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H. W. Bicknell</h1> +<pre class="pg"> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Second Book of Tales</p> +<p>Author: Eugene Field</p> +<p>Release Date: June 11, 2007 [eBook #21809]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SECOND BOOK OF TALES***</p> +<br><br><center><h3>E-text prepared by Al Haines</h3></center><br><br> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" noshade> +<p> </p> + +<A NAME="img-front"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-front.jpg" ALT="Eugene Field. Etched by W. H. W. Bicknell." BORDER="2" WIDTH="310" HEIGHT="421"> +<H3 CLASS="h3center" STYLE="width: 310px"> +Eugene Field.<BR>Etched by W. H. W. Bicknell. +</H3> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE WORKS OF EUGENE FIELD +<BR> +Vol. X +<BR><BR> +THE WRITINGS IN PROSE AND VERSE OF EUGENE FIELD +</H3> + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +SECOND BOOK OF TALES +</H1> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS +<BR> +NEW YORK +<BR> +1911 +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +Copyright, 1896, by +<BR> +JULIA SUTHERLAND FIELD. +</H5> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +NOTE +</H3> + +<P> +The tales down to and including "The Werewolf" in this volume have been +selected from those which remained unpublished in book form at the time +of Mr. Field's death. It was also thought desirable to take from +"Culture's Garland," and to incorporate in this volume, such sketches +as seemed most likely to prove of permanent value and of interest as +illustrating Mr. Field's earlier manner; and these, eight in number, +form the latter part of the book. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +INTRODUCTION +</H3> + +<P> +Of all American poets Field, it seems to me, best understood the heart +of a child. Other sweet singers have given us the homely life of the +Western cabin, the unexpected tenderness of the mountaineer, the +loyalty and quaint devotion of the negro servant, but to Field alone, +and in preëminent degree, was given that keen insight into child +nature, that compassion for its faults, that sympathy with its sorrows +and that delight in its joyous innocence which will endear him to his +race as long as our language is read. +</P> + +<P> +His poems too always kindle afresh that spark of child-life which still +lies smouldering in the hearts of us all, no matter how poor and +sorrowful our beginnings. As we read, how the old memories come back +to us! Old hopes, rosy with the expectation of the indefinite and +unknowable. Old misgivings and fears; old rompings and holidays and +precious idle hours. We know them all, and we know how true they are. +We remember in our own case the very hour and day, and how it all +happened and why, and what came of it,—joys and sorrows as real as our +keenest experiences since. +</P> + +<P> +This is a heritage plentiful and noble,—and this heritage is Field's. +</P> + +<P> +In the last paragraphs of that tender prose poem of "Bill—the Lokil +Editor"—one of the Profitable Tales—Bill—"alluz fond uv children 'nd +birds 'nd flowers"—Bill, who was like the old sycamore that the +lightning had struck,—with the vines spread all around and over it, +covering its scars and splintered branches—occurs this passage: +</P> + +<P> +"——That's Bill perhaps as he stands up f'r jedgment—a miserable, +tremblin', 'nd unworthy thing, perhaps, but twined about, all over, +with singin' and pleadin' little children—and that is pleasin' in +God's sight, I know." +</P> + +<P> +If Field had nothing else to bring he could say truthfully as he faced +his Master: +</P> + +<P> +"I followed in your footsteps. I loved the children and the children +loved me." +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +F. HOPKINSON SMITH. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +The Tales in this Book +</H2> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<A HREF="#chap01">HUMIN NATUR' ON THE HAN'BUL 'ND ST. JO.</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap02">THE MOTHER IN PARADISE</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap03">MR. AND MRS. BLOSSOM</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap04">DEATH AND THE SOLDIER</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap05">THE 'JININ' FARMS</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap06">THE ANGEL AND THE FLOWERS</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap07">THE CHILD'S LETTER</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap08">THE SINGER MOTHER</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap09">THE TWO WIVES</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap10">THE WOOING OF MISS WOPPIT</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap11">THE TALISMAN</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap12">GEORGE'S BIRTHDAY</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap13">SWEET-ONE-DARLING AND THE DREAM-FAIRIES</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap14">SWEET-ONE-DARLING AND THE MOON-GARDEN</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap15">SAMUEL COWLES AND HIS HORSE ROYAL</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap16">THE WEREWOLF</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap17">A MARVELLOUS INVENTION</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap18">THE STORY OF XANTHIPPE</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap19">BAKED BEANS AND CULTURE</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap20">MLLE. PRUD'HOMME'S BOOK</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap21">THE DEMAND FOR CONDENSED MUSIC</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap22">LEARNING AND LITERATURE</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap23">"DIE WALKÜRE" UND DER BOOMERANGELUNGEN</A> +<BR> +<A HREF="#chap24">THE WORKS OF SAPPHO</A> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HUMIN NATUR' ON THE HAN'BUL 'ND ST. JO +</H3> + +<P> +Durin' war times the gorillas hed torn up most uv the cypress ties an' +used 'em for kindlin' an' stove wood, an' the result wuz that when the +war wuz over there wuz n't anythink left uv the Han'bul 'nd St. Jo but +the rollin' stock 'nd the two streaks uv rails from one end uv the road +to the other. In the spring uv '67 I hed to go out into Kansas; and +takin' the Han'bul 'nd St. Jo at Palmyry Junction, I wuz n't long in +findin' out that the Han'bul 'nd St. Jo railroad wuz jist about the +wust cast of rollin' prairer I ever struck. +</P> + +<P> +There wuz one bunk left when I boarded the sleepin'-car, and I hed +presence uv mind 'nuff to ketch on to it. It wuz then just about dusk, +an' the nigger that sort uv run things in the car sez to me: "Boss," +sez he, "I 'll have to get you to please not to snore to-night, but to +be uncommon quiet." +</P> + +<P> +"What for?" sez I. "Hain't I paid my two dollars, an' hain't I +entitled to all the luxuries uv the outfit?" +</P> + +<P> +Then the nigger leant over an' told me that Colonel Elijah Gates, one +uv the directors uv the road, an' the richest man in Marion County, wuz +aboard, an' it wuz one uv the rules uv the company not to do anythink +to bother him or get him to sell his stock. +</P> + +<P> +The nigger pointed out Colonel Gates, 'nd I took a look at him as he +sot readin' the "Palmyry Spectator." He wuz one of our kind uv +people—long, raw-boned, 'nd husky. He looked to be about sixty—may +be not quite on to sixty. He wuz n't bothered with much hair onto his +head, 'nd his beard was shaved, all except two rims or fringes uv it +that ran down the sides uv his face 'nd met underneath his chin. This +fringe filled up his neck so thet he did n't hev to wear no collar, 'nd +he had n't no jewelry about him excep' a big carnelian bosom pin that +hed the picture uv a woman's head on it in white. His specs sot well +down on his nose, 'nd I could see his blue eyes over 'em—small eyes, +but kind ur good-natured. Between his readin' uv his paper 'nd his +eatin' plug terbacker he kep' toler'ble busy till come bedtime. The +rest on us kep' as quiet as we could, for we knew it wuz an honor to +ride in the same sleepin'-car with the richest man in Marion County 'nd +a director uv the Han'bul 'nd St. Jo to boot. +</P> + +<P> +Along 'bout eight o'clock the colonel reckoned he 'd tumble into bed. +When he 'd drawed his boots 'nd hung up his coat 'nd laid in a fresh +hunk uv nat'ral leaf, he crawled into the best bunk, 'nd presently we +heerd him sleepin'. There wuz nuthin' else for the rest uv us to do +but to foller suit, 'nd we did. +</P> + +<P> +It must have been about an hour later—say along about Prairer +City—that a woman come aboard with a baby. There war n't no bunk for +her, but the nigger allowed that she might set back near the stove, for +the baby 'peared to be kind ov sick-like, 'nd the woman looked like she +had been cryin'. Whether it wuz the jouncin' uv the car, or whether +the young one wuz hungry or hed a colic into it, I did n't know, but +anyhow the train had n't pulled out uv Prairer City afore the baby +began to take on. The nigger run back as fast as he could, 'nd told +the young woman that she 'd have to keep that baby quiet because +Colonel 'Lijy Gates, one uv the directors uv the road, wuz in the car +'nd wunt be disturbed. The young woman caught up the baby scart-like, +'nd talked soothin' to it, 'nd covered its little face with her shawl, +'nd done all them things thet women do to make babies go to sleep. +</P> + +<P> +But the baby <I>would</I> cry, and, in spite of all the young woman 'nd the +nigger could do, Colonel Elijah Gates heard the baby cryin', and so he +waked up. First his two blue yarn socks come through the curtains, 'nd +then his long legs 'nd long body 'nd long face hove into sight. He +come down the car to the young woman, 'nd looked at her over his specs. +Did n't seem to be the least bit mad; jest solemn 'nd bizness like. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear madam," sez he to the young woman, "you must do sumpin' to +keep that child quiet. These people have all paid for their bunks, 'nd +they are entitled to a good night's sleep. Of course I know how 't is +with young children—<I>will</I> cry <I>sometimes</I>—have raised 'leven uv 'em +myself, 'nd know, all about 'em. But as a director uv the Han'-bul 'nd +St. Jo I 've got to pertect the rights of these other folks. So jist +keep the baby quiet as you kin." +</P> + +<P> +Now, there war n't nothin' cross in the colonel's tone; the colonel wuz +as kind 'nd consid'rit as could be expected uv a man who hed so much +responsibility a-restin' onto him. But the young woman was kind uv +nervous, 'nd after the colonel went back 'nd got into his bunk the +young woman sniffled and worrited and seemed like she had lost her +wits, 'nd the baby kep' cryin' jist as hard as ever. +</P> + +<P> +Waal, there wuz n't much sleepin' to be done in that car, for what with +the baby cryin', 'nd the young woman a-sayin', "Oh, dear!" 'nd "Oh, +my!" and the nigger a-prancin' round like the widder bewitched—with +all this goin' on, sleep wuz out uv the question. Folks began to wake +up 'nd put their heads outern their bunks to see what wuz the doggone +matter. This made things pleasanter for the young woman. The colonel +stood it as long as he could, and then he got up a second time 'nd come +down the car 'nd looked at the young woman over his specs. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, as I wuz tellin' you afore," sez he, "I hain't makin' no +complaint uv myself, for I 've raised a family of 'leven children, 'nd +I know all about 'em. But these other folks here in the car have paid +for a good night's sleep, 'nd it 's my duty as a director uv the +Han'bul 'nd St. Jo to see that they get it. Seems to me like you ought +to be able to keep that child quiet—you can't make me believe that +there's any use for a child to be carryin' on so. Sumpin 's hurtin' +it—I know sumpin 's hurtin' it by the way it cries. Now, you look 'nd +see if there ain't a pin stickin' into it somewhere; I 've raised +'leven children, 'nd that 's jist the way they used to cry when there +wuz a pin stickin' em." +</P> + +<P> +He reckoned he 'd find things all right this time, 'nd he went back to +his bunk feelin' toler'ble satisfied with himself. But the young woman +could n't find no pin stickin' the baby, 'nd, no matter how much she +stewed and worrited, the baby kep' right on cryin', jest the same. +Holy smoke! but how that baby <I>did</I> cry. +</P> + +<P> +Now, I reckoned that the colonel would be gettin' almighty mad if this +thing kep' up much longer. A man may raise 'leven children as easy as +rollin' off 'n a log, 'nd yet the twelfth one, that is n't his at all, +may break him. There is ginerally a last straw, even when it comes to +the matter uv children. +</P> + +<P> +So when the colonel riz feet foremost for the third time outern his +bunk that night—or, I should say, mornin', for it was mighty near +mornin' now—we looked for hail Columby. +</P> + +<P> +"Look a-here, my good woman," sez he to the young woman with the baby, +"as I wuz tellin' you afore, you <I>must</I> do sumpin to keep that child +quiet. It 'll never do to keep all these folks awake like this. They +'ve paid for a good night's sleep, 'nd it 's my duty as a director uv +the Han'bul 'nd St. Jo to pertest ag'in' this disturbance. I 've +raised a family uv 'leven children, 'nd I know, as well as I know +anythink, that that child is hungry. No child ever cries like that +when it is n't hungry, so I insist on your nursin' it 'nd givin' us +peace 'nd quiet." +</P> + +<P> +Then the young woman began to sniffle. +</P> + +<P> +"Law me, sir," sez the young woman, "I ain't the baby's mother—I 'm +only just tendin' it." +</P> + +<P> +The colonel got pretty mad then; his face got red 'nd his voice kind uv +trembled—he wuz so mad. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is its mother?" sez the colonel. "Why is n't she here takin' +care uv this hungry 'nd cryin' child like she ought to be?" +</P> + +<P> +"She 's in the front car, sir," sez the young woman, chokin' up. "She +'s in the front car—in a box, dead; we 're takin' the body 'nd the +baby back home." +</P> + +<P> +Now what would you or me have done—what would <I>any</I> man have done then +'nd there? Jest what the colonel done. +</P> + +<P> +The colonel did n't wait for no second thought; he jest reached out his +big bony hands 'nd he sez, "Young woman, gi' me that baby"—sez it so +quiet 'nd so gentle like that seemed like it wuz the baby's mother that +wuz a-speakin'. +</P> + +<P> +The colonel took the baby, and—now, may be you won't believe me—the +colonel held that baby 'nd rocked it in his arms 'nd talked to it like +it had been his own child. And the baby seemed to know that it lay +ag'in' a lovin' heart, for, when it heerd the ol' man's kind voice 'nd +saw his smilin' face 'nd felt the soothin' rockin' uv his arms, the +baby stopped its grievin' 'nd cryin', 'nd cuddled up close to the +colonel's breast, 'nd begun to coo 'nd laff. +</P> + +<P> +The colonel called the nigger. "Jim," sez he, "you go ahead 'nd tell +the conductor to stop the train at the first farm-house. We 've got to +have some milk for this child—some warm milk with sugar into it; I +hain't raised a family uv 'leven children for nothin'." +</P> + +<P> +The baby did n't cry no more that night; leastwise we did n't hear it +if it <I>did</I> cry. And what if we had heerd it? Blessed if I don't +think every last one of us would have got up to help tend that lonesome +little thing. +</P> + +<P> +That wuz more 'n twenty years ago, but I kin remember the last words I +heerd the colonel say: "No matter if it <I>does</I> cry," sez he. "It don't +make no more noise than a cricket, nohow; 'nd I reckon that being a +director uv the road I kin stop the train 'nd let off anybody that +don't like the way the Han'bul 'nd St. Jo does business." +</P> + +<P> +Twenty years ago! Colonel Elijah Gates is sleepin' in the Palmyry +buryin'-ground; likely as not the baby has growed up—leastwise the +Han'bul 'nd St. Jo has; everythink is different now—everythink has +changed—everythink except humin natur', 'nd that is the same, it allus +has been, and it allus will be, I reckon. +</P> + +<P> +1888. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE MOTHER IN PARADISE +</H3> + +<P> +A mother came to the gateway of Heaven. She was aged and weary. Her +body was bowed and her face was wrinkled and withered, for her burden +had been the burden of care and trouble and sorrow. So she was glad to +be done with life and to seek at the gateway of Heaven the fulfilment +of the Promise that had been her solace through all the hard, bitter +years. +</P> + +<P> +An angel met the Mother at the gateway, and put her arms about the +drooping figure, and spoke gracious, tender words. +</P> + +<P> +"Whom seekest thou?" asked the angel. +</P> + +<P> +"I seek my dear ones who came hither before me," answered the Mother. +"They are very many—my father, my mother, my husband, my +children—they all are here together, and for many and weary years I +have lived in my loneliness, with no other thing to cheer me but the +thought that I should follow them in good time." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, they are here and they await thee," said the angel. "Lean upon +me, dear Mother, and I will lead thee to them." +</P> + +<P> +Then the angel led the way through the garden of Paradise, and the +angel and the Mother talked as they walked together. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not weary now," said the Mother, "and my heart is not troubled." +</P> + +<P> +"It is the grace of Heaven that restoreth thee, dear Mother," quoth the +angel. "Presently thou shalt be filled with the new life, and thou +shalt be young again; and thou shalt sing with rapture, and thy soul +shall know the endless ecstasy of Heaven." +</P> + +<P> +"Alas, I care not to be young again," saith the Mother. "I care only +to find and to be forever with my beloved ones." +</P> + +<P> +As they journeyed in their way a company came to meet them. Then the +Mother saw and knew her dear ones—even though the heavenly life had +glorified their countenances, the Mother knew them, and she ran to +greet them, and there was great joy to her and to them. Meanwhile the +angel kept steadfastly at her side. +</P> + +<P> +Now the Mother, when she had embraced her dear ones, looked at each of +them separately once more, and then she said: "Ye are indeed my +beloved—my mother, my father, my husband, and my children! But there +is one who should be of your company whom I do not see—my babe, my +little helpless babe that came hither alone so many, many years ago. +My heart fainteth, my breast yearneth for that dear little lamb of +mine! Come, let us go together and search for her; or await me here +under these pleasant trees while I search and call in this fair garden +for my dear, lost little babe!" +</P> + +<P> +The others answered never a word, but the angel said: "I will go with +thee, Mother, and together we shall find thy child." +</P> + +<P> +As they went on their way the angel said: "Shall I tell thee of myself? +For I was a little helpless babe when I came hither to this fair garden +and into this heavenly life." +</P> + +<P> +"Perchance thou knowest her, my precious lambkin!" cried the Mother. +</P> + +<P> +"I was a babe when I came hither," said the angel. "See how I am grown +and what happiness hath been mine! The compassion of divinity hath +protected and fostered me, and hath led me all these years in the peace +that passeth all human understanding. God hath instructed me in +wisdom, and He shall instruct thee, too; for all who come hither are as +children in His sight, and they shall grow in wisdom and in grace +eternally." +</P> + +<P> +"But my babe—my own lost little one whom I have not held in these arms +for so many weary years—shall she not still be my little babe, and +shall I not cradle her in my bosom?" asked the Mother. +</P> + +<P> +"Thy child shall be restored to thee," said the angel; "for she +yearneth for thee even as thou yearnest for her. Only with this +difference, dear Mother: Thy child hath known, in the grace of heavenly +wisdom, that at the last thy earthly sorrow should surely be rewarded +with the joys of the endless reunion in Paradise!" +</P> + +<P> +"Then she hath thought of me and longed for me to come!" cried the +Mother. "And my lost babe shall be restored and shall know her mother +again!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, she loveth thee fondly," said the angel, "and she hath awaited thy +coming, lo, these many years. Presently thine eyes shall be opened and +thou shalt see her standing before thee in her heavenly raiment whiter +than snow, and around her neck thou shalt see her wearing most precious +pearls—the tears which thou hast shed, oh lonely Mother! and which are +the pearls the little ones in Heaven gather up and cherish as an +adornment most pleasing unto God and them." +</P> + +<P> +Then the Mother felt that her eyes were opened, and she turned and +looked upon the angel. And the Mother saw that the angel was her lost +beloved child whom she was seeking: not the helpless babe that she had +thought to find, but a maiden of such heavenly beauty and gentleness as +only the dwellers in Paradise behold and know. And the Mother spread +her arms, and gave a great cry of joy, and folded her very dear one to +her bosom. +</P> + +<P> +Then presently they returned together to the others. And there was +rapturous acclaim in Paradise, and it was to God's sweet pleasance that +it was so. For a Mother and her beloved communed in the holy +companionship of love everlasting. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +MR. AND MRS. BLOSSOM +</H3> + +<P> +The name we meant to call her was Annette, for that was a name I always +liked. 'Way back, before I got married, I made up my mind that if I ever +had a daughter I should call her Annette. My intention was good enough, +but circumstances of a peculiar nature led me to abandon the idea which +in anticipation afforded me really a lot of pleasure. My circumstances +have always been humble. I say this in no spirit of complaint. We have +very much to be thankful for, and we are particularly grateful for the +blessing which heaven has bestowed upon us in the person of our dear +child—our daughter who comes from school to-night to spend Thanksgiving +with us and with our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Blossom. I must tell you how +we became acquainted with the Blossoms. +</P> + +<P> +When our baby was two years old I used to sit of mornings, before going +to my work, on the front steps, watching the baby playing on the +sidewalk. This pleasantest half-hour of the day I divided between the +little one and my pipe. One morning, as I sat there smoking and as the +little one was toddling to and fro on the sidewalk, a portly, +nice-looking old gentleman came down the street, and, as luck would have +it, the baby got right in his path, and before I could get to her she +tangled herself all up with the old gentleman's legs and cane. The old +gentleman seemed very much embarrassed, but, bless your soul! the baby +liked it! +</P> + +<P> +"A pretty child—a beautiful child!" said the old gentleman, and then he +inquired: "Boy or girl?" +</P> + +<P> +"Girl," says I, and I added: "Two years old and weighs thirty pounds." +</P> + +<P> +"That must be a great deal for a little girl to weigh," said the old +gentleman, and I saw that his eyes lingered lovingly and yearningly upon +the child. I am sure he wanted to say more, but all at once, as if he +suddenly recollected himself, he glanced furtively up the street, and +then, turning as suddenly the other way, he resumed his course downtown. +I thought to myself that he was a kindly old gentleman, a trifle queer, +perhaps, but of a gentle nature. +</P> + +<P> +Three or four times within a week after that a similar experience with +this old gentleman befell me and the baby. He would greet her cheerily; +sometimes he would pat her head, and I saw that his heart warmed toward +her. But all the time he talked with us he seemed to act as if he feared +he was being watched, and he left us abruptly—sometimes breaking away in +the middle of a sentence as if he was afraid he might say something he +ought not to say. At last, however, I learned that his name was Blossom, +and that Mrs. Blossom and he lived alone in a fine house up yonder in a +more fashionable part of our street. In an outburst of confidence one +morning he told me that he was very fond of children, and that he felt +that much was gone out of his life because no little one had ever come to +Mary and himself. +</P> + +<P> +"But," he added with an air of assumed cheerfulness, "as Mary does not +like children at all, it is perhaps for the best that none has ever come +to us." +</P> + +<P> +I now understood why Mr. Blossom was so cautious in his attentions to our +baby; he was fearful of being observed by his wife; he felt that it was +his duty to humor her in her disinclination to children. I pitied the +dear old gentleman, and for the same reason conceived a violent dislike +for Mrs. Blossom. +</P> + +<P> +But my wife Cordelia told me something one day that set my heart to +aching for both the two old people. +</P> + +<P> +"A sweet-looking old lady passed the house this afternoon," said +Cordelia, "and took notice of baby asleep in my arms on the porch. She +stopped and asked me all about her and presently she kissed her, and then +I saw that she was crying softly to herself. I asked her if she had ever +lost a little girl, and she said no. 'I have always been childless,' +said the sweet old lady. 'In all the years of my wifehood I have +besought but one blessing of heaven—the joy of maternity. My prayers +are unanswered, and it is perhaps better so.' She told me then that her +husband did not care for children; she could hardly reconcile his +professed antipathy to them with his warm, gentle, and loyal nature; but +it was well, if he did not want children, that none had come." +</P> + +<P> +"What was the old lady's name?" I asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Blossom," said my wife Cordelia. +</P> + +<P> +I whistled softly to myself. Then I told Cordelia of my experience with +Mr. Blossom, and we wondered where and when and how this pathetic comedy +of cross-purposes would end. We talked the matter over many a time after +that, and we agreed that it would be hard to find an instance of +deception more touching than that which we had met with in the daily life +of Mr. and Mrs. Blossom. Meanwhile the two old people became more and +more attached to our precious baby. Every morning brought Mr. Blossom +down the street with a smile and a caress and a tender word for the +little one, that toddled to meet him and overwhelm him with her innocent +prattle. Every afternoon found the sweet-looking old lady in front of +our house, fondling our child, and feeding her starving maternal instinct +upon the little one's caresses. Each one—the old gentleman and the old +lady—each one confessed by action and by word to an overwhelming love +for children, yet between them stood that pitiless lie, conceived of the +tenderest consideration for each other, but resulting in lifelong misery. +</P> + +<P> +I tell you, it was mighty hard sometimes for Cordelia and me not to break +out with the truth! +</P> + +<P> +It occurred to us both that there would eventually come a time when the +friendship of Mr. and Mrs. Blossom would be precious indeed to our +daughter. We had great hopes of that child, and all our day-dreams +involved her. She must go to school, she must be educated, she must want +nothing; there was no conceivable sacrifice which Cordelia and I would +not make gladly for our little girl. Would we be willing to share her +love with these two childless old people, who yearned for that love and +were ready to repay it with every benefit which riches can supply? We +asked ourselves that question a thousand times. God helped us to answer +it. +</P> + +<P> +The winter set in early and suddenly. We were awakened one night by that +hoarse, terrifying sound which chills the parent heart with anxiety. Our +little one was flushed with fever, and there was a rattling in her throat +when she breathed. When the doctor came he told us not to be frightened; +this was a mild form of croup, he said. His medicines seemed to give +relief, for presently the child breathed easier and slept. Next morning +an old gentleman on his way downtown wondered why the baby was not out to +greet him with a hilarious shout; he felt that here—all about his +heart—which told him that two dimpled hands had taken hold and held him +fast. An old lady came to the door that day and asked questions +hurriedly and in whispers, and went away crying to herself under her veil. +</P> + +<P> +When it came night again the baby was as good as well. I was rocking her +and telling her a story, when the door-bell rang. A moment later—I +could hardly believe my senses, but Mr. Blossom stood before me. +</P> + +<P> +"I heard she was sick," said he, coming up to the cradle and taking the +baby's hand awkwardly, but tenderly, in his. "You can never know how I +have suffered all day, for this little one has grown very dear to me, and +I dare not think what I should do if evil were to befall her. To-night I +told my wife a lie. I said that I had a business engagement that called +me downtown; I told her <I>that</I> in order to hasten here without letting +her know the truth. She does not like children; I would not for the +world have her know how tenderly I love this little one." +</P> + +<P> +He was still talking to me in this wise when I heard a step upon the +stairway. I went to the door and opened it. Mrs. Blossom stood there. +</P> + +<P> +"I have worried all day about the baby," she said, excitedly. +"Fortunately, Mr. Blossom was called downtown this evening, and I have +run in to ask how our precious baby is. I must go away at once, for he +does not care for children, you know, and I would not have him know how +dear this babe has grown to me!" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Blossom stood on the threshold as she said these words. And then +she saw the familiar form of the dear old gentleman bending over the +cradle, holding the baby's hands in his. Mr. Blossom had recognized his +wife's voice and heard her words. +</P> + +<P> +"Mary!" he cried, and he turned and faced her. She said, "Oh, +John!"—that was all, and her head drooped upon her breast. So there +they stood before each other, confronted by the revelation which they had +thought buried in long and many years. +</P> + +<P> +She was the first to speak, for women are braver and stronger than men. +She accused herself and took all the blame. But he would not listen to +her self-reproaches. And they spoke to each other—I know not what +things, only that they were tender and sweet and of consolation. I +remember that at the last he put his arm about her as if he had not been +an aged man and she were not white-haired and bowed, but as if they two +were walking in the springtime of their love. +</P> + +<P> +"It is God's will," he said, "and let us not rebel against it. The +journey to the end is but a little longer now; we have come so far +together, and surely we can go on alone." +</P> + +<P> +"No, not alone," I said, for the inspiration came to me then. "Our +little child yonder—God has lent this lambkin to our keeping—share her +love with us. There is so much, so very much you can do for her which we +cannot do, for we are poor, and you are rich. Help us to care for her +and share her love with us, and she shall be your child and ours." +</P> + +<P> +That was the compact between us fifteen years ago, and they have been +happy, very happy years. Blossom—we call her Blossom, after the dear +old friends who have been so good to her and to us—she comes from school +to-night, and to-morrow we shall sit down to Thanksgiving dinner with our +daughter. We always speak of her as "our daughter," for, you know, she +belongs now no more to Cordelia and me than to Mr. and Mrs. Blossom. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +DEATH AND THE SOLDIER +</H3> + +<P> +A soldier, who had won imperishable fame on the battlefields of his +country, was confronted by a gaunt stranger, clad all in black and +wearing an impenetrable mask. +</P> + +<P> +"Who are you that you dare to block my way?" demanded the soldier. +</P> + +<P> +Then the stranger drew aside his mask, and the soldier knew that he was +Death. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you come for me?" asked the soldier. "If so, I will not go with +you; so go your way alone." +</P> + +<P> +But Death held out his bony hand and beckoned to the soldier. +</P> + +<P> +"No," cried the soldier, resolutely; "my time is not come. See, here +are the histories I am writing—no hand but mine can finish them—I +will not go till they are done!" +</P> + +<P> +"I have ridden by your side day and night," said Death; "I have hovered +about you on a hundred battlefields, but no sight of me could chill +your heart till now, and now I hold you in my power. Come!" +</P> + +<P> +And with these words Death seized upon the soldier and strove to bear +him hence, but the soldier struggled so desperately that he prevailed +against Death, and the strange phantom departed alone. Then when he +had gone the soldier found upon his throat the imprint of Death's cruel +fingers—so fierce had been the struggle. And nothing could wash away +the marks—nay, not all the skill in the world could wash them away, +for they were disease, lingering, agonizing, fatal disease. But with +quiet valor the soldier returned to his histories, and for many days +thereafter he toiled upon them as the last and best work of his noble +life. +</P> + +<P> +"How pale and thin the soldier is getting," said the people. "His hair +is whitening and his eyes are weary. He should not have undertaken the +histories—the labor is killing him." +</P> + +<P> +They did not know of his struggle with Death, nor had they seen the +marks upon the soldier's throat. But the physicians who came to him, +and saw the marks of Death's cruel fingers, shook their heads and said +the soldier could not live to complete the work upon which his whole +heart was set. And the soldier knew it, too, and many a time he paused +in his writing and laid his pen aside and bowed his head upon his hands +and strove for consolation in the thought of the great fame he had +already won. But there was no consolation in all this. So when Death +came a second time he found the soldier weak and trembling and +emaciated. +</P> + +<P> +"It would be vain of you to struggle with me now," said Death. "My +poison is in your veins, and, see, my dew is on your brow. But you are +a brave man, and I will not bear you with me till you have asked one +favor, which I will grant." +</P> + +<P> +"Give me an hour to ask the favor," said the soldier. "There are so +many things—my histories and all—give me an hour that I may decide +what I shall ask." +</P> + +<P> +And as Death tarried, the soldier communed with himself. Before he +closed his eyes forever, what boon should he ask of Death? And the +soldier's thoughts sped back over the years, and his whole life came to +him like a lightning flash—the companionship and smiles of kings, the +glories of government and political power, the honors of peace, the +joys of conquest, the din of battle, the sweets of a quiet home life +upon a western prairie, the gentle devotion of a wife, the clamor of +noisy boys, and the face of a little girl—ah, there his thoughts +lingered and clung. +</P> + +<P> +"Time to complete our work—our books—our histories," counselled +Ambition. "Ask Death for time to do this last and crowning act of our +great life." +</P> + +<P> +But the soldier's ears were deaf to the cries of Ambition; they heard +another voice—the voice of the soldier's heart—and the voice +whispered: "Nellie—Nellie—Nellie." That was all—no other words but +those, and the soldier struggled to his feet and stretched forth his +hands and called to Death; and, hearing him calling, Death came and +stood before him. +</P> + +<P> +"I have made my choice," said the soldier. +</P> + +<P> +"The books?" asked Death, with a scornful smile. +</P> + +<P> +"No, not them," said the soldier, "but my little girl—my Nellie! Give +me a lease of life till I have held her in these arms, and then come +for me and I will go!" +</P> + +<P> +Then Death's hideous aspect was changed; his stern features relaxed and +a look of pity came upon them. And Death said, "It shall be so," and +saying this he went his way. +</P> + +<P> +Now the soldier's child was far away—many, many leagues from where the +soldier lived, beyond a broad, tempestuous ocean. She was not, as you +might suppose, a little child, although the soldier spoke of her as +such. She was a wife and a mother; yet even in her womanhood she was +to the soldier's heart the same little girl the soldier had held upon +his knee many and many a time while his rough hands weaved prairie +flowers in her soft, fair curls. And the soldier called her Nellie +now, just as he did then, when she sat on his knee and prattled of her +dolls. This is the way of the human heart. +</P> + +<P> +It having been noised about that the soldier was dying and that Nellie +had been sent for across the sea, all the people vied with each other +in soothing the last moments of the famous man, for he was beloved by +all and all were bound to him by bonds of patriotic gratitude, since he +had been so brave a soldier upon the battlefields of his country. But +the soldier did not heed their words of sympathy; the voice of fame, +which, in the past, had stirred a fever in his blood and fallen most +pleasantly upon his ears, awakened no emotion in his bosom now. The +soldier thought only of Nellie, and he awaited her coming. +</P> + +<P> +An old comrade came and pressed his hand, and talked of the times when +they went to the wars together; and the old comrade told of this battle +and of that, and how such a victory was won and such a city taken. But +the soldier's ears heard no sound of battle now, and his eyes could see +no flash of sabre nor smoke of war. +</P> + +<P> +So the people came and spoke words of veneration and love and hope, and +so with quiet fortitude, but with a hungry heart, the soldier waited +for Nellie, his little girl. +</P> + +<P> +She came across the broad, tempestuous ocean. The gulls flew far out +from land and told the winds, and the winds flew further still and said +to the ship: "Speed on, O ship! speed on in thy swift, straight course, +for you are bearing a treasure to a father's heart!" +</P> + +<P> +Then the ship leapt forward in her pathway, and the waves were very +still, and the winds kept whispering "Speed on, O ship," till at last +the ship was come to port and the little girl was clasped in the +soldier's arms. +</P> + +<P> +Then for a season the soldier seemed quite himself again, and people +said "He will live," and they prayed that he might. But their hopes +and prayers were vain. Death's seal was on the soldier, and there was +no release. +</P> + +<P> +The last days of the soldier's life were the most beautiful of all—but +what a mockery of ambition and fame and all the grand, pretentious +things of life they were! They were the triumph of a human heart, and +what is better or purer or sweeter than that? +</P> + +<P> +No thought of the hundred battlefields upon which his valor had shown +conspicuous came to the soldier now—nor the echo of his eternal +fame—nor even yet the murmurs of a sorrowing people. Nellie was by +his side, and his hungry, fainting heart fed on her dear love and his +soul went back with her to the years long agone. +</P> + +<P> +Away beyond the western horizon upon the prairie stands a little home +over which the vines trail. All about it is the tall, waving grass, +and over yonder is the swale with a legion of chattering blackbirds +perched on its swaying reeds and rushes. Bright wild flowers bloom on +every side, the quail whistles on the pasture fence, and from his home +in the chimney corner the cricket tries to chirrup an echo to the +lonely bird's call. In this little prairie home we see a man holding +on his knee a little girl, who is telling him of her play as he smooths +her fair curls or strokes her tiny velvet hands; or perhaps she is +singing him one of her baby songs, or asking him strange questions of +the great wide world that is so new to her; or perhaps he binds the +wild flowers she has brought into a little nosegay for her new gingham +dress, or—but we see it all, and so, too, does the soldier, and so +does Nellie, and they hear the blackbird's twitter and the quail's +shrill call and the cricket's faint echo, and all about them is the +sweet, subtle, holy fragrance of memory. +</P> + +<P> +And so at last, when Death came and the soldier fell asleep forever, +Nellie, his little girl, was holding his hands and whispering to him of +those days. Hers were the last words he heard, and by the peace that +rested on his face when he was dead you might have thought the soldier +was dreaming of a time when Nellie prattled on his knee and bade him +weave the wild flowers in her curls. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE 'JININ' FARMS +</H3> + +<P> +You see Bill an' I wuz jest like brothers; wuz raised on 'jinin' farms: +he wuz <I>his</I> folks' only child, an' <I>I</I> wuz <I>my</I> folks' only one. So, +nat'ril like, we growed up together, lovin' an' sympathizin' with each +other. What <I>I</I> knowed, I told <I>Bill</I>, an' what <I>Bill</I> knowed, <I>he</I> +told <I>me</I>, an' what neither on us knowed—why, that warn't wuth knowin'! +</P> + +<P> +If I had n't got over my braggin' days, I 'd allow that, in our time, +Bill an' I wuz jest about the sparkin'est beaus in the township; +leastwise that's what the girls thought; but, to be honest about it, +there wuz only two uv them girls we courted, Bill an' I, <I>he</I> courtin' +<I>one</I> an' I t'other. You see we sung in the choir, an' as our good +luck would have it we got sot on the sopranner an' the alto, an' +bimeby—oh, well, after beauin' 'em round a spell—a year or so, for +that matter—we up an' married 'em, an' the old folks gin us the farms, +'jinin' farms, where we boys had lived all our lives. Lizzie, my wife, +had always been powerful friendly with Marthy, Bill's wife; them two +girls never met up but what they wuz huggin' an' kissin' an' carryin' +on, like girls does; for women ain't like men—they can't control +theirselves an' their feelin's, like the stronger sext does. +</P> + +<P> +I tell you, it wuz happy times for Lizzie an' me and Marthy an' +Bill—happy times on the 'jinin' farms, with the pastures full uv fat +cattle, an' the barns full uv hay an' grain, and the twin cottages full +uv love an' contentment! Then when Cyrus come—our little boy—our +first an' only one! why, when <I>he</I> come, I wuz jest <I>so</I> happy an' so +grateful that if I had n't been a man I guess I 'd have hollered—maybe +cried—with joy. Wanted to call the little tyke Bill, but Bill would +n't hear to nothin' but Cyrus. You see, he 'd bought a cyclopeedy the +winter we wuz all marr'ed an' had been readin' in it uv a great foreign +warrior named Cyrus that lived a long spell ago. +</P> + +<P> +"Land uv Goshen, Bill!" sez I, "you don't reckon the baby 'll ever be a +warrior?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I don't know about that," sez Bill. "There 's no tellin'. At +any rate, Cyrus Ketcham has an uncommon sound for a name; so Cyrus it +must be, an' when he 's seven years old I 'll gin him the finest Morgan +colt in the deestrick!" +</P> + +<P> +So we called him Cyrus, an' he grew up lovin' and bein' loved by +everybody. +</P> + +<P> +Well, along about two years—or, say, eighteen months or so—after +Cyrus come to us a little girl baby come to Bill an' Marthy, an' of all +the cunnin' sweet little things you ever seen that little girl baby was +the cunnin'est an' sweetest! Looked jest like one of them foreign +crockery figgers you buy in city stores—all pink an' white, with big +brown eyes here, an' a teeny, weeney mouth there, an' a nose an' ears, +you'd have bet they wuz wax—they wuz so small an' fragile. Never +darst hold her for fear I 'd break her, an' it liked to skeered me to +death to see the way Marthy and Lizzie would kind uv toss her round an' +trot her—so—on their knees or pat her—so—on the back when she wuz +collicky like the wimmin folks sez all healthy babies is afore they 're +three months old. +</P> + +<P> +"You 're goin' to have the namin' uv her," sez Bill to me. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," sez Marthy; "we made it up atween us long ago that you should +have the namin' uv <I>our</I> baby like <I>we</I> had the namin' uv yourn." +</P> + +<P> +Then, kind uv hectorin' like—for I was always a powerful tease—I sez: +"How would Cleopatry do for a name? or Venis? I have been readin' the +cyclopeedy myself, I 'd have you know!" +</P> + +<P> +An' then I laffed one on them provokin' laffs uv mine—oh, I tell ye, I +was the worst feller for hectorin' folks you ever seen! But I meant it +all in fun, for when I suspicioned they did n't like my funnin', I sez: +"Bill," sez I, "an' Marthy, there 's only one name I 'd love above all +the rest to call your little lambkin, an' that's the dearest name on +earth to me—the name uv Lizzie, my wife!" +</P> + +<P> +That jest suited 'em to a T, an' always after that she wuz called +leetle Lizzie, an' it sot on her, that name did, like <I>it</I> was made for +<I>her</I>, an' <I>she</I> for <I>it</I>. We made it up then—perhaps more in fun +than anything else—that when the children growed up, Cyrus an' leetle +Lizzie, they should get marr'd together, an' have both the farms an' be +happy, an' be a blessin' to us all in our old age. We made it up in +fun, perhaps, but down in our hearts it wuz our prayer jest the same, +and God heard the prayer an' granted it to be so. +</P> + +<P> +They played together, they lived together; together they tended +deestrick school an' went huckleberryin'; there wuz huskin's an' +spellin' bees an' choir meetin's an' skatin' an' slidin' down-hill—oh, +the happy times uv youth! an' all those times our boy Cyrus an' their +leetle Lizzie went lovin'ly together! +</P> + +<P> +What made me start so—what made me ask of Bill one time: "Are we +a-gettin' old, Bill?" that wuz the Thanksgivin' night when, as we set +round the fire in Bill's front-room, Cyrus come to us, holdin' leetle +Lizzie by the hand, an' they asked us could they get marr'd come next +Thanksgivin' time? Why, it seemed only yesterday that they wuz chicks +together! God! how swift the years go by when they are happy years! +</P> + +<P> +"Reuben," sez Bill to me, "le's go down' cellar and draw a pitcher uv +cider!" +</P> + +<P> +You see that, bein' men, it wuz n't for us to make a show uv ourselves. +Marty an' Lizzie just hugged each other an' laughed an' cried—they wuz +so glad! Then they hugged Cyrus an' leetle Lizzie; and talk and laff? +Well, it did beat all how them women folks did talk and laugh, all at +one time! Cyrus laffed, too; an' then he said he reckoned he 'd go out +an' throw some fodder in to the steers, and Bill an' I—well, <I>we</I> went +down-cellar to draw that pitcher uv cider. +</P> + +<P> +It ain't for me to tell now uv the meller sweetness uv their courtin' +time; I could n't do it if I tried. Oh, how we loved 'em both! Yet, +once in the early summer-time, our boy Cyrus he come to me an' said: +"Father, I want you to let me go away for a spell." +</P> + +<P> +"Cyrus, my boy! Go away?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, father; President Linkern has called for soldiers; father, you +have always taught me to obey the voice of Duty. That voice summons me +now." +</P> + +<P> +"God in heaven," I thought, "you have given us this child only to take +him from us!" +</P> + +<P> +But then came the second thought: "Steady, Reuben! You are a man; <I>be</I> +a man! Steady, Reuben; be a man!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yer mother," sez I, "yer mother—it will break her heart!" +</P> + +<P> +"She leaves it all to you, father." +</P> + +<P> +"But—the other—the other, Cyrus—leetle Lizzie—ye know!" +</P> + +<P> +"She is content," sez he. +</P> + +<P> +A storm swep' through me like a cyclone. It wuz all Bill's fault; that +warrior-name had done it all—the cyclopeedy with its lies had pizened +Bill's mind to put this trouble on me an' mine! +</P> + +<P> +No, no, a thousand times no! These wuz coward feelin's an' they +misbecome me; the ache herein this heart uv mine had no business there. +The better part uv me called to me an' said: "Pull yourself together, +Reuben Ketcham, and be a man!" +</P> + +<P> +Well, after he went away, leetle Lizzie wuz more to us 'n ever before; +wuz at our house all the time; called Lizzie "mother"; wuz contented, +in her woman's way, willin' to do her part, waitin' an' watchin' an' +prayin' for him to come back. They sent him boxes of good things every +fortnight, mother an' leetle Lizzie did; there wuz n't a minute uv the +day that they wuz n't talkin' or thinkin' uv him. +</P> + +<P> +Well—ye—see—I must tell it my own way—he got killed. In the very +first battle Cyrus got killed. The rest uv the soldiers turnt to +retreat, because there wuz too many for 'em on the other side. But +Cyrus stood right up; he wuz the warrior Bill allowed he wuz goin' to +be; our boy wuz n't the kind to run. They tell me there wuz bullet +holes here, an' here, an' here—all over his breast. We always knew +our boy wuz a hero! +</P> + +<P> +Ye can thank God ye wuz n't at the 'jinin' farms when the news come +that he 'd got killed. The neighbors, they were there, of course, to +kind uv hold us up an' comfort us. Bill an' I sot all day in the +woodshed, holdin' hands an' lookin' away from each other, so; never +said a word; jest sot there, sympathizin' an' holdin' hands. If we 'd +been women, Bill an' I would uv cried an' beat our forrids an' hung +round each other's neck, like the womenfolks done. Bein' we wuz men, +we jest set there in the woodshed, away from all the rest, holdin' +hands an' sympathizin'. +</P> + +<P> +From that time on, leetle Lizzie wuz our daughter—our very daughter, +all that wuz left to us uv our boy. She never shed a tear; crep' like +a shadder 'round the house an' up the front walk an' through the +garden. Her heart wuz broke. You could see it in the leetle lambkin's +eyes an' hear it in her voice. Wanted to tell her sometimes when she +kissed me and called me "father"—wanted to tell her, "Leetle Lizzie, +let me help ye bear yer load. Speak out the sorrer that's in yer +broken heart; speak it out, leetle one, an' let me help yer bear yer +load!" +</P> + +<P> +But it is n't for a man to have them feelin's—leastwise, it is n't for +him to tell uv 'em. So I held my peace and made no sign. +</P> + +<P> +She jest drooped, an' pined, an' died. One mornin' in the spring she +wuz standin' in the garden, an' all at oncet she threw her arms up, so, +an' fell upon her face, an' when they got to her all thet wuz left to +us uv leetle Lizzie wuz her lifeless leetle body. I can't tell of what +happened next—uv the funeral an' all that. I said this wuz in the +spring, an' so it wuz all around us; but it wuz cold and winter <I>here</I>. +</P> + +<P> +One day mother sez to me: "Reuben," sez she, softlike, "Marthy an' I is +goin' to the buryin' ground for a spell. Don't you reckon it would be +a good time for you to step over an' see Bill while we 're gone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mebbe so, mother," sez I. +</P> + +<P> +It wuz a pretty day. Cuttin' across lots, I thought to myself what I +'d say to Bill to kind uv comfort him. I made it up that I 'd speak +about the time when we wuz boys together; uv how we used to slide down +the meetin'-house hill, an' go huckleberryin'; uv how I jumped into the +pond one day an' saved him from bein' drownded; uv the spellin' school, +the huskin' bees, the choir meetin's, the sparkin' times; of the +swimmin' hole, the crow's nest in the pine-tree, the woodchuck's hole +in the old pasture lot; uv the sunny summer days an' the snug winter +nights when we wuz boys, an' happy! And then—— +</P> + +<P> +No, no! I could n't go on like that! I 'd break down. A man can't be +a man more 'n jest so far! +</P> + +<P> +Why did mother send me over to see Bill? I 'd better stayed to home! +I felt myself chokin' up; if I had n't took a chew uv terbacker, I 'd +'ave been cryin', in a minute! +</P> + +<P> +The nearer I got to Bill's, the worst I hated to go in. Standin' on +the stoop, I could hear the tall clock tickin' solemnly +inside—"tick-tock, tick-tock," jest as plain as if I wuz settin' aside +uv it. The door wuz shet, yet I knew jest what Bill wuz doin'; he was +settin' in the old red easy-chair, lookin' down at the floor—like +this. Strange, ain't it, how sometimes when you love folks you know +jest what they 're doin', without knowin' anything about it! +</P> + +<P> +There warn't no use knockin', but I knocked three times; so. Did n't +say a word; only jest knocked three times—that a-way. Did n't hear no +answer—nothin' but the tickin' uv the tall clock; an' yet I knew that +Bill heered me an' that down in his heart he was sayin' to me to come +in. He never said a word, yet I knowed all the time Bill wuz sayin' +for me to come in. +</P> + +<P> +I opened the door, keerful-like, an' slipped in. Did n't say nothin'; +jest opened the door, softly-like, an' slipped in. There set Bill jist +as I knowed he was settin', lonesome-like, sad-like; his head hangin' +down; he never looked up at me; never said a word—knowed I wuz there +all the time, but never said a word an' never made a sign. +</P> + +<P> +How changed Bill wuz—oh, Bill, how changed ye wuz! There wuz furrers +in yer face an' yer hair wuz white—as white as—as white as mine! +Looked small about the body, thin an' hump-shouldered. +</P> + +<P> +Jest two ol' men, that's what we wuz; an' we had been boys together! +</P> + +<P> +Well, I stood there a spell, kind uv hesitatin' like, neither uv us +sayin' anything, until bimeby Bill he sort of made a sign for me to set +down. Did n't speak, did n't lift his eyes from the floor; only made a +sign, like this, in a weak, tremblin' way—that wuz all. An' I set +down, and there we both set, neither uv us sayin' a word, but both +settin' there, lovin' each other an' sympathize' as hard as we could, +for that is the way with men. +</P> + +<P> +Bimeby, like we 'd kind uv made it up aforehand, we hitched up closer, +for when folks is in sorrer an' trouble they like to be closte +together. But not a word all the time, an' hitchin' closer an' closer +together, why, bimeby we set side by side. So we set a spell longer, +lovin' an' sympathizin', as men-folks do; thinkin' uv the old times, uv +our boyhood; thinkin' uv the happiness uv the past an' uv all the hopes +them two children had brought us! The tall clock ticked, an' that wuz +all the sound there wuz, excep' when Bill gin a sigh an' I gin a sigh, +too—to lighten the load, ye know. +</P> + +<P> +Not a word come from either of us: 't wuz all we could do to set there, +lovin' each other an' sympathizin'! +</P> + +<P> +All at oncet—for we could n't stand it no longer—all at oncet we +turnt our faces t' other way an' reached out, so, an' groped with our +hands, this way, till we found an' held each other fast in a clasp uv +tender meanin'. +</P> + +<P> +Then—God forgive me if I done a wrong—then I wisht I wuz a woman! +For, bein' a woman, I could have riz up, an', standin' so, I could have +cried: "Come, Bill! come, let me hold you in these arms; come, let us +weep together, an' let this broken heart uv mine speak through these +tremblin' lips to that broken heart uv yourn, Bill, tellin' ye how much +I love ye an' sympathize with ye!" +</P> + +<P> +But—no! I wuz <I>not</I> a woman! I wuz a <I>man</I>! an', bein' a man, I must +let my heart break; I must hold my peace, an' I must make no sign. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE ANGEL AND THE FLOWERS +</H3> + +<P> +An angel once asked the Father if he might leave heaven for a day and +go down to earth to visit the flowers and birds and little children, +for you must know that no other earthly things so much please the +angels of heaven as do the flowers, the birds, and the little children. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said the Father, "you may go down to earth, but be sure to stay +no longer than a day; and when you come back to heaven bring me the +loveliest flower you can find, that I may transplant it to my garden +and love it for its beauty and its fragrance. Cherish it tenderly, +that no harm may befall it." +</P> + +<P> +Then the angel went down to the earth, and he came to a beautiful +rose-bush upon which bloomed a rose lovelier and more fragrant than any +of her kind. +</P> + +<P> +"Heyday, sweet rose," said the angel; "how proudly you hold up your +fair head for the winds to kiss." +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, that I do," replied the rose, blushing, albeit she enjoyed the +flattery. "But I do not care for these idle zephyrs nor for the wanton +sunbeams that dance among my leaves all the day long. To-night a +cavalier will come hither and tear me from this awkward bush with all +its thorns, and kiss me with impassioned lips, and bear me to his lady, +who, too, will kiss me and wear me on her bosom, next her heart. That, +O angel, is the glory of the rose—to be a bearer of kisses from lover +to lover, and to hear the whispered vows of the cavalier and his lady, +to feel the beating of a gentle heart, and to wither on the white bosom +of a wooed maiden." +</P> + +<P> +Then the angel came to a lily that arose fair and majestic from its +waxen leaves and bowed gracefully to each passing breeze. +</P> + +<P> +"Why are you so pale and sad, dear lily?" asked the angel. +</P> + +<P> +"My love is the north wind," said the lily, "and I look for him and +mourn because he does not come. And when he does come, and I would +smile under his caresses, he is cold and harsh and cruel to me, and I +wither and die for a season, and when I am wooed back to life again by +the smiles and tears of heaven, which are the sunlight and the dew, lo! +he is gone." +</P> + +<P> +The angel smiled sadly to hear of the trusting, virgin fidelity of the +lily. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me," asked the lily, "will the north wind come to-day?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said the angel, "nor for many days yet, since it is early summer +now." +</P> + +<P> +But the lonely lily did not believe the angel's words. Still looking +for her cruel lover, she held her pale face aloft and questioned each +zephyr that hurried by. And the angel went his way. +</P> + +<P> +And the angel came next to a daisy that thrived in a meadow where the +cattle were grazing and the lambs were frisking. +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, do not pluck me, sir," cried the daisy, merrily; "I would not +exchange my home in this smiling pasture for a place upon the princess' +bosom." +</P> + +<P> +"You seem very blithesome, little daisy," quoth the angel. +</P> + +<P> +"So I am, and why should I not be?" rejoined the daisy. "The dews +bathe me with their kisses, and the stars wink merrily at me all the +night through, and during the day the bees come and sing their songs to +me, and the little lambs frisk about me, and the big cattle caress me +gently with their rough tongues, and all seem to say 'Bloom on, little +daisy, for we love you.' So we frolic here on the meadow all the +time—the lambs, the bees, the cattle, the stars, and I—and we are +very, very happy." +</P> + +<P> +Next the angel came to a camellia which was most beautiful to look +upon. But the camellia made no reply to the angel's salutation, for +the camellia, having no fragrance, is dumb—for flowers, you must know, +speak by means of their scented breath. The camellia, therefore, could +say no word to the angel, so the angel walked on in silent sadness. +</P> + +<P> +"Look at me, good angel," cried the honeysuckle; "see how adventuresome +I am. At the top of this trellis dwells a ladybird, and in her cozy +nest are three daughters, the youngest of whom I go to woo. I carry +sweetmeats with me to tempt the pretty dear; do you think she will love +me?" +</P> + +<P> +The angel laughed at the honeysuckle's quaint conceit, but made no +reply, for yonder he saw a purple aster he fain would question. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you then so busy," asked the angel, "that you turn your head away +from every other thing and look always into the sky?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do not interrupt me," murmured the purple aster. "I love the great +luminous sun, and whither he rolls in the blazing heavens I turn my +face in awe and veneration. I would be the bride of the sun, but he +only smiles down upon my devotion and beauty!" +</P> + +<P> +So the angel wandered among the flowers all the day long and talked +with them. And toward evening he came to a little grave which was +freshly made. +</P> + +<P> +"Do not tread upon us," said the violets. "Let us cluster here over +this sacred mound and sing our lullabies." +</P> + +<P> +"To whom do you sing, little flowers?" asked the angel. +</P> + +<P> +"We sing to the child that lies sleeping beneath us," replied the +violets. "All through the seasons, even under the snows of winter, we +nestle close to this mound and sing to the sleeping child. None but he +hears us, and his soul is lulled by our gentle music." +</P> + +<P> +"But do you not often long for other occupation, for loftier service?" +inquired the angel. +</P> + +<P> +"Nay," said the violets, "we are content, for we love to sing to the +little, sleeping child." +</P> + +<P> +The angel was touched by the sweet humility of these modest flowers. +He wept, and his tears fell upon the grave, and the flowers drank up +the angel tears and sang more sweetly than before, but so softly that +only the sleeping child heard them. +</P> + +<P> +And when the angel flew back to heaven, he cherished a violet in his +bosom. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE CHILD'S LETTER +</H3> + +<P> +Everybody was afraid of the old governor because he was so cross and +surly. And one morning he was crosser and surlier than ever, because +he had been troubled for several days with a matter which he had +already decided, but which many people wished to have reversed. A man, +found guilty of a crime, had been imprisoned, and there were those who, +convinced of his penitence and knowing that his family needed his +support, earnestly sought his pardon. To all these solicitations the +old governor replied "no," and, having made up his mind, the old +governor had no patience with those who persisted in their +intercessions. So the old governor was in high dudgeon one morning, +and when he came to his office he said to his secretary: "Admit no one +to see me; I am weary of these constant and senseless importunities." +</P> + +<P> +Now, the secretary had a discreet regard for the old governor's +feelings, and it was seldom that his presence of mind so far deserted +him as to admit of his suffering the old governor's wishes to be +disregarded. He bolted the door and sat himself down at his modest +desk and simulated intense enthusiasm in his work. His simulation was +more intense than usual, for never before had the secretary seen the +old governor in such a harsh mood. +</P> + +<P> +"Has the mail come—where are the papers and the letters?" demanded the +old governor, in a gruff voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Here they are, sir," said the secretary, as he put the bundle on the +old governor's table. "These are addressed to you privately; the +business letters are on my desk. Would you like to see them now?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, not now," growled the old governor; "I will read the papers and my +private correspondence first." +</P> + +<P> +But the old governor found cause for uneasiness in this employment. +The papers discussed the affair of the imprisoned man, and these +private letters came from certain of the old governor's friends, who, +strangely enough, exhibited an interest in the self-same prisoner's +affair. The old governor was highly disgusted. +</P> + +<P> +"They should mind their own business," muttered the old governor. "The +papers are very officious, and these other people are simply +impertinent. My mind is made up—nothing shall change me!" +</P> + +<P> +Then the old governor turned to his private secretary and bade him +bring the business letters, and presently the private secretary could +hear the old governor growling and fumbling over the pile of +correspondence. He knew why the old governor was so excited; many of +these letters were petitions from the people touching the affair of the +imprisoned man. Oh, how they angered the old governor! +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" said the old governor at last, "I 'm glad I 'm done with them. +There are no more, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +When the secretary made no reply the old governor was surprised. He +wheeled in his chair and searchingly regarded the secretary over his +spectacles. He saw that the secretary was strangely embarrassed. +</P> + +<P> +"You have not shown me all," said the old governor, sternly. "What is +it you have kept back?" +</P> + +<P> +Then the secretary said: "I had thought not to show it to you. It is +nothing but a little child's letter—I thought I should not bother you +with it." +</P> + +<P> +The old governor was interested. A child's letter to <I>him</I>—what could +it be about? Such a thing had never happened to him before. +</P> + +<P> +"A child's letter; let me see it," said the old governor, and, although +his voice was harsh, somewhat of a tender light came into his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"'T is nothing but a scrawl," explained the secretary, "and it comes +from the prisoner's child—Monckton's little girl—Monckton, the +forger, you know. Of course there's nothing to it—a mere scrawl; for +the child is only four years old. But the gentleman who sends it says +the child brought it to him and asked him to send it to the governor, +and then, perhaps, the governor would send her papa home." +</P> + +<P> +The old governor took the letter, and he scanned it curiously. What a +wonderful letter it was, and who but a little child could have written +it! Such strange hieroglyphics and such crooked lines—oh! it was a +wonderful letter, as you can imagine. +</P> + +<P> +But the old governor saw something more than the strange hieroglyphics +and crooked lines and rude pencillings. He could see in and between +the lines of the little child's letter a sweetness and a pathos he had +never seen before, and on the crumpled sheet he found a love like the +love his bereaved heart had vainly yearned for, oh! so many years. +</P> + +<P> +He saw, or seemed to see, a little head bending over the crumpled page, +a dimpled hand toiling at its rude labor of love, and an earnest little +face smiling at the thought that this labor would not be in vain. And +how wearied the little hand grew and how sleepy the little head became, +but the loyal little heart throbbed on and on with patient joy, and +neither hand nor head rested till the task was done. +</P> + +<P> +Sweet innocence of childhood! Who would molest thee—who bring thee +one shadow of sorrow? Who would not rather brave all dangers, endure +all fatigues, and bear all burdens to shield thee from the worldly ills +thou dream'st not of! +</P> + +<P> +So thought the old governor, as he looked upon the crumpled page and +saw and heard the pleadings of the child's letter; for you must know +that from the crumpled page there stole a thousand gentle voices that +murmured in his ears so sweetly that his heart seemed full of tears. +And the old governor thought of his own little one—God rest her +innocent soul. And it seemed to him as if he could hear her dear baby +voice joining with this other's in trustful pleading. +</P> + +<P> +The secretary was amazed when the old governor said to him: "Give me a +pardon blank." But what most amazed the secretary was the tremulous +tenderness in the old governor's voice and the mistiness behind the old +governor's spectacles as he folded the crumpled page reverently and put +it carefully in the breast pocket of his greatcoat. +</P> + +<P> +"Humph," thought the secretary, "the old governor has a kinder heart +than any of us suspected." +</P> + +<P> +Then, when the prisoner was pardoned and came from his cell, people +grasped him by the hand and said: "Our eloquence and perseverance saved +you. The old governor could not withstand the pressure we brought to +bear on him!" +</P> + +<P> +But the secretary knew, and the old governor, too—God bless him for +his human heart! <I>They</I> knew that it was the sacred influence of a +little child's letter that had done it all—that a dimpled baby hand +had opened those prison doors. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE SINGER MOTHER +</H3> + +<P> +Once, as Death walked the earth in search of some fair flower upon +which he could breathe his icy breath, he met the graceful and pleasing +spirit who is called Ambition. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morrow," quoth Death, "let us journey a time together. Both of +us are hale fellows; let us henceforth be travelling companions." +</P> + +<P> +Now Ambition is one of the most easily cajoled persons in the world. +The soft words of Death flattered him. So Death and Ambition set out +together, hand in hand. +</P> + +<P> +And having come into a great city, they were walking in a fine street +when they beheld at the window of a certain house a lady who was named +Griselda. She was sitting at the window, fondling in her lap her +child, a beautiful little infant that held out his dimpled arms to the +mother and prattled sweet little things which only a mother can +understand. +</P> + +<P> +"What a beautiful lady," said Ambition, "and what a wonderful song she +is singing to the child." +</P> + +<P> +"You may praise the mother as you will," said Death, "but it is the +child which engages my attention and absorbs my admiration. How I wish +the child were mine!" +</P> + +<P> +But Ambition continued to regard Griselda with an eye of covetousness; +the song Griselda sang to her babe seemed to have exerted a wondrous +spell over the spirit. +</P> + +<P> +"I know a way," suggested Death, "by which we can possess ourselves of +these two—you of the mother and I of the child." +</P> + +<P> +Ambition's eyes sparkled. He longed for the beautiful mother. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me how I may win her," said he to Death, "and you shall have the +babe." +</P> + +<P> +So Death and Ambition walked in the street and talked of Griselda and +her child. +</P> + +<P> +Griselda was a famous singer. She sang in the theatre of the great +city, and people came from all parts of the world to hear her songs and +join in her praise. Such a voice had never before been heard, and +Griselda's fame was equalled only by the riches which her art had +brought her. In the height of her career the little babe came to make +her life all the sweeter, and Griselda was indeed very happy. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is that at the door?" inquired Charlotte, the old nurse. "It must +be somebody of consequence, for he knocks with a certain confidence +only those in authority have." +</P> + +<P> +"Go to the door and see," said Griselda. +</P> + +<P> +So Charlotte went to the door, and lo, there was a messenger from the +king, and the messenger was accompanied by two persons attired in royal +robes. +</P> + +<P> +These companions were Ambition and Death, but they were so splendidly +arrayed you never would have recognized them. +</P> + +<P> +"Does the Lady Griselda abide here?" asked the messenger. +</P> + +<P> +"She does," replied old Charlotte, courtesying very low, for the +brilliant attire of the strangers dazzled her. +</P> + +<P> +"I have a message from the king," said the messenger. +</P> + +<P> +Old Charlotte could hardly believe her ears. A message from the king! +Never before had such an honor befallen one in Griselda's station. +</P> + +<P> +The message besought Griselda to appear in the theatre that night +before the king, who knew of her wondrous voice, but had never heard +it. And with the message came a royal gift of costly jewels, the like +of which Griselda had never set eyes upon. +</P> + +<P> +"You cannot refuse," said Ambition in a seductive voice. "Such an +opportunity never before was accorded you and may never again be +offered. It is the king for whom you are to sing!" +</P> + +<P> +Griselda hesitated and cast a lingering look at her babe. +</P> + +<P> +"Have no fear for the child," said Death, "for I will care for him +while you are gone." +</P> + +<P> +So, between the insinuating advice of Ambition and the fair promises of +Death, Griselda was persuaded, and the messenger bore back to the king +word that Griselda would sing for him that night. +</P> + +<P> +But Ambition and Death remained as guests in Griselda's household. +</P> + +<P> +The child grew restless as the day advanced. From the very moment that +Death had entered the house the little one had seemed very changed, but +Griselda was so busy listening to the flattering speeches of Ambition +that she did not notice the flush on her infant's cheeks and the +feverish rapidity of his breathing. +</P> + +<P> +But Death sat grimly in a corner of the room and never took his eyes +from the crib where the little one lay. +</P> + +<P> +"You shall so please the king with your beautiful face and voice," said +Ambition, "that he will confer wealth and title upon you. You will be +the most famous woman on earth; better than that, your fame shall live +always in history—it shall be eternal!" +</P> + +<P> +And Griselda smiled, for the picture was most pleasing. +</P> + +<P> +"The child's hands are hot," said old Charlotte, the nurse, "and there +seem to be strange tremors in his little body, and he groans as he +tosses from one side of his cradle to the other." +</P> + +<P> +Griselda was momentarily alarmed, but Ambition only laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense," quoth Ambition, "'tis an old woman's fancy. This envious +old witch would have you disappoint the king—the king, who would load +you with riches and honors!" +</P> + +<P> +So the day lengthened, and Griselda listened to the grateful flatteries +of Ambition. But Death sat all the time gazing steadfastly on the +little one in the cradle. The candles were brought, and Griselda +arrayed herself in her costliest robes. +</P> + +<P> +"I must look my best," she said, "for this is to be the greatest +triumph of my life." +</P> + +<P> +"You are very beautiful; you will captivate the king," said Ambition. +</P> + +<P> +"The child is very ill," croaked old Charlotte, the nurse; "he does not +seem to be awake nor yet asleep, and there is a strange, hoarse +rattling in his breathing." +</P> + +<P> +"For shame!" cried Ambition. "See how the glow of health mantles his +cheeks and how the fire of health burns in his eyes." +</P> + +<P> +And Griselda believed the words of Ambition. She did not stoop to kiss +her little one. She called his name and threw him a kiss, and hastened +to her carriage in the street below. The child heard the mother's +voice, raised his head, and stretched forth his hands to Griselda, but +she was gone and Ambition had gone with her. But Death remained with +Griselda's little one. +</P> + +<P> +The theatre was more brilliant that night than ever before. It had +been noised about that Griselda would sing for the king, and lords and +ladies in their most imposing raiment filled the great edifice to +overflowing, while in the royal box sat the king himself, with the +queen and the princes and the princesses. +</P> + +<P> +"It will be a great triumph," said Ambition to Griselda, and Griselda +knew that she had never looked half so beautiful nor felt half so ready +for the great task she had to perform. There was mighty cheering when +she swept before the vast throng, and the king smiled and bowed when he +saw that Griselda wore about her neck the costly jewels he had sent +her. But if the applause was mighty when she appeared, what was it +when she finished her marvellous song and bowed herself from the stage! +Thrice was she compelled to repeat the song, and a score of times was +she recalled to receive the homage of the delighted throng. Bouquets +of beautiful flowers were heaped about her feet, and with his own hand +from his box the king threw to her a jewelled necklace far costlier +than his previous gift. +</P> + +<P> +As Griselda hurried from her dressing-room to her carriage she +marvelled that Ambition had suddenly and mysteriously quitted her +presence. In his place stood the figure of a woman, all in black, and +with large, sad eyes and pale face. +</P> + +<P> +"Who are you?" asked Griselda. +</P> + +<P> +"I am the Spirit of Eternal Sorrow," said the woman. +</P> + +<P> +And the strange, sad woman went with Griselda into the carriage and to +Griselda's home. +</P> + +<P> +Old Charlotte, the nurse, met them at the door. She was very white and +she trembled as if with fear. +</P> + +<P> +Then Griselda seemed to awaken from a dream. +</P> + +<P> +"My child?" she asked, excitedly. +</P> + +<P> +"He is gone," replied old Charlotte, the nurse. +</P> + +<P> +Griselda flew to the chamber where she had left him. There stood the +little cradle where he had lain, but the cradle was empty. +</P> + +<P> +"Who has taken him away?" cried Griselda, sinking upon her knees and +stretching her hands in agony to heaven. +</P> + +<P> +"Death took him away but an hour ago," said old Charlotte, the nurse. +</P> + +<P> +Then Griselda thought of his fevered face and his pitiful little moans +and sighs; of the guileful flatteries of Ambition that had deafened her +mother ears to the pleadings of her sick babe; of the brilliant theatre +and the applause of royalty and of the last moments of her lonely, +dying child. +</P> + +<P> +And Griselda arose and tore the jewels from her breast and threw them +far from her and cried: "O God, it is my punishment! I am alone." +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, not so, O mother," said a solemn voice; "I am with thee and will +abide with thee forever." +</P> + +<P> +Griselda turned and looked upon the tall, gloomy figure that approached +her with these words. +</P> + +<P> +It was the Spirit of Eternal Sorrow. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE TWO WIVES +</H3> + +<P> +In a certain city there were two wives +named Gerda and Hulda. Although +their homes adjoined, these wives were in +very different social stations, for Gerda was +the wife of a very proud and very rich man, +while Hulda was the wife of a humble +artisan. Gerda's house was lofty and +spacious and was adorned with most costly and +most beautiful things, but Hulda's house +was a scantily furnished little cottage. The +difference in their social stations did not, +however, prevent Gerda and Hulda from +being very friendly in a proper fashion, and the +two frequently exchanged visits while their +husbands were away from home. +</P> + +<P> +One day Hulda was at Gerda's house, and +Gerda said: "I must show you the painting +we have just received from Paris. It is +the most beautiful painting in the world, and +it cost a princely sum of money." +</P> + +<P> +And Gerda took Hulda into an adjoining +chamber and uncovered the picture, and for +a long time Hulda stood admiring it in +silence. It was indeed a masterpiece of art. +Such beauty of conception, such elegance of +design, and such nicety in execution had +never before been seen. It was a marvel of +figure and color and effect. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it not the most beautiful picture in +all the world?" asked Gerda. +</P> + +<P> +"It is very beautiful," replied Hulda, "but +it is not the most beautiful picture in all the +world." +</P> + +<P> +Then Gerda took Hulda into another +chamber and showed her a jewelled music-box +which the most cunning artisans in all +Switzerland had labored for years to produce. +</P> + +<P> +"You shall hear it make music," said Gerda. +</P> + +<P> +And Gerda touched the spring, and the +music-box discoursed a harmony such as +Hulda's listening ears had never heard +before. It seemed as if a mountain brook, a +summer zephyr, and a wild-wood bird were +in the box vying with each other in sweet melodies. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it not the most beautiful music in all +the world?" asked Gerda. +</P> + +<P> +"It is very beautiful," replied Hulda, "but +it is not the most beautiful music in all the world." +</P> + +<P> +Then Gerda was sorely vexed. +</P> + +<P> +"You said that of the picture," said Gerda, +"and you say it of the music. Now tell +me, Hulda, where is there to be found a +more beautiful picture, and where more +beautiful music?" +</P> + +<P> +"Come with me, Gerda," said Hulda. +</P> + +<P> +And Hulda led Gerda from the stately +mansion into her own humble little cottage. +</P> + +<P> +"See there upon the wall near the door?" +said Hulda. +</P> + +<P> +"I see nothing but stains and marks of +dirt," said Gerda. "Where is the picture +of which you spoke?" +</P> + +<P> +"They are the prints of a baby hand," +said Hulda. "You are a woman and a +wife, and would you not exchange all the +treasures of your palace for the finger-marks +of a little hand upon your tinted walls?" +</P> + +<P> +And Gerda made no reply. +</P> + +<P> +Then Hulda went to a corner and drew +forth a pair of quaint, tiny shoes and showed +them to Gerda. +</P> + +<P> +"These are a baby's shoes," said Hulda, +"and make a music no art can equal. Other +sounds may charm the ear and delight the +senses, but the music of a baby's shoe thrills +the heart and brings the soul into +communion with the angels." +</P> + +<P> +Then Gerda cried "'T is true, O Hulda! +'t is true." And she bowed her head and +wept. For she was childless. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE WOOING OF MISS WOPPIT +</H3> + +<P> +At that time the camp was new. Most of what was called the valuable +property was owned by an English syndicate, but there were many who had +small claims scattered here and there on the mountainside, and +Three-fingered Hoover and I were rightly reckoned among these others. +The camp was new and rough to the degree of uncouthness, yet, upon the +whole, the little population was well disposed and orderly. But along in +the spring of '81, finding that we numbered eight hundred, with electric +lights, telephones, a bank, a meeting-house, a race-track, and such-like +modern improvements, we of Red Hoss Mountain became possessed of the +notion to have a city government; so nothing else would do but to proceed +at once and solemnly to the choice of a mayor, marshal, clerk, and other +municipal officers. The spirit of party politics (as it is known and as +it controls things elsewhere) did not enter into the short and active +canvass; there were numerous candidates for each office, all were +friends, and the most popular of the lot were to win. The campaign was +fervent but good-natured. +</P> + +<P> +I shall venture to say that Jim Woppit would never have been elected city +marshal but for the potent circumstance that several of the most +influential gentlemen in the camp were in love with Jim's sister; that +was Jim's hold on these influences, and that was why he was elected. +</P> + +<P> +Yet Jim was what you 'd call a good fellow—not that he was fair to look +upon, for he was not; he was swarthy and heavy-featured and hulking; but +he was a fair-speaking man, and he was always ready to help out the boys +when they went broke or were elsewise in trouble. Yes, take him all in +all, Jim Woppit was properly fairly popular, although, as I shall always +maintain, he would never have been elected city marshal over Buckskin and +Red Drake and Salty Boardman if it had n't been (as I have intimated) for +the backing he got from Hoover, Jake Dodsley, and Barber Sam. These +three men last named were influences in the camp, enterprising and +respected citizens, with plenty of sand in their craws and plenty of +stuff in their pockets; they loved Miss Woppit, and they were in honor +bound to stand by the interests of the brother of that fascinating young +woman. +</P> + +<P> +I was not surprised that they were smitten; she might have caught me, +too, had it not been for the little woman and the three kids back in the +states. As handsome and as gentle a lady was Miss Woppit as ever walked +a white pine floor—so very different from White River Ann, and Red +Drake's wife, and old man Edgar's daughter, for they were magpies who +chattered continually and maliciously, hating Miss Woppit because she +wisely chose to have nothing to do with them. She lived with her brother +Jim on the side-hill, just off the main road, in the cabin that Smooth +Ephe Hicks built before he was thrown off his broncho into the gulch. It +was a pretty but lonesome place, about three-quarters of a mile from the +camp, adjoining the claim which Jim Woppit worked in a lazy sort of +way—Jim being fairly well fixed, having sold off a coal farm in Illinois +just before he came west. +</P> + +<P> +In this little cabin abode Miss Woppit during the period of her wooing, a +period covering, as I now recall, six or, may be, eight months. She was +so pretty, so modest, so diligent, so homekeeping, and so shy, what +wonder that those lonely, heart-hungry men should fall in love with her? +In all the population of the camp the number of women was fewer than two +score, and of this number half were married, others were hopeless +spinsters, and others were irretrievably bad, only excepting Miss Woppit, +the prettiest, the tidiest, the gentlest of all. She was good, pure, and +lovely in her womanliness; I shall not say that I envied—no, I respected +Hoover and Dodsley and Barber Sam for being stuck on the girl; you 'd +have respected 'em, too, if you 'd seen her and—and <I>them</I>. But I <I>did</I> +take it to heart because Miss Woppit seemed disinclined to favor any suit +for her fair hand—particularly because she was by no means partial to +Three-fingered Hoover, as square a man as ever struck pay dirt—dear old +pardner, your honest eyes will never read these lines, between which +speaks my lasting love for you! +</P> + +<P> +In the first place, Miss Woppit would never let the boys call on her of +an evening unless her brother Jim was home; she had strict notions about +that sort of thing which she would n't waive. I reckon she was right +according to the way society looks at these things, but it was powerful +hard on Three-fingered Hoover and Jake Dodsley and Barber Sam to be +handicapped by etiquette when they had their bosoms chock full of love +and were dying to tell the girl all about it. +</P> + +<P> +Jake Dodsley came a heap nearer than the others to letting Miss Woppit +know what his exact feelings were. He was a poet of no mean order. What +he wrote was printed regularly in Cad Davis' Leadville paper under the +head of "Pearls of Pegasus," and all us Red Hoss Mountain folks allowed +that next to Willie Pabor of Denver our own Jake Dodsley had more of the +afflatus in him than any other living human poet. Hoover appreciated +Jake's genius, even though Jake <I>was</I> his rival. It was Jake's custom to +write poems <I>at</I> Miss Woppit—poems breathing the most fervid sentiment, +all about love and bleeding hearts and unrequited affection. The papers +containing these effusions he would gather together with rare diligence, +and would send them, marked duly with a blue or a red pencil, to Miss +Woppit. +</P> + +<P> +The poem which Hoover liked best was one entitled "True Love," and Hoover +committed it to memory—yes, he went even further; he hired Professor De +Blanc (Casey's piano player) to set it to music, and this office the +professor discharged nobly, producing a simple but solemn-like melody +which Hoover was wont to sing in feeling wise, poor, dear, misguided +fellow that he was! Seems to me I can hear his big, honest, husky, voice +lifted up even now in rendition of that expression of his passion: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Turrue love never dies—<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Like a river flowin'</SPAN><BR> +In its course it gathers force,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Broader, deeper growin';</SPAN><BR> +Strength'nin' in the storms 'at come,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Triumphin' in sorrer,</SPAN><BR> +Till To-day fades away<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">In the las' To-morrer.</SPAN><BR> +Wot though Time flies?<BR> +Turrue love never dies!<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Moreover, Three-fingered Hoover discoursed deftly upon the fiddle; at +obligates and things he was not much, but at real music he could not be +beat. Called his fiddle "Mother," because his own mother was dead, and +being he loved her and had no other way of showing it, why, he named his +fiddle after her. Three-fingered Hoover was full of just such queer +conceits. +</P> + +<P> +Barber Sam was another music genius; his skill as a performer upon the +guitar was one of the marvels of the camp. Nor had he an indifferent +voice—Prof. De Blanc allowed that if Barber Sam's voice had been +cultured at the proper time—by which I suppose he meant in youth—Barber +Sam would undoubtedly have become "one of the brightest constellations in +the operatic firmament." Moreover, Barber Sam had a winsome presence; a +dapper body was he, with a clear olive skin, soulful eyes, a noble +mustache, and a splendid suit of black curly hair. His powers of +conversation were remarkable—that fact, coupled with his playing the +guitar and wearing plaid clothes, gave him the name of Barber Sam, for he +was not really a barber; was only just like one. +</P> + +<P> +In the face of all their wooing, Miss Woppit hardened her heart against +these three gentlemen, any one of whom the highest lady in the land might +have been proud to catch. The girl was not inclined to affairs of the +heart; she cared for no man but her brother Jim. What seemed to suit her +best was to tend to things about the cabin—it was called The Bower, the +poet Jake Dodsley having given it that name—to till the little garden +where the hollyhocks grew, and to stroll away by herself on the hillside +or down through Magpie Glen, beside the gulch. A queer, moodful creature +she was; unlike other girls, so far as we were able to judge. She just +doted on Jim, and Jim only—how she loved that brother you shall know +presently. +</P> + +<P> +It was lucky that we organized a city government when we did. All +communities have streaks of bad luck, and it was just after we had +elected a mayor, a marshal, and a full quota of officers that Red Hoss +Mountain had a spell of experiences that seemed likely at one time to +break up the camp. There 's no telling where it all would have ended if +we had n't happened to have a corps of vigilant and brave men in office, +determined to maintain law and order at all personal hazards. With a +camp, same as 'tis with dogs, it is mighty unhealthy to get a bad name. +</P> + +<P> +The tidal wave of crime—if I may so term it—struck us three days after +the election. I remember distinctly that all our crowd was in at +Casey's, soon after nightfall, indulging in harmless pleasantries, such +as eating, drinking, and stud poker. Casey was telling how he had turned +several cute tricks on election day, and his recital recalled to others +certain exciting experiences <I>they</I> had had in the states; so, in an +atmosphere of tobacco, beer, onions, wine, and braggadocio, and with the +further delectable stimulus of seven-year-old McBrayer, the evening +opened up congenially and gave great promise. The boys were convivial, +if not boisterous. But Jim Woppit, wearing the big silver star of his +exalted office on his coat-front, was present in the interests of peace +and order, and the severest respect was shown to the newly elected +representative of municipal dignity and authority. +</P> + +<P> +All of a sudden, sharp, exacting, and staccato-like, the telephone +sounded; seemed like it said, "Quick—trouble—help!" By the merest +chance—a lucky chance—Jim Woppit happened to be close by, and he +reached for the telephone and answered the summons. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." "Where?" "You bet—right away!" +</P> + +<P> +That was what Jim said; of course, we heard only one side of the talk. +But we knew that something—something remarkable had happened. Jim was +visibly excited; he let go the telephone, and, turning around, full over +against us, he said, "By ——, boys! the stage hez been robbed!" +</P> + +<P> +A robbery! The first in the Red Hoss Mountain country! Every man leapt +to his feet and broke for the door, his right hand thrust instinctively +back toward his hip pocket. There was blood in every eye. +</P> + +<P> +Hank Eaves' broncho was tied in front of Casey's. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me where to go," says Hank, "and I 'll git thar in a minnit. I 'm +fixed." +</P> + +<P> +"No, Hank," says Jim Woppit, commanding like, "<I>I 'll</I> go. I 'm city +marshal, an' it's my place to go—I 'm the repersentive of law an' order +an' I 'll enforce 'em—damn me ef I don't!" +</P> + +<P> +"That's bizness—Jim's head 's level!" cried Barber Sam. +</P> + +<P> +"Let Jim have the broncho," the rest of us counselled, and Hank had to +give in, though he hated to, for he was spoiling for trouble—cussedest +fellow for fighting you ever saw! Jim threw himself astride the spunky +little broncho and was off like a flash. +</P> + +<P> +"Come on, boys," he called back to us; "come on, ez fast ez you kin to +the glen!" +</P> + +<P> +Of course we could n't anywhere near keep up with him; he was soon out of +sight. But Magpie Glen was only a bit away—just a trifle up along the +main road beyond the Woppit cabin. Encouraged by the excitement of the +moment and by the whooping of Jake Dodsley, who opined (for being a poet +he always opined) that some evil might have befallen his cherished Miss +Woppit—incited by these influences we made all haste. But Miss Woppit +was presumably safe, for as we hustled by The Bower we saw the front room +lighted up and the shadow of Miss Woppit's slender figure flitting to and +fro behind the white curtain. She was frightened almost to death, poor +girl! +</P> + +<P> +It appeared from the story of Steve Barclay, the stage-driver, that along +about eight o'clock the stage reached the glen—a darkish, dismal spot, +and the horses, tired and sweaty, toiled almost painfully up the short +stretch of rising ground. There were seven people in the stage: Mr. +Mills, superintendent of the Royal Victoria mine; a travelling man (or +drummer) from Chicago, one Pryor, an invalid tenderfoot, and four miners +returning from a round-up at Denver. Steve Barclay was the only person +outside. As the stage reached the summit of the little hill the figure +of a man stole suddenly from the thicket by the roadside, stood directly +in front of the leading horses, and commanded a halt. The movement was +so sudden as to terrify the horses, and the consequence was that, in +shying, the brutes came near tipping the coach completely over. Barclay +was powerless to act, for the assailant covered him with two murderous +revolvers and bade him throw up his hands. +</P> + +<P> +Then the men in the coach were ordered out and compelled to disgorge +their valuables, the robber seeming to identify and to pay particular +attention to Mr. Mills, the superintendent, who had brought with him from +Denver a large sum of money. When the miners made a slight show of +resistance the assailant called to his comrades in the bush to fire upon +the first man who showed fight; this threat induced a wise resignation to +the inevitable. Having possessed himself in an incredibly short time of +his booty, the highwayman backed into the thicket and quickly made off. +The procedure from first to last occupied hardly more than five minutes. +</P> + +<P> +The victims of this outrage agreed that the narrative as I have given it +was in the main correct. Barclay testified that he saw the barrels of +rifles gleaming from the thicket when the outlaw called to his +confederates. On the other hand, Mr. Mills, who was the principal loser +by the affair, insisted that the outlaw did his work alone, and that his +command to his alleged accomplices was merely a bluff. There was, too, a +difference in the description given of the highwayman, some of the party +describing him as a short, thick-set man, others asserting that he was +tall and slender. Of his face no sight had been obtained, for he wore a +half-mask and a large slouch hat pulled well down over his ears. But +whatever dispute there may have been as to details, one thing was +sure—robbery had been done, and the robber had fled with four gold +watches and cash to the amount of, say, two thousand five hundred dollars. +</P> + +<P> +Recovering betimes from their alarm and bethinking themselves of pursuit +of the outlaws, the helpless victims proceeded to push into camp to +arouse the miners. It was then that Barclay discovered that the tire of +one of the front wheels had come off in the jolt and wrench caused by the +frightened horses. As no time was to be lost, Barclay suggested that +somebody run down the road to Woppit's cabin and telephone to camp. Mr. +Mills and the Chicago drummer undertook this errand. After considerable +parley—for Miss Woppit wisely insisted upon being convinced of her +visitors' honorable intentions—these two men were admitted, and so the +alarm was transmitted to Casey's, Miss Woppit meanwhile exhibiting +violent alarm lest her brother Jim should come to harm in pursuing the +fugitives. +</P> + +<P> +As for Jim Woppit, he never once lost his head. When the rest of us came +up to the scene of the robbery he had formed a plan of pursuit. It was +safe, he said, to take for granted that there was a gang of the outlaws. +They would undoubtedly strike for Eagle Pass, since there was no possible +way of escape in the opposite direction, the gulch, deep and wide, +following the main road close into camp. Ten of us should go with +him—ten of the huskiest miners mounted upon the stanchest bronchoes the +camp could supply. "We shall come up with the hellions before mornin'," +said he, and then he gritted his teeth significantly. A brave man and a +cool man, you 'll allow; good-hearted, too, for in the midst of all the +excitement he thought of his sister, and he said, almost tenderly, to +Three-fingered Hoover: "I can trust you, pardner, I know. Go up to the +cabin and tell her it's all right—that I 'll be back to-morrow and that +she must n't be skeered. And if she is skeered, why, you kind o' hang +round there to-night and act like you knew everything was all O. K." +</P> + +<P> +"But may be Hoover 'll be lonesome," suggested Barber Sam. He was a sly +dog. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you go 'long too," said Jim Woppit. "Tell her I said so." +</P> + +<P> +Three-fingered Hoover would rather—a good deal rather—have gone alone. +Yet, with all that pardonable selfishness, he recognized a certain +impropriety in calling alone at night upon an unprotected female. So +Hoover accepted, though not gayly, of Barber Sam's escort, and in a happy +moment it occurred to the twain that it might be a pious idea to take +their music instruments with them. Hardly, therefore, had Jim Woppit and +his posse flourished out of camp when Three-fingered Hoover and Barber +Sam, carrying Mother and the famous guitar, returned along the main road +toward The Bower. +</P> + +<P> +When the cabin came in view—the cabin on the side hill with hollyhocks +standing guard round it—one of those subtle fancies in which Barber +Sam's active brain abounded possessed Barber Sam. It was to convey to +Miss Woppit's ear good tidings upon the wings of music. "Suppose we play +'All's Well'?" suggested Barber Sam. "That'll let her know that +everything's O. K." +</P> + +<P> +"Just the thing!" answered Three-fingered Hoover, and then he added, and +he meant it: "Durned if you ain't jest about as slick as they make 'em, +pardner!" +</P> + +<P> +The combined efforts of the guitar and Mother failed, however, to produce +any manifestation whatever, so far as Miss Woppit was concerned. The +light in the front room of the cabin glowed steadily, but no shadow of +the girl's slender form was to be seen upon the white muslin curtain. So +the two men went up the gravelly walk and knocked firmly but respectfully +at the door. +</P> + +<P> +They had surmised that Miss Woppit might be asleep, but, oh, no, not she. +She was not the kind of sister to be sleeping when her brother was in +possible danger. The answer to the firm but respectful knocking was +immediate. +</P> + +<P> +"Who's there and what do you want?" asked Miss Woppit in tremulous tones, +with her face close to the latch. There was no mistaking the poor +thing's alarm. +</P> + +<P> +"It's only us gents," answered Three-fingered Hoover, "me an' Barber Sam; +did n't you hear us serenadin' you a minnit ago? We 've come to tell you +that everything 's all right—Jim told us to come—he told us to tell you +not to be skeered, and if you wuz skeered how we gents should kind of +hang round here to-night; be you skeered, Miss Woppit? Your voice sounds +sort o' like you wuz." +</P> + +<P> +Having now unbolted and unlatched and opened the door, Miss Woppit +confessed that she was indeed alarmed; the pallor of her face confirmed +that confession. Where was Jim? Had they caught the robbers? Was there +actually no possibility of Jim's getting shot or stabbed or hurt? These +and similar questions did the girl put to the two men, who, true to their +trust, assured the timorous creature in well-assumed tones of confidence +that her brother could n't get hurt, no matter how hard he might try. +</P> + +<P> +To make short of a long tale, I will say that the result of the long +parley, in which Miss Woppit exhibited a most charming maidenly +embarrassment, was that Three-fingered Hoover and Barber Sam were +admitted to the cabin for the night. It was understood—nay, it was +explicitly set forth, that they should have possession of the front room +wherein they now stood, while Miss Woppit was to retire to her apartment +beyond, which, according to popular fame and in very truth, served both +as a kitchen and Miss Woppit's bedroom, there being only two rooms in the +cabin. +</P> + +<P> +This front room had in it a round table, a half-dozen chairs, a small +sheet-iron stove, and a rude kind of settee that served Jim Woppit for a +bed by night. There were some pictures hung about on the walls—neither +better nor poorer than the pictures invariably found in the homes of +miners. There was the inevitable portrait of John C. Fremont and the +inevitable print of the pathfinder planting his flag on the summit of +Pike's Peak; a map of Colorado had been ingeniously invested with an old +looking-glass frame, and there were several cheap chromos of flowers and +fruit, presumably Miss Woppit's contributions to the art stores of the +household. Upon the centre table, which was covered with a square green +cloth, stood a large oil lamp, whose redolence and constant spluttering +testified pathetically to its neglect. There were two books on the +table—viz., an old "Life of Kit Carson" and a bound file of the "Police +News," abounding, as you will surmise, in atrocious delineations of +criminal life. We can understand that a volume of police literature +would not be out of place in the home of an executive of the law. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Woppit, though hardly reassured by the hearty protestations of +Hoover and Barber Sam as to her brother's security, <I>hoped</I> that all +would be well. With evident diffidence she bade her guests make +themselves at home; there was plenty of wood in the box behind the stove +and plenty of oil in the tell-tale lamp; she fetched a big platter of +crackers, a mammoth cut of cheese, a can of cove oysters, and a noble +supply of condiments. Did the gents reckon they would be comfortable? +The gents smiled and bowed obsequiously, neither, however, indulging in +conversation to any marked degree, for, as was quite natural, each felt +in the presence of his rival a certain embarrassment which we can fancy +Miss Woppit respected if she did not enjoy it. +</P> + +<P> +Finally Miss Woppit retired to her own delectable bower in the kitchen +with the parting remark that she would sleep in a sense of perfect +security; this declaration flattered her protectors, albeit she had no +sooner closed the door than she piled the kitchen woodbox and her own +small trunk against it—a proceeding that touched Three-fingered Hoover +deeply and evoked from him a tender expression as to the natural timidity +of womankind, which sentiment the crafty Barber Sam instantly indorsed in +a tone loud enough for the lady to hear. +</P> + +<P> +It is presumed that Miss Woppit slept that night. Following the moving +of that woodbox and that small trunk there was no sound of betrayal if +Miss Woppit did not sleep. Once the men in the front room were startled +by the woman's voice crying out, "Jim—oh, Jim!" in tones of such terror +as to leave no doubt that Miss Woppit slept and dreamed frightful dreams. +</P> + +<P> +The men themselves were wakeful enough; they were there to protect a +lady, and they were in no particular derelict to that trust. Sometimes +they talked together in the hushed voices that beseem a sick-chamber; +anon they took up their music apparata and thrummed and sawed therefrom +such harmonies as would seem likely to lull to sweeter repose the object +of their affection in the adjoining chamber beyond the woodbox and the +small trunk; the circumstance of the robbery they discussed in discreet +tones, both agreeing that the highwaymen were as good as dead by this +time. We can fancy that the twain were distinctly annoyed upon +discovering in one corner of the room, during their vigils, a number of +Leadville and Denver newspapers containing sonnets, poems, odes, +triolets, and such like, conspicuously marked with blue or red pencil +tracings and all aimed, in a poetic sense, at Miss Woppit's virgin heart. +This was the subtle work of the gifted Jake Dodsley! This was his +ingenious way of storming the citadel of the coy maiden's affections. +</P> + +<P> +The discovery led Barber Sam to ventilate his opinion of the crafty +Dodsley, an opinion designedly pitched in a high and stentorian key and +expressive of everything but compliment. On the contrary, Three-fingered +Hoover—a guileless man, if ever there was one—stood bravely up for +Jake, imputing this artifice of his to a passion which knows no ethics so +far as competition is concerned. It was true, as Hoover admitted, that +poets seldom make good husbands, but, being an exceptionally good poet, +Jake might prove also an exception in matrimony, providing he found a +wife at his time of life. But as to the genius of the man there could be +no question; not even the poet Pabor had in all his glory done a poem so +fine as that favorite poem of Hoover's, which, direct from the burning +types of the "Leadville Herald," Hoover had committed to the tablets of +his memory and was wont to repeat or sing on all occasions to the +aggrandizement of Jake Dodsley's fame. Gradually the trend of the +discussion led to the suggestion that Hoover sing this favorite poem, and +this he did in a soothing, soulful voice. Barber Sam accompanying him +upon that wondrous guitar. What a picture that must have been! Even +upon the mountain-sides of that far-off West human hearts respond +tenderly to the touch of love. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +—Wot though time flies?<BR> +Turrue love never dies!<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +That honest voice—oh, could I hear it now! That honest face—oh, could +I see it again! And, oh, that once more I could feel the clasp of that +brave hand and the cordial grace of that dear, noble presence! +</P> + +<P> +It was in the fall of the year; the nights were long, yet this night sped +quickly. Long before daybreak significant sounds in the back room +betokened that Miss Woppit was up and moving around. Through the closed +door and from behind the improvised rampart of wood-box and small trunk +the young lady informed her chivalric protectors that they might go home, +prefacing this permission, however, with a solicitous inquiry as to +whether anything had been heard from Brother Jim and his posse. +</P> + +<P> +Jim Woppit and his men must have had a hard ride of it. They did not +show up in camp until eleven o'clock that day, and a tougher-looking +outfit you never saw. They had scoured the surrounding country with the +utmost diligence, yet no trace whatever had they discovered of the +outlaws; the wretches had disappeared so quickly, so mysteriously, that +it seemed hard to believe that they had indeed existed. The crime, so +boldly and so successfully done, was of course the one theme of talk, of +theory, and of speculation in all that region for the conventional period +of nine days. And then it appeared to be forgotten, or, at least, men +seldom spoke of it, and presently it came to be accepted as the popular +belief that the robbery had been committed by a gang of desperate tramps, +this theory being confirmed by a certain exploit subsequently in the San +Juan country, an exploit wherein three desperate tramps assaulted the +triweekly road-hack, and, making off with their booty, were ultimately +taken and strung up to a convenient tree. +</P> + +<P> +Still, the reward of one thousand dollars offered by the city government +of Red Hoss Mountain for information leading to the arrest of the glen +robbers was not withdrawn, and there were those in the camp who quietly +persevered in the belief that the outrage had been done by parties as yet +undiscovered, if not unsuspected. Mr. Mills, the superintendent of the +Royal Victoria, had many a secret conference with Jim Woppit, and it +finally leaked out that the cold, discriminating, and vigilant eye of +eternal justice was riveted upon Steve Barclay, the stage-driver. Few of +us suspected Steve; he was a good-natured, inoffensive fellow; it seemed +the idlest folly to surmise that he could have been in collusion with the +highwaymen. But Mr. Mills had his own ideas on the subject; he was a man +of positive convictions, and, having pretty nearly always demonstrated +that he was in the right, it boded ill for Steve Barclay when Mr. Mills +made up his mind that Steve must have been concerned in one way or +another in that Magpie Glen crime. +</P> + +<P> +The wooing of Miss Woppit pursued the even tenor of its curious triple +way. Wars and rumors of wars served merely to imbue it with certain +heroic fervor. Jake Dodsley's contributions to the "Leadville Herald" +and to Henry Feldwisch's Denver "Inter-Ocean," though still aimed at the +virgin mistress of The Bower, were pitched in a more exalted key and +breathed a spirit that defied all human dangers. What though death +confronted the poet and the brutal malice of nocturnal marauders +threatened the object of his adoration, what, short of superhuman +intervention, should prevent the poet from baffling all hostile +environments and placing the queen of his heart securely upon his throne +beside him, etc., etc.? We all know how the poets go it when they once +get started. The Magpie Glen affair gave Jake Dodsley a new impulse, and +marked copies of his wonderful effusions found their way to the Woppit +cabin in amazing plenty and with exceeding frequency. In a moment of +vindictive bitterness was Barber Sam heard to intimate that the robbery +was particularly to be regretted for having served to open the sluices of +Jake Dodsley's poetic soul. +</P> + +<P> +'T was the purest comedy, this wooing was; through it all the finger of +fate traced a deep line of pathos. The poetic Dodsley, with his +inexhaustible fund of rhyme, of optimism and of subtlety; Barber Sam, +with his envy, his jealousy, and his garrulity; Three-fingered Hoover +with his manly yearning, timorousness, tenderness, and awkwardness—these +three in a seemingly vain quest of love reciprocated; the girl, fair, +lonely, dutiful—filled with devotion to her brother and striving, amid +it all, to preserve a proper womanly neutrality toward these other men; +there was in this little comedy among those distant hills so much of real +pathos. +</P> + +<P> +As for Jim Woppit, he showed not the slightest partiality toward any one +of the three suitors; with all he was upon terms of equal friendship. It +seemed as if Jim had made up his mind in the beginning to let the best +one win; it was a free, fair, square race, so far as Jim was concerned, +and that was why Jim always had stanch backers in Jake Dodsley, Barber +Sam, and Three-fingered Hoover. +</P> + +<P> +My sympathies were all with Hoover; he and I were pardners. He loved the +girl in his own beautiful, awkward way. He seldom spoke of her to me, +for he was not the man to unfold what his heart treasured. He was not an +envious man, yet sometimes he would tell how he regretted that early +education had not fallen to his lot, for in that case he, too, might have +been a poet. Mother—the old red fiddle—was his solace. Coming home to +our cabin late of nights I'd hear him within scraping away at that tune +De Blanc had written for him, and he believed what Mother sung to him in +her squeaky voice of the deathlessness of true love. And many a time—I +can tell it now—many a time in the dead of night I have known him to +steal out of the cabin with Mother and go up the main road to the gateway +of The Bower, where, in moonlight or in darkness (it mattered not to +him), he would repeat over and over again that melancholy tune, hoping +thereby to touch the sensibilities of the lady of his heart. +</P> + +<P> +In the early part of February there was a second robbery. This time the +stage was overhauled at Lone Pine, a ranch five miles beyond the camp. +The details of this affair were similar to those of the previous business +in the glen. A masked man sprang from the roadside, presented two +revolvers at Steve Barclay's head, and called upon all within the stage +to come out, holding up their hands. The outrage was successfully +carried out, but the booty was inconsiderable, somewhat less than eight +hundred dollars falling into the highwayman's hands. The robber and his +pals fled as before; the time that elapsed before word could be got to +camp facilitated the escape of the outlaws. +</P> + +<P> +A two days' scouring of the surrounding country revealed absolutely no +sign or trace of the fugitives. But it was pretty evident now that the +two crimes had been committed by a gang intimately acquainted with, if +not actually living in, the locality. Confirmation of this was had when +five weeks later the stage was again stopped and robbed at Lone Pine +under conditions exactly corresponding with the second robbery. The +mystery baffled the wits of all. Intense excitement prevailed; a reward +of five thousand dollars was advertised for the apprehension of the +outlaws; the camp fairly seethed with rage, and the mining country for +miles around was stirred by a determination to hunt out and kill the +miscreants. Detectives came from Denver and snooped around. Everybody +bought extra guns and laid in a further supply of ammunition. Yet the +stage robbers—bless you! nobody could find hide or hair of 'em. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Woppit stood her share of the excitement and alarm as long as she +could, and then she spoke her mind to Jim. He told us about it. Miss +Woppit owed a certain duty to Jim, she said; was it not enough for her to +be worried almost to death with fears for his safety as marshal of the +camp? Was it fair that in addition to this haunting terror she should be +constantly harassed by a consciousness of her own personal danger? She +was a woman and alone in a cabin some distance from any other habitation; +one crime had been committed within a step of that isolated cabin; what +further crime might not be attempted by the miscreants? +</P> + +<P> +"The girl is skeered," said Jim Woppit, "and I don't know that I wonder +at it. Women folks is nervous-like, anyhow, and these doings of late hev +been enough to worrit the strongest of us men." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, there ain't an hour in the day," testified Casey, "that Miss Woppit +don't telephone down here to ask whether everything is all right, and +whether Jim is O. K." +</P> + +<P> +"I know it," said Jim. "The girl is skeered, and I 'd oughter thought of +it before. I must bring her down into the camp to live. Jest ez soon ez +I can git the lumber I 'll put up a cabin on the Bush lot next to the +bank." +</P> + +<P> +Jim owned the Bush lot, as it was called. He had talked about building a +store there in the spring, but we all applauded this sudden determination +to put up a cabin instead, a home for his sister. That was a +determination that bespoke a thoughtfulness and a tenderness that +ennobled Jim Woppit in our opinions. It was the square thing. +</P> + +<P> +Barber Sam, ever fertile in suggestion, allowed that it might be a pious +idea for Miss Woppit to move down to the Mears House and board there +until the new cabin was built. Possibly the circumstance that Barber Sam +himself boarded at the Mears House did not inspire this suggestion. At +any rate, the suggestion seemed a good one, but Jim duly reported that +his sister thought it better to stay in the old place till the new place +was ready; she had stuck it out so far, and she would try to stick it out +the little while longer yet required. +</P> + +<P> +This ultimatum must have interrupted the serenity of Barber Sam's temper; +he broke his E string that evening, and half an hour later somebody sat +down on the guitar and cracked it irremediably. +</P> + +<P> +And now again it was spring. Nothing can keep away the change in the +season. In the mountain country the change comes swiftly, unheralded. +One day it was bleak and cheerless; the next day brought with it the +grace of sunshine and warmth; as if by magic, verdure began to deck the +hillsides, and we heard again the cheerful murmur of waters in the gulch. +The hollyhocks about The Bower shot up once more and put forth their +honest, rugged leaves. In this divine springtime, who could think evil, +who do it? +</P> + +<P> +Sir Charles Lackington, president of the Royal Victoria mine, was now due +at the camp. He represented the English syndicate that owned the large +property. Ill health compelled him to live at Colorado Springs. Once a +year he visited Red Hoss Mountain, and always in May. It was announced +that he would come to the camp by Tuesday's stage. That stage was robbed +by that mysterious outlaw and his gang. But Sir Charles happened not to +be among the passengers. +</P> + +<P> +This robbery (the fourth altogether) took place at a point midway between +Lone Pine and the glen. The highwayman darted upon the leading horses as +they were descending the hill and so misdirected their course that the +coach was overturned in the brush at the roadside. In the fall Steve +Barclay's right arm was broken. With consummate coolness the highwayman +(now positively described as a thick-set man, with a beard) proceeded to +relieve his victims of their valuables, but not until he had called, as +was his wont, to his confederates in ambush to keep the passengers +covered with their rifles. The outlaw inquired which of his victims was +Sir Charles Lackington, and evinced rage when he learned that that +gentleman was not among the passengers by coach. +</P> + +<P> +It happened that Jake Dodsley was one of the victims of the highwayman's +greed. He had been to Denver and was bringing home a pair of elaborate +gold earrings which he intended for—for Miss Woppit, of course. Poets +have deeper and stronger feelings than common folk. Jake Dodsley's +poetic nature rebelled when he found himself deprived of those lovely +baubles intended for the idol of his heart. So, no sooner had the outlaw +retreated to the brush than Jake Dodsley whipped out his gun and took to +the same brush, bent upon an encounter with his despoiler. Poor Jake +never came from the brush alive. The rest heard the report of a rifle +shot, and when, some time later, they found Jake, he was dead, with a +rifle ball in his head. +</P> + +<P> +The first murder done and the fourth robbery! Yet the mystery was as +insoluble as ever. Of what avail was the rage of eight hundred miners, +the sagacity of the indefatigable officers of the law, and the united +efforts of the vengeance-breathing population throughout the country +round about to hunt the murderers down? Why, it seemed as if the devil +himself were holding justice up to ridicule and scorn. +</P> + +<P> +We had the funeral next day. Sir Charles Lackington came by private +wagon in the morning; his daughter was with him. Their escape from +participation in the affair of the previous day naturally filled them +with thanksgiving, yet did not abate their sympathy for the rest of us in +our mourning over the dead poet. Sir Charles was the first to suggest a +fund for a monument to poor Jake, and he headed the subscription list +with one hundred dollars, cash down. A noble funeral it was; everybody +cried; at the grave Three-fingered Hoover recited the poem about true +love and Jim Woppit threw in a wreath of hollyhock leaves which his +sister had sent—the poor thing was too sick to come herself. She must +have cared more for Jake than she had ever let on, for she took to her +bed when she heard that he was dead. +</P> + +<P> +Amid the deepest excitement further schemes for the apprehension of the +criminals who had so long baffled detection were set on foot and—but +this is not a story of crime; it is the story of a wooing, and I must not +suffer myself to be drawn away from the narrative of that wooing. With +the death of the poet Dodsley one actor fell out of the little comedy. +And yet another stepped in at once. You would hardly guess who it +was—Mary Lackington. This seventeen-year-old girl favored her father in +personal appearance and character; she was of the English type of blonde +beauty—a light-hearted, good-hearted, sympathetic creature who +recognized it as her paramount duty to minister to her invalid father. +He had been her instructor in books, he had conducted her education, he +had directed her amusements, he had been her associate—in short, father +and daughter were companions, and from that sweet companionship both +derived a solace and wisdom precious above all things else. Mary +Lackington was, perhaps, in some particulars mature beyond her years; the +sweetness, the simplicity, and the guilelessness of her character was the +sweetness, the simplicity, and the guilelessness of childhood. Fair and +innocent, this womanly maiden came into the comedy of that mountain +wooing. +</P> + +<P> +Three-fingered Hoover had never been regarded an artful man, but now, all +at once, for the first time in his life, he practised a subtlety. He +became acquainted with Mary Lackington; I am not sure that he did not +meet Sir Charles at the firemen's muster in Pueblo some years before. +Getting acquainted with Miss Mary was no hard thing; the girl flitted +whithersoever she pleased, and she enjoyed chatting with the miners, whom +she found charmingly fresh, original, and manly, and as for the miners, +they simply adored Miss Mary. Sir Charles owed his popularity largely to +his winsome daughter. +</P> + +<P> +Mary was not long in discovering that Three-fingered Hoover had a little +romance all of his own. Maybe some of the other boys told her about it. +At any rate, Mary was charmed, and without hesitation she commanded +Hoover to confess all. How the big, awkward fellow ever got through with +it I for my part can't imagine, but tell her he did—yes, he fairly +unbosomed his secret, and Mary was still more delighted and laughed and +declared that it was the loveliest love story she had ever heard. Right +here was where Hoover's first and only subtlety came in. +</P> + +<P> +"And now, Miss Mary," says he, "you can do me a good turn, and I hope you +will do it. Get acquainted with the lady and work it up with her for me. +Tell her that you know—not that I told you, but that you happen to have +found it out, that I like her—like her better 'n anybody else; that I 'm +the pure stuff; that if anybody ties to me they can find me thar every +time and can bet their last case on me! Don't lay it on too thick, but +sort of let on I 'm O. K. You women understand such things—if you 'll +help me locate this claim I 'm sure everything 'll pan out all right; +will ye?" +</P> + +<P> +The bare thought of promoting a love affair set Mary nearly wild with +enthusiasm. She had read of experiences of this kind, but of course she +had never participated in any. She accepted the commission gayly yet +earnestly. She would seek Miss Woppit at once, and she would be so +discreet in her tactics—yes, she would be as artful as the most skilled +diplomat at the court of love. +</P> + +<P> +Had she met Miss Woppit? Yes, and then again no. She had been rambling +in the glen yesterday and, coming down the road, had stopped near the +pathway leading to The Bower to pick a wild flower of exceeding +brilliancy. About to resume her course to camp she became aware that +another stood near her. A woman, having passed noiselessly from the +cabin, stood in the gravelly pathway looking upon the girl with an +expression wholly indefinable. The woman was young, perhaps twenty; she +was tall and of symmetrical form, though rather stout; her face was +comely, perchance a bit masculine in its strength of features, and the +eyes were shy, but of swift and certain glance, as if instantaneously +they read through and through the object upon which they rested. +</P> + +<P> +"You frightened me," said Mary Lackington, and she had been startled, +truly; "I did not hear you coming, and so I was frightened when I saw you +standing there." +</P> + +<P> +To this explanation the apparition made no answer, but continued to +regard Mary steadfastly with the indefinable look—an expression partly +of admiration, partly of distrust, partly of appeal, perhaps. Mary +Lackington grew nervous; she did therefore the most sensible thing she +could have done under the circumstances—she proceeded on her way +homeward. +</P> + +<P> +This, then, was Mary's first meeting with Miss Woppit. Not particularly +encouraging to a renewal of the acquaintance; yet now that Mary had so +delicate and so important a mission to execute she burned to know more of +the lonely creature on that hill side, and she accepted with enthusiasm, +as I have said, the charge committed to her by the enamored Hoover. +</P> + +<P> +Sir Charles and his daughter remained at the camp about three weeks. In +that time Mary became friendly with Miss Woppit, as intimate, in fact, as +it was possible for anybody to become with her. Mary found herself drawn +strangely and inexplicably toward the woman. The fascination which Miss +Woppit exercised over her was altogether new to Mary; here was a woman of +lowly birth and in lowly circumstances, illiterate, neglected, lonely, +yet possessing a charm—an indefinable charm which was distinct and +potent, yet not to be analyzed—yes, hardly recognizable by any process +of cool mental dissection, but magically persuasive in the subtlety of +its presence and influence. Mary had sought to locate, to diagnose that +charm; did it lie in her sympathy with the woman's lonely lot, or was it +the romance of the wooing, or was it the fascination of those restless, +searching eyes that Mary so often looked up to find fixed upon her with +an expression she could not forget and could not define? +</P> + +<P> +I incline to the belief that all these things combined to constitute the +charm whereof I speak. Miss Woppit had not the beauty that would be +likely to attract one other own sex; she had none of the sprightliness +and wit of womankind, and she seemed to be wholly unacquainted with the +little arts, accomplishments and vanities in which women invariably find +amusement. She was simply a strange, lonely creature who had accepted +valorously her duty to minister to the comfort of her brother; the +circumstances of her wooing invested her name and her lot with a certain +pleasing romance; she was a woman, she was loyal to her sense of duty, +and she was, to a greater degree than most women, a martyr—herein, +perhaps, lay the secret to the fascination Miss Woppit had for Mary +Lackington. +</P> + +<P> +At any rate, Mary and Miss Woppit became, to all appearances, fast +friends; the wooing of Miss Woppit progressed apace, and the mystery of +those Red Hoss Mountain crimes became more and—but I have already +declared myself upon <I>that</I> point and I shall say no more thereof except +so far as bears directly upon my story, which is, I repeat, of a wooing, +and not of crime. +</P> + +<P> +Three-fingered Hoover had every confidence in the ultimate success of the +scheme to which Miss Mary had become an enthusiastic party. In +occasional pessimistic moods he found himself compelled to confess to +himself that the reports made by Miss Mary were not altogether such as +would inspire enthusiasm in the bosom of a man less optimistic than +he—Hoover—was. +</P> + +<P> +To tell the truth, Mary found the task of doing Hoover's courting for him +much more difficult than she had ever fancied a task of that kind could +be. In spite of her unacquaintance with the artifices of the world Miss +Woppit exhibited the daintiest skill at turning the drift of the +conversation whenever, by the most studied tact, Mary Lackington +succeeded in bringing the conversation around to a point where the +virtues of Three-fingered Hoover, as a candidate for Miss Woppit's +esteem, could be expatiated upon. From what Miss Woppit implied rather +than said, Mary took it that Miss Woppit esteemed Mr. Hoover highly as a +gentleman and as a friend—that she perhaps valued his friendship more +than she did that of any other man in the world, always excepting her +brother Jim, of course. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Mary reported all this to Hoover much more gracefully than I have +put it, for, being a woman, her sympathies would naturally exhibit +themselves with peculiar tenderness when conveying to a lover certain +information touching his inamorata. +</P> + +<P> +There were two subjects upon which Miss Woppit seemed to love to hear +Mary talk. One was Mary herself and the other was Jim Woppit. Mary +regarded this as being very natural. Why should n't this women in exile +pine to hear of the gay, beautiful world outside her pent horizon? So +Mary told her all about the sights she had seen, the places she had been +to, the people she had met, the books she had read, the dresses she—but, +no, Miss Woppit cared nothing for that kind of gossip—now you 'll agree +that she was a remarkable woman, not to want to hear all about the lovely +dresses Mary had seen and could describe so eloquently. +</P> + +<P> +Then again, as to Jim, was n't it natural that Miss Woppit, fairly +wrapped up in that brother, should be anxious to hear the good opinion +that other folk had of him? Did the miners like Jim, she asked—what did +they say, and what did Sir Charles say? Miss Woppit was fertile in +questionings of this kind, and Mary made satisfactory answers, for she +was sure that everybody liked Jim, and as for her father, why, he had +taken Jim right into his confidence the day he came to the camp. +</P> + +<P> +Sir Charles had indeed made a confidant of Jim. One day he called him +into his room at the Mears House. "Mr. City Marshal," said Sir Charles, +in atone that implied secrecy, "I have given it out that I shall leave +the camp for home day after to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I had heerd talk," answered Jim Woppit. "You are going by the +stage." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly, by the stage," said Sir Charles, "but <I>not</I> day after +to-morrow; I go to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +"To-morrow, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"To-morrow," repeated Sir Charles. "The coach leaves here, as I am told, +at eleven o' clock. At four we shall arrive at Wolcott Siding, there to +catch the down express, barring delay. I say 'barring delay,' and it is +with a view to evading the probability of delay that I have given out +that I am to leave on a certain day, whereas, in fact, I shall leave a +day earlier. You understand?" +</P> + +<P> +"You bet I do," said Jim. "You are afraid of—of the robbers?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall have some money with me," answered Sir Charles, "but that alone +does not make me desirous of eluding the highwaymen. My daughter—a +fright of that kind might lead to the most disastrous results." +</P> + +<P> +"Correct," said Jim. +</P> + +<P> +"So I have planned this secret departure," continued Sir Charles. "No +one in the camp now knows of it but you and me, and I have a favor—a +distinct favor—to ask of you in pursuance of this plan. It is that you +and a posse of the bravest men you can pick shall accompany the coach, +or, what is perhaps better, precede the coach by a few minutes, so as to +frighten away the outlaws in case they may happen to be lurking in +ambush." +</P> + +<P> +Jim signified his hearty approval of the proposition. He even expressed +a fervent hope that a rencontre with the outlaws might transpire, and +then he muttered a cordial "d—— 'em!" +</P> + +<P> +"In order, however," suggested Sir Charles, "to avert suspicion here in +camp it would be wise for your men to meet quietly at some obscure point +and ride together, not along the main road, but around the mountain by +the Tin Cup path, coming in on the main road this side of Lone Pine +ranch. You should await our arrival, and then, everything being +tranquil, your posse can precede us as an advance guard in accordance +with my previous suggestion." +</P> + +<P> +"It might be a pious idea," said Jim, "for me to give the boys a pointer. +They 'll be on to it, anyhow, and I know 'em well enough to trust 'em." +</P> + +<P> +"You know your men; do as you please about apprising them of their +errand," said Sir Charles. "I have only to request that you assure each +that he will be well rewarded for his services." +</P> + +<P> +This makes a rude break in our wooing; but I am narrating actual +happenings. Poor old Hoover's subtlety all for naught, Mary's friendly +offices incompleted, the pleasant visits to the cabin among the +hollyhocks suspended perhaps forever, Miss Woppit's lonely lot rendered +still more lonely by the departure of her sweet girl friend—all this was +threatened by the proposed flight—for flight it was—of Sir Charles and +Mary Lackington. +</P> + +<P> +That May morning was a glorious one. Summer seemed to have burst upon +the camp and the noble mountain-sentinels about it. +</P> + +<P> +"We are going to-day," said Sir Charles to his daughter. "Hush! not a +word about it to anybody. I have reasons for wishing our departure to be +secret." +</P> + +<P> +"You have heard bad news?" asked Mary, quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all," answered Sir Charles, smilingly. "There is absolutely no +cause for alarm. We must go quietly; when we reach home I will tell you +my reasons and then we will have a hearty laugh together." +</P> + +<P> +Mary Lackington set about packing her effects, and all the time her +thoughts were of her lonely friend in the hill-side cabin. In this hour +of her departure she felt herself drawn even more strangely and tenderly +toward that weird, incomprehensible creature; such a tugging at her heart +the girl had never experienced till now. What would Miss Woppit +say—what would she think? The thought of going away with never so much +as a good-by struck Mary Lackington as being a wanton piece of +heartlessness. But she would write to Miss Woppit as soon as ever she +reached home—she would write a letter that would banish every suspicion +of unfeelingness. +</P> + +<P> +Then, too, Mary thought of Hoover; what would the big, honest fellow +think, to find himself deserted in this emergency without a word of +warning? Altogether it was very dreadful. But Mary Lackington was a +daughter who did her father's bidding trustingly. +</P> + +<P> +Three-fingered Hoover went with Jim Woppit that day. There were thirteen +in the posse—fatal number—mounted on sturdy bronchos and armed to the +teeth. They knew their business and they went gayly on their way. +Around the mountain and over the Tin Cup path they galloped, a good seven +miles, I 'll dare swear; and now at last they met up with the main road, +and at Jim Woppit's command they drew in under the trees to await the +approach of the party in the stage. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile in camp the comedy was drawing to a close. Bill Merridew drove +stage that day; he was Steve Barclay's pardner—pretty near the only man +in camp that stood out for Steve when he was suspicioned of being in some +sort of cahoots with the robbers. Steve Barclay's arm was still useless +and Bill was reckoned the next best horseman in the world. +</P> + +<P> +The stage drew up in front of the Mears House. Perhaps half a dozen +passengers were in waiting and the usual bevy of idlers was there to +watch the departure. Great was the astonishment when Sir Charles and +Mary Lackington appeared and stepped into the coach. Everybody knew Sir +Charles and his daughter, and, as I have told you, it had been given out +that they were not to leave the camp until the morrow. Forthwith there +passed around mysterious whisperings as to the cause of Sir Charles' +sudden departure. +</P> + +<P> +It must have been a whim on Barber Sam's part. At any rate, he issued +just then from Casey's restaurant across the way, jaunty and chipper as +ever. He saw Sir Charles in the stage and Bill Merridew on the box. He +gave a low, significant whistle. Then he crossed the road. +</P> + +<P> +"Bill," says he, quietly, "It 's a summerish day, and not feelin' just as +pert as I oughter I reckon I 'll ride a right smart piece with you for my +health!" +</P> + +<P> +With these words Barber Sam climbed up and sat upon the box with Bill +Merridew. A moment later the stage was on its course along the main road. +</P> + +<P> +"Look a' here, Bill Merridew," says Barber Sam, fiercely, "there 's a +lord inside and you outside, to-day—a mighty suspicious coincidence! +No, you need n't let on you don't tumble to my meenin'! I 've had my eye +on Steve Barclay an' you, and I 'm ready for a showdown. I 'm travelin' +for my health to-day, and so are you, Bill Merridew! I 'm fixed from the +ground up an' you know there ain't a man in the Red Hoss Mountain country +that is handier with a gun than me. Now I mean bizness; if there is any +onpleasantness to-day and if you try to come any funny bizness, why, +d—— me, Bill Merridew, if I don't blow your head off!" +</P> + +<P> +Pleasant words these for Bill to listen to. But Bill knew Barber Sam and +he had presence of mind enough to couch his expostulatory reply in the +most obsequious terms. He protested against Barber Sam's harsh +imputations. +</P> + +<P> +"I 've had my say," was Barber Sam's answer. "I ain't goin' to rub it +in. You understand that I mean bizness this trip; so don't forget it. +Now let's talk about the weather." +</P> + +<P> +Mary Lackington had hoped that, as they passed The Bower, she would catch +a glimpse of Miss Woppit—perhaps have sufficient opportunity to call out +a hasty farewell to her. But Miss Woppit was nowhere to be seen. The +little door of the cabin was open, so presumably the mistress was not far +away. Mary was disappointed, vexed; she threw herself back and resigned +herself to indignant reflections. +</P> + +<P> +The stage had proceeded perhaps four miles on its way when its progress +was arrested by the sudden appearance of a man, whose habit and gestures +threatened evil. This stranger was of short and chunky build and he was +clad in stout, dark garments that fitted him snugly. A slouch hat was +pulled down over his head and a half-mask of brown muslin concealed the +features of his face. He held out two murderous pistols and in a sharp +voice cried "Halt!" Instantaneously Barber Sam recognized in this bold +figure the mysterious outlaw who for so many months had been the terror +of the district, and instinctively he reached for his pistol-pocket. +</P> + +<P> +"Throw up your hands!" commanded the outlaw. He had the drop on them. +Recalling poor Jake Dodsley's fate Barber Sam discreetly did as he was +bidden. As for Bill Merridew, he was shaking like a wine-jelly. The +horses had come to a stand, and the passengers in the coach were +wondering why a stop had been made so soon. Wholly unaware of what had +happened, Mary Lackington thrust her head from the door window of the +coach and looked forward up the road, in the direction of the threatening +outlaw. She comprehended the situation at once and with a scream fell +back into her father's arms. +</P> + +<P> +Presumably, the unexpected discovery of a woman among the number of his +intended victims disconcerted the ruffian. At any rate, he stepped back +a pace or two and for a moment lowered his weapons. That moment was +fatal to him. Quick as lightning Barber Sam whipped out his unerring +revolver and fired. The outlaw fell like a lump of dough in the road. +At that instant Bill Merridew recovered his wits; gathering up the lines +and laying on the whip mercilessly he urged his horses into a gallop. +Over the body of the outlaw crunched the hoofs of the frightened brutes +and rumbled the wheels of the heavy stage. +</P> + +<P> +"We 've got him this time!" yelled Barber Sam, wildly. "Stop your +horses, Bill—you 're all right, Bill, and I 'm sorry I ever did you +dirt—stop your horses, and let 's finish the sneakin' critter!" +</P> + +<P> +There was the greatest excitement. The passengers fairly fell out of the +coach, and it seemed as if they had an arsenal with them. Mary +Lackington was as self-possessed as any of the rest. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you sure he is dead?" she asked. "Don't let us go nearer till we +know that he is dead; he will surely kill us!" +</P> + +<P> +The gamest man in the world would n't have stood the ghost of a show in +the face of those murderous weapons now brought to bear on the fallen and +crushed wretch. +</P> + +<P> +"If he ain't dead already he 's so near it that there ain't no fun in +it," said Bill Merridew. +</P> + +<P> +In spite of this assurance, however, the party advanced cautiously toward +the man. Convinced finally that there was no longer cause for alarm, +Barber Sam strode boldly up to the body, bent over it, tore off the hat +and pulled aside the muslin half-mask. One swift glance at the outlaw's +face, and Barber Sam recoiled. +</P> + +<P> +"Great God!" he cried, "Miss Woppit!" +</P> + +<P> +It was, indeed, Miss Woppit—the fair-haired, shy-eyed boy who for months +had masqueraded in the camp as a woman. Now, that masquerade disclosed +and the dreadful mystery of the past revealed, the nameless boy, fair in +spite of his crimes and his hideous wounds, lay dying in the dust and +gravel of the road. +</P> + +<P> +Jim Woppit and his posse, a mile away, had heard the pistol-shot. It +seemed but a moment ere they swept down the road to the scene of the +tragedy; they came with the swiftness of the wind. Jim Woppit galloped +ahead, his swarthy face the picture of terror. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is it—who 's killed—who 's hurt?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +Nobody made answer, and that meant everything to Jim. He leapt from his +horse, crept to the dying boy's side and took the bruised head into his +lap. The yellowish hair had fallen down about the shoulders; Jim stroked +it and spoke to the white face, repeating "Willie, Willie, Willie," over +and over again. +</P> + +<P> +The presence and the voice of that evil brother, whom he had so bravely +served, seemed to arrest the offices of Death. The boy came slowly to, +opened his eyes and saw Jim Woppit there. There was pathos, not +reproach, in the dying eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"It 's all up, Jim," said the boy, faintly, "I did the best I could." +</P> + +<P> +All that Jim Woppit could answer was "Willie, Willie, Willie," over and +over again. +</P> + +<P> +"This was to have been the last and we were going away to be decent +folks," this was what the boy went on to say; "I wish it could have been +so, for I have wanted to live ever since—ever since I knew her." +</P> + +<P> +Mary Lackington gave a great moan. She stood a way off, but she heard +these words and they revealed much—so very much to her—more, perhaps, +than you and I can guess. +</P> + +<P> +He did not speak her name. The boy seemed not to know that she was +there. He said no other word, but with Jim Woppit bending over him and +wailing that piteous "Willie, Willie, Willie," over and over again, the +boy closed his eyes and was dead. +</P> + +<P> +Then they all looked upon Jim Woppit, but no one spoke. If words were to +be said, it was Jim Woppit's place to say them, and that dreadful silence +seemed to cry: "Speak out, Jim Woppit, for your last hour has come!" +</P> + +<P> +Jim Woppit was no coward. He stood erect before them all and plucked +from his breast the star of his office and cast away from him the weapon +he had worn. He was magnificent in that last, evil hour! +</P> + +<P> +"Men," said he. "I speak for him an' not for myself. Ez God is my +judge, that boy wuz not to blame. I made him do it all—the lyin', the +robbery, the murder; he done it because I told him to, an' because havin' +begun he tried to save me. Why, he wuz a kid ez innocent ez a leetle +toddlin' child. He wanted to go away from here an' be different from wot +he wuz, but I kep' at him an' made him do an' do agin wot has brought the +end to-day. Las' night he cried when I told him he must do the stage +this mornin; seemed like he wuz soft on the girl yonder. It wuz to have +been the las' time—I promised him that, an' so—an' so it is. Men, you +'ll find the money an' everything else in the cabin—under the floor of +the cabin. Make it ez square all round ez you kin." +</P> + +<P> +Then Jim Woppit backed a space away, and, before the rest could realize +what he was about, he turned, darted through the narrow thicket, and +hurled himself into the gulch, seven hundred feet down. +</P> + +<P> +But the May sunlight was sweet and gracious, and there lay the dead boy, +caressed of that charity of nature and smiling in its glory. +</P> + +<P> +Bill was the first to speak—Bill Merridew, I mean. He was Steve +Barclay's partner and both had been wronged most grievously. +</P> + +<P> +"Now throw the other one over, too," cried Bill, savagely. "Let 'em both +rot in the gulch!" +</P> + +<P> +But a braver, kindlier man said "No!" It was Three-fingered Hoover, who +came forward now and knelt beside the dead boy and held the white face +between his hard, brown hands and smoothed the yellowish hair and looked +with unspeakable tenderness upon the closed eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Leave her to me," said he, reverently. "It wuz ez near ez I ever come +to lovin' a woman, and I reckon it's ez near ez I ever <I>shell</I> come. So +let me do with her ez pleases me." +</P> + +<P> +It was their will to let Three-fingered Hoover have his way. With +exceeding tenderness he bore the body back to camp and he gave it into +the hands of womenfolk to prepare it for burial, that no man's touch +should profane that vestige of his love. You see he chose to think of +her to the last as she had seemed to him in life. +</P> + +<P> +And it was another conceit of his to put over the grave, among the +hollyhocks on that mountain-side, a shaft of pure white marble bearing +simply the words "Miss Woppit." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE TALISMAN +</H3> + +<P> +There was a boy named Wilhelm who was the only son of a widow. He was +so devoted and obedient that other people in the village used to be +saying always: "What a good son Wilhelm is; how kind he is to his +mother." So, while he was the example for all the other boys in the +village, he was the pride of his mother, who told him that some day he +would marry a princess for having been such a good and dutiful son. +</P> + +<P> +When the time came for him to go out into the world and make his +living, his mother blessed him and said, "Here, my son, is a talisman, +which you are to hang about your neck and wear nearest your heart. +Whenever you are in trouble, look at this talisman and it will preserve +you from harm." +</P> + +<P> +So, with his mother's kiss upon his lips and the talisman next his +heart, Wilhelm set out to make his fortune in the world. The talisman +was simply an old silver coin which had been smoothly polished upon one +side and inscribed with the word "Mother;" yet Wilhelm prized it above +all other earthly things—first, because his mother had given it to +him, and again because he believed it possessed a charm that would keep +him from harm. +</P> + +<P> +Wilhelm travelled many days through the forests and over the hills in +search of a town where he might find employment, and the food with +which his mother had provided him for the journey was nearly gone. But +whenever he was inclined to sadness, he drew the talisman from his +bosom and the sight of the name of mother restored his spirits. +</P> + +<P> +One evening as he climbed a hill, he beheld a great city about a league +distant. +</P> + +<P> +"Here at last I shall find employment," thought he. But he had no +sooner uttered these words than he heard something like a sigh issuing +from the roadside and as he turned to discover whence it came, he saw a +dark and forbidding looking old castle standing back some way from the +road in a cluster of forest trees. The grounds belonging to this old +castle were surrounded by a single fence, between the palings of which +a white swan stretched out its neck and gave utterance to the sighs +which had attracted Wilhelm's attention. +</P> + +<P> +The dismal noise made by the bird and its strange actions—for it +fluttered its wings wildly and waved its head as if it would have +Wilhelm approach—excited Wilhelm's curiosity, and he drew nearer the +fence and said, "Why do you act so strangely, white swan?" +</P> + +<P> +But the swan made no answer except to sigh more dismally than before +and flap its wings still more widely. Then Wilhelm saw that the swan, +although a swan in every other particular, had the eyes of a human +being. He had scarcely recovered from the astonishment occasioned by +this discovery, when the first swan was joined by a full score of other +white swans that came running over the green sward, sighing very +dismally and many of them shedding tears from their human eyes. +</P> + +<P> +It was only the approach of night that hastened Wilhelm on his journey +to the city, and, as he trudged along, he could not help thinking of +the singular adventure with the swans. Presently he came upon a +countryman sitting by the roadside, and to him he told the story of the +castle and the swans. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah," said the countryman, "you are an innocent lad to be sure! That +was the castle of the old witch, and the swans you saw are unfortunate +princes whom she has enchanted." +</P> + +<P> +Then Wilhelm begged him to tell him about the old witch and the poor +princes, and the countryman told him all from first to last, only I +will have to make it much shorter, as it was a long tale. +</P> + +<P> +It seems that the old witch was once a princess who was famed for her +beauty and wit. She had a younger sister who was quite as beautiful, +but much more amiable and much less ambitious. These sister princesses +lived in the castle together, and the elder, whose name was Mirza, +guarded the younger very jealously lest the younger should be first +married. One time the Prince Joseph determined he would wed. He was +the handsomest and bravest prince in the land and all the princesses +set their caps for him, Mirza among the others. But it came to the +prince's ears that Mirza was learned in and practised witchcraft, so, +despite her beauty and her grace, he would have no thought of Mirza, +but chose her younger sister to wife. +</P> + +<P> +When the prince wedded the younger princess, Mirza was enraged beyond +all saying, and forthwith she dismissed her court and gave up her life +to the singing of incantations and the dreadful practices of a witch; +and so constant was she in the practice of those black arts that her +back became bent, her hair white, and her face wrinkled, and she grew +to be the most hideous hag in the whole kingdom. Meanwhile, the prince +had become king; and his wife, the queen, had presented him with a +daughter, so beautiful that her like had never been seen on earth. +This little princess was named Mary, a name esteemed then, as now, as +the most beautiful of all names. Mary increased in loveliness each day +and when she was fifteen the fame of her beauty and amiability was +worldwide. +</P> + +<P> +But one day, as the princess sat counting her pearls in her chamber, +the old witch Mirza flew in through the window on a broomstick and +carried the princess Mary off to her forlorn old castle, a league +beyond the city. The queen mother, who had witnessed this violence, +fell into a swoon from which she never recovered, and the whole court +was thrown into a vast commotion. +</P> + +<P> +Having buried his fair queen, the bereaved king set about to recover +his daughter, the princess Mary, but this was found to be impossible, +since the witch had locked the girl in an upper chamber of the castle +and had set a catamaran and a boogaboo to guard the place. So, +whenever the king's soldiers attempted to rescue the princess, the +catamaran breathed fire from his nostrils upon them while the boogaboo +tore out their hearts with his fierce claws. +</P> + +<P> +Finally the king sent word to the witch that he would bestow upon her +all the riches of his kingdom if she would restore his daughter, but +she replied that there was only one condition upon which she would give +up the princess and that was that some young man of the kingdom should +rightly answer three questions she would propound. At once the bravest +and handsomest knights in the kingdom volunteered to rescue the +princess, but having failed to answer the questions of the old witch, +they were transformed into swans and were condemned to eke out +miserable existences in the dreary park around the old witch's castle. +</P> + +<P> +"This," said the countryman, "is the story of the princess, the witch +and the swans. Every once in a while, an adventuresome youth seeks to +restore the princess to her father, and he is as surely transformed +into a swan. So, while the court is in mourning, the princess pines in +the witch's castle and the swans wander about the castle yard." +</P> + +<P> +This piteous tale awakened Wilhelm's sympathy, and although it was now +quite dark, he determined to go back to the witch's castle and catch a +glimpse of the beautiful princess. +</P> + +<P> +"May luck attend thee," said the countryman, "but beware of the +catamaran and the boogaboo." +</P> + +<P> +As he was plodding back to the witch's castle, Wilhelm drew his +talisman from his bosom and gazed tenderly upon it. It had never +looked so bright and shining. The moon beams danced upon its smooth +face and kissed it. Wilhelm was confident that this was an omen that +his dear mother approved the errand he was on. Then he knelt down by +the roadside and said a little prayer, and when he had finished, the +night zephyrs breathed their sweetest music in his ears, and Wilhelm +thought it was the heavenly Father whispering words of encouragement to +him. So Wilhelm went boldly toward the witch's castle. +</P> + +<P> +As he drew nigh to the castle, he saw the old witch fly away on her +broomstick, accompanied by a bevy of snarling hobgoblins that were also +on broomsticks and looked very hideous. Then Wilhelm knew the witch +and her escort were off for the forest and would not return till +midnight. +</P> + +<P> +The princess Mary was standing at the barred window of her chamber and +was weeping. As Wilhelm approached the castle, the swans rushed to +meet him, and the flapping of their wings and their piteous cries +attracted the attention of the princess, and she saw Wilhelm. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, fly from here, sweet prince," cried the princess; "for if the +witch were to return, she would kill you and boil your heart in her +cauldron!" +</P> + +<P> +"I am no prince," replied Wilhelm, "and I do not fear the ugly old +witch." +</P> + +<P> +Then Wilhelm told the princess who he was and how he was ready to serve +her, for, having perceived her rare beauty and amiability, he was madly +in love with her and was ready to die for her sake. But the princess, +who was most agreeably impressed by his manly figure, handsome face, +and honest valor, begged him not to risk his life for her. +</P> + +<P> +"It is better that I should pass my existence here in prison," said +she, "than that you should be transformed as these other wretched +princes have been." +</P> + +<P> +And when they heard these words, the swans craned their necks and gave +utterance to such heartrending sighs that the princess sobbed with +renewed vigor and even Wilhelm fell to weeping. +</P> + +<P> +At this moment, hearing the commotion in the yard, the hideous +catamaran and the ugly boogaboo came out of the castle and regarded +Wilhelm with ferocious countenances. Never before had Wilhelm seen +such revolting monsters! +</P> + +<P> +The catamaran had a body and tail like an alligator, a head like a +hippopotamus, and four legs like the legs of an ostrich. The body was +covered with greenish scales, its eyes were living fire, and scorching +flames issued from its mouth and ears. The boogaboo was none the less +frightful in its appearance. It resembled a monster ape, except that +instead of a hairy hide it had a scabby skin as red as a salamander's. +Its arms were long and muscular, and its bony hands were armed with +eleven fingers each, upon which were nails or claws shaped like fish +hooks and keen as razors. This boogaboo had skinny wings like a huge +bat, and at the end of its rat-like tail was a sting more deadly than +the poison of a snake. +</P> + +<P> +These hideous reptiles—the catamaran and the boogaboo—stood glaring +at Wilhelm. +</P> + +<P> +"Ow—wow—wow—wow!" roared the catamaran; "I will scorch you to a +cinder." +</P> + +<P> +"Ow—wow—wow—wow!" bellowed the boogaboo, "I will tear your heart +from your bosom." +</P> + +<P> +So, in the wise determination not to die until he had made a brave and +discreet struggle for the princess, Wilhelm left the castle and stole +down the highway towards the city. +</P> + +<P> +That night he slept in a meadow, and the stars watched over him and the +daisies and buttercups bent their heads lovingly above him and sang +lullabies, while he dreamed of his mother and the princess, who seemed +to smile upon him all that night. +</P> + +<P> +In the morning, Wilhelm pushed on to the city, and he went straight to +the palace gate and demanded to see the king. This was no easy matter, +but finally he was admitted and the king asked him what he wanted. +When the king heard that Wilhelm was determined to make an attempt to +rescue the princess, he burst out crying and embracing the youth, +assured him that it was folly for him—a simple country boy—to +undertake to accomplish what so many accomplished and skilled princes +had essayed in vain. +</P> + +<P> +But Wilhelm insisted, until at last the king called his court together +and announced that the simple country lad had resolved to guess the +riddles of the old witch. The courtiers straightway fell to laughing +at the presumption of the rural wight, as they derisively called him, +but it was much to the credit of the court ladies that they admired the +youth for his comely person, ingenuous manners, and brave +determination. The end of it all was that, at noon that very day, a +long procession went with Wilhelm to the witch's castle, the courtiers +hardly suppressing their mirth, but the ladies all in tears for fear +the handsome youth would not guess the riddles and would therefore be +transformed by the witch. +</P> + +<P> +The old witch saw the train approaching her castle and she went out +into the yard and sat on a rickety bench under a upas tree to receive +the king and his court. She was attended by twelve snapdragons, a +score of hobgoblins, and innumerable gnomes, elves, ghouls, and +hoodoos. On her left stood the catamaran, and on her right the +boogaboo, each more revoltingly hideous than ever before. +</P> + +<P> +When the king and Wilhelm and the rest of the cavalcade came into the +castle yard and stood before the witch, she grinned and showed her +black gums and demanded to know why they had come. +</P> + +<P> +"We have a youth here who would solve your three riddles," said the +king. +</P> + +<P> +Then the old witch laughed, "Ha, ha, ha!" and the gnomes, ghouls, and +all the rest of the enchantress' followers took up the refrain and +laughed till the air was very dense with sulphurous fumes. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if the youth is resolved, let him see the doom that awaits him," +said the witch, and she waved her stick. +</P> + +<P> +Forthwith a strange procession issued from the castle. First came two +little imps, then came two black demons, and last of all the swans, two +by two, mournfully flapping their wings and giving utterance to sighs +and moans more dismal than any sounds ever before heard. +</P> + +<P> +"You are going to have a new companion, my pretty pets," said the old +witch to the swans, whereupon the swans moaned and sighed with renewed +vigor. +</P> + +<P> +The king and his court trembled and wept at the spectacle, for in these +unhappy birds they recognized the poor princes who had fallen victims +to the foul witch's arts. To add to the misery of the scene, the +beautiful princess Mary appeared at the barred window of her chamber in +the castle and stretched out her white arms beseechingly. But the king +and his court could avail her nothing, for the hideous catamaran and +the cruel boogaboo were prepared to pounce upon and destroy whosoever +attempted to rescue the unhappy maiden by violence. +</P> + +<P> +"Let the presumptuous youth stand before me," cried the witch. And +Wilhelm strode boldly to the open spot between the witch and the kingly +retinue. +</P> + +<P> +"A fine, plump swan will you make," hissed the old witch. "Now can you +tell me what is sweeter than the kiss of the princess' mother?" +</P> + +<P> +Now the witch had supposed that Wilhelm would reply "The kiss of the +princess herself," for this was the reply that all the other youths had +made. But Wilhelm made no such answer. He faced the old witch boldly +and replied, "The kiss of my own mother!" +</P> + +<P> +And hearing this, which was the correct answer, the witch quivered with +astonishment and rage, and the catamaran fell down upon the grass and +vomited its flaming breath upon itself until it was utterly consumed. +So that was the last of the hideous catamaran. +</P> + +<P> +"Having said that, he will not think to repeat it," thought the old +witch, and she propounded the second question, which was: "What always +lieth next a good man's heart?" +</P> + +<P> +Now for a long time Wilhelm paused in doubt, and the king and his +retinue began to tremble and the poor swans dolorously flapped their +wings and sighed more piteously. But the old witch chuckled and licked +her warty chops and muttered, "He will have feathers all over his back +presently." +</P> + +<P> +And in his doubt Wilhelm remembered the words of his dear mother: +"Whenever in trouble, look at the talisman and it will preserve you +from harm." So Wilhelm put his hand in his bosom and drew forth the +talisman, and lo! the inscription seemed to burn itself into his very +soul. Gently he raised the talisman to his lips and reverently he +kissed it. And then he uttered the sacred name, "Mother." +</P> + +<P> +And straightway the hideous boogaboo fell down upon the grass and with +its cruel talons tore out its own heart, so that the boogaboo perished +miserably in the sight of all. The old witch cowered and foamed at her +ugly black mouth and uttered fearful curses and imprecations. +</P> + +<P> +It was never known what the third and last riddle was, for as soon as +they saw her deprived of her twin guardians, the catamaran and the +boogaboo, the king's swordsmen fell upon the witch and hewed off her +head, and the head and body tumbled to the ground. At that very +instant the earth opened and, with a sickening groan, swallowed up the +dead witch and all her elves, gnomes, imps, ghouls, snapdragons, and +demons. But the swans were instantaneously transformed back into human +beings, for as soon as the witch died, all enchantment over them was at +an end, and there was great joy. +</P> + +<P> +The recovery of the beautiful princess Mary was easily accomplished +now, and the next day she was wedded to Wilhelm amid great rejoicing, +the rescued princes serving as the bridegroom's best men. The king had +it proclaimed that Wilhelm should be his successor, and there was great +rejoicing in all the kingdom. +</P> + +<P> +In the midst of his prosperity, Wilhelm did not forget his dear old +mother. He sent for her at once, and she lived with Wilhelm and his +bride in the splendid palace, and she was always very particular to +tell everybody what a good, kind, and thoughtful son Wilhelm had always +been. +</P> + +<P> +Dear little boys, God has put into your bosoms a talisman which will +always tell you that love of mother is the sweetest and holiest of all +human things. Treasure that sacred talisman, and heaven's blessings +will be always with you. And then each of you shall marry a beautiful +princess, or at least one who is every whit as good as a beautiful +princess. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +GEORGE'S BIRTHDAY +</H3> + +<P> +Lawrence seemed to be lost in meditation. He sat in a rude arm-chair +under his favorite fig tree, and his eyes were fixed intently upon the +road that wound away from the manor house, through the broad gate, and +across the brown sward until it lost itself in the oak forest yonder. +Had it been summer the sight of Lawrence in the arm-chair under the fig +tree would not have been surprising, but the spectacle of Lawrence +occupying that seat in mid-winter, with his gaze riveted on the sear +roadway, was simply preposterous, as you will all admit. +</P> + +<P> +It was a February morning—clear, bright, and beautiful, with a hint of +summer in the warmth of its breath and the cheeriness of its smile. +Pope's Creek, as it rippled along, made pleasant music, the partridges +drummed in the under brush, and the redbirds whistled weirdly in the +leafless chestnut grove near the swash. Now and then a Bohemian crow, +moping lazily from the Maryland border, looked down at Lawrence in the +old arm-chair and uttered a hoarse exclamation of astonishment. +</P> + +<P> +But Lawrence heard none of these things; with stony stare he continued +to regard the roadway to the grove. Could it be that he was unhappy? +He was the proprietor of "Wakefield," the thirteen hundred acres that +stretched around him; five hundred slaves called him master; bounteous +crops had filled his barns to overflowing, and, to complete what should +have been the sum of human happiness, he had but two years before taken +to wife the beautiful Mary, daughter of Joseph Ball, Esq., of Epping +Forest, and the acknowledged belle of the Northern Neck. How, then, +<I>could</I> Lawrence be unhappy? +</P> + +<P> +The truth is, Lawrence was in a delirium of expectancy. He stood, as +it were, upon the threshold of an event. The experience which +threatened him was altogether a new one; he was in a condition of +suspense that was simply torturesome. +</P> + +<P> +This event had been anticipated for some time. By those subtile +methods peculiar to her sex, Mary, the wife, had prepared herself for +it, and Lawrence, too, had declared ever and anon his readiness to face +the ordeal; but, now that the event was close at hand, Lawrence was +weak and nervous and pale, and it was evident that Mary would have to +confront the event without the hope of any practical assistance from +her husband. +</P> + +<P> +"It is all the fault of the moon," muttered Lawrence. "It changed last +night, and if I had paid any attention to what Aunt Lizzie and Miss +Bettie said I might have expected this trouble to-day. A plague take +the moon, I say, and all the ills it brings with its monkeyshines!" +</P> + +<BR> +<HR WIDTH="60%" ALIGN="center"> +<BR> + +<P> +Along the pathway across the meadow meandered three feminine figures +attired in the quaint raiment of those remote Colonial times—Mistress +Carter, her daughter Mistress Fairfax, and another neighbor, the +antique and angular Miss Dorcas Culpeper, spinster. At sight of +Lawrence they groaned, and Miss Culpeper found it necessary to hold her +big velvet bag before her face to conceal the blushes of indignation +which she felt suffusing her venerable features when she beheld the +horrid author of a kind of trouble to which, on account of her years +and estate, she could never hope to contribute save as a party of the +third part. And oh! how guilty Lawrence looked and how guilty he felt, +too, as he sat under his fig tree just then. He dropped his face into +his hands and ground his elbows into his knees and indulged in bitter +thoughts against the feminine sex in general and against the moon and +Miss Dorcas Culpeper, spinster, in particular. +</P> + +<P> +So absorbing were these bitter reflections that, although Lawrence had +posted himself under the fig tree for the sole purpose of discovering +and of heralding the approach of a certain expected visitor, he was not +aware of Dr. Parley's arrival until that important personage had issued +from the oak grove, had traversed the brown road, and was dignifiedly +stalking his flea-bitten mare through the gateway. Then Lawrence +looked up, gave a sickly smile, and bade the doctor an incoherent +good-morning. Dr. Parley was sombre and impressive. He seldom smiled. +An imperturbable gravity possessed him from the prim black-satin +cockade on his three-cornered hat to the silver buckles on his +square-toed shoes. In his right hand he carried a gold-headed cane +which he wielded as solemnly as a pontiff might wield a sceptre, and as +he dismounted from his flea-bitten mare and unswung his ponderous +saddlebags he never once suffered the gold head of his impressive cane +to lapse from its accustomed position at his nostrils. +</P> + +<P> +"Go right into the house, doctor," said Lawrence, feebly, "<I>I 'll</I> look +after the mare. You have n't come any too soon—Mary 's taking on +terrible." +</P> + +<P> +It was mean of Dr. Parley, but at this juncture he <I>did</I> really +smile—yes, and it was a smile which combined so much malevolent pity +and scorn and derision that poor Lawrence felt himself shrivelling up +to the infinitesimal dimension of a pea in a bushel-basket. He led the +flea-bitten mare to the cherry tree and tied her there. "If you bark +that tree I 'll tan you alive," said Lawrence hoarsely, to the +champing, frisky creature, for now he hated all animal life from Dr. +Parley down, down, down even to the flea-bitten mare. Then, miserable +and nervous, Lawrence returned to the arm-chair under the fig +tree—and, how wretched he was! +</P> + +<P> +Pretty soon he heard a merry treble voice piping out: "Is ze gockter +tum to oo house?" and Lawrence saw little Martha toddling toward him. +Little Martha was Mistress Dandridge's baby girl. The Dandridges lived +a short way beyond the oak grove, and little Martha loved to visit +Uncle Lawrence and Aunt Mary, as she called Lawrence and his wife. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Martha," said Lawrence, sadly, "the doctor's come." +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't oo glad ze gockter's tum?" asked the child, anxiously, for she +recognized the weary tone of Lawrence's voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes," he answered, quickly and with an effort at cheerfulness, "I +'m glad he 's come. Ha, ha!" +</P> + +<P> +"Is oo doing to have oo toof pulled?" she inquired, artlessly. +</P> + +<P> +Lawrence shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"No, little one," said he, in a melancholy voice, "I wish I was." +</P> + +<P> +Then Martha wanted to know whether the doctor had brought his +saddlebags, and when Lawrence answered in the affirmative a summer of +sunshine seemed to come into the child's heart and burst out over her +pretty face. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I know!" she cried, as she clapped her fat little hands. "Ze +gockter has bwought oo a itty baby!" +</P> + +<P> +Now Martha's innocence, naïveté, and exuberance rather pleased +Lawrence. In fact, Martha was the only human being in all the world +who had treated Lawrence with any kind of consideration that February +morning, and all at once Lawrence felt his heart warm and go out toward +the prattling child. +</P> + +<P> +"Come here, little Martha," said he, kindly, "and let me hold you on my +knee. Who told you about the—about the—the baby, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mamma says ze gockter <I>allers</I> brings itty babies in his sagglebags. +Do oo want a itty baby, Uncle Lawrence?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Martha, I do," said he, kissing her, "and I want a little girl +just like you." +</P> + +<P> +Now Martha had guessed at the event, and her guess was eminently +correct. Lawrence had told the truth, too; it was a little girl he +wanted—not one that looked like Martha, perhaps—one that looked like +his Mary would please him most. So the two talked together, and +Lawrence found himself concocting the most preposterous perjuries +touching the famous saddlebags and the babies, but it seemed to delight +little Martha all the more as these perjuries became more and more +preposterous. +</P> + +<P> +For reasons, however, which we at this subsequent period can +appreciate, this confabulation could not last for aye, and when, +finally, little Martha trotted back homeward Lawrence bethought himself +it was high time to reconnoiter the immediate scene of action within +his house. He found a group of servants huddled about the door. +Chloe, Becky, Ann, Snowdrop, Pearl, Susan, Tilly—all, usually cheerful +and smiling, wore distressful countenances now. Nor did they speak to +him as had been their wont. They seemed to be afraid of him, yet what +had <I>he</I> done—what had he <I>ever</I> done that these well-fed, +well-treated slaves should shrink from him in his hour of trouble? +</P> + +<P> +It was still gloomier inside the house. Aunt Lizzie and Miss Bettie, +the nurses, had taken supreme charge of affairs. At this moment Aunt +Lizzie, having brewed a pot of tea, was regaling Mistress Carter and +Mistress Fairfax and the venerable Miss Dorcas Culpeper, spinster, with +a desultory but none the less interesting narrative of her performances +on countless occasions similar to the event about to take place. The +appearance of Lawrence well-nigh threw Miss Culpeper into hysterics, +and, to escape the dismal groans, prodigious sighs, and reproachful +glances of the others, Lawrence made haste to get out of the apartment. +The next room was desolate enough, but it was under Mary's room and +there was <I>some</I> comfort in knowing <I>that</I>. Yet the nearer Lawrence +came to Mary's room the more helpless he grew. He could not explain +it, but he was lamentably weak and miserable. A strange fear undid him +and he fairly trembled. +</P> + +<P> +"I will go up and ask if there is anything I can do," he said to +himself, for he was ashamed to admit his cowardice. +</P> + +<P> +But his knees failed him and he sat down on the stairs and listened and +wished he had never been born. +</P> + +<P> +Oh, how quiet the house was. Lawrence strained his ears to catch a +sound from Mary's room. He could hear a faint echo of the four +chattering women in the front chamber below, but not a sound from +Mary's room. Now and then a shrill cry of a jay or the lowing of the +oxen in the pasture by the creek came to him from the outside +world—but not a sound from Mary's room. His heart sank; he would have +given the finest plantation in Westmoreland County for the echo of +Mary's voice or the music of Mary's footfall now. +</P> + +<P> +Presently the door of Mary's room opened. The cold, unrelenting, +forbidding countenance of Miss Bettie, the nurse, confronted Lawrence's +upturned, pleading face. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, it 's <I>you</I>, is it?" said Miss Bettie, unfeelingly, and with this +cheerless remark she closed the door again, and Lawrence was more +miserable than ever. He stole down-stairs into a back room, escaped +through a window, and slunk away toward the stables. The whole world +seemed turned against him—in the flower of early manhood he found +himself unwillingly and undeservedly an Ishmaelite. +</P> + +<P> +He rebelled against this cruel injustice. +</P> + +<P> +Then he grew weak and childish again. +</P> + +<P> +Anon he anathematized humanity, and then again he ruefully regretted +his own existence. +</P> + +<P> +In a raging fever one moment, he shivered and chattered like a sick +magpie the next. +</P> + +<P> +But when he thought of Mary his heart softened and sweeter emotions +thrilled him. She, at least, he assured himself, would defend him from +these persecutions were she aware of them. So, after roaming aimlessly +between the barn and the creek, the creek and the overseer's house, the +overseer's house and the swash, the swash and the grove, the grove and +the servants' quarters, Lawrence made up his mind that he 'd go back to +the house (like the brave man he wanted to make himself believe he was) +and help Mary endure "the ordeal," as Miss Dorcas Culpeper, spinster, +was pleased to term the event. But Lawrence could not bring himself to +face the feminine quartet in the front chamber—now that he came to +think of it he recollected that he always <I>had</I> detested those four +impertinent gossips! So he crept around to the side window, raised it +softly, crawled in through, and slipped noiselessly toward the stairway. +</P> + +<P> +Then all at once he heard a cry; a shrill little voice that did not +linger in his ears, but went straight to his heart and kept echoing +there and twining itself in and out, in and out, over and over again. +</P> + +<P> +This little voice stirred Lawrence strangely; it seemed to tell him +things he had never known before, to speak a wisdom he had never +dreamed of, to breathe a sweeter music than he had ever heard, to +inspire ambitions purer and better than any he had ever felt—the voice +of his firstborn—you know, fathers, what that meant to Lawrence. +</P> + +<P> +Well, Lawrence <I>was</I> brave again, but there was a lump in his throat +and his eyes were misty. +</P> + +<P> +"She's here at last," he murmured thankfully; "heaven be praised for +that!" +</P> + +<P> +Of course you understand that Lawrence had been hoping for a girl; so +had his wife. They had planned to call her Mary, after her mother, the +quondam belle of the Northern Neck. Grandfather Joseph Ball, late of +Epping Forest, was to be her godfather, and Colonel Bradford Custis of +Jamestown had promised to grace the christening with his imposing +presence. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you can come in," said Miss Bettie, with much condescension, and +in all humility Lawrence did go in. +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Parley was quite as solemn and impressive as ever. He occupied the +great chair near the chimney-place, and he still held the gold head of +his everlasting cane close to his nose. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Mary," said Lawrence, with an inquiring, yearning glance. Mary +was very pale, but she smiled sweetly. +</P> + +<P> +"Lawrence, it's a boy," said Mary. +</P> + +<P> +Oh, what a grievous disappointment that was! After all the hopes, the +talk, the preparations, the plans—a boy! What would Grandfather Ball, +late of Epping Forest, say? What would come of the grand christening +that was to be graced by the imposing presence of Colonel Bradford +Custis of Jamestown? How the Jeffersons and Randolphs and Masons and +Pages and Slaughters and Carters and Ayletts and Henrys <I>would</I> gossip +and chuckle, and how he—Lawrence—<I>would</I> be held up to the scorn and +the derision of the facetious yeomen of Westmoreland! It was simply +terrible. +</P> + +<P> +And just then, too, Lawrence's vexation was increased by a gloomy +report from the four worthy dames down-stairs—viz., Mistress Carter, +Mistress Fairfax, Miss Dorcas Culpeper, spinster, and Aunt Lizzie, the +nurse. These inquiring creatures had been casting the new-born babe's +horoscope through the medium of tea grounds in their blue-china cups, +and each agreed that the child's future was full of shame, crime, +disgrace, and other equally unpleasant features. +</P> + +<P> +"Now that it's a boy," said Lawrence, ruefully, "I 'm willing to +believe almost anything. It would n't surprise me at all if he wound +up on the gallows!" +</P> + +<P> +But Mary, cherishing the puffy, fuzzy, red-faced little waif in her +bosom, said to him, softly: "No matter <I>what</I> the <I>others</I> say, my +darling; <I>I</I> bid you welcome, and, by God's grace, my love and prayers +shall make you good and great." +</P> + +<P> +And it was even so. Mary's love and prayers <I>did</I> make a good and +great man of that unwelcome child, as we who celebrate his birthday in +these later years believe. They had a grand christening, too; +Grandfather Ball was there, and Colonel Bradford Custis, and the Lees, +the Jeffersons, the Randolphs, the Slaughters—yes, all the old +families of Virginia were represented, and there was feasting and +merry-making for three days! Such cheer prevailed, in fact, that even +Miss Dorcas Culpeper, spinster, and Lawrence, the happy father, became +completely reconciled. Soothed by the grateful influences of barbecued +meats and draughts of rum and sugar, Lawrence led Miss Culpeper through +the minuet. +</P> + +<P> +"A very proper name for the babe?" suggested Miss Culpeper. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, we will call him George, in honor of his majesty our king," said +Lawrence Washington, with the pride that comes of loyalty and +patriotism. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SWEET-ONE-DARLING AND THE DREAM-FAIRIES +</H3> + +<P> +A wonderful thing happened one night; those who never heard of it +before will hardly believe it. Sweet-One-Darling was lying in her +little cradle with her eyes wide open, and she was trying to make up +her mind whether she should go to sleep or keep awake. This is often a +hard matter for little people to determine. Sweet-One-Darling was +ready for sleep and dreams; she had on her nightgown and her nightcap, +and her mother had kissed her good-night. But the day had been so very +pleasant, with its sunshine and its play and its many other diversions, +that Sweet-One-Darling was quite unwilling to give it up. It was high +time for the little girl to be asleep; the robins had ceased their +evening song in the maple; a tree-toad croaked monotonously outside, +and a cricket was chirping certain confidences to the strange shadows +that crept furtively everywhere in the yard and garden. Some folk +believe that the cricket is in league with the Dream-Fairies; they say +that what sounds to us like a faint chirping merely is actually the +call of the cricket to the Dream-Fairies to let those pretty little +creatures know that it is time for them to come with their dreams. I +more than half believe this myself, for I have noticed that it is while +the cricket is chirping that the Dream-Fairies come with their +wonderful sights that seem oftentimes very real. +</P> + +<P> +Sweet-One-Darling heard the voice of the cricket, and may be she knew +what it meant. There are a great many things which Sweet-One-Darling +knows all about but of which she says nothing to other people; although +she is only a year old, she is undoubtedly the most knowing little +person in all the world, and the fact that she is the most beautiful +and the most amiable of human beings is the reason why she is called by +that name of Sweet-One-Darling. May be—and it is quite likely +that—with all the other wonderful things she knew, Sweet-One-Darling +understood about the arrangement that existed between the cricket and +the Dream-Fairies. At any rate, just as soon as she heard that cricket +give its signal note she smiled a smile of gratification and looked +very wise, indeed—as much as to say: "The cricket and I know a thing +worth knowing." +</P> + +<P> +Then, all of a sudden, there was a faint sound as of the rustle of +gossamer, silken wings, and the very next moment two of the cunningest +fairies you ever saw were standing upon the window-sill, just over the +honeysuckle. They had come from Somewhere, and it was evident that +they were searching for somebody, for they peered cautiously and +eagerly into the room. One was dressed in a bright yellow suit of +butterfly silk and the other wore a suit of dark-gray mothzine, which +(as perhaps you know) is a dainty fabric made of the fine strands which +gray moths spin. Each of these fairies was of the height of a small +cambric needle and both together would not have weighed much more than +the one-sixteenth part of four dewdrops. You will understand from this +that these fairies were as tiny creatures as could well be imagined. +</P> + +<P> +"Sweet-One-Darling! oh, Sweet-One-Darling!" they cried softly. "Where +are you?" +</P> + +<P> +Sweet-One-Darling pretended that she did not hear, and she cuddled down +close in her cradle and laughed heartily, all to herself. The +mischievous little thing knew well enough whom they were calling, and I +am sure she knew what they wanted. But she meant to fool them and hide +from them awhile—that is why she did not answer. But nobody can hide +from the Dream-Fairies, and least of all could Sweet-One-Darling hide +from them, for presently her laughter betrayed her and the two +Dream-Fairies perched on her cradle—one at each side—and looked +smilingly down upon her. +</P> + +<P> +"Hullo!" said Sweet-One-Darling, for she saw that her hiding-place was +discovered. This was the first time I had ever heard her speak, and I +did not know till then that even wee little babies talk with fairies, +particularly Dream-Fairies. +</P> + +<P> +"Hullo, Sweet-One-Darling!" said Gleam-o'-the-Murk, for that was the +name of the Dream-Fairy in the dark-gray mothzine. +</P> + +<P> +"And hullo from me, too!" cried Frisk-and-Glitter, the other +visitor—the one in the butterfly-silk suit. +</P> + +<P> +"You have come earlier than usual," suggested Sweet-One-Darling. +</P> + +<P> +"No, indeed," answered Frisk-and-Glitter; "this is the accustomed hour, +but the day has been so happy that it has passed quickly. For that +reason you should be glad to see me, for I bring dreams of the day—the +beautiful golden day, with its benediction of sunlight, its grace of +warmth, and its wealth of mirth and play." +</P> + +<P> +"And <I>I</I>," said Gleam-o'-the-Murk, "<I>I</I> bring dreams, too. But <I>my</I> +dreams are of the night, and they are full of the gentle, soothing +music of the winds, of the pines, and of the crickets! and they are +full of fair visions in which you shall see the things of Fairyland and +of Dreamland and of all the mysterious countries that compose the vast +world of Somewhere away out beyond the silvery mist of Night." +</P> + +<P> +"Dear me!" cried Sweet-One-Darling. "I should never be able to make a +choice between you two, for both of you are equally acceptable. I am +sure I should love to have the pleasant play of the daytime brought +back to me, and I am quite as sure that I want to see all the pretty +sights that are unfolded by the dreams which Gleam-o'-the-Murk brings." +</P> + +<P> +Sweet-One-Darling was so distressed that her cunning little underlip +drooped and quivered perceptibly. She feared that her indecision would +forfeit her the friendship of both the Dream-Fairies. +</P> + +<P> +"You have no need to feel troubled," said Frisk-and-Glitter, "for you +are not expected to make any choice between us. We have our own way of +determining the question, as you shall presently understand." +</P> + +<P> +Then the Dream-Fairies explained that whenever they came of an evening +to bring their dreams to a little child they seated themselves on the +child's eyelids and tried to rock them down. Gleam-o'-the-Murk would +sit and rock upon one eyelid and Frisk-and-Glitter would sit and rock +on the other. If Gleam-o'-the-Murk's eyelid closed first the child +would dream the dreams Gleam-o'-the-Murk brought it; if +Frisk-and-Glitter's eyelid closed first, why, then, of course, the +child dreamt the dreams Frisk-and-Glitter brought. It would be hard to +conceive of an arrangement more amicable. +</P> + +<P> +"But suppose," suggested Sweet-One-Darling, "suppose both eyelids close +at the same instant? Which one of you fairies has his own way, <I>then</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, in that event," said they, "neither of us wins, and, since neither +wins, the sleeper does not dream at all, but awakes next morning from a +sound, dreamless, refreshing sleep." +</P> + +<P> +Sweet-One-Darling was not sure that she fancied this alternative, but +of course she could not help herself. So she let the two little +Dream-Fairies flutter across her shoulders and clamber up her cheeks to +their proper places upon her eyelids. Gracious! but how heavy they +seemed when they once stood on her eyelids! As I told you before their +actual combined weight hardly exceeded the sixteenth part of four +dewdrops, yet when they are perched on a little child's eyelids (tired +eyelids at that) it really seems sometimes as if they weighed a ton! +It was just all she could do to keep her eyelids open, yet +Sweet-One-Darling was determined to be strictly neutral. She loved +both the Dream-Fairies equally well, and she would not for all the +world have shown either one any partiality. +</P> + +<P> +Well, there the two Dream-Fairies sat on Sweet-One-Darling's eyelids, +each one trying to rock his particular eyelid down; and each one sung +his little lullaby in the pipingest voice imaginable. I am not +positive, but as nearly as I can remember Frisk-and-Glitter's song ran +in this wise: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Dream, dream, dream<BR> +Of meadow, wood, and stream;<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Of bird and bee,</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Of flower and tree,</SPAN><BR> +All under the noonday gleam;<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Of the song and play</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Of mirthful day—</SPAN><BR> +Dream, dream, dream!<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +This was very soothing, as you would suppose. While Frisk-and-Glitter +sung it Sweet-One-Darling's eyelid drooped and drooped and drooped +until, goodness me! it seemed actually closed. But at the critical +moment, the other Dream-Fairy, Gleam-o'-the-Murk, would pipe up his +song somewhat in this fashion: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Dream, dream, dream<BR> +Of glamour, glint, and gleam;<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Of the hushaby things</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">The night wind sings</SPAN><BR> +To the moon and the stars abeam;<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Of whimsical sights</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">In the land o' sprites</SPAN><BR> +Dream, dream, dream!<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Under the spell of this pretty lullaby, the other eyelid would speedily +overtake the first and so for a goodly time there was actually no such +thing even as guessing which of those two eyelids would close sooner +than the other. It was the most exciting contest (for an amicable one) +I ever saw. As for Sweet-One-Darling, she seemed to be lost presently +in the magic of the Dream-Fairies, and although she has never said a +word about it to me I am quite sure that, while her dear eyelids +drooped and drooped and drooped to the rocking and the singing of the +Dream-Fairies, it was her lot to enjoy a confusion of all those +precious things promised by her two fairy visitors. Yes, I am sure +that from under her drooping eyelids she beheld the scenes of the +mirthful day intermingled with peeps of fairyland, and that she heard +(or seemed to hear) the music of dreamland harmonizing with the more +familiar sounds of this world of ours. And when at last she was fast +asleep I could not say for certain which of her eyelids had closed +first, so simultaneous was the downfall of her long dark lashes upon +her flushed cheeks. I meant to have asked the Dream-Fairies about it, +but before I could do so they whisked out of the window and away with +their dreams to a very sleepy little boy who was waiting for them +somewhere in the neighborhood. So you see I am unable to tell you +which of the Dream-Fairies won; maybe neither did; may be +Sweet-One-Darling's sleep that night was dreamless. I have questioned +her about it and she will not answer me. +</P> + +<P> +This is all of the wonderful tale I had to tell. May be it will not +seem so wonderful to you, for perhaps you, too, have felt the +Dream-Fairies rocking your eyelids down with gentle lullaby music; +perhaps you, too, know all the precious dreams they bring. In that +case you will bear witness that my tale, even though it be not +wonderful, is strictly true. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SWEET-ONE-DARLING AND THE MOON-GARDEN +</H3> + +<P> +One time Sweet-One-Darling heard her brother, little Our-Golden-Son, +talking with the nurse. The nurse was a very wise woman and they called +her Good-Old-Soul, because she was so kind to children. Little +Our-Golden-Son was very knowing for a little boy only two years old, but +there were several things he did not know about and one of these things +troubled him a good deal and he went to the wise nurse to find out all +about it. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me, Good-Old-Soul," said he, "where did I come from?" +</P> + +<P> +Good-Old-Soul thought this a very natural question for little +Our-Golden-Son to ask, for he was a precocious boy and was going to be a +great man some time. +</P> + +<P> +"I asked your mother that very question the other day," said +Good-Old-Soul, "and what do you think she told me? She told me that the +Doctor-Man brought you! She told me that one night she was wishing all +to herself that she had a little boy with light golden hair and dark +golden eyes. 'If I had such a little boy,' said she, 'I should call him +Our-Golden-Son.' While she was talking this way to herself, rap-tap-rap +came a knock at the door. 'Who is there?' asked your mother. 'I am the +Doctor-Man,' said the person outside, 'and I have brought something for +you.' Then the Doctor-Man came in and he carried a box in one hand. 'I +wonder what can be in the box!' thought your mother. Now what do you +suppose it was?" +</P> + +<P> +"Bananas?" said little Our-Golden-Son. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no," answered Good-Old-Soul, "it was nothing to eat; it was the +cutest, prettiest little baby boy you ever saw! Oh, how glad your mother +was, and what made her particularly happy was this: The little baby boy +had light golden hair and dark golden eyes! 'Did you really bring this +precious little boy for me?' asked your mother. 'Indeed I did,' said the +Doctor-Man, and he lifted the little creature out of the box and laid him +very tenderly in your mother's arms. That 's how you came, little +Our-Golden-Son, and it was very good of the Doctor-Man to bring you, was +n't it?" +</P> + +<P> +Little Our-Golden-Son was much pleased with this explanation. As for +Sweet-One-Darling, she was hardly satisfied with what the nurse had told. +So that night when the fairies—the Dream-Fairies—came, she repeated the +nurse's words to them. +</P> + +<P> +"What <I>I</I> want to know," said Sweet-One-Darling, "is this: Where did the +Doctor-Man get little Our-Golden Son? I don't doubt the truth of what +Good-Old-Soul says, but Good-Old-Soul does n't tell how the Doctor-Man +came to have little Our-Golden-Son in the box. How did little +Our-Golden-Son happen to be in the box? Where did he come from before he +got into the box?" +</P> + +<P> +"That is easy enough to answer," said Gleam-o'-the-Murk. "We +Dream-Fairies know all about it. Before he got into the Doctor-Man's box +little Our-Golden-Son lived in the Moon. That's where all little babies +live before the Doctor-Man brings them." +</P> + +<P> +"Did I live there before the Doctor-Man brought me?" asked +Sweet-One-Darling. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course you did," said Gleam-o'-the-Murk. "I saw you there a long, +long time before the Doctor-Man brought you." +</P> + +<P> +"But I thought that the Moon was a big, round soda-cracker," said +Sweet-One-Darling. +</P> + +<P> +That made the Dream-Fairies laugh. They assured Sweet-One-Darling that +the Moon was not a soda-cracker, but a beautiful round piece of silver +way, way up in the sky, and that the stars were little Moons, bearing the +same relationship (in point of size) to the old mother Moon that a dime +does to a big silver dollar. +</P> + +<P> +"And how big is the Moon?" asked Sweet-One-Darling. "Is it as big as +this room?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, very, very much bigger," said the Dream-Fairies. +</P> + +<P> +"I guess it must be as big as a house," suggested Sweet-One-Darling. +</P> + +<P> +"Bigger than a house," answered Gleam-o'-the-Murk. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, my!" exclaimed Sweet-One-Darling, and she began to suspect that the +Dream-Fairies were fooling her. +</P> + +<P> +But that night the Dream-Fairies took Sweet-One-Darling with them to the +Moon! You don't believe it, eh? Well, you wait until you 've heard all +about it, and then, may be, you not only will believe it, but will want +to go there, too. +</P> + +<P> +The Dream-Fairies lifted Sweet-One-Darling carefully out of her cradle; +then their wings went "whir-r-r, whir-r-r"—you 've heard a green fly +buzzing against a window-pane, have n't you? That was the kind of +whirring noise the Dream-Fairies' wings made, with the pleasing +difference that the Dream-Fairies' wings produced a soft, soothing music. +The cricket under the honeysuckle by the window heard this music and saw +the Dream-Fairies carrying Sweet-One-Darling away. "Be sure to bring her +back again," said the cricket, for he was a sociable little fellow and +was very fond of little children. +</P> + +<P> +You can depend upon it that Sweet-One-Darling had a delightful time +riding through the cool night air in the arms of those Dream-Fairies; it +was a good deal like being a bird, only the Dream-Fairies flew very much +faster than any bird can fly. As they sped along they told +Sweet-One-Darling all about the wonderful things they saw and everything +was new to Sweet-One-Darling, for she had never made any journeys before +except in the little basket-carriage which Good-Old-Soul, her nurse, +propelled every sunny morning up and down the street. Pretty soon they +came to a beautiful river, which looked as if it were molten silver; but +it was n't molten silver; it was a river of moonbeams. +</P> + +<P> +"We will take a sail now," said Gleam-o'-the-Murk. "This river leads +straight to the Moon, and it is well worth navigating." +</P> + +<P> +So they all got into a boat that had a sail made out of ten thousand and +ten baby-spiders' webs, and away they sailed as merrily as you please. +Sweet-One-Darling put her feet over the side of the boat and tried to +trail them in the river, but the moonbeams tickled her so that she could +n't stand it very long. And what do you think? When she pulled her feet +back into the boat she found them covered with dimples. She did n't know +what to make of these phenomena until the Dream-Fairies explained to her +that a dimple always remains where a moonbeam tickles a little child. A +dimple on the foot is a sure sign that one has been trailing in that +beautiful silver river that leads to the Moon. +</P> + +<P> +By and by they got to the Moon. I can't begin to tell you how large it +was; you 'd not believe me if I did. +</P> + +<P> +"This is very lovely," said Sweet-One-Darling, "but where are the little +babies?" +</P> + +<P> +"Surely you did n't suppose you 'd find any babies here!" exclaimed the +Dream-Fairies. "Why, in all this bright light the babies would never, +never go to sleep! Oh, no; we 'll have to look for the babies on the +other side of the Moon." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course we shall," said Sweet-One-Darling. "I might have guessed as +much if I 'd only stopped to think." +</P> + +<P> +The Dream-Fairies showed Sweet-One-Darling how to get to the edge of the +Moon, and when she had crawled there she held on to the edge very fast +and peeped over as cautiously as if she had been a timid little mouse +instead of the bravest Sweet-One-Darling in all the world. She was very +cautious and quiet, because the Dream-Fairies had told her that she must +be very sure not to awaken any of the little babies, for there are no +Mothers up there on the other side of the Moon, and if by any chance a +little baby is awakened—why, as you would easily suppose, the +consequences are exceedingly embarrassing. +</P> + +<P> +"Can you see anything?" asked the Dream-Fairies of Sweet-One-Darling as +she clung to the edge of the Moon and peeped over. +</P> + +<P> +"I should say I did!" exclaimed Sweet-One-Darling. "I never supposed +there could be so beautiful a place. I see a large, fair garden, filled +with shrubbery and flowers; there are fountains and velvety hillocks and +silver lakes and embowered nooks. A soft, dim, golden light broods over +the quiet spot." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, that is the light which shines through the Moon from the bright +side; but it is very faint," said the Dream-Fairies. +</P> + +<P> +"And I see the little babies asleep," continued Sweet-One-Darling. "They +are lying in the embowered nooks, near the fountains, upon the velvety +hillocks, amid the flowers, under the trees, and upon the broad leaves of +the lilies in the silver lakes. How cunning and plump and sweet they +are—I must take some of them back with me!" +</P> + +<P> +If they had not been afraid of waking the babies the Dream-Fairies would +have laughed uproariously at this suggestion. Just fancy +Sweet-One-Darling, a baby herself, undertaking the care of a lot of other +little babies fresh from the garden on the other side of the Moon! +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder how they all came here in this Moon-Garden?" asked +Sweet-One-Darling. And the Dream-Fairies told her. +</P> + +<P> +They explained that whenever a mother upon earth asked for a little baby +of her own her prayer floated up and up—many leagues up—and was borne +to the other side of the Moon, where it fell and rested upon a lily leaf +or upon a bank of flowers in that beautiful garden. And resting there +the prayer presently grew and grew until it became a cunning little baby! +So when the Doctor-Man came with his box the baby was awaiting him, and +he had only to carry the precious little thing to the Mother and give her +prayer back to her to keep and to love always. There are so very many of +these tiny babies in the Moon-Garden that sometimes—he does n't do it of +purpose—but sometimes the Doctor-Man brings the baby to the wrong +mother, and that makes the real mother, who prayed for the baby, feel +very, very badly. +</P> + +<P> +Well, I actually believe that Sweet-One-Darling would gladly have spent +the rest of her life clinging to the edge of the Moon and peeping over at +the babies in that beautiful garden. But the Dream-Fairies agreed that +this would never do at all. They finally got Sweet-One-Darling away by +promising to stop on their journey home to replenish her nursing bottle +at the Milky Way, which, as perhaps you know, is a marvellous lacteal +ocean in the very midst of the sky. This beverage had so peculiar and so +soothing a charm that presently Sweet-One-Darling went sound asleep, and +when she woke up—goodness me! it was late in the morning, and her +brother, little Our-Golden-Son, was standing by her cradle, wondering why +she did n't wake up to look at his beautiful new toy elephant. +</P> + +<P> +Sweet-One-Darling told Good-Old-Soul and little Our-Golden-Son all about +the garden on the other side of the Moon. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure it is true," said Good-Old-Soul. "And now that I come to +think of it, that is the reason why the Moon always turns her bright side +toward our earth! If the other side were turned this way the light of +the sun and the noise we make would surely awaken and frighten those poor +little babies!" +</P> + +<P> +Little Our-Golden-Son believed the story, too. And if Good-Old-Soul and +little Our-Golden-Son believed it, why should n't you? If it were not +true how could I have known all about it and told it to you? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SAMUEL COWLES AND HIS HORSE ROYAL +</H3> + +<P> +The day on which I was twelve years old my father said to me: "Samuel, +walk down the lane with me to the pasture-lot; I want to show you +something." Never suspicioning anything, I trudged along with father, +and what should I find in the pasture lot but the cunningest, +prettiest, liveliest colt a boy ever clapped eyes on! +</P> + +<P> +"That is my birthday present to you," said father. "Yes, Samuel, I +give the colt to you to do with as you like, for you 've been a good +boy and have done well at school." +</P> + +<P> +You can easily understand that my boyish heart overflowed with pride +and joy and gratitude. A great many years have elapsed since that +time, but I have n't forgotten and I never shall forget the delight of +that moment, when I realized that I had a colt of my own—a real, live +colt, and a Morgan colt, at that! +</P> + +<P> +"How old is he, father?" I asked. +</P> + +<P> +"A week old, come to-morrow," said father. +</P> + +<P> +"Has Judge Phipps seen him yet?" I asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No; nobody has seen him but you and me and the hired man." +</P> + +<P> +Judge Phipps was the justice of the peace. I had a profound respect +for him, for what he did n't know about horses was n't worth knowing; I +was sure of this, because the judge himself told me so. One of the +first duties to which I applied myself was to go and get the judge and +show him the colt. The judge praised the pretty creature inordinately, +enumerating all his admirable points and predicting a famous career for +him. The judge even went so far as to express the conviction that in +due time my colt would win "imperishable renown and immortal laurels as +a competitor at the meetings of the Hampshire County Trotting +Association," of which association the judge was the president, much to +the scandal of his estimable wife, who viewed with pious horror her +husband's connection with the race-track. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you think I ought to name my colt?" I asked of the judge. +</P> + +<P> +"When I was about your age," the judge answered, "I had a colt and I +named him Royal. He won all the premiums at the county fair before he +was six year old." +</P> + +<P> +That was quite enough for me. To my thinking every utterance of the +judge's was ex cathedra; moreover, in my boyish exuberance, I fancied +that this name would start my colt auspiciously upon a famous career; I +began at once to think and to speak of him as the prospective winner of +countless honors. +</P> + +<P> +From the moment when I first set eyes on Royal I was his stanch friend; +even now, after the lapse of years, I cannot think of my old companion +without feeling here in my breast a sense of gratitude that that +honest, patient, loyal friend entered so largely into my earlier life. +</P> + +<P> +Twice a day I used to trudge down the lane to the pasture-lot to look +at the colt, and invariably I was accompanied by a troop of boy +acquaintances who heartily envied me my good luck, and who regaled me +constantly with suggestions of what they would do if Royal were their +colt. Royal soon became friendly with us all, and he would respond to +my call, whinnying to me as I came down the lane, as much as to say: +"Good morning to you, little master! I hope you are coming to have a +romp with me." And, gracious! how he would curve his tail and throw up +his head and gather his short body together and trot around the +pasture-lot on those long legs of his! He enjoyed life, Royal did, as +much as we boys enjoyed it. +</P> + +<P> +Naturally enough, I made all sorts of plans for Royal. I recall that, +after I had been on a visit to Springfield and had beholden for the +first time the marvels of Barnum's show, I made up my mind that when +Royal and I were old enough we would unite our fortunes with those of a +circus, and in my imagination I already pictured huge and gaudy posters +announcing the blood-curdling performances of the dashing bareback +equestrian, Samuel Cowles, upon his fiery Morgan steed, Royal! This +plan was not at all approved of by Judge Phipps, who continued to +insist that it was on the turf and not in the sawdust circle that +Royal's genius lay, and to this way of thinking I was finally +converted, but not until the judge had promised to give me a sulky as +soon as Royal demonstrated his ability to make a mile in 2:40. +</P> + +<P> +It is not without a sigh of regret that in my present narrative I pass +over the five years next succeeding the date of Royal's arrival. For +they were very happy years—indeed, at this distant period I am able to +recall only that my boyhood was full, brimful of happiness. I broke +Royal myself; father and the hired man stood around and made +suggestions, and at times they presumed to take a hand in the +proceedings. Virtually, however, I broke Royal to the harness and to +the saddle, and after that I was even more attached to him than ever +before—you know how it is, if ever you 've broken a colt yourself! +</P> + +<P> +When I went away to college it seemed to me that leaving Royal was +almost as hard as leaving mother and father; you see the colt had +become a very large part of my boyish life—followed me like a pet dog, +was lonesome when I was n't round, used to rub his nose against my arm +and look lovingly at me out of his big, dark, mournful eyes—yes, I +cried when I said good-by to him the morning I started for +Williamstown. I was ashamed of it then, but not now—no, not now. +</P> + +<P> +But my fun was all the keener, I guess, when I came home at vacation +times. Then we had it, up hill and down dale—Royal and I did! In the +summer-time along the narrow roads we trailed, and through leafy lanes, +and in my exultation I would cut at the tall weeds at the roadside and +whisk at the boughs arching overhead, as if I were a warrior mounted +for battle and these other things were human victims to my valor. In +the winter we sped away over the snow and ice, careless to the howling +of the wind and the wrath of the storm. Royal knew the favorite road, +every inch of the way; he knew, too, when Susie held the reins—Susie +was Judge Phipps' niece, and I guess she 'd have mittened me if it had +n't been that I had the finest colt in the county! +</P> + +<P> +The summer I left college there came to me an overwhelming sense of +patriotic duty. Mother was the first to notice my absent-mindedness, +and to her I first confided the great wish of my early manhood. It is +hard for parents to bid a son go forth to do service upon the +battlefield, but New England in those times responded cheerfully and +nobly to Mr. Lincoln's call. The Eighth Massachusetts cavalry was the +regiment I enlisted in; a baker's dozen of us boys went together from +the quiet little village nestling in the shadow of Mount Holyoke. From +Camp Andrew I wrote back a piteous letter, complaining of the horse +that had been assigned to me; I wanted Royal; we had been inseparable +in times of peace—why should we not share together the fortunes of +war? Within a fortnight along came Royal, conducted in all dignity +by—you would never guess—by Judge Phipps! Full of patriotism and of +cheer was the judge. +</P> + +<P> +"Both of ye are thoroughbreds," said he. "Ye 'll come in under the +wire first every time, I know ye will." +</P> + +<P> +The judge also brought me a saddle blanket which Susie had ornamented +with wondrous and tender art. +</P> + +<P> +So Royal and I went into the war together. There were times of +privation and of danger; neither of us ever complained. I am proud to +bear witness that in every emergency my horse bore himself with a +patience and a valor that seemed actually human. My comrades envied me +my gentle, stanch, obedient servant. Indeed, Royal and I became famous +as inseparable and loyal friends. +</P> + +<P> +We were in five battles and neither of us got even so much as a +scratch. But one afternoon in a skirmish with the rebels near Potomac +Mills a bullet struck me in the thigh, and from the mere shock I fell +from Royal's back into the tangle of the thicket. The fall must have +stunned me, for the next thing I knew I was alone—deserted of all +except my faithful horse. Royal stood over me, and when I opened my +eyes he gave a faint whinny. I hardly knew what to do. My leg pained +me excruciatingly. I surmised that I would never be able to make my +way back to camp under the fire of the rebel picketers, for I +discovered that they were closing in. +</P> + +<P> +Then it occurred to me to pin a note to Royal's saddle blanket and to +send Royal back to camp telling the boys of the trouble I was in. The +horse understood it all; off he galloped, conscious of the import of +the mission upon which he had been dispatched. Bang-bang-bang! went +the guns over yonder, as if the revengeful creatures in the far-off +brush guessed the meaning of our manoeuvering and sought to slay my +loyal friend. But not a bullet touched him—leastwise he galloped on +and on till I lost sight of him. They came for me at last, the boys +did; they were a formidable detachment, and how the earth shook as they +swept along! +</P> + +<P> +"We thought you were a goner, sure," said Hi Bixby. +</P> + +<P> +"I guess I would have been if it had n't been for Royal," said I. +</P> + +<P> +"I guess so, myself," said he. "When we saw him stumblin' along all +bloody we allowed for sure you was dead!" +</P> + +<P> +"All blood?" I cried. "Is Royal hurt?" +</P> + +<P> +"As bad as a hoss can be," said he. +</P> + +<P> +In camp we found them doing the best they could for him. But it was +clearly of no avail. There was a gaping, ragged hole in his side; +seeking succor for me, Royal had met his death-wound. I forgot my own +hurt; I thrust the others aside and hobbled where he lay. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor old Roy!" I cried, as I threw myself beside my dying friend and +put my arms about his neck. Then I patted and stroked him and called +him again and again by name, and there was a look in his eyes that told +me he knew me and was glad that I was there. +</P> + +<P> +How strange, and yet how beautiful, it was that in that far-off +country, with my brave, patient, loyal friend's fluttering heart close +unto mine, I neither saw nor thought of the scene around me. +</P> + +<P> +But before my eyes came back the old, familiar places—the pasture lot, +the lane, the narrow road up the hill, the river winding along between +great stretches of brown corn, the aisle of maple trees, and the +fountain where we drank so many, many times together—and I smelled the +fragrance of the flowers and trees abloom, and I heard the dear voices +and the sweet sounds of my boyhood days. +</P> + +<P> +Then presently a mighty shudder awakened me from this dreaming. And I +cried out with affright and grief, for I felt that I was alone. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE WEREWOLF +</H3> + +<P> +In the reign of Egbert the Saxon there dwelt in Britain a maiden named +Yseult, who was beloved of all, both for her goodness and for her +beauty. But, though many a youth came wooing her, she loved Harold +only, and to him she plighted her troth. +</P> + +<P> +Among the other youth of whom Yseult was beloved was Alfred, and he was +sore angered that Yseult showed favor to Harold, so that one day Alfred +said to Harold: "Is it right that old Siegfried should come from his +grave and have Yseult to wife?" Then added he, "Prithee, good sir, why +do you turn so white when I speak your grandsire's name?" +</P> + +<P> +Then Harold asked, "What know you of Siegfried that you taunt me? What +memory of him should vex me now?" +</P> + +<P> +"We know and we know," retorted Alfred. "There are some tales told us +by our grandmas we have not forgot." +</P> + +<P> +So ever after that Alfred's words and Alfred's bitter smile haunted +Harold by day and night. +</P> + +<P> +Harold's grandsire, Siegfried the Teuton, had been a man of cruel +violence. The legend said that a curse rested upon him, and that at +certain times he was possessed of an evil spirit that wreaked its fury +on mankind. But Siegfried had been dead full many years, and there was +naught to mind the world of him save the legend and a cunning-wrought +spear which he had from Brunehilde, the witch. This spear was such a +weapon that it never lost its brightness, nor had its point been +blunted. It hung in Harold's chamber, and it was the marvel among +weapons of that time. +</P> + +<P> +Yseult knew that Alfred loved her, but she did not know of the bitter +words which Alfred had spoken to Harold. Her love for Harold was +perfect in its trust and gentleness. But Alfred had hit the truth: the +curse of old Siegfried was upon Harold—slumbering a century, it had +awakened in the blood of the grandson, and Harold knew the curse that +was upon him, and it was this that seemed to stand between him and +Yseult. But love is stronger than all else, and Harold loved. +</P> + +<P> +Harold did not tell Yseult of the curse that was upon him, for he +feared that she would not love him if she knew. Whensoever he felt the +fire of the curse burning in his veins he would say to her, "To-morrow +I hunt the wild boar in the uttermost forest," or, "Next week I go +stag-stalking among the distant northern hills." Even so it was that +he ever made good excuse for his absence, and Yseult thought no evil +things, for she was trustful; ay, though he went many times away and +was long gone, Yseult suspected no wrong. So none beheld Harold when +the curse was upon him in its violence. +</P> + +<P> +Alfred alone bethought himself of evil things. "'T is passing +strange," quoth he, "that ever and anon this gallant lover should quit +our company and betake himself whither none knoweth. In sooth 't will +be well to have an eye on old Siegfried's grandson." +</P> + +<P> +Harold knew that Alfred watched him zealously, and he was tormented by +a constant fear that Alfred would discover the curse that was on him; +but what gave him greater anguish was the fear that mayhap at some +moment when he was in Yseult's presence, the curse would seize upon him +and cause him to do great evil unto her, whereby she would be destroyed +or her love for him would be undone forever. So Harold lived in +terror, feeling that his love was hopeless, yet knowing not how to +combat it. +</P> + +<P> +Now, it befell in those times that the country round about was ravaged +of a werewolf, a creature that was feared by all men howe'er so +valorous. This werewolf was by day a man, but by night a wolf given to +ravage and to slaughter, and having a charmed life against which no +human agency availed aught. Wheresoever he went he attacked and +devoured mankind, spreading terror and desolation round about, and the +dream-readers said that the earth would not be freed from the werewolf +until some man offered himself a voluntary sacrifice to the monster's +rage. +</P> + +<P> +Now, although Harold was known far and wide as a mighty huntsman, he +had never set forth to hunt the werewolf, and, strange enow, the +werewolf never ravaged the domain while Harold was therein. Whereat +Alfred marvelled much, and oftentimes he said: "Our Harold is a +wondrous huntsman. Who is like unto him in stalking the timid doe and +in crippling the fleeing boar? But how passing well doth he time his +absence from the haunts of the werewolf. Such valor beseemeth our +young Siegfried." +</P> + +<P> +Which being brought to Harold his heart flamed with anger, but he made +no answer, lest he should betray the truth he feared. +</P> + +<P> +It happened so about that time that Yseult said to Harold, "Wilt thou +go with me to-morrow even to the feast in the sacred grove?" +</P> + +<P> +"That can I not do," answered Harold. "I am privily summoned hence to +Normandy upon a mission of which I shall some time tell thee. And I +pray thee, on thy love for me, go not to the feast in the sacred grove +without me." +</P> + +<P> +"What say'st thou?" cried Yseult. "Shall I not go to the feast of Ste. +Aelfreda? My father would be sore displeased were I not there with the +other maidens. 'T were greatest pity that I should despite his love +thus." +</P> + +<P> +"But do not, I beseech thee," Harold implored. "Go not to the feast of +Ste. Aelfreda in the sacred grove! And thou would thus love me, go +not—see, thou my life, on my two knees I ask it!" +</P> + +<P> +"How pale thou art," said Yseult, "and trembling." +</P> + +<P> +"Go not to the sacred grove upon the morrow night," he begged. +</P> + +<P> +Yseult marvelled at his acts and at his speech. Then, for the first +time, she thought him to be jealous—whereat she secretly rejoiced +(being a woman). +</P> + +<P> +"Ah," quoth she, "thou dost doubt my love," but when she saw a look of +pain come on his face she added—as if she repented of the words she +had spoken—"or dost thou fear the werewolf?" +</P> + +<P> +Then Harold answered, fixing his eyes on hers, "Thou hast said it; it +is the werewolf that I fear." +</P> + +<P> +"Why dost thou look at me so strangely, Harold?" cried Yseult. "By the +cruel light in thine eyes one might almost take thee to be the +werewolf!" +</P> + +<P> +"Come hither, sit beside me," said Harold tremblingly, "and I will tell +thee why I fear to have thee go to the feast of Ste. Aelfreda to-morrow +evening. Hear what I dreamed last night. I dreamed I was the +werewolf—do not shudder, dear love, for 't was only a dream. +</P> + +<P> +"A grizzled old man stood at my bedside and strove to pluck my soul +from my bosom. +</P> + +<P> +"'What would'st thou?' I cried. +</P> + +<P> +"'Thy soul is mine,' he said, 'thou shalt live out my curse. Give me +thy soul—hold back thy hands—give me thy soul, I say.' +</P> + +<P> +"'Thy curse shall not be upon me,' I cried. 'What have I done that thy +curse should rest upon me? Thou shalt not have my soul.' +</P> + +<P> +"'For my offence shalt thou suffer, and in my curse thou shalt endure +hell—it is so decreed.' +</P> + +<P> +"So spake the old man, and he strove with me, and he prevailed against +me, and he plucked my soul from my bosom, and he said, 'Go, search and +kill'—and—and lo, I was a wolf upon the moor. +</P> + +<P> +"The dry grass crackled beneath my tread. The darkness of the night +was heavy and it oppressed me. Strange horrors tortured my soul, and +it groaned and groaned, gaoled in that wolfish body. The wind +whispered to me; with its myriad voices it spake to me and said, 'Go, +search and kill.' And above these voices sounded the hideous laughter +of an old man. I fled the moor—whither I knew not, nor knew I what +motive lashed me on. +</P> + +<P> +"I came to a river and I plunged in. A burning thirst consumed me, and +I lapped the waters of the river—they were waves of flame, and they +flashed around me and hissed, and what they said was, 'Go, search and +kill,' and I heard the old man's laughter again. +</P> + +<P> +"A forest lay before me with its gloomy thickets and its sombre +shadows—with its ravens, its vampires, its serpents, its reptiles, and +all its hideous brood of night. I darted among its thorns and crouched +amid the leaves, the nettles, and the brambles. The owls hooted at me +and the thorns pierced my flesh. 'Go, search and kill,' said +everything. The hares sprang from my pathway; the other beasts ran +bellowing away; every form of life shrieked in my ears—the curse was +on me—I was the werewolf. +</P> + +<P> +"On, on I went with the fleetness of the wind, and my soul groaned in +its wolfish prison, and the winds and the waters and the trees bade me, +'Go, search and kill, thou accursed brute; go, search and kill.' +</P> + +<P> +"Nowhere was there pity for the wolf; what mercy, thus, should I, the +werewolf, show? The curse was on me and it filled me with a hunger and +a thirst for blood. Skulking on my way within myself I cried, 'Let me +have blood, oh, let me have human blood, that this wrath may be +appeased, that this curse may be removed.' +</P> + +<P> +"At last I came to the sacred grove. Sombre loomed the poplars, the +oaks frowned upon me. Before me stood an old man—'twas he, grizzled +and taunting, whose curse I bore. He feared me not. All other living +things fled before me, but the old man feared me not. A maiden stood +beside him. She did not see me, for she was blind. +</P> + +<P> +"Kill, kill,' cried the old man, and he pointed at the girl beside him. +</P> + +<P> +"Hell raged within me—the curse impelled me—I sprang at her throat. +I heard the old man's laughter once more, and then—then I awoke, +trembling, cold, horrified." +</P> + +<P> +Scarce was this dream told when Alfred strode that way. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, by'r Lady," quoth he, "I bethink me never to have seen a sorrier +twain." +</P> + +<P> +Then Yseult told him of Harold's going away and how that Harold had +besought her not to venture to the feast of Ste. Aelfreda in the sacred +grove. +</P> + +<P> +"These fears are childish," cried Alfred boastfully. "And thou +sufferest me, sweet lady, I will bear thee company to the feast, and a +score of my lusty yeomen with their good yew-bows and honest spears, +they shall attend me. There be no werewolf, I trow, will chance about +with us." +</P> + +<P> +Whereat Yseult laughed merrily, and Harold said: "'T is well; thou +shalt go to the sacred grove, and may my love and Heaven's grace +forefend all evil." +</P> + +<P> +Then Harold went to his abode, and he fetched old Siegfried's spear +back unto Yseult, and he gave it into her two hands, saying, "Take this +spear with thee to the feast to-morrow night. It is old Siegfried's +spear, possessing mighty virtue and marvellous." +</P> + +<P> +And Harold took Yseult to his heart and blessed her, and he kissed her +upon her brow and upon her lips, saying, "Farewell, oh, my beloved. +How wilt thou love me when thou know'st my sacrifice. Farewell, +farewell forever, oh, alder-liefest mine." +</P> + +<P> +So Harold went his way, and Yseult was lost in wonderment. +</P> + +<P> +On the morrow night came Yseult to the sacred grove wherein the feast +was spread, and she bore old Siegfried's spear with her in her girdle. +Alfred attended her, and a score of lusty yeomen were with him. In the +grove there was great merriment, and with singing and dancing and games +withal did the honest folk celebrate the feast of the fair Ste. +Aelfreda. +</P> + +<P> +But suddenly a mighty tumult arose, and there were cries of "The +werewolf!" "The werewolf!" Terror seized upon all—stout hearts were +frozen with fear. Out from the further forest rushed the werewolf, +wood wroth, bellowing hoarsely, gnashing his fangs and tossing hither +and thither the yellow foam from his snapping jaws. He sought Yseult +straight, as if an evil power drew him to the spot where she stood. +But Yseult was not afeared; like a marble statue she stood and saw the +werewolf's coming. The yeomen, dropping their torches and casting +aside their bows, had fled; Alfred alone abided there to do the monster +battle. +</P> + +<P> +At the approaching wolf he hurled his heavy lance, but as it struck the +werewolf's bristling back the weapon was all to-shivered. +</P> + +<P> +Then the werewolf, fixing his eyes upon Yseult, skulked for a moment in +the shadow of the yews and thinking then of Harold's words, Yseult +plucked old Siegfried's spear from her girdle, raised it on high, and +with the strength of despair sent it hurtling through the air. +</P> + +<P> +The werewolf saw the shining weapon, and a cry burst from his gaping +throat—a cry of human agony. And Yseult saw in the werewolf's eyes +the eyes of some one she had seen and known, but 't was for an instant +only, and then the eyes were no longer human, but wolfish in their +ferocity. A supernatural force seemed to speed the spear in its +flight. With fearful precision the weapon smote home and buried itself +by half its length in the werewolf's shaggy breast just above the +heart, and then, with a monstrous sigh—as if he yielded up his life +without regret—the werewolf fell dead in the shadow of the yews. +</P> + +<P> +Then, ah, then in very truth there was great joy, and loud were the +acclaims, while, beautiful in her trembling pallor, Yseult was led unto +her home, where the people set about to give great feast to do her +homage, for the werewolf was dead, and she it was that had slain him. +</P> + +<P> +But Yseult cried out: "Go, search for Harold—go, bring him to me. Nor +eat, nor sleep till he be found." +</P> + +<P> +"Good my lady," quoth Alfred, "how can that be, since he hath betaken +himself to Normandy?" +</P> + +<P> +"I care not where he be," she cried. "My heart stands still until I +look into his eyes again." +</P> + +<P> +"Surely he hath not gone to Normandy," outspake Hubert. "This very +eventide I saw him enter his abode." +</P> + +<P> +They hastened thither—a vast company. His chamber door was barred. +</P> + +<P> +"Harold, Harold, come forth!" they cried, as they beat upon the door, +but no answer came to their calls and knockings. Afeared, they +battered down the door, and when it fell they saw that Harold lay upon +his bed. +</P> + +<P> +"He sleeps," said one. "See, he holds a portrait in his hand—and it +is her portrait. How fair he is and how tranquilly he sleeps." +</P> + +<P> +But no, Harold was not asleep. His face was calm and beautiful, as if +he dreamed of his beloved, but his raiment was red with the blood that +streamed from a wound in his breast—a gaping, ghastly spear wound just +above his heart. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +From "Culture's Garland" +</H3> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A MARVELLOUS INVENTION +</H3> + +<P> +It is narrated, that, once upon a time, there lived a youth who +required so much money for the gratification of his dissolute desires, +that he was compelled to sell his library in order to secure funds. +Thereupon, he despatched a letter to his venerable father, saying, +"Rejoice with me, O father! for already am I beginning to live upon the +profits of my books." +</P> + +<P> +Professor Andrew J. Thorpe has invented an ingenious machine which will +be likely to redound to the physical comfort and the intellectual +benefit of our fellow-citizens. We are disposed to treat of this +invention at length, for two reasons: first, because it is a Chicago +invention; and, second, because it seems particularly calculated to +answer an important demand that has existed in Chicago for a long time. +Professor Thorpe's machine is nothing less than a combination parlor, +library, and folding bedstead, adapted to the drawing-room, the study, +the dining-room, and the sleeping apartment—a producer capable of +giving to the world thousands upon thousands of tomes annually, and +these, too, in a shape most attractive to our public. +</P> + +<P> +Professor Thorpe himself is of New-England birth and education; and, +until became West, he was called "Uncle Andy Thorpe." For many years +he lived in New Britain, Connecticut; and there he pursued the vocation +of a manufacturer of sofas, settees, settles, and bed-lounges. He came +to Chicago three years ago; and not long thereafter, he discovered that +the most imperative demand of this community was for a bed which +combined, "at one and the same time" (as he says, for he is no +rhetorician), the advantages of a bed and the advantages of a library. +In a word, Chicago was a literary centre; and it required, even in the +matter of its sleeping apparata, machines which, when not in use for +bed-purposes, could be utilized to the nobler ends of literary display. +</P> + +<P> +In this emergency the fertile Yankee wit of the immigrant came to his +assistance; and about a year ago he put upon the market the ingenious +and valuable combination which has commanded the admiration and +patronage of our best literary circles, and which at this moment we are +pleased to discourse of. +</P> + +<P> +It has been our good fortune to inspect the superb line of folding +library-bedsteads which Professor Thorpe offers to the public at +startlingly low figures, and we are surprised at the ingenuity and the +learning apparent in these contrivances. The Essay bedstead is a +particularly handsome piece of furniture, being made of polished +mahogany, elaborately carved, and intricately embellished throughout. +When closed, this bedstead presents the verisimilitude of a large +book-case filled with the essays of Emerson, Carlyle, Bacon, Montaigne, +Hume, Macaulay, Addison, Steele, Johnson, Budgell, Hughes, and others. +These volumes are made in one piece, of the best seasoned oak, and are +hollow within throughout; so that each shelf constitutes in reality a +chest or drawer which may be utilized for divers domestic purposes. In +these drawers a husband may keep his shirts or neckties; or in them a +wife may stow away her furs or flannel underwear in summer, and her +white piques and muslins in winter. +</P> + +<P> +These drawers (each of which extends to the height of twelve inches) +are faced in superb tree-calf, and afford a perfect representation of +rows of books, the title and number of each volume being printed in +massive gold characters. The weight of the six drawers in this Essay +bedstead does not exceed twelve pounds; but the machine is so stoutly +built as to admit of the drawers containing a weight equivalent to six +hundred pounds without interfering with the ease and nicety of the +machine's operation. Upon touching a gold-mounted knob, the book-case +divides, the front part of it descends; and, presto! you have as +beautiful a couch as ever Sancho could have envied. +</P> + +<P> +This Essay bedstead is sold for four hundred and fifty dollars. +Another design, with the case and bed in black walnut, the books in +papier maché, and none but English essayists in the Collection, can be +had for a hundred dollars. +</P> + +<P> +A British Poets' folding-bed can be had for three hundred dollars. +This is an imitation of the blue-and-gold edition published in Boston +some years ago. Busts of Shakespeare and of Wordsworth appear at the +front upper corners of the book-case, and these serve as pedestals to +the machine when it is unfolded into a bedstead. This style, we are +told by Professor Thorpe, has been officially indorsed by the poetry +committee of the Chicago Literary Club. A second design, in royal +octavo white pine, and omitting the works of Chaucer, Spenser, Ben +Jonson, and Herrick, is quoted at a hundred and fifty dollars. +</P> + +<P> +The Historical folding-bed contains complete sets of Hume, Gibbon, +Guizot, Prescott, Macaulay, Bancroft, Lingard, Buckle, etc., together +with Haines's "History of Lake-County Indians" and Peck's "Gazetteer of +Illinois," bound in half calf, and having a storage space of three feet +by fourteen inches to each row, there being six rows of these books. +You can get this folding-bed for two hundred dollars, or there is a +second set in cloth that can be had for a hundred dollars. +</P> + +<P> +The Dramatists' folding-bed (No. 1) costs three hundred dollars, bound +in tree-calf hard maple, the case being in polished cherry, elaborately +carved. The works included in this library are Shakespeare's, +Schiller's, Molière's, Goethe's, Jonson's, Bartley Campbell's, and many +others. Style No. 2 of this folding-bed has not yet been issued, owing +to some difficulty which Professor Thorpe has had with eastern +publishers; but when the matter of copyright has been adjusted, the +works of Plautus, Euripides, Thucydides, and other classic dramatists +will be brought out for the delectation of appreciative Chicagoans. +</P> + +<P> +The Novelists' bed can be had in numerous styles. One contains the +novels of Mackenzie, Fielding, Smollett, Walpole, Dickens, Thackeray, +and Scott, and is bound in tree-calf: another, better adapted to the +serious-minded (especially to young women), is made up of the novels of +Maria Edgeworth, Miss Jane Porter, Miss Burney, and the Rev. E. P. Roe. +This style can be had for fifty dollars. But the Novelists' +folding-bed is manufactured in a dozen different styles, and one should +consult the catalogue before ordering. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE STORY OF XANTHIPPE +</H3> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="salutation"> +CHICAGO, ILL. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +TO THE EDITOR: I am in a great dilemma, and I come to you for counsel. +I love and wish to marry a young carpenter who has been waiting on me +for two years. My father wants me to marry a literary man fifteen +years older than myself,—a very smart man I will admit, but I fancy he +is <I>too</I> smart for me. I much prefer the young carpenter, yet father +says a marriage with the literary man would give me the social position +he fancies I would enjoy. Now, what am I to do? What would <I>you</I> do, +if you were I? +</P> + +<P CLASS="closing"> +Yours in trouble,<BR> +PRISCILLA.<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Listen, gentle maiden, and ye others of her sex, to the story of +Xanthippe, the Athenian woman. +</P> + +<P> +Very, very many years ago there dwelt in Athens a fruit-dealer of the +name of Kimon, who was possessed of two daughters,—the one named Helen +and the other Xanthippe. At the age of twenty, Helen was wed to +Aristagoras the tinker, and went with him to abide in his humble +dwelling in the suburbs of Athens, about one parasang's distance from +the Acropolis. +</P> + +<P> +Xanthippe, the younger sister, gave promise of singular beauty; and at +an early age she developed a wit that was the marvel and the joy of her +father's household, and of the society that was to be met with there. +Prosperous in a worldly way, Kimon was enabled to give this favorite +daughter the best educational advantages; and he was justly proud when +at the age of nineteen Xanthippe was graduated from the Minerva Female +College with all the highest honors of her class. There was but one +thing that cast a shadow upon the old gentleman's happiness, and that +was his pain at observing that among all Xanthippe's associates there +was one upon whom she bestowed her sweetest smiles; namely, Gatippus, +the son of Heliopharnes the plasterer. +</P> + +<P> +"My daughter," said Kimon, "you are now of an age when it becomes a +maiden to contemplate marriage as a serious and solemn probability: +therefore I beseech you to practise the severest discrimination in the +choice of your male associates, and I enjoin upon you to have naught to +say or to do with any youth that might not be considered an eligible +husband; for, by the dog! it is my wish to see you wed to one of good +station." +</P> + +<P> +Kimon thereupon proceeded to tell his daughter that his dearest +ambition had been a desire to unite her in marriage with a literary +man. He saw that the tendency of the times was in the direction of +literature; schools of philosophy were springing up on every side, +logic and poetry were prated in every household. Why should not the +beautiful and accomplished daughter of Kimon the fruiterer become one +of that group of geniuses who were contributing at that particular time +to the glory of Athens as the literary centre of the world? The truth +was that, having prospered in his trade, Kimon pined for social +recognition; it grieved him that one of his daughters had wed a tinker, +and he had registered a vow with Pallas that his other daughter should +be given into the arms of a worthier man. +</P> + +<P> +Xanthippe was a dutiful daughter; she had been taught to obey her +parents; and although her heart inclined to Gatippus, the son of +Heliopharnes the plasterer, she smothered all rebellious emotions, and +said she would try to do her father's will. Accordingly, therefore, +Kimon introduced into his home one evening a certain young Athenian +philosopher,—a typical literary Bohemian of that time,—one Socrates, +a creature of wondrous wisdom and ready wit. +</P> + +<P> +The appearance of this suitor, presumptive if not apparent, did not +particularly please Xanthippe. Socrates was an ill-favored young man. +He was tall, raw-boned, and gangling. When he walked, he slouched; and +when he sat down, he sprawled like a crab upon its back. His coarse +hair rebelled upon his head and chin; and he had a broad, flat nose, +that had been broken in two places by the kick of an Assyrian mule. +Withal, Socrates talked delightfully; and it is not hard to imagine +that Xanthippe's pretty face, plump figure, and vivacious manners +served as an inspiration to the young philosopher's wit. So it was not +long ere Xanthippe found herself entertaining a profound respect for +Socrates. +</P> + +<P> +At all events, Xanthippe, the Athenian beauty, was wed to Socrates the +philosopher. Putting all thought of Gatippus, the son of Heliopharnes +the plasterer, out of her mind, Xanthippe went to the temple of +Aphrodite, and was wed to Socrates. Historians differ as to the +details of the affair; but it seems generally agreed that Socrates was +late at the ceremony, having been delayed on his way to the temple by +one Diogenes, who asked to converse with him on the immortality of the +soul. Socrates stopped to talk, and would perhaps have been stopping +there still had not Kimon hunted him up, and fetched him to the wedding. +</P> + +<P> +A great wedding it was. A complete report of it was written by one of +Socrates' friends, another literary man, named Xenophon. The literary +guild, including philosophers by the score, were there in full feather, +and Xenophon put himself to the trouble of giving a complete list of +these distinguished persons; and to the report, as it was penned for +the "Athens Weekly Papyrus," he appended a fine puff of Socrates, which +has led posterity to surmise that Socrates conferred a great compliment +on Xanthippe in marrying her. Yet, what else could we expect of this +man Xenophon? The only other thing he ever did was to conduct a +retreat from a Persian battle-field. +</P> + +<P> +And now began the trials of Xanthippe, the wife of the literary man. +Ay, it was not long ere the young wife discovered that, of all husbands +in the world, the literary husband was the hardest to get along with. +Always late at his meals, always absorbed in his work, always +indifferent to the comforts of home—what a trial this man Socrates +must have been! Why, half the time, poor Xanthippe did n't know where +the next month's rent was coming from; and as for the grocer's and +butcher's bills—well, between this creditor and that creditor the +tormented little wife's life fast became a burden to her. Had it not +been for her father's convenient fruit-stall, Xanthippe must have +starved; and, at best, fruit as a regular diet is hardly preferable to +starvation. And while she scrimped and saved, and made her own gowns, +and patched up the children's kilts as best she might, Socrates stood +around the streets talking about the immortality of the soul and the +vanity of human life! +</P> + +<P> +Many times Xanthippe pined for the amusements and seductive gayeties of +social life, but she got none. The only society she knew was the prosy +men-folk whom Socrates used to fetch home with him occasionally. +Xanthippe grew to hate them, and we don't blame her. Just imagine that +dirty old Diogenes lolling around on the furniture, and expressing his +preference for a tub; picking his teeth with his jack-knife, and +smoking his wretched cob-pipe in the parlor! +</P> + +<P> +"Socrates, dear," Xanthippe would say at times, "please take me to the +theatre to-night; I do so want to see that new tragedy by Euclydides." +</P> + +<P> +But Socrates would swear by Hercules, or by the dog, or by some other +classic object, that he had an engagement with the rhetoricians, or +with the sophists, or with Alcibiades, or with Crito, or with some of +the rest of the boys—he called them philosophers, but we know what he +meant by that. +</P> + +<P> +So it was toil and disappointment, disappointment and toil, from one +month's end to another's; and so the years went by. +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes Xanthippe rebelled; but, with all her wit, how could she +reason with Socrates, the most gifted and the wisest of all +philosophers? He had a provoking way of practising upon her the +exasperating methods of Socratic debate,—a system he had invented, and +for which he still is revered. Never excited or angry himself, he +would ply her with questions until she found herself entangled in a +network of contradictions; and then she would be driven, willy-nilly, +to that last argument of woman—"because." Then Socrates—the +brute!—would laugh at her, and would go out and sit on the front +door-steps, and look henpecked. This is positively the meanest thing a +man <I>can</I> do! +</P> + +<P> +"Look at that poor man," said the wife of Edippus the cobbler. "I <I>do</I> +believe his wife is cruel to him: see how sad and lonesome he is." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't play with those Socrates children," said another matron. "Their +mother must be a dreadful shiftless creature to let her young ones run +the streets in such patched-up clothes." +</P> + +<P> +So up and down the street the neighbors gossiped—oh! it was very +humiliating to Xanthippe. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile Helen lived in peace with Aristagoras the tinker. Their +little home was cosey and comfortable. Xanthippe used to go to see +them sometimes, but the sight of their unpretentious happiness made her +even more miserable. Meanwhile, too, Xanthippe's old beau, Gatippus, +had married; and from Thessaly came reports of the beautiful vineyard +and the many wine-presses he had acquired. So Xanthippe's life became +somewhat more than a struggle; it became a martyrdom. And the wrinkles +came into Xanthippe's face, and Xanthippe's hair grew gray, and +Xanthippe's heart was filled with the bitterness of disappointment. +And the years, full of grind and of poverty and of neglect, crept +wearily on. +</P> + +<P> +Time is the grim old collector who goes dunning for the abused wife, +and Time finally forced a settlement with Socrates. +</P> + +<P> +Having loafed around Athens for many years to the neglect of his +family, and having obtruded his views touching the immortality of the +soul upon certain folk who believed that the first duty of a man was to +keep his family from starving to death, Socrates was apprehended on a +bench-warrant, thrown into jail, tried by a jury, and sentenced to die. +</P> + +<P> +It was in this emergency that the great, the divine nobility of the +wife asserted itself. She had been neglected by this man, she had gone +in rags for him, she had sacrificed her beauty and her hopes and her +pride, she had endured the pity of her neighbors, she had heard her +children cry with hunger—ay, all for him; yet, when a righteous fate +o'ertook him, she forgot all the misery of his doing, and she went to +him to be his comforter. +</P> + +<P> +Well, she could not have done otherwise, for she was a woman. +</P> + +<P> +Where was his philosophy now? where his wisdom, his logic, his wit? +What had become of his disputatious and learned associates that not one +of them stood up to plead for the life of Socrates now? Why, the first +breath of adversity had blown them away as though they were but mist; +and, with these false friends scattered like the coward chaff they +were, grim old Socrates turned to Xanthippe for consolation. +</P> + +<P> +She burdened his ears with no reproaches, she spoke not of herself. +Her thoughts were of him only, and it was to his chilled spirit that +she alone ministered. Not even the horrors of the hemlock draught +could drive her from his side, or unloose her arms from about his neck; +and when at last the philosopher lay stiff in death, it was Xanthippe +that bore away his corpse, and, with spices moistened by her tears, +made it ready for the grave. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BAKED BEANS AND CULTURE +</H3> + +<P> +The members of the Boston Commercial Club are charming gentlemen. They +are now the guests of the Chicago Commercial Club, and are being shown +every attention that our market affords. They are a fine-looking lot, +well-dressed and well-mannered, with just enough whiskers to be +impressive without being imposing. +</P> + +<P> +"This is a darned likely village," said Seth Adams last evening. +"Everybody is rushin' 'round an' doin' business as if his life depended +on it. Should think they 'd git all tuckered out 'fore night, but I +'ll be darned if there ain't just as many folks on the street after +nightfall as afore. We 're stoppin' at the Palmer tavern; an' my +chamber is up so all-fired high that I can count all your meetin'-house +steeples from the winder." +</P> + +<P> +Last night five or six of these Boston merchants sat around the office +of the hotel, and discussed matters and things. Pretty soon they got +to talking about beans; this was the subject which they dwelt on with +evident pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +"Waal, sir," said Ephraim Taft, a wholesale dealer in maple-sugar and +flavored lozenges, "you kin talk 'bout your new-fashioned dishes an' +high-falutin vittles; but, when you come right down to it, there ain't +no better eatin' than a dish o' baked pork 'n' beans." +</P> + +<P> +"That's so, b'gosh!" chorused the others. +</P> + +<P> +"The truth o' the matter is," continued Mr. Taft, "that beans is good +for everybody,—'t don't make no difference whether he 's well or sick. +Why, I 've known a thousand folks—waal, mebbe not quite a thousand; +but,—waal, now, jest to show, take the case of Bill Holbrook; you +remember Bill, don't ye?" +</P> + +<P> +"Bill Holbrook?" said Mr. Ezra Eastman; "why, of course I do! Used to +live down to Brimfield, next to the Moses Howard farm." +</P> + +<P> +"That 's the man," resumed Mr. Taft. "Waal, Bill fell sick,—kinder +moped round, tired like, for a week or two, an' then tuck to his bed. +His folks sent for Dock Smith,—ol' Dock Smith that used to carry round +a pair o' leather saddlebags,—gosh, they don't have no sech doctors +nowadays! Waal, the dock, he come; an' he looked at Bill's tongue, an' +felt uv his pulse, an' said that Bill had typhus fever. Ol' Dock Smith +was a very careful, conserv'tive man, an' he never said nothin' unless +he knowed he was right. +</P> + +<P> +"Bill began to git wuss, an' he kep' a-gittin' wuss every day. One +mornin' ol' Dock Smith sez, 'Look a-here, Bill, I guess you 're a +goner; as I figger it, you can't hol' out till nightfall.' +</P> + +<P> +"Bill's mother insisted on a con-sul-tation bein' held; so ol' Dock +Smith sent over for young Dock Brainerd. I calc'late that, next to ol' +Dock Smith, young Dock Brainerd was the smartest doctor that ever lived. +</P> + +<P> +"Waal, pretty soon along come Dock Brainerd; an' he an' Dock Smith went +all over Bill, an' looked at his tongue, an felt uv his pulse, an' told +him it was a gone case, an' that he had got to die. Then they went off +into the spare chamber to hold their con-sul-tation. +</P> + +<P> +"Waal, Bill he lay there in the front room a-pantin' an' a-gaspin' an' +a-wond'rin' whether it wuz true. As he wuz thinkin', up comes the girl +to get a clean tablecloth out of the clothes-press, an' she left the +door ajar as she come in. Bill he gave a sniff, an' his eyes grew more +natural-like; he gathered together all the strength he had, an' he +raised himself up on one elbow, an' sniffed again." +</P> + +<P> +"'Sary,' says he, 'wot's that a-cookin'?' +</P> + +<P> +"'Beans,' says she, 'beans for dinner.' +</P> + +<P> +"'Sary,' says the dyin' man, 'I must hev a plate uv them beans!' +</P> + +<P> +"'Sakes alive, Mr. Holbrook!' says she; 'if you wuz to eat any o' them +beans, it 'd kill ye!' +</P> + +<P> +"'If I've got to die,'says he, 'I'm goin' to die happy; fetch me a +plate uv them beans.' +</P> + +<P> +"Waal, Sary, she pikes off to the doctors. +</P> + +<P> +"'Look a-here,' says she. 'Mr. Holbrook smelt the beans cookin', an' +he says he 's got to have a plate uv 'em. Now, what shall I do about +it?' +</P> + +<P> +"'Waal, doctor,' says Dock Smith, 'what do you think 'bout it? +</P> + +<P> +"'He 's got to die anyhow,' says Dock Brainerd; 'an' I don't suppose +the beans 'll make any diff'rence.' +</P> + +<P> +"'That's the way I figger it,' says Dock Smith; 'in all my practice I +never knew of beans hurtin' anybody.' +</P> + +<P> +"So Sary went down to the kitchen, an' brought up a plateful of hot +baked beans. Dock Smith raised Bill up in bed, an' Dock Brainerd put a +piller under the small of Bill's back. Then Sary sat down by the bed, +an' fed them beans into Bill until Bill could n't hold any more. +</P> + +<P> +"'How air you feelin' now?' asked Dock Smith. +</P> + +<P> +"Bill did n't say nuthin'; he jest smiled sort uv peaceful-like, an' +closed his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"'The end hes come,' said Dock Brainerd sof'ly. 'Bill is dyin'.' +</P> + +<P> +"Then Bill murmured kind o' far-away-like (as if he was dreamin'), 'I +ain't dyin'; I 'm dead an' in heaven.' +</P> + +<P> +"Next mornin' Bill got out uv bed, an' done a big day's work on the +farm, an' he hain't hed a sick spell since. Them beans cured him! I +tell you, sir, that beans is," etc. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +MLLE. PRUD'HOMME'S BOOK +</H3> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="salutation"> +WASHINGTON, D. C., Mai 3. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +M. LE REDACTEUR: D'apres votre article dans la "New-York Tribune," +copie du "Chicago News," je me figure que les habitants de Chicago +ayant grand besoin d'un systeme de prononciation francaise, je prends +la liberte de vous envoyer par la malle-poste le No. 2 d'un ouvrage que +je viens de publier; si vous desirez les autres numeros, je me ferai un +plaisir de vous les envoyer aussi. Les emballeurs de porc ayant peu de +temps a consacrer a l'etude, vu l' omnipotent dollar, seront je crois +enchantes et reconnaissants d'un systeme par lequel ils pourront +apprendre et comprendre la langue de la fine Sara, au bout de trente +lecons, si surtout Monsieur le redacteur veut bien au bout de sa plume +spirituelle leur en indiquer le chemin. Sur ce l'auteur du systeme a +bien l'honneur de le saluer. +</P> + +<P CLASS="closing"> +V. PRUD'HOMME. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +This is a copy of a pleasant letter we have received from a +distinguished Washington lady; we do not print the accentuations, +because the Chicago patwor admits of none. A literal rendering of the +letter into English is as follows: "From after your article in 'The New +York Tribune,' copied from 'The Chicago News,' I to myself have figured +that the inhabitants of Chicago having great want of a system of +pronunciation French, I take the liberty to you to send by the +mail-post the number two of a work which I come from to publish; if you +desire the other numbers, I to myself will make the pleasure of to you +them to send also. The packers of porkers, having little of time to +consecrate to the study (owing to the omnipotent dollar), will be, I +believe, enchanted and grateful of a system by the which they may learn +and understand the language of the clever Sara, at the end of thirty +lessons, especially if Mister the editor will at the end of his pen +witty to them thereof indicate the road. Whereupon the author of the +system has much the honor of him to salute," etc. +</P> + +<P> +We have not given Mdlle. Prud'homme's oovray that conscientious study +and that careful research which we shall devote to it just as soon as +the tremendous spring rush in local literature eases up a little. The +recent opening up of the Straits of Mackinaw, and the prospect of a new +railroad-line into the very heart of the dialectic region of Indiana, +have given Chicago literature so vast an impetus, that we find our +review-table groaning under the weight of oovrays that demand our +scholarly consideration. Mdlle. Prud'homme must understand (for she +appears to be exceedingly amiable) that the oovrays of local +littérateurs have to be reviewed before the oovrays of outside +littérateurs can be taken up. This may seem hard, but it cannot be +helped. +</P> + +<P> +Still, we will say that we appreciate, and are grateful for, the +uncommon interest which Mdlle. Prud'homme seems to take in the +advancement of the French language and French literature in the midst +of us. We have heard many of our leading savants and scholiasts +frequently express poignant regret that they were unable to read "La +Fem de Fu," "Mamzel Zheero Mar Fem," and other noble old French +classics whose fame has reached this modern Athens. With the romances +of Alexandre Dumas, our public is thoroughly acquainted, having seen +the talented James O'Neill in Monty Cristo, and the beautiful and +accomplished Grace Hawthorne ("Only an American Girl") in Cameel; yet +our more enterprising citizens are keenly aware that there are other +French works worthy of perusal—intensely interesting works, too, if +the steel engravings therein are to be accepted as a criterion. +</P> + +<P> +We doubt not that Mdlle. Prud'homme is desirous of doing Chicago a +distinct good; and why, we ask in all seriousness, should this gifted +and amiable French scholar not entertain for Chicago somewhat more than +a friendly spirit, merely? The first settlers of Chicago were +Frenchmen; and, likely as not, some of Mdlle. Prud'homme's ancestors +were of the number of those Spartan voyageurs who first sailed down +Chicago River, pitched their tents on the spot where Kirk's +soap-factory now stands, and captured and brought into the refining +influences of civilization Long John Wentworth, who at that remote +period was frisking about on our prairies, a crude, callow boy, only +ten years old, and only seven feet tall. +</P> + +<P> +Chicago was founded by Jeanne Pierre Renaud, one of the original two +orphans immortalized by Claxton and Halevy's play in thirteen acts of +the same name. At that distant date it was anything but promising; and +its prominent industries were Indians, musk-rats, and scenery. The +only crops harvested were those of malaria, twice per annum,—in +October and in April,—but the yield was sufficient to keep the +community well provided all the year round. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE DEMAND FOR CONDENSED MUSIC +</H3> + +<P> +There is a general belief that the mistake made by the managers of the +symphony concert in Central Music Hall night before last was in not +opening the concert with Beethoven's "Eroica," instead of making it the +last number on the programme. We incline to the opinion, however, +that, in putting the symphony last, the managers complied with the very +first requirement of dramatic composition. This requirement is to the +effect that you must not kill all your people off in the first act. +</P> + +<P> +There doubtless are a small number of worthy people who enjoy these old +symphonies that are being dragged out of oblivion by glass-eyed Teutons +from Boston. It may argue a very low grade of intellectuality, +spirituality, or whatsoever you may be pleased to call it; but we must +confess in all candor, that, much as we revere Mr. Beethoven's memory, +we do not fancy having fifty-five-minute chunks of his musty opi hurled +at us. +</P> + +<P> +It is a marvel to us, that, in these progressive times, such leaders as +Thomas and Gericke do not respond to the popular demand by providing +the public with symphonies in the nutshell. We have condensations in +every line except music. Even literature is being boiled down; because +in these busy times, people demand a literature which they can read +while they run. We have condensed milk, condensed meats, condensed +wines,—condensed everything but music. What a joyous shout would go +up if Thomas or Gericke would only prepare and announce +</P> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +"<I>SYMPHONIES FOR BUSY PEOPLE!<BR> +THE OLD MASTERS EPITOMIZED!</I>"<BR> +</H3> + +<BR> + +<P> +What Chicago demands, and what every enterprising and intelligent +community needs, is the highest class of music on the +"all-the-news-for-two-cents" principle. Blanket-sheet concertizing +must go! +</P> + +<P> +Now, here was this concert, night before last. Two hours and a half to +five numbers! Suppose we figure a little on this subject: +</P> + +<PRE STYLE="font-family: Courier New; font-size: 10pt"> +EXHIBIT A—SYMPHONY. + +Total number of minutes . . . . . . . . . . 150 +Total number of pieces . . . . . . . . . . . 5 +Minutes to each piece . . . . . . . . . . . 30 + +EXHIBIT B—TRADE. + +Total number of minutes . . . . . . . . . . 150 +Hog-slaughtering capacity per minute . . . . 3 +Total killing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 450 +</PRE> + +<BR> + +<P> +Figures will not lie, because (as was the reason with George) they +cannot. And figures prove to us, that, in the time consumed by five +symphonic numbers, the startling number of four hundred and fifty hogs +could be (and are daily) slaughtered, scraped, disembowelled, hewn, and +packed. While forty or fifty able-bodied musicians are discoursing +Beethoven's rambling "Eroica," it were possible to dispatch and to +dress a carload of as fine beeves as ever hailed from Texas; and the +performance of the "Sakuntala" overture might be regarded as a virtual +loss of as much time as would be required for the beheading, skinning, +and dismembering of two hundred head of sheep. +</P> + +<P> +These comparisons have probably never occurred to Mr. Thomas or to Mr. +Gericke; but they are urged by the patrons of music in Chicago, and +therefore they must needs be recognized by the caterers to popular +tastes. Chicago society has been founded upon industry, and the +culture which she now boasts is conserved only by the strictest +attention to business. Nothing is more criminal hereabouts than a +waste of time; and it is no wonder, then, that the crême de la crême of +our élite lift up their hands, and groan, when they discover that it +takes as long to play a classic symphony as it does to slaughter a +carload of Missouri razor-backs, or an invoice of prairie-racers from +Kansas. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +LEARNING AND LITERATURE +</H3> + +<P> +R. J. N. Whiting writes us from New Litchfield, Ill., asking if we can +tell him the name of the author of the poem, of which the following is +the first stanza:— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The weary heart is a pilgrim<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Seeking the Mecca of rest;</SPAN><BR> +Its burden is one of sorrows;<BR> +And it wails a song as it drags along,—<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">'Tis the song of a hopeless quest.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Mr. Whiting says that this poem has been attributed to James Channahon, +a gentleman who flourished about the year 1652; "but," he adds, "its +authorship has not as yet been established with any degree of +certainty." Mr. Whiting has noticed that the "Daily News" is a +"criterion on matters of literary interest," and he craves the boon of +our valuable opinion, touching this important question. +</P> + +<P> +Now, although it is true that we occasionally deal with obsolete +topics, it is far from our desire to make a practice of so doing. It +is natural that, once in a while, when an editor gets hold of a +catalogue of unusual merit, and happens to have a line of +encyclopaedias at hand—it is natural, we say, that, under such +circumstances, an editor should take pleasure in letting his +subscribers know how learnedly he can write about books and things. +But an editor must be careful not to write above the comprehension of +the majority of his readers. If we made a practice of writing as +learnedly as we are capable of writing, the proprietors of this paper +would soon have to raise its price from two cents to five cents per +copy. +</P> + +<P> +We say this in no spirit of egotism; it is simply our good fortune that +we happen to possess extraordinary advantages. We have the best +assortment of cyclopaedias in seven states, and the Public Library is +only two blocks off. It is no wonder, therefore, that our erudition +and our research are of the highest order. +</P> + +<P> +Still it is not practicable that we, being now on earth, should devote +much time to delving into, and wallowing among, the authors of past +centuries. Ignatius Donnelly has been trying for the last three years +to inveigle us into a discussion as to the authorship of Shakespeare's +plays. We have declined to participate in any public brawl with the +Minnesota gentleman, for the simple reason that no good could accrue +therefrom to anybody. If there were an international copyright law, +there would be some use in trying to find out who wrote these plays, in +order that the author might claim royalties on his works; or, if not +the author, his heirs or assigns forever. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Whiting will understand that we cannot take much interest in an +anonymous hymn of the seventeenth century. It is enough for us to know +that the hymn in question could not have been written by a Chicago man, +for the very good reason that Chicago did not exist in the seventeenth +century; that is to say, it existed merely as the haunt of the musquash +and the mud-turtle, and not as the living, breathing metropolis of +to-day. We have our hands full examining into, and criticising, the +live topics of current times: if we were to spend our days and nights +in hunting up the estray poets and authors of the seventeenth century, +how long would it be before the sceptre of trade and culture would slip +irrecoverably from Chicago's grasp? +</P> + +<P> +Chicago has very little respect for the seventeenth century, because +there is nothing in it. The seventeenth century has done nothing for +Chicago: she does not even know that this is the greatest hog-market in +the world, and she has never had any commercial dealings with us in any +line. If Chicago does n't cut a wider swath in history than the +seventeenth century has, we shall be very much ashamed of her. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +"DIE WALKÜRE" UND DER BOOMERANGELUNGEN +</H3> + +<P> +There is a strange fascination about Herr Wagner's musical drama of +"Die Walküre." A great many people have supposed that Herr Sullivan's +opera of "Das Pinafore" was the most remarkable musical work extant, +but we believe the mistake will become apparent as Herr Wagner's +masterpiece grows in years. +</P> + +<P> +We will not pretend to say that "Die Walküre" will ever be whistled +about the streets, as the airs from "Das Pinafore" are whistled; the +fact is, that no rendition of "Die Walküre" can be satisfactory without +the accompaniment of weird flashes of fire; and it is hardly to be +expected that our youth will carry packages of lycopodium, and boxes of +matches, around with them, for the sole purpose of giving the desired +effect to any snatches from Herr Wagner's work they may take the notion +to whistle. But in the sanctity of our homes, around our firesides, in +the front-parlor, where the melodeon or the newly hired piano has been +set up, it is there that Herr Wagner's name will be revered, and his +masterpiece repeated o'er and o'er. The libretto is not above +criticism; it strikes us that there is not enough of it. The +probability is that Herr Wagner ran out of libretto before he had got +through with his music, and therefore had to spread out comparatively +few words over a vast expanse of music. The result is that a great +part of the time the performers are on the stage is devoted to thought, +the orchestra doing a tremendous amount of fiddling, etc., while the +actors wander drearily around, with their arms folded across their +pulmonary departments, and their minds evidently absorbed in profound +cogitation. +</P> + +<P> +As for the music, the only criticism we have to pass upon it is that it +changes its subject too often; in this particular it resembles the +dictionary,—in fact, we believe "Die Walküre" can be termed the +Webster's Unabridged of musical language. Herr Wagner has his own way +of doing business. He goes at it on the principle of the twelfth man, +who holds out against the eleven other jurors, and finally brings them +around to his way of thinking. +</P> + +<P> +For instance, in the midst of a pleasing strain in B natural, Herr +Wagner has a habit of suddenly bringing out a small reed-instrument +with a big voice (we do not know its name), piped in the key of F +sharp. This small reed-instrument will not let go; it holds on to that +F sharp like a mortgage. For a brief period the rest of the +instruments—fiddles, bassoons, viols, flutes, flageolets, cymbals, +drums, etc.—struggle along with an attempt to either drown the +intruder, or bring it around to their way of doing business; but it is +vain. Every last one of them has to slide around from B natural to F +sharp, and they do it as best they can. +</P> + +<P> +Having accomplished its incendiary and revolutionary purpose, the small +reed-instrument subsides until it finds another chance to break out. +It is a mugwump. +</P> + +<P> +Die Walküren, as given us by the Damrosch Company, are nine stout, +comely young women, attired in costumes somewhat similar to the armor +worn by Herr Lawrence Barrett's Roman army in Herr Shakespeare's play +of "Der Julius Caesar." Readers of Norse mythology may suppose that +these weird sisters were dim, vague, shadowy creatures; but they are +mistaken. Brunhilde has the embonpoint of a dowager, and her arms are +as robust and red as a dairy-maid's. +</P> + +<P> +As for Gerhilde, Waltraute, Helmwige, and the rest, they are well-fed, +buxom ladies, evidently of middle age, whose very appearance exhales an +aroma of kraut and garlic, which, by the way, we see by the libretto, +was termed "mead" in the days of Wotan and his court. These Die +Walküren are said to ride fiery, untamed steeds; but only one steed is +exhibited in the drama as it is given at the Columbia. This steed, we +regret to say, is a restless, noisy brute, and invariably has to be led +off the stage by one of das supes, before his act concludes. +</P> + +<P> +However, no one should doubt his heroic nature, inasmuch as the +cabalistic letters "U. S." are distinctly branded upon his left flank. +</P> + +<P> +The Sieglinde of the piece is Fräulein Slach, a young lady no bigger +than a minute, but with wonderful powers of endurance. To say nothing +of Hunding's persecutions, she has to shield Siegmund, elope with him, +climb beetling precipices, ride Brunhilde's fiery, untamed steed, +confront die Walküren, and look on her slain lover, and, in addition to +these prodigies, participate in a Graeco-Roman wrestling-match with an +orchestra of sixty-five pieces for three hours and a half. +</P> + +<P> +Yet she is equal to the emergency. Up to the very last she is as fresh +as a daisy; and, after recovering from her swooning-spell in the second +act, she braces her shoulders back, and dances all around the top notes +of the chromatic scale with the greatest of ease. She is a wonderful +little woman, is Fräulein Slach! What a wee bit of humanity, yet what +a volume of voice she has, and what endurance! +</P> + +<P> +Down among the orchestra people sat a pale, sad man. His apparent +lonesomeness interested us deeply. We could not imagine what he was +there for. Every once in a while he would get up and leave the +orchestra, and dive down under the stage, and appear behind the scenes, +where we could catch glimpses of him practising with a pair of +thirty-pound dumb-bells, and testing a spirometer. Then he would come +back and re-occupy his old seat among the orchestra, and look paler and +sadder than ever. What strange, mysterious being was he? Why did he +inflict his pale, sad presence upon that galaxy of tuneful revellers? +</P> + +<P> +What a cunning master the great Herr Wagner is! For what emergency +does he not provide? It was half-past eleven when the third act began. +Die Walküren had assembled in the dismal dell,—all but the den +Walküre, Brunhilde. Wotan is approaching on appalling storm-clouds, +composed of painted mosquito-bars and blue lights. The sheet-iron +thunder crashes; and the orchestra is engaged in another mortal combat +with that revolutionary mugwump, the small reed-instrument, that +persists in reforming the tune of the opera. +</P> + +<P> +Then the pale, sad man produces a large brass horn, big enough at the +business end for a cow to walk into. It is a fearful, ponderous +instrument, manufactured especially for "Die Walküre" at the Krupp Gun +Factory in Essen. It has an appropriate name: the master himself +christened it the boomerangelungen. It is the monarch, the Jumbo of +all musical instruments. The cuspidor end of it protrudes into one of +the proscenium-boxes. The fair occupants of the box are frightened, +and timidly shrink back. +</P> + +<P> +Wotan is at hand. He comes upon seven hundred yards of white tarletan, +and fourteen pounds of hissing, blazing lycopodium! The pale, sad man +at the other end of the boomerangelungen explains his wherefore. He +applies his lips to the brazen monster. His eyeballs hang out upon his +cheeks, the veins rise on his neck, and the lumpy cords and muscles +stand out on his arms and hands. Boohoop, boohoop!—yes, six times +boohoop does that brazen megatherium blare out, vivid and distinct, +above all the other sixty instruments in the orchestra. Then the white +tarletan clouds vanish, the blazing lycopodium goes out, and Wotan +stands before the excited spectators. +</P> + +<P> +Then the pale, sad man lays down the boomerangelungen, and goes home. +That is all he has to do; the six sonorous boohoops, announcing the +presence of Wotan, is all that is demanded of the boomerangelungen. +But it is enough: it is marvellous, appalling, prodigious. +</P> + +<P> +Whose genius but Herr Wagner's could have found employment for the +boomerangelungen? We hear talk of the sword motive, the love motive, +the Walhalla motive, and this motive, and that; but they all shrink +into nothingness when compared with the motive of the boomerangelungen. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE WORKS OF SAPPHO +</H3> + +<P> +It would be hard to say whether Chicago society is more deeply +interested in the circus which is exhibiting on the lake-front this +week, than in the compilation of Sappho's complete works just published +in London, and but this week given to the trade in Chicago. As we +understand it, Sappho and the circus had their beginning about the same +time: if any thing, the origin of the circus antedated Sappho's birth +some years, and has achieved the more wide-spread popularity. +</P> + +<P> +In the volume now before us, we learn that Sappho lived in the seventh +century before Christ, and that she was at the zenith of her fame at +the time when Tarquinius Priscus was king of Rome, and Nebuchadnezzar +was subsisting on a hay-diet. It appears that, despite her wisdom, +this talented lady did not know who her father was; seventeen hundred +years after her demise, one Suidas claimed to have discovered that +there were seven of her father; but Herodotus gives the name of the +gentleman most justly suspected as Scamandronymus. Be this as it may, +Sappho married a rich man, and subsequently fell in love with a dude +who cared nothing for her; whereupon the unfortunate woman, without +waiting to compile her writings, and without even indicating whom she +preferred for her literary executor, committed suicide by hurling +herself from a high precipice into the sea. Sappho was an exceedingly +handsome person, as we see by the engraving which serves as the +frontispiece of the work before us. This engraving, as we understand, +was made from a portrait painted from life by a contemporaneous old +Grecian artist, one Alma Tadema. +</P> + +<P> +Still, we could not help wondering, as we saw the magnificent pageant +of Forepaugh's circus sweep down our majestic boulevards and superb +thoroughfares yesterday; as we witnessed this imposing spectacle, we +say, we could not help wondering how many people in all the vast crowds +of spectators knew that there ever was such a poetess as Sappho, or how +many, knowing that there was such a party, have ever read her works. +It has been nearly a year since a circus came to town; and in that time +public taste has been elevated to a degree by theatrical and operatic +performers, such as Sara Bernhardt, Emma Abbott, Murray and Murphy, +Adele Patti, George C. Miln, Helena Modjeska, Fanny Davenport, and +Denman Thompson. +</P> + +<P> +Of course, therefore, our public has come to be able to appreciate with +a nicer discrimination and a finer zest the intellectual <I>morceaux</I> and +the refined tidbits which Mr. Forepaugh's unparalleled aggregation +offers. This was apparent in the vast numbers and in the unbridled +enthusiasm of our best citizens gathered upon the housetops and at the +street-corners along the line of the circus procession. So magnificent +a display of silks, satins, and diamonds has seldom been seen: it truly +seemed as if the fashion and wealth of our city were trying to vie with +the splendors of the glittering circus pageant. In honor of the event, +many of the stores, public buildings, and private dwellings displayed +banners, mottoes, and congratulatory garlands. From the balcony of the +palatial edifice occupied by one of our leading literary clubs was +suspended a large banner of pink silk, upon which appeared the word +"Welcome" in white; while beneath, upon a scroll, was an appropriate +couplet from one of Robert Browning's poems. +</P> + +<P> +When we asked one of the members of this club why the club made such a +fuss over the circus, he looked very much astonished; and he answered, +"Well, why not? Old Forepaugh is worth over a million dollars, and he +always sends us complimentaries whenever he comes to town!" +</P> + +<P> +We asked this same gentleman if he had read the new edition of Sappho's +poems. We had a good deal of confidence in his literary judgment and +taste, because he is our leading linseed-oil dealer; and no man in the +West is possessed of more enterprise and sand than he. +</P> + +<P> +"My daughter brought home a copy of the book Saturday," said he, "and I +looked through it yesterday. Sappho may suit some cranks; but as for +me, give me Ella Wheeler or Will Carleton. I love good poetry: I 've +got the finest-bound copy of Shakespeare in Illinois, and my edition of +Coleridge will knock the socks off any book in the country. My wife +has painted all the Doray illustrations of the Ancient Marine, and I +would n't swap that book for the costliest Mysonyay in all Paris! +</P> + +<P> +"I can't see where the poetry comes in," he went on to say. "So far as +I can make out, this man Sapolio—I mean Sappho—never did any +sustained or consecutive work. His poems read to me a good deal like a +diary. Some of them consist of one line only, and quite a number have +only three words. Now, I will repeat five entire poems taken from this +fool-book: I learned them on purpose to repeat at the club. Here is +the first,— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Me just now the golden-sandalled Dawn.<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"That 's all there is to it. Here's the second: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"I yearn and seek.<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"A third is complete in— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Much whiter than an egg;<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +and the fourth is,— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Stir not the shingle,<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +which, I take it, was one of Sapphire's juvenile poems addressed to his +mother. The fifth poem is simply,— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"And thou thyself, Calliope,<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +which, by the way, reminds me that Forepaugh's calliope got smashed up +in a railroad accident night before last,—a circumstance deeply to be +regretted, since there is no instrument calculated to appeal more +directly to one versed in mythological lore, or more likely to awaken a +train of pleasing associations, than the steam-calliope." +</P> + +<P> +A South-Side packer, who has the largest library in the city, told us +that he had not seen Sappho's works yet, but that he intended to read +them at an early date. "I 've got so sick of Howells and James," said +he, "that I 'm darned glad to hear that some new fellow has come to the +front." +</P> + +<P> +Another prominent social light (a brewer) said that he had bought a +"Sappho," and was having it bound in morocco, with turkey-red +trimmings. "I do enjoy a handsome book," said he. "One of the most +valuable volumes in my library I bought of a leading candy-manufacturer +in this city. It is the original libretto and score of the 'Songs of +Solomon,' bound in the tanned pelt of the fatted calf that was killed +when the prodigal son came home." +</P> + +<P> +"I have simply glanced through the Sappho book," said another +distinguished representative of local culture; "and what surprised me, +was the pains that has been taken in getting up the affair. Why, do +you know, the editor has gone to the trouble of going through the book, +and translating every darned poem into Greek! Of course, this strikes +us business-men of Chicago as a queer bit of pedantry." +</P> + +<P> +The scholarly and courtly editor of the "Weekly Lard Journal and +Literary Companion," Professor A. J. Lyvely, criticised Sappho very +freely as he stood at the corner of Clark and Madison Streets, waiting +for the superb gold chariot drawn by twenty milk-white steeds, and +containing fifty musicians, to come along. "Just because she lived in +the dark ages," said he, "she is cracked up for a great poet; but she +will never be as popular with the masses of Western readers as Ella +Wheeler and Marion Harland are. All of her works that remain to us are +a few fragments, and they are chestnuts; for they have been printed +within the last ten years in the books of a great many poets I could +name, and I have read them. We know very little of Sappho's life. If +she had amounted to much, we would not be in such ignorance of her +doings. The probability is that she was a society or fashion editor on +one of the daily papers of her time,—a sort of Clara-Belle woman, +whose naughtiness was mistaken for a species of intellectual +brilliancy. Sappho was a gamey old girl, you know. Her life must have +been a poem of passion, if there is any truth in the testimony of the +authorities who wrote about her several centuries after her death. In +fact, these verses of hers that are left indicate that she was addicted +to late suppers, to loose morning-gowns, to perfumed stationery, and to +hysterics. It is ten to one that she wore flaming bonnets and striking +dresses; that she talked loud at the theatres and in public generally; +and that she chewed gum, and smoked cigarettes, when she went to the +races. If that woman had lived in Chicago, she would have been +tabooed." +</P> + +<P> +The amiable gentleman who reads manuscripts for Rand, McNally & Co. +says that Sappho's manuscripts were submitted to him a year ago. "I +looked them over, and satisfied myself that there was nothing in them; +and I told the author so. He seemed inclined to dispute me, but I told +him I reckoned I understood pretty well what would sell in our literary +circles and on our railroad-trains." +</P> + +<P> +But while there was a pretty general disposition to criticise Sappho, +there was only one opinion as to the circus-parade; and that was +complimentary. For the nonce, we may say, the cares and vexations of +business, of literature, of art, and of science, were put aside; and +our populace abandoned itself to a hearty enjoyment of the brilliant +pageant which appealed to the higher instincts. And, as the cage +containing the lions rolled by, the shouts of the enthusiastic +spectators swelled above the guttural roars of the infuriate monarchs +of the desert. Men waved their hats, and ladies fluttered their +handkerchiefs. Altogether, the scene was so exciting as to be equalled +only by the rapturous ovation which was tendered Mdlle. Hortense de +Vere, queen of the air, when that sylph-like lady came out into the +arena of Forepaugh's great circus-tent last evening, and poised herself +upon one tiny toe on the back of an untamed and foaming Arabian barb +that dashed round and round the sawdust ring. Talk about your Sapphos +and your poetry! Would Chicago hesitate a moment in choosing between +Sappho and Mdlle. Hortense de Vere, queen of the air? And what +rhythm—be it Sapphic, or choriambic, or Ionic a minore—is to be +compared with the symphonic poetry of a shapely female balanced upon +one delicate toe on the bristling back of a fiery, untamed palfrey that +whoops round and round to the music of the band, the plaudits of the +public, and the still, small voice of the dyspeptic gent announcing a +minstrel show "under this canvas after the performance, which is not +yet half completed?" +</P> + +<P> +If it makes us proud to go into our bookstores, and see thousands upon +thousands of tomes waiting for customers; if our bosoms swell with +delight to see the quiet and palatial homes of our cultured society +overflowing with the most expensive wall-papers and the costliest +articles of virtue; if we take an ineffable enjoyment in the thousand +indications of a growing refinement in the midst of us,—vaster still +must be the pride, the rapture, we feel when we behold our intellect +and our culture paying the tribute of adoration to the circus. Viewing +these enlivening scenes, why may we not cry in the words of Sappho, +"Wealth without thee, Worth, is a shameless creature; but the mixture +of both is the height of happiness"? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> +<hr class="full" noshade> + +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SECOND BOOK OF TALES***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 21809-h.txt or 21809-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/1/8/0/21809">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/8/0/21809</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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