And what were the antecedents of this crankish old woman? Her grandfather was hanged, one of John A. Murrell's robbers; and when she was a girl, her father fortified his log house and fought the law that strove to oust him for lack of title. She had moulded bullets; and when both her father and mother had been wounded, she thrust a blunderbuss through the window and with buck-shot swept a bloody road. But her generous heart had kept her poor, and her back was bending with years made heavy by loss of sleep, sitting up, nursing the sick.

While she was stirring about, making ready for supper, Margaret, giving to herself a sudden straightening, stepped forward and remarked:

"Now, Miz Spencer, you air mistaken if you think you air any gamer than I am. Why, if necessity demanded, I could load a shot-gun with tears an' scald a enemy to death. I don't know quite as much about my folks as you do yourn, but I kin ricolleck a red puddle on the doorstep. So now, we air standin' on equal ground. Miz Barker, I reckon it's yo' nature to cry, so jest pitch in an' cry all you want to while we air gittin' supper; an' then in the night, I'll change yo' pillow every time it gits too wet fur you."

"Gracious me, I don't want to cry that bad," Mrs. Barker replied. "There's a time for all things, an' I'm from a fightin' fam'ly, too, I'll give you to understand. Have you got any right young pigs? If you have, suppose we kill one an' roast it—'twon't take long."

This suggestion met with approval, and with the help of Kintchin, helloaed out of a nap behind the smoke-house, a pig was slaughtered and barbecued. In Old Jasper's house that night there was a feast—a strange picture, three old women at table and an old negro, with watery mouth, standing in the door.

With the coming of daylight Margaret arose while yet the others slept, and breakfast was ready with the rising of the sun.

"You must be plannin' a big day's work," said Mrs. Spencer, and Margaret replied: "Yes, for I can't see the end of it. Kintchin, ketch the gray mare an' put the side saddle on her. An' now, you folks kin stay here jest as long as you please."

"Why, where air you goin'?" Mrs. Barker inquired; and Margaret, putting a pistol in the pocket of her dress, dropped a courtesy and said:

"To the jail."



CHAPTER XXIII.

A TRIP NOT WITHOUT INCIDENT.

With a few silver dollars in her pocket, chinking against the steel of her pistol, Margaret jogged along the road. In observation the mountaineer is always minute; each day is a volume unto itself, and in this book abound many pictures. In a thorn-bush the old woman saw a mocking-bird feeding her young; in the dust she saw where a snake had smoothed his way across the road. She halted to look at a bare-legged boy, who with his straw hat was seining a rivulet.

Telling the time by the sun, she dismounted at noon and in the shade of a wild plum thicket, ate her luncheon, while the mare cropped the sweet road-side grass. But it was not intended that her journey should be without event. Along toward four o'clock she came to a bridge across a small stream. The planks were worn with heavy hauling—the whole thing dangerous, and into a hole the mare's foot sank. She floundered, fell, and when Margaret, unhurt, arose out of the dust, she saw with horror that the poor creature's leg was broken. The mare floundered to the road-side and then in misery sank upon the ground.

"Poor old friend," said the woman, with sorrow in her voice, tears streaming from her eyes, but in her hand was the pistol. "Good-bye, an' don't hold this ag'in me fur it's all I can do." Close to the horse's head she held the barrel of the pistol—fired, and without looking, resumed on foot her solitary way. A few miles further on she halted at a tavern, hoping that by spending the night, morning might bring along a friendly wagon, going her road; and she waited until the sun was high, and then set out on foot. But along toward ten o'clock she was overtaken by a huckster in a cart. She asked him to let her ride and he drew up, but looked suspiciously at her.

"I asked you to let me ride, if you please. I had to kill my po' mare 'way back yander—broke her leg in a bridge."

"What sort of a mare?"

"Gray—one of the best old nags I ever saw."

"Well, where air you goin'?"

"To Nashville. Will you let me ride?"

"Got business down there, I take it."

"Yes, or I wouldn't want to go."

"I don't know about that. Women folks goes a good many places where they hain't got no business. Ain't a runnin' away from yo' old man, air you?"

"No, I'm goin' to him."

"Huh, he run away frum you. Is that it?"

"No, they tuck him away. Air you goin' to let me ride?"

"Tuck him away for what?"

"They have accused him of makin' wild-cat licker."

"Here, give me yo' hand an' I'll help you up. Wait, I'll make the seat soft with this coat. Now we're all right. An' I've got a baked turkey leg an' some mighty fine blackberry cordial—your'n."

She thanked him, and when she had eaten and drunk, he began to apologize for his slowness in permitting her to ride with him.

"Ma'm, I didn't know but you mout be one these here women preachers. One of 'em come up into my neighborhood an' it seemed that befo' she come nature was a smilin' like she was waitin' fur her sweetheart. Well, me an' my wife went to hear her preach, an' she talked right well—never hearn a woman talk better—an' she cotch the folks. Worse than that, she cotch my wife an' turned my home into a hell, an' nature shut her eyes an' all war dark fur me. Nothin' would do my wife, but she must go out an' preach too. I begged her—told her that I loved her better than I did forty gospels, an' I did; but she would go. I told her not to come back—but one night about three months atterward, when it was a pourin' down rain, an' my little child was a cryin', there come a knock on the door, an'—an' I know'd. I opened it an' there she was an' as I was a huggin' of her, she says, 'Jeff, I b'l'eve a woman's duty is at home. Christ was a man.' Ma'm, I kin haul you all the way down there. I know where the jail is—I've been in there—an' I'll take you right straight to it."

"What did they take you there for?"

"It war a funny thing. I went up in the hill country, fur up from my home, an' the man what I stopped with was a maker of licker—an' atter dark I went with him to his still an' helped him fetch some wood for the fire; an' jest as I flung down a turn, bang, bang, an' here was the government men. Well, they tuck us down, an' of course I know'd I'd git outen it for I hadn't made no licker, but, bless you, the jedge sent me to the penitentiary for a year; an' ever sense then my wife she 'lows that I'm afeared to fetch up enough wood at home. Ain't a cryin', air you' ma'm?"

"They air goin' to hang Jasper," she moaned.

"You don't mean Jasper Starbuck. Well, I'll be blamed," he added, reading her answer in her tear-streaming eyes. "I hope not, ma'm. Did you ever hear him say anythin' about Jeff Waters? Mebby not, fur he never ricollecks sich things. But he toted me off the field at Shiloh when the bullets was like a swarm of bees. That's how I come to have this," he said, and raising his left leg, hit it a resounding whack with the hickory staff of his whip. "Timber, ma'm."

That night they were given shelter at a farmer's house, and were on their journey again by the rising of the sun, but shortly afterward the cart ran into a rut and one of the wheels was broken. Margaret petulantly wondered if the Lord were trying to keep her from reaching Nashville, and Jeff Waters replied:

"Well, if He tries right hard, He'll hold you back all right."

In the woods he cut a pole, braced his axletree, and dragged the cart four miles to a blacksmith's shop, and two hours afterward, having lost much time precious to the woman, they were again jogging along the road. They put up at a tavern at night, Jeff sleeping in his cart under a shed, explaining that he was now close enough to town to warrant such precaution against thievery.

"I don't know why there air mo' thieves in town than in the country," he said, and Margaret challenged his admiration and aroused his surprise by remarking:

"I reckon it's because there air mo' folks in town."

He told her that she was gifted with fine reason and that the one saying alone was more than enough to pay her passage.

As they drew nearer to town she began to grow nervous, but, with her woman's tact, exhibited no astonishment at what she saw; nor did she, after entering a busy street, show that she had ever been accustomed to a scene less lively. They drove straightway to the jail, and when tremulously she inquired for Jasper, they told her that he was not there.

* * * * *

In the mountains Tom and Lou were sojourning in a little town, when by chance they heard of the old man's arrest. At first Lou was overcome with alarm and grief, but her husband charmed her back to enthusiasm and to smiles.

"Why," said he, "they will take him before my father, and as soon as I get there the governor will turn him loose—be tickled to do it."

"But they will take him to jail, won't they?"

"Mebby, if they don't take him up home. By this time they've found out all about him. We'll drive across the country, get on a railroad train and be there in a jiffy."



CHAPTER XXIV.

TWO FRUITFUL WITNESSES.

Upon the case of the illicit distiller Judge Elliott had ever sat with utmost severity. As a colonel of cavalry he had distinguished himself. His left sleeve was empty. Lukewarm friends said that he was harsh and unforgiving. His intimates pointed to the fact that children were fond of him.

One morning he came into the chambers adjoining the court-room and for a long time sat musing at his desk. Capt. Johnson, U. S. Marshal, and Foster, deputy, came in shortly afterward, the captain taking a seat at his desk and Foster standing like a sentinel at the closed door. The captain, after examining a number of papers, glancing round from time to time as if to note whether or not the Judge had come out of his abstraction, remarked to Foster:

"How's your barometer? Or should I call it thermometer?"

"Both, I guess," Foster replied. "I have two."

He meant old wounds, foretellers of weather whims.

"Are we going to have rain, Foster?"

"Don't know—I feel fair weather."

"My instrument may be a little acuter than yours. Mine says rain."

The Judge looked up. "Rain by all means," said he; and then after a time the Captain remarked:

"Doesn't appear that you are going to have much of a vacation, Judge."

"That's a fact, and to one I had been looking forward. I am tired of this everlasting hum-drum, listening to false statements and prying into the criminal weaknesses of other men. The Lord knows that we have weaknesses enough of our own. But I don't see any immediate relief. The criminal docket precludes any adjournment. And I have a civil case under advisement. My son Tom is married. And so is my sister."

"What!" exclaimed the Marshal. "When did all this occur?"

From his pocket the Judge took a letter. "Tom and my sister went up into the mountains and—this letter tells all I know about it, and it is little enough:

'Dear Father: I have married a mountain girl and auntie has married her cousin, a preacher, but a good fellow all the same. I called it a double stroke of lightning, but auntie said it was perfume stealing down from the wild vines. For me it wasn't anything that came stealing—but with a jump. As soon as I saw her I said to myself, 'wow, I'm gone.' You have always chided me for being what you called too brazen with girls, but this girl scared me in a minute. It's a fact, but I said to myself, 'Old fellow, what's the matter with your knees?' I made up my mind to win her if I could, but she kept me cowed, not by what she said, for she didn't say much, but by what she looked. Auntie's husband's preaching knocks anything I ever heard—that is, I hear it does, for he hasn't preached for us yet. I would have written to you sooner, but the creek rose suddenly and the mail couldn't get over. When I come home I will offer my wife as a plea for pardon, and if you don't grant it I will appeal from your decision. To-day we go on higher up the mountains where we can stand on tip-toe (auntie's idea) and touch the honey-moon. She and Jim ain't with us at present, having gone over to his preaching grounds, fifteen miles from here. We are in a little town that looks like stage scenery. Haven't seen but one fellow that looked like he could box. If my wife don't object, I may try him a few rounds. If I can get within range I may draw on you, as I am about broke. Yours, Tom.'"

The Judge slowly folded the letter, and putting it into his pocket, remarked: "The rascal doesn't even tell her name."

"Well," smilingly replied the Marshal, "her name is Elliott now, you know."

"Yes," the Judge mused, "so it would seem. Draw on me if he gets within range. Oh, he'll get the range all right. I have never known him to fail."

"By the way, Judge, have you decided to take up the case of that old man Starbuck to-day? He is in there, ready."

"Yes. I have heard that he was a gallant soldier in the Union army, and I have decided to examine him here in chambers. I wish to save him every possible humiliation. And I don't know but it might be well to examine those witnesses here, informally. Mr. Foster, bring in those witnesses."

Foster opened the door, stepped out into the corridor, and with a motion of his hand, commanded: "This way, you two."

And into the room came Laz and Mose. The Judge, who at the time was looking over a paper, paid no attention to them as they entered. Laz took off his hat and stood near the desk, staring at him. Nearer the Marshal stood Mose, with his hat on. The Marshal motioned for Mose to take off his hat and the stammerer made similar motions at the Marshal, as if answering a flirtation. The Marshal made a sign to Foster, who, while Mose was looking in another direction, advanced and took off his hat. Mose wheeled about, snatched his hat, and, recognizing Foster, shook hands with him. Then he shook hands with the Marshal, turned and walked over toward the Judge, who was still absorbed in his paper.

"Judge," said the Marshal, "these are the witnesses."

Mose stretched forth his hand, and with a sharp pencil rap upon the desk, the Judge commanded: "Stand where you are."



"If you air the Jedge," said Laz, gazing intently, "I am sorter diserp'inted in you. I thought a United States Jedge must be about eight feet high."

"Well, never mind what you thought. You are here to tell what you know. Here, you," he added, speaking to Mose, "what is your name?"

"M—M—M—M—M—M—"

"Well, never mind. Where do you live?"

"Well, if y—y—y—y—you don't know a feller's n—n—n—name it don't m—m—m—make no d—d—d—diffunce whar he lives, d—d—d—does it?"

Laz struck in. "He won't tell you a lie, Jedge. He won't have time."

Rap, rap, at Laz.

"Never mind, sir. I will attend to you presently. You," he said, speaking to Mose. "Did you ever see Mr. Starbuck make whiskey?"

"Well, I've seed him m—m—m—m—make l—l—l—lasses."

The Judge grew impatient. "Do you know why you are here?"

"B—b—b—b—because they c—c—c—c—cotch me."

"No nonsense, sir."

"P—p—p—p—pap he 'lows I ain't g—g—g—got no sense of any s—s—s—sort, much."

The Judge sighed. "When you go into the court-room, do you think you can understand the nature of an oath?"

"W—w—w—well, I ought to. I've b—b—b—been c—c—cussed enough."

And Laz broke in: "He don't cuss hisse'f, Jedge, but he knows good cussin' when he hears it."

The Judge turned upon him. "Will you please keep quiet? I am striving to deal kindly with you, and I hope you will not lose sight of that fact." He spoke to Mose: "How far do you live from Mr. Starbuck's place?"

"W—w—w—well, you can't tell h—h—how far it is, the r—r—road's so crooked."

"Captain," said the Judge, "this boy should not have been brought down here. Let him stand aside. Over here," he said to Laz, motioning; and Laz stepped forward as if measuring the distance.

"About here, Jedge?"

Rap, rap!

"Have you ever seen Mr. Starbuck make whisky?"

"I've seed him grind co'n."

"And haven't you seen him boil the corn after it was ground into meal?"

"Yes, suh. They cook it up that way for the hounds. Thar's a feller up our way that's got mo' than a hundred hounds. They call him hound poor."

Rap, rap, rap!

"Let me tell you about this feller, Jedge. It may have some bearin's on the matter in hand. This here feller goes down to the store, kep' by the post-master, once a week an' swops off a hound for a pint o' licker. One day he tuck down the biggest hound you ever seed an' when the store-keeper had give him the pint of licker this here feller looks at his hound an' says, 'What! don't I git nothin' back—no change?' An' the store-keeper give him back a rat tarrier an' a bull pup."

In spite of himself the Judge ducked his head and laughed, and the Marshal shook his sides. But the outburst of merriment was soon over. "That is all very interesting as a character study, but we are not here to study characters, but to get at facts."

Mose had moved around and was standing near the corner of the Judge's desk. "I w—w—w—wish I could talk t—t—t—thatter way."

"Mr. Foster, take this boy out."

Foster came forward and Mose seized his hand as if meeting an old acquaintance after the lapse of many years.

The Judge spoke to Laz: "When you go in under oath you'll have to be more careful. Your drollery might send you to jail. You may go now."

As Laz turned to go he spied on the Judge's desk a fancifully wrought ink-stand. Slowly moving toward the desk and craning his neck he took up the ink-stand, stroked it and said: "Jedge, I'd like to borry this thing. Fetch it back in a month or so."

"Put it down and get out. Wait a moment."

"Told me to get out."

Rap, rap!

"Hold yourself in readiness to appear before the court. Now you may go."

But he hesitated. "Hope you ain't miffed at me, Jedge, for sayin' I war sorter diserpp'inted in you. I didn't mean no harm; an' say' Jedge, you ask Old Jasper an' he'll tell you whuther he's made licker. He ain't one of the sort that tells a lie, Jedge, an' I hope you'll do the best you kin fur him; an' if you have to send him to the penitentiary I hope you'll let me take half the time. I'd like to do that much fur him. As fur me, Jedge, it don't make much diffunce whuther I'm locked up or not. An' say, if it ain't stretchin' a p'int, I'll take it all, but don't let him know how it come about."

The Judge looked at him and his eye was not hard. "Go on, young man. You don't know where you got that spirit of self-sacrifice—you can never know; but I appreciate it. Go on, young man."



CHAPTER XXV.

TOO PROUD TO BEG.

"The old man may tell the truth," said the Judge. "Mr. Foster, have him brought in."

Foster stepped to a side door, opened it, looked in and beckoned. He stood aside and old Jasper walked into the room.

"Judge," said the Marshal, "this is the prisoner."

"Where is the Jedge?" Jasper inquired, looking about.

"This is Judge Elliott," the Marshal answered, motioning.

"Jedge Elliott!"

"Yes, I am Judge Elliott."

He stood looking straight at the Judge. "Then, suh, I can't say that I'm glad to meet you."

"Nor I to meet you, under such circumstances, Mr. Starbuck. I am indeed sorry to see so venerable a looking man brought here on a charge so serious. And I request from you a straightforward statement."

Old Jasper turned toward Foster. "I can't talk while he's in here, Jedge. He seed me in jail and I can't talk befo' no man that has seed me there."

"You needn't hesitate to speak within his hearing, Mr. Starbuck. He was a soldier, too."

"What, all soldiers? Then I have been tuck into camp."

"But not into the camp of your enemies. At a time when your state took up arms against the Federal government, you stepped forth to fight for the Union, and it is in consideration of this fact that I grant to you an examination here in chambers, to save you every possible humiliation. And now I ask you—"

"Jedge, I didn't come here to beg."

"I understand that. I simply request a straightforward statement."

"If you will let me give it in my own way, Jedge, you shall have it."

"In your own way, Mr. Starbuck. Proceed."

"Well, then, I'll begin at the beginnin'. Jedge, I live away up in the hills. My grandaddy settled there an' cleared off his field on a hill-side where the sun struck it a slantin' an' raised his co'n an' made his licker an' the gover'ment never said a word. One day him an' his two sons was a workin' in the field an' all of a suddent they heard a drum and fife over in the road. The boys looked with big eyes an' the old man clim' up on the fence and shouted, 'whut's the matter here?' and a man with red, white an' blue ribbons on his arm cried out, 'Old Andy Jackson needs soldiers to go to New Orleans.' An' my grandaddy he turns roun' to the youngsters an' says, 'Come on boys.' They went, suh, an' one of them boys he didn't come back. Wall, the years passed an' my daddy an' my oldest brother was a workin' in that same field, a raisin' of his co'n an' a makin' of his licker—an' mind you the gover'ment never had opened its chops, fur it was good licker—an' all at once jest like years befo' there came a beatin' of drums an' a blowin' of fifes over in the road. An' my daddy clim' up on the fence an' says, 'Whut's the matter now?' An' a man tuck a fife outen his mouth an' shouts, 'Mexico has trod on us an' we need soldiers.' An' my daddy turns, he does, an' says to my brother, 'Come on Bob.' They went, Jedge, an' Bob he didn't come back. Am I a makin' it too long?"

"No, Mr. Starbuck, proceed."

"Do it sound like I'm a beggin'?"

"No" said the Judge, "it is the rude epic of my country. Go on."

"I thank you, suh. Well, finally, my time come. I married a game little woman an' we had two of as fine boys as the world ever seen. I raised my co'n on that same hill-side an' made my licker an' the government never said a word. An' when me an' them boys was a workin' up there we could hear that little woman a singin' down at the house—a singin' the songs of glory she had hearn the old soldiers sing. Well, one day me an' them boys—twin boys, Jedge,—was a hoein' the co'n in the field. I ricolleck it jest as well as if it was yistidy. An' atter all these years I can hear that song a comin' up from the house. An' then—then come that same thrillin' noise, the beatin' of drums an' a blowin' of fifes. We clim' up on the fence, jest like my granddaddy an' my daddy had done, an' I cried out, 'Whut's the trouble now?' The drums stopped, an' one of the men raised his flag up high an' shouted, 'The country is a splittin' up an' the Union needs soldiers.' An' I says, 'Come on, boys.' I can look back now, Jedge, an' see that little woman a standin' under a tree a wavin' us a good-bye with an old flag. I can see her yit. Jedge, we went down into the fiery furnace. We seed the flag droop an' fall, an' then—then rise in victory. Yes, I seed it. But my boys—my boys that was like picturs in the book—they was left at Gettysberg. An' when that po' little woman hearn that they wan't comin' back, she pined away an' died—an' when I come home a bleedin', there was a grave under the tree where we had seed her a standin' jest befo' we went down beyant the hill. I—"

"Mr. Starbuck—"

"Wait a minit, Jedge, I ain't through yit. What did I know how to do when I got back to work? What had my grandaddy an' my daddy done? I went to raisin' of my co'n an' a makin' of my licker, an' still the gover'ment never said a word. But atter a while I hearn it was ag'in the law, an' I says, 'me an' all my folks have been a sheddin' of our blood for our country, an' some of them fellers that makes the laws never done that.' But I stopped sellin' the licker. I made it whenever I wanted to, somehow jest for a old time's sake, an' I sent it to sick folks—sent some of it to our ripresentative in Congress, right into the heart of the gover'ment an' not a word was said."

"Old man—"

"I ain't quite through yit, Jedge. The neighbors knowd that I made licker when I wanted to an' they never said nuthin', but lately a scoundrel took it into his head to give me trouble. Fust he wanted to marry my daughter an' then he threatened that unless I'd give him a thousand dollars—but, Jedge, I'd seen him in hell fust!"

"You must not use such language, Mr. Starbuck. You are before the law."

"Excuse me, suh, excuse me. Wall, an' they brought me down here, an' here I am. That's all, Jedge."

The Judge arose. "Old man, you are a patriot, from a race of patriots, and in my heart, I can hardly—"

There came a rap at the door. Foster opened it and Margaret rushed into the room.

"Jasper!" she cried, running to him.

He put his arm about her. "Margaret, how did you get away down here?"

"Mr. Starbuck," the Judge began, but with a pleading gesture the old man cut him off. "Please don't say nothin' mo' while she's in here."



"I come a ridin' an' a walkin' the best I could," Margaret moaned, looking about, "an' Jasper, I watered the flowers down there under the tree befo' I come, because I knowd it would please you. An' if they hang you, they've got to hang me, too. Jedge, there ain't no better man than he is, an' for the Lord's sake don't hang him." She sank upon her knees; but Jasper quickly lifted her to her feet. "There, you must never do that."

"Madam," said the marshal, "Judge Elliott wouldn't—"

"Jedge Elliott!" she gasped, and Jasper whispered in her ear: "Don't let him know that his son has married our daughter. He would think we was a beggin'."

"Mrs. Starbuck," the Judge kindly spoke, "will you please retire until we have concluded this examination?"

"Yes, suh, but let me tell you about him, Jedge. I was po' an' I didn't have no home an' I was almost starvin' an' he married me, an'—you do love me, don't you, Jasper?"

"Yes, now go on as the Jedge tells you. Go on an' it will be all right an'—"

"You'll come too, won't you?"

"Yes, I'll be there putty soon. That's right, now, go on."

At the door she halted, and before going out, summed up all her arguments—a pitiful courtesy.

"Mr. Starbuck," said the Judge, "I am told that in resisting arrest you so badly injured a deputy that he is not able to be here to-day. I am inclined in every way to favor you, but that, as you must know, is a very serious charge."

"Jedge, that ain't true. I didn't resist arrest. Let me tell you about that man Peters. I have had mo' than one cause to kill him in se'f-defense, but I didn't want to do that. A man that has seed as much blood as you an' me has, don't want to kill nobody if he kin help it. Jedge, he is a hound. I had surrendered to the law and was standin' with my hands up, an' he come a runnin' to kill me with a knife, an' I smashed his infernal countenance. No, I didn't resist arrest."

Foster stepped forward. "Will your honor please permit me to speak a word. I was in charge of the expedition and the old man tells the truth. Deputy Peters did try to kill him."

"Captain," solemnly remarked the Judge, "issue an order for the arrest of Deputy Peters, and my word for it, Mr. Starbuck, he shall be dealt with severely. And now, old man, I may be exceeding my authority, but I have not the heart to send you to prison. Promise me that if I permit you to go home you will not—"

"Jedge, my granddaddy an' my daddy didn't have to make no sich promises to the gover'ment they help to save."

The Judge walked up and down the room. "Captain, I haven't the heart to send him to prison—I cannot. And Mr. Starbuck, if the marshal does not see you, walk out."

"Judge," the marshal spoke up, turning his back, "my old eyes are so bad I can't see anything."

Both men stood with their faces turned away. Jasper looked at them. Then came Margaret's voice, calling, "Jasper, Jasper."

"I'm a comin' Margaret, I'm a comin'," and slowly he walked toward the door. But at that moment there was a commotion in the corridor, Margaret was heard to cry out, "Why, where did you all come from," and then Tom, followed by Lou and Margaret, came hastily into the room. Jasper hastened to his daughter and whispered:

"Remember who you are."

The Judge was not looking. Tom walked round in front of him.

"Why!" exclaimed the jurist, still seeing no one but Tom, "When did you get back. And where is your—"

"Got back this minute. I have come to see you about Mr. Starbuck."

"Too late. He is discharged."

"I—I—thank you. He is my wife's father."

"What!" exclaimed the Judge, turning about, and then he saw Lou, standing with Margaret and the old man. He held out his hand and the girl came timidly to him. About her he put his one arm; upon the forehead he kissed her: "The daughter of patriots—my daughter. Mr. Starbuck, why didn't you tell me?"

"Jedge," the old man replied, "it would have looked like I was a cringin'. I know how to bleed for my country, but I don't know how to beg for myse'f."

THE END.



* * * * *



Announcement

This book was written from the drama of "THE STARBUCKS," produced at the Dearborn Theatre, Chicago, with the following cast:

JASPER STARBUCK, EMMETT CORRIGAN MARGARET STARBUCK, his wife, LOUISE RIAL LOU STARBUCK, his daughter, MAMIE RYAN JIM STARBUCK, his nephew, HARRY BURKHART LIJE PETERS, THOMAS COLEMAN TOM ELLIOTT, HARRY STUBBS JUDGE ELLIOTT, his father, JOHN STEPPLING MRS. MAYFIELD, his aunt, GRACE REALS KINTCHIN, WILLIAM L. VISSCHER BLACK MAMMY, NANETTE FRANCIS LAZ SPENCER, WILLIAM DILLS MOSE BLAKE, WILLIAM EVARTS CAPTAIN JOHNSON, C. M. GIFFIN FOSTER, deputy marshal GEORGE BOTTS SAMUEL M. FOREST, STAGE MANAGER

The illustrations for this edition (copyrighted, 1902, by William H. Lee), are made from photographs of the actual scenes and people of the play.



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THE DEAD CITY

A Tragedy

By GABRIELLE D'ANNUNZIO



RENDERED INTO ENGLISH BY PROF. G. MANTELLINI. ILLUSTRATIONS FROM THE STAGE PRODUCTION OF

—— ELEONORA DUSE ——

MADE EXPRESSLY FOR THIS WORK, WITH COSTUME PORTRAIT OF THE ACTRESS IN COLORS

Cloth, ornamental cover, illustrated, $1.25

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LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS CHICAGO, U. S. A.



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Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors were corrected.

The Table of Contents lists the first page of the text to be page 7. In actuality it begins on page 9. The Table of Contents was changed to reflect this.

Page 17, "gaged" changed to "gagged". (bound and gagged)

Page 30, "pealing" changed to "peeling". (peeling the turnips)

Page 30, "melodion" changed to "melodeon". (melodeon and sat)

Page 38, "grand father" changed to "grandfather". (grandfather carried it)

Page 85, "did'nt" changed to "didn't". (But didn't you say)

Page 140, the word "arm" is unclear and is presumed. (arm, and to-night)

Page 266, "expresion" changed to "expression". (expression of pain)

Page 267, "hind quarter" changed to "hindquarter". (take a hindquarter)

Page 271, "breakink" changed to "breaking". (Then, breaking)

List of Cast, "coyrighted" changed to "copyrighted".

THE END