diff --git "a/data/train/2799.txt" "b/data/train/2799.txt"
new file mode 100644--- /dev/null
+++ "b/data/train/2799.txt"
@@ -0,0 +1,10080 @@
+
+
+
+
+Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, Martin Robb, and David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+EBEN HOLDEN A TALE OF THE NORTH COUNTRY
+
+By Irving Bacheller
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+Early in the last century the hardy wood-choppers began to come west,
+out of Vermont. They founded their homes in the Adirondack wildernesses
+and cleared their rough acres with the axe and the charcoal pit. After
+years of toil in a rigorous climate they left their sons little besides
+a stumpy farm and a <DW53>-skin overcoat. Far from the centres of life
+their amusements, their humours, their religion, their folk lore,
+their views of things had in them the flavour of the timber lands, the
+simplicity of childhood. Every son was nurtured in the love of honour
+and of industry, and the hope of sometime being president. It is to be
+feared this latter thing and the love of right living, for its own sake,
+were more in their thoughts than the immortal crown that had been the
+inspiration of their fathers. Leaving the farm for the more promising
+life of the big city they were as men born anew, and their second
+infancy was like that of Hercules. They had the strength of manhood,
+the tireless energy of children and some hope of the highest things.
+The pageant of the big town--its novelty, its promise, its art, its
+activity--quickened their highest powers, put them to their best effort.
+And in all great enterprises they became the pathfinders, like their
+fathers in the primeval forest.
+
+This book has grown out of such enforced leisure as one may find in a
+busy life. Chapters begun in the publicity of a Pullman car have been
+finished in the cheerless solitude of a hotel chamber. Some have
+had their beginning in a sleepless night and their end in a day of
+bronchitis. A certain pious farmer in the north country when, like
+Agricola, he was about to die, requested the doubtful glory of this
+epitaph: 'He was a poor sinner, but he done his best' Save for the fact
+that I am an excellent sinner, in a literary sense, the words may stand
+for all the apology I have to make.
+
+The characters were mostly men and women I have known and who left
+with me a love of my kind that even a wide experience with knavery and
+misfortune has never dissipated. For my knowledge of Mr Greeley I
+am chiefly indebted to David P. Rhoades, his publisher, to Philip
+Fitzpatrick, his pressman, to the files of the Tribune and to many
+books.
+
+IRVING BACHELLER New York City, 7 April 1900
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BOOK ONE
+
+
+
+
+Chapter I
+
+If all the people that ever went west that expedition was the most
+remarkable.
+
+A small boy in a big basket on the back of a jolly old man, who carried
+a cane in one hand, a rifle in the other; a black dog serving as scout,
+skirmisher and rear guard--that was the size of it. They were the
+survivors of a ruined home in the north of Vermont, and were travelling
+far into the valley of the St Lawrence, but with no particular
+destination.
+
+Midsummer had passed them in their journey; their clothes were covered
+with dust; their faces browning in the hot sun. It was a very small boy
+that sat inside the basket and clung to the rim, his tow head shaking as
+the old man walked. He saw wonderful things, day after day, looking down
+at the green fields or peering into the gloomy reaches of the wood; and
+he talked about them.
+
+'Uncle Eb--is that where the swifts are?' he would ask often; and the
+old man would answer, 'No; they ain't real sassy this time o' year. They
+lay 'round in the deep dingles every day.'
+
+Then the small voice would sing idly or prattle with an imaginary being
+that had a habit of peeking over the edge of the basket or would shout a
+greeting to some bird or butterfly and ask finally: 'Tired, Uncle Eb?'
+
+Sometimes the old gentleman would say 'not very', and keep on, looking
+thoughtfully at the ground. Then, again, he would stop and mop his bald
+head with a big red handkerchief and say, a little tremor of irritation
+in his voice: 'Tired! who wouldn't be tired with a big elephant like you
+on his back all day? I'd be 'shamed o' myself t' set there an' let an
+old man carry me from Dan to Beersheba. Git out now an' shake yer legs.'
+
+I was the small boy and I remember it was always a great relief to get
+out of the basket, and having run ahead, to lie in the grass among the
+wild flowers, and jump up at him as he came along.
+
+Uncle Eb had been working for my father five years before I was born. He
+was not a strong man and had never been able to carry the wide swath of
+the other help in the fields, but we all loved him for his kindness and
+his knack of story-telling. He was a bachelor who came over the mountain
+from Pleasant Valley, a little bundle of clothes on his shoulder, and
+bringing a name that enriched the nomenclature of our neighbourhood. It
+was Eben Holden.
+
+He had a cheerful temper and an imagination that was a very wilderness
+of oddities. Bears and panthers growled and were very terrible in that
+strange country. He had invented an animal more treacherous than any
+in the woods, and he called it a swift. 'Sumthin' like a panther', he
+described the look of it: a fearsome creature that lay in the edge of
+the woods at sundown and made a noise like a woman crying, to lure the
+unwary. It would light one's eye with fear to hear Uncle Eb lift his
+voice in the cry of the swift. Many a time in the twilight when the bay
+of a hound or some far cry came faintly through the wooded hills, I
+have seen him lift his hand and bid us hark. And when we had listened
+a moment, our eyes wide with wonder, he would turn and say in a low,
+half-whispered tone: ''S a swift' I suppose we needed more the fear of
+God, but the young children of the pioneer needed also the fear of the
+woods or they would have strayed to their death in them.
+
+A big bass viol, taller than himself, had long been the solace of his
+Sundays. After he had shaved--a ceremony so solemn that it seemed a rite
+of his religion--that sacred viol was uncovered. He carried it sometimes
+to the back piazza and sometimes to the barn, where the horses shook and
+trembled at the roaring thunder of the strings. When he began playing
+we children had to get well out of the way, and keep our distance. I
+remember now the look of him, then--his thin face, his soft black eyes,
+his long nose, the suit of broadcloth, the stock and standing collar
+and, above all, the solemnity in his manner when that big devil of a
+thing was leaning on his breast.
+
+As to his playing I have never heard a more fearful sound in any time of
+peace or one less creditable to a Christian. Weekdays he was addicted to
+the milder sin of the flute and, after chores, if there were no one to
+talk with him, he would sit long and pour his soul into that magic bar
+of boxwood.
+
+Uncle Eb had another great accomplishment. He was what they call in the
+north country 'a natural cooner'. After nightfall, when the corn was
+ripening, he spoke in a whisper and had his ear cocked for <DW53>s. But he
+loved all kinds of good fun.
+
+So this man had a boy in his heart and a boy in his basket that evening
+we left the old house. My father and mother and older brother had been
+drowned in the lake, where they had gone for a day of pleasure. I had
+then a small understanding of my loss, hat I have learned since that
+the farm was not worth the mortgage and that everything had to be sold.
+Uncle Eb and I--a little lad, a very little lad of six--were all that
+was left of what had been in that home. Some were for sending me to the
+county house; but they decided, finally, to turn me over to a dissolute
+uncle, with some allowance for my keep. Therein Uncle Eb was to
+be reckoned with. He had set his heart on keeping me, but he was a
+farm-hand without any home or visible property and not, therefore, in
+the mind of the authorities, a proper guardian. He had me with him in
+the old house, and the very night he heard they were coming after me in
+the morning, we started on our journey. I remember he was a long time
+tying packages of bread and butter and tea and boiled eggs to the rim
+of the basket, so that they hung on the outside. Then he put a woollen
+shawl and an oilcloth blanket on the bottom, pulled the straps over his
+shoulders and buckled them, standing before the looking-glass, and, hang
+put on my cap and coat, stood me on the table, and stooped so that I
+could climb into the basket--a pack basket, that he had used in hunting,
+the top a little smaller than the bottom. Once in, I could stand
+comfortably or sit facing sideways, my back and knees wedged from port
+to starboard. With me in my place he blew out the lantern and groped his
+way to the road, his cane in one hand, his rifle in the other. Fred, our
+old dog--a black shepherd, with tawny points--came after us. Uncle
+Eb scolded him and tried to send him back, but I pleaded for the poor
+creature and that settled it, he was one of our party.
+
+'Dunno how we'll feed him,' said Uncle Eb. 'Our own mouths are big
+enough t' take all we can carry, but I hain' no heart t' leave 'im all
+'lone there.'
+
+I was old for my age, they tell me, and had a serious look and a wise
+way of talking, for a boy so young; but I had no notion of what lay
+before or behind us.
+
+'Now, boy, take a good look at the old house,' I remember he whispered
+to me at the gate that night ''Tain't likely ye'll ever see it ag'in.
+Keep quiet now,' he added, letting down the bars at the foot of the
+lane. 'We're goin' west an' we mustn't let the grass grow under us. Got
+t'be purty spry I can tell ye.'
+
+It was quite dark and he felt his way carefully down the cow-paths into
+the broad pasture. With every step I kept a sharp lookout for swifts,
+and the moon shone after a while, making my work easier.
+
+I had to hold my head down, presently, when the tall brush began to whip
+the basket and I heard the big boots of Uncle Eb ripping the briars.
+Then we came into the blackness of the thick timber and I could hear him
+feeling his way over the dead leaves with his cane. I got down, shortly,
+and walked beside him, holding on to the rifle with one hand. We
+stumbled, often, and were long in the trail before we could see the
+moonlight through the tree columns. In the clearing I climbed to my
+seat again and by and by we came to the road where my companion sat down
+resting his load on a boulder.
+
+'Pretty hot, Uncle Eb, pretty hot,' he said to himself, fanning his brow
+with that old felt hat he wore everywhere. 'We've come three mile er
+more without a stop an' I guess we'd better rest a jiffy.'
+
+My legs ached too, and I was getting very sleepy. I remember the jolt
+of the basket as he rose, and hearing him say, 'Well, Uncle Eb, I guess
+we'd better be goin'.'
+
+The elbow that held my head, lying on the rim of the basket, was already
+numb; but the prickling could no longer rouse me, and half-dead with
+weariness, I fell asleep. Uncle Eb has told me since, that I tumbled out
+of the basket once, and that he had a time of it getting me in again,
+but I remember nothing more of that day's history.
+
+When I woke in the morning, I could hear the crackling of fire, and felt
+very warm and cosy wrapped in the big shawl. I got a cheery greeting
+from Uncle Eb, who was feeding the fire with a big heap of sticks that
+he had piled together. Old Fred was licking my hands with his rough
+tongue, and I suppose that is what waked me. Tea was steeping in the
+little pot that hung over the fire, and our breakfast of boiled eggs and
+bread and butter lay on a paper beside it. I remember well the scene
+of our little camp that morning. We had come to a strange country, and
+there was no road in sight. A wooded hill lay back of us, and, just
+before, ran a noisy little brook, winding between smooth banks, through
+a long pasture into a dense wood. Behind a wall on the opposite shore a
+great field of rustling corn filled a broad valley and stood higher than
+a man's head.
+
+While I went to wash my face in the clear water Uncle Eb was husking
+some ears of corn that he took out of his pocket, and had them roasting
+over the fire in a moment. We ate heartily, giving Fred two big slices
+of bread and butter, packing up with enough remaining for another day.
+Breakfast over we doused the fire and Uncle Eb put on his basket He made
+after a squirrel, presently, with old Fred, and brought him down out of
+a tree by hurling stones at him and then the faithful follower of our
+camp got a bit of meat for his breakfast. We climbed the wall, as he
+ate, and buried ourselves in the deep corn. The fragrant, silky tassels
+brushed my face and the corn hissed at our intrusion, crossing its green
+sabers in our path. Far in the field my companion heaped a little of the
+soft earth for a pillow, spread the oil cloth between rows and, as we
+lay down, drew the big shawl over us. Uncle Eb was tired after the toil
+of that night and went asleep almost as soon as he was down. Before I
+dropped off Fred came and licked my face and stepped over me, his tail
+wagging for leave, and curled upon the shawl at my feet. I could see no
+sky in that gloomy green aisle of corn. This going to bed in the morning
+seemed a foolish business to me that day and I lay a long time looking
+up at the rustling canopy overhead. I remember listening to the waves
+that came whispering out of the further field, nearer and nearer, until
+they swept over us with a roaring swash of leaves, like that of water
+flooding among rocks, as I have heard it often. A twinge of homesickness
+came to me and the snoring of Uncle Eb gave me no comfort. I remember
+covering my head and crying softly as I thought of those who had gone
+away and whom I was to meet in a far country, called Heaven, whither we
+were going. I forgot my sorrow, finally, in sleep. When I awoke it had
+grown dusk under the corn. I felt for Uncle Eb and he was gone. Then I
+called to him.
+
+'Hush, boy! lie low,' he whispered, bending over me, a sharp look in his
+eye.' 'Fraid they're after us.'
+
+He sat kneeling beside me, holding Fred by the collar and listening. I
+could hear voices, the rustle of the corn and the tramp of feet near
+by. It was thundering in the distance--that heavy, shaking thunder that
+seems to take hold of the earth, and there were sounds in the corn
+like the drawing of sabers and the rush of many feet. The noisy thunder
+clouds came nearer and the voices that had made us tremble were no
+longer heard. Uncle Eb began to fasten the oil blanket to the stalks of
+corn for a shelter. The rain came roaring over us. The sound of it was
+like that of a host of cavalry coming at a gallop. We lay bracing the
+stalks, the blanket tied above us and were quite dry for a time. The
+rain rattled in the sounding sheaves and then came flooding down the
+steep gutters. Above us beam and rafter creaked, swaying, and showing
+glimpses of the dark sky. The rain passed--we could hear the last
+battalion leaving the field--and then the tumult ended as suddenly as
+it began. The corn trembled a few moments and hushed to a faint whisper.
+Then we could hear only the drip of raindrops leaking through the green
+roof. It was dark under the corn.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 2
+
+We heard no more of the voices. Uncle Eb had brought an armful of wood,
+and some water in the teapot, while I was sleeping. As soon as the rain
+had passed he stood listening awhile and shortly opened his knife and
+made a little clearing in the corn by cutting a few hills.
+
+'We've got to do it,' he said, 'er we can't take any comfort, an' the
+man tol' me I could have all the corn I wanted.'
+
+'Did you see him, Uncle Eb?' I remember asking.
+
+'Yes,' he answered, whittling in the dark. 'I saw him when I went out
+for the water an' it was he tol' me they were after us.'
+
+He took a look at the sky after a while, and, remarking that he guessed
+they couldn't see his smoke now, began to kindle the fire. As it burned
+up he stuck two crotches and hung his teapot on a stick' that lay in
+them, so it took the heat of the flame, as I had seen him do in the
+morning. Our grotto, in the corn, was shortly as cheerful as any room in
+a palace, and our fire sent its light into the long aisles that opened
+opposite, and nobody could see the warm glow of it but ourselves.
+
+'We'll hev our supper,' said Uncle Eb, as he opened a paper and spread
+out the eggs and bread and butter and crackers. 'We'll jest hev our
+supper an' by 'n by when everyone's abed we'll make tracks in the dirt,
+I can tell ye.'
+
+Our supper over, Uncle Eb let me look at his tobacco-box--a shiny thing
+of German silver that always seemed to snap out a quick farewell to me
+before it dove into his pocket. He was very cheerful and communicative,
+and joked a good deal as we lay there waiting in the firelight. I got
+some further acquaintance with the swift, learning among other things
+that it had no appetite for the pure in heart.
+
+'Why not?' I enquired.
+
+'Well,' said Uncle Eb, 'it's like this: the meaner the boy, the sweeter
+the meat.'
+
+He sang an old song as he sat by the fire, with a whistled interlude
+between lines, and the swing of it, even now, carries me back to that
+far day in the fields. I lay with my head in his lap while he was
+singing.
+
+Years after, when I could have carried him on my back' he wrote down
+for me the words of the old song. Here they are, about as he sang them,
+although there are evidences of repair, in certain lines, to supply the
+loss of phrases that had dropped out of his memory:
+
+
+  I was goin' to Salem one bright summer day,
+  I met a young maiden a goin' my way;
+  O, my fallow, faddeling fallow, faddel away.
+
+  An' many a time I had seen her before,
+  But I never dare tell 'er the love thet I bore.
+  O, my fallow, etc.
+
+  'Oh, where are you goin' my purty fair maid?'
+  'O, sir, I am goin' t' Salem,' she said.
+  O, my fallow, etc.
+
+  'O, why are ye goin' so far in a day?
+  Fer warm is the weather and long is the way.'
+  O, my fallow, etc.
+
+  'O, sir I've forgorten, I hev, I declare,
+  But it's nothin' to eat an' its nothin' to wear.'
+  O, my fallow, etc.
+
+  'Oho! then I hev it, ye purty young miss!
+  I'll bet it is only three words an' a kiss.'
+  O, my fallow, etc.
+
+  'Young woman, young woman, O how will it dew
+  If I go see yer lover 'n bring 'em t' you?'
+  O, my fallow, etc.
+
+  ''S a very long journey,' says she, 'I am told,
+  An' before ye got back, they would surely be cold.'
+  O, my fallow, etc.
+
+  'I hev 'em right with me, I vum an' I vow,
+  An' if you don't object I'll deliver 'em now.'
+  O, my fallow, etc.
+
+  She laid her fair head all on to my breast,
+  An' ye wouldn't know more if I tol' ye the rest
+  O, my fallow, etc.
+
+I went asleep after awhile in spite of all, right in the middle of a
+story. The droning voice of Uncle Eb and the feel of his hand upon my
+forehead called me back, blinking, once or twice, but not for long. The
+fire was gone down to a few embers when Uncle Eb woke me and the grotto
+was lit only by a sprinkle of moonlight from above.
+
+'Mos' twelve o'clock,' he whispered. 'Better be off.'
+
+The basket was on his back and he was all ready. I followed him through
+the long aisle of corn, clinging to the tall of his coat. The golden
+lantern of the moon hung near the zenith and when we came out in the
+open we could see into the far fields. I climbed into my basket at the
+wall and as Uncle Eb carried me over the brook, stopping on a flat rock
+midway to take a drink, I could see the sky in the water, and it seemed
+as if a misstep would have tumbled me into the moon.
+
+'Hear the crickets holler,' said Uncle Eb, as he followed the bank up
+into the open pasture.
+
+'What makes 'em holler?' I asked.
+
+'O, they're jes' filin' their saws an' thinkin'. Mebbe tellin' o' what's
+happened 'em. Been a hard day fer them little folks. Terrible flood in
+their country. Everyone on em hed t' git up a steeple quick 'she could
+er be drownded. They hev their troubles an' they talk 'bout 'em, too.'
+
+'What do they file their saws for?' I enquired.
+
+'Well, ye know,' said he, 'where they live the timber's thick an' they
+hev hard work clearin' t' mek a home.'
+
+I was getting too sleepy for further talk. He made his way from field to
+field, stopping sometimes to look off at the distant mountains then at
+the sky or to whack the dry stalks of mullen with his cane. I remember
+he let down some bars after a long walk and stepped into a smooth
+roadway. He stood resting a little while, his basket on the top bar, and
+then the moon that I had been watching went down behind the broad rim of
+his hat and I fell into utter forgetfulness. My eyes opened on a lovely
+scene at daylight. Uncle Eb had laid me on a mossy knoll in a bit of
+timber and through an opening right in front of us I could see a broad
+level of shining water, and the great green mountain on the further
+shore seemed to be up to its belly in the sea.
+
+'Hello there!' said Uncle Eb; 'here we are at Lake Champlain.'
+
+I could hear the fire crackling and smell the odour of steeping tea.
+
+'Ye flopped 'round like a fish in thet basket,' said Uncle Eb. ''Guess
+ye must a been drearnin' O' bears. Jumped so ye scairt me. Didn't know
+but I had a wil' cat on my shoulders.'
+
+Uncle Eb had taken a fish-line out of his pocket and was tying it to a
+rude pole that he had cut and trinmed with his jack-knife.
+
+'I've found some crawfish here,' he said, 'an' I'm goin' t' try fer a
+bite on the p'int O' rocks there.'
+
+'Goin' t' git some fish, Uncle Eb?' I enquired.
+
+'Wouldn't say't I was, er wouldn't say't I wasn't,' he answered. 'Jes
+goin' t' try.'
+
+Uncle Eb was always careful not to commit himself on a doubtful point.
+He had fixed his hook and sinker in a moment and then we went out on a
+rocky point nearby and threw off into the deep water. Suddenly Uncle
+Eb gave a jerk that brought a groan out of him and then let his hook go
+down again, his hands trembling, his face severe.
+
+'By mighty! Uncle Eb,' he muttered to himself, 'I thought we hed him
+thet time.'
+
+He jerked again presently, and then I could see a tug on the line that
+made me jump. A big fish came thrashing into the air in a minute. He
+tried to swing it ashore, but the pole bent and the fish got a fresh
+hold of the water and took the end of the pole under. Uncle Eb gave it
+a lift then that brought it ashore and a good bit of water with it. I
+remember how the fish slapped me with its wet tail and sprinkled my face
+shaking itself between my boots. It was a big bass and in a little while
+we had three of them. Uncle Eb dressed them and laid them over the fire
+on a gridiron of green birch, salting them as they cooked. I remember
+they went with a fine relish and the last of our eggs and bread and
+butter went with them.
+
+Our breakfast over, Uncle Eb made me promise to stay with Fred and the
+basket while he went away to find a man who could row us across. In
+about an hour I heard a boat coming and the dog and I went out on the
+point of rocks where we saw Uncle Eb and another man, heading for us,
+half over the cove. The bow bumped the rocks beneath us in a minute.
+Then the stranger dropped his oars and stood staring at me and the dog.
+
+'Say, mister,' said he presently, 'can't go no further. There's a reward
+offered fer you an' thet boy.'
+
+Uncle Eb called him aside and was talking to him a long time.
+
+I never knew what was said, but they came at last and took us into the
+boat and the stranger was very friendly.
+
+When we had come near the landing on the 'York State' side, I remember
+he gave us our bearings.
+
+'Keep t' the woods,' he said, 'till you're out o' harm's way. Don't go
+near the stage road fer a while. Ye'll find a store a little way up the
+mountain. Git yer provisions there an' about eighty rod farther ye'll
+strike the trail. It'll take ye over the mountain north an' t' Paradise
+Road. Then take the white church on yer right shoulder an' go straight
+west.'
+
+I would not have remembered it so well but for the fact that Uncle Eb
+wrote it all down in his account book and that has helped me over many
+a slippery place in my memory of those events. At the store we got some
+crackers and cheese, tea and coffee, dried beef and herring, a bit of
+honey and a loaf of bread that was sliced and buttered before it was
+done up. We were off in the woods by nine o'clock, according to Uncle
+Eb's diary, and I remember the trail led us into thick brush where I had
+to get out and walk a long way. It was smooth under foot, however, and
+at noon we came to a slash in the timber, full of briars that were all
+aglow with big blackberries. We filled our hats with them and Uncle Eb
+found a spring, beside which we built a fire and had a memorable meal
+that made me glad of my hunger.
+
+Then we spread the oilcloth and lay down for another sleep. We could
+see the glow of the setting sun through the tree-tops when we woke, and
+began our packing.
+
+'We'll hev t' hurry,' said Uncle Eb, 'er we'll never git out o' the
+woods t'night 'S 'bout six mile er more t' Paradise Road, es I mek it.
+Come, yer slower 'n a toad in a tar barrel.'
+
+We hurried off on the trail and I remember Fred looked very crestfallen
+with two big packages tied to his collar. He delayed a bit by trying to
+shake them off, but Uncle Eb gave him a sharp word or two and then he
+walked along very thoughtfully. Uncle Eb was a little out of patience
+that evening, and I thought he bore down too harshly in his rebuke of
+the old dog.
+
+'You shif'less cuss,' he said to him, 'ye'd jes' dew nothin' but chase
+squirrels an' let me break my back t' carry yer dinner.'
+
+It was glooming fast in the thick timber, and Uncle Eb almost ran with
+me while the way was plain. The last ringing note of the wood thrush
+had died away and in a little while it was so dark I could distinguish
+nothing but the looming mass of tree trunks.
+
+He stopped suddenly and strained his eyes in the dark. Then he whistled
+a sharp, sliding note, and the sound of it gave me some hint of his
+trouble.
+
+'Git down, Willie,' said he, 'an' tek my hand. I'm 'fraid we're lost
+here 'n the big woods.'
+
+We groped about for a minute, trying to find the trail.
+
+'No use,' he said presently, 'we'll hev t' stop right here. Oughter
+known berter 'n t' come through s' near sundown. Guess it was more 'n
+anybody could do.'
+
+He built a fire and began to lay out a supper for us then, while Fred
+sat down by me to be relieved of his bundles. Our supper was rather dry,
+for we had no water, but it was only two hours since we left the spring,
+so we were not suffering yet. Uncle Eb took out of the fire a burning
+brand of pine and went away into the gloomy woods, holding it above his
+head, while Fred and I sat by the fire.
+
+''S lucky we didn't go no further,' he said, as he came in after a few
+minutes. 'There's a big prec'pice over yender. Dunno how deep 't is.
+Guess we'd a found out purty soon.'
+
+He cut some boughs of hemlock, growing near us, and spread them in a
+little hollow. That done, we covered them with the oilcloth, and sat
+down comfortably by the fire. Uncle Eb had a serious look and was not
+inclined to talk or story telling. Before turning in he asked me to
+kneel and say my prayer as I had done every evening at the feet of
+my mother. I remember, clearly, kneeling before my old companion and
+hearing the echo of my small voice there in the dark and lonely woods.
+
+I remember too, and even more clearly, how he bent his head and covered
+his eyes in that brief moment. I had a great dread of darkness and
+imagined much evil of the forest, but somehow I had no fear if he were
+near me. When we had fixed the fire and lain down for the night on the
+fragrant hemlock and covered ourselves with the shawl, Uncle Eb lay on
+one side of me and old Fred on the other, so I felt secure indeed. The
+night had many voices there in the deep wood. Away in the distance I
+could hear a strange, wild cry, and I asked what it was and Uncle Eb
+whispered back, ''s a loon.' Down the side of the mountain a shrill bark
+rang in the timber and that was a fox, according to my patient oracle.
+Anon we heard the crash and thunder of a falling tree and a murmur that
+followed in the wake of the last echo.
+
+'Big tree fallin'!' said Uncle Eb, as he lay gaping. 'It has t' break a
+way t' the ground an' it must hurt. Did ye notice how the woods tremble?
+If we was up above them we could see the hole thet tree hed made. Jes'
+like an open grave till the others hev filed it with their tops.'
+
+My ears had gone deaf with drowsiness when a quick stir in the body of
+Uncle Eb brought me back to my senses. He was up on his elbow listening
+and the firelight had sunk to a glimmer. Fred lay shivering and growling
+beside me. I could hear no other sound.
+
+'Be still,' said Uncle Eb, as he boxed the dog's ears. Then he rose and
+began to stir the fire and lay on more wood. As the flame leaped and
+threw its light into the tree-tops a shrill cry, like the scream of a
+frightened woman, only louder and more terrible to hear brought me to my
+feet, crying. I knew the source of it was near us and ran to Uncle Eb in
+a fearful panic.
+
+'Hush, boy,' said he as it died away and went echoing in the far forest.
+'I'll take care o' you. Don't be scairt. He's more 'fraid uv us than we
+are o' him. He's makin' off now.'
+
+We heard then a great crackling of dead brush on the mountain above us.
+It grew fainter as we listened. In a little while the woods were silent.
+
+'It's the ol' man o' the woods,' said Uncle Eb. 'E's out takin' a walk.'
+
+'Will he hurt folks?' I enquired.
+
+'Tow!' he answered, 'jest as harmless as a kitten.'
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 3
+
+Naturally there were a good many things I wanted to know about 'the
+ol' man o' the woods,' but Uncle Eb would take no part in any further
+conversation.
+
+So I had to lie down beside him again and think out the problem as best
+I could. My mind was never more acutely conscious and it gathered many
+strange impressions, wandering in the kingdom of Fear, as I looked up
+at the tree-tops. Uncle Eb had built a furious fire and the warmth of
+it made me sleepy at last. Both he and old Fred had been snoring a long
+time when I ceased to hear them. Uncle Eb woke me at daylight, in the
+morning, and said we must be off to find the trail. He left me by the
+fire a little while and went looking on all sides and came back no
+wiser. We were both thirsty and started off on rough footing, without
+stopping to eat. We climbed and crawled for hours, it seemed to me, and
+everywhere the fallen tree trunks were heaped in our way. Uncle Eb sat
+down on one of them awhile to rest.
+
+'Like the bones o' the dead,' said he, as he took a chew of tobacco and
+picked at the rotten skeleton of a fallen tree. We were both pretty well
+out of breath and of hope also, if I remember rightly, when we rested
+again under the low hanging boughs of a basswood for a bite of luncheon.
+Uncle Eb opened the little box of honey and spread some of it on our
+bread and butter. In a moment I noticed that half a dozen bees had lit
+in the open box.
+
+'Lord Harry! here's honey bees,' said he, as he covered the box so as to
+keep them in, and tumbled everything else into the basket. 'Make haste
+now, Willie, and follow me with all yer might,' he added.
+
+In a minute he let out one of the bees, and started running in the
+direction it flew. It went but a few feet and then rose into the
+tree-top.
+
+'He's goin' t' git up into the open air,' said Uncle Eb. 'But I've got
+his bearins' an' I guess he knows the way all right.'
+
+We took the direction indicated for a few minutes and then Uncle Eb let
+out another prisoner. The bee flew off a little way and then rose in a
+slanting course to the tree-tops. He showed us, however, that we were
+looking the right way.
+
+'Them little fellers hev got a good compass,' said Uncle Eb, as we
+followed the line of the bees. 'It p'ints home ev'ry time, an' never
+makes a mistake.'
+
+We went further this time before releasing another. He showed us that
+we had borne out of our course a little and as we turned to follow
+there were half a dozen bees flying around the box, as if begging for
+admission.
+
+'Here they are back agin,' said Uncle Eb, 'an' they've told a lot o'
+their cronies 'bout the man an' the boy with honey.'
+
+At length one of them flew over our heads and back in the direction we
+had come from.
+
+'Ah, ha,' said Uncle Eb, 'it's a bee tree an' we've passed it, but I'm
+goin' t' keep lettin' 'em in an' out. Never heard uv a swarm o' bees
+goin' fur away an' so we mus' be near the clearin'.'
+
+In a little while we let one go that took a road of its own. The others
+had gone back over our heads; this one bore off to the right in front of
+us, and we followed. I was riding in the basket and was first to see the
+light of the open through the tree-tops. But I didn't know what it meant
+until I heard the hearty 'hurrah' of Uncle Eb.
+
+We had come to smooth footing in a grove of maples and the clean trunks
+of the trees stood up as straight as a granite column. Presently we came
+out upon wide fields of corn and clover, and as we looked back upon the
+grove it had a rounded front and I think of it now as the vestibule of
+the great forest.
+
+'It's a reg'lar big tomb,' said Uncle Eb, looking back over his shoulder
+into the gloomy cavern of the woods.
+
+We could see a log house in the clearing, and we made for it as fast as
+our legs would carry us. We had a mighty thirst and when we came to a
+little brook in the meadow we laid down and drank and drank until we
+were fairly grunting with fullness. Then we filled our teapot and went
+on. Men were reaping with their cradles in a field of grain and, as we
+neared the log house, a woman came out in the dooryard and, lifting a
+shell to her lips, blew a blast that rushed over the clearing and rang
+in the woods beyond it A loud halloo came back from the men.
+
+A small dog rushed out at Fred, barking, and, I suppose, with some lack
+of respect, for the old dog laid hold of him in a violent temper and
+sent him away yelping. We must have presented an evil aspect, for our
+clothes were torn and we were both limping with fatigue. The woman had
+a kindly face and, after looking at us a moment, came and stooped before
+me and held my small face in her hands turning it so she could look into
+my eyes.
+
+'You poor little critter,' said she, 'where you goin'?'
+
+Uncle Eb told her something about my father and mother being dead and
+our going west Then she hugged and kissed me and made me very miserable,
+I remember, wetting my face with her tears, that were quite beyond my
+comprehension.
+
+'Jethro,' said she, as the men came into the yard, 'I want ye t' look
+at this boy. Did ye ever see such a cunnin' little critter? Jes' look
+at them bright eyes!' and then she held me to her breast and nearly
+smothered me and began to hum a bit of an old song.
+
+'Yer full o' mother love,' said her husband, as he sat down on the grass
+a moment 'Lost her only baby, an' the good Lord has sent no other. I
+swan, he has got putty eyes. Jes' as blue as a May flower. Ain't ye
+hungry? Come right in, both o' ye, an' set down t' the table with us.'
+
+They made room for us and we sat down between the bare elbows of the
+hired men. I remember my eyes came only to the top of the table. So the
+good woman brought the family Bible and sitting on that firm foundation
+I ate my dinner of salt pork and potatoes and milk gravy, a diet as
+grateful as it was familiar to my taste.
+
+'Orphan, eh?' said the man of the house, looking down at me.
+
+'Orphan,' Uncle Eb answered, nodding his head.
+
+'God-fearin' folks?'
+
+'Best in the world,' said Uncle Eb.
+
+Want t' bind 'im out?' the man asked.
+
+'Couldn't spare 'im,' said Uncle Eb, decisively.
+
+'Where ye goin'?'
+
+Uncle Eb hesitated, groping for an answer, I suppose, that would do no
+violence to our mutual understanding.
+
+'Goin' t' heaven,' I ventured to say presently--an answer that gave rise
+to conflicting emotions at the table.
+
+'That's right,' said Uncle Eb, turning to me and patting my head. 'We're
+on the road t' heaven, I hope, an' ye'll see it someday, sartin sure, if
+ye keep in the straight road and be a good boy.'
+
+After dinner the good woman took off my clothes and put me in bed while
+she mended them. I went asleep then and did not awake for a long time.
+When I got up at last she brought a big basin of water and washed me
+with such motherly tenderness in voice and manner that I have never
+forgotten it. Uncle Eb lay sleeping on the lounge and when she had
+finished dressing me, Fred and I went out to play in the garden. It
+was supper time in a little while and then, again, the woman winded the
+shell and the men came up from the field. We sat down to eat with them,
+as we had done at noon, and Uncle Eb consented to spend the night after
+some urging. He helped them with the milking, and as I stood beside him
+shot a jet of the warm white flood into my mouth, that tickled it so
+I ran away laughing. The milking done, I sat on Uncle Eb's knee in the
+door-yard with all the rest of that household, hearing many tales of
+the wilderness, and of robbery and murder on Paradise Road. I got the
+impression that it was a country of unexampled wickedness and ferocity
+in men and animals. One man told about the ghost of Burnt Bridge; how
+the bridge had burnt one afternoon and how a certain traveller in the
+dark of the night driving down the hill above it, fell to his death at
+the brink of the culvert.
+
+'An' every night since then,' said the man, very positively, ye can hear
+him drivin' down thet hill--jes' as plain as ye can hear me talkin'--the
+rattle o' the wheels an' all. It stops sudden an' then ye can hear 'im
+hit the rocks way down there at the bottom O' the gulley an' groan an'
+groan. An' folks say it's a curse on the town for leavin' thet hole
+open.'
+
+'What's a ghost, Uncle Eb?' I whispered.
+
+'Somethin' like a swift,' he answered, 'but not so powerful. We heard a
+panther las' night,' he added, turning to our host. 'Hollered like sin
+when he see the fire.'
+
+'Scairt!' said the man o' the house gaping. 'That's what ailed him. I've
+lived twenty year on Paradise Road an' it was all woods when I put
+up the cabin. Seen deer on the doorstep an' bears in the garden, an'
+panthers in the fields. But I tell ye there's no critter so terrible as
+a man. All the animals know 'im--how he roars, an' spits fire an' smoke
+an' lead so it goes through a body er bites off a leg, mebbe. Guess
+they'd made friends with me but them I didn't kill went away smarting
+with holes in 'em. An' I guess they told all their people 'bout me--the
+terrible critter that walked on its hind legs an' lied a white face an'
+drew up an' spit 'is teeth into their vitals 'cross a ten-acre lot. An'
+putty soon they concluded they didn't want t' hev no truck with me. They
+thought thin clearin' was the valley o' death an' they got very
+careful. But the deer they kep' peekin' in at me. Sumthin' funny 'bout a
+deer--they're so cu'rus. Seem's though they loved the look o' me an' the
+taste o' the tame grass. Mebbe God meant em t' serve in the yoke some
+way an' be the friend o' man. They're the outcasts o' the forest--the
+prey o' the other animals an' men like 'em only when they're dead.
+An' they're the purtiest critter alive an' the spryest an' the mos'
+graceful.'
+
+'Men are the mos' terrible of all critters, an' the meanest,' said Uncle
+Eb. 'They're the only critters that kill fer fun.'
+
+'Bedtime,' said our host, rising presently. 'Got t' be up early 'n the
+morning.'
+
+We climbed a ladder to the top floor of the cabin with the hired men, of
+whom there were two. The good lady of the house had made a bed for us
+on the floor and I remember Fred came up the ladder too, and lay down
+beside us. Uncle Eb was up with the men in the morning and at breakfast
+time my hostess came and woke me with kisses and helped me to dress.
+When we were about going she brought a little wagon out of the cellar
+that had been a playing of her dead boy, and said I could have it. This
+wonderful wagon was just the thing for the journey we were making. When
+I held the little tongue in my hand I was half-way to heaven already. It
+had four stout wheels and a beautiful red box. Her brother had sent it
+all the way from New York and it had stood so long in the cellar it was
+now much in need of repair. Uncle Eb took it to the tool shop in the
+stable and put it in shipshape order and made a little pair of thills to
+go in place of the tongue. Then he made a big flat collar and a back-pad
+out of the leather in old boot-legs, and rigged a pair of tugs out
+of two pieces of rope. Old Fred was quite cast down when he stood in
+harness between the shafts.
+
+He had waited patiently to have his collar fitted; he had grinned
+and panted and wagged his tail with no suspicion of the serious and
+humiliating career he was entering upon. Now he stood with a sober face
+and his aspect was full of meditation.
+
+'You fightin' hound!' said Uncle Eb, 'I hope this'll improve yer
+character.'
+
+Fred tried to sit down when Uncle Eb tied a leading rope to his collar.
+When he heard the wheels rattle and felt the pull of the wagon he looked
+back at it and growled a little and started to run. Uncle Eb shouted
+'whoa', and held him back, and then the dog got down on his belly and
+trembled until we patted his head and gave him a kind word. He seemed
+to understand presently and came along with a steady stride. Our hostess
+met us at the gate and the look of her face when she bade us goodbye and
+tucked some cookies into my pocket, has always lingered in my memory and
+put in me a mighty respect for all women. The sound of her voice, the
+tears, the waving of her handkerchief, as we went away, are among the
+things that have made me what I am.
+
+We stowed our packages in the wagon box and I walked a few miles and
+then got into the empty basket. Fred tipped his load over once or twice,
+but got a steady gait in the way of industry after a while and a more
+cheerful look. We had our dinner by the roadside on the bank of a brook,
+an hour or so after midday, and came to a little village about sundown.
+As we were nearing it there was some excitement among the dogs and
+one of them tackled Fred. He went into battle very promptly, the wagon
+jumping and rattling until it turned bottom up. Re-enforced by Uncle
+Eb's cane he soon saw the heels of his aggressor and stood growling
+savagely. He was like the goal in a puzzle maze all wound and tangled
+in his harness and it took some time to get his face before him and his
+feet free.
+
+At a small grocery where groups of men, just out of the fields, were
+sitting, their arms bare to the elbows, we bought more bread and butter.
+In paying for it Uncle Eb took a package out of his trouser pocket to
+get his change. It was tied in a red handkerchief and I remember it
+looked to be about the size of his fist. He was putting it back when it
+fell from his hand, heavily, and I could hear the chink of coin as it
+struck. One of the men, who sat near, picked it up and gave it back to
+him. As I remember well, his kindness had an evil flavour, for he winked
+at his companions, who nudged each other as they smiled knowingly. Uncle
+Eb was a bit cross, when I climbed into the basket, and walked along in
+silence so rapidly it worried the dog to keep pace. The leading rope was
+tied to the stock of the rifle and Fred's walking gait was too slow for
+the comfort of his neck.
+
+'You shifless cuss! I'll put a kink in your neck fer you if ye don't
+walk up,' said Uncle Eb, as he looked back at the dog, in a temper
+wholly unworthy of him.
+
+We had crossed a deep valley and were climbing a long hill in the dusky
+twilight.
+
+'Willie,' said Uncle Eb, 'your eyes are better'n mine--look back and see
+if anyone's comin'.'
+
+'Can't see anyone,' I answered.
+
+'Look 'way back in the road as fur as ye can see.
+
+I did so, but I could see no one. He slackened his pace a little after
+that and before we had passed the hill it was getting dark. The road ran
+into woods and a river cut through them a little way from the clearing.
+
+'Supper time, Uncle Eb,' I suggested, as we came to the bridge.
+
+'Supper time, Uncle Eb,' he answered, turning down to the shore.
+
+I got out of the basket then and followed him in the brush. Fred found
+it hard travelling here and shortly we took off his harness and left the
+wagon, transferring its load to the basket, while we pushed on to find
+a camping place. Back in the thick timber a long way from the road, we
+built a fire and had our supper. It was a dry nook in the pines--'tight
+as a house,' Uncle Eb said--and carpeted with the fragrant needles. When
+we lay on our backs in the firelight I remember the weary, droning voice
+of Uncle Eb had an impressive accompaniment of whispers. While he told
+stories I had a glowing cinder on the end of a stick and was weaving
+fiery skeins in the gloom.
+
+He had been telling me of a panther he had met in the woods, one day,
+and how the creature ran away at the sight of him.
+
+'Why's a panther 'fraid o' folks?' I enquired.
+
+'Wall, ye see, they used t' be friendly, years 'n years ago--folks 'n
+panthers--but they want eggszac'ly cal'lated t' git along t'gether some
+way. An' ol' she panther gin 'em one uv her cubs, a great while ago, jes
+t' make frien's. The cub he grew big 'n used t' play 'n be very gentle.
+They wuz a boy he tuk to, an' both on 'em got very friendly. The boy 'n
+the panther went off one day 'n the woods--guess 'twas more 'n a hundred
+year ago--an' was lost. Walked all over 'n fin'ly got t' goin' round 'n
+round 'n a big circle 'til they was both on 'em tired out. Come night
+they lay down es hungry es tew bears. The boy he was kind o' 'fraid 'o
+the dark, so he got up clus t' the panther 'n lay 'tween his paws. The
+boy he thought the panther smelt funny an' the panther he didn't jes'
+like the smell o' the boy. An' the boy he hed the legache 'n kicked
+the panther 'n the belly, so 't he kin' o' gagged 'n spit an' they want
+neither on 'em reel comf'able. The sof paws o' the panther was jes' like
+pincushions. He'd great hooks in 'em sharper 'n the p'int uv a needle.
+An' when he was goin' t' sleep he'd run 'em out jes' like an ol'
+cat--kind o' playfull--'n purr 'n pull. All t' once the boy felt
+sumthin' like a lot o' needles prickin' his back. Made him jump 'n
+holler like Sam Hill. The panther he spit sassy 'n riz up 'n smelt o'
+the ground. Didn't neither on 'em know what was the matter. Bime bye
+they lay down ag'in. 'Twant only a little while 'fore the boy felt
+somethin' prickin' uv him. He hollered 'n kicked ag'in. The panther he
+growled 'n spit 'n dumb a tree 'n sot on a limb 'n peeked over at thet
+queer little critter. Couldn't neither on 'em understan' it. The boy
+c'u'd see the eyes o' the panther 'n the dark. Shone like tew live coals
+eggszac'ly. The panther 'd never sot 'n a tree when he was hungry, 'n
+see a boy below him. Sumthin' tol' him t' jump. Tail went swish in the
+leaves like thet. His whiskers quivered, his tongue come out. C'u'd
+think o' nuthin' but his big empty belly. The boy was scairt. He up with
+his gun quick es a flash. Aimed at his eyes 'n let 'er flicker. Blew a
+lot o' smoke 'n bird shot 'n paper waddin' right up in t' his face. The
+panther he lost his whiskers 'n one eye 'n got his hide fill' o' shot
+'n fell off the tree like a ripe apple 'n run fer his life. Thought he'd
+never see nuthin' c'u'd growl 'n spits powerful es thet boy. Never c'u'd
+bear the sight uv a man after thet. Allwus made him gag 'n spit t' think
+o' the man critter. Went off tew his own folks 'n tol' o' the boy 'at
+spit fire 'n smoke 'n growled so't almos' tore his ears off An' now,
+whenever they hear a gun go off they allwus thank it's the man critter
+growlin'. An' they gag 'n spit 'n look es if it made 'em sick t'
+the stomach. An' the man folks they didn't hev no good 'pimon o' the
+panthers after thet. Haint never been frien's any more. Fact is a man,
+he can be any kind uv a beast, but a panther he can't be nuthin' but
+jest a panther.'
+
+Then, too, as we lay there in the firelight, Uncle Eb told the
+remarkable story of the gingerbread hear. He told it slowly, as if his
+invention were severely taxed.
+
+'Once they wuz a boy got lost. Was goin' cross lots t' play with 'nother
+boy 'n lied t' go through a strip o' woods. Went off the trail t' chase
+a butterfly 'n got lost. Hed his kite 'n' cross-gun 'n' he wandered all
+over 'til he was tired 'n hungry. Then he lay down t' cry on a bed o'
+moss. Putty quick they was a big black bear come along.
+
+'"What's the matter?" said the bear.
+
+'"Hungry," says the boy.
+
+'"Tell ye what I'll dew," says the bear. "If ye'll scratch my back fer
+me I'll let ye cut a piece o' my tail off t' eat."
+
+'Bear's tail, ye know, hes a lot o' meat on it--heam tell it was gran'
+good fare. So the boy he scratched the bear's back an' the bear he
+grinned an' made his paw go patitty-pat on the ground--it did feel so
+splendid. Then the boy tuk his jack-knife 'n begun t' cut off the bear's
+tail. The bear he flew mad 'n growled 'n growled so the boy he stopped
+'n didn't dast cut no more.
+
+'"Hurts awful," says the bear. "Couldn't never stan' it. Tell ye what
+I'll dew. Ye scratched my back an' now I'll scratch your'n."
+
+'Gee whiz!' said I.
+
+'Yessir, that's what the bear said,' Uncle Eb went on. 'The boy he up
+'n run like a nailer. The bear he laughed hearty 'n scratched the ground
+like Sam Hill, 'n flung the dirt higher'n his head.
+
+'"Look here," says he, as the boy stopped, "I jes' swallered a piece o
+mutton. Run yer hand int' my throat an I'll let ye hev it."
+
+'The bear he opened his mouth an' showed his big teeth.'
+
+'Whew!' I whistled.
+
+'Thet's eggszac'ly what he done,' said Uncle Eb. 'He showed 'em plain.
+The boy was scairter'n a weasel. The bear he jumped up 'an down on his
+hind legs 'n laughed 'n' hollered 'n' shook himself.
+
+'"Only jes' foolin," says he, when he see the boy was goin' t' run
+ag'in. "What ye 'fraid uv?"
+
+'"Can't bear t' stay here," says the boy, "'less ye'll keep yer mouth
+shet."
+
+'An the bear he shet his mouth 'n pinted to the big pocket 'n his fur
+coat 'n winked 'n motioned t' the boy.
+
+'The bear he reely did hev a pocket on the side uv his big fur coat. The
+boy slid his hand in up t' the elbow. Wha' d'ye s'pose he found?'
+
+'Durmo,' said I.
+
+'Sumthin' t' eat,' he continued. 'Boy liked it best uv all things.'
+
+I guessed everything I could think of, from cookies to beefsteak, and
+gave up.
+
+'Gingerbread,' said he, soberly, at length.
+
+'Thought ye said bears couldn't talk,' I objected.
+
+'Wall, the boy 'd fell asleep an' he'd only dreamed o' the bear,' said
+Uncle Eb. 'Ye see, bears can talk when boys are dreamin' uv 'em. Come
+daylight, the boy got up 'n ketched a crow. Broke his wing with the
+cross-gun. Then he tied the kite swing on t' the crow's leg, an' the
+crow flopped along 'n the boy followed him 'n bime bye they come out a
+cornfield, where the crow'd been used t' comin' fer his dinner.'
+
+'What 'come o' the boy?' said I.
+
+'Went home,' said he, gaping, as he lay on his back and looked up at the
+tree-tops. 'An' he allwus said a bear was good comp'ny if he'd only keep
+his mouth shet--jes' like some folks I've hearn uv.'
+
+'An' what 'come o' the crow?'
+
+'Went t' the ol' crow doctor 'n got his wing fixed,' he said, drowsily.
+And in a moment I heard him snoring.
+
+We had been asleep a long time when the barking of Fred woke us. I could
+just see Uncle Eb in the dim light of the fire, kneeling beside me, the
+rifle in his hand.
+
+'I'll fill ye full o' lead if ye come any nearer,' he shouted.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 4
+
+We listened awhile then but heard no sound in the thicket, although Fred
+was growling ominously, his hair on end. As for myself I never had a
+more fearful hour than that we suffered before the light of morning
+came.
+
+I made no outcry, but clung to my old companion, trembling. He did not
+stir for a few minutes, and then we crept cautiously into the small
+hemlocks on one side of the opening.
+
+'Keep still,' he whispered, 'don't move er speak.'
+
+Presently we heard a move in the brush and then quick as a flash Uncle
+Eb lifted his rifle and fired in the direction of it Before the loud
+echo had gone off in the woods we heard something break through the
+brush at a run.
+
+''S a man,' said Uncle Eb, as he listened. 'He ain't a losin' no time
+nuther.'
+
+We sat listening as the sound grew fainter, and when it ceased entirely
+Uncle Eb said he must have got to the road. After a little the light
+of the morning began sifting down through the tree-tops and was greeted
+with innumerable songs.
+
+'He done noble,' said Uncle Eb, patting the old dog as he rose to poke
+the fire. 'Putty good chap I call 'im! He can hev half o' my dinner any
+time he wants it.'
+
+'Who do you suppose it was?' I enquired.
+
+'Robbers, I guess,' he answered, 'an' they'll be layin' fer us when
+we go out, mebbe; but, if they are, Fred'll find 'em an' I've got Ol'
+Trusty here 'n' I guess thet'll take care uv us.'
+
+His rifle was always flattered with that name of Ol' Trusty when it had
+done him a good turn.
+
+Soon as the light had come clear he went out in the near woods with dog
+and rifle and beat around in the brush. He returned shortly and said he
+had seen where they came and went.
+
+'I'd a killed em deader 'n a door nail,' said he, laying down the old
+rifle, 'if they'd a come any nearer.'
+
+Then we brought water from the river and had our breakfast. Fred went on
+ahead of us, when we started for the road, scurrying through the brush
+on both sides of the trail, as if he knew what was expected of him. He
+flushed a number of partridges and Uncle Eb killed one of them on our
+way to the road. We resumed our journey without any further adventure.
+It was so smooth and level under foot that Uncle Eb let me get in the
+wagon after Fred was hitched to it The old dog went along soberly and
+without much effort, save when we came to hills or sandy places, when
+I always got out and ran on behind. Uncle Eb showed me how to brake the
+wheels with a long stick going downhill. I remember how it hit the dog's
+heels at the first down grade, and how he ran to keep out of the way
+of it We were going like mad in half a minute, Uncle Eb coming after us
+calling to the dog. Fred only looked over his shoulder, with a wild eye,
+at the rattling wagon and ran the harder. He leaped aside at the bottom
+and then we went all in a heap. Fortunately no harm was done.
+
+'I declare!' said Uncle Eb as he came up to us, puffing like a spent
+horse, and picked me up unhurt and began to untangle the harness of old
+Fred, 'I guess he must a thought the devil was after him.'
+
+The dog growled a little for a moment and bit at the harness, but
+coaxing reassured him and he went along all right again on the level. At
+a small settlement the children came out and ran along beside my wagon,
+laughing and asking me questions. Some of them tried to pet the dog, but
+old Fred kept to his labour at the heels of Uncle Eb and looked neither
+to right nor left. We stopped under a tree by the side of a narrow brook
+for our dinner, and one incident of that meal I think of always when
+I think of Uncle Eb. It shows the manner of man he was and with what
+understanding and sympathy he regarded every living thing. In rinsing
+his teapot he accidentally poured a bit of water on a big bumble-bee.
+The poor creature struggled to lift hill, and then another downpour
+caught him and still another until his wings fell drenched. Then his
+breast began heaving violently, his legs stiffened behind him and he
+sank, head downward, in the grass. Uncle Eb saw the death throes of the
+bee and knelt down and lifted the dead body by one of its wings.
+
+'Jes' look at his velvet coat,' he said, 'an' his wings all wet n'
+stiff. They'll never carry him another journey. It's too bad a man has
+t' kill every step he takes.'
+
+The bee's tail was moving faintly and Uncle Eb laid him out in the warm
+sunlight and fanned him awhile with his hat, trying to bring back the
+breath of life.
+
+'Guilty!' he said, presently, coming back with a sober face. 'Thet's a
+dead bee. No tellin' how many was dependent on him er what plans he bed.
+Must a gi'n him a lot o' pleasure t' fly round in the sunlight, workin'
+every fair day. 'S all over now.'
+
+He had a gloomy face for an hour after that and many a time, in the days
+that followed, I heard him speak of the murdered bee.
+
+We lay resting awhile after dinner and watching a big city of ants.
+Uncle Eb told me how they tilled the soil of the mound every year and
+sowed their own kind of grain--a small white seed like rice--and reaped
+their harvest in the late summer, storing the crop in their dry cellars
+under ground. He told me also the story of the ant lion--a big beetle
+that lives in the jungles of the grain and the grass--of which I
+remember only an outline, more or less imperfect.
+
+Here it is in my own rewording of his tale: On a bright day one of the
+little black folks went off on a long road in a great field of barley.
+He was going to another city of his own people to bring helpers for the
+harvest. He came shortly to a sandy place where the barley was thin and
+the hot sunlight lay near to the ground. In a little valley close by
+the road of the ants he saw a deep pit, in the sand, with steep sides
+sloping to a point in the middle and as big around as a biscuit. Now
+the ants are a curious people and go looking for things that are new and
+wonderful as they walk abroad, so they have much to tell worth hearing
+after a journey. The little traveller was young and had no fear, so he
+left the road and went down to the pit and peeped over the side of it.
+
+'What in the world is the meaning of this queer place?' he asked himself
+as he ran around the rim. In a moment he had stepped over and the soft
+sand began to cave and slide beneath him. Quick as a flash the big
+lion-beetle rose up in the centre of the pit and began to reach for
+him. Then his legs flew in the caving sand and the young ant struck
+his blades in it to hold the little he could gain. Upward he struggled,
+leaping and floundering in the dust. He had got near the rim and had
+stopped, clinging to get his breath, when the lion began flinging the
+sand at him with his long feelers. It rose in a cloud and fell on the
+back of the ant and pulled at him as it swept down. He could feel the
+mighty cleavers of the lion striking near his hind legs and pulling the
+sand from under them. He must go down in a moment and he knew what that
+meant. He had heard the old men of the tribe tell often--how they hold
+one helpless and slash him into a dozen pieces. He was letting go, in
+despair, when he felt a hand on his neck. Looking up he saw one of his
+own people reaching over the rim, and in a jiffy they had shut their
+fangs together. He moved little by little as the other tagged at him,
+and in a moment was out of the trap and could feel the honest earth
+under him. When they had got home and told their adventure, some were
+for going to slay the beetle.
+
+'There is never a pit in the path o' duty,' said the wise old chief of
+the little black folks. 'See that you keep in the straight road.'
+
+'If our brother had not left the straight road,' said one who stood
+near, 'he that was in danger would have gone down into the pit.'
+
+'It matters much,' he answered, 'whether it was kindness or curiosity
+that led him out of the road. But he that follows a fool hath much need
+of wisdom, for if he save the fool do ye not see that he hath encouraged
+folly?'
+
+Of course I had then no proper understanding of the chiefs counsel, nor
+do I pretend even to remember it from that first telling, but the tale
+was told frequently in the course of my long acquaintance with Uncle Eb.
+
+The diary of my good old friend lies before me as I write, the leaves
+turned yellow and the entries dim. I remember how stern he grew of an
+evening when he took out this sacred little record of our wanderings and
+began to write in it with his stub of a pencil. He wrote slowly and read
+and reread each entry with great care as I held the torch for him. 'Be
+still, boy--be still,' he would say when some pressing interrogatory
+passed my lips, and then he would bend to his work while the point of
+his pencil bored further into my patience. Beginning here I shall quote
+a few entries from the diary as they cover, with sufficient detail, an
+uneventful period of our journey.
+
+AUGUST 20 Killed a partridge today. Biled it in the teapot for dinner.
+Went good. 14 mild.
+
+AUGUST 21 Seen a deer this morning. Fred fit ag'in. Come near spilin'
+the wagon. Hed to stop and fix the ex. 10 mild.
+
+AUGUST 22 Clumb a tree this morning after wild grapes. Come near
+falling. Gin me a little crick in the back. Willie hes got a stun bruze.
+12 mild.
+
+AUGUST 23 Went in swinmun. Ketched a few fish before breakfus'. Got
+provisions an' two case knives an' one fork, also one tin pie-plate.
+Used same to fry fish for dinner. 14 mild.
+
+AUGUST 24 Got some spirits for Willie to rub on my back. Boots wearing
+out. Terrible hot. Lay in the shade in the heat of the day. Gypsies come
+an' camped by us tonight. 10 mild.
+
+I remember well the coming of those gypsies. We were fishing in sight of
+the road and our fire was crackling on the smooth cropped shore. The big
+wagons of the gypsies--there were four of them as red and beautiful as
+those of a circus caravan--halted about sundown while the men came over
+a moment to scan the field. Presently they went back and turned their
+wagons into the siding and began to unhitch. Then a lot of barefooted
+children, and women under gay shawls, overran the field gathering wood
+and making ready for night. Meanwhile swarthy drivers took the horses to
+water and tethered them with long ropes so they could crop the grass of
+the roadside.
+
+One tall, bony man, with a face almost as black as that of an Indian,
+brought a big iron pot and set it up near the water. A big stew of beef
+bone, leeks and potatoes began to cook shortly, and I remember it had
+such a goodly smell I was minded to ask them for a taste of it. A little
+city of strange people had surrounded us of a sudden. Uncle Eb thought
+of going on, but the night was coming fast and there would be no moon
+and we were footsore and hungry. Women and children came over to our
+fire, after supper, and made more of me than I liked. I remember taking
+refuge between the knees of Uncle Eb, and Fred sat close in front of
+us growling fiercely when they came too near. They stood about, looking
+down at us and whispered together, and one young miss of the tribe came
+up and tried to kiss me in spite of Fred's warnings: She had flashing
+black eyes and hair as dark as the night, that fell in a curling mass
+upon her shoulders; but, somehow, I had a mighty fear of her and fought
+with desperation to keep my face from the touch of her red lips. Uncle
+Eb laughed and held Fred by the collar, and I began to cry out in
+terror, presently, when, to my great relief, she let go and ran away to
+her own people. They all went away to their wagons, save one young man,
+who was tall with light hair and a fair skin, and who looked like none
+of the other gypsies.
+
+'Take care of yourself,' he whispered, as soon as the rest had gone.
+'These are bad people. You'd better be off.'
+
+The young man left us and Uncle Eb began to pack up at once. They were
+going to bed in their wagons when we came away. I stood in the basket
+and Fred drew the wagon that had in it only a few bundles. A mile or
+more further on we came to a lonely, deserted cabin close to the road.
+It had began to thunder in the distance and the wind was blowing damp.
+
+'Guess nobody lives here,' said Uncle Eb as he turned in at the sagging
+gate and began to cross the little patch of weeds and hollyhocks behind
+it 'Door's half down, but I guess it'll de better'n no house. Goin' t'
+rain sartin.'
+
+I was nodding a little about then, I remember; but I was wide awake when
+he took me out of the basket The old house stood on a high hill, and
+we could see the stars of heaven through the ruined door and one of the
+back windows. Uncle Eb lifted the leaning door a little and shoved it
+aside. We heard then a quick stir in the old house--a loud and ghostly
+rattle it seems now as I think of it--like that made by linen shaking on
+the line. Uncle Eb took a step backward as if it had startled him.
+
+'Guess it's nuthin' to be 'fraid of;' he said, feeling in the pet of his
+coat He had struck a match in a moment. By its flickering light I could
+see only a bit of rubbish on the floor.
+
+'Full o' white owls,' said he, stepping inside, where the rustling was
+now continuous. 'They'll do us no harm.'
+
+I could see them now flying about under the low ceiling. Uncle Eb
+gathered an armful of grass and clover, in the near field, and spread it
+in a corner well away from the ruined door and windows. Covered with our
+blanket it made a fairly comfortable bed. Soon as we had lain down,
+the rain began to rattle on the shaky roof and flashes of lightning lit
+every corner of the old room.
+
+I have had, ever, a curious love of storms, and, from the time when
+memory began its record in my brain, it has delighted me to hear at
+night the roar of thunder and see the swift play of the lightning. I
+lay between Uncle Eb and the old dog, who both went asleep shortly.
+Less wearied I presume than either of them, for I had done none of the
+carrying, and had slept along time that day in the shade of a tree, I
+was awake an hour or more after they were snoring. Every flash lit the
+old room like the full glare of the noonday sun. I remember it showed me
+an old cradle, piled full of rubbish, a rusty scythe hung in the rotting
+sash of a window, a few lengths of stove-pipe and a plough in one
+corner, and three staring white owls that sat on a beam above the
+doorway. The rain roared on the old roof shortly, and came dripping down
+through the bare boards above us. A big drop struck in my face and I
+moved a little. Then I saw what made me hold my breath a moment and
+cover my head with the shawl. A flash of lightning revealed a tall,
+ragged man looking in at the doorway. I lay close to Uncle Eb imagining
+much evil of that vision but made no outcry.
+
+Snugged in between my two companions I felt reasonably secure and soon
+fell asleep. The sun, streaming in at the open door, roused me in the
+morning. At the beginning of each day of our journey I woke to find
+Uncle Eb cooking at the fire. He was lying beside me, this morning, his
+eyes open.
+
+'Fraid I'm hard sick,' he said as I kissed him.
+
+'What's the matter?' I enquired.
+
+He struggled to a sitting posture, groaning so it went to my heart.
+
+'Rheumatiz,' he answered presently.
+
+He got to his feet, little by little, and every move he made gave him
+great pain. With one hand on his cane and the other on my shoulder he
+made his way slowly to the broken gate. Even now I can see clearly the
+fair prospect of that high place--a valley reaching to distant hills and
+a river winding through it, glimmering in the sunlight; a long wooded
+ledge breaking into naked, grassy <DW72>s on one side of the valley and
+on the other a deep forest rolling to the far horizon; between them big
+patches of yellow grain and white buckwheat and green pasture land and
+greener meadows and the straight road, with white houses on either side
+of it, glorious in a double fringe of golden rod and purple aster and
+yellow John's-wort and the deep blue of the Jacob's ladder.
+
+'Looks a good deal like the promised land,' said Uncle Eb. 'Hain't got
+much further t' go.'
+
+He sat on the rotting threshold while I pulled some of the weeds in
+front of the doorstep and brought kindlings out of the house and built a
+fire. While we were eating I told Uncle Eb of the man that I had seen in
+the night.
+
+'Guess you was dreamin',' he said, and, while I stood firm for the
+reality of that I had seen, it held our thought only for a brief moment.
+My companion was unable to walk that day so we lay by, in the shelter of
+the old house, eating as little of our scanty store as we could do
+with. I went to a spring near by for water and picked a good mess of
+blackberries that I hid away until supper time, so as to surprise Uncle
+Eb. A longer day than that we spent in the old house, after our coming,
+I have never known. I made the room a bit tidier and gathered more grass
+for bedding. Uncle Eb felt better as the day grew warm. I had a busy
+time of it that morning bathing his back in the spirits and rubbing
+until my small arms ached. I have heard him tell often how vigorously
+I worked that day and how I would say: 'I'll take care o' you, Uncle
+Eb--won't I, Uncle Eb?' as my little hands flew with redoubled energy on
+his bare skin. That finished we lay down sleeping until the sun was low,
+when I made ready the supper that took the last of everything we had to
+eat. Uncle Eb was more like himself that evening and, sitting up in the
+corner, as the darkness came, told me the story of Squirreltown and Frog
+Ferry, which came to be so great a standby in those days that, even now,
+I can recall much of the language in which he told it.
+
+'Once,' he said, 'there was a boy thet hed two grey squirrels in a cage.
+They kep' thinkin' o' the time they used t' scamper in the tree-tops an'
+make nests an' eat all the nuts they wanted an' play I spy in the thick
+leaves. An they grew poor an' looked kind o' ragged an' sickly an'
+downhearted. When he brought 'em outdoors they used t' look up in the
+trees an' run in the wire wheel as if they thought they could get there
+sometime if they kep' goin'. As the boy grew older he see it was cruel
+to keep 'em shet in a cage, but he'd hed em a long time an' couldn't
+bear t' give 'em up.
+
+'One day he was out in the woods a little back o' the clearin'. All t'
+once he heard a swift holler. 'Twas nearby an' echoed so he couldn't
+tell which way it come from. He run fer home but the critter ketched 'im
+before he got out o' the woods an' took 'im into a cave, an' give 'im t'
+the little swifts t' play with. The boy cried terrible. The swifts they
+laughed an' nudged each other.
+
+'"O ain't he cute!" says one. "He's a beauty!" says another. "Cur'us how
+he can git along without any fur," says the mother swift, as she run er
+nose over 'is bare foot. He thought of 'is folks waitin' fer him an' he
+begged em t' let 'im go. Then they come an' smelt 'im over.
+
+'"Yer sech a cunnin' critter," says the mother swift, "we couldn't spare
+ye."
+
+'"Want to see my mother," says the boy sobbing.
+
+'"Couldn't afford t' let ye go--yer so cute," says the swift. "Bring the
+poor critter a bone an' a bit o' snake meat."
+
+'The boy couldn't eat. They fixed a bed fer him, but 'twant clean. The
+feel uv it made his back ache an' the smell uv it made him sick to his
+stomach.
+
+'"When the swifts hed comp'ny they 'd bring 'em overt' look at him there
+'n his dark corner." "S a boy," said the mother swift pokin' him with a
+long stick "Wouldn't ye like t' see 'im run?" Then she punched him until
+he got up an' run 'round the cave fer his life. Happened one day et a
+very benevolent swift come int' the cave.
+
+'"'S a pity t' keep the boy here," said he; "he looks bad."
+
+'"But he makes fun fer the children," said the swift.
+
+'"Fun that makes misery is only fit fer a fool," said the visitor.
+
+'They let him go thet day. Soon as he got hum he thought o' the
+squirrels an' was tickled t' find 'em alive. He tak 'em off to an
+island, in the middle of a big lake, thet very day, an' set the cage on
+the shore n' opened it He thought he would come back sometime an' see
+how they was ginin' along. The cage was made of light wire an' hed a
+tin bottom fastened to a big piece o' plank. At fust they was 'fraid t'
+leave it an' peeked out o' the door an' scratched their heads's if they
+thought it a resky business. After awhile one stepped out careful an'
+then the other followed. They tried t' climb a tree, but their nails was
+wore off an' they kep' fallin' back. Then they went off 'n the brush t'
+find some nuts. There was only pines an' poppies an' white birch an' a
+few berry bushes on the island. They went t' the water's edge on every
+side, but there was nuthin there a squirrel ud give a flirt uv his
+tail fer. 'Twas near dark when they come back t' the cage hungry as tew
+bears. They found a few crumbs o' bread in the cup an' divided 'em even.
+Then they went t' bed 'n their ol' nest.
+
+'It hed been rainin' a week in the mount'ins. Thet night the lake rose
+a foot er more an' 'fore mornin' the cage begun t' rock a teenty bit as
+the water lifted the plank. They slep' all the better fer thet an' they
+dreamed they was up in a tree at the end uv a big bough. The cage begun
+t' sway sideways and then it let go o' the shore an' spun 'round once er
+twice an' sailed out 'n the deep water. There was a light breeze blowin'
+offshore an' purty soon it was pitchin' like a ship in the sea. But the
+two squirrels was very tired an' never woke up 'til sunrise. They got a
+terrible scare when they see the water 'round 'em an' felt the motion
+o' the ship. Both on 'em ran into the wire wheel an' that bore down the
+stern o' the ship so the under wires touched the water. They made it
+spin like a buzz saw an' got their clothes all wet. The ship went faster
+when they worked the wheel, an' bime bye they got tired an' come out
+on the main deck. The water washed over it a little so they clim up the
+roof thet was a kin' uv a hurricane deck. It made the ship sway an' rock
+fearful but they hung on 'midships, an' clung t' the handle that stuck
+up like a top mast. Their big tails was spread over their shoulders,
+an' the wind rose an' the ship went faster 'n faster. They could see the
+main shore where the big woods come down t' the water 'n' all the while
+it kep' a comin' nearer 'n' nearer. But they was so hungry didn't seem
+possible they could live to git there.
+
+'Ye know squirrels are a savin' people. In the day o' plenty they think
+o' the day o' poverty an' lay by fer it. All at once one uv 'em thought
+uv a few kernels o' corn, he hed pushed through a little crack in the
+tin floor one day a long time ago. It happened there was quite a hole
+under the crack an' each uv 'em bad stored some kernels unbeknown t'
+the other. So they hed a good supper 'n' some left fer a bite 'n the
+mornin'. 'Fore daylight the ship made her pott 'n' lay to, 'side liv a
+log in a little cove. The bullfrogs jumped on her main deck an' begun
+t' holler soon as she hove to: "all ashore! all ashore! all ashore!" The
+two squirrels woke up but lay quiet 'til the sun rose. Then they come
+out on the log 'et looked like a long dock an' run ashore 'n' foun' some
+o' their own folks in the bush. An' when they bed tol' their story the
+ol' father o' the tribe got up 'n a tree an' hollered himself hoarse
+preachin' 'bout how 't paid t' be savin'.
+
+'"An' we should learn t' save our wisdom es well es our nuts," said a
+sassy brother; "fer each needs his own wisdom fer his own affairs."
+
+'An the little ship went back 'n' forth 'cross the cove as the win'
+blew. The squirrels hed many a fine ride in her an' the frogs were the
+ferrymen. An' all 'long thet shore 'twas known es Frog Ferry '<DW41> the
+squirrel folks.'
+
+It was very dark when he finished the tale an' as we lay gaping a few
+minutes after my last query about those funny people of the lake margin
+I could hear nothing but the chirping of the crickets. I was feeling
+a bit sleepy when I heard the boards creak above our heads. Uncle Eli
+raised himself and lay braced upon his elbow listening. In a few moments
+we heard a sound as of someone coming softly down the ladder at the
+other end of the room. It was so dark I could see nothing.
+
+'Who's there?' Uncle Eb demanded.
+
+'Don't p'int thet gun at me,' somebody whispered. 'This is my home and I
+warn ye t' leave it er I'll do ye harm.'
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 5
+
+Here I shall quote you again from the diary of Uncle Eb. 'It was so dark
+I couldn't see a han' before me. "Don't p'int yer gun at me," the man
+whispered. Thought 'twas funny he could see me when I couldn't see him.
+Said 'twas his home an' we'd better leave. Tol him I was sick (rumatiz)
+an' couldn't stir. Said he was sorry an' come over near us. Tol' him I
+was an' ol' man goin' west with a small boy. Stopped in the rain. Got
+sick. Out o' purvisions. 'Bout ready t' die. Did'n know what t' do.
+Started t' stike a match an' the man said don't make no light cos I
+don't want to hev ye see my face. Never let nobody see my face. Said he
+never went out 'less 'twas a dark night until folks was abed. Said we
+looked like good folks. Scairt me a little cos we couldn't see a thing.
+Also he said don't be 'fraid of me. Do what I can fer ye.'
+
+I remember the man crossed the creaking floor and sat down near us after
+he had parleyed with Uncle Eb awhile in whispers. Young as I was I keep
+a vivid impression of that night and, aided by the diary of Uncle Eb, I
+have made a record of what was said that is, in the main, accurate.
+
+'Do you know where you are?' he enquired presently, whispering as he had
+done before.
+
+'I've no idee,' said Uncle Eb.
+
+'Well, down the hill is Paradise Valley in the township o' Faraway,'
+he continued. 'It's the end o' Paradise Road an' a purty country. Been
+settled a long time an' the farms are big an' prosperous--kind uv a land
+o' plenty. That big house at the foot o' the hill is Dave Brower's. He's
+the richest man in the valley.'
+
+'How do you happen t' be livin' here?--if ye don't min' tellin' me,'
+Uncle Eb asked.
+
+'Crazy,' said he; ''fraid uv everybody an' everybody's 'fraid o' me.
+Lived a good long time in this way. Winters I go into the big woods. Got
+a camp in a big cave an' when I'm there I see a little daylight. Here 'n
+the clearin' I'm only up in the night-time. Thet's how I've come to see
+so well in the dark. It's give me cat's eyes.'
+
+'Don't ye git lonesome?' Uncle Eb asked.
+
+'Awful--sometimes,' he answered with a sad sigh, 'an' it seems good t'
+talk with somebody besides myself. I get enough to eat generally. There
+are deer in the woods an' cows in the fields, ye know, an' potatoes an'
+corn an' berries an' apples, an' all thet kind o' thing. Then I've got
+my traps in the woods where I ketch partridges, an' squirrels an' <DW53>s
+an' all the meat I need. I've got a place in the thick timber t' do my
+cookin'--all I want t' do--in the middle of the night Sometimes I come
+here an' spend a day in the garret if I'm caught in a storm or if I
+happen to stay a little too late in the valley. Once in a great while
+I meet a man somewhere in the open but he always gits away quick as he
+can. Guess they think I'm a ghost--dunno what I think o' them.'
+
+Our host went on talking as if he were glad to tell the secrets of his
+heart to some creature of his own kind. I have often wondered at his
+frankness; but there was a fatherly tenderness, I remember in the voice
+of Uncle Eb, and I judge it tempted his confidence. Probably the love
+of companionship can never be so dead in a man but that the voice of
+kindness may call it back to life again.
+
+'I'll bring you a bite t' eat before morning,' he said, presently, as he
+rose to go, 'leet me feel o' your han', mister.'
+
+Uncle Eb gave him his hand and thanked him.
+
+'Feels good. First I've hed hold of in a long time,' he whispered.
+
+'What's the day o' the month?'
+
+'The twenty-fifth.'
+
+'I must remember. Where did you come from?'
+
+Uncle Eb told him, briefly, the story of our going west
+
+'Guess you'd never do me no harm--would ye?' the man asked. 'Not a bit,'
+Uncle Eb answered.
+
+Then he bade us goodbye, crossed the creaking floor and went away in the
+darkness.
+
+'Sing'lar character!' Uncle Eb muttered.
+
+I was getting drowsy and that was the last I heard. In the morning we
+found a small pail of milk sitting near us, a roasted partridge, two
+fried fish and some boiled potatoes. It was more than enough to carry
+us through the day with a fair allowance for Fred. Uncle Eb was a bit
+better but very lame at that and kept to his bed the greater part of the
+day. The time went slow with me I remember. Uncle Eb was not cheerful
+and told me but one story and that had no life in it. At dusk he let me
+go out in the road to play awhile with Fred and the wagon, but came to
+the door and called us in shortly. I went to bed in a rather unhappy
+frame of mind. The dog roused me by barking in the middle of the right
+and I heard again the familiar whisper of the stranger.
+
+'Sh-h-h! be still, dog,' he whispered; but I was up to my ears in sleep
+and went under shortly, so I have no knowledge of what passed that
+night. Uncle Eb tells in his diary that he had a talk with him lasting
+more than an hour, but goes no further and never seemed willing to talk
+much about that interview or others that followed it.
+
+I only know the man had brought more milk and fish and fowl for us. We
+stayed another day in the old house, that went like the last, and the
+night man came again to see Uncle Eb. The next morning my companion was
+able to walk more freely, but Fred and I had to stop and wait for him
+very often going down the big hill. I was mighty glad when we were
+leaving the musty old house for good and had the dog hitched with
+all our traps in the wagon. It was a bright morning and the sunlight
+glimmered on the dew in the broad valley. The men were just coming from
+breakfast when we turned in at David Brower's. A barefooted little girl
+a bit older than I, with red cheeks and blue eyes and long curly hair,
+that shone like gold in the sunlight, came running out to meet us and
+led me up to the doorstep, highly amused at the sight of Fred and the
+wagon. I regarded her with curiosity and suspicion at first, while Uncle
+Eb was talking with the men. I shall never forget that moment when David
+Brower came and lifted me by the shoulders, high above his head, and
+shook me as if to test my mettle. He led me into the house then where
+his wife was working.
+
+'What do you think of this small bit of a boy?' he asked.
+
+She had already knelt on the floor and put her arms about my neck and
+kissed me.
+
+'Am' no home,' said he. 'Come all the way from Vermont with an ol' man.
+They're worn out both uv 'em. Guess we'd better take 'em in awhile.'
+
+'O yes, mother--please, mother,' put in the little girl who was holding
+my hand. 'He can sleep with me, mother. Please let him stay.'
+
+She knelt beside me and put her arms around my little shoulders and drew
+me to her breast and spoke to me very tenderly.
+
+'Please let him stay,' the girl pleaded again.
+
+'David,' said the woman, 'I couldn't turn the little thing away. Won't
+ye hand me those cookies.'
+
+And so our life began in Paradise Valley. Ten minutes later I was
+playing my first game of 'I spy' with little Hope Brower, among the
+fragrant stooks of wheat in the field back of the garden.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 6
+
+The lone pine stood in Brower's pasture, just clear of the woods. When
+the sun rose, one could see its taper shadow stretching away to the
+foot of Woody Ledge, and at sunset it lay like a fallen mast athwart
+the cow-paths, its long top arm a flying pennant on the side of Bowman's
+Hill. In summer this bar of shadow moved like a clock-hand on the green
+dial of the pasture, and the help could tell the time by the slant
+of it. Lone Pine had a mighty girth at the bottom, and its bare body
+tapered into the sky as straight as an arrow. Uncle Eb used to say that
+its one long, naked branch that swung and creaked near the top of it,
+like a sign of hospitality on the highway of the birds, was two hundred
+feet above ground. There were a few stubs here and there upon its
+shaft--the roost of crows and owls and hen-hawks. It must have passed
+for a low resort in the feathered kingdom because it was only the
+robbers of the sky that halted on Lone Pine.
+
+This towering shaft of dead timber commemorated the ancient forest
+through which the northern Yankees cut their trails in the beginning of
+the century. They were a tall, big fisted, brawny lot of men who came
+across the Adirondacks from Vermont, and began to break the green canopy
+that for ages had covered the valley of the St Lawrence. Generally they
+drove a cow with them, and such game as they could kill on the journey
+supplemented their diet of 'pudding and milk'. Some settled where the
+wagon broke or where they had buried a member of the family, and there
+they cleared the forests that once covered the smooth acres of today.
+Gradually the rough surface of the trail grew smoother until it became
+Paradise Road--the well-worn thoroughfare of the stagecoach with its
+'inns and outs', as the drivers used to say--the inns where the 'men
+folks' sat in the firelight of the blazing logs after supper and
+told tales of adventure until bedtime, while the women sat with their
+knitting in the parlour, and the young men wrestled in the stableyard.
+The men of middle age had stooped and massive shoulders, and
+deep-furrowed brows: Tell one of them he was growing old and he might
+answer you by holding his whip in front of him and leaping over it
+between his hands.
+
+There was a little clearing around that big pine tree when David Brower
+settled in the valley. Its shadows shifting in the light of sun and
+moon, like the arm of a compass, swept the spreading acres of his farm,
+and he built his house some forty rods from the foot of it on higher
+ground. David was the oldest of thirteen children. His father had died
+the year before he came to St Lawrence county, leaving him nothing but
+heavy responsibilities. Fortunately, his great strength and his kindly
+nature were equal to the burden. Mother and children were landed safely
+in their new home on Bowman's Hill the day that David was eighteen. I
+have heard the old folks of that country tell what a splendid figure of
+a man he was those days--six feet one in his stockings and broad at the
+shoulder. His eyes were grey and set under heavy brows. I have never
+forgotten the big man that laid hold of me and the broad clean-shaven
+serious face, that looked into mine the day I came to Paradise Valley.
+As I write I can see plainly his dimpled chin, his large nose, his firm
+mouth that was the key to his character. 'Open or shet,' I have heard
+the old folks say, 'it showed he was no fool.'
+
+After two years David took a wife and settled in Paradise Valley. He
+prospered in a small way considered handsome thereabouts. In a few years
+he had cleared the rich acres of his farm to the sugar bush that was the
+north vestibule of the big forest; he had seen the clearing widen until
+he could discern the bare summits of the distant hills, and, far as
+he could see, were the neat white houses of the settlers. Children had
+come, three of them--the eldest a son who had left home and died in a
+far country long before we came to Paradise Valley--the youngest a baby.
+
+I could not have enjoyed my new home more if I had been born in it. I
+had much need of a mother's tenderness, no doubt, for I remember with
+what a sense of peace and comfort I lay on the lap of Elizabeth Brower,
+that first evening, and heard her singing as she rocked. The little
+daughter stood at her knees, looking down at me and patting my bare toes
+or reaching over to feel my face.
+
+'God sent him to us--didn't he, mother?' said she.
+
+'Maybe,' Mrs Brower answered, 'we'll be good to him, anyway.'
+
+Then that old query came into my mind. I asked them if it was heaven
+where we were.
+
+'No,' they answered.
+
+''Tain't anywhere near here, is it?' I went on.
+
+Then she told me about the gate of death, and began sowing in me the
+seed of God's truth--as I know now the seed of many harvests. I slept
+with Uncle Eb in the garret, that night, and for long after we came to
+the Brower's. He continued to get better, and was shortly able to give
+his hand to the work of the farm.
+
+There was room for all of us in that ample wilderness of his
+imagination, and the cry of the swift woke its echoes every evening for
+a time. Bears and panthers prowled in the deep thickets, but the swifts
+took a firmer grip on us, being bolder and more terrible. Uncle Eb
+became a great favourite in the family, and David Brower came to know
+soon that he was 'a good man to work' and could be trusted 'to look
+after things'. We had not been there long when I heard Elizabeth speak
+of Nehemiah--her lost son--and his name was often on the lips of others.
+He was a boy of sixteen when he went away, and I learned no more of him
+until long afterwards.
+
+A month or more after we came to Faraway, I remember we went 'cross lots
+in a big box wagon to the orchard on the hill and gathered apples that
+fell in a shower when Uncle Eb went up to shake them down. Then cane the
+raw days of late October, when the crows went flying southward before
+the wind--a noisy pirate fleet that filled the sky at times--and when we
+all put on our mittens and went down the winding cow-paths to the grove
+of butternuts in the pasture. The great roof of the wilderness had
+turned red and faded into yellow. Soon its rafters began to show
+through, and then, in a day or two, they were all bare but for some
+patches of evergreen. Great, golden drifts of foliage lay higher than
+a man's head in the timber land about the clearing. We had our best fun
+then, playing 'I spy' in the groves.
+
+In that fragrant deep of leaves one might lie undiscovered a long time.
+He could hear roaring like that of water at every move of the finder,
+wallowing nearer and nearer possibly, in his search. Old Fred came
+generally rooting his way to us in the deep drift with unerring
+accuracy.
+
+And shortly winter came out of the north and, of a night, after rapping
+at the windows and howling in the chimney and roaring in the big woods,
+took possession of the earth. That was a time when hard cider flowed
+freely and recollection found a ready tongue among the older folk, and
+the young enjoyed many diversions, including measles and whooping cough.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 7
+
+I had a lot of fun that first winter, but none that I can remember more
+gratefully than our trip in the sledgehouse--a tight little house
+fitted and fastened to a big sledge. Uncle Eb had to go to mill at
+Hillsborough, some twelve miles away, and Hope and I, after much
+coaxing and many family counsels, got leave to go with him. The sky was
+cloudless, and the frosty air was all aglow in the sunlight that morning
+we started. There was a little sheet iron stove in one corner of the
+sledgehouse, walled in with zinc and anchored with wires; a layer of
+hay covered the floor and over that we spread our furs and blankets. The
+house had an open front, and Uncle Eb sat on the doorstep, as it were,
+to drive, while we sat behind him on the blankets.
+
+'I love you very much,' said Hope, embracing me, after we were seated.
+Her affection embarrassed me, I remember. It seemed unmanly to be petted
+like a doll.
+
+'I hate to be kissed,' I said, pulling away from her, at which Uncle Eb
+laughed heartily.
+
+The day came when I would have given half my life for the words I held
+so cheaply then.
+
+'You'd better be good t' me,' she answered, 'for when mother dies I'm
+goin' t' take care o' you. Uncle Eb and Gran'ma Bisnette an' you an'
+everybody I love is goin' t' come an' live with me in a big, big house.
+An' I'm goin' t' put you t' bed nights an' hear ye say yer prayers an
+everything.'
+
+'Who'll do the spankin?' Uncle Eb asked.
+
+'My husban',' she answered, with a sigh at the thought of all the
+trouble that lay before her.
+
+'An' I'll make him rub your back, too, Uncle Eb,' she added. 'Wall, I
+rather guess he'll object to that,' said he.
+
+'Then you can give 'ins five cents, an' I guess he'll be glad t' do it,'
+she answered promptly.
+
+'Poor man! He won't know whether he's runnin' a poorhouse er a hospital,
+will he?' said Uncle Eb. 'Look here, children,' he added, taking out his
+old leather wallet, as he held the reins between his knees. 'Here's tew
+shillin' apiece for ye, an' I want ye t' spend it jest eggsackly as ye
+please.' The last words were spoken slowly and with emphasis.
+
+We took the two silver pieces that he handed to us and looked them all
+over and compared them.
+
+'I know what I'll do,' said she, suddenly. 'I'm goin' t' buy my mother a
+new dress, or mebbe a beautiful ring,' she added thoughtfully.
+
+For my own part I did not know what I should buy. I wanted a real gun
+most of all and my inclination oscillated between that and a red rocking
+horse. My mind was very busy while I sat in silence. Presently I rose
+and went to Uncle Eb and whispered in his ear.
+
+'Do you think I could get a real rifle with two shilin'?' I enquired
+anxiously.
+
+'No,' he answered in a low tone that seemed to respect my confidence.
+'Bime by, when you're older, I'll buy ye a rifle--a real rip snorter,
+too, with a shiny barrel 'n a silver lock. When ye get down t, the
+village ye'll see lots o' things y'd rather hev, prob'ly. If I was you,
+children,' he added, in a louder tone, 'I wouldn't buy a thing but nuts
+'n' raisins.'
+
+'Nuts 'n' raisins!' Hope exclaimed, scornfully.
+
+'Nuts 'n' raisins,' he repeated. 'They're cheap 'n' satisfyin'. If ye
+eat enough uv 'em you'll never want anything else in this world.'
+
+I failed to see the irony in Uncle Eb's remark and the suggestion seemed
+to have a good deal of merit, the more I thought it over.
+
+''T any rate,' said Uncle Eb, 'I'd git somethin' fer my own selves.'
+
+'Well,' said Hope, 'You tell us a lot o' things we could buy.'
+
+'Less see!' said Uncle Eb, looking very serious. 'There's bootjacks an'
+there's warmin' pans 'n' mustard plasters 'n' liver pads 'n' all them
+kind o' things.'
+
+We both shook our heads very doubtfully.
+
+'Then,' he added, 'there are jimmyjacks 'n' silver no nuthin's.'
+
+There were many other suggestions but none of them were decisive.
+
+The snow lay deep on either side of the way and there was a glimmer on
+every white hillside where Jack Frost had sown his diamonds. Here and
+there a fox track crossed the smooth level of the valley and dwindled on
+the distant hills like a seam in a great white robe. It grew warmer as
+the sun rose, and we were a jolly company behind the merry jingle of the
+sleigh bells. We had had a long spell of quiet weather and the road lay
+in two furrows worn as smooth as ice at the bottom.
+
+'Consarn it!' said Uncle Eb looking up at the sky, after we had been on
+the road an hour or so. 'There's a sun dog. Wouldn't wonder if we got a
+snowstorm' fore night.
+
+I was running behind the sledge and standing on the brake hooks going
+downhill. He made me get in when he saw the sun dog, and let our
+horse--a rat-tailed bay known as Old Doctor--go at a merry pace.
+
+We were awed to silence when we came in sight of Hillsborough, with
+spires looming far into the sky, as it seemed to me then, and buildings
+that bullied me with their big bulk, so that I had no heart for the
+spending of the two shillings Uncle Eb had given me. Such sublimity
+of proportion I have never seen since; and yet it was all very small
+indeed. The stores had a smell about them that was like chloroform in
+its effect upon me; for, once in them, I fell into a kind of trance
+and had scarce sense enough to know my own mind. The smart clerks, who
+generally came and asked, 'Well, young man, what can I do for you?' I
+regarded with fear and suspicion. I clung the tighter to my coin always,
+and said nothing, although I saw many a trinket whose glitter went to
+my soul with a mighty fascination. We both stood staring silently at the
+show cases, our tongues helpless with awe and wonder. Finally, after a
+whispered conference, Hope asked for a 'silver no nothing', and provoked
+so much laughter that we both fled to the sidewalk. Uncle Eb had to do
+our buying for us in the end.
+
+'Wall, what'll ye hev?' he said to me at length.
+
+I tried to think-it was no easy thing to do after all I had seen.
+
+'Guess I'll take a jacknife,' I whispered.
+
+'Give this boy a knife,' he demanded. 'Wants t' be good 'n sharp. Might
+hev t' skin a swift with it sometime.'
+
+'What ye want?' he asked, then turning to Hope.
+
+'A doll,' she whispered.
+
+'White or black?' said he.
+
+'White,' said she, 'with dark eyes and hair.'
+
+'Want a reel, splendid, firs'-class doll,' he said to the clerk. 'Thet
+one'll do, there, with the sky-blue dress 'n the pink apron.'
+
+We were worn out with excitement when we left for home under lowering
+skies. We children lay side by side under the robes, the doll between
+us, and were soon asleep. It was growing dark when Uncle Eb woke us,
+and the snow was driving in at the doorway. The air was full of snow, I
+remember, and Old Doctor was wading to his knees in a drift. We were up
+in the hills and the wind whistled in our little chimney. Uncle Eb had
+a serious look in his face. The snow grew deeper and Old Doctor went
+slower every moment.
+
+'Six mild from home,' Uncle Eb muttered, as he held up to rest a moment.
+'Six mild from home. 'Fraid we're in fer a night uv it.'
+
+We got to the top of Fadden's Hill about dark, and the snow lay so deep
+in the cut we all got out for fear the house would tip over. Old Doctor
+floundered along a bit further until he went down in the drift and lay
+between the shafts half buried. We had a shovel that always hung beside
+a small hatchet in the sledgehouse--for one might need much beside the
+grace of God of a winter's day in that country--and with it Uncle Eb
+began to uncover the horse. We children stood in the sledgehouse door
+watching him and holding the lantern. Old Doctor was on his feet in a
+few minutes.
+
+''Tain' no use tryin',' said Uncle Eb, as he began to unhitch. 'Can't go
+no further t'night.'
+
+Then he dug away the snow beside the sledgehouse, and hitched Old Doctor
+to the horseshoe that was nailed to the rear end of it. That done, he
+clambered up the side of the cut and took some rails off the fence and
+shoved them over on the roof of the house, so that one end rested there
+and the other on the high bank beside us. Then he cut a lot of hemlock
+boughs with the hatchet, and thatched the roof he had made over Old
+Doctor, binding them with the reins. Bringing more rails, he leaned them
+to the others on the windward side and nailed a big blanket over them,
+piecing it out with hemlock thatching, so it made a fairly comfortable
+shelter. We were under the wind in this deep cut on Fadden's Hill, and
+the snow piled in upon us rapidly. We had a warm blanket for Old Doctor
+and two big buffalo robes for our own use. We gave him a good feed of
+hay and oats, and then Uncle Eb cut up a fence rail with our hatchet and
+built a roaring fire in the stove. We had got a bit chilly wading in the
+snow, and the fire gave us a mighty sense of comfort.
+
+'I thought somethin' might happen,' said Uncle Eb, as he hung his
+lantern to the ridge pole and took a big paper parcel out of his great
+coat pocket. 'I thought mebbe somethin' might happen, an' so I brought
+along a bite o' luncheon.'
+
+He gave us dried herring and bread and butter and cheese.
+
+''S a little dry,' he remarked, while we were eating, 'but it's drier
+where there's none.'
+
+We had a pail of snow on top of the little stove and plenty of good
+drinking water for ourselves and the Old Doctor in a few minutes.
+
+After supper Uncle Eb went up the side of the cut and brought back a lot
+of hemlock boughs and spread them under Old Doctor for bedding.
+
+Then we all sat around the stove on the warm robes and listened to the
+wind howling above our little roof and the stories of Uncle Eb. The
+hissing of the snow as it beat upon the sledgehouse grew fainter by and
+by, and Uncle Eb said he guessed we were pretty well covered up. We fell
+asleep soon. I remember he stopped in the middle of a wolf story, and,
+seeing that our eyes were shut, pulled us back from the fire a little
+and covered us with one of the robes. It had been a mighty struggle
+between Sleep and Romance, and Sleep had won. I roused myself and
+begged him to go on with the story, but he only said, 'Hush, boy; it's
+bedtime,' and turned up the lantern and went out of doors. I woke once
+or twice in the night and saw him putting wood on the fire. He had put
+out the light. The gleam of the fire shone on his face when he opened
+the stove door.
+
+'Gittin' a leetle cool here, Uncle Eb,' he was saying to himself.
+
+We were up at daylight, and even then it was snowing and blowing
+fiercely. There were two feet of snow on the sledgehouse roof, and we
+were nearly buried in the bank. Uncle Eb had to do a lot of shoveling
+to get out of doors and into the stable. Old Doctor was quite out of the
+wind in a cave of snow and nickering for his breakfast. There was plenty
+for him, but we were on short rations. Uncle Eb put on the snow shoes,
+after we had eaten what there was left, and, cautioning us to keep in,
+set out for Fadden's across lots. He came back inside of an hour with a
+good supply of provisions in a basket on his shoulder. The wind had gone
+down and the air was milder. Big flakes of snow came fluttering slowly
+downward out of a dark sky. After dinner we went up on top of the
+sledgehouse and saw a big scraper coming in the valley below. Six teams
+of oxen were drawing it, and we could see the flying furrows on either
+side of the scraper as it ploughed in the deep drifts. Uncle Eb put on
+the snow shoes again, and, with Hope on his back and me clinging to his
+hand, he went down to meet them and to tell of our plight. The front
+team had wallowed to their ears, and the men were digging them out with
+shovels when we got to the scraper. A score of men and boys clung to the
+sides of that big, hollow wedge, and put their weight on it as the oxen
+pulled. We got on with the others, I remember, and I was swept off as
+soon as the scraper started by a roaring avalanche of snow that came
+down upon our heads and buried me completely. I was up again and had
+a fresh hold in a jiffy, and clung to my place until I was nearly
+smothered by the flying snow. It was great fun for me, and they were
+all shouting and hallooing as if it were a fine holiday. They made slow
+progress, however, and we left them shortly on their promise to try to
+reach us before night. If they failed to get through, one of them
+said he would drive over to Paradise Valley, if possible, and tell the
+Browers we were all right.
+
+On our return, Uncle Eb began shoveling a tunnel in the cut. When we got
+through to the open late in the afternoon we saw the scraper party going
+back with their teams.
+
+'Guess they've gi'n up fer t'day,' said he. 'Snow's powerful deep down
+there below the bridge. Mebbe we can get 'round to where the road's
+clear by goin' 'cross lots. I've a good mind t' try it.'
+
+Then he went over in the field and picked a winding way down the hill
+toward the river, while we children stood watching him. He came back
+soon and took down a bit of the fence and harnessed Old Doctor and
+hitched him to the sledgehouse. The tunnel was just wide enough to let
+us through with a tight pinch here and there. The footing was rather
+soft' and the horse had hard pulling. We went in the field, struggling
+on afoot--we little people--while Uncle Eb led the horse. He had to stop
+frequently to tunnel through a snowdrift, and at dusk we had only got
+half-way to the bridge from our cave in the cut. Of a sudden Old Doctor
+went up to his neck in a wall of deep snow that seemed to cut us off
+completely. He struggled a moment, falling on his side and wrenching
+the shafts from the runners. Uncle Eb went to work vigorously with his
+shovel and had soon cut a narrow box stall in the deep snow around Old
+Doctor. Just beyond the hill dipped sharply and down the <DW72> we could
+see the stubble sticking through the shallow snow. 'We'll hev t' stop
+right where we are until mornin',' he said. 'It's mos' dark now.
+
+Our little house stood tilting forward about half-way down the hill, its
+runners buried in the snow. A few hundred yards below was a cliff where
+the shore fell to the river some thirty feet It had stopped snowing, and
+the air had grown warmer, but the sky was dark We put nearly all the hay
+in the sledgehouse under Old Doctor and gave him the last of the oats
+and a warm cover of blankets. Then Uncle Eb went away to the fence for
+more wood, while we spread the supper. He was very tired, I remember,
+and we all turned in for the night a short time after we had eaten. The
+little stove was roaring like a furnace when we spread our blankets on
+the sloping floor and lay down, our feet to the front, and drew the warm
+robes over us. Uncle Eb, who had had no sleep the night before, began
+to snore heavily before we children had stopped whispering. He was still
+snoring, and Hope sound asleep, when I woke in the night and heard the
+rain falling on our little roof and felt the warm breath of the south
+wind. The water dripping from the eaves and falling far and near upon
+the yielding snow had many voices. I was half-asleep when I heard a
+new noise under the sledge. Something struck the front corner of the
+sledgehouse--a heavy, muffled blow--and brushed the noisy boards. Then I
+heard the timbers creak and felt the runners leaping over the soft snow.
+I remember it was like a dream of falling. I raised myself and stared
+about me. We were slipping down the steep floor. The lantern, burning
+dimly under the roof, swung and rattled. Uncle Eb was up on his elbow
+staring wildly. I could feel the jar and rush of the runners and the
+rain that seemed to roar as it dashed into my face. Then, suddenly,
+the sledgehouse gave a great leap into the air and the grating of the
+runners ceased. The lantern went hard against the roof; there was a
+mighty roar in my ears; then we heard a noise like thunder and felt the
+shock of a blow that set my back aching, and cracked the roof above our
+heads. It was all still for a second; then we children began to cry, and
+Uncle Eb staggered to his feet and lit the lantern that had gone out and
+that had no globe, I remember, as he held it down to our faces.
+
+'Hush! Are you hurt?' he said, as he knelt before us. 'Git up now, see
+if ye can stand.'
+
+We got to our feet, neither of us much the worse for what had
+happened--My knuckles were cut a bit by a splinter, and Hope had been
+hit on the shins by the lantern globe as it fell.
+
+'By the Lord Harry!' said Uncle Eb, when he saw we were not hurt.
+'Wonder what hit us.'
+
+We followed him outside while he was speaking.
+
+'We've slid downhill,' he said. 'Went over the cliff. Went kerplunk in
+the deep snow, er there'd have been nuthin' left uv us. Snow's meltin'
+jest as if it was July.'
+
+Uncle Eb helped us into our heavy coats, and then with a blanket over
+his arm led us into the wet snow. We came out upon clear ice in a
+moment and picked our way along the lowering shore. At length Uncle Eb
+clambered up, pulling us up after him, one by one. Then he whistled to
+Old Doctor, who whinnied a quick reply. He left us standing together,
+the blanket over our heads, and went away in the dark whistling as he
+had done before. We could hear Old Doctor answer as he came near, and
+presently Uncle Eb returned leading the horse by the halter. Then he
+put us both on Old Doctor's back, threw the blanket over our heads,
+and started slowly for the road. We clung to each other as the horse
+staggered in the soft snow, and kept our places with some aid from
+Uncle Eb. We crossed the fence presently, and then for a way it was hard
+going. We found fair footing after we had passed the big scraper, and,
+coming to a house a mile or so down the road called them out of bed. It
+was growing light and they made us comfortable around a big stove,
+and gave us breakfast. The good man of the house took us home in a big
+sleigh after the chores were done. We met David Brower coming after us,
+and if we'd been gone a year we couldn't have received a warmer welcome.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 8
+
+Of all that long season of snow, I remember most pleasantly the days
+that were sweetened with the sugar-making. When the sun was lifting his
+course in the clearing sky, and March had got the temper of the lamb,
+and the frozen pulses of the forest had begun to stir, the great kettle
+was mounted in the yard and all gave a hand to the washing of spouts and
+buckets. Then came tapping time, in which I helped carry the buckets and
+tasted the sweet flow that followed the auger's wound. The woods were
+merry with our shouts, and, shortly, one could hear the heart-beat
+of the maples in the sounding bucket. It was the reveille of spring.
+Towering trees shook down the gathered storms of snow and felt for the
+sunlight. The arch and shanty were repaired, the great iron kettle was
+scoured and lifted to its place, and then came the boiling. It was a
+great, an inestimable privilege to sit on the robes of faded fur, in the
+shanty, and hear the fire roaring under the kettle and smell the sweet
+odour of the boiling sap. Uncle Eb minded the shanty and the fire and
+the woods rang with his merry songs. When I think of that phase of the
+sugaring, I am face to face with one of the greatest perils of my life.
+My foster father had consented to let me spend a night with Uncle Eb in
+the shanty, and I was to sleep on the robes, where he would be beside
+me when he was not tending the fire. It had been a mild, bright day, and
+David came up with our supper at sunset. He sat talking with Uncle Eb
+for an hour or so, and the woods were darkling when he went away.
+
+When he started on the dark trail that led to the clearing, I wondered
+at his courage--it was so black beyond the firelight. While we sat alone
+I plead for a story, but the thoughts of Uncle Eb had gone to roost
+early in a sort of gloomy meditation.
+
+'Be still, my boy,' said he, 'an' go t' sleep. I ain't agoin' t' tell no
+yarns an' git ye all stirred up. Ye go t' sleep. Come mornin' we'll go
+down t' the brook an' see if we can't find a mink or tew 'n the traps.'
+
+I remember hearing a great crackling of twigs in the dark wood before
+I slept. As I lifted my head, Uncle Eb whispered, 'Hark!' and we both
+listened. A bent and aged figure came stalking into the firelight.
+His long white hair mingled with his beard and covered his coat collar
+behind.
+
+'Don't be scairt,' said Uncle Eb. ''Tain' no bear. It's nuthin' but a
+poet.'
+
+I knew him for a man who wandered much and had a rhyme for everyone--a
+kindly man with a reputation for laziness and without any home.
+
+'Bilin', eh?' said the poet
+
+'Bilin',' said Uncle Eb.
+
+'I'm bilin' over 'n the next bush,' said the poet, sitting down.
+
+'How's everything in Jingleville?' Uncle Eb enquired.
+
+Then the newcomer answered:
+
+
+   'Well, neighbour dear, in Jingleville
+    We live by faith but we eat our fill;
+    An' what w'u'd we do if it wa'n't fer prayer?
+    Fer we can't raise a thing but whiskers an' hair.'
+
+'Cur'us how you can talk po'try,' said Uncle Eb. 'The only thing I've
+got agin you is them whiskers an' thet hair. 'Tain't Christian.'
+
+''Tain't what's on the head, but what's in it--thet's the important
+thing,' said the poet. 'Did I ever tell ye what I wrote about the
+birds?'
+
+'Don' know's ye ever did,' said Uncle Eb, stirring his fire.
+
+'The boy'll like it, mebbe,' said he, taking a dirty piece of paper out
+of his pocket and holding it to the light.
+
+The poem interested me, young as I was, not less than the strange figure
+of the old poet who lived unknown in the backwoods, and who died, I dare
+say, with many a finer song in his heart. I remember how he stood in
+the firelight and chanted the words in a sing-song tone. He gave us that
+rude copy of the poem, and here it is:
+
+
+                      THE ROBIN'S WEDDING
+
+  Young robin red breast hed a beautiful nest an' he says to his love says he:
+  It's ready now on a rocking bough
+  In the top of a maple tree.
+  I've lined it with down an' the velvet brown on the waist of a bumble-bee.
+
+  They were married next day, in the land o' the hay, the lady bird an' he.
+  The bobolink came an' the wife o' the same
+  An' the lark an' the fiddle de dee.
+  An' the crow came down in a minister gown--there was nothing
+    that he didn't see.
+
+  He fluttered his wing as they ast him to sing an' he tried fer t' clear
+      out his throat;
+  He hemmed an' he hawed an' be hawked an' he cawed
+  But he couldn't deliver a note.
+  The swallow was there an' he ushered each pair with his linsey an'
+      claw hammer coat.
+
+  The bobolink tried fer t' flirt with the bride in a way thet was sassy
+      an' bold.
+  An' the notes that he took as he shivered an' shook
+  Hed a sound like the jingle of gold.
+  He sat on a briar an' laughed at the choir an' said thet the music was old.
+
+  The sexton he came--Mr Spider by name--a citizen hairy and grey.
+  His rope in a steeple, he called the good people
+  That live in the land o' the hay.
+  The ants an' the squgs an' the crickets an' bugs--came out in a
+      mighty array.
+
+  Some came down from Barleytown an' the neighbouring city o' Rye.
+  An' the little black people they climbed every steeple
+  An' sat looking up at the sky.
+  They came fer t' see what a wedding might be an' they
+     furnished the cake an' the pie.
+
+I remember he turned to me when he had finished and took one of my small
+hands and held it in his hard palm and looked at it and then into my
+face.
+
+'Ah, boy!' he said, 'your way shall lead you far from here, and you
+shall get learning and wealth and win--victories.'
+
+'What nonsense are you talking, Jed Ferry?' said Uncle Eb.
+
+'O, you all think I'm a fool an' a humbug, 'cos I look it. Why, Eben
+Holden, if you was what ye looked, ye'd be in the presidential chair.
+Folks here 'n the valley think o' nuthin' but hard work--most uv 'em,
+an' I tell ye now this boy ain't a goin' t' be wuth putty on a farm.
+Look a' them slender hands.
+
+'There was a man come to me the other day an' wanted t' hev a poem 'bout
+his wife that hed jes' died. I ast him t' tell me all 'bout her.
+
+'"Wall," said he, after he had scratched his head an' thought a minute,
+"she was a dretful good woman t' work."
+
+'"Anything else?" I asked.
+
+'He thought agin fer a minute.
+
+'"Broke her leg once," he said, "an' was laid up fer more'n a year."
+
+"Must o' suffered," said I.
+
+'"Not then," he answered. "Ruther enjoyed it layin' abed an' readin' an'
+bein' rubbed, but 'twas hard on the children."
+
+'"S'pose ye loved her," I said.
+
+'Then the tears come into his eyes an' he couldn't speak fer a minute.
+Putty soon he whispered "Yes" kind o' confidential. 'Course he loved
+her, but these Yankees are ashamed o' their feelin's. They hev tender
+thoughts, but they hide 'em as careful as the wild goose hides her eggs.
+I wrote a poem t' please him, an' goin' home I made up one fer myself,
+an 'it run 'bout like this:
+
+
+  O give me more than a life, I beg,
+  That finds real joy in a broken leg.
+  Whose only thought is t' work an' save
+  An' whose only rest is in the grave.
+  Saving an' scrimping from day to day
+  While its best it has squandered an' flung away
+  Fer a life like that of which I tell
+  Would rob me quite o' the dread o' hell.
+
+'Toil an' slave an' scrimp an' save--thet's 'bout all we think uv 'n
+this country. 'Tain't right, Holden.'
+
+'No, 'tain't right,' said Uncle Eb.
+
+'I know I'm a poor, mis'rable critter. Kind o' out o' tune with
+everybody I know. Alwus quarrelled with my own folks, an' now I ain't
+got any home. Someday I'm goin' t' die in the poorhouse er on the ground
+under these woods. But I tell ye'--here he spoke in a voice that grew
+loud with feeling--'mebbe I've been lazy, as they say, but I've got more
+out o' my life than any o' these fools. And someday God'll honour me far
+above them. When my wife an' I parted I wrote some lines that say well
+my meaning. It was only a log house we had, but this will show what
+I got out of it.' Then he spoke the lines, his voice trembling with
+emotion.
+
+
+  'O humble home! Thou hadst a secret door
+  Thro' which I looked, betimes, with wondering eye
+  On treasures that no palace ever wore
+  But now--goodbye!
+
+  In hallowed scenes what feet have trod thy stage!
+  The babe, the maiden, leaving home to wed
+  The young man going forth by duty led
+  And faltering age.
+
+  Thou hadst a magic window broad and high
+  The light and glory of the morning shone
+  Thro' it, however dark the day had grown,
+  Or bleak the sky.
+
+'I know Dave Brower's folks hev got brains an' decency, but when thet
+boy is old enough t' take care uv himself, let him git out o' this
+country. I tell ye he'll never make a farmer, an' if he marries an'
+settles down here he'll git t' be a poet, mebbe, er some such shif'less
+cuss, an' die in the poorhouse. Guess I better git back t' my bilin'
+now. Good-night,' he added, rising and buttoning his old coat as he
+walked away.
+
+'Sing'lar man!' Uncle Eli exclaimed, thoughtfully, 'but anyone thet
+picks him up fer a fool'll find him a counterfeit.'
+
+Young as I was, the rugged, elemental power of the old poet had somehow
+got to my heart and stirred my imagination. It all came not fully to my
+understanding until later. Little by little it grew upon me, and what an
+effect it had upon my thought and life ever after I should not dare to
+estimate. And soon I sought out the 'poet of the hills,' as they called
+him, and got to know and even to respect him in spite of his unlovely
+aspect.
+
+Uncle Eb skimmed the boiling sap, put more wood on the fire and came and
+pulled off his boots and lay down beside me under the robe. And, hearing
+the boil of the sap and the crackle of the burning logs in the arch, I
+soon went asleep.
+
+I remember feeling Uncle Eb's hand upon my cheek, and how I rose and
+stared about me in the fading shadows of a dream as he shook me gently.
+
+'Wake up, my boy,' said he. 'Come, we mus' put fer home.'
+
+The fire was out. The old man held a lantern as he stood before me, the
+blaze flickering. There was a fearsome darkness all around.
+
+'Come, Willy, make haste,' he whispered, as I rubbed my eyes. 'Put on
+yer boots, an' here's yer little coat 'n' muffler.'
+
+There was a mighty roar in the forest and icy puffs of snow came
+whistling in upon us. We stored the robes and pails and buckets and
+covered the big kettle.
+
+The lofty tree-tops reeled and creaked above us, and a deep, sonorous
+moan was sweeping through the woods, as if the fingers of the wind had
+touched a mighty harp string in the timber. We could hear the crash and
+thunder of falling trees.
+
+'Make haste! Make haste! It's resky here,' said Uncle Eb, and he held my
+hand and ran. We started through the brush and steered as straight as
+we could for the clearing. The little box of light he carried was soon
+sheathed in snow, and I remember how he stopped, half out of breath,
+often, and brushed it with his mittens to let out the light. We had made
+the scattering growth of little timber at the edge of the woods when the
+globe of the lantern snapped and fell. A moment later we stood in utter
+darkness. I knew, for the first time, then that we were in a bad fix.
+
+'I guess God'll take care of us, Willy,' said Uncle Eb. 'If he don't,
+we'll never get there in this world never!'
+
+It was a black and icy wall of night and storm on every side of us.
+I never saw a time when the light of God's heaven was so utterly
+extinguished; the cold never went to my bone as on that bitter night.
+My hands and feet were numb with aching, as the roar of the trees grew
+fainter in the open. I remember how I lagged, and how the old man urged
+me on, and how we toiled in the wind and darkness, straining our eyes
+for some familiar thing. Of a sudden we stumbled upon a wall that we had
+passed an hour or so before.
+
+'Oh!' he groaned, and made that funny, deprecating cluck with his
+tongue, that I have heard so much from Yankee lips.
+
+'God o' mercy!' said he, 'we've gone 'round in a half-circle. Now we'll
+take the wall an' mebbe it'll bring us home.'
+
+I thought I couldn't keep my feet any longer, for an irresistible
+drowsiness had come over me. The voice of Uncle Eb seemed far away,
+and when I sank in the snow and shut my eyes to sleep he shook me as a
+terrier shakes a rat.
+
+'Wake up, my boy,' said he, 'ye musn't sleep.'
+
+Then he boxed my ears until I cried, and picked me up and ran with me
+along the side of the wall. I was but dimly conscious when he dropped
+me under a tree whose bare twigs lashed the air and stung my cheeks. I
+heard him tearing the branches savagely and muttering, 'Thanks to God,
+it's the blue beech.' I shall never forget how he turned and held to my
+hand and put the whip on me as I lay in the snow, and how the sting of
+it started my blood. Up I sprang in a jiffy and howled and danced. The
+stout rod bent and circled on me like a hoop of fire. Then I turned and
+tried to run while he clung to my coat tails, and every step I felt the
+stinging grab of the beech. There is a little seam across my cheek today
+that marks a footfall of one of those whips. In a moment I was as wide
+awake as Uncle Eb and needed no more stimulation.
+
+The wall led us to the pasture lane, and there it was easy enough to
+make our way to the barnyard and up to the door of the house, which had
+a candle in every window, I remember. David was up and dressed to come
+after us, and I recall how he took Uncle Eb in his arms, when he fell
+fainting on the doorstep, and carried him to the lounge. I saw the blood
+on my face as I passed the mirror, and Elizabeth Brower came running and
+gave me one glance and rushed out of doors with the dipper. It was full
+of snow when she ran in and tore the wrappings off my neck and began to
+rub my ears and cheeks with the cold snow, calling loudly for Grandma
+Bisnette. She came in a moment and helped at the stripping of our feet
+and legs. I remember that she slit my trousers with the shears as I lay
+on the floor, while the others rubbed my feet with the snow. Our hands
+and ears were badly frosted, but in an hour the whiteness had gone out
+of them and the returning blood burnt like a fire.
+
+'How queer he stares!' I heard them say when Uncle Eb first came to, and
+in a moment a roar of laughter broke from him.
+
+'I'll never fergit,' said he presently, 'if I live a thousan' years, the
+lickin' I gin thet boy; but it hurt me worse'n it hurt him.'
+
+Then he told the story of the blue beech.
+
+The next day was that 'cold Friday' long remembered by those who felt
+its deadly chill--a day when water thrown in the magic air came down in
+clinking crystals, and sheaths of frost lay thick upon the windows. But
+that and the one before it were among the few days in that early period
+that lie, like a rock, under my character.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 9
+
+Grandma Bisnette came from Canada to work for the Browers. She was
+a big, cheerful woman, with a dialect, an amiable disposition and a
+swarthy, wrinkled face. She had a loose front tooth that occupied all
+the leisure of her tongue. When she sat at her knitting this big tooth
+clicked incessantly. On every stitch her tongue went in and out across
+it' and I, standing often by her knees, regarded the process with great
+curiosity.
+
+The reader may gather much from these frank and informing words of
+Grandma Bisnette. 'When I los' my man, Mon Dieu! I have two son. An'
+when I come across I bring him with me. Abe he rough; but den he no bad
+man.'
+
+Abe was the butcher of the neighbourhood--that red-handed,
+stony-hearted, necessary man whom the Yankee farmer in that north
+country hires to do the cruel things that have to be done. He wore
+ragged, dirty clothes and had a voice like a steam whistle. His rough,
+black hair fell low and mingled with his scanty beard. His hands were
+stained too often with the blood of some creature we loved. I always
+crept under the bed in Mrs Brower's room when Abe came--he was such a
+terror to me with his bloody work and noisy oaths. Such men were the
+curse of the cleanly homes in that country. There was much to shock
+the ears and eyes of children in the life of the farm. It was a fashion
+among the help to decorate their speech with profanity for the mere
+sound of it' and the foul mouthings of low-minded men spread like a
+pestilence in the fields.
+
+Abe came always with an old bay horse and a rickety buckboard. His one
+foot on the dash, as he rode, gave the picture a dare-devil finish.
+The lash of his bull-whip sang around him, and his great voice sent its
+blasts of noise ahead. When we heard a fearful yell and rumble in the
+distance, we knew Abe was coming.
+
+'Abe he come,' said Grandma Bisnette. 'Mon Dieu! he make de leetle rock
+fly.'
+
+It was like the coming of a locomotive with roar of wheel and whistle.
+In my childhood, as soon as I saw the cloud of dust, I put for the bed
+and from its friendly cover would peek out' often, but never venture far
+until the man of blood had gone.
+
+To us children he was a marvel of wickedness. There were those who told
+how he had stood in the storm one night and dared the Almighty to send
+the lightning upon him.
+
+The dog Fred had grown so old and infirm that one day they sent for Abe
+to come and put an end to his misery. Every man on the farm loved the
+old dog and not one of them would raise a hand to kill him. Hope and
+I heard what Abe was coming to do, and when the men had gone to the
+fields, that summer morning, we lifted Fred into the little wagon in
+which he had once drawn me and starting back of the barn stole away
+with him through the deep grass of the meadow until we came out upon the
+highroad far below. We had planned to take him to school and make him a
+nest in the woodshed where he could share our luncheon and be out of the
+way of peril. After a good deal of difficulty and heavy pulling we
+got to the road at last. The old dog, now blind and helpless, sat
+contentedly in the wagon while its wheels creaked and groaned beneath
+him. We had gone but a short way in the road when we heard the red
+bridge roar under rushing wheels and the familiar yell of Abe.
+
+'We'd better run,' said Hope, ''er we'll git swore at.'
+
+I looked about me in a panic for some place to hide the party, but Abe
+was coming fast and there was only time to pick up clubs and stand our
+ground.
+
+'Here!' the man shouted as he pulled up along side of us, 'where ye
+goin' with that dog?'
+
+'Go 'way,' I answered, between anger and tears, lifting my club in a
+threatening manner.
+
+He laughed then--a loud guffaw that rang in the near woods.
+
+'What'll ye give me,' he asked leaning forward, his elbows on his knees,
+'What'll ye give me if I don't kill him?'
+
+I thought a moment. Then I put my hand in my pocket and presently took
+out my jack-knife--that treasure Uncle Eb had bought for me--and looked
+at it fondly.
+
+Then I offered it to him.
+
+Again he laughed loudly.
+
+'Anything else?' he demanded while Hope sat hugging the old dog that was
+licking her hands.
+
+'Got forty cents that I saved for the fair,' said I promptly.
+
+Abe backed his horse and turned in the road.
+
+'Wall boy,' he said, 'Tell 'em I've gone home.'
+
+Then his great voice shouted, 'g'lang' the lash of his whip sang in the
+air and off he went.
+
+We were first to arrive at the schoolhouse, that morning, and when
+the other children came we had Fred on a comfortable bed of grass in a
+corner of the woodshed. What with all the worry of that day I said my
+lessons poorly and went home with a load on my heart. Tomorrow would be
+Saturday; how were we to get food and water to the dog? They asked at
+home if we had seen old Fred and we both declared we had not--the first
+lie that ever laid its burden on my conscience. We both saved all our
+bread and butter and doughnuts next day, but we had so many chores to
+do it was impossible to go to the schoolhouse with them. So we agreed
+to steal away that night when all were asleep and take the food from its
+hiding place.
+
+In the excitement of the day neither of us had eaten much. They thought
+we were ill and sent us to bed early. When Hope came into my room above
+stairs late in the evening we were both desperately hungry. We looked at
+our store of doughnuts and bread and butter under my bed. We counted it
+over.
+
+'Won't you try one o' the doughnuts,' I whispered hoping that she would
+say yes so that I could try one also; for they did smell mighty good.
+
+''Twouldn't be right,' said she regretfully. 'There ain't any more 'n
+he'll want now.
+
+''Twouldn't be right,' I repeated with a sigh as I looked longingly at
+one of the big doughnuts. 'Couldn't bear t' do it--could you?'
+
+'Don't seem as if I could,' she whispered, thoughtfully, her chin upon
+her hand.
+
+Then she rose and went to the window.
+
+'O my! how dark it is!' she whispered, looking out into the night.
+
+'Purty dark!' I said, 'but you needn't be 'fraid. I'll take care o' you.
+If we should meet a bear I'll growl right back at him--that's what Uncle
+Eb tol' me t' do. I'm awful stout--most a man now! Can't nuthin' scare
+me.'
+
+We could hear them talking below stairs and we went back to bed,
+intending to go forth later when the house was still. But' unfortunately
+for our adventure I fell asleep.
+
+It was morning when I opened my eyes again. We children looked
+accusingly at each other while eating breakfast. Then we had to be
+washed and dressed in our best clothes to go to meeting. When the wagon
+was at the door and we were ready to start I had doughnuts and bread
+and butter in every pocket of my coat and trousers. I got in quickly and
+pulled the blanket over me so as to conceal the fullness of my pockets.
+We arrived so late I had no chance to go to the dog before we went into
+meeting. I was wearing boots that were too small for me, and when I
+entered with the others and sat down upon one of those straight backed
+seats of plain, unpainted pine my feet felt as if I had been caught in
+a bear trap. There was always such a silence in the room after the elder
+had sat down and adjusted his spectacles that I could hear the ticking
+of the watch he carried in the pocket of his broadcloth waistcoat. For
+my own part I know I looked with too much longing for the good of my
+soul on the great gold chain that spanned the broad convexity of his
+stomach. Presently I observed that a couple of young women were looking
+at me and whispering. Then suddenly I became aware that there were
+sundry protuberances on my person caused by bread and butter and
+doughnuts, and I felt very miserable indeed. Now and then as the elder
+spoke the loud, accusing neigh of some horse, tethered to the fence in
+the schoolyard, mingled with his thunder. After the good elder had been
+preaching an hour his big, fat body seemed to swim in my tears. When he
+had finished the choir sang. Their singing was a thing that appealed to
+the eye as well as the ear. Uncle Eb used to say it was a great comfort
+to see Elkenah Samson sing bass. His great mouth opened widely in this
+form of praise and his eyes had a wild stare in them when he aimed at
+the low notes.
+
+Ransom Walker, a man of great dignity, with a bristling moustache, who
+had once been a schoolmaster, led the choir and carried the tenor part.
+It was no small privilege after the elder had announced the hymn, to see
+him rise and tap the desk with his tuning fork and hold it to his ear
+solemnly. Then he would seem to press his chin full hard upon his throat
+while he warbled a scale. Immediately, soprano, alto, bass and tenor
+launched forth upon the sea of song. The parts were like the treacherous
+and conflicting currents of a tide that tossed them roughly and
+sometimes overturned their craft. And Ransom Walker showed always a
+proper sense of danger and responsibility. Generally they got to port
+safely on these brief excursions, though exhausted. He had a way of
+beating time with his head while singing and I have no doubt it was a
+great help to him.
+
+The elder came over to me after meeting, having taken my tears for a
+sign of conviction.
+
+'May the Lord bless and comfort you, my boy!' said he.
+
+I got away shortly and made for the door. Uncle Eb stopped me.
+
+'My stars, Willie!' said he putting his hand on my upper coat pocket'
+'what ye got in there?'
+
+'Doughnuts,' I answered.
+
+'An' what's this?' he asked touching one of my side pockets.
+
+'Doughnuts,' I repeated.
+
+'An' this,' touching another.
+
+'That's doughnuts too,' I said.
+
+'An' this,' he continued going down to my trousers pocket.
+
+'Bread an' butter,' I answered, shamefacedly, and on the verge of tears.
+
+'Jerusalem!' he exclaimed, 'must a 'spected a purty long sermon.
+
+'Brought 'em fer ol' Fred,' I replied.
+
+'Ol' Fred!' he whispered, 'where's he?'
+
+I told my secret then and we both went out with Hope to where we had
+left him. He lay with his head between his paws on the bed of grass just
+as I had seen him lie many a time when his legs were weary with travel
+on Paradise Road, and when his days were yet full of pleasure. We called
+to him and Uncle Eb knelt and touched his head. Then he lifted the dog's
+nose, looked a moment into the sightless eyes and let it fall again.
+
+'Fred's gone,' said he in a low tone as he turned away. 'Got there ahead
+uv us, Willy.'
+
+Hope and I sat down by the old dog and wept bitterly.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 10
+
+Uncle Eb was a born lover of fun. But he had a solemn way of fishing
+that was no credit to a cheerful man. It was the same when he played
+the bass viol, but that was also a kind of fishing at which he tried his
+luck in a roaring torrent of sound. Both forms of dissipation gave him
+a serious look and manner, that came near severity. They brought on
+his face only the light of hope and anticipation or the shadow of
+disappointment.
+
+We had finished our stent early the day of which I am writing. When we
+had dug our worms and were on our way to the brook with pole and line a
+squint of elation had hold of Uncle Eb's face. Long wrinkles deepened as
+he looked into the sky for a sign of the weather, and then relaxed a
+bit as he turned his eyes upon the smooth sward. It was no time for idle
+talk. We tiptoed over the leafy carpet of the woods. Soon as I spoke he
+lifted his hand with a warning 'Sh--h!' The murmur of the stream was in
+our ears. Kneeling on a mossy knoll we baited the hooks; then Uncle Eb
+beckoned to me.
+
+I came to him on tiptoe.
+
+'See thet there foam 'long side o' the big log?' he whispered, pointing
+with his finger.
+
+I nodded.
+
+'Cre-e-ep up jest as ca-a-areful as ye can,' he went on whispering.
+'Drop in a leetle above an' let 'er float down.'
+
+Then he went on, below me, lifting his feet in slow and stealthy
+strides.
+
+He halted by a bit of driftwood and cautiously threw in, his arm
+extended, his figure alert. The squint on his face took a firmer grip.
+Suddenly his pole gave a leap, the water splashed, his line sang in
+the air and a fish went up like a rocket. As we were looking into the
+treetops it thumped the shore beside him, quivered a moment and flopped
+down the bank He scrambled after it and went to his knees in the brook
+coming up empty-handed. The water was slopping out of his boot legs.
+
+'Whew!' said he, panting with excitement, as I came over to him.
+'Reg'lar ol' he one,' he added, looking down at his boots. 'Got away
+from me--consarn him! Hed a leetle too much power in the arm.'
+
+He emptied his boots, baited up and went back to his fishing. As I
+looked up at him he stood leaning over the stream jiggling his hook. In
+a moment I saw a tug at the line. The end of his pole went under water
+like a flash. It bent double as Uncle Eb gave it a lift. The fish began
+to dive and rush. The line cut the water in a broad semicircle and then
+went far and near with long, quick slashes. The pole nodded and writhed
+like a thing of life. Then Uncle Eb had a look on him that is one of
+the treasures of my memory. In a moment the fish went away with such a
+violent rush, to save him, he had to throw his pole into the water.
+
+'Heavens an' airth!' he shouted, 'the ol' settler!'
+
+The pole turned quickly and went lengthwise into the rapids. He ran down
+the bank and I after him. The pole was speeding through the swift water.
+We scrambled over logs and through bushes, but the pole went faster than
+we. Presently it stopped and swung around. Uncle Eb went splashing into
+the brook. Almost within reach of the pole he dashed his foot upon a
+stone, falling headlong in the current. I was close upon his heels and
+gave him a hand. He rose hatless, dripping from head to foot and pressed
+on. He lifted his pole. The line clung to a snag and then gave way;
+the tackle was missing. He looked at it silently, tilting his head. We
+walked slowly to the shore. Neither spoke for a moment.
+
+'Must have been a big fish,' I remarked.
+
+'Powerful!' said he, chewing vigorously on his quid of tobacco as he
+shook his head and looked down at his wet clothing. 'In a desp'rit fix,
+ain't I?'
+
+'Too bad!' I exclaimed.
+
+'Seldom ever hed sech a disapp'intment,' he said. 'Ruther counted on
+ketchin' thet fish--he was s' well hooked.'
+
+He looked longingly at the water a moment 'If I don't go hum,' said he,
+'an' keep my mouth shet I'll say sumthin' I'll be sorry fer.'
+
+He was never quite the same after that. He told often of his struggle
+with this unseen, mysterious fish and I imagined he was a bit more given
+to reflection. He had had hold of the 'ol' settler of Deep Hole'--a
+fish of great influence and renown there in Faraway. Most of the local
+fishermen had felt him tug at the line one time or another. No man had
+ever seen him for the water was black in Deep Hole. No fish had ever
+exerted a greater influence on the thought, the imagination, the manners
+or the moral character of his contemporaries. Tip Taylor always took
+off his hat and sighed when he spoke of the 'ol' settler'. Ransom Walker
+said he had once seen his top fin and thought it longer than a razor.
+Ransom took to idleness and chewing tobacco immediately after his
+encounter with the big fish, and both vices stuck to him as long as he
+lived. Everyone had his theory of the 'ol' settler'. Most agreed he was
+a very heavy trout. Tip Taylor used to say that in his opinion ''twas
+nuthin' more'n a plain, overgrown, common sucker,' but Tip came from the
+Sucker Brook country where suckers lived in colder water and were more
+entitled to respect.
+
+Mose Tupper had never had his hook in the 'ol' settler' and would
+believe none of the many stories of adventure at Deep Hole that had
+thrilled the township.
+
+'Thet fish hes made s' many liars 'round here ye dimno who t' b'lieve,'
+he had said at the corners one day, after Uncle Eb had told his story of
+the big fish. 'Somebody 't knows how t' fish hed oughter go 'n ketch him
+fer the good o' the town--thet's what I think.'
+
+Now Mr Tupper was an excellent man but his incredulity was always too
+bluntly put. It had even led to some ill feeling.
+
+He came in at our place one evening with a big hook and line from 'down
+east'--the kind of tackle used in salt water.
+
+'What ye goin' t' dew with it?' Uncle Eb enquired.
+
+'Ketch thet fish ye talk s' much about--goin' t' put him out o' the
+way.'
+
+''Tain't fair,' said Uncle Eb, 'its reedic'lous. Like leading a pup with
+a log chain.'
+
+'Don't care,' said Mose, 'I'm goin' t' go fishin t'morrer. If there
+reely is any sech fish--which I don't believe there is--I'm goin'
+t' rassle with him an' mebbe tek him out o' the river. Thet fish is
+sp'llin' the moral character o' this town. He oughter be rode on a
+rail--thet fish hed.'
+
+How he would punish a trout in that manner Mr Tupper failed to explain,
+but his metaphor was always a worse fit than his trousers and that was
+bad enough.
+
+It was just before haying and, there being little to do, we had also
+planned to try our luck in the morning. When, at sunrise, we were
+walking down the cow-path to the woods I saw Uncle Eb had a coil of bed
+cord on his shoulder.
+
+'What's that for?' I asked.
+
+'Wall,' said he, 'goin' t' hev fun anyway. If we can't ketch one thing
+we'll try another.'
+
+We had great luck that morning and when our basket was near full we came
+to Deep Hole and made ready for a swim in the water above it. Uncle Eb
+had looped an end of the bed cord and tied a few pebbles on it with bits
+of string.
+
+'Now,' said he presently, 'I want t' sink this loop t' the bottom an'
+pass the end o' the cord under the driftwood so 't we can fetch it
+'crost under water.'
+
+There was a big stump, just opposite, with roots running down the bank
+into the stream. I shoved the line under the drift with a pole and then
+hauled it across where Uncle Eb drew it up the bank under the stump
+roots.
+
+'In 'bout half an hour I cal'late Mose Tupper'll be 'long,' he
+whispered. 'Wisht ye'd put on yer clo's an' lay here back o' the stump
+an' hold on t' the cord. When ye feel a bite give a yank er two an' haul
+in like Sam Hill--fifteen feet er more quicker'n scat. Snatch his pole
+right away from him. Then lay still.'
+
+Uncle Eb left me, shortly, going up stream. It was near an hour before I
+heard them coming. Uncle Eb was talking in a low tone as they came down
+the other bank.
+
+'Drop right in there,' he was saying, 'an' let her drag down, through
+the deep water, deliberate like. Git clus t' the bottom.'
+
+Peering through a screen of bushes I could see an eager look on the
+unlovely face of Moses. He stood leaning toward the water and jiggling
+his hook along the bottom. Suddenly I saw Mose jerk and felt the cord
+move. I gave it a double twitch and began to pull. He held hard for a
+jiffy and then stumbled and let go yelling like mad. The pole hit the
+water with a splash and went out of sight like a diving frog. I brought
+it well under the foam and driftwood. Deep Hole resumed its calm,
+unruffled aspect. Mose went running toward Uncle Eb.
+
+''S a whale!' he shouted. 'Ripped the pole away quicker'n lightnin'.'
+
+'Where is it?' Uncle Eb asked.
+
+'Tuk it away f'm me,' said Moses. 'Grabbed it jes' like thet,' he added
+with a violent jerk of his hand.
+
+'What d' he dew with it?' Uncle Eb enquired.
+
+Mose looked thoughtfully at the water and scratched his head, his
+features all a tremble.
+
+'Dunno,' said he. 'Swallered it mebbe.'
+
+'Mean t' say ye lost hook, line, sinker 'n pole?'
+
+'Hook, line, sinker 'n pole,' he answered mournfully. 'Come nigh haulin'
+me in tew.'
+
+''Tain't possible,' said Uncle Eb.
+
+Mose expectorated, his hands upon his hips, looking down at the water.
+
+'Wouldn't eggzac'ly say 'twas possible,' he drawled, 'but 'twas a fact.'
+
+'Yer mistaken,' said Uncle Eb.
+
+'No I hain't,' was the answer, 'I tell ye I see it.'
+
+'Then if ye see it the nex' thing ye orter see 's a doctor. There's
+sumthin' wrong with you sumwheres.'
+
+'Only one thing the matter o' me,' said Mose with a little twinge of
+remorse. 'I'm jest a natural born perfec' dum fool. Never c'u'd b'lieve
+there was any sech fish.'
+
+'Nobody ever said there was any sech fish,' said Uncle Eb. 'He's done
+more t' you 'n he ever done t' me. Never served me no sech trick as
+thet. If I was you I'd never ask nobody t' b'lieve it 'S a leetle tew
+much.'
+
+Mose went slowly and picked up his hat. Then he returned to the bank and
+looked regretfully at the water.
+
+'Never see the beat o' thet,' he went on. 'Never see sech power 'n a
+fish. Knocks the spots off any fish I ever hearn of.'
+
+'Ye riled him with that big tackle o' yourn,' said Uncle Eb. 'He
+wouldn't stan' it.'
+
+'Feel jest as if I'd hed holt uv a wil' cat,' said Mose. 'Tuk the hull
+thing--pole an' all--quicker 'n lightnin'. Nice a bit o' hickory as a
+man ever see. Gol' durned if I ever heem o' the like o' that, ever.'
+
+He sat down a moment on the bank.
+
+'Got t' rest a minute,' he remarked. 'Feel kind o' wopsy after thet
+squabble.'
+
+They soon went away. And when Mose told the story of 'the swallered
+pole' he got the same sort of reputation he had given to others. Only it
+was real and large and lasting.
+
+'Wha' d' ye think uv it?' he asked, when he had finished.
+
+'Wall,' said Ransom Walker, 'wouldn't want t' say right out plain t' yer
+face.'
+
+''Twouldn't he p'lite,' said Uncle Eb soberly.
+
+'Sound a leetle ha'sh,' Tip Taylor added.
+
+'Thet fish has jerked the fear o' God out o' ye--thet's the way it looks
+t' me,' said Carlyle Barber.
+
+'Yer up 'n the air, Mose,' said another. 'Need a sinker on ye.' They
+bullied him--they talked him down, demurring mildly, but firmly.
+
+'Tell ye what I'll do,' said Mose sheepishly, 'I'll b'lieve you fellers
+if you'll b'lieve me.'
+
+'What, swop even? Not much!' said one, with emphasis. ''Twouldn't be
+fair. Ye've ast us t' b'lieve a genuwine out 'n out impossibility.'
+
+Mose lifted his hat and scratched his head thoughtfully. There was a
+look of embarrassment in his face.
+
+'Might a ben dreamin',' said he slowly. 'I swear it's gittin' so here 'n
+this town a feller can't hardly b'lieve himself.'
+
+'Fur 's my experience goes,' said Ransom Walker, 'he'd be a fool 'f he
+did.'
+
+''Minds me o' the time I went fishin' with Ab Thomas,' said Uncle Eb.
+'He ketched an ol' socker the fast thing. I went off by myself 'n got a
+good sized fish, but 'twant s' big 's hisn. So I tuk 'n opened his mouth
+n poured in a lot o' fine shot. When I come back Ab he looked at my fish
+'n begun t' brag. When we weighed 'em mine was a leetle heavier.
+
+'"What!" says he. "'Tain't possible thet leetle cuss uv a trout 's
+heavier 'n mine."
+
+''Tis sarrin,' I said.
+
+'"Dummed deceivin' business," said he as he hefted 'em both. "Gittin' so
+ye can't hardly b'lieve the stillyards."'
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 11
+
+The fifth summer was passing since we came down Paradise Road--the dog,
+Uncle Eb and I. Times innumerable I had heard my good old friend tell
+the story of our coming west until its every incident was familiar to
+me as the alphabet. Else I fear my youthful memory would have served me
+poorly for a chronicle of my childhood so exact and so extended as this
+I have written. Uncle Eb's hair was white now and the voices of the
+swift and the panther had grown mild and tremulous and unsatisfactory
+and even absurd. Time had tamed the monsters of that imaginary
+wilderness and I had begun to lose my respect for them. But one fear had
+remained with me as I grew older--the fear of the night man. Every boy
+and girl in the valley trembled at the mention of him. Many a time I had
+held awake in the late evening to hear the men talk of him before they
+went asleep--Uncle Eb and Tip Taylor. I remember a night when Tip said,
+in a low awesome tone, that he was a ghost. The word carried into my
+soul the first thought of its great and fearful mystery.
+
+'Years and years ago,' said he, 'there was a boy by the name of Nehemiah
+Brower. An' he killed another boy, once, by accident an' run away an'
+was drownded.'
+
+'Drownded!' said Uncle Eb. 'How?'
+
+'In the ocean,' the first answered gaping. 'Went away off 'round the
+world an' they got a letter that said he was drownded on his way to Van
+Dieman's Land.'
+
+'To Van Dieman's Land!'
+
+'Yes, an some say the night man is the ghost o' the one he killed.'
+
+I remember waking that night and hearing excited whispers at the window
+near my bed. It was very dark in the room and at first I could not tell
+who was there.
+
+'Don't you see him?' Tip whispered.
+
+'Where?' I heard Uncle Be ask
+
+'Under the pine trees--see him move.'
+
+At that I was up at the window myself and could plainly see the dark
+figure of a man standing under the little pine below us.
+
+'The night man, I guess,' said Uncle Be, 'but he won't do no harm. Let
+him alone; he's going' away now.'
+
+We saw him disappear behind the trees and then we got back into our beds
+again. I covered my head with the bedclothes and said a small prayer for
+the poor night man.
+
+And in this atmosphere of mystery and adventure, among the plain folk of
+Faraway, whose care of me when I was in great need, and whose love of
+me always, I count among the priceless treasures of God's providence, my
+childhood passed. And the day came near when I was to begin to play my
+poor part in the world.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BOOK TWO
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 12
+
+It was a time of new things--that winter when I saw the end of my
+fifteenth year. Then I began to enjoy the finer humours of life in
+Faraway--to see with understanding; and by God's grace--to feel.
+
+The land of play and fear and fable was now far behind me and I had
+begun to feel the infinite in the ancient forest' in the everlasting
+hills, in the deep of heaven, in all the ways of men. Hope Brower was
+now near woman grown. She had a beauty of face and form that was the
+talk of the countryside. I have travelled far and seen many a fair face
+hut never one more to my eye. I have heard men say she was like a girl
+out of a story-book those days.
+
+Late years something had come between us. Long ago we had fallen out of
+each other's confidence, and ever since she had seemed to shun me. It
+was the trip in the sledgehouse that' years after, came up between us
+and broke our childish intimacy. Uncle Be had told, before company, how
+she had kissed me that day and bespoke me for a husband, and while the
+others laughed loudly she had gone out of the room crying. She would
+have little to say to me then. I began to play with boys and she with
+girls. And it made me miserable to hear the boys a bit older than I
+gossip of her beauty and accuse each other of the sweet disgrace of
+love.
+
+But I must hasten to those events in Faraway that shaped our destinies.
+And first comes that memorable night when I had the privilege
+of escorting Hope to the school lyceum where the argument of Jed
+Feary--poet of the hills--fired my soul with an ambition that has
+remained with me always.
+
+Uncle Be suggested that I ask Hope to go with me.
+
+'Prance right up to her,' he said, 'an' say you'd be glad of the
+pleasure of her company.
+
+It seemed to me a very dubious thing to do. I looked thoughtful and
+turned red in the face.
+
+'Young man,' he continued, 'the boy thet's 'fraid o' women'll never hev
+whiskers.'
+
+'How's that?' I enquired.
+
+'Be scairt t' death,' he answered,' 'fore they've hed time t' start
+Ye want t' step right up t' the rack jes' if ye'd bought an' paid fer
+yerself an' was proud o' yer bargain.'
+
+I took his advice and when I found Hope alone in the parlour I came and
+asked her, very awkwardly as I now remember, to go with me.
+
+She looked at me, blushing, and said she would ask her mother.
+
+And she did, and we walked to the schoolhouse together that evening, her
+hand holding my arm, timidly, the most serious pair that ever struggled
+with the problem of deportment on such an occasion. I was oppressed with
+a heavy sense of responsibility in every word I uttered.
+
+Ann Jane Foster, known as 'Scooter Jane', for her rapid walk and stiff
+carriage, met us at the corners on her way to the schoolhouse.
+
+'Big turn out I guess,' said she. 'Jed Feary 'n' Squire Town is comin'
+over from Jingleville an' all the big guns'll be there. I love t' hear
+Jed Feary speak, he's so techin'.'
+
+Ann Jane was always looking around for some event likely to touch her
+feelings. She went to every funeral in Faraway and, when sorrow was
+scarce in her own vicinity, journeyed far in quest of it.
+
+'Wouldn't wonder 'f the fur flew when they git t' going',' she remarked,
+and then hurried on, her head erect, her body motionless, her legs
+flying. Such energy as she gave to the pursuit of mourning I have never
+seen equalled in any other form of dissipation.
+
+The schoolhouse was nearly full of people when we came in. The big boys
+were wrestling in the yard; men were lounging on the rude seats, inside,
+idly discussing crops and cattle and lapsing into silence, frequently,
+that bore the signs both of expectancy and reflection. Young men
+and young women sat together on one side of the house whispering and
+giggling. Alone among them was the big and eccentric granddaughter of
+Mrs Bisnette, who was always slapping some youngster for impertinence.
+Jed Feary and Squire Town sat together behind a pile of books, both
+looking very serious. The long hair and beard of the old poet were now
+white and his form bent with age. He came over and spoke to us and
+took a curl of Hope's hair in his stiffened fingers and held it to the
+lamplight.
+
+'What silky gold!' he whispered.' 'S a skein o' fate, my dear girl!'
+
+Suddenly the schoolteacher rapped on the desk and bade us come to order
+and Ransom Walker was called to the chair.
+
+'Thet there is talent in Faraway township,' he said, having reluctantly
+come to the platform, 'and talent of the very highest order, no one can
+deny who has ever attended a lyceum at the Howard schoolhouse. I see
+evidences of talent in every face before me. And I wish to ask what are
+the two great talents of the Yankee--talents that made our forefathers
+famous the world over? I pause for an answer.'
+
+He had once been a schoolmaster and that accounted for his didactic
+style.
+
+'What are the two great talents of the Yankee?' he repeated, his hands
+clasped before him.
+
+'Doughnuts an' pie,' said Uncle Be who sat in a far corner.
+
+'No sir,' Mr Walker answered, 'there's some hev a talent fer sawin'
+wood, but we don't count that. It's war an' speakin', they are the two
+great talents of the Yankee. But his greatest talent is the gift o'
+gab. Give him a chance t' talk it over with his enemy an' he'll lick 'im
+without a fight. An' when his enemy is another Yankee--why, they both
+git licked, jest as it was in the case of the man thet sold me lightnin'
+rods. He was sorry he done it before I got through with him. If we did
+not encourage this talent in our sons they would be talked to death by
+our daughters. Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me pleasure t' say that
+the best speakers in Faraway township have come here t' discuss the
+important question:
+
+'Resolved, that intemperance has caused more misery than war?
+
+'I call upon Moses Tupper to open for the affirmative.'
+
+Moses, as I have remarked, had a most unlovely face with a thin and
+bristling growth of whiskers. In giving him features Nature had been
+generous to a fault. He had a large red nose, and a mouth vastly too
+big for any proper use. It was a mouth fashioned for odd sayings. He was
+well to do and boasted often that he was a self-made man. Uncle Be used
+to say that if Mose Tupper had had the 'makin' uv himself he'd oughter
+done it more careful.'
+
+I remember not much of the speech he made, but the picture of him, as
+he rose on tiptoe and swung his arms like a man fighting bees, and his
+drawling tones are as familiar as the things of yesterday.
+
+'Gentlemen an' ladies,' said he presently, 'let me show you a pictur'.
+It is the drunkard's child. It is hungry an' there ain't no food in its
+home. The child is poorer'n a straw-fed hoss. 'Tain't hed a thing t' eat
+since day before yistiddy. Pictur' it to yourselves as it comes cryin'
+to its mother an' says:
+
+'"Ma! Gi' me a piece o' bread an' butter."
+
+'She covers her face with her apron an' says she, "There am none left,
+my child."
+
+'An' bime bye the child comes agin' an' holds up its poor little han's
+an' says: "Ma! please gi' me a piece O' cake."
+
+'An' she goes an' looks out O' the winder, er mebbe pokes the fire, an'
+says: "There am' none left, my child."
+
+'An' bime bye it comes agin' an' it says: "Please gi' me a little piece
+O' pie."
+
+'An' she mebbe flops into a chair an' says, sobbin', "There ain' none
+left, my child."
+
+'No pie! Now, Mr Chairman!' exclaimed the orator, as he lifted both
+hands high above his head, 'If this ain't misery, in God's name, what is
+it?
+
+'Years ago, when I was a young man, Mr President, I went to a dance one
+night at the village of Migleyville. I got a toothache, an' the Devil
+tempted me with whiskey, an' I tuk one glass an' then another an' purty
+soon I began t' thank I was a mighty hefty sort of a character, I did,
+an' I stud on a corner an' stumped everybody t' fight with me, an'
+bime bye an accomanodatin' kind of a chap come along, an' that's all I
+remember O' what happened. When I come to, my coat tails had been tore
+off, I'd lost one leg O' my trousers, a bran new silver watch, tew
+dollars in money, an a pair O' spectacles. When I stud up an' tried t'
+realise what hed happened I felt jes' like a blind rooster with only one
+leg an' no tail feathers.'
+
+A roar of laughter followed these frank remarks of Mr Tupper and broke
+into a storm of merriment when Uncle Eb rose and said:
+
+'Mr President, I hope you see that the misfortunes of our friend was due
+t' war, an' not to intemperance.'
+
+Mr Tupper was unhorsed. For some minutes he stood helpless or shaking
+with the emotion that possessed all. Then he finished lamely and sat
+down.
+
+The narrowness of the man that saw so much where there was so little
+in his own experience and in the trivial events of his own township was
+what I now recognise as most valuable to the purpose of this history.
+It was a narrowness that covered a multitude of people in St Lawrence
+county in those days.
+
+Jed Feary was greeted with applause and then by respectful silence when
+he rose to speak. The fame of his verse and his learning had gone far
+beyond the narrow boundaries of the township in which he lived. It was
+the biggest thing in the county. Many a poor sinner who had gone out of
+Faraway to his long home got his first praise in the obituary poem by
+Jed Feary. These tributes were generally published in the county paper
+and paid for by the relatives of the deceased at the rate of a dollar
+a day for the time spent on them, or by a few days of board and lodging
+glory and consolation that was, alas! too cheap, as one might see by a
+glance at his forlorn figure. I shall never forget the courtly manner,
+so strangely in contrast with the rude deportment of other men in that
+place, with which he addressed the chairman and the people. The drawling
+dialect of the vicinity that flavoured his conversation fell from him
+like a mantle as he spoke and the light in his soul shone upon that
+little company a great light, as I now remember, that filled me with
+burning thoughts of the world and its mighty theatre of action. The way
+of my life lay clear before me, as I listened, and its days of toil and
+the sweet success my God has given me, although I take it humbly and
+hold it infinitely above my merit. I was to get learning and seek some
+way of expressing what was in me.
+
+It would ill become me to try to repeat the words of this venerable
+seer, but he showed that intemperance was an individual sin, while war
+was a national evil. That one meant often the ruin of a race; the other
+the ruin of a family; that one was as the ocean, the other as a single
+drop in its waters. And he told us of the fall of empires and the
+millions that had suffered the oppression of the conqueror and perished
+by the sword since Agamemnon.
+
+After the debate a young lady read a literary paper full of clumsy
+wit, rude chronicles of the countryside, essays on 'Spring', and like
+topics--the work of the best talent of Faraway. Then came the decision,
+after which the meeting adjourned.
+
+At the door some other boys tried 'to cut me out'. I came through the
+noisy crowd, however, with Hope on my arm and my heart full of a great
+happiness.
+
+'Did you like it?' she asked.
+
+'Very much,' I answered.
+
+'What did you enjoy most?'
+
+'Your company,' I said, with a fine air of gallantry.
+
+'Honestly?'
+
+'Honestly. I want to take you to Rickard's sometime?'
+
+That was indeed a long cherished hope.
+
+'Maybe I won't let you,' she said.
+
+'Wouldn't you?'
+
+'You'd better ask me sometime and see.'
+
+'I shall. I wouldn't ask any other girl.'
+
+'Well,' she added, with a sigh, 'if a boy likes one girl I don't think
+he ought to have anything to do with other girls. I hate a flirt.'
+
+I happened to hear a footfall in the snow behind us, and looking back
+saw Ann Jane Foster going slow in easy hearing. She knew all, as we soon
+found out.
+
+'I dew jes love t' see young folks enjoy themselves,' said she, 'it's
+entrancin'.'
+
+Coming in at our gate I saw a man going over the wall back of the big
+stables. The house was dark.
+
+'Did you see the night man?' Elizabeth Brower whispered as I lit the
+lamp. 'Went through the garden just now. I've been watching him here at
+the window.'
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 13
+
+The love of labour was counted a great virtue there in Faraway. As for
+myself I could never put my heart in a hoe handle or in any like tool
+of toil. They made a blister upon my spirit as well as upon my hands. I
+tried to find in the sweat of my brow that exalted pleasure of which Mr
+Greeley had visions in his comfortable retreat on Printing House Square.
+But unfortunately I had not his point of view.
+
+Hanging in my library, where I may see it as I write, is the old sickle
+of Uncle Eb. The hard hickory of its handle is worn thin by the grip of
+his hand. It becomes a melancholy symbol when I remember how also the
+hickory had worn him thin and bent him low, and how infinitely better
+than all the harvesting of the sickle was the strength of that man,
+diminishing as it wore the wood. I cannot help smiling when I look
+at the sickle and thank of the soft hands and tender amplitude of Mr
+Greeley.
+
+The great editor had been a playmate of David Brower when they were
+boys, and his paper was read with much reverence in our home.
+
+'How quick ye can plough a ten-acre lot with a pen,' Uncle Eb used to
+say when we had gone up to bed after father had been reading aloud from
+his Tribune.
+
+Such was the power of the press in that country one had but to say of
+any doubtful thing, 'Seen it in print,' to stop all argument. If there
+were any further doubt he had only to say that he had read it either
+in the Tribune or the Bible, and couldn't remember which. Then it was a
+mere question of veracity in the speaker. Books and other reading were
+carefully put away for an improbable time of leisure.
+
+'I might break my leg sometime,' said David Brower, 'then they'll come
+handy.' But the Tribune was read carefully every week.
+
+I have seen David Brower stop and look at me while I have been digging
+potatoes, with a sober grin such as came to him always after he had
+swapped 'hosses' and got the worst of it. Then he would show me again,
+with a little impatience in his manner, how to hold the handle and
+straddle the row. He would watch me for a moment, turn to Uncle Eb,
+laugh hopelessly and say: 'Thet boy'll hev to be a minister. He can't
+work.'
+
+But for Elizabeth Brower it might have gone hard with me those days.
+My mind was always on my books or my last talk with Jed Feary, and
+she shared my confidence and fed my hopes and shielded me as much as
+possible from the heavy work. Hope had a better head for mathematics
+than I, and had always helped me with my sums, but I had a better memory
+and an aptitude in other things that kept me at the head of most of my
+classes. Best of all at school I enjoyed the 'compositions'--I had many
+thoughts, such as they were, and some facility of expression, I doubt
+not, for a child. Many chronicles of the countryside came off my
+pen--sketches of odd events and characters there in Faraway. These were
+read to the assembled household. Elizabeth Brower would sit looking
+gravely down at me, as I stood by her knees reading, in those days of my
+early boyhood. Uncle Eb listened with his head turned curiously, as if
+his ear were cocked for <DW53>s. Sometimes he and David Brower would slap
+their knees and laugh heartily, whereat my foster mother would give them
+a quick glance and shake her head. For she was always fearful of the day
+when she should see in her children the birth of vanity, and sought to
+put it off as far as might be. Sometimes she would cover her mouth to
+hide a smile, and, when I had finished, look warningly at the rest, and
+say it was good, for a little boy. Her praise never went further, and
+indeed all those people hated flattery as they did the devil and frowned
+upon conceit She said that when the love of flattery got hold of one he
+would lie to gain it.
+
+I can see this slender, blue-eyed woman as I write. She is walking up
+and down beside her spinning-wheel. I can hear the dreary buz-z-z-z of
+the spindle as she feeds it with the fleecy ropes. That loud crescendo
+echoes in the still house of memory. I can hear her singing as she steps
+forward and slows the wheel and swings the cradle with her foot:
+
+
+  'On the other side of Jordan,
+  In the sweet fields of Eden,
+  Where the tree of Life is blooming,
+  There is rest for you.
+
+She lays her hand to the spokes again and the roar of the spindle drowns
+her voice.
+
+All day, from the breakfast hour to supper time, I have heard the dismal
+sound of the spinning as she walked the floor, content to sing of rest
+but never taking it.
+
+Her home was almost a miracle of neatness. She could work with no peace
+of mind until the house had been swept and dusted. A fly speck on the
+window was enough to cloud her day. She went to town with David now and
+then--not oftener than once a quarter--and came back ill and exhausted.
+If she sat in a store waiting for David, while he went to mill or
+smithy, her imagination gave her no rest. That dirt abhorring mind of
+hers would begin to clean the windows, and when that was finished it
+would sweep the floor and dust the counters. In due course it would
+lower the big chandelier and take out all the lamps and wash the
+chimneys with soap and water and rub them till they shone. Then,
+if David had not come, it would put in the rest of its time on the
+woodwork. With all her cleaning I am sure the good woman kept her soul
+spotless. Elizabeth Brower believed in goodness and the love of God, and
+knew no fear. Uncle Eb used to say that wherever Elizabeth Brower went
+hereafter it would have to be clean and comfortable.
+
+Elder Whitmarsh came often to dinner of a Sunday, when he and Mrs Brower
+talked volubly about the Scriptures, he taking a sterner view of God
+than she would allow. He was an Englishman by birth, who had settled in
+Faraway because there he had found relief for a serious affliction of
+asthma.
+
+He came over one noon in the early summer, that followed the event of
+our last chapter, to tell us of a strawberry party that evening at the
+White Church.
+
+'I've had a wonderful experience,' said he as he took a seat on the
+piazza, while Mrs Brower came and sat near him. 'I've discovered a great
+genius--a wandering fiddler, and I shall try to bring him to play for
+us.'
+
+'A fiddler! why, Elder!' said she, 'you astonish me!'
+
+'Nothing but sacred music,' he said, lifting his hand. 'I heard him play
+all the grand things today--"Rock of Ages", "Nearer My God, to Thee",
+"The Marseillaise" and "Home, Sweet Home". Lifted me off my feet! I've
+heard the great masters in New York and London, but no greater player
+than this man.'
+
+'Where is he and where did he come from?'
+
+'He's at my house now,' said the good man. 'I found him this morning. He
+stood under a tree by the road side, above Northrup's. As I came near
+I heard the strains of "The Marseillaise". For more than an hour I
+sat there listening. It was wonderful, Mrs Brower, wonderful! The poor
+fellow is eccentric. He never spoke to me. His clothes were dusty and
+worn. But his music went to my heart like a voice from Heaven. When he
+had finished I took him home with me, gave him food and a new coat, and
+left him sleeping. I want you to come over, and be sure to bring Hope.
+She must sing for us.'
+
+'Mr Brower will be tired out, but perhaps the young people may go,' she
+said, looking at Hope and me.
+
+My heart gave a leap as I saw in Hope's eyes a reflection of my own joy.
+In a moment she came and gave her mother a sounding kiss and asked her
+what she should wear.
+
+'I must look my best, mother,' she said.
+
+'My child,' said the elder, 'it's what you do and not what you wear
+that's important.'
+
+'They're both important, Elder,' said my foster mother. You should teach
+your people the duty of comeliness. They honour their Maker when they
+look their best.'
+
+The spirit of liberalism was abroad in the sons of the Puritans. In
+Elizabeth Brower the ardent austerity of her race had been freely
+diluted with humour and cheerfulness and human sympathy. It used to be
+said of Deacon Hospur, a good but lazy man, that he was given both to
+prayer and profanity. Uncle Eb, who had once heard the deacon swear,
+when the latter had been bruised by a kicking cow, said that, so far
+as he knew, the deacon never swore except when 'twas necessary. Indeed,
+most of those men had, I doubt not, too little of that fear of God in
+them that characterised their fathers. And yet, as shall appear, there
+were in Faraway some relics of a stern faith.
+
+Hope came out in fine feather, and although I have seen many grand
+ladles, gowned for the eyes of kings, I have never seen a lovelier
+figure than when, that evening, she came tripping down to the buggy. It
+was three miles to the white Church, and riding over in the twilight I
+laid the plan of my life before her. She sat a moment in silence after I
+had finished.
+
+'I am going away, too,' she remarked, with a sigh.
+
+'Going away!' I said with some surprise, for in all my plans I had
+secretly counted on returning in grand style to take her back with me.
+
+'Going away,' said she decisively.
+
+'It isn't nice for girls to go away from home,' I said.
+
+'It isn't nice for boys, either,' said she.
+
+We had come to the church, its open doors and windows all aglow with
+light. I helped her out at the steps, and hitched my horse under the
+long shed. We entered together and made our way through the chattering
+crowd to the little cloakroom in one corner. Elder Whitmarsh arrived in
+a moment and the fiddler, a short, stout, stupid-looking man, his fiddle
+in a black box under his arm, followed him to the platform that had been
+cleared of its pulpit The stranger stood staring vacantly at the
+crowd until the elder motioned him to a chair, when he obeyed with
+the hesitating, blind obedience of a dog. Then the elder made a
+brief prayer, and after a few remarks flavoured with puns, sacred
+and immemorial as the pulpit itself, started a brief programme of
+entertainment. A broad smile marked the beginning of his lighter mood.
+His manner seemed to say: 'Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you will give
+good heed, you shall see I can be witty on occasion.'
+
+Then a young man came to the platform and recited, after which Hope went
+forward and sang 'The Land o' the Leal' with such spirit that I can feel
+my blood go faster even now as I thank of it, and of that girlish figure
+crowned with a glory of fair curls that fell low upon her waist and
+mingled with the wild pink roses at her bosom. The fiddler sat quietly
+as if he heard nothing until she began to sing, when he turned to look
+at her. The elder announced, after the ballad, that he had brought with
+him a wonderful musician who would favour them with some sacred music.
+He used the word 'sacred' because he had observed, I suppose, that
+certain of the 'hardshells' were looking askance at the fiddle. There
+was an awkward moment in which the fiddler made no move or sign of
+intelligence. The elder stepped near him and whispered. Getting no
+response, he returned to the front of the platform and said: 'We shall
+first resign ourselves to social intercourse and the good things the
+ladies have provided.'
+
+Mountains of frosted cake reared their snowy summits on a long table,
+and the strawberries, heaped in saucers around them, were like red
+foothills. I remember that while they were serving us Hope and I were
+introduced to one Robert Livingstone--a young New Yorker, stopping at
+the inn near by, on his way to the big woods. He was a handsome fellow,
+with such a fine air of gallantry and so prig in fashionable clothes
+that he made me feel awkward and uncomfortable.
+
+'I have never heard anything more delightful than that ballad,' he said
+to Hope. 'You must have your voice trained--you really must. It will
+make a great name for you.'
+
+I wondered then why his words hurt me to the soul. The castle of my
+dreams had fallen as he spoke. A new light came into her face--I did not
+know then what it meant.
+
+'Will you let me call upon you before I leave--may I?' He turned to me
+while she stood silent. 'I wish to see your father,' he added.
+
+'Certainly,' she answered, blushing, 'you may come--if you care to come.
+
+The musician had begun to thrum the strings of his violin. We turned
+to look at him. He still sat in his chair, his ear bent to the echoing
+chamber of the violin. Soon he laid his bow to the strings and a great
+chord hushed every whisper and died into a sweet, low melody, in which
+his thought seemed to be feeling its way through sombre paths of sound.
+The music brightened, the bow went faster, and suddenly 'The Girl I Left
+Behind Me' came rushing off the strings. A look of amazement gathered on
+the elder's face and deepened into horror. It went from one to another
+as if it had been a dish of ipecac. Ann Jane Foster went directly for
+her things, and with a most unchristian look hurried out into the night.
+Half a dozen others followed her, while the unholy music went on, its
+merry echoes rioting in that sacred room, hallowed with memories of the
+hour of conviction, of the day of mourning, of the coming of the bride
+in her beauty.
+
+Deacon Hospur rose and began to drawl a sort of apology, when the player
+stopped suddenly and shot an oath at him. The deacon staggered under the
+shock of it. His whiskers seemed to lift a bit like the hair of a cat
+under provocation. Then he tried to speak, but only stuttered helplessly
+a moment as if his tongue were oscillating between silence and
+profanity, and was finally pulled down by his wife, who had laid hold of
+his coat tails. If it had been any other man than Deacon Hospur it would
+have gone badly with the musician then and there, but we boys saw his
+discomfiture with positive gratitude. In a moment all rose, the dishes
+were gathered up, and many hurried away with indignant glances at the
+poor elder, who was busy taking counsel with some of the brethren.
+
+I have never seen a more pathetic figure than that of poor Nick Goodall
+as he sat there thrumming the strings of which he was a Heaven-born
+master. I saw him often after that night--a poor, halfwitted creature,
+who wandered from inn to inn there in the north country, trading music
+for hospitality. A thoroughly intelligible sentence never passed his
+lips, but he had a great gift of eloquence in music. Nobody knew whence
+he had come or any particular of his birth or training or family. But
+for his sullen temper, that broke into wild, unmeaning profanity at
+times, Nick Goodall would have made fame and fortune.
+
+He stared at the thinning crowd as if he had begun dimly to comprehend
+the havoc he had wrought. Then he put on his hat, came down off the
+platform, and shuffled out of the open door, his violin in one hand, its
+box in the other. There were not more than a dozen of us who followed
+him into the little churchyard. The moon was rising, and the shadows
+of lilac and rose bush, of slab and monument lay long across the green
+mounds. Standing there between the graves of the dead he began to play.
+I shall never forget that solemn calling of the silver string:
+
+'Come ye disconsolate where'er ye languish.'
+
+It was a new voice, a revelation, a light where darkness had been, to
+Hope and to me. We stood listening far into the night, forgetful of
+everything, even the swift flight of the hours.
+
+Loud, impassioned chords rose into the moonlit sky and sank to a faint
+whisper of melody, when we could hear the gossip of the birds in the
+belfry and under the eaves; trembling tones of supplication, wailing
+notes of longing and regret swept through the silent avenues of the
+churchyard, thrilling us with their eloquence. For the first time we
+heard the music of Handel, of Mendelssohn, of Paganini, and felt its
+power, then knowing neither name nor theme. Hour by hour he played on
+for the mere joy of it. When we shook hands with the elder and tiptoed
+to the buggy he was still playing. We drove slowly and listened a long
+way down the road. I could hear the strains of that ballad, then new to
+me, but now familiar, growing fainter in the distance:
+
+O ye'll tak' the high road an' I'll tak' the low road An' I'll be in
+Scotland afore ye; But me an' me true love will never meet again On the
+bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond.
+
+what connection it may have had with the history of poor Nick Goodall
+[*1] I have often wondered.
+
+
+     [*1] Poor Nick Coodall died in the almshouse of Jefferson
+     County some thirty years ago. A better account of this
+     incident was widely printed at that time.
+
+As the last note died into silence I turned to Hope, and she was crying.
+
+'Why are you crying?' I asked, in as miserable a moment as I have ever
+known.
+
+'It's the music,' she said.
+
+We both sat in silence, then, hearing only the creak of the buggy as
+it sped over the sandy road. Well ahead of us I saw a man who suddenly
+turned aside, vaulting over the fence and running into the near woods.
+
+'The night man!' I exclaimed, pulling up a moment to observe him.
+
+Then a buggy came in sight, and presently we heard a loud 'hello' from
+David Brower, who, worried by our long stay, had come out in quest of
+us.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 14
+
+Hope's love of music became a passion after that night. Young Mr
+Livingstone, 'the city chap' we had met at the church, came over next
+day. His enthusiasm for her voice gave us all great hope of it. David
+Brower said he would take her away to the big city when she was
+older. They soon decided to send her in September to the big school in
+Hillsborough.
+
+'She's got t' be a lady,' said David Brower, as he drew her into his lap
+the day we had all discussed the matter. 'She's learnt everything in
+the 'rithinetic an' geography an' speller. I want her t' learn somethin'
+more scientific.'
+
+'Now you're talkin',' said Uncle Eb. 'There's lots o' things ye can't
+learn by cipherin'. Nuthin's too good fer Hope.'
+
+'I'd like t' know what you men expect of her anyway,' said Elizabeth
+Brower.
+
+'A high stepper,' said Uncle Eb. 'We want a slick coat, a kind uv a
+toppy head, an a lot O' ginger. So't when we hitch 'er t' the pole bime
+bye we shan't be 'shamed o' her.'
+
+'Eggzac'ly,' said David Brower, laughing. 'An' then she shall have the
+best harness in the market.'
+
+Hope did not seem to comprehend all the rustic metaphors that had been
+applied to her. A look of puzzled amusement came over her face, and then
+she ran away into the garden, her hair streaming from under her white
+sun-bonnet.
+
+'Never see sech a beauty! Beats the world,' said Uncle Eb in a whisper,
+whereat both David and Elizabeth shook their heads.
+
+'Lord o' mercy! Don't let her know it,' Elizabeth answered, in a low
+tone. 'She's beginning to have-'
+
+Just then Hope came by us leading her pet filly that had been born
+within the month. Immediately Mrs Brower changed the subject.
+
+'To have what?' David enquired as soon as the girl was out of hearing.
+
+'Suspicions,' said Elizabeth mournfully. 'Spends a good deal of her time
+at the looking-glass. I think the other girls tell her and then that
+young Livingstone has been turning her head.'
+
+'Turning her head!' he exclaimed.
+
+'Turning her head,' she answered. 'He sat here the other day and
+deliberately told her that he had never seen such a complexion and such
+lovely hair.'
+
+Elizabeth Brower mocked his accent with a show of contempt that feebly
+echoed my own emotions.
+
+'That's the way o' city folks, mother,' said David.
+
+'It's a bad way,' she answered. 'I do not thank he ought to come here.
+Hope's a child yet, and we mustn't let her get notions.'
+
+'I'll tell him not t' come any more,' said David, as he and Uncle Eb
+rose to go to their work.'
+
+'I'm 'fraid she ought not to go away to school for a year yet,' said
+Elizabeth, a troubled look in her face.
+
+'Pshaw, mother! Ye can't keep her under yer wing alwus,' said he. 'Well,
+David, you know she is very young and uncommonly--' she hesitated.
+
+'Han'some,' said he, 'we might as well own up if she is our child.'
+
+'If she goes away,' continued Elizabeth, 'some of us ought t' go with
+her.'
+
+Then Uncle Eb and David went to their work in the fields and I to my own
+task That very evening they began to talk of renting the farm and going
+to town with the children.
+
+I had a stent of cording wood that day and finished it before two
+o'clock Then I got my pole of mountain ash, made hook and line ready,
+dug some worms and went fishing. I cared not so much for the fishing as
+for the solitude of the woods. I had a bit of think to do. In the thick
+timber there was a place where Tinkle brook began to hurry and break
+into murmurs on a pebble bar, as if its feet were tickled. A few more
+steps and it burst into a peal of laughter that lasted half the year as
+it tumbled over narrow shelves of rock into a foamy pool. Many a day I
+had sat fishing for hours at the little fall under a birch tree, among
+the brakes and moss. No ray of sunlight ever got to the dark water below
+me--the lair of many a big fish that had yielded to the temptation of
+my bait. Here I lay in the cool shade while a singular sort of heart
+sickness came over me. A wild partridge was beating his gong in the near
+woods all the afternoon. The sound of the water seemed to break in the
+tree-tops and fall back upon me. I had lain there thinking an hour or
+more when I caught the jar of approaching footsteps. Looking up I saw
+Jed Feary coming through the bushes, pole in hand.
+
+'Fishin'?' he asked.
+
+'Only thinking,' I answered.
+
+'Couldn't be in better business,' said he as he sat down beside me.
+
+More than once he had been my father confessor and I was glad he had
+come.
+
+'In love?' he asked. 'No boy ever thinks unless he's in love.'
+
+'In trouble,' said I.
+
+'Same thing,' he answered, lighting his pipe. 'Love is trouble with
+a bit of sugar in it--the sweetest trouble a man can have. What's the
+matter?'
+
+'It's a great secret,' I said, 'I have never told it. I am in love.'
+
+'Knew it,' he said, puffing at his pipe and smiling in a kindly way.
+'Now let's put in the trouble.'
+
+'She does not love me,' I answered.
+
+'Glad of it,' he remarked. 'I've got a secret t, tell you.'
+
+'What's that?' I enquired.
+
+'Wouldn't tell anybody else for the world, my boy,' he said, 'it's
+between you an' me.'
+
+'Between you an' me,' I repeated.
+
+'Well,' he said, you're a fool.'
+
+'That's no secret,' I answered much embarrassed.
+
+'Yes it is,' he insisted, 'you're smart enough an' ye can have most
+anything in this world if ye take the right road. Ye've grown t' be a
+great big strapping fellow but you're only--sixteen?'
+
+'That's all,' I said mournfully.
+
+'Ye're as big a fool to go falling in love as I'd be. Ye're too young
+an' I'm too old. I say to you, wait. Ye've got to go t' college.'
+
+'College!' I exclaimed, incredulously.
+
+'Yes! an' thet's another secret,' said he. I tol' David Brower what I
+thought o' your writing thet essay on bugs in pertickier--an' I tol' 'im
+what people were sayin' o' your work in school.'
+
+'What d' he say?' I asked.
+
+'Said Hope had tol' him all about it--that she was as proud o' you as
+she was uv her curls, an' I believe it. "Well," says I, "y' oughter sen'
+that boy t' college." "Goin' to," says he. "He'll go t' the 'Cademy this
+fall if he wants to. Then he can go t' college soon's he's ready." Threw
+up my hat an' shouted I was that glad.'
+
+As he spoke the old man's face kindled with enthusiasm. In me he had one
+who understood him, who saw truth in his thought, music in his verse,
+a noble simplicity in his soul. I took his hand in mine and thanked him
+heartily. Then we rose and came away together.
+
+'Remember,' he said, as we parted at the corner, 'there's a way laid
+out fer you. In God's time it will lead to every good thing you desire.
+Don't jump over the fence. Don't try t' pass any milestun 'fore ye've
+come to it. Don't mope. Keep yer head cool with philosophy, yer feet
+warm with travel an' don't worry bout yer heart. It won't turn t' stun
+if ye do keep it awhile. Allwus hev enough of it about ye t' do business
+with. Goodbye!'
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 15
+
+Gerald Brower, who was a baby when I came to live at Faraway, and was
+now eleven, had caught a cold in seed time, and he had never quite
+recovered. His coughing had begun to keep him awake, and one night it
+brought alarm to the whole household. Elizabeth Brower was up early in
+the morning and called Uncle Eb, who went away for the doctor as soon
+as light came. We ate our breakfast in silence. Father and mother and
+Grandma Bisnette spoke only in low tones and somehow the anxiety in
+their faces went to my heart. Uncle Eb returned about eight o'clock and
+said the doctor was coming. Old Doctor Bigsby was a very great man in
+that country. Other physicians called him far and wide for consultation.
+I had always regarded him with a kind of awe intensified by the aroma of
+his drugs and the gleam of his lancet. Once I had been his patient and
+then I had trembled at his approach. When he took my little wrist in
+his big hand, I remember with what reluctance I stuck out my quivering
+tongue, black, as I feared with evidences of prevarication.
+
+He was a picture for a painter man as he came that morning erect in his
+gig. Who could forget the hoary majesty of his head--his 'stovepipe'
+tilted back, his white locks flying about his ears? He had a long
+nose, a smooth-shaven face and a left eye that was a trifle turned. His
+thoughts were generally one day behind the calendar. Today he seemed to
+be digesting the affairs of yesterday. He was, therefore, absentminded,
+to a degree that made no end of gossip. If he came out one day with
+shoe-strings flying, in his remorse the next he would forget his collar;
+if one told him a good joke today, he might not seem to hear it, but
+tomorrow he would take it up in its turn and shake with laughter.
+
+I remember how, that morning after noting the symptoms of his patient,
+he sat a little in silent reflection. He knew that colour in the cheek,
+that look in the eye--he had seen so much of it. His legs were crossed
+and one elbow thrown carelessly over the back of his chair. We all sat
+looking at him anxiously. In a moment he began chewing hard on his
+quid of tobacco. Uncle Eb pushed the cuspidor a bit nearer. The doctor
+expectorated freely and resumed his attitude of reflection. The clock
+ticked loudly, the patient sighed, our anxiety increased. Uncle Eb spoke
+to father, in a low tone, whereupon the doctor turned suddenly, with
+a little grunt of enquiry, and seeing he was not addressed, sank again
+into thoughtful repose. I had begun to fear the worst when suddenly the
+hand of the doctor swept the bald peak of benevolence at the top of
+his head. Then a smile began to spread over his face. It was as if some
+feather of thought had begun to tickle him. In a moment his head was
+nodding with laughter that brought a great sense of relief to all of us.
+In a slow, deliberate tone he began to speak:
+
+'I was over t' Rat Tupper's t'other day,' said he, 'Rat was sitting with
+me in the door yard. Purty soon a young chap came in, with a scythe,
+and asked if he might use the grindstun. He was a new hired man from
+somewhere near. He didn't know Rat, an' Rat didn't know him. So Rat o'
+course had t' crack one o' his jokes.
+
+'"May I use yer grindstun?" said the young feller.
+
+'"Dunno," said Rat, "I'm only the hired man here. Go an' ask Mis'
+Tupper."
+
+'The ol' lady had overheard him an' so she says t' the young feller,
+"Yes--ye can use the grindstun. The hired man out there'll turn it fer
+ye."
+
+'Rat see he was trapped, an' so he went out under the plum tree, where
+the stun was, an' begun t' turn. The scythe was dull an' the young
+feller bore on harder'n wuz reely decent fer a long time. Rat begun t'
+git very sober lookin'.
+
+'"Ain't ye 'bout done," said he.
+
+'"Putty nigh," said the young feller bearin' down a leetle harder all
+the time.
+
+'Rat made the stun go faster. Putty soon he asked agin, "Ain't ye done
+yit?"
+
+'"Putty nigh!" says the other, feeling o' the edge.
+
+'"I'm done," said Rat, an' he let go o' the handle. "I dunno 'bout the
+scythe but I'm a good deal sharper'n I wuz."
+
+'"You're the hired man here ain't ye?" said the young feller.
+
+'"No, I ain't," said Rat. "'D rather own up t' bein' a liar than turn
+that stun another minnit."
+
+As soon as he was fairly started with this droll narrative the strain
+of the situation was relieved. We were all laughing as much at his
+deliberate way of narration as at the story itself.
+
+Suddenly he turned to Elizabeth Brower and said, very soberly, 'Will you
+bring me some water in a glass?'
+
+Then he opened his chest of medicine, made some powders and told us how
+to give them.
+
+'In a few days I would take him into the big woods for a while,' he
+said. 'See how it agrees with him.'
+
+Then he gathered up his things and mother went with him to the gig.
+
+Humour was one of the specifics of Doctor Bigsby. He was always a poor
+man. He had a way of lumping his bills, at about so much, in settlement
+and probably never kept books. A side of pork paid for many a long
+journey. He came to his death riding over the hills one bitter day not
+long after the time of which I write, to reach a patient.
+
+The haying over, we made ready for our trip into the woods. Uncle Eb and
+Tip Taylor, who knew the forest, and myself, were to go with Gerald to
+Blueberry Lake. We loaded our wagon with provisions one evening and made
+ready to be off at the break of day.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 16
+
+I remember how hopefully we started that morning with Elizabeth Brower
+and Hope waving their handkerchiefs on the porch and David near them
+whittling. They had told us what to do and what not to do over and over
+again. I sat with Gerald on blankets that were spread over a thick mat
+of hay. The morning air was sweet with the odour of new hay and the
+music of the bobolink. Uncle Eb and Tip Taylor sang merrily as we rode
+over the hills.
+
+When we entered the shade of the big forest Uncle Eb got out his rifle
+and loaded it. He sat a long time whispering and looking eagerly for
+game to right and left. He was still a boy. One could see evidences of
+age only in his white hair and beard and wrinkled brow. He retained
+the little tufts in front of his ears, and lately had grown a silver
+crescent of thin and silky hair that circled his throat under a bare
+chin. Young as I was I had no keener relish for a holiday than he. At
+noon we halted beside a brook and unhitched our horses. Then we caught
+some fish, built a fire and cooked them, and brewed our tea. At sunset
+we halted at Tuley Pond, looking along its reedy margin, under purple
+tamaracks, for deer. There was a great silence, here in the deep of
+the woods, and Tip Taylor's axe, while he peeled the bark for our camp,
+seemed to fill the wilderness with echoes. It was after dark when the
+shanty was covered and we lay on its fragrant mow of balsam and hemlock.
+The great logs that we had rolled in front of our shanty were set afire
+and shortly supper was cooking.
+
+Gerald had stood the journey well. Uncle Eb and he stayed in while Tip
+and I got our jack ready and went off in quest of a dugout He said Bill
+Ellsworth had one hid in a thicket on the south side of Tuley. We found
+it after an hour's tramp near by. It needed a little repairing but we
+soon made it water worthy, and then took our seats, he in the stern,
+with the paddle, and I in the bow with the gun. Slowly and silently we
+clove a way through the star-sown shadows. It was like the hushed and
+mystic movement of a dream. We seemed to be above the deep of heaven,
+the stars below us. The shadow of the forest in the still water looked
+like the wall of some mighty castle with towers and battlements and
+myriads of windows lighted for a fete. Once the groan of a nighthawk
+fell out of the upper air with a sound like that of a stone striking in
+water. I thought little of the deer Tip was after. His only aim in life
+was the one he got with a gun barrel. I had forgotten all but the beauty
+of the scene. Suddenly Tip roused me by laying his hand to the gunwale
+and gently shaking the dugout. In the dark distance, ahead of us, I
+could hear the faint tinkle of dripping water. Then I knew a deer was
+feeding not far away and that the water was falling from his muzzle.
+When I opened my jack we were close upon him. His eyes gleamed. I shot
+high above the deer that went splashing ashore before I had pulled my
+trigger. After the roar of the gun had got away, in the distant timber,
+Tip mentioned a place abhorred of all men, turned and paddled for the
+landing.
+
+'Could 'a killed 'im with a club,' said he snickering. 'Guess he must a
+looked putty tall didn't he?'
+
+'Why?' I asked.
+
+'Cos ye aimed into the sky,' said he. 'Mebbe ye thought he was a bird.'
+
+'My hand trembled a little,' said I.
+
+''Minds me of Bill Barber,' he said in a half-whisper, as he worked his
+paddle, chuckling with amusement.
+
+'How's that?' I asked.
+
+'Nothin' safe but the thing he shoots at,' said he. 'Terrible bad shot.
+Kills a cow every time he goes huntin'.'
+
+Uncle Eb was stirring the fire when we came whispering into camp, and
+Gerald lay asleep under the blankets.
+
+'Willie couldn't hit the broadside of a bam,' said Tip. 'He don't take
+to it nat'ral.'
+
+'Killin' an' book learnin' don't often go together,' said Uncle Eb.
+
+I turned in by the side of Gerald and Uncle Eb went off with Tip for
+another trip in the dugout. The night was chilly but the fire flooded
+our shanty with its warm glow. What with the light, and the boughs under
+us, and the strangeness of the black forest we got little sleep. I heard
+the gun roar late in the night, and when I woke again Uncle Eb and Tip
+Taylor were standing over the fire in the chilly grey of the morning.
+A dead deer hung on the limb of a tree near by. They began dressing it
+while Gerald and I went to the spring for water, peeled potatoes, and
+got the pots boiling. After a hearty breakfast we packed up, and were
+soon on the road again, reaching Blueberry Lake before noon. There we
+hired a boat of the lonely keeper of the reservoir, found an abandoned
+camp with an excellent bark shanty and made ourselves at home.
+
+That evening in camp was one to be remembered. An Thomas, the guide who
+tended the reservoir, came over and sat beside our fire until bedtime.
+He had spent years in the wilderness going out for nothing less
+important than an annual spree at circus time. He eyed us over, each in
+turn, as if he thought us all very rare and interesting.
+
+'Many bears here?' Uncle Eb enquired.
+
+'More plenty 'n human bein's,' he answered, puffing lazily at his pipe
+with a dead calm in his voice and manner that I have never seen equalled
+except in a tropic sea.
+
+'See 'em often?' I asked.
+
+He emptied his pipe, striking it on his palm until the bowl rang,
+without answering. Then he blew into the stem with great violence.
+
+'Three or four 'n a summer, mebbe,' he said at length.
+
+'Ever git sassy?' Uncle Eb asked.
+
+He whipped a coal out of the ashes then and lifted it in his fingers to
+the bowl of his pipe.
+
+'Never real sassy,' he said between vigourous puffs. 'One stole a ham
+off my pyazz las' summer; Al Fifield brought 't in fer me one day--smelt
+good too! I kep' savin' uv it thinkin' I'd enjoy it all the more when
+I did hev it. One day I went off cuttin' timber an' stayed 'til mos'
+night. Comin' home I got t' thinkin' o' thet ham, an' made up my mind
+I'd hev some fer supper. The more I thought uv it the faster I hurried
+an' when I got hum I was hungrier'n I'd been fer a year. When I see the
+ol' bear's tracks an' the empty peg where the ham had hung I went t'
+work an' got mad. Then I started after thet bear. Tracked 'im over
+yender, up Cat Mountin'.'
+
+Here Ab paused. He had a way of stopping always at the most interesting
+point to puff at his pipe. It looked as if he were getting up steam for
+another sentence and these delays had the effect of 'continued in our
+next'.
+
+'Kill 'im?' Uncle Eb asked.
+
+'Licked him,' he said.
+
+'Huh!' we remarked incredulously.
+
+'Licked 'im,' he repeated chucking. 'Went into his cave with a sledge
+stake an' whaled 'im--whaled 'im 'til he run fer his life.'
+
+Whether it was true or not I have never been sure, even to this day, but
+Ab's manner was at once modest and convincing.
+
+'Should 'a thought he'd 'a rassled with ye,' Uncle Eb remarked.
+
+'Didn't give 'im time,' said Ab, as he took out his knife and began
+slowly to sharpen a stick.
+
+'Don't never wan' t' rassle with no bear,' he added, 'but hams is too
+scurce here 'n the woods t' hev 'em tuk away 'fore ye know the taste uv
+'em. I ain't never been hard on bears. Don't seldom ever set no traps
+an' I ain't shot a bear fer mor'n 'n ten year. But they've got t' be
+decent. If any bear steals my vittles he's goin' t' git cuffed bard.'
+
+Ab's tongue had limbered up at last. His pipe was going well and he
+seemed to have struck an easy grade. There was a tone of injury and
+aggrievement in his talk of the bear's ingratitude. He snailed over his
+whittling as we laughed heartily at the droll effect of it all.
+
+'D'ye ever hear o' the wild man 'at roams 'round'n these woods?' he
+asked.
+
+'Never did,' said Uncle Eb.
+
+'I've seen 'im more times 'n ye could shake a stick at,' said Ab
+crossing his legs comfortably and spitting into the fire. 'Kind o' thank
+he's the same man folks tells uv down 'n Paradise Valley there--'at goes
+'round 'n the clearin' after bedtime.'
+
+'The night man!' I exclaimed.
+
+'Guess thet's what they call 'im,' said Ab. 'Curus man! Sometimes I've
+hed a good squint at 'im off 'n the woods. He's wilder 'n a deer an'
+I've seen 'im jump over logs, half as high as this shanty, jest as easy
+as ye 'd hop a twig. Tried t' foller 'im once er twice but tain' no use.
+He's quicker 'n a wil' cat.'
+
+'What kind of a lookin' man is he?' Tip Taylor asked.
+
+'Great, big, broad-shouldered feller,' said Ab. 'Six feet tall if he's
+an inch. Hed a kind of a deerskin jacket on when I seen 'im an' breeches
+an' moccasins made o' some kind o' hide. I recollec' one day I was over
+on the ridge two mile er more from the Stillwater goin' south. I seen
+'im gittin' a drink at the spring there 'n the burnt timber. An' if I
+ain't mistaken there was a real live panther playin' 'round 'im. If 't
+wa'n't a panther 'twas pesky nigh it I can tell ye. The critter see me
+fast an' drew up 'is back. Then the man got up quickerin' a flash. Soon
+'she see me--Jeemimey! didn't they move. Never see no human critter run
+as he did! A big tree hed fell 'cross a lot o' bush right 'n his path.
+I'll be gol dummed if 'twan't higher 'n my head! But he cleared it--jest
+as easy as a grasshopper'd go over a straw. I'd like t' know wher he
+comes from, gol dummed if I wouldn't. He's the consarndest queerest
+animal 'n these woods.'
+
+Ab emphasised this lucid view of the night man by an animated movement
+of his fist that held the big hunting knife with which he whittled. Then
+he emptied his pipe and began cutting more tobacco.
+
+'Some says 'e 's a ghost,' said Tip Taylor, splitting his sentence with
+a yawn, as he lay on a buffalo robe in the shanty.
+
+'Shucks an' shoestrings!' said Ab, 'he looks too nat'ral. Don't believe
+no ghost ever wore whiskers an' long hair like his'n. Thet don't hol' t'
+reason.'
+
+This remark was followed by dead silence. Tip seemed to lack both
+courage and information with which to prolong the argument.
+
+Gerald had long been asleep and we were all worn out with uphill
+travelling and the lack of rest. Uncle Eb went out to look after the
+horses that were tethered near us. Ab rose, looked up through the
+tree-tops, ventured a guess about the weather, and strode off into the
+darkness.
+
+We were five days in camp, hunting, fishing, fighting files and
+picking blueberries. Gerald's cough had not improved at all--it was, if
+anything, a bit worse than it had been and the worry of that had clouded
+our holiday. We were not in high spirits when, finally, we decided to
+break camp the next afternoon.
+
+The morning of our fourth day at Blueberry Uncle Eb and I crossed the
+lake, at daylight, to fish awhile in Soda Brook and gather orchids then
+abundant and beautiful in that part of the woods. We headed for camp
+at noon and were well away from shore when a wild yell rang in the dead
+timber that choked the wide inlet behind us. I was rowing and stopped
+the oars while we both looked back at the naked trees, belly deep in the
+water.
+
+But for the dry limbs, here and there, they would have looked like masts
+of sunken ships. In a moment another wild whoop came rushing over the
+water. Thinking it might be somebody in trouble we worked about and
+pulled for the mouth of the inlet. Suddenly I saw a boat coming in the
+dead timber. There were three men in it, two of whom were paddling. They
+yelled like mad men as they caught sight of us, and one of them waved a
+bottle in the air.
+
+'They're Indians,' said Uncle Eb. 'Drunk as lords. Guess we'd better git
+out o' the way.'
+
+I put about and with a hearty pull made for the other side of the lake,
+three miles away. The Indians came after us, their yells echoing in the
+far forest. Suddenly one of them lifted his rifle, as if taking aim at
+us, and, bang it went the ball ricocheting across our bows.
+
+'Crazy drunk,' said Uncle Eb, 'an' they're in fer trouble. Pull with all
+yer might.'
+
+I did that same putting my arms so stiffly to their task I feared the
+oars would break.
+
+In a moment another ball came splintering the gunwales right between us,
+but fortunately, well above the water line. Being half a mile from shore
+I saw we were in great peril. Uncle Eb reached for his rifle, his hand
+trembling.
+
+'Sink 'em,' I shouted, 'an' do it quick or they'll sink us.'
+
+My old companion took careful aim and his ball hit them right on the
+starboard bow below the water line. A splash told where it had landed.
+They stopped yelling. The man in the bow clapped his hat against the
+side of the boat.
+
+'Guess we've gin 'em a little business t' ten' to,' said Uncle Eb as he
+made haste to load his rifle.
+
+The Indian at the bow was lifting his rifle again. He seemed to reel as
+he took aim. He was very slow about it. I kept pulling as I watched him.
+I saw that their boat was slowly sinking. I had a strange fear that he
+would hit me in the stomach. I dodged when I saw the flash of his rifle.
+His ball struck the water, ten feet away from us, and threw a spray into
+my face.
+
+Uncle Eb had lifted his rifle to shoot again. Suddenly the Indian, who
+had shot at us, went overboard. In a second they were all in the water,
+their boat bottom up.
+
+'Now take yer time,' said Uncle Eb coolly, a frown upon his face.
+
+'They'll drown,' said I.
+
+'Don't care if they do, consam 'em,' he answered. 'They're some o' them
+St Regis devils, an' when they git whisky in 'em they'd jes' soon kill
+ye as look at ye. They am' no better 'n rats.'
+
+We kept on our way and by and by a wind came up that gave us both some
+comfort, for we knew it would soon blow them ashore. Ab Thomas had come
+to our camp and sat with Tip and Gerald when we got there. We told of
+our adventure and then Ab gave us a bad turn, and a proper appreciation
+of our luck, by telling us that they were a gang of cut-throats--the
+worst in the wilderness.
+
+'They'd a robbed ye sure,' he said. 'It's the same gang 'at killed a man
+on Cat Mountain las' summer, an' I'll bet a dollar on it.'
+
+Tip had everything ready for our journey home. Each day Gerald had grown
+paler and thinner. As we wrapped him in a shawl and tenderly helped him
+into the wagon I read his doom in his face. We saw so much of that kind
+of thing in our stern climate we knew what it meant. Our fun was over.
+We sat in silence, speeding down the long hills in the fading light of
+the afternoon. Those few solemn hours in which I heard only the wagon's
+rumble and the sweet calls of the whip-poor-will-waves of music on a sea
+of silence-started me in a way of thought which has led me high and low
+these many years and still invites me. The day was near its end when we
+got to the first big clearing. From the top of a high hill we could see
+above the far forest, the red rim of the setting sun, big with winding
+from the skein of day, that was now flying off the tree-tops in the
+west.
+
+We stopped to feed the horses and to take a bite of jerked venison,
+wrapped ourselves warmer, for it was now dunk and chilly, and went on
+again. The road went mostly downhill, going out of the woods, and we
+could make good time. It was near midnight when we drove in at our gate.
+There was a light in the sitting-room and Uncle Eb and I went in
+with Gerald at once. Elizabeth Brower knelt at the feet of her son,
+unbuttoned his coat and took off his muffler. Then she put her arms
+about his neck while neither spoke nor uttered any sound. Both mother
+and son felt and understood and were silent. The ancient law of God,
+that rends asunder and makes havoc of our plans, bore heavy on them in
+that moment, I have no doubt, but neither murmured. Uncle Eb began to
+pump vigorously at the cistern while David fussed with the fire. We were
+all quaking inwardly but neither betrayed a sign of it. It is a way the
+Puritan has of suffering. His emotions are like the deep undercurrents
+of the sea.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 17
+
+If I were writing a novel merely I should try to fill it with merriment
+and good cheer. I should thrust no sorrow upon the reader save that
+he might feel for having wasted his time. We have small need of
+manufactured sorrow when, truly, there is so much of the real thing on
+every side of us. But this book is nothing more nor less than a history,
+and by the same token it cannot be all as I would have wished it.
+In October following the events of the last chapter, Gerald died of
+consumption, having borne a lingering illness with great fortitude.
+I, who had come there a homeless orphan in a basket, and who, with the
+God-given eloquence of childhood had brought them to take me to their
+hearts and the old man that was with me as well, was now the only son
+left to Elizabeth and David Brower. There were those who called it folly
+at the time they took us in, I have heard, but he who shall read this
+history to the end shall see how that kind of folly may profit one or
+even many here in this hard world.
+
+It was a gloomy summer for all of us. The industry and patience with
+which Hope bore her trial, night and day, is the sweetest recollection
+of my youth. It brought to her young face a tender soberness of
+womanhood--a subtle change of expression that made her all the more dear
+to me. Every day, rain or shine, the old doctor had come to visit his
+patient, sometimes sitting an hour and gazing thoughtfully in his face,
+occasionally asking a question, or telling a quaint anecdote. And then
+came the end.
+
+The sky was cold and grey in the late autumn and the leaves were drifted
+deep in the edge of the woodlands when Hope and I went away to school
+together at Hillsborough. Uncle Eb drove us to our boarding place in
+town. When we bade him goodbye and saw him driving away, alone in the
+wagon, we hardly dared look at each other for the tears in our eyes.
+
+David Brower had taken board for us at the house of one Solomon
+Rollin--universally known as 'Cooky' Rollin; that was one of the first
+things I learned at the Academy. It seemed that many years ago he had
+taken his girl to a dance and offered her, in lieu of supper, cookies
+that he had thoughtfully brought with him. Thus cheaply he had come to
+life-long distinction.
+
+'You know Rollin's Ancient History, don't you?' the young man asked who
+sat with me at school that first day.
+
+'Have it at home,' I answered, 'It's in five volumes.'
+
+'I mean the history of Sol Rollin, the man you are boarding with,' said
+he smiling at me and then he told the story of the cookies.
+
+The principal of the Hillsborough Academy was a big, brawny bachelor of
+Scotch descent, with a stem face and cold, grey, glaring eyes. When he
+stood towering above us on his platform in the main room of the building
+where I sat, there was an alertness in his figure, and a look of
+responsibility in his face, that reminded me of the pictures of Napoleon
+at Waterloo. He always carried a stout ruler that had blistered a shank
+of every mischievous boy in school. As he stood by the line, that came
+marching into prayers every morning he would frequently pull out a boy,
+administer a loud whack or two, shake him violently and force him into a
+seat. The day I began my studies at the Academy I saw him put two dents
+in the wall with the heels of a young man who had failed in his algebra.
+To a bashful and sensitive youth, just out of a country home, the sight
+of such violence was appalling. My first talk with him, however, renewed
+my courage. He had heard I was a good scholar and talked with me in a
+friendly way about my plans. Both Hope and I were under him in
+algebra and Latin. I well remember my first error in his class. I had
+misconstrued a Latin sentence. He looked at me, a smile and a sneer
+crowding each other for possession of his face. In a loud, jeering tone
+he cried: 'Mirabile dictu!'
+
+I looked at him in doubt of his meaning.
+
+'Mirabile dictu!' he shouted, his tongue trilling the r.
+
+I corrected my error.
+
+'Perfect!' he cried again. 'Puer pulchre! Next!'
+
+He never went further than that with me in the way of correction. My
+size and my skill as a wrestler, that shortly ensured for me the respect
+of the boys, helped me to win the esteem of the master. I learned my
+lessons and kept out of mischief. But others of equal proficiency were
+not so fortunate. He was apt to be hard on a light man who could be
+handled without over-exertion.
+
+Uncle Eb came in to see me one day and sat awhile with me in my seat.
+While he was there the master took a boy by the collar and almost
+literally wiped the blackboard with him. There was a great clatter of
+heels for a moment. Uncle Eb went away shortly and was at Sol Rollin's
+when I came to dinner.
+
+'Powerful man ain't he?' said Uncle Eb.
+
+'Rather,' I said.
+
+'Turned that boy into a reg'lar horse fiddle,' he remarked. 'Must 'ave
+unsot his reason.'
+
+'Unnecessary!' I said.
+
+'Reminded me o' the time 'at Tip Taylor got his tooth pulled,' said he.
+'Shook 'im up so 'at he thought he'd had his neck put out o' ji'nt.'
+
+Sol Rollin was one of my studies that winter. He was a carpenter by
+trade and his oddities were new and delightful. He whistled as he
+worked, he whistled as he read, he whistled right merrily as he walked
+up and down the streets--a short, slight figure with a round boyish face
+and a fringe of iron-grey hair under his chin. The little man had one
+big passion--that for getting and saving. The ancient thrift of his race
+had pinched him small and narrow as a foot is stunted by a tight shoe.
+His mind was a bit out of register as we say in the printing business.
+His vocabulary was rich and vivid and stimulating.
+
+'Somebody broke into the arsenic today,' he announced, one evening, at
+the supper table.
+
+'The arsenic,' said somebody, 'what arsenic?'
+
+'Why the place where they keep the powder,' he answered.
+
+'Oh! the arsenal.'
+
+'Yes, the arsenal,' he said, cackling with laughter at his error. Then
+he grew serious.
+
+'Stole all the ambition out of it,' he added.
+
+'You mean ammunition, don't you, Solomon?' his wife enquired.
+
+'Certainly,' said he, 'wasn't that what I said.'
+
+When he had said a thing that met his own approval Sol Rollin would
+cackle most cheerfully and then crack a knuckle by twisting a finger.
+His laugh was mostly out of register also. It had a sad lack of
+relevancy. He laughed on principle rather than provocation. Some sort of
+secret comedy of which the world knew nothing, was passing in his mind;
+it seemed to have its exits and its entrances, its villain, its clown
+and its miser who got all the applause.
+
+While working his joy was unconfined. Many a time I have sat and watched
+him in his little shop, its window dim with cobwebs. Sometimes he would
+stop whistling and cackle heartily as he worked his plane or drew his
+pencil to the square. I have even seen him drop his tools and give his
+undivided attention to laughter. He did not like to be interrupted--he
+loved his own company the best while he was 'doin' business'. I went one
+day when he was singing the two lines and their quaint chorus which was
+all he ever sang in my hearing; which gave him great relief, I have no
+doubt, when lip weary with whistling:
+
+
+  Sez I 'Dan'l Skinner, I thank yer mighty mean
+  To send me up the river, With a sev'n  dollar team'
+  Lul-ly, ul--ly, diddie ul--ly, diddleul--lydee, Oh,
+  lul-ly, ul--ly, diddle ul--ly, diddle ul--ly dee.
+
+'Mr Rollin!' I said.
+
+Yes siree,' said he, pausing in the midst of his chorus to look up at
+me.
+
+'Where can I get a piece of yellow pine?'
+
+'See 'n a minute,' he said. Then he continued his sawing and his song,
+'"Says I Dan Skinner, I thank yer mighty mean"--what d' ye want it fer?'
+he asked stopping abruptly.
+
+'Going to make a ruler,' I answered.
+
+'"T' sen' me up the river with a seven dollar team,"' he went on,
+picking out a piece of smooth planed lumber, and handing it to me.
+
+'How much is it worth?' I enquired.
+
+He whistled a moment as he surveyed it carefully.
+
+''Bout one cent,' he answered seriously.
+
+I handed him the money and sat down awhile to watch him as he went on
+with his work. It was the cheapest amusement I have yet enjoyed. Indeed
+Sol Rollin became a dissipation, a subtle and seductive habit that grew
+upon me and on one pretext or another I went every Saturday to the shop
+if I had not gone home.
+
+'What ye goin' t' be?'
+
+He stopped his saw, and looked at me, waiting for my answer.
+
+At last the time had come when I must declare myself and I did.
+
+'A journalist,' I replied.
+
+'What's that?' he enquired curiously.
+
+'An editor,' I said.
+
+'A printer man?'
+
+'A printer man.'
+
+'Huh!' said he. 'Mebbe I'll give ye a job. Sairey tol' me I'd orter t'
+'ave some cards printed. I'll want good plain print: Solomon Rollin,
+Cappenter 'n J'iner, Hillsborough, NY--soun's putty good don't it.'
+
+'Beautiful,' I answered.
+
+'I'll git a big lot on 'em,' he said. 'I'll want one for Sister Susan
+'at's out in Minnesoty--no, I guess I'll send 'er tew, so she can give
+one away--an' one fer my brother, Eliphalet, an' one apiece fer my three
+cousins over 'n Vermont, an' one fer my Aunt Mirandy. Le's see-tew an'
+one is three an' three is six an' one is seven. Then I'll git a few
+struck off fer the folks here--guess they'll thank I'm gittin' up 'n the
+world.'
+
+He shook and snickered with anticipation of the glory of it. Pure vanity
+inspired him in the matter and it had in it no vulgar consideration of
+business policy. He whistled a lively tune as he bent to his work again.
+
+'Yer sister says ye're a splendid scholar!' said he. 'Hear'n 'er
+braggin' 'bout ye t'other night; she thinks a good deal o' her brother,
+I can tell ye. Guess I know what she's gain' t' give ye Crissmus.'
+
+'What's that?' I asked, with a curiosity more youthful than becoming.
+
+'Don't ye never let on,' said he.
+
+'Never,' said I.
+
+'Hear'n 'em tell,' he said,' 'twas a gol' lockup, with 'er pictur' in
+it.'
+
+'Oh, a locket!' I exclaimed.
+
+'That's it,' he replied, 'an' pure gol', too.'
+
+I turned to go.
+
+'Hope she'll grow up a savin' woman,' he remarked. ''Fraid she won't
+never be very good t' worlt.'
+
+'Why not?' I enquired.
+
+'Han's are too little an' white,' he answered.
+
+'She won't have to,' I said.
+
+He cackled uproariously for a moment, then grew serious.
+
+'Her father's rich,' he said, 'the richest man o' Faraway, an I
+guess she won't never hev anything t' dew but set'n sing an' play the
+melodium.'
+
+'She can do as she likes,' I said.
+
+He stood a moment looking down as if meditating on the delights he had
+pictured.
+
+'Gol!' he exclaimed suddenly.
+
+My subject had begun to study me, and I came away to escape further
+examination.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 18
+
+I ought to say that I have had and shall have to chronicle herein much
+that would seem to indicate a mighty conceit of myself. Unfortunately
+the little word 'I' throws a big shadow in this history. It looms up all
+too frequently in every page for the sign of a modest man. But, indeed,
+I cannot help it, for he was the only observer of all there is to tell.
+Now there is much, for example, in the very marrow of my history--things
+that never would have happened, things that never would have been said,
+but for my fame as a scholar. My learning was of small account, for,
+it must be remembered, I am writing of a time when any degree of
+scholarship was counted remarkable among the simple folk of Faraway.
+
+Hope took singing lessons and sang in church every Sunday. David or
+Uncle Eb came down for us often of a Saturday and brought us back before
+service in the morning. One may find in that town today many who will
+love to tell him of the voice and beauty and sweetness of Hope Brower
+those days, and of what they expected regarding her and me. We went
+out a good deal evenings to concerts, lectures at the churches or the
+college, or to visit some of the many people who invited us to their
+homes.
+
+We had a recess of two weeks at the winter holidays and David Brower
+came after us the day the term ended. O, the great happiness of that
+day before Christmas when we came flying home in the sleigh behind a new
+team of greys and felt the intoxication of the frosty air, and drove in
+at dusk after the lamps were lit and we could see mother and Uncle Eb
+and Grandma Bisnette looking out of the window, and a steaming dinner on
+the table! I declare! it is long since then, but I cannot ever think of
+that time without wiping my glasses and taking a moment off. Tip Taylor
+took the horses and we all came in where the kettle was singing on the
+stove and loving hands helped us out of our wraps. The supper was a
+merry feast, the like of which one may find only by returning to his
+boyhood. Mack! that is a long journey for some of us.
+
+Supper over and the dishes out of the way we gathered about the stove
+with cider and butternuts.
+
+'Well,' said Hope, 'I've got some news to tell you--this boy is the best
+scholar of his age in this county.'
+
+'Thet so?' said David.
+
+Uncle Eb stopped his hmnmer that was lifted to crack a butternut and
+pulled his chair close to Hope's. Elizabeth looked at her daughter and
+then at me, a smile and a protest in her face.
+
+'True as you live,' said Hope. 'The master told me so. He's first in
+everything, and in the Town Hall the other night he spelt everybody
+down.'
+
+'What! In Hillsborough?' Uncle Eb asked incredulously.
+
+'Yes, in Hillsborough,' said Hope, 'and there were doctors and lawyers
+and college students and I don't know who all in the match.'
+
+'Most reemarkable!' said David Brower.
+
+'Treemenjious!' exclaimed Uncle Eb.
+
+'I heard about it over at the mills t'day,' said Tip Taylor.
+
+'Merd Dieu!' exclaimed Grandma Bisnette, crossing herself.
+
+Elizabeth Brower was unable to stem this tide of enthusiasm. I had tried
+to stop it, but, instantly, it had gone beyond my control. If I could be
+hurt by praise the mischief had been done.
+
+'It's very nice, indeed,' said she soberly. 'I do hope it won't make him
+conceited. He should remember that people do not always mean what they
+say.'
+
+'He's too sensible for that, mother,' said David.
+
+'Shucks!' said Uncle Eb, 'he ain' no fool if he is a good speller--not
+by a dum sight!'
+
+'Tip,' said David, 'you'll find a box in the sleigh 'at come by express.
+I wish ye'd go'n git it.'
+
+We all stood looking while Tip brought it in and pried off the top
+boards with a hatchet.
+
+'Careful, now!' Uncle Eb cautioned him. 'Might spile sumthin'.'
+
+The top off, Uncle Eb removed a layer of pasteboard. Then he pulled out
+a lot of  tissue paper, and under that was a package, wrapped
+and tied. Something was written on it. He held it up and tried to read
+the writing.
+
+'Can't see without my spectacles,' he said, handing it to me.
+
+'For Hope,' I read, as I passed it to her.
+
+'Hooray!' said Uncle Eb, as he lifted another, and the last package,
+from the box.
+
+'For Mrs Brower,' were the words I read upon that one.
+
+The strings were cut, the wrappers torn away, and two big rolls of shiny
+silk loosened their coils on the table. Hope uttered a cry of delight. A
+murmur of surprise and admiration passed from one to another. Elizabeth
+lifted a rustling fold and held it to the lamplight We passed our hands
+over the smooth sheen of the silk.
+
+'Wall, I swan!' said Uncle Eb. 'Jes' like a kitten's ear!'
+
+'Eggzac'ly!' said David Brower.
+
+Elizabeth lifted the silk and let it flow to her feet Then for a little
+she looked down, draping it to her skirt and moving her foot to make the
+silk rustle. For the moment she was young again.
+
+'David,' she said, still looking at the glory of glossy black that
+covered her plain dress.
+
+'Well, mother,' he answered.
+
+'Was you fool enough t' go'n buy this stuff fer me?'
+
+'No, mother--it come from New York City,' he said.
+
+'From New York City?' was the exclamation of all.
+
+Elizabeth Brower looked thoughtfully at her husband.
+
+'Clear from New York City?' she repeated.
+
+'From New York City,' said he.
+
+'Wall, of all things!' said Uncle Eb, looking over his spectacles from
+one to another.
+
+'It's from the Livingstone boy,' said Mrs Brower. 'I've heard he's the
+son of a rich man.'
+
+''Fraid he took a great fancy t' Hope,' said David.
+
+'Father,' said the girl, you've no right to say that. I'm sure he never
+cared a straw for me.'
+
+'I don't think we ought to keep it,' said Mrs Brower, looking up
+thoughtfully.
+
+'Shucks and shavin's!' said Uncle Eb. 'Ye don't know but what I had it
+sent myself.'
+
+Hope went over and put her arms around his neck.
+
+'Did you, Uncle Eb?' she asked. 'Now you tell me the truth, Uncle Eb.'
+
+'Wouldn't say 't I did,' he answered, 'but I don' want 'a see ye go
+sendin' uv it back. Ye dunno who sent it.'
+
+'What'll I do with it?' Mrs Brower asked, laughing in a way that showed
+a sense of absurdity. 'I'd a been tickled with it thirty years ago, but
+now-folks 'ud think I was crazy.'
+
+'Never heard such fol de rol,' said Uncle Eb. 'If ye move t' the village
+it'll come handy t' go t' meetin' in.'
+
+That seemed to be unanswerable and conclusive, at least for the time
+being, and the silk was laid away. We sat talking until late bedtime,
+Hope and I, telling of our studies and of the many people we had met in
+Hillsborough.
+
+We hung up our stockings just as we had always done Christmas Eve, and
+were up betimes in the morning to find them filled with many simple but
+delightful things, and one which I treasure to this day--the locket and
+its picture of which I had been surreptitiously informed.
+
+At two o'clock we had a fine dinner of roast turkey and chicken pie,
+with plenty of good cider, and the mince pie, of blessed memory, such as
+only a daughter of New England may dare try to make.
+
+Uncle Eb went upstairs after dinner and presently we heard him
+descending with a slow and heavy foot. I opened the stair door and there
+he stood with the old bass viol that had long lain neglected in a dusty
+corner of the attic. Many a night I had heard it groan as the strings
+loosened, in the years it had lain on its back, helpless and forgotten.
+It was like a dreamer, snoring in his sleep, and murmuring of that
+he saw in his dreams. Uncle Eb had dusted and strung it and glued its
+weaker joints. He sat down with it, the severe look of old upon his
+face, and set the strings roaring as he tuned them. Then he brought the
+sacred treasure to me and leaned it against my shoulder.
+
+'There that's a Crissmus present fer ye, Willie,' said he. 'It may help
+ye t' pass away the time once in a while.'
+
+I thanked him warmly.
+
+''S a reel firs'-class instrument,' he said. 'Been a rip snorter 'n its
+day.' He took from his bosom then the old heart pin of silver that he
+had always worn of a Sunday.
+
+'Goin' t' give ye thet, too,' he said. 'Dunno's ye'll ever care to
+wear it, but I want ye should hev sumthin' ye can carry'n yer pocket t'
+remember me by.'
+
+I did not dare trust myself to speak, and I sat helplessly turning that
+relic of a better day in my fingers.
+
+'It's genuwine silver,' said he proudly.
+
+I took his old hand in mine and raised it reverently to my lips.
+
+'Hear'n 'em tell 'bout goin' t' the village, an' I says t' myself,
+"Uncle Eb," says I, "we'll hev t' be goin'. 'Tain' no place fer you in
+the village."'
+
+'Holden,' said David Brower, 'don't ye never talk like that ag'in. Yer
+just the same as married t' this family, an' ye can't ever git away from
+us.'
+
+And he never did until his help was needed in other and fairer fields, I
+am sure, than those of Faraway--God knows where.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 19
+
+Tip Taylor was, in the main, a serious-minded man. A cross eye enhanced
+the natural solemnity of his countenance. He was little given to talk or
+laughter unless he were on a hunt, and then he only whispered his joy.
+He had seen a good bit of the world through the peek sight of his rifle,
+and there was something always in the feel of a gun that lifted him to
+higher moods. And yet one could reach a tender spot in him without the
+aid of a gun. That winter vacation I set myself to study things for
+declamation--specimens of the eloquence of Daniel Webster and Henry Clay
+and James Otis and Patrick Henry. I practiced them in the barn, often,
+in sight and hearing of the assembled herd and some of those fiery
+passages were rather too loud and threatening for the peace and comfort
+of my audience. The oxen seemed always to be expecting the sting of the
+bull whip; they stared at me timidly, tilting their ears every moment,
+as if to empty them of a heavy load; while the horses snorted with
+apprehension. This haranguing of the herd had been going on a week or
+more when Uncle Eb and I, returning from a distant part of the farm,
+heard a great uproar in the stable. Looking in at a window we saw Tip
+Taylor, his back toward us, extemporising a speech. He was pressing his
+argument with gestures and the tone of thunder. We listened a moment,
+while a worried look came over the face of Uncle Eb. Tip's words were
+meaningless save for the secret aspiration they served to advertise. My
+old companion thought Tip had gone crazy, and immediately swung the door
+and stepped in. The orator fell suddenly from his lofty altitude and
+became a very sober looking hired man.
+
+'What's the matter?' Uncle Eb enquired.
+
+'Practicin',' said Tip soberly, as he turned slowly, his face damp and
+red with exertion.
+
+'Fer what?' Uncle Eb enquired.
+
+'Fer the 'sylum, I guess,' he answered, with a faint smile.
+
+'Ye don' need no more practice,' Uncle Eb answered. 'Looks t' me as
+though ye was purty well prepared.'
+
+To me there was a touch of pathos in this show of the deeper things in
+Tip's nature that had been kindled to eruption by my spouting. He would
+not come in to dinner that day, probably from an unfounded fear that we
+would make fun of his flight--a thing we should have been far from doing
+once we understood him.
+
+It was a bitter day of one of the coldest winters we had ever known. A
+shrieking wind came over the hills, driving a scud of snow before it
+The stock in the stables, we all came in, soon after dinner, and sat
+comfortably by the fire with cider, checkers and old sledge. The dismal
+roar of the trees and the wind-wail in the chimney served only to
+increase our pleasure. It was growing dusk when mother, peering
+through the sheath of frost on a window pane, uttered an exclamation of
+surprise.
+
+'Why! who is this at the door?' said she. 'Why! It's a man in a cutter.'
+Father was near the door and he swung it open quickly. There stood a
+horse and cutter, a man sitting in it, heavily muffled. The horse was
+shivering and the man sat motionless.
+
+'Hello!' said David Brower in a loud voice.
+
+He got no answer and ran bareheaded to the sleigh.
+
+'Come, quick, Holden,' he called, 'it's Doctor Bigsby.'
+
+We all ran out then, while David lifted the still figure in his arms.
+
+'In here, quick!' said Elizabeth, opening the door to the parlour.
+'Musn't take 'im near the stove.'
+
+We carried him into the cold room and laid him down, and David and I
+tore his wraps open while the others ran quickly after snow.
+
+I rubbed it vigorously upon his face and ears, the others meantime
+applying it to his feet and arms, that had been quickly stripped. The
+doctor stared at us curiously and tried to speak.
+
+'Get ap, Dobbin!' he called presently, and ducked as if urging his
+horse. 'Get ap, Dobbin! Man'll die 'fore ever we git there.'
+
+We all worked upon him with might and main. The white went slowly out of
+his face. We lifted him to a sitting posture. Mother and Hope and Uncle
+Eb were rubbing his hands and feet.
+
+'Where am I?' he enquired, his face now badly swollen.
+
+'At David Brower's,' said I.
+
+'Huh?' he asked, with that kindly and familiar grunt of interrogation.
+
+'At David Brower's,' I repeated.
+
+'Well, I'll have t' hurry,' said he, trying feebly to rise. 'Man's dyin'
+over--' he hesitated thoughtfully, 'on the Plains,' he added, looking
+around at us.
+
+Grandma Bisnette brought a lamp and held it so the light fell on his
+face. He looked from one to another. He drew one of his hands away and
+stared at it.
+
+'Somebody froze?' he asked.
+
+'Yes,' said I.
+
+'Hm! Too bad. How'd it happen?' he asked. 'I don't know.'
+
+'How's the pulse?' he enquired, feeling for my wrist.
+
+I let him hold it in his hand.
+
+'Will you bring me some water in a glass?' he enquired, turning to
+Mrs Brower, just as I had seen him do many a time in Gerald's illness.
+Before she came with the water his head fell forward upon his breast,
+while he muttered feebly. I thought then he was dead, but presently he
+roused himself with a mighty effort.
+
+'David Brower!' he called loudly, and trying hard to rise, 'bring the
+horse! bring the horse! Mus' be goin', I tell ye. Man's dyin' over--on
+the Plains.'
+
+He went limp as a rag then. I could feel his heart leap and struggle
+feebly.
+
+'There's a man dyin' here,' said David Brower, in a low tone. 'Ye
+needn't rub no more.
+
+'He's dead,' Elizabeth whispered, holding his hand tenderly, and looking
+into his half-closed eyes. Then for a moment she covered her own with
+her handkerchief, while David, in a low, calm tone, that showed the
+depth of his feeling, told us what to do.
+
+Uncle Eb and I watched that night, while Tip Taylor drove away to
+town. The body lay in the parlour and we sat by the stove in the room
+adjoining. In a half-whisper we talked of the sad event of the day.
+
+'Never oughter gone out a day like this,' said Uncle Eb. 'Don' take much
+t' freeze an ol' man.'
+
+'Got to thinking of what happened yesterday and forgot the cold,' I
+said.
+
+'Bad day t' be absent-minded,' whispered Uncle Eb, as he rose and
+tiptoed to the window and peered through the frosty panes. 'May o' got
+faint er sumthin'. Ol' hoss brought 'im right here--been here s' often
+with 'in'.'
+
+He took the lantern and went out a moment. The door creaked upon its
+frosty hinges when he opened it.
+
+'Thirty below zero,' he whispered as he came in. 'Win's gone down a
+leetle bit, mebbe.'
+
+Uncanny noises broke in upon the stillness of the old house. Its
+timbers, racked in the mighty grip of the cold, creaked and settled.
+Sometimes there came a sharp, breaking sound, like the crack of bones.
+
+'If any man oughter go t' Heaven, he had,' said Uncle Eb, as he drew on
+his boots.
+
+'Think he's in Heaven?' I asked.
+
+'Hain't a doubt uv it,' said he, as he chewed a moment, preparing for
+expectoration.
+
+'What kind of a place do you think it is?' I asked.
+
+'Fer one thing,' he said, deliberately, 'nobody'll die there, 'less
+he'd ought to; don't believe there's goin' t' be any need o' swearin'
+er quarrellin'. To my way o' thinkin' it'll be a good deal like Dave
+Brower's farm--nice, smooth land and no stun on it, an' hills an'
+valleys an' white clover aplenty, an' wheat an' corn higher'n a man's
+head. No bull thistles, no hard winters, no narrer contracted fools;
+no long faces, an' plenty o' work. Folks sayin' "How d'y do" 'stid o'
+"goodbye", all the while--comin' 'stid o' gain'. There's goin' t' be
+some kind o' fun there. I ain' no idee what 'tis. Folks like it an' I
+kind o' believe 'at when God's gin a thing t' everybody he thinks purty
+middlin' well uv it.'
+
+'Anyhow, it seems a hard thing to die,' I remarked.
+
+'Seems so,' he said thoughtfully. 'Jes' like ever'thing else--them 'at
+knows much about it don' have a great deal t' say. Looks t' me like
+this: I cal'ate a man hes on the everidge ten things his heart is sot
+on--what is the word I want--?'
+
+'Treasures?' I suggested.
+
+'Thet's it,' said he. 'Ev'ry one hes about ten treasures. Some hev
+more--some less. Say one's his strength, one's his plan, the rest is
+them he loves, an' the more he loves the better 'tis fer him. Wall, they
+begin t' go one by one. Some die, some turn agin' him. Fin's it hard t'
+keep his allowance. When he's only nine he's lost eggzac'ly one-tenth uv
+his dread o' dyin'. Bime bye he counts up--one-two-three-four-five-an'
+thet's all ther is left. He figgers it up careful. His strength is gone,
+his plan's a fillure, mebbe, an' this one's dead an' thet one's dead,
+an' t'other one better be. Then 's 'bout half-ways with him. If he
+lives till the ten treasures is all gone, God gives him one more--thet's
+death. An' he can swop thet off an' git back all he's lost. Then he
+begins t' think it's a purty dum good thing, after all. Purty good
+thing, after all,' he repeated, gaping as he spoke.
+
+He began nodding shortly, and soon he went asleep in his chair.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 20
+
+We went back to our work again shortly, the sweetness and the bitterness
+of life fresh in our remembrance. When we came back, 'hook an' line',
+for another vacation, the fields were aglow with colour, and the roads
+where Dr Bigsby had felt the sting of death that winter day were now
+over drifted with meadow-music and the smell of clover. I had creditably
+taken examination for college, where I was to begin my course in the
+fall, with a scholarship. Hope had made remarkable progress in music and
+was soon going to Ogdensburg for instruction.
+
+A year had gone, nearly, since Jed Feary had cautioned me about falling
+in love. I had kept enough of my heart about me 'to do business with',
+but I had continued to feel an uncomfortable absence in the region of
+it. Young men at Hillsborough--many of whom, I felt sure, had a smarter
+look than I--had bid stubbornly for her favour. I wondered, often, it
+did not turn her head--this tribute of rustic admiration. But she seemed
+to be all unconscious of its cause and went about her work with small
+conceit of herself. Many a time they had tried to take her from my arm
+at the church door--a good-natured phase of youthful rivalry there in
+those days--but she had always said, laughingly, 'No, thank you,' and
+clung all the closer to me. Now Jed Feary had no knowledge of the worry
+it gave me, or of the peril it suggested. I knew that, if I felt free
+to tell him all, he would give me other counsel. I was now seventeen and
+she a bit older, and had I not heard of many young men and women who had
+been engaged--aye, even married--at that age? Well, as it happened, a
+day before she left us, to go to her work in Ogdensburg, where she was
+to live with her uncle, I made an end of delay. I considered carefully
+what a man ought to say in the circumstances, and I thought I had near
+an accurate notion. We were in the garden--together--the playground of
+our childhood.
+
+'Hope, I have a secret to tell you,' I said.
+
+'A secret,' she exclaimed eagerly. 'I love secrets.'
+
+'A great secret,' I repeated, as I felt my face burning.
+
+'Why--it must be something awful!'
+
+'Not very,' I stammered. Having missed my cue from the beginning, I was
+now utterly confused.
+
+'William!' she exclaimed, 'what is the matter of you.'
+
+'I--I am in love,' said I, very awkwardly.
+
+'Is that all?' she answered, a trace of humour in her tone. 'I thought
+it was bad news.'
+
+I stooped to pick a rose and handed it to her.
+
+'Well,' she remarked soberly, but smiling a little, as she lifted the
+rose to her lips, 'is it anyone I know?'
+
+I felt it was going badly with me, but caught a sudden inspiration.
+
+'You have never seen her,' I said.
+
+If she had suspected the truth I had turned the tables on her, and now
+she was guessing. A quick change came into her face, and, for a moment,
+it gave me confidence.
+
+'Is she pretty?' she asked very seriously as she dropped the flower and
+looked down crushing it beneath her foot.
+
+'She is very beautiful--it is you I love, Hope.'
+
+A flood of colour came into her cheeks then, as she stood a moment
+looking down at the flower in silence.
+
+'I shall keep your secret,' she said tenderly, and hesitating as she
+spoke, 'and when you are through college--and you are older--and I
+am older--and you love me as you do now--I hope--I shall love you,
+too--as--I do now.'
+
+Her lips were trembling as she gave me that sweet assurance--dearer to
+me--far dearer than all else I remember of that golden time--and tears
+were coursing down her cheeks. For myself I was in a worse plight of
+emotion. I dare say she remembered also the look of my face in that
+moment.
+
+'Do not speak of it again,' she said, as we walked away together on the
+shorn sod of the orchard meadow, now sown with apple blossoms, 'until we
+are older, and, if you never speak again, I shall know you--you do not
+love me any longer.'
+
+The dinner horn sounded. We turned and walked slowly back
+
+'Do I look all right?' she asked, turning her face to me and smiling
+sweetly.
+
+'All right,' I said. 'Nobody would know that anyone loved you--except
+for your beauty and that one tear track on your cheek.'
+
+She wiped it away as she laughed.
+
+'Mother knows anyway,' she said, 'and she has given me good advice.
+Wait!' she added, stopping and turning to me. 'Your eyes are wet!'
+
+I felt for my handkerchief.
+
+'Take mine,' she said.
+
+Elder Whitmarsh was at the house and they were all sitting down to
+dinner as we came in.
+
+'Hello!' said Uncle Eb. 'Here's a good-lookin' couple. We've got a
+chicken pie an' a Baptis' minister fer dinner an' both good. Take yer
+pew nex' t' the minister,' he added as he held the chair for me.
+
+Then we all bowed our heads and I felt a hearty amen for the elder's
+words:
+
+'O Lord, may all our doing and saying and eating and drinking of this
+day be done, as in Thy sight, for our eternal happiness--and for Thy
+glory. Amen.'
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 21
+
+We have our secrets, but, guard them as we may, it is not long before
+others have them also. We do much talking without words. I once knew a
+man who did his drinking secretly and his reeling in public, and thought
+he was fooling everybody. That shows how much easier it is for one to
+fool himself than to fool another. What is in a man's heart is on his
+face, and is shortly written all over him. Therein is a mighty lesson.
+
+Of all people I ever knew Elizabeth Brower had the surest eye for
+looking into one's soul, and I, myself, have some gift of penetration.
+I knew shortly that Mrs Brower--wise and prudent woman that she was--had
+suspected my love for Hope and her love for me, and had told her what
+she ought to say if I spoke of it.
+
+The maturity of judgement in Hope's answer must have been the result of
+much thought and counsel, it seemed to me.
+
+'If you do not speak again I shall know you do not love me any longer,'
+she had said. They were brave words that stood for something very deep
+in the character of those people--a self-repression that was sublime,
+often, in their women. As I said them to myself, those lonely summer
+days in Faraway, I saw in their sweet significance no hint of the
+bitterness they were to bring. But God knows I have had my share of
+pleasure and no more bitterness than I deserved.
+
+It was a lonely summer for me. I had letters from Hope--ten of
+them--which I still keep and read, often with something of the old
+pleasure--girlish letters that told of her work and friends, and gave me
+some sweet counsel and much assurance between the lines.
+
+I travelled in new roads that vacation time. Politics and religion,
+as well as love, began to interest me. Slavery was looming into the
+proportion of a great issue, and the stories of cruelty and outrage on
+the plantations of the South stirred my young blood and made it ready
+for the letting of battle, in God's time. The speeches in the Senate
+were read aloud in our sitting-room after supper--the day the Tribune
+came--and all lent a tongue to their discussion. Jed Feary was with us
+one evening, I remember, when our talk turned into long ways, the end
+of which I have never found to this day. Elizabeth had been reading of a
+slave, who, according to the paper, had been whipped to death.
+
+'If God knows 'at such things are bein' done, why don't he stop 'em?'
+David asked.
+
+'Can't very well,' said Jed Feary.
+
+'Can, if he's omnipotent,' said David.
+
+'That's a bad word--a dangerous one,' said the old poet, dropping his
+dialect as he spoke. 'It makes God responsible for evil as well as good.
+The word carries us beyond our depth. It's too big for our boots. I'd
+ruther think He can do what's doable an' know what's knowable. In the
+beginning he gave laws to the world an' these laws are unchangeable,
+or they are not wise an' perfect. If God were to change them He would
+thereby acknowledge their imperfection. By this law men and races suffer
+as they struggle upward. But if the law is unchangeable, can it be
+changed for a better cause even than the relief of a whipped slave?
+In good time the law shall punish and relieve. The groans of them that
+suffer shall hasten it, but there shall be no change in the law. There
+can be no change in the law.'
+
+'Leetle hard t' tell jest how powerful God is,' said Uncle Eb. 'Good
+deal like tryin' t' weigh Lake Champlain with a quart pail and a pair o'
+steelyards.'
+
+'If God's laws are unchangeable, what is the use of praying?' I asked.
+
+'He can give us the strength to bear, the will to obey him an' light to
+guide us,' said the poet. 'I've written out a few lines t' read t' Bill
+here 'fore he goes off t' college. They have sumthin' t' say on this
+subject. The poem hints at things he'd ought 'o learn purty soon--if he
+don't know 'em now.'
+
+The old poet felt in his pockets as he spoke, and withdrew a folded
+sheet of straw- wrapping paper and opened it. I was 'Bill'-plain
+'Bill'--to everybody in that country, where, as you increased your love
+of a man, you diminished his name. I had been called Willie, William
+and Billy, and finally, when I threw the strong man of the township in a
+wrestling match they gave me this full token of confidence. I bent over
+the shoulder of Jed Feary for a view of the manuscript, closely written
+with a lead pencil, and marked with many erasures.
+
+'Le's hear it,' said David Brower.
+
+Then I moved the lamp to his elbow and he began reading:
+
+'A talk with William Brower on the occasion of his going away to college
+and writ out in rhyme for him by his friend Jedediah Feary to be a token
+of respect.
+
+
+  The man that loses faith in God, ye'll find out every time,
+  Has found a faith in his own self that's mighty nigh sublime.
+  He knows as much as all the saints an' calls religion flighty,
+  An' in his narrow world assumes the place o' God Almighty.
+
+  But don't expect too much o' God, it wouldn't be quite fair
+  If fer everything ye wanted ye could only swap a prayer;
+  I'd pray fer yours an' you fer mine an' Deacon Henry Hospur
+  He wouldn't hev a thing t' do but lay a-bed an' prosper.
+
+  If all things come so easy, Bill, they'd hev but little worth,
+  An' someone with a gift O' prayer 'ud mebbe own the earth.
+  It's the toil ye give t' git a thing--the sweat an' blood an' trouble
+  We reckon by--an' every tear'll make its value double.
+
+  There's a money O' the soul, my boy, ye'll find in after years,
+  Its pennies are the sweat drops an' its dollars are the tears;
+  An' love is the redeemin' gold that measures what they're worth,
+  An' ye'll git as much in Heaven as ye've given out on earth.
+
+  Fer the record o' yer doin'--I believe the soul is planned
+  With an automatic register t, tell jest how ye stand,
+  An' it won't take any cipherin' t' show that fearful day,
+  If ye've multiplied yer talents well, er thrown 'em all away.
+
+  When yer feet are on the summit, an' the wide horizon clears,
+  An' ye look back on yer pathway windin' thro' the vale o' tears;
+  When ye see how much ye've trespassed an' how fur ye've gone astray,
+  Ye'll know the way o' Providence ain't apt t' be your way.
+
+  God knows as much as can be known, but I don't think it's true
+  He knows of all the dangers in the path o' me an' you.
+  If I shet my eyes an' hurl a stone that kills the King o' Siam,
+  The chances are that God'll be as much surprised as I am.
+
+  If ye pray with faith believin', why, ye'll certnly receive,
+  But that God does what's impossible is more than I'll believe.
+  If it grieves Him when a sparrow falls, it's sure as anything,
+  He'd hev turned the arrow if He could, that broke the sparrow's wing.
+
+  Ye can read old Nature's history thet's writ in rocks an' stones,
+  Ye can see her throbbin' vitals an' her mighty rack o' hones.
+  But the soul o' her--the livin' God, a little child may know
+  No lens er rule o' cipherin' can ever hope t' show.
+
+  There's a part o' Cod's creation very handy t' yer view,
+  Al' the truth o' life is in it an' remember, Bill, it's you.
+  An' after all yer science ye must look up in yer mind,
+  An' learn its own astronomy the star o' peace t' find.
+
+  There's good old Aunt Samanthy Jane thet all her journey long
+  Has led her heart to labour with a reveille of song.
+  Her folks hev robbed an' left her but her faith in goodness grows,
+  She hasn't any larnin', but I tell ye Bill, she knows!
+
+  She's hed her share o' troubles; I remember well the day
+  We took her t' the poorhouse--she was singin' all the way;
+  Ye needn't be afraid t' come where stormy Jordan flows,
+  If all the larnin' ye can git has taught ye halfshe knows.'
+
+I give this crude example of rustic philosophy, not because it has my
+endorsement--God knows I have ever felt it far beyond me--but because it
+is useful to those who may care to know the man who wrote it. I give it
+the poor fame of these pages with keen regret that my friend is now long
+passed the praise or blame of this world.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 22
+
+The horse played a part of no small importance in that country. He was
+the coin of the realm, a medium of exchange, a standard of value, an
+exponent of moral character. The man that travelled without a horse was
+on his way to the poorhouse. Uncle Eb or David Brower could tell a good
+horse by the sound of his footsteps, and they brought into St Lawrence
+County the haughty Morgans from Vermont. There was more pride in their
+high heads than in any of the good people. A Northern Yankee who was not
+carried away with a fine horse had excellent self-control. Politics and
+the steed were the only things that ever woke him to enthusiasm, and
+there a man was known as he traded. Uncle Eb used to say that one
+ought always to underestimate his horse 'a leetle fer the sake of a
+reputation'.
+
+We needed another horse to help with the haying, and Bob Dean, a tricky
+trader, who had heard of it, drove in after supper one evening, and
+offered a rangy brown animal at a low figure. We looked him over, tried
+him up and down the road, and then David, with some shrewd suspicion,
+as I divined later, said I could do as I pleased. I bought the horse and
+led him proudly to the stable. Next morning an Irishman, the extra man
+for the haying, came in with a worried look to breakfast.
+
+'That new horse has a chittern' kind of a coff,' he said.
+
+'A cough?' said I.
+
+''Tain't jist a coff, nayther,' he said, 'but a kind of toom!'
+
+With the last word he obligingly imitated the sound of the cough. It
+threw me into perspiration.
+
+'Sounds bad,' said Uncle Eb, as he looked at me and snickered.
+
+''Fraid Bill ain't much of a jockey,' said David, smiling.
+
+'Got a grand appetite--that hoss has,' said Tip Taylor.
+
+After breakfast Uncle Eb and I hitched him to the light buggy and
+touched him up for a short journey down the road. In five minutes he had
+begun to heave and whistle. I felt sure one could have heard him half a
+mile away. Uncle Eb stopped him and began to laugh.
+
+'A whistler,' said he, 'sure's yer born. He ain't wuth a bag o' beans.
+But don't ye never let on. When ye git licked ye musn't never fin'
+fault. If anybody asks ye 'bout him tell 'em he's all ye expected.'
+
+We stood waiting a moment for the horse to recover himself. A team was
+nearing us.
+
+'There's Bob Dean,' Uncle Eb whispered. 'The durn scalawag! Don't ye say
+a word now.
+
+'Good-mornin'!' said Dean, smiling as he pulled up beside us.
+
+'Nice pleasant mornin'!' said Uncle Eb, as he cast a glance into the
+sky.
+
+'What ye standin' here for?' Dean asked.
+
+Uncle Eb expectorated thoughtfully.
+
+'Jest a lookin' at the scenery,' said he. 'Purty country, right here!
+AIwus liked it.'
+
+'Nice lookin' hoss ye got there,' said Dean.
+
+'Grand hoss!' said Uncle Eb, surveying him proudly. 'Most reemarkable
+hoss.'
+
+'Good stepper, too,' said Dean soberly.
+
+'Splendid!' said Uncle Eb. 'Can go a mile without ketchin' his breath.'
+
+'Thet so?' said Dean.
+
+'Good deal like Lucy Purvis,' Uncle Eb added. 'She can say the hull
+mul'plication table an' only breathe once. Ye can learn sumthin' from a
+hoss like thet. He's good as a deestric' school--thet hoss is.'
+
+Yes, sir, thet hoss is all right,' said Dean, as he drove away.
+
+'Righter'n I expected,' Uncle Eb shouted, and then he covered his mouth,
+shaking with suppressed laughter.
+
+'Skunk!' he said, as we turned the animal and started to walk him home.
+'Don't min' bein' beat, but I don't like t' hev a man rub it in on me.
+I'll git even with him mebbe.'
+
+And he did. It came about in this way. We turned our new purchase into
+the pasture, and Uncle Eb and I drove away to Potsdam for a better
+nag. We examined all the horses in that part of the country. At last we
+chanced upon one that looked like the whistler, save that he had a white
+stocking on one hind foot.
+
+'Same age, too,' said Uncle Eb, as he looked into his mouth.
+
+'Can pass anything on the road,' said his owner.
+
+'Can he?' said Uncle Eb, who had no taste for slow going. 'Hitch him up
+an' le's see what he can do.'
+
+He carried us faster than we had ever ridden before at a trot, and
+coming up behind another team the man pulled out, let the reins loose on
+his back, and whistled. If anyone had hit him with a log chain the horse
+could not have moved quicker. He took us by the other team like a flash,
+on the dead run and three in the buggy.
+
+'He'll do all right,' said Uncle Eb, and paid for the horse.
+
+It was long after dark when we started home, leading him behind, and
+near midnight when we arrived.
+
+In the morning I found Uncle Eb in the stable showing him to the other
+help. To my surprise the white stocking had disappeared.
+
+'Didn't jes' like that white stockin',' he said, as I came in. 'Wondered
+how he'd look without it.'
+
+They all agreed this horse and the whistler were as much alike as two
+peas in appearance. Breakfast over Uncle Eb asked the Irishman to hitch
+him up.
+
+'Come Bill,' said he, 'le's take a ride. Dean'll be comm' 'long bym bye
+on his way t' town with that trotter o' his'n. 'Druther like to meet
+him.'
+
+I had only a faint idea of his purpose. He let the horse step along at
+top speed going up the road and when we turned about he was breathing
+heavily. We jogged him back down the road a mile or so, and when I
+saw the blazed face of Dean's mare, in the distance, we pulled up and
+shortly stopped him. Dean came along in a moment.
+
+'Nice mornin'!' said he.
+
+'Grand!' said Uncle Eb.
+
+'Lookin' at the lan'scape ag'in?'
+
+'Yes; I've jes' begun t' see what a putty country this is,' said Uncle
+Eb.
+
+'How's the boss?'
+
+'Splendid! Gives ye time t' think an' see what yer passin'. Like t' set
+'n think once in a while. We don't do enough thinkin' here in this part
+o' the country.'
+
+'Yd orter buy this mare an learn how t' ride fast,' said Dean.
+
+'Thet one,' said Uncle Eb, squinting at the mare, 'why she can't go fast
+'nough.'
+
+'She can't, hey?' said Dean, bridling with injured pride. 'I don't think
+there's anything in this town can head her.'
+
+'Thunder!' said Uncle Eb, 'I can go by her with this ol' plug easy
+'twixt here an' our gate. Ye didn't know what ye was sellin'.'
+
+'If ye pass her once I'll give her to ye,' said he.
+
+'Mean it?' said Uncle Eb.
+
+'Sartin,' said he, a little redder in the face.
+
+'An' if I don't I'll give ye the whistler,' said Uncle Eb as he turned
+about.
+
+The mare went away, under the whip, before we had fairly started. She
+was going a fifty shot but in a moment we were lapping upon her hind
+wheel. Dean threw a startled glance over his shoulder. Then he shouted
+to the mare. She quickened her pace a little but we kept our position.
+Uncle Eb was leaning over the dasher his white locks flying. He had
+something up his sleeve, as they say, and was not yet ready to use it.
+Then Dean began to shear over to cut us off--a nasty trick of the low
+horseman. I saw Uncle Eb glance at the ditch ahead. I knew what was
+coming and took a firm hold of the seat. The ditch was a bit rough, but
+Uncle Eb had no lack of courage. He turned the horse's head, let up on
+the reins and whistled. I have never felt such a thrill as then. Our
+horse leaped into the deep grass running like a wild deer.
+
+'Hi there! hi there!' Uncle Eb shouted, bouncing in his seat, as we went
+over stones and hummocks going like the wind.
+
+'Go, ye brown devil!' he yelled, his hat flying off as he shook the
+reins.
+
+The mare lost her stride; we flashed by and came up into the road.
+Looking back I saw her jumping up and down a long way behind us and Dean
+whipping her. Uncle Eb, his hands over the dasher, had pulled down to
+a trot Ahead of us we could see our folks--men and women--at the gate
+looking down the road at us waving hats and handkerchiefs. They had
+heard the noise of the battle. Uncle Eb let up on the reins and looked
+back snorting with amusement. In a moment we pulled up at our gate. Dean
+came along slowly.
+
+'Thet's a putty good mare,' said Uncle Eb.
+
+'Yer welcome to her,' said Dean sullenly.
+
+'Wouldn't hev her,' said Uncle Eb.
+
+'Why not?' said the trader a look of relief coming over his face.
+
+'Can't go fast enough for my use,' Uncle Eb answered. 'Ye can jest hitch
+her in here awhile an' the first day ye come over with a hundred dollars
+ye can hev her 'n the whistler, both on 'em. Thet whistler's a grand
+hoss! Can hold his breath longer'n any hoss I ever knew!'
+
+The sum named was that we had paid him for the highly accomplished
+animal. Dean had the manhood to pay up then and there and said he would
+send for the other horse, which he never did.
+
+'Guess he won't bother us any more when we stop t' look at the scenery,'
+said Uncle Eb, laughing as Dean drove away. 'Kind o' resky business
+buyin' hosses,' he added. 'Got t' jedge the owner as well as the hoss.
+If there's anything the matter with his conscience it'll come out in
+the hoss somewhere every time. Never knew a mean man t' own a good hoss.
+Remember, boy, 's a lame soul thet drives a limpin' hoss.'
+
+'No use talkin'; Bill ain' no jedge uv a hoss' said David Brower. 'He'll
+hev t' hev an education er he'll git t' the poorhouse someday sartin.'
+
+'Wall he's a good jedge o' gals anyway,' said Uncle Eb.
+
+As for myself I was now hopelessly confirmed in my dislike of farming
+and I never traded horses again.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 23
+
+Late in August Uncle Eb and I took our Black Hawk stallion to the fair
+in Hillsborough and showed him for a prize. He was fit for the eye of a
+king when we had finished grooming him, that morning, and led him out,
+rearing in play, his eyes flashing from under his broad plume, so that
+all might have a last look at him. His arched neck and slim barrel
+glowed like satin as the sunlight fell upon him. His black mane flew, he
+shook the ground with his hoofs playing at the halter's end. He hated a
+harness and once in it lost half his conceit. But he was vainest of all
+things in Faraway when we drove off with him that morning.
+
+All roads led to Hillsborough fair time. Up and down the long hills we
+went on a stiff jog passing lumber wagons with generations enough in
+them to make a respectable genealogy, the old people in chairs; light
+wagons that carried young men and their sweethearts, backswoodsmen
+coming out in ancient vehicles upon reeling, creaking wheels to get food
+for a year's reflection--all thickening the haze of the late summer with
+the dust of the roads. And Hillsborough itself was black with people.
+The shouts of excited men, the neighing of horses, the bellowing of
+cattle, the wailing of infants, the howling of vendors, the pressing
+crowd, had begun to sow the seed of misery in the minds of those
+accustomed only to the peaceful quietude of the farm. The staring eye,
+the palpitating heart, the aching head, were successive stages in the
+doom of many. The fair had its floral hall carpeted with sawdust and
+redolent of cedar, its dairy house, its mechanics' hall sacred to
+farming implements, its long sheds full of sheep and cattle, its
+dining-hall, its temporary booths of rough lumber, its half-mile track
+and grandstand. Here voices of beast and vendor mingled in a chorus of
+cupidity and distress. In Floral Hall Sol Rollin was on exhibition. He
+gave me a cold nod, his lips set for a tune as yet inaudible. He was
+surveying sundry examples of rustic art that hung on the circular
+railing of the gallery and trying to preserve a calm breast. He was
+looking at Susan Baker's painted cow that hung near us.
+
+'Very descriptive,' he said when I pressed him for his notion of it.
+'Rod Baker's sister Susan made thet cow. Gits tew dollars an' fifty
+cents every fair time--wish I was dewin 's well.'
+
+'That's one of the most profitable cows in this country,' I said.
+
+'Looks a good deal like a new breed.'
+
+'Yes,' he answered soberly, then he set his lips, threw a sweeping
+glance into the gallery, and passed on.
+
+Susan Baker's cow was one of the permanent features of the county fair,
+and was indeed a curiosity not less remarkable than the sacred ox of Mr
+Barnum.
+
+Here also I met a group of the pretty girls who had been my schoolmates.
+They surrounded me, chattering like magpies.
+
+'There's going to be a dance at our house tonight,' said one of them,
+'and you must come.'
+
+'I cannot, I must go home,' I said.
+
+'Of course!' said a red-cheeked saucy miss. 'The stuck-up thing! He
+wouldn't go anywhere unless he could have his sister with him.'
+
+Then they went away laughing.
+
+I found Ab Thomas at the rifle range. He was whittling as he considered
+a challenge from Tip Taylor to shoot a match. He turned and 'hefted'
+the rifle, silently, and then he squinted over the barrel two or three
+times.
+
+'Dunno but what I'll try ye once,' he said presently, 'jes t' see.'
+
+Once started they grew red in their faces and shot themselves weary in
+a reckless contest of skill and endurance. A great hulking fellow, half
+drunk and a bit quarrelsome, came up, presently, and endeavoured to help
+Ab hold his rifle. The latter brushed him away and said nothing for a
+moment. But every time he tried to take aim the man jostled him.
+
+An looked up slowly and calmly, his eyebrows tilted for his aim, and
+said, 'Go off I tell ye.' Then he set himself and took aim again.
+
+'Le'me hold it,' said the man, reaching for the barrel. 'Shoot better if
+I do the aimin'.' A laugh greeted this remark. Ab looked up again. There
+was a quick start in his great slouching figure.
+
+'Take yer hand off o' thet,' he said a little louder than before.
+
+The man, aching for more applause, grew more impertinent. Ab quietly
+handed the rifle to its owner. Then something happened suddenly. It was
+so quickly over I am not quite sure of the order of business, but anyhow
+he seized the intruder by the shoulders flinging him down so heavily it
+knocked the dust out of the grass.
+
+'A fight!' somebody shouted and men and boys came runing from all sides.
+We were locked in a pushing crowd before I could turn. The intruder lay
+stunned a moment. Then he rose, bare headed, his back covered with dust,
+pushed his way out and ran.
+
+Ab turned quietly to the range.
+
+'Hedn't orter t' come an' try t' dew my aimin',' he said mildly, by way
+of protest, 'I won't hev it.'
+
+Then he enquired about the score and calmly took aim again. The stallion
+show came on that afternoon.
+
+'They can't never beat thet hoss,' Uncle Eb had said to me.
+
+''Fraid they will,' I answered. 'They're better hitched for one thing.'
+
+'But they hain't got the ginger in 'em,' said he, 'er the git up 'n git.
+If we can show what's in him the Hawk'll beat 'em easy.'
+
+If we won I was to get the prize but I had small hope of winning. When
+I saw one after another prance out, in sparkling silver harness adorned
+with rosettes of ribbon--light stepping, beautiful creatures all of
+them--I could see nothing but defeat for us. Indeed I could see we had
+been too confident. I dreaded the moment when Uncle Eb should drive down
+with Black Hawk in a plain leather harness, drawing a plainer buggy. I
+had planned to spend the prize money taking Hope to the harvest ball at
+Rickard's, and I had worked hard to put the Hawk in good fettle. I began
+to feel the bitterness of failure.
+
+'Black Hawk! Where is Black Hawk?' said one of the judges loudly.
+
+'Owned by David Brower o' Faraway,' said another looking at his card.
+
+Where indeed was Uncle Eb? I got up on the fence and looked all about
+me anxiously. Then I heard a great cheering up the track. Somebody was
+coming down, at a rapid pace, riding a splendid moving animal, a knee
+rising to the nose at each powerful stride. His head and flying mane
+obscured the rider but I could see the end of a rope swinging in his
+hand. There was something familiar in the easy high stride of the horse.
+The cheers came on ahead of him like foam before a breaker. Upon my
+eyes! it was Black Hawk, with nothing but a plain rope halter on his
+head, and Uncle Eb riding him.
+
+'G'lang there!' he shouted, swinging the halter stale to the shining
+flank. 'G'lang there!' and he went by, like a flash, the tail of Black
+Hawk straight out behind him, its end feathering in the wind. It was
+a splendid thing to see--that white-haired man, sitting erect on the
+flying animal, with only a rope halter in his hand. Every man about me
+was yelling. I swung my hat, shouting myself hoarse. When Uncle Eb came
+back the Hawk was walking quietly in a crowd of men and boys eager to
+feel his silken sides. I crowded through and held the horse's nose while
+Uncle Eb got down.
+
+'Thought I wouldn't put no luther on him,' said Uncle Eb, 'God's gin'
+'im a good 'nuff harness.'
+
+The judges came and looked him over.
+
+'Guess he'll win the prize all right,' said one of them.
+
+And he did. When we came home that evening every horse on the road
+thought himself a trotter and went speeding to try his pace with
+everything that came up beside him. And many a man of Faraway, that we
+passed, sent up a shout of praise for the Black Hawk.
+
+But I was thinking of Hope and the dance at Rickard's. I had plenty of
+money now and my next letter urged her to come home at once.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 24
+
+Hope returned for a few days late in August. Invitations were just
+issued for the harvest dance at Rickard's.
+
+'You mus' take 'er,' said Uncle Eb, the day she came. 'She's a purty
+dancer as a man ever see. Prance right up an' tell 'er she mus' go. Don'
+want 'O let anyone git ahead O' ye.'
+
+'Of course I will go,' she said in answer to my invitation, 'I shouldn't
+think you were a beau worth having if you did not ask me.'
+
+The yellow moon was peering over Woody Ledge when we went away that
+evening. I knew it was our last pleasure seeking in Faraway, and the
+crickets in the stubble filled the silence with a kind of mourning.
+
+She looked so fine in her big hat and new gown with its many dainty
+accessories of lace and ribbon, adjusted with so much patting and
+pulling, that as she sat beside me, I hardly dared touch her for fear of
+spoiling something. When she shivered a little and said it was growing
+cool I put my arm about her, and, as I drew her closer to my side, she
+turned her hat, obligingly, and said it was a great nuisance.
+
+I tried to kiss her then, but she put her hand over my mouth and said,
+sweetly, that I would spoil everything if I did that.
+
+'I must not let you kiss me, William,' she said, 'not--not for all in
+the world. I'm sure you wouldn't have me do what I think is wrong--would
+you?'
+
+There was but one answer to such an appeal, and I made myself as happy
+as possible feeling her head upon my shoulder and her soft hair touching
+my cheek. As I think of it now the trust she put in me was something
+sublime and holy.
+
+'Then I shall talk about--about our love,' I said, 'I must do
+something.'
+
+'Promised I wouldn't let you,' she said. Then she added after a moment
+of silence, 'I'll tell you what you may do--tell me what is your ideal
+in a woman--the one you would love best of all. I don't think that would
+be wicked--do you?'
+
+'I think God would forgive that,' I said. 'She must be tall and slim,
+with dainty feet and hands, and a pair of big eyes, blue as a violet,
+shaded with long dark lashes. And her hair must be wavy and light with a
+little tinge of gold in it. And her cheek must have the pink of the rose
+and dimples that show in laughter. And her voice--that must have music
+in it and the ring of kindness and good-nature. And her lips--let them
+show the crimson of her blood and be ready to give and receive a kiss
+when I meet her.'
+
+She sighed and nestled closer to me.
+
+'If I let you kiss me just once,' she whispered, 'you will not ask me
+again--will you?'
+
+'No, sweetheart, I will not,' I answered. Then we gave each other such a
+kiss as may be known once and only once in a lifetime.
+
+'What would you do for the love of a girl like that?' she whispered.
+
+I thought a moment, sounding depths of undiscovered woe to see if there
+were anything I should hesitate to suffer and there was nothing.
+
+'I'd lay me doun an' dee,' I said.
+
+And I well remember how, when I lay dying, as I believed, in rain and
+darkness on the bloody field of Bull Run, I thought of that moment and
+of those words.
+
+'I cannot say such beautiful things as you,' she answered, when I asked
+her to describe her ideal. 'He must be good and he must be tall and
+handsome and strong and brave.'
+
+Then she sang a tender love ballad. I have often shared the pleasure of
+thousands under the spell of her voice, but I have never heard her sing
+as to that small audience on Faraway turnpike.
+
+As we came near Rickard's Hall we could hear the fiddles and the calling
+off.
+
+The windows on the long sides of the big house were open. Long shafts of
+light shot out upon the gloom. It had always reminded me of a picture
+of Noah's ark that hung in my bedroom and now it seemed to be floating,
+with resting oars of gold, in a deluge of darkness. We were greeted with
+a noisy welcome, at the door. Many of the boys and girls came, from all
+sides of the big hall, and shook hands with us. Enos Brown, whose
+long forelocks had been oiled for the occasion and combed down so they
+touched his right eyebrow, was panting in a jig that jarred the house.
+His trouser legs were caught on the tops of his fine boots. He nodded to
+me as I came in, snapped his fingers and doubled his energy. It was an
+exhibition both of power and endurance. He was damp and apologetic when,
+at length, he stopped with a mighty bang of his foot and sat down beside
+me. He said he was badly out of practice when I offered congratulations.
+The first fiddler was a small man, with a short leg, and a character
+that was minus one dimension. It had length and breadth but no
+thickness. He sat with his fellow player on a little platform at one end
+of the room. He was an odd man who wandered all over the township with
+his fiddle. He played by ear, and I have seen babies smile and old men
+dance when his bow was swaying. I remember that when I heard it for the
+first time, I determined that I should be a fiddler if I ever grew to be
+a man. But David told me that fiddlers were a worthless lot, and that
+no wise man should ever fool with a fiddle. One is lucky, I have since
+learned, if any dream of yesterday shall stand the better light of today
+or the more searching rays of tomorrow.
+
+'Choose yer partners fer Money Musk!' the caller shouted.
+
+Hope and I got into line, the music started, the circles began to sway.
+Darwin Powers, an old but frisky man, stood up beside the fiddlers,
+whistling, with sobriety and vigour, as they played. It was a pleasure
+to see some of the older men of the neighbourhood join the dizzy riot by
+skipping playfully in the corners. They tried to rally their unwilling
+wives, and generally a number of them were dancing before the night was
+over. The life and colour of the scene, the fresh, young faces of the
+girls some of them models of rustic beauty--the playful antics of the
+young men, the merrymaking of their fathers, the laughter, the airs of
+gallantry, the glances of affection--there is a magic in the thought of
+it all that makes me young again.
+
+There were teams before and behind us when we came home, late at night,
+so sleepy that the stars went reeling as we looked at them.
+
+'This night is the end of many things,' I remarked.
+
+'And the beginning of better ones, I hope,' was her answer.
+
+'Yes, but they are so far away,' I said, 'you leave home to study and I
+am to be four years in college-possibly I can finish in three.'
+
+'Perfectly terrible!' she said, and then she added the favourite phrase
+and tone of her mother: 'We must be patient.'
+
+'I am very sorry of one thing,' I said. 'What's that?'
+
+'I promised not to ask you for one more kiss.'
+
+'Well then,' said she, 'you--you--needn't ask me.' And in a moment I
+helped her out at the door.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 25
+
+David Brower had prospered, as I have said before, and now he was
+chiefly concerned in the welfare of his children. So, that he might give
+us the advantages of the town, he decided either to lease or sell his
+farm--by far the handsomest property in the township. I was there when a
+buyer came, in the last days of that summer. We took him over the smooth
+acres from Lone Pine to Woody Ledge, from the top of Bowman's Hill to
+Tinkie Brook in the far valley. He went with us through every tidy room
+of the house. He looked over the stock and the stables.
+
+'Wall! what's it wuth?' he said, at last, as we stood looking down the
+fair green acres sloping to the sugar bush.
+
+David picked up a stick, opened his knife, and began to whittle
+thoughtfully, a familiar squint of reflection in his face. I suppose he
+thought of all it had cost him--the toil of many years, the strength of
+his young manhood, the youth and beauty of his wife, a hundred things
+that were far better than money.
+
+'Fifteen thousan' dollars,' he said slowly--'not a cent less.' The man
+parleyed a little over the price.
+
+'Don' care t' take any less t'day,' said David calmly. 'No harm done.'
+
+'How much down?'
+
+David named the sum.
+
+'An' possession?'
+
+'Next week'
+
+'Everything as it stan's?'
+
+'Everything as it stan's 'cept the beds an' bedding.'
+
+'Here's some money on account,' he said. 'We'll close t'morrer?'
+
+'Close t'morrer,' said David, a little sadness in his tone, as he took
+the money.
+
+It was growing dusk as the man went away. The crickets sang with a loud,
+accusing, clamour. Slowly we turned and went into the dark house, David
+whistling under his breath. Elizabeth was resting in her chair. She was
+humming an old hymn as she rocked.
+
+'Sold the farm, mother,' said David.
+
+She stopped singing but made no answer. In the dusk, as we sat down, I
+saw her face leaning upon her hand. Over the hills and out of the fields
+around us came many voices--the low chant in the stubble, the baying of
+a hound in the far timber, the cry of the tree toad--a tiny drift of odd
+things (like that one sees at sea) on the deep eternal silence of the
+heavens. There was no sound in the room save the low creaking of the
+rocker in which Elizabeth sat. After all the going, and coming, and
+doing, and saying of many years here was a little spell of silence and
+beyond lay the untried things of the future. For me it was a time of
+reckoning.
+
+'Been hard at work here all these years, mother,' said David. 'Oughter
+be glad t' git away.'
+
+'Yes,' said she sadly, 'it's been hard work. Years ago I thought I never
+could stan' it. But now I've got kind o' used t' it.'
+
+'Time ye got used t' pleasure 'n comfort,' he said. 'Come kind o' hard,
+at fast, but ye mus' try t' stan' it. If we're goin' t' hev sech flin in
+Heaven as Deacon Hospur tells on we oughter begin t' practice er we'll
+be 'shamed uv ourselves.'
+
+The worst was over. Elizabeth began to laugh.
+
+At length a strain of song came out of the distance.
+
+'Maxwelton's braes are bonnie where early falls the dew.'
+
+'It's Hope and Uncle Eb,' said David while I went for the lantern.
+'Wonder what's kep' 'em s' late.'
+
+When the lamps were lit the old house seemed suddenly to have got a
+sense of what had been done. The familiar creak of the stairway as
+I went to bed had an appeal and a protest. The rude chromo of the
+voluptuous lady, with red lips and the name of Spring, that had always
+hung in my chamber had a mournful, accusing look. The stain upon her
+cheek that had come one day from a little leak in the roof looked now
+like the path of a tear drop. And when the wind came up in the night and
+I heard the creaking of Lone Pine it spoke of the doom of that house and
+its own that was not far distant.
+
+We rented a new home in town, that week, and were soon settled in
+it. Hope went away to resume her studies the same day I began work in
+college.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 26
+
+Not much in my life at college is essential to this history--save the
+training. The students came mostly from other and remote parts of the
+north country--some even from other states. Coming largely from towns
+and cities they were shorn of those simple and rugged traits, that
+distinguished the men o' Faraway, and made them worthy of what poor
+fame this book may afford. In the main they were like other students the
+world over, I take it' and mostly, as they have shown, capable of wiling
+their own fame. It all seemed very high and mighty and grand to me
+especially the names of the courses. I had my baptism of Sophomoric
+scorn and many a heated argument over my title to life, liberty and the
+pursuit of learning. It became necessary to establish it by force of
+arms, which I did decisively and with as little delay as possible. I
+took much interest in athletic sports and was soon a good ball player, a
+boxer of some skill, and the best wrestler in college. Things were going
+on comfortably when an upper classman met me and suggested that on a
+coming holiday, the Freshmen ought to wear stove-pipe hats. Those hats
+were the seed of great trouble.
+
+'Stove-pipe hats!' I said thoughtfully.
+
+'They're a good protection,' he assured me.
+
+It seemed a very reasonable, not to say a necessary precaution. A man
+has to be young and innocent sometime or what would become of the Devil.
+I did not see that the stove-pipe hat was the red rag of insurrection
+and, when I did see it' I was up to my neck in the matter.
+
+You see the Sophs are apt to be very nasty that day,' he continued.
+
+I acknowledged they were quite capable of it.
+
+'And they don't care where they hit,' he went on.
+
+I felt of my head that was still sore, from a forceful argument of the
+preceding day, and admitted there was good ground for the assertion.
+
+When I met my classmen, that afternoon, I was an advocate of the
+'stove-pipe' as a means of protection. There were a number of husky
+fellows, in my class, who saw its resisting power and seconded my
+suggestion. We decided to leave it to the ladies of the class and they
+greeted our plan with applause. So, that morning, we arrayed ourselves
+in high hats, heavy canes and fine linen, marching together up College
+Hill. We had hardly entered the gate before we saw the Sophs forming
+in a thick rank outside the door prepared, as we took it, to resist our
+entrance. They out-numbered us and were, in the main, heavier but we
+had a foot or more of good stiff material between each head and harm. Of
+just what befell us, when we got to the enemy, I have never felt sure.
+Of the total inefficiency of the stove-pipe hat as an article of armour,
+I have never had the slightest doubt since then. There was a great flash
+and rattle of canes. Then the air was full of us. In the heat of it all
+prudence went to the winds. We hit out right and left, on both sides,
+smashing hats and bruising heads and hands. The canes went down in a
+jiffy and then we closed with each other hip and thigh. Collars were
+ripped off, coats were torn, shirts were gory from the blood of noses,
+and in this condition the most of us were rolling and tumbling on the
+ground. I had flung a man, heavily, and broke away and was tackling
+another when I heard a hush in the tumult and then the voice of the
+president. He stood on the high steps, his grey head bare, his right
+hand lifted. It must have looked like carnage from where he stood.
+
+'Young gentlemen!' he called. 'Cease, I command you. If we cannot get
+along without this thing we will shut up shop.'
+
+Well, that was the end of it and came near being the end of our careers
+in college. We looked at each other, torn and panting and bloody, and
+at the girls, who stood by, pale with alarm. Then we picked up the
+shapeless hats and went away for repairs. I had heard that the path of
+learning was long and beset with peril but I hoped, not without reason,
+the worst was over. As I went off the campus the top of my hat was
+hanging over my left ear, my collar and cravat were turned awry, my
+trousers gaped over one knee. I was talking with a fellow sufferer and
+patching the skin on my knuckles, when suddenly I met Uncle Eb.
+
+'By the Lord Harry!' he said, looking me over from top to toe, 'teacher
+up there mus' be purty ha'sh.'
+
+'It wa'n't the teacher,' I said.
+
+'Must have fit then.'
+
+'Fit hard,' I answered, laughing.
+
+'Try t' walk on ye?'
+
+'Tried t' walk on me. Took several steps too,' I said stooping to brush
+my trousers.
+
+'Hm! guess he found it ruther bad walkin' didn't he?' my old friend
+enquired. 'Leetle bit rough in spots?'
+
+'Little bit rough, Uncle Eb--that's certain.'
+
+'Better not go hum,' he said, a great relief in his face. 'Look 's if
+ye'd been chopped down an' sawed--an' split--an' throwed in a pile. I'll
+go an' bring over some things fer ye.'
+
+I went with my friend, who had suffered less damage, and Uncle Eb
+brought me what I needed to look more respectable than I felt.
+
+The president, great and good man that he was, forgave us, finally,
+after many interviews and such wholesome reproof as made us all ashamed
+of our folly.
+
+In my second year, at college, Hope went away to continue her studies
+in New York She was to live in the family of John Fuller, a friend of
+David, who had left Faraway years before and made his fortune there in
+the big city. Her going filled my days with a lingering and pervasive
+sadness. I saw in it sometimes the shadow of a heavier loss than I dared
+to contemplate. She had come home once a week from Ogdensburg and I had
+always had a letter between times. She was ambitious and, I fancy, they
+let her go, so that there should be no danger of any turning aside from
+the plan of my life, or of hers; for they knew our hearts as well as we
+knew them and possibly better.
+
+We had the parlour to ourselves the evening before she went away, and I
+read her a little love tale I had written especially for that occasion.
+It gave us some chance to discuss the absorbing and forbidden topic of
+our lives.
+
+'He's too much afraid of her,' she said, 'he ought to put his arm about
+her waist in that love scene.'
+
+'Like that,' I said, suiting the action to the word.
+
+'About like that,' she answered, laughing, 'and then he ought to say
+something very, very, nice to her before he proposes--something about
+his having loved her for so long--you know.'
+
+'And how about her?' I asked, my arm still about her waist.
+
+'If she really loves him,' Hope answered, 'she would put her arms about
+his neck and lay her head upon his shoulder, so; and then he might say
+what is in the story.' She was smiling now as she looked up at me.
+
+'And kiss her?'
+
+'And kiss her,' she whispered; and, let me add, that part of the scene
+was in nowise neglected.
+
+'And when he says: "will you wait for me and keep me always in your
+heart?" what should be her answer,' I continued.
+
+'Always!' she said.
+
+'Hope, this is our own story,' I whispered. 'Does it need any further
+correction?'
+
+'It's too short--that's all,' she answered, as our lips met again.
+
+Just then Uncle Eb opened the door, suddenly.
+
+'Tut tut!' he said tuning quickly about
+
+'Come in, Uncle Eb,' said Hope, 'come right in, we want to see you.
+
+In a moment she had caught him by the arm.
+
+'Don' want 'o break up the meetin',' said he laughing.
+
+'We don't care if you do know,' said Hope, 'we're not ashamed of it.'
+
+'Hain't got no cause t' be,' he said. 'Go it while ye're young 'n full
+'o vinegar! That's what I say every time. It's the best fun there is. I
+thought I'd like t' hev ye both come up t' my room, fer a minute, 'fore
+yer mother 'n father come back,' he said in a low tone that was almost a
+whisper.
+
+Then he shut one eye, suggestively, and beckoned with his head, as we
+followed him up the stairway to the little room in which he slept. He
+knelt by the bed and pulled out the old skin-covered trunk that David
+Brower had given him soon after we came. He felt a moment for the
+keyhole, his hand trembling, and then I helped him open the trunk.
+From under that sacred suit of broadcloth, worn only on the grandest
+occasions, he fetched a bundle about the size of a man's head. It was
+tied in a big red handkerchief. We were both sitting on the floor beside
+him.
+
+'Heft it,' he whispered.
+
+I did so and found it heavier than I expected.
+
+'What is it?' I asked.
+
+'Spondoolix,' he whispered.
+
+Then he untied the bundle--a close packed hoard of bankbills with some
+pieces of gold and silver at the bottom.
+
+'Hain't never hed no use fer it,' he said as he drew out a layer
+of greenbacks and spread them with trembling fingers. Then he began
+counting them slowly and carefully.
+
+'There!' he whispered, when at length he had counted a hundred dollars.
+'There Hope! take thet an' put it away in yer wallet. Might come handy
+when ye're 'way fr'm hum.'
+
+She kissed him tenderly.
+
+'Put it 'n yer wallet an' say nothin'--not a word t' nobody,' he said.
+
+Then he counted over a like amount for me.
+
+'Say nothin',' he said, looking up at me over his spectacles. 'Ye'll hev
+t' spile a suit o' clothes purty often if them fellers keep a fightin'
+uv ye all the time.'
+
+Father and mother were coming in below stairs and, hearing them, we
+helped Uncle Eb tie up his bundle and stow it away. Then we went down to
+meet them.
+
+Next morning we bade Hope goodbye at the cars and returned to our home
+with a sense of loss that, for long, lay heavy upon us all.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 27
+
+Uncle Eb and David were away buying cattle, half the week, but Elizabeth
+Brower was always at home to look after my comfort. She was up betimes
+in the morning and singing at her work long before I was out of bed.
+When the breakfast was near ready she came to my door with a call so
+fall of cheerfulness and good-nature it was the best thing in the day.
+And often, at night, I have known her to come into my room when I was
+lying awake with some hard problem, to see that I was properly covered
+or that my window was not open too far. As we sat alone together, of
+an evening, I have seen her listen for hours while I was committing the
+Odes of Horace with a curiosity that finally gave way to resignation.
+Sometimes she would look over my shoulder at the printed page and try to
+discern some meaning in it. When Uncle Eb was with us he would often sit
+a long time his head turned attentively as the lines came rattling off
+my tongue.
+
+'Cur'us talk!' he said, one evening, as I paused a moment, while he
+crossed the room for a drink of water. 'Don' seem t' make no kind O'
+sense. I can make out a word here 'n there but fer good, sound, common
+sense I call it a purty thin crop.'
+
+Hope wrote me every week for a time. A church choir had offered her a
+place soon after she went to the big city. She came home intending to
+surprise us all, the first summer but unfortunately, I had gone away in
+the woods with a party of surveyors and missed her. We were a month in
+the wilderness and came out a little west of Albany where I took a boat
+for New York to see Hope. I came down the North River between the great
+smoky cities, on either side of it, one damp and chilly morning. The
+noise, the crowds, the immensity of the town appalled me. At John
+Fuller's I found that Hope had gone home and while they tried to detain
+me longer I came back on the night boat of the same day. Hope and I
+passed each other in that journey and I did not see her until the summer
+preceding my third and last year in college--the faculty having allowed
+me to take two years in one. Her letters had come less frequently and
+when she came I saw a grand young lady of fine manners, her beauty
+shaping to an ampler mould, her form straightening to the dignity of
+womanhood.
+
+At the depot our hands were cold and trembling with excitement--neither
+of us, I fancy, knowing quite how far to go in our greeting. Our
+correspondence had been true to the promise made her mother--there had
+not been a word of love in it--only now and then a suggestion of our
+tender feeling. We hesitated only for the briefest moment. Then I put my
+arm about her neck and kissed her.
+
+'I am so glad to see you,' she said.
+
+Well, she was charming and beautiful, but different, and probably
+not more different than was I. She was no longer the laughing,
+simple-mannered child of Faraway, whose heart was as one's hand before
+him in the daylight. She had now a bit of the woman's reserve--her
+prudence, her skill in hiding the things of the heart. I loved her more
+than ever, but somehow I felt it hopeless--that she had grown out of my
+life. She was much in request among the people of Hillsborough, and we
+went about a good deal and had many callers. But we had little time to
+ourselves. She seemed to avoid that, and had much to say of the grand
+young men who came to call on her in the great city. Anyhow it all hurt
+me to the soul and even robbed me of my sleep. A better lover than
+I would have made an end of dallying and got at the truth, come what
+might. But I was of the Puritans, and not of the Cavaliers, and my way
+was that which God had marked for me, albeit I must own no man had ever
+a keener eye for a lovely woman or more heart to please her. A mighty
+pride had come to me and I had rather have thrown my heart to vultures
+than see it an unwelcome offering. And I was quite out of courage with
+Hope; she, I dare say, was as much out of patience with me.
+
+She returned in the late summer and I went back to my work at college in
+a hopeless fashion that gave way under the whip of a strong will.
+
+I made myself as contented as possible. I knew all the pretty girls
+and went about with some of them to the entertainments of the college
+season. At last came the long looked for day of my graduation--the end
+of my student life.
+
+The streets of the town were thronged, every student having the college
+colours in his coat lapel. The little company of graduates trembled with
+fright as the people crowded in to the church, whispering and faring
+themselves, in eager anticipation. As the former looked from the two
+side pews where they sat, many familiar faces greeted them--the faces
+of fathers and mothers aglow with the inner light of pride and pleasure;
+the faces of many they loved come to claim a share in the glory of that
+day. I found my own, I remember, but none of them gave me such help as
+that of Uncle Eb. However I might fare, none would feel the pride or
+disgrace of it more keenly than he. I shall never forget how he turned
+his head to catch every word when I ascended the platform. As I warmed
+to my argument I could see him nudging the arm of David, who sat beside
+him, as if to say, 'There's the boy that came over the hills with me in
+a pack basket.' When I stopped a moment, groping for the next word, he
+leaned forward, embracing his knee, firmly, as if intending to draw off
+a boot. It was all the assistance he could give me. When the exercises
+were over I found Uncle Eb by the front door of the church, waiting for
+me.
+
+'Willie, ye done noble!' said he.
+
+'Did my very best, Uncle Eb,' I replied.
+
+'Liked it grand--I did, sartin.' 'Glad you liked it, Uncle Eb.'
+
+'Showed great larnin'. Eho was the man 'at give out the pictur's?'
+
+He meant the president who had conferred the degrees. I spoke the name.
+
+'Deceivin' lookin' man, ain't he? Seen him often, but never took no
+pertick'lar notice of him before.'
+
+'How deceiving?' I enquired.
+
+'Talked so kind of plain,' he replied. 'I could understan' him as easy
+as though he'd been swappin' hosses. But when you got up, Bill'. Why,
+you jes' riz right up in the air an' there couldn't no dum fool tell
+what you was talkin' 'bout.'
+
+Whereat I concluded that Uncle Eb's humour was as deep as it was kindly,
+but I have never been quite sure whether the remark was a compliment or
+a bit of satire.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 28
+
+The folks of Faraway have been carefully if rudely pictured, but the
+look of my own person, since I grew to the stature of manhood, I have
+left wholly to the imagination of the reader. I will wager he knew long
+since what manner of man I was and has measured me to the fraction of an
+inch, and knows even the colour of my hair and eyes from having been so
+long in my company. If not--well, I shall have to write him a letter.
+
+When Uncle Eb and I took the train for New York that summer day in 1860,
+some fifteen years after we came down Paradise Road with the dog and
+wagon and pack basket, my head, which, in that far day, came only to
+the latitude of his trouser pocket, had now mounted six inches above
+his own. That is all I can say here on that branch of my subject. I
+was leaving to seek my fortune in the big city; Uncle Eb was off for a
+holiday and to see Hope and bring her home for a short visit. I remember
+with what sadness I looked back that morning at mother and father as
+they stood by the gate slowly waving their handkerchiefs. Our home at
+last was emptied of its young, and even as they looked the shadow of old
+age must have fallen suddenly before them. I knew how they would go back
+into that lonely room and how, while the clock went on with its ticking,
+Elizabeth would sit down and cover her face a moment, while David would
+make haste to take up his chores.
+
+We sat in silence a long time after the train was off, a mighty sadness
+holding our tongues. Uncle Eb, who had never ridden a long journey on
+the cars before, had put on his grand suit of broadcloth. The day was
+hot and dusty, and before we had gone far he was sadly soiled. But a
+suit never gave him any worry, once it was on. He sat calmly, holding
+his knee in his hands and looking out of the open window, a squint in
+his eyes that stood for some high degree of interest in the scenery.
+
+'What do you think of this country?' I enquired.
+
+'Looks purty fair,' said he, as he brushed his face with his
+handkerchief and coughed to clear his throat of the dust, 'but 'tain't
+quite so pleasant to the taste as some other parts o' the country. I
+ruther liked the flavour of Saint Lawrence all through, but Jefferson is
+a leetle gritty.'
+
+He put down the window as he spoke.
+
+'A leetle tobaccer'll improve it some,' he added, as his hand went down
+for the old silver box. 'The way these cars dew rip along! Consarned if
+it ain't like flyin'! Kind o' makes me feel like a bird.'
+
+The railroad was then not the familiar thing it is now in the north
+country. The bull in the fields had not yet come to an understanding of
+its rights, and was frequently tempted into argument with a locomotive.
+Bill Fountain, who came out of a back township, one day had even tied
+his faithful hound to the rear platform.
+
+Our train came to a long stop for wood and water near midday, and then
+we opened the lunch basket that mother had given us.
+
+'Neighbour,' said a solemn-faced man, who sat in front of us, 'do you
+think the cars are ag'in the Bible? D'you think a Christian orter ride
+on 'em?'
+
+'Sartin,' said Uncle Eb. 'Less the constable's after him--then I think
+he orter be on a balky hoss.'
+
+'Wife'n I hes talked it over a good deal,' said the man. 'Some says it's
+ag'in the Bible. The minister 'at preaches over 'n our neighbourhood
+says if God hed wanted men t' fly he'd g'in 'em wings.'
+
+'S'pose if he'd ever wanted 'm t' skate he'd hed 'em born with skates
+on?' said Uncle Eb.
+
+'Danno,' said the man. 'It behooves us all to be careful. The Bible says
+"Go not after new things."'
+
+'My friend,' said Uncle Eb, between bites of a doughnut, 'I don'
+care what I ride in so long as 'tain't a hearse. I want sumthin' at's
+comfortable an' purty middlin' spry. It'll do us good up here t' git
+jerked a few hunderd miles an' back ev'ry leetle while. Keep our j'ints
+limber. We'll live longer fer it, an' thet'll please God sure--cuz I
+don't think he's hankerin' fer our society--not a bit. Don' make no
+difference t' him whuther we ride 'n a spring wagon er on the cars so
+long's we're right side up 'n movin'. We need more steam; we're too dum
+slow. Kind o' think a leetle more steam in our religion wouldn't hurt us
+a bit. It's purty fur behind.'
+
+We got to Albany in the evening, just in time for the night boat. Uncle
+Eb was a sight in his dusty broadcloth, when we got off the cars, and
+I know my appearance could not have been prepossessing. Once we were
+aboard the boat and had dusted our clothes and bathed our hands and
+faces we were in better spirits.
+
+'Consarn it!' said Uncle Eb, as we left the washroom, 'le's have a durn
+good supper. I'll stan' treat.'
+
+'Comes a leetle bit high,' he said, as he paid the bill, 'but I don'
+care if it does. 'Fore we left I says t' myself, "Uncle Eb," says
+I, "you go right in fer a good time an' don' ye count the pennies.
+Everybody's a right t' be reckless once in seventy-five year."'
+
+We went to our stateroom a little after nine. I remember the berths had
+not been made up, and removing our boots and coats we lay down upon
+the bare mattresses. Even then I had a lurking fear that we might be
+violating some rule of steamboat etiquette. When I went to New York
+before I had dozed all night in the big cabin.
+
+A dim light came through the shuttered door that opened upon the
+dinning-saloon where the rattle of dishes for a time put away the
+possibility of sleep.
+
+'I'll be awful glad t' see Hope,' said Uncle Eb, as he lay gaping.
+
+'Guess I'll be happier to see her than she will to see me,' I said.
+
+'What put that in yer head?' Uncle Eb enquired.
+
+''Fraid we've got pretty far apart,' said I.
+
+'Shame on ye, Bill,' said the old gentleman. 'If thet's so ye ain't done
+right. Hedn't orter let a girl like thet git away from ye--th' ain't
+another like her in this world.'
+
+'I know it' I said' 'but I can't help it. Somebody's cut me out Uncle
+Eb.'
+
+''Tain't so,' said he emphatically. 'Ye want t' prance right up t' her.'
+
+'I'm not afraid of any woman,' I said, with a great air of bravery, 'but
+if she don't care for me I ought not to throw myself at her.'
+
+'Jerusalem!' said Uncle Eb, rising up suddenly, 'what hev I gone an'
+done?'
+
+He jumped out of his berth quickly and in the dim light I could see him
+reaching for several big sheets of paper adhering to the back of his
+shirt and trousers. I went quickly to his assistance and began
+stripping off the broadsheets which, covered with some strongly adhesive
+substance, had laid a firm hold upon him. I rang the bell and ordered a
+light.
+
+'Consam it all! what be they--plasters?' said Uncle Eb, quite out of
+patience.
+
+'Pieces of brown paper, covered with--West India molasses, I should
+think,' said I.
+
+'West Injy molasses!' he exclaimed. 'By mighty! That makes me hotter'n a
+pancake. What's it on the bed fer?'
+
+'To catch flies,' I answered.
+
+'An' ketched me,' said Uncle Eb, as he flung the sheet he was examining
+into a corner. 'My extry good suit' too!'
+
+He took off his trousers, then, holding them up to the light.
+
+'They're sp'ilt,' said he mournfully. 'Hed 'em fer more'n ten year,
+too.'
+
+'That's long enough,' I suggested.
+
+'Got kind o' 'tached to 'em,' he said, looking down at them and rubbing
+his chin thoughtfully. Then we had a good laugh.
+
+'You can put on the other suit,' I suggested, 'and when we get to the
+city we'll have these fixed.'
+
+'Leetle sorry, though,' said he, 'cuz that other suit don' look reel
+grand. This here one has been purty--purty scrumptious in its day--if I
+do say it.'
+
+'You look good enough in anything that's respectable,' I said.
+
+'Kind o' wanted to look a leetle extry good, as ye might say,' said
+Uncle Eb, groping in his big carpet-bag. 'Hope, she's terrible proud,
+an' if they should hev a leetle fiddlin' an' dancin' some night we'd
+want t' be as stylish as any on em. B'lieve I'll go'n git me a spang,
+bran' new suit, anyway, 'fore we go up t' Fuller's.'
+
+As we neared the city we both began feeling a bit doubtful as to whether
+we were quite ready for the ordeal.
+
+'I ought to,' I said. 'Those I'm wearing aren't quite stylish enough,
+I'm afraid.'
+
+'They're han'some,' said Uncle Eb, looking up over his spectacles, 'but
+mebbe they ain't just as splendid as they'd orter be. How much money did
+David give ye?'
+
+'One hundred and fifty dollars,' I said, thinking it a very grand sum
+indeed.
+
+''Tain't enough,' said Uncle Eb, bolting up at me again. 'Leastways not
+if ye're goin' t' hev a new suit. I want ye t' be spick an' span.'
+
+He picked up his trousers then, and took out his fat leather wallet.
+
+'Lock the door,' he whispered.
+
+'Pop goes the weasel!' he exclaimed, good-naturedly, and then he began
+counting the bills.
+
+'I'm not going to take any more of your money, Uncle Eb,' I said.
+
+'Tut, tut!' said he, 'don't ye try t' interfere. What d' ye think
+they'll charge in the city fer a reel, splendid suit?'
+
+He stopped and looked up at me.
+
+'Probably as much as fifty dollars,' I answered.
+
+'Whew-w-w!' he whistled. 'Patty steep! It is sartin.'
+
+'Let me go as I am,' said I. 'Time enough to have a new suit when I've
+earned it.'
+
+'Wall,' he said, as he continued counting, 'I guess you've earnt it
+already. Ye've studied hard an' tuk first honours an' yer goin' where
+folks are purty middlin' proud'n haughty. I want ye t' be a reg'lar high
+stepper, with a nice, slick coat. There,' he whispered, as he handed me
+the money, 'take thet! An' don't ye never tell 'at I g'in it t' ye.'
+
+I could not speak for a little while, as I took the money, for thinking
+of the many, many things this grand old man had done for me.
+
+'Do ye think these boots'll do?' he asked, as he held up to the light
+the pair he had taken off in the evening.
+
+'They look all right,' I said.
+
+'Ain't got no decent squeak to 'em now, an' they seem t' look kind o'
+clumsy. How're your'n?' he asked.
+
+I got them out from under the berth and we inspected them carefully
+deciding in the end they would pass muster.
+
+The steward had made up our berths, when he came, and lit our room for
+us. Our feverish discussion of attire had carried us far past midnight,
+when we decided to go to bed.
+
+'S'pose we musn't talk t' no strangers there 'n New York,' said Uncle
+Eb, as he lay down. 'I've read 'n the Tribune how they'll purtend t' be
+friends an' then grab yer money an' run like Sam Hill. If I meet any o'
+them fellers they're goin' t' find me purty middlin' poor comp'ny.'
+
+We were up and on deck at daylight, viewing the Palisades. The lonely
+feeling of an alien hushed us into silence as we came to the noisy and
+thickening river craft at the upper end of the city. Countless window
+panes were shining in the morning sunlight. This thought was in my mind
+that somewhere in the innumerable host on either side was the one dearer
+to me than any other. We enquired our way at the dock and walked to
+French's Hotel, on Printing House Square. After breakfast we went and
+ordered all the grand new things we had planned to get. They would not
+be ready for two days, and after talking it over we decided to go and
+make a short call. Hope, who had been up and looking for us a long
+time, gave us a greeting so hearty we began to get the first feeling of
+comfort since landing. She was put out about our having had breakfast, I
+remember, and said we must have our things brought there at once.
+
+'I shall have to stay at the hotel awhile,' I said, thinking of the new
+clothes.
+
+'Why,' said Mrs Fuller, 'this girl has been busy a week fixing your
+rooms and planning for you. We could not hear of your going elsewhere.
+It would be downright ingratitude to her.'
+
+A glow of red came into the cheeks of Hope that made me ashamed of my
+remark. I thought she looked lovelier in her pretty blue morning gown,
+covering a broad expanse of crinoline, than ever before.
+
+'And you've both got to come and hear me sing tonight at the church,'
+said she. 'I wouldn't have agreed to sing if I had not thought you were
+to be here.'
+
+We made ourselves at home, as we were most happy to do, and that
+afternoon I went down town to present to Mr Greeley the letter that
+David Brower had given me.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 29
+
+I came down Broadway that afternoon aboard a big white omnibus, that
+drifted slowly in a tide of many vehicles. Those days there were a
+goodly show of trees on either side of that thoroughfare--elms, with
+here and there a willow, a sumach or a mountain ash. The walks were
+thronged with handsome people--dandies with high hats and flaunting
+neckties and swinging canes--beautiful women, each covering a broad
+circumference of the pavement, with a cone of crinoline that swayed over
+dainty feet. From Grace Church down it was much of the same thing we see
+now, with a more ragged sky line. Many of the great buildings, of white
+and red sandstone, had then appeared, but the street was largely in the
+possession of small shops--oyster houses, bookstores and the like. Not
+until I neared the sacred temple of the Tribune did I feel a proper
+sense of my own littleness. There was the fountain of all that wisdom
+which had been read aloud and heard with reverence in our household
+since a time I could but dimly remember. There sat the prophet who had
+given us so much--his genial views of life and government, his hopes,
+his fears, his mighty wrath at the prospering of cruelty and injustice.
+
+'I would like to see Mr Horace Greeley,' I said, rather timidly, at the
+counter.
+
+'Walk right up those stairs and turn to the left,' said a clerk, as he
+opened a gate for me.
+
+Ascending, I met a big man coming down, hurriedly, and with heavy steps.
+We stood dodging each other a moment with that unfortunate co-ordination
+of purpose men sometimes encounter when passing each other. Suddenly the
+big man stopped in the middle of the stairway and held both of his hands
+above his head.
+
+'In God's name! young man,' said he, 'take your choice.'
+
+He spoke in a high, squeaky voice that cut me with the sharpness of its
+irritation. I went on past him and entered an open door near the top of
+the stairway.
+
+'Is Mr Horace Greeley in?' I enquired of a young man who sat reading
+papers.
+
+'Back soon,' said he, without looking up. 'Take a chair.'
+
+In a little while I heard the same heavy feet ascending the stairway two
+steps at a time. Then the man I had met came hurriedly into the room.
+
+'This is Mr Greeley,' said the young man who was reading.
+
+The great editor turned and looked at me through gold-rimmed spectacles.
+I gave him my letter out of a trembling hand. He removed it from the
+envelope and held it close to his big, kindly, smooth-shaven face. There
+was a fringe of silky, silver hair, streaked with yellow, about the
+lower part of his head from temple to temple. It also encircled his
+throat from under his collar. His cheeks were fall and fair as a lady's,
+with rosy spots in them and a few freckles about his nose. He laughed as
+he finished reading the letter.
+
+'Are you Dave Brower's boy?' he asked in a drawling falsetto, looking at
+me out of grey eyes and smiling with good humour.
+
+'By adoption,' I answered.'
+
+'He was an almighty good rassler,' he said, deliberately, as he looked
+again at the letter.'
+
+'What do you want to do?' he asked abruptly.'
+
+'Want to work on the Tribune,' I answered.'
+
+'Good Lord! he said. 'I can't hire everybody.'
+
+I tried to think of some argument, but what with looking at the great
+man before me, and answering his questions and maintaining a decent show
+of dignity, I had enough to do.
+
+'Do you read the Tribune? he asked.'
+
+'Read it ever since I can remember.'
+
+'What do you think of the administration?
+
+'Lot of dough faces! I answered, smiling, as I saw he recognised his own
+phrase. He sat a moment tapping the desk with his penholder.'
+
+'There's so many liars here in New York,' he said, 'there ought to be
+room for an honest man. How are the crops?'
+
+'Fair, I answered. 'Big crop of boys every year.'
+
+'And now you're trying to find a market, he remarked.'
+
+'Want to have you try them,' I answered.
+
+'Well,' said he, very seriously, turning to his desk that came up to his
+chin as he sat beside it, 'go and write me an article about rats.'
+
+'Would you advise-,' I started to say, when he interrupted me.
+
+'The man that gives advice is a bigger fool than the man that takes it,'
+he fleered impatiently. 'Go and do your best!'
+
+Before he had given me this injunction he had dipped his pen and begun
+to write hurriedly. If I had known him longer I should have known that,
+while he had been talking to me, that tireless mind of his had summoned
+him to its service. I went out, in high spirits, and sat down a moment
+on one of the benches in the little park near by, to think it all
+over. He was going to measure my judgement, my skill as a writer--my
+resources. 'Rats,' I said to myself thoughtfully. I had read much about
+them. They infested the ships, they overran the wharves, they traversed
+the sewers. An inspiration came to me. I started for the waterfront,
+asking my way every block or two. Near the East River I met a
+policeman--a big, husky, good-hearted Irishman.
+
+'Can you tell me,' I said, 'who can give me information about rats?'
+
+'Rats?' he repeated. 'What d' ye wan't' know about thim?'
+
+'Everything,' I said. 'They've just given me a job on the New York
+Tribune,' I added proudly.
+
+He smiled good-naturedly. He had looked through me at a glance.
+
+'Just say "Tribune",' he said. 'Ye don't have t' say "New York Tribune"
+here. Come along wi' me.'
+
+He took me to a dozen or more of the dock masters.
+
+'Give 'im a lift, my hearty,' he said to the first of them. 'He's a
+green.'
+
+I have never forgotten the kindness of that Irishman, whom I came to
+know well in good time. Remembering that day and others I always greeted
+him with a hearty 'God bless the Irish!' every time I passed him, and he
+would answer, 'Amen, an' save yer riverince.'
+
+He did not leave me until I was on my way home loaded with fact and
+fable and good dialect with a savour of the sea in it.
+
+Hope and Uncle Eb were sitting together in his room when I returned.
+
+'Guess I've got a job,' I said, trying to be very cool about it..
+
+'A job! said Hope eagerly, as she rose. 'Where?
+
+'With Mr Horace Greeley,' I answered, my voice betraying my excitement.
+
+'Jerusalem! said Uncle Eb. 'Is it possible?'
+
+'That's grand! said Hope. 'Tell us about it.'
+
+Then I told them of my interview with the great editor and of what I had
+done since.
+
+'Ye done wonderful!' said Uncle Eb and Hope showed quite as much
+pleasure in her own sweet way.
+
+I was for going to my room and beginning to write at once, but Hope said
+it was time to be getting ready for dinner.
+
+When we came down at half-past six we were presented to our host and the
+guests of the evening--handsome men and women in full dress--and young
+Mr Livingstone was among them. I felt rather cheap in my frock coat,
+although I had thought it grand enough for anybody on the day of my
+graduation. Dinner announced, the gentlemen rose and offered escort
+to the ladies, and Hope and Mrs Fuller relieved our embarrassment
+by conducting us to our seats--women are so deft in those little
+difficulties. The dinner was not more formal than that of every evening
+in the Fuller home--for its master was a rich man of some refinement of
+taste--and not at all comparable to the splendid hospitality one may
+see every day at the table of a modern millionaire. But it did seem very
+wonderful to us, then, with its fine-mannered servants, its flowers, its
+abundant silver. Hope had written much to her mother of the details of
+deportment at John Fuller's table, and Elizabeth had delicately imparted
+to us the things we ought to know. We behaved well, I have since been
+told, although we got credit for poorer appetites than we possessed.
+Uncle Eb took no chances and refused everything that had a look of
+mystery and a suggestion of peril, dropping a droll remark, betimes,
+that sent a ripple of amusement around the table.
+
+John Trumbull sat opposite me, and even then I felt a curious interest
+in him--a big, full bearded man, quite six feet tall, his skin and eyes
+dark, his hair iron-grey, his voice deep like David s. I could not get
+over the impression that I had seen him before--a feeling I have had
+often, facing men I could never possibly have met. No word came out
+of his firm mouth unless he were addressed, and then all in hearing
+listened to the little he had to say: it was never more than some
+very simple remark. In his face and form and voice there was abundant
+heraldry of rugged power and ox-like vitality. I have seen a bronze head
+of Daniel Webster which, with a full blonde beard and an ample covering
+of grey hair would have given one a fairly perfect idea of the look of
+John Trumbull. Imagine it on a tall, and powerful body and let it speak
+with a voice that has in it the deep and musical vibration one may hear
+in the looing of an ox and you shall see, as perfectly as my feeble
+words can help you to do, this remarkable man who, must, hereafter,
+play before you his part--compared to which mine is as the prattle of a
+child--in this drama of God's truth.
+
+'You have not heard,' said Mrs Fuller addressing me, 'how Mr Trumbull
+saved Hope's life.'
+
+'Saved Hope's life!' I exclaimed.
+
+'Saved her life,' she repeated, 'there isn't a doubt of it. We never
+sent word of it for fear it would give you all needless worry. It was a
+day of last winter--fell crossing Broadway, a dangerous place' he pulled
+her aside just in time--the horse's feet were raised above her--she
+would have been crushed in a moment He lifted her in his arms and
+carried her to the sidewalk not a bit the worse for it.
+
+'Seems as if it were fate,' said Hope. 'I had seen him so often and
+wondered who he was. I recall a night when I had to come home alone from
+rehearsal. I was horribly afraid. I remember passing him under a street
+lamp. If he had spoken to me, then, I should have dropped with fear and
+he would have had to carry me home that time.
+
+'It's an odd thing a girl like you should ever have to walk home alone,'
+said Mr Fuller. 'Doesn't speak well for our friend Livingstone or
+Burnham there or Dobbs.
+
+'Mrs Fuller doesn't give us half a chance,' said Livingstone, 'she
+guards her day and night. It's like the monks and the Holy Grail.
+
+'Hope is independent of the young men,' said Mrs Fuller as we rose from
+the table. 'If I cannot go with her myself, in the carriage, I always
+send a maid or a manservant to walk home with her. But Mr Fuller and
+I were out of town that night and the young men missed their great
+opportunity.
+
+'Had a differ'nt way o' sparkin' years ago,' said Uncle Eb. 'Didn't
+never hev it please anybody but the girl then. If ye liked a girl ye
+went an' sot up with her an' gin her a smack an' tol' her right out
+plain an' square what ye wanted. An' thet settled it one way er t'
+other. An' her mother she step' in the next room with the door half-open
+an' never paid no 'tention. Recollec' one col'night when I was sparkin'
+the mother hollered out o' bed, "Lucy, hev ye got anythin 'round ye?"
+an' she hollered back, "Yis, mother," an' she hed too but 'twan't
+nothin' but my arm.'
+
+They laughed merrily, over the quaint reminiscence of my old friend
+and the quainter way he had of telling it. The rude dialect of the
+backwoodsman might have seemed oddly out of place, there, but for the
+quiet, unassuming manner and the fine old face of Uncle Eb in which the
+dullest eye might see the soul of a gentleman.
+
+'What became of Lucy?' Mr Fuller enquired, laughingly. 'You never
+married her.'
+
+'Lucy died,' he answered soberly; 'thet was long, long ago.'
+
+Then he went away with John Trumbull to the smoking-room where I found
+them, talking earnestly in a corner, when it was time to go to the
+church with Hope.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 30
+
+Hope and Uncle Eb and I went away in a coach with Mrs Fuller. There
+was a great crowd in the church that covered, with sweeping arches, an
+interior more vast than any I had ever entered. Hope was gowned in
+white silk, a crescent of diamonds in her hair--a birthday gift from
+Mrs Fuller; her neck and a part of her full breast unadorned by anything
+save the gifts of God--their snowy whiteness, their lovely curves.
+
+First Henry Cooper came on with his violin--a great master as I now
+remember him. Then Hope ascended to the platform, her dainty kid
+slippers showing under her gown, and the odious Livingstone escorting
+her. I was never so madly in love or so insanely jealous. I must confess
+it for I am trying to tell the whole truth of myself--I was a fool. And
+it is the greater folly that one says ever 'I was,' and never 'I am' in
+that plea. I could even see it myself then and there, but I was so great
+a fool I smiled and spoke fairly to the young man although I could have
+wrung his neck with rage. There was a little stir and a passing whisper
+in the crowd as she stood waiting for the prelude. Then she sang the
+ballad of Auld Robin Grey--not better than I had heard her sing it
+before, but so charmingly there were murmurs of delight going far and
+wide in the audience when she had finished. Then she sang the fine
+melody of 'Angels ever Bright and Fair', and again the old ballad she
+and I had heard first from the violin of poor Nick Goodall.
+
+
+  By yon bonnie bank an' by yon bonnie bonnie brae
+  The sun shines bright on Loch Lomond
+  Where me an' me true love were ever won't if gae
+  On the bonnie, bonnie bank o' Loch Lomond.
+
+Great baskets of roses were handed to her as she came down from the
+platform and my confusion was multiplied by their number for I had not
+thought to bring any myself.
+
+I turned to Uncle Eb who, now and then, had furtively wiped his eyes.
+'My stars!' he whispered, 'ain't it reemarkable grand! Never heard ner
+seen nothin' like thet in all my born days. An' t' think it's my little
+Hope.'
+
+He could go no further. His handkerchief was in his hand while he took
+refuge in silence.
+
+Going home the flowers were heaped upon our laps and I, with Hope beside
+me, felt some restoration of comfort.
+
+'Did you see Trumbull?' Mrs Fuller asked. 'He sat back of us and did
+seem to enjoy it so much--your singing. He was almost cheerful.
+
+'Tell me about Mr Trumbull,' I said. 'He is interesting.
+
+'Speculator,' said Mrs Fuller. 'A strange man, successful, silent,
+unmarried and, I think, in love. Has beautiful rooms they say on
+Gramercy Park. Lives alone with an old servant. We got to know him
+through the accident. Mr Fuller and he have done business together--a
+great deal of it since then. Operates in the stock market.
+
+A supper was waiting for us at home and we sat a long time at the table.
+I was burning for a talk with Hope but how was I to manage it? We rose
+with the others and went and sat down together in a corner of the great
+parlour. We talked of that night at the White Church in Faraway when we
+heard Nick Goodall play and she had felt the beginning of a new life.
+
+'I've heard how well you did last year,' she said, 'and how nice you
+were to the girls. A friend wrote me all about it. How attentive you
+were to that little Miss Brown!
+
+'But decently polite,' I answered. 'One has to have somebody or--or be a
+monk.
+
+'One has to have somebody!' she said, quickly, as she picked at the
+flower on her bosom and looked down at it soberly. 'That is true one
+has to have somebody and, you know, I haven't had any lack of company
+myself. By the way, I have news to tell you.
+
+She spoke slowly and in a low voice with a touch of sadness in it. I
+felt the colour mounting to my face.
+
+'News!' I repeated. 'What news, I-lope?
+
+'I am going away to England,' she said, 'with Mrs Fuller if--if mother
+will let me. I wish you would write and ask her to let me go.
+
+I was unhorsed. What to say I knew not, what it meant I could vaguely
+imagine. There was a moment of awkward silence.
+
+'Of course I will ask her if you wish to go,' I said. 'When do you sail?
+
+'They haven't fixed the day yet.
+
+She sat looking down at her fan, a beautiful, filmy thing between braces
+of ivory. Her knees were crossed, one dainty foot showing under ruffles
+of lace. I looked at her a moment dumb with admiration.
+
+'What a big man you have grown to be Will,' she said presently. 'I am
+almost afraid of you now.
+
+She was still looking down at the fan and that little foot was moving
+nervously. Now was my time. I began framing an avowal. I felt a wild
+impulse to throw my strong arms about her and draw her close to me and
+feel the pink velvet of her fair face upon mine. If I had only done it!
+But what with the strangeness and grandeur of that big room, the voices
+of the others who were sitting in the library, near by, the mystery of
+the spreading crinoline that was pressing upon my knees, I had not half
+the courage of a lover.
+
+'My friend writes me that you are in love,' she said, opening her fan
+and moving it slowly, as she looked up at me.
+
+'She is right I must confess it,' I said, 'I am madly, hopelessly in
+love. It is time you knew it Hope and I want your counsel.
+
+She rose quickly and turned her face away.
+
+'Do not tell me--do not speak of it again--I forbid you,' she answered
+coldly.
+
+Then she stood silent. I rose to take her hand and ask her to tell me
+why, a pretty rankling in my heart, Soft footsteps and the swish of a
+gown were approaching. Before I could speak Mrs Fuller had come through
+the doorway.
+
+'Come Hope,' she said, 'I cannot let you sit up late--you are worn out,
+my dear.
+
+Then Hope bade us both good-night and went away to her room. If I had
+known as much about women then, as now, I should have had it out, with
+short delay, to some understanding between us. But in that subject one
+loves and learns. And one thing I have learned is this, that jealousy
+throws its illusions on every word and look and act. I went to my room
+and sat down for a bit of reckoning. Hope had ceased to love me, I felt
+sure, and how was I to win her back?
+
+After all my castle building what was I come to?
+
+I heard my door open presently, and then I lifted my head. Uncle Eb
+stood near me in his stocking feet and shirt-sleeves.
+
+'In trouble,' he whispered.
+
+'In trouble,' I said.
+
+''Bout Hope?'
+
+'It's about Hope.'
+
+'Don't be hasty. Hope'll never go back on you,' he whispered. 'She
+doesn't love me,' I said impulsively. 'She doesn't care the snap of her
+finger for me.
+
+'Don't believe it,' he answered calmly. 'Not a single word of it.
+Thet woman--she's tryin' t' keep her away from ye--but 'twon't make no
+differ'nce. Not a bit.
+
+'I must try to win her back--someway--somehow,' I whispered.
+
+'Gi n ye the mitten?' he asked.
+
+'That's about it,' I answered, going possibly too far in the depth of my
+feeling.
+
+'Whew w!' he softly whistled. 'Wall, it takes two mittens t'make a
+pair--ye'll hev t'ask her ag in.
+
+'Yes I cannot give her up,' I said decisively, 'I must try to win her
+back. It isn't fair. I have no claim upon her. But I must do it.
+
+'Consarn it! women like t'be chased,' he said. 'It's their natur'. What
+do they fix up so fer--di'mon's an' silks an' satins--if 'tain't t'set
+men a chasm 'uv 'em? You'd otter enjoy it. Stick to her--jes' like a
+puppy to a root. Thet's my advice.'
+
+'Hope has got too far ahead of me,' I said. 'She can marry a rich man if
+she wishes to, and I don't see why she shouldn't. What am I, anyhow,
+but a poor devil just out of college and everything to win? It makes me
+miserable to think here in this great house how small I am.'
+
+'There's things goin' to happen,' Uncle Eb whispered. 'I can't tell ye
+what er when, but they're goin' to happen an' they're goin' to change
+everything.
+
+We sat thinking a while then. I knew what he meant--that I was to
+conquer the world, somehow, and the idea seemed to me so absurd I could
+hardly help laughing as melancholy as I felt.
+
+'Now you go to bed,' he said, rising and gently touching my head with
+his hand. 'There's things goin' t'happen, boy--take my word fer it.
+
+I got in bed late at night but there was no sleep for me. In the still
+hours I lay quietly, planning my future, for now I must make myself
+worth having and as soon as possible.
+
+Some will say my determination was worthy of a better lover but, bless
+you! I have my own way of doing things and it has not been always so
+unsuccessful.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 31
+
+Hope was not at breakfast with us.
+
+'The child is worn out,' said Mrs Fuller. 'I shall keep her in bed a day
+or two.
+
+'Couldn't I see her a moment?' I enquired.
+
+'Dear! no!' said she. 'The poor thing is in bed with a headache.' If
+Hope had been ill at home I should have felt free to go and sit by her
+as I had done more than once. It seemed a little severe to be shut away
+from her now but Mrs Fuller's manner had fore-answered any appeal and I
+held my peace. Having no children of her own she had assumed a sort of
+proprietorship over Hope that was evident--that probably was why the
+girl had ceased to love me and to write to me as of old. A troop of
+mysteries came clear to me that morning. Through many gifts and favours
+she had got my sweetheart in a sort of bondage and would make a marriage
+of her own choosing if possible.
+
+'Is there anything you would like particularly for your breakfast? Mrs
+Fuller enquired.
+
+'Hain't no way pertic'lar,' said Uncle Eb. 'I gen rally eat buckwheat
+pancakes an' maple sugar with a good strong cup o'tea.
+
+Mrs Fuller left the room a moment.
+
+'Dunno but I'll go out to the barn a minnit 'n take a look at the
+hosses,' he said when she came back.
+
+'The stable is a mile away,' she replied smiling.
+
+'Gran' good team ye druv us out with las' night,' he said. 'Hed a chance
+t'look 'em over a leetle there at the door. The off hoss is puffed some
+for'ard but if yer husband'll put on a cold bandage ev'ry night it'll
+make them legs smoother n a hound's tooth.
+
+She thanked him and invited us to look in at the conservatory.
+
+'Where's yer husband?' Uncle Eb enquired.
+
+'He's not up yet,' said she, 'I fear he did not sleep well.
+
+'Now Mis Fuller,' said Uncle Eb, as we sat waiting, 'if there s anything
+I can do t'help jes'le'me know what 'tis.
+
+She said there was nothing. Presently Uncle Eb sneezed so powerfully
+that it rattled the crystals on the chandelier and rang in the brass
+medallions.
+
+The first and second butlers came running in with a frightened look.
+There was also a startled movement from somebody above stairs.
+
+'I do sneeze powerful, sometimes,' said Uncle Eb from under his red
+bandanna. ''S enough if scare anybody.'
+
+They brought in our breakfast then--a great array of tempting dishes.
+'Jest hev four pancakes 'n a biled egg,' said Uncle Eb as he sipped his
+tea. 'Grand tea!' he added, 'strong enough if float a silver dollar too.
+
+'Mrs Fuller,' I said rising, when we had finished, 'I thank you for your
+hospitality, but as I shall have to work nights, probably, I must find
+lodgings near the office.
+
+'You must come and see us again,' she answered cordially. 'On Saturday
+I shall take Hope away for a bit of rest to Saratoga probably--and from
+there I shall take her to Hillsborough myself for a day or two.
+
+'Thought she was goin' home with me,' said Uncle Eb.
+
+'O dear no!' said Mrs Fuller, 'she cannot go now. The girl is ill and
+it's such a long journey.'
+
+The postman came then with a letter for Uncle Eb.
+
+It was from David Brower. He would have to be gone a week or so buying
+cattle and thought Uncle Eb had better come home as soon as convenient.
+
+'They're lonesome,' he said, thoughtfully, after going over the letter
+again. ''Tain't no wonder--they're gittin' old.'
+
+Uncle Eb was older than either of them but he had not thought of that.
+
+'Le's see; 's about eight o clock,' said he, presently. 'I've got t'go
+an' ten' to some business o' my own. I'll be back here sometime if day
+Mis Fuller an' I'll hev if see thet girl. Ye musn't never try if keep me
+'way from her. She's sot on my knee too many year fer that--altogether
+too many.
+
+We arranged to meet there at four. Then a servant brought us our hats. I
+heard Hope calling as we passed the stairway:
+
+'Won't you come up a minute, Uncle Eb? I want to see you very much.'
+
+Then Uncle Eb hurried upstairs and I came away.
+
+I read the advertisements of board and lodging--a perplexing task for
+one so ignorant of the town. After many calls I found a place to my
+liking on Monkey Hill, near Printing House Square. Monkey Hill was the
+east end of William Street, and not in the least fashionable. There were
+some neat and cleanly looking houses on it of wood, and brick, and brown
+stone inhabited by small tradesmen; a few shops, a big stable and the
+chalet sitting on a broad, flat roof that covered a portion of the
+stableyard. The yard itself was the summit of Monkey Hill. It lay
+between two brick buildings and up the hill, from the walk, one looked
+into the gloomy cavern of the stable and under the low roof, on one side
+there were dump carts and old coaches in varying stages of infirmity.
+There was an old iron shop, that stood flush with the sidewalk, flanking
+the stableyard. A lantern and a mammoth key were suspended above the
+door and hanging upon the side of the shop was a wooden stair ascending
+to the chalet The latter had a sheathing of weather-worn clapboards.
+It stood on the rear end of the brick building, communicating with the
+front rooms above the shop. A little stair of five steps ascended from
+the landing to its red door that overlooked an ample yard of roofing,
+adorned with potted plants. The main room of the chalet where we ate our
+meals and sat and talked, of an evening, had the look of a ship's
+cabin. There were stationary seats along the wall covered with leathern
+cushions. There were port and starboard lanterns and a big one of
+polished brass that overhung the table. A ship's clock that had a noisy
+and cheerful tick, was set in the wall. A narrow passage led to the
+room in front and the latter had slanting sides. A big window of little
+panes, in its further end, let in the light of William Street. Here I
+found a home for myself, humble but quaint and cleanly. A thrifty German
+who, having long followed the sea, had married and thrown out his
+anchor for good and all, now dwelt in the chalet with his wife and two
+boarders--both newspaper men. The old shopkeeper in front, once a sailor
+himself, had put the place in shipshape and leased it to them.
+
+Mine host bore the name of Opper and was widely known as 'All Right'
+Opper, from his habit of cheery approval. Everything and everybody were
+'all right' to him so far as I could observe. If he were blessed or
+damned he said 'all right. To be sure he took exceptions, on occasions,
+but even then the affair ended with his inevitable verdict of 'all
+right'. Every suggestion I made as to terms of payment and arrangement
+of furniture was promptly stamped with this seal of approval.
+
+I was comfortably settled and hard at work on my article by noon. At
+four I went to meet Uncle Eb. Hope was still sick in bed and we came
+away in a frame of mind that could hardly have been more miserable. I
+tried to induce him to stay a night with me in my new quarters.
+
+'I mus'n't,' he said cheerfully.' 'Fore long I'm comin' down ag'in but
+I can't fool 'round no longer now. I'll jes'go n git my new clothes and
+put fer the steamboat. Want ye t'go 'n see Hope tomorrow. She's comm up
+with Mis Fuller next week. I'm goin' t' find out what's the matter uv
+her then. Somethin's wrong somewhere. Dunno what 'tis. She's all upsot.
+
+Poor girl! it had been almost as heavy a trial to her as to me' cutting
+me off as she had done. Remembrances of my tender devotion to her, in
+all the years between then and childhood, must have made her sore with
+pity. I had already determined what I should do, and after Uncle Eb had
+gone that evening I wrote her a long letter and asked her if I might not
+still have some hope of her loving me. I begged her to let me know when
+I might come and talk with her alone. With what eloquence I could bring
+to bear I told her how my love had grown and laid hold of my life.
+
+I finished my article that night and, in the morning, took it to Mr
+Greeley. He was at his desk writing and at the same time giving orders
+in a querulous tone to some workman who sat beside him. He did not
+look up as he spoke. He wrote rapidly, his nose down so close to the
+straggling, wet lines that I felt a fear of its touching them. I stood
+by, waiting my opportunity. A full-bearded man in his shirt-sleeves came
+hurriedly out of another room.
+
+'Mr Greeley,' he said, halting at the elbow of the great editor.
+
+'Yes, what is it?' the editor demanded nervously, his hand wobbling over
+the white page, as rapidly as before, his eyes upon his work.
+
+'Another man garrotted this morning on South Street.
+
+'Better write a paragraph,' he said, his voice snapping with impatience
+as he brushed the full page aside and began sowing his thoughts on
+another. 'Warn our readers. Tell 'em to wear brass collars with spikes
+in 'em till we get a new mayor.
+
+The man went away laughing.
+
+Mr Greeley threw down his pen, gathered his copy and handed it to the
+workman who sat beside him.
+
+'Proof ready at five!' he shouted as the man was going out of the room.
+
+'Hello! Brower,' he said bending to his work again. 'Thought you'd blown
+out the gas somewhere.
+
+'Waiting until you reject this article,' I said.
+
+He sent a boy for Mr Ottarson, the city editor. Meanwhile he had begun
+to drive his pen across the broadsheets with tremendous energy.
+
+Somehow it reminded me of a man ploughing black furrows behind a fast
+walking team in a snow flurry. His mind was 'straddle the furrow' when
+Mr Ottarson came in. There was a moment of silence in which the latter
+stood scanning a page of the Herald he had brought with him.
+
+'Ottarson!' said Mr Greeley, never slacking the pace of his busy hand,
+as he held my manuscript in the other, 'read this. Tell me what you
+think of it. If good, give him a show.
+
+'The staff is full, Mr Greeley,' said the man of the city desk. His
+words cut me with disappointment.
+
+The editor of the Tribune halted his hand an instant, read the last
+lines, scratching a word and underscoring another.
+
+'Don't care!' he shrilled, as he went on writing. 'Used to slide
+downhill with his father. If he's got brains we'll pay him eight dollars
+a-week.
+
+The city editor beckoned to me and I followed him into another room.
+
+'If you will leave your address,' he said, 'I will let you hear from me
+when we have read the article.
+
+With the hasty confidence of youth I began to discount my future that
+very day, ordering a full dress suit, of the best tailor, hat and shoes
+to match and a complement of neck wear that would have done credit to
+Beau Brummel. It gave me a start when I saw the bill would empty my
+pocket of more than half its cash. But I had a stiff pace to follow, and
+every reason to look my best.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 32
+
+I took a walk in the long twilight of that evening. As it began to grow
+dark I passed the Fuller house and looked up at its windows. Standing
+under a tree on the opposite side of the avenue I saw a man come out
+of the door and walk away hurriedly with long strides. I met him at the
+next corner.
+
+'Good-evening!' he said.
+
+I recognised then the voice and figure of John Trumbull. 'Been to
+Fuller's,' said he.
+
+'How is Hope?' I asked.
+
+'Better,' said he. 'Walk with me?
+
+'With pleasure,' said I, and then he quickened his pace.
+
+We walked awhile in silence, going so fast! had hardly time to speak,
+and the darkness deepened into night. We hurried along through streets
+and alleys that were but dimly lighted, coming out at length on a wide
+avenue passing through open fields in the upper part of the city. Lights
+in cabin windows glowed on the hills around us. I made some remark about
+them but he did not hear me. He slackened pace in a moment and began
+whispering to himself' I could not hear what he said. I thought of
+bidding him good-night and returning but where were we and how could I
+find my way? We heard a horse coming presently at a gallop. At the first
+loud whack of the hoofs he turned suddenly and laying hold of my arm
+began to run. I followed him into the darkness of the open field.
+It gave me a spell of rare excitement for I thought at once of
+highwaymen--having read so much of them in the Tribune. He stopped
+suddenly and stooped low his hands touching the grass and neither spoke
+until the horse had gone well beyond us. Then he rose, stealthily, and
+looked about him in silence, even turning his face to the dark sky where
+only a few stars were visible.
+
+'Well!' said he with a sort of grunt. 'Beats the devil! I thought it
+was. A wonderful thing was happening in the sky. A great double moon
+seemed to be flying over the city hooded in purple haze. A little spray
+of silver light broke out of it, as we looked, and shot backward and
+then floated after the two shining disks that were falling eastward in
+a long curve. They seemed to be so near I thought they were coming down
+upon the city. It occurred to me they must have some connection with the
+odd experience I had gone through. In a moment they had passed out of
+sight. We were not aware that we had witnessed a spectacle the like
+of which had not been seen in centuries, if ever, since God made the
+heavens. The great meteor of 1860.
+
+'Let's go back,' said Trumbull. 'We came too far. I forgot myself.'
+
+'Dangerous here?' I enquired.
+
+'Not at all,' said he, 'but a long way out of town--tired?
+
+'Rather,' I said, grateful for his evident desire to quiet my alarm.
+
+'Come!' said he as we came back to the pavement, his hand upon my
+shoulder. 'Talk to me. Tell me--what are you going to do?
+
+We walked slowly down the deserted avenue, I, meanwhile, talking of my
+plans.
+
+'You love. Hope,' he said presently. 'You will marry her?
+
+'If she will have me,' said I.
+
+'You must wait,' he said, 'time enough!
+
+He quickened his pace again as we came in sight of the scattering
+shops and houses of the upper city and no other word was spoken. On the
+corners we saw men looking into the sky and talking of the fallen moon.
+It was late bedtime when we turned into Gramercy Park.
+
+'Come in,' said he as he opened an iron gate.
+
+I followed him up a marble stairway and a doddering old English butler
+opened the door for us. We entered a fine hall, its floor of beautiful
+parquetry muffled with silken rugs. High and spacious rooms were all
+aglow with light.
+
+He conducted me to a large smoking-room, its floor and walls covered
+with trophies of the hunt--antlers and the skins of carnivora. Here he
+threw off his coat and bade me be at home as he lay down upon a wicker
+divan covered with the tawny skin of some wild animal. He stroked the
+fur fondly with his hand.
+
+'Hello Jock!' he said, a greeting that mystified me.
+
+'Tried to eat me,' he added, turning to me.
+
+Then he bared his great hairy arm and showed me a lot of ugly scars, I
+besought him to tell the story.
+
+'Killed him,' he answered. 'With a gun?
+
+'No--with my hands,' and that was all he would say of it.
+
+He lay facing a black curtain that covered a corner. Now and then I
+heard a singular sound in the room--like some faint, far, night cry such
+as I have heard often in the deep woods. It was so weird I felt some
+wonder of it. Presently I could tell it came from behind the curtain
+where, also, I heard an odd rustle like that of wings.
+
+I sat in a reverie, looking at the silent man before me, and in the
+midst of it he pulled a cord that hung near him and a bell rang.
+
+'Luncheon!' he said to the old butler who entered immediately.
+
+Then he rose and showed me odd things, carved out of wood, by his own
+hand as he told me, and with a delicate art. He looked at one tiny thing
+and laid it aside quickly.
+
+'Can't bear to look at it now,' he said.
+
+'Gibbet?' I enquired.
+
+'Gibbet,' he answered.
+
+It was a little figure bound hand and foot and hanging from the gallows
+tree.
+
+'Burn it!' he said, turning to the old servant and putting it in his
+hands. Luncheon had been set between us, the while, and as we were
+eating it the butler opened a big couch and threw snowy sheets of linen
+over it and silken covers that rustled as they fell.
+
+'You will sleep there,' said my host as his servant laid the pillows,
+'and well I hope.
+
+I thought I had better go to my own lodgings.
+
+'Too late--too late,' said he, and I, leg-weary and half-asleep,
+accepted his proffer of hospitality. Then, having eaten, he left me and
+I got into bed after turning the lights out Something woke me in the
+dark of the night. There was a rustling sound in the room. I raised
+my head a bit and listened. It was the black curtain that hung in the
+corner. I imagined somebody striking it violently. I saw a white figure
+standing near me in the darkness. It moved away as I looked at it. A
+cold wind was blowing upon my face. I lay a long time listening and by
+and by I could hear the deep voice of Trumbull as if he were groaning
+and muttering in his sleep. When it began to come light I saw the breeze
+from an open window was stirring the curtain of silk in the corner. I
+got out of bed and, peering behind the curtain, saw only a great white
+owl, caged and staring out of wide eyes that gleamed fiery in the dim
+light. I went to bed again, sleeping until my host woke me in the late
+morning.
+
+After breakfasting I went to the chalet. The postman had been there but
+he had brought no letter from Hope. I waited about home, expecting
+to hear from her, all that day, only to see it end in bitter
+disappointment.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 33
+
+That very night, I looked in at the little shop beneath us and met
+Riggs. It was no small blessing, just as I was entering upon dark
+and unknown ways of life, to meet this hoary headed man with all his
+lanterns. He would sell you anchors and fathoms of chain and rope enough
+to hang you to the moon but his 'lights' were the great attraction of
+Riggs's. He had every kind of lantern that had ever swung on land or
+sea. After dark, when light was streaming out of its open door and broad
+window Riggs's looked like the side of an old lantern itself. It was
+a door, low and wide, for a time when men had big round bellies and
+nothing to do but fill them and heads not too far above their business.
+It was a window gone blind with dust and cobwebs so it resembled the dim
+eye of age. If the door were closed its big brass knocker and massive
+iron latch invited the passer. An old ship's anchor and a coil of
+chain lay beside it. Blocks and heavy bolts, steering wheels, old brass
+compasses, coils of rope and rusty chain lay on the floor and benches,
+inside the shop. There were rows of lanterns, hanging on the bare beams.
+And there was Riggs. He sat by a dusty desk and gave orders in a sleepy,
+drawling tone to the lad who served him. An old Dutch lantern, its light
+softened with green glass, sent a silver bean across the gloomy upper
+air of the shop that evening. Riggs held an old un lantern with little
+streams of light bursting through its perforated walls. He was blind.
+One would know it at a glance. Blindness is so easy to be seen. Riggs
+was showing it to a stranger.
+
+'Turn down the lights,' he said and the boy got his step-ladder and
+obeyed him.
+
+Then he held it aloft in the dusk and the little lantern was like a
+castle tower with many windows lighted, and, when he set it down, there
+was a golden sprinkle on the floor as if something had plashed into a
+magic pool of light there in the darkness.
+
+Riggs lifted the lantern, presently, and stood swinging it in his hand.
+Then its rays were sown upon the darkness falling silently into every
+nook and corner of the gloomy shop and breaking into flowing dapples on
+the wall.
+
+'See how quick it is!' said he as the rays flashed with the speed of
+lightning. 'That is the only traveller from Heaven that travels fast
+enough to ever get to earth.
+
+Then came the words that had a mighty fitness for his tongue.
+
+'Hail, holy light! Offspring of Heaven first born.
+
+His voice rose and fell, riding the mighty rhythm of inspired song. As
+he stood swinging the lantern, then, he reminded me of a chanting priest
+behind the censer. In a moment he sat down, and, holding the lantern
+between his knees, opened its door and felt the candle. Then as the
+light streamed out upon his hands, he rubbed them a time, silently, as
+if washing them in the bright flood.
+
+'One dollar for this little box of daylight,' he said.
+
+'Blind?' said the stranger as he paid him the money.
+
+'No,' said Riggs, 'only dreaming as you are.
+
+I wondered what he meant by the words 'dreaming as you are.
+
+'Went to bed on my way home to marry,' he continued, stroking his long
+white beard, 'and saw the lights go out an' went asleep and it hasn't
+come morning yet--that's what I believe. I went into a dream. Think I'm
+here in a shop talking but I'm really in my bunk on the good ship Arid
+coming home. Dreamed everything since then--everything a man could think
+of. Dreamed I came home and found Annie dead, dreamed of blindness, of
+old age, of poverty, of eating and drinking and sleeping and of many
+people who pass like dim shadows and speak to me--you are one of them.
+And sometimes I forget I am dreaming and am miserable, and then I
+remember and am happy. I know when the morning comes I shall wake and
+laugh at all these phantoms. And I shall pack my things and go up on
+deck, for we shall be in the harbour probably--ay! maybe Annie and
+mother will be waving their hands on the dock!
+
+The old face had a merry smile as he spoke of the morning and all it had
+for him.
+
+'Seems as if it had lasted a thousand years,' he continued, yawning and
+rubbing his eyes. 'But I've dreamed the like before, and, my God! how
+glad I felt when I woke in the morning.
+
+It gave me an odd feeling--this remarkable theory of the old man. I
+thought then it would be better for most of us if we could think all our
+misery a dream and have his faith in the morning--that it would bring
+back the things we have lost. I had come to buy a lock for my door, but
+I forgot my errand and sat down by Riggs while the stranger went away
+with his lantern.
+
+'You see no reality in anything but happiness,' I said.
+
+'It's all a means to that end,' he answered. 'It is good for me, this
+dream. I shall be all the happier when I do wake, and I shall love Annie
+all the better, I suppose.
+
+'I wish I could take my bad luck as a dream and have faith only in good
+things,' I said.
+
+'All that is good shall abide,' said he, stroking his white beard, 'and
+all evil shall vanish as the substance of a dream. In the end the only
+realities are God and love and Heaven. To die is just like waking up in
+the morning.
+
+'But I know I'm awake,' I said.
+
+'You think you are--that's a part of your dream. Sometimes I think I'm
+awake--it all seems so real to me. But I have thought it out, and I am
+the only man I meet that knows he is dreaming. When you'do wake, in the
+morning, you may remember how you thought you came to a certain shop and
+made some words with a man as to whether you were both dreaming, and you
+will laugh and tell your friends about it. Hold on! I can feel the ship
+lurching. I believe I am going to wake.
+
+He sat a moment leaning back in his chair with closed eyes, and a
+silence fell upon us in the which I could hear only the faint ticking of
+a tall clock that lifted its face out of the gloom beyond me.
+
+'You there?' he whispered presently.
+
+'I am here,' I said.
+
+'Odd!' he muttered. 'I know how it will be--I know how it has been
+before. Generally come to some high place and a great fear seizes me. I
+slip, I fall--fall--fall, and then I wake.
+
+After a little silence I heard him snoring heavily. He was still leaning
+back in his chair. I walked on tiptoe to the door where the boy stood
+looking out.
+
+'Crazy?' I whispered.
+
+'Dunno,' said he, smiling.
+
+I went to my room above and wrote my first tale, which was nothing more
+or less than some brief account of what I had heard and seen down at
+the little shop that evening. I mailed it next day to the Knickerbocker,
+with stamps for return if unavailable.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 34
+
+New York was a crowded city, even then, but I never felt so lonely
+anywhere outside a camp in the big woods, The last day of the first week
+came, but no letter from Hope. To make an end of suspense I went that
+Saturday morning to the home of the Fullers. The equation of my value
+had dwindled sadly that week. Now a small fraction would have stood for
+it--nay, even the square of it.
+
+Hope and Mrs Fuller had gone to Saratoga, the butler told me. I came
+away with some sense of injury. I must try to be done with Hope. There
+was no help for it. I must go to work at something and cease to worry
+and lie awake of nights. But I had nothing to do but read and walk and
+wait. No word had come to me from the 'Tribune'--evidently it was not
+languishing for my aid. That day my tale was returned to me with thanks
+with nothing but thanks printed in black type on a slip of paper--cold,
+formal, prompt, ready-made thanks. And I, myself, was in about the same
+fix--rejected with thanks--politely, firmly, thankfully rejected. For
+a moment I felt like a man falling. I began to see there was no very
+clamourous demand for me in 'the great emporium', as Mr Greeley called
+it. I began to see, or thought I did, why Hope had shied at my offer and
+was now shunning me. I went to the Tribune office. Mr Greeley had gone
+to Washington; Mr Ottarson was too busy to see me. I concluded that I
+would be willing to take a place on one of the lesser journals. I spent
+the day going from one office to another, but was rejected everywhere
+with thanks. I came home and sat down to take account of stock. First, I
+counted my money, of which there were about fifty dollars left. As to my
+talents, there were none left. Like the pies at the Hillsborough
+tavern, if a man came late to dinner--they were all out. I had some fine
+clothes, but no more use for them than a goose for a peacock's feathers.
+I decided to take anything honourable as an occupation, even though
+it were not in one of the learned professions. I began to answer
+advertisements and apply at business offices for something to give me a
+living, but with no success. I began to feel the selfishness of men.
+God pity the warm and tender heart of youth when it begins to harden and
+grow chill, as mine did then; to put away its cheery confidence forever;
+to make a new estimate of itself and others. Look out for that time, O
+ye good people! that have sons and daughters.
+
+I must say for myself that I had a mighty courage and no small
+capital of cheerfulness. I went to try my luck with the newspapers of
+Philadelphia, and there one of them kept me in suspense a week to no
+purpose. When I came back reduced in cash and courage Hope had sailed.
+
+There was a letter from Uncle Eb telling me when and by what steamer
+they were to leave. 'She will reach there a Friday,' he wrote, 'and
+would like to see you that evening at Fuller's'.
+
+I had waited in Philadelphia, hoping I might have some word, to give
+her a better thought of me, and, that night, after such a climax of ill
+luck, well--I had need of prayer for a wayward tongue. I sent home a
+good account of my prospects. I could not bring myself to report failure
+or send for more money. I would sooner have gone to work in a scullery.
+
+Meanwhile my friends at the chalet were enough to keep me in good cheer.
+There were William McClingan, a Scotchman of a great gift of dignity and
+a nickname inseparably connected with his fame. He wrote leaders for a
+big weekly and was known as Waxy McClingan, to honour a pale ear of wax
+that took the place of a member lost nobody could tell how. He
+drank deeply at times, but never to the loss of his dignity or self
+possession. In his cups the natural dignity of the man grew and
+expanded. One could tell the extent of his indulgence by the degree
+of his dignity. Then his mood became at once didactic and devotional.
+Indeed, I learned in good time of the rumour that he had lost his ear in
+an argument about the Scriptures over at Edinburgh.
+
+I remember he came an evening, soon after my arrival at the chalet,
+when dinner was late. His dignity was at the full. He sat awhile in grim
+silence, while a sense of injury grew in his bosom.
+
+'Mrs Opper,' said he, in a grandiose manner and voice that nicely
+trilled the r's, 'in the fourth chapter and ninth verse of Lamentations
+you will find these words--here he raised his voice a bit and began
+to tap the palm of his left hand with the index finger of his right,
+continuing: "They that be slain with the sword are better than they that
+be slain with hunger. For these pine away stricken through want of the
+fruits of the field." Upon my honour as a gentleman, Mrs Opper, I was
+never so hungry in all my life.'
+
+The other boarder was a rather frail man with an easy cough and a
+confidential manner, he wrote the 'Obituaries of Distinguished Persons'
+for one of the daily papers. Somebody had told him once, his head
+resembled that of Washington. He had never forgotten it, as I have
+reason to remember. His mind lived ever among the dead. His tongue was
+pickled in maxims; his heart sunk in the brine of recollection; his
+humour not less unconscious and familiar than that of an epitaph; his
+name was Lemuel Framdin Force. To the public of his native city he had
+introduced Webster one fourth of July--a perennial topic of his lighter
+moments.
+
+I fell an easy victim to the obituary editor that first evening in the
+chalet. We had risen from the table and he came and held me a moment
+by the coat lapel. He released my collar, when he felt sure of me, and
+began tapping my chest with his forefinger to drive home his point. I
+stood for quite an hour out of sheer politeness. By that time he had me
+forced to the wall--a God's mercy, for there I got some sense of relief
+in the legs. His gestures, in imitation of the great Webster, put my
+head in some peril. Meanwhile he continued drumming upon my chest.
+I looked longingly at the empty chairs. I tried to cut him off with
+applause that should be condusive and satisfying, but with no success.
+It had only a stimulating effect. I felt somehow like a cheap hired man
+badly overworked. I had lost all connection. I looked, and smiled, and
+nodded, and exclaimed, and heard nothing. I began to plan a method of
+escape. McClingan--the great and good Waxy McClingan--came out of his
+room presently and saw my plight.
+
+'What is this?' he asked, interrupting, 'a serial stawry?
+
+Getting no answer he called my name, and when Force had paused he came
+near.
+
+'In the sixth chapter and fifth verse of Proverbs,' said he, 'it is
+written:
+
+"Deliver thyself as a roe from the hand of the hunter and as a bird from
+the hand of the fowler." Deliver thyself, Brower.
+
+I did so, ducking under Force's arm and hastening to my chamber.
+
+'Ye have a brawling, busy tongue, man,' I heard McClingan saying. 'By
+the Lord! ye should know a dull tongue is sharper than a serpent's
+tooth.
+
+'You are a meddlesome fellow,' said Force.
+
+'If I were you,' said McClingan, 'I would go and get for myself the long
+ear of an ass and empty my memory into it every day. Try it, man. Give
+it your confidence exclusively. Believe me, my dear Force, you would win
+golden opinions.
+
+'It would be better than addressing an ear of wax,' said Force,
+hurriedly withdrawing to his own room.
+
+This answer made McClingan angry.
+
+'Better an ear of wax than a brain of putty,' he called after him.
+'Blessed is he that hath no ears when a fool's tongue is busy,' and then
+strode up and down the floor, muttering ominously.
+
+I came out of my room shortly, and then he motioned me aside.
+
+'Pull your own trigger first, man,' he said to me in a low tone. 'When
+ye see he's going to shoot, pull your own trigger first. Go right up to
+him and tap him on the chest quiddy and say, "My dear Force, I have a
+glawrious stawry to tell you," and keep tapping him--his own trick, you
+know, and he can't complain. Now he has a weak chest, and when he begins
+to cough--man, you are saved.
+
+Our host, Opper, entered presently, and in removing the tablecloth
+inadvertently came between us. McClingan resented it promptly.
+
+'Mr Opper,' said he, leering at the poor German, 'as a matter of
+personal obligement, will you cease to interrupt us?
+
+'All right! all right! gentlemens,' he replied, and then, fearing that
+he had not quite squared himself, turned back, at the kitchen door, and
+added, 'Oxcuse me.
+
+McClingan looked at him with that leering superior smile of his, and
+gave him just the slightest possible nod of his head.
+
+McClingan came into my room with me awhile then. He had been everywhere,
+it seemed to me, and knew everybody worth knowing. I was much interested
+in his anecdotes of the great men of the time. Unlike the obituary
+editor his ear was quite as ready as his tongue, though I said little
+save now and then to answer a question that showed a kindly interest in
+me.
+
+I went with him to his room at last, where he besought me to join him in
+drinking 'confusion to the enemies of peace and order'. On my refusing,
+he drank the toast alone and shortly proposed 'death to slavery'.
+This was followed in quick succession by 'death to the arch traitor,
+Buchanan'; 'peace to the soul of John Brown'; 'success to Honest Abe'
+and then came a hearty 'here's to the protuberant abdomen of the Mayor'.
+
+I left him at midnight standing in the middle of his room and singing
+'The Land o' the Leal' in a low tone savoured with vast dignity.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 35
+
+I was soon near out of money and at my wit's end, but my will was
+unconquered. In this plight I ran upon Fogarty, the policeman who had
+been the good angel of my one hopeful day in journalism. His manner
+invited my confidence.
+
+'What luck?' said he.
+
+'Bad luck' I answered. 'Only ten dollars in my pocket and nothing to
+do.'
+
+He swung his stick thoughtfully.
+
+'If I was you,' said he, 'I'd take anything honest. Upon me wurred, I'd
+ruther pound rocks than lay idle.'
+
+'So would I.'
+
+'Wud ye?' said he with animation, as he took my measure from head to
+foot.
+
+'I'll do anything that's honest.'
+
+'Ah ha!' said he, rubbing his sandy chin whiskers. 'Don't seem like ye'd
+been used to hard wurruk.'
+
+'But I can do it,' I said.
+
+He looked at me sternly and beckoned with his head.
+
+'Come along,' said he.
+
+He took me to a gang of Irishmen working in the street near by.
+
+'Boss McCormick!' he shouted.
+
+A hearty voice answered, 'Aye, aye, Counsellor,' and McCormick came out
+of the crowd, using his shovel for a staff.
+
+'A happy day to ye!' said Fogarty.
+
+'Same to youse an' manny o' thim,' said McCormick.
+
+'Ye'll gi'me one if ye do me a favour,' said Fogarty.
+
+'An' what?' said the other.
+
+'A job for this lad. Wull ye do it?'
+
+'I wall,' said McCormick, and he did.
+
+I went to work early the next morning, with nothing on but my
+underclothing and trousers, save a pair of gloves, that excited the
+ridicule of my fellows. With this livery and the righteous determination
+of earning two dollars a day, I began the inelegant task of 'pounding
+rocks no merry occupation, I assure you, for a hot summer's day on
+Manhattan Island.
+
+We were paving Park Place and we had to break stone and lay them and
+shovel dirt and dig with a pick and crowbar.
+
+My face and neck were burned crimson when we quit work at five, and I
+went home with a feeling of having been run over by the cars. I had
+a strong sense of soul and body, the latter dominated by a mighty
+appetite. McClingan viewed me at first with suspicion in which there
+was a faint flavour of envy. He invited me at once to his room, and was
+amazed at seeing it was no lark. I told him frankly what I was doing and
+why and where.
+
+'I would not mind the loaning of a few dollars,' he said, 'as a matter
+o' personal obligement I would be most happy to do it--most happy,
+Brower, indeed I would.'
+
+I thanked him cordially, but declined the favour, for at home they had
+always taught me the danger of borrowing, and I was bound to have it out
+with ill luck on my own resources.
+
+'Greeley is back,' said he, 'and I shall see him tomorrow. I will put
+him in mind o'you.'
+
+I went away sore in the morning, but with no drooping spirit. In the
+middle of the afternoon I straightened up a moment to ease my back and
+look about me.
+
+There at the edge of the gang stood the great Horace Greeley and Waxy
+McClingan. The latter beckoned me as he caught my eye. I went aside to
+greet them. Mr Greeley gave me his hand.
+
+'Do you mean to tell me that you'd rather work than beg or borrow?' said
+he.
+
+'That's about it,' I answered.
+
+'And ain't ashamed of it?
+
+'Ashamed! Why?' said I, not quite sure of his meaning. It had never
+occurred to me that one had any cause to be ashamed of working.
+
+He turned to McClingan and laughed.
+
+'I guess you'll do for the Tribune,' he said. 'Come and see me at twelve
+tomorrow.
+
+And then they went away.
+
+If I had been a knight of the garter I could not have been treated with
+more distinguished courtesy by those hard-handed men the rest of the
+day. I bade them goodbye at night and got my order for four dollars. One
+Pat Devlin, a great-hearted Irishman, who had shared my confidence and
+some of my doughnuts on the curb at luncheon time, I remember best of
+all.
+
+'Ye'll niver fergit the toime we wurruked together under Boss
+McCormick,' said he.
+
+And to this day, whenever I meet the good man, now bent and grey, he
+says always, 'Good-day to ye, Mr Brower. D'ye mind the toime we pounded
+the rock under Boss McCormick?
+
+Mr Greeley gave me a place at once on the local staff and invited me
+to dine with him at his home that evening. Meanwhile he sent me to the
+headquarters of the Republican Central Campaign Committee, on Broadway,
+opposite the New York Hotel. Lincoln had been nominated in May, and the
+great political fight of 1860 was shaking the city with its thunders.
+
+I turned in my copy at the city desk in good season, and, although the
+great editor had not yet left his room, I took a car at once to keep my
+appointment. A servant showed me to a seat in the big back parlour of
+Mr Greeley's home, where I spent a lonely hour before I heard his heavy
+footsteps in the hail. He immediately rushed upstairs, two steps at a
+time, and, in a moment, I heard his high voice greeting the babies. He
+came down shortly with one of them clinging to his hand.
+
+'Thunder!' said he, 'I had forgotten all about you. Let's go right in to
+dinner.
+
+He sat at the head of the table and I next to him. I remember how,
+wearied by the day's burden, he sat, lounging heavily, in careless
+attitudes. He stirred his dinner into a hash of eggs, potatoes, squash
+and parsnips, and ate it leisurely with a spoon, his head braced often
+with his left forearm, its elbow resting on the table. It was a sort of
+letting go, after the immense activity of the day, and a casual observer
+would have thought he affected the uncouth, which was not true of him.
+
+He asked me to tell him all about my father and his farm. At length I
+saw an absent look in his eye, and stopped talking, because I thought he
+had ceased to listen.
+
+'Very well! very well!' said he.
+
+I looked up at him, not knowing what he meant.
+
+'Go on! Tell me all about it,' he added.
+
+'I like the country best,' said he, when I had finished, 'because there
+I see more truth in things. Here the lie has many forms--unique, varied,
+ingenious. The rouge and powder on the lady's cheek--they are lies, both
+of them; the baronial and ducal crests are lies and the fools who use
+them are liars; the people who soak themselves in rum have nothing but
+lies in their heads; the multitude who live by their wits and the lack
+of them in others--they are all liars; the many who imagine a vain thing
+and pretend to be what they are not liars everyone of them. It is bound
+to be so in the great cities, and it is a mark of decay. The skirts of
+Elegabalus, the wigs and rouge pots of Madame Pompadour, the crucifix of
+Machiavelli and the innocent smile of Fernando Wood stand for something
+horribly and vastly false in the people about them. For truth you ve got
+to get back into the woods. You can find men there a good deal as God
+made them, genuine, strong and simple. When those men cease to come here
+you'll see grass growing in Broadway.
+
+I made no answer and the great commoner stirred his coffee a moment in
+silence.
+
+'Vanity is the curse of cities,' he continued, 'and Flattery is its
+handmaiden. Vanity, flattery and Deceit are the three disgraces. I like
+a man to be what he is--out and out. If he's ashamed of himself it won't
+be long before his friends'll be ashamed of him. There's the trouble
+with this town. Many a fellow is pretending to be what he isn't. A man
+cannot be strong unless he is genuine.
+
+One of his children--a little girl--came and stood close to him as he
+spoke. He put his big arm around her and that gentle, permanent smile of
+his broadened as he kissed her and patted her red cheek.
+
+'Anything new in the South?' Mrs Greeley enquired.
+
+'Worse and worse every day,' he said. 'Serious trouble coming! The
+Charleston dinner yesterday was a feast of treason and a flow of
+criminal rhetoric. The Union was the chief dish. Everybody slashed it
+with his knife and jabbed it with his fork. It was slaughtered, roasted,
+made into mincemeat and devoured. One orator spoke of "rolling back the
+tide of fanaticism that finds its root in the conscience of the people."
+Their metaphors are as bad as their morals.
+
+He laughed heartily at this example of fervid eloquence, and then we
+rose from the table. He had to go to the office that evening, and I came
+away soon after dinner. I had nothing to do and went home reflecting
+upon all the great man had said.
+
+I began shortly to see the truth of what he had told me--men licking
+the hand of riches with the tongue of flattery, men so stricken with the
+itch of vanity that they grovelled for the touch of praise; men even who
+would do perjury for applause. I do not say that most of the men I saw
+were of that ilk, but enough to show the tendency of life in a great
+town.
+
+I was filled with wonder at first by meeting so many who had been
+everywhere and seen everything, who had mastered all sciences and all
+philosophies and endured many perils on land and sea. I had met liars
+before--it was no Eden there in the north country--and some of them had
+attained a good degree of efficiency, but they lacked the candour and
+finish of the metropolitan school. I confess they were all too much
+for me at first. They borrowed my cash, they shared my confidence, they
+taxed my credulity, and I saw the truth at last.
+
+'Tom's breaking down,' said a co-labourer on the staff one day. 'How is
+that?' I enquired.
+
+'Served me a mean trick.'
+
+'Indeed!'
+
+'Deceived me,' said he sorrowfully.
+
+'Lied, I suppose?'
+
+'No. He told the truth, as God's my witness.'
+
+Tom had been absolutely reliable up to that time.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 36
+
+Those were great days in mid autumn. The Republic was in grave peril of
+dissolution. Liberty that had hymned her birth in the last century
+now hymned her destiny in the voices of bard and orator. Crowds of
+men gathered in public squares, at bulletin boards, on street corners
+arguing, gesticulating, exclaiming and cursing. Cheering multitudes went
+up and down the city by night, with bands and torches, and there was
+such a howl of oratory and applause on the lower half of Manhattan
+Island that it gave the reporter no rest. William H. Seward, Charles
+Sumner, John A. Dix, Henry Ward Beecher and Charles O'Connor were the
+giants of the stump. There was more violence and religious fervour in
+the political feeling of that time than had been mingled since '76. A
+sense of outrage was in the hearts of men. 'Honest Abe' Lincoln stood,
+as they took it, for their homes and their country, for human liberty
+and even for their God.
+
+I remember coming into the counting-room late one evening. Loud voices
+had halted me as I passed the door. Mr Greeley stood back of the
+counter; a rather tall, wiry grey-headed man before it. Each was shaking
+a right fist under the other's nose. They were shouting loudly as they
+argued. The stranger was for war; Mr Greeley for waiting. The publisher
+of the Tribune stood beside the latter, smoking a pipe; a small man
+leaned over the counter at the stranger's elbow, putting in a word here
+and there; half a dozen people stood by, listening. Mr Greeley turned to
+his publisher in a moment.
+
+'Rhoades,' said he, 'I wish ye'd put these men out. They holler 'n yell,
+so I can't hear myself think.
+
+Then there was a general laugh.
+
+I learned to my surprise, when they had gone, that the tall man was
+William H. Seward, the other John A. Dix.
+
+Then one of those fevered days came the Prince of Wales--a Godsend, to
+allay passion with curiosity.
+
+It was my duty to handle some of 'the latest news by magnetic
+telegraph', and help to get the plans and progress of the campaign at
+headquarters. The Printer, as they called Mr Greeley, was at his desk
+when I came in at noon, never leaving the office but for dinner, until
+past midnight, those days. And he made the Tribune a mighty power in the
+state. His faith in its efficacy was sublime, and every line went under
+his eye before it went to his readers. I remember a night when he called
+me to his office about twelve o clock. He was up to his knees in the
+rubbish of the day-newspapers that he had read and thrown upon the
+floor; his desk was littered with proofs.
+
+'Go an' see the Prince o' Wales,' he said. (That interesting young man
+had arrived on the Harriet Lane that morning and ridden up Broadway
+between cheering hosts.) 'I've got a sketch of him here an' it's all
+twaddle. Tell us something new about him. If he's got a hole in his sock
+we ought to know it.'
+
+Mr Dana came in to see him while I was there.
+
+'Look here, Dana,' said the Printer, in a rasping humour. 'By the gods
+of war! here's two columns about that performance at the Academy and
+only two sticks of the speech of Seward at St Paul. I'll have to get
+someone to go an' burn that theatre an' send the bill to me.
+
+In the morning Mayor Wood introduced me to the Duke of Newcastle, who
+in turn presented me to the Prince of Wales--then a slim, blue-eyed
+youngster of nineteen, as gentle mannered as any I have ever met. It was
+my unpleasant duty to keep as near as possible to the royal party in all
+the festivities of that week.
+
+The ball, in the Prince's honour, at the Academy of Music, was one of
+the great social events of the century. No fair of vanity in the western
+hemisphere ever quite equalled it. The fashions of the French Court had
+taken the city, as had the Prince, by unconditional surrender. Not in
+the palace of Versailles could one have seen a more generous exposure of
+the charms of fair women. None were admitted without a low-cut bodice,
+and many came that had not the proper accessories. But it was the most
+brilliant company New York had ever seen.
+
+Too many tickets had been distributed and soon 'there was an elbow on
+every rib and a heel on every toe', as Mr Greeley put it. Every miss and
+her mamma tiptoed for a view of the Prince and his party, who came in at
+ten, taking their seats on a dais at one side of the crowded floor.
+The Prince sat with his hands folded before him, like one in a reverie.
+Beside him were the Duke of Newcastle, a big, stern man, with an
+aggressive red beard; the blithe and sparkling Earl of St Germans, then
+Steward of the Royal Household; the curly Major Teasdale; the gay Bruce,
+a major-general, who behaved himself always like a lady. Suddenly the
+floor sank beneath the crowd of people, who retired in some disorder.
+Such a compression of crinoline was never seen as at that moment, when
+periphery pressed upon periphery, and held many a man captive in the
+cold embrace of steel and whalebone. The royal party retired to its
+rooms again and carpenters came in with saws and hammers. The floor
+repaired, an area was roped off for dancing--as much as could be spared.
+The Prince opened the dance with Mrs Governor Morgan, after which other
+ladies were honoured with his gallantry.
+
+I saw Mrs Fuller in one of the boxes and made haste to speak with
+her. She had just landed, having left Hope to study a time in the
+Conservatory of Leipzig.
+
+'Mrs Livingstone is with her,' said she, 'and they will return together
+in April.
+
+'Mrs Fuller, did she send any word to me?' I enquired anxiously. 'Did
+she give you no message?
+
+'None,' she said coldly, 'except one to her mother and father, which I
+have sent in a letter to them.
+
+I left her heavy hearted, went to the reporter's table and wrote my
+story, very badly I must admit, for I was cut deep with sadness. Then I
+came away and walked for hours, not caring whither. A great homesickness
+had come over me. I felt as if a talk with Uncle Eb or Elizabeth Brower
+would have given me the comfort I needed. I walked rapidly through dark,
+deserted streets. A steeple clock was striking two, when I heard someone
+coming hurriedly on the walk behind me. I looked over my shoulder, but
+could not make him out in the darkness, and yet there was something
+familiar in the step. As he came near I felt his hand upon my shoulder.
+
+'Better go home, Brower,' he said, as I recognised the voice of
+Trumbull. 'You've been out a long time. Passed you before tonight.'
+
+'Why didn't you speak?'
+
+'You were preoccupied.'
+
+'Not keeping good hours yourself,' I said.
+
+'Rather late,' he answered, 'but I am a walker, and I love the night. It
+is so still in this part of the town.'
+
+We were passing the Five Points.
+
+'When do you sleep,' I enquired.
+
+'Never sleep at night,' he said, 'unless uncommonly tired. Out every
+night more or less. Sleep two hours in the morning and two in the
+afternoon--that's all I require. Seen the hands o' that clock yonder on
+every hour of the night.'
+
+He pointed to a lighted dial in a near tower.
+
+Stopping presently he looked down at a little waif asleep in a doorway,
+a bundle of evening papers under his arm. He lifted him tenderly.
+
+'Here, boy,' he said, dropping corns in the pocket of the ragged little
+coat, 'I'll take those papers--you go home now.
+
+We walked to the river, passing few save members of 'the force, who
+always gave Trumbull a cheery 'hello, Cap!' We passed wharves where the
+great sea horses lay stalled, with harnesses hung high above them, their
+noses nodding over our heads; we stood awhile looking up at the looming
+masts, the lights of the river craft.
+
+'Guess I've done some good,' said he turning into Peck Slip. 'Saved
+two young women. Took 'em off the streets. Fine women now both of
+them--respectable, prosperous, and one is beautiful. Man who's got a
+mother, or a sister, can't help feeling sorry for such people.
+
+We came up Frankfort to William Street where we shook hands and parted
+and I turned up Monkey Hill. I had made unexpected progress with
+Trumbull that night. He had never talked to me so freely before and
+somehow he had let me come nearer to him than I had ever hoped to be.
+His company had lifted me out of the slough a little and my mind was on
+a better footing as I neared the chalet.
+
+Riggs's shop was lighted--an unusual thing at so late an hour. Peering
+through the window I saw Riggs sleeping at his desk An old tin lantern
+sat near, its candle burning low, with a flaring flame, that threw
+a spray of light upon him as it rose and fell. Far back in the shop
+another light was burning dimly. I lifted the big iron latch and pushed
+the door open. Riggs did not move. I closed the door softly and went
+back into the gloom. The boy was also sound asleep in his chair.
+The lantern light flared and fell again as water leaps in a stopping
+fountain. As it dashed upon the face of Riggs I saw his eyes half-open.
+I went close to his chair. As I did so the light went out and smoke rose
+above the lantern with a rank odour.
+
+'Riggs!' I called but he sat motionless and made no answer.
+
+The moonlight came through the dusty window lighting his face and
+beard. I put my hand upon his brow and withdrew it quickly. I was in
+the presence of death. I opened the door and called the sleeping boy. He
+rose out of his chair and came toward me rubbing his eyes.
+
+'Your master is dead,' I whispered, 'go and call an officer.
+
+Riggs's dream was over--he had waked at last. He was in port and I doubt
+not Annie and his mother were hailing him on the shore, for I knew now
+they had both died far back in that long dream of the old sailor.
+
+My story of Riggs was now complete. It soon found a publisher because it
+was true.
+
+'All good things are true in literature,' said the editor after he had
+read it. 'Be a servant of Truth always and you will be successful.'
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 37
+
+As soon as Lincoln was elected the attitude of the South showed clearly
+that 'the irrepressible conflict', of Mr Seward's naming, had only just
+begun. The Herald gave columns every day to the news of 'the coming
+Revolution', as it was pleased to call it. There was loud talk of war at
+and after the great Pine Street meeting of December 15. South Carolina
+seceded, five days later, and then we knew what was coming, albeit, we
+saw only the dim shadow of that mighty struggle that was to shake the
+earth for nearly five years. The Printer grew highly irritable those
+days and spoke of Buchanan and Davis and Toombs in language so violent
+it could never have been confined in type. But while a bitter foe none
+was more generous than he and, when the war was over, his money went to
+bail the very man he had most roundly damned.
+
+I remember that one day, when he was sunk deep in composition, a <DW64>
+came and began with grand airs to make a request as delegate from his
+campaign club. The Printer sat still, his eyes close to the paper, his
+pen flying at high speed. The  orator went on lifting his
+voice in a set petition. Mr Greeley bent to his work as the man waxed
+eloquent. A nervous movement now and then betrayed the Printer's
+irritation. He looked up, shortly, his face kindling with anger.
+
+'Help! For God's sake!' he shrilled impatiently, his hands flying in the
+air. The Printer seemed to be gasping for breath.
+
+'Go and stick your head out of the window and get through,' he shouted
+hotly to the man.
+
+He turned to his writing--a thing dearer to him than a new bone to a
+hungry dog.
+
+'Then you may come and tell me what you want,' he added in a milder
+tone.
+
+Those were days when men said what they meant and their meaning had more
+fight in it than was really polite or necessary. Fight was in the air
+and before I knew it there was a wild, devastating spirit in my own
+bosom, insomuch that I made haste to join a local regiment. It grew
+apace but not until I saw the first troops on their way to the war was I
+fully determined to go and give battle with my regiment.
+
+The town was afire with patriotism. Sumter had fallen; Lincoln had
+issued his first call. The sound of the fife and drum rang in the
+streets. Men gave up work to talk and listen or go into the sterner
+business of war. Then one night in April, a regiment came out of New
+England, on its way to the front. It lodged at the Astor House to leave
+at nine in the morning. Long before that hour the building was flanked
+and fronted with tens of thousands, crowding Broadway for three blocks,
+stuffing the wide mouth of Park Row and braced into Vesey and Barday
+Streets. My editor assigned me to this interesting event. I stood in the
+crowd, that morning, and saw what was really the beginning of the war in
+New York. There was no babble of voices, no impatient call, no sound
+of idle jeering such as one is apt to hear in a waiting crowd. It stood
+silent, each man busy with the rising current of his own emotions,
+solemnified by the faces all around him. The soldiers filed out upon the
+pavement, the police having kept a way clear for them, Still there was
+silence in the crowd save that near me I could hear a man sobbing. A
+trumpeter lifted his bugle and sounded a bar of the reveille. The clear
+notes clove the silent air, flooding every street about us with their
+silver sound. Suddenly the band began playing. The tune was Yankee
+Doodle. A wild, dismal, tremulous cry came out of a throat near me.
+It grew and spread to a mighty roar and then such a shout went up to
+Heaven, as I had never heard, and as I know full well I shall never
+hear again. It was like the riving of thunderbolts above the roar of
+floods--elemental, prophetic, threatening, ungovernable. It did seem to
+me that the holy wrath of God Almighty was in that cry of the people.
+It was a signal. It declared that they were ready to give all that a man
+may give for that he loves--his life and things far dearer to him than
+his life. After that, they and their sons begged for a chance to throw
+themselves into the hideous ruin of war.
+
+I walked slowly back to the office and wrote my article. When the
+Printer came in at twelve I went to his room before he had had time to
+begin work.
+
+'Mr Greeley,' I said, 'here is my resignation. I am going to the war.'
+
+His habitual smile gave way to a sober look as he turned to me, his big
+white coat on his arm. He pursed his lips and blew thoughtfully. Then he
+threw his coat in a chair and wiped his eyes with his handkerchief.
+
+'Well! God bless you, my boy,' he said. 'I wish I could go, too.'
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 38
+
+I worked some weeks before my regiment was sent forward. I planned to
+be at home for a day, but they needed me on the staff, and I dreaded the
+pain of a parting, the gravity of which my return would serve only to
+accentuate. So I wrote them a cheerful letter, and kept at work. It was
+my duty to interview some of the great men of that day as to the course
+of the government. I remember Commodore Vanderbilt came down to see me
+in shirt-sleeves and slippers that afternoon, with a handkerchief tied
+about his neck in place of a collar--a blunt man, of simple manners and
+a big heart, one who spoke his mind in good, plain talk, and, I suppose,
+he got along with as little profanity as possible, considering his many
+cares. He called me 'boy' and spoke of a certain public man as a 'big
+sucker'. I soon learned that to him a 'sucker' was the lowest and
+meanest thing in the world. He sent me away with nothing but a great
+admiration of him. As a rule, the giants of that day were plain men of
+the people, with no frills upon them, and with a way of hitting from
+the shoulder. They said what they meant and meant it hard. I have heard
+Lincoln talk when his words had the whiz of a bullet and his arm the
+jerk of a piston.
+
+John Trumbull invited McClingan, of whom I had told him much, and myself
+to dine with him an evening that week. I went in my new dress suit--that
+mark of sinful extravagance for which Fate had brought me down to the
+pounding of rocks under Boss McCormick. Trumbull's rooms were a feast
+for the eye--aglow with red roses. He introduced me to Margaret Hull and
+her mother, who were there to dine with us. She was a slight woman
+of thirty then, with a face of no striking beauty, but of singular
+sweetness. Her dark eyes had a mild and tender light in them; her voice
+a plaintive, gentle tone, the like of which one may hear rarely if ever.
+For years she had been a night worker in the missions of the lower city,
+and many an unfortunate had been turned from the way of evil by her good
+offices. I sat beside her at the table, and she told me of her work and
+how often she had met Trumbull in his night walks.
+
+'Found me a hopeless heathen,' he remarked.
+
+'To save him I had to consent to marry him,' she said, laughing.
+
+'"Who hath found love is already in Heaven,"'said McClingan. 'I have not
+found it and I am in'' he hesitated, as if searching for a synonym.
+
+'A boarding house on William Street,' he added.
+
+The remarkable thing about Margaret Hull was her simple faith. It looked
+to no glittering generality for its reward, such as the soul's highest
+good, much talked of in the philosophy of that time. She believed that,
+for every soul she saved, one jewel would be added to her crown in
+Heaven. And yet she wore no jewel upon her person. Her black costume was
+beautifully fitted to her fine form, but was almost severely plain. It
+occurred to me that she did not quite understand her own heart, and, for
+that matter, who does? But she had somewhat in her soul that passeth all
+understanding--I shall not try to say what, with so little knowledge of
+those high things, save that I know it was of God. To what patience and
+unwearying effort she had schooled herself I was soon to know.
+
+'Can you not find anyone to love you?' she said, turning to McClingan.
+'You know the Bible says it is not good for man to live alone.
+
+'It does, Madame,' said he, 'but I have a mighty fear in me, remembering
+the twenty-fourth verse of the twenty-fifth chapter of Proverbs: "It
+is better to dwell in the corner of the housetops than with a brawling
+woman in a wide house." We cannot all be so fortunate as our friend
+Trumbull. But I have felt the great passion.
+
+He smiled at her faintly as he spoke in a quiet manner, his r s coming
+off his tongue with a stately roll. His environment and the company had
+given him a fair degree of stimulation. There was a fine dignity in
+his deep voice, and his body bristled with it, from his stiff and
+heavy shock of blonde hair parted carefully on the left side, to his
+high-heeled boots. The few light hairs that stood in lonely abandonment
+on his upper lip, the rest of his lean visage always well shorn, had no
+small part in the grand effect of McClingan.
+
+'A love story!' said Miss Hull. 'I do wish I had your confidence. I like
+a real, true love story.
+
+'A simple stawry it is,' said McClingan, 'and Jam proud of my part in
+it. I shall be glad to tell the stawry if you are to hear it.'
+
+We assured him of our interest.
+
+'Well,' said he, 'there was one Tom Douglass at Edinburgh who was my
+friend and classmate. We were together a good bit of the time, and
+when we had come to the end of our course we both went to engage in
+journalism at Glasgow. We had a mighty conceit of ourselves--you know
+how it is, Brower, with a green lad--but we were a mind to be modest,
+with all our learning, so we made an agreement: I would blaw his horn
+and he would blaw mine. We were not to lack appreciation. He was on one
+paper and I on another, and every time he wrote an article I went up and
+down the office praising him for a man o' mighty skill, and he did the
+same for me. If anyone spoke of him in my hearing I said every word of
+flattery at my command. "What Tom Douglass?" I would say, "the man o'
+the Herald that's written those wonderful articles from the law court?
+A genius, sir! an absolute genius!" Well, we were rapidly gaining
+reputation. One of those days I found myself in love with as comely a
+lass as ever a man courted. Her mother had a proper curiosity as to my
+character. I referred them to Tom Douglass of the Herald--he was the
+only man there who had known me well. The girl and her mother both went
+to him.
+
+"Your friend was just here," said the young lady, when I called again.
+"He is a very handsome man."
+
+'"And a noble man!" I said.
+
+'"And didn't I hear you say that he was a very skilful man, too?"
+
+'"A genius!" I answered, "an absolute genius!"
+
+McClingan stopped and laughed heartily as he took a sip of water.
+
+'What happened then?' said Miss I-lull.
+
+'She took him on my recommendation,' he answered. 'She said that, while
+he had the handsomer face, I had the more eloquent tongue. And they both
+won for him. And, upon me honour as a gentleman, it was the luckiest
+thing that ever happened to me, for she became a brawler and a scold. My
+mother says there is "no the like o' her in Scotland".
+
+I shall never forget how fondly Margaret Hull patted the brown cheek of
+Trumbull with her delicate white band, as we rose.
+
+'We all have our love stawries,' said McClingan.
+
+'Mine is better than yours,' she answered, 'but it shall never be told.'
+
+'Except one little part if it,' said Trumbull, as he put his hands upon
+her shoulders, and looked down into her face. 'It is the only thing that
+has made my life worth living.'
+
+Then she made us to know many odd things about her work for the children
+of misfortune--inviting us to come and see it for ourselves. We were to
+go the next evening.
+
+I finished my work at nine that night and then we walked through noisome
+streets and alleys--New York was then far from being so clean a city as
+now--to the big mission house. As we came in at the door we saw a group
+of women kneeling before the altar at the far end of the room, and heard
+the voice of Margaret Hull praying, a voice so sweet and tender that we
+bowed our heads at once, and listened while it quickened the life in us.
+She plead for the poor creatures about her, to whom Christ gave always
+the most abundant pity, seeing they were more sinned against than
+sinning. There was not a word of cant in her petition. It was full of
+a simple, unconscious eloquence, a higher feeling than I dare try to
+define. And when it was over she had won their love and confidence so
+that they clung to her hands and kissed them and wet them with their
+tears. She came and spoke to us presently, in the same sweet manner that
+had charmed us the night before, there was no change in it. We offered
+to walk home with her, but she said Trumbull was coming at twelve.
+
+'So that is "The Little Mother" of whom I have heard so often,' said
+McClingan, as we came away.
+
+'What do you think of her?' I enquired.
+
+'Wonderful woman!' he said. 'I never heard such a voice. It gives me
+visions. Every other is as the crackling of thorns under a pot.'
+
+I came back to the office and went into Mr Greeley's room to bid him
+goodbye. He stood by the gas jet, in a fine new suit of clothes, reading
+a paper, while a boy was blacking one of his boots. I sat down, awaiting
+a more favourable moment. A very young man had come into the room and
+stood timidly holding his hat.
+
+'I wish to see Mr Greeley,' he said.
+
+'There he is,' I answered, 'go and speak to him.'
+
+'Mr Greeley,' said he, 'I have called to see if you can take me on the
+Tribune.'
+
+The Printer continued reading as if he were the only man in the room.
+
+The young man looked at him and then at me--with an expression that
+moved me to a fellow feeling. He was a country boy, more green and timid
+even than I had been.
+
+'He did not hear you--try again,' I said.
+
+'Mr Greeley,' said he, louder than before, 'I have called to see if you
+can take me on the Tribune.'
+
+The editor's eyes glanced off at the boy and returned to their reading.
+
+'No, boy, I can't,' he drawled, shifting his eyes to another article.
+And the boy, who was called to the service of the paper in time, but not
+until after his pen had made him famous, went away with a look of bitter
+disappointment.
+
+In his attire Mr Greeley wore always the best material, that soon took
+on a friendless and dejected look. The famous white overcoat had been
+bought for five dollars of a man who had come by chance to the office
+of the New Yorker, years before, and who considered its purchase a
+great favour. That was a time when the price of a coat was a thing of
+no little importance to the Printer. Tonight there was about him a great
+glow, such as comes of fine tailoring and new linen.
+
+He was so preoccupied with his paper that I went out into the big room
+and sat down, awaiting a better time.
+
+'The Printer's going to Washington to talk with the president,' said an
+editor.
+
+Just then Mr Greeley went running hurriedly up the spiral stair on his
+way to the typeroom. Three or four compositors had gone up ahead of
+him. He had risen out of sight when we heard a tremendous uproar above
+stairs. I ran up, two steps at a time, while the high voice of Mr
+Greeley came pouring down upon me like a flood. It had a wild, fleeting
+tone. He stood near the landing, swinging his arms and swearing like a
+boy just learning how. In the middle of the once immaculate shirt bosom
+was a big, yellow splash. Something had fallen on him and spattered as
+it struck. We stood well out of range, looking at it, undeniably the
+stain of nicotine. In a voice that was no encouragement to confession he
+dared 'the drooling idiot' to declare himself. In a moment he opened his
+waistcoat and surveyed the damage.
+
+'Look at that!' he went on, complainingly. 'Ugh! The reeking, filthy,
+slobbering idiot! I'd rather be slain with the jaw bone of an ass.'
+
+'You'll have to get another shirt,' said the pressman, who stood near.
+'You can't go to Washington with such a breast pin.'
+
+'I'd breast pin him if I knew who he was,' said the editor.
+
+A number of us followed him downstairs and a young man went up the
+Bowery for a new shirt. When it came the Printer took off the soiled
+garment, flinging it into a corner, and I helped him to put himself in
+proper fettle again. This finished, he ran away, hurriedly, with his
+carpet-bag, and I missed the opportunity I wanted for a brief talk with
+him.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 39
+
+My regiment left New York by night in a flare of torch and rocket. The
+streets were lined with crowds now hardened to the sound of fife and
+drum and the pomp of military preparation. I had a very high and mighty
+feeling in me that wore away in the discomfort of travel. For hours
+after the train started we sang and told stories, and ate peanuts and
+pulled and hauled at each other in a cloud of tobacco smoke. The train
+was sidetracked here and there, and dragged along at a slow pace.
+
+Young men with no appreciation, as it seemed to me, of the sad business
+we were off upon, went roistering up and down the aisles, drinking out
+of bottles and chasing around the train as it halted. These revellers
+grew quiet as the night wore on. The boys began to close their eyes
+and lie back for rest. Some lay in the aisle, their heads upon their
+knapsacks. The air grew chilly and soon I could hear them snoring all
+about me and the chatter of frogs in the near marshes. I closed my eyes
+and vainly courted sleep. A great sadness had lain hold of me. I had
+already given up my life for my country--I was only going away now to
+get as dear a price for it as possible in the hood of its enemies. When
+and where would it be taken? I wondered. The fear had mostly gone out
+of me in days and nights of solemn thinking. The feeling I had, with its
+flavour of religion, is what has made the volunteer the mighty soldier
+he has ever been, I take it, since Naseby and Marston Moor. The soul is
+the great Captain, and with a just quarrel it will warm its sword in the
+enemy, however he may be trained to thrust and parry. In my sacrifice
+there was but one reservation--I hoped I should not be horribly cut with
+a sword or a bayonet. I had written a long letter to Hope, who was yet
+at Leipzig. I wondered if she would care what became of me. I got a
+sense of comfort thinking I would show her that I was no coward, with
+all my littleness. I had not been able to write to Uncle Eb or to my
+father or mother in any serious tone of my feeling in this enterprise.
+I had treated it as a kind of holiday from which I should return shortly
+to visit them.
+
+All about me seemed to be sleeping--some of them were talking in their
+dreams. As it grew light, one after another rose and stretched himself,
+rousing his seat companion. The train halted, a man shot a musket voice
+in at the car door. It was loaded with the many syllables of 'Annapolis
+Junction'. We were pouring out of the train shortly, to bivouac for
+breakfast in the depot yard. So I began the life of a soldier, and how
+it ended with me many have read in better books than this, but my story
+of it is here and only here.
+
+We went into camp there on the lonely flats of east Maryland for a day
+or two, as we supposed, but really for quite two weeks. In the long
+delay that followed, my way traversed the dead levels of routine. When
+Southern sympathy had ceased to wreak its wrath upon the railroads about
+Baltimore we pushed on to Washington. There I got letters from Uncle Eb
+and Elizabeth Brower. The former I have now in my box of treasures--a
+torn and faded remnant of that dark period.
+
+DEAR SIR 'pen in hand to hat you know that we are all wel. also that we
+was sorry you could not come horn. They took on terribul. Hope she wrote
+a letter. Said she had not herd from you. also that somebody wrote to
+her you was goin to be married. You had oughter write her a letter,
+Bill. Looks to me so you hain't used her right. Shes a comm horn in
+July. Sowed corn to day in the gardin. David is off byin catul. I hope
+God will take care uv you, boy, so goodbye from yours truly
+
+EBEN HOLDEN
+
+I wrote immediately to Uncle Eb and told him of the letters I had sent
+to Hope, and of my effort to see her.
+
+Late in May, after Virginia had seceded, some thirty thousand of us were
+sent over to the south side of the Potomac, where for weeks we tore the
+flowery fields, lining the shore with long entrenchments.
+
+Meantime I wrote three letters to Mr Greeley, and had the satisfaction
+of seeing them in the Tribune. I took much interest in the camp drill,
+and before we crossed the river I had been raised to the rank of first
+lieutenant. Every day we were looking for the big army of Beauregard,
+camping below Centreville, some thirty miles south.
+
+Almost every night a nervous picket set the camp in uproar by
+challenging a phantom of his imagination. We were all impatient as
+hounds in leash. Since they would not come up and give us battle we
+wanted to be off and have it out with them. And the people were tired of
+delay. The cry of 'ste'boy!' was ringing all over the north. They wanted
+to cut us loose and be through with dallying.
+
+Well, one night the order came; we were to go south in the
+morning--thirty thousand of us, and put an end to the war. We did not
+get away until afternoon--it was the 6th of July. When we were off,
+horse and foot, so that I could see miles of the blue column before and
+behind me, I felt sorry for the mistaken South. On the evening of the
+18th our camp-fires on either side of the pike at Centreville glowed
+like the lights of a city. We knew the enemy was near, and began to feel
+a tightening of the nerves. I wrote a letter to the folks at home for
+post mortem delivery, and put it into my trousers pocket. A friend in my
+company called me aside after mess.
+
+'Feel of that,' he said, laying his hand on a full breast.
+
+'Feathers!' he whispered significantly. 'Balls can't go through 'em, ye
+know. Better n a steel breastplate! Want some?
+
+'Don't know but I do,' said I.
+
+We went into his tent, where he had a little sack full, and put a good
+wad of them between my two shirts.
+
+'I hate the idee o'bein'hit 'n the heart,' he said. 'That's too awful.
+
+I nodded my assent.
+
+'Shouldn't like t'have a ball in my lungs, either,' he added. ''Tain't
+necessary fer a man t'die if he can only breathe. If a man gits his
+leg shot off an' don't lose his head an' keeps drawin' his breath right
+along smooth an even, I don't see why he can't live.
+
+Taps sounded. We went asleep with our boots on, but nothing happened.
+
+Three days and nights we waited. Some called it a farce, some swore,
+some talked of going home. I went about quietly, my bosom under its pad
+of feathers. The third day an order came from headquarters. We were
+to break camp at one-thirty in the morning and go down the pike
+after Beauregard. In the dead of the night the drums sounded. I rose,
+half-asleep, and heard the long roll far and near. I shivered in the
+cold night air as I made ready, the boys about me buckled on knapsacks,
+shouldered their rifles, and fell into line. Muffled in darkness there
+was an odd silence in the great caravan forming rapidly and waiting for
+the word to move. At each command to move forward I could hear only
+the rub of leather, the click, click of rifle rings, the stir of the
+stubble, the snorting of horses. When we had marched an hour or so I
+could hear the faint rumble of wagons far in the rear. As I came high on
+a hill top, in the bending column, the moonlight fell upon a league
+of bayonets shining above a cloud of dust in the valley--a splendid
+picture, fading into darkness and mystery. At dawn we passed a bridge
+and halted some three minutes for a bite. After a little march we left
+the turnpike, with Hunter's column bearing westward on a crossroad that
+led us into thick woods. As the sunlight sank in the high tree-tops the
+first great battle of the war began. Away to the left of us a cannon
+shook the earth, hurling its boom into the still air. The sound rushed
+over us, rattling in the timber like a fall of rocks. Something went
+quivering in me. It seemed as if my vitals had gone into a big lump
+of jelly that trembled every step I took. We quickened our pace; we
+fretted, we complained. The weariness went out of our legs; some wanted
+to run. Before and behind us men were shouting hotly, 'Run, boys! run!'
+The cannon roar was now continuous. We could feel the quake of it. When
+we came over a low ridge, in the open, we could see the smoke of battle
+in the valley. Flashes of fire and hoods of smoke leaped out of the far
+thickets, left of us, as cannon roared. Going at double quick we began
+loosening blankets and haversacks, tossing them into heaps along the
+line of march, without halting. In half an hour we stood waiting in
+battalions, the left flank of the enemy in front. We were to charge at
+a run. Half-way across the valley we were to break into companies and,
+advancing, spread into platoons and squads, and at last into line of
+skirmishers, lying down for cover between rushes.
+
+'Forward!' was the order, and we were off, cheering as we ran. O, it was
+a grand sight! our colours flying, our whole front moving, like a blue
+wave on a green, immeasurable sea. And it had a voice like that of many
+waters. Out of the woods ahead of us came a lightning flash. A ring of
+smoke reeled upward. Then came a deafening crash of thunders--one upon
+another, and the scream of shells overhead. Something stabbed into our
+column right beside me. Many went headlong, crying out as they fell.
+Suddenly the colours seemed to halt and sway like a tree-top in the
+wind. Then down they went!--squad and colours--and we spread to pass
+them. At the order we halted and laid down and fired volley after volley
+at the grey coats in the edge of the thicket A bullet struck in the
+grass ahead of me, throwing a bit of dirt into my eyes. Another brushed
+my hat off and I heard a wailing death yell behind me. The colonel rode
+up waving a sword.
+
+'Get up an' charge!' he shouted.
+
+On we went, cheering loudly, firing as we ran, Bullets went by me
+hissing in my ears, and I kept trying to dodge them. We dropped again
+flat on our faces.
+
+A squadron of black-horse cavalry came rushing out of the woods at us,
+the riders yelling as they waved their swords. Fortunately we had not
+time to rise. A man near me tried to get up.
+
+'Stay down!' I shouted.
+
+In a moment I learned something new about horses. They went over us like
+a flash. I do not think a man was trampled. Our own cavalry kept them
+busy as soon as they had passed.
+
+Of the many who had started there was only a ragged remnant near me. We
+fired a dozen volleys lying there. The man at my elbow rolled upon me,
+writhing like a worm in the fire.
+
+'We shall all be killed!' a man shouted. 'Where is the colonel?'
+
+'Dead,' said another.
+
+'Better retreat,' said a third.
+
+'Charge!' I shouted as loudly as ever I could, jumping to my feet and
+waving my sabre as I rushed forward. 'Charge!'
+
+It was the one thing needed--they followed me. In a moment we had hurled
+ourselves upon the grey line thrusting with sword and bayonet.
+
+They broke before us--some running, some fighting desperately.
+
+A man threw a long knife at me out of a sling. Instinctively I caught
+the weapon as if it had been a ball hot off the bat. In doing so I
+dropped my sabre and was cut across the fingers. He came at me fiercely,
+clubbing his gun--a raw-boned, swarthy giant, broad as a barn door. I
+caught the barrel as it came down. He tried to wrench it away, but I
+held firmly. Then he began to push up to me. I let him come, and in a
+moment we were grappling hip and thigh. He was a powerful man, but that
+was my kind of warfare. It gave me comfort when I felt the grip of his
+hands. I let him tug a jiffy, and then caught him with the old hiplock,
+and he went under me so hard I could hear the crack of his bones. Our
+support came then. We made him prisoner, with some two hundred other
+men. Reserves came also and took away the captured guns. My comrades
+gathered about me, cheering, but I had no suspicion of what they meant.
+I thought it a tribute to my wrestling. Men lay thick there back of the
+guns--some dead, some calling faintly for help. The red puddles about
+them were covered with flies; ants were crawling over their faces. I
+felt a kind of sickness and turned away.
+
+What was left of my regiment formed in fours to join the advancing
+column. Horses were galloping riderless, rein and stirrup flying, some
+horribly wounded. One hobbled near me, a front leg gone at the knee.
+
+Shells were flying overhead; cannonballs were ricocheting over the level
+valley, throwing turf in the air, tossing the dead and wounded that lay
+thick and helpless.
+
+Some were crumpled like a rag, as if the pain of death had withered
+them in their clothes; some swollen to the girth of horses; some bent
+backward, with arms outreaching like one trying an odd trick, some
+lay as if listening eagerly, an ear close to the ground; some like a
+sleeper, their heads upon their arms; one shrieked loudly, gesturing
+with bloody hands, 'Lord God Almighty, have mercy on me!
+
+I had come suddenly to a new world, where the lives of men were cheaper
+than blind puppies. I was a new sort of creature, and reckless of what
+came, careless of all I saw and heard.
+
+A staff officer stepped up to me as we joined the main body.
+
+'You ve been shot, young man,' he said, pointing to my left hand.
+
+Before he could turn I felt a rush of air and saw him fly into pieces,
+some of which hit me as I fell backward. I did not know what had
+happened; I know not now more than that I have written. I remember
+feeling something under me, like a stick of wood, bearing hard upon my
+ribs. I tried to roll off it, but somehow, it was tied to me and kept
+hurting. I put my hand over my hip and felt it there behind me--my own
+arm! The hand was like that of a dead man--cold and senseless. I pulled
+it from under me and it lay helpless; it could not lift itself. I knew
+now that I, too, had become one of the bloody horrors of the battle.
+
+I struggled to my feet, weak and trembling, and sick with nausea. I must
+have been lying there a long time. The firing was now at a distance: the
+sun had gone half down the sky. They were picking up the wounded in the
+near field. A man stood looking at me. 'Good God!' he shouted, and then
+ran away like one afraid. There was a great mass of our men back of me
+some twenty rods. I staggered toward them, my knees quivering.
+
+'I can never get there,' I heard myself whisper.
+
+I thought of my little flask of whiskey, and, pulling the cork with my
+teeth, drank the half of it. That steadied me and I made better headway.
+I could hear the soldiers talking as I neared them.
+
+'Look a there!' I heard many saying. 'See 'em come! My God! Look at 'em
+on the hill there!
+
+The words went quickly from mouth to mouth. In a moment I could hear the
+murmur of thousands. I turned to see what they were looking at. Across
+the valley there was a long ridge, and back of it the main position
+of the Southern army. A grey host was pouring over it--thousand upon
+thousand--in close order, debouching into the valley.
+
+A big force of our men lay between us and them. As I looked I could see
+a mighty stir in it. Every man of them seemed to be jumping up in the
+air. From afar came the sound of bugles calling 'retreat, the shouting
+of men, the rumbling of wagons. It grew louder. An officer rode by me
+hatless, and halted, shading his eyes. Then he rode back hurriedly.
+
+'Hell has broke loose!' he shouted, as he passed me.
+
+The blue-coated host was rushing towards us like a flood: artillery,
+cavalry, infantry, wagon train. There was a mighty uproar in the men
+behind me--a quick stir of feet. Terror spread over them like the
+travelling of fire. It shook their tongues. The crowd began caving at
+the edge and jamming at the centre. Then it spread like a swarm of bees
+shaken off a bush.
+
+'Run! Run for your lives!' was a cry that rose to heaven.
+
+'Halt, you cowards!' an officer shouted.
+
+It was now past three o clock.
+
+The raw army had been on its feet since midnight. For hours it had
+been fighting hunger, a pain in the legs, a quivering sickness at the
+stomach, a stubborn foe. It had turned the flank of Beauregard; victory
+was in sight. But lo! a new enemy was coming to the fray, innumerable,
+unwearied, eager for battle. The long <DW72> bristled with his bayonets.
+Our army looked and cursed and began letting go. The men near me
+were pausing on the brink of awful rout. In a moment they were off,
+pell-mell, like a flock of sheep. The earth shook under them. Officers
+rode around them, cursing, gesticulating, threatening, but nothing could
+stop them. Half a dozen trees had stood in the centre of the roaring
+mass. Now a few men clung to them--a remnant of the monster that had
+torn away. But the greater host was now coming. The thunder of its many
+feet was near me; a cloud of dust hung over it. A squadron of cavalry
+came rushing by and broke into the fleeing mass. Heavy horses, cut free
+from artillery, came galloping after them, straps flying over foamy
+flanks. Two riders clung to the back of each, lashing with whip and
+rein. The nick of wagons came after them, wheels rattling, horses
+running, voices shrilling in a wild hoot of terror. It makes me tremble
+even now, as I think of it, though it is muffled under the cover of
+nearly forty years! I saw they would go over me. Reeling as if drunk, I
+ran to save myself. Zigzagging over the field I came upon a grey-bearded
+soldier lying in the grass and fell headlong. I struggled madly, but
+could not rise to my feet. I lay, my face upon the ground, weeping like
+a woman. Save I be lost in hell, I shall never know again the bitter
+pang of that moment. I thought of my country. I saw its splendid capital
+in ruins; its people surrendered to God's enemies.
+
+The rout of wagons had gone by I could now hear the heavy tramp of
+thousands passing me, the shrill voices of terror. I worked to a sitting
+posture somehow--the effort nearly smothered me. A mass of cavalry was
+bearing down upon me. They were coming so thick I saw they would trample
+me into jelly. In a flash I thought of what Uncle Eb had told me once.
+I took my hat and covered my face quickly, and then uncovered it as they
+came near. They sheared away as I felt the foam of their nostrils. I had
+split them as a rock may split the torrent. The last of them went over
+me--their tails whipping my face. I shall not soon forget the look
+of their bellies or the smell of their wet flanks. They had no sooner
+passed than I fell back and rolled half over like a log. I could feel
+a warm flow of blood trickling down my left arm. A shell, shot at the
+retreating army, passed high above me, whining as it flew. Then my mind
+went free of its trouble. The rain brought me to as it came pelting down
+upon the side of my face. I wondered what it might be, for I knew
+not where I had come. I lifted my head and looked to see a new
+dawn--possibly the city of God itself. It was dark--so dark I felt as if
+I had no eyes. Away in the distance I could hear the beating of a drum.
+It rang in a great silence--I have never known the like of it. I could
+hear the fall and trickle of the rain, but it seemed only to deepen the
+silence. I felt the wet grass under my face and hands. Then I knew it
+was night and the battlefield where I had fallen. I was alive and might
+see another day--thank God! I felt something move under my feet I heard
+a whisper at my shoulder.
+
+'Thought you were dead long ago,' it said.
+
+'No, no,' I answered, 'I'm alive--I know I'm alive--this is the
+battlefield.
+
+''Fraid I ain't goin' t' live,' he said. 'Got a terrible wound. Wish it
+was morning.'
+
+'Dark long?' I asked.
+
+'For hours,' he answered. 'Dunno how many.'
+
+He began to groan and utter short prayers.
+
+'O, my soul waiteth for the Lord more than they that watch for the
+morning,' I heard him cry in a loud, despairing voice.
+
+Then there was a bit of silence, in which I could hear him whispering of
+his home and people.
+
+Presently he began to sing:
+
+
+  'Guide me, O thou great Jehovah!
+  Pilgrim through this barren land
+  I am weak but thou art mighty'
+
+His voice broke and trembled and sank into silence.
+
+I had business of my own to look after--perhaps I had no time to
+lose--and I went about it calmly. I had no strength to move and began to
+feel the nearing of my time. The rain was falling faster. It chilled me
+to the marrow as I felt it trickling over my back. I called to the man
+who lay beside me--again and again I called to him--but got no answer.
+Then I knew that he was dead and I alone. Long after that in the far
+distance I heard a voice calling. It rang like a trumpet in the still
+air. It grew plainer as I listened. My own name! William Brower? It was
+certainly calling to me, and I answered with a feeble cry. In a moment
+I could hear the tramp of someone coming. He was sitting beside me
+presently, whoever it might be. I could not see him for the dark. His
+tongue went clucking as if he pitied me.
+
+'Who are you?' I remember asking, but got no answer.
+
+At first I was glad, then I began to feel a mighty horror of him.
+
+In a moment he had picked me up and was making off. The jolt of his step
+seemed to be breaking my arms at the shoulder. As I groaned he ran. I
+could see nothing in the darkness, but he went ahead, never stopping,
+save for a moment, now and then, to rest I wondered where he was taking
+me and what it all meant. I called again, 'Who are you?' but he seemed
+not to hear me. 'My God!' I whispered to myself, 'this is no man--this
+is Death severing the soul from the body. The voice was that of the good
+God.' Then I heard a man hailing near by.
+
+'Help, Help!' I shouted faintly.
+
+'Where are you?' came the answer, now further away. 'Can't see you.'
+My mysterious bearer was now running. My heels were dragging upon the
+ground; my hands were brushing the grass tops. I groaned with pain.
+
+'Halt! Who comes there?' a picket called. Then I could hear voices.
+
+'Did you hear that noise?' said one. 'Somebody passed me. So dark can't
+see my hand before me.
+
+'Darker than hell!' said another voice.
+
+It must be a giant, I thought, who can pick me up and carry me as if
+I were no bigger than a house cat. That was what I was thinking when I
+swooned.
+
+From then till I came to myself in the little church at Centreville I
+remember nothing. Groaning men lay all about me; others stood between
+them with lanterns. A woman was bending over me. I felt the gentle touch
+of her hand upon my face and heard her speak to me so tenderly I cannot
+think of it, even now, without thanking God for good women. I clung to
+her hand, clung with the energy of one drowning, while I suffered the
+merciful torture of the probe, the knife and the needle. And when it was
+all over and the lantern lights grew pale in the dawn I fell asleep.
+
+But enough of blood and horror. War is no holiday, my merry people, who
+know not the mighty blessing of peace. Counting the cost, let us have
+war, if necessary, but peace, peace if possible.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 40
+
+But now I have better things to write of, things that have some relish
+of good in them. I was very weak and low from loss of blood for days,
+and, suddenly, the tide turned. I had won recognition for distinguished
+gallantry they told me--that day they took me to Washington. I lay three
+weeks there in the hospital. As soon as they heard of my misfortune
+at home Uncle Eb wrote he was coming to see me. I stopped him by a
+telegram, assuring him that I was nearly well and would be home shortly.
+
+My term of enlistment had expired when they let me out a fine day in
+mid August. I was going home for a visit as sound as any man but, in
+the horse talk of Faraway, I had a little 'blemish'on the left shoulder.
+Uncle Eb was to meet me at the jersey City depot. Before going I, with
+others who had been complimented for bravery, went to see the president.
+There were some twenty of us summoned to meet him that day. It was warm
+and the great Lincoln sat in his shirt-sleeves at a desk in the middle
+of his big office. He wore a pair of brown carpet slippers, the rolling
+collar and black stock now made so familiar in print. His hair was
+tumbled. He was writing hurriedly when we came in. He laid his pen away
+and turned to us without speaking. There was a careworn look upon his
+solemn face.
+
+'Mr President,' said the general, who had come with us, 'here are some
+of the brave men of our army, whom you wished to see.
+
+He came and shook hands with each and thanked us in the name of the
+republic, for the example of courage and patriotism we and many others
+had given to the army. He had a lean, tall, ungraceful figure and he
+spoke his mind without any frill or flourish. He said only a few words
+of good plain talk and was done with us.
+
+'Which is Brower?' he enquired presently.
+
+I came forward more scared than ever I had been before.
+
+'My son,' he said, taking my hand in his, 'why didn't you run?'
+
+'Didn't dare,' I answered. 'I knew it was more dangerous to run away
+than to go forward.'
+
+'Reminds me of a story,' said he smiling. 'Years ago there was a bully
+in Sangamon County, Illinois, that had the reputation of running faster
+and fighting harder than any man there. Everybody thought he was a
+terrible fighter. He'd always get a man on the run; then he'd ketch
+up and give him a licking. One day he tadded a lame man. The lame man
+licked him in a minute.
+
+'"Why didn't ye run?" somebody asked the victor.
+
+'"Didn't dast," said he. "Run once when he tackled me an I've been lame
+ever since."
+
+"How did ye manage to lick him?" said the other.
+
+'"Wall," said he, "I hed to, an' I done it easy."
+
+'That's the way it goes,' said the immortal president, 'ye do it easy if
+ye have to.
+
+He reminded me in and out of Horace Greeley, although they looked no
+more alike than a hawk and a handsaw. But they had a like habit of
+forgetting themselves and of saying neither more nor less than they
+meant. They both had the strength of an ox and as little vanity. Mr
+Greeley used to say that no man could amount to anything who worried
+much about the fit of his trousers; neither of them ever encountered
+that obstacle.
+
+Early next morning I took a train for home. I was in soldier clothes I
+had with me, no others--and all in my car came to talk with me about the
+now famous battle of Bull Run.
+
+The big platform at Jersey City was crowded with many people as we got
+off the train. There were other returning soldiers--some with crutches,
+some with empty sleeves.
+
+A band at the further end of the platform was playing and those near me
+were singing the familiar music,
+
+
+  'John Brown's body lies a mouldering in the grave.
+
+Somebody shouted my name. Then there rose a cry of three cheers for
+Brower. It's some of the boys of the Tribune, I thought--I could see
+a number of them in the crowd. One brought me a basket of flowers. I
+thought they were trying to have fun with me.
+
+'Thank you!' said I, 'but what is the joke?'
+
+'No joke,' he said. 'It's to honour a hero.'
+
+'Oh, you wish me to give it to somebody.'
+
+I was warming with embarrassment
+
+'We wish you to keep it,' he answered.
+
+In accounts of the battle I had seen some notice of my leading a charge
+but my fame had gone farther--much farther indeed--than I knew. I stood
+a moment laughing--an odd sort of laugh it was that had in it the salt
+of tears--and waving my hand to the many who were now calling my name.
+
+In the uproar of cheers and waving of handkerchiefs I could not find
+Uncle Eb for a moment. When I saw him in the breaking crowd he was
+cheering lustily and waving his hat above his head. His enthusiasm
+increased when I stood before him. As I was greeting him I heard a
+lively rustle of skirts. Two dainty, gloved hands laid hold of mine;
+a sweet voice spoke my name. There, beside me, stood the tall, erect
+figure of Hope. Our eyes met and, before there was any thinking of
+propriety, I had her in my arms and was kissing her and she was kissing
+me.
+
+It thrilled me to see the splendour of her beauty that day; her eyes wet
+with feeling as they looked up at me; to feel again the trembling touch
+of her lips. In a moment I turned to Uncle Eb.
+
+'Boy,' he said, 'I thought you...' and then he stopped and began
+brushing his coat sleeve.
+
+'Come on now,' he added as he took my grip away from me. 'We're goin' t'
+hev a gran' good time. I'll take ye all to a splendid tavern somewheres.
+An' I ain't goin' to count the cost nuther.
+
+He was determined to carry my grip for me. Hope had a friend with her
+who was going north in the morning on our boat. We crossed the ferry and
+took a Broadway omnibus, while query followed query.
+
+'Makes me feel like a flapjack t'ride 'n them things,' said Uncle Eb as
+we got out.
+
+He hired a parlour and two bedrooms for us all at the St Nicholas.
+
+'Purty middlin' steep!' he said to me as we left the office. 'It is,
+sartin! but I don't care--not a bit. When folks has to hev a good time
+they've got t' hev it.
+
+We were soon seated in our little parlour. There was a great glow of
+health and beauty in Hope's face. It was a bit fuller but had nobler
+outlines and a colouring as delicate as ever. She wore a plain grey
+gown admirably fitted to her plump figure. There was a new and splendid
+'dignity in her carriage, her big blue eyes, her nose with its little
+upward slant. She was now the well groomed young woman of society in the
+full glory of her youth.
+
+Uncle Eb who sat between us pinched her cheek playfully. A little spot
+of white showed a moment where his fingers had been. Then the pink
+flooded over it.
+
+'Never see a girl git such a smack as you did,' he said laughing.
+
+'Well,' said she, smiling, 'I guess I gave as good as I got.'
+
+'Served him right,' he said. 'You kissed back good 'n hard. Gran sport!'
+he added turning to me.
+
+'Best I ever had,' was my humble acknowledgement.
+
+'Seldom ever see a girl kissed so powerful,' he said as he took Hope's
+hand in his. 'Now if the Bible said when a body kissed ye on one cheek
+ye mus' turn if other I wouldn't find no fault. But ther's a heap o
+differ'nce 'tween a whack an' a smack.
+
+When we had come back from dinner Uncle Eb drew off his boots and sat
+comfortably in his stocking feet while Hope told of her travels and I of
+my soldiering. She had been at the Conservatory, nearly the whole period
+of her absence, and hastened home when she learned of the battle and of
+my wound. She had landed two days before.
+
+Hope's friend and Uncle Eb went away to their rooms in good season. Then
+I came and sat beside Hope on the sofa.
+
+'Let's have a good talk,' I said.
+
+There was an awkward bit of silence.
+
+'Well,' said she, her fan upon her lips, 'tell me more about the war.
+
+'Tired of war,' I answered; 'love is a better subject.
+
+She rose and walked up and down the room, a troubled look in her face. I
+thought I had never seen a woman who could carry her head so proudly.
+
+'I don't think you are very familiar with it,' said she presently.
+
+'I ought to be,' I answered, 'having loved you all these years.
+
+'But you told me that--that you loved another girl,' she said, her elbow
+leaning on the mantel, her eyes looking down soberly.
+
+'When? Where?' I asked.
+
+'In Mrs Fuller's parlour.'
+
+'Hope,' I said, 'you misunderstood me; I meant you.
+
+She came toward me, then, looking up into my eyes. I started to embrace
+her but she caught my hands and held them apart and came close to me.
+
+'Did you say that you meant me?' she asked in a whisper.
+
+'I did.'
+
+'Why did you not tell me that night?
+
+'Because you would not listen to me and we were interrupted.
+
+'Well if I loved a girl,' she said, 'I'd make her listen.'
+
+'I would have done that but Mrs Fuller saved you.'
+
+'You might have written,' she suggested in a tone of injury.
+
+'I did.'
+
+'And the letter never came--just as I feared.'
+
+She looked very sober and thoughtful then.
+
+'You know our understanding that day in the garden,' she added. 'If you
+did not ask me again I was to know you--you did not love me any longer.
+That was long, long ago.
+
+'I never loved any girl but you,' I said. 'I love you now, Hope, and
+that is enough--I love you so there is nothing else for me. You are
+dearer than my life. It was the thought of you that made me brave in
+battle. I wish I could be as brave here. But I demand your surrender--I
+shall give you no quarter now.
+
+'I wish I knew,' she said, 'whether--whether you really love me or not?
+
+'Don't you believe me, Hope?
+
+'Yes, I believe you,' she said, 'but--but you might not know your own
+heart.
+
+'It longs for you,' I said, 'it keeps me thinking of you always. Once
+it was so easy to be happy; since you have been away it has seemed as if
+there were no longer any light in the world or any pleasure. It has made
+me a slave. I did not know that love was such a mighty thing.
+
+'Love is no Cupid--he is a giant,' she said, her voice trembling with
+emotion as mine had trembled. 'I tried to forget and he crushed me under
+his feet as if to punish me.
+
+She was near to crying now, but she shut her lips firmly and kept back
+the tears. God grant me I may never forget the look in her eyes that
+moment. She came closer to me. Our lips touched; my arms held her
+tightly.
+
+'I have waited long for this,' I said--'the happiest moment of my life!
+I thought I had lost you.
+
+'What a foolish man,' she whispered. 'I have loved you for years and
+years and you--you could not see it, I believe now.'
+
+She hesitated a moment, her eyes so close to my cheek I could feel the
+beat of their long lashes.
+
+'That God made you for me,' she added.
+
+'Love is God's helper,' I said. 'He made us for each other.
+
+'I thank Him for it--I do love you so,' she whispered.
+
+The rest is the old, old story. They that have not lived it are to be
+pitied.
+
+When we sat down at length she told me what I had long suspected, that
+Mrs Fuller wished her to marry young Livingstone.
+
+'But for Uncle Eb,' she added, 'I think I should have done so--for I had
+given up all hope of you.'
+
+'Good old Uncle Eb!' I said. 'Let's go and tell him.
+
+He was sound asleep when we entered his room but woke as I lit the gas.
+
+'What's the matter?' he whispered, lifting his head.
+
+'Congratulate us,' I said. 'We're engaged.
+
+'Hey ye conquered her?' he enquired smiling.
+
+'Love has conquered us both,' I said.
+
+'Wall, I swan! is thet so?' he answered. 'Guess I won't fool away any
+more time here in bed. If you childen'll go in t'other room I'll slip
+into my trousers an' then ye'll hear me talk some conversation.
+
+'Beats the world!' he continued, coming in presently, buttoning his
+suspenders. 'I thought mos' likely ye'd hitch up t'gether sometime.
+'Tain't often ye can find a pair s'well matched. The same style an
+gaited jest about alike. When ye goin' t' git married?
+
+'She hasn't named the day,' I said.
+
+'Sooner the better,' said Uncle Eb as he drew on his coat and sat down.
+'Used to be so t'when a young couple hed set up 'n held each other's
+han's a few nights they was ready fer the minister. Wish't ye could
+fix it fer 'bout Crissmus time, by jingo! They's other things goin' to
+happen then. S'pose yer s'happy now ye can stan' a little bad news. I've
+got to tell ye--David's been losin' money. Hain't never wrote ye 'bout
+it--not a word--'cause I didn't know how 'twas comin' out.
+
+'How did he lose it?' I enquired.
+
+'Wall ye know that Ow Barker--runs a hardware store in Migleyville--he
+sold him a patent right. Figgered an' argued night an' day fer more 'n
+three weeks. It was a new fangled wash biler. David he thought he see a
+chance if put out agents an' make a great deal o'money. It did look jest
+as easy as slidin' downhill but when we come slide--wall, we found out
+we was at the bottom o the hill 'stid o' the top an' it wan't reel good
+slidin. He paid five thousan' dollars fer the right o'ten counties. Then
+bym bye Barker he wanted him t'go security fer fifteen hunderd bilers
+thet he was hevin' made. I to!' David he hedn't better go in no deeper
+but Barker, he promised big things an' seemed to be sech a nice man 'at
+fin'ly David he up 'n done it. Wall he's hed 'em t' pay fer an' the fact
+is it costs s'much if sell 'em it eats up all the profits.
+
+'Looks like a swindle,' I said indignantly.
+
+'No,' said Uncle Eb, ''tain't no swindle. Barker thought he hed a gran'
+good thing. He got fooled an' the fool complaint is very ketchin'. Got
+it myself years ago an' I've been doctorin' fer it ever sence.
+
+The story of David's undoing hurt us sorely. He had gone the way of most
+men who left the farm late in life with unsatisfied ambition.
+
+'They shall never want for anything, so long as I have my health,' I
+said.
+
+'I have four hundred dollars in the bank,' said Hope, 'and shall give
+them every cent of it.
+
+'Tain' nuthin'if worry over,' said Uncle Eb. 'If I don' never lose
+more'n a little money I shan't feel terrible bad. We're all young yit.
+Got more'n a million dollars wuth o' good health right here 'n this
+room. So well, I'm 'shamed uv it! Man's more decent if he's a leetle bit
+sickly. An' thet there girl Bill's agreed t'marry ye! Why! 'Druther hev
+her 'n this hull city o' New York.
+
+'So had I,' was my answer.
+
+'Wall, you am'no luckier 'n she is--not a bit,' he added. 'A good man's
+better 'n a gol'mine ev'ry time.
+
+'Who knows,' said Hope. 'He may be president someday.
+
+'Ther's one thing I hate,' Uncle El continued. 'That's the idee o hevin'
+the woodshed an' barn an' garret full o' them infernal wash bilers.
+Ye can't take no decent care uv a hoss there 'n the stable' they're
+so piled up. One uv 'em tumbled down top o' me t'other day. 'Druther
+'twould a been a panther. Made me s'mad I took a club an' knocked that
+biler into a cocked hat. 'Tain't right! I'm sick o' the sight uv 'em.
+
+'They'll make a good bonfire someday,' said Hope.
+
+'Don't believe they'd burn,' he answered sorrowfully, 'they're tin.
+
+'Couldn't we bury 'em?' I suggested.
+
+'Be a purty costly funeral,' he answered thoughtfully. 'Ye'd hev to dig
+a hole deeper n Tupper's dingle.
+
+'Couldn't you give them away?' I enquired.
+
+'Wall,' said he, helping himself to a chew of tobacco, 'we ve tried
+thet. Gin 'em t'everybody we know but there ain't folks enough' there's
+such a slew o'them bilers. We could give one to ev'ry man, woman an'
+child in Faraway an' hex enough left t'fill an acre lot. Dan Perry druv
+in t'other day with a double buggy. We gin him one fer his own fam'ly.
+It was heavy t'carry an' he didn't seem t' like the looks uv it someway.
+Then I asked him if he wouldn't like one fer his girl. "She ain't
+married," says he. "She will be some time," says I, "take it along," so
+he put in another. "You've got a sister over on the turnpike hain't
+ye?" says I. "Yes," says he. "Wall," I says, "don' want a hex her feel
+slighted." "She won't know 'bout my hevin' 'em," says he, lookin' 's if
+he'd hed enough. "Yis she will," I says, "she'll hear uv it an' mebbe
+make a fuss." Then we piled in another. "Look here," I says after that,
+"there s yer brother Bill up there 'bove you. Take one along fer him."
+"No," says he, "I don' tell ev'ry body, but Bill an' I ain't on good
+terms. We ain't spoke fer more'n a year."
+
+'Knew he was lyin',' Uncle Eb added with a laugh, 'I'd seen him talkin'
+with Bill a day er two before.
+
+'Whew!' he whistled as he looked at his big silver watch. 'I declare
+it's mos' one o'clock They's jes' one other piece o' business to come
+before this meetin'. Double or single, want ye to both promise me t'be
+hum Crissmus.
+
+We promised.
+
+'Now childern,' said he. ''S time to go to bed. B'lieve ye'd stan' there
+swappin' kisses 'till ye was kner sprung if I didn't tell ye t' quit.
+
+Hope came and put her arms about his neck, fondly, and kissed him
+good-night.
+
+'Did Bill prance right up like a man?' he asked, his hand upon her
+shoulder.
+
+'Did very well,' said she, smiling, 'for a man with a wooden leg.
+
+Uncle Eb sank into a chair, laughing heartily, and pounding his knee. It
+seemed he had told her that I was coming home with a wooden leg! 'That
+is the reason I held your arm,' she said. 'I was expecting to hear it
+squeak every moment as we left the depot. But when I saw that you walked
+so naturally I knew Uncle Eb had been trying to fool me.
+
+'Purty good sort uv a lover, ain't he?' said he after we were done
+laughing.
+
+'He wouldn't take no for an answer,' she answered.
+
+'He was alwuss a gritty cuss,' said Uncle Eb, wiping his eyes with a big
+red handkerchief as he rose to go. 'Ye'd oughter be mighty happy an' ye
+will, too--their am'no doubt uv it--not a bit. Trouble with most young
+folks is they wan' to fly tew high, these days. If they'd only fly clus
+enough t'the ground so the could alwuss touch one foot, they'd be all
+right. Glad ye ain't thet kind.
+
+We were off early on the boat--as fine a summer morning as ever dawned.
+What with the grandeur of the scenery and the sublimity of our happiness
+it was a delightful journey we had that day. I felt the peace and beauty
+of the fields, the majesty of the mirrored cliffs and mountains, but the
+fair face of her I loved was enough for me. Most of the day Uncle Eb sat
+near us and I remember a woman evangelist came and took a seat beside
+him, awhile, talking volubly of the scene.
+
+'My friend,' said she presently, 'are you a Christian?
+
+'Fore I answer I'll hev to tell ye a story,' said Uncle Eb. 'I recollec'
+a man by the name o' Ranney over 'n Vermont--he was a pious man. Got
+into an argyment an' a feller slapped him in the face. Ranney turned
+t'other side an' then t'other an' the feller kep' a slappin' hot 'n
+heavy. It was jes' like strappin' a razor fer half a minnit. Then Ranney
+sailed in--gin him the wust lickin' he ever hed.
+
+'"I declare," says another man, after 'twas all over, "I thought you was
+a Christian."
+
+"Am up to a cert in p'int," says he. "Can't go tew fur not 'n these
+parts--men are tew powerful. 'Twon't do 'less ye wan' to die sudden.
+When he begun poundin' uv me I see I wan't eggzac'ly prepared."
+
+''Fraid 's a good deal thet way with most uv us. We're Christians up to
+a cert'in p'int. Fer one thing, I think if a man'll stan' still an' see
+himself knocked into the nex' world he's a leetle tew good fer this.'
+
+The good lady began to preach and argue. For an hour Uncle Eb sat
+listening unable to get in a word. When, at last, she left him he came
+to us a look of relief in his face.
+
+'I b'lieve,' said he, 'if Balaam's ass hed been rode by a woman he never
+'d hev spoke.'
+
+'Why not?' I enquired.
+
+'Never'd hev hed a chance,' Uncle Eb added.
+
+We were two weeks at home with mother and father and Uncle Eb. It was
+a delightful season of rest in which Hope and I went over the sloping
+roads of Faraway and walked in the fields and saw the harvesting. She
+had appointed Christmas Day for our wedding and I was not to go again to
+the war, for now my first duty was to my own people. If God prospered
+me they were all to come to live with us in town and, though slow to
+promise, I could see it gave them comfort to know we were to be for them
+ever a staff and refuge.
+
+And the evening before we came back to town Jed Feary was with us and
+Uncle Eb played his flute and sang the songs that had been the delight
+of our childhood.
+
+The old poet read these lines written in memory of old times in Faraway
+and of Hope's girlhood.
+
+
+  'The red was in the clover an' the blue was in the sky:
+  There was music in the meadow, there was dancing in the rye;
+  An' I heard a voice a calling to the flocks o' Faraway
+  An' its echo in the wooded hills--Go'day! Go'day! Go'day!
+
+  O fair was she--my lady love--an' lithe as the willow tree,
+  An' aye my heart remembers well her parting words t' me.
+  An' I was sad as a beggar-man but she was blithe an' gay
+  An' I think o' her as I call the flocks Go'day! Go'day! Go'day!
+
+  Her cheeks they stole the dover's red, her lips the odoured air,
+  An' the glow o' the morning sunlight she took away in her hair;
+  Her voice had the meadow music, her form an' her laughing eye
+  Have taken the blue o' the heavens an' the grace o' the bending rye.
+
+  My love has robbed the summer day--the field, the sky, the dell,
+  She has taken their treasures with her, she has taken my heart as well;
+  An' if ever, in the further fields, her feet should go astray
+  May she hear the good God calling her Go'day! Go'day! Go'day!
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 41
+
+I got a warm welcome on Monkey Hill. John Trumbull came to dine with
+us at the chalet the evening of my arrival. McGlingan had become
+editor-in-chief of a new daily newspaper. Since the war began Mr Force
+had found ample and remunerative occupation writing the 'Obituaries of
+Distinguished Persons. He sat between Trumbull and McGlingan at table
+and told again of the time he had introduced the late Daniel Webster to
+the people of his native town.
+
+Reciting a passage of the immortal Senator he tipped his beer into the
+lap of McClingan. He ceased talking and sought pardon.
+
+'It is nothing, Force--nothing,' said the Scotchman, with great dignity,
+as he wiped his coat and trousers. 'You will pardon me if I say that I
+had rather be drenched in beer than soaked in recollections.
+
+'That's all right,' said Mr Opper, handing him a new napkin. 'Yes, in
+the midst of such affliction I should call it excellent fun, McClingan
+added. 'If you ever die, Force, I will preach the sermon without charge.
+
+'On what text?' the obituary editor enquired.
+
+'"There remaineth therefore, a rest for the people of God,"'quoth
+McClingan solemnly. 'Hebrews, fourth chapter and ninth verse.
+
+'If I continue to live with you I shall need it,' said Force.
+
+'And if I endure to the end,' said McClingan, 'I shall have excellent
+Christian discipline; I shall feel like opening my mouth and making a
+loud noise.
+
+McGlingan changed his garments and then came into my room and sat with
+us awhile after dinner.
+
+'One needs ear lappers and a rubber coat at that table,' said he.
+
+'And a chest protector,' I suggested, remembering the finger of Force.
+
+'I shall be leaving here soon, Brower,' said McGlingan as he lit a
+cigar.
+
+'Where shall you go?' I asked.
+
+'To my own house.
+
+'Going to hire a housekeeper?
+
+'Going to marry one,' said he.
+
+'That's funny,' I said. We're all to be married--every man of us.
+
+'By Jove!' said McClingan, 'this is a time for congratulation. God save
+us and grant for us all the best woman in the world.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 42
+
+For every man he knew and loved Mr Greeley had a kindness that filled
+him to the fingertips. When I returned he smote me on the breast--an
+unfailing mark of his favour--and doubled my salary.
+
+'If he ever smites you on the breast,' McClingan had once said to me,
+'turn the other side, for, man, your fortune is made.'
+
+And there was some truth in the warning.
+
+He was writing when I came in. A woman sat beside him talking. An
+immense ham lay on the marble top of the steam radiator; a basket of
+eggs sat on the floor near Mr Greeley's desk All sorts of merchandise
+were sent to the Tribune those days, for notice, and sold at auction, to
+members of the staff, by Mr Dana.
+
+'Yes, yes, Madame, go on, I hear you,' said the great editor, as his pen
+flew across the white page.
+
+She asked him then for a loan of money. He continued writing but,
+presently, his left hand dove into his trousers pocket coming up full of
+bills.
+
+'Take what you want,' said he, holding it toward her, 'and please go for
+I am very busy.' Whereupon she helped herself liberally and went away.
+
+Seeing me, Mr Greeley came and shook my hand warmly and praised me fer a
+good soldier.
+
+'Going down town,' he said in a moment, drawing on his big white
+overcoat, 'walk along with me--won't you?
+
+We crossed the park, he leading me with long strides. As we walked
+he told how he had been suffering from brain fever. Passing St Paul's
+churchyard he brushed the iron pickets with his hand as if to try the
+feel of them. Many turned to stare at him curiously. He asked me, soon,
+if I would care to do a certain thing for the Tribune, stopping, to look
+in at a shop window, as I answered him. I waited while he did his errand
+at a Broadway shop; then we came back to the office. The publisher was
+in Mr Greeley's room.
+
+'Where's my ham, Dave?' said the editor as he looked at the slab of
+marble where the ham had lain.
+
+'Don't know for sure,' said the publisher, 'it's probably up at the
+house of the--editor by this time.
+
+'What did you go 'n give it to him for?' drawled Mr Greeley in a tone of
+irreparable injury. 'I wanted that ham for myself.
+
+'I didn't give it to him,' said the publisher. 'He came and helped
+himself. Said he supposed it was sent in for notice.
+
+'The infernal thief!' Mr Greeley piped with a violent gesture. 'I'll
+swear! if I didn't keep my shirt buttoned tight they'd have that, too.
+
+The ham was a serious obstacle in the way of my business and it went
+over until evening. But that and like incidents made me to know the man
+as I have never seen him pictured--a boy grown old and grey, pushing the
+power of manhood with the ardours of youth.
+
+I resumed work on the Tribune that week. My first assignment was a mass
+meeting in a big temporary structure--then called a wigwam--over in
+Brooklyn. My political life began that day and all by an odd chance. The
+wigwam was crowded to the doors. The audience bad been waiting half an
+hour for the speaker. The chairman had been doing his best to kill
+time but had run out of ammunition. He had sat down to wait, an awkward
+silence had begun. The crowd was stamping and whistling and clapping
+with impatience. As I walked down the centre aisle, to the reporter's
+table, they seemed to mistake me for the speaker. Instantly a great
+uproar began. It grew louder every step I took. I began to wonder and
+then to fear the truth. As I neared the stage the chairman came forward
+beckoning to me. I went to the flight of steps leading up to that higher
+level of distinguished citizens and halted, not knowing just what to do.
+He came and leaned over and whispered down at me. I remember he was red
+in the face and damp with perspiration.
+
+'What is your name?' he enquired.
+
+'Brower,' said I in a whisper.
+
+A look of relief came into his face and I am sure a look of anxiety came
+into mine. He had taken the centre of the stage before I could stop him.
+
+'Lathes and gentlemen,' said he, 'I am glad to inform you that General
+Brower has at last arrived.
+
+I remembered then there was a General Brower in the army who was also a
+power in politics.
+
+In the storm of applause that followed this announcement, I beckoned him
+to the edge of the platform again. I was nearer a condition of mental
+panic than I have ever known since that day.
+
+'I am not General Brower,' I whispered.
+
+'What!' said he in amazement.
+
+'I am not General Brower,' I said.
+
+'Great heavens!' he whispered, covering his mouth with his band and
+looking very thoughtful. 'You'll have to make a speech, anyway--there's
+no escape.
+
+I could see no way out of it and, after a moment's hesitation, ascended
+the platform took off my overcoat and made a speech.
+
+Fortunately the issue was one with which I had been long familiar. I
+told them how I had been trapped. The story put the audience in good
+humour and they helped me along with very generous applause. And so
+began my career in politics which has brought me more honour than I
+deserved although I know it has not been wholly without value to my
+country. It enabled me to repay in part the kindness of my former chief
+at a time when he was sadly in need of friends. I remember meeting him
+in Washington a day of that exciting campaign of '72. I was then in
+Congress.
+
+'I thank you for what you have done, Brower,' said he, 'but I tell you
+I am licked. I shall not carry a single state. I am going to be
+slaughtered.
+
+He had read his fate and better than he knew. In politics he was a great
+prophet.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 43
+
+The north country lay buried in the snow that Christmastime. Here and
+there the steam plough had thrown its furrows, on either side of the
+railroad, high above the window line. The fences were muffled in long
+ridges of snow, their stakes showing like pins in a cushion of white
+velvet. Some of the small trees on the edge of the big timber stood
+overdrifted to their boughs. I have never seen such a glory of the
+morning as when the sun came up, that day we were nearing home, and lit
+the splendour of the hills, there in the land I love. The frosty nap of
+the snow glowed far and near with pulsing glints of pale sapphire.
+
+We came into Hillsborough at noon the day before Christmas. Father and
+Uncle Eb met us at the depot and mother stood waving her handkerchief
+at the door as we drove up. And when we were done with our greetings
+and were standing, damp eyed, to warm ourselves at the fire, Uncle Eb
+brought his palms together with a loud whack and said:
+
+'Look here, Lizbeth Brower! I want to hev ye tell me if ye ever see a
+likelier pair o' colts.
+
+She laughed as she looked at us. In a moment she ran her hand down the
+side of Hope's gown. Then she lifted a fold of the cloth and felt of it
+thoughtfully.
+
+'How much was that a yard?' she asked a dreamy look in her eyes. 'Wy!
+w'y!' she continued as Hope told her the sum. 'Terrible steep! but it
+does fit splendid! Oughter wear well too! Wish ye'd put that on if ye go
+t' church nex' Sunday.
+
+'O mother!' said Hope, laughing, 'I'll wear my blue silk.
+
+'Come boys 'n girls,' said Elizabeth suddenly, 'dinner's all ready in
+the other room.
+
+'Beats the world!' said Uncle Eb, as we sat down at the table. 'Ye do
+look gran' to me--ree-markable gran', both uv ye. Tek a premium at any
+fair--ye would sartin.'
+
+'Has he won yer affections?' said David laughing as he looked over at
+Hope.
+
+'He has,' said she solemnly.
+
+'Affections are a sing'lar kind o' prop'ty,' said Uncle Eb. 'Hain't
+good fer nuthin till ye've gin em away. Then, like as not, they git very
+valyble.
+
+'Good deal that way with money too,' said Elizabeth Brower.
+
+'I recollec' when Hope was a leetle bit uv a girl' said Uncle Eb, 'she
+used to say 'et when she got married she was goin' to hev her husban'
+rub my back fer me when it was lame.
+
+'I haven't forgotten it,' said Hope, 'and if you will all come you will
+make us happier.
+
+'Good many mouths if feed!' Uncle Ebb remarked.
+
+'I could take in sewing and help some,' said Elizabeth Brower, as she
+sipped her tea.
+
+There was a little quiver in David's under lip as he looked over at her.
+'You ain't able t' do hard work any more, mother,' said he. 'She won't
+never hev to nuther,' said Uncle Eb. 'Don't never pay if go bookin' fer
+trouble--it stew easy if find. There ain' no sech thing 's trouble 'n
+this world 'less ye look for it. Happiness won't hey nuthin if dew
+with a man thet likes trouble. Minnit a man stops lookin' fer trouble
+happiness 'II look fer him. Things came puny nigh's ye like 'em here 'n
+this world--hot er cold er only middlin'. Ye can either laugh er cry er
+fight er fish er go if meetin'. If ye don't like erry one you can fin
+fault. I'm on the lookout fer happiness--suits me best, someway, an
+don't hurt my feelin's a bit.
+
+'Ev'ry day's a kind uv a circus day with you, Holden,' said David
+Brower. 'Alwuss hevin' a good time. Ye can hev more fun with yerseif 'n
+any man I ever see.'
+
+'If I hev as much hereafter es I've hed here, I ain't a goin'if fin' no
+fault,' said Uncle Eb. ''S a reel, splendid world. God's fixed it up so
+ev'ry body can hev a good time if they'll only hev it. Once I heard uv a
+poor man 'at hed a bushel o' corn give tew him. He looked up kind o' sad
+an' ast if they wouldn't please shell it. Then they tuk it away. God's
+gin us happiness in the ear, but He ain't a goin' t' shell it fer us.
+You n 'Lizabeth oughter be very happy. Look a' them tew childern!
+
+There came a rap at the door then. David put on his cap and went out
+with Uncle Eb.
+
+'It's somebody for more money,' Elizabeth whispered, her eyes filling.
+'I know 'tis, or he would have asked him in. We're goin't lose our home.
+
+Her lips quivered; she covered her eyes a moment.
+
+'David ain't well,' she continued. 'Worries night 'n day over money
+matters. Don't say much, but I can see it's alwuss on his mind. Woke up
+in the middle o' the night awhile ago. Found him sittin' by the stove.
+"Mother," he said, "we can't never go back to farmin'. I've ploughed
+furrows enough if go 'round the world. Couldn't never go through it
+ag'in." "Well," said I, "if you think best we could start over see how
+we git along. I'm willin' if try it." "No, we re too old," he says.
+"Thet's out o' the question. I've been thinkin' what'll we do there with
+Bill 'n Hope if we go t'live with 'em? Don't suppose they'll hev any
+hosses if take care uv er any wood if chop. What we'll hev if do is
+more'n I can make out. We can't do nuthin; we've never learnt how."
+
+'We've thought that all over,' I said. 'We may have a place in the
+country with a big garden.
+
+'Well,' said she, 'I'm very well if I am over sixty. I can cook an wash
+an' mend an' iron just as well as I ever could.'
+
+Uncle Eb came to the door then.
+
+'Bill,' he said, 'I want you 'n Hope if come out here 'n look at this
+young colt o' mine. He's playful 's a kitten.
+
+We put on our wraps and went to the stable. Uncle Eb was there alone.
+
+'If ye brought any Cnssmus presents,' he whispered, 'slip 'em into my
+hands. I'm goin' if run the cirkis t'morrow an' if we don't hev fun a
+plenty I'll miss my guess.
+
+'I'll lay them out in my room,' said Hope.
+
+'Be sure 'n put the names on 'em,' Uncle Eb whispered, as Hope went
+away.
+
+'What have ye done with the "bilers"?' I enquired.
+
+'Sold 'em,' said he, laughing. 'Barker never kep' his promise. Heard
+they'd gone over t' the 'Burg an' was tryin' t' sell more territory.
+I says if Dave, "You let me manage 'em an' I'll put 'em out o business
+here 'n this part o' the country." So I writ out an advertisement fer
+the paper. Read about this way: "Fer sale. Twelve hunderd patented
+suction Wash Bilers. Anyone at can't stan' prosperity an' is learnin' if
+swear 'll find 'em a great help. If he don't he's a bigger fool 'n I am.
+Nuthin' in 'em but tin--that's wuth somethin'. Warranted t' hold water."
+
+'Wall ye know how that editor talks? 'Twant a day 'fore the head man o'
+the biler business come 'n bought 'em. An' the advertisement was never
+put in. Guess he wan't hankerin' to hev his business spilt.
+
+Uncle Eb was not at the supper table that evening.
+
+'Where's Holden?' said Elizabeth Brower.
+
+'Dunno,' said David. 'Goin' after Santa Claus he tol' me.
+
+'Never see the beat o' that man!' was the remark of Elizabeth, as she
+poured the tea. 'Jes' like a boy ev'ry Crissmus time. Been so excited
+fer a week couldn't hardly contain himself.'
+
+'Ketched him out 'n the barn t'other day laffin' like a fool,' said
+David. 'Thought he was crazy.'
+
+We sat by the fire after the supper dishes were put away, talking of
+all the Christmas Days we could remember. Hope and I thought our last in
+Faraway best of all and no wonder, for we had got then the first promise
+of the great gift that now made us happy. Elizabeth, sitting in her
+easy-chair, told of Christmas in the olden time when her father had gone
+to the war with the British.
+
+David sat near me, his face in the firelight--the broad brow wrinkled
+into furrows and framed in locks of iron-grey. He was looking
+thoughtfully at the fire. Uncle Eb came soon, stamping and shaking the
+snow out of his great fur coat.
+
+'Col'night,' he said, warming his hands.
+
+Then he carried his coat and cap away, returning shortly, with a little
+box in his hand.
+
+'Jes' thought I'd buy this fer fun,' said he, holding it down to the
+firelight. 'Dummed if I ever see the like uv it. Whoa!' he shouted, as
+the cover flew open, releasing a jumping-jack. 'Quicker n a grasshopper!
+D'ye ever see sech a sassy little critter?
+
+Then he handed it to Elizabeth.
+
+'Wish ye Merry Christmas, Dave Brower!' said he.
+
+'Ain't as merry as I might be,' said David.
+
+'Know what's the matter with ye,' said Uncle Eb. 'Searchin' after
+trouble--thet's what ye're doin'. Findin' lots uv it right there 'n
+the fire. Trouble 's goiti' t' git mighty scurce 'round here this very
+selfsame night. Ain't goin' t' be nobody lookin' fer it--thet's why.
+Fer years ye've been takin' care o' somebody et I'll take care 'o you,
+long's ye live--sartin sure. Folks they said ye was fools when ye
+took 'em in. Man said I was a fool once. Alwuss hed a purty fair idee
+o'myself sence then. When some folks call ye a fool 's a ruther good
+sign ye ain't. Ye've waited a long time fer yer pay--ain't much longer
+to wait now.'
+
+There was a little quaver in his voice, We all looked at him in silence.
+Uncle Eb drew out his wallet with trembling hands, his fine old face lit
+with a deep emotion. David looked up at him as he wondered what joke was
+coming, until he saw his excitement.
+
+'Here's twenty thousan' dollars,' said Uncle Eb, 'a reel, genuwine bank
+check! Jist as good as gold. Here 'tis! A Crissmus present fer you 'n
+Elizabeth. An' may God bless ye both!'
+
+David looked up incredulously. Then he took the bit of paper. A big tear
+rolled down his cheek.
+
+'Why, Holden! What does this mean?' he asked.
+
+''At the Lord pays His debts,' said Uncle Eb. 'Read it.'
+
+Hope had lighted the lamp.
+
+David rose and put on his spectacles. One eyebrow had lifted above the
+level of the other. He held the check to the lamplight. Elizabeth stood
+at his elbow.
+
+'Why, mother!' said he. 'Is this from our boy? From Nehemiah? Why,
+Nehemiah is dead!' he added, looking over his spectacles at Uncle Eb.
+
+'Nehemiah is not dead,' said the latter.
+
+'Nehemiah not dead!' he repeated, looking down at the draft. They turned
+it in the light, reading over and over again the happy tidings pinned to
+one corner of it. Then they looked into each other's eyes.
+
+Elizabeth put her arms about David's neck and laid her head upon his
+shoulder and not one of us dare trust himself to speak for a little.
+Uncle Eb broke the silence.
+
+'Got another present,' he said. 'S a good deal better 'n gold er
+silver.' A tall, bearded man came in.
+
+'Mr Trumbull!' Hope exclaimed, rising.
+
+'David an' Elizabeth Brower,' said Uncle Eb, 'the dead hes come to life.
+I give ye back yer son--Nehemiah.'
+
+Then he swung his cap high above his head, shouting in a loud voice:
+
+'Merry Crissmus! Merry Crissmus!'
+
+The scene that followed I shall not try to picture. It was so full of
+happiness that every day of our lives since then has been blessed with
+it and with a peace that has lightened every sorrow; of it, I can truly
+say that it passeth all understanding.
+
+'Look here, folks!' said Uncle Eb, after awhile, as he got his flute,
+'my feelin's hev been teched hard. If I don't hev some jollification
+I'll bust. Bill Brower, limber up yer leather a leetle bit.'
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 44
+
+Nehemiah, whom I had known as John Trumbull, sat a long time between his
+father and mother, holding a hand of each, and talking in a low tone,
+while Hope and I were in the kitchen with Uncle Eb. Now that father
+and son were side by side we saw how like they were and wondered we had
+never guessed the truth.
+
+'Do you remember?' said Nehemiah, when we returned. 'Do you remember
+when you were a little boy, coming one night to the old log house on
+Bowman's Hill with Uncle Eb?
+
+'I remember it very well,' I answered.
+
+'That was the first time I ever saw you,' he said.
+
+'Why, you are not the night man?'
+
+'I was the night man,' he answered.
+
+I stared at him with something of the old, familiar thrill that had
+always come at the mention of him years agone.
+
+'He's grown a leetle since then,' said Uncle Eb.
+
+'I thought so the night I carried him off the field at Bull Run,' said
+Nehemiah.
+
+'Was that you?' I asked eagerly.
+
+'It was,' he answered. 'I came over from Washington that afternoon. Your
+colonel told me you had been wounded.
+
+'Wondered who you were, but I could not get you to answer. I have to
+thank you for my life.
+
+Hope put her arms about his neck and kissed him.
+
+'Tell us,' said she, 'how you came to be the night man.'
+
+He folded his arms and looked down and began his story.
+
+'Years ago I had a great misfortune. I was a mere boy at the time. By
+accident I killed another boy in play. It was an old gun we were playing
+with and nobody knew it was loaded. I had often quarrelled with the
+other boy--that is why they thought I had done it on purpose. There
+was a dance that night. I had got up in the evening, crawled out of the
+window and stolen away. We were in Rickard's stable. I remember how the
+people ran out with lanterns. They would have hung me--some of them--or
+given me the blue beech, if a boy friend had not hurried me away. It was
+a terrible hour. I was stunned; I could say nothing. They drove me to
+the 'Burg, the boy's father chasing us. I got over into Canada, walked
+to Montreal and there went to sea. It was foolish, I know, but I was
+only a boy of fifteen. I took another name; I began a new life. Nehemiah
+Brower was like one dead. In 'Frisco I saw Ben Gilman. He had been a
+school mate in Faraway. He put his hand on my shoulder and called me the
+old name. It was hard to deny it--the hardest thing I ever did. I was
+homesick; I wanted to ask him about my mother and father and my sister,
+who was a baby when I left. I would have given my life to talk with him.
+But I shook my head.
+
+'"No," I said, "my name is not Brower. You are mistaken."
+
+'Then I walked away and Nemy Brower stayed in his grave.
+
+'Well, two years later we were cruising from Sidney to Van Dieman's
+Land. One night there came a big storm. A shipmate was washed away in
+the dark. We never saw him again. They found a letter in his box that
+said his real name was Nehemiah Brower, son of David Brower, of Faraway,
+NY, USA. I put it there, of course, and the captain wrote a letter to my
+father about the death of his son. My old self was near done for and
+the man Trumbull had a new lease of life. You see in my madness I had
+convicted and executed myself.
+
+He paused a moment. His mother put her hand upon his shoulder with a
+word of gentle sympathy. Then he went on.
+
+'Well, six years after I had gone away, one evening in midsummer, we
+came into the harbour of Quebec. I had been long in the southern seas.
+When I went ashore, on a day's leave, and wandered off in the fields and
+got the smell of the north, I went out of my head--went crazy for a look
+at the hills o' Faraway and my own people. Nothing could stop me then.
+I drew my pay, packed my things in a bag and off I went. Left the
+'Burg afoot the day after; got to Faraway in the evening. It was
+beautiful--the scent o' the new hay that stood in cocks and rows on the
+hill--the noise o' the crickets--the smell o' the grain--the old house,
+just as I remembered them; just as I had dreamed of them a thousand
+times. And--when I went by the gate Bony--my old dog--came out and
+barked at--me and I spoke to him and he knew me and came and licked my
+hands, rubbing upon my leg. I sat down with him there by the stone wall
+and--the kiss of that old dog--the first token of love I had known for
+years' called back the dead and all that had been his. I put my arms
+about his--neck and was near crying out with joy.
+
+'Then I stole up to the house and looked in at a window. There sat
+father, at a table, reading his paper; and a little girl was on her
+knees by mother saying her prayers. He stopped a moment, covering his
+eyes with his handkerchief.
+
+'That was Hope,' I whispered.
+
+'That was Hope,' he went on. 'All the king's oxen could not have dragged
+me out of Faraway then. Late at night I went off into the woods. The old
+dog followed to stay with me until he died. If it had not been for him
+I should have been hopeless. I had with me enough to eat for a time.
+We found a cave in a big ledge over back of Bull Pond. Its mouth was
+covered with briars. It had a big room and a stream of cold water
+trickling through a crevice. I made it my home and a fine place it
+was--cool in summer and warm in winter. I caught a cub panther that fall
+and a baby <DW53>. They grew up with me there and were the only friends I
+had after Bony, except Uncle Eb.
+
+'Uncle Eb!' I exclaimed.
+
+'You know how I met him,' he continued. 'Well, he won my confidence. I
+told him my history. I came into the clearing almost every night. Met
+him often. He tried to persuade me to come back to my people, but I
+could not do it. I was insane; I feared something--I did not know what.
+Sometimes I doubted even my own identity. Many a summer night I sat
+talking for hours, with Uncle Eb, at the foot of Lone Pine. O, he was
+like a father to me! God knows what I should have done without him.
+Well, I stuck to my life, or rather to my death, O--there in the
+woods--getting fish out of the brooks and game out of the forest, and
+milk out of the cows in the pasture. Sometimes I went through the woods
+to the store at Tifton for flour and pork. One night Uncle Eb told me
+if I would go out among men to try my hand at some sort of business he
+would start me with a thousand dollars. Well, I did--it. I had also
+a hundred dollars of my own. I came through the woods afoot. Bought
+fashionable clothing at Utica, and came to the big city--you know the
+rest. Among men my fear has left me, so I wonder at it. I am a debtor to
+love--the love of Uncle Eb and that of a noble woman I shall soon marry.
+It has made me whole and brought me back to my own people.
+
+'And everybody knew he was innocent the day after he left,' said David.
+
+'Three cheers for Uncle Eb!' I demanded.
+
+And we gave them.
+
+'I declare!' said he. 'In all my born days never see sech fun. It's
+tree-menjious! I tell ye. Them 'et takes care uv others'll be took care
+uv--'less they do it o'purpose.'
+
+And when the rest of us had gone to bed Uncle Eb sat awhile by the fire
+with David. Late at night he came upstairs with his candle. He came over
+to my bed on tiptoe to see if I were awake, holding the candle above my
+head. I was worn out and did not open my eyes. He sat down snickering.
+
+'Tell ye one thing, Dave Brower,' he whispered to himself as he drew
+off his boots, 'when some folks calls ye a fool 's a purty good sign ye
+ain't.'
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 45
+
+Since that day I have seen much coming and going.
+
+We are now the old folks--Margaret and Nehemiah and Hope and I. Those
+others, with their rugged strength, their simple ways, their undying
+youth, are of the past. The young folks--they are a new kind of people.
+It gives us comfort to think they will never have to sing in choirs or
+'pound the rock' for board money; but I know it is the worse luck
+for them. They are a fine lot of young men and women--comely and
+well-mannered--but they will not be the pathfinders of the future. What
+with balls and dinners and clubs and theatres, they find too great a
+solace in the rear rank.
+
+Nearly twenty years after that memorable Christmas, coming from Buffalo
+to New York one summer morning, my thoughts went astray in the north
+country. The familiar faces, the old scenes came trooping by and that
+very day I saw the sun set in Hillsborough as I had often those late
+years.
+
+Mother was living in the old home, alone, with a daughter of Grandma
+Bisnette. It was her wish to live and die under that roof. She cooked me
+a fine supper, with her own hands, and a great anxiety to please me.
+
+'Come Willie!' said she, as if I were a small boy again, 'you fill the
+woodbox an' I'll git supper ready. Lucindy, you clear out,' she said to
+the hired girl, good-naturedly. 'You dunno how t'cook for him.'
+
+I filled the woodbox and brought a pail of water and while she was
+frying the ham and eggs read to her part of a speech I had made in
+Congress. Before thousands I had never felt more elation. At last I
+was sure of winning her applause. The little bent figure stood,
+thoughtfully, turning the ham and eggs. She put the spider aside, to
+stand near me, her hands upon her hips. There was a mighty pride in her
+face when I had finished.
+
+I rose and she went and looked out of the window.
+
+'Grand!' she murmured, wiping her eyes with the corner of her
+handkerchief.
+
+'Glad you like it,' I said, with great satisfaction.
+
+'O, the speech!' she answered, her elbow resting on the window sash, her
+hand supporting her head. 'I liked it very well--but--but I was thinking
+of the sunset. How beautiful it is.
+
+I was weary after my day of travel and went early to bed there in my old
+room. I left her finishing a pair of socks she had been knitting for
+me. Lying in bed, I could hear the creak of her chair and the low sung,
+familiar words:
+
+'On the other side of Jordan, In the sweet fields of Eden, Where the
+tree of life is blooming, There is rest for you.
+
+Late at night she came into my room with a candle. I heard her come
+softly to the bed where she stood a moment leaning over me. Then she
+drew the quilt about my shoulder with a gentle hand.
+
+'Poor little orphan!' said she, in a whisper that trembled. She was
+thinking of my childhood--of her own happier days.
+
+Then she went away and I heard, in the silence, a ripple of measureless
+waters.
+
+Next morning I took flowers and strewed them on the graves of David and
+Uncle Eb; there, Hope and I go often to sit for half a summer day above
+those perished forms, and think of the old time and of those last words
+of my venerable friend now graven on his tombstone:
+
+
+     I AIN'T AFRAID.
+     'SHAMED O'NUTHIN' I EVER DONE.
+     ALWUSS KEP'MY TUGS TIGHT,
+     NEVER SWORE 'LESS 'TWAS NECESSARY,
+     NEVER KETCHED A FISH BIGGER 'N 'TWAS
+     ER LIED 'N A HOSS TRADE
+     ER SHED A TEAR I DIDN'T HEV TO.
+     NEVER CHEATED ANYBODY BUT EBEN HOLDEN.
+     GOIN' OFF SOMEWHERES, BILL
+     DUNNO THE WAY NUTHER
+     DUNNO 'F IT'S EAST ER WEST ER NORTH ER SOUTH,
+     ER ROAD ER TRAIL;
+     BUT I AIN'T AFRAID.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Eben Holden, by Irving Bacheller
+
+*** 
\ No newline at end of file