{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_19721/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_19721","id":"gutenberg_19721","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/19721","summary":null,"tags":["Category: American Literature","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Category: Teaching & Education","Children's Instructional Books","Readers"],"text":"Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Julia Miller, and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note:\n\nTypographical errors have been corrected. A list of the corrected errors\nis found at the end of the text along with a list of inconsistently\nhyphenated words.\n\n\n\n\n                       THE LITERARY WORLD\n\n                         SEVENTH READER\n\n\n                               BY\n\n\n                      JOHN CALVIN METCALF\n  PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE IN THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA\n\n                         SARAH WITHERS\n         PRINCIPAL ELEMENTARY GRADES AND CRITIC TEACHER\n             WINTHROP NORMAL AND INDUSTRIAL COLLEGE\n                        ROCK HILL. S.C.\n\n                              AND\n\n                        HETTY S. BROWNE\n           EXTENSION WORKER IN RURAL SCHOOL PRACTICE\n             WINTHROP NORMAL AND INDUSTRIAL COLLEGE\n\n\n                         [Illustration]\n\n\n                   JOHNSON PUBLISHING COMPANY\n                       RICHMOND, VIRGINIA\n\n\n\n\n  COPYRIGHT, 1919\n  B. F. JOHNSON PUBLISHING COMPANY\n\n  _All Rights Reserved_\n\n  L.H.J.\n\n\n\n\nACKNOWLEDGMENTS\n\n\nFor permission to use copyrighted material the authors and publishers\nexpress their indebtedness to the Macmillan Company for \"A Deal in\nBears\" from _McTodd_, by W. Cutcliffe Hyne, and for \"Sea Fever,\" by John\nMasefield; to Duffield & Company and Mr. H. G. Wells for \"In Labrador\"\nfrom _Marriage_; to the John Lane Company for \"The Making of a Man\" from\n_The Rough Road_, by W. J. Locke; to Dodd, Mead & Company and Mr. Arthur\nDobson for \"A Ballad of Heroes,\" and to Dodd, Mead & Company for \"Under\nSeas,\" by Count Alexis Tolstoi; to G. P. Putnam's Sons for \"Old Ephraim\"\nfrom _The Hunting Trips of a Ranchman_, by Theodore Roosevelt; to\nHoughton Mifflin Company for \"A Greyport Legend,\" by Bret Harte,\n\"Midwinter,\" by John Townsend Trowbridge, \"The First Snowfall,\" by James\nRussell Lowell, \"Among the Cliffs\" from _The Young Mountaineers_, by\nCharles Egbert Craddock (Mary N. Murfree), and for \"The Friendship of\nNantaquas\" from _To Have and to Hold_, by Mary Johnston; to Harper &\nBrothers for \"The Great Stone of Sardis\" from _The Great Stone of\nSardis_, by Frank R. Stockton, and to Harper & Brothers and Mr. Booth\nTarkington for \"Ariel's Triumph\" from _The Conquest of Canaan_.\n\n\n\n\nTABLE OF CONTENTS\n\n\nLEGENDS OF OUR LAND\n\n  RIP VAN WINKLE                       _Washington Irving_            9\n  THE GREAT STONE FACE                 _Nathaniel Hawthorne_         33\n  THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH      _Henry W. Longfellow_         59\n  THE FRIENDSHIP OF NANTAQUAS          _Mary Johnston_               79\n\n\nHOME SCENES\n\n  HARRY ESMOND'S BOYHOOD               _Wm. Makepeace Thackeray_    112\n  THE FAMILY HOLDS ITS HEAD UP         _Oliver Goldsmith_           126\n  THE LITTLE BOY IN THE BALCONY        _Henry W. Grady_             138\n  ARIEL'S TRIUMPH                      _Booth Tarkington_           141\n\n\nNATURE AND ANIMALS\n\n  THE CLOUD                            _Percy Bysshe Shelley_       160\n  NEW ENGLAND WEATHER                  _Mark Twain_                 162\n  THE FIRST SNOWFALL                   _James Russell Lowell_       166\n  OLD EPHRAIM                          _Theodore Roosevelt_         168\n  MIDWINTER                            _John Townsend Trowbridge_   175\n  A GEORGIA FOX HUNT                   _Joel Chandler Harris_       177\n  RAIN AND WIND                        _Madison Julius Cawein_      192\n  THE SOUTHERN SKY                     _Matthew Fontaine Maury_     193\n  DAFFODILS                            _William Wordsworth_         195\n  DAWN                                 _Edward Everett_             196\n  SPRING                               _Henry Timrod_               198\n\n\nMOVING ADVENTURE\n\n  AMONG THE CLIFFS                     _Charles Egbert Craddock_    201\n  A DEAL IN BEARS                      _W. Cutcliffe Hyne_          217\n  LOCHINVAR                            _Sir Walter Scott_           232\n  IN LABRADOR                          _H. G. Wells_                235\n  THE BUGLE SONG                       _Alfred Tennyson_            258\n  THE SIEGE OF THE CASTLE              _Sir Walter Scott_           259\n\n\nMODERN WONDER TALES\n\n  SEA FEVER                            _John Masefield_             334\n  A GREYPORT LEGEND                    _Bret Harte_                 335\n  A HUNT BENEATH THE OCEAN             _Jules Verne_                337\n  UNDER SEAS                           _Count Alexis Tolstoi_       354\n  A VOYAGE TO THE MOON                 _Edgar Allan Poe_            367\n  THE GREAT STONE OF SARDIS            _Frank R. Stockton_          391\n\n\nSKETCHES OF THE GREAT WAR\n\n  A STOP AT SUZANNE'S                  _Greayer Clover_             407\n  THE MAKING OF A MAN                  _W. J. Locke_                414\n  IN FLANDERS FIELDS                   _John McCrae_                436\n  IN FLANDERS FIELDS (AN ANSWER)       _C. B. Galbraith_            436\n  A BALLAD OF HEROES                   _Austin Dobson_              437\n\n\nDICTIONARY                                                          439\n\n\n[Illustration: [See page 19]\n\nHe Was Tempted to Repeat the Draught]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nRIP VAN WINKLE\n\nI\n\n\nWhoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must remember the Catskill\nMountains. They are a branch of the great [v]Appalachian[9-*] family,\nand are seen away to the west of the river, swelling up to a noble\nheight, and lording it over the surrounding country. Every change of\nseason, every change of weather, indeed, every hour of the day, produces\nsome change in the magical hues and shapes of these mountains, and they\nare regarded by all the goodwives, far and near, as perfect\n[v]barometers.\n\nAt the foot of these fairy mountains the traveler may have seen the\nlight smoke curling up from a village, whose shingle roofs gleam among\nthe trees, just where the blue tints of the upland melt away into the\nfresh green of the nearer landscape. It is a little village of great\nage, having been founded by some of the Dutch colonists in the early\ntimes of the province, just about the beginning of the government of the\ngood Peter [v]Stuyvesant (may he rest in peace!), and there were some of\nthe houses of the original settlers standing within a few years, built\nof small yellow bricks brought from Holland, having latticed windows and\ngable fronts, surmounted with weathercocks.\n\nIn that same village, and in one of these very houses, there lived, many\nyears since, while the country was yet a province of Great Britain, a\nsimple, good-natured fellow, of the name of Rip Van Winkle. He was a\ndescendant of the Van Winkles who figured so gallantly in the\n[v]chivalrous days of Peter Stuyvesant, and accompanied him to the siege\nof Fort Christina. He inherited, however, but little of the martial\ncharacter of his ancestors. I have observed that he was a simple,\ngood-natured man; he was, moreover, a kind neighbor and an obedient,\nhenpecked husband.\n\nCertain it is that he was a great favorite among all the goodwives of\nthe village, who took his part in all family squabbles; and never\nfailed, whenever they talked those matters over in their evening\ngossipings, to lay all the blame on Dame Van Winkle. The children of the\nvillage, too, would shout with joy whenever he approached. He assisted\nat their sports, made their playthings, taught them to fly kites and\nshoot marbles, and told them long stories of ghosts, witches, and\nIndians. Whenever he went dodging about the village, he was surrounded\nby a troop of them, hanging on his skirts, clambering on his back, and\nplaying a thousand tricks on him; and not a dog would bark at him\nthroughout the neighborhood.\n\nThe great error in Rip's composition was a strong dislike of all kinds\nof profitable labor. It could not be from the want of perseverance; for\nhe would sit on a wet rock, with a rod as long and heavy as a lance, and\nfish all day without a murmur, even though he should not be encouraged\nby a single nibble. He would carry a fowling piece on his shoulder for\nhours together, trudging through woods and swamps, and up hill and down\ndale, to shoot a few squirrels or wild pigeons. He would never refuse to\nassist a neighbor even in the roughest toil, and was a foremost man at\nall country frolics for husking Indian corn, or building stone fences;\nthe women of the village, too, used to employ him to run their errands,\nand to do such little odd jobs as their less obliging husbands would not\ndo for them. In a word, Rip was ready to attend to anybody's business\nbut his own; but as to doing family duty, and keeping his farm in order,\nhe found it impossible.\n\nHis children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they belonged to\nnobody. His son Rip promised to inherit the habits, with the old\nclothes, of his father. He was generally seen trooping like a colt at\nhis mother's heels, equipped in a pair of his father's cast-off\nbreeches, which he had much ado to hold up with one hand, as a fine lady\ndoes her train in bad weather.\n\nRip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy mortals, of foolish,\nwell-oiled dispositions, who take the world easy, eat white bread or\nbrown, whichever can be got with least thought or trouble, and would\nrather starve on a penny than work for a pound. If left to himself, he\nwould have whistled life away in perfect contentment; but his wife kept\ncontinually dinning in his ear about his idleness, his carelessness, and\nthe ruin he was bringing on his family. Morning, noon, and night, her\ntongue was incessantly going, and everything he said or did was sure to\nproduce a torrent of household eloquence. Rip had but one way of\nreplying to all lectures of the kind, and that, by frequent use, had\ngrown into a habit. He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, cast up\nhis eyes, but said nothing. This, however, always provoked a fresh\nvolley from his wife; so that he was fain to draw off his forces, and\ntake to the outside of the house--the only side which, in truth, belongs\nto a henpecked husband.\n\nRip's sole [v]domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was as much\nhenpecked as his master; for Dame Van Winkle regarded them as companions\nin idleness, and even looked upon Wolf with an evil eye, as the cause of\nhis master's going so often astray. True it is, in all points of spirit\nbefitting an honorable dog, he was as courageous an animal as ever\nscoured the woods; but what courage can withstand the ever-enduring and\nall-besetting terrors of a woman's tongue? The moment Wolf entered the\nhouse his crest fell, his tail drooped to the ground or curled between\nhis legs, he sneaked about with a gallows air, casting many a sidelong\nglance at Dame Van Winkle, and at the least flourish of a broomstick or\nladle he would fly to the door with yelping precipitation.\n\nTimes grew worse and worse with Rip Van Winkle as years of matrimony\nrolled on. A tart temper never mellows with age, and a sharp tongue is\nthe only edged tool that grows keener with constant use. For a long\nwhile he used to console himself, when driven from home, by frequenting\na kind of perpetual club of sages, philosophers, and other idle\npersonages of the village, which held its sessions on a bench before a\nsmall inn, designated by a [v]rubicund portrait of His Majesty George\nIII. Here they used to sit in the shade of a long, lazy summer's day,\ntalking listlessly over village gossip, or telling endless sleepy\nstories about nothing. But it would have been worth any statesman's\nmoney to have heard the profound discussions which sometimes took place,\nwhen by chance an old newspaper fell into their hands from some passing\ntraveler. How solemnly they would listen to the contents, as drawled out\nby Derrick Van Bummel, the schoolmaster,--a dapper, learned little man,\nwho was not to be daunted by the most gigantic word in the dictionary!\nand how sagely they would deliberate upon public events some months\nafter they had taken place!\n\nThe opinions of this [v]junto were completely controlled by Nicholas\nVedder, a patriarch of the village, and landlord of the inn, at the door\nof which he took his seat from morning till night, just moving\nsufficiently to avoid the sun, and keep in the shade of a large tree; so\nthat the neighbors could tell the hour by his movements as accurately as\nby a sun-dial. It is true, he was rarely heard to speak, but smoked his\npipe incessantly. His adherents, however (for every great man has his\nadherents), perfectly understood him, and knew how to gather his\nopinions. When anything that was read or related displeased him, he was\nobserved to smoke his pipe vehemently, and to send forth short,\nfrequent, and angry puffs; but, when pleased, he would inhale the smoke\nslowly and tranquilly, and emit it in light and placid clouds, and\nsometimes, taking the pipe from his mouth, and letting the fragrant\nvapor curl about his nose, would nod his head in approbation.\n\nFrom even this stronghold the unlucky Rip was at length routed by his\n[v]termagant wife, who would suddenly break in upon the tranquility of\nthe assemblage, and call the members all to naught; nor was that august\npersonage, Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred from the daring tongue of\nthis terrible virago, who charged him with encouraging her husband in\nhabits of idleness.\n\nPoor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair; and his only\n[v]alternative, to escape from the labor of the farm and clamor of his\nwife, was to take gun in hand and stroll away into the woods. Here he\nwould sometimes seat himself at the foot of a tree, and share the\ncontents of his wallet with Wolf, with whom he sympathized as a\nfellow-sufferer in persecution. \"Poor Wolf,\" he would say, \"thy mistress\nleads thee a dog's life of it; but never mind, my lad, whilst I live\nthou shalt never want a friend to stand by thee.\" Wolf would wag his\ntail, look wistfully in his master's face; and if dogs can feel pity, I\nverily believe he [v]reciprocated the sentiment with all his heart.\n\nIn a long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal day, Rip had\nunconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of the Catskill\nMountains. He was after his favorite sport of squirrel-shooting, and the\nstill solitudes had echoed and reechoed with the reports of his gun.\nPanting and fatigued, he threw himself, late in the afternoon, on a\ngreen knoll, covered with mountain herbage, that crowned the brow of a\nprecipice. From an opening between the trees he could overlook all the\nlower country for many a mile of rich woodland. He saw at a distance the\nlordly Hudson, far, far below him, moving on its silent but majestic\ncourse, with the reflection of a purple cloud, or the sail of a lagging\nbark, here and there sleeping on its glassy bosom, and at last losing\nitself in the blue highlands.\n\nOn the other side he looked down into a deep mountain glen, wild and\nlonely, the bottom filled with fragments from the overhanging cliffs,\nand scarcely lighted by the reflected rays of the setting sun. For some\ntime Rip lay musing on this scene; evening was gradually advancing; the\nmountains began to throw their long blue shadows over the valleys; he\nsaw that it would be dark long before he could reach the village, and he\nheaved a heavy sigh when he thought of encountering the terrors of Dame\nVan Winkle.\n\nAs he was about to descend, he heard a voice from a distance, hallooing,\n\"Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!\" He looked round, but could see nothing\nbut a crow winging its solitary flight across the mountain. He thought\nhis fancy must have deceived him, and turned again to descend, when he\nheard the same cry ring through the still evening air: \"Rip Van Winkle!\nRip Van Winkle!\"--at the same time Wolf bristled up his back, and giving\na low growl, skulked to his master's side, looking fearfully down into\nthe glen. Rip now felt a vague apprehension stealing over him; he looked\nanxiously in the same direction, and perceived a strange figure slowly\ntoiling up the rocks, and bending under the weight of something he\ncarried on his back. He was surprised to see any human being in this\nlonely and unfrequented place; but supposing it to be some one of the\nneighborhood in need of his assistance, he hastened down to yield it.\n\nOn nearer approach he was still more surprised at the [v]singularity of\nthe stranger's appearance. He was a short, square-built old fellow, with\nthick bushy hair, and a grizzled beard. His dress was of the antique\nDutch fashion,--a cloth jerkin strapped round the waist, and several\npair of breeches, the outer one of ample volume, decorated with rows of\nbuttons down the sides. He bore on his shoulder a stout keg that seemed\nfull of liquor, and made signs for Rip to approach and assist him with\nthe load. Though rather shy and distrustful of this new acquaintance,\nRip complied with his usual [v]alacrity, and relieving one another, they\nclambered up a narrow gully, apparently the dry bed of a mountain\ntorrent.\n\nAs they ascended, Rip every now and then heard long, rolling peals, like\ndistant thunder, that seemed to issue out of a deep ravine, or rather\ncleft, between lofty rocks, toward which their rugged path conducted. He\npaused for an instant, but supposing it to be the muttering of one of\nthose transient thundershowers which often take place in mountain\nheights, he proceeded. Passing through the ravine, they came to a\nhollow, like a small [v]amphitheater, surrounded by perpendicular\nprecipices, over the brinks of which trees shot their branches, so that\nyou only caught glimpses of the azure sky and the bright evening cloud.\nDuring the whole time Rip and his companion had labored on in silence;\nfor though the former marveled greatly, what could be the object of\ncarrying a keg of liquor up this wild mountain, yet there was something\nstrange and incomprehensible about the unknown that inspired awe and\nchecked familiarity.\n\nOn entering the amphitheater new objects of wonder presented themselves.\nOn a level spot in the center was a company of odd-looking personages\nplaying at ninepins. They were dressed in a quaint, outlandish fashion;\nsome wore short doublets, others jerkins, with long knives in their\nbelts, and most of them had enormous breeches, of similar style with\nthat of the guide's. Their visages, too, were peculiar: one had a large\nhead, broad face, and small, piggish eyes; the face of another seemed to\nconsist entirely of nose, and was surmounted by a white sugar-loaf hat,\nset off with a little red cock's tail. They all had beards, of various\nshapes and colors. There was one who seemed to be the commander. He was\na stout old gentleman, with a weather-beaten countenance; he wore a\nlaced doublet, broad belt and hanger, high-crowned hat and feather, red\nstockings, and high-heeled shoes, with roses in them. The whole group\nreminded Rip of the figures in an old Flemish painting, in the parlor of\n[v]Dominie Van Shaick, the village parson, which had been brought over\nfrom Holland at the time of the settlement.\n\nWhat seemed particularly odd to Rip was that, though these folks were\nevidently amusing themselves, yet they maintained the gravest faces, the\nmost mysterious silence, and were, withal, the most melancholy party of\npleasure he had ever witnessed. Nothing interrupted the stillness of the\nscene but the noise of the balls, which, whenever they were rolled,\nechoed along the mountains like rumbling peals of thunder.\n\nAs Rip and his companion approached them, they suddenly desisted from\ntheir play, and stared at him with such fixed, statue-like gaze, and\nsuch strange, uncouth countenances, that his heart turned within him,\nand his knees smote together. His companion now emptied the contents of\nthe keg into large flagons, and made signs to him to wait upon the\ncompany. He obeyed with fear and trembling; they quaffed the liquor in\nprofound silence, and then returned to their game.\n\nBy degrees Rip's awe and apprehension subsided. He even ventured, when\nno eye was fixed upon him, to taste the beverage, which he found had\nmuch of the flavor of excellent Hollands. He was naturally a thirsty\nsoul, and was soon tempted to repeat the draught. One taste provoked\nanother; and he repeated his visits to the flagon so often that at\nlength his senses were overpowered, his eyes swam in his head, his head\ngradually declined, and he fell into a deep sleep.\n\n\nII\n\nOn waking he found himself on the green knoll whence he had first seen\nthe old man of the glen. He rubbed his eyes--it was a bright, sunny\nmorning. The birds were hopping and twittering among the bushes, and\nthe eagle was wheeling aloft, and breasting the pure mountain breeze.\n\"Surely,\" thought Rip, \"I have not slept here all night.\" He recalled\nthe occurrences before he fell asleep. The strange man with a keg of\nliquor--the mountain ravine--the wild retreat among the rocks--the\nwoe-begone party at ninepins--the flagon--\"Oh! that flagon! that wicked\nflagon!\" thought Rip; \"what excuse shall I make to Dame Van Winkle?\"\n\nHe looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean, well-oiled\nfowling piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrel\nincrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock worm-eaten. He\nnow suspected that the grave revelers of the mountain had put a trick\nupon him and, having dosed him with liquor, had robbed him of his gun.\nWolf, too, had disappeared, but he might have strayed away after a\nsquirrel or partridge. He whistled after him, and shouted his name, but\nall in vain; the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but no dog was\nto be seen.\n\nHe determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's gambol, and if\nhe met with any of the party, to demand his dog and gun. As he rose to\nwalk, he found himself stiff in the joints, and wanting in his usual\nactivity. \"These mountain beds do not agree with me,\" thought Rip, \"and\nif this frolic should lay me up with a fit of the rheumatism, I shall\nhave a blessed time with Dame Van Winkle.\" With some difficulty he got\ndown into the glen; he found the gully up which he and his companion had\nascended the preceding evening; but to his astonishment a mountain\nstream was now foaming down it, leaping from rock to rock, and filling\nthe glen with babbling murmurs. He, however, made shift to scramble up\nits sides, working his toilsome way through thickets of birch,\nsassafras, and witch-hazel, and sometimes tripped up or entangled by the\nwild grapevines that twisted their coils from tree to tree, and spread a\nkind of network in his path.\n\nAt length he reached to where the ravine had opened through the cliffs\nto the amphitheater; but no traces of such opening remained. The rocks\npresented a high, impenetrable wall, over which the torrent came\ntumbling in a sheet of feathery foam, and fell into a broad, deep basin,\nblack from the shadows of the surrounding forest. Here, then, poor Rip\nwas brought to a stand. He again called and whistled after his dog; he\nwas only answered by the cawing of a flock of idle crows sporting high\nin air about a dry tree that overhung a sunny precipice; and who, secure\nin their elevation, seemed to look down and scoff at the poor man's\nperplexities. What was to be done?--the morning was passing away, and\nRip felt famished for want of his breakfast. He grieved to give up his\ndog and gun; he dreaded to meet his wife; but it would not do to starve\namong the mountains. He shook his head, shouldered the rusty firelock,\nand, with a heart full of trouble and anxiety, turned his steps\nhomeward.\n\nAs he approached the village he met a number of people, but none whom he\nknew, which somewhat surprised him, for he had thought himself\nacquainted with every one in the country round. Their dress, too, was of\na different fashion from that to which he was accustomed. They all\nstared at him with equal marks of surprise, and whenever they cast their\neyes upon him, invariably stroked their chins. The constant recurrence\nof this gesture induced Rip, involuntarily, to do the same, when, to his\nastonishment, he found his beard had grown a foot long!\n\nHe had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop of strange\nchildren ran at his heels, hooting after him, and pointing at his gray\nbeard. The dogs, too, not one of which he recognized for an old\nacquaintance, barked at him as he passed. The very village was altered;\nit was larger and more populous. There were rows of houses which he had\nnever seen before, and those which had been his familiar haunts had\ndisappeared. Strange names were over the doors--strange faces at the\nwindows--everything was strange. His mind now misgave him; he began to\ndoubt whether both he and the world around him were not bewitched.\nSurely this was his native village, which he had left but the day\nbefore. There stood the Catskill Mountains--there ran the silver Hudson\nat a distance--there was every hill and dale precisely as it had always\nbeen. Rip was sorely perplexed. \"That flagon last night,\" thought he,\n\"has addled my poor head sadly!\"\n\nIt was with some difficulty that he found the way to his own house,\nwhich he approached with silent awe, expecting every moment to hear the\nshrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. He found the house gone to decay--the\nroof fallen in, the windows shattered, and the doors off the hinges. A\nhalf-starved dog that looked like Wolf was skulking about it. Rip called\nhim by name, but the cur snarled, showed his teeth, and passed on. This\nwas an unkind cut indeed. \"My very dog,\" sighed Rip, \"has forgotten me!\"\n\nHe entered the house, which, to tell the truth, Dame Van Winkle had\nalways kept in neat order. It was empty, forlorn, and apparently\nabandoned. He called loudly for his wife and children--the lonely\nchambers rang for a moment with his voice, and then all again was\nsilence.\n\n\nIII\n\nHe now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, the village\ninn--but it, too, was gone. A large, rickety wooden building stood in\nits place, with great gaping windows, some of them broken and mended\nwith old hats and petticoats, and over the door was painted, \"The Union\nHotel, by Jonathan Doolittle.\" Instead of the great tree that used to\nshelter the quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there now was reared a\ntall, naked pole, with something on the top that looked like a red\nnightcap, and from it was fluttering a flag, on which was a singular\nassemblage of stars and stripes; all this was strange and\nincomprehensible. He recognized on the sign, however, the ruby face of\nKing George, under which he had smoked so many a peaceful pipe; but even\nthis was singularly changed. The red coat was changed for one of blue\nand buff, a sword was held in the hand instead of a scepter, the head\nwas decorated with a cocked hat, and underneath was painted in large\ncharacters, GENERAL WASHINGTON.\n\nThere was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but none that Rip\nrecollected. The very character of the people seemed changed. There was\na busy, bustling tone about it, instead of the accustomed drowsy\ntranquility. He looked in vain for the sage Nicholas Vedder, with his\nbroad face, double chin, and long pipe, uttering clouds of tobacco smoke\ninstead of idle speeches; or Van Bummel, the schoolmaster, doling forth\nthe contents of an ancient newspaper. In place of these, a lean fellow,\nwith his pockets full of handbills, was haranguing vehemently about\nrights of citizens--elections--members of congress--Bunker's\nHill--heroes of seventy-six--and other words, which were a perfect\njargon to the bewildered Van Winkle.\n\nThe appearance of Rip, with his long, grizzled beard, his rusty fowling\npiece, his uncouth dress, and an army of women and children at his\nheels, soon attracted the attention of the tavern politicians. They\ncrowded round him, eyeing him from head to foot with great curiosity.\nThe orator bustled up to him, and, drawing him partly aside, inquired\n\"On which side he voted?\" Rip stared in vacant stupidity. Another short\nbut busy little fellow pulled him by the arm, and, rising on tiptoe,\ninquired in his ear, \"Whether he was Federal or Democrat?\" Rip was\nequally at a loss to comprehend the question; when a knowing,\nself-important old gentleman, in a sharp cocked hat, made his way\nthrough the crowd, putting them to the right and left with his elbows as\nhe passed, and planting himself before Van Winkle, with one arm akimbo,\nthe other resting on his cane, his keen eyes and sharp hat penetrating,\nas it were, into his very soul, demanded, in an austere tone, \"What\nbrought him to the election with a gun on his shoulder, and a mob at his\nheels; and whether he meant to breed a riot in the village?\"--\"Alas!\ngentlemen,\" cried Rip, somewhat dismayed, \"I am a poor, quiet man, a\nnative of the place, and a loyal subject of the king, God bless him!\"\n\nHere a general shout burst from the bystanders--\"A tory! a tory! a spy!\na refugee! hustle him! away with him!\" It was with great difficulty that\nthe self-important man in the cocked hat restored order; and having\nassumed a tenfold [v]austerity of brow, demanded again of the unknown\nculprit, what he came there for, and whom he was seeking! The poor man\nhumbly assured him that he meant no harm, but merely came there in\nsearch of some of his neighbors.\n\n\"Well--who are they? Name them.\"\n\nRip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, \"Where's Nicholas Vedder?\"\n\nThere was a silence for a little while, when an old man replied, in a\nthin, piping voice, \"Nicholas Vedder! why, he is dead and gone these\neighteen years! There was a wooden tombstone in the churchyard that used\nto tell all about him, but that's rotten and gone, too.\"\n\n\"Where's Brom Dutcher?\"\n\n\"Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the war; some say he\nwas killed at the storming of Stony Point; others say he was drowned in\na squall at the foot of Anthony's Nose. I don't know; he never came back\nagain.\"\n\n\"Where's Van Brummel, the schoolmaster?\"\n\n\"He went off to the wars, too, was a great militia general, and is now\nin congress.\"\n\nRip's heart died away at hearing of these sad changes in his home and\nfriends and finding himself thus alone in the world. Every answer\npuzzled him, too, by treating of such enormous lapses of time, and of\nmatters which he could not understand: war--congress--Stony Point. He\nhad no courage to ask after any more friends, but cried out in despair,\n\"Does nobody here know Rip Van Winkle?\"\n\n\"Oh, Rip Van Winkle!\" exclaimed two or three, \"oh, to be sure! that's\nRip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against the tree.\"\n\nRip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself, as he went up\nthe mountain--apparently as lazy and certainly as ragged. The poor\nfellow was now completely confounded. He doubted his own identity, and\nwhether he was himself or another man. In the midst of his bewilderment,\nthe man in the cocked hat demanded who he was, and what was his name.\n\n\"God knows,\" exclaimed he, at his wits' end; \"I'm not myself--I'm\nsomebody else--that's me yonder--no--that's somebody else got into my\nshoes--I was myself last night, but I fell asleep on the mountain, and\nthey've changed my gun, and everything's changed, and I'm changed, and I\ncan't tell what's my name, or who I am!\"\n\nThe bystanders began now to look at each other, nod, wink significantly,\nand tap their fingers against their foreheads. There was a whisper,\nalso, about securing the gun, and keeping the old fellow from doing\nmischief, at the very suggestion of which the self-important man in the\ncocked hat retired with some precipitation. At this critical moment a\nfresh, comely woman pressed through the throng to get a peep at the\ngray-bearded man. She had a chubby child in her arms, which, frightened\nat his looks, began to cry. \"Hush, Rip,\" cried she, \"hush, you little\nfool; the old man won't hurt you.\" The name of the child, the air of the\nmother, the tone of her voice, all awakened a train of recollections in\nhis mind. \"What is your name, my good woman?\" asked he.\n\n\"Judith Gardenier.\"\n\n\"And your father's name?\"\n\n\"Ah, poor man, Rip Van Winkle was his name, but it's twenty years since\nhe went away from home with his gun, and never has been heard of\nsince--his dog came home without him; but whether he shot himself, or\nwas carried away by the Indians, nobody can tell. I was then but a\nlittle girl.\"\n\nRip had but one question more to ask; but he put it with a faltering\nvoice:\n\n\"Where's your mother?\"\n\n\"Oh, she, too, had died but a short time since; she broke a blood-vessel\nin a fit of passion at a New England peddler.\"\n\nThere was a drop of comfort, at least, in this intelligence. The honest\nman could contain himself no longer. He caught his daughter and her\nchild in his arms. \"I am your father!\" cried he--\"Young Rip Van Winkle\nonce--Old Rip Van Winkle now! Does nobody know poor Rip Van Winkle?\"\n\nAll stood amazed until an old woman, tottering out from among the crowd,\nput her hand to her brow, and peering under it in his face for a moment,\nexclaimed, \"Sure enough! it is Rip Van Winkle--it is himself! Welcome\nhome again, old neighbor. Why, where have you been these twenty long\nyears?\"\n\nRip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years had been to him\nbut as one night. The neighbors stared when they heard it; some were\nseen to wink at each other, and put their tongues in their cheeks: and\nthe self-important man in the cocked hat, who when the alarm was over\nhad returned to the field, screwed down the corners of his mouth, and\nshook his head--upon which there was a general shaking of the head\nthroughout the assemblage.\n\nIt was determined, however, to take the opinion of old Peter Vanderdonk,\nwho was seen slowly advancing up the road. He was a descendant of the\nhistorian of that name, who wrote one of the earliest accounts of the\nprovince. Peter was the most ancient inhabitant of the village, and well\nversed in all the wonderful events and traditions of the neighborhood.\nHe recollected Rip at once, and corroborated his story in the most\nsatisfactory manner. He assured the company that it was a fact, handed\ndown from his ancestor the historian, that the Catskill Mountains had\nalways been haunted by strange beings. It was affirmed that the great\nHendrick Hudson, the first discoverer of the river and country, kept a\nkind of vigil there every twenty years, with his crew of the\n_Half-moon_; being permitted in this way to revisit the scenes of his\nenterprise, and keep a guardian eye upon the river and the great city\ncalled by his name. His father had once seen them in their old Dutch\ndresses playing at ninepins in a hollow of the mountain; and he himself\nhad heard, one summer afternoon, the sound of their balls, like distant\npeals of thunder.\n\nTo make a long story short, the company broke up and returned to the\nmore important concerns of the election. Rip's daughter took him home to\nlive with her; she had a snug, well-furnished house, and a stout, cheery\nfarmer for a husband, whom Rip recollected for one of the urchins that\nused to climb upon his back. As to Rip's son and heir, who was the ditto\nof himself, seen leaning against the tree, he was employed to work on\nthe farm; but showed an hereditary disposition to attend to anything\nelse but his business.\n\nWASHINGTON IRVING.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n\"Rip Van Winkle\" is the most beautiful of American legendary stories.\nWashington Irving, the author, taking the old idea of long sleep, as\nfound in \"The Sleeping Beauty\" and other fairy tales, gave it an\nAmerican setting and interwove in it the legend of Henry Hudson, the\ndiscoverer of the Hudson river, who was supposed to return to the scene\nof his achievement every twenty years, together with the shades of his\ncrew.\n\n     I. Where is the scene of this story laid? In which paragraph do you\n     learn when the incident related in the story took place? Why does\n     Irving speak of the mountains as \"fairy mountains\"? In which\n     paragraph do you meet the principal characters? Give the opinion\n     you form of Rip and his wife. Read sentences that show Rip's good\n     qualities--those that show his faults. What unusual thing happened\n     to Rip on his walk? How was the dog affected? Give a full account\n     of what happened afterward. Tell what impressed you most in this\n     scene. Read aloud the lines that best describe the scenery.\n\n     II. Describe Rip's waking. What was his worst fear? How did he\n     explain to himself the change in his gun and the disappearance of\n     Wolf? How did he account for the stiffness of his joints? What was\n     still his chief fear? Describe the changes which had taken place in\n     the mountains. With what feeling did he turn homeward? Why? How did\n     he discover the alteration in his own appearance? How did the\n     children and dogs treat him? Why was this particularly hard for Rip\n     to understand? What other changes did he find? What remained\n     unaltered? How did Rip still account for the peculiar happenings?\n     Describe Rip's feelings as he turned to his own house, and its\n     desolation.\n\n     III. What change had been made in the sign over the inn? Why? What\n     important thing was taking place in the village? Why did the speech\n     of the \"lean fellow\" seem \"perfect jargon\" to Rip? Why did he not\n     understand the questions asked him? What happened when Rip made his\n     innocent reply to the self-important gentleman? How did he at last\n     learn of the lapse of time? What added to his bewilderment? How was\n     the mystery explained? Note the question Rip reserved for the last\n     and the effect the answer had upon him. How did Peter Vanderdonk\n     explain the strange happening? What is the happy ending? Do you\n     like Rip? Why?\n\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY READING\n\n     Urashima--Graded Classics III.\n     Vice Versa--F. Anstey.\n     Peter Pan--James Barrie.\n     The Legend of Sleepy Hollow--Washington Irving.\n     A Christmas Carol--Charles Dickens.\n     Enoch Arden--Alfred Tennyson.\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[9-*] For words marked [v], see Dictionary.\n\n\n[Illustration: Photograph by Aldrich\n\nThe Great Stone Face]\n\n\n\n\nTHE GREAT STONE FACE\n\n\nI\n\nOne afternoon when the sun was going down, a mother and her little boy\nsat at the door of their cottage, talking about the Great Stone Face.\nThey had but to lift their eyes, and there it was plainly to be seen,\nthough miles away, with the sunshine brightening all its features.\n\nAnd what was the Great Stone Face? The Great Stone Face was a work of\nNature in her mood of majestic playfulness, formed on the perpendicular\nside of a mountain by some immense rocks, which had been thrown together\nin such a position as, when viewed at a proper distance, precisely to\nresemble the features of the human countenance. It seemed as if an\nenormous giant, or a [v]Titan, had sculptured his own likeness on the\nprecipice. There was the broad arch of the forehead, a hundred feet in\nheight; the nose, with its long bridge; and the vast lips, which, if\nthey could have spoken, would have rolled their thunder accents from one\nend of the valley to the other.\n\nIt was a happy lot for children to grow up to manhood or womanhood with\nthe Great Stone Face before their eyes, for all the features were noble,\nand the expression was at once grand and sweet, as if it were the glow\nof a vast, warm heart that embraced all mankind in its affections, and\nhad room for more.\n\nAs we began with saying, a mother and her little boy sat at their\ncottage door, gazing at the Great Stone Face, and talking about it. The\nchild's name was Ernest. \"Mother,\" said he, while the Titanic visage\nsmiled on him, \"I wish that it could speak, for it looks so very kindly\nthat its voice must be pleasant. If I were to see a man with such a\nface, I should love him dearly.\"\n\n\"If an old prophecy should come to pass,\" answered his mother, \"we may\nsee a man, some time or other, with exactly such a face as that.\"\n\n\"What prophecy do you mean, dear mother?\" eagerly inquired Ernest. \"Pray\ntell me all about it!\"\n\nSo his mother told him a story that her own mother had told to her, when\nshe herself was younger than little Ernest; a story, not of things that\nwere past, but of what was yet to come; a story, nevertheless, so very\nold that even the Indians, who formerly inhabited this valley, had heard\nit from their forefathers, to whom, they believed, it had been murmured\nby the mountain streams, and whispered by the wind among the tree tops.\nThe story said that at some future day a child should be born hereabouts\nwho was destined to become the greatest and noblest man of his time, and\nwhose countenance, in manhood, should bear an exact resemblance to the\nGreat Stone Face.\n\n\"O mother, dear mother!\" cried Ernest, clapping his hands above his\nhead, \"I do hope that I shall live to see him!\" His mother was an\naffectionate and thoughtful woman, and felt that it was wisest not to\ndiscourage the hopes of her little boy. She only said to him, \"Perhaps\nyou may,\" little thinking that the prophecy would one day come true.\n\nAnd Ernest never forgot the story that his mother told him. It was\nalways in his mind whenever he looked upon the Great Stone Face. He\nspent his childhood in the log cottage where he was born, and was\ndutiful to his mother, and helpful to her in many things, assisting her\nmuch with his little hands, and more with his loving heart. In this\nmanner, from a happy yet thoughtful child, he grew to be a mild, quiet,\nmodest boy, sun-browned with labor in the fields, but with more\nintelligence in his face than is seen in many lads who have been taught\nat famous schools. Yet Ernest had had no teacher, save only that the\nGreat Stone Face became one to him. When the toil of the day was over,\nhe would gaze at it for hours, until he began to imagine that those vast\nfeatures recognized him, and gave him a smile of kindness and\nencouragement in response to his own look of [v]veneration. We must not\ntake upon us to affirm that this was a mistake, although the Face may\nhave looked no more kindly at Ernest than at all the world besides. For\nthe secret was that the boy's tender simplicity [v]discerned what other\npeople could not see; and thus the love, which was meant for all, became\nhis alone.\n\n\nII\n\nAbout this time, there went a rumor throughout the valley that the great\nman, foretold from ages long ago, who was to bear a resemblance to the\nGreat Stone Face, had appeared at last. It seems that, many years\nbefore, a young man had left the valley and settled at a distant\nseaport, where, after getting together a little money, he had set up as\na shopkeeper. His name--but I could never learn whether it was his real\none, or a nickname that had grown out of his habits and success in\nlife--was Gathergold.\n\nIt might be said of him, as of [v]Midas in the fable, that whatever he\ntouched with his finger immediately glistened, and grew yellow, and was\nchanged at once into coin. And when Mr. Gathergold had become so rich\nthat it would have taken him a hundred years only to count his wealth,\nhe bethought himself of his native valley, and resolved to go back\nthither, and end his days where he was born. With this purpose in view,\nhe sent a skillful architect to build him such a palace as should be fit\nfor a man of his vast wealth to live in.\n\nAs I have said above, it had already been rumored in the valley that Mr.\nGathergold had turned out to be the person so long and vainly looked\nfor, and that his visage was the perfect and undeniable likeness of the\nGreat Stone Face. People were the more ready to believe that this must\nneeds be the fact when they beheld the splendid edifice that rose, as if\nby enchantment, on the site of his father's old weather-beaten\nfarmhouse. The exterior was of marble, so dazzling white that it seemed\nas though the whole structure might melt away in the sunshine, like\nthose humbler ones which Mr. Gathergold, in his young playdays, had been\naccustomed to build of snow. It had a richly ornamented portico,\nsupported by tall pillars, beneath which was a lofty door, studded with\nsilver knobs, and made of a kind of variegated wood that had been\nbrought from beyond the sea. The windows, from the floor to the ceiling\nof each stately apartment, were each composed of but one enormous pane\nof glass. Hardly anybody had been permitted to see the interior of this\npalace; but it was reported to be far more gorgeous than the outside,\ninsomuch that whatever was iron or brass in other houses was silver or\ngold in this; and Mr. Gathergold's bedchamber, especially, made such a\nglittering appearance that no ordinary man would have been able to close\nhis eyes there. But, on the other hand, Mr. Gathergold was now so\naccustomed to wealth that perhaps he could not have closed his eyes\nunless where the gleam of it was certain to find its way beneath his\neyelids.\n\nIn due time, the mansion was finished; next came the upholsterers, with\nmagnificent furniture; then a whole troop of black and white servants,\nthe harbingers of Mr. Gathergold, who, in his own majestic person, was\nexpected to arrive at sunset. Our friend Ernest, meanwhile, had been\ndeeply stirred by the idea that the great man, the noble man, the man of\nprophecy, after so many ages of delay, was at length to appear in his\nnative valley. He knew, boy as he was, that there were a thousand ways\nin which Mr. Gathergold, with his vast wealth, might transform himself\ninto an angel of beneficence, and assume a control over human affairs as\nwide and [v]benignant as the smile of the Great Stone Face. Full of\nfaith and hope, Ernest doubted not that what the people said was true,\nand that now he was to behold the living likeness of those wondrous\nfeatures on the mountain side. While the boy was still gazing up the\nvalley, and fancying, as he always did, that the Great Stone Face\nreturned his gaze and looked kindly at him, the rumbling of wheels was\nheard, approaching swiftly along the winding road.\n\n\"Here he comes!\" cried a group of people who were assembled to witness\nthe arrival. \"Here comes the great Mr. Gathergold!\"\n\nA carriage, drawn by four horses, dashed round the turn of the road.\nWithin it, thrust partly out of the window, appeared the face of a\nlittle old man, with a skin as yellow as gold. He had a low forehead,\nsmall, sharp eyes, puckered about with innumerable wrinkles, and very\nthin lips, which he made still thinner by pressing them forcibly\ntogether.\n\n\"The very image of the Great Stone Face!\" shouted the people. \"Sure\nenough, the old prophecy is true.\"\n\nAnd, what greatly perplexed Ernest, they seemed actually to believe that\nhere was the likeness which they spoke of. By the roadside there chanced\nto be an old beggar woman and two little beggar children, stragglers\nfrom some far-off region, who, as the carriage rolled onward, held out\ntheir hands and lifted up their doleful voices, most piteously\nbeseeching charity. A yellow claw--the very same that had clawed\ntogether so much wealth--poked itself out of the coach window, and\ndropped some copper coins upon the ground; so that, though the great\nman's name seems to have been Gathergold, he might just as suitably have\nbeen nicknamed Scattercopper. Still, nevertheless, with an earnest\nshout, and evidently with as much good faith as ever, the people\nbellowed:\n\n\"He is the very image of the Great Stone Face!\"\n\nBut Ernest turned sadly from the wrinkled shrewdness of that visage and\ngazed up the valley, where, amid a gathering mist, gilded by the last\nsunbeams, he could still distinguish those glorious features which had\nimpressed themselves into his soul. Their aspect cheered him. What did\nthe benign lips seem to say?\n\n\"He will come! Fear not, Ernest; the man will come!\"\n\nThe years went on, and Ernest ceased to be a boy. He had grown to be a\nyoung man now. He attracted little notice from the other inhabitants of\nthe valley, for they saw nothing remarkable in his way of life, save\nthat, when the labor of the day was over, he still loved to go apart and\ngaze and meditate upon the Great Stone Face. According to their idea of\nthe matter, however, it was a pardonable folly, for Ernest was\nindustrious, kind, and neighborly, and neglected no duty for the sake of\nthis idle habit. They knew not that the Great Stone Face had become a\nteacher to him, and that the sentiment which was expressed in it would\nenlarge the young man's heart, and fill it with wider and deeper\nsympathies than other hearts. They knew not that thence would come a\nbetter wisdom than could be learned from books, and a better life than\ncould be molded on the example of other human lives. Neither did Ernest\nknow that the thoughts and affections which came to him so naturally, in\nthe fields and at the fireside, were of a higher tone than those which\nall men shared with him. A simple soul,--simple as when his mother first\ntaught him the old prophecy,--he beheld the marvelous features beaming\ndown the valley, and still wondered that their human counterpart was so\nlong in making his appearance.\n\nBy this time poor Mr. Gathergold was dead and buried; and the oddest\npart of the matter was that his wealth, which was the body and spirit of\nhis existence, had disappeared before his death, leaving nothing of him\nbut a living skeleton, covered over with a wrinkled, yellow skin. Since\nthe melting away of his gold, it had been very generally allowed that\nthere was no such striking resemblance, after all, betwixt the ignoble\nfeatures of the ruined merchant and that majestic face upon the mountain\nside. So the people ceased to honor him during his lifetime, and quietly\nforgot him after his decease. Once in a while, it is true, his memory\nwas brought up in connection with the magnificent palace which he had\nbuilt, and which had long ago been turned into a hotel for the\naccommodation of strangers, multitudes of whom came, every summer, to\nvisit that famous natural curiosity, the Great Stone Face. The man of\nprophecy was yet to come.\n\n\nIII\n\nIt so happened that a native-born son of the valley, many years before,\nhad enlisted as a soldier, and, after a great deal of hard fighting, had\nnow become an illustrious commander. Whatever he may be called in\nhistory, he was known in camps and on the battlefield under the nickname\nof Old Blood-and-Thunder. This war-worn veteran, being now weary of a\nmilitary life, and of the roll of the drum and the clangor of the\ntrumpet that had so long been ringing in his ears, had lately signified\na purpose of returning to his native valley, hoping to find repose where\nhe remembered to have left it. The inhabitants, his old neighbors and\ntheir grown-up children, were resolved to welcome the [v]renowned\nwarrior with a salute of cannon and a public dinner; and all the more\nenthusiastically because it was believed that at last the likeness of\nthe Great Stone Face had actually appeared. A friend of Old\nBlood-and-Thunder, traveling through the valley, was said to have been\nstruck with the resemblance. Moreover, the schoolmates and early\nacquaintances of the general were ready to testify, on oath, that, to\nthe best of their recollection, the general had been exceedingly like\nthe majestic image, even when a boy, only that the idea had never\noccurred to them at that period. Great, therefore, was the excitement\nthroughout the valley; and many people, who had never once thought of\nglancing at the Great Stone Face for years before, now spent their time\nin gazing at it, for the sake of knowing exactly how General\nBlood-and-Thunder looked.\n\nOn the day of the great festival, Ernest, and all the other people of\nthe valley, left their work and proceeded to the spot where the banquet\nwas prepared. As he approached, the loud voice of the Rev. Dr.\nBattleblast was heard, beseeching a blessing on the good things set\nbefore them, and on the distinguished friend of peace in whose honor\nthey were assembled. The tables were arranged in a cleared space of the\nwoods, shut in by the surrounding trees, except where a vista opened\neastward, and afforded a distant view of the Great Stone Face. Over the\ngeneral's chair, which was a relic from the home of Washington, there\nwas an arch of green boughs and laurel surmounted by his country's\nbanner, beneath which he had won his victories. Our friend Ernest\nraised himself on his tiptoes, in hopes to get a glimpse of the\ncelebrated guest; but there was a mighty crowd about the tables anxious\nto hear the toasts and speeches, and to catch any word that might fall\nfrom the general in reply; and a volunteer company, doing duty as a\nguard, pricked with their bayonets at any particularly quiet person\namong the throng. So Ernest, being of a modest character, was thrust\nquite into the background, where he could see no more of Old\nBlood-and-Thunder's face than if it had been still blazing on the\nbattlefield. To console himself he turned toward the Great Stone Face,\nwhich, like a faithful and long-remembered friend, looked back and\nsmiled upon him through the forest. Meantime, however, he could overhear\nthe remarks of various individuals who were comparing the features of\nthe hero with the face on the distant mountain side.\n\n\"'Tis the same face, to a hair!\" cried one man, cutting a caper for joy.\n\n\"Wonderfully like, that's a fact!\" responded another.\n\n\"Like! Why, I call it Old Blood-and-Thunder himself, in a monstrous\nlooking-glass!\" cried a third. \"And why not? He's the greatest man of\nthis or any other age, beyond a doubt.\"\n\n\"The general! The general!\" was now the cry. \"Hush! Silence! Old\nBlood-and-Thunder's going to make a speech.\"\n\nEven so; for, the cloth being removed, the general's health had been\ndrunk amid shouts of applause, and he now stood upon his feet to thank\nthe company. Ernest saw him. There he was, over the shoulders of the\ncrowd, from the two glittering epaulets and embroidered collar upward,\nbeneath the arch of green boughs with intertwined laurel, and the banner\ndrooping as if to shade his brow! And there, too, visible in the same\nglance, appeared the Great Stone Face! And was there, indeed, such a\nresemblance as the crowd had testified? Alas, Ernest could not recognize\nit! He beheld a war-worn and weather-beaten countenance, full of energy,\nand expressive of an iron will; but the gentle wisdom, the deep, broad,\ntender sympathies were altogether wanting in Old Blood-and-Thunder's\nvisage.\n\n\"This is not the man of prophecy,\" sighed Ernest to himself, as he made\nhis way out of the throng. \"And must the world wait longer yet?\"\n\nThe mists had gathered about the distant mountain side, and there were\nseen the grand and awful features of the Great Stone Face, awful but\nbenignant, as if a mighty angel were sitting among the hills and\nenrobing himself in a cloud vesture of gold and purple. As he looked,\nErnest could hardly believe but that a smile beamed over the whole\nvisage, with a radiance still brightening, although without motion of\nthe lips. It was probably the effect of the western sunshine, melting\nthe thin vapors that had swept between him and the object that he had\ngazed at. But--as it always did--the aspect of his marvelous friend made\nErnest as hopeful as if he had never hoped in vain.\n\n\"Fear not, Ernest,\" said his heart, even as if the Great Face were\nwhispering him--\"fear not, Ernest.\"\n\n\nIV\n\nMore years sped swiftly and tranquilly away. Ernest still dwelt in his\nnative valley, and was now a man of middle age. By slow degrees he had\nbecome known among the people. Now, as heretofore, he labored for his\nbread, and was the same simple-hearted man that he had always been. But\nhe had thought and felt so much, he had given so many of the best hours\nof his life to unworldly hopes for some great good to mankind, that it\nseemed as though he had been talking with the angels, and had imbibed a\nportion of their wisdom unawares. It was visible in the calm beneficence\nof his daily life, the quiet stream of which had made a wide, green\nmargin all along its course. Not a day passed by that the world was not\nthe better because this man, humble as he was, had lived. He never\nstepped aside from his own path, yet would always reach a blessing to\nhis neighbor. Almost involuntarily, too, he had become a preacher. The\npure and high simplicity of his thought, which took shape in the good\ndeeds that dropped silently from his hand, flowered also forth in\nspeech. He uttered truths that molded the lives of those who heard him.\nHis hearers, it may be, never suspected that Ernest, their own neighbor\nand familiar friend, was more than an ordinary man; least of all did\nErnest himself suspect it; but thoughts came out of his mouth that no\nother human lips had spoken.\n\nWhen the people's minds had had a little time to cool, they were ready\nenough to acknowledge their mistake in imagining a similarity between\nGeneral Blood-and-Thunder and the benign visage on the mountain side.\nBut now, again, there were reports and many paragraphs in the\nnewspapers, affirming that the likeness of the Great Stone Face had\nappeared upon the broad shoulders of a certain eminent [v]statesman. He,\nlike Mr. Gathergold and Old Blood-and-Thunder, was a native of the\nvalley, but had left it in his early days, and taken up the trades of\nlaw and politics. Instead of the rich man's wealth and the warrior's\nsword he had but a tongue, and it was mightier than both together. So\nwonderfully eloquent was he that, whatever he might choose to say, his\nhearers had no choice but to believe him; wrong looked like right, and\nright like wrong. His voice, indeed, was a magic instrument: sometimes\nit rumbled like the thunder; sometimes it warbled like the sweetest\nmusic. In good truth, he was a wondrous man; and when his tongue had\nacquired him all other imaginable success,--when it had been heard in\nhalls of state and in the courts of princes,--after it had made him\nknown all over the world, even as a voice crying from shore to\nshore,--it finally persuaded his countrymen to select him for the\npresidency. Before this time,--indeed, as soon as he began to grow\ncelebrated,--his admirers had found out the resemblance between him and\nthe Great Stone Face; and so much were they struck by it that throughout\nthe country this distinguished gentleman was known by the name of Old\nStony Phiz.\n\nWhile his friends were doing their best to make him President, Old Stony\nPhiz, as he was called, set out on a visit to the valley where he was\nborn. Of course he had no other object than to shake hands with his\nfellow-citizens, and neither thought nor cared about any effect which\nhis progress through the country might have upon the election.\nMagnificent preparations were made to receive the [v]illustrious\nstatesmen; a cavalcade of horsemen set forth to meet him at the boundary\nline of the State, and all the people left their business and gathered\nalong the wayside to see him pass. Among these was Ernest. Though more\nthan once disappointed, as we have seen, he had such a hopeful and\nconfiding nature that he was always ready to believe in whatever seemed\nbeautiful and good. He kept his heart continually open, and thus was\nsure to catch the blessing from on high, when it should come. So now\nagain, as buoyantly as ever, he went forth to behold the likeness of the\nGreat Stone Face.\n\nThe cavalcade came prancing along the road, with a great clattering of\nhoofs and a mighty cloud of dust, which rose up so dense and high that\nthe visage of the mountain side was completely hidden from Ernest's\neyes. All the great men of the neighborhood were there on horseback:\nmilitia officers, in uniform; the member of congress; the sheriff of the\ncounty; the editors of newspapers; and many a farmer, too, had mounted\nhis patient steed, with his Sunday coat upon his back. It really was a\nvery brilliant spectacle, especially as there were numerous banners\nflaunting over the cavalcade, on some of which were gorgeous portraits\nof the illustrious statesman and the Great Stone Face, smiling\nfamiliarly at one another, like two brothers. If the pictures were to be\ntrusted, the resemblance, it must be confessed, was marvelous. We must\nnot forget to mention that there was a band of music, which made the\nechoes of the mountains ring with the loud triumph of its strains, so\nthat airy and soul-thrilling melodies broke out among all the heights\nand hollows, as if every nook of his native valley had found a voice to\nwelcome the distinguished guest. But the grandest effect was when the\nfar-off mountain precipice flung back the music; for then the Great\nStone Face itself seemed to be swelling the triumphant chorus, in\nacknowledgment that, at length, the man of prophecy was come.\n\nAll this while the people were throwing up their hats and shouting with\nsuch enthusiasm that the heart of Ernest kindled up, and he likewise\nthrew up his hat and shouted as loudly as the loudest, \"Huzza for the\ngreat man! Huzza for Old Stony Phiz!\" But as yet he had not seen him.\n\n\"Here he is now!\" cried those who stood near Ernest. \"There! There! Look\nat Old Stony Phiz and then at the Old Man of the Mountain, and see if\nthey are not as like as two twin brothers!\"\n\nIn the midst of all this gallant array came an open [v]barouche, drawn\nby four white horses; and in the barouche, with his massive head\nuncovered, sat the illustrious statesman, Old Stony Phiz himself.\n\n\"Confess it,\" said one of Ernest's neighbors to him, \"the Great Stone\nFace has met its match at last!\"\n\nNow, it must be owned that, at his first glimpse of the countenance\nwhich was bowing and smiling from the barouche, Ernest did fancy that\nthere was a resemblance between it and the old familiar face upon the\nmountain side. The brow, with its massive depth and loftiness, and all\nthe other features, indeed, were bold and strong. But the grand\nexpression of a divine sympathy that illuminated the mountain visage\nmight here be sought in vain.\n\nStill Ernest's neighbor was thrusting his elbow into his side, and\npressing him for an answer.\n\n\"Confess! Confess! Is not he the very picture of your Old Man of the\nMountain?\"\n\n\"No!\" said Ernest, bluntly; \"I see little or no likeness.\"\n\n\"Then so much the worse for the Great Stone Face!\" answered his\nneighbor. And again he set up a shout for Old Stony Phiz.\n\nBut Ernest turned away, melancholy, and almost despondent; for this was\nthe saddest of his disappointments, to behold a man who might have\nfulfilled the prophecy, and had not willed to do so. Meantime, the\ncavalcade, the banners, the music, and the barouches swept past him,\nwith the shouting crowd in the rear, leaving the dust to settle down,\nand the Great Stone Face to be revealed again, with the grandeur that it\nhad worn for untold centuries.\n\n\"Lo, here I am, Ernest!\" the benign lips seemed to say. \"I have waited\nlonger than thou, and am not yet weary. Fear not; the man will come.\"\n\n\nV\n\nThe years hurried onward, treading in their haste on one another's\nheels. And now they began to bring white hairs and scatter them over the\nhead of Ernest; they made wrinkles across his forehead and furrows in\nhis cheeks. He was an aged man. But not in vain had he grown old; more\nthan the white hairs on his head were the wise thoughts in his mind. And\nErnest had ceased to be obscure. Unsought for, undesired, had come the\nfame which so many seek, and made him known in the great world, beyond\nthe limits of the valley in which he had dwelt so quietly. College\nprofessors, and even the active men of cities, came from far to see and\nconverse with Ernest; for the report had gone abroad that this simple\nfarmer had ideas unlike those of other men, and a tranquil majesty as if\nhe had been talking with the angels as his daily friends. Ernest\nreceived these visitors with the gentle sincerity that had marked him\nfrom boyhood, and spoke freely with them of whatever came uppermost, or\nlay deepest in his heart or their own. While they talked together his\nface would kindle and shine upon them, as with a mild evening light.\nWhen his guests took leave and went their way, and passing up the\nvalley, paused to look at the Great Stone Face, they imagined that they\nhad seen its likeness in a human countenance, but could not remember\nwhere.\n\nWhile Ernest had been growing up and growing old, a bountiful Providence\nhad granted a new poet to this earth. He, likewise, was a native of the\nvalley, but had spent the greater part of his life at a distance from\nthat romantic region, pouring out his sweet music amid the bustle and\ndin of cities. Often, however, did the mountains which had been familiar\nto him in his childhood lift their snowy peaks into the clear atmosphere\nof his poetry. Neither was the Great Stone Face forgotten, for he had\ncelebrated it in a poem which was grand enough to have been uttered by\nits lips.\n\nThe songs of this poet found their way to Ernest. He read them after his\ncustomary toil, seated on the bench before his cottage door, where for\nsuch a length of time he had filled his repose with thought, by gazing\nat the Great Stone Face. And now, as he read stanzas that caused the\nsoul to thrill within him, he lifted his eyes to the vast countenance\nbeaming on him so benignantly.\n\n\"O majestic friend,\" he said, addressing the Great Stone Face, \"is not\nthis man worthy to resemble thee?\"\n\nThe Face seemed to smile, but answered not a word.\n\nNow it happened that the poet, though he dwelt so far away, had not only\nheard of Ernest, but had meditated much upon his character, until he\ndeemed nothing so desirable as to meet this man whose untaught wisdom\nwalked hand in hand with the noble simplicity of his life. One summer\nmorning, therefore, he took passage by the railroad, and, in the decline\nof the afternoon, alighted from the cars at no great distance from\nErnest's cottage. The great hotel, which had formerly been the palace of\nMr. Gathergold, was close at hand, but the poet, with his carpetbag on\nhis arm, inquired at once where Ernest dwelt, and was resolved to be\naccepted as his guest.\n\nApproaching the door, he there found the good old man, holding a volume\nin his hand, which he read, and then, with a finger between the leaves,\nlooked lovingly at the Great Stone Face.\n\n\"Good evening,\" said the poet. \"Can you give a traveler a night's\nlodging?\"\n\n\"Willingly,\" answered Ernest. And then he added, smiling, \"Methinks I\nnever saw the Great Stone Face look so hospitably at a stranger.\"\n\nThe poet sat down on the bench beside him, and he and Ernest talked\ntogether. Often had the poet conversed with the wittiest and the wisest,\nbut never before with a man like Ernest, whose thoughts and feelings\ngushed up with such a natural freedom, and who made great truths so\nfamiliar by his simple utterance of them. Angels, as had been so often\nsaid, seemed to have wrought with him at his labor in the fields; angels\nseemed to have sat with him by the fireside. So thought the poet. And\nErnest, on the other hand, was moved by the living images which the poet\nflung out of his mind, and which peopled all the air about the cottage\ndoor with shapes of beauty.\n\nAs Ernest listened to the poet, he imagined that the Great Stone Face\nwas bending forward to listen, too. He gazed earnestly into the poet's\nglowing eyes.\n\n\"Who are you, my strangely gifted guest!\" he said.\n\nThe poet laid his finger on the volume that Ernest had been reading.\n\n\"You have read these poems,\" said he. \"You know me, then,--for I wrote\nthem.\"\n\nAgain, and still more earnestly than before, Ernest examined the poet's\nfeatures; then turned toward the Great Stone Face; then back to his\nguest. But his countenance fell; he shook his head, and mournfully\nsighed.\n\n\"Wherefore are you sad?\" inquired the poet.\n\n\"Because,\" replied Ernest, \"all through life I have awaited the\nfulfillment of a prophecy; and when I read these poems, I hoped that it\nmight be fulfilled in you.\"\n\n\"You hoped,\" answered the poet, faintly smiling, \"to find in me the\nlikeness of the Great Stone Face. And you are disappointed, as formerly\nwith Mr. Gathergold, and Old Blood-and-Thunder, and Old Stony Phiz. Yes,\nErnest, it is my doom. You must add my name to the illustrious three,\nand record another failure of your hopes. For--in shame and sadness do I\nspeak it, Ernest--I am not worthy.\"\n\n\"And why?\" asked Ernest. He pointed to the volume. \"Are not those\nthoughts divine?\"\n\n\"You can hear in them the far-off echo of a heavenly song,\" replied the\npoet. \"But my life, dear Ernest, has not corresponded with my thought. I\nhave had grand dreams, but they have been only dreams, because I have\nlived--and that, too, by my own choice--among poor and mean realities.\nSometimes even--shall I dare to say it?--I lack faith in the grandeur,\nthe beauty, and the goodness which my own works are said to have made\nmore evident in nature and in human life. Why, then, pure seeker of the\ngood and true, shouldst thou hope to find me in yonder image of the\ndivine?\"\n\nThe poet spoke sadly, and his eyes were dim with tears. So, likewise,\nwere those of Ernest.\n\nAt the hour of sunset, as had long been his frequent custom, Ernest was\nto speak to an assemblage of the neighboring inhabitants in the open\nair. He and the poet, arm in arm, still talking together as they went\nalong, proceeded to the spot. It was a small nook among the hills, with\na gray precipice behind, the stern front of which was relieved by the\npleasant foliage of many creeping plants, that made a [v]tapestry for\nthe naked rock by hanging their festoons from all its rugged angles. At\na small elevation above the ground, set in a rich framework of verdure,\nthere appeared a [v]niche, spacious enough to admit a human figure. Into\nthis natural pulpit Ernest ascended and threw a look of familiar\nkindness around upon his audience. They stood, or sat, or reclined upon\nthe grass, as seemed good to each, with the departing sunshine falling\nover them. In another direction was seen the Great Stone Face, with the\nsame cheer, combined with the same solemnity, in its benignant aspect.\n\nErnest began to speak, giving to the people of what was in his heart and\nmind. His words had power, because they accorded with his thoughts; and\nhis thoughts had reality and depth, because they harmonized with the\nlife which he had always lived. The poet, as he listened, felt that the\nbeing and character of Ernest were a nobler strain of poetry than he\nhad ever written. His eyes glistening with tears, he gazed\nreverentially at the venerable man, and said within himself that never\nwas there an aspect so worthy of a prophet and a sage as that mild,\nsweet, thoughtful countenance with the glory of white hair diffused\nabout it. At a distance, but distinctly to be seen, high up in the\ngolden light of the setting sun, appeared the Great Stone Face, with\nhoary mists around it, like the white hairs around the brow of Ernest.\n\nAt that moment, in sympathy with a thought which he was about to utter,\nthe face of Ernest assumed a grandeur of expression, so full of\nbenevolence, that the poet, by an irresistible impulse, threw his arms\naloft, and shouted:\n\n\"Behold! Behold! Ernest is himself the likeness of the Great Stone\nFace!\"\n\nThen all the people looked and saw that what the deep-sighted poet said\nwas true. The prophecy was fulfilled. The man had appeared at last.\n\nNATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\nThe Great Stone Face is a rock formation in the Franconia Notch of the\nWhite Mountains of New Hampshire, known as \"The Old Man of the\nMountain.\"\n\n     I. What picture do you get from Part I? Tell in your own words what\n     the mother told Ernest about the Great Stone Face. Who had carved\n     the face? How? Find something that is one hundred feet high, and\n     picture to yourself the immensity of the whole face, judging by the\n     forehead alone. Describe Ernest's childhood and his education.\n\n     II. What reason had the people for thinking that the great man had\n     come in the person of Mr. Gathergold? Explain the reference to\n     Midas. What was there in Mr. Gathergold's appearance and action to\n     disappoint Ernest? What comforted him? Why were the people willing\n     to believe that Mr. Gathergold was the image of the Great Stone\n     Face? What caused them to decide that he was not? What was there to\n     indicate that Ernest would become a great and good man?\n\n     III. What new character is now introduced? Wherein was Old\n     Blood-and-Thunder lacking in resemblance to the Great Stone Face?\n     Compare him with Mr. Gathergold and decide which was the greater\n     character? How was Ernest comforted in his second disappointment?\n\n     IV. What kind of man had Ernest become? What figure comes into the\n     story now? Find a sentence that gives a clew to the character of\n     Stony Phiz. Compare him with the characters previously introduced.\n     Why was Ernest more disappointed than before? Where did he again\n     look for comfort?\n\n     V. What changes did the hurrying years bring Ernest? What sentence\n     indicates who the man of prophecy might be? Who is now introduced\n     in the story? Give the opinion that Ernest and the poet had of each\n     other. Find the sentence which explains why the poet failed. Who\n     was the first to recognize in Ernest the likeness to the Great\n     Stone Face? Why did Hawthorne have a poet to make the discovery? In\n     what way was Ernest great? How had he become so? What trait of\n     Ernest's character is shown in the last sentence?\n\n     The story is divided into five parts. Make an outline telling what\n     is the topic of each part.\n\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY READING\n\n     The Sketch Book--Washington Irving.\n     Old Curiosity Shop--Charles Dickens.\n     Pendennis--William Makepeace Thackeray.\n     The Snow-Image--Nathaniel Hawthorne.\n     The Legend Beautiful--Henry W. Longfellow.\n     William Wilson--Edgar Allan Poe.\n\n[Illustration: Priscilla and John Alden]\n\n\n\n\nTHE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH\n\n\n    I\n\n    In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims,\n    To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,\n    Clad in [v]doublet and hose, and boots of [v]Cordovan leather,\n    Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.\n    Buried in thought he seemed, with hands behind him, and pausing\n    Ever and anon to behold the glittering weapons of warfare,\n    Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber,--\n    Cutlass and corslet of steel, and his trusty [v]sword of Damascus.\n    Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,\n    Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;\n    Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already\n    Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.\n    Near him was seated John Alden, his friend, and household companion,\n    Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window;\n    Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion.\n    Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the May Flower.\n      (Standish takes up a book and reads a moment.)\n    Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,\n    Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of\n        Plymouth.\n    \"Look at these arms,\" he said, \"the warlike weapons that hang here\n    Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!\n    This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this\n        breastplate,\n    Well, I remember the day! once saved my life in a skirmish;\n    Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet.\n    Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish\n    Would at this moment be mold, in the grave in the Flemish morasses.\"\n    Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:\n    \"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;\n    He in his mercy preserved you to be our shield and our weapon!\"\n    Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:\n    \"See how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;\n    That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.\n    Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent [v]adage;\n    So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.\n    Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,\n    Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,\n    Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,\n    And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!\"\n    All was silent again; the Captain continued his reading.\n    Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling\n    Writing epistles important to go next day by the May Flower,\n    Ready to sail on the morrow, or next day at latest, God willing,\n    Homeward bound with the tidings of all that terrible winter,\n    Letters written by Alden and full of the name of Priscilla,\n    Full of the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priscilla.\n    Every sentence began or closed with the name of Priscilla,\n    Till the treacherous pen, to which he confided the secret\n    Strove to betray it by singing and shouting the name of Priscilla!\n    Finally closing his book, with a bang of its [v]ponderous cover,\n    Sudden and loud as the sound of a soldier grounding his musket,\n    Thus to the young man spake Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth:\n    \"When you have finished your work, I have something important to tell\n        you.\n    Be not however in haste; I can wait; I shall not be impatient!\"\n    Straightway Alden replied, as he folded the last of his letters,\n    Pushing his papers aside, and giving respectful attention:\n    \"Speak; for whenever you speak, I am always ready to listen,\n    Always ready to hear whatever pertains to Miles Standish.\"\n    Thereupon answered the Captain, embarrassed, and culling his phrases:\n    \"'Tis not good for a man to be alone, say the Scriptures.\n    This I have said before, and again and again I repeat it;\n    Every hour in the day, I think it, and feel it, and say it.\n    Since Rose Standish died, my life has been weary and dreary;\n    Sick at heart have I been, beyond the healing of friendship.\n    Oft in my lonely hours have I thought of the maiden Priscilla,\n    Patient, courageous, and strong, and said to myself, that if ever\n    There were angels on earth, as there are angels in heaven,\n    Two have I seen and known; and the angel whose name is Priscilla\n    Holds in my desolate life the place which the other abandoned.\n    Long have I cherished the thought, but never have dared to reveal it,\n    Being a coward in this, though valiant enough for the most part.\n    Go to the damsel Priscilla, the loveliest maiden of Plymouth;\n    Say that a blunt old captain, a man not of words but of actions,\n    Offers his hand and his heart, the hand and heart of a soldier.\n    Not in these words, you know, but this in short is my meaning;\n    I am a maker of war, and not a maker of phrases.\"\n\n    When he had spoken, John Alden, the fair-haired, [v]taciturn stripling,\n    All aghast at his words, surprised, embarrassed, bewildered,\n    Trying to mask his dismay by treating the subject with lightness,\n    Trying to smile, and yet feeling his heart stand still in his bosom,\n    Thus made answer and spake, or rather stammered than answered:\n    \"Such a message as that, I am sure I should mangle and mar it;\n    If you would have it well done--I am only repeating your maxim--\n    You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others!\"\n    But with the air of a man whom nothing can turn from his purpose,\n    Gravely shaking his head, made answer the Captain of Plymouth:\n    \"Truly the maxim is good, and I do not mean to gainsay it;\n    But we must use it discreetly, and not waste powder for nothing.\n    Now, as I said before, I was never a maker of phrases.\n    I can march up to a fortress and summon the place to surrender,\n    But march up to a woman with such a proposal, I dare not.\n    I'm not afraid of bullets, nor shot from the mouth of a cannon,\n    But of a thundering No! point-blank from the mouth of a woman,\n    That I confess I am afraid of, nor am I ashamed to confess it!\n    Surely you cannot refuse what I ask in the name of our friendship!\"\n\n    Then made answer John Alden: \"The name of friendship is sacred;\n    What you demand in that name, I have not the power to deny you!\"\n    So the strong will prevailed, subduing and molding the gentler,\n    Friendship prevailed over love, and Alden went on his errand.\n\n\n    II\n\n    So the strong will prevailed, and Alden went on his errand,\n    Out of the street of the village, and into the paths of the forest,\n    Into the tranquil woods, where bluebirds and robins were building\n    Towns in the populous trees, with hanging gardens of [v]verdure,\n    Peaceful, [v]aerial cities of joy and affection and freedom.\n    All around him was calm, but within him commotion and conflict,\n    Love contending with friendship, and self with each generous impulse.\n\n    So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on his errand;\n    Saw the new-built house, and people at work in a meadow;\n    Heard, as he drew near the door, the musical voice of Priscilla\n    Singing the hundredth Psalm, the grand old Puritan anthem,\n    Full of the breath of the Lord, consoling and comforting many.\n    Then, as he opened the door, he beheld the form of the maiden\n    Seated beside her wheel, and the carded wool like a snow-drift\n    Piled at her knee, her white hands feeding the ravenous spindle,\n    While with her foot on the treadle she guided the wheel in its motion.\n\n    So he entered the house; and the hum of the wheel and the singing\n    Suddenly ceased; for Priscilla, aroused by his step on the threshold,\n    Rose as he entered, and gave him her hand, in signal of welcome,\n    Saying, \"I knew it was you, when I heard your step in the passage;\n    For I was thinking of you, as I sat there singing and spinning.\"\n    Awkward and dumb with delight, that a thought of him had been mingled\n    Thus in the sacred psalm, that came from the heart of the maiden,\n    Silent before her he stood.\n    \"I have been thinking all day,\" said gently the Puritan maiden,\n    \"Dreaming all night, and thinking all day, of the hedgerows of\n        England,--\n    They are in blossom now, and the country is all like a garden;\n    Thinking of lanes and fields, and the song of the lark and the linnet,\n    Seeing the village street, and familiar faces of neighbors\n    Going about as of old, and stopping to gossip together.\n    Kind are the people I live with, and dear to me my religion;\n    Still my heart is so sad that I wish myself back in Old England.\n    You will say it is wrong, but I cannot help it; I almost\n    Wish myself back in Old England, I feel so lonely and wretched.\"\n\n    Thereupon answered the youth: \"Indeed I do not condemn you;\n    Stouter hearts than a woman's have quailed in this terrible winter.\n    Yours is tender and trusting, and needs a stronger to lean on;\n    So I have come to you now, with an offer and proffer of marriage\n    Made by a good man and true, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth!\"\n    Thus he delivered his message, the dexterous writer of letters,--\n    Did not [v]embellish the theme, nor array it in beautiful phrases,\n    But came straight to the point and blurted it out like a schoolboy;\n    Even the Captain himself could hardly have said it more bluntly.\n    Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla the Puritan maiden\n    Looked into Alden's face, her eyes dilated with wonder,\n    Feeling his words like a blow, that stunned and rendered her\n        speechless;\n    Till at length she exclaimed, interrupting the ominous silence:\n    \"If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me,\n    Why does he not come himself and take trouble to woo me?\n    If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning!\"\n    Then John Alden began explaining and smoothing the matter,\n    Making it worse as he went, by saying the Captain was busy,--\n    Had no time for such things;--such things! the words grating harshly,\n    Fell on the ear of Priscilla; and swift as a flash she made answer:\n    \"Has he not time for such things, as you call it, before he is married,\n    Would he be likely to find it, or make it, after the wedding?\"\n    Still John Alden went on, unheeding the words of Priscilla,\n    Urging the suit of his friend, explaining, persuading, expanding.\n    But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple and eloquent language,\n    Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his rival,\n    Archly the maiden smiled, and with eyes overrunning with laughter,\n    Said, in a tremulous voice, \"Why don't you speak for yourself, John?\"\n\nWith conflicting feelings of love for Priscilla and duty to his friend,\nMiles Standish, John Alden does not \"speak for himself,\" but returns to\nPlymouth to tell Standish the result of the interview.\n\n    Then John Alden spake, and related the wondrous adventure,\n    From beginning to end, minutely, just as it happened;\n    How he had seen Priscilla, and how he had sped in his courtship,\n    Only smoothing a little and softening down her refusal.\n    But when he came at length to the words Priscilla had spoken,\n    Words so tender and cruel: \"Why don't you speak for yourself, John?\"\n    Up leaped the Captain of Plymouth, and stamped on the floor, till his\n        armor\n    Clanged on the wall, where it hung, with a sound of sinister omen.\n    All his pent-up wrath burst forth in a sudden explosion,\n    E'en as a hand grenade, that scatters destruction around it.\n    Wildly he shouted and loud: \"John Alden! you have betrayed me!\n    Me, Miles Standish, your friend! have supplanted, defrauded, betrayed\n        me!\n    You, who lived under my roof, whom I cherished and loved as a brother;\n    Henceforth let there be nothing between us save war, and implacable\n        hatred!\"\n\n    So spake the Captain of Plymouth, and strode about in the chamber,\n    Chafing and choking with rage; like cords were the veins on his\n        temples.\n    But in the midst of his anger a man appeared at the doorway,\n    Bringing in uttermost haste a message of urgent importance,\n    Rumors of danger and war and hostile incursions of Indians!\n    Straightway the Captain paused, and, without further question or\n        parley,\n    Took from the nail on the wall his sword with its scabbard of iron,\n    Buckled the belt round his waist, and, frowning fiercely, departed.\n    Alden was left alone. He heard the clank of the scabbard\n    Growing fainter and fainter, and dying away in the distance.\n    Then he arose from his seat, and looked forth into the darkness,\n    Felt the cool air blow on his cheek, that was hot with the insult,\n    Lifted his eyes to the heavens and, folding his hands as in childhood,\n    Prayed in the silence of night to the Father who seeth in secret.\n\n\n    III.\n\nA report comes to the settlement that Miles Standish has been killed in\na fight with the Indians. John Alden, feeling that Standish's death has\nfreed him from the need of keeping his own love for Priscilla silent,\nwoos and wins her. At last the wedding-day arrives.\n\n    This was the wedding-morn of Priscilla the Puritan maiden.\n    Friends were assembled together; the Elder and Magistrate also\n    Graced the scene with their presence, and stood like the Law and the\n        Gospel,\n    One with the sanction of earth and one with the blessing of heaven.\n    Simple and brief was the wedding, as that of Ruth and of Boaz.\n    Softly the youth and the maiden repeated the words of betrothal,\n    Taking each other for husband and wife in the Magistrate's presence,\n    After the Puritan way, and the laudable custom of Holland.\n    Fervently then, and devoutly, the excellent Elder of Plymouth\n    Prayed for the hearth and the home, that were founded that day in\n        affection,\n    Speaking of life and death, and imploring Divine benedictions.\n    Lo! when the service was ended, a form appeared on the threshold,\n    Clad in armor of steel, a somber and sorrowful figure!\n    Why does the bridegroom start and stare at the strange apparition?\n    Why does the bride turn pale, and hide her face on his shoulder?\n    Is it a phantom of air,--a bodiless, spectral illusion?\n    Is it a ghost from the grave, that has come to forbid the betrothal?\n    Long had it stood there unseen, a guest uninvited, unwelcomed;\n    Over its clouded eyes there had passed at times an expression\n    Softening the gloom and revealing the warm heart hidden beneath them.\n    Once it had lifted its hand, and moved its lips, but was silent,\n    As if an iron will had mastered the fleeting intention;\n    But when were ended the troth and the prayer and the last benediction,\n    Into the room it strode, and the people beheld with amazement\n    Bodily there in his armor Miles Standish, the Captain of Plymouth!\n\n    Grasping the bridegroom's hand, he said with emotion, \"Forgive me!\n    I have been angry and hurt,--too long have I cherished the feeling;\n    I have been cruel and hard, but now, thank God! it is ended.\n    Mine is the same hot blood that leaped in the veins of Hugh Standish,\n    Sensitive, swift to resent, but as swift in atoning for error.\n    Never so much as now was Miles Standish the friend of John Alden.\"\n    Thereupon answered the bridegroom: \"Let all be forgotten between us,--\n    All save the dear old friendship, and that shall grow older and\n        dearer!\"\n    Then the Captain advanced, and, bowing, saluted Priscilla,\n    Wishing her joy of her wedding, and loudly lauding her husband.\n    Then he said with a smile: \"I should have remembered the adage,--\n    If you would be well served, you must serve yourself; and, moreover,\n    No man can gather cherries in Kent at the season of Christmas!\"\n\n    Great was the people's amazement, and greater yet their rejoicing,\n    Thus to behold once more the sunburnt face of their Captain,\n    Whom they had mourned as dead; and they gathered and crowded about him,\n    Eager to see him and hear him, forgetful of bride and of bridegroom,\n    Questioning, answering, laughing, and each interrupting the other,\n    Till the good Captain declared, being quite overpowered and bewildered,\n    He had rather by far break into an Indian encampment,\n    Than come again to a wedding to which he had not been invited.\n    Meanwhile the bridegroom went forth and stood with the bride at the\n        doorway,\n    Breathing the perfumed air of that warm and beautiful morning.\n    Touched with autumnal tints, but lonely and sad in the sunshine,\n    Lay extended before them the land of toil and privation;\n    But to their eyes transfigured, it seemed as the Garden of Eden,\n    Filled with the presence of God, whose voice was the sound of the\n        ocean.\n    Soon was their vision disturbed by the noise and stir of departure,\n    Friends coming forth from the house, and impatient of longer delaying.\n    Then from a stall near at hand, amid exclamations of wonder,\n    Alden the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so proud of Priscilla,\n    Brought out his snow-white bull, obeying the hand of its master,\n    Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its nostrils,\n    Covered with crimson cloth, and a cushion placed for a saddle.\n    She should not walk, he said, through the dust and heat of the noonday;\n    Nay, she should ride like a queen, not plod along like a peasant.\n    Somewhat alarmed at first, but reassured by the others,\n    Placing her hand on the cushion, her foot in the hand of her husband,\n    Gayly, with joyous laugh, Priscilla mounted her palfrey.\n    Onward the bridal procession now moved to the new habitation,\n    Happy husband and wife, and friends conversing together.\n    Down through the golden leaves the sun was pouring his splendors,\n    Gleaming on purple grapes, that, from branches above them suspended,\n    Mingled their odorous breath with the balm of the pine and the\n        fir-tree,\n    Wild and sweet as the clusters that grew in the valley of [v]Eshcol.\n    Like a picture it seemed of the primitive, pastoral ages,\n    Fresh with the youth of the world, and recalling Rebecca and Isaac,\n    Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful always,\n    Love immortal and young in the endless succession of lovers,\n    So through the Plymouth woods passed onward the bridal procession.\n\nHENRY W. LONGFELLOW.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\nMiles Standish was one of the early settlers of Plymouth colony. He came\nover soon after the landing of the _Mayflower_ and was made captain of\nthe colony because of his military experience. The feeble settlement was\nin danger from the Indians, and Standish's services were of great\nimportance. He was one of the leaders of Plymouth for a number of years.\nLongfellow shaped the legend of his courtship into one of the most\nbeautiful poems of American literature, vividly describing the hardships\nand perils of the early life of New England.\n\n     I. Where is the scene of the story laid? At what time did it begin?\n     What is the first impression you get of Miles Standish? of John\n     Alden? Read the lines that bring out the soldierly qualities of the\n     one and the studious nature of the other. What lines show that\n     Standish had fought on foreign soil? Read the lines that show John\n     Alden's interest in Priscilla. What request did Standish make of\n     Alden? How was it received? Why did Alden accept the task?\n\n     II. What time of the year was it? How do you know? Contrast Alden's\n     feelings with the scene around him. What were Priscilla's feelings\n     toward Alden? Quote lines that show this. How did he fulfill his\n     task? With what question did Priscilla finally meet his eloquent\n     appeal in behalf of his friend? How did Standish receive Alden's\n     report? What interruption occurred?\n\n     III. What report brought about the marriage of John Alden and\n     Priscilla? Read the lines that describe the beauty of their\n     wedding-day. What time of year was it? How do you know? What custom\n     was followed in the marriage ceremony? Look in the Bible for a\n     description of the marriage of Ruth and Boaz. Find other biblical\n     references in the poem. Who appeared at the end of the ceremony?\n     How was he received? Contrast his mood now with the mood when he\n     left to fight the Indians. What adage did he use to show the\n     difference between his age and Priscilla's? Describe the final\n     scene of the wedding--the procession to the new home. Tell what you\n     know of early life in Massachusetts.\n\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY READING\n\n     Gareth and Lynette--Alfred Tennyson.\n     The Courtin'--James Russell Lowell.\n     Evangeline--Henry W. Longfellow.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FRIENDSHIP OF NANTAQUAS\n\n\n     This story is taken from Mary Johnston's novel, _To Have and to\n     Hold_, which describes the early settlement of Virginia. The most\n     important event of this period was the Indian massacre of 1622. For\n     some years the whites and Indians had lived in peace, and it was\n     believed that there would be no further trouble from the savages.\n     However, Opechancanough, the head chief of the Powhatan\n     confederacy, formed a plot against the white men and suddenly\n     attacked them with great fury. Hundreds of the English settlers\n     were slain. The author of the novel, taking the bare outline of the\n     massacre as given in the early histories, has woven around it the\n     graphic story of Captain Ralph Percy and his saving of the colony.\n     Percy, unlike Miles Standish, is not a historical character.\n\n\nI.\n\nA man who hath been a soldier and adventurer into far and strange\ncountries must needs have faced Death many times and in many guises. I\nhad learned to know that grim countenance, and to have no great fear of\nit. The surprise of our sudden capture by the Indians had now worn away,\nand I no longer struggled to loose my bonds, Indian-tied and not to be\nloosened.\n\nAnother slow hour and I bethought me of Diccon, my servant and companion\nin captivity, and spoke to him, asking him how he did. He answered from\nthe other side of the lodge that was our prison, but the words were\nscarcely out of his mouth before our guard broke in upon us, commanding\nsilence.\n\nIt was now moonlight without the lodge and very quiet. The night was far\ngone; already we could smell the morning, and it would come apace.\nKnowing the swiftness of that approach and what the early light would\nbring, I strove for a courage which should be the steadfastness of the\nChristian and not the vainglorious pride of the heathen.\n\nSuddenly, in the first gray dawn, as at a trumpet's call, the village\nawoke. From the long communal houses poured forth men, women, and\nchildren; fires sprang up, dispersing the mist, and a commotion arose\nthrough the length and breadth of the place. The women made haste with\ntheir cooking and bore maize cakes and broiled fish to the warriors, who\nsat on the ground in front of the royal lodge. Diccon and I were loosed,\nbrought without, and allotted our share of the food. We ate sitting side\nby side with our captors, and Diccon, with a great cut across his head,\neven made merry.\n\nIn the usual order of things in an Indian village, the meal over,\ntobacco should have followed. But now not a pipe was lit, and the women\nmade haste to take away the platters and to get all things in readiness\nfor what was to follow. The [v]werowance of the [v]Paspaheghs rose to\nhis feet, cast aside his mantle, and began to speak. He was a man in the\nprime of life, of a great figure, strong as a [v]Susquehannock, and a\nsavage cruel and crafty beyond measure. Over his breast, stained with\nstrange figures, hung a chain of small bones, and the scalp locks of his\nenemies fringed his moccasins. No player could be more skillful in\ngesture and expression, no poet more nice in the choice of words, no\ngeneral more quick to raise a wild enthusiasm in the soldiers to whom he\ncalled. All Indians are eloquent, but this savage was a leader among\nthem.\n\nHe spoke now to some effect. Commencing with a day in the moon of\nblossoms when for the first time winged canoes brought white men into\nthe [v]Powhatan, he came down through year after year to the present\nhour, ceased, and stood in silence, regarding his triumph. It was\ncomplete. In its wild excitement the village was ready then and there to\nmake an end of us, who had sprung to our feet and stood with our backs\nagainst a great bay tree, facing the maddened throng. Much the best\nwould it be for us if the tomahawks left the hands that were drawn back\nto throw, if the knives that were flourished in our faces should be\nburied to the haft in our hearts; and so we courted death, striving with\nword and look to infuriate our executioners to the point of forgetting\ntheir former purpose in the passion for instant vengeance. It was not to\nbe. The werowance spoke again, pointing to the hills which were dimly\nseen through the mist. A moment, and the hands clenched upon the weapons\nfell; another, and we were upon the march.\n\nAs one man, the village swept through the forest toward the rising\nground that was but a few bowshots away. The young men bounded ahead to\nmake the preparation; but the approved warriors and the old men went\nmore sedately, and with them walked Diccon and I, as steady of step as\nthey. The women and children for the most part brought up the rear,\nthough a few impatient hags ran past us. One of these women bore a great\nburning torch, the flame and smoke streaming over her shoulder as she\nran. Others carried pieces of bark heaped with the [v]slivers of pine of\nwhich every wigwam has store.\n\nThe sun was yet to rise when we reached a hollow amongst the low red\nhills. The place was a natural amphitheater, well fitted for a\nspectacle. Those Indians who could not crowd into the narrow level\nspread themselves over the rising ground and looked down with fierce\nlaughter upon the driving of the stakes which the young men had brought.\nThe women and children scattered into the woods beyond the cleft between\nthe hills and returned bearing great armfuls of dry branches. Taunting\nlaughter, cries of savage triumph, the shaking of rattles, and the\nfurious beating of two great drums combined to make a clamor deafening\nme to stupor. Above the horizon was the angry reddening of the heavens\nand the white mist curling up like smoke.\n\nI sat down beside Diccon on the log. I did not speak to him, nor he to\nme; there seemed no need of speech. In the [v]pandemonium to which the\nworld had narrowed, the one familiar, matter-of-course thing was that he\nand I were to die together.\n\nThe stakes were in the ground and painted red, the wood was properly\nfixed. The Indian woman who held the torch that was to light the pile\nran past us, whirling the wood around her head to make it blaze more\nfiercely. As she went by she lowered the brand and slowly dragged it\nacross my wrists. The beating of the drums suddenly ceased, and the loud\nvoices died away.\n\nSeeing that they were coming for us, Diccon and I rose to await them.\nWhen they were nearly upon us, I turned to him and held out my hand.\n\nHe made no motion to take it. Instead, he stood with fixed eyes looking\npast me and slightly upward. A sudden pallor had overspread the bronze\nof his face.\n\n\"There's a verse somewhere,\" he said in a quiet voice,--\"it's in the\nBible, I think--I heard it once long ago: 'I will look unto the hills\nfrom whence cometh my help.' Look, sir!\"\n\nI turned and followed with my eyes the pointing of his finger. In front\nof us the bank rose steeply, bare to the summit,--no trees, only the red\nearth, with here and there a low growth of leafless bushes. Behind it\nwas the eastern sky. Upon the crest, against the sunrise, stood the\nfigure of a man--an Indian. From one shoulder hung an otterskin, and a\ngreat bow was in his hand. His limbs were bare, and as he stood\nmotionless, bathed in the rosy light, he looked like some bronze god,\nperfect from the beaded moccasins to the calm, uneager face below the\nfeathered head-dress. He had but just risen above the brow of the hill;\nthe Indians in the hollow saw him not.\n\nWhile Diccon and I stared, our tormentors were upon us. They came a\ndozen or more at once, and we had no weapons. Two hung on my arms, while\na third laid hold of my doublet to rend it from me. An arrow whistled\nover our heads and stuck into a tree behind us. The hands that clutched\nme dropped, and with a yell the busy throng turned their faces in the\ndirection whence had come the arrow.\n\nThe Indian who had sent that dart before him was descending the bank. An\ninstant's breathless hush while they stared at the solitary figure; then\nthe dark forms bent forward for the rush straightened, and there arose a\ncry of recognition. \"The son of Powhatan! The son of Powhatan!\"\n\nHe came down the hillside to the level of the hollow, the authority of\nhis look and gesture making way for him through the crowd that surged\nthis way and that, and walked up to us where we stood, hemmed round but\nno longer in the clutch of our enemies.\n\n\"You were never more welcome, Nantaquas,\" I said to him, heartily.\n\nTaking my hand in his, the chief turned to his frowning countrymen. \"Men\nof the [v]Pamunkeys!\" he cried, \"this is Nantaquas' friend, and so the\nfriend of all the tribes that called Powhatan 'father.' The fire is not\nfor him nor for his servant; keep it for the [v]Monacans and for the\ndogs of the [v]Long House! The calumet is for the friend of Nantaquas,\nand the dance of the maidens, the noblest buck and the best of the\nfish-weirs.\"\n\nThere was a surging forward of the Indians and a fierce murmur of\ndissent. The werowance, standing out from the throng, lifted his voice.\n\"There was a time,\" he cried, \"when Nantaquas was the panther crouched\nupon the bough above the leader of the herd; now Nantaquas is a tame\npanther and rolls at the white men's feet! There was a time when the\nword of the son of Powhatan weighed more than the lives of many dogs\nsuch as these, but I know not why we should put out the fire at his\ncommand! He is war chief no longer, for [v]Opechancanough will have no\ntame panther to lead the tribes. Opechancanough is our head, and he\nkindleth a fire indeed. We will give to this man what fuel we choose,\nand to-night Nantaquas may look for his bones!\"\n\nHe ended, and a great clamor arose. The Paspaheghs would have cast\nthemselves upon us again but for a sudden action of the young chief, who\nhad stood motionless, with raised hand and unmoved face, during the\nwerowance's bitter speech. Now he flung up his hand, and in it was a\nbracelet of gold, carved and twisted like a coiled snake and set with a\ngreen stone. I had never seen the toy before, but evidently others had.\nThe excited voices fell, and the Indians, Pamunkeys and Paspaheghs\nalike, stood as though turned to stone.\n\nNantaquas smiled coldly. \"This day hath Opechancanough made me war chief\nagain. We have smoked the peace pipe together--my father's brother and\nI--in the starlight, sitting before his lodge, with the wide marshes and\nthe river dark at our feet. Singing birds in the forest have been many;\nevil tales have they told; Opechancanough has stopped his ears against\ntheir false singing. My friends are his friends, my brother is his\nbrother, my word is his word: witness the armlet that hath no like.\nOpechancanough is at hand; he comes through the forest with his two\nhundred warriors. Will you, when you lie at his feet, have him ask you,\n'Where is the friend of my friend, of my war chief?'\"\n\nThere came a long, deep breath from the Indians, then a silence in which\nthey fell back, slowly and sullenly--whipped hounds but with the will to\nbreak that leash of fear.\n\n\"Hark!\" said Nantaquas, smiling. \"I hear Opechancanough and his warriors\ncoming over the leaves.\"\n\nThe noise of many footsteps was indeed audible, coming toward the hollow\nfrom the woods beyond. With a burst of cries, the priests and the\nconjurer whirled away to bear the welcome of Okee to the royal\nworshipper, and at their heels went the chief men of the Pamunkeys. The\nwerowance of the Paspaheghs was one that sailed with the wind; he\nlistened to the deepening sound and glanced at the son of Powhatan where\nhe stood, calm and confident, then smoothed his own countenance and made\na most pacific speech, in which all the blame of the late proceedings\nwas laid upon the singing birds. When he had done speaking, the young\nmen tore the stakes from the earth and threw them into a thicket, while\nthe women plucked apart the newly kindled fire and flung the brands into\na little nearby stream, where they went out in a cloud of hissing steam.\n\nI turned to the Indian who had wrought this miracle. \"Art sure it is not\na dream, Nantaquas? I think that Opechancanough would not lift a finger\nto save me from all the deaths the tribes could invent.\"\n\n\"Opechancanough is very wise,\" he answered quietly. \"He says that now\nthe English will believe in his love indeed when they see that he holds\ndear even one who might be called his enemy, who hath spoken against him\nat the Englishmen's council fire. He says that for five suns Captain\nPercy shall feast with him, and then shall go back free to Jamestown. He\nthinks that then Captain Percy will not speak against him any more,\ncalling his love to the white men only words with no good deeds\nbehind.\"\n\nHe spoke simply, out of the nobility of his nature, believing his own\nspeech. I that was older, and had more knowledge of men and the masks\nthey wear, was but half deceived. My belief in the hatred of the dark\nemperor was not shaken, and I looked yet to find the drop of poison\nwithin this honey flower. How poisoned was that bloom, God knows I could\nnot guess!\n\nBy this time we three were alone in the hollow, for all the savages, men\nand women, had gone forth to meet the Indian whose word was law from the\nfalls of the far west to the Chesapeake. The sun now rode above the low\nhills, pouring its gold into the hollow and brightening all the world\nbesides. A chant raised by the Indians grew nearer, and the rustling of\nthe leaves beneath many feet more loud and deep; then all noise ceased\nand Opechancanough entered the hollow alone. An eagle feather was thrust\nthrough his scalp lock; over his naked breast, which was neither painted\nnor pricked into strange figures, hung a triple row of pearls; his\nmantle was woven of bluebird feathers, as soft and sleek as satin. The\nface of this barbarian was as dark, cold, and impassive as death. Behind\nthat changeless mask, as in a safe retreat, the subtle devil that was\nthe man might plot destruction and plan the laying of dreadful mines.\n\nI stepped forward and met him on the spot where the fire had been. For a\nminute neither spoke. It was true that I had striven against him many a\ntime, and I knew that he knew it. It was also true that without his aid\nNantaquas could not have rescued us from that dire peril. And it was\nagain the truth that an Indian neither forgives nor forgets. He was my\nsaviour, and I knew that mercy had been shown for some dark reason which\nI could not divine. Yet I owed him thanks and gave them as shortly and\nsimply as I could.\n\nHe heard me out with neither liking nor disliking nor any other emotion\nwritten upon his face; but when I had finished, as though he had\nsuddenly bethought himself, he smiled and held out his hand, white-man\nfashion.\n\n\"Singing birds have lied to Captain Percy,\" he said. \"Opechancanough\nthinks that Captain Percy will never listen to them again. The chief of\nthe Powhatans is a lover of the white men, of the English, and of other\nwhite men. He would call the Englishmen his brothers and be taught of\nthem how to rule and to whom to pray\"--\n\n\"Let Opechancanough go with me to Jamestown,\" I replied. \"He hath the\nwisdom of the woods; let him come and gain that of the town.\"\n\nThe emperor smiled again. \"I will come to Jamestown soon, but not to-day\nor to-morrow or the next day. And Captain Percy must smoke the peace\npipe in my lodge above the Pamunkey and watch my young men and maidens\ndance, and eat with me five days. Then he may go back to Jamestown with\npresents for the great white father there and with a message from me\nthat I am coming soon to learn of the white man.\"\n\nFor five days I tarried in the great chief's lodge in his own village\nabove the marshes of the Pamunkey. I will allow that the dark emperor to\nwhom we were so much beholden gave us courteous keeping. The best of the\nhunt was ours, the noblest fish, the most delicate roots. We were alive\nand sound of limb, well treated and with the promise of release; we\nmight have waited, seeing that wait we must, in some measure of content.\nWe did not so. There was a horror in the air. From the marshes that were\ngrowing green, from the sluggish river, from the rotting leaves and cold\nblack earth and naked forest, it rose like an [v]exhalation. We knew not\nwhat it was, but we breathed it in, and it went to the marrow of our\nbones.\n\nThe savage emperor we rarely saw, though we were bestowed so near to him\nthat his sentinels served for ours. Like some god, he kept within his\nlodge, the hanging mats between him and the world without. At other\ntimes, issuing from that retirement, he would stride away into the\nforest. Picked men went with him, and they were gone for hours; but when\nthey returned they bore no trophies, brute or human. What they did we\ncould not guess. If escape had been possible, we would not have awaited\nthe doubtful fulfillment of the promise made us. But the vigilance of\nthe Indians never slept; they watched us like hawks, night and day.\n\nIn the early morning of the fifth day, when we came from our wigwam, it\nwas to find Nantaquas sitting by the fire, magnificent in the paint and\ntrappings of the ambassador, motionless as a piece of bronze and\napparently quite unmindful of the admiring glances of the women who\nknelt about the fire preparing our breakfast. When he saw us he rose and\ncame to meet us, and I embraced him, I was so glad to see him.\n\n\"The Rappahannocks feasted me long,\" he said. \"I was afraid that Captain\nPercy would be gone to Jamestown before I was back on the Pamunkey.\"\n\n\"Shall I ever see Jamestown again, Nantaquas?\" I demanded. \"I have my\ndoubts.\"\n\nHe looked me full in the eyes, and there was no doubting the candor of\nhis own. \"You go with the next sunrise,\" he answered. \"Opechancanough\nhas given me his word.\"\n\n\"I am glad to hear it,\" I said. \"Why have we been kept at all? Why did\nhe not free us five days agone?\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"I do not know. Opechancanough has many thoughts\nwhich he shares with no man. But now he will send you with presents for\nthe governor, and with messages of his love for the white men. There\nwill be a great feast to-day, and to-night the young men and maidens\nwill dance before you. Then in the morning you will go.\"\n\nWhen we had sat by the fire for an hour, the old men and the warriors\ncame to visit us, and the smoking began. The women laid mats in a great\nhalf circle, and each savage took his seat with perfect breeding: that\nis, in absolute silence and with a face like a stone. The peace paint\nwas upon them all--red, or red and white--and they sat and looked at the\nground until I had made the speech of welcome. Soon the air was dense\nwith fragrant smoke; in the thick blue haze the sweep of painted figures\nhad the seeming of some fantastic dream. An old man arose and made a\nlong and touching speech, with much reference to calumets and buried\nhatchets. Then they waited for my contribution of honeyed words. The\nPamunkeys, living at a distance from the settlements, had but little\nEnglish, and the learning of the Paspaheghs was not much greater. I\nrepeated to them the better part of a canto of Master Spenser's _Faery\nQueen_, after which I told them the moving story of the Moor of Venice.\nIt answered the purpose to admiration.\n\nThe day wore on, with relay after relay of food, which we must taste at\nleast, with endless smoking of pipes and speeches which must be listened\nto and answered. When evening came and our entertainers drew off to\nprepare for the dance, they left us as wearied as by a long day's march.\n\nSuddenly, as we sat staring at the fire, we were beset by a band of\nmaidens, coming out of the woods, painted, with antlers upon their heads\nand pine branches in their hands. They danced about us, now advancing\nuntil the green needles met above our heads, now retreating until there\nwas a space of turf between us. They moved with grace, keeping time to a\nplaintive song, now raised by the whole choir, now fallen to a single\nvoice.\n\nThe Indian girls danced more and more swiftly, and their song changed,\nbecoming gay and shrill and sweet. Higher and higher rang the notes,\nfaster and faster moved the dark feet; then quite suddenly song and\nmotion ceased together. From the darkness now came a burst of savage\ncries only less appalling than the war whoop itself. In a moment the men\nof the village had rushed from the shadow of the trees into the broad,\nfirelit space before us. They circled around us, then around the fire;\nnow each man danced and stamped and muttered to himself. For the most\npart they were painted red, but some were white from head to\nheel--statues come to life--while others had first oiled their bodies,\nthen plastered them over with small, bright-colored feathers.\n\nDiccon and I watched that uncouth spectacle, that Virginian [v]masque,\nas we had watched many another one, with disgust and weariness. It would\nlast, we knew, for the better part of the night. For a time we must stay\nand testify our pleasure, but after a while we might retire, and leave\nthe women and children the sole spectators. They never wearied of gazing\nat the rhythmic movement.\n\nI observed that among the ranks of the women one girl watched not the\ndancers but us. Now and then she glanced impatiently at the wheeling\nfigures, but her eyes always returned to us. At length I became aware\nthat she must have some message to deliver or warning to give. Once when\nI made a slight motion as if to go to her, she shook her head and laid\nher finger on her lips.\n\nPresently I rose and, making my way to the werowance of the village,\nwhere he sat with his eyes fixed on the spectacle, told him that I was\nwearied and would go to my hut, to rest for the few hours that yet\nremained of the night. He listened dreamily, but made no offer to escort\nme. After a moment he acquiesced in my departure, and Diccon and I\nquietly left the press of savages and began to cross the firelit turf\nbetween them and our lodge. When we had reached its entrance, we paused\nand looked back to the throng we had left. Every back seemed turned to\nus, every eye intent upon the leaping figures. Swiftly and silently we\nwalked across the bit of even ground to the friendly trees and found\nourselves in a thin strip of shadow. Beneath the trees, waiting for us,\nwas the Indian maid. She would not speak or tarry, but flitted before us\nas dusk and noiseless as a moth, and we followed her into the darkness\nbeyond the firelight. Here a wigwam rose in our path; the girl, holding\naside the mats that covered the entrance, motioned to us to enter. A\nfire was burning within the lodge and it showed us Nantaquas standing\nwith folded arms.\n\n\"Nantaquas!\" I exclaimed, and would have touched him but that with a\nslight motion of his hand he kept me back.\n\n\"Well!\" I asked at last. \"What is the matter, my friend?\"\n\nFor a full minute he made no answer, and when he did speak his voice\nmatched his strained and troubled features.\n\n\"My _friend_,\" he said, \"I am going to show myself a friend indeed to\nthe English, to the strangers who were not content with their own\nhunting-grounds beyond the great salt water. When I have done this, I do\nnot know that Captain Percy will call me 'friend'.\"\n\n\"You were wont to speak plainly, Nantaquas,\" I answered him. \"I am not\nfond of riddles.\"\n\nAgain he waited, as though he found speech difficult. I stared at him in\namazement, he was so changed in so short a time.\n\nHe spoke at last: \"When the dance is over and the fires are low and the\nsunrise is at hand, Opechancanough will come to you to bid you farewell.\nHe will give you the pearls he wears about his neck for a present to the\ngovernor and a bracelet for yourself. Also he will give you three men\nfor a guard through the forest. He has messages of love to send the\nwhite men, and he would send them by you who were his enemy and his\ncaptive. So all the white men shall believe in his love.\"\n\n\"Well!\" I said drily as he paused. \"I will bear the messages. What\nnext?\"\n\n\"Your guards will take you slowly through the forest, stopping to eat\nand sleep. For them there is no need to run like the stag with the\nhunter behind it.\"\n\n\"Then we should make for Jamestown as for life,\" I said, \"not sleeping\nor eating or making pause?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied, \"if you would not die, you and all your people.\"\n\nIn the silence of the hut the fire crackled, and the branches of the\ntrees outside, bent by the wind, made a grating sound against the bark\nroof.\n\n\"How die?\" I asked at last. \"Speak out!\"\n\n\"Die by the arrow and the tomahawk,\" he answered,--\"yea, and by the guns\nyou have given the red men. To-morrow's sun, and the next, and the\nnext--three suns--and the tribes will fall upon the English. At the same\nhour, when the men are in the fields and the women and children are in\nthe houses, they will strike--all the tribes, as one man; and from where\nthe Powhatan falls over the rocks to the salt water beyond Accomac,\nthere will not be one white man left alive.\"\n\nHe ceased to speak, and for a minute the fire made the only sound in the\nhut. Then I asked, \"All die? There are three thousand Englishmen in\nVirginia.\"\n\n\"They are scattered and unwarned. The fighting men of the villages of\nthe Powhatan and the Pamunkey and the great bay are many, and they have\nsharpened their hatchets and filled their quivers with arrows.\"\n\n\"Scattered!\" I cried. \"Strewn broadcast up and down the river--here a\nlonely house, there a cluster of two or three--the men in the fields or\nat the wharves, the women and children busy within doors, all unwarned!\"\n\nI leaned against the side of the hut, for my heart beat like a\nfrightened woman's. \"Three days!\" I exclaimed. \"If we go with all our\nspeed, we shall be in time. When did you learn this thing?\"\n\n\"While you watched the dance,\" the Indian answered, \"Opechancanough and\nI sat within his lodge in the darkness. His heart was moved, and he\ntalked to me of his own youth in a strange country, south of the sunset.\nAlso he spoke to me of Powhatan, my father--of how wise he was and how\ngreat a chief before the English came, and how he hated them. And\nthen--then I heard what I have told you!\"\n\n\"How long has this been planned?\"\n\n\"For many moons. I have been a child, fooled and turned aside from the\ntrail; not wise enough to see it beneath the flowers, through the smoke\nof the peace pipes.\"\n\n\"Why does Opechancanough send us back to the settlements?\" I demanded.\n\n\"It is his fancy. Every hunter and trader and learner of our tongues,\nliving in the villages or straying in the woods, has been sent back to\nJamestown or his home with presents and fair words. You will lull the\nEnglish in Jamestown into a faith in the smiling sky just before the\nstorm bursts on them in fullest fury.\"\n\nThere was a pause.\n\n\"Nantaquas,\" I said, \"you are not the first child of Powhatan who has\nloved and shielded the white men.\"\n\n\"Pocahontas was a woman, a child,\" he answered. \"Out of pity she saved\nyour lives, not knowing that it was to the hurt of her people. Then you\nwere few and weak and could not take your revenge. Now, if you die not,\nyou will drink deep of vengeance--so deep that your lips may never leave\nthe cup. More ships will come, and more; you will grow ever stronger.\nThere may come a moon when the deep forests and the shining rivers will\nknow us, to whom [v]Kiwassa gave them, no more.\"\n\n\"You will be with your people in the war?\" I asked.\n\n\"I am an Indian,\" was his simple reply.\n\n\"Come against us if you will,\" I returned. \"Nobly warned, fair upon our\nguard, we will meet you as knightly foe should be met.\"\n\nVery slowly he raised his arm from his side and held out his hand. His\neyes met mine in somber inquiry, half eager, half proudly doubtful. I\nwent to him at once and took his hand in mine. No word was spoken.\nPresently he withdrew his hand from my clasp, and, putting his finger to\nhis lips, whistled low to the Indian girl. She drew aside the mats, and\nwe passed out, Diccon and I, leaving him standing as we had found him,\nupright against the post, in the red firelight.\n\nShould we ever go through the woods, pass through that gathering storm,\nreach Jamestown, warn them there of the death that was rushing upon\nthem? Should we ever leave that hated village? Would the morning ever\ncome? It was an alarm that was sounding, and there were only two to\nhear; miles away beneath the mute stars English men and women lay\nasleep, with the hour thundering at their gates, and there was none to\ncry, \"Awake!\" I could have cried out in that agony of waiting, with the\nleagues on leagues to be traveled and the time so short! I saw, in my\nmind's eye, the dark warriors gathering, tribe on tribe, war party on\nwar party, thick crowding shadows of death, slipping through the silent\nforest ... and in the clearings the women and children!\n\nIt came to an end, as all things earthly will. When the ruffled pools\namid the marshes were rosy red beneath the sunrise, the women brought us\nfood, and the warriors and old men gathered about us. I offered them\nbread and meat and told them that they must come to Jamestown to taste\nthe white man's cookery.\n\nScarcely was the meal over when Opechancanough issued from his lodge,\nand, coming slowly up to us, took his seat upon the white mat that was\nspread for him. Through his scalp lock was stuck an eagle's feather;\nacross his face, from temple to chin, was a bar of red paint; the eyes\nabove were very bright and watchful.\n\nOne of his young men brought a great pipe, carved and painted, stem and\nbowl; it was filled with tobacco, lit, and borne to the emperor. He put\nit to his lips and smoked in silence, while the sun climbed higher and\nhigher and the golden minutes that were more precious than heart's blood\nwent by swiftly.\n\nAt last, his part in the solemn mockery played, he held out the pipe to\nme.\n\n\"The sky will fall, and the rivers will run dry, and the birds cease to\nsing,\" he said, \"before the smoke of this peace-pipe fades from the\nland.\"\n\nI took the symbol of peace and smoked it as silently and soberly as he\nhad done before me, then laid it leisurely aside and held out my hand.\n\n\"Come to Jamestown,\" I said, \"to smoke of the Englishman's pipe and\nreceive rich presents--a red robe like your brother Powhatan, and a cup\nfrom which you shall drink, you and all your people.\"\n\nBut the cup I meant was that of punishment.\n\nThe savage laid his dark fingers in mine for an instant, withdrew them,\nand, rising to his feet, motioned to three Indians who stood out from\nthe throng of warriors.\n\n\"These are Captain Percy's guides and friends,\" he announced. \"The sun\nis high; it is time that he was gone. Here are presents for him and my\nbrother the governor.\" As he spoke, he took from his neck the rope of\npearls and from his arm a copper bracelet, and laid both upon my palm.\n\n\"Thank you, Opechancanough,\" I said briefly. \"When we meet again I will\nnot greet you with empty thanks.\"\n\nWe bade farewell to the noisy throng and went down to the river, where\nwe found a canoe and rowers, crossed the stream, and entered the forest,\nwhich stretched black and forbidding before us--the blacker that we now\nknew the dreadful secret it guarded.\n\n\nII\n\n     After leaving the Indian village, Captain Percy and Diccon found\n     that their guides purposely delayed the march, so that they would\n     not reach Jamestown until just before the beginning of the attack,\n     when it would be too late for them to warn the English, if they\n     suspected anything. Percy and Diccon, in this dilemma, surprised\n     the Indian guides and killed them, then hurried on with all\n     possible speed toward Jamestown. As they hastened through the\n     forest, Diccon was shot by an Indian and mortally wounded; Captain\n     Percy remained with him until his death, and again took up the\n     journey, now alone and greatly fearing that he would arrive too\n     late.\n\nThe dusk had quite fallen when I reached the neck of land. Arriving at\nthe palisade that protected Jamestown, I beat upon the gate and called\nto the warden to open. He did so with starting eyes. Giving him a few\nwords and cautioning him to raise no alarm in the town, I hurried by him\ninto the street and down it toward the house that was set aside for the\ngovernor of Virginia, Sir Francis Wyatt.\n\nThe governor's door was open, and in the hall servingmen were moving to\nand fro. When I came in upon them, they cried out as if it had been a\nghost, and one fellow let a silver dish fall to the floor with a\nclatter. They shook with fright and stood back as I passed them without\na word and went on to the governor's great room. The door was ajar, and\nI pushed it open and stood for a minute on the threshold. They were all\nthere--the principal men of the colony, the governor, the [v]treasurer,\n[v]West, [v]John Rolfe.\n\nAt sight of me the governor sprang to his feet; through the treasurer's\nlips came a long, sighing breath; West's dark face was ashen. I came\nforward to the table, and leaned my weight upon it; for all the waves of\nthe sea were roaring in my ears and the lights were going up and down.\n\n\"Are you man or spirit!\" cried Rolfe through white lips. \"Are you Ralph\nPercy?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"I am Percy.\"\n\nWith an effort I drew myself erect, and standing so, told my tidings,\nquietly and with circumstance, so as to leave no room for doubt as to\ntheir verity, or as to the sanity of him who brought them. They listened\nwith shaking limbs and gasping breath; for it was the fall and wiping\nout of a people of which I brought warning.\n\nWhen all was told I thought to ask a question myself; but before my\ntongue could frame it, the roaring of the sea became so loud that I\ncould hear naught else, and the lights all ran together into a wheel of\nfire. Then in a moment all sounds ceased and to the lights succeeded the\nblackness of outer darkness.\n\nWhen I awoke from the sleep into which I must have passed from that\nswoon, it was to find myself lying in a room flooded with sunshine. For\na moment I lay still, wondering where I was and how I came there. A drum\nbeat, a dog barked, and a man's quick voice gave a command. The sounds\nstung me into remembrance.\n\nThere were many people in the street. Women hurried by to the fort with\nwhite, scared faces, their arms filled with household gear; children ran\nbeside them; men went to and fro, the most grimly silent, but a few\ntalking loudly.\n\nI could not see the palisade across the neck, but I knew that it was\nthere that the fight--if fight there were--would be made. Should the\nIndians take the palisade, there would yet be the houses of the town,\nand, last of all, the fort in which to make a stand. I believed not that\nthey would take it, for Indian warfare ran more to ambuscade and\nsurprise than to assault in the open field.\n\nThe drum beat again, and a messenger from the palisade came down the\nstreet at a run.\n\n\"They're in the woods over against us, thicker than ants!\" he cried to\nWest, who was coming along the way. \"A boat has just drifted ashore,\nwith two men in it, dead and scalped!\"\n\nI looked again at the neck of land and the forest beyond, and now, as if\nby magic, from the forest and up and down the river as far as the eye\ncould reach, rose here and there thin columns of smoke. Suddenly, as I\nstared, three or four white smoke puffs, like giant flowers, started out\nof the shadowy woods across the neck. Following the crack of the\nmuskets--fired out of pure bravado by the Indians--came the yelling of\nthe savages. The sound was prolonged and deep, as though issuing from\nmany throats.\n\nThe street, when I went out into it, was very quiet. All windows and\ndoors were closed and barred. The yelling from the forest had ceased for\nthe moment, but I knew well that it would soon begin with doubled noise.\nI hurried along the street to the palisade, where all the men of\nJamestown were gathered, armed and helmeted and breast-plated, waiting\nfor the foe in grim silence.\n\nThrough a loophole in the gate of the palisade I looked and saw the\nsandy neck joining the town to the mainland, and the deep and dark woods\nbeyond, the fairy mantle giving invisibility to the foe. I drew back\nfrom my loophole and held out my hand to a woman for a loaded musket. A\nquick murmur like the drawing of a breath came from our line. The\ngovernor, standing near me, cast an anxious glance along the stretch of\nwooden stakes that were neither so high nor so thick as they should have\nbeen.\n\n\"I am new to this warfare, Captain Percy,\" he said. \"Do they think to\nuse those logs they carry as battering rams?\"\n\n\"As scaling ladders, your honor,\" I replied. \"It is possible that we may\nhave some sword play after all.\"\n\n\"We'll take your advice the next time we build a palisade, Ralph Percy,\"\nmuttered West on my other side. Mounting the breastwork that we had\nthrown up to shelter the women who were to load the muskets, he coolly\nlooked over the pales at the oncoming savages.\n\n\"Wait until they pass the blasted pine, men!\" he cried. \"Then give them\na hail of lead that will beat them back to the Pamunkey.\"\n\nAn arrow whistled by his ear; a second struck him on the shoulder but\npierced not his coat of mail. He came down from his dangerous post with\na laugh.\n\n\"If the leader could be picked off\"--I said. \"It's a long shot, but\nthere's no harm in trying.\"\n\nAs I spoke I raised my gun to my shoulder, but West leaned across Rolfe,\nwho stood between us, and plucked me by the sleeve.\n\n\"You've not looked at him closely,\" he said. \"Look again.\"\n\nI did as he told me, and lowered my musket. It was not for me to send\nthat Indian leader to his account. Rolfe's lips tightened and a sudden\npallor overspread his face. \"Nantaquas?\" he muttered in my ear, and I\nnodded yes.\n\nThe volley that we fired full into the ranks of our foe was deadly, and\nwe looked to see them turn and flee, as they had fled so often before at\na hot volley. But this time they were led by one who had been trained in\nEnglish steadfastness. Broken for the moment by our fire, they rallied\nand came on yelling, bearing logs, thick branches of trees, oars tied\ntogether--anything by whose help they could hope to surmount the\npalisade. We fired again, but they had planted their ladders. Before we\ncould snatch the loaded muskets from the women a dozen painted figures\nappeared above the sharpened stakes. A moment, and they and a score\nbehind them had leaped down upon us.\n\nIt was no time now to skulk behind a palisade. At all hazards, that tide\nfrom the forest must be stemmed. Those that were among us we might kill,\nbut more were swarming after them, and from the neck came the exultant\nyelling of madly hurrying reinforcements.\n\nWe flung open the gates. I drove my sword through the heart of an Indian\nwho would have opposed me, and, calling for my men to follow, sprang\nforward. Perhaps thirty came at my call; together we made for the\nopening. A party of the savages in our midst interposed. We set upon\nthem with sword and musket butt, and though they fought like very devils\ndrove them before us through the gateway. Behind us were wild clamor,\nthe shrieking of women, the stern shouts of the English, the whooping of\nthe savages; before us a rush that must be met and turned.\n\nIt was done. A moment's fierce fighting, then the Indians wavered,\nbroke, and fled. Like sheep we drove them before us, across the neck, to\nthe edge of the forest, into which they plunged. Into that ambush we\ncared not to follow, but fell back to the palisade and the town,\nbelieving, and with reason, that the lesson had been taught. The strip\nof sand was strewn with the dead and the dying, but they belonged not to\nus. Our dead numbered but three, and we bore their bodies with us.\n\nWithin the palisade we found the English in sufficiently good case. Of\nthe score or more Indians cut off by us from their mates and penned\nwithin that death trap, half at least were already dead, run through\nwith sword and pike, shot down with the muskets that there was now time\nto load. The remainder, hemmed about, pressed against the wall, were\nfast meeting with a like fate. They stood no chance against us; we cared\nnot to make prisoners of them; it was a slaughter, but they had taken\nthe [v]initiative. They fought with the courage of despair, striving to\nspring in upon us, and striking when they could with hatchet and knife.\nThey were brave men that we slew that day.\n\nAt last there was left but the leader--unharmed, unwounded, though time\nand again he had striven to close with some one of us, to strike and to\ndie striking with his fellows. Behind him was the wall; of the half\ncircle which he faced, well-nigh all were old soldiers and servants of\nthe colony. We were swordsmen all. When in his desperation he would have\nthrown himself upon us, we contented ourselves with keeping him at\nsword's length, and at last West sent the knife in the dark hand\nwhirling over the palisade. Some one had shouted to the musketeers to\nspare him.\n\nWhen he saw that he stood alone, he stepped back against the wall, drew\nhimself up to his full height, and folded his arms. Perhaps he thought\nthat we would shoot him down then and there; perhaps he saw himself a\ncaptive amongst us, a show for the idle and for the strangers that the\nships brought in.\n\nThe din had ceased, and we the living, the victors, stood and looked at\nthe vanquished dead at our feet, and at the dead beyond the gates, and\nat the neck upon which was no living foe, and at the blue sky bending\nover all. Our hearts told us, and truly, that the lesson had been\ntaught, and that no more forever need we at Jamestown fear an Indian\nattack. And then we looked at him whose life we had spared.\n\nHe opposed our gaze with his folded arms and his head held high and his\nback against the wall. Slowly, as one man and with no spoken word, we\nfell back, the half circle straightening into a line, and leaving a\nclear pathway to the open gates. The wind had ceased to blow, and a\nsunny stillness lay upon the sand and the rough-hewn wooden stakes and a\nlittle patch of tender grass. The church bell began to ring.\n\nThe Indian out of whose path to life and freedom we had stepped glanced\nfrom the line of lowered steel to the open gates and the forest beyond,\nand understood. For a full minute he waited, not moving a muscle, still\nand stately as some noble masterpiece in bronze. Then he stepped from\nthe shadow of the wall and moved past us, with his eyes fixed on the\nforest; there was no change in the superb calm of his face. He went by\nthe huddled dead and the long line of the living that spoke no word, and\nout of the gates and across the neck, walking slowly, that we might yet\nshoot him down if we saw fit to repent ourselves. He reached the shadow\nof the trees: a moment, and the forest had back her own.\n\nWe sheathed our swords and listened to the governor's few earnest words\nof thankfulness and recognition; and then we set to work to search for\nways to reach and aid those who might be yet alive in the plantations\nabove and below us.\n\nPresently there came a great noise from the watchers on the river-bank,\nand a cry that boats were coming down the stream. It was so, and there\nwere in them white men, nearly all of whom had wounds to show, and\ncowering women and children--all that were left of the people for miles\nalong the James.\n\nThen began that strange procession that lasted throughout the afternoon\nand night and into the next day, when a sloop dropped down from\n[v]Henricus with the news that the English were in force there to stand\ntheir ground, although their loss had been heavy. Hour after hour they\ncame as fast as sail and oar could bring them, the panic-stricken folk,\nwhose homes were burned, whose kindred were slain, who had themselves\nescaped as by a miracle. Each boatload had the same tale to tell of\ntreachery, surprise, and fiendish butchery.\n\nBefore the dawning we had heard from all save the remoter settlements.\nThe blow had been struck and the hurt was deep. But it was not beyond\nremedy, thank God! We took stern measures for our protection, and the\nwound to the colony was soon healed; vengeance was meted out to those\nwho had set upon us in the dark and had failed to reach the heart. The\ncolony of Virginia had passed through its greatest trial and had\nsurvived--for what greater ends, under Providence, I knew not.\n\nMARY JOHNSTON.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     I. Describe the situation in which Percy and Diccon found\n     themselves. What preparations did the Indians make for the death of\n     the two men? How were they interrupted? Tell what happened after\n     the appearance of Nantaquas? How were the five days spent? How did\n     Nantaquas come to the rescue of the white men a second time? What\n     did Opechancanough do to try to deepen the impression of\n     friendship?\n\n     II. What happened on the way to Jamestown? Describe the scene when\n     Percy entered the governor's house. Give an account of the fight at\n     the palisade. Why was Nantaquas spared? What was the result of the\n     Indian attack? Give your opinion of Nantaquas. Of what Indian in\n     _The Last of the Mohicans_ does he remind you? Of whom does\n     Opechancanough remind you?\n\n     Find out all you can of life in Virginia at the time this story was\n     written. Compare the life there with the life in Plymouth colony.\n\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY READING\n\n     Prisoners of Hope--Mary Johnston.\n     My Lady Pokahontas--John Esten Cooke.\n     The Wept of Wish-ton-wish--J. Fenimore Cooper.\n     Hiawatha--Henry W. Longfellow.\n     Old Virginia and Her Neighbors--John Fiske.\n\n\n\n\nHARRY ESMOND'S BOYHOOD\n\n\n     _Henry Esmond_, by William Makepeace Thackeray, is considered one\n     of the greatest, if not the greatest, of historical novels. It\n     describes life in England during the first years of the eighteenth\n     century, dealing chiefly with people of wealth and high position.\n     \"Harry Esmond's Boyhood\" narrates the early career of the hero, who\n     was a poor orphan and an inmate of the family of his kinsman, the\n     Viscount of Castlewood.\n\nHarry Esmond had lived to be past fourteen years old; had never\npossessed but two friends, and had a fond and affectionate heart that\nwould fain attach itself to somebody, and did not seem at rest until it\nhad found a friend who would take charge of it.\n\nAt last he found such a friend in his new mistress, the lady of\nCastlewood. The instinct which led Harry Esmond to admire and love the\ngracious person, the fair apparition whose beauty and kindness had so\nmoved him when he first beheld her, became soon a devoted affection and\npassion of gratitude, which entirely filled his young heart that as yet\nhad had very little kindness for which to be thankful.\n\nThere seemed, as the boy thought, in every look or gesture of this fair\ncreature, an angelical softness and bright pity--in motion or repose she\nseemed gracious alike; the tone of her voice, though she uttered words\never so trivial, gave him a pleasure that amounted almost to anguish. It\ncannot be called love, that a lad of fourteen years of age felt for an\nexalted lady, his mistress, but it was worship. To catch her glance; to\ndivine her errand, and run on it before she had spoken it; to watch,\nfollow, adore her, became the business of his life. Meanwhile, as is the\nway often, his idol had idols of her own, and never thought of or\nsuspected the admiration of her little adorer.\n\nMy Lady had on her side three idols: first and foremost, [v]Jove and\nsupreme ruler, was her lord, Harry's patron, the good [v]Viscount of\nCastlewood. All wishes of his were laws with her. If he had a headache,\nshe was ill. If he frowned, she trembled. If he joked, she smiled and\nwas charmed. If he went a-hunting, she was always at the window to see\nhim ride away. She made dishes for his dinner; spiced his wine for him;\nhushed the house when he slept in his chair, and watched for a look when\nhe woke. Her eyes were never tired of looking at his face and wondering\nat its perfection. Her little son was his son, and had his father's look\nand curly brown hair. Her daughter Beatrix was his daughter, and had his\neyes--were there ever such beautiful eyes in the world? All the house\nwas arranged so as to bring him ease and give him pleasure.\n\nHarry Esmond was happy in this pleasant home. The happiest period of all\nhis life was this; and the young mother, with her daughter and son, and\nthe orphan lad whom she protected, read and worked and played, and were\nchildren together. If the lady looked forward--as what fond woman does\nnot?--toward the future, she had no plans from which Harry Esmond was\nleft out; and a thousand and a thousand times, in his passionate and\nimpetuous way, he vowed that no power should separate him from his\nmistress; and only asked for some chance to happen by which he might\nshow his [v]fidelity to her.\n\nThe second fight which Harry Esmond had was at fourteen years of age,\nwith Bryan Hawkshaw, Sir John Hawkshaw's son, who, advancing the opinion\nthat Lady Castlewood henpecked my Lord, put Harry in so great a fury\nthat Harry fell on him and with such rage that the other boy, who was\ntwo years older and far bigger than he, had by far the worst of the\nassault. It was interrupted by Doctor Tusher, the clergyman, who was\njust walking out of the dinner-room.\n\nBryan Hawkshaw got up bleeding at the nose, having indeed been\nsurprised, as many a stronger man might have been, by the fury of the\nattack on him.\n\n\"You little beggar,\" he said, \"I'll murder you for this.\"\n\nAnd indeed he was big enough.\n\n\"Beggar or not,\" said Harry, grinding his teeth, \"I have a couple of\nswords, and if you like to meet me, as man to man, on the terrace\nto-night--\"\n\nAnd here, the doctor coming up, the [v]colloquy of the young champions\nended. Very likely, big as he was, Hawkshaw did not care to continue a\nfight with such a ferocious opponent as this had been.\n\nOne day, some time later, Doctor Tusher ran into Castlewood House, with\na face of consternation, saying that smallpox had made its appearance at\nthe blacksmith's house in the village, which was also an alehouse, and\nthat one of the maids there was down with it.\n\nNow, there was a pretty girl at this inn, called Nancy Sievewright, a\nbouncing, fresh-looking lass, whose face was as red as the hollyhocks\nover the pales of the garden behind the inn. Somehow it often happened\nthat Harry Esmond fell in with Nance Sievewright's bonny face. When\nDoctor Tusher brought the news that the smallpox was at the\nblacksmith's, Harry Esmond's first thought was of alarm for poor Nancy,\nand then of shame and disquiet for the Castlewood family, lest he might\nhave brought this infection; for the truth is that Mr. Harry had been\nsitting in a back room for an hour that day, where Nancy Sievewright was\nwith a little brother who complained of headache, and was lying crying\nin a chair by the corner of the fire or in Nancy's lap.\n\nLittle Beatrix screamed at the news; and my Lord cried out, \"God bless\nme!\" He was a brave man, and not afraid of death in any shape but this.\n\"We will take the children and ride away to Walcote,\" he said.\n\nTo love children and be gentle with them was an instinct rather than\nmerit in Harry Esmond; so much so that he thought almost with a feeling\nof shame of his liking for them and of the softness into which it\nbetrayed him. On this day the poor fellow had not only had his young\nfriend, the milkmaid's brother, on his knee, but had been drawing\npictures and telling stories to the little Frank Castlewood, who was\nnever tired of Harry's tales and of his pictures of soldiers and horses.\nAs luck would have it, Beatrix had not on that evening taken her usual\nplace, which generally she was glad enough to have, on Harry's knee. For\nBeatrix, from the earliest time, was jealous of every caress which was\ngiven her little brother Frank. She would fling away even from the\n[v]maternal arms, if she saw Frank had been there before her; insomuch\nthat Lady Esmond was obliged not to show her love for her son in\npresence of the little girl, and embrace one or the other alone. Beatrix\nwould turn pale and red with rage if she caught signs of intelligence or\naffection between Frank and his mother; would sit apart and not speak\nfor a whole night if she thought the boy had a better fruit or a larger\ncake than hers; would fling away a ribbon if he had one, and would utter\n[v]infantile sarcasms about the favor shown her brother.\n\nSo it chanced upon this very day, when poor Harry Esmond had had the\nblacksmith's son and the [v]peer's son, alike upon his knee, little\nBeatrix, who would come to him willingly enough with her book and\nwriting, had refused him, seeing the place occupied by her brother.\nLuckily for her, she had sat at the farther end of the room, away from\nhim, playing with a spaniel dog which she had, and talking to Harry\nEsmond over her shoulder, as she pretended to caress the dog, saying\nthat Fido would love her, and she would love Fido and nothing but Fido\nall her life.\n\nWhen, then, the news was brought that the little boy at the blacksmith's\nwas ill with the smallpox, poor Harry Esmond felt a shock of alarm, not\nso much for himself as for his mistress's son, whom he might have\nbrought into peril. Beatrix, who had pouted sufficiently, her little\nbrother being now gone to bed, was for taking her place on Esmond's\nknee. But as she advanced toward him, he started back and placed the\ngreat chair on which he was sitting between him and her--saying in the\nFrench language to Lady Castlewood, \"Madam, the child must not approach\nme. I must tell you that I was at the blacksmith's to-day and had his\nlittle boy on my lap.\"\n\n\"Where you took my son afterward,\" Lady Castlewood said, very angry and\nturning red. \"I thank you, sir, for giving him such company. Beatrix,\"\nshe said in English, \"I forbid you to touch Harry Esmond. Come away,\nchild; come to your room. And you, sir, had you not better go back to\nthe alehouse?\"\n\nHer eyes, ordinarily so kind, darted flashes of anger as she spoke; and\nshe tossed up her head (which hung down commonly) with the [v]mien of a\nprincess.\n\n\"Heyday!\" said my Lord, who was standing by the fireplace, \"Rachel, what\nare you in a passion about? Though it does you good to get in a\npassion--you look very handsome!\"\n\n\"It is, my Lord, because Mr. Harry Esmond, having nothing to do with his\ntime here, and not having a taste for our company, has been to the\nblacksmith's alehouse, where he has some friends.\"\n\nMy Lord burst out with a laugh.\n\n\"Take Mistress Beatrix to bed,\" my Lady cried at this moment to her\nwoman, who came in with her Ladyship's tea. \"Put her into my room--no,\ninto yours,\" she added quickly. \"Go, my child: go, I say; not a word.\"\nAnd Beatrix, quite surprised at so sudden a tone of authority from one\nwho was seldom accustomed to raise her voice, went out of the room with\na scared face and waited even to burst out crying until she got\nupstairs.\n\nFor once, her mother took little heed of her. \"My Lord,\" she said, \"this\nyoung man--your relative--told me just now in French--he was ashamed to\nspeak in his own language--that he had been at the blacksmith's all day,\nwhere he has had that little wretch who is now ill of the smallpox on\nhis knee. And he comes home reeking from that place--yes, reeking from\nit--and takes my boy into his lap without shame, and sits down by me. He\nmay have killed Frank for what I know--killed our child! Why was he\nbrought in to disgrace our house? Why is he here? Let him go--let him\ngo, I say, and [v]pollute the place no more!\"\n\nShe had never before uttered a syllable of unkindness to Harry Esmond,\nand her cruel words smote the poor boy so that he stood for some moments\nbewildered with grief and rage at the injustice of such a stab from such\na hand. He turned quite white from red, which he had been before.\n\n\"If my coming nigh your boy pollutes him,\" he said, \"it was not so\nalways. Good-night, my Lord. Heaven bless you and yours for your\ngoodness to me. I have tired her Ladyship's kindness out, and I will\ngo.\"\n\n\"He wants to go to the alehouse--let him go!\" cried my Lady.\n\n\"I'll be hanged if he shall,\" said my Lord. \"I didn't think you could be\nso cruel, Rachel!\"\n\nHer reply was to burst into a flood of tears, and to quit the room with\na rapid glance at Harry Esmond, as my Lord put his broad hand on Harry's\nshoulder.\n\nIn a little while my Lady came back, looking very pale, with a\nhandkerchief in her hand. Instantly advancing to Harry Esmond, she took\nhis hand. \"I beg your pardon, Harry,\" she said. \"I spoke very\nunkindly.\"\n\nMy Lord broke out: \"There may be no harm done. Leave the boy alone.\" She\nlooked a little red, and pressed the lad's hand as she dropped it.\n\n\"There is no use, my Lord,\" she said. \"Frank was on his knee as he was\nmaking pictures and was running constantly from Harry to me. The evil is\ndone, if any.\"\n\n\"Not with me,\" cried my Lord. \"I've been smoking.\" And he lighted his\npipe again with a coal. \"As the disease is in the village--plague take\nit!--I would have you leave it. We'll go to-morrow to Walcote.\"\n\n\"I have no fear,\" said my Lady. \"I may have had it as an infant.\"\n\n\"I won't run the risk,\" said my Lord. \"I'm as bold as any man, but I'll\nnot bear that.\"\n\n\"Take Beatrix with you and go,\" said my Lady. \"For us the mischief is\ndone.\"\n\nMy Lord, calling away Doctor Tusher, bade him come in the oak parlor and\nhave a pipe.\n\nWhen the lady and the boy were alone, there was a silence of some\nmoments, during which he stood looking at the fire whilst her Ladyship\nbusied herself with the [v]tambour frame and needles.\n\n\"I am sorry,\" she said, after a pause, in a hard, dry voice--\"I repeat I\nam sorry that I said what I said. It was not at all my wish that you\nshould leave us, I am sure, unless you found pleasure elsewhere. But you\nmust see that, at your age, and with your tastes, it is impossible that\nyou can continue to stay upon the intimate footing in which you have\nbeen in this family. You have wished to go to college, and I think 'tis\nquite as well that you should be sent thither. I did not press the\nmatter, thinking you a child, as you are indeed in years--quite a child.\nBut now I shall beg my Lord to despatch you as quick as possible; and\nwill go on with Frank's learning as well as I can. And--and I wish you a\ngood night, Harry.\"\n\nWith this she dropped a stately curtsy, and, taking her candle, went\naway through the tapestry door, which led to her apartments. Esmond\nstood by the fireplace, blankly staring after her. Indeed, he scarce\nseemed to see until she was gone, and then her image was impressed upon\nhim and remained forever fixed upon his memory. He saw her retreating,\nthe taper lighting up her marble face, her scarlet lip quivering, and\nher shining golden hair. He went to his own room and to bed, but could\nnot get to sleep until daylight, and woke with a violent headache.\n\nHe had brought the contagion with him from the alehouse, sure enough,\nand was presently laid up with the smallpox, which spared the hall no\nmore than it did the cottage.\n\nWhen Harry Esmond had passed through the [v]crisis of the [v]malady and\nreturned to health again, he found that little Frank Esmond had also\nsuffered and rallied from the disease, and that his mother was down\nwith it. Nor could young Esmond agree in Doctor Tusher's [v]vehement\nprotestations to my Lady, when he visited her during her\n[v]convalescence, that the malady had not in the least impaired her\ncharms; whereas, in spite of these fine speeches, Harry thought that her\nLadyship's beauty was very much injured by the smallpox. The delicacy of\nher rosy complexion was gone; her eyes had lost their brilliancy, her\nhair fell, and she looked older. When Tusher in his courtly way vowed\nand protested that my Lady's face was none the worse, the lad broke out\nand said, \"It is worse, and my mistress is not near so handsome as she\nwas.\" On this poor Lady Castlewood gave a [v]rueful smile and a look\ninto a little mirror she had, which showed her, I suppose, that what the\nstupid boy said was only too true, for she turned away from the glass\nand her eyes filled with tears.\n\nThe sight of these always created a sort of rage of pity in Esmond's\nheart, and seeing them on the face of the lady whom he loved best, the\nyoung blunderer sank down on his knees and besought her to pardon him,\nsaying that he was a fool and an idiot. Doctor Tusher told him that he\nwas a bear, and a bear he would remain, at which speech poor Harry was\nso dumb-stricken that he did not even growl.\n\n\"He is my bear, and I will not have him baited, doctor,\" said my Lady,\nputting her hand kindly on the boy's head, as he was still kneeling at\nher feet. \"How your hair has come off! And mine, too!\" she added with\nanother sigh.\n\n\"It is not for myself that I care,\" my Lady said to Harry, when the\nparson had taken his leave; \"but am I very much changed! Alas! I fear\n'tis too true.\"\n\n\"Madam, you have the dearest, and kindest, and sweetest face in the\nworld, I think,\" the lad said; and indeed he thought so.\n\nFor Harry Esmond his benefactress' sweet face had lost none of its\ncharms. It had always the kindest of looks and smiles for him--and\nbeauty of every sort. She would call him \"Mr. Tutor,\" and she herself,\nas well as the two children, went to school to him. Of the pupils the\ntwo young people were but lazy scholars, and my Lord's son only learned\nwhat he liked, which was but little. Mistress Beatrix chattered French\nprettily, and sang sweetly, but this from her mother's teaching, not\nHarry Esmond's. But if the children were careless, 'twas a wonder how\neagerly the mother learned from her young tutor--and taught him, too.\nShe saw the [v]latent beauties and hidden graces in books; and the\nhappiest hours of young Esmond's life were those passed in the company\nof this kind mistress and her children.\n\nThese happy days were to end soon, however; and it was by Lady\nCastlewood's own decree that they were brought to a conclusion. It\nhappened about Christmas-tide, Harry Esmond being now past sixteen\nyears of age. A messenger came from Winchester one day, bearer of the\nnews that my Lady's aunt was dead and had left her fortune of L2,000\namong her six nieces. Many a time afterward Harry Esmond recalled the\nflushed face and eager look wherewith, after this intelligence, his kind\nlady regarded him. When my Lord heard of the news, he did not make any\nlong face. \"The money will come very handy to furnish the music-room and\nthe [v]cellar,\" he said, \"which is getting low, and buy your Ladyship a\ncoach and a couple of horses. Beatrix, you shall have a [v]spinet; and\nFrank, you shall have a little horse from Hexton fair; and Harry, you\nshall have five pounds to buy some books.\" So spoke my Lord, who was\ngenerous with his own, and indeed with other folks' money. \"I wish your\naunt would die once a year, Rachel; we could spend your money, and all\nyour sisters', too.\"\n\n\"I have but one aunt--and--and I have another use for the money,\" said\nmy Lady, turning red.\n\n\"Another use, my dear; and what do you know about money?\" cried my Lord.\n\n\"I intend it for Harry Esmond to go to college. Cousin Harry,\" said my\nLady, \"you mustn't stay any longer in this dull place, but make a name\nfor yourself.\"\n\n\"Is Harry going away? You don't mean to say you will go away?\" cried out\nBeatrix and Frank at one breath.\n\n\"But he will come back, and this will always be his home,\" replied my\nLady, with blue eyes looking a celestial kindness; \"and his scholars\nwill always love him, won't they?\"\n\n\"Rachel, you're a good woman,\" said my Lord. \"I wish you joy, my\nkinsman,\" he continued, giving Harry Esmond a hearty slap on the\nshoulder, \"I won't balk your luck. Go to Cambridge, boy.\"\n\nWhen Harry Esmond went away for Cambridge, little Frank ran alongside\nhis horse as far as the bridge, and there Harry stopped for a moment and\nlooked back at the house where the best part of his life had been\npassed. And Harry remembered, all his life after, how he saw his\nmistress at the window looking out on him, the little Beatrix's chestnut\ncurls resting at her mother's side. Both waved a farewell to him, and\nlittle Frank sobbed to leave him.\n\nThe village people had good-bye to say to him, too. All knew that Master\nHarry was going to college, and most of them had a kind word and a look\nof farewell. And with these things in mind, he rode out into the world.\n\nWILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     Tell what you find out about the household in which Harry Esmond\n     lived. What impression do you get of each person? What trouble did\n     Harry bring upon the family? What change occurred in his life and\n     now?\n\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY READING\n\n     The Virginians--William Makepeace Thackeray.\n     The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers--Steele and Addison.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FAMILY HOLDS ITS HEAD UP\n\n\n     The story is an extract from Oliver Goldsmith's famous novel, _The\n     Vicar of Wakefield_. In this book Goldsmith describes the fortunes\n     of the family of Doctor Primrose, a Church of England clergyman of\n     the middle of the eighteenth century. The novel is considered a\n     most faithful picture of English country life in that period.\n\nThe home I had come to as [v]vicar was in a little neighborhood\nconsisting of farmers who tilled their own grounds and were equal\nstrangers to [v]opulence and poverty. As they had almost all the\nconveniences of life within themselves, they seldom visited towns or\ncities in search of [v]superfluity. Remote from the polite, they still\nretained the [v]primeval simplicity of manners; and, frugal by habit,\nthey scarce knew that temperance was a virtue. They wrought with\ncheerfulness on days of labor, but observed festivals as intervals of\nidleness and pleasure. They kept up the Christmas carol, sent love-knots\non Valentine morning, ate pancakes on [v]Shrovetide, showed their wit on\nthe first of April, and religiously cracked nuts on [v]Michaelmas-eve.\nBeing apprised of our approach, the whole neighborhood came out to meet\ntheir minister, dressed in their finest clothes and preceded by a\n[v]pipe and [v]tabor: a feast, also, was provided for our reception, at\nwhich we sat cheerfully down, and what the conversation wanted in wit\nwas made up in laughter.\n\nOur little habitation was situated at the foot of a sloping hill,\nsheltered with a beautiful underwood behind, and a prattling river\nbefore; on one side a meadow, on the other a green. My farm consisted of\nabout twenty acres of excellent land. Nothing could exceed the neatness\nof my little enclosures, the elms and hedgerows appearing with\ninexpressible beauty. My house consisted of but one story, and was\ncovered with [v]thatch, which gave it an air of great snugness; the\nwalls on the inside were nicely whitewashed, and my daughters undertook\nto adorn them with pictures of their own designing. Though the same room\nserved us for parlor and kitchen, that only made it the warmer. Besides,\nas it was kept with the utmost neatness,--the dishes, plates and coppers\nbeing well scoured and all disposed in bright rows on the shelves--the\neye was agreeably relieved and did not want richer furniture. There were\nthree other apartments: one for my wife and me; another for our two\ndaughters within our own; and the third, with two beds, for the rest of\nthe children.\n\nThe little republic to which I gave laws was regulated in the following\nmanner: by sunrise we all assembled in our common apartment, the fire\nbeing previously kindled by the servant. After we had saluted each other\nwith proper ceremony--for I always thought fit to keep up some\nmechanical forms of good breeding, without which freedom ever destroys\nfriendship--we all bent in gratitude to that Being who gave us another\nday. This duty performed, my son and I went to pursue our usual industry\nabroad, while my wife and daughters employed themselves in providing\nbreakfast, which was always ready at a certain time. I allowed half an\nhour for this meal, and an hour for dinner, which time was taken up in\ninnocent mirth between my wife and daughters, and in [v]philosophical\narguments between my son and me.\n\nAs we rose with the sun, so we never pursued our labors after it was\ngone down, but returned home to the expecting family, where smiling\nlooks, a neat hearth, and a pleasant fire were prepared for our\nreception. Nor were we without guests; sometimes Farmer Flamborough, our\ntalkative neighbor, and often a blind piper, would pay us a visit and\ntaste our gooseberry wine, for the making of which we had lost neither\nthe recipe nor the reputation. These harmless people had several ways of\nbeing good company; while one played, the other would sing some soothing\nballad--\"Johnny Armstrong's Last Good-Night,\" or \"The Cruelty of Barbara\nAllen.\" The night was concluded in the manner we began the morning, my\nyoungest boys being appointed to read the lessons of the day; and he\nthat read loudest, distinctest and best was to have an halfpenny on\nSunday to put into the poor-box. This encouraged in them a wholesome\nrivalry to do good.\n\nWhen Sunday came, it was, indeed, a day of finery, which all my\n[v]sumptuary edicts could not restrain. How well soever I fancied my\nlectures against pride had conquered the vanity of my daughters, yet I\nstill found them secretly attached to all their former finery; they\nstill loved laces, ribbons, and bugles, and my wife herself retained a\npassion for her crimson [v]paduasoy, because I formerly happened to say\nit became her.\n\nThe first Sunday, in particular, their behavior served to mortify me. I\nhad desired my girls the preceding night to be dressed early the next\nday, for I always loved to be at church a good while before the rest of\nthe congregation. They punctually obeyed my directions; but when we were\nto assemble in the morning at breakfast, down came my wife and\ndaughters, dressed out in all their former splendor--their hair\nplastered up with [v]pomatum, their faces [v]patched to taste, their\ntrains bundled up in a heap behind and rustling at every motion. I could\nnot help smiling at their vanity, particularly that of my wife, from\nwhom I expected more discretion. In this [v]exigence, therefore, my only\nresource was to order my son, with an important air, to call our coach.\nThe girls were amazed at the command, but I repeated it, with more\nsolemnity than before.\n\n\"Surely, you jest!\" cried my wife. \"We can walk perfectly well; we want\nno coach to carry us now.\"\n\n\"You mistake, child,\" returned I; \"we do want a coach, for if we walk\nto church in this trim, the very children in the parish will hoot after\nus.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" replied my wife. \"I always imagined that my Charles was fond\nof seeing his children neat and handsome about him.\"\n\n\"You may be as neat as you please,\" interrupted I, \"and I shall love you\nthe better for it; but all this is not neatness, but frippery. These\nrufflings and pinkings and patchings will only make us hated by all the\nwives of our neighbors. No, my children,\" continued I, more gravely,\n\"those gowns must be altered into something of a plainer cut, for finery\nis very unbecoming in us who want the means of [v]decency.\"\n\nThis remonstrance had the proper effect. They went with great composure,\nthat very instant, to change their dress; and the next day I had the\nsatisfaction of finding my daughters, at their own request, employed in\ncutting up their trains into Sunday waist-coats for Dick and Bill, the\ntwo little ones; and, what was still more satisfactory, the gowns seemed\nimproved by this [v]curtailing.\n\nBut the reformation lasted but for a short while. My wife and daughters\nwere visited by the wives of some of the richer neighbors and by a\nsquire who lived near by, on whom they set more store than on the plain\nfarmers' wives who were nearer us in worldly station. I now began to\nfind that all my long and painful lectures upon temperance, simplicity,\nand contentment were entirely disregarded. Some distinctions lately\npaid us by our betters awakened that pride which I had laid asleep, but\nnot removed. Our windows again, as formerly, were filled with washes for\nthe neck and face. The sun was dreaded as an enemy to the skin without\ndoors and the fire as a spoiler of the complexion within. My wife\nobserved that rising too early would hurt her daughters' eyes, that\nworking after dinner would redden their noses, and she convinced me that\nthe hands never looked so white as when they did nothing.\n\nInstead, therefore, of finishing George's shirts, we now had the girls\nnew-modeling their old gauzes. The poor Miss Flamboroughs, their former\ngay companions, were cast off as mean acquaintance, and the whole\nconversation ran upon high life and high-lived company, with pictures,\ntaste, and Shakespeare.\n\nBut we could have borne all this, had not a fortune-telling gypsy come\nto raise us into perfect [v]sublimity. The tawny [v]sibyl no sooner\nappeared than my girls came running to me for a shilling apiece to cross\nher hand with silver. To say the truth, I was tired of being always\nwise, and could not help gratifying their request, because I loved to\nsee them happy. I gave each of them a shilling; after they had been\ncloseted up with the fortune-teller for some time, I knew by their\nlooks, upon their returning, that they had been promised something\ngreat.\n\n\"Well, my girls, how have you sped? Tell me, Livy, has the\nfortune-teller given thee a penny-worth?\"\n\n\"She positively declared that I am to be married to a squire in less\nthan a twelvemonth.\"\n\n\"Well, now, Sophy, my child,\" said I, \"and what sort of husband are you\nto have?\"\n\n\"I am to have a lord soon after my sister has married the squire,\" she\nreplied.\n\n\"How,\" cried I, \"is that all you are to have for your two shillings?\nOnly a lord and a squire for two shillings! You fools, I could have\npromised you a prince and a [v]nabob for half the money.\"\n\nThis curiosity of theirs, however, was attended with very serious\neffects. We now began to think ourselves designed by the stars to\nsomething exalted, and already anticipated our future grandeur.\n\nIn this agreeable time my wife had the most lucky dreams in the world,\nwhich she took care to tell us every morning, with great solemnity and\nexactness. It was one night a coffin and cross-bones, the sign of an\napproaching wedding; at another time she imagined her daughters' pockets\nfilled with farthings, a certain sign they would shortly be stuffed with\ngold. The girls themselves had their omens. They saw rings in the\ncandle, purses bounced from the fire, and love-knots lurked in the\nbottom of every teacup.\n\nToward the end of the week we received a card from two town ladies, in\nwhich, with their compliments, they hoped to see our family at church\nthe Sunday following. All Saturday morning I could perceive, in\nconsequence of this, my wife and daughters in close conference together,\nand now and then glancing at me with looks that betrayed a [v]latent\nplot. To be sincere, I had strong suspicions that some absurd proposal\nwas preparing for appearing with splendor the next day. In the evening\nthey began their operations in a very regular manner, and my wife\nundertook to conduct the siege. After tea, when I seemed in fine\nspirits, she began thus:\n\n\"I fancy, Charles, my dear, we shall have a great deal of good company\nat our church to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Perhaps we may, my dear,\" returned I, \"though you need be under no\nuneasiness about that; you shall have a sermon, whether there be or\nnot.\"\n\n\"That is what I expect,\" returned she; \"but I think, my dear, we ought\nto appear there as decently as possible, for who knows what may happen?\"\n\n\"Your precautions,\" replied I, \"are highly commendable. A decent\nbehavior and appearance in church is what charms me. We should be devout\nand humble, cheerful and serene.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" cried she, \"I know that; but I mean we should go there in as\nproper a manner as possible; not like the scrubs about us.\"\n\n\"You are quite right, my dear,\" returned I, \"and I was going to make the\nsame proposal. The proper manner of going is to go as early as\npossible, to have time for meditation before the sermon begins.\"\n\n\"Phoo! Charles,\" interrupted she, \"all that is very true, but not what I\nwould be at. I mean, we should go there [v]genteelly. You know the\nchurch is two miles off, and I protest I don't like to see my daughters\ntrudging up to their pew all blowzed and red with walking, and looking\nfor all the world as if they had been winners at a [v]smock race. Now,\nmy dear, my proposal is this: there are our two plough-horses, the colt\nthat has been in our family these nine years and his companion,\nBlackberry, that has scarce done an earthly thing for this month past.\nThey are both grown fat and lazy. Why should they not do something as\nwell as we? And let me tell you, when Moses has trimmed them a little,\nthey will cut a very tolerable figure.\"\n\nTo this proposal I objected that walking would be twenty times more\ngenteel than such a paltry conveyance, as Blackberry was wall-eyed, and\nthe colt wanted a tail; that they had never been broken to the rein, but\nhad an hundred vicious tricks, and that we had but one saddle and\n[v]pillion in the whole house. All these objections, however, were\noverruled, so that I was obliged to comply.\n\nThe next morning I perceived them not a little busy in collecting such\nmaterials as might be necessary for the expedition; but as I found it\nwould be a business of time, I walked on to the church before, and they\npromised speedily to follow. I waited near an hour in the reading desk\nfor their arrival; but not finding them come as I expected, I was\nobliged to begin, and went through the service, not without some\nuneasiness at finding them absent.\n\nThis was increased when all was finished, and no appearance of the\nfamily. I therefore walked back by the horseway, which was five miles\nround, though the footway was but two; and when I had got about half-way\nhome, I perceived the procession marching slowly forward toward the\nchurch--my son, my wife, and the two little ones exalted on one horse,\nand my two daughters upon the other. It was then very near dinner-time.\n\nI demanded the cause of their delay, but I soon found, by their looks,\nthat they had met with a thousand misfortunes on the road. The horses\nhad, at first, refused to move from the door, till a neighbor was kind\nenough to beat them forward for about two hundred yards with his cudgel.\nNext, the straps of my wife's pillion broke down, and they were obliged\nto stop to repair them before they could proceed. After that, one of the\nhorses took it into his head to stand still, and neither blows nor\nentreaties could prevail with him to proceed. They were just recovering\nfrom this dismal situation when I found them; but, perceiving everything\nsafe, I own their mortification did not much displease me, as it gave\nme many opportunities of future triumph, and would teach my daughters\nmore humility.\n\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     Describe the neighborhood and the home to which the vicar took his\n     family; also their manner of living. Relate the two attempts the\n     ladies made to appear at church in great style. What happened to\n     raise the hopes of better days for the daughters? How were these\n     hopes encouraged? What superstitions did the wife and daughters\n     believe? Give your opinion of the vicar and of each member of the\n     family.\n\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY READING\n\n     The School for Scandal--Richard Brinsley Sheridan.\n     She Stoops to Conquer--Oliver Goldsmith.\n     Life of Oliver Goldsmith--Washington Irving.\n     David Copperfield--Charles Dickens.\n     Barnaby Rudge--Charles Dickens.\n\n\n\n\n    Some have too much, yet still do crave;\n        I little have, and seek no more.\n    They are but poor, though much they have,\n        And I am rich with little store:\n    They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;\n    They lack, I leave; they pine, I live.\n\n    SIR EDWARD DYER.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE BOY IN THE BALCONY\n\n\nMy special amusement in New York is riding on the elevated railway. It\nis curious to note how little one can see on the crowded sidewalks of\nthis city. It is simply a rush of the same people--hurrying this way or\nthat on the same errands, doing the same shopping or eating at the same\nrestaurants. It is a [v]kaleidoscope with infinite combinations but the\nsame effects. You see it to-day, and it is the same as yesterday.\nOccasionally in the multitude you hit upon a [v]_genre_ specimen, or an\nodd detail, such as a prim little dog that sits upright all day and\nholds in its mouth a cup for pennies for its blind master, or an old\nbookseller, with a grand head and the deliberate motions of a scholar,\nmoldering in a stall--but the general effect is one of sameness and soon\ntires and bewilders.\n\nOnce on the elevated road, however, a new world is opened, full of the\nmost interesting objects. The cars sweep by the upper stories of the\nhouses, and, running never too swiftly to allow observation, disclose\nthe secrets of a thousand homes, and bring to view people and things\nnever dreamed of by the giddy, restless crowd that sends its impatient\nmurmur from the streets below. In a course of several months' pretty\nsteady riding from Twenty-third Street, which is the station for the\nFifth Avenue Hotel, to Rector, which overlooks Wall Street, I have made\nmany acquaintances along the route, and on reaching the city my first\ncuriosity is in their behalf.\n\nOne of these is a boy about six years of age--akin in his fragile body\nand his serious mien--a youngster that is very precious to me. I first\nsaw this boy on a little balcony about three feet by four, projecting\nfrom the window of a poverty-stricken fourth floor. He was leaning over\nthe railing, his white, thoughtful head just clearing the top, holding a\nshort, round stick in his hand. The little fellow made a pathetic\npicture, all alone there above the street, so friendless and desolate,\nand his pale face came between me and my business many a time that day.\nOn going uptown that evening just as night was falling, I saw him still\nat his place, white and patient and silent.\n\nEvery day afterward I saw him there, always with the short stick in his\nhand. Occasionally he would walk around the balcony, rattling the stick\nin a solemn manner against the railing, or poke it across from one\ncorner to another and sit on it. This was the only playing I ever saw\nhim do, and the stick was the only plaything he had. But he was never\nwithout it. His little hand always held it, and I pictured him every\nmorning when he awoke from his joyless sleep, picking up his poor toy\nand going out to his balcony, as other boys go to play. Or perhaps he\nslept with it, as little ones do with dolls and whip-tops.\n\nI could see that the room beyond the window was bare. I never saw any\none in it. The heat must have been terrible, for it could have had no\nventilation. Once I missed the boy from the balcony, but saw his white\nhead moving about slowly in the dusk of the room. Gradually the little\nfellow became a burden to me. I found myself continually thinking of\nhim, and troubled with that remorse that thoughtless people feel even\nfor suffering for which they are not in the slightest degree\nresponsible. Not that I ever saw any suffering on his face. It was\npatient, thoughtful, serious, but with never a sign of petulance. What\nthoughts filled that young head--what contemplation took the place of\nwhat should have been the [v]ineffable upspringing of childish\nemotion--what complaint or questioning were living behind that white\nface--no one could guess. In an older person the face would have\nbetokened a resignation that found peace in the hope of things\nhereafter. In this child, without hope or aspiration, it was sad beyond\nexpression.\n\nOne day as I passed I nodded at him. He made no sign in return. I\nrepeated the nod on another trip, waving my hand at him--but without\navail. At length, in response to an unusually winning exhortation, his\npale lips trembled into a smile, but a smile that was soberness itself.\nWherever I went that day that smile went with me. Wherever I saw\nchildren playing in the parks, or trotting along with their hands\nnestled in strong fingers that guided and protected, I thought of that\ntiny watcher in the balcony--joyless, hopeless, friendless--a desolate\nmite, hanging between the blue sky and the gladsome streets, lifting his\nwistful face now to the peaceful heights of the one, and now looking\nwith grave wonder on the ceaseless tumult of the other. At length--but\nwhy go any further? Why is it necessary to tell that the boy had no\nfather, that his mother was bedridden from his birth, and that his\nsister pasted labels in a drug-house, and he was thus left to himself.\n\nIt is sufficient to say that I went to Coney Island yesterday, and\nwatched the bathers and the children--listened to the crisp, lingering\nmusic of the waves--ate a robust lunch on the pier--wandered in and out\namong the booths, tents, and hub-bub--and that through all these\npleasures I had a companion that enjoyed them with a gravity that I can\nnever hope to [v]emulate, but with a soulfulness that was touching. As I\ncame back in the boat, the breezes singing through the [v]cordage, music\nfloating from the fore-deck, and the sun lighting with its dying rays\nthe shipping that covered the river, there was sitting in front of me a\nvery pale but very happy bit of a boy, open-eyed with wonder, but sober\nand self-contained, clasping tightly in his little fingers a short,\nbattered stick. And finally, whenever I pass by a certain overhanging\nbalcony now, I am sure of a smile from an intimate and esteemed friend\nwho lives there.\n\nHENRY W. GRADY.\n\n\n\n\nARIEL'S TRIUMPH[141-*]\n\n\n     This story is taken from Booth Tarkington's novel, _The Conquest of\n     Canaan_, which gives an admirable description of modern life in an\n     American town. Joe Louden, the hero, and Ariel Tabor, the heroine,\n     were both friendless and, in a way, forlorn. How both of them\n     triumphed over obstacles and won success and happiness is the theme\n     of a book which is notable for keen observation of character and\n     for a quiet and delightful humor.\n\n\nI\n\nAriel had worked all the afternoon over her mother's wedding-gown, and\ntwo hours were required by her toilet for the dance. She curled her hair\nfrizzily, burning it here and there, with a slate-pencil heated over a\nlamp-chimney, and she placed above one ear three or four large\nartificial roses, taken from an old hat of her mother's, which she had\nfound in a trunk in the store-room. Possessing no slippers, she\ncarefully blacked and polished her shoes, which had been clumsily\nresoled, and fastened into the strings of each small rosettes of red\nribbon; after which she practised swinging the train of her skirt until\nshe was proud of her manipulation of it.\n\nShe had no powder, but found in her grandfather's room a lump of\nmagnesia, which he was in the habit of taking for heartburn, and passed\nit over and over her brown face and hands. Then a lingering gaze into\nher small mirror gave her joy at last; she yearned so hard to see\nherself charming that she did see herself so. Admiration came, and she\ntold herself that she was more attractive to look at than she had ever\nbeen in her life, and that, perhaps, at last she might begin to be\nsought for like other girls. The little glass showed a sort of\nprettiness in her thin, unmatured young face; tripping dance-tunes ran\nthrough her head, her feet keeping the time--ah, she did so hope to\ndance often that night! Perhaps--perhaps she might be asked for every\nnumber. And so, wrapping an old water-proof cloak about her, she took\nher grandfather's arm and sallied forth, with high hopes in her beating\nheart.\n\nIt was in the dressing-room that the change began to come. Alone, at\nhome in her own ugly little room, she had thought herself almost\nbeautiful; but here in the brightly lighted chamber crowded with the\nother girls it was different. There was a big [v]cheval-glass at one end\nof the room, and she faced it, when her turn came--for the mirror was\npopular--with a sinking spirit. There was the contrast, like a picture\npainted and framed. The other girls all wore their hair after the\nfashion introduced to Canaan by Mamie Pike the week before, on her\nreturn from a visit to Chicago. None of them had \"crimped\" and none had\nbedecked their tresses with artificial flowers. Her alterations of the\nwedding-dress had not been successful; the skirt was too short in front\nand higher on one side than on the other, showing too plainly the\nheavy-soled shoes, which had lost most of their polish in the walk\nthrough the snow. The ribbon rosettes were fully revealed, and as she\nglanced at their reflection, she heard the words, \"Look at that train\nand those rosettes!\" whispered behind her, and saw in the mirror two\npretty young women turn away with their handkerchiefs over their mouths\nand retreat hurriedly to an alcove. All the feet in the room except\nAriel's were in dainty kid or satin slippers of the color of the dresses\nfrom which they glimmered out, and only Ariel wore a train.\n\nShe went away from the mirror and pretended to be busy with a hanging\nthread in her sleeve.\n\nShe was singularly an alien in the chattering room, although she had\nbeen born and had lived all her life in the town. Perhaps her position\namong the young ladies may be best defined by the remark, generally\ncurrent among them that evening, to the effect that it was \"very sweet\nof Mamie to invite her.\" Ariel was not like the others; she was not of\nthem, and never had been. Indeed, she did not know them very well. Some\nof them nodded to her and gave her a word of greeting pleasantly; all of\nthem whispered about her with wonder and suppressed amusement, but none\ntalked to her. They were not unkindly, but they were young and eager and\nexcited over their own interests,--which were then in the \"gentlemen's\ndressing-room.\"\n\nEach of the other girls had been escorted by a youth of the place, and,\none by one, joining these escorts in the hall outside the door, they\ndescended the stairs, until only Ariel was left. She came down alone\nafter the first dance had begun, and greeted her young hostess's mother\ntimidly. Mrs. Pike--a small, frightened-looking woman with a ruby\nnecklace--answered her absently, and hurried away to see that the\n[v]imported waiters did not steal anything.\n\nAriel sat in one of the chairs against the wall and watched the dancers\nwith a smile of eager and benevolent interest. In Canaan no parents, no\nguardians or aunts were haled forth o' nights to [v]duenna the\njunketings of youth; Mrs. Pike did not reappear, and Ariel sat\nconspicuously alone; there was nothing else for her to do, but it was\nnot an easy matter.\n\nWhen the first dance reached an end, Mamie Pike came to her for a moment\nwith a cheery welcome, and was immediately surrounded by a circle of\nyoung men and women, flushed with dancing, shouting as was their wont,\nlaughing [v]inexplicably over words and phrases and unintelligible\n[v]monosyllables, as if they all belonged to a secret society and these\ncries were symbols of things exquisitely humorous, which only they\nunderstood. Ariel laughed with them more heartily than any other, so\nthat she might seem to be of them and as merry as they were; but almost\nimmediately she found herself outside of the circle, and presently they\nall whirled away into another dance, and she was left alone again.\n\nSo she sat, no one coming near her, through several dances, trying to\nmaintain the smile of delighted interest upon her face, though she felt\nthe muscles of her face beginning to ache with their fixedness, her eyes\ngrowing hot and glazed. All the other girls were provided with partners\nfor every dance, with several young men left over, these latter lounging\n[v]hilariously together in the doorways. Ariel was careful not to glance\ntoward them, but she could not help hating them. Once or twice between\nthe dances she saw Miss Pike speak appealingly to one of the\n[v]superfluous, glancing, at the same time, in her own direction, and\nAriel could see, too, that the appeal proved unsuccessful, until at last\nMamie approached her, leading Norbert Flitcroft, partly by the hand,\npartly by will power. Norbert was an excessively fat boy, and at the\npresent moment looked as patient as the blind. But he asked Ariel if she\nwas \"engaged for the next dance,\" and, Mamie, having flitted away, stood\n[v]disconsolately beside her, waiting for the music to begin. Ariel was\ngrateful for him.\n\n\"I think you must be very good-natured, Mr. Flitcroft,\" she said, with\nan air of [v]raillery.\n\n\"No, I'm not,\" he replied, [v]plaintively. \"Everybody thinks I am,\nbecause I'm fat, and they expect me to do things they never dream of\nasking anybody else to do. I'd like to see 'em even _ask_ 'Gene Bantry\nto go and do some of the things they get me to do! A person isn't\ngood-natured just because he's fat,\" he concluded, morbidly, \"but he\nmight as well be!\"\n\n\"Oh, I meant good-natured,\" she returned, with a sprightly laugh,\n\"because you're willing to waltz with me.\"\n\n\"Oh, well,\" he returned, sighing, \"that's all right.\"\n\nThe orchestra flourished into \"La Paloma\"; he put his arm mournfully\nabout her, and taking her right hand with his left, carried her arm out\nto a rigid right angle, beginning to pump and balance for time. They\nmade three false starts and then got away. Ariel danced badly; she\nhopped and lost the step, but they persevered, bumping against other\ncouples continually. Circling breathlessly into the next room, they\npassed close to a long mirror, in which Ariel saw herself, although in a\nflash, more bitterly contrasted to the others than in the cheval-glass\nof the dressing-room. The clump of roses was flopping about her neck,\nher crimped hair looked frowzy, and there was something terribly wrong\nabout her dress. Suddenly she felt her train to be [v]grotesque, as a\nthing following her in a nightmare.\n\nA moment later she caught her partner making a [v]burlesque face of\nsuffering over her shoulder, and, turning her head quickly, saw for\nwhose benefit he had constructed it. Eugene Bantry, flying expertly by\nwith Mamie, was bestowing upon Mr. Flitcroft a commiserative wink. The\nnext instant she tripped in her train and fell to the floor at Eugene's\nfeet, carrying her partner with her.\n\nThere was a shout of laughter. The young hostess stopped Eugene, who\nwould have gone on, and he had no choice but to stoop to Ariel's\nassistance.\n\n\"It seems to be a habit of mine,\" she said, laughing loudly.\n\nShe did not appear to see the hand he offered, but got on her feet\nwithout help and walked quickly away with Norbert, who proceeded to live\nup to the character he had given himself.\n\n\"Perhaps we had better not try it again,\" she laughed.\n\n\"Well, I should think not,\" he returned with the frankest gloom. With\nthe air of conducting her home, he took her to the chair against the\nwall whence he had brought her. There his responsibility for her seemed\nto cease. \"Will you excuse me?\" he asked, and there was no doubt he felt\nthat he had been given more than his share that evening, even though he\nwas fat.\n\n\"Yes, indeed.\" Her laughter was continuous. \"I should think you _would_\nbe glad to get rid of me after that. Ha, ha, ha! Poor Mr. Flitcroft, you\nknow you are!\"\n\nIt was the deadly truth, and the fat one, saying, \"Well, if you'll\nexcuse me now,\" hurried away with a step which grew lighter as the\ndistance from her increased. Arrived at the haven of a far doorway, he\nmopped his brow and shook his head grimly in response to frequent\nrallyings.\n\nAriel sat through more dances, interminable dances and intermissions, in\nthat same chair, in which it began to seem she was to live out the rest\nof her life. Now and then, if she thought people were looking at her as\nthey passed, she broke into a laugh and nodded slightly, as if still\namused over her mishap.\n\nAfter a long time she rose, and laughing cheerfully to Mr. Flitcroft,\nwho was standing in the doorway and replied with a wan smile, stepped\nout quickly into the hall, where she almost ran into her great-uncle,\nJonas Tabor. He was going toward the big front doors with Judge Pike,\nhaving just come out of the latter's library, down the hall.\n\nJonas was breathing heavily and was shockingly pale, though his eyes\nwere very bright. He turned his back upon his grandniece sharply and\nwent out of the door. Ariel reentered the room whence she had come. She\nlaughed again to her fat friend as she passed him, went to the window\nand looked out. The porch seemed deserted and was faintly illuminated by\na few Japanese lanterns. She sprang out, dropped upon the divan, and\nburying her face in her hands, cried heart-brokenly.\n\nPresently she felt something alive touch her foot, and, her breath\ncatching with alarm, she started to rise. A thin hand, issuing from a\nshabby sleeve, had stolen out between two of the green tubs and was\npressing upon one of her shoes.\n\n\"Sh!\" warned a voice. \"Don't make a noise!\"\n\nThe warning was not needed; she had recognized the hand and sleeve\ninstantly. It was her playmate and lifelong friend, Joe Louden.\n\n\"What were you going on about?\" he asked angrily.\n\n\"Nothing,\" she answered. \"I wasn't. You must go away; you know the Judge\ndoesn't like you.\"\n\n\"What were you crying about?\" interrupted the uninvited guest.\n\n\"Nothing, I tell you!\" she repeated, the tears not ceasing to gather in\nher eyes. \"I wasn't.\"\n\n\"I want to know what it was,\" he insisted. \"Didn't the fools ask you to\ndance! Ah! You needn't tell me. That's it. I've been here, watching, for\nthe last three dances and you weren't in sight till you came to the\nwindow. Well, what do you care about that for!\"\n\n\"I don't,\" she answered. \"I don't!\" Then suddenly, without being able to\nprevent it, she sobbed.\n\n\"No,\" he said, gently, \"I see you don't. And you let yourself be a fool\nbecause there are a lot of fools in there.\"\n\nShe gave way, all at once, to a gust of sorrow and bitterness; she bent\nfar over and caught his hand and laid it against her wet cheek. \"Oh,\nJoe,\" she whispered, brokenly, \"I think we have such hard lives, you and\nI! It doesn't seem right--while we're so young! Why can't we be like the\nothers? Why can't we have some of the fun?\"\n\nHe withdrew his hand, with the embarrassment and shame he would have\nfelt had she been a boy.\n\n\"Get out!\" he said, feebly.\n\nShe did not seem to notice, but, still stooping, rested her elbows on\nher knees and her face in her hands. \"I try so hard to have some fun, to\nbe like the rest--and it's always a mistake, always, always, always!\"\nShe rocked herself slightly from side to side. \"I'm a fool, it's the\ntruth, or I wouldn't have come to-night. I want to be attractive--I want\nto be in things. I want to laugh as they do--\"\n\n\"To laugh, just to laugh, and not because there's something funny?\"\n\n\"Yes, I do, I do! And to know how to dress and to wear my hair--there\nmust be some place where you can learn those things. I've never had any\none to show me! It's only lately I've cared, but I'm seventeen, Joe--\"\nShe faltered, came to a stop, and her whole body was shaken with sobs.\n\"I hate myself so for crying--for everything!\"\n\nJust then a colored waiter, smiling graciously, came out upon the porch,\nbearing a tray of salad, hot oysters, and coffee. At his approach, Joe\nhad fallen prone on the floor in the shadow. Ariel shook her head to the\nproffer of refreshments.\n\n\"I don't want any,\" she murmured.\n\nThe waiter turned away in pity and was reentering the window when a\npassionate whisper fell upon his ear as well as upon Ariel's.\n\n_\"Take it!\"_\n\n\"Ma'am?\" said the waiter.\n\n\"I've changed my mind,\" she replied quickly. The waiter, his elation\nrestored, gave of his viands with the [v]superfluous bounty loved by his\nrace when distributing the product of the wealthy.\n\nWhen he had gone, \"Give me everything that's hot,\" said Joe. \"You can\nkeep the salad.\"\n\n\"I couldn't eat it or anything else,\" she answered, thrusting the plate\nbetween the palms.\n\nFor a time there was silence. From within the house came the continuous\nbabble of voices and laughter, the clink of [v]cutlery on china. The\nyoung people spent a long time over their supper. By and by the waiter\nreturned to the veranda, deposited a plate of colored ices upon Ariel's\nknees with a noble gesture, and departed.\n\n\"No ice for me,\" said Joe.\n\n\"Won't you please go now?\" she entreated.\n\n\"It wouldn't be good manners,\" he joked. \"They might think I only came\nfor the supper.\"\n\n\"Give me the dish and coffee-cup,\" she whispered, impatiently. \"Suppose\nthe waiter came and had to look for them? Quick!\"\n\nA bottle-shaped figure appeared in the window, and she had no time to\ntake the plate and cup which were being pushed through the palm-leaves.\nShe whispered a word of warning, and the dishes were hurriedly withdrawn\nas Norbert Flitcroft, wearing a solemn expression of injury, came out\nupon the veranda.\n\n\"They want you. Some one's come for you.\"\n\n\"Oh, is grandfather waiting?\" She rose.\n\n\"It isn't your grandfather that has come for you,\" answered the fat one,\nslowly. \"It is Eskew Arp. Something's happened.\"\n\nShe looked at him for a moment, beginning to tremble violently, her eyes\ngrowing wide with fright.\n\n\"Is my grandfather--is he sick?\"\n\n\"You'd better go and see. Old Eskew's waiting in the hall. He'll tell\nyou.\"\n\nShe was by him and through the window instantly. Mr. Arp was waiting in\nthe hall, talking in a low voice to Mrs. Pike.\n\n\"Your grandfather's all right,\" he told the frightened girl quickly. \"He\nsent me for you. Just hurry and get your things.\"\n\nShe was with him again in a moment, and seizing the old man's arm,\nhurried him down the steps and toward the street almost at a run.\n\n\"You're not telling me the truth,\" she said. \"You're not telling me the\ntruth!\"\n\n\"Nothing has happened to Roger Tabor,\" panted Mr. Arp. \"We're going this\nway, not that.\" They had come to the gate, and as she turned to the\nright he pulled her sharply to the left.\n\n\"Where are we going?\" she demanded.\n\n\"To your Uncle Jonas's.\"\n\n\"Why?\" she cried, in supreme astonishment. \"What do you want to take me\nthere for? Don't you know that he doesn't like me--that he has stopped\nspeaking to me?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the old man, grimly; \"he has stopped speaking to everybody.\"\n\nThese startling words told Ariel that her uncle was dead. They did not\ntell her what she was soon to learn--that he had died rich, and that,\nfailing other heirs, she and her grandfather had inherited his fortune.\n\n\nII\n\nIt was Sunday in Canaan--Sunday some years later. Joe Louden was sitting\nin the shade of Main Street bridge, smoking a cigar. He was alone; he\nwas always alone, for he had been away a long time, and had made few\nfriends since his return.\n\nA breeze wandered up the river and touched the leaves and grass to life.\nThe young corn, deep green in the bottom-land, moved with a [v]staccato\nflurry; the stirring air brought a smell of blossoms; the distance took\non faint lavender hazes which blended the outlines of the fields, lying\nlike square coverlets on the long slope of rising ground beyond the\nbottom-land, and empurpled the blue woodland shadows of the groves.\n\nFor the first time it struck Joe that it was a beautiful day. He opened\nhis eyes and looked about him whimsically. Then he shook his head again.\nA lady had just emerged from the bridge and was coming toward him.\n\nIt would be hard to get at Joe's first impressions of her. We can find\nconveyance for only the broadest and heaviest. At first sight of her,\nthere was preeminently the shock of seeing anything so exquisite in his\naccustomed world. For she was exquisite; she was that, and much more,\nfrom the ivory [v]ferrule of the parasol she carried, to the light and\nslender foot-print she left in the dust of the road. Joe knew at once\nthat nothing like her had ever before been seen in Canaan.\n\nHe had little knowledge of the millinery arts, and he needed none to see\nthe harmony of the things she wore. Her dress and hat and gloves and\nparasol showed a pale lavender overtint like that which he had seen\noverspreading the western slope. Under the summer hat her very dark hair\nswept back over the temples with something near trimness in the extent\nto which it was withheld from being fluffy. It may be that this approach\nto trimness, after all, was the true key to the mystery of the lady who\nappeared to Joe.\n\nShe was to pass him--so he thought--and as she drew nearer, his breath\ncame faster. And then he realized that something wonderful was happening\nto him.\n\nShe had stopped directly in front of him; stopped and stood looking at\nhim with her clear eyes. He did not lift his own to her; a great and\nunaccountable shyness beset him. He had risen and removed his hat,\ntrying not to clear his throat--his everyday sense urging upon him that\nshe was a stranger in Canaan who had lost her way.\n\n\"Can I--can I--\" he stammered, blushing, meaning to finish with \"direct\nyou,\" or \"show you the way.\"\n\nThen he looked at her again and saw what seemed to him the strangest\nsight of life. The lady's eyes had filled with tears--filled and\noverfilled.\n\n\"I'll sit here on the log with you,\" she said. \"You don't need to dust\nit!\" she went on, tremulously. And even then he did not know who she\nwas.\n\nThere was a silence, for if the dazzled young man could have spoken at\nall, he could have found nothing to say; and, perhaps, the lady would\nnot trust her own voice just then. His eyes had fallen again; he was\ntoo dazed, and, in truth, too panic-stricken now, to look at her. She\nwas seated beside him and had handed him her parasol in a little way\nwhich seemed to imply that, of course, he had reached for it, so that it\nwas to be seen how used she was to have all such things done for her. He\nsaw that he was expected to furl the dainty thing; he pressed the catch\nand let down the top timidly, as if fearing to break or tear it; and, as\nit closed, held near his face, he caught a very faint, sweet, spicy\n[v]emanation from it like wild roses and cinnamon.\n\n\"Do you know me?\" asked the lady at last.\n\nFor answer he could only stare at her, dumfounded; he lifted an unsteady\nhand toward her appealingly. Her manner underwent an April change. She\ndrew back lightly; he was favored with the most delicious low laugh he\nhad ever heard.\n\n\"I'm glad you're the same, Joe!\" she said. \"I'm glad you're the same,\nand I'm glad I've changed, though that isn't why you have forgotten me.\"\n\nHe arose uncertainly and took three or four backward steps from her. She\nsat before him, radiant with laughter, the loveliest creature he had\never seen; but between him and this charming vision there swept, through\nthe warm, scented June air, the dim picture of a veranda all in darkness\nand the faint music of violins.\n\n_\"Ariel Tabor!\"_\n\n\"Isn't it about time you were recognizing me?\" she said.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSensations were rare in staid, dull, commonplace Canaan, but this fine\nSunday morning the town was treated to one of the most memorable\nsensations in its history. The town, all except Joe Louden, had known\nfor weeks that Ariel Tabor was coming home from abroad, but it had not\nseen her. And when she walked along the street with Joe, past the Sunday\nchurch-returning crowds, it is not quite truth to say that all except\nthe children came to a dead halt, but it is not very far from it. The\nair was thick with subdued exclamations and whisperings.\n\nJoe had not known her. The women recognized her, [v]infallibly, at first\nsight; even those who had quite forgotten her. And the women told their\nmen. Hence the un-Sunday-like demeanor of the procession, for few towns\nheld it more unseemly to stand and stare at passers-by, especially on\nthe Sabbath. But Ariel Tabor had returned.\n\nA low but increasing murmur followed the two as they proceeded. It ran\nup the street ahead of them; people turned to look back and paused, so\nthat Ariel and Joe had to walk round one or two groups. They had, also,\nto walk round Norbert Flitcroft, which was very like walking round a\ngroup. Mr. Flitcroft was one of the few (he was waddling home alone)\nwho did not identify Miss Tabor, and her effect upon him was\nextraordinary. His mouth opened and he gazed [v]stodgily, his widening\neyes like sun-dogs coming out of a fog. Mr. Flitcroft experienced a few\nmoments of trance; came out of it stricken through and through; felt\nnervously of his tie; resolutely fell in behind, and followed, at a\ndistance of some forty paces, determined to learn what household this\nheavenly visitor honored, and thrilling with the intention to please\nthat same household with his own presence as soon and as often as\npossible.\n\nAriel flushed a little when she perceived the extent of their\nconspicuousness; but it was not the blush that Joe remembered had\nreddened the tanned skin of old; for her brownness had gone long ago,\nthough it had not left her merely pink and white. There was a delicate\nrosiness rising from her cheeks to her temples, as the earliest dawn\nrises.\n\nJoe kept trying to realize that this lady of wonder was Ariel Tabor, but\nhe could not; he could not connect the shabby Ariel, whom he had treated\nas one boy treats another, with this young woman of the world. Although\nhe had only a dim perception of the staring and whispering which greeted\nand followed them, Ariel, of course, was thoroughly aware of it, though\nthe only sign she gave was the slight blush, which very soon\ndisappeared.\n\nAriel paused before the impressive front of Judge Pike's large mansion.\nJoe's face expressed surprise.\n\n\"Don't you know?\" she said. \"I'm staying here. Judge Pike has charge of\nall my property. Come to see me this afternoon.\"\n\nWith a last charming smile, Ariel turned and left the dazed young man on\nthe sidewalk.\n\nThat walk was but the beginning of her triumph. Judge Pike's of a summer\nafternoon was the swirling social center of Canaan, but on that\nparticular Sunday afternoon every unattached male in the town who\npossessed the privilege of calling at the big house appeared. They\nfilled the chairs in the wide old-fashioned hall where Ariel received\nthem, and overpoured on the broad steps of the old-fashioned spiral\nstaircase, where Mr. Flitcroft, on account of his size, occupied two\nsteps and a portion of a third. And Ariel was the center of it all!\nBOOTH TARKINGTON.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     I. Describe Ariel's pitiful attempts at beautifying herself when\n     dressing for the dance. When did she realize her failure? How were\n     her anticipations of the dance realized? What kind of girl was\n     Mamie Pike? Give reasons for your answer. At what point were you\n     most sorry for Ariel? With what startling news did the evening end?\n\n     II. Give an account of the meeting between the old playmates.\n     Describe the scenes as they walked along the street. What do you\n     think was the greatest part of Ariel's \"triumph?\" Was she spoiled\n     by her wealth? How do you know?\n\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY READING\n\n     Little Women--Louisa M. Alcott.\n     Pride and Prejudice--Jane Austen.\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[141-*] Copyright by Harper & Brothers.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CLOUD\n\n\n    I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,\n        From the seas and the streams;\n    I bear light shade for the leaves when laid\n        In their noonday dreams.\n    From my wings are shaken the dews that waken\n        The sweet buds every one,\n    When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,\n        As she dances about the sun.\n    I wield the flail of the lashing hail,\n        And whiten the green plains under;\n    And then again I dissolve it in rain;\n        And laugh as I pass in thunder.\n\n    I sift the snow on the mountains below,\n        And their great pines groan aghast;\n    And all the night 'tis my pillow white,\n        While I sleep in the arms of the blast.\n    Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers\n        Lightning, my pilot, sits;\n    In a cavern under is fettered the thunder;\n        It struggles and howls at fits.\n    Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,\n        This pilot is guiding me,\n    Lured by the love of the [v]genii that move\n        In the depths of the purple sea;\n    Over the rills and the crags and the hills,\n        Over the lakes and the plains,\n    Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream.\n        The spirit he loves remains;\n    And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile,\n        Whilst he is dissolving in rains.\n\n    I am the daughter of the earth and water,\n        And the nursling of the sky;\n    I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;\n        I change, but I cannot die.\n    For after the rain, when, with never a stain,\n        The pavilion of heaven is bare,\n    And the winds and sunbeams, with their convex gleams,\n        Build up the blue dome of air,--\n    I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,\n        And out of the caverns of rain,\n        I rise and unbuild it again.\n\n    PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     Make a list of the things the cloud does. Read aloud the lines in\n     which the poet tells of each of these. Why is lightning spoken of\n     as the pilot of the cloud? Where does it sit? Where is the thunder?\n     How is the cloud \"the daughter of the earth and water\"? How \"a\n     nursling of the sky\"? Explain \"I change, but I cannot die.\" A\n     cenotaph is a memorial built to one who is buried elsewhere. Why\n     should the clear sky be the cloud's cenotaph? How does the\n     reappearing of the cloud unbuild it?\n\n\n\n\nNEW ENGLAND WEATHER\n\n\nThere is a [v]sumptuous variety about the New England weather that\ncompels the stranger's admiration--and regret. The weather is always\ndoing something there; always attending strictly to business; always\ngetting up new designs and trying them on the people to see how they\nwill go. But it gets through more business in spring than in any other\nseason. In the spring I have counted one hundred and thirty-six\ndifferent kinds of weather within four and twenty hours. It was I who\nmade the fame and fortune of the man who had that marvelous collection\nof weather on exhibition at the Centennial, which so astounded the\nforeigners. He was going to travel around the world and get specimens\nfrom all climes. I said, \"Don't do it; just come to New England on a\nfavorable spring day.\" I told him what we could do in the way of style,\nvariety, and quantity. Well, he came, and he made his collection in four\ndays. As to variety, he confessed that he got hundreds of kinds of\nweather that he had never heard of before. And as to quantity, after he\nhad picked out and discarded all that was blemished in any way, he not\nonly had weather enough, but weather to spare, weather to hire out,\nweather to sell, weather to deposit, weather to invest, and weather to\ngive to the poor.\n\nOld Probabilities has a mighty reputation for accurate prophecy and\nthoroughly deserves it. You take up the paper and observe how crisply\nand confidently he checks off what to-day's weather is going to be on\nthe Pacific, down South, in the Middle States, in the Wisconsin region.\nSee him sail along in the joy and pride of his power till he gets to New\nEngland, and then see his tail drop. _He_ doesn't know what the weather\nis going to be in New England. Well, he mulls over it, and by and by he\ngets out something like this: \"Probable northeast to southwest winds,\nvarying to the southward and westward and eastward and points between;\nhigh and low barometer, swapping around from place to place; probable\nareas of rain, snow, hail, and drought, succeeded or preceded by\nearthquakes with thunder and lightning.\" Then he jots down this\npostscript from his wandering mind, to cover accidents: \"But it is\npossible that the program may be wholly changed in the meantime.\" Yes,\none of the brightest gems in the New England weather is the dazzling\nuncertainty of it. There is certain to be plenty of weather, but you\nnever can tell which end of the procession is going to move first.\n\nBut, after all, there are at least two or three things about that\nweather (or, if you please, the effects produced by it) which we\nresidents would not like to part with. If we hadn't our bewitching\nautumn foliage, we should still have to credit the weather with one\nfeature which compensates for all its bullying vagaries--the ice storm.\nEvery bough and twig is strung with ice beads, frozen dewdrops, and the\nwhole tree sparkles cold and white like the [v]Shah of Persia's diamond\nplume. Then the wind waves the branches, and the sun comes out and turns\nall those myriads of beads and drops to prisms that glow and burn and\nflash with all manner of colored fires; which change and change again,\nwith inconceivable rapidity, from blue to red, from red to green, and\ngreen to gold. The tree becomes a spraying fountain, a very explosion of\ndazzling jewels, and it stands there the [v]acme, the climax, the\nsupremest possibility in art or nature, of bewildering, intoxicating,\nintolerable magnificence. One cannot make the words too strong. Month\nafter month I lay up hate and grudge against the New England weather;\nbut when the ice storm comes at last I say: \"There, I forgive you now;\nyou are the most enchanting weather in the world.\"\n\nMARK TWAIN.\n\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     Mark Twain's humor was noted for exaggeration. Find examples of\n     exaggeration in this selection. Old Probabilities was the name\n     signed by a weather prophet of the period. How was he affected by\n     New England weather? At what point did Twain drop his fun and begin\n     a beautiful tribute to a New England landscape? How does the\n     tribute close?\n\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY READING\n\n     Three Men in a Boat--Jerome K. Jerome.\n     The House Boat on the Styx--John Kendrick Bangs.\n\n[Illustration: Silence Deep and White]\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST SNOWFALL\n\n\n    The snow had begun in the gloaming,\n      And busily all the night\n    Had been heaping fields and highway\n      With a silence deep and white.\n\n    Every pine and fir and hemlock\n      Wore ermine too dear for an earl,\n    And the poorest twig on the elm tree\n      Was ridged inch deep with pearl.\n\n    From sheds new roofed with Carrara\n      Came chanticleer's muffled crow,\n    The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down\n      And still fluttered down the snow.\n\n    I stood and watched by the window\n      That noiseless work of the sky,\n    And the sudden flurries of snowbirds,\n      Like brown leaves whirling by.\n\n    I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn\n      Where a little headstone stood;\n    How the flakes were folding it gently,\n      As did robins the babes in the wood.\n\n    Up spoke our own little Mabel,\n      Saying, \"Father, who makes it snow?\"\n    And I told of the good All-Father\n      Who cares for us here below.\n\n    Again I looked at the snowfall,\n      And thought of the leaden sky\n    That arched o'er our first great sorrow,\n      When that mound was heaped so high.\n\n    I remembered the gradual patience\n      That fell from that cloud like snow,\n    Flake by flake, healing and hiding\n      The scar on our deep-plunged woe.\n\n    And again to the child I whispered,\n      \"The snow that husheth all,\n    Darling, the merciful Father\n      Alone can make it fall.\"\n\n    Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her;\n      And she, kissing back, could not know\n    That _my_ kiss was given to her sister,\n      Folded close under deepening snow.\n\n    JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     When did the snow begin? How do you know? What time is it now? Is\n     snow still falling? Read the lines that show this. Of what sorrow\n     does the snow remind the poet? Read the lines which show that peace\n     had come to the parents. Make a list of the comparisons (or\n     similes) used by the poet. Read the lines which show that the storm\n     was a quiet one. Which lines do you like best?\n\n\n\n\nOLD EPHRAIM\n\n\nFor some days after our arrival on the Bighorn range we did not come\nacross any grizzly. There were plenty of black-tail deer in the woods,\nand we encountered a number of bands of cow and calf elk, or of young\nbulls; but after several days' hunting, we were still without any game\nworth taking home, and we had seen no sign of grizzly, which was the\ngame we were especially anxious to kill, for neither Merrifield nor I\nhad ever seen a bear alive.\n\nSometimes we hunted in company; sometimes each of us went out alone. One\nday we had separated; I reached camp early in the afternoon, and waited\na couple of hours before Merrifield put in an appearance.\n\nAt last I heard a shout, and he came in sight galloping at speed down an\nopen glade, and waving his hat, evidently having had good luck; and when\nhe reined in his small, wiry cow-pony, we saw that he had packed behind\nhis saddle the fine, glossy pelt of a black bear. Better still, he\nannounced that he had been off about ten miles to a perfect tangle of\nravines and valleys where bear sign was very thick; and not of black\nbear either, but of grizzly. The black bear (the only one we got on the\nmountains) he had run across by accident.\n\nMerrifield's tale made me decide to shift camp at once, and go over to\nthe spot where the bear-tracks were plentiful. Next morning we were off,\nand by noon pitched camp by a clear brook, in a valley with steep,\nwooded sides.\n\nThat afternoon we again went out, and I shot a fine bull elk. I came\nhome alone toward nightfall, walking through a reach of burnt forest,\nwhere there was nothing but charred tree-trunks and black mold. When\nnearly through it I came across the huge, half-human footprints of a\ngreat grizzly, which must have passed by within a few minutes. It gave\nme rather an eery feeling in the silent, lonely woods, to see for the\nfirst time the unmistakable proofs that I was in the home of the mighty\nlord of the wilderness.\n\nThat evening we almost had a visit from one of the animals we were\nafter. Several times we had heard at night the musical calling of the\nbull elk--a sound to which no writer has as yet done justice. This\nparticular night, when we were in bed and the fire was smoldering, we\nwere roused by a ruder noise--a kind of grunting or roaring whine,\nanswered by the frightened snorts of the ponies. It was a bear which had\nevidently not seen the fire, as it came from behind the bank, and had\nprobably been attracted by the smell of the horses. After it made out\nwhat we were, it stayed round a short while, again uttered its peculiar\nroaring grunt, and went off; we had seized our rifles and had run out\ninto the woods, but in the darkness could see nothing; indeed it was\nrather lucky we did not stumble across the bear, as he could have made\nshort work of us when we were at such a disadvantage.\n\nNext day we went off on a long tramp through the woods and along the\nsides of the canyons. There were plenty of berry bushes growing in\nclusters; and all around these there were fresh tracks of bear. But the\ngrizzly is also a flesh-eater, and has a great liking for [v]carrion. On\nvisiting the place where Merrifield had killed the black bear, we found\nthat the grizzlies had been there before us, and had utterly devoured\nthe carcass, with cannibal relish. Hardly a scrap was left, and we\nturned our steps toward where lay the bull elk I had killed. It was\nquite late in the afternoon when we reached the place.\n\nA grizzly had evidently been at the carcass during the preceding night,\nfor his great footprints were in the ground all around it, and the\ncarcass itself was gnawed and torn, and partially covered with earth and\nleaves--the grizzly has a curious habit of burying all of his prey that\nhe does not at the moment need.\n\nThe forest was composed mainly of what are called ridge-pole pines,\nwhich grow close together, and do not branch out until the stems are\nthirty or forty feet from the ground. Beneath these trees we walked over\na carpet of pine needles, upon which our moccasined feet made no sound.\nThe woods seemed vast and lonely, and their silence was broken now and\nthen by the strange noises always to be heard in the great pine\nforests.\n\nWe climbed up along the trunk of a dead tree that had toppled over until\nits upper branches struck in the limb crotch of another, which thus\nsupported it at an angle half-way in its fall. When above the ground far\nenough to prevent the bear's smelling us, we sat still to wait for his\napproach; until, in the gathering gloom, we could no longer see the\nsights of our rifles. It was useless to wait longer; and we clambered\ndown and stole out to the edge of the woods. The forest here covered one\nside of a steep, almost canyon-like ravine, whose other side was bare\nexcept for rock and sage-brush. Once out from under the trees there was\nstill plenty of light, although the sun had set, and we crossed over\nsome fifty yards to the opposite hillside, and crouched down under a\nbush to see if perchance some animal might not also leave the cover.\n\nAgain we waited quietly in the growing dusk until the pine trees in our\nfront blended into one dark, frowning mass. At last, as we were rising\nto leave, we heard the sound of the breaking of a dead stick, from the\nspot where we knew the carcass lay. \"Old Ephraim\" had come back to the\ncarcass. A minute afterward, listening with strained ears, we heard him\nbrush by some dry twigs. It was entirely too dark to go in after him;\nbut we made up our minds that on the morrow he should be ours.\n\nEarly next morning we were over at the elk carcass, and, as we expected,\nfound that the bear had eaten his fill of it during the night. His\ntracks showed him to be an immense fellow, and were so fresh that we\ndoubted if he had left long before we arrived; and we made up our minds\nto follow him up and try to find his lair. The bears that lived on these\nmountains had evidently been little disturbed; indeed, the Indians and\nmost of the white hunters are rather chary of meddling with \"Old\nEphraim,\" as the mountain men style the grizzly. The bears thus seemed\nto have very little fear of harm, and we thought it likely that the bed\nof the one who had fed on the elk would not be far away.\n\nMy companion was a skillful tracker, and we took up the trail at once.\nFor some distance it led over the soft, yielding carpet of moss and pine\nneedles, and the footprints were quite easily made out, although we\ncould follow them but slowly; for we had, of course, to keep a sharp\nlook-out ahead and around us as we walked noiselessly on in the somber\nhalf-light always prevailing under the great pine trees.\n\nAfter going a few hundred yards the tracks turned off on a well-beaten\npath made by the elk; the woods were in many places cut up by these game\ntrails, which had often become as distinct as ordinary footpaths. The\nbeast's footprints were perfectly plain in the dust, and he had lumbered\nalong up the path until near the middle of the hillside, where the\nground broke away and there were hollows and boulders. Here there had\nbeen a windfall, and the dead trees lay among the living, piled across\none another in all directions; while between and around them sprouted up\na thick growth of young spruces and other evergreens. The trail turned\noff into the tangled thicket, within which it was almost certain we\nshould find our quarry. We could still follow the tracks, by the slight\nscrapes of the claws on the bark, or by the bent and broken twigs; and\nwe advanced with noiseless caution.\n\nWhen in the middle of the thicket we crossed what was almost a\nbreastwork of fallen logs, and Merrifield, who was leading, passed by\nthe upright stem of a great pine. As soon as he was by it, he sank\nsuddenly on one knee, turning half round, his face fairly aflame with\nexcitement; and as I strode past him, with my rifle at the ready, there,\nnot ten steps off, was the great bear, slowly rising from his bed among\nthe young spruces. He had heard us, but apparently hardly knew exactly\nwhere or what we were, for he reared up on his haunches sideways to us.\n\nThen he saw us and dropped down again on all-fours, the shaggy hair on\nhis neck and shoulders seeming to bristle as he turned toward us. As he\nsank down on his fore feet, I had raised the rifle; his head was bent\nslightly down, and when I saw the top of the white bead fairly between\nhis small, glittering, evil eyes, I pulled trigger. Half-rising up, the\nhuge beast fell over on his side in the death throes, the ball having\ngone into his brain, striking as fairly between the eyes as if the\ndistance had been measured.\n\nThe whole thing was over in twenty seconds from the time I caught sight\nof the game; indeed, it was over so quickly that the grizzly did not\nhave time to show fight. He was a monstrous fellow, much larger than any\nI have seen since. As near as we could estimate, he must have weighed\nabove twelve hundred pounds.\n\nTHEODORE ROOSEVELT.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     Theodore Roosevelt, President of the United States from 1901 to\n     1909, was one of the greatest hunters of the present generation. As\n     he was in weak health as a young man, he went West and lived for\n     some time the life of a ranchman and hunter, killing much wild\n     game. In later years he went on a great hunting trip to Africa, and\n     finally explored the wilds of the Amazon river, in South America,\n     in search of game and adventure. \"Old Ephraim\" narrates one of his\n     earlier hunting experiences, and is taken from the book, _The\n     Hunting Trips of a Ranchman_.\n\n     Give an account of the capture of the grizzly bear. Why did not\n     Merrifield fire? Compare the weight of the bear with that of the\n     average cow or horse. Tell of any bear hunt of which you know.\n\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY READING\n\n     Watchers of the Trail--Charles C. D. Roberts.\n     Monarch, the Bear--Ernest Thompson Seton.\n     Wild Animals I Have Known--Ernest Thompson Seton.\n     African Game Trails--Theodore Roosevelt.\n\n\n\n\nMIDWINTER\n\n\n    The speckled sky is dim with snow,\n    The light flakes falter and fall slow;\n    Athwart the hill-top, rapt and pale,\n    Silently drops a silvery veil;\n    And all the valley is shut in\n    By flickering curtains gray and thin.\n\n    But cheerily the chickadee\n    Singeth to me on fence and tree;\n    The snow sails round him as he sings,\n    White as the down of angels' wings.\n\n    I watch the slow flakes as they fall\n    On bank and briar and broken wall;\n    Over the orchard, waste and brown,\n    All noiselessly they settle down,\n    Tipping the apple-boughs, and each\n    Light quivering twig of plum and peach.\n\n    On turf and curb and bower-roof\n    The snow-storm spreads its ivory woof;\n    It paves with pearl the garden-walk;\n    And lovingly round tattered stalk\n    And shivering stem its magic weaves\n    A mantle fair as lily-leaves.\n\n    All day it snows: the sheeted post\n    Gleams in the dimness like a ghost;\n    All day the blasted oak has stood\n    A muffled wizard of the wood;\n    Garland and airy cap adorn\n    The sumach and the wayside thorn,\n    And clustering spangles lodge and shine\n    In the dark tresses of the pine.\n\n    The ragged bramble, dwarfed and old,\n    Shrinks like a beggar in the cold;\n    In [v]surplice white the cedar stands,\n    And blesses him with priestly hands.\n\n    Still cheerily the chickadee\n    Singeth to me on fence and tree:\n    But in my inmost ear is heard\n    The music of a holier bird;\n    And heavenly thoughts as soft and white\n    As snow-flakes on my soul alight,\n    Clothing with love my lonely heart,\n    Healing with peace each bruised part,\n    Till all my being seems to be\n    Transfigured by their purity.\n\n    JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     When did this storm begin? Read lines which show this. Give reasons\n     for your answer. What comparisons are used by the poet in\n     describing the snowfall? Which comparison do you like best? What\n     healing thought does the storm bring to the poet? Compare it with\n     the same thought in _The First Snowfall_.\n\n\n\n\nA GEORGIA FOX HUNT[177-*]\n\n\nI\n\nIn the season of 1863, the Rockville Hunting Club, which had been newly\norganized, was at the height of its success. It was composed of men too\nold to go in the army, and of young men who were not old enough, or who,\nfrom one cause and another, were exempted from military service.\nOstensibly, its object was to encourage the noble sport of fox-hunting\nand to bind by closer ties the congenial souls whose love for horse and\nhound and horn bordered on enthusiasm. This, I say, was its\n[v]ostensible object, for it seems to me, looking back upon that\nterrible time, that the main purpose of the association was to devise\nnew methods of forgetting the sickening [v]portents of disaster that\nwere even then thick in the air. Any suggestion or plan calculated to\nrelieve the mind from the weight of the horror of those desperate days\nwas eagerly seized upon and utilized. With the old men and the fledgling\nboys in the neighborhood of Rockville, the desire to escape momentarily\nthe realities of the present took the shape of fox-hunting and other\ncongenial amusements. With the women--ah well! Heaven only knows how\nthey sat dumb and silent over their great anguish and grief, cheering\nthe helpless and comforting and succoring the sick and wounded. It was\na mystery to me then, and it is a mystery to me now.\n\nAbout the first of November the writer hereof received a long-expected\nletter from Tom Tunison, the secretary of the club, who was on a visit\nto Monticello. It was brief and breezy.\n\n\"Young man,\" he wrote, \"they are coming. They are going to give us a\n[v]ruffle. Their dogs are good, but they lack form and finish as well as\ndiscipline--plenty of bottom but no confidence. I haven't hesitated to\nput up our horn as the prize. Get the boys together and tell them about\nit, and see that our own eleven are in fighting trim. You won't believe\nit, but Sue, Herndon, Kate, and Walthall are coming with the party; and\nthe fair de Compton, who set all the Monticello boys wild last year when\nshe got back from Macon, vows and declares she is coming, too. Remember\nthe 15th. Be prepared.\"\n\nI took in the situation at a glance. Tom, in his reckless style, had\nbantered a party of Jasper county men as to the superiority of their\ndogs, and had even offered to give them an opportunity to gain the\nsilver-mounted horn won by the Rockville club in Hancock county the year\nbefore. The Jasper county men, who were really breeding some excellent\ndogs, accepted the challenge, and Tom had invited them to share the\nhospitality of the plantation home called \"Bachelors' Hall.\"\n\nIf the truth must be confessed, I was not at all grieved at the\nannouncement in Tom's letter, apart from the agreeable change in the\nsocial atmosphere that would result from the presence of ladies in\n\"Bachelors' Hall.\" I was eagerly anxious to test the mettle of a\nfavorite hound--Flora--whose care and training had cost me a great deal\nof time and trouble. Although it was her first season in the field, she\nhad already become the pet and pride of the Rockville club, the members\nof which were not slow to sound her praises. Flora was an experiment.\nShe was the result of a cross between the Henry hound (called in Georgia\nthe \"Birdsong dog,\" in honor of the most successful breeder) and a\nMaryland hound. She was a grand-daughter of the famous Hodo and in\neverything except her color (she was white with yellow ears) was the\nexact reproduction of that magnificent fox-hound. I was anxious to see\nher put to the test.\n\nIt was with no small degree of satisfaction, therefore, that I informed\nAunt Patience, the cook, of Tom's programme. Aunt Patience was a\nprivileged character, whose comments upon people and things were free\nand frequent; when she heard that a party of hunters, accompanied by\nladies, proposed to make the hall their temporary headquarters, her\nremarks were ludicrously indignant.\n\n\"Well, ef dat Marse Tom ain't de beatinest white man dat I ever sot eyes\non--'way off yander givin' way his vittles fo' he buy um at de sto'!\nHow I know what Marse Tom want, an' tel I know, whar I gwineter git um?\nHe better be home yer lookin' atter deze lazy niggers, stidder\nhigh-flyin' wid dem Jasper county folks. Ef dez enny vittles on dis\nplan'ash'n, hits more'n I knows un. En he'll go runnin' roun' wid dem\nharum-skarum gals twell I boun' he don't fetch dat pipe an' dat 'backer\nwhat he said he would. Can't fool me 'bout de gals what grows up deze\ndays. Dey duz like dey wanter stan' up an' cuss dersef' case dey wuzent\nborned men.\"\n\n\"Why, Aunt Patience, your Marse Tom says Miss de Compton is as pretty as\na pink and as fine as a fiddle.\"\n\n\"Law, chile! you needn't talk 'bout de gals to dis ole 'omen. I done\nknow um fo' you wuz borned. W'en you see Miss Compton you see all de\nbalance un um. Deze is new times. Marse Tom's mammy useter spin her\nfifteen cents o' wool a day--w'en you see Miss Compton wid a hank er\nyarn in 'er han', you jes' sen' me word.\"\n\nWhereupon, Aunt Patience gave her head handkerchief a vigorous wrench,\nand went her way--the good old soul--even then considering how she\nshould best set about preparing a genuine surprise for her young master\nin the shape of daily feasts for a dozen guests. I will not stop here to\ndetail the character of this preparation or to dwell upon its success.\nIt is enough to say that Tom Tunison praised Aunt Patience to the\nskies; and, as if this were not sufficient to make her happy, he\nproduced a big clay pipe, three plugs of real \"manufac terbacker,\" which\nwas hard to get in those times, a red shawl, and twelve yards of calico.\n\nThe fortnight that followed the arrival of Tom's guests was one long to\nbe remembered, not only in the [v]annals of the Rockville Hunting Club\nbut in the annals of Rockville itself. The fair de Compton literally\nturned the heads of old men and young boys, and even succeeded in\nconquering the critics of her own sex. She was marvelously beautiful,\nand her beauty was of a kind to haunt one in one's dreams. It was easy\nto perceive that she had made a conquest of Tom, and I know that every\nsuggestion he made and every project he planned had for its sole end and\naim the enjoyment of Miss Carrie de Compton.\n\nIt was several days before the minor details of the contest, which was\nat once the excuse for and the object of the visit of Tom's guests,\ncould be arranged, but finally everything was \"[v]amicably adjusted,\"\nand the day appointed. The night before the hunt, the club and the\nJasper county visitors assembled in Tom Tunison's parlor for a final\ndiscussion of the event.\n\n\"In order,\" said Tom, \"to give our friends and guests an opportunity\nfully to test the speed and bottom of their kennels, it has been decided\nto pay our respects to 'Old Sandy'.\"\n\n\"And pray, Mr. Tunison, who is 'Old Sandy'?\" queried Miss de Compton.\n\n\"He is a fox, Miss de Compton, and a tough one. He is a trained fox. He\nhas been hunted so often by the inferior packs in his neighborhood that\nhe is well-nigh [v]invincible. He is so well known that he has not been\nhunted, except by accident, for two seasons. He is not as suspicious as\nhe was two years ago, but we must be careful if we want to get within\nhearing distance of him to-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"Do any of the ladies go with us?\" asked Jack Herndon.\n\n\"I go, for one,\" responded Miss de Compton, and in a few minutes all the\nladies had decided to go along, even if they found it inconvenient to\nparticipate actively in the hunt.\n\n\"Then,\" said Tom, rising, \"we must say good night. Uncle Plato will\nsound 'Boots and Saddle' at four o'clock to-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"Four o'clock!\" exclaimed the ladies in dismay.\n\n\"At four precisely,\" answered Tom, and the ladies with pretty little\ngestures of mock despair swept upstairs while Tom brought out cigars for\nthe boys.\n\nMy friend little knew how delighted I was that \"Old Sandy\" was to be put\nthrough his paces. He little knew how carefully I had studied the\npeculiarities of this famous fox--how often when training Flora I had\ntaken her out and followed \"Old Sandy\" through all his ranges, how I\nhad \"felt of\" both his speed and bottom and knew all his weak points.\n\n\nII\n\nMorning came, and with it Uncle Plato's bugle call. Aunt Patience was\nready with a smoking hot breakfast, and everybody was in fine spirits.\nAs the eager, happy crowd filed down the broad avenue that led to the\nhall, the fair de Compton, who had been delayed in mounting, rode by my\nside.\n\n\"You choose your escort well,\" I ventured to say.\n\n\"I have a weakness for children,\" she replied; \"particularly for\nchildren who know what they are about. Plato has told me that if I\ndesired to see all of the hunt without much trouble, to follow you. I am\nselfish, you perceive.\"\n\nWe rode over the red hills and under the russet trees until we came to\n\"Old Sandy's\" favorite haunt. Here a council of war was held, and it was\ndecided that Tom and a portion of the hunters should skirt the fields,\nwhile another portion led by Miss de Compton and myself should enter and\nbid the fox good morning. Uncle Plato, who had been given the cue,\nfollowed me with the dogs, and in a few moments we were very near the\nparticular spot where I hoped to find the venerable deceiver of dogs and\nmen. The hounds were already sallying hither and thither, anxious and\nevidently expectant.\n\nFive minutes went by without a whimper from the pack. There was not a\nsound save the eager rustling of the dogs through the sedge and\nundergrowth. The ground was familiar to Flora, and I watched her with\npride as with powerful strides she circled around. Suddenly she paused\nand flung her head in the air, making a beautiful picture where she\nstood poised, as if listening. My heart gave a great thump. It was a\ntrick of hers, and I knew that \"Old Sandy\" had been around within the\npast twenty-four hours! With a rush, a bound, and an eager cry, my\nfavorite came toward us, and the next moment \"Old Sandy,\" who had been\nlying almost at our horses' feet, was up and away with Flora right at\nhis heels. A wild hope seized me that my favorite would run into the shy\nveteran before he could get out of the field. But no! One of the Jasper\ncounty hunters, rendered momentarily insane by excitement, endeavored to\nride the fox down with his horse, and in another moment Sir Reynard was\nover the fence and into the woodland beyond, followed by the hounds.\nThey made a splendid but [v]ineffectual burst of speed, for when \"Old\nSandy\" found himself upon the blackjack hills he was foot-loose. The\nmorning, however, was fine--just damp enough to leave the scent of the\nfox hanging breast high in the air, whether he shaped his course over\nlowlands or highlands.\n\n[Illustration: The Beginning of the Fox Hunt]\n\nIn the midst of all the confusion that had ensued, Miss de Compton\nremained cool, serene, and apparently indifferent, but I observed a\nglow upon her face and a sparkle in her eyes, as Tom Tunison, riding his\ngallant gray and heading the hunters, easily and gracefully took a\ncouple of fences when the hounds veered to the left.\n\n\"Our Jasper county friend has saved 'Old Sandy,' Miss de Compton,\" I\nsaid, \"but he has given us an opportunity of witnessing some very fine\nsport. The fox is so badly frightened that he may endeavor in the\nbeginning to outfoot the dogs, but in the end he will return to his\nrange, and then I hope to show you what a cunning old customer he is. If\nFlora doesn't fail us at the critical moment, you will have the honor of\nwearing his brush on your saddle.\"\n\n\"Youth is always confident,\" replied Miss de Compton.\n\n\"In this instance, however, I have the advantage of knowing both hound\nand fox. Flora has a few weaknesses, but I think she understands what is\nexpected of her to-day.\"\n\nThus bantering and chaffing each other, we turned our horses' heads in a\ndirection [v]oblique to that taken by the other hunters, who, with the\nexception of Tom Tunison and Jack Herndon, now well up with the dogs,\nwere struggling along as best they could. For a half mile or more we\ncantered down a lane, then turned into a stubble field, and made for a\nhill crowned and skirted by a growth of blackjack, through which an\noccasional pine had broken, as it seemed, in a vain but noble effort to\ntouch the sky. Once upon the summit of the hills, we had a majestic view\nupon all sides. The fresh morning breezes blew crisp and cool and\nbracing, but were not uncomfortable after the exercise we had taken; and\nas the clouds that had muffled up the east dispersed themselves or were\ndissolved, the generous sun spread layer upon layer of golden light upon\nhill and valley and forest and stream.\n\nAway to the left we could hear the hounds, and the music of their\nvoices, toyed with by the playful wind, rolled itself into melodious\nlittle echoes that broke pleasantly upon the ear, now loud, now faint,\nnow far and now near. The first burst of speed, which had been terrific,\nhad settled down into a steady run, but I knew by the sound that the\npace was still tremendous, and I imagined I could hear the silvery\ntongue of Flora as she led the eager pack. The cries of the hounds,\nhowever, grew fainter and fainter, until presently they were lost in the\ndistance.\n\n\"He is making a straight shoot for the Turner [v]old fields, two miles\naway,\" I remarked, by way of explanation.\n\n\"And pray, why are we here?\" Miss de Compton asked.\n\n\"To be in at the death. (The fair de Compton smiled [v]sarcastically.)\nIn the Turner old fields the fox will make his grand double, gain upon\nthe dogs, head for yonder hill, and come down the ravine upon our\nright. At the fence here, within plain view, he will attempt a trick\nthat has heretofore always been successful, and which has given him a\nreputation as a trained fox. I depend upon the intelligence of Flora to\nsee through 'Old Sandy's' [v]strategy, but if she hesitates a moment, we\nmust set her right.\"\n\nI spoke with the confidence of one having experience, and Miss de\nCompton smiled and was content. We had little time for further\nconversation, for in a few minutes I observed a dark shadow emerge from\nthe undergrowth on the opposite hill and slip quickly across the open\nspace of fallow land. It crossed the ravine that intersected the valley,\nstole quietly through the stubble to the fence, and there paused a\nmoment, as if hesitating. In a low voice I called Miss de Compton's\nattention to the figure, but she refused to believe that it was the same\nfox we had aroused thirty minutes before. Howbeit, it was the\n[v]veritable \"Old Sandy\" himself. I should have known him among a\nthousand foxes. He was not in as fine feather as when, at the start, he\nhad swung his brush across Flora's nose--the pace had told on him--but\nhe still moved with an air of confidence.\n\nThen and there Miss de Compton beheld a display of fox tactics shrewd\nenough to excite the admiration of the most indifferent--a display of\ncunning that seemed to be something higher than instinct.\n\n\"Old Sandy\" paused only a moment. With a bound he gained the top of\nthe fence, stopped to pull something from one of his fore\nfeet--probably a cockle bur--and then carefully balancing himself,\nproceeded to walk the fence. By this time, the music of the dogs was\nagain heard in the distance, but \"Old Sandy\" took his time.\nOne--two--three--seven--ten--twenty panels of the fence were cleared.\nPausing, he again subjected his fore feet to examination, and licked\nthem carefully. Then he proceeded on his journey along the fence until\nhe was at least one hundred yards from where he left the ground. Here\nhe paused for the first time, gathered himself together, leaped\nthrough the air, and rushed away. As he did so, the full note of the\npack burst upon our ears as the hounds reached the brow of the hill\nfrom the lowlands on the other side.\n\n\"Upon my word!\" exclaimed Miss de Compton; \"that fox ought to go free. I\nshall beg Mr. Tunison--\"\n\nBut before she finished her sentence the dogs came into view, and I\ncould hardly restrain a shout of triumph as I saw Flora running easily\nand unerringly far to the front. Behind her, led by Captain--and so\nclose together that, as Uncle Plato afterward remarked, \"You mout kivver\nde whole caboodle wid a hoss-blanket\"--were the remainder of the Tunison\nkennel, while the Jasper county hounds were strung out behind in wild\nbut heroic confusion. I felt strongly tempted to give the view-halloo,\nand push \"Old Sandy\" to the wall at once, but I knew that the fair de\nCompton would regard the exploit with severe [v]reprobation forever\nafter. Across the ravine and to the fence the dogs came, their voices,\nas they got nearer, crashing through the silence like a chorus of\ndemons.\n\nNow was the critical moment. If Flora should fail me--!\n\nSeveral of the older dogs topped the rails, and scattered through the\nundergrowth. Flora came over with them, made a small circle, with her\nsensitive nose to the damp earth, and then went rushing down the fence.\nPast the point where \"Old Sandy\" took his flying leap she ran, turned\nsuddenly to the left, and came swooping back in a wide circle. I had\nbarely time to warn Miss de Compton that she must prepare to do a little\nrapid riding, when my favorite, with a fierce cry of delight that\nthrilled me through and through, picked up the blazing [v]drag, and away\nwe went with a scream and a shout. I felt in my very bones that \"Old\nSandy\" was doomed. I had never seen Flora so prompt and eager; I had\nnever observed the scent to be better. Everything was auspicious.\n\nWe went like the wind. Miss de Compton rode well, and the long stretches\nof stubble land through which the chase led were unbroken by ditch or\nfence. The pace of the hounds was simply terrific, and I knew that no\nfox on earth could long stand up before the white demon that led the\nhunt with such splendor.\n\nFive--ten--fifteen minutes we rushed at the heels of the rearmost dogs,\nuntil, suddenly, we found ourselves in the midst of the pack. The scent\nwas lost! Flora ran about in wide circles, followed by the greater\nportion of the dogs. To the left, to the right they went. At that\nmoment, chancing to look back, I caught a glimpse of \"Old Sandy,\" broken\ndown and bedraggled, making his way toward a clump of briars. He had\nplayed his last [v]trump and lost. Pushed by the dogs, he had dropped in\nhis tracks and literally allowed them to run over him. I rode at him\nwith a shout; there was a short, sharp race, and in a few moments [v]_La\nMort_ was sounded over the famous fox on the horn that the Jasper county\nboys did not win.\n\nJOEL CHANDLER HARRIS.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     This gives a good picture of a fox hunt in the South in the long\n     ago. Tell what you like best about it. Who is telling the story?\n     Was he young or old? How do you know? What opinion do you form of\n     the \"fair de Compton\"? See if you can get an old man, perhaps a\n     negro, to tell you of a fox hunt he has seen.\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY READING\n\n     In Ole Virginia--Thomas Nelson Page.\n     Old Creole Days--George W. Cable.\n     Swallow Barn--John P. Kennedy.\n     The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains--Charles Egbert Craddock.\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[177-*] From the _Atlanta Constitution_.\n\n\n\n\nRAIN AND WIND\n\n\n    I hear the hoofs of horses\n      Galloping over the hill,\n    Galloping on and galloping on,\n      When all the night is shrill\n    With wind and rain that beats the pane--\n      And my soul with awe is still.\n\n    For every dripping window\n      Their headlong rush makes bound,\n    Galloping up and galloping by,\n      Then back again and around,\n    Till the gusty roofs ring with their hoofs,\n      And the draughty cellars sound.\n\n    And then I hear black horsemen\n      Hallooing in the night;\n    Hallooing and hallooing,\n      They ride o'er vale and height,\n    And the branches snap and the shutters clap\n      With the fury of their flight.\n\n    All night I hear their gallop,\n      And their wild halloo's alarm;\n    The tree-tops sound and vanes go round\n      In forest and on farm;\n    But never a hair of a thing is there--\n      Only the wind and the storm.\n\n    MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SOUTHERN SKY\n\n\nPresently the stars begin to peep out, timidly at first, as if to see\nwhether the elements here below had ceased their strife, and if the\nscene on earth be such as they, from bright spheres aloft, may shed\ntheir sweet influences upon. Sirius, or that blazing world Argus, may be\nthe first watcher to send down a feeble ray; then follow another and\nanother, all smiling meekly; but presently, in the short twilight of the\nlatitude, the bright leaders of the starry host blaze forth in all their\nglory, and the sky is decked and spangled with superb brilliants.\n\nIn the twinkling of an eye, and faster than the admiring gazer can tell,\nthe stars seem to leap out from their hiding-places. By invisible hands,\nand in quick succession, the constellations are hung out; first of all,\nand with dazzling glory, in the azure depths of space appears the great\nSouthern Cross. That shining symbol lends a holy grandeur to the scene,\nmaking it still more impressive.\n\nAlone in the night-watch, after the sea-breeze has sunk to rest, I have\nstood on deck under those beautiful skies, gazing, admiring, rapt. I\nhave seen there, above the horizon at once and shining with a splendor\nunknown to other latitudes, every star of the [v]first magnitude--save\nonly six--that is contained in the catalogue of the one hundred\nprincipal fixed stars.\n\nThere lies the city on the seashore, wrapped in sleep. The sky looks\nsolid, like a vault of steel set with diamonds. The stillness below is\nin harmony with the silence above, and one almost fears to speak, lest\nthe harsh sound of the human voice, reverberating through those vaulted\n\"chambers of the south,\" should wake up echo and drown the music that\nfills the soul.\n\nOrion is there, just about to march down into the sea; but Canopus and\nSirius, with Castor and his twin brother, and [v]Procyon, Argus, and\nRegulus--these are high up in their course; they look down with great\nsplendor, smiling peacefully as they precede the Southern Cross on its\nwestern way. And yonder, farther still, away to the south, float the\nMagellanic clouds, and the \"Coal Sacks\"--those mysterious, dark spots in\nthe sky, which seem as though it had been rent, and these were holes in\nthe \"azure robe of night,\" looking out into the starless, empty, black\nabyss beyond. One who has never watched the southern sky in the\nstillness of the night, after the sea-breeze with its turmoil is done,\ncan have no idea of its grandeur, beauty, and loveliness.\n\nMATTHEW FONTAINE MAURY.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     Do you know any of the stars or the constellations mentioned? Some\n     of them are seen in our latitude, but the southern sky Maury\n     describes is south of the equator. The \"Southern Cross\" is seen\n     only below the equator. The \"Magellan Clouds\" are not far from the\n     South Pole.\n\n\n\n\nDAFFODILS\n\n\n    I wandered lonely as a cloud\n      That floats on high o'er vales and hills,\n    When all at once I saw a crowd,\n      A host of golden daffodils,--\n    Beside the lake, beneath the trees,\n    Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.\n\n    Continuous as the stars that shine\n      And twinkle on the milky way,\n    They stretched in never-ending line\n      Along the margin of the bay.\n    Ten thousand saw I at a glance,\n    Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.\n\n    The waves beside them danced, but they\n      Outdid the sparkling waves in glee,--\n    A poet could not but be gay\n      In such a [v]jocund company.\n    I gazed, and gazed, but little thought\n    What wealth the show to me had brought.\n\n    For oft, when on my couch I lie,\n      In vacant or in pensive mood,\n    They flash upon that inward eye\n      Which is the bliss of solitude;\n    And then my heart with pleasure fills,\n    And dances with the daffodils.\n\n    WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.\n\n\n\n\nDAWN\n\n\nI had occasion, a few weeks since, to take the early train from\nProvidence to Boston; and for this purpose I rose at two o'clock in the\nmorning. Everything around was wrapped in darkness and hushed in\nsilence. It was a mild, serene, midsummer night,--the sky was without a\ncloud,--the winds were [v]whist. The moon, then in the last quarter, had\njust risen, and the stars shone with a luster but little affected by her\npresence.\n\nJupiter, two hours high, was the herald of the day; the [v]Pleiades,\njust above the horizon, shed their sweet influence in the east; Lyra\nsparkled near the [v]zenith; Andromeda veiled her newly discovered\nglories from the naked eye in the south; the steady Pointers, far\nbeneath the pole, looked meekly up from the depths of the north to their\nsovereign.\n\nSuch was the glorious spectacle as I entered the train. As we proceeded,\nthe timid approach of twilight became more perceptible; the intense blue\nof the sky began to soften; the smaller stars, like little children,\nwent first to rest; the sister-beams of the Pleiades soon melted\ntogether; but the bright constellations of the west and north remained\nunchanged. Steadily the wondrous transfiguration went on. Hands of\nangels, hidden from mortal eyes, shifted the scenery of the heavens; the\nglories of night dissolved into the glories of the dawn.\n\nThe blue sky now turned more softly gray; the great watch-stars shut up\ntheir holy eyes; the east began to kindle. Faint streaks of purple soon\nblushed along the sky; the whole celestial concave was filled with the\ninflowing tides of the morning light, which came pouring down from above\nin one great ocean of radiance; till at length, as we reached the Blue\nHills, a flash of purple fire blazed out from above the horizon, and\nturned the dewy teardrops of flower and leaf into rubies and diamonds.\nIn a few seconds, the everlasting gates of the morning were thrown wide\nopen, and the lord of day, arrayed in glories too severe for the gaze of\nman, began his state.\n\nI do not wonder at the superstition of the ancient [v]Magians, who, in\nthe morning of the world, went up to the hilltops of Central Asia, and,\nignorant of the true God, adored the most glorious work of His hand. But\nI am filled with amazement, when I am told that, in this enlightened age\nand in the heart of the Christian world, there are persons who can\nwitness this daily manifestation of the power and wisdom of the Creator,\nand yet say in their hearts, \"There is no God.\"\n\nEDWARD EVERETT.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     What experience did Everett describe? What impresses the mood of\n     the early morning? In what latitude did Everett live? What stars\n     and constellations did he mention? Trace the steps by which he\n     pictured the sunrise. Why did he not wonder at the belief of the\n     \"ancient Magians\"? What thought does cause amazement?\n\n\n\n\nSPRING\n\n\n    Spring, with that nameless [v]pathos in the air\n    Which dwells with all things fair--\n    Spring, with her golden suns and silver rain,\n    Is with us once again.\n\n    Out in the lonely woods, the jasmine burns\n    Its fragrant lamps, and turns\n    Into a royal court, with green festoons,\n    The banks of dark [v]lagoons.\n\n    In the deep heart of every forest tree,\n    The blood is all aglee;\n    And there's a look about the leafless bowers,\n    As if they dreamed of flowers.\n\n    Yet still, on every side we trace the hand\n    Of Winter in the land,\n    Save where the maple reddens on the lawn,\n    Flushed by the season's dawn;\n\n    Or where, like those strange [v]semblances we find\n    That age to childhood bind,\n    The elm puts on, as if in Nature's scorn,\n    The brown of Autumn corn.\n\n    [Illustration: The Woods in Spring]\n\n    As yet the turf is dark, although you know\n    That, not a span below,\n    A thousand germs are groping through the gloom,\n    And soon will burst their tomb.\n\n    In gardens, you may note, amid the dearth,\n    The crocus breaking earth;\n    And near the snowdrop's tender white and green,\n    The violet in its screen.\n\n    But many gleams and showers need must pass\n    Along the budding grass,\n    And weeks go by, before the enamored South\n    Shall kiss the rose's mouth.\n\n    Still there's a sense of blossoms yet unborn,\n    In the sweet airs of morn;\n    One almost looks to see the very street\n    Grow purple at his feet.\n\n    At times, a fragrant breeze comes floating by,\n    And brings, you know not why,\n    A feeling as when eager crowds await\n    Before a palace gate\n\n    Some wondrous pageant; and you scarce would start,\n    If from a beech's heart,\n    A blue-eyed [v]Dryad, stepping forth, should say,\n    \"Behold me! I am May!\"\n\n    HENRY TIMROD.\n\n\n\n\nAMONG THE CLIFFS\n\n\nIt was a critical moment. There was a stir other than that of the wind\namong the pine needles and dry leaves that carpeted the ground.\n\nThe wary wild turkeys lifted their long necks with that peculiar cry of\nhalf-doubting surprise so familiar to a sportsman, then all was still\nfor an instant. The world was steeped in the noontide sunlight, the\nmountain air tasted of the fresh [v]sylvan fragrance that pervaded the\nforest, the foliage blamed with the red and gold of autumn, the distant\n[v]Chilhowee heights were delicately blue.\n\nThat instant's doubt sealed the doom of one of the flock. As the turkeys\nstood in momentary suspense, the sunlight gilding their bronze feathers\nto a brighter sheen, there was a movement in the dense undergrowth. The\nflock took suddenly to wing,--a flash from among the leaves, the sharp\ncrack of a rifle, and one of the birds fell heavily over the bluff and\ndown toward the valley.\n\nThe young mountaineer's exclamation of triumph died in his throat. He\ncame running to the verge of the crag, and looked down ruefully into the\ndepths where his game had disappeared.\n\n\"Waal, sir,\" he broke forth pathetically, \"this beats my time! If my\nluck ain't enough ter make a horse laugh!\"\n\nHe did not laugh, however; perhaps his luck was calculated to stir only\n[v]equine risibility. The cliff was almost perpendicular; at the depth\nof twenty feet a narrow ledge projected, but thence there was a sheer\ndescent, down, down, down, to the tops of the tall trees in the valley\nfar below.\n\nAs Ethan Tynes looked wistfully over the precipice, he started with a\nsudden surprise. There on the narrow ledge lay the dead turkey.\n\nThe sight sharpened Ethan's regrets. He had made a good shot, and he\nhated to relinquish his game. While he gazed in dismayed meditation, an\nidea began to kindle in his brain. Why could he not let himself down to\nthe ledge by those long, strong vines that hung over the edge of the\ncliff?\n\nIt was risky, Ethan knew, terribly risky. But then,--if only the vines\nwere strong!\n\nHe tried them again and again with all his might, selected several of\nthe largest, grasped them hard and fast, and then slipped lightly off\nthe crag.\n\nHe waited motionless for a moment. His movements had dislodged clods of\nearth and fragments of rock from the verge of the cliff, and until these\nhad ceased to rattle about his head and shoulders he did not begin his\ndownward journey.\n\nNow and then as he went he heard the snapping of twigs, and again a\nbranch would break, but the vines which supported him were tough and\nstrong to the last. Almost before he knew it, he stood upon the ledge,\nand with a great sigh of relief he let the vines swing loose.\n\n\"Waal, that warn't sech a mighty job at last. But law, if it hed been\nPeter Birt 'stid of me, that thar wild tur-r-key would hev laid on this\nhyar ledge plumb till the Jedgmint Day!\"\n\nHe walked deftly along the ledge, picked up the bird, and tied it to one\nof the vines with a string which he took from his pocket, intending to\ndraw it up when he should be once more on the top of the crag. These\npreparations complete, he began to think of going back.\n\nHe caught the vines on which he had made the descent, but before he had\nfairly left the ledge, he felt that they were giving way.\n\nHe paused, let himself slip back to a secure foothold, and tried their\nstrength by pulling with all his force.\n\nPresently down came the whole mass in his hands. The friction against\nthe sharp edges of the rock over which they had been stretched with a\nstrong tension had worn them through. His first emotion was one of\nintense thankfulness that they had fallen while he was on the ledge\ninstead of midway in his [v]precarious ascent.\n\n\"Ef they hed kem down whilst I war a-goin' up, I'd hev been flung down\nter the bottom o' the valley, 'kase this ledge air too narrer ter hev\ncotched me.\"\n\nHe glanced down at the somber depths beneath. \"Thar wouldn't hev been\nenough left of me ter pick up on a shovel!\" he exclaimed, with a tardy\nrealization of his foolish recklessness.\n\nThe next moment a mortal terror seized him. What was to be his fate? To\nregain the top of the cliff by his own exertions was an impossibility.\n\nHe cast his despairing eyes up the ascent, as sheer and as smooth as a\nwall, without a crevice which might afford a foothold, or a shrub to\nwhich he might cling. His strong head was whirling as he again glanced\ndownward to the unmeasured [v]abyss beneath. He softly let himself sink\ninto a sitting posture, his heels dangling over the frightful depths,\nand addressed himself resolutely to the consideration of the terrible\ndanger in which he was placed.\n\nTaken at its best, how long was it to last? Could he look to any human\nbeing for deliverance? He reflected with growing dismay that the place\nwas far from any dwelling, and from the road that wound along the ridge.\nThere was no errand that could bring a man to this most unfrequented\nportion of the deep woods, unless an accident should hither direct some\nhunter's step. It was quite possible, nay, probable, that years might\nelapse before the forest solitude would again be broken by human\npresence.\n\nHis brothers would search for him when he should be missed from\nhome,--but such boundless stretches of forest! They might search for\nweeks and never come near this spot. He would die here, he would\nstarve,--no, he would grow drowsy when exhausted and fall--fall--fall!\n\nHe was beginning to feel that morbid fascination that sometimes seizes\nupon those who stand on great heights,--an overwhelming impulse to\nplunge downward. His only salvation was to look up. He would look up to\nthe sky.\n\nAnd what were these words he was beginning to remember faintly? Had not\nthe [v]circuit-rider said in his last sermon that not even a sparrow\nfalls to the ground unmarked of God? There was a definite strength in\nthis suggestion. He felt less lonely as he stared resolutely at the big\nblue sky. There came into his heart a sense of encouragement, of hope.\nHe would keep up as long and as bravely as he could, and if the worst\nshould come,--was he indeed so solitary? He would hold in remembrance\nthe sparrow's fall of Scripture.\n\nHe had so nerved himself to meet his fate that he thought it was a fancy\nwhen he heard a distant step. But it did not die away, it grew more and\nmore distinct,--a shambling step that curiously stopped at intervals and\nkicked the fallen leaves.\n\nHe sought to call out, but he seemed to have lost his voice. Not a sound\nissued from his thickened tongue and his dry throat. The step came\nnearer. It would presently pass. With a mighty effort Ethan sent forth\na wild, hoarse cry.\n\nThe rocks [v]reverberated it, the wind carried it far, and certainly\nthere was an echo of its despair and terror in a shrill scream set up on\nthe verge of the crag. Then Ethan heard the shambling step scampering\noff very fast indeed.\n\nThe truth flashed upon him. It was some child, passing on an\nunimaginable errand through the deep woods, frightened by his sudden\ncry.\n\n\"Stop, bubby!\" he shouted; \"stop a minute! It's Ethan Tynes that's\ncallin' of ye. Stop a minute, bubby!\"\n\nThe step paused at a safe distance, and the shrill pipe of a little boy\ndemanded, \"Whar is ye, Ethan Tynes?\"\n\n\"I'm down hyar on the ledge o' the bluff. Who air ye ennyhow?\"\n\n\"George Birt,\" promptly replied the little boy. \"What air ye doin' down\nthar? I thought it was Satan a-callin' of me. I never seen nobody.\"\n\n\"I kem down hyar on vines arter a tur-r-key I shot. The vines bruk, an'\nI hev got no way ter git up agin. I want ye ter go ter yer mother's\nhouse, an' tell yer brother Pete ter bring a rope hyar fur me ter climb\nup by.\"\n\nEthan expected to hear the shambling step going away with a [v]celerity\nin keeping with the importance of the errand. On the contrary, the step\nwas approaching the crag.\n\nA moment of suspense, and there appeared among the jagged ends of the\nbroken vines a small red head, a deeply freckled face, and a pair of\nsharp, eager blue eyes. George Birt had carefully laid himself down on\nhis stomach, only protruding his head beyond the verge of the crag, that\nhe might not fling away his life in his curiosity.\n\n\"Did ye git it?\" he asked, with bated breath.\n\n\"Git what?\" demanded poor Ethan, surprised and impatient.\n\n\"The tur-r-key--what ye hev done been talkin' 'bout,\" said George Birt.\n\nEthan had lost all interest in the turkey.\n\n\"Yes, yes; but run along, bub. I mought fall off'n this hyar place,--I'm\ngittin' stiff sittin' still so long,--or the wind mought blow me off.\nThe wind is blowing toler'ble brisk.\"\n\n\"Gobbler or hen?\" asked George Birt eagerly.\n\n\"It air a hen,\" said Ethan. \"But look-a-hyar, George, I'm a-waitin' on\nye an' if I'd fall off'n this hyar place, I'd be ez dead ez a door-nail\nin a minute.\"\n\n\"Waal, I'm goin' now,\" said George Birt, with gratifying alacrity. He\nraised himself from his [v]recumbent position, and Ethan heard him\nshambling off, kicking every now and then at the fallen leaves as he\nwent.\n\nPresently, however, he turned and walked back nearly to the brink of the\ncliff. Then he prostrated himself once more at full length,--for the\nmountain children are very careful of precipices,--snaked along\ndexterously to the verge of the crag, and protruding his red head\ncautiously, began to [v]parley once more, trading on Ethan's\nnecessities.\n\n\"Ef I go on this errand fur ye,\" he said, looking very sharp indeed,\n\"will ye gimme one o' the whings of that thar wild tur-r-key?\"\n\nHe coveted the wing-feathers, not the joint of the fowl. The \"whing\" of\nthe domestic turkey is used by the mountain women as a fan, and is\nconsidered an elegance as well as a comfort. George Birt [v]aped the\ncustoms of his elders, regardless of sex,--a characteristic of very\nsmall boys.\n\n\"Oh, go 'long, bubby!\" exclaimed poor Ethan, in dismay at the\n[v]dilatoriness and indifference of his [v]unique deliverer. \"I'll give\nye both o' the whings.\" He would have offered the turkey willingly, if\n\"bubby\" had seemed to crave it.\n\n\"Waal, I'm goin' now.\" George Birt rose from the ground and started off\nbriskly, [v]exhilarated by the promise of both the \"whings.\"\n\nEthan was angry indeed when he heard the boy once more shambling back.\nOf course one should regard a deliverer with gratitude, especially a\ndeliverer from mortal peril; but it may be doubted if Ethan's gratitude\nwould have been great enough to insure that small red head against a\nvigorous rap, if it had been within rapping distance, when it was once\nmore cautiously protruded over the verge of the cliff.\n\n\"I kem back hyar ter tell ye,\" the [v]doughty deliverer began, with an\nair of great importance, and magnifying his office with an extreme\nrelish, \"that I can't go an' tell Pete 'bout'n the rope till I hev done\nkem back from the mill. I hev got old Sorrel hitched out hyar a piece,\nwith a bag o' corn on his back, what I hev ter git ground at the mill.\nMy mother air a-settin' at home now a-waitin' fur that thar corn-meal\nter bake dodgers with. An' I hev got a dime ter pay at the mill; it war\nlent ter my dad las' week. An' I'm afeard ter walk about much with this\nhyar dime; I mought lose it, ye know. An' I can't go home 'thout the\nmeal; I'll ketch it ef I do. But I'll tell Pete arter I git back from\nthe mill.\"\n\n\"The mill!\" echoed Ethan, aghast. \"What air ye doin' on this side o' the\nmounting, ef ye air a-goin' ter the mill? This ain't the way ter the\nmill.\"\n\n\"I kem over hyar,\" said the little boy, still with much importance of\nmanner, notwithstanding a slight suggestion of embarrassment on his\nfreckled face, \"ter see 'bout'n a trap that I hev sot fur squir'ls. I'll\nsee 'bout my trap, an' then I hev ter go ter the mill, 'kase my mother\nair a-settin' in our house now a-waitin' fur meal ter bake corn-dodgers.\nThen I'll tell Pete whar ye air, an' what ye said 'bout'n the rope. Ye\nmust jes' wait fur me hyar.\"\n\nPoor Ethan could do nothing else.\n\nAs the echo of the boy's shambling step died in the distance, a\nredoubled sense of loneliness fell upon Ethan Tynes. But he endeavored\nto [v]solace himself with the reflection that the important mission to\nthe squirrel-trap and the errand to the mill could not last forever, and\nbefore a great while Peter Birt and his rope would be upon the crag.\n\nThis idea [v]buoyed him up as the hours crept slowly by. Now and then he\nlifted his head and listened with painful intentness. He felt stiff in\nevery muscle, and yet he had a dread of making an effort to change his\n[v]constrained position. He might lose control of his rigid limbs, and\nfall into those dread depths beneath.\n\nHis patience at last began to give way; his heart was sinking. The\nmessenger had been even more [v]dilatory than he was prepared to expect.\nWhy did not Pete come? Was it possible that George had forgotten to tell\nof his danger. The sun was going down, leaving a great glory of gold and\ncrimson clouds and an [v]opaline haze upon the purple mountains. The\nlast rays fell on the bronze feathers of the turkey still lying tied to\nthe broken vines on the ledge.\n\nAnd now there were only frowning masses of dark clouds in the west; and\nthere were frowning masses of clouds overhead. The shadow of the coming\nnight had fallen on the autumnal foliage in the deep valley; in the\nplace of the opaline haze was only a gray mist.\n\nAnd presently there came, sweeping along between the parallel mountain\nranges, a somber raincloud. The lad could hear the heavy drops splashing\non the tree-tops in the valley, long, long before he felt them on his\nhead.\n\nThe roll of thunder sounded among the crags. Then the rain came down\ntumultuously, not in columns but in livid sheets. The lightnings rent\nthe sky, showing, as it seemed to him, glimpses of the glorious\nbrightness within,--too bright for human eyes.\n\nHe clung desperately to his precarious perch. Now and then a fierce rush\nof wind almost tore him from it. Strange fancies beset him. The air was\nfull of that wild [v]symphony of nature, the wind and the rain, the\npealing thunder, and the thunderous echo among the cliffs, and yet he\nthought he could hear his own name ringing again and again through all\nthe tumult, sometimes in Pete's voice, sometimes in George's shrill\ntones.\n\nEthan became vaguely aware, after a time, that the rain had ceased, and\nthe moon was beginning to shine through rifts in the clouds. The wind\ncontinued unabated, but, curiously enough, he could not hear it now. He\ncould hear nothing; he could think of nothing. His consciousness was\nbeginning to fail.\n\nGeorge Birt had indeed forgotten him,--forgotten even the promised\n\"whings.\" Not that he had discovered anything so extraordinary in his\ntrap, for it was empty, but when he reached the mill, he found that the\nmiller had killed a bear and captured a cub, and the orphan, chained to\na post, had deeply absorbed George Birt's attention.\n\nTo [v]sophisticated people, the boy might have seemed as [v]grotesque as\nthe cub. George wore an unbleached cotton shirt. The waistband of his\nbaggy jeans trousers encircled his body just beneath his armpits,\nreaching to his shoulder-blades behind, and nearly to his collar-bone in\nfront. His red head was only partly covered by a fragment of an old\nwhite wool hat; and he looked at the cub with a curiosity as intense as\nthat with which the cub looked at him. Each was taking first lessons in\nnatural history.\n\nAs long as there was daylight enough left to see that cub, did George\nBirt stand and stare at the little beast. Then he clattered home on old\nSorrel in the closing darkness, looking like a very small pin on the top\nof a large pincushion.\n\nAt home, he found the elders unreasonable,--as elders usually are\nconsidered. Supper had been waiting an hour or so for the lack of meal\nfor dodgers. He \"caught it\" considerably, but not sufficiently to impair\nhis appetite for the dodgers. After all this, he was ready enough for\nbed when a small boy's bedtime came. But as he was nodding before the\nfire, he heard a word that roused him to a new excitement and\nstimulated his memory.\n\n\"These hyar chips air so wet they won't burn,\" said his mother. \"I'll\ntake my tur-r-key whing an' fan the fire.\"\n\n\"Law!\" he exclaimed. \"Thar, now! Ethan Tynes never gimme that thar wild\ntur-r-key's whings like he promised.\"\n\n\"Whar did ye happen ter see Ethan?\" asked Pete, interested in his\nfriend.\n\n\"Seen him in the woods, an' he promised me the tur-r-key whings.\"\n\n\"What fur?\" inquired Pete, a little surprised by this uncalled-for\ngenerosity.\n\n\"Waal,\"--there was an expression of embarrassment on the important\nfreckled face, and the small red head nodded forward in an explanatory\nmanner,--\"he fell off'n the bluffs arter the tur-r-key whings--I mean,\nhe went down to the ledge arter the tur-r-key, and the vines bruk an' he\ncouldn't git up no more. An' he tole me that ef I'd tell ye ter fotch\nhim a rope ter pull up by, he would gimme the whings. That happened\na--leetle--while--arter dinner-time.\"\n\n\"Who got him a rope ter pull up by?\" demanded Pete.\n\nThere was again on the important face that indescribable shade of\nembarrassment. \"Waal,\"--the youngster balanced this word judicially,--\"I\nforgot 'bout'n the tur-key whings till this minute. I reckon he's thar\nyit.\"\n\n\"Mebbe this hyar wind an' rain hev beat him off'n the ledge!\" exclaimed\nPete, appalled and rising hastily. \"I tell ye now,\" he added, turning to\nhis mother, \"the best use ye kin make o' that boy is ter put him on the\nfire fur a back-log.\"\n\nPete made his preparations in great haste. He took the rope from the\nwell, asked the [v]crestfallen and browbeaten junior a question or two\nrelative to the place, mounted old Sorrel without a saddle, and in a few\nminutes was galloping at headlong speed through the night.\n\nThe rain was over by the time he had reached the sulphur spring to which\nGeorge had directed him, but the wind was still high, and the broken\nclouds were driving fast across the face of the moon.\n\nBy the time he had hitched his horse to a tree and set out on foot to\nfind the cliff, the moonbeams, though brilliant, were so [v]intermittent\nthat his progress was fitful and necessarily cautious. When the disk\nshone out full and clear, he made his way rapidly enough, but when the\nclouds intervened, he stood still and waited.\n\n\"I ain't goin' ter fall off'n the bluff 'thout knowin' it,\" he said to\nhimself, in one of these [v]eclipses, \"ef I hev ter stand hyar all\nnight.\"\n\nThe moonlight was brilliant and steady when he reached the verge of the\ncrag. He identified the spot by the mass of broken vines, and more\npositively by Ethan's rifle lying upon the ground just at his feet. He\ncalled, but received no response.\n\n\"Hev Ethan fell off, sure enough?\" he asked himself, in great dismay and\nalarm. Then he shouted again and again. At last there came an answer, as\nthough the speaker had just awaked.\n\n\"Pretty nigh beat out, I'm a-thinkin'!\" commented Pete. He tied one end\nof the cord around the trunk of a tree, knotted it at intervals, and\nflung it over the bluff.\n\nAt first Ethan was almost afraid to stir. He slowly put forth his hand\nand grasped the rope. Then, his heart beating tumultuously, he rose to\nhis feet.\n\nHe stood still for an instant to steady himself and get his breath.\nNerving himself for a strong effort, he began the ascent, hand over\nhand, up and up and up, till once more he stood upon the crest of the\ncrag.\n\nAnd, now that all danger was over, Pete was disposed to scold. \"I'm\na-thinkin',\" said Pete severely, \"ez thar ain't a critter on this hyar\nmounting, from a b'ar ter a copperhead, that could hev got in sech a\nfix, 'ceptin' ye, Ethan Tynes.\"\n\nAnd Ethan was silent.\n\n\"What's this hyar thing at the end o' the rope?\" asked Pete, as he began\nto draw the cord up, and felt a weight still suspended.\n\n\"It air the tur-r-key,\" said Ethan meekly, \"I tied her ter the e-end o'\nthe rope afore I kem up.\"\n\n\"Waal, sir!\" exclaimed Pete, in indignant surprise.\n\nAnd George, for duty performed, was [v]remunerated with the two\n\"whings,\" although it still remains a question in the mind of Ethan\nwhether or not he deserved them.\n\nCHARLES EGBERT CRADDOCK.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     Tell what happened to Ethan Tynes one day when he was hunting. How\n     was he rescued? What qualities did Ethan show in his hour of trial?\n     Give your opinion of George Birt; of Pete. Find out all you can\n     about life in the mountains of East Tennessee.\n\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY READING\n\n     The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains--Charles Egbert Craddock.\n     The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come--John Fox, Jr.\n     June--John Fox, Jr.\n\n\n\n\n    The poetry of earth is ceasing never:\n        On a lone winter evening, when the frost\n      Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills\n    The cricket's song, in the warmth increasing ever,\n        And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,\n      The grasshopper's among some grassy hills.\n\n    JOHN KEATS.\n\n\n\n\nA DEAL IN BEARS\n\n\nWhen a whaling ship is beset in the ice of Davis Straits, there is\nlittle work for her second engineer, once the engines have been nicely\ntallowed down. Now, I am no man that can sit in his berth and laze. If\nI've no work to do, I get a-thinking about my home at [v]Ballindrochater\nand the ministry, which my father intended I should have adorned, and\nwhat a fool I've made of myself, and this is depressing. I was not\nover-popular already on the _Gleaner_ on account of some prophecies I\nhad made in anger, which had unfortunately come true. The crew, and the\ncaptain, too, had come to fear my prophetic powers.\n\nAt last I bethought me of sporting on the ice. There was head-money\noffered for all bears, foxes, seals, musk-oxen, and such like that were\nshot and gathered. So I went to the skipper, and he gave me a Henry\nrifle, well rusted, and eight cartridges.\n\n\"Show me you can use those, McTodd,\" says he, \"and I'll give you more.\"\n\nI made a big mistake with that rusty old gun. I may be a sportsman, but\nbefore that I'm an engineer, and it seemed to me that Heaven sent metal\ninto this world to be kept bright and clean. So I took the rifle all to\npieces and made the parts as smooth and sweet as you'd see in a\ngun-maker's shop, barring rust-pits, and gave them a nice daubing of oil\nagainst the Arctic weather. Then I put on some thick clothes I had\nmade, and all the other clothes I could get loaned me, and climbed out\nover the rail on to the [v]floe.\n\nThe _Gleaner_ lay in a bay some two miles from the shore, and let me\ntell you, if you do not know it, that Arctic ice is no skating-rink.\nThere are great hills, and knolls, and bergs, and valleys spread all\nover, and even where it's about level, the underfoot is as hard going as\na newly-metalled road before the steam-roller has passed over it.\n\nThe air was clear enough when I left the bark, and though the [v]mercury\nwas out of use and coiled up snugly in the bulb, it wasn't as cold as\nyou might think, for just then there was no wind. It's a breeze up in\nthe Arctic that makes you feel the chill. There was no sun, of course;\nthere never is sun up there in that dreary winter: but the stars were\nburning blue and clear, and every now and then a big [v]catherine wheel\nof [v]aurora would show off, for all the world like a firework\nexhibition.\n\nMy! but it was lonely, though, once you had left the ship behind! There\nwas just the scrunching of your feet on the frost [v]rime, and not\nanother sound in the world. Even the ice was frozen too hard to squeak.\nAnd overhead in that purple-black Heaven you never knew Who was looking\ndown at you. Out there in that cold, bare, black, icy silence, I had\noccasion to remember that Neil Angus McTodd had been a sinner in his\ntime, and it made me shiver when I glanced up toward those blue, cold\nstars and the deep purple darkness that lay between and behind them.\n\nIt may be that I was thinking less of my hunting than was advisable, for\nof a sudden I woke up to the sound of heavy feet padding over the crisp\nfrost rime. I turned me round sharply enough, but as far as the dim\nlight carried there was nothing alive to be seen through the gloom. As\nsoon as I stopped, the footsteps stopped, too, and I don't mind\nadmitting that my scalp tickled.\n\nHowever, when I'd hauled up the hammer of the Henry, and it dropped into\nposition with a good, wholesome _cluck_, my nervousness very soon\nfiltered out. There's a comfort about a heavy-bore rifle like a\nHenry--which is the kind always used by whalers and sealers--that you\ncan't get from those fancy little guns. And then, as it seemed that the\nanimal, whatever it might be, wasn't going to move till I did, I\nshuffled my high sealskin boots on the crisp snow to make believe that I\nwas tramping again.\n\nThe creature started after me promptly. It was hard to tell the\ndirection, because every sound in that icy silence was echoed by a\nthousand bergs and hummocks of ice; but presently from behind a small\nsplintered ridge of the floe there strolled out what seemed to me the\nlargest bear in the Arctic regions. You must know that the night air\nthere has a [v]deceptive light--it enlarges things--and the beast\nappeared to me as standing some five feet six inches high at the\nshoulder, and measuring some twenty feet from nose to tail.\n\nThere was myself and there was the bear in the dark middle of that awful\nloneliness, with no one to interfere; and as there was only one of us to\nget home, I preferred it should not be he. So I took a brace on myself,\nand stood with the Henry ready to fire.\n\nThere was nothing you might call [v]diffidence about that bear. He\nslouched along up to me at a steady walk, with the hair and skin on him\nswinging about as though it was too large for his carcass and he was\nwearing a misfit. He seemed to look upon me as dinner, and no hurry\nneedful. There was a sort of calm certainty about him that made me\nangry.\n\nI was not what you might call a marksman in those days, and so I set a\nbit of [v]hummock about ten yards off as a limit where I could not very\nconveniently miss, and waited until the bear should come opposite that.\nWell, he came to it right enough in his own time. There was, as I have\nsaid before, no diffidence about the creature. And then I raised the\nHenry and fired her off.\n\n_Cluck_ went the hammer on the nipple, but there was no bang.\n\nMy! it was a misfire, and there was the bear coming down on me as steady\nand unconcerned as a [v]traction engine! I clawed out that cartridge\nand crammed in another. The bitter cold of the metal skinned my fingers\nlike escaping steam. Then I cocked the gun again, shouldered it, and\npulled trigger again.\n\nOnce more she wouldn't go off!\n\nThe bear was now nearly on top of me and was beginning to rear on its\nhind legs. Somehow the rifle came into my hand muzzle-end, and I hit the\ngreat brute across the eyes with the butt hard enough to have felled an\nox.\n\nI might as well have struck it with a cane. _Whack_ came a big\nyellow-white paw, the Henry went flying, and my wrists tingled with the\njar; and there was I left looking, I've no doubt you'll think, very\nhumorous.\n\nThe bear might have finished me then if it had chosen. But it must needs\nturn aside to go snuffling at the rifle and lick the oil off the locks.\nI turned and footed it.\n\nNow, at the best of times, I am no [v]sprinter, and in the great\nmountain of clothes one wears up there in the cold Arctic night, no man\ncan make much speed. Besides, the way was that uneven it was a case of\nhands and scramble more often than plain running over the sharp, spiky\nlevel.\n\nThe bear, once he had finished his snuffle and lick at the Henry, came\non at a dreadful pace, making nothing of those obstacles that balked\nme,--he had been born up there, you know. He laid himself out--I could\nsee over my shoulder--like one of those American trotting horses, caring\nnothing for the ups and downs and ankle-breaking ice. In about two\nshakes he was snorting at my heels again, till I could almost feel his\nhot breath. The bundle of clothes hampered me. I stripped off my outer\nover-all and let it drop behind me.\n\nThe bear stopped and snuffed that, but I didn't stay to watch him. I got\na good fifty [v]fathoms ahead of him whilst he was thus occupied. But\npresently, when he'd got all his satisfaction out of that, on he comes\nagain, and I had to give him my coat. I hadn't a chance of equaling him\nin pace, but the trick with the clothing never tired him. Fifty fathoms\nwas the least gain I made over a single piece, and as I got lower down\ntoward my skin he stayed over the clothes longer.\n\nBut still the _Gleaner_ was a long way off, over very tumbled ice, and\nthere I was careering on in a costume which was barely enough for\ndecency, and certainly insufficient for the climate.\n\nHowever, it was little enough the bear cared for such refinements as\nthose. I stripped off my last garment as I ran, and gained nigh on two\nhundred yards whilst he investigated it; and there were the bark's upper\nspars showing above the hummocks half a mile away, with me in nothing\nbut my long seal-skin boots!\n\nBut there was no help for it. Up came the hot breath behind me, and I\nleaned up against a hummock and stripped off a boot. I hailed the\n_Gleaner_ with what breath I had left, but no one gave heed. Away went\nthe other boot, and there I was running, mother-naked, over the jagged\nfloe, leaving blood on every footmark.\n\nRight up to the vessel did the outrageous beast chase me, and then when\nI got on board and called for guns, it slunk away into the shadows of a\nberg and was seen no more. My feet were cut to the bone; I was\nfrost-nipped in twenty places, and you may imagine I had had a poor\nenough time of it. But the thought of that canvas over-all which I had\nthrown away first kept me cheerful. It was indeed a very humorous\ncircumstance. Ye see it was a borrowed one.\n\nI got down below to a berth, and the steward, who was rated as a doctor,\ntended me. But Captain Black put sourness on the whole affair. He came\ndown to my bunk and said, \"Where's that Henry?\"\n\n\"Lying quiet on the ice,\" said I.\n\n\"Do you mean to say you left that rifle behind? My rifle!\"\n\n\"I did that same. The thing wasn't strong enough to fire a cartridge. I\ntried two.\"\n\nAnd then Black used violent and unjustifiable language. I was in no\ncondition to give him a fair exchange. Besides, I made an unfortunate\nadmission. I owned up to taking the rifle apart and cleaning her. I\nowned up, too, that I'd been free with the oil.\n\nBlack stuck out his face at me, and his fringe of beard fairly bristled.\n\n\"And you call yourself an engineer! You talk about having gone through\nthe shops! Put your filthy engine-room oil on my Henry's locks, would\nyou? Why, you idiot, have you yet to learn that oil freezes up here as\nhard as cheese, and you've made up the lock space of that poor rifle\ninto one solid chunk?\"\n\n\"I never thought of that.\"\n\n\"To look at your face, you've yet to start thinking at all.\"\n\nSo we had it out, and as I was now aroused, I gave him some words on the\ninefficient way he ran his ship. At last I threatened to prophesy again,\nand this cooled him off. I offered to go hunting bears for him and he\nbecame quite polite.\n\n\"I'll make you an offer touching those bears,\" he said. \"For every skin\nyou bring here aboard, I'll give you seven shillings [v]bonus above your\nshare as a member of the ship's company. I'll give you another rifle,\ntwo rifles if you like, and a fine bag of cartridges. But, you beggar, I\nmake one condition. You take yourself off and away from the ship to do\nyour hunting. You may make yourself a snow house to stay in, and live on\nthe meat you kill.\"\n\n\"You wish to murder me?\"\n\n\"I wish to be rid of you, and that's the truth. Man, I believe you're\nJonah resurrected. We've had no luck since first you put your foot on my\ndeck planks. And, what's more, the crew is of my way of thinking. So,\nrefuse my offer, and I'll put you in irons and keep you there till I can\nfling you ashore at [v]Dundee.\"\n\nNow there is no doubt Black meant what he said, and so I did not waste\ndignity by arguing with him. I had no taste for the irons, and as for\nbeing turned out on the ice--well, I had a plan ahead. But I didn't\nintend to leave Black more comfortable than I could help.\n\nSo I shut my eyes and said that the ship would have very bad luck that\nwinter, that there would be much sickness aboard. (This was an easy\nguess.) I said, considering this fact, I was glad to leave such an\nunwholesome ship.\n\nThe crew were just aching to get rid of me. This prophesying sort of\ngrows on a man; once you've started it, you've got to go on with it at\nall costs, and I could no more resist just letting my few remarks slip\nround amongst the men than I can resist eating when I'm hungry.\n\nThe nerves of the _Gleaner_ people were in strings from the cold and the\nblackness of the Arctic night, and it put the horrors on the lot of\nthem. The one thing they wanted was to see the last of me. They gave me\nalmost anything I fancied, but my means of transport were small. There\nwas a bit of a sledge, which I packed with some food, two Henry rifles\nand a few tools, five hundred cartridges, and the clothes I stood in. No\nmore could be taken.\n\nThen I went on deck into the bitter cold and over the side, and stood on\nthe ice, ready to start on my journey. The crew lined the rail to see me\noff, and I can tell you their faces were very different. The older ones\nwere savage and cared little how soon Jonah might die. The younger ones\nwere crying to see a fellow driven away into that icy loneliness, far\nfrom shelter.\n\nBut for myself I didn't care. I had method in all this performance. Soon\nafter we were beset in the ice, a family of Esquimaux had come on the\n_Gleaner_ to pay a polite call and get what they could out of us. They\nwere that dirty you could have chipped them with a scaling hammer, but\nthey were very friendly. One buck who stepped down into the engine\nroom--[v]Amatikita, he said his name was--had some English, and came to\nthe point as straight as anything.\n\n\"Give me a [v]dlink, Cappie,\" says he.\n\n\"This is a dry ship,\" says I.\n\n\"Plenty dlink in that box,\" says he, handling an oil-can.\n\n\"Oh, if that's what you want, take it,\" I told him, and he clapped the\nnozzle between his lips, and sucked down a gill of [v]cylinder\nlubricating oil as though it had been water.\n\n\"You seem to like it,\" I said; \"have some more.\"\n\nBut that was his fill. He thanked me and asked me to visit his village\nwhen I could get away from the ship. And just then some of his friends\nwere caught pilfering, and the whole crew of them were bundled away.\n\nNow I had noted that most of these Esquimaux had bits of bearskins\namongst their other furs, and it was that I had in mind when I fell out\nwith Captain Black. Amatikita had pointed out the direction in which his\nvillage lay, and it was to that I intended making my way with as little\ndelay as possible. But I kept this to myself, and let no word of it slip\nout on the _Gleaner_. Indeed, when I was over the bark's rails, I headed\noff due north across the ice. I climbed and stumbled on in this\ndirection till I was well out of their sight and hearing amongst the\nhummocks, and then I turned at right angles for the shore.\n\nThe cold up yonder in that Arctic night takes away your breath; it seems\nto take the manhood out of you. You stumble along gasping. By a chance I\ncame on an Esquimaux sealing, and he beat and thumped me into\nwakefulness. Then he packed me on to his dog-sleigh, and took my own bit\nof a sled behind, and set his fourteen-foot whip cracking, and off we\nset.\n\nWell, you have to be pretty far gone if you can stay asleep with an\n[v]Innuit's dog-sledge jolting and jumping beneath you, and I was well\nawakened, especially as the Esquimaux sat on top of me. And so in time\nwe brought up at the huts, and a good job, too. I'd been tramping in the\nwrong direction, so it turned out, and, besides, if I had come to the\nvillage, I might well have walked over the top of it, as it was drifted\nup level with snow. There was a bit of a rabbit-hole giving entrance to\neach hut, with some three fathoms of tunnel underground, and skin\ncurtains to keep out the draught, but once inside you might think\nyourself in a [v]stoke-hold again. There was the same smell of oil, and\nalmost the same warmth. I tell you, it was fine after that slicing cold\noutside.\n\nIt was Amatikita's house I was brought to, and he was very hospitable.\nThey took off my outer clothes and put them on the rack above the\nsoapstone lamp to dry, and waited on me most kindly. Indeed, they\nrecognized me as a superior at once, and kept on doing it. They put\ntender young seal-meat in the dish above the lamp, and when it was\ncooked I ate my part of the stew, and then got up and took the best\nplace on the raised sleeping-bench at the farther side of the hut. I cut\na fill for my pipe, lit up and passed the plug, and presently we were\nall smoking, happy as you please.\n\nAmatikita spoke up like a man. \"Very pleased to see you, Cappie. What\nyou come for? What you want?\"\n\n\"You're a man of business,\" I said. \"You waste no time. I like that.\nWhat I want is bearskins. The jackets of big, white, baggy-trousered\npolar bears, you know; and I brought along a couple of tip-top rifles\nfor you to get them with. Now, I make you a fair offer. Get me all the\nbears in the North Polar regions, and you shall have my Henrys and all\nthe cartridges that are left over. And as for the meat, you shall have\nthat as your own share of the game.\"\n\n\"You want shoot those bears yourself?\"\n\n\"Not if I can help it. I'm an engineer, and a good one at that. But as a\nsportsman I've had but little experience, and don't seem drawn toward\nlearning. It is too draughty up here, just at present, for my taste.\nI'll stay and keep house, and maybe do a bit of repairing and inventing\namong the furniture. I've brought along a hand-vice and a bag of tools\nwith me, and if you can supply drift-wood and some scrap-iron, I'll make\nthis turf-house of yours a real cottage.\"\n\nThe deal was made. I worked away with my tools, and whenever those\npowdering winter gales eased for a little, Amatikita and his friends\nwould go off with the howling dog-sledges and the Henrys, and it was\nrare that they'd come back without one bear, and often they'd bring two\nor even three. These white bears sleep through the black winter months\nin hollows in the cliffs, and the Esquimaux know their lairs, though\nit's rare enough they dare tackle them. Small blame, too, you'd say, if\nyou saw the flimsy bone-tipped lances and harpoons, which are all they\nare armed with.\n\nWith a good, smashing, heavy-bore Henry rifle it is a different thing.\nThe Esquimaux were no cowards. They would walk up within a yard of a\nbear, when the dogs had ringed it, and blow half its head away with a\nsingle shot. And then they would draw the carcass up to the huts with\nthe dog trains, and the women would skin and dress the meat, and\nAmatikita and the others would gorge themselves.\n\nAt last the long winter wore away. Amatikita dived in through the\nentrance of the hut one day and told me that the ice-floe was beginning\nto break. The news affected me like the blow of a whip. I went out into\nthe open and found the sun up. The men were overhauling their skin\ncanoes. The snow was wet underfoot and seafowl were swooping around. The\nfloe was still sound where it joined the shore, but two seaward lanes of\nblue water showed between the ice, and in one of them a whale was\nspouting pale gray mist.\n\nIt was high time for me to be off. So the bearskins were fastened by\nthongs to the sledges and word was shouted to the dog leader of each\nteam. The dogs started, and presently away went the teams full tilt, the\nsledges leaping and crashing in their wake, with the drivers and a\ncertain Scotch engineer who was unused to such [v]acrobatics clinging\non top of the packs. My! but yon was a wild ride over the rotten,\ncracking, sodden floe, under the fresh, bright sunshine of that Arctic\nspring morn!\n\nPresently round the flank of a small ice-berg we came in view of the\n_Gleaner_. She was still beset in the ice; but the hands were hard at\nwork beating the ice from the rigging and cutting a gutter around her in\nthe floe, so that she might float when the time came. They knocked off\nwork when we drove up.\n\n\"Good-day, Captain Black,\" I said. \"I've been troubling myself over\nbearskins, and I'll ask you for seven shillings head money on\ntwenty-nine.\"\n\n\"You've shot twenty-nine bears? You're lying to me.\"\n\n\"The skins are there, and you can count them for yourself.\"\n\nHis color changed when the Esquimaux passed the skins over the side. And\nI clambered aboard the ship along with them.\n\nW. CUTCLIFFE HYNE.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     Tell this story briefly, using your own words. What mistake did\n     McTodd make in preparing for the hunt? What amused you most? How\n     did McTodd show his shrewdness, even if he was not a good hunter?\n     What do you learn about the Arctic region?\n\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY READING\n\n     The Frozen Pirate--W. Clark Russell.\n     The Casting Away of Mrs. Leeks and Mrs. Aleshine--Frank R. Stockton.\n\n\n\n\nLOCHINVAR\n\n\n    Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west:--\n    Through all the wide Border his steed was the best,\n    And save his good broadsword he weapons had none;\n    He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.\n    So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,\n    There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.\n\n    He stayed not for [v]brake, and he stopped not for stone,\n    He swam the Esk river where ford there was none;\n    But ere he alighted at Netherby gate\n    The bride had consented, the gallant came late:\n    For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war\n    Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.\n\n    So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,\n    Among bride's-men and kinsmen and brothers and all:\n    Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword\n    (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word),\n    \"Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,\n    Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?\"\n\n    \"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;--\n    Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide--\n    And now am I come with this lost love of mine,\n    To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.\n    There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,\n    That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.\"\n\n    The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,\n    He quaffed of the wine, and he threw down the cup.\n    She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,\n    With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.\n    He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,--\n    \"Now tread we a measure!\" said young Lochinvar.\n\n    So stately his form, and so lovely her face,\n    That never a hall such a [v]galliard did grace;\n    While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,\n    And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume,\n    And the bride-maidens whispered, \"'Twere better by far\n    To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.\"\n\n    One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,\n    When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near;\n    So light to the [v]croup the fair lady he swung,\n    So light to the saddle before her he sprung!\n    \"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and [v]scar;\n    They'll have fleet steeds that follow,\" quoth young Lochinvar.\n\n    There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;\n    Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;\n    There was racing and chasing on Cannobie lea,\n    But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.\n    So daring in love, and so dauntless in war;\n    Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?\n\n    SIR WALTER SCOTT.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     Read the poem through and tell the story briefly. Where is the\n     scene laid? _Border_ here means the part of Scotland bordering on\n     England. Who is the hero? Give your opinion of him. Find the\n     expressions used by the poet to inspire admiration for Lochinvar.\n     Give your opinion of the bridegroom. Quote lines that express the\n     poet's opinion of him. What word is used instead of _thicket_ in\n     the second stanza? a _loiterer_? a _coward_? Why do you suppose the\n     bride had consented? Why did her father put his hand on his sword?\n     What reason did Lochinvar give for coming to the feast? Why did he\n     act as if he did not care? Was the bride willing to marry \"the\n     laggard in love\"? How do you know? Describe the scene as the two\n     danced. What do you suppose was the \"one word in her ear\"?\n\n     Read aloud the lines describing Lochinvar's ride to Netherby Hall.\n     Read those describing the ride from the hall. Notice the galloping\n     movement of the verse.\n\n\n\n\nIN LABRADOR\n\n\nI\n\nTrafford and Marjorie were in Labrador to spend the winter. It was a\nqueer idea for a noted [v]scientist and rich and successful business man\nto cut himself loose from the world of London and go out into the Arctic\nstorm and darkness of one of the bleakest quarters of the globe. But\nTrafford had fallen into a discontent with living, a weariness of the\nround of work and pleasure, and it was in the hope of winning back his\nlost zest and happiness that he had made up his mind to try the cure of\nthe wilderness. Marjorie had insisted, like a good wife, on leaving\nchildren and home and comfort and accompanying him into the frozen\nwilds.\n\nThe voyage across the sea and the march inland into Labrador were\nuneventful. Trafford chose his winter-quarters on the side of a low\nrazor-hacked, rocky mountain ridge, about fifty feet above a little\nriver. Not a dozen miles away from them, they reckoned, was the Height\nof Land, the low watershed between the waters that go to the Atlantic\nand those that go to Hudson's Bay. North and north-east of them the\ncountry rose to a line of low crests, with here and there a yellowing\npatch of last year's snow, and across the valley were slopes covered in\nplaces by woods of stunted pine. It had an empty spaciousness of\neffect; the one continually living thing seemed to be the river,\nhurrying headlong, noisily, perpetually, in an eternal flight from this\nhigh desolation.\n\nFor nearly four weeks indeed they were occupied very closely in fixing\ntheir cabin and making their other preparations, and crept into their\nbunks at night as tired as wholesome animals who drop to sleep. At any\ntime the weather might break; already there had been two overcast days\nand a frowning conference of clouds in the north. When at last storms\nbegan, they knew there would be nothing for it but to keep in the hut\nuntil the world froze up.\n\nThe weather broke at last. One might say it smashed itself over their\nheads. There came an afternoon darkness swift and sudden, a wild gale,\nand an icy sleet that gave place in the night to snow, so that Trafford\nlooked out next morning to see a maddening chaos of small white flakes,\nincredibly swift, against something that was neither darkness nor light.\nEven with the door but partly ajar, a cruelty of cold put its claw\nwithin, set everything that was movable swaying and clattering, and made\nMarjorie hasten shuddering to heap fresh logs upon the fire. Once or\ntwice Trafford went out to inspect tent and roof and store-shed; several\ntimes, wrapped to the nose, he battled his way for fresh wood, and for\nthe rest of the blizzard they kept to the hut. It was slumberously\nstuffy, but comfortingly full of flavors of tobacco and food. There\nwere two days of intermission and a day of gusts and icy sleet again,\nturning with one extraordinary clap of thunder to a wild downpour of\ndancing lumps of ice, and then a night when it seemed all Labrador,\nearth and sky together, was in hysterical protest against inconceivable\nwrongs.\n\nAnd then the break was over; the annual freezing-up accomplished; winter\nhad established itself; the snowfall moderated and ceased, and an\nice-bound world shone white and sunlit under a cloudless sky.\n\nOne morning Trafford found the footmarks of some catlike creature in the\nsnow near the bushes where he was accustomed to get firewood; they led\naway very plainly up the hill, and after breakfast he took his knife and\nrifle and snowshoes and went after the lynx--for that he decided the\nanimal must be. There was no urgent reason why he should want to kill a\nlynx, unless perhaps that killing it made the store-shed a trifle safer;\nbut it was the first trail of any living thing for many days; it\npromised excitement; some [v]primitive instinct perhaps urged him.\n\nThe morning was a little overcast, and very cold between the gleams of\nwintry sunshine. \"Good-by, dear wife!\" he said, and then as she\nremembered afterward came back a dozen yards to kiss her. \"I'll not be\nlong,\" he said. \"The beast's prowling, and if it doesn't get wind of me,\nI ought to find it in an hour.\" He hesitated for a moment. \"I'll not be\nlong,\" he repeated, and she had an instant's wonder whether he hid from\nher the same dread of loneliness that she concealed. Up among the\ntumbled rocks he turned, and she was still watching him. \"Good-by!\" he\ncried and waved, and the willow thickets closed about him.\n\nShe forced herself to the petty duties of the day, made up the fire from\nthe pile he had left for her, set water to boil, put the hut in order,\nbrought out sheets and blankets to air, and set herself to wash up. She\nwished she had been able to go with him. The sky cleared presently, and\nthe low December sun lit all the world about her, but it left her spirit\ndesolate.\n\nShe did not expect him to return until midday, and she sat herself down\non a log before the fire to darn a pair of socks as well as she could.\nFor a time this unusual occupation held her attention and then her hands\nbecame slow and at last inactive, and she fell into reverie. Thoughts\ncame quick and fast of her children in England so far away.\n\nWhat was that? She flashed to her feet.\n\nIt seemed to her she had heard the sound of a shot, and a quick, brief\nwake of echoes. She looked across the icy waste of the river, and then\nup the tangled slopes of the mountain. Her heart was beating fast. It\nmust have been up there, and no doubt Trafford had killed his beast.\nSome shadow of doubt she would not admit crossed that obvious\nsuggestion. The wilderness was making her as nervously responsive as a\ncreature of the wild.\n\nThere came a second shot; this time there was no doubt of it. Then the\ndesolate silence closed about her again.\n\nMarjorie stood for a long time, staring at the shrubby slopes that rose\nto the barren rock wilderness of the purple mountain crest. She sighed\ndeeply at last, and set herself to make up the fire and prepare for the\nmidday meal. Once, far away across the river, she heard the howl of a\nwolf.\n\nTime seemed to pass very slowly that day. Marjorie found herself going\nrepeatedly to the space between the day tent and the sleeping hut from\nwhich she could see the stunted wood that had swallowed her husband up,\nand after what seemed a long hour her watch told her it was still only\nhalf-past twelve. And the fourth or fifth time that she went to look out\nshe was set a-tremble again by the sound of a third shot. And then at\nregular intervals out of that distant brown-purple jumble of thickets\nagainst the snow came two more shots. \"Something has happened,\" she\nsaid, \"something has happened,\" and stood rigid. Then she became active,\nseized the rifle that was always at hand when she was alone, fired into\nthe sky, and stood listening.\n\nPrompt came an answering shot.\n\n\"He wants me,\" said Marjorie. \"Something--perhaps he has killed\nsomething too big to bring!\"\n\nShe was for starting at once, and then remembered this was not the way\nof the wilderness.\n\nShe thought and moved very rapidly. Her mind catalogued possible\nrequirements,--rifle, hunting knife, the oilskin bag with matches, and\nsome chunks of dry paper, the [v]rucksack. Besides, he would be hungry.\nShe took a saucepan and a huge chunk of cheese and biscuit. Then a\nbrandy flask is sometimes handy--one never knows,--though nothing was\nwrong, of course. Needles and stout thread, and some cord. Snowshoes. A\nwaterproof cloak could be easily carried. Her light hatchet for wood.\nShe cast about to see if there was anything else. She had almost\nforgotten cartridges--and a revolver. Nothing more. She kicked a stray\nbrand or so into the fire, put on some more wood, damped the fire with\nan armful of snow to make it last longer, and set out toward the willows\ninto which he had vanished.\n\nThere was a rustling and snapping of branches as she pushed her way\nthrough the bushes, a little stir that died insensibly into quiet again;\nand then the camping place became very still.\n\nTrafford's trail led Marjorie through the thicket of dwarf willows and\ndown to the gully of the rivulet which they had called Marjorie Trickle;\nit had long since become a trough of snow-covered, rotten ice. The trail\ncrossed this and, turning sharply uphill, went on until it was clear of\nshrubs and trees, and, in the windy open of the upper slopes, it crossed\na ridge and came over the lip of a large desolate valley with slopes of\nice and icy snow. Here Marjorie spent some time in following his loops\nback on the homeward trail before she saw what was manifestly the final\ntrail running far away out across the snow, with the [v]spoor of the\nlynx, a lightly-dotted line, to the right of it. She followed this\nsuggestion of the trail, put on her snowshoes, and shuffled her way\nacross this valley, which opened as she proceeded. She hoped that over\nthe ridge she would find Trafford, and scanned the sky for the faintest\ndiscoloration of a fire, but there was none. That seemed odd to her, but\nthe wind was in her face, and perhaps it beat the smoke down. Then as\nher eyes scanned the hummocky ridge ahead, she saw something, something\nvery intent and still, that brought her heart into her mouth. It was a\nbig gray wolf, standing with back haunched and head down, watching and\nscenting something beyond.\n\nMarjorie had an instinctive fear of wild animals, and it still seemed\ndreadful to her that they should go at large, uncaged. She suddenly\nwanted Trafford violently, wanted him by her side. Also, she thought of\nleaving the trail, going back to the bushes. But presently her nerve\nreturned. In the wastes one did not fear wild beasts, one had no fear of\nthem. But why not fire a shot to let him know she was near?\n\nThe beast flashed round with an animal's instantaneous change of pose,\nand looked at her. For a couple of seconds, perhaps, woman and brute\nregarded one another across a quarter of a mile of snowy desolation.\n\nSuppose it came toward her!\n\nShe would fire--and she would fire at it. Marjorie made a guess at the\nrange and aimed very carefully. She saw the snow fly two yards ahead of\nthe grisly shape, and then in an instant the beast had vanished over the\ncrest.\n\nShe reloaded, and stood for a moment waiting for Trafford's answer. No\nanswer came. \"Queer!\" she whispered, \"queer!\"--and suddenly such a\nhorror of anticipation assailed her that she started running and\nfloundering through the snow to escape it. Twice she called his name,\nand once she just stopped herself from firing a shot.\n\nOver the ridge she would find him. Surely she would find him over the\nridge!\n\nShe now trampled among rocks, and there was a beaten place where\nTrafford must have waited and crouched. Then on and down a slope of\ntumbled boulders. There came a patch where he had either thrown himself\ndown or fallen; it seemed to her he must have been running.\n\nSuddenly, a hundred feet or so away, she saw a patch of violently\ndisturbed snow--snow stained a dreadful color, a snow of scarlet\ncrystals! Three strides and Trafford was in sight.\n\nShe had a swift conviction that he was dead. He was lying in a crumpled\nattitude on a patch of snow between [v]convergent rocks, and the lynx, a\nmass of blood-smeared, silvery fur, was in some way mixed up with him.\nShe saw as she came nearer that the snow was disturbed round about them,\nand discolored [v]copiously, yellow, and in places bright red, with\ncongealed and frozen blood. She felt no fear now and no emotion; all her\nmind was engaged with the clear, bleak perception of the fact before\nher. She did not care to call to him again. His head was hidden by the\nlynx's body, as if he was burrowing underneath the creature; his legs\nwere twisted about each other in a queer, unnatural attitude.\n\nThen, as she dropped off a boulder, and came nearer, Trafford moved. A\nhand came out and gripped the rifle beside him; he suddenly lifted a\ndreadful face, horribly scarred and torn, and crimson with frozen blood;\nhe pushed the gray beast aside, rose on an elbow, wiped his sleeve\nacross his eyes, stared at her, grunted, and flopped forward. He had\nfainted.\n\nMarjorie was now as clear-minded and as self-possessed as a woman in a\nshop. In another moment she was kneeling by his side. She saw, by the\nposition of his knife and the huge rip in the beast's body, that he had\nstabbed the lynx to death as it clawed his head; he must have shot and\nwounded it and then fallen upon it. His knitted cap was torn to ribbons,\nand hung upon his neck. Also his leg was manifestly injured--how, she\ncould not tell. It was evident that he must freeze if he lay here, and\nit seemed to her that perhaps he had pulled the dead brute over him to\nprotect his torn skin from the extremity of cold. The lynx was already\nrigid, its clumsy paws asprawl,--and the torn skin and clot upon\nTrafford's face were stiff as she put her hands about his head to raise\nhim. She turned him over on his back--how heavy he seemed?--and forced\nbrandy between his teeth. Then, after a moment's hesitation, she poured\na little brandy on his wounds.\n\nShe glanced at his leg, which was surely broken, and back at his face.\nThen she gave him more brandy, and his eyelids flickered. He moved his\nhand weakly. \"The blood,\" he said, \"kept getting in my eyes.\"\n\nShe gave him brandy once again, wiped his face, and glanced at his leg.\nSomething ought to be done to that, Marjorie thought. But things must be\ndone in order.\n\nThe woman stared up at the darkling sky with its gray promise of snow,\nand down the slopes of the mountain. Clearly they must stay the night\nhere. They were too high for wood among these rocks, but three or four\nhundred yards below there were a number of dwarfed fir trees. She had\nbrought an ax, so that a fire was possible. Should she go back to camp\nand get the tent?\n\nTrafford was trying to speak again. \"I got--\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Got my leg in that crack.\"\n\nWas he able to advise her? She looked at him, and then perceived that\nshe must bind up his head and face. She knelt behind him and raised his\nhead on her knee. She had a thick silk neck muffler, and this she\nsupplemented by a band she cut and tore from her inner vest. She bound\nthis, still warm from her body, about him, and wrapped her dark cloak\nround his shoulders. The next thing was a fire. Five yards away,\nperhaps, a great mass of purple [v]gabbro hung over a patch of nearly\nsnowless moss. A hummock to the westward offered shelter from the bitter\nwind, the icy draught, that was soughing down the valley. Always in\nLabrador, if you can, you camp against a rock surface; it shelters you\nfrom the wind, guards your back.\n\n\"Dear!\" she said.\n\n\"Awful hole,\" said Trafford.\n\n\"What?\" she cried sharply.\n\n\"Put you in an awful hole,\" he said. \"Eh?\"\n\n\"Listen,\" she said, and shook his shoulder. \"Look! I want to get you up\nagainst that rock.\"\n\n\"Won't make much difference,\" replied Trafford, and opened his eyes.\n\"Where?\" he asked.\n\n\"There.\"\n\nHe remained quite quiet for a second perhaps. \"Listen to me,\" he said.\n\"Go back to camp.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said.\n\n\"Go back to camp. Make a pack of all the strongest\nfood--strenthin'--strengthrin' food--you know?\" He seemed unable to\nexpress himself.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said.\n\n\"Down the river. Down--down. Till you meet help.\"\n\n\"Leave you?\"\n\nHe nodded his head and winced.\n\n\"You're always plucky,\" he said. \"Look facts in the face. Children.\nThought it over while you were coming.\" A tear oozed from his eye.\n\"Don't be a fool, Madge. Kiss me good-by. Don't be a fool. I'm done.\nChildren.\"\n\nShe stared at him and her spirit was a luminous mist of tears. \"You old\n_coward_,\" she said in his ear, and kissed the little patch of rough and\nbloody cheek beneath his eye. Then she knelt up beside him. \"_I'm_ boss\nnow, old man,\" she said. \"I want to get you to that place there under\nthe rock. If I drag, can you help?\"\n\nHe answered obstinately: \"You'd better go.\"\n\n\"I'll make you comfortable first,\" she returned.\n\nHe made an enormous effort, and then, with her quick help and with his\nback to her knee, had raised himself on his elbows.\n\n\"And afterward?\" he asked.\n\n\"Build a fire.\"\n\n\"Wood?\"\n\n\"Down there.\"\n\n\"Two bits of wood tied on my leg--splints. Then I can drag myself. See?\nLike a blessed old walrus.\"\n\nHe smiled and she kissed his bandaged face again.\n\n\"Else it hurts,\" he apologized, \"more than I can stand.\"\n\nShe stood up again, put his rifle and knife to his hand, for fear of\nthat lurking wolf, abandoning her own rifle with an effort, and went\nstriding and leaping from rock to rock toward the trees below. She made\nthe chips fly, and was presently towing three venerable pine dwarfs,\nbumping over rock and crevice, back to Trafford. She flung them down,\nstood for a moment bright and breathless, then set herself to hack off\nthe splints he needed from the biggest stem. \"Now,\" she said, coming to\nhim.\n\n\"A fool,\" he remarked, \"would have made the splints down there.\nYou're--_good_, Marjorie.\"\n\nShe lugged his leg out straight, put it into the natural and least\npainful pose, padded it with moss and her torn handkerchief, and bound\nit up. As she did so a handful of snowflakes came whirling about them.\nShe was now braced up to every possibility. \"It never rains,\" she said\ngrimly, \"but it pours,\" and went on with her bone-setting. He was badly\nweakened by pain and shock, and once he spoke to her sharply. \"Sorry,\"\nhe said a moment later.\n\nShe rolled him over on his chest, and left him to struggle to the\nshelter of the rock while she went for more wood.\n\nThe sky alarmed her. The mountains up the valley were already hidden by\ndriven rags of slaty snowstorms. This time she found a longer but easier\npath for dragging her boughs and trees; she determined she would not\nstart the fire until nightfall, nor waste any time in preparing food\nuntil then. There were dead boughs for kindling--more than enough. It\nwas snowing quite fast by the time she got up to him with her second\nload, and a premature twilight already obscured and exaggerated the\nrocks and mounds about her. She gave some of her cheese to Trafford, and\ngnawed some herself on her way down to the wood again. She regretted\nthat she had brought neither candles nor lantern, because then she might\nhave kept on until the cold night stopped her, and she reproached\nherself bitterly because she had brought no tea. She could forgive\nherself the lantern, for she had never expected to be out after dark,\nbut the tea was inexcusable. She muttered self-reproaches while she\nworked like two men among the trees, panting puffs of mist that froze\nupon her lips and iced the knitted wool that covered her chin. \"Why\ndon't they teach a girl to handle an ax?\" she cried.\n\n\nII\n\nWhen at last the wolfish cold of the Labrador night had come, it found\nTrafford and Marjorie seated almost warmly on a bed of pine boughs\nbetween the sheltering dark rock behind and a big but well-husbanded\nfire in front, drinking a queer-tasting but not unsavory soup of\nlynx-flesh, which she had fortified with the remainder of the brandy.\nThen they tried roast lynx and ate a little, and finished with some\nscraps of cheese and deep draughts of hot water.\n\nThe snowstorm poured incessantly out of the darkness to become flakes of\nburning fire in the light of the flames, flakes that vanished magically,\nbut it only reached them and wetted them in occasional gusts. What did\nit matter for the moment if the dim snowheaps rose and rose about them?\nA glorious fatigue, an immense self-satisfaction, possessed Marjorie;\nshe felt that they had both done well.\n\n\"I am not afraid of to-morrow now,\" she said at last.\n\nTrafford was smoking his pipe and did not speak for a moment. \"Nor I,\"\nhe said at last. \"Very likely we'll get through with it.\" He added after\na pause: \"I thought I was done for. A man--loses heart--after a loss of\nblood.\"\n\n\"The leg's better?\"\n\n\"Hot as fire.\" His humor hadn't left him. \"It's a treat,\" he said. \"The\nhottest thing in Labrador.\"\n\nLater Marjorie slept, but on a spring as it were, lest the fire should\nfall. She replenished it with boughs, tucked in the half-burnt logs, and\nwent to sleep again. Then it seemed to her that some invisible hand was\npouring a thin spirit on the flames that made them leap and crackle and\nspread north and south until they filled the heavens with a gorgeous\nglow. The snowstorm was overpast, leaving the sky clear and all the\nwestward heaven alight with the trailing, crackling, leaping curtains of\nthe [v]aurora, brighter than she had ever seen them before. Quite\nclearly visible beyond the smolder of the fire, a wintry waste of rock\nand snow, boulder beyond boulder, passed into a [v]dun obscurity. The\nmountain to the right of them lay long and white and stiff, a shrouded\ndeath. All earth was dead and waste, and the sky alive and coldly\nmarvelous, signalling and astir. She watched the changing, shifting\ncolors, and they made her think of the gathering banners of inhuman\nhosts, the stir and marshaling of icy giants for ends stupendous and\nindifferent to all the trivial impertinence of man's existence! Marjorie\nfelt a passionate desire to pray.\n\nThe bleak, slow dawn found Marjorie intently busy. She had made up the\nfire, boiled water and washed and dressed Trafford's wounds, and made\nanother soup of lynx. But Trafford had weakened in the night; the soup\nnauseated him; he refused it and tried to smoke and was sick, and then\nsat back rather despairfully after a second attempt to persuade her to\nleave him there to die. This failure of his spirit distressed her and a\nlittle astonished her, but it only made her more resolute to go through\nwith her work. She had awakened cold, stiff and weary, but her fatigue\nvanished with movement; she toiled for an hour replenishing her pile of\nfuel, made up the fire, put his gun ready to his hand, kissed him,\nabused him lovingly for the trouble he gave her until his poor torn face\nlit in response, and then parting on a note of cheerful confidence, set\nout to return to the hut. She found the way not altogether easy to make\nout; wind and snow had left scarcely a trace of their tracks, and her\nmind was full of the stores she must bring and the possibility of moving\nTrafford nearer to the hut. She was startled to see by the fresh, deep\nspoor along the ridge how near the wolf had dared approach them in the\ndarkness.\n\nEver and again Marjorie had to halt and look back to get her direction\nright. As it was, she came through the willow scrub nearly half a mile\nabove the hut, and had to follow the steep bank of the frozen river.\nOnce she nearly slipped upon an icy slope of rock.\n\nOne possibility she did not dare to think of during that time--a\nblizzard now would cut her off absolutely from any return to Trafford.\nShort of that, she believed she could get through.\n\nHer quick mind was full of all she had to do. At first she had thought\nchiefly of Trafford's immediate necessities, of food and some sort of\nshelter. She had got a list of things in her head--meat extract,\nbandages, [v]corrosive sublimate by way of antiseptic, brandy, a tin of\nbeef, some bread, and so forth; she went over it several times to be\nsure of it, and then for a time she puzzled about a tent. She thought\nshe could manage a bale of blankets on her back, and that she could rig\na sleeping tent for herself and Trafford out of them and some bent\nsticks. The big tent would be too much to strike and shift. And then her\nmind went on to a bolder enterprise, which was to get him home. The\nnearer she could bring him to the log hut, the nearer they would be to\nsupplies.\n\nShe cast about for some sort of sledge. The snow was too soft and broken\nfor runners, especially among the trees, but if she could get a flat of\nsmooth wood, she thought she might be able to drag him. She decided to\ntry the side of her bunk, which she could easily get off. She would\nhave, of course, to run it edgewise through the thickets and across the\nravine, but after that she would have almost clear going up to the steep\nplace of broken rocks within two hundred yards of him. The idea of a\nsledge grew upon her, and she planned to nail a rope along the edge and\nmake a kind of harness for herself.\n\nMarjorie found the camping-place piled high with drifted snow, which had\ninvaded tent and hut, and that some beast, a wolverine she guessed, had\nbeen into the hut, devoured every candle-end and the uppers of\nTrafford's well-greased second boots, and had then gone to the corner of\nthe store-shed and clambered up to the stores. She took no account of\nits [v]depredations there, but set herself to make a sledge and get her\nsupplies together. There was a gleam of sunshine, though she did not\nlike the look of the sky and she was horribly afraid of what might be\nhappening to Trafford. She carried her stuff through the wood and across\nthe ravine, and returned for her improvised sledge. She was still\nstruggling with that among the trees when it began to snow again.\n\nIt was hard then not to be frantic in her efforts. As it was, she packed\nher stuff so loosely on the planking that she had to repack it, and she\nstarted without putting on her snowshoes, and floundered fifty yards\nbefore she discovered that omission. The snow was now falling fast,\ndarkling the sky and hiding everything but objects close at hand, and\nshe had to use all of her wits to determine her direction: she knew she\nmust go down a long slope and then up to the ridge, and it came to her\nas a happy inspiration that if she bore to the left she might strike\nsome recognizable vestige of her morning's trail. She had read of people\nwalking in circles when they have no light or guidance, and that\ntroubled her until she bethought herself of the little compass on her\nwatch chain. By that she kept her direction. She wished very much she\nhad timed herself across the waste, so that she could tell when she\napproached the ridge.\n\nSoon her back and shoulders were aching violently, and the rope across\nher chest was tugging like some evil-tempered thing. But she did not\ndare to rest. The snow was now falling thick and fast; the flakes traced\nwhite spirals and made her head spin, so that she was constantly falling\naway to the southwestward and then correcting herself by the compass.\nShe tried to think how this zig-zagging might affect her course, but the\nsnow whirls confused her mind and a growing anxiety would not let her\npause to think.\n\nMarjorie felt blinded; it seemed to be snowing inside her eyes so that\nshe wanted to rub them. Soon the ground must rise to the ridge, she told\nherself; it must surely rise. Then the sledge came bumping at her heels\nand she perceived that she was going down hill. She consulted the\ncompass and found she was facing south. She turned sharply to the right\nagain. The snowfall became a noiseless, pitiless torture to sight and\nmind.\n\nThe sledge behind her struggled to hold her back, and the snow balled\nunder her snowshoes. She wanted to stop and rest, take thought, sit for\na moment. She struggled with herself and kept on. She tried walking with\nshut eyes, and tripped and came near sprawling. \"Oh God!\" she cried, \"Oh\nGod!\" too stupefied for more [v]articulate prayers. She was leaden with\nfatigue.\n\nWould the rise of the ground to the ribs of rock never come?\n\nA figure, black and erect, stood in front of her suddenly, and beyond\nappeared a group of black, straight antagonists. She staggered on toward\nthem, gripping her rifle with some muddled idea of defense, and in\nanother moment she was brushing against the branches of a stunted fir,\nwhich shed thick lumps of snow upon her feet. What trees were these? Had\nshe ever passed any trees? No! There were no trees on her way to\nTrafford.\n\nAt that Marjorie began whimpering like a tormented child. But even as\nshe wept, she turned her sledge about to follow the edge of the wood.\nShe was too much downhill, she thought, and must bear up again.\n\nShe left the trees behind, made an angle uphill to the right, and was\npresently among trees again. Again she left them and again came back to\nthem. She screamed with anger and twitched her sledge along. She wiped\nat the snowstorm with her arm as though to wipe it away; she wanted to\nstamp on the universe.\n\nAnd she ached, she ached.\n\nSuddenly something caught her eye ahead, something that gleamed; it was\nexactly like a long, bare, rather pinkish bone standing erect on the\nground. Just because it was strange and queer she ran forward to it. As\nshe came nearer, she perceived that it was a streak of barked trunk; a\nbranch had been torn off a pine tree and the bark stripped down to the\nroot. And then came another, poking its pinkish wounds above the snow.\nAnd there were chips! This filled her with wonder. Some one had been\ncutting wood! There must be Indians or trappers near, she thought, and\nof a sudden realized that the wood-cutter could be none other than\nherself.\n\nShe turned to the right and saw the rocks rising steeply, close at hand.\n\"Oh Ragg!\" she cried, and fired her rifle in the air.\n\nTen seconds, twenty seconds, and then so loud and near it amazed her,\ncame his answering shot.\n\nIn another moment Marjorie had discovered the trail she had made\novernight and that morning by dragging firewood. It was now a shallow,\nsoft white trench. Instantly her despair and fatigue had gone from her.\nShould she take a load of wood with her? she asked herself, in addition\nto the weight behind her, and immediately had a better idea. She would\nunload and pile her stuff here, and bring him down on the sledge closer\nto the wood. The woman looked about and saw two rocks that diverged,\nwith a space between. She flashed schemes. She would trample the snow\nhard and flat, put her sledge on it, pile boughs and make a canopy of\nblanket overhead and behind. Finally there would be a fine, roaring\nfire in front.\n\nShe tossed her provisions down and ran up the broad windings of her\npine-tree trail to Trafford, with the sledge bumping behind her.\nMarjorie ran as lightly as though she had done nothing that day.\n\nShe found Trafford markedly recovered, weak and quiet, with snow\ndrifting over his feet, his rifle across his knees, and his pipe alight.\n\"Back already\"--\n\nHe hesitated. \"No grub?\"\n\nThe wife knelt over him, gave his rough, unshaven cheek a swift kiss,\nand rapidly explained her plan.\n\nMarjorie carried it out with all of the will-power that was hers. In\nthree days' time, in spite of the snow, in spite of every other\nobstacle, they were back in the hut, and Trafford was comfortably\nsettled in bed. The icy vastness of Labrador still lay around them to\ninfinite distances on every side, but the two might laugh at storm and\ndarkness now in their cosy hut, with plenty of fuel and food and light.\n\nH. G. WELLS.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     I. Describe the location of Trafford's camp; also the coming of\n     winter. Give in your own words an account of the adventure that\n     befell the two.\n\n     II. Name some characteristics Marjorie showed in the critical\n     situation. What did she do that impressed you most? What would you\n     have done in similar circumstances?\n\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY READING\n\n     Youth--Joseph Conrad.\n     Prairie Folks--Hamlin Garland.\n     Northern Lights--Sir Gilbert Parker.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BUGLE SONG\n\n      The splendor falls on castle walls\n        The snowy summits old in story;\n      The long light shakes across the lakes,\n        And the wild cataract leaps in glory.\n    Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,\n    Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.\n\n      O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,\n        And thinner, clearer, farther going!\n      O, sweet and far from cliff and scar\n        The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!\n    Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:\n    Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.\n\n      O love, they die in yon rich sky,\n        They faint on hill or field or river;\n      Our echoes roll from soul to soul,\n        And grow for ever and for ever.\n    Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying.\n    And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.\n\n    ALFRED TENNYSON.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SIEGE OF THE CASTLE\n\n\n     This story is an extract from Sir Walter Scott's novel, _Ivanhoe_,\n     which describes life in England during the Middle Ages, something\n     more than a century after the Norman Conquest. The hatred between\n     the conquering Normans and the conquered Saxons still continued,\n     and is graphically pictured by Scott. _Ivanhoe_ centers about the\n     household of one Cedric the Saxon, who was a great upholder of the\n     traditions of his unfortunate people. Wilfred of Ivanhoe, Cedric's\n     son, entered the service of the Norman king of England, Richard I,\n     and accompanied him to the Holy Land on the Third Crusade. His\n     father disowned the young knight for what he considered disloyalty\n     to his Saxon blood. Ivanhoe, returning to England, participated in\n     a great tournament at Ashby, in which he won fame under the\n     disguise of the \"Disinherited Knight.\" Among the other knights who\n     took part in the tournament were the Normans, Maurice de Bracy,\n     Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, and Brian de Bois-Guilbert, a Knight\n     Templar. Two sides fought in the tournament, one representing the\n     English, the other representing the foreign element in the land. An\n     unknown knight, clad in black armor, brought victory to the English\n     side, but left the field without disclosing his identity. An\n     archery contest held at the tournament was won by a wonderful\n     bowman who gave his name as Locksley. Ivanhoe, who fought with\n     great valor, was badly wounded. Cedric had been accompanied to\n     Ashby by his beautiful ward, the Lady Rowena, whose wealth and\n     loveliness excited the cupidity of the lawless Norman knights. \"The\n     Siege of the Castle\" opens with Cedric's discovery of his son's\n     identity, and recounts the stirring incidents that follow the\n     tournament. It gives a wonderful picture of warfare as it was\n     hundreds of years ago, before the age of gunpowder.\n\n\nI\n\nWhen Cedric the Saxon saw his son drop down senseless in the great\ntournament at Ashby, his first impulse was to order him into the care of\nhis own attendants, but the words choked in his throat. He could not\nbring himself to acknowledge, in the presence of such an assembly, the\nson whom he had renounced and disinherited for his allegiance to the\nNorman king of England, Richard of the Lion Heart. However, he ordered\none of the officers of his household, his cupbearer, to convey Ivanhoe\nto Ashby as soon as the crowd had dispersed. But the man was anticipated\nin this good office. The crowd dispersed, indeed, but the wounded knight\nwas nowhere to be seen.\n\nIt seemed as if the fairies had conveyed Ivanhoe from the spot; and\nCedric's officer might have adopted some such theory to account for his\ndisappearance, had he not suddenly cast his eyes on a person attired\nlike a squire, in whom he recognized the features of his fellow-servant\nGurth, who had run away from his master. Anxious about Ivanhoe's fate,\nGurth was searching for him everywhere and, in so doing, he neglected\nthe concealment on which his own safety depended. The cupbearer deemed\nit his duty to secure Gurth as a fugitive of whose fate his master was\nto judge. Renewing his inquiries concerning the fate of Ivanhoe, all\nthat the cupbearer could learn was that the knight had been raised by\ncertain well-attired grooms, under the direction of a veiled woman, and\nplaced in a litter, which had immediately transported him out of the\npress. The officer, on receiving this intelligence, resolved to return\nto his master, carrying along with him Gurth, the swineherd, as a\ndeserter from Cedric's service.\n\nThe Saxon had been under intense [v]apprehensions concerning his son;\nbut no sooner was he informed that Ivanhoe was in careful hands than\npaternal anxiety gave way anew to the feeling of injured pride and\nresentment at what he termed Wilfred's [v]filial disobedience.\n\n\"Let him wander his way,\" said Cedric; \"let those leech his wounds for\nwhose sake he encountered them. He is fitter to do the juggling tricks\nof the Norman chivalry than to maintain the fame and honor of his\nEnglish ancestry with the [v]glaive and [v]brown-bill, the good old\nweapons of the country.\"\n\nThe old Saxon now prepared for his return to Rotherwood, with his ward,\nthe Lady Rowena, and his following. It was during the bustle preceding\nhis departure that Cedric, for the first time, cast his eyes upon the\ndeserter Gurth. He was in no very placid humor and wanted but a pretext\nfor wreaking his anger upon some one.\n\n\"The [v]gyves!\" he cried. \"Dogs and villains, why leave ye this knave\nunfettered?\"\n\nWithout daring to remonstrate, the companions of Gurth bound him with a\nhalter, as the readiest cord which occurred. He submitted to the\noperation without any protest, except that he darted a reproachful look\nat his master.\n\n\"To horse, and forward!\" ordered Cedric.\n\n\"It is indeed full time,\" said the Saxon prince Athelstane, who\naccompanied Cedric, \"for if we ride not faster, the preparations for our\nsupper will be altogether spoiled.\"\n\nThe travelers, however, used such speed as to reach the convent of Saint\nWithold's before the apprehended evil took place. The abbot, himself of\nancient Saxon descent, received the noble Saxons with the profuse\nhospitality of their nation, wherein they indulged to a late hour. They\ntook leave of their reverend host the next morning after they had shared\nwith him a [v]sumptuous breakfast, which Athelstane particularly\nappreciated.\n\nThe superstitious Saxons, as they left the convent, were inspired with a\nfeeling of coming evil by the behavior of a large, lean black dog,\nwhich, sitting upright, howled most piteously when the foremost riders\nleft the gate, and presently afterward, barking wildly and jumping to\nand fro, seemed bent on attaching itself to the party.\n\n\"In my mind,\" said Athelstane, \"we had better turn back and abide with\nthe abbot until the afternoon. It is unlucky to travel where your path\nis crossed by a monk, a hare, or a howling dog, until you have eaten\nyour next meal.\"\n\n\"Away!\" said Cedric impatiently; \"the day is already too short for our\njourney. For the dog, I know it to be the cur of the runaway slave\nGurth, a useless fugitive like its master.\"\n\nSo saying and rising at the same time in his stirrups, impatient at the\ninterruption of his journey, he launched his [v]javelin at poor Fangs,\nwho, having lost his master, was now rejoicing at his reappearance. The\njavelin inflicted a wound upon the animal's shoulder and narrowly missed\npinning him to the earth; Fangs fled howling from the presence of the\nenraged [v]thane. Gurth's heart swelled within him, for he felt this\nattempted slaughter of his faithful beast in a degree much deeper than\nthe harsh treatment he had himself received. Having in vain raised his\nhand to his eyes, he said to Wamba, the jester, who, seeing his master's\nill humor, had prudently retreated to the rear, \"I pray thee, do me the\nkindness to wipe my eyes with the skirt of thy mantle; the dust offends\nme, and these bonds will not let me help myself one way or another.\"\n\nWamba did him the service he required, and they rode side by side for\nsome time, during which Gurth maintained a moody silence. At length he\ncould repress his feelings no longer.\n\n\"Friend Wamba,\" said he, \"of all those who are fools enough to serve\nCedric, thou alone hast sufficient dexterity to make thy folly\nacceptable to him. Go to him, therefore, and tell him that neither for\nlove nor fear will Gurth serve him longer. He may strike the head from\nme--he may scourge me--he may load me with irons--but henceforth he\nshall never compel me either to love or obey him. Go to him and tell him\nthat Gurth renounces his service.\"\n\n\"Assuredly,\" replied Wamba, \"fool as I am, I will not do your fool's\nerrand. Cedric hath another javelin stuck into his girdle, and thou\nknowest he doth not always miss his mark.\"\n\n\"I care not,\" returned Gurth, \"how soon he makes a mark of me. Yesterday\nhe left Wilfred, my young master, in his blood. To-day he has striven to\nkill the only other living creature that ever showed me kindness. By\nSaint Edward, Saint Dunstan, Saint Withold, and every other saint, I\nwill never forgive him!\"\n\nAt noon, upon the motion of Athelstane, the travelers paused in a\nwoodland shade by a fountain to repose their horses and partake of some\nprovisions with which the hospitable abbot had loaded a [v]sumpter mule.\nTheir repast was a pretty long one; and the interruption made it\nimpossible for them to hope to reach Rotherwood without traveling all\nnight, a conviction which induced them to proceed on their way at a more\nhasty pace than they had hitherto used.\n\nThe travelers had now reached the verge of the wooded country and were\nabout to plunge into its recesses, held dangerous at that time from the\nnumber of outlaws whom oppression and poverty had driven to despair and\nwho occupied the forests in such large bands as could easily bid\ndefiance to the feeble police of the period. From these rovers, however,\nCedric and Athelstane accounted themselves secure, as they had in\nattendance ten servants, besides Wamba and Gurth, whose aid could not be\ncounted upon, the one being a jester and the other a captive. It may be\nadded that in traveling thus late through the forest, Cedric and\nAthelstane relied on their descent and character as well as their\ncourage. The outlaws were chiefly peasants and [v]yeomen of Saxon\ndescent, and were generally supposed to respect the persons and property\nof their countrymen.\n\nBefore long, as the travelers journeyed on their way, they were alarmed\nby repeated cries for assistance; and when they rode up to the place\nwhence the cries came, they were surprised to find a horse-litter placed\non the ground. Beside it sat a very beautiful young woman richly dressed\nin the Jewish fashion, while an old man, whose yellow cap proclaimed him\nto belong to the same nation, walked up and down with gestures of the\ndeepest despair and wrung his hands.\n\nWhen he began to come to himself out of his agony of terror, the old\nman, named Isaac of York, explained that he had hired a bodyguard of\nsix men at Ashby, together with mules for carrying the litter of a sick\nfriend. This party had undertaken to escort him to Doncaster. They had\ncome thus far in safety; but having received information from a\nwood-cutter that a strong band of outlaws was lying in wait in the woods\nbefore them, Isaac's [v]mercenaries had not only taken to flight, but\nhad carried off the horses which bore the litter and left the Jew and\nhis daughter without the means either of defense or of retreat. Isaac\nended by imploring the Saxons to let him travel with them. Cedric and\nAthelstane were somewhat in doubt as to what to do, but the matter was\nsettled by Rowena's intervention.\n\n\"The man is old and feeble,\" she said to Cedric, \"the maiden young and\nbeautiful, their friend sick and in peril of his life. We cannot leave\nthem in this extremity. Let the men unload two of the sumpter-mules and\nput the baggage behind two of the [v]serfs. The mules may transport the\nlitter, and we have led-horses for the old man and his daughter.\"\n\nCedric readily assented to what was proposed, and the change of baggage\nwas hastily achieved; for the single word \"outlaws\" rendered every one\nsufficiently alert, and the approach of twilight made the sound yet more\nimpressive. Amid the bustle, Gurth was taken from horseback, in the\ncourse of which removal he prevailed upon the jester to slack the cord\nwith which his arms were bound. It was so negligently refastened,\nperhaps intentionally, on the part of Wamba, that Gurth found no\ndifficulty in freeing his arms altogether, and then, gliding into the\nthicket, he made his escape from the party.\n\nHis departure was hardly noticed in the apprehension of the moment. The\npath upon which the party traveled was now so narrow as not to admit,\nwith any sort of convenience, above two riders abreast, and began to\ndescend into a dingle, traversed by a brook, the banks of which were\nbroken, swampy, and overgrown with dwarf willows. Cedric and Athelstane,\nwho were at the head of their [v]retinue, saw the risk of being attacked\nin this pass, but neither knew anything else to do than hasten through\nthe defile as fast as possible. Advancing, therefore, without much\norder, they had just crossed the brook with a part of their followers,\nwhen they were assailed, in front, flank, and rear at once, by a band of\narmed men. The shout of a \"White dragon! Saint George for merry\nEngland!\" the war cry of the Saxons, was heard on every side, and on\nevery side enemies appeared with a rapidity of advance and attack which\nseemed to multiply their numbers.\n\nBoth the Saxon chiefs were made prisoners at the same moment. Cedric,\nthe instant an enemy appeared, launched at him his javelin, which,\ntaking better effect than that which he had hurled at Fangs, nailed the\nman against an oak-tree that happened to be close behind him. Thus far\nsuccessful, Cedric spurred his horse against a second, drawing his sword\nand striking with such inconsiderate fury that his weapon encountered a\nthick branch which hung over him, and he was disarmed by the violence of\nhis own blow. He was instantly made prisoner and pulled from his horse\nby two or three of the [v]banditti who crowded around him. Athelstane\nshared his captivity, his bridle having been seized and he himself\nforcibly dismounted long before he could draw his sword.\n\nThe attendants, embarrassed with baggage and surprised and terrified at\nthe fate of their master, fell an easy prey to the assailants; while the\nLady Rowena and the Jew and his daughter experienced the same\nmisfortune.\n\nOf all the train none escaped but Wamba, who showed upon the occasion\nmuch more courage than those who pretended to greater sense. He\npossessed himself of a sword belonging to one of the domestics, who was\njust drawing it, laid it about him like a lion, drove back several who\napproached him, and made a brave though ineffectual effort to succor his\nmaster. Finding himself overpowered, the jester threw himself from his\nhorse, plunged into a thicket, and, favored by the general confusion,\nescaped from the scene of action.\n\nSuddenly a voice very near him called out in a low and cautious tone,\n\"Wamba!\" and, at the same time, a dog which he recognized as Fangs\njumped up and fawned upon him. \"Gurth!\" answered Wamba with the same\ncaution, and the swineherd immediately stood before him.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" he asked. \"What mean these cries and that clashing\nof swords?\"\n\n\"Only a trick of the times,\" answered Wamba. \"They are all prisoners.\"\n\n\"Who are prisoners?\"\n\n\"My lord, and my lady, and Athelstane, and the others.\"\n\n\"In the name of God,\" demanded Gurth, \"how came they prisoners? and to\nwhom?\"\n\n\"They are prisoners to green [v]cassocks and black [v]vizors,\" answered\nWamba. \"They all lie tumbled about on the green, like the crab-apples\nthat you shake down to your swine. And I would laugh at it,\" added the\nhonest jester, \"if I could for weeping.\"\n\nHe shed tears of unfeigned sorrow.\n\nGurth's countenance kindled. \"Wamba,\" he said, \"thou hast a weapon and\nthy heart was ever stronger than thy brain. We are only two, but a\nsudden attack from men of resolution might do much. Follow me!\"\n\n\"Whither, and for what purpose?\" asked the jester.\n\n\"To rescue Cedric.\"\n\n\"But you renounced his service just now.\"\n\n\"That,\" said Gurth, \"was while he was fortunate. Follow me.\"\n\nAs the jester was about to obey, a third person suddenly made his\nappearance and commanded them both to halt. From his dress and arms\nWamba would have conjectured him to be one of the outlaws who had just\nassailed his master; but, besides that he wore no mask, the glittering\nbaldric across his shoulders, with the rich bugle horn which it\nsupported, as well as the calm and commanding expression of his voice\nand manner, made the jester recognize the archer who had won the prize\nat the tournament and who was known as Locksley.\n\n\"What is the meaning of all this?\" the man demanded. \"Who are they that\nrifle and ransom and make prisoners in these forests?\"\n\n\"You may look at their cassocks close by,\" replied Wamba, \"and see\nwhether they be thy children's coats or no, for they are as like thine\nown as one green pea-pod is like another.\"\n\n\"I will learn that presently,\" returned Locksley: \"and I charge ye, on\nperil of your lives, not to stir from this place where ye stand until I\nhave returned. Obey me, and it shall be the better for you and your\nmasters. Yet stay; I must render myself as like these men as possible.\"\n\nSo saying, he drew a [v]vizard from his pouch, and, repeating his\ncharges to them to stand fast, went to reconnoitre.\n\n\"Shall we stay, Gurth?\" asked Wamba; \"or shall we give him [v]leg-bail?\nIn my foolish mind, he had all the equipage of a thief too much in\nreadiness to be himself a true man.\"\n\n\"Let him be the devil,\" said Gurth, \"an he will. We can be no worse for\nwaiting his return. If he belongs to that party, he must already have\ngiven them the alarm, and it will avail us nothing either to fight or\nfly.\"\n\nThe yeoman returned in the course of a few minutes.\n\n\"Friend Gurth,\" he said, \"I have mingled among yon men and have learned\nto whom they belong, and whither they are bound. There is, I think, no\nchance that they will proceed to any actual violence against their\nprisoners. For three men to attack them at this moment were little else\nthan madness; for they are good men of war and have, as such, placed\nsentinels to give the alarm when any one approaches. But I trust soon to\ngather such a force as may act in defiance of all their precautions. You\nare both servants, and, as I think, faithful servants of Cedric the\nSaxon, the friend of the rights of Englishmen. He shall not want English\nhands to help him in this extremity. Come then with me, until I gather\nmore aid.\"\n\nSo saying, he walked through the wood at a great pace, followed by the\njester and the swineherd. The three men proceeded with occasional\nconverse but, for the most part, in silence for about three hours.\nFinally they arrived at a small opening in the forest, in the center of\nwhich grew an oak-tree of enormous magnitude, throwing its twisted\nbranches in every direction. Beneath this tree four or five yeomen lay\nstretched on the ground, while another, as sentinel, walked to and fro\nin the moonlight.\n\nUpon hearing the sound of feet approaching, the watch instantly gave the\nalarm, and the sleepers as suddenly started up and bent their bows. Six\narrows placed on the string were pointed toward the quarter from which\nthe travelers approached, when their guide, being recognized, was\nwelcomed with every token of respect and attachment.\n\n\"Where is the miller?\" was Locksley's first question.\n\n\"On the road toward Rotherham.\"\n\n\"With how many?\" demanded the leader, for such he seemed to be.\n\n\"With six men, and good hope of booty, if it please Saint Nicholas.\"\n\n\"Devoutly spoken,\" said Locksley. \"And where is Allan-a-Dale?\"\n\n\"Walked up toward the [v]Watling Street, to watch for the Prior of\nJorvaulx.\"\n\n\"That is well thought on also,\" replied the captain. \"And where is the\nfriar?\"\n\n\"In his cell.\"\n\n\"Thither will I go,\" said Locksley. \"Disperse and seek your companions.\nCollect what force you can, for there's game afoot that must be hunted\nhard and will turn to bay. Meet me here at daybreak. And stay,\" he\nadded; \"I have forgotten what is most necessary of the whole. Two of you\ntake the road quickly toward Torquilstone, the castle of\n[v]Front-de-Boeuf. A set of gallants, who have been [v]masquerading in\nsuch guise as our own, are carrying a band of prisoners thither. Watch\nthem closely, for, even if they reach the castle before we collect our\nforce, our honor is concerned to punish them, and we will find means to\ndo so. Keep a good watch on them, therefore, and despatch one of your\ncomrades to bring the news of the yeomen thereabouts.\"\n\nThe men promised obedience and departed on their several errands.\nMeanwhile, their leader and his two companions, who now looked upon him\nwith great respect as well as some fear, pursued their way to the chapel\nwhere dwelt the friar mentioned by Locksley. Presently they reached a\nlittle moonlit glade, in front of which stood an ancient and ruinous\nchapel and beside it a rude hermitage of stone half-covered with ivy\nvines.\n\nThe sounds which proceeded at that moment from the latter place were\nanything but churchly. In fact, the hermit and another voice were\nperforming at the full extent of very powerful lungs an old\ndrinking-song, of which this was the burden:\n\n    Come, trowl the brown bowl to me,\n      Bully boy, bully boy;\n    Come trowl the brown bowl to me:\n      Ho! jolly Jenkin, I spy a knave drinking;\n    Come trowl the brown bowl to me.\n\n\"Now, that is not ill sung,\" said Wamba, who had thrown in a few of his\nown flourishes to help out the chorus. \"But who, in the saint's name,\never expected to have heard such a jolly chant come from a hermit's cell\nat midnight?\"\n\n\"Marry, that should I,\" said Gurth, \"for the jolly Clerk of Copmanhurst\nis a known man and kills half the deer that are stolen in this walk. Men\nsay that the deer-keeper has complained of him and that he will be\nstripped of his [v]cowl and [v]cope altogether if he keep not better\norder.\"\n\nWhile they were thus speaking, Locksley's loud and repeated knocks had\nat length disturbed the [v]anchorite and his guest, who was a knight of\nsingularly powerful build and open, handsome face, and in black armor.\n\n\"By my beads,\" said the hermit, \"here come other guests. I would not for\nmy cowl that they found us in this goodly exercise. All men have\nenemies, sir knight; and there be those malignant enough to construe the\nhospitable refreshment I have been offering to you, a weary traveler,\ninto drinking and gluttony, vices alike alien to my profession and my\ndisposition.\"\n\n\"Base [v]calumniators!\" replied the knight. \"I would I had the\nchastising of them. Nevertheless, holy clerk, it is true that all have\ntheir enemies; and there be those in this very land whom I would rather\nspeak to through the bars of my helmet than bare-faced.\"\n\n\"Get thine iron pot on thy head, then, sir knight,\" said the hermit,\n\"while I remove these pewter flagons.\"\n\nHe struck up a thundering [v]_De profundis clamavi_, under cover of\nwhich he removed the apparatus of their banquet, while the knight,\nlaughing heartily and arming himself all the while, assisted his host\nwith his voice from time to time as his mirth permitted.\n\n\"What devil's [v]matins are you after at this hour?\" demanded a voice\nfrom outside.\n\n\"Heaven forgive you, sir traveler!\" said the hermit, whose own noise\nprevented him from recognizing accents which were tolerably familiar to\nhim. \"Wend on your way, in the name of God and Saint Dunstan, and\ndisturb not the devotions of me and my holy brother.\"\n\n\"Mad priest,\" answered the voice from without; \"open to Locksley!\"\n\n\"All's safe--all's right,\" said the hermit to his companion.\n\n\"But who is he?\" asked the Black Knight. \"It imports me much to know.\"\n\n\"Who is he?\" answered the hermit. \"I tell thee he is a friend.\"\n\n\"But what friend?\" persisted the knight; \"for he may be a friend to thee\nand none of mine.\"\n\n\"What friend?\" replied the hermit; \"that now is one of the questions\nthat is more easily asked than answered.\"\n\n\"Well, open the door,\" ordered the knight, \"before he beat it from its\nhinges.\"\n\nThe hermit speedily unbolted his portal and admitted Locksley, with his\ntwo companions.\n\n\"Why, hermit,\" was the yeoman's first question as soon as he beheld the\nknight, \"what boon companion hast thou here?\"\n\n\"A brother of our order,\" replied the friar, shaking his head; \"we have\nbeen at our devotions all night.\"\n\n\"He is a monk of the church militant,\" answered Locksley; \"and there be\nmore of them abroad. I tell thee, friar, thou must lay down the\n[v]rosary and take up the [v]quarter-staff; we shall need every one of\nour merry men, whether clerk or layman. But,\" he added, taking a step\naside, \"art thou mad--to give admittance to a knight thou dost not know?\nHast thou forgotten our agreement?\"\n\n\"Good yeoman,\" said the knight, coming forward, \"be not wroth with my\nmerry host. He did but afford me the hospitality which I would have\ncompelled from him if he had refused it.\"\n\n\"Thou compel!\" cried the friar. \"Wait but till I have changed this gray\ngown for a green cassock, and if I make not a quarter-staff ring twelve\nupon thy pate, I am neither true clerk nor good woodsman.\"\n\nWhile he spoke thus he stript off his gown and appeared in a close\nbuckram doublet and lower garment, over which he speedily did on a\ncassock of green and hose of the same color.\n\n\"I pray thee [v]truss my points,\" he said to Wamba, \"and thou shalt have\na cup of sack for thy labor.\"\n\n\"[v]Gramercy for thy sack,\" returned Wamba; \"but thinkest thou that it\nis lawful for me to aid you to transmew thyself from a holy hermit into\na sinful forester?\"\n\nSo saying, he accommodated the friar with his assistance in tying the\nendless number of points, as the laces which attached the hose to the\ndoublet were then termed.\n\nWhile they were thus employed, Locksley led the knight a little apart\nand addressed him thus: \"Deny it not, sir knight, you are he who played\nso glorious a part at the tournament at Ashby.\"\n\n\"And what follows, if you guess truly, good yeoman?\"\n\n\"For my purpose,\" said the yeoman, \"thou shouldst be as well a good\nEnglishman as a good knight; for that which I have to speak of concerns,\nindeed, the duty of every honest man, but is more especially that of a\ntrue-born native of England.\"\n\n\"You can speak to no one,\" replied the knight, \"to whom England, and\nthe life of every Englishman, can be dearer than to me.\"\n\n\"I would willingly believe so,\" said the woodsman; \"and never had this\ncountry such need to be supported by those who love her. A band of\nvillains, in the disguise of better men than themselves, have become\nmasters of the persons of a noble Englishman named Cedric the Saxon,\ntogether with his ward and his friend, Athelstane of Coningsburgh, and\nhave transported them to a castle in this forest called Torquilstone. I\nask of thee, as a good knight and a good Englishman, wilt thou aid in\ntheir rescue?\"\n\n\"I am bound by my vow to do so,\" replied the knight; \"but I would\nwillingly know who you are who request my assistance in their behalf?\"\n\n\"I am,\" said the forester, \"a nameless man; but I am a friend of my\ncountry and my country's friends. Believe, however, that my word, when\npledged, is as [v]inviolate as if I wore golden spurs.\"\n\n\"I willingly believe it,\" returned the knight. \"I have been accustomed\nto study men's countenances, and I can read in thine honesty and\nresolution. I will, therefore, ask thee no farther questions but aid\nthee in setting at freedom these oppressed captives, which done, I trust\nwe shall part better acquainted and well satisfied with each other.\"\n\nWhen the friar was at length ready, Locksley turned to his companions.\n\n\"Come on, my masters,\" he said; \"tarry not to talk. I say, come on: we\nmust collect all our forces, and few enough shall we have if we are to\nstorm the castle of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf.\"\n\n\nII\n\nWhile these measures were taking in behalf of Cedric and his companions,\nthe armed men by whom the latter had been seized hurried their captives\nalong toward the place of security, where they intended to imprison\nthem. But darkness came on fast, and the paths of the wood seemed but\nimperfectly known to the [v]marauders. They were compelled to make\nseveral long halts and once or twice to return on their road to resume\nthe direction which they wished to pursue. It was, therefore, not until\nthe light of the summer morn had dawned upon them that they could travel\nin full assurance that they held the right path.\n\nIn vain Cedric [v]expostulated with his guards, who refused to break\ntheir silence for his wrath or his protests. They continued to hurry him\nalong, traveling at a very rapid rate, until, at the end of an avenue of\nhuge trees, arose Torquilstone, the hoary and ancient castle of Reginald\nFront-de-Boeuf. It was a fortress of no great size, consisting of a\ndonjon, or large and high square tower, surrounded by buildings of\ninferior height. Around the exterior wall was a deep moat, supplied with\nwater from a neighboring rivulet. Front-de-Boeuf, whose character\nplaced him often at feud with his neighbors, had made considerable\nadditions to the strength of his castle by building towers upon the\noutward wall, so as to flank it at every angle. The access, as usual in\ncastles of the period, lay through an arched [v]barbican or outwork,\nwhich was defended by a small turret.\n\nCedric no sooner saw the turrets of Front-de-Boeuf's castle raise their\ngray and moss-grown battlements, glimmering in the morning sun, above\nthe woods by which they were surrounded than he instantly augured more\ntruly concerning the cause of his misfortune.\n\n\"I did injustice,\" he said, \"to the thieves and outlaws of these woods,\nwhen I supposed such banditti to belong to their bands. I might as\njustly have confounded the foxes of these brakes with the ravening\nwolves of France!\"\n\nArrived before the castle, the prisoners were compelled by their guards\nto alight and were hastened across the drawbridge into the castle. They\nwere immediately conducted to an apartment where a hasty repast was\noffered them, of which none but Athelstane felt any inclination to\npartake. Neither did he have much time to do justice to the good cheer\nplaced before him, for the guards gave him and Cedric to understand that\nthey were to be imprisoned in a chamber apart from Rowena. Resistance\nwas vain; and they were compelled to follow to a large room, which,\nrising on clumsy Saxon pillars, resembled the [v]refectories and\nchapter-houses which may still be seen in the most ancient parts of our\nmost ancient monasteries.\n\nThe Lady Rowena was next separated from her train and conducted with\ncourtesy, indeed, but still without consulting her inclination, to a\ndistant apartment. The same alarming distinction was conferred on the\nyoung Jewess, Rebecca, in spite of the entreaties of her father, who\noffered money in the extremity of his distress that she might be\npermitted to abide with him.\n\n\"Base unbeliever,\" answered one of his guards, \"when thou hast seen thy\nlair, thou wilt not wish thy daughter to partake it.\"\n\nWithout further discussion, the old Jew was dragged off in a different\ndirection from the other prisoners. The domestics, after being searched\nand disarmed, were confined in another part of the castle.\n\nThe three leaders of the banditti and the men who had planned and\ncarried out the outrage, Norman knights,--Front-de-Boeuf, the brutal\nowner of the castle; Maurice de Bracy, a free-lance, who sought to wed\nthe Lady Rowena by force and so had arranged the attack, and Brian de\n[v]Bois-Guilbert, a distinguished member of the famous order of\n[v]Knights Templar,--had a short discussion together and then\nseparated. Front-de-Boeuf immediately sought the apartment where Isaac\nof York tremblingly awaited his fate.\n\nThe Jew had been hastily thrown into a dungeon-vault of the castle, the\nfloor of which was deep beneath the level of the earth, and very damp,\nbeing lower than the moat itself. The only light was received through\none or two loop-holes far above the reach of the captive's hand. These\n[v]apertures admitted, even at midday, only a dim and uncertain light,\nwhich was changed for utter darkness long before the rest of the castle\nhad lost the blessing of day. Chains and shackles, which had been the\nportion of former captives, hung rusted and empty on the walls of the\nprison, and in the rings of one of these sets of fetters there remained\ntwo moldering bones which seemed those of the human leg.\n\nAt one end of this ghastly apartment was a large fire-grate, over the\ntop of which were stretched some transverse iron bars, half devoured\nwith rust.\n\nThe whole appearance of the dungeon might have appalled a stouter heart\nthan that of Isaac, who, nevertheless, was more composed under the\nimminent pressure of danger than he had seemed to be while affected by\nterrors of which the cause was as yet remote and [v]contingent. It was\nnot the first time that Isaac had been placed in circumstances so\ndangerous. He had, therefore, experience to guide him, as well as a hope\nthat he might again be delivered from the peril.\n\nThe Jew remained without altering his position for nearly three hours,\nat the end of which time steps were heard on the dungeon stair. The\nbolts screamed as they were withdrawn, the hinges creaked as the wicket\nopened, and Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, followed by two Saracen slaves of\nthe Templar, entered the prison.\n\nFront-de-Boeuf, a tall and strong man, whose life had been spent in\npublic war or in private feuds and broils and who had hesitated at no\nmeans of extending his [v]feudal power, had features corresponding to\nhis character, and which strongly expressed the fiercer and more evil\npassions of the mind. The scars with which his visage was seamed would,\non features of a different cast, have excited the sympathy due to the\nmarks of honorable valor; but in the peculiar case of Front-de-Boeuf\nthey only added to the ferocity of his countenance and to the dread\nwhich his presence inspired. The formidable baron was clad in a leathern\ndoublet, fitted close to his body, which was frayed and soiled with the\nstains of his armor. He had no weapon, except a [v]poniard at his belt,\nwhich served to counter-balance the weight of the bunch of rusty keys\nthat hung at his right side.\n\nThe black slaves who attended Front-de-Boeuf were attired in jerkins and\ntrousers of coarse linen, their sleeves being tucked up above the elbow,\nlike those of butchers when about to exercise their functions in the\nslaughter-house. Each had in his hand a small [v]pannier; and when they\nentered the dungeon, they paused at the door until Front-de-Boeuf\nhimself carefully locked and double-locked it. Having taken this\nprecaution, he advanced slowly up the apartment toward the Jew, upon\nwhom he kept his eye fixed as if he wished to paralyze him with his\nglance, as some animals are said to fascinate their prey.\n\nThe Jew sat with his mouth agape and his eyes fixed on the savage baron\nwith such earnestness of terror that his frame seemed literally to\nshrink together and diminish in size while encountering the fierce\nNorman's fixed and baleful gaze. The unhappy Isaac was deprived not only\nof the power of rising to make the [v]obeisance which his fear had\ndictated, but he could not even doff his cap or utter any word of\nsupplication, so strongly was he agitated by the conviction that\ntortures and death were impending over him.\n\nOn the other hand, the stately form of the Norman appeared to dilate in\nmagnitude, like that of the eagle, which ruffles up its plumage when\nabout to pounce on its defenseless prey. He paused within three steps of\nthe corner in which the unfortunate Hebrew had now, as it were, coiled\nhimself up into the smallest possible space, and made a sign for one of\nthe slaves to approach. The black [v]satellite came forward accordingly,\nand producing from his basket a large pair of scales and several\nweights, he laid them at the feet of Front-de-Boeuf and retired to the\nrespectful distance at which his companion had already taken his\nstation.\n\nThe motions of these men were slow and solemn, as if there impended over\ntheir souls some [v]preconception of horror and cruelty. Front-de-Boeuf\nhimself opened the scene by addressing his ill-fated captive.\n\n\"Most accursed dog,\" he said, awakening with his deep and sullen voice\nthe echoes of the dungeon vault, \"seest thou these scales?\"\n\nThe unhappy Jew returned a feeble affirmative.\n\n\"In these very scales shalt thou weigh me out,\" said the relentless\nbaron, \"a thousand silver pounds, after the just measure and weight of\nthe Tower of London.\"\n\n\"Holy Abraham!\" returned the Jew, finding voice through the very\nextremity of his danger; \"heard man ever such a demand? Who ever heard,\neven in a minstrel's tale, of such a sum as a thousand pounds of silver?\nWhat human eyes were ever blessed with the sight of so great a mass of\ntreasure? Not within the walls of York, ransack my house and that of all\nmy tribe, wilt thou find the [v]tithe of that huge sum of silver that\nthou speakest of.\"\n\n\"I am reasonable,\" answered Front-de-Boeuf, \"and if silver be scant, I\nrefuse not gold. At the rate of a mark of gold for each six pounds of\nsilver, thou shalt free thy unbelieving carcass from such punishment as\nthy heart has never even conceived in thy wildest imaginings.\"\n\n\"Have mercy on me, noble knight!\" pleaded Isaac. \"I am old, and poor,\nand helpless. It were unworthy to triumph over me. It is a poor deed to\ncrush a worm.\"\n\n\"Old thou mayst be,\" replied the knight, \"and feeble thou mayst be; but\nrich it is known thou art.\"\n\n\"I swear to you, noble knight,\" said Isaac, \"by all which I believe and\nall which we believe in common--\"\n\n\"Perjure not thyself,\" interrupted the Norman, \"and let not thy\nobstinacy seal thy doom, until thou hast seen and well considered the\nfate that awaits thee. This prison is no place for trifling. Prisoners\nten thousand times more distinguished than thou have died within these\nwalls, and their fate has never been known. But for thee is reserved a\nlong and lingering death, to which theirs was luxury.\"\n\nHe again made a signal for the slaves to approach and spoke to them\napart in their own language; for he had been a crusader in Palestine,\nwhere, perhaps, he had learned his lesson of cruelty. The Saracens\nproduced from their baskets a quantity of charcoal, a pair of bellows,\nand a flask of oil. While the one struck a light with a flint and steel,\nthe other disposed the charcoal in the large rusty grate which we have\nalready mentioned and exercised the bellows until the fuel came to a red\nglow.\n\n\"Seest thou, Isaac,\" said Front-de-Boeuf, \"the range of iron bars above\nthat glowing charcoal? On that warm couch thou shalt lie, stripped of\nthy clothes as if thou wert to rest on a bed of down. One of these\nslaves shall maintain the fire beneath thee, while the other shall\nanoint thy wretched limbs with oil, lest the roast should burn. Now\nchoose betwixt such a scorching bed and the payment of a thousand pounds\nof silver; for, by the head of my father, thou hast no other [v]option.\"\n\n\"It is impossible,\" exclaimed the miserable Isaac; \"it is impossible\nthat your purpose can be real! The good God of nature never made a heart\ncapable of exercising such cruelty!\"\n\n\"Trust not to that, Isaac,\" said Front-de-Boeuf; \"it were a fatal error.\nDost thou think that I who have seen a town sacked, in which thousands\nperished by sword, by flood, and by fire, will blench from my purpose\nfor the outcries of a single wretch? Be wise, old man; discharge thyself\nof a portion of thy superfluous wealth; repay to the hands of a\nChristian a part of what thou hast acquired by [v]usury. Thy cunning may\nsoon swell out once more thy shriveled purse, but neither leech nor\nmedicine can restore thy scorched hide and flesh wert thou once\nstretched on these bars. Tell down thy [v]ransom, I say, and rejoice\nthat at such a rate thou canst redeem thyself from a dungeon, the\nsecrets of which few have returned to tell. I waste no more words with\nthee. Choose between thy [v]dross and thy flesh and blood, and as thou\nchoosest so shall it be.\"\n\n\"So may Abraham and all the fathers of our people assist me!\" said\nIsaac; \"I cannot make the choice because I have not the means of\nsatisfying your [v]exorbitant demand!\"\n\n\"Seize him and strip him, slaves,\" said the knight.\n\nThe assistants, taking their directions more from the baron's eye and\nhand than his tongue, once more stepped forward, laid hands on the\nunfortunate Isaac, plucked him up from the ground, and holding him\nbetween them, waited the hard-hearted baron's further signal. The\nunhappy man eyed their countenances and that of Front-de-Boeuf in the\nhope of discovering some symptoms of softening; but that of the baron\nshowed the same cold, half-sullen, half-sarcastic smile, which had been\nthe prelude to his cruelty; and the savage eyes of the Saracens, rolling\ngloomily under their dark brows, evinced rather the secret pleasure\nwhich they expected from the approaching scene than any reluctance to be\nits agents. The Jew then looked at the glowing furnace, over which he\nwas presently to be stretched, and, seeing no chance of his tormentor's\nrelenting, his resolution gave way.\n\n\"I will pay,\" he said, \"the thousand pounds of silver--that is, I will\npay it with the help of my brethren, for I must beg as a mendicant at\nthe door of our synagogue ere I make up so unheard-of a sum. When and\nwhere must it be delivered?\" he inquired with a sigh.\n\n\"Here,\" replied Front-de-Boeuf. \"Weighed it must be--weighed and told\ndown on this very dungeon floor. Thinkest thou I will part with thee\nuntil thy ransom is secure?\"\n\n\"Then let my daughter Rebecca go forth to York,\" said Isaac, \"with your\nsafe conduct, noble knight, and so soon as man and horse can return, the\ntreasure--\" Here he groaned deeply, but added, after the pause of a few\nseconds,--\"the treasure shall be told down on this floor.\"\n\n\"Thy daughter!\" said Front-de-Boeuf, as if surprised. \"By Heavens,\nIsaac, I would I had known of this! I gave yonder black-browed girl to\nSir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, to be his prisoner. She is not in my power.\"\n\nThe yell which Isaac raised at this unfeeling communication made the\nvery vault to ring, and astounded the two Saracens so much that they let\ngo their hold of the victim. He availed himself of his freedom to throw\nhimself on the pavement and clasp the knees of Front-de-Boeuf.\n\n\"Take all that you have asked,\" said he--\"take ten times more--reduce me\nto ruin and to beggary, if thou wilt--nay, pierce me with thy poniard,\nbroil me on that furnace, but spare my daughter! Will you deprive me of\nmy sole remaining comfort in life?\"\n\n\"I would,\" said the Norman, somewhat relenting, \"that I had known of\nthis before. I thought you loved nothing but your money-bags.\"\n\n\"Think not so vilely of me,\" returned Isaac, eager to improve the moment\nof apparent sympathy. \"I love mine own, even as the hunted fox, the\ntortured wildcat loves its young.\"\n\n\"Be it so,\" said Front-de-Boeuf; \"but it aids us not now. I cannot help\nwhat has happened or what is to follow. My word is passed to my comrade\nin arms that he shall have the maiden as his share of the spoil, and I\nwould not break it for ten Jews and Jewesses to boot. Take thought\ninstead to pay me the ransom thou hast promised, or woe betide thee!\"\n\n\"Robber and villain!\" cried the Jew, \"I will pay thee nothing--not one\nsilver penny will I pay thee unless my daughter is delivered to me in\nsafety!\"\n\n\"Art thou in thy senses, Israelite?\" asked the Norman sternly. \"Hast thy\nflesh and blood a charm against heated iron and scalding oil?\"\n\n\"I care not!\" replied the Jew, rendered desperate by paternal affection;\n\"my daughter is my flesh and blood, dearer to me a thousand times than\nthose limbs thy cruelty threatens. No silver will I give thee unless I\nwere to pour it molten down thy [v]avaricious throat--no, not a silver\npenny will I give thee, [v]Nazarene, were it to save thee from the deep\ndamnation thy whole life has merited. Take my life, if thou wilt, and\nsay that the Jew, amidst his tortures, knew how to disappoint the\nChristian.\"\n\n\"We shall see that,\" said Front-de-Boeuf; \"for by the blessed [v]rood\nthou shalt feel the extremities of fire and steel! Strip him, slaves,\nand chain him down upon the bars.\"\n\nIn spite of the feeble struggles of the old man, the Saracens had\nalready torn from him his upper garment and were proceeding totally to\ndisrobe him, when the sound of a bugle, twice winded without the castle,\npenetrated even to the recesses of the dungeon. Immediately after voices\nwere heard calling for Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf. Unwilling to be\nfound engaged in his hellish occupation, the savage baron gave the\nslaves a signal to restore Isaac's garment; and, quitting the dungeon\nwith his attendants, he left the Jew to thank God for his own\ndeliverance or to lament over his daughter's captivity, as his personal\nor parental feelings might prove the stronger.\n\n\nIII\n\nWhen the bugle sounded, De Bracy was engaged in pressing his suit with\nthe Saxon heiress Rowena, whom he had carried off under the impression\nthat she would speedily surrender to his rough wooing. But he found her\n[v]obdurate as well as tearful and in no humor to listen to his\nprofessions of devotion. It was, therefore, with some relief that the\nfree-lance heard the summons at the barbican. Going into the hall of\nthe castle, De Bracy was presently joined by Bois-Guilbert.\n\n\"Where is Front-de-Boeuf!\" the latter asked.\n\n\"He is [v]negotiating with the Jew, I suppose,\" replied De Bracy,\ncoolly; \"probably the howls of Isaac have drowned the blast of the\nbugle. But we will make the [v]vassals call him.\"\n\nThey were soon after joined by Front-de-Boeuf, who had only tarried to\ngive some necessary directions.\n\n\"Let us see the cause of this cursed clamor,\" he said. \"Here is a letter\nwhich has just been brought in, and, if I mistake not, it is in Saxon.\"\n\nHe looked at it, turning it round and round as if he had some hopes of\ncoming at the meaning by inverting the position of the paper, and then\nhanded it to De Bracy.\n\n\"It may be magic spells for aught I know,\" said De Bracy, who possessed\nhis full proportion of the ignorance which characterized the chivalry of\nthe period.\n\n\"Give it to me,\" said the Templar. \"We have that of the priestly\ncharacter that we have some knowledge to enlighten our valor.\"\n\n\"Let us profit by your most reverend knowledge, then,\" returned De\nBracy. \"What says the scroll?\"\n\n\"It is a formal letter of defiance,\" answered Bois-Guilbert; \"but, by\nour Lady of Bethlehem, if it be not a foolish jest, it is the most\nextraordinary [v]cartel that ever went across the drawbridge of a\nbaronial castle.\"\n\n\"Jest!\" exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf. \"I would gladly know who dares jest\nwith me in such a matter! Read it, Sir Brian.\"\n\nThe Templar accordingly read as follows:\n\n\"I, Wamba, the son of Witless, jester to a noble and free-born man,\nCedric of Rotherwood, called the Saxon: and I, Gurth, the son of\nBeowulph, the swineherd--\"\n\n\"Thou art mad!\" cried Front-de-Boeuf, interrupting the reader.\n\n\"By Saint Luke, it is so set down,\" answered the Templar. Then, resuming\nhis task, he went on: \"I, Gurth, the son of Beowulph, swineherd unto the\nsaid Cedric, with the assistance of our allies and confederates, who\nmake common cause with us in this our feud, namely, the good knight,\ncalled for the present the Black Knight, and the stout yeoman, Robert\nLocksley, called Cleve-the-wand: Do you, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, and\nyour allies and accomplices whomsoever, to wit, that whereas you have,\nwithout cause given or feud declared, wrongfully and by mastery, seized\nupon the person of our lord and master, the said Cedric; also upon the\nperson of a noble and free-born damsel, the Lady Rowena; also upon the\nperson of a noble and free-born man, Athelstane of Coningsburgh; also\nupon the persons of certain free-born men, their vassals; also upon\ncertain serfs, their born bondsmen; also upon a certain Jew, named\nIsaac of York, together with his daughter, and certain horses and mules:\ntherefore, we require and demand that the said persons be within an hour\nafter the delivery hereof delivered to us, untouched and unharmed in\nbody and goods. Failing of which, we do pronounce to you that we hold ye\nas robbers and traitors and will wager our bodies against ye in battle\nand do our utmost to your destruction. Signed by us upon the eve of\nSaint Withold's day, under the great oak in the Hart-hill Walk, the\nabove being written by a holy man, clerk to God and Saint Dunstan in the\nchapel of Copmanhurst.\"\n\nThe knights heard this uncommon document read from end to end and then\ngazed upon each other in silent amazement, as being utterly at a loss to\nknow what it could portend. De Bracy was the first to break silence by\nan uncontrollable fit of laughter, wherein he was joined, though with\nmore moderation, by the Templar. Front-de-Boeuf, on the contrary, seemed\nimpatient of their ill-timed [v]jocularity.\n\n\"I give you plain warning,\" he said, \"fair sirs, that you had better\nconsult how to bear yourselves under these circumstances than to give\nway to such misplaced merriment.\"\n\n\"Front-de-Boeuf has not recovered his temper since his overthrow in the\ntournament,\" said De Bracy to the Templar. \"He is cowed at the very idea\nof a cartel, though it be from a fool and a swineherd.\"\n\n\"I would thou couldst stand the whole brunt of this adventure thyself,\nDe Bracy,\" answered Front-de-Boeuf. \"These fellows dared not to have\nacted with such inconceivable impudence had they not been supported by\nsome strong bands. There are enough outlaws in this forest to resent my\nprotecting the deer. I did but tie one fellow, who was taken red-handed\nand in the fact, to the horns of a wild stag, which gored him to death\nin five minutes, and I had as many arrows shot at me as were launched in\nthe tournament. Here, fellow,\" he added to one of his attendants, \"hast\nthou sent out to see by what force this precious challenge is to be\nsupported?\"\n\n\"There are at least two hundred men assembled in the woods,\" answered a\nsquire who was in attendance.\n\n\"Here is a proper matter!\" said Front-de-Boeuf. \"This comes of lending\nyou the use of my castle. You cannot manage your undertaking quietly,\nbut you must bring this nest of hornets about my ears!\"\n\n\"Of hornets?\" echoed De Bracy. \"Of stingless drones rather--a band of\nlazy knaves who take to the wood and destroy the venison rather than\nlabor for their maintenance.\"\n\n\"Stingless!\" replied Front-de-Boeuf. \"Fork-headed shafts of a cloth-yard\nin length, and these shot within the breadth of a French crown, are\nsting enough.\"\n\n\"For shame, sir knight!\" said the Templar. \"Let us summon our people\nand sally forth upon them. One knight--ay, one man-at-arms--were enough\nfor twenty such peasants.\"\n\n\"Enough, and too much,\" agreed De Bracy. \"I should be ashamed to couch\nlance against them.\"\n\n\"True,\" answered Front-de-Boeuf, drily, \"were they black Turks or Moors,\nSir Templar, or the craven peasants of France, most valiant De Bracy;\nbut these are English yeomen, over whom we shall have no advantage save\nwhat we may derive from our arms and horses, which will avail us little\nin the glades of the forest. Sally, saidst thou? We have scarce men\nenough to defend the castle. The best of mine are at York; so is your\nband, De Bracy; and we have scarce twenty, besides the handful that were\nengaged in this mad business.\"\n\n\"Thou dost not fear,\" said the Templar, \"that they can assemble in force\nsufficient to attempt the castle?\"\n\n\"Not so, Sir Brian,\" answered Front-de-Boeuf. \"These outlaws have indeed\na daring captain; but without machines, scaling ladders, and experienced\nleaders my castle may defy them.\"\n\n\"Send to thy neighbors,\" suggested the Templar. \"Let them assemble their\npeople and come to the rescue of three knights, besieged by a jester and\nswineherd in the baronial castle of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf!\"\n\n\"You jest, sir knight,\" answered the baron; \"but to whom shall I send?\nMy allies are at York, where I should have also been but for this\ninfernal enterprise.\"\n\n\"Then send to York and recall our people,\" said De Bracy. \"If these\n[v]churls abide the shaking of my standard, I will give them credit for\nthe boldest outlaws that ever bent bow in greenwood.\"\n\n\"And who shall bear such a message?\" said Front-de-Boeuf. \"The knaves\nwill beset every path and rip the errand out of the man's bosom. I have\nit,\" he added, after pausing for a moment. \"Sir Templar, thou canst\nwrite as well as read, and if we can but find writing materials, thou\nshalt return an answer to this bold challenge.\"\n\nPaper and pen were presently brought, and Bois-Guilbert sat down and\nwrote, in the French language, an epistle of the following tenor:\n\n\"Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, with his noble and knightly allies and\nconfederates, receives no defiances at the hands of slaves, bondsmen, or\nfugitives. If the person calling himself the Black Knight hath indeed a\nclaim to the honors of chivalry, he ought to know that he stands\ndegraded by his present association and has no right to ask reckoning at\nthe hands of good men of noble blood. Touching the prisoners we have\nmade, we do in Christian charity require you to send a man of religion\nto receive their confession and reconcile them with God; since it is our\nfixed intention to execute them this morning before noon, so that their\nheads, being placed on the battlements, shall show to all men how\nlightly we esteem those who have bestirred themselves in their rescue.\nWherefore, as above, we require you to send a priest to reconcile them\nwith God, in doing which you shall render them the last earthly\nservice.\"\n\nThis letter, being folded, was delivered to the squire, and by him to\nthe messenger who waited without, as the answer to that which he had\nbrought.\n\n\nIV\n\nAbout one hour afterward a man arrayed in the cowl and frock of a\nhermit, and having his knotted cord twisted around his middle, stood\nbefore the portal of the castle of Front-de-Boeuf. The warder demanded\nof him his name and errand.\n\n\"[v]_Pax vobiscum_,\" answered the priest, \"I am a poor brother of the\n[v]Order of St. Francis who come hither to do my office to certain\nunhappy prisoners now secured within this castle.\"\n\n\"Thou art a bold friar,\" said the warder, \"to come hither, where, saving\nour own drunken confessor, a rooster of thy feather hath not crowed\nthese twenty years.\"\n\nWith these words, he carried to the hall of the castle his unwonted\nintelligence that a friar stood before the gate and desired admission.\nWith no small wonder he received his master's command to admit the holy\nman immediately; and, having previously manned the entrance to guard\nagainst surprise, he obeyed, without farther scruple, the order given\nhim.\n\n\"Who and whence art thou, priest?\" demanded Front-de-Boeuf.\n\n\"_Pax vobiscum_,\" reiterated the priest, with trembling voice. \"I am a\npoor servant of Saint Francis, who, traveling through this wilderness,\nhave fallen among thieves, which thieves have sent me unto this castle\nin order to do my ghostly office on two persons condemned by your\nhonorable justice.\"\n\n\"Ay, right,\" answered Front-de-Boeuf; \"and canst thou tell me, the\nnumber of those banditti?\"\n\n\"Gallant sir,\" said the priest, \"[v]_nomen illis legio_, their name is\nlegion.\"\n\n\"Tell me in plain terms what numbers there are, or, priest, thy cloak\nand cord will ill protect thee from my wrath.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said the friar, \"[v]_cor meum eructavit_, that is to say, I was\nlike to burst with fear! But I conceive they may be--what of yeomen,\nwhat of commons--at least five hundred men.\"\n\n\"What!\" said the Templar, who came into the hall that moment, \"muster\nthe wasps so thick here? It is time to stifle such a mischievous brood.\"\nThen taking Front-de-Boeuf aside, \"Knowest thou the priest?\"\n\n\"He is a stranger from a distant convent,\" replied Front-de-Boeuf; \"I\nknow him not.\"\n\n\"Then trust him not with our purpose in words,\" urged the Templar. \"Let\nhim carry a written order to De Bracy's company of Free Companions, to\nrepair instantly to their master's aid. In the meantime, and that the\nshaveling may suspect nothing, permit him to go freely about his task of\npreparing the Saxon hogs for the slaughter-house.\"\n\n\"It shall be so,\" said Front-de-Boeuf. And he forthwith appointed a\ndomestic to conduct the friar to the apartment where Cedric and\nAthelstane were confined.\n\nThe natural impatience of Cedric had been rather enhanced than\ndiminished by his confinement. He walked from one end of the hall to the\nother, with the attitude of a man who advances to charge an enemy or\nstorm the breach of a beleaguered place, sometimes ejaculating to\nhimself and sometimes addressing Athelstane. The latter stoutly and\n[v]stoically awaited the issue of the adventure, digesting in the\nmeantime, with great composure, the liberal meal which he had made at\nnoon and not greatly troubling himself about the duration of the\ncaptivity.\n\n\"_Pax vobiscum_!\" pronounced the priest, entering the apartment. \"The\nblessing of Saint Dunstan, Saint Dennis, Saint Duthoc, and all other\nsaints whatsoever, be upon ye and about ye.\"\n\n\"Enter freely,\" said Cedric to the friar; \"with what intent art thou\ncome hither?\"\n\n\"To bid you prepare yourselves for death,\" was the reply.\n\n\"It is impossible!\" said Cedric, starting. \"Fearless and wicked as they\nare, they dare not attempt such open and [v]gratuitous cruelty!\"\n\n\"Alas!\" returned the priest, \"to restrain them by their sense of\nhumanity is the same as to stop a runaway horse with a bridle of silk\nthread. Bethink thee, therefore, Cedric, and you also, Athelstane, what\ncrimes you have committed in the flesh, for this very day will ye be\ncalled to answer at a higher [v]tribunal.\"\n\n\"Hearest thou this, Athelstane?\" said Cedric. \"We must rouse up our\nhearts to this last action, since better it is we should die like men\nthan live like slaves.\"\n\n\"I am ready,\" answered Athelstane, \"to stand the worst of their malice,\nand shall walk to my death with as much composure as ever I did to my\ndinner.\"\n\n\"Let us, then, unto our holy [v]gear, father,\" said Cedric.\n\n\"Wait yet a moment, good [v]uncle,\" said the priest in a voice very\ndifferent from his solemn tones of a moment before; \"better look before\nyou leap in the dark.\"\n\n\"By my faith!\" cried Cedric; \"I should know that voice.\"\n\n\"It is that of your trusty slave and jester,\" answered the priest,\nthrowing back his cowl and revealing the face of Wamba. \"Take a fool's\nadvice, and you will not be here long.\"\n\n\"How meanest thou, knave?\" demanded the Saxon.\n\n\"Even thus,\" replied Wamba; \"take thou this frock and cord and march\nquietly out of the castle, leaving me your cloak and girdle to take the\nlong leap in thy stead.\"\n\n\"Leave thee in my stead!\" exclaimed Cedric, astonished at the proposal;\n\"why, they would hang thee, my poor knave.\"\n\n\"E'en let them do as they are permitted,\" answered Wamba. \"I trust--no\ndisparagement to your birth--that the son of Witless may hang in a chain\nwith as much gravity as the chain hung upon his ancestor the\n[v]alderman.\"\n\n\"Well, Wamba,\" said Cedric, \"for one thing will I grant thy request. And\nthat is, if thou wilt make the exchange of garments with Lord Athelstane\ninstead of me.\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Wamba; \"there were little reason in that. Good right\nthere is that the son of Witless should suffer to save the son of\nHereward; but little wisdom there were in his dying for the benefit of\none whose fathers were strangers to his.\"\n\n\"Villain,\" cried Cedric, \"the fathers of Athelstane were monarchs of\nEngland!\"\n\n\"They might be whomsoever they pleased,\" replied Wamba; \"but my neck\nstands too straight on my shoulders to have it twisted for their sake.\nWherefore, good my master, either take my proffer yourself, or suffer me\nto leave this dungeon as free as I entered.\"\n\n\"Let the old tree wither,\" persisted Cedric, \"so the stately hope of the\nforest be preserved. Save the noble Athelstane, my trusty Wamba! It is\nthe duty of each who has Saxon blood in his veins. Thou and I will abide\ntogether the utmost rage of our oppressors, while he, free and safe,\nshall arouse the awakened spirits of our countrymen to avenge us.\"\n\n\"Not so, father Cedric,\" said Athelstane, grasping his hand--for, when\nroused to think or act, his deeds and sentiments were not unbecoming his\nhigh race--\"not so. I would rather remain in this hall a week without\nfood save the prisoner's stinted loaf, or drink save the prisoner's\nmeasure of water, than embrace the opportunity to escape which the\nslave's untaught kindness has [v]purveyed for his master. Go, noble\nCedric. Your presence without may encourage friends to our rescue; your\nremaining here would ruin us all.\"\n\n\"And is there any prospect, then, of rescue from without?\" asked Cedric,\nlooking at the jester.\n\n\"Prospect indeed!\" echoed Wamba. \"Let me tell you that when you fill my\ncloak you are wrapped in a general's cassock. Five hundred men are there\nwithout, and I was this morning one of their chief leaders. My fool's\ncap was a [v]casque, and my [v]bauble a truncheon. Well, we shall see\nwhat good they will make by exchanging a fool for a wise man. Truly, I\nfear they will lose in valor what they may gain in discretion. And so\nfarewell, master, and be kind to poor Gurth and his dog Fangs; and let\nmy [v]coxcomb hang in the hall at Rotherwood in memory that I flung away\nmy life for my master--like a faithful fool!\"\n\nThe last word came out with a sort of double expression, betwixt jest\nand earnest. The tears stood in Cedric's eyes.\n\n\"Thy memory shall be preserved,\" he said, \"while fidelity and affection\nhave honor upon earth. But that I trust I shall find the means of saving\nRowena and thee, Athelstane, and thee also, my poor Wamba, thou shouldst\nnot overbear me in this matter.\"\n\nThe exchange of dress was now accomplished, when a sudden doubt struck\nCedric.\n\n\"I know no language but my own and a few words of their mincing Norman.\nHow shall I bear myself like a reverend brother?\"\n\n\"The spell lies in two words,\" replied Wamba: \"_Pax vobiscum_ will\nanswer all queries. If you go or come, eat or drink, bless or ban, _Pax\nvobiscum_ carries you through it all. It is as useful to a friar as a\nbroomstick to a witch or a wand to a conjurer. Speak it but thus, in a\ndeep, grave tone,--_Pax vobiscum_!--it is irresistible. Watch and ward,\nknight and squire, foot and horse, it acts as a charm upon them all. I\nthink, if they bring me out to be hanged to-morrow, as is much to be\ndoubted they may, I will try its weight.\"\n\n\"If such prove the case,\" said his master, \"my religious orders are soon\ntaken. _Pax vobiscum_! I trust I shall remember the password. Noble\nAthelstane, farewell; and farewell, my poor boy, whose heart might make\namends for a weaker head. I will save you, or return and die with you.\nFarewell.\"\n\n\"Farewell, noble Cedric,\" said Athelstane; \"remember it is the true part\nof a friar to accept refreshment, if you are offered any.\"\n\nThus exhorted, Cedric sallied forth upon his expedition and presently\nfound himself in the presence of Front-de-Boeuf. The Saxon, with some\ndifficulty, compelled himself to make obeisance to the haughty baron,\nwho returned his courtesy with a slight inclination of the head.\n\n\"Thy penitents, father,\" said the latter, \"have made a long [v]shrift.\nIt is the better for them, since it is the last they shall ever make.\nHast thou prepared them for death?\"\n\n\"I found them,\" said Cedric, in such French as he could command,\n\"expecting the worst, from the moment they knew into whose power they\nhad fallen.\"\n\n\"How now, sir friar,\" replied Front-de-Boeuf, \"thy speech, me thinks,\nsmacks of the rude Saxon tongue?\"\n\n\"I was bred in the convent of Saint Withold of Burton,\" answered Cedric.\n\n\"Ay,\" said the baron; \"it had been better for thee to have been a\nNorman, and better for my purpose, too; but need has no choice of\nmessengers. That Saint Withold's of Burton is a howlet's nest worth the\nharrying. The day will soon come that the frock shall protect the Saxon\nas little as the mail-coat.\"\n\n\"God's will be done!\" returned Cedric, in a voice tremulous with\npassion, which Front-de-Boeuf imputed to fear.\n\n\"I see,\" he said, \"thou dreamest already that our men-at-arms are in thy\nrefectory and thy ale-vaults. But do me one cast of thy holy office and\nthou shalt sleep as safe in thy cell as a snail within his shell of\nproof.\"\n\n\"Speak your commands,\" replied Cedric, with suppressed emotion.\n\n\"Follow me through this passage, then, that I may dismiss thee by the\npostern.\"\n\nAs he strode on his way before the supposed friar, Front-de-Boeuf thus\nschooled him in the part which he desired he should act.\n\n\"Thou seest, sir friar, yon herd of Saxon swine who have dared to\nenviron this castle of Torquilstone. Tell them whatever thou hast a mind\nof the weakness of this [v]fortalice, or aught else that can detain\nthem before it for twenty-four hours. Meantime bear this scroll--but\nsoft--canst thou read, sir priest?\"\n\n\"Not a jot I,\" answered Cedric, \"save on my [v]breviary; and then I know\nthe characters because I have the holy service by heart, praised be\nSaint Withold!\"\n\n\"The fitter messenger for my purpose. Carry thou this scroll to the\ncastle of Philip de [v]Malvoisin; say it cometh from me and is written\nby the Templar, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and that I pray him to send it\nto York with all speed man and horse can make. Meanwhile, tell him to\ndoubt nothing he shall find us whole and sound behind our battlement.\nShame on it, that we should be compelled to hide thus by a pack of\nrunagates who are wont to fly even at the flash of our pennons and the\ntramp of our horses! I say to thee, priest, contrive some cast of thine\nart to keep the knaves where they are until our friends bring up their\nlances.\"\n\nWith these words, Front-de-Boeuf led the way to a postern where, passing\nthe moat on a single plank, they reached a small barbican, or exterior\ndefense, which communicated with the open field by a well-fortified\nsally-port.\n\n\"Begone, then; and if thou wilt do mine errand, and return hither when\nit is done, thou shalt see Saxon flesh cheap as ever was hog's in the\nshambles of Sheffield. And, hark thee! thou seemest to be a jolly\nconfessor--come hither after the onslaught and thou shalt have as much\ngood wine as would drench thy whole convent.\"\n\n\"Assuredly we shall meet again,\" answered Cedric.\n\n\"Something in the hand the whilst,\" continued the Norman; and, as they\nparted at the postern door, he thrust in Cedric's reluctant hand a gold\n[v]byzant, adding, \"Remember, I will flay off both cowl and skin if thou\nfailest in thy purpose.\"\n\nThe supposed priest passed out of the door without further words.\n\nFront-de-Boeuf turned back within the castle.\n\n\"Ho! Giles jailer,\" he called, \"let them bring Cedric of Rotherwood\nbefore me, and the other churl, his companion--him I mean of\nConingsburgh--Athelstane there, or what call they him? Their very names\nare an encumbrance to a Norman knight's mouth, and have, as it were, a\nflavor of bacon. Give me a stoop of wine, as jolly Prince John would\nsay, that I may wash away the relish. Place it in the armory, and\nthither lead the prisoners.\"\n\nHis commands were obeyed; and upon entering that Gothic apartment, hung\nwith many spoils won by his own valor and that of his father, he found a\nflagon of wine on a massive oaken table, and the two Saxon captives\nunder the guard of four of his dependants. Front-de-Boeuf took a long\ndraught of wine and then addressed his prisoners, for the imperfect\nlight prevented his perceiving that the more important of them had\nescaped.\n\n\"Gallants of England,\" said Front-de-Boeuf, \"how relish ye your\nentertainment at Torquilstone? Faith and Saint Dennis, an ye pay not a\nrich ransom, I will hang ye up by the feet from the iron bars of these\nwindows till the kites and hooded crows have made skeletons of you!\nSpeak out, ye Saxon dogs, what bid ye for your worthless lives? What say\nyou, you of Rotherwood?\"\n\n\"Not a [v]doit I,\" answered poor Wamba, \"and for hanging up by the feet,\nmy brain has been topsy-turvy ever since the [v]biggin was bound first\naround my head; so turning me upside down may peradventure restore it\nagain.\"\n\n\"Hah!\" cried Front-de-Boeuf, \"what have we here?\"\n\nAnd with the back of his hand he struck Cedric's cap from the head of\nthe jester, and throwing open his collar, discovered the fatal badge of\nservitude, the silver collar round his neck.\n\n\"Giles--Clement--dogs and varlets!\" called the furious Norman, \"what\nvillain have you brought me here?\"\n\n\"I think I can tell you,\" said De Bracy, who just entered the apartment.\n\"This is Cedric's clown.\"\n\n\"Go,\" ordered Front-de-Boeuf; \"fetch me the right Cedric hither, and I\npardon your error for once--the rather that you but mistook a fool for\na Saxon [v]franklin.\"\n\n\"Ay, but,\" said Wamba, \"your chivalrous excellency will find there are\nmore fools than franklins among us.\"\n\n\"What means this knave?\" said Front-de-Boeuf, looking toward his\nfollowers, who, lingering and loath, faltered forth their belief that if\nthis were not Cedric who was there in presence, they knew not what was\nbecome of him.\n\n\"Heavens!\" exclaimed De Bracy. \"He must have escaped in the monk's\ngarments!\"\n\n\"Fiends!\" echoed Front-de-Boeuf. \"It was then the boar of Rotherwood\nwhom I ushered to the postern and dismissed with my own hands! And\nthou,\" he said to Wamba, \"whose folly could over-reach the wisdom of\nidiots yet more gross than thyself. I will give thee holy orders, I will\nshave thy crown for thee! Here, let them tear the scalp from his head\nand pitch him headlong from the battlements. Thy trade is to jest: canst\nthou jest now?\"\n\n\"You deal with me better than your word, noble knight,\" whimpered forth\npoor Wamba, whose habits of [v]buffoonery were not to be overcome even\nby the immediate prospect of death; \"if you give me the red cap you\npropose, out of a simple monk you will make a [v]cardinal.\"\n\n\"The poor wretch,\" said De Bracy, \"is resolved to die in his vocation.\"\nThe next moment would have been Wamba's last but for an unexpected\ninterruption. A hoarse shout, raised by many voices, bore to the inmates\nof the hall the tidings that the besiegers were advancing to the attack.\nThere was a moment's silence in the hall, which was broken by De Bracy.\n\"To the battlements,\" he said; \"let us see what these knaves do\nwithout.\"\n\nSo saying, he opened a latticed window which led to a sort of projecting\nbalcony, and immediately called to those in the apartment, \"Saint\nDennis, it is time to stir! They bring forward [v]mantelets and\n[v]pavisses, and the archers muster on the skirts of the wood like a\ndark cloud before a hail-storm.\"\n\nFront-de-Boeuf also looked out upon the field and immediately snatched\nhis bugle. After winding a long and loud blast, he commanded his men to\ntheir posts on the walls.\n\n\"De Bracy, look to the eastern side, where the walls are lowest. Noble\nBois-Guilbert, thy trade hath well taught thee how to attack and defend,\nso look thou to the western side. I myself will take post at the\nbarbican. Our numbers are few, but activity and courage may supply that\ndefect, since we have only to do with rascal clowns.\"\n\nThe Templar had in the meantime been looking out on the proceedings of\nthe besiegers with deeper attention than Front-de-Boeuf or his giddy\ncompanion.\n\n\"By the faith of mine order,\" he said, \"these men approach with more\ntouch of discipline than could have been judged, however they come by\nit. See ye how dexterously they avail themselves of every cover which a\ntree or bush affords and avoid exposing themselves to the shot of our\ncross-bows? I spy neither banner nor pennon, and yet I will gage my\ngolden chain that they are led by some noble knight or gentleman\nskillful in the practice of wars.\"\n\n\"I espy him,\" said De Bracy; \"I see the waving of a knight's crest and\nthe gleam of his armor. See yon tall man in the black mail who is busied\nmarshaling the farther troop of the rascally yeomen. By Saint Dennis, I\nhold him to be the knight who did so well in the tournament at Ashby.\"\n\nThe demonstrations of the enemy's approach cut off all farther\ndiscourse. The Templar and De Bracy repaired to their posts and, at the\nhead of the few followers they were able to muster, awaited with calm\ndetermination the threatened assault, while Front-de-Boeuf went to see\nthat all was secure in the besieged fortress.\n\n\nV\n\nIn the meantime, the wounded Wilfred of Ivanhoe had been gradually\nrecovering his strength. Taken into her litter by Rebecca when his own\nfather hesitated to succor him, the young knight had lain in a stupor\nthrough all the experiences of the journey and the capture of Cedric's\nparty by the Normans. De Bracy, who, bad as he was, was not without some\n[v]compunction, on finding the occupant of the litter to be Ivanhoe, had\nplaced the invalid under the charge of two of his squires, who were\ndirected to state to any inquirers that he was a wounded comrade. This\nexplanation was now accordingly returned by these men to Front-de-Boeuf,\nwhen, in going the round of the castle, he questioned them why they did\nnot make for the battlements upon the alarm of the attack.\n\n\"A wounded comrade!\" he exclaimed in great wrath and astonishment. \"No\nwonder that churls and yeomen wax so presumptuous as even to lay leaguer\nbefore castles, and that clowns and swineherds send defiances to nobles,\nsince men-at-arms have turned sick men's nurses. To the battlements, ye\nloitering villains!\" he cried, raising his [v]stentorian voice till the\narches rang again; \"to the battlements, or I will splinter your bones\nwith this truncheon.\"\n\nThe men, who, like most of their description, were fond of enterprise\nand detested inaction, went joyfully to the scene of danger, and the\ncare of Ivanhoe fell to Rebecca, who occupied a neighboring apartment\nand who was not kept in close confinement.\n\nThe beautiful young Jewess rejoined the knight, whom she had so signally\nbefriended, at the moment of the beginning of the attack on the castle.\nIvanhoe, already much better and chafing at his enforced inaction,\nresembled the war-horse who scenteth the battle afar.\n\n\"If I could but drag myself to yonder window,\" he said, \"that I might\nsee how this brave game is like to go--if I could strike but a single\nblow for our deliverance! It is in vain; I am alike nerveless and\nweaponless!\"\n\n\"Fret not thyself, noble knight,\" answered Rebecca, \"the sounds have\nceased of a sudden. It may be they join not battle.\"\n\n\"Thou knowest naught of it,\" returned Wilfred, impatiently; \"this dead\npause only shows that the men are at their posts on the walls and expect\nan instant attack. What we have heard was but the distant muttering of\nthe storm, which will burst anon in all its fury. Could I but reach\nyonder window!\"\n\n\"Thou wilt injure thyself by the attempt, noble knight,\" replied the\nattendant. Then she added, \"I myself will stand at the lattice and\ndescribe to you as I can what passes without.\"\n\n\"You must not; you shall not!\" exclaimed Ivanhoe. \"Each lattice will\nsoon be a mark for the archers; some random shaft may strike you. At\nleast cover thy body with yonder ancient buckler and show as little of\nthyself as may be.\"\n\nAvailing herself of the protection of the large, ancient shield, which\nshe placed against the lower part of the window, Rebecca, with\ntolerable security, could witness part of what was passing without the\ncastle and report to Ivanhoe the preparations being made for the\nstorming. From where she stood she had a full view of the outwork likely\nto be the first object of the assault. It was a fortification of no\ngreat height or strength, intended to protect the postern-gate through\nwhich Cedric had been recently dismissed by Front-de-Boeuf. The castle\nmoat divided this species of barbican from the rest of the fortress, so\nthat, in case of its being taken, it was easy to cut off the\ncommunication with the main building by withdrawing the temporary\nbridge. In the outwork was a sally-port corresponding to the postern of\nthe castle, and the whole was surrounded by a strong palisade. From the\nmustering of the assailants in a direction nearly opposite the outwork,\nit seemed plain that this point had been selected for attack.\n\nRebecca communicated this to Ivanhoe, and added, \"The skirts of the wood\nseem lined with archers, although only a few are advanced from its dark\nshadow.\"\n\n\"Under what banner?\" asked Ivanhoe.\n\n\"Under no ensign of war which I can observe,\" answered Rebecca.\n\n\"A singular novelty,\" muttered the knight, \"to advance to storm such a\ncastle without pennon or banner displayed! Seest thou who they are that\nact as leaders? Or, are all of them but stout yeomen?\"\n\n\"A knight clad in sable armor is the most conspicuous,\" she replied; \"he\nalone is armed from head to foot, and he seems to assume the direction\nof all around him.\"\n\n\"Seem there no other leaders?\" demanded the anxious inquirer.\n\n\"None of mark and distinction that I can behold from this station,\" said\nRebecca. \"They appear even now preparing to attack. God of Zion protect\nus! What a dreadful sight! Those who advance first bear huge shields and\ndefenses made of plank; the others follow, bending their bows as they\ncome on. They raise their bows! God of Moses, forgive the creatures thou\nhast made!\"\n\nHer description was suddenly interrupted by the signal for assault,\nwhich was the blast of a shrill bugle, at once answered by a flourish of\nthe Norman trumpets from the battlements. The shouts of both parties\naugmented the fearful din, the assailants crying, \"Saint George for\nmerry England!\" and the Normans answering them with cries of\n\"[v]_Beauseant! Beauseant!_\"\n\nIt was not, however, by clamor that the contest was to be decided, and\nthe desperate efforts of the assailants were met by an equally vigorous\ndefense on the part of the besieged. The archers, trained by their\nwoodland pastimes to the most effective use of the longbow, shot so\nrapidly and accurately that no point at which a defender could show the\nleast part of his person escaped their [v]cloth-yard shafts. By this\nheavy discharge, which continued as thick and sharp as hail, two or\nthree of the garrison were slain and several others wounded. But,\nconfident in their armor of proof and in the cover which their situation\nafforded, the followers of Front-de-Boeuf, and his allies, showed an\nobstinacy in defense proportioned to the fury of the attack, replying\nwith the discharge of their large cross-bows to the close and continued\nshower of arrows. As the assailants were necessarily but indifferently\nprotected, they received more damage than they did.\n\n\"And I must lie here like a bedridden monk,\" exclaimed Ivanhoe, \"while\nthe game that gives me freedom or death is played out by the hands of\nothers! Look from the window once again, kind maiden, but beware that\nyou are not marked by the archers beneath--look out once more and tell\nme if they yet advance to the storm.\"\n\nWith patient courage, Rebecca again took post at the lattice.\n\n\"What dost thou see?\" demanded the wounded knight.\n\n\"Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to dazzle mine eyes\nand hide the bowmen who shoot them.\"\n\n\"That cannot endure,\" remarked Ivanhoe. \"If they press not on to carry\nthe castle by pure force of arms, the archery may avail but little\nagainst stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the sable knight and see how\nhe bears himself, for as the leader is, so will his followers be.\"\n\n\"I see him not,\" said Rebecca.\n\n\"Foul craven!\" exclaimed Ivanhoe; \"does he blench from the helm when the\nwind blows highest?\"\n\n\"He blenches not! he blenches not!\" cried Rebecca. \"I see him now; he\nheads a body of men close under the outer barrier of the barbican. They\npull down the piles and palisades; they hew down the barriers with axes.\nHis high black plume floats over the throng, like a raven over the field\nof the slain. They have made a breach in the barriers--they rush\nin--they are thrust back! Front-de-Boeuf heads the defenders; I see his\ngigantic form above the press. They throng again to the breach, and the\npass is disputed hand to hand, and man to man. Have mercy, God!\"\n\nShe turned her head from the lattice, as if unable longer to endure a\nsight so terrible.\n\n\"Look forth again, Rebecca,\" urged Ivanhoe, mistaking the cause of her\nretiring; \"the archery must in some degree have ceased, since they are\nnow fighting hand to hand. Look again; there is less danger.\"\n\nRebecca again looked forth and almost immediately exclaimed: \"Holy\nprophets of the law! Front-de-Boeuf and the Black Knight fight hand to\nhand in the breach, amid the roar of their followers, who watch the\nprogress of the strife.\" She then uttered a loud shriek, \"He is down! he\nis down!\"\n\n\"Who is down?\" cried Ivanhoe; \"tell me which has fallen?\"\n\n\"The Black Knight,\" answered Rebecca, faintly; then shouted with joyful\neagerness, \"But no--the name of the Lord of Hosts be blessed!--he is on\nfoot again and fights as if there were twenty men's strength in his\nsingle arm. His sword is broken--he snatches an ax from a yeoman--he\npresses Front-de-Boeuf with blow on blow. The giant stoops and totters\nlike an oak under the steel of a woodsman--he falls--he falls!\"\n\n\"Front-de-Boeuf?\" exclaimed Ivanhoe.\n\n\"Front-de-Boeuf!\" answered the Jewess. \"His men rush to the rescue,\nheaded by the haughty Templar--their united force compels the champion\nto pause--they drag Front-de-Boeuf within the walls.\"\n\n\"The assailants have won the barriers, have they not?\" Ivanhoe eagerly\nqueried.\n\n\"They have! they have!\" answered Rebecca; \"and they press the besieged\nhard on the outer wall. Some plant ladders, some swarm like bees and\nendeavor to ascend upon the shoulders of each other. Down go stones,\nbeams, and trunks of trees on their heads, and as fast as they bear the\nwounded to the rear, fresh men supply their places. Great God! hast thou\ngiven men thine own image, that it should be thus cruelly defaced by the\nhands of their brethren!\"\n\n\"Think not of that,\" said Ivanhoe. \"This is no time for such thoughts.\nWho yield--who push their way?\"\n\n\"The ladders are thrown down,\" replied Rebecca, shuddering; \"the\nsoldiers lie groveling under them like crushed reptiles; the besieged\nhave the better.\"\n\n\"Saint George strike for us!\" exclaimed the knight; \"do the false yeomen\ngive way?\"\n\n\"No,\" exclaimed Rebecca, \"they bear themselves right yeomanly--the Black\nKnight approaches the postern with his huge ax--the thundering blows he\ndeals you may hear above all the din of the battle. Stones and beams are\nhailed down on the bold champion--he regards them no more than if they\nwere thistle-down or feathers!\"\n\n\"By Saint John of Acre,\" cried Ivanhoe, raising himself joyfully on his\ncouch, \"methought there was but one man in England that might do such a\ndeed!\"\n\n\"The postern-gate shakes,\" continued Rebecca; \"it crashes--it is\nsplintered by his blows--they rush in--the outwork is won! Oh, God! they\nhurl the defenders from the battlements--they throw them into the\nmoat--men, if ye indeed be men, spare them that can resist no longer!\"\n\n\"The bridge--the bridge which communicates with the castle--have they\nwon that pass?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Rebecca. \"The Templar has destroyed the plank on which\nthey crossed--few of the defenders escaped with him into the castle--the\nshrieks and cries you hear tell the fate of the others! Alas! I see it\nis more difficult to look on victory than on battle.\"\n\n\"What do they now, maiden?\" asked Ivanhoe. \"Look forth yet again; this\nis no time to faint at bloodshed.\"\n\n\"It is over for the time,\" answered Rebecca. \"Our friends strengthen\nthemselves within the outwork which they have mastered; it affords them\nso good a shelter from the foeman's shot that the garrison only bestow a\nfew bolts on it from interval to interval, as if to disquiet rather than\nto injure them.\"\n\n\"Our friends,\" said Wilfred, \"will surely not abandon an enterprise so\ngloriously begun and so happily attained. Oh, no! I will put my faith in\nthe good knight whose ax hath rent heart-of-oak and bars of iron.\"\n\n\nVI\n\nDuring the interval of quiet which followed the first success of the\nbesiegers, the Black Knight was employed in causing to be constructed a\nsort of floating bridge, or long raft, by means of which he hoped to\ncross the moat in despite of the resistance of the enemy. This was a\nwork of some time.\n\nWhen the raft was completed, the Black Knight addressed the besiegers:\n\"It avails not waiting here longer, my friends; the sun is descending in\nthe west, and I may not tarry for another day. Besides, it will be a\nmarvel if the horsemen do not come upon us from York, unless we speedily\naccomplish our purpose. Wherefore, one of you go to Locksley and bid him\ncommence a discharge of arrows on the opposite side of the castle, and\nmove forward as if about to assault it; while you, true Englishmen,\nstand by me and be ready to thrust the raft end-long over the moat\nwhenever the postern on our side is thrown open. Follow me boldly\nacross, and aid me to burst yon sally-port in the main wall of the\ncastle. As many of you as like not this service, or are but ill-armed,\ndo you man the top of the outwork, draw your bowstrings to your ears and\nquell with your shot whoever shall appear upon the rampant. Noble\nCedric, wilt thou take the direction of those that remain?\"\n\n\"Not so,\" answered the Saxon. \"Lead I cannot, but my posterity curse me\nin my grave if I follow not with the foremost wherever thou shalt point\nthe way!\"\n\n\"Yet, bethink thee, noble Saxon,\" said the knight, \"thou hast neither\nhauberk nor corslet, nor aught but that light helmet, [v]target, and\nsword.\"\n\n\"The better,\" replied Cedric; \"I shall be the lighter to climb these\nwalls. And--forgive the boast, sir knight--thou shalt this day see the\nnaked breast of a Saxon as boldly presented to the battle as ever you\nbeheld the steel corslet of a Norman warrior.\"\n\n\"In the name of God, then,\" said the knight, \"fling open the door and\nlaunch the floating bridge!\"\n\nThe portal which led from the inner wall of the barbican, now held by\nthe besiegers, to the moat and corresponded with a sally-port in the\nmain wall of the castle was suddenly opened. The temporary bridge was\nimmediately thrust forward and extended its length between the castle\nand outwork, forming a slippery and precarious passage for two men\nabreast to cross the moat. Well aware of the importance of taking the\nfoe by surprise, the Black Knight, closely followed by Cedric, threw\nhimself upon the bridge and reached the opposite shore. Here he began to\nthunder with his ax on the gate of the castle, protected in part from\nthe shot and stones cast by the defenders by the ruins of the former\ndrawbridge, which the Templar had demolished in his retreat from the\nbarbican, leaving the [v]counterpoise still attached to the upper part\nof the portal. The followers of the knight had no such shelter; two were\ninstantly shot with cross-bow bolts, and two more fell into the moat.\nThe others retreated back into the barbican.\n\n[Illustration: [See page 323]\n\nHe Began to Thunder on the Gate]\n\nThe situation of Cedric and the Black Knight was now truly dangerous and\nwould have been still more so but for the constancy of the archers in\nthe barbican, who ceased not to shower their arrows on the battlements,\ndistracting the attention of those by whom they were manned and thus\naffording a respite to their two chiefs from the storm of missiles,\nwhich must otherwise have overwhelmed them. But their situation was\neminently perilous, and was becoming more so with every moment.\n\n\"Shame on ye all!\" cried De Bracy to the soldiers around him; \"do ye\ncall yourselves cross-bowmen and let these two dogs keep their station\nunder the walls of the castle? Heave over the coping stones from the\nbattlement, an better may not be. Get pick-ax and levers and down with\nthat huge pinnacle!\" pointing to a heavy piece of stone-carved work that\nprojected from the parapet.\n\nAt this moment Locksley whipped up the courage of his men.\n\n\"Saint George for England!\" he cried. \"To the charge, bold yeomen! Why\nleave ye the good knight and noble Cedric to storm the pass alone? Make\nin, yeomen! The castle is taken. Think of honor; think of spoil. One\neffort and the place is ours.\"\n\nWith that he bent his good bow and sent a shaft right through the breast\nof one of the men-at-arms, who, under De Bracy's direction, was\nloosening a fragment from one of the battlements to precipitate on the\nheads of Cedric and the Black Knight. A second soldier caught from the\nhands of the dying man the iron crow, with which he had heaved up and\nloosened the stone pinnacle, when, receiving an arrow through his\nheadpiece, he dropped from the battlement into the moat a dead man. The\nmen-at-arms were daunted, for no armor seemed proof against the shot of\nthis tremendous archer.\n\n\"Do you give ground, base knaves?\" cried De Bracy. \"[v]_Mountjoy Saint\nDennis_! Give me the lever.\"\n\nSnatching it up, he again assailed the loosened pinnacle, which was of\nweight enough, if thrown down, not only to have destroyed the remnant of\nthe drawbridge, which sheltered the two foremost assailants, but also to\nhave sunk the rude float of planks over which they had crossed. All saw\nthe danger, and the boldest, even the stout friar himself, avoided\nsetting a foot on the raft. Thrice did Locksley bend his shaft against\nDe Bracy, and thrice did his arrow bound back from the knight's armor of\nproof.\n\n\"Curse on thy Spanish steel-coat!\" said Locksley; \"had English smith\nforged it, these arrows had gone through it as if it had been silk.\" He\nthen began to call out: \"Comrades! friends! noble Cedric! bear back and\nlet the ruin fall.\"\n\nHis warning voice was unheard, for the din which the Black Knight\nhimself occasioned by his strokes upon the postern would have drowned\ntwenty war-trumpets. The faithful Gurth indeed sprang forward on the\nplanked bridge to warn Cedric of his impending fate, or to share it with\nhim. But his warning would have come too late; the massive pinnacle\nalready tottered, and De Bracy, who still heaved at his task, would have\naccomplished it, had not the voice of the Templar sounded close in his\near.\n\n\"All is lost, De Bracy; the castle burns.\"\n\n\"Thou art mad to say so,\" replied the knight.\n\n\"It is all in a light flame on the western side,\" returned\nBois-Guilbert. \"I have striven in vain to extinguish it.\"\n\n\"What is to be done?\" cried De Bracy. \"I vow to Saint Nicholas of\nLimoges a candlestick of pure gold--\"\n\n\"Spare thy vow,\" said the Templar, \"and mark me. Lead thy men down, as\nif to a sally; throw the postern-gate open. There are but two men who\noccupy the float; fling them into the moat and push across to the\nbarbican. I will charge from the main gate and attack the barbican on\nthe outside. If we can regain that post, we shall defend ourselves until\nwe are relieved or, at least, until they grant us fair quarter.\"\n\n\"It is well thought upon,\" replied De Bracy; \"I will play my part.\"\n\nDe Bracy hastily drew his men together and rushed down to the\npostern-gate, which he caused instantly to be thrown open. Scarce was\nthis done ere the portentous strength of the Black Knight forced his\nway inward in despite of De Bracy and his followers. Two of the foremost\ninstantly fell, and the rest gave way, notwithstanding all their\nleader's efforts to stop them.\n\n\"Dogs!\" cried De Bracy; \"will ye let two men win our only pass for\nsafety?\"\n\n\"He is the devil!\" replied a veteran man-at-arms, bearing back from the\nblows of their sable antagonist.\n\n\"And if he be the devil,\" said De Bracy, \"would you fly from him into\nthe mouth of hell? The castle burns behind us, villains! Let despair\ngive you courage, or let me forward. I will cope with this champion\nmyself.\"\n\nAnd well and chivalrously did De Bracy that day maintain the fame he had\nacquired in the civil wars of that dreadful period. The vaulted passages\nin which the two redoubted champions were now fighting hand to hand rang\nwith the furious blows they dealt each other, De Bracy with his sword,\nthe Black Knight with his ponderous ax. At length the Norman received a\nblow, which, though its force was partly parried by his shield,\ndescended yet with such violence on his crest that he measured his\nlength on the paved floor.\n\n\"Yield thee, De Bracy,\" said the Black Knight, stooping over him and\nholding against the bars of his helmet the fatal poniard with which\nknights despatched their enemies; \"yield thee, Maurice de Bracy, rescue\nor no rescue, or thou art but a dead man. Speak!\"\n\nThe gallant Norman, seeing the hopelessness of further resistance,\nyielded, and was allowed to rise.\n\n\"Let me tell thee what it imports thee to know,\" he said. \"Wilfred of\nIvanhoe is wounded and a prisoner, and will perish in the burning castle\nwithout present help.\"\n\n\"Wilfred of Ivanhoe!\" exclaimed the Black Knight. \"The life of every man\nin the castle shall answer if a hair of his head be singed. Show me his\nchamber!\"\n\n\"Ascend yonder stair,\" directed De Bracy. \"It leads to his apartment.\"\n\nThe turret was now in bright flames, which flashed out furiously from\nwindow and shot-hole. But, in other parts, the great thickness of the\nwalls and the vaulted roofs of the apartments resisted the progress of\nthe fire, and there the rage of man still triumphed; for the besiegers\npursued the defenders of the castle from chamber to chamber. Most of the\ngarrison resisted to the uttermost; few of them asked quarter--none\nreceived it. The air was filled with groans and the clashing of arms.\n\nThrough this scene of confusion the Black Knight rushed in quest of\nIvanhoe, whom he found in Rebecca's charge. The knight, picking up the\nwounded man as if he were a child, bore him quickly to safety. In the\nmeantime, Cedric had gone in search of Rowena, followed by the faithful\nGurth. The noble Saxon was so fortunate as to reach his ward's\napartment just as she had abandoned all hope of safety and sat in\nexpectation of instant death. He committed her to the charge of Gurth,\nto be carried without the castle. The loyal Cedric then hastened in\nquest of his friend Athelstane, determined at every risk to himself to\nsave the prince. But ere Cedric penetrated as far as the old hall in\nwhich he himself had been a prisoner, the inventive genius of Wamba had\nprocured liberation for himself and his companion.\n\nWhen the noise of the conflict announced that it was at the hottest, the\njester began to shout with the utmost power of his lungs, \"Saint George\nand the Dragon! Bonny Saint George for merry England! The castle is\nwon!\" These sounds he rendered yet more fearful by banging against each\nother two or three pieces of rusty armor which lay scattered around the\nhall.\n\nThe guards at once ran to tell the Templar that foemen had entered the\nold hall. Meantime the prisoners found no difficulty in making their\nescape into the court of the castle, which was now the last scene of the\ncontest. Here sat the fierce Templar, mounted on horseback and\nsurrounded by several of the garrison, who had united their strength in\norder to secure the last chance of safety and retreat which remained to\nthem. The principal, and now the single remaining drawbridge, had been\nlowered by his orders, but the passage was beset; for the archers, who\nhad hitherto only annoyed the castle on that side by their missiles, no\nsooner saw the flames breaking out and the bridge lowered than they\nthronged to the entrance. On the other hand, a party of the besiegers\nwho had entered by the postern on the opposite side were now issuing\ninto the court-yard and attacking with fury the remnant of the defenders\nin the rear.\n\nAnimated, however, by despair and the example of their gallant leader,\nthe remaining soldiers of the castle fought with the utmost valor; and,\nbeing well armed, they succeeded in driving back the assailants.\n\nCrying aloud, \"Those who would save themselves, follow me!\"\nBois-Guilbert pushed across the drawbridge, dispersing the archers who\nwould have stopped them. He was followed by the Saracen slaves and some\nfive or six men-at-arms, who had mounted their horses. The Templar's\nretreat was rendered perilous by the number of arrows shot at him and\nhis party; but this did not prevent him from galloping round to the\nbarbican, where he expected to find De Bracy.\n\n\"De Bracy!\" he shouted, \"art thou there?\"\n\n\"I am here,\" answered De Bracy, \"but a prisoner.\"\n\n\"Can I rescue thee?\" cried Bois-Guilbert.\n\n\"No,\" said the other. \"I have rendered myself.\"\n\nUpon hearing this, the Templar galloped off with his followers, leaving\nthe besiegers in complete possession of the castle.\n\nFortunately, by this time all the prisoners had been rescued and stood\ntogether without the castle, while the yeomen ran through the apartments\nseeking to save from the devouring flames such valuables as might be\nfound. They were soon driven out by the fiery element. The towering\nflames surmounted every obstruction and rose to the evening skies one\nhuge and burning beacon, seen far and wide through the adjacent country.\nTower after tower crashed down, with blazing roof and rafter.\n\nThe victors, assembling in large bands, gazed with wonder not unmixed\nwith fear upon the flames, in which their own ranks and arms glanced\ndusky red. The voice of Locksley was at length heard, \"Shout, yeomen!\nthe den of tyrants is no more! Let each bring his spoil to the tree in\nHart-hill Walk, for there we will make just partition among ourselves,\ntogether with our worthy allies in this great deed of vengeance.\"\n\nSIR WALTER SCOTT.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     I. Tell what you find out about Cedric and his son, Ivanhoe, or the\n     \"Disinherited Knight.\" What impression do you get of Cedric's\n     character? of Athelstane's? What was the first adventure the\n     travelers had? Who was \"the sick friend\" the Jews were assisting?\n     What further adventure befell the travelers? How did Gurth show his\n     true character? Who came to the aid of Gurth and Wamba? What did\n     Wamba mean by \"whether they be thy children's coats or no\"? What\n     impression do you get of the stranger? Describe the scene in the\n     hermit's abode. What impression do you get of him? Of the Black\n     Knight?\n\n     II. Who had made Cedric's party prisoners? Why? Tell what Cedric\n     said when he discovered who his captors were. What disposition was\n     made of the prisoners? Describe the scene in Isaac's cell. How was\n     Front-de-Boeuf interrupted?\n\n     III. What challenge did the knights receive? How did they answer\n     it?\n\n     IV. Who came in the character of a priest? What plan did he carry\n     out? How? How did Cedric act his part? Describe the scene when the\n     escape was discovered. How was Front-de-Boeuf prevented from doing\n     Wamba harm?\n\n     V. How did Ivanhoe fall to the care of Rebecca? Where did Rebecca\n     take her station? Describe the scenes she saw. What knight led the\n     assault? How did Rebecca describe him? Can you guess who the Black\n     Knight was? Whom did Ivanhoe think of when he said, \"Methought\n     there was but one man in England that might do such a deed\"?\n\n     VI. What plan did the Black Knight make? How was it executed? Which\n     of the assailants proved themselves especial heroes? What was De\n     Bracy's plan? How was its accomplishment prevented? What plan for\n     escape did the Templar have? How did it end? Tell how Ivanhoe,\n     Rowena, Athelstane and Wamba were liberated. Tell what became of\n     the knights. Who do you think Locksley was?\n\n     All of the party were rescued except Rebecca, who was carried off\n     by Bois-Guilbert and accused of witchcraft. You will have to read\n     the novel, _Ivanhoe_, to learn of the further adventures of her,\n     Rowena, the Black Knight, and Ivanhoe.\n\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY READING\n\n     The Talisman--Sir Walter Scott.\n     The White Company--A. Conan Doyle.\n     When Knighthood Was in Flower--Charles Major.\n     The Last of the Barons--Edward Bulwer-Lytton.\n     Don Quixote--Miguel de Cervantes.\n     The Idylls of the King--Alfred Tennyson.\n     Scottish Chiefs--Jane Porter.\n\n\n\n\nSEA FEVER\n\n\n    I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,\n    And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;\n    And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,\n    And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.\n\n    I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide\n    Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;\n    And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,\n    And the flung spray and the blown [v]spume, and the sea-gulls crying.\n\n    I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,\n    To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted\n        knife;\n    And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,\n    And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.\n\n    JOHN MASEFIELD.\n\n\n\n\nA GREYPORT LEGEND\n\n\n    They ran through the streets of the seaport town;\n      They peered from the decks of the ships that lay:\n    The cold sea-fog that comes whitening down\n      Was never as cold or white as they.\n        \"Ho, Starbuck, and Pinckney, and Tenterden,\n        Run for your shallops, gather your men,\n      Scatter your boats on the lower bay!\"\n\n    Good cause for fear! In the thick midday\n      The hulk that lay by the rotting pier,\n    Filled with the children in happy play,\n      Parted its moorings and drifted clear;\n        Drifted clear beyond reach or call,--\n        Thirteen children they were in all,--\n    All adrift in the lower bay!\n\n    Said a hard-faced skipper, \"God help us all!\n      She will not float till the turning tide!\"\n    Said his wife, \"My darling will hear _my_ call,\n      Whether in sea or heaven she abide!\"\n        And she lifted a quavering voice and high,\n        Wild and strange as a sea-bird's cry,\n      Till they shuddered and wondered at her side.\n\n    The fog drove down on each laboring crew,\n      Veiled each from each and the sky and shore;\n    There was not a sound but the breath they drew,\n      And the lap of water and creak of oar.\n        And they felt the breath of the downs fresh blown\n        O'er leagues of clover and cold gray stone,\n      But not from the lips that had gone before.\n\n    They came no more. But they tell the tale\n      That, when fogs are thick on the harbor reef,\n    The mackerel-fishers shorten sail;\n      For the signal they know will bring relief,\n        For the voices of children, still at play\n        In a phantom-hulk that drifts alway\n      Through channels whose waters never fail.\n\n    It is but a foolish shipman's tale,\n      A theme for a poet's idle page;\n    But still, when the mists of doubt prevail,\n      And we lie becalmed by the shores of age,\n        We hear from the misty troubled shore\n        The voice of the children gone before,\n      Drawing the soul to its anchorage!\n\n    BRET HARTE.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     Read the poem and tell the story found in it. Why was every one so\n     \"cold and white\"? What was the great danger? What happened to\n     prevent the sailors' getting to the hulk? What is the tale that is\n     told? What is the thought the poet leaves with us in the last\n     stanza?\n\n\n\n\nA HUNT BENEATH THE OCEAN\n\n\n     This story is taken from _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_,\n     the book that foreshadowed the modern submarine. Monsieur Aronnax,\n     a scientist, with two companions, Ned Land and Conseil, was rescued\n     at sea by a strange craft, the _Nautilus_, owned and commanded by\n     one Captain Nemo, who hated mankind and never went ashore on\n     inhabited land. Monsieur Aronnax remained on the submarine for\n     months in a kind of captivity and met with many wonderful\n     adventures. It should be noted that modern inventions have already\n     outstripped many of the author's imaginings.\n\nOn returning to my room with Ned and Conseil, I found upon my table a\nnote addressed to me. I opened it impatiently. It was written in a bold\nclear hand, and ran as follows:\n\n\"November 16, 1867.\n\nTo Professor Aronnax, on board the _Nautilus_:\n\nCaptain Nemo invites Professor Aronnax to a hunting party, which will\ntake place to-morrow morning in the forest of the island of Crespo. He\nhopes that nothing will prevent the professor from being present, and he\nwill with pleasure see him joined by his companions.\"\n\n\"A hunt!\" exclaimed Ned.\n\n\"And in the forests of the island of Crespo!\" added Conseil.\n\n\"Oh, then the gentleman is going on [v]_terra firma_?\" asked Ned Land.\n\n\"That seems to be clearly indicated,\" said I, reading the letter once\nmore.\n\n\"Well, we must accept,\" said Ned. \"Once more on dry land, we shall know\nwhat to do. Indeed, I shall not be sorry to eat a piece of fresh\nvenison.\"\n\nI contented myself with replying, \"Let us see where the island of Crespo\nis.\"\n\nI consulted the [v]planisphere and in 32 deg. 40' north latitude, and 157 deg.\n50' west [v]longitude, I found a small island recognized in 1801 by\nCaptain Crespo, and marked in the ancient Spanish maps as Rocca de la\nPlatta, or Silver Rock.\n\nI showed this little rock lost in the midst of the North Pacific to my\ncompanions.\n\n\"If Captain Nemo does sometimes go on dry ground,\" said I, \"he at least\nchooses desert islands.\"\n\nNed Land shrugged his shoulders without speaking, and Conseil and he\nleft me. After supper, which was served by the steward, mute and\nimpassive, I went to bed, not without some anxiety.\n\nThe next morning, the 7th of November, I felt on awakening that the\n_Nautilus_ was perfectly still. I dressed quickly and entered the\nsaloon. Captain Nemo was there, waiting for me. He rose, bowed, and\nasked me if it was convenient for me to accompany him. I simply replied\nthat my companions and myself were ready to follow him.\n\nWe entered the room where breakfast was served.\n\n\"M. Aronnax,\" said the captain, \"pray share my breakfast without\nceremony; we will chat as we eat. Though I promised you a walk in the\nforest, I did not undertake to find hotels there; so breakfast as a man\nshould who will most likely not have his dinner till very late.\"\n\nI did honor to the repast. It was composed of several kinds of fish, and\ndifferent sorts of seaweed. Our drink consisted of pure water, to which\nthe captain added some drops of a fermented liquor extracted from a\nseaweed. Captain Nemo ate at first without saying a word. Then he began:\n\n\"Professor, when I proposed to you to hunt in my submarine forest of\nCrespo, you evidently thought me mad. Sir, you should never judge\nlightly of any man.\"\n\n\"But, captain, believe me--\"\n\n\"Be kind enough to listen, and you will then see whether you have any\ncause to accuse me of folly and contradiction.\"\n\n\"I listen.\"\n\n\"You know as well as I do, professor, that man can live under water,\nproviding he carries with him a sufficient supply of breathable air. In\nsubmarine works, the workman, clad in an [v]impervious dress, with his\nhead in a metal helmet, receives air from above by means of\nforcing-pumps and [v]regulators.\"\n\n\"That is a diving apparatus,\" said I.\n\n\"Just so. But under these conditions the man is not at liberty; he is\nattached to the pump which sends him air through a rubber tube, and if\nwe were obliged to be thus held to the _Nautilus_, we could not go far.\"\n\n\"And the means of getting free?\" I asked.\n\n\"It is to use the Rouquayrol apparatus, invented by two of your own\ncountrymen, which I have brought to perfection for my own use and which\nwill allow you to risk yourself without any organ of the body suffering.\nIt consists of a reservoir of thick iron plates, in which I store the\nair under a pressure of fifty [v]atmospheres. This reservoir is fixed on\nthe back by means of braces, like a soldier's knapsack. Its upper part\nforms a box in which the air is kept by means of a bellows, and\ntherefore cannot escape unless at its [v]normal tension. In the\nRouquayrol apparatus such as we use, two rubber pipes leave this box and\njoin a sort of tent which holds the nose and mouth; one is to introduce\nfresh air, the other to let out foul, and the tongues close one or the\nother pipe according to the wants of the [v]respirator. But I, in\nencountering great pressures at the bottom of the sea, was obliged to\nshut my head like that of a diver in a ball of copper; and it is into\nthis ball of copper that the two pipes, the inspirator and the\nexpirator, open. Do you see?\"\n\n\"Perfectly, Captain Nemo. But the air that you carry with you must soon\nbe used; when it contains only fifteen per cent of oxygen it is no\nlonger fit to breathe.\"\n\n\"Right! But I told you, M. Aronnax, that the pumps of the _Nautilus_\nallow me to store the air under considerable pressure; and the reservoir\nof the apparatus can furnish breathable air for nine or ten hours.\"\n\n\"I have no further objections to make,\" I answered. \"I will only ask one\nthing, captain--how can you light your road at the bottom of the sea?\"\n\n\"With the Ruhmkorff apparatus, M. Aronnax. One is carried on the back,\nthe other is fastened to the waist. It is composed of a [v]bunsen pile,\nwhich I do not work with bichromate of potash but with sodium. A wire is\nintroduced which collects the electricity produced, and directs it\ntoward a lantern. In this lantern is a spiral glass which contains a\nsmall quantity of carbonic acid gas. When the apparatus is at work, this\ngas becomes luminous, giving out a white and continuous light. Thus\nprovided, I can breathe and I can see.\"\n\n\"Captain Nemo, to all my objections you make such crushing answers that\nI dare no longer doubt. But if I am forced to admit the Rouquayrol and\nRuhmkorff apparatus, I must be allowed some reservations with regard to\nthe gun I am to carry.\"\n\n\"But it is not a gun for powder,\" he said.\n\n\"Then it is an air-gun?\" I asked.\n\n\"Doubtless. How would you have me manufacture gunpowder on board,\nwithout saltpeter, sulphur, or charcoal?\"\n\n\"Besides,\" I added, \"to fire under water in a medium eight hundred and\nfifty times denser than the air, we must conquer a very considerable\nresistance.\"\n\n\"That would be no difficulty. There exist guns which can fire under\nthese conditions. But I repeat, having no powder, I use air under great\npressure, which the pumps of the _Nautilus_ furnish abundantly.\"\n\n\"But this air must be rapidly used?\"\n\n\"Well, have I not my Rouquayrol reservoir, which can furnish it at need?\nA tap is all that is required. Besides, M. Aronnax, you must see\nyourself that during our submarine hunt we can spend but little air.\"\n\n\"But it seems to me that in this twilight, and in the midst of this\nfluid, which is very dense compared with the atmosphere, shots could not\ngo far or easily prove fatal.\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" replied Nemo, \"with this gun every blow is mortal;\nhowever lightly the animal is touched, it falls dead as if struck by a\nthunderbolt.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because the balls sent by this gun are not ordinary balls, but little\ncases of glass, of which I have a large supply. These glass cases are\ncovered with a shell of steel and weighted with a pellet of lead; they\nare real [v]Leyden jars, into which electricity is forced to a very high\ntension. With the slightest shock they are discharged, and the animal,\nhowever strong it may be, falls dead.\"\n\nCaptain Nemo then led me aft; and in passing before Ned and Conseil's\ncabin, I called my two companions, who followed immediately. Conseil was\ndelighted at the idea of exploring the sea, but Ned declined to go when\nhe learned that the hunt was to be a submarine one. We came to a kind of\ncell near the machinery-room, in which we were to put on our\nwalking-dress. It was, in fact, the arsenal and wardrobe of the\n_Nautilus_. A dozen diving-suits hung from the partition, awaiting our\nuse.\n\nAt the captain's call two of the ship's crew came to help us dress in\nthese heavy and impervious clothes, made of rubber without seam and\nconstructed expressly to resist considerable pressure. One might have\ntaken this diving apparatus for a suit of armor, both supple and\nresisting. It formed trousers and waistcoat; the trousers were finished\noff with thick boots, weighted with heavy leaden soles. The texture of\nthe waistcoat was held together by bands of copper, which crossed the\nchest, protecting it from the great pressure of the water and leaving\nthe lungs free to act. The sleeves ended in gloves, which in no way\nrestrained the movement of the hands. There was a vast difference\nnoticeable between this dress and the old-fashioned diving-suit.\n\nCaptain Nemo and one of his companions, Conseil and myself, were soon\nenveloped in the dresses; there remained nothing more to be done but\ninclose our heads in the metal boxes. Captain Nemo thrust his head into\nthe helmet, Conseil and I did the same. The upper part of our dress\nterminated in a copper collar, upon which was screwed the metal helmet.\nThree holes, protected by thick glass, allowed us to see in all\ndirections by simply turning our heads in the interior of the\nhead-dress. As soon as it was in position, the Rouquayrol apparatus on\nour backs began to act; and, for my part, I could breathe with ease.\n\nWith the Ruhmkorff lamp hanging from my belt, and the gun in my hand, I\nwas ready to set out. But to speak the truth, imprisoned in these heavy\ngarments and glued to the deck by the leaden soles, it was impossible\nfor me to take a step. This state of things, however, was provided for.\nI felt myself being pushed into a little room next the wardrobe-room. My\ncompanions followed, towed along in the same way. I heard a water-tight\ndoor, furnished with stopper-plates, close upon us, and we were wrapped\nin profound darkness.\n\nAfter some minutes, a loud hissing was heard; I felt the cold mount from\nmy feet to my chest. Evidently from some part of the vessel they had, by\nmeans of a tap, given entrance to the water, which was invading us and\nwith which the room was soon filled. A second door cut in the side of\nthe _Nautilus_ then opened. We saw a faint light. In another instant our\nfeet trod the bottom of the sea.\n\nHow can I retrace the impression left upon me by that walk under the\nwaters? Words are impotent to relate such wonders. Captain Nemo walked\nin front, his companion followed some steps behind. Conseil and I\nremained near each other, as if an exchange of words had been possible\nthrough our metallic cases. I no longer felt the weight of my clothing,\nor of my shoes, of my reservoir of air, or my thick helmet, in the midst\nof which my head rattled like an almond in its shell.\n\nThe light which lit the soil thirty feet below the surface of the ocean\nastonished me by its power. The solar rays shone through the watery mass\neasily and dissipated all color, and I clearly distinguished objects at\na distance of a hundred and fifty yards. Beyond that the tints darkened\ninto fine gradations of [v]ultramarine and faded into vague obscurity.\nWe were walking on fine, even sand, not wrinkled as on a flat shore,\nwhich retains the impression of the billows. This dazzling carpet,\nreally a reflector, repelled the rays of the sun with wonderful\nintensity, which accounted for the vibration which penetrated every atom\nof liquid. Shall I be believed when I say that, at a depth of thirty\nfeet, I could see as well as if I was in broad daylight?\n\nFor a quarter of an hour I trod on this sand; the hull of the\n_Nautilus_, resembling a long shoal, disappeared by degrees; but its\nlantern would help to guide us back when darkness should overtake us in\nthe waters. Soon forms of objects outlined in the distance became\ndiscernible. I recognized magnificent rocks, hung with a tapestry of\n[v]zoophytes of the most beautiful kind.\n\nIt was then about ten o'clock in the morning, and the rays of the sun\nstruck the surface of the waves at rather an oblique angle; at the touch\nof the light, decomposed by [v]refraction as through a prism, flowers,\nrocks, plants, and shells were shaded at the edges by the seven solar\ncolors. It was a marvelous feast for the eyes, this complication of\ncolored tints, a perfect [v]kaleidoscope of green, yellow, orange,\nviolet, indigo, and blue!\n\nAll these wonders I saw in the space of a quarter of a mile, scarcely\nstopping and following Captain Nemo, who beckoned me on by signs. Soon\nthe nature of the soil changed; to the sandy plain succeeded an extent\nof slimy mud; we then traveled over a plain of seaweed of wild and\nluxuriant vegetation. This sward was of close texture and soft to the\nfeet, rivaling the softest carpet woven by the hand of man. While\nverdure was spread at our feet, it did not abandon our heads. A light\nnetwork of marine plants grew on the surface of the water.\n\nWe had been gone from the _Nautilus_ an hour and a half. It was near\nnoon; I knew this by the [v]perpendicularity of the sun's rays, which\nwere no longer refracted. The magical colors disappeared by degrees and\nthe shades of emerald and sapphire were effaced. We walked with a\nregular step, which rang upon the ground with astonishing intensity;\nindeed the slightest noise was transmitted with a quickness and\nvividness to which the ear is unaccustomed on earth, water being a\nbetter conductor of sound than air in the [v]ratio of four to one. At\nthis period the earth sloped downward; the light took a uniform tint. We\nwere at a depth of a hundred and five yards.\n\nAt this depth I could still see the rays of the sun, though feebly; to\ntheir intense brilliancy had succeeded a reddish twilight, but we could\nfind our way well enough. It was not necessary to resort to the\nRuhmkorff apparatus as yet. At this moment Captain Nemo stopped and\nwaited till I joined him, pointing then to an obscure mass which loomed\nin the shadow at a short distance.\n\n\"It is the forest of the island of Crespo,\" thought I, and I was not\nmistaken.\n\nThis under-sea forest was composed of large tree-plants; and the moment\nwe penetrated under its vast [v]arcades I was struck by the singular\nposition of their branches: not an herb which carpeted the ground, not a\nbranch which clothed the trees was either broken or bent, nor did they\nextend in a [v]horizontal direction; all stretched up toward the surface\nof the sea. Not a filament, not a ribbon, however thin, but kept as\nstraight as a rod of iron. They were motionless, yet when bent to one\nside by the hand they directly resumed their former position. Truly it\nwas a region of perpendicularity.\n\nI soon accustomed myself to this fantastic position, as well as to the\ncomparative darkness which surrounded us. The sights were very\nwonderful. Under numerous shrubs as large as trees on land were massed\nbushes of living flowers--animals rather than plants--of various colors\nand glowing softly in the obscurity of the ocean depth. Fish flies flew\nfrom branch to branch like a swarm of humming-birds, while swarms of\nmarine creatures rose at our feet like a flight of snipes.\n\nIn about an hour Captain Nemo gave the signal to halt. I, for my part,\nwas not sorry, and we stretched ourselves under an arbor of plants, the\nlong thin blades of which stood up like arrows. I felt an irresistible\ndesire to sleep, an experience which happens to all divers. My eyes soon\nclosed behind the thick glasses and I fell into a heavy slumber. Captain\nNemo and his companion, stretched in the clear crystal, set me the\nexample.\n\nHow long I remained buried in this drowsiness I cannot judge; but when I\nwoke, the sun seemed sinking toward the horizon. Captain Nemo had\nalready risen, and I was beginning to stretch my limbs when an\nunexpected sight brought me briskly to my feet.\n\nA few steps off, a monster sea-spider, about forty inches high, was\nwatching me with squinting eyes, ready to spring on me. Though my\ndiver's dress was thick enough to defend me from the bite of this\nanimal, I could not help shuddering with horror. Conseil and the sailor\nof the _Nautilus_ awoke at this moment. Captain Nemo pointed out the\nhideous creature, which a blow from the butt end of a gun knocked over;\nI saw the claws of the monster writhe in horrible convulsions. This\nincident reminded me that other animals more to be feared might haunt\nthese obscure depths, against whose attacks my diving-clothes would not\nprotect me.\n\nIndeed, I thought that this halt would mark the end of our walk; but I\nwas mistaken, for instead of returning to the _Nautilus_, we continued\nour bold excursion. The ground was still on the incline; its declivity\nseemed to be getting greater and to be leading us to lower depths. It\nmust have been about three o'clock when we reached a narrow valley\nbetween high walls; thanks to the perfection of our apparatus, we were\nfar below the depth to which divers ever penetrate.\n\nAt our great depth the darkness thickened; ten paces away not an object\nwas visible. I was groping my way when I suddenly saw a brilliant white\nlight flash out ahead; Captain Nemo had turned on his electric torch.\nThe rest of us soon followed his example, and the sea, lit by our four\nlanterns, was illuminated for a circle of forty yards.\n\nCaptain Nemo still plunged onward into the dark reaches of the forest,\nwhose trees were getting scarcer at every step. At last, after about\nfour hours, this marvelous excursion came to an end. A wall of superb\nrocks rose before us, a heap of gigantic blocks, an enormous granite\nshore. It was the prop of the island of Crespo. It was the earth!\n\nThe return now began. Captain Nemo resumed his place at the head of his\nlittle band and directed the course without hesitation. I thought we\nwere not following the road we had come, on our return to the\n_Nautilus_. The new way was very steep and consequently very painful; we\napproached the surface of the sea rapidly, but this ascent was not so\nsudden as to cause a too rapid relief from the pressure of the water,\nwhich would have been dangerous. Very soon light reappeared and grew,\nand as the sun was low on the horizon, the refraction edged all objects\nwith a [v]spectral ring. At ten yards deep, we walked amid a shoal of\nlittle fishes, more numerous than the birds of the air; but no\n[v]aquatic game worthy of a shot had as yet met our gaze. Suddenly I saw\nthe captain put his gun to his shoulder and follow a moving object into\nthe shrubs. He fired; I heard a slight hissing and the creature fell\nstunned at some distance from us.\n\nIt was a magnificent sea-otter, five feet long and very valuable. Its\nskin, chestnut-brown above and silvery underneath, would have made one\nof those beautiful furs so sought after in the Russian and Chinese\nmarkets. I admired the curious animal, with its rounded head ornamented\nwith short ears, its round eyes, and white whiskers like those of a cat,\nand its webbed feet and nails and tufted tail. This precious beast,\nhunted and tracked by fishermen, has now become very rare and has sought\nrefuge in the northern parts of the Pacific.\n\nCaptain Nemo's companion threw the sea-otter over his shoulder, and we\ncontinued our journey. For an hour a plain of sand lay stretched before\nus, which sometimes rose to within two yards of the surface of the\nwater. I then saw our image clearly reflected, drawn inversely, and\nabove us appeared an identical group reflecting our movements: in a\nword, the image was like us in every point, except that the figures\nwalked with their heads downward and their feet in the air.\n\nFor two hours we followed these sandy plains, then fields of [v]algae\nvery disagreeable to cross. Candidly, I felt that I could do no more\nwhen I saw a glimmer of light, which for a half-mile broke the darkness\nof the waters. It was the lantern of the _Nautilus_. Before twenty\nminutes were over we should be on board, and I should be able to breathe\nwith ease, for it seemed that my reservoir supplied air very deficient\nin oxygen. But I did not reckon on an accidental meeting which delayed\nour arrival for some time.\n\nI had remained some steps behind, when presently I saw Captain Nemo come\nhurriedly toward me. With his strong hand he bent me to the ground,\nwhile his companion did the same to Conseil. At first I knew not what to\nthink of this sudden attack, but I was soon reassured by seeing the\ncaptain lie down beside me and remain immovable.\n\nI was stretched on the ground, just under shelter of a bush of algae,\nwhen, raising my head, I saw some enormous mass, casting phosphorescent\ngleams, pass blusteringly by. My blood froze in my veins as I recognized\ntwo formidable sharks. They were man-eaters, terrible creatures with\nenormous tails and a dull glassy stare--monstrous brutes which could\ncrush a whole man in their iron jaws! I noticed their silver undersides\nand their huge mouths bristling with teeth, from a very unscientific\npoint of view and more as a possible victim than as a naturalist.\n\nHappily the [v]voracious creatures do not see well. They passed without\nnoticing us, brushing us with their brownish fins, and we escaped by a\nmiracle from a danger certainly greater than that of meeting a tiger\nfull-face in a forest. Half an hour later, guided by the electric light,\nwe reached the _Nautilus_. The outside door had been left open, and\nCaptain Nemo closed it as soon as we entered the first cell. He then\npressed a knob. I heard the pumps working in the midst of the vessel. I\nfelt the water sinking from around me, and in a few minutes the cell\nwas entirely empty. The inside door then opened, and we entered the\nvestry.\n\nOur diving-dress was taken off, not without some trouble; and fairly\nworn out from want of food and sleep, I returned to my room in great\nwonder at this surprising excursion at the bottom of the sea.\n\nJULES VERNE.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     What was the hunt to which the adventurers were invited? Describe\n     the preparations for it. What kind of gun did the hunters carry?\n     Describe the descent to the bottom of the sea and the walk. What\n     impressed you most? Would you care to take a nap at the bottom of\n     the sea? What were the main incidents in the return trip? Find out\n     all you can about divers and about life on the floor of the ocean.\n\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY READING\n\n     The Mysterious Island--Jules Verne.\n     Thirty Strange Stories--H. G. Wells.\n     The Great Stone of Sardis--Frank R. Stockton.\n\n\n\n\n    Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean--roll!\n      Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;\n    Man marks the earth with ruin--his control\n      Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain\n      The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain\n          A shadow of man's ravage.\n\n    LORD BYRON.\n\n\n\n\nUNDER SEAS\n\n\n     This story is a realistic description of a submarine cruise in the\n     recent war. The _Kate_ was a Russian underwater boat operating\n     against the German fleet in the Baltic Sea. Her experiences in this\n     terrible mode of fighting were the same as those of hundreds of\n     submarines belonging to the various warring powers. It may be\n     observed from the description how marvelous has been the advance of\n     science in the last generation. What Jules Verne imagined in his\n     book, _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_, the _Kate_\n     accomplished. This story of actual war is not less wonderful than\n     the vision of the romancer.\n\nMen were placed at the water-pumps, the oxygen containers, air-purifiers\nand [v]distilling machinery, and the [v]hatchways were thoroughly\nexamined; the gunners took their posts at the torpedo tubes. The order\nhad been given to move about as little as possible, to keep in the\nberths when not on duty, and not to talk and laugh. Then the watchman\nleft the [v]conning tower, and the main hatchway was [v]hermetically\nclosed.\n\nCaptain Andrey gave the order to submerge and went over to the\nnavigating compartment. Water rushed into the [v]ballast tanks, the boat\ngrew heavy, and its rolling and pitching ceased: the _Kate_ sank and ran\nahead under water, steering by means of the [v]periscope. Andrey pushed\na button and a cone of pale blue rays poured from the tube. The\n[v]screen of the periscope grew alive with tiny waves, passing clouds,\nand a tail of smoke on the skyline. With his chin resting on his arm,\nAndrey scanned the image of the sea which lay before him. Presently the\nsmoke vanished, and on the right hand appeared the hazy outline of land.\n\nAt nightfall, the boat, taking advantage of the darkness, rose to the\nsurface of the sea and sailed without lights. Andrey stood on the bridge\nthroughout the night. The water was placid, the stars were screened by a\nlight mist, and far away to the south the pale blue gleam of an enemy\nsearchlight moved through the clouds.\n\nThe boat was now approaching a mine field. At dawn, when the\ngreenish-orange light began slowly to pervade the fleecy clouds, the\n_Kate_ sank to a great depth at a definitely fixed point in the sea.\nSteering solely by compass and map, she commenced to pick her way under\nthe mines. Yakovlev was in charge of the steering apparatus, while\nPrince Bylopolsky calculated the [v]side drift and reported to the chief\nengineer in charge of the motors. Andrey, leaning over the map, gave\norders to the man at the wheel.\n\nThere was no sensation of movement, and it seemed as if the _Kate_ stood\nstill amidst the eery darkness. The men for the most part were stretched\non their backs, seeking to consume as little oxygen as possible. In\nspite of this precaution, however, the air was thick, and the sailors\nfelt a tingling sensation in the ears.\n\nSuddenly the boat's keel struck against something hard, and a grating\nsound broke the stillness.\n\n\"Stop! Stop!\" called out Andrey, dashing forth from the navigating\ncabin.\n\nThe pinions cracked and the motors ceased to pulsate. Immediately the\nair became hot, as in a Turkish bath. Andrey entered the water-tight\nconning tower, which was flooded with diluted, greenish light from the\nports provided for the purpose of giving a view of the surrounding\nwaters. He peered through the glass pane. Vague, blurred forms and\nshadows gradually became visible in the twilight of the deep. One of the\nshadows wavered and glided along the window, and the round, tragic eyes\nof a fish glanced at Andrey. The fish disappeared in the depths below\nthe boat. Evidently the _Kate_ had not run aground, nor were there any\nsubmerged reefs in that quarter. Andrey gave an order to raise the boat\nseveral feet. Then numerous shadows leaped aside and scattered, and the\ncaptain plainly saw a jumbled heap of ropes and ladders. It was obvious\nthat the _Kate_ had blundered into the remains of a sunken ship.\n\nThe halt was unfortunate--indeed, might prove fatal. The uniform motion\nof the boat had been disturbed, the [v]orientation lost; the inevitable\nsmall error made at the point of submerging must have increased in the\ncourse beneath the waves. The _Kate_ had lost her way, and something\nmust be done. Andrey drummed nervously on the window-pane as he\nthought. It was impossible to stay under water any longer, and yet to\nrise to the surface meant to be seen and attacked by enemy warships.\nOnly in this way, however, was it possible to determine the boat's\nposition.\n\nAndrey, giving an order for the boat to rise slowly, returned to his\nobservation point. The water gradually grew clearer. Suddenly a dark\nball moved down to meet the craft. \"A mine!\" flashed across Andrey's\nmind, and, overcoming the torpor which had begun to oppress his brain,\nhe ordered the submarine to be swerved from her course. The ball moved\naway, but another appeared on the right. There was another change of\ndirection. And now everywhere in the midst of the greenish twilight\ncast-iron shells lay in wait. The _Kate_ was in the toils of a mine net!\n\nSea water, when viewed from a great height, is so transparent that large\nfishes can even be seen in it. Owing to this fact, the _Kate_ was\ndiscovered by two enemy [v]hydroplanes as she rose among the mines\ntoward the surface of the bay. The aircraft were seen, however, and the\nboat dived again to a great depth.\n\nThe _Kate_ now blindly groped her way forward. The motors worked at\ntheir top speed, and the body of the boat trembled. Hundreds of demons\ncalled horsepowers fiercely turned the various wheels, pinions, and\nshafts. The air was hot and stuffy; the men at the engine, stripped to\nthe waist, worked feverishly. Speed was necessary, for only oxygen\nenough to sustain the crew for one hour remained in the lead cylinders.\n\nYakovlev still sat at the compass, his elbows on his knees and his hands\npressing his head. The men lounged in the cabins and corridors, their\nfaces livid with suffocation. Prince Bylopolsky remained leaning over\nhis [v]logarithmic tables, which had now become useless. From time to\ntime he wiped his face, as if removing a net of invisible cobwebs.\nFinally he rose to his feet, took a few steps, and fainted dead away.\n\nGiving the order to proceed at full speed, Andrey hoped to pass the mine\nzone, even though some of his men succumbed for lack of air. Pale and\nexcited, his hair in disorder, and his coat unbuttoned, he was\neverywhere at once, and his voice sustained the failing strength of the\nhalf-suffocated crew. Seeing the prince stretched unconscious on a\nberth, Andrey poured a few drops of brandy in his mouth and kissed his\nwet, childlike forehead. In making too rapid a movement, lurid flames\ndanced before his eyes, and he bent back, striking his head against a\nsharp angle of an engine. He felt no pain from the blow.\n\n\"Bad!\" thought Andrey, and crawled over to the emergency oxygen\ncontainer. He opened the faucet and inhaled the fragrant stream of gas.\nHis head began to swim and a sweet fire ran through his veins. With an\neffort he rose to his feet. The outlines of the objects around him were\nstrangely distinct, and the faces of the men imploringly turned to\nhim--some of them bearded and high-cheekboned, others tender and\nchildlike--seemed to him touchingly human....\n\nIn the corridor Andrey came upon a man standing against the wall and\ngulping the air like a fish. Seeing the commander, he made an effort to\ncheer up and mumbled, \"Beg pardon, sir; I'm a bit unwell.\" The captain\nleaned over and looked into his eyes, which a film of death was already\nbeginning to veil. Andrey, turning to the telephone tube, gave a command\nto rise. The _Kate_ shook all over and dived upward. The ascent lasted\nfour minutes and a half, at the end of which time the boat stood still\nand light fell on the screen of the periscope. The sailors crawled up to\nthe main hatchway and unscrewed it. Cold salt air rushed into the boat,\nswelling the chests of the sufferers and turning their heads; the\nsensation of free breathing was delicious after the suffocation they had\nso long endured.\n\nAndrey, leaping on the bridge, found the evening sun suspended above\nvast masses of warm clouds and the sea quiet and peaceful. He began to\ntake observations with the [v]sextant, which shook in his trembling\nhand. Presently a loud buzzing was heard in the sky, followed by the\nmeasured crackling of a machine gun; from the hull of the boat came a\nsharp rat-a-tat, as if some one was throwing dry peas on it. A\nhydroplane was circling above the _Kate_.\n\nAndrey bit his lip and kept on working; a squad of his men loaded their\nrifles. The hydroplane swooped down almost to the surface of the sea,\nthen soared with a shrill \"F-r-r-r\" and flew right over the boat. A\nclean-shaven pilot sat motionless, his hands on the wheel; below him an\nobserver gazed downward, waiting. Suddenly the latter lifted a bomb and\nthrew it into a tube. The missile flashed in the air and plunged into\nthe sea at the very side of the boat. One of the crew fired his rifle,\nand the observer threw up his leather-covered arms with outspread\nfingers. Slowly circling under the fire of the submarine crew, the\naircraft rose toward the clouds and sailed off.\n\nOver the sky-ridge another aeroplane appeared, looking like a long thin\nline. Meantime the _Kate_ picked her way with graceful ease across the\norange-colored waters as if cutting through molten glass. Andrey,\nbuttoning his coat, said with a grimace, \"Well, Yakovlev, the mines are\nbehind us, but what are we going to do now?\"\n\n\"This region is full of reefs and sandbanks,\" replied Yakovlev.\n\n\"That's just the trouble. I wouldn't risk sailing under the water. Wait\na moment.\" He raised his hand.\n\nA violent whizzing sound came from the west; Andrey ordered greater\nspeed. A [v]grenade hissed on the right, and a jet of water spurted up\nfrom the quiet surface. The _Kate_ tacked sharply toward the purpling\nhorizon in the west, and behind, in her shadowy wake, another bomb burst\nand blossomed out into a small cloud. The boat then turned east again,\nbut now in front of her, on both sides, everywhere, shells burst and\nsputtered fire. The scouting hydroplane dashed over the submarine like a\nbat; two pale faces looked down and disappeared. Then right above the\nstern of the _Kate_ a grenade exploded and one of the sailors dropped\nhis rifle, clutched his face, toppled over the railing, and disappeared\nbeneath the water.\n\n\"All hands below!\" cried Andrey; and, watching where the shells fell\nthickest, he began to give his orders. The _Kate_ circled like a\nrun-down hare, while all along the darkening skyline the smoking stacks\nof mine-layers and destroyers were visible as the enemy's ruthless ring\nrapidly tightened about the submarine.\n\nHaving had her wireless mast shot off by a shell, the _Kate_ now dashed\ntoward the rocky shore, running awash. Six sparks shot up in the dark\nand six steel-clad demons hissed above the boat. The long shadow of a\nship glided along the shore. The _Kate_ shook, and a sharp-nosed torpedo\ndetached itself from her hull and glided away under the water to meet\nthe [v]silhouette of the vessel. A moment passed, and a fluffy,\nmountainous mass of fire and water rose from the spot where the stacks\nof a mine-layer had projected shortly before. The mountain sank and the\nsilhouette disappeared. The _Kate_ entered a baylet among the rocks,\nsubmerged, and lay on the sandy sea-bed.\n\nTwo weeks the submarine remained in the inlet, completely cut off from\nthe rest of the world. By day she hid in the deep, and only under the\ncover of night did she rise to the surface to get a supply of air. The\ngreatest precautions were necessary, for there was little likelihood\nthat the enemy believed the submarine to be destroyed.\n\nAt the end of that time some action was inevitable, as the boat's\nsupplies had given out; for three days the crew had fed on fish which\none of the men had caught at great risk. Audrey decided to leave the bay\nand make a supreme effort to run the enemy's cordon.\n\nAbout daybreak, as the _Kate_ was nearing the surface of the sea, the\ncrew became aware of a tremendous muffled cannonade; and when the boat\nemerged into a white fog, the whole coast shook and echoed with the roar\nand crash of a sea battle. Broadsides and terrific explosions alternated\nwith the crackling of guns. It was as though a multitude of sea-devils\ncoughed and blew and roared at each other.\n\n\"Quick, sir,\" shouted Yakovlev, holding on to the railing; \"we can break\nthrough now!\" His teeth rattled.\n\nThe preparations for the dash had been completed. A strong gale swept\naway the fog and drove its torn masses over the sea, laying bare the\nrocky shore. The _Kate_ dashed out of the bay into the open. The firing\nwas now heard behind and on the right; the road to the port was open at\nlast. The submarine rushed along, ripping in twain the frothing waves.\n\nIn this moment of exaltation, to return safely to base, simply to do\none's duty, seemed too little to these fearless men. The feeling that\npossessed them was not enthusiasm but a greediness, a yearning for\ndestruction.\n\n\"We cannot go away like this,\" Yakovlev shouted in Audrey's ear; \"turn\nback or I will shoot myself!\" The man was completely beside himself; his\npale face twisted convulsively.\n\nJust then the sun arose, turning the rolling sea into a dull orange.\nNear at hand invisible ships thundered against each other. Suddenly a\ngray mountain-like shape emerged from the fog, enveloped in flame and\nsmoke. Above its turrets, stacks, and masts fluttered a flag bearing a\nblack eagle.\n\nMad with the thought that the opportunity had come at last, Andrey\nrushed down the hatchway, knocking over Yakovlev on the way, and loaded\nthe torpedo tube. The _Kate_ submerged a little, and sailing awash,\nheaded straight for the enemy vessel.\n\nThe shadow of the hostile ship glided along the periscope screen, every\nnow and then wrapping itself into a cloud pierced with fiery needles of\nshots. The _Kate_ fired a torpedo but missed her aim. Leaning over the\nscreen and biting his lips to bleeding, Andrey examined the tiny image\nof the vessel, one of the mightiest of battleships. The distance between\nthe _Kate_ and the enemy vessel continued to decrease; the image of the\nship already occupied half of the periscope screen.\n\n\"Another torpedo!\" shouted Andrey.\n\nAt that very instant a blow was struck the boat and the periscope screen\ngrew dark. Andrey ran out from the navigating compartment and shouted:\n\n\"The periscope is shot away! Full speed forward!\"\n\nThe engineer seized the handle of a lever and asked, \"Which way?\"\n\n\"Forward! forward!\"\n\nAndrey went into the conning tower; straight in front of him foamy\neddies whirled furiously. The dark hull of a ship appeared, obscuring\nthe light.\n\n\"Stop!\" shouted Andrey. \"Fire another one! Full speed backward!\" He\nclosed his eyes.\n\nFor a moment it seemed to him that the end had come. He was hurled by\nthe explosion of the torpedo into the corridor and dashed against the\nwall. The outcries of the men were drowned by the muffled thud of the\ninrushing water. The light went out; the _Kate_ began to rotate and\nsink.\n\nThe boat did not stay long in the deep; freed from the weight of two\ntorpedoes, she slowly began to rise, stopped before reaching the\nsurface, and commenced to sink again as the water continued to leak into\nher hull.\n\nA sailor found Andrey in a narrow passage unconscious, though breathing\nregularly. The man dressed the captain's wounds, but could not bring him\nto his senses. Another sailor tried to revive Yakovlev, but soon saw\nthat that officer was dead. All the available hands toiled at the pumps,\nwhile the engineer and his two assistants worked frantically at the\nengine.\n\nThe _Kate_ was near the surface, but as the periscope and the indicator\nhad been destroyed, it was impossible to tell precisely where she was.\nOn the other hand, to unscrew the hatch and look out would subject the\nboat to the risk of being flooded. Finally, the engineer reported that\nit was necessary to replace the cylinder, but that this was difficult to\ndo because the supply of candles was giving out. Kuritzyn, a sailor who\nhad assumed command, ordered the men at the pumps to pump until they\ndropped dead, if necessary, but to raise the boat at least one yard. The\nmen obeyed in grim silence. Presently the last candle went out. \"It's\nall over, boys,\" said some one, and the pumps stopped. The only sound\nthat now broke the silence was the monotonous splash of water leaking\ndown on the periscope screen.\n\n\"Follow me,\" said Kuritzyn hoarsely to two of the men. \"Let us unscrew\nthe hatches. What's the use of fooling any longer?\"\n\nFeeling their way in the darkness, several men followed the leader into\nthe corridor and up the spiral staircase in the main hatchway. When they\nreached the top, they grasped the bolts of the lid.\n\n\"Here's our finish,\" said one of the men.\n\nJust then the sound of footsteps on the outside of the boat reached\ntheir ears. Some one was walking on the _Kate's_ hull!\n\n\"Down to the ballast tanks!\" Kuritzyn ordered. \"When I fire, blow them\nout. We are ordered not to surrender the boat.\"\n\nWith his revolver between his teeth, he pressed the bolt. The lid\nyielded; light and air rushed into the opening.\n\n\"Hey, who is there?\" Kuritzyn shouted.\n\n\"Russians, Russians,\" replied a voice.\n\n\"Thank God!\" said Kuritzyn in a tone of intense gratitude.\n\nCOUNT ALEXIS TOLSTOI.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     Tell of the preparations made for the submerging of the _Kate_.\n     Describe the scene within the vessel. What accident halted the\n     boat? Describe the events that followed. Where did the _Kate_ find\n     anchorage? Describe her exit from the bay. What flag was it that\n     bore a black eagle? What was the fate of the ship bearing that\n     flag?\n\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY READING\n\n     Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea--Jules Verne.\n     The Pilot--J. Fenimore Cooper.\n\n\n\n\nA VOYAGE TO THE MOON\n\n\n     The moon, being the nearest to the earth of all the heavenly\n     bodies, has always occupied the imagination of men. Many fanciful\n     accounts have been written of voyages to the moon, of which the\n     following story by Edgar Allan Poe is among the best. So wonderful\n     has been the advance of science that it is conceivable that at some\n     distant time in the future the inhabitants of this world may\n     possibly be able to visit the beautiful body which lights the night\n     for us.\n\n\nI\n\nAfter a long and arduous devotion to the study of physics and astronomy,\nI, Hans Pfaal of Rotterdam, at length determined to construct a balloon\nof my own along original lines and to try a flight in it. Accordingly I\nhad made an enormous bag out of cambric muslin, varnished with\ncaoutchouc for protection against the weather. I procured all the\ninstruments needed for a prolonged ascent and finally prepared for the\ninflation of the balloon. Herein lay my secret, my invention, the thing\nin which my balloon differed from all the balloons that had gone before.\nOut of a peculiar [v]metallic substance and a very common acid I was\nable to manufacture a gas of a density about 37.4 less than that of\nhydrogen, and thus by far the lightest substance ever known. It would\nserve to carry the balloon to heights greater than had been attained\nbefore, for hydrogen is the gas usually used.\n\nThe hour for my experiment in ballooning finally arrived. I had chosen\nthe night as the best time for the ascension, because I should thereby\navoid annoyances caused by the curiosity of the ignorant and the idle.\n\nIt was the first of April. The night was dark; there was not a star to\nbe seen; and a drizzling rain, falling at intervals, made me very\nuncomfortable. But my chief anxiety was concerning the balloon, which,\nin spite of the varnish with which it was defended, began to grow rather\nheavy with the moisture. I therefore set my assistants to working, and\nin about four hours and a half I found the balloon sufficiently\ninflated. I attached the car and put all my implements in it--a\ntelescope, a barometer, a thermometer, an [v]electrometer, a compass, a\nmagnetic needle, a seconds watch, a bell, and other things. I had\nfurther procured a globe of glass, exhausted of air and carefully closed\nwith a stopper, not forgetting a special apparatus for condensing air, a\ncopious supply of water, and a large quantity of provisions, such as\n[v]pemmican, in which much [v]nutriment is contained in comparatively\nlittle bulk. I also secured a cat in the car.\n\nIt was now nearly daybreak, and I thought it high time to take my\ndeparture. I immediately cut the single cord which held me to the earth,\nand was pleased to find that I shot upward with [v]inconceivable\nrapidity, carrying with all ease one hundred and seventy-five pounds of\nleaden ballast and able to have carried as much more.\n\nScarcely, however, had I attained the height of fifty yards, when\nroaring and rumbling up after me in the most [v]tumultuous and terrible\nmanner, came so dense a hurricane of fire and gravel and burning wood\nand blazing metal that my very heart sunk within me and I fell down in\nthe car, trembling with terror. Some of my chemical materials had\nexploded immediately beneath me almost at the moment of my leaving\nearth. The balloon at first collapsed, then furiously expanded, then\nwhirled round and round with sickening [v]velocity, and finally, reeling\nand staggering like a drunken man, hurled me over the rim of the car;\nand in the moment of my fall I lost consciousness.\n\nI had no knowledge of what had saved me. When I partially recovered the\nsense of existence, I found the day breaking, the balloon at a\n[v]prodigious height over a wilderness of ocean, and not a trace of land\nto be discovered far and wide within the limits of the vast horizon. My\nsensations, however, upon thus recovering, were by no means so\n[v]replete with agony as might have been anticipated. Indeed, there was\nmuch of madness in the calm survey which I began to take of my\nsituation. I drew up to my eyes each of my hands, one after the other,\nand wondered what occurrence could have given rise to the swelling of\nthe veins and the horrible blackness of the finger nails. I afterward\ncarefully examined my head, shaking it repeatedly and feeling it with\nminute attention, until I succeeded in satisfying myself that it was\nnot, as I had more than half suspected, larger than the balloon. It now\noccurred to me that I suffered great uneasiness in the joint of my left\nankle, and a dim consciousness of my situation began to glimmer through\nmy mind. I began to understand that my foot had caught in a rope and\nthat I was hanging downward outside the car. But strange to say! I was\nneither astonished nor horror-stricken. If I felt any emotion at all, it\nwas a sort of chuckling satisfaction at the cleverness I was about to\ndisplay in getting myself out of this [v]dilemma.\n\nWith great caution and deliberation, I put my hands behind my back and\nunfastened the large iron buckle which belonged to the waistband of my\npantaloons. This buckle had three teeth, which, being somewhat rusty,\nturned with great difficulty on their axis. I brought them, however,\nafter some trouble, at right angles to the body of the buckle and was\nglad to find them remain firm in that position. Holding with my teeth\nthe instrument thus obtained, I proceeded to untie the knot of my\ncravat; it was at length accomplished. To one end of the cravat I then\nmade fast the buckle, and the other end I tied, for greater security,\ntightly around my wrist. Drawing now my body upward, with a prodigious\nexertion of muscular force, I succeeded, at the very first trial, in\nthrowing the buckle over the car, and entangling it, as I had\nanticipated, in the circular rim of the wicker-work.\n\nMy body was now inclined toward the side of the car at an angle of about\nforty-five degrees; but it must not be understood that I was therefore\nonly forty-five degrees below the [v]perpendicular. So far from it, I\nstill lay nearly level with the plane of the horizon, for the change of\nposition which I had acquired had forced the bottom of the car\nconsiderably outward from my position, which was accordingly one of the\nmost extreme peril. It should be remembered, however, that when I fell\nfrom the car, if I had fallen with my face turned toward the balloon,\ninstead of turned outwardly from it as it actually was--or if, in the\nsecond place, the cord by which I was suspended had chanced to hang over\nthe upper edge instead of through a crevice near the bottom of the\ncar--in either of these cases, I should have been unable to accomplish\neven as much as I had now accomplished. I had therefore every reason to\nbe grateful, although, in point of fact, I was still too stupid to be\nanything at all, and hung for perhaps a quarter of an hour in that\nextraordinary manner, without making the slightest farther exertion, and\nin a singularly tranquil state of idiotic enjoyment.\n\nThis feeling, however, did not fail to die rapidly away, and thereunto\nsucceeded horror and dismay, and a sense of utter helplessness and ruin.\nIn fact, the blood so long accumulating in the vessels of my head and\nthroat, and which had hitherto buoyed up my spirits with delirium, had\nnow begun to retire within its proper channels, and the distinctness\nwhich was thus added to my perception of the danger merely served to\ndeprive me of the self-possession and courage to encounter it. But this\nweakness was, luckily for me, of no very great duration. In good time\ncame to my rescue the spirit of despair, and with frantic cries and\nstruggles, I jerked my body upward, till, at length, clutching with a\nvice-like grip the long-desired rim, I writhed my person over it and\nfell headlong and shuddering within the car.\n\nWhen I had recovered from the weakness caused by being so long in that\nposition and the horror from which I had suffered, I found that all my\nimplements were in place and that neither ballast nor provisions had\nbeen lost.\n\nIt is now high time that I should explain the object of my voyage. I had\nbeen harassed for long by poverty and creditors. In this state of mind,\nwishing to live and yet wearied with life, my deep studies in astronomy\nopened a resource to my imagination. I determined to depart, yet\nlive--to leave the world, yet continue to exist--in short, to be plain,\nI resolved, let come what would, to force a passage, if possible, to the\nmoon.\n\nThis was not so mad as it seems. The moon's actual distance from the\nearth was the first thing to be attended to. The mean or average\ninterval between the centers of the two planets is only about 237,000\nmiles. But at certain times the moon and earth are much nearer than at\nothers, and if I could contrive to meet the moon at the moment when it\nwas nearest earth, the above-mentioned distance would be materially\nlessened. But even taking the average distance and deducting the\n[v]radius of the earth and the moon, the actual interval to be traversed\nunder average circumstances would be 231,920 miles. Now this, I\nreflected, was no very extraordinary distance. Traveling on the land has\nbeen repeatedly accomplished at the rate of sixty miles an hour; and\nindeed a much greater speed may be anticipated. But even at this\nvelocity it would take me no more than 161 days to reach the surface of\nthe moon. There were, however, many particulars inducing me to believe\nthat my average rate of traveling might possibly very much exceed that\nof sixty miles an hour.\n\nThe next point to be regarded was one of far greater importance. We know\nthat at 18,000 feet above the surface of the earth we have passed\none-half the material, or, at all events, one-half the [v]ponderable\nbody of air upon the globe. It is also calculated that at a height of\neighty miles the [v]rarefaction of air is so great that animal life can\nbe sustained in no manner. But I did not fail to perceive that these\ncalculations are founded on our experimental knowledge of the air in\nthe immediate vicinity of the earth, and that it is taken for granted\nthat animal life is incapable of [v]modification. I thought that no\nmatter how high we may ascend we cannot arrive at a limit beyond which\nno atmosphere is to be found. It must exist, I argued, although it may\nexist in a state of [v]infinite rarefaction.\n\nHaving adopted this view of the subject, I had little farther\nhesitation. Granting that on my passage I should meet with atmosphere\nessentially the same as at the surface of the earth, I thought that, by\nmeans of my very ingenious apparatus for that purpose, I should readily\nbe able to condense it in sufficient quantity for breathing. This would\nremove the chief obstacle in a journey to the moon.\n\nI now turned to view the prospect beneath me. At twenty minutes past six\no'clock, the barometer showed an elevation of 26,000 feet, or five miles\nto a fraction. The outlook seemed unbounded. I beheld as much as a\nsixteen-hundredth part of the whole surface of the globe. The sea\nappeared as unruffled as a mirror, although, by means of the telescope,\nI could perceive it to be in a state of violent agitation. I now began\nto experience, at intervals, severe pain in the head, especially about\nthe ears, due to the rarefaction of the air. The cat seemed to suffer no\ninconvenience whatever.\n\nI was rising rapidly, and by seven o'clock the barometer indicated an\naltitude of no less than nine miles and a half. I began to find great\ndifficulty in drawing my breath. My head, too, was excessively painful;\nand, having felt for some time a moisture about my cheeks, I at length\ndiscovered it to be blood, which was oozing quite fast from the drums of\nmy ears. These symptoms were more than I had expected and occasioned me\nsome alarm. At this juncture, very imprudently and without\nconsideration, I threw out from the car three five-pound pieces of\nballast. The increased rate of ascent thus obtained carried me too\nrapidly into a highly rarefied layer of atmosphere, and the result\nnearly proved fatal to my expedition and myself. I was suddenly seized\nwith a spasm, which lasted for more than five minutes, and even when\nthis in a measure ceased, I could catch my breath only at long\nintervals, and in a gasping manner--bleeding all the while copiously at\nthe nose and ears and even slightly at the eyes.\n\nThe cat mewed piteously, and, with her tongue hanging out of her mouth,\nstaggered to and fro in the car as if under the influence of poison. I\nnow too late discovered the great rashness of which I had been guilty in\ndischarging my ballast, and my agitation was excessive. I expected\nnothing less than death, and death in a few minutes. I lay down in the\nbottom of the car and endeavored to collect my faculties. In this I so\nfar succeeded as to determine upon the experiment of losing blood.\nHaving no lancet, I was obliged to open a vein in my arm with the blade\nof a penknife. The blood had hardly commenced flowing when I experienced\na sensible relief, and by the time I had lost about half a basin-full\nmost of the worst symptoms were gone. The difficulty of breathing,\nhowever, was diminished in a very slight degree, and I found that it\nwould be soon positively necessary to make use of my condenser.\n\nBy eight o'clock I had actually attained an elevation of seventeen miles\nabove the surface of the earth. Thus it seemed to me evident that my\nrate of ascent was not only on the increase, but that the progress would\nhave been apparent to a slight extent even had I not discharged the\nballast which I did. The pains in my head and ears returned at intervals\nand with violence, and I still continued to bleed occasionally at the\nnose; but upon the whole I suffered much less than might have been\nexpected. I now unpacked the condensing apparatus and got it ready for\nimmediate use.\n\nThe view of the earth at this period of my ascension was beautiful\nindeed. To the westward, the northward, and the southward, as far as I\ncould see, lay a boundless sheet of apparently unruffled ocean, which\nevery moment gained a deeper and deeper tint of blue. At a vast distance\nto the eastward, although perfectly discernible, extended the islands of\nGreat Britain, the entire Atlantic coasts of France and Spain, with a\nsmall portion of the northern part of the continent of Africa. Of\nindividual edifices not a trace could be found, and the proudest cities\nof mankind had utterly faded away from the surface of the earth.\n\nAt a quarter-past eight, being able no longer to draw breath without the\nmost intolerable pain, I proceeded forthwith to adjust around the car\nthe apparatus belonging to the condenser. I had prepared a very strong,\nperfectly air-tight gum-elastic bag. In this bag, which was of\nsufficient size, the entire car was in a manner placed. That is to say,\nthe bag was drawn over the whole bottom of the car, up its sides and so\non, up to the upper rim where the net-work is attached. Having pulled up\nthe bag and made a complete inclosure on all sides, I was shut in an\nair-tight chamber.\n\nIn the sides of this covering had been inserted three circular panes of\nthick but clear glass, through which I could see without difficulty\naround me in every horizontal direction. In that portion of the cloth\nforming the bottom was a fourth window corresponding with a small\naperture in the floor of the car itself. This enabled me to see straight\ndown, but I had been unable to fix a similar window above me and so I\ncould expect to see no objects directly overhead.\n\nThe condensing apparatus was connected with the outer air by a tube to\nadmit air at one end and by a valve at the bottom of the car to eject\nfoul air. By the time I had completed these arrangements and filled the\nchamber with condensed air by means of the apparatus, it wanted only ten\nminutes of nine o'clock. During the whole period of my being thus\nemployed, I endured the most terrible distress from difficulty of\nrespiration, and bitterly did I repent the foolhardiness of which I had\nbeen guilty in putting off to the last moment a matter of so much\nimportance. But having at length accomplished it, I soon began to reap\nthe benefit of my invention. Once again I breathed with perfect freedom\nand ease--and indeed why should I not? I was also agreeably surprised to\nfind myself, in a great measure, relieved from the violent pains which\nhad hitherto tormented me. A slight headache, accompanied by a sensation\nof fulness about the wrists, the ankles, and the throat, was nearly all\nof which I had now to complain.\n\nAt twenty minutes before nine o'clock, the mercury attained its limit, or\nran down, in the barometer. The instrument then indicated an altitude of\ntwenty-five miles, and I consequently surveyed at that time an extent of\nthe earth's area amounting to no less than one three-hundred-and-twentieth\npart of the entire surface.\n\nAt half-past nine, I tried the experiment of throwing out a handful of\nfeathers through the valve. They did not float as I had expected, but\ndropped down like a bullet and with the greatest velocity, being out of\nsight in a very few seconds. It occurred to me that the atmosphere was\nnow far too rare to sustain even feathers; that they actually fell, as\nthey appeared to do, with great speed, and that I had been surprised by\nthe united velocities of their descent and my own rise.\n\nAt six o'clock P. M., I perceived a great portion of the earth's visible\narea to the eastward involved in thick shadow, which continued to\nadvance with great rapidity, until at five minutes before seven the\nwhole surface in sight was enveloped in the darkness of night. It was\nnot, however, until long after this time that the rays of the setting\nsun ceased to illumine the balloon, and this fact, although, of course,\nexpected, did not fail to give me great pleasure. In the morning I\nshould behold the rising [v]luminary many hours before the citizens of\nRotterdam, in spite of their situation so much farther to the eastward,\nand thus, day after day, in proportion to the height ascended, I should\nenjoy the light of the sun for a longer and longer period. I now\nresolved to keep a journal of my passage, reckoning the days by\ntwenty-four hours instead of by day and night.\n\nAt ten o'clock, feeling sleepy, I determined to lie down for the rest of\nthe night; but here a difficulty presented itself, which, obvious as it\nmay appear, had escaped my attention up to the very moment of which I\nam now speaking. If I went to sleep, as I proposed, how could the air in\nthe chamber be renewed in the meanwhile? To breath it more than an hour\nat the farthest would be impossible; or, even if this term could be\nextended to an hour and a quarter, the most ruinous consequences might\nensue. This dilemma gave me no little anxiety; and it will hardly be\nbelieved that, after the dangers I had undergone, I should look upon\nthis business in so serious a light as to give up all hope of\naccomplishing my ultimate design, and finally make up my mind to the\nnecessity of a descent.\n\nBut this hesitation was only momentary. I reflected that man is the\nslave of custom and that many things are deemed essential which are only\nthe results of habit. It was certain that I could not do without sleep;\nbut I might easily bring myself to feel no inconvenience from being\nawakened at intervals of an hour during the whole period of my repose.\nIt would require but five minutes to renew the air, and the only\ndifficulty was to contrive a method of arousing myself at the proper\nmoment for so doing.\n\nThis question caused me no little trouble to solve. I at length hit upon\nthe following plan. My supply of water had been put on board in kegs of\nfive gallons each and ranged securely around the interior of the car. I\nunfastened one of these and, taking two ropes, tied them tightly across\nthe rim of the wicker-work from one side to the other, placing them\nabout a foot apart and parallel, so as to form a kind of shelf, upon\nwhich I placed the keg and steadied it. About eight inches below these\nropes I fastened another shelf made of thin plank, on which shelf, and\nbeneath one of the rims of the keg, a small pitcher was placed. I bored\na hole in the end of the keg over the pitcher and fitted in a plug of\nsoft wood, which I pushed in or pulled out, until, after a few\nexperiments, it arrived at that exact degree of tightness at which the\nwater, oozing from the hole and falling into the pitcher below, would\nfill the latter to the brim in the period of sixty minutes. Having\narranged all this, the rest of the plan was simple. My bed was so\ncontrived upon the floor of the car as to bring my head, in lying down,\nimmediately below the mouth of the pitcher. It was evident that, at the\nexpiration of an hour, the pitcher, getting full, would be forced to run\nover and to run over at the mouth, which was somewhat lower than the\nrim. It was also evident that the water, falling from a height, could\nnot do otherwise than fall on my face and awaken me even from the\nsoundest slumber in the world.\n\nIt was fully eleven by the time I had completed these arrangements, and\nI at once betook myself to bed with full confidence in my invention. Nor\nin this matter was I disappointed. Punctually every sixty minutes I was\naroused by my trusty clock, when, having emptied the pitcher into the\nbung-hole of the keg and filled the chamber with condensed air, I\nretired again to bed. These regular interruptions to my slumber caused\nme less discomfort than I had anticipated; and when I finally arose for\nthe day, it was seven o'clock and the sun was high above the horizon.\n\nI found the balloon at an immense height indeed, and the earth's\nroundness had now become strikingly manifest. Below me in the ocean lay\na cluster of black specks, which undoubtedly were islands. Overhead, the\nsky was of a jetty black, and the stars were brilliantly visible; indeed\nthey had been so constantly since the first day of ascent. Far away to\nthe northward I saw a thin, white and exceedingly brilliant line, or\nstreak, on the edge of the horizon, and I had no hesitation in supposing\nit to be the southern disc of the ices of the Polar sea. My curiosity\nwas greatly excited, for I had hopes of passing on much farther to the\nnorth, and might possibly, at some period, find myself directly above\nthe Pole itself. I now lamented that my great elevation would, in this\ncase, prevent me from taking as accurate a survey as I could wish.\n\nMy condensing apparatus continued in good order, and the balloon still\nascended without any perceptible change. The cold was intense, and\nobliged me to wrap up closely in an overcoat. When darkness came over\nthe earth, I went to bed, although it was for many hours afterward broad\ndaylight all around me. The water-clock was punctual in its duty, and I\nslept until next morning soundly, with the exception of the periodical\ninterruptions.\n\nAPRIL 4TH. I arose in good health and spirits, and was astonished at the\nsingular change which had taken place in the appearance of the sea. It\nhad lost, in a great measure, the deep tint of blue it had hitherto\nworn, being now of a grayish-white and of a luster dazzling to the eye.\nThe curve of the ocean had become so evident that the entire mass of\nwater seemed to be tumbling headlong over the abyss of the horizon, and\nI found myself listening on tiptoe for the echoes of the mighty\ncataract. The islands were no longer visible; whether they had passed\ndown the horizon to the southeast, or whether my increasing elevation\nhad left them out of sight, it is impossible to say. I was inclined,\nhowever, to the latter opinion. The rim of ice to the northward was\ngrowing more and more apparent. The cold was by no means so intense.\n\nAPRIL 5TH. I beheld the singular sight of the sun rising while nearly\nthe whole visible surface of the earth continued to be involved in\ndarkness. In time, however, the light spread itself over all, and I\nagain saw the line of ice to the northward. It was now very distinct and\nappeared of a much darker hue than the waters of the ocean. I was\nevidently approaching it, and with great rapidity. I fancied I could\nagain distinguish a strip of land to the eastward, and one also to the\nwestward, but could not be certain.\n\nAPRIL 6TH. I was surprised at finding the rim of ice at a very moderate\ndistance, and an immense field of the same material stretching away off\nto the horizon in the north. It was evident that if the balloon held its\npresent course, it would soon arrive above the Frozen Ocean, and I had\nnow little doubt of ultimately seeing the Pole. During the whole of the\nday I continued to near the ice. Toward night the limits of my horizon\nvery suddenly and materially increased, owing undoubtedly to the earth's\nform, which is round but flattened near the poles. When darkness at\nlength overtook me, I went to bed in great anxiety, fearing to pass over\nthe object of so much curiosity when I should have no opportunity of\nobserving it.\n\nAPRIL 7TH. I arose early, and, to my great joy, at length beheld what\nthere could be no hesitation in supposing the northern Pole itself. It\nwas there, beyond a doubt, and immediately beneath my feet; but alas! I\nhad now ascended to so vast a distance that nothing could with accuracy\nbe made out. Indeed, I estimated that at four o'clock in the morning of\nApril the seventh the balloon had reached a height of not less than\n7,254 miles above the surface of the sea. At all events I undoubtedly\nbeheld the whole of the earth's diameter; the entire northern hemisphere\nlay beneath me like a chart, and the great circle of the equator itself\nformed the boundary line of my horizon.\n\nAPRIL 8TH. I found a sensible diminution in the earth's size, besides a\nmaterial alteration in its general color and appearance. The whole area\npartook in different degrees of a tint of pale yellow, and in some\nportions had acquired a brilliancy even painful to the eye. My view was\nsomewhat impeded by clouds near the earth, but nevertheless I could\neasily perceive that the balloon now hovered above the great lakes in\nNorth America and was holding a course due south which would soon bring\nme to the tropics. This circumstance did not fail to give me the most\nheartfelt satisfaction, and I hailed it as a happy omen of ultimate\nsuccess. Indeed, the direction I had hitherto taken had filled me with\nuneasiness, for it was evident that had I continued it much longer,\nthere would have been no possibility of my arriving at the moon at all,\nwhich revolves around the earth in the plane of the equator.\n\nAPRIL 9TH. To-day the earth's diameter was greatly diminished, and the\ncolor of the surface assumed hourly a deeper tint of yellow. The balloon\nkept steadily on her course to the southward, and arrived at nine P. M.\nover the Mexican Gulf.\n\nAPRIL 12TH. A singular alteration took place in regard to the direction\nof the balloon, and, although fully anticipated, afforded me the very\ngreatest delight. Having reached, in its former course, about the\ntwentieth parallel of southern latitude, it turned off suddenly at an\nacute angle to the eastward, and thus proceeded throughout the day,\nkeeping nearly, if not altogether, in the exact plane of the moon's\npath around the earth.\n\nAPRIL 13TH. Great decrease in the earth's apparent size. The moon could\nnot be seen at all, being nearly above me. I still continued in the\nplane of the moon's path, but made little progress eastward.\n\nAPRIL 14TH. Extremely rapid decrease in the size of the earth. To-day I\nbecame strongly impressed with the idea that the balloon was holding the\ndirect course which would bring it immediately to the moon where it\ncomes nearest the earth. The moon was directly overhead, and\nconsequently hidden from my view. Great and long continued labor was\nnecessary for the condensation of the atmosphere.\n\nAPRIL 16TH. To-day, looking upward as well as I could, through each of\nthe side windows alternately, I beheld, to my great delight, a very\nsmall portion of the moon's disk protruding, as it were, on all sides\nbeyond the huge bulk of the balloon. My agitation was extreme, for I had\nnow little doubt of soon reaching the end of my perilous voyage. Indeed,\nthe labor required by the condenser had increased to such a degree that\nI had scarcely any respite from exertion. Sleep was a matter nearly out\nof question. I became quite ill, and my frame trembled with exhaustion.\nIt was impossible that human nature could endure this state of intense\nsuffering much longer.\n\nAPRIL 17TH. This morning proved an epoch in my voyage. It will be\nremembered that on the thirteenth the earth had diminished; on the\nfourteenth, it had still further dwindled; on the fifteenth, a still\nmore rapid decrease was observable; and on retiring for the night of the\nsixteenth, the earth had shrunk to small size. What, therefore, must\nhave been my amazement, on awakening from a brief and disturbed slumber\non the morning of this day, the seventeenth, at finding the surface\nbeneath me so suddenly and wonderfully increased in volume as to seem\nbut a comparatively short distance beneath me! I was thunderstruck! No\nwords can give any adequate idea of the extreme, the absolute horror and\nastonishment, with which I was seized, possessed and altogether\noverwhelmed. My knees tottered beneath me--my teeth chattered--my hair\nstarted up on end. The balloon then had actually burst! These were the\nfirst ideas which hurried through my mind. The balloon had burst! I was\nfalling--falling with the most impetuous, the most wonderful velocity!\nTo judge from the immense distance already so quickly passed over, it\ncould not be more than ten minutes at the farthest before I should meet\nthe surface of the earth and be hurled into annihilation!\n\nBut at length reflection came to my relief. I paused, I considered, and\nI began to doubt. The matter was impossible. I could not, in any reason,\nhave so rapidly come down. Besides, although I was evidently approaching\nthe surface below me, it was with a speed by no means commensurate with\nthe velocity I had at first conceived. This consideration served to calm\nmy mind, and I finally succeeded in looking at the matter in its proper\npoint of view. In fact, amazement must have fairly deprived me of my\nsenses when I could not see the vast difference in appearance between\nthe surface below me and the surface of my mother earth. The latter was\nindeed over my head and completely hidden by the balloon, while the\nmoon--the moon itself in all its glory--lay beneath me and at my feet!\n\nI had indeed arrived at the point where the attraction of the moon had\nproved stronger than the attraction of the earth, and so the moon now\nappeared to be below me and I was descending upon it. It lay beneath me\nlike a chart, and I studied it with the deepest attention. The entire\nabsence of ocean or sea, and indeed of any lake or river, or body of\nwater whatsoever, struck me at the first glance as the most\nextraordinary feature in its appearance.\n\nAPRIL 18TH. To-day I found an enormous increase in the moon's apparent\nbulk--and the evidently increased velocity of my descent began to fill\nme with alarm. I had relied on finding some atmosphere at the moon and\non the resistance of this atmosphere to [v]gravitation as affording me a\nchance to land in safety. Should I prove to have been mistaken about the\natmosphere, I had nothing better to expect than to be dashed into atoms\nagainst the rugged surface of the earth's [v]satellite. And indeed I\nhad now every reason to be terrified. My distance from the moon was\ncomparatively trivial, while the labor required by the condenser was\ndiminished not at all, and I could discover no indication whatever of a\ndecreasing rarity of the air.\n\nAPRIL 19TH. This morning, to my great joy, about nine o'clock, the\nsurface of the moon being frightfully near and my fears excited to the\nutmost, the pump of my condenser at length gave evident tokens of an\nalteration in the atmosphere. By ten, I had reason to believe its\ndensity considerably increased. By eleven, very little labor was\nnecessary at the apparatus; and at twelve o'clock, with some hesitation,\nI ventured to open the car a little and suffered no inconvenience. I\nfinally threw aside the gum-elastic chamber and unrigged it from around\nthe car. As might have been expected, spasms and violent headache were\nthe immediate consequences of an experiment so rash. But this was\nforgotten in consideration of other things. My approach was still rapid\nin the extreme; and it soon became certain that although I had probably\nnot been deceived in the expectation of finding a fairly dense\natmosphere, still I had been wrong in supposing that atmosphere dense\nenough to support the great weight contained in the car of the balloon.\nI was now close upon the planet and coming down with the most terrible\nrapidity. I lost not a moment, accordingly, in throwing overboard first\nmy ballast, then my water-kegs, then my condensing apparatus and\ngum-elastic chamber, and finally every article within the car.\n\nBut it was all to no purpose. I still fell with horrible speed, and was\nnow not more than half a mile from the surface. As a last resource,\ntherefore, having got rid of my coat, hat, and boots, I cut loose from\nthe balloon the car itself, which was of no inconsiderable weight, and\nthus clinging with both hands to the net-work, I had barely time to\nobserve that the whole country, as far as the eye could reach, was\nthickly sown with small habitations, ere I tumbled headlong into the\nvery heart of a fantastic city and into the middle of a vast crowd of\nugly little people. I turned from them, and gazing upward at the earth\nso lately left, and left perhaps forever, beheld it like a huge, dull\ncopper shield, fixed immovably in the heavens overhead and tipped on one\nof its edges with a crescent border of the most brilliant gold.\n\nEDGAR ALLAN POE.\n\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     Describe the balloon Hans constructed. How did he extricate himself\n     from each difficulty he encountered? What characteristic did this\n     show? Note the changes in the appearance of the earth as he made\n     his journey. On what day did he see the North Pole? In what region\n     was he when he saw the moon? What did he find when he reached that\n     body?\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY READING\n\n     From the Earth to the Moon--Jules Verne.\n     The War of the Worlds--H. G. Wells.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GREAT STONE OF SARDIS[391-*]\n\n\n     This fanciful tale is taken from Frank R. Stockton's _The Great\n     Stone of Sardis_. In this book the hero, Roland Clewe, is pictured\n     as a scientist who had made many startling discoveries and\n     inventions at his works in Sardis about the year 1946. One of his\n     inventions was an automatic shell. This was an enormous projectile,\n     the peculiarity of which was that its motive power was contained\n     within itself, very much as a rocket contains the explosives which\n     send it upward. The extraordinary piece of mechanism was of\n     [v]cylindrical form, eighteen feet in length and fourteen feet in\n     diameter. The forward end was [v]conical and not solid, being\n     formed of a number of flat steel rings, decreasing in size as they\n     approached the point of the cone. When not in operation these rings\n     did not touch one another, but they could be forced together by\n     pressure on the point of the cone. One day this shell fell from the\n     supports on which it lay, the conical end down, and ploughed its\n     way with terrific force into the earth--how far no one could tell.\n     Clewe determined to descend the hole in search of the shell by\n     means of an electric elevator. Margaret Raleigh, to whom he was\n     engaged, had gone to the seashore, and during her absence, Clewe\n     planned to make his daring venture.\n\nOn the day that Margaret left Sardis, Roland began his preparations for\ndescending the shaft. He had so thoroughly considered the machinery and\nappliances necessary for the undertaking and had worked out all his\nplans in such detail, in his mind and upon paper, that he knew exactly\nwhat he wanted to do. His orders for the great length of chain needed\nexhausted the stock of several factories, and the engines he obtained\nwere even more powerful than he had intended them to be; but these he\ncould procure immediately, and for smaller ones he would have been\nobliged to wait.\n\nThe circular car which was intended to move up and down the shaft, and\nthe peculiar machinery connected with it, together with the hoisting\napparatus, were all made in his works. His skilled artisans labored\nsteadily day and night.\n\nIt was ten days before he was ready to make his descent. Margaret was\nstill at the seashore. They had written to each other frequently, but\nneither had made mention of the great shaft. Even when he was ready to\ngo down, Clewe said nothing to any one of an immediate intention of\ndescending. There was a massive door which covered the mouth of the pit;\nthis he ordered locked and went away.\n\nThe next morning he walked into the building a little earlier than was\nhis custom, called for the engineers, and for Bryce, who was to take\ncharge of everything connected with the descent, and announced that he\nwas going down that day.\n\nBryce and the men who were to assist him looked very serious at this.\nIndeed, if their employer had been any other man than Roland Clewe, it\nis possible they might have remonstrated with him; but they knew him,\nand they said and did nothing more than what was their duty.\n\nThe door of the shaft was removed, the car which had hung high above it\nwas lowered to the mouth of the opening, and Roland stepped within it\nand seated himself. Above him and around him were placed [v]geological\ntools and instruments of many kinds, a lantern, food, and\ndrink--everything, in fact, which he could possibly be presumed to need\nupon this extraordinary journey. A telephone was at his side by which he\ncould communicate at any time with the surface of the earth. There were\nelectric bells; there was everything to make his expedition safe and\nprofitable. Finally he gave the word to start the engines; there were no\nceremonies, and nothing was said out of the common.\n\nWhen the conical top of the car had descended below the surface, a steel\ngrating, with holes for the passage of the chains, was let down over the\nmouth of the shaft, and the downward journey began. In the floor of the\ncar were grated openings, through which Clewe could look downward; but,\nalthough the shaft below him was brilliantly illuminated by electric\nlights placed beneath the car, it failed to frighten him or make him\ndizzy to look down, for the [v]aperture did not appear to be very far\nbelow him. The upper part of the car was partially open, and bright\nlights shone upon the sides of the shaft.\n\nAs he slowly descended, Clewe could see the various [v]strata appearing\nand disappearing in the order in which he knew them. Not far below the\nsurface he passed cavities which he believed had held water; but there\nwas no water in them now. He had expected these pockets, and had feared\nthat upon their edges might be loosened patches of rock or soil, but\neverything seemed tightly packed and hard. If anything had been\nloosened, it had gone down already.\n\nDown, down he went until he came to the eternal rocks, where the inside\nof the shaft was polished as if it had been made of glass. The air\nbecame warmer and warmer, but Clewe knew that the heat would soon\ndecrease. The character of the rocks changed, and he studied them as he\nwent down, continually making notes.\n\nAfter a time the polished rocky sides of the shaft grew to be of a\nsolemn sameness. Clewe ceased to take notes; he lighted a cigar and\nsmoked. He tried to imagine what he would come to when he reached the\nbottom; it would be some sort of a cave, he thought, in which his shell\nhad made an opening. He began to imagine what sort of a cave it would\nbe, and how high the roof was from the floor. Clewe then suddenly\nwondered whether his gardener had remembered what he had told him about\nthe flower-beds in front of the house; he wished certain changes made\nwhich Margaret had suggested. He tried to keep his mind on the\nflower-beds, but it drifted away to the cave below. He thought of the\ndanger of coming into some underground body of water, where he would be\ndrowned; but he knew that was a silly idea. If the shell had gone\nthrough [v]subterranean reservoirs, the water of these would have run\nout, and before it reached the bottom of the shaft would have dissipated\ninto mist.\n\nDown, down he went. He looked at his watch; he had been in that car only\nan hour and a half. Was that possible? He had supposed he was almost at\nthe bottom. Suddenly his mind reverted to the people above and the\ntelephone. Why had not some of them spoken to him? It was shameful! He\ninstantly called Bryce, and his heart leaped with joy when he heard the\nfamiliar voice in his ear. Now he talked steadily on for more than an\nhour. He had his gardener summoned, and told the man all that he wanted\ndone in the flower-beds. He gave many directions in regard to the\nvarious operations at the works. There were two or three inventions in\nwhich he took particular interest, and of these he talked at great\nlength with Bryce. Suddenly, in the midst of some talk about hollow\nsteel rods, he told Bryce to let the engines run faster; there was no\nreason why the car should go so slowly.\n\nThe windlasses moved with a little more rapidity, and Clewe now turned\nand looked at an indicator which was placed on the side of the car, a\nlittle over his head. This instrument showed the depth to which he had\ndescended, but he had not looked at it before, for if anything would\nmake him nervous, it would be the continual consideration of the depth\nto which he had descended.\n\nThe indicator showed that he had gone down fourteen and one-eighth\nmiles. Clewe turned and sat stiffly in his seat. He glanced down and saw\nbeneath him only an illuminated hole, fading away at the bottom. Then he\nturned to speak to Bryce, but to his surprise, he could think of nothing\nto say. After that he lighted another cigar and sat quietly.\n\nSome minutes passed--he did not know how many--and he looked down\nthrough the gratings in the floor of the car. The electric light\nstreamed downward through a deep [v]crevice, which did not now fade away\ninto nothingness, but ended in something dark and glittering. Then, as\nhe came nearer and nearer to this glittering thing, Clewe saw that it\nwas his automatic shell, lying on its side; only a part of it was\nvisible through the opening of the shaft which he was descending. In an\ninstant, as it seemed to him, the car emerged from the shaft, and he\nseemed to be hanging in the air--at least there was nothing he could see\nexcept that great shell, lying some forty feet below him. But it was\nimpossible that the shell should be lying on the air! He rang to stop\nthe car.\n\n\"Anything the matter?\" cried Bryce.\n\n\"Nothing at all,\" Clewe replied. \"It's all right; I am near the\nbottom.\"\n\nIn a state of the highest nervous excitement, Clewe gazed about him. He\nwas no longer in a shaft; but where was he? Look around on what side he\nwould, he saw nothing but the light going out from his lamps, light\nwhich seemed to extend indefinitely all about him. There appeared to be\nno limit to his vision in any direction. Then he leaned over the side of\nhis car and looked downward. There lay the great shell directly under\nhim, although under it and around it, extending as far beneath it as it\nextended in every other direction, shone the light from his own lamp.\nNevertheless, that great shell, weighing many tons, lay as if it rested\nupon the solid ground!\n\nAfter a few moments, Clewe shut his eyes; they pained him. Something\nseemed to be coming into them like a fine frost in a winter wind. Then\nhe called to Bryce to let the car descend very slowly. It went down,\ndown, gradually approaching the great shell. When the bottom of the car\nwas within two feet of it, Clewe rang to stop. He looked down at the\ncomplicated machine he had worked upon so long, with something like a\nfeeling of affection. This he knew; it was his own. Gazing upon its\nfamiliar form, he felt that he had a companion in this region of\nunreality.\n\nPushing back the sliding door of the car, Clewe sat upon the bottom and\ncautiously put out his feet and legs, lowering them until they touched\nthe shell. It was firm and solid. Although he knew it must be so, the\nimmovability of the great mass of iron gave him a sudden shock of\nmysterious fear. How could it be immovable when there was nothing under\nit--when it rested on air?\n\nBut he must get out of that car, he must explore, he must find out.\nThere certainly could be no danger so long as he clung to the shell.\n\nHe cautiously got out of the car and let himself down upon the shell. It\nwas not a pleasant surface to stand on, being uneven, with great spiral\nribs, and Clewe sat down upon it, clinging to it with his hands.\nPresently he leaned over to one side and looked beneath him. The shadows\nof that shell went down, down, down into space, until it made him sick\nto look at them. He drew back quickly, clutched the shell with his arms,\nand shut his eyes. He felt as if he were about to drop with it into a\nmeasureless depth of atmosphere.\n\n[Illustration: He Put Out One Foot]\n\nBut he soon raised himself. He had not come down there to be frightened,\nto let his nerves run away with him. He had come to find out things.\nWhat was it that this shell rested upon? Seizing two of the ribs with a\nstrong clutch, he let himself hang over the sides of the shell until his\nfeet were level with its lower side. They touched something hard. He\npressed them downward; it was very hard. He raised himself and stood\nupon the substance which supported the shell. It was as solid as any\nrock. He looked down and saw his shadow stretching far beneath him. It\nseemed as if he were standing upon [v]petrified air. He put out one foot\nand moved a little, still holding on to the shell. He walked, as if upon\nsolid air, to the foremost end of the long [v]projectile. It relieved\nhim to turn his thoughts from what was around him to this familiar\nobject. He found its conical end shattered.\n\nAfter a little he slowly made his way back to the other end of the\nshell, and now his eyes became somewhat accustomed to the great radiance\nabout him. He thought he could perceive here and there faint signs of\nlong, nearly horizontal lines--lines of different shades of light. Above\nhim, as if it hung in the air, was the round, dark hole through which he\nhad descended.\n\nHe rose, took his hands from the shell, and made a few steps. He trod\nupon a horizontal surface, but in putting one foot forward, he felt a\nslight incline. It seemed to him, that he was about to slip downward!\nInstantly he retreated to the shell and clutched it in a sudden frenzy\nof fear.\n\nStanding thus, with his eyes still wandering, he heard the bell of the\ntelephone ring. Without hesitation he mounted the shell and got into the\ncar. Bryce was calling him.\n\n\"Come up,\" he said. \"You have been down there long enough. No matter\nwhat you have found, it is time for you to come up.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Roland. \"You can haul me up, but go very slowly at\nfirst.\"\n\nThe car rose. When it reached the orifice in the top of the cave of\nlight, Clewe heard the conical steel top grate slightly as it touched\nthe edge, for the car was still swinging a little from the motion given\nto it by his entrance; but it soon hung perfectly vertical and went\nsilently up the shaft.\n\nSeated in the car, which was steadily ascending the great shaft, Roland\nClewe took no notice of anything about him. He did not look at the\nbrilliantly lighted interior of the shaft; he paid no attention to his\ninstruments; he did not consult his watch, or glance at the dial which\nindicated the distance he had traveled. Several times the telephone bell\nrang, and Bryce inquired how he was getting along; but these questions\nhe answered as briefly as possible, and sat looking down at his knees\nand seeing nothing.\n\nWhen he was half-way up, he suddenly became conscious that he was very\nhungry. He hurriedly ate some sandwiches and drank some water, and again\ngave himself up entirely to mental labor. When, at last, the noise of\nmachinery above him and the sound of voices aroused him from his\nabstraction, and the car emerged upon the surface of the earth, Clewe\nhastily slid back the door and stepped out. At that instant he felt\nhimself encircled by a pair of arms. Bryce was near by, and there were\nother men by the engines, but the owner of those arms thought nothing\nof this.\n\n\"Margaret!\" cried Clewe, \"how came you here?\"\n\n\"I have been here all the time,\" she exclaimed; \"or, at least, nearly\nall the time.\" And as she spoke she drew back and looked at him, her\neyes full of happy tears. \"Mr. Bryce telegraphed to me the instant he\nknew you were going down, and I was here before you had descended\nhalf-way.\"\n\n\"What!\" he cried. \"And all those messages came from you?\"\n\n\"Nearly all,\" she answered. \"But tell me, Roland--tell me; have you been\nsuccessful?\"\n\n\"I am successful,\" he answered. \"I have discovered everything!\"\n\nBryce came forward.\n\n\"I will speak to you all very soon,\" said Clewe. \"I can't tell you\nanything now. Margaret, let us go. I wish to talk to you, but not until\nI have been to my office. I will meet you at your house in a very few\nminutes.\" And with that he left the building and fairly ran to his\noffice.\n\nA quarter of an hour later Roland entered Margaret's library, where she\nsat awaiting him. He carefully closed the doors and windows. They sat\nside by side upon the sofa.\n\n\"Now, Roland,\" she said, \"I cannot wait one second longer. What is it\nthat you have discovered?\"\n\n\"When I arrived at the bottom of the shaft,\" he began, \"I found myself\nin a cleft, I know not how large, made in a vast mass of transparent\nsubstance, hard as the hardest rock and as transparent as air in the\nlight of my electric lamps. My shell rested securely upon this\nsubstance. I walked upon it. It seemed as if I could see miles below me.\nIn my opinion, Margaret, that substance was once the head of a comet.\"\n\n\"What is the substance?\" she asked, hastily.\n\n\"It is a mass of solid diamond!\"\n\nMargaret screamed. She could not say one word.\n\n\"Yes,\" said he, \"I believe the whole central portion of the earth is one\ngreat diamond. When it was moving about in its orbit as a comet, the\nlight of the sun streamed through this diamond and spread an enormous\ntail out into space; after a time this [v]nucleus began to burn.\"\n\n\"Burn!\" exclaimed Margaret.\n\n\"Yes, the diamond is almost pure [v]carbon; why should it not burn? It\nburned and burned and burned. Ashes formed upon it and encircled it; it\nstill burned, and when it was entirely covered with ashes it ceased to\nbe transparent and ceased to be a comet; it became a planet, and\nrevolved in a different orbit. It still burned within its covering of\nashes, and these gradually changed to rock, to metal, to everything that\nforms the crust of the earth.\"\n\nShe gazed upon him, entranced.\n\n\"Some parts of this great central mass of carbon burn more fiercely than\nother parts. Some parts do not burn at all. In volcanic regions the\nfires rage; where my great shell went down it no longer burns. Now you\nhave my theory. It is crude and rough, for I have tried to give it to\nyou in as few words as possible.\"\n\n\"Oh, Roland,\" she cried, \"it is absurd! Diamond! Why, people will think\nyou are crazy. You must not say such a thing as that to anybody. It is\nsimply impossible that the greater part of this earth should be an\nenormous diamond.\"\n\n\"Margaret,\" he answered, \"nothing is impossible. The central portion of\nthis earth is composed of something; it might just as well be diamond as\nanything else. In fact, if you consider the matter, it is more likely to\nbe, because diamond is a very original substance. As I have said, it is\nalmost pure carbon. I do not intend to repeat a word of what I have told\nyou to any one--at least until the matter has been well considered--but\nI am not afraid of being thought crazy. Margaret, will you look at\nthese?\"\n\nHe took from his pocket some shining substances resembling glass. Some\nof them were flat, some round; the largest was as big as a lemon; others\nwere smaller fragments of various sizes.\n\n\"These are pieces of the great diamond which were broken when the shell\nstruck the bottom of the cave in which I found it. I picked them up as\nI felt my way around this shell, when walking upon what seemed to me\nsolid air. I thrust them into my pocket, and I would not come to you,\nMargaret, with this story, until I had visited my office to find out\nwhat these fragments are. I tested them; their substance is diamond!\"\n\nHalf-dazed, she took the largest piece in her hand.\n\n\"Roland,\" she whispered, \"if this is really a diamond, there is nothing\nlike it known to man!\"\n\n\"Nothing, indeed,\" said he.\n\nShe sat staring at the great piece of glowing mineral which lay in her\nhand. Its surface was irregular; it had many faces; the subdued light\nfrom the window gave it the appearance of animated water. He felt it\nnecessary to speak.\n\n\"Even these little pieces,\" he said, \"are most valuable jewels.\"\n\n\"Roland,\" she suddenly cried, excitedly, \"these are riches beyond\nimagination! What is common wealth to what you have discovered? Every\nliving being on earth could--\"\n\n\"Ah, Margaret,\" he interrupted, \"do not let your thoughts run that way.\nIf my discovery should be put to the use of which you are thinking, it\nwould bring poverty to the world, not wealth, and every diamond on earth\nwould be worthless.\"\n\nShe trembled. \"And these--are they to be valued as common pebbles?\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" said he; \"these broken fragments I have found are to us riches\nfar beyond our wildest imagination.\"\n\n\"Roland,\" she cried, \"are you going down into that shaft for more of\nthem?\"\n\n\"Never, never, never again,\" he answered. \"What we have here is enough\nfor us, and if I were offered all the good that there is in this world,\nwhich money cannot buy, I would never go down into that cleft again.\nThere was one moment, as I stood in that cave, when an awful terror shot\ninto my soul that I shall never be able to forget. In the light of my\nelectric lamps, sent through a vast transparent mass, I could see\nnothing, but I could feel. I put out my foot, and I found it was upon a\nsloping surface. In another instant I might have slid--where? I cannot\nbear to think of it!\" FRANK E. STOCKTON.\n\n=HELPS TO STUDY=\n\n     What happened to Clewe's automatic shell? What did he decide to do?\n     Tell of the preparations he made for his descent. What occurred\n     when he reached the end of the shaft? Of what was Clewe thinking so\n     intently while making his ascent? Why did he go at once to his\n     office? What conclusion did he reach as to the central part of the\n     earth? What did he have to prove the correctness of his theory? Why\n     was he unwilling ever to make the descent again? This story was\n     written about the end of the nineteenth century: what great\n     scientific discoveries have been made since then?\n\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY READING\n\n     A Journey to the Center of the Earth--Jules Verne.\n     The Adventures of Captain Horn--Frank R. Stockton.\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[391-*] Copyright by Harper & Brothers.\n\n\n\n\nA STOP AT SUZANNE'S\n\n\n     The author of this sketch, a young American aviator, a resident of\n     Richmond, Virginia, was killed in battle in August, 1918.\n\nSuzanne is a very pretty girl, I was told, but the charm of \"Suzanne's\"\nwasn't with her alone, for, always, one spoke of the deliciously-tasting\nmeal, how nice the old madame is, and how fine a chap is her _mari_, the\nfather of Suzanne. Then of the garden in the back--and before you had\nfinished listening you didn't know which was the most important thing\nabout \"Suzanne's.\" All you knew was that it was the place to go when on\nan aeroplane voyage.\n\nAt the pilotage office I found five others ahead of me; all of us were\nbound in the same direction. We were given [v]barographs, altimeters and\nmaps and full directions as to forced landings and what to do when lost.\nWe hung around the voyage hangar until about eight in the morning, but\nthere was a low mist and cloudy sky, so we could not start out until\nafternoon; and I didn't have luncheon at \"Suzanne's.\"\n\nAfter noon several of the others started out, but I wanted to plan my\nsupper stop for the second point, so I waited until about four o'clock\nbefore starting.\n\nAlmost before I knew it a village, which on the map was twelve\nkilometers away, was slipping by beneath me and then off to one side was\na forest, green and cool-looking and very regular around the edges.\nPretty soon I came to a deep blue streak bordered by trees, and was so\ninterested in it--it wound around under a railroad track, came up and\nbrushed by lots of back gates and, finally, fell in a wide splash of\nsilver over a little fall by a mill--that I forgot all about flying and\nsuddenly woke up to the fact that one wing was about as low as it could\nget and that the nose of the machine was doing its best to follow the\nwing.\n\nLong before I came to the stopping point, I could see the little white\nhangar. The field is not large, but it is strange, so you come down\nrather anxiously, for if you can't make that field the first time, you\nnever will be able to fly, they tell you before leaving. I glided down\neasily enough, for, after all, it is just that--either you can or you\ncan't--and made a good-enough landing. The sergeant signed my paper, and\na few minutes later away I went for \"Suzanne's.\" The next stop is near a\nlittle village--Suzanne's village--so when I came to the field and\nlanded I was sure to be too tired to go up again immediately. Instead,\noff I went to town after making things right with the man in charge.\nThat wasn't a bit difficult, either, for all I did was to wink as hard\nas I could, and he understood perfectly.\n\nI knew where \"Suzanne's\" was, so I made directly for it. It was a little\nearly, but you should never miss the [v]_apertif_. With that first,\nsuccess is assured; without it, it is like getting out of bed on the\nwrong foot.\n\nUp I marched to the unimposing door and walked in to the main room--a\nbig room, with long, wooden tables and benches and a zinc bar at one\nend, where all kinds of bottles rested. It isn't called \"Suzanne's,\" of\ncourse; it only has that name among us.\n\nAs I closed the door behind me and looked about, a _bonne_ was serving\nseveral men at a corner table, and behind the bar a big, red-faced,\nstout man was pouring stuff into bottles. He looked at me a moment and\nthen with a tremendous \"_Tiens!_\" he came out from behind the tables and\nadvanced toward me.\n\n\"_Bon jour_,\" he said; \"do you come from far?\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" I answered, \"only from ----.\"\n\n\"_Tiens!_\" he repeated; then, \"Ah, you are from the school.\" _L'ecole_,\nhe called it.\n\nFrom _l'ecole_, I admitted, and, taking me by the arm, he led me to a\ndoor at the rear. Through this he propelled me, and then in his huge\nvoice he called \"_Suzanne, un [v]pilote!_\" and I was introduced.\n\nAs he shut the door, I could just see the corner table with the three\nold men staring open-mouthed, the wine before them forgotten, the bread\nand cheese in their hands untasted; then, down the stairs came light\nsteps and a rustle of skirts, and Suzanne was before me with smiling\nface and outstretched hand.\n\nHer instant welcome, the genuine smile! Almost immediately, I understood\nthe fame of this little station, so far from everything but the air\nroute.\n\nHer charm is indescribable. She is pretty, she is well dressed, but it\nisn't that. It is a sincerity of manner, complete hospitality; at once\nyou are accepted as a bosom friend of the family--that is the charm of\nSuzanne's.\n\nAfter a few questions as to where I came from, how long I had been\nthere, and where I was going, Suzanne led me upstairs to be presented to\n[v]\"_Ma belle mere_,\" a white-haired old lady sitting in a big,\nstraight-backed chair. Then, after more courtesies had been extended to\nme, Suzanne preceded me down to the garden and left me alone while she\nwent in to see that the supper was exceptionally good.\n\nA soft footstep on the gravel walk sounded behind me, and I turned to\nsee one of the most beautiful women I ever beheld. She was tall and\nslender, and as she came gracefully across the lawn she swung a little\nwork bag from one arm. All in black she was, with a lace shawl over her\nbare head. Like every one in that most charming and hospitable house,\nthere was no formality or show about her. She came, smiling, and sat on\nthe bench beside me, drawing open her work bag. I could not help\nnoticing, particularly, her beautiful eyes, for they told the story, a\nstory too common here, except that her eyes had changed now to an\nexpression of resigned peace. Then she told me about Suzanne.\n\nLong before, ages and ages ago it seemed, but really only four years, a\nhuge, ungainly bird fell crashing to earth and from the wreck a man was\ntaken, unconscious. He was carried to \"Suzanne's,\" and she nursed him\nand cared for him until he was well again. \"Suzanne was very happy\nthen,\" madame told me. And no wonder, for the daring aviator and Suzanne\nwere in love. She nursed him back to health, but when he went away he\nleft his heart forever with her.\n\nThey were engaged, and every little while he would fly over from his\nstation to see Suzanne. Those were in the early days and aviation--well,\neven at that, it hasn't changed so much.\n\nOne day a letter came for Suzanne, and with a catch at her throbbing\nheart she read that her _fiance_ had been killed. [v]\"_Mort pour la\npatrie_,\" it said, and Suzanne was never the same afterward.\n\nFor many months the poor girl grieved, but, finally, she began to\nrealize that what had happened to her had happened to thousands of other\ngirls, too, and, gradually, she took up the attitude that you find\nthroughout this glorious country. Only her eyes now tell the sad story.\n\nOne evening two men walked into the cafe and from their talk Suzanne\nknew they were from _l'ecole_. She sat down and listened to them. They\ntalked about the war, about aviation, about deeds of heroism, and\nSuzanne drank in every word, for they were talking the language of her\ndead lover. The two aviators stayed to dinner, but the big room was not\ngood enough. They must come back to the family dinner--to the intimacy\nof the back room.\n\nThey stayed all night and left early next morning, but before they left\nthey wrote their names in a big book. To-day, Suzanne has the book,\nfilled full of names, many now famous, many names that are only a\nmemory--that is how it started.\n\nWhen the two pilots went back to _l'ecole_, they spoke in glowing terms\nof \"Suzanne's,\" of the soft beds, of the delicious dinner, and, I think,\nmostly of Suzanne.\n\nVisitors came after that to eat at \"Suzanne's,\" and to see her famous\nbook. They came regularly and, finally, \"Suzanne's\" became an\ninstitution.\n\nAlways, a _pilote_ was taken into the back room; he ate with the family,\nhe told them all the news from _l'ecole_, and, in exchange, he heard\nstories about the early days, stories that will never be printed, but\nwhich embody examples of the heroism and intelligence that have done\ntheir part to develop aviation.\n\nSoon, we went in to dinner, and such a dinner! Truly, nothing is too\ngood for an aviator at \"Suzanne's,\" and they give of their best to these\nwandering strangers. They do not ask your name, they call every one\n_Monsieur_, but before you leave you sign the book and they all crowd\naround to look, without saying anything. Your name means nothing yet,\nbut a year from now, perhaps, who can tell? In the first pages are\nnames that have been bywords for years and some that are famous the\nworld over.\n\nAfter dinner, Suzanne slipped away, presently to reappear with a special\nbottle and glasses. I felt sure this was part of the entertainment\nafforded all their winged visitors, for they went about it in a\npractised manner; each was familiar with his or her part, but to me it\nwas all delightfully new.\n\nOur glasses were filled, and Suzanne raised hers up first. Without a\nword, she looked around the circle. Her eyes met them all, then rested\nwith madame. She had not said a word; it was \"papa\" who proposed my\nhealth, and as the bottoms went up, Suzanne and madame both had a\nstruggle to repress a tear. They were drinking my health, but their\nthoughts were far away, and in my heart I was wishing that happiness\nmight again come to them. Suzanne certainly deserves it.\n\nWhen I returned to school, they asked, \"Did you stop at 'Suzanne's'?\"\nAnd now to the others, just ready to make the voyage, I always say, \"Be\nsure to stop at 'Suzanne's'.\"\n\nGREAYER CLOVER.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MAKING OF A MAN\n\n\nI\n\nMarmaduke, otherwise Doggie, Trevor owned a pleasant home set on fifteen\nacres of ground. He had an income of three thousand pounds a year. Old\nPeddle, the butler, and his wife, the housekeeper, saved him from\ndomestic cares. He led a well-regulated life. His meals, his toilet, his\nmusic, his wall-papers, his drawing and embroidery, his sweet peas, his\nchrysanthemums, his postage stamps, and his social engagements filled\nthe hours not claimed by slumber.\n\nIn the town of Durdlebury, Doggie Trevor began to feel appreciated. He\ncould play the piano, the harp, the viola, the flute, and the\nclarionette, and sing a mild tenor. Besides music, Doggie had other\naccomplishments. He could choose the exact shade of silk for a\ndrawing-room sofa cushion, and he had an excellent gift for the\nselection of wedding-presents. All in all, Marmaduke Trevor was a young\ngentleman of exquisite taste.\n\nAfter breakfast on a certain July morning, Doggie, attired in a green\nshot-silk dressing-gown, entered his own particular room and sat down to\nthink. In its way it was a very beautiful room--high, spacious,\nwell-proportioned, facing southeast. The wall-paper, which Doggie had\ndesigned himself, was ivory white, with trimmings of peacock blue.\n[v]Vellum-bound books filled the cases; delicate water-colors adorned\nthe walls. On his writing-table lay an ivory set: inkstand, pen-tray,\nblotter, and calendar. Bits of old embroidery, harmonizing with the\npeacock shades, were spread here and there. A spinet inlaid with ivory\nformed the center for the arrangement of other musical instruments--a\nviol, mandolins, and flutes. One tall, closed cabinet was devoted to\nDoggie's collection of wall-papers. Another held a collection of little\ndogs in china and porcelain--thousands of them; he got them from dealers\nfrom all over the world.\n\nAn unwonted frown creased Doggie's brow, for several problems disturbed\nhim. The morning sun disclosed, beyond doubt, discolorations, stains,\nand streaks on the wall-paper. It would have to be renewed.\n\nThen, his thoughts ran on to his cousin, Oliver Manningtree, who had\njust returned from the South Sea. It was Oliver, the strong and\nmasculine, who had given him the name of Doggie years before, to his\ninfinite disgust. And now every one in Durdlebury seemed to have gone\ncrazy over the fellow. Doggie's uncle and aunt had hung on his lips\nwhile Oliver had boasted unblushingly of his adventures. Even the fair\ncousin Peggy, with whom Doggie was mildly in love, had listened\nopen-eyed and open-mouthed to Oliver's tales of shipwreck in distant\nseas.\n\nDoggie had reached this point in his reflections when, to his horror,\nhe heard a familiar voice outside the door.\n\n\"All right,\" it said. \"Don't worry, Peddle. I'll show myself in.\"\n\nThe door burst open, and Oliver, pipe in mouth and hat on one side, came\ninto the room.\n\n\"Hello, Doggie!\" he cried boisterously. \"Thought I'd look you up. Hope\nI'm not disturbing you.\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" said Doggie. \"Do sit down.\"\n\nBut Oliver walked about and looked at things.\n\n\"I like your water colors,\" he said. \"Did you collect them yourself!\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I congratulate you on your taste. This is a beauty.\"\n\nThe appreciation brought Doggie at once to his side. He took Oliver\ndelightedly around the pictures, expounding their merits and their\nlittle histories. Doggie was just beginning to like the big fellow,\nwhen, stopping before the collection of china dogs, the latter spoiled\neverything.\n\n\"My dear Doggie,\" he said, \"is that your family?\"\n\n\"It's the finest collection of the kind in the world,\" replied Doggie\nstiffly, \"and is worth several thousand pounds.\"\n\nOliver heaved himself into a chair--that was Doggie's impression of his\nmethod of sitting down.\n\n\"Forgive me, Doggie,\" he said, \"but you're so funny. Pictures and music\nI can understand. But what on earth is the point of these little dogs?\"\n\nDoggie was hurt. \"It would be useless to try to explain,\" he said, with\ndignity. \"And my name is Marmaduke.\"\n\nOliver took off his hat and sent it skimming to the couch.\n\n\"Look here, old chap,\" he said, \"I seem to have put my foot in it. I\ndidn't mean to, really. I'll call you Marmaduke, if you like, instead of\nDoggie--though it's a beast of a name. I'm a rough sort of chap. I've\nhad ten years' pretty tough training. I've slept on boards; I've slept\nin the open without a cent to hire a board. I've gone cold and I've gone\nhungry, and men have knocked me about, and I've lost most of my\npoliteness. In the wilds if a man once gets the name, say, of Duck-Eyed\nJoe, it sticks to him, and he accepts it, and answers to it, and signs\nit.\"\n\n\"But I'm not in the wilds,\" objected Marmaduke, \"and haven't the\nslightest intention of ever leading the unnatural and frightful life you\ndescribe. So what you say doesn't apply to me.\"\n\nOliver, laughing, clapped him on the shoulder.\n\n\"You don't give a fellow a chance,\" he said. \"Look here, tell me, as man\nto man, what are you going to do with your life? Here you are, young,\nstrong, educated, intelligent--\"\n\n\"I'm not strong,\" said Doggie.\n\n\"A month's exercise would make you as strong as a mule,\" returned\nOliver. \"Here you are--what are you going to do with yourself?\"\n\n\"I don't admit that you have any right to question me,\" said Doggie.\n\n\"Peggy and I had a talk,\" declared Oliver. \"I said I'd take you out with\nme to the Islands and give you a taste for fresh air and salt water and\nexercise. I'll teach you how to sail a schooner and how to go about\nbarefoot and swab decks.\"\n\nDoggie smiled pityingly, but said politely, \"Your offer is kind, Oliver,\nbut I don't think that sort of life would suit me.\"\n\nBeing a man of intelligence, he realized that Oliver's offer arose from\na genuine desire to do him service. But if a friendly bull out of the\nfulness of its affection invited you to accompany it to the meadow and\neat grass, what could you do but courteously decline the invitation?\n\n\"I'm really most obliged to you, Oliver,\" said Doggie, finally. \"But our\nideas are entirely different. You're primitive, you know. You seem to\nfind your happiness in defying the elements, whereas I find mine in\nadopting the resources of civilization to defeat them.\"\n\n\"Which means,\" said Oliver, rudely, \"that you're afraid to roughen your\nhands and spoil your complexion.\"\n\n\"If you like to put it that way.\"\n\n\"You're an [v]effeminate little creature!\" cried Oliver, losing his\ntemper. \"And I'm through with you. Go sit up and beg for biscuits.\"\n\n\"Stop!\" shouted Doggie, white with sudden anger, which shook him from\nhead to foot. He marched to the door, his green silk dressing-gown\nflapping about him, and threw it wide open.\n\n\"This is my house,\" he said. \"I'm sorry to have to ask you to get out of\nit.\"\n\nAnd when the door was shut on Oliver, he threw himself, shaken, on the\ncouch, hating Oliver and all his works more than ever. Go about barefoot\nand swab decks! It was madness. Besides being dangerous to health, it\nwould be excruciating discomfort. And to be insulted for not grasping at\nsuch martyrdom! It was intolerable; and Doggie remained justly indignant\nthe whole day long.\n\n\nII\n\nThen the war came. Doggie Trevor was both patriotic and polite. Having a\nfragment of the British army in his house, he did his best to make it\ncomfortable. By January he had no doubt that the empire was in peril,\nthat it was every man's duty to do his bit. He welcomed the newcomers\nwith open arms, having unconsciously abandoned his attitude of\nsuperiority over mere brawn. It was every patriotic Englishman's duty\nto encourage brawn. He threw himself heart and soul into the\nentertainment of officers and men. They thought Doggie a capital fellow.\n\n\"My dear chap,\" one would protest, \"you're spoiling us. I don't say we\ndon't like it and aren't grateful. We are. But we're supposed to rough\nit--to lead the simple life. You're treating us too well.\"\n\n\"Impossible!\" Doggie would reply. \"Don't I know what we owe you fellows?\nIn what other way can a helpless, delicate being like myself show his\ngratitude and in some sort of way serve his country?\"\n\nWhen the sympathetic guest would ask what was the nature of his malady,\nDoggie would tap his chest vaguely and reply:\n\n\"Constitutional. I've never been able to do things like other fellows.\nThe least thing bowls me out.\"\n\n\"Hard lines--especially just now!\" the soldier would murmur.\n\n\"Yes, isn't it?\" Doggie would answer.\n\nDoggie never questioned his physical incapacity. His mother had brought\nhim up to look on himself as a singularly frail creature, and the idea\nwas as real to him as the war. He went about pitying himself and seeking\npity.\n\nThe months passed. The soldiers moved away from Durdlebury, and Doggie\nwas left alone in his house. He felt solitary and restless. News came\nfrom Oliver that he had accepted an infantry commission and was in\nFrance. \"A month of this sort of thing,\" he wrote, \"would make our dear\nold Doggie sit up.\" Doggie sighed. If only he had been blessed with\nOliver's constitution!\n\nOne morning Briggins, his chauffeur, announced that he could stick it\nout no longer and was going to enlist. Then Doggie remembered a talk he\nhad had with one of the young officers, who had expressed astonishment\nat his not being able to drive a car.\n\n\"I shouldn't have the nerve,\" he had replied. \"My nerves are all\nwrong--and I shouldn't have the strength to change tires and things.\"\n\nBut now Doggie was confronted by the necessity of driving his own car,\nfor chauffeurs were no longer to be had. To his amazement, he found that\nhe did not die of nervous collapse when a dog crossed the road in front\nof the automobile, and that the fitting of detachable wheels did not\nrequire the strength of a Hercules. The first time he took Peggy out\ndriving, he swelled with pride.\n\n\"I'm so glad you can do something!\" she said, after a silence.\n\nAlthough the girl was as kind as ever, Doggie had noticed of late a\ncurious reserve in her manner. Conversation did not flow easily. She had\nfits of abstraction, from which, when rallied, she roused herself with\nan effort. Finally, one day, Peggy asked him blankly why he did not\nenlist.\n\nDoggie was horrified. \"I'm not fit,\" he said, \"I've no constitution. I'm\nan impossibility.\"\n\n\"You thought you had nerves until you learned to drive the car,\" she\nanswered. \"Then you discovered that you hadn't. You fancy you've a weak\nheart. Perhaps if you walked thirty miles a day, you would discover that\nyou hadn't that, either. And so with the rest of it.\"\n\nHe swung round toward her. \"Do you think I'm shamming so as to get out\nof serving in the army?\" he demanded.\n\n\"Not consciously. Unconsciously, I think you are. What does your doctor\nsay?\"\n\nDoggie was taken aback. He had no doctor, having no need for one. He\nmade confession of the surprising fact. Peggy smiled.\n\n\"That proves it,\" she said. \"I don't believe you have anything wrong\nwith you. This is plain talking. It's horrid, I know, but it's best to\nget through with it once and for all.\"\n\nSome men would have taken deep offense, but Doggie, conscientious if\nineffective, was gnawed for the first time by a suspicion that Peggy\nmight possibly be right. He desired to act honorably.\n\n\"I'll do,\" he said, \"whatever you think proper.\"\n\n\"Good!\" said Peggy. \"Get Doctor Murdoch to overhaul you thoroughly with\na view to the army. If he passes you, take a commission.\"\n\nShe put out her hand. Doggie took it firmly.\n\n\"Very well,\" he said. \"I agree.\"\n\n\"You're flabby,\" announced Doctor Murdoch, the next morning, to an\nanxious Doggie, after some minutes of thumping and listening, \"but\nthat's merely a matter of unused muscles. Physical training will set it\nright in no time. Otherwise, my dear Trevor, you're in splendid health.\nThere's not a flaw in your whole constitution.\"\n\nDoggie crept out of bed, put on a violet dressing-gown, and wandered to\nhis breakfast like a man in a nightmare. But he could not eat. He\nswallowed a cup of coffee and took refuge in his own room. He was\nfrightened--horribly frightened, caught in a net from which there was no\nescape. He had given his word to join the army if he should be passed by\nMurdoch. He had been more than passed! Now he would have to join; he\nwould have to fight. He would have to live in a muddy trench, sleep in\nmud, eat in mud, plow through mud. Doggie was shaken to his soul, but he\nhad given his word and he had no thought of going back on it.\n\nThe fateful little letter bestowing a commission on Doggie arrived two\nweeks later; he was a second lieutenant in a battalion of the new army.\nA few days afterward he set off for the training-camp.\n\nHe wrote to Peggy regularly. The work was very hard, he said, and the\nhours were long. Sometimes he confessed himself too tired to write more\nthan a few lines. It was a very strange life--one he never dreamed could\nhave existed. There was the riding-school. Why hadn't he learned to ride\nas a boy? Peggy was filled with admiration for his courage. She realized\nthat he was suffering acutely in his new and rough environment, but he\nmade no complaint.\n\nThen there came a time when Doggie's letters grew rarer and shorter. At\nlast they ceased altogether. One evening an unstamped envelope addressed\nto Peggy was put in the letter-box. The envelope contained a copy of the\n_Gazette_, and a sentence was underlined and adorned with exclamation\nmarks:\n\n\"Royal Fusileers. Second Lieutenant J. M. Trevor resigned his\ncommission.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt had been a terrible blow to Doggie. The colonel had dealt as gently\nas he could in the final interview with him. He put his hand in a\nfatherly way on Doggie's shoulder and bade him not take the thing too\nmuch to heart. He--Doggie--had done his best, but the simple fact was\nthat he was not cut out for an officer. These were merciless times, and\nin matters of life and death there could be no weak links in the chain.\nIn Doggie's case there was no personal discredit. He had always\nconducted himself like a gentleman, but he lacked the qualities\nnecessary for the command of men. He must send in his resignation.\n\nDoggie, after leaving the camp, took a room in a hotel and sat there\nmost of the day, the mere pulp of a man. His one desire now was to\nescape from the eyes of his fellow-men. He felt that he bore the marks\nof his disgrace, obvious at a glance. He had been turned out of the army\nas a hopeless incompetent; he was worse than a slacker, for the slacker\nmight have latent qualities he was without.\n\nPresently the sight of his late brother-officers added the gnaw of envy\nto his heart-ache. On the third day of his exile he moved into lodgings\nin Woburn Place. Here at least he could be quiet, untroubled by\nheart-rending sights and sounds. He spent most of his time in dull\nreading and dispirited walking.\n\nHis failure preyed on his mind. He walked for miles every day, though\nwithout enjoyment. He wandered one evening in the dusk to Waterloo\nBridge and gazed out over the parapet. The river stretched below, dark\nand peaceful. As he looked down on the rippling water, he presently\nbecame aware of a presence by his side. Turning his head, he found a\nsoldier, an ordinary private, also leaning over the parapet.\n\n\"I thought I wasn't mistaken in Mr. Marmaduke Trevor,\" said the soldier.\n\nDoggie started away, on the point of flight, dreading the possible\ninsolence of one of the men of his late regiment. But the voice of the\nspeaker rang in his ears with a strange familiarity, and the great\nfleshy nose, the high cheekbones, and the little gray eyes in the\nweather-beaten face suggested vaguely some one of the long ago. His\ndawning recognition amused the soldier.\n\n\"Yes, laddie, it's your old Phineas. Phineas McPhail, M. A.--now private\nP. McPhail.\"\n\nIt was no other than Doggie's tutor of his childhood days.\n\n\"Very glad to see you,\" Doggie murmured.\n\nPhineas, gaunt and bony, took his arm. Doggie's instinctive craving for\ncompanionship made Phineas suddenly welcome.\n\n\"Let us have a talk,\" he said. \"Come to my rooms. There will be some\ndinner.\"\n\n\"Will I come? Will I have dinner? Laddie, I will.\"\n\nIn the Strand they hailed a taxi-cab and drove to Doggie's place.\n\n\"You mention your rooms,\" said Phineas. \"Are you residing permanently in\nLondon?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Doggie, sadly. \"I never expect to leave it.\"\n\nA few minutes later they reached Woburn Place. Doggie showed Phineas\ninto the sitting-room. The table was set for Doggie's dinner. Phineas\nlooked around him in surprise. The tasteless furniture, the dreadful\npictures on the walls, the coarse glass and the well-used plate on the\ntable, the crumpled napkin in a ring--all came as a shock to Phineas,\nwho had expected to find Marmaduke's rooms a reproduction of the\nfastidious prettiness of the peacock and ivory room in Durdlebury.\n\n\"Laddie,\" he said, gravely, \"you must excuse me if I take a liberty, but\nI cannot fit you into this environment. It cannot be that you have come\ndown in the world?\"\n\n\"To bed-rock,\" replied Doggie.\n\n\"Man, I'm sorry,\" said Phineas. \"I know what coming down feels like. If\nI had money--\"\n\nDoggie broke in with a laugh. \"Pray don't distress yourself, Phineas.\nIt's not a question of money at all. The last thing in the world I've\nhad to think of has been money.\"\n\n\"What is the trouble?\" Phineas demanded.\n\n\"That's a long story,\" answered Doggie. \"In the meantime I had better\ngive some orders about dinner.\"\n\nThe dinner came in presently, not particularly well served. They sat\ndown to it.\n\n\"By the way,\" remarked Doggie, \"you haven't told me why you became a\nsoldier.\"\n\n\"Chance,\" replied Phineas. \"I have been going down in the world for some\ntime, and no one seemed to want me except my country. She clamored for\nme at every corner. A recruiting sergeant in Trafalgar Square at last\npersuaded me to take the leap. That's how I became Private Phineas\nMcPhail of the Tenth Wessex Rangers, at the compensation of one\nshilling and two pence per day.\"\n\n\"Do you like it?\" asked Doggie.\n\nPhineas rubbed the side of his nose thoughtfully.\n\n\"In itself it is a vile life,\" he made answer. \"The hours are absurd,\nthe work is distasteful, and the mode of living repulsive. But it\ncontents me. The secret of happiness lies in adapting one's self to\nconditions. I adapt myself wherever I happen to be. And now, may I,\nwithout impertinent curiosity, again ask what you meant when you said\nyou had come down to bed-rock?\"\n\nAll of Doggie's rage and shame flared up at the question.\n\n\"I've been thrown out of the army!\" he cried. \"I'm here in\nhiding--hiding from my family and the decent folk I'm ashamed to meet!\"\n\n\"Tell me all about it, laddie,\" urged Phineas, gently.\n\nThen Doggie broke down, and with a gush of unminded tears found\nexpression for his stony despair. His story took a long time in the\ntelling, and Phineas interjected a sympathetic \"Ay, ay,\" from time to\ntime.\n\n\"And now,\" cried Doggie, his young face distorted and reddened, his\nsleek hair ruffled, and his hands appealingly outstretched, \"what am I\ngoing to do?\"\n\n\"You've got to go back home,\" said Phineas. \"You've got to whip up all\nthe moral courage in you and go back to Durdlebury.\"\n\n\"I won't,\" said Doggie, \"I can't. I'd sooner die than go back there\ndisgraced. I'd sooner enlist as a private soldier.\"\n\n\"Enlist?\" repeated Phineas, and he drew himself up straight and gaunt.\n\"Well, why not?\"\n\n\"Enlist?\" echoed Doggie, in a dull tone. \"As a Tommy?\"\n\n\"As a Tommy,\" replied Phineas.\n\n\"Enlist!\" murmured Doggie. He thought of the alternatives--flight, which\nwas craven; home, which he could not bear. Doggie rose from his chair\nwith a new light in his eyes. He had come to the supreme moment of his\nlife; he had made his great resolution. Yes, he would enlist as a\nprivate soldier in the British army.\n\n\nIII\n\nA year later Doggie Trevor returned to Durdlebury. He had been laid up\nin hospital with a wounded leg, the result of fighting the German\nsnipers in front of the first line trenches, and he was now on his way\nback to France. Durdlebury had not changed in the interval; it was\nMarmaduke Trevor that had changed. He measured about ten inches more\naround the chest than the year before, and his hands were red and\ncalloused from hard work. He was as straight as an Indian now, and in\nhis rough khaki uniform of a British private he looked every bit a\nman--yes, and more than that, a veteran soldier. For Doggie had passed\nthrough battle after battle, gas attacks, mine explosions, and months of\ndreary duty in water-filled trenches, where only brave and tough men\ncould endure. He had been tried in the furnace and he had come out pure\ngold.\n\nDoggie entered the familiar Deanery, and was met by Peggy with a glad\nsmile of welcome. His uncle, the Dean, appeared in the hall, florid,\nwhitehaired, benevolent, and extended both hands to the homecoming\nwarrior.\n\n\"My dear boy,\" he said, \"how glad I am to see you! Welcome back! And\nhow's the wound?\"\n\nOpening the drawing-room door, he pushed Doggie inside. A tall, lean\nfigure in uniform, which had remained in the background by the\nfireplace, advanced with outstretched hand.\n\n\"Hello, old chap!\"\n\nDoggie took the hand in an honest grip.\n\n\"Hello, Oliver!\"\n\n\"How goes it?\" asked Oliver.\n\n\"Splendid,\" said Doggie. \"Are you all right?\"\n\n\"Tip-top,\" answered Oliver. He clapped his cousin on the shoulder. \"My\nhat! you do look fit.\"\n\nHe turned to the Dean. \"Uncle Edward, isn't he a hundred times the man\nhe was?\"\n\nIn a little while tea came. It appeared to Doggie, handing round the\nthree-tiered cake-stand, that he had returned to some forgotten\nexistence. The delicate china cup in his hand seemed too frail for the\nmaterial usages of life, and he feared lest he break it, for Doggie was\naccustomed to the rough dishes of the private.\n\nThe talk lay chiefly between Oliver and himself and ran on the war. Both\nmen had been at Ypres and at Arras, where the British and German\ntrenches lay only five yards apart.\n\n\"I ought to be over there now,\" said Oliver, \"but I just escaped\nshell-shock and I was sent home for two weeks.\"\n\n\"My crowd is at the Somme,\" said Doggie.\n\n\"You're well out of it, old chap,\" laughed Oliver.\n\nFor the first time in his life Doggie began really to like Oliver.\nOliver stood in his eyes in a new light, that of the typical officer,\ntrusted and beloved by his men, and Doggie's heart went out to him.\n\nAfter some further talk, the men separated to dress for dinner.\n\n\"You've got the green room, Marmaduke,\" said Peggy. \"The one with the\nChippendale furniture you used to covet so much.\"\n\n\"I haven't got much to change into,\" laughed Doggie, looking down at his\nuniform.\n\n\"You'll find Peddle up there waiting for you.\"\n\nWhen Doggie entered the green room, he found Peddle, who welcomed him\nwith tears of joy and a display of all the luxuries of the toilet and\nadornment which Doggie had left behind at home. There were pots of\n[v]pomade and face cream, and nail polish; bottles of hair-wash and\ntooth-wash; half a dozen gleaming razors; the array of brushes and combs\nand [v]manicure set in [v]tortoise-shell with his crest in silver;\nbottles of scent; the purple silk dressing-gown; a soft-fronted shirt\nfitted with ruby and diamond sleeve-links; the dinner jacket and suit\nlaid out on the glass-topped table, with tie and handkerchief; the silk\nsocks, the glossy pumps.\n\n\"My, Peddle!\" cried Doggie, scratching his closely-cropped head. \"What's\nall this?\"\n\nPeddle, gray, bent, uncomprehending, regarded him blankly.\n\n\"All what, sir?\"\n\n\"I only want to wash my hands,\" said Doggie.\n\n\"But aren't you going to dress for dinner, sir?\"\n\n\"A private soldier's not allowed to wear [v]mufti,\" returned Doggie.\n\n\"Who's to find out?\"\n\n\"There's Mr. Oliver; he's a major.\"\n\n\"Ah, Mr. Marmaduke, he wouldn't mind. Miss Peggy gave me my orders, sir,\nand I think you can leave things to her.\"\n\n\"All right, Peddle,\" laughed Doggie. \"If it's Miss Peggy's decree, I'll\nchange my clothes. I have all I want.\"\n\n\"Are you sure you can manage, sir?\" Peddle asked anxiously, for the time\nwas when Doggie could not stick his legs into his trousers unless Peddle\nhelped him.\n\n\"Quite,\" said Doggie.\n\n\"It seems rather roughing it, here at the Deanery, Mr. Marmaduke, after\nwhat you've been accustomed to at the Hall,\" said Peddle.\n\n\"That's so,\" replied Doggie. \"And it's martyrdom compared to what it is\nin the trenches. There we always have a major-general to lace our boots\nand a field-marshall to hand us coffee.\"\n\nPeddle looked blank, being utterly unable to comprehend the nature of a\njoke.\n\nA little later, when Doggie went downstairs to dinner, he found Peggy\nalone in the drawing-room.\n\n\"Now you look more like a Christian gentleman,\" she said. \"Confess: it's\nmuch more comfortable than your wretched private's uniform.\"\n\n\"I'm not quite so sure,\" he replied, somewhat ruefully, indicating his\ndinner jacket, which was tightly constricted beneath the arms. \"Already\nI've had to slit my waistcoat down the back. Poor old Peddle will have a\nfit when he sees it. I've grown a bit since these elegant rags were made\nfor me.\"\n\nOliver came in--in khaki. Doggie jumped up and pointed to him.\n\n\"Look here, Peggy,\" he said; \"I'll be sent to the guard-room.\"\n\nOliver laughed. \"I did change my uniform,\" he said. \"I don't know where\nmy dinner clothes are.\"\n\n\"That's the best thing about being a major,\" spoke up Doggie. \"They have\nheaps of suits. Poor Tommy has but one suit to his name.\"\n\nThen the Dean and his wife entered, and they went in to dinner. It was\nfor Doggie the most pleasant of meals. He had the superbly healthy man's\nwhole-hearted appreciation for unaccustomed good food. There were other\nand finer pleasures--the table with its exquisite [v]napery and china\nand glass and silver and flowers. There was the delightful atmosphere of\npeace and gentle living. And there was Oliver--a new Oliver.\n\nMost of all, Doggie appreciated Oliver's comrade-like attitude. It was a\nrecognition of him as a soldier. He had \"made good\" in the eyes of one\nof the finest soldiers in the British army, and what else mattered? To\nDoggie the supreme joy of that pleasurable evening was the knowledge\nthat he had done well in the eyes of Oliver. The latter wore on his\ntunic the white, mauve, and white ribbon of the Military Cross. Honor\nwhere honor was due. But he--Doggie--had been wounded, and Oliver\nfrankly put them both on the same plane of achievement, thus wiping away\nwith generous hand all the hated memories of the past.\n\nWhen the ladies left the room the Dean went with them, and the cousins\nwere left alone.\n\n\"And now,\" said Oliver, \"don't you think you're a bit of a fool,\nDoggie?\"\n\n\"I know it,\" Doggie returned cheerfully. \"The army has drummed that into\nme at any rate.\"\n\n\"I mean in staying in the ranks,\" Oliver went on. \"Why don't you apply\nfor the Cadet Corps and get a commission again?\"\n\nDoggie's brow grew dark. \"I will tell you,\" he replied. \"The only real\nhappiness I've had in my life has been as a Tommy. I'm not talking\nfoolishness. The only real friends I've ever made in my life are\nTommies. I've a real life as a Tommy, and I'm satisfied. When I came to\nmy senses after being thrown out for incompetence and I enlisted, I made\na vow that I would stick it out as a Tommy without anybody's sympathy,\nleast of all that of the people here. And as a Tommy I am a real soldier\nand do my part.\"\n\nOliver smiled. \"I'm glad you told me, old man. I appreciate it very\nmuch. I've been through the ranks myself and know what it is--the bad\nand the good. Many a man has found his soul that way--\"\n\n\"Heavens!\" cried Doggie, starting to his feet. \"Do you say that, too?\"\n\nThe cousins clasped hands. That was Oliver's final recognition of Doggie\nas a soldier and a man. Doggie had found his soul.\n\nW. J. LOCKE.\n\n\n\n\nIN FLANDERS FIELD\n\n\n    In Flanders fields, the poppies blow\n    Between the crosses, row on row,\n    That mark our places. In the sky\n    The larks, still bravely singing, fly,\n    Scarce heard amid the guns below.\n    We are the dead. Short days ago\n    We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,\n    Loved and were loved, and now we lie\n    In Flanders fields.\n\n    Take up our quarrel with the foe!\n    To you, from failing hands, we throw\n    The torch. Be yours to lift it high!\n    If ye break faith with us who die,\n    We shall not sleep, though poppies blow\n    In Flanders fields.\n\n    JOHN MCCRAE.\n\n\n\n\nIN FLANDERS FIELD\n\n(AN ANSWER)\n\n    In Flanders fields, the cannon boom\n    And fitful flashes light the gloom,\n    While up above, like eagles, fly\n    The fierce destroyers of the sky;\n    With stains the earth wherein you lie\n    Is redder than the poppy bloom,\n              In Flanders fields.\n\n    Sleep on, ye brave. The shrieking shell,\n    The quaking trench, the startled yell,\n    The fury of the battle hell\n    Shall wake you not, for all is well.\n    Sleep peacefully, for all is well.\n    Your flaming torch aloft we bear,\n    With burning heart an oath we swear\n    To keep the faith, to fight it through,\n    To crush the foe or sleep with you\n            In Flanders fields.\n\n    C. B. GALBRAITH.\n\n\n\n\nA BALLAD OF HEROES\n\n    Because you passed, and now are not,--\n      Because in some remoter day\n    Your sacred dust from doubtful spot\n      Was blown of ancient airs away,--\n      Because you perished,--must men say\n    Your deeds were naught, and so profane\n      Your lives with that cold burden? Nay,\n      The deeds you wrought are not in vain!\n\n    Though, it may be above the plot\n      That hid your once imperial clay,\n    No greener than o'er men forgot\n      The unregarded grasses sway,--\n      Though there no sweeter is the lay\n    From careless bird,--though you remain\n      Without distinction of decay,--\n      The deeds you wrought are not in vain!\n\n    No. For while yet in tower or cot\n      Your story stirs the pulse's play;\n    And men forget the sordid lot--\n      The sordid care, of cities gray;--\n      While yet, beset in homelier fray,\n    They learn from you the lesson plain\n      That life may go, so Honor stay,--\n      The deeds you wrought are not in vain!\n\n    ENVOY\n\n    Heroes of old! I humbly lay\n      The laurel on your graves again;\n    Whatever men have done, men may,--\n      The deeds you wrought are not in vain!\n\n    AUSTIN DOBSON.\n\n\n\n\nDICTIONARY\n\n=a byss'=: a deep gulf.\n\n=ac' me=: height.\n\n=ac ro bat' ics=: gymnastics; athletic exercises.\n\n=ad' age=: saying; proverb.\n\n=a e' ri al=: airy.\n\n=a lac' ri ty=: eagerness; spryness.\n\n=al' der man=: here, a Saxon nobleman.\n\n=al' gae=: seaweeds.\n\n=al ter' na tive=: a second choice.\n\n=A' ma ti ki' ta=: an Esquimau.\n\n=am' i ca bly ad just' ed=: arranged peacefully.\n\n=am' phi the a ter=: a circular building with tiers of seats arranged\naround an open space.\n\n=an' chor ite=: a hermit.\n\n=an' nals=: records.\n\n=aped=: imitated.\n\n=ap er tif'= (teef): an appetizer.\n\n=ap' er ture=: opening.\n\n=Ap' pa lach' ian=: a chain of mountains in the eastern United States.\n\n=ap pre hen' sions=: fears.\n\n=a quat' ic=: of the water.\n\n=ar cade'=: an arched gallery.\n\n=ar tic' u late=: in regular words.\n\n=at' mos phere=: air pressure at sea level used as a unit.\n\n=au ro' ra=: the Northern Lights, the red glow in the sky in the Far North.\n\n=aus ter' i ty=: soberness; sternness.\n\n=av a ri' cious= (rish us): greedy of gain.\n\n\n=Bal lin droch' a ter=: a Scotch village.\n\n=ban dit' ti=: outlaws; bandits.\n\n=bar' bi can=: a tower over a gate or bridge.\n\n=bar' o graph=: an instrument for recording changes in the atmosphere.\n\n=ba rom' e ter=: an instrument that determines the weight of the air, and\nthereby foretells changes in the weather.\n\n=ba rouche'=: a low, open carriage.\n\n=bau' ble=: a wand carried by jesters.\n\n=Beau seant= (bo sa on'): \"Well-seeming,\" an ancient French war cry.\n\n=be nig' nant=: kind; helpful.\n\n=big' gin=: a child's cap.\n\n=Bois-Guil bert= (bwa guel bare'): a knight of the Order of the Temple.\n\n=bo' nus=: an extra payment not included in wages.\n\n=brake=: a thicket.\n\n=bre' vi a ry=: a book containing a church service.\n\n=brown-bill=: a weapon consisting of a long staff with a hook-shaped blade\nat the top.\n\n=buf foon' er y=: jesting; clownishness.\n\n=bun' sen pile=: an electric cell containing zinc covered with sulphuric\nacid at one end, and carbon surrounded by nitric acid at the other.\n\n\n\n=buoyed= (booed): kept up; supported.\n\n=bur lesque'= (lesk): humorous; not serious.\n\n=byz' ant=: a large gold coin.\n\n\n=ca lum' ni a tor=: a slanderer.\n\n=car' bon=: one of the chemical elements; charcoal is its best known form.\n\n=car' di nal=: a priest of high rank who wears a small red cap.\n\n=car' ri on=: decaying flesh.\n\n=car' tel=: a defiance; a challenge.\n\n=casque= (cask): helmet.\n\n=cas' sock=: a close-fitting garment resembling a modern coat.\n\n=catherine wheel=: a firework that turns around when lighted, throwing off\na circle of sparks.\n\n=ce ler' i ty=: quickness; promptness.\n\n=cel' lar=: here, a wine-cellar.\n\n=che val-glass= (she' val): a large mirror swinging in a frame.\n\n=Chil how' ee=: a high mountain in east Tennessee.\n\n=chiv' al rous=: knightly; warlike.\n\n=churls=: low, rude persons.\n\n=circuit-rider=: a preacher who ministers to a number of churches.\n\n=cloth-yard=: a yard in length.\n\n=col' lo quy=: a discussion.\n\n=com punc' tion=: remorse; repentance.\n\n=cone=: a body tapering to a point.\n\n=con' ning tower=: a raised part of a vessel giving an outlook on the sea.\n\n=con strained'=: restricted; unfree.\n\n=con' va les' cence=: period of recovery.\n\n=con ver' gent=: coming nearly together.\n\n=cope=: a long robe.\n\n=co' pi ous ly=: plentifully.\n\n=cord' age=: the ropes on a ship.\n\n=Cor' do van=: made in Cordova, a Spanish city.\n\n=cor me' um e rue ta' vit=: \"the heart of me burst forth.\"\n\n=cor rob' o ra ted=: confirmed; agreed with.\n\n=cor ro' sive sub' li mate=: a substance containing mercury and useful for\ncleaning wounds.\n\n=coun' ter-poise=: a weight used to pull up the drawbridge.\n\n=cowl=: a monk's hood.\n\n=cox' comb=: a piece of red cloth worn by jesters on their caps.\n\n=crest fall' en=: humiliated; humbled.\n\n=crev' ice=: hole; opening.\n\n=cri' sis=: critical period.\n\n=croup=: the space behind the saddle.\n\n=cur tail' ing=: cutting down.\n\n=cut' lery=: knives and forks.\n\n=cyl' in der=: a part of machinery, like a piston, longer than broad and\nwith a round surface.\n\n=cy lin' dri cal=: shaped like a cylinder, that is, long but with a round\nsurface, as a lead pencil.\n\n\n=decency=: here, a good appearance.\n\n=de cep' tive=: misleading.\n\n=dep re da' tion=: theft; despoiling.\n\n=De pro fun' dis cla ma' vi=: \"I cried from the depths,\" a Latin psalm.\n\n=dif' fi dence=: shyness.\n\n=dil' a to' ri ness=: slowness; delay.\n\n=dil' a to ry=: slow.\n\n=di lem' ma=: difficulty.\n\n=dis cerned'=: saw; understood.\n\n=dis con' so late ly=: unhappily.\n\n=dis til' ling=: for condensing sweet water from sea water.\n\n=dlink=: drink, in broken English.\n\n=doit=: a coin of small value.\n\n=do mes' tic=: of the home.\n\n=Dom' i nie=: a name sometimes given clergymen or schoolmasters.\n\n=doub' let=: a garment covering the body from neck to waist.\n\n=dough ty= (dou' ty): valiant; useful.\n\n=drag=: the scent of a fox.\n\n=dross=: money spoken of contemptuously, as something of no account.\n\n=Dry' ad=: a wood nymph.\n\n=du en' na=: chaperon.\n\n=dun=: brownish.\n\n=Dun dee'=: a Scotch seaport.\n\n\n=e clipse'=: darkening; obscuring.\n\n=ef fem' i nate=: womanish.\n\n=e lec trom' e ter=: an instrument which indicates the presence of\nelectricity.\n\n=em a na' tion=: a flowing forth.\n\n=em bel' lish=: ornament; touch up.\n\n=em' u late=: rival.\n\n=e' quine=: pertaining to a horse.\n\n=Esh' col=: a scene in the Bible.\n\n=ex ha la' tion=: fumes; vapor.\n\n=ex hil' a ra ted=: lifted up; greatly pleased.\n\n=ex' i gence=: emergency.\n\n=ex or' bi tant=: unreasonable; excessive.\n\n=ex pos' tu la ted=: protested.\n\n\n=fath' om=: a measure six feet in length.\n\n=fer' rule=: the piece at the end of a parasol or umbrella.\n\n=feu' dal=: relating to a lord of the Middle Ages.\n\n=fi del' i ty=: faithfulness.\n\n=fil' ial= (yal): due from a child to a parent.\n\n=first mag' ni tude=: largest size; most importance.\n\n=floe=: the ocean frozen into an ice-field.\n\n=fort' a lice=: a small fortress.\n\n=frank' lin=: a Saxon gentleman.\n\n=Front-de-Boeuf= (front de beuf'): a Norman baron.\n\n\n=gab' bro=: a kind of limestone rock.\n\n=gal' liard= (yard): a gallant, valiant man.\n\n=gear=: affair; concern.\n\n=ge' ni i= (e): spirits.\n\n=gen re= (zhan' r): dealing with everyday life.\n\n=gen teel' ly=: like gentlefolk; properly.\n\n=ge' o log' i cal=: relating to the substance of the earth.\n\n=glaive=: a weapon resembling an ax.\n\n=gra mer' cy=: thanks.\n\n=gra tu' i tous=: useless; unnecessary.\n\n=grav' i ta' tion=: the attraction of great bodies, such as the earth, for\nother bodies.\n\n=gren ade'=: a small bomb.\n\n=gro tesque'= (tesk): absurd; unsightly.\n\n=gyves= (jives): fetters; irons.\n\n\n=hatch' way=: an opening in a deck.\n\n=Hen' ri cus=: a settlement on the James river some distance above\nJamestown.\n\n=her met' i cal ly=: tightly; impenetrably.\n\n=hi la' ri ously=: uproariously.\n\n=hor' i zon' tal=: on a level with the ground.\n\n=hum' mock=: a knoll, or hillock.\n\n=hy' dro plane=: an aeroplane which also moves on the water.\n\n\n=il lus' tri ous=: distinguished; noted.\n\n=im port' ed=: brought in from without.\n\n=im per' vi ous=: impenetrable; not to be pierced.\n\n=in' con ceiv' a ble=: beyond the understanding.\n\n=in ef' fa ble=: very great; beyond measure.\n\n=in' ef fec' tu al=: unavailing; without effect.\n\n=in ex' pli ca bly=: not to be explained.\n\n=in fal' li bly=: unerringly.\n\n=in' fin ite= (it): immeasurable.\n\n=in i ti a tive= (in ish' i a tive): an act which begins something.\n\n=In' nu it=: an American Esquimau.\n\n=in ter mit' tent=: unsteady; not regular.\n\n=in vin' ci ble=: not to be conquered.\n\n=in vi' o late=: unbroken; undefiled.\n\n\n=jave' lin= (jav): a short spear used for throwing.\n\n=joc' u lar' i ty=: mirth.\n\n=joc' und=: merry; sportive.\n\n=Jove=: the king of the gods; here, the chief person of the household.\n\n=jun' to=: a group of men; a council.\n\n\n=ka lei' do scope=: an instrument in which small pieces of colored glass\nslide about and form pleasing shapes.\n\n=Ki was' sa=: a name for the Great Spirit, or God.\n\n=Knights Templar=: an order of knights serving in Palestine and taking\ntheir name from a palace in Jerusalem called Solomon's Temple.\n\n\n=la goons=: lakes connecting with the sea.\n\n=La Mort= (mor): \"Death,\" sounded on a horn when the game is killed.\n\n=la' tent=: hidden; not revealed; also, in preparation.\n\n=leg-bail=: escape by flight.\n\n=Ley' den jar=: a glass bottle used to accumulate electricity.\n\n=log' a rith' mic tables=: mathematical tables used to calculate a ship's\nposition.\n\n=Long House=: a name for the Iroquois Indians, derived from their long\ncommunal houses.\n\n=lon' gi tude=: distance on the earth's surface from east to west.\n\n=lu' mi na ry=: a body that gives light.\n\n\n=Ma belle mere= (mare): \"My pretty mother.\"\n\n=Ma' gi ans=: wise men of ancient Persia.\n\n=mal' a dy=: disease.\n\n=Mal voi sin= (mal vwa zan'): a Norman baron.\n\n=man' i cure set=: instruments used on the finger nails.\n\n=man' tel et=: a movable shelter of wood.\n\n=ma rau' ders=: robbers.\n\n=mar' i=: husband.\n\n=masque= (mask): a kind of theatrical performance.\n\n=mas' que rad' ing=: going in disguise.\n\n=ma ter' nal=: motherly.\n\n=mat' ins=: a morning service of the ancient church.\n\n=mer' ce na ry=: a hired soldier; a hireling.\n\n=mer' cu ry=: quicksilver, used in the thermometer.\n\n=me tal' lic=: composed of metal.\n\n=Michael mas eve= (mick' el mas): September 28.\n\n=Mi' das=: a king in Greek myth whose touch turned everything to gold.\n\n=mod' i fi ca' tion=: change.\n\n=Mon' a cans=: an Indian tribe originally living west of Richmond,\nVirginia.\n\n=mon' o syl' la ble=: a single syllable.\n\n=Mort pour la patrie=: \"Dead for country.\"\n\n=Mount joy St. Dennis= (den ny'): the war cry of ancient France.\n\n=muf' ti= (ty): ordinary clothes.\n\n\n=na bob=: a millionaire: a wealthy man from India.\n\n=na' per y=: table linen.\n\n=Naz' a rene=: a name sometimes applied to Christians, from Jesus of\nNazareth.\n\n=ne go' ti a ting=: bargaining.\n\n=niche= (nitch): an opening in a wall.\n\n=no' men il' lis le' gi o=: \"the name of them is legion.\"\n\n=nor' mal=: accustomed; usual.\n\n=nu' cle us=: a central mass.\n\n=nu' tri ment=: nourishment.\n\n\n=ob' du rate=: not to be moved.\n\n=o bei sance= (o ba' sans): a bending of the body; a bow.\n\n=ob lique'= (leek): a slanting direction.\n\n=old fields=: fields no longer cultivated.\n\n=o' pa line=: the color of opals; grayish-white.\n\n=O' pe chan' ca nough= (no): the leading Indian chief in Virginia in the\nearly period.\n\n=op' tion=: choice.\n\n=op' u lence=: wealth.\n\n=order=: a society of monks, with an organization and convents.\n\n=o' ri en ta tion=: adjustment.\n\n=os ten' si ble=: apparent; professed.\n\n\n=pad' u a soy'=: a rich, heavy silk.\n\n=Pa mun' keys=: an Indian tribe originally living along the Pamunkey and\nYork rivers in Virginia.\n\n=pan' de mo' ni um=: the place of devils; also, and usually, a riotous\nscene.\n\n=pan' nier= (yer): a wicker basket.\n\n=par' ley=: talk; discussion.\n\n=Pas' pa heghs= (hays): an Indian tribe of Virginia.\n\n=patched=: adorned with small patches of black cloth.\n\n=pa' thos=: sadness.\n\n=pa visse'=: a large shield.\n\n=Pax' vo bis' cum=: \"Peace be with you!\"\n\n=pem' mi can=: powdered meat pressed into cakes.\n\n=per' i scope=: an instrument projecting above a submarine which gives a\nview of the sea surface.\n\n=per' pen dic' u lar=: straight up and down.\n\n=per' pen dic' u lar' i ty=: straightness up and down.\n\n=pet' ri fied=: turned to stone.\n\n=phil' o soph' i cal=: wise; learned.\n\n=pil' lion= (yun): a cushion used by women in riding horseback.\n\n=pi lote= (pe loat'): an aeroplane pilot.\n\n=pin' na cle=: summit.\n\n=pipe=: a musical instrument resembling a flute.\n\n=plain' tive ly=: complainingly.\n\n=plan' i sphere=: the representation of the earth on a plane; a map of the\nworld.\n\n=Ple ia des= (ple' ya dees): a group of six stars in the constellation\nTaurus.\n\n=pol lute'=: to stain; to befoul.\n\n=po made'=: a perfumed ointment.\n\n=po ma' tum=: a perfumed ointment.\n\n=pon' der a ble=: weighable; having heaviness.\n\n=pon' der ous=: heavy; unwieldy.\n\n=pon' iard= (yard): a dagger.\n\n=por' tents=: signs; omens.\n\n=Pow' ha tan=: the James river; also the name of Opechancanough's\npredecessor.\n\n=pre ca' ri ous=: uncertain; dangerous.\n\n=pre' con cep' tion=: a foreshadowing; an idea of something to come.\n\n=pri me' val=: original.\n\n=prim' i tive=: original; coming down from afar.\n\n=Pro' cy on= (si): a first-magnitude star.\n\n=pro di gious= (pro dij' us): immense.\n\n=pro ject' ile=: something projected with force, or fired.\n\n=pur veyed'=: brought.\n\n\n=quarter-staff=: a short pole, used as a walking-staff and a weapon.\n\n\n=ra' di us=: the distance from the center of a body to its surface.\n\n=rail' ler y=: jesting.\n\n=ran' som=: a sum paid for the release of a prisoner.\n\n=rar' e fac' tion=: the making thin; less dense.\n\n=ra' ti o=: rate; measure.\n\n=re cip' ro ca ted=: returned.\n\n=re cum' bent=: lying down.\n\n=re fec' to ry=: a dining-room in a convent.\n\n=re frac' tion=: the bending from a straight line which occurs when a ray\nof light passes out of the air into water.\n\n=reg' u la tor=: a contrivance for controlling motion.\n\n=re mu' ner a ted=: rewarded; presented with.\n\n=re nowned'=: famous.\n\n=re plete'=: filled.\n\n=rep' ro ba' tion=: condemnation; disapproval.\n\n=res' pi ra' tor=: a device covering the mouth and nose and preventing the\nbreathing of outside air.\n\n=ret' i nue=: a train of attendants.\n\n=re ver' ber a ted=: reflected; echoed.\n\n=rime=: hoarfrost.\n\n=Rolfe, John=: the first Englishman to plant tobacco in Virginia; the\nhusband of Pocahontas.\n\n=rood=: cross.\n\n=ro' sa ry=: a string of beads used in counting prayers.\n\n=ru' bi cund=: ruddy; red.\n\n=rucksack=: a napsack worn by Arctic travelers.\n\n=rue' ful=: sad; distressed.\n\n=ruffle=: a contest.\n\n\n=sar cas' ti cal ly=: ironically; humorously.\n\n=sat' el lite=: an attendant; also, a body revolving around another, as\nthe moon.\n\n=scar=: a cliff.\n\n=sci' en tist=: one learned in the natural sciences, as chemistry,\nphysics, etc.\n\n=screen=: a surface on which the reflection from the periscope is thrown.\n\n=sem' blance=: likeness.\n\n=serf=: a kind of slave; an unfree laborer.\n\n=sex' tant=: an instrument used to determine a ship's position by\nobserving the sun and other objects.\n\n=Shah=: ruler; king.\n\n=shrift=: confession made to a priest.\n\n=Shrovetide=: the days just before the beginning of Lent.\n\n=sib' yl=: prophetess.\n\n=side drift=: the drift of a vessel to one side or the other of a course.\n\n=sil hou ette= (sil oo et'): the black shadow of an object.\n\n=sin' gu lar' i ty=: strangeness.\n\n=smock race=: a race in which the contestants are hampered by garments.\n\n=sliv' er=: a long splinter.\n\n=sol' ace=: comfort.\n\n=so phis' ti ca ted=: experienced; worldly-wise.\n\n=spec' tral=: of graded colors.\n\n=spin' et=: a musical instrument like a piano.\n\n=spoor=: trail; foot-marks.\n\n=sprint' er=: a runner; a foot-racer.\n\n=spume=: froth; foam.\n\n=stac ca' to=: disconnected; jerky.\n\n=states' man=: one concerned in the governing of a country.\n\n=sten to' ri an=: loud; thundering.\n\n=stodg' i ly=: with distended eyes.\n\n=sto' ic al ly=: patiently; without complaint.\n\n=stoke-hold=: the room containing a ship's boilers.\n\n=stra' ta=: the layers of rock composing the crust of the earth.\n\n=strat' e gy=: the use of artifice; clever planning.\n\n=Stuy' ves ant=: a Dutch colonial governor of New York.\n\n=sub lim' i ty=: grandeur; magnificence.\n\n=sub' ter ra' ne an=: beneath the earth; in a cavity.\n\n=sump' ter mule=: a beast of burden.\n\n=sump' tu a ry=: relating to expense.\n\n=sump' tu ous=: plentiful; extravagant.\n\n=su' per flu' i ty=: more than is needed.\n\n=su per' flu ous=: not needed.\n\n=sur' plice=: a white outer garment worn by priests.\n\n=Sus' que han' nocks=: an Indian tribe originally inhabiting Maryland and\nPennsylvania.\n\n=sword of Damascus=: a sword made from steel wrought in Damascus, Syria.\n\n=syl' van=: of the woods.\n\n=sym' pho ny=: harmony; music.\n\n\n=ta' bor=: a small drum.\n\n=tac' i turn= (tas): silent.\n\n=tam' bour frame=: frame for embroidery.\n\n=tap' es try=: a curtain for a wall ornamented with worked pictures.\n\n=tar' get=: a small shield.\n\n=ter' ma gant=: quarrelsome; scolding.\n\n=ter' ra fir' ma=: the firm earth.\n\n=thane=: a Saxon land-owner.\n\n=thatch=: straw or reeds.\n\n=Ti' tan=: a giant of Greek myth.\n\n=tithe=: a tenth.\n\n=tor' toise-shell=: the shell of a turtle.\n\n=traction engine=: a locomotive that draws vehicles along roads.\n\n=treasurer=: George Sandys.\n\n=tri bu' nal=: a court of justice.\n\n=trump=: the card that takes other cards in a game.\n\n=truss=: tie.\n\n=tu mul' tu ous=: riotous; very noisy.\n\n\n=ul' tra ma rine'=: deep blue.\n\n=uncle=: a familiar form of address used by jesters.\n\n=u nique'= (neek): singular; unusual.\n\n=u' su ry=: unlawful, or excessive interest.\n\n\n=vas' sals=: subjects; dependents.\n\n=ve' he ment=: passionate; forceful.\n\n=ve loc' i ty=: speed.\n\n=vel' lum=: leather.\n\n=ven' er a' tion=: respect; reverence.\n\n=ver' dure=: vegetation; green growth.\n\n=ver' i ta ble=: true; unmistakable.\n\n=vic' ar=: a clergyman in charge of a parish.\n\n=vis' count= (vi): a nobleman.\n\n=viz' ard=: a mask.\n\n=viz' or=: here, a mask.\n\n=vo ra' cious= (shus): greedy; very hungry.\n\n\n=Wat' ling Street=: a Roman road running from Dover to Chester.\n\n=wer' o wance=: a chief of the Virginia Indians.\n\n=West, Francis=: afterward governor of Virginia.\n\n=whist=: still.\n\n\n=yeo' man= (yo): a free laborer; often a small land-owner.\n\n\n=ze' nith=: highest point; summit.\n\n=zo' o phytes=: small sea animals growing together, as coral.\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note\n\nThe following printer's errors have been corrected:\n\n  56  Mountain\" changed to Mountain.\"\n  97  all unwarned! changed to all unwarned!\"\n  119 he shall\" changed to he shall,\"\n  125 good-bye changed to good-by\n  130 ruffllings changed to rufflings\n  151 reeentering changed to reentering\n  163 processsion changed to procession\n  177 calculatued changed to calculated\n  223 langauge changed to language\n  230 but to seaward changed to but two seaward\n  236 Majorie changed to Marjorie\n  263 attemped changed to attempted\n  267 altogther changed to altogether\n  272 miller,\" changed to miller?\"\n  277 accomodated changed to accommodated\n  278 rescue?' changed to rescue?\"\n  286 Norman, and let changed to Norman, \"and let\n  305 father, said changed to father,\" said\n  310 \"Fiends!' changed \"Fiends!\"\n  317 \"'Nothing changed to \"Nothing\n  326 of proof.\" changed to of proof.\n  328 stop them.\" changed to stop them.\n  383 April. 5th. changed to April 5th.\n  386 hugh changed to huge\n  396 the bottom. changed to the bottom.\"\n  402 everything! changed to everything!\"\n  409 said; do you changed to said; \"do you\n  444 unwieldly changed to unwieldy\n  446 spoor; changed to spoor:\n\nOther errors\n\n  116 infantile not included in vocabulary section\n  117 peer not included in the vocabulary section\n  118 mien not included in the vocabulary section\n  282 contingent is not defined in the vocabulary section\n  354 ballast is not defined in the vocabulary section\n  440 corroborated not marked in the text\n  443 mari not marked in the text\n  444 pinnacle not marked in the text\n\nInconsistent hyphenation\n\n  foot-marks / footmarks\n  north-east / northeast\n  seal-skin / sealskin\n  snow-flakes / snowflakes\n  water-proof / waterproof\n  white-haired / whitehaired","title":"The Literary World Seventh Reader","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":103836}