THE ROMANCE OF GILBERT HOLMES (continued 8)

One of my duties, and that which I liked best, was to see that the pilots were supplied with drinking-water and such small things as their business required, which the fixedness of their work did not permit them to look after themselves. This took me to the wheelhouse, and many times, I am sure, when there was no excuse for it. For of all places this was the best for seeing what was going on, and especially for watching the river and the country round about. Had I been older, I thought, I should have sought to learn the trade of pilot, for save that of captain, it seemed to me the most considerable in the world. To know the channel by day or night and be able to carry the boat forward and be its master were things apart and worthy of any man's strivings.

The work of the cabin boys was not hard, nor their hours long. We were up at sunrise and off duty at seven in the evening. After that we were our own masters; and it was my habit, if the weather was not too rough, to spend my spare time on the upper deck or in the pilot-house. Thus midnight often found me, and reluctant to go to my room, where I was always sure to find Devlin poring over his studies.

Of all the things that happened, and they were many, the most romantic, I thought, was the landing at night for wood. Then the torches, placed here and there, lit up the dark forest and glistening water, making them look for all the world as if they were alive to what we were doing. At such times the patient roustabouts, running back and forth, amid the cries of the mate, gave to the scene the air of being a place of punishment, where lost souls were scourged with blows and curses to do more than lay in the power of men. This, I have often thought in my more mature years, was not far from the real truth, though the necessity of haste in the business of such carriers makes those in charge impatient of delay, and so perhaps more prone to lose their tempers than other men.

Thus the summer and fall passed as the War Eagle went back and forth between the fair city of St. Louis and the distant posts on the upper river. St. Louis was then the most considerable city in the West, and well worth studying by those seeing the world. Because of this I sought in every way during our visits to increase my knowledge of its affairs; and thus it fell out that here for the first time I found my way to the theater one hot night in midsummer. This not advisedly, as it turned out, for demanding a ticket at the office, and the agent being busy over his accounts, answered absently:

"Where?"

Not knowing what he meant, I replied at random:

"Anywhere, if you please."

At this he looked up, and seeing me, cried out with great promptness and show of gayety:

"Ha, no coat! From the country. To the gods with you"; and straightway handed me a bit of paper and claimed his quarter.

Not among the gods, but rather with the damned in hell, I thought, on climbing to my seat, for I could conceive of no hotter place than that in which I found myself. Here, too, I lost what small change I had about me, and this by the help of a pleasant-spoken young man who sat beside me and was at pains to point out the fine points of the play, and otherwise entertain me with stories of the town, in the intervals of the acts. This adventure, because of my inexperience, discouraged me from making further excursions of a like nature, so that thereafter I was content with such exterior views of the city as my short stature and the crowded streets would permit.

CHAPTER XLIV

THE STEAMBOAT RACE

The season, which had been a highly prosperous one for the War Eagle, at last drew to a close, and when, late in October, we left St. Louis on our last trip, travel had ceased, and we were without passengers of any kind save a few emigrants for Keokuk and the towns thereabouts. Nor did we have any freight to speak of, but were promised a load on the down run, and this it was that had induced the captain to make the venture so late in the year. Of the cabin boys only Devlin and I remained, and like reductions had been made elsewhere throughout the crew. Thus lightened of men and merchandise, our good boat skimmed the water like the seagull she was.

The War Eagle was the pride of the upper river, excelling all others in beauty of outline and speed, so that the most ill-natured did not venture to question her supremacy. As the season was closing, however, whispers crept about the landings that the new boat, the Northern Light, was the better of the two. These insinuations our people did not regard, for if this were so, why did she always leave ahead of us, or lag behind when we pulled into the stream? Other signs there were of fear, too plain not to be seen of all men. Still the whispers went on, till at last there had come to be a settled belief on the part of many that the Northern Light was the faster boat. This was mere boasting, it was plain, for now we were making our last trip without having once heard the roar of her wheels or the boom of her exhaust alongside the War Eagle. Surely there could be no better proof than this, if proof were needed. Thus matters stood when one crisp afternoon, just as the sun was setting, we turned into the Appletop landing, and this happily, we thought, for there lay the Northern Light with steam up, as if awaiting our coming. Pert and trim she was, too, we could not help but own, riding the water like a wood-duck ready for flight. Looking her over from out the corner of his eye, Captain McGonnigle discharged the little business we had, and taking all the wood aboard we could carry, signaled the mate to cast off. This in such haste, too, that I had scarce time to say good by to Constance, who, with Setti, had awaited our coming.

As we backed into the stream, the Northern Light preceded us, and reaching the channel, took the opposite side, and doing so slowed down her engines. Surely invitation was never more plainly or courteously given! Now at last they were going to see which was the better boat, and fairly, as such things should be. Mounting to the top of the pilot-house, a thing most unusual with him, Captain McGonnigle signaled to put on all steam; and even as he gave the order great clouds of black smoke, changing soon to gray, belched forth from the towering stacks of the War Eagle. Nor was it long before the heightened roar of the exhaust told him his summons had been effective, and that the Northern Light would not find us lagging in the race. Thus in a few moments we found ourselves in the channel, the Northern Light, with her wheels slowly turning, awaiting our coming, as if not desiring advantage of any kind. Seeing this, Captain McGonnigle smiled and raised his cap to the other captain in graceful recognition of his fairness. With this friendly act, however, all intercourse between them ceased, for it was not a question of courtesy now, but of supremacy, in which the good name of the War Eagle hung trembling in the balance. Squaring himself and looking forward, Captain McGonnigle became from this time on lost to everything save the windings of the channel and the movements of the two boats. Straightway as they shot ahead a stillness as of death took possession of all on board, for in the hearts of the most hopeful there could not but be a doubt as to which would prove the faster now that the struggle was fairly on. As the vessels gained in speed, the water, already tipped with white-caps, flew high above their prows, spraying the decks and those who stood watching as with a falling shower. Behind, it tossed and foamed, white and glistening, like an angry cataract, as far as the eye could see in the gathering night. High above the swash of the wheels and the noise of the escaping steam, and as if in emphasis, the sharp clang of the bells could be plainly heard as the captains called for sharper fires. Scarce would one cease to vibrate than the other would take it up, and this with angry vehemence, as if the previous summons had been neglected or only half fulfilled.

Thus the challenge rang back and forth as we stood watching and listening, doing nothing, nor able to do anything. In this way night came on, and the stars flared out in the peaceful sky, but without any one regarding them, or, indeed, knowing that the day had set. Now lights began to blaze forth from the cabins of the struggling boats, and at every prescribed place, fore and aft, and amidships, the signals of the river gave forth their warning. About the furnaces, red with heat, the glare of the fires threw a lurid light over the gurgling waters and the toiling stokers as they bent over their work, stripped to the waist and streaming with sweat. Till now no gain had been made by either boat; or, if in the windings of the channel, which the sharp prows followed as bloodhounds do their quarry, the inner circle, shortening the distance, gave some advantage, it was quickly lost in the next turning, where the circle was reversed. Thus, amid the cheering, first of one crew and then the other, the boats flew onward, the water beside their prows sparkling as if the river were aflame from the friction of the flying vessels.

Increasing her speed by greater skill in firing, or some cunning device held in reserve for such emergencies, the War Eagle stretched away as a greyhound will when its prey is full in view, yet without gaining any advantage, however small. Nay, the other presently bringing into play a trick not before employed, began to forge ahead. This for no reason that we could see, until at last, the flash of her fires lighting up the interior of the vessel, discovered her crew pouring oil on the fuel, and at intervals flinging great balls steeped in the liquid substance into the roaring furnaces. At the sight Captain McGonnigle threw up his hands, crying out: "God save us!" as if astonished beyond measure at the recklessness of the thing. Regaining himself after a moment, his brow darkened, and bending over he ordered the engineer to push the fires as the other was doing. With his speaking, and as if action had only awaited his command, the War Eagle responded to the added force, and so regained after a while the few feet it had lost. Now great flames burst from the tops of the heated smokestacks, rising high in the air, and falling, left streams of fire to slowly sink into the glistening river far behind. Such flames, indeed, we had seen bursting from the Northern Light, but, simple-minded, we ascribed them to their greater skill in firing. In this way the War Eagle plowed her way through the darkness, passing one after another the little towns at which we had thought to stop, but now giving them no attention whatever. Making no gain, Captain McGonnigle at last looked about as if to discover some way by which he might increase the speed of his vessel, but without result. Seeing this, I approached him, and plucking his sleeve, cried at the top of my voice, so as to make myself heard:

"Wouldn't it help the boat, sir, if we lifted the yawl that's dragging at the stern?"

This weight he seemed not to have thought of, and was on the point of directing me to have the boat hoisted, when, reflecting, he shook his head, saying:

"Go and see if their boat is dragging, and if it is, leave ours."

This practice will seem strange to you, but at the time of which I speak was common enough. The landing-places were then far apart, you must know, so that it was the custom to take on passengers or put them ashore at intermediate points; and to save time in such emergencies, a yawl or light boat was allowed to drag ready for use, except that the oars were removed to prevent their being stolen.

Upon receiving the captain's order I hastened to the lower deck, where I found our yawl dragging in the water, as I have said. Turning to the Northern Light, I clearly made out its boat tied in like manner, and in the stern one of the crew resting at his ease. Envying him his seat, and reasoning that we ought not to enjoy any unfair advantage, as the captain himself had thought, I slipped into our boat, and untying the rope, let it run out through the ring that held it, until in this way I had dropped back a yard or more. Thus master of the situation, I could at will come close under the deck of the War Eagle or remain away, as I might wish. Reclining in the stern of the boat, wearied with the excitement of the evening, I was soothed and rested by the swash of the water as it tossed the light craft in which I lay this way and that. Yet without in any way losing interest in the race, for now a new view presented itself, and this more picturesque, I thought, than the other. Above my head clouds of fire and escaping steam flew across the reddened sky, while about me the air was filled with spray, which, falling on my upturned face, wet it as with a refreshing dew. Before me the War Eagle groaned and creaked, and a little way off the other vessel, not less strenuous, put forth her every effort to gain some slight advantage, but unsuccessfully, as one could plainly see.

After a while, beginning to tire, as we will of every form of excess, I was meditating a return to the War Eagle, when flames, higher and fiercer than before, burst from her stacks, lighting up the heavens with a deeper and wider glow. Thinking some new device was being tried, I sat still, and doing so, felt the increased power of the boat, and this as if she had before been held by some restraining hand. Seeing how it was, our crew raised a cheer, but alas! For as our stern tipped the prow of the Northern Light and victory seemed clearly ours, there came a sickening roar, all too plain, from the hull of the War Eagle. With the sound, and sooner than I can tell, the sky was aflame with fire and steam, and about me, and on my body and upturned face, particles of wood and iron fell in showers, as if dropped from heaven. Following the sound, and without any interlude whatever, the flying vessel, her body burst asunder, began to settle in the boiling water. Seeing this, and aroused by the sight, I sprang to my feet, and letting go the rope, the fierce current quickly drew it through the ring, and I was freed from the sinking boat.

Now I bethought me to aid the others, but alas! on looking about, there was not so much as a stick by which to hold or guide the craft in which I stood. In this way, and in agony of grief, and crying out at the top of my voice, I floated away into the gathering darkness as the War Eagle sank beneath the troubled waters. This, as I say, without being able to so much as lift a hand to help my friends. Not so those on board the Northern Light, for immediately the explosion occurred she reversed her engines, and in a moment her boats were dancing on the water and hastening, amid the cries of her crew, to the aid of our stricken people. This much I saw, but only partly and from afar off, so quickly did the current carry me away and out of sight. Standing up and straining my eyes to the utmost, the lights one by one faded out, until I was alone and helpless on the silent river; but of this I neither thought nor cared, for my heart was filled to bursting at the unhappy fate of my late companions. Gladly in my grief would I have stayed to share their death, but instead I was each moment being carried farther away, helpless as driftwood to aid either them or myself. Thus I stood for hours, looking back and mourning till the night was far spent and the moon arose over the distant hills of Illinois. At this, and in a measure soothed by the sight, I know not why, I threw myself down in the bottom of the boat, and so, after a while, fell into a troubled sleep.

Awakening at dawn, I stood up and scanned the shore on either side to see if I could make out some familiar object. In vain, however; and thus an hour or more passed without my seeing any one or being able to tell my whereabouts. Despondent and chilled by the sharp air, I began to search the boat anew, to see if I could not devise some way to reach the shore. While thus busied a voice hailed me, and looking up I was gladdened by finding myself abreast of Mr. Hayward's ferry, where Constance and I had passed so many happy days. Calling to Mr. Hayward—for it was he—to come to my aid, he loosened the skiff that lay fastened at hand, and pushing into the stream, soon neared the spot where I lay drifting with the current.

"Hello, Gilbert; is that you?" he cried, in surprise, on discovering who it was.

"Yes, sir."

"What's the matter? Where do you come from?" he asked, resting on his oars as if too much astonished to proceed.

"From the War Eagle, sir."

"Why in this shape?" he exclaimed.

"It's all that's left of her, I fear."

"All that's left of her! Why, what do you mean?"

"She blew up last night."

"God bless us! blew up! and the passengers and crew?"

"There were no passengers, but about the crew, oh, Lord! I don't know," I answered, sorrow-stricken.

"How did you get off?" he asked, after a while.

"I was dragging at the stern."

"Well, that was lucky, anyway."

"Yes, I suppose so," I answered, not elated as I should have been over my escape, so great was my sorrow for those who were lost.

"What was the matter? Were you racing?"

"Well, there was a boat alongside of us."

"That's it," he answered, his temper rising, as men's will sometimes after a great shock; "our river men will never learn anything, and now this new accident!"

"Yes, sir; but it couldn't be helped. No one was to blame."

"No, of course not. It was Providence," he answered. "That is where we lay the blame for all the foolish things we do. What a spinal column Providence must have," he went on, "to carry so great a burden! But while we are talking, the current is taking us to the gulf"; and starting up, he soon reached my boat, and fastening it to the one he was in, put forth all his strength, and so brought us quickly to the landing a few steps from his home.

CHAPTER XLV

TELLING THE NEWS

Mrs. Hayward was greatly surprised at my coming, and more so at the terrible accident that had befallen the War Eagle. Hastening, I begged a horse of Mr. Hayward, that I might reach Appletop before news could come to Constance. While standing at the door of the cabin waiting, I told them of the mishap and my escape, at all of which they wondered. When I was ready to mount, Mr. Hayward asked me what I intended to do after seeing my friends.

"Bring your horse back and thank you for your kindness," I answered, not attaching any other meaning to what he said.

"Where will you make your home, I mean? What will you do, if I may ask?" he replied.

"I don't know, but I suppose Uncle Job will want to send me off to school, as he talked before," I answered, thinking of it now for the first time.

"That would be greatly to your advantage," Mrs. Hayward exclaimed, pleased at the idea.

"Yes, I suppose so; but I don't fancy it now any more than I did at first."

"Why not?" Mr. Hayward asked, surprised.

"Because I don't want to leave Appletop," I answered, looking toward Mrs. Hayward, who knew of my love for Constance.

"Yet you have been away all summer," he replied.

"I know, but I could come back when I wanted to, and so it was not like being away."

"That made a difference, to be sure; but you will go if he wants you to?"

"No; it's too much to ask," I answered, making up my mind.

"I think you will do wrong to refuse," he replied, after a while; "but if you don't go, how would you like to come and live with us? I need some one to help me, and I think we would get along finely together. Helen, I am sure, would be glad to have you," he added, turning to his young wife.

"Indeed I should," she responded, and as if meaning what she said.

"Thank you," I replied; "it would be just what I'd like, if it could be brought about."

"I could help you with your books, too, if you would let me," she went on, pleasantly; "I taught school, you know, before I married Mr. Hayward, and liked it very much. So that if you wish to come and live with us, I should be glad to direct your studies, and could find the time, I am sure."

"Nothing in the world would be so good as that, Gilbert, for you will never find another such teacher," Mr. Hayward exclaimed, glancing at his wife with admiration and love.

"I know it, and it would exactly suit me to live here, too," I answered, looking toward the great river and the forest that bordered its shores.

"Well, suppose you speak to Mr. Throckmorton about it, if you are of the same mind after thinking it over," Mr. Hayward replied.

"That I will," I answered, mounting my horse.

Bidding them good by, I soon reached the Dragon, where I found Constance in the little garden beside the Dragon, busy over her plants. Hearing me approach, she looked up, and seeing who it was, gave a cry of joy.

"Gilbert!"

"Yes," I cried, slipping to the ground and running to her; "I'm back again, and well, you see, and as the captain promised."

"Oh, Gilbert, you are always surprising us in this way," she answered, holding my hands and scanning my face to make sure I was not deceiving her.

"Yes; and I hope you are glad to see me?"

"You know I am, though I was not expecting you so soon."

"You see I couldn't stay away from you any longer, Constance. I've been away too long already," I answered, kissing her hand.

"Have you left the boat? And what are you doing with Mr. Hayward's horse?" she asked, in surprise, noticing the animal now for the first time.

"I've just come from the Haywards."

"How can that be, when you went up the river last night?"

"Our boat met with an accident, and so I dropped down to the Haywards before landing."

"An accident! What was it?"

"A serious thing," I answered; "and that's why I wanted to be the first to tell you."

Well it was, too, that I made such haste, for, while I was yet telling her what had happened, a messenger came up from the river, with a crowd of people following, calling out that the War Eagle was blown up and all on board drowned. Stopping him, I asked if it were true that all were lost, and replying he said not one was saved. This was so much worse than I had thought that I cried out in anguish at hearing it; but so it was. Not one saved—Captain McGonnigle! and Devlin! and the pilots! The poor roustabouts, too, so patient and striving! All gone! every one cut off, and without time to breathe a prayer! It was too terrible to think of, and sinking down on the ground I covered my face with my hands. Alas! poor captain, I mourned, you have sent me home as you promised, but you yourself will never go back to the wife you have cherished so long and tenderly. Devlin! and is this the end of all your ambition and cleverness! It is too much! And the dear pilots! the wise men up aloft! Surely, never before have you traversed a course so dreary or steered a sea so black! Thus sorrowing, Constance put her arm about me and led me into the Dragon; but there was no longer any sunlight or pleasure in life for me, for my heart was full to bursting over the terrible fate that had befallen my friends.

CHAPTER XLVI

THE AMERICANS

Uncle Job, who had been married to Miss Betty while I was away seeing the world, now lived in great comfort and peace of mind in the new house I had helped build and furnish before my departure. At first neither he nor Aunt Betty would listen to my going to the Haywards, but after a few days, and much to my surprise, they consented. What led them to change their minds I never knew, unless it might have been something Mr. Seymour may have said. For I had told Constance that I thought Mrs. Hayward the best teacher I could have, and that if I did not go there I would not go anywhere. However that may be, I was permitted to do as I liked, and I bless the day that it was so, and the happy chance that thus brought my wayward mind within the influence of Mrs. Hayward's sweet will and gentle presence.

The Haywards, with whom I now went to live, belonged to that fine-tempered class that have made our country what it is. Peasants in position and fortune, they possessed the instincts of rulers and the fortitude that only the noble in body and mind have. Poor, they endured its privations with fortitude, awaiting better fortune with sobriety and patience. If, in the end, their efforts should be crowned with success, they would still retain the generous impulses of their former station, or if this was not to be, their children, less burdened, would achieve the greatness they had failed to grasp. It is among this class, in our free land, that the virtues of the state lie dormant, awaiting warmth and the favoring shower, as all who are acquainted with our people know. Struggling on, vainly more often than otherwise, their children, coming to manhood, rule our country and direct its commerce. Achieving a just ambition in this way, none can excel them the world over in greatness or the gentle arts of husbandry. Nor this alone if we would be truthful. For not all are great, but shoulder to shoulder and crowding, demagogues abound, the like of which has not been seen since the days of Athens. This has been foretold, I know; but who can greatly object if amid so much golden grain some tares appear? Even these depraved creatures have their pride in the Great Republic, sweetened with the belief that they, too, will become honest men like their neighbors, once they have garnered all the loosely guarded resources of the state. Importunate, they abuse our trust, I know, but impartially. For if they rob and delude you to-day, they will deal unfairly with others to-morrow for your benefit, if thereby they can gain further lease of life. So it goes; and shall we complain too bitterly if, good-naturedly permitting every one to thrust his hands into the kneading-trough, many are unclean and much of the bread in consequence shall be sour and unfit for use?

Of Mrs. Hayward I can never say enough, for she was to me in all things a tender mother and loving friend. Of her virtues there was no end, and of these not the least were her gentle womanly ways. In the rude hut where she lived she was yet a queen, and this by right of her grace and the sweet serenity of her nature. Beautiful, the meed of admiration was hers, albeit her only mirror was the placid waters of the great river. Educated, who could deny her admiration, though her only book was her Bible? For such deprivations are ever the distress of poverty and life in a new country. Full of the buoyancy and joy of living, the fragrance of her presence was a benediction, lifting all about her into a world of virtue and peace. Of loving and pure mind, the scandal and distraught of life passed her by, leaving no taint of evil or cloud in her trustful heart. Exalted above men by right of her inability to do wrong, she yet believed in their goodness as she did in the goodness of God. Such was the dear lady with whom I now came to live, and who gave each day some portion of her time to the betterment of my head and heart. Thus instructed, I spent several years of my life, and to my great advantage then and now.

Of Mr. Hayward, what shall I say that you may see him as I do, looking back, and not too clearly, through the fast-gathering years of a long life? A man of talent and ambition, and every way kindly, he yet lost something each day in comparison with her. This not strange, for the pliant reed, bending before the sweeping torrent, recovers its poise unhurt, while the stouter plant, struggling against the swift-running stream, is uprooted or broken in the effort. Amid the rude surroundings in which he sought preferment, and where none might wholly succeed, every encounter left some dent or disfiguring scar. The struggle and its hopelessness seamed his face and clouded his brow, despite his courage, so that all too soon he lost the glow and ambient fire of his youthful days. Diversion would have prevented this, and preserved till death impulses that lost in warmth for lack of nourishment; but this, unhappily, is ever the misfortune of obscure or lonely life. For of vices he had not one, save a too great ambition to get on in the narrow world in which he lived. Amid great surroundings he would have been great. As it was, striving to accomplish much with little, not one of his ventures enriched him, while many failed altogether. Unconquerable, however, he struggled on undismayed, as such men will, to the very end. This, sorrow over it as we may, is, unhappily, ever the beginnings of men as it is of the affairs with which they deal.

Of these friends of my youth I can never think except with bowed head and throbbing heart. One sought to teach me the beauty and sweetness of life, mixing with her instruction the gentle thoughts that animate women and make them, as has been said, the inspiration of men and the Mother of God. The other taught me more simple and practical things, but not the less necessary, on that account, to our welfare and happiness here and hereafter.

CHAPTER XLVII

MAKING THE MOST OF THINGS

Mr. Hayward in his youth, so it was said, had looked forward to a professorship or something of that nature, but coming to the West when a young man, and there being no call for anything of the kind, he had ended by becoming a ferry-man and small farmer. Of his business I knew little, but my presence affording him some leisure, it was not long before he began to extend his affairs, and in directions not before thought of, or at best only vaguely. In this his energy and fertility of mind never ceased to be a matter of wonder and instruction to me, and never will.

"Learn something every day, Gilbert," he would say, "if it is only the fraction of an idea. You can't make headway else, for it is as necessary to fertilize the mind as it is a cabbage-patch. If you don't thus burnish your wares, they will rust, for there is no standing still. Besides, new ideas are needed to encourage you to keep on in what you are doing, to say nothing of attempting other things."

"How can one learn anything here?" I asked one day, looking about on the still landscape.

"In many ways. You see, you hear, you think; and while the people who use the ferry don't impart much knowledge, the Lord knows it is what their idle chatter suggests that is valuable." And truth to tell, he never failed himself to profit by the advice he gave; for however small the hint conveyed in what he heard or saw, it was enough to set his mind in motion, and so bring forth fruit of some kind.[*]

[*] Gilbert Holmes, on reviewing this chapter of his life, thought it should be omitted. It was apparent, however, that he was influenced in this by the fear that it would in some way reflect on his dear friend Hayward. I could not share in this opinion, believing it greatly to the latter's honor, and for this reason have disregarded his expressions in the matter, feeling that Mr. Hayward was beyond most men, and what he did and said worthy of regard. Moreover, it serves to make us better acquainted with Gilbert Holmes himself, and his sweet charity and gentle ways and belief and trust in those about him: and for these reasons, if for no others, I have thought it should not be omitted.—THE AUTHOR.

As the ferry was not much used, Mr. Hayward early conceived the idea that other things might be sandwiched in to occupy our spare time. For of idleness he was the sworn enemy, and because of it rainy days and other unprofitable moments fretted him beyond endurance. Rest, as most people understand it, he looked upon as idleness.

"You can rest best by changing from one kind of work to another," he would insist, "not by whittling a stick or going to the circus."

It was in pursuance of such ideas that we hit upon the scheme of manufacturing shingles in the intervals of our other duties, and this to our great advantage, as it appeared.

"People must have roofs over their heads, and many have none, or at best only poor ones," he explained. "They need shingles for this, and their manufacture will open a new field for us, and one that will dovetail with our work at the ferry."

For him to conceive an idea was to put it in execution, and so we at once set out to build a machine, and this so near the landing that both industries could be carried on at the same time. The blocks for making the shingles we cut in winter and brought to the mill when other work was not pressing, and in order that bad weather might not hinder us we inclosed the machine in a rough shed. At one side we built a vat, and filling this with blocks of the needed length, we let in the water, and now starting a brisk fire in the furnace, the steam and heated water soon softened the material ready for cutting. I being the smaller of the two, and yet sufficient, held the blocks while Mr. Hayward worked the lever by which the knife was raised and lowered. Black walnut being plentiful, we used it, but sparingly, exacting a higher price. Being tenacious of fiber, the labor of cutting this wood was great, and so taxed Mr. Hayward's muscles that they sometimes fairly snapped under the strain. With cottonwood, of which there was no end, it was different; for if steamed to a proper consistency, you could cut it as you would clip a sausage. Of the two kinds of shingles our preference inclined strongly to cottonwood; on Mr. Hayward's part because the labor was less, and on mine because it did not discolor my hands, black walnut staining them so that they were of every shade from light brown to a deep black. This mortified me at first, but afterward, Constance not speaking of it or appearing to notice anything unusual, I became more reconciled to the disfigurement. Indeed, the dear girl regarded it so little that when visiting us at the mill, if I happened to be packing the shingles, she would sit by my side and pass them to me, one by one, for an hour at a time. Or, if I was holding the blocks in the machine, she would seat herself in my place, and do the work, or make pretense of doing it. At such times I watched her from the platform where I stood, and this not always discreetly; for one day, when observing her instead of attending to the business in hand, I came near to losing my arm under the great knife. After that I determined to be more circumspect, but nevertheless took many desperate chances that I might speak to her or gaze upon her dear form while occupied with my work.

Of the two kinds of shingles, buyers were averse to cottonwood, on the ground that it would warp and, being soft, the more quickly decay. Neither of these things, however, would Mr. Hayward fully admit.

"If properly seasoned, as in our case, and cut with reference to the grain, and afterward laid with sufficient lap and due regard to security of joints, a cottonwood shingle will afford protection that any man may be proud of—for the price," he would say, and truly enough.

Of the prevailing belief that pine made the most serviceable shingle, he professed to think lightly.

"You must not overlook the great difference in cost between cottonwood and pine," he would say to customers; "that is always an important item with poor people. Black walnut is superior in wearing qualities, and we furnish it when wanted; but if utility and cheapness are considered, cottonwood is preferable to all others."

Of the outcome of our sales I do not so well remember, but in new communities, where everything is being tried, buyers do not treasure malice, as they do in older societies, against a seller if they happen not to get the very best.

"Only idle men and fools can spare time to think of their grievances," Mr. Hayward was in the habit of saying, and indeed he carried this out in his own life when he got the worst end of a bargain, as he often did. Moreover, if we had a margin of advantage in the sale of our shingles, it was offset by the difficulty we had in collecting our money afterward.

"Most men are like children," Mr. Hayward used to remark, when looking over our list of bad debts; "they will buy anything if too much stress is not laid on payment, and this last one cannot do if his goods are in discredit, as in our case."

Of the latitude allowed traders in respect to their goods, he was always tenacious, but never to the extent of taking undue advantage of any one.

"In ancient times, among trading people," he once explained, referring to such matters, "gain of every kind was thought meritorious, no matter how acquired. In our day it is different, though we are allowed to put as good a face on matters as possible, and this holds true of cottonwood shingles as much as it does of poor calico or sanded sugar. Our shingles may curve a little now and then if not properly placed, but when Jake Kilp says a boy must sit on every shingle to keep it down, he goes to the other extreme."

"Yes, Klip's a liar," Blott, who was standing by, spoke up. "Why, a willin' boy could easily keep down two such shingles, or three, for that matter, if he was spry."

"Nonsense!" Mr. Hayward answered; "there is nothing funny about it. If they will put enough nails in the shingle it will hold. It is with shingles as it is with trees; but men will plant a ten-dollar tree in a five-cent hole, and then blame the seller if it dies. There is nothing in such economy, though plenty of men practice it."

When we were at work, if a team or horseman were to be sent across the river, Mr. Hayward would go, and that time might not be frittered away, I occupied myself meanwhile collecting and packing the loose shingles ready for delivery. This with great industry, be it said, if Constance and Setti did not happen to be by; but if they were, little was done, at which Mr. Hayward would stare on his return, but never in an angry way.

As the demand for our product was limited, it became necessary to devise other means of filling up the time, and accordingly Mr. Hayward hit upon the idea of manufacturing mattresses, great numbers being required by the people coming into the new country. Of hair and things of that sort generally resorted to by manufacturers we had none, but of corn-husks great quantities, and of much delicacy and firmness of texture. These Mr. Hayward conceived to be especially fit for making beds—not, indeed, in their raw state, but manufactured to meet needed conditions. The machinery we used for this was simple in the extreme. Taking pieces of wire, we heated the ends, and in that condition pressed them into a board of suitable width and thickness. The other ends we sharpened to a point, and thus had a strong comb of upright wires. Now taking the husk in our hands, we drew it across the sharpened prongs, and so split it into myriads of small threads. Afterward collecting these, we had the material for a bed.

"A couch fit for a prince," Mr. Hayward maintained, "and the equal of the best in durability and restful qualities. Its healthfulness recommends it, too, because of freedom from vermin and the small particles noxious to the lungs and body known to attach themselves to feathers, no matter how carefully selected and steamed."

Of these beds we manufactured many, and with fair profit so long as our husks held out. Afterward, buying in the market, our gains were lessened, but not perceptibly, as the material was not thought to have any value to speak of. The labor of production, while not great, was exacting in the extreme, for if by chance the eye wandered ever so little, your fingers becoming impaled on the sharp needles, ugly wounds would result.

"Such accidents," Mr. Hayward would say, philosophically, "teach the necessity of close application in business if one would avoid mishaps," but Mrs. Hayward, looking upon them in a less practical way, would often shed tears, as she busied herself binding up our torn hands.

To further our industry, we also made bolsters and pillows from husks and a species of lichen, which latter was found in great abundance in the neighborhood. Separating this with care, and afterward heating it, Mr. Hayward maintained that a pillow thus manufactured was the equal of the best.

"Not only that, but it will be found to possess aromatic qualities highly curative of influenzas and catarrhal afflictions prevalent here. As regards comfort nothing can excel it, unless it may be the selected feathers of tame geese, and these being rare and high-priced, none but the rich can afford them."

However, notwithstanding the excellence of our goods, trade lagged, and this despite all that could be said.

"The trouble is," Mr. Hayward was in the habit of saying, "a pillow being open to the view of visitors, something plump and fluffy must be exhibited by every good housewife. Because of that we must content ourselves with making pillows for rooms that the critical eyes of neighbors do not reach. Our mattresses being hid away, people buy them and save money, but they must have fat pillows made of feathers for the effect on visitors and other peepers. Pillows ought not to be used, anyway," he always maintained, "for they give people stringy necks, like turkeys; but if used at all, they should be of moderate thickness, such as we make."

The forms of industry I have enumerated, however productive, were only a part of Mr. Hayward's means of piecing out our profit-and-loss account, and among other things a way of utilizing the forests that lay about our house soon suggested itself to his practical mind. There, if it were mild, our cattle found nourishment to carry them through the winter, with little of the help other and less provident farmers were required to furnish. Protected by the trees, the soft grasses grew far into the winter, and with the first disappearance of snow sprung again into luxuriant life. The cows, thus fed with little or no expense, afforded us butter and milk, and a margin for sale; but as this last required some measure of attention upon the part of Mrs. Hayward, he did not press it. For in all things he was very tender of her, shielding her in every way from the hardships he himself so unflinchingly faced. Of this I thought much and gratefully at the time and in after years, and the more because of his boundless ambition and great activity of life.

The care of the cattle, pastured in the way I have described, being a matter apart, was attended to when other business did not press. Thus, if at dark they had not come home, I went in search of them, and in this my knowledge of the woods and the wiles of these creatures stood me in good stead. Going this way and that, and stopping at intervals to listen, no sound would reach me save those peculiar to the forest at night. For of all cunning animals there are none, you must know, equal in wiliness to the leader of such a herd. She comes to know, and this with certainty, that the slightest movement means discovery, followed by other annoyances repugnant to her placid nature. Because of this she will maintain such steadiness of poise for hours at a time that no warning note of the bell she carries will disturb the stillness to mark her presence. Thus I would often wander about or sit listening on my horse far into the night, until some unlucky stroke betrayed her whereabouts. Because of these visits my face and hands were much disfigured by the stings of mosquitoes and other insects; but of the former Mr. Hayward maintained, and doctors there were who agreed with him, that it was preventive of malarial ailments, and in other ways of considerable sanitary benefit to men. This, I know, is now disputed, but certain it is that my wanderings never resulted in any harm to me. On the contrary, I each day grew more robust, and so straightened out that at sixteen I had attained my full height.

Of the many varied diseases then common to the new country, Mr. Hayward acquired a specific for fever and ague that was superior to all others then known. Not only would it stop the tremor of the chill and the fever that followed, but killed the disease utterly, so that no trace of it afterward reappeared. This, it is well known, quinine will not do; and it followed that our house came to be much frequented by those afflicted in the way I speak of. Indeed, it was no unusual thing when we arose in the morning to find a motley crowd, with sallow faces, standing about the door, their teeth chattering like castanets in the frosty air. Supplying ourselves, therefore, with great quantities of the specific, and selling it at a moderate profit and for cash, when we could, we derived much gain and the community a great and lasting benefit. For in this thing Mr. Hayward was admittedly a benefactor, as he was in many other matters not so apparent at the time. If it happened that an applicant was unable to pay, which was often the case, Mr. Hayward would refuse to accept anything; and as nearly every one was poor, Mrs. Hayward would often say:

"Why do you take pay for the medicine, William? Surely the cost is not enough to speak of." But to this he would always answer:

"They would never touch the stuff if I gave it away, Helen. Medicine is like advice; if people have to pay, they will go miles to get it, even from a knave or fool. Why not charge something? My medicine is better than the doctor's, and the cost not nearly so much. Besides, my dear, as I say, they would not come near us if we gave it away. It is the people who set great store on what they have that are most sought after."

As our little farm had to be tilled, this required horses, and as the best were high-priced, and we did not have much money, Mr. Hayward contented himself with such as he could get at a moderate figure. It resulted from this, our selection being limited, that we were often scurvily dealt with by those having these animals to sell. Often by patience we could bring the unruly beast under subjection, but at best only partially; for of all things in the world a horse is the most difficult to break of a bad habit. In this way we came in time to own a great variety of animals, some of which, notwithstanding Mr. Hayward's skill as a trader, he found it impossible to dispose of except at a loss. One animal of great stature that we acquired in the way I speak of had a trouble in breathing, but this we did not discover until too late, some soothing lotion having been used to deceive us for the moment. Indeed, so choked would the animal become with undue exercise that coming suddenly upon a croupy child could not startle you more. There were those who maintained that the Raven, for so Mrs. Hayward named him, was broken in wind, but this Mr. Hayward would not admit, ascribing the trouble mainly to irritation of the larynx, such as singers and public speakers are often afflicted with. With a moderate gait, however, the Raven would go from sunrise to sunset without show of weariness; and of all the horses I have ever known there was never one with a better disposition. So true was this that in the excursions Mrs. Hayward and Constance and I sometimes took at odd moments and in the way of indulgence, we always chose the Raven by preference. Fastening him beside the pole, he would haul a wagon with ease, and because of his great docility could be safely left beside the road or wherever we might wish to stop. For gossiping and idling by the way, no horse in the world could equal him. Indeed, from the manner in which he pricked up his ears, and a habit he had of changing from one foot to another, we came in time to think he understood much, if not all, we said. He must be driven quietly, however, and within limits. For if you but urged him beyond this, the women would hurry from their homes as we passed, to see if by chance some child had not been stricken with croup or other ailment of the throat, so loud and hoarse was his croaking.

Of the end of this valuable animal I do not know, for in an unfortunate hour and through eagerness of trade Mr. Hayward swapped him for a cholera specific he thought we could use to advantage. This trade caused us all much sorrow, for of the Raven we never heard more. Of the cholera medicine, however, we came to know a great deal, for about this time, the dreadful scourge being prevalent in the neighborhood, and the people being frightened, every ail that afflicted them they ascribed to its presence. In these emergencies Mr. Hayward had recourse to our specific, and this not always advisedly; for it was very hot and scalding to the mouth, so that the lips of those who used it were in a constant state of irritation, as if they had eaten cranberries or something of that nature, and this without the use of napkin or similar device.

From this medicine Mr. Hayward derived great profit; for coming down shortly with the disease, he would take nothing else, and happily recovering and the people hearing of it, they came from far and near to supply themselves with the remedy. Indeed, the sale of it came nigh to making him rich, had not losses in other directions about that time offset his gains from this source. Being of an experimental turn of mind, he thought to try the specific on our horses and cattle in cases of colic, and this with great success, as it turned out, so that from that time on we were saved the expense of veterinary surgeons and cow doctors in respect of this particular malady. When the great merit of the medicine became apparent, Mr. Hayward told me how he acquired it, and this for my benefit, I thought.

"The man was not much inclined to dicker, but when I told him he must give boot, he began to prick up his ears. Never trade even, Gilbert, though it is only a jackknife. The bargain looks more attractive to the other if you claim your goods are worth the most. I let him do all the talking, too, for I once heard of a man who grew rich, and all because he stuttered. Those with whom he dealt, out of pity, would talk for both sides, and when they reached a point that made the trade attractive, the stutterer would close the deal. Nor is stuttering so much of an affliction otherwise as people think. It is a great pity it is so easy to talk, for in the main it doesn't amount to anything. If you are not inclined to believe me, watch the first two men you see together. Neither listens to the other, unless it be a bit of gossip, but each waits his turn to speak, and not always patiently, either. Talking is a disease with many, and results in much harm, and for that reason it would be better, I think, if it required some effort to use the voice."

Thus by trade and harmless dicker, such as I have described, Mr. Hayward added to the earnings of the ferry and our little farm. Of the last the soil was rich beyond belief from the overflow of the river, but in dickering for the land, this drainage, Mr. Hayward pointed out to the seller, might lessen its value, because of the baleful effect on the health of those who worked it. Having, however, obtained possession of the farm at a fair price, it turned out different from what he had thought.

"The overflow," he was in the habit of saying afterward, "far from proving injurious, is really beneficial in this, that it purifies and sweetens the earth, which would otherwise become clogged with malarial germs. This in addition to greatly enriching the soil." Thus his fears, as it often happens in trade, proved groundless once the bargain was struck and resultant benefits clearly seen.

This farm Mr. Hayward and I looked after unaided, save in the middle summer, when possibly some patch of grain was to be gathered and threshed. Mostly we cultivated corn, as being a sure crop, and afterward affording fodder for the cattle and much choice material for mattresses, as I have explained. As our work took us some distance from the landing, where we could not hear the bell on the farther side of the river, Mrs. Hayward contrived a way out of the difficulty, and very cunningly, we thought. To do this, she caused a flagstaff to be erected near the house, and here, when there was a call for the ferry, she gave us notice by hoisting a signal. If a foot passenger, meaning me, the flag was white; if a team or horseman, and requiring the big boat and Mr. Hayward's presence, red was used. Supplementary to these, she raised a black flag to tell us it was time for dinner or supper. Black, she would say, was most appropriate for this, because of our great appetites, and indeed we were never lacking in this respect. Going to and from the ferry when working in the field we considered a rest, so that we came in time to look forward with considerable strife to see which flag, the red or the white, was raised by the sweet lady, our mistress, at the house.

CHAPTER XLVIII

THE CARRIERS

At night, when supper was over and Mr. Hayward had some leisure to look about, he was in the habit of saying that the man who built his house, whoever he might be, would not have ruined himself had he made the ceiling a log or two higher.

"Nor can I see, for the life of me," he would add, as he surveyed our narrow quarters, "why he cut the logs so short, when the forest is full of fine timber he could have had for the taking."

Off the main room, and there was but one, we built a kitchen, and beside it a sleeping-room. This was thought by some of the neighbors to indicate growing pride and a striving after luxury, though the addition sloped to the ground so fast that the side next the eaves did not afford room for one to stand upright. This inconvenience, however, we did not much regard, a little stooping now and then not doing any one harm. The attic over the main room was mine, to do with as I pleased, save some small space set apart for seed-corn and things of that kind in winter. It was reached, and deftly enough, by a ladder of stout poles, which answered the purpose perfectly, and had the great merit, moreover, of taking up little or no room. My bed occupied one corner, and lying outstretched my nose would have scraped the shingles had it been an inch or two longer. These shingles were neither black walnut nor cottonwood, as you may think, but oak clapboards split and shaved in the old way, before shingles were known in the new country. If they did not always keep out the water, it did not enter in any great quantity, and by using a little calculation one might avoid it entirely.

The room was greatly to my fancy, and I have never seen one I liked so well. If in summer it was sometimes hot, because of proximity to the roof, air might always be obtained from the window at the end; and as for light and ventilation, this and the crevices in the roof afforded all that any reasonable person could desire. What was best about it, though, was its nearness to the wind and rain. For lying upon my bed, the patter and swash of the water sounded directly in my face, and when the wind pushed and crowded about the house it was not at some far-off place, but in my very ears. Such volume and artfulness of sound, too, words cannot describe, each log and crevice of varying size answering back some note of its own to pouring rain or driving wind. Nowhere else, indeed, have I heard, or ever will, such symphonies; for these things belong to our youth, and come not in like freshness to the mind or wearied body of more mature years.

It was the river, however, that attracted me most, for there was no end to its beauty and variety. In rain and sunshine, it made no difference, it kept its way, changing with every cloud and breath of air, always offering some new and better view. Of the ferry, Mr. Hayward, discarding all the devices of our competitors, adopted in their place a method better than them all; and in this I will not except the McDuffs, who made so much of their new-fangled power and patent steering-gear. Nothing could be more picturesque, either, than our device. For going up the river a little way, Mr. Hayward attached a stout wire to a great tree that grew on an island there, and uncoiling the wire, brought it down, and connected it to a rope fastened to each end of the great boat. Drawing this rope taut at the prow, the latter pointed up the stream, and so, loosening the craft from the shore, the current carried it swiftly to the other side. Of all Mr. Hayward's methods for saving labor and cutting down expenses not one exceeded this, I thought. To prevent the wire dragging in the water, it was upheld by buoys, and these always facing about in the direction the great boat was going, added to the beauty and animation of the scene. These devices were the subject of much ridicule at first, and more especially on the part of the McDuffs, but on trial, the community coming to regard them with favor, the subject was not referred to again.

Of the doings of these McDuffs little that was good could be said. Not only were they innovators in respect to the use of steam, but given, as we proved more than once, to the cutting of rates and other underhand dealings of a like nature. Such practices Mr. Hayward despised as unworthy of common carriers, nor would he be a party to them in any way; unless, indeed, it might be in the case of a large customer, but then only sparingly and under close cover, so that there could be no known excuse save weakness or pure spite for the cutting of rates on the part of others. The McDuffs were also given to misrepresenting distances, to the injury of our ferry, so far as their stories were believed by the simple-minded. In this and other ways they were a constant source of irritation and injury to trade, and to such a degree that as a way out Mr. Hayward, with great circumspection of conduct, finally proposed a trust, or consolidation of the properties. This project came nigh to happening, too, and indeed was thought to be as good as done, when word of it somehow came to the ears of the public. Upon this the community flew into a rage, accusing us of monopolistic tendencies and other and worse things, so that in the end the undertaking fell through. In the warfare that was made upon us at this time, strangely enough the most bitter were those who never made any use of the ferry to speak of. This I could not understand until Mr. Hayward explained it.

"There are a lot of people who lie awake nights watching and listening lest the public suffer some wrong. These guardians, as a rule, never achieve anything themselves, and in the end are buried at the expense of their friends. In every case they are impracticable people, with little or no knowledge of affairs. Well meaning enough, they will pull a house down to straighten the lightning-rod, or destroy a garment to remove a stain. The trouble is they lack sense. With skulls big enough to hold a squash, they have nothing to fill the space save surmises and suspicions."

We were always of the firm opinion that the McDuffs had made known Mr. Hayward's efforts to consolidate the properties, and this to discredit us with the public, for grievously we suffered from the falling off of traffic that followed. This until, happily, the wife of the mayor of Appletop bringing forth triplets, and all boys, the mind of the community was diverted for the moment. As it would happen, too, an accident occurring about the same time at the McDuffs', whereby a passenger lost his life—a thing Mr. Hayward had clearly foretold—we came again into our share of the business, and kept it. Mr. Hayward, however, was ever very sore on the subject.

"The consolidation was clearly in the interest of the people," he would say in speaking of it. "They would have had only one family to support instead of two, as at present, and reduction in tolls would surely have followed sooner or later. Why, except for such things mankind would be eating roots to-day and living in caves. Affairs of state have felt this most of all, for one government answers now where there were myriads at one time. Thus England has but one ruler, where she once had fifty to support, with all their hungry followers. There was consolidation for you with a vengeance, and it has been so with every country on the globe. So it will be with many industries. You may be sure, though, that not one little despot was ever tumbled from his throne without the people raising a cry that they were being enslaved."

"Has everything been done that will be in this direction?" a chance traveler asked one day, hearing what Mr. Hayward said.

"No; it will go on until each continent has but one government, and in the end all will be merged."

"Which people will dominate?" the traveler inquired, as if quizzing him.

"The most vigorous and the wisest. The nations we know, however, will all have disappeared ere then, it is probable. No one can tell."

Thus Mr. Hayward would go on by the hour when the subject of interference with natural laws was spoken of, and nothing could stop him.

Among other things that favored our ferry was a certain romantic fancy that attached to it. Thus the little buoys, skimming the water like ducklings, never failed to attract the attention and elicit the admiration of those who crossed. Of our signaling devices, they were very simple; two strokes of the bell indicated a horse or wagon, one a foot passenger. The last fell to me, and because of it, I became in time very expert in handling the small boat, never failing, as good fortune would have it, to bring my passenger safely to shore. Our landing-places, too, were exceedingly picturesque, and caused the more sentimental no end of foolish talk. On the side where we lived hawthorns and elder covered the banks and edges of the river, and on the other shore two great elms guarded the approach. These last were remarkable in their way, and because of it added considerable to our earnings. One was of great height and grand to look upon from a distance, but the other, stopping midway, as if tired of striving to keep pace with its neighbor, reached out its limbs in every direction in the most picturesque and pathetic way, as if inviting alms. This tree was called the Penitent, and the other, because of its stateliness and dearth of shade, the Pharisee. The trees were given these names at first in idle fancy by a customer of ours, a devout woman much given to snuff and gossip; but the cunningness of the fancy tickling her greatly, she gave it the widest publicity, so that in time travelers came miles out of their way to view the curiosity and comment upon it. Because of this and the good lady's attendance upon covenant meetings and the like, Mr. Hayward, who was not lacking in sentiment, reduced her fare one-half. This, like most things he did, proved a great stroke of business in the end, for now she visited Appletop twice as often as before, and in her journeyings to and fro never tired of speaking of the beauties of our ferry and its fine location and good business management.

"A queer woman, that," Mr. Hayward one day remarked as I came up from the landing after setting her ashore, "and tending to show that what people think, they will do. If her name, now, had been something beside Snuffe, she would never have thought of using the stuff as she does."

"Why, what has that to do with it?" I asked, not seeing the connection.

"After she got married, much thinking of the name of Snuffe, and some worrying about it, she says, caused her to help herself to a pinch now and then out of pure perversity of spirit, until in the end she got to like it, so that now she can scarce finish a prayer without a sly dip into her bag."

"Her husband might have changed his name; he would not have had to look far for a better one," I answered, to see what he would say.

"Oh, Snuffe is as good as any, and the family will be a power in the land some day. The old man will not eat anything he can find a market for, and there is no surer way to get on than that if one has the patience to stick to it."

Constance, who was always in my thoughts, I grew to love more and more as the years passed, and as Mrs. Hayward had her much at our house, scarce a day went by without my seeing her. When she stayed to supper, which was often the case, I would take her home; and of these journeyings I remember every one, and what we said, which was not much, for we were but little given to speech when in each other's company. Her visits clothed our little home with such a halo of romance and delight, that my heart swells to this day when I think of it. For my belief in her knew no bounds, and, like my love, grew stronger as we grew to be man and woman. This not strangely, for at sixteen she was such perfection of loveliness that there was no joy like that of being near her, and if I but touched her hand, heaven itself, I thought, could not convey greater happiness. Yet, strangely enough, I could not have told the color of her eyes, if indeed they were always the same, which I knew they were not. Nor could I have described her mouth, except that it expressed such tenderness that its like was never seen before. Of her face this I know, that it was oval, but of her complexion, it was of such delicacy of white and pink that no one could describe it, nor have conceived anything so perfect. Her hair, too, like her eyes, could not be described, but was ever taking on some different phase or color, so that if you thought you knew its every shade of loveliness, some new light or manner of arrangement would add beauties to it not before dreamed of. Such, you must know, was Constance, my sweet love, at the time of which I speak.

CHAPTER XLIX

THE BETROTHAL

Amid surroundings such as I have described three years passed, and happily for me, and to my great good then and for all time. Indeed, I do not look back to any period of my life with greater pleasure, for it was filled with Constance and thoughts of her and nothing else. My bed, once too long, was now too short, yet I would not change it in any way. Lying there, the pattering rain sang of my love, and at night the sighing and chattering wind lulled me to sleep with thoughts of her.

Thus I lay one midsummer night, listening to the whir and beating of a great storm that had come up suddenly from out the south, after the day had closed. Above the roar of the wind and the splash of the water on the roof, I could plainly hear the wash of the river as it beat on our shore, and this as if to add to the strength and rhythm of the storm. If by chance the wind abated for a moment, the rain fell anew, and in torrents, as if the deluge were come again. Then, it in turn showing some pause, the wind would spring up afresh, and in such fury that the windows and logs of the house trembled as if shaken by an earthquake.

While I lay thus listening, not caring to sleep, and in such comfort of position and delight of mind that movement of any kind was like pain, there came to me above the tumult of the tempest, faintly and far off like an echo, the dull boom of the Penitent's bell. But that could hardly be, for surely no one would venture abroad on such a night! Thinking thus, I lay still, and in a little while it came again, and plaintively, the like of which I had never heard before. There could be no mistake now; it was the Penitent's bell calling, and nothing else! Still I did not move. The storm was too great, and no boat could live in it a minute! Then let the great tree shelter its guest, for there was no other way. Turning uneasily on my bed, the signal came again and stronger, booming above the swash of the water and the rush of the wind as if it were the voice of some one crying out in anguish of body and mind, not far off nor vaguely now, but high and resounding, as if tolling for the dead or dying. Frightened, I sat bolt upright; and soon it came to me again, and with greater stress of melancholy, if that were possible. Trembling, unable to withstand the call longer, I sprang up, and putting on my garments, quickly found my way to the floor below. Those resting there had not heard the summons, and so leaving them undisturbed, I opened the door and stepped out into the night. At this, and as if watching my coming, the wind, rising to new fury, tossed me here and there so that I could scarce keep my feet. Above, there was some glimpse of light in the leaden sky, but about me only inky darkness and the circling wind and falling rain. As I stood clutching a tree, loath to go on, the boom of the bell came again, and as if with new import and stress of haste. No longer hesitating, I hurried on, listening as I ran; and now, I know not why, stricken with a chill, as if somehow its tolling meant harm to me or those I loved.

Reaching the boat, and emptying it of water, I fixed the oars in their place, and without thought shoved it into the stream. At this, the wind and waves taking it up in their arms as if it were a plaything, hurled it back upon me, and with such force that I came nigh to being crushed with its weight. Awaiting a more favorable moment, I sprang into the boat, and doing so, pushed it into the boiling water. Little, however, could I do now that I was afloat and held the oars, for, enveloped in darkness, the waves flying before the storm so tossed me about that effort to make headway was lost in striving to keep afloat. Then the wind, veering with the windings of the river or overhanging trees, bewildering me, I was fain to sit still and wait some clew to guide me. This the stream would have done, but tossed by the wind, it lost its force, so that I could not tell which way it ran, if indeed it had any direction at all.

While thus striving to make headway, the Penitent's bell came to me across the splashing water, but now at longer intervals and indistinctly, as if those who rang it were faint or dying. Chilled by its stroke, it yet helped to guide me, so that I struggled on the more hopefully because of it. In this way I after a while reached the middle of the stream, and now I made greater headway; but going on, the bell grew faint, and then at last ceased its tolling altogether. Filled with new fear lest losing its guidance I should after all go astray, I put forth all my strength to gain the farther shore. Of sign of it, however, or other thing, save the spray of the white-topped waves as they swept over me and across the boat, there was none. Nor could I hear any sound save the whir of the wind and the churning of the waves as they beat against the boat or fell back into the angry stream. Going on, with scarce anything to guide me, I came at last within the shadow of the forest, feeling which I gave a shout. For, listening, I could now plainly hear the water as it beat against the shore, and above it the roar of the wind as the trees bent beneath its force. Putting forth all my strength anew, the boat in a moment grated high on the shelving beach, and I was safe.

Thanking God for my deliverance, I sprang ashore, and keeping hold, stood still. Hearing nothing, I called, but to this there was no response, save the confusion and tumult of the storm. Not knowing if I were above or below the landing, I fastened my boat and hurried forward, and this fortunately; for I had gone but a little way when I came upon the beaten road that led from the shore back into the country. Springing up the bank, I stood beside the Penitent, and now for the first time some measure of fear seized me. For, save the gurgling water and the moan of the wind, as if spirits filled the air, no sound reached my waiting ear. Listening, I presently called, but without response or movement of any kind. Steadying myself, I stood still, holding the swaying rope, and doing so, a sigh came to my strained ears, and this from off the ground at my very feet. Or was it merely some trick of the storm and pushing wind? Groping about, my outstretched hands came in contact with the face of some one lying prostrate on the ground, and damp and icy cold, as if life had fled. Too agitated to speak, I knelt and lifted the body on my knees, and doing so, discovered it to be a woman. Pushing back the damp hair, I stroked her face and hands, but for a long time in vain. This until I was losing hope, when she sighed again—or was it a sob instead? Overjoyed, I put my arms about her and raised her up, crying:

"Cheer up, dear lady; help has come and you are saved!"

Upon this she gave a cry, and lifting her arms they caught about my neck, but as if life had left her with the effort.

"Oh, God, my sweet love! Constance!" I cried, half dead with fright; for it was she I held in my arms, and no one else. Bereft of my senses, I clasped her to my breast, calling to her again and again, and entreatingly, and by every pet name I could think of, but without response of any kind. This for a long time, until regaining some presence of mind, I fell to stroking her hands and face, covering them with kisses as I worked. Sighing after a while, she murmured my name, but with such faintness I thought she was dying.

"Constance, my darling, my sweet love, speak to me! You must not die now that I have come to save you."

Struggling to regain her strength, she answered, but oh! so softly:

"How dear of you, Gilbert, to come to me."

"Come to you, Constance; had I known you were here, the thought would have killed me."

"I expected Mr. Hayward would answer, and you came instead—and oh, the peril of it! When I heard your voice I thought I was dying, my happiness was so great."

"I was never in any danger, Constance. I heard the bell, but would not stir. Then it drew me on in spite of myself, as if some danger threatened, I knew not what."

"It was I calling, as I stood reaching out across the dark water; but at last, thinking my summons was not heard, I knew no more till I found your arms about me."

"I ought to have reached you sooner, sweet love, but the waves tossed me about so that I thought I should never find the shore. Had I known you were lying here, I should have leaped into the river to reach you sooner."

"How good of you, Gilbert; and you will always come to me?" she answered, softly.

"Yes, Constance, and you know why. Because I love you, love you, love you, dearest, above everything on earth, and always have and will; and you, Constance, say that you love me, for this you have never done."

"You know I love you, Gilbert," she answered, after a while, clinging closer about my neck; "and if you did not love me as you do, I should not want to live. I love you above everything, and you are in my thoughts day and night, you sweet boy"; and with that she took my face in her hands and drawing me to her kissed me many times.

"I am always thinking of you, too, dearest, and of what you do and say, and how you look and what will please you. Now I can't tell you how happy I am to hear you say you love me," I cried, covering her face and hair with my kisses, happy beyond anything I had ever dreamed of.

Thus we plighted our troth beneath the great tree, not thinking where we were, nor caring for the storm, which now, indeed, was fast dying away. Soon, however, and as if startled out of herself, she sprang up.

"Oh, Gilbert, I can never forgive myself, to have forgotten what I came for in the happiness of being with you. Quick—come with me," she cried, saying which, she grasped my hand and drew me toward the forest.

"Why, what is it, Constance? I have never thought to ask what brought you here."

"Nor I to tell you, Gilbert; but yesterday, papa and I going into the country, and night coming on, we thought to return by the other ferry; but reaching it, some accident to the boat prevented our crossing, and so we had to retrace our steps, and the night and the storm coming on, our horse strayed from the road, throwing us into the ditch. When I found papa he lay like one dead, nor could I bring him to, and after striving for a long time in vain, I at last thought to come here for help."

"Oh, you sweet love, to be in such distress and I not know it!" I cried, lifting her arm and kissing the sleeve of her dress.

"Yes; but we must make greater haste," she answered, hurrying forward.

"Is it far?" I asked, that I might hear her sweet voice.

"I don't know; the way seemed long, but I was frightened and often strayed from the road."

"No one but you would have had such courage, my brave little wife, for that you will be some day, sweetheart."

To this she made no response save to press my hand as we hurried on. Now losing the road in the darkness, and regaining it only to lose it again, we made so little headway that I thought we never should reach him we sought. Going on, we after a while stopped, affrighted lest we had passed him in the darkness. While standing in this way and straining our ears to catch some sound, we heard the neighing of a horse a little way ahead. At this we went on again, and coming to the spot, were overjoyed to hear Mr. Seymour's voice in answer to our call. Hastening to where he lay, we found him as Constance had said, but now able to speak. Kneeling and taking his head in her lap, she stroked his hair and face, and I, gathering hold of his hands and body, so rubbed and worked over them that in a little while he was able to move. Hunting up the robes, I placed them under and about him; and presently, the day breaking, we were able to do still better. In this way, through our aid and by his own efforts, Mr. Seymour was soon on his feet. For he was not much hurt, but the shock being great, had for a long time rendered him unconscious.

When he was somewhat recovered, I brought the horse, and stripping off the harness, we put Mr. Seymour on his back, and in this way, Constance and I walking on either side, we made our way to the ferry. Mr. Hayward, who was already abroad, hearing the Penitent's summons, soon came to our aid, and great was his surprise at discovering me and the danger he imagined I had escaped. For Constance quickly told him all that had happened, adding many things that did not amount to anything, so determined was she to make the most of my adventure. This greatly disturbed Mr. Hayward, for in all things he was a very tender-hearted man indeed. In proof of this, I must tell you, I have known him many a time, when worn out with work, to go a great way to watch at night by the bedside of some poor person in distress who would not, except for him, have had any care whatever. This for many nights together, and uncomplainingly, and he worn out, as I say. Nor was he backward in giving outright when need be, and I have in this way seen a whole month's gains from the ferry or some Specialty of ours vanish in a moment. This I tell you lest you should mistake his character from what I have said concerning him. Indeed, I have never known a man so generous or tender of heart as he.

Hastening to the boat, we quickly reached the opposite shore, and in a minute were safe in our little home. Here Mrs. Hayward taking charge of Constance, soon had her arrayed in dry garments; and if they were too long and somewhat too large, it did not matter, for never did woman look more lovely than the sweet maid as she entered the room. Indeed, I thought the quaintness of the dress, if anything, added to her beauty and the gentle modesty of her demeanor.

While Constance was being looked to in the way I say, Mr. Hayward busied himself with her father, afterward giving him some bitters with a dash of the cholera mixture, whereupon Mr. Seymour declared himself as good as new. Thus was brought to a happy ending a most eventful night, and memorable above all others because of Constance's confession that she loved me. For there can be no doubt whatever but that the happiest moment in every man's life is that in which the woman he loves confesses that she loves him in return. All other things, I must believe, are as naught and not worth mentioning in comparison with this sweet boon.

CHAPTER L

UNDER THE WIDESPREADING HAWTHORNS

Some days after, as I was pulling my boat home from the Iowa shore, thinking of Constance and watching the Penitent as it reflected its graceful foliage in the dark waters of the great river, a voice I knew and loved hailed me from the landing I was fast approaching. Pretending not to hear, it called again, and louder than before, and with such sweetness and cheerfulness of life that it made my heart beat the faster to hear it.

"Gilbert! Gilbert! Gilbert!"

Turning about as if hearing for the first time, I saw Constance standing in the shade of the hawthorns, holding something aloft in her hand.

"Hurry up, you lazy boy! See! I have a letter for you," she cried, waving it above her head and turning about at the same time as if to go away.

"Wait; don't go; I'll be there in a minute," I called back. Then, that I might be near her and not because of the letter, I lengthened my stroke, and put such strength into my arms that in a few seconds my boat shot into the soft bank near which she stood.

Springing ashore, I clasped her in my arms, but not in a way to shock any one's modesty, for of all the cunning bowers Nature ever formed for lovers this was the fittest. Looking out on the great river, but apart, it was a place to seek, or to make the most of if by chance you met your love there, as in my case. Having many things to say, as lovers do, and will till the world ends, her errand was forgotten; but after a while recalling it—if that was really the thing that brought her—she gave me the letter, and together we fell to examining its superscription and seal, wondering the while who it was from and what it was all about. In this way our faces touched and our hands came in contact and lingered, loath to part, but not strangely, and as lovers should, you will say. There was no need of haste, it was plain, and, moreover, the getting of a letter was a thing to be treated with some formality. For, except as Uncle Job or Aunt Betty may have written me, I had never received such a thing before in all my life. The day, too, was one to invite idleness, and of lovers more especially. Above our heads great clouds, white as snow, floated slowly across the broad expanse, and on the bosom of the majestic river, a ripple here and a calm there, or maybe a bit of shadow, added to the placid beauty of the surroundings. About us soft winds stirred the leaves of the listening hawthorns, and from out the thicket beyond the road a thrush, awakened to life by our close proximity, called in impassioned notes for its absent mate.

Lying outstretched on the yielding turf, I asked Constance to open the letter, and this that I might the better look upon her and listen to her sweet voice while she read. No way suspecting my reason for asking, the missive presently lay open in her lap; and in those days, you must know, letters were not hidden away in wrappers as now, but folded and sealed and the address inserted in some nook or corner left for the purpose. When she had torn the letter apart, we looked it over, but without deciphering any word till we reached the end, and there, coming to the name, we were so startled at what we saw that our heads came together with a bump as we exclaimed with one voice: "Aunt Jane!" Yes, Aunt Jane; for printed matter never was plainer, and this notwithstanding some tremor of the letters as if they had been put down with labor, if not with pain. Astonished, we looked into each other's faces, for nothing so surprising as this had ever happened before to either of us. Glancing above the signature, our eyes caught the closing words, "With tender love," and seeing this, I cried out:

"What can it mean, Constance? Surely something strange must have happened! Read what it says, and from the beginning!"

Smoothing out the paper, she did as I asked, and this is the sad message the letter contained:

"Dying, my child, I may at last speak out my soul's wish as it is and has been from the first, concealing nothing nor adding a word. My heart is now too weak, too yearning, too inexpressibly sad, to longer harbor reserve or any mystery of life. Sickness and tears and years of tender longing, my child, for you, my next of kin, have melted it; and now, coming to the end of my days, I may, all too late, speak as I am, and was even in the old time when your father and mother were yet alive. Of my coldness, oh, believe me! it was never real, but only a cloak, a shadowy thing put on without thought. For it had no real substance, but hid my heart, and foolishly, to my life's undoing. I have no one but you, my child, and dying I am alone and forsaken, for only the walls of my house answer back my call for love and sympathy. Surely, if I have sinned through pride and in hiding my heart from you and those who sleep in their graves, I have suffered and am punished beyond bearing. You could have loved me, and your sweet-faced mother ever sought to win from me some show of tenderness; but erring, I put off the day of yielding until it was too late. Now I am as one abandoned in the world, for when you come to die only those of your own blood can respond to your heart's yearnings. Sweet child, if you can yet conjure up some shadow of kindness for your poor aunt, come to her in her sickness and loneliness, that she may press you to her heart and have you by her when she yields her life to God. For believe me, her persecution, as you thought, was but her love and striving for your welfare, but oh, how mistakenly conveyed, as all her acts have been from the beginning. Then forgive and pity her, sweet one, and hasten if you would let her see you before she dies."

Tears ran down our faces long ere Constance had finished reading, for of its truthfulness we had no shadow of doubt.

"Surely, she has been punished, if she has erred," Constance at last said, as she took up the letter again.

"Yes; and how I have mistaken her all these years," I mourned, for I could not now doubt her love and affection.

"You can't be blamed, Gilbert, for she made no sign," Constance answered, as if to comfort me; "but how lonely her life must have been, and how greatly she has suffered."

"Had I gone to her as I ought, her coldness would have quickly given place to show of love; and it is I, not she, who should ask forgiveness," I answered, remembering with shame the scant respect I had shown her.