A Maid of the Kentucky Hills (2024)

BY EDWIN CARLILE LITSEY

Author of "The Man from Jericho," etc.

ILLUSTRATED BY
JOHN CASSEL

CHICAGO
BROWNE & HOWELL COMPANY
1913

COPYRIGHT, 1913
BROWNE & HOWELL COMPANY

Copyright in England
All rights reserved

PUBLISHED, NOVEMBER, 1913

THE PLIMPTON PRESS
NORWOOD, MASS, USA

TO
SARA
OF THE SUNNY HAIR

I knelt on the tree, bent down, and took her upheld handin mine.

CONTENTS

A MAID OF THE KENTUCKY HILLS

CHAPTER ONE

IN WHICH I GO TO 'CROMBIE

When a man of thirty who has been sound and well since boyhood suddenlyrealizes there is something radically wrong with him, it amounts almostto a tragedy.

It was mid-March when I became convinced that I was "wrong." Near theclose of winter I had developed a hacking cough with occasional chestpains, but with masculine mulishness had refused to recognize anyuntoward symptoms. I was not a sissy, to let a common cold frighten meand send me trembling to the doctor. I began to lose flesh and growpale, whereas I had been of fine frame, and decidedly athletic. Then Idiscovered a fleck of crimson on my handkerchief one day after a hardcoughing spell. I got up from my desk with unsteady knees and a chillyfeeling down my spine, and went to 'Crombie. He was generally known asAbercrombie Dane, M. D., but we grew up hand in hand, as it were, andso—I went to 'Crombie. He was a fine, big animal; head of a Herculesand strength of a jack and sense like Solon. A rare man.

I told him my tale shamefacedly, for I realized now I had acted a fool,and that maybe my day of grace had passed. He knew I was scared, for hewas sensitive, in spite of his bulk and seeming brusqueness. There waspity in his eyes before I finished, and I had to grapple with myself tokeep the moisture out of mine, his sympathy was so real.

Then I silently gave him the handkerchief, with the telltale stain.

He looked at it absently, and rubbed it gently with the tip of one bigfinger.

"My son," he said—it was an affectionate form of address which henearly always employed—"you are starting a colony."

His deep voice was very steady.

"A what?" I demanded.

"Bugs," he replied, laconically, and looked me squarely in the eyes.

"Bugs!" I cried, feeling the cold hand of Fear at my heart.

He shut his lips tightly, and nodded three or four times.

For a few moments I was literally and positively paralyzed. I felt as ifhe had pronounced sentence of death. 'Crombie had dropped his eyes, andhis broad, strong face was serious.

My nature is buoyant, and presently the reaction came.

"Are they crawlin' yet, Doc?" I asked, a smile struggling to my lips.

I cannot understand now why I asked that question. Perhaps it was afoolish attempt at bravado in the presence of a serious fact justdiscovered.

He did not answer. He recognized the query as flippant, and his naturewas deep. He sat looking at the floor a long time, and I did not intrudeagain upon his thoughts. But I imagined I felt a tickling beneath myribs, as of many tiny feet at work. Bugs! Ugh!

At last 'Crombie's shaggy head came up.

"There's a chance—a good chance," he said, and I felt courage spreadingthrough me like wine, for 'Crombie never spoke hastily, nor at random.

"Sea voyages and high altitudes wouldn't hurt," he resumed, "but youhaven't the money for them. Still you've got to hike from town, my son.Change is all right, but pure air and coarse, good food is your cue. Theknob country is not far away. There you'll find all you'd find in NewMexico or Colorado or Arizona, and be in praying distance of theAlmighty to boot. I know the spot for you, my son. It is a great knobwhich stands in the midst of a vast range, and it is belted with pineand cedar trees. Find or build you a shack on it half way up and staythere for a year. That's your prescription, my son."

"It's a devilish hard one to take!" I protested, in my ignorance.

"Condemned men are not usually so particular as to their method ofescape," he admonished, with a half smile.

Then he fell to thinking again, with his finger on his eyebrow. It was apeculiar attitude, which I had never seen in anyone else. I sat still,hoping he was evolving some pleasanter plan for my redemption. He wastrying to change me into a hillbilly, a savage! I looked at my whitehands and carefully kept nails, at my neat business suit and shiningshoes, and a slow rebellion awoke within me. I had about decided toignore 'Crombie and seek more comforting advice, when his rumbling voicecame again.

"It's mighty good authority which says you can't kick against thepricks. Don't try it, my son. Before we begin final arrangements I wantto ask you a question. Have you ever heard of the life-plant?"

I gazed at him keenly, for the query did not savor of sanity. I knewthat his researches in botany almost equalled his skill in medicine, butin some vague way I suspected a trick. His expression disarmed me. Itnot only was genuine, but yearning. I have never seen the same look in aman's eyes before or since.

"No; I never heard of it," I replied. "What is it?"

His answer was spoken slowly and meditatively.

"From the same source we get our hint regarding the pricks, we read of atree whose leaves are for the healing of the nations. Nature is themother of medicine. There is nothing in pharmaceutics that has not adirect origin from vegetable, animal, or mineral life. It is my beliefthat there is a remedy for every human ill if we could only lay ourhands on it. This brings us to your case, and the life-plant."

"Are you giving me straight goods, 'Crombie'?" I demanded, my suspicionsrising again.

"It is half legend, my son, I'll admit, but I have strong reasons forbelieving it does exist. It's an Indian tale."

"Probably bosh," I muttered, my common sense at bay.

"I think not," he answered, calmly and soberly.

"Have you ever seen it?" I challenged.

"No, but that doesn't disprove it. Listen to me. The life-plant is themost peculiar growth in nature, and cannot be confounded with anythingelse. The principal accessories to its full development are pure air andsunshine, hence it is found only in the still places of the woods andvalleys. It is exceedingly rare. You might spend a year searching for itunder the most favorable conditions, and find only one specimen. Again,you might find none. So far as science has gone, it grows from neitherseed, bulb, nor root. It seems to germinate from certain elementalconjunctions, attains maturity, flowers and dies. It may appear in thecleft of a rock, on the side of a mountain range, or in the rich mold ofa valley. It claims no special season for its own, but may come inDecember as well as in June. It springs from snow as frequently as fromsummer grass. This is how it looks. It is about twelve inches high. Itsstem is a most vivid green; its leaves are triangular, of a brightgolden color, and the flower, which comes just at the top, is acollection of clear little globules, like the berries of the mistletoe.They are clearer and purer than the mistletoe berry, however. In fact,they are all but transparent, and might readily be mistaken for acluster of dewdrops. Therein lies the efficacy of this strange plant.Gather the bloom carefully, immerse it in a glass of water for twelvehours, then drink the decoction entire. It will rout your embryo colony,and make you sound and strong as I."

He leaned back and slapped his chest with his open hand.

"You're dopey, 'Crombie," I said, doubting, but longing to believe him.

He wheeled around to his desk.

"All right, my son. You came to me for advice, and got it. I considerthat I've done my duty by you."

"Oh, come now!" I pleaded, ready to conciliate. "That's an awfulco*ck-and-bull story you've handed me, and you mustn't get huffy if itdoesn't go down without choking. I'll try to swallow it, 'Crombie. I doappreciate your advice, and I'm going to try and take it;—but tell memore about this infernal flower."

"Not infernal," he corrected, mollified; "but supernal. I don't thinkthere's any more to tell. Your stunt is to search till you find it, thenfollow directions."

"You say it grows anywhere?" I continued, assuming interest.

"Where there's pure air and sunshine," he repeated.

"And grows out of snow, 'Crombie?"

"As well as out of warm soil," he averred, doggedly.

"It appears to me that you're looney, 'Crombie, but I hope you're not,and I'll hunt for your bloomin' life-plant. But the question now is: whois going with me into my hill of refuge?"

"Who's going with you? Nobody! Who would go with you? People nowadayshave neither time nor inclination to burrow in the wilderness for atwelve-month!"

I groaned, for I knew that he was right. Martyrdom never has company.

"There's no other way?" I pleaded. "Couldn't I have a native look forthis healing flower for me?"

He shook his head. "It withers soon after it is plucked. You had bettercarry a sealed jar of water with you on your tramps."

Resignation came to me with that speech. My own folly had brought mewhere I was, and my spirit suddenly rose up to meet the emergency.

"I'll go, 'Crombie," I said. "Thank you for your prescription."

CHAPTER TWO

IN WHICH I GO TO 'CROMBIE AGAIN

'Crombie had said with chilling frankness that I hadn't the money for asea voyage, or for extended travel. The statement was distressinglytrue. Just at the time he and I finished our college careers, my fatherdied. Contrary to general belief, and my own as well, he was almost abankrupt. It was the old story of the frenzy for gain, great risks, andtotal loss. 'Crombie took up medicine, while I, lured by the promises ofa fickle Fate, embraced literature. 'Crombie was wise; I was foolish.When people are sick they always want a doctor, but when they are idlethey do not always read. If there is one road to the poorhouse which isfreer from obstructions than all others, it is the road of the unknownauthor. I had a natural bent toward letters, had been editor-in-chief ofthe college magazine, and had sold two or three stories to middle-classperiodicals. So, with the roseate illusions of youth at their flood, Ipictured myself soon among the front rank of American writers, andequipped myself for a speedy conquest.

In six months I had sold a half dozen stories, for something approachingone hundred dollars, and had received enough rejection slips to paperone room. To this use I applied them, taking a doleful sort of pleasurein reading the punctilious printed messages with their eternal refrainof "We regret, etc." I wondered if the editors were as sorry as theypretended to be. And I thought, too, of the enormousness of theirstationery bills.

But I persevered. The ten years which followed my embarkation upon thistreacherous sea were not entirely barren of results. I managed to livefrugally, which was something, and established gratifying relations withtwo or three magazines which bought my manuscripts with encouragingregularity. At last I placed a book with a reputable publishing house.The story fell flat from the press. The firm lost, and I did not receivea penny. The experience was bitter. I had spent a solid year writingthat book, and I felt that if I could get a hearing my period ofprobation would be over. I got the hearing, and I was still inobscurity. That is the typical literary beginning, and he who finallysucceeds deserves all he gets, for he has a heart of oak. My inherentoptimism and stubborn will bore me safely through the mists and shallowsof defeat, and with the sunlight of hope once more flooding my soul, Iwent on. Then 'Crombie handed me my commuted death sentence.

It is wonderful how news of this sort gets abroad. But it spreads likeuncorked ether. I had proof of this two days later when my minister, anaged and good man, called on a mission of condolence.

"God did it, my boy," he said, as he left, "and you must bear it."

I didn't believe him. I believed that the devil did it, and that Godwould help me get rid of it.

Since I had to go up into the wilderness, the sooner I went the sooner Iwould return, and I found my anxiety to be off increasing day by day.Spring was unusually early this year. March was a miracle month of plumblooms, and swelling buds, and flower-sprinkled grass. Little spears ofbright green were beginning to show on the lilac bushes, and elusivebird notes came fitfully from orchard and fence-row—blown bubbles ofsound bursting ere they were scarcely heard.

When I began to make my preparations, I realized how helpless I was.What should I take with me in the way of food, clothing, bedding,utensils, medicine? I had never camped out a night in my life. 'Crombiewould have to tell me. He knew, for every year he hiked off to Canadaand the Adirondacks for thirty days, and lived like a caveman every hourhe was gone. I went to his office. He was engaged, with six people inthe waiting-room. I went out and got him on the telephone. He promisedto see me that night at nine in his apartments. It was then threeo'clock in the afternoon, so I took a walk. I could do nothing moreuntil I had talked to him.

Lexington is really nothing more than a great big country town, but welove it. I reached the suburbs in half an hour, then took the pike, andwalked briskly. The day had been like one huge bloom of some tropicalorchid. Contrasted with the biting winter only a few weeks back, it wassomething to exult the heart and uplift the soul. Rain had fallen thenight before. Day came with a world-wide flare of yellow sunshine; herdress a tempered breeze. By noon a coat was uncomfortable, and the airwas full of music; the droning, charming, ceaseless litany of the bees.At three in the afternoon, when some strange freak drove me to the openroad, the miracle had not passed. Surely God's hands were spread overthe face of the earth, and His eyes looked down between. A few cumulusclouds were piled in fantastic groups toward the west, as I stoppedabout two miles out, and gazed slowly around me. Overhead was infinity,and the presence of the Creator. Encompassing me were unnumbered acresof that soil of which every child of the bluegrass is proud. On thebreast of the world the annual mystery was spread. Death had changed tolife. Where the snow's warm blanket had lately lain uprose millions andmillions of tiny spears; wheat which had been folded safely by nature'scover against the blighting cold. Billowing fields of richest brown,where the ploughshare had made ready a bed for the seed corn and thehemp. Near me were two trees. Their roots were intertwined, for theirtrunks were not over a foot apart, and their branches had overlapped andinterwoven. Almost as one growth they seemed. They were the dogwood andthe redbud, and each was in full bloom. At first the sight dazzled me.The pure white flowers, yellow-hearted, gleaming against the mass ofcrimson blooms which clung closely to twig and limb, produced aremarkable effect. The hardier trees remained bleak, barren, apparentlylifeless. They required more embracing from the sun, more kissing fromthe rain, more sighs of entreaty from the wind before the transmutationof sap to leaf would be accomplished.

It chanced that I had halted at a spot where no homestead was visible,and I was absolutely alone. None passed, and no cattle or stock of anykind stood in the adjoining fields. It was a faint foretaste of theimmediate future, and a peculiar peace came over me as I stood on thehard, oiled road, and felt myself becoming at one with the universallight and life of the earth and sky. My breast thrilled, and I drew inmy breath quickly. Was it a message? An assurance from the mother-heartof Nature that she would care for me tenderly in exile?

I turned and went slowly, thoughtfully, back to town, reaching it justas the dusk began to be starred by the rayed arc lights.

"'Crombie," I said, lighting one of his choicest cigars and sittingfacing him; "you've steered me into an awful mess."

You know I could fuss at 'Crombie. He was too big to take offense.

"How so, my son?" he replied, easily, his large face gently humorous.

"Well, I started to pack for this—er—trip, or outing, and I had nomore idea how to go about it than a pig. What will I need, and what mustI take? You've got me into this, and you've got to see me through it."

"The first thing you'll need will be a roof with good, stout, tightwalls under it. Remember, you're not going there to bask in sunshinealone, but you're going to spend next winter there!"

I looked at him, and I imagine my expression was something like that ofa dog when a youth badgers it, for 'Crombie laughed.

"I don't want to make it worse than it is," he apologized; "neither do Iwant you to be deceived in any way regarding conditions. But by the timewinter comes, take my word for it, you can sleep in a snow-drift withouthurt."

I smoked in silence. The thought was not encouraging.

"I believe you will find things pretty much to your hand there," he wenton, in a ruminative voice. "You remember I came from that part of thecountry, and the locality is entirely familiar. I have been all overBald Knob a dozen times. Eight years ago a shack stood just where youwould want yours. I think a fellow who had a natural love for the woodsbuilt it some eighteen or nineteen years ago, lived there a while, andlater moved to another State. It is made entirely of undressed logs, andhas one room and a kitchen. It ought to be in good condition yet,because it is protected by the bulk of the knob. I should guess the roomto be about sixteen feet square, and the kitchen is a box, but bigenough. There is a spring near, considerably impregnated with sulphur.This water can have nothing but a good effect. If the shack stillstands, you should consider yourself very lucky."

As he drew this picture, I could not help but gaze at the sumptuousfurnishings of the room in which I sat.

"How close is the nearest town?" I asked.

"The nearest town is Cedarton, my old home, ten miles from Bald Knob,but there is a hamlet within three miles. This consists of a fewcottages, a store, a blacksmith shop and a distillery. You will haveoccasion to visit neither place often. If you should happen to run shortof provisions, go to the hamlet called Hebron."

"Then seclusion is as necessary as pure air and plain food?"

"It is to prevent you from forming the habit that I advise you not toseek people. Man is naturally gregarious. If you began going to thehamlet once a week you would soon be going every day, and you woulddeteriorate into a cracker box philosopher or a nail keg politician,spending your time in hump-shouldered inertia rather than in trampingthrough the health-giving open in quest of the life-plant. You are goingforth with a purpose, my son; don't forget that."

I threw my head back against the cushioned leather, and in doing so myeyes lighted on a magnificent moose head over the mantel.

"You killed that fellow?" I asked, swerving suddenly from the subjectwithout apology, as is permitted between old friends.

"Yes; in northern Maine. I trailed him ten days, went hungry for two,broke through some thin lake ice in zero weather, tramped five mileswith my wet clothes frozen on me before I could get to a fire, and slepttwo nights under snow a foot deep. Then I killed him."

I stared at him curiously.

"I confess," I said, "that I have thought you were giving me aprescription you knew nothing about. I beg your pardon for my unbelief."

He smiled, and broke his cigar ash into the tray at his elbow.

"I wouldn't miss my annual trip into Eden for a year's income," he said."It is during those thirty days I store up life and energy for theremaining three hundred and thirty-five."

Then we fell to discussing my departure, and there followed an hour'stalk on ways and means. By eleven o'clock I had a list of everything Icould possibly need which would contribute to my comfort or well being.But there was one thing more; one supreme thing. All that evening I hadbeen trying to speak it, and couldn't. Now we were sitting side by sideat the table where we had made my list, and suddenly courage came. Iclasped the ham-like hand lying close to mine, and looking steadily andbeseechingly into my friend's eyes, said:

"'Crombie, go with me! I don't mean go to stay. I'm not such amiserable, snuffling coward as that. But companion me there—show me theway—help me get established. Two days—not longer. That country is newto me. Cedarton would take me for an escaped lunatic if I should applyat a livery stable for a wagon to take me and my effects to a shackwhich used to stand on the slope of Bald Knob. Don't you see? The peopleknow you, and a word from you would fix it all right. I'm your patient.But more than that, 'Crombie, is having your good old self with me. Justcome to the shack with me, help me place my things, hearten me up byyour good man-talk, make me believe and know that I am on the righttrack. Just two days. Won't you do it, 'Crombie?"

I knew that I was asking a great deal, probably more than I should. Itwould seem that it was enough for one man to show another where bodilysalvation lay, without taking him by the hand and leading him to it. Andforty-eight hours from town now meant a monetary loss to the man besideme. But God made men like Abercrombie Dane for other purposes than moneygetting.

Now he gave me the sweetest smile I have ever seen on any face except mymother's, as he laid his other huge hand over mine.

"Yes, I'll go with you, my son," he said.

CHAPTER THREE

IN WHICH I FIND A LODGE IN THE WILDERNESS

I am here.

'Crombie came with me to Cedarton, engaged two light, serviceable wagonsto convey us and my effects, and then drove out here with me to help meget settled. We reached Bald Knob just as the sun was setting yesterdayafternoon. The drive out from town was beautiful. Neither talked much onthe trip. I couldn't, and 'Crombie seemed to be thinking. The mainhighway, which we traveled for a number of miles, was made of gravel,brought from a considerable stream which, I learn, runs somewherenearabout. When we left the road, our way became quite rough. It wasmerely a succession of knob paths, which had been broadened enough forthe passage of four-wheeled vehicles. As we went deeper and deeper intothe wood, the scenery became wilder and grander. We saw vast ravines,where the earth shore straight down for many feet; tortuous channelswhere the fierce rains had plowed a passage to lower ground; trees ofall description growing everywhere, while shrubs, creepers and vinesinterlaced and fought silently for supremacy. Once we passed for nearlyhalf a mile along a broad, shallow stream with a slate bed, bordered onone side by a gigantic, leaden, serrated slate cliff whereon somepatches of early moss gleamed greenly bright, fed by the moisture whichfiltered through the overlapping strata. This cliff was somber; it wasalmost like a shadow cast upon us. But when we had passed it thesunshine came sweeping gloriously through a gap in the hills, and I feltmy spirit leap up gratefully to meet it.

We could see Bald Knob for miles before we reached it, and as we drovealong, each smoking, neither talking, I found that my eyes wandered timeand again to the bare, conical cap toward which we were creeping. I waswondering with all the soul of me if I could meet the test, now that itstared me in the face. It was one thing to sit in 'Crombie's leatherchair and decide comfortably upon this course, and another thing to seemyself approaching a hut in the midst of a primeval forest—and to thinkthat I was going to live alone there for a twelve-month! I know my facewould not have made a good model for a picture of Hope, as the twowagons drew up in the ravine which partially circled the enormous hillwhereon 'Crombie had said a shack had at one time stood. At length wefound a sort of road—it was more an opening through the denseundergrowth than anything else—and by dint of much urging from thedrivers, and frequent rests, we came at last to a little plateau,perhaps a quarter of an acre in extent, not quite half way up the knob.On the farther side of the plateau was a small building, resting at thebase of a sheer wall of stone and earth.

It was then 'Crombie shook off the quiet mood he had shared with me thegreater part of the journey, and became hilarious. He hallooed, laughed,joked and capered about like a schoolboy on a frolic, and not to hurtthe dear fellow I pretended to fall in with his mood. I really felt asif the world was rapidly drawing to an end.

Last night we could do nothing but make ourselves comfortable aspossible, and go to bed early. To-day we have worked hard, and obtainedresults. I couldn't have got settled without 'Crombie. He has tact,ingenuity, invention, and did most of the hard work. He said it would bebetter for me not to exert myself too much, which sounds silly,considering that my bodily measurements would have almost equaled hisown.

Now he and the drivers and the horses and the wagons are gone. Ahalf-hour ago I caught my last glimpse of him between a scrub oak and acedar. He was looking back, saw me, waved his arm prodigiously, sent upa hearty hail, and disappeared. I stood for thirty minutes withoutstirring from my tracks. Then from afar off, through the wonderfullystill twilight air, I heard a voice singing. The words were lost becauseof the distance, but the tune was familiar. It was a rollicking, foolishthing we had sung at college. 'Crombie was sending it to me as a lastmessage, to cheer me up. I inclined my ear desperately to the welcomesound. I held my breath as it fell fainter and fainter, now broken, nowbarely audible. At length, strain my ears as I would, it was lost.

But another sound had taken its place. The sun was down, and now, attwilight, the Harpist of the Wood awoke and touched his multitudinousstrings. He was in gentle mood to-day; a mood of dreams and revery. Themelody was barely audible; just a stirring, a breath. But it stole uponmy ears as something wonderful, and sweet, and holy. I had never heardanything at all similar. I stood entranced, listening to the ghostlygamut lightly plucked from the bare limbs and twigs of the hardy treeswhich had not yet responded to the season's call; from the slender greenneedles of the pine and the denser plumes which clothed the cedar, andoffered to me. As I hearkened to the elfin harmony I became conscious ofa certain peace. The boundless solitudes which stretched unbroken inevery direction did not seem forbidding and oppressive as I had sensedthem when traveling. A subtle kinship with the wind, and the trees, andthe earth awoke in my mind, and in some vague way which brought a thrillwith it I felt that I had come home. All these things which I had fearedgrew quite close at this twilight hour, and I imagined they came withpleading, welcoming hands, as to a long lost son or brother who was muchbeloved. Then as I raised my head a cool, soft breeze smote my face andrushed up my nostrils, and I smelt the elusive, invigorating tang of theevergreens. I smiled, and drew repeated draughts of the pure essencedeep into my lungs, filling every cranny and corner again and again.When I finally turned and went back to the shack, I felt as if I hadtaken wine.

I lit a lamp, made a fire in my kitchen stove, prepared a frugal mealand ate it. Later I took a chair outside the door and sat for two hours,thinking. One very important thought came to me during that time. Mybook of fiction did not sell; perhaps a book of facts would. So I havedecided to write a history of my exile. To-night it promises to be veryprosy and uneventful. I cannot see how anything could possibly transpirewhich would interest a reader. But the task will provide employment forme, at least. So every night before I go to bed I shall make a record ofanything which happened that day. If nothing occurs, I shall wait forthe incident worth relating. To-night I shall tell of my new home, andits surroundings.

I have named my place the Wilderness Lodge, thinking how the ill-starredByron would have joyed in just such a spot. We found it much as 'Crombiesaid it would be: a substantial, square room built of oak logs, with afloor of undressed planks. It is covered with clapboards, and the roofis rain-proof. The front door is heavy, and may be secured on the insidewith a large beam which drops into iron brackets. There is a second doorin the rear which leads into the kitchen, a room highly meriting theproverbial expression—"Not big enough to whip a cat in." There are twoopposing windows, which are small. Each is provided with a shutter,hinged at the top. They are propped up with sticks slant-wise to admitlight and air, and to keep rain out. A nice arrangement, I think. Facingthe front door is the fireplace; a huge, rough stone affair, largeenough to sleep in if one were so inclined. It has a broad stone hearth,and is fitted with black, squat andirons. Already I am planning the joyI shall derive from this fireplace when next winter comes. To-night Ihave built a brisk fire for cheer, company, and precaution, for theplace has been uninhabited for years, and last night's warming did notdrive out all the damp. It is wonderful how satisfying the dancingflames are; they seem to impart their glow and warmth to me.

My furniture is very simple, but enough. I have a cot with plenty ofbedding; a table, several chairs, including a rocker; two trunks andsome grass rugs for the floor. Of course, there are hundreds of lesserthings which I could not get along without, but while they have theirplaces, they are not worth cataloguing. It is also needless to say thatone of the trunks is half full of books. Some of these have alreadyfound their way to the table; Stevenson, Hearn, Rabelais, Villon, Borrowand some others.

When I come to tell of my demesne I don't know where to draw the line,for there are no boundary marks, and I can easily fancy "I am monarch ofall I survey." I suppose I have a yard, for I shall think of the plateauin that way. Whoever built the Lodge cleared the level place in front,and around, of all trees and bushes. It is dry and barren now, andcovered with dead leaves, but soon there will be a prying and a pushingof little green heads and I shall be kept busy if I don't want to beoverrun and driven out. Beginning a short distance back of the Lodge,and continuing upward for perhaps a hundred feet, a thick band of pinesand cedars belt the hill with a zone of perpetual green. Beyond this thevegetation dwindles, becomes scarcer, and finally ceases, leaving theapex of the knob absolutely bare. Below my plateau, and around,everywhere, as far as I can see, are trees, trees, trees. Trees of everysize and every kind indigenous to the climate. Evergreens predominate.There are millions of them, but there are also wide expanses of oak,ash, beech, sycamore, elm, walnut, dogwood. Most of these have as yetnot put forth the tiniest shoot. But here and there in the dun, brownstretches a dogwood has joyously flung out a thousand gleaming starswhich shine, white and radiant, a pledge and a promise of the generalresurrection nearhand.

A moment gone I laid down my pen and stepped outside. How vast! Howstill! How illimitable! I had never felt my insignificance so keenlybefore. I seemed a tiny atom of dust. But as I stood and heard againthose muffled chords from the mighty Harp, and saw the patient planetsoverhead again on guard, I suddenly knew that I was truly part andparcel of the Whole, and in my heart Hope gave birth to prayer.

Now to bed, tired, but at peace, with both windows flung wide—it is'Crombie's orders.

CHAPTER FOUR

IN WHICH I MEET A DRYAD

A week has passed. Until to-day I had begun to fear that my proposedplan of making a book would come to naught. One would not care to readof a daily life consisting of getting up, eating, smoking, reading,strolling about and going to bed. That is all I have done until to-day,when something happened. But before I come to this, I must tell of thelabor I undergo in procuring water.

I have spoken elsewhere of a sulphur spring. It is located in anotherravine across the one lying at the foot of my knob. I have been drinkingthe water dutifully, because 'Crombie told me to, although to my mind itis vile stuff, and I can't see how anything with such a pronounced odorcan be beneficial. I don't suppose I know. But I must have cooking andbath water as well, and this comes from the small stream which runsthrough the center of the nearest ravine. The distance would not be sogreat on a level, but to struggle up the steep slope with a bucket fullof water in each hand is no fun. I have had to make two trips every day,much to my discomfort. This is a problem which I have to solve, or elsego unwashed. Then, too, when the summer comes the stream below will mostprobably run dry, although 'Crombie assured me the sulphur water wasplentiful the year round.

I have been getting located the last seven days; exploring my hill ofrefuge, and making little excursions into the neighboring fastnesses.Almost the last thing 'Crombie told me was to remember the life-plant,and the sooner I began the search the better it would be for me. I'm notaltogether satisfied about this life-plant, although I know 'Crombiewouldn't joke with me about so serious a matter. I have at lengthdecided to take his word implicitly, and begin a systematic hunt forthis most peculiar growth. I am feeling suspiciously well. My cough hasnearly gone, and it seems almost absurd that a strapping man of six foottwo should be out chasing a chimera of this sort.

This morning I was up before the sun, an experience I have not knownsince childhood. I breakfasted bountifully on ham, eggs, bread, andcoffee. Then, flushing foolishly, I filled a pint Mason jar withwater—sweet water—screwed the top down tightly, thrust the jar hastilyin my coat pocket, took my pipe and a stout staff I had cut several daysbefore, and started on my first tramp for this life-plant.

I swung down the road—I will call it such—up which the wagons hadcome, crossed to the spring and drank of the cold, bad smelling water,and as I stood puffing my pipe I wondered which way I should go. It didnot matter in the least, but it was human to consider, and I considered.Before me loomed the prodigious bulk of my home hill. Back of me roseanother, not quite so imposing, but exceedingly steep. To right and leftswept the ravine, silent, shadowy in the newborn morning. It was fromthe right we had come. I turned to the left, and presently the thicksoles of my heavy walking shoes were crunching and clattering the looseshale as I skirted the shallow stream bed.

I went far that day, climbing ridge after ridge, traversing hollow afterhollow, always with my eyes open for my rare treasure. Again and again Icame upon farm land, small patches of tilled soil which the stubbornstrength of man had wrested from the wilderness to supply his needs.These fields I went around. Once, from a high point, I saw a tinyhamlet, caught the cackle of geese, and heard the low of kine.

Noon came and went before I was aware. I had brought no lunch with me.It was past midafternoon when I again drew near home. There was neverany danger of my getting lost. Far as I might walk in a single day, thattowering peak would yet be visible, rearing itself in silent grandeur toguide me back. The thought was comforting.

I approached in a different direction from any I had ever taken before,coming almost from due west. I had swiftly descended a slight slope,hunger giving me haste, and had burst into a glade at the edge of one ofthe many creeks which threaded the country, when I stopped short.

A girl was standing on the further side of the glade. She had not heardme, for the leaf-sodden mold gave back no sound from my careless feet.She stood under a dogwood tree, and it chanced, the moment I beheld her,that the declining sun fell all about and over her. She had plucked anumber of sprays from the tree, and as I stood with bated breath shebegan to weave the white and yellow blooms into her hair, which shone inmy eyes like a reflection from burnished copper. She sang as she weaved,or rather crooned, for I caught no words. It was just an elfin littletune, with quavering minors strung on a listless monotone. She wasgarbed very, very simply; a one piece dress of faded blue, belted at thewaist. A poke bonnet of the same color lay upon the ground near herfeet. Her position in relation to mine was a semi-profile, so I couldmake little of her face, but her form was slim and straight, and herbowed arms displayed a natural grace as she thrust her fingers in andout of her shining hair, working the star-like blossoms into place.

As I stood wonder-struck, debating what to do, I saw a commotion in thetree by which she stood, a scuttling form darted out on the branchnearest the girl's head, then leaped to her shoulder, where it sat andnibbled a nut, its tail a graceful gray plume. I think my mouth wentagape; if it didn't, it should have, for here was magic.

The girl—or dryad, for I was beginning to doubt if she was real—paidno immediate heed to the squirrel, but went on droning her song andtoiling patiently at the flowers. I stood and watched her, leaning on mystaff, my erstwhile hunger forgotten. Would she vanish into air, orwould she disappear in the cleft of an oak? I determined to see.

In a few moments her crown was in place. She put her hands down, butalmost at once raised one of her arms, and gave a small, thin,twittering call. She stood like a statue, apparently waiting, thenrepeated the sound, varying it only by a quick rising inflection at theend. Like an echo an answer filtered sweetly out from the forest to oneside, and I saw a streak of brown cleave the air of the glade, as asmall wood bird, of a species unknown to me, dipped to the outstretchedarm and perched upon the girl's wrist. There it sat, its pert littletail at a sharp angle, and its head co*cked to one side very knowingly.

"Good Lord!" I burst forth, involuntarily, then bit my lip for a fool.

The charm was rudely broken; I had spoiled the tableau.

With a whisk of his tail the squirrel dropped to the girl's hip, jumpedto the ground, and headed toward the thicker growth with frightenedleaps. The bird vanished as the ball does from between the conjuror'sfingers—it just went, but I did not see it go—and the girl turned witha quiet movement to see who the idiot was.

"I—beg your pardon!" I said, advancing several steps and taking off mycap. "That—er—I have never seen—you know—er—I'm really sorry Iscared them off!"

She stood perfectly calm, her weight resting rather awkwardly upon onefoot, her hands loosely clasped in front of her, as I made my stammeringspeech. I don't know why I should have been so confused, unless it wasfrom her rare composure.

"They'll come back," she said, assuringly, and smiled.

I drew closer. I could not believe the evidence of my eyes. When I sawher joined hands I marveled; they were white, slender, smooth, entirelyunmarked by toil. Now her face. It was fresh, sweet—not beautiful—andlighted by gray eyes, which brought a sensation to my spine. It was nota face I would have expected to meet in the Kentucky knob country. True,there was a superficial expression which reflected her environments, herassociates, but this appeared to me even in that moment as a veil to betaken off, that the true nature might shine forth. Her voice was low,rich, and held a strangely haunting note which made for unrest in theheart of a man. She was totally wild; that I could not doubt.Illiterate, crude, a child of the locality, but when I first looked inher face, when I first heard her voice, I knew that I stood before onewhom Fate had cheated. That she was not abashed, not even startled bythe sudden appearance of a total stranger, I attributed rightly to hermode of life, which was untrammeled by convention, thoroughly natural,and free from the restraints artificiality begets.

"You—live near?" I said, never once thinking of passing on now that myapology was spoken.

"Uh-huh; at Lizard P'int. 'Tain't fur—up th' holler a bit."

The simple words struck me almost like a blow. The voice was sweet as aflute in its lowest tones, the lips were red and curving, but the speechwas the uncouth vernacular of the hills. Fate had indeed cheated her.

As I nervously drew out my pipe, thinking what I should say next, shediscovered a rent on her shoulder where the careless claws of the scaredsquirrel had torn the fabric of her dress. She gave a little exclamationof annoyance, thrust one finger in the torn place, pouted as a childmight for an instant, then laughed and tossed her garlanded head.

"I don't keer! Granny'll fix it!"

It was my cue.

"Who is Granny?"

"Granny?... Oh! my granny. We live together."

"On Lizard Point," I supplemented. "Doesn't anyone else live with you?"

She nodded her head brightly.

"Yes, Grandf'er does, but he don't count."

Her ingenuousness was bewitching, and I essayed to prolong theinterview.

"Aren't you afraid to wander around in the woods this way alone?"

"Me!... Skeerd?"

For a moment she looked at me with dropped chin and a tiny frown ofwonder, then a glad stream of laughter came pouring from her upheldmouth, filling the forest with rippling, echoing cadences. I gazed onthe round, gleaming column of her young throat, milk-white and firm, anda subtle, primal call stirred in my breast. When her boisterousmerriment had subsided, I could see her teeth, like young corn when thehusks are green, between the scarlet of her parted lips.

I came closer yet. I was bewildered, puzzled, but strangely attracted. Iscarcely knew how to answer her.

"You see," I tried to explain, "it—that is, where I came from youngwomen go nowhere without an escort, except in town."

"Oh!"

Her face was serious now, and she seemed trying to comprehend.

"Whur'd you come frum?" she demanded, with disconcerting abruptness.

"From Lexington."

"Whut's that?"

"A town—a little city."

"I don't like city people!"

The sentence sprang forth spontaneously, and she looked displeased.

"Why?"

I did not receive an answer. She was kicking a small bunch of moss withthe toe of her ugly, coarse shoe, which was rusty, and laced with astring. But for all its shapelessness, the shoe was very small.

"Why don't you like city people?"

"'Cause Buck says they're mean an' stuck up!"

She flashed the sentence at me with a rapid glance of defiance.

"Who's Buck?"

Now the girl's face took fire, and dire confusion gripped her. Hair andskin became indistinguishable. But she flung her head up bravely, andwith burning eyes looked straight into mine.

"Buck Steele. He's th' blacksmith over to Hebron, an' he's—my frien'."

She had grit. I honored her for that speech.

"You know I'm a stranger," I ran on, easily, making a pretense to fillmy pipe, and so help her over her embarrassment. "I came just about aweek ago. I'm in the house up on Bald Knob yonder. The city didn't agreewith me, and my doctor sent me out here to get well. I'm not mean andstuck up, believe me. I've got the poorest sort of an opinion of myself,although I've lived pretty clean. Now I want to be friends with you, andall the folks about here. You'll help me, won't you?"

Her self-possession had returned while I was talking. When I stopped, Ismiled, and looked at her as frankly and honestly as I could.

"You don' 'pear puny!" was her startling rejoinder.

I took another tack.

"Pray tell me how it is the birds and the beasts obey you?"

"I love 'em!" she answered, promptly, and with warmth. "I know 'em, an'they know me."

She turned without warning, and walking to the bank of the creek, whichat this point was raised several feet above the water, leaned over andpeered down into the pool below. Could Eve have been more artless? Shewas looking at her reflection in the mirror of the stream!

I picked up her bonnet by one of the strings, then went and stood besideher. A compliment arose unbidden to my lips, but I stifled it. It wouldnot have been fair.

"I mus' go," she said, straightening up, and twisting a hanging curlnear her forehead back beneath her hair.

"Aren't you—"

I started to ask if she wasn't afraid, and if I mightn't go with her,but remembered in time.

"—and your granny very lonely?" I finished, lamely, but she did notappear to notice it.

"La! No! Th' Tollerses 's jis' t'other side o' th' ridge, 'n' they'vegot a pas'l o' kids. No time to git lonesome!"

My spirit writhed. Such language as this—from her!

She held out a hand for the bonnet.

I brought it forward slowly, still holding it by the string. Her handrested against mine for an instant as she took it. At this juncture Imade a—to me—significant discovery. Her nails were pared and clean!It seemed paradoxical, but it was true. I did not attempt to account forthe phenomenon then, but I did later, with no results whatever.

"Where is Lizard Point—exactly?" I asked, my voice more serious than ithad been during our talk.

She pointed her finger down the creek, as it flowed gently murmuring tothe south.

"Th' crick 'll lead yo'. Nigh onto half mile frum here."

"I'm coming to see you and your granny some day soon. May I? You knowit's lonesome for me out here. I'm not used to it. May I come?"

She gazed at me with steady gray eyes for a few moments.

"Ye-e-es; I s'pose so," she answered, reluctantly; "if yo' gitlonesome.... Whut yo' keer'n' that jar fur?"

Her glance had just espied it, and now it was my turn to blush.

"I'll tell you—when I see you again," I compromised, laughing.

She started off, but stopped and turned.

"Live on Baldy, yo' say?"

"Yes; in the old log house there."

"I go thur sometimes. Maybe I'll come 'n' see you!"

"All right. You'll be mighty welcome."

"Good-by."

"Good-by."

She did not look back, and I stood with a distinct sensation envelopingme until her copper-gold head, crowned with the star-like dogwood, hadpassed from view.

CHAPTER FIVE

IN WHICH I SAY WHAT I PLEASE

A prodigious miracle has happened.

It is not yet mid-April, but the Spirit of Life has stirred in everybole and bough; every twig and tendril. The awakening has been sogradual, so stealthy, so silent, that not until this afternoon did Inotice that the far reaching brown world over which I daily looked, hadchanged.

I had been doing some rough carpentering—building a bench on eitherside of my doorway outside, using a broad plank I had found in thekitchen for the purpose. It is true I had chairs, and chairs are morecomfortable, but it has struck me that the Lodge would look better withthese benches in front; would have a more finished appearance. So Iknocked them up quickly. Now on the further rim of my plateau grows asingle pine; a tall, many-limbed, graceful tree. Somehow the thought wasborn that a bench under this pine would not be placed amiss, so I walkedtoward it to investigate the idea at close range. Its lowest branchesshot out more than two feet over my head, and as I passed under them Iobtained a fresh and unobstructed view of a tremendous reach oflandscape. Instantly my mind received the impression that something hadhappened. The entire perspective was subtly transformed.

Before me was nothing but trees—a vast valley full; slopes clothed withthem and peaks capped with them. And each tree was touched with mystery;the familiar, never to be understood transmutation of sap to bud andleaf. The effect from where I stood was not beautiful only; it awoke apositive awe in my heart. The immense area comprehended by my gaze wasundergoing resurrection. Painless, soundless, without effort, theancient forest was coming back to life; to green, vigorous, waving anddancing life. The process was as yet scarcely begun, but already it wasa veracious promise of perfect fulfillment. A tenuous, lacey veil ofpale, elusive green seemed stretched over all growth within the scope ofmy vision. A misty, unreal something it appeared; a gossamer coveringwhich would vanish before the first breath of wind, or touch of sun. Butwell I knew the truth! It was the sun, and the wind, and the rain whichhad compassed the wonder. Beneath their united power the sluggish saphad first stirred in the hidden roots, and when the insistent summonsbecame more and more powerful, had mysteriously arisen throughsuccessive cells of fiber, up and up, into every branch, into everylimb, into the smallest and most insignificant twig, where Nature'sfinal marvelous alchemy was performed, and moisture turned to bud, andbud turned to leaf. A leaf perfectly shaped and veined, each to its owntree.

Dusk came upon me as I gazed, enraptured. Softly the light stole away,and the shadows came. Now the horizon range was a wall of gloom, andthen, like billows which made no sound, velvety waves of darknessoverflowed all before me, blotting it out. But I know that to-morrow thelacey veil would have a deeper shade, and that soon, with millions uponmillions of leaves astir, the Harpist of the Wood, when he touched hisresponsive strings, would draw yet a grander measure.

No bench went under the pine tree that night, but the next day I buildedit well. It is a fine spot to sit and dream—a pastime I love.

CHAPTER SIX

IN WHICH I MEET A SATYR

Two weeks have passed since I talked with the dryad in the glade.

I am getting along splendidly. That is, my appetite is good, I sleep thenight through, and my trouble remains at a standstill. I'm not expectingthis to leave me at once. I read some every night. The days I forcemyself to spend outdoors. If I do not go on a tramp, I prowl around myhill of refuge. Yesterday I found a creditable cave some score of rodsfrom the Lodge, in about the same latitude. There is an irregular,outjutting ledge of rock here, and it was beneath a moss-splotchedbowlder I found a hole leading into the knob, its entrance large enoughfor me to stand erect in. I am not averse to a mild adventure, so Ibegan a tentative exploration. I had proceeded but a few steps, however,when I stopped. I heard something. I had my revolver with me—I make ahabit of taking it with me wherever I go—so I drew this and advanced alittle further. The sound was repeated, louder and more menacing. Iwould have thought it the hiss of a serpent, but for its remarkablevolume. I looked, but could see nothing. The passage ended in darkness.The floor was littered with small stones, and pebbles mixed with finesand. I picked up one of the stones and tossed it sharply into thedarkness ahead. The response was instantaneous. The hissing was renewed,but now it was accompanied by a scuffling sound, and I became aware thatsome formless thing was approaching me. I could see the bulk of itmaking for me—but that was enough! I turned and ran, ignominiously,forgetting my weapon in my fright. As I made my exit from the cave atfull speed I grasped a near-by sapling desperately, described an erraticand ungraceful arc, thus saving myself from tumbling down the steepdeclivity which faced me, and finally brought up some score of feetaway. I turned to see if I was pursued, but there was only an anxiousand solicitous mother buzzard in the cave-mouth, her ugly neckoutstretched toward me, and her broad wings bowed in anger. I laughed.It was a little late for their nesting season, but this one doubtlesshad a pair of miserable little yellow goslings back in that hole.

I give this incident to show how quiet my life was up to this time, andhow such a trifling occurrence really caused me much excitement.

I began my chronicle to-night by saying it had been two weeks since Italked with the dryad in the glade. Why should I reckon time from that?I wrote the sentence unconsciously. Now, when I come to think about it,I realize that the dryad has been in my mind a very great deal duringthe last fortnight. You must know there is to be no concealment in thisnarrative. It is to be a record of absolute truth. Not only what I do,but what I think and feel, shall be faithfully set down. She—I don'teven know her name! I can't see why I should have parted from herwithout asking her name, since I shall in all likelihood see her manytimes during the coming year. Perhaps it was her eyes which made meforget such an important question. I have never seen eyes likehers—never. They are the Irish gray. That's a different gray from allothers, as I suppose you know. Don't ask me how they are different, forI don't propose to attempt an explanation. But they are, and especiallyis this true in women's eyes. A woman with Irish gray eyes can bedangerous if she wants to. In addition to their remarkable color, thedryad's eyes have very white lids which droop the least bit, perpetuallyshading the iris. She is something of a paradox. She has small feet,smooth hands and carefully kept nails, but her language, while spoken ina peculiarly pleasing voice, is so ungrammatical and colloquial that itmakes rigors creep over me. I told her that I was coming to see her andher granny, but I haven't gone. Why haven't I? I told her I was comingto see her because I got lonely. Have I been lonely? Yes; very. Threedays ago I bravely started for the glade where I had found her,intending to follow the guiding creek on to Lizard Point. I turned offbefore I reached the creek and went ten miles in another direction. Whydid I do that? I want to see the dryad again. She interests me; I feelthat we shall be good friends. She has a bright and ready mind, and isabsolutely natural. She says what she wants to, laughs when she wantsto, does what she wants to. I verily think she would be incapable ofdeception or guile, but I may be wrong in this. I suspect I am. Suchthings are not conditions resultant from culture and refinement; theybelong to the human organism, and so, by virtue of her being, the dryadmust possess them.

To-morrow I am going to Lizard Point.

This afternoon I came in before sunset from a very leisurely tramp ofabout four hours. Whenever I stir abroad my pint Mason jar full of freshwater goes with me, for I have banished all doubt, and believesteadfastly in the life-plant. You may be sure I am always looking,always watching. That is my sole object in life just now. I feel that Iwill find the thing if it grows in this part of the world, for my searchis to be most thorough. Thus far I have discovered nothing whatever toarouse hope or anticipation.

I came home early to-day because I am to have a garden. I decided uponthis last night after I was abed. Just before I toppled over into sleepI remembered that the ground to the left of the Lodge was loamy, withfew rocks, and not many stumps. So to-day I despatched an early supper,took a rake and began to clear the ground. It was nice, easy work, and Isoon discovered that my garden would run sixty feet one way byforty-five or fifty the other. There was a heavy layer of decayingleaves to scrape away, a number of loose stones, and quantities ofsticks fallen or blown from trees. I stopped in about fifteen minutes torefill my pipe, found that I had left my tobacco on one of the benches,and went and helped myself. As I touched match to bowl I heard a high,harsh voice singing in the most dolorous key imaginable the followingdoggerel couplet:

I stopped drawing on the stem, and turned my head in the direction ofthe sound. The burning splinter of pine nipped my fingers, and I droppedit. The crazy tune came from down the road, which curved not a greatdistance away. Again, louder, and in a more positive tone, some onedeclared:

The last word was carried through fluctuations which would almost havestood for a cadenza in a music score, and as it trailed off into silencethe singer appeared from around the bend.

In the half light he presented a strange, almost a grotesque figure, ashe toiled up the road repeating over and over his peculiar lines. Istood perfectly quiet, and watched his approach. There was a certainlimp to his gait, coupled with a decided unsteadiness, which made hisseeming yet more uncouth as he drew nearer and nearer through thegloaming. His head was bent, and he was unaware of my presence until hereached the plateau, and advanced some distance across it. Then helooked up, saw me, and came to a standstill with a jerky motion. He wasperhaps twenty feet from me, as we stood and exchanged stares.

An exceedingly tall, loose-jointed individual faced me. His clothing wasnondescript, mostly rags and tatters. His trousers, frayed at the ends,came to an abrupt stop several inches above the tops of his run-down,rusty shoes, and the spaces between showed a dust-begrimed skin. He worea coat of the Prince Albert pattern, much too small. Beneath this wassome sort of shirt which would not admit of description. His face wasgaunt and hairy. I will not say he wore a beard; the term would beincorrect. The hair grew in patches; sickly, stringy strands, with anextra tuft on the chin which curved sideways. I was forcibly reminded ofa goat when I saw this chin-tuft. He wore a colorless, conical felt hat,broad-brimmed and bandless. The brim continued the slope of the crown inan unbroken line, producing a startling effect. There came to my mindthe headgear of Hendrik Hudson's crew as depicted in the play of Rip VanWinkle. This specter-like apparition might well have been a ghost, butfor the recent evidence of a strong pair of lungs. Beneath one arm,hugged to his side, the figure carried a bundle covered with oilcloth.

For the length of a half-dozen breaths we stood motionless andspeechless. Then the figure began to nod its head at me, slowly,soberly, up and down, up and down, and with each movement the curvedchin-tuft would shake. This senseless action irritated me. I don't knowwhy, for it might just as well have caused amusem*nt. But for somereason I felt anger rising within me; not violent, but enough to barb mytongue.

"Who are you, and what do you want?"

My words were sharp, but that they did not cut I knew from the sprightlyreply.

"I'm a fiddler, 'n' I don't want nothin'!"

Still the head bobbed, and the goat-tuft shook.

"You're nothing of the sort," I retorted; "you're a satyr, and you wanta drink of whiskey!"

CHAPTER SEVEN

IN WHICH THE SATYR AND I SIT CHEEK BY JOWL

He looked the first, and from his antic disposition I was convinced hewas already more than half drunk. But I was entirely unprepared for theresult which my statement brought about.

The angular figure became convulsed with immoderate laughter on theinstant. He shouted and screamed with mirth, bending forward, thrustingbackward, holding his ribs with one hand—the other was busy with theoilcloth bundle, which he never forgot—turning that repellent chin tothe sky, and yelling his insane, cackling, demoniac merriment to thefirst stars. I thought he would surely have some sort of fit before myeyes, so overcome was he with glee. I stood erect and dignified, waitingfor his stormy risibles to allay. After a full two minutes of noisyrapture, he calmed down somewhat, drew forth a bottle of remarkable sizeand tilted it with the neck between his lips. Making a smacking sound ofsatisfaction as he finished the draught, he half lurched, half walkedtoward me, extending the bottle as he came.

"Good fur rheumatiz," he said, stopping at arm's length, andgood-naturedly leering his invitation for me to partake.

I shook my head.

"No.... Thank you."

There was an expression on his countenance which disarmed me of mywrath. At close range I searched his features. They were irregular,undecided. His nose was pug—another satyr touch—and his neck long,thin and ridged. I could not see his eyes. But something about him cameout to me as an appeasing and soothing agent. Worse than useless for meto speculate as to what it was. A nameless something, probably, whichacted upon my spirit, or nature, and charmed it in a way. I knew thisthing before me was a fragment, a waif, a bit of flotsam on Life's sea.He could be nothing else. And yet—and yet, as he stood patiently withthat enormous bottle stuck under my nose, and the genial, whole-heartedleer of invitation on his pagan face, I knew a sudden kinship; a quick,sympathetic rush of feeling, and as I waved the bottle aside with myleft hand I thrust out my right and grasped his as it hung limply infront of the bundle he still pressed to his side with his elbow.

"I don't want your liquor, Satyr," I said; "but you may sit down andtalk to me if you want to."

"Don't want good liquor?" he repeated, batting his lids, and loweringthe bottle as though puzzled beyond understanding.

"Not now; not often. Sometimes I do. But what sort of stuff is that?"

I had just noticed the contents of the bottle was clear.

"White lightnin'," he replied, carefully stowing it away in a pocket Icould not see.

I knew then. It was moonshine whiskey.

Suddenly his cadaverousness struck me afresh.

"Have you had supper—or dinner—or breakfast?" I demanded, with suchvim that he answered hurriedly:

"Naw; neither; nothin'."

The grammar was bad, but the meaning was good.

"Then let's eat—you and I—and become acquainted."

I did not tell him my supper was over, though this bit of tact wasdoubtless unnecessary. Neither did I invite him indoors. While it istrue I had really warmed to his outcast condition, the sentiment did notembrace the hospitality of my roof. I felt a desire to cultivate him,but the acquaintance must grow in the open.

He grinned appreciatively at my suggestion, and I saw him lick his lipssurreptitiously, after the manner of a starved animal which smells food.

"Get busy about a fire, and I'll find the grub," I continued, notwaiting for the assent which I knew he would give.

With that I went in the house, took from my larder some bacon, eggs,bread and coffee, all of which, with a skillet, I carried out. Quicklyas I had moved, I found the Satyr's fire ablaze when I returned. This hehad made from dry leaves and sticks which I had already scraped into apile from off my garden plot.

As host, I prepared the meal. While it was cooking, my strange guest satjust across from me in a most uncouth attitude. His shoulders and aportion of his back rested against a stump; the small of his back he satupon. His long, spider legs were flexed in such a manner that his sharpknees shot up into the air above his head. He had placed his dustcolored hat upon the ground, and I could see pale, lifeless strands ofhair waving in the early night breeze on top of his partly bald head.The oilcloth bundle lay across his stomach. Neither spoke during the fewminutes in which the eggs, meat and coffee were being prepared. One ofhis claw-like hands lay upon the bundle. Once I saw his other hand strayrather aimlessly under his coat, but it brought nothing out whenwithdrawn.

"Go to it!" I said, cheerily, when all was done, shoving the skillettoward him, and rising to find a cup for his coffee.

When I came back it was to see him with the skillet between his knees,devouring its contents with the voracity of a starved wolf. He was usinga stick and his fingers to convey the hot food to his mouth, as I hadforgotten to provide either knife or spoon. I watched him in amazement,for he bolted the bacon and eggs as a dog might. It was very plain hewas badly in need of nourishment.

"Good, Satyr?" I asked, squatting down and pouring out a running-overcupful of steaming coffee.

He tried to reply, but the words were unintelligible because of thefullness of his mouth. So I wisely made no further effort atconversation until the skillet was clean—literally clean—for thehungry man took chunks of bread and sopped and swabbed until the blackiron glowed spotless. Three cups of strong coffee he drank, three bigcups; then, because, I suppose, there was nothing left, he drew hisragged sleeve across his mouth, sighed and voiced his thanks.

"Hell 'n' blazes!"

It meant more, from him, than the most polished bit of rhetoric from ascholar.

"Glad you liked it," I said. "Do you smoke?"

For reply, he began to search his garments silently, and directlyproduced a cob pipe, as remarkable in appearance as its owner. To beginwith, it was made from a mammoth corncob. I verily believe it was twoinches in diameter. Around its middle was a dark band, where thenicotine had soaked through. The reed stem was so short that it broughtthe pipe almost against the smoker's lips. He helped himself to thetwist of tobacco I offered him, dexterously flipped out a red coal fromthe edge of the fire with a stick, then deliberately picked the livecoal up between finger and thumb and laid it on top of the pipe. I hadheard of this feat, but had never believed it true.

Now my guest sat Turk fashion, contentedly puffing away, so I followedhis example on my side the fire, after tossing on a few more sticks tokeep the blaze going. The red embers would have sufficed for heat, thenight being warm, but I wanted to see more of this queer being. Aboveall, I wanted to see his eyes. This I could not do, because thefirelight flickered, smoke arose from the burning sticks, and the manhad bushy brows.

For several minutes there was no sound but the gentle crackling ofwood-fiber, or the occasional sizzling of a little jet of steam escapingfrom its tiny prison. Then I heard a question which almost startled me.

"Whut mought a satyr be, no-how?"

I laughed low, and pressed the spewed-up ashes down into my pipe.

"A satyr?" I repeated, thinking swiftly, for really I did not want tocause affront. "Oh! A satyr is a fellow who runs loose in the woods.That's you, isn't it?"

He was looking in the fire, and presently he began to nod.

"I reck'n it air; yes, I reck'n it air."

"But you've another name," I went on; "what is that?"

"Jeff Angel."

"That doesn't suit," I made bold to answer. "Satyr is much nicer thanAngel. Where do you live, pray?"

"Anywhur; nowhur. Jis' use 'roun' th' country, eat'n' 'n' sleep'n' fustone place 'n' 'nother."

Feeling cramped, I now reclined upon my elbow with my head away from thefire. In this position my companion was invisible.

"Why did you come here to-night?" I resumed, pulling leisurely on mybriar-root, and noting idly that the stars had become much thicker.

"I's goin' to sleep in th' shack," was the prompt reply. "Lots 'n' lotso' times I've slep' thur."

"And now I've rooted you out. I'm sorry."

"'Tain't wuth worryin' 'bout. I'll go on to th' P'int d'reckly."

I twisted my head in his direction with a swift movement.

"The Point?... Lizard Point?"

"Lizard P'int."

He evinced no surprise that I knew the name.

"Who do you know there?" I demanded.

"All on 'em. Granny, Granf'er, Lessie. They's my folks."

So her name was Lessie.

"Your folks! What do you mean?"

"Granny's my aunt."

That would make the Dryad and the Satyr cousins! Heavens! Could this betrue? I sank back on my elbow, and slowly dragged the pipe stem over mylower lip into my mouth. Somehow I did not relish this news.

"Then you are some sort of cousin to Lessie," I murmured, confusedly,and I doubt if he heard. At least, he did not reply, and I lay andlooked at the sky and the somber bulk of the forest below, ponderingthis strange news which I could not comprehend. Was it possible thatbright creature's blood could flow in the veins of this derelict? Theidea did not suit me, and yet I had no reason to doubt it. My interestflagged; I no longer felt the inclination to question, and a longsilence fell. I could not order my guest away, especially after he hadbroken my bread, but I would not be sorry when he went. The minutespassed; the fire sank low. My pipe burned out: I could feel it coolingunder my hand. A drowsiness stole over me. I must have been on theborderland of sleep when I became dreamily conscious of a strange,pervading harmony. Ethereal echoes seemed to wake within my brain, andthe hushed night was suddenly tuned for a fairies' dance.

In stupefied amazement I swung my head around, and my mouth fell ajarand my brows knit when I saw from whence these heavenly strainsproceeded. Jeff Angel was back against the stump. His knees weresticking up like the broken frame of a bicycle, and he had a violinunder his chin. The goat-tuft was spread thinly out over the tail of theinstrument. His peaked slouch hat was a dirt-colored cone on the groundat his side, and by it lay a crumpled piece of oilcloth. His eyes wereclosed, and there was an expression of deep peace upon his homelycountenance. His long, big-knuckled, claw-like fingers moved over thestrings with the apparent aimlessness of a daddy-long-legs in itsperambulations, and they thrilled to the caress of his frayed bow as thelips of a chaste lover to the lips of his beloved. I did not speak, normove, for I was dumfounded, and the night had been transformed into anelfin carnival of dulcet sounds. My imagination was aroused, and I couldalmost see nymphs and naiads uprising from the dense growth all around,crooning as they came of woodland delights, and chanting the stories thelow wind told them when the world was asleep. The quiet ravine waspeopled with a ghostly company which made sad, eerie, but entrancinglysweet music, such as might have been heard in heaven when the morningstars sang together. The notes were liquid, living, colorful. Sometimesthere were brief silences between them, which were filled withpalpitating echoes. Suddenly a trembling flood of impassioned soundrushed forth on swallow wings into the star-filled night, and I sat upwith a gasp.

"Jeff Angel!"

A downward crash of the bow which set all the strings to janglinghorribly; then silence.

The man was abashed, confused, for he hastily reached for the cloth bagand thrust both violin and bow therein. He spoke as he fumbled nervouslyat the drawstring.

"I didn't know you'd keer!" he said, contritely.

He had misinterpreted my exclamation.

"Care? Care!" I burst forth, leaning forward with my palms on theground. "I never heard such music in all my life, and I have heard menplay who receive a thousand dollars a night! Where did you get it?...How do you do it?"

The satyr secured his worn coat across his chest with one button, thenbent toward me and replied earnestly.

"I guess it's bornd with me. I've never ben no 'count frum a kid. Wuzn'twuth shucks—never. Jis' wouldn't work—I couldn't. They's no work inme. When they tried to make me I'd run off. I'd run fur off in th' woods'n' lay 'roun' all day, a-lis'n'n'. I heerd thin's." He stretched outone gaunt arm and waved it with an uncertain, twisty motion. "I heerdthin's. More 'n' th' birds a-cheepin' 'n' a-twitt'r'n' 'n' th' squir'lsa-barkin' 'n' a-yappin' 'n' th' bees a-junin' in th' flowers. They'sother thin's—lots o' thin's I heerd. Th' crick's got a song—it'ssich a song—'bout th' purties' 't is' I reck'n, 'cus it'schangeabler. 'N' they ain't no en' to th' chune th' win' sings.Sometimes it's lazy 'n' sleepy, 'n' yo' wan' to duck yo' head 'n'snooze, 'n' ag'n it's pow'ful strong 'n' loud 'n' almos' skeers yo' withits shoutin'. 'N' they's other thin's—thin's I can't tell yo' 'bout'cus I don't know whut they air—but I hears 'em. I c'n jis' shet myeyes any day out in th' deep woods whur they ain't nothin' but woods,'n' fus' thin' I know I'm a-floatin' on a cloud with music ever-whurs.When I's a kid I went hongry fur some 'n' to play on, so one day I foun'me a big reed, 'n' I made me a w'is'le with holes in it. I jes' mus'play."

He rose to his feet, put his pipe away without knocking the ashes out,and carefully tucked his oilcloth bundle under his arm.

"Pow'ful good supper, 'n' I wuz hongry right! 'Blige' to yo', sho.Good-by!"

He swung around and started across the plateau.

I leaped up quickly.

"Come back again soon, Satyr!" I called. "A supper any time for tenminutes fiddling!"

He waved his hand, but made no reply.

A few moments later, from down the road, growing fainter and fainter, Iagain heard that fantastic rhyme:

CHAPTER EIGHT

IN WHICH I PITCH MY TENT TOWARD HEBRON FOR THE SPACE OF AN AFTERNOON

I have been to Lizard Point.

Before sunrise this morning I was up, and out. I sleep with both windowsopen and the shutters up, so the first daybeams rouse me. Thereafter Ido not attempt to sleep, but rise at once. This is another of 'Crombie'scommands. He said the air was fresher and sweeter, and the distillationsfrom the earth and vegetation purer and more efficacious. He said allthis would do me good, and I am trying to follow out his wishes to theletter, because life is sweet to me, and I want to get well. (I must saythat I never felt more vigorous than I do to-night.) It went hard withme at first—this rising with the lark—for, in common with most bookishfolk, it had been my custom to sit up into the small hours, and sleeplate the next morning. Now I am growing used to it, and I love it. Ifind that I feel better; stronger, more active and alert. There must besome tonic properties in the early morning air to affect me in this way.

The world is never so lovely as when she wakes from sleep. Not even whenher old tirewoman, the sun, flings her golden coverlet over her justbefore nightfall, does she appear so bewitchingly beautiful. Thismorning, for instance, when I stepped without my door, I felt as if Ihad been transported by magic into some new and mystical land. Like amaiden whose virginal slumbers have been filled with peaceful dreams ofher beloved, the earth was waking. Gently—so gently—she pushed thefleecy fog-billows from her breast. Afar the folds of night seemed yetto cling about her, as though loath to leave her form. Nearer, but wayup the valley, grayish, shifting mists writhed slowly, uncoilingvaporous lengths before the ever increasing light. Nearhand, trees,bushes and stones showed dew-sweet and clean. And when, at length, theday had triumphed, and I beheld the rim of a gold ball topping the fareastern range, my breast throbbed with a quick elation, and a song burstfrom my lips.

I spent the morning working on my garden. It is my peculiarity that whenI begin a thing I find no rest until it is finished. By ten o'clock Ihad cleared the surface of all the available area, and felt much pleasedwith my efforts. I had worked hard, for there were loose rocks to be gotrid of, some of them large and difficult to handle, in addition to theleaves and sticks. But prospects seemed excellent for a fine crop. Therewas no doubt that this was virgin soil, and as it lay in sun for severalhours each day, there was no valid reason why it should not produceabundantly. I must now let it dry out for a few days, then spade it upand plant my seed. Seed! Why, I hadn't so much as a pea or a bean on theplace, except in cans! I had several sacks of potatoes, but I wanted adiversified garden. Almost immediately the solution came. I would go toHebron and buy all the seed I wanted. Comforted by this thought, I setabout an early dinner. I hummed contentedly as I bustled around in mysmall kitchen. It was not until I sat down to eat that I realized thesong I had been persistently repeating was the absurd tune which hadheralded Jeff Angel's coming and farewelled his departure.

Later, with the sun swinging exactly at meridian, I took my staff andheaded down the road, intending for the Dryad's Glade. Ever since mybrief talk with the girl there had been a slow, steady pulling within metoward that creek which flowed south. It didn't worry me especially; infact, it didn't worry me at all—why should it? But it was there. When Iwas employed I was not aware of it, but whenever my mind rested thereflowed into it, like the resurgence of a low, moon-touched wave, thepicture of one standing on the brook's bank, with copper-red curlscrowned with white stars. It was a pleasant picture, and I did not tryto banish it.

Now, fairly started on my way, I wondered that I had not gone before. Imoved with restive eagerness, and presently reached the spot where I hadencountered the girl—Lessie. I did not like the name. It was empty,vapid, meaningless, ugly; just a sound by which one was known. She couldnot help it, of course. It might have been Mandy, or Seliny. Lessie didnot seem so terrible when I thought of others much worse, but it did notfit her.

I tarried for a moment under the dogwood tree. Its blossoms were fadingnow. I saw the jagged ends of several low branches where she had brokenoff her coronal. But there was no sign of squirrel or bird. Passing on,I plunged into the undergrowth which lined the creek bank as far as Icould see, and made my way along. There was something of a valley here,and it would have been easier going nearer the base of the knob severalrods away, but the stream's course was erratic, so I clung to the bankand fought my way forward. It was a toilsome journey, and the half-milewas beginning to seem interminable when all at once I burst, perspiring,into an open, and found I had arrived.

Just before me the creek split on a tongue or wedge of land, which camesweeping gradually down from a vast spur in the background. Shapingitself to a sharp point represented by an enormous, deeply imbeddedbowlder, the formation broadened backward rapidly and generously, widelydeflecting the halved stream. A quarter of a mile away I could see ahouse—or cabin—surrounded by a dilapidated rail fence, with sundrypens and outbuildings in miniature clustered in the rear. In theforeground, to the left, was an acre or two of tilled soil. Parallelingthe left fork of the cloven creek, looping the point and fording theright fork, was a mountain road. In front of me, spanning the left fork,was the trunk of a huge beech tree, lopped of its branches, and thatthis was a bridge which some far-gone storm had placed I knew at once,for a crude ladder led up to its root-wadded butt.

For several minutes I stood, panting from my exertions, and conscious ofa slight pain in my right side. This did not alarm me, for I wasconvinced it was nothing but what old people call a "stitch," caused bymy recent strenuous walk. I had reached Lizard Point—a mostinsignificant name for such an impressive portion of country. There wasbut one dwelling visible; therefore there could be but one place for meto seek for Lessie. I came to the ladder, and had placed my foot uponthe bottom-most cross-piece when I halted, and in secret manner,although there was no need of secrecy, drew the jar from my pocket andhid it under the tree's lowest roots. I had promised Lessie I would tellher why I carried it with me the next time I saw her, and this I did notwant to do, for she would fail to understand, and I would only appearridiculous. Queer how a man shuns being made ridiculous, but after allit is only natural, especially if one is inclined to sensitiveness.

I mounted to the tree, and saw that the bark along its top surface hadbeen completely worn away. The tree had evidently been in use as a meansof passage for a long time. I walked across, sure-footed and steady, andfound a slight path winding up the easy ascent toward the house. This Ifollowed, keeping my eyes on the log dwelling ahead. As I drew nearer, Imade out a small porch, or stoop, and on this some one was sitting.There was no other sign of life, if I expect a bony, yellow dog whichcame slowly into sight from around the corner, and a string of whiteducks filing sedately down to the creek. I passed through a gap in thecrazy fence and traversed the yard. I now saw that it was an old womanwho sat on the porch. She was very fat, and she sat in a lowrocking-chair with her knees apart. A ball of yarn lay in her lap, andshe was knitting and rocking, knitting and rocking. Her great bulkcompletely hid her support, but I knew it was a rocking-chair from hermotions.

As I stopped at the edge of the stoop and respectfully took my cap off,the dog gave a low growl, then lay down, keeping one topaz eye fastenedupon me suspiciously. The fat old lady paid no more attention to me thanif I had been a hen or a duck, but sent her needles flying the faster. Iregarded her in silent wonder for a moment. Her dress was a plainone-piece garment of some dark, cheap stuff, utterly unrelieved fromsomberness except for a row of shiny white horn buttons down the front.Her feet were large and flat, and were encased in carpet slippers with agaudy pattern of alternate crimson and green. She wore iron rimmedspectacles which rested so near the tip of her pudgy nose I wonderedthey didn't fall off. Her gray hair was parted very precisely in themiddle and slicked back close to her head. Her mouth was thin and hard,and her face acrid looking.

"Uh-h-h—good morning," I said, hitching at my trousers; anunconsciously nervous action.

"Marnin'!"

I jumped—really I did—for it was as though she had let a gun off in myface. I had never heard such a voice. Vinegary? Well!

I curled my fingers around my chin and looked at the dog. His fiery eyehad not wavered. Then I looked at the cat—for in that moment I wasfirmly convinced this old beldam was a cat. Her mouth had squared intoyet firmer lines, and her brow had grown portentous. Still her needlesfussed about the half-made sock in her yellowish hands, and her gaze wasdown, as before.

"Do the—"

I started to ask if people by their name lived here, but when I came tothe name I could not supply it; I had never heard it. I stammered,coughed, then knew that a pair of fierce little green eyes were flashingat me.

"Air yo' a plum' fule? Whur air yo' wits 'n' yo' tongue 'n' yo' comminsinse? Can't yo' tell a body whut yo' want wi'out stam'rin' 'n'stutt'rin' 'n' takin' all th' day? Folks as has got work to do ain't gotno time to waste on tramps 'n' sich! Talk!"

Like a cyclone this tirade enveloped me, bursting upon my ears in ahigh, rasping voice which dragged on my nerves after the manner of afile.

I became desperate. This old virago should not oust me. I thrust my bodyforward, and, chin out, replied with some heat:

"Is this where Granny, and Granf'er, and Lessie live? That's what I wantto know?"

"Land sakes! Jony 'n' th' w'ale!... Air you him?"

Her hands dropped in her lap; she co*cked her head and viewed me afresh.

During the momentary silence which followed I heard shuffling footstepswithin, and an old man appeared in the open doorway in front of me. Hewore a shirt made of bed ticking; his trousers were not visible, becauseof the coffee-sack which wrapped him from his waist to his shoes. He wasbald, his white beard was a fringe about his face, his upper lip shaven.He was drying a white dinner plate of thick ironstone china with acloth.

"S'firy!" he said, in a squeaky, timorous voice; "S'firy!"

He got no further.

Granny turned her head sideways, at right angle to the speaker, andpromptly exploded.

"Jer'bome! Git right back to yo' work! Git! 'N' don't let me see nurhear yo' till them dishes is washed 'n' put away!"

Granf'er (it could be no one else) retreated obediently, without a word.Granny's face swung around to me again.

"If all men wuz as triflin' 'n' ornery as that air'n o' mine, Lord knowswhut th' worl' 'd come to. E-tern'l perdition, I reck'n! He jes' lays'roun' 'n' chaws terbacker, pertendin' he carries a ketch in 'is back.Plum' laziness, I tell yo'! But I don't 'low no vagrints 'roun' me.Jer'bome's got to work 's long 's he b'longs to me.... Now! I said, airyou him?"

"I'm the stranger who lives in the shack on Bald Knob."

Granny resumed her knitting at this point. I noticed that her shiningneedles seemed to be fighting each other as she continued:

"Look whut I'm a-doin' fur 'im now! Slavin' to git somethin' to keep 'isfeet warm 'gin winter comes. He's not wuth it! Lak as not he'll crackone o' them dishes 'fo' he gits 'em done. He's that keerless. Mostdo-less man I ever seen.... Yes, I've heerd 'bout yo'—twict."

"I hope you received a pleasant report?" I ventured.

"Jes' las' night he lef' th' dish tow'ls a-hangin' on th' lot fence 'n'th' calf et 'em up. 'N' th' day befo' he fed a gang o' day old chick'nsmeal 'n' wadder 'n' they swelled up 'n' died. 'N' chick'ns wuth fifteencents a poun' at th' store!... Lessie come home a fo'tn't ago with atale o' meetin' some feller. I tol' 'er gels 'd better leave all trampsbe."

"But I'm not a tramp!" I protested. "I'm usually considered agentleman."

"That's whut Jeffy 'lowed. He's here last night—pore feller!—'n' tol'us 'bout eat'n' a snack with you on Baldy—whut in th' name o' the sevinplagues does a man in 'is right min' wan' to live thur fur?—tell methat!"

"I find it very pleasant—"

Then the light went out, soft hands were pressing hard over my closedlids, and a cool, ferny perfume drifted to my nostrils. I was consciousof warm wrists alongside my head, and a stifled giggle just behind me.

"Lessie!" I cried, remembering the childhood prank.

The blinding hands were at once withdrawn, and as she leaped back newvials of wrath were opened.

"Of all outlandish doin's!"

Granny had raised her head only at my exclamation, but she saw enough.

"Whut on airth air gels comin' to this day 'n' time?—tell me that!Never seen 'im but onct—mought be a redhanded 'sass'n—ur athief—ur—ur—ur anythin'! 'N' all my teach'n' all these years. W'enI've tol' yo' that all men were 'ceptious, 'n' tol' yo' to b'lievenothin' they say, 'n' tol' yo' to have no talk with 'em but 'Howdy''n' 'Good-by,' 'n' here yo' air a-huggin' a stranger—teetot'lstranger—'fo' my eyes!"

Granny's jelly-like body really trembled with rage, and I began to havefears for the outcome of the incident. Of course, it amounted to nothingat all so far as right or wrong was concerned. It was simply a naturalexpression of the primeval simplicity which marked all the Dryad'smovements. She was a child, and she had played a child's trick.

She now stood a few feet to one side, looking at me in unfeignedamazement, apparently indifferent to the old woman's outburst. She wasdressed nicer than when I saw her before. Her garment was pale green,with little wavy stripes of darker color. Her shoes, too, were a gradebetter, but still clumsy, and she had a ribbon on her hair, which hung,as before, down her shoulders. She seemed averse to wearing anything onher head, for she held her bonnet—a poke bonnet, like the one I hadhanded her in the glade—in her left hand.

As she looked fully and squarely at me with her peculiar Irish grayeyes, I felt the same sensation come as when I had first beheld her. Itwas a feeling I cannot adequately describe, because no definite word Ican think of would do. If the word existed, and if I knew it, I wouldset it down. I should be just as glad to know what that feeling meant asyou. Perhaps each of us shall find out later.

She gazed at me and I gazed at her, and Granny gazed at us both. Oureyes met for a full breath, and then somehow mine fell to her throat.When a woman's throat is beautiful it is altogether as attractive as alovely face. The Dryad's throat was a poem. If John Keats could haveseen it, another golden ode would have come down along with the famousseven. It was simply a perfect column of warm, white, vigorous younglife. Not too slender, and swelling on to the shoulders in the gentlest,most marvelous contour. It was while I was engaged in fascinatedcontemplation of her throat she spoke.

"Land sakes!... How'd yo' know my name?"

"The Sa—Jeff Angel told me."

"Oh!"

Her face underwent a rapid change, and the next moment she had leapedlightly upon the porch, flung her arms around Granny's neck and snuggledher head against the old woman's bosom.

"Don't you bother 'bout me, Granny!" she said, in soothing tones, andagain that indefinable haunting cadence smote my ears and caused me tostir uneasily as I stood watching the scene. What a creature of moodsthis girl was!

Now one hand patted Granny's fat cheek, and another smoothed thelusterless gray hair. The expression which stole over the truculent facemade me think of the sunlight falling suddenly upon some forbiddingcliff, and that moment I knew how deep and wonderful must be the lovewhich beat in that old heart for Lessie.

"La! Now, chil'," said Granny, "have yo' way if yo' mus', but bekeerful—always be keerful. 'Specially o' men folks, 'cus they's so fullo' Sat'n 'n' mischief."

With that she sniffed resignedly, uplifted her brows, carefully freedherself from the caressing arms and picked up the sock and the ball ofyarn, both of which had fallen to the floor under Lessie's onslaught.

As the girl arose to her feet Granf'er appeared a second time. He hadnot removed the badge of domestic toil which had enveloped his netherhalf when I first saw him, and he was dragging a low, shuck-bottomedchair behind him. It came down the step leading from the porch into thehouse with a bump and a clatter, and Granny blazed out again.

"Jer'bome. Look at yo'! Tryin' to break that cheer to splinters! Ain'tyo' got stren'th to carry ev'n a cheer? 'N' is thim dishes washed 'n'put in th' pantry, whur they should orter be?"

Granf'er dumbly lifted the chair, conveyed it stiffly to the furthestfront corner of the porch, and quietly placed it. Then he turned to me,and with a show of dignity said, in his thin voice—

"Set down!"

I at once stepped upon the porch, advanced and shook hands with the oldman, then took the proffered seat with a word of thanks.

He turned and hurried indoors, returning immediately bearing two otherchairs identical with the first. One of these he handed the Dryad, justacross the porch entrance, and the other he brought around and gingerlylowered to the floor about a foot from mine. When we were all seatedGranf'er stretched one leg out to its fullest length, in order to gainfreer access to his pocket, and after some tugging produced a half twistof tobacco. This he silently extended to me with a comical facialcontortion which plainly meant that I should take all I wanted. I shookmy head, and smiled.

"Light Burley!" he explained. "Skace 's hen's teeth. Don't yo' chaw?"

"S'pec' ever' man yo' meet to live on terbacker?" snapped Granny,without looking up.

"No," I replied; "I smoke."

"Then smoke. Yo' come too later fur dinner, so now we'll hev to mixterbacker instid."

It dawned upon me that it was a sort of guest rite he was offering me,so I crumbled some of the light yellow leaf into my pipe and fired it.Then he gnawed off a satisfactory chew, and stowed the remainder away.

He crossed his legs—by this time I had discovered that he wore bootswith his trousers legs stuck down in the tops—in that comfortable,sagging way all old men have, and with one hand in his lap holding hiselbow, he plucked gently at the front of his fringe of whiskers whilehis jaw worked erratically as he slowly adjusted the savory particles inhis mouth.

No one spoke now for two or three minutes. It certainly was a newexperience for me. A swift glance showed me that the Dryad had weighedthe situation and was amused. Imps of fun danced in her eyes, and therewas a tightening about her mouth which told me that she was holdingherself in check with much effort. She was speechless from choice; theother two from nature.

Without warning Granf'er twisted his neck and ejected a curving streamof amber. It came down with a splash on the back of a half-grown chickenloitering near. There was a squawk of alarm, a flutter, a scurry fromdanger.

"That's right!" shrilled the bundle of fat. "Ef yo' can't kill 'em noother way, drownd 'em with terbacker juice!"

"Granf'er didn't see it!" championed Lessie. "It's under th' aidge o'the po'ch, 'n' 'tain't hurt no-how."

Once more I saw her teeth, like two rows of young corn when the husksare green.

Granf'er paid no more heed to his helpmeet's words than if it had beenthe wind blowing down the chimney. Even his expression did not change.Already a real pity was creeping into my heart for Granf'er. It tookneither seer nor mindreader to discern that he belonged to that most tobe pitied class of all who live and breathe—a man who has become simplya woman's creature. A man who, for one or more of a hundred reasons, hadabdicated his kingship in the home, suffering a reversal of rulecontrary alike to all divine decrees and natural laws. Such a mandeserves what he gets, it is true, live he in a mansion or a hovel. Manwas created to rule, and woman knows it. It is by ruling only that heretains her love. When his reign ceases, then not only does her lovecease, but her respect also. Look about you!

Granf'er drew the palm of his hand across his lips, mechanically—andwith what seemed like a very natural motion—smoothed out some puckersin his coffee sack apron, and spoke. He was looking out upon the quietmajesty of the encircling hills, but I knew that he was addressing me.

"Y' see, Jeffy's S'firy's nevvy. He come wrong, we-all 'pine. Leas'ways,they's some'n' in 'is head that's somehow onbalanced 'im. No nat'r'l man'd go tromp'n' thoo th' woods frum morn'n' till night 'ith nothin but afiddle fur comp'ny. S'firy's special'y sot ag'in a fiddle, holdin' 'ithlots o' folks that th' dev'l's in it—"

"I'd jes' love to smash it to smithereens over a stump!" interpolatedGranny.

"—but ez fur me 'n' Lessie, we kind o' enj'y Jeffy's scrapin' 'n'sawin'. Lessie's re'ly plum' cracked 'bout it, 'n' 'd foller Jeffy overth' hull durn county if we didn't p'suade 'er pow'ful."

"Seems to me, Jer'bome, yo' c'n tell it 'ithout cussin'. Only las'Sunday I had to speak to Father John 'bout yo' increasin' wickedness!"

"The hull durn county!" repeated Granf'er, quietly and reflectively, hisgaze still fixed on the high hills. "They has big times—thimtwo—though Jeffy's mos' unsartain in 'is visits. Sometimes it's a monthw'en we don't ketch sight o' 'im, 'n' ag'in he lingers with us a day orso at a spell. We sets lots o' store by Jeffy, 'cus th' Lord in 'iswisdom has saw fit to 'flict 'im. Th' wus' thin' 'bout 'im is th'liquor—"

"I'd hev some pride, Jer'bome!"

"—n' w'en he gits holt o' that he goes plum' lunatic crazy sometimes.Y' see, it's th' shiners 's whur he gits th' mos.' Th' ryavines over yanair full o' the'r still-houses, 'n' Jeffy fiddles fur 'em fur 'is bottlefull o' liquor. Puss'nly, I hol' that a little liquor is pow'fulhe'pful, but S'firy 'lows it's no good fur nothin' 'cep' to makedev'lment 'twixt people—"

"Ef I had my way not another drap'd go into a bottle!"

"—'n' I 'gree they's some sinse in her argyment, though it's my b'liefthat a w'ite man 's got to drink some'n', 'n' 't' 's well be pyorewhiskey as anythin'."

He stopped to relieve his overcrowded mouth, uncrossed his legs andrecrossed them the other way, "to keep 'em frum goin' to sleep," andcontinued:

"'Pears to me Lessie said yo' come frum Lets'nt'n—uh-huh—some littleways off. 'S never thur. Walked over to Ced'rt'n onct, but home 'n'Hebrin's good 'nough for weuns. We ain't th' wanderin' kin', yo' moughtsay, but live peaceful 'n' work our—"

"Work!"

"—work our lan', whut little we've got that's fit'n'. You's good to ourJeffy—to S'firy's Jeffy, that is, fur he ain't no kin to me (not thatI'd be 'shamed o' Jeffy, onderstan', on 'count o' his not bein' jes'right in th' head)—so I says to yo' here 'n' now 'ith S'firy 'n' Lessieto witness, as head o' this house I says yo're welcome here to-day 'n'any day!"

Then, quite unexpectedly, he clamped his hand across my leg above theknee, and gave me a squeeze which hurt.

I spent the remainder of the afternoon on that small front porch.Granf'er entertained me in the manner I have outlined; a mixture ofopinion, native philosophy, and local news, with occasional causticinterruptions from Granny's two-edged tongue. Lessie said verylittle—what chance had she in the face of Granf'er's garrulity?—andonce she went in the house and stayed for half an hour. When she cameback she had on yet another dress, pure white this time. There were somefrills and tucks and a touch of imitation lace here and there. I'm sureit must have been her Sunday frock. She was showing off her wardrobe,after the manner of a tot of eight or ten.

The sun had halted for a moment in its downward course on the crest of arange as I arose to go.

Granf'er was voluminous in his invitation to "Come ag'in 'n' set aw'ile"; Granny tendered me a defiant nod in response to my politegood-by, and lo! as I turned to bid Lessie farewell last, she hadalready moved into the yard, and was waiting for me! Side by side westarted down the narrow, hard-beaten path. That is, she took the pathand I walked in the new grass which bordered it.

"I'll go to th' crick with yo'," she said, demurely; then, withcharacteristic irrelevance—"Ain't Granny tur'ble?"

"Granny's jealous of you, and I suppose she has nagged at Granf'er solong it has become a fixed habit. I'm really sorry for the old fellow,Dryad."

"Whut?"

She turned a quizzical, puzzled face.

I laughed, gently, and made known to her the meaning of the word.

"There are lots of things I'm going to tell you when I get a chance," Iadded. "Wouldn't you like to know about this big world, and about themany kinds of people who live in it? About the great cities, and aboutwhat people have done and are doing? Wouldn't you like to learn how thetrees grow, and what makes the wind, the lightning, and the thunder?About all the birds and animals; streams, rocks and hills? Wouldn't youlike to learn all these things, and lots more?"

Her eyes had widened as I talked, and now on her fresh, unlined face awonder and a hunger grew. It seemed as if her fallow mind was strugglingto emerge from some dark, concealing mist—to leap up and meet theknowledge I had promised. A look almost of distress, born of futilelonging. We were moving very slowly. She spoke.

"I've—sometimes—w'en by myse'f—mos' often in the deep woods—I'vefelt some'n crawlin' in here"—she put her hand to her head—"some'n'that 'peared to be want'n' to say some'n'. 'N' I's diff'ernt then. Ididn't wan' to go home to Granny 'n' Granf'er. I wanted to go some'r'selse—way off, maybe, 'n' I'd be mis'ble 'cause I couldn'ttell—couldn't make out whut 'twuz, yo' know. 'N' after w'ile it'd go'way 'n' leave me, 'n' I wouldn't git right fur a day or so. I astFather John 'bout it one day 'n' it looked lak it hurt 'im, 'n' he tol'me not to have them spells if I c'd he'p it. Said they wuzn't good furme. 'N' jes' now, w'en yo' tol' me 'bout all them things you's goin' tolearn me—it come back—come back lak th' crick comes down w'en it rainsin th' hills—with a rush 'n' pour, 'n'—'n'—oh! I wan' to know!—Ido wan' to know!"

She clasped her hands with something like a tragic gesture, and staredhard at the ground in front with forehead a-frown.

I did not answer her at once. How could I? A new facet of her many-sidednature had flashed upon me, and I was a little dazed. We reached thetree-bridge before I attempted a reply.

"I shall be here a year. Come to see me on Baldy. Or come to the placewhere I first found you, and I will meet you there. I'm going to giveyou the things for which you long. I can do it, but not with Granny orGranf'er. They would object; they would not understand."

She looked up at me—for I had climbed to the tree—dumbly, yearningly.

"I'll come," she said. It was scarcely more than a half-whisper.

I did not like to leave her in that mood.

"All right, Dryad!" I returned, cheerily. "Now tell me where that roadgoes."

My aim was to bring her mind back to its accustomed channel for thepresent. She brightened at my query.

"T' 'Ebron," she said.

"Oh! Yes! Some day soon I'm going there. I have a garden at home and I'mgoing there to buy seed."

She laughed at this, and I felt relieved.

"Good-by, Dryad."

I knelt on the tree, bent down and took her upheld hand in mine. It waswarm, soft, and, that moment, clinging. Forerunners of dusk had come,and the gray pools of her clear eyes made me release her hand and get onmy feet.

She moved away, and as I turned to set my face in the oppositedirection, something halted me in the very act.

On the Hebron road, two hundred yards or more distant, I saw the figureof a man. A young, tall, bareheaded, roughly clad man, standing verystraight and still. He saw me; he was looking at me. Of that I was sure.His position was by a great stone, which cast him in deeper shadow.There was something portentous in his attitude, natural though it was. Istopped and returned his inspection of me, but he made no sign, nogesture. He might have been a tree of the forest, for all of hisimmobility. A feeling, not of fear, but of premonition, swept over me asI went on across the tree.

I knew it was Buck Steele, the smith of Hebron.

CHAPTER NINE

IN WHICH I SIT UPON A HILLTOP AND REFLECT TO NO ADVANTAGE

I did something to-day which I have had vaguely in mind ever since Itook up my abode in the wilderness. I climbed to the very top of my hillof refuge.

The principal reason why I have never attempted it before was that Ifeared it would prove too much for me; would require too much exertion.And 'Crombie, while advising and insisting upon continuous exercise, hadalso warned me not to overdo it.

This morning I felt mighty as Tubal Cain. My walks, my regular hours, mywholesome diet, are having effect. I am beginning to brown. At seveno'clock, when I shaved, the path of my razor showed a firm, tanned skin.My eyes are clear, and I can feel life coming into me. Oh, what aglorious thing it is! Just simple, primitive, animal life! I don't knowwhen I have coughed. I can inflate my lungs, and imagine theconsternation of that "colony" at the inrushing flood of this ozoneladen air. I am not deluding myself that I am sound. 'Crombie said itwould take time, and 'Crombie knows. But I am better. My recent walkshave not caused me to pant and blow. That is why, this morning, I feltthe assurance within me that I could surmount old Baldy's peak, and feelno bad results.

Rain fell last night. It began just as I went to bed, and I lay andlistened to it. There is something most fascinating about rain on theroof after you have gone to bed. Last night it dropped gently, a steadymurmur. It came to my ears as a cradle song of Nature. I could hear itoutside the window near which I sleep. The patter, patter, and after awhile the gurgling of little streams over the clapboard eaves. Iremember of thinking what a good soaking my garden spot would get, andof the consequent delay waiting for it to dry out before I could spadeit up, then I went to sleep.

This morning I was awakened by the orchestra of the birds. I had heardstray notes before about daybreak. Snatches of song, broken trills,single cries, and challenging calls. But this morning it was different.I don't know how to account for it. Whether the rain had something to dowith it; whether they met by accident or appointment. The solution ofthat question is a minor thing, however. I received the full benefit ofthe gathering. I have never heard an exhibition which equaled thatforest symphony. There must have been nearly a dozen varieties of birds.And each little fellow was singing with all the heart of him. I tell youthey made music. Each had a different tune, and among humans this wouldhave represented bedlam. But among the feathered kind—take my word forit if you have never heard it—the effect was wonderful. It was onegreat alleluia chorus, and the air throbbed with the sweetest music Iever heard. I recognized many of the vocalists by their songs. I knewthat about my plateau were gathered the cardinal, the thrush, theoriole, the catbird, the jay and the mockingbird. And when I mention thejay, let no one rise up and point the finger of scorn, exclaiming onthat blue-coated fellow's harsh and grating scream. Mr. Caviler, yourvoice is harsh and grating too when you get very angry, isn't it? Buthave you never heard the love-note of the jay? Have you never, in thedappled shade, when their half-fledged nestlings are flapping andhopping about and stretching cavernous yellow jaws for worms andmoths—have you never heard the parent birds, watchful in the overheadbranches, make love? There was never a sweeter, mellower, richer tonedrawn from flute or harp than the love-note of the jay.

Many others were there that were strange to me, but the effect of thewhole was so sweet that I had to drag myself from bed, so charmed was Iby that chorus in the early dawn.

The sky was clear when I came out; a deep, rich, fathomless blue. Nighthad taken the rain-clouds with it when it left. A woodsy, wet, earthyodor, than which there was no perfume rarer, delighted my nostrils.Everything was washed clean. The leaves, the trunks of the trees, thevery stones. It was then, as I stood and felt the might of theeverlasting hills entering into me, that I decided on my task for theday. As yet it was too early. The ground was soft. It would be wet andslippery on the slope above, and perhaps muddy. I determined to wait anhour or two, so went down to my favorite seat under the pine tree,taking with me Spencer's "First Principles," which is a book calculatedto make one use his mind, at least.

It was eleven o'clock before I looked at my watch—too late for mountainclimbing that morning. Upon reflection, I saw that this was just aswell. In fact, the afternoon would be a much better time to make theascent. The sun had been shining generously for several hours, dryingboth the vegetation and the surface of the ground. So Mr. Spencer hadreally done me a good turn in carrying me through the forenoon. I leftthe book on the bench and went back to the Lodge, thinking to resume myreading after I returned from the peak. I did not expect to be gone overan hour and a half, allowing for plenty of time to rest.

After a leisurely dinner, I took my alpenstock, and imagining myself atthe base of the Matterhorn to lend zest, bravely fronted the upwardclimb.

It was rather stiff work from the beginning. I flanked the Lodge for ascore of yards, and started up where the ascent was comparativelygradual. This did not last long. Before I reached the encircling band ofevergreens I had to force my way through bushes which insisted onrapping my nose, and vines which were equally determined to tiethemselves into knots over my toes, and trip me. At length I came to thedark line of pines and cedars, where I stopped to investigate mycondition. My breath was coming pretty heavy, but I was not reallytired. So after a few moments' rest I went on. My going was tolerablyeasy now while the trees lasted. Beneath their shade the earth wasbarren. Some half dead moss and a plentiful sprinkling of pine cones wasall. As I walked over the latter they yielded softly to my feet, andsent up a pungent odor. I heard no bird notes here, but once abrown-winged shape flitted soundlessly by in front of me, low to theground. Everything was very still. There was no wind astir. The beltproved to be a somber spot, and I was not sorry when I had passed it.The dense shade had a depressing effect.

Then I came to open ground; open and bare. Two hundred and fifty feetabove me rose old Baldy's head. For perhaps half the distance a scrubgrowth strove for existence in the rocky soil; beyond that the surfacewas absolutely denuded. The incline had grown much sharper, but theearth was knotty and uneven, in many places indented with excoriations,and I found I could go forward with much greater ease than I hadanticipated. A quarter of an hour later found me facing the last ascent,which was all but perilous in its sheer rise. My staff was of no availhere; hands and feet must win. So I laid my alpenstock down, drew a deepbreath and started up. Just how I got to the top I cannot say. But thereis a big element of tenacity in my nature, and I fought on with squaredjaws and set teeth, slipping, scrambling, sprawling, until I had won. Icrawled over the crest on my hands and knees, and for quite ten minutesI lay prostrate, recovering my wind and my spent strength. Then I gotonto my feet and looked about me.

It was a glorious prospect; even solemn and majestic. A prodigious sweepof country was laid bare before me. I hesitate to say how many miles Icould see, for distance is most deceptive at great altitudes. But it wasthe topography, more than the far reaching view, which impressed me. Iwas standing in the midst of a world newly created, the only livingcreature. Leagues upon leagues of virgin forest flowed back from mypoint of vantage till the perspective ended in a misty blur. East andwest stretched the mighty ranges, with constantly diverging spurs, eachclothed with its own garment of green and glistening glory. Anon theancient hills valleyed into troughs whose length had no visible limit,and it did not require the imagination of a poet to behold beneath methe effect of an immense sea which had suddenly been frozen intopermanent form. How illimitable! How overpowering! Slowly I turned tothe different points of the compass. Far to the north a smudge of smokefouled the tender bosom of the sky, and I quickly looked another way.Cedarton lay in that direction.

For a half-hour I stood and gazed, and wondered, and thought. Here wasincentive for rumination, and when I at length withdrew my eyes from thebewildering panorama I felt infinitesimally puny, and weak, and small.What was I? A mote in a sunbeam; an atom of matter; no more.

The point upon which I stood was an irregular circle, approximatingthirty feet in diameter. An imperfect stone formation marked its outerboundaries; the effect of some Titanic convulsion in forgotten time. Inone place—toward the southwest—the rim of rock broke, and here theearth had sloughed away before the ages-long war of the elements, theresult being a broad, flume-like chute leading downward. Instinctively Idrew back from this place, for it suggested unknown terrors. A sort ofsandy, granular deposit covered the top of the knob; the grinding causedby years upon years of wind and rain.

My inspection of the peak occupied scarcely a minute. Then I sat down inits exact center, lit my briar-root, hugged my knees, and allowed myselffor the first time that day to think of yesterday's experience. Youcould never guess my first thought. It was that material would quicklyaccumulate now for my book. I sensed the approach of things—of manythings, and not all of them were pleasant. In fact, some wore grislyaspects. I believe in premonitions. I don't know what they are, or whatcauses them, or anything about them except they exist. But one came tome as I sat on the tiptop of old Baldy this afternoon, smoking my pipeand hugging my knees, and feeling very much like a bird in its eyrie. Iwas troubled and elated in turn; a queer experience, but common to all.There was no reason in the world why I should have been either depressedor uplifted. But somehow the near future looked to me to be vibrant withincidents waiting their chance to happen, and in some unformed way Ifelt that, innocently enough, I had set in motion a train of eventswhich would quickly envelope me in their workings. I say it was apremonition—a prescience—and I believe I am right.

I can make nothing yet of Lessie or her household. Granf'er and Grannyhave their prototypes among those who call themselves ultra refined.Each is interesting to me, in his and her way. Granny has a suspiciousnature. I cannot think she is as down-right mean and crusty as shepretends to be. Maybe Granf'er is trifling, and trying, and Granny mighthave to lash him with her tongue to keep him in the traces. I am surethe old lady's dislike for me is real, though why this should be Icannot fathom just now. I have a strong suspicion that deep down in herheart Granny has a feeling of worship for the Dryad, and in everythingwhich presents itself in masculine shape she sees a possible cause forLessie leaving her. That seems the most plausible reason for herdislike. Lessie has plunged me into a quandary where I can see no lightat all. Her personality is the most complex I have ever encountered. Sheis absolutely baffling. I can't understand the way she talked to me aswe came down the path from the house scarcely twenty-four hours ago.What was it within her that suggested the things of which she spoke? Ifshe had delivered an oration in Latin I could not have been moresurprised. She—the product of many generations of hill dwellers, whoseintelligence always remained at a minimum, among whom the stirrings ofambition were never felt and where knowledge had never gained theslightest foothold—she to suffer the travail of a fettered mindstriving for light; of a shackled soul struggling for expression! Whatcould it mean? And to make the enshrouding darkness yet more dense, shewas cousin to the Satyr! The Satyr! That whimsical, haplessne'er-do-well who strolled the woods day after day, drinking whitewhiskey, and bringing strains from his old fiddle which made one's fleshcreep with their weird sweetness. Is it a wonder I was puzzled? Ipromised to help her, and I am going to do it. I know the task will bepleasant. I will escape monotony, and she will be improved, and in thisway it will work good to both of us. I shall begin—but at this point inmy cogitations there floated suddenly across the field of memory thattall, dark shadow standing on the Hebron road, still and stern.

I took the pipe from my mouth and stood up. The sun had more than halfcompleted its journey from zenith to horizon. I made another detour,looking for the best place to descend. I found it a short distance fromwhere I had come up; almost a path, surprisingly easy to traverse. Icarefully noted its location with reference to the points of thecompass, and went down with practically no labor. Already I knew Ishould come back, for the spot held a strong attraction for me. Notalone for the view, which in itself was sufficient compensation for theclimb, but there was also a sense of such complete aloneness—and I havethat peculiarity. At times I want to be where no one can see me, or talkto me. I want to be utterly alone, without the possibility ofinterruption. Such a place I knew I had found on the peak of Bald Knob.

When I reached the evergreens I realized that it must be almost twilighton the plateau. At least a cooling, grateful shade was there, and thephilosophy of Spencer.

A few moments later I crashed through the bush in the rear of the Lodge,came around and flung my cap boy-like on one of the benches alongsidethe door, then hurried toward the lone pine. When I had taken ahalf-dozen steps I looked up, and halted abruptly.

Lessie was standing under the tree, holding "First Principles" open inher hands.

CHAPTER TEN

IN WHICH I SPEND A PLEASANT HOUR AND HEAR SOME NEWS

She saw me the same instant, and her eyes brightened with what seemed tome pleasure, while slow waves of color came into her cheeks. She smiled,and stood motionless, waiting for me to approach.

I lost no time in bidding her welcome. When I took her hand in greetingthe contact was electrical—it may have been my imagination, Igrant—but I'm sure I felt as if a charge of some kind had beenprojected into me.

"Whut's this book?" she asked, closing the volume but still holding itwith a clinging touch. It was to me as if she wanted to make it a partof her, her hands and fingers were so enveloping in their grasp.

"That's heresy—rank heresy!" I laughed. "If Father John saw me readingthat he would tell you to run from me as fast as you could."

She glanced up with a most attractive blending of alarm and amusem*nt onher face.

"Then whut yo' read it fur?" she demanded.

"It was written by one of the smartest men the world has ever known, andI want to find out what he thinks. We don't have to believe all we read,you know. We can read for various reasons."

I saw she did not understand.

"Sit down," I continued. "Here, the bench is big enough for two. I'm soglad you have come to see me to-day. You almost missed me; I've been upon Baldy."

We sat side by side. There was barely room enough; as it was our hipscame in contact. Then I told her of my little trip toward the clouds.I'm sure she was not at all interested. In fact, after the firstbrightening of her face at the moment of my appearance, a sort of shadowhad come upon it, as though cast from a mind not at rest. I watched heras I talked, and I know she was paying no heed to my recital. She toyedwith the book, pressing the pages together, bending them in her fingers,and allowing them to slip under her thumb with a rustle. Now I saw herhair at close range for the first time, and it was truly a crown ofglory. Solomon's wisdom was not at fault. A woman's hair holds somemysterious power for a man fully as potent as any of her other charms.There is sorcery in it—and sometimes love-dreams—and sometimesoblivion—and sometimes madness! As I gazed at the Dryad's hair my voiceunconsciously dropped to a lifeless monotone. Quickly I noted a factwhich formed a fitting supplement to my former discoveries regarding thecare of her person. By all legitimate courses of reasoning her hairshould have been stringy, sleek, unkempt, and—dirty! But I beheld itthe reverse in every particular. No boudoir bred Miss of any city couldhave produced better cared for tresses. Each silken strand lay separatefrom its fellows. The whole mass was shining clean, and fresh, andfluffy; the well-shaped ears were transparently spotless, and her neck,where the yet finer hair grew upward and where tiny rings of cobwebbygold fluttered, was immaculate. Fellowman, do you marvel that my tale ofclimbing the peak came to an end almost in drivel?

As I stopped, rather sheepishly, she lost her hold on the book, and itslipped from her knees to the ground. Each bent to recover it. I was thequicker, but in the forward and downward movement which she made theDryad's hair tumbled over her shoulders onto my neck, head and face, ina subtly scented, smooth, tickly mesh. It lasted but a moment; I thinkthe shortest moment of my life. We came up laughing, both our faces red.But as for that, one's face is always red when one bends to pick upsomething.

I opened the book at the front, found a big capital A, and pointing toit, asked Lessie what it was.

She shook her head.

"I don' know."

The pity of it! I could scarcely credit her reply.

"Would you like to know? Would you like to know all the letters in thisbook, big and little, so that you could read them at a glance?" I asked.

Again that hungry, helpless look came to her.

"Oh!... Yes!"

The first word was spoken with a sharply indrawn breath of eagerness.The last one fell softly a moment later.

"You shall, Dryad. It's a shame you can't do it now. Is there no schoolhere—in the neighborhood—at Hebron? Why have you never been toschool?"

"They wuz a school in Hebron. Granny wouldn't let me go."

She was fingering a ruffle on her dress just above her knees in anembarrassed way.

"Wouldn't let you go!" I exclaimed, indignantly ... "Why?"

"A man had it—a young man—'n' Granny hates men, 'specially young men."

"Why does she hate young men?"

"I don' know—you heard whut she said 'bout 'em. She's always preachin'that to me."

I thought my former reading of Granny's attitude correct now, but I didnot speak of this to Lessie.

"Granny has done you a great injustice," I said, gravely; "howeverhonest her intentions. I'm going to see that you have a chance, Dryad.But if I'm to help you, I must speak of things exactly as they are, andthere shall have to be many corrections. You won't mind this, will you?I mean you will understand why it is done—that it is absolutelynecessary for you to get along. You won't take offense—won't get mad,will you?"

She turned her eyes full into mine, her mobile face for the momentserious and calm.

"I'll do anythin' to learn—to know! Oh! I git so lonesome fur—furknowin'! I'm all shet up, 'n' they's things in my head 'n' in herethat's jes' bustin' to git out!"

She placed her hand on her breast. Her brows had drawn together and Iknew each word was the exact truth.

"All right; it's a bargain," I answered. "We'll begin this very minute.Have you noticed that I talk differently from you, and Granf'er, andGranny'?"

Her mouth was set firmly as her chin moved up and down. I think she wasa little scared at the beginning of her lessons.

"I talk correctly, and you talk incorrectly. That's hard to say, but wecan't build without solid truth for a foundation. You should learn tospeak correctly in a very short time, if you will be very careful, andtry. It will take longer to learn to read, and write, but even that willnot prove such a great task. Now, answer me—why did you come hereto-day?"

"I come 'cause I wanted to!"

Quick as a flash her reply was out, and I could see she was watching mein a fascinated, apprehensive manner. I smiled to reassure her.

"You should say—'I came be-cause I wanted to.' Say it that way."

"I—came—be-cause I wanted to!"

There was something almost pitiful in her fearful earnestness. This wasthe beginning of the opening of a sealed door before which she had stoodso long, with no one to break the fastenings for her. She had put onehand against the dark trunk of the tree, and now her finger tips werewhite around the nails from the pressure she had unconsciously broughtto bear, and she was trembling the least bit. Poor little Dryad in herwindowless house! It must have been an ordeal for her.

How queerly that simple sentence broke upon my ears. It was the firstperfect one she had ever spoken, and she enunciated it with painfulprecision, breathing each word forth in trepidation.

"Good!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands, whereat her tenseness vanished,and her bearing became like one who is somewhat confused, but happy."Don't forget that, now. Always say 'I came.' Many of your words are notwords at all, but fearful corruptions which long use and carelessnesshave made worse. Then you drop your 'gs' outrageously, but that is afault you'll overcome by practice."

Thus for an hour we sat on the narrow bench under the tall pine, while Imade her answer question after question in her own way, then had her saythem again the right way. Her aptness was amazing. Her mind seemed toseize and absorb the elemental instruction I gave her as a parched plantdoes moisture. She remained constantly intent, alert, ready; and when atlength the slowly deepening shadows warned me that she should be going,and I told her the lesson for the day was over, I saw that she wasagitated, excited, and her eyes shone as if brightened by wine.

"Oh, you're a capital pupil!" I complimented, warmly, as we arose andstood for a moment side by side. "Now how would you answer me, Dryad?"

She cast me a sidewise glance; partly mischievous, partly shy, partlyearnest.

"I'm glad!" she said, quickly.

I knew that she had evaded my trap cleverly, and I did not lay anotherfor her.

"Now you must go."

I spoke reluctantly, for the hour had been an unusually charming one forme. I had always maintained that I had rather be a roadmender than aschool teacher, and generally speaking, I hold to the idea still. But Ican think of no more delightfully pleasant experience that has ever comemy way than when I gave Lessie her first instruction under the pine onthe edge of the plateau.

At my words the shadow sprang to her face again, more noticeable thanbefore. It was almost a look of distress now.

"What is it, Dryad?" I asked, suddenly; "what worries you?"

She did not answer, but stood meditatively with the tips of her fingersresting upon her lower lip, and her eyes intently focussed downward.

"Come," I added; "I must get some water from the creek, and I'll go thatfar with you—farther, if you will let me, because it will be latebefore you get home."

"Oh, no!" she burst out, with what looked like unnecessary vehemence.Then her agile mind took a turn, and she added—"But why don't yo' gityo' water out o' the well?"

I forebore to correct her. The lesson was over, and I must not worryher.

"Well?" I repeated, open mouthed. "What well?"

"The well over yonder—the well the man dug!"

She pointed to a distant corner of the yard, overrun with aheterogeneous mass of greenery.

I almost gasped. A well had been here under my nose all these weeks, awell of cool, good water, and I had been slaving rebelliously to supplymy needs from the creek below, which had lately become infested withtadpoles!

"Show it to me!" I cried.

With a hearty "All right!" she started running, and I followed at asmart walk. It was just like her to run. She was a creature of impulse.I watched her skimming over the ground, lightly leaping littleobstacles, her wheat-gold hair all a-tremble. When I came up she had astick, and was diligently prodding about in the weeds, vines andbrambles.

"It's here," she muttered, intent on her business. "I've saw it, 'n'drunk out o' it. It's jes' as cold as the spring at home whur grannykeeps 'er milk 'n' butter. W'en I—"

My eyes had been fastened on her face, and now she evidently rememberedand checked herself purposely, for I saw her teeth clamp her lip for aninstant. Then she went on, softer and more slowly, never looking up.

"When—I—came—las'—time—it's—here!"

With the last word she jabbed her stick down, and straightened uptriumphantly.

I pressed forward to her side, and peered into the bush. The end of herstick rested upon a piece of wood. With a word to Lessie to wait amoment I hurried back to the lodge and procured a scythe from the storeof miscellaneous things which had accompanied me when I came out to makefriends with the wilderness. Directly I had uncovered the well's top, asurface of oaken planks four feet square. In the center of this lay alarge, smooth stone, covering the hole which gave access to the waterbelow.

"By Jove! Girl, how can I thank you?" I cried, elated at the discovery."I've been drinking sulphur water and bathing with tadpoles, neverdreaming this was here!"

"It'll be a big savin'," she agreed. "Tot'n' water's pow'ful hard work."

She turned to go. I dropped my scythe and said:

"You must let me go part of the way. I know you're not afraid, but won'tyou? I'd feel better."

She clasped her hands, wrung them once, and took two or three forwardsteps silently. Something was wrong with Lessie, but nothing like a truesolution entered my thick masculine head until she stopped, halfwayturned, and flung from tight lips—

"It's 'bout Buck!"

Buck! The ominous figure I had seen watching me in the deep twilight theday before. Buck! Of course, Buck! He had seen me part from Lessie; hehad come to her immediately afterward, and had doubtless told her somethings which were not good for her peace of mind. Is man really asavage, at rock bottom? In the moment following Lessie's intenseannouncement of the cause of her distress, what were my feelings? Simplythese. There came to my mind the realization that I, too, was a man ofphysical might; that I, too, had immense muscles of thigh, and chest,and arm; that the trouble which had sent me here was surely checked as Ifelt my vigor growing day by day, and that if somebody wanted to fight Iwould give him his fill, rather than be hectored into forsaking Lessie'scompany—for I felt assured already that this was the burden of BuckSteele's demands.

Something of all this must have showed in my face as I steppeddeliberately to Lessie's side and took one of her hands, for I sawtraces of terror in the gray eyes.

"Yo'—yo' mustn't git together!" she exclaimed, tempestuously, herfingers closing around mine in a grip which caused me to wonder. "Oh!Yo' mustn't!—Yo' mustn't! Yo' don't know Buck; he c'n ben' ahorse-shoe!"

"Lessie," I said, returning her grasp and looking at her determinedly;"I'm not afraid of any man that lives and moves. I don't believe inviolence, but there are times when it becomes necessary. And when thenecessity arises in my life, I'm going to face it. You have said thatyou wanted me to help you, and if you still feel this way, nothing andno one is going to prevent me from carrying out my part of theagreement. I've a notion I know pretty much what took place last night,but you must tell me now, as we walk along. We must talk it over—come."

I kept her hand until I had faced her about and we had gone a shortdistance. Then I let it go.

"Yo' see," began Lessie, in a perplexed little voice, and withoutwaiting for further urging, "Buck's ben comin' to see me fur mos' ayear, off 'n' on. He's the only young feller Granny'll 'low on theplace. He's ben pow'ful good to me, 'n'—'n' well, he's ast me to marry'im. But I don't love Buck. I can't he'p lak'n' 'im, 'cause he's so good'n' kin' 'n' 'd do anythin' on earth I'd ask 'im to. He don't pester me'bout comin', neither, 'n' w'en I don't feel lak seein' 'im he'll go on'way, meek lak 'n' not complainin'. 'N' after w'ile here he'll be backag'in, tryin' to tell me thin's I don't wan' to lis'n' to. I jes' can'thurt 'is feelin's. Somehow 'r 'nother he heerd that you'd come out here'n' had seen me by the dogwood tree that day—I s'pec' Granny tol' 'im'bout it, 'cause I didn't tell nobody but the home folks. 'N' so las'night he come—he came out home to 'quire 'bout it, 'n' he saw youtell me good-by at the bridge. 'N' after you'd gone he came on—'n' I'dnever seen 'im look lak he looked then. His eyes wuz black 'n' had firein 'em 'n' his face wuz lak a piece o' gray rock 'n' his voice wuzdiff'unt 'n' ever' now 'n' then he shuk all over."

Her words had gradually increased in velocity until, when she stopped,she was speaking so rapidly I could hardly understand what she said.

"Yes," I replied, but nothing more until we had come to the foot of theknob. Here, as we turned westward toward the creek leading to LizardPoint, I spoke again.

"He talked to you, Dryad, of course. Now you must tell me everything,and keep nothing back—nothing. Even though he said very uglythings—things which may have frightened you, you must tell me them,too."

She stooped to pluck a cluster of little wild flowers growing on asingle stem, giving a low exclamation of pleasure as she did so. Then,as she twined the flowers in her hair over the ear away from me, sheanswered.

"Yes, he talked to me. I tried to make 'im hush, but he wouldn't. 'Twuz'bout you, mos'ly. He said he knew city fellers 'n' they's all wicked'n' dang'rous, 'n' that you's jes' tryin' to run with me to pass thetime 'n' make a fool o' me—but I didn't b'lieve 'im!"

With the last words she turned toward me a frank and honest countenance.

"No, Dryad; you mustn't believe him when he talks that way. I'm surethat Buck is a good man naturally, but he was excited when he told youthat. There are some bad men in the cities, and there are some bad menin the country. There are more bad men in the city because there aremore people in the city. But he was wholly wrong when he spoke of mymotive in going with you—go on."

"He said he wasn't goin' to have yo' comin' to see me, 'n' that I mus'promise 'im not to see you agin. I tol' 'im I couldn't do that, 'causeyou's goin' to learn me. Then he went plum daffy crazy, 'n' cussed 'n'damned, 'n' bruk a great thick stick he had in 'is han's—bruk it 'n'kep' a-breakin' it till it wuz all in little pieces in 'is fis'—'n'then he flung 'em all on the groun' 'n' stood lookin' at me lak he'sgoin' to hit me, but he didn't. We's down at the en' o' the path nex' tothe road, fur we hadn't gone up to the house. I's skeered fur a w'ile,he looked so big 'n' he's so mad. I didn't know a feller c'd git socrazy 'bout—'bout a girl;—did you?"

Her candor never ceased to amaze me. She seemed to be utterly unaware ofanything existing within herself which might lead a man up the dangerousheights of Love, whither this brawny one had plainly gone.

"Ye-e-s," I answered, slowly. "When a man loves a girl, Dryad, he willdo anything when the circ*mstance which calls for that thing exists."Then, realizing that I was talking riddles to her, I added: "I mean,that when a man's in love, especially if he be a strong man, he won'tallow any one or anything to come in the way, if he can help it. Andthat's Buck's position, exactly. He thinks he can't live without you,and he's a big, husky animal whose feelings largely control him. Whenanother man approaches you, he grows jealous, and jealousy is about thehardest headed, most unreasonable, meanest passion the human familyhas.... What else did Buck say?"

It was too dark now for me to see her expression, but when she repliedher voice shook with apprehension, and that haunting note—like a rareminor chord in music—which so moved me when we first met had creptstrangely into it, dominating the natural, lighter quality of herspeech.

"Oh!"

An exclamation formed of a trembling sigh was her first word, but shewent on almost at once.

"He—he said awful thin's! He said he couldn't stan' to see me 'n'you together no more, 'n' he said he's goin'—he's goin'—to kill yo'if—if—"

Here Lessie broke down and began to weep in little, spasmodic snuffles,as you have seen small children do.

I took her hand again and tried to assuage her fears as we went on underthe big forest trees through the shadowy, dimly luminous atmosphere. Itold her that Buck had spoken in the heat of anger, and that he did notreally mean what he said, and that his passion had gotten away with hisdiscretion, and had made him act very foolishly. I ended by laughing atthe threats, and treating them in the nature of a joke, but my companionwould not have it so.

"Yo' don't know 'im! Yo' don't know 'im!" she insisted, drawing the backof her free hand across her eyes. "He did mean it, 'n' he will doit—I know he will!"

"Don't you think I can take care of myself?" I asked.

"I don't know; maybe—but Buck's so strong!"

"I'm strong, too, Dryad."

She did not answer, and soon we came to the glade. Here Lessie stoppedand faced me.

"Yo' mustn't come no fu'ther," she said, so emphatically that I almostblinked. "'N'—'n'—yo' mustn't come to the P'int no more 'n' I won'tcome to Baldy no more 'n'—"

"Why, Lessie!"

I dropped her hand, and put all the reproach I could summons into thewords.

"Yo' know—w'y—"

"And give up all the things I am going to teach you just because—"

It was too much. She turned with a hurt, despairing cry which somehowcut me savagely, and ran swiftly from me across the open ground. I sawthe misty fluttering of garments in the gloom, caught the dull glow fromher flying hair, then knew that I was alone.

I have just written to 'Crombie. I did not tell him of any of the peopleI have met. I wrote a chatty letter describing my daily life, myimproved condition, and telling of my inability, so far, to locate thelife-plant. But on this point I had hopes. I'm sure he will scratch hishead when he reads my postscript, and wonder if I have developed braintrouble. Here is my postscript:

"Kindly forward me by mail to Hebron, at once, a primer and a copybook."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

IN WHICH OTHER CHARACTERS COME INTO OUR STORY

I went to Hebron to-day to mail my letter, and to lay in a supply ofgarden seed.

It was still early morning when I reached Lizard Point, and came uponthe road leading to my destination. The sun had not yet topped the highknob range; the air was cool, balmy, moist with dew, and clear. I stoodfor a moment after I had crossed the bridge, and looked intently up towhere Lessie lived. Had I seen her I would have sent her a hail, andtold her where I was going. Light blue wood smoke was coming from thekitchen chimney, and spiraling straight up to a great height before itdissipated—a sure sign of fair weather, I have been informed. Soon Idescried Granf'er's stooped form plodding across the back yard. He stillwore his coffee-sack apron, and was carrying a dishpan of water. This heemptied into a chicken trough, and trudged back to the house. But Lessiedid not appear, so I faced about and went on.

The road paralleled this branch of the creek for nearly a mile, runningalong the base of a steadily curving knob. It was not a bad road,either, considering its location, and I found some pleasure in trampingthrough the yellow dust between the ruts which the wheels of passingvehicles had made. On the creek side was a rod-wide strip of verdure;flowering weeds choked with long, tough grass, bushes of many kinds, andan occasional tree. On the knob side the rise began at the very edge ofthe highway. Here was moss, dead leaves, many varieties of creepers,sumac, wild grapevine, and now and again eglantine, its flat, pink-whiteblossoms brightening the heavy shade. It was on this side the road myeyes dwelt oftener, for in my pocket was the jar of fresh water, and inmy heart the hope of ultimate reward. It is true I had found nothingwhich resembled the life-plant in the least, and already I had traveledfar. But I was prepared for disappointment, and schooled for patience.The prize was too valuable to be come at easily. I had already learnedthat great truth—the things worth while are the things you give yourheart's blood in getting. Nothing you can grasp by merely stretching outyour hand is worth even that slight effort. It is a law of nature and alaw of life that hard work is the price of true success; that attainmentmeans sacrifice; that the natural inclinations and desires of the fleshmust be fettered and chained before we can reach any eminencewhatsoever, or achieve any noble task. That unalterable decree of lifeapplied to this case as well, and I bowed to it. I would wait andsearch; I would go on until the last day of my twelve months' exile hadsped, believing that sooner or later my reward would come.

Now my mountain road debouched upon a county highway, made of gravel,well packed and smooth. For a moment I was surprised, wondering whereall this gravel came from. Then I remembered that a river ran near, andthe mystery was plain.

The sun came out as I started on again, pouring its quickening light ina wondrous cascade of shimmering beauty over the dark green sea offoliage. The leaves rustled a welcome, and a breeze which was like asigh of gratitude from the Earth's big heart, arose. This greeting ofnature unto nature that still morning stirred me deeply in some way; Icould feel the answering thrill in my breast, and I stopped in mytracks, took my cap from my head, and faced the great golden ball withwhat I imagine was almost the ardor of a sun-worshiper. I was alone withmy ancient mother; the mother from whence I came and unto whom I wouldreturn, and clearer than ever in my life before I felt the kinship ofthe sturdy trees, and knew that the sap and fiber of every growing thingabout me was part and parcel of my being. Tiny waves of emotion began totingle along my nerves as I stood bareheaded, at one with the universe,and then slowly the waves grew in magnitude until every vein and arterywas inundated with a mighty surge of joy.

A puff of wind blew a spray of blackberry bush across my cheek,scratching it with a thorn. I started and looked, to find that I hadunknowingly come to the edge of the road.

At a turn a quarter of a mile further on I saw the hamlet. Five or sixhouses, a railway station, the superstructure of an iron bridge, and toone side a formidable building of brick, which I correctly surmised tobe the distillery. Between me and the hamlet lay a stretch of clearedbottom land, fenced off into fields. I saw an expanse of wheat, greenand full eared; another of oats, not so tall, and having a peculiarbluish shade. Other fields were simply bare, brown reaches of freshlyturned earth, prepared for corn or tobacco.

Now to my ears came a sound which has been heard since the world wasyoung; the musical ring of iron against iron; the song of the forge.Across the lowland it drifted to me, losing all harshness in its coming,and falling in pleasing cadences upon the air. I knew it was nouncertain hand which held the hammer, for the strokes were vigorous andin time, interrupted now and again by the drum-like roll as the hammerdanced upon the anvil. I went forward leisurely, crossed a stream on asuspension foot-bridge of native manufacture, then up a slight rise tillI stood in the broad doorway of the smithy. The worker, intent upon histask, had neither seen nor heard my approach. I stood and looked at himsilently.

He was a young man, near my own age. He was quite as tall as myself, andmaybe a trifle heavier. He wore a short brown beard. His flannel shirtwas open at the neck for two or three buttons, revealing his thickthroat and corded chest. His sleeves were rolled above his elbows, andhis fore-arms were knotted and ridged with muscles. His face was ratherheavy, and not intelligent. He was welding an iron tire, and I watchedhis deft manipulations admiringly. Certainly he was no bungler. After awhile he thrust the cooling irons back into the fire, and as he graspedthe handle of his bellows with one grimy hand, I spoke.

"Good morning, Buck Steele."

He wheeled with the quick movement you have seen a cat display whensurprised, his brown eyes widening perceptibly. He knew me. I saw hismouth set, and the outer corners of his eyes contract. In that firstlong look which he gave me he did not say a word, neither did he move. Icould not help thinking what a splendid looking fellow he was, hisposture one of natural grace and dignity, at the same time feeling andrecognizing the antagonism which radiated from his entire person. I methis gaze unflinchingly, and with a straightforward look. I could see hiseyes traveling from my head to my feet, and knew that he was takingstock of me. Then his uncompromising stare settled on my face, andinstantly a bitterly hostile expression gathered on his own. For a fewmoments we stood thus, then his big chest rose over a deep long breath,his mouth went tighter still, his smutty fingers closed on the handle ofthe bellows and began a downward pull, then he calmly turned his backupon me and resumed his work. My greeting had remained unanswered.

I turned away. I was sorry, but there was nothing I could do. To haveforced myself upon his notice would have resulted in violence, I wassure, with probable disaster to myself. I went on past a house or twountil I reached the store, a low, narrow building beside a railroadtrack. A man, bareheaded and in his shirt sleeves, sat on a cracker-boxon the small porch, his back against the wall, his hands foldedpeacefully in his lap.

"Got any garden seed?" I asked, stopping in front of him.

He lazily raised his bleary, red-rimmed eyes, and regarded me stolidly.Absolute vacancy sat upon his countenance. He batted his lids, andstared at me, his lower lip slightly pendulous. His silence became soprotracted that I smiled, and repeated my query. A sort of grunt camefrom him, presently followed by—

"Whut kind o' gyard'n seed?"

I named the varieties I wanted.

Again he grunted—a louder grunt than the first, because now he waspreparing to get up. This he presently accomplished, and went into thestore, sliding his feet along over the planks of the porch. In processof time I got my seed.

"What's up there?" I asked, as we came out together, pointing to a hillacross the railroad up which the pike wound sinuously.

The storekeeper dropped upon the cracker-box and resumed the sameposition he had when I accosted him, before replying.

"Chu'ch 'n' pa's'nage; s'p'intend'nt's house. 'Stillery yonder; riverunder th' bridge."

Whereupon he immediately relapsed into his former inertia, and Iforebore further questions.

I decided I would take a look at the river. Hebron lay beneath my gaze:small, ill-kept houses; small yards with some dismal attempts atfloriculture; dirty children and work-worn women. These latter Iglimpsed as I walked on to the railroad, at windows and on porches,staring apathetically at the stranger. I soon reached the bridge, whichI found spanned a river of considerable size. It had a gravel bed, andits banks were heavily lined with trees. Its western sweep wasparticularly attractive from where I stood, and I at once determinedupon a closer acquaintance, for the day was but begun, and there was noneed for me to hasten home. After a brief search I found a path whichconducted me to the side of the stream. The channel here was rathernarrow and the water seemed deep, its flow being gentle and placid.Somewhat to my surprise, the path continued, running worm-like betweenthe thick growth of willow and sycamore. I went forward, with no purposewhatsoever, merely yielding to an idling spirit, and the charm of anunfamiliar track through the woods by a river. I may have gone half amile, never more than a dozen feet from the brink, when I espied a boatsnugly beached, and tied to a scrubby oak whose roots were partlysubmerged. Why not take a ride? The thought was born instantaneously,and quickly took the shape of resolve. Here was a delightful diversionready to my hand. I loved to pull an oar, and the gleaming, dark-greensurface before me seemed to invite. I placed my bundle of seed on theground, slipped off my coat and flung it across a limb, then laid holdof the painter. It was not locked, as I half feared it would be. Theboat was a delicate, shapely affair, painted white, and I marveled thatsuch a dainty craft should be moored here in the wilds about Hebron. Thepainter was loose, and one of my feet was in the boat as I prepared toshove off, when—

"I beg your pardon," I heard; "but may I have my boat a little while?"

I arose, holding the painter in my hand.

A young woman faced me. Low and slight, dressed in tan from her jauntystraw hat to her russet shoes; short walking skirt tailored toperfection; a laced bodice very low in the neck; a tin fish bucket inone hand. She had evidently taken me for one of the rustics in theneighborhood, for I could see that she was as much surprised as I. Aglance sufficed to tell me her story. A jaded society woman, old andblasé at twenty, having nothing but a sniff for the world and allthere was in it. She was pitifully young to wear those marks ofexperience upon her face. Her features were inclined to be peaked; herchin sharp, her blue eyes so weary, in spite of the momentary lightwhich flashed up in them now. There were faint lines about her unstablemouth, and well defined crowsfeet at her eyes. She must have lived hardand furiously from her early teens to have acquired that indescribableexpression which needs no interpreter. Whoever she was and whatever shewas—and I was convinced she could boast the blood of gentle folks—shehad seen some life in her score of years.

"I guess if there is any pardon to ask,—I should ask it," I replied,dragging my cap off as I spoke. "I didn't know it was yours. I'm astranger. I was out walking, and ran up on the boat, and couldn't seeany harm in using it for a half-hour. Shall—that is, may I assist youto get afloat?"

She had gotten rid of all tokens of surprise as I was speaking. Now,with the ready action of a woman of the world, she came forward and heldout the bucket.

"You may stow that away.... I'm going to visit my lines."

"Lines?" I repeated, blankly.

"Trot lines," she explained, adjusting a pin in her hat when I wasabsolutely sure such a thing was unnecessary. "I set them yesterdayafternoon."

"Oh! You're a fisherman!" I exclaimed. "Well, I hope you've had luck."

She stepped into the boat before I could offer assistance, got down andtook the oars—then stopped. She appeared to be thinking. I stood readyto shove off at her word. Suddenly she looked up with a half smile.

"Would you like to go?"

I was not surprised. Poor little world-worn creature. How many men hadshe molded with that half smile! I answered without hesitation.

"Certainly!"

There could be no harm to either of us. It was unconventional, butconventionality is a terrible bugbear. She was lonely, I knew, and theecho from a civilized world which I would get in her company would bemost welcome to me.

"Come on, then. Day before yesterday I caught a bass which almost woreme out before I could get him aboard. You see you could be of help on anoccasion of that kind."

I offered to take the oars, but she declined, and subsequently displayeda degree of skill in rowing that surprised me. She took the middle ofthe stream and went with the sluggish current. From my position in thestern I faced her, and feeling that conversation was almost imperative,I said:

"Surely you don't live at Hebron?"

She smiled—a bright, winsome smile which somehow awakened a deeper pityin me. Her true nature seemed revealed in that expression. She was notwicked; not inherently bad, but was weak-willed, easily swayed,susceptible to association and environment. One who loved the smoothroad of pleasure more than the stony highway of rectitude; one who hadgiven gratis and unthinkingly the perfume of the fresh flower of hergirlhood. Kind of heart, warm of sympathy, impulsive of temperament,irresponsible.

"Yes," she said, with a cheery nod; "I live at Hebron."

"But you don't belong there?" I insisted.

She laughed in a high, not unmusical key, and suddenly dipping her oars,began to propel the boat swiftly through the water. Rowing shows agraceful girl off to advantage, and my companion was richly endowed inthis particular. Her little russet shoes were firmly braced, the shortskirt revealing a few inches of tapering, tan-stockinged legs; her brownhands gripped the oars firmly, and as she swayed forward and backwardwith the rhythmic strokes I was conscious of a feeling of admiration forher prowess. In a few moments we had rounded a bend, and here I saw aline stretched across the river, with smaller lines depending from itinto the stream. The girl glanced back over her shoulder, dipped one oarand adroitly piloted the boat toward a certain hook, before she spoke.

"I belong up yonder—for the summer," she said.

I followed her short gesture, and discovered upon a hill to my rightwhat I took to be a brick church, with a brick dwelling near it.

As I turned to make reply I saw that something was happening. The girlwas doing her best to haul in one of the sunken lines, but the hiddenforce beneath the surface was combatting her strength fiercely. Before Icould offer assistance she had loosed her hold, and instantly the lineshot out and tightened, swaying this way and that, cutting the watersilently.

"I believe I have a whale!" she declared, in big-eyed seriousness,shifting her position and kneeling before taking up her task afresh."No, don't help me yet"—as I made a forward movement—"it's lots morefun to land one's own fish!"

She bent again to the vibrating line, while I held the boat steady andeagerly awaited developments.

"I'm from Kansas City," she flung over her shoulder all at once, "andI'm spending the summer with my uncle, the Rev. Jean Dupré—FatherJohn, the villagers call him. I am Beryl Drane."

The catastrophe cannot be told in detail. It may have been partly myfault, for my guard was lax at the moment. Before I realized what hadhappened Miss Drane was gone and I was in the water clinging to theupturned boat. A sucking, gurgling whirlpool was moving down the stream,and the cable line had disappeared. For a moment a cold horror crept tomy vitals and chilled me so that I could not move. Then my duty sweptover me with a swift rush, and, letting go the boat, I diveddesperately. Madly I swept my arms to left, right, everywhere, graspingblindly for the touch of flesh or clothing. Dimly I seemed to realizethat I was in a measure responsible for the accident, and that I mustfind the lost girl. Back and forth I fought through the water savagely,my lungs hurting, my head throbbing. I could not give up. I had to findher. She was there, somewhere in that silent, treacherous element. Intomy chaotic mind leaped the thought that perhaps she had risen to thesurface. Instantly I ceased my efforts and rose. Dashing the streamingdrops from my eyes and mouth I gulped in a deep breath, and glaredaround despairingly. Silence; solitude; a shining, disc-like spot wherethe reflection of the sun lay, and a dozen feet off the glisteningbottom of the boat. That was all. A man's length to the south I saw somebubbles rise and burst. There can be no bubbles without air. Maybe—

Resurgent hope filled my breast as I plunged downward again, strikingout with all my might. I grasped a sodden something. I opened my eyes.The water was clear and the sunlight filtered dimly through it. Aconfused shadowy shape confronted me. I could get no outlines. Aninstant later I touched a hand, and knew it was Beryl Drane. Aconception of the truth came then. When the fish, or whatever it was,had dragged her overboard, she had become entangled in the lines, andthe thing which had power to pull her from the boat likewise had powerto hold her below the surface while it struggled to escape. I claspedher in my arms, gave a tug, and together we shot upward. I looked at heras we reached light and air. She was limp, and to all appearanceperfectly lifeless. Her lips had a bluish tinge, and were parted theleast bit. Her eyes were half closed; she did not breathe.

Filled with foreboding which trembled on the verge of certainty, I swamfor the shore. The distance was short, and presently I was struggling upthe slippery mud bank with the senseless form of the girl. My mind hadbeen busy while I was swimming. Should I stop on shore and attemptresuscitation, or should I hurry on to the priest's house, just up thehill? I decided on the latter course as the most expedient, as the delaywould be practically nothing, and proper restoratives could be had atthe house. There probably was a road. Straight up the wooded slope Idashed. My exertions in the water had tired me, and now as I made my waythrough the dense undergrowth up the steep hill I was conscious ofintense physical fatigue. But I pressed grimly on, with a dread in myheart which far outweighed any physical weakness.

At length I reached a rail fence. How I surmounted it with my burden, Ido not know. Beyond the fence was a pasture lot with only a gentleincline, and across this I raced. Another fence, the back yard of theparsonage, wherein squalling chickens fled precipitately as I tore by,around the house to the front porch, where sat a little old man in aswinging chair, clad in a priest's robe. I knew it was Father John. Hewas quietly reading, and smoking a meerschaum pipe with a stem as longas my arm, but the sound of my feet aroused him, and he raised his head.

"Mon Dieu!" he exclaimed, jumping up, dropping his book, but holdingto his pipe, which he waved wildly. "In ze name of heaven, m'sieu! Whatwas it zat has happen?"

The front door stood open, and I rushed into the house without replying.A couch was in the hall, and on this I laid the form of the girl. FatherJohn, his wrinkled face stamped with terror and anguish, was beside mein an instant.

"Madonna! Jesu!" he wailed. "My blessed Bereel!"

I began the treatment for the drowned, explaining hurriedly how theaccident had occurred.

"Call your housekeeper!" I added. "Her clothes must be loosened. Quick!If no doctor is near there is no use sending. I know what should bedone. Bring brandy, or whiskey—hurry!"

Father John ran from the hall crying at every step:

"Marie! Marie! Marie!"

His tremulous voice receded in the rear.

I unfastened the girl's belt, tore open her clothing at the waist, andas I worked feverishly, was conscious of a gaunt, austere woman offifty-five or sixty suddenly falling on her knees at my side, andunhooking the tight corset which my rude haste had exposed. Thereafterwe worked together, in silence, moving the arms up and down and strivingfor artificial respiration. Father John hovered just out of reach, anuncorked flask in one shaking hand; the long stemmed pipe, which he hadnever abandoned, in the other. In the stark silence which accompaniedour efforts I could hear him whispering incoherent but fervent prayersin his native tongue.

Closely I watched the pallid face—the poor, peaked face which hadlooked upon so much that a woman ought not to know exists—but no signalflare came to the waxen cheeks. I took the flask and carefully pouredsome brandy between the parted lips—poor lips, which I knew had takenkisses not given by love. The fiery liquid trickled down her throat, butthere was no movement, no attempt to swallow. I gave more, for this wasthe sovereign test for life. There came a rigor, so slight that I wasnot altogether sure of it. More brandy. A shiver passed over the limpform; a choking, gasping sound issued from her throat, followed by amoan of pain. I stood erect, looking down at her intently. Almostimperceptibly the faintest glow showed in the marble pallor of her skin.She was reviving. The danger was past. The gaunt woman crouched at myfeet looked up at me mutely, interrogatively.

"Continue to rub her hands and feet," I said. "Keep all her clothingloose. Give her very small quantities of liquor from time to time. Shehad better not see me immediately on awaking."

Then I took the priest by the hand and silently led him out on theporch. A wooden settee was placed against the railing at one end. Iconducted him here, and we sat down. My clothes were still wet, but Igave this no thought.

I proceeded first to assure Father John that his niece was practicallyout of danger, then recounted everything in detail pertaining to theaccident in the river. He listened in eager silence, his expressionstill one of amazement and distress. I looked at him as I talked. He wasa very small man. His skin was yellowish brown, like parchment. Hisbrows projected; his eyes were black and keen; his nose was straight andthin, but quite large. His chin protruded into rather a sharp point, andhis mouth was the most sensitive I have ever seen on a man. His lipswere beautifully bowed, and had retained their color. They were never inperfect repose, but were constantly beset by what I am tempted todescribe as "invisible" twitchings. As I spoke on, he gradually becamecalmer, after a while relighting his pipe. This seemed to act magicallyupon him, for soon after he began to smoke the wild expression vanishedfrom his face.

"So you are ze stranger on ze Bal' Knob?" he queried, when I hadfinished my recital.

"Yes; I am out after health."

"Health?" he repeated, sweeping his keen eyes over my stalwart form inopen astonishment.

"I don't appear to be an invalid, I'll admit," I hastened to add. "Butsomething started up in here"—I touched my chest—"and the doctor sentme to the woods."

"Ah! Ze—ze—ze lungs.... You never struck me to have ze consumption.You are ze stron' man."

"It was just a beginning—a fear, rather than an actuality. I have beenthere a month, and I am already much better."

The housekeeper appeared in the doorway.

"Miss Bereel ees awake, and has asked for you both," she said.

When we again stood beside the couch, the girl made an effort to take myhand, but was too weak. Seeing her purpose, I grasped hers instead.

"Thank you," she said, in a thin, ghostly little voice. "It was not hisfault, uncle; he saved me. Come to see me sometime, and we'll go—rowingagain!"

She tried to smile, but was too exhausted.

"I shall certainly come to inquire about you," I replied, gently layingher hand down. "I fear I was somewhat to blame, and I hope you will beall right very soon."

She looked at me with a wan light of gratitude in her eyes, and a fewmoments later I was bidding Father John adieu on the porch step.

"Come again, m'sieu," he said, squeezing my hand warmly. "You shall haveze welcome!"

I thanked him, again expressed my hope and belief that his niece wouldbe quite all right in a day or two, and struck out for Hebron.

CHAPTER TWELVE

IN WHICH I ATTEND AN ORATORIO

It is one o'clock in the morning—and I have been going to bed at nine!

You will wonder what has happened to so outrageously disturb therigorous routine governing my night hours, and I shall tell you, forthat is the purpose of this chronicle.

It is now three days since I went to Hebron. After leaving the priest'shouse I came on down the hill, trudged back to the river to get my coatand garden seed, then turned homeward. The sun was hot by this time, myclothes quickly dried on me, and I have felt no bad effects since.Another sign, it seems to me, of my increasing physical sturdiness.These three days have passed without sight or sound of a soul. I havepottered about my yard, mowing down the insistent heterogeneous growthwhich daily now threatens to take me; clearing a broad space about myprecious well—whose water, by the way, is sparkling, clear andcold—and this morning spading in my garden for two hours or more.

I cannot explain that which follows, but a little before nine, as I waspreparing to light my bedtime pipe and sit down for a chuckle with thatold pagan monk, Rabelais, I felt the call to go up. As I said, I canoffer no explanation. But all of us have been subject, many times in ourlives, to sudden, inexplicable yearnings; silent longings as powerfuland real as though a voice had spoken them. There is no need tospecialize. You, if you have a spark of temperament, will understand,because you will have experienced something of the sort. You have feltthat mysterious tugging toward a certain thing, when there was nothingon earth to incite it. What was it? I felt it to-night as I held my pipein one hand and a lighted match in the other; felt it growing andexpanding until it became a fierce desire. I tossed my half-burned matchamong the logs in the fireplace, put my filled pipe in my pocket, andwith something akin to awe sobering my face, drew my cap on my head andwalked softly outdoors.

It was a perfect moonless May night. I had never seen the stars brighteror nearer. I felt that by tiptoeing I might almost reach them. And theirnumber amazed me. The sky was looking down at me with a million eyes,and each eye was a voice which said "Come up! Come up!" I went, notstopping to question, analyze, or combat. Something irresistible urgedme to surmount the peak, and I bent to the climb. As I came out of theStygian gloom of the belt of evergreens I knew that some subtle changehad taken place. The atmosphere had a different feel; a different smell.There was no wind, but when I swept my gaze around I saw many horizonclouds; jagged, mountainous looking outlines, with floating fragmentseverywhere. Some of the cloud fragments would touch and merge even as Iwatched them. I did not know the significance, if there was any. Iturned to the slope again. Before the last steep stretch I halted thesecond time. Far as I could see the perspective was bounded by a black,towering wall, which seemed to grow taller every moment. This wall wastopped by fantastic turrets and towers which swayed, lengthened,expanded, or disappeared at will. Still there was no wind, even at thegreat height to which I had already come. The day had been sufferinghot, and the perspiration was streaming from me. I breathed softly, andlistened. No sound but the monotonous call of the night insects, exceptfrom a point far below, like the muffled cry of a lost soul pleading forgrace, the ineffably sad tones of a whip-poor-will pulsed dimly throughthe dark. I turned my face upward. The calm stars still called, and Ianswered.

Presently I could go no further. I stood on the apex of my high hill, ajubilation of spirit making my breast to heave in deeper breaths than myexertion had caused. Then, ere I knew what I was about I had flung myarms out and up, toward the vast deeps from which had come the stillsummons I had felt in the quiet peace of the Lodge. I felt unreal; I wastrembling. I knew not what impended, but the air was charged with anelectrical tenseness, and the pall of utter silence which hung over theworld was pregnant with import. My arms dropped, and a sweet calm stoleover me. Slowly I turned my gaze in every direction. That mammoth wallof blackness encircled the earth in an unbroken line, and was nowquickly mounting to the zenith. How grand the sight! I bared my headbefore the majesty of it. How like battlements and ramparts the grimexpanses appeared, crowned with their changing towers! And to make thecomparison still more true, I now saw the flash of cannon through thejagged embrasures, and caught the distant thunder of their detonations.Quickly the conflict grew. North, south, east and west, and all between,the batteries of the sky unveiled. Not loud, as yet, but perpetual, andfurious in the very absence of thunderous sound. There were constantgrowlings and incessant flashings, as back and forth over the aerialbattleground the challenges were sent and answered. Now, a girdle ofglory, the lightning zoned the middle sky, and ever upward, as thoughpropelled by forces set in the earth beneath, the walls arose, blottingout stars by the thousands, and steadily converging toward a commonmeeting point directly overhead. Then, for the first time, I knew thatthe Harpist of the Wood had awakened.

The unnatural stillness was disturbed by motion which became a breath ofmusic. I leaned forward involuntarily, my lips apart, my handsout-thrust from me in the attitude one unconsciously assumes whenlistening intently. From the thick darkness hundreds of feet below Icaught the first faint pianissimo notes from a million strings, allattuned by the unerring touch of Nature. In gentle waftures of sound thevast prelude arose, filling my soul with an eerie delight, and causingme to draw a deep, shuddering breath. Then I crept to the rim of thepeak and sat down, both humbled and exalted. Faintly now I sensed thereason of that imperious call to come up. Each succeeding measure struckby the invisible Harpist became louder, sweeter, and more stupendous. Itseemed as if all creation was one mighty instrument, and amyriad-fingered master was sweeping the throbbing strings. The cloudswere now a canopy without a rent. From a dozen points at once thelightning flashed and staggered and reeled in dazzling splendor acrossthe sable field. There were no terrific thunder crashes. But, like thepedal bass of a pipe organ, there was the ever present subduedreverberation like far-off guns fired in unison. Then the strength andskill of the Harpist increased simultaneously, and waves of barbaricmelody rushed upward. There was shriek and groan; there were livingvoices awfully mingled in one wild chorus, and in brief lulls tremblingtones as sweet as a mother's good-night song to her babe. Flute-like andfull of delicate color a cadenza breathing of sylvan joys rippled forth,and as its last bubbling notes yet fluttered like apple-blossoms ofsound against my ravished ears, they were drowned and whelmed by acrashing diapason of majestic harmony which rushed on wide wings overleagues and leagues of forest; a thundering gamut fearfully blended intoan oratorio inexpressibly sublime! Wild and shrill came a fife-like callfrom the west, whistling out of the gloom in a quivering cadence ofvictorious escape. Then it was blended with a multitudinous legion ofloosened chords, and dashed over me as a surging, resplendent sea ofmind-numbing melody.

So the oratorio advanced, and I sat enthralled.

The lightning increased. Not for the space of a single breath wasdarkness absolute. In the vivid flashes I could see the bendingtree-tops far below, and the tossing, swaying, writhing branches. Andever in my ears was the awful roll of that supernatural music; so full,so deep, so filling all the universe with its changing rhythm! There wassomething of the ocean's voice in it all, when the wind whips it tofury. I sat dazed, imperfectly comprehending what was passing, but awareall the time of a physical sensation of exquisite pleasure. Music hadalways wrought upon me thus, but before the presence of this new andstrange manifestation my sensibilities were quickened twentyfold. I didnot know till later that I was on the peak three hours. I would havesaid it was only a few minutes.

When all was over, and the strings of the Harp were still again, orvibrating only as an echo, I got on my feet, dizzy and weak. All wasdark. The lightning, too, had ceased. But as I turned my eyes upward, arent showed in the cloud canopy, and through this a blood-red meteorfell burning toward the earth. So I knew that the Maestro was pleasedwith the performance, and from the blooming fields above had cast down aflower in token of His favor.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

IN WHICH I SUFFER FOUR SHOCKS, THREE OF THE EARTH AND ONE FROM THE SKY,AND FIND ANOTHER MAID A-FISHING

Now that has come to pass of which I had a premonition the first time Isat on the top of old Baldy and hugged my knees. In consequence thereofI write to-night with my left wrist rudely bandaged, from a hurt I tookthis morning. The day has been full of adventure and surprise, and Ifind it difficult to harness my leaping brain as I start about my recordof events. Truly I have encountered enough to set my mind buzzing, andtwo long, full pipes since supper have failed to tranquilize and soothe.But the happenings of the day must be transcribed before I go to bed.

I went to the post-office soon after breakfast, to see if a reply hadcome from 'Crombie. A package and a letter awaited me. The thought cameto me to run on up the hill and inquire about Beryl Drane, but I didn't.I can't say why I didn't. But I merely asked the sloth-like storekeeperabout her instead, and learned from him that she was "putty peart," andwas up and about the house. When I passed the blacksmith shop I saw thedoor was open, but there was no one within. I started to ask thestorekeeper where Buck was, but refrained on second thought, and betookmyself up the railroad instead, intending to reach home by a circuitousroute. By this time I was fairly familiar with the lay of the country,and I had a natural longing for exploration anyway. Then, too, deep inthe bottom of my mind, I had laid a plan to come down the huge spur backof Lessie's house, and surprise her with a short visit.

I followed the railroad for perhaps a mile, made some calculations as todistance and location, then descended into a heavily wooded ravine andcontinued my way in a northeasterly course. I had never been in thispart of the knobs before, and I found the country more rugged, ifpossible, than that to which I was accustomed. As I proceeded, I closelyscanned the ground before me and on either side as far as my eyes wouldgo. I had scant hope of finding the life-plant here, because one of itsrequisites was sunshine, and the shade was so dense that I walked in asort of cool, green gloom, wonderfully attractive to the senses. Now andagain a sun-shaft would come trembling and swaying down, brightening thebrown forest floor with shining, shaking spots of pale yellow. But nogreen stemmed plant with golden leaves rose up from the mold to confrontme. I have begun to think my quest is almost as elusive as that for theHoly Grail, but, like Sir Launfal, I shall persevere.

I became engrossed in the natural beauty of the hollow I was traversing,and forgot my secret determination to go by Granny's house. After a timethe ravine opened and broadened into a little amphitheater, grass-set,jungle-like in its wildness. But few tall trees were here. Dozens ofsmaller ones grew on every side, and many of these were covered with theodorous green mantle of the wild grapevine. The birds had likewisesought out this spot, and the air was musical with chirp, and twitter,and song. I stopped to regale myself with Nature's prodigal loveliness,and as I drew a deep breath of satisfaction and appreciation I heardsomething which had come to my ears once before. A long-drawn bird note,shrill but sweet, and ending with a quick upward inflection. I startedguiltily, and knew that my whole body was a-tingle. Then I stared about,trying to locate the sound. Again I heard it, and again I thrilled.Straight ahead, beyond that bosky wall of herbage. Eagerly I startedforward, my pulse bounding. I reached the screening leaves and thrustout one hand to make a way, but a vagrant gust of wind at that momentformed a lane for my eyes, and the next instant I was staggering back,choking, muttering crazily, my face afire, my chest tight as thoughbound by constricting bands of steel. God above! Suppose I had crashedthrough, as I would have done a second later! With gritted teeth and seteyes I tiptoed away—away—anywhere, so that spot was left to Nature andto her!

She was there, bathing in a sheltered pool in the secluded heart of theeverlasting hills. My one swift glance had showed me the Dryad in herhaunts. The curling mass of her copper-gold hair she had piledregardlessly on top of her small, shapely head; she was almost entirelyimmersed; her back was toward me, and I saw only her head with itsbewildering crown, one ivory shoulder upthrust from the water, gleaminglike wet marble in the sunlight, and a naked, outheld arm whereon satthe tiny bird she had summoned. Small cause for wonder that I reeled,grew dizzy with the hard-pumped, hot blood which deluged my brain, andcrept like a thief from that hidden pool—crept crouching, with rigidface and bated breath. Dear Christ! How thankful I was that theprotecting water had covered her! Had it been otherwise; had myunwilling gaze dwelt upon her revealed beauty from head to foot, I thinkI could have taken my own life from shame. Certain it is I never againcould have looked into those honest Irish gray eyes. It was what mighthave been, rather than what was, which planted the volcano in my breast,and sent me trembling and quaking through the bird-sung silence of thatsecret, sacred glen. As I went, I heard a bubbling laugh, and the tinkleof falling water drops.

Now I was speedily destined to another shock, almost as great. How far Ihad gone I cannot say, but all at once I knew that I was looking downupon a plant about a foot in height, with green stem and yellow leaves.I halted as though turned to stone, but I did not think. I couldn'tthink. My mind refused its office, and in the face of what I took to bea momentous discovery, stood still. Almost simultaneously with myfinding this significant growth the third shock came, as important inits way as either of the other two, and far more ominous.

"Whut 'n' hell yo' doin' prowlin' 'roun' here?"

The voice was harsh and deep; indignation and rage ran through it.

The savage tones brought me to myself; they acted on my senses as abattery might on my flesh. I stood erect and threw my head up. The smithwas not a dozen steps away. Where he had come from, how he had gotthere, and why he was there I could not guess. He was dressed as I hadseen him at the forge on the occasion of my first visit to Hebron;plainly he had not come courting in that garb. One hand held a largeclub, in a position almost of menace. I brought a serious, determinedexpression to my face, and looked him squarely in the eyes. In thatmoment as we stood in silence, a darkness spread over the glen, and acool breath as from a summer storm cloud blew upon us; I saw it lift anddrop the brown hair on the forehead of the man facing me. He had me at adisadvantage. He had doubtless seen me coming from the direction of thepool, and weaker circ*mstantial evidence than this has condemned many aman. If he supposed for a moment that I had been spying upon the privacyof the girl he loved—and that this idea was in full possession of hismind I did not doubt—then mischief was brewing, and from hisstandpoint, justly so. Had our positions been reversed, had I seen himskulking away from that fringe of greenery, I doubt if I would havegiven him the chance he offered me. All this raced swiftly through mybrain in that short period following his hard question, and though myfirst feeling, a very human one, was of cold and haughty resentment, Iquelled this immediately as both dangerous and unjust, and decided tospeak him fairly and honestly. So I said:

"I might ask the same of you, Buck Steele."

I purposely pitched my voice low. Not that I feared she would hear it,for I realized the pool must be out of earshot from where we stood, butthere is a certain low tone which permits of modulation and inflectioncarrying greater convincing power than when spoken in a higher key. Ipaused only long enough to take breath after my first sentence, thenresumed.

"It's none of your business what I am doing here, but I am going to tellyou, because, in a way, you have a right to know."

There flashed upon me the thought that I must play for time. If Lessiehad not left the pool she would leave soon, for a storm impended. Inwhat direction she would go to reach home I had no notion. She mightcome straight down the glen where we were. In any event, if blows wereto be struck, and in my heart I believed they would come before weparted, it would be better if the girl was not in the neighborhood. Thistrain of reasoning came and passed without interrupting my flow ofspeech.

"It's not my fault we're not friends. I came to these knobs a totalstranger, intending to treat everybody right. But when I spoke to you inHebron, you turned your back on me. Why did you do that? I know why, andin a measure I forgive it. But it was not a manly thing to do. I'm goingto talk plainly to you, Buck. I'm glad of this chance to have it outright here in the woods. But before we go any further tell methis—what's that thing?"

I pointed at the plant before me.

My audacity stupefied him. He blinked at me with scowling forehead—atme and at the plant—probably deeming me crazy.

"I mean it," I insisted; "I'm not fooling with you. Tell me what thatthing is, if you know, and then I'll tell you what I'm doing out here inthe wilderness."

"That's a May apple," he said, suddenly and reluctantly.

"May apple!" I gasped, my high hopes shattered and gone. "I didn't know;I'm obliged to you."

Then I told him the object of my stay in the hills, not sparing words toprolong my story, and ended by asking him if he had ever seen thelife-plant, ever heard of it, or ever heard of anybody that had heard ofit. He shook his head to each question, then said, emphatically:

"They ain't no sich thing!"

I knew that the Dryad was safe and away by this time, so now I came backto the topic of the moment. Indeed, the smith had listened to my speechwith ever increasing restlessness. I think he suspected I was trying todelay my explanation, but I doubt if he guessed the true reason for it.

"You asked me at the beginning what I was doing here, and I'm going totell you, and tell you the truth; mind you that—the truth. I'venever told a lie since I was old enough to know how base a thing itwas." I took two steps toward him. "You suspect me, Buck Steele, of thelowest, most contemptible, hell-born, dastardly trick one who callshimself a man could commit. I'm not going to put it into words, becauseit's too damnably vile!"

The smith began to move forward as I spoke; short, hurried steps, likeone takes when about to spring. But whatever his impulse he checkedhimself, and waited, his broad chest heaving in troubled breaths, hisface contorted, his eyes veined and bulging. I knew that I fronted adeadly peril. I knew the man was surely insane that moment; that reason,argument or logic could find no place in his perceptions. He had graspedthe idea that I had knowingly and willingly violated the sanctity ofthis secret place, and nothing that I could say would sweep thatillusion from his disordered brain. He saw red. The blood-lust was onhim in all its primal force; in every lineament of his twistedcountenance was written the word—"kill."

A strong gust of wind tore down the glen, shuddering among the murmuringleaves, and with its coming the gloom deepened. The shape before meassumed a more formidable aspect in the lessened light, but I felt nofear. I thought of my revolver—and was ashamed. Still it might serve apurpose. It might help bring this madman to his senses. I drew itquickly from my pocket, and holding it out in the palm of my hand, said:

"I could kill you, man; I could shoot you down, and no one would everguess I did it. You're bent on trouble; you're prepared not to believeanything I say. But for this revolver I am unarmed. I am not going totake an unfair advantage of you. See?" I broke the weapon, emptied itschambers, then put the cartridges and revolver in separate pockets.

The act had no apparent effect. It may be the look of ferocity deepened;certainly there was no recognition of my attempt to place our relationsupon an equal basis. Now I knew that nothing short of physical violencewould bring about a reaction to sanity, and for an instant I hesitated.The temptation to evade the whole truth assailed me wickedly. Somethingwithin told me that I could not cope with this giant in a personalencounter; that death or disablement awaited the revelation I wascontemplating. The something which gave this warning also suggested theremedy—the lie whereby I might pass Buck Steele with a whole skin andan outraged conscience. I believe I wavered. I believe that for theshortest time I came near to yielding, then my manhood asserted itselfin a swift rush, before Buck's words stung my blood hot.

"Go on, yo' damn sneak'n' fox!—Whur'd yo' ben w'en I seenyo'?—Whur?—Whur?"

I stripped off my coat as I answered, for I knew there was work ahead.And Buck laughed as I cast the garment aside; a hoarse, growling laughin which dwelt no note of mirth. It was simply an indication that he waspleased with the meaning of the act; that the pagan desire to give andtake blows which possessed him would be satisfied.

"I'm going to tell you. I went to Hebron this morning, and started homeby the railroad. I don't know this country as well as you, and as I wasmaking my way back toward Lessie's house—for I wanted to have a wordwith her—I stumbled into this place."

A malevolent grin of disbelief greeted this speech. The fellow'sinsolence nettled me, but I went on.

"I heard a bird-call which I knew—which I had heard her give before. Iwent to look for her. I came to the line of bushes which fringe thepool; I was preparing to pass through them in my search for her, whenthe wind blew the leaves aside and I saw——"

With a roar like a wounded bull he was on me. He had been holdinghimself back for this confession. Too late I realized that I hadblundered. I might have approached the denouement more circ*mspectly; Imight have prepared him for things as they actually had been, instead ofallowing him, by my extreme candor, to suppose that matters were worsethan they really were. He swung his club as he rushed, and it hissedabove me. I crouched and leaped aside, striking up blindly with all mymight. I had flung my left arm out to balance myself, and the descendingclub caught my wrist a slanting blow. I am sure now it scarcely morethan touched it, but an arrow of acute pain shot through my entire arm.The bludgeon hit the earth with a force which splintered it into a dozenpieces, and Buck wheeled more than half around, for my fist had foundhis ribs. Even as he turned with a harsh, bellowing, wordless oath, Iwas at him. I thrust deliberately, coolly, but with all my concentratedpower, aiming over his shoulder at his neck. He saw the stroke coming,but, in the attitude where my former blow had forced him he could parrybut ineffectually. His shoulder went up, off and over it my fist slidand with all the weight of my body behind it caught him on the ear. Thenback he staggered, his windmill arms waving hugely, aimlessly, his kneeswobbling, his feet slithering uncertainly over the short grass. Back andback he went, seeming to try to stop, but couldn't, till fifteen pacesmust have separated us. I did not follow him, though I suppose I shouldhave done so. I think I was a trifle dazed at my success, and thespectacle of the great body of the smith moving crazily backward withwide arms threshing the air over his head, must have unconsciouslyserved as a check for any further assault.

When nearly a score of yards lay between us Buck came to himself. Hisarms dropped, he shook his shoulders, felt his damaged ear, now coveredwith blood,—and saw me. Instantly he made ready to rush me. Hepossessed to the full that instinct held by all fighting animals whichdoes not allow them to give up. As long as he could stand on his feet hewould do battle. I squared myself and awaited his onslaught. Mytemporary advantage had not deceived me. I knew too well that chance hada hand in the operations just concluded, and that if I ultimatelysucceeded in whipping Buck Steele it would be a miraculous happening. Isaw him bend his body to advance, then earth and sky and air becameblended in one burning, blinding, deafening, fiery chaos. My eardrumsvibrated under a volume of sound such as I would not have deemedpossible; a white sword of dazzling brightness was laid across my eyes,searing the balls and scattering a myriad colored sparks dancing andricocheting through my brain. Vaguely I seemed to see an oak tree backof Buck slough its bark as a snake does its skin—shake it out and awayfrom its white trunk; saw it rip off its own limbs and cast them down;saw it take its leaves by vast bunches, strip them from their hold, andscatter them abroad like feathers. Accompanying this phenomenon I saw myenemy sink down in his tracks. It all happened within the fractionalpart of a second, for on the heels of the crash and the awful light, agreat blackness and silence settled over me.

I awoke with a quivering, indrawn breath, and knew that the little fistsof a heavy rain were pounding me in the face. Slowly my mind grasped thesituation. Struggling to my hands and knees, my arms trembling under myweight, I looked at Buck. He lay perfectly still. He had been muchnearer the tree which had received the bolt than I, and the fear that hewas dead took hold of me. Painfully I dragged myself toward him over thewet grass, my head buzzing and swimming, and throbbing with queer,unnatural pains. I reached his side and grasped his wrist, sliding thetips of my fingers back of the small bone where the pulse manifestsitself. I held my breath in fear, at once conscious of no perceptiblemovement. A few moments longer I waited, but the signal of life failedto come. Then I firmly seized the shirt where it opened at the neck, andripped off the remaining buttons with a quick jerk. A big, deep chest,covered with black hair, was revealed. I know a moan came from me as Idrew my body over his, and fell across him with my ear pressed to hisheart. As I lay the pounding rain revived me more and more, thethrumming in my head ceased, and then, muffled, weak, but real, I heardthe feeble beating of the engine of life. There was nothing I could dofor him, but I sat there and waited his return to consciousness, knowingthat it would be wrong to leave him absolutely helpless. My strengthcame back momentarily, and when Buck began to stir I was capable ofstanding erect. So presently I went away, realizing that his ironconstitution would quickly right him.

I did not have the heart to get dinner, but ate what cold stuff I couldfind, then went to the seat under the tall pine, and thought. I was notscared. Fright did not enter into my feelings in the smallest way,although, when I reviewed the incident, I was confident Buck would haveworsted me had it not been for the unexpected and startlingintervention. He was unquestionably the stronger man, and had I defeatedhim, it would have been due to my skill in fisticuffs. I was not astranger to the science of the ring, while abhorring prize-fighting. Ibelieve it every man's duty to himself and those he loves to equiphimself physically for life's battles. So I had trained, and kept myselfin training. But the smith had been transformed into a raging demon of aman; his great natural power had been doubled, quadrupled, and had hisclutching hands once found me I would have fared as Carver Doone faredat the hands of John Ridd.

I was sick at heart because of what these things which had justtranspired foretold. Would Buck voice his hellish belief in mypoltroonery to Lessie? A shiver shook me at the thought; it seemed as ifa thousand-legged worm with feet of ice was laid along my spine. Then myneck and face burned, and my throat grew tight, so that my breath camehard. What ailed me? Never before had such a sensation possessed me. Whydid it matter so very greatly what Buck told? I knew that I was entirelyinnocent of any wrong—what else mattered? I know the good opinion ofour fellow creatures is worth striving for and maintaining, but whyshould I be so concerned as to what these hill people thought of me? Afew months more and I would be gone, would never see them again in allmy life. Why—then suddenly, in the midst of my reflections the Dryad'sface swam before my mind, and I saw it as it would look when Buck,crudely but earnestly, told her what he believed to be true. I saw theexpression on her face when she heard the hateful words; the swift,responsive blood bathing her cheeks into red peonies—the terror andshame in her eyes—the anguish of betrayed faith—and in that moment Iknew that I cared more for what Buck should say to Lessie than foranything else in all the world. I got up, breathing fast, and looked outover the great valley of billowing trees. In former days this sight hada magical effect; it brought a sweet calm and content. This afternoon Idid not feel the response to which I was accustomed. Instead, I knewthat war was in my breast, and that every passing moment loosened alurking devil with a shape of fear. Peace cannot come from without whenthere is strife within. Had Buck already told her? I found myselfwondering. Had he gone direct to her after he recovered, and poured outthe poisoned tale? He would do it, I felt assured. His passion hadreached a stage which not only suggested, but declared this course, andhe, rough, untrained, with no restraining leash of civilization andrefinement to hold him back, would make instant capital of his supposeddiscovery to further his wooing. If I could see her first—

Down my hill of refuge I tore, bareheaded, coatless. Along the familiarroute I ran, to Dyrad's Glade, to the creek which flowed south, to thetree spanning the creek. Midway across the tree sat the object of myquest, fishing. A pool of some depth spread out beneath her, and hereher hook was cast. Her rod was a slender hickory pole, while a rusty tincan at her side held her bait—the fishing-worms of our boyhood. As Iappeared she drew up and at once became engaged in impaling a fat baiton the hook. With the greatest nonchalance she drew the wriggling thingover the barb, and sighted me just as the operation was concluded. Shesmiled, and the relief wave which swept over me threatened to inundateme root and branch. By this I knew I had reached her first. Then, as Iclimbed eagerly up, she deliberately pursed her lips and spat on thatworm!

"Hello!" she said, and cast her line.

I did not say hello, nor anything else for a time—for an appreciabletime. I felt foolish; light-headed, light-footed, light all over.Something inside my breast seemed spreading and spreading, and I wantedto sing—to shout insanely. This most candid confession will probablyarouse grave suspicions in the mind of the reader, but that is so muchin favor of a narrative which always sticks closely to the truth. Had Iintended to practice any deception, just here is where I would havebegun, for I realize, after writing the above, that I am laying myselfliable to almost any charge one would care to bring along the line ofgeneral idiocy. Just why the ordinary sight of a girl on a logfishing—a back country girl at that—should make a man of the world whohas long since left the adolescent stage behind feel like singing anddancing and yelling, is beyond my ability to explain. Let him who readsdraw his own conclusions.

"You did that for luck, didn't you?" I asked, when I was seated tailorfashion beside her. It had been a boyhood belief of mine; I had simplyoutgrown it. She was still primitive.

She nodded, and put a finger on her lips, turning to me wide eyes ofwarning. She evidently harbored the other belief that fish won't bite ifyou talk. I turned to her cork—an old bottle stopper—and saw that itwas bobbing; short little ducks sideways which suggested a minnow to me.But the Dryad was all engrossed with the prospects, and watched thestopper's movements intently. Presently it went under in a slantingsweep, and the pole came up promptly and vigorously. A sun perch thesize of a small leaf glinted and leaped at the end of the line.Dexterously the girl swung her prize within reach, skilfully removed thehook from its hold in a gill, and dropped her catch in a tin milk bucketat her other side.

"I tol' you!" she said, triumphantly, referring to her treatment of theworm before committing it to the stream.

At once her tapering fingers began burrowing in the dirt which halffilled the can, in search of more bait.

"Hold on, Dryad!" I whispered. "Let up on fishing a few minutes, unlessyou'll allow me to talk, too. I've something to tell you. Don't you knowit seems an age since I saw you last?"

"I tol' you not to come no more," she said, eyeing me closely to see theeffect of her words.

"But you didn't believe I would stay away!" I retorted, and her faceinstantly lighted with laughter. "You rogue!" I went on; "I have stayedlonger than I should as it is."

One of the quick transitions which marked her now took place, and in atwinkling she was serious, and her eyes grew darker, as still waterchanges when a cloud hides the sun.

"If Buck sees you here there'll be trouble; you'd better 'a' kep' toBaldy."

"Buck saw me to-day, and there was trouble," I answered. "Now let metell you all about it."

How frightened she was, although I endeavored to speak in amatter-of-fact way. She regarded me as though she found it difficult tobelieve that I really existed after "trouble" with Buck, and her faceturned white, leaving her freckles oddly prominent. Her pole dipped,too, so that its further end went under the water. So she sat, her handsin her lap, her feet with the ugly, shapeless little shoes swinging, andlistened to my story. I told it with absolute truthfulness, but verycarefully, even condoning Buck's jealous frenzy. She remained very stillwhile I was talking, but when I came to the place where I hadinadvertently glimpsed her in the pool she dropped her head with ashort, shuddering gasp, and grew crimson. I, too, looked away then, andtried to tell her how sorry I was of the incident, at the same timeendeavoring to make it plain that I was the victim of an accident. I didnot dwell upon the situation, but soon hurried on to my encounter withthe smith.

"I wanted you to hear just how it was," I ended; "because Buck will tellyou another story. You believe me, don't you, Dryad; and we are goodfriends still, aren't we?"

I did not get an immediate reply. Her head remained sunk, and I couldnot see much of her face. The portion which I saw was still flushed, butnot violently. I waited, knowing that I had stated my case as well as Icould, and believing that further argument would be dangerous. The spotwhere we sat was the natural abode of silence. Now I could hear only thegentle breath of the low wind rustling the leaves, the musical gurgle ofwater, and the sweet song of a thrush hidden in the foliage to my left.I grew restless as the silence continued: apprehensions arose, and thesinister form of fear cast its shadow over my heart. Was she offendedpast forgiveness? Had Fate prepared this trap for me to rob me of—whatwas I thinking? What was this girl to me that I should wait her nextwords with set teeth and softly drawn breath? That I should now beholdthe wonder of her hair and the marvel of her face with inward quaking,fearing that they might depart from me forever? That the echo of hervoice became a mocking, maddening refrain to my consciousness, and thesorcery of her simple presence made my brain swim? This waif of thewoods; this fragment from one of the lower stratas of civilization; thishalf wild, ignorant, nameless, plebeian creature—what was she to chillmy blood with the dread thought that from this meeting we went asstrangers? I cannot answer. Leave the solution to biologist orsociologist. I only know the fact as it existed. I had rather have seenthose gray eyes flashed upon me in perfect trust that moment than tohave seen the sun rise the next morning!

What was she thinking? No movement, no sound, no sign. Like an imagefashioned of flame and snow and draped with a moss-green garment, thereshe sat by my side, so close—so close. Then I knew something of whatTantalus felt when the cool water arose just beneath his cracked andburning lips, and receded as he bent to drink. So close I could havedrawn her to me with a sweep of my arm, but mute and changeless asthough made of stone.

Presently I could stand it no longer. I placed my palms upon the tree oneither side of me, and leaned forward.

"Dyrad—Lessie—little girl! For God's sake—speak!"

Then came the miracle.

Again she started, as from a revery rudely interrupted. Her head waslifted quickly, gladly, and her big moist eyes gazed into mine glowingwith tender faith. I know the dawn of an eternal Day will never thrillme as did this. I drew my face closer to hers.

"Then you—do forgive? Why were you silent so long, Dryad?"

"I's thinkin' 'bout—if Buck—ur th' light'n'—had killed you!"

"Who-a-a-a—Lessie! Who-a-a-a—Lessie! Whur air yo'?"

We jumped, and a revulsion of feeling which came near to suffocating meswelled in my throat. Granf'er was coming down the winding path from thehouse. He had a brown jug in one hand. He had halted to give his hail,and an instant later Lessie was on her feet, waving her sunbonnet andsending back a lusty yell.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

IN WHICH YET A FIFTH SHOCK ARRIVES, AND ROUNDS OUT THE DAY

This certainly has been a big day, the first one which has required twochapters of my story. I could have put it all in one, it is true, but Ibelieve there exists a general preference for frequent "stoppingplaces," and I shall defer to this opinion, partly, perhaps, because Iheartily endorse it myself. Granf'er sighted Lessie at once, brought hisjug up and down twice at arm's length by way of recognition, and resumedhis way with the shuffling, elbow-lifting gait which usually attaches tomen advanced in years when in a hurry.

How straight the girl's young body was! Uncorseted though I knew shemust be, the lines of her figure conformed to the demands of physicalbeauty. From her naturally slender waist, belted only with the band madein her one piece frock, her back tapered up to shoulders which wereshapely even under the poorly fitting dress. Her head, held more thanordinarily high now, as she watched Granf'er, was nobly poised on afirm, round neck, which I am most happy to record was not at allswan-like. I should like to add, in passing, that I have never seen agirl with a swan-like neck. If such exist, their natural place is in adime museum, or a zoo. Such a monstrosity would, from the nature of heraffliction, look like either a snake or a goose, neither of which havecome down in humanity's annals as types of beauty. I must say it to thecredit of most moderns, however, that the swan-necked lady is seldomparaded for us to admire. There were no crooks or loops in the Dryad'sneck. Like a section of column it was; smooth, perfect, swelling tobreast and shoulder.

I clambered to my feet behind her, cursing mentally the harmless,hospitable, doddering old fellow approaching, and singing a pæan ofrejoicing in my soul at the same time. Such things can be. The breezefreshened, and began sporting with the dazzling, home-made coiffure onthe Dryad's head. She had not loosened it since she came from her bath,and that is why I saw so plainly the classic outlines of her head andthroat. The madcap wind caught her dress, too, as she stood exposed toits sweep down the ravine, and cunningly smoothed it over her hip andthigh; tightly, snugly smoothed it, then took the fullness remaining andflapped and shook it out like a flag. So I knew, again through no faultof mine, that this girl who had never even heard of a modiste—of herskill to make limb or bust to order—had grown up with a form whichAphrodite might have owned. She did not know the breeze had played atrick upon her; or knowing, thought nothing of it. The seeds of ourgrosser nature sprout more readily in the hotbed of a drawing-room of"cultured" society, than in the windsweet, sun-disinfected acres of theout-of-doors.

She spoke.

"Granny's picklin' to-day. She's run out o' vinegar 'n' has sentGranf'er to fin' me to go to town 'n' git some more."

"Let me go with you!" I urged.

"No," she answered, promptly; "'t wouldn't do. Don't you see?"

"I see what's in your mind," I replied, knowing that she was thinking Iwould likely meet the smith again; "but I should be glad to go anyway."

"No; you mus' stay here."

Firmly she said it, and my saner judgment told me she was right. Itwould have been a fool's errand for me to undertake.

"I know it is best," I assented reluctantly, "but why did Granny haveto run out of vinegar this afternoon?"

Lessie threw me an amused glance over her shoulder, burst into a peal oflaughter, and began waving her pole over her head in wide circles,taking this method to wind her line. When this was in place, she graspedthe hook between finger and thumb, and imbedded it in the stopper.

"You bring th' fish 'n' th' bait," she said, and ran along the tree,sure-footed and nimble as a squirrel.

I picked up the can and bucket and followed. I looked at her catch as Iwent, and saw that it represented some half-dozen minnows only. Granf'erwas waiting for us in the road. He had already transferred the jug toLessie and given her instructions when I came up and cordially shookhands.

"How are you getting along?" was my greeting, as I wisely smothered theimpatience I felt.

"Oh! fust rate;—'cep'n' th' ketch."

He put his left hand to his side and drew a wheezy breath.

Lessie gave her fishing-pole into Granf'er's care, smiled a farewell andstarted toward Hebron. It wrenched me for her to begin that lovely walkalone. She was twenty steps away when the old man suddenly turned.

"Don't go trapes'n' in th' woods fur flow'rs 'n' sich! Granny's wait'n'fur that air vinegyar!"

She waved her hand as a sign that she heard, but made no reply.

"A quare gal!" mused Granf'er, beginning to delve in his trousers pocketfor his twist. "Fust 'n' las', they ain't no onderstand'n' 'er. Shewashes in th' woods lak a wil' Injun 'n' plays 'ith th' birds 'n' th'beastes. Oncommin quare, by gosh!"

He opened his mouth and allowed to roll therefrom his chewed-out quid,ran his crooked and cracked forefinger around his gums to dislodge anyparticle of the leaf which might still remain in hiding, and tookanother chew.

"But she is a most attractive young lady, nevertheless," I ventured,tentatively, putting one hand in my pocket for my pipe and holding theother out in dumb request. I remembered the guest-rite of my firstvisit, and shrewdly suspected this move of mine would please the oldman. It did.

"Lak it, don't ye?" he grinned, his wrinkled face lighting with pleasureas he eagerly thrust the tobacco into my palm. "Light Burley 't is, 'n'skace 's' hen's teeth. Mos' craps plum' failed las' year, but I growed aplenty fur you 'n' me—yes, fur you 'n' me!"

The expression tickled him into a creaky, croaky sort of laugh.

"It's good stuff, Granf'er," I agreed, compromising with my conscienceby supposing that it was good to chew, although to smoke, it bit mytongue abominably and had a green flavor. "I've been intending to comeback to see you and Granny and Lessie ever since I was here last, butone thing and another has prevented. I hope you are all well?"

I turned toward the path and moved forward a few steps, as thoughassuming we would now go on up to the house. But Gran'fer's thoughts didnot run with mine.

"Well? Yes; that is to say, tol'ble." His manner was somewhat excited."Granny, y' know, 's pickl'n' to-day, 'n' w'en she's pickl'n' she'sturble busy, 'n' turble—turble techous.... Fine terbacker, ain't it?"as he saw the pale blue smoke beginning to come from my lips. "Yes,we're putty well, but Granny's ben kind o' contrairy these fo' dayspas', 'n' bein' she's pickl'n' I 'low you 'n' me 'd jes' as well setdown right here 'n' hev our chat."

He tried to speak in an ordinary way, but simulation did not abide inhis honest, open soul, and I knew he felt he was breaking hospitality'srules in suggesting that we remain away from the house. The thoughtworried him, and he could not hide it.

"All right!" I answered, heartily, donning the hypocrite's cloak withperfect ease. (This is one of the advantages of our ultra civilizedstate.) "Women are different from men, anyhow, and take notions andideas which we have to humor. And some people are so constituted bynature that they must be let alone when they are busy."

"Yes! Yes! That's it! Notions 'n' idees!" Gran'fer eagerly approved. "Idon't see how yo' kin know so much 'bout wimmin if yo' 've never benmarried.... Notions 'n' idees!" He chuckled with a dry sort of rattlingsound, rubbed his leg, and thumped the ground with the butt of theDryad's fishing-pole. "By gosh! Notions 'n' idees!" he repeated, for thethird time, his eyes narrowed and his face broadened in a fixedexpression of unalloyed pleasure.

"Suppose we sit on the big rock here?" I said, with a gesture toward theimmense stone which formed the tip of the Point.

I walked out upon it as I spoke, and the old fellow dragged after,doubtless still caressing in his mind that chance phrase which hadcaught his fancy. The stone was a dozen yards across, and its creek sidearose perpendicularly from the water, its top being five feet or morefrom the stream's surface. Here we sat, hanging our legs over as boyswould. I smoked, and Gran'fer chewed. He really didn't chew much,because I am sure he was inherently opposed to the slightest exertionwhich was unnecessary, but now and then he would defile the limpidpurity below, a fact which convinced me he was enjoying his marveloustobacco far more than I was.

"Wimmin is curi's," began Gran'fer, when we had arranged ourselvescomfortably. He twirled his stubby, funny looking thumbs contentedly andleisurely. The end of each was overhung with a remarkable length ofnail, black and thick. "I s'pose they's nec'sary ur th' Lord wouldn't'a' put 'em here, but it's a plum' fac' they's no read'n' 'em, 'n' notell'n' whut they gunta do. S'firy 'n' me, come November twinty-fust,nex', hev ben married forty-two year. Right there in Hebrin wuz wemarried, forty-two year ago come November twinty-fust, nex'. At th'Cath'lic chu'ch on th' hill, th' same whut's now Father John's. Hewuzn't here them days. 'Nother pries' married us. S'firy's a Cath'lic'n' I wus n't nothin', but I wuz bornd o' Prot'st'nt parints. 'N' I madeth' fust mistake right there. Onless two people hev th' same b'lief,they oughtn't to jine in wedlock, 'cus trouble's comin' shore 's sin."

He took off his worn, soiled, and shapeless straw hat to scratch hishead.

"I suspect you are entirely right about that. I know of a number ofunhappy marriages for that reason."

Gran'fer grunted, twice.

"S'firy's a buxom gal, ez th' sayin' goes," he continued, reminiscently."Purties' gal hereabout she wuz, ef I do say it, but they's allus fireon her tongue. Jes' lak a patch o' powder her min' wuz, 'n' th' leas'thin' 'd set it off. 'Tain't in th' natur o' young people to look ahead,ur I never 'd 'a' tried life with S'firy. A young feller in love is th'out 'n' out damndes' fool on airth. I'se sich.... I couldn't stan' ag'in'er."

He shook his head slowly, and fell to combing his straggling fringe ofwhiskers with his bent fingers.

I did not reply. I was not much interested in the old man's recital. Ihad guessed already practically all that he was telling me. My mind wasfull of other things; my thoughts were back on the Hebron road,following the footsteps of the girl with the jug.

"I fit, though; I fit to be boss o' my own house,"—the querulous,cracked voice broke in upon my reflections. "See here?" He drew his palmdown over his long, shaven upper lip, and looked at me craftily with hislittle blue eyes. "I knowed a man onct, in them days, whut wore hisbeard jes' that way, 'n' he's the w'eelhoss o' the fam'ly. Th' wimminwuz skeered uv 'im es a chick'n is uv a hawk. Whut he said they done,'n' done 'ithout argyment. 'N' I took th' notion that if I shaved mylip, too, 'n' looked kind o' fierce 'n' hard lak, that I c'd manageS'firy. So one mornin' I gits my razor 'n' fixes that lip, 'n' w'en Isaw myseff I felt I c'd boss anybody, I looked that mean. So in I comesto S'firy, 'n' tol' 'er, kind o' brash, that I wanted sich 'n' sich athin' done, 'n' kind o' squared myseff 'n' put my han's on my hipj'ints, same 's I saw that other feller do, y' know.... Chris' Jesus!...Whut happ'n'd? 'S ben a long time ago 'n' I can't ricollec' all th'doin's. But she called me a babboon fust, 'n' then she lit into me....Well, I kep' on shavin' my lip, 'cus I 'proved o' th' style, but Ididn't order S'firy no more, bein' 's I'm nat'rly a man o' peace."

"How many children did you have, Gran'fer?" I asked, presently.

"Jes' two. Th' fust 'n' wuz a boy whut died o' fits w'en he 's two weeksol'. Th' nex' 'n' wuz Ar'minty, Lessie's mammy. She died w'en Lessie 'sskacely more 'n a baby."

"What was the matter with her?" I asked.

Quick as a flash Gran'fer turned on me, an expression of alarm and angermingled showing on his face. What had I done? Surely my question wassimple and natural enough. He saw my surprise and astonishment, and hisfeelings softened instantly.

"She jes' pined 'way lak," he replied, dropping his eyes and smoothingthe back of one hand with the palm of the other. "Didn't hev no fevers,nur nothin'. Jes' drooped, lak a tomater plant does w'en it's fust sotout 'n' don't git no rain. Got weaker 'n' weaker. Wouldn't eat nothin'.Didn't try to live. Couldn't do nothin' with 'er. So she jes' wilted up'n' died, lak a tomater plant in th' sun.... Ar'minty."

The plain, brief recital stirred me, and awoke within me a wonderinginterest. Gran'fer's head was low now, so low that the hair on his chinspread out fanlike over his faded, checked shirt. His hand had ceasedits caressing movement, and lay above the other. I could see that eachhad a slight palsied motion. The little bent figure at my side struck meas infinitely pathetic just then. Dull indeed must I have been not tohave sensed the shadow of some dire tragedy occurring in the years hehad mentioned. For a number of days past vague imaginings and sundryconjectures had come to vex my mind with their unsatisfying presence. Ihad known for some time that Lessie was not all she seemed, and now,this moment, I stood on the borderland of enlightenment. Unfamiliarthrills shot through me, flame tipped and eager. My heart pounded oddly,and my eyelids were hot against the balls. Instantly a thought hadsprung full-born into existence, and it was the acceptance of thisthought which sent that tingling, vibrating current shooting throughoutmy entire being. Where did Lessie get her refined features? Where theinstinct to care scrupulously for her person? Where that mute, painfullonging for something she could not name? From generation aftergeneration of ox-minded hill folk? Impossible! From them came herwonderful simplicity, her extreme naturalness, her kinship with the wildplaces and the things which dwelt there. But—I felt now as if a forcepump was connected with my chest, and that any moment it might burstasunder. Dare I ask Gran'fer? Dare I, almost a total stranger, intrudehere, and seek to pry behind the veil these old people had drawn betweentheir grandchild and the world? I resolved to make the effort, but withgreat caution, feeling my way with carefully chosen words. I did notwant to offend, but the desire to know the truth about the Dryad was allbut overpowering. It was not vulgar, idle curiosity. For I knew thedeeps were stirred; that underlying all else was the strange, fullthrobbing of a new force.

So I put a hand on the old man's sagging shoulder in friendly way, andsaid, speaking softly—

"And is Lessie's father—"

I got no further.

It was as though I had put him in contact with a live wire. His droopingbody straightened, his boot heels clicked against the face of the stone,and his stiffened arms shot over his head.

"Damn 'im! Damn 'im! Damn 'im!" he exclaimed shrilly, each expletivemore forceful than the one which went before. He tossed his clenchedfists skyward, and followed such a lurid stream of malediction, inconsideration of some lily-minded reader, I will not set it down. I wasalmost alarmed at the storm my luckless speech had loosened; it seemedfor a short time as if Gran'fer would really go into a spasm. His lipcurled back brute-like till his teeth showed, while his face wasgrooved, seamed and twisted uglily. The evil memories which gripped himtore him roughly for several moments, and then his passion was spent,leaving him with eyes red and blazing, chest heaving and arms trembling.I learned nothing from his volcanic, torrential downpour of curses whichin any way lightened the mystery I was burning to solve. It was merely ameaningless jumble of heated invective, delivered with deadlyearnestness and the most emphatic inflections.

At first I was dumb. His violence came on him so suddenly and quickly.From the little I had seen of him I had set him down as a rather meekcharacter, what manhood he may formerly have had henpecked out of him;an entity, forsooth, but nothing more. When the shock had passed I didnot essay to soothe him. My judgment told me this would not have beenwise. There are some people, especially rural ones and others of noeducation, who will not take soothing. In fact, it acts as oil, ratherthan water, to flames. I believed Gran'fer to be of this sort, and whileI had no doubt his rage was both righteous and genuine, I let it wearout before I spoke again.

"I beg your pardon, sir; but I did not know."

He swallowed twice; I could see his hairy Adam's apple rise and fall.

"We don't—talk 'bout him. 'N'—yo' mustn't ast!"

The tones were trembling and weak now, but there was dignity in them. Afeeling of true respect came to me for Gran'fer. There was somethingsterling in him. A man may crawl on his belly before a sharp-tonguedshrew, and yet hold that within him which will arise at the command ofnecessity; stunned and brow-beaten worth quickened by chance,opportunity, or need.

Now there surged within me another wish—a wild desire to know one otherthing. It would harm no one to tell me, and to me it meant much.

"Gran'fer," I said; "I'm your friend—your true friend. Perhaps I shouldput it that I am Lessie's friend. I apologize for what I said; I didn'tintend any harm. I promise not to mention the subject again to you. ButI pray that you will tell me this—does Lessie know—know about herfather—who he was—and all?"

I waited for his answer, trembling inwardly. He seemed to be thinking.The cloud had come again to his face, and he began cracking hisknuckles, a succession of vicious little snaps. Then one word burst fromhim, hard as a pellet of lead.

"No!"

"Thank you," I said.

Then there fell a silence between us. Gran'fer's mind was back in thepast, and I was groping blindly in the mists of wonder and supposition.There was a reason, then, for the complex, warring nature of the Dryad.How I longed to know the whole truth! But I could go no further here. Itwas a painful subject, a guarded secret to the old man sitting humpedover by my side, and for the time I must hold my curiosity in check. Therevelation would come. I was determined to learn the story, one way oranother, though from what source I could not remotely guess.

Gran'fer's customary garrulity had deserted him; he even forgot to spitin the water. When my pipe burned out I did not refill. I know both ofus were oppressed, were quieted by the thought of this great wrong whichhad been inflicted nearly a score of years ago. So the creeping shadowscame upon us, and beyond the high western spur the sky glowed salmon,and gold, and mauve. I heard a screech-owl's sudden chatter, and a crazybat wheeled in a wide curve just in front of us. The surface of thecreek grew leaden hued, and the mighty Harp of the Ancient Wood thrilledgently in response to the low twilight breeze. Gran'fer stirred, and gotstiffly to his feet. I did the same. Somehow I felt awed. Out herecreation seemed so immense, so recent, that it was hard to believe thetrail of the serpent had passed over this spot, too. We turned insilence and went back to the road.

From down Hebron way came the sound of singing. Not blatantly loud andshrill, but very mellow and rich-toned. It was a woman's voice. A changehad come over me, and I did not want to meet her again just then. Shewould have marked the difference. I turned and held out my hand.Gran'fer took it and gave it a mighty squeeze. His eyes were wet, andhis face looked pained. As I came down the ladder at the other end ofthe bridge I glanced across at him. He was standing where I left him,gazing down the road up which the girl was coming, with that song oflight-hearted, carefree youth upon her lips.

I moved away, quickly.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

IN WHICH THE HISTORIAN UNBLUSHINGLY SHOWS HIMSELF TO BE A HUMAN

I have spent all of this day on the bench under the lone pine.

Last night when I came away from Lizard Point without waiting forLessie, I knew that I loved her. That was why I did not stay. I havesensed the coming of this affection for some time, and I have not set itdown before because I wanted to be sure. To-night I am sure. Last nightI was sure, but I wanted a little time in which to analyze this feeling,and be positive of it. My sleep was peculiarly sweet and peaceful afterthe day of trial. I do not know that I dreamed, but soothing waves ofrest permeated me entirely, and a number of times I was conscious justenough to know that this unusual sensation possessed me. To-day I havenot touched a book—the first day in years! Think of it. Was not thatalone a portent? I got breakfast mechanically. The kitchen utensilslooked almost strange, and I would pick up a dish and turn it over, andview it as though I had never seen such a thing befor. Queer, wasn't it?I wonder if any other man in his senses has acted this way. If he has, Iventure to declare he wouldn't set it down for the world to read. Butwhy not? We are all children, playing our little games, which are thesame world-old games in different hands. And so, when I stopped andstared at my skillet this morning as I was washing it—stared till itturned to a beautiful, laughing, freckled face framed in gold, it wasnothing to shame me. I recall the fact now with the full assurance thatthe big majority of my fellow men will not ascribe the action to lunacy.

When I stood in the front door the yard looked the same, but different,too. The area which I had cleared for the garden was dry, and invited myspade. Not now, Mr. Earth! You shall have another day's rest before Idrive the steel tines again into you! I walked about, this way and that;thinking, not thinking. Sometimes I hummed; sometimes I smiled;sometimes I stood still with open eyes which did not see. All the time Iwas aware of some lack, but it was nine o'clock before I realized that Ihad not tasted a whiff of smoke. The thought did not make me blush, norabash me. I went quietly in and found my pipe on the shelf where I keptit. It did not stay alight more than two minutes. I was standing at theplace where the road went down when I realized that I was drawing theatmosphere alone through the stem between my teeth. Then I walked downto the bench under the pine, thrust my hands in my trousers pockets, satdown and crossed my legs.

I have been a sane man all my life, except the day when I embraced thebusiness of literature for a living. I am not nervous; sudden events donot startle me. I have taken life honestly and bravely, and I believe Ihave faced all the conditions which mere living brings, with courage.But to-night I have to relate that I sat on that hard bench withoutchanging my position until two in the afternoon, when I just happened todrag my watch out. The mere position of the hands brought about a mentalreaction, or I should say served as a powerful mental stimulant, for upto that hour I am not conscious of a single coherent thought. I had beensitting all that time in mindless apathy. Then I began to think. Myfirst gleam of intelligence informed me that my watch must be wrong.Then I gained sense enough to look at the sun, to find that it hadpassed the meridian considerably. Followed at once a keen introspectivequery, to which no answer was forthcoming. Then I am sure I breathedgently, "You damn fool!" and became a man again.

I did not eat any dinner—punishing the body for a fault of themind—but smoked instead. My pipe did not go out a second time. Hourafter hour the black briar bowl stayed burning hot, and hour after hourI drove my mind, now thoroughly aroused and under control, along thevarious byways of thought, action and incident which had a commonmeeting point at the feet of the Dryad. It required an effort for me todo this—a great effort. Had I followed my inclination I would simplyhave brought her before my eyes in retrospection, and gazed upon thepicture throughout the day. But she had ceased to be an incident. Shewas a reality—an abiding reality—a concrete fact impinging sharplyupon the horizon of my life. I was not alarmed to know that I loved her,and I wondered at this. Perhaps there really was no occasion for alarm,but there were plenty of disturbing elements attending such a state offeeling; a number of persons and things to be weighed and considered, tobe classified and given their relative places.

When all was summed up I was confronted with the result: Did I love herwell enough to marry her? I was of good family and had the highestsocial standing. She was almost nameless. And here a sinister,insinuating thought came stealing along a lower corridor in my brain; acreeping, skulking, devilish thought which I caught and choked as Iwould have a mad dog on my threshold. When I had killed the noxiousthing I knew that I did love her well enough to marry her.

What were her feelings toward me? She liked me, but I could not bring tomind a single word or expression which would lead me to infer her heartwas touched, unless it was the incident on the log bridge, when she hadremained silent for such a long time, and her words when she finallyspoke. Surely her interest was more than casual to dictate a speech likethat. If Gran'fer had not come I think now I would have told her then,for the simple sentence had set light to a powder train in my breast.

I believe in caste. I am something of a democrat, and much of asocialist. While the dream of universal brotherhood in its broadestmeaning is Utopian from its very nature, yet all humankind has a claimupon us, for the body of Socrates and the body of Lazarus were wroughtfrom the same material. Yet caste, if correctly applied, instead ofoffensively and arrogantly, as it more often is, is almost indispensableto society. You would not have your daughter marry a drayman, nor yourson marry a waiting-maid. That is what I mean when I say I believe incaste. But while we draw and maintain the line of distinction, we canstill display a proper and becoming degree of courtesy.

I have said that I love Lessie well enough to marry her, but I have notsaid that I love her well enough to marry her as she is. I know thatwould be a mistake which I would regret were she to remain as she is.But she does not belong in her present environment. I am as sure of thatas I am that I live. Fate has cheated her, has imposed upon her, hasgrossly taken advantage of her helplessness. At the foundation of herbeing are lying inert, but real, many wonderful and beautiful andmysterious attributes and traits which go to make up the perfect,polished character of refinement. This also I know, because I havewitnessed her pitiful strugglings against the degrading bonds ofignorance which Life has tightened about her. She feels this betterpart, which is unquestionably her true self, but she does not know whatit is; to her it is simply a hidden, powerful, inner force whichtorments her with intangible, wordless protest and rebellion. She triesto obey—she has told me so—but she does not know what to do, or say.Poor little Dryad! How should she?

When I wrote to 'Crombie for the primer and the copybook I was movedonly by a sincere interest in a pretty ignoramus, seeing at the sametime an opportunity to relieve the tedium of long hours alone here. Nowthat they have come, I know that I shall begin at once to loosen theprisoned thoughts and emotions in my pupil for a different purpose. Willshe learn quickly? No fear of that. I think I shall write for the firstthree readers when I have done my journal to-night. A long, loyal,heart-felt letter came along with the books. I shall not transcribe it,for it would fill up my pages without furthering my story, and this isthe reverse of craftsmanship, I am told. But I must say that 'Crombieconceived the idea that I was going to open a school of two or threepupils—a natural idea, by the way—and earnestly advised me not to, asit would mean a degree of confinement which would work against me. Healso gave various instructions and suggestions, and insisted inunderscored lines that I pursue diligently my quest of the life-plant.

Who was Lessie's father? I do not doubt that this is the key to thewhole mystery of her paradoxical personality. He was not a dweller inthe wilderness of Hebron. He was a man of mental power; a man from thehigher world of action, advancement and achievement. Assuredly, he waslikewise a conscienceless knave. He had betrayed Araminta—Gran'fer'sAr'minty; Lessie's mother. A man who would do that is the best qualifiedcandidate for hell imaginable. I am no hypocritical moralist, awaitingmy own opportunity to despoil. Very frequently it is one of this breedof skunks who cries out the loudest against things of this sort. But Itrust I do recognize humanity's rights.

Does Lessie's unknown parentage present a barrier to the progress of mylove? No. That does not worry nor concern me in the least. It is trueshe is—she must be, the fruit of a brief union unblessed by preacher orpriest. That does not make her the less charming, the less human, theless lovable. She is as blameless, as natural, as inevitable, as anyother pure and stainless growth arising from baser elements. The factthat Lessie would be unable to produce the marriage certificate of herparents proved not the slightest obstacle to the current of myaffections. Indeed, when I dwelt upon this, I became aware of an addedtenderness; a desire to spread over her sunny head the shieldingstrength of my arms. The world is so ready to mock at infirmities and toreproach frailties. But I must discover her father's name, and whatbecame of him. I cannot present this subject to the two old people withwhom she lives.

Perhaps Father John would know. How long has he held this parish, Iwonder? Most likely for many years. In remote country places priests,especially old ones, do not often change their field of labor. To-morrowI shall go to the priest's house again, and ask him. I do not know thathe will tell me, but he holds the secret. If it came to him under sealof the confessional, of course he will not reveal it. But I've a notionit was countryside gossip at the time it occurred, and I will not beasking Father John to betray any confidence when I seek him for thisinformation. Then, too, I have waited longer than I should to go andinquire about Beryl Drane, the girl with a face of twenty and theexperience of a lifetime. Perhaps it would be better to see her first,before accosting her uncle on the subject. I am not sure that I can dothis without arousing suspicion, for I am convinced Beryl Drane has amind capable of keen and clear deductions, and I have no desire that mylove for Lessie should become generally known yet. But I will try.

My love for Lessie! I look at that sentence written down on this whitepaper with my own hand, and something goes radiating through everycranny of me. I am in love—in love with an untamed Dryad of the oakglade, the deep, clear pool, the sun-dappled spaces of the whisperingwood. Why do I love her? I ask myself. Why fares the bee to the flower,the bird to his nest, the squirrel to his tree? I love her; let thatsuffice. Alone here in my lodge on the lap of Old Baldy, beside mytable, I write these words in a mood which never before possessed me. Iam recklessly happy. I have—shall I write it—I have stayed my pen justnow long enough to sit dreamy eyed for a quarter of an hour; to imaginethat warm young body tight in my arms; those Irish gray eyes lookinglong and deep into mine; those, red, red lips against my own, and theblinding shimmer of her hair around and about my face and neck. God! Mypulses leap and thrum in my temples at the thought, and my throat feelsfull and thick. My brother, have you never felt this way? Then you aremissing a large portion of your human heritage.

When shall I tell her? Not at once, I think. It will be better to schoolher some first. And—Buck! By some strange chance I have not reckonedwith Buck to-day. Buck must be reckoned with. He will not effacehimself, and I respect him the more that he will not. Diplomacy andarbitration and plain reason are all out of the question with Buck. WhenI come to reckon with him it will be by the might of my good right arm.It is the old, old method of medieval times of settling a difficultywhere the favor of a lady is involved, but it is an honorable one, ifconducted fairly, and I suspect as good as any. I must begin a system ofphysical training, so that I may be fit for the final bout. That will besome fight, my masters!

Eight weeks ago I dreaded the weary monotony which awaited me in thisforsaken spot!

Well, events yet unborn are on the knees of the gods. I intend to go asstraight to my destination as my judgment and will can carry me. I havebut written that I shall not tell the Dryad of my love yet. Now I shouldlike to modify that statement and say that I shall not tell her if I canhelp it. For a sudden sense that my passion is broadening andintensifying has come to me, and I shall make no promises—no, not one.Now, this moment, I quiver at the recollection of her cadenced laugh; Itremble as I see again the eyes which might craze a man of wood. Ah!Dryad, if you were here to-night—if you were here—if you were here—

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

IN WHICH MUCH ADDED LIGHT IS SHED UPON MISS BERYL DRANE, BUT ONLY AGLIMMER UPON MY PROBLEM

"This is a beautiful day."

Such was my exceedingly original and extremely interesting greeting toBeryl Drane this morning. I arrived at the house at eight o'clock,found, as I thought, no one astir, and was preparing to knock when Idiscovered the young lady diligently clipping roses from a hedge nearthe back. It is not often that I descend to sheer banality, but I canoffer no excuse for my opening remark as I came up over the grass behindher. She was a little startled. She turned quickly with a short "Oh!"and looked at me curiously. Somehow I did not like the look. It waspossessive, in a way; intimate, as though we shared a secret, orsomething like that. She was dressed in a polka dot brown gingham, andhad on an old bonnet whose projecting hood softened those lines whichseemed to shriek of the things which made them. A low collar encircledher firm neck snugly. She wore leather half mitts, had a pair of shearsin one hand, and from the elbow of her other arm hung a wicker basketover half filled with voluptuously red, dew-bright roses. She regardedme with that subtly smiling, upward glance which coquettes have, and inthat morning air, with the flowers, under the shielding bonnet, she waspretty. She was too adroit to overdo the pose. It lasted scarcely twoticks from a grandfather's clock, then she smiled frankly, deftly loopedthe shears on a finger of her left hand, and held out her arm.

"I'm so glad to see you!" she said, winningly, and for the soul of meI could not help but feel my heart grow warmer in response to her tone.Ah, little sibyl! You have conjured more than one man's mind into deadlyrashness, but you have paid, little moth with the soot-spotted wings!

"Are you?" I replied, surprisedly, as I grasped her grippy, slender handand uncovered.

"Sure!... Don't you suppose Hebron is a trifle monotonous to me afterthe fleshpots of Egypt?"

"I had thought you would be—not angry, but displeased and disgustedwith me that I had not come sooner."

"Oh! I have learned to make allowances for men!" she retorted, airily,with a toss of her head and a half pout; "and I'd have no respect for aman who'd have to be kicked away from a woman's feet. I've seen thatkind. I supposed you would come when it suited your inclination."

She deliberately turned to the hedge again and tiptoed to grasp aheavy-headed bloom which seemed to have dropped asleep, drugged by itsown perfume. She could not reach it.

"Let me," I said, and stepping forward, caught the thorn-set spray andpulled it toward her. The action made a little shower of water drops topatter on her upturned face, and a single rich-hued petal becamedisplaced, drifted gently down, and actually lodged in the crevice ofher slightly parted lips. Both laughed at the incident, for it wasunusual.

"You shall have this one," she said, when she had clipped it, "from me."

I felt foolish, in a way, as she came close to me, fumbling here andthere about her waist and the bosom of her dress.

"Have you a pin?" she queried, archly, and before I could answer herswift white fingers were searching the lapels of my coat. "Here's one,"she added, on the instant, and tugged it out.

Then she secured that rose to my coat, standing so close to me that thebottom of her spreading skirt brushed my legs.

"You are very forgiving and very kind," I assured her, "and I thank youfor the favor. I'm sure I do not deserve it."

"Do men ever deserve what they receive from women?" was her startlingreply, and she did not look me in the eyes then, but instead fingeredthe jumble of Jaqueminots in the basket with head averted. Surely thisniece of the Rev. Jean Dupré's who had journeyed to Hebron to rest wasnot conventional. Equally true it was that she possessed an unusualdegree of intelligence, and was accustomed to speaking her mind.

I hesitated briefly. Not that I was in doubt what to say, but among usmen of the South that old chivalry toward women which is always stubbornand often reasonless, still struggles mightily. And it is a goodlything, forsooth, this same chivalry; but truth is better.

"I think so," was my steady answer, and I held my eyes ready to meethers, but she did not move her head. Only the white fingertips withtheir whiter nails yet burrowed among the fragrant mass of green andred.

"You do?... How can you say that? Uncle says it, too—but he's apriest."

"I say it because I think it true. I'm sure you would not have me tell alie merely to please you. Your viewpoint must be restricted,circ*mscribed, for I know you are in earnest. The question is really toocomprehensive to actually admit of a specific answer. Many women giveall and get nothing; many men give all and get nothing. Many give andreceive on an equable basis, and they are the ones who are happy. Itdepends simply upon one's experience or observation how he answers yourquestion. My life leads me to believe in all sincerity men will do theirpart fuller and far more justly than a woman will. Perhaps yours hasconvinced you that just the reverse is true.... But for mercy's sake,let's not drift into a sociological argument this morning."

"By no means. I just wanted to know what you thought.... Now I mustapologize for keeping you. You have come to see uncle?"

She started toward the house as though to call him, but I caught her armand she halted.

"I came to see you, primarily. First, to assure myself that you hadreally quite recovered from drowning—I have asked of you down at thestore—and second, to discuss a mighty secret with you."

"You have really—asked about me?" she returned with lifted eyebrows."You knew when you left that day I would recover, thanks to your skill.Was not that enough?"

I felt annoyed. It appeared as if she was trying to make me confess adeeper interest than I truly owned.

"A common sense of decency would have impelled me to assure myself youwere suffering no bad after effects," I replied.

"Oh, that was it?" she responded, I thought a bit coolly. Then—"Youmentioned a secret. How on earth could a secret exist in thislonesome-ridden place? But of course I'm all curiosity now to hear it.Let's go to the summerhouse. Uncle rises late, and is now in the midstof his breakfast."

She moved toward a conical shaped piece of greenery, and I put myself ather side. It proved to be some trellis work built in the form of asquare, with a peaked top, the whole completely covered by someluxuriant vine. Even the doorway was so thickly hung that we had to drawthe festoons aside to enter. Within the light was tempered to agray-green tone. A hammock was swung across the center of the place, andon all sides except the entrance one were placed benches. Miss Drane sether basket down and promptly dropped into the hammock, where she twistedabout into a comfortable attitude. She apparently took no notice of thefact that her dress had become drawn up six or eight inches above hershapely ankles, but quietly loosened the strings under her chin and castthe bonnet on the floor, then threw her arms above her head, laced herfingers, and turned to me with a smile which was half humorous and halfpathetic.

"Now I'm fixed. Settle yourself the best you can, and let's hear themystery."

"May I smoke?" I asked, dodging under one of the ropes, and comingaround so that I might sit facing her.

"Certainly."

"A pipe?"

"Oh, yes! I'm thoroughly smoke-cured."

I dropped upon a bench and drew forth my materials, while she lay andeyed me with her inscrutable stare.

"You're a funny man!" she declared, presently, her flexible lipstwisting into an odd smile.

I chuckled, and jammed the tobacco in the bowl.

"How do you get that?" I ventured.

"Why didn't you ask to share the hammock with me?"

Now though I knew something of woman's ways and woman's wiles, I felt ablush rising, and to hide it I dropped the match I held and bent over topick it up. Clearly his reverence's niece was bent on a flirtationwherewith to while away the days of her exile. It is needless to saythat in my present state of mind I had no heart for dalliance of thissort, but I realized that I must not offend her, so I struck the matchon the sole of my shoe and slowly lighted my pipe, thinking hard all thetime of what I should say.

"You looked so very comfortable," I replied jocularly, between puffs,"that I could not bring myself to make the request. And—you lay down,you know, as though you wanted it all to yourself."

With a quick, lithe movement she turned on her side, rested her cheek onher hand, and retorted:

"Was that idea really in your mind before I spoke? The truth, mind you!"

I was thoroughly uncomfortable. Just what Beryl Drane was driving at Icould not guess, but I knew the simple talk which I had come to havewith her had suddenly assumed the proportions of a task. It would besilly and egotistic to think this little body was in love with me, andyet as she lay curled kitten-like within arm's length there was aseriousness in her face and manner which troubled me far more than whatmy answer to her last question would be.

"No, it was not," I replied, meeting her eyes steadily.

"All men don't tell the truth," was her unexpected rejoinder; "but youdo.... Don't you think I am worth sitting by?"

Heavens! Why did she persevere in this strain? Why? God pity her, Iknew. I knew her birthright of womanliness and unsullied purity had beenbartered long ago for the pottage of faithlessness and sham pleasures,and that now the exceeding bitter cry rang in her soul day in and dayout. She had made sacrifice of the substantial, the real, the true, andthe good, on the shadowy altar of indulgence. She had flung aside thefruit to devour the husk, and the penalty was an insatiable gnawing ofthe evil teeth which she had first guided with her own hand to herbeing's core. I shivered inwardly as these thoughts dartedlightning-like through my mind, and my face shaped itself into lines ofgravity.

"Little girl," I said, gently; "I should be glad to sit by you, butwhat's the use in this instance? We are as two birds passing in mid-air.Soon you will go; soon I will go. Let's be good, honest friends while westay."

I leaned toward her and spoke earnestly, trying to keep any note ofrebuke from my tones. She did not reply, but colored slightly, turnedher head partly away, and lowered her lashes. I smoked in silence for afew moments to give her a chance to speak, but she remained silent, anddirectly I said, throwing my voice into a cheerier key:

"If you're to help me with my secret we must hurry. Our few minutes onthe river did not last long enough for us to get very well acquainted,but probably Father John has told you that I am roughing it for a fewmonths on a certain big knob back in the woods. I've met a few people,and—"

Poor, hopelessly stupid mind of man! In my agitation caused by theattitude Beryl Drane had seen fit to adopt toward me, I had forgottenthat the confidence I had purposed bestowing involved another girl—abeautiful girl! Now it was too late to hold back. Two slits of eyes wereviewing me cynically, and a low laugh bubbled up from her throat.

"Who is she?" mocked Beryl Drane, who lived in the world.

"I don't know!" I answered, boldly. "That's what I want you to help mefind out."

"What's her name?"

How cold the words were; like little sharp icicles. Ah! Womankind!Velvet soft, iron hard; dove merciful, tiger cruel; heaven breasted,hell armed; honey lipped, gall tongued!

"They call her Lessie."

Her sweetly bowed mouth had turned to a straight line of scarlet as sheshook her head.

"I don't mix with the rabble here."

She spoke to cut, and she succeeded. The insolent words bit sharply, anda flame-like resentment set a hot reply on my tongue, but I withheld it.I waited a while, that my speech might not betray my agitation.

"She lives with her granny and gran'fer on Lizard Point. Surely you haveseen her at church? Granny is very conscientious, I'm sure, in theperformance of her church du——"

"I never go to church!" interrupted Father John's niece. "But I think Iknow the people to whom you refer," she added, at once. "I cannot recallthe name of the family, however.... You must be extraordinarily stupidnot to have learned her surname, being in love with her."

Evidently Miss Drane was ignorant of the circ*mstances surrounding theDryad's birth, and a great wave of relief rolled up in my breast when Iwas assured of this.

"A man doesn't love a girl's name," I thought. Then I said:

"It would seem so, indeed."

I can't imagine what there was in that innocent sentence to causeaffront, but instantly the girl in the hammock swung her feet to theground, arose, and picked up her bonnet and basket.

"I don't think you are at all nice!" she said. "Go on and love yourlittle cabin minx if you want to! She'll be sadly wiser when your loveis over and you have gone back where you came from. I know you men—allalike!... If you want to see uncle you'll find him in the library atthis hour."

Then out she switched with never so much as a "Good-day," leaving mestaring amazedly at the clustering viney mass which swayed behind hervanished form. I had known many kinds of women: petulant, spoiled, mean;gracious, charming, good. I knew the majority of them were not amenableto logic, and would sometimes take offense at a smile or a wronginflection. But when Beryl Drane flung this low insinuation in my face,I was nettled. It was utterly without foundation or reason. It bore outstrikingly the opinion I had previously formed of her, and as I sat andturned the matter over in my mind, I knew presently that I was pityingher. For there is no sadder sight on the world's broad breast than awoman with a spotted soul. This poor child's perceptions were all awry,her affections wrenched and twisted, and in that moment I almost cursedthe fate which would permit such a sacrilege. My resentment was gone, orwas directed against the nonunderstandable forces, powers—call themwhat you will—which so often, in their workings, flung the spotlesslily under the filthy snout of a hog, and dashed the white soul of agirl into a pit of smut and slime! Give me the reasons, ye gray-beardedsavants! You are children fumbling in the dark. You do not know.

I got up and passed without the leafy curtain. Miss Drane haddisappeared. I walked to the porch, found the front door open, andentered the hall without knocking. I judged the library to be on theright, and at that door I tapped. The old priest's voice bade me "Come!"I went in, and when he saw me cross the threshold, Father John leaped upwith a nervous agility which was incongruous when associated with hismany years, and hastened forward.

"Ah-h-h! Ze pleasure! W'ere have you bene, m'sieu?"

He smiled cordially, and led me to an easy chair by the table, holdingmy hand until I was fairly seated.

"Roaming the woods, principally," I replied, easily, noting theextremely comfortable furnishings of the apartment. "I have been here ahalf-hour, I should say. I found Miss Drane cutting roses, and stoppedfor a chat with her. She seems perfectly well?"

Father John made a grimace, and spread his hands.

"Zat chil'! I love 'er m'sieu, but she try me. She plague me wiz 'erpranks, zen she come wiz 'er arms aroun' my neck—so—an' fix eversing."

He obligingly essayed to hug himself by way of illustration, and Inodded my comprehension.

"You will doubtless miss her when she leaves you?"

He twisted his features as from a sudden pain.

"I can't sink of zat, m'sieu. She have bene wiz me t'ree—four—fiveweeks; she is one—headstron' chil', but she make me vair happy—oui."

He sank a little deeper in his soft chair, and pulled contentedly at hislong-stemmed pipe.

It was hard for me to broach the subject uppermost in my mind. Twice mylips parted to open the discussion, but each time the sentence whichfollowed related to an entirely different matter. So for quite a whilewe talked of the weather, the crops, the parish, and it was while wewere discussing the neighborhood that I knew my opportunity had arrived.

"I have become very much interested in the family at Lizard Point. Youknow them well?"

"Vair well. Madame is vair releegious; a good woman. M'sieuis—is—indeef'rent; ma'm'selle—ah, ze young ma'm'selle!"

Again his spread hands went out expressively, and he shook his head withwrinkled forehead.

Inwardly I smiled, but outwardly my face was set to decorous lines.

"Does not the granddaughter belong to your fold?" I asked.

"Ah! m'sieu; we try. We try all her life lon' to make her ze Christian.But she wil'—she wil' as ze bird in ze wood. She an' ze half crazyJeff—ze fiddle player—zey heazen, m'sieu. Zey never dark ze door of zechurch. Zey run in ze fores', fiddlin' an' dancin', an' ze devil helaugh an' skip by zey side!"

He put his hands between his knees, palm to palm, and rocked to and froin genuine distress. I could think of no suitable reply on the moment,so remained silent.

"I have ze pity for ze chil', poor sing!" he resumed, presently. "Zechance she has not had, like ozzer ones. Meybe ze curse of ze broke' lawfollow her; I don' know—I don' know!"

He sighed, and let his narrow shoulders droop forward in an attitudeboth sad and pensive.

"Tell me about that if you can, Father John," I said, placing my elbowson the table's edge and leaning toward him. "I will say to you instrictest confidence that I am deeply interested in Lessie; it is notidle curiosity which prompts me to ask this. I know her father betrayedand deserted her mother; Gran'fer has practically admitted this to me,but he will go no further. You must know the man's name—what was it?"

Father John lifted his head and looked at me.

"Zat, m'sieu, I cannot tell you."

"Why?"

I kept my eyes fastened on his persistently, but respectfully.

"Because m'sieu has not ze right to as'."

I felt rebuked. Knowing as little of me and of my feelings for the Dryadas he did, he was right. Should I tell him more? My words would be safewith this gentle old man.

"Suppose I love the girl, Father John? Would I not then have the rightto know everything about her parentage?"

A pale smile passed over his thin lips.

"M'sieu—jokes wiz me. You, ze gen'leman, ze areest'crat—to love zelittle wil' ma'm'selle? Je crois que non!"

"It may seem incredible to you, but I do love her. I feel I can trustyou with the secret, for even she does not know it yet. Believe me, Ibeg you. I am very much in earnest."

The doubting look faded from the priest's face, to be succeeded by oneof amazement.

"Probably you do not understand this," I hastened to add; "and I shouldnot blame you. But you, in holy orders from young manhood, with yourmind and time engrossed in spiritual things, have no intimate knowledgeof the powerful call of man to woman, and woman to man. It has come tome unexpectedly, swiftly, surely; here in the wilderness. In the city itpassed me by. But I truly love the little wild ma'm'selle. Listen to myplan. I intend to take her far along the road to education andrefinement; I intend to develop the great good which lurks smothered inher mind and soul; then, if she will, I shall marry her. That is myreason for asking you to tell me of that man."

Father John was convinced that I spoke the truth. I could see it beforehe replied.

"Ze—ze aieul, ze aieule; has m'sieu tol' zem?"

I stared at him bewilderedly.

"Ze madame an' ze m'sieu she live wiz!" he burst out, desperately. "Howcall you zem?"

"Granny and Gran'fer—her grandparents!" I exclaimed.

"Bien!... Well zen?"

"I have not told them. I have not told Lessie. I did not know it myselfuntil last night."

"Soit. But ze secret, m'sieu, is zeirs."

"Is not the girl concerned, my good sir?" I demanded.

"Celeste?"

"Celeste!"

"Ze wil' ma'm'selle you call Lessie. I chris'en 'er myself, m'sieu; hername Celeste."

"And these boors have corrupted it to Lessie!" I almost shouted.

"Zey couldn't 'member Celeste," smiled Father John.

For a time I was silent, gazing at that vision in my mind which bore thesweet name of Celeste instead of the meaningless one of Lessie.

"Has she, then, no rights in the matter?" I persisted, and at the wordsI knew my voice had changed. Father John's candid and matter-of-factrevelation had filled me all up, somehow. I am aware there was no goodreason why this should be, but people deeply in love have a constantabhorrence of anything and everything remotely bordering on reason.

"Should she, m'sieu, seek ze inf'mation, I sink I should tell 'er."

Sweetly grave and courteous were the words, and even in my impatience Irecognized their justness.

"Very well, father. But I must ask you another question which I trustyou can answer without offense to your conscience. Was Lessie's—wasCeleste's father a man of learning; a man who moved along the higherwalks of life, or was he simply a countryman?"

Only for a moment he hesitated.

"He was ze gran' gen'leman in manner—ze scholar—ze sinker. His heartwas black!"

"It must have been," I breathed, as I rose.

My host again followed me to the low stone step at the porch entrance,protesting against my departure and begging me to stay for dinner, whichcame at noon. I told him I would come again, and I meant it.

"You have been very kind," I said, in farewell, "and I want to thank youfor the things you told me. In time Celeste will come with her demands,trust me for that."

"Vair well, m'sieu!" he cried, twisting his face into a maze ofgoodhumored wrinkles.

At the gate I turned and waved to him again, sweeping the premises withmy eyes as I did so for a sign of Beryl Drane.

That most peculiar young woman was nowhere visible.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

IN WHICH I ENTERTAIN SERIOUSLY A CHIVALROUS NOTION TO MY GREAT DETRIMENT

"A, B, C, D, E, F,—H?"

We sat side by side on the edge of the porch, with our feet on the lowstone step. For fifteen minutes I had been drilling Celeste in thealphabet.

But little explanation is necessary to make clear my position in thehostile camp. To-day is Sunday. When I first arose I began planning away to reach Celeste—Lessie no longer for me!—without any unpleasantattending circ*mstances. I had recently been assured by the parishpriest that Granny was "a vair releegious woman," and it was upon thisfact that I presently laid my schemes. It was probable that Grannyattended mass twice on Sunday; beyond doubt she went once. Early masswas over by the time my idea began to crystalize, but the chances werethat Granny would go to the later services, because there was a deal ofhousework to be done at the beginning of each day. Then Granny's largebody moved slowly, and the road to Hebron was long. I was vastlycomforted when I reached this conclusion, and about ten o'clock I armedmyself with primer and copybook and hit the trail for heaven.

I wish the reader—gentle or otherwise—could have taken that trip withme, and felt as I did. I wish everybody in the world could feel, all thetime, as I did on that leisurely walk to Lizard Point. There would be nomore sin or sorrow, my brothers! It was my first pilgrimage to theshrine of my recognized affection, and my feet trod not upon the goodearth, but upon separate little pillows of compressed air. The day leftnothing for the most critical to wish for. It was a great, perfumedbloom of light and color, glowing like a jewel in the Master's hand. Andin the midst of all this perfection I was the one man seeking the onewoman.

Reaching the bridge, I skulked about in the woods like a wild Indian,viewing the house with gradually increasing impatience. But I wasrewarded in what my watch declared to be a very few minutes. Granny'sample shape bustled out upon the porch, and she came waddling down thepath like an over-fattened goose. She had on her Sunday fixin's; a shinybombazine black dress and a tiny black bonnet which looked small indeedatop her big head. A palm leaf fan in one hand, a rosary and ahandkerchief in the other; thus did S'firy sally forth that morning,while I stood hidden in the shade and grinned, tickled as any schoolboywould be who sees a guard desert a watermelon patch. I could hear herpuffing as she reached the road and took up her march south—poor oldwoman! A long, hot time lay before her, going and coming, and I wasconvinced she deserved the blessing she hoped to receive.

So that is the way I crept into the hostile lines this morning and beganteaching the little wild ma'm'selle.

She was surprised but glad when she saw me. You may be sure I searchedher face anxiously, and her welcoming smile and warm, strong handclaspset my heart a-throbbing. I told her at once what I had come for, andasked how long Granny would be away. Three hours, at least, I learned.She was ready and eager to begin her lessons. I inquired about Gran'fer,too, as we sat down together on the porch's edge, and heard that thedinner had been left in his charge, and he was consequently on duty inthe kitchen, whence he would scarcely dare emerge until relief came. Thefire was to be kept up, and certain vessels holding cooking vegetableswere to be kept full of water. Gran'fer would hardly dare run the riskof permitting the beans or potatoes to scorch, and the chance for ahappy three hours looked good indeed.

Celeste wore a white shirt waist, brown skirt, leather belt—andslippers! I could barely credit the last fact when my eyes noted it.Where on earth did she get slippers which buttoned across the instepwith a strap? She had on black stockings (and right here I want to say,parenthetically, that I think black hose the most becoming color a womancan wear) and altogether presented a far more civilized appearance thanshe had ever done before. I placed the primer upon her knees, and whileshe held it open I began teaching her the letters, using my forefingeras an index. Her sunny head bent eagerly to the task, and looking at herface I saw each freckle had become a tiny island in a sea of crimson.She was blushing hotly, probably from the simple fact that she had atlast started upon that unknown road which would lead her up and out ofthe gloomy valley of ignorance where she had always dwelt. I know ananswering color came to my cheeks, for they began to burn. Had I beensure Gran'fer would remain faithful to his vegetables I would have toldher that moment, for never had mortal woman seemed so lovely andalluring, and never had my heart hammered and pounded so loudly on thestubborn door of my will. I realized that my resolve to hold my tongueuntil she had become tutored in some degree was an idioticdetermination, and that I would prove it so the first time I could catchCeleste where we would be safe from interruption.

Through the twenty-six capitals we went again and again. Then I took thebook and asked her to say the alphabet. She fell down on G, but if everyfailure was accompanied by the doubting, anxious, piteous, altogethercaptivating expression which distinguished this one, no culprit wouldever hear a word of censure.

I hope I am not tiresome. Truth is not always interesting, and you mustnot question my veracity. To-night I will not avow that my hitherto wellbalanced mind is perfectly plumb. Since I confessed to my journal Ifound I have shot into the rapids, and this girl with hair like apotpourri of sunbeams and Irish gray eyes which starts some tremblymechanism to going inside me, is going to be the biggest and mostimportant thing in my life.

Of course I laughed when she said H instead of G, but it was not a laughthat hurt. It was the one which soothes and condones. She laughed, too,and again I saw an upper row of teeth—white as young corn, and as even.In half an hour she had turned the trick, and in addition could name anyletter which I might choose on sight. Yes, I was proud of her then,and—yes, I told her so; wouldn't you? We then went through the smallletters once or twice, but I did not ask her to learn any of them thismorning. Celeste couldn't understand why the big letters and the littleletters were not alike, and I couldn't either, so no explanation wasforthcoming. Presently the primer was laid aside, and I produced thecopybook. The Dryad's interest was just as intense when this branch ofher education was brought to her notice.

"Is this writin'?" she queried, suspiciously, indicating the line inscript at the top of the page.

"Yes, that's writ-ing," I said, but my eyes were kind.

"—ing, then!" she retorted, with some force, but I knew she wasaggravated with herself, and not with me. Then she sat up very straight,and defiantly checked off each word of her next sentence on her palm,using an absurd fist as a checker.

"It—don't—look—like—Gran'fer's—writ-ing!"

I roared mightily at this, for her belligerency was irresistible.

At first she was amazed at my outburst, for her earnestness hadprevented her from seeing how truly attractive her little speech hadbeen. But as I kept on laughing she presently joined me, and together weraised such a disturbance that Gran'fer hurried out to investigate. Ijumped up and took his hand, and managed to control myself enough totell him the cause.

"B' gosh! 'S a good thing S'firy's not here!" he exclaimed, leering fromone to the other with his good-natured eyes twinkling. "She'd 'low you's bust'n' th' Sabbath, 'n' like 's not 'd 'vite you back to Baldy!"

He poked a crooked finger in my ribs, thrust his middle out and hisshoulders back and gave a series of piercing screeches which I judgedwas his way of expressing superlative mirth.

I put my arm around his shoulder chum-fashion, and drew him aside.

"I hid and watched her leave," I whispered.

Again he screeched.

"You're a durned wise 'n'!" he said, presently. "S'firy's sot ag'in yo'somehow, but I's jok'n' w'en I said I'd 'low she'd 'vite yo' back toBaldy. She wouldn't do sich a vi'lent thin' as that, see'n' as how she'sgot no airthly complaint ag'in yo', 'cep'n' you're a young man 'n'good-look'n', 'n'"—lowering his voice and nodding toward the Dryad, whosat apparently absorbed in her copybook—"she don't 'low to ever let noman make love to that gal, 'n' she's skeerd o' yo' on that 'count—see?"

"Gran'fer, I smell some'n' burnin'!" called Celeste.

The old man turned with a trembling, low-voiced "Good God!" and boltedinto the house, and instantly I heard a tin cover clatter on the kitchenfloor.

"Whut'd you tell Gran'fer w'en you took 'im over there?" asked Eve, whenI was again beside her.

"The truth," I replied, not altogether relishing a like confession toher.

"Tell me, too!" she demanded, at once.

"Suppose I won't?" I parried, grasping the opportunity offered to weighher character in different scales.

She thought a moment, with a queer little squinting of the eyes.

"Well, if you won't—I don't keer!"

It was not pique, but perfect candor.

"I told him that I waited down yonder in the woods until Granny went tochurch," I said.

She smiled, and spread the copybook out afresh.

"You needn't 'a' done that. I've had a talk with Granny, 'n' she's goin'to let you come, same as she does Buck ... I p'suaded 'er."

"Bless your heart, Dryad! How did you manage it?"

"Granny'll do mos' anything for me," she answered, simply. "I tol' 'erthat you jes' wanted to learn me, 'n' that I wanted to learn—so bad;'n' that it wouldn't cost nothin'. So she ast Father John, 'n' he saidit'd be all right. He said he knowed you."

"Yes, I've met Father John—and his niece."

"I don't like her," said Celeste, turning the leaves idly.

"Why don't you like her, Dryad?"

"'Cause—'cause—oh, jes' 'cause!"

She pouted her lips slightly, and shook her head.

So she, too, had that unanswerable reason which all women can claim.

"I feel sorry for her, because I don't think she has been happy. She haslived in cities all her life, and the cities have taken something fromher they can never give back."

"Whut?"

"All things which you, living here in the hills, possess, and which area woman's most precious gifts; purity, innocence, womanhood."

"I don't know 'zackly whut you mean."

"I shan't try to put it into simpler words just now, Dryad. But in theeyes of all true people you are worth more than a thousand BerylDranes."

She pursed her lips and gave a whistle of astonishment.

"Has Buck been here lately?" I asked.

"Not since I seen—I saw you on the log bridge."

Then for a time we remained silent. The day was intensely hot. Theencroaching sun burned the yellow dog which had been lying in the yard,and he arose reluctantly and slouched over into the deeper shade by thefoundation of the house—into a dusty hole which no doubt he hadpreviously dug in a search for coolness. There, after gnawing his ribs,his black nose wrinkling oddly as he did so, he dropped his chin uponthe ground and slowly closed his eyes. A rigor passed over the sidewhere the uncaptured flea still lingered, then, with a sigh, the dogslept. A brown hen, wings outheld from her body and bill agape, strolleddazedly through the shimmering air, singing that dolorous, unmusical,droning song begotten by the temperature. I have never heard that songfrom a hen's throat with the thermometer under ninety. It must have beenan effect of the heat. Beyond, the green vastitudes stretchedendlessly—away to where the big wicked world throbbed and seethed andstrove. All these externals passed before my vision in a twinkling, andthen my gaze was back on the girl sitting quietly by me, looking witheyes which sent no message to her brain upon the curving lines whichmeant knowledge. Her hair was up again to-day—for bodily comfort, Ijudge—and damp, curled strands clung flat to her milk-white neck. Belowthese, tiny drops of moisture stood, like baby pearls upon porcelain. Icould not grow accustomed to the dazzling effect produced by herpiled-up tresses. I could see neither comb, barette, nor pins, but nodoubt a number of the "invisible" variety of the last were tucked awaysomewhere in the intricacies of that matchless coronet.

I asked if there were pen and ink on the place. She thought there was,and directly returned with both. Then the need arose for somethingsuitable to hold the copybook while she traced her first letters. I knewthere must be a table in the dining room, but I much preferred to remainwhere we were.

How I ever thought of such a thing I cannot guess, but I suggested theironing board, and in another minute it was across each of our knees,and I was twisting the pen-staff about in Celeste's warm fingers to theproper angle. Her forefinger persisted in bending in at the first joint,and I as diligently straightened the contrary digit, not minding thetask at all, for some occult reason. Naturally a huge blot was the firstresult, and the Dryad was for licking it off, as she had seen Gran'ferdo once upon a time. I told her that wasn't nice, and laid the ink inthe sun to dry, no blotting paper being available. When she finally gota start the girl did remarkably well. It was quite plain she had talentin this direction. I permitted her to rewrite the model line half waydown the page, then told her lessons were over for the day. Nor did Ineglect to bestow some well deserved compliments upon her aptness.

Granny may have been gone three hours, but I was nevertheless amazedwhen I saw her toiling up the winding path a short time later. Surely Ihad not been there over thirty minutes, all told! Far off as she waswhen I first sighted her, there seemed to be something menacing in thevery way she got over the ground. As she drew quickly nearer, I observedthat her round, red face was set in lines of furious anger, and sheopened and closed her mouth in gasps, as a fish does on land. In spiteof the assurance the Dryad had given me, a subtle sense told me that Iwas the object of her rage. I turned to Celeste, to find wonder andastonishment depicted on her countenance.

"Whut on earth ails Granny?" she whispered.

"God knows!—and we will too, now"; for the old lady had halted a man'slength away, a truly formidable spectacle.

Her emotion for the moment was actually so intense that she could notspeak. Her throat rolled red and fat over the collar of her dress, andshe was shaking visibly. I knew the storm would break presently, thoughI was totally in the dark as to what I had done to arouse such atempest, so I gently lifted the ironing board from our laps, propped itcarefully against a post, and got up, that I might take the blaststanding. I gave no greeting, nor made any attempt at pacification. Butthe breath almost left my body when the first vial was uncorked.

"You sneak'n' fur'ner! Mak'n' love to Father John's niece, then try'n'to fool 'n' ruin my Lessie!"

I fell back a step and threw up my hand, a deadly, numbing horrorspreading through me. Before I could recover enough for speech Granny'sneedle-sharp tongue was going again.

"I know yo'! I've knowed yo' all 'long, but that daffy Jer-bome 'n' thatpore fool gal 'lowed I's wrong 'n' too hard on yo', I tol' 'em way backyan whut yo' 's hang'n' 'bout fur—yo' scamp! W'en a w'ite-faced,slick-tongued city feller comes spark'n' a gal whut lives whur this 'n'does, yo' c'n put it down he 's a-doin' th' dev'l's work. I knowed it, Itell yo', 'n' yo' didn't pull no wool over my eyes! I've had'sper'ence 'ith sich, 'n' onct in a lifetime 's 'nough, heav'n knows!Now take yo' seff off, yo' hyp—hyp—yo' 'ceiv'n', 'ceptious vilyun, 'n'never so much as lay eyes on my gal—my precious lam'—ag'in, ur I'llscratch 'em out o' yo' head!"

I paid little heed to this lurid denunciation. After the astoundingrevelation of her first speech, I strove to get my mind in workingorder, for it had suffered temporary paralysis. Before the voluble,bitter flow of words had ceased, I knew what had happened, and my facecrimsoned with shame and anger. I dared not look at the girl at my feetyet, to see how this harsh accusation had affected her. Granny saw thered in my cheeks, and blazed out afresh.

"Yo' mought well blush, yo' blaggard; a-comin' 'ith yo' hellish notionsto do hurt 'n' harm to this motherless chil'! Yo'—"

"Hush!" I cried, drawing nearer the angered old woman in my deepearnestness. "Don't say those things again in the presence of—her! Theyare lies! Everything you have said is a black, cowardly lie!"

"Do yo' dare to tell me that his rev'rence, that holy pries', lied tome? Yo'—yo'—"

She thrust her hands toward my throat with her fingers workingconvulsively.

I controlled myself, grasped her wrists and brought her arms down, thenlooked hard into her eyes as I answered:

"No, Father John did not lie, but Beryl Drane did. I have never spoken aword of love to her. I have seen her only twice. Once when I got her outof the river when her boat upset, and a second time when I went to seeFather John. I believe I offended her, unintentionally, at that time,but I have never made love to her for the best of reasons—I have nofeeling for her but that of pity. She told a dangerous, dastardlyfalsehood when she declared to her uncle that I had spoken of love toher. All of this I swear to be the truth; on the cross, on the Bible, onmy mother's sacred honor! And I respect and honor Lessie as I would myown sister!"

Truth alone is a powerful weapon, and I could see that Granny wasimpressed, though not convinced. She still viewed me in truculence anddisgust, but there was a subtle change in her demeanor. I could feel itmore than I could see it. I waited, knowing that I must not be too eagerin my disclaimers. Granny stood, plainly taken aback, and when she spokeher voice had sunk to its natural compass.

"I dunno. It don't 'pear right to me.... Whut cause has a gal to make upsich a yarn as this?—tell me that!"

She flung the question at me with a triumphant flare.

I hesitated. Should I tell the true reason? Should I tell how this girlhad tried to flirt with me, and then, when I had refused, had concoctedthis devilish scheme which only a bad woman could have thought of? Iowed her nothing, not even consideration now, and she had made a boldstroke to blacken me irretrievably in the eyes of Celeste. But somethingheld my tongue. I could not betray her baseness except as a last resort.I stood with eyes down, thinking. The old beldam facing me deemed it wasfrom shame, and my inability to answer her question. I remained silent.

"Yo' 've lied to me!" came her voice, shrill again, and carrying avictorious note. "Whut cause has she, I say? Yo' dunno. Cause 'nough, I'low! 'N' yo' can't answer, git yo' gone frum these premises, 'n' neversot yo' foot on 'em ag'in!"

I lifted my head at this, and replied in low, even words.

"I know, but I cannot tell you. But believe me, I am innocent of thischarge."

Mingled with Granny's vindictive scream of derision was a heart-brokenmoan from the door-step. I turned quickly, to see my Celeste, hands overher eyes, run weeping in the house.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

IN WHICH I DESCEND INTO HELL

I have descended into hell.

I had no idea of the intensity of my own nature until the deeps werestirred. Few of us ever come to a full realization of what we are, ormay become. I have always thought with some degree of pride that myacquaintance with myself was perfect. More than that, I was positivethat my ego was entirely subservient to my will. So it always has beenuntil now. But the reason for this is that I have lived upon the crustof life, have walked calmly and confidently upon the tops of things. Itis indeed a poor sort of fool who does not know himself in his relationsto the superficialities of his daily existence. How satisfied I was! Howwilling to meet emergencies and demands, in the full faith that I couldcope with all such. I do not think I am an exception to my fellowcreatures in this. All men whose natures are well rounded and adjustedhave this same idea. It is essential to their progress. We must perforcebelieve in our own abilities before we can perform any achievements. SoI am not ashamed to write these words. I have never been conceited, norpuffed up. I have had no cause to be, but I don't believe I would havebeen had I reasons—or what silly people give as reasons, for reallythere is never any justification for such a mental attitude.

Neither am I ashamed to say that I have descended into hell. At firstsight it may seem weakness, but upon investigation it will be found thereverse is true. I did not take the plunge voluntarily, although myperhaps foolish adherence to a Quixotic theory undoubtedly had a deal todo with precipitating me downward. From the fact that my feet havestrayed along the gloomy, thorn-set paths of hell for the past week, Ihave awakened to a newer and truer knowledge of myself. Had my feelingsbeen on the surface only, the past seven days would have found mephilosophically plodding through the forest recesses in search of mymystical life-plant, or busily engaged in my garden, or curled up in aneasy chair reading one of my favorites. Not one of these natural thingshave I done, for the simple reason that I have been a dweller in hellinstead, and in this grim demesne there is neither life-plant, gardennor books. But there is torture, in exquisite variety. The world-wornand cynical may sniff and declare that a man beyond thirty should havepassed this sentimental, simpering age. I don't know how that may be. Icannot answer. I can only set down that which befell me, and I choose toregard as strength, rather than weakness, that quality which has enabledme to suffer like unto a damned soul. Surely if any doubt ever flickeredon the horizon of my conscience, that doubt has been swept away andannihilated utterly. I am possessed by a legion of devils which escortme hourly on my way; grinning, fiendish, sleepless devils which leapabout my feet with gibe and curse, and dance upon my pillow in a fierysaraband when I fain would forget in sleep. Sleep! When did I sleep?Sunday night? No, God's mercy! Sunday night I wandered bareheaded,coatless, for miles and miles, hour after hour. I did not choose my way.I did not even take the road leading down from the plateau. I think Imust have eaten something mechanically, then came out of the Lodge whosewalls were shutting off my breath, and made straight for the closestpoint of descent. It was near the lone pine, between cedar bushes whichruthlessly scratched my unheeding face. Here the declivity was steep andrough. Had I been moving in the world I never would have taken it, butin hell one cannot choose his path. I went down. I fell. I collidedroughly with the trunks of trees. I tripped, I stumbled, I cursed, andwent on. I came to a cliff. It sank sheer, and below was darkness. I laydown, rolled my body over, hung by my hands, and dropped. I knew not,neither cared, where I might alight. I splashed into a shallow pool notover six feet beneath. Then came leagues after leagues of tirelesswalking. I noted neither distance nor time. At last I burst out upon ahuge, flat rock, overhanging a valley of majestic length and breadth. Agibbous moon brightened the sky and silvered the slopes about me. Thenfor a few moments I was on earth again, brought back by the magicalbeauty of the scene. But my respite was indeed brief. The black gulf ofperdition closed over me again as the merciless hand of Fate twistedanew the iron in my soul, and I turned away from that glimpse of theearth with my teeth chattering. How far had I strayed? Heaven knows. Butit was past midday when I again sighted that sentinel-like peak beneathwhich I shelter.

The next night I sat face to face with the devil through the long,lonely, hideous hours. Ah! but he is a specious rogue! There never was atongue on earth like unto his. But I met his arguments with a sort ofbulldog, mean combativeness. So we talked back and forth, out there, infront of the Lodge. I occupied one bench, he the other, and our meetingwas gruesome. How full he was of guile, sleek insinuation, plausiblepersuasion. At first his method was violent—but I shall tell first ofhow the encounter happened.

After a pretense at supper I clutched my cold pipe for company and creptout to the seat. I did not light up. Burning tobacco makes for solace atmost times, but I knew my erstwhile cherished weed would be an affrontto my taste and a stench in my nostrils that night. And as I sat, humpedover and almost a-shiver because of the powerful emotions which had beenracking me for forty-eight hours, and more, thinking of all I had lost,the Prince of Demons leaped full armed upon me, all unexpectedly, andhis assault was fierce. At first I crouched under it sinisterly, as aman will when an evil takes him unawares. But another moment my heartand mind and soul had arisen simultaneously to my rescue, and togetherwe fought a good fight. I doubt me if many unwritten battles were hardercontested. Thus, beneath the stubborn resistance of my staunch andfaithful allies, the Enemy's violence abated. But presently I knew thathe had changed his tactics only, and had not withdrawn. For there hecrouched on the bench just across from me, apparently unhurt, while Irealized with much sadness and shame that each of my champions boremarks of the conflict. I remained silent, hoping my unwelcome visitorwould depart, but instead he began now to leer and smirk at meingratiatingly.

"What do you want?" I asked, surlily enough, for my spirit was sorewithin me, and this presence was most distasteful.

Said the Devil: "What do you want?"

Thereat he grinned ghastily, and wagged his head, while I felt my heartturn sick, and my bowels tremble. But I answered:

"I want that which is as far removed from you and your accursed power asGod and his angels—a real woman's love!"

Now he laughed in raucous glee.

"And that's what you have lost—by playing the fool! Is it not so?"

"That's what I have lost—perhaps by playing the fool," I replied.

Said the Devil to me:

"And that very day you went back about sunset, driven by the barbs ofyour passion, to tell the old woman the truth. You could not gainadmittance to the house. You saw no one. You have been back twice. Youhave laid in wait. But you have failed to get speech with any in thehouse. Is it not so?"

I nodded assent.

"Then what?" continued the Devil.

"Hell—and you!" I retorted, in desperation.

Then the Devil edged closer to me along the plank; he seemed to writheacross it like something with a hurt back. It made my flesh creep to seehim. He leaned toward me through the intervening space, and stretchingout his ugly, snake-like neck, hissed:

"Honor and virtue are lies! Pleasure is truth. Take her—"

Up I sprang, fist at shoulder, and lunged at that fiendish visage withall the power of my body. I hit nothing, the impetus of the strokewheeled me entirely around, and there stood mine Enemy, hands on hips,shaking with silent laughter.

I stood and glared at him in angry helplessness.

"Easy—easy!" he chuckled. "You are not the first to shrink at giving upa cherished chimera. You see I am much older than you, and know all ofhumanity's foibles and make-believes. I am your friend. In your mind youhave created an angel out of a piece of ignoble clay. Listen, while Iprove to you that I am your friend, and show you a way to success."

Thereupon his vileness became so bold and horrible that I will not soilthis white paper with a transscript of it, and I sank upon a bench,elbows on knees and face in hands, listening to the damnable rigmarolebecause I could not help it. My visitor was beyond personalviolence—witness my recent fruitless attempt to strike him—or time andagain I would have closed with him and slain him, or been slain.Shudders of shame and rage swept me from head to foot, and my cheeksgrew so hot they burned my palms. Hours passed. At times the Devilrelaxed, and a sort of armistice prevailed, then he would renew hismerciless planning for my destruction, and how smooth and easy the roadappeared under the magic of his voice! Throughout the entire night Iremained humped over, shaking at intervals as some especially diabolicalsentence fell upon my unwilling but helpless ears; holding my tongue,because I knew that no words of mine would avail to move the monster atmy elbow.

Hast ever sat up o' night with the Devil, my brothers? It comes to methat every one who lives, or has lived must have had this experience.'Tis a blood chilling one, forsooth; at least when resistance isoffered. Only when daylight stole ghost-wise through the still aisles ofthe immemorial wood did mine Enemy depart, and I got to my feet,trembling as one risen from a bed of grievous sickness, groped my waywithin, and fell with a groan across my cot.

Throughout that day I slept, and arose in the late afternoon feelingrefreshed. My trouble was mental, and this long rest for my brain wasmost beneficial. I put as firm a check upon my thoughts as I could bringto bear, and methodically set about preparing my supper. Looking back asI write to-night, I know that my movements were erratic and strained. Ibuilt my fire in the kitchen stove calmly, but soon thereafter memorymade a breach in the flimsy wall of reserve which I had upreared, andhavoc began afresh. I burned my food. I broke two dishes. I blistered myfingers on the hot oven. Then I ate voraciously, almost viciously, andleaving the things unwashed, tore out to the companionship of my vasthost of faithful trees. Read? I could no more have held my eyes toprinted lines that night than I could measure the sun's diameter. TheBook says there is a time for everything. This week has been my time tovisit the nether world, while yet alive; to become almost insane, whileretaining a degree of sense. It may be I shall omit this chapter entirewhen the end of my story is reached. I am writing it to-night, becausein doing so I open a safety valve. I have been fearfully surcharged withthe intensest sort of feelings, and I find that it gives me some reliefto pour them out upon the pages of my journal. When I grow again to bethe reasoning man I was last Sunday—if I ever do—I shall read theselines again. If they seem perfervid, unnatural, overdrawn, I shall wipethem out, in deference to the gentle critic who never saw a red-hairedDryad, and consequently cannot have the least understanding of what Ihave been driving at in this night's record. I know I have alreadypenned thoughts and emotions which will cause the phlegmatic cynic todamn my story as unreal and banal. In like manner I know there areothers—scarcely will they be found in the critic class, I fear—whosehearts will warm to me in kindest sympathy. These, mayhap, will be thoseof like excessive temperaments, who have looked on Beauty to their cost.Yea, like Priam, and Menelaus, and that old war-dog, Ulysses himself,and the hosts of others whose eyes beheld the ruinous loveliness ofArgive Helen. On her pylon tower she sang, and men died, demented andhopeless, struggling for a single smile! Why were all famous beauties inhistory and mythology red-haired? Who can answer? From echoless time itseems to have stood as a type of perfection. I know what it has meant tome—dear Christ!—since that spring day when I saw it intertwined withdogwood blossoms. To-night—I am writing in desperation, that I mayperchance get some sleep when I have worn myself out at the table bywhich I sit—I say to-night that I would rather live here on Baldy's lapforever with Celeste for my wife; here, in the Lodge, alone with her,than to be the consort of the mightiest queen of earth!

I rushed out to the sheltering arms of my faithful trees, and stoodamong them. I had nothing on my head. The moon was larger, and in itslight I seemed in some enchanted place. Then the craze to move—to walk,drove me down to the ravine. Unthinkingly I turned toward the Dryad'sGlade. After a while I halted, overcome all at once by the supernaturalradiance which permeated every cranny of that spreading wilderness. Justwhere I stood the trees were not so dense. Twenty and thirty feet apartsome of them grew, and though many lateral branches thrust far out tointermingle, the myriad moon rays found numerous paths and peepholes tothe earth below. It also chanced that I had stopped in a spot where thespiring trunks rose naked of boughs to a considerable height. Thispeculiarity was a great aid to the diffusion of the blue-white, mistyatmosphere which was all about me. I seemed to stand in a ghost land;everything was shadowy; even the rough boles appeared tenuous, ready todissolve and disappear at a breath of wind. But there was no wind. Istared all about me, marveling at this common mystery of moonshine whichwas yet so unfathomable; feeling it sink into my soul in peace givingwaves, comforting my tired breast. So I folded my arms and leanedagainst a near-by oak, determining to stay just there. It was the firstmoment of waking calm I had known since—How blissful it was! Howpeaceful! How past all poor words of mine to describe! Picture primevalcreation. No hewn-down trees, no unsightly stumps, no chips from therelentless ax. Merely a mighty forest which had been such always.Solitude, silence. An all-enveloping, blue-white night, and one lone manstriving for ease of mind and soul in the midst of these eternalrealities. How good it was to feel my tight breast loosen; to feel thatawful clamp dropping away from my temples, where it had been pressingand fretting me almost to madness. I breathed deep of that clear, sweetair; huge, delightful respirations which made me feel light-headed. Andeven as a smile of appreciation crept to my lips, and my eyes halfclosed under the weird spell of the place, I knew that I was not alone.Down a winding vista, far off, something was moving. The distance wastoo great and the light too poor for me to tell what it was. A grayshape was disturbing the nebulous perspective; a shape which at momentsalmost assumed proportions, to become at once as something almost of theimagination. I did not change my attitude, for as yet only a mildcuriosity was present. It might be anything from a stray cow to amoonshiner on his way to work. Be it what it might, I hoped it would notdisturb me, but wend its way. It was coming toward me; I could not doubtit directly. It would pass me at a right angle, perhaps thirty feet off.I did not care to be seen if it was human; I was in no mood to sacrificea portion of this wonder-night to rustic inanities. I slipped quietlyaround into the shadow of my oak. There came a sound, like a silverylaugh wedded to a harsh cackle, and this was followed by the swiftpatter of running feet, tapping in a muffled tread the moss- andleaf-strewn ground. I thrust out my head to see what these strangesounds meant. God above! The Dryad and the Satyr, hand in hand, dashedby my hiding-place like a hurricane. She was next to me. What she wore Icannot say. It was something all white, girded at the waist with a vine,for I saw leaves and tendrils hanging from it. She had shaken her hairdown. The Satyr was without his hat, and his ragged coat streamed out ashe tore along. I glimpsed his face, and it reflected honest merrimentonly. Just opposite me they laughed again, without apparent reason, aschildren do in a frolic, and how incongruous it sounded; Celeste'smusical bell tones, and Jeff Angel's cracked and jarring voice. So, handin hand, in perfect understanding and good-fellowship, these twoChildren of Nature romped through the moonlit lanes of their belovedwoods, happy in their very wildness and unrestraint.

Before I could recover from my profound astonishment they haddisappeared down a misty aisle hung with trembling, diaphanous, luminousshadows; had merged with the pearl-gray gloom of the middle distance,and a wild, eerie strain of something which might well have beenborrowed from a barbaric chant drifted back to my stunned sensibilities.I caught the notes only, but they drove through to my brain likefire-barbed arrows, and stung it into action. She had passed almostwithin reach of my arm! She! The one because of whom this awful abysshad opened up for me. She had passed, and I had stood like a dolt andlet her go! "Lessie! Lessie!" I sprang forward, goaded by love anddespair, and ran after them with all the swiftness I could command."Dryad! Dryad!" I called, at the top of my voice, but no answer came. Istopped, and with hand against a tree held my breath to listen. Not asound but my own blood hammering in my ears. Then as a full realizationcame to me of the opportunity which had been offered, and which I hadstupidly missed, a feeling of mad recklessness seized me, and I boundedforward again, blindly, knowing only that somewhere ahead of me wasCeleste. Once I saw something white, and rushed toward it with outheldarms and a strangled cry of gladness. It was a portion of a projectingearth-bank, covered with a growth bearing tiny white blossoms. The moonstruck it full, and had worked the cruel deception. I fell upon the purelittle flowers and tore them savagely; flung them down and ground myfeet upon them, then took up my search once more. Rage filled my breast.Rage at myself, at Fate, at Granny, at Beryl Drane, and this animalemotion must have blinded my eyes, for in my headlong, methodlesspursuit I at length ran full force into a huge beech, and droppedsenseless at its feet.

I don't think it could have been long before I roused, for there was nolessening of the brilliant light, such as happens when the moondeclines. It was well for me that I was unconscious but a short time, Isuspect, for as my eyes came open I at once became aware of another pairabove me. A pair which seemed made of sulphur, marked with alternate redand green rings, glowing wickedly. Then I made out the contour of a dimbody perhaps three feet in length stretched upon a low limb just overme. It was a gigantic wild-cat, and he was stalking me. I doubt not hewould have dropped within another five minutes, for even as I watched,his back began to arch and the claws of his hind feet to rustle alongthe bark. With that suggestive motion his head also drooped below thelimb, and it came to me he was gauging the distance for his spring. Iwas no hunter, but 'Crombie was, and from him I had learned thatwild-cats will not attack a man unless driven by hunger, or brought tobay in a corner. So I sat up incontinently; threw out my arms andshouted. With the agility of his tribe he turned promptly, and anothersecond was scuttling up the tree.

I found I had a painful welt across the top of my forehead, but no otherinjury was apparent. My heart turned sick as recollection came back onswallow wings. There was nothing left but to go home. I had myself tothank for my predicament. But where was home? Whither my flight had ledme I possessed no idea. I had tried to follow the elusive wake of twonight-roamers, and they had proven will-o'-the-wisps. Why had not theDryad stopped at my call? I wondered, as I moved doggedly away from thespot. Surely she had heard. Surely she knew who it was, for no one elsecalled her by that name. Could it be that Granny had perverted her mind?Or was it that she did not care? That I was only an incident, and hadbeen cast from her life as quickly and suddenly as I had entered it? Iwould not believe this; I could not believe it. The blow which I had sorecently sustained wrought a radical change in my mental condition, andwhile my breast still burned with implacable resentment toward thenameless something which had caused me to miss catching Celeste, I foundthat my thoughts were freer, and comparatively lucid. I could notbelieve that she had thrust me below her life's horizon, and gonesinging through the woods as though nothing had happened. The idea wasmonstrous, appalling, revolting. It was wholly unacceptable. That my twovisits to her home bore no fruit I laid at Granny's door. The old beldamhad managed it in some way. Had kept the girl hidden, and had preventedanyone within the house from answering my summons. Why had the Dryadburst out weeping and run indoors when Granny thought she had convictedme of duplicity, and ordered me from the place? Ah! my soul! there wascomfort in that! Celeste did not cry from fright; she was used toGranny's tantrums. She cried because for the moment she saw things inthe same light and from the same angle as that old termagant—may herbones lie unburied! She did care for me—she did care for me—she DIDcare for me, and I knew it. I could not solve her frolicking in theforest with her half crazy cousin. I could not unriddle her laughing andsinging. Such things do not go with a heavy heart in the world I know,but it may be she sought relief in following her beloved habit ofrunning, untamed and free, wherever her hoyden steps led her. I will seeher yet, and I will find out. I will make her see the truth, and outwitthat old she-devil who has cast me into torment with her meddling.

Moonset found me laboring up the road to the Lodge. I had stumbled uponmy hill. Sleep came at once, and how doubly sweet was that deep,soundless, shoreless sea when I slipped out upon it in my Barque o'Dreams!

Next day was Wednesday. All the bulldog in my nature unleashed—and amajor part of my nature is represented by the hybrid breed of bulldogand mule—I went to Lizard Point, with the determination to have speechwith some one before I came away. I was no schoolboy, or callow youth,to be trifled with in this manner. I had certain rights as a gentleman,and these rights I intended to demand. But alas for human hopes—anddeterminations! I could not demand aught of an empty porch, or a closedand locked door, or blind-drawn, nailed down windows. I suppose theywere nailed down, for my peculiar nature caused me to try and raise twoof them, when repeated calls and much banging on the door did not bringany results. The sashes did not even tremble under my hands. I saw abroken rail lying near one corner of the house. I looked at it, and atthe blank window. That would get me in, or get somebody out. Eitherwould serve. I was so wrought up that I actually started toward thatpiece of wood before I realized what I intended doing. It would behouse-breaking; malicious destruction of property—both of which werejail offenses. I must forego the execution of this project, much as itappealed to me at the moment. Nothing would suit Granny better. Shewould have the law on me in a trice, and be rid of me for good and all.

I went home.

It is not my purpose to recount in detail my wanderings the remainder ofthis week. Some of it would prove a repetition, and other of ituninteresting. If my sojourn in the Inferno was not as gruesome as thehero's of Ithaca, nor filled with majestic horrors like the immortalDante's, yet it was undeniably true. One night I climbed the peak thricebetween nightfall and daydawn. The last ascent found me so exhaustedthat I lay prone upon the table-like top, and watched the miraculousmystery of morning. It was the first time I had ever seen it from agreat height, and the impression cannot be put into words. I am temptedto try—oh! the untold glory of the magical metamorphosis!—but no, Iwill withstand the inclination. The result would be akin to that athree-year-old child would obtain if given the necessary pigments andtold to paint a sunset. There are times when even fools will not rushin; this is one of them.

Sunday night again as I pen these words. Seven days! Seven æons! Mywatch tells me it is twelve o'clock. As I pause for a moment a soundfloats through my open window. It is not any night bird's trilling, forI know my singers of the dark, every one. Now it comes plainer. A sortof whistle, I should say, though it is a kind I have not heard for along time. Its impression is fuzzy, as though done carelessly. I haveheard boys whistle so, between their teeth. What is happening without mydoor, I wonder? No one bent on mischief, for such do not advertise theirapproach. The whistling has stopped. I declare I hear feet, and theydraw nearer. I am not one bit alarmed. I think I prove this bycontinuing my task as the unknown footsteps steadily come closer. Theystop. I look up. Arms crossed on my window-sill, head bobbing ingreeting and goat tuft wagging, stands the Satyr. Before I can speak heloosens this tipsy stave:

CHAPTER NINETEEN

IN WHICH THE SATYR AND THE NARRATOR BECOME VERY DRUNK AND THE LATTER ISLIFTED TO EARTH AGAIN

"Come in here, Jeff Angel!" I cried, joy at sight of him mounting, andbrightening my face with a smile of welcome. I dropped my pen andbeckoned eagerly.

His grin broadened as he accepted my invitation forthwith, through thewindow. I meant that he should enter by the door, naturally, but insteadhe gave a leap, and came squirming and wriggling in like a greatcaterpillar. I was up and had him by the hand as soon as his feettouched the floor.

"Where's Lessie? How is she? How does she feel toward me? Why didn't youstop when I called you the other night? Talk, man! Hurry!"

The Satyr's grin seemed fixed.

"Whur 'n hell yo' ben?" he drawled, disengaging my clasp and slidingaround the table to a seat on a box.

I rattled my chair on the floor impatiently and begged him to take that,but he demurred.

"Ain't used to 'em," he explained. Then, once more, in genuine and opencuriosity—"Whur 'n hell yo' ben?"

"You've said it—in hell!" I answered, savagely, slipping my papers toone side and sitting upon the table's edge. "And Granny, your blessedaunt, is the one who shoved me in—good and deep!"

"Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw!" roared Jeff Angel, with an intonationindescribably ludicrous had I been in the humor to enjoy it. His headwent back and his curving whisker shook at me like a bent forefinger.

"Damn it, man!" I gritted, worn irascible by that week's awfulexperiences; "don't laugh and joke the night away! Tell me aboutLessie—then we'll make merry till morning if you wish!"

Thus caroled this irrepressible Antic, and drew from some recess in hisrags the bottle which I had seen before.

I glared at him helplessly. Perhaps he was a trifle drunker than he wasthat other time, when I gave him his supper. There he sat swaying hishead from side to side, peering mischievously at me with his watery blueeyes, irresponsible as an infant. Then I recognized the futility ofanger, or importunity. This queer being would speak when he got ready,and not before. I made a great effort, and threw off the impetuousnesswhich desired to know everything at once. I would humor this halfcivilized, half crazy person.

"Let us drink, then!" I agreed, bending forward with outstretched arm."I need a bracer, anyway."

At this the Satyr sat up with distended lids and mouth ajar, holdinghimself to a rigid perpendicular by planting his hands on either side ofhim and putting his weight upon them.

"Shore 'nough?" he burst out.

"Shore 'nough!" I answered, with a positive nod. "Give me some of yourwhite lightning; I've grown used to fire."

He picked up the bottle haltingly, as though constrained to unbelief inspite of my words and my waiting hand, and placing his thumb over thecob stopper, began to shake the contents furiously.

"What's that for?" I asked.

"Shakin' th' fusic off!" he enlightened me, and it was a moment or twobefore I figured out what he meant. Fusil oil in whisky rises; Jeff'svigorous action was to diffuse it. His corruption of the word told methat he was totally ignorant of what he really was doing.

He drew the stopper with his teeth, and handed me the bottle. I think Ihave said elsewhere in this narrative that drinking whisky is not one ofmy weaknesses. That is to say, it is not a habit. I can scarcelyconceive of a man living thirty years in Kentucky without drinking alittle whisky. I knew the stuff I held was vile, but I put it to my lipsfor two reasons. I was dead tired, and I wanted to set this contrarycreature's tongue to going on topics which would interest me. I took abig mouthful, swallowed, and thought my time had come. Hot? My throatclosed up, tight, and for a time I could not breathe. My mouth burned asthough it had been cauterized. I slid from the table, choked, coughing,my eyes running water. Back to the kitchen I tore for a draught from thebucket on the shelf—for something that would unstop my windpipe.Pelting my ears as I ran were the high-pitched, cackling notes of theSatyr, volley after volley, as he hugged his knees and rocked and weavedin unrestrained delight.

"Whut's the matter?" he queried, in mock surprise, as I reappeared withmy handkerchief busy about my eyes and mouth.

"No more o' that junk, Jeffy!" I replied, thrusting my hand into themedicine chest on the wall and producing a quart of ten-year-old ryewhisky. "If I make merry with you I'll choose my beverage."

"That's spring wadder!" he returned, contemptuously. "We feed that tobabies out here."

"Spring water it may be, but it's stout enough for your uncle."

I drew the cork as I spoke, placed my private brand upon the table,found my pipe and sat down facing my strange guest.

He proceeded to shame me by indulging in a very liberal potation,smacking his lips with greatest zest at its conclusion, and winkingacross at me in a manner intended to indicate his superiority.

"Where's your fiddle?" I asked; not that I cared especially, but it wasincumbent upon me to be agreeable.

The Satyr jerked a grimy thumb toward the window which had just admittedhim.

"Out thur on th' binch. 'S wropped up 'n' th' jew won't hurt it."

In the short silence which followed, we got our pipes to going.

"Was that you whistling a while ago?" I continued, after waiting vainlyfor my visitor to say something voluntarily.

"That's me a-play'n'."

"Playing?"

"Yes, play'n' a reed. Fus' thing ever I got music out o'."

Again his hand was hidden in his tatters for a moment, and came out withwhat appeared to be a long, slender stick. This he placed to his mouthafter the manner of a clarinet player, and blew a pure, flute-like note.Then I saw the instrument was hollow, with little round holes along itslength.

"Pipes o' Pan, by Jove!" I breathed. "Make me some music, Satyr."

Already I was aware of the effect of that mouthful of white lightning. Aslow but sure elation was beginning to buoy me up unnaturally, and Ifelt the ebullience of spirit such as follows the knowledge of somegreat joy.

"Pipe for me, you heathen minstrel!" I added, smiling at him withnarrowed eyes. "Draw from that piece of wood the things the birds, andthe trees, and the brooks, and the flowers have told you. Trill me amoonlight roundelay, such as inspires the feet of fairies; make me seethe wood violets nodding in the warm dusk, and let me hear the drone ofbees in the tiger-lily's cup. Sound for me the dream-song of the runlet,as it whispers and babbles over its pebbly bed and between itsmoss-draped banks in the silver starlight. Bring me the low love-messageof the dove when the breeze is but a sigh, and the witch-light from asun just sunk fills all the forest with a chastened radiance, and makesit one vast sanctuary upheld by a million pillars. It is there yourpatron lives—the great god Pan! Tell me not you've never heard him bythe river bank o' quiet days, when the squirrels sleep, and thechipmunks drowse, and the birds forget their tunes. Belike you've neverseen him, for to mortals he remains ever invisible; but you, O Satyr,are most surely a cousin, if not nearer kin, and it may be you and hehave danced many a bacchanalian revel together. Dost know him—the greatgod Pan? Goat-legged, horn-headed, pleasure-loving, with his pipes towhile the time?"

I did not stop to consider that this outburst was jargon pure and simpleto the ears which received it. My mind had suddenly become gorged withpoetic thoughts, and I poured them out upon the helpless head of JeffAngel.

"Fur Gawd's sake!—air yo' plum' gone?" he exclaimed, in unfeignedalarm, casting a rapid glance around as though meditating flight.

"That's what your juice did for me," I explained, laughing to reassurehim of my sanity. "One more swallow, then we'll have a tune!"

We pledged each other from our respective bottles, and the Satyr played.

Again I find myself hampered, for I cannot translate that performancethrough the medium of words. It was the most astounding exhibition Ihave ever listened to. His work on the violin had been entirely beyondthe range of my comprehension, but then the dormant possibilities werein the violin. What was there in this slender reed? Unguessed miraclesof sound! I sat and stared at the grotesque form on the box, wonderingat first if I really was so intoxicated that my imagination was actingthe ally for this vagabond artist. No, the ability of this uncouthmusician was real, and my appreciation was only heightened by the subtlepower of the draught of mountain dew. As I sat and puffed in lazycontentment, many a woodland pageant passed before my eyes. I saw allthe things for which I had asked, and more. Beneath his hands the dumbreed became a sentient power; became a living, speaking force. Nature'sinfinite secrets dropped from it in purest pearls of sound. I heard thetwitter of birds; the love-call, the anger-cry, the alarm-shriek, themother-croon. I heard the wailing sweep of the wind when the stormgathers and hurls its invisible battalions upon the countless army oftrees. I heard the wordless lisp of the matin zephyr when a new, freshbreath moves across the world at dawn. I heard the vesper sigh like aprayer from tired lips. I heard the whistle of the dove's wing in itsstartled flight, and the quail's liquid call. I heard the holy hymn ofmidnight when the moon hangs big and yellow, and the numberless stringsof the Ancient Harp vibrate softly to her summons. I heard the sweetpurling of running water, and the barely audible echo of an insect'shum.

I had no word of praise or compliment when Jeff took the pipe from hislips and carelessly laid it aside. What I had just given ear to wasbeyond platitude or fervent adjective; beyond comment. Silence was theonly true meed which might be accorded it, and this I gave.

Jeff sighed, twisted his shoulders as though to rid himself of a cramp,ran his tongue over his lips, and picked up his bottle.

"Wuz that whut yo' wanted w'en yo' 's talk'n' out o' yo' head?" heventured, with a coy, sideways movement of his chin.

I nodded. Here was a combination worthy of profound study. Totallyunlearned, depraved but not debased, with a soul so full of music thateven his besotted state had no power against it. I failed to understand.

For an hour thereafter I strove with all the skill at my command, usedevery artifice, to draw the Satyr out, and make him tell what he knew.In vain. He saw through each device; he avoided each veiled trap. Hedrank often, and good-naturedly insisted that I should imbibe every timehe did. There was no help for it, but presently I was taking no morethan a thimbleful at a time, for I realized that my condition wasbecoming most uncertain. Jeff seemed proof against the stuff, for hepoured it down recklessly, without any noticeable effect. But when hearose to his feet after a while to feel in his trousers pocket for amatch, I saw results. He giggled, swayed, and quite suddenly sat downagain. I hospitably got up to supply his needs from a box on the mantel,when to my dismay and great surprise I discovered that the room wasbeginning to turn around and the furniture to do a silent jig. I drew myface down sternly to rebuke myself for this hallucination, and starteddeterminedly toward the mantel. Where was the mantel? As I sat it was tomy left. When I stood it was in front. Now it was to my back! Iwhirled angrily, and bumped into Jeff Angel, who had risen to renew theinvestigation of his trousers—I mean pants. Jeff didn't wear trousers;he wore pants—and that's too dignified a name for them. We bumped,instinctively grappled, and naturally came to the floor. Jeff fell ontop; I felt that abominable chin-tuft tickling my neck. I pushed himoff, and in a few moments we had gained what I shall term an obliqueperpendicular. That is, both his feet and mine were on the floor, buthis were some distance away from mine, and we were mutually supported byour intertwined arms. He regarded me with a watery leer, and one eyebrowtilted, while I endeavored to look very dignified; with what success Iof course cannot say.

"Y's damn good feller!" averred my cup companion, blinking laboredly.

I managed to move my feet forward a little, and to straighten my leaningbody correspondingly. Then I bethought me that I was host, and my guestwanted a match. I looked for the mantel; it was not in sight. I turnedgravely to my vis-a-vis.

"Whersh man'l?" I asked, when a weakening of my waist muscles caused meto bend forward and then back in a most awkward manner.

Instead of replying to my question, the Satyr, with eyes glassily set onvacancy, began some more of his infernal doggerel.

This classic quatrain was delivered after repeated efforts, and I bowedmy approval as the silly sing-song came to an end.

Just how it was managed I cannot say to-night, as I sit with aching headand write the story of my shame, but in some way we found our originalseats.

"Hongry, ain't yo'?" asked Jeff, with what I thought a sardonic look.

"No 'm not 'ung'y."

"Yes yo' air—hongry fur news! Huh? He! He! He!"

I swallowed, and fixed on him a stony stare. He was going to relent.

"I's hongry onct—belly hongry—'n' yo' give me good grub. Now yo'rehongry—heart hongry—'n' I'm a-goin' to fill yo' plum' up!"

I essayed to cross my knees to assure myself that I was actually allright, but something went wrong with my lifted leg. It fell short, sliddown my other shin, and lodged on the instep in a most unique twist. Ilet it remain. Bemused as I was almost to the point of helplessness, Iyet knew that the Satyr had far greater control of his faculties thanmyself, despite the enormous quantity of poison he had consumed. I couldlisten acutely, however, if my speech was difficult.

"Go on," I encouraged, doing the two monosyllables without a hitch.

"Th' gal lied to th' pries' 'n' th' pries' tol' Granny, didn't he?"

This abrupt and startling declaration almost dazed me.

"Howje know?"

"I's to th' P'int t'other day; jes' drapped 'roun' 'n' heerd d'rec'lythur'd ben a tur'ble stew. Granny tol' me 'bout it, 'n' how she'd druvyo' off on 'count o' whut th' pries's niece tol' 'im. She lied, though,sho!"

"Howje know?"

"Granny 'lowed yo' said so, but I knowed it w'en it hap'n'd, 'cus I'mal'ays perk'n' 'roun' in onexpected places. I wander consid'ble."

"Whurruz zhe?"

"That vine-house ain't fur frum th' hedge, 'n' I jes' hap'n'd to belayin' 'long t'other side 'n' heerd all yo' said. So I ups 'n' 'lows toGranny 'n' Lessie that you tol' th' truth 'n' th' gal lied, 'cus I heerdever'thin'."

"Whusshe do?"

"She sot thur lak a mud woman, a-wink'n' 'n' a-swaller'n', her mouthhung open lak a dead fish's—"

"Whus she do?—Lesshe?"

"She hugged Granny, 'n' she hugged Gran'fer, 'n' she hugged me, 'n' ezshe's hugg'n' me she tol' me we'd go runnin' that night, jes' on 'counto' th' good news I'd brung."

"I shaw you."

"Huh?"

"I shaw you—called—wouldn't stop. Why didn't yo' stop?"

"Never heerd yo'; we's runnin'."

The Satyr's recital was not given with the lucidity of my transcription.It was halting, stammering, uncertain in places, but it imparted aglorious truth which rolled a stone from my breast. Even in the depthsof my state of inebriety I was uplifted. I saw the light of day oncemore, who had been following paths of gloom and horror. I remember thatI arose with the intention of grasping his hand to thank him, then aveil dropped before my eyes and my mind went blank.

I awoke this morning with my head splitting and every joint stiff. I hadspent the remaining hours of night upon the floor. My first thought wasof my visitor. I sat up and looked around, but he was gone. All of thisday I have been trying to get myself together. I was never drunkbefore—beastly drunk. I never shall be again. It is not the physicaldiscomfort which causes me to make this declaration. That is bad enough,but I am no cringing coward, and am ready to pay the penalty for anyconscious misdemeanor. It is the shame of it which makes me say it.

When a man sets out to tell the whole truth about himself he has a taskbefore him. Willingly would I have omitted this scandalous episode; notwillingly, but gladly. I feel humiliated; I feel unworthy of that greatjoy which surely will be mine as soon as I can see my Dryad. True, itwas for her I did it. I had to humor that antic creature to worm hissecret from him. My soul is at peace to-night despite the misery of mymistreated body. Now I must go to bed, and I believe I can sleep.To-morrow—to-morrow—oh, my brothers! did you ever go to bed in thefirm belief that to-morrow heaven's gate would open for you?

CHAPTER TWENTY

IN WHICH I VIEW AN EMPTY WORLD, ACT A HYPOCRITE, AND HEAR A CONFESSIONOF LOVE

I sometimes wonder why it is that troubles pile up. Why they are notscattered along through our lives, instead of being accumulated, andthen dumped upon our heads all at once. It doesn't seem like a fair gameto me. It seems as if something was taking advantage of ourhelplessness. You see a fellow can rally under one or two back licks ofFate, if they are not too hard, and if there's any sort of fightingstuff in him. But when they come often, and come big and strong, hisknees get wobbly and his spirit sickens. Is he to blame?

I find myself in some such strait to-night, for the open door of heavenwhich I went to sleep thinking about is not open, at all. It might be—Ibelieve it would be if I could see Celeste, but she is gone. I marvel atthe steady hand with which I trace these words. It is not because I donot feel. There are invisible fingers at my throat, and a spiked handabout my heart. Each spasmodic throb seems to thrust the cardiac wallsagainst nettles. If my journal had not progressed so far I think I wouldend it right here. It appears as if this is to be the logical endanyway. Perhaps when I rise from my work to-night I shall gather up thewritten sheets and toss them, so much scrap paper, into the black jawsof the old fireplace. I don't know. I have come to look forward to mynight's writing. It is not a diary, you see. It is—well, it must be astory, in a way, but how could we call such simple and homely things asI have jotted down a story? I'm sure it is not like the other story Iwrote; the book which was published, and which no one would read. I madethat up out of the whole cloth. I wonder if people knew—and I wonder ifthey will believe my word that this is the truth. But if I stop writingto-night I won't have a story. Things have gone on and on, and here I ammortally in love with Celeste Somebody, and elsewhere are the others Ihave met who have touched my life in various ways. All in suspense, asit were, awaiting developments. I can't end my journal to-night. Thatis, I can't end it and expect any sane people to put it between bookcovers. Wouldn't it be an innovation! The thought amuses me in the midstof my heartsickness. But Celeste is gone, and with her gone there isnothing more to say. I could offer little else than Mark Twain'smemorable diary on shipboard: "Got up, washed, and went to bed." Shemust come back, that is all. I don't know where she is, nor how long shewill be away. These things I will find out. Here I have wandered on muchlike a maundering old man, without first setting down the adventure ofthe day, and then commenting, if so inclined. I beg pardon. To-night Ireally am not fit, and should not attempt to write. But I have begun;inaction would be galling, so I will continue.

Was I astir early this morning? The first gray arrow, barbed with silverand feathered with gloom, had not found my small window ere I was upwith a snatch of song welling from my throat, and hurrying for the bigwashtub back of the kitchen which does the duty of a bathtub incivilization. I had never been so completely happy since I was a boy onmy grandad's farm. I even wanted to whistle while I was shaving, I wasso full of song and laughter. Cooking breakfast was a jolly lark; eatingit a delicious pastime. Then I was gone like a deer breaking cover, thedoor to the Lodge open to its fullest extent. She knew the truth, and Imight even meet her coming to me.

As I ran easily through the forest on the now familiar way, I noticedthat my exuberant spirits began to decline. A foreboding of somedisaster crept stealthily and steadily upon me, until I actually had achilly sensation down my spine, and a woeful sinking in my breast. Thisphenomenon, in common with many others attendant upon our daily life,cannot be explained. I really suffered until I came in sight of the roofwhich sheltered my beloved; then, as I mounted to the tree-bridge withfeet suddenly grown leaden, a numb calm gripped me. I stood and leanedagainst the section of the root-wadded disk which projected above thebutt of the oak, little spiders of feeling scurrying out all over mychest from a center above my heart. No signs of morning activity greetedmy despairing gaze. The house was silent and lifeless as the trunkbeneath my feet. No blue wood smoke curled up from the kitchen chimney.Not even the dog was visible. Only from the comb of the chicken house alonesome guinea fowl squawked harshly. I dragged myself forward. When Ireached the house I went in a mechanical way to each door and window inturn. They were fastened, but I discovered the dining room window waswithout a shade or curtain, and to a pane of glass here I pressed myface, shielding my eyes from the light with my hands. Slowly theinterior took shape. A table covered with oilcloth; a few low-backed,shuck-bottomed chairs; a smaller table against the wall holding whatappeared to be a jar of honey; a safe with tin paneled doors stuck fullof holes in some kind of design; a fly-brush in the corner made ofnewspaper slit into strips and fastened to the end of a piece of bamboofishing-pole. A bare floor, well scrubbed. I saw no one; I heardnothing, though I listened for several minutes with parted lips. Theywere gone. Everybody was gone. Where? Maybe just to spend the day with aneighbor. I knew this was a rural custom. Hope flared up with a quickrush to welcome this idea. Where were those neighbors? Ah, yes! TheTollers! Celeste had told me of them the first time I had talked withher. She had said they lived over the hill. So over the hill I fared ina bee-line, ignoring the road below which in all probability wouldconduct me to my destination. It was a hard climb, for the spur rose uprugged and forbidding, but I was growing inured to such things andscarcely noticed the exertion. When I reached the valley upon the otherside I came upon the road. Following this for a short distance Idiscovered a log cabin, set dangerously near the bank of a creek. To oneside a huge black kettle was a-boil over a fa*ggot fire, and by it stooda woman stirring with a long stick the clothes she was getting ready forthe wash. Children were everywhere, like squirrels in a hickory tree innutting time. There must have been fourteen, and the oldest was far fromgrown. At sight of me one gave a shrill little yelp, then there began amighty scuttling for hiding places. The majority made for the door ofthe cabin, several found refuge behind convenient trees, while one ofthe boys shinned up an ash as though in mortal fright. Two or three moredropped over the shelving bank of the stream, and holding to the sodwith tenacious, grimy paws, thrust their heads up and watched me withbrilliant, dancing eyes. The smallest sought the protection of theirmother's bedraggled skirts, which they pulled over their faces, thusstifling in a measure the piercing wails which had marked their progressto her side. The woman turned impatiently at the hubbub, brushed thesmoke from her eyes, and peered at me with puckered face.

I came boldly toward her. Already I knew she whom I sought was not here,but I had to make my errand known.

"I'm looking for—a person," I began, conscious that I was stating mymission very lamely.

A look of mingled craft and truculence spread over the seamed, sallowface of the woman. What a pitiful appearance she made! I was assured shewas not over thirty, but she seemed nearer fifty. Hipless,flat-breasted, stringy-necked; her hands and wrists red and rough. Herscanty hair was pale straw in color, showed dirt, and was slicked backand screwed into a knot about the size of a walnut on the crown of herhead. Her dress was—simply a protection against nakedness.

"I 'low yo' 'd better git!" presently exclaimed this mother of many,with painful directness.

"Yes," I assented; "I'll git in a minute. Have you seen Lessie thismorning? It is she I want!"

"Oh!"

The washed-out blue, almost vacant eyes popped open wider in instantrelief. Then I knew. Her man was a 'shiner, and she, seeing at a glancethat I was not of the vicinity, had visions of revenue officers andpenitentiaries when I vaguely declared I was looking for a person.

"Air you him?" she resumed, squinting one eye and giving a little jerkof her head.

From which I judged that my fame had gone abroad throughout all theregion round about, and that her ambiguous query related to the unhappydweller on old Baldy's lap.

"I'm him," I acquiesced, a dull misery making me careless of speech."Have you seen Lessie this morning?" I repeated, listlessly.

The woman drew a deep breath of visible comfort.

"Naw. She 's gone a-visit'n'. Th' hull kit 'n' bil'n' uv 'em tuk trainthis morn'n' at peep o' day. I's over to Granny's yistiddy to borry achunk o' soap. She 's tur'ble worrit, 'n' tol' me she 's go'n' 'way fura spell."

"Where have they gone?"

"Snack Holler."

"Where 's that?"

"Lard knows! T' other en' o' th' worl', some'r's, lak 's not. Granny'sgot folks thur."

She turned to the kettle again and began to stir the clothes.

"You say they left on the train from Hebron?"

"I never said Hebrin, but that's whur they tuk train.... I wouldn't giton one o' th' murder'n' thin's fur a sheer in th' railroad," sheconfided, almost instantly.

"Then they must be going on a long trip?"

"To Snack Holler, I tol' yo'. Granny's got folks thur."

"You don't know whether or not Snack Hollow is in Kentucky?"

A doggedness born of desperation was goading me to find out all I couldabout the destination of the fugitives, for I had no doubt this was amove on Granny's part to elude me utterly and permanently.

"'Pears to me yo' 've axed questions 'nough fur a plum' stranger, 'n'I'm too busy to be pestered no mo'. 'T ain't none o' my business whurSnack Holler's at, 'n' thin's whut ain't none o' my business I let'lone. That's a mort'l good thin' to 'member, stranger—don't bother'bout other people's business!"

The unkempt brood among whom my approach had wrought such consternationwas beginning to make itself manifest again. Those who had fledcreekward now squatted on the verge of the bank; those who had rushedindoors had inched out and lined up by the cabin wall; those who hadhastened to place the thickness of a tree between themselves and thedeadly danger which emanated from my simple presence now stalked boldlyin the open, while the infants had forsaken the folds of their mother'sdress and, on hands and knees, were diligently pursuing the erraticjourney of a spotted toad, punching him in the rear with their fingerswhen he fain would rest. The tree climber was still wary; I could seehis slim brown legs and knotty knees dangling below a limb where he satastride.

I had a prescience that this hill woman knew more than she had told me,but how was I to get it from her after that last speech? It was safe toassume the Tollers were good friends to Granny, and confidences werejust as essential to these people as to those more civilized. Idetermined to employ strategy. Would it hurt my conscience? Bah! ForCeleste I would lie, or steal, or kill!

"Mrs. Toller," I began, as though I had at that moment made a discovery."I declare you have a fine, handsome lot of children. All of themyours?"

I turned smiling from one group to the other. When my eyes came back tothe woman I saw with joy that her features had relaxed, and somethingresembling a grin played about her bloodless lips. She quit work, andbeamed upon her frowzy, tatterdemalion progeny, proud as if each hadbeen a world conqueror instead of a dirt-enameled midgit of ignorance.Ah! the simplicity and the beauty of motherhood!

"Ever' chick 'n' chil' 's mine 'n' th' ol' man's." How her voice hadchanged; a silver thread had crept into it where before iron had rung."Fo'teen uv 'em, sir, 'n' we've marrit fifteen year come th' fust o'Jinnywary!"

"Fine, healthy lot!"

I rubbed my chin and took a fresh view of the spindle-shanked,pinched-cheeked, tallow-faced little creatures, salving my conscience asbest as I could by bringing to mind that faulty old saw that the endjustifies the means. But I knew I was lying, and I wasn't used to it.True this lie would do good. It would give happiness unalloyed to Mrs.Toller, and I felt that I had put in a wedge with which I might prizeout the information I coveted.

Mrs. Toller relinquished her grasp on the stick, turned her back on theclothes, and folded her arms contentedly.

"They air a likely look'n' set o' young-uns, since yo' 're kind 'noughto say so. Co'se it ain't fur me to brag, seein' 's I'm they mammy"—shecould hardly speak that sentence because of the pride which tightenedher throat—"but they ain't none here-'bout, not ev'n over to Hebrinway, whut's nice 'n' man'erly 'n' ree-specb'l, sho!"

The peregrinations of the persecuted toad, after describing an irregularsemi-circle, had now led him near the spot where I stood. After thepatient reptile toiled the three infants; two of the same size andapparently the same age, and one who had but recently reached thecrawling period. This one, by the way, was perpetually in the rear ofthe procession, its single garment hampering its knee action and makingany sort of speed out of the question. The frog had become tired of hisenforced journey, and was getting harder to move after each diminishingleap. Now it sat with palpitating sides, stubbornly refusing anotherjump, while the finger of the lead tormentor prodded with dullpersistence at its posterior.

Up to this time Mrs. Toller had paid no heed to the unique pastime ofher three youngest, such pursuits possibly having lost interest fromtheir commonness. Now, however, she bent suddenly forward, exclaimingshrilly:

"You Stephen Alec! Don't tech that varmint ag'in! Yo' wan' to hev wartsall over yo'?"

Stephen Alec promptly drew back and thrust the hand which stood injeopardy behind him. He turned a loose-lipped visage to his angryparent, then began a series of extraordinarily piercing yells.

Behold my chance! I stepped forward and gathered Stephen Alec up in myarms and sat him upon my shoulder. Then I tossed him gently. Next I wassitting on the ground with my watch out against his ear. The yellsceased, and presently brothers and sisters were crowding around me. Itold them a story—one of the old, old favorites which our grandmothersused to quiet their children with, and before it was done a little girlhad slid up so close to me over the bare ground that, still talking, Iput out my arm and curled it around her and pulled her up onto my knee.At that another came voluntarily and crouched against my leg. Presentlythe whole ragged, unwashed crew were squeezing about me as close as theycould get, and I was digging in the unused recesses of my mind for themost correct version of Red Riding Hood and Three Little Pigs. Poor Mrs.Toller! Happy Mrs. Toller! She fluttered from the black kettle to mygroup, back and forth, listening in silence, like one of the children,then hastening back to the clothes. I must have acted entertainer for afull hour, although I found it interesting, and did not tire. When Isignified my intention of going I encountered a vociferous denial, andperforce must relate a number of the tales a second time. But at lengthI was on my feet, and with urchins clinging to every available holdabout me, advanced to bid Mrs. Toller good-by.

"I'm awfully glad to have seen you and all these bright little people!"(I should have been ashamed; I know it.) "I must be getting on now."

Mrs. Toller was actually embarrassed.

"I mought 'a' spoke a bit mo' ceev'ly to yo' ef I'd 'a' knowed yo' 'ssich a nice man. A pus'n can't be too partic'ler, yo' know, 'speciallyw'en th' man's 'way mos' o' th' time. Since th' chil'n' hev took to yo'so I don't mind sayin' that Granny 'lowed to me she's tak'n' Lessie 'wayfrom th' neighborhood 'count uv a man, but she nev'r named 'im 'cuspeople don't tell names 'n' tales too, ez a gin'r'l thin'."

"Much obliged to you, indeed. Glad to have seen you. Good-day."

"Good marn'n'. Come back ag'in ef yo' git lonesome."

A half-hour later I was sitting in the porch entrance of the desertedhouse at Lizard Point. Right there we had sat such a short time before,and she had learned her A B C's. Down that winding path we had strolledthe first time I came to call, and she had struggled so to tell me ofthe darkened house in which she dwelt. And I was going to help her.Already I had helped her, and now—I ground my teeth in sudden rage andleaped up. Where was Jeff Angel? Gone with them? Where was anybody whocould point me a way out? Father John! He might know something of thisremote spot with the classic name where Granny "had folks." I wanted tosee Beryl Drane, anyway. I had not gone to her before because I knewwell no good would come of it. To-day I wanted to stand before her facein the presence of her uncle, and ask her why she had told that viciouslie which had wrought such evil. I wanted to confront her with herbaseness, and demand an explanation of her wanton wickedness. The senseof chivalry which was born in my blood and which had caused me toshield her once at the sacrifice of myself, was gone. It was consumedin the hot furnace of my wrath and indignation. I wantedCeleste—Celeste—Celeste! I would move heaven and earth to get her, forthe wonder and mystery of her rare beauty and the hypnotic effect of hersweet personality had combined fearfully to work havoc within me. Theelemental peace which brooded like a living presence over the earth thissunny, summer morning became to me a disturbing, harrowing force by verycontrast with the awful tumult which boiled within my breast. I waslonely—lonely and desperate. I had borne all I could. That terribleweek wherein I never saw the sun, nor heard a bird voice, nor felt thesoothing benediction of a breeze, had well-nigh worn me out, bodily andspiritually. This crowning calamity I would not accept meekly. I wouldfight it; I would disclaim its existence. It was unjust, unfair,treacherous and cowardly. I had been honest from the beginning, and whena man plays the game of life fairly and squarely, not even Providence,or whatever Great Power there be, has the right to take advantage ofhim, and seek to overwhelm him. I would dare everything—heaven andhell, if need be—for the sake of this golden haired Dryad with the lipsof flame. She had been removed by force. Even a lover's mind is acutewhen the object of his adoration is concerned, and I knew—I knew thatCeleste loved me! What else mattered? This compulsory separation? Agreat surge of triumph heaved up within me, and the light of victorycame to my eyes. What poor, ignorant puppets these were, who had triedto rob me of my rare jewel? The beacon of her bright coronal would guideme to the furthest corner of the earth, and if need had been I wouldhave followed across sea and plain and mountain and desert; followedwith a fire-wrapped heart of deathless devotion, even as Three of oldfollowed a certain Star.

Filled with mingled emotions, all primal, all superlative, so that myhead seemed encircled with a close fitting metal band, I took up mymarch to Hebron along the dusty road. My mood was reckless. I wanted tosee that little she-cat whose low vindictiveness was at the bottom of mypresent luckless plight. I would neither spare nor choose my words.There was no gallantry lurking in my soul now to temper the accusationsborn of an outraged and agonized spirit. I felt sorry for the littlepriest, for he loved her well. But innocent suffer with and for theguilty daily. It is part of that plan we are told to accept blindly, andwhen we question it, however meekly and with the true and earnest desirefor light, we are haled forth with a rope around our necks as hereticsand atheists. Father John would have to witness the destruction of anidol, for I was merciless, and knew the power was within me to beat downany brazen denial this creature might utter. A mighty strange thing islove, my masters!

Across the home-made bridge I tramped, striding heavily. A figure stoodin the door of the smithy, leather-aproned, tall and strong. I strode upthe slope with bent head, and reached a point opposite him before Ilooked at Buck. Arms akimbo, sturdy legs apart, a grin on his face whichbroke into a low, deep chuckle as he caught my eye. I almost stopped,while my fists knotted with the instinct of a savage. But I went on,that rumbling, mocking laugh echoing in my ears. He knew she was gone.Perhaps he had something to do with her leaving. That insulting,gloating chuckle could easily give rise to a suspicion of the sort, orit may have been he was in equally bad case, and had simply adopted thatmethod of tormenting me.

I gained the priest's house with a feeling such as I imagine a tigerpossesses when it gathers itself together to spring upon its prey. Itwas entirely alien to my nature, but it had been born of circ*mstance,not of my will, and I made no effort to remove or curb it. The frontdoor was closed, probably against the heat. I pounded upon a panel withmy fist, ignoring the gentler and more refined summons it is customaryto give with the knuckles. As I stood waiting, restlessly turning fromside to side, I observed that the shades to the two windows visible weredrawn to within a foot of their respective sills. At this discovery awild and reasonless alarm seized me. I renewed my hammering on the door,and even seized the knob, shaking it vigorously. A key grated and thedoor was opened, revealing the gaunt face and bony form of Marie, thehousekeeper. Wonder and a sort of terror shone in her bright black eyes.

"Father John!... Miss Drane!" I exclaimed roughly, brushing past herinto the hall. "Where are they? In the library? I must see them both atonce—together!"

I stopped and glared at the woman with a menacing forehead.

"His rev'rence an' Mees Bereel ees not here!" she said, simply andcalmly.

"Not here! Not here!... Where are they?"

"Gone. Mees Bereel goes home yest'day. His rev'rence go to Lou-ees-villewiz her, an' have not return'; oui."

I made no reply, but left the house and mechanically turned back towardthe little hamlet. Gone! Was that the monotonous and deadly refrain towhich the world had been set running? All gone. Everybody gone. WhereverI turned—gone. With sagging shoulders I plodded on, trying to think ofsomething else. Where was Snack Hollow? Where was Snack Hollow? Wherewas Snack Hollow? This sentence raced through my brain with theregularity of a pendulum's swing. Why, the station agent would know! Ihad reached the foot of the steep hill, where the track ran, when thisilluminating idea was conceived. To my right was the small depot,fronted by a platform of a height to unload freight upon from a cardoor. Looking up suddenly under the force of my discovery, I saw JeffAngel seated upon this platform, his thin legs hanging from it, anoilcloth-covered bundle at his side. He was leisurely eating cheese andcrackers from a yellow paper sack. What a glad sight he was to me in themidst of an empty world!

"O you blessed old Satyr!" I yelled, and ran toward him forthwith.

"Whut's th' furse 'bout?" he asked, quietly, trying to smile a welcome,but only succeeding in showing some imperfect teeth caked with cheeseand dough.

"Why, damn your dirty, good old hide, I'm glad to see you!" I continued,jumping to a seat at his left and squeezing his disengaged hand. "I'mabout two-thirds crazy, you know, and I need somebody to hold me whenthe other third slips over. Think you can?"

I nudged his skinny ribs jocularly. My mental condition truly was not upto standard that moment.

"Huh!" grunted Jeff, casting me a quick, amused glance.

"Why didn't you wait and have breakfast?" I asked, drawing a breathwhich flooded the deepest cell in my lungs.

I tell you it was good to sit by the side of that ragged piece offlotsam. I felt hope coming back, for I knew he was my friend.

"Woke up—thirsty 's 'ell. Your'n gone; mine gone. Had to hev someliquor, so I lit out, easy, so 's not to wake you up. Had some muster,didn't we?—Huh?"

I nodded. I didn't care to review that night's doings.

"See here, Satyr," I said, abruptly; "where's Lessie?"

"She's 'ith Granny 'n' Gran'fer, I reck'n," he replied, with anaturalness which for a moment caused me to wonder if he knew of theirdeparture. "Leas'ways, they lef' together," he added, after a briefinterval.

"Where have they gone?—what did they go for?—when are they comingback?"

My companion tossed the last bit of cheese, rind and all, into hismouth; inverted the sack and allowed all the crumbs to go the same way;blew the sack up and burst it on his knee, and began to feel for hispipe before he replied.

"I don' know whur they gone. They went to git Lessie 'way frum you. They's com'n' back putty durn soon."

"I know where they've gone! It's to Snack Hollow!"

"Who tol' yo'?"

The look he bent upon me was a mixture of pity and contempt.

"Mrs. Toller. I've just come from there. She was uncivil at first, but Imade up with the children, then she said Granny had told her she wasgoing to Snack Hollow, where she had some folks. Where is this place,Satyr? I'm going, too, next train."

"No ust, pardner."

He scratched the dirty stub of a match on a plank, and lit up.

"Granny—'n' Gran'fer—'n' Lessie—ain't a-nigh Snack Holler!"

The fateful sentence came out in jerks, between puffs. I thought he wastrying to scare me.

"You can't fool me, Jeff," I retorted, but my voice lacked assurance."How far is this Snack Hollow, and how soon can I get there?"

With the greatest air of insouciance the vagabond fiddler chanted, inthe same sing-song with which I had grown familiar:

It was plainly immaterial to Jeff whether I believed him or not. Equallyplain it was that he knew what he was talking about.

"I believe you, Satyr. But who told you?"

He was instantly placated.

"Nobody to' me noth'n', but I ain't no plum' ejit."

"But Mrs. Toller—"

"Look-y-here, pardner!" Jeff squirmed around and thrust his goat-tuftforward. "Granny tuk Lessie 'way frum these here parts on 'count o' you.She 'peared to b'lieve whut I tol' 'er 'bout th' gel lyin' on yo', butthey ain't no manner o' 'pen'ence to be put in Granny's notions. She'smade up o' contrair'ness, anyhow. She jes' got to mull'n' 'n'a-brood'n', 'n' whut 'ith her trouble 'ith Ar'minty 'n' all she jes''lowed it's well 's not to light out fur a spell. 'N' hev yo' got little'nough sinse to 'low fur a minute she 'd tell that long-tongued Ab'gailToller whur she's a-goin'? Yes, she tol' Ab'gail Toller she's a-goin' toSnack Holler—'n' fur why? 'Cus she knowed yo'd come a-nosin' 'roun'axin' questions, 'n' th' fust place you'd go 'd be right thur."

I felt the water closing over me afresh at these words of doom.

"But don't you know?" I urged, desperately. "Didn't you ask Granny?"

"Yes, I axed 'er, 'n' she 'lowed it's none o' my 'fair."

"But you said they would be back soon. How do you know?"

A sly grin crept to his thinly bearded lips.

"Look-y-here, pardner. Me 'n' you's frien's. I've et yo' grub 'n' drunkyo' liquor 'n' slep' on yo' floor. I know yo 're lovin' Lessie 'n'lovin' her hones'. I 'm a-gunta bring 'er back to yo'. I said I didn'tknow whur they went, 'n' I don't, but I've got my s'picions. It moughtbe a week, 'n' it mought be a mont', 'n' it mought be longer. But I 'ma-gunta do it. Never yo' min' jes' how I'll manage. Th' day I fin' 'emthat day they start home, 'n' I don't 'low they 's so tur'ble fur,neither."

I felt my throat choke up at this totally unexpected act of generousdevotion. I know my eyes grew moist, and it was several moments before Icould say anything.

"Satyr, I—I—you don't know how much I appreciate this. I don't deserveit. But—can't I go with you on the search?"

Jeff Angel laughed his mirthless, jackass laugh before answering.

"Lord, no! This here pleasure trip 's all fur me. You jes' hang 'roun''n' wait fur nooze!"

"You'll need money—how much?"

My hand started toward an inner pocket, but instantly Jeff's long, wiryfingers had gripped it, and dragged it down.

"Naw yo' don't, pardner!"

There was a peculiar earnestness to his voice and an exalted look in hisbleary eyes as, holding my hand hard down on the platform, he resumed:

"I wen' to hear Father John preach onct—jes' out o' cur'os'ty. He tol'a tale 'bout a Feller whut some heath'ns nailed on a cross, 'n' thatFeller c'd a-he'p' Hisself if He'd a-wanted to, but He let 'em kill 'imso 's a pas'l o' other fellows c'd live. Father John said 't wuz fur you'n' me, too, 'n' ever'body, but I 'low he kin' o' got that part o' thestory crooked, 'cus that ain't natch'l. Anyhow, he 'lowed that whut thatFeller done saved th' worl', 'n' He done it 'ithout money 'n' 'ithoutprice. That's whut stuck in my craw. Jes' think uv it! 'Ithout money 'n''ithout price! I ain't no sort o' eddicated, but it 'pears to me thatw'en a feller c'n do some'n' fur another feller 'ithout no sort o'pay—some'n' that's shore 'nough, yo' know—that it'd make 'im holler'n''n' shout'n' happy fur quite a spell. That's whut I mean, pardner; 'n'that's whut I 'low to do fur you—fur, b' gosh! I love yo'!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

IN WHICH, STRANGE TO SAY, TIME PASSES. ALSO I RECEIVE THREE WARNINGS,AND WITNESS AN UNPARALLELED EPISODE IN THE SMITHY

Four weeks have passed since Jeff Angel departed on his quest. Untilto-night I have not had the heart to face my journal. But to-day apremonition came to me that my period of waiting was drawing to a close,and pinning my faith to this invisible, silent herald which has spokento me before with prophetic voice, I take up my pen again.

Jeff's loyal, true declaration almost stunned me. It was entirelyunexpected. I could not conceive of such self-sacrificing nobility inhim. I had given him no serious thought, accepting him for what heappeared to be on the surface; a harmless, almost half-witted wandererin the wilderness about Hebron, cursed with an inordinate love forstrong drink, and blessed with the pure soul of music. And here, when mycase seemed all but hopeless, he had gladly and willingly volunteeredfor a task which could be no light one.

I pressed him to take some money—even a little; enough to insure himagainst hunger, but he refused. He said he never had any trouble gettingfood, and he was going to tramp. He needed nothing. He was going tostart at once—that afternoon. I made him come to the Lodge with me fordinner, wished him quick success, and bade him God-speed with a stronghandclasp. He strode away chanting one of his absurd couplets.

With his going a great sense of loneliness descended upon me. I felt thecold hand of despair feeling at my throat. With an effort of will Iflung the deadening weight from me, and began to pace my plateauvigorously, my hands behind me, my head bent in thought. I must notprove a weakling or a craven now. Celeste would return. Jeff would findher—or if he did not, I would. The world was not big enough to hide herfrom me. A kind of mad joy flared out in my breast at the thought, and Ismiled fiercely. Jeff had said positively that they would start home theday he found them. How did he know this? I had urged him to tell me, buthe had only laughed, and repeated his statement. I could not clear thispoint, but I would not let it depress me. I was convinced the Satyr wasgenuine, and that he knew what he was talking about.

His time of absence was indefinite. That was the hardest of all to bear.Had there been a fixed day in the future toward which I could walk withthe assurance that on that day I should greet my beloved again, I couldhave gone laughing through the hours. But the uncertain waiting—therising of sun after sun and the falling of night after night, and thestill, empty minutes which must be lived! I strove to comfort myself inthose first few hours after my self-appointed messenger had left. Heknew these knobs intimately. He had been born in them, he had roamedthem all his life, he knew every nook and hiding place in them formiles. He had also expressed his belief that the fugitives had not gonefar. Perhaps a few days would bring about our reunion; surely it wouldnot be longer than a week, or a fortnight at the farthest. There wassolace in this thought. And as I hugged this phantom belief to me myfurious pace slackened, and I continued my walking at a soberer gait,still too perturbed to sit down and think quietly.

How my heart ached for my vanished Dryad that afternoon! Let anotheropportunity come! Nay, let her but come, and I would make theopportunity. I had dallied. I had not listened to the promptings of myheart early enough, and now a jealous old woman who did not understandhad snatched her from me. Then came the distracting thought that perhapsJeff would fail! Perhaps Granny's plan was deeper than it seemed, and itmight be that she had hurried away to some far and obscure part of theCommonwealth, or even to another State. The fact that they were poorpresented no foil to this theory. People like her and Gran'fer were notas poor as they seemed. They never spent except for the absolutenecessities, and during their long life together they had doubtlesssaved and pinched until a goodly hoard was stored away in some nook orhole. I believe I knew Granny's mind. It could never entertain but oneidea at a time, and it was an utter impossibility for her to view bothsides of a question. I pitied her even in my vexation. She had had amplecause for the course she had adopted, and I was being made to suffer forthe sin of a cultured renegade from the higher world. Granny had decidedthat all relations of whatsoever nature must cease between hergranddaughter and myself. She mistrusted me, in spite of the evidencesshe had had of my sincerity and honesty. Since I would not go away, thenshe would take Celeste away. To carry out her idea, I am sure she wouldhave sacrificed the savings of years. This was the thought which burnedhotly in my breast now. Then to my mind came the vision of Jeff Angel,coming dejectedly up the road to my plateau, with the news that the lostones could not be found. Oh, it is a terrible thing, my brothers! To besuddenly and swiftly swept into the maelstrom of a mighty love, and thento be confronted by the possible loss of the girl who aroused thisfeeling.

That night I climbed the peak; climbed it by the soft light of the starsalone, for the moon was young, and I saw it only after I had reached thetop—a crescent thread of silver cradled on the tops of the trees on thefurthest western range. Up there, between creation and infinity, as itwere, I applied all the philosophy I could bring to bear upon my case. Igot results, too, thank goodness! Had I not been able to persuade mymind into a certain channel of common sense, I can't say what would havebecome of me, for I was idiotically in love. Howbeit, I levied on thevery bases of my reason for strength and guidance, and deep down wherethe fundamentals of character perpetually abide, I found that whichsaved me.

It was thus my sane self argued with my insane self:

Insane Self: If Celeste is not restored to me within a short time, Ishall go wild.

Sane Self: What's the good of going wild? Then you will be in nocondition to greet her when she does come, and may lose her forever.

Insane Self: I cannot rest, or sleep, until I see her again.

Sane Self: A suicidal attitude. Be sensible instead. Take the bestcare of yourself, and so be fit in every way to welcome her back.

Insane Self: But, I must see her; I must see her soon!

Sane Self: Perhaps. Be calm. Nothing is to be gained by rashness. Youwill only succeed in wearing yourself out.

Insane Self: I am on this peak to-night because of a racked mind. Imay climb it again before morning.

Sane Self: What of Buck Steele?

Insane Self: Ah!

Sane Self: What of Buck Steele? His love is just as great asyours—perhaps greater, for he has not the restraining leash of acultivated mind. He is your rival. Is he sapping his strength by doingwithout food, straying through the forest, and climbing mountains? No;he is making those iron muscles harder every day at his forge, and whenthe time comes when you and he face each other—as come it inevitablymust—he will twist you in two like a winter-rotted weed! He issensible; you are a fool!

My insane self made no reply to this last speech, because it no longerexisted. I was effectually sobered. What Buck's laugh that morning mayhave meant did not really matter. All day he had been on the outskirtsof my mind, but I had been too busy with other subjects to admit him forintimate inspection and consideration. Now my sane self proceeded toshove him forward relentlessly, and I accepted his presence as somethingquite necessary, but undesired. Whether or not he sensed the approachingencounter as plainly as I, of course I could not say. But I knew that abulldog resolve had lodged in his mind to have Celeste for his wife, andit took no seer to declare that he would use every weapon in his reachto prevent me from taking her. He had only one weapon—his superbphysical strength—and I knew he would arrange or provoke a meeting, ifnone arose naturally. What would become of me then? Instinctively Iflexed my right arm and grasped the bulging biceps. Like rock. Not aslarge as the smith's, I was sure, but might dwelt there. I felt my otherarm, my legs, and thumped my chest with my fist. Yes; I, too, was someman. I was hard as nails all over, but I was fearfully tired. All Ineeded was rest; good, sound, eight hours a day sleep, and presently Iwould be fit. I must adopt a rigid system of living, and hold to itfaithfully until these parlous times were over.

For perhaps two hours then my mind worked along rational lines, and whenI left my perch to carefully descend the perilous declivity, I realizedwith intense satisfaction that I had myself admirably well in hand.

The door to the Lodge stood open. I remembered distinctly drawing it toafter me when I came out, although I never locked it. The night wascalm. It could not have been blown wide by the wind. Not alarmed, butvaguely uneasy, I entered and walked to the table. I knew a box ofmatches was here, and I thrust out my hand. It encountered somethingupright in the darkness; something which did not belong there, for theobject yielded to the force of my touch, to fly back in place when Iremoved my hand. Nervously I fumbled about until I grasped the matches.Swiftly I struck one, and in the light of its tiny flare I saw what theforeign thing was. But I lighted my lamp very calmly, in spite of thedisturbing nature of my discovery. Then I thrust my hands in my pocketsand stood staring at the long hunting knife which had been driventhrough the orderly pile of manuscript composing my journal, deep intothe oak top of the table. There it was, horn-handled, hafted, with amurderous blade six inches long.

I could not doubt its meaning, were I so inclined, any more than I coulddoubt the big brown hand which had planted that steel blade so deeplyand firmly in the wood. It was a warning; a warning such as was given inthe middle ages, but the man who had delivered it belonged by right justthere. He dwelt in the same mental and moral atmosphere as did hisforebears hundreds of years ago. And his declaration of war wasassuredly convincing. Nothing could be more real, more significant, moreproductive of contemplation, than that bit of imbedded steel, shiningthreateningly in the lamplight. I gathered one comforting fact from thissinister messenger. All was not well between Buck and Celeste. He, too,was in the dark as to her whereabouts, and he, too, failed to nurse inhis heart any reassuring message given before she went away. Plainlythis man had reached a stage in his infatuation where he would employany means to rid himself of me. Doubtless he had come to square accountsthat night. He had found me out, had very likely waited, and when I hadnot come his wild hate and mad rage had found expression in the savageact whose result now confronted me. I remained for a long time lookingat that knife, and my thoughts were many. Grave, too, they grew to be,as I traced the near future to a climax as fixed as Fate. There were twoways, as there always are, but no third consistent with honor. I mustgive up the Dryad, or I must kill or be killed. Neither alternative borerosy tints. The thought of taking a human life filled me with arebellious horror, but the thought of resigning Celeste—mygolden-haired, gray-eyed Dryad—to the uncouth caresses of the smith ofHebron charged my inmost soul with a white-hot denial. I would not doit. I could not do it. The decision had passed from my control. I wouldwait for her; I would yearn for her sweet presence with all the power ofmy spirit, and I would fight for her unto the death! Strange that notonce did the thought come that I might be vanquished.

I put out my finger and rocked the weapon to and fro. It had beenplanted well. Then I grasped the handle and strove to draw it out. Whata hold it had! In the end I had to get on the table with my knees andtake both hands to force the blade loose. A silly and jealous anger nowseized me at the power here shown. I took some unused paper, and made abundle as near the size of my manuscript as I could, and placed it onthe table. Then I set my teeth, gripped the knife, and lifting my armdrove downward furiously. The stroke fully equaled Buck Steele's, as aquick investigation showed, and brought a warm glow of animalsatisfaction.

For the first time since I began life at the Lodge, before I went to bedI dropped the heavy bar of wood into the brackets on either side thedoor, thus making it absolutely secure. The windows remained open, asusual, but I placed my revolver under my pillow.

The next ten days would have been idyllic had I been entirely at peace.As it was, I managed to absorb a great deal from them which strengthenedand comforted. Each was a miraculous procession of perfect hours. I hadlaid down some simple rules of conduct which I followed strictly. Iarose early, bathed, breakfasted, took a course in calisthenics whichbrought muscles into action mere tramping would not reach exceptfaintly, and did some garden work. The rush of recent events hadinterfered with my horticultural notions lamentably, and now it was toolate for anything except corn and beans. I rested an hour after dinner,and then walked until dusk. The quest of the life-plant had long agobecome mechanical, and I never stirred abroad without the consciousnessthat I might find it this time. But I had come to believe of late that Ihad no need for it now. Perhaps 'Crombie had diagnosed my casewrong—had taken too much for granted, and had banished a man with anulcerated throat, or a bleeding gum. For the first time I remembered mythroat was sore at that interview! Could it be possible? I had neverfelt better than at present, when the longest walks and the hardestpulls over the steep knobsides were play. I was abed every night by nineo'clock.

My poise was speedily regained under this regimen. Vigor seemed to flowinto me, and I must confess to a certain pride in my superb physicalcondition.

Then one pearl-gray morning which promised a flawless day, I flung openthe door to find a piece of paper fluttering in my face. Right on alevel with my eyes it hung and writhed in the twilight breeze, as if itwas a live thing suffering from the bright new horse-shoe nail whichimpaled it. With finger and thumb I disengaged the soiled, flimsy sheet.It was a torn portion of wrapping paper, and bore a brief message; aformless scrawl traced with a blunt lead pencil.

It was Buck's second warning for me to leave. Could he have known mymental condition when I read the ignorant, threatening lines, I believeeven he would have hesitated before attempting any radical move to berid of me. I was not alarmed; I was not even annoyed. I am sure my heartaction was not accelerated at all. It may be surmised that I did notcomprehend the full significance of the words. But I did. They meant,differently presented: "If you don't get away from here I'm going tokill you." I knew what he meant to say, and I knew what he meant to do.It must have been the consciousness of my bodily power which preventedeven the slightest tremor as I labored through the misspelled, scarcelyintelligible missive. I looked at it almost disinterestedly a momentafter I had mastered it, then crumpled it into a wad and tossed itaside. At various times during the day I thought of it, but only asone's mind naturally reverts to an incident. I did not suppose the smithwould ambush me. Apart from assassination, the belief was strong withinme that I could hold my own, and more, with him.

The third Saturday after the disappearance of the family at LizardPoint, I went to Hebron in the afternoon. A sense of supreme lonelinessassailed me that day, and I realized more than I had ever done thatmankind is by nature gregarious. In common with other animals, he musthave the fellowship of his kind. That Saturday morning the billowingranges seemed types of eternal loneliness, and the old walks whichheretofore had charmed were alive with the echo of dead voices. Isuddenly became aware that I wanted to see somebody, to hear a humanvoice, however rough and untaught. I wanted to look into somebody'seyes, to talk to somebody, to sit down by somebody, cross my legs andsmoke. The longing grew, until, at noon, I knew that I must see some ofmy fellow creatures. Should I go to the priest? He was kind, cultured,hospitable. No; I didn't want kindness and culture. I just wanted to rubshoulders with mere humans. Besides, I would have been more or lessconstrained with Father John. It was not in the nature of a mere man toforget that Beryl Drane was at the bottom of all this miserablecondition of things, and had I gone to chat with his reverence, I shouldhave had to listen to fulsome praises of that—person, and should alsohave been expected to add my little word of appreciation and compliment,since I had had the rare pleasure of a brief acquaintance with theparagon.

I went to Hebron, with a fine large twist of tobacco in my pocket, andan aching desire just to be with people.

It was Hebron's busy day—or busy half-day, of all the week. Not until Ihove in sight of the little settlement and saw a row of horses hitchedto the pole near the store, and at least eight or ten persons in plainview, did I realize the truth. In nearly all rural communities, all farmwork is knocked off at noon Saturday. Then dissipation follows in goingto the store. There is nothing else to do, unless one sneaks off to thebarn and goes to sleep on the hay, or slips down to the river and goesseining. But seining was unlawful, and this was the wrong time of year,anyway. It was early in the afternoon—not past two o'clock—and onlythe advance guard had arrived. But the sight made me glad. I wanted tomix, move and talk with the yeomanry that day. So I sauntered up theroad toward the store, paying no heed to the open-doored smithy as Istrolled by. Buck was one who could not let up this day, for more thanone horse's hoof had grown sore going barefoot a portion of that week,waiting for this afternoon. Though I did not turn my head, I knew therewere a number of horses standing under the shed in front of the shop. Ihad barely passed it when I heard a harsh, prolonged—

"Who-oa! Durn ye! Can't ye stan' still a minute?"

This was accompanied by the sound of scuffling within. I turned to see acouple of urchins make their escape through the broad doorway, and Icould discern fright on their faces as their bare feet patted the hotyellow dust of the road. They were headed toward the creek over whichhung the home-made bridge, and they did not stop nor lessen their speeduntil they splashed into the shallow water. It was not sham terror,either, for now they stood holding each other by the arms, and gazingback at the shop.

I wheeled in my tracks, and walked under the shed.

I did not enter the smithy because there was no need. It was light asday in there, and I would have been in the way then. I saw three peopleand a mule, evidently young, and evidently fractious. It was a fineyearling; fat, sleek, shapely. Buck Steele, with a small, elongated ironshoe in his left hand, stood in a semi-profile position, facing the manwho had brought the animal in. A negro boy lolled by the forge, his handon the handle of the bellows.

"Whut's th' matter 'ith th' fool critter?" Buck was saying, as I haltedunder the shed. He had not seen my approach.

"Fus' time, yo' know," returned the man, in a wheedling kind of voice,thrusting his thumb under his bedticking suspender, and chasing it overhis shoulder with that member. "Yo' 'll hev to be kind o' durn keerful,Buck"—he shifted his hold from the rope of the halter to the halteritself—"'cus he didn't miss yo' an inch las' time."

The mule was scared. It trembled at every move Buck made, and its eyeswere distended and rolling.

"Nothin' 's ever passed out o' this here shop bar'-footed that a manwants shoes on!" maintained the smith. "If yo' want this animile shod,I'll shoe 'im!"

"I shore want 'im shod!"

The speaker took a fresh grasp on the halter, and his hairy visagebecame contorted in an expression impossible to translate, as Buckstepped forward and put his hand on the smooth withers of the youngmule. It shrank down under his touch, and blew short, gusty breaths.Buck waited, patiently, until the animal became quiet, then, gentlypatting the reddish-brown skin, he gradually moved his hand along itsside until he reached its flank. There he stooped, with low, soothingwords, and a great admiration for his courage found birth within me as Isaw him bend beside that sinewy thigh corded and bunched with muscles.Gently his big brown fingers slid down the slender hock, then like therebound of a crossbow the satiny limb shot out in a paroxysm of untamedfear. It was a lightning stroke, delivered so swiftly my eyes could notfollow it. Buck saw it start, infinitesimal as the time must have beenfrom its inception to its execution—perhaps he felt the steel thewshardening under his hand—for he leaped backward simultaneously. Thisaction saved his life. As it was, the edge of the small hoof slashed hisforehead like a razor, leaving a crimson, dripping gap. It went justbelow the surface, and did not even stun the smith. He staggered, it istrue, but from his own recoil, and was erect an instant later. Then Iwitnessed a sight I shall never forget though I round out a century.

The sting of the hurt and the treachery of the brute took all of Buck'ssense and judgment for the time. He was as much animal as thefour-legged one in front of him that moment. His bearded face becameconvulsed horribly, his eyes shot fire, and with that red gash in hisforehead from which tiny streams trickled unheeded, he advanced onestep, drew back his arm, and struck that mule a blow which stretched itdead before our eyes!

I write the culmination of this incident with reluctance. Not from itsbrutal and somewhat harrowing complexion, but from the fear that manywill be tempted to smile tolerantly, and in the kindness of their heartsforgive this one most palpable fiction in a book of fact. But it istrue, nevertheless, and I venture to declare it will be a tale in theknob country long after later and lesser things have been forgotten.

As the mule fell the negro boy screeched and climbed out the nearestwindow. A minute later the shop was full of an excited, noisy, inquiringcrowd. Some one led Buck to the tub of water in which he cooled hotiron, and bathed his wound, never worrying as to whether this especialwater would be entirely sanitary. The carcass quickly became the centerof a circle of amazed countrymen, and I, the only silent one present,leaned against the jamb of the door and slowly filled my pipe. Thedemonstration which I had just witnessed was not particularlycomforting.

A youth of about nineteen stood near the mule's head. He was barefooted,and the sum total of his apparel consisted of two garments; a shirt withonly one button, which was at the throat, and a pair of pants (nottrousers) which came to an abrupt conclusion several inches above hisbig ankle bones. He wore no hat of any description. Had he possessed onewhen the alarm was given, it had disappeared in the hurried rush whichfollowed. This youth was powerfully impressed.

"Daid!... Plum' daid!" I heard him exclaim, in an awed undertone,withdrawing for a moment the fixed gaze with which he had regarded themule ever since he came, to give a sweeping glance of incredulityaround.

"Daid ez a nit he is, fur sho!" agreed another, a merry-faced fellowwith a rotund paunch, over which the band to his pants refused to meet."A hunnerd 'n' fifty dollars' wuth o' live meat turned to cyarn in asecint.... Who's gunta pay fur it? Whut 's th' law, 'Squar?"

He looked at a big, full-whiskered man with his back to me.

The 'Squire cleared his throat and felt for his tobacco.

The mule's owner thrust forward in the interim, and brought up just infront of the magistrate.

"Yes, I wan' to know th' damn law on th' subjic', too!" he bellowed,making no apparent effort to curb his feelings. "Wuth a hunnerd 'n'sev'nty-five—wuth two hunnerd wuz that mule! Six foot 'n' 'n inch—tharhe is! Measure 'im if yo' don't b'lieve me! Th' bes' yearlin' in mybarn—mealy-nosed, to boot! So much good cash to be drug out to th'buzzards—damn!"

He spat on the ground and twisted his booted heel in rage.

"This is a onusual case—I mought say a on-pre-ce-dinted case," drawledthe 'Squire, in a conciliatory voice. "We'll settle it right here 'n'now, a'cordin' to th' test'munny 'n' my readin' o' th' law, ever'bodybein' 'gree'ble. Yo' c'n take it to th' cote, sholy, but th' lawyers 'lleat yo' up. Bes' settle am-am-am'c'ble, right here 'n' now."

At this juncture Buck's tall form arose from beside the tub, where hehad been sitting on a nail keg while a motherly Hebron matron had putbalsam to the hurt, and bound it with a white cloth. He came slowlyforward, his leathern apron still about him, and pushed his way throughthe ring.

"Whut yo' mouth'n' 'bout, Bart Crawley?" he demanded. The fire in hiseyes had died to a smoldering gleam, but his mood was ugly.

The man addressed looked at him, then immediately shuffled back alittle.

"That's th' bes' hoss mule in these parts—"

"Yo' mean he wuz th' bes' hoss mule!" interrupted Buck, in a spirit ofreckless deviltry.

Crawley flushed, paled, clenched his fists and glared hate at thespeaker.

"Here now, men," spoke up the 'Squire, laying a knotty hand upon theshoulder of the owner. "Leas' said's soones' mended. They's no manner o'ust carry'n' hard feelin's any fu'ther.... Buck, shet up!... Bart, keepyo' trap shet till I git th' straight o' this. Whur's th' witnesses'?Who saw th' killin' o' this here mule?"

His head went up, and his eyes roved over the packed interior of theshop.

Just then I wished myself away. Could I have foreseen the public inquirynow afoot, I certainly would have put myself beyond reach, for Buck wasto blame in this affair, and my testimony would necessarily show it.Naturally I did not want to arouse any ill-feeling I could avoid.Perhaps even now I might slip away unobserved. But the thought wasdoomed even as it flashed into my mind. Bart Crawley promptly madeanswer.

"Me 'n' th' nigg*r 'n' Buck—'n' him!" pointing triumphantly at me.

Instantly every eye was turned upon me. I looked straight at Buck,calmly and steadily. His return stare was ominous, and during the brieftime we held each other's eyes, I believed I read in his the messagethat he had waited as long as he was going to—or could.

The voice of the 'Squire, speaking in slurring accents, broke upon thesilence which had fallen. He plainly was making an effort to uphold thedignity of his high office, from the painstaking way in which hedelivered himself.

"Bart, ez owner o' th' defunc' animile, I 'low yo've got fus' say. Telljes' how, 'n' w'y, this here yearlin' hoss mule wuz struck'n down daidby Buck Steele."

Mr. Crawley, holding that the relation of any incident would beimperfect shorn of the minutest circ*mstance preceding, as well asaccompanying it, began thus:

"Well, 'Squar, this mawn'n' at feed'n' time, 'long 'bout sunup, Is'pose, ur it mought 'a' ben a bit before, I tol' my boy Tommy—mysecint boy, th' one 'ith th' harelip, yo' know 'im—that I 'tended tohev shoes—"

"They 's no ust o' tellin' whut yo' et fur breakfus', Bart," broke inthe magistrate, with unconscious irony. "Begin at th' time w'en yo'entered into this here shop with yo' mule."

"Well," resumed Mr. Crawley, "I rid up to th' do' 'n' slid off o' mymule, 'n' said, 'Mawn'n', Buck, how's yo' corp'ros'ty?' kind o' churf'llak, 'cus yo' know I don't hate nobody. Buck 's foolin' 'ith a wag'ntar, 'n' 'peared kind o' grumpy as if he had n't slep' good ur elsesome'n' he et had n't sot well with 'im. He grunted, sort o', by way o'answer, 'n' I led my hoss mule in 'n' tol' 'im whut I wanted. They's acouple o' Hir'm Toddler's kids in here then, scratch'n' 'roun' in th'hoof-shav'n's hunt'n' hoss-shoe nails, lak young-uns 'll do. Well, Buckdidn't 'pear overanxious 'bout th' job, so to sweet'n his sperit alittle I tol' 'im a joke 'bout—"

"I objec' to th' joke, Bart," interrupted the 'Squire again, in a veryjudicial manner, clearing his throat as he had heard the judge do inCedarton.

"All right, 'Squar, we'll pass th' joke but it's a durn good 'n'. Well,then I tol' Buck that th' mule wuz green 'n' had never saw inside ablacksmith's shop befo', 'n' Buck 'lowed kind o' vicious lak: 'Damn th'mule, he'd shoe 'im green ur broke!' My joke didn't 'pear to sof'n 'imone bit, but it's wuth lis'n'n' to, 'Squar. We've tol' it in our sectionoff 'n' on fur a matter o' two year, I reck'n, 'n' ever' time it's good,sho! Well, Buck stayed grumpy 'n' got th' shoes, 'n' spite o' whut Itol' 'im he marched right up to that animile's hind parts 'n' rech down'n' grabbed a hock same 'twuz a ol' plow-hoss. Then th' critter letdrive, b'gosh! 'n' it come blame near bein' th' end o' Buck, I'm here totell yo'! Right then Hir'm's kids skedaddled same as if a skunk 'd letloose 'n' d'rec'ly he come sa'nter'n' 'long 'n' leaned ag'in th'door." The speaker's toil-twisted forefinger again pointed straight atme. "Then I tol' Buck to be keerful, 'cus I saw he's in a' ugly way, 'n'I tried to w'eedle 'im, kin' o' lak yo' would a spoilt kid. 'N' he didgo after that hin' foot some keerfuller th' nex' time, but fus' thin'yo' know that hin' leg riz same as a snare-saplin' 'n' th' aidge o' thathoof plowed a furrer plum' 'crost Buck's head. My guts went all trimblyw'en I seen it, 'n' my knees got weak. 'Fo' God I thought he's killed!But no, sir! Up he riz frum whur he'd jumped back 'n' scrooched down,'n' he paid no more min' to th' blood in 'is eyes than if it'd 'a' bensweat. He retch back 'is fis', gen'lemen, same 't wuz a sledge-hammer,'n' he slewed that mule! Same as Sam's'n killed th' 'Malekites in HolyScriptur 'ith th' jaw-bone uv a jinny! Down he fell, quiv'r'n' 'n' daid!Didn't even bresh 'is tail onct, nur snort, nur bat a' eye! Thatyearlin' hoss mule whut I say is wuth two hunnerd 'n' fifty dollars uvany man's money, black ur w'ite. 'N' now he's buzzard-food, not wuthhaul'n' out o' this here shop. Gen'lemen, I want jestice!"

Mr. Crawley had managed to work himself up into rather a fine frenzy ashe talked, and he gave a dramatic and telling illustration of how themule met his end. When he concluded with a sweeping gesture entirelydevoid of meaning, a quick survey of his audience showed me plainly thatpublic sentiment was on his side. A few moments of absolute silenceprevailed, broken at length by the rustling of the 'Squire's horny handas he shoved it into his pants pocket for another chew. The occasion wasone which required plenty of tobacco. He gnawed off a generous portionof the plug after much head-twisting, but as he prepared to resume theinvestigation something happened.

The smith had remained quiet and silent during Bart's elaborate recital,but his somber eyes had never left the other man's face. With theimpassioned, if crude, harangue with which Bart concluded his testimony,I noted portents of a storm. The dominant elements in Buck's nature werepurely barbarian. He had suffered much of late, and self-control wassomething which he did not know, even remotely. Later he probably wouldbe ashamed of the blow he had dealt the harmless thing at his feet whichhad been obeying its instinct in offering resistence to something whichit feared. But that moment such reason as Buck habitually possessed wassubmerged in a black wave of hate. I saw it coming, from my position bythe door. I saw flashes beneath the down-drawn lids, restrained heavingof the big, hairy chest, hands which were fists and hands alternately,and on the heavy features an expression nothing short of devilish. Hewaited a while after Bart finished—waited until the 'Squire hadsucceeded with his chew, then he took two swift steps and faced the muleowner.

"Yo' damn dog!" he hissed. "I c'd th'ow yo' thoo that winder! I c'dwring yo' naik lak a chick'n! I c'd lay yo' 'crost that anv'l 'n' breakyo' back lak a splinter o' pine, 'n' yo' know it! But yo're not wuth it!Damn yo' 'n' yo' mule! Damn th' 'Squar! All o' yo'—to hell with yo'!"

Accurately, deliberately, he spat a mouthful of ambier on Bart Crawley'snose, then turned and left the shop, people falling back in frightbefore him.

Two hours later I turned my face toward Bald Knob. The investigation wasnever finished, partly because it was unanimously conceded Buck was inthe wrong from the manner in which he had behaved, and partly becauseBart struck out at once for Cedarton to prefer charges against the smithand swear out a warrant for his arrest. The unexpected and startlingdenouement wrought consternation in the shop, and the opinion was givenfreely that Buck must be "off." Certain it is he left Hebron at once,going up the railroad, and no one followed him. The crowd instantlygathered around me with many honest, well-intentioned questions, and Itold them frankly that as far as I knew Bart had told the truth. Manyand divers were the comments anent Buck's queer actions, but a simmeringdown resulted in the generally accepted opinion that he surely was"off." I thought this, too, in a measure, although I did not speak it,for I knew things which the people of Hebron did not.

But I tarried among them for the space of two hours, listening to theiruncouth colloquialisms and provincial sayings; and when, finally, a gameof horse-shoes started in the middle of the road just in front of thestore, and a self-appointed committee of two began to ascend the hill toacquaint Father John with the only real event of the year, I startedhome.

I was not at ease. One of the reasons I had lingered was in the hopethat Buck would return. But he didn't. The man was desperate. I coulddoubt it no longer. He was half crazy. Ordinarily he would havecompromised with Bart. He was now simply an unchained devil, loose andbent on mischief.

My feelings were not soothed when I reached the Lodge. Pinned to thedoor with the same nail which had held the message was a sheet of mywriting paper, and on it was a large, rude cross, traced with a fingerwhich had been dipped in blood.

It was the third and last warning.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

IN WHICH I SPAR WITH DEATH

The past week, culminating on the night in I which I sit and write withbarred door and shuttered windows, has been a hard and dangerous one forme. Three times have I escaped death so narrowly it would seemProvidence had a hand in the game. On no occasion was the would-beassassin visible, but I knew well chance had not aimed these welldirected blows at my life. I can't understand Buck's tactics. They arehidden, merciless, savage in their deadly intention. I had not thoughthe would stoop to this. I had eliminated this contingency whenconsidering my plan of action. It was incredible, but no doubt lingersin my heart to-night. Buck Steele is trying to murder me secretly, andin such a way that it would seem the result of an accident. His plotssuggest the cunning of an unsettled mind, but, while it certainly isstrained under the force of his mad passion, I do not believe Buck'sbrain is unbalanced. He wants me out of the way, but at the same time hewants to avoid any odium, and be free to live his life here at Hebron.He knows that if he kills me openly it will mean, at the least, exile. Ihave thought long and often over the problem, and I am sure I have comeupon the right solution. That he does not compel a meeting which couldresult in a fair fight, from which no especial blame would revert to himshould he prove the victor, is simply because he is afraid to undergothe risk—to accept the possibility of being killed instead of killing.I do not mean by this that he is a coward, but his desire for Celestehas so wrought upon him that he is casting aside all chances for defeat,though his sense of honor and fair play, if he had any, goes with them.He has become a scheming machine, and a most formidable one, I mustconfess. Now I will make a brief record of what has taken place the lastseven days.

Saturday night, at bedtime, I debated the question of closing the Lodge,following the discovery of the final, crimson warning. I hesitated toconfess to myself that I had begun to feel fear, but something had wakedwithin me that whispered I must be careful from that hour. I don't thinkI would have known this feeling had my enemy been open and fair in hismovements. But it is human nature to dread the invisible terror whichlurks in the dark, and I knew that I was doing the sensible thing when Ibarred my door and dropped the shutter of the window next my cot. I madethis shutter secure by a long hook which fitted into a large staple.Before I blew out the lamp, I looked at the other window for a longtime. At last I decided that Buck could not squeeze his bulk through theopening, and went to bed.

I fell asleep quickly, although my mind was not at ease. This mentalcondition must have led to my waking about midnight, which was anunprecedented thing. I lay and listened. I heard something, and it wasnot the wind; for, though a breeze was soughing in the pines without,the sound of footsteps was distinctly audible. They paused at the door,passed on to the closed window, paused again, then went around to theopen window. Quietly I slid my hand under my pillow and drew out myrevolver. Luckily, I lay facing the small opening. Otherwise I wouldhave feared to turn, on account of the noise the act would haveinvolved. The square aperture was barely discernible, and I judged fromthis the night was cloudy. Fixing my gaze on the window with the utmostintensity, I raised my weapon and waited, determining at the same timenot to fire until I saw that my life was in danger. A formless shapeblotted the square of less dense gloom, and for a time there wassilence. I think the prowler was trying to locate me, and I breathedsoftly, making no sound. The wait was interminable to me, though inreality I suppose it was not over a minute. Then the shape at the windowswayed from side to side, noiselessly, sank down, to reappear at once. Iheard a rustling, a muffled tattoo like a dry bean pod makes in anautumn gust, and while my mind was yet filled with wonder as to what wasgoing to happen, the shape twisted grotesquely and I heard a slitheringas of one body over another. The next instant something cold and crawlystruck my upheld wrist, slid across it, and dropped with a fleshy thudon the floor. Horror gripped me then. Horror supreme and terrible. Icould have shrieked had my voice not been shut in my breast. I trembledfrom head to foot, and icy waves swept me all over. What was that? Whatcould it have been but——At that moment one of the most appalling andnerve-racking sounds arose that ever turned a mortal's blood to water,and his brave courage into craven cowardice. It was the hair-raisingwarning of an angered rattlesnake! With a snarling cry of sheer terror Isprang up in bed and fired at the window—three times before I couldcontrol my forefinger, which was acting automatically. The act wasspontaneous. I did not shoot with the desire to hit anybody. None of thebullets passed through the window, as I discovered the next morning.Following the reports was the sound of some one running, accompanied bya second whirring rattle. Could that thing see in the dark? Was itpreparing to leap upon me? When the rattling ceased this time I knew itwould spring. Dashing the cover from me I threw myself toward the footof the bed, a clammy perspiration bursting out upon me as I did so. Ireached the floor. As I stretched a shaking hand toward the spot where Iknew the table was, to my ears came the evil sound of the impact of thereptile's body against the edge of the cot, and its subsequent fall tothe planks beneath. In the stark stillness followed the sibilant slidingof fold over fold as the monster coiled afresh—whispers of a hideousdoom. My palsied fingers touched the table, and presently I was on topof it, crouching among my books and manuscripts, feeling feebly for thelamp and the matches. Before I could make a light it sprang again, againfailed to surmount the cot, and dropped back. Four matches broke in myclumsy grip, but the fifth struck. I got the lamp alight before Iturned. The sight was awesome enough, but far better the visible menacethan the death-dealing thing which moved in darkness. It was coiledthere, just at the edge of my bed. Great, thick, fleshy, splotched foldsinterwoven into a sinister spiral, from the center of which arose therattle-capped tail, now vibrating with the rapidity of an alarm bell. Infront was reared the repulsive head; flat, gem-eyed. When I looked uponthis world-old emblem of treachery and guile, my normal being becamereëstablished with a suddenness almost amounting to a wrench. Now that Isaw, and knew; now that my brain could comprehend the exact situation,and handle it, I became a man once more. But I would offer no apologyfor my conduct the few preceding minutes. If it appears contemptible, itmust remain so. But I was never nearer dead from plain, simple frightthan I was during that time.

I grew calm almost at once. The snake was dazed by the light, and madeno third assault, though still retaining his fighting posture, andsending out that indescribable alarm now and then. I had dropped myrevolver when I threw myself from the cot, and now saw the weapon lyingamong the bedclothes near the foot. I was master of myself again.Quietly stepping down, I secured the revolver, and ten seconds later itwas all over. Then I opened the door and flung the carcass outside, camein and barricaded the entrance again. No longer did I hesitate about theopen window, but went and fastened it in the same manner I had theother. My foot struck some object. It was a pasteboard shoe box ofextraordinary size. I picked it up and walked nearer the lamp. One endwas slit down at the corners so that when the top was lifted it wouldfall, as on a hinge.

I placed the box on the table, took a stiff drink of whisky, found mypipe, and lit up. I needed bracing, for when I grasped the fullsignificance of this foul and devilish attack, a physical nausea came.The liquor brought a reaction, and I sat down in my nightshirt, puffingvigorously and regarding the big shoe box in a fascinated way. Therewere rattlesnakes about—plenty of them. I had heard them and seen themon my many journeys through the wilderness, but I had always given themundisputed possession of the especial territory they happened to beoccupying when we met. Buck had caught one; a patriarch from his size.The capture was not difficult. These reptiles' lidless eyes have a veryshort range of vision. A careful man with a forked stick can scotch onewhenever he wishes. The transfer to a box was also simple. All of thishe had done, and had then come in the middle of the night with the fellintent of dropping that thing on me, asleep. I don't think I have everheard or read of a project equally as dastardly and devoid of allfeeling. It was something the very devil would shudder to confess.

The second attempt to remove me in an apparently natural manner cameTuesday.

Sunday and Monday I kept to the plateau. I did not believe the smith hadreached that point of desperation where he would shoot me down openly,and it was out of the question for me to remain a prisoner in the Lodge.I had no doubt that I was watched, although I neither saw nor heardanything to confirm this suspicion.

I measured the rattler before burying it, and found it five feet longand four and a half inches thick at the largest part. It was of mammothproportions for the Kentucky knobs, where they seldom exceeded threefeet in length. I was glad when the noisome thing was out of sight.

Tuesday morning the thought came to me that perhaps Buck had fallen inthe clutches of the law. I was aware of a sensation of relief at theprobability, and the fact that two days and nights had passed withoutany untoward manifestation would appear to render the idea altogetherreasonable. Bart Crawley, furious and revengeful, had started hotfootfor the county seat Saturday to issue a warrant. It was the duty of thesheriff or a deputy to serve it at once, and take the offender intocustody. I resolved to go to Hebron and find out. I knew I was taking agreat risk, for the road was lonely and secluded, and there was thethick forest to traverse before reaching Lizard Point. No man could wishfor better surroundings in which to commit a hidden crime. And, howeverwatchful I might be, I would stand no chance whatever with my lifeshould an effort be made against it. There was not a rod of ground alongthe entire route where an ambush could not have been successfully laid.The outlook was depressing, but I decided upon the venture anyway, forcould I know the smith was lodged in jail, a grievous burden would belifted from my mind.

There were no precautions I could take before starting forth. I simplybore my stout stick in my left hand, and kept my right in the sidepocket of my coat, clasping the handle of my revolver. That was all Icould do. A sense of foolhardiness enveloped me as I strode down fromthe plateau along the tree-bordered, vine-grown way. Would a truly wellbalanced person thus jeopardize his life? Most likely he would not. Buta certain recklessness of spirit had come upon me, begotten of theDryad's cruel absence, my long wait, and the abrupt aggressiveness ofBuck. When a man's temperament becomes surcharged with a sentiment ofthis color, you may look for him to do things which had not evenbordered his existence in saner moods. As I proceeded withoutmolestation, a sort of dogged defiance gained ascendency and my headwent higher, while my face became set in a mask of determination.

I saw no one. I heard nothing but the peaceful sounds of Nature and hercreatures. Surely Buck was in the toils, or he never would have let thisgolden opportunity go by unemployed. When I came to the tree-bridge myapprehensions had vanished; I did not dread the remainder of thejourney. I was conscious of a sharp shock of pain when I looked at thestill empty house where Celeste lived. Had I yielded to the importunityof the eager voices which began to clamor in my soul at the sight, Ispeedily would have become undone. I have not written of the terrificfight I have had since my sane self conquered that night on the peak,but the reason for this is that I do not want to appear absolutely sillyin the eyes of those who may read these words. But it took all that wasin me to hold to the hard path of sanity and common sense. My love forher of the wheat-gold hair—

Quickly I crossed the bridge and turned toward Hebron, setting my teethon my lower lip in firm resolve, and walking rapidly.

When I came within view of the hamlet I halted and listened. No ringingsound floated across to me from the shop; the forge was still. I wenton, more slowly. Everything seemed to support the theory that my enemyhad been arrested. The smithy was open, but empty; the fire was dead. Ipushed forward to the store. Mr. Todler (I had learned his name only theSaturday before) was not sitting on the porch this morning, and for goodreason. The sun was blazing hot, and fell squarely upon the cracker boxwhere the storekeeper was wont to rest. It is true he might have removedthe box to the other side of the door, where the sun did not reach, butthis would have involved some effort. I went in. At first I thought theplace vacant, and stood listening to some green flies buzzing andbutting their foolish heads against the window panes—panes so dirtythat they looked like mica. Then I saw Mr. Todler. He was stretched uponthe dry goods counter in a space about seven feet clear, his headresting upon a thick bolt of unbleached cotton, a newspaper over hisface. Back of him were other bolts of different kinds, piled one uponanother, and on top of the whole lay a tortoise-shell cat, slumberingpeacefully. Mr. Todler was slumbering, too, but not peacefully. Thestore was taking care of itself.

Assuming that this singular person went to sleep with the expectation ofbeing aroused should a customer perchance arrive, I removed thenewspaper, hoping thus to waken him. But the sweet bonds which held himwere not to be loosened so lightly. He snored on, and I found myselfregarding his grimy collar, his frayed, soiled, green-and-yellownecktie—one of the ready-made kind, where you stick a band through ahole and it catches on a pin. I grasped his shoulder and shook him, forthe information I sought was of the first importance. He uttered a soundwhich was the mingling of a grunt and a groan, and began to bat hisheavy lids slowly.

"Whut yo' want?" he muttered, thick-tongued because of sleep which stillpressed upon him.

"Is Buck Steele in jail?" I asked, quickly, for I saw symptoms whichpointed toward another period of unconsciousness.

"Buck?" he said, faintly, and in a way which led me to believe that hehad not comprehended my question. His eyes had shut again.

"Yes, Buck!" I cried, shaking him a second time, and lifting my voice toa hard key. "Bart Crawley went for a warrant Saturday. Has the sheriffgot him yet? Answer yes or no, and I won't bother you any more!"

Mr. Todler neither rose nor stirred under my vehement words, but hiseyes came open listlessly, he blinked at me for a few seconds, andreplied:

"He wa'nt tuk w'en I we'n to sleep. Whut's more, he ain't a-goin' to gittuk—not Buck!"

This lengthy speech must have been exhausting, for Mr. Todler sighedwearily at its conclusion, turned his head with a grimace, and slowlydragged the newspaper over his face again.

I did not thank him. The news had been too hard to win, and was toounsatisfactory.

The man was right. I saw clearly on the instant that Buck would neversubmit to incarceration. He had graver business on hand than simplyobeying the law's behest.

I began the return tramp with my spirit cast down and troubled. If JeffAngel only would come, and bring the Dryad! I would not—I could notleave before her home-coming. Though a bloodthirsty blacksmith lurkedbehind every tree in the locality, yet would I stay. If the next fewdays found her back, I might manage to elude Buck, and get us awaysafely. Us! Yes, she should go with me. Although I had made nodeclaration, some intuition told me that all would be well could I oncemore stand in her presence. Enough had come to my knowledge to meritthis assurance.

I turned from the highway and took the knob road going past LizardPoint. About a half-mile from the pike, the dirt road ran under a clifffor a number of rods; a sheer limestone precipice fifty or sixty feethigh. It was here, although introspectively engrossed almost to thepoint of abstraction, that I suddenly knew a danger threatened me. I wasstriding swiftly along, and when the thought came I stopped abruptly.Two more steps would have stretched me dead. For instantly I heard a lowwhistling sound which gathered volume, something whizzed downward beforemy face, so close that I felt the air from its passage and jumped back.A huge stone, large as a half-bushel, struck the soft earth almost at myfeet, rebounded, and rolled over into a patch of fennel ten feetdistant.

I looked up, rage giving me a daring which mocked at risk. Where I stoodI made yet an excellent target, but I did not think of this then. Aharsh laugh drifted down; I saw the thick foliage on the lip of theprecipice become violently agitated, and I fancied I heard the crackingof dry twigs, as under a heavy, careless step. I could not follow,though in my heart that moment I had the fierce desire to slay. I hadnever known this before. It was awful—but it was also sweet! I couldhave killed that creeping coward above me and laughed in joy. Somethingbecame unfettered within me which I never knew I possessed. Somethingwhich for the moment I could not have restrained had the object of mywrath stood before me. In that instant centuries were bridged, and myforebears of the stone age had a fitting representative in my being.This wave of primal, mindless passion which bade me destroy ruthlesslydid not subside at once, and it was only after I had pursued my way forsome time that I experienced the resurgent flow of my normal self.

I did not anticipate a second attack before I reached home. Each ofthese cowardly efforts had been planned in advance, and had eithersucceeded no one could have pointed at Buck Steele as my slayer. I wassafe for another day, at least, so, gaining a temporary relief from thisfact, I trudged on moodily to the Lodge.

Next day at noon, as I turned from the well with a bucket of water in myhand, I saw a belted and booted figure coming toward me from the spotwhere the road led up. The stranger had an athletic bearing, wore acheap straw hat much out of shape, and carried a rifle in the hollow ofhis arm. I advanced to meet him, for I guessed his mission at once.

"You're the sheriff of this county?" I asked pleasantly, setting mybucket down, and shaking hands.

The man took his hat off and drew his shirt sleeve across his streamingface. The imprint of his hatband showed a red bar across his whiteforehead.

"Nope; deputy. Been huntin' a blacksmith fur the las' four days, 'n'it's worse 'n huntin' four-leaf clover."

He chuckled, as though the task was not as onerous as his words implied,and hitched his trousers.

"Plenty of room to hide out here," I agreed. "Come over to the house andhave a drink. You seem hot."

"Well, I reck'n. Bad time o' year fur a manhunt."

He walked beside me to a bench, and when he had greedily swallowed threecups of water I asked him to sit down and rest a while. The invitationpleased him, and presently we had launched into an animatedconversation. I soon learned that he had been in and about Hebron mostof his time; that he had not even caught a glimpse of his quarry, andthat someone in the hamlet had suggested that he come to see me. Amoment's reflection showed me that I could not make a confidant of theofficer, much as I wished to, for an explanation of Buck's animositywould be in order. This I could not give without bringing in the name ofa third party, and exposing to a chance acquaintance the cherishedsecret in my heart. No, Buck and I must settle this affair alone, and insilence. So I told the deputy instead that I was present when the mulewas killed, and that it actually was accomplished with a single blowfrom the fist. Whereupon, he declared that he was glad to have BartCrawley's statement verified, as most of the citizens of Cedarton hadtaken it with a grain of salt, but personally he believed it true. Thenhe became quite chatty, and proceeded to relate some of the exploits ofBuck's father, a giant who for girth and stature had surpassed his son.I listened politely to the rambling narrative, taking much comfort inthe simple presence of my caller.

"Th' ol' man finally went crazy," concluded the deputy; "yellin',whoopin' crazy, 'n' jumped off a bluff in the river one winter night."

"Went crazy?"

My lips repeated the two words involuntarily, and I turned to the man asthough I had not heard aright. The statement formed a portent of dreadto my mind.

"Yep; whoopin' crazy," confirmed the cheery voice. "He got crossed someway with somebody 'n' worried hisself wild. Ol' people tell me it's afam'ly failin'—that mos' of 'em end that way.... This Buck, now, hidin'out this-a-way. 'Tain't nat'r'l, is it?... I dunno."

He shook his head and gazed out over the wide forest with drawn brows.

I did not reply, but slowly reached for my pipe.

"When a feller's in office 'n' 's give a war'int, he's got to serve it,or go yeller. I didn't hanker fur this here 'p'intment, I'm free to say,'n' if I'd a-knowed Buck's a-hidin' out, be durned if I b'lieve I'd 'a'come! Some'n' 's eatin' on Buck 'sides killin' that mule—you can't tellme!... Well, I mus' be scoutin' on." He got on his feet, drank anothercup of water, and stood for a moment gripping the muzzle of his riflewith both hands, its stock grounded between his feet. "Don't s'poseyou've laid eyes on 'im'?" he added, in a softer, musing tone.

"No; not since he walked out of the shop that day."

Suddenly the deputy wheeled and faced me.

"Pardner," he said, seriously enough considering the almost banteringnote he had formerly employed; "I b'lieve Buck's goin' the same way hispappy did!"

"Why?"

I tried to hold my voice to a brave level, but the monosyllable ranghollow.

"The signs ain't right," came the instantaneous reply. "Buck'd never'd'a' laid out that mule if he'd been hisseff, in the firs' place. He'sshoed young mules by the dozen. In the nex' place he'd 'a' settled withBart instead o' spittin' in 'is face 'n' damnin' ever'body 'n' the law,too. I've got a notion to lose this pesky war'int 'n' go back to wherepeople live!"

He moodily pressed his hand to a pocket in his shirt, and I caught therustle of paper. Then he laughed softly, said good-by rather abruptly,and strode away.

I shall not attempt to make a record of the thoughts which assailed meafter the deputy had gone.

Yesterday came the third attempt on my life.

Believing now that my rival's mind was affected, and that he hadreceived the fixed and determined idea of making away with me in somemanner which would appear wholly natural, I no longer remained withinthe Lodge, or kept to the restricted limits of the plateau. I walkedabroad, always careful and watchful, it is true, and keeping my feetfrom suspicious paths. My longing for the Dryad had become a sort ofmania, and each morning I arose with the fervent hope that that daywould bring her back home. How I looked for the ragged, uncouth shape ofJeff Angel! But his grotesque figure remained absent, and I was left tounfruitful contemplation, a prey to dread.

Yesterday I chose a new route. Inaction was past endurance, and my dailyrambles were all that sustained me. It was midafternoon when I foundmyself on the flank of a precipitous knob, several miles from home. Ihad proceeded cautiously for quite a distance, as my aimless steps hadled me to what really was a perilous position. A massive ledge of stonecropped out of the knob at the place where I traversed it, and below wasan unbroken fall of many feet, into a valley thickly grown with trees. Istopped to enjoy the scene, for even in my present mental turmoil thesight demanded recognition and appreciation. I leaned forward and out,retaining my balance by a careful exercise of certain muscles. Theverdant glory of the all-embracing hills, the limitless sweep of thetree-clad ranges and valleys, and the bosky tangle of the spot beneathme, combined to work keenly upon my sensibilities. I loved Nature. Iworshiped in the vine-draped, bloom-lit courts of the untamed wild; inthe temple not made by hands whereof each towering tree was a column,and each moss-hung bowlder an altar. It was here my soul exulted, wherethe tinkle of a hidden rivulet made dulcet music, and the attar frommany a flower's chalice spread abroad its peerless incense—Nature'sundefiled offering to Nature's God. I was uplifted in that moment, as Ileaned forward and drank in the manifold delights displayed freely formy hungry eyes.

In the midst of this elation of spirit, a fiendish shout of triumph rangin my ears, and I felt a heavy hand upon my back shoving me violentlyforward—to destruction. Too late I realized my indiscretion. I hadallowed sentiment to usurp the place of judgment. While I was revelingin the matchless scene Nature had prepared for my delectation, and hadoffered without reserve, Buck had stolen cat-footed upon me. I wrenchedmy body about in a furious effort to retain my foothold, but the nextmoment I was falling through space. Like a stone I fell, down—down. Icrashed through the top of an oak, struck a limb, passed it in some way,fell, struck another, slid along it, and brought up against the trunkwith a fearful jar.

For a moment I did not attempt to move. Then slowly I got astride thelimb and made an investigation. But for a pain in my side, where thecontact with the first limb had bruised it, I had escaped as by amiracle. Thinking that Buck might make a detour, and come to see if Ireally had perished, I descended to the ground as quickly as possible,and returned to the Lodge in a roundabout way.

Most of to-day I have spent under roof, brooding over the somber problemwhich hourly grows more threatening. Matters have about reached aclimax. I cannot veil the truth from myself. If the smith is insanethere is no telling what move he will make next. An unbalanced mind isnever steadfast, and any minute he may abandon the tactics thus faremployed, and adopt safer and surer means to compass my destruction.

It is fearfully hot in here, because the room is shut tight. I would notthink once now of lying down to sleep with a window open. A few moredays will tell the story. I am unnaturally calm, I believe, consideringall that has occurred this week. I am not frightened, but I am anxious.I don't want to mar these peaceful pages with the narration of atragedy. I don't want to confess to them how I slew a fellow creature. Iam a man of peace. But it comes to me to-night that forces beyond mycontrol are at work. That, unless Celeste comes soon, the concluding actin the drama will be played. It may be that I shall not be alive tochronicle its end. It may be that I shall go down to death with mylove-dream unfinished. But I do not believe this. If worse comes toworse, I believe that I shall be the conqueror. I have no reason forthis, other than the supreme faith I have in my ability to cope with thesmith of Hebron.

I pray it all may end speedily, for I have borne as much as mortal can.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

IN WHICH, THOUGH THE WORLD IS STILL A VOID, THERE IS THE SHINING OF AGREAT LIGHT

Two days have passed.

Sunday was one long monotony, made up of vain watching and restlesscontemplation. To-day something really stupendous happened. Something sotruly great and vital that, even though Celeste has not returned, and,for aught I know, my death hides in the next minute, I am deliriouslyhappy. I'll tell the glorious news as quickly as I can.

This morning, bright and early, a messenger arrived from Father John. Hebore no written communication, but stated in a nervous, jerky,breathless way that his reverence desired my presence at the earliestpossible moment, on a matter of the gravest importance. These were nothis words, but this is the way his halting vernacular translated intoEnglish. I questioned the shabby, awkward rustic. He knew nothing butthat I was wanted, and wanted quickly, and that he who sent this wordwas "tarnation fidgety." Unable to form any sort of conjecture as to thenature of this peculiarly urgent business, I departed at once in companywith the half grown youth, not sorry of his presence upon this occasion,as I probably would have been upon any other.

The old priest met me at the door, and I saw at once that he waspowerfully impressed, for some reason. His long-stemmed pipe was in hishand, but unlighted. He decorously led me to the chair where I had satupon a former visit, and took a seat opposite. The library table wasbetween us, as before. I saw two letters upon the table in front of him,side by side. One was almost square, pale blue, and a glance told me thesuperscription was a woman's. The other was of the regular businesssize, had a card in the corner which I could not make out, and theaddress was typewritten. I waited in silence.

"M'sieu—"

He stopped, and I saw that his emotion was pressing hard upon him. Hissensitive lips quivered and twitched, and the muscles of his face wereagitated. A sympathetic pity took the place of wonder within me, and Ihad the desire to do or say something which would help him. But therewas nothing I could do or say. I was completely in the dark, and couldonly give him respectful, but silent attention.

"M'sieu," he began again, after a brief interval during which I knew hewas struggling manfully with his feelings; "I have somezing to say—muchto say. Never was I so shock—so hurt, m'sieu. Never more s'prise'." Hisvoice grew to a surer tone now. "I have here two letter. Zis is fromBereel." He put the tip of one yellow finger upon the pale blueenvelope. "In it she confess she tol' ze—ze—ze lie on you. She say nowit was ze joke, an' for me to correc'; zat she made ze love to you, an'not you to her. O ze shame, m'sieu—ze shame!" He put one hand acrosshis eyes and shook his head sorrowfully. "I belief her w'en she tol' mezat firs' tale, for she is my blood, an' I love her, an' I was anger wizyou, m'sieu. If Bereel an' I have cause' you to suffer an' to loose zeli'l wil' ma'm'selle—I shall never forgive us! Ah! m'sieu, I am 'shame'to as for pardon—but she was my blood—my Bereel, an' I b'lief her."

"Don't be too grieved, father," I broke in here. "I won't deny that muchharm has befallen because of this strange and unprovoked falsehood MissDrane saw fit to tell you. I was driven from the home at Lizard Point inconsequence of it, and soon thereafter Granny disappeared, takingGran'fer and Celeste with her. Of my own sufferings I will not speak. Iforgive Miss Drane, freely, now that she attempts to set matters right;as for yourself, dear sir, there is nothing to forgive. You only actedin good faith, and as you should have acted upon receipt of theinformation which you did not once doubt was genuine."

He hastily seized my hand in gratitude which was real as it wasaffecting, and his bright eyes shone with feeling as he answered:

"You are noble, m'sieu; mag—magnan'mous. I cannot sank you—I can onlysay, God bless you!"

He released my hand and dropped back in his chair, beginning to puffabsently at his cold pipe.

Beryl Drane's belated confession, startling as it was in a way, and of anature to ordinarily work in a most gratifying manner upon my spirit,did not long remain paramount in my thoughts. Father John seemed to havelapsed into a sort of revery, and as the silence lengthened I found myeyes going back again and again to the second envelope. What was in it?Father John had included it almost in his first sentence. It could notbe from any of the vanished family, because of the typed address, andyet it evidently contained something of interest to me. Directly Ipurposely changed my position, and coughed slightly. The effortsucceeded. The priest started, lifted his head with a smile and anindistinguishable murmur, and picked up the second envelope.

"Zis, m'sieu," he said, in a voice tinged with awe, as he drew out theenclosure, "is won'erful. It is ze han' of God shapin' human affairs."

Slowly, with an expression almost beatific on his sweet old face,suddenly glorified by some triumphant inner flame of supreme faith, heput out his arm and placed the folded sheets in my hand.

"Read it—all," he said, simply, then cast himself back in his chair,closed his eyes, and intertwined his fingers under his chin.

"Notre Dame, Indiana,
"August 1st, 19—

"Rt. Rev. Jean Dupré,
"Hebron, Ky.

"Dear Fr. Dupré: I write you at the instance and request of oneHannibal Ellsworth, with whose geological researches in theshape of valuable contributions to periodical literature youare doubtless familiar. At any rate you know, or did know theman, for he died last night.

"Late yesterday evening word came from a hospital that apatient dangerously ill wanted to see a priest. I went. I soonfound that it was not for the purpose of spiritual confessionand preparation for death that I was wanted, for the man wasnot only non-Catholic, but an unbeliever as well, but for aconfession of another sort. I shall put his story in my ownwords, for I recall well everything he said, though I cannotattempt to give it in his language.

"He said his name was Hannibal Ellsworth—a name with which Iwas quite familiar, though I had never seen the manbefore—that he was fifty-five years old, and that twenty yearsago he was guilty of a deadly sin. In pursuit of his work, hehad gone into the knobs about Hebron, and finding the field sorich, he erected a house, or cabin, about half way up the slopeof a certain high knob having a bald, conical peak. Here helived for more than a year. Here he won the love of aneighborhood girl—her first name was Araminta—and in his madpassion because of her physical beauty, he married hersecretly. When the first flush of possession had passed, herealized what he had done. Then, a little while before the babycame he left her, at night; stole away without a word to her,and without leaving anything for the maintenance of his wifeand the child which was expected. Such depth of villainy isalmost incomprehensible. The man said she had parents livingnear, who would care for her; that people out in those hillsneeded only a little to eat and a little to wear. He told ofhis heartless conduct in the most matter-of-fact way, as thoughit was nothing extraordinary. He said he did not believe therewas a life beyond this, though the persistent Christianpropaganda had worried him, as it does all intelligent humans.In case the church was right, and he should pass to judgment,he wanted to make such reparation as he could to those he hadwronged. He gave me your name, and asked that I shouldcommunicate with you, as you were acquainted with the partiesconcerned—or at least knew his forsaken wife.

"It seems he was a man of some means, and prior to my arrivalhe had been in lengthy consultation with a lawyer here, who washis friend. He has arranged to pass all of his money to hiswife, should she still live. If she is dead, it is to go to thechild—whether son or daughter he does not know. The attorneywho has his secular affairs in charge is Rehoboam Justin, at 21Eighth Street. You may address him there with the necessaryproofs concerning the validity of the wife's or child's claim.I tried to interest Mr. Ellsworth in his soul's salvation, butso firmly had the adversary become entrenched that nothing Icould say had the slightest effect. He thanked me for myinterest, though, courteously.

"He said that his marriage was perfectly legal; that he tookthe young woman by night to a town called Cedarton, near by,and the ceremony was performed by a Protestant minister, beforewitnesses. The license, together with the marriage certificate,he says may be found in a small tin box under the stone at thefront right-hand corner of the hearth in the cabin, if it stillstands. Why he secreted these papers, instead of destroyingthem, as one would naturally think from his infamous action, hedid not explain.

"I trust that wife and child are both living, and that you willspeedily bear to them this tardy restitution. Truly, this worldis the abode of sin and sorrow.

"Commending you to the care of God, and His holy Saints,believe me,

"Sincerely yours in Christ,

"Alphonsus Eremy, C.S.C."

Ten minutes after I had finished reading this letter—ten minutes duringwhich I sat silent with buzzing brain and elated soul, I raised my headand looked at Father John. His eyes were open now, and he was regardingme with an expression I could not translate. Gladness, humility,compassion, sorrow and love were all blended in his lineaments.Carefully, as though it were a fragile something easily broken, I laidthe letter back upon the table.

"Keep it," said Father John in a low voice, making a slight upwardgesture. "In itself it is ze ev'dence, in case ze papers be not foun'."

A swift alarm struck at my heart.

"But—" I began.

With his rare, sunshiny smile the priest interrupted.

Then all at once a look of weary melancholy spread over his features,and I knew he was thinking again of the perfidy of his beloved niece.Every muscle in my body was pulling me toward the Lodge, and I nowarose.

"I can't thank you as I would for sending for me and confiding in me asyou have," I said, my words shaky, because I had been strangely wroughtupon by all that had passed.

He made a deprecatory, characteristic gesture with both hands.

"Zey came zis mornin', m'sieu," he replied, sadly, glancing at thetable. "I sen' for you w'en I read zem."

He sighed, shook his head, and reached for his tobacco jar.

"I sink zey will be zere, but—sings hap'n, m'sieu, an' we can nevertell. It has been ze twenty year'."

"But a tin box, father—that will hold them safely!" I exclaimed, and hebeamed tolerantly at my boyish eagerness.

"Yes; zey should be zere."

"You have not heard from Granny—and them?" I ventured, for the wish tosee Celeste had grown within the last quarter of an hour into anirresistible force. I waited his reply with bated breath.

"No," he answered, almost at once. "Zey lef' w'ile I was gone. I haveheard nuzzin'."

Once again I tried to speak my gratitude, but the gentle old man stoppedme. This time he did not press me to stay, for he knew the magnet whichwas drawing me back to the hut on Bald Knob.

"I sink ze li'l wil' ma'm'selle will come soon," he said, as he held myhand at parting; "zen we tell her, an' she be made vair happy."

Forgotten was Buck and his fell purpose, forgotten was the lost JeffAngel as, passing through Hebron at a swift walk, I presently broke intoa run. Was this the same road, the same forest, the same sky, the sameearth? Beautiful as it always had been, it was transfigured now. MyDryad! My lovely, innocent Dryad was free from the stigma whichhypercritical moralists would have thrust upon her! I was hasteningtoward the proof with every breath I drew—toward the proof which hadlain within reach of my hand all these weeks! My heart exulted with eachonward spring, and I seemed light as air, so magically did my joy actupon me. Swiftly I ran, but the way had never been so long. I reachedthe Point. Scorning the bridge which heretofore had been a welcome aidin crossing the creek, I dashed into the water at a place where I knewit to be shallow, and a moment later was headed for the Dryad's Glade.Very soon thereafter I was kneeling before the rude hearth in the Lodge,gazing with flushed face and fascinated eyes at the front right-handcorner stone.

It differed in no way from all the others. A rough-surfaced, imperfectsquare with an average width of ten or twelve inches, the irregularinterstices between it and its neighbors being filled with earth. It wason a level with the others. There was nothing to indicate that it hid asecret which meant so much. Now that I had come; now that any moment Icould prove the truth or falsity of Hannibal Ellsworth's statement, Ihesitated. Perhaps he had lied even at the last. A man capable of thefiendish act he had committed would likewise be capable of this sardonicjest. If this were true—if, when I lifted the stone, nothing wasrevealed, what then? This torturing thought decided me. I leaped up,took from the table the knife which Buck Steele had driven through myjournal, and with its point began to pick away the dirt between thecrevices. I worked feverishly, and presently, dropping the knife, Igripped the stone and heaved. It moved. Again I strained backward, andnow the rock turned partly in its bed, where it had lain secure for ascore of years. Regardless of the jagged edges, I forced my fingers downthe rough sides through the loosened dirt, clawed and burrowed until Ihad secured another and a stronger hold. Again I tugged, and up came myburden bodily—up and out. I flung it rolling on the plank floor, andtrembling with anxiety gazed into the cavity it had left. I saw nothing.Nothing but the brown earth sides and the brown earth bottom. I sankbackward with a groan. Ah! Hannibal Ellsworth! If you were alive, andthese hands were at your throat! You trickster even in death! You chosenof Satan! You——A new thought came. Seizing the knife, I plunged itdesperately into the hole, just as I would have thrust it in the blackheart of Hannibal Ellsworth had he stood before me then. The point metwith partial resistance, then went on. I drew the knife out, and impaledupon it was a small tin box—a tobacco box, nothing more. It had beenwrapped around and tied with a string of some kind, for the molderingremnants still clung to it. It opened at the end. Now I was shaking withthe violence of one palsied, and presently the top fell down. I sat uponthe floor, drew the box from the knife point, and thrust in my fingerand thumb. Something was inside—something closely folded which sofilled the small space that I could not grasp it. I desisted long enoughto hold the opening to the light and peer within. I saw what appeared tobe many folds of yellowish-white paper, fitting snugly in the narrowconfines. A degree of calmness came now, and once more taking the knife,I managed to extract the contents of the box. What the priest in NotreDame had written Father John was true. I held in my hand the attestedcertificate of the marriage of Hannibal Ellsworth and AramintaKittredge, together with the license issued by the clerk of the county.The papers were dry and crackled in my grasp; they were disfigured byyellow splotches, and bore that peculiar odor which old parchmentsalways acquire.

All afternoon I sat in the same spot, with those priceless documentsbefore me. I read each of them an hundred times, and examined everyletter of every written word. They were the passports of my wife toenter into my world. Only when it grew too dark to see did I put themback in the box, put the box in the hole, and replace the stone upon thetreasure. It would be safer right there until I could take it away.

After supper I went out to one of the benches in front, and smoked. Themoon came up soon; a great, big, yellow moon, hoisting itselfmajestically over the forest sea. It seemed as big as the end of a sugarbarrel, and the face of the lady etched upon it was a cameo of CelesteEllsworth. I wonder if any other man anywhere in the world has everdared to imagine this moon-lady bore a resemblance to someone in whom hewas interested? He was very silly and presumptuous if he did, for theprofile of this lunar enchantress reflects line for line that of myDryad!

The soft, soundless, midsummer night wrought upon me in a wonderfullypeaceful way. Yet a positive, adamantine resolve grew within me ere Icame in. I shall wait one more day—one only. If Celeste does not returnto-morrow, then the day after I take up the search. There is nothing tobe gained by staying here longer, and all to lose, even life. When Ifind her—when I find her—my God! At the very thought my love surgesthrough me so that my chest hurts and my eyelids are hot upon the balls.I write no more to-night. I am lonely, and I am starving—for her! Iwant to see her golden hair tremble in the breeze, hear her laugh, lookinto the deeps of her eyes, hold her to me and tell her that I loveher—love her!

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

IN WHICH I VANQUISH A DEMONIAC, AND ENTER INTO GLORY

This is written a month later.

The next day passed eventless. I kept to the plateau, for now I had evengreater cause not to incur needless risks. After supper I sought my seatof the night before, my mind made up. Again I saw the moon creep up thesky, and it was full that night; its immense disk was a perfect circle.I sat watching the grotesque, ever-changing shapes evolved from my pipesmoke, silvery luminous in the moonshine, and wondering just how andwhere I would begin my search in the morning. Then my unchecked thoughtsdrifted to Celeste, and as the minutes glided by I felt the restraintwhich I had placed upon myself slipping more and more. I made no effortto stay my imaginings, or to turn their trend. The hour was madedelicious by this mental revel; by sublime visions of what the futurewould be. Most rigidly had I held myself in check since that night onthe peak, when I woke to a sense of my condition, and whither it wasleading me. Now I would relax, and suffer my feelings to assumepredominance again, for I was weary of the constant battle to banishthis girl from my brain, and anyway, the game was about played. UnlessBuck came upon me that night, I would speedily be beyond his reach.

As my unleashed emotions mastered me more and more, a keen restlessnessseized me, the natural result of unsatisfied longing. The bench where Ihad passed contented hours the night before became at length unendurableand I arose, my face set hungrily toward the whispering woods. Sweetlyit lured me with its breath of odorous greenness; strongly it drew me byits very mystery of being, and I responded. I would go to the Dryad'sGlade.

I was without coat or hat. My shirt was open at the throat and thesleeves were rolled above my elbows, for the day had been one of thehottest I had ever known, and in the early night the heat had not yetbeen conquered by the dew and the shadows. How well and strong I was! Itarried for a moment before the unlighted Lodge to enjoy a fullconception of my superb physical vigor. It is something to make a manrejoice—this mere knowledge of brute power. I had it in perfection thatnight, and flooding my maligned lungs with a deep-drawn breath ofNature's exquisite attar, I moved away.

I had always loved to roam by night; I had always loved to tread thewild; I had always loved the face of old earth best when kissed bymoonlight. These three conditions became important accessories to mymood that evening, a mood both tender and fierce. I reached the base ofmy hill of refuge, mechanically turned toward the west, and with bowedhead and leisurely steps went forward where all was vast and dim andholy, to receive the benediction of the trees. I scarcely noticed mysurroundings, although my perceptions received and appreciated theenveloping silence, and the pearl-gray gloom. The subtle scents of moss,and dew-soaked earth, and the indescribable tang from bark and leafrefreshed my nostrils with their blended odors. I felt that I was in thefirst sanctuary the world had ever known; a spot where Creator andcreation were all but one; a place undefiled by the feet of grasping,sordid men. If a prayer were born in this temple it were born of thespirit, and not of mumbling lips more used to the shaping of lies andhypocrisies.

A sound came to me, threading the silence like a note from a flute;elfin, elusive, wild. For a moment I thought I was deceived. I stoppedand listened. Piercing the continuous sigh which is never absent from avast forest, even in times of greatest calm, the note came again,followed by a series of quirks and trills. Eerie enough was the sound.Was the jest which I had offered the Satyr, while under the influence ofliquor, coming true? Did the great god Pan yet live, in truth, and didhe make merry o' summer nights in sylvan court and viney bower? My spinegrew chilly at the thought, and for an instant I was tempted to believe.Would I see him if I pressed forward cautiously, without noise? Would Ifind him dancing a drunken reel to his own music? For the nonce I castlogic and common sense aside, and determined to stalk this heathendeity. Bending forward, I advanced with the utmost care, walking on theballs of my feet. At intervals I heard the pagan fantasy—jumbledmeasures of the most fascinating, tuneless music that was ever setafloat. From familiar signs I knew I was approaching my objective point.My eagerness became intense as the pipe-notes sounded louder and louder,and then, suddenly, the scale fell a full octave, or more, and theliquid tones which now sifted through the motionless air were laden witha burden I knew. I stopped, grasped a tree, and threw my left hand to myforehead. I was listening to Jeff Angel's magic reed! He was playing theSong of the Brook, as he had played it for me that memorable night. Wasthe last vestige of his mind gone? Had he succeeded? Why was he dallyinghere when he must have known that my heart was aching and breaking forthe news which he would bring? These thoughts and a dozen more congestedmy brain during the fleeting second I leaned against the tree. Then Iwas erect and dashing forward. It was a sort of natural lane down whichI rushed, whose other end debouched into the Dryad's Glade. Fast andheedless as I sped, I saw that which checked me ere I dashed into theopen; which drove me to one side, softly and breathlessly, where I couldsee without chance of discovery.

The Dryad had come home. I know that I can but poorly describe the sceneto-night, but had I possessed pen and paper at that moment my plightwould have been the same, or worse. About half of the little woodlandcourt was whitened by the radiance from above, and the other portion wasin alternate light and shadow. But even in this portion—which was nextto me—a moving form could be plainly seen. The wildest, most bizarre,most graceful dance was in progress. Celeste was all in white; a loose,flowing robe with wing-like sleeves which waved and fluttered from heroutstretched arms. Upon her head was a wreath of great, bell-shaped,snowy flowers, and draped loosely about her waist was a garlandsimilarly wrought. They were the exquisite blooms of the jimson weed,that humble plant which grows undisturbed in every country barn lot inKentucky. Back and forth and around she sped, in the intricate steps ofa dance which made me dizzy to behold. Once she passed near myhiding-place—so near that I heard the quick intake of her breath andcaught the gleam of her teeth back of her parted lips. I saw theexpression on her face, too, as she whirled by, and it was one of purestenjoyment. The Satyr was piping and dancing, too. Weird and fantastic hewas, with the tails of his long coat flapping behind, and the sugar-loafhat atop his head. Time and again he measured the diameter of the glade,turning when he had crossed it to retrace his route. His movements werevery much like those of a cake walker on parade. His middle was thrustout, his shoulders back, and his face was turned squarely to the sky.The goat-tuft bobbed and shook with each prancing step, and ever camethat wonderful music, which he had taken from music's source.

Charmed into passiveness for the time, I crouched and stared at thisstrange sight. Then all at once the dancers abandoned the separatefigures they had been treading, joined hands, his left in her right, andthe Satyr, playing with one hand only, began a flute-like, dreamymovement, to whose bewitching melody they started afresh, an entirelydifferent measure. This continued for a minute or more, not without adegree of stateliness, then, abruptly as a lightning flash, the Satyrsprang away from his partner with a burst of yelling laughter whollyuncivilized, and furiously began the Song of the Storm Wind. I had heardit before, but not as now. As if inspired to newer effort, each began torun. It was half race, half dance now, for even in the seemingcarelessness of this rout I detected certain steps executed with regardto time and rhythm. Never had I seen such an extraordinary performance!The very contrast of the participants rendered it unique, but thisunconscious revival of rites which had passed away centuries ago lent adeeper and more enigmatical significance to it all. There was nothingunseemly in this revel, if I may call it such. It was simply anexpression of their love for the forest which had cradled and nurturedthem. In everything but this common affection they were far apart, butin worshiping at Nature's shrine they were one. Each felt the call tothe still places, and if we, whom life has cruelly thrust among brickwalls and stone streets and steel towers pine for such things until ourvery souls cry out, how much more should they slip out alone to taketheir joy of them. That was all it amounted to, and even my jealous eyecould find naught at which to carp. Two children had come forth togambol, nothing more.

The pace set by the Song of the Storm Wind was too furious to continuelong. Presently the climax was reached, and Jeff flung himself upon theground like a tired boy, his thin legs outstretched, his body inclinedbackward and supported by his arms thrust out behind him. Celestestopped near me, almost in the center of the moonlighted space, andthrowing her arms high she bent her head sideways and gave a deep, happysigh. I knew it was happy, for her countenance was tenderly aglow.Quickly I advanced and stood before her, both hands outheld.

"Dryad! O little Dryad! I have missed you so!"

A startled look came to her face, but it passed on the instant, and witha low, inarticulate cry she took one step and put her palms on mine.

Another instant both my arms were around her and I was pressing hercloser, closer, closer, calling her all the precious names which onlylovers know, kissing her face, her warm, sweet lips, her tumbled hair.Her arms went about my neck, her soft young body sank trembling upon mybreast. She was mine! What we said the next fifteen minutes does notneed transcription. Her words formed the most divine speech which everfell from mortal lips, but there are fools abroad in the world who wouldnot understand, so I forbear. Then, her arm in mine, we walked towardthe Satyr, still in his unconventional attitude of rest. As we drewnearer, I saw that his ugly face bore an expression which indicated thathe was scandalized beyond measure at the meeting he had witnessed. I waspreparing to hail him jocularly, for my heart beat high with happinesswhich almost made me dizzy, when his features became convulsed in a lookof mortal terror, and I knew that he was gazing at something behind me.I had heard no sound, but intuition now flashed me the needed warning.With the arm linked in hers I flung Celeste forward and from me as faras I could and wheeled at the same instant with the agility and ferocityof a tiger. I knew what I would see, but I was totally unprepared forthe truly horrible spectacle which confronted me.

The smith was almost upon us. Bareheaded he came, stark naked to thewaist. Barefooted, too, he was. His huge, hairy chest and arms, hisbearded face and neck, and the long, unkempt hair of his head, investedhim with a certain hideousness which might well have sent a tremor offear to the stoutest heart. He was gnashing his teeth like a wolf—Icould hear them click plainly—and muttering throaty, guttural sounds ofwrath. He checked his rush short when I turned and faced him, and stoodten feet away, glaring insanely from me to Celeste, from Celeste to me.His mind was gone; I knew it then. As I waited his attack, he gave ventto a yell which was a fearful mingling of screech and laugh, stooped asthough about to charge me, then, with motions so swift I could notcomprehend his hellish purpose, he swung a short, thick club which heheld and cast it with all his might—at Celeste! It sang fiendishly bymy ear, I heard a scream, and there my Dryad was lying on the ground, acrumpled bit of white in the shadow-flecked glade. For a moment thenight grew black. The darkness passed. I looked again. Jeff Angel wasbending over her. I could not go to her yet. Time to bury my dead whenher murderer—A new sound dispelled the numbing lethargy which thisdevil's blow had thrown upon me. It was Buck laughing. He was bendingover, his hands on his knees, and his insane merriment was grating andmechanical. I sprang for him then; silent, grim. He jumped aside with agibing croak, and, yielding to some reasonless vagary, whirled and ran.I was after him ere he had measured his first leap, for now I washarried by the hounds of Despair and Hate, and my life had been shorn ofall aim and purpose but one. That one I knew I would accomplish—knew Imust accomplish, or be a curse unto myself forever.

Buck ran with the speed of a greyhound, leaping now and then into theair like a demoniac, and striking out with his fists as he did so. Hewas never silent. Now he was shrieking his blood-chilling laugh, nowshouting disjointed sentences in a voice which had ceased to be human,now singing something which might have been a war-chant of the Huns forall its consonantal slurring and meager scope. Neither did he ever lookbehind. He had taken the natural lane down which I had come, and downwhich he had doubtless followed me on unshod, noiseless feet. I putforth my strongest efforts and tried to overtake him. Though I ransteadily and with scientific care, and he expended strength andsacrificed distance during his numerous upward bounds, I could not gainan inch. I doubt if such a pursuit was ever undertaken before. Ahalf-naked, hairy, maniac-giant leading, and a sane man well-nigh asbig, whose holiest feelings had been outraged, following. On we sweptthrough the checkered spaces of the forest, our progress accompanied bythat rumbling chant suggestive of forgotten ages. I do not know how suchthings are, but it may have been that the slumbering strain transmittedthrough many generations from some ancient warrior ancestor who livedand fought when the world was young, had been quickened in the primitivebrain when reason left it. He had ceased laughing and mouthingindistinguishable words now, but with every breath there rolled out thesonorous staves of this chant of a remote past.

We reached the base of Bald Knob, and here, instead of holding to theravine which led around it, Buck swerved into the road leading up. Hewas going to the Lodge. Well and good. I would as soon end it on theplateau as elsewhere. Through the weeds and vines which choked theascent we crashed, and as I gained the level in front of the Lodge I sawwith joy that I had lessened the distance between us. Buck sped straighttoward the open door, and I flew to overtake him, for that which had tobe had best occur in the open. In vain. I could not catch thisMercury-footed Vulcan. As I looked to see him disappear within thehouse, he made a dextrous flank movement and circled it. Instantly I wason his track again. Now he had set his face toward the belt ofevergreens which loomed blackly above us in the brilliant moonshine. Adread seized me. Was it his sly intention to reach this shelter first,and hide ere I could come up? I harbored this idea only a second. Thisbeing did not fear me. That he had run when I sought to attack him wasdue solely to some antic twist of his unaccountable mind. Any moment hismood might change. The dense gloom swallowed him, but still, a guidethrough the darkness, floated back the chant. How he could keep it upunder such fearful exertion I could not understand. He must have beenmade of iron and steel. I pressed on. Bursting through the furthest edgeof the encircling band of trees, I saw him once more. He had quitrunning, as this was practically impossible here, and was toiling up thesteep slope silently, for his song had at last ceased. I stood a moment,legs apart, my chest heaving laboredly, for I felt the hard chase. Upwent the great figure, grisly in its seeming now—up toward the peak.

A remembrance of that white, crumpled form lying in the glade assailedme poignantly, and starting beneath it as under the touch of white-hotiron, I shouted a frightful curse, and threw myself at the acclivity. Imust reach there when he did. I must top the crest at the same time, sothat he would have no chance to make a descent on the other side. For awhile I ran, though the task was Herculean, goaded as I was intotemporary madness by the stinging thought of my lost love. So it was Icame within my own length of the climbing demoniac, who never yet hadcast a glance behind him, and who even now, though he must have heard myprogress, went directly on, without a sign. It was gruesome. In themidst of the inferno wherein my soul burned I recognized the uncannystrangeness of the scene. Night. A wilderness. A towering gray-whitepeak of earth, and on its slope two crawling specks, one bent on—Godknows what!—the other intent on revenge. The law of Moses reignedsupreme in my mind that night: forgotten was the law of Christ.Forgotten, or ignored. I knew no law. I was reduced to that simple planewhere I was going to claim a life—a base and worthless life in exchangefor the pure and priceless one he had taken. The united logic of all theunited churches in Christendom or out could not have convinced me that Iwas wrong.

We reached the last ascent, almost perpendicular, and here I expectedthe smith to hesitate, or halt. He did neither. He put himself at itimmediately, and I imitated him. His going here was swifter than mine.It must have been because of his bare feet, which allowed him to grasp,cling and thrust with his sinewy toes. As we slowly neared the top hehad drawn away from me for an appreciable distance. I increased myefforts. If I lost him now I probably never would see him again. I sawhis huge arms, looking like moss-draped limbs, shoot up, and his fingersgrip the top of the peak. I shut my teeth and my eyes and put out allthere was in me. Now I was up, and yonder—yonder was Buck, crouchedjust across from me at the further rim, preparing evidently to descend,for one leg was over the rather abrupt edge. I could not reach him; hewould slip down and be gone before I could make the passage, briefthough it was. My hand rested upon a small stone. Impelled by impulsemore than by reason, I threw the stone at him. It struck him a smartingblow on one arm, and he turned with a snarl, half squatting, halfsitting.

"Murderer!" I gasped; "come back and fight!" I cannot say if heunderstood. I doubt it, but my voice acted as a supplementary irritantto the cast stone. I heard the infuriate grinding of his teeth as herose up, and came plunging toward me with the intention to hug. I had nowish for these tactics, and dodged just enough to escape him. Thereat hesent forth a roar, wheeled, and struck at me. The blow was not gauged atall, and I had no trouble warding it. Then for a little while we stoodface to face, not over five feet between us, while our heavyrespirations were the only sounds. Closely as I watched him, hissubtlety exceeded my caution. He feigned to draw back, as if to circle,and the next moment was speeding toward me through the air in aprodigious leap. I might have avoided his onset; I do not know. But evenas I saw him in mid-air the desperate resolve was born within me to endthe score, and that quickly. So, instead of attempting any action whichwould mean delay, I gathered my strength and leaped to meet him! Wecrashed together both from earth, and locked with such holds as we couldfind. We came to our knees from the terrific force of the impact, andthere for a while we stayed, chest to chest, and cheek to cheek. Thedeep, strained breath of the smith hissed by my ear in heavy gusts, andI was in no better strait, for my lungs seemed on fire and myinhalations brought no respite from the torture. It could not have beenlong that we remained thus, and while the lull lasted our embrace was sointense that we were as one body. Buck made the first move, for I wascontent to continue as we were for a time, and so recover in a measurefrom the exhaustion caused by the run and the steep climb. All at once Iwas aware that the steel-like bands which encircled me were pressingdeeper into my flesh, with a suddenness and a violence which wasterrifying. For a second I writhed, then the muscles of my backresponded, and I felt them ridging and swelling in resistance. Now mybody was wrapped and swathed in rigid folds of strength, and I strove toforce my adversary backward. My brain was veiled in a bloody mist, andangry seas dashed and thundered in my ears, but I knew that he wasyielding! Teeth set, eyes bulging, I called again upon myself, but nowthe shaggy head dropped forward, and the fiend bit me savagely betweenshoulder and neck. The shock of the pain caused me to relax, and movedby a common impulse we arose to our feet. Then I saw his face, and had Inot been well-nigh as crazy as he, the sight would have shaken everynerve. His curled-back lips were wet and red with my blood, his faceexpressed the insane rage which filled him, and his eyes—his eyes willhaunt me to my last day, for there was no meaning in them whatever! Justtwo glassy, protruding orbs shining vacantly in the peaceful moonlight.Then he laughed; hollow, hoarse and rattling, and caught up again thatdevilish, rune-like battle-chant. It was only a momentary respite whichcame after we were up. This time I took the initiative, and at onceclosed with him silently. New strength had come to the smith, and duringthe next minute I was off my feet more than once, dragged bodily fromthe ground by his superb might. The spot where we fought was perhaps tenyards across, was almost perfectly flat, and was covered with a sort ofgranular deposit which prevented us from slipping. Over this narrow areawe tugged and strove, sometimes approaching dangerously near the edge,but eventually working back to safer ground. If he had only ceased thatbrain-racking, heathenish litany! But after a time it came in gasps, andjerks, for despite his marvelous stamina, my enemy began at last to feelthe strain. How long we battled upon the peak I do not know, but therecame a time when I felt that I had been fighting Buck Steele since thedawn of creation. I was sore from head to foot; dizzy, and growing weak,but I was assured that his case was no better. So, locked like two stagswhich war to the death, we staggered and sprawled hither and yonder.Then our efforts became automatic, for each had reached the point wherehe was incapable of intelligent action. Suddenly the moon fell fromheaven, straight down to the top of the forest. Then it rebounded backinto the sky, and began a series of most erratic movements. At this theglimmer of sense which I yet retained made me grow afraid. I knew thatmy limit had been reached. Then was projected upon that spark ofconscious mentality the picture of my stricken Dryad—and now I laughed!Yea, laughed wildly and mirthlessly, as I slid one arm under the smith'shuge hams, and in a resistless access of frenzied power lifted his vastbulk as I would have raised an infant. If he struggled I did not knowit, for in that supreme moment a Titan had come to earth. To theflume-like chute I bore him and cast him down it—down to darkness andto hell!

How I got back to the Lodge I do not know. But as I tottered to the opendoor, behold! there stood 'Crombie before the fireplace, the Satyrcrouched on a box, and sitting near the table was my Dryad!

I fell forward at the sight, senseless.

My wife sits near me reading in the first reader as I pen these finallines of my journal. 'Crombie's presence at the Lodge is easilyexplained. The time had come for his annual trip to the great northwoods, and he determined to run down and surprise me before he left, andsee how I was getting along. He drove out from Cedarton, and arrivedjust as Jeff Angel was leading Celeste up to the Lodge. Buck's club hadnot struck her. When she saw his intention she had fainted from fright.'Crombie's coming was opportune, for he has told me I would have diedwithout his ready help. I was in a pretty bad way.

I am happy to relate that I did not kill Buck Steele. Just how heescaped destruction I cannot say, but the morning succeeding our awfulcombat 'Crombie made a thorough search at the base of the peak, at mysuggestion, but found nothing. In some miraculous way the smith's lifewas preserved, although this was contrary to my intent and purpose atthe time. But now, with my golden-haired Dryad here safe in my home, Iam glad. I had some trouble persuading Granny that this arrangement wasbest, but Gran'fer stood by me valiantly and Father John also lent hisaid, so the matter was arranged peaceably. I asked the Satyr how hemanaged to induce the runaways to come back, and the graceless rascalinformed me that he told them I had gone back home! A blessed lie, dearSatyr!

I also questioned 'Crombie about the life-plant, for I had never beenquite easy on the subject.

"You found it and did not know it, my son," he said, his good, honestface beaming. "Do you remember my description of it? Well, the vividgreen stem is the universal green of Nature's dress; the golden leavesis the healing sunlight, and the flower—the cluster of clear littleglobules, is the crystalline air and water of the untainted wild. Ideceived you in a way, my son, for it was all symbolical, but it was foryour good. Now I think I was hasty in my diagnosis, and that nothing waswrong with you. Do you forgive me?"

He smiled upon me almost in a pathetic way.

"It was the best thing that could have happened to me!" I replied,thinking that by it I had gained Celeste.

Now it comes to me that I have told my story and have never told myname. Which goes to show that a name amounts to very little. But theremay be some curious readers who would be glad to know it, and for such Ido not mind declaring it.

It is Nicholas Jard.

THE END