 
 " Last night. Wound up a big revival last 
 night, I believe. Kind o' caved in, I reckon." 
 
 " That's all. Needs rest. He'll be wearin' 
 a wood jacket if he doosna leave off preach- 
 in'." 
 
 . " Regular jamboree. I couldn't stop him. 
 One of these periodical neighborhood 'awaken- 
 ings,' they call it." 
 
40 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 " They have need of it here, na doot." 
 
 " Well, they need something — love for God — ■ 
 or man." 
 
 " M — well ! It's lettle I can do. The wum- 
 man can do more, if the mon'll be eatin' what 
 they cuke for 'im," said the candid old Scotch- 
 man. " Mak' 'im eat. Mak' 'im eat." 
 
 Once more Tom pounded along the shining 
 road to Kesota to meet the six-o'clock train 
 from Chicago. 
 
 Herman, magnificently clothed in fur-lined 
 ulster and cap, alighted with unusually grave 
 face and hurried toward Mattie. 
 
 " Well, what is it, sis ? Mother sick ? " 
 
 " No ; it's the teacher. He is unconscious. 
 I've been for the doctor. Oh, we were scared ! " 
 
 He looked relieved, but a little chagrined. 
 " Oh, well, I don't see why I should be yanked 
 out of my boots by a telegram because the 
 teacher is sick ! He isn't kin — yet." 
 
 For the first time a feeling of shame and 
 confusion swept over Mattie, and her face 
 flushed. 
 
 Herman's keen eyes half closed as he looked 
 into her face. 
 
 " Mat — what — what ! Now look here — how's 
 this ? Where's Ben Holly's claim ? " 
 
 "He never had any." She shifted ground 
 quickly. " O Herman, we had a wonderful 
 time last night ! Father and Uncle M'arsden 
 shook hands " 
 
 "What?" shouted Herman, as he fell in a 
 
A PREACHER'S LOVE STORY. 
 
 41 
 
 limp mass against the cutter. "Bring a physi- 
 cian — I'm stricken." 
 
 " Don't act so ! Everybody's looking." 
 
 "They'd better look. I'm drowning while 
 they wait." 
 
 She untied the horse and came back. 
 
 "Climb in there and stop your fooling, and 
 I'll tell you all about it." 
 
 He crawled in with tearing groans of mock 
 agony, and then leaned his head against her 
 shoulder. "Well, go on, sis; I can bear it 
 now." 
 
 She nudged him to make him sit up. 
 
 "Well, you know we've had a revival." 
 
 " So you wrote. Must have been a screamer 
 to fetch dad and old Marsden. A regular Pente- 
 cost of Shinar." 
 
 " It was — I mean it was beautiful. I saw 
 father was getting stirred up. He prayed almost 
 all day yesterday, and at night — Well, I can't 
 tell you, but Wallace talked, oh, so beautiful and 
 tender." 
 
 " She calls him Wallace ? " mused Herman, 
 like a comedian. 
 
 " Hush ! And then came the hand-shaking, 
 and then the minister came home with us, be- 
 cause father asked him to." 
 
 " Well, well ! I supposed you must have 
 asked him." 
 
 The girl was hurt, and she showed it. " If 
 you make fun, I won't tell you another word," 
 she said. 
 
 4 
 
42 
 
 WA YSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 " Away Chicago ! enter Cyene ! Well, come, 
 I won't fool any more." 
 
 " Then after Wallace — I mean " 
 
 " Let it stand. Come to the murder." 
 
 " Then father came and asked me to send for 
 you, and mother cried, and so did he. And, oh, 
 Hermie, he's so sweet and kind ! Don't make 
 fun of him, will you ? It's splendid to have him 
 give in, and everybody feels glad that the dis- 
 trict will be all friendly again." 
 
 Herman did not gibe again. His voice was 
 gentle. The pathos in the scene appealed to 
 him. " So the old man sent for me himself, did 
 he ? " 
 
 " Yes ; he could hardly wait till morning. 
 But this morning, when we came to call the 
 teacher, he didn't answer, and father went in and 
 found him unconscious. Then I went for the 
 doctor." 
 
 Bay Tom whirled along in the splendid dusk, 
 his nostrils flaring ghostly banners of steam on 
 the cold crisp air. The stars overhead were 
 points of green and blue and crimson light, low- 
 hung, changing each moment. 
 
 Their influence entered the soul of the mock- 
 ing young fellow. He felt very solemn, almost 
 melancholy, for a moment. 
 
 " Well, sis, I've got something to tell you all. 
 I'm going to tell it to you by degrees. I'm go- 
 ing to be married." 
 
 " Oh ! " she gasped, with quick, indrawn 
 breath. " Who ? " 
 
A PREACHER'S LOVE STORY. 43 
 
 " Don't be ungrammatical, whatever you do. 
 She's a cashier in a restaurant, and she's a 
 fine girl," he added steadily, as if combating a 
 prejudice. He forgot for the moment that such 
 prejudices did not exist in Cyene. 
 
 Sis was instantly tender, and very, very seri- 
 ous. 
 
 " Of course she is, or you wouldn't care for 
 her. Oh, I'd like to see her ! " 
 
 " I'll take you up some day and show her to 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, will you ? Oh, when can I go ? " She 
 was smit into gravity again. " Not till the 
 teacher is well." 
 
 Herman pretended to be angry. " Dog take 
 the teacher, the old spindle-legs ! If I'd known 
 he was going to raise such a ruction in our quiet 
 and peaceful neighborhood, I never would have 
 brought him here." 
 
 Mattie did not laugh; she pondered. She 
 never quite understood her brother when he 
 went off on those queer tirades, which might be 
 a joke or an insult. He had grown away from 
 her in his city life. 
 
 They rode on in silence the rest of the way, 
 except now and then an additional question from 
 Mattie concerning his sweetheart. 
 
 As they neared the farmhouse she lost in- 
 terest in all else but the condition of the young 
 minister. They could see the light ■ burning 
 dimly in his room, and in the parlor and kitch- 
 en as well, and this unusual lighting stirred 
 
44 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 tfie careless young man deeply. It was asso- 
 ciated in his mind with death and birth, and 
 also with great joy. 
 
 The house was lighted so the night his elder 
 brother died, and it looked so to him when he 
 whirled into the yard with the doctor when Mat- 
 tie was born. 
 
 " Oh, I hope he isn't worse ! " said the girl, 
 with deep feeling. 
 
 Herman put his arm about her, and she knew 
 he knew. 
 
 " So do I, sis." 
 
 Allen came to the door as they drove in, and 
 the careless boy realized suddenly the emotional 
 tension his father was in. As the old man came 
 to the sleigh-side he could not speak. His 
 fingers trembled as he took the outstretched 
 hand of his boy. 
 
 Herman's voice shook a little : 
 
 "Well, dad, Mattie says the war is over." 
 
 The old man tried to speak, but only coughed 
 and then he blew his nose. At last he said, 
 brokenly : 
 
 " Go right in ; your mother's waitin'." 
 
 It was singularly dramatic to the youth. To 
 come from the careless, superficial life of his 
 city companions into contact with such pri- 
 meval passions as these, made him feel like a 
 spectator at some new and powerful and tragic 
 play. 
 
 His mother fell upon his neck and cried, 
 while Mattie stood by pale and anxious. Inside 
 
A PREACHER'S LOVE STORY. 
 
 45 
 
 the parlor could be heard the mumble of men's 
 voices. 
 
 In such wise do death and the fear of death 
 fall upon country homes. All day the house had 
 swarped with people. All day this mother had 
 looked forward to the reconciliation of her hus- 
 band with her son. All day had the pale and 
 silent minister of God kept his corpselike calm, 
 while all about the white snow gleamed, and 
 radiant shadows filled every hollow, and the 
 cattle bawled and frisked in the barn-yard, and 
 the fowls cackled joyously, while the mild soft 
 wind breathed warmly over the land. 
 
 Mattie cried out to her mother in quick, low 
 voice, " O mother, how is he ? " 
 
 " He ain't no worse. The doctor says there 
 ain't no immediate danger." 
 
 The girl brought her hands together girlishly, 
 and said : " Oh, I'm so glad. Is he awake ? " 
 
 " No ; he's asleep." 
 
 " Is the doctor still here?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I guess I'll step in," said Herman. 
 
 The doctor and George Chapman sat beside 
 the hard-coal heater, talking in low voices. The 
 old doctor was permitting himself the luxury of 
 a story of pioneer life. He rose with automatic 
 courtesy, and shook hands with Herman. 
 
 " How's the sick man getting on ? " 
 
 " Vera well — vera well — consederin' the mon 
 is a complete worn-out — that's all — naethin' 
 more. Thes floom-a-didale bezniss of rantin' 
 
46 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 away on the fear o' the Laird for sax weeks 
 wull have worn out the frame of a bool-dawg." 
 
 Herman and Chapman smiled. " I hope you'll 
 tell him that." 
 
 " Na fear, yoong mon," said the grim old 
 warrior. "Weel, now ai'll juist be takin' an- 
 ither look at him." 
 
 Herman went in with the doctor, and stood 
 looking on while the old man peered and felt 
 about. He came out soon, and leaving a few 
 directions with Herman and Chapman, took his 
 departure. Everything seemed favorable, he 
 said. 
 
 There was no longer poignancy of anxiety in 
 Mattie's mind, she was too much of a child to 
 imagine the horror of loss, but she was grave and 
 gay by turns^ Her healthy and wholesome na- 
 ture continually reasserted itself over the power 
 of her newly attained woman's interest in the 
 young preacher. She went to bed and slept 
 dreamlessly, while Herman yawned and inward- 
 ly raged at the fix in which circumstances had 
 placed him. 
 
 Like many another lover, days away from his 
 sweetheart were lost days. He wondered how 
 she would take all the life down here. It would 
 be good fun to bring her down, anyway, and hear 
 her talk. He planned such a trip, and grew so 
 interested in the thought he forgot his patient. 
 
 In the early dawn Wallace rallied and woke. 
 Herman heard the rustle of the pillow, and 
 turned to find the sick man's eyes looking at him 
 
A PREACHER'S LOVE STORY. 47 
 
 fixedly, calm but puzzled. Herman's lips slowly 
 changed into a beautiful boyish smile, and Wal- 
 lace replied by a faint parting of the lips, when 
 Herman said : 
 
 " Hello, old man ! How do you find your- 
 self ? " His hearty humorous greeting seemed 
 to do the sick man good. Herman approached 
 the bed. " Know where you are ? " Wallace 
 slowly put out a hand, and Herman took it. 
 " You're coming on all right. Want some break- 
 fast ? Make it bucks ? " he said, in Chicago 
 ' restaurant slang. " White wings — sunny — one 
 up coff." 
 
 All this was good tonic for Wallace, and an 
 hour later he sipped broth, while Mrs. Allen and 
 the Deacon and Herman stood watching the 
 process with apparently consuming interest. 
 Mattie was still soundly sleeping. 
 
 There began delicious days of convalescence, 
 during which he looked peacefully out at the 
 coming and going of the two women, each pos- 
 sessing powerful appeal to him — one the mother- 
 ly presence which had been denied him for many 
 years, the other something he had never per- 
 mitted himself — a sweetheart's daily companion- 
 ship. 
 
 He lay there planning his church, and also 
 his home. Into the thought of a new church 
 came shyly but persistently the thought of a fire- 
 side of his own, with this young girl sitting in 
 the glow of it waiting for him. His life had 
 held little romance in its whole length. He had 
 
48 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 earned his own way through school and to college. 
 His slender physical energies had been taxed to 
 their utmost at every stage of his climb, but now 
 it seemed as though some blessed rest and peace 
 were at hand. 
 
 Meanwhile, the bitter partisans met each 
 other coming and going out of the gate of the 
 Allen estate, and the goodness of God shone in 
 their softened faces. Herman was skeptical of its 
 lasting quality, but was forced to acknowledge 
 that it was a lovely light. He it was who made 
 the electrical suggestion to rebuild the church 
 as an evidence of good faith. " You say you're 
 regenerated — go ahead and regenerate the 
 church," he said. 
 
 The enthusiasm of the neighborhood took 
 flame. It should be done. A meeting was 
 called. Everybody subscribed money or work. 
 It was a generous outpouring of love and faith. 
 
 It was Herman also who counseled secrecy. 
 " It would be a nice thing to surprise him," he 
 said. "We'll agree to keep the scheme from 
 him at home, if you don't give it away." 
 
 They set to work like bees. The women 
 came down one day and took possession with 
 brooms and mops and soap, and while the car- 
 penters repaired the windows they fell savagely 
 upon the grime of the seats and floors. The 
 walls of the church echoed with woman's gossip 
 and girlish laughter. Everything was scoured, 
 from the door-hinges to the altar rails. New 
 doors were hung and a new stove secured, and 
 
A PREACHER'S LOVE STORY. 
 
 49 
 
 then came the painters to put a new coat of 
 paint on the inside. The cold weather forbade 
 repainting the outside. 
 
 The sheds were rebuilt by men whose hearts 
 glowed with old-time fire. It was like pioneer 
 days, when " barn-raising " and " bees " made 
 life worth while in a wild, stern land. It was a 
 beautiful time. The old men were moved to 
 tears, and the younger rough men shouted cheery, 
 boisterous cries to hide their own deep emotion. 
 Hand met hand in heartiness never shown be- 
 fore. Neighbors frequented each other's homes, 
 and the old times of visiting and brotherly love 
 came back upon them. Nothing marred the 
 perfect beauty of their revival — save the fear of 
 its evanescence. It seemed too good to last. 
 
 Meanwhile love of another and merrier sort 
 went on. The young men and maidens turned 
 prayer meeting into trysts, and scrubbing bees 
 into festivals. They rode from house to house 
 under glittering stars, over sparkling snows, sing- 
 ing : 
 
 " Hallelujah ! 'tis done : 
 
 I believe on the Son ; 
 
 I am saved by the blood 
 
 Of the Crucified One." 
 
 And their rejoicing chorus was timed to the 
 clash of bells on swift young horses. Who 
 shall say they did not right ? Did the Gali- 
 lean forbid love and joy ? 
 
 No matter. God's stars, the mysterious 
 night, the bells, the watchful bay of dogs, the 
 
So 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 sting of snow, the croon of loving voices, the 
 clasp of tender arms, the touch of parting lips — • 
 these things, these things outweigh death and 
 hell, and all that makes the criminal tremble. 
 Being saved, they must of surety rejoice. 
 
 And through it all Wallace crawled slowly 
 back to life and strength. He ate of Mother 
 Allen's chicken-broth and of toast from Mattie's 
 care-taking hand, and gradually assumed color 
 and heart. His solemn eyes looked at the pow- 
 erful young girl with an intensity which seemed 
 to take her strength from her. She would glad- 
 ly have given her blood for him, if it had oc- 
 curred to her, or if it had been suggested as a 
 good thing ; instead she gave him potatoes 
 baked to a nicety, and buttered toast that 
 would melt on the tongue, and, on the whole, 
 they served the purpose better. 
 
 One day a smartly dressed man called to see 
 Wallace. Mattie recognized him as the Baptist 
 clergyman from .Kesota. He came in, and in- 
 troducing himself, said he had heard of the ex- 
 cellent work' of Mr. Stacey, and that he would 
 like to speak with him. 
 
 Wallace was sitting in a rocking chair in the 
 parlor. Herman was in Chicago, and there was 
 no one but Mrs. Allen and Mattie in the house. 
 
 The Kesota minister introduced himself to 
 Wallace, and then entered upon a long eulogium 
 upon his work in Cyene. He asked after his 
 credentials, his plans, his connections, and then 
 he said : 
 
A PREACHER'S LOVE STORY. 51 
 
 "You've done & fine work in softening the 
 hearts of these people. We had almost despaired 
 of doing anything with them. Yes, you have 
 done a won-der-ful work, and now we must reor- 
 ganize a regular society here. I will be out 
 again when you get stronger, and we'll see 
 about it." 
 
 Wallace was too weak to take any stand in 
 the talk, and so allowed him to get up and go 
 away without protest or explanation of his own 
 plans. 
 
 When Herman came down on Saturday, he 
 told him of the Baptist minister's visit and the 
 proposition. Herman stretched his legs out to- 
 ward the fire and put his hands in his pockets. 
 Then he rose and took a strange attitude, such 
 as Wallace had seen in comic pictures— it was, 
 in fact, the attitude of a Bowery tough. 
 
 " Say — look here ! If you want 'o set dis 
 community by de ears agin, you do dat ting — 
 see ? You play dat confidence game and dey'll 
 rat ye — see ? You invite us to come into a non- 
 partisan deal — see ? — and den you springs your 
 own platform on us in de joint corkus — and we 
 won't stand it ! Dis goes troo de way it began, 
 or we don't play — see ? " 
 
 . Out of all this Wallace deduced his own feel- 
 ing — that continued peace and good-will lay in 
 keeping clear of all doctrinal debates and dis- 
 putes — the love of Christ, the desire to do good 
 and to be clean. These emotions had been 
 roused far more deeply than he realized, and 
 
52 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 he lifted his face to God in the hope that no 
 lesser thing should come in to mar the beauty of 
 his Church. 
 
 There came a day when he walked out in 
 the sunshine, and heard the hens caw-cawing 
 about the yard, and saw the young colts play- 
 ing about the barn. And the splendor of the 
 winter day dazzled him as if he were look- 
 ing upon the broad-flung robe of the Most 
 High. Everywhere the snow lay ridged with 
 purple and brown hedges. Smoke rose peace- 
 fully from chimneys, and the sound of boys 
 skating on a near-by pond added the human 
 element. 
 
 The trouble of concealing the work of the 
 community upon the church increased daily, and 
 Mattie feared that some hint of it had come to 
 him. She had her plan. She wanted to drive 
 him down herself, and let him see the reburnished 
 temple alone. But this was impossible. On the 
 day when he seemed able to go, her father drove 
 them all down. Marsden was there also, and 
 several of his women-folks, putting down a new 
 carpet on the platform. As they drew near the 
 church, Wallace said : 
 
 " Why, they've fixed up the sheds ! " 
 
 Mattie nodded. She was trembling with the 
 delicious excitement of it — she wanted him hur- 
 ried into the church at once. He had hardly 
 time to think before he was whirled up to the 
 new porch, and Marsden came out, followed by 
 several women. He was bewildered by it all. 
 
A PREACHER' S LOVE STORY. 
 
 S3 
 
 Marsden helped him out with hearty voice 
 sounding : 
 
 " Careful now. Don't hurry ! " 
 
 Mattie took one arm, and so he entered the 
 church. Everything repainted ! Everything 
 warm and bright and cozy! 
 
 The significance of it came to him like a 
 wave of light, and he took his seat in the pulpit 
 chair and stared at them all with a look on his 
 pale face which moved them more than words. 
 He was like a man transfigured by an inward 
 glow. His eyes for an instant flamed with this 
 marvelous fire, then darkened, softened with 
 tears, and his voice came back in a sob of joy, 
 and he could only say : 
 
 " Friends — brethren ! " 
 
 Marsden, after much coughing, said : 
 
 " We all united on this. We wanted to have 
 you come to the church and — Well, we 
 couldn't bear to have you see it again the way it 
 was." 
 
 He understood it now. It was the sign of a 
 united community. It set the seal of Christ's 
 victory over evil passions, and the young 
 preacher's head bowed in prayer, and they all 
 knelt, while his weak voice returned thanks to 
 the Lord for his gifts. 
 
 Then they all rose and shook off the oppress- 
 ive solemnity, and he had time to look around 
 at all the changes. At last he turned to Mat- 
 tie and reached out his hand — he had the bold- 
 ness of a man in the shadow of some mighty 
 
54 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 event which makes false modesty and conven- 
 tions shadowy things of little importance. His 
 sharpened interior sense read her clear soul, and 
 he knew she was his, therefore he reached her 
 his hand, and she came to him with a flush on 
 her face, whicfi died out as she stood proudly 
 by his side, while he said : 
 
 " And Martha shall help me." 
 
 Therefore this good thing happened — that 
 in the midst of his fervor and his consecra- 
 tion to God's work, the love of woman found a 
 place. 
 
A MEETING IN THE FOOTHILLS. 
 
 I. 
 
 The train which brought young Ramsey into 
 Red Rock gave him no view of the mountains, 
 because it arrived about eight o'clock of a dark 
 day. He went to bed at once in order to be up 
 early and prostrate himself before the peaks, for 
 he was of the level middle-West. 
 
 He was awakened by the sound of loud, 
 hearty voices, and looking out of the window 
 saw a four-horse team standing before the little 
 hotel. On the wagon's side was a sign which 
 made the heart of the youth leap. 
 
 CRINKLE CREEK STAGE. 
 DAVE WILLIS, Pro. 
 
 He was in the land of gold ! It was like a 
 chapter from a story by Bret Harte. He dressed 
 himself hurriedly, and went down and out into 
 the cool, keen dawn, eager to catch a glimpse of 
 the great peak whose name had been in his ear 
 
 55 
 
56 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 since a child, as the symbol of the Rocky Moun- 
 tains. 
 
 There it soared, dull purple, splotched with 
 dark green, and rising to white at its shoulders, 
 and radiant with light on its crown. In such 
 impassible grandeur, it must have loomed upon 
 the eyes of the first little caravan trailing its 
 way across the plains to the mysterious West. 
 
 He spent the day doing little else but gaze at 
 the mountains and study the town. 
 
 It was also much more stupendous than he 
 had imagined, and doubts of his ability to fit 
 with all this splendor came to him with great 
 force. He remembered the smooth, green swells 
 and fertile fields he had left behind, and the 
 memory brought a touch of homesickness. 
 
 After supper that evening he confided to the 
 landlord his plans for finding a foreman's posi- 
 tion on a stock farm. 
 
 "Well, I dunnot There are such places, but 
 they're always snapped up 'fore you can say Jack 
 Robinson." 
 
 " Well, I'm going to give it a good try," the 
 young fellow said bravely. 
 
 " That's right. If I was you, I'd go out and 
 see some of these real-estate fellers ; they most 
 always know what's going on." 
 
 " That's a good idea ; much obliged. I'll 
 tackle 'em to-morrow," said Arthur, and he went 
 off to bed, feeling victory almost a tame bird in 
 hishands. 
 
 The next forenoon he made his first attempt. 
 
A MEETING IN THE FOOTHILLS. 57 
 
 He had determined on his speech, and he went 
 into the first office with his song on his lips: 
 
 "I'm looking for a place on a dairy farm; 
 I've had five years' practical experience, and am 
 
 a graduate of the Agricultural College. 
 
 I'm after the position of bookkeeper and fore- 
 man." 
 
 The man looked at him gravely. 
 
 " You're aiming pretty high, young feller, for 
 this country. There are plenty of chances to 
 work, punching cattle, but I don't think chances 
 are good for a foreman's place." He was a 
 kindly man, and repented when he saw how 
 the young man's face fell. " However, I'll give 
 you some names of people to see." 
 
 On the whole, this was not so depressing, 
 Arthur thought. 
 
 The next man made a mistake and took him 
 for an in-vestor. He rose with' great cordiality. 
 
 " Ah, good morning, sir — good morning ! 
 Have a chair. Just in ? Do you feel the draft 
 there ? Oh, all right ! " Then he settled him- 
 self in his swivel chair and beamed his warm- 
 est. "Well, what do you think of our charming 
 town ? " 
 
 Arthur had not the heart to undeceive him, 
 and so, saturated in agony sweat, crawled out at 
 last, and went timidly on to the third man, who 
 was kindly and interested in a way, and gave 
 him the names of some ranchers likely to hire a 
 hand. Some days passed in this sort of search 
 and resulted in nothing materially valuable, but 
 5 
 
58 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS, 
 
 a strong quality came out in his nature. Defeat 
 seemed to put a grim sort of resolution into his 
 soul. 
 
 Following faint clews, Ramsey made long 
 walks into the country, toiling from ranch to 
 ranch over the dun-colored, lonely hills, dogged, 
 persistent, with lips set grimly. 
 
 He was returning late one afternoon from 
 one of these fruitless journeys. It was one of 
 those strange days that come in all seasons at 
 that altitude. The air was full of suspended 
 mist — it did not rain, the road was almost dry 
 under foot, and yet this all-pervasive moisture 
 seemed soaking everything. It was, in fact, a 
 cloud, for this whole land was a mountain top. 
 
 The road wound among shapeless buttes of 
 red soil, the plain was clothed on its levels with 
 a short, dry grass, and on the "side of the buttes 
 were scattering, scraggy cedars, looking at a dis- 
 tance like droves of cattle. 
 
 He sat down upon a little hummock to rest, 
 for his feet ached with the long stretches of 
 hilly road. The larks cried to him out of the 
 mist, with their piercing sweet notes, cheerful 
 and undaunted ever. There was a sudden light- 
 ing up of the day, as if the lark's song had shot 
 the mist with silver light. 
 
 As he rose and started on with painful slow- 
 ness, he heard the sound of horses' hoofs behind 
 him, and a man in a yellow cart came swiftly out 
 of the gray obscurity. 
 
 Arthur stepped aside to let him pass, but he 
 
A MEETING IN THE FOOTHILLS. 59 
 
 could not help limping a little more markedly as 
 the man looked at him. The man seemed to un- 
 derstand. 
 
 " Will you ride ? " he asked. 
 
 Arthur glanced up at him and nodded with- 
 out speaking. The stranger was a fine-looking 
 man, with a military cut of beard, getting gray. 
 His face was ruddy and smiling. 
 
 " Thank you. I am rather tired," Arthur 
 said, as he settled into the seat. " I guess I'll 
 have to own up, I'm about played out." 
 
 " I thought you looked foot-sore. I'm enough 
 of a Western man to feel mean when I pass a 
 man on the road. A footman can get very tired 
 on these stretches of ours." 
 
 "I've tramped about forty miles to-day, I 
 guess. I'm trying to find some work to do," he 
 added, in desperate confidence. ' 
 
 " Is that so ? What kind of work ? " 
 
 " Well, I wanted to get a place as foreman on 
 a ranch." 
 
 " I'm afraid that's too much to expect." 
 
 Arthur sighed. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose it is. If I'd known as much 
 two weeks ago as \ do now, I wouldn't be 
 here." 
 
 " Oh, don't get discouraged ; there's plenty 
 of work to do. I can give you something to do 
 on my place." 
 
 " Well, I've come to the conclusion that there 
 is nothing here for me but the place of a com- 
 mon hand, so if you can give me anything " 
 
6o WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I can give you something to do in 
 my garden. Perhaps something better will open 
 up later. Where are you staying ? " he asked, 
 as they neared town. 
 
 Arthur told him, and the man drove him down 
 to his hotel. 
 
 " I'd. like to have you call at my office to- 
 morrow morning ; my partner does most of the 
 hiring. I've been living in Denver. Here's my 
 card." 
 
 After he had driven away> the listening land- 
 lord broke forth : 
 
 " You're in luck, Cap. If you get a place 
 with Major Thayer you're fixed." 
 
 " Who is he, anyhow ? " 
 
 "Who is he? Why, he 'owns all the land up 
 the creek, and banks all over Colorado." 
 
 " Is that so ? " 
 
 Arthur was delighted. Of course, it was only 
 a common hand's place, but here was the vista 
 he had looked for — here was the chance. 
 
 He stretched his legs under the table in huge 
 content as he ate his supper. His youthful im- 
 agination had seized upon this slender wire of 
 promise and was swiftly making it a hoop of dia- 
 monds. 
 
 II. 
 
 When he entered the office next day, however, 
 the Major merely nodded to him over the railing 
 and said : 
 
A MEETING IN THE FOOTHILLS. 6 1 
 
 "Good morning. Take a seat, please." 
 
 He seemed deeply engaged with a tall young 
 man of about thirty-five years of age, with a 
 rugged, smooth-shaven face. The young man 
 spoke with a marked English accent, and there 
 was a quality in his manner of speech which ap- 
 pealed very strongly to Arthur. 
 
 " Confeound the fellow,' 7 the young English- 
 man was saying, " I've discharged him. I cawn't 
 re-engage him, ye kneow! We cawn't have a man 
 abeout who gets drunk, y' kneow — it's too bloody 
 proveoking, Majah." 
 
 " But the poor fellow's family, Saulisbury." 
 
 " Oh, hang the fellow's family," laughed 
 Saulisbury. " We are not a poorhouse, y' kneow 
 — or a house for inebriates. I confess I deon't 
 mind these things as you do, old man. I'm a 
 Britisher, y' kneow, and I haven't got intristed 
 in your bloody radicalism, y' kneow. I'm in for 
 Sam Saulisbury ' from the word go,' as you fel- 
 lows say." 
 
 " And you don't get along any better — I mean 
 in a money way." 
 
 " I kneow, and that's too deuced queeah. 
 Your blawsted sentimentality seems note to do 
 you any harm. Still I put it in this way, y' 
 kneow — if he weren't so deadly sentimental, 
 what couldn't the fellow do, y' kneow ? " 
 
 The Major laughed. 
 
 " Well, I can't turn Jackson off, even for 
 you." 
 
 " Well, deon't do it then — -only if he gets 
 
62 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 drunk agine and drops a match into the milk 
 can, fancy ! and blows us all up, deon't come 
 back on me, that's all." 
 
 They both laughed at this, and the Major 
 said: 
 
 " This is the young man I told you about, 
 Mr.— a " 
 
 " Ramsey is my name," said Arthur, rising. 
 
 " Mr. Ramsey, this is my partner, Mr. Salis- 
 bury." 
 
 " Haow de do," said Saulisbury, with a nod 
 and a glance, which made Arthur hot with wrath, 
 coming as it did after the talk he had heard. 
 Saulisbury did not take the trouble to rise. He 
 merely swung round on his swivel chair and eyed 
 the young stranger. 
 
 Arthur was not thick-skinned, and he had 
 been struck for the first time by the lash of caste, 
 and it raised a welt. 
 
 He choked with his rage and stood silent, 
 while Saulisbury looked him over, and passed 
 upon his good points, as if he were a horse. 
 There was something in the lazy lift of his eye- 
 brows which maddened Arthur. 
 
 " He looks a decent young fellow enough ; I 
 suppeose he'll do to try," Saulisbury said at last, 
 with cool indifference. " I'll use him, Majah." 
 
 " By Heaven, you won't ! " Arthur burst out. 
 "I wouldn't work for you at any price." 
 
 He turned on his heel and rushed out. 
 
 He heard the Major calling to him as he 
 went down the stairs, but refused to turn back. 
 
A MEETING IN THE FOOTHILLS. 63 
 
 The tears of impotent rage filled his eyes, his 
 fists strained together, and the curses pushed 
 slowly from his lips. He wished he had leaped 
 upon his insulter where he sat — the smooth, 
 smiling hound ! 
 
 He was dizzy with rage. For the first time 
 in his life he had been trampled upon, and could 
 not, at least he had not, struck his assailant. 
 
 As he stood on the street-corner thinking of 
 these things and waiting for the mist of rage to 
 pass from his eyes, he felt a hand on his arm, 
 and turned to Major Thayer, standing by his 
 side. 
 
 " Look here, Ramsey, you mustn't mind Sam. 
 He's an infernal Englishman, and can't under- 
 stand our way of meeting men. He didn't mean 
 to hurt your feelings.' - 
 
 Arthur looked down at him silently, and there 
 was a look in his eyes which went straight to the 
 Major's heart. 
 
 " Come, Ramsey, I want to give you a place. 
 Never mind this. You will really be working 
 for me, anyhow." 
 
 Saulisbury himself came down the stairs and 
 approached them, putting on his gloves, and 
 Arthur perceived for the first time that his eyes 
 were blue and very good-natured. Saulisbury 
 cared nothing for the youth, but felt something 
 was due his partner. 
 
 " I hope I haven't done anything unpardon- 
 able," he began, with his absurd, rising inflec- 
 tion. 
 
64 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 Arthur flared up again. 
 
 " I wouldn't work for a man like you if I 
 starved. I'm not a dog. You'll find an Ameri- 
 can citizen won't knuckle down to you the way 
 your English peasants do. If you think you can 
 come out here in the West and treat men like 
 dogs, you'll find yourself mighty mistaken, that's 
 all ! " 
 
 The men exchanged glances. This volcanic 
 outburst amazed Saulisbury, but the Major en- 
 joyed it. It was excellent schooling for his 
 English friend. 
 
 "Well, work for me, Mr. Ramsey. Sam 
 knuckles down to me on most questions. I hope 
 I know how to treat my men. I'm trying to live 
 up to traditions, anyway." 
 
 " You'll admit it is a tradition," said Saulis- 
 bury, glad of a chance to sidle away. 
 
 The Major dismissed Saulisbury with a move 
 of the hand. 
 
 " Now get into my cart, Mr. Ramsey, and 
 we'll go out to the farm and look things over," 
 he said ; and Arthur clambered in. 
 
 " I can't blame you very much," the Major 
 continued, after they were well settled. " I've 
 been trying lately to get into harmonious rela- 
 tions with my employees, and I think I'm suc- 
 ceeding. I have a father and grandfather in 
 shirt sleeves to start from and to refer back to, 
 but Saulisbury hasn't. He means well, but he 
 can't always hold himself in. He means to be 
 democratic, but his blood betrays him." 
 
A MEETING IN THE FOOTHILLS. 65 
 
 Arthur soon lost the keen edge of his griev- 
 ance under the kindly chat of the Major. 
 
 The farm lay on either side of a small stream 
 which ran among the buttes and green mesas of 
 the foothills. Out to the left, the kingly peak 
 looked benignantly across the lesser heights that 
 thrust their ambitious heads in the light. Cattle 
 were feeding among the smooth, straw-colored 
 or sage-green hills. A cluster of farm buildings 
 stood against an abrupt, cedar-splotched bluff, 
 out of which a stream flowed and shortly fell into 
 a large basin. 
 
 The irrigation ditch pleased and interested 
 Arthur, for it was the finest piece of work he 
 had yet seen. It ran around the edge of the 
 valley, discharging at its gates streams of water 
 like veins, which meshed the land, whereon 
 men were working among young plants. 
 
 " I'll put you in charge of a team, I think," 
 the Major said, after talking with the foreman, a 
 big, red-haired man, who looked at Arthur with 
 his head thrown back and one eye shut. 
 
 " Well, now you're safe," said the Major, as 
 he got into his buggy, " so I'll leave you. 
 Richards will see you have a bed." 
 
 Arthur knew and liked the foreman's family 
 at once. They were familiar types. At supper 
 he told them of his plans, and how he came to 
 be out there ; and they came to feel a certain 
 proprietorship in him at once. 
 
 "Well, I'm glad you've come,'' said Mrs. 
 Richards, after their acquaintanceship had mel- 
 
66 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 lowed a day or two. "You're like our own 
 folks back in Illinois, and I can't make these 
 foreigners seem neighbors nohow. Not but 
 what they're good enough, but, land sakes ! they 
 don't jibe in someway." 
 
 Arthur winced a little at being classed in with 
 her folks, and changed the subject. 
 
 One Sunday, a, couple of weeks later, just as 
 he was putting on his old clothes to go out to 
 do his evening's chores, the Major and a merry 
 party of visitors came driving into the yard. 
 Arthur came out to the carriage, a little annoyed 
 that these city people should not have come 
 when he had on his Sunday clothes. The Major 
 greeted him pleasantly. 
 
 " Good evening, Ramsey. Just hitch the 
 horses, will you ? I want to show the ladies 
 about a little." 
 
 Arthur tied the horses to a post and came 
 back toward the Major, expecting him to in- 
 troduce the ladies; but the Major did not, 
 and Mrs. Thayer did not wait "for an intro- 
 duction, but said, with a peculiar, well-worn 
 inflection : 
 
 " Ramsey, I wish you'd stand between me 
 and the horses. I'm as afraid as death of horses 
 and cows." 
 
 The rest laughed in musical uproar, but 
 Arthur flushed hotly. It was the manner in 
 which English people, in plays and stories, ad- 
 dressed their butler or coachman. 
 
 He helped her down, however, in sullen si- 
 
A MEETING IN THE FOOTHILLS. fy 
 
 lence, for his rebellious heart seemed to fill his 
 throat. 
 
 The party moved ahead in a cloud of laugh* 
 ter. The ladies were dainty as spring flowers in 
 their light, outdoor dresses, and they seemed to 
 light up the whole barnyard. 
 
 One of them made the most powerful impres- 
 sion upon Arthur. She was so dainty and so 
 birdlike. Her dress was quaint, with puffed 
 sleeves, and bands and edges of light green, like 
 an April flower. Her narrow face was as swift 
 as light in its volatile changes, and her little 
 chin dipped occasionally into the fluff of her 
 ruffled bodice like a swallow into the water. 
 Every movement she made was strange and 
 sweet to see. 
 
 She cried out in admiration of everything, 
 and clapped her slender hands like a wondering 
 child. Her elders laughed every time they 
 looked at her, she was so entirely carried away 
 by the wonders of the farm. 
 
 She admired the cows and the colts very 
 much, but shivered prettily when the bull thrust 
 his yellow and black muzzle through the little 
 window of his cell. 
 
 " The horrid thing ! Isn't he savage ? " 
 
 " Not at all. He wants some meal, that's 
 all," said the Major, as they moved on. 
 
 The young girl skipped and danced and 
 shook her perfumed dress as a swallow her 
 wings, without appearing vain — it was natural 
 in her to do graceful things. 
 
68 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 Arthur looked at her with deep admiration 
 and delight, even while Mrs. Saulisbury was 
 talking to him. 
 
 He liked Mrs. Saulisbury at once, though 
 naturally prejudiced against her. She had evi- 
 dently been a very handsome woman, but some 
 concealed pain had made her face thin and 
 drawn, and one corner of her mouth was set in a 
 slight fold as if by a touch of paralysis. Her 
 profile was still very beautiful, and her voice was 
 that of a highly cultivated American. 
 
 She seemed to be interested in Arthur, and 
 asked him a great many questions, and all her 
 questions were intelligent. 
 
 Saulisbury amused himself by joking the 
 dainty girl, whom he called Edith. 
 
 " This is the cow that gives the cream, ye 
 know; and this one is the buttermilk cow," he 
 said, as they stood looking in at the barn door. 
 
 Edith tipped her eager little face up at him : 
 
 " Really ? " 
 
 The rest laughed again. 
 
 "Which is the ice-cream cow?" the young 
 girl asked, to let them know that she was not to 
 be fooled with. 
 
 Saulisbury appealed to the Major. 
 
 " Majah, what have you done with our ice- 
 cream cow ? " 
 
 " She went dry during the winter," said the 
 Major ; " no demand on her. ' Supply regulated 
 by the demand,' you know." 
 
 They drifted on into the horse barn. 
 
A MEETING IN THE FOOTHILLS. 69 
 
 " We're in Ramsey's domain now," said the 
 Major, looking at Arthur, who stood with his 
 hand on the hip of one of the big gray horses. 
 
 Edith turned and perceived Arthur for the 
 first time. A slight shock went through her sen- 
 sitive nature, as if some faint prophecy of great 
 storms came to her in the widening gaze of his 
 dark eyes. 
 
 " Oh, do you drive the horses ? " she asked 
 quickly. 
 
 " Yes, for the present ; I am the plowman," 
 he said, in the wish to let her know he was not 
 a common hand. " I hope to be promoted." 
 
 Her eyes rested a moment longer on his sturdy 
 figure and his beautifully bronzed skin, then she 
 turned to her companions. 
 
 After they had driven away, Arthur finished 
 his work in silence ; he could hardly bring him- 
 self to speak to the people at the supper table, 
 his mind was in such tumult. 
 
 He went up into his little room, drew a chair 
 to the window facing the glorious mountains, 
 and sat there until the ingulfing gloom of rising 
 night climbed to the glittering crown of white 
 soaring a mile above the lights of the city ; but 
 he did not really see the mountains ; his eyes 
 only turned toward them as a cat faces the light 
 of a hearth. It helped him to think, somehow. 
 
 He was naturally keen, sensitive, and impres- 
 sionable; his mind worked quickly, for he had 
 read a great deal and held his reading at com- 
 mand. 
 
•JO WA YSIBE COURTSHIPS, 
 
 His thought concerned itself first of all with 
 the attitude these people assumed toward him. 
 It was perfectly evident that they regarded him 
 as a creature of inferior sort. He was their 
 servant. 
 
 It made him turn hot to think how terribly 
 this contrasted with the flamboyant phraseology 
 of his graduating oration. If the boys knew 
 that he was a common hand on a ranch, and 
 treated like a butler ! 
 
 He came back for relief to the face of the 
 girl, the girl who looked at him differently some- 
 how. 
 
 The impression she made on him was one of 
 daintiness and light ; her eager face and her sweet 
 voice, almost childish *in its thin quality, appealed 
 to him with singular force. 
 
 She was strange to him, in accent and life; 
 she was good and sweet, he felt sure of that, but 
 she seemed so far away in her manner of 
 thought. He wished he had been dressed a 
 little better ; his old hat troubled him espe- 
 cially. 
 
 The girls he had known, even the daintiest 
 of them, could drive horses and were not afraid 
 of cows. Their way of talking was generally di- 
 rect and candid, or had those familiar inflections 
 which were comprehensible to him. She was 
 alien. 
 
 Was she a girl ? Sometimes she seemed a 
 woman — when her face sobered a moment — then 
 again she seemed a child. It was this change 
 
A MEETING IJV THE FOOTHILLS. 71 
 
 of expression that bewildered and fascinated 
 him. 
 
 Then her lips were so scarlet and her level 
 brown eyebrows wavered about so beautifully ! 
 Sometimes one had arched while the other re- 
 mained quiet ; this gave a winsome look of 
 brightness and roguishness to her face. 
 
 He came at last to the strangest thing of all : 
 she had looked at him, every time he spoke, as 
 if she were surprised at finding herself able to 
 understand his way of speech. 
 
 He worked it all out at last. They all looked 
 upon him as belonging to the American peas- 
 antry ; he belonged to a lower world — a world 
 of service. He was brick, they were china. 
 
 Saulisbury and Mrs. Thayer were perfectly- 
 frank about it; they spoke from the English 
 standpoint. The Major and Mrs. Saulisbury had 
 been touched by the Western spirit and were try- 
 ing to be just to him, with more or less uncon- 
 scious patronization. 
 
 As his thoughts ran on, his fury came back, 
 and he hammered and groaned and cursed as he 
 tossed to and fro on his bed, determined to go 
 back where the American ideas still held — back 
 to the democracy of Lodi and Cresco. 
 
72 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 III. 
 
 These spring days were days of growth to the 
 young man. He grew older and more thought- 
 ful, and seldom joked with the other men. 
 
 There came to the surface moods which he 
 had not known before. There came times when 
 his teeth set together like the clutch of a wolf, 
 as some elemental passion rose from the depths 
 of his inherited self. 
 
 His father had been a rather morose man, 
 jealous of his rights, quick to anger, but just 
 in his impulses. Arthur had inherited these 
 stronger traits, but they had been covered and 
 concealed thus far by the smiling exterior of 
 youth. 
 
 Edith came up nearly every day with the 
 Major in order to enjoy the air and beauty of 
 the sunshine, and when she did not come near 
 enough to nod to Arthur, life was a weary tread- 
 mill for the rest of the day, and the mountains 
 became mere gloomy stacks of ddbris. 
 
 Sometimes she sat on the porch with the 
 children, while Mrs. Richards, the foreman's wife, 
 a hearty, talkative woman, plied her with milk 
 and cookies. 
 
 " It must be heaven to live here and feed the 
 chickens and cows," the young girl said one 
 day when Arthur was passing by — quite acci- 
 dentally. 
 
 Mrs. Richards took a seat, wiping her face 
 on her apron. 
 
A MEETING IN THE FOOTHILLS. 73 
 
 " Wal, I don't know about that, when it 
 comes to waiting and tendin' on a mess of 'em; 
 it don't edgicate a feller much. Does it, 
 Art ? " 
 
 "We don't do it for play, exactly," he replied, 
 taking a seat on the porch steps and smiling up 
 at Edith. "I can't stand cows; I like horses, 
 though. Of course, if I were foreman of the 
 dairy, that would be another thing." 
 
 The flowerlike girl looked down at him with 
 a strange glance. Something rose in her heart 
 which sobered her. She studied the clear brown 
 of his face and the white of his forehead, where 
 his hat shielded it from the sun and the wind. 
 The spread of his strong neck, where it rose 
 from his shoulders, and the clutch of his brown 
 hands attracted her. 
 
 " How strong you look ! " she said musingly. 
 
 He laughed up at her in frank delight. 
 
 " Well, I'm not out here for my health ex- 
 actly, although when I came here I was pretty 
 tender. I was just out of college, in fact," he 
 said, glad of the chance to let her know that he 
 was not an ignorant workingman. 
 
 She looked surprised and pleased. 
 
 "Oh, you're a college man! I have two 
 brothers at Yale. One of them plays half-back 
 or short-stop, or something. Of course you 
 played ?" 
 
 " Baseball ? Yes, I was pitcher for '88." He 
 heaved a sigh. He could not think of those 
 blessed days without sorrow. -1 
 6 
 
74 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 " Oh, I didn't mean baseball. I meant foot- 
 ball." 
 
 " We don't play that much in the West. We 
 go in more for baseball. More science." 
 
 " Oh, I like football best, it's so lively. I like 
 to see them when they get all bunched up, they 
 look so funny, and then when some fellow gets 
 the ball under his arms and goes shooting around, 
 with the rest all jumping at him. Oh, oh, it's 
 exciting ! " 
 
 She smiled, and her teeth shone from her 
 scarlet lips with a more familiar expression than 
 he had seen on her face before. Some wall of 
 reserve had melted away, and they chatted on 
 with growing freedom. 
 
 " Well, Edith, are you ready ? " asked the 
 Major, coming up. 
 
 Arthur sprang up as if he suddenly remem- 
 bered that he was a workingman. 
 
 Edith rose also. 
 
 "Yes, all ready, uncle." 
 
 " Well, we'll be going in a minute. — Mr. Ram- 
 sey, do you think that millet has got water 
 enough ? " 
 
 " For the present, yes. The ground is not so 
 dry as it looks.'' 
 
 As they talked on about the farm, Mrs. Rich- 
 ards brought out a glass of milk for the Major. 
 
 Arthur, with nice calculation, unhitched the 
 horse and brought it around while the Major 
 was detained. 
 
 " May I help you in, Miss Newell ? " 
 
A MEETIXG IX THE FOOTHILLS. -5 
 
 She gave him her hand with a frank gesture, 
 and the Major reached the cart just as she was 
 taking the lines from Arthur. 
 
 " Are you coming ? '" she gayly cried. " If 
 not. Ill drive home by myself." 
 
 " You mean you'll hold the lines." 
 
 " No. sir. I can drive if I have a chance." 
 
 "That's what the American girl is saying 
 these days. She wants to hold the lines." 
 
 "Well, I'm going to begin right now and 
 drive all the way home." 
 
 As they drove off she flashed a roguish 
 glance back at Arthur — a smile which shadowed 
 swiftly into a look which had a certain appeal 
 in it. He was very handsome in his working 
 dress. 
 
 All the rest of the day that look was with 
 him. He could not understand it, though her 
 mood while seated upon the porch was perfectly 
 comprehensible to him 
 
 The following 5^r:cay morning he saddled 
 up one of the horses and went down to church. 
 He reasoned Edith would attend the Episcopal 
 service, and he had the pleasure of seeing her 
 pass up the aisle most exquisitely dressed. 
 
 This feeling of pleasure was turned to sad- 
 ness by sober second thought. Added to the 
 prosrrar:::: before his ideal was the feeling that 
 she belonged to another world — a world of 
 pleasure and weaiia. a world wtliost work or 
 worry. This feeling was strengthened by the 
 atmosphere of the beautiful little church, fra- 
 
j6 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 grant with flowers, delicately shadowed, tremu- 
 lous with music. 
 
 He rode home in deep meditation. It Was 
 -curious how subjective he was becoming. She 
 had not seen him there, and his trip lacked so 
 much of being a success. Life seemed hardly 
 worth living as he took off his best suit and went 
 out to feed the horses. 
 
 The men soon observed the regularity of 
 these Sunday excursions, and the word was 
 passed around that Arthur went down to see his 
 girl, and they set themselves to find out who she 
 was. They did not suspect that he sought the 
 Major's niece. 
 
 »-■ It was a keen delight to see her, even at that 
 distance. To get one look from her, or to see 
 her eyelashes fall over her brown eyes, paid him 
 for all his trouble, and yet it left him hungrier 
 at heart than before. 
 
 Sometimes he got seated in such wise that he 
 could see the fine line of her cheek and chin. 
 He noticed also her growing color. The free 
 life she lived in the face of the mountain winds 
 was doing her good. 
 
 Sometimes he went at night to the song serv- 
 ice, and his rides home alone on the plain, with 
 the shadowy mountains over there massed in 
 the starlit sky, were most wonderful experi- 
 ences. 
 
 As he rose and fell on his broncho's steady 
 gallop, he took off his hat to let the wind stir his 
 hair. Riding thus, exalted thus, one night he 
 
A MEETING IN THE FOOTHILLS. 
 
 77 
 
 shaped a desperate resolution. He determined 
 to call on her just as he used to visit the girls at 
 Viroqua with whom he was on the same intimacy 
 of footing. 
 
 He was as good as any class. He was not as 
 good as she was, for he lacked her sweetness 
 and purity of heart, but merely the fact that she 
 lived in a great house and wore beautiful gar- 
 ments, did not exclude him from calling upon 
 her. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But week after week went by without his 
 daring to make his resolution good. He deter- 
 mined many times to ask permission to call, but 
 somehow he never did. 
 
 He seemed to see her rather less than at first ; 
 and, on her part, there was a change. She 
 seemed to have lost her first eager and frank 
 curiosity about him, and did not always smile 
 now when she met him. 
 
 Then, again, he could not in working dress 
 ask to call ; it would seem so incongruous to 
 stand before her to make such a request cov- 
 ered with perspiration and dust. It was hard to 
 be dignified under such circumstances ; he must 
 be washed and dressed properly. 
 
 In the meantime, the men had discovered 
 how matters stood, and some of them made very 
 free with the whole situation. Two of them 
 especially hated him. 
 
78 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 These two men had drifted to the farm from 
 the mines somewhere, and were rough, hard 
 characters. They would have come to blows 
 with him, only they knew something of the power 
 lying coiled in his long arms. 
 
 One day he overheard one of the men speak- 
 ing of Edith, and his tone stopped the blood in 
 Arthur's heart. When he walked among the 
 group of men his face was white and set. 
 
 " You take that back ! " he said in a low 
 voice. " You take that back, or I'll kill you 
 right where you stand ! " 
 
 " Do him up, Tim ! " shouted the other ruf- 
 fian ; but Tim hesitated. " I'll do him, then," 
 said the other man. '' I owe him one myself." 
 
 He caught up a strip of board which was 
 lying on the ground near, but one of the Nor- 
 wegian workmen put his foot on it, and before 
 he could command his weapon, Arthur brought 
 a pail which he held in his right hand down upon 
 his opponent's head. 
 
 The man fell as if dead, and the pail shat- 
 tered into its original staves. Arthur turned 
 then to face Tim, his hands doubled into mauls ; 
 but the other men interfered, and the encounter 
 was over. 
 
 Arthur waited to see if the fallen man could 
 rise, and then turned away reeling and breath- 
 less. For an hour afterward his hands shook so 
 badly that he could not go on with his work. 
 
 At first he determined to go to Richards, the 
 foreman, and demand the discharge of the two 
 
A MEETING IN THE FOOTHILLS. jg 
 
 tramps, but as he thought of the explanation 
 necessary, he gave it up as impossible. 
 
 He almost wept with shame and despair at 
 the thought of her name having been mixed in 
 the tumult. He had meant to kill when he 
 struck, and the nervous prostration which fol- 
 lowed showed him how far he had gone. He 
 had not had a fight since he was thirteen years 
 of age, and now everything seemed lost in the 
 light of his murderous rage. It would all come 
 out sooner or later, and she would despise him. 
 
 He went to see the man just before going to 
 supper, and found him in his barracks, sitting 
 near a pail of cold water from which he was 
 splashing his head at intervals. 
 
 He looked up as Arthur entered, but went 
 on with his ministrations ; after a pause he said : 
 
 " That was a terrible lick you give me, young 
 feller — brought the blood out of my ears." 
 
 " I meant to kill you," was Arthur's grim 
 reply. 
 
 " I know you did. If that darned Norse 
 hadn't put his foot on that board you'd be 
 doing this." He lifted a handful of water to his 
 swollen and aching head. 
 
 " What did you go to that board for ?. Why 
 didn't you stand up like a man ? " 
 
 " Because you were swinging that bucket." 
 
 " Oh, bosh ! You were a coward as well as a 
 blackguard." 
 
 The man looked up with a gleam in his eye. 
 
 " See here, young feller — if this head " 
 
80 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 Arthur's face darkened, and the man stopped 
 short. 
 
 " Now listen, Dan Williams, I want to tell 
 you something. I'm not going to report this. 
 I'm going to let you stay here till you're well, 
 and then I want this thing settled with Richards 
 looking on ; when I get through with you, then, 
 you'll want a cot in some hospital." 
 
 The man's eyes sullenly fell, and Arthur 
 turned toward the door. At the doorway he 
 turned and a terrible look came into his face. 
 
 " And, more than that, if you say another 
 word about — her, I'll brain you, sick or well ! " 
 
 As he talked, the old, wild fury returned, 
 and he came back and faced the wounded man. 
 
 " Now, what do you propose to do?" he de- 
 manded, his hands clinching. 
 
 The other man looked at him, with a curious 
 frown upon his face. 
 
 " Think I'm a damned fool ! " he curtly an- 
 swered, and sopped his handkerchief in the water 
 again. 
 
 The rage went out of Arthur's eyes, and he 
 almost smiled, so much did that familiar phrase 
 convey, with its subtle inflections. It was cun- 
 ning and candid and chivalrous all at once. It 
 acknowledged defeat and guilt and embodied a 
 certain pride in the victor. 
 
 " Well, that settles that," said Arthur. " One 
 thing more — I don't want you to say what made 
 the row between us." 
 
 " All-right, pard ; only, you'd better see Tim." 
 
A MEETING IN THE FOOTHILLS. 8 1 
 
 In spite of his care, the matter came to the 
 ears of Richards, who laughed over it and told 
 his wife, who stared blankly. 
 
 " Good land ! When did it happen ? " 
 
 " A couple of days ago." 
 
 " Wal, there ! I thought there was a nigger 
 in the fence. Dan had a head on him like a 
 bushel basket. What was it about ? " 
 
 " Something Tim said about Edith." 
 
 " I want to know ! Wal, wal ! An' here 
 they've been going around as peaceful as two 
 kittens ever since." 
 
 " Of course. They pitched in and settled it 
 man fashion ; they ain't a couple of women who 
 go around sniffin' and spittin' at each other," 
 said Richards, with brutal sarcasm. " As near 
 as I can learn, Tim and Dan come at him to 
 once." 
 
 " They're a nice pair of tramps ! " said Mrs. 
 Richards indignantly. " I told you when they 
 come they'd make trouble." 
 
 "I told you thecow'd eat up the grindstone," 
 Richards replied with a grin, walking away. 
 
 The more Mrs. Richards thought of it, the 
 finer it all appeared to her. She was deeply en- 
 gaged now on Arthur's side, and was very eager 
 to do something to help on in his " sparking," 
 as she called it. She seized the first opportunity 
 to tell Edith. 
 
 " Don't s'pose you heard of the little fracas 
 we had t'other day," she began, in phrase which 
 she intended to be delicately indirect. 
 
82 WA YSIDE CO UR TSUI PS. 
 
 Edith was sitting in the cart, and Mrs. Rich- 
 ards stood at the wheel, with her apron shading 
 her head. 
 
 " Why, no. What was it ? " 
 
 " Mr. Ramsey come mighty near gettin' 
 killed." The old woman enjoyed deeply the 
 dramatic pallor and distortion of the girl's face. 
 
 " Why — why — what do you mean ? " 
 
 "Wal, if he hadn't a lammed one feller with 
 a bucket he'd a been laid out sure. So Richards 
 says ; as it is, it's the other feller that has the 
 head." She laughed to see the girl's face grow 
 rosy again. 
 
 " Then — Mr. Ramsey isn't hurt ? " 
 
 " Not a scratch ! The funny part of it is, 
 they've been going around here for a week, 
 quiet as you please. I wouldn't have known 
 anything about it only for Richards." 
 
 "Oh, isn't it dreadful ?" said the girl. 
 
 " Yes, 'tis ! " the elder woman readily agreed ; 
 " but why don't you ask what it was all about ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't want to know anything more 
 about it ; it's too terrible." 
 
 Mrs. Richards was approaching the climax. 
 
 " It was all about you.'' 
 
 The girl could not realize what part she 
 should have with a disgraceful row in the barn- 
 yard of her uncle's farm. 
 
 " Yes, these men — they're regular tramps ; I 
 told Richards so the first time I set eyes on 'em 
 — they made a little free with your name, and 
 Art he overheard them and he went for 'em, and 
 
A MEETING IN THE FOOTHILLS. 83 
 
 they both come at him, two to one, and he 
 lammed both out in a minute — so Richards 
 says. Now I call that 'splendid ; don't you ? A 
 young feller that'll stand up for his girl ag'in two 
 big tramps " 
 
 The Major had been motioning for Edith to 
 drive on down toward the gate, and she seized 
 the chance for escape. Her lips quivered with 
 shame and anger. It seemed already as if she 
 had been splashed with mire. 
 
 " Oh, the vulgar creatures ! " she said, in her 
 throat, her teeth shut tight. 
 
 " There, isn't that a fine field ? " asked the 
 Major, as he pointed to the cabbages. " There 
 is a chance for an American imitator of Monet 
 — those purple-brown deeps and those gray-blue- 
 pink pearl tints — What's the matter, my dear ? " 
 he broke off to ask. "Are you ill ? " 
 
 " No, no, only let's go home," she said, the 
 tears coming into her eyes. 
 
 He got in hastily. 
 
 " My dear, you are really ill. What's the 
 matter ? Has your old enemy the headache — " 
 He put his arm about her tenderly. 
 
 " No, no ! I'm sick of this place — I wish I'd 
 never seen it ! How could those dreadful men 
 fight about me ? It's horrible ! " 
 
 The Major whistled. 
 
 " Oh, ho ! that's got around to you, has it ? 
 I didn't know it myself until yesterday ; I was 
 hoping it wouldn't reach you at all. 1 wouldn't 
 mind it, my dear. It's the shadow every lovely 
 
84 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 woman throws, no matter where she walks ; it's 
 only your shadow that has passed over the cess- 
 pool." 
 
 " But I can't even bear that ; it seems like a 
 part of me. What do you suppose they said of 
 me ? " she asked, in morbid curiosity. 
 
 " Now, now, dearest, to know that would be 
 stepping into the muck after your shadow ; the 
 talk of such men is unimaginable to you." 
 
 " You don't mean Mr. Ransey ? " 
 
 " No ; Mr. Ramsey is a different sort of man, 
 and I don't suppose anything else would have 
 brought him to blows with those rough men." 
 
 They sat looking straight forward. 
 
 " Oh, it's horrible, horrible ! " 
 
 Her uncle tightened his arm about her. 
 
 " I suppose the knowledge of such lower 
 deeps must come to you some day, but don't 
 seek it now ; I've told you all you ought to 
 know. Ramsey meant well," he went on, after a 
 silence, " but such things do little good, not 
 enough to pay for the outlay of self-respect. 
 He can't control their talk when he's out of 
 hearing." 
 
 " But I supposed that if a woman was— good 
 — I mean — I didn't know that men talked in 
 that way about girls — like me. How could 
 they ? " 
 
 The abyss still fascinated her. 
 
 " My dear, such men are only half civilized. 
 They have all the passions of animals, and all 
 the vices of men. Ramsey was too hot-headed ; 
 
A MEETING IN THE FOOTHILLS. 85 
 
 their words do not count ; they weren't worth 
 whipping." 
 
 There was a little silence. They were near- 
 ing the mountains again, and both raised their - 
 eyes to the peaks deeply shadowed in Tyrian 
 purple. 
 
 " I know how you feel, I think," the Major 
 went on, " but the best thing to do is to forget 
 it. I'm sorry Ramsey fought To walk into a 
 gang of rough men like that is foolish and dan- 
 gerous too, for the ruffian is generally the best 
 man physically, I'm sorry to say." 
 
 " It was brave, though, don't you think so ? " 
 -she asked. 
 
 He looked at her quickly. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; it was brave and very youthful." 
 
 She smiled a little for the first time. 
 
 " I guess I like youth." 
 
 " In that case I'll have to promote him for 
 it," he said with a smile that made her look 
 away toward the mountains again. 
 
 V. 
 
 Saulisbury took a sudden turn to friendli- 
 ness, and defended the action when the Major 
 related the story that night at the dinner table, 
 as they were seated over their coffee and cigars. 
 He was dining with the Saulisburys. 
 
 " It's uncommon plucky, that's what I think, 
 d'ye kneow. By Jeove, I didn't think the young 
 
86 WAYS WE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 dog had it in him, really. He did one fellow up 
 with a bucket, they say, and met the other fellow 
 with his left. Where did the young beggah get 
 his science ? " 
 
 " At college, I suppose.'' 
 
 " But I suppeosed these little Western col- 
 leges were a milk-and-wahta sawt of thing, ye 
 kneow — Baptist and Christian Endeavor, and all 
 that, ye kneow." 
 
 " Oh, no," laughed the Major. " They are 
 not so benighted as that. They give a little at- 
 tention to the elementary studies, though I be- 
 lieve athletics do come second on the curric- 
 ulum." 
 
 " Well, the young dog seems to have made 
 some use of his chawnce," said Saulisbury, who 
 had dramatized the matter in his own way, and 
 saw Ramsey doing the two men up in accordance 
 with Queensberry rules. " I wouldn't hawf liked 
 the jobe meself, do ye kneow. They're forty 
 years apiece, and as hard as nails." 
 
 Mrs. Saulisbury looked up from her wal- 
 nuts. 
 
 " Sam is ready to carry the olive club to Mr. 
 Ramsey. ' The poor beggar,' as he has called 
 him all along, will be a gentleman from this time 
 forward." 
 
 After the Major had gone, Saulisbury said : 
 
 " There's one thing the Majah was careful 
 note to mention, my deah. Why should this 
 young fellow be going abeout defending the 
 good name of his niece ? Do ye kneow, my 
 
A MEETING IN THE FOOTHILLS. 
 
 87 
 
 deah, I fancy the young idiot is in love with 
 her." 
 
 " Well, suppose he is ? " 
 
 " But, my deah ! In England, you kneow, it 
 wouldn't mattah ; it would be a case of hopeless 
 devotion. But as I understand things heah, 
 it may become awkward. Don't ye think so, 
 love ? " 
 
 " It depends upon the young man. Edith 
 could do worse than marry a good, clean, whole- 
 some fellow like that." 
 
 " Good gracious ! You deon't allow your 
 mind to go that fah ? " 
 
 " Why, certainly ! I'd much rather she'd 
 marry a strong young workingman than some 
 burnt-out third-generation wreck of her own set 
 in the city." 
 
 " But the fellow has no means." 
 
 " He has muscle and brains, and besides, she 
 has something of her own," 
 
 Saulisbury filled his pipe slowly. 
 
 " Luckily, it's all theory on our part ; the 
 contingency isn't heah — isn't likely to arrive, in 
 fact." 
 
 " Don't be too sure. If I can read a girl's 
 heart in the lines of her face, she's got where 
 principalities and powers are of small ac- 
 count." 
 
 " Really ? " 
 
 " Sure as shooting," she smilingly said. 
 
 Saulisbury mused and puffed. 
 
 " In that case, we will have to turn in and 
 
88 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 give the fellow what you Americans call a 
 boost." 
 
 " That's right" his wife replied slangily. 
 
 Edith went to her room that night with a 
 mind whirling in dizzying circles, whose motion 
 she could not check. It was terrible to have it 
 all come in this way. 
 
 She knew Arthur cared for her — she had 
 known it from the first — but with the happy 
 indifference of youth, she had not looked for- 
 ward to the end of the summer. The sure 
 outcome of passion had kept itself somewhere 
 in a golden glimmer on the lower sweep of the 
 river. 
 
 She wished for some one to go to for advice. 
 Mrs. Thayer, she knew, would exclaim in horror 
 over the matter. The Major had hinted the 
 course she would have to take, which was to 
 show Arthur he had no connection with her life — 
 if she could. But deep in her heart she knew 
 she could not do that. 
 
 Suddenly a thought came to her which made 
 her flush till the dew of shame stood upon her 
 forehead. He had never been to see her ; she 
 had always been to see him ! 
 
 She knew that this was true. She did not 
 attempt to conceal it from herself now. The 
 charm of those rides with her uncle was the 
 chance of seeing Arthur. The sweet, never- 
 wearying charm that made this summer one of 
 perfect happiness, that had made her almost 
 forget her city ways and friends, that had made 
 
A MEETING IN THE FOOTHILLS. 
 
 «9 
 
 her brown and strong with the soil and wind, 
 was daily contact with a robust and wholesome 
 young man, a sturdy figure with brown throat 
 and bare, strong arms. 
 
 She went off at this point into a retrospective 
 journey along the pathways of her summer out- 
 ing. At this place he stood at the watering 
 trough, leaning upon his great gray horse. Here 
 he was walking behind his plow ; he was lifting 
 his hat — the clear sunshine fell over his face. 
 She saw again the splendid flex of his side and 
 powerful thigh. Here he was in the hayfield, 
 and she saw the fork-handle bend like a willow 
 twig under his smiling effort, the muscles on his 
 brown arms rolling like some perfect machinery. 
 She idealized all he did, and the entire summer 
 and the wide landscape seemed filled with pris- 
 matic colors. 
 
 Then her self-accusations came back. She 
 had gone down into the field to see him ; 
 perhaps the very man who was with him then 
 was one of those who had jested of her and 
 whom he had punished. Her little hands 
 clutched. 
 
 " 111 never go out there again ! Ill never 
 see him again — never ! " she said, with her teeth 
 shut tight. 
 
 Mrs. Thayer did not take any very great in- 
 terest in the matter until Mrs. Saulisbury held 
 a session with her. Then she sputtered in deep 
 indignation. 
 
 " Why, how dare he make love to my niece ? 
 7 
 
9° 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 Why, the presumptuous thing ! Why, the idea ! 
 He's a workingman ! " 
 
 Mrs. Saulisbury remained calm and smiling. 
 She was the only person who could manage 
 Mrs. Thayer. 
 
 "Yes, that's true. But he's a college-bred 
 man, and " 
 
 " College-bred ! These nasty little Western 
 colleges — what do they amount to ? Why, he 
 curries our horses." 
 
 Mrs. Saulisbury was amused. 
 
 " I know that is an enormity, but I heard the 
 Major tell of currying horses once." 
 
 " That was in the army — anyhow, it doesn't 
 matter. Edith can simply ignore the whole 
 thing." 
 
 " I hope she can, but I doubt it very much." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean that Edith is interested in him." 
 
 " I don't believe it ! Why, it is impossible ! 
 You're crazy, Jeannette ! " 
 
 " He's very handsome in a way." 
 
 "He's red and big- jointed, and. he's a com- 
 mon plowboy." Mrs. Thayer gasped, returning 
 to her original charge. 
 
 Mrs. Saulisbury laughed, being malevolent 
 enough to enjoy the whole situation. 
 
 " He appears to me to be a very uncommon 
 plowboy. Well, I wouldn't try to do anything 
 about it, Charlotte," she added. " You remem- 
 ber the fate of the Brookses, who tried to force 
 Maud to give up her clerk. If this is a case of 
 
A MEETING IN THE FOOTHILLS. g\ 
 
 true love, you might as well surrender grace- 
 fully." 
 
 " But I can't do that. I'm responsible for 
 her to her father. I'll go right straight and ask 
 her." 
 
 " Charlotte," Mrs. Saulisbury's voice rang 
 with a stern note, " don't yon presume to do such 
 a thing ! You will precipitate everything. The 
 girl don't know her own mind, and if you go up 
 there and attack this young man, you'll tip the 
 whole dish over. Don't you know you can't 
 safely abuse that young fellow in her hearing ? 
 Sit down now and be reasonable. Leave her 
 alone for a while. Let her think it over alone." 
 
 This good counsel prevailed, and the other 
 woman settled into a calmer state. 
 
 " Well, it's a dreadful thing, anyhow." 
 ■"Perfectly dreadful! But you mustn't take 
 a conventional view of it. You must remember, 
 a good, handsome, healthy man should come 
 first as a husband, and this young man is very 
 attractive, and I must admit he seems a gentle- 
 man, so far as I can see. Besides, you can't do 
 anything by storming up to that poor girl. Let 
 her alone for a few days." 
 
 Following this suggestion, no one alluded to 
 the fight, or appeared to notice Edith's changed 
 moods, but Mrs. Saulisbury could not forbear 
 giving her an occasional squeeze of wordless 
 sympathy, as she passed her. 
 
 It was pitiful to see the tumult and fear and 
 responsibility of the world coming upon this 
 
9 2 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 dainty, simple-hearted girl. Life had been so 
 strajghtforward before. No toil, no problems, 
 no choosing of things for one's self. Now sud- 
 denly here was the greatest problem of all com- 
 ing at the end of a summer-time outing. 
 
 Meanwhile Arthur was longing to see Edith 
 once more, and wondering why she had stopped 
 coming. 
 
 The Major came up on Friday and Saturday, 
 but came alone, and that left only the hope of 
 seeing Edith at church, and the young fellow 
 worked on with that to nerve his arm. 
 
 The family respected, his departure on Sun- 
 day. They plainly felt his depression, and 
 sympathized with it. 
 
 " Walk home with her. I would," said Mrs. 
 Richards, as he went through the kitchen. 
 
 " So would I. Dang me if I'd stand off," 
 Richards started to say, but Arthur did not stop 
 to listen. 
 
 As he rode down to the city, he recovered, 
 naturally, a little of his buoyancy. Sleep had 
 rested his body and cleared his mind for action. 
 
 He sat in his usual place at the back of the 
 church, and his heart throbbed painfully as he 
 saw her moving up the aisle, a miracle of lace 
 and coolness, with fragrant linen enveloping her 
 lovely young form, so erect and graceful and 
 slender. 
 
 Then his heart bowed down before her, not 
 because she was above him in a social class — he 
 did not admit that — but because he was a lover, 
 
A MEETING IN THE FOOTHILLS. 
 
 93 
 
 and she was his ideal. He was cast down as 
 suddenly as he had been exalted by her timid 
 look around, as was her custom, in order to bow 
 to him. 
 
 He stood at the door as they came out, 
 though he felt foolish and boyish in doing so. 
 She approached him with eyes turned away ; but 
 as she passed him she flashed an appealing, mys- 
 tical look at him, and, flushing a radiant pink, 
 slipped out of the side door, leaving him stunned 
 and smarting for a moment. 
 
 As he mounted his horse and rode away to- 
 ward the ranch, his thoughts were busy with that 
 strange look of hers. He came to understand 
 and to believe at last that she appealed to him 
 and trusted in him and waited for him. 
 
 Then something strong and masterful rose in 
 him. He lifted his big brown fist in the air in a 
 resolution which was like. that of Napoleon when 
 he entered Russia. He turned and rode furious- 
 ly back toward the town. 
 
 As he walked up the gravel path to the 
 Thayer house it seemed like a castle to him. 
 The great granite portico, the curving flight of 
 steps, the splendor of the glass above the door, 
 all impressed him with the terrible gulf between 
 his fortune and hers. 
 
 He was met at the door by the girl from the 
 table. He greeted her as his equal, and said : 
 
 " Is Miss Newell at home ? " 
 
 The girl smiled with perfect knowledge and 
 sympathy. She was on his side ; and she knew, 
 
94 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 besides, how much it meant to have the hired 
 man come in at the front door. 
 
 " Yes, she's at dinner. Won't you come in, 
 Mr. Ramsey ? " 
 
 He entered without further words, and fol- 
 lowed her into the reception room, which was 
 the most splendid room he had ever seen. He 
 stood with his feet upon a rug which was worth 
 more than his year's pay, and he knew it. 
 
 •"Just take a seat here, and I'll announce 
 you," said the girl, who was almost trembling 
 with eagerness to explode her torpedo of news. 
 
 " Don't disturb them. I'll wait." 
 
 But she had whisked out of the room, having 
 plans of her own ; perhaps revenges of her own. 
 
 Arthur listened. He could not help it. He 
 heard the girl's clear, distinct voice ; the open 
 doorways conveyed every word to him. 
 
 " It's Mr. Ramsey, ma'am, to see Miss New- 
 ell." 
 
 The young man's strained ears heard the 
 sudden pause in the click of knives and plates. 
 He divined the gasps of astonishment with 
 which Mrs. Thayer's utterance began. 
 
 "Well, I declare! Now, Major, you see 
 what I told you ? " 
 
 " The plucky young dog ! " said Saulisbury, 
 in sincere admiration. 
 
 Mrs. Thayer went on : 
 
 " Now, Mr. Thayer, this is the result of 
 treating your servants as equals." 
 
 The Major laughed. 
 
A MEETING IN THE FOOTHILLS. 95 
 
 " My dear, you're a little precipitate. It may 
 be a mistake. The young man may be here to 
 tell me one of the colts is sick." 
 
 " You don't believe any such thing ! You 
 heard what the girl said — Oh, look at Edith ! " 
 
 There was a sudden pushing and scraping of 
 chairs. Arthur rose, tense, terrified. A little 
 flurry of voices followed. 
 
 " Here, give her some wine ! The poor thing ! 
 No wonder " 
 
 Then a slight pause. 
 
 " She's all right," said the Major in a re- 
 lieved tone. " Just a little surprised, that's all." 
 
 There came a little inarticulate murmur from 
 the girl, and then another pause. 
 
 " By Jove ! this is getting dramatic ! " said 
 Saulisbury. 
 
 " Be quiet, Sam," said his wife. " I won't 
 have any of your scoffing. I'm glad there is 
 some sincerity of emotion left in our city girls." 
 
 Mrs. Thayer broke in : 
 
 " Major, you go right out there and send 
 that impudent creature away. It's disgraceful ! " 
 
 Arthur turned cold and hard as granite. His 
 heart rose with a murderous, slow swell. He 
 held his breath, while the calm, amused voice of 
 the Major replied : 
 
 " But, see here, my dear, it's none of my busi- 
 ness. Mr. Ramsey is an American citizen — I 
 like him — he has a perfect right to call " 
 
 " H'yah, h'yah ! " called Saulisbury in a 
 chuckle. 
 
9 6 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 " He's a man of parts, and besides, I rather 
 imagine Edith has given him the right to call." 
 
 The anger died out of Arthur's heart, and 
 the warm blood rushed once more through his 
 tingling body. Tears came to his eyes, and he 
 could have embraced his defender. 
 
 " Nothing like consistency, Majah," said 
 Saulisbury. 
 
 " Sam, will you be quiet ? " 
 
 The Major went on : 
 
 " I imagine the whole matter is for Edith to 
 decide. It's really very simple. Let her send 
 word to him that she does not care to see him, 
 and he'll go away — no doubt of it." 
 
 " Why, of course," said Mrs. Thayer. " Edith, 
 just tell Mary to say to Mr. What's-his- 
 name " 
 
 Again that creeping thrill came into the 
 young man's hair. His world seemed balanced 
 on a needle's point. 
 
 Then a chair was pushed back slowly. There 
 was another little flurry. Again the blood 
 poured over him like a splash of warm water, 
 leaving him cold and wet. 
 
 " Edith ! " called the astonished, startled 
 voice of Mrs. Thayer. "What are you going 
 to do ? " 
 
 " I'm going to see him," said the girl's firm 
 voice. 
 
 There was a soft clapping of two pairs of 
 hands. 
 
 As she came through the portiere, Edith 
 
A MEETIXG IX THE FOOTHILLS. 
 
 97 
 
 walked like a princess. There was amazing 
 resolution in her back-flung head, and on her 
 face was the look of one who sets sail into un- 
 known seas. 
 
 Someway — somehow, through a mist of light 
 and a blur of sound, he met her — and the 
 cling of her arms about his neck moved hira to 
 tears. 
 
 Xo word was uttered till the Major called 
 from the doorway : 
 
 •• Mr. Ramsey, Mrs. Thayer wants to know if 
 yon won't come and have some dinner." 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 
 
 Albert Lohr was studying the motion of 
 the ropes and lamps, and listening to the rumble 
 of the wheels and the roar of the ferocious 
 wind against the pane of glass that his head 
 touched. It was the midnight train from Mar- 
 ion rushing toward Warsaw like some savage 
 thing unchained, creaking, shrieking, and clat- 
 tering through the wild storm which possessed 
 the whole Mississippi Valley. 
 
 Albert lost sight of the lamps at last, and 
 began to wonder what his future would be. 
 " First I must go through the university at 
 Madison ; then I'll study law, go into politics, 
 and perhaps some time I may go to Wash- 
 ington." 
 
 In imagination he saw that wonderful city. 
 As a Western boy, Boston to him was historic, 
 New York was the great metropolis, but Wash- 
 ington was the great American city, and political 
 greatness the only fame. 
 
 The car was nearly empty : save here and 
 there the wide-awake Western drummer, and 
 
IOO WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 a woman with four fretful* children, the train 
 was as deserted as it was frightfully cold. The 
 engine shrieked warningly at intervals, the train 
 rumbled hollowly over short bridges and across 
 pikes, swung round the hills, and plunged with 
 wild warnings past little towns hid in the 
 snow, with only here and there a light shining 
 dimly. 
 
 One of the drummers now and then rose up 
 from his cramped bed on the seats, and swore 
 dreadfully at the railway company for not heat- 
 ing the cars. The woman with the children in- 
 quired for the tenth time, " Is the next station 
 Lodi ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, it is," snarled the drummer, as 
 he jerked viciously at the strap on his valise ; 
 " and darned glad I am, too, I can tell yeh ! I'll 
 be stiff as a car-pin if I stay in this infernal ice 
 chest another hour. I wonder what the com- 
 pany think " 
 
 At Lodi several people got on, among them 
 a fat man and his pretty daughter abnormally 
 wide awake considering the time of night. She 
 saw Albert for the same reason that he saw her 
 — they were both young and good-looking. 
 
 He began his musings again, modified by this 
 girl's face. He had left out the feminine ele- 
 ment ; obviously he must recapitulate. He'd 
 study law, yes ; but that would not prevent 
 going to sociables and church fairs. And at 
 these fairs the chances were good for a meeting 
 with a girl. Her father must be influential — 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. ioi 
 
 county judge or district attorney ; this would 
 open new avenues. 
 
 He was roused by the sound of his own 
 name. 
 
 " Is Albert Lohr in this car ? " shouted the 
 brakeman, coming in, enveloped in a cloud of 
 fine snow. 
 
 " Yes, here ! " shouted Albert. 
 
 " Here's a telegram for you." 
 
 Albert snatched the envelope with a sudden 
 fear of disaster at home ; but it was dated 
 " Tyre " : 
 
 " Get off at Tyre. I'll be there. 
 
 " Hartley." 
 
 "Well, now, that's fun!" said Albert, look- 
 ing at the brakeman. " When do we reach 
 there ? " 
 
 " About 2. 20." 
 
 " Well, by thunder ! A pretty time d' night ! " 
 
 The brakeman grinned sympathetically. 
 " Any answer ? " he asked at length. 
 
 " No ; that is, none that 'u'd do the mat- 
 ter justice," Albert said, studying the tele- 
 gram. 
 
 " Hartley friend o' yours ? " 
 
 " Yes ; know him ? " 
 
 " Yes ; he boarded where I did in Warsaw." 
 
 When he came back again, the brakeman said 
 to Albert, in a hesitating way : 
 
 " Ain't going t' stop off long, I s'pose ? " 
 
102 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 " May an' may not ; depends on Hartley. 
 Why?" 
 
 "Well, I've got an aunt there that keeps 
 boarders, and I kind o' like t' send her one 
 when I can. If you should happen to stay a 
 few days, go an' see her. She sets up first-class 
 grub, an' it wouldn't kill anybody, anyhow, if 
 you went up an' called." 
 
 " Course not. If I stay long enough to make 
 it pay I'll look her up sure. I ain't no Vander- 
 bilt to stop at two-dollar-a-day hotels." 
 
 The brakeman sat down opposite Albert, en- 
 couraged by his smile. 
 
 " Y' see, my division ends at Warsaw, and I 
 run back and forth here every other day, but I 
 don't get much chance to see them, and I ain't 
 worth a cuss f'r letter-writin'. Y' see, she's only 
 aunt by marriage, but I like her ; an' I guess 
 she's got about all she can stand up under, an' 
 so I like t' help her a little when I can. The 
 old man' died owning nothing but the house, 
 an' that left the old lady t' rustle f'r her livin'. 
 Dummed if she ain't sandy as old Sand. They're 
 gitt'n' along purty " 
 
 The whistle blew for brakes, and, seizing his 
 lantern, the brakeman slammed out on the plat- 
 form. 
 
 " Tough night for twisting brakes," suggested 
 Albert, when he came in again. 
 
 " Yes — on the freight." 
 
 " Good heavens ! I should say so. They 
 don't run freight such nights as this ? " 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 103 
 
 " Don't they ? Well, I guess they don't stop 
 for a storm like this if they's any money to he 
 made by sending her through. Many's the night 
 I've broke all night on top of the old wooden 
 cars, when the wind cut like a razor. Shear the 
 hair off a cast-iron mule — woo-0-0! There's 
 where you need grit, old man,'' he ended, drop- 
 ping into familiar speech. 
 
 '• Yes ; or need a job awful bad." 
 
 The brakeman was struck with this idea. 
 " There's where you're right. A fellow don't 
 take that kind of a job for the fun of it. Not 
 much ! He takes it because he's got to. That's 
 as sure's you're a foot high. I tell you, a 
 feller's got t' rustle these days if he gits any 
 kind of a job " 
 
 " Toot, too-o-o-o-t, toot! " 
 
 The station passed, the brakeman did not re- 
 turn, perhaps because he found some other lis- 
 tener, perhaps because he was afraid of boring 
 this pleasant young fellow. Albert shuddered 
 with a sympathetic pain as he thought of the 
 men on the tops of the icy cars, with hands 
 straining at the brake, and the wind cutting 
 their faces like a sand-blast. His mind went out 
 to the thousands of freight trains shuttling to 
 and fro across the vast web of gleaming iron 
 spread out on the mighty breast of the Western 
 plains. Oh, those tireless hands at the wheel 
 and throttle! 
 
 He looked at his watch ; it was two o'clock ; 
 the next station was Tyre. As he began to 
 
104 WA YSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 get his things together, the brakeman came 
 in. 
 
 " Oh, I forgot to say that the old lady's 
 name is Welsh — Mrs. Robert Welsh. Say I 
 sent yeh, and it'll be all right." 
 
 " Sure ! I'll try her in the morning — that is, 
 if I find out I'm going to stay." 
 
 " Tyre ! Tyre ! " yelled the brakeman, as 
 with clanging bell and whizz of steam the train 
 slowed down and the wheels began to cry out in 
 the snow. 
 
 Albert got his things together, and pulled his 
 cap firmly down on his head. 
 
 " Here goes ! " he muttered. 
 
 " Hold y'r breath ! " shouted the brakeman. 
 Albert swung himself to the platform before the 
 station — a platform of planks along which the 
 snow was streaming like water. 
 
 " Good night ! " called the brakeman. 
 
 " Good night ! " 
 
 " All-1 abo-o-o-ard ! " called the conductor 
 somewhere in the storm ; the brakeman swung 
 his lantern, and the train drew off into the blind- 
 ing whirl, and the lights were soon lost in the 
 clouds of snow. 
 
 No more desolate place could well be im- 
 agined. A level plain, apparently bare of houses, 
 swept by a ferocious wind ; a dingy little den 
 called a station — no other shelter in sight ; no 
 sign of life save the dull glare of two windows 
 to the left, alternately lost and found in the 
 storm. 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE, 105 
 
 Albert's heart contracted with a sudden fear ; 
 the outlook was appalling. 
 
 " Where's the town ? " he yelled savagely at 
 a dimly seen figure with a lantern — a man evi- 
 dently locking the station door, his only refuge. 
 
 " Over there," was the surly reply. 
 
 " How far ? " 
 
 *• 'Bout a mile." 
 
 ' ; A mile ! " 
 
 '* That's what I said — a mile." 
 
 • Well, I'll be blanked ! " 
 
 " Well, y' better be doing something besides 
 standing here, 'r y" 11 freeze t' death. I'd go 
 over to the Arteeshun House an" go t' bed if I 
 was in your fix." 
 
 " Oh, y' would ! " 
 
 '• I would." 
 
 " Well, where is the Artesian House ? " 
 
 '• See them lights ? " 
 
 " I see them lights." 
 
 "Well, they're it." 
 
 " Oh, wouldn't your grammar make Old 
 Grammati-cuss curl up, though ! " 
 
 •■ What say ? " queried the man, bending his 
 head toward Albert, his form being almost 
 lost in the snow that streamed against them 
 both. 
 
 "I said I guessed I'd try it," grinned the 
 youth invisibly. 
 
 " Well, I would if I was in your fix. Keep 
 right close after me : they's some ditches here, 
 and the foot-bridges are none too wide." 
 
106 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 " The Artesian is owned by the railway, eh ? " 
 
 "Yup." 
 
 " And you're the clerk ? " 
 
 " Yup ; nice little scheme, ain't it ?" 
 
 "Well, it'll do," replied Albert. 
 
 The man laughed without looking around. 
 
 " Keep your longest cuss words till morning; 
 you'll need 'em, take my word for it." 
 
 In the little barroom, lighted by a vilely 
 smelling kerosene lamp, the clerk, hitherto a 
 shadow and a voice, came to light as a middle- 
 aged man with a sullen face slightly belied by a 
 sly twinkle in his eyes. 
 
 " This beats all the winters I ever did see. It 
 don't do nawthin' but blow, blow. Want to go 
 to bed, I s'pose. Well, come along." 
 
 He took up one of the absurd little lamps 
 and tried to get more light out of it. 
 
 " Dummed if a white bean wouldn't be bet- 
 ter." 
 
 " Spit on it ! " suggested Albert. 
 
 " I'd throw the whole business out o' the 
 window for a cent," growled the man. 
 
 " Here's y'r cent," said the boy. 
 
 " You're mighty frisky f'r a feller gitt'n' 
 off'n a midnight train," replied the man, tramp- 
 ing along a narrow hallway, and talking in a 
 voice loud enough to awaken every sleeper in 
 the house. 
 
 " Have t' be, or there'd be a pair of us." 
 
 " You'll laugh out o' the other side o' y'r 
 mouth when you saw away on one o' the bell- 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 
 
 in? 
 
 collar steaks this house puts up," ended the 
 clerk as he put the lamp down. 
 
 " ' Sufficient unto the day is the evil there- 
 off,' " called Albert after him, and then plunged 
 into the icy bed. 
 
 He was awakened the next morning by the 
 cooks pounding steak down in the kitchen and 
 wrangling over some division of duty. It was 
 a vile place at any time, but on a morning like 
 this it was appalling. The water was frozen, 
 the floor like ice, the seven-by-nine glass frosted 
 so that he couldn't see to comb his hair. 
 
 " All that got me out of bed," said Albert to 
 the clerk, " was the thought of leaving." 
 
 " Got y'r teeth filed ? " said the day clerk, 
 with a wink. " Old Collins's beef will try 
 em. 
 
 The breakfast was incredibly bad — so much 
 worse than he expected that Albert was forced 
 to admit he had never seen its like. He fled 
 from the place without a glance behind, 'and 
 took passage in an omnibus for the town, a mile 
 away. It was terribly cold, the thermometer 
 twenty below zero ; but the sun was very bril- 
 liant, and the air still. 
 
 The driver pulled up before a very ambitious 
 wooden hotel entitled " The Eldorado," and 
 Albert dashed in at the door and up to the stove, 
 with both hands covering his ears. 
 
 As he stood there, frantic with pain, kicking 
 his toes and rubbing his ears, he heard a chuckle 
 — a slow, sly, insulting chuckle — turned, and 
 
I08 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS, 
 
 saw Hartley standing in the doorway, visibly 
 exulting over his misery. 
 
 " Hello, Bert ! that you ? " 
 
 " What's left of me. Say, you're a good one, 
 you are ? Why didn't you telegraph me at 
 Marion ? A deuce of a night I've had of it ! " 
 
 " Do ye good," laughed Hartley, a tall, alert, 
 handsome fellow nearly thirty years of age. 
 
 After a short and vigorous " blowing up," 
 Albert said : " Well, now, what's the meaning 
 of all this, anyhow ? Why this change from 
 Racine ? " 
 
 " Well, you see, I got wind of another fel- 
 low going to work this county for a ' Life of 
 Logan,' and thinks I, ' By jinks ! I'd better 
 drop in ahead of him with Blaine's "Twenty 
 Years." ' I telegraphed f 'r territory, got it, and 
 telegraphed to stop you." 
 
 " You did it. When did you come down ? " 
 
 " Last night, six o'clock." 
 
 Albert was getting warmer and better-na- 
 tured. 
 
 " Well, I'm here ; what ye going t' do with 
 me ? " 
 
 " I'll use you some way ; can't tell. First 
 thing is to find a boarding place where we can 
 work in a couple o' books on the bill." 
 
 "Well, I don't know about that, but I'm 
 going to look up a place a brakeman gave me a 
 pointer on." 
 
 " All right ; here goes ! " 
 
 Scarcely any one was stirring on the streets. 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 
 
 IO9 
 
 The wind was pitilessly cold, though not strong. 
 The snow under the feet cried out with a note 
 like glass and steel. The windows of the stores 
 were thick with frost, and Albert gave a shudder 
 of fear, almost as if he were homeless. He had 
 never experienced anything like it before. 
 
 Entering one of the stores, they found a 
 group of men sitting about the stove, smok- 
 ing, chatting, and spitting aimlessly into a huge 
 spittoon made of boards and filled with saw- 
 dust. Each man suspended smoking and talk- 
 ing as the strangers entered. 
 
 " Can any of you gentlemen tell us where 
 Mrs. Welsh lives ? " 
 
 There was a silence ; then the clerk behind 
 the counter said : 
 
 " I guess so. Two blocks north and three 
 west, next to last house on left-hand side." 
 
 " Clear as a bell ! " laughed Hartley, and 
 they pushed out into the cold again, drawing 
 their mufflers up to their eyes. 
 
 " I don't want much of this," muttered Bert 
 through his scarf. 
 
 The house was a large frame house standing 
 on the edge of a bank, and as the young men 
 waited they could look down on the meadow 
 land, where the river lay blue and still and as 
 hard as iron. 
 
 A pale little girl ten, or twelve years of age, 
 let them in. 
 
 " Is this where Mrs. Welsh lives ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
IIO WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 " Will you ask her to come here a moment ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," piped the little one. " Won't you 
 sit down by the fire ? " she added, with a quaint 
 air of hospitality. 
 
 The room was the usual village sitting room : 
 a cylinder heater full of wood at one side of it ; 
 a rag carpet, much faded, on the floor ; a cab- 
 inet organ ; a doleful pair of crayon portraits 
 on the wall, one supposedly a baby — a figure 
 dressed like a child of six months, but with a 
 face old and cynical enough to be forty-five. 
 The paper on the wall was of the hideous striped 
 sort, and the chairs were nondescript ; but every- 
 thing was clean — so clean it looked worn more 
 with brushing than with use. 
 
 A slim woman of fifty, with hollow eyes and 
 a patient smile, came in, wiping her hands on her 
 apron. 
 
 " How d'ye do ? Did you want to see me ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Hartley, smiling. " The fact is, 
 we're book agents, and looking for a place to 
 board." 
 
 "Well — a — I — yes, I keep boarders." 
 
 " I was sent here by a brakeman on the mid- 
 night express," put in Bert. 
 
 " Oh, Tom," said the woman, her face clear- 
 ing. " Tom's always sending us people. Why, 
 yes ; I've got room for you, I guess — this room 
 here." She pushed open a folding door leading 
 into what had been her parlor. 
 
 " You can have this." 
 
 " And the price ? " 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. m 
 
 " Four dollars." 
 
 " Eight dollars f'r the two of us. All right ; 
 we'll be with you a week or two if we have 
 luck." 
 
 The woman smiled and shut the door. Bert 
 thought how much she looked like his mother 
 in the back — the same tired droop in the shoul- 
 ders, the same colorless dress, once blue or 
 brown, now a peculiar drab, characterless with 
 much washing. 
 
 " Excuse me, won't you ? I've got to be at 
 my baking ; make y'rselves at home." 
 
 " Now, Jim," said Bert, " I'm going t' stay 
 right here while you go and order our trunks 
 around — just t' pay you off f'r last night." 
 
 " All right," said Hartley, cheerily going out. 
 After getting warm, Bert sat down at the organ 
 and played a gospel hymn or two from the 
 Moody and Sankey hymnal. He was in the 
 midst of the chorus of " Let your lower lights," 
 etc., when a young woman entered the room. 
 She had a whisk-broom in her hand, and stood a 
 picture of gentle surprise. Bert wheeled about 
 on his stool. 
 
 " I thought it was Stella," she began. 
 
 " I'm a book agent," said Bert, rising with 
 his best grace ; " I might as well out with it. 
 I'm here to board." 
 
 " Oh ! " said the girl, with some relief. She 
 was very fair and very slight, almost frail. Her 
 eyes were of the sunniest blue, her face pale 
 and somewhat thin, but her lips showed scarlet, 
 
H2 WAYSIDE COUHTSHIPS. 
 
 and her teeth were fine. Bert liked her and 
 smiled. 
 
 '• A book agent is the next thing to a burglar, 
 I know ; but still " 
 
 " Oh, I didn't mean that, but I was surprised. 
 When did you come ? " 
 
 " Just a, few moments ago. Am I in your 
 way ? " he inquired, with elaborate solicitude. 
 
 " Oh, no ! Please go on ; you play very well, 
 I think. It is so seldom young men play." 
 
 " I had to at college ; the other fellows all 
 wanted to sing. You play, of course." 
 
 "When I have time." She sighed. There 
 was a weary droop in her voice ; she seemed 
 aware of it, and said more brightly : 
 
 " You mean Marion, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I'm in my second year." 
 
 " I went there two years. Then I had to 
 quit and come home to help mother." 
 
 " Did you ? That's why I'm out here on this 
 infernal book business — to get money." 
 
 She looked at him with interest now, noticing 
 his fine eyes and waving brown hair. 
 
 " It's dreadful, isn't it ? But you've got a 
 hope to go back. I haven't. At first I didn't 
 think I could live ; but I did." She ended with 
 • a sigh, a far-off expression in her eyes. 
 
 There was a pause again. Bert felt that she 
 was no ordinary girl, and she was quite as strong- 
 ly drawn to him. 
 
 " It almost killed me to give it up. I don't 
 s'pose I'd know any of the scholars you know. 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 113 
 
 Even the teachers are not the same. Oh, yes — 
 Sarah Shaw ; I think she's back for the normal 
 course." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " exclaimed Bert, " I know Sa- 
 rah. We boarded on the same street ; used t' 
 go home together after class. An awful nice 
 girl, too." 
 
 " She's a worker. She teaches school. I 
 can't do that, for mother needs me at home." 
 There was another pause, broken by the little 
 girl, who called : 
 
 " Maud, mamma wants you." 
 
 Maud rose and went out, with a tired smile 
 on her face that emphasized her resemblance 
 to her mother. Bert couldn't forget that 
 smile, and he was still thinking about the 
 girl, and what her life must be, when Hartley 
 came in. 
 
 " By jinks ! It's sni/ty, as dad used to say. 
 You can't draw a long breath through your nos- 
 trils ; freeze y'r nose solid as a bottle," he an- 
 nounced, throwing off his coat with an air which 
 seemed to make him an old resident of the 
 room. 
 
 "By the way, I've just found out why you 
 was so anxious to get into this house, hey ? " 
 he said, slapping Bert's knee. " Another case o' 
 girl." 
 
 Bert blushed ; he couldn't help it, notwith- 
 standing his innocence in this case. Hartley 
 went on. 
 
 " Oh, I know you ! A girl in the house ; 
 
ii4 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 might 'a' known it," Hartley continued, in a 
 hoarse whisper. 
 
 " I didn't know it myself till about ten min- 
 utes ago," protested Bert. 
 
 Hartley winked prodigiously. 
 
 " Don't tell me ! Is she pretty ? " 
 
 " No — that is, you wouldn't call her so." 
 
 " Oh, the deuce I wouldn't ! Don't you wish 
 I wouldn't ? I'd like to see the girl I wouldn't 
 call pretty, right to her face, too." 
 
 The girl returned at this moment with an 
 armful of wood. 
 
 " Let me put it in." cried Hartley, springing 
 up. " Excuse me. My name is Hartley, book 
 agent : Blaine's ' Twenty Years,' plain cloth, 
 sprinkled edges, three dollars ; half calf, three 
 fifty. This is my friend Mr. Lohr, of Marion ; 
 German extraction, soph at the university." 
 
 The girl bowed and smiled, and pushed by 
 him toward the door of the parlor. Hartley 
 followed her in, and Bert could hear them rat- 
 tling away at the stove. 
 
 " Won't you sit down and play for us ? " 
 asked Hartley, after they returned to the sit- 
 ting room, with the persuasive music of the 
 book agent in his fine voice. 
 
 " Oh, no ! It's nearly dinner time, and I must 
 help' about the table." 
 
 " Now make yourselves at home," said Mrs. 
 Welsh, appearing at the door leading to the 
 kitchen ; " if you want anything, just let me 
 know." 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 115 
 
 "All right. We will ; don't worry. Well be 
 trouble enough.— Nice people," said Hartley, as 
 he shut the door of their room and sat down. 
 " But the girl ain't what I call pretty." 
 
 By the time the dinner bell rang they were 
 feeling at home in their new quarters. At the 
 table they met the other boarders: the Brann 
 brothers, newsdealers; old man Troutt, who 
 kept the livery stable (and smelled of it) ; and 
 a small, dark, and wizened woman who kept the 
 millinery store. The others, who came in late, 
 were clerks. 
 
 Maud served the dinner, while Stella and her 
 mother waited upon the table. Albert was ac- 
 customed to this, and made little account of the 
 service. He did notice the hands of the girl, 
 however, so white and graceful ; no amount of 
 work could quite remove their essential shape- 
 liness. 
 
 Hartley struck up a conversation with the 
 newsdealers and left Bert free to observe Maud. 
 She was not more than twenty, he decided, but 
 she looked older, so careworn and sad was her 
 face. 
 
 "They's one thing ag'in' yeh," Troutt, the 
 liveryman, was bawling to Hartley : " they's jest 
 been worked one o' the goldingedest schemes 
 you ever see ! 'Bout six munce ago s'm' fellers 
 come all through here claimin' t' be after in- 
 formation about the county and the leadin' 
 citizens ; wanted t' write a history, an' wanted 
 all the pitchers of the leading men, old settlers, 
 
Il6 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS.- 
 
 an' so on. You paid ten dollars, an' you had 
 a book an' your pitcher in it." ' 
 
 " I know the scheme," grinned Hartley. 
 
 " Wal, sir, I s'pose them fellers roped in 
 every man in this town. I don't s'pose they 
 got out with a cent less'n one thousand dol- 
 , lars. An' when the book come — wal ! " Here 
 he stopped to roar. " I don't s'pose you ever 
 see a madder lot o' men in your life. In the 
 first place, they got the names and the pitchers 
 mixed so that I was Judge Ricker, an' Judge 
 Ricker was ol' man- Daggett. Didn't the judge 
 swear — oh, it was awful ! " 
 
 " I should say so." 
 
 " An' the pitchers that wa'n't mixed was so 
 goldinged black you couldn't tell 'em from nig- 
 gers. You know how kind o' lily-livered Law- 
 yer Ransom is ? Wal, he looked like ol' black 
 Joe; he was the maddest man of the hull b'ilin'. 
 He throwed the book in the fire, and tromped 
 around like a blind bull." 
 
 " It wasn't a success, I take it, then. Why, 
 I. should 'a' thought they'd 'a' nabbed the fel- 
 lows." 
 
 " Not much ! They was too keen for that. 
 They didn't deliver the books theirselves ; they 
 hired Dick Bascom to do it f'r them. Course 
 Dick wa'n't t' blame." 
 
 " No ; I never tried it before," Albert was 
 saying to Maud, at their end of the table. 
 " Hartley offered me a good thing to come, 
 and as I needed money, I came. I don't 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. \iy 
 
 know what he's going to do with me, now I'm 
 here." 
 
 Albert did not go out after dinner with Hart- 
 ley ; it was too cold. Hartley let nothing stand 
 in the way of business, however. He had been 
 at school with Albert during his first year, 
 but had gone back to work in preference to 
 study. 
 
 Albert had brought his books with him, plan- 
 ning to keep up with his class, if possible, and 
 was deep in a study of Caesar when he heard a 
 timid knock on the door. 
 
 " Come ! " he called, student fashion. 
 
 Maud entered, her face aglow. 
 
 " How natural that sounds ! " she said. 
 
 Albert sprang up to help her put down the 
 wood in her arms. " I wish you'd let me bring 
 the wood," he said pleadingly, as she refused his 
 aid. 
 
 " I wasn't sure you were in. Were you read- 
 ing ? " 
 
 " Cassar," he replied, holding up the book. 
 " I am conditioned on Latin. I'm going over 
 the ' Commentaries ' again." 
 
 " I thought I knew the book," she laughed. 
 
 " You read Latin ? " 
 
 "Yes, a little— Vergil." 
 
 " Maybe you can help me out on these oratia 
 obliqua. They bother me yet. I hate these 
 ' Csesar saids.' I like Vergil better." 
 
 She stood at his shoulder while he pointed 
 out the knotty passage. She read it easily, and 
 
Il8 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 he thanked her. It was amazing how well ac- 
 quainted they felt after this ; they were as fel- 
 low-students. 
 
 The wind roared outside in the bare maples, 
 and the fire boomed in its pent place within. 
 The young people forgot the time and place. 
 The girl sank into a chair almost unconsciously 
 as they talked of Madison — a great city to them 
 — of the Capitol building, of the splendid cam- 
 pus, of the lakes and the gay sailing there in 
 summer and ice-boating in winter, of the strug- 
 gles of " rooming." 
 
 " Oh, it makes me homesick ! " cried the girl, 
 with a deep sigh. " It was the happiest, sun- 
 niest time of all my life. Oh, those walks and 
 talks ! Those recitations in the dear, chalky old 
 rooms ! Oh, how I would like to go back over 
 that hollow doorstone again ! " 
 
 She broke off, with tears in her eyes. He 
 was obliged to cough two or three times before 
 he could break the silence. 
 
 " I know just how you feel. I know, the 
 first spring when I went back on the farm, it 
 seemed as if I couldn't stand it. I thought 
 I'd go crazy. The days seemed forty-eight 
 hours long. It was so lonesome, and so 
 dreary on rainy days ! But of course I ex- 
 pected to go back ; that's what kept me up. 
 I don't think I could have stood it if I hadn't 
 had hope." 
 
 " I've given it up now," she said plaintively ; 
 " it's no use hoping." 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 119 
 
 "Why don't you teach ?" asked Albert, deep- 
 ly affected by her voice and manner. 
 
 " I did teach here for a year, but I couldn't 
 endure the noise ; I'm not very strong, and the 
 boys were so rude. If I could teach in a semi- 
 nary — teach Latin and English — I should be 
 happy, I think. But I can't leave mother now." 
 
 She began to appear a different girl in the 
 boy's eyes; the cheap dress, the check apron, 
 could not hide her pure intellectual spirit. Her 
 large blue eyes were deep with thought, and 
 the pale face, lighted by the glow of the fire, 
 was as lovely as a rose. Almost before he knew 
 it, he was telling her of his life. 
 
 " I don't see how I endured it as long as I 
 did," he went on. " It was nothing but work, 
 work, and mud the whole year round ; it's just 
 so on all farms." 
 
 " Yes, I guess it is," said she. " Father was 
 a carpenter, and I've always lived here; but we 
 have people who are farmers, and I know how it 
 is with them." 
 
 " Why, when I think of it now it makes me 
 crawl ! To think of getting up in the morning 
 before daylight, and going out to the barn to 
 do chores, to get ready to go into the field to 
 work! Working, -wasting y'r life on dirt. Goin' 
 round and round in a circle, and never getting 
 out." 
 
 " It's just the same for us women," she cor- 
 roborated. " Think of us going around the 
 house day after day, and doing just the same 
 
things over an' over, year after year 1 That's 
 the whole of most women's lives. Dish-washing 
 almost drives me crasy," 
 
 "I know it," said Albert; "but a fellow 
 has t' do it. If his folks are workln' hard, why, 
 of course he can't lay around and study. They're 
 not to blame, I don't know that anybody's to 
 blame." 
 
 " No, I don't ; but it makes me sad to see 
 mother going around as she does, day after day, 
 She won't let me do as much as I would." The 
 girl looked at her slender hands. "You see, 
 I'm not very strong. It makes my heart ache to 
 see her going around in that quiet, patient way ; 
 she's so good." 
 
 "I know, I know! I've felt just like that 
 about my mother and father, too." 
 
 There was a long pause, full of deep feeling, 
 and then the girl continued in a low, hesitating 
 voice : 
 
 " Mother's had an awful hard time since 
 father died. We had to go to keeping boarders, 
 which was hard— very hard for mother," The 
 boy felt a sympathetic lump in his throat as the 
 girl went on again : " But she doesn't complain, 
 and she didn't want me to come home from 
 school ; but of course I couldn't do anything 
 else." 
 
 It didn't occur to either of them that any 
 other course was open, nor that there was any 
 heroism or self-sacrifice in the act 5 It was limply 
 tight. 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. r2 i 
 
 "Well, I'm not going to drudge all my life," 
 said the boy at last. " I know it's kind o' self- 
 ish, but I can't live on a farm ; it 'u'd kill me in 
 a year. I've made up my mind to study law and 
 enter the bar. Lawyers manage to get hold of 
 enough to live on decently, and that's more 
 than you can say of the farmers. And they 
 live in town, where something is going on once 
 in a while, anyway." 
 
 In the pause which followed, footsteps were 
 heard on the walk outside, and the girl sprang 
 up with a beautiful blush. 
 
 " My stars ! I didn't think — I forgot — I 
 •must go." 
 
 Hartley burst into the room shortly after she 
 left it, in his usual breeze. 
 
 " Hul-/*/ Still at the Latin, hey ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Bert, with ease. " How goes 
 it ? " 
 
 "Oh, I'm whooping 'er up! I'm getting 
 started in great shape. Been up to the court- 
 house and roped in three of the county offi- 
 cials. In these small towns the big man is the 
 politician or the clergyman. I've nailed the 
 politicians through the ear ; now you must go 
 for the ministers to head the list— that's your 
 lay-out." 
 
 " How 'm I t' do it ? " said Bert, in an anx- 
 ious tone. " I can't sell books if they don't 
 want 'em." 
 
 "Yes, yeh can. That's the trade. Offer a 
 big discount. Say full calf, two fifty ; morocco, 
 9 
 
122 WAY SIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 two ninety. Regular discount to the clergy, 
 ye know. Oh, they're on to that little racket — 
 no trouble. If you can get a few of these 
 leaders of the flock, the rest will follow like 
 lambs to the slaughter. Tra-la-la — who-o-o-/^, 
 whish ! " 
 
 Albert laughed at Hartley as he plunged 
 his face into the ice-cold water, puffing and 
 wheezing. 
 
 " Jeemimy Crickets ! but ain't that water 
 cold! I worked Rock' River this way last 
 month, and made a boomin' success. If you 
 take hold here in the " 
 
 " Oh, I'm all ready to do anything that is' 
 needed, short of being kicked out." 
 
 " No danger of that if you're a real book 
 agent. It's the snide that gets kicked. You've 
 got t' have some savvy in this, just like any 
 other business." He stopped in his dressing 
 to say, " We've struck a great boarding place, 
 hey ? " 
 
 " Looks like it." 
 
 " I begin t' cotton to the old lady a'ready. 
 Good 'eal like mother used t' be 'fore she broke 
 down. Didn't the old lady have a time of it 
 raisin' me ? Phewee ! Patient ! Job wasn't a 
 patchin'. But the" test is goin' t' come on the 
 biscuit ; if her biscuit comes up t' mother's I'm 
 hern till death." 
 
 He broke off to comb his hair, a very nice 
 bit of work in his case. 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 
 
 II. 
 
 123 
 
 There was no discernible reason why the 
 little town should have been called Tyre, and 
 yet its name was as characteristically American 
 as its architecture. It had the usual main 
 street lined with low brick or wooden stores — a 
 street which developed into a road running back 
 up a wide, sandy valley away from the river. 
 Being a county town, it had a courthouse in a 
 yard near the center of the town, and a big sum- 
 mer hotel. The valley was pecularly pictur- 
 esque. Curiously shaped and oddly distributed 
 hills rose out of the valley sand abruptly, form- 
 ing a sort of amphitheater in which the village 
 lay. These square-topped hills rose to a com- 
 mon level, showing that they were not the result 
 of an upheaval, but were the remains of the 
 original stratification left standing after the vast 
 scooping action of the post-glacial floods. 
 
 The abrupt cliffs and lone huge pillars and 
 peaks rising out of tamarack swamps here and 
 there showed the original layers of rock un- 
 moved. They looked like ruined walls of cas- 
 tles ancient as hills, on whose massive tops 
 time had sown sturdy oaks and cedars. They 
 lent a distinct air of romance to the valley at 
 all times ; but when in summer vines clambered 
 over their rugged sides and underbrush softened 
 their broken lines, it was not at all difficult to 
 imagine them the remains of an unrecorded, very 
 warlike people. 
 
124 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 Even now, in winter, with yellow-brown and 
 green cedars standing starkly upon their sum- 
 mits, the hickories .and small ashes blue-black 
 with their masses of fine bare limbs meshed 
 against the snow, these towers had a distinct 
 charm. The weather was glorious winter, and 
 in the early morning when the trees glistened 
 with frost, or at evening when the white light of 
 the sun was softened and violet shadows lay 
 along the snow, the whole valley was a delight 
 to the eye, full of distinct and lasting charm, 
 part of the beautiful ■ and strange Mississippi 
 River scenery. 
 
 In the campaign which Hartley began Albert 
 did his best, and his best was done unconscious- 
 ly, for the charm of his manner (all unknown to 
 himself) was the most potent factor in securing 
 consideration. 
 
 " I'm not a book agent," he said to one of 
 the clergymen to whom he first appealed ; " I'm 
 a student trying to sell a good book and make a 
 little money to help me to complete my course 
 at the university." 
 
 He did not go to the back door, but walked 
 up to the front, asked to see the minister, and 
 placed his case at once before him with a smiling 
 candor and a leisurely utterance quite the oppo- 
 sites of the brazen timidity and rapid, parrot-like 
 tone of the professional. He secured three cler- 
 gymen of the place to head his list, much to the 
 delight and admiration of Hartley. 
 
 " Good ! Now corral the alumni of the 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 
 
 125 
 
 place. Work the fraternal racket to the bitter 
 end. Oh, say ! there's a sociable to-morrow 
 night ; I guess we'd better go, hadn't we ? " 
 
 " Go alone ? " 
 
 "Alone? No! Take some girls. I'm going 
 to take neighbor Picket's daughter ; she's home- 
 ly as a hedge fence, but I'll take her — great 
 scheme ! " 
 
 " Hartley, you're an infernal fraud ! " 
 
 " Nothing of the kind — I'm business," ended 
 Hartley, with a laugh. 
 
 After supper the following day, as Albert 
 was still lingering at the table with the girls 
 and Mrs. Welsh, he thought of the sociable, and 
 said on the impulse : 
 
 " Are you going to the sociable ? " 
 
 " No ; I guess not." 
 
 " Would you go if I asked you ? " 
 
 " Try me and see ! " answered the girl, with 
 a laugh, her color rising. 
 
 " All right. Miss Welsh, will you attend the 
 festivity of the evening under my guidance and 
 protection ? " 
 
 " Yes, thank you." 
 
 " I'll be ready before you are." 
 
 " No doubt ; I've got to wash the dishes." 
 
 " I'll wash the dishes ; you go get ready," said 
 the self-regardless mother. 
 
 Albert felt that he had one of the loveliest 
 girls in the room as he led Maud down the floor 
 of the vestry of the church, filled with laughing 
 young people moving about or seated at the 
 
126 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS, 
 
 long tables. Maud's cheeks were full of deli- 
 cate color and her eyes shone with maidenly 
 delight as they took seats at the table to sip a 
 little coffee and nibble a bit of cake. 
 
 " I suppose they must have my fifteen cents 
 some way," said Albert, in a low voice, " and I 
 guess we'd better sit down." 
 
 Maud introduced him to a number of young 
 people who had been students at the university. 
 They received him cordially, and in a very short 
 time he was enjoying himself very well indeed. 
 He was reminded rather disagreeably of his 
 office, however, by seeing Hartley surrounded 
 by a laughing crowd of the more frolicsome 
 young people. He winked at Albert, as much 
 as to say, " Good stroke of business." 
 
 The evening passed away with songs, games, 
 and recitations, and it was nearly eleven o'clock 
 when the young people began to wander off to- 
 ward home in pairs. Albert and Maud were 
 among the first of the young folks to bid the 
 rest good night. 
 
 The night was clear and cold, but perfectly 
 still, and the young people, arm in arm, walked 
 slowly homeward under the bare maples, in de- 
 licious companionship. Albert held her arm 
 close to his side. 
 
 " Are you cold ? " he asked in a low voice. 
 
 " No, thank you ; the night is lovely," she 
 replied ; then added with a sigh, " I don't like 
 sociables so well as I used to — they tire me 
 out." 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. i 2 J 
 
 " We stayed too long." 
 
 " It wasn't that ; I'm getting so they seem 
 kind o' silly." 
 
 "Well, I feel a little that way myself," he 
 confessed. 
 
 " But there is so little to see here in Tyre at 
 any time — no music, no theaters. I like the- 
 aters, don't you ? " 
 
 " I can't go half enough." 
 
 " But nothing worth seeing ever comes into 
 these little towns — and then we're all so poor, 
 anyway." 
 
 The lamp, turned low, was emitting a terrible 
 odor as they entered the sitting room. 
 
 " My goodness ! it's almost twelve o'clock. 
 Good night." She held out her hand. 
 
 " Good night," he said, taking it, and giving 
 it a cordial pressure which she remembered 
 long. 
 
 " Good night," she repeated softly, going up 
 the stairs. 
 
 Hartley came in a few moments later, and 
 found Bert sitting thoughtfully by the fire, with 
 his coat and shoes off, evidently in deep abstrac- 
 tion. 
 
 " Well, I got away at last — much as ever. 
 Great scheme, that sociable, eh ? I saw your 
 little girl introducing you right and left.'' 
 
 " Say, Hartley, I wish you'd leave her out of 
 this thing ; I don't like- the way you speak of 
 her when " 
 
 " Phew ! You don't ? Oh, all right ! I'm 
 
128 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 mum as an oyster— only keep it up ! Get in all 
 the church sociables, and all that ; there's noth- 
 ing like it." 
 
 Hartley soon had canvassers out along the 
 Country roads, and was working every house in 
 town. The campaign promised to lengthen into 
 a month, perhaps longer. Albert especially be- 
 came a great favorite. Every one declared 
 there had never been such book agents in the 
 town : such gentlemanly fellows, they didn't 
 press anybody to buy ; they didn't rush about 
 and " poke their noses where they were not 
 wanted." They were more like merchants with 
 books to sell. The only person who failed to 
 see the attraction in them was Ed Brann, who 
 was popularly supposed to be engaged to Maud. 
 He grew daily more sullen and repellent, toward 
 Albert notioeably so. 
 
 One evening about six, after coming in from 
 a long walk about town, Albert entered his 
 room without lighting his lamp, lay, down on 
 the bed, and fell asleep. He had been out late 
 the night before with Maud at a party, and 
 slumber came almost instantly. 
 
 Maud came in shortly, hearing no response 
 to her knock, and after hanging some towels on 
 the rack went out without seeing the sleeper. In 
 the sitting room she met Ed Brann. He was a 
 stalwart young man with curling black hair, and 
 a heavy face at its best, but set and sullen now. 
 His first words held a menace : 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 129 
 
 « Say, Hand, I want f talk to yon." 
 
 "Very well; what is it, Ed?" replied the 
 girl quietly. 
 
 "I want to know how often you're going 
 to be out till twelve o'clock with this book 
 agent?" 
 
 Perhaps it was the derisive inflection on 
 ** book agent " that woke Albert. Brann's tone 
 was brutal — more brutal even than his words, and 
 the girl turned pale and her breath quickened. 
 
 ** Why, Ed, what's the matter ? " 
 
 " Matter is just this : you ain't got any busi- 
 ness goin* around with that feller with my ring 
 on your finger, that's all." He ended with an 
 unmistakable threat in his voice. 
 
 "Very well," said the girl, after a pause, 
 curiously quiet; "then I won't; here's your 
 ring." 
 
 The man's bluster disappeared instantly. 
 Bert could tell by the change in his voice, 
 which was incredibly great, as he pleaded : 
 
 " Oh, don't do that, Maud ; I didn't mean to 
 say that ; I was mad — I'm sorry." 
 
 " I'm glad you did it mew, so I can know 
 you. Take your ring, Ed; I neverll wear it 
 again." 
 
 Albert had heard all this, but he did not 
 know how the girl looked as she faced the 
 man. In the silence which followed she looked 
 him in the face, and scornfully passed him and 
 went out into the kitchen. He did not return 
 at supper. 
 
130 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 Young people of this sort are not self-an- 
 alysts, and Maud did not examine closely into 
 causes. She was astonished to find herself 
 more indignant than grieved. She broke into 
 an angry wail as she went to her mother's 
 bosom : 
 
 " Mother ! mother ! " 
 
 " Why, what's the matter, Maudie ? Tell me. 
 There, there ! don't cry, pet ! Who's been hurtin' 
 my poor little bird ? " 
 
 " Ed has ; he said — he said " 
 
 " There, there ! poor child ! Have you been 
 quarreling ? Never mind ; it'll come out all 
 right." 
 
 " No, it won't — not the way you mean," the 
 girl cried, lifting her head ; " I've given him 
 back his ring, and I'll never wear it again." 
 
 The mother could not understand with what 
 wounding brutality the man's tone had fallen 
 upon the girl's spirit, and Maud felt in some 
 way as if she could not explain sufficiently to 
 justify herself. Mrs. Welsh consoled herself 
 with the idea that it was only a lovers' quarrel 
 — one of the little jars sure to come when two 
 natures are settling together — and that all would 
 be mended in a day or two. 
 
 But there was a peculiar set look on the 
 girl's face that promised little for Brann. Al- 
 bert, being no more of a self-analyst than Maud, 
 simply said, " Served him right," and dwelt no 
 more upon it for the time. 
 
 At supper, however, he was extravagantly 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 131 
 
 gay, and to himself unaccountably so. He 
 joked Troutt till Maud begged him to stop, 
 and after the rest had gone he remained seated 
 at the table, enjoying the. indignant color in her 
 face and the flash of her infrequent smile, which 
 it was such a pleasure to provoke. He volun- 
 teered to help wash the dishes. 
 
 " Thank you, but I'm afraid you'd be more 
 bother than help," she replied. 
 
 " Thank you, but you don't know me. I 
 ain't so green as I look, by no manner o' 
 means. I've been doing my own housekeeping 
 for four terms." 
 
 " I know all about that," laughed the girl. 
 <l You young men rooming do precious little 
 cooking and no dish-washing at all." 
 
 " That's a base calumny ! I made it a point 
 to wash every dish in the house, except the 
 spider, once a week ; had a regular cleaning-up 
 day." 
 
 " And about the spider ? " 
 
 " I wiped that out nicely with a newspaper 
 every time I wanted to use it." 
 
 " Oh, horrors ! — Mother, listen to that ! " 
 
 " Why, what more could you ask ? You 
 wouldn't have me wipe it six times a day, would 
 you ? " 
 
 " I wonder it didn't poison you," commented 
 Mrs. Welsh. 
 
 " Takes more'n that to poison a student," 
 laughed Albert, as he went out. 
 
 The next afternoon he came bursting into 
 
132 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 the kitchen, where Maud stood with her sleeves 
 rolled up, deep in the dish pan, while Stella 
 stood wiping the dishes handed to her. 
 
 " Don't you want a sleigh ride ? " he asked, 
 boyishly eager. 
 
 She looked up with shining eyes. 
 
 "Oh, wouldn't I! — Can you get along, 
 mother ? " 
 
 " Certainly, child ; the air'll do you good." 
 
 " W'y, Maud ! " said the little girl, "you said 
 you didn't want to when Ed " 
 
 Mrs. Welsh silenced her, and said : 
 
 " Run right along, dear ; it's just the nicest 
 time o' day. Are there many teams out ? " 
 
 " They're just beginning t' come out," said 
 Albert. " I'll have a cutter around here in about 
 two jiffies ; be on hand, sure." 
 
 Troutt was standing in the sunny doorway 
 of his stable when the young fellow dashed up 
 to him." 
 
 " Hullo, Uncle Troutt ! Harness the fastest 
 nag into your swellest outfit instanter." 
 
 " Aha ! Goin' t' take y'r girl out, hey ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and I want 'o do it in style." 
 
 " I guess ol' Dan's the idee, if you can drive 
 him ; he's a ring-tailed snorter." 
 
 " Fast ? " 
 
 " Nope ; but safe. Gentle as a kitten and as 
 knowin' as a fox. Drive him with one hand- 
 ler! hand," the old man chuckled. 
 
 " Troutt, you're an insinuating old insirluator, 
 and I'll " 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 133 
 
 Troutt laughed till his long faded beard 
 flapped up and down and quivered with the 
 stress of his enjoyment of his joke. He ended 
 by hitching a vicious-looking sorrel to a gay, 
 duck-bellied cutter, saying as he gave up the 
 reins : 
 
 " Now, be keerful ; Dan's foxy ; he's all right 
 when he sees you've got the reins, but don't 
 drop 'em." 
 
 " Don't you worry about me ; I grew up with 
 horses," said the over-confident youth, leaping 
 into the sleigh and gathering up the lines. 
 " Stand aside, my lord, and let the cortege pass. 
 Hoop-la ! " 
 
 The brute gave a tearing lunge, and was 
 out of the doorway like a shot before the old 
 man could utter a word. Albert thrilled with 
 pleasure as he felt the reins stiffen in his 
 hands, while the traces swung slack beside the 
 thills. 
 
 " If he keeps this up he'll do," he thought. 
 
 As he turned up at the gate Maud came 
 gayly down the path, muffled to the eyes. 
 
 " Oh, what a nice cutter ! But the horse — 
 is he gentle ? " she asked, as she climbed in. 
 
 " As a cow," Albert replied. — " Git out o' 
 this, Bones ! " 
 
 The main street was already full of teams, 
 wood sleighs, bob-sleighs filled with children, 
 and here and there a man in a light cutter 
 alone, out for a race. Laughter was on the 
 air, and the jingle-jangle of bells. The sun 
 
134 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 was dazzling in its brightness, and the gay 
 wraps and scarfs lighted up the street with 
 flecks of color. Loafers on the sidewalks 
 fired a fusillade of words at the teams as they 
 passed : 
 
 " Go it, Bones ! " 
 
 " ' Let 'er go, Gallagher ! ' " 
 
 " Ain't she a daisy ! " 
 
 But what cared the drivers ? If the shouts 
 were insolent they laid them to envy, and if 
 they were pleasant they smiled in reply. 
 
 Albert and Maud had made two easy turns 
 up and down the street, when a man driving a 
 span of large black-hawk horses dashed up a 
 side street and whirled in just before them. 
 The man was a superb driver, and sat with 
 the reins held carelessly but securely in his 
 left hand, guiding the team more by his voice 
 than by the bit. He sat leaning forward with 
 his head held down in a peculiar and sinister 
 fashion. 
 
 " Hel-\o ! " cried Bert ; " that looks like 
 Brann." 
 
 " It is," said Maud. 
 
 " Cracky ! that's a fine team — Black Hawks, 
 both of them. I wonder if ol' sorrel can pass 
 em ? 
 
 " Oh, please don't try," pleaded the girl. 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Because — because I'm afraid." 
 
 " Afraid of what ? " 
 
 " Afraid something'll happen." 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 135 
 
 " Something is goin' t' happen ; I'm goin' t' 
 pass him if old Bones has got any git to him." 
 
 " It'll make him mad." 
 
 " Who mad ? Brann ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, s'pose it does, who cares ? " 
 
 The .teams moved along at an easy pace. 
 Some one called to Brann : 
 
 " They're on y"r trail, Ed." 
 
 There was something peculiar in the tone, 
 and Brann looked behind for the first time, 
 and saw them. He swore through his teeth, 
 and turned about. He looked dogged and sul- 
 len, with his bent shoulders and his chin thrust 
 down. 
 
 There were a dozen similar rigs moving up 
 or down the street, and greetings passed from 
 sleigh to sleigh. Everybody except Brann wel- 
 comed Albert with sincere pleasure, and ex- 
 changed rustic jokes with him. As they slowed 
 up at the upper end of the street and began 
 to turn, a man on the sidewalk said confiden- 
 tially : 
 
 " Say, cap', if you handle that old rack-o'- 
 bones just right, he'll distance anything on this 
 road. When you want him to do his best let 
 him have the rein ; don't pull a pound. I used 
 to own 'im — I know 'im." 
 
 The old sorrel came round " gauming," his 
 ugly head thrown up, his great red mouth open, 
 his ears back. Brann and the young doctor of 
 the place were turning together a little farther 
 
136 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 up the street. The blacks, superbly obedient to 
 their driver, came down with flying hoofs, their 
 great glossy breasts flecked with foam from 
 their champing jaws. 
 
 " Come on, fellers ! " yelled Brann, insult- 
 ingly, as he came down past the doctor, and 
 seemed about to pass Albert and Maud. There 
 was hate in the glare of his eyes. 
 
 But he did not pass. The old sorrel seemed 
 to lengthen ; to the spectators his nose appeared 
 to be glued to the glossy side of Brann's off 
 black. 
 
 " See them blacks trot ! " shouted Albert, in 
 ungrammatical enthusiasm. 
 
 " See that old sorrel shake himself ! " yelled 
 the loafers. 
 
 The doctor came tearing down with a spir- 
 ited bay, a magnificent stepper. As he drew 
 along so that Bert could catch a glimpse of the 
 mare's neck, he thrilled with delight. There was 
 the thoroughbred's lacing of veins ; the proud 
 fling of her knees and the swell of her neck 
 showed that she was far from doing her best. 
 There was a wild light in her eyes. 
 
 These were the fast teams of the town. All 
 interest was centered in them. 
 
 " Clear the track ! " yelled the loafers. 
 
 " The doc's good f'r 'em." 
 
 " If she don't break." 
 
 Albert was pulling at the sorrel heavily, ab- 
 sorbed in seeing, as well as he could for the 
 flung snowballs, the doctor's mare draw slowly, 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 137 
 
 foot by foot, past the blacks. Suddenly Brann 
 gave a shrill yell and stood up in his sleigh. The 
 gallant little bay broke and fell behind ; Brann 
 gave a loud laugh ; the blacks trotted on, their 
 splendid pace unchanged. 
 
 " Let the sorrel out ! " yelled somebody. 
 
 " Let him loose ! " yelled Troutt on the 
 corner, quivering with excitement. " Let him 
 go!" 
 
 Albert remembered what the fellow had said ; 
 he let the reins loose. The old sorrel's teeth 
 came together with a snap ; his head lowered 
 and his tail rose ; he shot abreast, of the blacks. 
 Brann yelled : 
 
 "Sam— Saul, git!" 
 
 " See them trot ! " shouted Bert, lost in ad- 
 miration ; but Maud, frightened into silence, 
 had covered her head with the robe to escape 
 the blinding cloud of flying snow. The sorrel 
 drew steadily ahead ; he was passing when Brann 
 turned. 
 
 " Durn y'r old horse ! " he yelled through 
 his shut teeth, and laid the whip across the 
 sorrel's hips. The blacks broke wildly, but, 
 strange to say, the old sorrel increased his speed. 
 Again Brann struck at him, but missed him, and 
 the stroke fell on Bert's outstretched wrists. 
 He turned to see what Brann meant by it ; he 
 did not see that the blacks were crowding him 
 to the gutter ; his hands felt numb. 
 
 " Look out, there ! " 
 
 Before he could turn to look, the cutter 
 
138 
 
 IVA YSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 seemed to be blown up by a bomb, and he rose 
 in the air like a vaulter ; he saw the traces part, 
 he felt the reins slip through his hands, and 
 that was all ; he seemed to fall an immeasur- 
 able depth into a black abyss. . . . The next 
 that he knew was a curious soft murmur of 
 voices, out of which a sweet, agonized girl-voice 
 broke, familiar but unrecognized : 
 
 " Oh, where's the doctor ! He's dead — oh, 
 he's dead ! Can't you hurry ? " 
 
 Next came a quick, authoritative voice, still 
 far away, and a hush followed it ; then an im- 
 perative order : 
 
 " Stand out o' the way ! What do you think 
 you can do by crowding on top of him ? " 
 
 " Stand back ! stand back ! " other voices 
 called. 
 
 Then he felt something cold on his head : 
 they were taking his cap off and putting snow 
 on his head ; then the doctor (he knew him 
 now) said : 
 
 " Let me take him ! " 
 
 " Oh, can't I do something ? " said the sweet 
 voice. 
 
 "No — nothing." 
 
 Then there came a strange fullness in his 
 head. Shadows lighted by dull red flashes 
 passed before his eyes ; he wondered, in a slow, 
 dull way, if he were dying. Then this changed : 
 a dull, throbbing ache came into his head, and 
 as this grew the noise of voices grew more dis- 
 tinct and he could hear sobbing. Then the 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 139 
 
 dull, rhythmic; red flashes passed slowly away 
 from his eyes, and he opened his lids, but the 
 glare of the sunlight struck them shut again ; 
 he saw only Maud's face, agonized, white, and 
 wet with tears, looking down into his. He felt 
 the doctor's hands winding bandages about his 
 head, and he felt a crawling stream of blood be- 
 hind his ear, getting as cold as ice as it sank 
 under his collar. 
 
 They raised him a little more, and he opened 
 his eyes on the circle of hushed and excited 
 men thronging about him. He. saw Brann, with 
 wild, scared face, standing in his cutter and 
 peering over the heads of the crowd. 
 
 " How do you feel now ? " asked the doctor. 
 
 " Can you hear us ? Albert, do you know 
 me ? " called the girl. 
 
 His lips moved stiffly, but he smiled a little, 
 and at length whispered slowly, " Yes ; I guess — 
 I'm all— right." 
 
 " Pui him into my cutter ; Maud, get in here, 
 too," the doctor commanded, with all the au- 
 thority of a physician in a small village. ^The 
 crowd opened, and silenced its muttered com- 
 ments as the doctor and Troutt helped the 
 wounded man into the sleigh. The pain in his 
 head grew worse, but Albert's perception of 
 things grew in proportion ; he closed his eyes 
 to the sun, but in the shadow of Maud's breast 
 opened them again and looked up at her. He 
 felt a vague, childlike pleasure in knowing she 
 was holding him in her arms ; he felt the sleigh 
 
140 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 moving ; he thought of his mother, and how it 
 would frighten her if she knew. 
 
 The doctor was driving the horse and walk- 
 ing beside the sleigh, and the people were ac- 
 costing him. Albert could catch their words 
 now and then, and the reply : 
 
 " No ; he isn't killed, nor anything near it ; 
 he's stunned," that's all ; he isn't bleeding now. 
 No ; he'll be all right in a day or two." 
 
 " Hello ! " said a breathless, hearty voice, 
 "what the deuce y' been doing with my pard- 
 ner ? Bert, old fellow, are you there ? " Hart- 
 ley asked, clinging to the edge of the moving 
 cutter, and peering into his friend's face. Albert 
 smiled. 
 
 " I'm here — what there is left of me," he re- 
 plied faintly. 
 
 " Glory ! how'd it happen ? " he asked of the 
 girl. 
 
 " I don't xknow — I couldn't see — we ran into 
 a culvert," replied Maud. 
 
 " Weren't you hurt ? " 
 
 " Not a bit. I stayed in the cutter." 
 
 Albert felt a steady return of waves of pain, 
 but did not know that they were waves of re- 
 turning life. He groaned, and tried to rise. 
 The girl gently but firmly restrained him. Hart- 
 ley was walking beside the doctor, talking loud- 
 ly. " It was a devilish thing to do ; the scoundrel 
 ought 'o be jugged ! " 
 
 Albert groaned, and tried to rise again. " I'm 
 bleeding yet ; I'm soaking you ! " 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 
 
 141 
 
 The girl shuddered, but remained firm. 
 
 " No; we're 'most home." 
 
 She felt no shame, but a certain exaltation, 
 as she looked into the curious faces she saw in 
 groups on the sidewalk. The boys who ran 
 alongside wore in their faces a look of awe, 
 for they imagined themselves in the presence of 
 death. 
 
 Maud gazed unrecognizingly upon her near- 
 est girl friends. They seemed something alien 
 in that moment ; and they, gazing upon her 
 white face and unrecognizing eyes, spoke in 
 awed whispers. 
 
 At the gate the crowd gathered and waited 
 with deepest interest, with a sort of shuddering 
 pleasure. It was all a strange, unusual, inthrall- 
 ing romance to them. The dazzling sunshine 
 added to the wonder of it all. 
 
 " Ed Brann done it." 
 
 " How ? " asked several. 
 
 " With the butt end of his whip." 
 
 " That's a lie ! His team ran into Lohr's 
 rig." 
 
 " Not much ; Ed crowded him into the 
 ditch." 
 
 " What fer ? " 
 
 " 'Cause Bert cut him out with Maud." 
 
 " Come, get out of the way ! Don't stand 
 there gabbing," yelled Hartley, as he took Al- 
 bert in his arms and, together with the doctor, 
 lifted him out of the sleigh. 
 
 " Goodness sakes alive ! Ain't it terrible ! 
 
142 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 How is he ? " asked an old lady, peering" at 
 him as he passed. 
 
 On the porch stood Mrs. Welsh, supported by 
 Ed Brann. 
 
 " She's all right, I tell you. He ain't hurt 
 much, either ; just stunned a little, that's all." 
 
 " Maud ! child ! " cried the mother, as Maud 
 appeared out of the crowd, followed by a bevy 
 of girls. 
 
 " Mother, I'm all right ! " she said as gayly 
 as she could, running into the trembling arms 
 outstretched toward her ; " but, oh, poor Al- 
 bert ! " 
 
 After they disappeared into the house the 
 crowd dispersed. Brann went off by way of the 
 alley ; he was not prepared to meet their ques- 
 tions ; but he met his brother and several others 
 in his store. 
 
 " Now, what in you been up to ? " was 
 
 the fraternal greeting. 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Welting a man on the head with a whip- 
 stock ain't anything, hey ? " 
 
 " I didn't touch him. We was racing, and 
 he run into the culvert." 
 
 " Hank says he saw you strike " 
 
 " He lies ! I was strikin' the horse to make 
 him break." 
 
 "Oh, yeh was!" sneered the older man. 
 "Well, I hope you understand that this'll ruin 
 us in this town. If you didn't strike him, they'll 
 say you run him into the culvert, 'n' every man, 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 
 
 HZ 
 
 woman, 'n' child'll be down on you, and me 
 f'r bein' related to you. They all know how you 
 feel towards him for cuttin' you out with Maud 
 Welsh." 
 
 " Oh, don't bear down on him too hard, Joe. 
 He didn't mean t' do any harm," said Troutt, 
 who had followed Ed down to the store. " I 
 guess the young feller'll come out all right. 
 Just go kind o' easy till we see how he comes 
 out. If he dies, why, it'll haf t' be looked 
 into." 
 
 Ed turned pale and swallowed hastily. " If 
 he should die ! " He would be a murderer ; he 
 knew that hate was in his heart. He shivered 
 again as he remembered the man's white face 
 with the bright red stream flowing down behind 
 his ear and over his cheek. It almost seemed to 
 him that he had struck him, so close had the 
 accident followed upon the fall of his whip. 
 
 III. 
 
 Albert sank into a feverish sleep that night, 
 with a vague perception of four figures in the 
 room — Maud, her mother, Hartley, and the 
 young doctor. When he awoke fully in the 
 morning his head felt prodigiously hot and 
 heavy. 
 
 It was early dawn, and the lamp was burn- 
 ing brightly. Outside, a man's feet could be 
 heard on the squealing snow — a sound which 
 
144 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 told how still and cold it was. A team passed 
 with a jingle of bells., 
 
 Albert raised his head and looked about. 
 Hartley was lying on the sofa, rolled up in his 
 overcoat and some extra quilts. He had lain 
 down at last, worn with watching. Albert felt 
 a little weak, and fell back on his pillow, think- 
 ing about the strange night he had passed — a 
 night more filled with strange happenings than 
 the afternoon. 
 
 His sleep had been broken by the most vivid 
 and exciting dreams, and through these visions 
 had moved the figures of Hartley, the doctor, 
 and Maud and her mother. He had a confused 
 idea of the night, but a very clear idea of the 
 afternoon. He could see the sidewalks lined 
 with faces, the sun shining on the snow, the old 
 sorrel's side-flung head and open mouth ; the 
 sleigh rose under him again, and he felt the 
 reins burn through his hands. 
 
 As the light grew in the room his mind 
 cleared, and he began to feel quite like him- 
 self again. He lifted his muscular arm and 
 opened and shut his hand, saying aloud in his 
 old boyish manner : 
 
 " I guess I'm all here." 
 
 " What's that ? " called Hartley, rolling out 
 of bed. " Did you ask for anything ? " 
 
 "No — yes; gimrae some water, Jim; my 
 mouth is dry as a powder mill." 
 
 " How yeh feelin', anyway, pardner ? " said 
 Hartley, as he brought the water. 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 145 
 
 " First rate, Jim ; I guess I'll be all right." 
 
 " Well, I guess you'd better keep quiet." 
 
 Albert rose partly, assisted by his friend, and 
 drank from the glass a moment ; then fell back 
 on his pillow. 
 
 " I don't feel s' well when I sit up." 
 
 " Well, don't, "then ; stay right there where 
 you are. Oh-um ! " gaped Hartley, stretching 
 himself ; " it's about time f'r breakfast, I guess. 
 Want y'r hands washed and y'r hair combed ? " 
 
 " I guess I ain't reduced to that yet." 
 
 "Well, I guess y' be, old man. Now keep 
 quiet, or have I got t' make yeh ? " he asked in 
 a threatening tone which made Albert smile. 
 He wondered if Hartley hadn't been sitting up 
 most of the night; but if he had, he showed 
 little effect of it, for he began to sing a comic 
 song as he pulled on his boots. 
 
 He threw on his coat next, and went out 
 into the kitchen, returning soon with some hot 
 water, with which he began to bathe the wound- 
 ed boy's face and hands as tenderly as a 
 woman. 
 
 " There ; now I guess you're in shape f'r 
 grub — feel any like grub ? — Come in," he called 
 in answer to a knock on the door. 
 
 Mrs. Welsh entered. 
 
 " How is he ? " she whispered anxiously. 
 
 " Oh, I'm all right," cried Albert. " Bring 
 me a plate of pancakes, quick ! " 
 
 Mrs. Welsh turned to Hartley with a startled 
 expression, but Hartley's grin assured her. 
 
146 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 " I'm glad to find you so much better," she 
 said, going to his bedside. " I've hardly slep', I 
 was so much worried about you." 
 
 It was very sweet to feel her fingers in 
 his hair, as his mother would have caressed 
 him. 
 
 " I guess I hadn't better take off the band- 
 ages till the doctor comes, if you're comfort- 
 able. — Your breakfast is ready, Mr. Hartley, and 
 I'll bring something for Albert." 
 
 Another knock a few minutes later, and 
 Maud entered with a platter, followed closely 
 by her mother, who carried some tea and 
 milk. 
 
 Maud came forward timidly, but when he 
 turned his eyes on her and said in a cheery 
 voice, " Good morning, Miss Welsh ! " she flamed 
 out in rosy color and recoiled. She had expect- 
 ed to see him pale, dull-eyed, and with a weak 
 voice, but there was little to indicate invalidism 
 in his firm greeting. She gave place to Mrs. 
 Welsh, who prepared his breakfast. She was 
 smitten dumb by this turn of affairs ; she hardly 
 dared look at him as he sat propped up in bed. 
 The crimson trimming on his shirt-front seemed 
 like streams of blood ; his head, swathed in 
 bandages, made her shudder. But aside from 
 these few suggestions of wounding, there was 
 little of the horror of the previous day left. 
 He did not look so pale and worn as the girl 
 herself. 
 
 However, though he was feeling absurdly 
 
A STW-OrEX AT TYRE. 147 
 
 weO, there was a good deal of bravado in his 
 tone and manner, for he ate bat little, and soon 
 sank back on the bed. 
 
 *I fed better when my head is low," he ex- 
 plained in a faint voice. 
 
 " Can't I do something?** asked the girt, her 
 courage reviving as she saw how ill and faint he 
 really was. His eyes were closed and he looked 
 the invalid now. 
 
 " I guess jou better write to his folks.** 
 
 "No; don't do that,** he said, opening his 
 eyes; "it will only do them harm an* me no 
 good. I'll be all right in a few days. Yon 
 needn't waste yoor time on me ; Hartleyll wait 
 on me.** 
 
 " Mr. Lohr, how can yon say such cruel ** 
 
 "Don't mind him now,** said Mrs. Welsh. 
 " I'm his mother now, and he's gam' to do just 
 as I tell him to — ain't yon, Albert ? ** 
 
 He dropped his eyelids in assent, and went 
 off in a doze. It was all very pleasant to be 
 thus treated. Hartley was devotion itself, and 
 the doctor removed his bandages with the care 
 and deliberation of a man with a moderate prac- 
 tice; besides, he considered Albert a personal 
 friend.' 
 
 Hartley, after the doctor had gone, said with 
 some hesitation : 
 
 ■ WeO, now, paid, I mqrtt to go out and see a 
 couple o* fellows I promised t* meet this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 *AU right, Jim; all right. Yon go right 
 
148 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS.. 
 
 ahead on business ; I'm goin' t' sleep, anyway, 
 and I'll be all right in a day or two." 
 
 "Well, I will; but I'll run in every hour 'r 
 two and see if you don't want something. 
 You're in good hands, anyway, when I'm 
 gone." 
 
 " Won't you read to me ? " pleaded Albert 
 in the afternoon, when Maud came in with her 
 mother to brush up the room. " It's getting 
 rather slow business layin' here like this. 
 Course I can't ask Jim to stay and read all 
 the time, and he's a bad reader, anyway ; won't 
 you ? " 
 
 " Shall I, mother ? " 
 
 " Why, of course, Maud ! " 
 
 So Maud got a book, and sat down over by 
 the stove, quite distant from the bed, and read 
 to him from " The Lady of the Lake," while 
 the mother, like a piece of tireless machinery, 
 moved about the house at the never-ending 
 succession of petty drudgeries which wear the 
 heart and soul out of so many wives and moth- 
 ers, making life to them a pilgrimage from stove 
 to pantry, from pantry to cellar, and from cellar 
 to garret — a life that deadens and destroys, 
 coarsens and narrows, till the flesh and bones 
 are warped to the expression of the wronged and 
 cheated soul. 
 
 Albert's selfishness was in a way excusable. 
 He enjoyed beyond measure the sound of the 
 girl's soft voice and the sight 'of her graceful 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. I49 
 
 head bent over the page. He lay, looking and 
 listening dreamily, till the voice and the sunlit 
 head were lost in his deep, sweet sleep. 
 
 The girl sat with closed book, looking at his 
 face as he slept. It was a curious study to her, 
 a young man — this young man, asleep. His 
 brown lashes lay on his cheek ; his facial lines 
 were as placid as a child's. As she looked she 
 gained courage to go over softly and peer down 
 on him. How boyish he seemed ! How little to 
 be feared ! How innocent, after all ! 
 
 As she studied him she thought of him the 
 day before, with closed eyes, a ghastly stream 
 of blood flowing down and soaking her dress. 
 She shuddered. His hands, clean and strong 
 and white, lay out on the coverlet, loose and 
 open, the fingers fallen into graceful lines. Ab- 
 ruptly, a boy outside gave a shout, and she 
 leaped away with a sudden spring that left her 
 pale and breathless. As she paused in the door 
 and looked back at the undisturbed sleeper, 
 she smiled, and the pink came back into her 
 thin face. 
 
 Albert's superb young blood began to assert 
 itself, and on the afternoon of the second day 
 he was able to sit in his rocking chair before 
 the fire and read a little, though he pro- 
 fessed that his eyes were not strong, in order 
 that Maud should read for him. This she did 
 as often as she could leave her other work, 
 which was " not half often enough," the invalid 
 grumbled. 
 
I JO WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 " More than you deserve," she found courage 
 to say. 
 
 Hartley let nothing interfere with the book 
 business, and the popular sympathy for Albert 
 he coined into dollars remorselessly, 
 
 " You take it easy," he kept saying to his 
 partner ; " don't you worry — your pay goes on 
 just the same. You're doing well right where 
 you are. By jinks ! biggest piece o' luck," he 
 went on, half in earnest. " Why, I can't turn 
 around without taking an order — fact ! Turned 
 in a book on the livery bill — that's all right. 
 We'll make a clear hundred dollars out o' that 
 little bump o' yours." 
 
 " Little bump ! Say, now, that's " 
 
 " Keep.it up — put it on! Don't get up in a 
 hurry. I don't need you to canvass, and I 
 guess you enjoy this 'bout as well." He ended 
 with a sly wink and cough. 
 
 Yes ; the convalescence was delicious ; after- 
 ward it grew to be one of the sweetest weeks of 
 his life. Maud reading to him, bringing his food, 
 and singing for him — yes ; all that marred it was 
 the stream of people who came to inquire how 
 he was getting along. The sympathy was large- 
 ly genuine, as Hartley could attest, but it bored 
 the invalid. He had rather be left in quiet with 
 Walter Scott and Maud, the drone of the long 
 descriptive passages being a sure soporific. 
 
 He did not say, as an older person might, 
 that she was not to be held accountable for 
 what she did under the stress and tumult of 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 
 
 151 
 
 that day ; but he unconsciously did so regard 
 her actions, led to do so by the changed con- 
 ditions. In the light of common day it was 
 hurrying to be a dream. 
 
 At the end of a week he was quite himself 
 again, though he still had difficulty in wearing 
 his hat. It was not till the second Sunday after 
 the accident that he appeared in the dining 
 room for the first time, with a large traveling 
 cap concealing the suggestive bandages. He 
 looked pale and thin, but his eyes danced with 
 joy. 
 
 Maud's eyes dilated with instant solicitude. 
 The rest sprang up in surprise, with shouts of 
 delight, as hearty as brethren. 
 
 " Ginger ! I'm glad t' see yeh ! " said Troutt, 
 so sincerely that he looked almost winning to 
 the boy. The rest crowded around, shaking 
 hands. 
 
 " Oh, I'm on deck again." 
 
 Ed Brann came in a moment later with his 
 brother, and there was a significant little pause 
 — a pause which grew painful till Albert turned 
 and saw Brann, and called out : 
 
 " Hello, Ed ! How are you ? Didn't know 
 you were here." 
 
 As he held out his hand, Brann, his face 
 purple with shame and embarrassment, lum- 
 bered heavily across the room and took it, 
 muttering some poor apology. 
 
 " Hope y' don't blame me." 
 
 "Of course not — fortunes o' war. Nobody 
 
152 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 to blame; just my carelessness. — Yes; I'll take 
 turkey," he said to Maud, as he sank into the 
 seat of honor at the head of the table. 
 
 Then the rest laughed and took seats., but 
 Brann remained standing near Albert's chair. 
 He had not finished yet. 
 
 " I'm mighty glad yeh don't lay.it up against 
 me, Lohr ; an' I want 'o say the doctor's bill is 
 all right ; you un'erstand, it's all right." 
 
 Albert looked at him a moment in surprise. 
 He knew this, coming from a man like Brann, 
 meant more than a thousand prayers from a 
 ready apologist ; it was a terrible victory, apd 
 he made it as easy for his rival as possible. 
 
 "Oh, all right, Ed; only I'd calculated to 
 cheat him out o' part of it — that is, turn in a 
 couple o' Blaine's ' Twenty Years ' on the bill." 
 
 Hartley roared, and the rest joined in, but 
 not even Albert perceived all that it meant. 
 It meant that the young savage had surren- 
 dered his claim in favor of the man he had 
 all but killed. The struggle had been prodi- 
 gious, but he had snatched victory out of de- 
 feat ; his better nature had conquered. 
 
 No one ever gave him credit for it ; and 
 when he went West in the spring, people said 
 his love for Maud had been superficial. In 
 truth, he had loved the girl as sincerely as 
 he had hated his rival. That he could rise 
 out of the barbaric in his love and hate was 
 heroic. 
 
 When Albert went to ride again, it was on 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 
 
 153 
 
 melting snow, with the slowest horse Troutt 
 had. Maud was happier than she had been 
 since she left school, and fuller of color and 
 singing. She dared not let a golden moment 
 pass now without hearing it ring full, and she 
 did not dare to think how short this day of 
 happiness might be. 
 
 IV. 
 
 At the end of the fifth week there was a 
 suspicion of spring in the wind as it swept the 
 southern exposure of the valley. February was 
 drawing to a close, and there was more than a 
 suggestion of spring in the rapidly melting snow 
 which still lay on the hills and under the cedars 
 and tamaracks in the swamps. Patches of green 
 grass, appearing on the sunny side of the road 
 where the snow had melted, led to predictions of 
 spring from the loafers beginning to sun them- 
 selves on the salt-barrels and shoe-boxes outside 
 the stores. 
 
 A group sitting about the blacksmith shop 
 were talking it. 
 
 " It's an early seedin' — now mark my words," 
 said Troutt, as he threw his knife into the soft 
 ground at his feet. " The sun is crossing the 
 line earlier this spring than it did last." 
 
 " Yes ; an' I heard a crow to-day makin' that 
 kind of a — a spring noise that kind o' — I d' 
 know what — kind o' goes all through a feller." 
 " And there's Uncle Sweeney, an' that settles 
 
154 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS, 
 
 it ; spring's comin' sure ! " said Troutt, pointing 
 at an old man much bent, hobbling down the 
 street like a symbolic figure of the old year. 
 
 " When he gits out the frogs ain't fur be- 
 hind." 
 
 " We'll be gittin' on to the ground by next 
 Monday," said Sam Dingley to a crowd who 
 were seated on the newly painted harrows and 
 seeders which " Svend & Johnson " had got out 
 ready for the spring trade. " Svend & Johnson's 
 Agricultural Implement Depot " was on the 
 north side of the street, and on a spring day 
 the yard was one of the pleasantest loafing places 
 that could be imagined, especially if one wished 
 company. 
 
 Albert wished to be alone. Something in the 
 touch arid tone of this spring afternoon made 
 him restless and full of strange thoughts. He 
 took his way out along the road which followed 
 the river bank, and in the outskirts of the vil- 
 lage threw himself down on a bank of grass 
 which the snows had protected, and which had 
 already a tinge of green because of its wealth 
 of sun. 
 
 The willows had thrown out their tiny light 
 green flags, though their roots were under the 
 ice, and some of the hard- wood twigs were tinged 
 with red. There was a faint, peculiar but pow- 
 erful odor of uncovered earth in the air, and 
 the touch of the wind was like a caress from a 
 moist magnetic hand. 
 
 The boy absorbed the light and heat of the 
 
A STOP-QVER AT TYRE. 155 
 
 sun as some wild thing might, his hat over his 
 face, his hands folded on his breast ; he lay as 
 still as a statue. He did not listen at first, he 
 only felt ; but at length he rose on his elbow 
 and listened. The ice cracked and fell along 
 the bank with a long, hollow, booming crash ; a 
 crow cawed, and a jay answered it from the 
 willows below. A flight of sparrows passed, 
 twittering innumerably. The boy shuddered 
 with a strange, wistful longing and a realization 
 of the flight of time. 
 
 He could have wept, he could have sung ; he 
 only shuddered and lay silent under the stress 
 of that strange, sweet passion that quickened 
 his heart, deepened his eyes, and made his breath 
 come and go with a quivering sound. Across 
 the dazzling blue arch of the sky the crow 
 flapped, sending down his prophetic, jubilant 
 note ; the wind, as soft and sweet as April, 
 stirred in his hair ; the hills, deep in their dusky 
 blue, seemed miles away ; and the voices of the 
 care-free skaters on the melting ice of the river 
 below came to the ear subdued to a unity with 
 the scene. 
 
 Suddenly a fear seized upon the boy — a hor- 
 ror ! Life, life was passing ! Life that can be 
 lived only once, and lost, is lost forever ! Life, 
 that fatal gift of the Invisible Powers to man — 
 a path, with youth and joy and hope at its east- 
 ern gate, and despair, regret, and death at its 
 low western portal ! 
 
 The boy caught a glimpse of his real signifi- 
 
156 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 cance — a gnat, a speck in the sun : a boy facing 1 
 the millions of great and wise and wealthy. He 
 leaped up, clasping his hands. 
 
 " Oh, I must work ! I mustn't stay here ; I 
 must get back to my studies. Life is slipping 
 by me, and I am doing nothing, being noth- 
 ing ! " 
 
 His face, as pale as death, absolutely shone 
 with his passionate resolution, and his ha*nds 
 were clinched in a silent, inarticulate desire. 
 
 But on his way back he met the jocund party 
 of skaters going home from the river, and with 
 the easy shift and change of youth joined in 
 their ringing laughter. The weird power of the 
 wind's voice was gone, and he was the unthink- 
 ing boy again ; but the problem was only put 
 off, not solved. 
 
 He had a suspicion of it one night when 
 Hartley said : " Well, pardner, we're getting 
 'most ready to pull out. Some way I always 
 get restless when these warm days begin. 
 Want 'o be moving some way." 
 
 This was as sentimental as Hartley ever got ; 
 or, if he ever felt more sentiment, he concealed 
 it carefully. 
 
 " I s'po'se it must 'a' been in spring that those 
 old chaps, on their steeds and in their steel 
 shirts, started out for the Holy Land or to 
 rescue some damsel, hey ? " he ended, with a 
 grin. " Now, that's the way I feel — just like 
 striking out for, say, Oshkosh. This has been 
 a big strike here, sure's you live ; that little 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 
 
 157 
 
 piece of lofty tumbling was a big boom, and 
 no mistake. Why, your share o' this cam- 
 paign will be a hundred and twenty dollars 
 sure." 
 
 " More'n I've earned," replied Bert. 
 
 " No, it ain't. You've done your duty like a 
 man. Done as much in your way as I have. 
 Now, if you want to try another county with 
 me, say so. I'll make a thousand dollars this 
 year out o' this thing." 
 
 " I guess I'll go back to school." 
 
 " All right ; don't blame you at all." 
 
 " I guess, with what I can earn for father, I 
 can pull through the year. I must get back. 
 I'm awfully obliged to you, Jim." 
 
 " That'll do on that,' 7 said Hartley shortly ; 
 " you don't owe me anything. We'll finish de- 
 livery to-morrow, and be ready to pull out on 
 Friday or Sat." 
 
 There was an acute pain in Albert's breast 
 somewhere ; he had not analyzed his case at 
 all, and did not now, but the idea of going 
 affected him strongly. It had been so pleas- 
 ant, that daily return to a lovely girlish pres- 
 ence. 
 
 " Yes, sir," Hartley was going on ; " I'm go- 
 ing to just quietly leave a book on her center 
 table. I don't know as it'll interest her much, 
 but it'll show we appreciate the grub, and so on. 
 By jinks ! . You don't seem to realize what a 
 worker that woman is. Up five o'clock in the 
 morning — By the way, you've been going 
 
158 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 around with the girl a good deal, and she's 
 introduced you to some first-rate sales ; now, 
 if you want 'o leave her a little something, 
 make" it a morocco copy, and charge it to the 
 firm." 
 
 Albert knew that he meant well, but he 
 couldn't, somehow, help saying ironically : 
 
 " Thanks ; but I guess one copy of Blaine's 
 ' Twenty Years ' will be enough in the house, 
 especially " 
 
 " Well, give her anything you please, and 
 charge it up to the firm. I don't insist on 
 Blaine ; only suggested that because " 
 
 " I guess I can stand the expense of my 
 own." 
 
 " I didn't say you couldn't, man ! But I 
 want a hand in this thing. Don't be so tur- 
 rible keen t' snap a feller up," said Hartley, 
 turning on him. " What the thunder is the 
 matter of you anyway ? I like the girl, and 
 she's been good to us all round ; she tended 
 you like an angel " 
 
 " There, there ! That's enough o' that," put 
 in Albert hastily. " F'r God's sake don't whang 
 away on that string forever, as if I didn't 
 know it ! " 
 
 Hartley stared at him as he turned away. 
 
 " Well, by jinks ! What is the matter o' 
 you ? " 
 
 He was too busy to dwell upon it much, but 
 concluded his partner was homesick. 
 
 Albert was beginning to have a vague under- 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 155 
 
 consciousness of his real feeling toward the 
 girl, but he fought off the acknowledgment of 
 it as long as possible. His mind moved in a 
 circle, coming back to the one point ceaselessly 
 — a dreary prospect, in which the slender girl- 
 figure had no place — and each time the prospect 
 grew more intolerably blank, and the pain in his 
 heart more acute and throbbing. 
 
 When he faced her that night, after they had 
 returned from a final skating party down on the 
 river, he was as far from a solution-as ever. He 
 had avoided all reference to their separation, 
 and now he stood as a man might at the parting 
 of two paths, saying : " I will not choose ; I can 
 not choose. I will wait for some sign, some 
 chance thing, to direct me." 
 
 They stood opposite each other, each feeling 
 that there was more to be said ; the girl ten- 
 der, her eyes cast down, holding her hands to 
 the fire ; he shivering, but not with cold. He 
 had a vague knowledge of the vast importance 
 of the moment, and he hesitated to speak. 
 
 " It's almost spring again, isn't it ? And 
 you've been here — " she paused and looked up 
 with a daring smile — " seems as if you'd been 
 here always." 
 
 It was about half past eight. Mrs. Welsh 
 was setting her bread in the kitchen ; they could 
 hear her moving about. Hartley was down- 
 town finishing up his business. 
 
 Albert's throat grew dry and his" limbs 
 trembled. His pause was ominous ; the girl's 
 
l6o WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 smile died away as he took a seat without look- 
 ing at her. 
 
 "Well, Maud, I suppose — you know — we're 
 going away to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh, must you ?" But you'll come back ? " 
 
 " I don't expect to — I don't see how." 
 
 " Oh, don't say that ! " cried the girl, her 
 face as white as silver, her clasped hands strain- 
 ing. 
 
 " I must — I must ! " he muttered, not look- 
 ing at her, not daring to see her face. 
 
 " Oh, what can I do — we do, without you ! I 
 can't bear it ! " 
 
 She stopped and sank back into a chair, her 
 breath coming heavily from her twitching lips, 
 the unnoticed tears falling from her staring, 
 pitiful, wild, appealing eyes, her hands nervous- 
 ly twisting her gloves. 
 
 There was a long silence. Each was under- 
 going a self-revelation ; each was trying to face 
 a future without the other. 
 
 " I must go ! " he repeated aimlessly, me- 
 chanically. 
 
 The girl's heavy breathing deepened into a 
 wild little moaning sound, inexpressibly pitiful, 
 her hungry eyes fixed on his face. She gave 
 way first, and flung herself down upon her knees 
 at his side, her hands seeking his neck. 
 
 " Albert, I can't live without you now ! Take 
 me with you ! Don't leave me ! " 
 
 He stooped suddenly and took her in his 
 arms, raised her, and kissed her hair. 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 161 
 
 " I didn't mean it, Maud ; I'll never leave you 
 — never ! Don't cry ! " 
 
 She drew his face down to hers and kissed it, 
 then turned her face to his breast and laughed 
 and cried. There was a silence ; then joy and 
 confidence came back again. 
 
 " I know now what you meant," the girl 
 cried gayly, raising herself and looking into 
 his face ; " you were trying to scare me, and 
 make me show how much I — cared for you — 
 first ! " There was a soft smile on her lips 
 and a tender light in her eyes. " But I don't 
 mind it." , 
 
 " I guess I didn't know myself what I 
 meant," he said, with a grave smile. 
 
 When Mrs. Welsh came in, they were sitting 
 on the sofa, talking in low voices of their future. 
 He was grave and subdued, while she was radi- 
 ant with love and hope. The future had no 
 terrors for her. All plans were good and suc- 
 cessful now. But the boy unconsciously felt 
 the gravity of life somehow deepened by his 
 love. 
 
 " Why, Maud ! " Mrs. Welsh exclaimed, 
 " what is " 
 
 " O mother, I'm so happy — just as happy as 
 a bird ! " she cried, rushing into her mother's 
 arms. 
 
 " Why, why ! — what is it ? You're crying, 
 dear ! " 
 
 " No, I'm not ; I'm laughing — see ! " 
 
 Mrs. Welsh turned her dim eyes on the girl, 
 
^2 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 who shook the tears from her lashes with the 
 action of a bird shaking water from its wings. 
 She seemed to shake off her trouble at the 
 same moment. Mrs. Welsh understood per- 
 fectly. 
 
 " I'm very glad, too, dearie," she said simply, 
 looking at the young man with motherly love 
 irradiating her worn face. Albert went to her, 
 and she kissed him, while the happy girl put 
 her arms about them both in an ecstatic hug. 
 " Now you've got a son, mother." 
 " But I've lost a daughter — my first-born." 
 " Oh, wait till you hear our plans ! " 
 " He's going to settle down here — aren't you, 
 Albert ? " 
 
 Then they sat down, all three, and had a 
 sweet, intimate talk of an hour, full of plans 
 and hopes and confidences. 
 
 At last he kissed the radiant girl good night 
 and, going into his own room, sat down by the 
 stove and, watching the flicker of the flames 
 through the chinks, pondered on the change 
 that had come into his life. 
 
 Already he sighed with the stress of care, 
 the press of thought, which came upon him. 
 The longing uneasiness of the boy had given 
 place to another unrest — the unrest of the man 
 who must face the world in earnest now, plan- 
 ning for food and shelter ; and all plans included 
 Maud. 
 
 To go back to school was out of the ques- 
 tion. To expect help from his father, over- 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 163 
 
 worked and burdened with debt, was impossible. 
 He must go to work, and go to work to aid 
 her. A living must be wrung from this town. 
 All the home and all the property Mrs. Welsh 
 had were here, and wherever Maud went the 
 mother must follow ; she could not live without 
 her. 
 
 He was in the midst of the turmoil when 
 Hartley came in, humming the " Mulligan 
 Guards." 
 
 " In the dark, hey ? " 
 
 "Completely in the dark." 
 
 " Well, light up, light up ! " 
 
 " I'm trying to." 
 
 " What the deuce do you mean by that 
 tone ? What's been going on here since my 
 absence ? " 
 
 Albert did not reply, and Hartley shuffled 
 about after a match, lighted the lamp, threw his 
 coat and hat in the corner, and then said : 
 
 "Well, I've got everything straightened up. 
 Been freezing out old Daggett ; the old skeesix 
 has been promism* f'r a week, and I just said, 
 ' Old man, I'll camp right down with you here 
 till you fork over,' and he did. By the way, 
 everybody I talked with to-day about leaving 
 said, ' What's Lohr going to do with that girl ? ' 
 I told "em I didn't know ; do you ? It seems 
 you've been thicker'n I supposed." 
 
 " I'm going to marry her," said Albert calm- 
 ly, but his voice sounded strangely alien. 
 
 " What's that ? " yelled Hartley. 
 
164 
 
 WAYS WE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 " Sh ! don't raise the neighbors. I'm going 
 to marry her." He spoke quietly, but there was 
 a peculiar numbness creeping over him. 
 
 " Well, by jinks ! When ? Say,, looky here ! 
 Well, I swanny ! " exclaimed Hartley helplessly. 
 " When ? " 
 
 " Right away ; some time this summer — June, 
 maybe." 
 
 Hartley thrust his hands into his trousers 
 pockets, stretched out his legs, and stared at his 
 friend in vast amaze. 
 
 " You're givin' me guff ! " 
 
 " I'm in dead earnest." 
 
 " I thought you was going through college 
 all so fast ? " 
 
 " Well, I've made up my mind it ain't much 
 use to try," replied Albert listlessly. 
 
 " What y' goin' t' do here, or are y' goin' t' 
 take the girl away with yeh ? " 
 
 " She can't leave her mother. We'll run this 
 boarding house for the present. I'll try for the 
 principalship of the school here. Raff is going 
 to resign, he says; if I can't 'get that, I'll get 
 into a law office here. Don't worry about me." 
 
 " But why go into this so quick ? Why not 
 put it off fifteen or twenty years ? " asked Hart- 
 ley, trying to get back to cheerful voice. 
 
 "What would be the use ? At the end of a 
 year I'd be just about as poor as I am now." 
 
 " Can't y'r father step in and help you ? " 
 
 " No. There are three boys and two girls, 
 all younger than I, to be looked out for, and 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 165 
 
 he has all he can oarry. Besides, she needs me 
 right here and right now. Two delicate women 
 struggling along ; suppose one of 'em should 
 fall sick ? I tell you they need me, and if I can 
 do anything to make life easy, or easier, I'm go- 
 ing t' do it. Besides," he ended in a peculiar 
 tone, "we don't feel as if we could live apart 
 much longer." 
 
 " But, great Scott ! man, you can't " 
 
 " Now, hold on, Jim ! I've thought this 
 thing all over, and I've made up my mind. It 
 ain't any use to go on talking about it. What 
 good would it do me to go to school another 
 year, come out without a dollar, and no more 
 fitted for earning a living for her than I am 
 now ? And, besides all that, I couldn't draw a 
 free breath thinking of her here workin' away to 
 keep things moving, liable at any minute to 
 break down." 
 
 Hartley gazed at him in despair, and with 
 something like awe. It was a tremendous trans- 
 formation in the young, ambitious student. He 
 felt in a way responsible for the calamity, and 
 that he ought to use every effort to bring the 
 boy to his senses. 
 
 Like most men in America, and especially 
 Western men, he still clung to the idea that a 
 man was entirely responsible for his success or 
 failure in life. He had not admitted that con- 
 ditions of society might be so adverse that only 
 men of most exceptional endowments, and will- 
 ing and able to master many of the best and 
 
1 66 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 deepest and most sacred of their inspirations 
 and impulses, could succeed. 
 
 Of the score of specially promising young 
 fellows who had been with him at school, seven- 
 teen had dropped out and down. Most of them 
 had married and gone back to farming, or to 
 earn a precarious living in the small, dull 
 towns where farmers trade and traders farm. 
 Conditions were too adverse ; they simply weak- 
 ened and slipped slowly back into dullness and 
 an oxlike or else a fretful patience. Thinking of 
 these men, and thinking their failure due to 
 themselves alone, Hartley could not endure the 
 idea of his friend adding one more to the list 
 of failures. He sprang up at last. 
 
 " Say, Bert, you might just as well hang 
 y'rself, and done with it ! Why, it's suicide ! 
 I can't allow it. I started in at college brave- 
 ly, and failed because I'd . let it go tod long. 
 I couldn't study — couldn't get down to it; 
 but you — why, old man, I'd bet on you!" 
 He had a tremor in his voice. " I hate like 
 thunder to see you give up your plans. Say, 
 you can't afford to do this ; it's too much to 
 pay." 
 
 " No, it ain't." 
 
 " I say it is. What do you get, in " 
 
 " I think so much o' her that " 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! You'd get over this in a 
 week." 
 
 " Jim ! " called Albert warningly, sharply. 
 
 "All right,'' said Jim, in the tone of a man 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 167 
 
 who^elt that it was all wrong — " all right ; 
 but the time'll come when you'll wish I'd — 
 You ain't doin' the girl enough good to make 
 up, .or the harm you're doin' yourself." He 
 bn&ke off again, and said in a tone of pecul- 
 iar meaning : " I'm done. I'm all through, and 
 If c'n see you're through with Jim Hartley. 
 Why, Bert, look here— No ? All right ! " 
 
 " Darn curious," he muttered to himself, 
 " that boy should get caught just at this time, 
 and not with some one o' those girls in Marion. 
 Well, it's none o' my funeral," he ended, with a 
 sigh ; for it had stirred him to the bottom of 
 his sunny nature, after all. A dozen times, as 
 he lay there beside his equally sleepless com- 
 panion, he started to say something more in dep- 
 recation of the step, but each time stifled the 
 opening wsr.d into a gj;p*rtC 
 
 It would not be true to say that love had 
 come to Albert Lohr as a relaxing influence, 
 but it had changed the direction of his energies 
 so radically as to make his whole life seem 
 weaker and lower. As long as his love-dreams 
 went out toward a vague and ideal woman, 
 supposedly higher and grander than himself, 
 he was spurred on to face the terrible sheer 
 escarpment of social eminence ; but when he 
 met, by accident, the actual woman who was to 
 inspire his future efforts, the difficulties he faced 
 took on solid reality. 
 
 His aspirations fell to the earth, their wings 
 clipped, and became, perforce, submissive beasts 
 
1 68 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 at the plow. The force that moved so imuM 
 •his thought was transformed into other e^>- u of 
 Whether it were a wise step or not he di', ner gy- 
 know ; he certainly knew it was right. ' not 
 
 The table was very gay at dinner next o 
 Maud was standing at the highest point of^^y- 
 girlhood dreams. Her flushed face and V tc er 
 ing eyes made her seem almost a child, ViH 1 " 
 Hartley wondered at her, and relented a lit^-^ 
 in the face of such happiness. Her face wi^h 
 turned to Albert in an unconscious, beautifOa» 
 way ; she had nothing to conceal now. V 
 
 Mrs. Welsh was happy, too, but a little tear- 
 ful in an unobtrusive way. Troutt had his jokes,, 
 of course, not very delicate, but of good inten- 
 tion. In fact,vthey were as flags and trumpets,- 
 to the young people. Mrs. Welsh had jxyjfkfed 
 in him, telling him to. be secret ; but-"£he finesse 
 of his joking could not fail to reveal everything 
 he knew. 
 
 But Maud cared little. She was filled with 
 a sort of tender boldness ; and Albert, in the 
 delight of the hour, gave himself up wholly to. 
 a trust in the future and to the fragrance and 
 music of love. 
 
 " They're gay as larks now," thought Hart- 
 ley to himself, as he joined in the laughter ; 
 " but that won't help 'em any, ten years from 
 now." ■■■:■- 
 
 He could hardly speak next day as he shook 
 hands at the station with his friend. 
 
 " Good-by, ol' man ; I hope it'll come out all 
 
A STOP-OVER AT TYRE. 169 
 
 right, but I'm afraid — But there ! 1 promised 
 not to say anything about it. Good-by till we 
 meet in Congress," he ended in a lamentable at- 
 tempt at being funny. 
 
 " Can't you come to the wedding, Jim ? 
 We've decided on June. You see, they need 
 a man around the house, so we — You'll come, 
 won't you, old fellow ? And don't mind my 
 being a little crusty last night " 
 
 "Oh, yes; I'll come," Jim said, in a tone 
 which concealed a desire to utter one more 
 protest. 
 
 " It's no use ; that ends him, sure's I'm a 
 thief. He's jumped into a hole and pulled 
 the hole in after him. A man can't marry a 
 family like that at his age, and pull out of it. 
 He may, but I doubt it. Well, as I remarked 
 before, it's none o' my funeral so long as he's 
 satisfied." 
 
 But he said it with a painful lump in his 
 throat, and he could not bring himself to feel 
 that Albert's course was right, and felt himself 
 to be somehow culpable in the case. 
 
AN ALIEN IN THE PINES. 
 
 A man and a woman were pacing up and 
 down the wintry station platform, waiting for a 
 train. On every side the snow lay a stained and 
 crumpled blanket, with here and there a light 
 or a chimney to show the village sleeping be- 
 neath. 
 
 The sky was a purple-black hemisphere, out 
 of which the stars glittered almost white. The 
 wind came out of the west, cold but amiable ; 
 the cracked bell of a switch engine gurgled 
 querulously at intervals, followed by the bump- 
 ing of coupling freight cars ; roosters were 
 crowing, and sleepy train men were assembling 
 in sullen silence. 
 
 The couple walked with arms locked like 
 lovers, but the tones of their voices had the 
 quality which comes after marriage. They were 
 man and wife. 
 
 The woman's clear voice arose. "O Ed, 
 isn't this delicious ? What one misses by not 
 getting up early ! " 
 
 " Sleep, for instance," laughed her husband. 
 
 171 
 
172 
 
 WAYS/DE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 " Don't drag me down. You know what I 
 mean. Let's get up early every morning while 
 we're up here in the woods." 
 
 " Shouldn't wonder if we had to. There'll 
 be a lot to do, and I want to get back to Chi- 
 cago by the 1st of February." 
 
 " This is an experience ! Isn't it still ? When 
 is our train due ? " 
 
 " Due now ; I think that is our headlight 
 up the track." 
 
 As he spoke, an engine added its voice to the 
 growing noise of the station, and drew solemnly 
 down the frosty steel. 
 
 An eruption of shapeless forms of men from 
 the depot filled the one general coach of the 
 train. They nearly all were dressed in some 
 sort of fur coat, and all had the look of men 
 accustomed to outdoor life — powerful, loud- 
 voiced, unrefined. They were, in fact, travel- 
 ing men, business men, the owners of mills or 
 timber. The stolid or patient oxlike faces of 
 some Norwegian workmen, dressed in gay Mack- 
 inac jackets, were sprinkled about. 
 
 The young wife was a fine type of woman 
 anywhere, but these surroundings made her 
 seem very dainty and startlingly beautiful. Her 
 husband had the fair skin of a city man, but his 
 powerful shoulders and firm step denoted health 
 and wholesome living. They were good to see 
 as man and wife. 
 
 They soon felt the reaction to sleepiness 
 which comes to those not accustomed to early 
 
AN ALIEN IN THE PINES. 173 
 
 rising, and the wife, soothed by the clank of the 
 train, leaned her head on her husband's shoul- 
 der and dozed. He looked out upon the land- 
 scape, glad that his wife was not observing it. 
 He did not know such desolation existed in 
 Wisconsin. 
 
 On every side were the evidences of a ruined 
 forest land. A landscape of flat wastes, of 
 thinned and burned and uprooted trees. A deso- 
 late and apparently useless land. 
 
 Here and there a sawmill stood gray and 
 sagging, surrounded by little cabins of unpaint- 
 ed wood, to testify to the time when great pines 
 stood all about, and the ring of the swamper's 
 axe was heard in the intervals of silence between 
 the howls of a saw. 
 
 To the north the swells grew larger. Birch 
 and tamarack swamps alternated with dry ridges 
 on which an inferior pine still grew. The 
 swamps were dense tangles of broken and up- 
 rooted trees. Slender pikelike stumps of fire- 
 devastated firs rose here and there; black and 
 grim skeletons of trees. 
 
 It was a land that had been sheared by the 
 axe, torn by the winds, and blasted by fire. 
 
 Off to the west low blue ridges rose, marking 
 the boundaries of the valley which had been 
 washed out ages ago by water. After the floods 
 it had sprung up to pine forests, and these in 
 their turn had been sheared away by man. It 
 lay now awaiting the plow and seeder of the 
 intrepid pioneer. 
 
174 
 
 WA YSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 Suddenly the wife roused up. "Why, we 
 haven't had any breakfast ! " 
 
 He smiled at her childish look of bewilder- 
 ment. " I've been painfully aware of it for 
 some time back. I've been suffering for food 
 while you slept." 
 
 "Why didn't you get into the basket ? " 
 
 " How could I, with you on my manly 
 bosom ? " 
 
 She colored up a little. They had not been 
 married long, evidently. 
 
 They were soon eating a breakfast with the 
 spirit of picnickers. Occasionally she looked 
 out of the window. 
 
 "What a wild country!" she said. He did 
 not emphasize its qualities to her ; rather, he 
 distracted her attention from the desolation. 
 
 The train roared round its curves, conform- 
 ing with the general course of the river. On 
 every hand were thickening signs of active lum- 
 ber industry. They flashed by freight trains 
 loaded with logs or lumber or ties. Mills in 
 operation grew thicker. 
 
 The car echoed with the talk of lumber. A 
 brisk man with a red mustache was exhibiting 
 a model of a machine to cut certain parts of 
 machinery out of " two by fours." Another 
 was describing a new shingle mill he had just 
 built. 
 
 A couple of elderly men, one a German, were 
 discussing the tariff on lumber. The workmen 
 mainly sat silent. 
 
AN ALIEN IN THE PINES. 175 
 
 " It's all so strange ! " the young wife said 
 again and again. 
 
 "Yes, it isn't exactly the Lake Shore drive." 
 
 " I like it. I wish I could smell the pines.", 
 
 "You'll have all the pines you can stand be- 
 fore we get back to Chicago." 
 
 " No, sir ; I'm going to enjoy every moment 
 of it ; and you're going to let me help, you know 
 — look over papers and all that. I'm the heir- 
 ess, you must remember," she said wickedly. 
 
 "Well, we won't quarrel about that until we 
 see how it all turns out. It may not be worth 
 my time up here. I shall charge you roundly 
 as your lawyer ; depend on that." 
 
 The outlook grew more attractive as the 
 train sped on. Old Mosinee rose, a fine round- 
 ed blue shape, on the left. 
 
 " Why, there's a mountain ! I didn't know 
 Wisconsin had such a mountain as that." 
 
 " Neither did I. This valley is fine. Now, 
 if your uncle's estates only included that 
 hill ! " 
 
 The valley made off to the northwest with a 
 bold, large, and dignified movement. The color- 
 ing, blue and silver, purple-brown and bronze- 
 green, was suitable to the grouping of lines. It 
 was all fresh and vital, wholesome and very im- 
 pressive. 
 
 From this point the land grew wilder — that 
 is, more primeval. There was more of Nature 
 and less of man. The scar of the axe was here 
 and there, but the focest predominated. The 
 
176 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 ridges of pine foliages broke against the sky 
 miles and miles in splendid sweep. 
 
 " This must be lovely in summer," the wife 
 said, again and again, as they flashed by some 
 lake set among the hills. 
 
 " It's fine now," he replied, feeling the thrill 
 of the sportsman. " I'd like to shoulder a rifle 
 and plunge into those snowy vistas. How it 
 brings the wild spirit out in a man ! Women 
 never feel that delight." 
 
 " Oh, yes, we do," she replied, glad that 
 something remained yet unexplained between 
 them. "We feel just like men, only we haven't 
 the strength of mind to demand a share of it 
 with you." 
 
 " Yes, you feel it at this distance. You'd 
 come back mighty quick the second night 
 out." 
 
 She did not relish his laughter, and so looked 
 away out of the window. " Just think of. it — 
 Uncle Edwin lived here thirty years ! " 
 
 He forbore to notice her' inconsistency. 
 " Yes, the wilderness is all right for a vaca- 
 tion, but I prefer Chicago for the year round." 
 
 When they came upon Ridgeley, both cried 
 out with delight. 
 
 " Oh, what a dear, picturesque little town ! " 
 she said. 
 
 " Well, well ! I wonder how they came to 
 build a town without a row of battlemented 
 stores ? " 
 
 It lay among and upon the sharp, low, stumpy 
 
AN ALIEN IN THE PINES. 177 
 
 pine ridges in haphazard fashion, like a Swiss 
 village. A small, brook ran through it, smoth- 
 ered here and there in snow. A sawmill was 
 the largest figure of the town, and the railway 
 station was the center. There was not an inch 
 of painted board in the village. Everywhere 
 the clear yellow of the pine flamed unstained 
 by time. Lumber piles filled all the lower levels 
 near the creek. Evidently the town had been built 
 along logging roads, and there was something 
 grateful and admirable in its irregular arrange- 
 ment. The houses, moreover, were all modifi- 
 cations of the logging camps ; even the drug 
 store stood with its side to the street. All about 
 were stumps and fringes of pines, which the 
 lumbermen, for some good reason, had passed 
 by. Charred boles stood purple-black out of 
 the snow. 
 
 It was all green and gray and blue and 
 yellow-white and wild. The sky was not more 
 illimitable than the rugged forest which extend- 
 ed on every hand. 
 
 " Oh, this is glorious — glorious ! " said the 
 wife. " Do I own some of this town ? " she 
 asked, as they rose to go out. 
 
 " I reckon you do." 
 
 " Oh, I'm so glad ! " 
 
 As they stepped out on the platform, a large 
 man in corduroy and wolf-skin faced them like 
 a bandit. 
 
 " Hello, Ed ! " 
 
 " Hello, Jack ! Well, we've found you. My 
 
178 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 wife, Mr. Ridgeley. We've come up to find out 
 how much you've embezzled," he said, as Ridge- 
 ley pulled off an immense glove to shake hands 
 all round. 
 
 " Well, come right over to the hotel. It ain't 
 the Auditorium, but then, again, it ain't like 
 sleeping outdoors." 
 
 As they moved along they heard the train 
 go off, and then the sound of the saw resumed 
 its domination of the village noises. 
 
 " Was the town named after you, or you after 
 the town ? " asked Field. 
 
 " Named after me. Old man didn't want it 
 named after him ; would kill it," he said. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Field found the hotel quite 
 comfortable and the dinner wholesome. They 
 beamed upon each other. 
 
 " It's going to be delightful," they said. 
 
 Ridgeley was a bachelor, and found his home 
 at the hotel also. That night he said : " Now 
 we'll go over the papers and records of your 
 uncle's property, and then we'll go out and see 
 if the property is all there. I imagine this is 
 to be a searching investigation." 
 
 " You may well, think it. My wife is inex- 
 orable." 
 
 As night fell, the wife did not feel so safe 
 and well pleased. The loud talking in the 
 office below and the occasional whooping of a 
 crowd of mill hands going by made her draw 
 her chair nearer and lay her fingers in her hus- 
 band's palm. 
 
AN ALIEN IN THE PINES. 179 
 
 He smiled indulgently. "Don't be fright- 
 ened, my dear. These men are not half so bad 
 as they sound." 
 
 II. 
 
 Mrs. Field sat in the inner room of Ridge- 
 ley's office, waiting for the return of her hus- 
 band with the team. They were going out for a 
 drive. 
 
 Ridgeley was working at his books, and he 
 had forgotten her presence. 
 
 She could not but feel a deep admiration for 
 his powerful frame and his quick, absorbed ac- 
 tion as he moved about from his safe to his 
 desk. He was a man of great force and ready 
 decision. 
 
 Suddenly the door opened and a man entered. 
 He had a sullen and bitter look on his thin, 
 dark face. Ridgeley's quick eyes measured 
 him, and his hand softly turned the key in his 
 money drawer, and as he faced about he swung 
 shut the door of the safe. 
 
 The stranger saw all this with eyes as keen 
 as Ridgeley's. A cheerless and strange smile 
 came upon his face. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed," he said. " I'm low, but 
 I ain't as low as that.' 7 
 
 " Well, sir, what can I do for you ? " asked 
 Ridgeley. Mrs, Field half rose, and her heart 
 beat terribly. She felt something tense and 
 strange in the attitude of the two men. 
 
l8o WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 But the man only said, " You can give me a 
 job if you want to." 
 
 Ridgeley remained alert. He ran his eyes 
 over the man's tall frame. He looked strong 
 and intelligent, although his eyes were fevered 
 and dull. 
 
 " What kind of a job ? " 
 
 "Any kind that will take me out into the 
 woods and keep me there," the man replied. 
 
 There was a self-accusing tone in his voice 
 that Ridgeley felt. 
 
 " What's your object ? You look like a man 
 who could do something else. What brings 
 you here ? " 
 
 The man turned with a sudden resolution to 
 punish himself. His voice expressed a terrible 
 loathing. 
 
 " Whisky, that's what. It's a hell of a thing 
 to say, but I can't let liquor alone when I can 
 smell it. I'm no common hand, or I wouldn't be 
 if I — But let that go. I can swing an axe, 
 and I'm ready to work. That's enough. Now 
 the question is, can you find a place for me ? " 
 
 Ridgeley mused a little. The young fellow 
 stood there, statuesque, rebellious. 
 
 Then Ridgeley said r " I guess I can help you 
 out that much." He picked up a card and a 
 pencil. " What shall I call you ? " 
 
 " Oh, call me Williams ; that ain't my name, 
 but it'll do." 
 
 " What you been doing ? " 
 
 " Everything part of the time, drinking the 
 
AN ALIEN IN THE PINES. \%\ 
 
 rest. Was in a livery stable down at Wausau 
 last week. It came over me, when I woke yes- 
 terday, that I was gone to hell if I stayed in town. 
 So I struck out ; and I don't care for myself, 
 but I've got a woman to look out for — -" He 
 stopped abruptly. His recklessness of mood 
 had its limits, after all. 
 
 Ridgeley penciled on a card. " Give this to 
 the foreman of No. 6. The men over at the mill 
 will show you the teams." 
 
 The man started toward the door with the 
 card in his hand. He turned suddenly. 
 
 " One thing more. I want you to send ten 
 dollars of my pay every two weeks to this ad- 
 dress." He took an envelope out of his pocket. 
 " It don't matter what I say or do after this, I 
 want that money sent. The rest will keep me in 
 tobacco and clothing. You understand ? " 
 
 Ridgeley nodded. " Perfectly. I've seen 
 such cases before." 
 
 The man went out and down the walk with a 
 hurried, determined air, as if afraid of his own 
 resolution. 
 
 As Ridgeley turned toward his desk he met 
 Mrs. Field, who faced him with tears of fervent 
 sympathy in her eyes. 
 
 " Isn't it awful ? " she said, in a half whisper. 
 " Poor fellow, what will become of him ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. He'll get along some 
 way. Such fellows do. I've had 'em before. 
 They try it a while here ; then they move. I 
 can't worry about them." 
 
1 82 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 Mrs. Field was not listening to his shifty 
 words. " And then, think of his wife — how she 
 must worry." 
 
 Ridgeley smiled. " Perhaps it's his mother 
 or a sister." 
 
 "Anyway it's awful. Can't something be 
 done for him ? " 
 
 " I guess we've done about all that can be 
 done." 
 
 " Oh, I wish I could help him ! I'll tell Ed 
 about him." 
 
 " Don't worry about him, Mrs. Field ; he ain't 
 worth it." 
 
 " Oh yes, he is. I feel he's been a good boy 
 once, and then he's so self-accusing." 
 
 Her own happiness was so complete, she 
 could not bear to think of others' misery. She 
 told her husband about Williams, and ended by 
 asking, " Can't we do anything to help the poor 
 fellow ? " 
 
 Field was not deeply concerned. " No ; he's 
 probably past help. Such men are so set in 
 their habits, nothing but a miracle or hypno- 
 tism can save them. He'll end up as a ' lumber 
 Jack,' as the townsmen call the hands in the 
 camps." 
 
 " But he isn't that, Edward. He's finer 
 some way. You feel he is. Ask Mr. Ridge- 
 ley." 
 
 Ridgeley merely said : " Yes, he seemed to 
 me to be more than a common hand. But, all 
 the same, it won't be two weeks before he'll be 
 
AN ALIEN IN THE PINES. 183 
 
 in here as drunk as a wild cat, wanting to shoot 
 me for holding back his money." 
 
 In this way Williams came to be to Mrs. Field 
 a very important figure in the landscape of that 
 region. She often spoke of him, and on the 
 following Saturday night, when Field came 
 home, she anxiously asked, " Is Williams in 
 town ? " 
 
 " No, he hasn't shown up yet." 
 
 She clapped her hands in delight. " Good ! 
 good ! He's going to win his fight." 
 
 Field laughed. " Don't bet on Williams too 
 soon. We'll hear from him before the week is 
 out." 
 
 " When are we going to visit the camp ? " 
 she asked, changing the subject. 
 
 " As soon as it warms up a little. It is too 
 cold for you." 
 
 She had a laugh at him. " You were the 
 one who wanted to ' plunge into the snowy 
 vistas.' " 
 
 He evaded her joke on him by assuming a 
 careless tone. " I'm not plunging as much as I 
 was ; the snow is too deep." 
 
 " When you go I want to go with you — I 
 want to see Williams." 
 
 " Ha ! " he snorted melodramatically. " She 
 scorns me faithful heart. She turns " 
 
 Mrs. Field smiled faintly. " Don't joke 
 about it Ed t I can't get that wife out of my 
 mind." 
 
1 84 
 
 WAY SIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 III. 
 
 A few very cold gray days followed, and 
 then the north wind cleared the sky ; and, though 
 it was still cold, it was pleasant. The sky had 
 only a small white cloud here and there to make 
 its blueness the more profound. 
 
 Ridgeley dashed up to the door with a hardy 
 little pair of bronchos hitched to a light pair of 
 bobs, and Mrs. Field was tucked in like a babe 
 in a cradle. 
 
 Almost the first thing she asked was, " How 
 is Williams ? " 
 
 " Oh, he's getting on nicely. He refused 
 to sleep with his bunk mate, and finally had to 
 lick him, I understand, to shut him up. Chal- 
 lenged the whole camp^then to let him alone 
 or take a licking. They let him alone, Lawson 
 says. — G'lang there, you rats ! " 
 
 Mrs. Field said no more, for the air was 
 whizzing by her ears, and she hardly dared look 
 out, so keen was the wind, but as soon as they 
 entered the deeps, of the forest it was profound- 
 ly still. 
 
 The ride that afternoon was a glory she 
 never forgot. Everywhere yellow-greens and 
 purple shadows. The sun in a burnished blue 
 sky flooded the forests with light, striking 
 down through even the thickest pines to lay 
 in neckings of radiant white and gold upon the 
 snow. 
 
 The trail (it was not a road) ran like a grace- 
 
AN ALIEN IN THE PINES. 185 
 
 ful furrow over the hills, around little lakes 
 covered deep with snow, through tamarack 
 swamps where the tracks of wild things thick- 
 ened, over ridges of tall pine clear of brush, 
 and curving everywhere amid stumps, where 
 dismantled old shanties marked the site of 
 the older logging camps. Sometimes they met 
 teams going to the store. Sometimes they 
 crossed logging roads — wide, smooth tracks 
 artificially iced, down which mountainous loads 
 of logs were slipping, creaking and groaning. 
 Sometimes they heard the dry click-clock of 
 the woodsmen's axes, or the crash of falling 
 trees deep in the wood. When they reached the 
 first camp, Ridgeley pulled up the steaming 
 horses at the door and shouted, " Hello, the 
 camp ! " 
 
 A tall old man with a long red beard came 
 out. He held one bare red arm above his eyes. 
 He wore an apron. 
 
 " Hello, Sandy ! " 
 
 " Hello, Mr. Ridgeley ! " 
 
 " Ready for company ? " 
 
 "Am always ready for company," he said, 
 with a Scotch accent. 
 
 "Well, we're coming in to get warm." 
 
 " Vera wal." 
 
 As they went in, under the roofed shed be- 
 tween the cook's shanty and the other and larger 
 shanty, Mrs. Field sniffed. Sandy led them past 
 a large pyramid composed of the scraps of beef 
 bones, eggshells, cans, and tea grounds left over 
 13 
 
lS6 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 during the winter. In the shed itself hung great 
 slabs of beef. 
 
 It was as untidy and suggestive of slaughter 
 as the nest of a brood of eagles. 
 
 Sandy was beginning dinner on a huge stove 
 spotted with rust and pancake batter. All about 
 was the litter of his preparation. Beef — beef on 
 all sides, and tin dishes and bare benches and 
 huge iron cooking pans. 
 
 Mrs. Field was glad to get out into the sun- 
 light again. 
 
 " What a horrible place ! Are they all like 
 that ? " 
 
 " No, my camps are not like that — or, I 
 should say, our camps," Ridgeley added, with a 
 smile. 
 
 " Not a gay place at all," said Field, in ex- 
 aggerated reserve. 
 
 But Mrs. Field found her own camps not 
 much better. True, the refuse was not raised in 
 pyramidal shape before the front door, and the 
 beef was a little more orderly, but the low log 
 huts, the dim cold light, the dingy walls and 
 floors, the lack of any womanly or home touch, 
 the tin dishes, the wholesale cooking, all struck 
 upon her with terrible force. 
 
 " Do human beings live here ? " she asked 
 Ridgeley, when he opened the door of the main 
 shanty of No. 6. 
 
 " Forty creatures of the men kind sleep and 
 house here," he replied. 
 
 " To which the socks and things give evi- 
 
AN ALIEN IN THE PINES. 187 
 
 dence," said Field promptly, pointing toward 
 the huge stove which sat like a rusty-red cheese 
 in the center of the room. Above it hung scores 
 of ragged gray and red socks and Mackinac 
 boots and jackets which had been washed by 
 the men thems.elves. 
 
 Around were the grimy bunks where the 
 forty men slept like tramps in a steamer's 
 hold. The quilts were grimy, and the posts 
 greasy and shining with the touch of hands. 
 There were no chairs — only a kind of rude 
 stool made of boards. There were benches 
 hear the stove nailed to the rough floor. In 
 each bunk, hanging to a peg, was the poor 
 little imitation-leather hand-bag which contained 
 the whole wardrobe of each man, exclusive of 
 the tattered socks and shirts hanging over the 
 stove. 
 
 The room was chill and cold and gray. It 
 had only two small windows. Its doors were 
 low. Even Mrs. Field was forced to stoop in 
 entering. This made it seem more like a den. 
 There were roller towels in the corner, and 
 washbasins, and a grindstone, which made it 
 seem like a barn. It was, in fact, more cheer- 
 less than the barn, and less wholesome. 
 
 " Doesn't that hay in the bunks get a — a — 
 sometimes ? " asked Field. 
 
 " Well, yes, I shouldn't wonder, though the 
 men are pretty strict about that. They keep 
 pretty free from that, I think. However, I 
 shouldn't want to run no river chances on the 
 
•I 88 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 thing myself." Ridgeley smiled at Mrs. Field's 
 shudder of horror. 
 
 " Is this the place ? " The men laughed. 
 She had asked that question so many times 
 before. 
 
 " Yes, this is where Mr. Williams hangs out. 
 — Say, Field, you'll need to make some new move 
 to hold your end up against Williams." 
 
 Mrs. Field felt hurt and angry at his rough 
 joke. In the dim corner a cough was heard; 
 and a yellow head raised itself over the bunk 
 board ghastily. His big blue eyes fixed them- 
 selves on the lovely woman and he wore a look 
 of childish wonder. 
 
 " Hello, Gus — didn't see you. What's the 
 matter — sick ? " 
 
 " Yah, ai baen hwick two days. Ai tank ai 
 lack to hav doketer." 
 
 "All right, I'll send him up. What seems 
 the matter ? " 
 
 As they talked, Mrs. Field again chilled with 
 the cold gray comfortlessness of it all ; to be 
 sick in such a place ! The strange appearance 
 of the man out of his grim corner was startling. 
 She was glad when they drove out into the 
 woods again, where the clear sunshine fell, and 
 the pines stood against the blazing winter sky 
 motionless as iron trees. Her pleasure in the 
 ride was growing less. To her delicate sense 
 this life was sordid, not picturesque. She won- 
 dered ht>w Williams endured it. They arrived 
 at No. 8 just as the men were trailing down the 
 
AN ALIEN IN THE PINES. 189 
 
 road to work after eating their dinner. Their 
 gay-colored jackets of Mackinac wool stood 
 out like trumpet notes in the prevailing white 
 and blue and bronze green. 
 
 The boss and the scaler came out and met 
 them, and after introductions they went into the 
 shanty to dinner. The cook was a deft young 
 Norwegian — a clean, quick, gentlemanly young 
 fellow with a fine brown mustache. He cleared 
 a place for them at one end of the long table, 
 and they sat down. 
 
 It was a large camp, but much like the 
 others. On the table were the same cheap 
 iron forks, the tin plates, and the small tin 
 basins (for tea) which made up the dinner set. 
 Basins of brown sugar stood about. 
 
 " Good gracious ! Do people still eat brown 
 sugar ? Why, I haven't seen any of that for 
 ages," cried Mrs. Field. 
 
 The stew was good and savory, and the 
 bread fair. The tea was not all clover, but it 
 tasted of the tin. Mrs. Field said : 
 
 "Beef, beef, everywhere beef. One might 
 suppose a menagerie of desert animals ate here. 
 Edward, we must make things more comfortable 
 for our men. They must have cups to drink out 
 of; these basins are horrible." 
 
 It was humorous to the men, this housewifely 
 suggestion. 
 
 " Oh, make it napkins, Allie ! " 
 
 " You can laugh, but I sh'an't rest after seeing 
 this. If you thought I was going to say, ' Oh, 
 
igo 
 
 WAY SIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 how picturesque ! ' you're mistaken. I think 
 it's barbarous." 
 
 She was getting impatient of their patroniz- 
 ing laughter, as if she were a child. They 
 changed their manner to one of acquiescence, 
 but thought of her as a child just the same. 
 
 After dinner they all went out to see the 
 crew working. It was the biggest crew any- 
 where in the neighborhood, and they sat a long 
 while and watched the men at work. Ridgeley 
 got out and hitched the team to a tree, and took 
 Field up to the skidway. Mrs. Field remained 
 in the sleigh, however. 
 
 Near her " the swamping team," a span of 
 big deep-red oxen, came and went among the 
 green tops of the fallen pines. They crawled 
 along their trails in the snow like some strange 
 machinery, and the boy in a blue jacket moved 
 almost as listlessly. Somewhere in the tangle of 
 refuse boughs the swampers' axes click-clocked, 
 saws uttered their grating, rhythmic snarl, and 
 great trees at intervals shivered, groaned, and 
 fell with soft, rushing, cracking sweeps into the 
 deep snow, and the swampers swarmed upon 
 them like Lilliputians attacking a giant enemy. 
 
 There was something splendid (though tragic) 
 in the work, but the thought of the homelessness 
 of the men, their terrible beds, and their long 
 hours of toil oppressed the delicate and refined 
 woman. She began to take on culpability. She 
 was partly in authority now, and this system 
 must be changed. She was deep in plans for 
 
AN ALIEN IN THE PINES. 
 
 I 9 I 
 
 change, in shanties and in sleeping places, when 
 the men returned. 
 
 Ridgeley was saying : " No, we control about 
 thirty thousand acres of pine as good as that. 
 It ain't what it_ was twenty years ago, but it's 
 worth money, after all." 
 
 It was getting near to dark as they reached 
 No. 6 again, and Ridgeley drew up and helped 
 them out and into the cook's shanty. 
 
 Mrs. Field was introduced to the cook, a 
 short, rather sullen, but intelligent man. He 
 stood over the red-hot stove, laying great slices 
 of beef in a huge dripping-pan. He had a taffler 
 or assistant in the person of a half -grown- boy, at 
 whom he jerked rough orders like hunks of 
 stove wood. Some hit the boy and produced 
 noticeable effects, others did not. 
 
 Meanwhile a triumphant sunset was making 
 the west one splendor of purple and orange and 
 crimson, which came over the cool green rim of 
 the pines like the Valhalla March in Wagner. 
 
 Mrs. Field sat there in the dim room by the 
 window, seeing that splendor flush and fade, and 
 thinking how dangerous it was to ask where 
 one's wealth comes from in the world. Out- 
 side, the voices of the men thickened ; they 
 were dropping in by twos and fours, with 
 teams and on foot. 
 
 The assistant arranged the basins in rows, 
 and put one of the iron forks and knives on 
 each side of each plate, and filled the sugar- 
 basins and dumped in the cold beans, and split 
 
192 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 the bread into slabs, and put small pots of tea 
 here and there ready for the hands of the men. 
 
 At last, when the big pans of toast, the big 
 plates of beef, were placed steaming on the 
 table, the cook called Field and Ridgeley and 
 said : 
 
 " Set right here at the end." He raised his 
 arm to a ring which dangled on a wire. '■' Now 
 look out ; you'll see 'em come sidewise." He 
 jerked the ring and disappeared into the 
 kitchen. 
 
 There came shouts, trampling, laughter, and 
 the door burst open and they streamed in — Nor- 
 wegians, French, half-breeds, dark-skinned fel- 
 lows all of them save the Norwegians. They 
 came like a flood, but they fell silent at sight 
 of a woman,- so beautiful and strange to them. 
 
 All words ceased. They sank into place be- 
 side the table with the thump of falling sand- 
 bags. They were all in their shirt sleeves, but 
 they were cleanly washed, and the most of them 
 had combed their hair ; but they seemed very 
 wild and hairy to Mrs. Field. She looked at her 
 husband and Ridgeley with a grateful pleas- 
 ure ; it was so restful to have them on each 
 side of her. 
 
 The men ate like hungry dogs. They gorged 
 in silence. Nothing was heard but the clank of 
 knives on tin plates, the drop of heavy plates 
 of food, and the occasional muttered words of 
 some one asking for the bread and the gravy. 
 
 As they ate they furtively looked with great 
 
AN ALIEN IN THE PINES. 193 
 
 curiosity and admiration up at the dainty wom- 
 an. Their eyes were bright and large, and 
 gleamed out of the obscure brown of their 
 dimly lighted faces with savage intensity — so it 
 seemed to Mrs. Field, and she dropped her eyes 
 upon her plate. 
 
 Her husband and Ridgeley entered into con- 
 versation with those sitting near. Ridgeley 
 seemed on good terms with them all, and ven- 
 tured a joke or word, at which they laughed 
 with terrific energy, and fell as suddenly silent 
 again. 
 
 As Mrs. Field looked up the second time she 
 saw the dark, strange face of Williams a few 
 places down, and opposite her. His eyes were 
 fixed on her husband's hands with a singular 
 intensity. Her eyes followed his, and the beauty 
 of her husband's hands came to her again with 
 new force. They were perfectly shaped, supple, 
 warm-colored, and strong. Their color and 
 deftness stood out in vivid contrast to the 
 heavy, brown, cracked, and calloused pawlike 
 hands of the men. 
 
 Why should Williams study her husband's 
 hands ? If he had looked at her she would not 
 have been surprised. The other men she could 
 read. They expressed either frank, simple ad- 
 miration or furtive desire. But this man looked 
 at her husband, and his eyes fell often upon his 
 own hands, which trembled with fatigue. He 
 handled his knife clumsily, and yet she could 
 see he, too, had a fine hand — a slender, powerful 
 
194 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 hand like that people call an artist hand — a 
 craftsmanlike hand. 
 
 He saw her looking at him, and he flashed 
 one enigmatical glance into her eyes, and rose 
 to go out. 
 
 " How you getting on, Williams ? " Ridgeley 
 asked. 
 
 Williams resented his question. " Oh, I'm all 
 right," he said sullenly. 
 
 The meal was all over in an incredibly short 
 time. One by one, two by two, they rose heavily 
 and lumbered out with one last wistful look at 
 Mrs. Field. She will never know how seraphic 
 she seemed sitting there amid those rough sur- 
 roundings — the dim red light of the kerosene 
 lamp falling across her clear pallor, out of which 
 her dark eyes shone with liquid softness, made 
 deeper and darker by her half-sorrowful tender- 
 ness for these homeless fellows. 
 
 An hour later, as they were standing at the 
 door, just ready to take to their sleigh, they 
 heard the scraping of a fiddle. 
 
 " Oh, some one is going to play ! " Mrs. Field 
 cried, with visions of the rollicking good times 
 she had heard so much about and of which 
 she had seen nothing so far. " Can't I look 
 in ? " 
 
 Ridgeley was dubious. " I'll go and see," he 
 said, and entered the door. " Boys, Mrs. Field 
 wants to look in a minute. Go on with your 
 fiddling, Sam — only I wanted to see that you 
 weren't sitting around in dishabill." 
 
AN ALIEN IN THE PINES. 195 
 
 This seemed a good joke, and they all howled 
 and haw-hawed gleefully. 
 
 " So go right ahead with your evening 
 prayers. All but — you understand ! " 
 
 " All right, captain," said Sam, the man with 
 the fiddle. 
 
 When Mrs. Field looked in, two men were 
 furiously grinding axes ; several were sewing on 
 ragged garments ; all were smoking ; some were 
 dressing chapped or bruised fingers. The at- 
 mosphere was horrible. The socks and shirts 
 were steaming above the huge stove ; the smoke 
 and stench for a moment were sickening, but 
 Ridgeley pushed them just inside the door. 
 
 " It's better out of the draught." 
 
 Sam jigged away on the violin. The men 
 kept time with the cranks of the grindstone, and 
 all hands looked up with their best smile at Mrs. 
 Field. Most of them shrank a little from her 
 look like shy animals, 
 
 Ridgeley threw open the window. " In the 
 old days," he explained to Mrs. Field, " we used 
 a fireplace, and that kept the air better." 
 
 As her sense of smell became deadened the 
 air seemed a little more tolerable to Mrs. Field. 
 
 " Oh, we must change all this," she said. " It 
 is horrible." • 
 
 " Play us a tune," said Sam, extending the 
 violin to Field. He did not think Field could 
 play. It was merely a shot in the dark on his 
 part. 
 
 Field took it and looked at it and sounded 
 
I 9 6 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. . 
 
 it. On every side the men turned face in eager 
 expectancy. 
 
 " He can play, that feller."- 
 
 " I'll bet he can. He handles her as if he 
 knew her." 
 
 " You bet your life. — Tune up, Cap." 
 
 Williams came from the obscurity somewhere, 
 and looked over the shoulders of the men. 
 
 " Down in front," somebody called, and the 
 men took seats on the benches, leaving Field 
 standing with the violin in hand. He smiled 
 around upon them in a frank, pleased way, quite 
 ready to show his skill. He played "Annie 
 Laurie;" and a storm of applause broke out. 
 
 " ffoo-rmy ! Bully for you ! " 
 
 " Sam, you're out of it." 
 
 " Sam, your name is Mud." 
 
 " Give us another, Cap." 
 
 " It ain't the same fiddle." 
 
 He played again some simple tune, and he 
 played it with the touch which showed the skilled 
 amateur. As he played, Mrs. Field noticed a 
 grave restlessness on Williams's part. He moved 
 about uneasily. He gnawed at his finger nails. 
 His eyes glowed with a singular fire. His hands 
 drummed and fingered. At last he approached 
 and said roughly : 
 
 " Let me take that fiddle a minute." 
 
 "Oh, cheese it, Williams!" the men cried. 
 " Let the other man play." 
 
 " What do you want to do with the fiddle — 
 think it's a music box ? " asked Sam, its owner. 
 
AN ALIEN IN THE PINES. 197 
 
 • " Go to hell ! " said Williams. As Field gave 
 the violin over to him his hands seemed to 
 tremble with eagerness. 
 
 He raised his bow and struck into an impos- 
 ing brilliant strain, and the men fell back in 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Well, I'll be damned ! " gasped the owner of 
 the violin. 
 
 " Keep quiet, Sam." 
 
 Mrs. Field looked at her husband. "Why, 
 Ed, he is playing Sarasate ! " 
 
 " That's what he is," he returned slangily, 
 too much astonished to do more than gaze. 
 Williams played on. 
 
 There was a faint defect in the high notes, as 
 if his fingers did not touch the strings properly, 
 but his bow action showed cultivation and 
 breadth of feeling. As he struck into one of 
 those difficult octave-leaping movements his 
 face became savage. On the E string a squeal 
 broke forth ; he flung the violin into Sam's lap 
 with a ferocious curse, and then extending his 
 hands, hard, prooked to fit the axe-helve, cal- 
 loused and chapped, he said to Field : 
 , " Look at my cursed hands. Lovely things 
 to play with, ain't they ? " 
 
 His voice trembled with passion. He turned 
 and went outside. As he passed Mrs. Field his 
 head was bowed and he was uttering a groaning 
 cry like one suffering acute physical agony. 
 
 She went out quickly, and Field and Ridgeley 
 followed. They were all moved — but the men 
 
198 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 made little of it, seeing how deeply touched she 
 was. 
 
 " That's what drink does for a man," Ridge- 
 ley said, as they watched Williams disappear 
 down the swampers' trail. 
 
 " That man has been a violinist," said Field. 
 " What's he doing up here ? " 
 
 " Came up to get away from himself," Ridge- 
 ley replied. 
 
 " I'm afraid he's failed," said Field, as he put 
 his arm about his wife and led her to the sleigh. 
 
 The ride home was made mainly in silence. 
 " Oh, the splendid silence ! " the woman kept 
 saying in her heart. " Oh, the splendid moon- 
 light, the marvelous radiance!" Everywhere 
 a heavenly serenity — not a footstep, not a bell, 
 not a cry, not a cracking tree — nothing but vivid 
 light, white snow dappled and lined with shadows, 
 and trees etched against a starlit sky. Splendor 
 of light and sheen and shadow. Wide wastes of 
 snow so white the stumps stood like columns of 
 charcoal. A night of Nature's making when she 
 is tired of noise and blare of color. 
 
 And in the midst of it stood the camps and 
 the reek of obscenity, fojul odors, and tobacco 
 smoke, to which a tortured soul must return. 
 
AN ALIEN IN THE PINES. igg 
 
 IV. 
 
 The following Saturday afternoon, as Ridge- 
 ley and Field entered the office, Williams rose to 
 meet them. He looked different; finer some 
 way, Field imagined. At any rate, he was 
 perfectly sober. He was freshly shaven, and 
 though his clothes were rough, he looked like a 
 man of education. His manner was cold and 
 distant. 
 
 " I'd like to be paid off, Mr. Ridgeley," he 
 said. " I guess what's left of my pay will take 
 me out of this." 
 
 " Where do you propose to go ? " Ridgeley 
 said kindly. 
 
 Williams must have perceived his kindliness, 
 for he answered : "I'm going home to my wife. 
 I am going to try it once more." 
 
 After Williams went out Field said, " I won- 
 der if he'll do it ? " 
 
 " Oh, I shouldn't woader. I've seen men 
 brace up just as mysteriously as that and stay 
 right by their resolutions. I thought he didn't 
 look like a common lumber Jack when he 
 came in." 
 
 " Oh, how happy his wife will be ! " Mrs. 
 Field cried when she heard of Williams's reso- 
 lution. " She'll save him yet." 
 
 "Well, I don't know ; depends on what kind 
 of a woman she is." 
 
THE OWNER OF THE MILL FARM. 
 
 Beyond his necessity, a tired man is not apt 
 to be polite. This Mrs. Miner had generalized 
 from long experience with her husband. She 
 knew at a distance, by the way he wore his hat 
 when he came in out of the field, whether he was 
 in a peculiarly savage mood, or only in his usual 
 state of sullen indifference. 
 
 As he came in out of the barn on this spring 
 day, he turned to look up at the roof with a 
 curse. Something had angered him. He did 
 not stop to comb his hair after washing at the 
 pump, but came into the neat kitchen and sur- 
 lily took a seat at the table. 
 
 Mrs. Miner, a slender little woman, quite 
 ladylike in appearance, had the dinner all placed 
 in steaming abundance upon the table, and the 
 children, sitting side by side, watched their 
 father in silence. There was an air of forebod- 
 ing, of apprehension, over them all, as if they 
 feared some brutal outbreak on his part. 
 
 He placed his elbows on the table. His 
 sleeves were rolled up, displaying his red and 
 much sunburned arms. He wore no coat, and 
 14 201 
 
202 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 his face was sullen, and held, besides, a certain 
 vicious quality, like that of a bad-tempered dog. 
 
 He had not spoken to his wife directly for 
 many weeks. For years it had been his almost 
 constant habit to address her through the chil- 
 dren, by calling her " she " or " your mother." 
 He had done this so long that even the little 
 ones were startled when he said, looking straight 
 at her : 
 
 " Say, what are you going to do about that 
 roof ? " 
 
 Mrs. Miner turned her large gray eyes upon 
 him in sudden confusion. " Excuse me, Tom, I 
 didn't " 
 
 " I said ' What you goin' t' do with that 
 roof ? ' " he repeated brutally. 
 
 " What roof ? " she asked timidly. 
 
 " What roof ? " he repeated after her. " Why, 
 the barn, of course ! It's leakin' and rottin' my 
 oats. It's none o' my business," he went on, his 
 voice containing an undercurrent of vicious in- 
 sult. " Only I thought you'd like to know it's 
 worse than ever. You can do as you like about 
 it," he said again, and there was a peculiar tone 
 in his voice, as if, by using that tone, he touched 
 her upon naked nerves somewhere. " I guess I 
 can cover the oats up." 
 
 A stranger would not have known what it all 
 meant, and yet there was something in what he 
 said that made his wife turn white. But she an- 
 swered quietly : 
 
 " I'll send word to the carpenter this fore- 
 
THE OWNER OF THE MILL FARM. 203 
 
 noon. I'm sorry," she went on, the tears com- 
 ing to her eyes. She turned away and looked 
 out of the window, while he ate on indifferently. 
 At last she turned with a sudden impulse : " O 
 Tom, why can't we be friends again ? For the 
 children's sake, you ought to " 
 
 " Oh, shut up ! " he snarled. " Good God ! 
 Can't you let a thing rest ? Suits me well 
 enough. I ain't complainin'. So, just shut up." 
 
 He rose with a slam and went out. The two 
 children sat with hushed breath. They knew 
 him too well to cry out. 
 
 Mrs. Miner sat for a long time at the table 
 without moving. At last she rose and went 
 sighfully at work. " Morty, I want you to run 
 down to Mr. Wilber's and ask him to come up 
 and see me about some work." She stood at 
 the window and watched the boy as he stepped 
 lightly down the road. " How much he looks 
 like his father, in spite of his sunny temper! " she 
 thought, and it was not altogether a pleasant 
 thing to think of, though she did not allow such 
 a thought to take definite shape. 
 
 The young carpenter whom Wilber sent to 
 fill Mrs. Miner's order walked with the gay feet 
 of youth as he passed out of the little town to- 
 ward the river. When he came to the bridge, he 
 paused and studied the scene with slow, de- 
 lighted eyes. The water came down over its 
 dam with a leap of buoyant joy, as if leaping 
 to freedom. Over the dam it lay in a quiet pool, 
 mirroring every bud and twig. Below, it curved 
 
204 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 away between low banks, with bushes growing 
 to the water's edge, where the pickerel lay. 
 
 But the young man seemed to be saddened 
 by the view of the mill, which had burned 
 some years before. It seemed like the charred 
 body of a living thing, this heap of blackened 
 and twisted shafts and pulleys, lying half buried 
 in tangles of weeds. 
 
 It appealed so strongly to young Morris that 
 he uttered an unconscious sigh as he walked on 
 across the bridge and clambered the shelving 
 road, which was cut out of the yellow sand- 
 stone of the hillside. 
 
 The road wound up the sandy hillside and 
 came at length to a beautiful broad terrace of 
 farm land that stretched back to the higher 
 bluffs. The house toward which the young 
 fellow turned was painted white, and had the 
 dark-green blinds which transplanted New-Eng- 
 landers carry with them wherever they go. 
 
 Soldierly Lombardy poplar trees stood in the 
 yard, and beds of flowers lined the walk. Mrs. 
 Miner was at work in the beds when he came up. 
 
 " Good day," he said cordially. " Glorious 
 spring weather, isn't it ? " He smiled pleasantly. 
 " Is this Mrs. Miner ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." She looked at him wonderingly. 
 
 " I'm one of Wilber's men," he explained. 
 " He couldn't get away, so he sent me up to 
 see what needed doing." 
 
 " Oh," she said, with a relieved tone. " Very 
 well ; will you go look at it ? " 
 
THE OWNER OF THE MILL FARM. 205 
 
 They walked, side by side, out toward the 
 barn, which had the look of great age in its 
 unpainted decay. It was gray as granite and 
 worn fuzzy with sleet and snow. The young 
 fellow looked around at the grass, the dande- 
 lions, the vague and beautiful shadows flung 
 down upon the turf by the scant foliage of the 
 willows and apple trees, and took off his hat, 
 as if in the presence of something holy. " What 
 a lovely place ! " he said — " all but the mill down 
 there ; it seems too bad it burnt up. I hate to 
 see a ruin, most of all, one of a mill." She 
 looked at him in surprise, perceiving that he was 
 not at all an ordinary carpenter. He had a 
 thoughtful face, and the workman's dress he 
 wore could not entirely conceal a certain deli- 
 cacy of limb. His voice had a touch of culti- 
 vation in it. 
 
 " The work I want done is on the barn," 
 she said at length. " Do you think it needs 
 reshingling ? " 
 
 He looked up at it critically, his head still bare. 
 She was studying him carefully now, and ad- 
 mired his handsome profile. There was some- 
 thing fine and powerful in the poise of his head. 
 
 " You haven't been working for Mr. Wilber 
 long," she said. 
 
 He turned toward her with a smile of grati- 
 fication, as if he knew she had detected some- 
 thing out of the ordinary in him. 
 
 " No, I'm just out of Beloit," he said, with 
 ready confidence. " You see that I'm one of 
 
2o6 WAYSIDE CO US T 'SHIPS. 
 
 these fellows who have to work my passage. 
 I put in my vacations at my trade." He looked 
 up at the roof again, as if checking himself. 
 " Yes, I should think from here that it would 
 have to be reshingled." 
 
 She sighed resignedly, and he knew she was 
 poor. "Well, I suppose you had better do it." 
 
 She thought of him pleasantly, as he walked 
 off down the road after the lumber and tools 
 that were necessary. And, in his turn, he won- 
 dered whether she were a widow or not. It 
 promised -to be a pleasant job. She was quite 
 handsome, in a serious way, he decided — very 
 womanly and dignified. Perhaps this was his 
 romance, he thought, with the ready imagina- 
 tion upon this point of a youth of twenty- 
 one. 
 
 He returned soon with a German teamster, 
 who helped him unload his lumber and erect his 
 stagings. When noon came he was working 
 away on the roof, tearing the old shingles off 
 with a spade. 
 
 He was a little uncertain about his dinner. 
 It was the custom to board carpenters when 
 they were working on a farm, but this farm 
 was so near town, possibly Mrs. Miner would 
 not think it necessary. He decided, however, to 
 wait till one o'clock, to be sure. At half past 
 twelve, a man came in out of the field with a 
 team — a short man, with curly hair, curly chin 
 beard, and mustache. He walked with a little 
 swagger, and his legs were slightly bowed. 
 
THE OWNER OF THE MILL FARM. 207 
 
 Morris called him " a little feller," and cata- 
 logued him by the slant on his hat. 
 
 " Say," called Morris suddenly, " won't you 
 come up here and help me raise my staging ? " 
 
 The man looked up with a muttered curse of 
 surprise. " Who the hell y' take me for ? Hired 
 man ? " he asked, and then, after a moment, 
 continued, in a tone which was an insult : "You 
 don't want to rip off the whole broad side of 
 that roof. Ain't y' got any sense ? Come a 
 rain, it'll raise hell with my hay." 
 
 " It ain't going to rain," Morris replied. He 
 wanted to give him a sharp reply, but concluded 
 not to do so. This was evidently the husband. 
 His romance was very short. 
 
 "Tom, won't you call the man in?" asked 
 Mrs. Miner, as her husband came up to the 
 kitchen door. 
 
 " No, call 'im yourself. You've got a gullet." 
 
 Mrs. Miner's face clouded a little, but she 
 composed herself. " Morty, run out and tell the 
 carpenter to come to dinner." 
 
 " Boss is in a temper," Morris thought, as he 
 listened to Miner's reply. He came up to the 
 well, where Morty brought him a clean towel, 
 and waited to show him into the kitchen. 
 
 Miner was just sitting down to the table when 
 Morris entered. His sleeves were rolled up. 
 He had his old white hat on his head. He 
 lounged upon one elbow on the table. His 
 whole bearing was swinish. 
 
 " What do I care ? " he growled, as if in reply 
 
208 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 to some low- voiced warning his wife had uttered. 
 " If he don't like it, he can lump it, and if you 
 don't like my ways," he said, turning upon her, 
 " all you've got to do is to say so, and I git 
 out." 
 
 Morris was amazed at all this. He could 
 not persuade himself that he had rightly under- 
 stood what had been said. There was some- 
 thing beneath the man's words which puzzled 
 him and forbade his inquiry. He sat down near 
 the oldest child and opposite Mrs. Miner. Miner 
 began to eat, and Morris was speaking pleasant- 
 ly to the child nearest him, when he heard an 
 oath and a slap. He looked up to see Miner's 
 hat falling from Mrs. Miner's cheek. 
 
 She had begun a silent grace, and her hus- 
 band had thrown his hat in her face. She kept 
 her eyes upon her plate, and her lips moved as 
 if in prayer, though a flush of red streamed up 
 her neck and covered her cheek. 
 
 Morris leaped up, his eyes burning into 
 Miner's face. " H'yere ! " he shouted, " what's 
 all this ? Did you strike her ? " 
 
 " Set down ! " roared Miner. " You're too 
 fresh." 
 
 " I'll let you know how fresh I am," said the 
 young fellow, shaking his brawny fist in Miner's 
 face. 
 
 Mrs. Miner rose, with a ghastly smile on her 
 face, which was now as pale as it had been 
 flushed. " Please don't mind him ; he's only 
 fooling." Morris looked at her and understood 
 
THE OWNER OF THE MILL FARM. 
 
 209 
 
 a little of her feeling as a wife and mother. He 
 sat down. " Well, I'll let him know the weight 
 of my fist, if he does anything more of that 
 business when I'm around," he said, looking at 
 her, and then at her husband. " I didn't grow 
 up in a family where things like that go on. If 
 you'll just say the word, I — I'll " 
 
 " Please don't do anything," she said, and he 
 saw that he had better not, if he wished to 
 shield her from further suffering. The meal 
 proceeded in silence. Miner apparently gloried 
 in what he had done. 
 
 The children were trembling with fear and 
 could scarcely go on with their dinners. They 
 dared not cry. Their eyes were fixed upon their 
 father's face, like the eyes of kittens accustomed 
 to violence. The wife tried to conceal her shame 
 and indignation. She thought she succeeded 
 very well, but the big tears rolling down from 
 her wide unseeing eyes, were pitiful to witness. 
 
 Morris ate his dinner in silence, not seeing 
 anything further to do or say. His food choked 
 him, and he found it necessary to drink great 
 draughts of water. 
 
 At last she contrived to say, " How did you 
 find the roof ? " It was a pitiful attempt to 
 cover the dreadful silence. 
 
 " It was almost as good as no roof at all," he 
 replied, with the desire to aid her. " Those 
 shingles, I suppose, have been on there for 
 thirty years. I suppose those shingles must 
 have been rived out by just such a machine 
 
2 1 o WA YSIDE CO UR T SHI PS. 
 
 as Old Man Means- used, in the ' Hoosier School- 
 master.' " From this, he went on to tell about 
 some of the comical parts of the story, and so 
 managed to end the meal in a fairly presentable 
 way. 
 
 " She's found another sympathizer," sneered 
 the husband, returning to his habit of addressing 
 his wife in the third person. 
 
 After eating his dinner, Miner lit his pipe 
 and swaggered out, as if he had done an ad- 
 mirable thing. Morris remained at the table, 
 talking with the children. After Miner had 
 passed out of earshot, he looked up at Mrs. 
 Miner, as if expecting her to say something in 
 explanation of what had occurred. But she had 
 again forgotten him, and sat biting her lips and 
 looking out of the window. Her bosom heaved 
 like that of one about to weep. Her wide-open 
 eyes had unutterable sorrow in their beautiful 
 depths. 
 
 Morris got up and went out, in order to pre- 
 vent himself from weeping too. He hammered 
 away on the roof like mad for an hour, and 
 wished that every blow fell on that little vil- 
 lain's curly pate. 
 
 He did not see Mrs. Miner to speak to her 
 again till the next forenoon, when she came out to 
 see how the work was getting on. He came down 
 from the roof to meet her, and they stood side 
 by side, talking the job over and planning other 
 work. She spoke, at last, in a low, hesitating 
 voice, and without looking at him : 
 
THE OWNER OF THE MILL FARM. 211 
 
 " You mustn't mind what Mr. Miner does. 
 He's very peculiar, and you're likely — that is, I 
 mean " 
 
 She could not finish her lie. The young man 
 looked down on her resolutely. " I'd like to 
 lick him, and I'd do it for a leather cent." 
 
 She put out her hand with a gesture of dis- 
 may. " Oh, don't make trouble; please don't ! " 
 
 " I won't if you don't want me to, but that 
 man needs a licking the worst of any one I ever 
 saw. Mrs. Miner," he said, after a little pause, 
 " I wish you'd tell me why he acts that way. 
 Now, there must be some reason for it. No sane 
 man is going to do a thing like that." 
 
 She looked away, a hot flush rising upon her 
 face. She felt a distinct longing for sympathy. 
 There was something very engaging in this • 
 young man's candid manner. 
 
 " I do not know who is to blame," she said 
 at last, as if in answer to a question. " I've 
 tried to be a good wife to him for the children's 
 sake. I've tried to be patient. I suppose if I'd 
 made the property all over to him, as most wives 
 do, at first, it would have avoided all trouble." 
 She paused to think a moment. 
 
 " But, you see," she went on suddenly, " fa- 
 ther never liked him at all, and he made me 
 promise never to let the mill or the farm go out 
 of my hands, and then I didn't think it necessary. 
 It belonged to us both, just as much as if I'd 
 signed it over. I considered he was my partner 
 as well as my husband, I knew how father felt, 
 
212 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 especially about the mill, and I couldn't go 
 against his wish." 
 
 She had the impulse to tell it all now, and 
 she sat down on a bunch of shingles, as if to be 
 able to state it better. Her eyes were turned 
 away, her hands pressed upon each other like 
 timid, living things seeking aid, and, looking at 
 her trembling lips, the young man felt a lump 
 rise in his throat. 
 
 " It began all at once, you see. I mean the 
 worst of it did. Of course, we'd had sharp 
 words, as all people who live together are apt to 
 have, I suppose, but they didn't last long. You 
 see, everything was mine, and he had nothing at 
 all when he came home with me. He'd had 
 bad luck, and he — he never was a good busi- 
 ness man." 
 
 The tears were on her face again. She was 
 retrospectively approaching that miserable time 
 when her suffering began. The droop of her 
 head appealed to the young man with immense 
 power. He had an impulse to take her in 
 his arms and comfort her, as if she were his 
 sister. 
 
 She mastered herself at last, and went on in 
 low, hesitating voice, more touching than down- 
 right sobbing : " One day, the same summer the 
 mill burned, one of the horses kicked at little 
 Morty, and I said I'd sell it, and he said it was 
 all nonsense ; the horse wasn't to blame. -And 
 I told him I wouldn't have a horse around that 
 would kick. And when he said I shouldn't sell 
 
THE OWNER OF THE MILL FARM. 213 
 
 it, I said a dreadful thing. I knew it would cut 
 him, but I said it. I said : ' The horse is mine ; 
 the farm is mine ; I can do what I please with 
 my own, for all of you.' " 
 
 She fell silent here, and Morris was forced to 
 ask, " What did he do then ? " 
 
 " He looked at me, a queer, long look that 
 made me shiver, and then he walked off, and he 
 never spoke to me again directly for six months. 
 And from that day he almost never speaks to 
 me except tlrrough the children. He calls me 
 names through them. He cuts me every time 
 he can. He does everything he can to hurt me. 
 He never dresses up, and he wears his hat in 
 the house at all times, and rolls up his sleeves at 
 the table, just because he knows it makes me 
 suffer. Sometimes I think he is crazy, and 
 yet " 
 
 " Oh, no, he ain't crazy. He's devilish," 
 Morris blurted out. " Great guns ! I'd like to 
 lay my hands on him." 
 
 She seemed to feel that a complete statement 
 was demanded. " I can't invite anybody to the 
 house, for there's no knowing what he'll do. He 
 may stay in the fields all day and never come in 
 at all, or he may come in and curse and swear at 
 me or do something — I never can tell what he is 
 goin' to do." 
 
 " Haven't you any relatives here ? " Morris 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes, but I'm ashamed to let them know 
 about it, because they all said I'd repent ; and 
 
214 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 then he's my husband, and he's the father of my 
 children." 
 
 " A mighty poor excuse of one I call him," 
 said the young man with decision. 
 
 " I tried to give him the farm, when I found 
 it was going to make trouble, but he wouldn't 
 take it then. He won't listen to me at all. He 
 keeps throwing it up to me that he's earning his 
 living, and if I don't think he is he will go any 
 minute. He works in the field, but that's all. 
 He won't advise with me at all. He says it's 
 none of his business. He won't do a thing 
 around the house or garden. I tried to get 
 him to oversee the mill for me, but, after our 
 trouble, he refused to do anything about it. I 
 hired a man to run it, but it didn't pay that way, 
 and then it was idle for a while, and at last it 
 got afire some way and burned up — tramps, I 
 suppose. 
 
 " Oh, dear ! " she sighed, rising, " I don't see 
 how it's going to end ; it must end some time. 
 Sometimes it seems as if I couldn't stand it an- 
 other day, and then I think of my duty as a 
 mother and wife, and I think perhaps God in- 
 tended this to be my cross." 
 
 The young fellow was silent. It was a great 
 problem. The question of divorce had never 
 before been borne in upon him in this personal 
 way. It seemed to him a clear case. The man 
 ought to be driven off and the woman left in 
 peace. He thought of the pleasure it would 
 give her to hear the sound of the mill again. 
 
THE OWNER OF THE MILL FARM. 21 5 
 
 They stood there side by side, nearly the 
 same age, and yet the woman's face was already 
 lined with suffering, and her eyes were full of 
 shadow. There seemed no future for her, and 
 yet she was young. 
 
 " Please don't let him know I've said any- 
 thing to you, will you ? " 
 
 " I'll try not to," he said, but he did not 
 consider himself bound to any definite con- 
 cealment. 
 
 They ate dinner together without Miner, who 
 had a fit of work on hand which made him stub- 
 bornly unmindful of any call to eat. Moreover, 
 he was sure it would worry his wife. 
 
 The meal was a pleasant one on the whole, 
 and they found many things in common to talk 
 about. Morris wanted to ask her a "few more 
 questions about her life, but she begged him 
 not to do so, and started him off on the story 
 of his college life. He was an enthusiastic 
 talker and told her his plans with boyish frank- 
 ness. He forgot his fatigue, and she lost for a 
 time her premature cares and despairs. They 
 were laughing together over some of his college 
 pranks when Miner came in at the door. * 
 
 " Oh, I see ! " he said, with an insulting, in- 
 sinuating inflection. " Now I understand the 
 early dinner." 
 
 Morris sprang up and, walking over to the 
 sneering husband, glared down at him with a 
 look of ferocity that sat singularly upon his 
 round, fresh face. " Now you shut up ! If you 
 
2i6 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS, 
 
 open your mouth to me again I'll lick you till 
 your hide won't hold pumpkins ! " 
 
 Miner shrank back, turned on his heel, and 
 went off to the barn. He did not return for his 
 dinner. 
 
 Morris insisted on helping Mrs. Miner clear 
 up the yard and uncover the grapevine. He 
 liked her very much. She appealed to the pro- 
 tector in him, and she interested him besides, 
 because of the melancholy which was lined on 
 her delicate face, and voiced in her low, soft 
 utterances. 
 
 He appealed to her, because of his delicacy 
 as well as strength. He had something of the 
 modern man's love for flowers, and did not at- 
 tempt to conceal his delight in thus tinkering 
 about at woman's work. He ate supper with her 
 and worked on until it was quite dark, tired as 
 he was, and then shook hands and said " Good 
 night." 
 
 Morris came back to his work the next day 
 with a great deal of pleasure. He had spent 
 considerable thought upon the matter. He had 
 almost determined on a course of action. He 
 had thought of going directly to Miner and say- 
 ing: 
 
 " Now look here, Miner, if you was half a 
 man, you'd pull out and leave this woman in 
 peace. How you can stand around here and 
 occupy the position you do, I don't see." 
 
 But when he remembered Mrs. Miner's words 
 about the children, another consideration came 
 
THE OWNER OF THE MILL FARM. 
 
 217 
 
 in. Suppose he should take the children with 
 him — that was the point ; that was the uncertain 
 part of the problem. It did not require any 
 thought to remember that the law took very 
 little consideration of the woman's feelings. He 
 said to himself that if he ever became judge, he 
 would certainly give decisions that would send 
 such a man as Miner simply whirling out into 
 space. 
 
 Miner was in the barn when Morris clambered 
 up the ladder with a bunch of shingles on his 
 shoulder, about seven o'clock. He came out 
 and said : 
 
 " Say, you want to fix that window up 
 there." 
 
 " Get away from there ! " shouted Morris, in 
 uncontrollable rage, " or I'll smash this bunch 
 of shingles on your cursed head. Don't you 
 open that ugly p'tater trap at me, you bow- 
 legged little skunk ! I'm goin' to lick you like 
 a sock before I'm done with you." 
 
 He would have done so then had he been on 
 the ground, but he disdained taking the trouble 
 to climb down. He planned to catch him when 
 he came up to dinner. The more he thought of 
 it the more his indignation waxed. As he grew 
 to hate the man more, he began to entertain the 
 suspicions, which Wilber confessed to in confi- 
 dence, concerning the burning of the mill. 
 
 They had a cheerful meal together again, for 
 Miner did not come in until one o'clock. Dur- 
 ing the nooning Morris finished spading the 
 15 
 
2i8 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 flower beds, in spite of Mrs. Miner's entreat- 
 ies that he should rest. It gave him great 
 pleasure to work there with her and the chil- 
 dren. 
 
 " You see, I'm lonesome here," he explained. 
 " Just out of school, and I miss the boys and 
 girls. I don't know anybody except a few of 
 the carpenters here, and so — well, I kind of like 
 it. I always helped around the house at home. 
 It's all fun for me, so don't you say a word. I've 
 got lots o' muscle to spare, and you're welcome 
 to it." 
 
 He spaded away without many words. The 
 warm sun shone down upon them all, and they 
 made a pretty group. Mrs. Miner, rake in hand, 
 was pulverizing the beds as fast as he spaded, 
 her face flushed and almost happy. The chil- 
 dren were wrist-deep in the fresh earth, planting 
 twigs and pebbles, their babble of talk some way 
 akin to the cry of the woodpecker, the laugh of 
 the robin, the twitter of the sparrow, the smell 
 of spring, and the merry downpour of sun- 
 shine. 
 
 Mrs. Miner was silent. She was thinking 
 how different her life would have been if her 
 husband had only taken an interest in her affairs. 
 She did not think of any one else as her hus- 
 band, but only Miner in a different mood. 
 
 Morris went back to work. As the work 
 neared the end, his determination to punish the 
 scoundrel husband grew. His inclination to 
 charge him with burning the mill grew stronger. 
 
THE OWNER OF THE MILL FARM. 
 
 219 
 
 He wondered if it wouldn't serve as a club. 
 " Now, sir," he said, meeting Miner as he came 
 out of the barn that night, " I'm done on the 
 barn, but I'm not done on you. I'm goin' to 
 whale you till you won't know yourself. I ought 
 'o 'a done it that first day at dinner." He ad- 
 vanced upon Miner, who backed away, scared 
 at something he saw in the young man's eyes 
 and something he heard in his inflexible tone of 
 voice. 
 
 He thrust out his palm in a wild gesture. 
 " Keep away from me ! I'll split your heart if 
 you touch me ! " 
 
 Morris advanced another step, his eyes look- 
 ing straight into Miner's with the level look of 
 a tiger's. " No, y' won't ! You're too much of 
 an infernal, sneaky little whelp!" 
 
 At the word whelp, he cuffed him with his 
 hammerlike fist, and Miner went down in a heap. 
 He was so abject that the young man could only 
 strike him with his open hand. 
 
 He took him by the shirt collar with his left 
 hand and began to cuff him leisurely and ter- 
 ribly with his right. His blows punctuated his 
 sentences. " You're a little [whack] villain. I'll 
 thrash you till you won't see out of your blasted 
 eyes for a month ! I can't stand a man [here he 
 jounced him up and down with his left hand, 
 apparently with infinite satisfaction] who bullies 
 his wife and children as you do [here he cuffed 
 him again], and I'll make it my business to even 
 things up " 
 
220 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 The prostrate man began to scream for help. 
 He was livid with fear. He fancied murder in 
 the blaze of his assailant's eye. 
 
 " Help ! help ! Minnie ! " 
 
 " Call her by her first name now, will yeh ? 
 will yeh ? Call her out to help yeh ! Do you 
 think she will ? I want to tell you, besides, I 
 know something about that mill burning. It's 
 just like your contemptible mustard-seed of a 
 soul to burn that mill ! " 
 
 Mrs. Miner came flying out. She could not 
 recognize her 'husband in the bleeding, dirty, 
 abject thing squirming under the young man's 
 knee. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Morris, who — why — why, it's 
 Tom! " she gasped, her eyes distended with sur- 
 prise and horror. 
 
 Morris looked up at her coolly. " Yes, it's 
 Tom." He then gave,his attention to the writh- 
 ing figure under him. " Crawl, you infernal 
 whelp ! Lick the dust, confound you ! Quick ! " 
 he commanded, growing each moment more 
 savage. 
 
 Mrs. Miner clung to his arm. " Please 
 don't," she pleaded. " You're killing him." 
 
 Morris did not look up. " Oh, no, I ain't. 
 I'm giving him a little taste- of his own medi- 
 cine." He flopped Miner over on his face and 
 dragged him around in the dust like an old 
 sack. " Beg her pardon, or I'll thrash the 
 ground with yeh ! " 
 
 " Please don't," pleaded the wife, using her 
 
THE OWNER OF THE MILL FARM. 221 
 
 whole strength to stop him in his circuit with the 
 almost insensible Miner. 
 
 " Beg ! " he said again, " beg, or I'll cave 
 your backbone in." There was a terrible up- 
 ward inflection in his voice now, a half-jocular 
 tone that was more terrible than the muffled 
 snarl in which he had previously been speak- 
 ing. 
 
 " I beg ! I beg ! " cried Miner. 
 
 Morris released him, and he crawled to a sit- 
 ting posture. Mrs. Miner fell on her knees by 
 his side, and began wiping the blood from his 
 face. She was breathless with sobbing and the 
 children were screaming. The tears streamed 
 down her face, which was white and drawn into 
 ghastly wrinkles. 
 
 " You've killed him ! " she gasped. 
 
 Morris put his hands in his pockets and 
 looked down on them both, with a curious feel- 
 ing of having done something which he might 
 repent of. He felt in a way cut off from the 
 satisfactory ending of the thing he had planned. 
 
 " Oh, you've killed him ! " 
 
 "Oh, no, I haven't. He's all right." He 
 looked at them a moment longer to see if there 
 were any rage remaining in the face of the hus- 
 band, and then at the wife to discover her feeling 
 concerning his action. Then he looked back at 
 the husband again, and apparently justified him- 
 self for what he had done by the memory of 
 the ineffable shame to which the wife had been 
 subjected. 
 
222 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 "Now, if I hear another word of your abuse," 
 he said, as he shook the dust from his own 
 clothes and prepared to go, " I'll give you 
 another that will make you think that this is 
 all fooling. More than that," he said, turning 
 again, " I know something that will put you 
 where the crows won't eat you ! — If I can be 
 of any service to you, Mrs. Miner, at any time 
 while I'm here, I hope you'll let me know. 
 Good-by." 
 
 Mrs. Miner did not reply, and when Morris 
 reached the gate and looked back she was still 
 kneeling by the side of her husband, the sun- 
 light shining down upon her graceful head. 
 Some way the problem had increased in com- 
 plexity. He felt a disgust of her weakness, 
 mingled with a feeling that he was losing 
 something very fine and tender which had but 
 just come into his life. 
 
 He went back to his work on the other side 
 of the river, where his crew was working, He 
 was called home a few weeks later, and he 
 never saw husband or wife again. He learned 
 from Wilber, however, in a short letter that 
 things were going much the same as ever. 
 
 " Dear Sir : I don't know much about Miner. 
 Hees purty quiet I guess. Dock Moss thinks 
 hees a little off his nut. I don't. I think its 
 pur cussidness." 
 
OF THOSE WHO SEEK. 
 
 I. THE PRISONED SOLO. 
 
 The Capitol swarmed with people. 
 
 Groups of legislators tramped noisily along 
 the corridors, laughing loudly, gesticulating with 
 pointed fingers or closed fists. 
 
 Squads of ragged, wondering, and wistful- 
 eyed negroes, splashed with orange-colored mud 
 from the fields, moved timidly on from magnifi- 
 cence to magnificence, keeping close to each 
 other, solemn and silent. When they spoke 
 they whispered. Others from the city streets 
 laughed loudly and swaggered along to show 
 their -contempt for the place and their knowl- 
 edge of its public character : but their insolence 
 was halfassnmed. 
 
 Lean and lank Southerners, with the im- 
 perial cat on their pale, brown whiskers, alter- 
 nated with stalwart, slouch-hatted AVesterners. 
 Clean-shaven, pale clerks hurried to and fro : 
 groups of sightseers infested every nook, and 
 wore the look of those determined to see it all. 
 as 
 
224 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 They were accompanied often by one whose 
 certainty of accent gave evidence of his fitness 
 to be their guide. The sound of his voice pro- 
 claimed his judgments as he pushed his dazed 
 wordless victims about. 
 
 In a group in the center of the checkered 
 marble floor of the rotunda, a powerful Indian, 
 dressed in semi-civilized fashion, was standing, 
 looking wonderingly down into the upturned 
 face of a little girl. The circle of bystanders 
 silently studied both man and maid. 
 
 She was about eleven years of age and-was 
 tastefully dressed, and seemed a healthy child. 
 Her face was solemn, sweet, and inquisitive. 
 She held one half-opened hand in the air ; 
 with the other she touched the Indian's dark, 
 strongly molded cheek, and pressed his long 
 hair which streamed from beneath his broad 
 white hat. 
 
 No one smiled. She was deaf and dumb and 
 blind. 
 
 In her raised rosy little palm, with lightning- 
 swift motion, fluttered the hand of her teacher. 
 By the teacher's side stood an Indian interpreter, 
 dressed in hunting shirt and broad hat. 
 
 " I am Umatilla," said the chief, in answer to 
 a question from the teacher. His deep voice 
 was like the mutter of a lion ; he stood with gen- 
 tle dignity still looking wonderingly down jnto 
 the girl's sweet, solemn, and eager face. 
 
 A bystander said, " Poor child ! " in a low, 
 tremulous tone, followed by a sigh. 
 
OF THOSE WHO SEEK. 225 
 
 The little one's hand, light, swift, and seek- 
 ing, touched the Indian's ringed ears and 
 pressed again his long hair, while her teacher's 
 swift fingers said, " This strange man comes 
 from a far-off land, from vast mountains and 
 forests away toward the western sea. The wind 
 and sun have made his face dark, and the long 
 hair is a protection from the cold. He is a chief." 
 
 Under her broad hat the child's exquisite 
 mouth, with its dimpled corners, remained 
 calm but touchingly wistful. Her eyes were in 
 shadow. Her chin was a perfect oval, delicately 
 beautiful, like the curving lines of a peach, 
 with the clear transparency of color of a flower's 
 chalice. 
 
 But the bystander said again, " Poor child ! " 
 as if a shudder of awe, of wordless compassion 
 and bitterness, shook him. 
 
 She was so beautiful, so gifted in spirit, to be 
 thus shut in ! Her inclosing flesh was so fine 
 and sweet, it seemed impossible it could be an 
 impassable, almost impenetrable wall. 
 
 He thought : She will soon be a woman, with 
 all the vague, unutterable longings and passions 
 of the woman. Her lithe body will be as beauti- 
 ful as her soul, and the warm oval of her face 
 will flash and flame with her expanding, strug- 
 gling life. Her caged soul will struggle for light 
 and companionship, blindly, vainly. 
 
 Life to her must remain a cruel fragment. 
 Light and color she may not miss ; but wifehood, 
 maternity, the touch of baby lips to her breast — 
 
226 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 these her soul will grope for in dumb maternal 
 desire. She must inhabit her dark and sound- 
 less cavern alone. 
 
 Again she touched the chieftain's hair and 
 earrings, and let her hand drop down along his 
 sleeve to his hard, brown hand. Then her hand 
 fell to her side with a resigned action. 
 
 As she walked away, a sweet smile of pleas- 
 ure and gratitude flashed for an instant across 
 the exquisite curving line of her lips, and then 
 the sad and wistful repose of her face came back 
 again as if her loneliness had only been lightened, 
 not warmed. 
 
 The young man drew a long breath of pain 
 keen as a physical hurt. The elderly gentleman 
 said again, " Poor child ! " 
 
 The Indian looked up again into the mighty 
 dome soaring hundreds of feet above him, and 
 wondered how those forms came to be set flying 
 in mid-air, and his heart grew sad and wistful 
 too, as if a realization of the power and majesty 
 of the white man fell like a poisonous, fateful 
 shadow over his people and himself. 
 
 II. A SHELTERED ONE. 
 
 The young man came in out of the cold dash 
 of rain. The negro man received his outside 
 garments and ushered him into the drawing- 
 room, where a bright fire welcomed him like a 
 smiling hostess. 
 
OF THOSE WHO SEEK. 227 
 
 He sat down with a sudden relaxation of his 
 muscles. As he waited at his ease, his senses 
 absorbed the light and warmth and beauty of 
 the house. It was familiar and yet it had a new 
 meaning to him. A bird was singing somewhere 
 in the upper chambers, caroling with a joyous 
 note that seemed to harmonize with the warmth 
 and color of the room in which the caller sat. 
 
 The young man stared at the fire, his head 
 leaning on his hand. There were lines of gloomy 
 thought in his face. There were marks of bitter 
 struggle on his hands. His dress was strong and 
 good, but not in the mode. He looked like a 
 young lawyer, with his lean, dark face, smoothly 
 shaven save for a little tuft on either cheek. 
 His long hands were heavy-jointed with toil. 
 
 He listened to the bird singing and to the 
 answering, chirping call of a girl's voice. His 
 head drooped forward in deep reverie. 
 
 How beautiful her life is ! his thought was. 
 How absolutely without care or struggle ! She 
 knows no uncertainty such as I feel daily, hour- 
 ly. She has never a doubt of daily food ; the 
 question of clothes has been a diversion for her, 
 a worry of choice merely. Dirt, grime, she 
 knows nothing of. Here she lives, sheltered in 
 a glow of comfort and color, while I hang by my 
 finger-ends over a bottomless pit. She sleeps 
 and dreams while I fight. She is never weary, 
 while I sink into my bed each night as if it were 
 my grave. Every hand held out to her is a 
 willing hand — if it is paid for, it is willing, for 
 
228 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 she has no enemies even among her servants. 
 O God ! If I could only reach such a place to 
 rest for just a year — for just a month ! But such 
 security, such rest is out of my reach. I must 
 toil and toil, and when at last I reach a place to 
 pause and rest, I shall be old and brutalized 
 and deadened, and my rest will be merely — 
 sleep. 
 
 He looked once more about the lovely room. 
 The ocean wind tore at the windows with wolf- 
 ish claws, savage to enter. 
 
 " The world howling out there is as impotent 
 to do her harm as is that wind at the window," 
 the young man added. 
 
 The bird's song again joined itself to the gay 
 voice of the girl, and then he heard quick foot- 
 steps on the stairs, and as he rose to greet her 
 the room seemed to glow like the heart of a 
 ruby. 
 
 They clasped hands and looked into each 
 other's eyes a moment. He saw love and ad- 
 miration in her face. She saw only friendliness 
 and some dark, unsmiling mood in his. 
 
 They sat down and talked upon the fringe of 
 personalities which he avoided. She fancied 
 that she saw a personal sorrow in his face and 
 she longed to comfort him. She longed to touch 
 his vexed forehead with her fingers. 
 
 They talked on, of late books and coming 
 music. He noticed how clear and sweet and in- 
 telligent were her eyes. Refinement was in the 
 folds of her dress and in the faint perfume which 
 
OF THOSE WHO SEEK. 229 
 
 exhaled from her drapery. The firm flesh of her 
 arms appealed to him like the limbs of a child 
 so beautiful and tender ! 
 
 He saw in her face something wistful, rest- 
 less. He tried to ignore it, to seem unconscious 
 of the adoration he saw there, for it pained him. 
 It affected him as a part of the general misdirec- 
 tion of affection and effort in the world. 
 
 She asked him about his plans. He told her 
 of them. He grew stern and savage as he out- 
 lined the work which he had set himself to do. 
 His hands spread and clutched, and his teeth set 
 together involuntarily. " It is to be a fight," he 
 said ; " but I shall win. Bribery, blackmail, the 
 press, and all other forces are against me, but I 
 shall win." 
 
 He rose at length to a finer mood as he 
 sketched the plan which he hoped to set in 
 action. 
 
 She looked at him with expanding eyes and 
 quickened breath. A globed light each soft eye 
 seemed to him. 
 
 He spoke more freely of the struggle outside 
 in order to make her feel her own sweet security 
 — here where the grime of trade and the reek of 
 politics never came. 
 
 At last he rose to go, smiling a little as if in 
 apology for his dark mood. He looked down 
 at her slender body robed so daintily in gray 
 and white; she made him feel coarse and 
 rough. 
 
 Her eyes appealed to him, her glance was 
 
230 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS, 
 
 like a detaining hand. He felt it, and yet he 
 said abruptly: 
 
 " Good night." 
 
 " You'll come to see me again ! " 
 
 "Yes," he answered very simply and gravely. 
 
 And she, looking after him as he went down 
 the street with head bent in thought, grew weak 
 with a terrible weakness, a sort of hunger, and 
 deep in her heart she cried out : 
 
 " Oh, the brave, splendid life he leads out 
 there in the world ! Oh, the big, brave world ! " 
 
 She clinched her pink hand. 
 
 " Oh, this- terrible, humdrum woman's life ! 
 It kills me, it smothers me. I must do some- 
 thing. I must be something. I can't live here 
 in this way — useless. I must get into the 
 world." 
 
 And looking around the cushioned, glowing, 
 beautiful room, she thought bitterly : 
 
 " This is being a woman. God, I want to 
 be free of four walls ! I want to struggle like 
 that." 
 
 And then she sat down before the fire and 
 whispered very softly, " I want to fight in the 
 world — with him." 
 
 III. A FAIR EXILE. 
 
 The train was ambling across the hot, russet 
 plain. The wind, strong and warm and dry, 
 sweeping up from the south, carried with it the 
 
OF THOSE WHO SEEK. 
 
 231 
 
 subtle odor of September grass and gathered 
 harvests. Out of the unfenced roads the dust 
 arose in long lines like smoke from some hidden 
 burning which the riven earth revealed. The 
 fields were tenanted with thrashing crews, the 
 men diminished by distance to pygmies, the long 
 belt of the engine flapping and shining like a 
 ribbon in the flaming sunlight. 
 
 The freight cars on the accommodation train 
 jostled and rocked about and heaved up later- 
 ally, till they resembled a long line of awkward, 
 frightened, galloping buffaloes. The one coach 
 was scantily filled with passengers, mainly poor- 
 ly clothed farmers and their families. 
 
 A young man seated well back in the coach 
 was looking dreamily out of the window, and 
 the conductor, a keen-eyed young fellow, after 
 passing him several times, said in a friendly 
 way : 
 
 " Going up to Boomtown, I imagine." 
 
 " Yes — if we ever get there." 
 
 " Oh, we'll get there. We won't have much 
 more switching. We've only got an empty car 
 or two to throw in at the junction." 
 
 "Well, I'm glad of that. I'm a little impa- 
 tient because I've got a case coming up in court, 
 and I'm not exactly fixed for it." 
 
 " Your name is Allen, I believe." 
 
 " Yes, J. H. Allen, of Sioux City." 
 
 " I thought so. I've heard you speak." 
 
 The young lawyer was a tall, slender, dark- 
 eyed man, rather somber in appearance. He 
 
232 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 did not respond to the invitation in the conduct- 
 or's voice. 
 
 " When do you reach the junction ? " 
 " Next stop. We're only a few minutes late. 
 Expect to meet friends there ? " 
 
 " No ; thought I'd get a lunch, that's all." 
 At the junction the car became pretty well 
 filled with people. Two or three Norwegian 
 families came clattering in, the mothers clothed 
 in heavy shawls and cheap straw hats, the flaxen- 
 haired children in faded cottonade and blue 
 denims. They filled nearly half the seats. 
 Several drummers came in, laughing loudly, 
 bearing heavy valises. Then Allen heard above 
 the noise the shrill but sweet voice of a girl, and 
 caught the odor of violets as two persons passed 
 him and took a seat just before him. 
 
 The man he knew by sight and reputation as 
 a very brilliant young lawyer, Edward Benson, 
 of Heron Lake. The girl he knew instantly to 
 be utterly alien to this land and people. She 
 was like a tropic bird seen amid the scant foliage 
 of northern hills. There was evidence of great 
 care and taste in every fold of. her modish dress. 
 Her hat was simple but in the latest city fashion, 
 and her gloves were spotless. She gave off an 
 odor of cleanliness and beauty. 
 
 She was very young and slender. Her face 
 was piquant but not intellectual, and scarcely 
 beautiful. It pleased rather by its life and mo- 
 tion and oddity than by its beaufy. She looked 
 at her companion in a peculiar way — trustfully 
 
OF THOSE WHO SEEK. 233 
 
 almost reverently — and yet with a touch of co- 
 quetry which seemed perfectly native to every 
 turn of her body or glance of her eyes. 
 
 The young lawyer was a fine Western type of 
 self-made man. He was tall and broad-shoul- 
 dered, but walked a little stooping, like a man of 
 fifty. He wore a long Prince Albert frock coat 
 hanging loosely from his rather square shoulders. 
 His white vest was a little soiled by his watch 
 chain and his tie was disarranged. 
 
 His face was very fine and good. His eyes 
 were gray-blue, deep and quiet but slightly smil- 
 ing, as were his lips, which his golden-brown 
 mustache shaded but did not hide. He was 
 kept smiling in this quizzical way by the nerv- 
 ous chatter of the girl beside him. His profile, 
 which was the view Allen had of him, was hand- 
 some. The strong, straight nose and abrupt 
 forehead formed a marked contrast to the rather 
 characterless nose and retreating forehead of 
 the girl. 
 
 The first words that Allen distinguished out 
 of the merry war in which they seemed engaged 
 were spoken in the tone of pretty petulance such 
 women use, a coquette's defense. 
 
 " You did, you did, you did. Now ! You 
 know you did. You told me that. You told 
 me you despised girls like me." 
 
 " I said I despised women who had no ob- 
 ject in life but dress," he replied, rather soberly. 
 
 " But you were hopping on me ; you meant 
 me, now ! You can't deny it. You despise me, 
 16 
 
234 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 I know you do ! " She challenged his flattery 
 in her pouting self-depreciation. 
 
 The young man tried to stop her in her 
 course, to change her mood, which was descend- 
 ing to real feeling. His low words could not be 
 heard. 
 
 " Yes, yes, try to smooth it over, but you 
 can't fool me any more. But I don't want you 
 to flatter me and lie to me the way Judge Stearns 
 did," she said, with a sudden change of manner. 
 " I like you because you're square." 
 
 The phrase with which she ended seemed to 
 take on a new meaning uttered by those red lips 
 in childish pout. 
 
 " Now, why are you down on the judge ? I 
 don't see," said the man, as if she had gone back 
 to an old attack. 
 
 " Well, if you'd seen what I have you'd under- 
 stand." She turned away and looked out of the 
 window. " Oh, this terrible country ! I'd die 
 out here in six weeks. I know I should." 
 
 The young lawyer was not to be turned 
 aside. 
 
 " Of course I'm pleased to have you throw 
 the judge over, and employ me, but, all the same, 
 I think you do him an injustice. He's a good, 
 square man." 
 
 " Square man ! " she said, turning to him with 
 a sudden fury in her eyes. " Do you call it 
 square for a man — married, and gray-haired, too 
 — to take up with a woman like Mrs. Shellberg ? 
 Say, do you, now ? " 
 
OF THOSE WHO SEEK. 235 
 
 " Well, I don't quite believe- 
 
 On, I lie, do I ? " she said, with another 
 swift change to reproach. " You can't take my 
 word for Mrs. Shellberg's visit to his office." 
 
 " But he was her lawyer." 
 
 " But you know what kind of a woman she 
 is ! She didn't need to go there every day or 
 two, did she ? What did he always receive her 
 in his private office for ? Come, now, tell me 
 that." 
 
 " I don't know that he did," persisted the 
 lawyer. 
 
 A sort of convulsion passed over her face, 
 her little hands clinched, and the tears started 
 into her eyes. Her voice was very quiet, 
 
 " You think I lie, then ? " 
 
 " I think you are mistaken, just as other 
 jealous women have " 
 
 " You think I'm jealous, do you ? " 
 
 " You act like a jeal " 
 
 " Jealous of that gray-haired old wretch ? 
 No, sir ! I — I — " She struggled to express her- 
 self. " I liked him, and I hated to lose all my 
 faith in men. I thought he was good and honest 
 when he prayed — Oh, I've seen him pray in 
 church, the old hypocrite ! " her fury returned 
 at the recollection. 
 
 Her companion's face grew grave. The smile 
 went out of his eyes, leaving them dark and 
 sorrowful. 
 
 " I understand you now," he said, at last. 
 She turned to look at him. " My practice in the 
 
236 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 divorce business out here has almost destroyed 
 my faith in women. If it weren't for my wife 
 and sister " 
 
 She broke in eagerly : " Now I know you 
 know what I mean. Sometimes I think men are 
 — devils." She thrust this word forth, and her 
 little face grew dark and strained. " But the 
 judge kept me from thinking — I never loved my 
 father ; he didn't care for me ; all he wanted to 
 do was to make ten thousand barrels of beer a 
 year and sell it ; and the judge seemed like a 
 father to me till she came and destroyed my faith 
 in him." 
 
 " But — well, let Mrs. S. go. There are lots 
 of good men and pure women in the world. It's 
 dangerous to think there aren't — especially for 
 a handsome young woman like you. You can't 
 afford to keep in that kind of a mood long.'' 
 
 She looked at him curiously. " That's what 
 I like about you," she said soberly. " You talk 
 to me as if I had some sense — as if I was a 
 human being. If you were to flatter me, now, 
 and make love to me, I never would believe in 
 any man again." 
 
 He smiled again in his frank, good way, and 
 drew a picture from his pocket. It was a picture 
 of a woman bending down over a laughing, 
 naked child, sprawling frogwise .in her lap. 
 The woman's face was broad and intellectual 
 and handsome. The look of splendid mater- 
 nity was in her eyes. They both looked at the 
 picture in silence. The girl sighed. 
 
OF THOSE WHO SEEK. $$J 
 
 " I wish I was as good as that woman looks." 
 
 " You can be if you try." 
 
 " Not with a big Chicago brewer for a father 
 and a husband that beats you whenever the 
 mood takes him." 
 
 " I admit that's hard. I think the atmos- 
 phere of that Heron Lake hotel isn't any great 
 help to you." 
 
 " Oh, they're a gay lot there ! We fight like 
 cats and dogs." A look of slyness and boldness 
 came over her face. " Mrs. Shellberg hates me 
 as hard as I do her. She used to go around 
 telling, ' It's very peculiar, you know ' " — she imi- 
 tated her rival's voice — " ' but no matter which 
 end of the dining room I sit, all the men look 
 that way ! ' " 
 
 The young lawyer laughed at her in spite 
 of himself. 
 
 " But they don't, now. That's the reason 
 she hates me," she said, in conclusion. " The 
 men don't notice her when I'm around." 
 
 To hear her fresh young lips utter those 
 words with their vile inflections was like taking 
 a sudden glimpse into the underworld where 
 harlots dwell and the spirits of unrestrained 
 lusts dance in the shadowy recesses of the hu- 
 man heart. 
 
 Allen, hearing this fragmentary conversation, 
 fascinated yet uneasy, looked at the pair with 
 wonder. They seemed unconscious of their pub- 
 lic situation. 
 
 The young lawyer looked straight before 
 
238 
 
 WAYSIDS. courtships. 
 
 him while the girl, swept on by her ignoble rage, 
 displayed still more of the moral ulceration 
 which had been injected into her young life. 
 
 " I don't see what men find about her to like 
 — unless it is her eyes. She's got beautiful 
 eyes. But she's vulgar — ugh ! The stories she 
 tells — right before men, too ! She'd kill any one 
 that got ahead of her, that woman would ! And 
 yet she'll come into my room and cry and cry 
 and say : ' Don't take him away from me ! Leave 
 him to me.' Ugh ! It makes me sick." She 
 stamped her foot, then added, irrelevantly: 
 " She wears a wig, too. I suppose that old 
 fool of a judge thinks it's her own hair." 
 
 The lawyer sat in stony silence. His grave 
 face was accusing in its set expression, and she 
 felt it and was spurred on to do still deeper in- 
 justice to herself — an insane perversity. 
 
 " Not that I care a cent — I'm not jealous of 
 her. I ain't so bad off for company as she is. 
 She can't take anybody away from me, but she 
 must go and break down my faith in the judge." 
 
 She bit her lips to keep from crying out. 
 She looked out of the window again, seeking 
 control. 
 
 The " divorce colony " never appeared 
 more sickening in its inner corruptions than 
 when delineated by this dainty young girl. 
 Allen could see the swarming men about the 
 hotels ; he could see their hot, leering eyes and 
 smell their liquor-laden breaths as they named 
 the latest addition to the colony or boasted 
 
OF THOSE WHO SEEK. 239 
 
 of their associations with those already well 
 known. 
 
 The girl turned suddenly to her companion. 
 
 " How do those people live out here on their 
 farms ? " 
 
 She pointed at a small shanty where the 
 whole family stood to watch the train go by. 
 
 "By eating boiled potatoes and salt pork." 
 
 " Salt pork ! " she echoed, as if salt pork 
 were old boot-heels or bark or hay. " Why, it 
 takes four hours for salt pork to digest ! " 
 
 He laughed again at her childish irrelevancy. 
 " So much the better for the poor. Where'd you 
 learn all that, anyway ? " 
 
 " At school. Oh, you needn't look so incredu- 
 lous ! I went to boarding school. I learned a 
 good deal more than you think." 
 
 "Well, so I see. Now, I should have said 
 pork digested in three hours, speaking from ex- 
 perience." 
 
 '•' Well, it don't. What do the women do out 
 here ? " 
 
 " They work like the men, only more so." 
 
 " Do they have any new things ? " 
 
 " Not very often, I'm afraid." 
 
 She sighed. After a pause she said : 
 
 " You were raised on a farm ? " 
 
 " Yes. In Minnesota." 
 
 " Did you do work like that ? " She pointed 
 at a thrashing machine in the field. 
 
 " Yes, I plowed and sowed and reaped and 
 mowed. I wasn't on the farm for my health." 
 
240 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 " You're very strong, aren't you ? " she asked 
 admiringly. 
 
 " In a slab-sided kind of a way — yes." 
 
 Her eyes grew abstracted. 
 
 " I like strong men. Ollie was a little man, 
 not any taller than I am, but when he was drunk 
 he was what men call a — a — holy terror. He 
 struck me with the water pitcher once — that was 
 just before baby was born. I wish he'd killed 
 me." She ended in a sudden reaction to hope- 
 less bitterness. " It would have saved me all 
 these months of life in this terrible country." 
 
 " It might have saved you from more than 
 you think," he said quietly, tenderly. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 "You've been brought up against women and 
 men who have defiled you. They've made your 
 future uncertain." 
 
 " Do you think it's so bad as that ? Tell 
 me ! " she insisted, seeing his hesitation. 
 
 " You're on the road to hell ! " he said, in a 
 voice that was very low, but it reached her. It 
 was full of pain and grave reprimand and gentle- 
 ness. "You've been poisoned. You're in need 
 of a good man's help. You need the compan- 
 ionship of good, earnest women instead of paint- 
 ed harlots." 
 
 Her voice shook painfully as she replied : 
 
 " You don't think I'm all bad ? " 
 
 " You're not bad at all — you're simply reck- 
 less. You are not to blame. It depends upon 
 yourself now, though, whether you keep a 
 
OF THOSE WHO SEEK. 24 1 
 
 true woman or go to hell with Mrs. Shell- 
 berg." 
 
 The conductor eyed them as he passed, with 
 an unpleasant light in his eyes, and the drum- 
 mers a few seats ahead turned to look at them. 
 The tip had passed along from lip to lip. They 
 were like wild beasts roused by the presence of 
 prey. Their eyes gleamed with relentless lust. 
 They eyed the little creature with ravening 
 eyes. Her helplessness was their opportu- 
 nity. 
 
 Allen, sitting there, saw the terror and trage- 
 dy of the girl's life. Her reckless, prodigal 
 girlhood ; the coarse, rich father ; the marriage, 
 when a thoughtless girl, with a drunken, disso- 
 lute boy ; the quarrels, brutal beatings ; the 
 haste to secure a divorce ; the contamination 
 of the crowded hotels in Heron Lake — and this 
 slender young girl, naturally pure, alert, quick 
 of impulse — she was like a lamb among lustful 
 wolves. His heart ached for her. 
 
 The deep, slow voice of the lawyer sounded 
 on. His eyes turned toward her had no equivo- 
 cal look. He was a brother speaking to a young- 
 er sister. The tears fell down her cheeks, upon 
 her folded hands. Her widely opened eyes 
 seemed to look out into a night of storms. 
 
 " Oh, what shall I do ? " she moaned. " I wish 
 I was dead — and baby too ! " 
 
 " Live for the baby — let him help you out." 
 
 " Oh, he can't ! I don't care enough for him. 
 I wish I was like other mothers ; but I'm not. 
 
242 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 I can't shut myself up with a baby. I'm too 
 young." 
 
 He saw that. She was seeking the love of a 
 man, not the care of a child. She had the wifely 
 passion, but not the mother's love. He was 
 silent ; the case baffled him. 
 
 " Oh, I wish you could help me. I wish I 
 had you all the time. I do ! I don't care what 
 you think, / do, I do ! " 
 
 " Our home is open to you and baby, too," 
 he said slowly. " My wife knows about you, 
 and " 
 
 " Who told her — did you ? " she flashed out 
 again, angrily, jealously. 
 
 " Yes. My wife is my other self," he replied 
 quietly. 
 
 She stared at him, breathing heavily, then 
 looked out of the window again. At last she 
 turned to him. She seemed to refer to his invi- 
 tation. 
 
 " Oh, this terrible land ! Oh, I couldn't stay 
 here. I'd go insane. Perhaps I'm going insane 
 anyway. Don't you think so ? " 
 
 " No, I think you're a little nervous, that's 
 all." 
 
 " Oh ! Do you think I'll get my divorce ? " 
 
 " Certainly, without question." 
 
 " Can I wait and go back with you ? " 
 
 " I shall not return for several days. Per- 
 haps you couldn't bear the wait in this little 
 town ; it's not much like the city." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! But I can't go about alone. I 
 
OF THOSE WHO SEEK. 
 
 243 
 
 hate these men, they stare at me so ! I wish I 
 was a man. It's awful to be a woman, don't you 
 think so ? Please don't laugh." 
 
 The young lawyer was far from laughing, 
 but this was her only way of defending herself. 
 These pert, birdlike ways formed her shield 
 against ridicule and misprision. 
 
 He said slowly, " Yes, it's an awful thing to 
 be a woman, but it's an awful responsibility to 
 be a man.'' 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean that we are responsible as the domi- 
 nant sex for every tragic, incomplete woman's 
 life." 
 
 " Don't you blame Mrs. Shellberg ? " she 
 said, forcing him to a concrete example with 
 savage swiftness. 
 
 " No. She had a poor father and a poor 
 husband, and she must earn her own living some 
 •way." 
 
 " She could cook, or nurse, or something like 
 that." 
 
 " It isn't easy to find opportunity to cook or 
 nurse. If it were as easy to earn a living in a 
 pure way as it is in a vicious way all men would 
 be rich and virtuous. But what had you planned 
 to do after your divorce ? " 
 
 " Oh, I'm going to travel for two years. Then 
 I'll try to settle down." 
 
 "What you need is a good husband and a 
 little cottage where you'd have to cook your own 
 food — and tend the baby." 
 
244 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 " I wouldn't cook for any man living," she 
 broke in, to express her bitterness that he could 
 so coldly dispose of her future. " Oh, this ter- 
 rible train! Can't it go faster ? If I'd realized 
 what a trip this was, I wouldn't have started." 
 
 " This is the route you all go," he replied 
 with grim humor, and his words pictured a cease- 
 less stream of divorcees. 
 
 She resented his classing her with the rest, 
 but she simply said : " You despise me, don't 
 you? But what can we do? You can't expect 
 us to live with men we hate, can you ? That 
 would be worse than Mrs. Shellberg." 
 
 " No, I don't expect that of you. I'd issue a 
 divorce coupon with every marriage certificate, 
 and done with it," he said, in desperate disgust. 
 " Then this whole cursed business would be done 
 away with. It isn't a question of our laxity of 
 divorce laws," he said, after a pause, " it's a ques- 
 tion of the senseless severity of the laws, in 
 other States. That's what throws this demoral- 
 izing business into our hands here." 
 
 "It pays, don't it?- I know I've paid for 
 everything I've had." 
 
 " Yes, that's the demoralizing thing. It 
 draws a gang of conscienceless attorneys here, 
 and it draws us who belong here off into dirty 
 work, and it brings us into contact with men 
 and women — I'm sick of the whole business." 
 
 She had hardly followed him in his general- 
 izations. She brought him back to the per- 
 sonal. 
 
OF THOSE WHO SEEK. 245 
 
 " You're sick of me, I know you are ! " She 
 leaned her head on the window pane. Her eyes 
 closed. " Oh, I wish my heart would stop beat- 
 ing ! " she said, in a low tone. 
 
 Allen, sitting so close behind them, was 
 forced to hear her, so piercingly sweet was her 
 voice. He trembled for fear some one else 
 might hear her. It seemed like profanation 
 that any one but the woman's God should hear 
 this outcry of a quivering, writhing soul. 
 
 She faced her companion again. " You're 
 the only man I know, now, that I respect, and 
 you despise me." 
 
 " No, I don't ; I pity you." 
 
 " That's worse. I want you to help me. Oh, 
 if you could go with me, or if I could be with 
 you ! " Her gloved hands strained together in 
 the agony of her desire. 
 
 His calm lips did not waver. He did not 
 smile even about the eyes. He knew her cry 
 sprang from her need of a brother, not from 
 the passion of a woman. 
 
 " Our home is yours, just as long as you can 
 bear the monotony of our simple lives," he said, 
 in his quiet way, but it was deep-throated and 
 unmistakable in its sincerity. 
 
 She laid her hand on his arm and clasped it 
 hard, then turned away her head, and they rode 
 in silence. 
 
 After they left the car, Allen sat with savage 
 eyes and grimly set mouth, going over the prob- 
 lem again and again. He saw that young and 
 
246 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 helpless creature walking the gantlet between 
 endless ranks of lustful, remorseless men, snatch- 
 ing at her in selfish, bestial desire. 
 
 It made him bitter and despairing to think 
 that women should be helpless — that they should 
 need some man to protect them against some 
 other man. He cursed the laws and traditions 
 that had kept women subordinate and trivial and 
 deceptive and vacillating. He wished they 
 could be raised to the level of the brutes till, 
 like the tigress or she-wolf, theycould not only 
 defend themselves, but their young. 
 
 He tried to breathe a sigh of relief that she 
 had gone out of his life but — he could not. It 
 was not so easy to shake off the shadow of his 
 responsibility. He followed her on her down- 
 ward path till he saw her stretching out her 
 hands in pitiful need to casual acquaintances — 
 alone and without hope ; still petite, still dainty 
 in spite of all, still with flashes of wit, and 
 then ■ 
 
 He shuddered. " O my God ! Upon whom 
 does the burden of guilt lie ? " 
 
 On the night of his return he sat among his 
 romping babes debating whether he should tell 
 the story to his wife or not. As the little ones 
 grew weary, the noise of the autumn wind — the 
 lonely, woeful, moaning prairie wind — came 
 to his ears and he shuddered. His wife ob- 
 served it. 
 
 " What is it, Joe ? Did you get a chill ? " 
 
OF THOSE WHO SEEK. 247 
 
 " Oh, no. The wind sounds a little lonesome 
 to-night, that's all." But he took his little girl 
 into his arms and held her close. 
 
 IV. THE PASSING STRANGER. 
 
 This was the story the -mystic told : 
 
 It was about eleven o'clock of an October 
 night. The street was one of the worst of the 
 city, but it was Monday — one of its quiet nights. 
 
 The saloons flared floods of feverish light 
 upon the walk, and breathed their terrible 
 odors, like caverns leading downward into hell. 
 Restless, loitering crowds moved to and fro, 
 with rasping, uncertain footsteps, out of which 
 the click of health had gone. 
 
 Policemen occasionally showed themselves 
 menacingly, and the crowd responded to their 
 impact by action quickened, like a python 
 touched with a red-hot rod. 
 
 It was nearly time to close, and the bar- 
 keepers were beginning to betray signs of im- 
 patience with their most drunken customers. 
 
 A dark, tall man in cloak and fez moved 
 slowly down the street. His face was serene 
 but somber. In passing the window of a bril- 
 liantly lighted drinking place he stopped and 
 looked in. 
 
 In the small stall, near the window and be- 
 hind the counter, sat three women and two men. 
 All had mugs of beer in their hands. The 
 
248 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 women were all young, and one of them was 
 handsome. They were dressed nattily, jauntily, 
 in modish, girlish hats, and their dainty jackets 
 fitted closely to their slight figures. 
 
 Their liquor had just been , served, and their 
 voices were ringing with wild laughter. Their 
 white teeth shone from their rouged faces with 
 a mirth which met no answering smile from the 
 strange young man without. He stood like a 
 shadow against the pane. 
 
 The smile on the face of the youngest girl 
 stiffened into a strange contortion. Her eyes 
 looked straight ahead into the eyes of the 
 stranger. 
 
 Her smile smoothed out. Her face paled ; 
 her eyes expanded with wonder till they lost 
 their insane glitter, and grew sad and soft and 
 dark. 
 
 " What is it, Nell ? " the others asked. 
 
 She did not hear them. She seemed to listen. 
 Her eyes seemed to see mountains — or clouds. 
 A land like her childhood's home with the sun- 
 set light over it. Her mug fell with a crash to 
 the table. She rose. Her hand silenced them, 
 with beautiful finger raised : 
 
 "Listen! Don't you hear him? His eyes 
 are calling me. It is Christ." 
 
 The others looked, but they saw only a tall 
 figure moving away. He wore a long black 
 cloak like a priest. 
 
 " Some foreign duffer lookin' in. Let 'im 
 look," said one of the other girls. 
 
OF THOSE WHO SEEK. 
 
 249 
 
 " One o' them Egyptian jugglers," said an- 
 other. 
 
 " What's the matter of ye, Xell ? You look as 
 if you'd seen a ghost of y'r grandmother. Set 
 down an' drink y'r beer." 
 
 The girl brushed her hand over her eyes. 
 " I'm going home," she said in a low voice from 
 which all individuality had passed. Her face 
 seemed anxious, her manner hurried. 
 
 " What's the matter, Nell ? My God ! Look 
 at her eyes ! — I'm going with her." 
 
 The girl put him aside with a gesture. Her 
 look awed him. 
 
 One of the others began to laugh. 
 
 " Stop ! You fool," one of the girls cried. 
 They sat in silence as the younger girl went out, 
 putting aside every hand stretched out to touch 
 her. She walked like one in stupor — her face 
 ghastly. The arch of her beautiful eyebrows 
 was like that of Ophelia in her bitterest mo- 
 ment. 
 
 The others watched her go in silence. 
 
 One of them drew a sigh and said : " I'm 
 going home, too; I don't feel well." 
 
 " I'll go with ye," one of the men said. 
 
 " Stay where you are ! " said the girl sharply. 
 
 Once on the street, the younger girl hurried 
 on the way the stranger had gone. His face 
 seemed before her. 
 
 She could see it ; she should always see it. 
 It was the face of a young man. A firm chin, a 
 17 
 
250 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS* 
 
 strong mouth with a feminine curve in it, a face 
 with a clear pallor that seemed foreign somehow. 
 But the eyes — oh, the eyes ! 
 
 They were deep and brown, and filled with 
 an infinite sadness — for her. She felt it, and the 
 knot of pain in the forehead, that was also for 
 her. Something sweet and terrible went out 
 from his presence. A knowledge of infinite 
 space and infinite time and infinite compas- 
 sion. 
 
 No man had ever looked at her like that. 
 There was something divine in the penetrating 
 power of his eyes. 
 
 Some way she knew he was not a priest, 
 though his cloak and turban cap looked like 
 it. He seemed like a scholar from some strange 
 land — a man above passion, a man who knew 
 God. 
 
 His eyes accused her and pitied her, while 
 they called her. 
 
 No smile, no shrinking of lips into a sneer — 
 nothing but pity and wonder, and something 
 else 
 
 And a voice seemed to say : " You are too 
 good to be there. Follow me." 
 
 As she thought of him he seemed to stand on 
 an immeasurable height looking down at her. 
 
 She had laughed at him — God ! — she 
 flushed hot with shame from head to foot — but 
 his eyes had not changed. His lips had kept 
 their pitying droop, and his somber eyes had 
 burned deep into the sacred places of her 
 
OF THOSE WHO SEEK. 25 1 
 
 thought, where something sweet and girlish 
 lay, unwasted and untrampled. 
 " He called me. He called me." 
 
 Under the trees where the moonlight threw 
 tracing of shadows she came upon him standing, 
 waiting for her. She held out her hand to him 
 like a babe. He was taller than she thought. 
 
 He took her hands silently and she grew 
 calm at once. All shame left her. She forgot 
 her city life ; she remembered only the sweet, 
 merry life of the village where she was born. 
 The sound of sleigh bells and song, and the lisp 
 of wind in the grass, and songs of birds in the 
 maples came to her. 
 
 His voice began softly : 
 
 " You are too good and sweet to be so devoured 
 of beasts. In your little Northern home they 
 are waiting for you. To-morrow you will go 
 back to them." 
 
 He placed his hand, which was soft and warm 
 and broad, over her eyes. His voice was like 
 velvet, soft yet elastic. 
 
 " When you wake you will hate what you have 
 been. No power can keep you here. You will 
 go back to the simple life from which you should 
 never have departed. You will love simple 
 things and the pleasures of your native place." 
 
 Her face was turned upward, but her eyelids 
 had fallen. 
 
 " When you wake you will not remember 
 your life here. You will be a girl again, un- 
 
252 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 stained and ready to begin life without remorse 
 and without accusing memory. When I leave 
 you at your door to-night, you will belong to 
 the kingdom of good and not to the kingdom 
 of evil." 
 
 He dropped her hands and pointed across the 
 park. 
 
 " Now go to that gray house. Ring the bell, 
 and you will be housed for the night. Remem- 
 ber you are mine. When the bell rings you will 
 ' wake.' " 
 
 She moved away without looking back — 
 moved mechanically like one strll in sleep. 
 
 The man watched her until the door opened 
 and admitted her ; then he passed on into the 
 shadow of the narrow street. 
 
 And this the listener gravely asked : 
 
 " One was chosen, the' other left. Were the others 
 less in need of grace t" 
 
BEFORE THE LOW GREEN DOOR. 
 
 Matilda Bent was dying ; there was no 
 doubt of that now, if there had been before. 
 The gruff old physician — one of the many over- 
 worked and underpaid country doctors — shook 
 his head and pushed by Joe Bent, her husband, 
 as he passed through the room which served as 
 dining room, sitting room, and parlor. The poor 
 fellow slouched back to his chair by the stove 
 as if dazed, and before he could speak again the 
 doctor was gone. 
 
 Mrs. Ridings was just coming up the walk as 
 the doctor stepped out of the door. 
 
 " O doctor, how is she ? " 
 
 " She is a dying woman, madam." 
 
 "Oh! don't say that, doctor. What's the 
 matter ? " 
 
 "Cancer." 
 
 " Then the news was true " 
 
 " I don't know anything of the news, Mrs. 
 Ridings, but Mrs. Bent is dying from the effects 
 of a cancer primarily, which she has had for 
 years — since her last child, which died in infancy, 
 you remember." 
 
 253 
 
254 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 " But, doctor, she never told me " 
 
 " Neither did she tell me. But no matter now. 
 I have done all I can for her. If you can make 
 death any easier for her, go and do it. You will 
 find some opiate powders there with directions. 
 Keep the pain down at all hazards. Don't let 
 her suffer; that is useless. She is likely to last 
 a day or two — but if any change comes to-night, 
 send for me." 
 
 When the good matron entered the dowdy, 
 suffocating little room where Matilda Bent lay 
 gasping for breath, she was sick for -a moment 
 with sympathetic pain. There the dying woman 
 lay, her world narrowed to four close walls, 
 propped up on the pillows near the one little 
 window. Her eyes seemed very large and bright, 
 and the brow, made prominent by the sinking 
 away of the cheeks, gave evidence that it was 
 an uncommon woman who lay there quietly wait- 
 ing the death angel. 
 
 She smiled, and lifted her eyebrows in a 
 ghastly way. 
 
 " O Marthy ! " she breathed. 
 
 " Matildy, I didn't know you was so bad, or 
 I'd 'a' come before. Why didn't you let me 
 know?" said Mrs. Ridings, kneeling by the bed 
 and taking the ghostly hands of the sufferer in 
 her own warm and soft palms. She shuddered 
 as she kissed the thin lips. 
 
 " I think you'll soon be around agin," she add- 
 ed, in the customary mockery of an attempt at 
 cheer. The other woman started slightly, turned 
 
BEFORE THE LOW GREEN DOOR. 255 
 
 her head, and gazed on her old friend long and 
 intently. The hollowness of her neighbor's 
 words stung her. 
 
 " I hope not, Marthy — I'm ready to go. I 
 want to go. I don't care to live." 
 
 The two women communed by looking for a 
 long time in each other's eyes, as if to get at the 
 very secretest desires and hopes of the heart. 
 Tears fell from Martha's eyes upon the cold 
 and nerveless hands of her friend — poor, faith- 
 ful hands, hacked and knotted and worn by 
 thirty years of ceaseless daily toil. They lay 
 there motionless upon the coverlet, pathetic pro- 
 test for all the world to see. 
 
 •' O Matildy, I wish I could do something for 
 you ! I want to help you so. I feel so bad 
 that I didn't come before. Ain't they some- 
 thin'?" 
 
 "Yes, Marthy — jest set there — till I die — it 
 won't be long," whispered the pale lips. The 
 sufferer, as usual, was calmer than her visitor, 
 and her eyes were thoughtful. 
 
 " I will ! I will ! But oh ! must you go ? 
 Can't somethin' be done. Don't yo' want the 
 minister to be sent for ? " 
 
 " No, I'm all ready. I ain't afraid to die. I 
 ain't worth savin' now. O Marthy ! I never 
 thought I'd come to this — did you ? I never 
 thought I'd die — so early in life — and die — un- 
 satisfied." 
 
 She lifted her head a little as she gasped out 
 these words with an intensity of utterance that 
 
256 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 thrilled her hearer — a powerful, penetrating 
 earnestness that burned like fire. 
 
 "Are you satisfied?" pursued the steady lips. 
 " My life's a failure, Marthy — I've known it all 
 along — all but my children. O Marthy, what'll 
 become o' them ? This is a hard world." 
 
 The amazed Martha could only chafe the 
 hands, and note sorrowfully the frightful 
 changes in the face of her friend. The weird- 
 ly calm, slow voice began to shake a little. 
 
 "I'm dyin', Marthy, without ever gittin' to 
 the sunny place we girls — used to think — we'd 
 git to, by an' by. I've been a-gittin' deeper 'n' 
 deeper — in the shade — till it's most dark. They 
 ain't been no rest — n'r hope f'r me, Marthy — 
 none. I ain't " 
 
 "There, there! Tillie, don't talk so— don't, 
 dear. Try to think how bright it'll be over 
 there " 
 
 " I don't know nawthin' about over there ; 
 I'm talkin' about here. I ain't had no chance 
 here, Marthy.'' 
 
 " He will heal all your care " 
 
 " He can't wipe out my sufferin's here." 
 
 "Yes, He can, and He will. He can wipe 
 away every tear and heal every wound." 
 
 " No — he — can't. God himself can't wipe 
 out what has been. O Mattie, if I was only 
 there ! — in the past — if I was only young and 
 purty agin ! You know how tall I was ! how 
 we used to run — O Mattie, if I was only there ! 
 The world was all bright then — wasn't it ? We 
 
BEFORE THE LOW GREEN DOOR. 
 
 257 
 
 didn't expect — to work all our days. Life looked 
 like a meadow, full of daisies and pinks, and the 
 nicest ones and the sweetest birds was just a 
 little ways on — where the sun was — it didn't look 
 — wasn't we happy ? " 
 • "Yes, yes, dear. But you mustn't talk so 
 much." The good woman thought Matilda's 
 mind was wandering. " Don't you want some 
 med'cine ? Ain't your fever risin' ? " 
 
 "But the daisies and pinks all turned to 
 weeds," she went on, waiting a little, " when 
 we picked 'em. An' the sunny place — has been 
 always behind me, and the dark before me. 
 Oh ! if I was only there — in the sun — where the 
 pinks and daisies are ! " 
 
 " You mustn't talk so, Mattie ! Think about 
 your children. You ain't sorry y' had them. 
 They've been a comfort to y\ You ain't sorry 
 you had 'em." 
 
 " I ain't glad," was the unhesitating reply of 
 the failing woman ; and then she went on, in 
 growing excitement : " They'll haf to grow old 
 jest as I have — git bent and gray, an' die. 
 They ain't ben much comfort to me ; the boys 
 are like their father, and Julyie's weak. They 
 ain't no happiness — for such as me and them." 
 
 She paused for breath, and Mrs. Ridings, 
 not knowing what to say, did better than speak. 
 She fell to stroking the poor face, and the hands 
 getting more restless each moment. It was as 
 if Matilda Fletcher had been silent so long, had 
 borne so much without complaint, that now it 
 
258 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 burst from her in a torrent not to be stayed. 
 All her most secret doubts and her sweetest 
 hopes seemed trembling on her lips or surging 
 in her brain, racking her poor, emaciated frame 
 for utterance. Now that death was sure, she 
 was determined to rid her bosom of its perilous 
 stuff. Martha was appalled. 
 
 " I used to think — that when I got married 
 I'd be perfectly happy— but I never have been 
 happy sence. It was the beginning of trouble 
 to me. I never found things better than they 
 looked ; they was always worse. I've gone 
 further an' further from the sunshiny meadow, 
 an' the birds an' flowers — and I'll never git 
 back to 'em again, never ! " She ended with a 
 sob and a low wail. 
 
 Her face was horrifying with its intensity of 
 pathetic regret. Her straining, wide-open eyes 
 seemed to be seeing those sunny spots in the 
 meadow. 
 
 " Mattie, sometimes when I'm asleep I think 
 I am back there ag'in — and you girls are there 
 — an' we're pullin' off the leaves of the wild 
 sunflower — ' rich man, poor man, beggar man ' — 
 and I hear you all laugh when I pull off the last 
 leaf ; an' when I come to myself — and I'm an 
 old, dried-up woman, dyin' unsatisfied ! " 
 
 " I've felt that way a little myself, Matildy," 
 confessed the watcher in a scared whisper. 
 
 " I knew it, Mattie ; I knew you'd know how 
 I felt. Things have been better for you. You 
 ain't had to live in an old log house all your 
 
BEFORE THE- LOW GREEN DOOR. 
 
 259 
 
 life, an' work yourself to skin an' bone for a 
 man you don't respect nor like." 
 
 " Matildy Bent, take that back ! Take it 
 back, for mercy sake ! Don't you dare die 
 thinkin' that — don't you dare ! " 
 
 Bent, hearing her voice rising, came to the 
 door, and the wife, knowing his step, cried : 
 
 " Don't let him in ! Don't ! I can't bear 
 him — keep him out ; I don't want to see him 
 ag'in." 
 
 " Who do you mean ? Not Joe ? " 
 
 " Yes. Him." 
 
 Had the dying woman confessed to murder, 
 good Martha could not have been more shocked. 
 She could not understand this terrible revulsion 
 in feeling, for she herself had been absolutely 
 loyal to her husband through all the trials which 
 had come upon them. 
 
 But she met Bent at the threshold, and, clos- 
 ing the door, went out with him into the summer 
 kitchen, where the rest of the family were sit- 
 ing. A gloomy silence fell on them all after the 
 greetings were over. The men were smoking ; 
 all were seated in chairs tipped back against 
 the wall. Joe Bent, a smallish man, with a 
 weak, good-natured face, asked in a hoarse 
 whisper : 
 
 " How is she, Mis' Ridings ? " 
 
 " She seems quite strong, Mr. Bent. I think 
 you had all better go to bed ; if I want you I 
 can call you. Doctor give me directions." 
 
 " All right," responded the relieved man. 
 
2 6o WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 " I'll sleep on the lounge in the other room. 
 If you want me, just rap on the-door."' 
 
 When, after making other arrangements, 
 Martha went back to the bedroom, she was 
 startled to hear the sick woman muttering to 
 herself, or perhaps because she had forgotten 
 Martha's absence. 
 
 " But the shadows on the meadow didn't stay ; 
 they passed on, and then the sun was all the 
 brighter on the flowers. We used to string 
 sweet-williams on spears of grass — don't you 
 remember ? " 
 
 Martha gave her a drink of the opiate in the 
 glass, adjusted her on the pillow, and threw 
 open the window, even to the point of remov- 
 ing the screen, and the gibbous moon flooded 
 the room with light. She did not light a lamp, 
 for its flame would heat the room. Besides, the 
 moonlight was sufficient. It fell on the face of 
 the sick womap, till she looked like a thing of 
 marble — all but her dark eyes. 
 
 " Does the moon hurt you, Tilly ? Shall I 
 put down the curtain ?" 
 
 The woman heard with difficulty, and when 
 the question was repeated said slowly : 
 
 " No, I like it." After a little—" Don't you 
 remember, Mattie ' how beautiful the moon- 
 light seemed ? It seemed to promise happiness 
 —and love — but it never come for us. It makes 
 me dream of the past now — just as it did o' 
 future then ; an' the whip-poor-wills too " 
 
 The night was perfectly beautiful, such a 
 
BEFORE THE LOW GREEN DOOR. 26 1 
 
 night as makes dying an infinite sorrow. The 
 summer was at its liberalest. Innumerable in- 
 sects of the nocturnal sort were singing in unison 
 with the frogs in the pools. A whip-poor-will 
 called, and its neighbor answered it like an echo. 
 The leaves of the trees, glossy from the late 
 rain, moved musically to the light west wind, 
 and the exquisite perfume of many flowers came 
 in on the breeze. 
 
 When the failing woman sank into silence, 
 Martha leaned her elbow on the window sill, 
 and, gazing far into the great deeps of space, 
 gave herself up to unwonted musings upon the 
 problems of human life, She sighed deeply at 
 times. She found herself at moments in the 
 almost terrifying position of a human soul in 
 space. Not a wife, not a mother, but just a soul 
 facing the questions which harass philosophers. 
 As she realized her condition of mind she appre- 
 hended something of the thinking of the woman 
 on the bed. Matilda had gone beyond or far 
 back of the wife and mother. 
 
 The hours wore on ; the dying woman stirred 
 uneasily now and then, .whispering a word or 
 phrase which related to her girlhood — never to 
 her later life. Once she said : 
 
 " Mother, hold me. I'm so tired." 
 
 Martha took the thin form in her arms, and, 
 laying her head close beside the sunken cheek, 
 sang, in half breath, a lullaby till the sufferer 
 grew quiet again. 
 
 The eastern moon passed over the house, 
 
262 WAYSIDE COUSTSHIPS. 
 
 leaving the room dark, and still the patient 
 watcher sat beside the bed, listening to the 
 slow breathing of the dying one. The cool 
 air grew almost chill ; the east began to lighten, 
 and with the coming light the tide of life sank 
 in the dying body. The head, hitherto restless- 
 ly turning, ceased to move. The eyes grew 
 quiet and began to soften like a sleeper's. 
 
 " How are you now, dear ? " asked the 
 watcher several times, bending over the bed, and 
 bathing back the straying hair. 
 
 " I'm tired — tired, mother — turn me," she 
 murmured drowsily, with heavy lids drooping. 
 
 Martha adjusted the pillows again, and 
 turned the face to the wall. The poor, tor- 
 tured, restless brain slowly stopped its grinding 
 whirl, and the thin limbs, heavy with years of 
 hopeless toil, straightened out in an endless 
 sleep. 
 
 Matilda Fletcher had found rest. 
 
UPON IMPULSE. 
 
 The seminary buildings stood not far from 
 the low, lodgelike railway station, and a path 
 led through a gap in the fence across the 
 meadow. People were soberly converging to- 
 ward its central building, as if proceeding to 
 church. 
 
 Among the people who alighted from the 
 two o'clock train were Professor Blakesly and 
 his wife and a tall, dark man whom they called 
 Ware. 
 
 Mrs. Blakesly was plump and pretty, plainly 
 the mother of two or three children and the 
 sovereign of a modest suburban cottage. 
 Blakesly was as evidently a teacher ; even the 
 casual glances of the other visitors might dis- 
 cover the character of these people. 
 
 Ware was not so easy to be read. His face 
 was lean and brown, and his squarely clipped 
 mustache gave him a stern look. His body was 
 well rounded with muscle, and he walked alertly ; 
 his manner was direct and vigorous, manifestly 
 of the open air. 
 
 As they entered the meadow he paused and 
 
264 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 said with humorous irresolution, " I don't know 
 what I am out here for." 
 
 " To see the pretty girls, of course," said 
 Mrs. Blakesly. 
 
 " They may be plain, after all," he said. 
 
 " They're always pretty at graduation time 
 and at marriage," Blakesly interpreted. 
 
 " Then there's the ice cream and cake," Mrs. 
 Blakesly added. 
 
 " Where do all these people come from ? " 
 Ware asked, looking about. " It's all farm land 
 here." 
 
 " They are the fathers, mothers, and brothers 
 of the seminary girls. They come from every- 
 where. See the dear creatures about the door! 
 Let's hurry along." 
 
 " They do not interest me. I take off my 
 hat to the beauty of the day, however." 
 
 Ware had evidently come under protest, for 
 he lingered in the daisied grass which was dap- 
 pled with shadows and tinkling with bobolinks 
 and catbirds. 
 
 A broad path led up to the central building, 
 whose double doors were swung wide with most 
 hospitable intent. Ware ascended the steps be- 
 hind his friends, a bored look on his dark face. 
 
 Two rows of flushed, excited girls with two 
 teachers at their, head stood flanking the door- 
 way to receive the visitors, who streamed stead- 
 ily into the wide, cool hall. 
 
 Mrs. Blakesly took Ware in hand. " Mr, 
 Ware, this is Miss Powell. Miss Powell, this 
 
UPON IMPULSE. 265 
 
 is Mr. Jenkin Ware, lawyer and friend to the 
 Blakeslys." 
 
 " I'm very glad to see you," said a cool voice, 
 in which gladness was entirely absent. 
 
 Ware turned to shake hands mechanically, 
 but something in the steady eyes and clasp of 
 the hand held out turned his listless manner 
 into surprise and confusion. He stared at her 
 without speaking, only for a second, and yet so 
 long she colored and withdrew her hand sharply. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, I didn't get the name." 
 
 " Miss Powell," answered Mrs. Blakesly, who 
 had certainly missed this little comedy, which 
 would have been so delicious to her. 
 
 Ware moved on, shaking hands with the 
 other teachers and bowing to the girls. He 
 seized an early moment to turn and look back 
 at Miss Powell. His listless indifference was 
 gone. She was a fine figure of a woman — a 
 strong, lithe figure, dressed in a well-ordered, 
 light-colored gown. Her head was girlish, with 
 a fluff of brown hair knotted low at the back. 
 Her profile was magnificent. The head had the 
 intellectual poise, but the proud bosom and 
 strong body added another quality. " She is a 
 modern type," Ware said, remembering a paint- 
 ing of such a head he had seen in a recent ex- 
 hibition. 
 
 As he studied her she turned and caught him 
 looking, and he felt again a curious fluttering 
 rush at his heart. He fancied she flushed a little 
 deeper as she turned away. 
 18 
 
266 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 As for him, it had been a very long while 
 since he had felt that singular weakness in the 
 presence of a young woman. He walked on, 
 trying to account for it. It made him feel very 
 boyish. He had a furtive desire to remain in 
 the hall where he could watch her, and when he 
 passed up the stairs, it was with a distinct feel- 
 ing of melancholy, as if he were leaving some- 
 thing very dear and leaving it forever. 
 
 He wondered where this feeling came from, 
 and he looked into the upturned faces of the 
 girls as if they were pansies. He wandered 
 about the rooms with the Blakeslys, being 
 bored by introductions, until at last Miss 
 Powell came up the stairway with the last of 
 the guests. 
 
 While the girls sang and went through some 
 pretty drills Ware again studied Miss Powell. 
 Her appeal to his imagination was startling. 
 He searched for the cause of it. It could not 
 be in her beauty. Certainly she was fine and 
 womanly and of splendid physique, but all about 
 her were lovely girls of daintier flesh and warmer 
 color. He reasoned that her power was in her 
 eyes, steady, frank as sunlight, clear as water in 
 a mountain brook. She seemed unconscious of 
 his scrutiny. 
 
 At last they began moving down the stairs 
 and on to the other buildings. Ware and 
 Blakesly waited for the ladies to come down. 
 And when they came they were in the midst of 
 a flood of girls, and Ware had no chance to 
 
upon impulse: 267 
 
 speak to them. As they moved across the grass 
 he fell in behind Mrs. Blakesly, who seemed to 
 be telling secrets to Miss Powell, who flushed 
 and shook her head. 
 
 Mrs. Blakesly turned and saw Ware close be- 
 hind her, and said, " O Mr. Ware, where is my 
 dear, dear husband ? " 
 
 " Back in the swirl," Ware replied. 
 
 Mrs. Blakesly artfully dropped Miss Powell's 
 arm and fell back. " I must not desert the 
 poor dear." As she passed Ware she said, 
 " Take my place." 
 
 " With pleasure," he replied, and walked on 
 after Miss Powell, who seemed not to care to 
 wait. 
 
 How simply she was dressed ! She moved 
 like an athlete, without effort and without con- 
 straint. As he walked quickly to overtake her 
 a finer light fell over the hills and a fresher 
 green came into the grass. The daisies nodding 
 in the wind blurred together in a dance of 
 light and loveliness which moved him like a 
 song. 
 
 " How beautiful everything is to-day ! " he 
 said, as he stepped to her side. He felt as if he 
 had said, " How beautiful you are ! " 
 
 She flashed a quick, inquiring glance at 
 him. 
 
 " Yes ; June can be beautiful with us. Still, 
 there is a beauty more mature, when the sickle 
 is about to be thrust into the grain." 
 
 He did not hear what she said. He was 
 
268 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 thinking of the power that lay in the oval of 
 her face, in the fluffy tangle of her hair. Ah ! 
 now he knew. With that upward glance she 
 brought back his boy love, his teacher whom 
 he had worshiped as boys sometimes will, with 
 a love as pure as winter starlight. Yes, now it 
 was clear. There was the same flex of the 
 splendid waist, the same slow lift of the head, 
 and steady, beautiful eyes. 
 
 As she talked, he was a youth of seventeen, 
 he was lying at his teacher's feet by the river 
 while she read wonderful love stories. There 
 were others there, but they did not count. Then 
 the tears blurred his eyes ; he remembered walk- 
 ing behind her dead body as it was borne to the 
 hillside burying ground, and all the world was 
 desolate for him. 
 
 He became aware that Miss Powell was look- 
 ing at him with startled eyes. He hastened to 
 apologize and explain. " Pardon me ; you look 
 so much like a schoolboy idol — I — I seem to see 
 her again. I didn't hear what you said, you 
 brought the past back so poignantly." 
 
 There was something in his voice which 
 touched her, but before he could go on they 
 were joined by Mr. and Mrs. Blakesly and one 
 of the other teachers. There was a dancing 
 light in Mrs. Blakesly's eyes as she looked at 
 Ware. She had just been saying to her hus- 
 band: "What a splendid figure Miss Powell is! 
 How well they look together ! Wouldn't it be 
 splendid if " 
 
UPON IMPULSE. 269 
 
 " Oh, my dear, you're too bad. Please don't 
 match-make any more to-day. Let Nature at- 
 tend to these things," Mr. Blakesly replied with 
 manifest impatience ; " Nature attended to our 
 case." 
 
 " I have no faith in Nature any more. I 
 want to have at least a finger in the pie myself. 
 Nature don't work in all cases. I'm afraid Na-' 
 ture can't in his case." 
 • " Careful ! He'll hear you, my dear." 
 
 " Where do we go now, Miss Powell ? " asked 
 Blakesly as they came to a halt on the opposite 
 side of the campus. 
 
 " I think they are all going to the gymnasium 
 building. Won't you come? That is my do- 
 minion." 
 
 They answered by moving off, Mrs. Blakesly 
 taking Miss Powell's arm. As they streamed 
 away in files she said : " Isn't he good-looking ? 
 We've known him for years. He's all right," 
 she said significantly, and squeezed Miss Powell's 
 arm. 
 
 "Well, Lou Blakesly, you're the same old 
 irrepressible ! " 
 
 "Blushing already, you dear! I tell you 
 he's splendid. I wish he'd take to you," 
 and she gave Miss Powell another squeeze. 
 " It would be such a match ! Brains and beauty, 
 too." 
 
 " Oh, hush ! " 
 
 They entered the cool, wide hall of the gym T 
 nasium, with its red brick walls, its polished floor, 
 
270 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 and the yellow-red wooden beams lining the 
 ceiling. 
 
 There were only a few people remaining in 
 the hall, most of them having passed on into the 
 museum. As they came to the various appli- 
 ances, Miss Powell explained them. 
 
 " What are these things for ? " inquired Mrs. 
 Blakesly, pointing at the row of iron rings de- 
 pending from long ropes. 
 
 " They are for swinging on," and she leaped 
 lightly upward and caught and swung by one 
 hand. 
 
 " Mercy ! Do you do that ? " 
 
 " She seems to be doing it now," Blakesly said. 
 
 " I am one of the teachers," Miss Powell re- 
 plied, dropping to the floor. 
 
 It was glorious to see how .easily she seized 
 a heavy dumb-bell and swung it above her head. 
 The front line of her body was majestic as she 
 stood thus. 
 
 " Gracious ! I couldn't do that," exclaimed 
 Mrs. Blakesly. 
 
 " No, not with your style of dress," replied 
 her husband. — " I have to pin her hat on this 
 year," he said to Ware. 
 
 "I love it," said Miss Powell, as she drew a 
 heavy weight from the floor and stood with the 
 cord across her shoulder. " It adds so much to 
 life ! It gives what Browning calls the wild joy 
 of living. Do you know, few women know what 
 that means ? It's been denied us. Only the 
 men have known 
 
UPON IMPULSE. 271 
 
 " ' The wild joys of living ! the leaping from rock 
 up to rock, 
 The strong rending of boughs from the fir tree, 
 
 the cool silver shock 
 Of a plunge in the pool's living water,' 
 
 I try to teach my girls ' How good is man's life, 
 the mere living! ' " 
 
 The men cheered as she paused for a moment 
 flushed and breathless. 
 
 She went on : " We women have been shut 
 out from the sports too long — I mean sports in 
 the sun. The men have had the best of it. All 
 the swimming, all the boating, wheeling, all the 
 grand, wild life ; now we're going to have a 
 part." 
 
 The young ladies clustered about with 
 flushed, excited faces while their teacher plant- 
 ed her flag and claimed new territory for 
 women. 
 
 Miss Powell herself grew conscious, and 
 flushed and paused abruptly. 
 
 Mrs. Blakesly effervesced in admiring aston- 
 ishment. " Well, well ! I didn't know you could 
 make a speech." 
 
 " I didn't mean to do so," she replied. 
 
 " Go on ! Go on ! " everybody called out, 
 but she turned away to show some other ap- 
 paratus. 
 
 " Wasn't she fine ? " exclaimed Mrs. Blakesly 
 to Ware. 
 
 "Beyond praise," he replied. She went at 
 
272 WAY SIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 once to communicate her morsel of news to her 
 husband, and at length to Miss Powell. 
 
 The company passed out into other rooms 
 until no one was left but Mrs. Blakesly, the 
 professor, and Ware. Miss Powell was talking 
 again, and to Ware mainly. Ware was thought- 
 ful, Miss Powell radiant. 
 
 " I didn't know what life was till I could do 
 that." She took up a large dumb-bell and, ex- 
 tending it at arm's length, whirled it back and 
 forth. Her forearm, white and smooth, swelled 
 into strong action, and her supple hands had the 
 unwavering power and pressure of an athlete, 
 and withal Ware thought : " She is feminine. 
 Her physical power has not coarsened her; it 
 has enlarged her life, but left her entirely 
 womanly." 
 
 In some adroit way Mrs. Blakesly got her 
 husband out of the room and left Ware and 
 Miss Powell together. She was showing him 
 the view from the windows, and they seemed to 
 be perfectly absorbed. She looked around once 
 and saw that Mrs. Blakesly was showing her 
 husband something in the farther end of the 
 room. After that she did not think of them. 
 
 The sun went lower in the sky and flamed 
 along the sward. He spoke of the mystical 
 power of the waving daisies and the glowing 
 greens which no painter ever seems to paint. 
 While they looked from the windows their arms 
 touched, and they both tried to ignore it. She 
 shivered a little as if a cold wind had blown 
 
UPON IMPULSE. 
 
 273 
 
 upon her. At last she led the way out and down 
 the stairs to the campus. They heard the gay 
 laughter of the company at their cakes and ices, 
 up at the central building. 
 
 He stopped outside the hallway, and as she 
 looked up inquiringly at him, he said quietly : 
 " Suppose we go down the road. It seems 
 pleasanter there." 
 
 She acquiesced like one in a pleasure which 
 made duty seem absurd. 
 
 Strong and fine as she was, she had never 
 found a lover to whom she yielded her compan- 
 ionship with unalloyed delight. She was thirty 
 years of age, and her girlhood was past. She 
 looked at this man, and a suffocating band seemed 
 to encircle her throat. She knew he was strong 
 and good. He was a little saddened with life — ■ 
 that she read in his deep-set eyes and unsmiling 
 lips. 
 
 The road led toward the river, and as they 
 left the campus they entered a lane shaded by 
 natural oaks. He talked on slowly. He asked 
 her what her plans were. 
 
 " To teach and to live," she said. Her en- 
 thusiasm for the work seemed entirely gone. 
 
 Once he said, " This is the finest hour of my 
 life." 
 
 On the bank of the river they paused and 
 seated themselves on the sward under a tree 
 whose roots fingered the stream with knuckled 
 hands. 
 
 "Yes, every time you look up at me you 
 
274 
 
 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 bring back my boyish idol," he went on. " She 
 was older than I. It is as if I had grown older 
 and she had not, and that she were you, or you 
 were she. I can't tell you how it has affected 
 me. Every movement you make goes deep 
 down into my sweetest, tenderest recollections. 
 It's always June there, always sweet and sunny. 
 Her death and burial were mystical in their 
 beauty. I looked in her coffin. She was the 
 grandest statue that ever lay in marble ; the 
 Greek types are insipid beside that vision. 
 You'll say I idealized her ; possibly I did, but 
 there she is. O God ! it was terrible to see one 
 die so young and so lovely." 
 
 There was a silence. Tears came to her 
 eyes. He could only exclaim ; weeping was 
 denied him. His voice trembled, but grew 
 firmer as he went on : 
 
 " And now you come. I don't know exactly 
 in what way you resemble her. I only know you 
 shake me as no other human being has done 
 since that coffin-lid shut out her face." He 
 lifted his head and looked around. "But Na- 
 ture is beautiful and full of light and buoyancy. 
 I am not going to make you sad. I want to 
 make you happy. I was only a boy to her. She 
 cared for me only as a mature woman likes an 
 apt pupil, but she made all Nature radiant for 
 me, as you do now." 
 
 He smiled upon her suddenly. His somber 
 mood passed like one of the shadows of the 
 clouds floating over the. campus. It was only 
 
UPON IMPULSE. 275 
 
 a recollected mood. As he looked at her the 
 old hunger came into his heart, but the buoy- 
 ancy and emotional exaltation of youth came 
 back also. 
 
 " Miss Powell, are you free to marry me ? " he 
 said suddenly. 
 
 She grew very still, but she flushed and then 
 she turned her face away from him. She had no 
 immediate reply. 
 
 " That is an extraordinary thing to ask you, 
 I know," he went on ; " but it seems as if I had 
 known you a long time, and then sitting here in 
 the midst of Nature with the insects singing 
 all about us — well, conventions are not so vital 
 as in drawing rooms. Remember your Brown- 
 ing." 
 
 She who bad declaimed Browning so blithely 
 now sat silent, but the color went out of her 
 face, and she listened to the multitudinous stir 
 and chirp of living things, and her eyes dreamed 
 as he went on steadily, his eyes studying her 
 face. 
 
 " Browning believed in these impulses. I'll 
 admit I never have. I've always reasoned upon 
 things, at least since I became a man. It 
 has brought me little, and I'm much disposed 
 to try the virtue of an impulse. I feel as certain 
 that we can be happy together as I am of life, 
 so I come back to my question, Are you free to 
 marry me ? " 
 
 She flushed again. " I have no other ties, if 
 that is what you mean." 
 
276 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 " That is what I mean precisely. I felt that 
 you were free, like myself. I might ask Blakesly 
 to vouch for me, but I prefer not. I ask for 
 no one's opinion of you. Can't you trust to 
 that insight of which women are supposed to be 
 happily possessed ? " 
 
 She smiled a little. " I never boasted of any 
 divining power." 
 
 He came nearer. " Come, you and I have 
 gone by rule and reason long enough. Here we 
 have a magnificent impulse ; let us follow. 
 Don't ask me to wait, that would spoil it all ; 
 considerations would come in." 
 
 " Ought they not to come in ? " 
 
 " No," he replied, and his low voice had the 
 intensity of a trumpet. " If this magnificent 
 moment passes by, this chance for a pure im- 
 pulsive choice, it is lost forever. You know 
 Browning makes much of such lost opportuni- 
 ties. Seeing you there with bent head and 
 blowing hair, I would throw the world away 
 to become the blade of grass you break. There, 
 will that do ? " He smiled. 
 
 " That speech should bring back youth to us 
 both," she said. 
 
 " Right action now will," he quickly an- 
 swered. 
 
 "But I must consider." 
 
 " Do not. Take the impulse." 
 
 " It may be wayward." 
 
 "We've both got beyond the wayward im- 
 pulse. This impulse rises from the profound 
 
UPON IMPULSE. 277 
 
 deeps. Come, the sun sinks, the insect voices 
 thicken, a star passes behind the moon, and life 
 hastens. Come into my life. Can't you trust 
 me?" 
 
 She grew very white, but a look of exaltation 
 came into her face. She lifted her clear, steady 
 eyes to his. She reached her hand to his. " I 
 will," she said, and they rose and stood together 
 thus. 
 
 He uncovered his head. A sort of awe fell 
 upon him. A splendid human life was put into 
 his keeping. 
 
 "A pure choice," he said exultingly — "a 
 choice untouched by considerations. It brings 
 back the youth of the world." 
 
 The sun lay along the sward in level lines, 
 the sky was full of clouds sailing in file, like 
 mighty purple cranes in saffron seas of flame, 
 the wind wavered among the leaves, and the in- 
 sects sang in sudden ecstasy of life. 
 
 The two looked into each other's faces. 
 They seemed to be transfigured, each to the 
 other. 
 
 " You must not go back," he said. " They 
 would not understand you nor me. We will 
 never be so near a great happiness, a great holi- 
 day. It is holiday time. Let us go to the 
 mountains." 
 
 She drew a siglras if all her cares and duties 
 dropped from her, then she smiled and a com- 
 prehending light sparkled in her eyes. 
 
 "Very well, to the clouds if you will." 
 
THE END OF LOVE IS LOVE 
 OF LOVE. 
 
 They lay on the cliff where the warm sun fell. 
 Beneath them were rocks, lichen-spotted above, and 
 orange and russet and pink beneath. 
 
 Around the headland the ocean ravened with 
 roaring breath, flinging itself ceaselessly on the 
 land, only to fall back with clutching snarl over 
 the pebbles. 
 
 The smell of hot cedars was in the air. The 
 distant ships drove by with huge sails bellying. 
 Occasional crickets chirped faintly. Sandpipers 
 skimmed the beach. 
 
 The man and woman were both gray. He lay 
 staring at the sky. She sat with somber eyes fixed 
 on the distant sea, whose crawling lines glittered in 
 ever-changing designs on its purple sweep. 
 
 They were man and wife ; both were older than 
 their years. They were far past the land of youth 
 and love. 
 
 " O wife /" he cried, " let us forget we are old ; 
 let us forget we are disillusioned of life ; let us try 
 to be boy and girl again." 
 
 879 
 
280 WAYSIDE COURTSHIPS. 
 
 The woman shivered with a powerful, vague 
 emotion, but she did not look at him. 
 
 " O Esther, I'm tired of life ! " the man went 
 on. " I'm tired of my children. I'm tired of you. 
 Do you know what I mean 1 " 
 
 The woman looked into his eyes a moment, and 
 said in a low voice ; 
 
 " No, Charles." But the man knew she meant 
 yes. The touch of her hand grew cold. 
 
 " I'm tired of it all. I want to feel again the 
 wonder and mystery of life. It's all gone. The 
 love we have now is good and sweet and true ; that 
 of the old time was sweeter. It was so marvelous. 
 I trembled when I kissed you, dear. I don't 
 now. It had more of truth, of pure, unconscious 
 passion, and less of habit. Oh, teach me to for- 
 get!" 
 
 He crept nearer to her, and laid his head in her 
 lap. His face was knotted with his passion and 
 pain. 
 
 The wife and mother sighed, and looked down at 
 his hair, which was getting white. 
 
 " Well, Charles ! " she said, and caressingly 
 buried her fingers in his hair. " /'// try to forget 
 for your sake." 
 
 He could not understand her. He did not try. 
 He lay with closed eyes, tired, purposeless. The 
 sweet sea wind touched his cheek, white with the 
 indoor pallor of the desk worker. The sound of the 
 sea exalted him. The beautiful clouds above him 
 carried him back to boyhood. There were tears on 
 his face as he looked up at her. 
 
THE END OF LOVE IS LOVE OF LOVE. 28 1 
 
 " I'm forgetting ! " he said, with a smile of ex- 
 ultation. 
 
 But the woman looked away at the violet-shad- 
 owed sails, afar on the changeful purple of the sea, 
 and her throat choked with pain. 
 
 THE ENDi 
 
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 i2mo. Cloth, 75 cents. 
 
 " By writing ' Maggie ' Mr. Crane has made for himself a permanent place in lit- 
 erature. . . . Zola himself scarcely has surpassed its tremendous portrayal of throb- 
 bing, breathing, moving life."— New York Mail and Express. 
 
 " Mr. Crane's story should be- read for the fidelity with which it portrays a life 
 that is potent on this island, along with the best of us. It is a powerful portrayal, and, 
 if somber and repellent, none the less true, none the less freighted with appeal to those 
 who are able to assist in righting wrongs." — New York Times. 
 
 H^HE RED BADGE OF COURAGE. An Episode 
 
 ■* of the American Civil War. i2mo. Cloth, $1.00. 
 
 " Never before have we had the seamy side of glorious war so well depicted. . . . 
 The action of the story throughout is splendid, and all aglow with color, movement, 
 and vim. The style is as keen and bright as a sword-blade, and a Kipling has done 
 nothing better in this line." — Chicago Evening Post 
 
 " There is nothing in American fiction to compare with it. . . . Mr. Crane has 
 added to American literature something that has never been done before, and that is, 
 in its own peculiar way, inimitable." — Boston Beacon. 
 
 " A truer and completer picture of war than either Tolstoy or Zola."— London New 
 Review. 
 
 New York: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 
 
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 IR MARK. A Tale of the First Capital. By Anna 
 Robeson Brown. i6mo. Cloth, 75 cents. 
 
 "One could hardly imagine a more charming short historical tale. . . . It is almost 
 classic in its simplicity and dignity." — Baltimore News. 
 
 HE FOLLY OF EUSTACE. By R. S. Hichens, 
 
 author of " An Imaginative Man," " The Green Carnation," 
 
 etc. i6mo. Cloth, 75 cents. 
 
 " In each of these stories the author of * The Green Carnation ' shows his hand 
 without intending to. There is the same cynicism, the same epigrammatic wit. Among 
 the new English story writers there are none more brilliant than Mr. Hichens." — 
 Chicago Tribune. 
 
 C^LEEPING FIRES. By George Gissing, author 
 
 *— ' of "In the Year of Jubilee," "Eve's Ransom,'' etc. i6mo. 
 
 Cloth, 75 cents. 
 
 " Intense, extremely well told, and full of discriminating study of life and charac- , 
 ter." — Buffalo Commercial. 
 
 ^TONEPASTURES. By Eleanor Stuart. i6mo. 
 »— ' Cloth, 75 cents. 
 
 " This is a strong bit of good literary workmanship." — Philadelphia Public Ledger. 
 
 COURTSHIP BY COMMAND, By M. M. Blake. 
 i6mo. Cloth, 75 cents. 
 
 "A bright, moving study of an unusually interesting period in the life of Napoleon, 
 . . . deliciously told; the characters are clearly, strongly, and very delicately modeled, 
 and the touches of color mast artistically 'done." — N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 
 
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 HE WATTER'S MOU\ By Bram Stoker. 
 
 i6mo. Cloth, 75 cents. 
 
 " Here is a tale to stir the most sluggish nature. ... It is like standing on the deck 
 a wave tossed ship ; you feel the soul of the storm go into your blood." — New York 
 
 of a wave__. 
 Home Journal. 
 
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 ASTER AND MAN By Count Leo Tolstoy. 
 
 With an Introduction by W. D. Howells. i6mo. Cloth, 75 cts. 
 
 " Reveals a wonderful knowledge of the workings of the human mind, and it tells a 
 tale that not only stirs the emotions, but gives us a better insight into our own hearts.'* 
 — San Francisco A rgonaui. 
 
 "T^HE ZEIT-GEIST. By L. Dougall, author of 
 -* " The Mermaid," " Beggars All," etc. i6mo. Cloth, 75 cents, 
 " Powerful in conception, treatment, and influence." — Boston Globe. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue- 
 
D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 •'A better book than *The Prisoner of Zen da.' "— London Queen. 
 
 H^HE CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONIO. 
 
 ■* By Anthony Hope, author of "The God in the Car," " The 
 Prisoner of Zenda," etc. With photogravure Frontispiece by 
 S. W. Van Schaick. Third edition. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " No adventures were ever better worth recounting than are those of Antonio of 
 Monte Velluto, a very Bayard among outlaws. . . To all those whose pulses still stir 
 at the re.ital of deed* of high courage, we may recommend this book. . , . The chron- 
 icle conveys the emotion of heroic adventure, and is picturesquely written." — London 
 Daily News. 
 
 " It has literary merits all its own, of a deliberate and rather deep order. ... In 
 point of execution ' The Chronicles of Count Antonio ' is the best work that Mr. Hope 
 has yet done. The design is clearer, the workmanship more elaborate, the style more 
 colored. . . . The incidents are most ingenious, they are told quietly, but with great 
 cunning, and the Quixotic sentiment which pervades it all is exceedingly pleasant." — ■ 
 Westminster Gazette. 
 
 " A romance worthy of all the expectations raised by the brilliancy of his former 
 books, and likely to be read with a keen enjoyment and a healthy exaltation of the 
 spirits by every one who takes it up." — The Scotsman. 
 
 "A gallant tale, written with unfailing treshness and spirit."— London Daily 
 Telegraph. 
 
 " One of the most fascinating romances written in English within many days. The 
 quaint simplicity of its st) le is delightftil, and the adventures recorded in these ' Chron- 
 icles of Count Antonio ' are as stirring and ingenious as any conceived even by Wey- 
 man at his best." — New York World. 
 
 " Romance of the real flavor, wholly and entirely romance, and narrated in true ro- 
 mantic style. The characters, drawn with such masterly handling, are not merely pic- 
 tures and portraits, but statues that are alive and step boldly forward from the canvas." 
 —Boston Courier. 
 
 " Told in a wonderfully simple and direct style, and with the magic touch of a man 
 who has the genius of narrative, making the varied incidents flow naturally and rapidly 
 in a stream of sparkling discourse."— Detroit Tribune. 
 
 " Easily ranks with, if not above, 'A Prisoner of Zenda.' . . . Wonderfully strong, 
 graphic, and compels the interest of the most blase' novel reader." — Boston Advertiser. 
 
 " No adventures were ever better worth telling than those of Count Antonio. . . . 
 The author knows full well how to make every pulse thrill, and how to hold his readers 
 under the spell of his magic." — Boston Herald. 
 
 " A book to make women weep proud tears, and the blood of men to tingle with 
 knightly fervor. ... In ' Count Antonio ' we think Mr. Hope surpasses himself, as he 
 has already surpassed all the other story-tellers of the period." — New York Spirit of 
 the Times. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Atmuc 
 
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 NOVELS BY HALL CAINE. 
 HE MANXMAN, izmo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 "A story of marvelous dramatic intensity, and in it? ethical meaning has a force 
 comparable only to Hawthorne's * Scarlet Letter.' " — Boston Beacon. 
 
 "A work of power which is another stone added to the foundation of enduring fame 
 to which Mr. Caine is yearly adding." — Public Opinion. 
 
 ' "A wonderfully strong study of character; a powerful analysis of those elements 
 which go to make up the strength and weakness of a man, which are at fierce warfare 
 within the same breast; contending against each other, as it were, the one to raise him 
 to fame and power, the other to drag him down to degradation and shame. Never in 
 the whole range of literature have we seen the struggle between these forces for 
 supremacy over the man more powerfully, more realistically delineated than Mr. Caine 
 pictures it." — Boston Home Journal. 
 
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 HE DEEMSTER. A Romance of the Isle of 
 
 Man. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " Hall Caine has already given us some very strong and fine work, and ' The 
 Deemster ' is a story of unusual power. „ . . Certain passages and chapters have an 
 intensely dramatic grasp, and hold the fascinated reader with a force rarely excited 
 nowadays in literature." — The Critic. 
 
 " One of the strongest novels which has appeared in many a day."— San Fran- 
 Cisco Chronicle. 
 
 " Fascinates the mind like the gathering and bursting of a storm."— Illustrated 
 London News. 
 
 "Deserves to be ranked among the remarkable novels of the day." — Chicago 
 Times. 
 
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 HE BONDMAN. New edition. i2mo. Cloth, 
 $1.50. 
 
 " The welcome given to this story has cheered and touched me, but I am con- 
 scious that, to win a reception so warm, such a hook must have had readers who 
 brought to it as much as they took away. ... I have called my story a saga, merely 
 because it follows the epic method, and I must not claim for it at any point the weighty 
 responsibility of history, or serious obligations to the world of fact But it matters not 
 to me what Icelanders may call ' The Bondman,' if they will honor me by reading it in 
 the open-hearted spirit and with the free mind with which they are content to read of 
 Grettir and of his fights with the Troll."— From the Author's Preface. 
 
 CAPT'N DAVY'S HONEYMOON. A Manx 
 Yarn. i2mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00. 
 
 "A new departure by this author. Unlike his previous works, this little tale is 
 almost wholly humorous, with, however, a current of pathos underneath. It is not 
 ilways that an author can succeed equally well in tragedy and in comedy, but it looks 
 as though Mr. Hall Caine would be one of the exceptions." — London Literary 
 World. 
 
 '** It is pleasant to meet the author of * The Deemster ' in a brightly humorous little 
 itory like this. ... It shows the same observation of Manx character, and much of 
 the same artistic skill."— Philadelphia Times. 
 
 New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue. 
 
D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE WEST SERIES. 
 
 Edited by Ripley Hitchcock. 
 
 " There is a vast extent of territory lying between the Missouri River and the Pacific 
 coast which has barely been skimmed over so far. That the conditions of life therein 
 are undergoing changes little short of marvelous will be understood when one recalls 
 the fact that the first white male child born in Kansas is still living there; and Kansas 
 is by no means one of the newer States. Revolutionary indeed has been the upturning 
 of the old condition of affairs, and little remains thereof, and le?s will remain as each 
 year goes by, until presently there will be only tradition uf the Sioux and Comanches, 
 the cowboy life, the wild horse, and the antelope. Histories, many of them, have been 
 written about the Western country alluded to, but most if not practically all by outsiders 
 who knew not personally that life of kaleidoscopic allurement. But ere it shall have 
 vanished forever we are likely to have truthful, complete, and charming portrayals of 
 it produced by men who actually knew the life and nave the power to describe it." — 
 Henry Edward Rood, in the Mail and Express. 
 
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 NOW READY. 
 
 HE STORY OF THE INDIAN. By George 
 
 Bird Grinnell, author of " Pawnee Hero Stories/' " Black- 
 foot Lodge Tales," etc. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " In every way worthy of an author who, as an authority upon the Western Indians, 
 is second to none. _ A book full of color, abounding in observation, and remarkable in 
 sustained interest, it is at the same time characterized by a grace of style which is rarely 
 to be looked for in such a work, and which adds not a little to the charm of it."— 
 London Daily Chronicle. 
 
 "Only an author qualified by personal experience could offer us a profitable study 
 of a race so alien from our own as is the Indian in thought, feeling, and culture. Only 
 long association with Indians can enable a white man measurably to comprehend their 
 thoughts and enter into their feelings. Such association has been Mr. Grinnell's."— 
 New York Sun. 
 
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 HE STORY OF THE MINE. By Charles 
 Howard Shinn. Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " The author lias written a hook, not alone full of information, but replete with the 
 true romance of the American mine." — New York Times. 
 
 " Few chapters of recent history are more fascinating than that which Mr. Shinn 
 has told in 'The Story of the Mine.'"— The Outlook. 
 
 "Both a history and a romance. . . . Highly interesting, new* and thrilling."— 
 Philadelphia Inquirer. , 
 
 IN PRE PAR A TION. 
 
 The Story of the Trapper. By Gilbert Parker. 
 
 The Story of the Cowboy. By E. Hough. 
 
 The Story of the Soldier. By Capt, J. McB. Stembel, U. S. A. 
 
 The Story of the Explorer. 
 
 The Story of the Railroad. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue. 
 
D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 NOVELS BY MAARTEN MAARTENS. 
 
 'THE GREATER GLORY. A Story of High life 
 
 ■* By Maarten Maartens, author of " God's Fool," " Joost 
 Avelingh " etc. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " Until the Appletons discovered the merits of Maarten Maartens, the foremost of 
 Dutch novelists, it is doubtful if many American readers knew that there were Dutch 
 novelists. His ' God's Fool ' and ' Joost Avelingh ' made for him an American reputa- 
 tion. To our mind this just published work of his is his best. . . . He is a master o( 
 epigram, an artist in description, a prophet in insight." — Boston Advertiser. 
 
 " It would take several columns to give any adequate idea of the superb way in 
 which the Dutch novelist has developed his theme and wrought out one of the most 
 impressive stories of the period. ... It belongs to the small class of novels which 
 one can not afford to neglect." — San Francisco Chronicle. 
 
 " Maarten Maartens stands head and shoulders above the average novelist of the 
 day in intellectual subtlety and imaginative power." — Boston Beacon. 
 
 COD'S FOOL. By Maarten Maartens. i2mo. 
 ' Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " Throughout there is an epigrammatic force which would make palatable a less 
 Interesting story of human lives or one less deftly told."— London Saturday Review. 
 
 " Perfectly easy, graceful, humorous. . . . The author's skill in character-drawing 
 is undeniable."— r London Chronicle. 
 
 ** A remarkable work." — New York Times. 
 
 "Maarten Maartens has secured a firm footing in the eddies of current literature. 
 . . . Pathos deepens into tragedy in the thrilling story of ' God's Fool.' "—PhUadeU 
 fhia Ledger. 
 
 " Its preface alone stamps the author as one of the leading English novelists of 
 to-day." — Boston Daily Advertiser. 
 
 "The story is wonderfully brilliant. . . . The interest never lags; the style is* 
 realistic and intense ; and there is a constantly underlying current of subtle humor. 
 . . . It is, in short, a book which no student of modern literature should fail to read." 
 — Boston Times. 
 
 " A story of remarkable interest and point." — New York Observer. 
 
 CYOOST AVELINGH. By Maarten Maartens. 
 
 Jf ^ r.2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 "So unmistakably good as to induce the hope that an acquaintance with the Dutch 
 literature of fiction may soon become more general among us." — London Morning 
 Post. 
 
 " In scarcely any of the sensational novels of the day will the reader find more 
 nature or more human nature." — London Standard. 
 
 " A novel of a very high type. At once strongly realistic and powerfully ideal- 
 istic." — London Literary World. 
 
 " Full of local color and rich Si quaint phraseology and suggestion." — London 
 felegraph. 
 
 " Maarten Maartens is a capital story-teller." — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 "Our English writers of fiction will have to look to their laurels." — Birmingham 
 Daily Post 
 
 New York: D. APPLETON & CO.. 72 Fifth Avenue. 
 
D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 RUDYARD KIPLING'S NEW BOOK. 
 
 "J^HE SEVEN SEAS. A new volume of poems by 
 ■* Rudyard Kipling, author of " Many Inventions," " Barrack- 
 Room Ballads," etc. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50; half calf, $3.00; 
 morocco, $5.00. 
 
 "The spirit and method of Kipling's fresh and virile song have taken the English 
 reading world. . . . When we turn to the larger portion of ' The Seven Seas,' how 
 imaginative it is, how impassioned, how superbly rhythmic and sonorous! . . . The 
 ring and diction of this verse add new elements to our song. . . . The true laureate 
 of Greater Britain." — E. C.Stedman, in the Book Buyer. 
 
 ** The most original poet who has appeared in his generation. . . . His is die lusti- 
 est voice now lifted in the world, the clearest, the bravest, with the fewest false notes 
 in it. ... 1 do not see why, in reading his book, we should not put ourselves in the 
 presence of a great poet again, and consent to put off our mourning for the high ones 
 lately dead."— W. D. ffowells. 
 
 ** The new poems of Mr. Rudyard Kipling have all the spirit and swing of their 
 predecessors. Throughout they are instinct with the qualities which arc essentially 
 his, and which have made, and seem likely to keep, for him his position and wide 
 popularity." — London Times. 
 
 " He has the very heart of movement, for the lack of which no metrical science 
 cculd atone. He goes far because he can." — London Academy. 
 
 " * The Seven Seas' is the most remarkable book of verse that Mr. Kipling has 
 given us. Here the human sympathy is broader and deeper, the patriotism heartier 
 and fuller, the intellectual and spiritual insight keener, the command of the literary 
 vehicle more complete and sure, than in any previous verse work by the author. The 
 volume pulses with power — power often rough and reckless in expression, but invariably 
 conveying the effect intended. There is scarcely a line which does not testify to the 
 strong individuality of ihe writer." — London Globe. 
 
 " If a man holding this volume in his hands, with all its extravagance and its savage 
 realism, is not aware that it is animated through and through with indubitable genius — 
 then lie must be too much the slave of the conventional and the ordinary to understand 
 that Poetry metamorphoses herself in many diverse forms, and that its one sovereign 
 and indefeasible justification is — truth." — London Daily Telegraph. 
 
 " ' The Seven Seas ' is packed with inspiration, with humor, with pathos, and with 
 the old unequaled insight into the mind of the rank and file." — London Daily Chronicle. 
 
 " Mr. Kipling's ' The Seven Seas ' is a distinct advance upon his characteristic 
 lines. The surpassing strength, the almost violent originality, the glorious swish and 
 swing of his lines — all are there in increased measure. . . , The book is a marvel of 
 originality and genius — a brand-new landmark in the history of English letters."— 
 Chicago Tribune. 
 
 "In 'The Seven Seas' are. displayed all of Kipling's prodigious gifts. . . .Whoever 
 reads * The Seven Seas ' will be vexed by the desire to read it again. The average 
 charm of the gifts alone is irresistible."— Boston journal. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue. 
 
D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 \fEKL. A Tale of the New York Ghetto. By A. Cahan. 
 •* Uniform with " The Red Badge of Courage." i2mo. Cloth, 
 $1.00. 
 
 " A new and striking tale ; the charm, the verity, the literary quality of the book de- 
 pend upon its study of character, its 'local color/ its revelation to Americans of a social, 
 state at their very doors of which they have known nothing." — Ne w York Timet. 
 
 "The story is a revelation to us. It is written in a spirited, breezy way, with an 
 originality in the telling of which is quite unexpected. The dialect is striking in its 
 truth to Nature."— Boston Courier. 
 
 "Is in all probability the only true picture we have yet had of that most densely 
 populated spot on the face of the earth— the ghetto of the metropolis, rather the me- 
 tropolis of the ghettos of the world."— New York Journal. 
 
 "A series of vivid pictures of a strange people. . . . The people and their social life 
 the author depicts with marvelous success." — Boston Transcript. 
 
 " The reader will become deeply interested in Mr. Cahan's graphic presentation of 
 ghetto life in New York."— Minneapolis Journal. 
 
 "A strong, quaint story." — Detroit Tribune. 
 
 " Every feature of the book bears the stamp of truth. . . . Undoubtedly 'Yekl* 
 has never been excelled as a picture of the distinctive life of the New York ghetto." — 
 Boston Herald. 
 
 HTHE SENTIMENTAL SEX. By Gertrude War- 
 
 den. i2mo. Cloth, $I.OO. 
 
 " The cleverest book by a woman that has been published for months. . . . Such 
 books as ' The Sentimental Sex ' are exemplars of a modern cult that will not be 
 ignored."— New York Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 "There is a well-wrought mystery in the story and some surprises that preserve 
 the reader's interest, and render it, when all is said, a story of considerable charm."— 
 Boston Courier. 
 
 " An uncommonly knowing little book, which keeps a good grip on the reader up to 
 < the last page. , . . The author's method of handling the plot is adroit and original."-* 
 • Rochester Herald. 
 
 " Miss Warden has worked out her contrasts very strikingly, and tells her story 
 in a cleverly flippant way, which keeps the reader on the qui vive for the cynical but 
 bright sayings she has interspersed." — Detroit Free Press. 
 
 "The story forms an admirable study. The style is graphic, the plot original and 
 cleverly wrought out."— Philadelphia Evening Bulletin. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue. 
 
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