"I don't want to go ahead with it, Mr. Conkwright. I want to study law with you. The school was only a makeshift, any way. You are getting old and you need some one to do the drudgery of your office. I will come in and work faithfully."

"Don't know but you are right, Billy."

"I wish, sir, that you wouldn't call me Billy."

"All right, Colonel."

"And I don't care to be called Colonel. You may call me Bill, if you want to, but Billy——"

"A little too soft, eh? All right. I don't know but you are the very man I want. You are faithful and you've got a good head. Call again in a day or two. It has been a long time since I had a partner. Yes, come in again, and I think we can arrange it."

"There is something else that I want to speak about, and to me it is of more importance than——"

"Love!" the old man broke in, winking at me.

"I'll tell you, if you'll wait a moment. Then you may place your own estimate upon it."

I told him of the broken engagement, of Chyd's indifference, of the old couple's plan to leave the community, and I unfolded my sentimental resolve to buy the old house. "And now I must ask a favor," I continued. "Old man Perdue told me that he would pay me for the time—time I have not taught, but as I am not going to fill out the term it wouldn't be right to take the money."

"Ah, and it is law you want to study?"

"Why, of course. Didn't I make that plain?"

"Oh, yes. And you don't think it would be right to take the money? Go ahead, though."

"I know it wouldn't be right. And what I want to ask of you is this: The investment will require about two hundred dollars. Won't you lend me that amount?"

He scratched his head, scratched his chin, bit off a chew of tobacco, stretched himself and said: "Well, I have been lending money all my life, and I don't see why I should stop now. Did you ever hear of anybody paying back borrowed money except in a poker game? I never did. Do people really pay back? I don't know what the custom is over in the part of the country you came from, but the rules are very strict here, and they are not violated very often—they rarely pay back. And they never violate the rule with me."

"My dear sir, I will pay you——"

"Yes, I know. Oh, you've got the formula down pretty fine. Make a good lawyer. I've got some money in that safe, that is, if nobody has robbed me. Let me see if I've been robbed."

He opened the safe and took out a package of banknotes. "Don't believe I've been robbed. Rather singular, too," he went on, counting the money. "Two hundred, you said. Better take two-fifty—you need some clothes. Pardon me for being so keen an observer. It really escaped my notice until this moment. But what you want with the old house is more than I can understand. No, Billy—Bill, I mean—no, I understand it and it is a noble quality."

He rolled up the money, handed it to me and continued to talk. "After all, sentiment is the only thing in life, but you'd better not tell this about town—I'd never get another case. Yes, sir, and the poet is the only man who really lives. Now go on and buy your acre of sentiment, and when you have closed the bargain, lie down upon your possessions and go to sleep. Tell the old man that he is a fool for going away, but tell him also that I don't blame him for being a fool. Yes, sir, I love a fool, for it's the wise man that puts me to trouble. Give my warmest regards to that old woman. Let me tell you something: Many years ago I was a poor young fellow working about the court-house. And the clothes you've got on now are wedding garments compared with what mine were. Well, one day I stopped at Jucklin's house to get out of the rain—he hadn't been married long—and soon after I went into the sitting-room, the wife began to whisper to the husband, and when she went out, which she did a moment later, Jucklin turned to me and said: 'Go up stairs, take off your britches and throw 'em down here, and I'll bring 'em back to you after a while.' I was actually out at the knees, sir, and I did as he told me, and when he brought my trousers back they were neatly patched. Yes, sir, give my warmest regards to that old woman, for if she isn't a Christian there never was one. Well, what are you hanging around here for? Trying to thank me? Is that it? Well, just go on, my boy, and we'll attend to that some other time."

"You know what I feel, Mr. Conkwright, and I will not attempt to thank you, but I must say that I was never more surprised in a man. I was told that you were hard and unsympathetic."

"Sorry you found me out, sir. Let a lawyer get the name of being kind and they say that he is emotional, but has no logic. Blackstone had to give up poetry. Well, good-day. I'm busy."

I ate breakfast at the tavern, nodding over the table; and I was so sleepy that I could scarcely sit my horse as I rode toward home. The day was hot and drowsy was the air, in the road and on the hill-side, where a boy, weary and heavy with the leg-pains of adolescence, was dragging himself after a plow. Once I dozed off to sleep and awoke under a tree, the wise old horse knowing that he could take advantage of my sleepiness to bat his eyes in the shade, and when I spoke to him he started off at a trot as if surprised to find that he had turned aside from his duty. I was nearly home and was riding along half asleep when the frightful squealing of a pig drew my attention down a lane that opened into the road. The animal was caught under a rail fence and his companions were running up to him, one after another, and were raking him with their sharp teeth. I got down and fought off the excited beasts, knocked one of them down for his cruelty, and lifted the fence to liberate the prisoner; and when he was free his companions, the ones that had been ripping his hide, ran up to congratulate him upon his good fortune; and in the whole performance I saw a heartless phase of human life, musing as I rearranged the rails that had been lifted away, and when I straightened up there stood Etheredge looking at me.

"These are my hogs," he said.

"I didn't know that," I replied, "but I might have known that they were members of your family."

"Yes, you might have known a great many things that you have never been wise enough to find out. But I don't want to lash words with you, Mr. Hawes. I simply stopped to tell you that a man who would go out of his way to lift a heavy fence to help a hog is not a bad fellow; and I want to apologize for anything that I have said to anger you. I have nothing against you and I don't blame you for sticking to a friend. One of these days you'll find that I'm not half as bad a fellow as you have had cause to think me. Let us call off our engagement. Is it a go?"

"Doctor, I have no desire to kill you, and I think that your death would be the result of our keeping that engagement."

"Pretty confident sort of a man, I take it. And after all, bravery is nothing but a sort of over-confidence. But I don't believe that you would kill me; I believe that it would be the other way, and it is not out of fear that I propose a setting aside of our indefinite agreement to meet each other. But be that as it may, we will call it off unless you insist, and if you do, why, as a gentleman I shall be compelled to meet you. I am brave enough to confess that I can't help but admire you morally and physically. In a small way, I was once a demonstrator of anatomy, and from an outside estimate I must pronounce you as fine a specimen of manhood as I ever saw. And if you'll come over to the house we'll take a long drink on the strength of it."

"The spirit of your hospitality is not lost upon me, Doctor, but the truth is, I never drink. But with a cheerful willingness I accept your other proposition—to set aside our engagement. It was no more your fault than mine."

"Yes, it was, Mr. Hawes—I wantonly nagged at you. But we will let it drop. Under present conditions we can't be very good friends, but there will come a time when you must acknowledge that malice may know what it is to be honest, if not generous."

"Don't go now, Doctor; you have interested me. Tell me what you mean."

"I wish you good-day, Mr. Hawes," was his reply, as he strode off down the lane. And he left me holding him in a strange sort of regard; he had flattered me and had hinted at a future generosity. Could it be that he intended to modify his evidence when again he should appear against Alf? A demonstrator of anatomy—and he could soothe a nerve as well as expose a muscle. I felt kindly toward him as I rode along, though blaming myself for my weakness. But I have never known a very large man who had not some vital weakness—of vanity, egotism, over-generosity, foolish tenderness—something in ill-keeping with a well-poised morality. With old Sir John we have more flesh, and, therefore, more of frailty.

As I came within sight of the house I saw three men slowly walking about in the yard, and, upon reaching the gate, I recognized them as Parker, Jucklin and Perdue. I turned the horse into a lot and joined them.

"Well," said Jucklin, "it's all over and I have sold out to Parker."

"Not the house, too!" I cried in alarm.

The old man smiled and winked at Parker. "Well, not quite," he said. "Guinea told me what you wanted, and sir, you can have it, though I tell you right now that it ain't worth much."

"Will you take two hundred dollars?"

"Not from you, Bill. You may have the house and the path and the spring and the strip of moss, for if you haven't earned that and more——"

"Hold on, Mr. Jucklin. I want the property made over to me in regular form when I have paid you for it. I will accept of no concession; want to pay as much as Mr. Parker would have paid, and I have borrowed money enough to close the deal. You are going away and you will need every cent you can possibly raise; and I demand that you take the two hundred dollars that I have collected for you. It will be of no use to say that you will not, for I am determined, and, although you have been very kind, you will find me a hard man to fight. And remember that there is a debt to be paid."

He held out his hand and looked over toward the General's house as I gripped his rough palm.

"I have buried 'em over by the edge of the woods," he said; "buried 'em with their gaffs on. I couldn't help it—they had to fight to a finish. Yes, it shall be as you say. I will pay what I owe and still have money enough to get away off somewhere. We'll draw up the papers in town and have it over with at once."

"Mr. Hawes, I've got a hundred dollars that's yours," said old man Perdue. "I have brought the money, and here it is."

"I can't take it, Mr. Perdue. I haven't earned it, and shall not earn it. I am not going to teach your school."

"The deuce you say! Why, my grandson thinks there ain't nobody in the world like you—says you can whip any livin' man. You must teach that school."

"No, I am going to study law with Judge Conkwright."

"What, with him? Don't you do it. Why, there ain't a harder hearted man on the face of the earth than he is. Smart as a whip, but he don't go to church once in five years. Oh, you needn't smile, for it's a fact. Not once in five years, and what can you expect from a man like that? Oh, he'll grind you into the very ground. Ain't got a particle of feelin'."

"I expect him to teach me the law and I can get along with my present stock of religion. But even if he were to offer me his religion, I would accept it. I know him better than you can ever know him. But we have no cause to discuss him. No, I can't take your money."

"But you have earned some of it. Twenty-five dollars, at least."

"Well, I will take that much."

"Take it all," said Parker.

"No, twenty-five," I replied.

"You are your own boss," Perdue observed; "you know best. Here's your twenty-five, and I'll make it fifty if you'll send out word that the new man, whoever he may be, mustn't go into the creek. You are the sort of a reformer that this community has needed. Well, gentlemen, I've got to get home. Issue your proclamation, sir, and send for the other twenty-five."

Parker said that it was time for him to go, and, adding that he would meet Jucklin in town, left us at the door.

Mrs. Jucklin was brighter than I had expected to find her, and when I told her what Conkwright had said, that Alf would surely be acquitted, the light of a new hope leaped into her eyes.

"I told Limuel that God would not permit such a wrong," she said. "Didn't I, Limuel?"

"You said something about it, Susan; I have forgot exactly what it was. It's all right if the judge says he knows it. Yes, sir, it's all right. But we'll leave here all the same. Don't reckon we'll ever come back; can't stand to be p'inted at. Fight a man in a minit if he p'ints at me."

"Oh, Limuel, don't talk about fighting when we are in so much trouble."

"Fight a man in a minit if he p'ints at me. Knock down a sign-post if it p'ints at me. Well, we want a little bite to eat. Been about six weeks since I eat anything, it seems like."

All this time I was wondering where Guinea could be, and was startled by every sound. The mother asked me how Alf looked and how he had acted when I had pictured Millie's leaving home; and I told her mechanically, wondering, listening; and I broke off suddenly, for I thought there was a footstep at the door. No, it was a chicken in the passage. They asked me many questions and I answered without hearing my own words. Mrs. Jucklin went out to the dining-room and the old man began to talk about his chickens. He had found them bloody and stiff, and had buried them in a box lined with an old window curtain. And now there was a step at the door. I looked up and Guinea stood there, looking back, listening to her mother. And thus she stood a long time, I thought, and yet she must have known that I was in the room. Mr. Jucklin spoke to her and she came in, walking very slowly. Her face was pale, with a sadness that smote my heart. She sat down and looked out of the window. Mrs. Jucklin called the old man, and when he was gone I told Guinea that I had left Alf in a convulsive joy; and, still looking out of the window, she said: "You are the noblest man I ever met."

I sprang to my feet, but quickly she lifted her hand and motioned me back, though she still looked away. "Sit down, please. Don't you remember our agreement to be frank with each other?"

"Yes, I remember it, but frankness means the opposite of restraint."

"Yes, but frankness should always have judgment behind it."

"Guinea!" She looked at me. "Guinea, you say that after a while he will kneel at your feet."

"Yes, after a while, Mr. Hawes."

"But let me—let me kneel at your feet now!"

Slowly she shook her head. "No, Mr. Hawes, you must never do that. Sometime we may kneel together, but you must never kneel to me. Now we are frank, aren't we? We may go to church together and hear some one pray a beautiful prayer, a prayer that may seem the echo of our own heart-throbs. Sweet is confidence, and I ask you to have confidence in me. Let me have my way, and when the time is ripe, I will come to you with my hands held out. Yes, when the time is ripe. And then there will be no reproaches and nothing to forgive, but everything to worship and to bless. Oh, I am a great talker when once I am started, Mr. Hawes, and I think all the time. I thought this morning as I stood at the gate, just as you left me standing; I heard you galloping down the road. And do you know what I thought of? It was almost profane, but I thought of the baptizing at the river of Jordan, when the spirit came down like a dove; and I knew what must have been the thrilling touch of that spirit, for the holiness of love had touched my hair. No, Mr. Hawes, not now. There, sit down again and let me talk, for I am started now. Oh, and you thought that I was dumb and feelingless? You mustn't weep; but as for me, why, I am a woman and tears are a woman's inheritance. There, I have said enough, and after this we must speak to each other as friends—until the time when I shall come to you with my hands held out; and then I am going to tell you of a woman who loved a man, not with a halting, half-hearted love, but with a love as broad as God's smile when the earth is in bloom. You didn't know that I was so persistent, did you? Isn't it time for a woman to be persistent? No woman has ever kept silence, they tell us, but women have been constrained to talk around the subject, festooning it with their insinuating fancies. But women are more outspoken now and are permitted to be truer to themselves. Yes, you must have confidence in me; let me indulge my dream a while longer, and then I will come to you, but until then let us be friends."

"But won't you let me tell you something now? Won't you let me tell you that in the moonlight I bowed until my head touched the dust, worshiping you as you stood——"

"No, not now; not until I come. And won't you respect my wishes, even if they are foolish?"

"Now and forever, angel, your word shall be a divine law unto me."

"They are calling us," she said. "Come on."



CHAPTER XVII.

In the afternoon I went to town with the old man, to attend upon the transfer of the property, and I slept in the wagon, conscious of Guinea when the road was rough, and sweetly dreaming of her when there was no jolt to disturb my slumber. It was long after midnight when we returned. I was resolved to go early to bed, for Guinea and her mother were sadly engaged packing a box with the bric-a-brac upon which time and association had placed the seal of endearment.

"Now, I wonder what has become of that old lace curtain," said Mrs. Jucklin. "I have looked everywhere and can't find it, and I know it was in the chest up stairs."

The old man began to scratch his head.

"I don't know who could have taken it," Mrs. Jucklin went on. "It couldn't have walked off, I'm sure. Limuel?"

"Yes, ma'm."

"Do you know what has become of that old curtain?"

"What, that ragged old thing that wan't worth nothin'?"

"Worth nothin'! Why, it belonged to my grandmother."

"I never heard of that before."

"Oh, yes, you have, and what's the use of talkin' that way? You've known it all the time."

"News to me," said the old man.

"It's not news to you, anything of the sort; but the question is, do you know what has become of it?"

"Susan, in this here life many things happen, things that we wish hadn't happened. I am not sorry that they fit to a finish, for that had to be; but I am sorry that I wrapped 'em in that curtain when I buried 'em."

"Gracious alive, what has possessed the man! Oh, you do distress me so. How could you do such a thing, Limuel? I do believe you have gone daft. But you go right out there now and dig up them good-for-nothin' chickens and bring me that curtain. Go right on this minit."

"What, Susan, and rob the dead and the brave? You wouldn't have me do that."

"Go on, I tell you, or I'll go myself, and throw the fetchtaked things over to the hogs. The idee of wrappin' up them cruel, good-for-nothin' things in a curtain like that. Oh, I never was so provoked in my life."

The old man got up and stretched himself. "Bill," said he, "I am sometimes forced to believe that the women folks are lackin' in human sympathy. Ma'm, I'll fetch your curtain, but I've got to have somethin' to wrap around the dead and the brave."

"Don't you take that apron. Why, if he wouldn't take the best apron I've got, right out from under my very eyes. And you can't have that stand cover, either."

"Well, but, by jings, what can I have? Am I a traveler that has jest stopped here to stay all night? There's no use in talkin'; I'm goin' to have 'em put away decent. Take me for a barbarian?"

He went out, and just as I was going up to bed I met him in the passage way, with a roll of white stuff in his bare arms, and as he stepped into the room I heard his wife exclaim: "Mercy on me, if he hasn't taken his best shirt. And what he is goin' to do for somethin' to wear the Lord only knows."

I heard Guinea laughing, and then I heard the old man say that what a man happened to wear would make but little difference with the Lord.

I was so worn that my sleep that night was dreamless, but when early at morning they called me to breakfast I knew that during the hours of that deep oblivion I had been vaguely conscious of a dim and shadowy happiness; and a vivid truth came upon me with the first glimpse of sunlight.

The old man was waiting at the foot of the stairs. "Bill, we are goin' over to the station right after we eat a bite," he said. "We can't take but a few things, and we'll leave the most of our trumpery till we git settled somewhere. Take care of that horse you've been ridin'—he don't belong to us; was left here by a man some time ago, feller that had to go away off somewhere to see his folks. So, you jest keep him till he's called for; and I've left you plenty of corn out there to feed him on. You can study your books here about as well as you can in town, and I wish you'd sorter look after the things. Parker will drive us over to the station."

"And am I to go also?" I asked.

"No, I believe not. It's Guinea's arrangement and not mine. Let her have her own way. All women have got their whims, the whole kit an' b'ilin' of 'em, and you might as well reason with a weather cock. Wait a minit before we go in. As soon as we git half way settled Guinea will write to you. I have no idee where I'm goin', but it will be away off somewhere. It makes me shudder every time I meet a man that I know, and I'd bet a horse that if I was to meet a cross-eyed feller I'd fight him. If Alf gits clear he can come to us. And you—I'm sorry you have decided to go in with Conkwright, for I wanted you to come with Alf."

"I will come. Nothing shall stand in the way. Mr. Jucklin, have you noticed——"

"Yes, I've noticed everything. And it's all right. And Susan has noticed everything and it's all right with her. There never was a prouder human than Guinea, sir; the old General's pride is rain water compared to her'n. And she's got an idee in her head—I don't exactly understand it, but she's got it there and we'll have to let her keep it till she wants to throw it aside. I was over to the General's before sun up this mornin'. He swore that he wouldn't take the money, but I left it under a brick-bat on the gate post and come away. Well, everything is settled, and all I can say now is, God bless you."

We were silent at breakfast, and we dared not look at one another. A wagon came rattling through the gate, and Parker shouted that he was ready. No one had said a word, but the old man struck the table with his fist and exclaimed: "I insist on everybody showin' common sense. I don't want anybody to speak to me. I'll fight in a minit. Git in that wagon without a word. Hush, now."

I wanted to lead Guinea to the wagon, to feel again her dependence upon me, but she pretended to be looking away when I attempted to take her hand, and so she walked on alone; but I helped her into the vehicle, and I kissed her hand when she took hold of the seat. She gave me a quick look and a smile; and the wagon rolled away. I stood on the log step, watching it, and as it was slowly sinking beyond the hill I saw the flutter of a handkerchief.

I went up to my room and sat down, sad that I had seen her going away from me, yet happy to know that she had left her heart in my keeping. But the foolishness of this separation struck me with a force that had been lacking until now, and for a time I felt toward the old man a hardness that not even a keen appreciation of his kindness and his drollery could soften. Gradually, however, the truth came to me that Alf had drawn the plan, and with my arms stretched out toward the hill-top that had slowly arisen between me and the fluttering handkerchief I foolishly apologized to the old man. I did more foolish things than that; I improvised a hymn and sang it to Guinea—a chant that, no doubt, would have been immeasurably funny to the cold-hearted and the sane, but it brought the tears to my eyes and rendered the rafters just above my head a work of lace, far away. And at these devotions I might have remained for hours had not a sharp footfall smote upon my ear. I hastened down stairs, and at the entrance of the passage stood Chyd Lundsford, looking about, slowly lashing his leg with a switch.

"Helloa! Where are all the folks?"

"They are gone, sir," I answered, stiffly bowing to him.

"Gone? I don't know that I quite catch your meaning."

"If it be illusive you have made it so. I said that they were gone, which means, of course, that they are not here."

"I understand that all right enough, but do you mean that they are not in at present or that they have really left home?"

"They have no home, sir."

He gave himself a sharp cut with the switch. "It can't have been so very long since they left, for the old man was over to see father this morning. Which way did they go? I may overtake them."

"That would be greatly against their wish, sir."

"I am not asking for an opinion. I want to know which way they went."

"I am not at liberty to tell you that. They have gone out into a world that is as strange to them as America was to Columbus."

"Rot. There isn't a smarter woman anywhere than Guinea. She has read everything and she knows the world as well as I do. But why are you not privileged to tell me which way they went? I have something to say that concerns them closely. Did they go toward town?"

"Do you suppose that they would go away without first seeing their son?"

"Then you mean that they went to town. Why the devil can't you speak out? Why should you stand as a stumbling block?"

"Why should I stand as a sign post?"

"Now here, you needn't show your selfishness in this matter. She wouldn't wipe her feet on you."

"No, but she would wipe them on you."

"What!" He took a step forward, but he stepped back again and stood there, lashing himself with the switch. "My father tells me that you are a gentleman," he said.

"And you may safely accept your father's opinion of me," I answered.

"But you are not striving, sir, to make that opinion good."

"A good opinion needs no bolstering up."

"This bantering is all nonsense. I've got nothing against you; I have simply asked you a civil question."

"And I hope to be as civil as you are, but out of regard for the feelings of those old people and their daughter I cannot tell you which way they went. You couldn't overtake them, any way."

"But I can try."

"Yes, you could have tried yesterday and the day before, and a week ago, when they needed your sympathy."

He dropped his switch, but he caught it up again, and his face was red. "I might say, sir, that what I have done and that which I have failed to do is no business of yours, but I feel that there is a measure of justice in what you say, and I acknowledge that I have been wrong. That is why I am here now—to set myself right."

"In matters of business we may correct an error, Mr. Lundsford; we may rub out one figure and put down another, but a mark made upon the heart is likely to remain there."

"I will not attempt to bandy sentimentalities with you, sir. I am a practical man, a scientist, if you wish; and I came here to tell that girl that my breaking off the engagement—you must know all about it—was wrong. I told my father to come, for just at that time I didn't feel that as a man who looks forward to something a little more than a name I could afford to marry her. But I was wrong; any living man could afford to marry her. I was wrong, and that ought to settle it."

"And I think, sir, that it does settle it as far as you are concerned."

"Do you mean that she won't marry me? Oh, yes, she will, not out of any foolish love, but because she would be proud of my success. Well, I may not overtake her, but I will write to her. Yes, that will do as well. She will want to know how things are getting along here, and will write to you, and when she does I wish you would show me her letter. What are you laughing at? Haven't you got any sense at all?"

"I hope so, but I am not so much of a scientist that I am a fool."

"No, but you are so much of a fool that you are not a scientist, by a d——d sight."

He had me there, and it was his time to laugh, and he did. He was so tickled that he roared, walking up and down the passage; and he was so pleased that he held out his hand to shake upon the merit of his joke. I was not disposed to be surly and I shook hands with him, and he clapped me on the shoulder, still laughing, and declared that it was a piece of wit worthy of the dissecting-room, and that he would jolt his fellows with it.

"I am glad you are so much pleased," I remarked.

"Why, don't you think it's good, eh? Of course, you do. Well, it's better to part laughing, anyway."

"You are not too much of a scientist to be a philosopher," I said. And I expected him to continue his line of deduction and to say that I was too much of a philosopher to be a scientist, but he did not; he sobered and gravely remarked:

"Yes, I am devilish sorry that this thing came about, and I hope that Guinea will not take a romantic view of it. I guess they'll be back after a while, if Alf is cleared, and from what I hear I suppose he will be."

"May I ask how your sister is?"

"Certainly. She's all right; doesn't eat much, but her pulse is normal—little excited, but hardly noticeable. Loves that fellow, doesn't she? Strong, good-looking boy, but not very practical. Hope he'll come out all right. Ah, I was going to say something, but it has escaped me. Oh, yes, you are in love with Guinea. Be frank, now."

"Yes, I worship her."

"Hardly the word, but it will do, on an impulse. I think a good deal of her myself. I said just now that she wouldn't wipe her feet on you, and I beg your pardon. She may wipe them on you. You are going to stay here, eh? Well, come over to the house. No reason why there should be any ill-will between us. Good-day."

I sat down on the step and watched him until he had ridden out of sight, and I was pleased that he went toward his home, not that I was afraid of a renewal of the engagement; I knew that it was forever set aside. But I felt that his overtaking the wagon would bring an additional trouble to the father and the mother; indeed, I was afraid that the old man might kill him. Strange fellow Chyd was, and I liked him as an oddity, as something wholly different from myself or from any impulsive being. He was not cruel—he simply had no heart.



CHAPTER XVIII.

I walked about the old place until nearly noon, and then I went to town. The jailer met me with a doubtful shaking of his scheming head, and I knew that again he had received orders to be rigid in his discipline, but I was resolved that the old rascal's appetite for liquor should not play a second prank upon me; so when he hinted at another bottle I told him that I had spent so much of my life as a temperance lecturer that it was against my conscience to buy a favor with whisky. I looked steadily at him, and he began to wince.

"Why, to be sure," said he, "but, my dear sir, I didn't buy whisky with that dollar—bought a ham with it. If I didn't I'm the biggest liar in the world; and I don't reckon there's a family in this town that needs another ham right now worse than mine does."

"That may be, but I can't afford to pay so heavy a price every time I enter this place. You know that I am associated with the prisoner's lawyer, but we'll waive that right—I'll go to the sheriff and get an order from him."

"Why, my dear sir, that's unnecessary. Walk right in; but remember your promise not to say anything about that ham. There are a lot of vegetarians in this town, and if they hear of my eating meat they'll hold it against me. Walk in, sir."

I found Alf in high spirits. Conkwright had called and had assured him that his day of liberty was not far off. I told him that the old house was deserted, and he stood musing, looking at me dreamily, as if his mind were hovering over the scenes of his boyhood. I let him dream, for I knew the sweetness of a melancholy reverie. Sometimes the soul is impatient of the body's dogged hold on life, and steals away to view its future domain, to draw in advance upon its coming freedom—now lingering, now swifter than a hawk—and then it comes back and we say that we have been absent-minded. Alf started—his soul had returned. "And weren't you surprised to see them drive toward town?" he asked.

"Who, your parents and Guinea? They didn't; they drove toward the railway station."

"But they came to town, my dear boy—were here in this jail. They must have driven round to deceive you, for they knew that you would want to come with them, and they deceived you to spare you the pain of seeing us together. And I'm glad you were spared, though mother stood it much better than I expected. But this was because she firmly believes I'll be cleared. They haven't been gone a great while—there's a station not far from this town. Father played another trick on you. Yesterday, when he came to town to deed over the land, he left you dozing in the wagon and slipped off round here. I was surprised, for I had positively ordered him not to come. But he set me to laughing before he got in. 'Open that door by the order of the sheriff!' he cried at the jailer. 'Here's the order; look at it, but don't you look at me. Fight you in a minit.' And then he came in, and the first thing he told me was that they had gaffs on. He said that he had fought hard to keep mother from coming, at night when the rest were asleep; and I swore that she must not come, but she did. Bill, you brought me a message that sent me to heaven; and now let me ask if you know that Guinea loves you? There, don't say a word—you know it. She told me, standing where you are now—told me everything, and what a talker she is when once she is started. But you must let her have her way, and she will come to you, holding out her hands. Have you seen Millie?"

"No, not since that night. But I am going to see her."

Then I told him that Chyd had come to the house—I reproduced the scene, and Alf's merriment rang throughout the jail.

"Yes," he said, "you can go over there all right enough. The General likes you, anyway. I don't know what he thinks of me—still sizes me as a boy, I suppose; and if he were to come in here now I believe he would ask me what father was doing. But it makes no difference what he thinks. The judge tells me that you are going to study law with him. Jumped into an interesting case right at once, didn't you?"

We talked a long time and we laughed a great deal, for we were in a paradise, although in a jail. And I left him with a promise that I would soon bring him a direct word from Millie.

I found Conkwright in his office, with his slippered feet on a table. He bade me come in, and he said nothing more, but sat there pressing his closed eye-lids with his thumb and fore-finger. How square a chin he had and how rugged was his face, trenched with the deep ruts of many a combat. His had been a life of turmoil and of fight. He was not born of the aristocracy. I had heard that he was the son of a Yankee clock peddler. But to success he had fought his way, over many an aristocratic failure.

"Judge, have you finally decided that I may come into your office?"

"Thought we settled that at first," he replied, without opening his eyes. "Yes, you may come in; glad to have you, and, by the way, I've got some work I want you to do right now. A woman was in here to-day to see if I could get her husband out of the penitentiary. I don't know but I helped put him there—believe I did. I was busy when she came in, and when she went away I remembered how poorly she was dressed, and I am afraid that I didn't speak to her as kindly as I should have. She lives at the south end of the street behind the jail, left hand side, I believe. Look in that vest hanging up there and you'll find twenty dollars in the pocket, right hand side, I think. Take the money and slip down to that woman's house and give it to her. But don't let anyone see you and don't tell her who sent it. Might tell her that the State sent it as wages due for overtime put in by her husband. And you needn't come back this evening, for it's time to close up."

I looked back at him as I stepped out. He had not changed his position and his eyes were still closed. And this was my first work as a student of the law—a brave beginning, the agent of a noble design. I found the place without having to make inquiry, and a wretched hut it was. The woman was shabby and two ragged children were lying on the floor. I gave her the twenty dollars—I did more, I gave her a part of the money which Perdue had given me. I explained that her husband had worked overtime and that the State, following an old custom, had sent her the wages of his extra labor. She was not a very good-natured woman; she said that the State and the rest of us ought to be ashamed of ourselves for having robbed her of her husband, and she declared that if she ever got money enough she would sue old Conkwright and the sheriff and everybody else. I was glad enough to quit that wretched and depressing scene; and in the cool of the evening I strolled about the town. The business part of the place was mean, but further out there were handsome old residences, pillared and vine-clad. And in front of the most attractive one I halted to gaze at the trees and the shrubbery, dim in the twilight.

A boy came along and I asked him who lived there and he answered: "Judge Conkwright."

"He deserves to live in even a better house," I mused, as I turned away; and just then I was clapped upon the shoulder with a "Helloa, my old friend"—the telegraph operator. I shook hands with him, and at once he began to tell me of his affairs. "Getting along all right," he said. "Haven't got quite as much freedom as I used to have, but I reckon it's better for me. Wife thinks so much of me that she's jealous of the boys—don't want me to stay out with them at night. Don't reckon there's anything more exacting than a rag. But I had to have one. Without calico there ain't much real fun in this life. But enough of calico's society is about the enoughest enough a man can fetch up in his mind. Tell you what—I'll run on home and come back, and then you can go with me."

"No, I couldn't think of putting you to so much trouble."

"Won't be any trouble. Simply don't want to surprise her, you know."

"I'll call on you before long, but now I must go to the tavern."

"All right, and if I can get off I'll come over to see you. And I'll tell you what we'll do along about 11 o'clock. We'll go over to Atcherson's store with a lot of fellers and cook some eggs in the top of a paste-board hat box. Ever cook them that way? It's a world beater. Just break the eggs in the lid of the box and put it on the stove and there you are. Finest stuff you ever eat. But while you're eating you mustn't let them tell that jug story. Couldn't eat a bite after that. Well, I leave you here."

Fearing that the operator's "rag" might fail in the strict enforcement of the regulations that had been thrown about the night-time movements of her husband, that he might break out of the circle of his wife's fondness and call on me at the tavern, I left that place soon after supper and resumed my walk about the town. In some distant place where the land was dry a shower of rain had fallen, for the air was quickened with the coming of that dusty, delicious smell, that reminiscent incense which more than the perfume of flower or shrub takes us back to the lanes and the sweet loitering places of youth. Happiness will not bear a close inspection; to be flawless it must be viewed from a distance—we must look forward to something longed for, or backward to some time remembered; and my happiness on this night was not perfect, for a sense of loneliness curdled it with regret, but here and there, as I walked along, I found myself in an ecstasy—my nerves thrilled one another like crossed wires, electrified. I knew that it might be a long time before I should hear from Guinea, but I was still drunk with the newness of the feeling that she loved me.

Prayer-meeting bells were ringing, and old men and old women came out of the dark shadow of the trees, into the light that burned in front of a church—hearts that with age were slow and heavy, praying for the blessing of an Infinite Mystery. I entered the church and knelt down to pray, for I am not so advanced a thinker as the man who questions the existence of God; but I must admit that my thoughts were far away from the mumblings that I heard about me, far, indeed, from the mutterings of my own lips; and so I went out and sniffed the prayer of nature, the smell of rain that came from far off down the dusty road.

Early the next morning I went to Conkwright's office, to tell him that for a time I preferred to study in the country. The old man was walking up and down the room, with his hands behind him.

"Did you find that woman?" he asked.

"Yes, and I let no one see me."

"Good. You gave her the twenty dollars, and—is that all you gave her?"

"Why, that was all you told me to give her."

"Yes, I know, but didn't you give her some of your own money? Speak out now. No shilly-shallying with me."

"Well, she was so wretched that I gave her five dollars of my own money."

"You did, eh? The money you borrowed from me, you mean?"

"No, money that old Perdue thinks I earned. He insisted upon my taking twenty-five dollars."

"It's all right, my boy. Yes, it's all right, but you'll have to be more careful. It is noble to give, but it is not wise to look for an opportunity. It is better to give to the young than to the old, for the good we do the youth grows with him into a hallowed memory—stimulates him to help others—while the memory of the aged is fitful. Whenever you see a boy trying to amount to something, help him, for that is a direct good, done to mankind. Now to business. Have you read Blackstone?"

"Yes, but not thoroughly. I have never owned his book."

"There he is on my desk. I keep him near me. The lawyer who outgrows that book—well, I may be an old fogy on the subject, so I'll say nothing more except to commend the treatise to a lawyer as I would the multiplication table to a student of mathematics. And now let me say that when you have been with me one year we will begin to talk about other matters, the question of money, for instance. Don't be extravagant—don't give money because you don't know what else to do with it—and I will see that you shall not want for anything. Oh, yes, I know you are thinking of getting married, but it won't cost much to keep your wife. We'll fix all that, and if I don't make a lawyer out of you I am much fooled. You are in love and are mighty sappy just at present, but you'll come round all right; yes, sir, all right after a while."

"I think, Judge, that I can study much better out at the old house, and if you have nothing for me to do I should like to spend several days at a time out there."

"Why, is that the way to assist me? What good can you do me by poking off out there in the woods? Well, you may for a while. Three days a week for a time, eh? All right. You are as hard to break in as a steer. What about those stories you told at the General's house. I hear that they were great. But don't let people put you down as a story teller, for when a lawyer gets that reputation, no matter how profound he may be, the public looks upon him as a yarn-spinner, rather than a thinker. You might put them in print, but not under your own name. Bill—came within one of calling you Billy—a great many men succeed in law not because they are bright, but because they are stupid. I never see a jackass that I don't think of a judge—some judges that I know. Well, now, the first and one of the most important things to do is to go over to that tailor and have yourself measured for a suit of clothes. Did I say measured? Surveyed is the word," he added, looking at me from head to foot and then laughing. "Yes, I think that's the word. Well, go on now."

When the tailor had completed his "survey" I went to the jail, talked for a few moments with Alf and then straightway rode to the General's house. The old man was sitting on the porch, with one foot resting on a pillow, placed upon a chair. "Get down and come right in!" he shouted; and as I came up the steps he motioned me away from him and said: "Don't touch that hoof, if you please. Buttermilk gout, sir. Look out, you'll tip something over on me. It's a fact—every time I drink buttermilk it goes to my foot. Too much acid. How are you, anyway?"

He cautiously reached out his hand and jerked it away when I had merely touched it. "Didn't sleep a wink last night; and every dog in the county came over here to bark. I am very glad you have called; glad that you are too liberal to hold a foolish resentment. And the old folks are gone. 'Od 'zounds, the way things do turn out. The first thing I know I'll swear myself out of the church. It was my pride, sir—but by all the virtues that man has grouped, must we apologize for our pride? Hah, sir! Must I grovel and beg pardon because I honor my own name? I'll see myself blistered first. It wasn't old Lim's fault. Confound it all, it wasn't anybody's fault. Then, sir, must I go crawling around on my belly like a—like a—like an infernal lizard, sir? I hope not. But it will come out all right, I think. After Alf is cleared the old people will come back and all will be well again. What do you want?"

A negro boy had poked his head out of the hall door and was looking on with a broad grin. "Dinner!" cried the old man. "But is that the way to announce it—grinning like a cat? Come back here. Now what do you want?"

"Dinner is ready, sah," said the boy.

"Well, that's all right. But don't come round here grinning at me. Hand me that stick. Oh, I'm not going to hit you with it. Come, Mr. Hawes. No, I don't want you to help me. I can hobble along best by myself."

Millie was in the dining-room, and she turned to run when she saw me, but the old man hobbled into her way, so she came toward me with reddening face, and held out her hand. "I am glad to see you," she said. "Sit over here, please. That's Chyd's seat and he's so particular."

The son came in, said that he was pleased to see me, sat down, opened a pamphlet that looked like a medical journal and began to read.

"Mr. Hawes," said the General, "I understand that you have made arrangements to study law with Judge Conkwright. And a most fortunate arrangement, I should think. Smart old fellow, sir; smart, and a good man to have on your side, but a mighty bad man to have against you—half Yankee by parentage and whole Yankee by instinct. Millie, is that cat under the table?"

"I think not, father," the girl answered, after looking to see if the cat were there; but this did not satisfy the old man. "You must know, not think," he said. "There should be no doubt about the matter, for I must tell you that if he touches my foot I'll kill him. A cat would travel ten miles and swim a river—and a cat hates water—to claw a gouty foot. Chyd, just put that book aside if you please."

The young man folded the pamphlet and shoved it into his pocket. "I've struck a new germ theory," he said.

"Yes," replied the General, "and you'll strike a good many more of them as you go on. I should think that you want facts, not theories."

"But theories lead to facts," the young man rejoined. "The theory of to-day may become the scientific truth of to-morrow."

"And it may also be the scientific error of the day after to-morrow," I remarked.

He looked at me, spoke a word which I did not catch and then was silent, seeming to have forgotten what he had intended to say. I think that the word he uttered was "hah," or something to indicate that he had paid but slight heed to my remark. I did not repeat it, and the talk fell away from the germ theory.

"Now, Mr. Hawes," said the General, "I want you to help yourself just as if you were alone at your own board. It is a pleasure to have you with us, and an additional pleasure to know, sir, that you are to become a permanent citizen of this county. Men may think themselves wise when they apprentice their sons to a trade, averring that the professions are overcrowded, but that has always been the case, and yet, professional men have ever been the happiest, for they achieve the most, not in the gathering of money, but in the uplifting of mankind. My daughter, you don't appear to be eating anything. I hope that you have not permitted the timely, though unexpected, visit of Mr. Hawes to affect your appetite. Chydister, another piece of this mutton? Most nutritious, I assure you; a fact, however, which is, no doubt, well known to you. Mr. Hawes, I should think that you would prefer to sleep here at night, rather than to stay alone in that old house. You are more than welcome to a room here, sir. And I should like to hear anecdotes of your grandfather, the Captain."

"I shall be in the country but a part of the time during the week, and my coming and going will be irregular. But for this I should gladly accept your generous offer. As to my grandfather, I must admit that I know but little regarding his life."

"A sad error in your bringing up, sir. In that one particular we Americans are shamefully at fault. A buncombe democracy has insisted that it is not essential to look back, but simply to place stress upon our present force and consequence. That is a self-depreciation, a half-slander of one's self. Of course, it is not just to despise a man who has no ancestry, but it is a crime not to honor him if he has a worthy lineage."

And thus he talked until the rest of us sat back from the table, and then, gripping his cane and getting up, he said that he would like to talk to me privately in the library. Upon entering the room he filled a clay pipe, handed it to me, gave me a lighted match, filled a pipe for himself, and then lay down upon an old horse-hair sofa. I placed a cushion for his foot and he raised up and bowed to me. "I thank you, sir," he said. "I don't believe that Chyd would have thought of that. I believe that he will make of himself one of the finest of physicians, but a man may be a successful doctor and yet a thoughtless and an indifferent companion. You will please put the right construction upon what may appear as an over-frankness on my part, for the fact is I have never regarded you as a stranger; and I feel that what I say to you will go no further."

He was silent and I nodded to him, waiting for him to continue. He moved his shoulders as if to work himself into an easier position, and then he resumed his talk. "Of my own volition I would not have gone over to Jucklin's house to break that engagement—I would have waited—but my son told me to go, and after I had gone, why, of course, I had to act my part. But it was simply acting, for my heart was not in it. And I tell you, sir, that if old Lim had wiped his bloody hands in my face I would not have struck him. Chydister is proud, but his pride and mine are not of the same sort. With him everything must bear upon his future standing as a physician, and to me that has too much the color of business. I admit that I was grieved to discover that my daughter was in love with Alf. I don't say that he is not morally worthy of her or of any young woman, but he is poor and is indifferently educated, with no prospects save a life of hard work. And I don't believe that I need to apologize for desiring to see my daughter well situated. Now, my son regrets the step which he took and which he urged me to take, and at the earliest moment he will renew the engagement. I think almost as much of Guinea as I do of my own daughter. Although she is a country girl, who has led a most simple life, I hold her a remarkable woman—an original and a thinking woman, sir. And now what I request you to do is this—soften her resentment, if you can. There are matches at the corner of the mantelpiece."

My pipe was out. I lighted it, and did not resume my seat, but stood looking at him.

"General," said I, "Guinea will never marry your son."

"The devil you say! Pardon me. I didn't mean to be so abrupt. But why do you think she will not marry him?"

"General, it is now your turn to pardon me, sir. She is to be married by a man who worships her, not a scientist, but a man with a heart—she is going to be my wife."

The old man sprang up and in a moment he stood facing me. There was a footstep at the door and Chydister entered the room.

"Go ahead with your emotional oratory, but pardon me while I look for my stethoscope," he said. "I want to see what effect an hour's run will have on the hearts of a hound and an ordinary cur."

"Sir!" cried his father, turning upon him, "this is no time to talk of the hearts of hounds and curs. The hearts of men are at stake."

"That so? What's up?"

"What's up, indeed, sir? This man says that Guinea Jucklin will not marry you."

"Yes, so he told me. Now I almost know that I put that thing right up here."

"'Zounds, man, will you listen to me!"

"Yes, sir, go ahead. He says she won't marry me. That's his opinion, undemonstrated—a mere assertion; he has given me no proof."

"Ah, have you any proof, Mr. Hawes?" the old man asked.

"I have, but it cannot very well be set forth in words; and with much respect for you, General, I must say that I prefer not to illustrate it."

"You see it's rather vague, father. Let me ask if she has said positively that she will be your wife?"

"Her lips may have made no promise beyond a figure of speech, and yet her heart——"

"Ah, more vague than ever," the young man broke in, looking at his father as if he were impatient to get away. "I must have left it somewhere else," he added, and the old General frowned upon him.

"Chydister, if you lose that woman it is your own fault."

"Well, no, I can hardly agree with you there, father. If I lose her it will be the fault of circumstances. Are you done with me?"

"Yes, you can go," said the General. He stooped, reached back for the lounge and laboriously stretched himself upon it. Chyd went out and I remarked that it was time for me to go. The old man made no reply, seeming not to have heard me, but as I turned toward the door he raised up and said:

"I would be a fool, sir, to blame you; and I trust that you will not blame me for hoping that you are mistaken."

He lay down again, and I left him. Millie was standing at the gate when I went out, and she pretended not to see me until I had passed into the road, and then, with the manner of a surprise, she said: "Oh, I didn't think you were going so soon—thought you and father were having an argument. Do you see—see him very often?"

There was a tremulous tenderness in her voice, and I knew that there were tears in her eyes, and I looked far away down the road, as I stood there with the gate between us.

"I have seen him every day," I answered.

"And does he look wretched and heart-broken?"

"No, he is happy, for he knows that you love him."

She caught her breath with a sob and I looked far away down the road.

"You told him—told him that I did. And I am so thankful to you; I would do anything for you. I dream of him all the time, and I see you with him. How terrible it is, shut up there and the sun is so bright for everyone else. Sometimes I go into the closet and stay there in the dark, for then I am nearer him. When will you see him again?"

"I am going back to town to-morrow."

"Will you please give him this?"

I reached forth my hand and upon my palm she placed a locket.

"I know that if you study law, Mr. Hawes, you will get him out. You are so strong that you can do most anything. Good-bye, and when you write to Guinea, send her my love."



CHAPTER XIX.

Four weeks passed and heavy were the days with anxiety, for I had received no word from Guinea. I thought of a hundred causes that must have kept her from writing, but, worst of all, I feared that she had written and that the letter had gone astray.

One afternoon, having thrown my book aside, weary of causes, reasonings and developments of law, I sat on a rock near the spring, musing, wondering, when suddenly I sprang to my feet, with Guinea in my mind, with Guinea before me, I thought. But this was only for an instant. A young deer came down the path, gracefully leaping, and my mind flew back to the time when I had first seen her running down that shining strip of hard-beat earth. Yes, it was a deer, and it ran down the brook, and presently I heard the hounds yelping in the woods. I returned to my room and again I strove to study, but the logical phrasing was harsh to me, and I threw down the book. I would fish in the pools that lay along the stream toward the mill. The ground in the yard and about the barn was so dry that I could find no angle worms, and I decided to dig in the damp moss-land near the spring. The hoe struck a hard substance and out came something bright. I stooped to examine it, and at first I thought that it was silver, but it was not—it was mica. I scraped off the moss and the thin strata of earth, and there I found a great bed of the ore. I dug deeper and it came up in chunks, and it was fine and flawless. My reading taught me that it was valuable, and I was rejoiced to find that it was on my own land. I got out as much as I could carry—indeed, I filled a trunk with it, and then carefully replaced the moss, smoothed it down and made it look as if it had not been displaced. My blood tingled with excitement and I was afraid that some one might have seen me. I took the trunk to my room and split off thin sheets of the mica, and the more I looked at it the more I was thrilled at the prospect that now lay, not in the future, but under my touch. And I was not long in resolving upon a course to pursue. I remembered that into our neighborhood had come from Nashville, Tenn., a large stove with mica in the doors, and I thought it would be wise to take my trunk to that city and by exhibiting its contents induce some one to buy the mine. I hastened to town, after hiding the trunk, and told Conkwright and Alf that unexpected business called me away for a few days, and then I returned home and hired a man to drive me to the railway station. I was afraid to trust the trunk out of my sight, but I had to let the baggage man take it, but I charged him to be particular with it, telling him that it was full of iron ore. He gave it a jerk and declared that it must be full of lead. When I had come into that community I fancied that the train was on wings, but now it appeared to be crawling. Night came and I was afraid that robbers might assail the train and expose my secret; but at last I reached Nashville, and then came a worry. How was I to find the man who had made the stove? I took my trunk to a hotel, wrapped a chunk of the mica in a handkerchief and set out to look for a stove dealer. I soon found a hardware establishment, and in I walked with the hardened air of business, and asked for the proprietor. A pleasant-looking man came forward, and I asked him what mica was worth. He looked at me sharply and answered that he was not thoroughly informed as to the state of the market, but that he thought it was worth all the way from five to twenty-five dollars a pound. "But mica of the first quality is scarce," said he, and then he asked if I wanted to buy mica.

"No, sir, I want to sell it. Is this of good quality?"

I unwrapped the handkerchief and his eyes stuck out in astonishment. "Where did you get it?" he asked.

"Off my land in North Carolina."

"Have you very much of it?" he asked, scaling off thin sheets with his knife.

"Tons of it."

"You don't say so! Then you've got a fortune. We are not very large manufacturers and don't use a great deal. How much did you bring with you?"

"Only a trunk full."

"Well, I guess we can take that much. Bring it around."

I did so, and I could scarcely believe that I had correctly caught his words when he offered me five hundred dollars, though now I know that he paid me much less than it was worth. He talked a long time with his partner, and then came back to me with the money, asked my name and a number of other questions. "Young man," said he, "if we had the ready means we would buy that mine, but we haven't. Now, I tell you what you do: Take a sample—this piece—and go at once to Chicago. I know of some capitalists there who are making large investments in the South, and I have no doubt that they will be pleased to make you an offer for your property. Here, I'll write their names on a card. To tell you the truth, we are to some extent interested with them. Now, don't show this sample to anyone else, but go straight to Clarm & Ging, Rookery building, Chicago. Anybody can tell you where it is. Here's the card. We'll telegraph them that you are coming, so you are somewhat in honor bound, you understand, not to go elsewhere—we have in some degree sealed the transaction with a part purchase, you see."

I walked out of that house, dazed, bewildered with my own luck. And I took passage on the first train for Chicago. If money could clear Alf, he would now be cleared, and proudly I mused over the great difference that I would make between his first and his last trial. But during all this time I was conscious of a heaviness—the silence of Guinea.

The train reached Chicago at morning. And now I was in the midst of a whirl and a roar—a confused babbling at the base of Babel's tower. And as I walked up a street I thought that a tornado had broken loose and that I was in the center of it. I called a hackman, for my reading taught me what to do, and I told him to drive me to the Rookery. He rattled away and came within one of being upset by other vehicles, and I yelled at him to be more particular, but on he went, paying no attention to me. After a while he drew up in front of a building as big as a lopped-off spur of a mountain range; and when I got out I found that the vitals of the hurricane had shifted with me, for the roar and the confusion was worse, was gathering new forces. But no one laughed at me, no one pointed me out, and I really felt quite pleased with myself—a school-teacher, a lawyer's assistant, expected by a capitalist! I went under a marble arch-way, and asked a man if he knew Clarm & Ging, and he pointed to an elevator—I knew what it was—and shouted a number. I got in and was shot to the eighth floor. I knocked at a door, but no one opened it. There was no bell to ring, so I knocked louder and still no one opened the door. This was hardly the courtesy that I expected. But while I was standing there a man came along and went in without knocking. I thought that he must be one of the men I was looking for, and I followed him, but he simply looked round after going in and then went out again without saying anything. I saw a man sitting at a desk, and I handed him the card which the hardware dealer had given me. He looked at it and said: "Yes, you are Hawes, eh? Where's your mica."

I gave it to him, and he looked at it closely through a microscope. "How deep have you gone?"

"Not more than six inches."

"That so? Much of this size?"

"Train loads, I should think."

"Ah, hah. How much land does it cover?"

"Don't know exactly. Haven't investigated."

And this question set me to thinking. The mine was well on my land, but it might spread out beyond my lines. It was important that I should buy several acres surrounding the stretch of moss, and I decided to do this immediately upon my return home.

"Let's see," said the capitalist. "This is Friday. Mr. Clarm is out of town and will not be back until Monday—has a summer home in St. Jo, Mich., and is over there. It's just across the lake. Suppose we go over there to-morrow morning. Boat leaves at nine. Be a pleasant trip. All right."

He resumed his work as if my acceptance of his proposition was a foreshadowed necessity. "How did you happen to find it?" he asked, without looking up from his work.

"I was digging for angle worms."

He grunted. "Didn't find any worms, did you?"

"No, I don't think I did."

"I know you didn't. Worms and mica don't exist in the same soil. Very rugged?"

"Rocks on each side."

I was determined to be business-like, not to give him information unless he asked for it; and I sat there, studying him. He was direct and this pleased me, for it bespoke a quick decision. But after a time I grew tired of looking upon his absorption, for his mood was unvarying, and he held one position almost without change, so I began to walk about, looking at the pictures of factories and of mines, hung on the walls. The day was hot and the windows were up, and I looked down on the ant-working industry in the street. How different from the view that lay out of my window in the old log house; but I was resolved to draw no long bow of astonishment, for in a man's surprise is a reflex of his ignorance.

"What business?" the capitalist asked, still without looking up.

"None, you might say. Have taught school, but of late I have employed my time with studying law."

He looked round at me and then resumed his work. A long time passed. I heard his watch snap and then he got up.

"We'll go out and get a bite to eat," he said. "Any particular place?"

"No," I answered, pleased that he should presume that I was acquainted with the eating houses of the town.

We stepped out into the hall and he yelled: "Down!" He shoved me into an elevator among a number of men and women, and though we were all jammed together no one appeared to notice me; but when we got out a boy whistled at a companion and yelled: "Hi, Samson!" Mr. Ging darted out under the arch, and I almost ran over him, when he halted on the sidewalk to talk to a man. They walked along together for quite a distance, nodding and making gestures, and when they separated Ging said to me that he had just bought a subdivision of real estate. At this I appeared to be pleased, but I was not; I was afraid that before the close of the deal he might entangle himself in so many transactions that he could not afford to pay cash for the mica mine. The further we went the faster he walked, and suddenly he darted through a wall, and the swinging doors came back and slapped me in the face. We sat down to a table and Mr. Ging said that I might take whatever I desired, but that he wanted only a cup of coffee and a piece of apple pie. I was hungry, had eaten no breakfast and felt as if I could devour a beef steak as big as a saddle skirt, but I said that coffee and apple pie would do me. He asked me a number of questions concerning the mine, its distance from a railway, condition of the wagon roads, and especially did he want to know whether the local tax assessor made it a point to discriminate against the non-resident property owner. I caught the spirit of his quick utterances, and blew out my words in a splutter, striving to be business-like, but before I could cover all his points he had eaten his pie and was impatiently waiting for me.

"Want to go round to-night?" he asked, and before I could tell him that I did want to go round, having but a vague idea as to what he meant, he added: "And if I can get off this afternoon I'll take you out to the stock-yards."

"I would much rather see your finest library," I replied.

"I guess you've got me there; don't know where it is, but I suppose we can find it in the directory."

"I have read of the Art Institute here. You know where that is, I presume."

"Y-e-s—low building over on the lake front. But I've never had time to go into it. Well, suppose we get back to the office."

I raced with him, but he beat me by a neck, being more accustomed to the track; and he shouted "Up!" as he darted under the marble arch. I grabbed him and held him for a moment, told him that I did not care to go up again so soon, that I would stroll about for a time and see him after a while.

"Yes, but you'll come back, eh? I guess we'll take that mine if we can agree upon terms. We own one in Colorado. Don't fail to come back. Up!"

I went out into the center of the maelstrom and laughed at him—a capitalist keeping pace with indigestion, racing against time. Little wonder that he was bald and pinched.

I thought that I would find a leisurely place and slowly eat a dinner, and I did find many places, but none of them was leisurely. I went to a hotel, and there I ate a meal without running the risk of having my chair thrown over, and then I returned to the Rookery. Mr. Ging was lost in his work, and in a room which opened into his apartment two girls were hammering a race on writing machines. I walked into this room, and the girls went on with their work as if I were at home looking over toward the General's house instead of looking down at them. A bell tinkled in Ging's room. One of the girls went to him and I heard him talking rapidly to her, and presently she came back with a pad of paper in her hand, and furiously attacked her machine. Ging rushed out into the hall and both machines stopped, and the girls began to nibble at bon-bons, but a moment later they dashed at their work, for Ging had returned. I went back into his room, and, glancing round, I saw one of the girls look up at the ceiling and then down at the floor. I knew that she was making fun of me, and in my heart I confessed myself her enemy.

"I'm sorry," said Ging, "but I don't believe I can get off this afternoon. Clarm's being out of town puts double work on me. But we'll go round to-night. You've been here quite often, I suppose."

"Well, not lately," I replied.

"No? Then we can find a good many things to interest you."

I went out again and walked about, but I did not venture far beyond the shadow of the Rookery, for I knew that should I get turned round I would be ashamed to inquire the way back. I saw a man standing on a box selling pens. He had a most fluent use of words, though I could see that he was not educated. He interested his hearers with humorous stories, as if his business were first to entertain the public and then to pick up a living, and for the first time it struck me that book-knowledge did not embrace everything, that people who simply read get but a second-hand experience. We must observe form and recognize the rules which good taste has drawn, but after all the finest form and the most nearly perfect rule is an inborn judgment. The merest accident may thrill a dull man with genius. I knew a young man who was commonplace until he was taken down with a fever, and when he got up his business sense was gone, but he wrote a parody that made this country shout with laughter. Thus I mused as I looked at that fellow selling pens. He was a rascal, no doubt, but I was forced to admire his vivid fancy, his genius.

When I returned to the Rookery I found Ging waiting for me. "Now," said he, "we'll go out for a while and then eat dinner. Would you mind going out about twelve miles? Train every few minutes. I've got some real estate that I'd like to show you—might cut an important figure in our transaction."

"I don't want it to cut any figure in our transaction," I replied. "I want to sell the mine for money."

"Yes, of course, but you might double your money on the real estate."

"That may be true, but I am not a speculator; and if you are not prepared to pay money, why, it is useless to waste further time."

"Of course. No time has been wasted and none shall be. You may trust me when it comes to the question of wasting time. I didn't know but you might like a home out at Sweet Myrtle. Beautiful place—gas, water, side-walks, sewers. But if you don't want to go, it's all right. Let me tell you right now that we are prepared to pay cash for your mine. We represent millions in the East. Well, we'll go."

That night we went to a theater, and to me Mr. Ging was a dull companion. He yawned and stretched through Shakspeare's mighty play, while I was in a tingling ecstasy. He said that the fellow could not act, and that may have been true, but to me there was no actor, but a real Hamlet; no stage, but the court at Elsinore. He said that he would call at the hotel in time to catch the boat, and I was glad when he left me to my own thoughts. At 9 o'clock the next morning we went on board a great white boat, so fresh, so full of interest to me that I was in a state of delight, of new expectancy, and when we steamed out into the lake I could scarcely repress a cry of joy so thrilling was the view. I had never seen a large body of water, had striven to picture the majesty of a wave, and now I stood with poetry rolling about me—now a deep-blue elegy, now a limpid lyric, varying in hue with the shifting of a luminous fleece-work, far above. To have been born and brought up amid great scenes were surely a privilege, but to come upon them for the first time when the mind is ripe, when the senses are yearning for a new impression, is indeed a blessing. Short were the sixty miles of our journey, it seemed to me, but Ging was bored and impatiently he snapped his watch, and said that we were at least fifteen minutes late. After having lost all view of the land, how strangely novel was the sight of the shore, and to fancy myself in a foreign harbor was the most natural of conceits.

At the wharf we took a carriage and were driven through the town, out by many a dreamy orchard side, up a bluff-banked river to a large frame house, high on a hill. Clarm was walking about in the yard, and with an ease and politeness which I had not expected—having permitted Ging to influence my preconception of his partner's character—he shook hands with me and invited me into the house. The sample of mica was closely inspected, numerous questions were asked, and after a time Mr. Clarm said that it would be well for Mr. Ging to go home with me. I had kept in mind the determination to buy a few more acres of land, and I knew that this might not be an easy transaction if Ging should accompany me, thereby exciting a suspicion in Parker's mind, so I replied that I was not going straightway home, being compelled by other business to stop for a day in Kentucky. "But it is, of course, necessary for Mr. Ging to see the mine, and he can start the day after I leave and reach Purdy on the day I arrive," I added.

They agreed to this, as Ging was the principal in another deal that must be brought to a close; and after declining an invitation to dinner, I took my leave, feeling that I was a liar, it is true, but I thought that my deception was not only pardonable, but, indeed, a commendable piece of fore-sight. I am free to say that a man, in order to protect his commercial interests, must be an easy and a nimble liar; and I do not hold that a man who permits himself to be cheated simply that he may snatch the chance to tell a truth—I say that I could not regard him a prudent husband or a wise father. Divide the last cent with a friend, harden not thy heart against the distressed, but in the warfare of business seek to steal an enemy's advantage. It was with this argument that I sought to appease my conscience as I strolled about the town, but more than once I halted, thinking to tell them the truth. But judgment—permit me to term it judgment—finally influenced me to let the false statement stand.

Out from the town were numerous lanes, soft with turf, and with orchards on every side. Amid the darkened green I saw the yellowing pear, the red flash of the apple; and from amid the bushes blackberries peeped like the eyes of a deer. At the end of a lane was a deep ravine, one side a grassy slope, the other a terraced vineyard, and up this romantic rent I walked, in a Switzerland, a France. On the green slope was a cottage, with a high fence behind it, and as I drew near I thought that it would be a soothing privilege to enter the house and talk with the humble people who lived therein. Suddenly there came a shout that sent a spurt of blood to my heart——

"Hike, there, Sam! Hike, there, Bob—hike, there!"

I ran to the fence, grasped the top, drew myself up and looked over into the small inclosure; and there was old Lim Jucklin, down on his knees, beating the ground with his hat. I let myself drop and ran round the gate, opened it without noise and stepped inside. The old man now held one of the chickens by the neck and was putting him into a coop.

"Oh, it would suit you to fight to a finish, wouldn't it? And you may, one of these days, as soon as I hear from down yander. Git in there. Come here, Bob. You've got to go in, too. Caught you on the top-knot, didn't he? Well, you must learn to dodge better. Ain't quite as peart as one of the other Bobs I could tell you about. Now, boys, you are all right, but I want you to understand—-well, since Moses hit the rock!" he cried, scrambling to his feet. "Hold on, now, don't you tech me—don't know whether you are Bill or Bill's ghost. By jings, if it ain't Bill, I'm a calf's rennet. Since Moses hit the rock!"

He grabbed me and hung upon me, and I put my arm about him. "Don't tell me nuthin' now, Bill. Don't want to hear a word, for I'm deefer than a horse block."

"You have nothing to fear, Mr. Jucklin. I bring good news. Alf isn't out yet, but he will be. I have other news——"

"But don't tell me. Deefer than a horse-block. What did I do with that d——d handkerchief? Take that back—kiver to kiver. Had it in my hat a minit ago. Sand from this here lake shore gits in a feller's eyes. Ain't got used to it yet. Hope the Lord will excuse me for cussin' like a sailor. Must have got it from them fellers down on the lake shore. Kiver to kiver. Now let us go into the house. Door's round there facin' the holler. Let me go in first; you stand outside. Sand's blowin' up from the lake and gits in their eyes, too. Ain't used to it yet. Come on."

There were hollyhocks in front of the house and among them I stood waiting for the old man to open the door.

"Susan," he said, as he stepped into the room, "this here world—this one right here—is as full of surprises as a chicken is with—with—I don't know what. Now, don't you take on none, but—come in, Bill."

The old woman started forward with a cry and threw her arms about me. "There now," old Lim protested, wiping his eyes, "don't take on that way. Everything's all right. Set down here now and let's be sensible. That's it. Oh, she's all right, Bill—her folks stood at the stake. Guinea's comin' down stairs."

Toward the stairway I looked, and Guinea stepped down into the room. And oh, the smile on her lips as she came toward me! But she did not hold out her hands—she came close to me, and her bended head almost touched me, but her hands were held behind her, clasped, I could see. "Not yet," she said, looking up with a smile. "But you must not think ill of me, must not be provoked. Let me have my whimsical way until my whole life shall be yours."

"She's talkin' like a book!" the old man cried. "Let her talk like one, Bill. Don't exactly grab her drift as I'd like to, but I know it's all right. Gracious alive, why don't you women folks git him something to eat? And, me, too, for I'm as hungry as the she bear that eat up the children. I wish you'd all set down. Turn him loose, Susan. Ain't nothin' the matter with him—hungry as a wolf, that's all. Now we are gettin' at it."

With the door open and with a cool breeze blowing, with the sweetness of ripening fruit in the air, with the hollyhocks nodding at us, we sat in that modest room, at home in a strange place. I told them all that had befallen me. I gradually led up to the discovery of the mine. "And now," I added, "we go back there, not poor, but rich. There is no telling how many dollars they may give us."

"Not us, Bill," the old man interposed, slowly shaking his head; "not us, but you. It's yours, all yours. You bought the land and all that's on it or under it belongs to you."

"No, Mr. Jucklin, it belongs to you, to Alf and to me. There will be enough for us all, but no matter how little, you and Alf shall share it. I am just beginning fully to realize it—but I know that we are rich. It is necessary for me to get back at once," I added. "I'll have to buy some land from Parker, but I told Clarm & Ging that I was going to stop for a day in Kentucky. I didn't want them to know that I intended to buy more land. It's none of their business, anyway. So I must be in Purdy one day ahead of Ging. I've got money with me and we'll all start this evening."

The old man sadly shook his head. "I can't do it, Bill; can't go back yet. If he comes clear, without a scratch on him, I'll go back, but if he don't I'll never see that state again. So we'll wait right here till after the next trial. Won't settle on anything until then. You go ahead and attend to everything and let me know how it all comes out. I've been scared ever since I left there, afraid that I'd hear something by some chance or other; and I wouldn't let Guinea write to you. Every day I'd tell her 'not yet.' She wanted to, but I wouldn't let her."

"You shall have your own way, for I know that everything will come out right. Conkwright says so, and he knows. How did you happen to find this place?"

The old man laughed. "Well, sir, we got on the train, and when the man asked where we wanted to go I told him we'd go just as far as he did, it made no difference how far that might happen to be; and every time we'd change cars I'd tell the other man the same thing. But finally they got so stuck up that they wouldn't let us get on without tickets, and at Louisville I bought tickets for Chicago. I didn't know what to do when I got to Chicago—didn't know what to do when I got to any place, for that matter; but we poked around, gettin' a bite to eat every once in a while, and slept in the slambangin'est place I ever saw. The lake caught me, and I found out how soon the first boat went out, and we got on her and here we are. When I told these here folks where I was from I braced myself, expectin' to have a fight right there, but I want to tell you that I was never better treated in my life. All the good folks ain't huddled together in one community, I tell you; and this knockin' round has opened my eyes mightily. Why, I rickollect when they sorter looked down on Conkwright because his father wa'n't born in the South. Yes, sir, and they gave me work right off—that is, they call it work, but I call it play—gatherin' fruit. Why, with us, when a feller wanted to rest he'd go out and gather fruit, if he could find any. Yes, sir, and I'm goin' to stay right here till the cat makes her final jump one way or another."

How fondly they listened as I talked about the old place, of well-known trees, of the big rock on the brink of the ravine. I even told them that the General lamented the breaking of the engagement, that he had come as an agent, that his son was at fault. Guinea smiled at this, and I thought that her eyes grew darker.

I learned that my train was not to leave until night. I was glad of this, for it gave me a sweet lingering time; and in the afternoon Guinea and I went down to the river.

"We will get a boat and row up past the island, away up to the beautiful hills," she said. "But can you row?" she asked, with a look of concern.

"I have pulled a boat against a swifter current than this." I answered. "I lived near the bank of a rapid stream."

We got into a graceful boat and skimmed easily over the water. Now it was my time to wonder and to muse over the changes that had come—to dream as I looked at her, as she sat, trailing her hand in the water, her hand, my hand, though she had not let me take it to help her into the boat. With her a swamp would have been attractive, but here we were in a paradise. Boats up and down the river; lovers went by, singing. On one shore the scene was quiet, with easy slopes and with houses here and there; but the other shore was wild with bluffs, with tangled vines and monstrous trees that storms had gnarled and twisted. Here a spring gushed out with a gleeful laugh, and lovers paused to listen, and in its flow the city oarsman cooled his blistered hands.

"Guinea, do you see that high bluff up there among the pine trees?"

"Yes, and isn't it a charming place?"

"I'm glad you think so?"

"Why are you glad of that?"

"Because you—I mean a woman who has had her way—because she may live there. When at last she is tired of that way, and when she has gone to a man with her hands held out, he will take her to a house built on that bluff, a summer home. I'm not joking. Next year there will be a beautiful home up there. Don't you see, the land is for sale? And in the house a man is going to write a history of a woman who had her way and of a man who—well, I hardly know what to say about him, but I am not going to hide his faults nor cover up his weaknesses."

"Are you really in earnest, Mr. Hawes?"

"Yes, I mean every word of it. Wouldn't you—I mean, wouldn't the woman who had persisted in having her way—wouldn't she like a home up there?"

In her voice was the musical cluck that so often had charmed me. "She would be happy anywhere with the man who had permitted her to have her way, and I know that she would be delighted to live up there. And you—I mean the man—-wouldn't have any of the trees cut down, would he?"

"Not one. He would build the house in that open place."

"Charming," she said. "How sweet a religion could be made of a life up there, with the river and the hills and the island—beautiful."

"Guinea, I wish you would tell me something. Did you ever really love—him?"

"When I have come to you as I told you I would come, you will not have to ask me anything."

"But can you give me some idea as to how long I may have to wait? My confidence in you is complete, but you must know that to wait is painful. Suppose that a certain something that you are waiting for—suppose that nothing should come of it? What then?"

"No matter what takes place, I will come to you. I know that it must appear foolish, I know that I am but vague in what I try to make you understand, but—you will wait a while longer, won't you?"

Her voice was so pleading, her manner was so full of distress, that I hastened to tell her that I would wait no matter how long she might deign to hold me off, and that never again could she find cause to reprove my impatience. She thanked me with a smile and with many an endearing word, and onward we went, the boats passing us, the songs of lovers reaching us from above and below. We landed and climbed the bluff, and I selected the exact spot whereon the house was to be; we loitered in the shade and counted the minutes as they flew away like pigeons from a trap, but we could not shoot them and bring them back; so they were gone, and it was soon time for us to go, for the light of the sun was weakening. Down the river we went, singing "Juanita," she rippling the water with her hand, I half-hearted in my rowing, dreamily wishing that the train might leave me.

Close to me at the door she stood. The old man was outside, waiting to go with me to the railway station. She bowed her head and I kissed her hair.



CHAPTER XX.

The sun had just gone down, and a man was beating a triangle to announce that it was lodge-night, when I stepped upon the sidewalk in front of Conkwright's office. The old man was locking his door. I spoke to him and he turned about, and, seeing me, merely nodded, threw open the door and bade me go in. "Mighty glad you've got back," he said. "They are going to bring that trial on right away, and it will be none too soon for us, I assure you. Let me open this window. Been about as hot a day as I ever felt. Well, what have you got to say?"

"So much that I scarcely know how to begin."

He grunted. "The prelude to an unimportant story. But, go on."

Long before I was done with my recital he sat with his eyes wide open, seeming to wonder whether my reason had slipped a cog.

"Wonderful," he said. "No, it is not wonderful, nothing is wonderful. The mere fact that a thing happens proves that there is about it no element of the marvelous. It is the strange thing that does not occur. When it does occur it ceases to be strange. And you say he will be here to-morrow? Now, you let me take charge of him as soon as he arrives. If you don't he will not only get the mine for nothing, but will go away with your eye teeth. I'll go home to-night and study up this question, and by to-morrow night I'll know more about it than he does. Yes, sir, a good deal more, or at least make him think so. You were long-headed in deciding to slip out there and buy more land, and by the way, Parker is in town. No, sir, there is no telling what may happen. See Parker to-night and meet me here to-morrow morning."

I found Alf reading a letter which Millie had contrived to send him. Under the light of the smoky lamp his face looked sallow and thin, but his eyes were full of happiness. "She's got the noblest spirit that ever suffered, and noble spirits must suffer," he said as he handed me the letter. "See, she begs my forgiveness for having kept me on the gridiron. But doesn't one letter atone for a whole year of broiling? Ah, and you have been broiled, too, haven't you, Bill? Now let them put the balm on us. The Judge tells me that I am soon to be turned out, and I'll come out wiser than I was when I came in, for I have improved my time with reading. Have you heard from the folks?"

I told him my story, and I told it quietly, but it greatly excited him, and time and again he thrust his hands through the iron lattice to grasp me. "So you will go out not only wiser, but a richer man," I said. "You will not have to go into a field and plow in the blistering heat while other men are sitting in the shade. All our trouble has been for the best, and with deep reverence we must acknowledge it. And soon we will go together out to the old place and peacefully smoke our pipes up under the rafters. Well, I have left you the subject for a pleasant dream, and I must go now to look for Parker. As I said to your father, there is no telling how much money we may get, but whatever comes we share."

"Not if it's very much, Bill. I don't need much; I wouldn't know what to do with it. But if you could only do one thing it would make me the happiest man that ever lived."

"Tell me what it is. It can surely be done."

"Why, if I could only get the old Morton place. It's about three miles from the General's, and it used to belong to his grandfather. One of his aims in life has been to get it back into the family, and if you could get it for me——"

"You shall have it."

"Don't say so, Bill, unless you think there's a chance."

"It's not a chance, but a certainty. You shall have the place. And what a delight it will be to the General to visit his daughter there. Now, don't speculate—let it be settled. Well, I'll see you to-morrow and tell you how it's all to turn out, but have no fears about getting the farm."

I found Parker at the tavern. He told me that I might have a few acres of land down about the spring, but that I would have to pay a little more for it than he had paid. "We can't afford to trade for the mere fun of it," he said. "My father used to do such things and they came mighty nigh having to haul him to the poor house."

I offered him a sum that pleased him, that must, indeed, have delighted him, for he offered to go out and set up a feast of cove oysters and crackers, a great and liberal ceremony in the country; and over the tin plates in a grocery store the transaction was celebrated. I met him again early at morning, and before the day was half-grown I saw our transaction spread upon the records. And at night Ging arrived. I introduced him to Conkwright. "The Judge will represent me," said I, "and I will stand by any agreement he may enter into with you."

"All right," Ging replied. "How far is it out to the mine?"

"About five miles."

"Better go out to-night. Haven't any time to lose. Get a rig and we'll go out."

"Might as well wait until morning," said the Judge. "We can't do anything to-night."

"I know, but by staying there to-night we'll be there right early in the morning. Get a rig."

They drove away and I went round to the jail to tell Alf that the old Morton place was rapidly coming his way. I slept but little that night and I was nervous the next day, as I sat in the Judge's office waiting for him to return. At 11 o'clock he drove up alone.