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An interesting narrative of a boy's 
ventures in. the Northwest di_iring 
the Riel Rebellion. 






1 1 V_y 






Oi-Ut F eg 

Copyright 1892, 


Copyright 1895, 



r T^HIS book is written by the author in the belief 
1 that boys enjoy best those stories which are 
truest to real life in characters, plot and coloring. 
It has seemed to him that their interest in a " hero" 
who has the faults and limitations of "a good average 
boy," acting under environments of ordinary impor- 
tance and probability, is keener than in an impossible 
prodigy of juvenile wisdom and courage who finds 
himself in a complex tangle of stupendous difficulties, 
from which he frees himself by a series of daring 
adventures sufficiently melodramic to appal the 
"heavy villain" in a third-rate tragedy. 

The boy who has a single real adventure, in the 
usual juvenile acceptance of the term, is a rare 
exception, for in outward circumstance and perils 
most boyhoods are commonplace enough. What, 
then, shall be said of the books which picture their 
boy heroes as suffering from an epidemic a veritible 
cholera-infantum of material perils? Certainly they 
are not true pictures of boy life as an average, or 
even as an average of reasonable exceptions. 

It is to be doubted whether the time has come 
when the mass of story-reading American boys can 



be vitally and surely interested in a true picture of 
"average "boyhood; but the author does believe that 
boy readers are bright and keen enough to derive 
greater pleasure from the account of the struggles 
of a boy of only average qualities against odds and 
obstacles of reasonable number and difficulty, than 
from the narrative of the "adventures" of a boy of 
impossible virtues, triumphing over perils which, 
both in character and number, could in no human 
probability have surrounded one boy in ten-thousand. 

The author does not imagine that he has given 
in the following pages a true picture of the vicissi- 
tudes of an average boyhood; but he hopes that the 
adventures of "The Young Newspaper Scout/' are 
fairly representative of the character, perils and 
triumphs of the "average of exceptions" which lift 
the lives of frontier boys from the lines of uniform 
common place in which the careers of most boys are 
spent. He is at least confident that his readers will 
not find a single "situation" in the following story 
which is not justified by reasonable probability. 
More than that, he believes that the same justifica- 
tion of probability will apply to the story as a whole, 
both in the environments and situations with which 
Rodney found himself surrounded and in the action 
which they called forth. 

Geneva, 111. F. C. 





























" HANDS UP!" 124 








EXPENSES" . 192 



IT was almost sunset of a^ April day in 1885, when 
Rodney Merton came again in sight of Ft. Qu'Ap- 
pelle, after the first nights of absence from home that 
he had ever experienced. He had left his mother's 
cabin early Monday morning and it was now Wednes- 
day. His eyes brightened as he stopped in the mid- 
dle of the dusty road and gazed at the little hamlet, 
with its old log fort surrounded by a high palisade, 
the new post of the Hudson Bay Company and a 
cluster of cabins. 

Now that he was once more in sight of home 
which he mentally declared had never " looked so 
good" to him before he felt that he could afford 
to sit down and rest for a few minutes. This was a 
luxury which he had allowed himself but few times 
during the two day's tramp from Grenfell, a distance 
of thirty-five miles from Ft. Qu'Appelle. His coat 
was hung on the end of a stick, carried over his 
shoulder, and his calico shirt was dark and wet with 
perspiration along the lines of his buckskin sus- 
penders and wherever it touched his heated body, 
for it was the first really warm day of the late spring. 

As the boy turned out of the road and climed a 


little knoll, which commanded a better view of the 
town, his steps were slow and dragging, and he 
frequently pressed his right hand upon his knee, as 
though his tired legs, which had become sore and 
aching with the long walk, were unequal to the task 
ot carrying him to the summit of the rise. 

Dropping upon the ground under the flickering 
shade of a Balm of Gilead, he stretched out at full 
length, and with an involuntary sigh of relief, pulled 
the smooth-worn visor of his home-made fur cap 
down over his eyes, and lay for a time in motionless 

Not until a kingfisher rattled his harsh challenge 
and dove, from the limb of a dead tree down into 
the still water of the Qu'Appelle river, did Rodney 
stir. The guilty terror in which he started up, just 
as the bird splashed into the water and rose with a 
small fish in its mouth, would have convicted him 
of having been asleep, even though he had not 
rubbed his eyes and yawned. Then he sat for a 
moment, with his elbows on his knees and his chin 
in his hands, looking dreamily at the shimmering 
river and the little trading post where his whole life 
had been spent. 

His return from this first solitary journey into the 
world seemed a greater event to him, after his three 
days absence, than home-coming from years of 
foreign travel lias seemed to many an adult. He 
wondered what had happened while he had been 
away and what his mother and the boys about the 
fort would say to him. 


If the object of his expedition to Grenfell had 
only proved successful he would have felt like a 
conquering hero, returning to his native town, ready 
to receive the admiration and the applause of the 

But absolute and hopeless failure had been his lot 
and he felt like sneaking unnoticed around behind 
the fort and post to his mother's cabin, instead of 
taking the main street. He did not, however, long 
entertain this suggestion, for the thought of doing 
anything underhanded or sneaking went very much 
"against the grain" and made him suffer severely 
from remorse and self-contempt wherever he yielded 
to such an impulse. 

After a few moments of gloomy meditation, 
Rodney aroused himself, drew from his pocket a 
Winnepeg paper and re-read, for the third time, the 
account of the Duck Lake massacre in which the 
Half Breeds and Indians had inaugurated the Riel 
Rebellion. It was a bloody protest against wrongs 
which bore heavily upon nearly every poor family in 
the Saskatchewan and Qu'Appelle Valleys, and 
especially upon Rodney Merton and his weary over- 
worked mother. 

Some years before, Thomas Merton, along with a 
few other hardy and courageous pioneers, had come 
to the valley and settled upon Government land, in 
the full faith that, by enduring the hardships and 
privations necessary in reclaiming the wilderness, he 
might secure a comfortable home for himself, 'n his 
old age and for his family. He and his companions 


had, worked early and late in this hope, only to find, 
after fifteen years of unrelaxed struggle, that the 
Government still refused them the titles to their 
homesteads. Here Rodney had been born. He 
began early to share the hard labor and the priva- 
tions of pioneering and had grown up to the age of 
fifteen. Discouragement, resulting from the convic- 
tion that they would never have their home "free," 
and the exposure to the extremes of the severe 
climate broke down Thomas Merton's courage and 
health. After a lingering illness, which had lasted 
through the winter, he died, leaving Mrs. Merton and 
Rodney to finish the hopeless struggle for a home as 
best they might. 

During previous winters, Rodney had been under 
the instruction of the local priest and had made rapid 
advancement in studies of which most boys of his 
age knew little or nothing; but this fall he had been 
obliged by his father's illness to do almost a man's 
work. In addition to cutting the wood and doing all 
of the chores, he had managed to keep quite a suc- 
cessful string of traps in operation, and when he drew 
his pack of pelts on his hand-sled,' down to the 
Hudson Bay post it seemed almost large enough to 
buy out the whole stock. 

But as Leveque the local agent in charge, told 
him that there were forty dollars due the company 
from his father, after crediting up the furs, he went 
home with a heavy heart. 

"We've got to pay it off some way, even if you 
have to work it out," his mother had said, in the 


hopeless tone in which she had come to voice her 
few words. 

"All right, Ma I'll do it if Leveque will take me 
in," Rodney had promptly replied. This was fol- 
lowed by offering his services to Leveque, who kept 
the boy during the busy season, until the family ac- 
count was settled. Then he told Rodney that he 
did not need his help longer and that in the future 
Mrs. Merton would be obliged to pay for whatever 
supplies she wished to buy. 

Hard times began in earnest after this dismissal, 
and it was by only the most patient industry and 
persistent watchfulness that Rodney contrived to 
keep his mother and himself in food. When the last 
hope of obtaining employment near home was gone, 
he had bravely set out to look for work of any kind 
in Grenfell. 

Now he was returning, after having met with 
unvaried failures and rebuffs. 



AFTER thinking these matters all over again, 
Rodney, picked up his coat and stick and 
again resumed his journey. 

He had walked but a few rods when a boyish 
whoop burst from his lips at the sight of the tents 
of the regular troops, on the side of the river op- 
posite the town, which had before been shut off from 
his view by a strip of timber. 

As he approached past the old fort, he noticed 
that it was occupied. 

A group of smaller boys were crowding about 
the entrance to the stockade and staring at the men 

" Who are they? ' Rodney inquired of the spell- 
bound youngsters. 

"Scouts! ' was the whispered answer, from half 
a dozen of the awed half-breed children. 

Not until- then had he realiz-ed that he was in 
the presence of war. The fighting at Duck Lake 
had seemed very far off in the cold newspaper type. 
It' made his blood leap to watch the scouts cleaning 
their " Snyders ' and revolvers; and he found him- 
self wishing that he might enlist with them. 

But as he turned away from this fascinating sight 


and continued his homeward walk the thought, 
which had not occurred to him while watching the 
scouts, flashed through his mind; they were his en- 
emies, fighting to continue the oppression which 
had broken down his father and which promised to 
turn his mother and himself from the home for 
which his father sacrificed health and life itself. If 
he were to join either side it must be that of the 
settlers. He would talk it over with his mother that 
night. If he could only enlist as a drummer boy or 
" something of that kind," his pay would support 
his mother, and he might win promotion by his 
bravery. Then when the war was over and the fol- 
lowers of Kiel were victorious, he would be given a 
position as captain of the mounted police. He was 
picturing to himself how he would look entering the 
through-train from the east, demanding satchel keys 
from unwilling passengers, and ordering his men to 
" go through " the baggage and search the suspicious 
characters for smuggled liquor and goods. He could 
even hear the imaginary clink of glass flasks as his 
subordinates dashed, them out of the windows and 
shattered them upon the ground. 

"Look out! Want to run right over a lot of us 
small folks!" good-naturedly exclaimed a genial 
loafer, whose tilted chair, in front of the post, Rod- 
ney had almost overturned in his heedless course. 

Rodney blushed and stammered his apologies 
while the hangers-on joined in the laugh. 

"Well; what luck?" asked Leveque, who came to 

the door behind an out-going customer. 


Rodney simply shook his head. 

"Eh-ha! sorry!" meditatively grunted the agent, 
as Rodney passed on up the hill toward home, think- 
ing- that if Leveque were really very sorry he would 
give him work. 

As Rodney came around the corner of the cabin, 
Mrs. Merton was dipping spoonfuls of yellow corn- 
meal dough from an old basin on to the board which 
lay in front of a populous hen coop, and stood 
watching the downy balls of chickenhood as they 
picked impotently at the wet meal in imitation of 
the coaxing mother hen, which set them a noisy and 
excited example. 

She started at the sound of his quiet approach, 
pushed back her sun-bonnet, and smiled for almost 
the first time that he could remember since his fath- 
er's death. 

"Well; ma!" he exclaimed, as he came awkwardly 
and almost bashfully toward her, wondering whether 
or not she would kiss him. He was going to ask: 
"Did I scare you?" but he did not have time before 
she dropped the basin and spoon, and without say- 
ing a word kissed him impulsively. 

There followed amoment of embarrassing silence, 
which was finally relieved by Rodney, as he picked 
up the fallen basin and rapped its edge, with a 
startling bang against the board in front of the coop. 

"Well? 1 ' said his mother, in the hopeless tone 
which plainly impJied "I know the worst has hap- 

"No; I didn't get anything to do, ma. But 1 


guess it'll come out all right, somehow. Anyway 
they've had an awful fight at Duck Lake, and Kiel's 
men cleaned out everything. I brought you a Win- 
nipeg paper that's got all about it in." 

Mrs. Merton looked at him in dazed astonish- 
ment, wondering what he could possibly mean by 
connecting the news of the bloody outbreak with 
the hope that their hard fortunes would finally mend. 

"Have't you heard about it, yet? Why the old 
fort's full of scouts now." 

"Yes, I heard they'd ben a fight, but I don't see 
what that's got to do with it," replied Mrs. Merton. 

Seeing that the time was not yet ripe to discuss 
the daring project of joining the Rebels as a drum- 
mer boy, Rodney made no reply, but went to the 
spring to wash. Mrs. Merton quickly resumed her 
usual manner and said: 

"Supper's ready what they is of it." 

The startling expression of affection into which 
Mrs. Merton's emotions had betrayed her, on seeing 
her boy safely home again and the hopeless and 
almost ironical suggestion in regard to the meager 
limitations of the supper affected the boy more 
keenly than any other words he had ever heard. 
The latter aroused him to the realization that they 
were in desperate need for the common necessities 
of life, while the caress awakened an intense and 
active love for his mother that he had not been con- 
scious of before. A painful sense of the pitiful mis- 
ery and loneliness of her life and the patient en- 
durance with which she met each day of its weary 


and hopeless continuance came over him. A new 
purpose and courage took possession of him. He 
would not only take heart himself and in some way 
keep her from w r ant and get the homestead clear, 
but he would have courage for both her and himself 
and make her feel that she was going to be taken 
care of. As they sat down to supper Rodney said: 

"Ma, don't you 'spose that Riel has scouts just 
the same as the Government has?" 

" 'Course. I sh'd think so, anyway. Don't the 
paper tell?" she answered, absently. 

After a moment's reflection, she added: 


"Oh! nothing; only I just heard one of 'em tel- 
ling old 'Two-cent' that the Government paid 'em 
five dollars a day and furnished their rifles an' 

"Goodness! Well, if Riel does that he might 
better take the money that it costs an' buy the set- 
tlers' claims for 'em, outright. He might a good 
deal better never have begun the fight, anyway. 
'Taint no use, an' everybody'll be poorer an' worse 
off when it's over; an' there'll be more widows an' 
hungry children in these valleys than they is now. 
It would be a mercy all 'round, if Riel should be 
captured an' the whole thing ended before it goes 
any further." 

This suggested a new line of thought to the 
young would-be Rebel scout and he said no more 
until the evening meal was finished and he picked 
up his hat from the door step. 


"Ma! I'm going down by the fort. Mebby I can 
pick up some odd jobs or errands to do for the sol- 

Mrs. Merton offered no objections to this, and he 
slipped out of the door and scampered down the 
hill to where the scouts were quartered. 

His flying feet were left far behind by the speed 
of his thoughts. If his mother's view of the rebellion 
was right and he had never before thought to ques- 
tion the correctness of her moral judgment it might 
be right to get some kind of a place with the govern- 
ment scouts, for if the rebellion was bound to end 
in defeat for the settlers, and it was a mercy to 
bring it to such an end as quickly as possible, why 
should it not be right for him to contribute to help 
bring about such an end by joining the government 

But against this line of reasoning came up the 
memory of his father, the injustice he had suffered, 
and the desperate resentment against such oppres- 
sion, which had grown more bitter with every year 
of his life. 

The boy's heart gave a quick leap at the inward 
question: If father were alive upon which side would 
he fight? 

Rodney could not evade the answer: With Riel. 

By the time he had joined the men and boys in 
front of the post, his mind was a confusion of con- 
flicting theories, in which the thought of finding an 
errand to do was entirely lost. At one moment duty 
and honor seemed to forbid him, in spite of his 


mother's hopeless view of the struggle, to do any- 
thing that might identify himself with those who 
had oppressed his father and neighbors, or to hin- 
der the possible triumph of the settlers. Then the 
vivid recollection of his mother's words and of her 
present needs would fully justify to him the most 
active opposition to the Rebels of the Saskatchewan. 

Without definitely settling the question, he re- 
solved to ask old " Two-cent Tranquility," more 
about the scouts. 

He found the shrewd old shoemaker at his bench, 
playing a lively tune upon the top of a scout's boot, 
with his pegging hammer, while his fingers per- 
formed that mysterious sleight by which the pegs 
seemed to flow from his bench, through his mouth 
into the awl holes in the tap. 

Although the men, women and children of Ft. 
Qu'appelle, who did not habitually speak French un- 
varyingly, cheapened Toussaint Tranquilite's name 
into "Two-cent Tranquility," they held the old shoe- 
maker in the highest esteem and regarded him as 
not only a marvel of shrewd, practical common 
sense, but second to the priest only in the wisdom 
of books. He was a kind of village premier or 
privy councilor for the majority of the inhabitants. 
His kindly and companionable nature, and his keen 
sense of fun extended his popularity to the children 
of the hamlet and made him the sharer of, perhaps, 
more of their secrets than any other adult person in 
the village. 

He nodded to Rodney and jerked his hammer 


out in the direction of a leather-bottomed stool, 
which Rodney took and waited until the cobbler's 
lips were released from the mechanical duty of 
holding pegs, and were set at liberty for conver- 

"Well, my son, did you find anything to do?" in- 
quired the shoemaker, as he deftly "stropped" his 
thin, pliant knife-blade on the leather along the edge 
of his bench and proceeded to pare the edges of 
the tap. 

"No, sir; nothing." 

"Well, I wish you was a journeyman cobbler; so 
I do! I'd give you plenty to do while the soldiers 
are in camp here. Just look at that pile of boots 
to be patched! Then I've got three pairs of fine 
cavalry boots to make." 

"But," he continued reflectively, as he rubbed 
the edges of the tap with a small swab dipped in a 
bottle of black stain; "it's a sorry thing all round! 
A sorry thing, my son! It'll only make a bad matter 
worse, for of course, every man who lives through 
the fighting will be deprived of his rights and 
property. No use for a man who has fought with 
Kiel to stay round in these parts after this jig is over. 
He'll stand no chance for anything." 

This put matters in a new light with the boy, who 
had not thought but what, if he should join Kiel's 
forces and live through to see his side defeated, he 
might return to peace on the same ground that he 
had quitted it. This new consideration seemed al- 
most to determine his future course, for he asked. 


"How much did you say the Government pays 
those scouts?" 

"Five dollars a day and found all but their 
mount. That's a lot of money, son! Wish you 
could get a job like that for awhile." 

"Do you know how old they have to be?" asked 
Rodney in a timid voice, as though he expected to 
be reproved for the audacity of the thought which 
his question would surely betray to the shoemaker. 

"Twenty-one, of course. But you needn't think 
for a minute that your mother would let you join. 
She'd starve first." 

This was what the boy had expected and he did 
not have the courage to press his inquiry directly 
in regard to the possibility of his securing a position 
as drummer-boy, but said: 

"Don't you 'spose there is something that a. hoy 
could get to do for the scouts something that 
mother might let me do?" 

"Well, mebby. It wouldn't do any hurt to hang 
around there a little. You might pick up chances to 
run errands now and then. Those fellows are mighty 
free with their money. It comes easy and goes easy. 
Now you take those boots down to Cap'n. French an' 
if he don't give you a tip, I'll make it right with you 
myself. They're paid for." 

Rodney took the boots by their straps and went 
down towards the old fort with the elation which 
comes of settled purpose. 

He was admitted within the palisade but was 
compelled to wait for Captain French, who was 


engaged inside the fort. A group of scouts were 
lounging about an open fire, story-telling, joking, 
laughing and smoking, as though their prospective 
dangers were mere bug-a-boos, and scouting the best 
sport in the world. 

He listened intently to what they were saying 
and finally ventured nearer the group, that he might 
miss nothing of their talk. 

"Found a man yet? I should say not!" exclaimed 
a young man who did not seem to have exactly a 
soldierly air. ''An' I've got to get hold of some sort 
of fellow who knows enough about this valley to 
carry my dispatches without getting lost or cap- 
tured. Every able-bodied man around here is either 
with the rebels or getting a scout's pay from the 
government. I' spose I could pick up a fairly good 
man if the paper would allow me to spend that' price; 
but it won't go over half that at the outside. If the 
fighting begins right away, I'll have to take up with 
half a man if I can't get a whole one. If I could 
pick up some fellow who has hunted and trapped 
along this river till he knows every crook and turn 
of it and every read and town in the valley, he'd be 
worth money to me, and I'd put in something out of 
my own pocket, for I've just got a commission for 
some special correspondence for the London papers, 
an' I'd have this fellow act as a private scout as well 
as to carry my dispatches to the wires." 

Just then Captain French came up to Rodney, 
glanced sharply at the bottoms of the boots and with 
a "Well, my lad," handed out a quarter. 


The delight which would otherwise have filled 
Rodney's mind at this bit of good luck was dimmed 
by the excitement of alternating hopes and fears 
which confronted him, as he considered the possi- 
bility of securing the position of private scout for 
the newspaper man. 

He would have hung about the campfire until the 
group broke up, in the hope that he might find just 
the right opportunity to speak for the place, but he 
did not dare remain, now that his business was done. 

He resolved to hasten back to the shoemaker, 
put the matter before him, and ask his aid in secur- 
ing the position. When he reached the shop he 
found it closed. "Two-cent" was across the way, in 
front of the post, giving the crowd the benefit of his 
philosophy upon the situation. Rodney knew that 
it was hopeless to attempt to secure a private audi- 
ence with him that evening, for it was already get- 
ting late. There was nothing more to do but to go 
home and talk it over with his mother. 

What a fortune even two dollars and a half a day 
would be! And then if the newspaper man should 
be willing, after awhile, to give something out of his 
own pocket, that would be "too glorious for any- 
thing!" Then he called to mind just how much and 
how little he knew of the valley, and felt a tinge of 
fear and disappointment as he realized that although 
intimately familiar with the country for a few miles 
immediately surrounding the fort, the valley as a 
whole was comparatively unknown to him. He 
was glad that he could say that he had been to 


Grenfell. It might have considerable weight with 
the man. 

When he reached home his mother had gone to 
bed; but she wakened sufficiently to ask: 

" Did you get any errands to do?' 

"Yes, 'm," he replied, "Captain French gave me 
a quarter for bringing his boots from the shop." 

His determination to talk over the newspaper- 
scouting project with his mother weakened at the 
sound of her hopeless voice and he resolved to con- 
fer with the shoemaker and possibly to see if he 
could get the place before saying anything to her 
about it. 

He did not realize how very tired the long 
tramp from Grenfell and the excitement of the even- 
ing had made him until he kicked his pants off on 
the floor and stretched out, at full length, upon the 

For some time his legs ached so that he could 
not sleep; but his mind was so filled with the great 
crisis of his career that he gradually lost conscious- 
ness of his pain and finally sank to sleep in a splen- 
did dream of really going to war. 



Rodney was awakened early by the drawling 
crow of a neigbor's rooster, for the monarch of Mrs. 
Merton's flock had long since been sacrificed to the 
family necessity along with such of his feminine 
followers as were not prompt in their daily contribu- 
tions of eggs or engaged in rearing broods of chicks. 

He bounded to the floor and was inside his pants 
in less time than it takes the average boy to dress 
for a circus, and with much the same feeling of in- 
tense and joyous excitement which such an antici- 
pation usually inspires in the juvenile mind. 

He ate his breakfast of corn-cakes in silence, 
and even neglected some of his chores in his haste 
to see the shoemaker and secure his good offices 
with the newspaper man. 

The sight of the white canvas tents and stacks 
of glistening arms of the "regular" troops, about 
which a uniformed line of pickets were pacing to and 
fro upon their beats, gave Rodney a more thrilling 
sense of the actual presence of war than even scouts 
had in their more unpretentious and plebeian dress 
had inspired. 

He leaped and ran with boyish abandon, not 
slackening his speed until at the very door of the 
shoemaker's shop. 

"Why, what's the matter, son?" exclaimed u Two- 



cent," as he saw the boy's agitation. "Anything 
the matter with your mother?" 

"No I I- -I just came to talk with you about 
something that I had heard down at the camps last 
night," stammered Rodney, panting and out of 

"Well, out with it!" good-naturedly commanded 
the cobbler, as he rolled a waxed-end upon his knee. 

"There's a newspaper man down there with the 
scouts who has been looking for some man who lives 
about here and knows the valley, to carry dispatches 
and act as his 'private scout,' as he called it. But he 
hasn't found anybody yet, for he says that the men 
in the valley who are not with Riel want to join 
French's scouts and get their five dollars a day, and 
his paper can't pay more'n half that. But he says 
that he's got to have half a man if he can't find a 
whole one, and that if he could get some one who 
had hunted and trapped up an' down the river till he 
knew the country like a book, he'd be willing to pay 
something extra out of his own pocket. Do you 
s'pose there's any chance for me if you helped 
me, to get it? Don't you think that I might learn 
how to do it?" Rodney timidly inquired. 

"No, you can't learn! If he takes you at all it'll 
be for what you already know an' don't have to 
learn. There ain't any time for learning anything 
except on the run. But there's one thing about it; 
most of the fighting that these fellows will see is 
going to be done right around these parts. I don't 
see why you wouldn't answer his purpose as well as 


somebody who would set heavier on a horse, eat 
more an' be enough sight less gritty, honest an' 
willing than you." 

Praise was something that Rodney Merton had 
known but little of; and these words from so impor- 
tant a personage as "Two-cent Tranquility" made 
the boys cheeks burn. This commendation gave 
him courage to ask: 

"Would you be willing to go down, this morning, 
if it wouldn't be too much trouble, and see him 
about it." 

" 'Course, I'll go!" the cobbler almost snapped, 
as though the request contained an implied insult. 
"Didn't your father an' I summer and winter together 
for years when this country was new; an' didn't we 
always share up on anything an' everything that we 
had when the other was short?" 

As soon as he finished tipping the waxed-end 
with a bristle, he hung it over a nail, took off his 
leather apron and said: 

"Well, come on." 

They walked on towards the fort in silence, Rod- 
ney being too much elated to trust himself to talk, 
until they approached the entrance of the palisade, 
when he ventured to ask: 

Will you do do the talking, Mr. Tranquilite?" 
Yes," laughed the shoemaker. "I always do 
that too much of it, I'm afraid." 

"Can we see the newspaper man, who wants to 
engage a private scout?" boldly demanded "Two- 
cent" of the guard. 

> . 
. . 


"That's him, leaning against the door jam," re- 
plied the guard, pointing to a slightly-built, but 
graceful young man, who appeared to be about thirty 
years of age. There was a certain fineness in the 
whole cast of his face, and especially in his large 
brown eyes, which was in rather striking contrast 
with the broader and less expressive faces of the 
scouts who came and went about him. 

This expression of refinement gave the anxious, 
shrinking boy an added hope that his application 
would at least be given a kindly hearing. 

"Good morning, sir," said the shoemaker, advanc- 
ing toward the young correspondent, who returned 
the cobbler's salutation with prompt and easy cour- 
tesy, and the inquiry: 

"And I may call you ah ?" 

"Tranquilite - -Toussaint Tranquilite- - and this 
young man is Rodney Merton. We heard that you 
wanted to engage some one who is familiar with the 
country about here." 

"Quite right," nervously interrupted the news- 
paper man. "My name is Gilroy of the Montreal 
Post. I presume it is your father who wishes to apply 
for the position?" he continued, glancing keenly 
into Rodney's face. 

"No, sir. I thought that that perhaps " 

The shoemaker anticipated the apologetic ex- 
planation which Rodney was about to offer, and cut 
it short with the interruption: 

" Not at all, sir! His father is dead, and he is now 
the head of the family, which he has mainly sup- 


ported by trapping, during the winter. If you don't 
mind I'd like a word with you in private, an' then 
I'll go back to the shop an' leave you to talk it over 
with him." 

"Certainly, Certainly," politely responded the 
stranger, as they turned and walked away a few rods 
from Rodney, who stood in nervous embarrassment, 
awaiting the most important decision that he had yet 
been called to face. 

When the two men finished their private confer- 
ence, in which the shoemaker praised the lad's 
courage, intelligence and honesty, they came back 
to where Rodney stood poking a gravel stone with 
the big toe of his bare foot. 

A glance at their faces told Rodney that a prob- 
able decision had been reached, but he could hardly 
determine whether it was favorable or unfavorable. 

"Oh, one thing more!" exclaimed Gilroy, as Rod- 
ney's sponsor was about to take his leave. "What 
about price? How much do you think our young 
friend should have? I can pay a fair price, but, of 
course, there's nothing fancy in it." 

"No, I suppose not," reflected Tranquilite. "Un- 
der the circumstances I should say that the lad 
ought to be worth a good three dollars a day to you, 
if he does as well as a man." 

"Well, perhaps," was the correspondent's equiv- 
ocal answer, as he nodded good-bye to the man and 
turned his keen eyes upon the boy. For several 
moments he said nothing, but stood stroking his 
moustache in deliberation. 


"And so you think that you want a little of the 
fortunes of war, do you?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"You are not forgetting that you will be exposed 
to practically the same dangers that these govern- 
ment scouts are, and that they are sent into the most 
exposed positions doing flanking and out post duty 
in order to lessen the danger to the regular sol- 

"No, sir." 

"Well, then, if you've made up your mind to go 
into the thickest of it, if necessary, and take every- 
thing as it comes along with the chance of never 
returning I'll take you, and pay what your friend 

If Rodney had yielded to its natural impulse he 
would have jumped into the air and "yelled." But 
he controlled his emotions and simply answered: 

"Yes, sir. When shall I come?" 

" To-morrow; for there's no telling how soon we 
may be ordered out of here. By the way, have you 
a pony?" 

"No, sir." 

" Nor any money to get one with?" 

" No, sir," Rodney answered reluctantly as though 
he were a trifle ashamed to make the confession. 

" Well, then, I'll have to scare up some kind of a 
mount for you. Suppose you come around this after- 
noon and see what luck I have in finding something 
that you can ride." 

" Without waiting for a reply Gilroy turned and 



entered the quarters, while Rodney bounded out of 
the stockade and toward the cobbler's shop to carry 
the news of his wonderful fortune. 

The kindly old man shared in the boy's joy, 
while claiming the credit of having been the princi- 
pal means in securing it. 

"If this trouble will only last long enough, you'll 
be able to buy out the whole town," he laughingly 

As Rodney went out of the door, wondering how 
his mother would receive the news which he must 
break to her, Tranquilite called after him: 

"Son, if your mother don't take to the plan, just 
you tell her to come and talk with me." 

This was a great relief to Rodney who began to 
fear that the most difficult obstacle was yet to be en- 
countered in securing her consent to the undertak- 
ing. He felt sure, however, that, if it came to the 
worst, the shrewd old cobbler, with his reputation 
for good sense, would somehow convince his mother 
that it was best to let him go. 



As Rodney approached their cabin and saw his 
mother bending over her wash tub, "doing out" 
some clothes for the officers, his heart gave a leap 
of pride and joy at the thought that very soon he 
would be able to relieve her from the necessity of 
such hard work. 

"Ma I've I've got some news," Rodney an- 
nounced, with many inward misgiving as to how she 
would receive it. 

"Well," replied Mrs. Merton, stopping her rub- 
bing long enough to scrape the perspiration from her 
forehead with her dripping forefinger. "There's no 
lack of news these days goodness knows such as 
it is. But if you've got some good news I'd be 
thankful to hear that." 

Rodney had become accustomed to the hopeless- 
ness which long years of unavailing struggle and 
sorrow had fastened upon his mother until it had 
become inbred in her every tone and word. But her 
dejection this morning seemed greater than usual 
and had a touch of desperation in it which mater- 
ially raised his hope that she would accept any alter- 
native that promised relief from the grind and press- 
ure of their poverty. 



"I've had an offer of three dollars a day." 

"Three dollars a day!" she repeated in astonish- 
ment, her face flushed with greater animation than 
he had seen it express in years. Then a quick 
shadow passed over it as she inquired, " 'Taint to 
join the scouts, is it, Rodney?" 

" No not exactly. It's to carry messages an' 
wait on a newspaper man, who is going along with 
the scouts, to write up the Rebellion for the Toronto 
and London papers. Mr. Tranquilite got the chance 
for me an' I'm to get three dollars a day and all 
expenses horse an' everything, as long 's the war 
lasts. Mr. Gilroy the newspaper man wants me 
to come back an' help him pick out a mount for me 
this forenoon." He felt a strong pride in using the 
word "mount" instead of horse; it sounded so 

" Well, there aint any time to lose then. It's 
most ten now. You better hurry." 

With this she again plunged the shirt, which she 
had been rubbing, into the suds and dismissed the 
matter and him as though the occasion were as 
commonplace as an errand to the post for family 

Rodney had expected opposition and tears on 
the part of his mother and this kind of a reception 
was so different from what he had anticipated that 
he was nonplussed, not to say almost disappointed. 
Could it be that his mother loved him less than he 
had thought and she could let him go to war with 
scarcely a moment's hesitation or regret. This latter 


thought, it must be confessed, touched his pride as 
well as his affection. It hurt him to think that he 
should be actually going to war without even his own 
mother realizing the dignity and the danger of the 
occasion, which, it seemed to him, should impress 

As he turned to go back to the fort his mother 
called after him: 

"Rodney, now look sharp that they don't put off 
any vicious brute onto y'. Git a gentle one." 

He found Gilroy in front of the fort looking at a 
collection of horses. They were not as sightly as 
could be wished; but Rodney realized that there 
might be times when this would be the least neces- 
sary qualification. The resemblance of one of them, 
which had a ponderous white Roman nose, tattered 
ears and Albino eyes, to a picture of a cow-boy's 
steed which he had seen in the Youth's Companion^ at 
once determined his choice. The story which ac- 
companied the illustration had described the cow- 
boy's bronco as a shining example of courage and 
endurance, and had detailed the brute's heroic con- 
duct in an exciting Indian fight on the plains. This 
resemblance determined him to select the pink- 
eyed, Roman-nosed shaganappy if the choice was 
left to him. 

"Well, which one takes your eye?" inquired 

" I think the spotted one with the big nose," 
Rodney replied. 

"The boy's head 's level," spoke up Captain 


French who had quietly joined the spectators to the 
negotiations. " I know that horse. He used to be 
in the mounted police. He'll thrive where a com- 
mon horse will starve. O, he's a stayer. Knows 
more than lots of police I've seen, and is just as 
handsome, too!" 

This brought a hearty laugh from the scouts and 
made Rodney feel that he was getting on well for a 

" How old is he?" inquired Gilroy of the Captain. 

"Oh, he's of age, anyway. I never counted his 
teeth. Always rather count his ribs so much hand- 
dier, y' see." 

"All right, I'll take him, if you think he's safe 
for the boy," said Gilroy, as he handed the halter to 
Rodney, whose heart swelled with conscious pride 
as he led his horse past a group of the village boys, 
who now seemed strangely young and insignificant 
to him. 

Rodney spent the remainder of the day in groom- 
ing his pie bald treasure and in packing the meager 
bundle that was to constitute his outfit. 

It gave him an honest, manly pride to have 
Leveque call him into the post and say: 

"Now if there's anything you want to fit out 
with, or anything your ma wants while you're gone, 
you can have the credit for it." 

Rodney would have liked to refuse this offer of 
credit from the man who had denied it to him and 
to his mother when he was out of employment, but 
he knew that his mother stood in immediate need 


of many things and that he would be greatly ashamed 
to report for duty without shoes and stockings and 
dressed in his present "best clothes" which were 
little better than a faithful and variegated collection 
of patches. Consequently he was obliged to swallow 
his pride and accept the offer of credit. When 
clothed in a suit, stockings and boots he felt that he 
had left boyish things behind him and had entered 
upon the serious affairs of life. 

He did not go to bed until late that night, and 
when he did it was in a different fashion than usual. 
Instead of kicking a pair of tattered trousers from 
legs, that had been bare-footed all day, he took off 
his boots and stockings with manly deliberation and 
hung his long trousers by the strap in the back with 
a dignity becoming one who had re-established the 
family credit, and who was going to war as a private 
newspaper scout on a salary of three dollars a day, 
and a horse that he might call his own. 

He looked carefully about his loft and tried to 
realize that it was probably the last night that he 
would sleep in it for many months perhaps forever. 

When he went to sleep, it was in wondering 
whether people would not sometime visit that loft to 
see where General Rodney Merton, the famous scout 
of the North West, had slept when a boy. 

His mother called him bright and early the next 
morning, and when he reached the stable to take 
care of Gilroy's horse and his own, he found that he 
was in advance of the earliest scout. 

After Gilroy had lighted his after-breakfast pipe, 


he called Rodney, and motioned him to a seat upon 
the grass. 

"Be back in a minute," the newspaper man ex- 
plained as he disapeared. into the quarters. 

When he again appeared, he carried a repeating 
rifle and a belt in which were hung a pair of new 
six-shooters, a knife and a field glass. 

" Now lad," said Gilroy as he handed them to the 
astonished boy, "You want to learn how to use these 
trinkets, and how to take care of them. And what's 
more you've got to learn all the discipline that a 
regular scout is under just what every command 
means, and how to obey it. I've arranged with Lieu- 
tenant Johns to teach you all he can until we get 
marching orders. Then you'll have to fall in line 
with the rest and make the best you can of it. Here 
he comes now, ready for business. Pick it up as fast 
as you can, for you can't tell what bit of information 
is going to let you out of some tight scrape when we 
get into the fighting. Lieutenant, this is Private 
Scout Rodney Merton ready to be taught how to 
steal pigs and chickens and strip dead Injuns of 
their finery when the Captain's back is turned." 

With this introduction, Gilroy went inside to 
write to his paper the important news that had not 
happened, and left Rodney to his first lesson in the 
art of war. 

After the noon mess, Rodney and his teacher 
again resumed their drill. 

Suddenly a clear blast of a bugle, from the en- 
campment of the regulars broke the quiet of the 


little hamlet. It sent the chilling thrills through 
and through Rodney, for he knew that it was the 
call to mount and march. 



A LTHOUGH Gilroy had told Rodney that they 
/i might be ordered to march at any time, the 
sudden summons to mount was a great surprise to 
him, and it gave him a shock when he realized that 
he would have no opportunity to say good-bye to 
his mother; for by the time he had saddled Gilroy's 
horse and executed the other orders that his em- 
ployer had given him, the entire company of scouts 
was ready to move forward. 

As the scouts were to precede the regular troops, 
the order to march was promptly given, and they 
set off at an easy canter. 

Rodney strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of 
his mother and wave her a farewell if she should 
chance to be observing the movement of the scouts. 
Just as he was passing nearly out of sight of the old 
home cabin, he saw her come out of the door and go 
to hanging out clothes, with her back turned 
toward him; and he could scarcely choke back the 
tears at the thought of leaving her without even a 
farewell, when perhaps he might never see her 


However, there was too much keen excitement 
close about him to permit these gloomy reflections 
to long occupy his mind. 



The sight of thirty mounted horsemen is alone 
sufficient to chase all other thoughts out of a healthy 
boy's mind; but when those horsemen are galloping 
out to war, and the boy mounted on his own horse 
with his rifle slung over his back and his revolvers 
in his belt, is one of their number, any feelings save 
swelling pride and a tremendous excitement are 
plainly out of the question. 

Rodney was riding well at the front, between 
Lieutenant Johns and Gilroy, and as he turned in 
his saddle and glanced back over the galloping 
company of horses, at the regiments of "regulars," 
with their artillery, splendid uniforms and perfect 
movements, as they were just leaving the site of 
their recent camp, he could scarcely suppress a 
boyish yell of admiration. 

" Oh, it's glorious! " was his mental exclamation 
at the stirring sight. 

There was nothing to break the train of his ex- 
ultant reflections until they had been several hours 
on the march, and the charing of the saddle began 
to make itself felt on the tender surface of his legs. 
This irritation increased with each mile of 
travel, until Rodney was finally compelled to curl 
one leg up over the horn of his saddle, in feminine 
fashion, in order to secure a change of position 
which would temporarily relieve the blistered parts, 
This left the unoccupied stirrup dangling loosely. 

Suddenly a loud grunt announced the presence 
of a pig in the stunted brush by the roadside; and 
before Rodney could change his position a small 


razor-backed hog dashed almost in under the feet of 
the foremost horses. Instantly Rodney's horse 
wheeled, kicked, plunged and -broke ranks in a way 
that not only promised to unseat its rider in the 
most unceremonious fashion, but also threatened to 
interrupt his soldierly career before it had fairly 

Finding that its violent buck-jumping failed to 
dislodge its rider, the pink-eyed Shaganappy 
resolved to try a new maneuver, and "lit out" down 
the road, in advance of the scouts, at a steeple-chase 

" Pity he ain't in the Derby- -he'd take the 
stakes sure! ' exclaimed Gilroy, as he watched Rod- 
ney's wild ride with a greater anxiety than his 
words indicated. 

The horse and its clinging rider disappeared over 
the top of a wooded hill, the empty stirrups thresh- 
ing the animal's sides at every plunge. 

But Rodney clung to his seat with the grip of 
desperation. At last, as the brute's pace began to 
slacken from fatigue, or the conviction that it had 
mistaken the staying qualities of its rider, he suc- 
ceeded in again getting fairly astride of the saddle. 

The runaway then seemed to realize that it was 
ouce more under bridal control and prepared to 
yield the contest and settle down into obedience; 
but Rodney was not disposed to accept the surrender 
on these terms. Turning "Pink-eye," as, by common 
impulse, the horse had come to be named, about,' 
Rodney regained his flapping stirrups and gave the 


animal as smart a ride back to the advancing com- 
pany as the runaway had made in its first dash. 

He was greeted with a round of cheers as he 
again fell into rank. 

"You won't have any more trouble with that 
old Shaganappy. He knows you are master now;" 
remarked Captain French, in a way that did Rodney 
as much good as the cheers of the others had done 

By the time that the company reached Clark's 
Crossing Rodney had come to feel quite at home in 
the saddle, and the ride began to seem a trifle weari- 
some and monotonous. He would not admit to 
himself that he wanted any fighting to occur; but 
he cherished a secret longing that something excit- 
ing and warlike would happen. 

He had his wish. 

Gilroy touched his elbow and said: 

" You see those horsemen along the crest of the 
hills, there? Well; they're Reil's scouts." 

Rodney raised his glass and watched them, with 
the thrilling sense that it was the first sight of the 

Just then the captain was heard detailing Lieu- 
tenant Johns to take a squad of twenty men and 
make an effort to capture the outriding Half Breed 

Rodney wondered if Gilroy would order him to 
go with the skirmishers; but Gilroy seemed to entire- 
ly forget, in the prospect of the excitement, the pres- 
ence of his private scout and dashed away with the 


detachment without a word or a glance to indicate 
what he expected of his assistant. 

Only a moment did Rodney hesitate; then he 
followed hard on in the tracks of his superior, vn 
secret fear that the latter would discover his presence 
and send him back to the main company. 

After a sharp ride of a couple of miles they halted 
under cover of small woods for a momentary con- 
sultation, during which Rodney was careful to keep 
as many horsemen and bushes between himself and 
Gilroy as possible. 

It was decided to divide the men into two equal 
detachments, one of them to ride openly upon the 
half-breeds, the other to take a circuit and come up 
in form to surround them when retreating or under 

Gilroy waited with the party which was to lead 
the attack. 

When a sufficient time had been allowed for the 
others to make their longer circuitous advance, the 
remaining squad pressed on to the edge of the 
woods, from which the Half Breeds could be seen 
only a few hundred rods distant, sitting quietly on 
their ponies and calmly watching the other body of 
the government scouts further down in the valley. 

They had not detected the approach of Lieutenant 
Johns' detachment. 

" Now for a sharp dash at them. If they halt to 
fire, do the same, and give it to them until the other 
boys come up behind and cut off their retreat," was 
the command. 


Then the signal to charge was given and 
the twelve government scouts, including the news- 
paper force, leaped their horses out of the conceal- 
ment into full sight of the astonished squad of 
Rebels, which Rodney hurriedly estimated to be 
about eight in number. The latter did not even 
pause to fire an opening salute, but wheeled and 
galloped toward the cover of the next stretch 
of woods as fast as their ponies could carry 

"Put 'em through!" shouted the lieutenant, and 
the scouts urged on their horses until they rode breast 
to breast, with only Rodney, who contrived to keep 
close behind Gilroy, in the rear. 

The race was more spirited and exciting than 
even Rodney's dreams of a charge had pictured. 
He had never ridden so fast in his life before, and it 
seemed to him that they must be going almost as 
fast as a railway train. 

As he had never been aboard one of the latter 
while it was in motion, and had formed his estimate 
of their speed mainly in watching them across the 
prairie at a considerable distance, it was not wholly 
strange that the long, sharp, straining leaps of the 
animal under him should seem almost as fleet as the 

As the horses' speed increased, he began to 
wonder what would happen if they were obliged to 
stop short. Before he could reach any conclusion 
upon this problem, the scouts began to slacken their 
speed and fire. 


"Crack! crack! crack!" went one repeaterafter 

Rodney watched the fleeing Half Breeds, expect- 
ing to see several of them reel from their saddles; 
but they did not. 

After some fifty rods of even more desperate 
riding, the scouts evidently considered themselves 
within rifle range, for they drew their horses to a 
standstill, and began firing, almost together, with a 
deliberate aim that sent a couple of the Half Breeds' 
ponies stumbling upon their knees. But they regained 
their feet and plunged on more furiously than 

Rodney became so absorbed for the moment in 
watching the effect of the shooting that he lost 
thought of everything beside. When he returned 
to consciousness of his surroundings, he saw Gilroy's 
horse breaking toward the enemy at terrific speed, 
leaving the scouts rapidly behind. 

A moment's observation convinced him that 
Gilroy's horse, which he knew had never been under 
fire before, had become unmanageable. 

Would it carry the helpless correspondent so 
close to the half-breeds that they would pause long 
enough to shoot him down at short range? Then 
the thought flashed through Rodney's mind that 
they would be less likely to attempt such a move if 
Gilroy were not alone, and that he must catch up 
with his employer and lessen the danger by sharing 
it with him. Then there might also be a chance 
that, by riding close alongside Gilroy and seizing 


.the bit of the latter's horse, he could bring the ter- 
rified animal to a halt in time to save its rider. 

The great question now in the boy's mind was 
not how he should stop his own horse, but whether 
he could overtake Gilroy before they were fairly 
upon the heels of the Half Breeds. He jabbed his 
spurs fiercely into the sides of Pink-eye and the 
latter responded with a sudden expenditure of 
reserve speed which well nigh took Rodney's breath. 

In less time than he had dared to hope the Roman 
nose of Pink-eye 'was alongside the flank of 
Gilvoy's horse and in a second more they were 
neck and neck. 

Rodney was about to attempt his desperate plan 
of seizing Gilroy's bridle, when one of the Half 
Breeds wheeled his pony about, raised his Winches- 
ter and sent back a bullet which dropped Gilroy's 
horse upon its knees. 

Without a word from him Rodney's horse came 
to a stand still within a few rods from where Gilroy 
had been thrown. How the horse accomplished 
this feat without shooting him from the saddle was 
more than Rodney could understand. Only a horse 
with a long training in actual cavalry service could 
have done it, he was s.ure. 

But there was no time for him to speculate upon 
it then; there was too much pressing business close 
at hand. 

The same scout who had dropped Gilroy's horse 
was "pumping" the empty cartridge-shell out of his 
Winchester, ready for a second shot. 


Scarcely knowing how he did it, Rodney leaped 
from his horse leveled his rifle across his saddle and 
fired. The rifle which had a careful bead upon 
Gilroy dropped from the Half Breed's hands and 
discharged harmlessly as it fell. 

The wounded man shouted to his comrade, who 
were some distance in advance of him and they 
faced about and opened up a lively fire upon Gilroy 
and Rodney. The former had succeeded in getting 
back to his horse without being struck by any of the 
ballswhich whistled about him in a rapid succession 
as the Half Breeds could pump their Winchesters. 
Finding that his horse was severely wounded, 
Gilroy quickly drew his revolver and put the animal 
out of its suffering by sending a bullet through its 
head. He then threw himself at full length on the 
ground and using the dead body of the horse as a 
barricade and ''rest" for his rifle, proceeded to 
return the fire of Rebels with an accuracy which was 
impossible to them, mounted upon their panting and 
exhausted ponies. Rodney was also intrenched 
behind his Shaganappy, which stood as motionless as 
though being carried or caressed. 

If the range between the dueling parties had not 
been so great probably both would have suffered 
severely, but the singing of the balls close about 
them, and the loss of Gilroy's horse were the nearest 
approaches to fatalities which the newspaper scouts 
sustained. Nor could they see that their shots, 
aside from the fortunate hit made by Rodney's first 
ball, had any effect upon the Half Breeds. However, 


the wound that Rodney then inflicted upon the dar- 
ing spy no doubt saved Gilroy's life, for the two were 
in close quarters and Gilroy presented a fair and 
unprotected target for the Half Breeds aim. 

Meantime Lieutenant Johns and his men galloped 
rapidly forward to Gilroy's relief, and when in line 
with him, halted and joined in the interesting fire 
with which he was plying the Rebels. 

Had the lieutenant's object been to drop as many 
of the enemy as possible he would have charged the 
Half Breeds; but as he only wished to check their 
retreat until the other detachment of scouts should 
appear, the distance answered his purpose as effect- 
ively as nearer range. 

Suddenly from out the woods a couple of 
hundred rods in the rear of the defensive party, 
came in view the other ten government scouts. A 
quick charge down the hill brought them in range 
of the Half Breeds, who were thrown into confusion 
by this unexpected rear attack. Without waiting 
for the second party to come within close range, 
they lost no time in giving the word of surrender 
and brought to a speedy close Rodney's first experi- 
ence under fire. 

After the prisoners had been disarmed, and all 
save the one whom Rodney had w r ounded securely 
bound, Gilroy grasped Rodney's hand, exclaimed: 
" My lad, that first shot of yours was a lucky one 
for me and a plucky one, too! It saved my bacon 
sure as you're alive. I supposed you were back 
there with the others, where, by good rights, you 


ought to have been. But I'm mighty glad, as things 
turned out, that you were on hand; and I shall not 
forcret this turn, either. 


Just then Lieutenant Johns laid a hearty hand on 
Rodney's shoulder and exclaimed: 

"Boy, you're a brick! Never saw a grittier 
piece of business in my life! That's what I call good 
fighting. You couldn't have done better if you'd 
been an old hand at it. You did the right thing at 
the right time. If all of my men do as well I'll be 
mighty thankful that's all I can say. You plunked 
that squaw-man just in the niche of time." 

Rodney blushed under this praise, and when he 
could speak replied: 

" It was all so quick that I don't hardly know 
how I happened to do it." 

"Of course! That's the way it always is in this 
kind of fighting. No time for fine figuring. And 
the men who can grasp the situation and do their 
work before they know how it's done are men we're 
looking for. No, sir; there wasn't any fool fighting 
in that little brush!" 

"Was the man badly hurt?" asked Rodney in a 
tone which betrayed the hope that he had not in- 
flicted a serious injury and the fear that his shot 
might have been fatal. 

" Hit him square in the right shoulder. You 
punished him well for his recklessness; but I guess 
he'll pull through all right. He's back there grit 
ting his teeth pretty hard," replied the Lieutenant 
Johns, with a levity that made Rodney shudder. 


"If you please, I'd like to let him have my horse 
to ride back on," said the boy. 

" Well, that's what I'd call " But the lieutenant 
did not finish the sentence. 

However, Rodney had the satisfaction of seeing 
the man whom he had wounded, ride back on old 
Pink-eye; and after they reached camp the tender- 
hearted boy not only devoted every possible mo- 
ment to making the man as comfortable as his 
injuries would permit, but also suffered, in keen 
sympathy, the pains which, through the inevitable 
fortunes of war, he had inflicted. 



THE scouts were joined at Clark's Crossing by the 
regulars, and the camp presented a very impos- 
ing and warlike appearance, at least to Rodney's 
eyes. The story of his courageous conduct in the 
capture of the prisoners evidently went the rounds 
among the regulars, many of whom had a cheerful 
greeting for him, treating him as nearly like a com- 
panion and an equal as men can treat boys. 

But the intimate companionship which sprang up 
between the newspaper correspondent and Rodney 
was the greatest satisfaction that had yet entered 
into the life of the shy, quiet boy. 

In a few confidential chats by their own camp- 
fire, Gilroy drew the boy out and discovered that 
his intelligence was equal to his courage and faith- 
fulness and that his knowledge of good books and 
the things best worth knowing was far in advance, 
both in range and thoroughness, of that acquired by 
the average boy under the best educational en- 

" I'll tell you what's the matter, Captain," said 
the correspondent to Captain French; "that lad's 
got sound parts. He's lived in that little frontier 
town and picked from a priest and his library more 
real culture than I had, at his age, after attending 



one of the best private schools in England. All he 
needs now to make him a broad man is the worldly 
wisdom that he'll get in knocking about the world- 
and I guess he'll pick that up fast enough. Anyway 
I mean to do the square thing by him. I believe 
he's got the making of a good newspaper man in 

It was enough for Rodney to know that Gilroy 
seemed to like him and gave him the hearty 
good fellowship that only an adult companion could 
have expected. It was something to which Rodney 
had never dared aspire. 

It seemed to Rodney that he had never listened 
to anything quite so interesting as Gilroy's account 
of the great newspaper offices that he had visited 
and their wonderful printing-presses. 

Rodney purposed to ask more about these, but 
the exciting events which followed the division of 
the troops, on the third day at Clark's Crossing, put 
all but present events out of mind for the time 

As it was impossible to tell upon which side of 
the river the Riel forces would be encountered, the 
troops were divided equally between Lord Melgund 
and Gen. Middleton, the former proceeding on the 
north side of the river, while the latter scoured the 
south shore, the scouts coming under the command 
of Lord Melgund. 

The additional number of troops in the march- 
ing columns, the presence of the uniformed regulars 
and the hourly expectation of coming upon the 


enemy, made the march full of excitement to Rod- 

It was not until the third day out of Clark's 
Crossing that the sharp, crackling reports of mus- 
ketry, on the opposite bank, told that the enemy had 
been engaged by Gen. Middleton's division. 

Then anticipations leaped to fever-heat on every 
hand. Rodney had often speculated upon the feel- 
ings of a soldier about to enter an engagement, and 
had come to the secret conclusion that, while a 
worthy soldier would not shrink from the deliberate 
hazard of his life, he would " look death in the face" 
and mentally prepare himself for the worst that 
might happen. It was almost impossible for him to 
realize that the men about him were expecting to be 
in the thick of battle within the next hour. The 
Half Breed boys at the fort had never been in more 
jovial spirits in anticipation of a game of ball or a 
wrestling match than were these ligh-hearted sol- 
diers. It was only by an analysis of his own feel- 
ings that Rodney could judge the emotions of the 
others. It seemed to him that probably many of 
the men would be shot, but not himself. He ac- 
counted, however, for his own comfortable personal 
view of the matter by the fact that he would prob- 
ably be in a safe place, and not exposed to the dan- 
gers like the others. 

The appearance of a couple of aides, riding at 
greatest speed over the crest of the hills, on the op- 
posite side, was the signal for a burst of cheers. 

Before their arrival, Rodney watched the 


gunners train their cannon from the brow of the 
bluff upon the spot where the Half Breeds were sup- 
posed to be ambushed. It made the boy cringe to 
watch the effect of the balls from the big gun, as 
they crashed through the trees that opposed their 

Before many discharges from the battery, the 
aides dashed up to Lord Melgund, bringing dis- 
patches from Gen. Middleton, directing the latter to 
be sent across the river, to his assistance, under 
guard of the scouts. 

An old scow had been floated down the river and 
anchored for transport purposes, and upon this the 
cannon, after infinite pains, was loaded. 

The tug-of-war, however, came in landing the 
gun and getting it up the steep bank on the opposite 

To do manual labor while exposed to the fire of 
the enemy was a sort of bravery which Rodney ap- 
preciated for the first time, as he saw the men 
laboring to hoist the heavy gun up the declivity, 
while the balls from the rifles of the Rebel sharp 
shooters whistled close about them. 

The latter were entrenched in a V-shaped ravine, 
protected by timber and carefully-constructed rifle 
pits, from which they poured, with comparative 
safety, a telling fire upon the government forces, 
which occupied the high, exposed position upon the 
bank of the ravine. 

" Now, young man," said Gilroy, rather sternly, 
as soon as they reached the elevation from which 


the cannon was ranged upon the occupants of the 
ravine, " I want you to take care of yourself and keep 
out of danger. There will be no reason for you to 
expose yourself at all during the fight. Just see all 
you can of it within the bounds of safety, and try to 
remember every incident and detail, so that you can 
tell me all about it afterwards. When the fight is 
over I shall have to send you back to the station 
with a dispatch; so you'd better catch as much sleep 
as you can, for you'll need it." 

At first Rodney kept carefully in theback ground, 
but as the excitement intensified, his recollection of 
Gilroy's kindly instructions became gradually less 
vivid, and when he finally saw a large log laying 
close along the edge of the bank he lost no time 
creeping to it. It was an ideal position from which 
to observe the fight, and Rodney wondered that 
some of the scouts had not found it before him. 

A small opening underneath the log formed an 
excellent peep-hole, through which he could see 
distinctly, without the possibility of being sighted by 
the Rebels. 

"I'll tell Mr. Gilroy of this; for I'll warrant he 
hasn't found as good an outlook," exclaimed Rod- 
ney, as he turned about and crawled back out of 
range, where he expected to find the correspondent. 

The first men whom Rodney encountered were 
four of the scouts, who were bringing back a com- 
panion on an improvised stretcher. 

The man had been struck in the lower jaw by a 
sharp-shooter's ball and presented a ghastly sight, 


from which the boy turned away with a faint and 

sickening sensation. 

"Looking for Gilroy?" asked one of the men, 

who knew the young newspaper scout. 

"Yes, sir! Can you tell me where he is? ' 
"Right over there in that clump of trees, along 

with the general. It's infernal warm over there just 

now and you'd better pick your way and keep 

behind the trees. No sense in being fool-hardy, you 


Rodney could see the erect form of General 
Middleton, mounted on his handsome horse, and 
standing beside him was Gilroy. 

Taking as protected a course as possible Rodney 
soon found himself safely beside Gilroy, who turned 
upon him with a disapproving frown and the excla- 

"What! You here? This is no place for anyone 
who doesn't have to fight." 

He might have said more, but that instant the 
shrill scream of a ball made them cringe and dodge. 

"That's a close call for some of us! " said Gilroy, 
changing the subject. 

"Rather, yes! ' said the general, as he quickly 
changed his position, took his fur hat from his head 
and held it out toward Gilroy, "I reckon that shot 
was meant for me! ' 

The bullet had ripped through the top of the hat 
and could not have passed more than an inch from 
his head. 

"Those fellows are about as near dead shots as 


they make them and Gabriel Dumont is the cham- 
pion of the whole outfit." added the general, and 
then gave the order for the rifles to keep a sharp 
lookout for the head of Kiel's chief of staff, who 
was known by his peculiar hat, and to make him a 
special target. 

"That's business!" remarked Captain Wise of the 
staff, in an undertone to Gilroy. "Every time 
Dumont shows his head above their rifle pit it means 
Gabriel's trump for some fellow on our side. And 
he is just smart enough to change his position after 
every shot. No telling where he will bob up." 

The wonderful coolness of General Middleton, 
and of all the men about him, under such terrible 
danger, impressed Rodney with a feeling of awe 
and admiration, which made a big lump rise in his 
throat. It seemed to him that his own conduct in 
the skirmish with the Half Breed scouts was nothing 
compared with such deliberate bravery as these men 
displayed; and he felt a keen sense of shame at the 
impulse which at that moment made him wish that 
he were in safer quarters. 

"There's a perfectly safe place over there behind 
a big log, right on the brow of the bluff, where we 
can see the whole thing through a crack under the 
log. I thought mebby you'd like to know of it,' 
explained Rodney, in an undertone. 

"All right, we'll " 

A fierce cry of pain, different from any that Rod- 
ney had yet heard, cut short the remainder of 
Gilroy's remark. 


At the same instant Rodney saw the splendid 
animal, one of the best in camp, upon which the 
Hon. Feinnes, of the general's staff, was mounted, 
rear and plunge. It had been shot through and its 
peculiar scream seemed even more terrible to the 
boy than the moans of pain that had escaped the 
wounded man whom he had met a few moments 

He expected to see the horse drop at once, as the 
blood was spurting a stream from its side. 

Feinnes, who was seeking to obtain a better 
knowledge of the enemy's position and a more tell- 
ing arrangement of his own forces, plunged his spurs 
into his mortally wounded horse and rode sheer up 
to the brink of the ravine, where his figure must have 
been clearly silhouetted against the sky. 

The close and clear view of the Rebels which this 
point of vantage afforded the reckless young officer 
was too great a temptation to him, and he drew his 
revolvers and deliberately emptied them at Half 
Breeds, while a volley of balls whistled around him. 

"The fool!" exclaimed Gilroy, as he grasped 
Lieutenant Johns' arm and watched the man under 
the spell of the same awful fascination which held 
Rodney's attention, expecting that the next instant 
would see both man and horse fall perhaps over 
the brink of the ravine. 

When Feinnes had emptied the chambers of both 
his revolvers he wheeled his horse about and rode 
back towards his men. 

"Well, if those Half Breeds don't give him credit 


for being charmed, then I'm mistaken," exclaimed 
Lieutenant Johns. "That was the nerviest piece of 
fool fighting I ever saw. He must be bullet-proof, 
for nothing short of a miracle could have saved 

'Come, lad, let's get out of this. It's altogether 
too lively for me here," said Gilroy, who made no 
secret of the fear which Rodney had been ashamed 
to admit even to himself. 

Rodney led the way to his log. 

"Just see the horses down there along the creek!" 
exclaimed Gilroy, pointing to the ponies of the 
Half Breeds which had been hitched to the timber 
in the bottom of the ravine. Many of them were 
dead, while the wounded ones were plunging furi- 
ously in efforts to break their Shagnappy lariats. 

"If you can get the drop on any of 'em that 
haven't been killed or disabled, you might get a little 
good rifle practice," suggested Gilroy. 

"I'd rather put some of the wounded and 
suffering ones out of their misery," replied Rodney, 
whose humane instincts and natural love of all 
animals, and especially of horses, revolted against 
the thought of deliberately shooting down the inno- 
cent creatures. It seemed to him that it would be 
more nearly right to shoot the men who had left 
them thus exposed. 

He therefore selected one after another of the 
wounded ones and made them his target. 

"I'm going to see if I can hit that spotted one in 
the head," said Rodney, as he took aim at a pony 


that had been wounded and was laying back upon 
its tether until its haunches almost touched the 

"Good! try another!" exclaimed Gilroy, as the 
Shaganappy dropped limply to the ground after the 
report of Rodney's rifle. 

As Rodney opened the guard of his repeater to 
eject the exploded shell and throw a fresh cartridge 
into place he exclaimed: 

"Look! There's Dumont!" 

The next moment, as Gilroy leveled his rifle at 
the famous Half Breed lieutenant, Rodney would 
have given almost anything in his power to have 
recalled his words. 

"Click!" went the hammer of the gun. The cart- 
ridge had failed and Gilroy jerked back the shell 
ejector with a stronger exclamation of anger and 
disgust than Rodney had ever heard him use before. 

Rodney, however, could scarcely surpress the 
exclamation of relief and thankfulness that rose to 
his lips at the result. It seemed like murder to him 
to lay concealed in ambush, select a particular vic- 
tim and shoot him down with cool, calculating de- 

"That fellow's like Feinnes, he's bullet-proof- 
and a regular dare-devil, too. I'll bet he's killed 
more of our men than any man in Riel's army. And 
the bad whisky that he used to sell in his groggery 
has done up perhaps as many honest men as his 
rifle has." 

Rodney could not help thinking that the dashing 


young Half Breed certainly commanded greater re- 
spect in his present role of chief lieutenant of the 
oppressed settlers' forces than, in his former calling, 
of selling slow poison to his friends. 

As the dusk settled down the firing gradually 
ceased, picket lines were thrown out and the news- 
paper scouts moved about headquarters picking up 
the details of the day's fighting. 

It was learned that the goverment forces had 
lost about forty-nine men. 

''Now turn in and sleep until I wake you. I shall 
get my specials written up by early morning and 
then I'll rout you and you can take the back 
track for the telegraph station. I don't think you'll 
have any trouble in getting through all right, but 
you'll have to keep a sharp out-look for Rebel 
scouts. And if you should run against any of them, 
don't have any false pride about showing them your 
horse's heels and leaving them behind as fast as 
possible. Well, good-night." 

With these instructions in his mind, Rodney 
rolled himself in his blanket, feeling that sleep would 
be out of the question after the intense excitement 
of the day. 

He was but fairly launched in his speculations 
upon what the morrow would bring forth, when he 
dropped into heavy slumber. 

It seemed to him, when in the morning Gilroy's 
vigorous shakes aroused him, that he had but just 

" Put these dispatches in your boots, get your- 


self some breakfast and then put out at as good a 
pace as you think your horse will hold. If you 
make the trip in extra time, quick you may get back 
here before we break camp, for the general has 
decided to wait for reinforcements before moving 
on to Batosch." 



THERE had always been a peculiar charm to 
Rodney in the gray dimness of an early spring 
morning; and as he saddled Pink-eye, after eating 
his breakfast and providing himself with a little 
lunch for his journey, this peculiar influence was 
especially strong upon him. It stirred all the tender 
instincts of the boy, and his thoughts went back to 
his mother. He wondered whether or not she had 
found it very lonely since his departure, and from 
that fell to thinking how glad she would be to see 
him when he should return. 

Although he had been as obedient and thought- 
ful of his parents' comfort as any happy, healthy 
boy could reasonably be expected to be, it was 
not difficult, when in this reflective mood, to 
recall many ways in which he might have 
contributed to his mother's happiness and comfort, 
which he had failed to improve; and as the weary, 
hopeless drudgery of her life came clearly before 
his mind its pathetic desolateness touched him more 
strongly than ever before. 

" If I get through this thing all right, I know 
what I'll do! ' he mused, slapping his leg in a burst 
of enthusiasm. " Mother shall have a trip back to 
Illinois to see her folks. It would do her a world 



of good. And maybe I could go with her and get a 
place on some newspaper. ' 

The barking of a dog, that had been waiting in 
ambush by the side of the road, aroused him from 
his reverie to the consciousness that he was making 
very poor haste. 

The snapping of the cur about the heels of Pink- 
eye set the Shaganappy off at a round canter, to 
which he steadily held. 

When passing through the open country Rodney 
felt comparatively little anxiety about his safety 
from prowling scouts; but as he approached a long 
stretch of woods, which came close to the road on 
either side, his watchfulness instinctively quickened 
and his faculties were keyed to catch the slightest 
sign of danger. 

He was well along into the center of the woods, 
when he pulled Pink-eye to a sharp halt and paused 
to listen. 

Yes, there could be no doubt about it! He surely 
heard a human voice back from the road, in the 
interior of the woods. Again he listened. This 
time the sound came with startling clearness. It was 
a woman's voice, hoarse and strained, calling loudly. 

"Jean! Oh Jean! Jean!' it repeated, in a voice 
that told him plainly that the woman must be hunt- 
ing for a lost child. 

" It wont take long, just to stop and see what the 
trouble is," he argued with himself; "and I'll push 
Pink-eye through a little harder to make up for the 
delay. " 


As the voice sounded nearer with each repetition 
of the pitiful call, he concluded that he would see 
the woman as soon by waiting quietly in the road 
where he was, as he would by attempting to get 
through the timber toward her. He also did not 
wish to run the risk of leaving his horse for even a 
few moments in the road. It seemed impossible for 
him to pass by without any heed to the woman's dis- 
tress, and he did not think best to call out to her. 

Although obliged to wait but a few mo- 
ments, it seemed a long time to Rodney, under 
stress of his sympathy and anxiety, before the woman 
appeared in the road, several rods in advance of him. 

He called quietly to her and was soon at her 
side, listening to her story. 

Her husband, she said, was in Riel's forces at 
Batosch, and she had been left at home with their 
four children. Their cabin was so close to the bank 
of the ravine, at Fish Creek, that she had been 
obliged to flee from it with her children. They had 
started for the cabin of a friend, five miles in the 
direction in which Rodney was going. 

When they had reached the edge of the woods it 
came to her that she had forgotten, in the panic of 
their fright, the little money she had hid in the 
cabin, and now that the children were out of danger, 
she determined to go back for it. Leaving the 
three younger children in care of the eldest girl, 
seven years old, she hurried back to their deserted 
home and secured the stocking in which their little 
hoard of money was concealed. 


In an hour she was back to her children, but the 
oldest girl was missing. The baby had called for 
water and she had gone to look fora spring. From 
that time she had been searching the woods, with- 
out finding any trace of the lost girl. The other 
children had been left with the wife of a settler, 
whose cabin was near at hand. 

Rodney assured her that he would not only keep 
a constant lookout for the child, in the remainder 
of his journey, but would also stop at the cabin to 
which they had originally set out, and tell their 
friends of her distress. 

It was a severe hardship for the boy to continue 
his journey, but there seemed to be no escape from 
the necessity of this. He consoled himself, how- 
ever, with the thought that perhaps he might be as 
likely to come accidentally upon the lost child as he 
would be to find it upon a definite search. 

When at last he reached the telegraph station 
and tied old Pink-eye to the ring in the platform, he 
could not forbear putting a few caressing pats upon 
the pony's scrawny, U-shaped neck, which was wet 
with foam and sweat. 

" Well, you are a stayer, so you are ! I'll see if I 
can't scare you up a good feed of oats," he said to 
the pony, which seemed to understand his words. 

After attending to the dispatches and writing a 
short letter to his mother, Rodney secured from the 
station agent a feed of oats and gave them to the 
faithful animal, which he carefully groomed with a 
bit of an old blanket, also obtained from the agent. 


Then he ate his lunch and wrote a short letter to 
his mother. 

But his mind was filled with thoughts of the 
half-breed mother, searching the woods for her 
lost child. If only he might find the little girl ! 
He determined to risk a slight delay in getting back 
to camp in order to make a short search for the 
child, for he was sure that Gilroy would not object, 
under the circumstances. 

With this determination, he quickly saddled Pink- 
eye and began to retrace his course at even greater 
speed than he had come. 

So completely did the thought of rescuing the 
child absorb him, that Gilroy's caution about keep- 
ing a sharp lookout for prowling half-breed scouts 
was completely forgotten. 

He paused and listened to every unusual sound, 
and frequently went out of the roadway to investi- 
gate objects which had the faintest suggestion of 
resemblance to a child or to a bit of clothing. But 
each of these sounds and objects, which at first 
excited his hopes, proved upon investigation to be 
natural and common-place, that he wondered how 
he could have been misled by them; and as he 
had neared the place where he had met the woman, 
he almost despaired of success. 

Nevertheless, he paused a moment to debate 
with himself the advisability of carrying out his 
determination. In view of the fact that the mother 
had herself patroled the woods, calling the child's 
name at almost every step, it seemed useless for him 


to spend the hour or two that he would dare to 
delay, in searching over the same ground. 

"It's no use ! I might just as well go on," he said 
to himself, and accordingly put spurs to his horse 
and hastened on. 

As he came within sight of the "open" between the 
timber and the camp, overlooking Fish Creek, he 
noticed what seemed like a light trail leading into 
the woods. Closer scrutiny confirmed this suspicion, 
for there were the prints of a horse's hoof, which 
had been recently shod. 

"I'll follow this up for a little way and see where 
it leads to," he said to himself. 

Although a moment's reflection would have fur- 
nished Rodney with several reasonable explanations 
for the presence of this trail, it aroused in him a 
boyish excitement, at the thought of having dis- 
covered a secret trail which he could follow alone. 
Who could tell to what strange developments it 
might lead? 

It was with difficulty that he managed to follow 
the trail for about a hundred rods through the 
woods into the mouth of a rocky and watered ravine, 
the existence of which he had not, from the general 
"lay" of the country, before mistrusted. This was an 
interesting development, and he could not resist the 
temptation to continue his explorations a little dis- 
tance further up the gulch, although he was no 
longer able to see the prints of the sharply "corked" 

As he proceeded he found the banks on either 


side of the stream more high and rocky. Occasion- 
ally flat shelves of rock jutted out at considerable 
elevations, and as frequently he caught sight of 
large holes in the banks, which looked delightfully 
suggestive to his boyish imagination, of dark and 
secret caverns. 

He was about to halt and investigate one of these 
openings, when he heard far up the ravine the 
violent bellowing of a bull. At first his impulse was 
to dismiss this fact without further thought, but in 
his alert and imaginative mood, the most ordinary 
facts became significant, and he relinquished his 
purpose to peer in the hole as quickly as he had 
formed it. 

Putting spurs to his horse, he cantered briskly up 
the flat, shaly bottom of the gulch, until it turned a 
sharp angle. As he dashed around this curve, his 
heart seemed for the moment to cease beating. 

Within twenty rods of him, hooking and pawing 
the earth of the bank in rage, and bellowing furi- 
ously, was as scurvy and uninviting a specimen of 
semi-wild bull as Rodney had ever seen, while from 
one of the protruding shelves of stone waved in the 
wind the object which had inflamed the creature's 
fury to a state of madness. 

It was the red flannel dress of a child. Each 
time that a breeze would shake the garment, the bull's 
rage would mount to a terrific pitch, and the brute 
would rush up the steep bank until he would find 
himself standing impotently underneath the shelf 
of rock upon which the child was resting. 


Before Rodney could pull Pink-eye to a halt, the 
Dull caught sight of him, paused a moment, with 
his sharp, grimy horns lifted smartly aloof, and then, 
with a wild, resonant bellow, charged upon the new 
invader of his retreat. 

All of the cow-boy stories which Rodney had read 
represented that, when in the saddle, a man was 
safe from the attacks of cattle, save in the case of 
a stampede. 

Rodney thought of this, as the bull came bound- 
ing toward him, and would not have been sur- 
prised to see the animal stop at any moment. 

But the bull did not stop. It's leaps became 
quicker and longer. Rodney reached for his revolv- 
er, unbuttoned the flap of his holster, and drew it 
out, just as the bull plunged into the shallow water 
of the stream. 

The boy had no notion of running from a 
" scrub ' bull, whether there were any spectators 
present to observe his conduct or not. 

"Whoa stand still, Pink-eye!" he commanded 
the shaganappy, which obeyed with military prompt- 
ness and fidelity. 

Then he fired three shots, in rapid succession, at 
the breast of the oncoming brute, and jabbed his 
spurs into the pony's flanks, as he imagined a Span- 
ish bull-fighter might do. 

It was a happy precaution, for an instant after 
the bull made a plunge which would have pinned 
both horns into the horse's side. 

Quickly wheeling Pink-eye about, Rodney again 


emptied a chamber of his revolver at the broadside 
of the bull, as the latter went sprawling upon his 
knees on the stones. 

This ball, which entered the animal's side just 
back of it's shoulder, was more effective than the 
others, although it did not produce instant death, as 
Rodney expected when he saw, by the spurting 
blood, where it had entered. The wounded bull 
still continued to propel itself by its hind legs, 
while its breast plowed up the loose shale stones in 
the bed of the ravine. 

Believing that the creature was mortally wounded, 
Rodney took more deliberate aim, and sent the two 
remaining charges into its vital parts with fatal ef- 
fect. In the intense excitement of his own peril 
Rodney, for the instant, forgot the presence of the 
child; but as soon as he saw that the bull was dead, 
the recollection of the little figure stretched upon 
the shelf of rock came back to him with fresh force 
and emphasis. 

"Is she alive?" was the awful question that 
spurred him to put his horse through the slippery 
bed of the stream at a reckless gallop. 

Reaching a spot below the rock, he leaped from 
his saddle and clambered up the steep bank. 

"Dead!" he muttered, as he caught the first 
glimpse of the child's face. 

Instantly gathering the limp, little body in his 
arms, the lad rushed down the bank to the edge of 
the creek, from which he dipped handfuls of water 
and dashed them into her face. 




He saw her eyelids twich and quiver. At last 
they opened and she gave a little cry he could not 
tell whether ot joy or fear and then sank into 
stupor again. Having once seen a boy, who had, 
when skating, fallen through the ice of the river, 
brought back from unconsciousness by vigorous 
rubbing, Rodney determined to try that remedy on 
the child, and promptly began to chafe her face, 
hands and bare feet and ankles. 

It proved almost instantly effective, for the child 
soon revived and sat upright on the stones. 

Where is the bull --and ma and the children?" 
she asked in confusion. 

"The bull is dead- -over there on the other side; 
see?" he answered, pointing to the animal. "Your 
mother and the children are safe and I am going to 
take you to them. I'm a newspaper scout, and 
that's my horse up by the bank behind us," he added 
proudly; but was almost ashamed of the words as 
soon as he had spoken them, for he realized that 
they were a little foolish and boastful. 

"Oh I'm awful hungry!" exclaimed the child, in 
a pitiful wailing tone, and then began to sob. 

"Drink some water and I'll go to my saddle and 
get some crackers that I had left from my lunch." 

He scooped up more water in the palm of his 
hand and held it to her lips again and again. It 
seemed to Rodney that she could not have drank 
more eagerly if she had been rescued from days of 
wondering without water upon the plains or the 


"There! You hadn't better drink any more just 
now." He ran to his saddle and took from 
behind it the little bundle in which he had stowed 
the remnants of his lunch. 

After soaking a couple of the crackers in the 
water he gave them to her, and she devoured them 
with an almost savage greed. 

"You'll have to let me carry you in front of me 
on the saddle. Do you think you can stand it to 
ride that way? We'll be where your mother is in 
just a few minutes if you can." And without wait- 
ing for a reply he carried her to the side of Pink-eye 
and lifted her tenderly into the saddle. 

She clung to its horn while he mounted and 
then he started to retrace his course back to the 

Before they had gone a dozen rods he gave the 
bridle-rein a sharp pull, which brought Pink-eye to 
an abrupt halt. After a moment of intent listening 
he wheeled the faithful shaganappy quickly about, 
and said in an undertone: 

"Now Jean, don't be frightened, or cry. We must 
ride fast, for you know your mother is waiting to 
see you." 

Then he plunged the spurs into the pony's 
sides with a vigor that gave the knowing brute to 
understand that serious business was on hand. 

As it leaped along the hard level bottom of the 
ravine Rodney could hear the clatter of other hoofs 
beyond the turn in the ravine, coming toward him 
at terrific speed. He was sure that they were rebel 


scouts who had been attracted by the sound of his 
shots at the bull. 

It required only a few minutes to confirm this 
opinion, for as half a dozen horsemen came in sight 
around the turn of the gully, as many bullets whistled 
after him. 

They were fired at too great a distance and from 
too unsteady seats to do him any injury. 

For a hundred rods he held his distance straight 
ahead, holding in front of him the child, who seemed 
too terrified to even scream. Then he could see 
that the scouts were gradually gaining upon his 
awkwardly burdened horse. 

When it seemed as though a few moments more 
must surely bring his pursuers within rifle range of 
him, he saw some thirty rods ahead of him a tribu- 
tary creek joining the main stream by the side of 
which he was riding. 

The thought flashed into his mind that this branch 
ravine would doubtless lead him up to the general 
level of the surrounding country sooner than the 
principal one that he was now following. Although 
he could not have given a reason for this intuition 
he instinctively accepted it and took new courage. 

All that spurs and words of urging could do to 
incite Pink-eye to a fresh burst of speed was done, 
and the animal seemed to grasp a full understanding 
of the fearful necessities of the moment. His hoofs 
struck sparks from the stony trail at every leap. 

Not until close up to the point where they must 
turn into the tributary ravine did Rodney cease to 


urge the animal on. Then he even slackened Pink- 
eye's speed in order to round the abrupt turn in 

As he did this, another volley of shots told him 
that the scouts were still in desperate pursuit and 
determined to contest every possible chance to 
escape; but again their balls fell wide of the mark. 

Once safely around the difficult turn, he again 
bent every effort to regain his former speed. 

Before the scouts came once more in view, a 
glad shout broke from the lad, for at the end of the 
ravine, not a hundred rods beyond, he caught sight 
of the camp of the rifles and the government scouts. 



THE significance of Rodney's yell seemed to be 
instantly understood by both his pursuers and 
the friends in front of him, for scarcely had the 
echoes died away when he saw that a detachment of 
horsemen break from the ranks of government scouts 
and come to his relief with all possible speed; but 
the shots and the clatter of hoofs behind him sud- 
denly stopped and he rightly guessed that the rebel 
scouts had not only abandoned all hope of capturing 
him but were making good their own escape. 

He therefore slackened his speed and made the 
remaining distance to camp in greater leisure, for 
old Pink-eye was well-spent and winded by the long 
and rapid journey of the day and the exciting race 
with which it had ended. 

As the posse of scouts in pursuit of the rebels 
who had given Rodney so close a chase urged their 
horses past him, they gave him rousing cheers at 
the sight of the child. 

The reception which was given him in camp, as he 
handed his burden into Gilroy's arms and dismounted, 
was enough to have made a full-grown man proud, 
to say nothing of a boy. 

As he suspected from their behavior, the troops 

had heard the story of the lost child and there was 
6 77 


not a man of them who would not have risked his 
own life to save the little girl. 

Not only did the scouts gather about Rodney to 
hear an account of his adventure, but they were 
joined by the captains and even Lord Melgund and 
Gen. Middleton. 

Meantime the child had been given into the care 
of the physician, for fear that the intense strain 
through which it had just passed, following instantly 
upon partaking of the first food after so terrible a 
fast, might result seriously. 

"Someone ought to go at once and tell the mother 
that the child is found," suggested Gilroy. Espe- 
ically as it is decided best to keep her under the doc- 
tor's charge until she is out of all danger from the 
fast and excitement." 

"Let the boy go himself. He's earned it," added 
Captain French. 

This suggestion was accepted as a happy one by 
all, and Rodney, mounted on a fresh horse and ac- 
companied by Gilroy set out to find the mother. 

After visiting several of the cabins in the vicin- 
ity of the woods where Rodney had found the dis- 
tressed mother, they at last approached one which 
well was concealed in the timber. 

" Hark!" exclaimed Rodney, stopping his horse, 
" I can hear somebody crying!" 

"Sounds like it; don't it? I guess we're on the 
right track this time," responded Gilroy. 

A nearer approach to the little cabin confirmed 
their hopes, for a low, pitiful wailing that sounded 


strangely wierd and uncanny in the deepening shad- 
ows of the dusk, became clearer. 

A dog bounded from his lair and under the cabin 
and came forward, growling and showing his teeth 
with a savage dignity that indicated to Gilroy and 
Rodney that his bite promised to be more dangerous 
than his bark. 

" Helloo!" called Gilroy loudly at the house, and 
then added, in an undertone, to Rodney: 

" I don't believe that I'd like to trouble the hen- 
roosts around this place until reasonably certain 
hat this bloody cur is out of the way." 

Rodney noticed that the wailing had ceased with 
the first growl of the dog. 

In a moment the door opened wide enough to 
show the dim outline of a woman's face. 

"Who be ye; an' what ye want?" said a cracked 
voice, intended to be very bold and forbidding, but 
which betrayed the fear with which the woman was 

" We're friends. Can you tell us where we can 
find the woman whose little child was lost?" replied 

In an instant the door flew wide open and the 
mother dashed out, nearly capsizing the woman who 
stood in the door. 

"Where is she?" demanded the mother, with a 
fierceness which almost frightened Rodney. 

Before he coufd reply she sank down upon the 
steps of the cabin, threw her apron back over her 
head and began to rock back and forth moaningly: 


" Oh, you needn't tell me! She's dead! dead! 
Oh, Jean!" 

" No! No!" quickly interrupted Gilroy. " She's 
found! She's all safe, back at the camp, where the 
doctor is giving her food and medicine. This lad, 
here, found her." 

Rodney half expected that the woman would be 
profuse in expressions of gratitude at this at least 
it was the way they always acted in the stories that 
he had read. 

But she did not. Instead, she became suddenly 
quiet almost silent. At last, in a dazed way, she 
arose from the steps and staggered, in a confused way, 
toward them. 

"Take me there quick; can't ye?" she de- 

" Can you ride my horse?" asked Rodney, begin- 
ning to dismount. 

" No. You ride right along and I'll follow only 
hurry up," was the impatient reply. 

They did so and she kept close alongside the 

As they approached camp Rodney noticed that 
she seemed to wish to shrink from the sight of the 
pickets, and he said: 

"You needn't be afraid of the soldiers. They're 
all sorry for you and are glad that your little girl is 

This thoughtful observation reassured the 

As she entered the tent where the child was 


quietly sleeping she uttered a low cry and clasped 
the little girl against her breast with a ferocious 
way which brought swelling lumps into the throats 
of the men who chanced to be observers of the 
touching scene. In spite of his efforts to hide his 
emotion the tears sprang into Rodney's eyes, and 
he slipped quietly out of the tent in order to avoid 
anything like a "scene" which might occur should 
the woman bethink herself to thank him. To see the 
inexpressible joy of the mother was thanks enough 
for him. 

On entering their own tent he realized for the first 
time that day, that he was both desperately hungry 
and tired. 

"Feel pretty well played out?" asked Gilroy in a 
tone of kindly sympathy. 

"Yes sir rather," replied Rodney, as he settled 
limply down upon a blanket. 

"Well, I don't wonder! I don't suppose you've 
had more 'n a good stiff smell of anything to eat and 
you've expended enough energy to require about a 
dozen ordinary meals. Just as I thought! so I've 
managed to scare up a chicken borrowed it and 
now you're going to stay right there while I roast it 
for you." 

Rodney attempted to protest against this "swap- 
ping places" with Gilroy, but the latter good-natured- 
ly silenced the boy, and the air was soon fragrant 
with the odor of the roasting fowl. 

He could scarcely wait for the operation to be 
finished, and he ate with an appetite which Gilroy 


declared would have done credit to an Indian who 
had not tasted food for a fortnight and did not expect 
to for as long again. 

"This all makes a mighty good story for me- 
almost as good as another fight. Folks like to read 
that kind of thing. They'd shed more tears over 
that lost child than they would over a dozen dead 
scouts killed in an open fight and men who had fam- 
ilies depending on them, at that! I'm going to write 
it up to-night. Yes, sir, it makes a mighty neat little 
story for the fine women who read that London 
paper to dim their fashionable eyes over. That's 
just the place for it!" soliloquized Gilroy. 

"But it isn't quite so fine and easy when you're 
right in ityourself, eh?" he added. Not to speak of! 
This is the backaching end of the business that 
makes a fellow willing to forget all about being a 
hero for the sake of stretching out in a blanket and 
having eight hours of solid sleep ahead of him' 
Well now you just turn in and I'll look atter the 
horses and everything else. All you've got to do is 
to rest your bones." 

This announcement was very comforting to Rod- 
ney, who wasted no time in trying to realize that he 
was a real hero, and had actually rescued a little 
girl from a fearful death. It was not at all as he 
had imagined the boy heroes, in the stories he had 
read, felt. He was almost as much interested in the 
way in which Gilroy looked at the incident, as in 
his personal part in it. He thought the matter all 
over, as he opened his blanket and stretched out his 


tired limbs, and determined to read the papers care- 
fully and to ask Gilroy more about it, at the first 

Although these reflections were made when his 
eyes were heavy with on-coming sleep, they marked 
what Gilroy afterwards termed the beginning of 
"getting his newspaper-eyes open." From that 
time he saw everything more or less in the light of 
its news value. Everything became less to him in 
itself- - in its own actuality-- and he mentally sorted 
it into "material," or rejected it because of its fail- 
ure to be "material." This way of looking at things, 
he found, had its pleasant and its unpleasant side. 

"Rather slim layout, isn't it?" remarked Gilroy, 
as he surveyed the breakfast on the following 

Rodney was somewhat ashamed to look the 
array of chicken-bones "in the face," for they were 
gaunt witnesses of the enormity of his appetite on 
the preceding evening. 

"I'll tell you what's the matter. We've got to 
hustle around and scrape up something to eat, right 
away quick, or play 'poor Indian' and tighten up 
our belts. We're in the enemy's country, you 
know, and 'all's fair in love or war'- - at least so far 
as hen-roosts and pig pens are concerned." 

"But isn't foraging forbidden? I thought there 
was such an order," answered Rodney. 

"Oh, yes; there's an order out to that effect as a 
matter of course; but nobody's expected to pay any 
attention to it. I'll warrant more than half the 


rations of fresh meat that comes from the commis- 
sary are raised about here, and aren't paid for 
either. Of course, the commanders may not know 
it- - but I don't imagine they lay awake nights 
worrying about ! Just you come out with me and 
I'll show you how the trick's done." 

While inwardly debating the right and wrong of 
this system of "looting" from the enemy, Rodney 
followed Gilroy in a saunter about the camp. 

" There comes one of the boys with a jag of hay. 
Now we'll just lay low behind these bushes and see 
him unload." 

They did so. 

The scout carelessly tossed off the upper por- 
tion of the hay, then glanced sharply abc-ut to see if 
he was observed. The coast seemed to be clear, 
and he made a quick thrust with his arm into the 
remainder of the hay, and jerked out a sucking 
pig, which had evidently suffered death from 
the scout's knife, for it was daubed with fresh 

With a deft fling he shot the roastling under the 
flap of his tent. 

" We'll drop in on that fellow in about twenty 
minutes, and if he don't trot out some of that roast, 
I'll make him own up to where he got it," said Gil- 
roy, as they wandered aimlessly on. 

"See! There comes another jag of hay. Oh 
haying's good just now. Horses have to have hay, 
you know, if the men do go hungry," laughed Gil- 
roy, as they waited for the scout to approach. 


" Why, that's Lieutenant Johns!" exclaimed Rod- 
ney, as the man came nearer. 

" That's a fact!" responded Gilroy with elation. 
" You stay here, Rodney, and I'll go and see if I 
can get anything out of him. If he's had any luck, 
I know he'll tell me where to look for some of the 
same kind of hay." 

In a few moments he returned to where he had 
left Rodney, and said: 

" We're all right! I told you the lieutenant 
would share up with his information. When it be- 
gins to get a little dark, we'll make an effort to keep 
the wolf from the door." 

During the day, the thoughts of the proposed 
foraging expedition was constantly in Rodney's 
mind, and his reflections upon it were by no means 
pleasant or satisfactory. Although he had heard 
some of the scouts advance what seemed, at the 
time, like very reasonable and logical arguments in 
support of the justice of an army living upon the 
products of a people in active rebellion and war- 
fare against the government, he could not help feel- 
ing that it was a cruel and pitiable thing to take the 
cattle, pigs and poultry without recompense from 
the poor women, who must starve when these scanty 
possessions were gone. 

He at last reached the conclusion, that the only 
circumstances under which foraging was justifiable, 
were when those from whom the property was 
looted were in comfortable circumstances, in which 
they would never feel in need of the property taken. 


" Does the place we're going to belong to one 
of the poor settlers, or to some one who will never 
miss what we are going after?" inquired Rodney, 
as Gilroy told him at evening to get up their 

" Oh, it's one of the largest places around here. 
They could afford to give us each a good beef, and 
throw in a roasting pig, a turkey and a couple of 
chickens, and never know the difference," laughed 
Gilroy. "And besides, they knew that their prop- 
erty was subject to confiscation when they went into 
the fight. They accepted it as one of the inevitable 
conditions now let them abide by it." 

Although this partially appeased Rodney's con- 
scientious scruples, he still felt disagreeably like a 
sneak-thief and plunderer and wished himself well 
out of the business a dozen times before they ap- 
proached the prosperous farm where they were to 
put their plans in operation. 

"Now you go up to the house and buy us a jag 
of hay, but don't pay more than a quarter for it at 
the most not if you have to talk all night for it. 
They'll give it to you for that if you hang on and 
beat them down long enough. When you get 
through, come back here." 

Rodney went to the house wondering that Gilroy 
should have so easily abandoned his intention to 
secure the supplies without bargain and sale. 

As Gilroy expected, Rodney was greeted by the 
watch dog. As soon as he heard this comfortable 
assurance that the brute's attentions were engaged 


with Rodney, Gilroy tied his horse and made a short 
cut ''cross lots" to the sheep fold. 

It took him but a moment to select a couple of 
choice spring lambs and make them victims of his 
knife before the remainder of the flock was scarcely 
aware of the presence of an invader. 

He tied their heels together, returned to his 
horse and hung them over the animal's back. 

"I guess they'll carry all right there. Now for a 
side-dish of chicken or turkey, just for variety," he 
meditated, as he retraced his steps to the buildings. 

"That looks to me decidedly like the hen-roost," 
he again soliloquized, pushing open the door. 

The rooster gave a low note of alarm. He 
paused just in time to hear voices approaching. 

It was Rodney and the hired man coming for 
the hay. The proprietor was with Riel. 

Confound it, I'm in a box now! That boy's too 
innocent for any earthly use!" were Gilroy's inward 
exclamations as the voices grew nearer. 

Fortunately for the newspaper man, Rodney had 
chanced to see him slip in the hen house, while the 
hired man was taking a fresh chew of tobacco from 
his pouch, and the whole truth had dawned upon 
him. He quickly determined upon a desperate ruse 
to allow Gilroy chance to escape, for he felt sure 
that the dog would at once track the latter to his 
retreat as soon as it struck its trail. 

"Hark!" exclaimed Rodney, "there's something 
the matter in the sheep fold. Do you suppose any- 
one's trying to make way with your lambs?" 


; 'Here, Tige!" was the man's only answer. "Go 
take care of the sheep!" 

The dog bounded away with a threatening growl 
toward the fold. 

"I'll look out here and you can go around the 
other side of the barn, there," again suggested Rod- 
ney, with a presumptory decision that the man 
instantly accepted. 

He had no sooner disappeared around the corner 
of the barn than Rodney stepped close to the hen 
house door and called, in a low undertone, to 

"Now you can get away across the pasture there. 
But you'll have to be lively." 

"All right!" was the quiet answer. 

A moment later the lusty squawk of a fowl sent 
a cold chill through Rodney's nerves. But the 
sound was quickly nipped into an abrupt "g-l-k" as 
Gilroy's hand closed its grip about the neck of the 
unfortunate hen. 

" Just for luck !" exclaimed Gilroy, dashing out 
of the hen house door and flourishing the fowl at 
Rodney, as he brushed past him and leaped the fence. 

He had scarcely gone a dozen rods beyond the 
fence when the dog, followed by the man, were seen 
running from the fold. 

"There he goes! There he goes !' shouted Rod- 
ney, when he saw that the man had caught sight of 
Gilroy's retreating figure. 

"You follow him on foot and I'll go round on my 
horse," called Rodney. 


This served to delay the man for a momen) -but 
not the dog. 

The brute lunged ahead, uttering a fierce jay at 
every leap, while Rodney mounted his ho* *e and 
galloped down the road as though in greatest haste 
to cut off Gilroy's retreat. 

Meantime he drew his revolver from its holster 
and prepared to open fire upon the dog when it 
should seem necessary. 

He could see that the dog was gaiaing upon 
Gilroy, but the distance between himself and the 
dog was too great for him to hope for any effect 
with his revolver. 

A sudden splash, followed by a loud fjxcl'amation, 
told Rodney that his partner-in-crime had suffered 
some sort of a mishap. 

There was evidently no time to lose, and Rodney 
fired a trio of shots in rapid succession at the dog. 
One of these evidently chanced to take effect, for 
dog gave a howl of pain and the hired-man yelled : 

" Let the feller go! Let him go or you'll kill 
the dog an' me too." 

The terrified farm hand then called the dog off, 
and the courageous brute went limping unwillingly 
back to a place of safety. 

As the hired man disappeared into the distant 
shadows, Rodney hitched Pink-eye and hastened to 
Gilroy's assistance. 

" Look out ! " exclaimed the latter, " Don't you 
get into the same slew hole that I'm stuck in. I'm 
most up to my neck here ! ' 


" But I'm going through, just the same! And 
I've got that chicken all right, too! 'live or di^, 
sink or swim, survive or perish.' 

Rodney could not contain his amusement at the 
plight that Gilroy presented on at last making nis 
way on to dry land. 

He had fallen flat into the mire, and the entire 
front of his person was dripping with the thick, 
black grime of the bog. 

Gilroy surveyed himself for a moment, and then 
joined Rodney in merriment at his own expense. 

" You must have swallowed considerable of it," 
said Rodney. 

" Yes," responded Gilroy, " I bit the mud but 
not the dust. Now we must be getting out of 

"How's that for high?' he again exclaimed 
pointing with pride at the two lambs laying in front 
of his saddle, and enjoying Rodney's surprise at the 

When they were again in their own tent, Gilroy 
retired, while Rodney cleaned his clothes and 
dressed the lambs and chicken, frequently stopping 
to shake with laughter at the recollection of the 
pitiable figure which the representative of the 
Toronto and London press presented as he crawled 
out of the mire of the bog, still holding with des- 
perate grip to his looted chicken. 

In the morning, as the fragrance of the frying 
lamb chops which Rodney was turning in the skillet 
greeted Gilroy, the former suggested: 


I I 







" Wouldn't that make a mighty good little story 
for the fine ladies of London to read just the thing 
they would like to shed their tears over? ' 

" Yes," quickly replied Gilroy; "Exactly! But 
I guess I'll tell it on one of the other boys just for 
a change." 

They would have exchanged more pleasantries 
over their ludicrous adventure had not a scout inter- 
rupted them with the news that the advance mes- 
senger of the reinforcements had arrived, and that 
the general had issued orders to break camp and 
proceed at once upon Batosch. 

" That means business, and lots of it, too," com- 
mented Gilroy. I miss my guess if we don't see 
more hard fighting there than in all the rest of the 
trip; for that's Kiel's stronghold. 

This opinion seemed to be shared by the entire 
camp, for even the coolest men betrayed a greater 
degree of anticipation and excitement than Rodney 
had ever seen them show before. 

When Rodney remarked this fact to Gilroy, he 

" Certainly. You see Riel is believed to be there 
himself, and every man, especially of the scouts, 
fancies that he may stand some chance to capture 
the big rebel leader and cover himself with glory." 



r I ^HE territory from Fish Creek to Batosch was 
1 depressingly barren and desolate, much of it 
having been so burned over that the horses could 
find only stray patches of thinly sprouting grass. 

The grazing was even more scant than along any 
portion of their previous march from Ft. Qu'Appelle. 

This kind of fare had told perceptibly upon the 
horses, and each day brought their ribs into clearer 

Pink-eye, ho\f ever, was an exception to this rule, 
for he had actually "picked up" flesh upon camp 
diet. For a time this was a puzzle to Rodney, but 
the mystery was cleared up one morning when he 
chanced to find the animal smelling about the ashes 
of an extinct camp fire and picking up bits of the 
refuse meat, which he devoured as greedily as wolv- 

This thrifty propensity of his shaganappy, how- 
ever, came very near getting Rodney into trouble. 

Early in the morning of the second day out from 
Fish Creek, Rodney and Gilroy were awakened by a 
loud voice at the door of their tent. 

There stood a scout, with old Pin-keye in tow. 

The man was in anything but an amiable mood 
and breathed out threatenings of slaughter against 



the shaganappy provided Rodney did not, in future, 
keep him securely tethered instead of allowing the 
freedom of the camp. 

"Well, what's the matter? Why don't you tell 
us what you're kicking about?" demanded Gilroy, of 
the excited scout. 

" We've been missing candles from our tent 
several times, of late, until I got tired of it and made 
up my mind to put a stop to it. So last night, after 
I had just got a fresh ration of them, I put the 
package under my pillow, which was close against 
the side of the tent. About half an hour ago I was 
awakened by something pulling at my hair. Frag- 
ments of the paper in which the candles had been 
wrapped were laying about where my head had 
rested; but the candles were gone every last one of 
'em! I was sure that it was the work of some pilfer- 
ing animal. Jumping to my feet, I grabbed my rifle 
and rushed out of the tent. Just outside of where I 
had been laying stood this spotted old reprobate, 
munching the remains of that dozen candles. I 
grabbed up a stick, that happened to be laying handy 
by, and was going to lay it onto the thief when 
the brute turned its heels toward me, laid back his 
ears and rolled his pink eyes in a way that made me 
conclude not to meddle with him. After he had 
finished his meal he allowed me to put a tether on 
him and lead him here. If he'd nipped a little closer 
that time he'd have lifted my whole scalp, instead 
of just taking a stray tuft out of my hair." 

Gilroy made no attempt to conceal his amuse- 


ment at the fellow's ludicrous fright, and laughed to 
his face so heartily that the offended scout conclud- 
ed to make the best of it, and joined Gilroy and 
Rodney in their fun. 

"Now I'll tell you what we'll do," promptly 
responded Gilroy, as the man was about to leave. 
"That horse is going to have his liberty the same as 
the others; and if he's smart enough to forage for 
himself, all right. If you make no more complaint 
about the horse, well and good; but if you want to 
make any bother I'll give the whole thing away to 
the boys and they'll get more comfort out of it than 
you will you may depend upon that." 

The man seemed to take the same view of the 
matter, after a moment's reflection, for he replied: 

"All right. We'll let it drop at that." 

"He'd better! " was Gilroy's comment to Rodney, 
as the scout turned upon his heel and walked away, 
"for if the boys once get hold of that they'll call 
him 'candles' till the war's over, and will make life 
a burden to him generally. 

"Here we are! See the steeple of the old 
church! And down in the valley beyond is Batosch" 
exclaimed Gilroy to Rodney, on the third day's 
march from Fish Creek. 

The quaint old cathedral stood on the high 
bank, overlooking the village, which nestled close 
to the turbid Saskatchewan. 

The troops took a position on the eminence to 
the left of the church, while almost in front of them 


was a deep ravine, which opened into the valley 
near the village. 

Adjacent to the church was the old burial ground, 
with its picturesque cross standing guard over its 
consecrated soil. 

Interest was quickly centered upon the array of 
wigwams which stood in plain view upon the other 
bank of the Saskatchewan, opposite the town. 

Before the troops had fairly pitched camp an 
eighteen-pound gun was trained upon the Indian 
encampment, and poured a volley of v shells into it. 
This had an instant and telling effect. Squaws, 
bearing papooses and every sort of domestic utensil, 
could be seen retreating in the greatest confusion. 

Rodney also noticed that there were but few 
men to be seen, and those did not have on their war 

He took this as a sign that the warriors were 
absent in some other section, and he was almost 
disappointed at the thought that they would see 
nothing of Indian fighting. 

Meantime, the commanders were taking a care- 
ful survey of the land. 

"A few of you scouts go down into the ravine 
and see if it's occupied," was the general's command. 

"Want to go with 'em?" said Gilroy, turning to 

"Yes," was the boy's eager reply. 

"I don't believe there's any particular danger- 
at least, the captain don't seem to think there is. 
We'll chance it anyway." 


Accordingly they joined the little squad of 
scouts, which descended into the wooded ravine. 
It seemed as quiet and deserted save for the birds 
which occasionally chirped and fluttered in the 

Lieutenant Johns was too skillful a scout, how- 
ever, to proceed without due caution; and he had 
his men hitch their ponies in a sheltered spot, 
accessible to the trail leading back to camp. 

Then they carefully picked their way along 
through the thick timber without exchanging a word 
with each other. 

After exploring the portion of the ravine to- 
ward the village, they retraced their course, passed 
their horses, and reconnoitered a short distance in 
the opposite direction. 

Rodney thought how splendidly romantic and 
exciting it was to be stealing stealthily through the 
woods, in search of a hidden foe, in real warfare; and 
he resolved to give the boys back at the fort, a full 
account of the experience. Just as he was picturing 
how intently they would listen to his recital, he 
caught sight of a single figure on the opposite side 
of the ravine. 

He touched Gilroy's arm and pointed at the 

At that moment the command echoed through 
the ravine: 

"Retire : scouts !" 

How warlike it sounded, and how it would ap- 
peal to the boys! 


The little company of scouts wheeled about, and 
were leisurely walking toward their horses, when 
suddenly, like an electric shock, the first war-cry ot 
Indians that Rodney had ever heard, smote his 
ears, and made him chill and quiver with excite- 

" Down! And break for your horses!" was the 
lieutenant's informal order. 

There was small need for a command to crouch 
low, for the instinct of self-preservation would have 
dictated that, as the crack of rifles from the am- 
bush, in the thickest portion of the timber, followed 
the war-cry. 

The bullets whizzed and screamed over the heads 
of the scouts, and Rodney, for an instant, fancied 
himself wounded, as a ball tore a splinter from a 
dry stub close beside him, hurled it against his arm. 

In his previous adventures, Rodney had not 
had the feeling that he would be shot. But even 
after discovering that it was a harmless sliver, in- 
stead of a ball, which had brushed against his arm, 
he experienced, for some moments, the keenest fear. 
It seemed to him, as he crouched down and dodged 
from the cover of one tree to another, that he would 
surely be the victim of one of the balls which 
poured from the invisible guns of the hidden sav- 
ages, whose ghastly war-cry still mingled with the 
crackling discharge of their rifles. 

This fear intensified into a morbid despair when 
he saw that to reach their horses, they must leave 
he cover of the timber, and cross an open which 


was only sparsely studded with clumps of small 
bushes and undergrowth. 

Upon coming to this clearing, Lieutenant Johns, 
who was in the lead, dropped upon his hands and 
knees, snatched his knife from his belt, placed it be- 
tween his teeth, and crawled rapidly over the rough 
ground toward the horses. 

Every member of the party instantly followed 
his example. 

How slowly the crawling line seemed to move! 
As a bullet buried itself in the ground a few feet 
beyond him, the likeness of their situation, to the 
perils which he had encountered in nightmares, came 
to him, but without that second-consciousness which 
always gave him in the dreams, a comforting though 
shadowy assurance that he would waken into safety 
just before the fatal calamity should overtake 

But this feeling vanished when he reached the 
tree to which old Pink-eye was hitched, cut the strap 
and leaped into the saddle. 

Many of the other horses were plunging so 
furiously that their owners could scarcely release 
and mount them; consequently Rodney was among 
those who lead the plunge up the trail, almost di- 
rectly in front of the Indians' ambush. 

In the saddle, with his tried and faithful horse 
under him, leaping forward with the swift strides 
that had carried him into safety on other occasions 
of danger, his old courage returned to him, and he 
was conscious of no little shame at the thought of 


the fear which he had entertained when crawling 
behind the bushes. 

It was a more desperate undertaking to attempt 
to run the gauntlet of the Indians' rifle-pits, when 
upon their horses and fully exposed to their fire, 
than it had been to skulk behind the trees and 
bushes; but Rodney did not shrink from the charge. 

The little posse of scouts had gone but a few 
rods, and had still the most dangerous part of their 
ride before them, when another surprise greeted 

It was the belching of the gatling gun under 
charge of Captain Young. He pushed steadily for- 
ward to the relief of the scouts, until in the very 
face of the savages. The constant and deadly fire 
of the gatling accomplished the captain's purpose 
by throwing the Indians into momentary confusion, 
in the interval of which the scouts made a successful 
dash past the braves into the shelter of the timber 
and up the trail, where they soon joined the remain- 
der of their company. 

"Well, we're out of the woods this time!' ex- 
claimed Lieutenant Johns to Captain French, as 
they rode together toward the general's head- 

" Yes," replied the latter, "but we've got to fight 
it out there sooner or later, for the enemy must be 
dislodged from that ravine before we can take the 
town. And it'll be a nasty fight, too, for it's just the 
place that suits a sneaking Indian to do his best 
work in. He can hide in the thick timber and shoot 


without being seen and that's meat to a Red skin." 
This prophecy in regard to another engagement 
in the ravine was verified not long after by the com- 
mand of Colonel Williams: 

"You scouts go down yonder and do some good." 
Meantime Rodney had been suffering from a 
repentant recollection of his fright, which seemed to 
him, upon calm and conscientious self-examination, 
so much like outright cowardice that he deter- 
mined to retrieve his self-respect at the first oppor- 

He therefore hailed the order to again enter the 
ravine with more of joy than regret. 



RODNEY'S resolutions to acquire himself with 
courage was called into severe and immediate 
action, for in order to reach the place of vantage 
necessary to fire with any effect upon the Indians, 
the scouts were obliged to descend into the ravine 
in the face of a steady fire from the secreted 
Indians, whose rifle pits were carefully planted 
through the thickest of the timber and up the steep 
bank on the opposite side. 

To deliberately advance against such a sure and 
steady fire without the opportunity to return a single 
shot required the most unflinching kind of courage. 
The Indians had built their rifle pits with such 
cunning and skill that they could fire from out nar- 
row cracks and through small crevices without ex- 
posing themselves in the least. 

When at last Captain French had succeeded in 
leading his men to the position from which he hoped 
to secure at least a partial view of the enemy, he 
found himself foiled and disappointed. Not a single 
Indian could be seen. On the other hand, the 
scouts were in direct range for the rifles of the 

Each man picked out the largest tree or stump 
that was accessible and stationed himself behind it. 



Some were fortunate enough to get behind fallen 
trees which formed excellent breastworks. 

Among these were Gilroy and Rodney. 

They had scarcely settled down comfortably be- 
hind their natural fortification when Gilroy began to 
shake with laughter. Pointing to their right he ex- 
claimed, between paroxysms of mirth. 

"Just look at 'The Fat Man From Assinaboia,' 
over there trying to screen himself behind the small- 
est tree in the whole grove. There's the irony of 
fate for you! The biggest, broadest, fattest man in 
the whole company pitted behind a tree that would 
hardly shelter the slimest man in the camp! See him 
twist and turn to see whether he will expose the 
narrowest margin of himself when standing edge- 
wise or squarely facing the enemy!" 

Even in the presence of the dangerthat they and the 
fleshy scout were facing, Gilroy and Rodney laughed 
at the fellow's predicament until they were sore. 

When their first amusement at the ridiculous 
spectacle was over Gilroy added seriously : 

"They'll hit him yet if he don't get out of there. 
It's simply a question of the tree being too 
narrow and the man too wide. He might better 
drop and crawl for a better shelter." 

Rodney's attention was next drawn to a party of 
half-a-dozen scouts who, like Gilroy and himself, 
had been lucky enough to get behind a large, pros- 
trate tree. 

"See! What are they doing there?' inquired 



Gilroy watched the men in silence for a few 
moments and then replied : 

"They're passing Captain Young's cap from one to 
another in order to fool the Indians. He did some 
tall fighting against them in putting down the Min- 
nesota uprising, and they remember him and are 
after his head. You just notice that whenever that 
cap bobs up it draws the fire of the Indians every time. 

It required but a brief observation to demonstrate 
this to Rodney. 

The scouts had fired but few shots, for the Red- 
skins were so well concealed that it was only at rare 
intervals that the slightest glimpse of them was to 
be had. 

At last the delay seemed to become intolerable 
to the scouts, who were subjected to a constant fusil- 
lade from the Indians. This helpless and impotent 
situation seemed to prey especially upon the impet- 
uous Irish nature of Captain French, who was 
kneeling behind a stump. Exasperated and mad- 
dened to the pitch of frenzy, the dashing captain 
leaped from his shelter and stood out in fair view 
while he shook his fist at the Indians, and with the 
strongest oaths in his soldier's vocabulary called 
upon the Indians to come out and fight like men. 

Talk about there not being an Irish language ! 
Just listen to that, will you !" exclaimed Gilroy, 
" there isn't a pilot on the Mississippi who could 
pay that back in like coin ! ' 

The Captain's reckless exposure was the signal 
for a rattling discharge of rifles from the pits. 


"Well if that don't beat all the fool things that I 
ever saw ! ' commented Gilroy, as the Captain 
at last dropped behind his stump, unharmed. " I 
should have thought he would have a dozen bullets 
in him by this time." 

Rodney's thoughts were divided between specu- 
lations upon the almost miraculous escape of the fool- 
hardy man and wondering how long they would be 
held in so exasperating a position, \vhen the shrill 
scream of a ball made both Gilroy and himself 
instinctively dodge down closer to the ground. 

Without saying a word Rodney placed his finger 
beside the spot where a bullet from behind them 
had imbedded itself in the near surface of the log not 
a foot from either of them. 

" Great Heavens! our troops up in the old grave 
yard are taking us for half breeds! That comes of 
scouts dressing like heathens. We'll have to be get- 
ting out of here lively or there won't be enough left 
of us to tell the tale!" 

This conviction must have revealed itself almost 
simultaneously to the Captain's, for the command to 
retreat was soon sounded. 

As Rodney scrambled to his feet he heard a sharp 
cry of pain near at hand followed by the exclamation: 

" I've got it, boys! " 

" Where is the fellow? ' inquired Gilroy as they 
paused and looked about them. 

" There he is the fat man!' answered Rodney, 
pointing to the prostrate man who was endeavoring 
to crawl toward them. 


"Here! We must carry him on our rifles 
this way You go to his feet and I'll carry the heavy 
end, " ordered Gilroy, as he slipped the guns under 
the wounded man. 

"Now up with him. Hee-o-hee!" continued Gil- 
roy as though directing a gang of men at a barn 

They staggered forward with their heavy burden, 
while the bullets from both directions were singing 
over their heads. 

" Can you hold out a little longer just 'till we 
catch up on the rest of the lads a little more?" called 
back Gilroy from his position in advance. 

Although he had begun to feel that he could 
scarcely go another rod without dropping his 
end of the burden, the question put new strength 
into Rodney's limbs and he answered : 

"Yes, I'm all right." 

"Wish those ninnies up in the grave-yard 
there were down here under this double fire for 
a few minutes!" sententiously observed Gilroy as a 
ball from the troops whizzed especially close to them. 

After going several rods more, Rodney was on 
the point of telling Gilroy that he could go no 
further without a pause for rest, when he heard 
behind him the same fearful war whoop of the Indians 
that had struck such terror through him on his pre- 
vious adventure in the ravine. 

"Lads! the Redskins are charging! Drop me and 
save yourselves you can't save me!' 1 suddenly 
exclaimed the wounded comrade. 



"Not to speak of!" were the answers with which 
Rodney and Gilroy respectively met this suggestion. 

As the other scouts heard the war cry of the 
Indians and saw that they were coming out of their 
hiding places, the temptation to pause in their retreat, 
under the double fire of friend in front, and enemy 
in the rear, to turn upon the Redskins and give them 
a few shots, was too strong to be resisted. 

Seeing Gilroy and Rodney carrying the scout, a 
squad of comrades immediately surrounded them. 

Two of this welcome re-inforcement relieved the 
"newspaper brigade" of its burden, while the others 
surrounded the disabled man to defend him in case 
the Indians pressed their charge. 

Captains French and Young stood their ground 
with eager resolution so long as an Indian had the 
hardihood to expose himself in the least to their 
fire. But as soon as the savages reached the ground 
originally occupied by the scouts, where the balls 
from the troops in the grave yard were thickest, they 
came to a halt. 

Numerous bullets from the same source, how- 
ever, still fell among the government scouts, and 
the order to retreat was again reluctantly given. 

The dash into the open spot, where they could 
be plainly seen by their friends in the grave-yard, 
was the most disastrous portion of the retreat, and 
for a few moments both the Indians and the regulars 
poured a savage fire upon them, thinning their ranks 
as rapidly as the half-breeds had done at Fish Creek. 


It made Rodney sick at heart to listen to the 
groans of the wounded, and the awful brutality of 
war came home to him with a force that left a lasting 
impression upon his mind. 

He stayed near the disabled man whom Gilroy 
and he had carried, and had the satisfaction of see- 
ing the sufferer borne into the clearing without 
further injuries. Their entry into the center of the 
open had the effect of first drawing upon them a 
brisk volley from the grave-yard detachment. 
Although it was of but momentary duration, it made 
sad havoc among the scouts; but the abruptness with 
which the firing ceased, told the unfortunate com- 
pany in the ravine that the troops had at last identi- 
fied them as friends and that the principal danger 
was now over. 

Rodney expected that the scouts would hold the 
occupants of the grave-yard to strictest account and 
regard them with a bitter enmity; but he discovered 
his mistake as soon as the two parties met. 

The scouts accepted the mistake as a very natural 
one, for their dress was similar to that of the half- 
breeds, and their faces could not have been distin- 
guishable from so great a distance. 

" It's hard enough to be under one fire, but when 
it comes to having friends double it, that's a little 
more than I bargained for, and I don't propose to 
be caught in that kind of a trap again not if I know 
it!" good-naturedly grumbled Gilroy, as he and 
Rodney sat about their camp-fire, over which their 

supper was cooking, that evening. 



" But you wouldn't know it, in the first place, and 
if you did, it wouldn't be like you to keep out of any 
fight, no matter how dangerous," replied Rodney. 

Gilroy laughed at this outspoken remark in a way 
which indicated his pleasure, both at Rodney's 
candor and the compliment to his courage, which 
the lad's remark implied. 

The difference in position, age and experience 
between the boy and his employer had rapidly 
diminished under the close intimacy of camp life and 
mutual dangers which they had shared, until both 
seemed to forget their business relations and become 
only companions. This was the more possible from 
the fact that Gilroy retained his boyishness to an 
unusual degree, while Rodney was daily making 
strides of sudden advancement in wordly experience. 



HOW would you like to come along with me 
over to the captain's tent? I'm going for a 
little talk with him on the general state of things 
before writing up my account of to-day's engage- 

"Certainly; I would like to very much, if it 
would not be an intrusion," Rodney answered eager- 
ly, for despite the exciting activities about him, the 
boy's interest had been thoroughly aroused upon 
the question of newspaper work, and his mind was 
keenly alert to grasp every fresh detail concerning 
it. He had constantly cherished since listening to 
Gilroy's first account of the wonders of a great 
modern newspaper "plant," the determination to re- 
vive the subject and learn all that Gilroy could tell 
him of the mental as well as mechanical process of 
preparing a metropolitan daily for its readers. 

As they walked together toward Captain 
French's tent, the thought came to him that prob- 
ably no department of newspaper work was more 
picturesque and interesting than that in which Gil- 
roy was engaged, and he determined to keep his 
eyes open and let no feature of it escape him. This 
was no idle impulse of the moment, but an intelli- 
gent appreciation of the practical value of the 



experiences through which he was passing and the 
intuition that, in order to appropriate their value to 
himself and turn it to the greatest personal account, 
he must not only make a close observation of the 
scenes of each day, but also grasp the method by 
which the war correspondent converted them into 
news, thus cultivating by observation and study of 
Gilroy's work the judgment necessary to select from 
all the facts and scenes those which were worthy to 
be utilized as news. 

When they arrived at the Captain's tent he 
received them with genuine Irish cordiality and 
dismissed all other business to devote his entire 
attention to his newspaper guests. 

Rodney carefully noticed every question which 
Gilroy put to the Captain and the answers some- 
times frank and profuse, sometimes short and 
evasive which that officer returned. 

The drift of these questions was soon apparent 
to Rodney. It was clear to him that Gilroy was 
seeking to learn whether any information concern- 
ing the whereabouts of the rebel chief had been 
gained. But if such information was in possession 
of Captain French then he was clever enough to give 
out the impression that he was as ignorant as the 
newspaper correspondent himself as to where Riel 
was intrenched. 

"Do you think there will be anything in particu- 
lar doing to-morrow?" inquired Gilroy. 

"No; I think not just a little skirmishing around 
the edges. I think the General's plan is to let up 


up for a day, in order to get a good ready to 
charge the town. Or, as the Irishman puts it, he 
proposes to spit on his hands in order to get a bet- 
ter hold." 

"Well; that'll give me a good chance to get off my 
specials, then." 

"And that means another ride to the station for 
you," he added, turning to Rodney. 

As they arose to go, the Captain seemed to drop 
the official character which he had maintained dur- 
ing the interview, and laying his hand upon Gilroy's 
shoulder he exclaimed. 

"My boy! I feel that I'm going to come out of this 
all right and get back my old place and standing." 

"I hope so Captain, but you know there's many 
a slip, and-so-forth" was Gilroy's reply. 

"Yes: we can't most always tell. But I'm bound 
to get reinstated if there's such a thing in the 
cards! And win it out of their very teeth, too!" 

"But for goodness sake, French, don't do another 
fool thing like the way you stood out in front of 
those Indians in the ravine and invited them to shoot 
at you. You'll just throw your life away by such 
useless recklessness, next time." 

With this reproving speech the two friends 

On their way back to their own tent, Rodney 

" What did Captain French mean by getting hi? 
old place back out of their teeth?' 

" He does seem to feel cut up over that yet/ 


mused Gilroy aloud, as though he had already 
answered Rodney's question. 

" Oh, I'll tell you about that," he resumed, after 
a momentary pause. " The Captain used to hold a 
good position in the mounted police. Their regu- 
lations are very strict, and an officer who has a mind 
to can find occasion to discipline anyone under him 
without half trying. French failed to please his 
commander in some way and was discharged. He 
claims that his dismissal was unjust, and I believe it 
was. So he's determined to distinguish himself by 
special bravery in this insurrection, and win back his 
old place as a reward. It'll be too bad if he don't, 
for his heart's set on it poor fellow! ' 

This information shed a new light upon the 
conduct and character of the genial and brilliant 
Irish officer, which multiplied their fascination in 
Rodney's eyes, and made them appear far more 
dramatic, not to say pathetic, in his eyes. As he 
thought the matter over before dropping into sleep, 
his impatience grew upon him to know the result of 
the events which would soon determine whether the 
Captain's ambition would be gratified or denied. 

In the morning, as he had expected, Gilroy was 
ready with the dispatches, and after a hasty break- 
fast Rodney leaped into his saddle and was off for 
the telegraph station. 

He stopped Pink-eye, after having made a start 
of a few rods, to ask of Gilroy permission to read 
the specials. This was cheerfully granted, and he 
then allowed the shaganappy, which had had but 


little riding for a couple of days, to break into a 
brisk canter. He knew that the hardy animal would 
hold this "gait" hour after hour, and bring him back 
to camp again much sooner than Gilroy expected, 
providing no adventure or calamity detained them. 

As Pink-eye loped steadily and easily forward, 
he read the pages of Gilroy's dispatch without 
difficulty, for there was a bold, sharp freedom in 
correspondent's "hand-writing," which rendered it 
almost as distinct as print. 

The scene of the previous day seemed strangely 
heroic when viewed through the article. The narra- 
tive gave him a broader and more complete under- 
standing of the entire situation of which the advent- 
ures in the ravine, which had seemed so all- 
important to Rodney, were but episodes. 

"Well, I could come nearer to writing an account 
like that now than before reading this dispatch, and 
I'm going to write up the next engagement myself, 
just to see what I can do with it," mused Rodney, 
after having delivered the special and began his 
backward journey, which was accomplished without 
any incidents of special interest. 

There was no lack of excitement in the camp, 
however, for it had become generally understood 
that the following day would be devoted to a charge 
upon Batosch. 

"Why wouldn't Captain French tell you outright 
whether or not he knew anything about where Riel 
is believed to be?" asked Rodney, as Gilroy and 
himself rolled up in their blankets that evening. 


"Because he didn't want me or anyone else to 
think he suspects where Riel is to be found. 
It is his ambition to captufe the big rebel him- 
self, and in that matter he has every man in the 
service for a rival. He'd risk his life a dozen times 
for the mere chance of bagging Riel." 

The camp was astir early and Gilroy was about 
headquarters, "getting the lay of the land," as he 
told Rodney. 

"We'll follow French, for he'll be where Riel is 
if the fellow is anywhere in the town," he added. 

Consequently they cast their lot with the dashing 
Irish captain, although knowing that he would be 
foremost in every available danger. 

Before the forces were ready for the charge 
Rodney rode alone to the picket line nearest the 
church, looking idly for something of interest to 
"turn up." 

The rifles held this advance position. 

Rodney sat on his shaganappy beside one of 
these handsome young fellows, when the latter sud- 
denly exclaimed: 

"Now I see him, the dare-devil rascal! He's been 
cutting ofFour men steadily; but I guess it's about 
his last trick!" And with this the rifleman brought 
his repeater to his shoulder. 

At first glance it appeared to Rodney that the 
rifleman was aiming into mid-air; but a swift glance 
along the barrel of the arm revealed the fact that it 
was headed upon the figure of a man upon the 
belfrey of the church. 


A moment after the white smoke puffed from the 
muzzle of the gun and' the sharpshooter reeled from 
his lofty perch and w$ht careering down, headfore- 
most to the ground. 

Although the comrades of the rifleman congrat- 
ulated him upon his brilliant shot, and the man 
seemed to consider it with the same cool pride 
that he would have done had his victim been a 
turkey instead of a human being, Rodney could 
not catch this spirit, and the ghastly sight lingered 
in his mind after he had turned back to join 

'The scouts are going down into the ravine again' 
into the rifle pits which were constructed last night. 
I suppose we might as well go with them" was Gil- 
roy's greeting. 

"Yes, sir, responded Rodney, who did not really 
relish the announcement with quite the enthusiasm 
that his promptness indicated. 

They joined Lieutenant Johns' detachment, and 
went down into the ravine, under a brisk fire from 
the enemy. 

Many of the pits were already occupied, and they 
were obliged to scatter into such of them as were 
not entirely full. As usual Gilroy and Rodney con- 
trived to find a place together. 

"Well; this is a little more comfortable fighting 
than previous occasions have afforded in the ravine. 
Nothing like having something in front of a fellow 
when facing a fire from Indians and Half Breeds!" 
philosophized Gilroy. 


"Yes; it's a good deal better than being under a 
cross fire," admitted Rodney. 

Hour after hour passed until the intermittent 
discharge of rifles at the ambushed rebels, who 
blocked the ravine between the scouts and the town, 
grew almost monotonous. 

In a moment of unusual quiet the sound of dis- 
tant cheering reached the ears of Rodney, who 

"Hark! What's that?" 

"That's the yell of the Midland Rifles. They're 
charging the town! Come let's get out of this, 
lively! I want to be on hand as soon as they enter 
the village, if possible," exclaimed Gilroy excitedly. 

Then came the call for the. scouts to hasten 
along the trail past the old church and through the 
timber to the town. 

"We're with you!" replied Lieutenant Johns, also 
leaping from the rifle-pit and joining the newspaper 
scouts in their dash toward the other troops. 

"Now for it boys!" was the greeting of Captain 
French, who stood waiting with the remainder of 
his company on the bank of the ravine, eager for 
the crucial charge, in which he hoped to win, by 
gallant fighting, the coveted restoration to his old 
rank in the mounted police. 



FROM the intense excitement of those about 
him Rodney divined that the supreme moment 
of the insurrection had come in the charge upon 
the Rebel stronghold of Batosch, and he also was im- 
pressed with the fact that somehow it was to be a 
great day in the life of Captain French, who had 
been much in his thoughts since hearing Gilroy's 
interesting account of the captain's career. 

No sooner had they passed on through the tim- 
ber than they saw the Midland Rifles a short dis- 
tance beyond, making a dashing descent upon the 

The Half Breeds and their allies, however, were 
hotly contesting every rod of their way, and pour- 
ing a cutting fire into the troops. 

They were met by several litters upon which the 
wounded were being carried back to a place of 
safety. It wrung Rodney's heart to even glance at 
the poor fellows, but there was no time to pause. 

He determined to keep close to Captain French at 
all hazards, for not only did the unfinished drama of 
the man's life hold him with a more powerful fasci- 
nation than the most thrilling story that he had ever 
read, but he also realized that the outcome of the 

man's part in that day's battle would form a most 



interesting chapter in the conflict in which 
personal detail and incident would be of value to 

Although it was the work of but a few minutes 
to dislodge the Rebels from the village and drive 
them to the table land close to the water's edge, it 
seemed a long time to Rodney. 

Men fell in the death agonies close about him, 
but he seemed to have but one thought to keep 
near Captain French. This he did at the cost of 
many reckless exposures, for the captain was at the 
front of the fight, and seemed to court rather than 
avoid danger. 

It was with a thrill of pleasure that, as Rodney 
came alongside the captain, in front of a blacksmith 
shop, from which a squad of Rebels had but just 
been routed, the officer recognized him and exclaimed: 

" Lad, this is no place for you. Better go back 
where it isn't so infernal hot!" 

Rodney was fearful that this request was to be 
made pre-emptory, but if this had been the captain's 
intention it was suddenly changed by the course of 

As Rodney was listening to the commander's 
words, he saw the lower sash of a window in the 
neighboring saloon suddenly lift high enough for 
the person manipulating it to thrust the butt of a 
beer bottle beneath it. Through the opening thus 
made the barrel of a rifle appeared, pointing directly 
at the captain. 

Rodney's first thought was to strike the captain's 


horse a blow which should make the animal leap 
forward and allow the ball to pass harmlessly behind 
the victim for whom it was intended. But a glance 
showed him that he could not reach the horse. 
There was but one alternative. 

Instantly bringing his rifle to his shoulder he 
aimed it as best he could for a spot just in range with 
the protruding rifle and fired. 

The report of his own gun was followed by a puff 
of smoke from the muzzle of the other rifle, and a 
ball shrieked over the captain's shoulder. 

The hand which had held the rifle in the window 
seemed to have suddenly dropped from its hold, 
for the end of the Winchester's barrel swung slightly 
to and from, with a side motion, as though held in 
place only by the sash and casing of the window. 

Rodney, with a mixed pang of regret and throb 
of pride, realized that his shot must have been fatal, 
no doubt having struck the Rebel in the forehead. It 
was this thought which filled him with regret, for 
even in the heat of an engagement he could not rid 
himself of the feeling that it was a terrible thing to 
take a human life. But he met this accusing 
thought with the recollection that he had fired the 
shot to save the life of a brave man. 

When, in the instant following the shots, he again 
heard the voice of the captain, he expected that it 
was addressed to him, perhaps in some recognition 
of what he had just done. 

But instead he heard a ringing command to 
charge and clean out the saloon building. 


It was with a sense of almost personal injury that 
Rodney saw that the captain had either not seen 
the danger from which the lucky shot had delivered 
him or had deliberately dismissed the acknowledg- 
ment of it to some more convenient time. 

When the last refugee in the saloon had either 
escaped or been shot down, the scouts pressed on 
after the main body of the Rebels in the outskirts of 
the village. 

As they came in front of a large sightly frame 
house, which occupied an elevation somewhat 
higher than the neighboring residences, Captain 
French quickly entered it. 

Rodney paused by the door, and could hear the 
quick footsteps of the officer running up the stairs. 

After a moment of indecision, Rodney concluded 
to wait outside. 

Although the firing in that immediate locality 
had nearly ceased, he did not forget that the exer- 
cise of caution was still necessary; for there was no 
telling what house or thicket might still be shelter 
for a desperate and determined enemy. 

Just as he came cautiously around the corner 
of the house, he saw the gleam of a rifle aimed 
through the crotch of a low orchard tree. Before 
he could bring his own gun to his shoulder the smoke 
curled from the muzzle of the Winchester, and its 
report echoed against the side of the building. 

It had not escaped Rodney's attention that the 
man's aim had been high, no doubt at the chamber 


He was not conscious of the near presence of any 
person other than the Rebel sharpshooter until start- 
led by the crack of a rifle just behind him. In a 
glance he saw the Rebel fall backward. 

"Settled his hash, didn't I?" were the words 
which greeted him from Lieutenant Johns, as he 
turned about and saw the officer ejecting the ex- 
ploded shell from his rifle. 

"Yes; Captain French went upstairs a few mo- 
ments ago; I'm afraid he's shot," was Rodney's 
brief answer. 

"Come; let's go up. But I hate to like sin. 
Somehow it seems to me that fellow had a mighty 
good aim, across that rest. Great heaven! if I could 
only have been there about one minute before!" 

Rodney's super-sensitiveness interpreted this as 
a rebuke of his own indecision and it rankled keenly 
as he followed the lieutenant up the stairway and 
into the first chamber, the door of which stood 
slightly ajar. 

Even the lieutenant gave an involuntary moan 
at the sight of the dead body of his captain, which 
lay stretched upon the floor. 

Rodney was strangely affected by the sight. It 
seemed to him like the death of a personal friend. 

They together took up the body and carried it 
down the staircase and out of the door. 

The main body of the scouts, among whom was 
Gilroy, was just passing. 

In a moment they surrounded their dead leader. 

"Get a wagon and we will take him back to 


camp," ordered Lieutenant Johns. "The regulars 
have the Rebels on the run, out of town, anyway.' 

When the wagon arrived they tenderly placed 
the body in the center of it and then seated them- 
selves around it. 

The ride back to camp was a very solemn and 
impressive one to Rodney. Few words were passed 
over the body of their dead companion, Lieutenant 
Johns giving a brief account of shooting the Rebel 
and finding Captain French. In addition to the 
ambulances bearing their own dead and wounded, 
which they encountered on the way, there were 
numerous Red River carts rude, lumbering two- 
wheeled affairs, bound together with strips of shag- 
anappy rawhide, without a nail in their entire con- 
struction piled with the bodies of dead Half 
Breeds. The feet of the latter protruded out of the 
rear of the short carts as stiffly as though they were so 
many pieces of cord-wood. To add to the grotesque- 
ness of the spectacle the carts creaked a monotonous, 
doleful wailing, which would have evoked a round 
of laughter from the most serious observer under 
any other circumstances. 

As he watched the carts with their humble dead, 
hauled along behind wasted shaganappies, he could 
not but think that had his father not died he 
might have been among one of those loads of Rebel 

After the scouts had cared for the body of Capt- 
ain French as best they could, Rodney and Gilroy 
had found themselves once more together where 


they could talk over the occurrences of the hours 
since they had become separated. 

Under spur of Gilroy's questions, Rodney gave 
him a detailed account of the scenes of which he 
had been the witness. 

"Well; I shall have to depend almost wholly 
upon the features of the engagement which you 
have seen, for they are' by far the most important; 
and what is more, you have remembered and told 
just those things which are real live 'material' for a 
newspaper man," said Gilroy, and finally added: 

"Now suppose we follow up the troops for a way 
and then go over through the Indian camp. There 
may be some scenes worth describing over there." 

Accordingly they followed the course of the 
troops for a sufficient distance to see that the Rebels 
had been thoroughly routed. Then they crossed the 
river to the Indian camp. 

"You might go up that side of the camp and 
notice everything you can see, while I do the same 
by this side, and we'll meet up at the other end and 
come along back through the center together," said 
Gilroy, as they halted their horses in front of the 
broken array of tepees. 

Rodney immediately acted upon this suggestion. 
On every hand \vere the most pathetic reminders of 
the devastation which the gatling gun and smaller 
arms had wrought. Occasionally a squaw could be 
seen moving stolidly about among the deserted 
tepees, giving him vengeful side-long glances out of 
twinkling black eyes. 



But no incident of the moment occurred until he 
heard the voice of a squaw, some distance ahead, 
talking in excited but pleading tones. 

He put spurs to old Pink-eye and pushed rapidly 
forward until he reached the scene of the dis- 

The sight which met his eyes aroused his anger 
as nothing in all his life had before done. 

Beside a dead warrior knelt a soldier, who was 
rapidly stripping from the brave's limbs the superbly 
beaded leggins and moccasins, while the squaw was 
pleading, in the most impassioned voice and gestures, 
with the wretch to stop his heartless sacrilege. 

Rodney knew that any kind of pleading, expostu- 
lation or threats would be useless, and that a being 
depraved enough to commit so cruel an outrage 
against every human instinct would be desperate 
enough to take the life of anyone who should excite 
his anger by attempting to interfere with his work 
of plunder or bring him to account for it. There- 
fore Rodney instantly drew his revolver upon the 
man and said: 

"Hands up! Stir and I will drop you." 

Although the words were spoken in a quiet way, 
there was a force of determination in them which 
could not fail to convince the soldier of the boy's 
earnestness and courage; and he obeyed as promptly 
as though he were being "held up" by a masked 

Rodney then shouted to Gilroy, and in a few 
moments the latter rode up with the question: 


*s>m* * 




"What's up now?" plainly speaking in his aston- 
ished countenance. 

"This fellow was stripping the finery from the 
body of that warrior in the very eyes of the squaw 
and in spite of her pleadings." 

"The brute! We'll let the old general deal with 
him!" exclaimed Gilroy, his lips white with honest 

" Now get up and march," he ordered, address- 
ing the culprit, who yielded a surly obedience to the 

They went at once before the general, a short, 
stout man, with heavy, white military moustache and 
dignified bearing, who ordered Rodney to tell his 

The boy related the incident in a brief, modest 
and matter-of-fact way, and concluded by saying: 

" I think he has one of the moccasins in his 
pocket now." 

" Search him," commanded the general. 

He was obeyed by the two guards, into whose 
custody the soldier had been given. 

Not only did they take from his pockets the 
beaded moccasin, but also a quantity of silver 
trinkets of the sort most worn by the Indians and 
Half Breeds. 

" Keep him under close guard. We'll give him 
his courtmartial trial in the morning." 

As they were now in command of telegraphic 
connections at Batosch, Rodney had no long courier's 
journey to make, and therefore had more of an op- 



portunity to observe Gilroy's preparation of the 
dispatches. He was pleased to see that the specials 
contained every detail which he had furnished to 
Gilroy, and in nearly the same sequence and words 
in which he had told them. 

It was nearly morning when the last of the long 
dispatches were off, and the correspondent and his 
assistant had contrived to catch only a couple of 
hours' sleep, when they were aroused by a mes- 
senger from the general, summoning them to the 
court-martial trial of the plundering soldier. 

When they had concluded their testimony, the 
man received the severest discipline with which his 
offense was punishable, and the general issued the 
order that any similar depredations would promptly 
meet the same discipline. 

" Who were you talking with when I was giving 
my testimony?" inquired Rodney of Gilroy, as they 
walked back to their tent together. 

" Houri, the government interpreter. I believe 
that fellow knows exactly where Riel is hiding, I 
wish you could keep around near him, and perhaps 
you may be able to pick up a clue from some 
remark that he may drop." 

Charged with this delicate and important mis- 
sion Rodney set out for the tent to which Gilroy 
directed him, determined to accomplish it if possible. 



you make out anything?" inquired Gilroy 
of Rodney, as the latter returned to their 
tent with rather a disappointed countenance. 

"Not a thing! couldn't catch a single word. But I 
did manage to strike up an acquaintance with young 
Houri, the interpreter's son." 

"That's right! You'll get more from that lead 
than from a week's listening. Just you cultivate him 
a little and I believe he will give the thing away- 
if he has anything to give," exclaimed Gilroy, with 
hopeful animation. 

"Very well. I'll do the best I can," replied Rod- 

As a result of this resolution the young Half 
Breed and Rodney were together much of the time 
during the next two days, which were spent on the 
march. They were very congenial to each other and 
Rodney listened with delight to the young Houri's 
accounts of the adventures of himself and his father. 

On the other hand the Half Breed drew from Rod- 
ney the story of his life and seemed to admire the 
boy's modest and manly "grit" in his fight to secure 
the clean title to a home for his mother, and to lift 
from her the burden of poverty. 

"Come around after supper," he called to Rodney, 



as the moving columns broke up for camp on the 
evening of the second day out from Batosch. 

Rodney was careful to keep this invitation and 
found his friend in an unusual mood, alternating be- 
tween dreamful abstraction and restless excitement. 
He was not inclined to say much for some 
time, but finally said: "Let's take a stroll." This 
remark was made with the air of one who had at last 
reached the final decision of some vexatious ques- 

When they were well out of hearing from all 
others, Houri stopped abruptly, looked sharply into 
Rodney's face and then asked: 

"Merton, can you keep a secret from ererybody, 
even from Gilroy?" 

This was a turn in affairs for which Rodney was 
not prepared. Any pledge of secrecy that he might 
give must be kept to the letter and spirit. At the 
same time Gilroy would expect that any informa- 
tion which Rodney might gain would be his prop- 
erty. Would it not be better to refuse the informa- 
tion upon the condition named and trust to picking 
it up in some other way? Then came the thought: 

"If he is going to tell me where Riel is hiding it 
is for the purpose of having me accompany him in 
attempting the capture. Why not accept the con- 
dition of secrecy and go with him, and if the attempt 
is successful the information can afterward be given 
to Gilroy. 

"Certainly, I will tell no one," he replied. 

"Very well! I have learned the exact cabin 


where Louis Riel is hiding. Not even my father 
knows that although he has a general idea of the 
neighborhood in which Louis is now located. You 
know the government offers a good round sum for 
his capture. 

"I know him well much better than I do you 
and I believe that we can take him. He was let off 
easy by the government after his other trouble, and 
it is natural that he should have confidence that he 
might obtain mercy again, especially when his exe- 
cution would stir up all the bad blood in the north- 
west, just when the government has about got the 
thing squelched. If you want to try the plan we 
will do so and divide the reward for his capture 
evenly between us. If you don't care to do this I'll 
try it alone." 

"Yes; I'll go, of course and thank you for shar- 
ing the chance, which you might have kept to your- 
self, with me," eagerly replied Rodney. 

"Oh that's nothing. I like your grit; and besides, 
I'd rather have you with me than to try it alone. If 
he should make a fight it might come handy to have 
a friend along, you know! Now we'll fall in at the 
rear to-morrow morning, and when we get to the 
right cross trail we'll branch off and go it alone." 

In reply to Gilroy's inquiries, after returning to 
the tent, Rodney said: 

"I haven't been able to get even a general idea 
of Riel's hiding place yet; but I suppose that I can't 
do better than to keep close to young Houri." 

"No; that's right. Stick as tight to him as you 


can without exciting his suspicion," replied Gilroy. 
"But I believe I've struck a lead, for I overheard 
Houri's father telling Major Bolton that he knew the 
general locality in which Kiel is skulking, so I'm 
going to follow them. Between us both we ought 
to be in at the final wound-up. If it should fall to 
your luck don't miss a word, look or gesture, for I 
want to give a minute description of everything 
attending the capture." 

Thoughts of the possibilities of the morrow did 
not allow Rodney to sleep but little that night. If 
they might only succeed in capturing the famous 
Rebel and secure the reward! He thought of all the 
comforts that it would secure to his mother and 
himself, and even began to plan just how he would 
spend it. But the honor which would attend such a 
feat could scarcely be less a consideration in the 
thought of a courageous, imaginative and adventure- 
loving frontier lad than the liberal financial reward. 

He contrived to secure an extra feed for Pink- 
eye that morning and also gave his rifle and revolv- 
ers a cleaning of unusual thoroughness. 

When the march began he found Houri, faithful 
to his word, at the foot of the column. 

All the forenoon they rode side by side with the 
exchange of scarcely a word. 

But when the halt was made for dinner, Houri 
pointed to a trail which crossed the one which the 
troops were following. 

"That's it," he whispered, "but we must not strike 
out until the others take up the march, for it would 


be too noticeable and we might have the whole 
bunch of them at our heels." 

Rodney endeavored to conceal his excitement, 
during the noon meal, as much as possible; but was 
oppressed with the fear that he had succeeded but 

At last the troops fell into line again and the 
young Half Breed and Rodney lagged behind for a 
little and then dashed rapidly over the prairie 
toward a cabin some two miles distant. 

"He's in that shack; and if he's going to make 
any resistance he'll likely have the drop on one or 
the other of us. We might just as well make up our 
minds to that. The only thing we can do is to get 
a good ready, keep our eyes peeled and shoot quick, 
if it comes to that. There's no use trying to make 
a sneak on him." 

Rodney had never felt his heart beat with such 
terrific blows as when they approached within a 
hundred yards of the cabin. 

At first they could see no one within the cabin, 
but in a moment a dark and rather handsome man 

"Hello, Louis!" gaily called Houri, divining, at a 
glance, that resistance was evidently not Riel's 
programme. "You're just the man I'm looking 
for. Better throw up the game and come along 
with us." 

"Will you guarantee me a safe passage?" was 
the terse reply. 

"Yes, we will deliver you to the authorities safe 


and sound. You needn't worry about that. There 
will be no trouble, anyway. It will all be quiet." 

A pity of the defeated and captured man crept 
into Rodney's heart as they rode to join the troops, 
and he could not bring himself to regard the quiet 
and dignified man as "an ambitious pretender and 
demagogue who had determined to win by the rifle 
and at the cost of the lives of those whom he could 
dupe, the power which he had failed to achieve in 
the halls of parliament." 

Rodney could not reconcile this newspaper descrip- 
tion of the Rebel leader with the actual man at his 
side; and at this feeling that the Half Breed chief 
was not so black as he had been painted intensified. 
Rodney's conscience began to accuse him for his 
part in the capture of the man. But he dismissed 
this disagreeable thought for the time, with the 
reflection that even though Riel should pay the 
death penalty for his act, his capture would proba- 
bly put an end to the strife and be the means of 
stopping the waste of life which had been so revolt- 
ing to him and to which he could not become hard- 
ened or indifferent. 

As they approached the troops Houri requested 
Rodney to ride on in advance and report their capt- 
ure to the general. Many curious eyes were turned 
upon him as he came forward and held a momentary 
conversation with the commander, who ordered an 
instant halt and took measures to receive the pr.s- 
oner in a fitting manner. 

It was with embarrassment amounting to almost 


shame that Rodney received the hearty congratula- 
tions of Gilroy, Lieutenant Johns and all of the other 
officers and men who knew him. He tried to explain 
that he had done nothing at all; that Kiel had sim- 
ply surrendered and accompanied them back to 

" But it took grit to ride up to that cabin know- 
ing that Louis Riel \vould have nine chances out of 
ten in getting the drop on you. If you didn't have 
to fight for your life it wasn't the fault of the chances 
you took, " replied the lieutenant. 

" Well, " was Rodney's unspoken comment, " I'll 
have my share of the reward, anyway. And what a 
world of comforts that w r ill buy for mother! ' 

That evening he wrote the good news to his 
mother, and also, \vith young Houri, made claim 
to the reward. As he finished his letter, it suddenly 
occurred to him that the capture of Riel practically 
ended the war. " What are we going to do now? ' 
he asked Gilroy, with an abruptness which startled 
the correspondent out of a \vell-developed nap. 

" Going? " repeated Gilroy, rubbing his eyes in 
confusion, " Oh yes! We 're going on the trail of 
Big Bear. And a rocky road it'll be, too! But it'll 
be something ne\v a little different from \vhat 
we've been having. Going through the thick timber, 
I imagine, will be the worst of it. ' 

Rodney added this information to his letter and 
then sought his blanket, with that " good wholesome 
tired " which insured him sound and refreshing rest. 



IT was with a sense of deep relief that Rodney 
began the march from Garripy Crossing to Prince 

"Somehow I feel as though I'd been just let out of 
school as though we were through with the hard 
part of the business and the remainder of it would 
be more like traveling for the fun of it," Rodney 
confided to Gilroy. 

"Well, I do think we've seen the hardest part of 
the fighting but you must remember what I told 
Captain French that night before the taking of Ba- 
tosch," replied Gilroy. He did not need to say any- 
thing more in order to emphasize the uncertainty of 
human calculations. 

It was too grim a subject to be pursued further, 
and Rodney lapsed into gloomy silence which grad- 
ually changed into a dreamful enjoyment of the soft 
springtime world about him. The delicate silver 
birches with their white bodies wrapped in the flow- 
ing robes of their slender pendant whips of softest 
green stirred the poetry within the boy and brought 
back again to him the tender and worshipful feeling 
which he had so often experienced when alone in the 
woods, hunting or visiting his traps. This led to 



thoughts of his mother and a sudden and almost 
overwhelming desire to see her. So strongly did this 
wish master him that he would have welcomed an 
opportunity to turn back toward the little cabin on 
the Qu'Appelle. 

Then he began to formulate plans as to what he 
should do upon his return. 

"Yes, sir! I'll stick to my original plan and take 
mother for a visit to her folks in Illinois. Then I'll 
get a foothold with some newspaper in Chicago if I 
can. But if I should fail in that I'll be contented 
for a time on some smaller paper perhaps the one 
in town where they live. If mother gets homesick 
and wants to come back to the fort, of course I'll 
come to, but I shall try to get her to stay a 
year anyway," Rodney meditated. 

He ventured to inquire of Gilroy about the Chi- 
cago newspapers. 

"Equal to the Toronto and Montreal papers? 
Well I should say so and way ahead of them, too! 
They've more nerve and push in a minute than the 
Canadian papers have in all day! If there's any 
country or part of a country in which the public is 
especially interested, the Chicago papers are right 
on hand to send out exploring expeditions, even 
at the cost of thousands of dollars. They have 
more dash and enterprise than the Canadian jour- 
nals, which are patterned considerably after their 
staid conservative English cousins." 

"How would anyone manage who wanted to get 
a start on one of those papers do anyone of 


my age, I mean?" bashfully stammered Rodney AS 
they rode along side by. side. 

"They'd probably try and fail!" was Gilroy's 
discouraging rejoinder. 

After a few moments' reflection, he added: 

"There are several ways in which young fellows 
get a start." 

"But I suppose they all have to begin at the 
bottom?" interrupted Rodney. 

"No; that's just where you and lots of others are 
mistaken. It's getting so now that one is almost as 
likely to begin in the middle, or even higher up. I 
suppose if one began strictly at the bottom, he 
would first be set to holding copy; that is, reading the 
manuscript in comparison with the proof. The next 
step would be the more unpleasant kinds of reporting. 
After that would follow the more desirable kinds of 
reporting, special writing, editorial work and edi- 
torial writing. If you started in holding copy, you 
would probably get all of six dollars a week and 
pay out five of it for board, unless you got a cheap 
room and lived out. If you had a genius for econ- 
omy, you might manage to cut that down a little; 
but it would be a tight squeeze at best," again ex- 
plained Gilroy. 

"But how could anyone begin in the middle, as 
you say?" 

"Oh, in a dozen ways. Simply by being able to 
show himself capable of doing some special 
branch of work. This is usually begun by submitting 
special articles at space rate. For instance, you 


choose your own subject something on which you 
happen to be well posted and which is of general and 
timely interest and write it up. If the editor 
accepts it, you will probably try another; and so 
on. If you can make a go of it, and have your 'stuff,' 
as they say, taken right along, then you may be 
hired on a salary, or a guaranty that a certain 
amount of your work will be used. Then you would 
be a special writer, which is about the next thing 
to being an editorial writer." 

Although this information did not by any means 
satisfy Rodney and a score of other questions came 
up in his mind he feared that he might weary Gilroy 
and deferred them until another time. But the 
somewhat discouraging outlook which Gilroy had 
held up did not discourage him. It only aroused 
his determination the more. 

After the journey from Garrepy Crossing to 
Prince Albert had been accomplished and they had 
reached the vicinity of Duck Lake where the Rebels 
had perpetrated their first massacre, the infantry 
troops took a steamer to Battleford, while the 
cavalry held across the "big bend" to the same des- 
tination. From this point they again took up their 
across-country march. 

So uneventful was the journey that Gilroy began 
to chafe under its quite monotony. 

"I declare this is stupid!" Gilroy reitterated as 
they marched on hour after hour with not even the 
promise of the smallest excitement or diversion. 

Rodney, however, quite enjoyed the change from 


the feverish excitement which he had been under 
ever since that first brush with the Half Breed 
scouts in the vicinity of Clark's Crossing. It gave 
him time "to do a little thinking," as he expressed 

As they pitched camp one day in the vicinity of 
Ft. Pitt, where another massacre had occurred, Lieu- 
tenant Johns approached their tent with the excla- 

'Heard the news, Gilroy?" 

"No; What is it? Almost any excitement would 
be an improvement upon this dead calm." 

"They say that Steele's scouts have encountered 
Big Bear and had a lively brush with his braves. 
The old chief has put out in the direction of the North 
pole and we are to follow post haste. 

"Good! Good!" exclaimed Gilroy. "Anything to 
break up the monotony! And so we're to give the 
old rascal a lively chase, are we?" 

"Well, I don't know how lively it will be, for it's 
going to be mighty hard work to push through the 
dense timber to which the Indians have taken. Of 
course they'll keep through the thickest of it, know- 
ing that it will almost be impossible for troops to 
follow with any chance of overtaking them. But 
that's a great country up there, and worth one's 
while to see it," returned the lieutenant. 

"Yes; and I'm not so sure about there being no 
chance of overtaking the redskins. If they are 
loaded down with their winter's catch of skins, they 
will not make such rapid progress themselves and 


they will stop sooner than you think. I wouldn't 
be surprised if they went no further than those 
lakes up there." 

"We're going to push right through, as far as 
there's any earthly use, for the government is bound 
to punish the Indians severely who have dipped into 
this muss," responded the lieutenant, as he took 
his leave. 

"Of course," soliloquized Gilroy. "The Indians 
may cache their skins if they think they are getting 
hard pressed. But they'll hang onto 'em as long as 
they can. Tell you what, lad, wouldn't it be great 
luck to run onto that caclie of skins? It would be 
the next best thing to your luck in helping to capt- 
ure Riel. You're such a lucky dog that it would be 
just like you to fall right into that cache bodily. 
But if you should, I want to be in it with you," and 
Gilroy laughed generously at this seemingly envious 

Although Rodney had anticipated that the jour- 
ney would be a difficult one, the actual progress 
which they made seemed unaccountably slow. 

Much of the way they were obliged to wait for 
the axeman to cut down trees and remove logs from 
out the way. 

It was in following this narrow trail that Rodney 
first discovered the antipathy in which the regular 
troops seemed to hold the scouts. 

While going through the thickest portion of the 
timber the scouts were ordered to push on ahead of 
the regulars. 


Whenever Rodney attempted to pass a regular, 
the latter would not yield Pink-eye a foot but would 
crowd the latter close against the trees. 

The piebald animal endured this treatment to 
which the horses of all the scouts were subjected- 
for a time in patience; but finally one trooper rather 
overdid the crowding and jammed Pink-eye against 
a rough tree-trunk in a way that aroused the ire of 
the pugnacious shaganappy. 

The boisterous laugh of the trooper was sud- 
denly nipped in the bud by the ferocious squeal of 
old Pink-eye, as he laid back his ragged ears and 
planting his teeth into the thigh of the offending 

The latter plied a terrific blow upon the Roman 
nose of Rodney's pony but it did not save him 
from receiving scars which he would carry to his 

With an oath the trooper pulled out his revolver 
and would have shot down the horse had not Rod- 
ney grabbed the weapon and at the same time drawn 
his own. 

" It was your own fault that my horse bit you, 
now take your punishment like a man, ' Rodney 
exclaimed, expecting that the man would break out 
into a fit of passion. But he seemed to regard Rod- 
ney's revolver with a wholesome awe. 

Rodney appreciated that he was in a difficult 
position. He could not remain behind or ride 
beside the trooper, and if he passed on ahead it 
would give the fellow an opportunity to vent his 






wrath in any way that he might choose. He deter- 
mined to put a bold face on the matter and go ahead 
as though nothing had happened. Therefore he 
said nothing and pushed on. 

Again the fellow crowded the shoulder of his 
horse against the flank of Pink-eye. 

If Rodney had not been thoroughly alert, the 
consequences of this repetition of the troopers offense 
might have resulted as seriously for him as for the 
cavalry man, for Pink-eye took a quick step in 
advance and then dealt the trooper's horse a kick in 
the side which not only made havoc with the animal's 
ribs, but inflicted with the sharp "corks" of one 
shoe a savage gash into the flesh of the fellow's calf. 

Rodney heard the cry of pain which the man 
uttered, but did not pause to investigate matters be- 
yond a hasty glance, which showed him that the 
fellow still retained his seat in the saddle. 

When he joined Gilroy in the advance and 
related the episode, the latter said: 

"Served the wretch right; but you'd better keep 
a sharp eye on the fellow after this, for ten to one 
he'll try to have his revenge on you for the results 
of his own meanness." 

"But I did nothing to him myself," answered 

"Of course! But don't you know that we hate 
those whom we have wronged worse than those who 
have wronged us? It's always that way. You'd 
better look out for him. I'll warrant he'll try to do 
up your horse." 


"That would be meaner than trying to have his 
revenge oh me directly," was Rodney's quiet reply, 
as he sought to stifle the anger that burned in him at 
the thought. 

Although Rodney kept a careful watch upon the 
trooper and Old Pink-eye, he could find nothing to 
confirm Gilroy's unpleasant suspicions, until his 
fears gradually abated. 

One evening camp was pitched on the spot where 
Old Bear and his followers had previously camped. 

The recollection of the conversation about the 
rumored cache came to Rodney, and as there was a 
bright moon he determined to amuse himself by 
looking about for it. 



AFTER wandering about for some time, peering 
into every covert which seemed to suggest the 
possibility of affording concealment for the cache 
and poking under logs and brush-heaps, Rodney sat 
down, muttering: 

'What's the use? I couldn't find it in broad 
daylight, and there's not the slightest use in attempt- 
ing to now. I'd better go back to the tent." But 
as he sat there in the deep quiet of the great woods, 
with the soft moonlight filtering down through the 
tasseled branches of the pines, his thoughts drifted 
from the object which had brought him there into 
vague dreams of home, old playmates, the won- 
derful future and the wild majestic beauty of the 
northern forest. He wonderered, too, what had 
happened to the little Half Breed girl whom he had 
found on the shelf of rock near Fish Creek, and he 
tried, by shutting his eyes tightly, to recall the exact 
image of her face, which he remembered as very 
bright and pleasing, if not beautiful. How strange 
it would be if they should some time meet again 
in after life, and he should find her grown to 
a beautiful young woman and ! 

His romance was suddenly interrupted by the 
sound of a light tread. 



Instantly he was alert and listening intently, his 
fingers tightened about his rifle which had been 
resting loosely across his knees. The sound being 
in the direction opposite from the camp he naturally 
concluded that it was not caused by any. of the 
soldiers or their stock, but by some wild animal. As 
the animal was to the windward from him he con- 
cluded that he was safe from detection, and that he 
might be able to obtain a shot at the unknown deni- 
zen of the woods if he did not alarm it by some noise. 
The tread seemed to continue for several yards and 
then pause. He listened more carefully than before, 
expecting that the animal had stopped to listen for 
signs of alarm and would resume its journey after a 
brief pause. But instead of again hearing its tread 
Rodney caught; the sound of cautious scratching, as 
though the animal had discovered a hidden victim, 
which it could not reach without digging through 
leaves, brush and earth. 

With slow and stealthy footsteps Rodney ap- 
proached towards the author of the noise. He scarcely 
expected to get a fair view of the animal, although the 
timber was not as thick as he had anticipated. Step 
by step he picked his way along as "gingerly" as 
though returning from a truant's frolic and endeav- 
oring to reach the safety of his bed without awaken- 
ing the household. 

Quite unexpectedly he soon found himself at the 
edge of a small clearing in the center of which stood 
the ruins of a deserted log cabin, probably erected 
years before by some trapper, or possibly by a band 


of prospectors or surveyors. The roof was fallen in 
and the moonlight flooded the interior of its log 
walls almost as brightly as their exterior. 

"That scratching comes from inside there's no 
doubt about that! But the next thing is to steal a 
march on the animal without frightening it away," 
reflected Rodney, who would also have experienced a 
certain relief in knowing "the nature of the brute," 
which he was after before encountering it. Neverthe- 
less he did not hesitate, but crept softly along, behind 
the low bushes which sprinkled the clearing toward a 
spot from which he could, through the doorway of 
the cabin, command a full view of the interior. 

At first he could see only the "hind quarters" of 
the animal, which appeared to be about the size of a 
large dog, only not so tall. 

"I wonder what the brute's after," thought Rodney 
as he shifted his position so as to obtain, if possible, a 
view of the animal's head. "Probably he's found 
the remains of an old barrel of salt pork or has 
had a streak of luck and captured a larger victim 
than he could eat at once and has buried it there for 
safe keeping. But it's a queer place for an animal 
to cache anything." 

These thoughts flashed through his mind as he 
raised his rifle, rested it over a stump, took deliber- 
ate aim and fired. Seeing that his shot had been 
instantly fatal, he ran quickly toward the cabin, 
but his mind was full of a new thought. 

"Yes; it is a strange place for wild animals to 
cache anything but quite a natural place for a 


human being to select as a concealment for 

Although he had never seen a live wolverine 
before, he had seen their pelts at the post, and 
knew that the dead animal was of this variety. 

He did not pause, however, to make any 
extended examination of his prize. Pulling it 
hastily to one side he began an eager search of the 
stop where the animal had been digging. 

It was in a corner of the cabin where the frame of 
a rude bunk still stood, filled with the debris of pine 
boughs, which, when fresh, had formed a soft and 
fragrant bed for the inhabitant of the cabin. 

Rodney fell rapidly to work cleaning out this 
bunk, keeping a careful lookout for the first shining 
speck of fur that should confirm his suspicion that 
the cache was beneath. But no glimpse of this 
kind rewarded his efforts. 

"I guess I'll poke around in there with a stick 
a little and then go home," thought Rodney, as he 
took up a pole and thrust it at random into the 

"I declare it feels as though the bottom was laid 
with logs like a corduroy road !" he mentally ex- 
claimed, as his stick reached the bottom. 

He poked again and once more the point of his 
stick seemed to glance from a rounding surface and 
wedge itself between two pieces of timber. His 
curiosity was now thoroughly aroused and he began 
to throw out the debris with a will 

As he expected, he found a corduroy bottom to 



the bunk, and his heart beat quick with excitement 
as he pried the end of one of the small logs loose 
and lifted it up. 

He could scarcely believe his eyes at the result; 
but a thrust of his stick against the substance beneath 
could leave no room for further doubt. He certain- 
ly had discovered the caclie of Big Bear's winter 
catch of skins ! 

The other coverings were quickly lifted and 
revealed to Rodney a surface of otter, beaver, lynx, 
bear and fox skins. 

As he continued to throw bundle after bundle of 
the rich pelts out of the secret vault in which Big 
Bear's squaws had buried them, he made a running 
count of their value, as he had often done in hand- 
ling the skins for Leveque, at the Hudson Bay Post, 
at home. 

But at last his arms began to tire, and he paused 
for rest. 

"Well, I've taken out at least five hundred dol- 
lars' worth, and no signs of striking bottom yet!" was 
his mental comment. 

It then occurred to him that he had been absent 
some time from camp, and that he must return or 
become an object of anxiety to Gilroy. 

He had no difficulty in tracing his way back to 
camp, for the moon was still shining clearly, and he 
had been careful, in coming, to select certain promi- 
nent landmarks to serve him as sure guides in his 

"Great Scotland! Lad, where have you been?" 


was Gilroy's almost impatient greeting, as Rodney 
entered their tent. 

"Oh, I've been hunting a little on my own hook." 

"But I don't see any great amount of game," 
interrupted Gilroy. 

"No but I shot a wolverine, just the same! And 
that was not all that I bagged, either," was Rodney's 
mysterious reply. 

Then he related his adventure and the discovery 
to which it had led. 

"But what am I to do about it?" he inquired, after 
he had finished the narrative. 

Gilroy remained silent for some time and then 

"That is something which you must decide for 
yourself. The skins belong to the Indians, but you 
may be sure that they will never have an opportu- 
nity to return and resurrect them. If the pelts were 
to remain, they would probably be destroyed by 
wolverines and other similar animals, as you have 
had proof to-night. If you were a regular soldier 
or scout, it would be your duty in the theory at least 
-to report the find to your commander, and let him 
take possession of them as goods of the enemy. 
But you are not bound by this rule, for you are not 
even a regular scout, but simply a private person 
traveling with the army in a private capacity. I don't 
see why the skins don't belong to you more than 
to anyone else." 

"But on that principle they belong to you, for I 
am working for you in even a stricter sense than any 


soldier is working for his commander," replied 

"No, that principle don't hold in private business. 
It's your good luck, and I don't see any reason why 
you should not replace the skins as you found them, 
go on as though nothing had happened, and when 
the rebellion is over come back and get them. At 
any rate, I'd sleep over the business and decide it in 
the morning." 

Rodney decided to act upon this last bit of ad- 
vice, and stretched out upon his blanket. 

But instead of "sleeping over it" he lay awake, 
hour after hour, debating the problem pro and con. 
One moment it seemed that this fortune was his by 
right of discovery. Then would come up the fact 
that they were not his that he would be getting 
"something for nothing;" taking that for which he 
had rendered no equivalent. It was not, however, 
until he began to plan how he should dispose of the 
skins, provided he should follow Gilroy's suggestion, 
that the matter seemed to put itself in a decisive 

"Suppose," he asked himself, "the trader to 
whom I might take the furs should ask me how I 
came by them. I could not tell him that I had 
either caught them or bought them." 

This questionable view of the matter presented 
itself to Rodney each time he counted up the fort- 
une which was within his easy grasp. 

When he arose in the morning Gilroy greeted 

him with the question: 


"Well, have you settled it?" 

"Yes," was the prompt reply. "I thought that 
if I took the furs to a trader and he should ask me 
whether I had caught or bought them I could make 
no reasonable and honest answer. He would natur- 
ally think that I had got them by questionable 
means and I think he would be about right, too. 
So I'm going to report it to the general and let him 
take possession of them." 

"Yes and distribute them among his relatives 
and pets," was Gilroy's ungracious rejoinder. 

"That will be for him to settle. It -seems the 
nearest right of anything that I should put it into 
his hands, so that's what I'm going to do this morn- 
ing," was the boy's determined reply. He put this 
resolution into action as soon as breakfast was 

After some delay he was admitted into the pres- 
ence of the general, who received him in a brisk, 
short way, which would have quite disheartened the 
sensitive boy had he come to ask a favor instead of 
to do a duty. 

After he had delivered his information the com- 
mander's manner mellowed perceptibly and he com- 
plimented Rodney upon the high sense of honor 
and integrity which he had shown. Then he called 
certain of his staff and requested Rodney to direct 
them to the cabin. 

They found the pelts unmolested, and when they 
were all out Rodney estimated them to value at 
least one thousand dollars. But as he saw them 


carried safely away to the general's tent he had no 
regrets for the decision he had made. 

When he returned to Gilroy again the latter said: 

"Rodney you won't mind my telling you that I 
have a very deep admiration for your action regard- 
ing the cache. It was something that not one man 
in a thousand would have done." 

"It seemed the right thing to do, that was all," 
was Rodney's simple reply, as he went about his 
duties and tried to dismiss the subject from his mind. 

"Well, I shall see to it that that lad has a chance 
to bring out all that there is in him and I believe 
that he will make a first-class newspaper man!" re- 
flected Gilroy. 

An hour later the march was resumed, and as 
they made their slow progress through the woods 
Rodney fell to wondering what adventure would next 
claim their attention. 

"I declare it seems to me that I have lived years 
instead of about two months since we marched out 
of Ft. Qu'Appelle, that day," he remarked to Gilroy, 
who rode next him. 

"You have, to all practical purposes, for it is ex- 
perience, not years, that ages us." 

"Do you really think that I have changed much 
since you first saw me?" eagerly inquired Rodney. 

"Yes; very much even in appearance. You 
were just a boy then and a very shy and bashful one 
at that. Now you have the development resulting 
from an amount of hard worldly experience which 
few young men ten years your senior can boast of 


and it will all count for its full value in helping you 
along in the world, too. There's no profession in 
which an experience of this sort counts for so much 
as in the newspaper business," replied Gilroy. 



r I "HE progress of the troops grew rapidly more 
J_ difficult and the services of the "cutters" were 
in constant demand. 

"If we crawl along at this pace Big Bear will 
have about a thousand miles the start of us," was 
Lieutenant Johns' discouraged comment as he rode 
past Gilroy and Rodney. 

"It does begin to look considerable like a wild 
goose chase, I must admit," replied Gilroy, whom 
any delay rendered decidedly restless. 

But Rodney was enjoying it keenly. The fresh 
"springy" smell of the dense verdure charmed and 
soothed him after the wearing excitement of the 
scenes through which he had passed. 

"I'd just like to leave off this hunting human 
game and take to fishing and hunting wild animals 
for a while. Wouldn't this be a glorious place to 
trap and hunt in, when the season is on, though!" 
exclaimed Rodney, his eyes blazing with enthusiasm. 

"Yes; it would certainly be first rate. But when 
it comes to hunting, if I'm going in for it at all I 
want to go in all over, and not stop short of the 
Musk-ox region about Hudson Bay. There's the 
place to hunt if the few travelers who have ex- 
plored that region can be at all believed, and I 



honkone who has been there who can be re- 
lied on. If I live long enough and don't get settled 
down to a desk before having my fill of roving, I'm 
going to spend a season knocking around up there." 

" I suppose it's an awful hard life, at best, that one 
would lead there; but I can think of nothing more 
interesting. No books of adventure ever interested 
me half as much as those about the Arctic regions, 
and I think it is the same with other boys," said 

"Yes; I guess the preference is almost universal 
among boys. It was that way with me at least," re- 
plied Gilroy meditatively. 

" What do you think is the reason for it?" resumed 

" Well, I don't know unless it is because the most 
commonplace and insignificant details of existence 
are attended, by reason of the extreme cold, with 
great danger. Or, in other words, the natural and 
inevitable perils in such a climate are so thick that 
the narrator does not have to strain after perilous 
situations, and consequently his story is more vivid 
and realistic." 

"That's a fact, but I never thought it out before. 
The adventures laid in the temperate and torrid 
zones always did seem more strained and far-fetched 
to me than narratives of Arctic exploration and 
adventure. But hunting even the musk-ox wouldn't 
quite satisfy me. It would take a real live polar 
bear to do that," replied Rodney. 

"Well," laughed Gilroy, "when we make our 


Artie exploration I'll see that a polar bear is pro- 
vided for your express benefit, without regard to 

"All right, I'll not forget to remind you of it," 
promptly answered Rodney, joining in the laugh at 
the absurdity of the entire supposition. 

The drift of the conversation was suddenly 
changed by the halting of the advanced horsemen, 
and Rodney's exclamation: "Look at that boy! 
What can we be coming to?" 

"Muskegs rat houses! And a sweet time we'll 
have getting across them, too!" explained Gilroy. 

Subsequent events fully justified this view of the 
situation, for not only did every man have to dis- 
mount, but those having any considerable luggage 
were obliged to cut long poles and construct "trav- 
oils," upon which the baggage was dragged across 
the wide and treacherous swail, which was spotted 
with the "muskegs." 

It was a tedious proceeding and one that all were 
delighted to have safely over. 

When it was accomplished they found themselves 
on what was, save for the narrow strip or isthmus 
over which they had crossed, an island. 

"Here we are at Loon Lake at last, and not a 
sight of an Indian for our pains," grumbled the lieu- 
tenant, "and what's more we're not likely to get 
one, either for unless I miss my guess, the sly 
dogs' have been cunning enough to lead us on this 
island, just to cover up their tracks and give us the 


The island was a wild and beautiful place and 
Rodney was eager to explore it. 

"Who knows what I may scare up?" he said to 
himself, as he took his rifle and set out alone. 

At first he skirted along the shore admiring the 
beauty of the lake and watching for loons upon 
which to test his marksmanship. But not one was 
in sight, and although it was the proper hour for 
their "far-sounding" cries, he could hear only the 
gentle lapping of the water on its beach. 

Tiring of this, he turned his face toward the 
timbered interior of the island and began to search 
for signs of an opening or trail. To his great sur- 
prise he found what seemed to be the faint trace of 
an old trail. 

"I'd like to run across Big Bear's camp and pick 
up something that has been left behind, just to 
remember this trip by," he reflected, as he made a 
more careful examination of the trail and satisfied 
himself that the indications were certainly promis- 

Sometimes the trail was quite apparent and at 
other times it was with the greatest difficulty that 
he could follow it. But patience and close attention 
enabled him to keep its general course; and when 
he entered the woods, and followed it for some fifty 
rods, he was surprised to find himself stumbling 
upon the ashes of Big Bear's extinct camp fires-. 
He at once began to search about for some keep- 
sake by which to remember their chase after the 
famous chief. 


"Here I have it!" exclaimed Rodney, as he 
picked up the stone bowl of a discarded or forgotten 
pipe and put it into his pocket. 

"I'd like to know in what direction they set out 
from here," he reflected, and began to search about for 
the continuance of the trail, which crossed an "open" 
and then disappeared into thick timber beyond. 

He had but just reached the latter when the trail 
became so obscure that he was compelled to stoop 
close to the ground and exercise all the woods-craft 
of which he was capable in order to keep the 
run of it. 

After progressing for some time in this slow and 
difficult position he paused and straightened up to 
relieve his aching back. 

A cry of horror broke from his lips as he did so 
and he started back in terror; but after retreating a 
rod or two he regained control of his faculties and 
checked the impulse of fear to which he had tempo- 
rarily yielded. 

Not a yard in front of the spot where he had 
stopped was the most hideous and revolting sight 
that he had ever looked upon. It was the lifeless 
body of a grizzled old squaw, depending by a lariat 
from the branch of a tree. This scene needed no 
explanation. Rodney understood it instantly. The 
other Indians, being hard pressed, had left this 
decrepit old woman, who could not keep up the 
speed at which they wished to travel, on the island 
to starve. She had preferred the quicker death by 
hanging and had been her own executioner. 


So strong a hold did this pitiful tragedy take 
upon Rodney that he involuntarily sank down upon 
a log to think about it. 

Here was a feature of the war that he had not 
taken into consideration. At first the cruelty of the 
Indians to the old woman seemed awful and filled 
him with an indignation that would have welcomed 
an opportunity to avenge itself upon Big Bear and 
his warriors; but as he thought the matter over 
more calmly it came to seem that the responsibility 
for this cruelty lay as much with those who had 
crowded the Indians into a position where such a 
proceeding was but the natural outcome of their 
savage instincts and training, as with the Indians 
themselves. But the most vivid impression which it 
made upon the sensitive mind of the boy was to 
intensify the feeling to which every engagement 
that he had witnessed had contributed: that war 
was so terrible a thing, and caused the innocent, as 
well as the guilty, so much suffering that it was 
always wrong and unjustifiable. 

The cry of a great black woodpecker startled 
Rodney from his reverie and he hastened back to 
camp to relate his discovery to Gilroy. 

"Yes; you're right; it will work up into a good 
incident for the papers. It's just the kind of thing 
they want something to harrow up the feelings of 
their readers, that's all that's necessary. Oh, you're 
getting your newspaper eyes open in good shape, 
boy!" exclaimed Gilroy, with patronizing enthusi- 
asm as he listened to Rodney's graphic description 



of the appearance of the suicide and his feelings as 
he had stumbled upon it. 

The story was overheard by a scout, and as 
Rodney went to lead Gilroy to the spot nearly the 
entire company followed him. 

"We'll let it hang just as it is, so that if Big Bear 
should happen back this way he may see the result 
of his devilish cruelty," remarked the commander as 
they turned away from the fearful spectacle and 
strolled back to camp. 

"Look here, boys!" exclaimed one of the scouts 
who had been an old hunter and trapper, "we'll have 
smoke to-night, sure! This is wild tea; and it's the 
next best thing to the genuine article which is 
mighty scarce in this camp so far as I know!" 

The men fell to stripping the leaves from the 
wild tea plants and did not return to camp until their 
pockets were well filled. Nearly every fire that 
evening had a rude rack of some sort erected over it 
on which the leaves were spread to cure. Those 
who were fortunate enough to find a few leaves 
which had withered and dried in the sun, indulged 
their appetite without delay. This seemed to revive 
a general spirit of companionship and every man 
who had a story of Indian adventure told it to his 
fellows with a fresh gest. 

When Rodney fell asleep it was to dream of a 
strange jumble of his own experience, and the 
exciting perils which he had just heard rehearsed. 

He was in the midst of these imaginary dangers 
when the sharp report of a firearm aroused him. He 


leaped to his feet in time to hear several successive 
discharges, following in rapid succession. 

"Indians! The Indians are on us!" he shouted in 
wild confusion, scarcely knowing what he said. 

Seizing his rifle he rushed in the direction from 
which the shots seemed to come. In this move he 
was followed by the scouts. 

He was not yet thoroughly awake and his real 
surroundings were inextricably confused with the 
imaginary scene of his dream. 

The dim outlines of a figure leaping through the 
brush immediately assumed the appearance of an 
Indian, and he instantly raised his rifle to fire. 

Just as he was about to press the trigger a strong 
hand struck down the barrel of his rifle, which dis- 
charged harmlessly into the ground. 

"Not so fast, boy!" sternly commanded a voice 
at his side, which he recognized as belonging to 
Lieutenant Johns. This and a chorus of laughs 
near by brought the bewildered lad to his senses. 

"That's no Indian," continued the lieutenant. 

The shout of "false alarm!" was then heard, and 
they hastened to join the increasing group about the 
nearest camp fire of the troopers. The men were all 
laughing heartily, Rodney and the lieutenant joined 
this merriment when they heard the explanation of 
the alarm. 

The trooper who had previously suffered merited 
punishment at the heels of Old Pink-eye, had stooped 
over the camp fire to light his pipe with a brand. 
The pipe had slipped from his lips and fallen into 


the fire from which the fellow had stupidly attempted 
to hook it with the butt of his revolver, which the 
scorching heat forced him to drop. At this he 
had fled into the brush while the discharging fire- 
arm scattered the embers and aroused the camp. 

After the fun over the ludicrous affair had sub- 
sided, Rodney returned to his blanket, devoutly 
thankful that the lucky stroke of the lieutenant's 
had spared him the likelihood of turning the amus- 
ing episode into a painful tragedy. 



A LTHOUGH Rodney had succeeded in locating 
J~\ the site of Big Bear's camp on the island, the 
most diligent search on the part of experienced 
scouts failed to discover the course by which the 
wily chief had conducted his band in their depart- 
ure. Several days were consumed in this fruitless 
search, and during this time Rodney found excellent 
rifle practice in shooting at the loons, which fre- 
quented the distant end of the island. 

As he returned from one of these excursions 
Gilroy greeted him with the exclamation: 

"Hurrah for home! The general has given 
orders to pull up in the morning and retrace our 
steps to civilization. That means that the chase 
after Big Bear is abandoned, and that the scouts 
will disband as soon as they reach home. 

In other words the jig's up, and there will be 
nothing more for you to do excepting to draw your 
pay which I will give you when we get to Prince 
Albert, for when we were there I sent an estimate of 
the amount of money which I wanted the paper to 
forward there for my use when we returned. Of 
course it will cover your time until you are back in 
Ft. Qu'Appelle again." 



Rodney made no attempt to conceal his joy at 
the news that the wretched war was over and that 
he was soon to see his mother and the old home 
again. He was heartily sick of bloodshed, and 
while it gave him a glow of pride and satisfaction 
to count up the snug sum of money which he had 
earned, he had no desire to increase it at the price 
of the continuance of the rebellion. Then the 
thought that he was soon to see his mother filled 
him with a yearning impatience which could not 
tolerate the slightest delay. He planned to surprise 
her and wondered just what he would find her doing 
and what she would say to him and to the little fort- 
une that he would carry home with him. He would 
first lay out upon the table the money from Gilroy. 
Then, after she had looked at that for a while, he 
would take out his portion of the reward for the 
capture of Kiel. 

"How much do you make it that I will have 
coming to me?" Rodney ventured to ask Gilroy. 

"Two hundred and seventy-eight dollars. Why? 
Isn't that the way you figure it?" 

"I didn't make it quite as much as that," replied 
Rodney. "Well I think you'll find that right. I 
tried to allow a safe margin of time for you to get 
home in; and if you should happen to make it in 
less don't send any of the pay back. It would be 
just like you to, though," laughed Gilroy. 

The march back to Prince Albert was quite as 
deliberate as the advance over the same trail, not- 
withstanding the fact that the way was now clear, 


through the timber, for them. There was no neces- 
sity for haste, as in the advance, and the animals 
were wasted by short rations of feed and by hard 

But at last they came in sight of Prince Albert 
and Rodney and Gilroy hastened to the bank where 
they found the remittance awaiting them. 

No danger which the pioneer boy had been through 
had filled him with greater conscious excitement or 
given him quite the sense of manly importance that 
he felt as he counted over the gold and silver coin 
which Gilroy shoved toward him, on the outer ledge 
of the bank counter. His first attempt to count it 
correctly ended in a confused failure; but another 
trial verified the accuracy of Gilroy's count. 

The cashier handed them each an empty coin bag 
into which they put specie. 

" Now, Rodney, let's step into a store and get 
a good buckskin money-belt that you can wear under 
your clothes. Then you'll be all right," suggested 

They started out of the door when the cashier 
called them back and said: 

" We've received from the government, seven hun- 
dred and fifty dollars for a scout named Rodney 
Merton. It's half of the reward for the capture of 
Riel. I thought I heard one of you speak the name 
Rodney just now?" 

"Well that's luck!" exclaimed Gilroy. "This 
lad is Rodney Merton, who, with young Houri, capt- 
ured Riel. I don't call him by his name once in a 


hundred times and don't know what possessed me 
to just now." 

Rodney's identification being thus satisfactorily 
established by Gilroy, the cashier paid over the re- 
ward to the delighted and astonished boy, who had 
never ''handled" as much money before in all his 

" You stay here while I go out and get the belt. 
It won't do for you to show up all that money in any 
store," said Gilroy, who soon returned. 

The cashier opened, from within, a door into a 
private apartment, where Rodney and Gilroy re- 
paired to fill the money-belt and adjust it securely 
under his clothing. 

As Rodney went to feed and water Old Pink-eye 
that evening, it occurred to him for the first time 
that the faithful old animal belonged to Gilroy and 
that on the morrow they would probably part com- 
pany forever. 

" Yes and my saddle, rifle and revolvers all belong 
to him, too." 

"It makes me sick to think of giving them all up; 
they 've come to seem like a part of myself. But I 
could stand letting all go, but Old Pink-eye he 's 
like an old friend that's stood by in many a time of 
need," mused Rodney, as he stroked the shaganap- 
py's V-shaped neck. 

"Well; I suppose I'll get passage over the trail 
to-morrow with some teamsters going home," said 
he to Gilroy, after supper. 

" Not to speak of!" exclaimed Gilroy in aston- 


ishment - - " not unless you'd rather do that than to 
ride Old Pink-eye!" 

" But the horse belongs to you and so do the 
revolvers and rifle and saddle," said Rodney. 

" Boy, you've earned your outfit, by what might 
be called extra usefulness, many times over. But 
do you suppose that I could ever take from you the 
horse and rifle with which you saved my own life? 
Not much! They're yours, and I wish I could throw 
in a farm or two with them; but I can't. However, 
I don't propose to lose sight of you, and you may 
depend upon hearing from me as soon as I can find 
a good opening of some kind for you." 

Rodney attempted to express his gratitude 
both for the gifts and the promise of future assist- 
ance, but the genial, big-hearted newspaper man 
would not listen to anything of the kind. 

When it came, in the morning, to the actual 
moment of saying good-bye to Gilroy, the lieutenant 
and the other scouts with whom he had happened to 
become most intimate, he was far more deeply 
affected than he had anticipated, and a swelling 
lump arose in his throat which required constant 
swallowing " to keep down." 

" I shall see you again before long but here's 
good-bye 'till I do," exclaimed Gilroy, with a warm 
pressure of the lad's hand; " and if you should want 
to write me for anything, here's my address," he 

Rodney's homeward journey was not only full of 
the delights of anticipation but of recollection as 


well, for his route was over the same road by which 
he had come. 

At Fish Creek he could not refrain from visiting 
the cabin where he had found the mother of the lit- 
tle Half-Breed girl, and was surprised to learn from 
the mistress of the cabin that the mother had taken 
her children to Ft. Qu 'Appelle, where they had rela- 
tives. He spent much time in wondering who the 
relatives could be and if the child would ever play 
as important a part in his life as he had in hers. As 
he passed the bog in which Gilroy had so ignomin- 
iously floundered on the occasion of their foraging 
expedition he could not repress a hearty laugh at 
the recollection of the ludicrous spectacle which 
they had both presented, and this was brought even 
more vividly before him when the dog which had 
given them such an exciting chase rushed out and 
barked fiercely at the heels of Old Pink-eye. 

After leaving Clark's Crossing it seemed to Rod- 
ney that he was "almost home," and his heart leaped 
with pride and gratitude to think how different wa< 
his present home-coming from the one- -seemingly 
years, but in reality not four months ago --when he 
had tramped over the road from Grenfell, tired, dis- 
couraged and ashamed. 

Although he now, as then, wished that he might 
pass through the village to his mother's cabin with- 
out being seen by the loafers about the post and shop, 
how different was the motive which prompted the 
wish ! 

On approaching the post he put spurs to Pink- 


eye and cantered rapidly by, nodding hurriedly to 
those who called out to him from the steps and doors 
as he passed. 

He did not slacken his horse's pace until in front 
of his mother's cabin. Leaping from the saddle, he 
rushed into the house. 

"Rodney!' exclaimed his mother, lifting her 
hands, sprinkled with flour, from the bread which 
she was kneading. She threw her arms about him, 
and when she unclasped them there were tears in her 
eyes as well as in his. 

" Deary-me! Just see how I've covered you with 
flour," she continued ; and the little laugh at his 
dusty appearance relieved the embarrassment and 
gave them an opportunity to recover their usual com- 

"Well, mother, I'm back again all right, and 
here 's what I have to show for it," said Rodney 
proudly, as he unfastened his bulging money-belt, 
drew it from under his clothes,, and arranged the 
coin upon the table. "There's just a hundred dol- 
lars in each pile excepting the little one of twenty- 
eight dollars. Just think of it! One thousand and 
twenty-eight dollars in three months! 

Mrs. Merton gazed at the shining piles of gold 
eagles for some time, as though unable to compre- 
hend the value of so much money, to say nothing 
of realizing the fact that it was their own. 

But at last when she began to grasp the reality, 
she buried her face in her hands and wept as he had 
seen her weep but few times before. 

T -~. I' '- o-. 




; W 




"Don't cry, mother," he said, laying his hand ten- 
derly on her soft, brown hair. "It's all yours every 
dollar of it; only I want you to use part of it in 
going to visit your folks in the States this winter. 
There will be plenty left for that after paying for 
the place." 

She made no reply; but Rodney could see that 
she did not as he feared she might at once reject 
the proposition of the visit to Illinois. 

After he had replaced the money in the belt and 
secured it about him, he took his mother to the door 
to exhibit Old Pink-eye, the rifle, revolvers and the 
saddle which Gilroy had given him. 

"And he's going to get me a good place on a 
newspaper, too," observed Rodney, after expatiating 
upon the merits of Gilroy and his gifts. 



WHERE had we better keep the money, mother?" 
was the perplexing question which Rodney 
raised after tethering old Pink-eye out to graze. 

"Mercy on us I don't know! There's no bank 
here and I'd be afraid to hide it for fear some one 
would see you and go and get it." 

"I've been thinking about that. How would it 
do to give it to 'Two-Cent Tranquility' for safe- 
keeping. ' 

"That's just right!" promptly replied Mrs. Mer- 
ton. "He's as honest as the day is long and as cau- 
tious and cunning as a weasel. I'd rather trust it 
with him than to try to keep it ourselves." 

And so Rodney ate an early supper and went 
down to his old friend's shop, hoping to find him 
alone. But in this he was disappointed, fora young 
lumberman was waiting for a boot to be repaired 
and before this was done one after another of the 
village loafers began to drop in, eager to hear the 
news "from the seat of war." Rodney, however, 
knew that if he once began to relate incidents of 
the war, an epidemic of story-telling would set in 
and he would have no chance for a private audience 
with the shoemaker before midnight. He gave as 
brief answers as possible to their questions and 



maintained strict silence when not compelled to 

This unresponsive course had its desired effect 
and when the last of his questioners took leave it 
was not quite nine o'clock by the shoemaker's round 
bull's-eye watch, which had ticked away above the 
bench as long as Rodney could remember. 

"Now give us a little account of yourself," said 
the old shoemaker, as he tied up his leather apron 
and put it away in the bench drawer, from which he 
took his pipe and a package of tobacco, preparatory 
to giving the anticipated narrative his sympathetic 

When Rodney had concluded a hasty account of 
his adventures the old man reached forward his 
right hand, tapped the end of his fingers lightly 
upon the boy's knee and exclaimed : 

"Boy, you've done well. Your own father 
couldn't have done better ! Now, how much have 
you saved and what are you going to do with it?" 

"Just one thousand and twenty-eight dollars, and 
I am going to pay for the place and give the rest to 
you to keep for me until mother goes back to 
Illinois to visit her folks. But I'd like to have you 
take it all now, for mother thinks it would be much 
safer with you than with us." 

The old man, flattered by this confidence, gladly 
accepted the responsibility and took the belt; but 
insisted upon giving Rodney his written receipt for 
the money. 

On the following day Rodney, accompanied by 


Toussaint Tranquilite, visited the government land 
agent, paid the three hundred dollars demanded for 
a clear patent of title to the farm, and returned with 
the precious document in Rodney's pocket. 

He at once presented it to his mother, who took 
it in her trembling hands, as the tears gathered in 
her eyes, and slowly read every word of it. 

"Just think how long he worked for it and then 
never got! It takes away the biggest part of the 
comfort to think that he can't be here to have it 

" But then, father's pleasure in owning the home 
would have been in the thought that you and I 
would have it 'to fall back on'- -as he used to say; 
and so long as we have it now I'm sure he would 
want us to be very happy in it," cheerfully observed 

"Yes, I suppose that's so," assented Mrs. Merton 
with a readiness quite unlike the habitual gloom with 
which she had come to receive the few encouraging; 

c> O 

things which had entered into her life, in later years, 
This symptom of increasing hopefulness was more 
welcome to Rodney than the most flattering pros- 
pect of any personal success and he felt like ex- 

" Oh, mother, I'm going to make you grow young 
again, yet! ' 

For several days Rodney busied himself in con- 
structing a snug stable for old Pink-eye and "fixing 
things up generally" about the place. There was a 
comforting sense of proprietorship in doing this 


which gave him a far greater pleasure than he had 
ever derived in making any previous improvements. 
He had never been happier before and he sang and 
whistled constantly as he plied his hammer and 

But although his hands were busily employed in 
this work his thoughts were equally busy planning 
his future. 

At first he thought that he would at once write 
to Gilroy asking his assistance in securing a position 
upon the Montreal paper. But here his manly inde- 
pendence asserted itse'f. 

"No, sir! I'll get one myself. I've received 
enough favors from him already. If he should 
write to me offering me a place, that would be dif- 
ferent; but I'll try faithfully alone first. If I fail, 
it will be time enough to call on him then," he ex- 
claimed, with the enthusiasm of strong conviction. 

How to begin this struggle for a footing was the 
next question, and a difficult one, too. Upon care- 
ful reflection he decided that the best way was to 
purchase several of the leading Dominion papers 
and write to the publishers stating his experience in 
the rebellion, referring them to Gilroy, and request- 
ing a trial in case there was any chance for him. 

The next out-going post carried nearly a dozen 
carefully-worded applications to the principal papers 
of Winnepeg, Ottawa, Toronto, Quebec and Mon- 

In spite of the fact that he told himself that he 
could not expect an answe from even the nearest 


one inside of ten days, a week found him an anxious 
watcher of every in-coming post. 

But, although this anxiety daily increased until 
it amounted to nervous restlessness, he did not re- 
ceive a reply until three full weeks had elapsed. 
The others followed in succession, until the list was 
complete. They were all of the same sort, politely 
declining his services. 

He had faced death beside Gilroy and beside 
Captain French with soldierly nonchalance and 
bravery, but he could not face that pile of letters 
without something very like tears coming into his 

It was only after days of sharp contest with his 
pride and independence that he could bring himself 
to the distasteful expedient of writing to Gilroy, 
from whom he considered that he had already 
received so much assistance. Nor did the thought 
of the service which he had happened to render 
Gilroy at Fish Creek, help the matter any. On the 
contrary it made him feel all the more unwilling to 
appeal to Gilroy. 

"But it must be done there doesn't seem to be 
any other way out of it but this," was his reluctant 
conclusion, and he therefore wrote to the corres- 
pondent detailing his attempt and failure to obtain, 
through his own exertions, a position. He directed 
the letter carefully to the address which Gilroy had 
given him and dropped it into the post with the 
comfortable assurance that this, at least, would bring 
some kind of success. 


"I'll not count on getting an answer from this 
until three weeks," he said to himself. When that 
period had passed without bringing a word from 
Gilroy his expectancy alternated between the keen- 
est despondency and the liveliest fears; but the 
former steadily gained the ascendancy with each 
passing day. 

When he could no longer invent any plausible 
explanation for the failure other than Gilroy's 
permanent absence, unaccountable indifference or 
death, Rodney gave up all hope in that direction 
and again turned his thoughts upon his own re- 

His first move was to urge upon his mother the 
desirability of starting upon their visit to Illinois 
before the cold weather should begin. She con- 
sented more readily than he had anticipated and 
before the first frost whitened the ground about Ft. 
Qu' Appelle they were on their way to Chicago, 
where "Uncle Rob" was to meet them on one of the 
frequent trips to the city, which he was obliged to 
make in pursuit of his vocation of drover or " stock 

Rodney would have been ashamed to confess 
how wonderful the beginning of that first ride upon 
a railway train seemed to him; but when the train 
at last came to its final halt in the Union depot in 
Chicago, he confidentially remarked to his mother: 

"It seems as though we had always lived on the 
cars don't it, mother?" 

"Yes; and it don't seem as though this awful 


rumble and clack-a-ty-clack would ever get out of 
my head and ears," replied Mrs. Merton. 

They found Uncle Bob awaiting them inside the 
gate. He was a jolly, hearty man, who laughed 
loudly on every occasion which offered the slightest 
pretext for merriment. 

"Well, boy, now for the hotel and a good square 
meal! Then, after your ma and I've had a little visit, 
we'll go out and take in the sights." 

"All right, Uncle Bob. If you don't mind I'd 
rather see the newspaper offices than anything else. 
Have you ever been in them?" 

"Never. But I can't go younger than to-night. 
So we'll manage it some way." 

The second-class hotel at which the drover 
stopped seemed a marvel of magnificence to Mrs. 
Merton and Rodney. 

By the time dinner was over and Mrs. Merton 
and her brother had finished their visit in the hotel 
parlor, it was five o'clock. 

"Now's a good time to go round by the news- 
paper offices on Fifth Avenue and see the boys 
hustling out the evening papers." 

It was a strange and interesting sight to Rodney 
to watch the ragged array of newsboys in front of 
each of the evening paper offices, their arms piled 
with the damp papers fresh from the great perfecting 
presses which were thundering away in the base- 
ment below. 

He forced his way through the motley crowd of 
urchins, who were laughing, quarreling, singing and 




,s . 



fighting, close up to one of the basement windows 
through which he could obtain a view of the 
presses. There was something tremendously thrill- 
ing and almost supernatural to Rodney in the great 
whirling cylinders, the seemingly endless roll of 
"white paper" which unwound itself into printed and 
folded sheets at the other end of the presses. 

"I suppose its too late for me to try to get a place 
to-day, don't you?" he inquired of his uncle. 

"Yes; we would'nt have time. Our train goes 
out at seven o'clock and we will have to eat supper 
in the meantime. But you can come in most any 
time, for I live only fifty miles out and have to 
come in every week with cars of stock. I can get 
you a pass to come in on whenever you want 


Rodney then bought an assortment of the papers 
and they started back for their hotel. 

Had Rodney been less absorbed in examining 
the papers he could not have escaped from noticing 
the sensation that his leather-bound white felt hat 
and Northwestern breeches, which fitted his legs 
tightly and buttoned at the knees, created among 
the newsboys and the passers; but his pre-occupation 
spared him this annoyance. 

After another hearty meal in the hotel, they 
again took the cars and arrived at the little country 
town, in which Uncle Bob's cosy home was situated, 
a little before nine in the evening. 

Rodney's dread of meeting the remainder of the 
family vanished as soon as he heard the kindly 


voice of Aunt Susan, and saw the round, merry faces 
of his cousins, May and Frank. 

The two boys soon retired to the room which 
they were to share during Rodney's visit; but it was 
dangerously near midnight when Frank exacted the 
last narrative of Rodney's experiences in the 
rebellion from the young newspaper scout, who was 
henceforth to be a veritable hero in the eyes of 
Frank and the other village boys of his "set." 

Rodney's first request, on the following morning, 
when Frank volunteered to show him the town, was 
to be taken to the office of the local paper. 



( ( F KNOW 'Corkey' Simpson who sets type on the 
Record" explained Frank, as the two boys 
walked down the village street. "And he'll show 
us all there is to see in the office. He writes most 
of the locals himself and a good many of the town folks 
believe that lie is the local correspondent of the Chi- 
cago papers." 

"Do you think that we could get him to tell us 
that? You see I want to get a letter of introduction 
to some of the Chicago editors and he'd be just the 
one to get it from if we could manage it," said Rod- 

"I'll try, anyway," answered Frank, who was 
greatly flattered at the prospect of being of any 
assistance to so heroic a personage as Rodney. 

They climbed a dark and dirty stairway and 
found themselves in a big room, which looked bare 
and empty in spite of the type cases, imposing 
tables, presses and type galleys with which it was 

"Corkey," who was the only inhabitant of the 
place, slipped from the high stool upon which he was 
setting, clapped a slug into his composing stick to 
hold the unfinished line of type in place, and hobbled 



forward to welcome his visitors. At every step his 
cork leg gave an audible squeak which revealed to 
Rodney the probable derivation of the fellows cur- 
ious nickname. 

After introductions were over it did not take 
Frank long to hint at the distinguished nature of 
their guest, and the conference ended by Corkey's 
taking them bodily into his confidence and not only 
revealing the fact that he was, as Frank had sur- 
mised, the local correspondent of the city dailies, 
but he volunteered his services in any capacity that 
might serve Rodney's pleasure. 

The remainder of their visit was spent in exam- 
ining the mechanical appliances used in the making 
ot the country weekly. 

"You see," explained Corkey, we only set up 
the local news and advertisements here. The re- 
mainder of the paper is printed in Chicago, by 
a 'ready-print' or 'patent-inside' house. That part 
of it contains the general news of the day, the 
'Agricultural' and 'Home' departments. I teii you 
they have an immense establishment in there at the 
American Newspaper Union; that's where we buy 
our patent inside. They print or furnish plates to 
about three thousand local dailies and weeklies." 

This was an interesting feature in the production 
of a weekly paper, of which Rodney had been 
entirely ignorant. It set him to thinking. 

"If I fail to get any place on one of the big dailies 
I will try one of those 'patent-inside' houses," he 


Armed with a letter to the editor of each of the 
Chicago papers, for which Corkey was local corre- 
spondent, Rodney again accompanied his uncle to 
the big city. 

A ride up a creaking and hitching elevator, 
which made him feel painfully unsteady, landed him 
on the top floor of the first newspaper office on 
his list. 

"Managing editor second doo' to de left!" called 
the colored elevator boy, as he shut the grated door 
of the elevator sharply behind Rodney. 

A stern, bald-headed man sat at a large flat desk 
in the center of the room, opening and reading a 
batch of telegrams. At his left, in the corner, a 
younger man clicking the typewriter. 

Rodney's heart beat with terrific violence as he 
stood, with his scout's hat in hand, waiting for the 
editor to look up. 

The latter seemed entirely oblivious to the boy's 
presence until the last telegram had been read and 
tossed into a flat wire basket. 

Then the man looked up and said: 

"Well, what is it?" with a sharpness which startled 
Rodney and seemed to imply that it was he and 
not the boy who had been kept waiting until 
patience had nearly ceased to be a virtue. 

Rodney could not, on the spur of the instant, 
summon an answer, but simply handed the editor 
Corkey's letter of introduction. 

"Go to the city editor, next door," was the only 
reply which the editor made as he handed back the 


letter and wheeled about, in his swivel chair, to 
speak to the stenographer. 

With this blunt dismissal Rodney entered the 
city editor's room. 

The desk at which that dignitary sat smoking a 
cob pipe while holding a telephone receiver to his 
ear was partitioned off from the front of the room 
by a low railing. At his back were several plain 
pine tables littered with small sheets of white print 

When the man had shouted "All right so long!" 
into the telephone, and turned his keen gray eyes 
upon Rodney, the letter was again passed from the 
boy's hand. In a voice slightly "shaky" with ex- 
citement Rodney stammered: 

"I've been all through the Riel Rebellion as 
assistant to the correspondent of the London Illus- 
trated news and one of the Montreal papers, and can 
refer you to him." 

This seemed to slightly soften the severity with 
which he seemed about to dismiss the application. 

"That's all right, but we're full. In fact, I've got 
to cut down the local staff." 

It was with still greater trepidation that Rodney 
climbed several flights of stairs leading to the city 
editor's room of the next paper. 

The first object which met his eye was a placard 
dangling from the editorial desk, on which was 
printed, in bold black letters, the announcement; 


He turned out of the room as quickly as he "had 


entered and went down the stairs with heavj and 
discouraged tread. 

His subsequent calls were only variations of the 
same treatment, but he kept perseveringly to the 
end of the list. 

It was time for his train home when he had made 
his last fruitless application, and he spent the whole 
homeward ride in gazing disconsolately out of the 
car window and reflecting bitterly upon his failure 
to receive a reply to his letter to Gilroy, which 
seemed to be the cause of all his later woes. 

But this mood soon exhausted itself, and he 
thought of it as very childish and unreasonable. 

In the morning he regained his old courage and 
resolution, and dropped in upon Corkey with a 
cheerful face, and laughingly related his experience 
of the previous day. 

The editor of the Record was absent on a pro- 
tracted fishing excursion, and Corkey was at liberty 
to entertain as many of his friends as possible so 
long as he got out the paper. Consequently Rodney 
tarried longer than usual, and made a searching ex- 
amination of the "exchanges" and the office in gen- 

Among the exchanges he found a long open 
manila envelope containing printed matter. 

"Those are sample sheets from the patent-inside 
house and you'll always find two or three rattling good. 
stories and sketches in them. They run to adventures 
generally. Take 'em home with you and read 'em 
if you like," said Corkey, as he saw the envelope. 


Rodney did so. The sketches seemed very 
direct and simple. They were marked "original" 
and therefore must have been purchased by the pat- 
ent-inside house. 

"Why there isn't half as much to that story as 
there was to the one that Col. Williams told that 
night by the camp fire at Loon Lake," thought 
Rodney. Suddenly the inspiration flashed upon 

"I'll write out the colonels' adventure and offer 
it to them!" 

Corkey furnished him with a quantity of neatly 
cut "copy-paper" and he sat down to work. 

But he could not word the opening sentence to 
suit him. He wondered how adventure stories 
usually began. Another inspiration came to his as- 
sistance. Hurrying home to his uncle's he rapidly 
"went through" several months' numbers of the 
Youth's Companion, which Frank always kept neatly 
filed for re-reading, making a careful study of "the 
adventure page" in each number. When he had com- 
pleted this investigation, he had gained a clear idea 
of the proper construction and essentials of a good 
adventure story. 

Then he again went to the desk and wrote with 
a rapidity which surprised him, the story which had 
so interested him as it came from the lips of the scout. 

Frank came in just as he finished the last page, 
to get him to go to the grove and gather some wal- 

"Well, see what you think of this first and then 


I'll go," was his reply, as Frank dropped into the 
nearest chair and Corkey left his stool and leaned 
against the corner of the desk, composing stick in 
hand, while Rodney read his first attempt at a 

The exclamations of admiration which he received 
from his audience made Rodney feel not a little 

" To-morrow I'm going all over it again, care- 
fully," said Rodney. 

" And if you like I'll look out for the punctuation 
a little. That's very important, you know; a prac- 
tical printer has to learn that carefully," suggested 

This suggestion was gratefully accepted and the 
manuscript was left with him, while Frank and Rod- 
ney finished the day by securing a fat bag of nuts 
and shooting several squirrels. 

On the morrow Rodney again labored faithfully 
on his story, cutting it down to the exact length of 
the story in proof sheet and making various changes 
for its improvement. 

" I wonder how it would look in print," he mused, 
as he made the last correction. 

" I'll show you in about an hour," quietly respond- 
ed Corkey. "It's short and I'm going to set it up and 
give you a good clean proof of it to take into the 
editor, instead of the written copy. It will be very 
much clearer." 

The boys were delighted with the proof which 
Corkey presented to them, and in the morning Rod- 


ney again boarded the cars with new courage and 

The editor received him with so much kindly 
consideration that Rodney ventured to at once make 
application for a ' beginner's position," and pre- 
sented the story as a sample of his work. 

" Where did you pick up this incident? '' inquired 
the editor. 

" Around the camp fire, when we were on the 
island at Loon Lake." 

Then the editor, by occasional questions, drew 
from Rodney an account of his experiences in the 
rebellion and also of his independent struggle to 
obtain a footing in the ranks of newspaper work. 

"Well, I'll take this sketch and pay you seven 
dollars for it, and I'll give you a trial as copyholder, 
at six dollars a week to begin with, for the young 
fellow who has been with us in that capacity has 
just got a position as reporter on the News. It will 
just about pay your board; but perhaps you can oc- 
casionally chink in a sketch which will help you out 
with a little extra." 

"At last!" was Rodney's inward exclamation of 
gratitude as he heard the words. He was almost 
surprised at his success, and was almost as over- 
joyed as when he had secured the position with 
Gilroy, at the old fort. He could scarcely wait to 
carry the good news to his mother and Frank and 

They rejoiced with him as only big-hearted boys 
can rejoice with an admired mate in a success to 


which they felt that they had in some measure con- 

Both were at the train, Monday morning, to "see 
him off" as he went to begin his first day's labor. 





A LTHOUGH Rodney found the task of "holding 
i\ copy," listening to the monotonous voice of the 
proofreader and keeping his mind concentrated 
upon the copy in hand, to see that it corresponded 
in every word and figure with the proof, a very exact- 
ing one, the work w r as quite as pleasant and agree- 
able as he had anticipated. 

He soon grew accustomed to his surroundings 
and was welcomed in full and hearty fellowship by 
the members of the editorial staff, who, with the ex- 
ception of the editor-in-chief, were young men. 

During the noon hour, before and after lunch, 
Rodney fell naturally into the habit of drifting into 
the artists' room, where the younger men congrega- 
ted. Story-telling was always the order of the hour, 
and as no silent partners were allowed he was forced 
to draw for his contribution to the impromptu social 
entertainment, upon his "roughing-it" experience in 
the rebellion, and it was plainly evident to Rodney 
that this experience increased the respect in which 
they held him as a member of the craft. 

Keen and constant observation of all the details 
of the varied departments of the work which went 
on about him, and ultimately passed under his in the 
copy, \vas a broad education to Rodney, which he 
mastered with devouring eagerness. 



His evenings were spent in the study of some 
subject which the work of the day suggested, and 
the monthly sketch which he regularly submitted to 
the editor was not only as regularly accepted, but 
showed such marked improvement as to elicit words 
of praise from the young men who congregated in 
the artist's room. 

"Why don't you try your hand at a special for 
one of the dailies? Or perhaps a sketch is more in 
your line. I know a dozen of the boys who make 
from ten to fifteen dollars a week out of their 
specials" suggested the editor of the "miscellany" 

This suggestion was immediately acted upon by 
the preparation of an article upon "The Mounted 
Police of Canada," in which he drew his coloring 
from his own observation, the accounts which he 
had heard from the scouts, while he gathered the 
"solid facts and figures" from a perusal of English 
and Canadian journals, which he found by diligent 
search in the public libraries. 

Good fortune rewarded his efforts where before 
he had failed, and the article was accepted. He 
was not a little surprised, when, after weeks of wait- 
ing, the article appeared in print with the "solid 
facts" upon which he had so largely relied for its suc- 
cess, largely expunged. 

In this way the winter passed to February. 

As the family sat about the pleasant base-burner 
in Uncle Bob's sitting-room, one Sunday evening, 
Mrs. Merton said: 


"Rodney, I wish you could get something to do 
in the spring that would take you out of doors and 
give you the good healthful exercise that a boy 
needs and you have always had before." 

"Yes," interrupted Uncle Bob, "I'm with you in 
that, Mary. It 's no good for boys the age of these 
two to be cooped up in ahouse or office, pouring over 
books and papers. Time enough for that after they 
are men. What they need is to have a little more 
roughing it." 

"I was just thinking," said Rodney, "of the 
string of traps that I had out last winter, and how I 
would like to turn out early in the morning and 
'make the rounds' of them once more. Looking at 
the snow on the branches of those pines out there 
by the gate makes me just hungry for a good long 
tramp on my rackets" 

"And wouldn't I like to go with you, though!" 
seconded Frank, closing the copy of Ballantyne's 
"Young Fur Traders," from which he was reading. 

"Say," he added, "to-morrow is Washington's 
birthday, and you don't have to go back to your 
work till Tuesday. Let's go out rabbit-shooting." 

"All right. I'd forgotten that it was a holiday, 
but I remember now that the boys said so," res- 
ponded Rodney. 

When nuts, apples and books had been enjoyed 
through the long evening, the two boys went to their 
chamber to spend another hour in a secret confer- 
ence upon the preparations for the morrow's hunt. 

They awakened early, to find that a light snow 


had fallen during the night, which would render the 
hunting prime. 

Frank put his gun in order, and then they went 
together to borrow one for Rodney from a friend 

After a hasty breakfast, foraged from the pantry, 
they set out with Uno, Frank's beagle hound, eager 
for the chase. 

"Let's go first to the nursery, where the rabbits 
feed on Jhe young seedlings," suggested Frank, 
leading the way. 

This was in the edge of the village, and as they 
came in sight of it Rodney exclaimed : 

"Gracious ! Just look at that; what a perfect 
network of tracks. This place must be fairly alive 
with them !" 

Frank's answer was directed to Uno, who 
bounded in among the seedlings as soon as the 
words "Hunt 'em out" escaped Frank's lips. 

A moment later Rodney exclaimed: 

"There ! There !" and the reports of both their 
guns rang out upon the keen frosty air with a famil- 
iar shock which thrilled Rodney through and 

"Number one for both of us !" said Frank, as 
each picked up the plump rabbit which his first shot 
had killed. 

Their guns were kept warm by constant firing 
until the forenoon was well advanced, when Rod- 
ney remarked : 

" You've bagged ten and I'm only one behind you. 

This is all we can possibly use in our family with a 


good margin for Corkey and the friend from whom 
you borrowed the cam. I think it's a shame to kill 

*- o 

more game than you can possibly make use of; don't 


"Yes, I do," replied Frank; " suppose we go back 
by the way of the postoffice and get the mail." 

" I suppose you'd be just as anxious to appear on 
the main street if you had only your gun instead of 
such a fat string of rabbits to carry," laughingly re- 
sponded Rodney. 

" No, I'm not ashamed of that string and I don't 
care who sees it, either. But I do want to get the 
mail, too honest Injun," replied Frank. 

"Whew! Here's one for both of us!" exclaimed 
Frank, as he took a couple of letters from the post- 
master's hand and passed one of them to Rodney. 

As they passed out of the postoffice, Rodney 

"Oh, Frank, just take my gun a minute! It's 
from Gilroy!" 

They stood still upon the steps while Rodney 
tore open the envelope with eager and trembling 
fi nirers and read aloud: 


"MR. RODNEY MERTON, Ft. Qu'Appelle, etc. 
"Dear Lad: Awful sorry I didn't get your letter, 
but I've been ' outside the pale of civilization' ever 
since it was written, up to this date. But 'all's well 
that ends well,' and this ending I think will suit you, 
for I want you to come on at once to Montreal 
(check enclosed) and go with me on a newspaper 
exploration through the Hudson Bay county. Pay 



$200 per month and all expenses. Six in the party 
and all good fellows, too. So you see we'll hunt 
the musk-ox on his native heath, and perhaps the 
polar bear, too for there is no telling how far 
north we may go. The expedition is splendidly 
equipped and has plenty of money behind it. Lose 
no time in reaching here at the earliest possible 
moment. If you know of a good straight lad about 
your age who has the right timber in him and is in 
for this kind of thing bring him along at half the pay 
I named for you. If you cannot come, telegraph, 
otherwise I shall expect you. Yours, 


The two boys looked into each other's faces and 
understood the "volumes" which they were unable to 

" Do you suppose they will let us?" was the 
tremendous problem which rose to their lips. But 
they did not speak it. Instead, Rodney exclaimed: 
" Oh, wouldn't it be too good for earth if we could!" 
Frank's only answer was a boyish 
" Whoop!" which passersby probably interpreted 
as irrepressible enthusiasm over his heavy string of 

That evening the family council assumed an 

CJ * 

unwonted seriousness and its members deliberated 
pro and con over the great question before them. 
But trood Uncle Bob brought matters to final close 

C7> C> 

by saying: 

" Well, Mary, I say let 'em go. No use in keep- 
ing them over the coals any longer. We might just 


as well decide it right now and here; and for one, so 
far as Frank is concerned, I give my consent." 

"Just as you think best, Robert," promptly acqui- 
esced Frank's mother. 

"Well, I think it will be better for Rodney than 
staving in an office," said Mrs. Merton. 

/ o 

And so the boys went to bed too happy to sleep 
or do anything but plan for the great expedition 
into the "Hudson Bay country." 

\ X 











Entered according to act of Congress, in tneyear 1891, byC. M. Pinkerton. 
in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 


Life is short, and teachers, like most other busy and 
useful people, have to economize it. No intelligent per- 
son doubts the value of a good story, whether told or 
written. In the domain of teaching, stories are scarce, 
and good stories are very scarce. One of the problems 
for the thoughtful educator of to-day is: How shall we 
get the teachers to better understand the nature of their 
business the fundamental principles upon which it is 
based the responsibilities and the opportunities which are 
theirs? Can this knowledge be gained better from learned 
treatise and plausible theory, or from actual experi- 
ence as given in story? This is the question; and while 
we agree that all these are good, and are used by the 
more thoughtful teachers, we must remember that many 
would-be teachers come to their work with little reading 
to stimulate thought, and with less experience. We must 
also remember that a story is refreshing to the older 
teachers, and that nine out of ten of the younger ones 
will read a story which combines logic and experience, 
giving incidents of interest which illustrate the things 
they should know, when they would not think of a ped- 
agogy. This principle has long since prevailed in the 
domains of history and the natural sciences; and our con- 
viction that it applies with equal force to the study of 


pedagogy among teachers, accounts for the publication 
of this little book, which we send out in the sincere hope 
that it will lead to a more intelligent appreciation of the 
teacher's work, and to the greater strength which comes 
from a carefully selected teacher's professional library. 
Parents and pupils can hardly fail to see more clearly 
their responsibilities for having read this story; and teach- 
ers will do well to aid us in placing it where it will ac- 
complish the desired results. All such co-operation will 
be much appreciated by the publishers. 


In writing this little book the author has not intended 
to startle the world with anything new in thought, or 
method, or discipline in school-work. Much less would 
he claim for the book any special literary merit. But 
from the experience of twenty years in actual school- 
work he has gathered a web of fact and experience, and 
interwoven with it that of which the world never tires 
a love-story. 

The author has simply tried to give the tired and 
perhaps discouraged teacher a few hours of pleasant 
recreation, interspersed with practical suggestions, and 
an exalted ideal of the work of the teacher. 














HOME 165 





"So too with man: he hastens from his birth 

To youth, to manhood, to maturity. 
And when, at length, when his life-work is done, 

He does but sleep awhile beneath the earth, 
To wake anew the Father's face to see, 

In changeless realms of never endless sun." 

"Hello, Doc! Hello!" The sun was disappearing be- 
hind the rocky cliff. Dr. McKenzie, his wife Jane, with 
their four sons and two daughters two sons having been 
laid in the village grave-yard were seated at their even- 
ing meal. The simple thanksgiving had just been said, 
when from the pike came the sound, "Hello, Doc! 
Hello! " 

It was a familiar sound to the whole family, for the 
Doctor had a large and lucrative practice. As usual, he 
immediately rose and started toward the door; but before 
reaching it he stopped and looked at his wife, and as 
their eyes met, hers plainly said, "I cannot be left alone 
to-night;" and his answered back, "You shall not be, 


Jane;" yet not a word was uttered by either. He turned 
and opened the door, and said, "Well what is it?" 

"Oh, Doc! get your horse and come quick. Tom Jones' 
team ran off with him and threw hin and his wife over 
High Bluff, and we fear they are both killed. Come at 
once. I'll go right back and tell them you are coming." 

And before Dr. McKenzie had time to utter a word, 
the rider had put spurs to his horse and was gone. Again 
the Doctor turned to look for those eyes; the gentle 
hand of his wife was on his shoulder, her loving eyes 
were filled with tears, and with a husky voice she said: 
"Doctor, you shall go. The Heavenly Father will be 
kind, you know, and you'll be back before morning." 

A moment more, and Dr. McKenzie was in his saddle; 
Old Aunt Hannah Grubbs, an old faithful nurse, was on 
her way to his home for the night, and he went gallop- 
ing in the direction of the home of Tom Jones. The 
good wife, Jane, was the last of the family to retire for 
the night's rest. As it was her custom in the absence 
of her husband, she called the family about her, read a 
chapter, and, kneeling, offered a simple prayer; then with 
the good-night kisses she saw that all were snugly 
tucked away for the night's repose. 

Long she sat in front of the fire-place, gazing at the 
smoldering embers, a feeling of loneliness filling her 
heart. Now and then' her face upturned, as if implor- 
ing divine aid; more than once a tear coursed its way 
down her cheek, and an audible sigh answered the heavy 
breathing of the sleepers in the adjoining room. 

At last she knelt, and with clasped hands and trusting, 
child-like faith, committed herself to the care of a loving 


Father an earnest outpouring of the soul too sacred 
for these pages. 

To those who believe in divine blessings in answer 
to human prayer, I need not say she arose strengthened 
and reconciled. 

Just at the dawn af day Dr. McKenzie came gallop- 
ing up the pike, hitched his horse and entered his home. 
The first sound that met his ears was the cry of his 
new-born son, Carl McKenzie, the seventh son of the 
seventh son, and the hero of this story. 

A crystal stream, called "White Eyes Creek, " for cent- 
uries has wound its way among the hills and through 
one of the loveliest valleys of Southeast Ohio. Almost 
in the center of this valley was the town of Chili, a 
village characterized, as most villages are, by a black- 
smith-shop, wagon-shop, shoe-shop, harness-shop, tin- 
shop, grocery store, and post-office. It also contained a 
church edifice and school-house. In this building the 
township officers held sway; here they were elected, 
sworn in, and administered the affairs of the township 

The village also had the notoriety of being situated 
at the "cross-roads." Running parallel with the valley 
was the State road, and across it from east to west was 
the well-known "National Pike," stretching like a blue 
streak from the Delaware to the Mississippi. 

In the western edge of the village, and a little south 
of the pike, was the residence of Dr. McKenzie. With- 
out an exception it was the best and most commodious 
building in the village. In front of the house, running 
east and west, was a stone fence three feet high; the 


other three sides were inclosed by palings. Between 
the house and fence was a beautiful lawn, interspersed 
with evergreens, lilacs, and rose-bushes. Back of the 
house was the garden, in which grew sage, tansy, rue, 
parsley, shives, spearmint, winter onions, and garlic ; 
strawberries, raspberries, currants, gooseberries, and 
other garden vegetables. 

On the east was a spring of as clear pure water as ever 
bathed a human tongue or cooled the glottis of the 
thirsty brute. 

On the west was a high, precipitous, picturesque rocky 
cliff the resort of the entire village populace on Sunday 
summer afternoons. 

Carl passed through early babyhood in much the same 
way as other babies do. He was fat, plump, and rosy; 
knew how to laugh the first thirty seconds of a minute, 
and to cry for the next hour. He had the happy 
faculty of knowing how to awake at any hour of the 
night, and letting all the household know that he was 

He soon learned how to look straight at nothing, and 
to make the mother and everybody else believe that he 
was closely scrutinizing ever) 7 object in the room. He 
always ended these very knowing observations with a 
satisfied yawning gape, a twisting up of the face and 
closing of the eyes in sleep. 

Carl's mother was a woman of far more than ordinary 
native intelligence. She had a fair education, and was 
exceedingly romantic and poetical ; she was gentle and 
benevolent, usually looking on the bright side of life, 
and showed the depth and strength of her nature by 


bearing misfortune with fortitude. Prosperity to her was 
only valued when she could share it with others. 

The father had a robust constitution, black hair and 
beard, a keen, piercing black eye, and walked with elastic 
step and figure, as straight as an Indian; was quick in 
his decisions, firm in his convictions fearless in their 
expression conscientious, radical, determined in what- 
ever he attempted. Yet, withal no one was more 
gentle, kind, and loving. 

Both the Doctor and his wife appreciated and enjoyed 
the comforts and conveniences of their elegant home, 
and looked forward with the brightest hopes for the 

But, like thousands of other kind-hearted men, he had 
written his name too often as a pledge to pay other 
men's debts. 

In the early autumn of the same year in which Carl 
was born, the following was found in the Coshocton 
Herald: "SHERIFF'S SALE. On the first day of September, 
18 , on the court-house steps, I will offer for sale to 
the highest bidder, to-wit: The following-described 

real estate, located at Chili, White Eyes Creek, 

the elegant residence of Dr. McKenzie." 

It might be well to add that not only the residence 
was sold at this time, but most of the household goods. 

A few days later, "on a cool September morn," three 
covered wagons fronting westward were seen in front of 
what had been the residence of Dr. McKenzie. Almost 
the entire village had gathered to say "Good-bye" to 
their old friends and neighbors. 

There was deeply depicted upon the face of every 


member of that household the earnest look which always 
comes before farewells are said; and yet, at such times, 
if one looks behind the cloud, they will be able to discern 
the strong sunlight of determination accompanied by 
the softer tintings of a bright hope for future years. 

The Doctor was all life and animation; every word 
and action seemed to show that he had made a correct 
"diagnosis" of the case, and knew just when and where 
and how to apply the remedies. 

The wife was all animation, too; but the fact that she 
drew over her face her sun-bonnet, and often used the 
handkerchief loosely held by her apron-strings, told too 
plainly of the cost to her of her separation from home, 
friends, and landscape which she had learned so much 
to love. 

Among the crowd who filled the yard and road, and 
stood around as at a funeral, talking in subdued tones, 
none attracted so much attention as Aunt Hannah 
Grubbs. She was small in stature, fat and rosy, in 
spite of age. Formerly a native of Carolina, she still 
retained the negro dialect. 

She dandled Carl in her arms. Not a single day 
since his birth, six months before, but she had coddled 
and petted "her baby," as she was pleased to call him. 

"You darlin' chile! ole Aunty nebber see yo' no mo'; 
wish Aunty could steal the chile. Darlin' honey, seems 
lil-.e Aunty carnt gib yo' up, no how." And then she 
would wipe her eyes with her apron, and Carl would 
put both his little arms around her neck and flood her 
cheek with kisses. 

"Well, all ready, boys?" said the Doctor. "All ready, 


Doc," replied the teamsters. Then followed the hand- 
shaking and farewells, and "God bless you's;" and as 
the teams slowly wended their way over the hills to the 
westward, and the Doctor and family looked back from 
the summit, a sea of waving handkerchiefs and hats met 
their farewell gaze. The Doctor lifted Carl above his 
head, and as they slowly disappared upon the western 
side of the hill, the last view that the assembly had of 
the McKenzie family was the white handkerchief waved 
in the morning breeze by the dimpled hand of Carl 

As the day passed on, new scenes and a bracing atmos- 
phere gave the travelers hope and vivacity. On the 
afternoon of the fifth day, the little company left the 
main State road, and took a less traveled thoroughfare, 
known asCoe's Run Road. Finally this less frequented 
way was left, and they found that they must cut their 
way along a brook of limpid water, and through a forest 
of lofty sugar-trees. After following the stream for 
half a mile they came to its source, a gushing spring, 
and just here the valley widened a little. The teams 
were unhitched and a camp was formed. This was to be 
the home for six years of the boy, Carl McKenzie. 
There was not a stick amiss. One vast forest of oak, 
hickory, walnut, poplar, chestnut, and maple extended for 
miles in every direction, and on the summit of an adjacent 
hill were tall and slender pines, with thickets of ever- 
green laurel at their bases. 

Game was plenty; deer, wild turkey, gray squirrel, 
pheasants, etc., here found hundreds of secure retreats 
in which they were safe from even the most wily hunters. 


But to the tired mother there was little in this wild 
woodland scene that seemed home-like or restful ; and no 
wonder if the heart ached, and the eyes filled, as the 
thoughts of the dear old home so lately left came unbid- 
den into her mind. But the merry voices of her chil- 
dren, Dr. McKenzie's brisk, cheerful tones, and, above all, 
the caresses from the dimpled hands of baby Carl, filled 
heart and mind with brighter thoughts; and, true woman 
that she was, she found life's sweetest blessings in the 
companionship of her children. 

The erection of a log cabin was the work of but a few 
days. No time was taken to hew the logs. They were 
builded in, chinked and daubed, as they came from the 
primitive forest. A large, flat, smooth stone was pro- 
cured for the hearth, and from that as a base a large out- 
side stone chimney was built. The old-fashioned crane 
was firmly fastened on the inside, and the "Dutch 
oven," in which many a delicious "pone" was baked and 
many a fat turkey was roasted, found its place on this 

The scenery around this humble cabin was exceed- 
ingly beautiful. The great bubbling spring, with its 
bowl-shaped basin, sent forth its cool, clear waters rip- 
pling over the snowy pebbles. Beautiful brooklet! 

"How quiet thy bosom, all transparent as the crystal, 
Lest the curious eye thy secret scan, thy smooth round pebbles countl 
How without malice, murmuring, glides thy current 
O, sweet simplicity of days gone by 
Thou shunnest the haunts of men to dwell in limpid fount." 

The surrounding hills, emerald-capped with pine 
and laurel the stately poplar and massive oak the 
song of bird and the odor of flowers draw the soul 


into nearness with nature's God. They are Heaven's firsc 
book to man. 

"The groves were God's first temples." It is not to be 
wondered that Carl McKenzie became a lover of nat- 
ure with such surroundings. Nor is it strange that, as 
the years went by, he became familiar with the habits 
of squirrel and wren, rabbit and pewit. Just across the 
brink was the stable, where, each returning spring, the 
pewit and the swallow built their nests' and the martin 
found his home. 

Dr. McKenzie was a practical botanist himself, and 
many were the delightful talks he had with Carl, as they 
wandered together over the hills, stopping here to exam- 
ine the beautiful white umbel of the ginseng (aralia}, 
or there to look at the raceme of the cohosh (ranuncu- 
lacecB}. The Doctor \\as a great lover of both gun and 
rod, and Carl and his dog Fido were his frequent com- 
panions. Carl having inherited from his mother a love 
of the beautiful in nature, these rambles tended to in- 
tensify this passion for passion it really was. 

After the cabin was made comfortable, Dr. McKenzie 
and his older sons found constant employment in clear- 
ing, fencing the new farm, in burning the logs and brush 
from the clearing; and in the early spring all were busy 
helping in the sugar-making. 

Near the log cabin stood the sugar-house, a building 
almost as large as the cabin itself. Through the center 
ran the furnace, with a capacity for six large kettles, hold- 
ing from one-half to one barrel each. On one side, run- 
ning the whole length, was the huge hollowed trough, 
capable of holding ten barrels. Two hundred and fifty 


trees j'ielded from ten to fifteen barrels per day. This 
amount was gathered each day by the older boys, and 
hauled in a hogshead on a sled, drawn by Buck and 
Berry, two sturdy oxen. Carl became driver at the age 
of five. Sometimes he would ride on the sled, and some 
times on Buck. 

Carl, for the first seven years of his life, was his own 
play-fellow. There were none younger in the family 
than he, and the sister next older was five years his sen- 
ior. True, she was often his companion and playfellow, 
and in later years his counselor, and he loved her with 
great fervency, but, after all, he was still alone in his 
childish sports. His surroundings, his outdoor exercise, 
his climbing, and running, and building, only added 
strength to his already naturally strong constitution, and 
his solitary life gave him a peculiarly quiet self-reliance. 
He was necessarily his own counselor. He became ex- 
ceedingly shy of strangers and very reticent; but, on the 
other hand, he made companions of the animals and birds, 
and the plants and trees around him. 

His life, thus far, was that of supreme innocence; at 
the age of seven he did not know the meaning of the words 
"steal," "lie," or "swear." He could recall but two pun 
ishments from his parents during this period of his life. 
The first was from his mother. He had heard his broth- 
ers tell about going in swimming, and thinking that he 
would like to do as the larger boys did, he slipped down 
to the bank of the little stream one afternoon and enjoy- 
ed a bath all alone; but when the bath was over, some- 
how he could not readjust his clothing, and in his nu- 
dity and humility was compelled to present himself to 


his mother and plead for mercy and the rrercy came in 
the form of a first-class spanking. The second was from 
the Doctor. Carl slipped the old rifle down one day 
when the family weie in the upper corn-field, and shot a 
hole through his father's favorite rooster. Carl never 
learned whether the punishment was for the taking of the 
gun or the shooting of the cock. 

At six years of age Carl was a fine equestrian, and 
could ride old Charley on a gallop, standing up or sitting 
backward, using his steed's tail for a bridle. 


Coe's Run school-house was one mile and a half dis- 
tant from Carl's home. The house was a comparatively 
large one, built of hewn logs, lighted by six windows 
three on either side seated with desks made out of pop- 
lar lumber by a home mechanic; heated by a large "ten 
plate" placed in the center of the room. There was one 
blackboard, four by six feet, back of the teacher's desk, 
and opposite the door. 

The teacher was a young man whose father resided in 
the district, and was the class-leader of the little band 
of devout Methodists who met every Sunday in the 
school-house for worship. John Tracy for that was his 
name was every whit a gentleman. He was five feet 
eight, and weighed one hundred and sixty pounds; had 
brown hair and gray eyes; was smooth shaven affable 
and talkative. He was a general favorite, not only with 
his pupils, but in the entire neighborhood. His educa- 
tion was only such as he had been able to gather from 
the district school. 

All of the McKenzie boys and girls were regular at- 
tendants at school, excepting Carl. He had never ex- 
pressed any desire to go, and Dr. McKenzie, as well as 
his wife Jane, firmly believed that a permanent injury 



is done the child by sending him to school at too early 
an age especially under the school regime of those days, 
before the kindergarten schools were known. The 
Doctor argued that the child would become disgusted 
with the routine of school-work before the mind was 
sufficiently developed to appreciate the benefits of in- 
struction. He was also a firm believer in the benefits of 
home influence. He knew that his wife was a close student 
of the best authors of her day, and, like himself, a student 
of nature. He knew, too, that his boy would develop 
more symmetrically intellectually, morally, and physic- 
ally, under their immediate care, than in the cramming 
process of the school. He was a personal friend of the 
teacher, Mr. Tracy, but he well knew that Mr. Tracy 
had never made a close study of what it was to mold 
and fashion a human soul with all his good intentions 
he knew that he was blindly experimenting with Heav- 
en's choicest material, marring daily the noblest work 
of God. The Doctor well knew that his child could be 
a child but once. He knew that right development at 
this age meant everything to the child, not only now, but 
in eternity, and that mistakes now would be most ruinous. 
He knew that Mr. Tracy had the best intentions, but 
he also knew that he had entered upon his work without 
the faintest idea of the responsibility assumed or the 
end to be secured. He knew Mr. Tracy was not an ob- 
server of the works of nature about him; that he had 
never been a student of history; that his eyes had 
never seen the names, Pestalozzi, Froebel, Page, and 
Mann. He knew that such an individual, however well 
disposed, could never inspire childhood with those no- 


bier impulses and desires which nothing but further 
progress can satisfy. He could never nurture and develop 
in his pupils self-reliance, which nothing but impossi- 
bilities can ever subdue. He had never realized that this 
was any part of his duty in the school-room. He could 
not lift and elevate the whole being of the child into 
the realm of higher ideals, holier impulses, and greater 

At Christmas-time, Mr. Tracy treated the entire 
school, and also sent a liberal supply to Carl by his 
eldest sister. 

This was a revelation to Carl. If school was the 
place to get candy, then he was ready for school. At 
the evening meal, Carl began: 

"Father mother don't you think I am about old 
enough to go to school? I just believe I'd like to go- 
can I?" 

"Father and mother would be so lonesome all daylong 
with no little boy to chatter and to help," said his 

Carl's face at once became sober and thoughtful, and 
presently, through his tears, he said: 

"But, mother, I must be educated, you know and you 
and father went to school, didn't you? and didn't your 
father and mother stay at home?" 

"Well, Carl, if you think you could leave father and 
mother how about Fido, and Nale, and Bunnie, and 
Tortoise, and the chickens? They would all miss you, I 
am sure," said his papa. 

"I suppose they would miss me, and I suppose they 


would have to get used to it that's what I suppose," 
said Carl. 

"Do let him go, mother," said Bess. 

When Monday morning came, Carl was among the 
number who wended their way to Coe's Run school- 
house. He had fondled all his pets, and left many lov- 
ing kisses on the lips of his parents had swallowed the 
lump in his throat a thousand times and resolved that 
he would be educated whatever that might mean. He 
stopped at the fodder rack, to pat Buck and Berry, and 
to tell them good-bye. When the bars at the end of the 
lane were reached, he climbed up on top of the post and 
looked b^ck, but could see nothing but the blue smoke 
curling up from the top of the chimney. For a moment 
his resolution almost failed him, and in his little heart 
he said: '"I'm going back." 

He knew a warm embrace would greet him if he did 
go back; but just as he faltered, his brother Dick fright- 
ened a rabbit out of a brush-heap, and with a whoop 
and halloo, they all ran after it down the road. Carl's 
chase quickened his pulse, and now that he could see 
his home no more, he could better keep his resolution. 

As they reached the school-house door, Carl walked 
nearer the side of his sister Bess, who took him by the 
hand, and they entered the school-room together. School 
had not yet called. There was a warm fire, a cheerful 
air, and all seemed orderly and home-like. Mr. Tracy 
came forward and greeted all the McKenzies, and shook 
hands with Carl. I wish to mention here that Carl was 
a fair reader at this time in McGuffey's Eclectic First 
Reader, and had a copy of that book with him. 


When nine o'clock arrived, Mr. Tracy went to the 
door, and with a two-foot walnut ruler tapped on the 
weather-boarding, and in a few seconds all the pupils 
were pleasantly seated in the school-room, The teacher 
read a chapter, made a short prayer, and then all sang a 
song, and the work of the day began. 

Carl was in a new world. Since he had entered the 
school room, no thoughts of dear parents and pets at 
home had entered his mind. He was enraptured -with 
all around him. This to him was the grandest place he 
had ever been. No one had been unkind, or seemed un- 
kind; every face around him beamed w r ith contentment 
and happiness, and his little soul caught the inspira- 

It was Mr. Tracy's custom to begin the lessons of 
the day with his Abecedarians. As Carl sat like one who 
had been suddenly transported to a new world and given 
a position of honor and responsibility, and as one would 
try, under such circumstances, to get their bearings, and 
do just the right thing and nothing else, so Carl was 
trying to adjust himself to his new surroundings. The 
silence of the room was broken by the teacher, who said: 
"Bennie St. Clair, Pearl Boblit, and Carl McKenzie 
may come and say their lesson." At the mention of the 
new name every eye was turned on Carl, and he keenly 
felt the gaze. When he attempted to rise he seemed 
fastened to his seat. Just as the tears began to fill his 
eyes he looked at Bess; she gave him an encouraging 
smile and a pleasant nod; then the anchorage to the 
seat was loosened, and he advanced with the other boys 
to the knees of the teacher. Mr. Tracy met all the boys 


with a smile, placed a gentle hand on Carl's head, and 

"We are glad you are going to be in our class." 
"So am I" said Carl; I think school is real nice." 
This was spoken in a clear tone, and caused a smile all 
over the room. The teacher then took Carl's book, and 
opening to the alphabet, began by pointing to the letters 
and saying, "A," "B, " "C, " etc., and all the boys repeated 
after him. After going up and down the column several 
times in this way, Carl said, "Mr. Teacher, I know 
all those, " and before the teacher could reply, Carl began, 
and repeated them, both downward and upward, faster 
than the teacher could follow with his pencil. Mr. Tracy 
smiled, and then took Bennie's book McGuffey's Speller 
and opening it, pointed to the first word at the top, 
turning the book toward Bennie, who said "B A;" and 
the teacher said, "ba; " "b a," said Bennie. "B a spells 
bah," said Carl; "thats, what the sheep say. My father 
said so, and he knows." This speech brought the whole 
school in sympathy with the teacher, and disgusted with 
Carl. Mr. Tracy simply said, "Well, we will continue to 
say our lesson; " and so the pencil traveled over ba, be, 
bi, bo, bu -the teacher saying them first and the boys 
after him. When the first line was finished Carl said: 
"Ba-be, ba-bi, ba-bo, ba-bu. Ha! that's funny! Mr. 
Teacher, what's it mean? Are we getting an education? 
Father said we go to school to get an education. 
Mr. Teacher, I saw a rabbit this morning coming to 
school. Did you see one? I have a pet rabbit at home. 
Rabbits can do something we can't they can put one ear 
back and one forward, and we can't do that." 


"Why do they do that, Carl?" said Mr. Tracy. 

"Why, they can hear both ways, so nothing can catch 
them," said Carl. 

Mr. Tracy had never made this observation. 

"And I have a pet tortoise, too," said Carl. ''Do you 
know how tortoises talk? When mine gets hungry he 
mews just like a little kitten," said Carl. 

"And what does your tortoise eat?" said the teacher. 

"He eats bead and milk in the \vinter-time. He can't 
lap his milk like a dog, but just puts his under jaw into 
it and then raises his head and lets it run down. 
In the summer-time he catches flies and crickets. 
Would you like me to tell you how he gets on top of 
his box in the chimney-corner? I set the box, you 
know, right close to the jamb, and he puts his hind legs 
against the jamb and his forelegs on the slats of the box 
and goes up, tail first, till he gets as high as the box, 
and then he lets go and flops right over on top of the 
box. Say, Mr. Teacher, did you ever see two toads 

As Mr. Tracy had never observed a pugilistic combat 
of this kind, he thought it well to close the recitation 
and hear the next class; so the boys were dismissed and 
sent to their seats. 

Carl sat down and clasped his hands around one knee, 
which he slightly elevated above the other, and began 
again to take in his surroundings. He looked at the teach- 
er admiringly for some time, and then watched the other 
pupils. It was a real workshop. All seemed to be 
busy; every eye seemed riveted upon book or slate, and 
every lip was moving. Carl could not understand the 


moving lips. His mother had never allowed him to 
move his lips while studying. He also observed that 
many of them often seemed to count their fingers, and 
this he could not understand. He wanted to do just as 
the others did, but he could not make out just what the 
others were doing. So, in his anxiety and innocence, and 
with no thought of interruption, he said: 

"Mr. Teacher, what are they all doing with their lips 
and their fingers?" 

"Never mind, Carl," said Mr. Tracy; "you study your 

Carl sat in silence some time, and then the big 
tears began to come; and jumping down from his seat he 
ran to Mr. Tracy and sobbed: "But I don't know what 
you mean by 'study your lesson,' where is my lesson?" 

And the teacher remembered that he had not assigned 
the child a lesson, and had said nothing about what it was 
to study. Borrowing a speller from Bess, he turned to 
the page of ba, be, etc., and told Carl to say those over 
and over until he knew them all. 

Carl went to his seat, and for a time seemed happy in 
conning over the lesson. 

Recess came, and Carl found a seat on the teacher's lap. 

"What made you send me that candy?" said Carl. 

"Oh, because I thought you would like it most boys 

"How often do you give them candy?" 

"Once a year," said Mr. Tracy. 

"I'll make you a sugar egg when sugar-making 
comes," said Carl. "Why don't all trees have sweet 
water, so we could have oak sugar, and poplar sugar, 


and pine sugar?" Carl put his hand in his pocket 
and pulled out some wintergreen leaves, and said: 
"Do you like wintergreen? The berries are so fine 
just now. Father and I were on the hill yesterday, and 
gathered these. Father showed me the flowers last May; 
they are so white I mean the corolla; that's what father 
calls it corolla, and calyx, and stamens, and pistils- 
such queer names, but I can spell them, every one. I wish 
I had a flower now to tear to pieces and look at don't 
you? You could tell me something about it could'nt 
you and would that be education? Say, isn't the 
laurels just beautiful when they get in bloom. The 
flowers are white and rose, you know, and they are poison 
too but then we wouldn't eat them, not for anything; if 
we did they would kill us, sure. You know the corolla 
is monopetalous I can' t spell that long word, but I know 
how to say it and the flowers have just lots of honey. 
Bees don't get that honey the cup's too deep but the 
humming-birds do. Oh say, Mr. Teacher, did you ever 
see a humming-bird's nest? It's just the cutest thing 
Father and I found one on a beech tree, and I cried be- 
cause he wouldn't let me take /?/.?/ one of the little eggs to 
show mother: but when father went to town, mother 
and I went over the hill, and she climbed up and saw 
them and that's our secret." 

Mr. Tracy said: "Well, Carl, it is time for books." 
Again the familiar rap was heard on the weather-board- 
ing, the ball was pocketed, the bat laid aside, and the 
big girls put away their knitting and gave up their seats 
around the stove. The teacher opened the stove-door, 
d the coals forward, put in some more wood, and 


walked slowly to his desk. He sat longer than usual 
before calling his classes. The pupils noticed that he 
seemed to be dreaming. At last he aroused himself, 
assumed his naturally pleasant and cheerful air, and 
called the boys again Ben, Pearl, and Carl. It was the 
same old routine. All work stopped for a moment when 
Carl's time came to recite, and all eyes were turned 
upon him, to see what the boy might say this time; but 
Carl took his turn and said his letters, and then let his 
little mind wander away to his pets. The lesson 
was over and he was seated again, arid nothing occurred 
of special interest to him until the last class before 
noon was called this was the big spelling-class; they 
formed a line along one side of the room, and when one 
missed, the other spelled and went up. Carl noticed 
that Bess was at the foot of the class, and he felt much 
humiliated; but one time after another she went up 
(Carl's interest in the spelling and the pride in his 
sister increasing as she neared the upper end of the line), 
and when on the very last word of the lesson she went 
head, Carl could no longer control his excitement, 
but ran across the room, and putting both arms around 
her neck, kissed her, much to the discomfiture of Bess 
and to the amusement of both pupils and teacher. 

The class numbered the next lesson was assigned 
the class dismissed books laid aside and the noon- 
hour was on. 

Carl and the teacher had a long walk and talk at 
noon. As they turned the angle at the jutting of the 
hill road, Carl caught a glimpse of the smoke curling 
up from the chimney of his cabin home. The sun was 


shining warm, and not a breath of air was stirring; it was 
one of those perfect winter days which our weather 
prophets call "the weather-breeders." The sight of 
home was too much for Carl. He pointed to the smoke 
and said: "I wonder how my pets are; I expect they 
would like to see me pretty well, don't you? and I guess 
I'd like to see them, too?" 

"You may go home if you wish, Carl," said Mr. Tracy. 

"May I? Let me kiss you I like you real well; you 
don't seem away off, do you? Have I got enough educa- 
tion for one day? I'll tell father and mother all about 
ba, be, bi won't that be nice? And I'll tell mother 
how easy it is to whisper my lesson and count my fingers; 
but I couldn't count }^s and %s, and ^s on my fingers- 
but you needn't tell me how now, for I believe I'd like 
to get home pretty soon; but I love you lots. How many 
things school-teachers must know! Does it make you 
tired to know so many things? I'd think it would; I'm 
real tired with just a half day of it. But I like it; 
ba, be, bi isn't that funny? I'm going to say it real 
fast to Bunnie, and sse if he won't go to sleep." 

Mr. Tracy took Carl up in his arms, kissed him, and 

"You have taught me a lesson too, Carl. I am 
the gainer to-day; so, my little fellow, good-bye, and 
come back again to-morrow." 

Carl said "Good-byee, " and was soon out of sight down 
the road. 

Mr. Tracy folded his arms behind him and walked 
slowly back to the school-house. The pupils noticed 
that Carl was not with him, and made many conject- 


uras as to what had happened to him, but Mr. Tracy 
explained at once to Bess that Carl had wanted to go 
home, and he had thought best to let him go. 

When John Tracy lay down to sleep that night, he made 
the same choice that Solomon had made centuries before. 
He poured out his love to the Heavenly Father, and 
asked for wisdom; his responsibility had dawned upon 
him. He began to see that an education did not con- 
sist in the dull routine of text-book recitations, and he 
firmly resolved henceforth he himself would be a stu- 
dent not only of the ^jc/-book, but of the great book of 
Nature. This day's experience had taught him that in 
order to do this work that he had taken upon himself, 
his mind must needs be a well-filled store-house from 
which "To pour the fresh instructions o'er the mind, 
to breathe the enlivening spirit, and to fix the generous 
purpose in the glowing breast." He felt keenly his 
Ignorance of the most common things about him. He 
likewise had a glimpse of the possibilities of the minds 
he was trying to educate. With tearful eyes, in the 
silence of his chamber, he said: "Thank you, Carl 
McKenzie a thousand times I thank you." His soul 
began to catch a glimpse of this truth, that 

" If there is anything that will endure. 

The eyes of God because it still is pure, 

It is the spirit of a little child, 
. Fresh from his hand, and therefore undefiled. 

Nearer the gate of Paradise than we, 

Our children breath its airs, its angels see." 



"So all night long the storm roared on 
The morning awoke without a sun, 
In tiny sperule, traced with lines 
Of nature's geometric signs; 
In starry flake and pellicle, 
And all day the hoary meteor fell; 
And, when the second morning shone, 
We looked upon a world unknown, 
On nothing we could call our own.". 


The night of the day when Carl bade good-bye to his 
teacher was long known on Coe's Run as the night of 
the great snow-storm. Carl never went back as a pupil 
to the old log school-house. 

Dr. McKenzie and his wife found many hardships 
in subduing the native forest and making a home 
for their children. The cares and burdens of pioneer 
life were too heavy for the devoted wife and mother. 
The Doctor could observe her failing strength, as well 
as his own; and one day, receiving a fair offer for the 
farm, they decided to sell, and the Doctor moved, 
again assuming the duties of his chosen profession. 

Six miles south of Coe's Run is a beautiful level 
plain stretching from the hills, which rise abruptly 
from the east bank of Salt Creek, to the old city of 
Chillicothe, a distance of twelve miles. The plain is 
from two to five miles wide, and contains some of the 



finest farms and the wealthiest farmers in Ohio. The 
Baltimore & Ohio Railroad runs lengthwise through this 
plain, and had just been completed to Chillicothe at this 

Nestled near the hills, on the east side of this plain, 
was the beautiful village of Griffinsville. A more beau- 
tiful location for a town or city could not have been 
chosen. There was one long main street, running east 
and west. The farthest house east was the M. E. 
Church, and in the west part of town was the Friends' 
Church. The school-house was a frame building, and 
was located one-half mile east of town. Just at the 
edge of a great forest, and not more than one hundred 
yards farther, was a clear brook of running water, which 
found its source far up in the forest, and which wended 
its way some two miles farther on before it joined its 
waters with those of Salt Creek. 

The day on which Dr. McKenzie moved to Griffins- 
ville, Carl was just eight years old. Carl rode with his 
parents in the first wagon, and just as they were enter- 
ing town they met some boys about Carl's size, going 
fishing. As they passed the boys eyed him closely, and 
Carl heard one of them say: 

"By jings! he's a hill angel! We'll lick him." 

And when all the teams had passed them, the boys 
yelled out: "Hill angels! Hill angels!" 

Carl did not know what "hill angel" meant, but some- 
thing seemed to tell him that it meant trouble of some 
sort for him. He wanted to ask his parents about it, 
but they were busy talking, and he hoped they had not 
heard it. 


That evening, after supper, Carl was swinging on the 
front gate, and listening to the music of a violin across 
the street. Carl had never heard instrumental music of 
any kind up to this time, and was delighted with the 
sweet tones as they filled the quiet evening air. He 
had almost forgotten the newness of his surroundings 
in the keenness of his enjoyment as he listened to the 
simple melody, that sounded to him the perfection of 

As he was looking arid listening, two boys came along 
Zip Hammond, and Em Brown (Brown's name was 
Emerson, but everybody called him Em). 

"Well, cap, what's you doin' ?" said Zip, knocking off 
Carl's cap as he spoke. 

Carl made no effort to pick up his cap did not seem 
angry, but simply held on to the gate, and eyed the boys. 
Zip said: 

"Let's see how much there is of him. Say, lad, 
what's your name?" 

Carl looked at him sidewise, and then turned his face 
again in the direction of the music, without saying a 
word. The boys, who were both several years older than 
Carl, were much amused at his peculiar manner, and re- 
traced their steps until they stood one on either side of 
the gate. Carl looked first at one and then at the 
other, and finally said to Zip: 

"Mister, won't you please pick up my hat and put it 
on my head?" 

It was said so firmly and so pleasantly that Zip could 
do nothing but obey; and when the hat was replaced on 


his head, Carl said, 'Thank you." Then, turning his 
mild blue eyes full upon Em, he said: 

"What is it I hear across the road? It sounds like 
the thrush, and the red-bird, and the cat-bird,, all sing- 
ing at once. " 

"That's a fiddle," said Em. 

And Carl looked across the street again for a moment 
and then said: 

"Is a fiddle a bird?" 

"He's a greeny !" said Zip. "My! what fun the boys' 11 
have with him !" 

Carl paid no attention to what Zip said, but kept his 
eye steadily on Em for his answer. Just at this mo- 
ment the door across the street was opened, and the 
gentleman who was playing placed a chair on the porch, 
sat down, crossed his legs, put his fiddle to his chin, and 
began a lively air. Carl's delight was unbounded. The 
boys little by little led' him into conversation; and, I 
must add, before they left they were his warm friends, 
and always remained such. 

The winter school had closed, and there was no sum- 
mer school in Griffmsville this year. Carl had a varied 
experience during the summer months. He made friends 
at once with the boys. He soon learned to play truant 
from home, and go swimming. The boys' swimming-hole 
was nearly a mile from town, it was a secluded spot- 
Blue Lick running close to the side of the hill, with 
massive rocks jutting out from its rugged front, and 
forming almost a canopy over the swimming-hole. The 
rocks were overgrown with ferns, sweet-williams, wild 
pinks, and rattlesnake-root. The boys were delighted 



with Carl's knowledge of these plants, as well as with the 
facility with which he could name every tree and shrub, 
and every kind of bird, bug, and worm. He soon learned 
to swim, and became an expert at playing marbles, ball, 
mumble-peg, and old sow. He could walk the top board 
of a fence, or stand on his head. There were two 
things, however, that Carl could not do successfully- 
jump and wrestle; but he could "out-wind" all the boys 
on a foot-race, and could climb to the top of a service 
bush or cherry tree sooner than any other boy. All the 
boys in this town seemed to know how to swear, and it 
is not to be wondered at that Carl learned this habit 
too. I cannot say that he never told lies to save him- 
self from a whipping possibly he did. I am also inclined 
to believe that a few times in his early life, he stole- 
in company with other boys apples, pears, peaches, and 
possibly plums, from Zimmon's orchard. 

The deacons of the church organized what was known 
in this town as the "Juvenile Try Company." It was a 
secret society, and met once a week in the upstairs paint- 
room over Wheeler's wagon-shop. It had a written ritu- 
alistic initiation. Each boy was introduced into the 
room blindfolded. The chief of the society possessed a 
magic lantern a thing none of the boys had ever seen 
until initiated; the boy was brought to face a large 
screen, and then in the darkened room his mask was re- 
moved, and he gradually saw the evolution of a picture. 
The first one was that -of a boy hanging head-downward 
from an apple tree, the seat of his pants caught on a 
snag of the limb, a bull-dog with open mouth ready to 
catch him, and the red apples dropping from his pockets. 


The object of this picture was to teach the evils of 
stealing. I fear it would not be right for me to divulge 
any more of the secrets, for this society may still be in 
existence. Every boy pledged himself not to swear, lie, 
steal, skate on Sunday, play truant, smoke old cigar- 
stumps picked up off Brown's corner. The temptations 
to break these pledges came thick and fast, and before 
a month every boy had become a criminal Carl with 
the rest; but doubtless this society did much good, and 
the boys made better men for having belonged. 

Carl made one acquaintance in this town which I must 
not fail to mention. It was that of old Aunt Amy Snow. 
She was tall, swarthy, bony, and walked with a limp, 
owing to a fever-sore on her ankie. She lived all alone, 
washed for a living, and was the universal favorite of 
the boys, not one of them but would fight for her. She 
lived in a log-house containing but one room, on one 
side of which was a large fire-place. The furniture con- 
sisted of a bed in one corner, a table, and an old tool- 
chest, a dresser containing some old dishes, a few chairs, 
a large rifle on hooks over the door, an ancestral clock, 
and various articles of clothing hung on wooden pins 
around the wall. Here, night after night, the boys would 
meet to parch corn and listen to the blood-curdling 
ghost and murder stories told by Aunt Amy. I am not 
allowed to say whether the boys ever brought dressed 
chickens, eggs, sweet potatoes, or anything of the kind, 
to test Aunt Amy's culinary ability; but I can say that 
many a boy's hair stood on end as he went home alone, 
on dark nights, from these corn-poppings. 

Poor old Aunt Amy Snow passed away. One mornin 




no smoke was seen to ascend from her chimney; the cil 
izens hurried in. The coroner's jury said, "Died ol 
heart-disease." Every boy in that town attended the 
funeral, and they placed on the plain casket a wreath of 
flowers with these words, "Our Aunty." 

Notwithstanding Dr. McKenzie entered at once into 
a large practice, he still found time for many a ramble 
in the woods with Carl, and Fido always accompanied 
them on such occasions. The Doctor was also fond of 
angling, and taking little Carl behind him as he rode on 
Zack, they were often seen on their way over the hill to 
Salt Creek; nor did they return empty-handed. 

During all these rambles the Doctor never failed to im- 
press some lesson, to point out some beauty in nature, or 
to impart some moral lesson in the mind of his boy. He 
often said: "Carl, you must always be look, look, looking, 
and think, think, thinking." 

In that day there was much drunkenness in Griffins- 
ville. There were two taverns, and both of them sold 
liquors. Every Saturday, every election-day, every legal 
holiday, meant plenty of drinks and plenty of fights. 
Carl witnessed many a hard fist-fight; at first he was 
much frightened, but soon became accustomed to such 
scenes. Many a time he secretly untied old Funger's 
neglected horse, and let him go home to his provender, 
while old Funger was dead-drunk in Brown's stable. 

At last the hot summer months had passed away, and 
the cool breezes from North Land began to paint the 
maple leaves. The poplar and sassafras changed their 
hues, and the sumach was dressed in royal robes. The 


dog-wood berries were turning red, and the chestnut burrs 
showed signs of opening. 

Autumn's earliest frost has given 

"To the woods below 
Hues of beauty, such as heaven 
Lendeth to its own." 

The blackbirds gathered in flocks; the catbird and 
thrush had gone; the quails were no more seen in pairs 
by the road-side, but went whirring past in great flocks; 
the rabbits were more timid, and darted across the road 
and disappeared in the tall grass of the fence-corner. 

'The melancholy days had come 
The saddestof the year." 

The school board had already employed their teacher 
for the coming year by name Simeon R. Smiley. Mr. 
Smiley was a gentleman about fifty years of age. He stood 
six feet two, was slender but muscular; long arms, and 
but little beard on the cheeks; keen gray eyes, and a large 
hawk-bill nose. He had once been afflicted with 
catarrh, and hence had a nasal twang in his speech. He 
opened school on the second Monday in September, with 
at least sixty pupils in attendance, and among the num- 
ber Carl McKenzie. 

A long list of rules was read, and at the close of the 
reading the pupils who would agree to obey them were 
asked to stand. All stood except Carl. The teacher 
looked at him over his glasses a minute, and then remov- 
ing his glasses said: 

"So I have one boy who does not expect to obey me, 
have I?" 

Carl immediately arose and said: 

"Mr. Teacher, I intend to obey you; but I did not 


know the meapning of nearly all you read, and I thought 
I would be telling you a lie if I stood up." 

'The boy means well," said Mr. Smiley; "all be 

The larger pupils were all seated in comfortable 
desks placed near the walls. On three sides of 
the room the smaller boys and girls formed three 
sides of an inside square, sealed on benches 
without backs the benches were too high for most of 
their feet to touch the floor. Carl read with the first- 
reader class; and for some reason it was deathly still 
in the room the first time he read possibly because he 
was a new boy, or possibly because he had been taught 
expression, and knew the meaning of what he read. 

The teacher compelled this class, as he did all the 
classes in reading, to stop and count at each grammat- 
ical pause one at a comma, two at a semi-colon, etc. 

Carl had an experience the second day of this term. 
He was still in possession of one of his baby-teeth, but 
it was very loose at least, seemingly so. Dear reader, 
you have had loose teeth too I know you have. While 
the big arithmetic class was reciting, Neal Johnson pre- 
vailed on Carl to tie a string around the tooth and let 
him jerk it out; just as the string was firmly tied 
around the tooth, and Carl was handing the loose end 
to Neal, Mr. Smiley turned and smiled. He walked 
leisurely back to where Carl sat, took hold of the end 
of the string, and led Carl to the door-knob. Fasten- 
ing the end firmly to the knob, he brandished his stick 
as though he would strike Carl in the face, and the 
tooth came out. Carl never recalled this incident in 


after life without feelings of the deepest indignation. 
How few there are who know how to temper absolute 
authority with deeds of kindness and charity. 

Carl's second experience with Mr. Smiley was brought 
about by an incident in town. An artist taking daguer- 
reotypes came to Griffinsville. Carl and Charley Dum- 
mond immediately set up a gallery in McKenzie's 
wood-shed, and took pictures for the boys, using poke- 
berry juice for paint so many marbles, ginger-cakes, 
etc., would pay for a picture. The boys did a thriving 
business. In fact, they had so much to do they got 
behind in filling orders, so on Tuesday afternoon at 
recess they quietly crept along the old rail-fence toward 
town, entered the alley, slipped along to the door, and 
entering the wood-shed, quietly went to work. All next 
day nothing was said by the teacher of the truancy; 
when time to dismiss for the evening, Carl and Charley 
remained. To their honor, be it said, they confessed 
the whole matter, and told no, lies. The teacher asked 
them to remove their waistcoats, and with a keen hick- 
ory he marked the boys. When he was through, he 
said : 

"Do you boys think you will play truant again?' 
p Charles immediately answered: "No, teacher, I won't." 

"What have you to say, Carl McKenzie?" said Mr. 

"Nothing, sir; I suppose I deserved this whipping, 
and if you will excuse me I am ready to go home." 

"But will you promise to not truant again?" 

"No, sir; I shall not promise." 

The teacher dismissed Charles and retained Carl. 


"Now, sir, why will you not promise to not truant 

"Because I may decide to do so, and I do not wish to 

I- ii 

"I shall tell your father, Carl, and unless you do bet- 
ter, I shall have to whip you again severely." 

"Oh, I shall tell father all about it as soon as I get 
home; and I guess I'll show him my knees, too," said 

"Your knees? What do you mean?" 

Carl rolled up his pants, and just above each 
knee it was black and blue where Mr. Smiley had struck 
him as he passed, almost hourly, inside the little square. 

"The knees of all the boys who sit on the small 
benches are this way," said Carl. 

"Well, you should study more and not be looking off 
your book. " 

"Does one have to look on the book to study? I 
studied how I could paint a sunflower yesterday 
when I truanted, and I didn't have an)' book. 
When you came around this afternoon the last time 
and struck me, I had just finished drawing a 
saw-buck, and a boy sawing, and w r as about to say I'd 
give it to you if you wanted it." 

"I shall teach you something besides making pictures, 
my lad;" and so saying, he dismissed Carl. 

Carl told his father all about the circumstance; the 
Doctor simply said: "I am sorry, Carl, you have had 
trouble with your teacher." 

A few evenings after, Mr. Smiley and Dr. McKenzie 
met in the road. 


"Good evening, Doctor," said Mr. Smiley. 

"Good evening, sir," said the Doctor. 

"I would like to speak a word to you about Carl." 

"Very well, sir; say on," said the Doctor. 

"Carl does not seem to care much for his lessons; I 
suppose you know he played truant. He seems listless, 
and wants to look out of the window. I scarcely know 
what to do for him." 

"I am very sorry, Mr. Smiley, that my son is causing 
you trouble. I intend that he shall be both obedient 
and attentive. I find it difficult to answer his questions 
and to satisfy his great desire to know. When I take 
him to the woods he is all animation and enthusiasm; 
when he comes to my office with his reader or slate and 
pencil, I find him all attention he was so delighted 
when I showed him how he could multiply with two 
numbers, first by units and then by tens, that the boy 
actually cried for joy. He often asks me about his 
pronouns that is, whether he must say I and you, or 
you and I; whether he shall say Bess and me, or Bess 
and I. Last week he asked me how big this county is, 
and if it has a fence clear around it; and I took the 
opportunity to teach him a lesson in geography. I 
think, Mr. Smiley, if you study Carl, and find the best 
and brightest side to him, you will find him not stupid 
and listless, but all energy and animation. Take a walk 
with him and tell him about the flowers and the trees, 
talk with him, about his pets, show him that you are 
interested in the things which interest him, and then 
by the strength of this mutual sympathy you may lead 
him to an interest in the things which interest you, but 


at times seem very dull to him. I fear sometimes you' 
teachers confine yourselves too closely to your text- 
books, and seldom stop to study the peculiarities of 
the little minds you are to mould and fashion, and to 
make better, as well as wiser. The ox dies, but the man 
lives forever. The ox may be driven, lashed if need be, 
not cruelly; man must be led. My boy, if he lives to 
ripened manhood, must stay here sixty years or more, 
and I want him to love this great world of ours. God 
is the Author of this world, and He made it exceedingly 
beautiful. I want Carl to see this beauty, and to look 
on through this loveliness and grandeur to the Author 
of it all. I would have him inspired with a love of 
Nature, of God, and of Libert}^, so that with an ever- 
increasing intelligence and love, he may be able to do 
bravely his part in the mazy industries of the arts and 
sciences of human life. I desire my son to do right. 
The highest civilization this world will ever know lies 
veiled in that grandest of human precepts, the Golden 
Rule; I would have him live it. I would have him 
attain that perfected culture of heart and mind, which 
is to purify and bless and glorify the earth. As the 
years roll on, and the bells of time shall ring for Carl, 
I would not have them sound with clash and clang and 
loud alarm, but sweetly and joyfully, as falls a bless- 
ing from heaven. The blessed little innocent children 
here flitting to and fro are earth's angels; let us bC 
careful that no word or act of ours shall in any way 
plant in them the germ of the demon: "Pardon me, Mr. 
Smiley I am keeping you standing too long. Call at 
my home and spend an evening with me." 


"Thank you; I shall be glad to do so". And both said 
good evening. 

Mr. Smiley stood a little time after the Doctor had 
left him, trying to realize what he had done, or what 
he had not done, that was amiss. While he felt that he 


had not impressed the Doctor, as he desired, with a 
sense of Carl's remissness, he was painfull}- aware that 
he had. never experienced a more uncomfortable feeling 
of dissatisfaction with himself. 

That evening Carl came into his father's office for 
some assistance in his number-work; and after receiving 
it, he threw himself down on a buffalo-robe on the floor. 
Soon after, Esquire Calver dropped in for a bottle of 
cough syrup; and so one after another came until the 
Doctor had half a dozen visitors. Carl was apparently 
asleep. Their conversation turned on school matters 

"Say, Drummond, I understand the teacher licked 
your boy yisterday and Doc's too. They say the old 
fellow pops it to 'em like fun. Darn my skin! if ever 
I got but one lickin' in my life, an' I didn' t deserve that" 
said John Nagle. 

"This school matter is a kind of failure anyhow," 
said Bill Buffington. I tell my young uns just so they 
learn how to read and write and cifer, that's all I care 
about 'em a knowin'." 

"Well, when my boy gets licked at school, I give him 
another' n when he gets home, said Billy Simpson. If 
a boy needs iickin', lick him." 

"Our taxes is too high, and we pay too much to a set 
of lazy stuck-up, big-headed, dispeptic. hypocritic, penu- 
rious gad-wielders and it eld Smiley ever licks one of 


my boys, I'll turn that old hawk-bill nose of his'n t'other 
side up by toady! I will as sure as my name's Pete 
Bell," (Bell never owned any property, and never paid 
a cent of tax.) 

"I never went to school but three months in my life, and 
I've got along purty well," said Sam Gillespie (he owned a 
large farm); and there's Daddy Whetstun, that lives in 
the big brick he's worth thousands and thousands and 
I've hear'n him say he never went to school a day in 
his life. He sent his son, Sol to Yale that's som'ers 
in the East and now Sol's home, foolin' the old man's 
money all away on patent-rights. They do say this man 
Smiley licks the little fellers and lets the big uns go. 
My children never says anything to me about school 
nor. me to them; and I wouldn't know the master if I'd 
see him. I expect they're larnin sumthin, leastwise I 
pay lots of tax." 

"I give my boy Jim a pointer, last evenin', on how 
to fix old Smiley Christmas if he don't treat. My Jim's 
a sharper! he gets his lessons and has half his time left 
for fun. One mornin' last week he shot a big rat: I 
seed him wipe the blood off nice and clean and stick 
that rat in his pocket. Said I, 'Jim, what cussidness are 
you up to now' you sneaker?" Never mins, pap, said he; 
I'm just a carryin' off the dead rat to keep it from the 
cat. If the cats can fin' them a layin' around dead they 
wont'hunt 'em, you know!' Well, Jim asked to go out 
just before the girls' recess, and he just put that rat 
on the door-step, and come in just before old Smiley 
said, Girls recess! Sal Jones was the first to open the 
door. She screamed and cleared the step and half 


dozen more right after her. You may bet it was a lively 
time for a little while. And that noon a comin' home 
from school! old Smiley said to Jim, said he, 'Jim, you 
are a good boy, and allers have your lessons/ said he, 
you find out who put that rat on the step, and, says he, 
I'll give you a dollar. 

Jim said it was mighty mean in anybody to do it, and 
he'd find the villian if he could, and tell on him pro- 
vided old Smiley would promise not to keep him to see 
the lickin'." 

Dr. McKenzie had remained silent during all the 
conversation, but he could not refrain longer from speak- 
ing: "My friends, I have nothing to say either for or 
against Mr. Smiley. I have always found him pleasant 
and gentlemanly when I have met him. Only a few hours 
since I invited him to come to my home and spend an 
evening with us, I fear as parents we are all wrong. The 
teacher has many trials, cares, and duties that we know 
nothing of. They need our words of sympathy. They take 
the children from all kinds of homes from the families 
of the vicious and the cultured and try to produce or- 
der and symmetry out of the conglomeration. There are 
as many tastes and dispositions as there are pupils in any 
one school. It takes some time for even the shrewdest 
mind to acquaint itself with all these various disposi- 
tions. We ought to retain our teachers longer. We 
ought to have ten months of school, instead of six. We put 
our children six months in the school and six months 
on the street to learn its vices how can we hope for 
good results. We ought to pay our teachers higher wages, 
and then see to it that they are men and women of the 


highest culture and refinement men and women \vho 
know how to develop in every child the power and incli- 
nation to make conscience in the boy or girl regal in life. 
Education is not so much memorizing, nor yet the 
growth of mental ability; it is the developing of the 
soul and mind. In this free land of ours we need strong, 
stalwart minds. There are perils ahead, in state, in 
church, in society, in commerce. We need developed 
minds, that they may be able to successfully cope with 
the mighty problems before us. We need training 
schools, in which our teachers may be taught the science 
of mind development. There is nothing so dear to me 
as the public school. I am a poor man, but in the pub- 
lic school I see a future for each of my boys and girls- 
a fortune of which the sharp schemer cannot deprive them; 
they may lose everything else in this life, but they can 
never lose themselves themselves they must take with 
them through eternity. I want to see in our school-teach- 
ers those who are mind-builders, and character-build 
ers, who are lovers of nature, of God, and of 
humanity, and who have the power to impress the 
nobility, the purity, and loftiness of their own 
lives and high ideals upon the lives of the 
children. Let us visit our school, hold up the hands oi 
the teacher, ask him to eat with us, talk to our children 
of school, assist them when we can in their lessons, and 
we will soon have charity for the teacher and a love 
for the school; and the result will of necessity be ad- 
vantageous to the schools, to the teachers, and helpful 
to the children; but we ourselves will find our own 
ideas broadened, our better natures strengthened, and 


our power for usefulness increased by this very effort." 

The Doctor noticed Mr. Calver looking earnestly 
toward the corner of the office, and looking around, he 
saw Carl sitting up, with both hands clasped around 
his knees; and as the Doctor finished his last sentence, 
Carl said: 

"Father, may I be a teacher?" 

"Nothing would please me better, Carl, "said the Doc- 
tor. "It is the noblest calling on earth. Jesus, who was 
humanity at its climax, was the great teacher." 

"Doctor, I thank you for this firm expression of your 
views," said Mr. Calver, extending his hand. "I am 
in full sympathy with you." 

Pete Bell had a dazed look. The truths that the Doctor 
had uttered were beyond his comprehension, yet the 
earnestness with which they had been spoken, and his 
respect for the Doctor, caused them to make an impres- 
sion on him which he did not understand. Billy Simpson 
began to think that it might be that more was needed 
than abliity to read, to write, and to cipher, and that 
there were duties for him other than that of repeating 
at home his licking at school. They all bade the Doc- 
tor good evening, and passed out to their several homes. 
Every man in that little company thought long and seri- 
ously of the office talk. The power for good thus ren- 
dered can only be measured by eternity. 



11 They sat together, a little pair, in an old hull by the sea 
She was a maiden with curly hair, and a bright brave boy was he, 
'In the skipper,' he cries, 'and you're my wife; and over the sea we go:' 
He cut the rope with his little knife, and away over the sea they go." 

Mr. Smiley closed his school in March, and was offered 
and accepted a position as ticket agent at a station on 
the B. & O. R.R. 

The same month that school closed, Dr. McKenzie was 
elected a member of the school board. The next autumn 
the school board employed Milton Phillips, who re- 
mained as teacher in the village, year after year, until the 
breaking out of the rebellion. 

Mr. Phillips was a young man, peculiarly fitted for 
his work. Nature had done much for him: he possessed 
a fine physique, and stood six feet three in his stockings ; 
he weighed two hundred pounds, and had a high, intellect- 
ual forehead. His large, mild blue eyes beamed from 
an open, cheerful countenance. He was a thorough schol- 
ar as well as student, and always met his patrons with a 
warm shake of the hand. He was frank, open, and free 
with his pupils. He was a first-class batter, and was 
often seen on the playground with the boys. 

Mr. Phillips was Carl's ideal, and not only Carl's, but 
nearly every pupil who came under his influence had 



the same respect and love foi- him. Day after day, as 
the various sessions would open, and Mr. Phillips took 
his position at his desk, the countenance of every pupil 
beamed with delight. The evil-inclined pupil had no 
chance here the enthusiasm of the whole school was 
against him ; the dull pupil found just that kind sym- 
pathy he had been needing all his life, to wake him 
up from his dreaming. As his eye would meet that of 
his teacher, he would feel a glow of intellectual enthu- 
siasm reaching to the depths of his soul. 

Mr. Phillips changed the manner of reading from the 
drawling, lifeless monotone to clear, accurate, expressive 
reading. This was easily done when the pupil under- 
stood the meaning, comprehended the sentences, and 
entered into the emotions of the author. There was no 
holding up of hands, and saying: "Teacher, John mis- 
pronounced this word," or he hesitated, or he let his voice 
fall, or he didn't stop at a comma, or, last of all, he 
repeated. One was called upon to read as he under- 
stood the author's meaning. If another one thought he 
meant differently, he was allowed to read and so express 
it. It was always a delight to hear his classes read. 

Mr. Phillips also introduced Stoddard's intellectual 
arithmetic into his school, and Carl never forgot the 
fine mental drill he received in the study of this book. 

Carl's parents noticed with great pleasure the inti- 
macy between their son and Mr. Phillips, and the Doctor 
frequently allowed Carl the horse and carriage that he 
might drive with Mr. Phillips into the country. During 
these drives every bush, and tree, and rock, and bird had 
its lesson. 


Notwithstanding all these influences thrown around 
Carl McKenzie, he was still human, like other boys-; he 
had also that keen boy-sense of honor which always re- 
sents insult, and which takes the part of the weaker 
party in contest. Late in the autumn of Mr. Phillips' 
second year as teacher at Griffmsville, one Mike 
McCrane moved to town. He had a son named John, 
who was ten years old; physically he was the very ideal 
of health and strength. He showed his lack of manli- 
ness, however, by his habit of bullying the smaller boys. 

It was not long before he had an opportunity to test 
his strength. He cowardly slapped Lem Dixon, a little 
boy but seven years old. Lem's brother immediately 
took it up, marked a line on the sidewalk, and asked 
McCrane to step over. McCrane began to pull his 
coat, and then, chuckling to himself, put it on again, 
saying, "I can lick you with it on, " and so he did. Step- 
ping over the line he made a feint with his right, and 
instantly followed it with a lefter on Dixon's nose that 
sent him bleeding to the ground. Dixon could not be 
induced to come to the line again, and as the fight had 
been a fair one, none of the other boys cared to take it up. 

Carl had witnessed the whole proceedings and heard 
the reprimand the following morning from Mr. Phillips. 
When Mr. Phillips pointed out the evils and cruelty of 
fighting, Carl thought he never would fight under any 
circumstances; and still his little soul bubbled up in 
spite of him, and he felt that somebody ought to lick 
that boy. McCrane became more and more arrogant 
every day. He had had several fights with the boys, and 
they always resulted in a victory for McCrane. 


One evening Carl came upon Zip and Em standing 
close together and talking in an undertone. "Hallo, 
boys," said Carl, "what is it?" 

"Shall we tell him?" said Zip. 

'Yes; Carl's a good fellow, and maybe we will need 
him to help us out," said Em. 

"Well, here it is," said Zip. "You know yesterday 
morning when Mr. Phillips opened the lid of his desk he 
found it full of rotten eggs. You remember how sick the 
smell made him, and how the girls all gagged, and how 
little May Simpson threw up on the floor; and you 
know what a time we had, and how you volunteered to 
carry them all out, because it didn't make you sick- 
you had been with the Doctor so much, and was used to 
smelling nasty medicines and other things. Well, we 
boys think we can prove that McCrane was the fellow 
what put them eggs in that desk." 

"What's your proof, boys?" said Carl. 

"Well, you see," continued Zip, "as Em was a bringing 
his old cow home night before last, from pasture, she 
turned up the alley past McCrane' s old barn, and, as 
Em came along, he smelled something, and as he kind 
o' leaned his head against the barn, he heard John say- 
ing to hisseif, 'By Jehu, I'll git even with him, thanks 
to the old hen.' And as I was coming home night be- 
fore last with a string of sunfish from Old Salty, I saw 
McCrane sneakin' along the fence close to the school 
house. Now, a puttin' things together, I think this is 
'prima fisha' evidence, as lawyers say eh?" 

"Mr. Phillips shall know about it at once," said Carl, 
"and I'll tell him. I don't, believe in telling on other 


boys, for little things; but that was against us all 
against the whole school, and done by a cowardly 
sneak. " 

And so it was settled that Carl should be informant, 
and Zip and Em chief witnesses. Just after the boys 
separated (it was already dusk), Zip saw McCrane 
on a run; saw him cross and /across the street, so as 
to be in advance of Carl. They at once took in the sit- 
uation. McCrane had heard their conversation and had 
determined to waylay Carl. They at once climbed the 
fence, ran around back of Faust's barn, and slipped 
along the alley fence, just as Carl and John came face 
to face. 

"And so I am a cowardly sneak, am I?" said John. 

"Yes, you are," said Carl, "and I'm not afraid of you, 
either, if you are larger than I am. I suppose you heard 
all that Zip and Em and I said, and that shows again 
that you are a sneak; and you thought you'd lick me 
when we were all alone, and scare me out of it. You can 
lick me if you want to, but I'm going to tell Mr. Phil- 
lips, anyway." 

"If you say that agin, that you're agoin' to tell on me, 
I'll stick your head into the mud, right here and now." 

"I said 'I'll tell him,' and 1 will," said Carl. 

The words were scarcely out, when McCrane made 
at him, but just then four strong hands grasped him, 
and both Em and Zip said: "Hold on, sir, hold on; we'll 
have a hand in this business. Now, McCrane, since you 
want to fight Carl, you shall have the opportunity; but it 
must be in daylight, in the presence of the other boys. If 
you are not a coward and a sneak, you meet Carl to-mor- 


row (Saturday), at ten o'clock, at the brook back of the 
school-house; we'll need plenty of water to wash the 
blood off of Carl, and so we will meet there. We are 
larger than either of you, and we will see that you have 
fair play; and if you lick Carl, he shall not tell on you, 
but if he licks you, you'll have to own up the whole 
thing before the school next Monday morning: what do 
you say?" 

"All right," said McCrane; "I'll pound him to a 

Zip and Em went home with Carl, and when they 
separated at the gate all the preliminaries had been 
arranged. It might be supposed that Carl did not sleep 
well, but he did, and when he arose in the morning he 
never felt better in his life. At ten o'clock, some twen- 
ty boys were under the shade of the trees on the bank 
of the little brook. Lem Dixon was among them. 

Zip explained the circumstance to the boys, and the 
agreement made the night before. The boys agreed to 
not cheer during the contest. They also agreed that 
there should be no biting, scratching, or pulling of hair, 
and no striking the opponent while he was down. 

It is but fair to mention that Carl could use either 
hand with equal dexterity, and was unusually strong in 
his arms. He could chin a pole more times than any boy 
he had ever met. 

Both boys came to the mark Carl, with a confident, 
pleasant smile, and McCrane was the first to lead out. As 
was his custom, he made a feint with his right, and, 
like a flash, followed it with a lefter directed toward 
Carl's nose. Carl received the blow on his right arm, 


and immediately planted a sounder, with his left, on Mc- 
Crane'sribs. Lem Dixon started to yell, but Em put his 
hand over his mouth and gave him a cuff which silenced 
him. The force of the blow staggered McCrane, and it 
was near a full minute before he came to the line again. 
McCrane was not accustomed to fight left-handed, and 
scarcely knew how to proceed, and so determined to let 
Carl lead out this time, which he did by making a feint 
with his left, and getting a fine one on McCrane' s nose 
with his right, which sent McCrane sprawling to the 
ground and bleeding profusely. McCrane showed his 
pluck by coming immediately to the line. He succeed- 
ed this time in getting an under-stroke on Carl's ribs, 
and, glancing, hit on Carl's right eye; but Carl gave 
him a second blow plump in his mouth, which again 
sent him sprawling to the ground. 

As McCrane came to the line the third time, it was 
evident that he was thoroughly mad and would make his 
most desperate effort. Carl saw the fire in his eye, and, 
for the first time, his countenance was sober. McCrane 
struck straight with his left this Carl dodged; McCrane 
then caught him by the hair, and Carl jerked loose, leav- 
ing a handful of hair in McCrane's hand. Carl said, " You 
cowardly sneak," and at once went at his antagonist, caught 
him by his shirt-collar with his right, and with his left 
gave him half a dozen blows in quick succession. Mc- 
Crane could stand it no longer, and said, "Take him 

There was no shouting among the boys. Lem Dixon 
rolled over a few times on the ground, but did not dare 
to shout. Carl assisted in washing the blood off John's 


face, the boys shook hands, and all sat down on the 

When Carl realized all he had done when he thought 
of father, mother, and teacher when he thought of kneel- 
ing at his mother's knee that night, to offer his simple 
prayer, his feelings overcame him, and, placing his face 
iri his hands, he wept bitterly. 

Em and Zip tried to comfort him, and John too said: 
"Why, Carl, it's all right, and I'll be the better for it; 
and when I ask the pardon of Mr. Phillips and the 
school, I'll feel like a new boy." 

Carl could not rest until he had seen both father and 
mother and made a clean statement of it all, and had 
received their forgiving kiss. 

And when his mother went with him to bed that night, 
she said, "Carl, I think I had better leave you to say 
your prayers alone to-night. I will close the door a 
moment and then return a-nd tuck you in." 

What was said in that prayer, only Carl and the 
angels know. When his mother returned, he was just 
rising from his knees, and his eyes were bright with 
tears. She gently and snugly tucked the sheets about 
her boy and took his face in her hands; Carl put both 
arms around his mother's neck, and, as he drew her face 
to his, he felt her warm tears on his cheek. Gently she 
raised herself, loosened his arms, kissed him tenderly, 
and said, "Good-night, Carl, and God bless m)^ boy." 

"Good-night, mother Carl loves you;" and she left 
him alone. 

John McCrane was true to his pledge. He was for- 
given both by the teacher and the school, the latter by a 


rising vote; and just as ail were reseated, Mr. Phillips 
broke out in his clear, sweet voice with: 

" Let us gather up the sunbeams, lying all around our path; 
Let us keep the wheat and the roses, casting out the thorns and chaff; 
Let us find our sweetest comforts in the blessings of to-day, 
With a patient hand removing all the briers from the way." 

All, who could, attempted to sing, and every eye was 
moist with tears. 

The summer and autumn of 1860 had passed into 
American history, showing a record of the most stir- 
ring political events ever witnessed on this continent. 

Four tickets were in the field, headed by Breckenridge, 
who represented the Southern Democracy, Douglas, who 
represented the Northern Democracy, Bell, who rep- 
resented the old Whig party, and Lincoln, who repre- 
sented the Republican party of the North. There were 
tremendous gatherings; the most eloquent speakers of 
the nation addressed the enthusiastic multitudes; pole- 
raisings and barbecues were of weekly occurrence; Ran- 
gers and Wide-awakes marched and counter-marched like 
drilled battalions; torch-light processions illumed the 
streets of the towns and cities. 

The Douglas Rangers had had an immense mass-meet- 
ing at the neighboring village of R, and the Wide- 
awakes had decided to outdo them, in a grand demon- 
stration at the same place. Wonderful and extensive 
preparations had been made; all the neighboring towns 
were to send delegations; massive wagons were built, some 
having the weight of log cabins, others, as many young 
ladies dressed^in white as there were stars on the flag, 
and on still others were men splitting rails out of a 
massive log borne upon the wagon. 


On this occasion Carl had been chosen as one of 
thirty- three boys, who were to represent thirty-three 
States in the Union. They were to form part of the 
procession, each boy being on horseback. The boys 
were all dressed in blue pants, red flannel shirts, and 
white caps. Carl was unanimously chosen captain, and 
wore a red scarf as the sign of his office. 

Promptly at nine o'clock, with flags and streamers 
flying, bands playing, horses prancing, and girls sing- 
ing, the whole procession started for R, a distance of 
six miles. As they marched along, they were joined 
by other processions, until they presented a most im- 
posing appearance, 

Carl rode his father's dappled gray, and the horse 
seemed as proud of his rider as the rider did of the 
horse. Zack, for that was his name, would do nothing 
but prance, and Carl was perfectly delighted, as the 
horse, with dainty steps and arched neck, kept his place 
beside the column. 

At half-past ten they entered the beautiful grove of 
sugar maple and walnut, on the banks of Salt Creek, 
just above the mill-dam. The town of R had selected 
thirty-three little girls who were dressed in skirts of 
blue, white waists, and red caps. It was only natural 
that the thirty-three boys and the thirty-three girls should 
gather together on the grounds. There was one girl, 
eight years eld, who wore a red-whke-and-blue scarf. 
Carl at once recognized her as the leader of the thirty- 
three girls. It was very natural that they should walk 
a little way by themselves, that they should occupy two 
camp-chairs under the shade of a walnut tree, and when 


*^ ff 

they were seated it was natural that Dora Dundore 
should say: "My! isn't there just heaps of folks here? 
those horrid old cannons just deafen my ears! Do you 
like to hear cannon, master? There, you haven't told 
me your name, and here I've been with you five min- 

'You may call me Carl, if you like." 

"But suppose I don't like but I do; Carl I never 
heard that name before. It's a real pretty name, isn't it?" 

"And what shall I call you?" said Carl. 

"Me? Oh, call me Dora. How many of you folks 
came here to-day?" said Dora. 

"About five hundred," said Carl. 

"All from Griffinsville? I was there once to an Indian 
show, and I didn't think there were that many folks in 
the whole town; did they all come?" 

"Oh, we gathered them up along the road," said Carl. 

"You mean you want some of my roses, and you shall 
have them, if you will promise one thing." 

"And what's that?" said Carl. 

"Will you promise?" 

"Not till I know what I am to do," said Carl. 

"Well, you see that river there Old Salty, we call 
it?" said Dora. 

"Yes, I see Old Salty/' 

"Well now, just down there under those bushes is our 
boat, the red one; now you must promise to take me a 
boat-ride after dinner, if I give you half my roses." 

"Do you think I can manage it?" said Carl. 

"Course you can; lots of little boys here, not near so 
big as you, row all over the river, and you would look 


so nice, rowing with that scarf and uniform; the folks 
would all look at us; now will you promise?" 

"I'm afraid I can't manage the boat," said Carl. 

"You area little coward," said Dora; "I don't like you 
half so well as I did; I'm going away now." 

"Not till I have my roses," said Carl. 

"You sha'n't have one 'less you promise," said Dora. 

"I'll promise," said Carl; "that is, I'll promise to try." 

"All right then, here is your roses; come around after 
dinner and we'll sail." 

Carl wandered around with the boys, looked at the 
cannon, the big wagons, saw them raise the pole and run 
up the flag, and joined in the cheering. He staid a 
little while at the stand to hear the speaker, and then 
wandered off to where the band-boys were, and wished 
in his heart that he was the drummer-boy. But all the 
time there was the picture in his mind of a brown-eyed, 
brown-haired, rosy-cheeked girl. And when the other 
boys talked to him, they noticed that he frequently 
asked, "What did you say?" 

The dinner hour seemed a long way off. Carl thought, 
can there be a Joshua here commanding the sun to 
stand still so the speaker can get through? 

At last he was beside the boat, and Dora came a 
moment later. As yet there were no boats out in the 
river, for most of the people were still at dinner. 

Dora had gotten the key of her father; she unlocked 
t'ne boat, stepped in, and told Carl to pull the chain in 
after him. As Carl stepped in and the boat moved out 
from the shore, he almost toppled over. He soon re- 
gained his equilibrium and seated himself cautiously, ex- 


amined the oars, placed them in their sockets, and pulled 
for the opposite bank. He succeeded in reaching it, 
but noticed that he had drifted considerably down the 
stream. They pulled a few wild honeysuckles, watched 
the people on the opposite shore, ate candy-kisses taken 
from Carl's pocket, and read the verses they contained. 
All the time they were slowly drifting down the stream. 
Presently Dora said, "O Carl ! See how near we are to 
the dam! Do take me back!" Carl for the first time 
realized his danger. Taking hold of the oars, he 
worked manfully, but he soon saw they must go over. 

At this moment their danger was observed by the 
people on the shore and a great shout of alarm went up. 
Everybody ran frantically to the river's brink. 

"Lie down flat in the boat, Dora," said Carl ; "I am a 
good swimmer, and I'll get you out all right." He suc- 
ceeded in turning the boat's prow at right angles with 
the dam, just at the moment it went over. It shot like 
an arrow down the decline, rose arid sank, rose and sank 
again, then whirled round and round, and then with a 
mighty plunge, it went end first entirely out of sight. 
Scream after scream went up from the shore. Men 
turned pale and women fainted. 

Two boys with blue pants and red blouses were seen 
half way to where the boat went down. A moment later 
and the boat appeared in sight, fully twenty yards below 
where it went down. A single arm was seen to clasp 
the side of the boat just where the oars were fastened. 
It was the right arm of Carl McKenzie; with the other 
arm he was clinging firmly to Dora Dundore. A moment 
later, Em and Zip had reached the boat, and, in a few 


moments more, all were landed safely. Dora had done 
just as Carl had told her to do, and just as they went 
over the dam he had placed his left arm around her, and 
had taken a firm hold of the iron fastenings of the 

Dora was soon resuscitated, and a change of clothing 
was found for the boys. As Carl rode home that even- 
ing, his noble horse seemed to realize that his arm lacked 
the strength of the morning, and, but for the bowing of 
his neck, he might have been taken for a farm-horse. 

It is not strange that Carl and Dora both dreamed of 
tairy-land and falling cataracts that night. 



Carl did not see Dora Dundore again for a little more 
than three years, and then by mere accident. 

Among the joyful gatherings of olden times, the 
"spellin' -school" was chief; 'wood-choppin'," "corn- 
huskin'," "log-rollin'," and "apple-peealin' bees were 
the more substantial. The big stir-off at the sugar 
camp was sweeter, but nothing equaled the "spell in' - 
school," in social eclat and intellectual grandeur. 

To "spell good," was the chief concern of an "educa- 
tion." . ' 

These were the days of the Rs, when school-masters 
taught Readin', 'Ritin', 'Rithmetic, and the Rod. 

In those days the principal branch was birch, and all 
scholars were supposed to take it. 

At noon and night the "little class," the "middle 
class," and the "big class," all spelt for head, and prizes 
and honors were lavished upon those who could stand 
at the head most of the time. 

Fridays were always expected to close with a match, 
or a general "spell-down." The students were arranged 
in a circle around the room, and when one missed he 
was seated, and so on, until none were left standing. 
The teacher stood in the midst of the group aud pro- 



nounced the words and was supposed to be like the 
living creatures in the bock of Revelations, having eyes 
both before and behind; for those having fallen in the 
first round would soon tire of Vhearin' the master give 
out to the rest," and would devise various schemes of 

Sometimes, having chosen up and arranged on two sides 
of the house, they would "draw over" those that missed, 
until one side or the other would be entirely destroyed. 
This was lively, as it gave all a chance to continue to 
the end, and permitted the big boys and big girls to be 
together, as those who missed had to cross over and be 
seated by the side of the successful speller. 

A kaleidoscope could hardly furnish a larger number 
of changes than would be possible at one of these grand 

Some students in every school could boast that they 
had spelt, "Webster's Elementary clean through, with- 
out missin' a word." But having performed such a feat 
one winter, would not make it certain that it could be 
done a year from that time. 

All the accomplishments in the spelling art were the 
results of memory. They got it "by heart," but it did 
not stay "by heart." 

They knew nothing of analogy, orthoepy, or orthogra- 
phy, though they could spell every word from "baker" 
to "incomprehensibility." 

They scarcely knew the meaning of one word out of 
twenty, and it is not much better in some of our district 
schools yet. 

They thoroughly mastered such catch words as daguer- 


reotype, phthisic, ptisan, hautboy, vignette, and belles- 
lettres; they knew how to compare, impair, prepare, 
and repair, but they knew nothing of any rules for those 
pairs, or how to pare a pear, for no two seemed to pair 
off; they only knew that one set "spelt (i one way, and 
the other was ' 'spelt t'other" way. 

When they got over to "grammar," they learned that 
the customary fare, was different from the beautiful fair, 
but why they should both fare alike, neither student nor 
teacher ever knew. The whole of the art was in packing 
the words into the mind and retaining them, remem- 
bering each word by itself and for itself. 

Spelling was not for use, but a training for the prize- 

I fear the absurdity of the past has given way to the 
other extreme of neglected orthography. The world nowa- 
days tolerates and fondles a superficial refinement that 
cuts pie with a fork, though it spells God with a small 
g, or County with a K. 

The contest which I am about to describe in this chap- 
ter occurred at what was known as "Whisky Run school - 
house." It was the first district down the river, from 
the town of R. Carl was visiting, at the time, a 
friend over at Yorkville. The boys thought it would be 
a rare treat to visit the school, and they decided to start 
early, and go over the hill past "Salt Peter Caves." 

When they arrived, they found a great crowd, and also 
learned that the "spellin' was a match contest between 
the town of R, on one side represented by six spellers, 
and one speller each from the following: viz. Pigeon 
Creek, Higby's Ford, Brimstone Holler, Tweeds' Point, 


Mud Run, and Whisky Run. Carl's friend, much 
against Carl's judgment, plead for Griffinsville to be 
represented by one member, and the judges and spellers 
finally consented, and Carl was introduced. Before time 
to begin, the house was ful 1 , and the yard was full. In 
those good old times everything was neglected for these 
contests. The honor not only of the family was at 
stake, but of the whole neighborhood as well. 

And on this particular occasion, if gambling had been 
indulged in anything larger than penknives or cheap, 
open-faced watches, it would be hard to guess the num- 
ber that would have been left bankrupt. 

In order to perfect fairness it was agreed that the 
teacher from Vigo, James Burke, should pronounce for 
the evening, or if he should need rest in the meantime, 
Tom Sigler, from Yankytown, should take*his place. 

As was customary the "spellin' ' began at early candle- 
lightin'." The contestants were arranged in this man- 
ner: the six district schools on the north side, the town 
of R, on the south side, and Carl in the center between 

Dora Dundore had not recognized Carl until the light 
fell full in his face as he took his place. When she 
recognized him, somehow she felt a dizziness come over 
her, and she felt that she would most certainly miss the 
first word. 

After the fiftieth round there was still on the floor, Jim 
Stunkard, Jake Frump, Isabella Lamasters, Susan Cra- 
ble, Carl, and Dora. 

The pronunciation had been a little peculiar and many 
were the complaints on the part of the friends there who 



had been disgraced by the first rounds, and they were 
of the opinion that the town teacher was no good in 
giving out to the folks in the "Kentry." But there was 
no opportunity for loud swearing. They were down and 
it could not be helped, and the districts still represented 
depended upon their representatives to maintain the 
honor of the country districts. 

Now the words went faster. Full a hundred rounds 
and still the six were on the floor. The room was warm 
and the interest was up to white heat. Mr. Burke be- 
came hoarse and Mr. Sigler had to relieve him. The 
people called for "hard spellin' in order that the con- 
test might end before midnight. Finally Isabella went 
down on "flagitious" using a "c" in place of a "t" though 
she affirmed she was right according to her book. Mr. 
Sigler now pronounced the word air, the atmosphere, 
which was correctly spelled and then came "are" the 
plural of "is," which was missed by Jake, as he had 
always heard it pronounced as the preceding word. 
There was general dissatisfaction at this calamity, for 
Jake was known as one of the best spellers in the coun- 
try, and to be sent to his seat on so little a word, of 
only three letters, was regarded as a disgrace to Brim- 
stone Holler. The remaining four held their places 
for twenty more rounds. It was decided to resort to 
geography; and so they began with Equator, Quito, 
&c., to Buenos Ayres, which sent all to their seats, 
save Carl and Dora. 

They were the youngest of the contestants, and it 
might have been heard whispered around, "them's 
trumps." The excitement rose high, for though the dis- 


tricts had been defeated by the town of R, all the coun- 
try people immediately became Carl's friends. No 
jockey-race' ever produced such intense excitement; the 
people involuntarily rose in their seats, and once, when 
Carl seemed to hesitate for a moment, they leaned for- 
ward with eyes and mouth wide open and held their 
breath. The long, green and black, navy tobacco lay 
unpressed in the cheek. Carl up to this time had not 
recognized his opponent. The word Niagara was pro- 
nounced to her, and, as she seemed to hesitate, he 
looked her full in the face, and actually sank into the 
seat behind him. At this instant there was an occur- 
rence at the door which gave them both time to recover 

The Walkers and Smiths had been at misunderstand- 
ings for a long time, and they had been thrown together 
that night by accident and were having a kind of "your' e 
another" conversation out of doors. Finally, Bill Walker 
struck Harvey Smith, who thought he might be shot, as 
he bumped up against the door and the fire flew out of 
his eyes; and concluding he would be dead in a few 
moments, he gathered himself into a heap on the door- 
step and began to pray for the Lord to have mercy on 
him. His voice was recognized by his sisters who were 
on the inside and who ran to the door screaming that 
their brother was killed. The stampede was general; 
the rush for the door was such that everything was in 
a general confusion and no one could either get in or 
out. Windows were thrown up and many of the }^oung 
men were hustled out to protect the innocent, and pun- 
ish the guilty. But Walker had fled and could nowhere 


be found. Smith had a fairly good-sized "Fourth of 
July" over his right eye. 

The fight now being over, nothing remained but to return 
and see the spelling through. Some of the young "bloods" 
were so disappointed that it seemed that they must have 
a row; however, things quieted down, at least on the sur- 
face, and the spelling began. During the commotion 
outside, Carl and Dora had fully recognized each other 
and renewed their acquaintance. 

Dora said: "I am to spell Niagara, and had you 
thought that only one of us must go over the falls to- 
night and down below the chilly waters, and that to 
rise no more, surely Carl you will not be so cruel as to 
send Dora all alone down the awful precipice to the 
foaming, seething vortex below! ' 

"I cannot relinquish the oars, now, Dora, we are too 
near the brink. If you will jump overboard, how am I to 
save you? But here they come and we must collect our- 
selves for the contest." 'The last word," said Mr. Sig- 
ler, "was Niagara; will Miss Dora spell?" The word was 
spelled correctly. Finally geographical names were laid 
aside, and Webster's Academic Dictionary was taken up. 
Such words as the following were selected: till, until, 
tyranny, annual, Koran, unbiased, basin, beaux, bayed, 
bade. At last the word corolla was missed by Dora and 
immediately snatched up by Carl. The judges awarded 
him the prize, but he immediately presented it to Dora, 
saying, "you have fairly won it. I was a mere accident 
in the contest." After congratulations Carl walked with 
Dora to the cnrringe, and, while her father untied the 
horses, Carl assisted her to her seat and, as her hand 


lingered in his, he raised it to his lips and was gone. 

As Carl and his friend wended their way over the hill 
that night, Carl seemed to be dreaming; usually so talk- 
ative, he was now sc silent. 

"Are you ill, Carl?" said his friend. 

"Oh, it's only my throat. I shall be all right to- 
morrow. " 

Will the realm of infinite futurity ever be able to add 
a sweeter sensation than the purity and dreaming felic- 
ity of early love? It is not earth-like. It is born from 



" Build to-day, then, strong and sure. 

With a firm and ample base, 
And ascending and secure 

Shall to-morrow find its place. 

Thus alone can we attain 

To those turrets, where the eye 
Sees the unreal as one vast Plain 

And one boundless reach or sky." 


The spring of '61 found in Griffinsville, as in every 
voting precinct of the Northern States, a recruiting 
officer. Carl felt that he was losing all his best friends 
with the first call for three years' men; both Carl's 
orothers and Mr. Phillips entered the field; Em and Zip 
both went as drummer boys Em as tenor, Zip as bass. 

Carl went with them to the depot, and was the last to 
take their hands as they stepped aboard the cars for 
Camp Chase. The scenes of excitement throughout the 
land at this time have been told by more eloquent pens 
than mine, and I will not attempt to recall them in 
this narrative; suffice it to say, that Carl entered into 
it all with a burning enthusiasm. Every day he read 
with increased interest the thrilling accounts in the 
Daily Gazette. 

He wrote letters full of home news and excited 
questionings to the boys, and received replies, describ- 



ing camp and field, march and battles. From the many 
letters still in Carl's possession, I select one for my 

"MURFREESBORO, January i, 1862. 

"DEAR CARL: Last night I had charge of our advance 
picket line, and the Johnnies were right in front of us. 
As I was placing my men, the Sergeant of the rebel guard 
said 'Hello, Yank.' 

"I said, 'Hello yourself, Johnnie.' 

"He was advancing toward me, and I met him half- 
way. We shook hands and talked a few minutes, and, 
as we separated, we agreed to meet again after we had 
completed our rounds. It was a beautful moonlight 
night. I took the precaution to place Bill Hudson 
behind a clump of bushes, near to where we were to 
meet, with instructions to keep a sharp lookout. 

"Johnnie and I met according to agreement, and had 
been talking about the war for some ten minutes, when 
suddenly we were both startled by the report of Bill 
Hudson's rifle. At the same moment Johnnie threw up 
his hands saying, 'My God! he has shot my brother!' 

"He asked me to go with him, and I did so; and sure 
enough, a few rods down the hill, we found the lifeless 
corpse of his brother, with a bullet hole in his forehead. 
With water from my canteen I washed away the blood, 
and, seeing that I could do nothing more, left the 
brothers alone. 

"When I returned to Bill, he said, that just after we 
began to talk, he noticed the Johnnie slipping up, and, 
just as he was drawing bead on me, Bill fired, with the 

result given.' 

"Your brother, DICK." 


Carl regretted keenly that he was not old enough to 
participate in these scenes of danger and excitement. 
'Twas not only patriotism and love for his country and 
flag that thrilled every fiber of his loyal soul, but he had 
all a boy's love of change and adventure; and of all 
things he desired most to go to the front. For four 
years he accomplished but ilittle in the school. His 
interest and attention were drawn from school and school- 
life by this excitement of his surroundings. The teach- 
ers who followed Mr. Phillips were not so good as he 
had been, although Carl attended as a regular pupil 
whenever school was in session, and of course made 
some progress in all his studies; his chief advancement 
was made in United States history and the geography 
of the Southern States. Carl built man}'' a fort and in 
his imagination fought many a battle during this time. 

In after life, Carl always had an enthusiastic history 
class, and the place where every great event occurred 
was always pointed out again and again, until thorough- 
ly implanted in the memory. He also drew, and had 
his class draw rough sketches of the forts and battle- 

I might mention here that the platforms of political 
parties were always discussed by the class. No great 
political event was allowed to pass without a thorough 
investigation, and every pupil was not only allowed, but 
was encouraged, to express fully his or her views on 
the great questions of American history. 

At last the great war was over, and the tented field 
and the shock of battle became events of history. The 
26th Regiment O. V. V. I. were mustered out at Camp 


Chase. Two days more and Dick and Will took their 
seats at the McKenzie table. Carl's old teacher re- 
turned to his home in Pennsylvania, where he was after- 
ward given the chair of mathematics in an Eastern 

Poor Zip was taken prisoner and was never heard of 
afterward. Em came safely back to his home, and is 
now in business in Columbus, Ohio. 

Carl's parents decided to send him away to school. He 
was not far enough advanced to enter a first-class college, 
and they wisely decided to send him to some good high- 
school, where the academic studies could be pursued. 
He was therefore sent to Moon's Academy. 

This institution contained about one hundred students ; 
was located in the Miami valley, in a quaker village 
which was surrounded by a class of wealthy farmers. 
Prof. Moon, who presided over the school, was one of 
the kindest of men. He was one of the few men before 
whom you could not stand without the impression that 
you were in the presence of one of nature's noblemen. 
He had that dignified nobility of character, which always 
commands respect, as well as that tenderness of heart 
and gentleness of manner that invariably won the love of 
his pupils. 

As an instructor he was enthusiastic and practical. 

The various boarding-places of the boys were designa- 
ted as barracks. Carl was located in Barrack No. 6. 
There was not the college hazing here that is found in 
the College proper, yet the boys always liked an im- 
pressive introduction to a new student. Carl's room- 
mate was a boy named Nolder. He was a quiet sort of 


fellow, but was a lad of good principles and fine native 
ability, and for many years the warmest friendship ex- 
isted between the boys. 

On the second evening after Carl's arrival, one young 
man from each of the barracks was chosen as a select 
committee to introduce Carl and his room-mate to all 
the boys. Just after dark Carl heard a rap at his door, 
and upon opening it five young men entered. One of 
the boys, named Ousley, acted as spokesman and intro- 
duced the others; they were all introduced under the title 
of "Chief." Himself, Chief Ousley, and then each chief 
in turn was presented to Carl and Nolder. Just as he 
had finished this ceremony, a sixth party entered with- 
out knocking. He was immediately introduced as Chief 
of Barrack No. 6. Carl began to take in the situation 
and was exceedingly amused. 

Chief of No. 6 said in a commanding tone, "all the 
gentlemen belonging to Barrack No. 6 are commanded, 
by the Most High Executive Council of this Barrack, to 
assemble in the double room of the third floor of this 
Barrack, at once. Thereupon, Freshmen McKenzie and 
Nolder, you will at once follow your Chief." Carl said, 
"Come on, Nolder, let's follow our leader." All the boys 
of No. 6 were assembled in the upper room; they were 
chatting and laughing, and paid no attention to the par- 
ties entering until called to order by the Chief, who 
said, "Gentlemen of Barrack No. 6, I have the great 
pleasure of introducing to you Carl McKenzie, who will 
begin the entertainment this evening by singing us a 
song. Mr. McKenzie, will you please mount the box?" 
Carl knew there was only one thing to do and that was 
to sing, so he mounted the box and began: 


"One night as the moon was a beaming, 
I lay fast asleep and a dreaming, 
That the sun was shining bright, 
In the middle of the night, 
And the boys had collected 
For to have a little fight." 

He sang the entire song. Nolder was then required to 
mount the box and sing as Carl had been obliged to do. 
Then each was to declaim. Afterward it was politely 
suggested that they engage in a debate, choosing 'their 
own subject. 

After a moment's consultation, Carl and Nolder chose 
this question: "Resolved, that the high-toned Chiefs 
Nos. i to 6, inclusive, are a set of asses." Carl affirmed, 
Nolder negatived. Before Carl had finished, they knew 
something of his keen perceptive faculties, and his gift 
of sarcastic language; they declined to hear the nega- 

Chief Ousley then advanced, and took from his inside 
pocket what seemed to be a tallow candle and asked 
Carl to take a bite. Carl did so, without hesitation. 
His quick eye had recognized, in the candle, a piece of 
"sweet gum." Nolder followed suit, and then all the 
boys took a chew from the same candle. The mysteries 
of the order were explained, the two boys were welcomed 
as members, and all adjourned to their several rooms. 

In his studies Carl's tastes inclined to the natural 
sciences, but he excelled only in mathematics, and he 
always attributed his success in this line to the excel- 
lent drill he had received in the Intellectual Arithmetic. 
He was not naturally possessed of superior reasoning 
powers, but his mind had been so strengthened and 
developed by his early and thorough training, that he 


easily to ;>k and held first rank in those studies which 
taxed the reason and judgment. 

Prof. Moon was a master in elocution, not that rant- 
ing, gesticulating, ridiculously absurd performance we ,so 
often see to-day; but he was clear in enunciation, 
forcible in expression, accurate in emphasis and pronun- 
ciation. And while imitative reading may not be the 
best, and is not, yet his pupils caught from him the 
spirit of good reading and always left his school with 
improved articulation, and better readers. 

Carl graduated fifth in his class of twenty-five, and 
after returning home took a trip with his friend Nolder 
to Niagara, to Albany, then down the Hudson to New 
York City, Washington, and then home. This little trip 
added much to his knowledge of our natural scenery, 
and gave him an idea of the world about him outside 
the little circle in which he had always moved. 

When Carl returned from his eastern trip he found 
nearly all the schools in the immediate vicinity of his 
home had been taken, and he felt the keenest disappoint- 
ment, for his whole nature had been aglow with the en- 
thusiasm of beginning his chosen ideal of life work. 

He believed that he would inaugurate a new era in the 
world's history of education, and gain for himself undy- 
ing fame, could he but have an opportunity to try his 
skill in a country school. A friend of Carl's, who had 
been visiting near Centerville, told him of a vacancy in 
a school in that neighborhood. Early next morning Carl 
set out on horseback, in search of the school. 

The average price paid teachers in Clinton Co., at that 
time, was forty-five dollars per month. As Carl rode 


along he decided he could afford to teach his first term 
for thirty-five dollars, and would, therefore, ask that 

When Carl was about ten miles from home he over- 
took on the road a farmer dressed in blue shirt, brown 
overalls, and white straw hat. He was sitting sideways 
on an old bay mare, and whistling, "Paddle your own 
Canoe. " 

Carl rode up and said: "Good morning, sir." 

"Howdy," said the farmer. "You seem to be a stranger 
in these parts," continued the farmer. 

"Yes, sir," said Carl; "I am looking for a school; do 
you know of any vacancies near here?" 

"Well, now," said the farmer, "I do that; our own school 
is vacant and we want a teacher." 

"What wages do you pay?" said Carl. 

''Well, we paid forty-five dollars last year." 

"I will take your school at thirty-five dollars, as I have 
never taught," said Carl. 

"Your never having taught makes no difference to us; 
the gentleman we had last year had never taught, and he 
gave us a good school. Forty-five dollars is the price we 
pay, and, if you are our man, that is what we will pay you. " 

By this time they were at the cross-roads. 

"Now," said the farmer, "my name is George Dronen; I 
live right there," pointing to his house a few rods down 
the road, to the right. "I am the president of the 
board; the other two men are Samuel Thompson and 
Solomon Moorman. You see them and, if they are willing 
to hire you, tell them I am too. I hope you can get back 
to my house by dinner time." 


Carl left with an anxious heart; he saw the other 
directors, arranged a meeting at Mr. Dronen's for half 
past one, and got back in time to eat dinner with the 

Mr. Moorman and Mr. Thompson were on hand prompt- 
ly at half-past one, and a contract was soon signed, and 
Carl arranged to board with Mr. Dronen. 

As specified in the contract the school was to open 
the second Monday in September. 

"Now," said Mr. Moorman, "we are all through except 
the rules and regulations; we might just as well arrange 
those at this meeting." 

"Do you think it necessary to have a set of written 
rules?" said Carl. 

'Yes, sir," said Mr. Moorman, "by all means. A ship 
without a rudder is likely to be lost, especially with an 
inexperienced pilot." 

Carl thought best not to object further, so the rules 
were soon drawn up and signed by the board and Carl, 
much against Carl's better judgment. But after all, 
the rules bore fruit, and produced what was afterward 
known in that community as the "Revival." 

The sixth rule read as follows: 

"All pupils over sixteen years of age shall be ex- 
pelled from school for unruly conduct unless they 
voluntarily choose to accept such punishment as the 
teacher shall decree." 



The revival was not a religious revival, but one of 
quite a different kind, as will appear further on. 

The pupils who attended during the autumn term 
were all small children except a few of the larger girls. 

Nothing unusual happened during those months. As 
winter drew on, "and the frost was on the pumpkin, and 
the corn was in the shock," the big boys began to enter 
the school, and the enrollment reached fifty-seven. 
There were three of the pupils over twenty-one, who 
could attend only by permission of the board; but this 
was granted, as those young men promised not to make 
any trouble, and were not to call on the teacher for assist- 
ance only when they got "stuck" in arithmetic. 

The school was so crowded that Carl often found it to 
his advantage to call on one or another of these three 
young men to assist him in his work, and then he often 
remained after school-hours to assist them in their work. 
They appreciated his kindness in doing this and a friend- 
ship arose between them. 

Their assistance in the revival far more than repaid 
Carl for his extra trouble. 

The names of these three boys, were George Fisher, 
Tom McFadden and James Hodson. Government in a 



country school of sixty pupils, to one without experience, 
is no easy matter. One fellow named Tom Wright made 
his boast that he could lick the master and that he would 
do it if he ever undertook to thrash him. Carl de- 
termined to he master in fact as well as in name. He 
attempted to whip Tom, who resisted, but whose courage 
failed him, and Carl succeeded in giving him a severe 
and much-needed whipping. This occurrence established 
Carl's authority. 

One of the rules, above mentioned, was to the effect that 
there should be no boisterous playing in the school-room, 
during noon or recess. This rule was adopted to protect 
windows and furniture, and the board insisted on its 

Carl was invited to Mr. Wright's for dinner one day, 
not because of any great affection the family had for 
Carl, but that he might compute the interest on a 
promissory note of five hundred dollars, on which there 
were many indorsements. Carl accomplished this task 
and came back in time to call school by one o'clock. 

As Carl neared the school-house he heard the "sound 
of revelry," and closer examination showed a broken 
window pane, a shattered desk, and snow-besprinkled 


Carl called the roll as usual, and then said; "I am sur- 
prised to find so many of my large pupils disregarding 
one of the rules, by playing in the school-house." 

George Fisher held up his hand and then arose and 
said, "I for one am to blame for this, and I ask your 
pardon." Several other large boys and some of the 
girls arose and made similar confessions. 


Carl said: "I am willing to forgive each of you, since 
you are so frank about the matter. All who are sorry 
will arise." All arose but three bo.ys near the door. 

"Did you violate the rules, Thcmas Moore?" said 

I played in the house," said Thomas, "but I'm not 
sorry; I don't see any sense in such a rule, and I don't 
want your pardon; if you don't want me here, turn me 

1 1 


"I say the same," said Bill Moore. 

"So do I," chimed in Tom Wright. 

"This rule is not of my making, " said Carl; "you may 
think the matter over for one hour, and then ask pardon 
or stand suspended." At the end of the hour they all 
arose, took their books, and passed out. That evening 
after school, Fisher remained for some assistance in 

Carl said: "What do you think about my expelling the 

"It is just what they wanted. Tom Wright has not 
felt so happy since you gave him such a decent whip- 

"What will come of this, George?" said Carl. 

"That's hard to tell; nothing ought to come of it, 
but the fools are not all dead yet," said George. 

Next day more than a dozen of the pupils were absent, 
and the falling off continued from day to day until fully 
one-half the seats were vacant. 

Carl had another talk with Fisher. "A storm is brew- 
ing, " said George, "and it promises to be a regular twister. 
My opinion is that there will be some fighting before 


this thing is over with. As I told you, the fools are 
not all dead yet." 

"George, you are my friend, as I truly believe, and 
you are three years my senior; shall I resign?" 

"No, do not resign," said George, "that is just what 
they want you to do. Either rowdyism or civility is 
going to rule in this neighborhood, and I believe now is 
the time, and you are the man, to lead the better ele- 
ment to victory." 

"I shall not resign, at least not until after I am vindi- 
cated," said Carl. 

That evening Carl requested Mr. Dronen to call a 
meeting of the board, and have the matter sifted to the 

Mr. Dronen informed him that a meeting of the entire 
voting population had been arranged for the next day, at 
one o'clock, at the school-house. 

Carl informed Mr. Dronen that he was amenable to 
the board alone. "Certainly," said Mr. Dronen, "the 
board will act as court. We wish to give every one an 
opportunity to enter complaint. We shall hear the 
charges and your defense, and then decide according to 
law and testimony." 

"That suits me exactly," said Carl; "I want to meet 
my enemies face to face." 

Mr. Dronen continued; "The feeling against you, Mr. 
McKenzie, is bad. Old man Collins is excited because 
you scratched Brad's face in trying to button his coat 
when you were about to whip him. He is rather hard 
to manage when he is angry and will give us trouble. 
Wright and Moore are mad and blame .you wholly for 


their boys being expelled. Wright usually gives more 
thought to his hogs than to his children, but he is 
thoroughly aroused now. Moore is spoiling for a fight. 
He is a rough man and thinks fighting is the only way 
to settle a difficulty; he will be hard to manage." 

"How do Mr. Moorman and Mr. Thompson stand in the 
matter?" said Carl. 

"They are both against you; Thompson is vacillating 
and goes with the current, which is just now against you. 
I am surprised that Mr. Moorman has gone over to the 
other side; he has always been your friend; and George 
Fisher, who boards with Moorman, is a warm friend of 
yours. I think Moorman has been deceived by false 
statements, and I am certain if we can get him to see 
the facts in the case he will be for you with all his 

Before sleeping that night, Carl had decided in his 
own mind two things; first, that Mr. Dronen was his only 
friend on the board, and second, that after making his 
vindications he would immediately resign and return 
home. Having so decided, Carl packed his valise and 
made out his report, ready to be handed in with his res- 

When school opened the next morning nearly all the 
pupils were in attendance, except the three boys who 
had been expelled. It was evident that many of them 
did not come to study. This, in their minds, was the 
last day. Some were insolent, and some seemed to be 

During the noon-hour Carl took a stroll with his true 
friends, George Fisher, Tom McFadden, and James Hod- 


son. They passed around Bernard Point and were soon 
out of sight. 

"Now," said Fisher, "we will tell you what we want. 
There promises to be a warm time this afternoon. As 
I said before, the 'fools are not all dead;' Moore is 
furiously mad, and says the only way to settle this fuss 
is to fight it out. He says he will thrash you before 
night. Dan Hopper is another one of the fools. He 
swears he will cowhide you unless you get down on your 
knees and beg for mercy. Now, we three have pledged 
ourselves to stand by you; we take no pride in being 
classed as fighting men, but we are going to see fair 
play. Their talk simply amounts to nothing, but, the 
moment they attempt more than that, we shall interfere.- 
Go ahead, make your defense, and say what you want to 
say and have no fears. You do the talking and we'll do 
the fighting if any has to be done." 

Carl thanked them for their proffered assistance, but 
expressed the hope that it would not be needed 

When Carl and the boys returned to the school-house 
they found that quite a crowd had gathered. The board 
was holding a council at the back of the house. D ronen 
was calm and composed; Moorman was excited, and while 
he talked he gesticulated wildly with both arms. 
Thompson was nodding his little head and saying, as 
Moorman rattled on "That's so, exactly; that's my 

By the time to call school, most of the district was 
there. Old man Collins looked like he would burst with 
rage; Mocre was walking around with his hands in his 
pockets and was like the army in Flanders; Dan Hopper 


had his black-snake under his arm and tried to look 
fierce as a lion. 

When all were quiet, Carl said to the board: "Gentle- 
men, the school is now in your hands; proceed in any 
manner it suits you." 

Mr. Dronen then stated to the patrons of the school, 
that, as there had been much dissatisfation in regard to 
the management of the school, the board was now ready 
to hear any complaints that any one had to make, and 
that after complaints had been made, the teacher would 
be heard in defense of his cause, and that it would be 
their duty as directors to judge according to the law and 

Moorman blurted out, 'That's what we come fur; " and 
Thompson nodded his little head. 

Old man Collins was on his feet in a moment. He was 
a fat man and wheezed when he talked. 

"I have a charge to make," said Collins, "for the man- 
ner in which my boy was lick licked. I don't object to 
the lick lickin'," wheezed Collins, "mind that; but he 
wanted Brad to button his coat, and Brad wouldn't, and 
the teacher scratched h i s face; there' s the boy, and there' s 
the scratches ahem. I know you will decide that the 
whole thing of makin' the boy button his coat was wrong. " 
Moorman nodded his head ; and Thompson did the same. 

Carl arose, and stated that it had been customary, in 
schools where he had attended, to have pupils button 
their coats when punished. 

Collins jumped up and wheezed out: "I don't keer 
what they do in other places; I want my boy licked as 
he is when he does the mischief. If his coat is buttoned, 


it's to stay buttoned; if unbuttoned, it's to stay unbut- 
toned. Take things as they are, what is your vardict?" 

Carl said, "Hold on, Mr. Collins." 

"I don't see no use in holdin' on," Collins replied. "Do 
you deny the facts? " 

Carl still remained standing, and this so irritated Col- 
lins that .he again wheezed out: 'Do you deny the facts? 
Say yes or no, or own up that you are beat. " 

Mr. Dronen said: "Be seated, Mr. Collins, and let the 
teacher make his statement; that is fair; he has not inter- 
rupted you and you must not interrupt him." 

Collins sat down. At heart he was a good man, and he 
knew that Mr. Dronen was right, and he had judgment 
enough to see that he had been too hasty. 

Carl called William Collins forward and asked if he 
was present when his brother Brad was whipped. He 
said he was. Carl asked him to state to the directors 
whether Brad's coat was buttoned or unbuttoned, when 
he did the mischief. He answered: "His coat was but- 
toned; when he was called to be whipped, he unbuttoned 

Collins sprang to his feet once more, saying, "I'm 
wrong, men, I'm wrong; I have acted like a fool. I 
should have inquired into this matter before I made com- 
plaint. I withdraw the charge against the teacher." 

After a moment's pause, Mr. Dronen said : "If there are 
any other complaints, let them be presented." There 
was a painful silence for a few moments; the termination 
of Collins' affair had somewhat dampened the fires of 
resentment, but the burning was too great to be put out 
by that little shower. 


Mr. Wright broke the silence by saying: "Our boys 
have been turned outen the school fur doin' nothin.' If 
they'd been licked I'd a made no complaint, but this 
turnin'out business I object to. I think this school ought 
to be stopped right now, and this teacher run off; them's 
my sentiments." 

"Has any one else any complaint to offer?" said Mr. 

Moore sprang to his feet and roared out: 'Yes, sir, I 
have. I say that any teacher who has a rule about turnin' 
out big boys is a cowardly puppy; let him lick 'em or 
get licked; nothin' but lickin' some one will ever settle 
this fuss. Let that smooth-faced coward give me 
any of his sass and I'll lick him quicker than you can 
say rats. If he ain't put out of this school before the 
sun sets, somebody' 11 git a skinned nose." 

Mr. Dronen asked if any one else had anything to 
say, and, when no one responded, he nodded to Carl, who 
came forward and said: "I shall pay no attention to the 
threats just made. There is a saying that those who 
are born in the woods are not to be scared by an 

"I'll slap the man's mouth who calls me an owl," roar- 
ed Moore; at the same time, springing to his feet and 
drawing off h'is coat, he took a step toward Carl; but 
George Fisher arose before him and Moore stopped; the 
two men eyed each other for a minute and not a word 
was said. 

Moore was not a coward, but his courage did not run 
away with his discretion. He knew that he was no 
match for Fisher. Finally, Moore said: "George, what 


does this mean? are you here for a fight?" The response 
came with great firmness: 

"No, Mr. Moore, I'm here to prevent a fight, not to 
engage in one; you and I have afways been friends, but 
you can't touch the teacher until you pass over me. 
There are others here who feel as I do, and before you 
can whip the teacher you must whip us. We want no 
quarrel with you or any one else; we will have fair play 
and will defend our friend." 

Mr. Dronen said, "Men, be seated." Fisher sat down 
and Moore followed his example. 

Mr. Dronen continued: "I am not only president of the 
school-board but Justice of the Peace; and if any man 
in this audience makes any more threats I will put him 
under arrest. The teacher has the floor." Carl briefly 
reviewed all the circumstances connected with the 
affair, and showed not only the board, but all present, 
that in suspending the boys he had done only that which 
he was under contract to do enforce the rules made by 
the board. 

The board immediately retired and in a few minutes 
returned, Mr. Dronen saying, "I am glad to inform 
you that we have no trouble in agreeing on this decision. 
We sustain the teacher in the course he has pursued. We 
could not do otherwise without condemning ourselves, 
for he has gone according to the rules we signed with 
him." Moorman nodded, followed by nods from Thomp- 

Carl said: "I thank you for my vindication; and now I 
believe it is best for all parties concerned that I tender 
my resignation; and here it is, together with my report." 


This caused the impulsive nature of Moorman to take 
fire, and he sprang to his feet and dancing about the 
platform exclaimed: |For heaven's sake, men, let's 
don't let the teacher go;'what a set of fools we've been ; 
if we wasn't so ignorant, we'd a knowed better; let's 
try and do better; let's turn over a new leaf; I've done 
wrong, so have all of us; let's forgive and forget; I believe 
all the scholars like the teacher and want him to stay; 
let's have all come up and shake hands with the teach- 
er; ain't that all right, Squire?" 

Mr. Collins said: "I second the motion, Squire; I done 
wrong and I want to forgive and forgit too. I want my 
children to shake hands with the teacher to show- that 
they have nothing against him. Hadn't we better all 
stand up, Squire?" 

Mr. Dronen nodded, and all arose. Moorman cried 
out: "Come on, children, come on! ' Brad Collins was 
the first to reach Carl and grasp his hand; Brad was 
crying audibly. Crying as well as laughing is catching, 
and in a moment the whole school was crowding around- 
Carl, anxious to grasp his hand. 

All came forward except the three boys who had been 
expelled. They stood back by the door and showed no 
disposition to go with the others. All eyes turned to 
them ; there was silence for a few moments, save the sob- 
bing from the girls. This was too much for Moorman. 
Again he broke forth. "For heaven's sake, boys, do come, 
it will do you good; come, do come." Thomas Moore, 
who stood nearest the aisle, looked at the other boys and 
then started, and the others followed. 

Moorman clapped his hands and shouted, "Glory to 


God!' Mr. Dronen said, "Good for you, boys." Thomp- 
son said, "That's right." 

When the three boys reached Carl and felt his warm 
grasp they broke down completely. Mr. Dronen said: 
"My children shall not go ahead of me;" and, suiting 
the action to the word, he walked up and heartily shook 
Carl's hand. Moorman followed the example. Mr. Col- 
lins, with his kindly face flushed with excitement, came 
up and said, with much difficulty for want of breath: "I 
hope never to be so hot-headed again; I've learnt a 
lesson I'll never forgit." 

One after another of the men came up and grasped 
Carl's hand. There was no holding back from the "Re- 
vival," as the boys afterward called this general hand- 
shaking. It seemed to have laid hold upon all present. 
When all had shaken hands with Carl and had again 
been seated, Mr. Dronen said: "That, as all were recon- 
ciled and the past buried, he hoped the teacher would re- 
main. " 

He proposed that all who wanted Carl to remain and 
finish the school shouM rise to their feet. Every one 
arose. Carl consented to remain. He finished his first 
school without another jar, and also without producing 
any great revolutions in the system of education. 

He was tendered the same school the next year, at 
fifty dollars per month, but declined the offer for a posi- 
tion nearer home. 



" Thus, duties rising out of good possessed, 
And prudent caution needful to avert 
Impending evil, equally require, 
That the whole people should be taught and trained, 

"Earth's universal frame should feel the effect; 
Even till the smallest rock, 
Beaten by lonely billows, hear the songs 
Of humanized society; and bloom 
With civil arts, that send their fragrance forth, 
A graceful tribute to all-ruling Heaven. 

" From culture unexclusively bestowed, 
Expect these mighty issues; from the pains 
And faithful care of unambitious schools, 
Instructing simple childhood's ready ear, 
Hence look for these magnificent results." 


There was nothing of especial interest in Carl's life, 
for several years following the events narrated in the 
last chapter. He taught six months each year, in the 
district schools, and, as an evidence of his marked suc- 
cess, it may be truly said that in every instance he was 
offered the same school again and also at an increased 
salary. Carl always took the precaution to visit his 
school house, and put it in order before the opening of 
the term. He saw that the floor and windows were 
clean and that the stove was blackened; that he had a 
new broom and a clean water-pail; that his blackboard 
was newly painted; that the apparatus, if there was any, 



which belonged to the district, was always in the best of 
order; that the seats were arranged, and all the old 
papers and other rubbish were removed from the desks. 

He possessed two thermometers, one he placed in the 
northwest corner, and the other in the southeast corner. 
He picked up the rubbish from off the playground and 
burned it. His own desk was looked after and was always 
adorned on the first morning with a bouquet of flowers. 
These flowers formed the basis of an after-dinner talk, 
during which he always gained the hearts of a majority 
of his school, on the very first day. After talking of the 
flowers in general for a few minutes, he would select 
some special kind, and give to each member of the 
school one of this kind. Then, taking one himself, Carl 
would dissect it and show them the various parts, writ- 
ing the names of each on the board, etc. In this way 
he met his school, around one common center, and wove 
with them a web of fraternal feelings: In these informal 
talks he reached the hearts of every one, and they helped 
him to form his estimate of their dispositions, their 
likes and dislikes. Carl believed that there was a key to 
unlock the heart and affections of every boy and girl; 
that there was some key that would unlock and open, 
to vigorous activity and self-exertion, the most sluggish 
intellect. And each year's experience only deepened 
this conviction. 

The talks about plants and flowers were followed by 
other talks. Sometimes they talked of the animals with 
which the children were familiar; sometimes of the 
rocks, the sea, the sky, or the earth beneath their feet, 
always having a care to not carry the lesson beyond the 


point where the pupils were interested. And further on 
we will see him, Carl, as principal of the high-school, 
still farther stimulate the zeal of the boys and girls 
under his care, in the work. 

Carl, in all his experience, both in the district and 
graded schools, never allowed himself to be carried away 
by hobbies. He believed it to be the duty of the teach- 
er to teach reading, writing, arithmetic, etc., by the most 
approved and best established methods. He was a con- 
stant reader of his School Journal. And he read Page 
the first term he ever taught. He read and studied, care- 
fully, Wickersham, Johonnot, Phelps, and others. 

Carl always took a hand on the playground, and there 
was always an entire lack of profanity and vulgarism in 
his presence. One day during his second term of school, 
as he and some of the larger boys were engaged in a 
game of ball, one of the boys swore at the pitcher, and 
then, recalling himself, turned and walked up to Carl 
and said, "Mr. McKenzie, I beg your pardon, sir; I for- 
got your presence." Carl replied, "I freely forgive you, 
James, but there is One greater than either of us, here; 
He, too, is offended." This gentle reminder of the pres- 
ence of the Heavenly Father bore fruit in after years. 

Carl possessed a strong love for truth and a burning 
desire to know not only what the Heavenly Father had 
revealed in nature around him, but what the great world 
had thought and done; and this desire and enthusiasm 
he burned into the hearts and consciences of his pupils. 

Carl was always a favorite in the social circles. His 
acquaintance with nature, with books, and with men 
made his companionship most desirable. Although Carl 


was not a dreamer, yet there was a poetic somberness 
in his demeanor there seemed something wanting to 
complete his happiness. The fact was, he carried in his 
mind the picture of a lovely girl whom he had seen but 
twice, once in the boat, once in the spelling-school but 
they had been sufficient to command his admiration and 
win his affections. 

Carl's parents had moved to Highland 'County in the 
fall of '65. The time of which I write was the spring 

of '73- 

He determined to visit his former home and see again 
the mill-dam where he came so near losing his life. He 
spent two whole weeks in and around Griffin sville, and 
lived over again his boyhood days. He found John Mc- 
Crane and Lem Dixon doing a flourishing business, 
manufacturing flour. 

The old school-house was gone, and a large two-story 
brick occupied its place. 

He visited his former cabin home on Coe's Run. The 
old cabin had departed. The one landmark he recog- 
nized was a lonely pine planted by his sister Jennie, 
just above the spring. His brother Will was now the 
owner of the farm, and lived in a more modern dwell- 

The last place for Carl to visit was the town of R and 
the mill-dam. He arrived in the afternoon, and took 
rooms at the Eagle House. After arranging his toilet, he 
inquired if a Mr. Dundore still resided in the town. He 
was shown his residence. His heart bea^ fast! How 
should he introduce himself? Should he send a note? 
Should he go to the residence, or to the father's place 



of business? If to the residence and Dora should be 
the first to appear, would he be able to hide his confu- 
sion? Was she married or single, dead or alive, sick or 
well, at home or abroad, as beautiful as when a child, or 
had her face lost its childish sweetness? Why was he 
there anyway? He knew no one. As all these things came 
rushing into his mind. Carl never felt so foolish in all 
his life. 

Carl noticed that the landlord observed his confusion. 
He returned to his room to look at himself again in the 
mirror, to see if he still looked rational. Satisfied on 
this point, he sat down and triegl to control himself, but 
somehow he became more and more embarrassed. He felt 
hot, he must have fever; he put his finger on his wrist 
seventy times to the minute. He put his hand to his 
forehead he was perspiring. He decided that he 
needed fresh air. Putting on his hat, he went out on 
the street, and in a direction opposite to Mr. Dundore's 
residence. He had gone but a little way when he 
heard the sound of falling water. "Ah, that's the 
mill-dam," said Carl. He continued his walk and 
soon stood upon the pier of the old bridge just 
above the dam. Some boys were sitting on the bank 
fishing. The barn-swallows were flitting to and fro, 
from the eaves of the old mill. A robin was singing 
from the top of a sycamore just up the stream. Casting 
his eyes up the stream, he saw some boats moored under 
the willows. He felt impelled to try the oars and so 
turned his steps in that direction ; but when he arrived 
he found them all locked. He stood there in disgust. 
He said to himself, "I might have known as much; " and 


then aloud he said, "If Dora were here, she could un- 
lock it." 

"And so she will," said a voice behind him. 

Turning around, he saw before him a lovely woman 
with a smiling face, and she had a book in one hand and 
a key in the other. Carl took off his hat, bowed, and went 
forward with outstretched hand Dora pressed it warm- 
ly, unlocked the boat, and asked him if he could row? 

Dora begged leave to handle the oars herself, at least 
until they were out of danger of the dam, and Carl did 
not object. "Now you wonder," said Dora, after rowing 
a little way up the stream, "how I came to be here 
this afternoon? Well I'll tell you. A friend of mine 
who lives at Griffinsville, wrote me of your arrival, and 
of your business trip (as you expressed it) to R, before 
returning. I knew that the first place you would come 
would be right here to this old dam. Yesterday I received 
another letter, stating that you would be here this after- 
noon; so you see I came down to surprise you. When I 
saw you on the bridge pier, I was sitting under the old 
walnut, where we sat so many years ago when I tempted 
you to commit both murder and suicide, and you would 

It was almost dusk when Carl assisted Dora from the 
boat and accompanied her home; they seemed to each 
other like old-time friends. Each had a long experi- 
ence to relate, that the other was anxious to hear. Carl 
remained several days, and in the evening of each day, 
the little boat made its rounds to Tweed's Point and re- 
turned. As they reached the landing place on the last 
evening of his stay, Carl let the oars rest and, looking 


full at Dora, said: "Dora, you remember Carl McKenzie, 
when a boy, asked ) T OU to divide your roses with him 
Carl McKenzie, as a man, asks you to divide your life 
with him." 

"And Carl McKenzie must remember," said Dora, 
"how nearly fatal to both was that division; Dora, as a 
child, tempted Carl, the boy; but, as a woman, Dora 
would not tempt the man." 


"I do not understand you, " said Carl. "Every word and 
act of yours since I came here has tempted my request." 

"Dear Carl, you are hasty," said Dora. "First, I have 
not refused you." 

"Then you'll be mine?" broke in Carl. 

"Wait, Carl," said Dora, "wait till I explain, since 
you do not understand me. As a child, I tempted 
you to row with me, because I admired your uniform, 
and because you were Captain, and I wanted people 
to see me; I divided my roses with you, because 
you satisfied my vanity; the motive that should 
lead me to consent to sail with you over the ocean of 
life should be born of the purest love; my heart may 
possess it; I do not know, I can not tell yet; but, dear 
Carl, I do think the roses are budding, and the sunshine 
of the past few days has developed them greatly. Now, 
can't you wait till they are full-blown roses? And 
should they, from after cause, blight and drop before 
they are full of the sweetest nectar, I know you will not 
censure Dora will yt>u, Carl?" 

Carl sat silent and thoughtful a while, and then repeated 
this stanza: 


" Over our hearts and into our lives 

Shadows sometimes fall; 
But the sunshine is never wholly dead, 
And Heaven is shadowless overhead, 
And God is over all." 

Carl landed the boat, assisted Dora to the shore, ac- 
companied her home, and promised to call in the morn- 
ing before he took the train. He went slowly and 
thoughtfully to his room at the hotel. 

At ten o'clock the landlord rapped at Carl's door and 
handed him a telegram. It read as follows: 

"DEAR SON:- Come home at once. 


Carl said: "How long till the first train west?" 

"Just thirty minutes," was the reply. 

Carl knew it was too late then to call and see Dora; 
he sat down and hastily wrote: 


"Mv DEAREST DORA: A telegram this moment calls me 
home; I cannot tell why, as it simply says, 'come at once,' 
and is from my father; I fear the worst; I know that in 
whatever sorrow the near future may have in store for 
me, I shall have the comfort of your sympathy. Oh Dora, 
can you not be mine, mine for life? Believe me, I can, 
I will, row our boat clear of the fall. Will you not reply 
to this and tell me I may try? 

"Your own CARL." 

Carl sealed this note and took it to the office, which he 
found closed; he struck a match and by the light which 
it afforded found the slot in the weather-boarding. In 
his haste the letter seemed to stick, and would not drop 
into the box; the match in his hand went out, but Carl 


pushed the letter on, and when he lighted another match 
he saw that it had disappeared. 

On arriving at home, Carl found no one sick or dead, 
but an uncle of his from Iowa, who was passing through 
and could only stop for the night and the next day, and 
the father knew Carl wanted to see him* 

Carl listened with the most intense interest to his 
uncle's vivid descriptions of the glowing west, and secret- 
ly made up his mind at least to visit that country. He 
could go there and make a home for himself and Dora. 

He did not doubt what her reply to the letter would 
be. He knew he loved her and believed she loved him. 
Day after day passed and still no letter came. He could 
not understand it. He thought of writing again, but then 
he thought, what use? She had, no doubt, the one already 
written, and, if she could treat that GO coldly, she would 
treat a less impassioned one more so. 

He would g> west anyway. But, after his trunk was 
packed, he was induced to give it up by the tears of his 
parents. However, the spring of '74 found Carl on his 
way to the town of D, in Iowa, to take charge of the 
schools in that thriving little town. Carl visited for a 
few days with his uncle and had his first experience in 
shooting prairie chickens on the wing, a sport of which 
he became exceedingly fond. When he visited the town 
of D, where he was destined to remain for twelve years, 
he met the board, signed his contract, and arranged for 
a course of study, a thing this school had never had. 

He then, in company with the president of the board, 
went to visit the school-building. It made an imposing 
appearance on the outside, and Carl was much pleased. 


But when they entered it, and he saw the falling plaster, 
the worn-out blackboards, the broken windows, the pen- 
cil marks, the vulgar caricatures, the dirty floors, the 
entire lack of apparatus of any kind whatever, (not a 
globe, map, chart, or even eraser could be seen not a 
clock, or a picture on the walls) when Carl saw all this, 
he well knew that no man could teach a successful 
school inside such uninviting walls. He turned to the 
president of the board, and said: "Sir, do you expect 
me to teach school in such a place as this? If you do, 
please accept my resignation at once." Before they sep- 
arated the president had promised Carl to have the 
house put in order. At the next meeting of the board 
the contract for repairs was let; Carl's course of stud} 7 
presented, accepted, and ordered printed. At this meet- 
ing the president stated to Carl that the board had em- 
ployed him to have charge of the school ; that so far as 
consistent they would comply with all his reasonable re- 
quests; that in the matter of government they would 
stand by him ; but when he found it was necessary to 
call them together to settle difficulties, they would be 
glad to receive his resignation. 

Carl thanked the president for this frank statement; 
said when he found he could not govern the school he 
would resign; and hoped they would turn a deaf ear to 
any gossip they might hear concerning the school, and 
asked them to come to him with any reports against him 
or his school-work. He assured them his government 
would be mild, but firm. He asked them to not expect 
results too soon, as it took time to lay a broad founda- 
tion, and he realized that in his work here he must nee- 


essarily begin at the bottom. He stated further to them 
that he had come there to stay; that he felt sure efficient 
work would be appreciated here as well as in any other 
place; and that he realized that one of the most fatal mis- 
takes both to the schools and teachers, was the frequent 
change of teachers. Therefore, whether he should re- 
main long or not, he came with the full expectation of 
remaining. He stated further that his work would al- 
ways be open to their inspection, or to the inspection of 
any patron of the school, and that he should always 
court the fullest investigation of his work, both as 
to instruction and discipline; that he would have nothing 
to keep from their scrutiny or that of patrons. Finally, 
he said: "Gentlemen, I hope you will take pains to in- 
troduce me to the parents, whenever an opportunity 
occurs, for I wish to know every one who has an inter- 
est in the school. " 

Among the many to whom Carl was introduced, there 
was one, a young physician, fresh from college, by the 
name of Corwin. Between Carl and Dr. Corwin there 
grew up the most intimate friendship. The Doctor fre- 
quently took Carl with him on his rides to the country, 
and these trips were most restful and delightful to Carl 
after his close application and confinement in the school- 
room. Carl always felt grateful to the Doctor for his 
thoughtful kindness; and, on the other hand, it was a 
pleasure to the Doctor to have with him one so cheer- 
ful and talkative and hopeful; for the early experience 
of a young physician, just starting in life, is not always 
conducive to hopeful and pleasant thought. 

Carl was not only a member of the church, but was a 


regular attendant at all Its services, and it was not long 
until the Doctor was likewise a member and an attend- 
ant. Carl, however, never claimed to have influenced 
the Doctor in this direction. 

Upon the opening of the school, in September, the 
interior of the building presented a striking contrast to 
the scene that met Carl's view on his first visit. The 
walls had been calcimined, the boards repainted, the 
wood- work grained, the floors and windows cleaned; a 
clock had been placed in every room. Every room 
possessed a new pail and cup, thermometer, erasers, 
pointers, and a vase for flowers. 

The out-buildings had been carefully looked after, and 
the yard had been mowed and raked. Carl had arranged 
to board with Ezra and Mary Brown. They were 
a quiet, unassuming couple, about fifty years of age, 
and resided in a quiet and shady part of town. Mary 
was one of the best of housewives, and Ezra had a pas- 
sion for good novels and fine horses. 

On Wednesday before school opened, Carl met all his 

teachers in the high-school room, for a talk about their 

work; and, should these pages fall into the hands of 

some one about to enter the graded school, let such an 

.one read slowly. 

When a friendly hand of greeting had been given to 
each one, Carl said: "Ladies, I wish to briefly outline the 
scope of work we have before us. Some of the things 1 
may mention may at first seem trivial and unimportant, 
but years of close observation have taught me their value. 
First of all: Your rooms have been put in good order for 
your reception; see to it that they are kept so. Let the 


vase on your desk never lack for flowers. In each of 
your rooms you will find a thermometer; look at its face 
many rimes each day. Your ventilation registers will 
need your careful attention. Study closely the light and 
shade of your window-blinds. Your rooms have been 
supplied with waste-baskets; allow no waste paper to 
find its way into the coal-box or to be left on the floor. 
Order, neatness, cleanliness, and a pure atmosphere will 
always be characteristic of the successful teacher, and 
the lack of these or any of these will characterize the 
unsuccessful teacher. Should the janitor at any time neg- 
lect any of his duties or become insolent in his' manner, 
you will report the same to me at once. Next, as to in- 
struction: A printed copy of the course of study you al- 
ready have in your possession; keep a copy always in 
your desk, for ready reference, and also a copy at your 
home. I have carefully prepared a more specific outline 
for this term's work for each of you, and I wish you to 
carefully carry it out. You will also find, attached to 
this outline work, a copy of your daily programme; keep 
it always exhibited in your rooms. I have had special 
boards painted in your rooms for this purpose. Our 
course of study is not to be a dead letter it is to be 
spirit and life. We will not be vacillating one month 
all excitement on this hobby, and next month something 
else and thus ever changing, like the skin of the cha- 
meleon. Such a plan could bring only disaster. 

"Each room will commit to memory a poem each term, 
and recite it aloud in my presence. Sparta conquered 
when her sons had learned the poems of Tyrtaeus. 

"Third, as to government: We must first govern our- 


selves. By this I mean, let no teacher, under any circum- 
stances whatever, allow herself to say aught against any 
other teacher in the building. Should you do so, your 
resignation will at once be requested. Our trials are 
mutual we must be united. The same will hold good in 
regard to your pupils; do not say evil of the most refrac- 
tory; punish when necessary, but do not speak evil against 
the pupil. Believe me, every boy and every girl has a 
good side somewhere search till you find it. 

"As to corporal punishment: I insist that but one kind 
shall be administered, viz: a good switching, with the 
natural branch. Pinching, slapping, tying handkerchiefs 
over mouths, putting pepper on the tongue, and all such 
practices are heathenish, and will not be permitted. 
Many of our pupils will come from vicious homes; let us 
make their school environment conducive to the devel- 
opment of their better natures; if they do not get it 
here, they will not get it anywhere. Our regular teach- 
er's meeting will occur each Monday evening, and, at our 
first meeting next Monday evening, we will decide upon 
a text book in Mental Science, and we will form a class 


in that delightful study. The school on Monday even- 
ings will be dismfssed at 3.45 o'clock, and thirty minutes 
will be devoted to teacher's meeting proper, and thirty 
minutes to Mental Science. 

"In conlusion, I wish to say, ladies, your first and great- 
est duty is to interest the child in himself. Begin to do 
this the first day, and keep on doing it every day in the 
year. Lead him day after day to see more clearly that 
the life he builds here, he must take with him into eter- 
nity that he can never put away from self. Let us re- 


alize as teachers, that the child we mold and fashion 
awakens into this life like Adam in the garden of Eden, 
and finds himself in a paradise, higher than the bloom 
and fruitage, higher than the streams and embalming 
shades can create. He finds the earth a vast and per- 
fect apparatus of means adapted to ends. And God 
created it all for him. Every tint, and every harmony, and 
every impulse nature gives, is for the development of 
the children we teach." 

There lived, in the town of D, a man by the name of 
Barney Strong. He is introduced to these pages because 
year after year he met Carl, on his way to school, and 
always had a passing greeting. He was an old North 
Carolinian, tall and bony, with shaggy beard and long 
hair silvered with age. His pants of blue jeans, his 
"wammus", and broad-brimmed white hat, were as famil- 
iar as his face. He was known for miles around as the 
"weather prophet." When he was first introduced to 
Carl, he looked him over and said: "Wall, you're a likely 
lookin' chap. Take keer, boys, that ere Eph of mine's a 
smart 'n. He never causes the teacher any trouble. I 
say, take keer now, boys, he's a writer I I see, but he 
writes with the best of them. So school begins a Mon- 
day? wall, you'll have a nice day moon don't full till 

There are no scenes that linger longer in our memories, 
or sink deeper into our hearts, than those of September 
morns, when old Nature is rallied in the fruitage of the 
opening autumn. The air is cool and freighted with 
the pollen of the corn and golden-rod. The sound of 
the school-bell, the bustle and hurry of the home, the 


filling of the dinner-pails, the gathering up of the books, 
laid aside since spring vacation, the joyous voices of the 
merry children, upon every road and street, buoyant with 
life and vigor, all conspire to develop the best and pur- 
est elements in our natures. The teacher stands in the 
school-house door, with pleasant face and outstretched 
hand, greeting all alike, rich or poor, white or black. 
What a blessing that warm grasp and that bright smile 
to many a pinched, dwarfed life, that has known only 
kicks and cuffs at home, and cursings on the street. 
May there not be here an opportunity for Galilean mir- 
acles eyes to be opened, ears to be unstopped, dead pos- 
sibilities to be resurrected? Such were .Carl's thoughts 
as he stood in the open doorway at the beginning of the 
first day's labor in the Hawkeye State. When evening 
came, Carl felt well satisfied with his first day's work. 
He had learned the names of the pupils; formed a kind 
of classification, subject to changes; and made friends 
with most of his pupils. He had convinced them of one 
thing, that the fault should be theirs if there was not 
cheerful, pleasant work for them all in the future. 

Carl made careful preparation for what he called his 
"morning talks on general history." These talks occupied 
twenty minutes after the opening exercises every morn- 
ing. With a map, in full view of the school and pointer 
in hand, Carl led his pupils on, day after day, through 
the history of the centuries. At the same time an outline 
of the subject was made on the board, and copied by 
the pupils. The degree of interest awakened was won- 
derful; soon the pupils were asking for books of refer- 
ence. Carl immediately arranged for a school entertain- 


ment. He offered a prize of a silk flag to the room sell- 
ing the most tickets. As a result every seat in the town- 
hall was taken. The entertainment was first-class, as 
was every one that followed. Thus the people became 
anxious for their school entertainments. Not a cent of 
the money was wasted; a large library was soon gath- 
ered; pictures were put upon the walls, apparatus of 
every kind was secured for every grade. Go, teacher, do 
thou likewise! thou canst. 

The books were read, at home and at school, by the 
pupils. The desire to read the best books became con- 
tagious, and the older people organized a Historical So- 
ciety, and afterward a C. L. S. C., of which Carl him- 
self was an active member, and became a graduate. 
There was no trouble in governing such a school the 
school governed itself! 

I do not mean to say there were no misdeeds and no 
punishments; but such occurrences were rare, and every 
wrong committed was promptly met and punished. 

Every day Carl met his old friend, Barney, and learn- 
ed of the weather. 

When the first snow came, Carl said: "Barney, what do 
you think of this snow will it last long?" 

"Wall, ef it fell in the dark of the moon it may last 
some time; I've allers noticed that ef you throw a board 
out on the dark of the moon, it'll go down, and ef you 
throw it down in the light of the moon it'll turn 

"I suppose, Barney," said Carl, "every man ought to 
tell the truth?" 

"Thar's no man/ 1 said Barney, "but w-w -what' 11 vary a 


leetle; I-I-I'll bet all I'm wurth that any of our preach- 
ers'll vary a leetle. I-I-I've tried 'em." 

"But a man may not choose to tell everything, Bar- 
ney," said Carl. 

"T-t-take keer there now, boys, the Good Book tells 
us to be prompt in all things." 

"That's right, Barney, I do not believe you would 

"T-t-take keer there now, boys! No, if-if-if a man 
asks me anything, I'll tell him the truth, every whack." 

Year after year, the school at D grew and prospered; 
year after year, the same teachers were employed at in- 
creased salaries; year after year, pupils from other dis- 
tricts flocked in, until the school-board was compelled 
to build additional school room. The outside attendance 
added wealth to the town, vivacity to the school, and 
pleasure to the social circle. 

Carl labored on with a double purpose in view, viz., 
the good of mankind, and a home some day, somewhere, 
with dared he hope Dora, "some sweet day, some 
sweet day." 



" The tender trouble of her eyes 

Is burning hope deferred: the tears 
In witness of her grief, arise 
From day to day, through all the years." 

Dora Dundore had been born and reared in the sub- 
urbs of the town of R. Her father was a wealthy farmer. 
There is, perhaps, no more fertile spot anywhere in the 
world than the Scioto valley. Mr. Dundore was the pos- 
sessor of four hundred acres of this productive soil, and 
his possession touched the corporation line of R. 

He was one of the few farmers that could oversee a 
farm successfully without doing its drudgery. 

His wife was a literary lady of fine culture, and was 
always foremost in every enterprise of philanthropy. 
Her parents were both "Quakers," and in the home circle 
the whole family used the plain language of the 

Dora had two brothers and one sister, all younger than 
herself. Her sister, who was the youngest, was at once 
the pet and plaything of the whole family. 

When Carl first met Dora, her dark expressive eyes 
and her sprightly imperious manner were her chief at- 
tractions. The slight willfulness, which was displayed 



when a child, gave energy and self reliance to her char- 
acter as she appproached womanhood. Both pride and 
ambition, as well as a sense of duty, impelled her to do 


well whatever she undertook to do. Nature had given 
her more than average mental ability, and no pains were 
spared by the loving parents in the development of her 
intellectual faculties. During her school -life, Dora 
learned the most valuable lesson that any student can 
learn, and that lesson was, to study from love for study. 
She did not however allow her school -work to cause her 
to neglect physical exercise. She enjoyed riding horse- 
back and frequently made half-day excursions to the 
country, with her father or brothers for company. There 
was no form of outdoor exercise that gave her so much 
pleasure, as a quiet row on the river. Almost any pleas- 
ant day she might be seen sending her boat swiftly up 
the stream. Sometimes she would land under some 
shady tree and read or dream an hour or two; but more 
often she would row until tired, and then, turning 
the boat toward home, would slowly float with the cur- 

But Dora Dundore did not live the life of a dreamer. 
She could not; the life blood that coursed with such 
strength and vigor through her veins, imparted too 
much vitality, too much energy, to permit an idle life. 
Trained to habits of industry by a careful, Christian 
mother, Dora found, as every oldest daughter may find, 
that many of her mother's cares and duties were passing 
into her hands, and, being an unselfish, loving, conscien- 
tious girl, their discharge was a pleasure rather than a 
burden to her. The influence of a Christian home, and 


daily reading of God's word had early, led Dora to 
see the need of spiritual development, and so carefully 
was she taught and trained, that her religious life had 
grown as her mind grew. She took delight in the reading 
of her Bible, in secret prayer, and in the public wor- 
ship, because it satisfied the demands of this faculty 
that an allwise Father had given her to develop. 

These she felt to be just as enjoyable as the row on 
the river, or the studies of some new subject. Nor is it 
strange, that she should enjoy them. She had devel- 
oped the capacity for their enjoyment. Her parents fully 
appreciated the truth, that we can enjoy doing only 
those things which we have strength to do; and so, little 
by little, all her life, they cared for the spiritual nature 
of their child, and taught her to do those things that 
would add to her spiritual strength. She enjoyed the 
row on the river, because she was physically strong; she 
enjoyed the mastery of new subjects, because she had 
mental power, and she found delight in the performance 
of religious duties, because the development of the 
highest and best part of her nature had not been neglected. 
Dora was not perfect; she was simply a healthy, happy, 
conscientious, Christian girl, who loved home and pa- 
rents, laughed and sang with her brothers and baby sis- 
ter, and did each day the duties nearest to her hand, 
and trusted her heavenly Father for the. morrow. 

After her adventure on the water with Carl, when the 
gratification of her childish vanity came nearly not only 
costing her her own life but that of another, for a long 
time she was more serious and thoughtful than ever be- 
fore in her life. No thoughtful mind can realize that 


they have been so near eternity, and not be sobered by 
the thought. 

All through her childhood days she loved to wander 
down the street to the old mill, and although, for years, 
she would involuntarily catch her breath at sight of the 
dam, and a feeling of fear would thrill her whole being 
at sound of the waters falling over into the current 
below, she could not find it in her heart to wish that 
the circumstance had not occurred. 

The time of roses never came but she remembered 
that she had once shared them with the playfellow who 
saved her life. 

As years passed, Dora formed the habit of comparing 
Carl with the boys who were her playfellows. Knowing 
so little of him and admiring him for that one act of 
bravery, she did just what every girl and woman in this 
world does at one time in her life forms an ideal char- 
acter and invests a poor, imperfect piece of humanity with 
its characteristics. Happy the man who has manhood 
enough to try to live somewhere near the ideal created 
for him by the woman who loves him; and happy the 
woman whose blindness continues through life, and who 
never realizes that her idol is clay common clay. 

When Dora met Carl at the spelling-school, he in no 
way disappointed her. She was too honest to disguise 
the pleasure that meeting of him gave her, and too young 
to ask herself why every incident connected with that 
meeting was recalled over and over again with so much 

No school exhibition, church or Sabbath-school socia- 
ble was quite complete without Dora. She was a favor- 


ite not only with her young companions, but with older 
people as well. She had a clear, sweet voice and, whether 
heard in recitation or song, it never failed to please 
those who listened. 

I insert a little poem composed by her at the age of 
twelve years, and declaimed at the school exhibition: 


11 Who may with the farmer vie? 
See his fields of wheat and rye: 
Harvest yields a rich supply 
To the farming man. 

When the autumn winds appear, 
See his corn with golden ear; 
Welcome seasons of the year 
To the farming man. 

See the orchard's fruitful trees; 
Apples lie among the leaves, 
Peaches better still than these 
For the farming man. 

And to make the sweetest wine 
Plucks the grapes from off the vine; 
Everything is done in time 
By the farming man. 

Horses fine may farmers keep, 
Cows and hogs, and fleecy sheep; 
Everything is here complete 
With the farming man. 

He has buckwheat, oats, and hay; 
Fowls of many kinds alway; 
Plenty crowns the autumn day 
For the farming man. 

Blest are they who own a farm, 
For the country has a charm 
Pleasing to the heart that's warm- 
Like the farming man." 

While not an artist, Dora dearly loved to use her pen- 
cil; and many an overhanging tree or rugged bluff along 


the bank of her favorite river, had been reproduced by 
her on canvas. But, among all her pictures, there was 
not one in which she had put so much of patient work 
and tender memories, as the picture of the old mill-dam. 
When Dora learned of Carl's intended visit to R, her 
heart told her at once that he was coming to see her; 
she then believed what she had long hoped, that she 
still lived in his affections. She was now in her early 
womanhood. She had known nothing of Carl during all 
the years since the spelling-school. She could only re- 
member the boy. She knew she had admired the boy; 
but would she love the man? Would he be educated and 
refined? He would mark the changes in her as well 
would they please him? 

Her affections had been sought by other young men, 
but their proffered love was not reciprocated, although 
at one time she had tried to persuade herself to care for 

one who seemed in every way a most estimable young 

She tried to think calmly of Carl's intended visit and 
to prepare herself for it. Possibly, he would make only 
a formal visit. Possibly he had not remembered her with 
the same warmth of feeling that she had rernembered 
him perhaps, after all, it would really be a business trip, 
and he would return without even visiting her. 

On the other hand, should he offer his love and 
in spite of her effort, her face would flush when the 
thought came could she reciprocate it? Was he not, 
after all, a stranger to her? Certainly she could not trust 
her future to the keeping of one who was so nearly a 


Should she receive him in a cold, formal manner until 
she knew more of his feelings and purposes? 

When all these thoughts had passed through her mind 
a thousand times and more, she decided that, if he was 
aiming to see her, the first place he wpuld visit would 
be the old mill-dam. She would meet him there; she 
would take this as an index of his feelings toward her, 
and she would meet him kindly and, if he offered her his 
protection and his love, she would not refuse them. 
Carl had always been a factor, uninvited, yet ever mys- 
teriously present, in all her schemes of future life. When 
he came and she met him at the boat, she did not feel satis- 
fied that she knew her own heart as she had thought she 
would. And long after Carl had gone to his own rooms, 
she sat by her window not dreaming, but with every fac- 
ulty alert, reviewing the hours of the afternoon and even- 
ing and trying to plan her future, for she knew, now, 
that sooner or later, there would come to her a question 
which she must answer. And from her inmost heart she 
wanted to be able to decide for the good, as well as the 
present happiness, of both herself and Carl. 

She did not, she could not, decide it now; and, kneel- 
ing, she prayed earnestly for wisdom and guidance in 
this one of the most important events of her life. 

Day after day, during Carl's visit, Dora learned to re- 
alize the depths of her affection for him. And she had 
almost determined when the supreme moment came, 
when he should ask her companionship for life, that she 
would give the answer her heart prompted, and Carl so 
much desired. But when it came she was not ready, she 
would be sure of herself, would know more of Carl be- 


fore she would bind herself by any definite promise. Carl 
had seemed so sure of a favorable reply, perhaps, she 
had unconsciously encouraged him to believe that she 
was to be had for the asking. His slightly confident 
manner touched^ her pride, and she determined to 
not give him just the answer he most desired. Dora, 
however, was not a little disappointed, when Carl 
bade her a kind, almost a tender, good night, but did not 
once allude to the thought that each knew to be upper- 
most in the mind of the other. Before they reached 
home she would have given all the world, had she an- 
swered him as her heart dictated. Had Carl really 
called that night at ten o'clock, he would have found 
Dora still awake, and his dark forebodings would have 
been lightened, and his heart cheered and comforted by 
what her eyes, if not her lips, would have told him. 

Her first awakening thought, the next morning, was 
that Carl would call early to bid her good-bye. Would 
he renew his request could she reasonably hope that he 

She gathered the choicest flowers and arranged two 
tiny bouquets, in each of which she put a rose, a pansy, 
and a dainty sprig of heliotrope; drawing a single strand 
of hair from her glossy braids, she bound them together 
in such a way that they would separate easily. When Carl 
came, he should have one, and she would keep the other 
she knew that he would understand. Much has been 
said of maidenly loveliness; pen and brush, in the hand 
of poet and painter, have vied with each other to pro- 
duce a picture, that may impress the heart through the 
eye or ear, as does the vision of budding woman-hood. 


But father, mother, and lover know that no poet's dream 
or painter's canvas ever rivaled for one moment, in sweet- 
ness or beauty, the dainty, girlish creature, who is all 
the world to them. Such was the thought of Mr. and 
Mrs. Dundore, as Dora, in a pale pink morning gown, 
passed lightly from room to room, with a smiJe on her 
lips and light in her eye. She was happy, and that 
happiness beamed from every feature of her expressive 
countenance. Nothing of this escaped the mother's no- 
tice, and her smile was not all joy, as she heard the 
sweet, full tones of her daughter's voice, singing an old 
love song which she learned to please her father. 

But the moments flew by, and no Carl came. She 
heard the whistle of the train; it was now too late to 
expect him, and with anxious face and heavy heart she 
went about her daily duties. As the day wore away, she 
felt that she must be alone; she could not longer appear 
indifferent. The weather was delightful, she would go 
to the river. She walked slowly down to where the boat 
was moored, she unlocked it, stepped in, and pushed out 
from the shore. As she took up the oars, the events of 
the past few days, and especially the conversation of the 
day before, came vividly before her. Her eyes filled 
with tears and, as she slowly pulled up the stream, she 
wondered if it were possible that he had misconstrued 
her answer into a positive refusal. She felt that this 
was hardly possible she had but asked him to wait and 
waiting, he might hope. The thought that Carl had been 
base enough to win her affections to gratify his vanity, 
and really cared nothing for her, was one unworthy of 
herself and dishonorable to a friend. Her woman's heart 


was wrought upon by fears, of she knew not what. Sud- 
denly the thought came that he might be sick in his 
room at the hotel. Reproaching herself for her thought- 
lessness, she would go at once and inquire. She turned 
her boat toward home, but before she reached the shore 
her heart failed her. Why should a young lady be in- 
quiring at a hotel for a young gentleman? What expla- 
nation could she offer to the landlord? Heart-sick and 
sad she returned to her home, and, without seeing any of 
the family, went at once to her own room. She removed 
her hat and, tossing to one side her roses, threw herself 
upon the couch and wept long and bitterly. 

When the supper hour came, her place was vacant. 
She did not respond to her mother's call. Somewhat 
alarmed, the mother ascended to Dora's room and found 
her still weeping. 

A few broken words and her daughter's tears told the 
loving mother more plainly than the clearest explana- 
tion could have done, the cause of the sudden change 
that had come over the happy girl of the morning. With 
loving words and tender caresses the mother bathed the 
aching head, and cheered the heavy heart of her child. 
As Dora grew calmer she laid her head upon her moth- 
er's knee and told her all that there was to tell, both of 
childish dreams and girlish love. 

Then she told her mother of the question asked the 
day before, and the answer she had given. The moth- 
er's breath came quickly but she said quietly, as she 
passed her hand lovingly over the waving brown hair, 
which shadowed the pure white forehead: 'You did 
quite right, my dear, in not deciding quickly; and 


whether this experience brings thee all joy, or subjects 
thee to trial, thou hast a loving Father's care, and 
'all things work together for good to those who love 
Him.' Dora soon became quiet and the mother left 

It was decided that her father should go to the hotel 
and ascertain if Carl was still there; if not, at what time 
he left. Upon making inquiry he was informed that Mr. 
McKenzie had received a telegram the previous even- 
ing, the contents of which the landlord did not know 
that he seemed much excited asked the time of the 
first train, paid his bill, hurriedly wrote a letter, asked 
for an envelope and stamp, took it to the post-office and 
went immediately to the train. Mr. Dundore turned 
his steps towards the post-office expecting to find the 
letter for Dora, that would make the necessary explana- 
tion. So he walked leisurely down that way, talking 
with one and another he met on the street. As he came 
within a block of the office, he met Deacon Smith who 
lives just across the river and was known far and wide 
for his acts of charity, and staunch nobility of char- 
acter. Dundore and Smith had known each other from 
boyhood ; they were members of the same church and 
used the plain language; both were staunch Republicans. 
After chatting a few minutes about the crop prospect, 
Smith said: ' Neighbor Dundore, I would like to have a 
little private talk with you, and, as soon as I mail this 
letter, I will return." 

"I will go with you, neighbor," said Dundore, "as I 
have not been this morning." 

The two stalwart farmers walked together down the 


street to the post-office. Deacon Smith mailed his let- 
ter, and Mr. Dundore asked for his mail. 

"Nothing for you, Mr. Dundore," said the postmaster. 

"Have any of the family got the mail to-day?" said 
Mr. Dundore. 

"No, there has none come for you." 

"May I ask if thou wilt be so kind as to look into 
the box, receiving the mail from the outside slot?" said 
Mr. Dundore. 

"It is not necessary, as I have already looked in there 
once to-day," said Mr. Dewey, dryly. 

Dundore and Smith walked out of the office, and when, 
a few minutes after, they were seated on two boxes, in 
the back-room of Arment's store, Smith began : "Neighbor, 
Dundore, thee and me have known each other for a great 
many years, and I have always found thee a faithful 
friend one in whom I could confide my secret thoughts." 

"And I can say the same of thee, neighbor Smith," 
said Dundore. 

"Now," continued Smith, "what I am about to say 
concerns the man we have just left, Michael Dewey, 
our postmaster. Some time ago I mailed a letter to 
widow Smolton, whom you know is needy, and as the 
Bible says 'Let not thy right hand know what thy left 
hand doeth,' I put the letter through the slot on the 
outside. I asked the widow to acknowledge the receipt 
of this letter, which she never has done. But this is not 
all, neighbor Dundore others have been losing letters 
and money in the same way. The good Lord knows I 
do not wish to judge anyone wrongfully. Mr. Dewey has 
always seemed like a straight-forward man; he pays his 


debts; he is temperate and frugal. I signed the petition 
to Abraham Lincoln, asking for his appointment. I have 
not mentioned my suspicions to anyone but thyself, and 
I have come to thee for advice and counsel." 

"What you say indeed seems strange, neighbor Smith. 
Michael Dewey has always seemed to me like an up 
right man, and we have not a better Republican among 
us than he. Suppose we let the matter rest for awhile, 
and await further developments. We have no positive 
proof at present, and I am a firm believer in the state- 
ment 'murder will out.' 

Deacon Smith concurred with Mr. Dundore, and so 
their conversation ended. 

Mr. Dundore thought seriously of the matter as he 
walked homeward. Arriving at home he related to Dora 
and her mother all that he had learned of the telegram, 
and the sudden departure of Carl McKenzie. 

For a long time Dora looked daily for a letter from 
Carl, but as the time lengthened into weeks, and then 
into months, she no longer expected it. She heard, 
through the friends who had written of his intended visit 
to R, that he had gone to Iowa; and then, except as he 
lived in her memory, he had dropped entirely out of 
her life. 

While attending the Friends' College at Richmond, 
Indiana, Dora made many warm friends; among them 
was one to whom she was especially attached. This 
friend was the daughter of missionaries who had spent 
the best part of their lives in trying to Christianize the 
Indians of Montana. Mary Martin had lived among these 
people until she was twelve years of age, and loved her 


home and the work of her parents \vith a feeling that 
was almost devotion. About the time that Carl came to 
R, Mary had written Dora to come to the mountains, 
and spend the summer. It was talked over in family 
council, and decided that Dora could not be spared, but 
a pressing invitation had just been sent to Mr. and Mrs. 
Martin to allow Mary to come to Ohio and spend a few 
weeks, at least, with her school-mate. Mary came and 
won all their hearts with her pure, sweet face, and gentle, 
loving ways. The visit of weeks grew into months, and 
snow was on the ground when Mary Martin started for 
her western home. Besides the loving remembrances 
and kind wishes that Mary took with her, she carried 
the heart of a tall dark-eyed cousin of Dora's. The next 
spring, investments were made in some mines not far 
from the reservation, and a new home was made in the 
delightful little valley where Mary had always lived. 

Dora was losing sprightliness and vigor. She was 
not sick, but the daily round of simple duties was be- 
coming wearisome to her; she longed for a broader field 
and harder work. 

Two years had now passed since that memorable even- 
ing in the boat, and she had heard not a word from 
Carl, nor did she know anything of his whereabouts- 
only that he had gone to Iowa. Mary, in her far-awpy 
home, had written repeatedly for her to come to them 
and enjoy the benefit of the mountain air. The feeling 
of dissatisfaction with her life grew stronger and stronger ; 
she knew that she had powers for usefulness that were 
unemployed, and, after consultation with father and 
mother, she wrote, offering herself as a helper to Mr. 


and Mrs. Martin, in their work among the Piegan In- 

The offer was gladly accepted and all the preliminaries 
being settled, Dora began her preparations for her jour- 
ney. These were few and simple, and soon completed. 

Many were the loving admonitions and bits of advice, 
given by father and mother, in the quiet evening talks 
with this dear daughter who was so soon to try her 
wings outside the home-nest. Never had home seemed 
so dear, or home-companionship so sweet, as in those 
last few days. And had Dora not felt that she must 
have employment to occupy both hand and brain, and 
have no time for thought of self, she would even now 
have given up the work which she had undertaken. But 
there was too much persistence in her nature, and the 
sense of duty which urged her forward was too strong, 
to permit her to waver. 

On the morning previous to Dora's departure, the town 
of R was thrown into a fever of excitement. Deacon 
Smith's suspicions grew in his mind to certainties. 
People no longer whispered their suspicions, but talked 
them broadly in the street. The feeling became so 
strong this time that there was a petition, with many 
hundred signers, asking for Mr. Dewey's removal. The 
Post-office Department at Washington had frequently 
been notified of the missing letters, and, at this very 
time, had one of Pinkerton's detectives in the town, at 
work, although he was not known to the citizens. For 
a long time the detective was completely baffled. He 
found that whenever he mailed a letter in the office, 
it always reached its destination; but twice out of five 


times, when mailed through the outside slot, the letters 

were lost. 

Taking with him the officials of the town, he called 
at the post-office, put Mr. Dewey under arrest, and pro- 
ceeded to go through the contents of the office. Here he 
found everything all right. He then examined the let- 
tei-box. He handed a gentleman half a dozen letters 
and sent him on the outside to slip them in; when the 
lid was raised but four could be found. It was the work 
of a moment to tear off the box. All was plain: the lit- 
tle slot between the plastering and weather-boarding 
had slipped from its place, and, unless care was taken, 
the letters would fall down inside the plastering, instead 
of into the box on the inside. In a few moments, the 
lath and plaster were removed, and there were found 
more than one hundred letters which had failed to reach 
their destination. Among the many was one containing 
five dollars, addressed to Widow Smolton, and one which 
Carl McKenzie had written to Dora Dundore. 



Needful instruction; not alone in arts, 
Which to his humble duties appertain, 
But in the love of right and wrong, the rule 
Of human kindness, in the peaceful ways 
Of honesty and holiness severe. 

This is a glorious morning never felt better in all my 
life. I hope for a good day's work. Not a cloud in the 
sky outside. Mary's coffee, steak, and waffles, all seemed 
to taste extra nice this morning. Someone is knocking 

"Good morning, Mr. McKenzie." 

"Good morning, Mr. Gillam." 

"I don't want to bother you in your work or find any 
fault with the school, but them Thornton boys keeps 
cloddin' my Freddie, on the way home from school. I 
know Freddie is a good little boy, and always wants to 
do what is right; and I never knew him to tell a lie in 
all his life. I don't allow him to fight, and we always 
tell him he must mind his teacher. I thought I would 
just tell you about it. It must be stopped or I' 11 have to 
take Freddie out of school; I can't have him crippled." 

"Very well, Mr. Gillam, I shall look into the matter. 
Will be glad to have you visit the school, Mr. Gillam." 
It is eight o'clock passing down the street I meet my 

old friend. 



"Good morning, Barney. This is a glorious morning; 
How about the weather to-morrow, Barney?" 

"T-t-take keer now, boys. It'll be playin' another 
tune now, mighty quick I-I-Itell you old Barney hain't 
watched them ere stars all his life, for nothin'. It'U 
snow before ten o'clock to-night. T-t-take keer now 
boys. Thirty-eight years ago to-morrow morning, and 
old Barney would be a goin' out with his gun after a 
buck, and I'd git him, too." 

' Barney, how did you like Johnson's sermon yesterday?" 

"Johnson is a mighty smart man. H-h-he is a calm 
man and can keep this thoughts together. That's what 
it takes to make a smart man." 

"What do you think of the legislature, Barney." 

"Both sides is wrong. T-t-t-take keer there, boys; 
they ought to be doin' something else besides dividin' the 
spoils. " 

Here comes ten year-old June. 

"Good morning, Mr. McKenzie; I brought you a bou- 

"O, thank you, June those are very beautiful; shall I 
kiss you for them?" 

"No, indeed, papa would be jealous if you did; and, 
besides, if you kissed me, I'd kiss you; and you see you 
would be still more in my debt than you are now, for 
you know, although flowers are sweet, that kisses are 


I reached my office. 
"Good morning, Mrs. Smith." 

"Good morning, Mr. McKenzie; sorry to take your time, 
but the W. C. T. U. have arranged for a grand mass- 


meeting in the hall, to-night. The mayor and all the 
preachers are to speak, and we want a speech from you, 
also just a ten minutes talk." 

"I never make speeches, Mrs. Smith, and, really, I can- 
not grant your request." 

"But they told me you was for temperance and the 
home. " 

"Well, so I am, but I don't make speeches." 

"Well you'll be there anyway, and I know you'll 
announce it through all the school." 

"Certainly, I'll do that, Mrs. Smith." 

"Well, I'll not take more of your time Good morn- 
ing, Mr. McKenzie. " 

"Good morning." 

"Well, sir, what can I do for you?" 

"I do not wish to trespass upon your time, but I am 
here to represent Jones' Brothers, and am selling the 
'Wonders of the World.' 

"Can't buy you know the laws of this state forbid 
agents to vend their goods in school-buildings." 

"Good morning, sir." 

"Well, Nellie, what can I do for you?" 

"Here's a note teacher sent you." 

"MR. MCKENZIE: I am unable to take charge of my 
room to-day. Will you please send a substitute? 


"All right, Nellie tell her I'll send a substitute." 

"Jimmie, you come next, my fine boy what is it?" 

"Mr. McKenzie, please, teacher wants a box of cray- 

"And here it is, Jimmie." 


"Delia, let me see your note." 

"MR. MCKENZIE: Sir: My children was sent home 
for scarlet fever, and they are out a pensil and a Scratch- 
Book. Yu'll hunt them up and send them this noon. 


"All right, Delia; I'll look them up." 

On my table, two notes: 

No. i. "TEECHER, please let my little Henry Change his 
seet claud Romic sister have just got over scarlet fever 
and He is apt to take it eny time a most and Oblige 

"MRS. E. J. EVANS." 

No. 2. 'MR. PROFESSOR: This thing of children a study- 
in' drawin' i don't see no sence in, and i don't want my 
boy to study it tech him his numbers, readin'and ritin', 
that's enough fur him to lurn. THOMAS SNODGRASS. " 

"I see I still have one occupant in the office beside 
myself may I inquire your name?" 

"Joan Headly," 

"And you wish to enter school?" 

"Yes sir." 

"How far have you been in arithmetic, Joan?" 

"Through Ray's Third Part, three times." 

"Oh, can you tell me the amount of 150 pounds of hay, 
at $4.00 per ton?" 

"How many pounds?" 

"One hundred and fifty." 

"At what price?" 

"Four dollars per ton." 

"Why, we never had anything like that I never heard 
of such a problem." 


"Well, take another one: three-fourths of twelve is 
three-fifths of what number?" 

"I'd have to have a pencil for that." 

"Have you studied grammar?" 

"Oh yes, but I don't know whether it is the same 
kind you have here or not." 

"Will you analyze this sentence for me Washington 
crossed the Delaware in the middle of the night." 

"I can diagram it " 

"But can you not analyze it?" 

"We only diagrammed where I went to school." 

!: Who was your teacher, Miss Headiey?" 

"Miss Jane Simpson." 

"I remember her quite well, she was in the Normal 
last year and she holds a first-class certificate. It is 
now my class-time, Miss Headiey. There is the morn- 
ing paper; entertain yourself until my return." 

Geometry class recited well, yet, I must confess a 
feeling of disappointment because in studying the lesson 
myself, I had Oscar Knell epecially in my mind, and he 
is absent this morning. In my office again, and Miss 
Headiey assigned to seventh grade. Sat down and just 
began to look over mental science lesson for teachers' 
meeting. A loud rap. 

"Good-morning. Mrs. Baker, I believe?" 

"Yes, sir, that's just who it is." 

"Will you be seated, Mrs, Baker?" 

"I haven't time to set down, but I believe I will 
anyhow, for I see I am a little nervous." 

"Climbing the stairs, no doubt. Take this easier 
chair Mrs. B." 


"Well, sir, I just can't stand this any longer that 
teacher in seventh grade a-beating my boy. 1 just hate 
her; she ought never to have had a position in the 
school. " 

"Have you visited the seventh grade, Mrs. Baker?" 

"No, sir, I have not." 

"Possibly if you visited the grade you might find 
things different from what you suppose them to be." 

"I do not wish to visit the room, and besides I am so 
thoroughly provoked with the teacher that I don't wish 
to even speak to her." 

"You say that the teacher has beaten Kee; when did 
this happen?" 

"It happened last Friday." 

"Where did she strike him, Mrs. Baker?" 

"Over the head, sir, and bruised it terribly." 

"I am sorry, indeed, if such is the case. Remain here 
a moment until I see the boy." 

The boy, the teacher, and Mrs. B. all in the office. 

"Kee, did you have any trouble with your teacher on 

"No, sir." 

"None whatever?" 

"No, sir, only she slapped me with a blotter for being 
down between the seats." 

"Kee Baker! what did you tell me?" 

"Well, mother, I guess part of what I told you wasn't 
so; you know I said 'that she struck me,' and then I put 
my hand to my head where the bruise was; and you said, 
"the wretch;' and then I cried, and that's all there was 

f . it 

of it. 


"But how did you hurt your head, Kee?" 

"Well, Mr. McKenzie, I see you know all about it, so 
I guess I'll tell the truth. Jim Snider and me didn't 
want to speak Friday, so we played hook, and I fell off 
the top of a car and banged my head. Jim said I was 
senseless for awhile." 

"Oh, my goodness you, Kee Baker! ' 

"Never mind, Mrs. B; I hope you are satisfied, and 
that you will have a more kindly feeling for the teacher, 
and a closer watch over your son. My class is waiting; 
so, good-day, and call again." 

A fine recitation in Algebra. 

Recess the Ones beat the Twos at football, and I 
am the worse of a bruised shin. 

On my way to dinner met Mr. Owen. He says that 
his children never learned so fast in their lives. Says, 
he will visit the school in a few days. 

Met the president of the board; he smiled and shook 
hands, and said he guessed everything was running 
nicely, as he had heard no complaints. 

In my office, just after dinner Willie sobbing- 
"Well, what is it, Willie?" 

Willie begins to tell. "Sit down, Willie; I think, 
from what you say, you have told your teacher an un- 
truth, When you think it all over please tell me just 
the whole truth about it." At end of first half -hour. 
Willie is uneasy. 

"Well, my boy, what have } 7 ou to say?" 

"I did tell my teacher a lie; and may I go down and 
tell her so, and that I am sorry?" 

"Yes, and your tears and manner tell me you are sorry." 


3:45 P. M. All the teachers present at teachers' meet- 
ing. The first fifteen minutes devoted to the discussion 
of Kindergarten work in the primary grades. Unani- 
mous opinion of the teachers that the work in solids 
and clay-modeling should be carried forward, through 
all the primary grades. And an outline of this work 
was promised for our next meeting. The last fifteen 
minutes devoted to synthetic reading. The discussion 
was very spirited, both pro and con. At the conclusion 
the principal gave his opinion as follows: 

"To the synthetic system in the hands of a skillful 
teacher, and combined with other methods, I have no 
objections. As has justly been said here this evening, 
the system requires study to understand it, and work to 
succeed with it. It seems to me the synthetic system 
is but a rounding out of McGuffey's speller. Along expe- 
rience with McGuffey has taught me that to follow his 
idea, exclusively, is to perfect in articulation and pro- 
nunciation, at the expense of expression and thought, and 
I am satisfied that the synthetic system, used exclusively, 
would lead to the same result. I wish to say further, 
however, I would not recommend any person to the 
school-board, for a position as primary teacher, who had 
not mastered the synthetic method." 

The first half of chapter five, Porter's Psychology, 
taken up and discussed for thirty minutes. 

All alone in the office. Can hear the janitor whistling 
down-stairs. Good! I see Dr. Corwin driving up this 
way that means a ride in the country; and then supper, 
and the temperance meeting, my mail, my lessons for 
to-morrow, and finally, sleep, blessed sleep! 


And so ends one day's experience, taken verbatim et 
literatim from Carl McKenzie's diary. 

This may seem an exaggerated day's work; but every 
one who has had even a small experience in graded- 
school work will recognize it, perhaps as an off day, but 
as one which frequently comes. It was always said of 
Carl, by his assistant teachers, that he was always the 
same not easily excited, and never allowed himself to 
become "fussy." He was always polite, and, no matter 
how his work crowded him, he was always cheerful and 

This tended to make every one around him cheerful. 
No teacher ever went to Carl for aid or advice but she 
received the kindest treatment; yet he was positive. 
He could say "no" so firmly, and yet so kindly, that all 
respected his decision, whether they believed it for the 
best or not. 

Carl was likewise pleasant and affable with the patrons 
of the school. He was very often found in the homes of 
his pupils. On Saturdays it was his custom to visit the 
stores and business houses, and speak a pleasant word 
with the proprietors. Carl was liked by the business men, 
not only for his sociability, but from the fact that he 
always paid the cash for whatever he bought. He never 
allowed his name to be placed on their ledgers. He 
claimed that a man on a salary could, if he would, pay 
for his goods when he bought them, and thus have at 
least a month's wages at the end of the year *o carry 
him over through vacation. 

Carl's high-school boys always came to him for ad- 
vice, and out of many hundred talks I choose a brief one. 


The boy, whose given name was Thomas, was from 
the country; he was about sixteen years of age, and was 
a member of the Baptist church. His parents were well- 
to-do farmers. He said: 

"Mr. McKenzie, you seem to take a great deal of 
interest in us boys and girls, and as I want to get 
as much out of my life as possible, I wish you would 
outline a course of action for me to follow." 

"Well, Thomas," said Carl, "that is a pretty large 
request, but we will see what we can do with it. Let 
us get our bearings first a kind of invoice of yourself. 
Physically, you are strong plenty of bone and muscle; 
you are attending school, and t^ing to educate your- 
self; you already know that an education is not mem- 
orizing, but an awakening of your whole intellectual life 
to self-exertion and activity, and you are willing to toil 
to secure this, because it will make you useful to your- 
self and to mankind. You have learned that Christianity 
is not believing some dogma or creed, but that it is the 
active development of the soul in works of philanthropy 
and love, and the copying of your life after that of the 

"Now, let us look into the future. Care well for your 
physical body, and see to it, Thomas, that no act of yours 
ever degrades it. Continue your course at school, if 
possible, until you graduate from the college; be ever 
active in your work for cJiurch and Sunday-school. 

"But, Thomas, there is a business world, and you must 
mingle with it. Select you twelve men, and make it a 
point to show yourself particularly pleasant and polite 
to each of them; seek to do them little kindnesses; be 


in their society whenever you can do so politely; in 
short, interest those twelve men in yourself. Do not 
lose your interest in other men, but be especially inter- 
ested in these twelve. There will be many advantages to 
you arising from this: First, if they are men of char- 
acter and you should select only such their silent in- 
fluence, aside from their companionship, will lend you a 
dignity of character. Second: When you are older they 
will introduce you into business circles, and will give 
you a prestige you would not otherwise have. 

"Should you wish to enter a professional or political 
career, their influence will be a wonderful force in your 
behalf. Try this, Thomas, not in a half-hearted way, but 
persistently, and you are sure to succeed. Interest your- 
self in others, and others will interest themselves in 
you. Do not believe all men rascals, Thomas, but rather 
believe all men honest, until you find them to be dis- 
honest. Like Barney said to me this morning, 'T-t-take 
keer there, boys; we're all good men, and only once in a 
while a bad one; t-t-take keer there, boys, you shouldn't 
think every man a thief.' 

" 'If what shines afar so grand, 
Turns to nothing in thy hand, 
On again; the virtue lies 
In the struggle, not theorize.' " 

As the spring of 18 approached, Carl felt his health 
failing. Dr. Corwin advised him to do less work but 
how could he? He toiled on day after day, feeling many 
an evening like he would rather lie down on the office 
floor than go to his boarding-place. At times like 
these there came to him a longing for a change of oc- 
cupation, but the door of no other vocation was near at 


hand. The Heavenly Father had especially fitted him 
for and called him to this work, and Carl believed 

" That failing the appointed task, 
No further service he might ask.' 

In March of this same year, Carl prepared and read 
the following paper before the students of Dexter Nor- 
mal School: 


There is much in our existence here that is indefinite 
and uncertain; but there are some things that are posi- 
tive and do not admit of uncertainty. We are sure of 
our existence; we are sure that the earth exists, and 
that it is only one of many planets. We are sure that 
order and harmony exist in the manifold works of 
nature around us. 

Reason is acknowledged by all scientists to be the 
highest faculty of the human mind, and reason can ar- 
rive at but one conclusion i:i respect to the above facts, 
viz: that the worlds, with all their beauty of system and 
harmony, must have come into existence through design, 
and not by chance, and that design implies a designer; 
and that design also implies purpose, for to design an 
existence of any kind without the element of purpose 
would be idiotic and ridiculous. The element of pur- 
pose in creation, as well as in construction, means that 
the minutest part has a purpose. 

The old statement, so often made, "that the idea of 
God is intuitive in the human soul," is pregnant with 
truth yea, // is the truth. The history of all peoples 
proves it. 

There are two corollaries which necessarily follow the 


proposition "that God exists." The first is, that God 
created, understands, and upholds the universe by a 
ceaseless putting forth of divine energy. Second, that 
an ideal creator would not thus create, and uphold, and 
control, without a mighty, omnipotent purpose a purpose 
coextensive in magnitude with our highest conceptions 
of love. 

It should not be thought inconsistent and unreasona- 
ble with this conception of God and the universe, that 
the highest earthly intelligence, the human mind, 
should attempt, by reason, by history, and by revela- 
tion, to catch glimpses of the golden thread of divine 
purpose, interwoven into the fabric of human existence. 
Neither should it be considered presumption if, from 
data of the past and a clear conception of the present, 
one should step a little way into the future and see this 
golden thread of providence in our own country's history, 
and be able to see the human leaders of civilization, 
the common school teachers, as factors in the hands of 
the great Master and Teacher. To make such an attempt 
is the object of this paper. 

In the line of history, what can we say of the divine 
hand of providence? As to natural position, we are in 
the right latitude and under the right stars. 

It is an oft-repeated fact that the history of the 
world has been written between the parallels that 
bound the north temperate zone. That wonderful 
history of human discipline, The Forty Years' March 
in the Wilderness," was in this latitude. Jesus of Naz- 
areth wrought his miracles by this temperate sunlight. 
The ancient tower of Babel stretched its unfinished sum- 


mit toward the clouds within this zone; and we find the 
most intelligent art of that scattered people, after a 
lapse of years, rising higher and higher into intellectual 
grandeur, in the peninsula of Greece. Homer first recited 
the Iliad in this latitude. The battles of Marathon, 
Plataea, and Salamis were fought between these lines. 
Beneath these temperate stars was written that brilliant 
page in Grecian history, in which Pericles fostered the 
fine arts; and Grecian mothers gave birth to Socrates, 
Plato, and Aristotle. 

If we cross the Adriatic, in the same latitude, we may 
see the temperate sunlight kissing the hill-tops of Italy. 
Then will come rushing to our mind her wonderful 
history a marble city, queen of the world, a Caesar and 
a Cicero. We cross the Alps, and after the fifth century, 
a Charlemagne gathers together the)' splintered fragments 
of the western empire and binds i them into one. And 
then comes the Norseman, disintegrating his empire 
and infusing that heroic blood into the veins of Central 
Europe, making her stronger and more invigorated. 
Then follow the Crusades, the Reformation, the growth 
and civilization of England all of which is written within 
the boundaries of the north temperate zone, the latitude 
and the climate which has fostered the civilization and 
written the history of the world. 

Now, is it not providential that our country lies with- 
in the same latitude and is warmed by the same tem- 
perate sun? This divine thread can be seen in the de- 
velopment of the nations. Nations are developed just 
as individuals are. Every individual who reaches nor- 
mal maturity passes through five distinct stages of de- 


velopment : First, that o.f infancy, in which the child 
necessarily depends entirely upon the wisdom of the parent. 
It is a despotic existence. Second, is childhood, or disci- 
pline of conscience. Third, youth, or development of 
personal liberty. Fourth, discipline of will under social 
law. Fifth, development of philanthropy. 

It can be shown that our present civilization has 
passed through all five of these stages of development. 

Oriental civilization was one of absolute power. The 
Hebrew civilization was one of the discipline of the 
conscience. The Grecian civilization was one of per- 
sonal liberty. The Roman civilization was a development 
of will under social law. And, fifth and last, Christian 
civilization corresponds to the full ripened manhood, the 
age of active practical philanthropy. 

These \vonderful facts could easily be bounded by 
dates and fully illustrated by examples, and let it suf- 
fice to say they stand out on the face of history so 
plainly that we are compelled to admit that complete 
Christian civilization is an element in the divine concep- 
tion of the ages. 

The history of our own country furnishes examples of 
the divine hand in our own destiny. 

Near the close of the fifteenth century, and during the 
famous Moorish war of the Spanish peninsula, there had 
settled in Lisbon the man who gave to the world a new 
continent. While Ferdinand and Isabella were planning 
campaigns against the Moors, Columbus was drawing 
maps and bringing into existence the idea of the rotund- 
ity of the earth. He was planning a campaign across 
the Atlantic. There were some things connected with 


this voyage which make transparent the hand of provi- 
dence. The first volume of Irving' s history of Colum- 
bus tells of that wonderful and mysterious swelling of 
the ocean, the turning of the prow of the Pinta to the 
southwest for almost a whole night. Had they kept 
directly west at this time, they must have struck the 
main land, and this country have been given to Spain. 
Can you map out the history of our country if such a 
thing had happened? Would not the noble civilization 
which Christianity hcts achieved been bound and fettered 
by an ecclesiastical priesthood? I believe that it 
was the providence of God that sent that swell in the 
ocean, and those birds in the air, and that directed the 
hand of the pilot to turn the prow of the Pinta until 
that little fleet looked to the southwest from west on 
the eve of September 25, 1492. 

The butchery of the Aztecs and the unhappy reign of 
Montezuma seem, indeed, repellant to our modern civ- 
ilization; but when we remember Jericho we can but see 
the hand of providence wiping out forever the abomi- 
nation of human sacrifice. Surely the nation has exist- 
ed long enough, which can pile up in one ghostly heap 
a hundred thousand human skulls as a monument of her 
bloody altars. 

God sent Joshua over the Jordan and Cortez across the 
Gulf. There is a combination of circumstances inter- 
woven into the history of the fourteenth and fifteenth 
centuries which shows the handwriting of divine provi- 
dence more clearly than that seen by the Babylonian court 
of Belshazzar. Two hundred years before the landing 
of the Pilgrims, type-printing was invented, and im- 


mediately the presses of Gutenberg, Faust, and Caxton 
are multiplying printed copies of the Bible. Just at 
this time Constantinople was taken by the Turks, and the 
Greeks are driven to the west, and with their language 
they furnish the West the key to the proper understanding 
of the New Testament. And thus Central Europe in the 
early dawn of the new era began to see the chains bound 
around her by the power of Rome. Then Martin Luther 
appears, and you all know the history of the contest. 

This is the time in the world's history when a new civil- 
ization is bursting from embryo. Shall the new civil- 
ization be left to develop upon the barren soil of Europe, 
among the traditions and superstitions of the ages, or 
shall we find it a new home? 

New scenes, new associations, and travel are necessary 
to broaden the intellect and give vivacity to action. 
No two civilizations have ever occurred in the same 
region. Abraham was called out, and so were the Pilgrim 

A new civilization was born in Europe, but cradled in 
America a land than which there is none other so lavish 
and munificent in all the varied gifts which nature can 
bestow in climate, fertility, and scenery. To suppose 
that God has had no hand in all this is to suppose that 
the greatest intelligence of the universe has forgotten 
and neglected some of the mightiest conceptions of His 
own handiwork. 

There are two master ideas enthroned in the mind of 
man. These are God and Liberty. 

I wish to attempt to show that these two master ideas 
have had unfettered growth only upon American soil. 


God is love, and in its widest, deepest sense in the 
sense of universal brotherhood. 

Let us trace it down the ages through the muse of the 
poet, and the fruitage will ripen only on American soil. 
There is not a line in all the "Iliae" which expresses 
that fine conception of love " Love your enemies." We 
may call the poem a masterpiece of human genius, and 
the poem of the ages, and yet it does not begin to grasp 
that high ideal of the universal brotherhood. The 
"Odyssey" is no better. 

Virgil says: "For love is lord of all, and in all the 
same;" but the next half-dozen lines betray his lack of 
any holy conception of love. 

Dante talks of love, but we know his world of love 
was no larger than his passion for Beatrice, 

Milton both "Lost and Regained Paradise," but in all 
that beauty of language, and thought, and figure of 
rhetoric, we do not find an exemplified "Golden Rule." 

"Paradise Lost" may be called the sublimest epic, but 
it is too rigid to be gentle, and too self-doctrinal to be kind 
and brotherly. 

And the world's greatest dramatist, Shakespeare! 
But did Shakespeare ever write a drama equal to the 
good Samaritan? But the conception of the good 
Samaritan was not in American soil. True, it was not 
conceived here, but here it fruited. Pll prove it by his- 
tory. Who first gave the world this high ideal of love? 
Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus was humanity at its climax, 
plus the eternally divine. He was the great factor in 
the divine purpose. 

Before the seed which he had sown could develop, it 


was seized by the strong arm of civil power and severally 
bound to the state. 

This, as you all know, was done in the time of Con- 
stantine. I attempted to show that the human intellect, 
so far as we can see, is the noblest work of the Creator; 
that He has not neglected that work, but has a ceaseless, 
watchful care over it. These facts were shown by his- 
tory. And this civil power of the state nevre let 
loose its grasp upon the church until Roger Williams 
said on American soil, "Let every man worship God 
according to the dictates of his own conscience." 

Then and there was set free that noblest impulse of 
the human soul, love love to God, love to humanity. 
It still grows. 

It has rooted out slavery, and as soon as we think as 
much of our fellow-men and of humanity as we ought to 
think, it will root out the rum power and make woman 
the peer of man. 

To return once more to our poets, and this time on 
this side of the Atlantic. Longfellow comes to us all 
with his balm of Gilead, and says: 

"There is no death; what seems so is transition. 

This life of mortal breath 
Is but the suburb of the life elysian 
Whose portals we call death." 

How grandly sublime is Bryant's "Forest Hymn! 1 
Here is a quotation from the "Song of the Sower:" 

" The love that leads the willing spheres 
Along the meandering track of years, 
And watches o'er th&sparrow's nest, 
Shall brood above thy winter's rest." 


And our grand old seer, of whom every American is 
proud- -John G. Whittier says: 

" I know not where God's islands lift 

Their fronded palms in air, 
I only know I cannot drift 
Beyond His love and care." 

I have given these quotations simply to show that 
American poets come into our homes, into the palaces of 
our souls, and decorate the wall?, and put therein real 
plants, with odor and blossom, so that when we look 
out of the window, the landscape is softened and the 
light is mellowed. And this is not strange, for Christian 
themes and Christian ethics furnish the poet a wider 
scope, and a purer air, and a holier light, than were fur- 
nished before love and liberty were unbound. 

If what has been said thus far in this paper is true; if 
the universe is the handiwork of Omniscience, and not 
of chance; if God is a God of purpose; if this "whole 
creation moves toward one far-off divine event" -then 
surely the American teacher, living as he does in the 
best land under the stars, under the best government 
known in history, and in the most enlightened world's 
progress, becomes a factor in the hands of providence to 
assist in bringing about the consummation of the divine 

We need a higher conception of the scope of our work. 
We need an education of the heart and conscience, as well 
as of the mind. We have been cowards in the past: we 
have been afraid to hold up to our pupils the illustrious 
characters of the Bible for fear we would be called sec- 
tarian. We speak of Alexander, of Pericles, of Socra- 


tes, of Plato, of Cicero, of Hannibal, of Napoleon, of 
Homer, of Milton, of Byron, of Shakespeare; but we 
blush if we happen to mention the name of Moses, or 
Joseph, or David, or Daniel, or Paul. 

I want to say, / believe it is all wrong, radically wrong. 
Of what concern to the children of to-day are the battles 
of Rome and Greece, and of how infinitely less concern 
to them are the vain and false philosophies of the 
buried ages? 

The Bible gives us living characters. No classic is 
the peer of the Bible, no system of ethics its equal, no 
philosophy equal to the Sermon on the Mount. 

If Jesus is divine, if he is the son of God, then his life 
above all others should be impressed upon the lives of 
the children of this nation; and we cannot leave this to 
the home and the church; for many homes are depraved, 
and the churches are creed-bound. Why should we leave 
this to the home and church? Our objects as teachers 
can only be to make better citizens; and what a nation 
this would be if every citizen was doing his best to imi- 
tate the Nazarene. 

Answer me this: Did Jesus utter the truth or a false- 
hood when he said, "I am the way, the truth, and the 
life;" "I am the Good Shepherd;" "I am the door; " 
"lam the vine;' "I am the resurrection; ' "I am Alpha 
and Omega." The religion of the Bible stands as the 
bulwark of this nation. It is the bone, fiber, and muscle 
of this republic; and as American teachers we shall fail 
to carry out our parts of the divine purpose unless we 
build our work upon this basis. 

This nation is destined to stand till the end of time, 



unless it falls by its own sins. The life of the republic 
does not depend for a single day upon the tariff question, 
or any other financial issue. 

The great heart of humanity is heaving with the hope 
of a brighter day. All the holier impulses of our better 
natures prophesy of its near approach. We as teachers 
are factors to help it on. 

We are not to be discouraged. The cycles past teach 
us that the "mills of God grind slowly, but they grind 
exceedingly fine." I repeat that we are not to be dis- 
couraged. All the combined evils of both earth and 
hell cannot equal the power of the cross of Christ. 

I remember standing on the back platform of a speed- 
ing train as it receded from the base of Pike's Peak. 
The glories of a setting sun bathed the mountain-top 
in a flood of mellow light and tipped its summit with 
a golden tinge, but the valleys were shrouded in dark- 

The light from the Son of Righteousness has fallen 
upon a few of the higher heads and hearts on the sum- 
mit of humanity, and the foot-hills are still in the dark- 
ness of ignorance; but the foot-hills are rising, and the 
glory of the sun is rising too. The last fifty years have 
marked more progress intellectual, scientific, political, 
social, and religious than half of the centuries since 
the beginning of the Christian era. 

It takes time to work these changes; but time is a rel- 
ative term. "To the boy frolicking in childish sports, a 
thoughtless spendthrift of the golden moments, a cent- 
ury is an eternity; but to a nation it is the babyhood of 
existence the gray dawning of the morning of a day." 


Former nations have given this world much in language, 
much in art, much in bloodshed and cruelty. America 
has set free the twin ideas of love and liberty, and 
the blessings which flow from these, viz: free schools, 
free church, free ballot, free speech, free press, charita- 
ble institutions of all kinds, a liberal heart that knows 
how to send food and clothing and money to an unfor- 
tunate Dakota, to a burned Chicago, to a racked 
Charleston, to an "inundated Johnstown. And why is 
this? Simply because the power of the Nazarene is 
felt in the hearts of the people. 

I do not plead for sectarian dogmas in the school- 
room, but I do plead that the life and character of Jesus 
should be held up as the one great life of the ages. 
And if this can be done by the American teachers in 
connection with the other potent factors in the hand of 
providence, this nation will be seen coming up out of 
the darkness of the past ages crowned with beauty, 
with perpetual fruitage, and with eternal sunshine. 
And so the kingdom of Christian civilization growing 
up through the ocean of sin and sorrow will come out at 
last redeemed and glorified. And then will the American 
teacher who has f :tthfully done his duty reap his re- 
ward, whether in tfe^s life or in the life beyond, and 
shall finally enter- into the enjoyment of "splendors 
and symphonies and loves which eye has not seen, 

nor ear heard, nor the heart felt." 




"Your peaks are beautiful 
In the soft light of these serenest skies; 
From the broad highland region, black with pine, 

Fair as the hills of Paradise they rise, 
Bathed in the tint Peruvian slaves behold 
In rosy flushes, on the virgin gold. 


When school closed in the spring of 18 Carl was 
easily persuaded to take the advice of his physician and 
personal friend, to spend the summer in the Rocky 

Procuring a ninety-days' excursion ticket over the 
Union Pacific road, he set out early in June for Denver. 

After spending a few days in Denver, by the merest 
accident he met his former pastor, Dr. J., who was on 
his way to visit a brother at Camp Celestial, twenty- 
five miles back of Boulder. Carl received and accepted 
from the Doctor an invitation to accompany him on his 
visit. They found his brother in a comfortable summer 
residence at Camp Celestial. 

After a few days of rest, the two brothers and Carl 
and a guide started by team to Arapahoe. They had a 
splendid team and were well equipped with blankets, 

provisions, and fire-arms. Captain Mac acted as guide 



and teamster. The route lay over mountains, through can- 
yons, through the most beautiful groves of fir and pine. 
Through almost every ravine a mountain torrent ran, 
foaming, dashing, and rushing over its rocky bed, tell- 
ing of the rapid dissolution of the mighty snow-fields 
by which these streams are fed. 

Arriving at Caribou in the middle of the afternoon, 
they are informed by their guide that it will be neces- 
sary to perform the rest of their journey on foot. Each 
carried provisions or blankets. Carl carried two blank- 
ets in a shawl-strap. 

After some hard and rugged climbing, they reached 
the timber-line, at an elevation of eleven thousand feet, 
this being the limit of perpetual snow. Rare, delicate, 
beautiful flowers bloom in rich profusion, where neither 
snow nor rocks cover the soil. It was often possible to 
reach forth the hand and gather enough of these blossoms 
to form a bouquet while the feet still rested on the snow. 

Here, where winter claims an eternal reign and 
ever wears his snowy crown, nature puts him to defi- 
ance driving the snow by mighty winds from the 
mountain-ridge, and weaving over its face the richest 
carpet of flowers. Snow Lake lay across the canyon 
from the trail a beautiful, clear, crystal lake, which, by 
the sun's last rays, mirrored in its bosom the rocky 
mountain peaks, and sent forth from its side a silver 
stream, which fell over the precipice and was lost in the 
canyon below. 

The raging waters, the snowy peaks, the murmuring 
of the winds in the pines below them, and the setting 
sun, gave, to a nature like Carl's a sensation of the 


most ecstatic delight, mingled with awe and reverence 
to Him who said: "Let the floods clap their hands, and 
let the hills be joyful together." 

As they proceeded up the mountain-side, the air grew 
thinner, and more frequent rests were necessary. 

During one of these resting-times, Carl could not re- 
sist the temptation to enjoy a bit of boyish fun. So, 
throwing down his bundle, he proceeded to roll down a 
few bowlders; these went leaping, rushing, careering, 
thundering down thousands of feet, until lost from sight 
below timber limit. 

The guide had cautioned Carl to watch his bundle. 
Just as he and the others are starting on, suddenly a 
mighty shout is heard, and they turn to look for Carl, 
who is a hundred yards or more in the rear and in rapid 
pursuit of an object which went leaping from rock to 
rock. With almost equal celerity Carl followed, while 
peal upon peal of laughter from the guide and his com- 
panions made the mountains ring. 

Smaller and smaller grew the moving objects as they 
descended, until at last they disappeared from sight be- 
hind an intervening precipice. They were not more 
than out of sight before the quick firing of a revolver 
was heard. They gazed intently down the mountain- 
side, and a moment after saw Carl, several hundred yards 
below them, appear around the precipice. And then 
there came, wafted to the ear, Carl's voice, as he shouted: 
"I have found it! I've found it!" 

When Carl again joined the company, they declared 
his blankets contained several bullet-holes, and pro- 
nounced him a success after mountain-sheep. 


The moon had climbed above old "Baldy" ere the 
company reached Lone Cabin, a rude structure formed 
of pine logs and covered with bark and moss. "Hal- 
lo! " said Captain Mac, and immediately the rude door 
swung open, and ahead appeared. It was the head of the 
'Wild Man of the Mountains." Captain Mac and he were 
old-time friends. They had been together in the rebel 
army, had repented their enlistment, deserted, and come 

Carl did not wonder that he was called the "Wild 
Man of the Mountains." He was unshaven, unshorn, 
and dressed in buckskin pants and red flannel shirt. 

He gave them a hearty welcome, and, after a warm sup 
per prepared by himself and Captain Mac, they spread 
their blankets and lay down to sleep. 

Every member of the little company was up before 
the sun, on the following morning, and went forth into 
the morning air to breathe its .freshness and listen to 
the songs of the spring birds. 

Breakfast over, the} 7 proceeded to execute the most 
difficult part of their journey. 

Captain Mac took their dinner-basket on his arm and 
beckoned them to follow, and, with feelings of mingled 
hopes, expectations, and fears, they obeyed. Up, up, they 
toil; now they reach a great snow-bank, and crawling to 
its edge, look down, down, over the awful precipice, 
thousands of feet below. The thin air of the lofty height 
is too much for Carl, and he is compelled to stop and 
rest, and when he shuts his eyes he sees visions of him- 
self tumbling down the sides of the mighty mountains. 

Still onward and upward they press, leaving far be- 


low them forests of silver pine, dizzy precipices, a pan- 
orama of majestic peaks, whose heads were capped with 
clouds. They reach the summit. Ah, when did man 
ever purchase a richer reward at a smaller cost than they 
had purchased in the sublime scene which spread out 
before them ! Carl was aroused as never before in his 
life. The man who could behold such a vision as was 
now spread out before them in all its loveliness and 
grandeur, unmoved, would certainly be of the earth 

To adore the Creator, to praise Him for His mighty 
works, to feel an ineffable reverence for His holy name, 
seemed only the natural emotion of the soul. After 
drinking in the grandeur in one general view, Carl began 
to question the guide. 

"That lofty peak to the north," said Captain Mac, "is 
Long's Peak; now look to the south, and those snowy 
caps are the summits of James and Gray; look to the west- 
ward you are looking at north, center, and south 
parks. That blue line to the far west is the crest of 
the Wasatch, three hundred miles away." Turning 
again, "Yonder," he said, "is Denver, seventy-five 
miles distant." The morning was clear and the atmos- 
phere in the best condition possible to take in an 
extended landscape. Toward noon they noticed a sin- 
gular appearance upon a loft)'- mountain to the west. 
It looked like a column of smoke Mac said they were 
going to have a storm. He continued: "We are in the 
home of the storm-king he sits on these mountains as 
his throne. Out there the cloud not bigger than a man's 
hand begins. These mountains are all electro-magnets. 


That mountain where you see the cloud will form the 
storm and pitch it over to yonder peak. James will 
toss it over to Arapahoe, which in turn will send it on 
to Long's Peak. Long will give it a mighty cast down 
to Pike, and Pike will send it to the plains." The clouds 
grew, became dark, and illumined with lightning. It 
stretched eastward until it spread like a mantle around 
James' Peak, hiding it entirely from view; then it reach- 
ed over until it was beneath their feet, shutting out the 
scene below. 

Carl marked how the upp'er surface resembled the 
mighty ocean tumultuous with waves. They could 
see the lightning and hear the thunder, but they were 
above the storm, and on them the sun was shining 
brightly fit symbol of those souls which in purity of 
motive and action rise above the storm-clouds of 
life's tempest and bathe in the sunlight of Heaven's 

When the company returned to Camp Celestial, Cap- 
tain Mac was handed a letter mailed at Fort Benton, 
Montana. It was from a brother whom he had supposed 
dead, but who was alive, well, and wealthy, and who 
wished Mac to come to him at once. 

Mac decided to start for Helena by rail the next 
morning, and Carl consented to accompany him. 

Bidding adieu to the Johnson brothers, they set 
out on the following morning, and, after a tiresome ride 
of several days, reached Helena. Here they found it 
would be necessary to stage it the rest of the way to 
Fort Benton, a distance of one hundred and forty miles. 
A ride of thirty-six straight hours in a regular tally-ho 


coach ana four was to Carl's mind a delight he could 
scarce have hoped for. 

They learned that the road would take them through 
Prickly Pear Canyon. After the first flush of pleasure 
at thought of taking such a ride had passed through 
Carl's mind, stories of stage robberies, road agents, 
Younger brothers, and the like passed before his vision. 
Then came thoughts of home, of parents, of loved ones 
far away, of Dora oh! what would he not give to know 
why she had never answered his letter! 

The day for their departure at last arrived. Several 
days in advance they had secured a seat on the outside 
with the driver. Their fare amounted to twenty-three 
dollars each, and no extra charge for sleeping accommoda- 
tions, as they partook of that luxury as best they could, 
either sitting, standing, or doubled up, as the case 
might be. Carl had hopes of securing sleeping-quarters 
in the boot, which lies under the driver's seat, and 
which he was told by old-timers was quite comfortable. 
When the day for departure arrived, Carl was ready 
long before the hour of starting came. 

Several stages were standing before the office in proc- 
ess of loading, which is as mysterious as it is incom- 
prehensible, for more can be stowed away to the square 
inch in a coach, by an old hand, than tongue can tell, 
or the mind of a tenderfoot conceive. Carl and Captain 
Mac having discovered their coach, mounted beside the 
driver, the good-natured, jolly, weather-beaten Jack Mc- 
Dugal, famous as a story teller not liar as they dis- 
covered after starting; and also quite a beau along the 


Captain Mac had laid in a large supply of cigars for 
himself and driver; for all who smoke know what an 
open sesame to a smoker's heart a good Havana is. 

The summer morning was quite cool, and there were 
some indications of rain, but Carl was provided with 
both overcoat and water-proof. Car] and Captain Mac 
were the only passengers on the top, the others having 
been stowed away among boxes and packages inside. 
Two of the passengers were ladies, who, Carl learned 
afterward, were a mother and daughter from Cincinnati, 

All things were ready, and Jack had clambered to his 
seat, lighted a cigar furnished by Captain Mac, took up 
his whip, and with a crack like the report of a "42," 
they were off like the wind. The motion of the coach 
swaying on the long leather thorough-braces, is not un- 
like that of a monstrous cradle, although more un- 
steady and uncertain. The motion is much more pleas- 
ant to those on the outside than to the inside passen- 
gers the latter often suffering the worst pangs of sea- 

Swinging down around the foot of Mount Helena, 
they were soon winding through a canyon, over a wild 
and broken highway, toward Silver City afterward the 
scene of one of the most cruel and cold-blooded mur- 
ders, and one most quickly avenged. 

Before arriving there they met the incoming coach, 
and were notified that a lady passenger awaited them at 
Silver City. 

Carl noted the mutual friendship arising between Jack 
and Captain Mac, as each spun his story for the benefit 


of the other; but Carl himself was thoughtful and mel- 

Captain Mac noticed this fact with much concern, 
for it was so unlike Carl's usual buoyant spirits. He 
knew that something unusual must have happened, and 
he awaited an opportunity to make inquiry of Carl as 
to the cause of his sadness. In the meanwhile his con- 
versation with Jack did not lag, nor were the cigars left 

Soon they espied the houses of Silver City, nestled 
among the foot-hills, but offering scarcely space for 
them to stretch their legs and walk about a little, pre- 
paratory to another fifteen-mile ride, while a change of 
horses was being made. 

The new passenger proved to be a lady of the straw- 
berry-blonde order fat, fair, and forty, if a day; she 
was arrayed in Mother Goose ecru straw hat, with dark 
blue ribbons and a pink flower, apparently all in the 
first stages of newness, and of which she was evidently 
very proud. Mr. Jack, as the ladies called him, man- 
aged to stow her away somewhere in the already well- 
packed coach. As they rolled away, they could hear a 
voice like that of the grave-digger in Hamlet, exclaim at 
every violent motion of the stage, "Oh, my hat ! oh, my 
neck!" but where the neck was, Carl had failed to dis- 

They were now entering the canyon, and the scenery 
was grand beyond description. High above them on 
either hand towered the lofty mountains, nature's bul- 
warks, and from out the crevices where it would seem 
no vegetation could exist, grew tall pines whose tops 


seemed to pierce the blue of the summer sky. Below 
them, now on the right and now on the left, glittering in 
the sunlight like a band of burnished gold, again like 
shimmering silver, ran a mountain stream, clear as crys- 
tal. Carl's heart leaped within him, and his face bright- 
ened, as he contemplated the beauties by which he was 
surrounded; and his soul was filled with the deepest 
reverence as he gazed upon the ever-changing landscape. 
" The mountain ridges against the purple sky 

Stand clear and strong with darkened rocks and dells: 
The cloudless brightness opens wide and high 

A home aerial, where thy presence dwells." 

Still on they went, winding along the side of a mount- 
ain, over a road so narrow that it seemed as though they 
must be capsized. And as they looked down below them 
upon the rocks and pines, Carl could not repress a shud- 
der now and then. But Jack was a skillful driver, and 
Carl soon threw his fears to the wind, and drank in the 
beauty and grandeur about him. Occasionally, how- 
ever, he was compelled to descend from his heights of 
rapture, to listen to the narratives of Jack and Mac for 
one who has for years driven a stage-coach through the 
mountains has a wonderful fund of information, both 
amusing and interesting, and Jack was not an Irishman 
without the native wit. 

From Jack's lips Carl picked up many choice bits 
not found in history, which in after years he related in 
the class-room, much to the refreshing of his classes. 

The sun had now completely gained the mastery over 
the clouds, and was rolling his way across the flecked 
sky, scattering and dispelling the clouds, until soon the 
heavens presented one unbroken dome of blue. 


Carl sat silent and thoughtful; Captain Mac and Jack 
had dispensed with their cigars, and each seemed 
wrapped in his own meditations. 

Finally Carl broke the silence by turning to Captain 
Mac and saying: 

"Captain, do you believe in dreams?" 

The Captain was so absorbed in his own thoughts, that 
it was necessary for Carl to repeat his question, which 
he did hesitatingly, as if ashamed or afraid of being 
considered superstitious. 

"I cannot say I do/' said the Captain. "Why do 
you ask?" 

After a moment's thought Carl answered: "Let me 
relate to you an incident, for I am certain you will be 

"When I was a boy," continued Carl, "I knew and 
loved a brown-eyed, brown-haired girl. Once I saved 
her life. In youth my love grew stronger, and when 
manhood came, I offered my ripened love for love. I 
had every reason to believe she would accept it, but my 
letter to her was lost; she never received it. Last even- 
ing, in looking over the 'Helena Daily,' I read, under the 
title 'A Defective Letter-Box/ a history of how through 
a defective slot more than one hundred letters had been 
lost among the dust of the old building. It was at that same 
office that I mailed my letter. When I went to my room 
I could not sleep; I lived over again all the scenes with 
Dora, and thought how heartless she must have thought 
me to leave her so abruptly and never to have written. 
I sat down and wrote to her at once telling her all, 
and cutting out the notice in the Daily to inclose with 


my letter. Then I remembered she might be married, 
and so I destroyed my letter. 

"Again I threw myself on my bed, and vainly courted 
the sleepy god. Toward morning I fell into a heavy 
slumber and dreamed. I cannot tell where I was, for the 
surroundings were new and strange to me; unknown 
faces were about me; the sky became darkly overcast, 
and the mutterings of a storm were heard in the dis- 
tance; birds were fluttering about, calling to their mates, 
and exhibiting the unmistakable signs of fear and im- 
pending danger. 

"Suddenly, above the tumult of the storm, I heard a cry 
of one in distress. I listened, but no one else seemed to 
hear; again I heard it, and this time I could distinguish 
the words, 'Carl, Carl! save me!' I could move neither 
hand nor foot. It was Dora's voice calling to me, but I 
seemed riveted to the spot. In my struggles to move I 
awakened; and I was sitting up on my bed trembling 
from head to foot, and great drops of perspiration were on 
my forehead. Such a hold did my dream take upon me 
that sleep was now impossible, and I arose and dressed 
myself, but could not banish it from my mind. I 
firmly believe that I shall see Dora soon." 

With this recital, Carl lapsed into silence, and Cap- 
tain Mac, after looking sharply at him for a moment, 
turned his face toward the snowy peaks on their left. 

Jack was the first to speak. Taking out his watch, he 
informed them they would soon be at Mitchell's Ranch, 
where they would eat and rest. 

Before reaching there, however, he pointed out to his 
companions a beautiful little spot and said: 


"There is where Captain Clark was massacred by the In- 
dians. Captain Clark had come to Montana in a very early 
day, and, like many others, had married an Indian wife, from 
the Piegan tribe, and had settled in the Prickly Pear 
Canyon. He had in a great measure supported his wife's 
family until patience ceased to be a virtue, and he drove 
them away. Becoming incensed at this treatment, a 
party of them returned one day and shot him dead in the 
presence of his wife and children. This was in 1869. 
Helen P. Clark, one of his daughters, is probably one 
of the best teachers and best educated half-breed women 
in Montana. For many years she has been superinten- 
dent of schools in Lewis and Clarke County. She is 
now studying for the stage, and is quite an elocutionist." 

"Mitchell's Ranch! All unload for dinner! ' was the 
welcome call of Jack as he alighted from the stage; and 
never was a call more welcome or a dinner better appre- 
ciated. After an hour of rest they resumed their seats 
and were off again. The day continued beautiful and 
the scenery none the less magnificent, and Carl felt in 
sympathy with the one who penned this sentiment: 

" I live not in myself, but 1 become 
Portion of that around me, and to me 
High mountains are a feeling, but the hum 
Of human cities a torture." 

This day, like all others, had its close, and they were 
near ing Rock Creek, where they were to change horses 
and drivers, eat supper, and take a little rest. The last 
was much needed, for the passengers were sadly fatigued 
from their long ride. 

Within a few miles of the station, as they were travel- 
ing leisurely along, each intent upon his own thoughts. 


a rattling, as of a vehicle being driven rapidly over the 
rocky road, broke upon their ears; but they could see 
nothing, as the road wound around the mountain. 

"We're in a pickle," said Jack, "for we can't pass any- 
body here." 

Carl had not thought of this; but he at once saw the 
truth of Jack's words. 

The rattling now became louder and more distinct. 

Suddenly there dawned upon them a sight which al- 
most caused their hearts to cease beating; for directly 
in front, and coming toward them, they saw a pair of 
horses, wild with fright, attached to an open buggy in 
which was a lady. 

."Great Heavens! " said Carl; "she will be killed! " 
And before a word could be said in reply, he was on the 
ground and running at full speed toward the runaway 

Jack called to the ladies to jump from the coach, which 
they did, and at once clambered upon the projecting 
rocks out of the reach of danger. On came the madden- 
ed creatures, while Carl stood like a statue awaiting 
their approach. 

Suddenly, above the tumult was heard the cry: 

"Carl! save me!" 

Carl grasped the bits of the near horse, and was 
lifted from the ground. 

Then horses and man went to the ground together. 

Captain Mac was on the spot in a moment, expecting 
to find the brave fellow killed; but Carl sprang up im- 
mediately, and leaving Captain Mac to quiet the trem- 


bling, foam-covered horses, he was by the side of the 
buggy, assisting the lady to alight. 


"Dora, you are safe." 

But the shock was too great for her nerves, and she 
fainted. The contents of a flask from Jack's pocket 
soon restored her. 

: 'Am I dreaming? Carl, where are you?" 

"Here, Dora you are not dreaming, but you have had 
a narrow escape." 

Dora explained that she and her cousin had stopped 
at Rock Creek for a drink, and while he had gone down 
the hill to get it, the team became frightened at a flock 
of sheep, and she could not hold them. Carl volun- 
teered to drive her back to Rock Creek. 

When alone, Carl said: 

"Dora, how is it that you are here, and alone? I can- 
not comprehend it." 

She replied: "I am on my way to the Friends' Mission 
to teach the Indians;" and after a pause she continued: 
"Oh, Carl, I owe my life to you! How shall I ever repay 

"I am already repaid," said Carl, "in knowing that 
I have helped to prolong such a noble life. Here comes 
your cousin, and I will relinquish my seat to him." 

As the coach came up, Carl refused his seat, prefer- 
ing to walk the rest of the way to Rock Creek, which 
was now very near. 

After supper Carl and Dora walked down the mountain 
road alone. She clasped her hands around his arm, and 
allowed him to assist and support her, as she was still 


nervous from her fright. Carl felt that never before in 
his life had he been so happy. 

They reached a shelving rock on the hill-side, just 
above the spring, and both were seated for a quiet talk, 
and as the setting sun hone over them and glorified the 
look of happiness on Dora's face, Carl had no words 
with which to express the emotions that filled his heart. 
So the sun sank lower, and the air from the mountain 
grew chill, and Carl drew the fleecy shawl, which he had 
carried on his arm, closer around Dora's shoulders. 
Words were hardly needed, for eye and tone had told 
the old story that is ever new, in the first few moments 
that they were together. 

It did not take long to explain all. Dora told him of 
her anxious hours, and he told of his work in the West. 
The air grew cooler, and they started to retrace their 

As they came to a turn in the road, a wild rose-bush 
hung, full of bloom, over a projecting bowlder. Dora 
unclasped her hands from his arm, and plucked the in- 
viting flowers, and with a few fern-leaves made a bou- 
quet, and turning to Carl, she held them up and said: 

"How beautiful! Shall I divide them with you?" 

He stepped forward, and as he received them he kissed 
the hand that presented them. 

It was now time for them to return, as the stage would 
start again in a few moments. 

When they arrived at Rock Creek the coach was al- 
ready in waiting. Carl bade Dora a hasty good-bye, and 
was soon out of sight, around the mountain cliff. 

Captain Mac found Carl more cheerful, but not more 

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you'd be back all safe, as the stars were all right when 
you went away. T-t-take keer there, boys! I've been 
a visitin' too, since you was here. I was in Des Moines, 
a visitin' Uncle Jimmie DeMott. T-t-take keer there, 
boys! They're the same eld couple yet." 

Ezra and Mary welcomed Carl as though he had been 
their own son, and that evening at supper he enjoyed 
the waffles and tea with infinite delight; and when the 
shades of evening had come and he ascended to his cham- 
ber, he knelt down in the silence and poured forth a prayer 
of thankfulness for his safe return, and for all the joy 
that had come to his soul during his absence. And then he 
added a petition for strength and vigor to carry forward 
the work of the school-year to a successful termination. 

When the old school-bell called again to duty, there 
was not a vacant seat. The work for the term had been 
carefully prepared by Carl before he went West; there- 
fore the first day's work was just as effectual as any. 
Carl felt his renewed strength and vigor, and also that 
he had largely increased his stock of general knowledge. 

It would be well if every teacher could find the time 
and money to spend a vacation, now and then, as Carl 
spent this one. It would add new life and vigor both 
to mind and body. And that school board would be the 
wisest who would pay such wages as would warrant the 
teacher in making such summer tours. 

To enter into the details of this year's work in 
school would be but to repeat what has already been 
written in these pages. That the work was well done, 
I need but to mention that Carl was offered the position 
again, and accepted it at an increased salary. 


When the May cherries were blushing again, and the 
peonies were dropping their petals, Carl thought of his 
long absence from home, and decided at once to return 
and visit it. It would not now seem the same old home, 
for a mother would not be there to greet him; but there 
were other loved ones there; and the rocks, and hills, 
and streams would be unchanged, and he would renew 
their acquaintance once more. They would have for him 
a thousand recollections, a thousand refreshings and 
blessings. Carl's cultivated taste in perceiving the 
beautiful and the sublime in nature had led him to be 
favorably influenced by their ministries. 

He had been led to see the supreme relation these 
tastes and sensibilities bear to moral and spiritual life. 
He could not tell the psychological reason why nature 
made these ecstatic impressions. He had studied some- 
what the laws of light and shade, and the mechanism of 
vision; but he had learned that beyond this science 
does not conduct us. The deep secrets, the divine 
mysteries of our life and being, are forever hidden. 
Carl could see that of proximate causes he knew noth- 
ing. Even within the domain of consciousness and in- 
tuitiveness, he found himself shut up within the limits 
of observed and registered phenomena. He could not 
get beyond their chronological relations and dependen- 
cies, but on this account he did not love philosophy 
less, but revered his own being more, and admired with 
a deeper intensity universal nature, instinct with diver- 
sity, and full of the secrets and mysteries of God. 

Carl's psychological studies in trying to understand 
hi c own being had led him to see, not only in himself, 


but in every one, that long before the capacity to reason 
is developed, or habits of reflection formed, deep-seated 
in the soul of infant man is the love of the beautiful mani- 
fest. Attractive objects to the infant eye, and simple 
melodies to the infant ear, are as old as Cain, both to 
civilized and uncivilized life. 

Oh, teacher, here was Carl's greatest success leading 
upward, upward, along God's pathway of endless beauty 
and symmetry. 

The Indian heard the roar of the great cataract, and 
named it Niagara, " T/ie Water Thunder." He looked by 
night into the bosom of a quiet river, and called it 
Shenandoah, "Daughter of the Stars." The plashing of a 
western river sounde i in his ear like the voice of mirth 
and gladness, and he called it Minnehaha, "The Laugh- 
ing Water." 

What testimonies are these to the great fact that the 
love of the beautiful is first, is always, is everywhere! 

Carl believed that in childhood this love of the beauti- 
ful was ever trying to gain despotic sway over the en- 
tire soul. This to him was the supreme law of taste. 
It demands that all things with which the human soul 
has to do, material or immaterial, animate or inani- 
mate, shall conform to some ideal of beauty; and it is 
only after a continued warfare against this esthetic ele- 
ment of our being, that it yields, and leaves the soul 
a prey to selfishness and lust. In taking this view, Carl 
could not conceive of a greater misfortune, save the utter 
abandonment by the spirit cf God, that could befall a 
human being in this present life, than that this love of 
the beautiful should remain undeveloped. 


Thanks to the Heavenly Father, this capacity of the 
soul to drink in the beautiful has no relations to dol- 
lars and cents, to interest-tables or discounts. It has 
ao immediate relations to our animal life. We look 
upon an opening rose-bud and feel that it is beautiful, 
without thinking of its ultimate purpose in the economy 
of the plant. This element of the soul is not the herit- 
age of the rich alone. Thank God, beauty and sub- 
limity, the soul's needed good, unhedged lie open in 
life's common field, and bids all welcome to the vital 
feast. Oh, teacher, wander with the children in this 
common field! It is the river of life in this world; 
its waters are for the healing of their child-troubles 
and sorrows. 

The morning for Carl's departure came, and as he 
passed down the street, grip in hand, he met his old 
friend Barney. 

"Hello, Barney! I'm going away again; how are the 
stars this time?" 

"T-t-t-take keer there, boys! take keer S Dog my cuts, 
Mr. McKenzie, if I didn't tell the old woman last night 
that something unusual was goin' to happen, and here it 
is. T-t-takekeer there, boys! there's a weddin' in it too, 
somewhere. I know a thing or two. Old Barney hasn't 
always had his eyes shut. I-I-I haven't lived always for 

"Thank you, Barney; but I fear all you predict will 
not be true at least in my case." 

"T-t-take keer there, boys! the stars never lie mind 
that, now! " 


Carl gave Barney a warm shake of the hand, and bade 
him good-bye. 

The first man whom Carl met as he stepped off the 
train at Cincinnati was Charles Dummond. He in- 
formed Carl that he owned and operated the largest art 
gallery in the city, but that he had long since ceased to 
paint pictures in an old wood-shed, with pokeberry- 
juice for paint. 

Carl changed cars at Cincinnati, and as he took his 
seat a fine-looking gentleman offered him his hand, and 

"You do not know me? Well, I am the boy who 
swore on the ball-ground when you taught at Glady. " 

Carl shook his hand warmly, and during their con- 
versation he learned that James was traveling agent for 
a school-furnishing company. 

Dr. McKenzie met his son at the depot. It seemed 
so long to them both since they had met. 

He drove Carl to the country home of his daughter 
Bess. The Doctor made his home there since the death 
of his wife Jane. Carl marked the silver in his father's 
hair, the lack of elasticity in his step; but the spirit 
was as buoyant as ever, softened a little in a gentler 

During those happy June days, Carl and his father 
lived over again the former life with gun and rod. But 
Fido was not with them; he had died from snake-bite 
long since. 

The Doctor took infinite delight in hearing Carl tell 
of the great West, and many times expressed a desire to 
visit it; and Carl determined in his own mind that, if 



the Heavenly Father permitted, that desire should be 
fully realized. 

Carl spent a day at the academy at M. He learned 
while there that Prof. Moon was president of a college 
in Eastern Ohio; that his room-mate, Nolder, was a 
practicing physician in the city of Chicago; that Mr. 
Ousley was in the employ of the United States as civil 

The first Sabbath morning dawned with a cloudless 
sky. The trees were perfect, robed in their new foliage 
and fair luxuriance. The bees hum about the clover. 
The bob-white, from his perch upon the rail, calls to his 
mate. A solemn stillness reigns. It was 

"A morn when all the hedgerows glimmer white 

With summer snows, scattered by hawthorn flowers; 
A morn when Nature trembles with delight, 

And love is lingering in the golden hours, 
And hiding 'mongst the purple shades that lie 
Where the dim forest fringes meet the bending sky." 

Carl and Bess have woven a garland of smilax and 
pansies, and are wending their way across the field and 
through the woodland to a quiet little cemetery, beauti- 
fully located on a mound of more than an acre, and 
neatly kept. There their mother sleeps. As they walk 
along Bess relates to him all the story of her sickness, 
suffering, and final victory in death. 

As they approach nearer they walk in silence. Carl 
lifts the latch to the little gate, they enter, and Bess 
takes his arm and leads the way. As they approach 
the grave both kneel down, and the garland is placed on 
the head of the grave. The thoughts that come to Carl 
at this hour are too sacred for these pages. 


There is a chamber in life's halls where God and 
self alone may enter and commune together. The doors 
to that chamber are widest open to the Father when 
sorrow is the deepest: "Behold, I stand at the door and 
knock." May it not be that sorrow comes often because 
we will not hear, and will not open? 

The grave was overgrown with myrtle. Carl gathered 
a few leaves to carry away and keep. They start back 
to the little gate, and not a word is spoken; before they 
reach it Carl stops and turns around to look again. 
He puts an arm around his sister, leans his head on her 
shoulder and weeps. 

Again they turn, and pass out the little gate, silent at 
first; but gradually the veil of sorrow lifts. The spirit 
has mellowed and sweetened the soul, and life is more 
blessed. "Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be 
comforted." They stop on the way to enjoy the cool 
breezes under the shade of a spreading chestnut. Carl 
related to Bess the incidents connected with his journey- 
ing in the mountains, and his strange but happy meet- 
ing with Dora; and Bess enters into full sympathy 
with him in all his experiences. He informed her that 
he expected Dora to come to Ohio in a few clays and 
that she might guess the rest. 

Again they wandered on, and it was high noon when 
they reached home. During the afternoon of that Sab- 
bath, Carl accompanied the Doctor in a visit to see a 
patient; but when evening came Carl felt that he would 
like to be alone, and recall the events not only of the 
day, but of the long, long past. On the hill-side he 
found a jutting rock and sat down. It is well for the 


soul at times to claim a season of meditation when 
evening folds her drooping wings, and let your soul be 
won to reverence and love by the subdued glories of the 
dying day. No hour like that which immediately succeeds 
the setting of the sun on a calm summer evening! The 
shadows gradually deepen in the woodland, and darkness 
gathers in the valleys; the birds close their vesper hymn; 
one by one the bright stars appear, and slowly and gently 
the night, cool and dewy, comes down with a holy 
stillness upon the world. It is hard to conceive how 
Heaven itself can be more divinely beautiful! 

Carl sat wedded to the beauties of the stilly night 
long after the lights went out in the home he had just 

He sat and listened to the voices that whispered to 
his soul of the days gone and of those to come. They 
were not specters, those voices, but angels with mes- 
sages of love; and as he sat and listened to the night 
wind that murmured among the trees near by, or the 
hoarser moaning through the swaying trees of the dis- 
tant forest as the wind arose, he thought of the infinite 
and omniscient spirit whose presence was his safety 
and his life, and his enfranchised soul ascended to claim 
its part in the rejoicing suns and circling worlds that 
chant their battle anthems in the deeps of heaven. 

On the following morning Carl received this missive: 

"HOME, June , 18 

"The roses are in bloom, and the placid waters of the 
river await the disturbing oar. DORA." 

Carl answered this note in person the same evening. 


For the few following weeks he was often at the Durh 
dore home. Then there was a quiet wedding, and, 
shortly after, Carl, accompanied by Dora, returned toD., 
where a neat little cottage home awaited them, and 
where Dora was a constant help and sympathizer with 
Carl in all his school -work, and where evening after 
evening they entertained Carl's senior class, in their so- 
cial and literary efforts. It was a home where all found 
their welcome, and where the sad at heart found bur- 
dens of care lifted by kind and sympathetic words. So- 
ciety at D. found in Dora just that friend it needed not 
an arrogant, selfish, flippant daughter of fashion, but a 
warm-hearted, cultured, earnest Christian worker, whose 
mind and heart was ever fertile with helpful word and 
practical suggestion. 

Next morning after their return to D., as Carl was 
walking down town, he was startled by the voice of a 
person not seen but near by: 'T-t-t-take keer there, boys! 
Takekeer! I knew them 'ere stars wouldn't lie. T-t-t-take 
keer there now, boys! Last week, when the old woman and 
me was pullin' a mess of roastin'-ears, Old Barney just 
wheeled right over, and the old woman thought I'd gone; 
and when she turned me over, I opened my eyes and 
said, 'T-t-take keer there, boys! Old Barney han't a-goin' 

"Well, Barney, will we have an early winter?" 

"T-t-take keer there ! The sweet potato vines are in 
full bloom, and that's a sure sign of late fall and winter." 

Carl and Dora labored together for many years in this 
happy home in D. But Carl felt the need of a change 
of climate and occupation. They had been frugal and 


saving, and had amassed enough to build them a comfort- 
able home on the property owned at Los Angeles, Cali- 

And now, my reader, as I approach the last pages of 
this little volume, I ask you to pass over several years 
and go with me to a beautiful home a little south of 
Los Angeles. Picture to yourself a high table-land, fer- 
tile as a garden, with orchards of pear and quince, grape 
and apricot, peach and plum. Look to the north or to 
the south, and snowy mountai-peaks meet your gaze. 
Look to the east, and long avenues of orange trees invite 
your steps, and their golden fruit tempt your appetite. 
Look beyond the beautiful lawn in front, and to the 
west, and "old ocean's gray and melancholy waste" meets 
your view. Bring your eyes back to the lawn. In the cen- 
ter is a fountain sending its silver spray high in the air. 
From its base white pebbled walks radiate in eight di- 
rections, as if to meet the angles of an octagon. These 
walks are lined with the most delicate flowers and foli- 
age plants; oleander and rhododendrons are interspersed 
here and there, and the closely mown sward feels like 
a carpet to the feet. 

The residence is modern in structure, but is more con- 
venient than palatial, more useful than elegant. 

This is the home of Dora and Carl. Here is where 
they hold sweet converse with nature. Here is where 
they look out on the beauties of God's world, when the 
morning breaks and the curtain of night is slowly lift 
ing. Here is where they hear the first notes of the robin, 
and inhale the sweet odor of the orange blossom. This 
is not a home of luxuriant, dissipated ease, but it is a 


home of cheerful, active employment, interspersed with 
the comforts of repose. 

As I sit and pen these lines, and look out upon old 
ocean and hear its distant dashings and murmurings as 
the tide comes in, the white sail upon its bosom is a 
silent reminder that we are all, all, on the ocean of time, 
and these lines of VVhittier come to me most forcibly: 

"I know not where God's islands lift 

Their fronded palms in air; 
I only know I cannot drift 
Beyond His love and care." 

And a sentence comes down over the centuries and 
cheers my soul: "In my father's house are many man- 

And now I hear the patter of childish feet on the stair- 
way; the door is gently pushed aside, and Blanche and 
Paul have come to call me to the evening meal. They 
take each a hand, and we descend. 

Dr. McKenzie, with his cheerful face and silvered 
beard, stands at the head of the table. I take my place 
On his right; Dora, with baby Lavinia in her arms, oppo- 
site to me, with a face radiant with the bloom of health, 
contentment, and love; Blanche goes to my right, and 
Paul to Dora's left. We sit the Doctor raises his voice 
in simple thanksgiving. The last rays of a sinking sun 
throw a mellow light upon the happy group. Let us 
leave them to the enjoyment of their repast and the rare 
delights of a happy home. 


JUN 4 ' 44