This little success so encouraged me that I was half inclined to advance and challenge Carver Doone to meet me; but I bore in mind that he would be apt to shoot me without ceremony; and what is the utmost of human strength against the power of powder? Moreover, I remembered my promise to sweet Lorna; and who would be left to defend her, if the rogues got rid of me?

While I was hesitating thus, a blaze of fire lit up the house, and brown smoke hung around it. Six of our men had let go at the Doones, by Jeremy Stickles's order, as the villains came swaggering down in the moonlight ready for rape or murder. Two of them fell, and the rest hung back, to think at their leisure what this was. They were not used to this sort of thing; it was neither just nor courteous.

Being unable any longer to contain myself, as I thought of Lorna's excitement at all this noise of firing, I ran across the yard, expecting whether they would shoot at me. However, no one shot at me; and I went up to Carver Doone, whom I knew by his size in the moonlight, and I took him by the beard and said, "Do you call yourself a man?"

For a moment he was so astonished that he could not answer. None had ever dared, I suppose, to look at him in that way. And then he tried a pistol at me; but I was too quick for him.

"Now, Carver, take warning," I said to him, very soberly; "you have shown yourself a fool by your contempt of me. I may not be your match in craft, but I am in manhood. You are a despicable villain. Lie low in your native muck."

And with that word I laid him flat upon his back in our straw-yard by the trick of the inner heel, which he could not have resisted unless he were a wrestler. Seeing him down, the others ran, though one of them made a shot at me, and some of them got their horses before our men came up, and some went away without them. And among these last was Captain Carver, who arose while I was feeling myself (for I had a little wound), and strode away with a train of curses enough to poison the light of the moon.

IV.

[Through many vicissitudes and many dangers, Lorna and John spend the months following the incident just related. John learns that Lorna is, after all, not a Doone, but the daughter of a family the Doones had waylaid. John's father had also been murdered by the Doones when John was a lad at school. The following scene carries its own story:]

Everything was settled smoothly and without any fear or fuss that Lorna might find end of troubles, and myself of eager waiting, with the help of Parson Bowden, and the good wishes of two counties. We heard that people meant to come for more than thirty miles around, upon excuse of seeing my stature and Lorna's beauty; but in good truth, out of sheer curiosity and the love of meddling.

Dear mother arranged all the ins and outs of the way in which it was to be done; and Annie and Lizzie made such a sweeping of dresses that I scarcely knew where to place my feet, and longed for a staff to put by their gowns. Then Lorna came out of a pew half-way, in a manner which quite astonished me, and took my left hand in her right, and I prayed God that it were done with.

My darling looked so glorious that I was afraid of glancing at her, yet took in all her beauty. I was afraid to look at her, except when each of us said, "I will," and then each dwelt upon the other.

It is impossible for any who have not loved as I have to conceive my joy and pride when, after ring and all was done, and the parson had blessed us, Lorna turned to look at me with her glances of subtle fun subdued by this great act.

Her eyes, which none on earth may ever equal or compare with, told me such a depth of comfort, yet awaiting further commune, that I was almost amazed, thoroughly as I knew them. Darling eyes, the sweetest eyes, the loveliest, the most loving eyes—the sound of a shot rang through the church, and those eyes were filled with death.

Lorna fell across my knees when I was going to kiss her, a flood of blood came out upon the yellow wood of the altar steps, and at my feet lay Lorna, trying to tell me some last message out of her faithful eyes. I lifted her up, and petted her, and coaxed her, but it was no good; the only sign of life remaining was a spot of bright red blood.

She sighed a long sigh on my breast, for her last farewell to life, and then she grew so cold, and cold, that I asked the time of the year.

Of course I knew who had done it. There was but one man in the world, or, at any rate, in our part of it, who would have done such a thing—such a thing. I use no harsher word about it, while I leaped upon our best horse, with bridle, but no saddle, and set the head of Kickums toward the course now pointed out to me. Who showed me the course I cannot tell. I only knew that I took it. And the men fell back before me.

Weapon of no sort had I. Unarmed, and wondering at my strange attire (with a bridal vest wrought by our Annie, and red with the blood of the bride), I went forth just to find out this—whether in this world there be or be not God of justice.

With my vicious horse at a furious speed, I came upon Black Barrow Down, directed by some shout of men, which seemed to me but a whisper. And there, about a furlong before me, rode a man on a great black horse, and I knew that the man was Carver Doone.

"Your life, or mine," I said to myself; "as the will of God may be. But we two live not upon this earth one more hour together."

I knew the strength of this great man; and I knew that he was armed with a gun—if he had time to load again, after shooting my Lorna—or at any rate with pistols, and a horseman's sword, as well. Nevertheless, I had no more doubt of killing the man before me than a cook has of spitting a headless fowl.

Sometimes seeing no ground beneath me, and sometimes heeding every leaf, and the crossing of the grass-blades, I followed over the long moor, reckless whether seen or not. But only once the other man turned and looked back again, and then I was beside a rock, with a reedy swamp behind me.

Although he was so far before me, and riding as hard as ride he might, I saw that he had something on the horse in front of him, something which needed care, and stopped him from looking backward. In the whirling of my wits I fancied first that this was Lorna; until the scene I had been through fell across my hot brain and heart, like the drop at the close of a tragedy. Rushing there through crag and quag at utmost speed of a maddened horse, as of another's fate, calmly (as on canvas laid), the brutal deed, the piteous anguish, and the cold despair.

The man turned up the gully leading from the moor to Cloven Rocks. But, as Carver entered it, he turned round and beheld me not a hundred yards behind; and I saw that he was bearing his child, little Ensie, before him. Ensie also descried me, and stretched his hands and cried to me; for the face of his father frightened him.

Carver Doone, with a vile oath, thrust spurs into his flagging horse, and laid one hand on a pistol stock, whence I knew that his slung carbine has received no bullet since the one that had pierced Lorna. And a cry of triumph rose from the black depths of my heart. What cared I for pistols? I had no spurs, neither was my horse one to need the rowel; I rather held him in than urged him, for he was fresh as ever; and I knew that the black steed in front, if he breasted the steep ascent, where the track divided, must be in our reach at once.

His rider knew this, and, having no room in the rocky channel to turn and fire, drew rein at the crossways sharply, and plunged into the black ravine leading to the Wizard's Slough. "Is it so?" I said to myself, with brain and head cold as iron; "though the foul fiend come from the slough to save thee, thou shalt carve it, Carver."

I followed my enemy carefully, steadily, even leisurely—for I had him as in a pitfall, whence no escape might be. He thought that I feared to approach him, for he knew not where he was; and his low, disdainful laugh came back.

"Laugh he who wins," thought I.

A gnarled and half-starved oak, as stubborn as my own resolve, and smitten by some storm of old, hung from the crag above me. Rising from my horse's back, although I had no stirrups, I caught a limb, and tore it (like a mere wheat-awn) from the socket. Men show the rent even now with wonder—none with more wonder than myself.

Carver Doone turned the corner suddenly on the black and bottomless bog; with a start of fear he reigned back his horse, and I thought he would have turned upon me. Upon this he made up his mind; and, wheeling, fired, and then rode at me.

His bullet struck me somewhere, but I took no heed of that. Fearing only his escape, I laid my horse across the way, and with the limb of the oak struck full on the forehead his charging steed. Ere the slash of the sword came nigh me, man and horse rolled over, and well-nigh bore my own horse down with the power of their onset.

Carver Doone was somewhat stunned, and could not arise for a moment. Meanwhile I leaped on the ground and waited, smoothing my hair back and baring my arm as though in the ring for wrestling. Then the little boy ran to me, clasped my leg, and looked up at me; and the terror in his eyes made me almost fear myself.

"Ensie, dear," I said, quite gently, grieving that he should see his wicked father killed, "run up yonder round the corner, and try to find a pretty bunch of bluebells for the lady." The child obeyed me, hanging back, and looking back, and then laughing, while I prepared for business. There and then I might have killed my enemy with a single blow while he lay unconscious, but it would have been foul play.

With a sudden and black scowl, the Carver gathered his mighty limbs and arose, and looked round for his weapons; but I had put them well away. Then he came to me and gazed, being wont to frighten thus young men.

"I would not harm you, lad," he said, with a lofty style of sneering. "I have punished you enough, for most of your impertinence. For the rest I forgive you, because you have been good and gracious to my little son. Go and be contented."

For answer I smote him on the cheek, lightly, and not to hurt him, but to make his blood leap up. I would not sully my tongue by speaking to a man like this.

I think he felt that his time was come; I think that he knew from my knotted muscles and the firm arch of my breast, and the way in which I stood, but most of all from my stern blue eyes, that he had found his master. At any rate a paleness came, an ashy paleness on his cheeks, and the vast calves of his legs bowed in as if he was out of training.

Seeing this, villain as he was, I offered him first chance. I stretched forth my left hand, as I do to a weaker antagonist, and I let him have the hug of me. But in this I was too generous; having forgotten my pistol-wound, and the cracking of one of my short lower ribs. Carver Doone caught me round the waist with such a grip as never yet had been laid upon me.

I heard my rib go; I grasped his arm, and tore the muscle out of it (as the string comes out of an orange); then I took him by the throat, which is not allowed in wrestling, but he had snatched at mine; and now was no time of dalliance. In vain he tugged and strained, and writhed, and dashed his bleeding fist into my face, and flung himself on me with gnashing jaws. Beneath the iron of my strength—for God that day was with me—I had him helpless in two minutes, and his fiery eyes lolled out.

"I will not harm thee any more," I cried, so far as I could for panting, the work being very furious. "Carver Doone, thou art beaten; own it, and thank God for it; and go thy way, and repent thyself."

It was all too late. Even if he had yielded in his ravening frenzy—for his beard was like a mad dog's jowl—even if he would have owned that for the first time in his life he had found his master, it was all too late.

The black bog had him by the feet; the sucking of the ground drew him on, like the thirsty lips of death. In our fury we had heeded neither wet nor dry; nor thought of earth beneath us. I myself might scarcely leap, with the last spring of o'erlabored legs, from the ingulfing grave of slime. He fell back, with his swarthy breast, like a hummock of bog-oak, standing out the quagmire; and then he tossed his arms to heaven, and they were black to the elbow, and the glare of his eyes was ghastly. I could only gaze and pant, for my strength was no more than an infant's, from the fury and the horror. Scarcely could I turn away, while, joint by joint, he sunk from sight.

When the little boy came back with the bluebells, which he had managed to find, the only sign of his father left was a dark brown bubble upon a new-formed patch of blackness. But to the center of its pulpy gorge the greedy slough was heaving, and sullenly grinding its weltering jaws among the flags and sedges.

With pain and ache, both of mind and body, and shame at my own fury, I heavily mounted my horse again, and looked down at the innocent Ensie. Would this playful loving child grow up like his cruel father, and end a godless life of hatred with a death of violence? He lifted his noble forehead toward me, as if to answer, "Nay, I will not"; but the words he spoke were these:

"Don"—for he never could say "John"—"oh Don, I am so glad that nasty, naughty man is gone away. Take me home, Don. Take me home."

It hurt me more than I can tell, even through all other grief, to take into my arms the child of the man just slain by me. But I could not leave him there till some one else might fetch him, on account of the cruel slough, and the ravens which had come hovering over the dead horse; neither could I, with my wound, tie him on my horse and walk.

For now I had spent a great deal of blood, and was rather faint and weary. And it was luck for me that Kickums had lost spirit like his master, and went home as mildly as a lamb. For, when we came toward the farm, I seemed to be riding in a dream almost; and the voices of both men and women (who had hurried forth upon my track), as they met me, seemed to wander from a distant, muffling cloud. Only the thought of Lorna's death, like a heavy knell, was tolling in the belfry of my brain.

When we came to the stable door I rather fell from my horse than got off; and John Fry, with a look of wonder, took Kickum's head and led him in. Into the old farmhouse I tottered, like a weanling child, with mother, in her common clothes, helping me along, yet fearing, except by stealth, to look at me.

"I have killed him," was all I said, "even as he killed Lorna. Now let me see my wife, mother. She belongs to me none the less, though dead."

"You cannot see her now, dear John," said Ruth Huckaback, coming forward, since no one else had the courage.

"Annie is with her now, John."

"What has that to do with it? Let me see my dead and pray to die."

All the women fell away and whispered, and looked at me with side glances, and some sobbing, for my face was hard as flint. Ruth alone stood by me, and dropped her eyes and trembled. Then one little hand of hers stole into my great shaking palm, and the other was laid on my tattered coat; yet with her clothes she shunned my blood, while she whispered gently:

"John, she is not dead. She may even be your living one yet—your wife, your home, and your happiness. But you must not see her now."

Now, whether it was the light and brightness of my Lorna's nature, or the freedom from anxiety, but anyhow, one thing is certain; sure as the stars of hope above us, Lorna recovered long ere I did.



The Sky

The sky is a drinking-cup, That was overturned of old, And it pours in the eyes of men Its wines of airy gold.

We drink that wine all day, Till the last drop is drained up, And are lighted off to bed By the jewels in the cup!

—Richard Henry Stoddard.



THE SPEAKER

TABLE OF CONTENTS

NO. 1

Editorials 1-4

The Artist's Secret Olive Schreiner 5

The History Lesson from L'Aiglon Edmund Rostand 6

Dawn Paul Laurence Dunbar 11

Bill, the Lokil Editor Eugene Field 12

Arena Scene from Quo Vadis Henry Sienkiewicz 15

The Cushville Hop Ben King 21

Sonny's Christening Ruth McEnery Stuart 22

How She Went into Business Joel Chandler Harris 28

The Leadership of Educated Men George William Curtis 34

Jean Valjean and the Bishop Victor Hugo 38

Coom, Lassie, Be Good to Me Charles McIlvaine 43

A Bird in the Hand F. S. Weatherby 44

The Slow Man Ernest Poole 45

Emmy Lou George Madden Martin 49

Glory John Luther Long 53

The Rose and the Gardener Austin Dobson 57

The Cap that Fits Austin Dobson 58

The Cure's Progress Austin Dobson 60

The Philosopher in the Apple Orchard Anthony Hope 61

The Photograph Paul Laurence Dunbar 67

A Message to Garcia Elbert Hubbard 68

Lovey-Loves Ben King 69

The Fall of the House of Usher Edgar Allan Poe 70

Nini, Ninette, Ninon Frederick S. Weatherby 77

With Any Amazement Rudyard Kipling 78

One, Two, Three H. C. Bunner 83

Mr. Dooley, on the Grip 85

NO. 2

Editorials 97-100

The Sign of the Cross Wilson Barrett 101

My Heart Leaps Up When I Behold William Wordsworth 105

"Gentlemen, the King" Robert Barr 106

The Only Way Charles Dickens 111

The New Americanism Henry Watterson 114

A Plea for Patriotism Benjamin Harrison 116

Fame Ben Jonson 117

The Independence of Cuba J. M. Thurston 118

The Children of the Poor Theodore Parker 122

Burns George William Curtis 124

A Night in Ste. Pilagie Mary H. Catherwood 127

The Call of the Wild Jack London 131

The Prisoner of Zenda Anthony Hope 135

In the Toils of the Enemy John S. Wood 139

The Advocate's First Plea George Barr McCutcheon 144

The Tell-Tale Heart Edgar Allan Poe 148

The Trial of Ben Thomas H. S. Edwards 151

Even This Shall Pass Away Theodore Tilton 155

On Milton John Dryden 156

Richelieu Bulwer Lytton 157

Flower in the Crannied Wall Lord Tennyson 161

The Burgomaster's Death (from "The Bells") 162

Jathrop Lathrop's Cow Anna Warner 167

The Hunchback Sheridan Knowles 172

Love Shakespeare 180

Last Speech of William McKinley 181

For Dear Old Yale James Langston 184

The Lance of Kanana 189

NO. 3

Editorials 193-198

Reading Elizabeth B. Browning 198

The Shave-Store Edmund Vance Cooke 199

The Moo-Cow-Moo Edmund Vance Cooke 200

Brother Wolf and the Horned Cattle Joel Chandler Harris 201

A Summer Lullaby Eudora S. Bumstead 204

The First Nowell (Old Carol) 205

A Riddle Jonathan Swift 206

Tiny Tim (from "A Christmas Carol") Charles Dickens 207

The American Flag Joseph R. Drake 212

A Grace for a Child Robert Herrick 212

The Fairies William Allingham 213

The Rule for Birds' Nesters (Old Rhyme) 214

Queen Mab Thomas Hood 215

The Star Song Robert Herrick 216

O Little Town of Bethlehem Phillips Brooks 217

Santa Claus (Anonymous) 218

Recessional Rudyard Kipling 219

The Bonniest Bairn in a' the Warl' Robert Ford 220

The Flag Goes By Henry Holcomb Bennett 221

Pocahontas William Makepeace Thackeray 222

A Farewell Charles Kingsley 223

The Shepherd Boy Sings John Bunyan 223

Two Apple-Howling Songs (Old Rhymes) 224

A Boy's Prayer Henry Charles Beeching 224

To-day Thomas Carlyle 225

Be True Horatio Bonar 225

My Native Land Sir Walter Scott 226

Green Things Growing Dinah Maria Mulock 226

The Wonderful Country of Good-Boy Land Mary E. Blake 227

The Fir-Tree Hans Christian Andersen 229

From a Railway Carriage Robert Louis Stevenson 233

The Land of Nod Robert Louis Stevenson 234

Burns George William Curtis 124

Whole Duty of Children Robert Louis Stevenson 234

The Story of Joseph (Arranged from Genesis) 235

Auld Daddy Darkness James Ferguson 240

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat Edward Lear 241

The Angel's Whisper Samuel Lover 242

Going into Breeches Charles and Mary Lamb 243

The Lost Doll Charles Kingsley 244

Baby Corn (Unknown) 245

Who Stole the Bird's Nest? Lydia Maria Child 246

Po' Little Lamb Paul Laurence Dunbar 248

Little Brown Baby Paul Laurence Dunbar 250

An Incident of the French Camp Robert Browning 251

Lullaby of an Infant Chief Sir Walter Scott 252

Old Ironsides Oliver Wendell Holmes 253

Concord Hymn Ralph Waldo Emerson 254

His College Examination (from "Up from Slavery") Booker T. Washington 255

A Child's Grace Robert Burns 260

A Howdy Song Joel Chandler Harris 261

Duty Ralph Waldo Emerson 261

Bud's Fairy Tale James Whitcomb Riley 262

The Boy that was Scaret o' Dyin' Annie Trumbull Slosson 268

What Does Little Birdie Say? Lord Tennyson 270

Laetus Sorte Mea (from "The Story of a Short Life") Juliana H. Ewing 271

The Victor of Marengo 275

Good Morning Robert Browning 279

Miranda and Her Friend Kroof (from "The Heart of the Ancient Wood") Charles G. D. Roberts 277

Little Nell Charles Dickens 282

Parsifal the Pure (from "Stories from Wagner") 285

NO. 4

Editorials 289-292

Charles Sumner Carl Schurz 293

How the Elephant Got His Trunk Rudyard Kipling 295

The Owl Lord Tennyson 299

T'nowhead's Bell J. M. Barrie 300

John Storm's Resolution Hall Cain 308

The Flood of the Floss George Eliot 314

The Real Muck Rake Man Henry van Dyke 319

The Hunt Mercy E. Baker 322

Francois Villon, About to Die John D. Swain 323

Lady Moon Lord Haughton 326

A Good Dinner Mary Stuart Cutting 326

My Rival Rudyard Kipling 328

Imph-m James Nicholson 328

Looking Forward Robert Louis Stevenson 329

Mrs. Atwood's Raiment Mary Stuart Cutting 330

Hymn of a Child Charles Wesley 341

The Day of Precious Penalties Marion Hill 342

Cradle Hymn Martin Luther 349

A Kentucky Cinderella F. Hopkinson Smith 350

At Lincoln's Tomb Robertus Love 355

Mammy's Pickanin' Lucy Dean Jenkins 357

The Old Doll Edith M. Thomas 359

Santa Claus Unknown 360

Little Christel Wm. B. Rands 361

Seven Times One Jean Ingelow 363

Daffy-Down-Dilly Anna B. Warner 364

The Ant and the Cricket Unknown 366

Cradle Hymn Isaac Watts 367

The Usual Way Anonymous 368

The Lark and the Rook Anonymous 369

The Gondola Race F. Hopkinson Smith 371

Lincoln Jonathan P. Dolliver 374

Spacially Jim Bessie Margon 376

An Opera George Ade 378

A Little Knight-Errant Margaret A. Richard 382

Jane Jones Ben King 383

NO. 5

Editorials 1-5

On Time John Milton 5

The Knight in the Wood E. Leicester Warren 6

A Little Feminine Casabianca Geo. Madden Martin 7

What He Got Out of It S. E. Kiser 11

The Play's the Thing Geo. Madden Martin 12

The Dancing School and Dicky Josephine Dodge Daskam 18

A Model Story in the Kindergarten Josephine Dodge Daskam 24

Fishin'? Anonymous 26

Ardelia in Arcady Josephine Dodge Daskam 27

Meriel Margaret Houston 34

The Old Man and "Shep" John G. Scorer 35

Who Knows Louise Chandler Moulton 36

The Negro Booker T. Washington 37

The Guillotine Victor Hugo 40

Robespierre's Last Speech Maximilian M. I. Robespierre 42

Secession Alex. H. Stephens 44

Birds Richard Henry Stoddard 47

The Death of Hypatia Charles Kingsley 48

Death Stands Above Me. Walter Savage Landor 54

The Tournament Sir Walter Scott 55

A Plea for the Old Year Louise Chandler Moulton 59

Fagin's Last Day Charles Dickens 60

A Caution to Poets. Matthew Arnold 64

Apollo Belvedere Ruth McEnery Stuart 65

An Invalid in Lodgings J. M. Barrie 71

The Stirrup-Cup Sidney Lanier 74

Das Krist Kindel. James Whitcomb Riley 75

Hiram Foster's Thanksgiving Turkey S. E. Kiser 77

The Winning of Lorna Doone R. D. Blackmore 79

The Sky Richard Henry Stoddard 96

* * * * *

Published by PEARSON BROTHERS 29 S. Seventh St., Philadelphia



Transcriber's Note

Variant forms of words in the original text, sometimes within the same selection, have been retained in this ebook. Ellipses have been standardized. Omissions in the Table of Contents match those of the original document.

The following typographical corrections have been made in this ebook:

Page 17: Changed , to . (kind of mourning.)

Page 18: Changed You're to You've (You've got to go.)

Page 23: Added missing quotes; changed single to double ('I don't know, I don't know!'")

Page 27: Changed helpessly to helplessly (said the young lady, helplessly)

Page 40: Changed constanly to constantly (constantly in mind)

Page 40: Removed duplicate word 'these' (these twenty-five years)

Page 41: Changed scafforld to scaffold (the scaffold against the scaffold)

Page 47: Changed shown to shone (the sun of heaven ever shone)

Page 53: Removed stray period (She had disappeared, and)

Page 66: Changed constanly to constantly (met constantly)

Page 71: Removed duplicate quotes (I feared," she said.)

Page 72: Changed is to it (but it is satisfaction)

Page 82: Changed single-quote to double (go to sleep.")

Page 87: Changed by to my (hand upon my arm)

Page 90: Changed Doone's to Doones (murdered by the Doones)

Page 93: Changed though to thought (I thought he would)

Table of Contents: Added missing parenthesis (from "The Heart of the Ancient Wood")

Table of Contents: Added missing question mark to match title in text (Fishin'?)

Table of Contents: Changed Kris to Krist to match title in text (Das Krist Kindel.)

Table of Contents: Added missing word 'On' to match title in text (On Time)

THE END