The story of a country town

IC-NRLF.

THE STOEY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

THE

STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN

BY E. W. HOWE

BOSTON

JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY
1885

Copyright, 1882 and 1884, by
E. W. HOWE.

All Rights Reserved.

STKRFOTTPFT) BY
C. J. PETERS AND SON, BOSTON.

P E E F A C E.

SHOULD "The Story of a Country Town" find readers,
it may be interesting to them to know that it was written
entirely at night, after the writer had finished a hard
day's work as editor and publisher of a small evening
newspaper. I do not think a line of it was written while
the sun was shining, but in almost every chapter there
are recollections of the midnight bell.

No one can possibly find more fault with it than I have
found myself. A hundred times I have been on the point
of burning the manuscript, and never atitepijrtmg ,it again 5
for I was always tired while working at it, and always
dissatisfied after concluding an evening's "work. *I "Differ"
this as a general apology for its many defects, and can
only hope it will meet with the charity it deserves.

I believe that when I began the story I had some sort
of an idea that I might be able to write an acceptable
work of fiction, but I have changed it so often, and wor
ried about it so much, that at its conclusion I have no
idea whether it is very bad, o\only indifferent. I think
that originally I had some hope that it might enable me
to get rid of my weary newspaper work, and help me to
more ease than I have ever known, but I am so tired now

Vi PREFACE.

that I am incapable of exercising my judgment with ref
erence to it. If it prove a success or a failure I shall
not be surprised, for I have no opinion of my own on the
subject.

For several years I have felt that I would like an
opportunity to address a larger audience than my news
paper's circulation affords, but I find now that I am very
timid about it, and worry a great deal for fear the verdict
will not be favorable. A gentleman who once looked
over a portion of the manuscript said his first impression
was that it was the work of a ti^ed man, and that the pen
seemed to drag heavily in making the words. I fear this
will be the verdict of the people, and that they will say I
should have given up my newspaper writing before at
tempting it. The reason I did not do this was that I had
no confidence in my ability to become an acceptable his-
.tc.rian o.f a :coii;itry town, therefore I worked harder than
I should during ine ,day, and went wearily at the story at

Should inquiry be made as to whether any part of the
story be true, I could only reply that I have never known
anyone who did not furnish some suggestion or idea in
the construction of the book, as I have never lived in a
town that did not afford some material for the descrip
tion of Twin Mounds. I meet Jo Errings every day, and
frequently lead them up to denounce their particular
Clinton Bragg; I have known several John Westlocks,
and I am afraid that Mateel Shepherds are more numer
ous than is desirable. I have known troops of Mrs. John

PREFACE. Vll

Westlocks, for in the country where I was brought up all
the women were pale, timid, and overworked; I hope
that Agnes Deming can be duplicated in every commu
nity, and I believe that Big Adams are numerous every
where ; but I must confess that I never knew but one
Little Biggs, though his wife may be seen hurrying out
of the way, should you decide to look for her, in every
third or fourth house.

I hope there will be general sympathy for Jo Erring.
In writing the history of this creature of my fancy, I have
almost come to believe tljpt I have an uncle of that name,
and that he lived and died as I have narrated. Some
times I think of him wandering in the cave, crying,
" Help ! Help ! I am lost ! " and his voice is very pitiful
and distressed. At other times he has come into my room
and sat beside me as I wrote. I have been with him to
the cave on a stormy night, and heard the beginning of
the few sweet chords of music he describes, but which
were immediately broken into by the furious uproar of
devils ; sometimes I think I have found him in every-day
life, and that he is still listening at night to the horrible
noise of his skeleton. If some one should confess to me
that he is Jo Erring in every particular except that when
the keeper of the Twin Mounds jail gave him opportunity
he ran away, I believe I should be his friend.

In our part of the country there was a strange man
answering to the description of Damon Barker, and I
often visited him when a boy, but he lived in a hovel on
the prairie, which was dirty beyond description. He had

Vlll PREFACE.

boxes filled with strange wearing-apparel, and brass pis
tols without number, and he told me stories ; but he ran
a nursery instead of a mill, though I have heard that he
had a sister. I originally intended to make these two
central figures in the story, but Jo Erring wandered into
my mind, and I am afraid I have made sad work of him.

E. W. H.

ATCHISON, KANSAS, Sept. 4, 1883.

CONTENTS.

CHAP. PACK.

I. FAIRVIEW 1

II. THE HELL QUESTION AND THE REV. JOHN

WESTLOCK ... 12

III. THE HOUSE OF ERRING 23

IY. THE RELIGION OF FAIRVIEW 32

V. THE SCHOOL IN THE CHUECH 38

VI. DAMON BAEKEE 48

VII. A NEW DISPENSATION 57

VIII. THE SMOKY HILL SECEET 69

IX. THE CHARITY OF SILENCE 87

X. Jo EEEING MAKES A FULL CONFESSION ... 99
XI. WITH REFEEENCE TO A MAN WHO WAS SENT
WEST TO GEOW UP WITH THE COUNTEY OE

GET KILLED 112

XII. LOVE'S YOUNG LESSON 123

XIII. THE FLOCK OF THE GOODE SHEPHEED .... 134

XIY. I AM SUBPEISED 148

XV. THE COUNTEY TOWN 154

XYI. MOEE OF THE VILLAGE OF TWIN MOUNDS . . 165

XVII. THE FELLOW 177

XVIII. THE MILL AT EEEING' s FOED 185

ix

X ., CONTEXTS.

XIX. THE FALL OF REV. JOHN WESTLOCK . . . 202

XX. Two HEARTS THAT BEAT AS ONE 212

XXI. THE PECULIARITIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN . 228

XXII. A SKELETON IN THE HOUSE AT BERING'S

FORD ....."» 244

XXIII. THE SHADOW IN THE SMOKY HILLS .... 264

XXIY. A LETTER FROM Jo 279

XXY. THE SEA GIVES UP ITS DEAD 285

XXVI. BARKER'S STORY 29(3

XXYII. THE LIGHT GOES OUT FOREVER 309

XXVIII. Too LATE 326

XXIX. THE SKELETON AGAIN 337

XXX. A LETTER FROM MR. BIGGS ....... 350

XXXI. KILLED AT THE FORD 355

XXXII. THE TWIN MOUNDS JAIL 3G8

XXXIII. REAPING THE WHIRLWIND 382

XXXIV. THE GRAVE BY THE PATH 392

XXXV. THE HISTORY OF A MISTAKE 393

XXXVI. CONCLUSION . , ,410

THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

CHAPTER I.

FALRVIEW.

OURS was the prairie district out West, where we
had gone to grow up with the country.

I believe that nearly every farmer for miles around
moved to the neighborhood at the same time, and that
my father's wagons headed the procession. I have heard
that most of them gathered about him on the way, and as
he preached from his wagon wherever night overtook him,
and held camp-meetings on Sundays, he attracted a fol
lowing of men travelling the same road who did not know
themselves where they were going, although a few of the
number started with him, among them my mother's father
and his family. When he came to a place that suited
him, he picked out the land he wanted — which u^y man
was free to do at that time — and the others settled about
him.

In the dusty tramp of civilization westward — which
seems to have always been justified by a tradition that
men grow up by reason of it — our section was not a
favorite, and remained new and unsettled after counties
and States farther west had grown old. Every one who
came there seemed favorably impressed with the steady
fertility of the soil, and expressed surprise that the lands
were not all occupied ; but no one in the great outside

1

STGfoY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

world talked about it, and no one wrote about it, so that
those who were looking for homes went to the west or
the north, where others were going.

There were cheap lands farther on, where the people
raised a crop one year, and were supported by charity the
next ; where towns sprang up on credit, and farms were
opened with borrowed money; where the people were
apparently content, for our locality did not seem to be far
enough wrest, nor far enough north, to suit them ; where
no sooner was one stranger's money exhausted than
another arrived to take his place ; where men mortgaged
their possessions at full value, and thought themselves
rich, notwithstanding, so great was their faith in the
country ; where he who was deepest in debt was the
leading citizen, and where bankruptcy caught them all
at last. On these lands the dusty travellers settled,
where there were churches, school-houses, and bridges —
but little rain — and railroads to carry out the crops
should any be raised ; and when any one stopped in our
neighborhood, he was too poor and tired to follow the
others.

I became early impressed with the fact that our people
seemed to be miserable and discontented, and frequently
wondered that they did not load their effects on wagons
again, and move away from a place which made all the
men surly and rough, and the women pale and fretful.
Although I had never been to the country they had left,
except as a baby in arms, I was unfavorably impressed
with it, thinking it must have been a very poor one that
such a lot of people left it and considered their condition
bettered by the change, for they never talked of going
back, and were therefore probably better satisfied than
they had ever been before. A road ran by our house, and
when I first began to think about it at all, I thought that

FAIR VIEW CHUKCH. 3

the covered wagons travelling it carried people moving
from the country from which those in our neighborhood
came, and the wagons were so numerous that I was led to
believe that at least half the people of the world had tried
to live there, and moved away after an unfortunate
experience.

>^On the highest and bleakest point in the county, where
the winds wrere plenty in winter because they were not
needed, and scarce in summer for an opposite reason, the
meeting-house was built, !in a corner of my father's field.
This was called Fairview, and so the neighborhood was
known. There was a graveyard around it, and cornfields
next to that, but not a tree or shrub attempted its orna
ment, and as the building stood on the main road where
the movers' wagons passed, I thought that, next to their
ambition to get away from the country which had been
left by those in Fairview, the movers were anxious to get
away from Fairview church, and avoid the possibility of
being buried in its ugly shadow, for they always seemed
to drive faster after passing it.

High up in a steeple which rocked with every wind was
a great bell, the gift of a missionary society, and when
there was a storm this tolled with fitful and uncertain
strokes, as if the ghosts from the grave lot had crawled up
there, and were counting the number to be buried the
coming year, keeping the people awake for miles around.
Sometimes, when the wind was particularly high, there
were a great number of strokes on the bell in quick suc
cession, which the pious said was an alarm to the wicked,
sounded by the devil, a warning relating to the conflagra
tion wrhich could never be put out, else Fairview would
never have been built.

When any one died it was the custom to toll the bell
once for every year of the deceased's age, and as deaths

4 THE STOKY OF A COUNTKY TOWN.

usually occur at night, we were frequently wakened from
Bleep by its deep and solemn tones. When I was yet a
very little boy I occasionally went with my father to toll
the bell when news came that some one was dead, for we
lived nearer the place than any of the others, and when
the strokes ran up to forty and fifty it was very dreary
work, and I sat alone in the church wondering who would
ring for me, and how many strokes could be counted by
those who were shivering at home in their beds.

The house was built the first year of the settlement, and
the understanding was that my father contributed the
little money necessary, and superintended the work, in
which he was assisted by any one who volunteered his
labor. It was his original intention to build it alone, and
the little help he received only irritated him, as it was
not worth the boast that he had raised a temple to the
Lord single-handed. All the carpenter's work, and all
the plasterer's work, he performed without assistance ex
cept from members of his own household, but I believe
the people turned out to the raising, and helped put up
the frames.

Regularly after its completion he occupied the rough
pulpit (which he built with especial reference to his own
size), and every Lord's Day morning and evening preached
a religion to the people which I think added to their other
discomforts, for it was hard and unforgiving. There were
two or three kinds of Baptists among the people of Fair-
view when the house was completed, and a few Presby
terians, but they all became Methodists without revolt or
question when my father announced in his first preaching
that Fail-view would be of that denomination.

He did not solicit them to join him, though he probably
intimated in a way which admitted of no discussion that
the few heretics yet remaining out in the world had better

WHO I AM. 5

save themselves before it was too late. It did not seem
to occur to him that men and women who had grown up
in a certain faith renounced it with difficulty; it was
enough that they were wrong, and that he was forgiving
enough to throw open the doors of the accepted church.
If they were humiliated, he was glad of it, for that was
necessary to condone their transgression ; if they had
arguments to excuse it, he did not care to hear them, as
he had taken God into partnership, and built Fairview,
and people who worshipped there would be expected to
throw aside all doctrinal nonsense.

As I shall have something to do with this narrative,
there may be a curiosity on the part of the reader to
know who I am. I state, then, that I am the only son of
the Rev. John Westlock — and the only child, unless a
little girl born a year before me, and whom I have heard
my mother speak of tenderly as pretty and blue-eyed, is
to be called up from her grave and counted ; and I have
the best of reason for believing (the evidence being my
father's word, a man whose integrity was never doubted)
that he moved to the place where my recollection begins,
to do good and grow up with the country. Whether my
lather remarked it in my presence — he seldom said any
thing to me — I do not now remember, but I believe to
this day, in the absence of anything to the contrary, that
the circuit he rode in the country which he had left was
poor, and paid him but rarely for his services, which
induced him to quit preaching as a business, and resolve
to evangelize in the West on his own account, at the
jSame time putting himself in the way of growing up with
' the country, an idea probably new at that time, and very
significant.

In the great Bible which was always lying open on a

6 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

table in our house, between the Old and the New Testa
ment, my name and the date of my birth were recorded in
bold handwriting, immediately following the information
that Helen Elizabeth Westlock arrived by the mercy of
God on the 19th of July, and departed in like manner on
the 3d of April ; and I did not know, until I was old
enough to read for myself, that I had been christened
Abram Xedrow Westlock, as I had always been called
Ned, and had often wondered if any of the prophets were
of that name, for my father, and my mother, and my
uncle Jo (my mother's only brother, who had lived at our
house most of his life), and my grandmother, and my
grandfather, were all named for some of the people I had
heard referred to when the big Bible was read. But
when I found Abram before the Nedrow, I knew that I
had not been neglected. This discovery caused me to
ask my mother so many questions that I learned in addi
tion that the Nedrow part of the name referred to a
preacher of my father's denomination, and not to a
prophet, and that my father admired him and named me
for him because he had once preached all day at a camp-
meeting, and then spent most of the following night in
prayer. I therefore concluded that it was intended that
I should be pious, and early began to search the Scriptures
for the name of Abram, that I might know in what man
ner he had distinguished himself.

The first thing I can remember, and this only indis
tinctly, was connected with the removal of our effects
from an old house to a new one, and that the book on
which I usually sat at the table was mislaid during the
day, which made it necessary for me to stand during the
progress of the evening meal. I began to cry when this
announcement was made, whereupon my father said in a
stern way that I was now too old to cry, and that I must

MY BIRTH. 7

never do it again. I remarked it that day, if I never did
before, that he was a large, fierce-looking man, whom it
would likely be dangerous to trifle with, and that a full
set of black whiskers, and a blacker frown, completely
covered his face ; from that time I began to remember
events, and they will appear as this narrative progresses.

Of my youth before this time I have little knowledge/'
except that my mother said once in my presence that I
was a very pretty baby, but that I had now got bravely
over it, and that as a child I was known in all the country
round as a great baby to cry, being possessed of a stout
pair of lungs, which I used on the slightest occasion.
This, coupled with an observation from my uncle Jo that
when he first saw me, an hour or two after birth, I looked
like a fish-worm, was all I could find out about my earlier
history, and the investigation was so unsatisfactory that j^
gave it up.

Once I heard my father say, when he was in a good
humor, that when the nurse employed for my arrival
announced that I was a boy, my mother cried hysterically
for half an hour, as she desired a blue-eyed girl to replace
the one she had buried, and when I heard my mother tell
a few weeks afterwards, in a burst of confidence, to a num
ber of women who happened to be there, that my father
stormed for an hour because I was born at all, I concluded
that I had never been very welcome, and regretted that I
had ever come into the world. They both wanted a girl
— when the event was inevitable — to help about the
house, as Jo was thought to be all the help necessary in
the field, and in the earlier days of my life I remember
feeling that I was out of place because I did not wear
dresses, and wash dishes, thus saving the pittance paid a
farmer's daughter during the busy season.

The only remarkable thing I ever did in my life — I may

8 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

as well mention it here, and be rid of it — was to learn to
read letters when I was five years old, and as the ability
to read even print was by no means a common accom
plishment in Fairview, this circumstance gave me great
notoriety. I no doubt learned to read from curiosity as
to what the books and papers scattered about were for, as
no one took the pains to teach me, for I remember that
they were all greatly surprised when I began to spell
words, and pronounce them, and I am certain I was never
encouraged in it.

It was the custom when my father went to the nearest
post-office to bring back with him the mail of the entire
neighborhood, and it was my business to deliver the letters
and papers at the different houses. If I carried letters, I was
requested to read them, and the surprise which I created in
this direction was so pronounced that it was generally said
that in time I should certainly become a great man, and
be invited to teach school. If I came to a word which I
did not understand I invented one to take its place, or an
entire sentence, for but few of the people could read the
letters themselves, and never detected the deception.
This occupation gave me my first impression of the coun
try where the people had lived before they came to Fair-
view, and as there was much in the letters of hard work
and pinching poverty, I believed that the writers lived in
a heavily timbered country, where it was necessary to dig
up trees to get room for planting. Another thing I no
ticed was that they all seemed to be dissatisfied and anx
ious to get away, and when in course of time I began to
write answers to the letters I was surprised to learn that
the people of Fairview were satisfied, and that they were
well pleased with the change.

I had never thought this before, for they all seemed as
miserable as was possible, and wondered about it a great

MY EARLY OCCUPATIONS. 9

deal. This gave me fresh reason for believing that the
country which our people had left was a very unfavored
one, and when I saw the wagons in the road I thought
that at last the writers of the letters I had been reading
had arrived and would settle on some of the great tracts of
prairie which could be seen in every direction, but they
turned the bend in the road and went on as if a look at
Fairview had frightened them, and they were going back
another way.

It seems to me now that between the time I began to
remember and the time I went out with my father and
Jo to work, or went alone through the field to attend
the school in the church, about a year elapsed, and that
I was very much alone during the interval, for ours
was a busy family, and none of them had time to look
after me. My father and Jo went to the fields, or away
with the teams, at a very early hour in the morning, and
usually did not return until night, and my mother was
always busy about the house, so that if I kept out of
mischief no more was expected of me. I think it was
during this year (it may have been two years, but cer
tainly not a longer period) that I learned to read, for I
had nothing else to do and no companions, and from look
ing at the pictures in the books I began to wonder what
the little characters surrounding them meant.

In this I was assisted by Jo, who seemed to know every
thing, and by slow degrees I put the letters together to
make words, and understood them. Sometimes in the
middle of the day I slipped out into the field to ask him
the meaning of something mysterious I had encountered,
and although he would good-naturedly inform me, I no
ticed that he and my father worked without speaking, and
that I seemed to be an annoyance, so I scampered back toj
my loneliness again.

10 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

During this time, too, I first noticed that my father was
not like other men who came to our house, for he was
always grave and quiet, and had little to say at any time.
It was a relief to me to hear him ask blessings at the table,
and pray morning and evening, for I seldom heard his
voice at any other time. I believe I regarded his quiet
manner only as an evidence that he was more pious than
others of his class, for I could make nothing else out of it,
•;but often regretted that his religion did not permit him to
•^notice me more, or to take me with him when he went
iaway in the wagon. Once I asked my mother why he
was always so stern and silent, and if it was because we
had offended him, to which she replied all in a tremble
that she did not know herself, and I thought that she
studied a great deal about him, too. My mother was as
timid in his presence as I was, and during the day, if I
came upon her suddenly, she looked frightened, thinking
it was he, but when she found it was not, her composure
returned again. Neither of us had reason to be afraid of
him, I am certain of that, but as we never seemed able to
please him (though he never said so), we were in constant
dread of displeasing him more than ever, or of causing him
to become more silent and dissatisfied, and to give up the
short prayers in which we were graciously mentioned for
a blessing.

The house where we lived, and into which we moved
on the day when my recollection begins, was the largest
in the settlement; a square house of two stories, painted
so white that after night it looked like a ghost. It was
built on lower ground than Fairview church, though the
location was sightly, and not far away ran a stream fringed
with thickets of brush, where I found the panting cattle
and sheep on hot days, and thought they gave me more
of a welcome than my father and Jo did in the field; for

RETROSPECTION. 11

they were not ousy, but idle like me, and I hoped it was
rather a relief to them to look at me in mild-eyed wonder.

Beyond the little stream and the pasture was the great
dusty road, and in my loneliness I often sat on the high
fence beside it to watch for the coming of the movers'
wagons, and to look curiously at those stowed away under
the cover bows, tumbled together with luggage and effects
of every kind. If one of the drivers asked me how far it
was to the country town I supposed he had heard of my
wonderful learning, and took great pains to describe the
road, as I had heard my father do a hundred times in
response to similar inquiries from movers. Sometimes I
climbed up to the driver's seat, and drove with him out
to the prairie, and I always noticed that the women and
children riding behind were poorly dressed, and tired
looking, and I wondered if only the unfortunate travelled
our way, for only that kind of people lived in Fairview,
and I had never seen any other kind in the road.

When I think of the years I lived in Fairview, I im
agine that the sun was never bright there (although I am
certain that it was), and I cannot relieve my mind of the
impression that the cold, changing shadow of the gray
church has spread during my long absence and enveloped
all the houses where the people lived. When I see Fair-
view in my fancy now, it is always from a high place, and
looking down upon it the shadow is denser around the
house where I lived than anywhere else, so that I feel
to this day that should I visit it, and receive permission
from the new owners to walk through the rooms, I should
find the walls damp and mouldy because the bright sun'
and the free air of Heaven had deserted them as a curse.

CHAPTER II.

THE HELL QUESTION, AND THE REV. JOHN WESTLOCK.

MY father's religion would have been unsatisfactory
without a hell.

It was a part of his hope of the future that worldly men
who scoffed at his piety would be punished, and this was
as much a part of his expectation as that those who were
faithful to the end would be rewarded. Everybody saved,
to my father's thinking, was as bad as nobody saved, and
in his well-patronized Bible not a passage for pleasurable
contemplation which intimated universal salvation was
marked, if such exists.

The sacrifices he made for religion were tasks, and his
reward was a conviction that those who refused to make
them would be punished, for he regarded it as an injustice
of which the Creator was incapable to do as well by His
enemies as by His friends. I believe that he would rather
have gone to heaven without the members of his family
than with them, unless they had earned salvation as he had
earned it, and travelled as steadily as himself the hard road
marked on his map as leading heavenward.

One of the best evidences to his mind of a compas
sionate and loving Saviour was the belief that all thought
of unfortunate friends in torment was blotted from the
memory of the redeemefl, and the lake of fire he thought
of as a remedy for the great number of disagreeable peo
ple with whom he was compelled to come in contact
12

PIETY AND THRIFT. 13

below, and of whom he would be happily rid above.
Religion was a misery to be endured on earth, that a
reward might be enjoyed after death. A man must spend
the ages of his future either in a very pleasant place, with
comfortable surroundings and pleasant associates, or in a
very unpleasant place, with uncomfortable surroundings
and all the mean people turned into devils and imps for
companions. It was the inevitable law; every man of
moderate sense should be able to appreciate the situation
at a glance, and do that which would insure his personal
safety. If there was a doubt — the thought was too
absurd for his contemplation, but admitting a doubt — his
future would be equal to that of the worldly man, for one
cannot rot more easily than another, or be more comfort
able as dust ; but if there was no doubt — and all the
authorities agree that there was none — then the difference
would be in his favor.

It was the best thing offering under the circumstances,
and should therefore be accepted without hesitation. If the
conditions were hard, he could not help it ; he might have
suggested changes in the plan of salvation had his judg
ment been invited, but the plan had been formulated
before his time, and there was nothing left for him but
obedience. If he thought he deserved credit for all he
possessed (and he was a man very likely to be seized with
that suspicion), the Bible said it came from God; that
settled the matter finally and forever — he gave thanks
(for a punishment was provided if he did not, and a
reward if he did), and pretended to have had nothing to
do with accumulating his property.

Religion was a matter of thrift and self-interest as
much as laying away money in youth and strength for old
age and helplessness, and he called upon sinners to flee
the wrath to come because he had been commanded to go

14 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

out and preach to all the world, for it mattered little to
'Jiim whether the people were saved or not. They had
eyes, therefore let them see ; ears, therefore let them hear.
The danger was so plain that they ought to save them
selves without solicitation.

That which he most desired seldom came to pass ; that
which he dreaded, frequently, but no matter; he gave
thanks to the Lord because it was best to do so, and asked
no questions. There were jewels for those who earned
them, and as a thrifty man he desired a greater number
of these than any other citizen of Fairview. lie was the
principal man in his neighborhood below, and desired to
be a shepherd rather than a sheep above; therefore he
was foremost in the church, and allowed no one to be
more zealous in doing the service of the hard master he had,
after careful thought and study, set out to serve, believing
the reward worth the service, and determined to serve
well if he served at all, as was his custom in everything
else.

If I do him an injustice I do not intend it, but I have
thought all my life that he regarded children as trouble
some and expensive — a practical sort of punishment for
sin, sent from time to time as the case seemed to require ;
and that he had been burdened with but two was no doubt
evidence to his mind that his life had been generally blame
less, if, indeed, this opinion was not confirmed by the cir.
cumstance that one of them had been taken from him in
return for good service in the holy cause. Once they
had arrived, however, he accepted the trust to return them
to their Maker as nearly like they came as possible, for
that was commanded of him.

Because he frequently referred to the road to heaven as
narrow and difficult, and the highway in the other direc
tion as broad and easy, I came to believe that but for hia

RELIGION A DUTY. 15

religion he would have been a man much given to money-
getting, and ambitious for distinction, but he put such
thoughts aside, and toiled away at his work as if to get
out of temptation's way. When he talked of the broad
and easy road it was with a relish, as though he could
enjoy the pleasant places by the way-side if he dared ;
and in his preaching I think he described the pleasures of
the world so vividly that his hearers were taken with a
wish to enjoy them, though it is not probable that he
knew anything about them except from hearsay, as he had
always been out of temptation's way — in the backwoods
during his boyhood, and on the prairie during his maturer
years. But when he talked of the narrow and difficult
path, his manner changed at once ; a frown came upon his
face ; he looked determined and unforgiving, and at every
point he seemed to build sign-posts marked " Duty ! " It
has occurred to me since that he thought of his religion as
a vigorous, healthy, successful man thinks in his quiet
moments of a wife sick since their marriage ; although he
may deserve a different fate, and desire it, he dares not
complain, for the more wearisome the invalid, the louder
the call of duty.

I think he disliked the necessity of being religious, and
only accepted and taught religion because he believed it
to be the best thing to do, for it did not afford him the
peace he professed. To all appearances he was a most
miserable man, although he taught that only the sinful are
miserable, and the few acquaintances he had who were
not equally devout (strangers passing through, or those
he met at the country town, for all were pious in Fair-
view) lived an easy and contented life which he seemed
to covet, but nobody knew it, for he reproved them with
all the more vigor because of his envy.

When not engaged in reading at night, as was his cus-

16 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

torn, he sat for hours looking steadily into the fire, and
was impatient if disturbed. I never knew what occupied
his thoughts at these times ; it may have been his preach
ing, or his daily work, but more likely he was seeing
glimpses of forbidden pictures ; caravans of coveted things
passing in procession, or of hopes and ambitions dwarfed
by duty. Perhaps in fancy he was out in the world
mingling with people of a class more to his taste than
Fairview afforded, and was thinking he could enjoy their
pleasures and occupations if they were not forbidden, or
wondering if, after all, his principles were not mistakes.
I believe that during these hours of silent thinking he was
tempted and beckoned by the invisible and mysteriously
potent forces he pretended to despise, and that he was
convinced that, to push them off, his religion must be made
more rigorous and pitiless.

That he coveted riches could be easily seen, and but foi
his fear of conscience he could have easily possessed him
self of everything worth owning in Fairview, for with the
exception of Theodore Meek, the next best man in the
neighborhood, he was about the only one among the peo
ple who read books and subscribed for newspapers. None
of them was his equal in intelligence or energy, and had
he desired he could have traded them out of what little
they possessed, and sold it back again at a comfortable
profit. But, " do unto others as you would have others
do unto you," was commanded of him by his inexorable
master, and he was called upon to help the weak rather
than rob them ; therefore he often gave them assistance
which he could but poorly afford. This limited him so
much that he had no other hope of becoming well-to-do
than that the lands which he was constantly buying would
finally become valuable by reason of the development and
settlement of the country. This he regarded as honorable

MY FATHER'S SONGS. 17

and fair, and to this work he applied himself with great
energy.

I heard little of his father, except that he was noted
where he lived as a man of large family, who provided
them all with warm elothes in winter and plenty to eat
all the year round. His early history was probably as un
important and eventless as my own. He seldom mentioned
his father to any one, except in connection with a story
which he occasionally told, that once, when his house was
on fire, he called so loud for help that he was heard a mile.
Evidently the son succeeded to this extraordinary pair of
lungs, for he sang the religious songs common in that day
with such excellence that no man attempted to equal him.
While his singing was strong and loud, it was melodious,
and he had as great a reputation for that as for piety and
thrift. His was a camp-meeting voice, though he occa
sionally sang songs of little children, as "Moses in the
Bulrushes," of which there were thirty-eight verses, and
the cradle song commencing, • " Hush, my dear, lie still
and slumber," written by a noted hymn-writer, otherwise
my father would not have patronized him. Besides a
thorough familiarity with all the common, long, short,
and particular metres, he had a collection of religious
songs preserved in a leather-bound book, the notes being
written in buckwheat characters on blue paper fast turn
ing yellow with age, and the words on the opposite page.
Feeling the necessity of a knowledge of notes once, he
had learned the art in a few weeks, in his usual vigorous
way, and sang at sight ; and after that he preserved his
old songs, and all the new ones he fancied, in the book I
have mentioned. The songs to which I refer I have never
seen in print, and lie sang them on special occasions, as at
a camp-meeting when a tiresome preacher had allowed the
interest to flag. "Behold Paul a Prisoner," a complete

18 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

history of the Apostle requiring almost an afternoon in
its performance, or " Christ in the Garden," nearly as long,
never failed to start the interest anew in an emergency,
and if the case were very desperate, he called the mem
bers of his family into the pulpit, and sang a quartet
called "The Glorious Eighth of April," using for the
words the first hymn in the book.

This was usually sufficient to start some one to shout
ing, and after a short prayer he preached as vigorously
and loudly as he sang, and with an equally good effect.

Of his brothers and sisters, although he had a great
number, he seldom talked, and I scarcely knew the names
of the States in which they lived, as they were scattered
in every direction. I had heard him mention a Samuel, a
Joseph, a Jacob, an Elias, a Rebecca, a Sarah, a Rachel,
and an Elizabeth, from which I came to believe that my
grandfather was a religious man (his own name was Amos),
and I once heard that his children on Sundays carried
their shoes to the brook near the meeting-house before
putting them on, that they might last the longer, which
confirmed the belief that there had been religion in his
family as there was in ours.

Of his mother he said nothing at all, and if they had
neighbors he never mentioned them. In short, he did not
seem proud of his family, which caused us to wonder why
he was so much like his father, which we had come to
believe without exactly knowing why. We were certain
he was like his father in religion ; in the hard way in
which he worked ; in his capacity to mend his own ploughs
and wagons ; and in the easy manner in which he adapted
himself to his surroundings, whatever they Avere, for in all
these particulars he was unlike any other man we had ever
known, and different from his neighbors, who spent half a
day in asking advice in a matter which could be remedied

THE SECRET OF INDUSTRY. 19

in half an hour. The people came to our house from miles
around to borrow, and to ask the best time to plant and
to sow, but the Rev. John West-lock asked advice of no
one, and never borrowed. If he needed an extra harrow,
he made one of wood to answer until such a time as he
could trade to advantage for a better one ; if he broke a
plough, he managed somehow to mend it until a rainy day
came, when he made it as good as new. Even in cases of
sickness he usually had a bottle hid away that contained
relief, and in all other things was equally capable and
thrifty.

If it be to the credit of a man to say that he was a slave
to hard work, I cheerfully add this testimony to the great
ness of my father, for he went to the field at daylight only
to return with the darkness, winter and summer alike;
and never in my life have I seen him idle — except on the
day appointed for rest — and even then he devoured the
Bible like a man reading at so much per page. He worked
hard when he preached, talking rapidly that he might
accomplish as much as possible before the people became
impatient, and he no sooner finished one song of warning,
than he began another.

My father being large and positive, it followed naturallyj
that my mother was small and weak, and thoroughly urn
der his control. I don't think she was afraid of him, but
he managed his own affairs so well that she was willing
he should manage hers, as he had given her good reason
to respect his judgment. She probably argued — if she
argued the question at all — that as his ideas were good
in everything else, he would of course know how to man
age a boy, so my bringing up was left entirely to him.

She never corrected me except to say that father would
not like what I was doing, and she might find it necessary
to call his attention to it, but in the goodness of her heart

20 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

she forgot it, and never told him unless the offence was a
very grave one. While she frequently pleaded with me
to be good, and cried in vexation if I would not, she never
gave commands which were enforced with severe punish
ments, as he did ; therefore I am afraid that I did not
appreciate her kindness and favor, but rather enjoyed my
freedom when under her care as a respite from restraint at
other times. She was as quiet and thoughtful as her hus
band, but seemed sad rather than angry and discontented,
as was the case with him, and it will be readily imagined
that as a family we were not much given to happiness.
While I never heard my father speak harshly to her, he
was often impatient, as though he regretted he had not
married a wife as ambitious and capable as himself ; but
if he thought of it, he gave it no other attention than to
become more gloomy, and pacified himself by reading far
into the night without speaking to any one.

I could find no fault with him except that he never
spoke kindly to me, and it annoyed him if I asked him
questions concerning what I read in his books. When
Jo and I worked with him in the field, which we both be
gan to do very early in life, he always did that which was
hardest and most disagreeable, and was not a tyrant in
anything save the ungrumbling obedience he exacted to
whatever he thought about the matter in hand, without
reference to what others thought on the same subject.
We had to be at something steadily, whether it helped
him or not, because he believed idle boys grew up into
idle men. Other boys in the neighborhood built the early
fires, and did the early feeding, but he preferred to do
these things himself — whether out of consideration for
us, or because it was troublesome to drive us to it, I do
not know. After starting the fire in the room in "which
he slept, he stepped to our door and told us to get up, to

THE DAY'S ROUTINE. 21

which command we mumblingly replied and slept on.
After returning from the stables, he spoke to us again,
but we still paid no attention. Ten minutes later he
would start up the stairs with angry strides, but he never
caught us, for we knew that was final and hurried on our
clothes. Seeing that we were up and dressing when he
reached the head of the stairs, he would say, " "Well, you 'd
better," and go down again, where we speedily followed.
This was his regular custom for years ; we always expected
it of him, and were never disappointed.

After the morning devotions, which consisted of read
ing a chapter from the Bible and a prayer always expressed
in exactly the same words, he asked a blessing for the
meal by this time ready (the blessing was as unvarying as
the prayer), and we ate in silence. Then we were warmly
clothed, if it was winter, and compelled to go out and
work until we were hungry again. I suppose we helped
him little enough, but his reasoning convinced him that,
to work easily and naturally, work must become a habit,
and should be taught from youth up, therefore we went
out with him every day and came back only with the
darkness.

I think he was kinder with us when at work than at any
other time, and we admired him in spite of the hard and
exacting tasks he gave us to do — he called them stints —
for he was powerful and quick to aid us when we needed
it, and tender as a 'child if we were sick. Sometimes on
cold days we walked rather than rode to the timber, where
my father went to chop wood while Jo and I corded it.
On one of these occasions I became ill while returning
home at night — a slight difficulty, it must have been, for
I was always stout and robust — and he carried me all the
way in his arms. Though I insisted I could walk, and
wae better, he said I was not heavy, and trudged along

22 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

like a great giant, holding me so tenderly that I thought
for the first time that perhaps he loved me. For weeks
after that I tried as hard as I could to please him, and to
induce him to commend my work ; but he never did, for
whether I was good or bad, he was just the same, silent
and grave, so that if I became indifferent in my tasks, I
fear^he was the cause of it.

Other families had their holidays, and owned guns and
dogs, which they used in hunting the wild game then so
abundant ; but there was little of this at our house, and
perhaps this was the reason why we prospered more than
those around us. Usually Jo and I were given the Satur
day afternoons to ourselves, when we roamed the country
with some of the idle vagabonds who lived in rented
houses, visiting turkey roosts a great distance in the
woods, and only returning long after night-fall. I do riot
remember that we were ever idle in the middle of the
week, unless we were sent on errands, as buying young
stock at low prices of the less thrifty neighbors, or some
thing else in which there was profit ; so that we had little
time to learn anything except hard work, and if we learned
that well it was because" we were excellently taught by a
competent master. During those years work became such
a habit with me that ever since it has clung to me, and
perhaps, after all, it was an inheritance for which I have
reason to be thankful. I remember my father's saying
scornfully to me once, as if intimating that I ought to
make up by unusual industry for the years of idleness, that
I was a positive burden and expense to him until I was
seven years old. So it will readily be imagined that I
was put to work early, and kept steadily at it.

CHAPTER III.

THE HOUSE OF ERRING.

THE friend and companion of my boyhood was Jo
Erring, my mother's only brother, who had been in
the family since before I was born. He was five years
my senior, and a stout and ambitious fellow I greatly ad
mired ; but as he was regularly flogged when I was, this
circumstance gave rise to his first ambition to become a
man and whip my father, whom he regarded with little
favor.

There was a kind of tradition that when he became of
age he was to have a horse" and ten dollars in money, but
whether this was really the price of his work I never
knew. More likely he came to our house with my
mother, as he was not wanted at home, and had lived
there until other disposition could be made of him. He
usually had a horse picked out as the one he desired, and
gave it particular attention, but as each of these in turn
was disposed of at convenient opportunity, he became
more than ever convinced that he was related by mar
riage to a very unscrupulous man.

I remember him at this period as an overgrown boy
always wearing cast-off clothing either too large or too
small for him, and the hero and friend of every boy on
Fairview prairie. Although he was the stoutest boy in
the neighborhood, and we often wondered that he did not
sometimes whip all the others simply because he could, he
never quarreJled, but was in every dispute a mediator, an-

23

24 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

nouncing his decisions in a voice good-natured and hoarse ;
and as he was honest and just, and very stout, there were
no appeals from his decisions. In our rough amusements,
which were few enough, he used his strength to secure to
the smaller ones their share, and gave way himself with
the same readiness that lie exacted from the others ; there
fore lie was very popular among the younger portion of
the population, and there was great joy at school when it
was announced — which pleasure I usually had — that Jo
Erring had finished his winter's work, and was coming
the next day, for all forms of oppression must cease from
that date. Sometimes he came by the school on a winter
evening with a rude sled, to which he had young horses
attached to break them, and if the larger boys climbed on
to ride home, or as far as he went, he made them all get
off, and loading up with those too small to look after
their own interests in the struggle, drove gaily away
with me by his side.

There were few men more trusty than Jo, and he
always made a round in the plough-field after my father
Had turned out, as if to convince him that he was mistaken
in the opinion that boys were good for nothing. When
there was corn to gather, he took the slowest team and
the lazy hired man, and brought in more loads than my
father and I, and if I found any way to aid him in this I
always did it. They seemed to hate each other in secret,
for the master disliked a boy who was able to equal him
in anything, as if his extra years had availed him nothing;
and I confess that my sympathies were always with Jo,
for the grown people picked at him because of his ambi
tion to become a man, in all other respects than age, a
few years sooner than was usual. While nobody disputed
that he was a capable fellow, he was always attempting
something he could not carry out, and thus became a sub-

JO ERHING. 25

ject of ridicule in spite of his worth and ability; if he was
sent to the timber for wood, he would volunteer to be
back at an impossible time, and although he returned
sooner than most men would have done, they laughed at
him, and regarded him as a great failure.

It was said of him that he exaggerated, but I think that
he was only anxious that it be known what he could do if
he had an opportunity ; and as every one thought less of
him than he deserved, he kept on talking of himself to
correct a wrong impression, and steadily made matters
worse. His activity kept him down, for another thing,
for thereby he raised an opposition which would not have
existed had lie been content to walk leisurely along in the
tracks made by his elders. lie accepted none of the
opinions of the Fairvicw men, and it was said of him that
he was a skeptic for no other reason than that everybody
else was religious, and I am not certain but that there
was some truth in this.

If the truth of a certain principle was asserted, he
denied it, not by rude controversy, but by his actions ;
and by his ingenuity he often made a poorer one seenT
better, if the one proposed happened to be right, as was *
sometimes the case — for the Fairview people had but two
ways to guess, and occasionally adopted a right method
instead of a wrong one, by accident.

I believe there was nothing he could not do. He
shingled hair in a superb manner for any one who applied,
and charged nothing for the service. And I helped him
learn the art, for he practised on me so mucli that I was
nearly always bald. He made everything he took a fancy
for, and seemed to possess himself of the contents of a
book by looking through it ; for though I seldom found
him reading, he was about as well-informed as the books
themselves. When the folks were away at camp-meeting,

26 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

he added my mother's work to his own, and got along
very well with it. I never heard of anything a Fairview
boy could do better than Jo Erring, and he did a great
many things in which he had no competition ; therefore I
have often wondered that the only young man there who
really amounted to anything was for some reason rather
unpopular. Jo was unfortunate in the particular that he
seemed to have inherited all the poorer qualities of both
his father and mother instead of the good qualities of
either one of them, or a commendable trait from one, and
an undesirable one from the other. I have heard of men
who resembled the less worthy of their parents — I be
lieve this is the rule — but never before have I known a
boy to resemble both his parents in everything they tried
to hide. His tendency to exaggeration he got honestly
from his mother, who was a fluent talker, but Jo was not
like her in that. In this Jo was like his father, who
would not say a half dozen words without becoming hope
lessly entangled, and making long pauses in painful effort
to extricate his meaning.

Jo was often sent to a water-mill in the woods with
a grist, and while waiting for his wheat or corn to be
ground, he regarded the machinery with the closest at
tention, and at length became impressed with the idea that
after he had become a man, and whipped my father, he
would like to follow milling for a business. The miller,
an odd but kindly man of whom but little was known in
our part of the country, admired Jo's manly way, and
made friends with him by good-naturedly answering his
questions, and occasionally inviting him to his house for
dinner; and Jo talked so much of his ambition and his
friend, that he came to be called " The Miller," and spent
his spare time in making models, and trying them in the
rivulets which ran through the fields after a rain.

THE MILL IN THE WOODS. 27

His father's farm was skirted by Big Creek, and here he
picked out a site for his mill when he should be able to
build it, at a place called Erring's Ford (the location
really did credit to his judgment), and having hauled a
load of stones there one Saturday afternoon for a dam,
the circumstance gave rise to the only pleasantry ever
known in Fairview. When any one spoke of an event
not likely to happen, he said it would probably come
about when the sky rained pitchforks on the roof of Jo
Erring's mill ; but Jo paid little attention to this banter,
and hauled more stones for the dam whenever he had
opportunity, in which work I assisted, in preference to
idleness without him. He hoped to become apprenticed
to his friend the miller to learn the business, and to com
plete his own enterprise by slow degrees from his small
savings. And he never lost sight of this purpose, pur
suing it so steadily that a few of those who at first
laughed at him spoke at length encouraging words, and
said tKey believed he would finally succeed, although it
would be a long time in coming about.

I was secretly very fond of the mill enterprise, and
admired Jo more than ever, that he was bold enough to
attempt carrying it out. Our plan to run away was
altered by this new interest, and we agreed that it would
be better to wait patiently until the mill was complete,
and buy our liberty from its profits ; for Jo had gen
erously agreed to ransom me as well as himself as soon as
he was able.

Jo's mother, a very large woman who was the ac
knowledged head of the House of Erring, and doctor for
half that country, lived four miles from Fairview church,
on Big Creek, in a house of hewn 'logs, the inside of which
was a marvel for neatness. Of her husband the people
knew nothing except that he was a shingle-maker, and

28 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

that lie was probably a very wicked man, for he wan
about the only one in the settlement who did not profess
religion, and attend the gatherings at the church. The
calling of shingle-making he followed winter and summer,
and he never seemed to raise anything on his farm except
a glassy kind of corn with a great many black grains in
every ear, which he planted and cultivated with a hoe.
After it was gathered, he tied most of it in bunches, and
hung it up to dry on the kitchen rafters, where it was
understood to be for sale as seed ; although I never heard
that it was good for anything except to parch, and the
only use he ever made of it, that I knew anything about,
was to give it to Jo and me with the air of a man con
ferring a great favor.

My father liked nothing about Dad Erring except his
one virtue of attending to his own business, such as it
was ; and said of him that he selected his piece of land
because it was near a spring, whereas the exercise of a
little energy would have dug a well affording an -equally
good supply of water on vastly superior land.

Indeed, no one seemed to like him, and the dislike was
mutual, for if he was familiar with any one except Jo, my
mother, and myself, I never knew of it. lie seldom spoke
even to my grandmother when I was about, and I think
only very rarely at any other time, for they seemed never
to have recovered from some old trouble. There was this
much charity for him, however — the people said no more
than that he was an exceedingly odd sort of a man (a ver
dict true of his appearance as well as disposition, for he
was very large, very raw-boned, and clean shaven), and
let him alone, which of all things he probably most
desired.

The people frequently met him walking along the road
swinging a stout stick, and taking tremendous strides (he

DAD ERRING. 29

never owned a horse, but took long journeys on foot, re
fusing a ride if offered him by a wagon going in the same
direction), but he did not speak to them unless compelled
and apparently had no other desire than to be let alone.

He never went anywhere except to the timber to make
shingles, and off on excursions afoot nobody knew whither,
from which he always returned in a few days in exactly
the same mood as that in which he had started. I have
heard that lie had relatives living in a settlement south of
us, but whether he went to visit them on his journeys, or
spent the money he earned in shingle-making in walking
about for his health, paying for his entertainment whore-
ever night overtook him, I did not know then, nor do I
know now.

Once in a long while he came to our house, always
when my father was away ; and, after watching my
mother awhile as she went about her work, went away
again, sometimes without saying a word, although she
always talked kindly to him, and was glad to see him.
Occasionally he would accept her invitation to refresh
himself with food, but not often ; and when he did he
would be offended unless she took a present of money to
buy something to remember him by. If she was dan
gerously ill — which was often the case, for she was never
strong — he was never sent for. Nobody thought of him
as of any use or as caring much about it ; but when she
had recovered, he would come over, and, after looking at
her curiously, return home satisfied. I think that had she
died, he would not have been invited to the funeral, but
I am certain that after it was all over, he would often
have visited her grave, and looked at it in quiet astonish
ment.

On returning from her visits to the sick, my grand
mother usually stopped at our house, and sometimes I

30 THE STOUY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

was lifted up behind to go home with her to take care of
the horse she rode, for my grandfather disliked horses.

Arriving at the house of hewn logs in the edge of the
woods, she dismounted and went in, and I went on to
the stables. Returning after I had finished my work, I
found my grandfather on one side of the fire-place, and my
grandmother on the other, looking into the fire, or, if it
was summer, into the cavernous recess where the backlog
would have been blazing in winter. If it was evening,

O O'

which was usually the case, I was soon sent out to make
the fire for the evening meal, but after this was eaten, we
resumed our places at the hearth. Sometimes I told them
what I knew was going on in the neighborhood, and
caused them to ask questions, and replied to them, and
tried to lure them into a conversation, but I never suc
ceeded. If my grandmother told me that one of her
patients had died, the information was really intended
for her husband ; and if he did not fully understand it, he
directed his questions to me, and she replied in the same
way. In this wray they also discussed household affairs of
which it was necessary for each to know, storing them
up until I came, but never speaking directly to each
other.

After I had sat between them for an hour or more, it
would suddenly occur to my grandmother that I had been-
up too long already, and after divesting me of clot! i ing,
I was tin-own into the centre of a great feather-bed, three
of which stood in a row at the back end of the room. I
was put into the middle one, as if to keep my grand
parents as far apart as possible again, for I was certain
that my grandmother slept in one, and my grandfather in
the other. The one which I occupied was also the com
pany bed, for my grandmother evidently desired me to
know that my mother, excellent woman though she was,

AN OLD DIFFICULTY. 3]

could not hope to learn perfectly the art of making up a
feather-bed for many years yet. If I raised my head
quietly, and looked out, I found the strange couple sitting
by the lire as I had left them, and, in wondering whether
they would remain there all night, I fell asleep.

When I awoke in the morning they were up before me,
waiting for daylight, as people were early risers in those
days ; and I never knew certainly that they went to bed
at all, but always wondered whether they did not sit
beside the fire throughout the Ions: niorht.

o o o

After a while my grandmother came to the bed, pulled
me out and into my clothes, and sent me to the spring to
wash my face for breakfast, which was soon thereafter
ready. When this was over I was started for home,
usually carrying a present of butter or eggs for rny
mother, and a box on the ears for myself.

CHAPTER IV.

THE RELIGION OF FAIRVIEW.

A LTHOUGH the people of Fair view frequently did
-£-*- not dress comfortably, and lived in the plainest
manner, they never failed to attend the services at the
church, to which everybody belonged, with the exception
of my grandfather,.! and Jo, and myself. I have often
wondered since that we were not made the subject of a
special series of meetings, and frightened into repentance ;
but for some unaccountable reason we were left alone.
They even discussed Jo's situation, laying it to contrari
ness, and saying that if all the rest of them were wicked,
he would be religious ; but they said nothing at all to me
about the subject. I often attended the revivals, and
sang the songs as loudly as the rest of them, but when
I thought that I was one of those whose terrible condi
tion the hymns described, it gave me such a turn that
I left that part of the house where the excitement ran
highest, and joined Jo on the back seats, who took no
other interest in the novel performance than that of
looker-on.

As soon as a sufficient number of children readied a
suitable age to make their conversion a harvest, a revival
was commenced for their benefit, and they were called
upon to make a full confession with such energy, and
warned to cling to the cross for safety with such earnest
ness, that they generally did it, and but few escaped. It
there was one so stubborn that he would not yield from
32

THE RELIGION OF FAIR VIEW. 83

worldly pride, of which he had not a particle — no one
ever supposed it possible that he Jacked faith, though they
all did — the meetings were continued from Sunday until
Monday, and kept up every night of the week at the
house where the owner of the obdurate heart lived, so
that he finally gave in ; for peace and quiet, if for nothing
else.

If two or three, or four or five, would not relent within
a reasonable time, the people gave up every other work,
and gathered at the church in great alarm, in response to
the ringing of the bell, and there they prayed and shouted
the livelong day for the Lord to come down among them.
At these times Jo and I were usually left at home to work
in the field, and if we heard the people coming home in
the evening shouting and singing, we knew that the lost
sheep had been recovered, and I often feared they would
form a ring around us in the field, and compel a full
surrender. A young woman who lived at our house to
help my mother, the daughter of a neighboring farmer,
once engaged their attention for nearly a week, but she
/gave up one hot afternoon, and came down the path which
led through the cornfields from the church, shouting and
going on like mad, followed by those that had been present
when the Lord finally came down, who were singing and
proclaiming the event as loudly as they could. This
frightened me so much that I ran into the house, and hid
under the bed, supposing they would soon go away, and
that then I could come out ; but they immediately began
a prayer-meeting to give the new convert opportunity to
face a frowning world by relating her experience, and thus
they kept me in my uncomfortable position until I thought
I must smother from the heat.

My father received little aid in the conduct of these
meetings except from a very good farmer, but very bad

34 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

exhorter, named Theodore Meek, whose name had been
gradually shortened by neighborhood familiarity until he
was known as The. Meek ; and for a long time I thought
he was meant when reference was made to " The Meek
and lowly," supposing that Lowly was an equally good
man living in some of the adjoining settlements. This
remarkable man laughed his religion rather than preached,
or prayed, or shouted, or sang it. His singing would be
regarded at this day as a very expert rendering of a
laughing song, but to us it was an impressive perform
ance, as were his praying and occasional preaching, though
I wonder we were not amused. The. Meek was, after my
father, the next best man in Fairview ; the next largest
farmer, and the next in religion and thrift. In moving
to the country I think his wagons were next to ours,
which headed the procession. He sat nearest the pulpit
at the meetings, was the second to arrive — my father
coming first — and always took up the collections. If
there was a funeral, he stood next my father, who con
ducted the services; at the school-meetings he was the
second to speak; and if a widow needed her corn gath
ered, or her winter's wood chopped, my father suggested
it, and The. Meek immediately said it should have been
attended to before. He also lived nearer our house than
any of the others, and was oftener there ; and his house
was built so much like ours that only experts knew it was
cheaper, and not quite so large. His family, which con
sisted of a fat wife by a second marriage, and so many
children that I never could remember all their names —
there was always a new baby whenever its immediate pre
decessor was old enough to name — were laughers like
him, and to a stranger it would have seemed that they
found jokes in the Bible, for they were always reading
the Bible, and always laughing.

THE HALT, BLIND, AND LAME. 35

Another assistant was Mrs. Tremaine, the miller's wid
owed sister, who had lived in the country before we came,
a wax-faced woman who apparently had no other duty to
attend to than religion ; for although she lived a consid
erable distance from Fairview church, she was always at
the meetings, and I have thought of her as being con
stantly occupied in coming from or going to church,
finding it time to start back again as soon as she reached
home. The only assistance she afforded was to pray
whenever called upon in a voice so low that there was
always doubt when she had finished ; but this made little
difference, as it gave the others opportunity to be heard
in short exclamations concerning the kindness of the
Lord if sinners would really renounce the world and
make a full confession. Her speeches in the experience
meetings were of the same order, and when she sat down
the congregation invariably began a song descriptive of a
noble woman always battling for the right, and sure to
conquer in the end ; from which grew an impression that
she was a very sainted person, and that the sins of her
brother, the miller, were much on her mind. It is certain
that he thought little of them himself, never attending
the services, or sending his regrets.

It was usually a part of my duty on Sunday to take one
of the wagons, Jo taking the other, and to drive about
collecting infirm and unfortunate people who would
otherwise be unable to attend church ; for my father be
lieved in salvation for all who were willing to accept it,
though they were poor, and unable to walk, or hear, or
see, or understand ; and he was kinder to the unfortunate
people than to any of the others, favoring them out of
his strength and abundance in a hundred ways.

There was always a suspicion in my mind, which may
have been an unjust one, that they shouted and went on

36 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

in response to his preaching because he was their friend,
and wanted them to do so. In any event, he could
throw them into the greatest excitement, and cause them
to exhibit themselves in the most remarkable way, when
ever he saw fit, so that they got on very well together.

One of these unfortunates was Mr. Winter, the lame
shoemaker, who wheeled himself around in a low buggy.
Pushing this into my wagon with the assistance of his
wife, after we had first made a run-way of boards, I
hauled him to Fairview, where we unloaded him in the
same manner. He was a very devout man, and a shouter,
and during the revivals he wheeled himself up and down
the aisles in his buggy, which frequently squeaked and
rattled in a very uncomfortable manner, to shake hands
with the people. I suppose that at first this performance
was a little odd to people, but they got used to it ; for I
have noticed that while strangers regarded Mr. Winter as
a great curiosity, he attracted no more attention at home
than a man unobjectionable in the matter of legs. There
was a good deal of talk from time to time of holding
special services to restore Mr. Winter's shrivelled legs by
prayer, but if ever it was tried, it was in secret, for I
never heard of it. There were probably half a dozen
of these unfortunates altogether, and they were always
given the best corner, which was near the pulpit, where
their piety could be easily seen and heard.

With the addition of a blind woman who cried and
lamented a great deal, and whom I also went after nearly
every Sunday, those I have mentioned were the ones
most conspicuous in the meetings ; for while the others
were very devout, they had nothing to offer for the gen
eral good except their presence and a capacity to rise to
their feet and confess the Lord in a few words. My
father was the leader, of course, and occupied the time

FAIRVIEW MELANCHOLY. 37

himself when others could not be induced to occupy it,
which was often the case after those I have mentioned
had appeared in what might be called their specialties.

This, coupled with the unforgiving doctrines of Rev.
John Westlock, was the religion to which I was accus
tomed, and which I believe added greatly to the other
miseries of Fairview, for Fairview was afflicted with a
melancholy that could have resulted from nothing else.
There was little visiting, and there were no public gath
erings except those at the church already mentioned,
where the business of serving the Lord was dispatched as
soon as possible to allow the people to return home and
nurse their misery. The people were all overworked, and
I still remember how the pale, unhappy women spoke in
low and trembling tones at the experience meetings of
heavy crosses to bear, and sat down crying as though
their hearts were breaking. I was always touched by
this pitiful proceeding, and I doubt not their petitions
went further into heaven than any of the others.

CHAPTER V.

^

THE SCHOOL IN THE CHURCH.

WHEN there was nothing else for them to do, the
children of Fairview were sent to a school kept
in the church, where they studied around a big box
stove, and played at noon and recess among the mounds
, in the grave lot, there being no playground, as it was not
Untended that the children of Fairview should play.

The older boys told it in low whispers that a sunken
grave meant that the person buried there had been carried
away by the Devil, and it was one of our amusements to
look among the graves from day to day to see if the
dreadful visitor had been around during the preceding
night.

These sunken graves were always carefully filled up by
relatives of the persons buried, and I regarded this as
evidence that they were anxious to hide the disgrace
which had come upon their families from neglect of my
father's religion. After a funeral — which we were all
compelled to attend so that we might become practically
impressed with the shortness of life, and where a hymn
commencing " Hark, from the tomb, a doleful sound," was
sung to such a dismal measure that the very dogs howled
to hear it — I used to lie awake in speechless terror for a
great many nights, fearing the Devil would call on me in
my room on his way out to the grave lot to see whether
the person just buried belonged to him.

The boys and girls who attended from the houses dotted

THE. MEEK'S FAMILY. 39

about on the prairie did not differ from other children
except that they were a long time in the first pages of
their books, and seemed glad to come. I have heard that
in some places measures are found necessary to compel
attendance on the schools, but in Fairview the children
regarded the teacher as their kindest and most patient
friend, and the school as a pleasant place of retreat, where
grumbling and complaints were never heard.

The. Meek sent so many children that the teacher never
pretended to know the exact number. Sometimes there
were eleven, and at other times only seven or eight, for
the older ones seemed to take turns about, working one
day and studying the next. I think The. Meek was about
the only man in our country who was as good at home as
he was at church, and his family of white-headed boys
were laughers like him, and always contented and happy.
They never learned anything, and my recollection is that
they all studied out of one book while I went to school
there, reciting in a class by themselves from the same
page. If the teacher came upon them suddenly in their
seats, and asked them to name the first letter of the
alphabet, the chances were that one of them would know
and answer, whereupon they all cried " A ! " in a chorus.
But if one of the number was called out separately a few
moments later, and asked the same question, the round,
chubby face would look up into the teacher's, and after
meditating awhile (moving his lips during the time as if
recalling the rules governing such a difficult problem)
would honestly answer that he. did n't know ! He was
then sent back to study, with the warning that he would
be called out again presently, and asked to name not only
the first letter, but the second, and third, and perhaps the
fourth. Going back to his seat, the white-headed brothers
gathered about him, and engaged in deep contemplation

40 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

of tlieir book for awhile, but one by one their eyes wan
dered away from it again, and they became the prey of
anyone who had it in his heart to get them into difficulty
by setting them to laughing. If they all mastered the
first three letters that day they were content, and were
so pleased with their progress that they forgot them the
next.

It was always safe to go to their house and expect a
warm welcome, for there seemed enough love hid away
somewhere in the big house in which they lived, not only
for all the white-headed boys (with a reserve stock for those
yet to come), but also^for the friends who came to see them.
Their mothe^ a large, fresh-looking woman, who was noted
for a capacity to lead in prayers and blessings when her
husband was away, was good-natured, too, It was the
happiest family I had ever known, for though they were
all beset with difficulties, every one of them having either
weak eyes or the scald-head, they seemed not to mind it,
but patiently applied sulphur for one and mullein tea for
the other, remedies which were kept in saucers and bottles
all over the house.

I never heard The. Meek or his wife speak impatiently
to any of their children, but they were obedient for all
that — much more so than those of us who were' beaten
on the slightest provocation — and were very fond of one
another. While other boys were anxious to get away
from home, The. Meek's children were content, and
believed there was not another so pleasant place in the
world as the big house, built after the architecture of a
packing-box, in which they lived. I often thought of this
circumstance to their credit, and thought it was also to
the credit of the father and the mother. There were but
three rooms in the house, two down stairs, and one above
as large as both of those below, in which all the boys

PECULATION AND PECULIARITY. 41

slept ; and here also were the company beds, so that had
I ever heard of an asylum at the time of which I write, I
should certainly have thought the big room with the nine
or ten beds scattered about in it was like one.

I frequently went from school to spend the night with
the young Meeks, and, after we had gone to bed in the
big room upstairs, I either froze their blood with ghost
stories, or convulsed them by telling any foolish event I
happened to think of, at which they laughed until I feared
for their lives. If the uproar became particularly loud
their father and mother came up to see what it was all
about, arid, on being informed of the cause, laughed them
selves, and went down again.

The two sons of the crippled but devout shoemaker,
Mr. Winter, were the most remarkable scholars that
attended the school, for the reason that they seemed to
have mastered all sorts of depravity by sheer force of
native genius ; for though they possessed all the accom
plishments of street Arabs, and we thought they must
surely be town boys, the truth was that they were
seldom allowed even to go to town, and therefore could
not have contracted the vices of civilization from the con
tagion of evil society. When one of them did go he
returned with a knife for nearly every boy in the school,
and cloves and cinnamon bark to last for weeks, which
were stolen from the stores. If one of us longed for any
thing in their presence, they said it would be forthcoming
immediately if we got them opportunity to go to town.
This was only possible by inducing some one to allow
them to drive a team, as their father was poor, and did
not keep horses.

The older (and I may add the worse) one was probably
named Hardy, but he was always known as Hard. Winter,
because of his hard character ; and his brother's evil repu-

42 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

tation was so woven into his name that we never knew
what the latter really was, for he was known as Beef
Hide Winter, a rebuke, I believe, for his failure to get
away with a hide he had once stolen, but the boys ac
cepted these titles with great cheerfulness, and did not
mind them. They were the mildest mannered villains, I
have no doubt, that ever lived, for no difference how con
vincing the proof was against them, they still denied it
with tears in their eyes, and were always trying to con
vince those around them by kindness and civility that they
were not so bad as represented (though they were worse),
and I fear they were rather popular in spite of their weak
ness for things not belonging to them. In course of time
their petty peculations came to be regarded in about the
same light as was their father's shouting — one of the
peculiarities of the neighborhood — and we paid them no
other attention than to watch them. At the Fourth of
July celebrations in the woods, where all sorts of persons
came to set up business, the Winter boys stole a little of
everything they saw on exhibition, and generously divided
with their friends. If they were sent together to a house
near the school after water, one went through the cellar
while the other went to the well, and if he secured any
thing he made a division at the first opportunity.

They always had their pockets full of things to give
away, and I am satisfied that they came by none of them
honestly, for they were very poor, and at home but sel
dom had enough even to eat. A habit of theirs was to

O

throw stones with great accuracy, a collection of which
they carried around in their pockets, ready for use, mak
ing long journeys to the creek bottoms to select them.
They always went home with Guinea-hens or geese in
their possession, which they said had been "given to
them," but which they had really knocked over in the

AGNES DEMING. 43

"road near farmers' houses. They could kill more squir
rels and quails by throwing than others of a similar age
could by shooting, and it will be imagined that their fail
ings were but seldom mentioned, for they were dangerous
adversaries, though usually peaceable enough.

The teacher of this school at the time of which I now
write — to be more explicit, when I was eleven years old,
for what I have already written is a hurried retrospect
covering a period of six years — was a very young and
pretty girl named Agnes Deming, certainly not over six
teen and I doubt if that, who came from a neighborhood
north of Fairview, where her widowed mother lived with
an eccentric brother, and although it was as poor as
ours, she spoke of it in such a way — not boastingly, but
tenderly and reverently — that we thought of the commu
nity of Smoky Hill as a very superior one. Her father, of
whom she talked a great deal, had been captain of a sail
ing vessel, as I learned a little at a time, and before his
death they lived in a town by the sea, where his ship
loaded. Of the town, however, which wras called Brad
ford, she had but slight recollection, for when a very little
girl she was sent away to school, and came home only at
long intervals to welcome her father, who was often away
a year at a time.

When ten years old, and after the ship had been ab
sent a long time, she was sent for hurriedly one day, and
told on her arrival that her father's ship had gone down
at sea ; that all on board were lost, and that they were
going West to live with her uncle, an eccentric man
whom she had never seen. After a few months of prep
aration, during which time their effects were converted
into money, they commenced their journey to the country
in which they had since lived. When she was fourteen
years old her uncle found her a place to teach a summer

44 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

school, and, giving satisfaction in spite of her tender
years, she had followed the calling since, her second en
gagement being in our neighborhood. I remember how
generally it was said on her arrival that she would not do,
as she was very young, but before the summer was over
she somehow convinced her patrons that she would do,
very well, as she was thoughtful and intelligent, and com
petent in every way.

This was her brief history, and before she had lived at
Fairview a year, nobody was like Agnes Deming, for she
was everybody's friend and adviser, and was kinder to
the people than anyone had ever been before. She was
a revelation to Fairview — a woman of a kind they had
never before seen ; one who uttered no complaints, but
who listened patiently to the complaints of others, and
did what she could to help them. Whoever was in dis
tress received her sympathy and aid, and I think the
advent of this friendless little woman, with her unselfish
and pretty ways, did more good for Fairview than its
religion, for the people tried to become like her, and were
better in every way.

From the description she gave I imagined her father
to have been a bluff and manly fellow, for I had heard
that such followed the sea, and when I found her crying
softly to herself, I thought of course she was thinking of
him, and often regretted that he was not in Fairview to
be proud of his pretty daughter, instead of at the bottom
of the restless and angry sea. That they had been very
fond of each other I felt sure ; and when the winds blew
furiously around our house, as they often did, she seemed
greatly distressed, as though it was just such a storm as
that in which her father's ship went down. She sang to
us at night sometimes, in a sad, sweet voice, but always of
Btorms, and of shipwrecks, as if the frightful manner of

A CONTRAST. 45

her father's death was much on her mind, and as if she
sorrowed always because she could not hope that some
day his ship would come in, and the dreadful story of his
death prove a mistake.

She said almost nothing of her mother, and in reasoning
about it I thought that perhaps Mrs. Deming was so much
distressed over the death of her husband as to be poor
company, and anxious to be let alone ; for Agnes seemed
glad when vacation was over, and she was again occupy
ing her old room in our house. Although she was origi
nally expected to divide her time equally with every family
sending children to the school, or to " board round," she
was oftener at our house than anywhere else ; and once
when she apologized in a burst of tears for being there so
much, my mother kissed her tenderly, and it was ar
ranged immediately, to the great satisfaction of all, that
in future she should be a recognized member of our family.
My mother was very fond of her, and so was my father,
though he seemed ashamed to be fond of anyone; and
being the most influential of the school directors, he saw
that her pay was good and prompt, and on bad days took
her to school in a wagon.

When Jo and I were busy on the farm, Agnes taught
us at night, and was so patient and encouraged us so
much that we learned more than we should have done at t
school. While we were never at school in summer, by
this means we were the head scholars in winter, though I
am not certain this was much to our credit, for we had
little opposition from the children "of Fairview.

I have never seen a bird-of-paradise, and have no knowl
edge of them, except that they are very beautiful ; but if
theii manners are as graceful as their plumage is beauti
ful, and it is conceded that we of Fairview were as un
gainly and ugly as crows, I hope the impression made by

46 THE STOHY OF A COUNTHY TOWN.

the coming of Agnes Deming to the settlement will be
understood. I am glad to be able to write it to the credit
of the people that they were not envious of her, unless it
be envious in one person to strive to be like another he
admires, and they all loved her from the day she came
until the day she went away.

Although slight in figure she was the picture of health,
of which she was as careful as of her dress and manners,
which were never anything but mild and gentle. As man
and boy I have honestly admired a great many women
who aftenvards shocked my admiration by a careless habit
or manner when they did not know I was about; but
Agnes Deming was always the same perfect woman. My
admiration for her never had a check, and every day I
found in her a new quality to respect, as did everyone
who came in contact with her.

Although I was a favorite with her, I believed that
when she came into the fortune and position she deserved
— I was always expecting some such remarkable tiling as
this to happen, although I was not certain just what it
would be — I was sure she would not speak to me, or any
of those she had known at Fairview with whom she had
associated temporarily, and made herself agreeable, be
cause that was her disposition ; but that she would hurry
away as soon as possible, to get rid of thoughts of how
uncomfortable and unhappy she had been among us. I
do not think I should have blamed her, for I regarded her
superiority as such that I should have been content to see
her go away to enjoy proud station and rich friends, thank
ful that she had lived with us at all, and made us happier
than we had been.

I am certain that her dress was inexpensive, and that
she spent little of her money in this way, for most of it
was sent to her family ; but her taste and skill were such

MISTRESS OF SCHOOL AND HEARTS. 47

that she was always neatly and becomingly attired (much
more so than many I knew who spent a great deal for that
time to attain that end) ; and she was able to work over
an old garment on Saturday, and appear on Sunday the
best-dressed woman in the country. I have thought that
she was familiar with all the fashions in woman's dress
without ever having seen them, for she was always in
advance of the plates in the Lady's Book taken by my
mother.

With more fortunate surroundings she would have been
a remarkable woman. But while there were many others
less good and pretty who were better off, and while she
may have had at one time bright hopes for the future, her
good sense taught her that there was really no reason why
she should expect anything better now ; so she diligently
performed her work, and gave up castle-building. And so
it came to pass that she was simply mistress of the Fair-
view school, and mistress of all our hearts, and did what
good was possible without vain regret for that which
might have come to pass, but did not.

In my recollections of that time, there is nothing plea
sant, except the sweet and patient face of Agnes and the
memory of Jo, who were always my friends, and who
protected me when I did not deserve it, and loved me in
spite of all my faults.

CHAPTER VI.

DAMON BARKER.

"DARKER' S Mill, visits to which had convinced Jo
J— ' that he should like to be a miller, was built on Bull
River, in the centre of the only woods in all that country.

It was said of its proprietor that he came to the country
a great many years before with a train of wagons drawn
by oxen, on which was loaded the machinery of what
afterwards became the mill, together with his general
effects. Nobody seemed to know where he came from,
but nobody seemed to care, strangely enough, for he was
trusty as a miller, and honorable as a citizen. Occasionally
he came to our neighborhood dressed in an odd-fashioned
cut-away coat with brass buttons, and vest and pantaloons
of an equally aristocratic pattern, but I never heard of his
going to the country town. If he had money to pay there,
or other important business, he entrusted it to some one
to transact for him, preferring to have it half done rather
than to go himself. From this circumstance I came to
believe that Damon Barker had been an outlaw in his
time, and was anxious to avoid people, although he was
very well-bred, and the only polished man I had ever
known.

He came to our house originally, I believe, on some sort
of business, and, becoming acquainted, happened in at long
intervals afterwards, but I never knew that he went any
where else. We all admired him, for he was a man to
48

DAMOlN BAEKEB. 49

make himself welcome anywhere, and he sat quietly among
us when he came (which was always at night, as though
for private reasons he did not walk out during the day),
and listened to what was being said. My father had the
greatest respect for him, and was often uneasy under his
steady gaze, as if he felt that Damon Barker was not a
Fairview man, and had knowledge and opinions of his
own. They frequently discussed all sorts of questions (or
rather my father discussed them in Barker's presence, who
only made short answers indicating that he was familiar
with the subject in hand), and I was forced to the belief
that, had he seen fit, he could have readily torn to pieces
many of the arguments advanced. His knowledge of
religious topics was extensive, but he patronized the sub
ject as he would patronize a child, dismissing it with a
polite word as though it was of no consequence ; and we
wondered that a man who understood the subject so well
could be indifferent, for it was well known that he was not
religious. My father often threatened to " speak " to him
about it, but he never did, either fearing that Barker
might be able to defend his position, or respecting his
disposition to avoid the subject.

Although he was courteous and well-bred, lifting his
hat and bowing to my mother in the most courtly manner
when he came and went, it was never remarked to his
discredit, although a man of his manners had never been
seen by us before. Had he been the least awkward in his
politeness, I am sure we should have laughed at him, and
regarded him as a fop, for we watched him narrowly;
but his adieus and greetings were so appropriate, natural,
and easy, that we received them as a matter of course,
and accepted them as evidences not merely ot different
but of better breeding than we were accustomed to.
During one of his visits to the house he invited Jo and

50 THE STORY OF A COUNTKY TOWN.

me to the mill, asking it as a favor, and thus it came
about that occasionally we went to see him on Saturday
afternoons, returning the next day. Indeed, we were
rather encouraged to go to Barker's, my father believing
that familiarity with such a courtly gentleman would do
us no harm, if no good, and he was not greatly displeased
if we did not return until late Sunday evening, although
he always inquired what we found so entertaining at his
house, and on our replying, he found no objection to it.

The house in which Barker lived was built close to the
mill, in a dense growth of trees, but as if the shadow of
these was not sufficient to hide him, he had planted other
trees among them, until the place was so dark that the
sunlight seldom found its way in at his windows. The
house was very large and strong, with doors of heavy
hard wood, and I thought that if Barker should be
attacked, he would make a long defence, for he always
had provisions and fuel stored away in great quantities,
and there was a well in the cellar which I always disliked
to drink out of, fearing there might be dead men in it.
There were thick wooden blinds at all the windows,
which were usually closed, and heavy iron bars across the
doors, and altogether the place was so mysterious and
unusual that it occurred to me when I first went there
that if either Jo or I should discover some of its secrets
by accident, we should be cut into halves, and thrown
down the well for fear we should disclose what we had
seen.

In his own room, a large apartment occupying the
greater part of the second story, were strange and curious
things we had never seen before ; and these we were free
to examine and question him about. Besides brass pis
tols hid away in every box and drawer, there were swords
and knives of odd pattern, and handsome dresses for

CURIOSITIES. 51

women and men, many of them ornamented with gold
lace, and all of a style we had never seen worn,

In a place for plunder which adjoined his room were
kept half a dozen large chests, and in looking through
them, when he gave me permission, I half expected to find
bones of dead men ; but I found nothing except strange
instruments, scientific apparatus, maps, drawings I had
no knowledge of, curiosities gathered during a long life,
and the odd clothing I have mentioned. If I found
something more curious than the rest, I took it to him as
he sat grave and silent in his own room, and he told me
its history, what use it could be put to, and where it came
from. There were a great many books, the titles of
which I could not pronounce with all my learning, and
these gave evidence of being often used, for they were
collected on a turning shelf within easy reach of the table
at which he usually sat.

If we found a curious stone or leaf, he could tell its
nature and kind, and if we asked of something we read
in his books, he told us about it in a quiet, simple way,
making it quite easy of comprehension. Knowing our
ignorance, he took pains to answer the questions with
which we plied him, and we often sat on either side of
him until far into the night, listening to his explanations
of matters we were curious about, sometimes going to
sleep in our chairs.

Before he knew Jo and me he had no friends — he
told me this himself early in our acquaintance — but we
amused him, and he became our companion in everything
we did while at the house or mill, instructing and bene
fiting us in a hundred ways. When I say he became
our companion in everything we did, I mean no more
than that he was always with us, looking on good-naturedly
when we played the games at cards he taught us^ accom-

52 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

panying us when we walked through the woods or rowed
on the river, and giving suggestions and help in every
thing, lie said but little at any time, except in answer
to our questions, and I think his principal enjoyment in
our companionship was to listen quietly to what we had
stored up to tell him on our different visits.

He was regarded as hard and exacting by those with
whom he had business dealings — he dealt in nothing
else — but was always kind and liberal with Jo and me,
giving us money frequently, and presents when he could
get them. If we were in the mill with him, the entrance
of a customer would harden his features until we were
afraid of him, and we went away until the customer had
gone when he soon became himself again, so that we
grew to be afraid of him except when we were alone.

In Barker's room was a great box-stove in which we
made wonderful fires in winter, and the fire in it seemed
never to go out ; so that I have thought in summer that,
if the ashes were stirred, live coals could be found at the
bottom. Around this we always sat with him during the
winter nights (and we had opportunity to visit him
oftener in winter than at any other time, for during that
season we had the least to do), and did whatever Barker
thought would best amuse us. Sometimes he gave us
suppers, prepared by his own hands from cans and bottles
stored away in other chests we had not yet examined;
at other times he told us the story of one of the brass
pistols, or of the strange wearing-apparel we had seen,
holding the article in his hand to illustrate; or if we
found something belonging to a ship, he told us of the
sea, of storms, of strange countries, and of wrecks.

In all the stories of robbers and pirates that he told us
— and there were many of that kind because we preferred
them — I always thought of him as one of the partici-

BARKER'S HOUSEKEEPER. 53

pants, and was pleased when the one I had picked out for
Barker freed the captive maiden, flinging back his com
panions who would murder her, with the declaration that
he would have their lives if they persisted, thereupon con
ducting her within sight of her home, and, having first
bidden her a gallant adieu, galloped away. These recitals
had much of dashing romance in them, and his robberies
were committed generally from motives of daring rather
than gain. It was always the mean and stingy misers
who w^ere robbed, and if a beautiful maiden was captured
at sea she was always taken to her friends, unless she freely
consented to marry the pirate captain, which was some
times the case.

This kind of amusement he kept up at night until we
became sleepy, and, lighting us to the room in which we
were to sleep, he sat down on the bed if we desired it, and
continued the story until we were asleep, when he returned
to his own apartment. It seemed to me he dreaded the
hour when we would go to sleep and leave him alone ; and
once when I awoke in the middle of the night, and crept
to his door, I found him sitting over the table with his hat
and coat on, as if ready to run away.

Barker's widowed sister, the Mrs. Trcmaine already
mentioned, whose husband had been a drunkard and a
doctor, was his housekeeper (when she was at home, which
was seldom the case). I believe she was originally called
Betts, or- Bett, but this was shortened to B., and by this
name she was generally known. It was understood that
Dr. Tremaine had been unkind to her before his death,
and that their married life had been very miserable, though
I never heard either Barker or herself say so. But such
was generally thought to be the case nevertheless, for cer
tainly the excellent woman had had trouble. It was also
understood that he died in drink, probably from catching

54 THE STOEY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

fire on the inside, and that with his last breath he referred
to his wife as a snake, and to his neighbors as devils. This
impression, like the other one with reference to his dispo
sition, had no foundation I ever heard of except that his
relict worried a great deal about people who were going
to ruin from drink. We supposed, of course, that she was
prompted to this by the memory of her late husband, as
she was prompted to insist on everybody's being religious
by the wickedness of her brother, the miller. Having no
other place to go after her husband's death, she deter
mined to move West and live with her brother, and had
arrived at Fairview a few years before we did. Although
there was not a drunkard in the county, she immediately
began a war on rum, and when I first encountered the
words " Delirium Trcmens," in connection with drunken
ness, I remember thinking I was acquainted with his
widow.

Next to her desire to save everybody from drunken
ness, she wanted to save everybody from sin, and spent
most of her time in discussing these two questions ; but
she had little opposition, for everybody in that country
was religious as well as temperate. When she became
acquainted with the Rev. John Westlock she at once
hailed him as a man raised up to do a great work, and was
always w~ith him in the meetings he held in different
places, nothing being thought of it if he took her with
him and brought her back again.

Together they established a lodge of Good Templars at
Fairview, although the people were all sober and tempe
rate, and once a week they met to call upon the fallen
brother to shun the cup, and to redeem the country from
debauchery and vice. Barker said they spent one-half
the evening in " opening " and the other half in " closing."
He also said once that his sister was very much offended

A COLD WOMAJS-. 55

that my father preached without pay, for she would have
enjoyed making fancy work, to the neglect of her brother's
house, to sell at fairs to pay the minister's salary, and that
she was a brilliant woman at festivals. Barker often crit
icised her, half in jest and half in earnest, and once when
Jo and I were at his house for dinner, and something had'
been lost, he remarked that if B. were as familiar with her
home as she was familiar with the number of gallons of
liquor consumed annually, or with the Acts of the Apos
tles, things would be more comfortable. I think he dis
liked her because she paid so much attention to other
people's faults and so little to her own ; but he treated
her courteously, although he appeared to avoid her, and
they were not much together. B. frequently left home
for days at a time, compelling her patient brother to pre
pare his own meals or do without, but he never complained
unless she chose to construe half-jesting, half-earnest rail
lery into complaint. At such times she had a way of re
plying to his light words with a seriousness that I thought
disgusted him, arid made him resolve never to mention
the matter again.

That she was a miserable housekeeper I had frequent
occasion to know, and Barker's house always seemed like
a bachelor's home, as there was nothing about it to indi
cate that a woman lived there. Jo used to say of Mrs.
Tremaine that she talked as the women write who furnish
recipes to the newspapers ; and when she came to our
house the room in which she sat seemed damp for several
days thereafter. Once after she had slept there, and I
was put into the bed she had occupied a night or two
afterward, I amused my mother by asking her to change
the sheets, as they seemed like ice and would not thaw
out, and the good humor with which she did this con
vinced me that she did not like B. very well herself. Her

56 THE STORY O.TT A COUNTRY TOWN.

face was large and round and of a waxen color, an<
though it was said by some that she was handsome I neve
thought so ; nor did I admire her dress, which was ver
rich and expensive, though exceedingly plain. Her teeti
were very white, and quite prominent, because she alway
wore what was intended to be an enchanting smile, and whe:
she kissed me (which she usually did in the earlier day
of our acquaintance, as a compliment to a child) I though
she must have just finished washing her face, her lip
were so cold and damp. Her hair being very dark, an>
her face very pale, I thought she resembled a wcll-dresse<
and affable corpse risen from the dead, whose business i
was to go among the people and warn them that unles
they repented of their sins they would very much regre
it after death.

CHAPTER VII.

A NEW DISPENSATION.

IN spite of tlie discontent which prevailed there, Fair-
view progressed with the years of its history. The
hard work of the people paid, and they gradually became
well-to-do, although they seemed surprised that they were
not in the poor-house, an event they were always promising
their families.

The old houses in which they had at first lived were re
placed with new ones, the new ones were furnished better
than the old ones had been, and there was a general pros
perity which surprised them, for they had not expected it
so soon, if at all. New people came to settle in spite of
the fact that they were neither invited nor expected, and
many of those who came first had money ahead, and were
regarded by those who came later as of a very old and
aristocratic stock. Strangest of all, it was announced
that a new minister had been engaged, and that he would
arrive with his family, consisting of a wife and one child,
in a few days. My father made the announcement at the
close of his preaching one spring morning. He had
preached to them, he said, because they were too poor to
pay a better man ; the Lord had prospered them, and he
cheerfully made way for a successor who had not only re
ligious enthusiasm, but extensive learning as well. He
would continue to exhort his brethren whenever occasion
seemed to require, and aid in doing the work of the Mas-

57

58 THE STORY OF A. COUNTRY TOWN.

ter, but he believed the good of the church demanded th
arrangement he had made.

There was unusual feeling in his words as he reviewe
the hard struggle of the settlement, and when he had fii
ished, The. Meek, though apparently in greater convu
sions of laughter than ever, managed to say a few kin
words for their pastor, guide, and friend, and two or thre
of the other men followed in a similar strain. The wome
began to cry softly, as though the occasion were a funera
and one by one the people went forward to shake him b
the hand, which I thought surprised him, not being ce
tain but that they were glad to get rid of him, while Br<
ther Winter wheeled vigorously about, calling upon ever^
body to praise the Lord. It was a very unusual occasioi
and those who had lounged outside to read the inscri]
tions on the head-boards in the grave lot came back agai
to see what it was all about, and heard the news with su:
prise and astonishment. Finally, the miller's sister praye
for everybody, but in a voice so low that nobody knew i
after which the meeting broke up, and the congregatio
gathered in little knots in the church and in the yard t
talk of the new minister.

Great curiosity was everywhere expressed, and the ci
rious naturally came to my father for information. II
knew nothing except that the new minister had been tran:
ferred from an Eastern State at his own request ; that hi
name was the Rev. Goode Shepherd, and that he woul
be there for the next service a week from that day ; tha
a house had been secured for him in the eastern part c
the settlement, and that as he was a minister, he was, c
course, a good man, and without question of use to th
church, else the Lord would not permit him to preacl
This was all he knew, or all he cared to tell, and the peopl
went home to wonder and to talk about it.

KEV. GOODE SHEPHERD. 59

Rev. Goode Shepherd came West, I am of the opinion,
because the East was crowded with good men, and be
cause he had heard there was a scarcity of such in our
direction. Although he had some vague ideas on the sub
ject of growing up with the country, he probably con
sented to come because somebody recommended it, and
not because he was exactly clear himself how the move
was to be of benefit.

Had some one in whose judgment he had equal confi
dence suggested after his arrival that he had better go
back again, I have no doubt that he would have become con
vinced finally that the Lord had said it, instead of a friend,
and quietly returned to the place from which he had come ;
for he was always uncertain whether his convictions were
the result of inspiration, or whether they were the result
of the gossip he had heard.

I had remarked of my father's religion that it was a
yoke that did not fit him, and which was uncomfortable
to wear ; but the Rev. Goode Shepherd's religion was his
vocation and pleasure, and he believed in it with all the
strength of which he was capable. That he was poor was
evidence to him that he was accepted of the Master who
had sent him, rather than that his life had been a failure ;
and the work expected of him he performed cheerfully
and with enthusiasm. He had no desire to do anything
which was not religious ; and the higher walks of his pro
fession, and heaven finally as his reward, were all he de
sired or expected. There was abundant scope in theology
for his ambition, and, far from craving an active business
life, he rather chose his profession because it offered ex
cuse for knowing so little about the affairs of men.

I have thought that because he took pleasure in his
religion, and loved it, was one reason why it was not so
hard and unforgiving as my father's, for on this question

60 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWX.

there was nothing in common between them except that
both believed that there is a heaven, and that it is desira
ble to be saved. The Rev. Goode Shepherd believed that
learning and luxury could go hand in hand with religion ;
my father, that luxury was an invention of the Devil to
make men forget, and that learning could be trusted to
only a very few, because, unless coupled with the most
pronounced piety, it was very dangerous. The Rev.
Goode Shepherd believed that a religious life was most
easily lived, and that a merciful Providence had ordered
it that way because the children of men are weak ; my
father, that the easy road to travel was the broad one
which led to torment, and that the other was narrow and
difficult, but ending very pleasantly as a recompense for
travelling it, and that it was ordered that way so that only
the brave and deserving should win the prize, ridding the
righteous of the weak and the undeserving by burning
them up. The Rev. Goode Shepherd believed that while
walking the golden streets of the heavenly city he would
meet many of the friends he had worried about, saved by
love infinitely greater than he expected ; my father, that
he would miss many faces in Paradise he had half expected
to see, but who had fallen exhausted by the wayside ana
given up the struggle.

The new dispensation did much for Fairview, and itr
advancement after the coming of Mr. Shepherd was ceiv
tainly more rapid than it had ever been before.

I never knew, but it seems probable to me now, that
Mr. Shepherd was educated for the ministry because he
was quiet and religious as a boy, and had always led a
blameless and exemplary life. I think his expenses at
school were paid by relatives none too well off themselves,
and that he went directly from college to the pulpit.
I don't know what made me think it, but I always be-

THE MINISTER'S DAUGHTER. 61

lieved a widowed mother — aided, perhaps, by an older
sister or two engaged in teaching — had provided for his
education by the closest economy; that he had always
intended to become famous to repay them for their kind
ness, but finding it a harder task than he had imagined,
that he had, in later life, settled down to the conviction
that to be good is better than to be great.

When his tall form and pale face appeared above the
pulpit at Fairview for the first time, the impression was
general among the people that he was older than they
expected. The one child he had written he was pos
sessed of turned out to be a pretty girl of nineteen or
twenty, who attracted a great deal of attention as she
came in with her mother and sat down near the pulpit.
Both sat throughout the service without looking around,
perhaps because they thought it was not likely they
would see much if they should commit that impropriety.
His first preaching impressed everyone favorably, though
his side whiskers were against him, as was also the tall hat
standing on the pulpit beside him. His presence, how
ever, chilled the usual experience meeting following, for
only the men talked, and it was short and dull. The.
Meek's laugh was not heard at all, and Brother Winter
sat quietly in his corner, as though undecided whether,
under the circumstances, he would be warranted in push
ing to the front. The miller's sister had nothing to say
either, spending her time in watching the minister's wife
and daughter, who did not recognize the impertinence,
and altogether the occasion was not what was expected.

When the meeting was dismissed, my father stepped
forward to welcome Mr. Shepherd to Fairview. After
him came The. Meek, and so, one by one, the people ad
vanced to be introduced, and, after awkwardly shaking
him by the hand, retired again. Mr. Shepherd led my

62 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOW2L

father back to where his respectable wife and pretty
daughter were, and performed the ceremony of introduc
tion, and I imagined as my father looked at them that he
thought they were birds of too fine plumage for that
clime, and would soon fly away again. The. Meek stood
immediately behind him, and was next presented, and
then came all the congregation in the order of their im
portance, except the younger ones, who stood near the
door looking on, and who crowded out hurriedly when
Mr. Shepherd came toward them, followed by his wife
and daughter. Although they desired acquaintance with
the new minister and his family above all other things,
they were so awkward and uncertain in their politeness
that they hoped the new minister would somehow gradu
ally become acquainted with them without an introduc
tion, and never discover that they did not know how to
be comfortable in the presence of strangers. Jo Erring
was among the number of the intimidated, and I thought
he was anxious that the new people should not see him
until he had gone home and smartened himself up, as if
they were of more importance than he had expected, for
he kept himself behind the others. Jo had a habit of
appearing on Sunday in his every-day attire — because
everybody else wore their best on that day, it was said
— and this was one of the days he violated the custom of
the country, probably for the reason that the occasion was
an extraordinary one.

It was my father's custom to invite the ministers who
came to Fairview to spend the day at our house, that
they might be convenient for the evening service ; and
although he hesitated a long while in this case, as if afraid
the accommodations he could offer were not good enough,
he hurriedly consulted with my mother at the last mo
ment, and walked out to the gate, when they were pre-

DRIVING HOME FKOM CHURCH. 63

paring to start for home. I could not hear from where I
stood what was said, but I believed the invitation had
been given and accepted, and when he began to look
around the yard, I was so certain that I was wanted to
drive them home that I put myself in his way, as the
wagon road led through lanes and gates, and could not be
easily described. My mother had already hurried home
by the path through the field, that she might be there to
meet them. When I went up to the wagon in response to
my father's beckon, he lifted me into the seat beside Mr.
Shepherd, his wife and daughter occupying the back one,
and said I would show the way and open the gates.

As we drove off I felt that the bright eyes of the girl
were devouring my plain coat, for she sat directly behind
me, and I regretted I had not thought to ask Jo to trim
my hair that morning. The grease on my rough boots
contrasted sharply with the polish of Mr. Shepherd s
patent leathers, and my great red hands were larger than
his, which were very white, and shaped like a woman's.
I soon saw he was a poor driver, and asked him to give
me the reins, which he willingly did, with a good-natured
apology for his incapacity, pleading lack of experience in
that direction.

I knew they wanted to talk of Fairview and its people,
but were shy of me, so I pretended to be busy in looking
after the horses, but they said nothing except that there
was a great number present, which was true, as the house
was full. I pointed out the houses as we went along, and
tried to be entertaining.

" Old Lee lives there," I said, as we passed the house of
the renter on our farm. " He was n't at church to-day ;
he has probably gone over to the turkey roost in Bill's
Creek bottom."

I had said it to shock them, but they laughed very gayly

64 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

over it, and the girl — I had heard them call her Mateel
— said she presumed that wild turkeys were plentiful. I
had secretly been longing to look at her, so I turned
partly around, and replied that the woods were full of
them. She was a very pretty girl, dressed more ex
pensively than I had ever seen Agnes dressed, but not
with so much taste. She was rather pale, too, and I
could not help thinking that her health was not very
good.

" There 're deer here, too," I said to them, finding that
the subject promised to be amusing.

Mr. Shepherd and the girl looked very much interested,
but the minister's wife was so stately and dignified that I
felt sure I could never be comfortable in her presence.

" One came running through our field once when Jo and
I were ploughing," I continued. " The folks were away at
camp-meeting, and Jo took the gun and went after it. I
heard him shoot after a long while, and then he came
back, and said it was too heavy for him to carry home,
but that if I would finish the land on which we were
ploughing, while he rested, we would hitch to the wagon
and go after it. I felt so pleased about it that I finished
the work, and when I was through, he looked at the sun,
and said we might as wrell eat supper before starting, and
that I had better take the harness off the horses wrhile
they were feeding, as they would be more comfortable.
At supper he asked me if under the circumstances I didn't
feel it a duty to give him my pie, which I did, and after
he had eaten it, he took me to one side, and said that
though he was ashamed of it himself, he was compelled
to confess that he had missed."

This amused them more than ever, and the girl asked
who Jo was. This reminded me that I had neglected my
friend, and I immediately gave a short and glowing his-

JO DRESSES UP. 66

tory of him, not failing to mention that he knew of more
turkey roosts than old Lee, and that we would visit one
of them soon, and return by their house with a fat turkey.
They thanked me, and Mr. Shepherd even said he would
like to go with us, whereupon I explained the process of
killing them on moonlight nights, which was by getting
them between your gun and the moon, where they could
be easily seen,

I should no doubt have told them other things equally
ridiculous, but by this time we had reached the gates, and
soon thereafter we stopped at the house, where my father
came out and took them in. When Jo appeared to help
me with the horses, I found that he was smartly dressed,
and rightly concluded that he had hurried home to change
after seeing the family at the church.

While we were at the stables he asked me a great
many questions about the girl, and I pleased him by say
ing that I had talked so much about him on the way over
that she had asked me who he was, and that I had replied
he was my uncle, and the principal young man in Fair-
view.

" What did she say then?" he asked eagerly.

" That she desired to make your acquaintance, and that
she was certain she had picked you out in church."

It was a dreadful lie, but 1 did not regret it, seeing how
well he was pleased.

"Then what did you say?" he asked.

I was not certain what would please him most, so I re
plied that the conversation then became general, and that
Mr. Shepherd had said he would go with us some night to
the turkey roost in Bill's Creek bottom.

When we returned to the house, the three were sitting
alone in the best room, looking idly at the books scattered
about, and the few ornaments my mother had found time

66 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

to prepare. As I sat down on the sill of the open door
with a view of being handy in case I was wanted, I re
gretted that Agnes was not there to entertain them!, for
she had gone home a few weeks before, and I was certain
they would have been surprised to find such a bright girl
in that dull country.

"Ha!" Mr. Shepherd said, when he saw me, "The
young man that drove us over. I suppose you know a
great deal about horses ? "

I thought he made the last remark as an apology that
he had not attended to his team himself, so I replied that
I knew something about them, but I was sorry he had
chosen that subject, as it was not likely to interest his
daughter, whom I was anxious to talk with.

" I am sorry to say I know very little about horses,"
he said, "but I intend to learn. I bought mine at the
station where we left the railroad. What do you think
of them?"

With a view of bringing Jo into the conversation again,
I said I would go and ask his opinion, as he was a very
good judge. I returned presently, and said Jo thought
they would do very* well. As if remembering Jo as a
very amusing person I had been telling them about, he
said : —

" Bring the young man in. I should like to talk with
him."

I went out after Jo, but did not go far, as he had
slipped up near the door, which stood open, to listen to
what was being said. He was very red in the face, but
followed me in.

" This is your uncle Jo, is it ? " Mr. Shepherd inquired,
after I had sat down again, leaving Jo standing awk
wardly in the middle of the room.

" Yes, sir," I answered, having a vague notion I ought

A SUNDAY DINNER. 67

to introduce them, but not knowing how to go about it.
" My uncle Jo Erring. He lives here."

Mr. Shepherd advanced toward him pleasantly, and I
thought he reached him just in time to keep him from
falling down with fright.

" I am very glad to know you, Mr. Erring," he said, in
his easy way, taking him by the hand. " This is my wife,
and this my daughter," pointing to one, and then to the
other, while shaking his hand. "I have no doubt we
shall become famous friends."

Jo raised his eyes to recognize the introduction, and he
said to me afterwards that he was just getting ready to
bolt out of the room, and run away, when somehow they
made it pleasant for him to stay.

My uncle was a very intelligent fellow, and he soon be
came quite entertaining, giving them accounts of the
country and the people which were no doubt very droll,
for when I went out presently I heard them laughing
merrily at what he said. At dinner Mr. Shepherd ob
served that since becoming acquainted with Mr. Erring
he felt like an old citizen, whereupon my father looked
up hurriedly and was about to ask who that was, when he
suddenly remembered, and muttered, " Oh ! you mean
Jo."

It was sometimes the case that when there was company
Jo and I were compelled to wait at dinner, but I was glacf
that on this day Jo was seated next Mateel, and did not
suffer the humiliation. A sort of rude politeness was
natural to him, and on this occasion he displayed it to
such advantage that I glowed with pride. While the
others were talking of graver matters he gave an account
of the Fairview revivals, which amused Mateel so much
that she asked to be excused for laughing. I had never
seen two persons get along better together, and I felt

68 THE STOBY OF A COtJXTBY TOWX.

certain that she would regard him as a very intelligent
j young man, which pleased me, for nobody else seemed to
do him justice,. and they all tried to humiliate and disgrace
him whenever it was possible.

It was a very good dinner to which we sat down, and
the Shepherds complimented it so gracefully that my
mother was greatly pleased; indeed, they found it con
venient to make themselves agreeable to all of us, so that
the afternoon was passed very pleasantly, more so than
any other Sunday afternoon ever passed in that house ;
for my father seemed to think that if Mr. Shepherd, with
all his learning, could afford to throw aside his Sunday
gloom, he would risk it. I had never seen him in so good
a humor before, but I knew he would make up for it the
next day ; for whenever he was good-natured he was
always particularly gloomy for a long time after it, as
though he had committed an indiscretion of which he was
ashamed.

Before night it had been arranged that Jo should drive
the Shepherds home after the service, as it would be very
dark, tying a horse behind the wagon on which to ride
back ; and it followed that he drove them to the church.
When we arrived there the building was crowded to its
utmost capacity ; the new minister was a success.

I

CHAPTER VIE.

THE SMOKY HILL SECRET.

T having been decided to begin the summer school a
few weeks earlier than at first intended, it became
necessary for me to go after the teacher; so it was
arranged that I should drive over to Smoky Hill on
Friday, and return any time the following day.

My mother shared the feeling that the neighborhood
where Agnes lived was superior to ours — although none
of us knew why we had this impression — and after taking
unusual pains with my toilet, she asked Jo to cut my hair,
which he kindly did just before I drove away in the
wagon, from the high seat of which my short legs barely
touched the floor.

I knew nothing of the settlement except the direction,
which was north, and that the uncle with whom Agnes lived
was named Biggs, but they said I could easily inquire the
way. The distance was twenty miles, and by repeated
inquiries I found that Mr. Biggs — who was called Little
Biggs by those living near him — lived in the first white
house after crossing the north fork of Bull River, and
when I came in sight of the place I knew it as well as if
I had lived within hailing distance all my life. It was
just such a place as I expected to find ; an aristocratic
porch on two sides of a house evidently built after the
plans of an architect — the first house of such pretensions
I had ever seen — with a gravel walk leading down to the
gate, and a wide and neglected yard in front. A broken

69

70 THE STOHY OF A COUNTIIY TOWN.

and dismantled wind-mill stood in the barn-yard, and
around it was piled a great collection of farm machinery
in an equally advanced stage of decay, all rotting away
for lack of care and use. There was a general air of
neglect everywhere, and I thought Mr. Biggs was an
indifferent farmer, or else an invalid. Boards were off
the fences, and gates off the hinges, and pigs roamed in
every place where they did not belong. A herd of them,
attracted by the sound of my wheels, dashed out from
under the porch, and went snorting into the vegetable
garden through a broken fence. I noticed these things
as I stopped at a large gate intended for wagons to drive
through, and while wondering: whether I had better drive

O ' O

in there, or tie the team and walk up to the house. While
debating the question I saw that a large, boyish-looking
young man was pitching hay near the barn, and, noticing
that he had stopped his work and was looking at me, I
motioned for him to come out. Impatiently throwing
down his fork, he came out to the fence, and, resting his
chin on the top board, he looked at me with great im
pudence.

" Does Mr. Biggs live here ? " I civilly inquired.

" Yes, Mr. Biggs lives here," he answered, drawling the
first word as if to express disgust.

" Well, then," I said, " if you will open the gate I '11
come in."

He threw it open with a bang, as if to express an
unfavorable, opinion of me, and I drove through, and
stopped down by the stables. He followed sullenly, after
banging the gate again, and, picking up his fork without
looking at me, went on with his pitching. I began to feel
uncomfortable at this cool reception, and inquired quite
respectfully: —

"Is Mr. Biggs at home ?"

BIG ADAM. 71

" No," the fellow replied, " he 's not at home," plunging
his fork viciously into the hay as though he were wishing
I was under it.

" Is Miss Agnes at home, then ? "

" Yes, Miss Agnes is at home." He looked up in better
humor, as though the name of Agnes was not so disagree
able as that of Biggs.

" Well, I 'm told to stay here to-night, and take Agnes
to her school to-morrow. If you '11 show me where to
stand the horses I '11 put them away."

He laid down his fork at this and went to look through

O

the stables. There seemed to be a spring somewhere near,
for the stalls were oozy and wet, and unfit for use, and
the fellow was debating in his mind which was the worst
or the best one, I could not tell which. Finally he found
a place, but the feed boxes were gone ; and then another,
but it had no place for the hay. I was following him
around by this time, and said the last one would do very
well, as it was the best one there.

He helped me to unhitch the horses, and while we were
about it I looked up at the house and saw Agnes at one of
the windows. She went away immediately, however, and
I supposed she would be down to welcome me ; but she
didn't come, and I began to feel very uncomfortable. I
had consoled myself for the rudeness of the young man
by the thought that he would be very much ashamed of
his incivility when Agnes came running down to meet
me ; but she did n't come, and kept away from the win
dow, and I was uncertain whether I had better return
homo, or seek shelter for the night at another house.

I noticed in the meantime that the fellow helping me
was a giant in stature, and that he had a very little head,
on which was perched a hat evidently bought for one of
the children. The band and shape being gone, it looked
very much like an inverted V.

72 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

" I suppose you are the preacher's boy ? " he said, after
eying me a long while, as though that was a very good
leason why he should dislike me.

On my replying that such was the case, he looked at me
as if thinking I was larger or smaller than he had imagined,
and continued apparently in better humor: —

" I have heard of you. I live here. I 'm the hired man.
My name is Big Adam ; lazy Adam, she calls me."

I had heard that little eyes denoted cunning, and little
ears great curiosity, and Big Adam's were so particularly
small that I determined to be very wary of him during
my stay.

" She owns the farm, though Biggs pretends to own it,"
Big Adam went on, " but, while they do not agree in this,
they agree that Big Adam has n't enough to do, and is
very lazy, and between them I have a great deal of trou
ble. I do all the work that is done here, and though you
may think from looking around that I am not kept very
busy, I am. There are four hundred acres here, and they
expect me to keep it in a high state of cultivation. You
see how well I succeed ; it 's the worst-looking place on
earth."

I began to understand him better, and said it looked
very well when I drove up.

" May be it does — from the road, but I have n't been
out there for a year to see. I am kept too busy. But if
you stay here long I '11 take you out into the field, and
show you weeds higher than your head. Instead of spend
ing the money to mend the stables and fences, they buy
more land with it, to give Big Adam something to do ; for
they are always saying that I am fat from idleness. I am
fat, but not from idleness. I have n't had time this spring
to comb my hair. Look at it."

He took off the A-shaped hat, and held his head down

LYTLE BIGGS. 73

for me to see. It reminded me of the brush heaps in
which we found rabbits at home, and I wished Jo had
come along ; he would have been delighted to shingle it.

" But you go into the house," he said, putting on his
hat again, and, taking up the fork he had laid down to
hunt a stall for my horses : " you '11 hear enough of lazy
Adam in there. They '11 tell you I 'm lazy and shiftless,
because I can't do the work of a dozen men ; and they '11
tell you I am surly, because I can't cheerfully go ahead
and do all they ask me to. A fine opinion of Big Adam
you'll have when you go away ; but I ask you to notice
while you are here if Big Adam is not always at work;
and Agnes will tell you — she is the only one among them
who pretends to tell the truth — that she has never seen
me idle. But go on into the house ; I am not allowed to
talk to strangers."

Accepting this suggestion, I went through a gate which
was torn off its hinges and lying flat in the path, and,
walking up the steps, I knocked timidly at the front door.
While waiting for some one to answer my rap, I noticed
a door-plate hanging on one screw, and, careening my
head around, read "Lytle Biggs." I then understood
why his neighbors called him Little Biggs — it was his
name.

I had n't time to congratulate myself on this discovery,
for just then the door-plate Hew in, and Agnes stood before
me. Although she was friendly to me as usual there was a
constraint in her manner that I could not understand, and
as she led the way in she looked as though she was ex
pecting the house to blow up.

" My uncle is away," she said, confusedly, after we were
seated in a room opening off from the hall where I had en
tered, "but we expect him home to-night. My mother is
not well, and demands a great deal of care, or I should have

74 THE STOEY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

come down to the gate to meet you when you drove
up."

She was so ill at ease that I hurried to explain my er
rand, and I thought she was greatly relieved to know I
had not come on a visit.

" I shall be ready in the morning at any time you are,"
she said ; and I wondered she could leave her mother, for
I had been fearing that perhaps I should have to go back
without her.

There was a great romp and noise in the room above
the one in which we sat, and she looked out through the
door leading into the hall as if half expecting to see some
body come tumbling down the stairs.

" My uncle's children," she said, seeing I wondered at
the noise. " He has eight."

I wondered she had not told of them before, and then
I remembered that she seldom talked of her uncle's family
or of her mother.

" How are they all ? " I inquired, thinking I must say
something.

O

There was a great crash in the room overhead and a cry
of pain, and Agnes went quickly to the door to listen.
Being convinced that one of them had fallen over a chair,
she came back, and replied to my question.

" Very noisy," she said, half laughingly. " I fear they
will annoy you ; it is so quiet at your house, and there is
so much confusion here."

I said, " Oh ! not at all," not knowing what other reply
to make.

"My uncle Lytle" — I pricked up my ears at this,
as her pronunciation of her uncle's name was differ
ent from that given it by his neighbors — "my uncle
Lytle is trying to bring them up in town fashion here in
the country, and they are seldom allowed to go out of

A QUEER FAMILY. 75

doors, so that they can't be blamed for being rude and
bad. All of them except the baby would be out at the
stables with Big Adam if they were given the opportu
nity, but their father's orders are to keep them away from
the stables, and in the house. So we make the best of
them."

Just then they all came tearing out into the hall above
to the stair rail, and I knew they were peeping over;
but some one came out hurriedly after them, and, driving
them all back into the room again, shut the door with a
bang.

" They are anxious to see you," Agnes said, smiling.
" They have the greatest curiosity imaginable. There
will be no peace until they are allowed to look at
you."

Feeling that I was an intruder in the house, for some
reason, I suggested that she let them come down, promis
ing I would amuse them as best I could. She thought a
moment, and then, excusing herself, went out. After a
long time I heard her coming back with them. Six of
them rushed into the room ahead of her, and, taking up a
position behind the chairs, looked at me curiously. The
other two she carried in her arms, one of them being an
infant not more than four or five months old.

They seemed a queer lot to me, their clothing being of
a pattern I had never seen before, and I noticed that the
boys wore their hair in long curls, and that their frocks
were braided. All of their faces were pale, which did not
result solely from their being lately washed, and the older
boys were dressed in short trousers, and wore shoes,
though it was summer, a peculiarity which attracted my
attention particularly, because most of the boys I had
known went barefooted. Agnes placed the baby on my
knee, and I soon had all the children about me, asking

76 THE STORY OF A COUNTKY TOWN.

questions and going through my pockets. Indeed, I suc
ceeded very well in amusing them. While they were
playing around, I heard some one come down the stairs,
and go down the hall to a* door which I judged led into
the kitchen. Presently Agnes went out too, and I sup
posed they were making arrangements for supper, which
thought was probably suggested by the fact that it was
Lite, and that I was very hungry. The children amused
themselves with me for a considerable time, and were
more noisy than ever, when unfortunately one of them
fell headlong over a chair and set up a most terrible cry.
Immediately a little dried-up old woman came hurrying
into the room, who, picking up the screaming one, and
roughly taking the baby out of my arms, drove them all
up the stairs before her, slapping and banging them as
they went, so that they were all screaming by the time
the door up stairs closed upon them.

While she was collecting them I saw that the new
comer's hair was twisted behind her head in a tight little
knot, and that she was very slender, and very short ; that
her features were small and sharp, and dried-up like a
mummy's, and that, altogether, she was the most repulsive-
looking creature I had ever seen. I half expected that
she would give me a rap as she went out, she looked so
sour and ugly. I supposed she was a servant ; possibly
Adam's mother, and when Agnes came in, which she did
a moment after, looking very much frightened, I had it in
my mind to say that the old woman of the sky had swept
the children away with a broomstick.

"I was afraid they would annoy you," she said hur
riedly, as though it was necessary to say something before
I could remark on the queer little old woman who had
driven them away.

I was about to reply that we were getting along very

AN AGBICULTUXIIST. ^ 77

well until one of them fell down, when she continued : —
"My uncle has just driven up. He is coming in."

At that moment the door opened softly, and a very
small and handsomely dressed man stepped into the room.
He spoke to Agnes pleasantly, and as he looked inquir
ingly at me, she explained : —

" One of my pupils from Fairview, Ned Westlock. I
shall go home with him to-morrow, as the school opens a
week earlier than was expected."

I knew now why his neighbors called him Little Biggs
— because he was very short, and very thin, and very
little.

"Ah! Ned Westlock."

After he had said this, he looked at me very attentively
while he removed his gloves. Placing them in his tall hat,
he set both away, and came back to me.

" I am very glad to know you," Mr. Biggs said. " I am
glad to have you a guest at our house."

This was encouraging, as nobody else had said as much,
and I felt better.

. "I need not apologize," he said, " for the rough but
(honest ways of us farmers," looking admiringly at his thin
• legs, and brushing at a speck of dirt which seemed to be
on one of them, " for I believe you come of an agricultural
family yourself."

I was surprised at this reference to his rough ways, for
he was extremely fastidious in his dress and manner. I
managed to admit, however, that I came of an agricul
tural family.

" Those of us who live in the country, and earn our
bread in the sweat of our brow," Mr. Biggs went on, seat
ing himself beside me, " cannot be particular. Our cloth
ing, our food, and our ways are rough, but substantial and
honest. We have other matters to look after, such as

k j mY OF A COUNTRY TOWX.

follow! i . ' ugh, sowing the grain, and tossing the hay.

We may have «..ar ambitions like other men, but they are
dwarfed and bent by holding the plough, and pitching the
hay. When did you come, and how long do you stay?"

I replied that I had arrived but a few hours before, and
that I would depart the next day at any hour Agnes was
ready.

" I am sorry," Mr. Biggs was good enough to say, " I

should be delighted to show you how we carry on a four

\ hundred acre farm. Other great farmers have from four

to a dozen hired men about them, but Big Adam and I

7^do all the work here ; and we are equal to it, though it

keeps us very busy, as you will imagine. We have no

time for the fine arts, you may be certain."

He ran on gayly in this way, making himself out in
ignorance and muscle the equal of one of our Fairview
farmers, although he was really nothing else to my mind
than a fop, until Agnes came in and said we were to walk
out to supper. There was no one in the supper room
when we entered it, and although I expected other mem
bers of the family every moment, none came. Agnes was
there most of the time, but did not sit down, and supplied
the place of a servant.

" Those of us who live in the country," said Mr. Biggs,
helping me to meat and bread with the greatest ceremony,
" cannot be particular as to what we eat, except that it is
substantial and hearty. Meat and bread and milk make
muscle, and muscle is in great demand on a farm. Big
Adam and I find a great deal of it necessary in tilling
these four hundred acres, therefore we insist on plenty of
plain and substantial food. Excuse me, if I eat like a
hog."

The supper was a very good one, but he talked a great
deal about its being plain but hearty; and although he

JAWING. J JL 79

was dainty in his eating, and ate nothing* i ftiid

milk, and toasted bread and tea, he kept apologizing for'
his ravenous appetite. lie had something to say, too;'
about shove]ling in his food with a knife, and bolting it —
he did neither, but on the contrary was very delicate —
and as he kept watching me, I thought that he must be
apologizing for his guest, which made me very uncom
fortable at my bad manners, for up to that time I had not
been backward in falling to. But as he continued to de
nounce his unnatural craving for food, and frequently
expressed the fear that the meal lacked so much of what
I was accustomed to, that I could not possibly make out
a comfortable supper, I finally made up my mind he did
not mean me at all.

When I had finished he was waiting for me, and we
adjourned to the room in which I had played with the
children. Lighting a cigar (which he said was a very
poor one, but which he observed in the course of the
evening, as an example of his extravagance, had cost
twenty cents) he took a dressing-gown from a closet, and,
putting it on, sat down before me, the picture of luxurious
ease.

While we sat there I heard the family of eight, accom
panied by their mother and the little old woman who had
frightened me, come banging down the stairs, and file into
the supper room, where there w^ere a steady noise and
wrangle until they had finished and gone up the stairs
again. I heard Big Adam protesting to some one that it
was not pleasant to be always "jawed at," and that he
did all he could ; but when the argument threatened to
become boisterous, I beard a pleasanter voice intercede,
and establish a peace, and I was sure this was Agnes's.
Mr. Biggs stopped once or twice to listen to the confu
sion, as if trying to hear what was being said, but recol-

80 THE STOB-Y OF A COUXTRY TOWN.

lectinp that if he could hear, I could as well, he began
talking again to draw my attention from it. He tried to
maive me believe the children were making the disturb
ance, and said : —

" There can be no order in a house full of children, and
very little comfort." He stopped to think a moment, but
the uproar in the supper room was so great that he went
on trying to draw my attention away from it. " I confess
to thinking something of them, but every pleasure they
bring is accompanied by inconvenience, expense, and
annoyance. Have I told you yet that I am a philoso
pher?"

I had suspected that something was wrong with him,
though I could not tell what it was. I replied politely,
however, that he had not.

"Well, I am one," the little man said with a show of
pride. " A great many men regard children as blessings.
Now I have failed to discover any kind of a blessing or
pleasure in being called up in the middle of the night
to run for a doctor when there is croup in the house.
Usually, too, in such cases the medical man lives a great
many miles away, over a rough road. Whenever I go to
bed early to make up lost sleep, or come home particularly
tired from tossing the hay or holding the plough, either
Annie, or Bennie, or Carrie, or Davie, or Erne, or Fannie,
or Georgie, or Harry, is sick, and I am compelled to go for
a doctor. This never fails if the night is very wet, the
roads unusually heavy, or the weather particularly cold.
While everybody admires little children, I am sure they
would be much more popular if their teeth came more
easily ; and that there would be a greater demand for
them if they did not take a hundred different diseases to
which they are not exposed. I am that kind of phil
osopher."

A PHILOSOPHER. 81

The fire in the end of his cigar having about gone out,
from holding it in his hand and waving it at rne, lie
revived it with a great deal of puffing, and went on : —

"Understand me, Ned Westlock ; I do not complain.
I am like other men, except that I am not a fool ; and
while I accept the bitter with the sweet, I point out the
bitter and refuse to call it palatable. I am at a loss to
understand, for example, why the Creator is more con
siderate of pigs than He is of children ; for I believe pigs
cut their teeth before birth, and seldom die except when
fat from good health, and at the hands of a butcher.
Children, on the other hand " — he used his right hand to
represent the pigs, and his left to represent the children
— " are never well, and for every tooth there is an inso
lent doctor with a bill, to say nothing of measles, coughs,
rashes, and fevers. I have seen it estimated that it
requires three thousand eight hundred and seventy-nine
dollars and thirty-five or forty cents to raise a baby to
manhood or womanhood. A pig may be raised to ma
turity with a few hundred buckets of slop, a few bushels
of corn, and a wisp of hay occasionally for a bed. What
do you think of that ?"

As he looked at me as though I had been stubbornly
arguing the cause of the children, I replied that the pigs
had the best of it, so far, decidedly.

"If you have never talked with a philosopher before,
you may never have had your attention called to the fact,
which possibly has escaped your own notice, that children
do not appreciate good treatment, as do pigs and other
animals. The very worst thing you can do for a boy is
to treat him well. Where do you find the good boys ? "

He made a pause as if expecting a reply, and I said,
" I don't know," but I knew at once that he was impa
tient that I had replied, for he wanted to do all the talk
ing himself.

32 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

"In families where boys are always hungry and
abused," he resumed. "Where do you find your bad
boys ? In families where they are treated well, of course.
A boy who has plenty to eat, and plenty to wear, and
nothing to do, is always impudent and worthless; and
parents who go to trouble and expense that their children
may be happy and idle pay a big price for a pestilence. I
do not pretend to say that in practice I am more of a
philosopher than my neighbors ; but it is a fact, neverthe
less, that the pig that slips into the house and litters it
up is beaten with a broomstick until he understands,
when tempted on future occasions, that the practice is
dangerous. If the pigs get on the porch, and you open
the door suddenly, they run away in great haste, having
been taught by harsh means that they are not expected
there ; and if we would teach children in the same way,
we should have more comfort with them. But practically
we regard the training of pigs as more important than the
training of children, and suffer much discomfort in con
sequence. I recognize certain inexorable masters, and
obey them to avoid uncomfortable consequences ; and a
child must have a master, or it will become disagreeable
and annoying."

He stopped to listen to the noise made by his family up
stairs. It was very uproarious, and I thought he was
regretting that his philosophy had not been made to bear
some practical fruit.

" If you were a young man," he continued, coming out
of a brown study, " and had driven from Fairview to ask
my advice on this question, I should advise you thus :
4 Sir, if you covet the society of little children, hire them
to play at your house until you are tired ; for then you
can send them away, and enjoy the quiet following their
absence. You will find that pleasant enough, but if you

GREATNESS AND SINGING. 83

have a house full of your own, that alters the case ; for
like the deserving poor, they then are always with you —
in sickness as well as in health, and when they are disa
greeable as well as when they are not.' That would be
my candid advice ; you may accept it, or let it alone, as
you choose."

He waved the hand at me which he had previously used
to represent the pigs, as though I had been asking him to
counsel me on the subject, and as if he were impatient
that I did not accept his advice at once. But recollecting
himself, he took a delicate knife from his pocket, and
after profuse apologies for his ill-manners, proceeded to
pare his finger nails, looking occasionally at me as if
doubting my ability to understand his philosophy, for I
had scarcely said a word in reply to it.

" I understand your father is a singer," he said, after
his fingers were mentally pronounced satisfactory.

I replied with a show of pride that he had the finest
voice ever heard in Fairview church, and that he was
famous for it.

" He ought to stop it," Mr. Biggs abruptly said. " Peo
ple enjoy his singing, I have no doubt, but if he were a
friend of mine — I have not even the pleasure of his
acquaintance — I would say to him, ' Quit singing, Rev
erend John, if you would become great.' How does it
come he is not in the Legislature? Because he sings.
The people do not associate statesmanship with singing.
When a man is honored for singing, he is honored forj
little else. Did you ever know a great man who sang ? "

I replied that I had not, for I had never known a great
man.

" Well," he answered curtly, " I know them all, and
none of them sing. Or play. The darkey who can sing
and dance is popular with an idle crowd, but the solid

84 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

people who have gardens to spade, or walls to whitewash,
avoid the musical negro, for his talent is likely to he
exhausted in that direction. I don't pretend to know-
why it is against a man that he is able to entertain people
with his voice, or with the skill of his fingers; I only
know it is the case. It would be a kindness for somebody
to say as much to Reverend John ; you may convey the
information to him, with my compliments, if you wish."

I had been wishing all evening that Agnes would come
in, and ask me to sing, as I thought I had talent in that
direction, and even debated in my mind whether I would
roar the " Hunter's Horn," or " Glorious Day of Rest "
for the amusement of my host ; but I was now glad she
had been so considerate of my feelings, and spared me the
humiliation. I was quite certain that if she should ask
me to sing after what Mr. Biggs had said, I should declare
I had never attempted to do such a ridiculous thing.

"Every man who tells an uncomfortable truth," Mr.
Biggs began again, after lighting a fresh cigar by the ro-
mains of the old one, " is called a beast. I am called a
beast in this neighborhood (which is known for taxing
and voting purposes as Smoky Hill) because I tell a great
many unpalatable truths; I have eyes and intelligence,
therefore I cannot help noticing (and mentioning) that
the people of this country pay more attention to raising
thorough-bred stock than to raising thorough-bred children
which you must admit is ridiculous. I hear that The.
Meek, for instance, has his stable full of fine stock, and
his house full of sore-eyed children. The. Meek is evi
dently an ass ; I 'm glad I do not know him. If I did, I
should make myself disagreeable by mentioning the
circumstance."

I may as well mention here that Mr. Biggs was not the
kind of man he claimed to be. On the contrary, he made

PERNICIOUS PIE. 85

his living by indorsing the follies of other people, but he
had pointed out their mistakes to himself so often that I
suppose he really believed he was generally despised for
telling the truth.

" We have many of the same kind of men in Smoky
Hill. It affords me pleasure to assure you that I am
unpopular with them, and they take great comfort in the
belief that I am likely to die in a year or two of consump
tion. But I have already had the satisfaction of attend
ing the funerals of five men who predicted that T was not
long for the world ; I expect to help bury the rest of them
at intervals in the future. While I get a little stronger
every year, by care and common sense, they get a little
weaker, by carelessness and ignorance, and finally they
are buried, with L. Biggs, Esq., the consumptive, looking
contentedly on. The trouble with these men is that they
cat everything coming in their way, like pigs, lacking ob
servation to teach them that a greater number of people
die of over-feeding than die of over-drinking or over
working. The last Smoky Hill glutton that died, was the
Most Worthy Chief of a temperance society, and he wa8
always quarreling with his wife because she did n't have
pie for breakfast. For my part, I detest pie."

I was about to say that while I agreed with him in
everything else, I should be compelled to make an ex
ception in the pie particular; but he did not give me
opportunity, for he proceeded : —

"In my visits to the homes of cultured but unwise
people, I am frequently tempted to do violence to my
stomach by eating late at night, but recollecting the
fate of the Smoky Hill men, I respectfully decline. When
I am offered cake, and nightmare in other forms, I do not
greedily accept and devour everything set before me, but
instead I say, 'If you have cold oatmeal mush, or a bit of

86 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

graham bread, I will refresh myself with that, but no
cake, I thank you, although the assortment is fine, and
reflects great credit on the lady of the house.' Thus I
preserve my health, and prove my philosophy. But no
doubt I am wearying you ; I will show you to bed."

He did not ask me whether I was tired of his company,
but picked up the light as though lie could decide ques
tions for boys without their assistance, and leading the
way up stairs, I meekly followed. Opening a door after
reaching the upper floor, he gave me the light, said good
night, and went down again, as though he had not had
enough of his own company, and would sit up a while
longer.

There were two comfortable beds in the room to which
Mr. Biggs had shown me, and Big Adam occupied one of
them already, sound asleep. His clothes were piled up in
a heap by the side of it, with the A-shaped hat on top,
ready to go on the first thing in the morning. He
mumbled occasionally in his sleep, and I thought he was
saying he did the best he could, and that it wasn't
pleasant to be "jawed at," which made me think again
of the terrible old woman with the parchment face, the
little head, the little body, and the little knot of hair on
the back of her head. I felt like kneeling down by my
bed and praying that the queer woman might not have a
habit of walking through the house at night, accompanied
by the kitchen butcher-knife freshly sharpened at the
grindstone, for there was no lock on the door. But
speedily occupying the other bed, and putting out the
light, I had hardly begun thinking of the curious family
before I was sound asleep.

CHAPTER IX.

THE CHARITY OF SILENCE.

"TT7~IIEN I went -down to breakfast the next morning,
VV I found Agnes waiting for me, and the meal ready ;
and as was the case the night before, she presided at the
table without sitting down. I ate alone, and in silence,
as it was explained that Mr. Biggs was not yet up, though
it was late, and Agnes did not seem to be in a mood for
talking. The circumstance that other members of the
family kept out of the room made me think that I was
regarded in the house as a sort of a machine likely to
explode and hurt somebody, and could be approached
only by those who knew where the safety valve was which
blew me off ; for I supposed Mrs. Biggs and Mrs. Deming
to be very aristocratic people, who could not tolerate a
country-bred boy. Therefore I did not feel in very good
humor myself, thinking that Agnes was ashamed to
exhibit me to her friends. Going out to the stables in
lazy preparation for returning home, I found Big Adam
pitching hay, as I had left him the day before.

" Well, young Westlock, how are you now ? " he in
quired, leaning on his fork.

I returned his greeting, and said I would hitch up when
he had time to help me.

"You need n't be in a hurry about it," he said, returning
to his work. " If I were you I would manage to get
home just at dark, for then you '11 have nothing to do

87

88 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

during the day. If you get back too early, the preacher
may find something for you to do."

There was a good deal of truth in this, and I thanked
him for the suggestion.

"I know something about hired help and boys on a
farm. I have had a ripe experience in the service of
Biggs. I thought he would talk you to death last night ;
it's a terrible death to die. What did he say?"

I repeated portions of the conversation, and gave par
ticular stress to what he had said concerning his and Big
Adam's doing the work of half a dozen men.

" He is always saying that," Big Adam said indignantly,
" but I assure you on my honor that he never held a plough
or pitched hay a day in his life. Why, he is not here a
third of his time. He came home last night after an
absence of four weeks ; I don't know where he has been,
but to some of the towns a long way off, probably. At
ten or eleven o'clock he will breakfast, and then I shall
hitch up and drive him over the place, during which time
he will point out and suggest enough work to keep a
dozen men busy for months ; and after assuring me it
ought all to be done before night, he will return to the
house to lounge about. In a day or two he will go away
again, and come back when he gets ready. That's the
kind of a farmer Biggs is, but I must say for him that he
is quiet and peaceable. I wish I could say as much for
his sister, the old pelican."

Up to this time Big Adam had been wearing his
A-shaped hat so far back on his head that I was wonder-
it did not fall off ; but as if there were some people so
contemptible that he could not possibly mention them
without showing his temper, he jerked the hat over on his
low forehead when he said this, and, looking out from
under it with his little eyes, viciously said, " Damn."

UNSATISFACTORY DRINKING. 89

" And who is his sister ? " I asked.

" Old Missus Deming, Agnes's mother ; the little old
woman they were careful you should not see."

It came to me all at once — how foolish of me not to
have thought of it before — why Agnes never talked
about her mother, and why she always seemed to be glad
to be away from her ; she was disagreeable, not only to
Big Adam, but to everyone around her. I understood
now that Agnes was frightened when I first came for fear
I should see her mother, and not for fear her mother
would see me, as I had imagined ; and I felt so much
better that I had a mind to walk in the yard in plain view
of the house, that Mrs. Deming might regret not having
made my acquaintance. I told Adam that I had seen
her, however, and narrated the circumstance of her ap
pearance in the room after the children.

The hired man expressed his satisfaction at this very
much as I have seen young colts express it, by kicking his
legs out in various directions, and snorting. After he had
enjoyed himself in this manner for a while he said : —

" It's just like her, though. They might have known
better than to have left her alone. It's a wonder she
did n't hit you ; I wish she had, for then you would
despise her, as I do."

He continued to chuckle to himself as though it was a
satisfaction to him that I had seen his enemy ; and put
ting his finger in his mouth, he drew it out in such a man
ner that it sounded like pulling a cork ; then thumping
his jaws he made a sound of liquor coming out of a bot
tle. This pantomime I interpreted to mean that if he
were better off he would celebrate the event with some
thing expensive to drink. I found out afterward that this
was a habit with him when in a good humor, and he had
acquired such skill by practice that if your back was
turned to him the deception was perfect.

90 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

" She 's the worst woman on earth," he continued, lead
ing me behind the barn to be more confidential. " They
say she never smiled in her life, and I believe it. She
grumbles, and growls, and jaws from morning until night ;
but what can they do ? Bless you, she owns the farm ! "

I looked astonished, to induce him to go on.

" Yes, she owns the place, and you bet she looks after
it. When she came here with Agnes, six or seven years
ago, her brother had a great tract of land bought on credit,
and she paid for it with the money she brought along, and
built the house you slept in last night. Since then she
has been so disagreeable that Biggs is seldom at home, and
won't see her when he is. Did you see his wife ? "

I replied that I had been denied that pleasure.

" You would have seen a sight if you had ; a woman
who has n't combed her hair for six years, because she
has that old hen to look after, besides the care of the chil
dren. I don't believe she ever sleeps ; for if I wake up
in the night she is either being railed at by that she devil
or is up with the children. I believe she is the only per
son living whose lot is worse than mine. When I am in
the field I am out of my misery, but she never has that
opportunity of escaping hers. When Agnes is away I
often cook my own meals, and I am the only one besides
Agnes that pays her any attention. Except to keep a
family of children around her, I think Biggs never notices
her ; and when he is at home he occupies a room away
from the noise and confusion. But she is patient, and
never complains, although there is no hope ; for the old
woman will outlive us all. She lives on growling and
grumbling, for she is afraid to eat for fear of poison, and
hesitates to sleep for visions of strangling. She talks
about poisoning and strangling for hours at a stretch, and
accuses the Biggses of wanting to murder her, because

A MEMBER OF THE LEGISLATURE. (J1

sue knows it humiliates them. I hear that her late hus
band was a fine fellow, a sea captain. He was a very
sensible man, I judge, for he drowned himself rather than
live with her. I think a great deal of Captain Deming's
memory ; he is the only great man I know even by repu
tation. Here's to him."

He pulled another cork, which appeared to come with
difficulty, and thumped on his jaws to represent the gur
gling of liquor as it flows out of the bottle.

" Agnes is like him. It will be a great relief to her to
go home with you. Does she ever talk of her mother ? "

" No," I answered.

" I thought not ; nor does she ever talk of the Devil.
But I '11 be bound she talks a great deal of her father. I
think Agnes will never marry, preferring to remain an old
maid rather than introduce a husband to her mother ; and
I don't blame her. She complains during the few weeks
that the poor girl is at home because Agnes is not away
earning money for her strong-box, into which goes every
dollar of it. If Agnes has any money, Biggs gives it to
her; for she has to account for every penny of her earn
ings to her mother, who says she needs that, and more, to
buy something decent to wear. She talks a great deal
about having nothing decent to wear, as if anything would
look well on her angular old bones except a shroud."

"What does Biggs do for a living?" I asked, anxious
to know as much about the family as possible.

" To be candid with you," Big Adam replied, in a con
fidential way, " I don't know ; although he has some way
of making money, for he always has it. He organizes the
farmers for one thing, and is a member of the Legislature
for another. Once he started a Farmers' Store here, at a
place over in the hills there," pointing in the direction,
"where the roads cross, and where the Smoky Hill post-

92 THE STOHY OF A COUNTHY TOWN.

office is kept. He told the people they must organize for
protection, and he somehow made them agree to patron
ize his store if he would start one. They were honest
men who made the agreement, and lived up to it a long
while ; but in time they found out that he was charging
them a great deal more for his goods than the dangerous
men he had warned them against in town. I was in the
place when they came in to hang him ; and one man walked
up to the rope-reel, and wanted to know how much rope
would be necessary. But Biggs made them a speech from
a vinegar barrel, and so worked upon their feelings that
they went away content with the harmless revenge of call
ing him a little whiffet. Biggs put me in charge, and
galloped away to find a purchaser for his store. He found
one by representing that an entire neighborhood of fools
had signed an agreement to pay him in cash whatever price
he asked for his goods. The purchaser wanted to shoot
Biggs when he found out how matters really stood — for
he had paid a big price — but for some reason he changed
his mind. Biggs is that kind of man. Now you know as
much about him as I do."

As though he had been idling away too much time
already, Big Adam began to work with great energy, and
refused to talk any more, so I put the horses to the wagon
alone ; but after I had driven through the gate and into the
road he came out as if there was one word more he desired
to say, and lifting himself up by putting one foot on the
wheel, he whispered in my ear : —

" My father was killed by the Indians."

He looked so distressed that I expressed some sort of
regret, and said it was a pity.

" Good-bye," he added, giving me his hand ; " my last
name is Casebolt. My mother is married the second
time."

BEAUTY IN DISTRESS. 93

I shook his great fat hand again, and he went back to
his work. Driving round to the front of the house I found
Agnes waiting for me, and, lifting her little trunk into the
wagon, we drove away, no one appearing at the doors or
windows to bid her good-bye. My mother had told me
to invite Mrs. Deming to visit her, but out of regard for
Agnes I resolved to say that I had forgotten it. As we
went past the stables Big Adam motioned for me to stop,
and raising himself up beside me by putting his foot on
the wheel again, he whispered, —

" My brothers and sisters are all dead."

He stepped down from the wheel ; and putting the whip
to the horses I soon left the place behind me.

I saw that Agnes had been crying, for her eyes were
red and swollen ; but I pretended not to notice it, and
hoped her spirits would revive as we neared Fair-
view.

"You will excuse me, Ned," she said, after we had
driven a long time in silence, "if I have neglected you,
but I have not been myself for several days. Big Adam
talks a great deal, and I saw you down in the yard with
him a long while. You should not believe all he says. I
am unhappy on my own account."

I did not know what to say in reply, for I was anxious
for her to believe that I thought her mother was not at
home, or something of that sort ; so I jerked one of the
horses roughly, and said " Whoa," as if the animal were
preparing to run away. I knew she was distressed that
I knew how unhappy she was at home, and was trying to
lay the blame on herself, as she did in everything ; there
fore I watched the dangerous horse very intently for sev
eral minutes, and finally got down to walk around the
wagon, to see if anything was wrong. After I had
pounded the tires awhile with a stone, although they

94 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

were new, I climbed back into my seat, and we drove on
again.

" The people of Fairview have been very kind to me,"
Agnes continued, not minding that I did not care to talk
on the subject, " and I have been happier there than here ;
although it is very ungrateful in me, and a poor return
for the patient way in which they bear with me at home.
I am so wicked and selfish."

The tears came into her eyes as she spoke, and I won
dered whether it was wrong to tell white lies, for I was
sure Agnes was fibbing in defence of her family. She
thought about the matter a long time after that, and
looked at me narrowly, — although I pretended not to
know it, — and seemed to conclude at last that I had made
good use of my time with Big Adam, and that she must
depend upon the charity of my silence. Any way, she
said no more upon the subject, and we rode in silence for
several miles.

" You have always taken a great interest in my father,"
she said, at last, wiping her eyes, and dismissing the un
pleasant subject. UI have brought you his picture as a
present."

She took it out of a little package she carried, and gave
it to me. It was a handsome face, and looked very much
as I had imagined, except that it was clean-shaven. I put
it away carefully, and she said : —

" My life would have been very different had he lived,
and I should not have been so unkind to every one. He
was always so brave and good that I should have striven
to be like him, for everybody loved him. But he is dead,
and I cannot be content without him. It is this that makes
me fretful, and unworthy of my many good friends. Oh
dear, I am going to cry."

She did cry again, apologizing for it in a way that re-

WHEN THE SEA GIVES UP ITS DEAD. 95

minded me of her uncle ; and I sat there feeling like a
fool while she was giving vent to her grief, and until she
had regained her self-possession once more.

" I am sorry I did not see him buried, and that he did
not have a quiet place to rest," Agnes continued, wiping
her eyes ; " for I dream at night of his storm-tossed ship,
and always think of the sea as forever rolling and tossing
his poor body about, refusing it rest and peace. Often in
the wicked waves I see his white face turned imploringly
to me, and the noises of the night I torture into his cries
to me for help. If I knew where he was buried, and
could sometimes visit his grave, I should be more content,
and less unhappy."

I had heard a song called " When the Sea gives up its
Dead," and without thinking what I did I softly hummed it.

" When he came home at the time I saw him last, he
carried me about in his great strong arms along the beach,
and said that if some day he never came back, for me not
to dislike the sea, for it had been his friend in many a
storm, and had rocked him to sleep almost every night
since he was born. ' It will never prove treacherous,' he
said. ' My ship may, but never the sea. The " Agnes " is
not like the stout girl in whose honor she was named ;
she is getting old, and should she founder with me in the
storms, and go down, never feel unkindly toward the sea.
It has been my friend so many years that should it swal
low me up I desire you to think that I deserved it.' He
went away soon after that, and we have never seen him
since."

Although the tears came into her eyes again, she bravely
wiped them away.

" I am sorry for you," I made bold to say, looking at
her pretty face. " I wish I were a man, and old enough ;
I would marry you, and make you happy in spite of your-

96 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

self. I cannot tell you how much I desire your good, or
how much I love you. Your presence at our house has
made us a different family. My mother is more content,
and my father less gloomy ; and surely Jo and I know
more since you came. I love you because you are good
and pretty, and I think you are prettier to-day than I
have ever seen you before. If I were a little older I
would fall in love with you, and worry you a greal deal
with my attentions."

" It would n't worry me, Ned," she answered, with a re
turn of her old cheerfulness. " I should like it. But I
thought you were in love with me."

" Oh, I am, of course — as a boy," I answered ; " but I
mean if I were a man. If you should concentrate the
love you distribute in Fairview on one man, I should like
to be the man. That 's what I mean. You love every
body in Fairview just alike."

" I am not so certain of that," she replied. " I think I
am very partial to you. Who is most gallant and thought
ful to me of all my pupils ? Why, you are, of course ;
and I love you best of any of them. When I get to be
an old woman, and you a young man, I shall show my
love for you by selecting you a wife ; and if I am unable
to find you a very good one, you shall remain single, as I
intend to do. I regard you as my best friend, and I want
you to think so. When you came yesterday, I wranted
to run down and kiss you, but I could not leave, my
mother."

"But you never have kissed me," I snid, "although
you say you love me."

" I will now, if you will let me," she replied, and put
ting her arms round me, she kissed me as innocently as
if I had been a child. I was very much abashed but
thanked her as for any other favor.

AN EARLY CONFIDENCE.

"You are the first girl that ever kissed me," I said.

"Well, let me be the last one, unless I should want
to kiss you again. But we are in sight of Fairview,
and while we are alone, I want to tell you about Big
Adam. His father is an outlaw, living somewhere in the
great West ; and, although he occasionally comes to
Smoky Hill, it is always at night. His mother is a rough
woman who smokes and drinks, and his brothers and sis
ters are very bad people. I don't know where they all
live, though I frequently hear of them, but never any
thing to their credit. It is said that his mother's house,
which is situated in a deep hollow near the river, is a
rendezvous for bad men, and frequently it is raided by
the officers looking for her bold husband. Big Adam is
the only honest one among them, and that is why he says
they are all dead; but even he talks too much."

I knew she wanted me to believe that he had misrepre
sented her family, though she was certain he had not ;
therefore I only said that Fairview church looked very
pretty from the high point over which the road led us.
I had never thought so before, but the country surround
ing it was much finer than the Smoky Hill district, and I
began to think that if I could travel more I might grow
more content with my own home.

Our house was built in a rather low place, and I noticed
with surprise, what I had not had opportunity of noticing
before, that a great many new fields were being opened
in different directions. Fairview was quietly and rapidly
settling up.

" Anything Big Adam may have said to you," Agnes
said as we were nearing .the house, "is to be private be
tween you and me."

I readily promised, though I had been thinking but a
moment before of adding largely to it, and astonishing Jo.

98 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

" Since we are good friends we must have our secrets,
and this is our first one. You may tell Jo that I kissed
you."

I blushed because she had divined that I intended to
tell him about her mother, but comforted myself with
the reflection that she could not know for a certainty.

My mother was waiting for us ; and the place was so
quiet and pleasant, and the late dinner she had prepared
so good, that I began to feel like a very favored fellow.
Jo and the man of the house were away somewhere, and
we spent the afternoon like three happy children, sud
denly free from some exacting restraint. Agnes and I
made so much of my mother, that I remember her as
being happier on that day than any other, and when I think
of her now, so long after, I am glad that it is as she sat in
her easy chair between us that afternoon, saying little,
but looking content and happy.

CHAPTER X.

JO EKKING MAKES A FULL CONFESSION.

INASMUCH as that young man continued to haul
stone to Erring's Ford for a dam, and would talk of
nothing else, it became certain, in course of time, that
Jo would never make a farmer ; so it was agreed, at a
convention attended by my father and my grandmother,
that he should be apprenticed for two years to Damon
Barker, of the establishment on Bull River. Barker had
suggested it, I believe, as he needed some one to assist
him, and was much pleased with Jo besides, who had al
ready learned to help him in many ways during visits to
the place. These visits were allowed to become frequent
and protracted when it was decided that he should be
sent there to learn milling as a business. When it was
announced to Jo that the arrangement had been made —
it was one Sunday afternoon — he took me out to the
hayloft of the stable to talk about it.

" I am to be given a chance," he said, " and that is all
I ask. I intend to work hard, and at the end of two
years I shall be in position to commence my mill in ear
nest. I am seventeen years old now ; I shall be nineteen
then, and by the time I am twenty-one, 'Erring's Mill'
will be in operation. It seems a very long time to wait,
and a big undertaking, but it is the best I can do."

He was lying on his back, looking through the holes in
the roof at the sky, and I thought more than ever that he
was brave and capable, and that he had always b(

99

100 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

treated unjustly in Fairview. I was thinking — it had
not occurred to me before — that I should be very lone
some without him ; and he seemed to be thinking of it,
too, for he said : —

"But it is only for three or four years, Ned," as if we
had been talking instead of thinking of the separation,
" and at the end of that time I may be able to make you
my assistant, or, better still, my partner. We have had a
very wretched time of it in the past, but there may be a
great deal of pleasure in store for us in the future. If we
work as hard as we expect, I believe everything will come
out right yet. They say you are old of your age. I am
not old of my age ; on the other hand I am very dull : but
I shall be a man then, and in any event one need not be
old to be useful. People here think differently, but it is
because the community is slow and ignorant. Here the
man who owns a piece of land and a team is supposed to
have accomplished all that it is possible for a man to ac
complish ; but Barker told me once that there are men who
make a Fairview fortune in a day. I don't want to be
like the people here, for none of them are contented or
happy ; but I intend to be like the people who I am cer
tain live in other countries. I cannot believe but that
there is a better way to live than that accepted at Fair-
view, and that somewhere — I don't know where, for I
have never travelled — happy homes may be found, and
contented people, where parents love their children, and
where people love their homes. Therefore I shall begin
differently, and work harder, and to more purpose, than
the people here have done, to the end that I may be a
^different man."

Heaven help you, Jo, in that. There never was a happy
man in Fairview, and I hoped with all my heart that Jo
might become one, as he deserved.

JOS TROUBLE

"I have always been lonely and friendless," he went on.
"They never wanted me at home; your father never
seemed satisfied with me here, and, excepting you, I have
never had a friend in my life. I care nothing for my
family; I fear it is sad depravity, but I cannot help it.
They have never treated me well, and care nothing for
me, and I cannot feel kindly toward them, for no one can
love without a reason. You do not fall in love with the
woman that wounds you, but you do fall in love with the
woman that is kind to you. I think a great deal of you,
but you gave me reason for it by thinking a great deal of
me. I never knew until I thought of going away how
much I did think of you."

He talked so pitifully of the neglect to which he had
always been subject, and I knew so well it was true, that
I could only reply through my tears that he was my best
friend, and that I thought more of him than any one else
in the world.

"While they all occasionally have kind words for
others, they never have a word of encouragement for me,
but I am glad that I did not deserve it. I should hate to
feel that I deserve all the unkindness I have received
here, and that I was as idle and unworthy as they seem
to think me ; but I never did, and I hope you honestly
think so. You are the only one among them who was
fair and just, and after I have gone away I shall only have
you to remember pleasantly. I am glad that I am going
to a place at last where I shall be welcome and useful."

I thought that afternoon that all of them were unjust
to Jo and steadily refused to give him the credit he
deserved ; I think so now, a great many years after, with
a maturer mind and greater experience.

" We have Jbeen very ignorant here, you and I." It
was very disgraceful, but very true. "Your father is

OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

wise enough, but as he takes no pains to impart it to
others, we have had little benefit of his wisdom. For the
next two years I shall live with a man who is educated,
and who will willingly teach me, and I intend to tax his
patience with my studies. Barker is not only learned,
but he is courteous, and I can learn something of polite
manners. He bows like a king; only a very few men are
able to make a really good bow. I asked him once where
he learned it, but he only laughed, and said everyone
ought to be polite without learning it anywhere. It made
me ashamed, for politeness never came natural with me.
Perhaps I am so awkward because I do not come of a
good family."

Certainly his father and mother were not polite to each
other, or to their son.

" I have made many terrible mistakes from not know
ing any better, and they will humiliate me all my life.
Once I went with your mother to call at the new minis
ter's — this is in the strictest confidence, and never to be
repeated — and I did a thing so dreadful that I am blush
ing now in thinking of it. I wore a little cap (I have
since burned it), and although I know now it was hide
ously ugly, I thought then that it made me very hand
some. I bought it of a boy who had lived in town, and I
had seen town boys wear them. So I shuffled into their
parlor wearing your father's boots, with a pair of his
pantaloons tucked into their tops, and the cap on my
head. The Shepherds are very well-bred people, and
after I had stumbled across the room, and fallen into a
chair all in a heap, Mateel — how pretty she was that
night, and how pretty she always is ! — came over to me,
and asked to lay away my cap. I thought it very amiable
in me not to trouble her, so I refused to give it up. In
fact, I said : —

.BUCOLIC MANNERS. 103

" ' NO, I THANK YOU J I AM VERY COMFORTABLE AS I
AM!'

"And I sat the entire evening through with that cap on
my head. Nobody had ever told me to remove my cap
in the presence of ladies, and being of a poor family, I did
not know it without being told. I know better now, for
Barker laughed at me, and explained why it was wrong."

Under other circumstances I should have laughed, but
Jo was so serious that I did not think of it.

" They asked me to sing; simply to be polite, I am now
certain. Your mother did not say for me not to, so I
stumbled over to the melodeon, and sang nine verses of
the ' Glorious Eighth of April ' in a voice so loud that
the windows rattled. They were all blushing for me, but
I never once suspected it. I had heard your father sing
the same song a hundred times, and I supposed it was all
right. 'Is that all?' they asked when I had finished.
I regretted that it was, thinking they were entertained,
and I came very near singing it all over again. I told
Barker about it, and he gave me lessons in propriety an
entire afternoon. I felt coming home that I had in some
way committed an indiscretion, but I could not tell exactly
what it was until Barker pointed it out. He suggested
that I write an apology, and as I have it here, I will read
it, if you care to listen."

He took from his pocket a neatly written note, and
after I had signified an anxiety to know its contents, he
read : —

" Miss SHEPHERD, — I feel that my remarkable conduct at your
house a few weeks ago needs an explanation, and I write this to
confess candidly that it was caused by my ignorance, and should
not be regarded as a lack of respect to you or your father and
mother.

" It is because I have lived in the backwoods all my life, and

104 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

because no one ever took sufficient interest in me to say that I
should have removed my cap from my head, but if I am forgiven,
and allowed to visit you again, I will be careful that there is no
repetition of the offence. With reference to the tiresome song I
sang, I have only the same plea; I did not know any better. I
know now that I cannot sing; I can only bellow. When I tell you
that the noise I made is regarded as music in Fairview. you will
realize more vividly than I can tell you that the community where
I have grown up is not cultured. I arn distressed that I acted as I
did, and hope you will accept this humble apology. Please express
my regrets to your father and mother, and regard this note as in
confidence.

" Very truly yours, Jo Eiimis'G."

After folding the note carefully, and putting it back in
the envelope from which he had taken it, he inquired : —

"What do you think of it?"

Knowing Barker had suggested it, and probably dictated
the words, I said it was neat and appropriate, and the
best thing that could be done under the circumstances, for
I had no opinion of my own on the delicate question.

"They are the only well-bred people I have ever
known, if I except Barker and Agnes," Jo said, after a
long silence, " and though I should like to visit them
often, I am afraid I can never get the courage to go there
again. They have undoubtedly a poor opinion of me, for
they can never understand how a young man of my age
could be so uncouth, but other families of good manners
will perhaps come to Fairview, and I intend to take
lessons from Barker, and cultivate their acquaintance. I
have great respect for polished people, but I never
admired a quality in others that I did not lack it myself,
therefore I fear I shall make but poor progress. But this
is a small matter compared with learning the mill busi
ness. Perhaps I had better renounce society until I am
the best miller on the river."

LONELY AND HOMELESS. 105

" It won't be long, Jo," I answered, and feeling that
what I said was true.

" Barker says he can teach rne all he knows in half a
year. After that, I will experiment for myself, and per
haps I may be able to discover something which will repay
him for his kindness to me. If I am apt at anything —
which I sometimes doubt — it is with machinery, and
there is so little of it at Barker's that I hope I will be
able to master it all in a few months. I am familiar with
all of it now, and I shall work very hard until I can take
it all apart, and put it together again better than it was
before."

We were both quiet a long while, busy with our own
thoughts, until Jo said : —

" I am going away to-morrow. When are you coming
to see me?"

I had it in my mind to say, " On Tuesday," but as that
would be the next day after his departure, and impossible,
I said instead that I would come as soon as I could ; cer
tainly not later than that day a week.

" I shall be very busy, and lonely, too, and I hope you
will come often. You haven't been out of my sight more
than a day at a time since you were born, and you are the
only brother I ever had. I don't intend to come here
much, and as you enjoy visiting at Barker's we will
arrange it in that way. They will perhaps tolerate me
here once in a long while, to see if I have cut off any of
my fingers in the cog-wheels, but for no other reason. I
have been an intruder ever since I can remember, and
lonely and homeless."

I felt that this was true, unjust and cruel as it was, and
could say nothing, although Jo spoke of it in a husky
voice, as though it would be a relief to cry if it were not
unmanly.

106 THE STOEY OF A COUNTEY TOWN.

" Your mother has been kinder to me than any of them,
if I except Agnes, who is the friend of every one, but her
health has always been poor, and she has a great deal to
do. She often comes into my room at night, if she sus
pects that I am not well, and asks if she can do anything
for me ; but I know she is always tired, and I feel more
like helping her than allowing her to help me. I shall
always remember her gratefully for it, and believe that
were she less unhappy herself we would have been a
different family."

The mention of Agnes reminded me that she had pre
sented me with her father's picture, and taking it from
my pocket I gave it to Jo, but he did not care to look at
it then, and said he would take it, and give it back at
some future time.

"Your father is never unkind to her," he continued,
determined to talk on that subject, "but they are more
like strangers than man and wife. They have not occu
pied the same room for years, therefore she is always
striving to reconcile him, knowing that he is discontented
and dissatisfied, though I cannot see that she is to blame
for it, and as a true woman — and she is one, if ever one
lived — this makes her very unhappy. I know less of
your father every day, and I fear that something unfor
tunate will come of his discontent. I hope it will not
turn out that religion is a bad thing for him, as Barker
predicts. I never mentioned it to you before, but the
night you were away your mother came softly into our
room, and asked why I had gone to bed so early. I said
I was unusually tired, and that I had to get up very early
in the morning; nothing more than that. She remained
there for two hours, as if anxious to be with me, and
there was enough light in the room for me to see that
tears were in her eyes, and that she was in great distress.

LOVE AXD DISCIPLINE. 107

" ' Since six o'clock,' she said to me, ' my husband has
not changed his position, or spoken. It is his habit every
night. He is always thinking, and always silent and
discontented. If I knew what his trouble is, perhaps I
could help him, as I am anxious to do, but he will not tell
me (though I do not ask him, for I am afraid). He
thinks all day at his work, you have told me, and I believe
he thinks all night, for I have known him to get up at
midnight, and walk the floor until day. He is always
considerate of me, and never speaks unkindly, but he has
never been my husband except in name, and the fear that
I have done something to offend him makes me very
wretched, for I have always tried to be all that he
desired. There is something dreadfully portentous in
this ; I do not know what it is, but I am certain that it
will finally make us very miserable.

" ' I have never spoken of this before ; I never intend to
speak of it again, and I only mention it now because I
feel that I can live but a few years longer, and I must
speak of it to make clear a request I have to make. Ned
is out of the house to-night, and farther away from me
then ever before since he was born. After you two have
gone to sleep here in this room, I always come in to kiss
him good-night. And, Jo, I frequently kiss ' you, too.
Since he was a baby in my arms, I have never kissed him
except when he was asleep, because his father seemed to
dislike such exhibitions of affection. But I come to his
bed every night, and kiss him after he has gone to sleep.'

" She cried softly to herself awhile, and remained so
quiet that I could hear her tears fall in little plashes to
the floor.

" ' The request that I have to make is that after I am
dead you will tell him of this. I have made a mistake in
raising him, and I know I should have cultivated his

108 THE STOEY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

affection for me after he put on boots and mittens, and
went out with his father to work, but I was afraid, for
none of that is allowed in this house, as you know. I do
not feel free to be kind to you, Jo, or show you any at
tention, for fear my husband will regard it as an inter
ference with his discipline, which excuse he has used to
separate me from my boy.

" ' I know he regards me as cold-hearted, like his father,
but I am not. I love him as every mother loves her only
child, but he does not understand it, and lately he avoids
me whenever he can.

" ' You won't be here long ; Damon Barker wants you
to live at the mill, and you won't come back very often,
for you have no reason to, therefore I ask you, now that
I have opportunity, to tell Ned that I have always loved
him as a mother should, and that I was indifferent to him
because his father told me to be, and said it was for the
best. He is getting to be quite a boy now, and when he
comes home tired and ill-humored, I know he thinks we
are unjust to make him work so hard, but tell him, Jo,
that it is his father who did it, and that I always protested
against it. I want you to take good care of him after I
am dead, and I believe you will, for I can see you are
very fond of him, as he is of you. I believe you will both
become good and intelligent men some day; men who
will love your wives and children, instead of treating
them as they are treated in Fairview, and I want you to
believe when you are grown up that I raised you as best
I could. You have lived here nearly as long as I have,
and this is your home, as well as Ned's, and if you have
not been contented and happy, it was not because I did
not love you both. I trusted too much to another's judg
ment, and was afraid to do what I felt I should have
done. When you become men you will think a great

A PROMISE OF ENCOURAGEMENT. 109

deal of this period in your lives, for it is indelibly stamped
on your memory by its discomforts, but I hope you will
remember that I was sick a great deal, and could not pay
you the attention I wanted to. Good night.' "

After wiping away our tears, for the story affected us
both to that extent, we resolved over and over again to
be more considerate of her in the future, as we now better
understood her strange disposition toward us. I do not
know that we had ever been more inconsiderate than
other boys, but we all seemed to be waiting at our house
for an opportunity to get away, and find more pleasant
companions, which made us unthoughtful of each other,
and I think it was to this she referred in her talk
with Jo.

When we went into the house again, my father was
sitting in his accustomed place, thinking. He had not
changed his position since we went out of the room, an
hour or two before, and I think he regretted he could not
go out into the fields and lose his thoughts in working.
He looked up when we came in, and addressing himself
to Jo, said : —

" Are you glad to go ? "

" Yes, sir," Jo promptly responded.

This did not seem to surprise him, and he kept on
thinking, as though he might have known it without
asking.

" I have no doubt you think I have been a hard master,"
my father said. " I have been, but because I believed it
was best to teach boys to work. Before you reach my
age, you will know I was right, and that the course I
have pursued with you was the best one. But to show
you that I am anxious for your success, I offer to help
you start the mill at The Ford, if you apply yourself at
Barker's and give me reason to believe that you are

110 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

worthy and capable. Whatever else you may think of
me, you know I keep my word in everything. Bear this
in mind during the next two years."

When he began thinking again, I thought it was that
although he always did that which was for the best, he
was blamed for it, and hated.

" I have no advice to give you, because you would take
nothing kindly from me, and because I seldom give it to
anyone. Every man must advise himself, after he is con
vinced what course he had better pursue. The world is
full of people giving good advice to others, but I have
thought we should all be better off if we would advise
ourselves more, and others less. If I could take the good
advice I am capable of giving, I should have no occasion
to accept it from others. The same is true in your case ;
advise yourself, and see that your advice is good. I
believe you will succeed over there, and I earnestly hope
you will. No more need be said on the subject."

When he began his thinking again, I thought it was to
wonder why Jo should not feel grateful to him now in
stead of in the future (he was sure he would then), after
he was dead, and in need of no evidence that the course
he had pursued was right.

That night I resolved to remain awake to see if my
mother came to me in my room. She did not disappoint
me, and, coming in quietly, sat down on the foot of the
bed, where she remained in deep study a long while. I
could not see her face, but I was certain it was thoughtful
and sad, and that she felt ill at ease, and wretched. The
moon was shining outside, and she pulled aside the cur
tain to look at us. At last she got up, and bending over
the -bed kissed me tenderly. I threw my arms about her
neck, and said : " Mother ! "

SORROW. Ill

She fell on her knees beside the bed, and sobbed in such
distress that my father heard her, and came in hurriedly
from the other room to inquire what was the matter. But
only her sobbing answered him, and speaking to her
tenderly, as if divining what had affected her, he led her
away, with his arm around her.

" Your father has been thinking again," Jo said, as the
door closed upon them. " I was awake, too. Ned, never
keep anything from me again."

CHAPTER XL

WITH REFERENCE TO A MAN WHO WAS SENT WEST TO
GROW UP WITH THE COUNTRY, OR GET KILLED.

A FEW months after the Shepherds came to Fairview,
and after they had become fairly settled in their
new home (they lived beyond Erring's Ford, and on the
other edge of the timber which began there), a fellow
arrived who was thoroughly disliked from the moment of
his appearance, because he had an insolent manner, an in
solent walk, and was insolent in everything he did, to say
nothing of his flashy dress and a general air of impudence.
His name was Clinton Bragg, and as he appeared there in
company with the Shepherds, it was soon understood that
in the country from which they came their families had
been intimate and friends. I think he only consented to
visit Fairview church on the Sunday of his first appear
ance, as a geologist consents to enter a dirty pit in the
earth, for the satisfaction of seeing curious specimens and
formations, and he regarded the people he saw, whom he
looked at with a cool stare, as a herd of peculiar beasts or
a drove of something.

Mr. Shepherd had applied himself with great industry
to agriculture — although it was not expected of him, as
his salary was sufficient for his support — but a member
of the congregation had given him the free use of a piece
of land, and he devoted certain hours of each day to cul
tivating it. His appetite and strength (both of which had
deserted him years before) had returned from this exer
cise, and he progressed so well that it was known that
112

CLINTON BRAGG. 113

after he had remained at Fairview as long as the rules of
the church allowed, he would give up preaching altogether
and follow agriculture instead.

The people thought a great deal of him, as he was kind
and gentle, and preached a religion less rigorous than my
father's had been, and they were useful to him in so many
ways that he was greatly pleased with the people and the
community, for I think he had never lived in a place before
where he was of so much importance. Therefore it was
plain that he was annoyed by Bragg's impertinence, and
I thought Mateel and her mother shared the feeling. He
sat with them during the services, but went out in a rude
way immediately after the preaching was over, giving the
people to understand as plainly as he could that he thought
them inferior. Through the open door from where I sat
I could see him standing out at the gate like an evil spirit,
and I could not help thinking that Fairview was progress
ing, for all sorts of people were coming in. I had never
seen a man like this one before, for we knew by his man
ner that he lived without work.

When the people came out he walked ahead of them,
as though fearing he would be trampled upon, and seemed
anxious to get away. To this end he unhitched the min
ister's horses, and, after turning their heads homeward,
sat holding them impatiently, until the family concluded
their greetings with those who crowded around them,
amusing himself by chewing bits of hay and spitting them
out spitefully.

When it was announced that the family would spend
the time at our house until the evening service, he was
evidently displeased, as he had probably thought to pass
a pleasant afternoon at the home of the Shepherds' in
abusing the Fairview people, but though I thought at first
he would get out of the wagon, and walk back to town,

114 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWX.

he seemed to reconsider finally, as if it was worth his time
to see how the animals lived.

All this I imagined while looking at him, for he said
nothing, and when I rode in the seat in front of him (which
I did at the invitation of Mateel) I was certain he was
frowning all the way, and thinking of me as a fine speci
men for a museum. His presence chilled me, as it did all
the others, and I said nothing during the ride, fearing he
would snap my head off. I felt, too, that, though the
others disliked him, they were afraid of his tongue, should
he find occasion to use it, and I drove as rapidly as I could
to get rid of him.

When he was introduced to Agnes he stared at her
with cold surprise, as he would look at a particular animal
in a flock driven up for his inspection, should one of them
prove finer than he had expected, and Agnes turned and left
the room. Mateel soon followed her, and I thought that
she went out to apologize for her rude acquaintance. They
both remained away until dinner was ready, and I found
that they were good-naturedly helping my mother, who
was greatly pleased. Indeed, they all deserted Bragg?
leaving him alone in the best room a greater part of the
time, my father and Mr. Shepherd finding it convenient
to examine a lot of yoiing trees lately planted in the
orchard.

My grandmother was there that day, and finding that
they were all afraid of Bragg, she went in to keep him
company, and give him to understand that she was too old
a bird to be frightened by such a scarecrow. After re
garding him carefully over her spectacles, first wiping the
glasses, as though that would help her in taking his mea
sure, she called me in, and kept up an incessant rattle of
compliments for the splendid people of Fairview, fre
quently denouncing the ignorant upstarts who did not
like them.

A WELL-TO-DO LOAFER. 115

But Bragg paid not the slightest attention to her, and
kept looking out of the window, first at the church, and
then at the fields, as though he regretted he could not set
them on fire by holding his eyes on them, like a sun-glass.
At dinner my grandmother sat next to him, and imposed
on him by crowding, and setting everything passed to her
as far away as possible, whicli affronts he pretended not
to notice. Although the others were very good-natured
at the table, he remained indifferent to everything, eating
whatever was offered as though he was surprised to get it
in such an out-of-the-way -place. I had not yet heard him
speak, and began to wonder how it would sound should
he finally consent to favor us with a word.

The good humor of the others was probably to show
Bragg that his ill-nature was of no consequence, and that
he was welcome to his mood, for I had never heard so
much laughter in that house before. I was particularly
proud of Agnes for the many kind things she managed to
say of FairvieAV, though apparently without reference to
Bragg. She was superior to any of them, and I could
not help thinking it was to the credit of the country that
she had lived there contentedly before they came. Al
though the dinner to which he sat down was better than
he expected, and the people offering to entertain him
more intelligent — he could not conceal his occasional
surprise — he would not admit it, and maintained his in
solent silence. When he went back into the best room,
nobody followed, and he remained there undisturbed,
except occasionally by my grandmother, who dashed in
at intervals to turn up her nose.

I learned somehow that Bragg was the spoiled son of a
well-to-do family, and that his father, after spending great
amounts of money on his education, had sent him West
to grow up with the country or get killed. It was evi-

116 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

dent that he was dissipated — he gave no particular evi
dence of it, but I supposed that must be the matter with
him — and I remember thinking that the miller's sister
would be glad to hear of his arrival, as it would give her
opportunity to save him.

I heard Mr. Shepherd say to my father that he was a
civil engineer, and would make that his business in Twin
Mounds, if he concluded to do anything at all, which was
not decided, as his father was rich, and would cheerfully
supply him with all he needed.

" He is disagreeable to me, and to my family," he
added, " but I was a boy with his father, and have known
Clinton ever since he was born. He has been headstrong
and wilful all his life ; I sincerely hope his residence here
will do him good. I don 't know what his habits are, but
I do know that he has always been a source of worry and
trouble — at home, at school ; everywhere. I think if
there is anything in him, it will develop here, for I am
unable to understand how any man can remain idle in a
country where there is so much room for action. He
intends to open an office in town, he says, and if he is
competent and industrious there is really no reason why
he should not live to make his father proud of him. I
believe his mother regards him as the most wonderful
young man in the world, as he is."

My father did not reply, but I am sure he was thinking
that Bragg was a very good example of his doctrine that
an idle boy invariably grew up into an idle and disagree
able man.

" He is an only son," Mr. Shepherd continued, " and
will one day come into possession of a considerable prop
erty ; I don 't know how much, for I have a poor head for
such calculations, but I should say it will be sufficient to
make him independent for the remainder of his life. This

A YOUNG MAN OF PROMISE. 117

has been his misfortune. Had he been poor I think he
would have been a better boy, but as it is he acts as his
sullen temper dictates."

Barker had told Jo and me so much of rich people that
I greatly admired them, but I could not believe that
Bragg was a fair representative of the class, and I learned
afterwards that he was hated at school and at home
for his meanness, which was the only quality he culti
vated.

While I was looking at him, and thinking I would get
Jo to knock him down some day, Mateel and Agnes came
around the house with Damon Barker, who had evidently
just arrived. He had never met either of them before,
but, on encountering them, introduced himself with the
easy grace for which he was noted. Both had heard of
him, and seemed pleased to see him, for they sat down
on each side of him on a rough seat under an apple-tree.
I went out to them at once, and he spoke to me in such a
considerate way that I was sure it would be noticed that
he was my particular friend, which I regarded as a cir
cumstance very much in my favor. He did not treat me
as a boy, as the others did, but listened kindly when I
was talking, instead of waving me to silence with his
hand, and altogether acted as though I was worthy of his
respect and friendship.

"We all inquired about Jo, who had been away several
weeks, and he replied so favorably that he took another
step forward in my good opinion. Jo was already the
best assistant he had ever had, he said, and was certain
to become a remarkable man.

"I have a few books about the house," Barker said.
" Jo devours them, and keeps me up far into every night
answering questions. Next to his ambition to learn all
there is about the mill he is ambitious to know all there

118 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

is in the books. I think he will succeed in both particu
lars ; I was not mistaken in my estimate of him."

We were all pleased to hear him say this, and, though
not intending it, Mateel let it be known that she was
greatly interested in Jo. I hoped Barker would notice
it, and tell him, for it would be a pleasure for him to
know it.

" A boy apprenticed on a farm has very little oppor
tunity to learn anything-^- 1 wonder that he knows as much
as he does ; but he is progressive and manly, and I am
very much mistaken if his advancement is not very rapid
from now on. He wants to know about everything, and
I really believe he could run the mill very well without
me now. He was familiar with every part of it before
he came there to live, and I suppose he is busy to-day
taking the machinery apart to look at it, since I am not
there to answer his questions regarding the contents of
the books."

Barker seemed to understand that Jo had never been
appreciated in Fairview, and was determined that the
people should know he was very favorably impressed
with him. I thought it was very kind of him to come so
far to defend Jo.

"A young man ready to take advantage of every
opportunity is rare enough to be remarkable," Barker
continued, observing Mateel very closely. " They usually
have to be driven to it, and encouraged to keep at it by
all sorts of stratagems, but Jo only asks opportunity, and
goes at his work with an energy I greatly admire. I
have known hundreds of men who knew less at middle
age than Jo knows at seventeen, and who were not his
equals in whatever he attempts. This seems to have
been against him here, but it will be to his advantage in
his new place. But I believe I have not yet asked how

AN EVIL LOOK. 119

you liked Fairview," he abruptly concluded, addressing
Mateel.

She replied very much as a polite woman should — that
while it was not possible that she could positively say on
so short an acquaintance, she believed she would become
entirely content with it in time.

" I have lived here contentedly enough a good many
years," Barker replied, " with few acquaintances and fewer
friends. The country is very fair. I know little enough
of the people, but no one is crowded here. There is room
enough for everybody, and there are splendid opportuni
ties to be let alone. There is a good deal in that."

In her dependent, uncertain way, Mateel looked as
though it were possible to be let alone too much, although
she said nothing.

" I take it that people do not come west for society, but
rather because there are more acres than people in this
direction," Barker said. " I have been told that it is pos
sible to get too much of society, and that after it quiet is
appreciated. To this class Fairview will prove a satis
factory place. My nearest neighbor lives two miles away ;
I shouldn't care if lie lived ten. He is an ignorant fellow,
who chops wood for a living ; and he is very considerate,
for he never comes to see me. I think I never spoke to
my neighbor except to ask him how much was my debt.
We get along very well. Who is the young man at the
window?" noticing Bragg, who had changed his position
and was looking at the sky.

I replied that he was a friend of Mr. Shepherd's, and
that he had only arrived a few days before.

"He looks as though he was in jail for murder, and
meditating an escape in order to commit the same
offence with greater atrocity. What is the matter with
him?"

120 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY

I was afraid that this might offend Mateel, but after
seeing that Bragg had not heard it she laughed over it, as
did the rest of us. She added, however, that he was in
excellent health, and that he was more moody than
sullen, and could be very agreeable when he wanted
to be.

"I judge he has had too much of society, and enjoys
the quiet of Fairview. He looks pleasant."

I will swear that Bragg's face was the most unpleasant
and disagreeable at that moment I had ever seen.

CD

" He should visit the mill for quiet. We have no noise
there except the roar of the water and the rumble of the
wheels, and we have grown so accustomed to these that
it would not be quiet without them. I hope he will like
the country."

At this moment my father and Mr. Shepherd came
around from the orchard, and Barker bowed low on being
presented. I thought Mr. Shepherd regretted he had not
known Barker was so polite, as he could have shown some
thing in that line himself; but they got on very well
together, and were soon talking like old friends. We sat
there for an hour or more, listening to their easy and cul
tured conversation, and it occurred to me, with renewed
force, that Fairview was getting out of its old ways. Mr.
Shepherd promised to visit him, the invitation having
been extended, and my mother and the minister's wife
coming out later the party was so agreeable that I won
dered we could not have more of it instead of the discon
tent which usually oppressed us. Hearing our peals of
laughter, I hoped Bragg regretted he had not been in
better humor and joined the company ; but he never
looked that way, and pretended to be occupied with
himself.

" You have never been inside of Fairview church, Da-

CRITICISING A YOUNG LADY. 121

mon," my father said to him, quite familiarly, late in the
afternoon ; " won't you come to-night ? "

"I will walk on with Ned," Barker replied, good-
naturedly, and rising, " and think of it after I reach the
cross roads ; I see it is almost time to start."

After taking his leave of all of them in a courteous
way, I walked with him along the path leading across the
field, my father excusing me from further attendance for
that purpose.

We proceeded quite leisurely, as there was no hurry,
and after we had walked a considerable distance my com
panion said : —

" A very pretty girl, and intelligent enough, but weak.
She could be coaxed into anything. They say that is
true of all light-haired women."

I did not know whether he meant Agnes or Mateel, so
I inquired, "Who?"

" The one you call Mateel. She has a pretty face, but
were I inclined to criticise such a delightful girl I should
say she lacks decision. The other one hardly spoke to me.
What is it they call her?"

" Agnes."

" The school-teacher, I believe. She is very much of a
woman, though evidently young. I admire her more
than the other one. Do her people live here ? "

"No; in Smoky Hill."

" Very respectable, I have no doubt. I should like to
know her father, and congratulate him."

" Her father is dead," I answered.

"Oh! Dead."

He walked on in silence for a considerable distance

" An orphan. It 's a pity."

I narrated what little I could tell of the family after the
promise to Agnes, though I longed to tell him of her

122 THE STOHY OF A COUNTKY TOWN.

mother ; but it seemed to bore him, and he dismissed the
subject after I had concluded in a rhapsody for the gentle
and patient Agnes.

By this time we had reached the cross-road, leading in
one direction to the church and in the other toward his
home. He stopped here, and said : —

" I will not go to the church to-night, if you will be
good enough to present my excuse to your father. It is
a long road home, and I must walk it. You know that
you are always welcome at the mill, and that Jo is anxious
to see you. Good-night."

He turned abruptly on his heel, and, walking away, his
form was soon lost in the rapidly approaching darkness.

When I arrived at the church I found the others all
there, and was surprised to find Bragg in better humor, as
if the darkness suited his disposition better. He was
walking about quite contentedly, looking curiously (and
impudently) at the knots of people collected in the yard,
and listening to what they were saying. At times I
thought he would speak to them, and his eyes, dull and
heavy all day, were now as bright and active as a ferret's,
and I thought he could penetrate the darkness with them,
for while the services were in progress he kept walking
about, closely regarding everything, as though it were
broad daylight. When the people came out, he met the
Shepherds at the door, and went down the walk with
Mateel on his arm, and when they drove away I thought
I heard him talking quite good-naturedly. Had the fel
low's spirits deserted him at the approach of day, and
come back with the darkness ?

CHAPTER XII.

LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.

months had passed since Jo had gone to live at
-J- the mill, and on a Saturday afternoon it was arranged
that I should visit him, and remain until Monday.

My father was at the country town a great deal of late,
and the farm, was being neglected in the hands of the
renter and his two sons, who I often thought were shift
less men, or they would have owned a farm of their own,
for land was cheap and plentiful. When he returned
from these visits to Twin Mounds, he was more thought
ful than ever, and after making long rows of figures in his
private book, and casting them up, he pondered over the
result, as if he had added another problem to the number
he was always studying over.

I did not get started until late, and as I rode away my
father came out to say that, unless I hurried, night would
overtake me in the woods, and as it was the first time in
his life he had paid me so much attention, I thought, as I
rode along, that Fairview was certainly progressing, and
that the old order of things was passing away.

The road which I travelled led through the fields past
Theodore Meek's, and thence through the woods, and, as
I went along leisurely, when I was half way it began to
grow dark. This did not alarm me, however, as I was
well acquainted with the way, and there was no prospect
of getting lost. As I came out upon the ridge dividing
the waters of Bull River and Big Creek, where there was

123

124 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

an opening, and tne trees gave way to underbrush, I saw
a man ahead of me riding on horseback, as I was. Think
ing he was going my way, and would keep me company,
I hurried on to come up with him, but he turned out of
tLc> road when I approached him, and rode off to the left.
Although it was almost dark, I recognized the horseman
as Clinton Bragg, and the direction he took indicated that
he was on his way to visit the Shepherds. Coining up to
the place where he had turned off, I saw that there was
no road, and had a mind to halloo to him, thinking he was
not familiar with the country, and might have lost his way,
but before I could put that intention into execution, he
urged his horse into a gallop, and passed rapidly along the
deep shadow skirting the other side of the clearing. I
remembered then that the fellow, like an owl, was more
himself after dark than during the day, and, supposing
that he had concluded to ride through the timber and
darkness to save distance, I thought no more of him, ex
cept to wish that he would have trouble.

When I arrived at the mill it was long after dark, and,
wishing to surprise Jo, I put the horse away alone, as I
was familiar with the stables from frequent visits. Seeing
no light in the house, I supposed he was at the mill, and
went in there, although it was dark, and I should have
thought it deserted but for the circumstance that all the
machinery was in operation. Hearing some one in the
basement, I sat down until he had finished and started
up the stairs, when I saw it was Jo, carrying a lantern.

" And so you have come at last," he said, hanging the
lantern on his arm, and taking both my hands in his. " I
had almost come to believe that you had forgotten me."

" It has been impossible for me to come sooner," I
replied. " We have been very busy at home since you
came away, and as father spends a great deal of his time

THE YOUNG MILLEK. 125

in town now, I have double work to do. I have been as
anxious to come as you have been anxious to see me, for I
have been very lonely since you went away."

"I am certain of that," he returned good-naturedly,
using his lantern to look critically at a wheel which I am
sure was all right, but he wanted me to know that he was
in charge ; " I am certain you came as soon as you could,
my dear old friend. You, like myself, cannot always do
what you please. But now that you have come, you may
be quite sure that I am glad to see you, and you could not
have arrived at a more favorable time. I am to stay here
until midnight, at which time Barker will relieve me, and
you shall stay with me and tell me the news."

" I think it is very much to your credit, Jo," I said,
" that you are able to run alone already."

" O, it is nothing," he answered, though I could see he
was proud of it. " All I have to do is to look around, and
see that the belts are on and that the machinery is run
ning smoothly. The mill runs itself, and if anything
should go wrong, I have only to shut down the gate, and
call Barker. But nothing is likely to go wrong. Barker
is a fine miller, and he has everything so arranged that
the water does the work with little assistance. But tell
me how much you have missed me again, and everything
that has occurred at home since I came away."

Under the first head I could have talked all night, but
there was nothing new except the arrival of Bragg.

"He was here to-day," Jo said, thoughtfully, "and I
don't like his looks. He came in while I was alone, and
inquired if this was Barker's mill. I answered that it was,
when he said he presumed my name was Jo Erring. On
my confessing my name, he sat down on a pile of sacks,
and watched me intently for half an hour, when he got
up, and went out without saying a word. I suppose he

126 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

went up to the house, and looked at Barker in the same
way, for I saw him come out of the door, mount his horse,
and ride away. He looks like one of the Devil's sons.
Who is he?"

I told all I knew about him, and I thought Jo was
much interested in the statement that he had been raised
at Mateel's old home, and that they had grown up
together.

" He 's impudent, whoever he is ; I can say that for him.
I thought he wanted to buy me, he looked at me so
closely. I suppose Mateel is as pretty as ever."

I answered that she wonderfully improved on acquain
tance, and that, having gone down into the bottom of her
trunk, she was better dressed than ever when last I
saw her.

"You know that letter of apology to Mateel I read
you?" Jo inquired, without paying much attention to my
remark.

I said I remembered it very distinctly, but I wondered
why he now regarded it so pleasantly, for he was smiling.

" Well, I received an answer to it a day or two after
coming here, accompanied by an invitation to visit her,
and I don't mind confessing to you that I went, as I had
learned a great deal since I called there the first time
with your mother, and was anxious she should know it.
In fact, I have been there three times in three weeks. Its
only a short distance to their house from here, and Barker
gave me so many lessons in bowing and politeness that I
could n't resist the temptation to try them."

"And how did they work?"

"Oh, I forgot everything as soon as I got into the
house, of course," he answered wearily, as though he
were dreadfully slow in learning to be polite. " She
came up to me, and stood so close that I had n't room to

CONTENTMENT. 127

bow. "When her mother came in, she shook hands, and I
couldn't have bowed to her without pushing over my
chair. It was a total failure, though I am improving. I
take off my hat now before going in at the gate. I am
under contract to go there to-morrow night, and you shall
accompany me. I have a new suit of clothes, too. They
arrived a few days after I came here; I asked Barker
who sent them, and he said he supposed it must have
been God.

" Jo," I said, " you are very happy here, I can see it
already."

" I confess that I am," he replied ; " more contented than
I ever expected to be anywhere. I am useful to Barker
(so he is kind enough to say, at least), and he told me
to-day that he intends to pay me wages from the time I
came, instead of compelling me to work a long while for
nothing. Yes, I am very happy here ; you have guessed
my secret."

I was heartily glad of it, and said so, and added that
no one deserved it more.

"But after all there is nothing like a fairy story in it;
nothing unreal, and nothing that is likely to melt away,
and leave me a drudge at Fairview again. I am simply
in a place where, if I work hard, I shall get something for
it. Every one ought to have that opportunity, therefore
it is not too much to hope that my good fortune may con
tinue. I should have been as comfortably situated as I am
now a good many years ago (no one is so unworthy that
he does not deserve pay for what work he does well), but
I have learned nothing, and earned nothing, until now,
though I am almost a man grown."

Jo had been a full hand on the farm for several years,
but he never received anything for it, except complaints,
and I understood what he meant.

128 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

*< But I want to talk to you about Mateel ; I think a
great deal about her. It 's very odd", but it is very true.
At home, and at your house, the poorest corner was too
good for Jo ; with her the best is too poor. I should be
very ungrateful did she not occupy my thoughts a great
deal. Though she is a lady and I only a rough country
boy, she is so considerate of me that I cannot help loving
her, though it is very presuming in me, I fear. I feel as
though I were visiting a queen when I go there, but she
makes me so welcome that I soon forget myself, and
imagine I am a king. All of my ambition is connected
with her now. If I hope to become a worthy man, and
well-to-do, it is that she may be proud of me, and feel
that I have worked to please her; if I study Barker's
books diligently by the light of this lantern at night, it is
that I may become more intelligent, and worthy of the
good opinion she has of me. I dream of nothing pleasant
in which she does not have a part. If I fancy I am happy,
she is beside me, and the cause of it ; if I have grown rich
and great in a night, I am only glad of it because it will
please Mateel. Always and everywhere, when my better
part is uppermost, she is in my thoughts, but never when
I am contemptible in any way. There seems to be no
doubt, in short, that I am desperately in love."

I had suspected this for some time, though I pretended
to be greatly surprised.

"I have never said anything to her about it," he con
tinued. " Maybe I never shall, but, ignorant as I am, I
can see she is glad to see me when I go there, and she
would not invite me back so cordially if she could not
tolerate me. It is very pleasant for an ignorant fellow
like me to be friends with a refined lady like Mateel. I
never thought there was anything in life equal to it. She
does not seem to know but that I am of a good family,

JO'S SECRET. 129

but I intend to tell her honestly and truly some time
what an unfavored fellow I am."

I said she probably knew all about him already, and
was satisfied.

" Do you suppose she does? " he inquired with the look
of a pleasant hope in his face. " It would be comforting
to know that, as it would be humiliating to tell her every
thing to my discredit I can think of. But if ever I
become convinced that she loves me, I will tell her every
thing if it kills me."

He talked as though he had been a great criminai in
his time, but there was really nothing more serious
against him than that his father was an eccentric shingle-
maker, and his mother a midwife, if I except the circum
stance that everybody said he came of a shiftless family

" There seems to be no doubt that I am madly in love,"
he repeated again, looking at the flame of his lantern, as
though it were likely to give an opinion as to whether he
was or not. " I don't know whether to regard it as a
serious circumstance or a pleasant one. They say that
one's first love does not amount to anything, and that one
soon forgets it. It will not be that way with me, I am
certain. I should be ashamed to offer my affections to
another girl after having loved Mateel as madly as I do
now, and I should feel that I was offering a poor return
for the love I should expect of a wife. I am convinced
that a man who has loved but once makes a better husband
than one who is in doubt as to whether he ever loved at
all. I would as soon marry a widow with children as a
woman who has been engaged, and permitted the famili
arities which are common under such circumstances. If
there is anything in love at all, it is wrong to break an
engagement. A man or woman who is so uncertain in
matters of the heart as to contract a new fancy four or

380 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

five times a year, is likely to be mistaken at last. I am
not acquainted with many people who are happily mar
ried, but I am convinced that plenty of them may be
found in looking the world over, and inquiry will no
doubt reveal the fact that they were never in love but
once. If I should marry, it would seriously affect my
happiness to know that another man — I despise a man,
anyhow — had caressed and fondled my wife as an ac
cepted lover. I would n't live in the same country with
him, and I should be forever unhappy for fear that she
loved him the best. It would be a circumstance very
much in favor of a happy married life for a man to know
that his wife had never seen anyone else she would marry ;
to know that her lips had touched only his, and that she
was innocent as well as virtuous."

I did not know much about, such matters, but I thought
Jo expected a great deal ; perhaps too much. But he had
grown so serious that i knew he was deeply concerned,
and though I tried to change the subject, and talk about
the mill, he answered me in such a way as to indicate
that he would talk of nothing but Mateel that night. He
was uneasy and worried in his manner, too, although I
could not understand why, unless it was regret that he
had been raised so poorly, and that he was only given
opportunity to learn at seventeen ; for I knew that in his
affair with Mateel he had every reason to feel satisfied,
except that he was so young and poor as to render
thoughts of his marrying her almost ridiculous. It may
have been that a knowledge of the possibilities of his
future made him chafe and fret that he was compelled,
from no fault of his own, to begin life so late, and that
he feared failure under such circumstances, although suc
cess would have been certain under circumstances rnorp
favorable.

THINKING. 131

As if the thought were disagreeable, he picked up the
lantern abruptly, and went down under the mill, leaving
me in the dark, and he remained so long that at last I
followed. I found him leaning against a heavy timber,
looking at the flame in his lantern again, as though it
could enlighten him if it would on certain matters of
which he was anxious to know more.

" You are becoming as great a thinker as father, Jo," I
said, touching him on the shoulder, for he had been so
occupied with his thoughts that he had not noticed my
approach. "You used to dislike him very much for
that."

Recollecting himself, he pretended that he had come
down to look at something, and after seeing that it was
all right, we went up again.

" If I was thinking," he said good-naturedly, " it was
that I had never thought of loving until Mateel came in
my way. The possibility that some day I should marry
was so remote that I never considered it, and when you
came down there just no\v, I was hoping that if ever I
should marry Mateel — I don't suppose I ever shall ; it
was only a fancy, and there is no harm in telling it — she
would confess to me that thoughts of loving and marry
ing never came to her until she met me, as I intend to
confess to her, and it will be God's holy truth. I have
never even divided my poor affection among my relatives ;
you have had it all, but I don't think Mateel would object
to that,"

Although he had only been there a short time, I
thought Jo had grown to be a man since I had seen him
last. He looked larger, and older, and acted and talked
more like one than he did two months before, when he
was a boy.

" I can understand why you love me," he said, " because

132 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

I have tried to win your regard, and we have been frienda
all our lives, but if Mateel cares for me, it is because there
is more to me than Fairview has ever given me credit
for. If that is not the case, then my ambition is hopeless,
and if I have been thinking, it is about that. It is plea
sant for me to know that, ignorant and rough as I am,
intelligent people can admire me at all, for I am improv
ing very rapidly, and in time I can hope to become
worthy of the friendship of very good people. I am sur
prised to think how ignorant I was a month ago ; I shall
be in still greater wonder six months hence to realize how
foolish I was when you first came to see me at the mill. I
have no other hope for the future than that I can learn
something every day, for if I live a long time I can hope
to know something at last. It is not a great brain that
can be exhausted at thirty, or even forty, and I expect to
study very hard from now on, that I may catch up with
others of equal capacity who began under more fortunate
circumstances. I believe the day is coming when Fair-
view will be peopled with the kind of men and women I
am acquainted with in my fancy ; and when they arrive I
am ambitious to be able to associate with them without
the restraint of stupidity and ignorance."

I was about to reply, when we heard Barker coming in,
as the hour had arrived when he was to take charge,
although we had not suspected that midnight was so near
at hand, so rapidly had the time passed. Barker greeted
me pleasantly, and although I supposed he had just crept
out of bed, he was as fresh and cheerful as it was possible
to be. While we were walking up to the house I men
tioned the circumstance to Jo.

" I have never yet found him asleep," he replied, " I
think one of his eyes is always open, if not both of them,
but I have given up all curiosity with reference to him.

HAS BARKER A SECRET? 133

If he has a secret, and wants me to know it, I am always
here, and he can easily tell me. But I am content to
trust him just as he is. There can't be anything very bad
about a man who is always fair, just, and honest. I have
an idea that when I have earned his confidence, I shall
know his secret, if he has one, and that he will tell me.
In the meantime I intend to make myself as useful as
possible, and not annoy him with my curiosity."

I had intended to ask Jo for a theory with reference to
Barker during the visit, but after this I concluded that I
would not.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE FLOCK OF THE GOODE SHEPHERD.

JO and I agreed that we would ride over to his father's
in the forenoon of the next day, and return by way
of the Shepherds' in the evening. We started in the
morning before Barker was stirring, as he had worked
until daylight, Jo riding the horse he had received from
my father together with ten dollars in money, and I a
clumsy but reliable animal from the farm, which I believe
had assisted in hauling our wagons to the country, and
which rode about as comfortable as a wheel-barrow.

When we arrived at the Ford, and as we stopped our
horses to allow them to drink, I saw that several loads of
stone for the dam had arrived since my last visit there,
and Jo told me he intended to haul at least one load a
week until he had enough, and that there would occa
sionally be dull days at Barker's — as in times of high
water, or ice — when he could work on his own enter
prise for days at a time.

The house of hewn logs occupied by my grandfather
was built on the crest of the hill above the creek, the
ground on the side by which we approached it being
lower, and covered with timber, and riding up to the
fence surrounding it, we secured our horses, and went in.
Although it was summer, Dad Erring occupied his usual
corner by the fire-place, and had evidently just finished
smoking a pipe, as the room was yet full of the fumes.
lie was very much surprised to see us, and was at once
134

DAD ERRING. 135

cordial and hospitable by asking us to pull up to the fire
place, which we did, although the fire had been out for
several months.

" She 's not at home," he said, divining that we won
dered where Gran was. " She 's away. But I don't know
where. I never do. Both of you know that already.
She has been away — " lie rested one hand on his knees,
and counted the days on the bricks of the hearth with his
walking-stick — "three days. She may be at home in an
hour; she may not return in a week. Both of you
are familiar with the manner in which she comes and
goes."

I had frequently remarked of my grandfather that
while others in Fairview said little because they were
gloomy, he said little because he had little to say, and
after finishing what I have quoted, he stopped as if won
dering how he could find language to give his visitors to
understand that they were welcome. He seemed to con
clude at last that we were anxious to know next about
his business (as if there was nothing in the wide world
except his wife and the shingle business), and said : —

" You ask how I am getting along with my shingle-
making." We had not mentioned the subject at all, by
the way. " I answer, not very well. The trees cut very
hard of late, and although I go to my work later, and
come home earlier than formerly, I am more tired at
night than usual. Shingle-making does not progress very
well ; I am afraid I am not as young as I was ten or
twelve years ago, but we must all wear out. You two
are commencing ; I am finishing, but I doubt if you think
of the future more • pleasantly than I do. I arn always
tired now, and rest to me is as agreeable as hope to you.
Look at my hands."

As he held them out, I saw that they were cracked and

136 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

scarred, and the flesh on them dry and callous. He had
been rubbing them with some kind of oil, and the fingers
were so cold that it remained on them in lumps without
melting.

" They hurt me a great deal." We both expressed a
regret that his hands were not better. " But I am well
every other way, except that I get tired so easy. If I
could get the cracks out of my hands, the shingle business
would get on better."

I had noticed before that he apologized for old age and
weakness in this way, and tried to convince himself that
he was very well, and very strong, except that his hands
would crack open, and occasionally he raised them up, and
looked at the sores, as though they would finally be the
death of him.

" She has good success with other people, but poor luck
with my hands." He always spoke of his wife as " she,"
as she always referred to him as "he." " They baffle her
skill. I suppose they are in a bad way."

He got up at this, and began walking up and down the
floor, rubbing his hands together. Remembering his
great feats at walking, 1 thought if his hands were as
sound as his legs, he would still be a stout man. Coming
back to his chair presently, he sat down, and said to Jo : —

" Since we are talking of your new business, I may as
well say that she has agreed that you are to have this
place." I could not help wondering what boy had sat
between them, and made a conversation on the subject
possible. " I don't know whether it is fit for what you
want it or not, but we have both decided that you
may try."

I was surprised that he knew Jo had such an ambition,
or that he knew Jo had gone to Barker's to live, for it
was a chance that any one had taken the pains to tell
him.

FATHER AND SON. 137

"If my hands get better by the time you are ready to
commence," he said, "I will help you. I was once a
good hand at framing timbers, and there is enough on the
place to build the mill. I have picked out a great many
sticks in my trips to the woods which will be suitable."

It pleased Jo to know that he had been planning to
help him, for no one else had.

" I don't want you to help me, father," he said, "though
I am glad you offer to, for now I know you have confi
dence in me. I intend to help you, after I become a
miller^ instead of permitting you to help me. I am
sorry I never talked to you about it before ; you know
more about it than any of them."

" I have thought about your mill a great deal," was his
reply, " and have great hope that you will turn out a bet
ter man than your father. I have never amounted to
much ; both of you know that, but you have a better
start. It is poor enough ; you can imagine what mine
was, and you know more than I did at your age. I have
lived all my life in places where men were not expected
to amount to much, and were satisfied if they did not. It
seems to be different now."

What a dull country he must have lived in, to have
thought Fairview superior to it !

" I think you ought to build your house where this one
stands," he said. "I have planted a number of trees
around it for you, and I hope that when you are grown
up, your happy children may play under their shade. It
is a pretty place here, and it is but a few rods to the best
point for a mill. I have more confidence in you than any
one else. I would help you if I could."

Jo was greatly affected by this kindness, and as an
excuse to get out of doors, fearing he would be weak
enough to cry if he remained there, suggested that we get

138 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

dinner. The idea was not a bad one, after we came to
think more of it, and we soon had it under way.

My grandfather pretended not to know what we were
about, but I saw him looking frequently into the kitchen,
where we were, and when it was declared ready, he tried
to be greatly surprised. There was a number of young
chickens running around, and we had taken two of these,
intending to leave word for Gran that the hawks had been
about, and that the mice had been in the pickles and
preserves. The dinner was Jo's best effort, and, being
familiar with everything his father was fond of, he suc
ceeded in making him very good natured.

"It is just such a dinner as I can enjoy," he said, when
he sat down to it. " You seem to be able to do every
thing, Jo, but I hope you will get out of the way, for
these Jacks are said to be able to make everything except
money. I depend on you to distinguish your family;
there is no one else to do it, and we come of a long line
of very common folks. I enjoy your dinner, but I am
sorry you can cook so well ; really, I am sorry. I could
cook when I was of your age, and I could cut hair, and I
never amounted to anything. You should get out of the
way."

His good nature continued until after the meal was con
cluded, and until we went away, for when we had returned
to the front room again, he asked Jo and me to sing camp-
meeting songs to him while he smoked, which we cheer
fully did, imitating the singers in gestures, hand-shaking,
shouting, and so on, which was an accomplishment we had
to be very careful in exhibiting. Then we made prayers
and speeches representing The. Meek, Mr. Winter, and
the miller's sister, and sang the hymn through our noses,
commencing, " Hark, from the tomb, a doleful sound,"
all of which so pleased my grandfather that he laughed,

139

and roared, and pounded the floor with his stick, and de
clared that we were equal to a " show." When we said
in the course of the afternoon that we must go, he replied
that he sincerely regretted it, as he had never enjoyed
himself so well before, and made us promise that we
would come back every Sunday in the future when Gran
was away, and have an equally good time. We both
shook hands with him at parting — for the first time in
our lives, I think — and rode away waving adieus.

The Shepherds lived on the other side of Big Creek
woods, on the high divide between Big Creek and Bull
River, in a house originally dingy enough, but which had
been wonderfully transformed by their living in it. The
people said enough money had been spent in repairing it
to build a house large enough for three, and it >vas fur
nished throughout in a style very unusual in that country,
although it was no more than comfortable.

Mateel met us at the door, and as she ushered us into
the neat parlor I thought I had never seen a handsomer
woman, with the possible exception of Agnes, and I could
not but inwardly congratulate Jo on his good fortune. I
thought that I could see that she was very fond of him,
now that it had been called to my mind, though I may
only have imagined it, for she was as polite to me as to
him.

" I am glad to see you," she said, taking my hat, which
I was careful to remove, remembering Jo's experience.
"My father did not feel well to-day, and we are all at
home, as Mr. Westlock agreed to take his place at Fair-
view."

Mr. Shepherd came in at this moment, followed by his
respectable wife (who bowed stiffly to both of us at once,
as though we were not worth two separate efforts), and

140 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

impressed me at once with his freedom for a Sunday
evening. It was a funeral day at our house, but Mr.
Shepherd laughed and talked as though we were at a
party. As I looked at his pale and effeminate face, I
thought that his daughter was very much like him, and
that had a son been born to the family, he would have
been like his mother — quiet, dignified, and capable.

" I worked in the field so late Saturday," he said, with
the utmost candor and freedom, " that I felt too tired to
preach to-day, so I sent word to your father that he would
oblige me by preaching a sermon on future punishment.
It is one of the rules of the church that this disagreeable
topic be discussed from the pulpit at least once a year. I
dislike it, and am glad to shirk. Your father is very fond
of the subject, I am told. But no difference what he says
about it, I will apologize next Sunday, and deny it. The
religion of Fairview seems to make the people miserable ;
I shall change it if I can. I have been religious all my
life, and it never caused me a sorrow. I don't believe in
devils much, but I believe a great deal in angels."

As he looked at me as if he desired an expression on the
subject, I said angels were certainly the most comforting
to think about.

" I have been much distressed by the unhappy faces I
have seen since coming here, and I hope I may be the
humble instrument of brightening them. The right kind
of religion will put flowers in the yard, let sunlight in at
the window, and fill the house with content and happi
ness. I became a Christian man because I longed for
heaven, rather than because I feared the dreadful abode
of the wicked, and it is my intention to introduce this
gospel here."

Mr. Shepherd was directing his conversation to me, as
Mateel and Joe had retired to another part of the room,

THE NEW PASTOK'S RELIGION. 141

and were very much interested in each other. I therefore
wished him success in the undertaking.

" I have always thought that the Bible is such a con
vincing book that it finally converts nearly all the children
of men, — I hope all of them, — though the church to
which I belong does not cheerfully accept my opinion.
The Bible is only in dispute because a new set of men are
coming on all the time, who have also to be convinced
and saved. Its promises are so magnificent that no one
can read them all his life and fail to put himself in the
way of their fulfilment ; therefore there is no excuse for
referring to the disagreeable subject I have just mentioned.
You may as well look on the bright side of religion as on
the bright side of anything else, and you know we are
always having maxims of this kind thrown at us. This is
the religion the present pastor of Fairview believes in,
and this is the religion he will teach, though I have not
taught much of it to-day, for I have not mentioned the
subject at all until now. But I only came in to say I was
glad to see you, and will go out again," he said, rising. "I
am becoming very worldly of late, for I have been think
ing all day of how the potatoes and corn I ploughed last
week are getting on rather than of sermons, and I am so
sleepy now that you perhaps noticed me blinking. I am
also forgetting a great deal of my theology in the hunger
which constantly besets me, and if I raise nothing at all
this year I will feel well repaid for my work by the good
health I have enjoyed. When you return home express
my thanks to your father for his sermon."

As he went out I thought if he was not a remarkable
preacher he was certainly a good man. His respectable
wife followed, and as she had not said a word I thought
we should not miss her company.

"I was just saying to Miss Shepherd," Jo said, coming

142 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

over to me, " that you and I have been fast friends since
you were born. When I was a very little fellow and Ned
only a baby he loved me, and was happier with me than
with anyone else. It seems queer that anyone should live
to be seventeen years old and have no other intimate friend
than his sister's boy."

He addressed the remark to Mateel, but she did not
seem sure whether it was queer or not ; she was never cer
tain of anything, like her father.

" I have an idea that we shall be old men together, and
die greatly regretted by one another," Jo continued. "I
should be content with a very few friends like Ned ; a man
cannot do justice to a great many as true and good as he
is. If I were wealthy I should build a high wall around
my house, and station a surly porter at the gate instructed
to admit only a very few. It is one of the disadvantages
of the trade I am learning that I shall be expected to be
sociable with every kind of men. I shall never be free to
tell those I dislike to forever keep off my premises, as I
should like to do, but in order to live I shall be compelled
to treat them well for their patronage. It has been my
experience that only two men out of every ten have quali
ties worthy of cultivation, but it would be ruinous to intro
duce such a doctrine into the mill business."

I saw that Jo was in an odd humor, for he had forgotten
that he should make himself agreeable, and, stopped occa
sionally to think. Pretending not to notice it, I exchanged
the little gossip of the neighborhood with Mateel, until Jo
said, with an effort to shake off his gloomy thoughts: —

" Miss Shepherd, I should like to hear you sing."

Mateel laughed a little at this sudden invitation, but
good-naturedly opened the instrument, and, after selecting
a piece, sang it. The words \vere of constancy, and of a
lover who went mad on learning that his mistress had
wedded his rival.

JO ON LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 143

" It 's a song about love," Jo said, after Mateel had fin
ished it, picking up the music and looking curiously at the
title-page. "Most song-writers take that for a subject.
Do you believe the story it tells ? "

" I sang it because I believed it," Mateel said, wincing
under Jo's cold and steady gaze (he was in a very odd
humor indeed). " I believe in but one love."

" There arc so many people who believe in two or three,
or half a dozen. I suppose you do ; all good people are
very honorable in matters of this land. Sometimes very
€bad people believe in it — I do, for one."

I have thought of this very often since, for a great deal
that was horrible might have been avoided had the con
versation been candid on both sides.

" I would be afraid of getting in love's way," he said,
as though we had been accusing him. " They say it never
runs smooth, and I should be very unhappy were it to be
interrupted. The writer speaks of the heart's silent
secrets. That seems to be the general heart trouble ; it
is a repository of secrets, and always uncomfortable ones.
The subject makes me miserable ; I never thought of
it in my life that I did not at once become disagree
able."

Mateel laughed merrily at this, and said people usually
thought of it to be gay.

" But it is a most serious subject after all. If a man
makes a mistake in any other matter it is easily remedied ;
a day's work, and he is as well as ever, but a mistake in
love is not so easily mended. It may make life a failure,
and cause a man to rest uneasily in his grave. If I should
leave a wife at death, and she should marry again, my
very clay would cry out in agony at the thought. Under
such circumstances I should long to be an unhappy ghost,
that I might be free to walk the earth and fill her nights

144 THE STOEY OF A COUNTRY TOWX.

with terror. I hope I am not naturally of an ugly dispo
sition, but if this misfortune should happen to me, I woulc
resign my place in heaven and join the devils, in ordei
that I might be wicked and cruel in my revenge."

1 had never seen Jo in such a serious mood before, anc
mentioned it. His old, cheerful smile returned for a mo
ment as he made some good-natured response, but as h<
kept on thinking it was soon replaced with a frown
JVlateel seemed to enjoy his mood, and encouraged it b;
saying that a man had a different opinion of love ever;
year of his life.

"I never had an opinion on the subject at all until thi

year," was his reply, " but I will tell you what I think o

it next year, and the next. If I am of the same opiirioi

then as now, you can give me the credit that my first im

pressions represented me. My first impressions of th

(' subject are that I would as soon marry a widow as a gii

: who had been in love before. If I were the king of

I country I would punish second marriage with death, am

make it unlawful for a man or woman to be engaged mor

than once, thus preventing the marital unhappiness whicl

I am sure always results when either the wife or husbam

knows the other has been in love before."

Mateel laughed so heartily over this absurd idea tha
I joined her in spite of myself, though I knew Jo wa
very serious, and he looked at us both as though w
were attending his funeral and in good spirits over th
grave.

" I came here to pass a pleasant evening," I said to hin:
" but if you continue in this humor we shall all have th
horrors presently."

" I should n't have begun," he said, walking over to th
music rack (to look for a hornpipe, I thought), "but
have said no more than I really feel. We will settl

A GLOOMY LOVEK. 145

with that, and I will never make you uncomfortable again
y ^ferring to the subject."

Having selected a more cheerful song we tried to sing
it together, but it was a failure, and the evening dragged
heavily alter that, so much so that Jo announced his in
tention to go quite early.

" I was never gloomy in my life before," he said to
Mateel on parting. " I don't know what caused me to be
to-night, for I am usually happier here than anywhere else.
It must have been the gloomy poet whose song you sang.
I hope you will forgive me. When I come again we will
not speak of love. I know so little of it that I can't be
entertaining talking about it."

Perhaps your ignorance of love, Jo, will prove more
serious than you expect. Had you more knowledge of it
you would know that your lonely fancies are wrong, and
that there is not such a woman in the world as you have
created, and no such love as you expect. Perhaps had
you mingled more with the world you would have known
this and saved yourself much unhappiness.

I went out ahead of him, and he remained inside talking
for a few moments. Mateel seemed to be assuring him
that she was not offended, and I heard him thank her,
quietly say his adieus, and close the door.

We rode a considerable distance in silence, for I was
waiting for Jo to speak, as he had to my mind emerged
from boyhood to manhood since coming to the mill to live,
and I was not as free in his company as I had been at
home.

" I have made poor progress to-night," he said, at last,
"but I was not comfortable while there, for some reason,
and now I am not satisfied when I am away. The next
time I go there I intend to tell Mateel that I am madly
in love with her. I suppose she will call her father and

146 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

order me out of the house, but I can't stand this suspense,
I have a notion to send you on home and go back now."

He stopped in the road to consider it, but, recollecting
that it would be a ridiculous performance, rode on again.

" My love for her has taken such complete possession of
me that I shall be fit for nothing else until I know what
,1 am to expect. If I were older, and not so poor, I
/would go back to-night, declare my love, and insist that
she forever reject me or marry me in five minutes.
'But even if she accepts me — when I offer myself — it
will be years before I can hope to possess her. I have
always been waiting — first for release from your father,
then for release from Barker, and now for Mateel. I
would sell myself to the Devil to-night, to be delivered in
four or five years, for a little age, a home of my own, and
Mateel for my wife — NOW, not to wait a minute."

He had said NOW ! so loudly that it sounded like a
signal for the Devil to appear and complete the bargain
of which he had spoken, and was so stern that I was
afraid of him.

"I must curb this terrible passion or it will do me
serious injury. There is nothing in store for me except
waiting and working, and I fear that by the time I accom
plish what I desire I shall be so tired and indifferent that
I cannot enjoy it as I would now. But if I am as happy
when I possess her as I think I shall be, I will whip the
man who says this is not a happy world. If she is given
to me, I shall make her a queen if it is possible. My only
fear is that being of a poor family I shall not be able to
accomplish all I desire. Barker says an industrious man
can accomplish more than a talented one ; if that is true
I will make Mateel proud of me, and cause her to bless
the day she came to Fairview to live. But I intend to
talk less in the future, and do more."

IMPATIENCE. 147

He urged his horse into a gallop, and dashed through
the dark woods like a man on fire, and I followed, expect
ing every moment to be thrown off and injured. 1 did
not come entirely up with him until we had reached the
mill, and after putting away the horses we went at once
to bed, where Jo no doubt spent the night in waiting for
daylight, that he might commence to distinguish himself.

CHAPTER XIV.

I AM SURPRISED.

MATTERS were going from bad to worse at Fair-
view. My father had been away to the country
town a week, and had not yet returned.

As the attendance on the summer school was small,
Agnes managed to come home very early, and go away
very late, so that we were like three happy children having
a holiday, for my mother remained up with us until mid
night, if we did not get sleepy before that time, talking
very little, but quietly enjoying our company, as though
it was a pleasure usually denied her. I told them all I
knew about Jo, Mateel, Barker, his strange sister, and
Clinton Bragg, inventing incidents whenever the interest
threatened to flag, and Agnes was always entertaining,
so that we were very happy during that week.

It was the Saturday night after my return from the
mill, when we were beginning to be seriously alarmed about
my father's long absence, and just after we had agreed that
something should be done about it, the door opened, and
he walked in. I had been expecting him to return in a
bad humor, but much to my surprise he was in a very good
humor, and appeared to be pleased about something, as
though he had accomplished all he desired, and was good
enough to ask me if I had enjoyed myself at Barker's.

My mother and Agnes went out to the kitchen at once

J:o prepare his supper, and he followed them to talk

while they were about it. lie had brought them presents,

and, holding up the packages, asked them to guess what

148

FEOM COCJNTHY TO TOWN. 149

they were, and when they failed he laughed, and asked
them, to guess again. I looked on in wonder, and after he
had seated himself at the table, and commenced eating
without asking a blessing, he astonished us all by say
ing : —

" Well, I have bought the ' Union of States ' newspaper,
and a house in Twin Mounds, and we nlove there to live
next Monday. What do you all think of it ? "

We were so much surprised that we could not say what
we thought of it, and he continued : —

" I have been making the trade for several weeks, but
only finally closed it to-day, and I now hold the keys of
the establishment in my pocket. The house in which we
are to live is vacant, and I will go over with Ned on Mon
day, and Lee and his sons are already engaged to com
mence moving the next day. This may seem very sudden
to you, but I have been thinking of it for months, and am
already impatient at the delay. The farm will be rented
to Lee, and his newly-married son will occupy this house.
There is no reason I can think of why we should not
move at once. In a month I shall drive over and attend
the sale, which I have already advertised, and then I shall
be through."

Taking from his pocket a roll of hand-bills, which were
apparently fresh from the press, he handed each of us one.
It began with the heading " Public Sale," and stated that
the undersigned, having bought the "Union of States"
newspaper in Twin Mounds, would offer at public sale, on
the mentioned date, at his farm a hnlf mile north of Fair-
view church, the following stock, implements, and effects.
Here followed a long list of cattle, horses, ploughs, etc.,
with which I was very familiar, and I remember thinking
they all looked exceedingly well in print.

" I am tired of Fairview," he said, pushing back from

150 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

the table, and resuming his old habit of thoughtfulness.
" I am tired of its work and drudgery. I don't dislike
work, but, like other men, I am anxious that it pay me as
much as possible. I shall continue to work as hard as ever,
but I hope to more purpose. I make little enough here
except in land speculations ; that I can continue, and do
more of. The profession I have chosen will afford me op
portunity to study ; that will be a part of my work, and
we can live more genteelly in town than we have lived
here. I feel that ten more years on a farm would make
me an old man, whereas I should at that time only reach
my prime. These are briefly the reasons why I made the
change. I have figured it out ; it will pay. I could not
afford to make a mistake in this particular."

I thought of the long rows of figures which he had
lately been casting up in his private book, and the hours
he spent in pondering over the result.

" Three men are now necessary to do the work in pub
lishing the ' Union of States.' In a year Ned and I will
be able to do it ourselves, for we will work as hard there
as here, but, as I have said, to more purpose. The time a
boy spends in learning the trade of a printer is equal to
so much time at school, therefore Ned will practically be
at school summer and winter, and of some use besides.
The boy is now reaching an age when his education should
be attended to, and to all intents and purposes he will be
gin a term in an academy next Monday."

He got up at this and went to bed, leaving us to talk
about it. From the cold and cheerless manner in which lie
said I would be able to do the work of a man and a half
in a year, I judged there was to be little idleness for me
in the new place, and besides my work he expected me to
look after my education, which had certainly been ne
glected in the past.

151

Although the paper had been coming to the house for
years we had paid but little attention to it, so Agnes and I
took the lamp and ransacked everywhere for a copy of the
" Union of States," that we might examine it in a new
light. We found one at last, artistically notched, and
doing duty on a pantry shelf. It was a sheet of eight col
umns to the page, printed in large type, and we could not
help admitting (it was really the case) that it was well
printed, and very fair looking. I read most of the adver
tisements aloud, and wondered whether we should speedily
become acquainted with the parties, or whether years
would be required to get into their aristocratic circles, for,
in connection with statements that they carried the prin
cipal stocks of goods in their line in the West, at that
distance they seemed very important and distinguished.
However, as they all claimed the distinction of being the
leading merchant of Twin Mounds, I thought that per
haps the advertisements were overdrawn, and that I might
know them, at least by sight, within a few months.

There was almost a full page of law notices, some of
them from adjoining counties, where newspapers were not
published ; at the foot of each one was printed, " Printer's
fee, $12," and it occurred to me that most of the revenue
was derived from this source. I read four or five of these,
but as they were all in nearly the same language, I gave
it up.

There was also a large advertisement. of the paper itself,
occupying two full columns, commencing with the figures
of the year in which it was established, and the figures of
the current year (from which I made out that the paper
had been published seven years), foil owed by "Subscribe,"
" Subscribe," in large black letters. Then came a long
platform of dull political principles, and a declaration that
it was the duty of every good citizen to take it, because it

152 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

advocated Benton County first, and the world afterward.
After this came a paragraph, separated from the other part
of the advertisement by dashes and o's ( — o — o — ), stating
that job printing in all its branches, from a mammoth poster
to the most delicate visiting card, -would be neatly and
promptly executed on the new and fast presses belonging
to the establishment, and immediately above the informa
tion that all letters should be addressed -to the proprietor
to insure prompt attention (as though there had once been
a habit of sending letters intended for the printer to the
blacksmith), it was said that one copy one year would be
two dollars, invariably in advance ; one copy six months,
one dollar, also invariably in advance; one copy three
months, fifty cents, also invariably in advance ; and that
single copies in neat wrappers for mailing could be had on
application at five cents each.

We had no idea what the business was like, and sat
there until midnight discussing and wondering about it,
occasionally referring to the sheet to prove or disprove a
notion advanced by one of the number. My own idea
was that the paper was bought in a distant market, as an
article of merchandise, and that my part of the business
would be to stand behind a counter and sell copies at an
advance in connection with mammoth posters and delicate
visiting cards, but Agnes said that while she knew nothing
about the newspaper business, she was certain that idea
was wrong, and so it turned out.

When I suggested that Agnes could no longer live with
us — it occurred to me all of a sudden, very late in the
evening, and almost took my breath away — my mother
(who had evidently not thought of it before, either) got
up hurriedly, and went out of the room. I expressed the
fear that she had gone away to cry about it, whereupon

AGNES. 153

Agnes went after her, and came leading her back pres«
ently, with her arms tenderly about her.

" I can come over every Saturday," Agnes said, " and
we shall all be so busy during the week as not to notice
the separation. I shall miss you more than you can pos
sibly miss me, for I always think of this as my home, but
it is not far, and we shall often be together. My school
will be out in three weeks, when I will come over and
stay until you are tired of me."

As though we should ever tire of Agnes! But my
mother would not be comforted, and continued to cry
sofcly to herself — thinking, I have no doubt, that she was
about to separate from the only creature in all the world
who had ever been kind, and considerate, and fond of her.
When I went to bed, I left them together, Agnes gently
stroking my mother's hair, and assuring her that she was
her dear, kind, good friend, and that she would never for
get how welcome she had always been made in her new
home.

CHAPTER XV.

THE COUNTRY TOWN.

IT was barely daylight the following Monday morning?
when I started with my father for Twin Mounds,
where we were to take possession of the " Union of
States " newspaper. As we were getting into the wagon,
Agnes came out to hand me a letter, which she said she
had written the night before because opportunity did not
present itself to tell me what it contained. As my father
was impatiently waiting to start, with the lines in his
hands, I only had time to say that I would see her in a
few weeks, and, kissing my hand to her, we drove away.
She waved her handkerchief until we were out of sight,
when I soon forgot her and the letter in the excitement
of the visit to a strange place and the engaging in a work
of which I had no knowledge.

My father's usual humor had returned, and he drove
along without speaking, except occasionally to the horses.
Once or twice he began to sing the songs for which he
was famous, but he was evidently not in tune that day,
for he soon gave it up.

I had never been to Twin Mounds, as there was a post-
office and a small trading-place several miles nearer, and
had no idea how it looked, and knew nothing of it, except
that it had a brick court-house,- a stone jail, several
wooden stores, a school-house, and about six hundred
very wicked people. This I had incidentally learned
from listening to people talk who had been there, and I

154

THE COUNTRY TOWN. 155

was so occupied in thinking it all over that I had no in
clination to talk, and it occurred to me that after I grew
up, perhaps I shall be a thinking man, like my father, for
we did not exchange a word during the long drive. Sev
eral times as we drove along I caught him looking at me,
and I thought he was wondering how I would get on in
the new business, but as he looked away quickly when I
caught him at it, I concluded he was at his old habit of
menially accusing me of being dull, which made me very
wretched. I never knew what his objection to me was,
but I always believed that when he looked at me, and
then icsumed his thinking, he was accusing me of some
thing.

At last we came in sight of the place — we came upon
it suddenly, after reaching a high place which overlooked
it — and I occupied myself in wondering where the house
in which we were to live, and the office in which I was to
work, were located, until we stopped at a place where
horses were cared for, adjoining, and evidently belonging
to a hotel, in front of which a swinging sign was displayed
under a bell, announcing that the Twin Mounds House
was kept there. I noticed that all the business places
were in a square, in the centre of which was the brick
court-house, and in one corner of the yard the stone jail.
In a valley north of the town ran a river, and on its banks
were mills, and the site of Twin Mounds had evidently
been timbered originally, for in the people's yards I saw
great oak and hickory trees, and the woods adjoined the
town on every side. Great numbers of impudent boys, )
dressed in a rakish fashion with which I was not at all '
familiar, abounded, and while I was thinking I should cer
tainly have trouble -with these, my father started down
the street with long strides, telling me to follow.

Stopping in front of a low wooden building which had

156 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

evidently been used at some time in its history as a dwel
ling, and on the front porch of which was a board sign
reading "Printing Office," we went in, where we found
three men — two with paper caps on, who were throwing
thejr arms violently around over a high stand, and the
other, a pale man seated at a desk, who was evidently the
retiring proprietor. This man and one of those with a
paper cap on his head spoke pleasantly to my father, and
looked inquiringly at me.

" This is the son I have told you about," he explained,
pointing at me as if I were a bag of corn. " He is ready
to commence learning the printer's trade."

This was addressed to one of the men who wore the
paper caps, and he began at once to initiate me in the
mysteries of his craft. I soon learned that the high table
at which he worked was covered with shallow boxes, and
that each one contained a different letter ; every character
in the language was hid away in the nooks and corners,
and my first work was to hunt them out, and remembor
them for future reference. This I began immediately,
and became so interested in it that I did not notice for
some time that a number of the rakish-looking boys I had
seen when first driving into the town had collected out
side the window to look at me. These were evidently
the town boys of whom I had heard, and no doubt they
were waiting for me to come out and fight, to see of what
kind of stuff I was made. It was the understanding in
the country that all town boys were knockers, and that
every country boy who went there to live must fight his
way to respectability. They were less ferocious than I
had expected, and as I was much stronger than any of
them, I should have gone out and thrown them all over
the house, but for the fact that my father did not coun
tenance fighting. They were generally delicate-looking

THE PRINTING OFFICE. 157

- — from high living and idleness, I thought — and while I
was engaged with pleasant thoughts to myself that when
Jo came over we would capture Twin Mounds, my atten
tion was called to the circumstance, by my friend in the
paper cap, that it was noon, and that my father evidently
intended that I should go out with him to dinner, for he
had gone himself without making any other arrange
ment.

I had heard them call him Martin, and he appeared to
be very much of a gentleman, for before we went out he
showed me through the establishment, and explained as
much of it as he thought I could understand. The press
was in a little room by itself — there was but one, al
though I remembered that in the advertisement it was
said that the office was supplied with new and fast-
presses — and from the paper on the wall I judged that
the former owner of the house had occupied that parti
cular part of it with a bed. Back of that was a place for
plunder, formerly a kitchen, and back of that still a yard
and a deserted garden. There was also in the yard a
large oak-tree, and to the branches of this was suspended
a hammock, in which Martin said I might sometimes
sleep, if I became a friend of his, as he had no doubt I
should.

While we walked to the hotel he explained that he was
the foreman, and that, as I was to learn the trade under
him, we should be a great deal together.

" It is not much of a trade," he said, " and if you are a
bright boy you will speedily Acquire it. You can learn
it in six months, or three years, just as you please, for I
have known boys to become excellent printers in six
months, while others, with thicker heads, were about it
three or four years. But as your father said you were to
stay with me to-night, I will tell you more about it then."

158 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

Going into the hotel, we found a large number of men
seated at a long table in a long room, every one eating
hurriedly, as though oppressed with the fear that the
supply in the kitchen was likely to give out before they
were filled. Near the head of the table sat my father and
the pale proprietor, and between them and Martin the
other man who wore the paper cap, whose name seemed
to be Adams, from which circumstance I thought there
was na other hotel in the place. Opposite him sat Clinton
Bragg, I noticed with some astonishment, forgetting for a
moment that Twin Mounds was his home, and he looked
as sullen and mean as ever, but he was not so well dressed
as when I had seen him at Fairview. He could not help
being aware of my father's presence, but they had evi
dently mutually agreed not to renew their acquaintance,
though I noticed that Bragg stopped working his jaws
when my father was speaking to his companion, and
listened to what was being said, as though he wondered
how it came we were both there.

Some of the other men were flashily dressed, and some
of them plainly, and they talked a great deal to each
other about their business, and by listening to this I
learned which of them occupied shops, and stores, and
offices, and which one was the driver of the stage that
made two trips a week to a railroad station a long
way off.

The dinner was served in large plates, distributed at
convenient distances apart, and two smart girls in stiff
aprons and dresses were in attendance should any one
think anything additional could be had by asking for it,
and both of them seemed to be on very confidential terms
with the boarders, for they talked to them familiarly, and
called them tiresome, and impudent, and I don't know
what all. A small man with a hump on his back, who

TKOUBLE AHEAD. 159

occasionally came into the room, I took to be the pro
prietor, and Martin told me afterwards that I was right,
and that while he was rather an agreeable man, his health
was wretched. After most of the boarders had gone out,
his wife came in with her family, and from her conversa
tion I learned that she conducted a shop for making
bonnets and dresses in the parlor of the house, and that
business was dreadfully dull.

I spent the afternoon in studying the mystery of the
boxes, and was encouraged to find all the letters of my
name. My father was very busy at the desk with the
pale proprietor, posting himself with reference to his
future work, and was very careful and thorough in his in
quiries into the details, from which I believed he would
speedily become accustomed to his new position. The
pale proprietor was evidently not accustomed to so much
work in one afternoon, for he yawned frequently, and
seemed bored, but my father kept him at it steadily.

Half the boys belonging in the town appeared at the
window before night to look at me, and I noticed with
alarm that they were not all pale and sickly, as the first
lot had been, which evidently meant trouble ahead.
Several of them wore their father's boots and coats, with
leather belts around their bodies, which they buckled up
from time to time as the afternoon wore away, and most
of them chewed plug tobacco, which was passed around
by a boy I judged belonged to a storekeeper. Occasion
ally they got up a game, and tried to play at it, but the
interest soon flagged, and they returned to the window to
look at me. Once when they became more noisy than
usual, the printer named Adams dashed out, and drove
them away as he would chase so many hens, but they
soon came back again, and stared at me. I pretended
not to notice them, as though they were of no conse-

160 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

quence, but they made me very miserable, for they were
evidently the town boys I had been warned against.

There was one who appeared late in the afternoon who
looked particularly like a fighter, and the others immedi
ately gathered around him to tell him of my arrival. He
was so bow-legged that I thought it would be impossible
to get him off his feet when the inevitable clash came,
for I was certain he was the boy picked out to do me
bodily injury, and as soon as he had been told of my ap
pearance among them, he walked straight over to the
window, and, flattening his nose against the glass, looked
at me with great impudence. I thought I would turn
upon him suddenly, and frighten him, but he seemed
rather glad that I had turned my head, that he might see
my eyes and face. Indeed, instead of being abashed, he
made the ugliest face at me I have ever seen, and, draw
ing back from the window, spit at me through a vacancy
in his lower row of teeth. He remained around there for
an hour or more, walking on his hands, and turning
somersaults, for my benefit, and once he lay down flat in
the road, and invited four of the others to hold him there.
The ease with which he got up made me more uncom
fortable than ever. Although they called him " Shorty,"
he was really a very long boy of his age, and wore a coat
which hung about him in shreds, and instead of a shirt he
had on a brown duster, tucked into a pair of pants as
much too small as the coat was too large. To add to my
discomfort, I heard Adams say to Martin that the town
authorities really ought to do something with Shorty
Wilkinson, for he was always fighting and hurting some
body.

When we went to supper at the hotel the same men
were there, and, as I expected, Bragg was in better
humor, promising by dark to be agreeable. His principal

TWIN MOUNDS. 161

characteristic was sullen indifference, and I wondered if
a bomb exploded under his chair would disturb him.
They all disliked him, evidently, from which circumstance
I imagined he regarded them as a herd, as he had regarded
the people of Fairview. Nobody spoke to him or he to
any one, and his only tribute to the approaching darkness
was a noticeable softening in his indifference, for occasion
ally he stopped his jaws — he munched his food like an
animal, and impatiently, as though he disliked the dis
agreeable necessity of having a habit in common with
such people — to listen to what was being said, but at
dinner he was oblivious to everything. He went out
before me, and when I passed through the office I saw
him looking at a copy of the " Union of States," and I was
glad we had not yet taken charge, for I was sure he was
making fun of it.

After Martin came out we walked down to the house
where we were to live, which was a considerable distance
down the street from where the hotel was kept, and which
was in a lonely location on the brow of a hill overlooking
the valley and the mills. Directly opposite, and across
the river, were the mounds which gave the town its
name, a pair of little mountains where it was said the
Indians built signal fires when they occupied the country,
and where they buried their dead, for human bones
were often found there by curious persons who dug
among the rocks. The house was built of stone, in
the centre of a great many lots, surrounded by heavy
hardwood trees, and as we went through the rooms
Martin explained that it had been occupied long before
he came there by an Indian agent, and that Twin Mounds
was originally an agency, where the Indians came to draw
their supplies. But the agency and the Indians had been
removed further west years ago, and the house sold to an

162 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

eccentric bachelor, who occupied it aloue until a few
months before, when he died, and the place being offered
for sale, it came into possession of my father. It was two
stories high, built in such a manner as to contain six large
rooms of about the same size, and there were iron shut
ters at all the windows and doors, and the roof was of
slate, which Martin said was a precaution the agent had
taken against the treachery of his wards. It was in good
repair, but I feared we should be very lonely in it, and
felt better when we were out in the street again.

Returning to the office, I sat with him until dark on the
little porch in front, on top of which was the long " Print
ing Office " sign, and I became convinced that I should
learn rapidly under him, for he took great pains to pre
pare me for the work, and delivered a sort of lecture with
reference to printing in general which was very instruc
tive. He said after a while that he would go out and
swing in the hammock, leaving me alone, and while won
dering what I should do to amuse myself, I remembered
the letter Agnes had given me. I opened it eagerly, and
after finding a light with some difficulty, read : —

MY DEAR NED : I tried to get an opportunity to say goodrbye
to you on Sunday night, but it did not present itself, therefore I
write you this letter.

You said to me once that I loved every one in Fairview alike,
which is very near the truth now that you are away, for I thought
more of you than any of them, and express the sentiment since
we are no longer to be together. I hope it will be a comfort to you
to know that I esteem you as my best friend, and in your new
home I desire you to think of me in the same way, for I shall never
change. If I have been a blessing to you, as you have said, so you
have been to me, and we have mutually enjoyed the friendship of
the years we were together.

It is natural to suppose that you will rapidly improve in your
new position. I sincerely hope you will, and I have so much
confidence in you that I have no favor to ask except that you

PROUD OF DRUNKENNESS. 163

always remain my worthy friend. My greatest ambition for yonr
future is that your boyhood will not fill your manhood with regrets.
I have always told you that it is best to do right in everything, and
while you may not succeed in this entirely, come as near it as you
can. The next seven years will be the most precious of your life,
and if I have a favor to ask it is that you will improve them.

I believe in you, and shall always be proud of your friendship.
It has been manly, pure, and honest, and all the more acceptable
because I have neither brothers nor sisters, like yourself. In one
sense you have been my protege; I undertook your education, and
taught you more at home than at school, and if you succeed well in
life (as I am confident you will), it will at least be evidence that I
did the best I could. Probably I shall be your last teacher, for
your father is a busy man, and will no doubt train you in his way;
therefore I hope you will realize how necessary it is that you apply
yourself, and learn whenever there is opportunity. There is noth
ing in the future for me but to teach other deserving boys, but
everything for you. Do the best you can, and I shall be proud
of you all my life. Always your friend,

AGNES.

I had it in my mind to sit down and write a long reply
at once, but much to my surprise Clinton Bragg came in
at this moment and interrupted me. From what he said
on entering I judged he was looking for the printer named
Adams, who was a dissolute fellow, but seeing I was alone
he sat down.

I had disliked Bragg from the first, but he seemed
friendly enough, and, taking a bottle of liquor from his
pocket, asked me to drink with him. This I refused to
do; whereupon he held the bottle in his hand a long
while, as if dreading to drink it. At length he went into
another room and returned with a dipper of water, after
which he took a drink of the liquor, but it gagged him so
that he couldn't get the water to his lips to put out the
fire, and he coughed and spit in such a manner as to
alarm me. The tears were standing in his eyes when he
finished.

"Do you like it?" Tasked.

164 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWX.

"I like GOOD liquor," he replied, wiping the tears out
of his eyes. " This is horrible. I believe I will throw it
away."

He made a motion as if to toss the bottle out into the
street, but he did n't do it, probably reflecting that it would
do very well to carry in his pocket.

I am certain that he came in to let me know that he
was addicted to drink, as he was very proud of that repu
tation, and although liquor was revolting to him he was
always trying to create the impression that he could not
possibly let it alone. I inferred, also, that he was well
acquainted around the establishment, by reason of his asso
ciation with Adams, for he seemed quite at home.

" Martin don't drink," he said, after trying to revive the
stub of his cigar, and several ineffectual attempts to light
it with a match. "Martin does nothing that is not sensi
ble. He is out there in the hammock asleep now, while I
carouse around half the night. Where do you intend to
sleep?"

I replied that I believed I was to sleep there, some
where, although I had it in my mind to say it was none
of his business. I showed my contempt for him so
plainly that he was ill at case, as though he felt that
his attempt to convince me that he was a drinking man
had failed.

" There is a cot in the plunder room ; I suppose that is
for you," he said. " I have a room above here. I believe
I will wander up that way, and go to bed."

He skulked off like a guilty dog, going through the
court-house yard, and stopped occasionally as if to wonder
if something that would amuse him were not going on at
seme of the places lit up around the square. Being satis
fied at last, apparently, that the same old loungers were
probably there, with their rude jokes and uninteresting
experiences, he turned the corner, and passed out of sight.

CHAPTER XVI.

MORE OF THE VILLAGE OF TWIN MOUNDS.

IN Twin Mounds the citizens spent their idle time in
religious discussions, and although I lived there a great
many years I do not remember that any of the questions
in dispute were ever settled. They never discussed poli
tics with any animation, and read but little, except in the
Bible to find points to dispute ; but of religion they never
tired, and many of them could quote the sacred word by
the page. No two of them ever exactly agreed in their
ideas, for men who thought alike on baptism violently
quarrelled when the resurrection was mentioned, and two
of them who engaged a hell-redemptionist one night would
in all probability fail to agree themselves the next, on the
atonement. The merchants neglected their customers,
when they had them, to discuss points in the Bible which
I used to think were not of the slightest consequence, and
in many instances the men who argued the most were
those who chased deer with hounds on Sunday, and ran
horse races, for they did not seem to discuss the subject
so much on account of its importance as because of its
fitness as a topic to quarrel about.

There was always a number of famous discussions going
on, as between the lawyer and the storekeeper, or the
blacksmith and the druggist, or the doctor and the car
penter, and whenever I saw a crowd gathering hurriedly
in the evening I knew that two of the disputants had got
together again to renew their old difficulty, which they

165

166 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

kept up until a late hour, in the presence of half the
town.

There was a certain man who kept a drug store, who
was always in nervous excitement from something a fat
blacksmith had said to him in their discussions, and who
had a habit of coming in on him suddenly in the middle
of the day ; and whenever I went into the place of busi
ness of either one of them I heard them telling those
present how they had triumphed the night before, or
intended to triumph on a future occasion. Some of the
greatest oaths I have ever heard were uttered by these
men while discussing religion, and frequently the little
and nervous drug-store keeper had to be forcibly prevented
from jumping at his burly opponent and striking him.
The drug store was not far away from the office where
I worked, and whenever loud and boisterous talking
was heard in that direction a smile went round, for we
knew the blacksmith had suddenly come upon his enemy,
and attacked him with something he had thought up while
at his work. I never knew exactly what the trouble
between them was, though I heard enough of it ; but I
remember that it had some reference to a literal resurrec
tion, and a new body ; and I often thought it queer that
each one was able to take the Bible and establish his posi
tion so clearly. Whenever I heard the blacksmith talk I
was sure that the druggist was wrong, but when the
druggist called upon the blacksmith to stop right there,
and began his argument, I became convinced that, after
all, there were two sides to the question.

These two men, as well as most of the others, were
members of a church known then as the Carnpbellite, for
I do not remember that there was an infidel or unbe
liever in the place. There were a great many backsliders,
but none of them ever questioned religion itself, though

THE TWIN MOUNDS MEN. 167

they could never agree on doctrine. It has occurred to
me since that if one of them had thought to dispute the
inspiration of the Bible, and argued about that, the people
would have been entirely happy, for the old discussions
in time became very tiresome.

The people regarded religion as a struggle between the
Campbellite church and the Devil, and a sensation was
developed one evening when my father remarked to the
druggist, in the presence of the usual crowd — he hap
pened to be in the place on an errand, as he never engaged
in the amusement of the town — that sprinkling answered
every purpose of baptism. The druggist became very
much excited immediately and prepared for a discussion,
but my father only laughed at him and walked away.
The next Sunday, however, he preached a sermon on the
subject in the court-house, and attacked the town's reli
gion with so much vigor that the excitement was very
intense.

Most of the citizens of Twin Mounds came from the
surrounding country, and a favorite way of increasing the
population was to elect the county officers from the coun
try, but after their terms expired a new set moved in, for
it was thought they became so corrupt by a two years'
residence that they could not be trusted to a re-election.
The town increased in size a little in this manner, for none
of these men ever went back to their farms again, though
they speedily lost standing after they retired from their
positions. Many others wrho left their farms to move to
the town said in excuse that the school advantages w7ere
better, and seemed very anxious for a time, that their
children should be educated, but once they were established
in Twin Mounds they abused the school a great deal, and
said it was not satisfactory, and allowed their children to
remain away if they were so inclined.

168 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

There was the usual number of merchants, professional
men, mechanics, etc., who got along well enough, but I
never knew how at least one half the inhabitants lived.
Some of them owned teams, and farmed in the immediate
vicinity ; others " hauled," and others did whatever offered,
but they were all poor, and were constantly changing from
one house to another. These men usually had great fami
lies of boys, who grew up in the same indifferent fashion,
and drifted off in time nobody knew where, coming back
occasionally, after a long absence, well-dressed, and with
money to rattle in their pockets. But none of them ever
came back who had business of sufficient importance else
where to call them away again, for they usually remained
until their good clothes wore out, the delusion of their
respectability was broken, and they became town loafers
again, or engaged in the bard pursuits of their fathers.
The only resident of Twin Mounds who ever distinguished
himself ran away with a circus and never came back, for
although he was never heard of it was generally believed
that he must have become famous in some way to induce
him to forego the pleasure of returning home in good
clothes, and swaggering up and down the street to allow
the people to shake his hand.

This class of men never paid their debts, and to get
credit for an amount was equal to earning it, to their way
of thinking, and a new merchant who came in did a great
business until he found them out. I have said they never
paid; they did sometimes, but if they paid a dollar on
account they bought three or four times that amount to go
on the books.

They always seemed to me to be boys yet, surprised at
being their own masters, and only worked when they had
to, as boys do. They engaged in boys' amusements, too,
for most of them owned packs of dogs, and short-distance

KILLED BY THE INDIANS. 169

racehorses, and it was one of their greatest accomplish
ments to drive a quarter-horse to a wood-wagon to some
out-of-the-way neighborhood, match it against a farmer's
horse threatened with speed, and come back with all the
money owned in that direction. I suppose they came West
to grow up with the country, like the rest of us, but they
were idle where they came from, and did not improve in
the West, because work was necessary, whereupon the
thought no doubt occurred to them that they could have
grown rich in that way anywhere.

A few of them were away most of the time — I never
knew where, but so far away that they seldom came home
— and their families supported themselves as best they
could, but were always expecting the husbands and fathers
to return and take them away to homes of luxury. Occa
sionally news came that they were killed by Indians, and
occasionally this was contradicted by the certainty that
they were locked up for disreputable transactions, or
hanged. Whenever a Twin Mounds man died away from j
home otherwise than honorably, it was always said that/
he had been killed by the Indians.

All of this, and much more, I learned during the first
three years of my residence there, which were generally
uneventful and without incident, save that on rare occa
sions I was permitted to visit Jo and Agnes at Fairview,
who made so much of me that I dreaded to come away.
I had long since displaced Adams, and Jo was out of his
time at the mill, and for more than a year had been
receiving wages enabling him to save considerable money,
which he invested in his enterprise at the Ford with a
steadfastness for which I, his best friend, did not give him
credit. He was engaged now to be married to Mateel
Shepherd, and he worked and studied to make himself
worthy of her. Barker had been known to confess that

170 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

Jo was the better miller of the iwo — I believe he really
was — and when he came to town he spent more of his
time in examining the machinery in the mills on the river
than in visiting me, and it was plain that the old-fashioned
establishment on Bull River would not satisfy him when
he beran the building of his own.

O O

Dad Erring's hands had improved somewhat during the
three years, and the great piles of framed timbers lying
at the ford now were his work, but Jo had paid him from
his earnings as much as he would take. These were hauled
from the woods, where they were fashioned by Jo himself
on odd occasions, with ox teams and low wagons, assisted
by the cheap labor which abounded in winter.

While the creek was low, he had laid a broad founda
tion for his dam, with stones so large that a great many
men were necessary to handle them, which were sunk into
the creek, and the succeeding layers fastened to them
by a process he had invented. I think he worked there a
little every week during the three years, assisted by young
men he hired for almost nothing, and there was system
and order in everything he did. Occasionally it happened
that the water at Barker's was too high or too low to run
the mill, when he worked on his own enterprise from day
light until dark, living at his father's house. Barker often
gave him the half of one day, and all of the next, when
trade was dull, and these opportunities he improved to the
very best advantage ; every time I went to Fairview I vis
ited the mill, and it was always growing.

Jo made a good deal of money every month by running
extra time, which opportunity Barker delighted to give
him, and often after he had worked all night or all day he
would commence again and work half of his employer's
time, studying his books when everything was running
smoothly.

THE MYSTERY OF THE BOXES. 171

His ambition had become noised about, and partly be
cause a mill was needed in that part of the country, and
partly because the people had lately grown to admire Jo,
they proposed to raise him a certain sum of money, to be
returned at anytime within five years after the mill should
commence running. My recollection is that the amount
was three or four hundred dollars, and I have always be
lieved that Damon Barker paid Lytle Biggs out of his own
pocket to solicit subscriptions to the fund, for he seemed
to have something to do with it.

During this time I had mastered the mystery of the boxes
so well that I wondered how it was possible I had puzzled
my brain over them, they seemed so simple and easy, and
if I improved the time well, I am sure it was due to the
kindly encouragement and help of Martin, who was not
only a very clever printer, but an intelligent man besides.
It had always been a part of his -work, I believe, to write
the few local items of the town, and he taught me to help
him ; making me do it my way first, and then, after he
had explained the errors, I wrote them all over again. If
I employed a bad sentence, or an inappropriate word, he
explained his objections at length, and I am certain that
had I been less dull I should have become a much better
writer than I am, for he was very competent to teach me.

My father, as an editor, was earnest and vigorous, and
the subjects of which he wrote required columns for ex
pression, so that his page of the paper was always full. I
spent a quite recent rainy holiday in a dusty attic looking
over an old file of the " Union of States " when he was
its editor, and was surprised at the ability he displayed.
The simple and honest manner in which he discussed the
questions of the day became very popular, for he always
advocated that which was right, and there was always
more presswork to do every week, which he seemed to re-

172 THE STORY OF A COUXTR1 TO\V>T.

gard as an imposition on Martin, who had formerly had
that hard part of the work to perform, and on the plea of
needing exercise he early began to run the press himself,
and in the history of the business at that time no man was
known who could equal him in the rapid and steady man
ner in which he went about it.

Soon after my introduction into the office I had learned
to ink the forms so acceptably with a hand roller that I
was forced to keep at it, for a suitable successor could not
be found, but at last we found a young man wTho had
a passion for art (it was none other than my old enemy,
Shorty Wilkinson ; I fought him regularly every week
during the first year of my residence in town, but we
finally agreed to become friends), and after that Martin
and I spent a portion of the two press days of the week
in adorning our page writh paragraphs of local happenings;
or rather in rambling through the town hunting for them.
Sometimes we invented startling things at night, and spent
the time given us in wandering through the woods like
idle boys, bathing and fishing in the streams in summer,
and visiting the sugar-camps in early spring, where we
heard many tales of adventure which afterwards appeared
in print under great headings.

By reason of the fact that it was conducted by a care
ful and industrious man, and the great number of law ad
vertisements which came in from that and two of the ad
joining counties, the " Union of States " made a good deal
of money, and certainly it was improved under my father's
proprietorship. Before it came into his possession it was
conducted by a man who had ideas, but not talents, beyond
a country newspaper, who regarded it as a poor field in
which to expect either reputation or money; but my
father made it as readable as he could, and worked every
day and night at something designed to improve it. The

THE GREAT BOOK KEPT IX HEAVEX. 173

result was that its circulation rapidly extended, and the
business was very profitable.

His disposition had not changed with his residence, ex
cept that he turned me over entirely to Martin, and a
room had been fitted up in the building where the paper was
printed for our joint occupancy, where we spent our even
ings as we saw fit, but always to some purpose, for the con
fidence reposed in Martin was deserved.

From my mother, who was more lonely than ever in the
stone house in which we lived, I learned occasionally
that the Rev. John Westlock still read and thought far
into every night. Into the room in which he slept was
brought every evening the (lining-table, and sitting before
this, spread out to its full size, he read, wrote, or thought
until he went to bed, which was always at a late hour.

It occurred to me once or twice, in an indifferent sort
of way, that a man who had no greater affairs than a
country printing office, and a large amount of wild land
constantly increasing in value, had reason to think so
much as he did, but I never suspected what his trouble
was until it was revealed to me, as I shall presently re
late.

When I rambled through the town at night, and passed
that way, if I looked in at his window, which was on the
ground floor, he was oftener thinking than reading or
writing, leaning back in his chair, with a scowl on his face
which frightened me. Whether the procession of for
bidden pictures was still passing before him, and the
figures accompanying them were still beckoning, will
never be known until the Great Book of Men's Actions,
said to be kept in Heaven, is opened, and I hope that those
who are permitted to look at the writing under the head
of John Westlock will be able to read, through the mercy
of God : " Tempted and tried ; but forgiven."

174 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

Almost every Saturday afternoon he drove away into
the country without explanation, and did not return until
Sunday night or early Monday morning. Where he went
we never knew, but we supposed he had gone to preach
in some of the country churches or school-houses, for per
sons who came into the office through the week spoke in
a way which led us to believe that such was the case,
although he was not often at Fairview, Jo told me, but
ne heard of him frequently in the adjoining neighbor
hoods.

During the latter part of .the second year of our resi
dence in Twin Mounds, my father came home one Mon
day morning in an unusually bad humor, and though he
went away occasionally after that, it was usually late in
the evening, and I came to understand somehow that he
did not preach any more, the result of some sort of a mis
understanding. Even had I been anxious to know the
particulars, there was no one to inform me, as no one
seemed to know, and in a little while I ceased to think
about it entirely, for he at once gave me more to do by
teaching me the details of the business. The men who
came to the office to sec him after that annoyed him, and
made him more irritable, therefore he taught me the
routine of his affairs, that I might relieve him of them.
We all usually worked together, but after this he took
whatever he had to do into the room where Martin had
his bed, and when the people came in I was expected to
attend to them. From my going into the bedroom to
ask him questions about his land business, which I did
not so well understand, it came to be believed that he was
failing in health, and his old friends frequently expressed
the hope that he would soon be better. If I had trouble
in settling with any one, he came out impatiently, and
acted as if he would like to pitch the man into the street,

SHADOWS. 175

for his affairs were always straight and honest, and there
was no occasion f< r trouble. Frequently he would pro
pose to work in ray place if I would go out in town, and
solicit business, and when there were bills to collect, I
was put about it, so that for weeks at a time he did not
see any one, and trusted almost everything to me.

When my father was away, I was expected to stay at
home, and I could not help noticing that my mother was
growing paler and weaker, and that the old trouble of
which she had spoken to Jo was no better. The house in
which we lived was built of square blocks of stone, and
the walls were so thick, and the windows so small, that I
used to think of her as a prisoner shut up in it. The
upper part was not used, except w^hen I went there to
sleep, and it was such a dismal and lonely place that I
was often awakened in the night with bad dreams, but I
always had company, for I found her sleeping on a pallet
by the side of my bed, as though she was glad to be near
me. I never heard her come, or go away, but if I awoke
in the night I was sure to find her by my side.

" There is a great change in you, Ned," she said to me
one evening when I had gone to stay with her, " since
coming to town."

I replied that I was glad to hear her say so, as I was
very ignorant when I went into the office to work.

" The rest of us are unchanged," she said. " We are
no happier here than in Fairview ; just the same, I
think."

It was the only reference she had ever made to the sub
ject to me, and I did not press it, for I feared she would
break down and confess the sorrow which filled her life.
A great many times afterwards I could have led her up
to talk about it, fully and freely, I think, but I dreaded
to hear from her own lips how unhappy she really was.

176 THE STOEY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

Had I those days to live over — how often are those
words said and written, as though there is a consciousness
with every man of having been unwise as well as unhappy
in his youth — I would pursue a different course, but it
never occurred to me then that I could be of more use to
her than I was, or that I could in any way lessen her sor
row. She never regretted that I no longer slept in the
house, nor that I was growing as cold toward her as my
father, which must have been the case, so I never knew
that she cared much about it. Indeed, I interpreted her
unhappiness as indifference toward me, and it had been
that way since I could remember. Had she put her arms
around me, and asked me to love her because no one else
did, I am sure I should have been devoted to her, but her
quietness convinced me that she was so troubled in other
ways that there was no time to think of me, and while I
believe I was always kind and thoughtful of her, I fear I
was never affectionate.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE FELLOW.

A LTHOUGH I met him almost every day, I never
•£- ^- cared to renew my acquaintance with Clinton Bragg.
The dislike was evidently mutual, for while he never came
in my way, I knew he made fun of me, as he did of every
one else, and I believe he had an ill word for whatever I
did or attempted.

Although it was said that he drank more than was good
for him, he did not have the appearance of a drunkard,
and it seemed to me that when he was drinking, he was
anxious that everybody know it, and that lie drank more
because it was contemptible and depraved than because
he had an appetite. A few of the sentimental people said
that were it not for his dissipating, he could greatly dis
tinguish himself, and that he was very talented ; therefore
I think he drank as an apology for his worthlessness,
knowing he could never accomplish what the people said
he could if he remained sober. He probably argued that
if he kept his breath smelling with liquor, he would only
have to answer to the public for that one fault (receiving
at the same time a large amount of sympathy, which a
better man would have rejected), whereas if he kept
sober he would be compelled to answer to the charge of
being an insolent loafer, and a worthless vagabond.

From a long experience with it, I have come to believe
that the question of intemperance has never been treated
with the intelligence which has distinguished this country

177

178 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

in most other particulars. We pet drunkards too much,
and a halo of sentimentality surrounds them, instead of
the disgust and contempt they deserve. If a man is a
noted liar, or a noted vagrant, society allows him to find
his proper level, and reform himself (since no one else can
do it for him), but if he drinks too much, great numbers of
men and women who are perhaps temperate in nothing
except that they do not drink, attempt to reform him
with kindness, although that method prevails in nothing
else. As a reason why he should not dissipate, he is told
what distinguished positions he could occupy but for the
habit, and \vhile this is well-intended, the facts generally
are that the fellow is entirely worthless whether drunk or
sober. The young man who practises temperance in the
whiskey and other particulars because it is necessary in his
ambition to be of use to himself and to those around him,
is entirely neglected that the disgusting pigs who swill
that which is ruinous to health, mind, and pocket may be
" encouraged," and who perhaps only drink for the poor
kind of attention it insures them, and from being told
of it so often, they come to believe themselves that but
for their dissipation they would be wonderful fellows, so
it often happens that their egotism is even more detest
able than their maudlin drunkenness. Many young men
are thus led into the false notion that great brains feed on
stimulants, and regard an appetite as intellectual.

The same mistaken people also talk too much about the
allurements and pleasures of drink ; of the gilded palaces
where drink is sold, and of its pleasing effects, causing
young men and boys who would otherwise never have
thought of it to be seized with an uncontrollable desire
to try the experimerrt for themselves, although there is
nothing more certain than that all of this is untrue.
They visit these places, to begin with, because they have

A TEMPERANCE LECTURE. 179

been warned so frequently against them, and before they
find out — which they are certain to, sooner or later — that
whiskey is man's enemy in every particular, and his friend
in nothing ; that the " gilded palaces " in which it is sold
are low dens kept by men whose company is not desirable ;
that the reputed pleasure in the cup is a myth ; and that
drinking is an evidence of depravity as plainly marked as
idleness and viciousness, — they form the habit, and become
saloon loafers. I firmly believe that hundreds of young
men become drunkards by misrepresentation of this sort,
whereas the truth is easier told, and would prove more
effective in keeping them away.

The first step in a career of dissipation is not the first
glass, as is sometimes asserted, but a cultivation of saloon
society. There is nothing to do in a place where drink is
sold, no other amusement or excuse for bein'g there, than
to drink, gamble and gossip, and when a man learns to
relish the undesirable company common to such places,
the liquor habit follows as a matter of course, but not
before. It is an effort for most men to drink whiskey,
even after they have become accustomed to its use ; it is
naturally disgusting to every good quality, and every
good thought ; it jars every healthy nerve as it is poured
down the throat ; it looks hot and devilish in the bottle,
and gurgles like a demon's laugh while it is being poured
out, and until the young men of the country are taught
that drinking is low and vicious rather than intellectual,
we cannot hope for a reform in this grave matter.

I believe that familiarity with it breeds contempt, for I
have noticed that very few drunkard's sons follow in the
footsteps of their fathers, and the men who sell it seldom
drink it. Most drunkards are such notorious liars that
little can be told from their confessions, but if accurate
statistics could be collected, it would no doubt turn out

x'80 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

that most men having the habit formed it because they
were particularly warned against it. To say to a man that
he shall not drink creates within him a strong desire to
drink to excess, and prohibitory laws generally increase
rather than decrease the consumption of liquor, because
of this strange peculiarity. We regulate other evils, and
admit they cannot be blotted out, but with strange incon
sistency we insist that liquor of every kind must be driven
from the face of the earth ; that to regulate such a horri
ble evil is a compromise with the Devil, and that efforts
for its extermination only are worthy of temperate men
and women.

The most convincing argument for reform in any par
ticular is necessity. When a man says to himself, "I
must quit this habit or starve," or " I can never obtain a
position of trust in business, or a place of respectability
in society, until I convince the people of my intelligence
and manhood by reforming a habit which is the most con
temptible as well as injurious of all other habits," he is on
the right road, and will in time accomplish a victory over
himself, and the best thing society can do for him — how
ever heartless it may seem — is to let him alone during
his reformation, only visiting upon him its severe con
tempt when he falls, for if the fall is hard and disagree
able, he will be more careful the next time. When a man
disgraces himself in any other way, we insist that he
must be humiliated, as sending him to jail for petty
larceny, or to public work for vagrancy ; but when he
becomes a disgusting, beastly drunkard, we tell him in
confidence that he is not to blame, and that his enemies
the saloon-keepers are responsible. The man who sells
the pistol or the poison is not to blame for the suicide, nor
is the man who sells the whiskey to blame for the drunkard.

It is no more remarkable that men drink too much than

GLUTTONY AND KLEPTOMANIA, 181

that men eat too much, and die, before tli3ii time, of
dyspepsia. The one we regard as a glutton, and despise
him that he does not use the knowledge God has given
him to better advantage, but the other is fondled and
pitied until he is made to feel almost comfortable in his
disgrace. The result is that men are oftener cured of

O

excessive eating than of excessive drinking. We never
think of punishing the grocer for selling unhealthy but
palatable food, but we are very severe on the men who
sell palatable but demoralizing drink. Men have fre
quently been cured of kleptomania by a term in jail, and
of lying and loafing by the contempt of the people among
whom they live, and the same rule applied to drunkards
would be equally satisfactory in its results.

Because temperance is right, too many insist that it
must prevail, although the experience of ages proves that
it never was, and never will become a common virtue.
We might reason with equal goodness of heart that be
cause children are pretty and healthy, they should never
be stricken down with disease, and die, although our
sorrowing hearts tell us that the reverse is the rule.

In everything else we profit from experience, but we
seem to have learned nothing from the past in dealing
with intemperance. The methods used for its suppression
now are exactly the same as were used hundreds of years
ago, although we know them to be ineffective. As a
sensible people, as a people desiring the good of the un
fortunate, we cannot afford to practise methods which we
know beforehand will be of no avail. Intemperance is
growing too rapidly to admit of an unsatisfactory pre
tence that we have discharged our duty, and while the
theory advanced by the writer of this may not be the
best one, it is certain that the one generally adopted is
wrong, for the people are disheartened and discouraged

182 THE STOEY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

because with all their work they have accomplished
nothing.

Clinton Bragg was this sort of a drunkard, and drank
whiskey for no other reason than that everybody said it
wasn't good for him. It was known that lie always
drank large quantities of water after using his bottle, as
if the liquor had set fire to his throat, and the water was
intended to put it out. While I never knew him to be
helplessly intoxicated, he was frequently under the in-
iluence of his bottle, or pretended to be, although I have
seen him sober very suddenly, and I always thought he
was dissatisfied that the people did not talk more about
his dissipation, as they did of Fin Wilkinson's, the town
drunkard, who was often on the streets in danger of being
run over by wagons.

Every two or three months he received an allowance of
money from his father, which he expended selfishly but
lavishly as long as it lasted, but for a few weeks before
his money came, and while he was without it, he was a
more decent fellow, and it occurred to me that had he
been compelled to make his own way in the world,
he might in time have developed into a respectable man.
But as it was he had no friends, and spent the morning?
of his days in sleeping, and his nights in aimless excur
sions over the country, riding a horse as mean and vicious
as himself. A decent man would not have owned the
animal, for he had a reputation for biting and kicking,
but Bragg lavished upon him the greatest attention, and
was delighted to hear occasionally that he had injured a
stable boy. It was a pleasure to Bragg to know that his
horse laid back his ears in anger at the approach of any
one, in the street or on the road, and his master teased
him for hours to cultivate his devilish disposition.

Where he went on these excursions nobody ever knew,

THE FELLOW. 183

except that I knew he frequently rode by Barker's mill,
as if on his way to the Shepherds, galloping back the
same way at a late hour, to create the impression that he
was so popular there that he only got away with difficulty,
though I believe he usually rode aimlessly about to be
different from other men, for while he often rode that
way, it was only on rare occasions that he went to the
house of the minister.

Bragg was educated, and when he talked to the town
people at all it .was to point out their ignorance, which he
did with a bitter tongue. If he was seated in front of
the usual loitering places on a summer evening, which he
sometimes did because there was nothing else to do, he
made everybody uncomfortable by intently watching for
opportunity to insolently point out mistakes, and if he
ever read or studied at all it was for this purpose. Oc
casionally there came to the town a traveller who was his
equal in information, who beat him in argument and
threatened to whip him for an insolent dog, which
afforded the people much satisfaction. I remember a
commercial traveller who sold the merchants nearly i]\
their goods because he once threw a plate of soup in
Bragg's face at the hotel table, and then, leading him out
into the yard by the ear, gave him a sound beating ; but
I do not remember what the occasion of the difficulty
between them was, though it was probably no more than
his ordinary impudence.

He had an office and apartments over a leather store a
few doors above the place where I worked, in front of
which there was a porch, and he sat out upon this, when
the weather ^was pleasant, for hours at a time, smoking
cigars, and spitting spitefully into the street. The only
man I ever knew who visited his rooms was the leather
dealer, who called on Bragg once every three months to

184 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

collect his rent. It was a part of the town gossip that
this man said the rooms were splendidly furnished, but
always darkened with rich and heavy curtains at the
windows, and that it was full of stuffed snakes, lizards,
bats, and other hideous things ; that his match-safe was a
human skull, and that a grinning skeleton hung against
the wall, which rattled and wildly swung its arms and
legs every time a draft or a visitor came in at the door.
It was also related that by means of ingenious strings he
made the skeleton shake or nod its head, and point with
its arms, and I have imagined that when he was in his
apartments he employed himself in causing the figure to
nod its head in response to the assertion that Clinton
Bragg was a fine fellow, or shake it violently when asked
if Clinton Bragg was a worthless dog, as the people
said.

Occasionally people who had lines to run knocked at
his door in response to the sign, " C. BKAGG, C. Engineer,"
but even if he was at home he would not let them in, for
he had no intention of walking over the prairie in the hot
sun when he put out the sign. I never knew of his doing
anything in his line, although he might have been a great
deal employed, and finally no one applied there for ad
mission except the saddler for his rent, and a lame negro
who swept and cleaned his apartments, although it was
quite generally believed that the Devil called on him
every bad night.

CHAPTER XVIII.

TIIE MILL AT ERRING 'S FORD.

DURING the latter part of a certain week a little
more than three years after we removed to the
town, I was given a holiday, and determined at once to
spend it in Fairview, for I had not seen Jo in a great
many weeks, nor Agnes in as many months. I remember
I earned it by working at night by the light of candles
for a long while, and that a certain carpenter's son read
the copy while I set the type, while another boy kept the
night bugs away with a fan. It was a part of the con
tract with my father that for the extra work I was to
have the use of his horses in addition to the vacation,
both of which I fully earned, and Martin understood the
situation so well that he said if I did not get back until
Monday he would see that the work was not behind.

I started very early in the morning, and the road led
over gentle hills and through light woods for a few miles,
when the great prairie began which ended at Erring's
Ford. It was a very pretty country, and though we fre
quently referred • to it in the " Union of States " as the
garden spot of the world, I knew it was not necessarily
true, for every paper coming in exchange to the office
said exactly the same thing of the different localities
in which it was published. But it pleased the people
who did not see the exchanges, and who no doubt re
garded it as a very neat compliment.

It looked unusually attractive that morning, and in

185

186 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

riding slowly along I admired it so much that I did not
notice the approach of a horseman, who was riding very
rapidly, and going in the same direction. When he came
so close that the noise of the animal's hoofs attracted my
attention, I turned and saw that it was Lytle Biggs, who
had by this time become an old acquaintance, for he fre
quently wrote letters to the paper in a very bad hand,
signed " Pro Bono Publico," " Tax-Payer," " Citizen," or
" Farmer," and which I was usually compelled to put in
type. He was a very sociable fellow, and I was pleased
with the prospect of his company. I said as much, to
which he replied : —

"If you have no objection, I will tie the horse behind,
and ride with you, for I detest riding on a horse's back.
It may do for exercise, as you swing dumb-bells on the
advice of a physician, but I am surprised I did not have
better sense than to attempt it with a serious intention of
travelling."

I replied that I should be delighted, and when he got
down I could not help wondering how he ever got on, he
was such a little man, and the horse so uncommonly large.
As he climbed into the buggy, and took a seat beside me,
I noticed he was as faultlessly dressed as ever, and that he
seemed to be growing shorter and thinner.

" You are going to Jo Erring' s, of course," he said, after
seeing that the horse led well. " It is a remarkable coin
cidence — so am I. I suppose you are not old enough to
know it, but it only happens once in a lifetime that when
you are walking a long road — or riding on a horse's
back, which I think is worse — you overtake an easy-
riding buggy going in the same direction, and containing
but one person, although you meet a great many vehicles
going the other way. It is on the same principle that if
you go up stairs to strike a light, and take but one match,

GOING TO SEE JO. 187

it is certain to go out, but if you take half a dozen, the
first one answers every purpose."

His good spirits were rapidly returning by reason of
release from the hard-trotting horse's back, and after
finishing this speech he occupied himself for a while in
brushing the dust from his clothing with a small wisp he
took from his pocket.

" I am on my way to see Jo Erring with reference to
the mill," he began at once. " I have charge of the fund
being raised to help him, and I shall be able to report that
the amount is subscribed. I am acting for Damon Barker,
as you may, or may not, happen to know, and although
our friend believes the Fairview farmers are very enthusi
astic to help him, they are really very slow, and I have
had some difficulty in convincing them that it was to
their interest. I shall also recommend that he build the
mill as soon as possible. There is no reason why it should
drag through another year, and that is the promise I gave
in securing these papers."

He significantly tapped a pocket-book, almost as large
as himself, in an outside pocket, and which no doubt con
tained the obligations to pay certain sums of money at an
agreed date. He always carried this book in a conspicuous
way, and handled it as though it contained great sums of
money, but as he looked through it for something I saw
there was nothing in it except the obligations, a great
many newspaper scraps, a few old letters, one or two
postage stamps, and a piece of court plaster.

" I don't mind confessing to you," Mr. Biggs continued,
with delightful candor, " that I flattered them into it. In
case you do not become disgusted with the ignorance
which renders such a thing possible, you can flatter men
into anything. When I go into a new neighborhood to
organize an Alliance, I get the prompt assistance of every

188 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

man I meet by telling him that I can't hope to do any
thing without HIS aid, as HE has the popular confidence,
and the people will follow wherever HE leads. * You are
a man of intelligence,' I say. ' You can readily under
stand what I have to offer, and will see its benefit at
once. But your neighbors are slower, and I will not at
tempt an organization here without your assistance.' That
kind of argument never fails, and as I talk to all of them
in the same way, there is a great deal of enthusiasm, each
one imagining that the others went into it on his recom
mendation. I worked up the mill subscription in that
way."

I doubt if this statement was true, for the people origi
nated the idea themselves, but to illustrate a great truth
Mr. Biggs did not hesitate to tell a great lie.

" I make a great deal of money in organizing Alliances,
but sometimes I think of going out of the business be
cause I meet so many silly men that it disgusts me, and I
become ashamed of my sex. But I suppose every busi
ness has that draw back, for every man I have ever talked
with was of the opinion that his business developed more
silly men, more contemptible men, and more mean men
than any other calling, and I am forced to conclude that
these qualities are so common that they are met with every
where."

When he spoke of retiring from the business of organizing
Alliances, I was about to say that publishing a newspaper
collected about all the objectionable men within reach, but
from what he said afterwards I judged the observation
would not be well received. As if he understood that I
was about to say something, which he did not allow, he
continued : —

" I was about to say, however, when you interrupted me
(I had not spoken at all), that the way to get rich is to go

ONE WA~i TO GET RICH. 189

in debt, and work out, therefore I shall recommend that
Jo Erring complete his mill at once. No matter if he goes
in debt ; he has health and can pay it. The people of the
country through which we are passing believe it the best
to pay as you go. That party over in the field, for in
stance, is ploughing his corn with a single shovel plough,
whereas there are dealers in town who would readily take
his note for a cultivator with four shovels and a riding
seat. His library no doubt consists of a book warning him
against counting his chickens before they are hatched —
as pointless a suggestion as I ever heard in my life, by the
way (for why do we set eggs if not to bring forth chick
ens) — but it is regarded as fine logic here. The man will
die some of these days with his single shovel plough, his
slab house, his cow, his two horses, and his handful of land
paid for, worth altogether from three to seven hundred
dollars, but if he has a neighbor who sets a good many
hens with care, AND counts the number of chickens they
can reasonably be expected to hatch, he will attend the
funeral in a carriage, and look at his remains through gold-
rimmed spectacles."

I had regarded this pay-as-you-go principle as a very
good one, but he convinced me that I was mistaken, as
usual, for I could never dispute his philosophy until I had
thought over it a day or two, when its sophistry seemed
quite clear. I had remarked of Mr. Biggs before that he
seemed to understand what was in my mind, and attack it.
I was thinking that the man he was talking about — his
name was Me John, and a local curiosity because his voice
was uncertain, and jumped from a high falsetto to a gut
tural bass — had the reputation of being the hardest work
ing man in Fairview, when my companion said : —

" I never knew a man, I believe, who did n't boast oc
casionally that he worked harder than his neighbor; I

190 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

wonder it never occurs to them that it is to their dis
credit, unless they are more prosperous than any of
those around them, for if their neighbors work less,
and succeed as well or better, it is an indication that
they have more sense. I have no doubt that McJohn,
as he spends his time in ploughing a field which could
be done in one-fourth the time with common sense
and a cultivator, thinks that no other man's lot is as hard
as his, and that he is a martyr to hard work. Before
I became a philosopher — when I was a fool, in short — I
boasted that no man worked as hard as I did, but now I
boast that no man works so little. But simply because a
man says he is the hardest-working man in the country, it
does not follow that it is true. Every traveller who crosses
the ocean says that the captain (who had been at sea con
tinuously for thirty years) came into the cabin during the
storm, and said it was the worst he had ever experienced.
I have no doubt the captains say so (there is no reason
why sea captains should not lie as well as other men), but
only to impress the passengers with their remarkable skill
in managing the vessel under such critical circumstances.
You may have noticed that every winter is the coldest
ever known, and every summer the hottest ; the people seem
to expect picnics in December and skating in July, but
the facts are that it is always cold in December and always
warm in July."

I would have made oath, if necessary, that I had heard
Mr. Biggs many a time complaining of the excessively hot
and cold days, and declaring that there was never before
anything like it.

" The people here learn nothing by experience," he pro
ceeded. " Since I have lived in the West, every spring
has been made gloomy by the lamentations of the fanners
that crops were ruined, but just before the crops were

PHILOSOPHY. 191

burned up — as the tooth came just before the doctor
killed the boy — the rains come, and the crops do very
well. You will find that the men who carry the fate of
the country around on their shoulders do not get on so
well as the country. I have always found it safe to trust
the country to take care of itself, for the country usually
does very well."

We were riding on the high prairie now, with Fairview
church in sight, and the little man regarded the big build
ing with a show of the contempt I had seen him exhibit
on looking at big men.

" Although the fact is as old as the world itself " — Mr.

O

Biggs waved his hand around majestically to give me to
understand that although the world was very large, and
very old, he was perfectly familiar with every part of it —
" it does not seem to be generally known that the weather
is governed by cycles. To illustrate : It was very rainy
and wet two years ago ; it was rainy and wet last year,
but not so rainy and wet as the year before ; there has
been plenty of rain this summer, but not so much as dur
ing the two previous years. Next year will be so dry as
to excite comment, but still very fair for crops ; the year
after that, and the year following, there will probably be
a partial drouth, but the seventh year, which completes
the cycle, will be a general and complete drouth. The
winter following will be very mild or very severe, but in
any event the next summer will be extremely wet again,
to be followed by the seven years of decreasing rain I
have mentioned, and the drouth the seventh year. I don't
know how it is in the East ; it is as I have stated in the
West. It would seem that everybody ought to be famil
iar with this fact, but they are not. Hard times and good
times run in cycles the same way, and the panic and the
drouth are about the same distance apart, though fortu-

192 THE STOEY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

nately they never come together, for, strange as it may
seem, the panics come in seasons of great crop prosperity,
and times are sometimes very good when crops are very
bad. It is the easiest thing in the world to get rich after
you are familiar with these cycle theories. You have only
to invest your money when times are hard; when every
body believes the country is down, and can never get up
again. In a year or two, however, the country will get
up and shake itself, and you find your investments doubled.
It is the simplest thing in the world, and I am surprised
there are so many poor men. We might as well all be
rich if we would take advantage of the opportunities
around us."

I wondered to myself why Biggs himself was so poor,
since he had discovered the secret of riches, and thought
some of putting the question to him, but he did n't give
ine opportunity, for immediately he went on to ex
plain : —

" When I came to the country I was foolish enough to
buy land because everybody else was buying, and paid too
much. I warn you against this mistake — never buy any
thing when there is a brisk demand for it, for the price
will inevitably be too high, but buy when no one else is
buying, and SELL when there is a disposition on the part
of everybody else to buy. I bought when I should have
sold, in other words, for I was not then a philosopher.
Result : The tract is worth no more to-day than what I
paid for it. Since then I have never had money enough
at one time to take advantage of my knowledge, and am
still poor. Agnes says the principal objection to you is
that you are young, but I tell her that you will outgrow
it, therefore I hope you will make use of this important
suggestion. Avoid the mistakes of others; let your
neighbors try the doubtful experiments, and benefit by

THE MILL AT THE FORD. 193

the result. A great many men are only of use to teach
others by their failures, but never repeat their mistakes."

By this time we had arrived at the Ford, and, as I had
hoped, Jo was at work at his mill, aided by a half dozen
stout young men of the neighborhood. Since I had visited
the place last Jo had completed the dam and the founda
tion, and the timbers were being raised. Several were
already up, and held by long ropes until the others could
be put in position and fastened. I noticed that Jo was
helping in everything, and directing with the judgment
and good sense of a man of twice his years. His father
was also assisting, and it seemed important that all the
frames be put up before night, for they were very busy.
Jo gayly waved his hand to me from the high place to
which he had climbed to pin a timber, and after he had
come down again he shook hands with me in his old
hearty way, and said he hoped I would understand it was
not neglect if he kept at his work, for he had determined
to push the mill to completion as speedily as possible, as
it was necessary to prevent the building of another one
further up the stream.

During the forenoon I learned from Gran Erring, from
Biggs, and from Jo himself, that my father had given Jo
the money promised, two or three hundred dollars ; that
Barker had loaned him a small amount, and that with the
sum he had saved this was deemed sufficient to complete
the building ready for the machinery, which was to be
purchased with the money raised in the neighborhood, and
a mortgage on the completed mill ; that Jo had quit at
Barker's, though he was there occasionally, and helped
when he could ; that he was to be married to Mateel the
day before Christmas, and that the mill must be in opera
tion for the fall business; that he had written for the
machinery, detailing the terms on which he wanted it, and

194 THE STOHY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

that it would be shipped at once; that a deed to the little
farm had been delivered to him in consideration of certain
payments in money, and promises to pay certain amounts
annually during the lifetime of his father and mother, and
that after the mill was completed they would move to a
country below Fairview, a step they had long contem
plated, as they had relatives there, leaving the house of
hewn logs to be fixed over for the occupancy of Jo and
Mateel ; that Jo now slept at home, in the middle bed,
and that he expected to be so busy the next few months
that he had written Mateel a note saying that if she
wished to see him during that time to stop at the little
shed below the mill on her way to church on Sunday,
where she would find him at work, and always glad to see
her. All of this pleased me exceedingly, and caused me
to watch opportunity to shake the brave fellow's hand
occasionally as he hurried past me, which seemed very
agreeable to him, although I doubt if he understood what
it meant.

As I watched the men at their work I saw that Jo had
a troubled, weary look, and I thought for the first time
that his strength might not prove equal to his ambition,
for I knew that there were yet several years of hard work
ahead of him, but as I saw how eagerly he went at every
thing, as though the delay was more disagreeable than
the work, I was reassured, and felt that he would accom
plish all he had set out to do.

I do not remember who told me, but I learned from
some source that Mateel often complained of being lonely
and of having nothing to do, and I thought that this
industrious man must soon overtake and pass her in learn
ing and ability, and that she would regret in her future
that she had not improved the opportunities of woman
hood as he had improved the opportunities of manhood.

AN ENGAGED COUPLE. 195

While Mateel was a pretty and amiable woman, there
was not the depth to her that Jo was acquiring, and I
wondered if it ever occurred to her that Jo would finally
be a man worthy to be the husband of any woman ; a man
self-reliant and self-taught, and expecting a return for
everything he gave. I wondered if she ever thought Jo
had been raised at a hard school, and would .tire of simple
amiability. If he was anything at all, he was an example
of what well-directed effort would do, and I thought the
day would come when he could not understand why
Mateel was not his equal, although she was older, and
had every opportunity, while he had none. I thought
that as Jo had been friendless all his life he would hope
for a great deal of considerate affection from his wife, and
that he would be disappointed if he were compelled to
continue his old habit of being thoughtful of every one,
but having to regret that no one was thoughtful of him.
I wondered if Mateel knew that Jo was no longer the
rough, awkward boy she had met during her first week in
Fairview, and that he was now a growing, vigorous man,
ahead of all his companions in ability and intelligence,
and that every year he would throw away old ideas' for
better ones. Jo had told her in his manly love that she
was a perfect woman, and that it would require his efforts
for a lifetime to become her equal, and I think she was
pleased with this, and believed it. I am certain she never
said to Jo that he was a remarkable fellow, and that he
deserved more credit than she could give him for his
manly love for her — which was no more than the truth
— but rather thought herself worthy of the toil he had
undergone ; not that she was selfish, perhaps, but because
Jo had told her so, or maybe she had never thought about
it at all except that Jo was very fond of her, and was
anxious to please her. I would have given a great deal

196 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

to know that she frequently gave Jo a word of encourage
ment, but if she ever did he never told me of it, and for
this reason I was convinced that she never did.

In the afternoon I rode over to Fairview church, where
Agnes was teaching the school, and although I half ex
pected to find the building surrounded by young men on
their knees with proposals of marriage, begging her to
accept one of the number, and permit the others to drown
their grief in the nearest deep water, only the smaller
boys and girls were in attendance, the older ones being at
home busy with the summer's work. Agnes was prettier
than ever, I thought, and although I knew the style had
only reached Twin Mounds the week before, she wore a
dress cut in what was then known as the " Princess " pat
tern. She greeted me with so much genuine pleasure
that I was ashamed to acknowledge that I had been in
the neighborhood since morning, and felt guilty that I
had not driven directly to Fairview ; and leading me
through the rows of benches, she seated me in a chair in
front of her rude desk, which the children had adorned
with wild flowers.

I sat there nearly an hour before school was dismissed,
very uncomfortable from being looked at so steadily by
the scholars. Two or three of The. Meek's family, who
had come on since I left Fairview, were there, and I read
ily picked them out by their white heads and good humor.
I could tell who nearly all of them were by characteristics
of one kind and another, though I did not know any of
them, but there was one boy — evidently the son of a
renter lately arrived, for I could not imagine who he
was — who made me particularly uncomfortable by mi
micking me when I was not looking. He created a great
deal of merriment, I remember, by pasting his hair down
on his forehead as mine was (I had visited the barber's

THE SCHOOL IN THE CHUECH. 197

just before starting, and the barbers oiled and combed
"heir customers' hair then as they do now, for barbers
never improve), and I caught him puffing at a pen-holder,
intimating that in the community where I lived the cigar
habit was evidently common. I wore a very flashy necktie,
and he made one out of the back of a blue copy-book to
represent it, which he pasted on his chin, then on his
neck, and then on his breast. I thought of going out into
the yard to get rid of him, but I knew the impudent boy
would mimic my walk, and make me ridiculous again, so
I stood it in silence until the children were called up in a
row for the final spelling class, in which I was invited to
participate, and where I triumphed over my enemy by
correctly spelling all the words he missed. Then they all
read a chapter in chorus from the Bible, and were dis
missed. I was afraid the renter's boy would stay around
until I handed Agnes into the buggy, but he walked to
the door in a manner which intimated that I was bow-
legged, and disappeared with a whoop.

After they had gone Agnes sat down at a desk near the
door, where she had bid the last one good-bye, and looked
at me curiously.

" Are you glad to see me ? " I asked, not knowing what
else to say.

" Yes," she replied, with her pretty laugh, " but you
don't seem to be the same boy who came to school here a
few years ago. You have grown so much that you seem
like a stranger instead of an old friend."

She laughed merrily at my look of astonishment, and
pretended to be frightened when I went over and sat
beside her.

" Why did n't you say when you came in," she asked,
" ' This school is dismissed ; I am a friend of the teach
er's.' I expected you to say that, but instead you waited

198 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

patiently until I should dismiss it myself. When I knew
"Ned. Westlock lie was a boy of spirit. But I am as glad
to see you as I can be. This is my week at Theodore
Mcek's, and you may drive me there as slowly as your
horses can walk."

I am sure I felt like dismissing the school when I came
in, but I never thought of it. I never felt more at a loss
in my life for something to say, and sat looking at her in
a sort of blind astonishment, blushing like a child. I
wanted to tell her how much pleasure the contemplation
of this visit had afforded me, but I could not; and
finally, tiring of being stared at, she got up and went to
collecting the books and other articles she intended to
take home. I could think of nothing else to do, so I
went out and brought the buggy around to the door, and
after helping her in as awkwardly as I had stared at her,
we drove away.

In my desperation I could only confess that I had been
thinking for weeks how polished and agreeable I would
be in my manner on meeting her, but that her pretty face
and easy way had scared it all out of me ; that I carne to
Fairview expressly to see her, and that I hoped there
would never be a misunderstanding between us with ref
erence to our friendship.

" There never will be," she said, in her innocent and
earnest way, putting her arm through mine, and seeming
reassured and pleased. " There could be no misunder
standing between you and me, and there never has been.
Why should there be?"

She spoke as though I were still a boy, though I was
now larger than she was, and nearly sixteen. I felt sure
she would always treat me as a boy, no difference how
old I became.

As we drove along slowly, I thought that if a stranger

BARKER AND AGNES. 199

should see us he would think we were lovers, but Agnes
evidently did not think of it, for she confessed her friend
ship for me in a hundred different ways, which I am sure
she would not have done had she thought of me as her
lover. She was in unusual spirits, and though I felt very
proud to think that I was the cause of it, I thought thiit
the arrival of a pretty baby of which she had once been
fond would have made her as happy. I hinted gravely,
once or twice, that we were " growing older," and that we
" could not always be children," but she would only say
that we were friends, and enjoyed the friendship. I think
she was content with that, and did not look beyond it.

" I had almost forgotten it," she said, when we neared
The. Meek's premises ; " but your old friend Damon Bar
ker comes to see me every week now, at the school. Some
times he comes at noon, at other times in the evening, but
he never fails to appear at least once a week. The first
time he came the children were dismissed for the day ; I
was alone, and although he is a black-whiskered, fierce-
looking man I was not afraid of him, and he walked part
way home with me. Since then he comes frequently, and
although he pretends that he only stops in while passing,
I believe he comes all the way from the mill to see me."

While Barker was a little old, I was not surprised that
he had fallen in love with Agnes ; I only wondered that
every one did not. But after I thought more of it I be
came convinced that wise, good, sensible Barker only
admired her sweet, pretty face, and was not in love.

" What does he say to you ? " I asked.

" Nothing, except to question me about the school and
make sensible suggestions with reference to its manage
ment. He never tires in listening to me, but says little
himself."

I then told her what I knew about Barker, his curious

200 THE STORx OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

home, and how much I admired him. I was glad that
he had taken an interest in her, for he would see that she
was never subjected to wrong nor injustice from any
source, and Agnes was greatly pleased when I said that,
when opportunity offered, we would visit him at the mill
together.

The enthusiasm in The. Meek's family over my arrival
reminded me of the feeling in a mass-meeting when a
popular speaker gets up, for they were all at home, and
made quite an army. The white-headed boys, who had
not grown much, except in good-humor, reminded me of
the jack-oaks on the Twin Mounds hills, which perceptibly
grew older, but not larger, and The. Meek and his wife
welcomed me as though I were an old friend who had
gone out into the world and greatly distinguished himself.
Before I was fairly in the house it was arranged that I
should remain until after supper, and return by moonlight
to my grand father's, which suited me very well, as I had
not yet seen enough of Agnes. I had noticed before that
there was always so much to do around The. Meek's
house that members of his family no sooner finished their
day's work than they went to bed, and in the preparation
for my entertainment they were busier than ever, so that
Agnes and I were alone for an hour, which we both en
joyed, though we were not so easy as we pretended to be,
for I caught her looking stealthily at me, and I am quite
sure I was often admiring her.

When I started to return to the mill — which I did
after a long religious service and a light supper — Agnes
proposed to ride a short distance with me, and then I
brought her back, and she went part way with me again,
so that it was quite late when I finally got away. The
country being familiar to me, I drove through the field
paths to shorten the distance, and hurried along as rap-

THE NIGHT HAWK. 201

idly as I could, for I knew they would be waiting for me.
As I came out into the main road, and was closing a gate,
a horseman dashed by me, riding toward the mill, and I
saw with some surprise that it was Clinton Bragg, on the
wicked, vicious horse. I followed leisurely, preferring to
avoid him, but probably knowing who it was he stopped
beside the road, allowing me to pass so closely that I
could have touched him with my hand had I wished.
Then he would run by, as if to frighten my horses,
and this performance he repeated so many times that I
would have pulled him off his horse and beaten him had
I the strength. When I arrived at the Ford he was there
before me, allowing his vicious horse to drink below the
dam, and while I stood on the hill looking at him he rode
out and galloped off through the dark woods, as though
he could see better by night than by day. I could not
help thinking that the place where he disappeared would
be a favorable one for a murder, and that if Bragg had a
desperate enemy it would not be safe for him to ride
through such a dark wood at night.

I believe he wanted me to know he had taken the road
to the Shepherds, with the hope that I would tell Jo, and
annoy him; but for once he went to his trouble for
nothing, for when I went into the house Jo was sound
asleep in the middle bed, and resting easily and quietly.

CHAPTER XIX.

TIIE FALL OF REV. JOHN WESTLOCK.

ONE Sunday morning, in the fall of the year, after I
had got out of bed and dressed myself, — I was still
occupying a room in connection with Martin in the build
ing where the business of printing was carried on, — I
found a letter on my desk addressed in my father's writ
ing, and after Martin had gone out I sat down to read it.
The first line startled me, for it read as follows : —

MY DEAR SON, — When this falls into your hands I shall be
travelling the broad road I have so often warned others against; an
outcast, and disgraced in the sight of God arid man; for I am going
away, and shall never come back.

I shall not attempt to tell you why I am going away, for I do
not know myself, except that I am discontented as I am, which has
been my condition since lean remember. I don't know that I
believe the step I am taking will make me more contented, but I
know I cannot remain as I am, for the Devil has complete posses
sion of me, and leads me to do that which is most disgraceful and
wicked.

Whether you know it or not is not important to the purposes of
this letter, but for seven years I have been infatuated with the wo
man who is my companion in this wicked business, and she has
been the temptation against which I have fought and prayed, but in
spite of my efforts and prayers it has grown on me, until I am no
longer a man. If you still have confidence in my truthfulness I
need only say that I fought this infatuation with all my strength,
but I am weaker than you know, and, after a life devoted to princi
ple, I am adrift on an unknown sea, for as God is my witness this
is my first offence.

202

A CONFESSION. 203

In a package in my desk, with your name on the wrapper, will
be found the deeds to all I possess, together with notes and ac
counts, and full instructions as to their management. The money
I take with me is so small in amount that it will never be missed.
If you manage well, and work well, in a few years you can almost
rejoice that I went away as I did, for all the property I leave you is
advancing in value, and will in time make you independent, if you
attend to it.

Although it may seem odd that I give you advice which I can
not accept myself, I desire that you be industrious and honest.
You can be successful in no other way, and you are now the sole
support and comfort of your mother, who, I can attest, was very
good to you when you were helpless. That she has not been more
affectionate with you since you have grown up has been partly my
fault, for I do not believe in affection. Whether I was right 01
wrong does not matter now: as I seem to have been wrong in
everything else, perhaps I was in that.

I do not know whether you partake of my discontent or not;
your mother was always contented with her home, and with what
ever fortune brought her, and 1 hope you are like her in this ; but
if you are not it is only a question of time when you will travel the
same road I am on, for no one constituted as I am can become a
good husband, a good citizen, or a good man. I wonder that I held
out as long as I did, and it is the only thing I can think of to my
credit that I did not take this step years ago. No one can ever
know what a struggle I have had against temptation, or how
humiliated I was when I found that I must give up after all, and
become the subject of scandal among the small people I despise,
and although I know that no man ever deserved pity more than I
do now, I am certain that there is not one who will extend to me
that small favor.

To tell the truth seems to have been as much a part of my na
ture as discontent, therefore I assure you with my last words that
since 1 was old enough to remember I have been as unhappy as it
was possible for a man to be. There has never been a favorable
circumstance connected with my history. I think I never did a
thin* in my life that it was not distasteful, and that which I am
about to do is most distasteful of all, though I cannot help it.

I am not going away with the hope of being more contented
than I have been, for I do not expect it. Discontent is my dis
ease, and this is merely a natural stage of it. I have complaint to

204 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

make against no one but myself; no one lias driven me away, and
no one has tempted me, but I go because I cannot remain as I am.
I cannot explain to you what I mean by such a strange assertion,
but it is true — I am running away from myself. My health is
good, my business prosperous, my family everything that a reason
able man could desire, but in spite of this I am sp nervous, wretched,
and unreasonable that the sight of my home, the sight of you, the
greetings of people I meet, fill me with desperation and wicked
ness. I believe that were I compelled to remain here another week,
I should murder somebody — I don't know who; anybody — and
for no other reason than that I cannot control myself. I have care
fully investigated my own mind, fearing I had lost my reason, but
my brain is healthy and active; it is discontent, inexplicable and
monstrous, and horrible beyond expression.

When I remember how discontented I have been in the past,
though favorably situated, I tremble to think what it must be in
the future, when I shall have my disgrace and crime to remember
in addition to it, but perhaps it will serve to hasten the end, and
relieve me of a life which I never desired, and which 1 would have
rid the world of years ago, but for the reason that I was afraid.

Your father,

JOHN WEST-LOCK.

I have a recollection of feeling faint and sick after read
ing the letter, and when I started up to go home, I remem
ber that I staggered like a drunken man, and reeled along
the street in such a manner that those whom I passed
surely thought I was returning from a night's debauch.
My first thought was that the best thing I could do was
to give the office to Martin, and take my mother, and
leave the country, too, before any one knew of the dis
grace, but when I remembered the advice in the letter
with reference to the business, I knew it was his deliber
ate judgment that I should stay and live it down ; and
he must have thought of it a great deal. A thousand dis
turbing thoughts passed through my mind as I went along,
and once when I went into an old and vacant house to
avoid meeting a party of people who were coming toward

BREAKING THE NEWS. 205

me, the first feeling of faintness returned so strong that I
was compelled to lie down on a heap of straw and rub
bish.

My greatest dread in it all was to break the news to my
unhappy mother, and trying to brace myself with the
thought that I was now entrusted with grave responsi
bilities, and no longer a boy dependent on the advice of
another, I passed down the street and into the house.

After considerable search I found my mother seated in
a low chair in the kitchen, as I had seen her a hundred
times before, but for some reason — I could not explain it
then, nor can I now — I felt that she had sat there all
night, and that she knew that he had gone. There was a
certain timid, frightened look in her eyes when I came in,
an 'inexpressible grief in her manner, and so much sorrow
in the tears which came afresh at sight of me, which con
vinced me that I had nothing to tell her, and I learned
afterwards that he had told her what he had written me
before leaving, and that he had shaken hands with her on
parting, and begged her not to be distressed.

My first action was to pull down all the blinds at the
windows and lock all the doors, for I was determined that
no one should enter the house that day, and I hurriedly
carried in a supply of wood and water, as though we were
to live that way a good many days, or that we should live
in the house forever, without seeing any one.

As the day wore away, I found my determination in
creasing to make the best of it, and though I tried to rally
my mother, she would say nothing. Finally I gently
forced her to leave the low chair, and lie down, where
she covered her head, and sobbed the livelong day.

Though I read the letter over a great many times (hav
ing gone to one of the upper rooms for the purpose, where
I could see the people passing, and looking wonderingly

206 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

at the house to see it shut up so tight), I could make
nothing out of it further than that the Rev. John West-
lock had run away, taking Mrs. B. Tremaine with him,
and that he had been infatuated with her for seven years,
a circumstance of which I had not the remotest suspicion
until that day. I knew now that on his visits to the coun
try he met this woman at some convenient place, but
beyond that, and the fear once expressed by Barker that
his religion would prove an unfortunate thing for him, I
was puzzled to understand it, further than the letter had
explained.

I knew now that the trouble which caused him to quit
preaching, and to seclude himself from callers at the
office, related to the woman, but I had never suspected it
before, for I had never tried to explain his thoughtful-
ness, believing it was simply his way, and that his father
had been a thinking man before him. He was a man of
such excellent sense that suspicion would not attach to
him, particularly suspicion of weakness in religion or
morality, and I only thought of it to become more
puzzled.

Before night I came to the conclusion, though it gave
me a sad heart, that the sooner the community was made
aware of the matter, the sooner would its gossiping and
conjecturing cease, and when night was setting in, I
hailed a boy who was passing, and sent a note to Martin
requesting him to come to the house. He came soon
after, when I explained everything to him, and read the
letter, which he heard with great surprise. I then re
quested him to go wherever there was a crowd that even
ing, and tell it, to the end that the people might discuss it
through the night, as I preferred that course to a suspense
of several weeks, for we could have kept it from them
that long on one pretext and another.

A LONELY HOUSE. 207

Martin approved of this idea, though he was too much
surprised to say much else, and when he went out, I saw
him stop people on the street, and talk with them, and
who at once looked up at the house, and seemed greatly
surprised.

No lights were lit in the house that night, and I spent
the hours in wandering through the vacant rooms; in
wondering what the people were saying about it ; how
they would feel with reference to my continuing the busi
ness, and how they explained it all. Frequently I went
into the room where my mother was lying down, and she
was still for such a long time that I hoped she was ob
livious to her trouble in sleep, but in waiting to assure
myself of it before retiring, I heard her sob in such a
pitiful manner that I resumed my walk through the lonely
rooms, and listened again to the echoes of my own foot
steps.

I spent my evenings at home after my father's disap
pearance, at first from necessity, because my mother
needed me there, and because I had work to do, but I
gradually grew to like it, and regretted when I had to be
away. My mother was much changed and broken by her
desertion, and if I read far into the night — which I often
did, for my education was indifferent, and I found a cer
tain amount of knowledge indispensable in my daily work
— she sat beside me, employed in knitting or mending.

If I wrote something I thought was very good — I am
certain now I never did — I read it to her ; if I found a
paragraph in a book or newspaper which I thought sur
prising or strange, I read that; but while she always
listened attentively, she had no comments to offer. In
deed, I think there were weeks together when she did not
speak to me at all, except to call me in the morning at the

208 THE STOKY OF A COUNTKY TOWN.

hour I told her I should like to get up, or to inquire after
my small wants.

At first the neighbors thought it a kindness to keep the
house full of callers, believing her to be lonely, but they
at last discovered that it would be a greater kindness to
leave her alone, which they afterwards did, so it came
about that we lived a lonely life. Occasionally Martin
came in the evening to sit an hour, and a few times Agnes
was a visitor to the gloomy house, but these visits were
so far apart that we seemed to see no one at all. Some
times I took her out for a drive, and on these occasions
she would perceptibly revive, and say that this or that
place had changed since last she saw it, but of her trouble
she never spoke at all. One pleasant Sunday I drove on
the road to Fairview, thinking to call on Jo at the mill,
but she gently touched the lines, and said " Not to Fair-
view," so I turned around, and drove another way.

Before my father went away he dealt a great deal ir
wild land, taking stock of every kind in payment, and f
still kept a pair of strong and fleet horses which had be
longed to him, and of which he was very proud, at first
because I could not sell them for the price they were
worth, and lately because I had grown to like them.
They were very rapid in harness, and when we rode out
my mother enjoyed more than anything else the excite
ment of passing other teams, speaking many kind words
for " Dan " and " Dave." She took great interest, also,
in seeing that they were well cared for, and though I was
afterwards offered a good price for them, I kept them at
considerable expense and trouble because she seemed to
take an interest in nothing else.

Her condition was so lonely that I became more of a
son than I had ever been before, and tried always to be
careful of her wants. She reciprocated this with kind-

THE PATIENT WATCHER. 209

ness and attention, but I cannot say with affection.
When I went to my bed at night, I always left her sitting
in her chair, and after I had retired it was her custom to
come softly up the stairs to see if I was comfortable. If
it was cold, she tucked the covering about me as if I
were yet a child, and I remember now — I do not believe
I thought of it then — that she talked to me more at
these times than at any other, as if the darkness removed
a restraint. Perhaps she felt a disgrace in the presence
of her son that his parents had treated him so indifferently,
and only felt easy when he could not see her face. Some
men remember their mothers from their good-night kisses,
but I remember mine by the gentle manner in which she
smoothed the covering of my bed at night, and I grew so
accustomed to it that I could not have gone to sleep with
out it. After this was done, she lingered about the room
as long as she could find excuse, frequently referring to
subjects of which I had spoken in the evening, and then
went slowly down the stairs.

How she passed the night I never knew, but I never
found her in bed. Frequently I thought to go into her
room at midnight, to see if she were awake, but in wait
ing for the hour, I fell asleep. If I came home late at
night, whether she expected me or not, I found her up,
and often when a slight complaint made me wakeful and
restless, I found her by my side, offering me water, or
some simple remedy. From the woman who came to the
house to work through the day, but who slept at home, I
learned that my mother frequently lay down in her room
during the day, and probably slept ; so I think that gen
erally she did not close her eyes at night nor go to bed.

If I advised with her in reference to my father's affairs
— there was really no need of it, for he left them in ex
cellent shape, with full instructions to me, and she knew

210 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

nothing about them — she listened attentively, but the
details seemed to tire her. Occasionally a man would
intimate that my father had not credited a payment on an
account or a note, and appealing to her, she would say :
" Your father was honorable in business ; the man is mis
taken," and so it turned out. If I told her of my own
affairs, she was equally attentive, but seemed to be sat
isfied with my course, and had no suggestions to offer. I
hoped to hear her say I was doing well, or that the business
did not miss its founder, but if she thought it, she kept it
to herself.

I believe that she always thought it possible that her
husband would tire of his fancy, and, coming back to her
poor and old, they would finish their lives together. Per
haps she never went to bed at night because she was
always expecting his knock at the door, and remained up
to assure him that he was welcome. She believed that a
man of his sturdy, honest principles could not be content
wandering aimlessly about, ashamed to own his name and
his country, so the vigils through the long nights were
kept up. He would not come during the day, when he
would meet familiar and accusing faces at every turn, but
at night, when the town was quiet, arid the people were
asleep, therefore there was always a light in his old room,
and his deserted but forgiving wife was always waiting
to hear his step in the street, and his knock on the door.
The people of the town frequently came down the little
street which led past the house to look at the light which
was always burning, and which cast its rays out into the
darkness like a kindly star; they told the story of the
light to strangers in pitying whispers, and many of them
believed that the patience of the lonely watcher would be
rewarded at last by the return of the unhappy wanderer.

The business under my management continued to be
profitable, partly because Martin and I gave it a great

BUSINESS IMPROVING. 211

deal of attention, and partly because it was without op
position. Martin was really a very superior man, and
together we did very well, making improvements as the
money was earned, and extending the business whenever
it was possible.

I was at first inclined to feel that I could never recover
from the disgrace of my father's action, but after Mr.
Biggs assured me that it was ignorant conceit to suppose
that the people had nothing else to do than to think of my
small affairs ; that every family had a private history, and
that ours was no worse than hundreds of others ; that I
now had opportunity to make a reputation for myself, hav
ing a gift of a considerable property to start with, and
that so far as I was personally concerned, my father's
action was really a benefit, I took a better view of it, and
felt that if I conducted the business creditably, and took
good care of my mother, the people would be more apt to
speak of me favorably than if I moped around.

During the first few weeks a great many of my father's
staunch friends came into the office, and announced that
they would not believe the report ; that there had been
foul play, but to these I read the letter, whereupon they
went away very much puzzled, and without saying a
word. These men, and there was a great number of
them, encouraged me in carrying on the paper in every
way they could, and as they were of the class which
makes public opinion, they were of great benefit to me.

It was never known where the two met, how they left
the country, or what direction they took. I heard through
Jo that, before the disappearance of my father, Mrs. Tre-
maiile had been away from home several days, but as this
was a, common circumstance, no attention was paid to it.
We learned by degrees that their names had long been
connected with suspicious gossip, but they seemed to have
been very discreet, for the matter was always a mystery.

CHAPTER XX.

TWO HEARTS THAT BEAT AS ONE.

r~T!HE Rev. John Westlock went away in the latter part
-L of September, and from that time to the day before
Christmas, a period of three months, I did not visit Fair-
view, as I dreaded the questions of the people, for one
thing, and was very busy for another, but Jo was to be
married on the 24th of December, and nothing would have
kept me away. With the exception that he wrote me a
letter saying that he believed Barker was pleased at the
disappearance of his sister, I had not even heard directly
from him, much less seen his good, honest face, though I
knew the mill was steadily progressing, of which fact we
made appropriate mention in the columns of the " Union
of States."

We had a sort of understanding that, as we should both
be very busy during the summer, we would put off a
meeting until his wedding, and besides this I had a great
desire to come upon the completed mill in operation.
Therefore, when the day came round, I was early on the
road, having arranged for an absence of several days, and
to call at Theodore Meek's for Agnes, who was not going
home for the holidays until after Jo's marriage.

As I passed Bragg' s apartments I noticed that the place
was close shut up, and presumed he had already left town
on the same errand as that on which I was bound ; tnere-
fore I was not surprised when I came up with him a few
miles out, driving his vicious horse to a light buggy. See
ing my approach, he allowed his horse to walk in the road
212

THE WEDDING-DAY. 213

ahead of me, undoubtedly intended as an insult, but after
submitting to it a few minutes, I turned out and went by
him, though lie lashed his horse, and tried to prevent me.
His horse was no match for mine, as he very well knew,
for the team I drove trotted so briskly as to scandalize
the church to which my father had belonged, but Bragg
never admitted anything without a struggle, as a dog has
to be kicked out of your road every day. For several
miles I could see him vigorously following, whipping his
mean horse, but at last I went down into a low valley
where ran a creek and lost sight of him.

During all the time I had known him, we had never
spoken, except on the night of my arrival in Twin
Mounds, and as I grew stronger I determined to whip
him for the many insolences he had practised upon me ;
I had half a mind to stop where I was until he came up,
and try it there, but the uncertainty of the result, and the
fact that my appearance would be too much ruffled at
best by the encounter to make myself presentable at a
wedding, induced me to give it up, and wait for a more
favorable opportunity.

When I drove up to The. Meek's, Agnes was already
waiting for me, and coming out directly, we were soon on
the way. Although she was always neatly dressed, and
had a very decided talent in that direction, her apparel
was so gorgeous that day as to cause me new surprise, but
when I looked at it attentively, I was certain it was inex
pensive, and that it was all the work of her own hands.
I remember she was particularly gay, and had I not
ki.own differently, I might of thought of her as some
favorite child of good fortune, whose paths were always
pleasant. There was nothing to mar her happiness, it
seemed, except the misfortune of others, which she fre
quently mentioned, and her sympathy for my mother was

214 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

so earnest and gentle that I worshipped her more than
ever, though I had never admitted to myself before that
I did not already love her to the greatest extent possible.

When we arrived at the Shepherds', Jo met us at the
gate, and, after showing Agnes into the house, went with
me out to the stables. For some reason I became con
vinced at once that it would be a dreary day, for Jo was
not so glad to see me as I had expected, after the long
separation, and he seemed dissatisfied about something,
although I do not believe he really was. It was a
pleasant day, though in December, and after the horses
were put away we walked about, attempting to renew our
old confidences and friendship, but we did not get on as
we used to do. He was the same Jo in most respects, but
he had grown thoughtful and careworn in the last few
years, and I mentioned it, to which he replied with some
impatience : —

" You say that whenever we meet. You forget that we
are both older, and that it has been almost four years
since we were constantly together. It was always our
ambition, when we were boys, to become men : we are
becoming men very rapidly, and while I am satisfied, you
seem to complain of it. But we never become so old
that we do not have care and responsibility, and I look
like a thoughtful man to you only because in the course
of years I have grown to be a thoughtful man. Further
than my work there is nothing to make me thoughtful but
the age I have accumulated naturally, and I look older
because I AM older. Let me assure you once for all, my
good old friend, that I am stout as a lion ; I am prosper
ous ; I am to be married in a few hours to the woman of
my choice, and that there is no reason why I should not
live to a ripe old age in the greatest peace. There ! Are
you satisfied ? "

NOW AND THEN. 215

" I enjoyed your friendship so much wlien you were a
boy," I answered, " that perhaps it is only a fear that it
will be less candid when we are men. I have had no
other confidant than you, and I dread to see you grow old,
for fear that a man's cares will cause you to forget our
boyish friendship."

"No fear of that," he said, after he had studied awhile,
as if turning it all over in his mind. " No fear of that.
I shall never grow too old to confide my sorrows (if I
have them) and successes to you. However poorly a
man is raised, he always has a pleasant recollection of his
youth. It may be only the hut in which he was born,
but there is always something, and you are the one
pleasant recollection of my boyhood. If I had a great
trouble, I should come to you with it ; not for help, per
haps, but for your honest sympathy, and for the satis
faction of talking it over freely. So long as I confess
nothing to you, you may rest assured that I am very
happy. I don't feel right just now, some way, and I can
see that you don't ; but I hope we shall get on better
later in the day. I am very sorry, but for some reason
the occasion docs not promise to be what I expected.
Probably one reason is that I have done a very mean
thing to-day, and when you discover it, as you are sure to
do, remember that I have confessed my humiliation, and
say nothing about it."

I had no idea what it was, but as he said I should dis
cover it, I did not press him further.

" It is very curious," Jo said, in a confidential and per
plexed way, " but the nearer my marriage approaches, the
less important it seems ; I wonder that I am so cool over it.
You remember what I said to you once about it — that I
would sell myself to the Devil to be married to Mateel ;
THEN, not to wait a minute. I felt what I said, but the

216 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

years of waiting have made a great change in me. Not

that I am less fond of her, but I do not feel now about it

as I did the night we rode to Barker's the first year of

my apprenticeship. It was never intended, perhaps, for

anyone to be as happy as I should have been had my

marriage to Mateel that night been possible. Somehow

jwe always have to wait until the pleasure of an event is

(blunted by familiarity. Imperceptibly, as she became a

> possibility, I made the discovery that she is not an angel

— she would be an angel, I have no doubt, were such a

thing possible — for angels do not live in the woods, and

they do not marry millers."

He tried very hard to be cheerful, but he could not,
and when he spoke I thought it was an apology for his
troubled face : —

" I am very tired of late, for I have worked almost
night and day for four years, and I hope you will excuse
me if I do not seem glad to see you, for I arn; though just
at present, for some unaccountable reason, I am unable to
show it. I am sure I shall perceptibly revive by reason
of your being here, but the mill undertaking was a big
one, though I shall speedily recover, now that I have
more ease. I can't just explain myself how it is, but I
hope you will believe I am still Jo Erring, and still
regard you as my best friend."

I made some sort of an answer, and we went into the
house soon after, both of us more than ever convinced
that something was wrong, though we could not tell what
it was. Jo immediately disappeared into another room,
leaving me alone until Mr. Shepherd came in, who, al
though he seemed glad to see me, was in such great excite
ment that he had not time to express it.

"You will excuse me if I am not myself," he said, as
he walked about, putting his hands to his hesid as though

THE WEDDING. 217

it pained him, a habit I had noticed before. " While I
approve of this marriage, our only child leaves us to-day,
and we cannot feel very gay about it. She has hardly
been out of our sight since she was born, and so far from
feeling gay, we are uncomfortable, although we have no
objection to her husband. It distresses her poor mother
more than it docs me ; I fear it will be like a funeral. I
hope Jo will not mind if she breaks down entirely. I had
been hoping we should be very happy to-day, but I have
lost all hope of it."

As Mr. Shepherd walked rapidly round the room with his
head down, he almost ran into a door as it opened to admit
his respectable wife, followed by Agnes. Mrs. Shepherd
bowed to me stiffly, and, walking across the room, seated
herself. I had a vague sort of riotion that Mrs. Shepherd,
hearing of my arrival, had come in to pay her respects,
and such a long and awkward silence followed that I be
gan to upbraid myself that, as a young man of. the world,
I should say something suitable. While debating between
a joke and an observation on the weather, however, the
door opened again, and Jo and Mateel stood before me.
Jo wore the suit in which he had met me at the gate, with
the addition of gloves, and Mateel was arrayed as became
a bride. Both looked brave and handsome, and while
admiring them, and wondering what I had better do (I
was impressed with my importance there, someway, but
was not certain how), Mr. Shepherd got up from his chair,
and, standing before them, pronounced the simple marriage
ceremony common in that day, in a low and faltering
voice. Then we all knelt, and the good man earnestly
and tenderly invoked the blessing of God on the union.
By the time Mr. Shepherd had risen to his feet again, his
wife was beside him, and, throwing her arms about Mateel,
kissed her over and over again, and asked her not to cry,

218 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

as she had shown evidences of doing. Somehow I thought
\ they had agreed, as though it were brave, not to humiliate
my worthy friend by creating a scene, and I wondered
fthat they consented to the marriage at all if they did not
approve of it. I had never been entirely cured of a dis
like for Mrs. Shepherd, and it carne upon me with re
newed force that day, for I thought she had every reason
to feel gratified at the marriage, instead of sorrowful, for
Jo was much the better one of the two ; any unprejudiced
person would have said so. She paid not the slightest
attention to Jo, and I was glad when Mr. Shepherd came
up and shook him by the hand, with appropriate words of
congratulation, after which Agnes touched me on the
arm, and we went up with our greetings. When I took
Mateel by the hand Jo said for me to kiss her (which I
did very awkwardly, I am afraid) ; then Agnes kissed Jo,
and we were all very happy together. Some one brought
up chairs, and Jo and Mateel sat down, and when I looked
around Mr. Shepherd and his wife were gone.

After Jo and his bride had taken a long breath, and
were themselves again, we four spent a very uncomfort
able half hour together, for each one seemed to feel that
the others were not at ease. I had thought Jo's wedding
would be a merry event, but it was not, though I never
knew exactly why.

I noticed while we sat there that Mateel did not regain
her accustomed color, but remained very pale, from which
I imagined her health was failing, for she had always
been delicate. The costly finery which she wore, though
in good taste, made her look ghastly, and I was compelled
to admit that she had never appeared to a worse advan
tage. Her checks were sunken, and her form wasted, and
she seemed entirely too old for the fresh young man by
her side. I imagined that Jo thought of this, too, and
regretted she was not more girlish.

KEGP.ETS. 219

When dinner was ready, I noticed that plates were
laid for several guests besides Agnes and myself, as if
they expected that more of Jo's friends would be present,
whereupon it occurred to me to apologize that my mother
was ill, and had sent her regrets.

" The regrets are accepted," Jo said, as though others
had been sent. "We could not have a more cheerful
company than this. So far as I am concerned, the com
pany is satisfactory."

Mateel expressed some such sentiment, and so did we
all.

" But I wonder Clinton Bragg is not here," I said. " I
met him on the road, and I am certain he was dressed for
a wedding."

I immediately regretted saying it, for I thought that
both Mateel and Jo colored at the mention of his name,
but after some hesitation, Mateel said :

" He was not expected."

At this moment Mr. Shepherd excused himself to
answer a knock at the door, and when he came back he
said that it was Clinton Bragg, who had stopped in on a
trifling errand, and who had gone away again. I was not
surprised that the fellow appeared at the house on that
day, for he was always where he was not wanted, but I
wondered he had not accepted the invitation to dinner,
which Mr. Shepherd said he had given. It would have
been a splendid opportunity to make himself disagreeable.
' All of them seemed to be in a worse humor after this,
and they had not been merry before. Mateel got up
from the table soon after, and insisted on helping her
mother, which example was followed by Agnes, and fin
ally by Mr. Shepherd, who went to do some sort of carv
ing, leaving Jo and me alone. The dinner was an elaborate
one, and the table set for at least twenty, so that we felt

220 THE STORY OF A COUNTIIY TOWN.

lost in the desert of dishes. Some of them tried to be
gay at the circumstance of our being alone at the table,
and they helped us very liberally, but it was a failure,
and the time passed very dismally. I believe that Jo felt
guilty that more of his friends were not present, — or
rather that he had but two to invite, — and I knew that
I felt very awkward in being the groom's only satellite,
since he had lived in the neighborhood all his life ; and,
though I attempted pleasantries in great number, either
they were not heard or not appreciated, so that the dinner
was very much of a failure, as Jo whispered to me as we
sat at one end of the long table together.

When I went into the other room, dinner being over at
last, I found a letter lying on the table addressed in a
neat hand to Mr. and Mrs. Goode Shepherd, and, knowing
it was public, I opened and read a well-worded note of
regret from my grandmother. As she could not write I
knew what Jo meant when he said I would that day
detect him in a mean action ; he had written it himself.

In order to avoid the leave-taking, and because I was
uncomfortable at the Shepherds' house, I drove over to
the mill with Agnes in the middle of the afternoon, where
we spent several hours in putting the house in order for
the coming of Jo and Mateel. I had not been in the
house since it was remodelled, and was pleasantly sur
prised at its arrangement. The old house had but two
rooms, but Jo had added two others, and furnished them
neatly and comfortably and in good taste. The room in
front was transformed into a pretty parlor, and opening
off this was a sleeping apartment. The old kitchen re
mained, but I would not have known it, so great was
the change, and adjoining it, and connecting with the
parlor, was a dining-room, which completed the number.

TAKING HOME THE BRIDE. 221

Agnes admired the house as much as I did, and compli
mented Jo so much that I regretted I had not expended
my energies on one like it. I think I resolved to look
about when I returned to town for an old house, and fit
it up by degrees, but I have no doubt I forgot it entirely
within an hour.

The mill had been completed a month before, and had
been in successful operation since. I can only remember
now that it was a very good one for that day, and that it was
an improvement on the one belonging to Damon Barker,
for its machinery was of late and improved make. Jo
had never told me, but I believed he was greatly in debt,
for in addition to the amount due on the machinery he
had rebuilt and furnished the house where he was to live,
therefore I was not surprised to find the mill in full
operation in charge of his assistant, as that was a busy
season. Agnes and I went through it after we had
finished at the house, from the great wheels in the cellar
to the small ones in the roof, and complimented Jo so
much that his ears certainly tingled.

Jo and Mateel did not arrive until after dark, and we
had the lights and fires burning when they came in. After
laying off her wraps Mateel looked around the pleasant
room, but did not say anything, seeming sick and dis
tressed, and when she went with us through the rooms,
Agnes carrying the light, she only said "Yes" when
some one remarked that this or that was pretty, or " No "
when it was said that something else could not be nicer.
I thought that Jo was very much hurt at this, for she
seemed to take everything as a matter of course, and the
only words she spoke were as to what should have been done
rather than as referring to what had been done already,
which was a great deal, for the house was better furnished
and more complete in every way than the one in which

222 THE STOBY OF A COUJSTUY TOWN.

she had lived. I thought at first that she was thinking

o o

the arrangements for her comfort were no more than she
deserved, if as much, but I concluded later in the evening
that she was not herself, and that the parting with her
mother had been a great trial, although I could not under
stand why, for they were separated only by a few miles,
and could see each other every day.

We had been sitting about the fire for an hour or more,
where we seemed to get along better than at any other
time during the day, when a rap came at the door, and,
on its being opened by Jo, Damon Barker walked in. We
were all very much delighted and surprised to see him,
and after saluting Jo and his wife with a polite word of
congratulation, he took the chair Agnes brought up, and
sat down in the circle.

"I could not come over very well to-day," he said,
speaking to Mateel, "so I came to-night. I thought I
knew who would be here beside yourselves," looking at
Agnes, and then at me, "and I find the company I had
expected. I wish you all a merry Christmas."

We had riot thought of it before, having been occupied
with the events of the day, but Barker suggested it by
taking a number of packages from his pockets, which he
leaned against the legs of his chair. After we had returned
his compliment, he said : —

" I am not fond of ceremonies of any kind, but I am
fond of a fire like this on Christmas Eve, and a company
like this, so I came unannounced. I hope you are glad to
see me."

We all announced in a chorus that we were.

"It is very polite in you to say so," Barker replied.
" I lead a lonely life over there," pointing in the direction
of his mill with the hand in which he held another package
from his pocket, looking very much like a long bottle

THE PARTY AT JO'S. 223

wrapped in brown paper, "though probably no lonelier
than I desire. Jo and I became very good friends when
we were in solitude together, and I think I could not have
rested to-night had I not walked over to congratulate him
and his pretty bride."

He settled down in his chair and looked around the
room as if admiring it.

" It has been a long time since I felt so much at home
as I do at this moment." Having put down the package
which looked like a bottle, he picked up another one and
commenced unwrapping it, but soon stopped, and con
tinued talking, leaving us to wonder what it contained.
"I hope my presence will not interfere with your enjoy
ment. Let me sit here in the corner and look at you,
without being in the way." He began unwrapping the
package again, but forgot it as he became more interested.
" I enjoy looking at fresh young faces, and it is not often
I have the opportunity. I beg that you go on with the
conversation — I warrant it was a merry one — in progress
when I disturbed you by rapping. Don't mind me at all,
but if you should address me occasionally, and intimate
that I had added something to the occasion, I should
enjoy myself very much indeed."

By this time the package was unwrapped, and it turned
out to be a handsome jewel case, with a set of expensive
jewelry on the inside. This he handed to Mateel with a
bow, and, picking up another package, went on with his
talking and unwrapping : —

" For twelve years I have been almost a hermit here in
the woods, and during all that time I have not met so
pleasant a company as this. I never felt more welcome
in my life, whether I am or not, and I have an idea that
I feel very much as the rest of you do — comfortable and
happy."

224 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

By this time the other package came out, and it was so
much like the first one that we could not tell them apart.
This he gave to Agnes, who was greatly surprised, and
she hesitated in taking it, but he did not notice her, and,
diving down beside his chair, handed the bottle-looking
package to me, and its mate to Jo, retaining another one
of the same pattern for himself.

"These three contain liquor so old that I feel quite
young in their company," he said, without noticing the
surprise which his presents to Mateel and Agnes had
created, for they were very valuable, "and combined and
stirred with a little hot water, a little sugar, a few slices
of lemon, and nutmeg, they make a punch very fit and
appropriate for a party of five. If you have a bowl
handy, I will stir them together."

As he said this, he got up from his chair, and began
preparations for the punch by taking from the pockets of
the coat he had laid off a bag .f lemons and a corkscrew.
Jo and I went out and lighted the fire for the hot water,
and while we were waiting for it we heard Barker asking
as a favor that nothing more be said about the presents.

Conscious that the wedding was ending better than it
had commenced, Jo and I shook hands over the circum
stance, and we soon had the kitchen fire roaring, and the
water hot, and taking it into the front room, Barker had
the bottles opened, and the lemons sliced, and, the sugar
and nutmeg being brought, the punch was soon ready,
which I think was composed of champagne, and a mixed
liquor made for that purpose. It was certainly very good,
and Jo and I drank of it very liberally.

I had never seen Barker in good spirits before, and it
was not long before all of us caught the infection. We
not only drank of the punch, but we went into the kitchen,
and brought out something to eat, and after this the good

SPIRITUAL COMFORT. 225

humor of every one increased so much that it was agreed
that if Barker would give a selection from a play with
which he was familiar (and which he did remarkably well),
Jo and I would sing camp-meeting songs, to be followed
by a duet by Mateel and Agnes.

While these arrangements were in progress, I went to
the door to see how the weather was, as I had a long
drive before me, and as I stood there I saw a horseman
pass in the road, who I was certain was Clinton Bragg.
Those on the inside were merrily laughing, and I pur
posely opened the door that he might hear it, and know
that Mateel and Jo were happy, and surrounded by
friends. I thought that he might come in with some
kind of a message for Mateel, but I resolved that if he
attempted it I would knock him down and beat him at
the gate, for I felt the punch, and was in a humor for that
kind of business. But he rode slowly past, and I am cer
tain that he heard the gay laughter, and that no one knew
of his presence except myself.

Although Barker drank as freely as Jo and I, he was
evidently more accustomed to it, and did not mind it,
though it had no other effect on us than to increase our
good spirits. Agnes and Mateel partook but sparingly,
but they were both in better humor than I had ever seen
them, and applauded whatever we did. Barker gave his
selection from the play (it was a tragedy, and he limped
in from the kitchen saying something about that being
the winter of our discontent), after which Jo and I
started a camp-meeting, imitating the singing, preaching,
and shouting of the Fairview people, which performance
was received with rounds of applause. Mateel and A^ncs
then sang their duet, in appreciation of which we clapped
our hands until they sang another one ; and thus the time
passed until after midnight.

226 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

During the evening Jo found opportunity to express
his pleasure that everything had turned out so well, and
whenever we were alone I think both of us had a good
deal to say about an " Old Boy," and the " Best friend
in the world," for we lost all of the restraint which made
us so uncomfortable in the morning, and fully renewed
our old friendship.

When we broke up, and had said our adieus over and
over, I found my team at the door, through the kindness
of the assistant at the mill, and after we had closed the
door for positively the last time, we opened it again for
another kind word, and were very merry and gay.

There was a light fall of snow on the ground, and the
night arid the roads being fine, I insisted on taking Barker
in the buggy and driving him home, knowing the horses
would enjoy the dash along the level roads in the woods.
He at first objected, but Agnes adding her entreaty, he
finally consented, and after calling to Jo until he opened
the door again, we waved our hands once more, crossed
the creek below the mill, and dashed away.

I was proud of the speed of the team, and Barker was
at first very nervous at the pace at which I drove, but
finding I was a careful driver, he leaned contentedly
back, and repeatedly said the drive was a pleasant ending
to the agreeable evening at Jo's house. When we arrived
at the mill, he invited us in, and as Agnes had never been
at his house, and had often expressed a curiosity to see it,
we accepted the invitation, though it was two or three
o'clock in the morning. As I expected, there was still
fire in the great box stove in his room, for it seemed
never to go out, and with a little stirring and fuel it
was soon roaring. We walked through all the rooms,
Barker carrying the light, and appearing to be pleased
and contented. I told Agnes of the delightful stories

AN EABLY MORNING DKIYE. 227

Barker had related to Jo and me in the big room with
the heavy shutters, and even insisted that he tell another
one, to give Agnes an idea of his talent in that direction,
but he laughingly replied that it was late, and that they
w<! uld prove very dull, now that we were older.

" I have another story to tell you, though," he said,
after some reflection, " but it is not quite ready, and as it
is a story for men, it is fortunate that you are almost a
man. In good time I will tell it to you, and, if you
choose, you may repeat it to Agnes."

While we were warming ourselves at the fire for com
pleting the ride, I questioned him about it, but it seemed
to be of no importance, for he laughed gayly, and would
only say that when he was ready he would remind me
of it.

After spending an hour there we started for Theodore
Meek's and although I repeatedly informed Agnes that
she was the best and prettiest girl in the world, and that I
was very much in love with her, she was not at all
serious, seeming to regard it as a part of the gayety of
the night, and after reaching the house, and having a
laugh all around with the family (who got up to hear
about the wedding), we went to bed just as day began to
appear in the east.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE PECULIARITIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

was one thing I noticed of Twin Mounds
which is probably true of every other country town
— it was constantly threatened either with great prosperity
or great danger, but whether the event threatening the
prosperity or the danger came to pass, the town pro
gressed about the same. There was no perceptible effect
from any of the events the people were certain would
prove either very disastrous or of great benefit, from
which I am led to believe that no one is familiar with the
art of town-building, although I have never known a man
who did not profess to know all there is worth knowing
^ibout the science. Towns seem to be the natural accre-
ftion of years, and although the people in Twin Mounds
often related how desperate were their struggles with
adversity, the facts probably are that the place would
have been fully as large as it was three years after Jo's
marriage without the great number of public meetings
for public purposes, and the endless worry of individuals
with reference to it.

There was a very general impression that manufactories
were needed, and this was talked about so much, and so
many inducements were offered, that the people became
discouraged, believing that the average manufacturer had
a wicked heart and a hollow head to thus wrong Twin
Mounds in the face of his own interest, therefore we were
very much surprised to learn once, after all hope had been
228

PECULIARITIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN. 229

abandoned, that a quiet man was building a woollen mill
down the river, which he completed and afterwards oper
ated without the help of the committees which had been
appointed to aid in such matters of public weal. The
trouble was that the man lived in Twin Mounds, whereas
we had been expecting a man and money to come from a
distant point for that purpose, and had never thought of
looking about home, but spent a great deal of money in
lending committees away to make arrangements for a
*wo;llen mill. This circumstance, although humiliating,

' O O*

proved a good thing, for it taught the people that, if the
town were to be built up at all, it must be by its own
citizens, which knowledge was afterwards used to good
advantage.

The people were always miserable by reason of predic- f
tions that, unless impossible amounts of money were given
to certain enterprises, the town would be ruined, and
although they always gave, no sooner was one fund ex
hausted than it became necessary to raise another. It was
said during the collection ^of each amount that it would
never be necessary again to give to this sort of charity
(as the enterprise then in hand would insure the future
of Twin Mounds), but there was never an end to the
ridiculous business, and we were always in a state of,
dreariness on this account, as the men demanding the char
ity for insignificant enterprises loudly threatened to go to
the rival towns, and permit the grass to grow in our streets.
In thinking of the matter since, I have thought that Twin
Mounds would have been a much better town but for the
fact that it was always expecting improbable disaster, but
which never came, for the people were thus prevented
from exercising their energy, if they had any.

I never formed a good opinion of a man there that I
was not finally told something to his discredit by another

230 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

citizen, causing me to regard him with great suspicion,
and if I said a good word for any of them, it was proved
beyond question immediately that he was a very unscru
pulous, a very ridiculous, a very weak, and a very worth-
Jess man. There were no friendships among them, and
.they all hated each other in secret, there being much quiet
Satisfaction when one of them failed. There seemed to be
no regular aristocracy, either, for I heard so frequently
how ignorant and awkward the prominent citizens were
when they first came, that I finally found them all out.
If Dr. Medicine told me what an unpromising lout
the present magnificent Honorable Legal was when he
first arrived, and how much difficulty he had in getting
him introduced into respectable society, I was certain to
meet Honorable Legal soon after, and hear him recite a
similar experience with reference to Dr. Medicine. One
of the stories, and I found afterwards that it was true, was
that a man of ordinary worth, who seemed to be prosper
ous, had collected his money of a railroad company in the
country he had moved from, because of an injury to his
first wife, and that his second was enabled to go elegant
ly dressed because of the misfortune of the first. Thus
it went on until I was familiar with the poor origin of all
of them, and perhaps this was one reason why we did not
respect one another more.

It was a popular expression that every one favorably
mentioned was the " worst overrated man in America,"
and the only real ability any of them ever displayed was
in looking up the previous history of each other, which
they carried on with great vigor, and frequently with
alarming results. I began to believe in course of time
that it was fortunate that the discreditable part of my
history was well known, for it was the sooner forgotten,
because it was not necessary to look up old records to

THE TWIN MOUNDS MEN. 231

find it out, and thus was not made worse than it really
was.

Very few of the Twin Mounds men had positive
opinions of their own, as they seemed to have got them
second-handed from some source, and none of them waa
original or natural in his methods of conducting business,
or in his habits. Two or three times a year most of them
visited a city a good many miles away, where they spent
a great deal of money they could not afford, to create an
impression that they were accustomed to what they sup
posed was good society, and where they met men who
filled their ideas of greatness. These they mimicked,
each one choosing a different example ; so it happened that ,
the men of Twin Mounds were very ridiculous. There
was a lawyer, I remember, who had met somewhere a dis
tinguished member of his profession, who shook hands
(Ho ! ho !) with everybody, and (Ha ! ha !) patronizingly
wanted to know how they were getting along. It was
not his natural way, and as he only adopted it because he
believed it would make him popular, it became him very
poorly. Perhaps it was very effective with the man the
habit had been copied from, but it was very absurd with
our citizen, whose pretence was that every man he shook
hands with (and he shook hands cordially with everybody)
was not getting along as well as he in his great com
passion desired.

Another one, who carried on a business which one busy
day would have exhausted, had heard of a man who
achieved commercial greatness by finding fault (I am sure
the man was mistaken, for no one ever made money in
such a ridiculous way), and I never heard of anything
that suited him. This he regarded as business shrewd
ness, and he finally became very sour in disposition be
cause he was generally regarded as a fool instead of a

232 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

prophet. Still another, naturally full of fool's gab, carried
on a bank in awful silence because he had heard that still
water runs deep, though I have seen ponds of perfectly
still water which were very shallow.

As I grew older, and began to notice more, I thought
that every man in Twin Mounds had reason to feel humil
iated that he had not accomplished more, but most of
them were as conceited as though there was nothing left
in the world worthy of their attention. Their small busi
ness affairs, their quarrels over the Bible, and an occasional
term in the town council, or a mention for the legislature
or a county office, satisfied them, and they were as con
tent as men who really amounted to something.

Although I believe there never was a more virtuous com
munity, the men pretended to believe that their associates
were great libertines, and many of the women were scan
dalized in an unjust and cruel manner. The men rather
took a pride in reputations of this sort, for they never had
any other, and, although pretending to deny it, they really
hoped the people would continue to accuse them. I have
known citizens of this description to stay out late at night,
and take aimless rides into the country, to create the im
pression that they were having clandestine meetings with
the first ladies of the town. The people watched each
other so closely that there was no opportunity to be other
than honest and circumspect in this particular, even if
they had been differently inclined, and since the men were
always looking for amours, but never found them, and be
lieved that others were notoriously successful, they must
have had a very contemptible opinion of themselves when
they thought about the matter candidly.

I often heard from Jo, and frequently met him, and ho
always seemed to be happy and prosperous. The debt on
the mill was being gradually reduced through his sturdy

FORD BRAND. 233

efforts, and in the middle of the second year of Ins mar
riage, he had built an addition to his house which made it
very complete. His business was prosperous* because he
gave it a great deal of intelligent attention, and he became
widely known as one of the promising young men of that
part of the country, for nobody worked so hard as he did,
nor to so much purpose, and the business principles he
had adopted were excellent. The product of his mill was
called the " Erring's Ford " brand, we having agreed on
the name together because it was odd, and because it
celebrated a hope which had been ridiculed by the Fair-
view folks, and we printed large bills announcing its
superiority, which were distributed so well that wherever
I went I was reminded of my skill as a printer, and Jo's
superiority as a miller.

At long intervals he came to our house with his pretty
wife, and I always thought they were very happy, as
I have no doubt they were. I do not remember that I
thought much of them during the three years I am now
passing rapidly over, except that Jo had made himself the
equal of his wife, which was a pleasant reflection to me
because he had begun so far behind her, and with the
utmost friendship for Mateel, I was always pleased when
Jo appeared to better advantage than she did, or when I
thought that if a stranger should judge between them, the
impression would be that Jo was the superior one of the
two.

I had the impression that Jo was an excellent husband,
for he was always thinking of what would please Mateel,
and when they were together he was as gentle and gallant
as he had been when they were lovers, which I have heard
is very unusual. Mateel was a good wife, but I do not
know that I ever heard her say a kind word for her hus
band, although others talked about him a great deal. She

234 THE STORY OF A COUNTEY TOWN.

thought, no doubt, that his excellences were understood,
and did not need to be mentioned. I thought of this cir
cumstance then, because I believed it would have been
no more than natural for her to say that Jo had succeeded
well, or that he had bravely won her, but she never did,
although she seemed pleased when I complimented her
husband, as though it was an expression of a hope that if
he were not so rich then as she desired, he might be in
the future.

Usually when Jo and Mateel came to Twin Mounds,
Agnes came with them, as it was their custom to drive
over on Saturday, and back in the evening of the next
day, and with so many of her old friends around her, my
mother perceptibly revived, but when they had gone
away, she resumed her old melancholy, and pined away
in the room where she watched at night. If they offered
to take her home with them, she refused, and never went
out, except occasionally to ride with me, and then I
thought it was more to admire the speed of " Dan " and
" Dave " than because she cared to leave the house.

Although the Rev. John Westlock was nfever heard of,
the light was always burning in his old room at night, and
his deserted wife was always waiting to forgive him. I
think she never for a moment gave up the hope that he
would come back ; for, winter and summer alike, she waited
for him every night, and was weaker the next day because
he did not come. The fear began to oppress me that
some morning we should find her dead at her post, and I
proposed to get some one to stay with her at night, but
she would not hear of it, thinking, no doubt, that when
he came he would much prefer to find her alone. Thus
the months went by, and at the close of every one I found
that her head was whiter and her step more feeble.

I sa.w Lytle Biggs nearly every week, and Big Adam

THE FELLOW AGAIN. 235

often came there with products of the farm to sell, and he
always came in to see me, usually having the information
to impart that another relative had been killed by the
Indians, or that his old mistress "jawed" him more than
ever. If he found it necessary to stay in the town over
night, which was sometimes the case, I took him home
with me, and treated him with so much consideration in
other ways that he soon became my greatest friend.

From him I learned that Agnes only came home during
the two vacations of the year, and that her mother was
about the same with respect to visions of poisoning and
smothering, which .humiliated them all very much except
Big Adam, who said he considered it an honor for the
people to believe that he would poison his mistress if he
had opportunity, for they all knew she deserved it. Mrs.
Biggs and the children had changed but little, except that
the children had grown larger and more unruly, and their
mother more shrivelled than formerly. Big Adam was
quite a novelty in Twin Mounds, by reason of his great
size and hoarse voice, and a crowd always gathered at
the office when he was there in the evening, to hear him
tell about the great farm he was expected to cultivate
alone.

Although I was always hoping he would kill himself
with dissipation, Clinton Bragg continued to be only
about as worthless as when I had first known him, and
there was no change in his manner except that he made
up with every old wreck who came to town, and induced
him by treats to listen to his brags about himself. Bragg
came from a place somewhere in the East which was
given over to the manufacture of knives and forks, and
the three or four proprietors of the works comprised the
Aristocracy. These, lacking better company, associated
occasionally with the small tradesmen and professional

236 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

men of the town, which led them to talk a great deal of
the excellent society in which they moved, and judging
them by their representative in Twin Mounds, they be
came very unpopular wherever they went, by reason of
this unpleasant egotism. His father, a hard-working but
ignorant man, by close attention to the business of keeping
a keg house, had risen to the dignity of a merchant, and
was reputed to be well-to-do, although, as is usually the
case, I doubt if he had half the money with which he was
credited.

Bragg considered this fork-making community as the
greatest the world had ever produced, and made himself
very disagreeable in talking about it. Being a great liar
naturally, and as no one in Twin Mounds knew differently,
he used a citizen of the town where he had lived to tra*
duce citizens of Twin Mounds, and if a lawyer lost a case,
or won it, he told cheerful anecdotes of his brilliant friend
Bighead, the leader of his profession in Forkston. No
difference what happened in Twin Mounds, it reminded
him of a friend of his in the town where knives were
made, who always did whatever was in hand in a much
more creditable manner.

When he was drinking, he went about inquiring who
Alexander Bighead was, who Cornelius Deadhead was,
who Elwyn Flathead was, who Godfrey Hardhead was,
or who Isaac Jughead was. Nobody being able to inform
him (none of them having ever been heard of outside of
the community where they lived), Bragg would answer
that Alexander Bighead was a great lawyer and a great
drunkard, and that Cornelius Deadhead was as noted for
his knowledge of medicine as he was noted for his intem
perance ; that Elwyn Flathead was a heavy trader, and a
heavy drinker; that Godfrey Hardhead was frequently
on the public platform, and frequently in the gutter ; and

MOBE PHILOSOPHY. 237

that Isaac Jughead was as often on a spree as he was on
the bench ; which argument was intended to convey the
/impression that all talented men (Clinton Bragg included)
\drank more than was good for them.

Lytle Biggs, being a professional politician, was often in
town, and as has been the case when he first met me, he
was of the opinion that while I was a little delicate in
asking him for the favor, I was burning with impatience
to hear more of his philosophy. I had enjoyed it very
much at first, and laughed a great deal at his oddities,
and though it finally grew tiresome, I could not very well
flatly tell him so. Hence he came in frequently when I
was very busy, and when I knew he was not in a phil
osophical humor, but reasoning that I had grown to
expect it, and had little other amusement, he consented to
favor me with a few of his thoughts. Thus it came about
that he walked in one evening when I was anxious to go
home, and, seating himself, prepared to spend several
hours with me, though I could see he regarded himself as
a martyr to be compelled to instruct me in ordinary affairs
which should be understood at a glance.

" Speaking of the newspaper business," he said, of
which we were not speaking at all, " I make considerable
money advising the farmers to patronize the 'Rural
Home,' than which, in my opinion, a greater literary
thug never existed, but unfortunately for an oppressed
people, the publisher of the < Home ' (his name is Litch ;
it should be Leech) pays liberal commissions, and I must
live. I have a copy in my pocket; you may examine it
when there is positively nothing else to do."

He handed it to me, and although it was folded, I saw
on the first page a picture of an animal so admirably pro
portioned that but little was wasted in legs, being solid
meat with the exception of a small head and four pins to

238 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

bold it up. By examining the note at the bottom, I found
it was a pig, although I should not have suspected it in
the absence of the statement, and that pairs of the breed
could be had by addressing the publisher, and enclosing
money order or draft for fifty dollars.

" If you should do yourself the injustice at some time
in the future to look it over," Mr. Biggs continued, indi
cating that I was not to look at it then, but to listen,
*' you would find it filled with all sorts of ingenious ap
peals for the farmer's money, and that the editor claims
to be poor, but honest, and oppressed by monopolies, like
the rest of them. But what are the hard, uncomfortable
facts?"

I looked at him as if to say that I did not know what
the facts were, but had no doubt they were bad enough.

" The facts are that while the agricultural population
is cooped up in hot school-houses drinking spring water,
and attending Alliance meetings, the publisher of the
'Rural' is holding ice in his mouth at an elegant club,
only changing this delightful occupation to gulp down
expensive champagne. He lives in a villa, does this agri
cultural fraud of the name of Litch, and makes a fortune
every year; and, although he earnestly advises the far
mers' wives and daughters to spend their spare time in
churning the butter and gathering the eggs, to buy good
books to improve themselves (P. S. — For which he is
agent), he sends his own wife and daughters to spend
their spare time in summer at cool places, where they
may swim in the sea. That 's the kind of an oppressed
citizen of a groaning government Litch is, and I happen
to know that he is the friend of the monopolists he de
nounces, and that he i's in their pay ; that he is the tool
of the thieves who manufacture worthless machinery for
farmers ; of the confidence men who advertise eggs, pigs,

PHILANTHROPIST OR SCOUNDREL. 289

and calves at a high price, and that he is the worst enemy
of the farmers generally."

I pretended to be very much surprised at this, though
I was not.

" If you should be caught in a lonely place on a rainy
day, with no other paper in your pocket than that, you
would find a column of inquiries with reference to agri
cultural matters addressed to the editor (who is supposed
to be informed, but who really gets all his information
from the agricultural departments of the metropolitan
papers), each one of which closes with a good word for
* your noble,' or ' your brave,' or ' your widely circulated '
paper. The scoundrel writes them himself ! And there
is another column from ' Aunt Sue.' He is also ' Aunt
Sue.' In short, he is everything except an honest man."

Although I said nothing, I remembered that every
farmer who moved to Twin Mounds found out the agri-
cultural papers, and denounced them ; in short, that
everybody except the farmers knew what dreadful frauds
they were."

" If I should talk as candidly and honestly to my friends
of the plough as I talk to my friends of the pen," Mr. Biggs
continued, "I should advise them to take the papers
which other people take ; the papers which censure the
farmer when he deserves it, instead of pandering to his
ignorance, and forever rubbing him on the back as an
honest but oppressed fellow, through no fault of his
own. You cannot possibly do a man more harm than to
assure him that whatever he does is right, and that what
ever his enemy does is wrong, but this is what Litch does,
and ho is well paid for doing it. The farmer follows the
furrow because he can make more at that than at any
thing else ; he is no more oppressed than other men,
except as his ignorance makes it possible, for there never

240 THE STORY OF A COUNTEY TOWN.

was an age when it was not profitable to be sensible (the
world being full of unscrupulous men), therefore the pre
tence that a man cannot be honest except he plough or sow
for a living is not warranted by the facts. Getting up
/ very early in the morning, and going about agricultural
. work all day in rough clothes, does not particularly tend
to clear the conscience, but because politicians who occa
sionally have use for them have said these things, the
farmers go on accepting them, stubbornly refusing to be
undeceived, because it is unpleasant to acknowledge
ignorance after you have once thought yourself very cun
ning. In my time, I have harangued a meeting of well-
to-do farmers over the wrongs they were suffering at the
hands of miserable tradesmen, — they call them middle
men, — who did not know one day whether they would
be able to open their doors the next, and received earnest
applause, after which I got ten dollars for a charter for an
Alliance (which cost me at the rate of two dollars a thou
sand) without difficulty. It would not be a greater con
fidence game were I to borrow ten dollars of them to pay
express charges on the body of a dead brother, giving as
security a bogus bond, for the time a farmer spends
attending Alliance meetings should be spent at home in
reading an honest work entitled, ' Thieves Exposed,' or
1 The Numerous Devices Men Invent to Live without
Work,' but they rather enjoy my lectures on the beauties
of combination for protection, and the cheapness of Al
liance charters, for I never fail to relate how honest, how
I industrious, how intelligent, and how oppressed they are.
jlf they want to pay big prices for such comforts, it is their
' misfortune ; I must live, and if you say that I am a fraud, I
reply that all men are frauds. The lawyers never go to
law ; the doctors never take medicine ; the preachers sel
dom believe in religion, and I never farm The different

A WHITER ON FINANCE. 241

trades and professions are only respectable because little
is known of them except by those interested in their pro
fits, and I am no worse than the rest of them. Whoever
will pay for being humbugged will find humbugs enough,
and the only difference between me and other professional
men is that I acknowledge that I am dishonest. My
position on the reform question is briefly this (and I majs.
%dd that it is the position of every man) : I am against)
monopolies until I become a monopolist myself. I am at!
present engaged in the reform business that I may become]
a monopolist. If I should suddenly become rich, what
would I do ? This : Refer to Alliances as dangerous, and
such demagogues as myself as suspicious loafers."

Mr. Biggs seemed to greatly enjoy this denunciation of
himself, and ripped out an oath or two expressive of con
tempt for his victims.

" Our friend Bilderby, for example, who writes letters
for your paper on finance, and who professes to know all
about money, in reality knows so little about his subject
that he cannot earn a living, although he seems to be
constantly worried with the fear that, from a mistaken
financial policy, the government will come to ruin. In
fact, Bilderby only gets time to write his letters on
finance, and make excuses to his creditors. The fellow
owes the doctor for nearly all his children ; I am certain
he has not paid for the younger ones. That is Bilderby's
way of being a humbug ; I have a different way ; you
have another, and there are so many varieties, that every
man is accommodated."

Mr. Biggs was warming up, and unbuttoned his collar
to talk with more freedom.

"I see occasional notices in your publication to the
effect that Chugg, the groceryman, or whatever the name
or the business may be, has just returned from the East,

242 THE STOEY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

which is extremely dull, and that he is extremely glad to
I get back to the enterprising, the pushing, the promising,
j the noble, and the beautiful West. That is YOUR way
; of being a humbug, for in reality Chngg is glad to get
back to the West because he is of some importance here,
and none there. The East is full of hungry and ragged
men who are superior in every way to the prominent
citizen of the name of Chugg, and Chugg knows it, there
fore he is glad to get back where he is looked upon as a
superior creature. I have no hesitancy in saying privately
that the people in this direction are not warranted in the
belief that all the capable and energetic men have left the
East, though it would be disastrous to say as much pub
licly. When I am in the East it occurs to me with great
force that the miles of splendid business buildings I see
on every hand must be occupied by talented and energetic
men, and as we have no such buildings in the West, it
' follows that we have no such men. When I see towering
manufactories — swarming wTith operatives who would be
ornaments to the best society out here — I think that at
least a few men of energy and capacity have been left to
operate them, for ordinary men could not do it. I ride
down the long avenues of private palaces, each one of
them worth a township in the Smoky Hill country, and I
/am convinced that we are mistaken in the opinion that a
man must live on the frontier in order to be energetic."

I had a habit of scribbling with a pencil when idle, and
as I picked up a piece of paper to amuse myself in this
manner, Mr. Biggs caught my hand, and said, "No
notes ! " fearing I intended to publish his opinions. He
then explained, as he had often done before, that he
talked candidly to me for my own good, and that he
would be ruined if I quoted him either in print or pri
vately. Being assured that I had no such intention, he
went one: —

EAST VERSUS WEST. 243

" Have n't you noticed that when a Western man gets
a considerable sum of money together, he goes East to
live ? Well, what does it mean except that the good
sense which enabled him to make money teaches him that
the society there is preferable to ours? When we go
away for recreation and pleasure, in what direction do we
go ? East, of course, because it rains oftener there than
here ; because the caves, the lakes, the falls, the sea, and
the comforts are in that direction. If I should get rich,
I would leave this country, because I know of another
where I could live more comfortably. I stay here because 1
it is to my interest ; all of us do, and deserve no credit. It
is rather humiliating to me than otherwise that I am com
pelled to live where living is cheap, because I cannot
afford the luxuries. Men who are prosperous, or men'V;
who live in elegant houses, do not come West, but it is the :
unfortunate, the poor, the indigent, the sick — the lower £
classes, in short — who came here to grow up with the.;>
country, having failed to grow up with the country where
they came from."

My visitor got up at this, and without ceremony took
his hat, and walked out, giving me to understand that I
should feel greatly favored. I followed him soon after
ward, and passing along the street, I heard him gayly
talking to a crowd of men in front of one of the stores,
but in a different strain — -in fact, he seemed to feel guilty
for what he had said, and was denying it.

CHAPTER XXII.

A SKELETON IN THE HOUSE AT ERRING'S FORD.

:ORE than three years had passed since Jo and
Mateel were married, and I was alone on the last
night of the year, thinking that the years were slipping
away wonderfully fast of late, it seemed so short a time
since we had Hv»jd in the country ; since the Rev. John
Westlock so strangely disappeared, and since I was a boy
in distress at my own and Jo's misfortunes. The good
year was dying, and would soon pass peacefully into the
dim past, after the watchers had tired of waiting, and
gone to sleep. As is the case when an old man dies, the
announcement is speedily followed by the birth of a babe,
and so the race and the years are continued. As is now
said of the dying year, so it will be said of all of us. At
some time in the mysterious future — nobody knows
when — the hand that writes this will be picking uneasily
at the covering of a death-bed, and it will be whispered
in the room, and in all the house, and down the streets,
" He is dying ; poor fellow, he is dead." The eye that
reads this — at some time in the future ; nobody knows
when — will become fixed, and it will be gently said :
" Dying ; dead." The front door will be black with crape
for a few days, and the people will pass the house rever
ently and silently, but after a very little while the token
of death \vill be removed, the house will be thrown open
and aired, and laughter will be heard on the inside.
Birds will sing merrily at the front door, and flowers
244

DEATH. 245

appear, and happy children play about the house, and
through it, as though nothing had happened. The dead
man may have been dearly loved, but everything and
everybody encourages his friends to forget him, and they
laugh in the room where he died, and where his coffin sat
through the long nights before the burial.

The relics of departed friends, which were at first care
fully laid away, are in the course of months or years
resurrected, and given to their successors. The hat worn
by the pretty boy who died last year, or the year before,
is worn to-day by the boy who came after him, and he
plays with his toys, which were at first so sacred, as
though they had been brought to the house for him. The
mother who put the little hat away no doubt thought she
would keep it for years, and look at it to imagine that her
first-born was wearing it again, but time has softened her
grief ; friends told her he was better off, and she hoped
so, and tried to convince herself that it was all for
the best.

So it will be with the dying year ; it was well loved
while it lasted, and brought us many good gifts, but it
will be speedily forgotten, and in twelve months we shall
be equally indifferent as to its successor. One dies ; an
other is born ; so go the people and the years. There
will be a birth and a death to-night, but it is not an un
common circumstance : there will be a little mournino- for

O

the death, but a great deal of rejoicing and ringing of
bells for the birth. \

The fire in The room where I usually worked had gone
out, and I had taken my papers to an inner room, where
Martin had worked late, and which was yet warm. It
must have been ten o'clock, and outside the snow was
falling steadily, promising great drifts in the morning, as
I could see by the rays thrown out into the darkness from

246 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

the single light which burned in the room. Just after I
had settled down comfortably in my chair, some one
opened the front door, and stood on the inside, scraping
the snow from his feet, and brushing it from his coat,
which startled me, for I supposed the door to be locked.
Outside of the circle of the lamp it was quite dark, and as
the visitor came slowly toward me, brushing the snow
from his clothing, I was still in doubt as to who it was,
until he stood almost beside me, when I saw with surprise
that it was Jo Erring.

" Of all the men in the world," I said, getting up, and
making a place for him by the fire, " you are the most
welcome. I think you must be my New Year's gift, for
I am lonely to-night, and was wishing you were here."

He held his hands up to the fire to warm them, but did
not reply, and I noticed, when he looked at me, that his
eyes were bloodshot and swollen.

" Is there anything the matter ? " I asked.

Now that I was looking at him closely, I saw with
alarm that tears were in his eyes. He made no effort to
hide this, but looked at me as though he would speak, but
could not, and with a face so pitiful that I became alarmed.
He still held his hands up to the fire to warm them, and
I expected him every moment to burst out crying.

" Jo, my old friend," I said to him at last, laying my
hand on his shoulder, " tell me the meaning of this. You
distress and alarm me."

Turning his face from the light, he remained a long
while in deep study, and finally got up and walked to
that part of the room which was the darkest, where he
paced up and down a long time. I added wood to the
fire, expecting him to sit down every moment and tell
me his trouble, but he continued his walk, and wrapped
his great coat about him, as though he was chilled to the

A MAN OF SORROW. 247

heart. At last he turned suddenly, and came over into
the light.

" For what I am about to say," he said, sitting down,
" may God forgive me, for it is a matter that concerns no
one but myself, and should forever remain a secret with
me. But I have thought of it so much, and am so dis
tressed from thinking of it, that I must speak of it to you>
or lose my reason. If I could show you the wickedness
in my thoughts, you would run away from me in alarm,
but if I could show you my heart, you would weep over
the misery it contains. It is unmanly for me to tell you
what I came here to tell, but I am so wretched that I
walked here to-night through the storm for the sympathy
I am sure you will give, and which I need so much. I
have not slept for weeks, except when nature asserted
itself in spite of my misery, but through all the long
nights I have tumbled and tossed about, thinking of the
matter in a different light at every turn, hoping to get
some comfort out of it, but every new thought of it seems
the worst of all. I came out of the house to-night to cool
my hot head, and walking towards you caused me to re
solve to come on, and freeze myself into forgetfulness.
Mateel does not know where I am, and I must go back as
I came, but I would rather walk alone in this storm than
trust myself in a darkened room with my thoughts. I am
sick to-night, for the first time in my life, but it is from
thinking of the matter I came to tell you about, for it has
taken such possession of me that even sleep is denied
me."

I was so distressed and alarmed that I could not say a
word, but tried to appear natural by digging at the fire.
After Jo had thought a\yhile, he continued : —

" I need not rehearse the story of my courtship and
marriage — you are familiar with that, and you know that

248 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

I have been very contented and happy, except that ever
since I have known Mateel, I have noticed an indifference
which often humiliated me, but which I have excused for
a hundred reasons, and tried to think little of. The letter
which I will shortly ask you to read explains it all, and it
is this which has changed me into a wicked, worthless
man, without hope or ambition. The letter was written
by Mateel to Clinton Bragg, when she was his promised
wife, before they came to Fairview, and I received it by
mail, addressed in a strange hand, six weeks ago yester
day, on an evening when I was planning for the future,
and when I was in unusual good spirits. That she had
been engaged to Bragg I never knew, nor did I suspect
it, for although I knew they were brought up in the same
neighborhood, and had been children together, the thought
never occurred to me that they had been lovers, for he is
more fit for a hangman's rope than for an honest woman's
regard. I know now that Mateel has never loved rne as
the letter indicates she loved the most contemptible man
I ever knew ; a hundred times I have wondered if there
were no better lovers in the world than Mateel, but I have
found that the trouble was that she had drained her heart
dry in loving my enemy, and that there was none left for
me. This is what has wounded my pride, and broken my
spirits, and left me a useless wreck."

He took from an inner pocket and handed me an enve
lope, and taking from it the letter, I began to read aloud.

" Read it to yourself," he said. " I am familiar with
it."

The letter was closely written, and read as follows : —

" MY BKAVE LOVER, — I write to-night to tell you for the hun
dredth time how much I love you. When you are away from me,
I have no other pleasure than this, for it brings you to me to receive
my kisses and embraces. Once you came in the middle of the day

A MISCHIEVOUS LETTER. 249

following the night I wrote you, and if you come to-morrow, and
sincerely believe and never forget what I have to say, this letter
will have accomplished its mission.

"What I want to say is (and I write it after a great deal of
serious deliberation) that if by an unlucky chance we should never
be married, I should still love you as I do now, forever. I love you
so much that I am anxious you should know that even though I
believed you had forgotten me, and I became the wife of some one
else, because all women are expected to marry, I should continue
to think of you as I do now, the only man worthy of my love in all
the world; and every night after my husband had gone to sleep, I
would put my arms around him, and imagine that it was you, and
that you would waken soon, and love me as I am sure you do this
night.

" I want you to believe this, for it is written with absolute sin
cerity, and if my hope of the future should never be realized, please
read this over, and over again, and feel that I am married only in
penance for being unworthy of you. Wherever I am, and whatever
my condition, I beg of you to remember that I love only you; that
I will never love any one else, and that with my last breath I will
tenderly speak your name.

" I do not believe God will be so cruel as to separate us, but if
He should, the knowledge that you knew I continued to love you
would make my loss easier to bear. If I should consent to be mar
ried, it would be to some one who cared for nothing but my prom
ise to live with him ; and if I could call him up from the future now
to stand beside me, I would bravely tell him that I love only Clin
ton Bragg, and that though my mind may change, my heart never
will.

" If I should be so unfortunate as to have a husband other than
you, I would be dutiful and just to him, but my love I would reserve
until I met you in heaven, when, realizing how perfect it is, you
would accept it. Loving you always.

"MATEEL."

I folded the letter, and handed it back to him, and as it
touched his fingers, he shuddered, as though overtaken by
a chill.

" The very touch of it penetrates my marrow," he said,
after putting it away in his pocket as though it were red-

250 THE STORY OF A COUNTKY TOWK.

hot ; " but for all my dread of its infamous contents, I
have read it a hundred times. If I am tossing about at
night, unable to sleep from thinking of it, I cannot help
making a light, and reading it again."

"Did you ever talk to her about it?" I asked, and I
am sure I was trembling all over ; for I felt that Jo Erring,
v with all his prospects, was now a wreck and would never
be himself again.

" Not about this, directly," he answered, " but she has
told me that she was engaged to Bragg. She treated it so
coolly that I thought perhaps such things are common, and
that I am unreasonable to feel as I do. I am not familiar
Kvith the ways of good society ; it may be that love is
only an amusement, to be indulged in with every agree
able person ; it may be that a woman is none the less a
true woman for having been caressed and fondled by
different men, and that it is no fault for a young girl to
spend half a night with a lover who is liable to be suc
ceeded in a month by another, but if such is the social
j creed, something convinces me that society is wrong, and
I that my revolting manhood is right."

He rose from his chair, and walked up and down in the
dark part of the room again, and I could not help thinking
of what Mr. Biggs had said : That every one has a private
(history.

" I do not know who broke the engagement," he said,
returning to the fire at last, "but I have evidence in this
letter that it was not Mateel, therefore it is fair to sup
pose that the insolent dog who sent this, tired of the con
tract, and broke it off. The girl was heart-broken, no
doubt, and was brought West with the hope that she
would encounter an ignorant fellow with industrious
habits, but no sensibility, who could comfortably support
her until old age and death came to the relief of her

AN UNFOETT7NATE MAKEIAGIi. 251

heart, but who^could never hope to have her love, for that
she had given already, although it was not wanted.
Through the oruel neglect of God I became the man who
is expected to labor early and late that she may be made
as comfortable as possible, in her affliction. I receive
nothing in return for this except the knowledge that as
another man did not want her love, I may have her to
care for, as her family is not well-to-do, and somebody
must do it.

" Whenever I knock at my heart's door, it is opened by
a skeleton hand, and this letter handed out to me ; if am
bition beckons to me now, the fleshless fingers of an inex
orable devil hold me back ; and instead of pushing on, I
sit down and cry that I have been so disgraced through
no fault of my own. They thought I was a rough country
fcoy, lacking so delicate a thing as a heart, and that I
would be content with a broken flower because it had
once been very beautiful ; I doubt if they thought of me
at all, except that I was industrious and healthy, as all the
consideration was for Mateel, who had been wounded and
hurt."

I listened to the wind blowing on the outside, and I
thought it was more mournful than I had ever heard it
before.

" I cannot tell you how much my marriage to Mateel
would have done for me had this letter never been written,
for I should have divined its existence though it had never
fallen in my way. Before I read it I was as happy as it
is possible for a man to be, though the fear often oppressed
me that a dark shadow would fall across my path, for I
had always been taught to believe that great sorrow fol
lowed great happiness. The shadow has come, and the
devils are probably content with its black intensity. I
was proud that the home I had provided for Mateel was

252 THft srOKlT OF A COirNTBY TOWN".

better than any she had ever lived in bef or.?, and was kind
and careful of her that she might bless the day we met ;
I was proud to be known as a progressing, growing man
that her father might be proud of me, as he knew how
hard my boyhood was, but I see now that they all re
garded me as a convenience ; a trusty packhorse of great
endurance, and I know that my years of work for Mateel
were not worthy of a man's ambition. I can never tell
you, though I would willingly if I could, how great is the
burden I must bear from this time forward. Hope has
been killed within me, except hope to die, and my ambi
tion has been cruelly trampled upon and killed by a man
I never wronged."

He sat crouching before the fire, like a man who had
been beaten without cause by superior numbers, and who
felt humiliated because his oppressors had escaped, and he
could not be avenged upon them.

" Until six weeks ago, Mateel was a perfect woman in
my eyes, and the queen of my heart; but since that time
I have begun to criticise her (to myself; she does not
know it), and if I become an indifferent husband, the
fault is her own. I cannot be the same as I was before,
I for I shall be inclined to look upon her simply as the con-
[ venience she undertook to become, instead of my wife. If
she fails to be convenient — and I fear I shall be a hard
critic — I cannot help observing it in my present state of
mind, though I shall remark it only to myself. She has
deliberately deceived me, but in spite of it I love her, and
every night-wind brings me word that it is not returned.
The very wheels in the mill give voice to her entreaty to
Bragg to remember that she will never love me ; every
sound mocks me that my wife is proud of her love for
another, and piteous! y begs that it may never be for
gotten. Since reading the letter I have never kissed my

THE FRAGRANCE OF THE ROSE. 253

wife, or put my arms about her, and I hope God may
strike me dead if ever I do either again."

He stood up in great excitement, as if calling on God
to witness bis oath ; but, as if recalling something, he
meekly sat down again, and continued in a subdued tone.

"I have apologized to her for my conduct, for sho
seems distressed about it, and promised that perhaps I
would think better of it after a while, but I never shall ;
it is growing worse with me, and I tremble when I think
of my future. I talk with her about the old affair with
Bragg over and over again, hoping it was not so bad as I
think. She is very truthful and candid, and reluctantly
answers every question, however searching it may be, but
the more I talk of it the worse it gets. Don't imagine
from what I have said that she was ever anything but a
virtuous girl ; but she once loved that man so madly that
she denounced me before she had seen rne. The fresh
and innocent affection which I should have had was «iven

&

to Bragg — he had the fragrance of the rose ; I have the
withered leaves, after he tired of its beauty, and tossed it
away. You can imagine the scenes between two young
people who passionately love each other, and who only
delay marriage until a convenient time. If you cannot,
I can ; and it is this imagination which never leaves me.
And to add to my wretchedness, Bragg throws himself in
my way as often as possible, that I may contemplate the
man who was worthy of the woman I am not. The
time may come when I would give my life to take him
by the throat, and if ever it does, there will be murder
done, for with my hands once upon him I would tear him
into bits."

I did not know what to say in reply, for I could think of
nothing that would comfort him ; and though I knew he
would never again need my friendship as he needed it

254 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

then, this knowledge only confused me, and made me
stammer when I attempted to put in a word. He seemed
to have so thoroughly considered the matter that there
was no defence, and stated it so candidly that I thought
he only expected me to pity him.

" Jo," I said, as the thought occurred to me, " you un
doubtedly received this letter from Bragg ; no one else
would be malicious enough to send it. Are you certain
he did not write it ? "

A new hope sprang into his eyes, though I noticed that
his hand paused on its way to the pocket which contained
the letter, as though it was of no use to look. But lie
unfolded the letter with trembling hands, and studied il
with great care, spending so much time over it that I
hoped we should have occasion to go out and find the
scoundrel, and beat him, but after Jo had finished his
inspection, I saw that he was satisfied that the letter was
written by Mateel.

" That it might be a forgery never occurred to me be
fore," he said, with a long sigh, " but it is genuine ; there
is no doubt."

" I need not tell you, my dear old friend," I said, " that
am sorry this has happened. I regret it so much that I
am powerless to comfort you, if that were possible. Your
tears have unmanned me."

" I want to apologize to-night for my future," he said,
after a long silence, " for I no longer have ambition. I
can never succeed now, and I want you to know why.
If I do not advance in the future, I desire that my only
friend know that I no longer care to advance ; that I have
no reason to wish for success, and that I am not trying.
If I become a Fairview man, miserable and silent, with
out hope or ambition, I want you to know that I am not
to blame. I have just such a business, and just such a

RECKLESS OF WEAL OR WOE. 255

home, as we pictured together when we were boys. I
have proved to you that I did not over-estimate my
strength, and if I do not progress now that I am a man,
you will know that my strength has been broken. The
home I built with so much care is distasteful to me;
the business I own after such a struggle, I hate ; and I
want you to know that, while I have not tired of work
ing, I no longer care to succeed. The one above all
others who should have helped me has only brought me
disgrace, and broken my heart. There was no contract
between us, but when Mateel became my promised wife,
I made a vow to accomplish what I have ; I have suc
ceeded, but she has succeeded in nothing except to bring
me this letter and its humiliating contents. I would not
be a successful man in the future if I could. Bragg will
finally become a beggar, for he is a spendthrift and
loafer, and I believe that she would use my means to
help him. I would rather be poor than rich, for if I
should die possessed of property, that scoundrel would
overcome his former scruples and marry my widow. My
ambition in the future will be to live long and die poor.
I hope the Devil is satisfied. He has been after me a
long while, and I have passed into his possession body
and soul. But I must return home," he said, as if remem
bering the hour. " Mateel docs not know where I am,
though I suspect she does not care, and is soundly sleep

ing."

" How are you going ? " I asked, as he got up, and began
buttoning his great coat around him.

" As I came — on foot."

He started to walk past me, and would have gone away
had I not held him back.

" To-morrow is Saturday, and New Year," I said. " It
is a holiday, and I will go with you. Wait here until I
come back."

256 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

He consented without a word, and sat down, and I think
did not change his position until I came back with the
horses. It was an hour after midnight, and the cold was
intense — a miserable night for such a ride, but I will
ingly undertook it, knowing it was a kindness to Jo, and
that we could easily make the distance in an hour. When
I told my mother that I was going to Fairview, she was
not surprised, nor did she ask me any questions, and I
was soon on the way, with Jo by my side.

When we drove up to the house at the mill, which we
did after a cold ride without speaking a word, I saw a
curtain pulled aside in a room where there was a light,
and Mateel's pale and frightened face peering out, but by
the time she appeared at the door, and opened it, we had
passed on to the stables, and were putting away the
horses. I was chilled through with cold, but when we
walked back toward the house, I am certain I shivered
because I dreaded to see them meet, knowing how un
happy and how helptegsj both were. I opened the door,
and we walked in together, Jo a little behind me, and we
went direct to the fire, though I stopped and held out my
hand to his frightened wife. She was very pale, and I
knew she had been weeping, for her eyes were red and
swollen. While she took my hat and coat, Jo took off
his, and held his hands out to the fire as he had done
when he came to see me in town. He had taken a hasty
glance at his wife, and I thought her distress added to his
own, as though now both were wretched, and nobody to
blame for it.

" Jo, my husband," she said, in a piteous, hesitating
tone, and almost crying, "what has happened? You
look so strange. I have been walking the floor since
eight o'clock waiting for you. Is there anything the
matter?"

AN UNREASONABLE MAN. 257

As Jo did not reply, she looked at me for an answer,
and I said he had business in town which occupied him
until late ; and that, knowing she would be worried, I had
brought him home. But this did not satisfy her, and
walking over to Jo, she stood beside him.

"Why don't you speak to me? You have never
treated me this way before."

As she stood trembling beside him, I thought that
surely Jo's letter was a forgery, and that if she did not
love her husband, a woman never did.

Looking up at her as though half ashamed, Jo said : —

"You know why I went out of the house to-night. It
is nothing more than that ; you say it is not serious."

Mateel walked over to a chair near me — I thought she
staggered- as she went — and sat down, and her face was
so pale and frightened that I felt sure Jo wronged her
when he said she did not care. We sat there so long
in silence that I began wondering who would first speak,
and what would be said, and whether it would clear up
this distressing matter. When I glanced at Mateel, I
saw despair and helplessness written in her face, and
determined to go to bed, and leave them alone, hoping
they would talk it over, and forget it. Jo saw my inten
tion, and motioned me back.

" You say it is not serious," he said, glancing hurriedly
at his wife, as if afraid that if he looked in her face, and
saw its distress, his stubborn heart would relent so much
so as to commit the unpardonable offense of taking her
in his arms ; " therefore you will not care that I have told
Ned. I have talked to him more freely than to you. I
went to town for that purpose."

Had my life depended upon it, I could not have told
which one I pitied most.

" As I know you to be a truthful woman," he went on,

258 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

after a long pause, " and you say it is not serious, I be
lieve that you think so ; but it is all the more unfortunate
on that account, for it is a very grave matter to me. I
can never explain to you fully why I take it so much to
heart, because I should wound your feelings in doing it,
but the change in me within six weeks will convince you
that if I am unreasonable about it, I cannot help it, and
that my pride has been humbled, and my spirit broken,
by a circumstance for which you are probably not to
blame, when everything is considered. It is unmanly
in me to feel as I do, and I apologize to you that I have
not manhood sufficient (if that is a reasonable excuse) to
shake off a circumstance which will affect my future, but
which you regard as trifling. I have loved you — and I
do yet ; it is nothing to me what those I do not care for
have been — I have loved you with my whole heart, and
I have never divided my affection with anyone, if I
except an honest friendship for my sister's son, and who
was the sole companion of my wretched boyhood ; but
the more I love you, the more unhappy I am. This is my
unfortunate dilemma, and I only mention it because the
[serious truth must be known. Although it nearly killed
ime, I asked you never to show me affection until I felt
differently ; I did this because I believed you learned to
be affectionate with a man I hate, and that you can never
show me an act of kindness you did not show him, and
which your love for him taught you. No woman's lips
ever touched mine — my only sister's alone excepted, and
hers not frequently — until yours did; my mind was
never occupied with thoughts of love until I met you, and
now that I know you only consented to marry me be
cause you could not be better suited, my simple affection
is hurt. I know that you care for me in a fashion ; so
you do for every one who is kind to you ; but I wanted

DAMNUM ABSQUE INJUKIA. 259

the affection you gave HIM, your first and best. I feel
debased that this affair has ruined me, for it has com
pletely, and I can no longer look an honest man in the
face, for against my will I am an indifferent husband;
instead of the worthy one I hoped to become. I was
brought up in a community where the women were over
worked, imposed upon, and unhappy ; I resolved to make
my wife a notable exception to this rule, but I cannot
now, and I feel the disgrace keenly."

The pale, fretful women of Fairview, who talked in the
church of their heavy crosses to bear, and sat down
crying, passed before me in procession ; and staggering
behind them, with the heaviest cross of all, was Mateel.

"I was so particular to tell you how I felt about this
matter before we were married," Jo went on, still looking
into the fire, " though I spoke of it then only to convince
you that I was a good lover, for I did not suspect that
you regarded me as a victim instead of a man. I talked
of it seriously that you might know I was in earnest, and
much as I loved you, had I known this I would have given
you up at the last moment. There might have been a
remedy for it then ; there is none now. As I have been
during the past six weeks, so shall I be as long as I live,
except that I shall grow more bitter and resentful. It is
cruel that I have been mercilessly ruined, and nobody to
blame for it. Were I injured in any other way, there
would be some one to punish, and amends to be made, but
in this no wrong has been done ; indeed, I suppose I, who
am so grievously injured, am more to blame than any one
else for being so absurd. I am certain every one will
regard it in this wray, although that will not help the
matter so far as I am concerned."

There were evidences of bitterness in his words now,
rather than of sadness and regret ; and he looked around

260 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

the room fiercely, as though he would do something des
perate to those who had injured 11101= But he soon begas
thinking again, and went on talking : —

"I speak frankly only that we may understand each
other, for it grieves me to do it. It is not a pleasure for
me to command you never to touch me again. During
the short time we have lived apart on account of this
unfortunate matter, I have prayed every night that you
would come to me, though I had locked my door so you
f could not. When my heart finally breaks it will be be-
' cause you no longer come to me, though I will not let you.
One night I became so distracted thinking of yourunhap-
piness as well as my own that I stole softly into your room
intending to kiss away your tears, and ask you to forgive
my unintended cruelty ; but I found you quietly sleeping,
and I will swear that by the light of my lamp I saw you
smiling. I will swear that you spoke the name of Clin
ton ; and I went back to my room determined to kill him,
and then myself. But my cowardly heart — it was never
cowardly before — failed me, and I could only become
more ugly and wicked."

From the manner in which Mateel started at this I be
lieved she had only gone to sleep when completely ex
hausted, and that she had only spoken the name because
she was familiar with it, as she was familiar with a- thou
sand others ; but the circumstance seemed only to convince
her that everything was against her, and that explanations
would be useless ; but, as if trying to avoid the subject,
she asked, without looking up : —

" Since you have told Ned, what does he think ? "

" I am not a competent judge," I answered hurriedly,
sorry that she had appealed to me at all, for I could think
of no comfort for either of them. "I can only say that I
have so much confidence in your husband that I do not

SCHOOL-GIRL FOLLY. 261

question his sorrow. It is enough for me to know that he
is unhappy, though, if I should advise him, it would be to
try to forget, The world is full of difficulties which have
no other remedy than this, though they are seldom for
gotten. I have always known that Jo was just such a
man as he has shown himself to be to-night ; I remember
distinctly how gloomy he became in talking about it the
evening I first went to your house witll him, and how it
changed his disposition ; and I remember how gayly you
laughed at it as if it were of no consequence. I have
always been Jo's friend ; I always shall be, and am his
friend in this."

She did not look up, but kept gazing at the fire, as she
had done before.

"It is my most serious fault that I did not tell him of it
before we were married ; but I was timid, and thought of
it only as one of the many little regrets with which every
life is filled, and neglected it. I could not love my hus-
'band more than I do, and I only failed to tell him of it
because I feared it would give him unnecessary pain. I
was but sixteen then ; a school-girl without serious thought
or purpose, and certainly every one of my companions
was as guilty as I, if it can be called guilt. It is not ne
cessary for me to make explanations, for he has given me
notice that they will not be accepted, but if there is any
thing I can do to make atonement — no difference what it
is ; even to going away from him, and dying alone and ne
glected — I will gladly do it, and humble myself cheerfully
if that course will relieve him. I have so much confi
dence in my husband that I do not question the honesty
of his grief, and for his sake I regret my past. In justice
to my womanhood I cannot say I am ashamed of it. If
I mentioned a name which was obnoxious to my husband
in my sleep, it was because the name had caused me trou-

262 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

ble. I do not remember it, for since this unhappy chango
in our home I have been ill and worn out. I was never
strong, but I am so weak now as to be helpless."

Jo seemed to not pay the slightest attention while his
wife was talking, for he kept his eyes on the iloor, but that
he was listening intently I knew very well. Mateel looked
nt him timidly when she had finished, as if expecting a
reply, but as he made none, she too looked at the floor. I
watched her face narrowly, and there saw depicted such
misery as I can never forget. She seemed to realize that
she had made her husband unhappy by a thoughtless act,
and to realize her utter inability to supply a remedy. I

* think a more ingenious woman could have made a more
cautious statement, though not a more honest one, and
won her husband back by explanations ; but Mateel, as
was the case with her father, gave up at once on the ap
proach of a difficulty, and prepared for the worst. I saw

" in her face that she would never be. able to effect a recon
ciliation ; for, believing it to be hopeless, she would be
dumb in contemplating the life they would lead in future.
I knew she would be kind and attentive, and hope for the
best, but in her fright and consternation she could not
gather strength to test her ingenuity. I knew that she
would accept her husband's increasing obstinacy as evi
dence that a great calamity had come upon their house,
land meekly submit, instead of resolving to conquer and

• triumph over it. If she had put her arms around his neck
then (as he wanted her to do, in spite of his commands to
the contrary), and, between declarations of her love, asked
him to give her a year in which to prove her devotion,
and explain away the unhappy past, I believe this story

./would never have been written, but they misunderstood
each other at the beginning, and continued it until the
end. I could see, also, that Jo regarded what she had said

HOBKORS.

as a sort of justification of her course, thus widening and
deepening the gulf between them ; and I became so un
comfortable that I walked the floor to collect myself, but
I could not think of anything which, if expressed, would
help them, and I became more uncomfortable still when
I reflected that they would accept my embarrassment as
an evidence that I thought there was nothing to be done
except the worst that could be done. I sat down then
determined to speak of the matter lightly, but a look at
them convinced me that this would be mockery, therefore
I changed my mind, and said I would go to bed. This
seemed to startle them both, as though they dreaded to be
left alone, and Jo asked as a favor that I stay with him.

" If you leave that chair," he said, " a Devil will occupy
it, and stare at me until daylight."

I replied that I only thought of going to bed to leave
them alone, because I felt like an intruder, and was not at
all sleepy, and in response to his request I stirred the fire,
and sat down between them. Occasionally I dozed, but
on waking again, I found them sitting on cither side of
the fire, as far apart as possible, as my grandfather and
grandmother had done before them. I felt that all
had been said that could be said, and although once or
twice I broke the silence by some commonplace remark,
neither of them replied further than to look up as if im
ploring me not to go to sleep again, and leave them alone.

I thought the night would never end, but at last the
room began to grow lighter, and when the sun came up
over the woods, its first rays looked in upon two faces so
haggard and worn that I .wondered whether it did not
pity them. The sun came up higher yet, but still they
sat there ; and the curtains being down, and the shutters
closed, I thought the sunlight had deserted that house,
and given it over to gloom and despair.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE SHADOW IN THE SMOKY HILLS.

A LTHOUGH I began my career as an editor with a
-^J- good deal of enthusiasm, in the course of two or
three years I became so tired of the work that I longed
to give away the establishment, that I might have a
month's rest. I have since wondered that I did not
follow the example of the founder of the " Union of
/ States," and run off, as I came to regard myself as filling
the station that my father stormed, and my mother cried,
because I could not fill in my youth, not being a girl ; for
as a kitchen maid only cleans dishes that they may be
soiled again, so it seemed that we only set up the types
and inked them that we might wash and tear them down,
and begin all over again.

It was peculiar to my business that the people could
see at the end of every week all that had been accom
plished, and it was usually so little (though I did the best
I could) that I felt ashamed of it, and dreaded to see a
stranger pick up the " Union of States " in my presence,
for fear he would not know my connection with it and
make unfavorable comment. I frequently left a public
place on this account, and I never came suddenly upon a
knot of men that I did not hurriedly announce my
presence, so that if they were pointing out the most
glaring defects of the paper, they could spare me the
humiliation of listening to them.

Other trades and professions are more secret, and their
264

EDITING. 265

contemptible transactions generously hid from the public,
but all my work had to be submitted to the criticism of
every idle vagrant who cared to pick up the sheet. A
lawyer or a merchant might lock himself up in his office,
and pretend to be engaged in grave affairs while really
idling time away, but if I had attempted it, the deception
would have been apparent at once. Public attention is
always called to a newspaper, for otherwise it cannot
prosper, and as the people are usually disgusted when
they realize how little a man can do, papers of the class I
published were not popular. Other men's affairs were
equally contemptible, but they were charitably hid from
the public gaze, whereas mine were regarded as com
mon property, and fault found accordingly. I did not
know then, though I have since found it out, that
what one complains of will please another, so that
when a paper makes an enemy, it makes a friend with
the same paragraph, though the enemy takes more pains
to talk about it than the gentleman who is quietly de
lighted. ^_
It is my opinion that to become too well known is dan
gerous, for under such circumstances your faults are com
mon property, and your insignificance proverbial, and a
man who writes long for a newspaper will inevitably show
every weakness of which he is possessed. Each week I
laid before the people every thought, every idea, and
every suggestion I was possessed of, and became so tired
of being criticised that I Avould have given ten years of
my life for half a year's vacation. "When Martin grew
tired (he was at first a valuable assistant, but his enthu
siasm, like mine, did not last long), he coolly said he was
worn out ; but I had no one to whom I could make that
excuse, and was compelled to get along the best I could.
I was subject to the beck and nod of every ridiculous

266 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

man in tbc community, for every citizen thought it his
duty to give me good advice if he did not give me patron
age, and though I longed to retaliate by pointing out the
offences of some of them, I found it politic to hold my
peace. Occasionally I wrote a very good thing (at least,
f occasionally I attracted attention), but nobody gave me
credit for it, and it was attributed to some one in the
town who could not write an ordinary business letter
without lolling out his tongue.

O O

A man should not write for a newspaper long in one
town, for he becomes so familiar with the small affairs of
the people that it is a great effort to treat them with
respect. In the course of a few years he will have had
occasion to criticise every man of any importance in a
town of the size of Twin Mounds, if he is honest and
truthful, and will be generally despised in consequence.
Even if a complimentary twaddler, sowing good words to
the exclusion of everything else, he will become unpopular
for that, for the people will soon discover that he is a
man of no discrimination or honesty, if he speaks well of
everybody.

I wonder that anyone took the " Union of States," and
as for its advertising I was certain the people were throw
ing their money away. It was the dullest paper, I have
j no doubt, ever published; but somehow enough people
took it to make its publication profitable, though I was
always expecting them to stop it, and believed that it
would in the end become necessary to suspend its publi
cation entirely. I remember that I would look over it
carefully on press days, and, thinking that there was not
a paragraph of news or comment which was not cither old
or silly, almost conclude not to print it at all, but if it
was an hour late in issuing, a great many called to com
plain, which led me to believe that they had nothing else

TKIUMPH OF BIG ADAM. 267

to do, and were anxious to get a copy and make fun of it.
I am convinced now that much of this worry, if not all of'
it, was unnecessary, and that I need not have worked so
hard, for when I went away I could not help noticing
that everything got along about as usual, and that nobody j
missed me.

I was thinking this over one morning, and wishing I
could get sick — I was always singularly strong and ro
bust — or that the office would burn down, so that I
could get a rest from my distasteful work, when the light
at the open door was completely shut out, and Big Adam
came in. I did not know he was in the vicinity, and was
surprised to see him. He seemed in very good spirits, and,
sitting down, began looking through his pockets for a
note he said he carried for me. After he had found it,
and given it to me, and while I was looking curiously at
the envelope — it was from Agnes — wondering what
was the occasion for sending it in this unusual fashion,
Big Adam put his finger in his mouth, drew it out sud
denly in such a manner as to make a sound like the draw
ing of a cork, and then, thumping his jaws slowly while
he extended his lips, apparently poured out a liberal drink
of liquor.

The contents of the letter were surprising enough : —

DEAR NED, — Mother died early this morning, after a short
illness. I shall esteem it as a great favor if you will attend the
funeral to-morrow morning at ten o'clock.

Your sorrowing friend,

AGXES.

Big Adam seemed to be very much offended when I
looked up from reading the note with a serious face, as
he evidently expected that I would be greatly pleased, as
he was, but as if to say that if I would not drink with him
over his good fortune, he would drink alone, he pulled

268 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

another cork, and poured out the liquor in very slow and
distinct gurgles.

" I did n't suspect my good luck," Big Adam said, sec-
ing my inquiring look, " until Agnes woke me up this
morning, and said the old missus was dead, and would n't
I please carry the note to you. I immediately dressed up
in my best and started. I think I never enjoyed a ride
more. It was equal to an excursion. I hope there is no
mistake about it."

Big Adam was about to draw another cork, when I
inquired if Mrs. Deming had been ill long.

" About a week I should say, and she kept them about
her night and day to jaw at, occasionally sending for me.
Several times she came down stairs, but no more dried
up than usual, so none of us thought anything unusual
the matter. She -was always complaining about some
thing or other, and although she was undoubtedly bad off
this time, we did n't believe it. We thought she was
only pretending, to make us trouble, for she fooled us so
much that I have an idea they were all very much sur
prised when they found her dead at last. It was by the
merest accident that Asrnes and Bi<j<?s were at home. It

O ^"O

will be a great day for me to-morrow. I am to drive the
remains to the graveyard."

I could not impress Big Adam with the gravity of the
occasion, and after telling him that I would go over to
Smoky Hill in the afternoon, he went out into town, but
returned every little while with packages of pickles,
cloves, confectionery, crackers, etc., which he spread out
on my table and devoured with the greatest relish, pre
cisely as if he were at a pic-nic. Usually he was followed
by great troupes of boys, whom he hired to swear with
his pickles and confectionery.

While he was out on the porch, I heard him say to one

A CUBSING MATCH. 269

of them that he had n't an enemy in the world, but if
he had, he would like to hear the boy curse him, for up
to that time he had won all the prizes with his dreadful
oaths and was the raggedest and dirtiest of the lot. He
was arranging for a fight between two of them, when I
mildly objected to it, whereupon Big Adam laughed with
hoarse good humor, and said that while he did n't know
of an enemy, he might have one, and gave the wicked
boy a pickle and a caramel to curse him, or her, as the
case might be. The young scoundrel promptly responded
with the vilest language I had ever heard, and Big Adam
laughed so loudly that I thought the house would fall
down, declaring that the boy was a " captain." I knew
what he was about, but he seemed to be enjoying himself
so much that I did not interfere again. At last he said
he was certain the boy's curses had killed his enemy,
and he called upon all of them to give three cheers,
which they did, Big Adam joining in like a steamboat
whistle.

In the afternoon I drove over to the Smoky Hill coun
try, leaving Big Adam to follow at his leisure, as he
showed a disposition to dissipate until night, and after
arriving at Mr. Biggs', I put the horses away in the stable
I had become familiar with on my first visit to the place,
the stalls of which were still oozy and wet, and went up
to the house. .

Although I disliked to disturb the quiet of the place,
I was compelled to ring the bell, for there was no other
way of attracting attention, and after a little while Agnes
came to open the door Instead of speaking to me, she
burst out crying, and, in involuntary pity for her distress,
I took her in my arms, to which she made no resistance,
but sobbed softly as I tried to comfort her with pitying
words. I did not even think of my arms being about her.

270 THE STORY OF A COUXTRY TOWN.

or that her head rested on my shoulder, and for the first
time in several years I felt natural in her presence.

From where we stood in the hall I could see through
an open door a plain coffin, supported at each end with a
chair, in the room where I had sat with Biggs on my first
visit to the house. I was impressed that it held a friend
less body, for the coffin was not ornamented in any way,
and had evidently been hurriedly made by a country
carpenter. The top was shut down, as though there were
no friends anxious to look frequently at the face, and for
the first time I felt sympathy for the dead. It was no
doubt very absurd in me, but I had almost expected to
find the family in good spirits on my arrival, for I had
never had a kindly thought for Mrs. Deming in my life.
Her brother never mentioned her at all ; her only child
did not, except when it was necessary, and Big Adam
had told me so much of her disagreeable qualities that I
was very much prejudiced against her, but when I found
that no one but members of her own family were there
during her sickness and death, I felt kindly toward her
memory, and thought that Big Adam had certainly mis
represented her. The distress of Agnes, which continued
after we were seated in the room where the coffin was,
also convinced me there must have been some good in
the dead woman, and as the room began to grow dark
from the going down of the sun, I thought that her life
had been a night, which I hoped would be followed by a
glorious morning.

I heard while at the house — it may have been from
her old enemy, who returned from town in the course of
the night, whistling all the wild airs I had ever heard —
that the family had not a single acquaintance in the neigh
borhood, and that no one came to the house, except a
farmer occasionally to see Mr. Biggs on business ; that the

BIGGS ON LIFE. 271

people all believed Mrs. Deming to be a witch, and that
they kept horse-shoes and charms in their houses from
dread of her. Although many of them knew and admired
pretty Agnes, they believed she had been stolen by Mrs.
Deming when very young, and were always expecting
some one to arrive and claim her.

From an occasional noise overhead, I understood that
Mr. Biggs and the family were up stairs, but none of them
appearing, I volunteered to remain up during the night to
watch. Agnes gratefully accepted the offer, and as I sat
there trying to read after her disappearance, I could tell
when each one of the eight children was put to bed. At
last I heard the cradle, which had been going constantly
up to that time, stop, and I knew the baby, the last one,
had been disposed of. Therefore I was not surprised that
soon after Mr. Biggs came softly into the room, quite
elegantly dressed, in slippers and gown, though he seemed
very much depressed. He bowed to me patronizingly, as
much as to say that few men could look as interesting in
grief as he did, and after standing before me a moment to
consider the matter, took hold of my hand and shook it
sideways, though I was accustomed to shake up and down.
As he walked around the room with his hands clasped
behind him, I wondered whether I should be compelled to
take the accustomed dose of philosophy, and I soon saw
that I should, for, as he walked, he meditated ; this was
his usual way before attacking me. Coming over to me
presently in a manner indicating that he had long been
waiting for opportunity to discourse on the shortness of
life, and the presence of the coffin afforded it, he seated
himself, and abruptly inquired : —

"What is life?"

I knew I was not expected to reply, therefore I did not
give him my views on the somewhat complex question,
and he soon went on : —

272 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

"Taking a man, for example, when it is first known
that he is to have an existence, his mother cries, and his
father says he would n't have had it happen for the world,
or for iifty thousand dollars, although he may not have a
dollar he can truthfully call his own. After a season of
piling his clothes all in one place at night on the part of
the coining man's father, and grief and suffering on the
part of his mother, he is finally born, and the women of
the neighborhood come in to sec which one of his parents
,he resembles, although it should be known beforehand
Uhat he will be like the uglier one in face and disposition.
iThis may ALWAYS be depended upon; it NEVER fails.
When he is a month old, or on the first regular bill-day
after his birth, his father quarrels with the doctor for
bringing him into the world at all, and pays the price in
great anger, and under protest, vowing that he will never
again give the old quack opportunity to rob him. When
he is three or four months old, his father and mother
quarrel as to whether he shall be named for her people or
his folks. This settled, he is attacked with colic, followed
in rapid succession by the numerous distressing complaints
which nobody ever escaped. After this comes his boy
hood, which he always remembers as being particularly
disagreeable, as he never gets enough to cat, and is con-
/-stantly being found fault with and whipped. At last he
' is started to school, where a man who is a tyrant because
he is not a lawyer (or a woman who is cross because she
is not married) endures him during the hours of the day
.when the outside is most attractive. From this he runs
away, and serves an apprenticeship with the world, mak
ing so many mistakes, and doing so many foolish things,
that he is crestfallen the remainder of his life. Then he
marries the wrong woman, and has the experience of his
father over again, meanwhile working like a slave to get

DECEASED. 273

something ahead. But he does not succeed, as lie has a
faculty of doing that which he ought not to do, although
he strives very earnestly to become a great man, and make
his father ashamed of himself, and after a life of misery,
a boy comes out of his front door on a morning after a
stormy and windy night, and hangs crape on the knob.
If there is a newspaper in the town where he lives, he is
given a magnificent column, to induce the relatives to buy
large numbers of extra copies to send away. The next
day a hearse and six gentlemen in black clothes and white
cotton gloves appear at his front gate. The neighbors
come straggling in to see what the mourners will do, and
an hour after that a surly sexton, who is wondering who
will pay him, begins to rattle clods on his coffin, where
upon the carriages on the outer edge begin to drive hur
riedly away, as if too much time had been spent with him
already, and in a few minutes he is an inhabitant of the
silent city whose residents quietly wait to be gathered as
brands for the burning. If he happened to be possessed
of an extra farm, or a store, or ready money, his afflicted
relatives prove that he had been crazy several years before
his death, that they may divide his effects to suit them
selves, and which they afterwards spend in ribald and
riotous living. The principal merit of this brief sketch, as
the newspaper writers say, is its entire truthfulness. De
ceased " — lie inclined his head towards the coffin — " had
an experience like that I have mentioned, except that she
was a woman. Peace to her dust."

He spoke of his sister as " Deceased " as though that
had been her name, instead of Maggie, or Jennie, or what
ever it really was.

"Now that she is Up There," Mr. Biggs continued,
after a short silence, waving his right hand toward the
ceiling, " I do not care if I mention that Deceased had an

274 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWJT.

unhappy disposition. She had that tendency when a very
little girl (being an angel now, she will recognize what I
am saying as the truth, and commend me for it), and was
usually disagreeable to those around her. Whether her
complaint was poor health or disappointed hopes I do
not know, but as a man who believes that it is best to tell
the truth at all hazards, I confess to you she died friend
less. If there is' not secret joy in this house that she is dead,
then my philosophy avails me nothing, and I am as a ship
on an unknown sea without rudder or compass."

The expression of " a ship without rudder or compass "
seemed to please him, for he repeated it quite eloquently.

" Speaking of ships reminds me of my late brother-in-
law, whom I have never seen. When he promised to
marry the clay which reposes in yon coffin, I was away
from home — the exact facts are that I was chased away
by my father, a quiet and honest worker in wood who
objected to my noise and lying — but for a reason which
seems to actuate all fools, I wrote home that I should
never be entirely content until I had murdered the man
who had bewitched my sister. I can't tell at this time
what caused me to do it, unless it was knowledge of a
custom that whenever a girl marries, her brothers and
father make fools of themselves (and at that time I was
not above custom), for Captain Deming was a very worthy
young man. I think he was greatly disgusted at the
absurd manner in which we carried on, and if his spirit
has been released from the deep, and is hovering around
this place, I desire that he hear my declaration that I am
ashamed of myself."

The little man was dramatic again, and waved his
hands downward to represent the deep, and upward to
represent the heavens.

" None of us liked the girl," he surprised me by con-

A DISGRACED FAMILY. 275

fessing, " and I think that there was some dissatisfaction
that she did not marry, and rid my father of her keeping,
but the moment there was a prospect she WOULD marry.,
we all began to object, though I cannot imagine why.
At that time I was working in a stable in a town in the
West, and I wrote to Captain Doming that only pressing
business engagements prevented my coming on and
snatching the girl from his relentless clutches, advising
my father at the same time by letter not to scruple to
burn, shoot, or stab to save the family from impending
disgrace. I believe he did sharpen up his hatchet and saw
with a vague idea of sawing the Deming body in two,
and then cutting it to pieces. I am also informed that
he said in the hearing of the Captain one evening that he
would rather see the girl in her grave, and when the
ceremony was finally performed, he made himself still
further ridiculous by remarking to my mother in the
presence of the guests that it was all her fault."

He was apparently greatly amused by the recollection
of this ridiculous circumstance, and stopped to laugh to
himself, although I thought it was only an expression of
satisfaction that he was finally rid of Mrs. Deming.
Perhaps he had been wanting to laugh all day, and was
now telling me jokes as an excuse.

" I made a great spectacle of myself in the town where
I lived, by going about in a dejected and wretched con
dition, and saying that the Princess, my sister, had mar
ried a low fellow who followed the sea, and a few months
after that, when I was anxious to boast of Captain
Deming, my brother-in-law, I was compelled to move to
another place, as the two stories would not fit in
the same town. For this reason I went further west, and
• finally turned up in the Smoky Hills. I believe I never
told you before how I happened to come west."

276 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN".

Had the little old woman burst off the lid, and sat up
in the coffin to protest, I could not have been more sur
prised than I was.

" Captain Deming turned out to be a very superior
man," Mr. Biggs continued, reflectively, " and Deceased
to be a very inferior woman, judging from the evidence
now at hand, but for several years there was a tradition
in my family that she had thrown herself away."

My companion seemed to enjoy telling the truth about
himself as much as I had already noticed he delighted in
telling it of others, and while wondering what family
confidence he would next let me into, he said : —

" Although in my youth I had a great deal to say about
the surprising respectability of my family, they were
really a very unpromising crowd. While none of them
ever walked between the minister and the sheriff to a
hanging, or was ever locked up for theft, none of them
(amounted to anything, and I am glad that they are all in
ignorance as to where I am, for I never want to see any
of them again. I am bad enough, but they are worse.
My favorite uncle, the Duke, was a barber in the town
where I was raised ; his sister, the Duchess, was a dis
agreeable old maid who existed entirely on her respecta
bility, for she spent her time in visiting those of her
relatives who had houses, and in boasting of it (she was
the laziest woman I ever knew in my life, by the way) ;
my grandfather, the jQojint, was a market gardener, and
there was an Earl on my mother's side who was a fire
man ; and the heir to all his possessions rode horses at
races because he was old and little. The others I have
forgotten, and I am sincerely grateful to my memory for
the favor."

It was very late, and as I did not relish the thought of
remaining alone in the room with the coffin, I was sin-

HONESTY IS THE BEST POLICY. 277

cerely obliged to my companion for his company, and was
pleased when I saw that he had more to say : —

" Naturally I am a great liar." I tried to look aston
ished, as he intended I should, but I am afraid I did not.
" I did not know until a few years ago that honesty was
the best policy, and as a boy and young man I never told
the truth, even when it would do as well as a falsehood,
but of late years I deal in nothing but facts, truths, and
principles. I go even farther than that : I rake up the "
past to find truths that might be' kept secret, for, I now
enjoy honesty as I formerly enjoyed dishonesty. The
world is full of men like me in the particular that they
tell the truth for no other reason than that experience has
taught them it is best to do it. I know hundreds of men
naturally thieves who are scrupulously honest for the
same reason, and there is a great deal in the saying that
honesty is the best policy. It cost me several years of
disagreeable experience to make the discovery, but you
may depend upon it that honesty is the. best policy."

I had never heard any one accuse Mr. Biggs of having
reformed except Mr. Biggs himself, for it was generally
understood that he was thoroughly unscrupulous in every
thing, and the people would no more trust him for money
than they would take his word.

"If I lived on a lonely island, without a neighbor, I
would do right in everything, for the reason that even
under such circumstances honesty would be the best pol
icy. It pays better to be honest to yourself, in fact, than
to your neighbor. It 's a pity these facts are not more
generally known and accepted, for we should then have a
very different world ; I am ashamed of it as it is."

He walked out of the room soon after, and left me
alone, where I remained in great terror until an hour or
two after midnight, when fortunately I went to sleep in

278 THE STOftY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

my chair, and did not awaken until Agnes came down in
the morning.

The funeral was without incident, except that, very
much to the surprise of everybody, Damon Barker ap
peared soon after the procession started, and walked rev
erently behind the wagon in which Mr. Biggs, Agnes, and
myself rode, Big Adam driving ahead with the coffin.
Mrs. Biggs and the children remained at the house for some
reason, and I did not see any of them during my visit. A
few neighbors appeared at the grave, and threw in the dirt
after the body had been lowered, as I believe they had
thrown it out, but none of them came to the house. There
was no funeral service, but as soon as we arrived at the
place selected for the burial, the coffin was put down and
covered up, after which we returned to the house, and threw
open the shutters. Although Barker was invited to return
with us, he politely refused, and went directly home from
the church, which was located within a few rods of the
place where Biggs had opened the store, and where the
post-office was still kept.

In the course of the afternoon it was arranged that Ag
nes should return home with me, and live there in future,
as my mother had long been anxious to have her do, and
during the drive to Twin Mounds, little was said, for nei
ther was in the mood for talking. I can only remember
of that afternoon that when we arrived at home my mother
was waiting, and that for the first time some one seemed
considerate of Agnes; for my mother caressed her ten
derly, and led her, weeping, into the house.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A LETTER FROM JO.

MY DEAR OLD FRIEND, — I am much alarmed when
I realize th.it I am becoming a thinking man, like
your father, and that my trouble will some time become so
great that I shall disgrace myself and everyone connected
with me. Since you were here last I have done little else
than think, and I have been very lonely, for I have no com
panion now. I have not spoken to Matecl since you went
away, except when it was necessary, and that has not been
a frequent circumstance. This adds to my wretchedness,
for I feel contemptible that I am not able to be to all ap
pearance what I always was. I have tried to be, but to no
purpose, so I have given it up. I cannot say that I wish I
could forget, for then I should feel that I was the man she
described in the letter. I am a shrinking, dejected coward, .
which I never was before, and I think it is because I am
not treating Mat-eel as I should, though I solemnly assert
that I cannot do differently.

A man who mistreats a woman becomes a coward as I
am, and I accept the ignominy as my punishment. I was
bold as a lion when we were happy together, and could
look any man in the face; but I cannot now, for I think
that everyone who looks at me is an accuser that I am
worrying and fretting a helpless woman, which I believe
to be the meanest crime of which a man can be guilty. I
cannot but acknowledge the accusation, though it is not

279

280 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

.intentional. I am low and despicable in spite of all I can

^do, and I can think of no remedy for it.

I continue to make new discoveries which add to my
wretchedness. A long while before we were married,
Mateel gave me a book full of pretty love stories, and I
valued it highly, because many of the passages were un
derscored, with notes on the margin indorsing the senti
ment. The stories were very pretty, and I read them a
great deal, but I have discovered that the book was origi
nally given to Bragg ; that it was returned when he tired
of her, and that the pretty passages were marked for him.
It was given to me, no doubt, because it happened to be
convenient, and no one else wanted it. Mateel, with the
candor which I have come to dread, admitted it, though
reluctantly, on being questioned.

One of the romances to which I refer tells of a lady who
had quarrelled with her lover, and in a pique married a
cold, heartless man, who had no other good quality than
that he was kind, and successful, and the story is her rev
erie. After seven or eight years she accidentally meets
her old lover, and confesses that she loves him yet, and
has loved him all the while, though she is kind enough to
refer to her husband as a dear, good soul. This was par
ticularly full of pencil marks, as though it aptly stated her
case, and I think that after she knew a separation with
Bragg was imminent, she was anxious to let him know
that her future would be something like that.

Another one tells of an eccentric bachelor who meets a pale
but strikingly beautiful girl on the street on a cold winter's

& J

nio-ht. He once loved a face like that, and interested him
self in the girl. In course of time it developed that the
bachelor had been engaged to the girl's mother, and that
they were separated by some sort of an unfortunate mis
take, and she married a man who was willing to sup-

THE HAUNTED CAVE. 281

port her in her grief, but who unfortunately died, and
could no longer feed her while she mourned. Humiliated
and broken, she refused to return to her old friends, but
lived with her only daughter in poverty, talking a great
deal of her lover, but not a word of the poor fellow who
had been her husband. When she finds death approach
ing she writes a letter to her lover, consigning the girl to
his care, and the letter of course falls into his hands, which
affects him so much that he surprised his friends by mar
rying the daughter. I suppose the inference is that Ma-
teel, acknowledging her own weakness, desired Bragg to
understand that she would only consent to marry another
man with the hope of rearing a daughter good enough
for him.

There have been a few sweet chords of music in my life
(a very, very few, and simple in construction), but while
never complete in my boyhood, I have listened to them in
my lonely hours with a great deal of pleasure. They were
the whisperings of hope ; of happiness which I had never
known, but now the familiar air scarcely begins until it is
lost in the yells of demons and the harsh laughter of
devils. I do not know whether I read it, or dreamed it,
but there was once a deep cave said to be haunted. The
people who went there without lights, and did not speak
for a long while, heard the beginning of the most delicious
symphony, as sweet and perfect as the music of the choirs
in heaven, but suddenly it was all lost in coarse uproar
and laughter, as if the Devil and his imps were flushed
with wine at a banquet, and were telling each other of the
follies of men, to laugh at them. This dreadful tumult
continued until the music was quite forgotten, and no one
could remember the strain, although they all said it was
very tender and beautiful. Sometimes the people who
went there would hear neither the music nor the tumult

282 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

which always broke into it, but this always happened
when the night was fine, and the visitors noisy and in good
spirits. But every dark and threatening night, when the
wind came hurrying down from the north to be present at
the destruction threatened, those who went into the cave
always heard the music, and it was notably tender and
touching on such occasions, but the devils broke into it
more quickly, and were hoarser and louder in their laugh
ing and jeering.

Everything conspires against me now; even Mateel's
religion torments me. I can think of nothing that cannot
jji some way be construed into misery. Mateel's hope

fx of heaven is a hope of torment for me. She knows my
unbelief, and must be convinced that, if she is right, the
years of her happiness in the future can only be measured
by the years of my suffering, but she has no other com
fort to offer than the hope that I shall be " saved." How
natural it is to disguise fear with hope ! I would not re
gard it as a kindness in a man who saw me drowning to
stand peacefully on the bank, and hope I would take hold
of a straw, and save myself, but I should admire him if he
jumped in, and pulled me out. Hope is often nothing
more than an excuse for incapacity and for mistakes, as
we hope, in case of an accident caused by carelessness, that
nothing serious will result, or as we hope, when we do not
do our duty, that everything will turn out fortunately
anyway.

If my love for Mateel had never been interrupted, and
I had her faith, and she my doubts, I should go mad from
thinking of her future. I would make my interest in her
impending fate so great that she would become alarmed,
and be rescued ; or, failing in that, I would be lost with
her. I would not own a faith which would not save one

( I loved, and whom I knew to be honest and pure-minded.

THE SKELETON IN THE CLOSET. 283

I have no particular fears for myself, but, knowing Mateel's
belief as I do, I am hurt at her indifference. I am always
thinking — really, I cannot help it, much as I try — that
she offers up her prayers for Bragg, and that to be re
united with him I must be burned up, for I am certain
that I could not exist with him comfortably anywhere.

I take a kind of delight in finding out how unfortunate
I am, and once I wrung a confession from her that she
thought it extremely probable that I would be lost, but
that all knowledge of it would be blotted out of her
memory, and forget in her happiness that I had ever
lived. If Mateel's religion turns out to be true, I think it
will be a part of my punishment to be permitted to look
into heaven, and see her happy, without a care or thought
of me. I don't think it would be possible to save such a
man, but it may become necessary to properly punish my
wickedness to place Bragg by her side, in Paradise, that
I may contemplate them walking lovingly together.

The skeleton which has found its way into my closet is
very noisy now. I think some one, out of consideration
for me, has been trying to chain him up, but he has broken
loose, and drags his fetters about in the most dismal man
ner. Either that, or he has company, and I am honored
with two skeletons. If other people have but one, I think
I shall eventually have two, if I have not now, and be
compelled to enlarge my closet. I have occasionally
courageously unlocked my skeleton, and tried to look him
out of countenance, but he is so indifferent, and I am so
unhappy, that I have never succeeded. He is the most
impudent skeleton that ever took up an abode in a man's
house against his will, and its grinning,, malicious face I
cannot lock up, for it follows me about ine mill at my
work, and walks before me into the dark cellar, and into
the lonely loft. Once I thought I saw his tracks in the

284 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

flour dust, but I found it was only where my unmanly
tears had fallen. After I have attacked him, he is more
noisy than ever at night, and rattles about so much that I
acknowledge his power by thinking my disgrace all over,
and admitting that there is no hope.

The affairs of men are so small that I wonder they can
be serious about them. I wonder about this every time I
meet a grave and thoughtful man, and then I remember
that I am grave and thoughtful. 1 have no doubt that, if
I were told of a case similar to my own, I should say the
man ought to dismiss it without a curse, and never think
of it again, but somehow I cannot do it, though I have
tried earnestly and honestly. I had so little peace and
content as a boy, and expected so much from my mar
riage, that I cannot resign myself to a life without hope
and without happiness. I suppose the people would
laugh at my troubles if they knew them, and I call their
affairs trivial, so that altogether we have a very con
temptuous opinion of each other. Many of those who
come to the mill look at me curiously already, and I sup
pose it is being said that I am queer, or that I am subject
to fits of despondency, which is the first symptom of a
crazy man. Next to the original difficulty, I dread most
to be called queer, for I never heard it said of a man I
respected. But this will probably be added to my other
troubles, for when once a man becomes involved in
trouble's web, everything goes against him.

I am only unhappy because I expected the home I built
with so much care to be pleasant, but it is not. I
expected no more than this, and I would have been a
willing slave to insure that result, but there is not the
slightest prospect of it now. Jo ERRING.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE SEA GIVES UP ITS DEAD.

MY mother was never strong, and her health seemed
to be rapidly failing, but she was perceptibly re
vived by the presence of Agnes. When I told her that
Agnes would now live there all the time, and never go
away again, she expressed great pleasure, and for days was
not content to be out of her company, but followed her
slowly around the house as she went about her work.
We were like three children again, suddenly released
from restraint, but when we spoke in the evening of the
happy years we should spend together, my mother became
thoughful at once, and would say no more that night.

Her step was slower than it had ever been ; and she
walked more feebly, but she still kept up the lonely vigils
in her own room at night, and the light was always burn
ing, casting its rays across the deserted street like a
pitying star. If I became restless in my bed from think
ing of her pale face, and went softly down the stairs to
her door, I found her quietly seated in the low chair, as if
waiting for a step in the street and a hand on the door.
She no longer came to my room at night, as she had done
when we were alone, but she apologized for it once be
cause of growing weakness, and believing that she
dreaded to be alone, I sometimes lay down on her bed
and slept there, but if I awoke in the night, I found her
in the old corner, with her head bowed low, and wrapped
in deep meditation.

285

286 THE STORX: OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

The coming of Agnes brightened the lonely hoiisc,
which h:ul always been cold and cheerless, as if it were
very old, and were inhabited only by very old people,
and I was more content than I had been, until I remem
bered that my mother was slowly dying of a broken heart.
This thought came to me whenever we were spending the
evening pleasantly together, and often I went away to
hide my tears. When I talked to Agnes about it, which
I often did before and after she came there to live, I saw
by her troubled face that she shared my fears, and that
she, too, had marked the faltering steps and whitening
hairs. Though we resolved over and over again to do
more for her comfort and happiness, and be more watch
ful of her, she was always just the same — silent and
sorrowful, with a look in her white face of worry and
sorrow. Whenever she opened a door, or looked into a
box or drawer, she seemed to find something to remind
her of her husband, — an article of wearing apparel, a
scrap of paper on which he had written, — and this she
kept in her hand, and carried about, holding it until she
took her place in the low chair for the night, where it
remained the subject of her thoughts. We both called
her mother, and though we were anxious that she should
commend us, she seemed shy, as if she were in the way,
and Agnes told me that once when she put her hand
lovingly on her head, and said we were good children, she
did it timidly, fearful of giving offence. She still slept a
little during the day — or, at least, she would darken her
room when no one was around, and lie down — but we
never found her asleep at night, and believed that she
never left her chair.

It may have been two months after Agnes came there
to live, when we were sitting together one evening, and
Agnes was telling us again of her father, of which she

CAPTAIN DEMING. 287

never tired, and I recollect that I made more inquiries
about him than I had ever done, because my mother was
much interested in my statement that men sometimes
came back after an absence of a great many years, and
told strange stories of adventure. I had no idea this
was true of Captain Deming, of whose death there had
never been any question, but my mother was listening
closely, and I recalled several instances of the return of
those given up for dead.

" What evidence have you," I asked, " that your father
is dead, other than that he never came back ? "

Evidently Agnes had no thought of a possibility that
he was alive, for though she immediately became grave
and thoughtful, there was no expression of hope in her
earnest face. After thinking about it a long while, she
confessed that there was no evidence of his death except
that he had never been heard from, which was the brief
story of hundreds who had been drowned at sea,

There was one part of the story which I had never
before heard, though probably it was not important.
The crew which her father had shipped at Bradford was
discharged on reaching the first port, the captain claiming
there were evidences of mutiny among them, though when
they returned they declared that never were men more
faithful and honest. Since that time neither the ship nor
its captain had ever been heard of, and the returning
sailors believed it had gone down because of the shipping
of an incompetent crew. Agnes did not know, nor could
the sailors who came back to Bradford tell her, what port
the vessel loaded for when they were discharged, and this
seemed so strange to me that I determined to insert an
advertisement in a paper published in a sea town, and
solicit information from the captains of that day. This
would require a long time, so I resolved to say nothing of

288 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

my intention, though I had little hope anything would
come of it. I found that Agnes knew little about the
matter, as she was very young when her father sailed
away never to return, but her mother, she said, had made
investigations which left no doubt of the shipwreck and
death.

My mother and Agnes were sitting together at the
other end of the room, while I was facing the door which
led into the hall, and into the street. I remember these
details distinctly because the ghostly turn the talk had
taken led me to think that if the sea should give up its
dead, and the captain of the " Agnes " walk in dripping
with wet, I should be nearest the door by which lie would
enter. Agnes was sitting with my mother, who was
quietly stroking her hair, and as I looked at them, I won
dered if there were two wanderers out in the world wearily
travelling toward them, or whether those for whom they
mourned were dead, and would never be heard from. It
was the merest fancy, for I have since tried to remember
whether I believed that night that Captain Deming was
alive, or that my father would ever return, and I have
decided that I had no real belief in such a possibility.

They were both deeply interested in what I was saying,
though incredulous, and I must have been amusing myself
in seeing how much I could move them, though I had no
intention of being cruel. Perhaps I thought hope was
pleasant, even if it had no foundation, for I kept on in
such a way that both became very much excited. The
wind was rising outside, and when it rattled at the doors
and windows I thought it sounded as if some one was ie-
manding admittance.

" It would n't surprise me," I said gravely, after a long
silence, as if I had been debating the question for several
years, though I had never thought of it before, " it your

THE SEA GIVES UP ITS DEAD. 289

father should come to this house some night — I think it
would be a dark and stormy night, for they say those long
absent only return at such times — and, sitting among us,
tell strange stories of his wanderings, and of his search
for you. The two travellers we seem to be always expect
ing here may meet on the road as they near the town,
and come on together. Perhaps it is not likely, but it is
possible."

They were both looking strangely at each other, and
then at me, and then timidly at the door leading into the
hall, and out into the street.

" If they should return to-night, they could easily step
into the hall, and listen to what we are saying, for the
front door is wide open. Maybe they are there ; go and
look into the hall."

This was addressed to Agnes, and there was so much
distress in her face when she looked up at me that I re
gretted having said so much, for I might as well have
asked her to look into the hall, and expect to find her
mother, who I knew was securely in her grave.

While thinking how to get out of the dilemma into
which I had unconsciously talked myself, I thought I heard
a noise of feet in the hall, and from where I sat I could
look squarely at the door leading into it, though neither
Agnes nor my mother could. I supposed it was Martin,
who occasionally came to the house in the evening, though
I wondered why he should be so quiet, and while deliber
ating whether to go out and invite him in, or await his
knock, the door opened a little, and I was surprised to see
Damon Barker standing on the outside. Supposing he
had heard all that had been said, I again bantered Agnes
to look into the hall.

" I think I heard some one in there," I said. " Who
ever it is he is welcome."

290 THE STOEY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

The visitor did not seem to appreciate my humor, but
was very grave, and did not look at me, keeping his
eyes on Agnes. lie trembled as he came softly into the
room, as I have seen men in great excitement since, and
was breathing quickly and heavily. At this moment Ag
nes turned around in such a manner that she saw the face,
and with a startled cry she sprang to her feet, and throw
ing her hands to her head, looked curiously at Barker,
and then at me, as if she thought we were in a plot to
frighten her.

The silence that followed was of such duration that I
would have broken it — as I felt that I was the cause of
the awkward situation — but for the fact that as Barker
walked in he acted in a manner so odd that I could not
speak. Once I thought he would burst out crying, and
again he turned as if he would run away. As he ad
vanced toward the middle of the room Agnes shrank fur
ther into the shadow, though her eyes were riveted on his
face. Two or three times he attempted to speak, and at
last he said : —

" Agnes, don't you know me now ? "

His voice trembled so much that the last word was a
sob, and the next moment Agnes was in his arms. I was
in the greatest wonder, and had not the remotest idea
what it all meant, but my mother was shrewder than I,
and when she began crying softly I knew she understood
it and was satisfied. They remained locked in each other's
arms, both sobbing convulsively, for such a length of time
that I began counting the seconds as they were told off
by the clock, and when I had got up to sixty Barker held
Agnes off at arm's length to look at her, but he could not
sec through his tears, and sobbed again like a man who
had been holding up for a long time. Even then I did
not realize what it all meant, and my jealous heart brought

FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 291

the suggestion to my mind that Barker's frequent visits to
the school meant something after all, and that they had
quarrelled, and were making it up.

Just when the thought came to me that Damon Barker
was the missing commander of the "Agnes" I cannot
now remember, but it almost took my breath away, and a
great lump rose in my throat.

Agnes kissed her father over and over, and, wiping away
his tears, placed his arms about her again, and hid her
face on his breast. He was such a large man, and Agnes
such a little girl, that his great arms almost hid her from
sight.

" It is so strange as to need an explanation," Barker said,
with an effort, looking at my mother, who was still softly
crying, and then at me, who could do nothing but look on
in wonder; "but I will never explain to Agnes further
than that she has been the object of rny thoughts and
prayers ever since I so strangely deserted her. However
much I may have sinned in other ways I have always loved
the child; there is nothing between us. I have been an
honest man except in the particular which must be in all
your minds, and which it is best never to mention. My
secret shall be buried in the grave which we filled up out
yonder ;" he pointed his hand in the direction of the Smoky
Hills, and I thought his old look of hate came into his eyes ;
" though I have the story written, and Ned shall read it
and judge me. I ask him now to read what I have written
from my heart during these two months, and then tell you
two whether I was justified in the course I took ; whether
I have been worse than other men who have erred, and
suffered. But if I have sinned I have wiped it all out by
waiting in the solitude of the woods for the day when I
could claim Agnes ; in the dreadful fear for her safety,
and the prickings of conscience ; but if this is not enough

292 THE STOIIY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

I will do penance the remainder of my life that I may be
father to my child again. Will you accept me, Agnes,
with no other explanation ? "

The strange house at the mill, and its strange occupant,
were now clear to me, for I knew that when I had seen
him in the middle of the night ready to run away ; when
I had seen him always quickly looking about like a hunted
man, he was fearful the little old woman who had fright
ened me at the house of Lytle Biggs would burst in upon
him like a phantom, with her snarling voice, and ugly
face, and scold him as she scolded Big Adam.

" Yes, father, yes," Agnes said, as she looked into his
face, " if there is anything to forgive, I forgive it without
asking to know what it is. We will be father and child
again, and the old house at the mill shall be our home. I
ask nothing further than that you love me, and that you
have come back to me, never to go away again. You
were always so good, and I love you so much, that I
believe whatever you did was for the best ; I don't want
to know what it is. Ned and his mother can bear testimony
to how tenderly I have always cherished your memory,
and how much I missed you, though I believed you were
dead. The hope that you were alive was never in my
mind for a moment, "or I should have known you when you
were so kind to me in Fairview, after Ned and his mother
had moved away, and when I was lonely and friendless. I
wondered then why I was not afraid of you, for you were
stern and fierce, but I know now ; I could not be afraid
of my father, though I did not know him. I am content
that we commence our lives anew, never to refer to events
beyond this night. I am more than content ; I am happy,
much happier than I have ever been before, or ever
expected to be."

They were walking up and down the room now, locked

BTJKYING THE PAST. 293

in each other's arms, and I thought with Agnes that 1
would freely accept his explanation without hearing it ; I
was so certain he was a good and honest man. As my
mother looked at them timidly, I thought she was won
dering if her wanderer would ever return, and if she
would ever be as happy as Agnes. As if convinced that
it would never come to pass, she went softly from the
room, still hiding her eyes, and we heard her sobbing in
the next room. Barker was very much affected, and
wThen Agnes went out to speak to her, he kept saying,
"It's too bad," until she returned. As for me, I could
only stare at him, and look out of the window into the
darkness.

"We will agree then," Barker said, when Agnes was
again seated beside him, " that the book of the past, with
all its unhappy secrets, shall be closed forever, and we
will only open the new leaves, which I hope we can con
template with pleasure. But before dismissing the past
forever, never to recall it again, I want to say that I have
watched over you constantly for the past eight years,
when I first learned you were living in Fairview. Let
me say this to excuse my other neglect, and that you
may know how honest my affection for you has always
been. You may recollect that you once gave Ned my
picture in appreciation of his friendship, and he sent it to
me by Jo. He showed it to me one night when I had
almost resolved to look for you at Bradford, no difference
what the consequence might be, and though I recognized
it at once, I tossed it to one side with a glance, though I
was so much agitated that soon after I left the room to
hide it. When I returned, and inquired as carelessly as I
could whom the picture represented, Jo replied that it
was the father of the little school-teacher, Agnes Deming,
and that he had been drowned at sea. By degrees I

294 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

learned when you came, how you looked, and where you
lived ; and how often I have made them tell the story
without suspecting ; how often I have set them to talking of
pretty Agnes, and when they told how much she mourned
her father, I went away and walked in the woods until I
was calm again. Since then I have been near you a hun
dred times when you did not know it, and a hundred
times when you did. Very often I have stolen up to your
window in the night, and seeing you were safe and well,
crept back through the woods to my desolate home, wait
ing for tliis night to come. Once when I looked into your
window — it was at Ned's father's house, in the country
— I saw you kneel, and I heard you ask blessings on my
head, though you supposed I was in heaven. It has been
a long time to wait, and I have suffered a great deal, but
I am satisfied ; I believe I shall be happier that it came
about as it did."

I noticed that they at once put into execution their
resolve to bury the past in the lonely grave out in Smoky
Hill, around which we had all stood two months before,
for during the remainder of the night nothing was talked
of but the happy future ; the to-morrow of their lives,
instead of the yesterday.

When I had sufficiently recovered myself to congratu
late them, we laughed merrily over my attempt to frighten
Agnes, and Barker started to explain how he happened to
come when he did, but recollecting his resolve to speak
no more of that, he waived it off, and told instead how
the house at the mill should be remodelled and refur
nished, and the heavy shutters taken down; how the
people who passed that way would wonder at the change,
and how they should be told that the owner had becu
blessed through the mercy of God.

" I shall remain plain Damon Barker," he said. " It is

•REUNITED. 295

a good name, and has never been disgraced, and I shall
keep it. It is as good as any other, and it would be con
fusing to change."

I remained with them until long after midnight, and
when I went softly up the stairs to my room, I could hear
them talking in low tones. During the night, as I restlessly
tossed about, I heard the hum of their voices, and when
I came down early in the morning after a disturbed rest,
I found Agnes quietly sleeping, with her head on her
father's knee, but Damon Barker's eyes were wide open,
and there was a smile on his face, and I thought he had
grown younger during the night.

I can never forget the loneliness which came over me
when they drove away in the morning, waving their
adieus, nor the coldness which came into the house, and
would not be driven out. I am certain we lighted fires
that night, though they had not been necessary before,
and when Martin came down to sit with us, he shivered
as he entered the room, and rubbed his hands to warm
them.

CHAPTER XXVI.

BAEKER'S STORY.

MY first recollection is of being on board a sailing
ship at sea, and by degrees I learned that my
mother was dead ; that the rough commander who was
dreaded and feared by everyone else as well as myself
was my father, and that I was kept with him on the ship
because I was less troublesome there than anywhere else,
and because he desired to look after my education in per
son, which began when I was five years old.

I heard somewhere that my father, the rough com
mander, had been very fond of my mother, who died the
day I was born, and that his disposition had been different
since he gave her an ocean burial, on which occasion he
read the service himself in a choking voice, and, locking
himself in his cabin directly after it was over, did not
come out again for three days and four nights. There
was but one other woman on the ship, the stewardess, and
I was put in her care, but before I was old enough to
remember, she went away, so that I have not the slightest
recollection of her.

The mate, who had been in my father's employ a long
while, told me that when my mother was alive she ac
companied the ship on all its voyages, and that the com
mander was not then so hard with the men, but frequently
gave them holidays, when it was possible, and was amused
with their sports. Indeed, he spent much of his time in
her company, trusting the management of the vessel to
296

BARKER'S STORY. 297

the first officer while at sea, and was altogether very gal
lant and attentive, which he had not been to anyone
since. The mate's recollection of my mother was that she
was pretty, and fair-haired, and very young and girlish,
and evidently well-bred, for her hands were small and
white, and she was graceful and accomplished. He be
lieved she had run away to marry my father, for she never
left the ship after coming to it as a bride until she was
buried in mid-ocean, and neither of them seemed to have
friends on shore they were anxious to see, but were en
tirely content with each other. When the ship was at
anchor in the little American port where it was owned,
all hands went away for a time except my father and his
young bride, and the mate said they seemed to be sorry
when the noisy, rough men came back again, as if they
had greatly enjoyed being alone.

My father kept her picture in an expensive case in his
room, and although I frequently saw him looking at it
himself — indeed, when he was not busy with the maps
and charts, he had the picture on the table in front of him
— I was only permitted to see the face on rare occasions,
as on holidays, or after I had learned my lessons particu
larly well, when he held it before me for a few moments,
but never allowing me to take it in my own hands. When
I was still a very little boy, I excused much of his neglect
of me because of the grief he felt over my mother's death,
and I think my first thoughts were that he in some way
laid it all to me, for when I caught him looking at me
his face was covered with a frown, and I almost expected
him to grasp my throat and inquire why I had been so
wicked and so inconsiderate of his feelings. For a great
many years I believed her death was due to some blunder
of mine, and I suppose this was one reason why I avoided
my father as much as possible, that he might not accuse
me of it.

298 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

I lived on the sea, never being away from it a day,
until I was fourteen years old, and, occupying a little
room connected with my father's cabin, was compelled to
study a certain number of hours each day, and recite to
him at night. If I did not learn as much during the day
as he thought I ought to learn, he sent for a sailor, and
ordered me whipped, but the sailors were my friends, and,
begging me to apply myself more in the future, beat the
masts instead of my legs. But usually I learned my les
sons to amuse myself, for he would not allow me to talk
with the sailors, and did not talk to me himself, so that I
was very lonely, and studied my books from necessity.
Although I never attended school, in this way I became
something of a scholar, for I did little else than study
under my father's hard tutelage for eight years — from
the day I was five years old until I was thirteen, when he
began to grow tired of teaching me. Being an educated
man himself, he taught me everything it was necessary
for one in my position to know, and selected my studies
with so much good judgment, and instructed me with so
much vigor and clearness, that I could not have learned
more during a like number of years at school.

After I was nine years old he gave me permission to
mingle with the sailors to learn their languages, for nearly
every country under sunlight was represented in the fore
castle mess, and after that I spent all my idle time among
them, telling them the story of the stars in return for
their strange words, or explaining the mysteries of the
winds and currents. I have said that before this he did
not allow me to talk to the men, but perhaps I had better
write that it was generally understood that I should not
mingle with them freely, so that we were all conspirators
in getting together. The most pleasant recollection of my
youth is of taking an occasional dinner with the sailors, or

A STKANGE HISTORY. 299

of spending an hour with them when they were off watch,
when there was always a lookout to give notice should the
captain approach. Although we were always changing
crews, they were all my friends, and the companions of
my boyhood were gray and grizzled men, who adapted
themselves to my condition, and did whatever pleased me
most.

Ours was a merchant ship, though we carried a few
passengers, and, as the voyages were long, I became well
acquainted with them, for I sat beside my father at the
cabin table, and was a great deal in their company, when
not engaged with the books. What I know of manners
and of polite society I learned from them, and although I
thought I liked every new set the best, I believe I cried
equally hard when any of them went away. There were
many brides among them, going with their husbands to
homes in distant countries, and after hearing of my
strange childhood, they were all very kind to me. Fre
quently they asked my father to allow me to visit them
at their homes, until his ship touched again at the port
where they left us, but always to my inexpressible sorrow
he refused, saying he was liable to put the vessel into
another trade at any time. I do not remember that we
ever had children for passengers, except very small ones,
so that I grew up entirely in the company of my elders,
and do not now feel that I ever had any childhood at all.

When fifteen years old I was permitted to go on an
excursion into the interior with a party of the men, while
the ship was lying at a Spanish town, and by an accident
I was separated from the rest, and did not find my way
back for two days. When the men returned, my father
supposed I had run away, and sailed without me, leaving
my effects at a shipping office in case I should call for
them, together with a sum of money, which was to be

300 THE STOHY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

forwarded to him unless claimed in a given number of
weeks. I really felt relief when I found that I was free,
I had lived so wretchedly with my father, and by repre
senting my dilemma to other captains whose ships were
in, I had no difficulty in securing a situation, which I de
sired more than a passage to my own country, and engaged
with a captain who was going in an entirely opposite
direction. Having studied navigation with my father, I
was able to make myself useful to the captain who em
ployed me, and I remained in his service a number of
years, at first as his secretary, and finally as confidential
adviser and third officer, during which time I learned
accidentally that my father was dead, and that his estate
did not pay his debts. This induced me to hoard my
earnings, which were considerable, and when I was twenty
I was part owner and third officer of a ship sailing be
tween a small American port and the Indies. After I
had been at this a year or two, my vessel was put in the
^ docks for repairs, and having nothing else to do I fell in
love, which is the part of my history upon which I shall
dwell.

The girl with whom I became acquainted, — I cannot
say infatuated, for I never was ; I suppose it was a kind
of curiosity, — and who afterwards became my wife, was
the only one I had ever known since reaching manhood,
and I persisted in calling at her house mainly because she
had told me that her father and mother objected to it,
though I cannot see why they should, as my station in
life was better than theirs, and I had excellent prospects.
I do not offer it as an excuse for my later conduct, but it
is really the case that I never asked her to become my
wife. She took it for granted that I desired to marry
her, and said one evening that since it was well under
stood that we were to be married some time — nothing

ACQUAINTANCE, NOT LOVE. 301

of the kind was well understood — we might as well
agree on a date, and in my weakness I said the sooner the
better, or something to that effect, which she understood
as a proposal, and accepted in due form. There was
Clever any love between us, but she always gave me to
understand that I was distressing her by being there
against her father's will, and never having known a woman
before, I supposed the kind of regard she had for me was
all that women generally gave, and to vindicate her, and
to show her father that he was mistaken in his judgment
of me, I allowed the matter to go on until we were mar
ried, although I assure you that there was never a moment
that I was not trying to devise 'some means to get out of
it, being convinced that it would never do. I am too old
a man — and I hope too honorable — to misrepresent
any particular in the story I am telling, therefore I have
been careful to write only the exact truth, the benefit of
a doubt always being given to the dead.

I soon saw that I had made a mistake, but hoped for
the best, and, after making extensive arrangements for
her comfort, sailed on a voyage which occupied me a year
and a half. On returning I found that a daughter had
been born to me ; but in spite of this I formed such a dis
like for my wife that it was with the greatest difficulty
I treated her civilly. During the few months I was at
home the child became very dear to me, but as my love
for it grew, my repugnance for the mother increased so
much that I sailed earlier than at first intended (I was
captain of the ship by this time) to be out of her com
pany. I had not been at sea a week until I began to
dread to return, and often I seriously contemplated drown
ing, to be rid of it all. But when I thought of the pretty
child, I tried to banish the thought for her sake, though
I could not do it, and as we neared home on the return

302 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

trip I dreaded my native town as I dreaded sunken reefs
and rocks. The crew counted the days until they could
expect to see their wives and sweethearts waving welcome
from the shore, but the thought of a meeting with my
wife was horrible beyond my ability to relate. I thought
of it in a hundred different ways, trying to devise some
way to rob the meeting of its terror, but I could never
arrange it satisfactorily, and suffered as the damned are
said to suffer. On coming home I dreaded most to kiss
her, as I was expected to do, and next to that, the first
meeting. I cannot explain to you this aversion fully, but
it was so strong that I was constantly in the most horrible
misery, and the more I thought of it, the more I loathed
her.

1 am crowding the results of several years into a few
lines, during which time I came and went, the aversion
all the time growing upon me. Sometimes I was at
home only a week ; at other times a month or more, and
the length of the voyages varied in the same manner. I
will not worry you with the details ; it is enough to say
that she was petulant, an invalid, uninviting in person,
without charms of any kind, and utterly lacking in what
is now known as common sense. It will be said (you will
remark it, no doubt) that I should have made these dis
coveries before I married her, which is true ; I should
have, but I did not, as others have failed to make vitally
important discoveries until it was too late to take advan
tage of them ; hence this candid avowal of my disgraceful
history. I wish to say again that I make these statements
with all respect to the charity which should be shown the
memory of the dead, yet in justification of myself it is
necessary to tell the truth, which may be spoken with
propriety at any time.

Other men's wives were intellectual if not beautiful, or

HER FAMILY. 303

beautiful if not intellectual, but mine was neither. It is
my candid judgment, and I write it with sorrow and pity,
that she had not a single good quality. (I have thought
it all over, before proceeding, and assert it again : Not
one.) I think she never went to bed in her life that she
did not drink some sort of tea for some sort of complaint,
and it was her only boast that in all the world a woman
could not be found wrho " bore up " as well as she did.
She took pride in nothing else ; she had no other ambition
than to demonstrate that such was the case, and had no
other delight than to cite evidences of it. I beg you will
remember that these are cold, calculated assertions of
fact, and not illustrative in any degree. I have spent
several weeks in writing this letter, in a manner that can
not be misconstrued ; every word has been weighed, and
put down after its effect and the impression it would
convey had been carefully considered.

She took not the slightest interest in me nor my affairs ;
indeed, she took interest in nothing except her family,
which worried her so much that frequently she awakened
in the night, and cried for hours like a silly child for fear
her mother, or her father, or her brothers, or her sisters,
were not well, although there would not be the slightest
reason to suppose they were not enjoying their usual
health. This circumstance is particularly worthy of note
when it is known that she did not get along with her
family, for they were always quarrelling when together,
and although they were the most ordinary people, she
talked of them, and wondered what would they say to
this or that, so much that I gently remonstrated with her.
This she construed into an attack, and while I lived with
her she regularly vindicated "her family" whenever I
came into her presence, in a manner indicating that they
were of royal blood. They moved away from there after

304 THE STOEY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

we had been married a few years, and this gave her t;C-
casion to bewail her separation from them, which she never
lost opportunity to do. Her father was a perfect type of
a common man ; the mother was a little better, perhaps,
but the brothers and sisters did not average with the
young people in the poor town where they were brought
up, so that this great admiration was unwarranted, and
ridiculous. But if it were disagreeable when "her family"
were in the same town with us, it was unbearable when
they were away. For every month of their separation
she added a hall, park or castle to her father's possessions
— which consisted in reality of battered household goods
that a really vigorous man could have carried away on his
back. Finally I began to think seriously of running
away.

Inasmuch as this is a hurried sketch of my life, I will
mention as a single example of how we lived, and which
might be multiplied by any figure below a thousand, that
if I complained that we seldom had fish on the table, we
had fish regularly thereafter until I complained that we
had nothing else, whereupon she said I was a grumbler,
and hard to please, and from that time fish was banished
from the house. No matter how much I longed for fish
after that, I was afraid to ask for it, for we would then
get nothing else.

I think I never sat down at the table with her that she
did not bring out a depraved private dish for herself
which I abhorred and despised. Tripe boiled in vinegar
was one of these ; roasted cheese was another, and the
fumes from either made me so sick that I was compelled
to get up and go out. She persisted in bringing these
dishes to the table to " show her spirit," although many
times she did not want them, I am thoroughly convinced.

In addition to the disagreeable qualities I have hastily

A PLOT TO RUN AWAY. 30o

mentioned, she was always complaining ; if not of me, of
her health ; if not of her health, of the trouble the child
was, or of the house in which we lived, which I am cer
tain was the best she had ever seen ; but she never com
plained of my long voyages, and I think she enjoyed my
absence as much as I did hers. In short, although by this
time I realized the fitness of a suitable marriage, I knew
mine was the most unsuitable in the world ; that we had
nothing in common ; that we should grow gradually Avorse
instead of better, and that I should surely become, by rea
son of it, a dissatisfied, incapable and worthless man.
Therefore, I began to weigh the consequences of running
away.

This brought to mind the love I bore the child, which
had grown steadily during the eight years since she was
born, and I came to the conclusion that if I remained as I
was I should become a man so gross and selfish as to
shrink under her increasing intelligence and refinement,
for she was as pure and good as an angel, and I concluded
it would be better for her to think of me as a good man
dead than as a bad man alive, therefore after I had lived
in the manner I have described for nearly nine years, mak
ing my voyages as long as possible, I went away, and de
termined never to return.

The more I thought of it, once I was away, the stronger
my determination became never to enter the presence of
my wife again, and after thinking of it night and day for
several weeks, I accepted the disgrace. Public opinion is
always against a man in matters of this kind, no differ
ence what his wrongs may be, and men who are contem
plating running away from family difficulties themselves
regard the offence the greatest of which some one else can
be guilty, but I accepted the consequences, and felt relief
when I knew I was finally rid of her.

306 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

I had accumulated a good deal of property during my
career as a shipmaster, and I left it all, except the ship,
and in such condition that she could use it. The ship I
determined to keep as my share, as it was no more than
half. My first idea was to locate somewhere — I had no
idea where, but a long way off — and after Agnes had
reached a reasoning age, to secretly write her the story I
have written to you, and ask her to decide between us, in
the hope that she would come to me. This hope sup
ported me, and without it I could never have put into
execution my plan of escape.

On reaching the first port after sailing from home, I
pretended to find evidences of mutiny among the crew,
which caused me a great deal of pain, for many of the
men had been with me for years, and were as true and
honest as men become, but it was necessary to carry out
my plan, and I discharged them all. After they had left
the place by taking positions on other ships, I engaged
another crew, and went into another trade, which carried
me thousands of miles further away from my own country.
Again I discharged the crew, and after allowing the ship
to be idle in the docks for several weeks, I rebuilt and re
painted it in such a manner that its old acquaintances
would not have known it had they encountered it on the
high seas. I also changed the name. After another voy
age, I sold the ship at a sacrifice, and took passage for my
native land as Damon Barker, where I arrived after an
absence of two years, and by mingling with seafaring
men, I heard that the " Agnes " had been lost, which im
pression was generally accepted.

I then determined to locate in the West, and for this
purpose bought the machinery which you have often seen
in operation on Bull River, as I believed milling would
be a profitable business. I worked for a time as a laborer

ABOUT MRS. TREMAINE. 307

in a mill, to become familiar with its workings, and I
bribed the head man to teach me at night. How I came
to locate within twenty miles of my wife and child, God
only knows, for they arrived here before I did, although
I did not know it until four years afterward, as I have
already related. What has occurred since, you know.

One more paragraph, and I dismiss this part of my life
forever. I have given an inference that I am an only
child, which is true so far as my mother is concerned, but
Mrs. Tremaine, whose disappearance with your father
will give you an interest in the subject, was the child of
my father's first marriage. I believe, although I do not
know exactly why, that his first marriage was something
like mine, and a few months after securing a divorce he
was married secretly to my mother, who was but seven
teen, and a member of an excellent family. While I
knew where Mrs. Tremaine lived, and knew of her rela
tion to me, I had never seen her but once or twice, which
was long before I was married at all, and in my despera
tion when I first came to this country, I sent her a sum of
money, accompanied by a letter of explanation, and
entreated her to visit Bradford, and learn how the child
prospered. It happened that she was widowed about
that time, and instead of doing as I directed, she came
out to live with me. I confess to you that I always dis
liked her, and was glad when she went away. Her
husband was a quiet, good man, and I think he must have
died of neglect, for she neglected everybody except
sinners and drunkards. He was neither, and I think he
' died from indigestion, induced by living on food prepared
*•• by himself. That she was a failure as a woman, you and
I know very well, and I have no doubt your unfortunate
father admits it by this time.

I nave told you, in brevity and in truth, my life, and I

308 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

only ask that you destroy this immediately after you have
finished the reading. If you treat me in the future as
you have in the past, I shall believe that you think I
was justified in my course; if your manner toward me
changes, I will understand that I am censured, but do not
refer to this matter in any manner in your future inter
course with me. I dismiss it forever.

Your friend,

DAMON DARKER.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE LIGHT GOES OUT FOREVER.

DURIXG the fall following the summer when Agnes
went to live with her new-found father at the mill,
I was so occupied with my work, and with my mother,
whose health was failing more rapidly than ever, that I
met my old friends in Fairview only occasionally. Sev
eral times Jo came to Twin Mounds, but it was usually
at night, as if he desired to meet as few of the people
as possible, dreading the glances of wonder which his
changed appearance attracted. Often I transacted busi
ness for him because of his dislike to come to town
during the day, and went to great trouble on his account,
but I was glad to do it, as I felt that I could never repay
his acts of kindness to me.

He said to me often that nothing was so distasteful to
him as wrangles over business affairs, as if nothing in the
world was so important as the possession of money, and
that he allowed himself to be robbed rather than dispute
and quarrel, which knowledge I am afraid his customers
often used to their own advantage. His business re
mained profitable, I also heard him say, because he had to
keep busy to avoid self-destruction, and that motive
seemed to succeed quite as well as the nobler one of
ambition.

If he came to the house, and met my mother, her pain
ful condition had a bad effect upon him, so that he finally

310 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

avoided her, usually coming to the office in the evenings
when he knew I should be there. I think she never knew
he was in trouble, for I never told her, and she seldom
talked to any one else, though she must have wondered
at the remarkable change in his manner, for he had
grown nervous to a painful degree, and looked anxiously
about like a hunted man. Usually when he came to
Twin Mounds he had no other errand than to be with me
for a few hours; at these times he would go over his
painful stor} in detail, and, in explaining his wretched
ness, try to justify himself, talking of it in such a pitiful
way that I became nervous myself in trying to devise
some way out of the difficulty. He talked a great deal
of how the people would blame him if they knew the
story ; how they would say his brain was softening, or
that he ought to be sent to an asylum, and then he would
put the case to me again, and ask me to judge if his
trouble was not justified. I always believed that it was,
more because I knew that my friend, a man of promise,
was in distress, than because I had impartially judged it,
and so I always told him, but this gave him little satisfac
tion, for he said that in my friendship for him perhaps I
did not do Mateel the justice she deserved.

When the weather was fine, I drove him home at night,
and I think we always met Bragg driving toward the
town. Except that he was more of a dog than ever, there
was little change in the fellow, and he moped about in
his usual listless fashion, doing nothing but mischief, and
occasionally becoming' maudlin from drinking out of his
bottle. He probably watched Jo's coming that he might
meet him on the road as an annoyance, and I always
trembled when I saw them meet, for Jo's hatred for him
was intense, and he would have been delighted with the
slightest excuse to beat him.

A FRACAS. 311

Once when he gave so little of the road that his wheels
locked in ours, Jo sprang out, and, pulling him from his
buggy with one hand, hit him such a blow with the other
that he reeled and fell in the underbrush beside the road.
I could not leave the team, or I should have sprung be
tween them, but Jo realized his superior strength, and did
not strike him the second time, but stood over him with
every muscle quivering in restraint. The vicious horse
was awed by his master's misfortune, and stood trembling
in the road, as if afraid to move. When we drove on I
saw Bragg pick himself up, and after wiping the blood
from his face with leaves, climb into the buggy, and hurry
away, and although night was coming on, I could see him
on the next hill, an ugly speck on the horizon, still wiping
away the blood, as though there had been a profuse flow.
For several days after that when I met him I could see a
livid mark on the left side of his face, and there was a cut
on his lip which did not entirely heal for weeks.

I never knew, but I think it is probable that Mateel be
lieved that I accused her more than I did, or that I rather
encouraged Jo in his ugly moods, which was not the case,
though I confess that I did little to effect a reconciliation, i
being impressed from the first that it was impossible. His
humiliation was so intense that I could not bring myself
to speak lightly of it, as though he were a weak man
harboring a caprice, and I still believe that in this I was
right. Anyway, she barely recognized my presence when
I went there at night with her husband, and never spoke
to me about the trouble between them. I was more im
pressed on each visit that she was helpless, and had not
the strength to attempt to reclaim him from his depres
sion, or else she had tried everything at the beginning and
given up in despair. Had she attempted to win him back
to hei he would have told me, but as he only spoke of the

312 THE STORY OF A COUNTKY TOWN.

ease with which she accepted his request to never show
him the slightest attention, I am sure she never did.

Although I cannot now remember whether he told me
directly, or whether I learned it from all that was said, I
renew that he was always waiting for her to ask him to
\ modify or withdraw his request, and that in the stillness
of the night he prayed that she would at least come to
him and regret his unhappiness, but if she was not indif
ferent to it all she was an admirable actress. I knew he
**"" would have gone to her but for this indifference, but she
^seemed to care so little about it that he was ashamed to go.
Once in my presence — and often when I was not there —
he apologized for his cruelty, but her manner indicated
that the apology was unnecessary, and that there was no
occasion to mention it. I felt that Jo was mortified at
this, and that they were now farther apart than ever.

Perhaps I worried so much about Jo at this time that I
never tried to form an opinion as to whether she loved
her husband as much as I knew he loved her, or whether
her dejected manner was due to mortification or- regret.
I was witness to incidents which confirmed me in both
these opinions, so that I think I must have concluded that
one caused her as much trouble as the other. I often
thought to speak to her and say she misjudged me ; that
I would gladly serve her if I could, and that in my friend
ship for Jo I had no unkind thought of her, but the favor
able opportunity never came, and I neglected it.

Although at long intervals Agnes came to visit my
mother, she usually went away again before I had seen
her, and only once during this time did I find opportunity
to visit her at the mill. It was in the winter, when my
mother seemed much better, and I was greatly impressed
by the change at the mill. The heavy wooden shutters
formerly at the windows were taken down entirely, or left

CHANGES IN BARKER'S HOME. 313

wide open ; the thick growth of trees had been cleared
out, and in every way the house seemed more cheerful
than it had been. I could no longer, as I had done be
fore, think of the house as the home of a desperate man
who had retired with his ill-gotten gains and who was al
ways expecting occasion to defend himself ; and I thought
I had never seen Agnes look so contented and happy as
she did in her own home, although she had always been
that. A great lump rose in my throat as I remembered
that all of them seemed to be getting on better than my
self, for as I looked around the pleasant place, the cheer
less rooms at home, where my mother sat the day out and
in again, appeared before me ; I thought of the unhappi-
ness at Jo's, where I intended to stop on my return, of
my father wandering about, a homeless and disgraced
man, and of my tiresome work, which seemed never to end,
but I could not help feeling keen pleasure that patient
Agnes had reason to be happy at last, as I knew she was,
for every action showed it, and the house and everything
in it seemed to be repeating it.

When I first went there as a boy to visit Barker the
room which Agnes afterwards made into a parlor was used
for storing sacks, and I never looked in at the door that I
did not see venerable rats hurrying away to their holes, evi
dently as much alarmed at my presence as I was at theirs,
and even the damp room where B. used to sit and collect
moisture had dried out from having the sun often let into it.
The great room above, where we had the suppers and the
stories, was not much changed, except that it was cleaner
and lighter, and the magic of a woman's touch was every]
where apparent. The box stove in which we had made
the famous fires, the table at which Barker sat, and the
revolving shelf where he kept his books, were just the
same, and but for the presence of Agnes I should have

314 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

imagined that the master had stepped into the next room
to look through the mysterious boxes for relics to amuse
the two barefoot boys who came over from Fairview occa
sionally to visit him. But I found that the boxes were no
longer in the next room ; they had been sent to the mill
loft, for nothing was left to remind them that they had
ever been separated, or that there had been a shadow
across their path. The room where Jo and I had slept
when visiting Barker was now occupied by Agnes herself,
and I sat down by the window and told her how her father
came in and stood beside the bed after we had retired, as
if dreading to be left alone, where he remained until we
were sound asleep ; how I had wakened once in the mid
dle of the night, and, creeping to his door, found him sit
ting at the table with his hat and coat on, as if ready to
run away ; how generous and considerate he had always
been with us, and how we esteemed him as a noble man,
and how glad I was that she had found in my old friend
one greater than a friend. To this Agnes would only
reply that there was nothing now to interfere with their
peace and content except the knowledge that some of
their old friends were in trouble.

Although I knew that Big Adam had followed Ainies

O O £?

to the mill, and become the assistant, I was made further
aware of it by hearing him talking about his work while
we were yet in the house, which sounded like distant
thunder, for his voice seemed to have grown hoarser with
aG:e. When I went down to call on him he linked me

O CT/O

like a bear, and only released me when the miller himself
appeared to greet me.

Big Adam seemed to be pleased with his new position,
and he frequently came around to remark secretly to me
that every family had its deaths by Indians, which I
understood was a reference to the mysterious manner in

THE ASSISTANT MILLER. 315

which Agnes had found her father, and he was a sworn
friend of Barker's because he seemed to hate his old enemy.
When not engaged in this manner, Big Adam was rub
bing against me, that I might get flour dust on my
clothes, and understand that he was a miller, but after
noticing it, he brushed me down Avith great ceremony
and many apologies. As I walked about the mill with the
proprietor, I heard the assistant draw a great many corks,
and pour out liquor which seemed to be very old and
rich, and which came out of the bottle in hoarse gurgles.

I could not help remarking of Barker that lime had
suddenly ceased to tell on him, and that he seemed to be
growing younger ; for all the distressed lines of care had
disappeared from his face, and his eyes were brighter, and
smiles were no longer strangers to him. His old habit of
casting quick glances in every direction, as if always
expecting the sudden arrival of a dreaded visitor, was no
longer a characteristic ; it had disappeared entirely, and
instead he was quiet in his manner, and apparently quite
at his ease. When I had known him in my boyhood, there
were times when I feared him ; when I expected him to
break out in a violent temper, and, declaring that he was
tired of a lawful existence, murder Jo and me with a
volley from all his brass pistols at once, and set out to
join his old companions, but now there was a serenity on
his face which betokened peace and quiet content. He
had no ambition beyond the happiness of his child and a
quiet life at the mill, and as he had means in abundance,
he had little to disturb and annoy him.

I did not have long to talk with him, as my visit was
hurried, but he told me during the time that he was
worried about Jo, and that if at any time I concluded
that he needed his aid — I was with him more, and apt to
know should that emergency arise — I had only to com-

316 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

mand him, no difference what the service was. I think
he imagined the trouble was in some way connected with
money, for he said repeatedly that he was now easy in
that particular, and ready to assist his friends. When I
told him it was not that, he was very much concerned,
although he did not inquire further, and afterwards
became grave and thoughtful in thinking about it.

In returning from this visit to Barker's — it was in mid
winter, a short time after the holidays — I was very much
surprised to meet Jo Erring walking toward me in the road,
apparently on his way to the mill. He stopped before I
came up with him, as if considering whether he should
go on, or back with me, and, settling it as I drove up, he
stepped into the buggy and sat down beside me.

Although the day was cold, he said as we drove along
that he had been walking through the woods to amuse
himself, and was not going anywhere. I remember him
particularly on this afternoon because he declared that he
would not mention his trouble to me again, as even I must
have concluded that he was in the wrong. I replied in such
k way as to confirm him in this belief — through hesitancy
in framing my answer, it must have been, for I did not
mean to — and this hurt him so much that he looked away
to hide his tears. I assured him that I never questioned
his manliness in the matter, and only thought of it to
pity him, but he would only say that he was about con
vinced himself that he was wrong, although he could not
help it; he could not keep his thoughts off his humiliating
marriage, and there was nothing left him but disgrace and
ruin.

As I looked at him I became more than ever aware of
his haggard, desperate appearance ; of his nervous twitch
ing, and the quick and excited way in which he did
everything. He had formerly been very neat in his

BRAGG APPEARS AGAIN. 317

dress, but he was now careless in this regard, and instead
of sitting upright beside me, he wobbled about, and
seemed to be un jointed as well as uncomfortable. No
position was easy for him, and at times he acted like a
drunken man. He started several times to say something
in justification of himself, but before he had fairly begun
the sentence, he gave it up, and leaned back in his seat
again, convinced that it was a waste of time to talk
further about it, or remembering that he had resolved to
say less in future. Perhaps he had thought so much over
his trouble that his brain was tired, and it was painful to
speak. Although he had previously been a robust man,
he had grown pale and thin, and there were indications of
fever in his face, though when I put the question to him,
he said he was as well as usual.

When we came in sight of his house — we were on the
other side of the creek, opposite the mill — I was sur
prised to find Clinton Bragg's buggy hitched at the gate.
At that time Jo was looking down at his feet, so that he
did not see it, and I thought to turn around, and drive
another away, but my unusual action attracted his notice,
and he quickly raised his head. I shall never forget the
look of indignation and horror which appeared on his face
when he looked up, and, taking a second glance, he sprang
out of the buggy, and ran toward the dam. I knew his
intention was to cross it, and though it was a dangerous
undertaking, he jumped the gaps in it like a desperate
animal after prey.

The ford was a short distance below, but before I
reached it, I saw him climbing the abrupt bluff on the
other side, helping himself by grasping the underbrush,
and slipping and falling on the frozen ground. I turned
the corner of the mill at this moment, and drove into the
ford, and when I came up to the house, Jo had disap-

318 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

peared on the inside. Hurriedly hitching the team, I
almost ran into the house, fearing there would be murder
done, but when I opened the door, and stepped in, I found
them all in the front room — Clinton Bragg, pale and
trembling, near the door ; Jo, on the opposite side of the
room, in a great state of excitement, and Mateel between
them. I had never seen her assert herself before, and it
awed her angry husband into submission. There was a
look of dignity in her face, and her eyes flashed as I had
never seen them. I could see she had been talking ex
citedly, and she continued after looking up as I came in : —

" You have insulted my womanhood by this action, and
cast suspicion on my honor," she said, trembling violently.
" The gentleman drove up but a moment ago on a trifling
errand from my mother, and I could do nothing else than
admit him. He sat down by the fire to warm, when you
came bounding in like a jealous demon whose worst sus
picions had been confirmed, and would have killed him
had I not thrown myself in the way. You have given
him reason to believe that you doubted my honor ; every
one who hears of this disgraceful proceeding will have
the same opinion. You have wronged me in the most
Lcruel manner, and I can no longer remain silent. In
justice to myself as your wife I protest, and demand that
you save me from disgrace by allowing him to depart in
peace."

She was magnificent in her indignation, and Jo cowered
before her, though there was so much hatred in his face
that he looked like an animal.

" I shall ask him in your presence to take me back to
my mother," Mated went on to say, watching her hus
band narrowly, as if fearing that he would spring at Clin
ton Bragg at the suggestion, " to remain there until you
come to me, and acknowledge that you were wrong." I

MATEEL INDIGNANT. 319

felt sick and faint when she said it, for I believed that if
she went away with Bragg she would never come back.
" When you come to yourself you will respect me for it.
T have allowed you so much liberty in the past that I
feel that I must do this to vindicate your wife ; to redeem
her from the stain your disordered fancy has put upon
her."

She swept past me and up the stairs to her room to
prepare for the journey, and like a cowardly dog Bragg
crept out behind her, and on out to the front gate, where
he shivered and waited in the cold.

Her determination so impressed me as a mistaken one
that I would have .followed her up the stairs, and begged
her to think again before taking the step, but Jo made a
mute appeal to me to remain where I was, which I reluc
tantly did. Falling into a chair which stood near him, he
raised his head occasionally to listen as his wife went about
the room above where we sat, collecting a few articles into
a package ; when she stopped a moment he listened more
eagerly than before, hoping, I have no doubt, that she was
debating in her own mind whether her determination
was not rash and hasty ; he followed her footsteps as they
came part way down the stairs ; he followed them back
into the room again, where she went as if something had
been forgotten, and down the stairs until she paused
timidly at the door, and as she pushed it open and came
in he shuddered to see that she was dressed for the ride.
I think he never doubted that she would come back, and
say she had given it up, but when he saw that her deter
mination continued he buried his face in his hands, and
leaned his head on the back of the chair on which he sat.

I could see that Mateel had been weeping while out of
the room, and that it was with great effort she maintained

3-0 THE STOKY OF A COUNTEY TOWN.

her composure. She stood near the door, buttoning her
gloves, and spoke to me as much as to Jo : —

" I hope that what I am about to do is for the best ; if
it were not I am sure that God would not permit me to
go away. Surely in His wisdom He would guide me dif
ferently if my action threatens to make us more unhappy
than we have been."

She had finished putting on her gloves, and there was
no further excuse for her to stay, but she remained, and
trembled and hesitated.

"He has imagined so much," she was talking to me
now, " that if I allow this to go unrebuked he will be
confirmed in his unjust suspicions. I feel that if I do
this it will be better for my husband, better for myself,
and for all of us. I have heretofore said nothing
submitting to a great many indignities which his changed
disposition implied; but he has grown unhappier every
day. It cannot be wrong if I ask that he respect my
womanhood as I have always respected his manhood. I
have felt that I have pursued a wrong course from the
first ; at this late day I attempt reparation, though it al
most kills me to do it."

She had advanced a step or two toward her husband,
and as he made no reply to what she said, she seemed
anxious to justify her course still further, and continued,
this time talking to both of us : —

" If I have failed to be an acceptable wife, it was be
cause my husband's unhappiness distressed me so much that
I was unable to accomplish all that my heart suggested.
I have thought of this so much that rny health has become
impaired, and I have lost the power to act. I was a weak
and puny girl ; I fear I am a weaker woman, and if I
seem to have been helpless in the sorrow which has come
upon our house, it was because I was dumb at the enor-

THE SEPARATION. 321

inity of it. I tried in my weak way to explain it and
effect a reconciliation, but he told me that everything I
said made it worse. I could do nothing then but bear
the burden bravely. He asked me as a favor to let him
alone ; as an obedient wife I did the best I could, hoping
all the time that he would recall his cruel request. I have
not dared to express my regret at his unhappiness, fear
ing he would not like it, and God is my witness that it is
not my fault that we have lived as strangers so long."

As I paid respectful attention, and her husband none
at all, — his face was turned from her, — she addressed
herself to me again : —

" I hope it will be always understood that I am taking
this step not in anger, but because I feel that I must do
something. I cannot live as I have been living, and self-
preservation suggests action of some kind. Perhaps what
I am doing is not wise, but I can think of nothing else. I
fyave always felt that I should have been more indepen
dent, and asserted myself more. I hope he will under
stand, and respect my determination."

Although I felt that I ought to interfere, I knew it was
useless and idle, and perhaps would offend them both, so
I held my peace.

" If he will ask me to remain," she was losing her dig
nity and composure very rapidly, and when I realized how
pale and weak she was I wondered she had held up so
long, " I will reconsider ; or I will ask you to take me
home, instead of Clinton Bragg, if he desires it. I will
do anything he wishes."

Not a word, Jo ? Will you refuse your trembling wife
advice when she asks it, and then hold her responsible if
she adopts the wrong course ?

When Jo did not reply, Mateel seemed to think that
there was nothing left for her to do but to go, and never

322 THE STOEY OF A COUNTRY TOWX.

come back ; and walking over to him, she said in a voice
which has since remained a sob in my memory : —

" Won't you bid me good-by ? "

He remained still and motionless, as before.

Falling on her knees before him, and holding her hands
out to him imploringly, she repeated the request, but he
did not move or speak, and after waiting a moment, Ma-
teel rose to her feet in a dazed sort of way, and, staggering
toward the door, went out into the hall and down the
steps, without once looking back. When he heard the
door close upon her, Jo ran to the window, and as he
looked out his breathing was short and quick. Standing
beside him, I saw that a snow-storm was commencing,
and that the day was far advanced. Bragg helped Ma-
teel into the buggy with an insolent sort of politeness, and,
seating himself beside her, drove away.

After they had passed down the hill which led to the
ford, Jo sprang nimbly up to the sill of the window, and
eagerly watched them. As soon as they passed out of
sight from that position, he jumped down, and ran up the
stairs, and when I followed, I found him standing in the
window in Mateel's room, peering after his rapidly de
parting wife. As they drove out of the ford, and into
the edge of the woods, they were for a moment in full
view, but, turning directly away, were soon lost in the
gathering twilight. Hoping that a turn in the road, or an
opening in the timber, would reveal them again, he re
mained watching for several minutes, jumping down, and
running hurriedly from window to window. When he
was at last certain that they had finally gone, he got
down slowly from his perch, and, throwing himself on
jhe bed, wept and sobbed aloud.

Knowing that I could not leave him, and that I was ex
pected at home, I went down to the mill, and asked the

HOPELESS SORKtTW. 323

assistant to drive to town and inform my mother that Jo
was ill, and that I should not return till morning. This
he readily agreed to do and was soon on the way.

Returning to the house, I soon had the lamps lighted,
and the fires burning, and went up stairs to where Jo still
lay motionless on the bed. He had not changed his posi
tion, although he was no longer sobbing except at long
intervals, like a child recovering from a protracted period
of weeping. I now noticed for the first time that he was
much like my mother in his sullen grief, for a hundred
times I had sat beside her bed for hours when she was
depressed, asking her to speak to me, but while she
seemed to appreciate my thoughtfulness in remaining
with her, she would never answer, but tossed about from
side to side, always avoiding my eyes. I repeatedly asked
him if there was anything I could do, but he would not
reply, and at last covered his head, as if he would hide
his sorrow from me. Out of consideration for him, I
removed the light to another room, and, returning, sat
down in the darkness by his side.

An hour passed, and then another, and still another, and
nothing could be heard but the ticking of the clock, and
the occasional sighs of the unhappy man on the bed, which
became so painful to me that I began to watch for and
dread them, and wonder whether the most pitiful thing in
the world was not a strong man weeping. I have since
heard my own children sob in their sleep as Jo Erring did
that night, and felt again how wretched I was as I sat
there waiting for him to speak.

When it was time for the man to return from town, I
began to listen for the first noise of his approach, until at
last, becoming nervous that he delayed so long, I went
down to the front door, and out to the gate to look down
the road, when I found that the snow was falling in

324 THE STORY Otf A COUNTRY TOWN.

earnest, threatening a great storm. Another hour passed,
and at last I heard the sound of wheels. Hurrying down
to the gate, I received from the hands of the assistant a
note, and when I went back to the light, I was alarmed to
find that it was from a neighbor of ours, and to the effect
that my mother was dangerously ill, and that my coming
should not be delayed. I went into Jo's room, and told
him of it, hoping he would propose to go to town with
me, but as he paid no attention, I left the note on the
table beside him, and hurried away.

The horses were jaded from the long day's work, but I
urged them along the rough roads at a rapid pace. Every
bush had grown into a white-robed phantom, and I im
agined that one of them was my father, pleading to be
taken up, and hurried to the end of his long journey;
that another was my mother come out to meet me, dis
tressed at my long delay; in still another I could see
a resemblance to Jo as I left him lying on the bed, except
that the drapery of white covered everything. I saw
Mateel kneeling at a tomb in which I thought must be
buried her hope, and so many mounds took the shape of
graves that I mercilessly lashed the horses, and it was but
an hour after midnight when the lights of Twin Mounds
began to appear. When I came into the town, the houses
seemed to be great monuments of white, as though the
people had said their prayers and died when the snow
came, and down the street I could see the light which was
always shining for one who never came.

When I hurried into the house I saw that my mother's
room was full of pitying faces, and that the people made
way for rne as I approached the pale form on the bed. I
was so frightened that I could do nothing but kneel down,
and burst into tears, and while I knelt thus I knew that
my mother's hand was placed lovingly on my head.

THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW. 325

When I recovered sufficient composure to look at her, I
saw that she was lying precisely as I had left j o ; her
arms thrown out carelessly on either side, and there were
tears in her eyes, and a look of inexpressible grief on her
face. Occasionally she took a long breath, and sobbed, as
her brother had done, and she turned her head away from
me, as he had done, but not until I saw that there was
blood on her lips, when it was softly explained in answer
to my look of alarm that she had had a haemorrhage. I
tried to make myself believe that it was but an attack
which would soon be over, but the people who were
gathered about were so serious that my tears came afresh,
and I could do nothing but hope.

She had turned her face away from me, and remained
in that position so long that it was suggested that perhaps
she was asleep. Some one went softly around to that
side of the room to see her face, and looking at the others
in quick alarm, they came crowding around the bed : the
patient watcher was dead.

Let the bleak winds take up the cry of the unhappy son,
and carry it across rivers and fields to the wanderer, that
he need not return ; that the light in the window has gone
out, and that the watcher who waited so long to forgive
him is dead. Let them look for him in all the places
where hunted men hide, and deliver the message that a
pitying angel came, and, taking the light which offered
forgiveness and peace so long, planted it in the heavens,
where it will remain forever, a pitying star, offering mercy
to all men who are weary and in distress.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

TOO LATE.

fall of snow continued through the night, and
during the following day, and there was grave doubt
whether those who had been sent for could arrive in time
for the funeral, for great drifts had collected in the roads,
and it was very cold. The people who came in talked
more of the weather than of the dead, and it was whis
pered among them that such a storm had never been known
before in the history of the country. A man who had
been out to dig the grave came in and whispered to his wife
that the ground was frozen to a wonderful depth, and that
those who were helping him could only work a few min
utes at a time, and that the grave filled up with drifting
snow almost as fast as they could throw it out.

This was on the afternoon of the next day, and as the
evening wore on, lights were brought into the room where
I sat. One by one the people who were at the house went
away, leaving only those who were to watch through the
night, and as each one went out, they remarked the sev
erity of the weather, and shuddered and shivered before
stepping out into the drifting snow. I believe I felt a
Velief when they were gone, for I desired to be alone. I
j hoped I was not ungrateful for their kindness, but the at
tentions the people showed me were almost annoying, and
frequently during the day I left them, and repaired to one
of the lonely upper rooms, where I tried to sleep, but I
could only think of my mother lying cold and dead ; of
326

DEATH IK THE HOUSE. 327

Jo in his lonely home, and of the mountain of snow which
seemed to be covering up all hope of happiness for any
of us.

My mother lay in the front room, which was almost as
cold and cheerless as the outside, for when the watchers
went in to see that all was right, which they did by turns,
they wore heavy coverings, and shuddered, and came out
again as soon as they could. A wide hall ran between
that room and the one in which I sat, and straight down
the hall was that part of the house where the watchers
dozed by turns, and talked in low voices, which only
came to me when the doors were opened.

As the night wore away the storm increased with every
hour, and feeling that my mother was in a cheerless and
lonely place, I got up and opened the door leading into
the hall, and that which led into the room where the plain
black coffin stood. As I went back I noticed that heavy
blankets had been thrown at the foot of the front door, to
keep out the drifting snow and keen winds, but in spite
of them the snow had crept in, and was lying about in
little drifts, which impressed me more than ever with the
severity of the storm on the outside. Going into the room
where the watchers were, I found them all asleep, though
they wakened with an apology as I opened the door.

Knowing that they were all tired and worn out, I told
them to sleep if they could, and that I would watch until
midnight, when I would call them if I tired of the under?
taking. Going back to my own room — the one in which
my mother had sat, and where the light was always kept
burning — I stirred the fire and sat down again. I glanced
up at the clock to see what the hour was, but the pendu
lum was still, and then I remembered that it had been
stopped when my mother died, for the first time within
my recollection.

328 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

I must have fallen into a light sleep, and slept for
some time, for, when I started up, the fire was low,
although I had left it burning brightly. Something, I
could not tell what, had disturbed me, and I hastened into
the other room to see that all was well. Everything re
mained as I had left it, and coming back I sat down to
listen for the noise again. After listening: for a time,

O O

without really expecting to hear anything, I was startled
by a timid rapping at the front door. It frightened me
so that I thought of calling the watchers, but finally de
termined to open the door myself, thinking it might be
some of those who had been sent for. Going out and

O

opening the door a little way, I saw that a strange man,
wrapped up in mufflers and furs, was standing at the gate,
as if lie had despaired of an answer to his knock and was
going away. After a moment of hesitation, he walked to
wards me, and I was almost tempted to shut and lock the
door in his face, for I did not know him. He seemed to
recognize me, however, for he walked into th6 house, and,
passing me, sat down at the fire I had left, where he shivered
and trembled so much that I thought he must be a belated

O

traveller attracted by the friendly light, which was, per
haps the only one in the town.

As I stepped behind him to stir the fire, and looked at
him curiously, I became aware that it was my father. His
beard was gray, and his face wrapped for walking in the
storm, but I knew him. The wanderer had returned at
last, but too late ! He continued to shiver and tremble,
the result of agitation and the extreme cold through which
he had come, and sat for a long time trying to warm him
self, while I walked up and down the room in nervous
agitation.

After stirring the fire, I closed the door leading into
the hall, and stood by his side, and when he removed the

THE WANDERER'S RETURN. 329

wrappings from his neck and face, and looked curiously
/about, I saw that he was poorly clad, and that he was old
. and broken. He was timid in his manner, and looked at
me as though he expected I would denounce him, and
drive him out of the house, and when he moved, it was
with difficulty, from which I thought he had walked a
long distance. His shoes were wrapped in coarse bag
ging, which was tied to his feet with cords, and when he
held out his hands to warm them, I saw that they were
bruised and cracked, and I was sure he had been working
as a laborer during his long absence.

" It is after midnight," he said at length, in a hesitating
voice, as though he were afraid to speak. " Why are
you here alone ? "

Then he did not know! He had come back, as my
mother always thought he would, at night, repentant and
bid, to ask forgiveness, but the one who could forgive
pirn was dead. I did not know what to say or do, and
walked up and down the room thinking how to answer.
He followed my movements curiously for a time, and
then suddenly cowered down into his chair again, as if to
meditate over one of the old problems. While I was
wondering how to break the news to him, he turned
toward me, and said : —

" I saw the lights in the front room as I came up, but
hoped it was a sign of welcome rather than of death ; but
I know now why you are alone. You need not explain."

The tears came into his eyes, but he tried to brush
them away with his rough sleeve, as though he were a
child and had been warned not to cry. I think he real
ized in a moment, while wondering why I was so much
agitated, that she was dead, though he had cheerfully
imagined, when approaching the house, that the lower
rooms were lit up on purpose to receive him.

330 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

"She died this morning just after midnight," I said to
him, corning over to his side, and placing my hand on his
shoulder, "but I know she always believed you would
come back. She sat in this room every night waiting,
and her last words were a blessing on your name."

He did not look up, but I thought this assurance
cheered him, though he remained motionless so long that
I think he must have reviewed his entire life, from his
boyhood in the backwoods to his manhood on the prairie,
where the forbidden processions were always passing, and
from his career in Twin Mounds through all his hard
wanderings as an outcast; a long record of discontent,
sorrow, and disgrace, with nothing to excuse it save the
natural unrest with which his life had been beset like a
hell. Inexplicable and monstrous as it was, I knew it
was real, and that a devil had possession of him for whose
acts he was unjustly held accountable. A hundred times
since then I have thought of John Westlock as a worthy
man driven by a fiend with whip and lash, always sullenly
protesting, but never able to resist the evil which was
bred against his nature, and against which he had strug
gled all his life.

I tried to decide in my own mind, as he was thinking,
whether I knew him any better, and whether I was less
afraid of him now than the day he went away, but I
could not help concluding that he was the same myste
rious man he had always been.

" If you will let me, I should like to look at her," he
said, when he looked up again, in the voice of a suppliant
asking a favor of a nard master, and so unlike him that I
shuddered to think of the sorrow necessary to make such
a change in a man of his disposition.

I was very anxious that the watchers should not see
him; I don't know why, because his arrival and presence

TARDY REPENTANCE. 381

would certainly be known in all the town in the early
morning, but I knew they would only look upon him with
inward reproaches. From this I was anxious to shield
him, and, carefully going to their door, I found they slept.
I then went into the room where the coffin was, to re
move the lid, which had been shut down, from the face.
I was thankful that the face wore a pleasanter smile than
I had ever seen it wear in life, and, placing the light where
it fell directly upon it, I returned to where he sat, and
motioned him to follow. He got up from his chair with
difficulty, and, staggering after me, hesitated before enter
ing the room, but at last he followed me in timidly, and
after looking at the face for a moment, fell on bis knees
before the coffin, and sobbed aloud. His grief was so
great that I feared the watchers would hear him, and
waken, but, determined that he should be left alone with
the dead, I stood at the door to keep them back should
they attempt to come out. But they slept on, and when
I went into the room again, he was still on his knees, his
hands covering his face as it rested on the coffin, and I
thought he was praying. I had often bitterly denounced
him in my own mind for the unhappiness he had brought
i upon our house, and for the misfortunes he had founded,
*but I forgave him from my heart as I saw his gray head
bowed in repentance over the dead body of the principal
- sufferer ; nor did I regard it as a kindness to him, but as
an act of justice to an unfortunate man. I accepted his
misery as his excuse, and forgave him, as I hope that I
shall be forgiven.

When he was aroused by my touch on his shoulder, I
led him gently away, and we returned to the room we
had left. H_re he hugged the fire again, as if he were
still cold, and sat without speaking so long that I thought
he was trying to solve the hardest problem of his life.

832 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

"It was I who made the mistake," he said finally,
without changing his position, and as though we had been
saying that some one had made a mistake. "She was
always patient, but I was dissatisfied and restless. I
thought that if I were married to a flashy, ambitious
woman, nothing would be impossible; but I know no w
that her quiet patience and content were rare jewels
which I spurned arid neglected. I confess to you now
that I was wrong, and that she was right."

He seemed never to have confessed this to himself be
fore, and repeated it, so there could be no mistake.

" I thought I was more a man than I really was, and
that there was nothing I could not do, but I have found "
— he looked at his rough clothes as if I could judge by
them that he had had a hard struggle in finding it out —
" I have found that I could not rid my mind of unrest for
committing a wrong. During all the years I have been
away I have carried a heavy cross, and worn a crown of
thorns on my forehead, in repentance, but s:nce she is
dead, and I cannot ask her to forgive me, I must continue
to travel the long road, and carry my burden. She could
have lightened it, but she is dead, and I must carry it on
and on until I fall exhausted into my dishonored grave."

I could not help thinking he would not be long com
pelled to carry his heavy cross, for now that the hope
of finding his wife alive had left him, he was weak and
trembling.

" Had I found her alive and well to-night," he contin-
uued, " and waiting to forgive me, I might have consented
to remain here, and hide away where no one except my
injured wife and son could see me, but as it is now, I will
go out into the world again, before it is known that I
returned at all, so that the charitable may think of me as
dead."

CONFESSION. 333

I realized in a moment, without having had a thought of it
before, that he would go away again, and hide from his
accusers in Twin Mounds, but before I could protest he
went on speaking, as if in a hurry to finish : —

" Of my history since I went away it is only necessary
for you to know that I lived alone after the first three
months, and worked hard that I might forget, but I could
not, and within the last few years I have been travelling
this way a little distance every month, and I only com
pleted my long journey to-night. Of my companion —
she is no longer my companion, nor has she been for years
— I will only say she is as unhappy as I am. We sepa
rated within three months, and the first oath that ever
passed my lips was a curse for her. We hated each other
within a week, each blaming the other for the mistake,
"and I know no more of her now than she knows of me."

A suggestion of his old spirit returned while he was
talking of B., and there was the old scowl upon his face,
but it disappeared when he mentioned my mother again.

" Before I go I want to say that I was wrong ; that I
am repentant, and that my last breath will be spent in
supplicating mercy for my crime against your mother. I
was always a man of few words, and my heart was always
stubborn, and I cannot make more of a confession than
this. She was a good woman, and I was a bad man, and
while she was brave and noble, and always true, I was
everything I should not have been."

I could make no reply, though he looked at me as if ex
pecting one.

" It may be of profit to you, who are young, to know
that I have been punished for my offence. If I have had
a moment's peace since I went away ; if I have had an
hour's sound and refreshing sleep ; if I have not been in
hell all the while, may God strike me dead : Day and

334 THE STOEY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

night, night and day, always, everywhere, my crime
has taken the shape of a demon, and taunted me ; I have
not looked into a book that I did not find accusing words
staring at me; I have not heard a sound which did not
mock me, and wherever I have gone I have heard the peo
ple telling what should be done with a man who ran away
from his wife. If I avoided them they hunted me up, and
told of a patient wife who was mourning for her runaway
husband ; God, the world seems to be full of such cases !
However secretly I moved from place to place I met peo
ple who seemed to say : 'There he goes; there he goes;
a man who has run away from his wife. Hate him ; beat
him ; he is a coward ; he is dangerous.' If I went into a
church, the minister seemed to point at rne and say : ' Put
that man out ; he has disgraced us. Put him out, I say,
and hurry him from this honorable neighborhood. He is
the man who has brought reproach on the church ; put him
out ; put him out.' If I slept out in the fields to avoid
them, the wind always blew from the direction of Twin
Mounds, and there were moans in it which came from this
house. The very cattle ran away from me, as if to say :
'He has been unjust to a woman; he will probably kill
us ; get up there, all of you, and run for your lives.' This
is the life I have led, and which I have deserved. It is
^he price of discontent ; if you have a trace of it in your
nature, root it out ! Be contented, though it kills you ! "

He said this in great excitement, and, getting up, began
slowly to wrap the comforter about his neck, and knowing
his determined nature I felt that it would be impossible
for me to persuade him to stay. Never in my life had I
offered him a suggestion, and even in his present broken
condition I was afraid of him.

" You probably remember," he said, pausing in the pro
cess of wrapping himself up, " that every year since I have

FATHER AND SON. 835

been away a stranger has sent you money for your paper ;
first from one place and then from another. That stranger
was your father, so that I know what a good son you have
been, and how hard you have worked to support your
mother, wrho was so cruelly neglected by me. I am satis
fied that you have conducted my affairs with good judg
ment, and that I have been missed but little."

He got up at this and began to button his great-coat
about him, and to wrap his scarf around his neck and
head.

"Whether it is your judgment that I should or should
not, I am going aw^ay again, and will never come back.
I am not wanted here, though I see you would insist on
my staying, but it is useless. I have made up my mind."

I had stepped before him, but he pushed me aside, and
walked toward the door.

" Listen to me a moment," I said, taking hold of him.
" You are poor and old ; I am young, and have ready
money. If you will not remain here, as Heaven knows I
desire you should, take it with you. I have no one to care
for now, and you need it. I will ask it on my knees if it
will move you. It is all yours, and I shall feel guilty all
my life if you refuse this request, fearing you are poor and
in need of it."

" Rather than that," he answered, " I would live again

in this town, where every man is my enemy and accuser.

No, I will take none of the money ; my needs are few and

.easily satisfied. But if you will grant me your forgive-

{ ness " — there was more tenderness in his voice as he said

Ut than I had ever heard before — "I will take that."

I answered that he had suffered enough, and that I had
already forgiven him ; that we all had, and that we had
long been sure that he had repented of his one fault.

" There are but few of us who have to answer for but

336 THE STOEY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

one fault," I said. " I know nothing to your discredit ex
cept this one mistake."

He stood by this time near the door, with his hand on
the latch, and, simply saying good-by, he opened it, and
went out into the storm.

Determined to make one more effort to induce him to
remain at home, I ran bareheaded into the street after
him, floundering in the snow almost waist deep as I went,
but he was already a considerable distance ahead of me,
walking with long strides, and looking straight ahead.
The louder I called to him the faster he walked, and after
following him almost to where the stores and the square
began, he turned the corner, and disappeared forever.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE SKELETON AGAIX.

A LTHOUGH Jo came to Twin Mounds the day after
-£jk- my mother's burial, and a few times during the win
ter, I did not visit him for several months, for I dreaded
to go into his house and find him alone in it. I Loped
that Mateel would come back, and that their separation
would cause them to be happier than they had been, but
as Jo ceased his visits to town because I did not return
them, at last I could do nothing else.

Another sorrow had been lately added to his life ; the
messenger who had been sent into the lower country to
inform Gran Erring of her daughter's death returned a
few days later with the information that my grandmother
and grandfather were both dead. We had been so taken up
with our own affairs of late that we had scarcely thought
of them, as often we did not hear for a year at a time how
they fared ; and Jo felt that he had neglected them, al
though he knew they were never in need, for regularly
every quarter he sent them an amount of money amply
sufficient for their small necessities, which was partly in
payment for the mill site, and according to agreement,
though he had long since paid more than the place was
worth. My grandfather had a relative in the lower coun
try, — whether it was a brother, a sister, or an uncle, I
never knew, nor do I know yet, our family relations were
always so miserable, — and this relative, having probably
heard of our other distresses, never notified us of his death,

R5V7

338 THE STOIIY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

or that of his wife, which occurred a few months later. It
was very disgraceful, and I felt almost as much humilia-
ti 311 over it as Jo.

The house and mill looked so gray when I came in
sight of them that they reminded me of ghosts, although
it was more from neglect than age, for neither of them
was old, and there was a general air of decay everywhere
which said plainly enough that something was wrong.
The traveller who passed that way would have remarked
it ; he could not have known what it was, but he would
have felt certain that a disappointed man lived in the
house and carried on business in the mill. I have thought
that the trees shading the mill pond drooped their heads
in mortification at the history of the place, and certainly
the water was quiet and subdued, like the master, except
when it dashed into the race and after a furious onslaught
on its old enemy, the wheel, fell exhausted into the peace
ful river below.

I came upon the place late in the afternoon, at least
half a year after Mateel wrent away, and seeing customers
about the mill I went down there to find the proprietor,
but the assistant was working alone, and said that Jo was
probably up at the house. Going in there and failing to
find him in the lower rooms, I went up the stairs, where
I found him asleep in his room, but the noise of my foot
steps awakened him. As he shook hands wyith me I could
not help thinking of the skeleton that kept him awake at
night, making it necessary for him to sleep during the
day, for he wras pale and haggard, and I am not certain
but that I looked around for the closet in which it was
kept.

The house was a very large one, and while he bathed
his face after his long sleep, I walked through the rooms,
which seemed so empty that the noise of my feet made

A LONELY MAN. 339

echoes as though a troop were following me. When I
went into Mateel's room, where I had left Jo sobbing on
the bed on the dreadful night when his wife went away, I
found it ready for her reception, as though she were ex
pected to arrive at any time. The woman who kept the
house, and who lived so near that she went home every
night, had thrown all her woman's ingenuity into making
the room tasteful and pretty, as a compliment to her
wretched employer, and it was aired and dusted as regu
larly as though it had been regularly occupied. All the
articles of ornament and comfort prepared by Mateel
while she had lived there were in their accustomed
places, and her picture, which had been taken shortly
after her marriage, had been made gay by the kind-
hearted housekeeper in a pretty frame for the pleasure
of the master, should he ever come in to look at it. There
were seven or eight rooms besides this one, and I thought
that a man in the best of spirits would have been lonely
to stay there without companions.

When Jo joined me in the hall we went down stairs to
supper, and after seeing that everything was at hand, the
housekeeper left for home to prepare her husband's sup
per, leaving us alone. On looking about I saw that Jo
had been adding articles of furniture during his wife's
absence, as if to surprise and please her when she should
/finally return ; and I have no doubt he was always cxpect-
ing she would come back to-morrow, that fateful day
which never arrives, though all of us expect so much of
it. I think he believed every time he went to sleep that
when he awakened she would be standing by his side,
and from the miller and the housekeeper I learned that
he turned quickly at every noise, expecting that it was
the step of his returning wife. He never told me, but I
believe that had she come back and said that she could

340 THE STORY OP A COUNTRY TOWN.

not live without him they would have been much hap
pier than they were before, and perhaps finished their
lives in peace together. His life alone in the great house
must have been a greater sorrow than his letter and the
skeleton, and I think he would have consented to forget
a great deal to avoid it.

He only mentioned his horror of the empty house at
night in general terms, but I have always been convinced
that his greatest trial was his loneliness, and that he
would have closed the place and left it but for the hope
that Mateel would surely come to-morrow ; not as a
humble suppliant, but as his wife, with a request that she
be allowed to occupy her old place in the house, if not in
,his heart. Had Mateel opened the right door to his
/ heart she would have found such a wealth of love and
I consideration there that she would never have ceased
[ trying to reclaim it, for his love for her was so great that
he could not have resisted the smallest effort. I do not
remember that I thought this until I went to his house a
half year after the separation, but I firmly believed it
then, and I believe it yet. Perhaps I shall be better
understood if I explain that while Jo was frequently at
fault before the separation, six months of loneliness had
wrought a great change in him, and he was willing to
admit that his estimate of women was too high ; that they
Were weak like himself, and that he was to blame for hav
ing made a serious matter of love. In the early days of
his acquaintance with Mateel he had worshipped her as
an angel rather than admired her as a woman, but he was
now ready to give up his idol, and forgive her faults as
she forgave his. He had regarded his marriage as a
piece of unusual good fortune, whereby he secured a per
fect being who would bring him only happiness in her
train, but the experience of a few years had taught him

THE SKELETON AGAIN. 341

/that it was only a ceremony pledging two persons to
^charity for the failings of each other.

Many times after that I got up from my bed at night,
after thinking about it, determined to go to Mateel, and
tell her of my conviction, but upon consideration would
conclude that she must know it, and that she did not
desire a reconciliation. Although there was always an
unspoken hope that such was not the case, Jo probably
took this view of it — that she preferred to live without
him. Perhaps I had better say that he did not ask her to
come back f ^or_f.eax_ol_the. ..humiliating . reply.. that she did
not care to come, for he was always in doubt with refer
ence to her.

When there was occasion Jo ran the mill at night, pre
ferring to be there at work than alone in the house, and
he was seldom in the mill at any other time, trusting his
business almost entirely to his assistant, who, fortunately,
was capable of managing it with Jo's advice. He told
me after we had finished an early supper that he was to
take charge at seven o'clock, and when that hour arrived
we went down there and were soon alone. There was
little to do, except to see that everything was running
smoothly, and by the time Jo had made a general inspec
tion it was dark, and we were seated in the largest room
without a light, with nothing to disturb us except the sub
dued hum of the machinery, and the gentle fall of the
water.

" It is out of the friendliest curiosity that I ask, Jo," I
said to him in the course of the evening, "but have you
heard nothing from Mateel since she went away?"

" Not a word," he replied with a long sigh. " I have
not even seen any one who has spoken to her, unless it is
Bragg, who passes here regularly every day, going to the
Shepherds', and returning noisily at night. During the

342 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

six months she has been away, I have not even seen her
father, who formerly came to the mill quite frequently. I
Aiave about concluded that she is glad of the opportunity
*to be rid of me. I have always thought that she married
me as a penance, and that she was determined to be an excel
lent wife in every way except that she could not love me.
I think that sometimes she pitied my friendless condition,
and was kind to me for that reason, for she was always
that."

" But why do you not go to her," I asked, " and settle
these doubts ? "

" She went away," he replied, after thinking awhile,
" without cause, and if she cared to prevent a separation,
she would come back. It was an insult to me to allow
that fellow to come into my house, and I only expected
that she would tell him so. I did not doubt her womanly
integrity, as she said ; I only felt she wronged me in per
mitting him to annoy me. It would have been an easy
thing for her to have said to him that his presence there
was presumptuous and annoying to me, but instead she
invited him in, and I suppose treated him civilly. I know she
did this entirely out of considerations of politeness, but I re
gret that she did not have more consideration for me. I did
wrong to run into the house with the intention of murdering
him ; I know I should have greeted him pleasantly, and
made him believe that I cared nothing for him, but he
had pursued me so long, and with so little reason, that his
impudence caused me to lose all control. When she went
away with him I took an oath that I would never think of
her again ; that should she come back to me on ric.' knees,
/I would curse her, but I am so lonely that I should almost
welcome her if she came to taunt me. I have not closed
my eyes in natural sleep since she went away, and with
the darkness come troops of faces to peer at me through

AFFECTION VERSUS DISTRUST. 343

the night. However bright I make the house, there are
always dark corners, and the phantoms hide in them to
attack me when the light is out. If I wonder whether
she be gay or sad, I always conclude — I can't tell why —
that she is quite content, and in the roar of the water I
can hear her gay laughter ; not as I ever heard her, but
as Bragg heard her laugh when she was his young
and pretty lover. In the rumbling of the wheels down
below, when I sit here alone at night, I can distinguish
the voices of them all ; even Bragg is good humored, and
Mrs. Shepherd, her husband, and Mateel seem to be
mocking me with their merriment. Of course it is all
fancy, but it is so real to me that I listen to it breath
lessly, and sometimes it annoys me so much that I stop
the wheels."

He had formerly talked of the matter in a resentful tone,
but it was sorrowful now, as if he were convinced that he
gave himself a credit he did not deserve when he thought
she worried because he was unhappy.

"Frequently when there is nothing to occupy my at
tention all night," Jo said later in the evening, " I walk
through the woods, and steal up to her father's house, and
remain under her window until the approach of day
warns me to depart. I cannot say that I expect it, but I
always hope that she will divine my presence, and speak
to me, but the house is always dark, though I have heard
them walking on the inside."

His habit of being startled at every noise, and ner
vously looking about, was growing upon him, for when
some one appeared at the door, he went hastily into
another part of the mill, to avoid him. It was only the
miller come after something he had forgotten during the
day, but Jo would not come back until after he had gone,
not caring to see even him. In contrasting his present

344 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWX.

condition with his former manliness, I thought his suffer
ings must have been great to work such a change.

0 o o

" The people who come here," he said, in explanation of
his going away, " look at me as though I were a curiosity,
and I avoid them. Although no one has told me what they
say, I know what it is, and I do not care to meet them.
At first I thought not to mind it, but among them all I
did not find a single pitying face ; they were all against me,
and I determined to run from them and get out of their
way. I see no one now except you, and there is nothing
I dread so much as a pair of curious eyes, and a head
containing a brain which I know must be conjecturing
and wondering with reference to me."

O

1 tried to laugh away this notion, although I knew it
was well founded, but he paid little attention, and resumed
what he was saying when interrupted by the entrance of
the miller.

" When I light my lamp at night there are insects which
seem to have a fatal fascination for the flame, and hover
.around it until they are wounded or killed. I am a good
Ideal like them ; I cannot give up Mateel, who is the cause
of all my unhappiness, although I have every reason to
believe that she does not even care for me. I hover about
her as the insects hover about my lamp, and sooner or
later I shall fall into the flame. I cannot help thinking
now that she never kissed me voluntarily in her life. She
has kissed me, of course, but it was only because she had
heard that good wives — one of which she desired to be
— showed that mark of affection for their husbands, but
it was mechanical, as was every other kindness she ever
showed me. I was not a hard critic when we were first
married, as I am now, and I noticed it then, and my
\ honest affection was frequently wounded because it was
Vjnecessary for me to do all the loving. I am not certain

DEBT. 345

that you understand what I mean ; she was a good wife
in every way except that it was an effort for her to love
me ; there was nothing natural about it, and I was never
satisfied."

I had noticed this peculiarity in his wife many times
myself, and wondered at it ; for he w^as a handsome man,
and sensible and considerate, and I was surprised that
Mateel was not very fond of him, as I was. If I ever ex
plained the matter to my own mind at all it was on thev
theory of Mr. Biggs, that the two people in a community j
the least suited to each other always got together and-'
married.

" When we were first married," he continued, " I was
greatly in debt, and very uncomfortable in consequence.
I could not sleep at night for worrying about it, and once
I told Mateel. She seemed very much concerned for a
few moments, but soon forgot it entirely, and for weeks
afterwards wondered why I was moody and silent. I
owed everybody, and invented hundreds of ways to avoid
the bills when they were due. I remember once I wrote
in a disguised hand to a man who wanted his pay, that
Mr. Erring was at present away collecting money, but
that he would no doubt soon return, and make satisfac
tory settlement. I also said I knew Mr. Erring very well,
and that although at present a little pushed, he was an
honest man, and would soon be all right. I signed " Jo
Erring " to the letter, with an L below it, intimating that
a party named Leepson, Lawson, or Liar was one of his
numerous clerks. At that time I made every mistake it
was possible for a man to make ; I knew absolutely noth
ing, and paid the highest tuition in the school of experi
ence. At night, although she knew I w^as distressed from
some cause, Mateel would lie down beside me, and after
inquiring what was the matter, go to sleep before I had

346 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

framed my answer. It was very absurd in me, but I fre
quently flounced around to waken her, that she might
know I was still unable to sleep."

This was so ridiculous, and so like Jo, that I was really
amused, though apparently he could not see why I should
be, for he looked up in surprise at my merriment.

"I have never doubted that Mateel was constantly try-
I ing to do that which was right, but her nature was such
| that, although I recognized that she was a good woman,J[
; was jaeger, contented. Perhaps this was wicked in me, but
I always did the best I could, though in my weakness I
was very often wrong. I despair of being able to explain
to any one exactly what I mean, and probably I shall
always seem to have been a ridiculous and unreasonable
man, though I can fully justify myself in protesting
against a life without hope. I only regret that Mateel is
not as much concerned as I am, for then there would be
a possibility of bridging the difficulty. When I think how
careful you are of my wishes, and how easily you please
me, I cannot help remembering how innocently Mateel
did that which was distasteful, though all the time I re-
^alized that she was upright and honest, and a better woman
'than I was a man. I can only say in excuse of my con
duct that the more contemptible I became in all other
eyes than yours and my own — I believe you would love
me even though I should commit murder — the more I
hoped Mateel would realize the necessity of hunting out
a remedy, and applying it, for I thought I would rather
die than live as wretchedly as I did, but matters have
grown steadily worse, and instead of understanding that
whatever I did was prompted by love for her, she seems
to believe that I am depraved and wicked. She had
great sympathy for everybody and everything except me,
and I have frequently found her weeping over a news-

AN UNREASONABLE MAN. 347

paper scrap when I was so much in need of her sympathy
that I almost asked it on my knees. She was always
thinking of the unfortunate birds, the unfortunate people,
or worrying over distress of some kind, but upon my honor
she never in her life, of her own motion, had any syin-)
pathy for my affairs. I was always robust, but occasionally
I regretted that she was not anxious about my health. I
never worked too hard, but I regretted she did not think
so, and remonstrate with me in such a way as to prove "
that she had an interest in me. Before we were married,
and when I was building the mill, I worked harder than
any man had ever before worked in Fairview, and really
became quite pale and wan, but she never mentioned it.
Although I was glad to do what I did for her, it would
have pleased me had she said I was a worthy man for it,
and encouraged me a little. I suppose she thought every
thing came to me naturally and easily, but it did not. Or
she may have thought that much that I did for her was
the work of the Lord. What makes me most miserable
of all, however, is tl^o f^rtnjnty that- Rh^ posspssps nil thf>
womrmly tPnrternessJLi&el the lack ef, but. I was not the_
brinJfc.jQ]it. It was the misfortune of both of

us.

I thought of what he had said about becoming a hard
critic, but he was criticising himself rather than his wife,
for he always gave me the impression that the trouble\
was his own failure to inspire her love and enthusiasm.)
I regarded this as an admission from his bleeding heart
that, had she married Clinton Bragg, there would have
been no cause for complaint.

" I often set about to make Mateel happy, and I always
accomplished it," my moody companion said at another
time. "I could tell it in her face, and in her pleasant
surprises, but although she has always said that she had

348 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

no other ambition in life than to make me contented, she
never succeeded in a single instance. I should have con
tinued this devotion to her happiness all my life had she
,been able to give me anything in return, but I grew tired
jbf always being considerate of others, while no one was
considerate of me. I hope I may say this without caus
ing a suspicion in your mind that I was contemptible, for
I should have been perfectly content had she anticipated
my wishes as you do, or as Agnes did for both of us when
we were boys. If I was enthusiastic over my small suc-
"N^esses, she did not share it with me, and made me feel
silly that I was so easily moved; everything she did
(although it was not intended, I am certain of that) was
an accusation that she was the right woman, though I was
the wrong man. I make these statements more in explana
tion of my own conduct, which seems inexplicable, than to
accuse her, for every one must be saying that I am wrong.
>^ " And while I have lacked the sympathy of my wife, I
I have also lacked the sympathy of the people. They say I
am too prosperous, although I have simply had an ambition
to be an honest and worthy man ; others might have been
equally prosperous had they denied themselves and worked
as hard as I have done. Many of the Fairview men are
I suspicious of those who use punctuation marks in their
I letters and spell their words correctly. They go a long
^•way around me to patronize my rival up the river, but
somehow he does not get along, for he is extravagant,
while I save and work hard that I may live in a house
like a man, instead of in a shed, like the cattle. The
vagrants who idle in the shadow of my buildings say that
, I am l lucky,' but they are incapable of understanding the
[work I do."

When the work we had set out to do was completed, it
was near midnight, but after shutting down, Jo showed

AGGRAVATION. 349

no disposition to return to the house, for I think he hated
it, and was seldom there at night. There were boats on
the mill pond, and I proposed a row. With his strong
arms at the oars, we were soon far up the stream, and
although I tried to rally him, he had little to say, except
to answer my questions.

Two miles above the mill there was a bend in the
river, and for a considerable distance I knew the road
leading to the Shepherds' skirted the stream, and before
we reached it I was certain we should find Clinton Bragg
travelling it. I became so impressed with the idea that I
suggested that we turn back, but with the strange fascina
tion which always pursued him, Jo said he needed exer
cise, and continued to pull at the oars.

As I feared, when we came to the point where the road
ran close to the river, Clinton Bragg appeared on horse
back, riding leisurely toward town. It was rather a dark
night, but we were so close to him that I could see that
while we had tried to avoid noticing his presence, he stared
insolently at us, and even slackened the speed of his horse.

Jo pretended not to see him, continuing to work at the
oars, but I could hear his hot, heavy breathing, and knew
that he was in great excitement. He had not been dis
posed to talk before, but I could get nothing out of him
after this, and, changing places with him, I pulled the boat
back to the mill in silence.

The next day was Sunday, and it happened that we saw
Bragg pass, going toward the Shepherds' in the morning,
and return at night, and Jo told me that it was always so ;
a day never passed of late that he did not come upon
him going or coming, and from his fierce manner when he
spoke of it I thought that if Bragg knew the danger he was
in, he would travel the other road, for there was another
one, which was several miles shorter.

CHAPTER XXX.

A LETTER FROM MR. BIGGS.

MY DEAR SIR, — Occasionally a gem occurs to me
which I am unable to favor you with because of late we are
not much together. Appreciating the keen delight with
which you have been kind enough to receive my philoso
phy, I take the liberty of sending herewith a number of
ideas which may please and benefit you, and which I have
divided into paragraphs with headings.

HAPPINESS.

I have observed that happiness and brains seldom go
together. The pin-headed woman who regards her thin-
witted husband as the greatest man in the world, is happy,
and much good may it do her. In such cases ignorance
is a positive blessing, for good sense would cause the
woman to realize her distressed condition. A man who
can think he is as " good as anybody " is happy. The fact
may be notorious that the man is not so " good as any
body" until he is as industrious, as educated, and as
refined as anybody, but he has not brains enough to know
^this, and, content with conceit, is happy. A man with a
i' brain large enough to understand mankind is always
wretched and ashamed of himself.

REPUTATION.

Reputation is not always desirable. The only thing I
have ever heard said in Twin Mounds concerning Smoky
Hill is that good hired girls may be had there.
350

THE SMOKY HILLS PH/LOSOPHER. 351

WOMEN.

1. Most women seem to love for no other reason than
that it is expected of them.

2. I know too much about women to honor them more
than they deserve; in fact I know all about them. I
visited a place once where doctors are made, and saw
them cut up one.

3. A woman loses her power when she allows a man to
find out all there is to her ; I mean by this that familiarity
breeds contempt. I knew a young man once who worked
beside a woman in an office, and he never married.

4. If men would only tell what they actually know
about women, instead of what they believe or hear, they
would receive more credit for chastity than is now the
case, for they deserve more.

LACK OF SELF-CONFIDENCE.

As a people we lack self-confidence. The country is full
of men that will readily talk you to death privately, who
would run away in alarm if asked to preside at a public
meeting. In my Alliance movement I often have trouble
in getting out a crowd, every farmer in the neighborhood
feeling of so much importance as to fear that if he attends
he will be called upon to say something.

IN DISPUTE.

In some communities where I have lived the women
were mean to their husbands ; in others, the husbands
were mean to their wives. It is usually the case that the
friends of a wife believe her husband to be a brute, and
the friends of the husband believe the wife to possess no
other talent than to make him miserable. You can't tell
how it is ; the evidence is divided.

352 THE STOBY

OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

MAN.

There i on y ^ne gra(je Q£ men . t^ey are ^ contemp
tible. J iC[ge may seem to be a superior creature so
long fts fl keeps at a distance, for I have never known
one who ^ was no^ constantly trying to look wise and grave ;
.v'hen you know him, you find there is nothing re-
about him except a plug hat, a respectable coat,
rand a great deal of vanity, induced by the servility of
those who expect favors.

OPPORTUNITY.

You hear a great many persons regretting lack of op
portunity. If every man had opportunity for his desires,
this would be a nation of murderers and disgraced women.

EXPECTATION.

Always be ready for that which you do not expect.
Nothing that you expect ever happens. You have per
haps observed that when you are waiting for a visitor at
the front door, he comes in at the back, and surprises you.

A woman's work is never done, as the almanacs state,
for the reason that she does not go about it in time to
finish it.

THE GREATEST OP THESE IS CHARITY.

<•

If you cannot resist the low impulse to talk about peo
ple, say only what you actually know, instead of what you
have heard. And, while you are about it, stop and con
sider whether you are not in need of charity yourself.

WISDOM OF MR. BIGGS. 353

NEIGHBORS.

Every man over-estimates his neighbors, because he
does not know them so well as he knows himself. A sen
sible man despises himself because he knows what a con
temptible creature he is. I despise Lytle Biggs, but I
happen to know that his neighbors are just as bad.

VIRTUE.

Men are virtuous because the women are ; women are
virtuous from necessity.

ASHAMED OF THE TRUTH.

I believe I never knew anyone who was not ashamed
of the truth. .Did you ever notice that a railroad com
pany numbers its cars from 1,000, instead of from 1 ?

KNOWING ONLY ONE OF THEM.

We are sometimes unable to understand why a pretty
little woman marries a fellow we know to be worthless ;
but the fellow, who knows the woman better than we do,
considers that he has thrown himself away. We know
the fellow, but we do not know the woman.

AN APOLOGY.

I detest an apology. The world is full of people who
are always making trouble and apologizing for it. If a
man respects me, he will not give himself occasion for
apology. An offence cannot be wiped out in that way.
If it could, we would substitute apologies for hangings. I
hope you will never apologize to me ; I should regard it
as evidence that you had wronged me.

354 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN,

OLDEST INHABITANTS.

The people of Smoky Hill are only fit for oldest inhabi
tants. In thirty or forty years from now, there will be a
great demand for reminiscences of the pioneer days. I
recommend that they preserve extensive data for the only
period in their lives when they can hope to attract atten
tion.

Be good enough, sir, to regard me, as of old, your
friend. L. BIGGS.

To NED WESTLOCK, Twin Mound*.

CHAPTER XXXT.

KILLED AT THE FOKD.

JO ERRING and his wife had been separated a year
and a half, during which time I saw Jo frequently,
but never his wife, for I had grown to accept her hus
band's opinion that she was glad to be rid of him. I was
often at the mill, and he often came to town, when I
saw that he was growing gradually more desperate and
wretched, and uneasy in his manner, but I was not pre
pared for the announcement which Damon Barker made
to me by letter one day that he had secured a divorce
from his wife, and that the case was more serious than I
supposed. On investigating the matter I found that the
divorce had been granted a few months before, on the
ground of desertion, and so quietly was it done that but
few knew of it. Jo had probably attended to the details
on his visits to the town, and as it was a clear case the
application was quietly granted by the judge in chambers,
who happened to be familiar with all the circumstances.

I shall always believe that the unhappy man made the
application in desperation, hoping it would bring his
affairs to a crisis, but as Mateel never appeared to answer,
he concluded she was satisfied with his course, which
made him more sullen and resentful.

The Shepherds were seldom seen since the difficulty,
and it was thought that they were proud and haughty, so
that but few went to their house, and these Mateel always
avoided. Occasionally the minister was seen working

355

356 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

about his place, but he never left it, and it was believed
by a great many that he received financial help from
Clinton Bragg.

Within a year Clinton Bragg had greatly improved.
He no longer patronized his bottle, and he dressed better
than before, and his temper was visibly better. Although
I knew this, I did not particularly remark it or his visits
to the Shepherds', for he had been a frequent visitor there
from the time he came to the country, which I had always
regarded simply as an annoyance to Jo ; therefore my sur
prise may be imagined when I received a note from Barker
one morning, at the hands of Big Adam, stating that
Bragg and Mateel were to be married that evening. I
had not seen Jo since learning of the divorce, and at once
resolved to go to the mill. Knowing Bragg's malicious
nature, I was certain that he would drive by the ford on
his return to Twin Mounds with Mateel, and I hoped that
hi some way I should be able to prevent Jo's seeing them.
I cannot remember now whether I thought a sight of them
would cause him a burst of grief or anger, but I was sure
I could be of use to him in some way, and at once deter
mined to leave for Fairview and spend the night at the
mill.

The pity and friendliness I had formerly entertained
for Mateel vanished with the messenger who brought me
the letter announcing her contemplated marriage to Clinton
Bragg, though my first feeling was of horror and indigna
tion at a step which seemed so indelicate and cruel. I
think that during that day I hated her more than I had ever
hated Bragg, for I could make nothing out of it further
than that she desired the ruin and disgrace of Jo. I even
brought to mind incidents familiar to me to prove that
she was malicious, cunning, and deceitful, and upbraided
myself that I had not warned Jo of it long ago.

THE ALARM FKOM THE BELL. 357

I intended to drive over early in the afternoon, but cus
tomers came in to detain me, and it was late before I left
the office to get ready. I had walked about like a man
in an uncomfortable dream all day and could do nothing,
for the more closely I applied myself to whatever I was
about, the less I accomplished. Tiresome men I did not
care to see, but whom I could not very well avoid, came
in one after another, and I became so nervous at their
appearance as to be almost helpless. When at last I
started for the house, a thousand voices seamed to be ur
ging me to hurry, and I ran like a madman to complete
my simple preparations for the trip. Once on the road, I
lashed the horses into a run, but in spite of this I seemed
to make only slow progress, like a man in a troubled dream
pursued by devils. It became so dark when I was half way
that in the creek valleys I was compelled to get out and
lead the horses, and when I was yet a long way from
Fairview, the dull tolling of the great bell in the steeple
of the church startled me.

It was a wild night in April, with a storm threatening,
and the hawks and owls flew almost in my face in their
hurry to find shelter. A single black cloud, which was
gathering in the south when I started, had overspread the
heavens, resulting in almost inky darkness, and gusts of
wind came dashing upon me with such sudden fury, fol
lowing a dead calm, that the horses tried to take the bits
in their teeth and run away from it.

The bell continued to toll at intervals, not distinctly,
but only as you remember noises after a stormy night, and
once I thought I heard a great number of strokes in quick
succession, as though an alarm were being sounded. By
this time I was travelling on a high divide where I knew
the road to be safe, and urging the horses again into
quicker speed, they ran as if they, too, had heard the

o58 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

alarm from the bell. If I was frightened at the fearful
speed I was travelling, I thought of the howling winds
behind me, which seemed to be always overtaking and
passing me to make mischief beyond; as I passed the
occasional houses I saw the people, attracted by the noise
of my wheels, run to the windows, and, flattening their
faces against the panes, peer out into the night. I won
dered why they did not come out and follow me, and, half
convinced that they would, I determined to beat them to
1he mill and lashed the horses into greater speed.

When at last I arrived at the mill everything seemed so
quiet and safe that I was ashamed of my alarm, and after
hitching the horses at the gate I walked up to the house,
trying to recover my composure. The house dog, which
I had known all his life, dashed at me in the greatest fury
when I came up to the door, and his old companion, the
house cat, screamed out on seeing me, and dashed away
as if pursued. Everything was wrong, and there were
wild cries and alarms in the wind, which was now blow
ing furiously.

A light burned in the front room, and a fire in the grate,
but going in I found the room empty. Even the fire
dashed at me with puffs of smoke, and the lamp burned
low without cause. I found the room in the greatest con
fusion, and Jo's bed, which had been brought down from
the upper part of the house, was in disorder, as though it
had been lately used. I went into all the other rooms,
calling the name of Jo, but I found them dark and silent.
I walked out into the yard and called him, but the dog
dashed at me again as though I were a robber, and would
not recognize my voice. The water pouring over the
dam, which had lulled me to sleep a hundred times, roared
to-night, and I will swear that the wind was sobbing at
every door and window when I returned to the house. Ill

MATEEL'S RETURN. 359

at ease I went to the door and called again, but the
took up the sound of my voice and hurried off with it
into the darkness of the woods.

Hoping that Jo would soon return I sat down by the
open fire, but I saw such faces in it that they made me
shudder, and I tried to listen for his approaching foot
steps, but the wind had turned into a fierce cry of agony
or vengeance, I could not tell which, and I could hear
nothing else. Impatiently taking up a book I thought to
read, but the first lines were of murder and of blood, and
I threw it down, cursing the dog, the book, and the storm.
Occasionally the rain came dashing down on the roof, pre
ceded by great drops which seemed to me like tears shed
by a pitying heaven, and then the rain ceased again, as if
the elements were not yet ready for a bad night.

While trying to decide whether to go out and hunt for
Jo, or wait quietly for his return, the door suddenly burst
open, and my uncle came in, carrying Mateel in his arms,
as easily as though she were a child. Going straight to
the bed, without looking to the right or to the left, and ap
parently without seeing me, he gently laid her down, and,
falling on his knees, passionately kissed the pale face. As
he kneeled over her, he sobbed and cried aloud, as he had
done on the night she went away, but, recollecting him
self, he roughly wiped away his tears, and tenderly con
templated the insensible woman before him, for she seemed
to be in a faint. I thought that could the devils he told
about as haunting the cave fully realize his abject wretched
ness, they would have been awed into respectful silence,
and allowed the tender symphony to find its way to his
bleeding heart.

lie was in such excitement that I was almost afraid to
speak to him, for his eyes were wild and fierce, his hair
dishevelled like a madman's, and his clothing in such dis-

360 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

order that I thought lie had been long out in the storm.
As he turned and saw me, he cried out fiercely : —

" She belongs to me, and I have protected her honor !
The dog whose ambition it was to disgrace me through
her weakness is dead ! "

He was a giant in physical stature, and every muscle
quivered with excitement. I thought that had he been
called upon to rescue his wife from a dozen men in his
present state, he would have undertaken and accomplished
it, and I shuddered to think what had befallen the one
man against him. I had never noticed it there before, but
the tolling of the great bell at Fairview could be distinctly
heard.

When 1 stood up and looked at Mateel, I drew back in
horror at the change in her appearance. Her form was
wasted and thin, and her face so pale that I feared she
was dead. Instead of wearing a bridal dress, her apparel
was of black material, which made her look more ghastly.

"Oh! Jo," I said, "what have you done?"

" This," he answered, looking first at Mateel's motion
less form on the bed, and then coming toward me. " This :
I picked up Clinton Bragg from his seat beside Mateel as
they came through the woods by the ford, and strangled
him as I would strangle a dog. I held him out at arm's
length until he was limp and dead, and threw his carcass
into the brush. Then, taking Mateel in my arms, I lashed
the devilish horse until he ran away through the timber,
when I waded the creek, and came here ! "

It was a short but terrible story, and his tragic telling
of it so impressed me that I almost cheered him, knowing
the wrong he had suffered.

Mateel still lay quietly on the bed, occasionally moan
ing, and Jo went to her again, and lovingly caressed her,
as he might have done had she been his lawful wife in

UNREPENTANT. 301

temporary distress, and I thought his manner was softened
by contemplating her misery, for when he spoke again it
was half in apology.

" I have always feared this, and although I have done
an awful thing, I could not do less." He walked toward
me and stood by my side. " Bragg pursued me with re
lentless hate, and he is as much to blame as I am. They
might have known I would not submit to this cruelty ; it
was more than I could bear, and I could not help doing
what I did."

I had been oppressed for a long tune with a vague fear,
though I was never clear as to what it was, that some
thing dreadful would come of the separation, and as I sat
there, looking from the helpless woman lying on the bed
to the wretched man walking the floor, I almost concluded
that the murder of Clinton Bragg was the result I had
expected.

" There is so much wickedness in my heart to-night that
I am proud of what I have done," Jo said, stopping in his
walk, as though he had been thinking it over and had
come to that conclusion. " I cannot regret it ; the mur
der of that man has given me the only relief I have known
in three years, and I feel like calling at the houses of honest
people, and crying, ' A man who deserved death is dead ! '
Even the wind was crying fiercely for revenge when he
was seated beside my wife intent on his unnatural and
fiendish purpose, but it is quiet now, and sobbing in -pity
for me. I never insulted my manhood nor mankind by
trying to curb my fierce passion when I heard he intended
/to pass my house with Mateel. I resolved to murder him,
and all honest men will say I could have done nothing
4ess ! "

He began pacing up and down the room again, at one
moment a fierce demon, and at another a man softened by

362 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

tears, and I saw by his manner that he realized that Mateel
must not remain there, for he went over to her side, and
fondly kissed her, as if for the last time. Perhaps he
thought when he took her in his arms in the woods that
his troubles would end after crossing the stream and en
tering his own door, and that they would live in peace
thereafter, but he realized now that his action had only
tightened the coils of misfortune about him.

" She would despise me for this deed if she knew it,"
he said. " I have killed her husband, and she does not
belong here. Take her to her mother before she wakens
and reproaches me, and then come back to me."

Realizing the force of the suggestion, I answered that
my team was hitched in front of the house, and without
further words he picked Mateel up, and carried her out.
Although able to sit up, she did not seem to be conscious
of what had happened, but sat moaning and crying beside
me when I drove away, leaving Jo standing at the gate.

The night was very dark, but the wind had gone down,
and I was only able to find my way by the frequent
flashes of livid lightning. After I passed the ford, and
entered the woods, in spite of myself I began to watch the
road-side for the body of the dead man, hoping that he
was only stunned, and had crawled away. I had stopped
for the lightning to flash again to show me the road
j through the trees, and when it came I saw Bragg pros
trate beside me, so close to the road that I feared the
horses had trampled upon him. In the instant I saw that
he was lying on his back ; his arms thrown out on either
side, and that his face was white in death. In looking at
him I had neglected to observe the road, and sat there
waiting for another flash. With it came the rain, and
seeing my way I started the impatient horses at a brisk
trot.

SETTLED PURPOSE. 363

When I stopped in front of Mr. Shepherd's house, I
saw that a light still burned within, and, hurriedly securing
the horses, I took Mateel in my arms, and rapped at the
door. Mr. Shepherd came in answer to it, bearing a
light in his hand, and, seeing me with my strange burden,
staggered back in alarm.

"There has been an accident," I said, "but your
aughter is not hurt ; only frightened, and in a faint."

He took his child tenderly in his arms, and with the
assistance of his wife tried to revive her.

" I must hurry away," I said, dreading to tell them all.
"You will hear further news to-morrow."

Neither of them said a word, but I believed they knew
what the accident was, for they acted as though they had
been waiting for it, and were not surprised that their
unhappy child had been returned to them alone.

The lightning by this time came in such rapidly follow
ing flashes that I had no difficulty in driving at a smart
gait, and when I approached the ford my eyes were again
drawn against my will to the prostrate form under the
trees. It had not been disturbed, and I hurried past it,
and into the house, where Jo was sitting by the fire with
his hat on, ready to go out. He looked up when I came
in, but made no inquiries, and, buttoning his coat, said he
was ready to go. In response to my curious look he
replied : —

" There is but one thing to do ; to notify the officers,
and finish this night's work in jail. I have thoroughly
considered the matter while you were away, and that is
my decision. When I heard that this marriage was to
take place, I resolved to do what I have done to-night,
and arranged my business for it by leasing the mill. The
man who is to operate it is my present assistant, and all
the necessary arrangements have been made ; I only hope

364 THE STOPtY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

that I shall be disposed of as soon as possible. I do
(not regret what I have done, now that it is done, ancFthe
/most pleasant moment of my life was when I clutched the
[throat of the man who has been relentlessly pursuing me
•for five years. He could not be induced to give up his
design, and I could do nothing else than murder him. I
have only lived for the past few months to guard Mateel
against him, and now that she is no longer in danger, I am
ready for the worst. When I looked into her face to
night, it startled me to see how she has failed since we
separated. I shall always feel grateful to her that she
was not dressed as a bride, but in mournful black. Always
delicate, she is but a shadow now, and the marriage of
Bragg to a woman who is but a puny invalid convinces
me that he, at least, brought it about to revenge himself
on me. He brought on the quarrel ; I hope he is satisfied.
I am sure only Mateel's weakness is to blame for her part
in the affair, for marriage in her condition was mockery."
He appeared more contented and easy than he had
been since the separation, like a man who had accom
plished an object that had been his ambition for a long
time, and sat down again, quite at ease, when he saw I was
not yet ready to go, but was trying to dry my wet gar
ments at the fire. I even thought he felt in good spirits,
for he straightened himself in such a manner as to be

O

comfortable in his chair, and beat a merry tattoo with the
fingers of his hand which rested on the table.

When at last I was ready to start to town with him —
I had never thought of opposing him, he seemed so satis
fied with the course he had marked out — he collected a
few articles which he said might be of use to him during
his imprisonment, and, making them into a bundle, ex
tinguished the light, and followed me, after locking the
door and handing me the key.

A BIDE TO JAIL. 365

" I shall never see the place again, of course, nor do I
want to see it," he said. " I have had a hard time of it here,
from first to last, and for all my work I get nothing but a
ride to jail to be locked up for murder. A splendid fel
low, I, that could work to no better purpose. I thought
once I was something of a genius, and rather a remarkable
fellow, but like all other fools I am found out. There is
one satisfaction in it all ; I was not all my life finding out
my mistake. I am now but twenty-six ; I have known
greater fools than I am, at seventy. I am glad there is a
storm ; I like to be out in it."

On the way he kept talking in a half-boisterous manner,
though I could detect a mournful strain through it all.
Once he wondered if there was a possibility that Bragg
had only been stunned, and, stopping the horses, wanted to
go back to see. But after thinking about it awhile, he
said : —

" No danger of that. He fell out of my grasp as limp
as a rag. I held him at arm's length to represent a gibbet,
and my fingers were the rope, for the brute deserved
hanging. I was determined that he should die a dishon
orable death as well as I. When he is found, there will
be marks about his throat as though he had been hanged ;
his tongue will protrude from his mouth, and his eyos
start from their sockets, as they say men look who have
been hanged. My only regret is that there was not a
crowd present to witness his dog's death. But the crowd
will gather around him to-morrow, and be horrified at his
appearance."

Several times he described with pleasure the horriblej *
tragedy in the woods near the ford, hoarsely laughing as
he told how Bragg had writhed and struggled in his grasp,
and once he asked me to feel the bunch of muscle on the
strong arm which had righted his wrong. He told how he

3G6 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWX.

had skulked under the trees waiting for their approach,
dodging from one to another when he saw them in the
road ; how he had hidden behind a tree until they were
beside him; how Bragg had trembled in fear when he
felt his fingers about his throat ; how fast and furious the
vicious horse ran crashing through the underbrush when
he lashed him with a keen hickory withe cut for the pur
pose, and how he almost shouted in exultation when he
had Mateel in his arms. He recited all the sickening par
ticulars with so much pleasure that I feared he was out of
his head, and occupied myself in mentally making notes of
what he said to prove that he was not responsible for his
act. At another time he cried out impatiently : —

" Why don't you applaud what I have done ? You have
not said a word all evening, though you usually cry, ' Brave
Jo ! ' when I have accomplished a purpose, but you seem
ashamed of me now."

"Oh, Jo," I replied, "you have done an awful thing,
and while I know you were wronged by Bragg, I shudder
to think of the consequences. I cannot approve of this
acty Jo, the first one you ever did at which I could not cry,
•> Brave Jo!'"

" Can you, my only friend, wish that Bragg were alive
again?" he answered, "and asleep in the arms of Mateel,
with me alone in my unhappy home ? Surely it is better as
it is ; I should have killed myself if I had not killed Bragg,
/ and you must say — you cannot help it — that he deserved
death as much as I. He deserved it more, for he is the
* cause of it all ; but we shall both give up our lives in the
tragedy. I took no more from him than the law will
take from me, and although he is to blame he makes no
greater sacrifice than I do. I would not be unjust to a
dog; I have not been unjust to him. If there can be

SURRENDERING TO JUSTICE. 367

pity in such a business, I am more deserving of it than
he."

I did not dare to express my real sentiments for fear of
encouraging him, as I felt he had fairly expressed it when
he said he could do nothing else than murder Clinton
Bragg. He had pursued him for years in the face of re
peated warnings, and knowing Jo's desperation, his action
in inducing Mateel to take the step at a time when she was
weak and sick could have been nothing else than wicked- <
ness and villainy. But I said as little as possible during
the drive, and occupied myself in devising plans for his
escape. I believed that Bragg' s unpopularity would be of
benefit in the trial, as well as all the circumstances of the
case, and felt certain that the people would generally be in
sympathy with Jo.

When we arrived in the town it was as still as the country
we had just left, and rattling loudly at the sheriff's door,
whose residence was in the upper part of the jail, the offi
cer soon appeared, and hearing with surprise our mission,
he locked me up with Jo at my own request, as I desired
to spend the night with him. A few moments later his
establishment was astir, and in half an hour we heard a
posse start oft' in a wagon, which rattled and jolted in a
frightful manner, to bring in the body. The news seemed
to spread rapidly, for by climbing up at the grated window I
saw lights in several directions where there were none be
fore, and two or three curious people had already appeared
in the yard.

CHAPTER XXXII.

.

THE TWIN MOUNDS JAIL.

had never been a murder in Fairview before, 01
the sight of a man who had died a violent death, and
when I looked out of the grated windows a few hours after
midday — for we both slept long and soundly once we
were in the hard and cheerless prison beds — I saw that
the news had spread rapidly, for the town was already full
of people, curious to look at the body and talk of the tra
gedy. A misty rain was falling, a continuation of the
storm of the night before, and a fog spread over the town,
and a crowd of people was collected in front of the jail,
looking curiously up at the windows, as though they were
likely to catch a glimpse of the culprit. When one of
the number went up to the court-house, his place in the
mud and mire in front of the jail was immediately taken
by some one who came from the court-house, and I sup-
l posed that the dead man was on exhibition there. I scanned
the upturned faces eagerly for looks of sympathy for Jo, for
from my perch I could look into them without being seen,
but I could only make out that the people were no more than
curious. Occasionally a knot of men gathered about one
of their number while he expressed an opinion, and though
I could not hear all that was said, I distinguished enough
to convince me that there was no regret that Clinton Bragg
was dead.

Late in the afternoon I left the jail by the entrance used
by the sheriff's family, without attracting attention, and

THE CUKIOUS CROWD. 309

went into the court-house, where the body was on exhibi
tion. The crowd then present did not know my relation
to Jo, with which circumstance I was pleased, and I looked
at the sight as any other idler would. He was lying in \
the middle of the assembly room, on a wide plank, and I J
judged the coroner's jury had not yet assembled, for it
was still in the condition in which it was found.

The clothing was wet from lying out in the rain, and I
was certain the face retained the expression it wore when
I had passed it in the woods, for it was horrible to look at.
A livid mark ran round the neck, showing the prints of fin
gers ; the tongue protruded from the mouth, and the eyes
started from their sockets, precisely as would have been
the case had Clinton Bragg been hanged, and altogethci
the sight was so horrible that I wondered the people did
not leave it in terror, as I did, and hurry away, for the
sight made me sick and faint. But the people continued
to arrive by every road, and hurry to the court-house, and
then to the jail, to look up curiously at the windows, and
I was so anxious to avoid them and their questions that,
after a few minutes with Martin, I hurried back to the
jail, and was again admitted, where I found Jo still lying
about in his night-clothes, apparently very comfortable and
unconcerned. He had been asleep most of the day, loung
ing about in an easy way precisely as I have since known
men to do who spent a rainy Sunday in their rooms. The
fierce manner which had distinguished him the night be
fore was gone, and in its place was a sort of contentment
that was very surprising under the circumstances. He
had but little to say, making no inquiries, when I returned,
as to where I had been, and, a short time after the lamps
were brought in for the night, he excused himself, and ly
ing down on his cot went to sleep, after pleasantly wishing
me good-night.

370 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

The main road leading toward the Fairview country ran
past the outer wall of the jail, a part of it being built on
the street line, and for hours I heard the wagons rattling
past, filled with crowds of men returning home, who were
sitting close together and talking in low tones. I turned
down the light, and, climbing up to the single window
which looked that way, watched them, and tried to con
jecture what the verdict would be, but their curiosity was
satisfied, and they were now only intent on getting home
and repeating the story to others, who would in turn re
peat it, and spread the news through the woods, over the
prairies, and into the valleys, where it would be talked of
and wondered at, and be voted the greatest wonder, and
the greatest horror, that ever had happened.

The coroner and a jury examined the body the next
day, and when it was learned that the only witness of the
affray was very ill, it was agreed to adjourn the inquest
until a time when she was better, and Clinton Bragg was
buried in a grave which was at first thought to be tem
porary, but it proved his final resting place, as the remains
were never disturbed.

At Jo's earnest request — it was the rule anyway, I
believe — the jailer allowed none of the curious to see
him, and after he was locked up I slept there every night.
Fortunately there were only a few petty offenders in the
jail, which gave us an entire room to ourselves, and bring-
ving in furniture and beds from the house, I made the
place as comfortable as possible. I covered the walls
with pictures, and scarcely a day passed that something
was not left with me for the prisoner. The sheriff being
a kindly man, and an old friend of ours, he trusted me
fully, so that had I been disposed I could have easily
released Jo, or furnished him means of escape.

I have thought that the sheriff often looked at me in

A^S^

SLEEP AND BEST. 371

surprise that I did not take advantage of the liberty given
me, and get him away, and he ofton went into the cell
himself to talk cheerfully and hopefully. In many of the
packages sent me were fire-arms, drills, files, and chisels,
as well as little articles of comfort, and in almost every
one notes written in heavy hands saying that no harm
should come to Jo, but we handed these over to the officer
in return for his kindness, who good-naturedly guessed
with us who sent them.

Jo seemed to be more contented than since the night
he came to me with the fatal letter, and spent his days in
reading, and lounging about. I thought of him as a man
taking a long-contemplated rest from weary work, and as
one who thoroughly enjoyed his ease. Although there
was always something of sadness in his manner, he was
more like himself than since we were boys, and we spent
our evenings so pleasantly together that I often regretted
that we could not have been as contented as we were
without the commission of so great a crime.

Before he went to prison he was unable to sleep at
night, but now he retired to his bed early, and slept
soundly. Indeed, frequently he did not waken until the
middle of the day, as if he were making up for lost time,
and often spoke thankfully of the circumstance that he
could enjoy his rest again, as he did when a boy. His
manner was so gentle that I thought of him as one who ~
had been purified by great suffering, and if I had loved
him before, in his misfortune and danger I loved him a
thousand times more. After he had gone to sleep at
night, it was my custom to toss about for a long while,
thinking how we could avoid the consequences of his
crime, and, after a troubled night, get up early in the
morning to talk over and over again with those I had
employed to advise me, for Jo would not see them. They

372 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

had the greatest hope, and took unusual interest in the
case, and I understood their policy would be to delay a
trial as long as possible, when opportunities for his release
would be plentiful enough. When they were finally
forced to trial, they could at least secure a jury that
would fail to agree, and as no one had seen the murder,
they hoped to be able to establish that Bragg had fallen
out of his buggy in fright when Jo appeared before him,
thus permitting the wheels to run across his neck.

Damon Barker came to town on the second afternoon
following the murder, accompanied by Big Adam, who car
ried an immense club of green hickory with a knot on the
end, as though he expected a few friends would attack the
jail and release the prisoner, and during the grave inter
view between his master and myself, he kept critically
examining the club, squinting along it to see if it were
properly proportioned, or hefting it from the little end.
With a piece of chalk he marked out a rude figure of a
man on the wall, and after writing " Officer " over it in
great capital letters, he stood off, and measured the dis
tance he would have to stand from it in order to do
effective service with his club. After this point was
settled, he calculated by experiment where a man of the
size of the figure could be injured most by striking, and
having decided that the head was the place, he made an
X with the chalk at the point selected, and practised until
he could hit that spot every time. He did this with so
much seriousness, and we were all so serious that day,
that we paid little attention to him. When Barker in
quired what time he could see Jo, and I answered " To
night," Big Adam said, in a voice hoarser than usual,
" The earlier the better, and let those whe stand in the
way look out for their heads ! " at the same time omin
ously shaking his stick of hickory. When informed that

THE MURDERED MAN'S FATHER. 373

there was to be no rescue, he was very much disappointed
and was silent the remainder of the day.

Barker was never a man of words, and he expressed no
opinion about the matter, although he frequently said that
at any time I needed him, I had only to say the word, no
matter what the service might be. If he was at a loss to
understand the difference between Jo's case and his own,
he did not mention it, and held his peace. When he went
to the prison to see Jo in the evening, I thought his word
of greeting was almost a sob, as I remember him on the
night he came to claim Agnes, but he soon recovered
himself, and we spent the evening quite pleasantly. Big
Adam, who accompanied us, spent his time in critically
examining the bars at the windows, and in testing their
strength, and he apparently became convinced that there
was little hope in that direction, and that the only thing
to do was to storm it from the outside. During the
evening he wrote a note and asked me to deliver it to the
sheriff, and after he went away I looked at it. It began,
" My opinion of the officer," followed by the largest num
ber of blasphemous words I have ever seen collected,
though they had no reference to each other, every one
being complete in itself, as an expression of hate. Thero
were also a great many vile words mixed in with the
blasphemous ones, and at the bottom he signed his name
in full, whereby I came into possession of the fact that his
full name was John Adam Casebolt.

At this time I cannot remember how long it was before
Bragg's father came, but within an hour after his arrival
he walked quietly into the office, and, after waiting my
pleasure, asked me to tell the story of his son's death.
He was a distressed sort of a man, as though he had had
a great deal of trouble in his life, and I honestly tried to
tell the circumstances of the death without prejudice.

374 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

Of Bragg' s systematic persecution of Jo; of his aimless
excursions past his house; of his insolence and over-
bearance, I spoke at considerable length, and detailed
numerous instances when I knew he had passed the mill
at midnight, though he had not been at the Shepherds'.
I told him of his son's renewed attentions after the separa
tion, though he had been the cause of it, and I expressed
the opinion that he had brought about the marriage, not
for love of Mateel, but for revenge on a man who had
never harmed him, for she was such a hopeless invalid
that marriage with any one was the merest farce. , ,

He made no replies to anything I said, but occasionally
asked a question to make a point clearer, and when I had
finished, he thanked me for my trouble, and went out,
walking past the jail on his way back to the hotel, and I
thought he peered curiously up at the windows, as if he
were anxious to see Jo.

I saw him a great deal after that, and knew that he was
in consultation with an attorney, but he talked to no one
else. After remaining two or three weeks, he quietly
disappeared, and it was learned that he had returned
home, leaving his case in the hands of the public prose
cutor.

When I told Jo of my strange visitor, he was much
interested, and referred to him as a " poor fellow," saying
it was too bad that he had travelled so far on such a sad
journey. He inquired carefully after his personal appear
ance, his manners, etc., and I almost expected that he
would ask that he be invited to see him.

It was my custom to leave the prison at an early hour

in the morning and not return again until night, except

to call cheerfully to Jo as I passed that way, but I always

spent my evenings with him, and greatly enjoyed them,

/because we were never disturbed.

HELP! i AM LOST! 375

When I came round to be admitted, Jo was always
waiting for me, and one evening, when he had been un
usually thoughtful, he said to me : —

" You remember I told you once of the haunted cave
where the people went, and heard the sweetest strains of
music, but which was soon broken into by a hideous
tumult. I often visit the place now in my dreams, or in
my fancy, and it has a new attraction : Some one is lost
there, and there is no hope of a rescue. This is such a
lonely place that sometimes when I lie here through the
day waiting for you, I visit the place when I am awake.
I am very familiar with the rugged path which leads
through the dark ravine to its mouth, and when the day
is bad I never fail to go. Although it is horrible, there is
a certain fascination about it I am unable to resist.

" When last I visited it, I did not hear the music at all,
but instead some one crying, which was drowned by the
usual tumult. When this had subsided, I heard the same
v®ice distinctly crying, ' Help ! help ! I am lost,' which
so excited me that I awoke. Since then, every time I
fall asleep I visit the cave, and after sitting a long while
in silence, suddenly I hear the same agonizing cry,
' Help ! help ! I am lost.' Then come such pitiful sobs
that I awake again. I have come to regard the man lost
in the cave as myself, and while waiting to hear him call
I have tried to invent a plan for his rescue, and wondered
if you and Barker would not help me. Perhaps this is a
premonition of my future ; it may be that after I am
dead, it will be my punishment to wander in a dark and
gloomy place, unable to die, but forever calling, * Help !
help ! I am lost.'

"I have thought, too, that it is possible, when I am sick
and tired from wandering about and calling for help,
always expecting that rescue is near at hand, that sud-

376 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

denly a light so great as to dazzle my poor eyes will
appear ; that I shall be permitted to see a beautiful place,
with running streams and shady paths under the trees,
and that I shall realize that it is the eternal city.

" As I look, Mateel and Bragg, attired in raiment befit
ting their new condition, will appear, happy in their
perfected love. My imprisonment in that awful place
will have unmanned me so much that I shall cry to them,
4 Help ! help ! I am lost ! ' but they will not be permitted
to hear, and when I stagger toward the blessed light, the
figures will disappear, and I shall fall on my face in the
darkness."

He always talked of the cave and the vision in such a
mournful, hopeless way, that it greatly affected me, but
he would soon rally, and become cheerful again, as though
I had a right to expect that of him in return for my atten
tion. He talked in this strain a great deal, and seemed
to take more interest in it than in anything else, or it may
have been a fascination which he could not avoid. Every
evening when I came in he had a new experience with
the cave or the vision to relate, and I shudder yet when
I remember his descriptions of the man who was always
Iwandering in the dark and awful place his fancy had
f created, and who was always calling for help which never
•came.

Although he was as much a mystery to me as ever, I never
looked at him that I could not see his love for me. I did
no more for him than anyone would have done under the
same circumstances, but he talked about it a great deal,
and expressed his gratitude that he had one friend in the
world, in spite of his disgrace and crime.

Very often I assured him of the pleasure it gave me to
be of service to him, and the keen regrets I felt that I
could not do more, and at these times he turned his head

A CREDIT INSTEAD OF A DISGRACE. 6(1

away, and I believed that tears were in his eyes. I can
never explain the sympathy and affection I felt for him
while he was in prison, for, knowing him as I did, I could
not help feeling that he was justified, and when I saw
that he took no interest in the plans I proposed for his
escaping the consequences, hope died within me, and I felt
that when the time came, he would acknowledge his
guilt, arid ask me as his last request to attend him on the
scaffold. Further than his remark that he would give his
own life for the one he had taken, he but barely men
tioned the tragedy in any way, and seemed only to be
waiting to keep his oath.

Inasmuch as the coroner's jury had not yet assembled
to listen to evidence in the case, the only witness being
too ill to attend, I could not conjecture what course he
would adopt when called upon to express himself, and I
was afraid to ask him. He would not see the attorneys
I had selected to advise me, saying in excuse that he was
not ready, or that whatever I did represented him, so that
I seemed to be the culprit rather than Jo, for I worried
more about it, and was oftener in despair.

Only once during his confinement did he refer to the
causes leading to the tragedy in the woods. I had been
reading to him until far into the night, with the light be
tween us as we lay on the rough prison cots, when he
interrupted me by inquiring : —

" Are you quite sure that you fully forgive me for my
desperate crime ? "

"Yes, Jo."

" I might have been a credit to you instead of a disgrace
had I acted differently," he said, turning on his side to
look at me. " When you were reading just now I thought
of the afternoon in Fairview when we went out to the hay
loft to talk of our future, after it was announced that I was

878 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

to go to Damon Barker's to live, and I thought that whilo
we have turned out very much. as we hoped we should,
\ you were brave and patient in your sorrow, while I was
utterly cast down by mine and ruined. Do you forgive
me for that?"

" Yes, Jo ; everything. I love you so much that I can
not think of your faults."

He turned on his back again, and remained quiet so long
that I, too, thought of the Sunday afternoon in Fairview,
and of what he had said. Jo was evidently thinking of
the same thing, for at last he continued : —

" I remember of your mother saying to me once that
she believed you and I would grow up into brave and hon
orable men ; men who would love their wives and children
instead of treating them as they were treated in Fairview,
and I feel very guilty now that I realize that she was mis
taken in her opinion of me. It would have been genuine
bravery had I conquered my horror of the letter, rny hate
for Clinton Bragg, and made Mateel love me in spite of
everything ; but I did not know what the word meant then,
though I do now, and your mother probably meant some
thing like that. My boyhood was so wretched that I ex
pected relief from wretchedness when I was married, but
perhaps I should have known that unhappiness attends
every condition in life, and that bravery and nobility con
sists in forgiving and forgetting, together with gentleness
and capacity. My life has been one long mistake ; I should
i think you would find it hard to forgive that, after expect
ing so much of me."

" No, Jo ; not at all hard. If you are entitled to char
ity from me, I gave it without knowing it, for I only think
of you to regret that a man so worthy has been so unfor
tunate. I never reproached you in my life."

" Although I believe you forgive me fully." he contin-

RETROSPECTION. 379

ned, " I cannot forgive myself, though I confess my weak
ness, and say that I always did the best I could. I con
quered everything except shame over the contents of the
letter and hate at the sight of Bragg. These dragged me
down as discontent dragged John Westlock down; per-'
haps any man could be ruined if attacked at the right
place."

Wiser men than you, Jo, are of that opinion, and I
regarded it as the most eloquent defence he had ever made.
Those who believe in their own strength have great char
ity for themselves and none at all for others, but those of .
us who are more candid, and learned in the world's affairs, *
acknowledge our own weakness in admitting the weakness (
of others.

" I am satisfied now that I made a mistake in thinkino- of

O

love as it should be, not as it really is, and I unwisely built
on that foundation, but I blame no one for it ; a man who
is ignorant should submit to the penalties without com- •
plaint. But I shall always think that I should have been
very contented had it turned out as I expected ; I shah1
always justify myself with the belief that had Mateel
brought as much enthusiasm into our marriage contract as
I did, we should have been of great use to each other. I
hope you will not think hard of me if I say that she had
the experience which I should have had, while I had the
innocence and faith in marriage which a wife should pos
sess."

He had little to say after that, and tossed about uneasily
in his bed after I put out the light, which was unusual, for
I had frequently remarked with surprise that he slept well
in the jail, and seemed greatly refreshed by it. Perhaps he
had never permitted himself to think "of his wife until
that evening since he had struggled with Bragg in the
woods, and the indiscretion had brought on his old trou-

380 THE STOEY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

ble, for if I dozed off, and wakened again, I found him
pacing up and down the floor, as he had done so many
nights in the house at the mill when he lived alone in it.
As I watched him I tried to compute the number of weary
miles he had travelled in this manner since the separation ;
up and down, from the right to the left, carrying his aching
and troubled head, which refused him peace night and day ;
thinking, thinking, thinking ; up and down from the right
to the left ; so the long road was travelled, growing more
painful and difficult every day. I followed the road he had
been travelling to where it ended and encountered a jail,
in which Jo Erring's hope and ambition, the pride and
comfort of my boyhood, were locked up, with my old
friend, changed but little, pacing wearily up and down to
see that there was no escape. Oh, Jo, my dearest friend,
is there nothing I can do to lighten your sorrow ? Must I
watch you travelling a road which grows more suggestive
of the damp of graves with every day's journey without
putting out a hand to help you? Will you continue to
put me off with no other reply than tears when I offer to
help you until we enter the churchyard together, and I
come out alone?

Getting up from my bed, I joined him in the walk, put
ting my arm through his, and as we paced up and down,
encountering a cruel stone wall at every turn, I bitterly ac
cused myself that I had not been with him more during his
trouble, but when I mentioned it I knew that he believed
I had done all I could, though he did not speak a word,
and I could not see his face ; I knew it, though I did not
know why. Up and down, from the right to the left ; I
thought half the night had passed before he returned to his
bed, and even then I was convinced that he ceased walk
ing more out of consideration for me than because he
was tired. When the first rays of morning light came

LOOKING TOWARDS THE OLD HOME. 381

straggling into the dismal place I wakened again, but Jo
was not in bed ; he had climbed up to the grated window,
and was looking out in the direction of Fairview, motion
less as a statue. What was in his mind will never be
known, but I have always believed that it was a longing
to see his wife and the house at the mill. I fell into a
light sleep again, and when it was broad daylight, he was
still looking longingly toward Fairview, the little world
in which his simple life had been passed ; where he had
created and destroyed, and where he hoped to find rest at
last in the shadow of the old church.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

HEAPING THE WHIRLWIND.

AFRAID to trust my own judgment with reference
to Jo, whom I always thought of now as standing
in the shadow of a scaffold, about four weeks after he
went to jail, I resolved to visit the mill on Bull River
and solicit Damon Barker's advice, which I knew would
be friendly and sensible. He was a man of excellent
judgment, and though he had been to Twin Mounds but
once since the trouble, I knew he was ready at any time
to aid Jo, as he had said, no difference what necessity
might require, and that he was only waiting a summons,
trusting to me to bring it. I felt sure that Jo's intention
was to admit his guilt when called upon, and suffer the
penalty, and I was not satisfied that I had done enough
to dissuade him from the intention. Barker had great
influence with him, and for this reason I sought his coun
sel and advice.

I intended to start in the middle of the afternoon, hop
ing to reach the mill by nightfall, and return early the
next day, and an hour before my departure I went into
the jail to announce to Jo that I would be away during
the night. It was the first night I had been out of his
company since his confinement in the prison, and I was
therefore surprised that he seemed rather pleased with
the prospect, though he apologized for it by saying that
I had been there so long that I would enjoy a night out.
He s?emed to know that I was going to Barker's to talk
382

JO'S PLAN OF ESCAPE. 383

about him, for he asked me to thank him and Agnes for
any good they might find it in their hearts to say of him ;
and he said over and over again how kind we all were,
and how much trouble we had been to on his account.

" You must not go away feeling down at heart, or ill
at ease, but cheerful," he said, when I confessed that I
was going to Barker's in his behalf. "I will tell you
something that will please you. I have studied over this
matter a great deal during the past few weeks, and have
come to a conclusion that will relieve us all. I will only
say now that it will end all confusion and worry, and that
it is the very best thing that can be done. I know that
you have confidence in my judgment, and will be content
to wait until you return, when you shall know all. It is
not a plan that will cause you more trouble, but one that
will be a relief to you, therefore be as happy as you can
while away, and carry my kindest wishes to Agnes and
her father. Tell them that I am well, and that in a little
while we shall be through worrying over this matter, for
I have hit upon a plan to relieve us of it. It is sure to
work, tell them, and that they need not fear as to that.
I may say it is the only thing that can be done, which you
will be glad to hear, for it is sometimes hard to hit upon
the right plan, but after a great deal of thought I have it.
You feel better now, do you not ? "

I answered him that I did, which was the case, for I
believed that while I was away during the day he was
thinking, and hoped that he' had hit upon something that
would meet with the approval of all his friends. Prob
ably it was an escape, and a life in some distant country,
where I would join him in course of time, or perhaps a
plea of self-defence, backed by circumstances of which I
knew nothing, but at any rate I was sure the plan was a
good one, for Jo did not often make mistakes in such

384 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

matters, and I felt a relief of which I was greatly in need.
I determined at once to bring Barker back with me to
hear the plan, and aid in its execution.

" You look happier to-day," he said, taking both my
hands in his own, " than I have seen you in a long while.
I am very glad of that, and I hope I, too, look pleasant,
for I am sure the plan is a good one. Do I not look much
as I did when we were happy boys together ; when I wTas
your good friend, and loved you more than any one else
in the world ? Look at me and answer."

I did as he requested, and saw that there was the old
cheerfulness in his smile, as there had been the old ten
derness in his voice.

" A little older, and a little paler," I replied, " but cer
tainly you look more natural to me this moment than you
have for four years. And you look more like my old
friend, too ; for when we were boys, and you told me of
your friendship, you were so earnest and feeling that
tears came into your eyes. There are tears in your eyes
now.'

He did not brush them away, as I expected he would,
but let them roll down his cheeks and fall to the floor.

" I did not know there were tears in my eyes until you
spoke," he said. " But they are only tears of gratitude
that I am permitted to have one friend like you."

He still held both my hands, and looked at me in such
a way that I thought he was thinking he had a bold piece
of work to demand of me to effect his release, — a part
of his plan, — and that I would undertake it without
hesitating, no matter what the risk, as I would have
done.

" It is as much as a man ought to expect during his life
to realize a friendship as pure and unselfish as yours has
always been for me, and I want to say while I am looking

ALL FOR THE BEST. 385

in your eyes — please do not say it is nothing, for it is a
great deal — that you have been the one .solace of a very
unhappy man. I may not have deserved it, but it has
been given to me, and I love you as a bad man ought to
love a good wife who has been faithful to him through
all his misdeeds. I am very wicked, and have a wicked
heart, but you can have it to say that you had all the love
there was in one man's life. All the tenderness in my
rough nature has been given to you, and no one else has
ever found welcome in my heart. No one, not even my
father or mother, divided my affection for you. It is
not much, but it is all I have."

I assured him it was a great deal, and that it had been
a comfort to me from the day I began to remember.

" You are the only one who was ever thoughtful or kind
to me, though I have always coveted such attention," he
added. " I suppose I deserved all the neglect I have re
ceived — I hope not, but I cannot think anything else —
and you brought the only ray of genuine sunshine that
ever found its way into my desolate heart ; without you
I should have been friendless all my life. I hope I could
have made myself worthy of friends had they come in my
way, but they never came, and I have had no other object
in life than to deserve your good opinion. I am afraid I
can never repay you, but I am very thankful."

He was very earnest, but not sad, and I believed he was
telling me this because when I came back there would be
active work to do, and a long separation, and when I
turned again to call the keeper to release me, Jo said for
me to remember that it was all for the best.

" All for the best, I am certain," I replied.

"And do I look cheerful again, as though I felt that
what I say is true ? "

" I have not seen a pleasant smile on your face before in

886 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

a long while," I said, " and I feel greatly encouraged. 1
hope my recollection of you will always be as you appear
now." There was a mingled look of bravery and tender
ness in his face which made me very fond of him. " I am
sure the plan is a good one, for it has made us both hap
pier already."

" I am glad to hear you say that," he said, putting his
hand through the little wicket to bid me good-by, when
I was finally in the corridor, " and so it will turn out.
But even if it did not meet your approval at first, you
would not upbraid me, or think less of me than you do
now?"

" No, Jo," I answered, for I thought that if ever a man
was justified in breaking jail and hiding away in a place
where he could make amends for his mistakes, he was.
" I could not think less of you than I do, for even if my
judgment should not accord with yours, I should believe
it to be my own fault, and that I should finally discover
that you were right. I have so much confidence in you
that I am sure that the plan is a good one."

" I am glad to hear you say that," he repeated, " and so
it will turn out. Good-by."

How his hand trembled in mine ! I thought it was joy
over the prospect of once more being free, and I had so
much confidence in the friendship of the sheriff, who stood
beside me, that I had a mind to tell him that Jo had at
last consented to take advantage of the opportunities he
delighted to give him, and escape; I was so pleased with
it all that I thought I must talk to some one, but, thinking
better of it, I waved my hand gayly to the prisoner, and,
passing out at the front door, was soon on my way to
Fairview.

As I drove rapidly along the familiar road, I had a hun
dred pleasant conjectures of the morrow, when Jo would

SCHEMES FOR THE FUTURE. 387

reveal to me the plan by which he was to be free. The
one I fixed upon and took most pleasure in was an escape
to some distant country, where I would follow him in a
few months, and where we should live happily together
the remainder of our lives. There was a rough rugged
country beyond ours where hunted men went, and where
no questions were asked, and I thought of our living to
gether in a cabin on a mountain side, companions in toil
and peace. I thought this plan might make it necessary
for me to give up Agnes for a while, but her patience I
knew was great, and she would think of me all the more
kindly for the sacrifice I had made for love of Jo.

He had said there was nothing else to do ; that surely
meant a rapid flight to the mountains, for that was the
speedy and the certain way out of the difficulty, and I
almost rejoiced in it, for I determined to go with him at
once, and leave my affairs to be settled up by Barker, who
alone should know of my whereabouts. I even regarded
it as a prospect of a happy relief from my weary work,
and thought that while Jo would say it was best I should
remain, and settle our joint affairs in person, I stoutly de
cided to go with him, and even planned how to get ready
money for the purpose.

These thoughts so occupied my mind that I was sur
prised when I came in the vicinity of the mill, and also by
the circumstance that it was growing dark, for I had taken
no note of time. As was usually the case at that season
of the year, the mill was in operation when I arrived a
half hour after dark, and, hoping to find Agnes alone in
the house, I dismounted at the side gate and went in.
The evening being pleasant, the front door was wide open,
and, stepping on the inside, I was debating whether they
were not all down at the mill, when Agnes came out sud
denly from the room, and stood beside me. It may have

388 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

been surprise at her sudden appearance, but without think'
ing what I did, I put my arms about her, and kissed her.

" I have been in so much trouble of late," I said, still
holding her in my arms, " and felt your absence so keenly,
that I could not resist the temptation. I hope you will
forgive me ; I came on an important errand, but my dis
tress has made me brave, and I cannot help showing how
much I love you."

She was perfectly still, looking into my eyes, and I
thought that, though it was the same sweet face, it was
different from what it had ever been before ; no longer
the face of my patient friend, but the face of my sweet
heart — a picture of a woman's perfect love.

" It has been so often necessary for you to forgive me
— I always made so many mistakes, while you were so
womanly — that you will forgive me once more for de
claring, though I came on an errand in poor Jo's behalf,
that I have loved you as man and boy for eight years;
[that you have been so necessary to me that I could not
have lived but for the hope your friendship gave me. I
have never been able to show you how dear you have
been to me, I was always so awkward, but I show you my
heart now, and declare what I may not have acted, that I
have never had any other wish to live than that I might
win you."

She attempted to speak, but I would not permit it, for
I had not yet finished.

" When I was a boy, it was my hope of the future to
become a worthy man, and prepare a home for homeless
, Agnes, who was always my friend, no matter how unde
serving I was. In all my hard life, which has seemed like
a night, you have been the kindly star which was always
shining and bidding me hope. When your father came
back to you, I feared that your happiness was so great

A PRETTY BKIDE. 389

that I could never again add to it, but even if this is so,
I can no longer keep my secret. It has been crying out
at its confinement for years, and I must tell you that I
love you."

She remained silent and motionless so long that I began
to fear that what I had said without believing was really
true; that she was so happy with her father that she
would never leave him, and that she was framing an
answer that would not offend me.

"I have always known," she said at last, "that you
loved me, and have always believed that some time you
would come to me and declare it, just as you have to
night. It was my only wish ungratified, for nothing was
lacking besides that to complete my happiness."

I pressed her closer to me, and for the first time in a
great many months the tears came into my eyes until I
could not see her. During all the trouble at Jo's my con
cern found no relief, but her love for me made me realize
how wretched I had been, and in spite of all I could do
the tears came into my eyes. I tried to apologize for the
weakness, but she wiped the tears away so tenderly that
I thought certainly there was never such a loving touch
as hers, and blessed her for the hundredth time. I led
her into the adjoining room, and when we sat down by
the window, and opened the shutters, I saw by the moon
light which came streaming in that she was dressed in
white, and that she so much resembled a pretty bride that
I could not help holding her off from me, and admiring
her.

" You remember I used to tell you," Agnes said, " that
some day my ship would come in after a stormy voyage,
and bring me many rich gifts. I think you always thought
I referred to my father."

I acknowledged that I did.

390 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

" But really I referred to your coming to me, and telling
ine (as I believed you would) that you loved me. I never
had a hope that my father was alive, and as I told you
about my ship sailing toward me when you were but a
boy — I was but a girl when I first came to Fairview — I
must have referred to you, as I certainly did."

She was sitting near an open piano, and lightly touch
ing the keys, I recognized the air of an old love song she
had taught me the first year of our acquaintance, "In
flattering dreams I dreamed thee mine."

" We were both so wretched during the first years of
our acquaintance," Agnes said, " that I sometimes feared
we must always remain apart, but I never for a moment
thought you did not love me. I always knew it, and was
constantly trying to deserve it. If I heard of you in a
creditable connection, I was pleased, and strived harder
than ever, and there never was a doubt but that you
would come to me — some time; I did not know when —
and tell me what you have told me to-night. I have
nothing to wish for now except that I may be long spared
to show you how much I love you for it."

We must have been very happy during the hour or
more we sat by the window, for during that time I did
not once think of Jo, nor should I have thought of him
for a much longer time had not Barker's step on the walk
aroused me.

We both went out to meet him — he had finished his
work, and was coming to the house for the night — and,
frightened at my neglect, I hurriedly ran over what I came
to say. He looked at me in grave surprise, and, leading
me back to the room, asked me to repent what I had said.

I then told them both substantially what Jo had said to
me on my leaving, and that I had come for him to go
back with me, for I was sure that in this important emer-

BACK TO TWIN MOUNDS. 391

gency his cool judgment would be valuable. Agnes was
very much pleased, but Barker was as grave as usual, and
only said that he would return with me at once if I
thought it necessary.

It was agreed that before we started we should refresh
ourselves with food, and while Agnes was preparing it
(how gay she was; I think even her father must have
noticed it) he again inquired very particularly as to what Jo
had said, and when I had finished, he went out and sat on
the porch alone until Agnes called him. I believed he
was thinking that, no matter what the plan was, he would
not falter in his part in it, and I was so much encouraged
that I went out to tell Agnes that within a week our dear
friend Jo would be free.

During the drive back to town Barker was very grave,
saying but little, and in consequence I drove rapidly. As
we passed the jail I saw that all the lights were out, and
supposing that Jo was asleep, we went on to the house to
spend the night, and in a very little while I was fast
asleep.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE GRAVE BY THE PATH.

T HAVE heard that dreams go by contraries ; whether
-L they do or not Jo was in my mind a great deal that
night, and he was once more free to go where he pleased,
without the restraint of cruel stone walls and iron doors.
I thought of him as I had seen him during the first year of
his apprenticeship at Damon Barker's, when he was full
of hope for the future, and tender as a child because of
his love for Mateel, and we were happy together again,
without knowledge of the unhappiness in both our lives.

I slept until rather a late hour, and was awakened by
the sheriff from the jail, who came up to my bed in great
excitement, holding a letter in his hand. I did not know
how he got into the room, but supposed Barker was up
before me, and had admitted him.

The letter was addressed to me, and, hurriedly opening
it while yet in bed, I read : —

MY DEAII OLD FRIEND, — When this shall fall into your
hands, the plan 1 spoke to you about will have been carried into
effect, and I shall be dead.

After several months of careful consideration — for I thought
about it long before Bragg was killed — I determined to do myself
a kindness by taking my own life, and I write this an hour before
I carry that resolution into effect.

To a friend who has been as true as you have been, it is only
necessarjr for me to say that I have fully justified myself in this
course. Next to the horror I have of escaping from this jail, J
have a horror of a public execution, which would certainly befall
me, for I am guilty, and take so much pleasure in my guilt that I
cannot deny it.

392

JO'S LAST LETTER. 393

Since the first thought of taking my own life came into my
mind, it has never been a horrible one, and when I first knew that
Bragg was to marry Mateel, I resolved to kill him, and then my
self. The first part of the resolve I carried out as I intended ; the
second will have been accomplished when this falls into your
hands.

As I wrote just now I laid down my pen to consider whether I
had any regrets in leaving the world. I found there was one; your
sorrow when you read this, but beyond that, nothing. There is
no reason why I should care to live, and there are a great many
why I wish to die, the principal one being oblivion of my disgrace
and crime. Whether the religion we were taught is true or not, I
shall probably peacefully sleep a long time before I am judged, and
I am almost willing to submit to a future of torture for a period of|
forgetfulness, for my trouble comes to me in my sleep of late, and
I have no rest. My head is such a trouble to me now that I have
feared that it will not die with my body, but after that I am buried
it will still ache and toss about.

If I have a hope of the future at all — I don't know that I
have — it is that when the Creator is collecting the dead for the
judgment, He will shed a tear on my grave, and, knowing my
unhappy life, permit me to sleep on. If this cannot be, my fate
cannot be much worse elsewhere than it is here, and for the
chance of oblivion I am willing to take the risk. In any event,
my judge will be a just one, and I am willing to appear be
fore Him.

I once told you that I hoped none of my friends would be per
mitted to look upon my dead face, therefore I request that you do
not look at me when you visit the jail to arrange for my burial. I
prefer that you remember my face as you saw it last night, when
you went away, for you said it looked natural again. I am sure
that when last you looked into my face I was smiling, and I want
your recollection to be that of me. If you should see me dead, the
horror would so fasten on your mind that you would always think
of my eyes as set and staring, and of my face as pale and ghastly.
Therefore I ask that you do not look at me, or permit any one else
who has ever been my friend to do so.

You will find me ready for burial, as I shall dress for that pur
pose before taking the draught which will end my life. When I
feel death approaching, I intend to fix in a position I have seen
dead bodies lie in, so that I shall have to be disturbed as little as

394 THE STOEY OF A COUNTEY TOWN.

possible. It may please you to know that I died without pain;
that I went to sleep, and never wakened. Among the books I had
access to at Barker's was one on chemistry, and on pretence of
illness I procured a drug which first put me into a pleasant sleep,
and then killed me.

I want you to bury me in Fairview churchyard, near the path
that leads toward our old home. Theodore Meek has three chil
dren buried near it, and there was so much sorrow when they died,
and there was always so much love and kindness in that family,
that I should like to be in their company. You and I always
chose that path on our way to and from the church, and I shall
think of two pairs of little feet forever travelling up and down it,
spirits of the past, keeping vigil over my grave.

I am sure that you and Agnes will frequently visit it, and talk
tenderly of me, and I hope that grim and honest Damon Barker
will stop there when he passes the church, and go away in deep
reflection. I have never imagined that Mateel will visit it, but if
she should — if it should ever appear that I was in any way mis
taken in this unhappy business — I hope you will come upon her
while she is there, and say that Jo Erring loved her so much that
i he laid down his life for her sake.

Only say to the people with reference to me that I took life in
a wicked moment, and gave my own to avenge it, and that I died
in the full possession of all my faculties. They may be unable to
understand why my life has been such a tragedy, but they can
understand that I have made all the reparation possible for a crime
which I could not help committing.

I have only to say now that if you could realize how unhappy
I am, you would freely forgive my action, and feel that it was for
the best, as I made you say before you went away. For your
numberless acts of kindness to me I can only thank you, which is
a small return, but I have nothing else.

It is now eleven o'clock; in half an hour I shall be dead, and I
find that I am stronger in my purpose than ever before. There is
but one sad duty yet before me ; that is to write good-by.

Jo ERRING.

Barker and the sheriff were sitting beside me when I
had finished reading the letter aloud, and while I was
hurriedly dressing, I heard the sheriff say to Barker that

BEST TO THE WEARY SPIRIT. 395

after I left the jail the evening before, Jo fell in a heap
on the floor, where he remained a long while, but at
length recovered his composure, and stood looking out of
the window in the direction I had taken until long after
the night had come on. Later in the evening he pitied
lAf lonely condition so much that he went in to sit awhile
with him, but he had little to say, and showed a disposi
tion to retire early. In the morning he remembered his
strange agitation of the night before, and, opening the
cell door soon after, he saw him lying on his bed, covered
with a white sheet. Going in he found him dead, and
dressed for burial, lying on his back, with his hands, in
which was clutched the letter addressed to me, folded
across his breast. He had not even told his wife of the
discovery, so that in the minds of the people Jo Erring
was still alive.

We went to the jail together, and, admitting ourselves
to the room where the body lay, decided what to do. It
was agreed that a coroner's jury should be summoned
from among Jo's friends, who would hold an inquest
immediately, after which we would take the body to
Fairview for burial. Fortunately we found a number of
his friends in town, among them Theodore Meek and
Lytle Biggs, and, summoning them to the jail, they first
heard of the death there. After we were all inside, I
read the letter to them, and as none of them wished to
look at the face after listening to what Jo had written, it
was agreed that the coroner, who was a physician, should
examine the body alone, and that the verdict should be in
accordance with his discoveries. The verdict was death
from poison, administered by his own hands, and we all
signed it.

By the middle of the afternoon the Sheriff and his
assistant had the body arranged in a neat burial case

396 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

which Barker and I had procured, and, a messenger having
been sent ahead to dig the grave and notify Agnes, at
three o'clock the little procession left the jail yard for
Fairview. Barker and I led the way with a light wagon,
in which was the coffin, and a half dozen other vehicles
followed, carrying a few people from town, and those of
the Fairview men who had been on the jury. There was
a great crowd present when we drove away, and as we
passed down the street, a great many women and children
( came out of the different doors with offerings of flowers,
which they either tossed to me or laid on the casket.

Owing to the slow pace at which we travelled, we did
not come in sight of Fairview church until near dark, and
just as the steeple appeared, there was a single stroke of
the great bell. This continued at intervals until twenty-
six strokes had been tolled, when it ceased entirely, which
was quite right, as the deceased would not have been
twenty-seven years old for several months.

We had halted in front of the gate by this time, and I
saw that a great many people were present ; that some of
them carried lanterns, and that they respectfully un
covered their heads as they gathered about the wagon in
which the coffin lay. Six stout young men appearing,
they carried .the casket to the grave by the path, where
all the people followed, and it was put down on two
sticks laid across it. If ever I felt an unfriendliness for
the people there, it vanished as I stood sobbing by the
grave of my only relative and best friend. Many of the
women were softly crying, as I remembered them when
they told of their heavy crosses and burdens at the ex
perience meetings, and when some one of the number
began singing a hymn full of hope and forgiveness, I
thought I never could thank them enough for the kind
ness. I had expected that only a few idlers would attend ;

FEACE TO THE QUIET DEAD. 397

but all the neighborhood was there, and they showed that
they loved Jo, and respected him, in spite of his crime. I
had not shed a tear until I saw the open grave — my grief
was so great that I could not find even that poor relief —
but I could not control myself then, and wept as I never
had before. I shuddered when I remembered that I had
often sung in mockery the hymn the people were singing
— how I hoped Jo had not ! — but I am sure it was not
intended for mockery, and that we did not think what we
were doing.

There was a slight pause just before the straps were put
under the coffin to lower it into the grave, and greatly to
the surprise of every one, Rev. Goode Shepherd came
pushing his way through the crowd. I saw in one glance
that he was poorly dressed, and pale, and distressed, and,
taking a place at the head of the grave, he delivered an
address which I have never heard surpassed in tenderness,
and paid a tribute to the dead which started the tears of
the tired, sorrowing women afresh. When he had finished
he raised his. trembling hands to heaven, and prayed fer
vently for the peace and rest of all weary men beyond
the grave. He then stepped aside to make room for the
young men who were to lower the coffin, and though we
looked for him afterward, he could not be found.

When the grave was filled up, I remember sitting down
upon the mound, and sobbing afresh, and that the women
who had known my mother — some of them had heard my
first cry when I came into the world — put their hands
tenderly on my head, and tried to comfort me. I could
not thank them, or speak, and one by one they went
away, until I was alone with my dead. But there was a
figure which came to me then whose touch I could not
mistake ; oh, Agnes, how welcome to-night.

CHAPTER XXXV.

THE HISTORY OF A MISTAKE.

TXTHETHER Jo left a message with me for Mateel I
» V do not now remember, it seems so long ago, but it
must have been an unimportant one if he did, for, from
the time of their separation to his death, he talked of her
only as one who had deliberately meditated and agreed'to
his disgrace. Although he always loved her, he believed
that his memory must have passed entirely out of her
mind during the time they lived apart, and was ashamed
to confess it, even to me, in the face of her contemplated
marriage to Clinton Bragg, which she must have known
was the greatest humiliation to which she could subject
him, and if he left any word at all, it was only a regret
that their lives had been mutually so unhappy. I had not
seen her, or talked with any one who had, since the
dreadful night when I carried her moaning into her
father's house, and I knew nothing of her except occa
sional rumors which came to me from people who passed
that way that she was very ill, and that but few went to
the Shepherds', and that none of those who did ever saw
Mateel.

But the appearance of her father at Jo's grave, and his
tender tribute to the memory of my dead friend, affected
me so much that I felt it my duty to call at their house
before I slept. I cannot explain this determination fur
ther than that I was anxious to appear among them ; it
may have been that I wanted to tell them how good and

A HAUNTED KOAD. 399

brave Jo had always been, and how much he loved his
wife to the last, or it might have been that I was con
vinced there was some terrible mistake on our part, for
the appearance of Mr. Shepherd as we stood around the
grave implied that he had one friend among them, al
though we had always imagined that they were all against
him. However it was, I could not resist the impulse to
call at their house that night, and when we arrived at the
mill after the burial, I informed Barker and Agnes of my
determination. They offered no objection, if they said
anything at all, and I still remember that both bade me
good-night tenderly when I drove away into the dark
ness, leaving them standing at their door.

There was a road from Barker's to the home of the
Shepherds' which followed the river a distance, and then
led up on to the divide where their house was built, and I
was very familiar with it, having travelled it many times.
It was the road which Jo had used on his visits to Mateel
when he was an apprentice at Barker's, and part of it the
road which Clinton Bragg had travelled on his fatal
journey the night he was married to Mateel, and if I saw
one spectre in the darkness around me, I saw a thousand.
The story I have written was produced in white lines
etched on the darkness of the night — Jo returning from
the minister's house, young and hopeful ; Jo going to his
own home, with Mateel by his side, a little older, and
looking careworn, but still hopeful; Jo coming toward
Barker's after the separation from Mateel, with a frown
upon his face so fierce and distressed that I could not tell
whether his enemy should pity or fear him; Jo skulking
behind the trees, and watching up the road ; Jo carrying
Mateel in his arms, and clambering up the hill which led
from the mill to his house ; Jo in jail, with the white
shroud about him, under which none of us was to look,

400 THE STOHY OF A COUNTRY TOWX.

and wherever I turned my eyes, upward or downward, to
the right or to the left, ahead or behind, was his grave,
which I had just left at Fairview. Clinton Bragg was
lying under every tree, first as I had seen him dead in the
woods, and then as he lay surrounded by the crowd in the
town, and walking wearily in front of me was my father,
bending low under a heavy burden which he carried. If
I whipped up the horses, and hurried on, the spectre dis
appeared for a moment, but after I had slowed up again,
and had almost forgotten it in feeling my way through
the trees, it appeared ahead of me as before, only that the
load he carried was heavier, and that he pursued his
journey with more difficulty. This fancy took such hold
upon my imagination that I thought of the distant light
which finally appeared as the lamp which always burned
in my mother's room, toward which the bending figure
was always travelling, and when it turned out to bo a
light in Mr. Shepherd's window, I looked about for the
man with the load on his back, but he had disappeared,
with Jo, and Bragg, and the rest of them.

My timid knock at the door was answered by Mr. Shep
herd himself, who carried a light in his hand, as he did
on the night when I had seen him last, and he seemed as
much surprised as when I had stood on the same steps
a few months before, bearing his moaning child in my
arms, for he started back, and, throwing his unoccupied
hand to his head, looked first at me and then around the
room, as though he ought to recollect, but somehow could
not. When he recovered himself, which lie did appa
rently on discovering that I carried no insensible form in
my arms, he set down the light he carried to the door,
and asked me to be seated, which I did, feeling uncertain
whether, after all, I had not better have remained away,
not knowing what to say my errand was should he ask
the question.

NEITHER TO BLAME. 401

He put his hand to his head again, as if he always felt
a pain there now, and could only forget it in moments of
excitement, and then, resting his arm on the table at
which he had seated himself, looked at the floor in the
piteous, helpless way which was common to him. I
thought if he had spoken it would have been that he was
very sorry, but really he could not help it. He brushed
the tears out of his eyes with his sleeve, as my father did
when I had seen him last, and as though he had been
warned -not to cry, and for the first time in my life I
•thought the two were much alike; perhaps all men are
alike when they are old, and poor, and broken. I knew
now for the first time that he was distressed as much on
Jo's account as on Mateel's ; that there Avas equal pity in
his heart for them both, for his manner indicated it as
much as if he had made the declaration.

" My poor children," he said, as if they both stood be
fore him, " how you both have suffered ! And neither to
blame. Both of them were always doing what they]
thought to be for the best, but always wrong. My poor
children ! "

I had never thought of this before ; neither to blame,
and always wrong, but I felt now that it was true. In
my own mind I had accused Mateel, but her good old
father called them both his unhappy children, and said
neither was to blame, and in my heart I could not think
less.

" When Mateel came home after the unfortunate sepa
ration," Mr. Shepherd continued, timidly looking about
the room, as if to assure himself that no ghosts were pres
ent to accuse him, " although I thought it was but a tem
porary affair, I regretted it no more on account of the
one than the other, and through it all — during the long
months which have brought nothing to this house but

402 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

bruised and broken hearts — I have had this sentiment,
I/ and no one has spoken ill of him here any more than
they have spoken ill of Mateel. This is as true as that I
have spoken it, for with the graves filling up around me
so rapidly, I could not give reason for a wrong inference,
even if I were anxious to excuse a mistaken action. Jo
has always had justice done him here the same as Mateel."

I was surprised to hear this, for I had felt that Mrs.
Shepherd and Bragg had upbraided Jo to Mateel, to in
duce her to take the step she did, and that her father
held bis peace, if he did not approve of it. We never
talked about it, but this was the understanding Jo and I
had, and I think we accepted it so thoroughly that we
blamed Mateel that she permitted it. We thought she
had little regard for her husband that she allowed her
mother and Clinton Bragg to counsel her against him, and
I began to realize that in this we had been cruel and
unjust.

" I allowed them to do what they pleased," he went on
again slowly and painfully, " hoping and praying it would
all turn out for the best, but I always thought of Jo as
N one of my children, and have been tempted to call on
him in his lonely home and tell him how sorry I was it
had happened. I knew how unhappy a man of his fine
ability must have been under such unfortunate circum
stances, but my pride kept me from it. I see now that
there has been too mucli pride all around in this affair ;
I have known it all the time, but — " I knew what he was
going to say — "but I could not help it; really, I could
not ; I have done the best I could, but it has gone wrong
in spite of me."

He was always saying that ; everything went wrong in
spite of him, which has been the experience of so many
thousands before him, but I felt with a keen pang of con-

TOO LATE. 403

science that he had done more than I, for while I was
secretly blaming Mateel, he did not blame Jo ; that wrhile j
I had never thought of aiding a reconciliation, unless *
Mateel should ask it, that had been his one prayer and
hope.

" I see now, after it is too late, — somehow I never see
anything in time to be of use to others or to myself, — that
this is all a dreadful mistake. You have not said it, but
your coming here tells me that what I think is true ; that he \
was always waiting for Mateel to come to him, and I know
so well that she was always praying that he would come
to her ; not to ask forgiveness, but to say he missed her, /
and loved her, and that his home and heart were lonely.
She was waiting for him to write her just a line — what
a little thing to have prevented all this — that she must
see him or die, as she will die now without it. He was
expecting a simple request from his wife to come to her,
and had it been sent, my brave Jo would have come
though a thousand Braggs blocked the way."

He got up from his chair, and walked up and down
the room, wringing his hands helplessly, and repeating:
" My poor children ; my poor children ! How they have
suffered!"

"We thought in our pride — how unjust it was I now
see, though you have not said a word — that he was deter
mined to live without her, and that he had steeled his
heart against a reconciliation, and you believed that we
were determined she should not go back to him except
upon promises and conditions, but I swear to you my
belief that she would have crawled on her knees to her
old home had she believed he would have admitted her.
From what has happened since, I know he loved her all
the time, and that he was expecting a summons to come
to her every moment of the day arid night. What a little

404 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWK.

thing would have prevented all this ; a word from you or
me and it would have been done, but we have kept apart
from the beginning until the end. We shall have to
answer for it, I fear, and I shall not know what to say at
the judgment."

I thought I knew what he would say : " I could not
help it," but what would my own answer be ? Perhaps
only what millions of other trembling men will say: "I
did the best I qould ; I did not think."

In looking toward him to make reply, and assure him
that he was right in his generous surmise, I became aware
that some one was standing just inside the door which led
into the other room, and taking a quick glance I saw it
was Mateel, dressed in a long white night-robe ; that she
waited rather than listened, and that she was much
agitated. From the half-open door came the odor of a
sick room, and in that one glance I saw that she was very
pale, and very weak, and very ill.

Instinctively I moved in my chair, to get my face away
from the door, instead of turning it, and betraying that I
had seen her, and as I did this I heard her light step
enter the room. I saw her father look up in wonder, and
knew that her mother followed in a frightened way, and
gently laid hands on her, entreating her to return, but she
put them off, and came on toward me. I had only a side
glance, but I could see that her eyes were riveted on me,
and that she leaned forward in a supplicating way.

"Jo, my husband," she said timidly, and pausing to
put her hands to her head, as her father had done, "why
have you delayed coming so long ? "

She fell on her knees when I did not reply, and looked
at me with a pitiful face indicating that she would shortly
burst out crying. I turned in my chair that she might
see that I was not her husband, but her mind was troubled,

MATEEL'S EXPLANATION. 405

and she did not realize it. Indeed, when I looked steadily
into her eyes, she seemed to take it as an accusation from
Jo of neglect and dishonor, and she staggered to her feet
again, as if determined to tell her story. There was a
look of mingled timidity, sorrow, and sickness in her face
which comes to me yet when I am alone, and which I
can never forget.

[ "I was afraid you might not understand that I always
wanted you to come," she said, coming near to me, and
gently stroking my hand, as if hoping to thus induce a
fierce man to listen until she had concluded, "but I
thought you would, and night and day since I have been
away from home — such a long time it has been ; oh, such
a very long time — I have expected you every moment.
Every noise I have thought your step, and when I found
it was not, I listened and hoped again. You have never
been out of my thoughts for a moment, but my prayers
have been answered, for I was always praying for you to
come. I wanted to tell you how truly I have always
loved you, and how unhappy and ill I have been without
you."

It was turning out as I had expected after the appear
ance of Mr. Shepherd at the grave, but how distressed I
was to realize that the explanation came after Jo was
dead, and Mated hopelessly ill, I am not competent to
write ; I could say nothing then, as I can write nothing
now, of the horror I felt when I knew that aJLL this misery
had been jmnecessary. As Mated stood beforeine~she"
staggered in her weakness, and her mother hurried to her I
side, but again she put her off, and stood erect with an
effort.

"I must tell you, to relieve my own mind, if for
nothing else, that I have always been true to you, and
that I only consented to receive Clinton Bragg in this

406 THE STORY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

I/ house in the hope that you would rescue me. I was
afraid it might be wrong, but I did not know what else to
do. I hoped that when you heard that he was coming
here, you would walk in like the brave man that you are,
and demand to know what it meant ; then you would give
me opportunity to explain, and I hoped you would praise
me for making us happy again."

I thought that her father and mother were surprised at
this, for they looked curiously at each other, and Mr.
Shepherd's hand went to his head again — I thought to
upbraid it for not discovering the secret sooner.

" I am sorry it has offended you, Jo, but I could think
of nothing else, and I desired to see you so much. I was
always weak and helpless, and perhaps I did wrong, but I
felt that I must do something. When still you did not
come, I let it be said that I intended to marry him, but it
was all for love of my husband; God is my witness and
I appeal to Him ! I had no more thought of marrying
him than I had of forgetting you, but because you still
delayed, I let the tune be set, believing that you would
not allow it to go on, and give me opportunity to explain.
When the day arrived, I determined to let it go on, and
if you did not rescue me from him before I passed our
home on the way to town, I would take one fond look at
the place where I was once so happy, and kill myself, so
that I mio;ht be carried dead where I was refused admission

O

alive. I was very firm in this purpose, and would have
carried it out. See, I have the knife yet."

She took from her bosom a dirk knife of peculiar
pattern, which Barker had given Jo and me when we
were boys, and we had sharpened it so often that the
blade was very thin and delicate. She tested its sharp
ness by passing her finger across its edge, and, holding it
toward me, asked me to see how keen it was.

MAYBE IT IS NOT JO. 407

" When you sprang out from among the trees on that
dreadful night (I had been expecting you to spring out
just as you did every moment during the ride), my joy
/'was so great that I fainted, and when I awoke it was with
such a strange feeling in my head ; but I will recover soon,
and then we shall be happy once more. I can't remember
when it happened ; yesterday, maybe, but not long ago,
arid when I asked for you, mother said you had gone out,
but would return presently if I waited patiently. After
I had waited a long while I wanted to go to you, for I
knew you loved me, and wanted me to come, but they
said I must wait. I did whatever they told me, for they
said I must or you would not come at all. But won't you
speak to me now, since I have explained it all ? "

She was again on her knees before me, and looking ear
nestly into my face ; at first entreatingly, but suddenly I
saw a change, and there was alarm in her pale face. She
recognized me I thought, and I steadily looked at her that
she might realize her mistake.

Hurriedly rising to her feet, she walked to the other
side of the room, and stood beside her mother, with an arm
on her shoulder, still looking at me in alarm and fright.

" Oh, mother," she said hesitatingly, " maybe it is not
Jo. What if he should be dead and never know!
Wouldn't that be terrible ! "

She was so much exhausted now that she started wearily
to return to her bed, still looking at me as she went, appa
rently better convinced than ever that I was not Jo, and
her father and mother tenderly supported her as she
walked. They slowly passed through the door and into
her room, and I saw them gently lay her down, where she
asked again in a weak but excited voice if it would n't
be terrible if Jo were dead and would never know. I
looked again, and saw Mr. Shepherd and his wife kneeling

408 THE STOKY OF A COUNTRY TOWN.

at the foot of the bed, convulsively sobbing, each one try
ing to comfort the other, and both of them trying to com
fort Mateei. I noticed then that the minister and his
wife were poorly dressed ; that the furniture of the rooms
was threadbare and old, and it came to my mind that they
/were very poor, and had been cruelly neglected by those
'around them. All these circumstances affected me so much
that I stepped out at the front door to recover myself, and
was surprised to find Agnes and Barker at the gate.

They explained that they had been oppressed with the
same fear that oppressed me, and could not resist the
temptation to drive over. I hurriedly told them that it was
as I feared, and gave them as many particulars as I could be
fore we went into the house. They were visibly affected,
and as I pointed around at the general evidences of decay,
in whispering the fear that during Mateel's illness, and
while both were busy in caring for her, they had suffered
from poverty, I became aware that Barker had been a
friend to them during the time, sending them money and
such comforts as the country afforded, although they never
knew who befriended them. I cannot remember what it
was he did to convince me of this, but I was certain of
it, and the opinion was afterwards confirmed, for Agnes
knew of it and told me.

It must have been an hour after midnight when we went
into the house, and though the minister and his wife were
surprised to sec Barker and Agnes, they were pleased as
well, and somehow seemed to think that matters would
get on better now, for they were more cheerful than be
fore, as though the neglect of their friends had been very
humiliating.

Mateei had fallen into a light sleep soon after lying
down, but she wakened in the course of an hour, and still
talked of how long, how patiently, she had waited for Jo,

REUNITED. 409

and how terrible it would be if he were dead and could
never know. At times she seemed to realize that he would
never come, when she remained silent a long while, as if
to think it all over, but she would soon forget this, and
say that while she was patient, and would wait as long as
she could, she hoped he would hurry, as she was growing
weak so fast, and was so anxious to see him and explain
it all.

We were all very quiet, occasionally walking carefully
from one room to another as a relief after sitting a long
time in one position, and it so happened that we were all
standing around Mateel's bed when she asked : —

" Father, do you believe Jo is in heaven ? "

The good man was startled by the question, not know
ing how to reply, but, after thinking a moment, he an
swered, speaking with an effort : —

" It is my hope of the future that when I enter the
beautiful gates I shall find Jo Erring waiting for me, where
I can explain away all that has seemed mysterious here. As
I believe in the mercy of God, I expect to meet him and
enjoy his intelligence and friendship, both of which I have
always esteemed. As I believe in my wife and child, as I
believe in my religion, I believe in Jo Erring."

The invalid seemed much pleased with this assurance,
and simply said : —

" I am glad he will know that I was not fickle or false J
for I will explain it to him."

She closed her eyes then, and we all stepped softly out
of the room to allow her to sleep, but when her mother
went back a few moments later she found that the unhappy
woman was dead.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

CONCLUSION.

IT has been ten years since we buried Mateel beside her
husband in Fairview churchyard, and built monu
ments over their graves. I have been rid of my tiresome
business so many years that I seem never to have been in
it at all, and I can scarcely remember the time when Agnes
was not my wife. Damon Barker lives with us in the
stone house in Twin Mounds, which has been rebuilt and
remodelled so often that it, too, enjoys a new condition,
and I sometimes fear we do not think so much of Jo and
Mateel as we ought, or of the Rev. John Westlock and
the poor woman who died of a broken heart; for some
how we cannot help thinking of them all as having lived
a long while ago, so many changes have taken place since
they were among us. Many of the people who lived in
Fairview and Twin Mounds when they did are dead;
others have moved away, and so many strangers have ar
rived that it seems like a new country, and one in which
those who occupy our graves never lived.

In looking through Jo Erring's room at the jail after his
death, we found a will bequeathing his property to me, a
certain amount to be paid yearly to Mateel, and the mill
I have since leased to such advantage that it has been the
source of a great deal of profit. If I have not mentioned
it before, it may be interesting to know that my father's
wild land, of which he owned a large quantity, has greatly
increased in value, and I was thinking only a few days ago
410

BIG ADAM, MILLER. 411

that I was worth considerable money, and that my income
was ample to support me without work of any kind. In
addition, Mrs. Deming died possessed of some property,
which came into the possession of Agnes, and with Barker's
money we are quite an aristocratic family.

Big Adam operates the mill on Bull River, under lease,
and I have understood that in a few years he will b^ in
condition to buy it outright. I am sincerely glad of this,
for he is a very worthy man, and has had a wife and chil
dren of his own these five or six years. It is said of Big
Adam and his wife that they are the happiest couple in all
that country, and I often go there to witness how con
tented and fortunate the good fellow is after his hard life.
Not long ago I was sitting with him in the mill after dark,
and when I told him how much satisfaction his happiness
afforded me, he made the old reply of pulling an imagin
ary cork, and pouring out liquor in distinct gurgles. His
bandit father was killed a few years ago in attempting to
rob a railroad train, but Big Adam still occasionally tells
that his father gave up his life in the early settlement of
the West ; in short, that he was killed by the Indians.

There has been little change in Mr. Biggs, or Smoky
Hill, except that both have grown older, and improved a
little. I drove over to that country not long ago in quest
of a servant girl, remembering that Mr. Biggs had said
that it produced good ones, and learned that two or three
of his sons were very idle and bad, and made their mother
and their neighbors a great deal of trouble. Mr. Biggs
himself is a great deal in town, as he has opened a kind of
office there for the sale of land, although I suspect that it
is no more than an excuse to keep away from home. I
hear from him frequently with reference to the manage
ment of children, for there have been several occasions to
mention the subject; but for all that it is notorious that

412 THE STORY OI A COUNTRY TOWN.

he has not the slightest control of his own. I have heard
that his oldest son beat him on one of his visits to the
farm, for he is much larger than his father, and of a very
ugly disposition, in spite of the circumstance that he wore
braid on his clothes until he was seven or eight years old.

I have never yet seen Mrs. Biggs, for her husband ap
pealed to me a good many years ago never to visit his
house if I respected him, as it did not correctly represent
him. Agnes goes out occasionally to quell an insurrection
among the children, who have the greatest respect for
her, and she tells me that I may hope to see Mrs. Biggs
soon, as she cannot possibly live much longer, and that we
shall be expected to attend the funeral.

I think at least a half dozen of Theodore Meek's boys
1 .> married., and settled around him on the Fairview
prairie; andUFleir children are as much at home in the old
house as in the new ones. When I was last there I could
scarcely get into the house for them, and my impression
was that the boys had married well, for they were all very
prosperous and very contented. Their nearest neighbors
were the Winter boys, who have developed into honorable
and worthy citizens. Their father has been in heaven
some years, and they seem to be very proud of the repu
tation he left in Fairview, and take good care of their
mother, who manages their house, as they have never
married.

The Rev. John Westlock has never been heard of since
the stormy night when I saw him turn a corner in a Twin
Mounds street and disappear; and if he is alive this night
I do not know it, no more than I know he is dead. I
have published advertisements in a great many widely
circulated newspapers, asking him to let me know of his
whereabouts, and soliciting information of an old and
broken man of his description ; I have made several jour-

BLOTTED OUT WITH A TEAK. 413

neys in answer to these advertisements, but the men I
found were not at all like him, and I have come to believe
that he is dead ; but if he is not, and this should meet his
eye, I trust that his stubborn heart will relent, and that
he will consent to finish his days in peace under my roof.

Rev. Goode Shepherd and his wife returned to their old
home in the East a few months after the death of their
child, and twice since they have journeyed to Fairview to
visit her grave. Their devotion to her memory is very
touching, and it has always been a comfort to me to know
that the minister still believes that Jo has been forgiven,
and that the blessed Saviour blotted out with a tear the
record of his desperate crime at the ford.

I hope the place where Jo and Mateel are buriecl -y

pretty, for I have spent a great deal of time in t^ter A
to make it quietly attractive, and my heart has always
been in the work. While everything else has changed,
Fairview church is just the same, and every night when
the wind blows furiously, I imagine that the great bell is
tolling a muffled requiem for their unfortunate history
from the rickety tower ; every bright day I think that the
birds are singing softly over their graves, and in their quiet
corner of the yard, close by the path leading toward the
old house where they first met, there is a willow that
weeps for them in summer, and tenderly covers their
graves with its leaves in winter. I think it was planted
by Theodore Meek, in whose family there was always so
much love and content ; and I am sure that whenever the
good man visits his own dead, he sends a message upward
for Jo Erring and Mateel.

THE END.

x4^t-^u-u^f

t)

\)

14 DAY USE

RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED

LOAN DIPT.

This book is due on the last date stamped below, or

on the date to which renewed.
Renewed books are subject to immediate recall.

r>

15 p*^*'?^ I •-

i^a

r

>M

FEB - 2 1966 8 4

1

RECEIVED

f

-

OVlfc'87'9AM -

j

LOA- — _

LOAN DEPT.

:• : ; :uu

PRID

RECEIVED r

iiti r> .. <AfCT Q A.

MAY 1 6 1995 "

TOE 2 s 19o7 9 m

CIRCULATION pEpf

l^fi

HOM I3 Vt

I

LD 21A-50m-8,'61
(Cl795slO)476B

General Library

University of California

Berkeley

U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY